my neighbor gave me athlete's foot. and other pedestrian bones of contention. . .

practically a month passes by and this is what i have to report? well. . . yes.

i am different now than i was in the past. how can i tell you ask? consider the following: i use to work events on the production crew which consisted of around 2+ straight weeks of work, ridiculously long hours, and lifting heavy awkward things. i survived with enough energy/drive/crazy to do it again. and again. and again. this year, howevers, i only worked 5 days of ze festival of folk music and i am just now, 3 days later, kinda coming to my rested, hurdy gurdy free senses. has my tolerance for bluegrass/folk/deedley dee music taken a sharp dive over the years? maybe. my appreciation for sleep and home time has most definitely steadily increased over those same number of years. file under 'positive life change.'

and while we are at it, file please the following grievance under 'tell me this is a temporary (read: curable) life change.' ok, so i don't know for sure if my amateur diagnostic is dead on or not, but i swear the skin on my toes were not peeling before i moved into this place. i share a bathroom with 4 other residents and god help me i swear i am the only one not raised in a barn, or whatever structure of origin where it is not just accepted but extolled to get the bath mat completely soaked after showering. the bath mat has come, slowly over the course of the past year of my residence here, to take on the appearance of a square, blue, low nap petri dish. this is, needless to say, gross. and what am i to do about this biological aberration? well, throwing it in the wash comes to mind first and foremost. but that would require wrestling my righteous sense of indignation to the grown and coughing up the monies for the $1.50 wash + $1.25 dry. a mighty match indeed. until the outcome of that battle is announced, i shall spend my time soaking my feet in a home made* concoction of approx 4 - 5 pH whilst sharpening my dagger eyes for the next time i espy those who share my general address.

on a side note, in an earlier email to friend, i fully typed the word 'dude' into the 'to' box. my friend's name did not come up. does my gmail not understand me when i speak in slangy reference to my buddy? me thinks gmail is due for another upgrade. . .

until then, best to you all.

*oh yeah, 'homemade,' according to the internet, equals either A) apple cider vinegar or B) urine. presumably human.

greatest invention already thought up

following a remedial online search, I came to discover that my brilliant idea has already been acted upon by others more electronically capable than I. readers, may I introduce to you sheer manifested genius: the bookmark-dictionary. it's brilliant, useful. no more having to lug around that dusty tome of a webster. you don't even have to put your own book down. short of having your own personal assistant on hand whose sole purpose in life as a personal assistant is to bestow accurate, up to date definitions on demand, this is the proverbial shit. it's the one feature on those disagreeable palm ebook things that make me pause and consider handing over my hard earned money and taking one of those paperless paperbacks for a spin.
the only thing that could make it better is if the entire gadget, and not just the keypad portion of it, fit within the pages. perhaps a few more technological advances are in order. or just a more thorough google search.

post script
I just read a bunch of reviews about the item pictured above, none of them very good. apparently the word selection is as remedial as my initial research. so until the word count of the product expands inversely to the thickness of it, I be double fisting it literary style with a novel in one hand, dictionary in the other.