"I owe much, I have nothing. The rest I leave to the poor."

Memorial Day . . .

(credit. video:some kid on the Internet, audio:Cage-Grand Ol' Party Crash)


I read an article about kids moving to New York and struggling wit dey bills (you can read the first 9 words here, or try to remember your nytimes password). One kid interviewed pirates internet. Another kids makes his own meals, a big thing of rice and beans that he eats for lunch and dinner. Some of them wait to get haircuts until they go back to visit their 'rents in Ohio or whatever (how do they pay for that?). One guy even, if you can believe this, cuts his own hair. I wanted kids eating out of garbage cans and living in sewer pipes and fighting over their 50 square feet with shards of glass. I'm trying to move to NY . . .and their lives sound luxurious after Detroit and Arusha and Blade Runner and eschatological dreams about living in trash heaps.


Going to Vegas tomorrow to sit in on a meeting and take notes and introduce myself to various bureaucrats and the like. Hot, plastic Vegas where nothing is true and everything is permitted. Every time I travel for work now, I wonder: "when do the numbers start not working out. When do we simply say that a plane ticket is not in the budget?" And how long after this is it until we only fly for funerals or weddings or emergency surgeries?

It's strange who you meet when you stay relatively sober and follow up on invitations when you really just want to drive home from work at top-speed and read Transmetropolitan and see if your plants have grown. Still . . during hang-overs (whiskey, crossfit, whatever) I learned how to edit over the last week or so. Turns out you just quit whining, have a smoke and get to work.