Solstice a'comin'...

Longtime readers of this marvelous little project know that this time every year, I am near manic and/or suffering from what I have termed “future melancholy” or “future nostalgia.”

Future nostalgia is the feeling that right now is as good as it’s going to get and that it’s all downhill from here. It keeps me from enjoying the moment. Right now isn’t so great, but it’s a hell of a lot better than I will feel six months from now, in the grips of seasonal depression.

Now couple that feeling with your mind racing from thought to thought like a hummingbird addicted to meth.

This morning I wondered how much more difficult tagless underwear makes life for blind people. (Sometimes it makes my life more difficult and I put them on inside-out and backwards. I haven’t put them on upside-down. Yet.)

And whether or not when my friend R* mentioned in a phone call Saturday that this was a lucky weekend, he meant “lucky” as in “I found a penny!” or “lucky” as in “I found a penny in there!”

And what is the exact moment to pick my latest tomato to ripen for optimum flavor. (Apparently, 7:01 AM today.)

And about how easy it would be to fix the “why Christians out to hate homosexuals” typo from a few posts ago, but I haven’t done it yet and that by the time I get around to it, my mind will have flitted onto something else.

All at virtually the same time.

After Thursday, the bright, shiny flitting will begin to decrease.

And the darkness will, bit by bit, begin to grow.

Is there some place on earth where it’s always the equinox?

* - R's neighbors listen to the kind of music found here, but as usual this time of year I digress.

Gayest Term Ever.

And, surprisingly, it comes from my stodgy, conservative, ultra-heterosexual friend Kevin Whited:

What in the world is so wrong with charcoal? I'm kind of a fan of the stuff, mess and inconvenience and all. That "20 to 30 minutes" of waiting is perfect for a drinky tink, after all.

There may be hope for the boy yet. :)

Narrowblogging.

One of my minions, a mister R Bryan Tyra, over the weekend (in between "Cooking With Children" and text messages reminding him "Hooray! Time 4 onanism!") asked me if the following thing indeed exists.

I assured him that it does.