HEAR THAT? IT'S THE GRINDSTONE


I went back to work for the first time in almost a month today. It went smoothly, despite my new shift. Getting home just after five o'clock was disconcerting, after a month of not working and having previously worked the night shift. I watched the Simpsons, read a bit, ate, and then watched the bonus material for JFK. Speaking of that ever-mysterious dead president, the recent anniversary of his passing has crowded the information-inhaling orifices of the world with all sorts of commentary about the assassination. Much of it, from what I've gathered, is triumphalist we've-proven-the-Oswald-as-single-shooter-theory-so-fuck-everyone-that-thinks-otherwise stuff. I have reached no conclusions regarding said presidential murder, so I honestly can't say what happened; however, a little knowledge of American intelligence operations, the unceasing smugness of major media outlets, and the attitudes of politicians makes me think that if- that's IF- Oswald was the only shooter, he was probably still a patsy. Of course, it could be my cynicism talking. After all, as one writer noted, so many Americans are reluctant to think that a lone nut could have offed a President, and God knows that I, trusting soul that I am when it comes to power structures, am one of them. Ha.

One of the good things that came out of my car accident was getting to spend so much time with Sara. Now, whenever she's not around, I miss her an awful lot. I'm excited by the prospect of living with her again in a month, back in the Heights.

It's not even half past ten, and it feels late. I think I'll finish this glass of scotch and this pipe, read some more, and hit the sack. I might as well be an old man, an idea which has amused me for many years, and will continue to do so until I actually am an old man.