oh my gawd, like fer shur

R and I were looking at family photos tonight, and one of them caused me to shriek in glee and race to the living room, where I proceeded to scan it for the amusement of all.

I present myself, circa 1984 or so.





Could you just frickin' DIE? The puffy bowl cut, the disaffected stare, the humongous poster of John Taylor, the Duran Duran and Spandau Ballet posters, and the Ministry mirror I made in art class. (Yes, Ministry as in The Land of Rape and Honey. A little known fact, and one they desperately try not to publicize, is that they started out as a synth pop band. Al Jourgensen derides their debut album, With Sympathy, but that shit is still tight as far as I'm concerned.) Seriously, when I saw this, I sounded like a hyena on nitrous having an orgasm.

Well, that'll just about do it for Minnesota. Today, I sweet-talked a repairman into coming out and fixing the washer, put the patio furniture into the garage, and picked up Daddy-O's temporary disabled parking permit. I also took a long walk with R---it's in the 70's here!---and reassured him that he's up to the task of taking over when I'm gone. Daddy-O's incision looks much better, and he hasn't had any drainage for the last two days, so I think he's only going to get better from here. Finally, I can return to California with a clear conscience and get back to life as normal, such as it is.

Now I must pack.