VIRB

A big "thank you" to Reynard and Raz for hosting the Fourth of July. I got there early (by crowd standards) and stayed late (by my standards), but it was a solid good time. I rather quickly run out of small talk these days. I'm not quite as topical as I once was; this could be from lack of learning new things or lack of caring. I need to check the best-sellers, brush up on my Boing Boing, get used to the advent of not requiring copious small talk.

There was a perfect Fourth of July in there somewhere. It involved a certain someone, a good hill to watch fireworks, the top down on the "momvertible" (thank you, Rob). I spend half of my time in the little Norman Rockwells painted on the inside of my forehead. I'm an artist. I could blame part of the Fourth of July fantasy on the Rentals' song "This Must Be Wrong." Although to be fair, as much as it idealizes an Independence Day evening, it is called "This Must Be Wrong."

I could be in San Francisco right now. This must be mentioned, if only because I've been saying it over and over for the last few days -- how I cancelled my trip -- and by saying it now, I'm exorcising the running commentary. I was going to go there for an intensive job hunt. I was going to be talking to people, but all of the prospects fell through. Etcetera. I cancelled my trip just after discovering that I was getting a mid-year bonus at work, and just before finding out I was getting a raise and a promotion. The job's been a bore for the last several months -- that's for sure. Can money make it better? Can it make me feel more appreciated? I for sure can't say at this point, but I'm going to give it the benefit of the doubt. This seems as much like things coming together as I could imagine right now.

Let's see what the weekend brings.