Thanks for the break, C. Chavez.

Long weekends from away from work seem to come at just the right time. Madera is all kinds of beautiful, and I'm still eating handmade tortillas.

Today: My "awesome" afternoon left me bustling to Rhett Miller's solo show with hamburger residue and sea salt in my hair and with nothing but Busby in tow. As usual, he failed to disappoint, and I'm left with no words but his:

Breathe and you are strong
All the barriers are gone
Let it carry us somewhere unreachable
I would never hurt you
Baby my virtue has proven itself unimpeachable

Let's just say

There are those long days
There is this dumb luck
There is a brand new way opening up

Streets, buildings and cars
Faraway stars
My fingers move over the borderline
Breath and you're the stranger
There is no danger
You'll fall into that rogue right hand of mine

There are those long days
There is this dumb luck
There is a brand new way opening up

Skin all over you
I'm a worrier it's true
I came over to cushion your breakables
Breath and you are stronger
You don't have to wander
You know my conviction's unshakable

Let's just say

There are those long days
There is this dumb luck
There is a brand new way opening up

There are these long nights
There is this good luck
There is a brand new way opening up

Opening up.

A special treat for those that made it to the end of those lyrics:

Peter dressed as Max, the Grinch's dog, for Christmas.

My face is really asymmetrical. It's something that's been mildly irritating to me my whole life. I don't mind seeing my face straight on, and I'm fine with my left side, but I can't stand seeing myself from the right. Left side? Normal human being. Right side? Alien chipmunk. My brother had an accident a few years ago that permanently messed up one side of his face, and people say we look a lot more alike now. Nice.

Due to three recent but completely unrelated incidents, I now have a small scar on the left side of my nose, bruises and scrapes all down my left side, and a little chunk out of the top of my left foot. My right side remains completely unscathed.

Huh.

Beware the Ides of March!

Today. A good day to reflect on that ever so delicate balance between ambition and community. A good day to let the question that sits patiently on the outskirts of your consciousness slip into focus, creating discomfort, creating panic:

Who am I without a friend in the world?

Et tu, Bruté?

Tell me yourself, I challenge you - answer. Imagine that you are creating a fabric of human destiny with the object of making men happy in the end, giving them peace and rest at last. Imagine that you are doing this but that it is essential and inevitable to torture to death only one tiny creature - that child beating its breast with its fist, for instance - in order to found that edifice on its unavenged tears. Would you consent to be the architect on those conditions? Tell me. Tell me the truth.