The Presence Of Time.

Although not on horseback, my commute to work yesterday was simply ghastly. I woke up in Boise, caught a cab, then a small aircraft destined for LAX. The cabbie was demented, provincial and talkative oh my. The flight was uneventful in as much as I slept through it. I then grabbed a FlyAway bus for Union Station. I slept through this trip as well. I grabbed a red line, and at that hour it was all just a bunch of shuffling although ample clock punching losers. Sorry. After I made my way up all the necessary escalators and elevators, and ramped passages I took a moment to appreciate the concrete skyline of Los Angeles and I wondered why on earth I was doing this to myself.

This morning I wasn't going to take any chances. I immediately slid on my nano and listened to some new music. The new Erasure album Light at the End of the World gives everything a nice jingly feeling. And I'm not even willing to call it a guilty pleasure anymore. Well maybe. The Clipse are perhaps the best thing I've heard in a while. Most of their hooks are lifted from obscure Euro-tech found elsewhere in my collection. The Handsome Furs are nice, but something tells me I've heard it before. Oh wait, I have. The new Wilco has been lost, but I know where it is, and I'm very curious. And I think I may need it tomorrow.

I've quite recently become the worst Yankees fan ever. Over Memorial Day weekend I travelled and visited family. I was absorbed with other matters, and wasn't able to follow the games as much as I would like, but from what I can see they've decided to opt for a 5 game losing streak. Jason had a homer yesterday, but nothing else in the way of run support for Andy. Save one. The Yankees were dropped 3-2 by the Blue Jays. I'm going to try to not be too critical at this time. Some people tell me that the season is lost, but provided that Brian Cashman goes sometime in the next month I'd call the season a success. I sincerely believe that there is an element of strategy to baseball. The long view. Not the rear view.

Compadre celebrated his birthday in style in everyone's favorite cesspool LA. We'll be celebrating during our next trip to Seattle. We shall enjoy insular style and clique culture. Fresh. Compadre will be cooking Anonymous D and me dinner for his birthday. How bout that? Happy birthday Compadre! I know how difficult birthdays can be for you. For us. For them. Only them.