When I was seven or eight and I was upset about something and sitting out on the front porch of the Sleck house and Mrs. Sleck told me that I was insecure. I haven't quite gotten over that yet. This insecurity — which is oddly enough 不安-fu-an- in Japanese, the same feeling I claimed to be suffering from last month — has come up in many ways in the last week. I've decided that I don't want to be an asshole anymore which, unfortunately, means chucking a couple of things, the first being writing letters to Evangelical Christian musicians and calling them shams. No more of that; it's just not good for anyone.
I'm sure other things will follow.
This may mean I will write things that are largely uninteresting and full of shoe-gazing. Please, stop reading now.
Oh wait. Wait, wait. This is a lot of fun here. Me and Neal helped Jim put on a Thanksgiving feast this weekend and it all turned out really great. I took some pictures and in a spirit of sharing and thanks that we often associate with this holiday, I share them with you.
If that wasn't enough, Neal finally got me these pictures from September. As Pynchon wrote: "Fuck the war, we're in love."
