I have decided that Saint Augustine (est. 1565), "the nation's oldest city", may conceivably be compared to Chernobyl. So extremely high are the levels of tedium in this ancient Spanish port that they cause lethargic neurons in the human brain to actually fuse and explode, an unfortunate reaction creating great swathes of dull brown clouds formed by bored and aimless negative atoms that can only be measured with the most powerful of Geiger counters.
This is probably more than you need to know - although this is a blog so what the Hell - but since arriving at this tiresome destination, my daily regimen has been reduced to eating numberless quantities of figs washed down with gallons of strong, black iced-coffee, then balancing on the toilet in the lotus position, evacuating my bowels for hours on end in Buddha-like serenity.
Consequently, while domiciled in this historic Floridian backwater, I have not been able to spend as much time as I would like responding to remarks made on previous posts here, or reading other people's blogs and commenting on the contents there. Don't worry, normal service shall be resumed soon-ish.
I know that the topic of love appears rarely in your posts and when it does it serves well your skewering purposes. But this, another post about the charms of Saint Augustine, and these charms being comparable to Chernobyl, can only mean one thing.
You must be in love. The real kind of love. The love that has you skipping through this quaint town, a song soon to be set free from your lips.
This is marvelous. Where should I be sending the flowers to?
Posted by: DarkoV | May 27, 2005 at 20:14
I'm in Birmingham. Alabama. Got you beat, dude.
Posted by: Quicquid | May 27, 2005 at 20:55
We'll do fine here, Stephen, exchanging trifling irrelevancies and non sequiturs, regardless of whether you say anything or not.
You might wish to provide refreshments, though.
Posted by: Bleak Mouse | May 28, 2005 at 00:09