DON'T FORGET WHO YOU WANNA BE

The second I eat cheese, a previously banned substance, I become energized like a Popeye (he is now an archetype, ladies and gentlemen) and I seem to get everything done. Perhaps cheese is the great motivator. The hair to my Samson. I am Samson and productivity is the Philistine. I will smite thee.

I just put on a Foot Ox record so loud it is hurting my ears. But it is good that way. The good thing about living in my parent's garage is that I don't have to adhere to the normal societal decibel range. I can put on a Foot Ox record and play it loud at 4:45 in the morning because I live in the garage, and your rules do not lie in this jurisdiction.

Last night I had this dream that I was in a movie with Tattoo from fantasy island, but in the dream he was not a midget (a term he preferred, mind you) but a massive giant. A giant sailor. In the movie, I was a deck-hand on his modest water craft. In between shoots, I was dead set on  capturing a tiny duckling -- one of many that were scattering the grassy movie lot. When I caught one, I held it tightly in my hands. In self-defense, the duckling turned itself inside out and rearranged its bones into the shape of a shark, with razor sharp teeth, bloody.