Let's try this again

Been trying to get a post up. It isn't hard, after all. It shouldn't be at least. But lo, I am King Fuck-Up. For me, all things are possible.

I wonder if there's anyone you can pay to have the last three characters shaved from your title.

But anyways, I was going to say some things about my trip to Cape Cod, but various things, including friends popping up to hang out because apparently the one weekend I was gone just happened to be the one they wanted to hang out with me, trying to find the business card with the number of the dude from the temp agency so that I can oh I don't know ACTUALLY GET A FUCKING JOB. Numerous failed attempts to get blogger to work for me, and my personal favorite, my computer getting infected with some sort of fucked up virus.

But anyways, I'm here now. I'm tempted to talk about Ann Coulter. Her comments about 9/11 widows are not shocking in the least given that her shit has always been redshifted even in comparison to the Bush Administration, and their thinking man Karl Rove said in so many words that New Yorkers want to give comfort to terrorists, as Pia has often noted.

I could go on and on about her but honestly I think we all know all the words. Well maybe you don't know all of my words. The jist of it is that I would take a spiteful, malicious delight in watching her suffer. The details I'll keep to myself.

But Cape Cod. Interesting place. It's a quaint drinking village with a bit of a sailing problem, or so went the T-shirt that I recieved from a relative who I doubt read the printing on it before picking it out. Rained for two days, sunny for the third. But all that is scenery, of course.

The thing about there being large spaces between family reunions is that it heavily favors the younger generation. We remember everything about the older folks, but all of their knowledge of us is dated. Being probably the most changed since last encounter of the group, I had the advantage. And yes I absolutely think of it in those terms.

Got to spend a lot of time with the small chilluns. I was accidentally called "uncle" once. Loved it.

Hung out with the next oldest there, who I hadn't seen in a while. She's studying engineering and is basically absolutely brilliant. We talked music for a bit, and as it turns out our tastes show significant overlap. Never expected that she'd like The Mars Volta as much as me.

Martha's Vineyard is a lovely place where you get off a boat and about seventy people try to rent you Jeeps or mopeds. Except they're not really mopeds. "Moped" is a word whose definition a lot of people have fucking forgotten, and really it's a damned shame. For those of you playing along at home, a moped has pedals in addition to a motor. Anything else is a scooter or a motorcycle.

Anyways, fun times.

Oh! I ran into a friend from Chicago in the streets of Hyannis. I thought I recognized her, but I was certain that I was mistaken. So I took of my hat and sunglasses and let her make the first move.

Patrick, is that you?

Christina? How the hell are you?

I'm good. What are you doing here?

This is my state, so do you think maybe you stole my question?

Small world.

I absolutely know that I had more to say, but as is often the case I'm drawing a blank because it took me so fucking long to put this up.

Stay classy, all. I'll catch you tomorrow