We're fucked.

Here's a sample of the flier for our house. I feel wierd putting my address on something and posting it up everywhere...so its not on there yet...

As I sit here listening to rock and roll music, I recall a troubling conversation with a friend over coffee and Frank’s Hot Sauce-laden eggs.

He has given up.

He has lost all hope.

And instead of being relieved by this he seems troubled.

Does he think that his loss of hope is really giving up?

Has he really lost hope or is he hoping that his misplaced sense of hope will be found on the mantle over the fireplace where he always leaves things.

I personally think hope is for pussies.

Hope is Dumbo’s magic feather.

Hope is a crutch.

Hope, like prayer often makes people feel they have accomplished much while actually achieving nothing.

But, on another topic,

Does anyone know of a good place to get stuff dry cleaned/shirts pressed?

If you do, let me know.

Long time no blog.

Elmwood Taco and Sub can suck it.

I dropped the republican.

Rock and Roll remains alive.

Been taking black and white pictures.

Ideas for movies and articles in magazines.

Work is beginning to pay the bills.

Robin is moving in.

Life moves at a steady clip.

Jon.