Some CBS/Infinity radio stations have started streaming their broadcasts live. I was trying to listen to one of these while composing a blog post. The damn page crashed my browser. So I lost a long sprawling post on my adventures this past Friday which included a biker gang, gambling and a babbling Chinese woman.
I'm not rewriting it, so you'll just have to use your imagination.

There will be a real post here... at some point. Probably 12 hours from now.

And now, alpha charlie bravo is somewhat embarassed to present another installment of:
alpha charlie bravo's True Student Theater Stories.

I was in a morbid musical based on a book called Wisconsin Death Trip. The director decided to make the grand symbolic gesture of having us perform most of the final song with our eyes closed.

At one point, we were required to reach out with sudden desperation and grab the shoulder of the person next to us. I should note here that we were not to be standing in any kind of uniform straight line arrangement. I knew that the person I had to reach out for was going to be within arm's reach somewhere to the left of me, but I couldn't see exactly where she was.

She was also rather short and I didn't want to reach out and poke her in the eye or something so I made it a point to aim low.
The first time we rehearsed this scene, my arm made an inspired dramatic reach into space... and I grabbed a handful of boobie.
Oops.

This has been alpha charlie bravo's True Student Theater Stories.

I have a real distaste for the persistence of superstition in this, our so-called modern world. Why with all we know about game theory and quantum physics do those who should know better continue to legitimize superstitious ideas, I cannot understand. Today, in the New York Times, the New York fuck Times(!), is an article about the Red Sox visiting the Cubs. The article does quite a bit of curse comparison. Hey, there's a black cat living under Wrigley Field, oooh. I... I just... I don't know. I guess I can see how Bush won the election.

In other news, according to Mayor Daley, everybody is selling heroin. It's not just city employees. It's federal employees, state employees, the private sector...
It's everybody.

Well, since I'm still awake, let me pose this question:

If there was one book, movie, song, image, etc. that a stranger could read, see, listen to in order to gain some sort of fundamental understanding of who you are as a person, what would it be?

I used to feel that that object for me was George Orwell's "Keep the Aspidistra Flying." I'm not sure I would assert that with the same amount of conviction today. But, maybe if I could just add a bit of Proustian nostalgaic melancholy to Orwell's novel, it would still provide significant insight into my psyche.

You know, on second thought, maybe drinking an iced latte at midnight isn't such a good idea.

And so why am I not writing here lately? Well, I seem to have three fundamental preoccupations, none of which I think makes for good blogging. Let's examine them:

• Work:
Apparently, when things start going well, that means it's time to change everything.

• Doctor Who:
I can't even watch the show since it's not available anywhere in the U.S. and yet I'm thoroughly obsessed. I've had to resist the urge to post the words "Bad Wolf" here.

• Sex:
Which I have about as much access to as the new Doctor Who series.

So, I'll try to work on something to blog on besides those narrow topics.