Boognish on Rye

My housemate showed me a picture of sandwich he had in New York, salami on rye with deli mustard. It was obscene. A heart attack packaged and disguised as lunch. In a downtown diner one can devour the world with oversized bites, obliterating man’s sense of wonder, penetrating the spirit.
Actually, the sandwich looked pretty good. It’s important to get sanctimonious sometimes, I don’t really know why.

I’ve gotten hung up about the film Juno. A bee is in my bonnet and the buzzing is catapulting me into fits of hysteria- not the good, laughing sort of hysteria, but the bad other kind. The writer of the Oscar winning opus, is some young, hip Melvins fan who had an internet blog that took off which lead her to write a film that has captured the hearts and minds of people around the world. What a jerk.

My friend alerted me some similarities that I share with this woman, though, she didn’t need to. I saw the film. Mention the Melvins will you? Just to illustrate how devastatingly unoriginal my whole existence is. Thanks a lot.

Watching the band Ween live is like receiving JOY in liquid form, injected straight into the heart. Elation is truly underrated as an emotion, conventionally a fleeting, momentary state of being. I wouldn’t mind a bit more of that in my life, the good stuff. Although I’m not sure how everyone else would feel having a slightly off tap, almost creepy girl around, smiling at them ecstatically while she checks the mailbox in the morning.
Half way through Ween’s set I got hungry and thought about that salami sandwich. I wondered whether my housemate felt the same way about that meal as I did about Ween at that moment.
I hope so.