There is nothing so fine as Thai ice tea:
Yum. It makes me feel that this is a new day of sunshine, daisies and harmonized electric guitar solos.
I feel all bad because one of my lovely groovy editors thought I was talking about him in the rant about the Village Voice and all that bullshit. Rats. My rant was directed at the Institutions and those who get wealthy buying and selling them, not not not the hero editors who work at these places.
Is that clear, dear?
Love, Love, Love.
So, maybe it's because I was up all night writing, but I have a drowsy, nostalgic, homey feeling that makes me want to take a bath, put on a sweater and drive to Har Mar or Southdale and see a new movie, full price, with popcorn and everything. The previews last 20 minutes and they're the best.
I get these suburban longings from time to time. I long for the quiet, the green, the endless free parking.
Prolly because I grew up in the concrete grid.
Since I'm not in Minneapolis, the longing directs itself toward Glendale. The perfect suburb. Ah, sweet Glendale.
Glendale is like St. Paul, a little bit.
Got to go now.