March 11, 2003

back to your regular scheduled blogging

I hate the news. I hate talking about the news. I hate that there is news. News sucks me in and makes me either 1) nervous or 2) mad. I don't want news anymore, I want olds. I want olds and only olds. I want to throw some 45s on the stereo, find some chocolate ice cubes in the freezer (am I the only one who remembers ice cubes, the chocolate frozen candy squares that I can't find anymore--someone please tell me where I can get these olds), put on my army pants (from the early 80s, when war seemed like something so old-fashioned that wouldn't have to deal with that messy shit again), and watch Soap. I'm sick of the news. I'm sick of the future. I'm going to go build a campfire in the past. Join me. If enough of us go there, there won't be any news to tell here, or anyone to tell it to.