Well, I'm almost kinda sorta committed to my weekend trip - solo, sadly. I need to get away very, very badly, but my feet are dragging. Of course, it's the 'solo' part that's giving me any hesitation whatsoever. If Yesenia could get away this weekend I'd be off like a shot, with no parts of me dragging.
As it stands now, I have an insane Crazy Eddie level of work to get done before I leave after class on Friday. So the Rambler will be set to minimal for the next two stops, and then possibly drop to zero for Sunday morning. If I can find an internet café off in the ass-end of Northern Vermont - one that isn't run by bears - I'll see if I can kill some time. However, if the weather holds, I hope to get some good stargazing in.
I'll bring the camera and see if I can get together one of those damn photo-blogs that have replaced slideshows as the dreaded vacation chronicle of the lower middle class.
"Oh, here I am fishing. See that? That's the time I got my cock impaled on a Narwhal's tooth. Yeah, good thing I had my double-beer hat on - I just ripped 'em open and shotgunned 'em right into that freaky dentist's nightmare's maw, and he buzzed instantly and withdrew. Now you can store a pen or even a flash drive in there. When I'm aroused, my wife can play it like a flute, but only in a dorian scale, so don't expect to hear any Bach."
All right. See you tomorrow.
BTW: Is someone playing a joke on me, or did Tony Millionaire really post a comment on this past Sunday's entry? I have to say, joke or real, both likelihoods are all the way at the ultraviolet end of the extremely bizarre spectrum.
You know something? It's probably Danny Hellman...