I can't seem to get the Juno "pie balls" line out of my head today. I've also taken to using "turducken" as a swear word... though the latter is more of a secret, vulgar ambition than a curse.

When you're moving, you want to move as little "stuff" as possible, so I've stopped mending socks. That's right: sock pops a stitch, sock go bye-bye. The socks are terrified. They saw what I did to these bastards, and they're running scared. My side of it is brilliant; not only do I get to terrorize my socks, but I also get to look forward to a mid-September socking spree. New socks!

Now watch as I tear a strip off this: What is the deal with the Facebook Friend Finder? That thing is retarded. Never, not even once, has a single person who appears there been someone I can identify by name. Am I getting someone else's picks? Whose Friend Finder do I show up in? Maybe they invented the FF as some kind of second law of thermodynamics motivator within the naturally-structurecentric Facebook universe. Where we attempt to build logical roads between the cities of our social profiles, the FF tunnels through the earth to random out-points that are unrelated by any commerce to our Facebook cities. (Yikes... that metaphor barely held.) The inevitable result of following the Friend Finder to its disconsolate ends is utter entropy across the board: networking with everyone rather than select few; "friendship" as a meaningless watchword in a hazily homogenous Facebook fog. Fie!

Well anyways. I've had coffee, and written in my journal about two or three of the more beautiful things of the last 72 hours, all while sitting in the sunset rays of my soon-to-be-erstwhile home of the Danforth. I remember the summer of '04, when I did nothing else...