A quest to make sense of it all. Or a sense to make a quest of it all.

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

I'm checking it/So hot, so hot/Wonder if you know/You're on my radar


Nope, still nothin' much to talk about. It's a cold, bleak January day and all I want to do is re-read The Witching Hour and the world won't let me.

I started to write a poem, an ode to my double soy latte, but I can't because I've got a Britney Spears song blasting in my head ("Radar" for those who could want to know) and I don't know why. But its pounding beat and fast, insipid lyrics are making it impossible for me to do anything but submit to its demand that I subtly bob my head.

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