윤

Still waiting for this theme song to be played over the end credits, because that’s the sort of thing fans’ll eat up.阿嬤 didn’t seem to mind watching the boy for an unprecedented three hours, so we decided to wait on the next show at the mall. Summer’s growing ever so dumber, a new element with just the right shininess to solve RDJ’s latest tragedy is synthesized from a “puzzle” that’d been staring at him his whole life, the celebrity superhero addition with her own 7-Eleven cup only gets to show off on security guards and when my drink condenses, and an enemy who’s got your number all along forgets you can fly away from a self-destruct sequence. There’s not even any traffic stoppage on the freeway after a NYC suburb is turned into a war zone. So yeah, not quite a III (X-Men, Spider-man, Godfather), but no way a II (The Dark Knight, Empire, Led Zeppelin). At least it wasn’t Sex in the City 2.

Last night I dreamed I was in one of several maternity wards at the hospital for the birth of our child—not the same hospital, but a hospital; in fact, it wasn’t necessarily even the child we had. Maybe, I got to thinking today, it was a child we had in another reality. Or could all these dreams be Lost-like purgatories? In many of them I do seem to be searching for 老婆. A long time ago I woke up to this kooky idea that once a year we somehow manage to “sync” with an object of your affection (or in the absence thereof, lust) and enter their actual dreams, so you’d better make the most of the opportunity. Assuming you realize it’s one.

The times they certainly are a-plenty of them, and I thought I might use the opportunity to implement one here, too, transferring everything to X’s beta site, but even that undertaking, involving a WordPress reinstall and possible theme re-tool, proved too much for my diminishing drive.

Oh, I’d been tempted to update, especially with developments like these——not to mention some trademark quips about the Lost finale, but forums sufficed. So let’s fire her up again, and hope that my brain doesn’t go the way of my car battery (which I wrestled with for an hour last night before giving up trying to get past the starter and left crud under my fingernails I couldn’t completely wash out to burp and change the baby; other parents want theirs to be doctors, lawyers, President, and I’d be happy with an auto mechanic).