Java in a Nutshell

I just found out that the Morning Sedition Tea Lounge broadcast is gonna be at the Tea Lounge at 7th and Union, not the Tea Lounge at 7th and 10th. This is the worst day of my entire goddamn life.

Now it's Thursday.

Yesterday I was feeling kind of down, so I decided to go for a run after work. I was doing pretty well, but after about 2 miles the burrito I'd had for lunch started sloshing around in my stomach so I cut across the park and went home. But I felt a whole hell of a lot better.

I'd bought some mussels at C-Town on my way home, so when I got back from my run I sauteed some garlic and onions and steamed the mussels to put over some pasta. Then Mer and I hunkered down to watch the last 2 episodes of the second season of The Sopranos. The season finale was great -- Tony gets food poisoning from, what else, a bad plate of mussels (though Artie fuckin' Bucco tries to blame it on some chicken vindaloo from a different restaurant), and, in between trips to the bathroom, has a bunch of really weird dreams that kind of guide him through what he has to do to get his ducks in a row. Can't wait to start the third season.

And as luck (or slightly over/undercooked seafood) would have it, Mer and I both had some crazy dreams of our own last night. She can tell you what hers was about; here's what happened to me: Mer was having some irritating friends stay with us while they were in town. They'd brought us a gift of a boxed DVD set of some episodes of a TV show, possibly Buffy the Vampire Slayer (I'm not sure -- I think Bill Nighy was in it) and wanted to watch it with us, but they were still so aggravating that we decided to get out of the house on our own for a while. We wound up on a suburban high school football field -- it was dark out except for the stadium lights lighting up the grass -- and a friend of mine, possibly Chrissy Rodney, was chasing us around in a friendly way carrying a barrel of wine above his head and spraying wine into our mouths and all over our faces as we ran up and down the field. We ended up getting very drunk and the three of us went to the nearby restroom / locker room to clean ourselves up. You know how when you're drunk, sometimes you look in the mirror and you're like, "Echhhh! I look terrible!" Well, in the dream, I literally looked awful -- my eyes were really close together and my nose was all bulbous. For some reason I started spitting in the sink, trying to clear my throat, but I kept bringing up these thick strands of saliva and hair (!) that I had to pull out of my mouth with my fingers. So that was gross. And then I woke up.

As promised, pictures of the kitten:

The kitten looking	A girl and her kitten
Kitties in context

What else was I going to talk about. Oh yeah -- reading Don Quixote. One thing you guys may not know is that the book is basically vomit porn:

Sancho came so near as almost to thrust his eyes into his master's mouth; and that was the very moment when the balsam began to work in Don Quixote's stomach; so that just as Sancho drew close to peer into his mouth the knight threw up what was in him more violently than the shot from a gun and sent it all over the beard of his compassionate squire.

"Holy Mary!" cried Sancho. "What has happened to me? Sure, this poor sinner is mortally wounded, since he is vomiting blood."

But on examining things a little more closely, he realized, from its colour, taste, and smell, that it was not blood but the balsam from the can, which he had seen him drinking; and this so turned his stomach that he threw up his very guts over his master; and the pair of them were then in the same pickle.