Home in Buffalo for Thanksgiving… more soon. Until then, if you’re extremely bored, you can read about my Thanksgivings past: 2001; 2002. The best was probably 2000, wherein Amanda and I chased the Macy’s parade around New York so we could take a picture of the Bullwinkle balloon for Patrick. Anyhow, happy Thanksgiving. Think happy, thankful thoughts.

Is it just me, or is this a little weird?

Goonies Forever: “Urban exploration is a simple idea, much like exploring a rural area — woods, forest preserves, mountains — only in a city environment instead. And no, it’s not exploring your local behemoth of a mall. It means finding an abandoned, usually off-limits area and poking around, seeing what’s left, getting a feel for the history of the place. It allows you to see a world or experience something you may never have seen.” (on Gapers’ Block)

What the music industry can learn from a successful subway musician. Incidentally, the writer of this article says he makes more per hour playing in the NY subway than he does as a journalist. This frightens me. (In the Washington Monthly)

For 10 days, I tried Writing One (Usually Fictional) Thing Per Day. I made myself sit down at my computer and write something for ten straight minutes. This effort was in the same vein as the following efforts:

–Run Three Miles Per Day
–Bike to Work
–Practice Guitar
–Take Dance Class
–Read Proust

The above efforts have failed. The Write One (Usually Fictional) Thing Per Day effort has not necessarily failed… but… well…: Excerpts from a good effort gone bad.

Just found out that a girl I was friends with in modeling school (way-back-when, junior year of high school) is now in Iraq. I shall write her a letter.

I always thought my mom was crazy for crying when she read the newspaper… this made me cry today…. The Angel of Anacostia: “Time is flying by, the way it does when you’re a teenager and you don’t even notice its swift passing, the way it does when you’re the Anacostia Indians and you’re trailing late in the game yesterday, with a playoff berth and the memory of your slain teammate on the line. The clock is ticking away on your season. And then you see her. Oh, lord. Devin Fowlkes’s mom is on the sidelines now with her cowbell…. Marita Michael, Devin’s mom, stands alone near the end zone, waiting to hug the Indian who brings her a touchdown. But it never comes. Eastern High gets the playoff spot instead with an 18-2 victory.” (washingtonpost.com)