Currently Listening To: System of a Down, "Toxicity," and Meg Lee Chin, "Piece and Love." If you're curious, the Meg Lee Chin CD is probably the single coolest album Bill has ever turned me on to. I don't even know how to describe it without using all the cliches that make folks roll their eyes (is it techno? Industrial? Performance arty? None of the above? No clue here), but it's awesome. And extremely underrated, in that I've never heard anyone else mention it.

Currently Reading: A Field Guide to Demons (because it really pisses me off when I see a demon and I don't know what kind it is); David Brock, Blinded by the Right. I have no idea quite what to think when a well-known Republican attack dog suddenly turns around and starts biting the shit out of his owners (was he lying then or is he lying now?), but it's a helluva entertaining train wreck for someone who was raised on the Washington Times because Dad wouldn't allow the Post in the house.

Currently Pimping: Overlook. Unlike me, Bill's actually been updating recently.












Bunny! BUNNY!

We've started a new Sunday morning ritual. I subscribed to the Sunday edition of the Washington Post, and we take the paper down to the basement and spread out on the couch and the floor with coffee and blankets and cats everywhere.

Last Sunday while Bill was still asleep, I was hanging out in the basement and reading the paper. I happened to glance out the window and saw this cute little guy in our backyard, right under my porch swing. And I freaked. "Bunny! Bunny! Bunny!" I woke up Bill while I was running around the house looking for our camera. Mr. Bun held still long enough for me to take one grainy picture through the screen door, and then he took off for other pastures.

And yes, the grass was really high in that picture. And yes, we've mowed the stupid lawn since then. Leave us alone. We're still getting used to this whole "owning a yard" thing. On Tuesday Bill got one of those push-mowers that rolls around chewing up the grass powered only by elbow grease. I'd never before mowed a lawn in my life, but I kind of enjoyed pushing the mower around the backyard.

My first mowing job sort of looks like Freddy Krueger got in a fight with Edward Scissorhands that went many long rounds, but it's a start.

And, well. I'm afraid that The New House is still taking up about 95% of the focus of my waking life. I could babble on about it endlessly, but I'm self-conscious. I can recall too many instances when I'd listen to new homeowners talking nonstop about the yard and the plants and the bedroom and the move and the mortgage points and I'd be nodding politely while thinking I swear to God I'm going to put out my eardrums with goddam KNITTING NEEDLES if I have to hear ONE more thing about the-house-the-house-the-house.

And I don't want to put you nice people in that position.

So. How about that wacky weather we've been having? It's August one day and February the next! Pretty damn freaky, huh?

You're probably sick of hearing about that, too.

When I remember to bring the camera with me again, I'll have to start keeping a record of the Church Sign of Doom down the street from us. This church seems to have something invested in convincing Centrevillians that our houses are out to kill us.

"It's Fire Safety Week! Always Know Two Ways Out Of Every Room! Have Meeting Spots For The Family!"

"Do Not Lean On Window Screens! Screens Are Not Strong And Children Can Fall Out Of The Windows!"

And not so much as a single "Praise the Lord" as a reassuring followup. Alrighty then. We're eagerly anticipating the next warning. "Do Not Hold Scissors Out And Run Up The Stairs While The Upstairs Bathroom Is Flooding!" "Do Not Climb Out Onto The Roof With A Pogo Stick And Jump Off!" I'll keep you posted.

I'm not quite sure what to make of Centreville so far. As of yet, it doesn't appear to be overrun by the endless sardine-tin shopping centers that swarmed over our area of Herndon. (But yet there's a Starbucks within walking distance of our house.) It's only about 20 minutes from our old place, so it isn't as if we're completely cut off from the restaurants and stores we used to frequent. We haven't really gotten to know it yet, though. We live really close to a bowling alley, and I've seen signs for a used bookstore and an arty cafe and a neat-looking Thai restaurant and the like, so I think we'll be able to find new ways to entertain ourselves.

I'm tempted to call Centreville boring, but not in a bad way. I'm comparing it to our old neighborhood with its visits from random townhouse arsonists and graffiti-loving gang members, or that local "Drunken Vagrants 'R' Us" convenience store that you couldn't have paid me any sum of money in the world to walk by at night. Or during the day. Boring isn't really bad when you're moving up from Seventh Circle of Hell. It's nice to live on a street that doesn't get its own chapter in the local paper's crime reports.

Oh well.

I scared the hell out of myself today. I was randomly looking up stuff on the Web about Vincent D'Onofrio. On the bus on Tuesday night a couple in front of me was reading a section of the Washington Times that had an article about him, but the selfish SOBs turned the pages too fast for me to read it. Can you believe them?

He's someone I've always liked even though I'm going to remember him as That Guy Who Got Stuck Under A Subway Train in "Homicide" (ever since I saw that episode, I give the platform edges at the Metro a real wide berth). He probably holds a record for the most appearances in movies I didn't even realize he was in until years after I saw them.

And I don't really know that much about him, so I checked out a couple of sites. I clicked on one link and staring me right in the face was this picture:

Holy mother of God. It's a shot of him from "Full Metal Jacket." I think that definitely out-freaks the Jack Nicholson "Heeeere's Johnny!" shot from "The Shining."

So now it's my wallpaper at work. It's just begging to be captioned with something like "You Want It WHEN?"

The next entry.

Previously, in Insomniaville...

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