So I been: digging for compost and manure, turning that under in 30 foot beds, creating new piles of manure and compost, visiting past and future graves, crawling under electrified fences, measuring out chicken pens, using the Pythagorean Theorem, planting peas and spinach, transplanting various cabbages flowers beets and broccolis, drinking Bud Light, punning, stealing eggs, pounding stakes, wheel-hoeing trenches, building cloth snakes, wheelbarrowing, and scratching. Lots of scratching.

But New Hampshire and light manual labor are great--even though I passed out by seven on the first day of work, even though I was rather sore for a few days--it looks like a great way to pass a few weeks this summer, somehow, and I was relieved that the efbeeeye did not show up. Skaren and her folks are great--cheerful and welcoming and the exact opposite of what whitey is, somehow, even if Skaren is currently writing a book about ancient Greek for Christian students hoping to read the Septuagint, which, I will point out one last time this week, was divinely translated by a crew of 70. In many ways the past week felt like an RPG: perform request tasks, accumulate knowledge and expertise with various implements, pay attention to what other people say closely for clues, gain experience and level up, defeat evil boss at the end and bring light to the land again

I swang by Boston on the way home, in part my Golden's party--his girl is rather old, but charming--but I also dropped by the Signet, which was depressing, as so little had changed--well, Nathan being the same is not a real problem--it would be too disorienting for him to be any different--any less smelly, any less moochy, any less lecherous, any less blind. But it was just a bit disturbing to be sitting in a room of upper-middle-and-up white kids (really, kids, and yes, some cute in that twinky way, but pretentious artistic voids) so fucking concerned about making art. The self-absorption of it all... and yet that was my routine every week just two years ago. Perhaps it's not surprising that I felt for the first time a real regret at some of my foolishnesses as a kid in college. Kid, really.

I jetted back to New York by bus, and did the entire in-Chinatown-but-going-to-Queens-only-to-be-stuck-there-waiting-for-Joephet-to-go-back-to-Essex-for-some-stupid-alcoholic-brunch-with-fags. This was a change from New Hampshire, which frankly were probably the least libidinous four days (my Counter ratcheted up all the way to 5) in my post-pubescent life. Sadly, Pearl River is closing, or at least my preferred seedy branch, and there are no pink iPod protectors at the Apple Store. Or, at least none in stock.

As if the past two days weren't jam-packt enough, there was Alric and a decent rendition of Hellboy and Thai food with the gang last night--looks like his days in his current apartment are numbered, but then again, so might mine. Shit. July 1st is not that far off. I better start lookin.