Ah, the helplessness of the old. I would feed upon your pitiful mewlings like a leech but it would annoy me too much.

I believe I have been reading James Joyce with far too much intensity lately. I can see the blind cords hanging like nooses, to choke from me the breath of life and creativity like grasping fingers around my throat.

....
Aw, fuck. It's late, I'm tired, and I'm in no mood to put the laptop away. It's shiny, I tell you. SHINY!!!

Ladies and gentlemen (and my friends), this is what happens when I blog from Connecticut. I love Connecticut. I'm going to marry it and keep it in my pocket along with Nathan Lane and the Lord of the Rings.

Because I have Ian McKellan and Elijah Wood in my pocket. Don't you wish you did? But they're mine, all mine, and you can't have them! Get your dirty mitts offa my pockets!

What'sss that, my precioussss? We wantsss Russssel Crowe, too? But there'sss no room for hisss ego, my precioussss, no room in my pocketsesss.