morch, twodowzin an seven

(sunday wrap-up wank below)

friday’s talk went fine i think. malone said it was “right in my wheelhouse,” which rightly captures both my satisfaction and dissatisfaction about it. i hope it clarified some things for people who spend a lot of time around my jabbering jaws, but i don’t need to to hear myself talk about laclau and poulantzas as this point. really, i need to see myself write about them. let’s hope that happens this Summer. i made a 3 year writing plan for the first time, and was shocked to find that, hell, i still apparently think of myself as somebody who could/should publish things. maybe i suspected having a shrink or a blog would’ve taken care of that unnatural impulse.

many fantastic friends of mine are on the verge of giving birth, which reminds me that it is important always to maintain some hope. to say anymore would be hokey.

yesterday i was out on the road to pdx and back. ‘met my new bosses and rocked an eight-hour strategy session with some deep-shit tacticians. i drove home over cheez-its and a tigermilk bar, both of which were stale. dandro’s birthday materialized around me, and funny laughs over fizzy water. you know how it is, i’m sure. best thing is, raenie and i led the mets back from a two-run deficit to beat the Dodgers in LA. we’re only five games below five-hundred now. i woke up from 5-6am and heard espn radio blather about fantasy baseball draft strategies, and i smiled the smiles of a dated, frisked man.

anyway i’m running errands today for fear of finals week. there’re no finals, but there’s a grant i’ve got to pull off. who knows, froonds? maybe i’ll end up watching hoops, maybe i’ll end up playing records. either way the floor’ll get swept.


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