inside the golden days of missing you

With the people of Cleveland, who've suffered for so many years. (D. Berman, 1996)

But it's okay, I know you'll be back on Sunday, I probably should've written this post a few days ago when the feelings were more acute. Better late than never, yes?

Busy day at work today, brief review for Monday's statistics final, followed by lunch at Freebirds with Emily, who came into town today to help Luke move out with those big strong arms of hers. A nice, lazy afternoon before a (presumably) long evening of Hildreth, drinking, reminiscing, and drinking. Maybe I can live in an alcoholic haze until your arrival Sunday night. I promise to knock it off if it begins to resemble a fugue state too closely.

In other news, can someone tell me if "pies" means something besides the tasty post-prandial? I've been listening to Wiley's song of the same name (it's awesome, he's like Dizzee Rascal's rastafarian cousin) after seeing it mentioned on head Mountain Goat John Darnielle's excellent site (I think calling it a blog would be degrading in some way) Last Plane to Jakarta. Who ate all the pies? Wiley did, and he doesn't mind telling you so.

now playing: "Palmcorder Yajna," the Mountain Goats