home is where the hamburger is

Round here, we love to eat.

This is what I walked into my first night home:



Okay, we like to drink, too.

ANYway. . .

You might disagree, if you're judging from the looks of my waif-like sister, but lemme tell you: everyone here is fat. I mean everyone. And I'm afraid I'll end up that way, too. To combat this seeming inevitability, I went out last week and purchased a mountain bike. I rode it all that afternoon, exploring the woods and the riverbanks of my old neighborhood, loving the feel of the wind in my hair and the straining of my muscles as I pushed myself to my sweaty limits. Then. . . I parked my Trek 800 in the garage and bought myself a '92 Honda Accord. Much better for fatting -- I mean getting around in.

you say goodbye, and i say hello

For all you folks out there who've been silently shaking your fists at your respective screens each time you check in here at the dinghy to find that I still haven't published a lurid tell-all on my southern shenanigans. . . well, it's almost time. Almost.

First, I need to address just how goddamn hard it was to say goodbye to these sweet jokers:

=:=

Yes, Florida has been good to me this time around. No, it isn't only a vapid wasteland of shopping malls and identical pastel-colored condos. It's strange and beautiful, and I'll tell y'all about it real soon.