The kind of hopes that get pinned on a lottery.

There's no hope for me. By that I mean that hope doesn't grow on trees and it isn't given away - you need to make it yourself, out of raw materials. It's the same as that airplane flying overhead. Sure it's sautered metal now, polyester seat cushions and flight attendant uniforms, but it wasn't always that way. Without elbow grease and dinosaur bones it would fall right out of the sky. Those aren't wings flying that thing, they're "wings." If you don't have the wisdom to know the difference I can refer you to a meeting.

So it's not that there's no hope for me. I'm just having a hard time mustering the energy to make hope - to fashion it out of all the good things allegedly waiting in my future.

This is the stuff blogs are made of.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation, Part I

The truth is I haven't been writing The Great American Novel in our absence from each other. Oh sure, I've had ideas. Lots and lots of ideas. Some potential topics for future blog posts, obviously all unrealized, include, but are not limited to:

1. Why The Biggest Loser is the most honest/emotionally manipulative show on television.
2. Why The Duel II: Real World/Road Rules Challenge is the best sporting event to watch on television.
3. The Wire is the best fucking television show ever made, and here is why.
4. If Barack Obama had, instead of murdering that fly, cradled it in his hands like a butterfly and sagely carried it to a window to set it out into the world unharmed, our hippy heads would explode, and this is why.
5. I am apparently inconsiderate to the humans around me, but feel great emotional anguish whilst pulling weeds. Why?

I'm living back at home for the next month and a half before I go away to grad school and my mother has a big screen tv and a garden. That's why. No need for further explanation.

I'll be back soon. Sorry.