1. Sunday, June 8, 2003

    ive been eating and eating and eating and eating. 

    im watching the two hour cubs yankees pregame show on espn classic. the audio is all messed up. theyll probably blame it on the rain.

    fine. blame it on the rain.

    it’s raining cuz the lord doesnt want sammy to play today cuz he doesnt deserve to, cuz cubs yankees regular season games are immoral. epecially at wrigley, the finest ballpark ever made.

    and especially at night.

    yesterday i got to hang out with alot of my old friends and today i get to watch a lot of my old heroes.

    im seeing sandberg and suttcliff, santo and banks, they just did this thing on harry.

    the cheesy broadcasters are getting rained on and the wind is blowing out just like the grand canyon, id do my laundry but i dont have a female companion.

    hey ladies.

    get. funky.

    did a big ass photo essay of love for you, in honor of the birthday boy, mr. jeff solomon, who made this computer that created these words and pictures, and who is one of the greatest men to walk the earth.

    it was a great party where i got to see long lost friends like debbie urlick and mr. todd francis, got to eat from the grill of steve coulter, and got to hang with the coolest people this side of the 101 freeway.

    chris made guacamole and she should have made five times the amount because everyone raved.

    everyone got along. jew and gentile. montague and bonaparte.

    they had told jeff that coulters bar needed to be moved from kims house so he came right over and we said suprise!

    got home drunk, fell asleep on the couch in a naked heap and woke up twelve hours later to high heels walking across the hardwood, a door open, and the same door slam shut.

    then i figured i’d write you.

    bing + jenny + trueboy + jaime + ymi + because of riley dog