Flight of Fancy

Oh how the sea,
To you and me
sings a longing ecstasy.

Hey friends. I know it's been a while since we last talked. I didn't mean to neglect you . . . It'll never happen again. Or, it probably will, but it doesn't mean I love you any less.

Wow, a lot has happened since I posted last. After McCartney (and the confirmation that perhaps we really might be able to give peace a chance), I fled.

I don't know what from; maybe everything, or maybe nothing. All I know is that I jumped into Artie, and sped off after a dream. Following were a night of satisfaction, a day of joy, a night of terror, a day of bliss, a night of despair, a day of anxiety, and a night of relief.

My birthday was gear. We saw Inception at a drive-in, which brought back a childhood euphoria that I haven't felt in YEARS. It was a funny way to kick off my entrance into (what I feel to be) the real realm of adulthood. My doll of a coworker called these my "salad years." When I inquired as to what he meant, he simply replied, "You know, fresh!"

I'm dismayed by how little I read this summer, but I've seen more movies than you can shake a stick at. I've become a zombie-movie connoisseur, a die-hard Woody Allen fan, and a sucker for indie films. Micmacs, Into the Wild, and 28 Days Later are probably some of the most beautiful movies ever made.

Sir Macca's Meat-Free Monday campaign has renewed my enthusiasm for vegetarianism. Go veg!

Ich liebe dich. Je t'aime. Yo te amo. I love you.