"Ernest Hemmingway once said, 'The world is a fine place and worth fighting for.' I agree with the second part."

I am finished.
A hellish weekend spent completely obliterated, this empty bottle of local wine marks the end of an era. By the beginning of November, it will all be over; no more mascara stains on pillows, no more haunting memories, no more fucked up "anniversary's". I am finished.

And I already have a head start. I dug out my mini composition book scrawled with pending recipes. Today's attempt: Pumpkin Spice Latte.

Heat milk, pumpkin, and spices on stove, add vanilla extract and more spices, throw it in the blender, dump in the coffee, and -POW!- you have a sink full of dirty dishes.

But it is chock full of deliciousness. And now that I have so much pumpkin and spices leftover, my next project to bring in this November right, and perhaps to kickoff a new era: Pumpkin Pie.

Whipped cream anyone?

"...the World, the Universe."

Cigarettes burning, smoke exhaled, curling around my nostrils, stale and ashen. I breathe the spiced scent of my neighbor's addiction from the deck outside my living room windows. I adopt a second-hand habit, perhaps to distract from my own addictions, or rather withdrawals.

Facing a wall of torn, faded covers I leaf through the tattered, bent pages of scribbled notes in margins and underlined phrases.

"What was after the universe? Nothing."


Relapse. Novels, plays, short stories, epic poems; I dive into the unspoken genius of classic literature long avoided through recovery from academic exhaustion.

And I can't get enough. I want to read and reread everything, I want to study, to analyze, to write, and all without the pressure of a syllabus. Joyce, Browning, Wilde, they all beckon me, inviting me to taste each delicious page, and devour every word.

To further my craving, I was attracted by a brief article in The New York Times on a current exhibition. Steve Wolfe on Paper reproduces timeless books and vinyls to, in a sense, preserve weathered classics after generations of use... an inspiration to us all.

We Are...

Restless sleep, twisted sheets flapping madly against tireless legs. Maybe he'll be early.

I kick the blankets from my bed, stirring through the still darkness of a way too early morning. How cold is it gonna be? Will it rain? Which socks should I wear? Should I take -

Excited thoughts streaming, interrupted by light tapping on my apartment door.

...

"Here, you better hold on to these."

I hand the large, flat tickets to my dad as we trek the muddied lot of bored tailgaters pulling tight on their authentic fleeces, and past the drunken fans dressed in white and blue wigs. Up the hill to the tall silver gates, we soon enter into the greatest day of our lives.

PSU vs Eastern Illinois

EJ Row 1

touchdown pass

field goal

Blue Band