and the results are in

fig. 1: the culprit

Amazingly, Jeano, who was not even in the same state on the day of the bloody-runny poop incident, has been voted as the culprit. Thought the apartment inspectors came in a close second. I didn't vote. I was too busy Resolve'ing the carpet and burning sandalwood-scented candles.

This weekend's forecast is snow mixed with icy rain--a wintry mix, sounds delicious--and this morning the B sent off the second-to-final edits of the book to printer. We won't see it for a few months, which is awesome. Know how you read and read something and then you get to a point where you are physically unable to read it anymore and all the words blur and you get a massive migraine at 10 a.m. Friday at work and you have to put your head down on your desk for twenty minutes? Yeah. I didn't even read my own thesis this closely--of course, there is a difference between 64 pages of poetry and 144 of prose--and that's why on page 15 of something singed you'll find a big blank page! It must be for autographs.

Aside from that, and some recently cut long bangs, not much is happening here. I love this idea. B and I keep making fun of those people who go onto iTunes and write scathing reviews of the free download of the week. Maybe if you call us we'll turn on speakerphone and re-enact it for you. Otherwise, you should check out Square America, which my brother passed along to me. My favorite, which he knew it would be, is the party.

This is actually what every single photo in my parents' album from 1973-1977 looks like, except that they only had two black friends.