Sunday Sunday Sunday

It's time to find a new bar for NFL. The problem with college towns is that too many people work in these places, and the faces change every four months so there's never any familiarity, which is just something that one needs in a fine drinking establishment. Especially when sports are involved. Meanwhile, I want to say that "we" won yesterday (that's UIUC vs. Western Ill.) but that just makes my buddy say "Um, 'we,' as if you were playing on the team? Where you in a uniform?" It's not easy to defend fan-dom. The team won. Yippy.

Do me a favor.
Keep an eye out for one of these:

It's a 1913 Scripps-Booth Bi-Autogo, part of the list of Time's Worst Cars of all time which you can look at by clicking here. I find myself strangely attracted to a lot of the selections prior to 1975.

I had a dream last night that my aloe plant wasn't dying. But in real life, it's still dying. I didn't kill it. It came to me drowned and suffering. Reminds me of January 2001 when I accidentally left an aloe plant in a car in Tennessee. Poor thing froze solid. Change topic...

I'm back up to 10 typewriters. More on that as it comes together. I am exceptionally good at introducing new minor exercises in frustration into my daily life--hence the MGB, Honda CB 650, typewriters, poems, and desires for a tenure-track job.