He'd just always wanted a hearse, he said.
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U.L. and I like to take Sunday drives, after dinner, each week. There's no rush to this ritual. We enjoy a long dinner with the rest of the family; we gossip, we share news (even the made-up News, an old habit we used to do when I was younger, that's found some way to stick, even to this day). What you do is, you mute the TV, you guess at what's being said by looking at the graphics, and then you tell your version. It was quite a shock, for instance, when I realized that Bush had actually been re-elected, and even greater still,...
I can't believe I'm blogging.
But, then, is that really true? Aren't we all, deep down, deliciously wanting to be voyeurs, without a court trial attached; those always take up so much time. What we want is to break a law and get away with it. That's all blogging is, really, an acceptably broken law; windows made of words for the rest of us Peeping Toms to look at. Nobody minds it; no, instead, it's encouraged. Besides, isn't there something just too alluring about showing a little "skin" to the Peeping Toms, to the entire web-viewing world about how you feel, on any particular subject: racism, nudity, Republicans, orange juice,...
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