Strange dreams that I can only vaguely remember: something about Josh Hartnett floating naked in an indoor swimming pool, and me without a remote control. The attic people who seek to get married, but when they go to the shore to contemplate the future together, find that with the receding tide there are park benches of tormented souls who are periodically jolted by a monkey from the Planet of the Apes in pretty multicolored bolts of monkey-electricity. I need to get a dental checkup, too.

I may be getting mired in ethnic literatures, meanwhile. Which again, would help, as I feel more and more the plight of the HAPI (heterosexual Asian/Pacific-Islander, which is a delightful acronym, as surely they are anything but). Something ought to be done about that, and I would be interested to see what the latest takes in fiction might be...

And now the rain is falling, which means that for the first time in memory it is actually not Beer Garden weather, which is tragic, but OK, as most of the neighborly crew are elsewhere. I think a Mandy Moore expedition with Lex is quite overdue, to learn How to Deal. Not feeling lackluster in general, but not been in a blogging mood. Maybe because my contentment of late is rather private...