December 13th, 2004

flavored with age

Cap & Re-Cap

Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.

How was your weekend? No, really, how was it? I want to know. I'll wait. You go ahead. Tell me everything. Well, not everything. Skip the parts that aren't interesting, or that are really depressing or are likely to anger me. If that doesn't leave you anything to tell, then make something up for Christ's sake, be creative, no one's judging you here.

Okay. Good. is that out of your system? No, it was a delight hearing about it, really, I loved the parts you made up. Oh, that wasn't made up? That really happened? I'll be damned. Fine. Here's how my weekend was: it was great. It was really great. Even the parts that weren't so great, like driving in the snow, and spending a half an hour stuck in freeway traffic trying to figure out how the CD player in my rental car worked, and watching the first-ever bad movie by the Coen Brothers, were pretty great. I'm sorry to be one of those obnoxious gasbags who goes on and on boring his friends to tears about how great his girlfriend is, but that's just the way it is, and I think she's likely to remain great, so I'm likely to remain boring.

Sorry for no Ludic Log updates since Thursday; neither time nor circumstance have permitted, and I've been busy doing something better. When they resume, though -- hopefully tonight but at any rate not later than tomorrow -- a slate of holiday-themed whatnots will appear. Which brings me back to you, because like Mike Patton, I really care a lot: what would you like to see in the Ludic Log this holiday season? Any requests, desires, ideas, suggestions, dream entries? Post them in comments, dear reader people, and they will be made to happen, or at least put under serious consideration and if not executed, at least answered.
flavored with age

Caffienated Postscript

Dear people who drink a lot of coffee every day,

How do you do it? I started swigging the stuff on road trips because, okay, it does the job of efficient caffiene delivery; a good cup of coffee has thrice the ability to combat the nods than does even a big-league sody pop. But man, it still tastes like burnt dirt with extra cyanide to me despite the pleasant smell, and it goes through your kidneys like a superheated machete, meaning any time you save by staying alert is lost to having to stop evert 40 miles to take a leak. I am developing a familiarity with Wisconsin truck stops rivaled only by the most dedicated of rural perverts.