Swappin' Curdle

Journal entry featuring the limo driver who took us home from philly. Never asked his name, but that's because he was simply too interesting. Selling pet crocodiles, cooking catfish, prepping turtle soup. TUR-TULS!

The 2-Oh Biz-Ounce

Have been hooked by some of juiciest music to ever pass rattle through a brain.


Number One Draft Pick, fresh from the County Library Troves:

Afro ~Dizzy Gillespie and His Orchestra, best heard in surround sound whilst roaring through the Appalachians. If short on genuine Appalachia, it'll do nicely for any State Park of or above average splendor. Beat up station wagons preferred.



Interestingly enough, I spent approximately twenty minutes in a State Park last night, most of which was spent drawing scratchy sketches of swampy landscapeage. Really lovely-- a bit of Brandywine Creek I'd oft driven by but never experienced. Grassy tufts and graveled paths winding back. Several mountain bike assault squadrons hurtle by, a handful of hairy, bellows-shaped man bellies ambling along.

One large belly assures me that his dog's friendly and doesn't bite, just wants to play, just wants to smell me--as he and his hick-breathed posse cornered me. Big dog. Giant Rin-tin-tin type, slavering maw of decay poised inches from my tender baby Adam's apple, bearing his full hundred stone muscled frame against a genuine thick metal chain leash. Yes, one of the wider gage chains you might see at a hardware store, the type sold to foundries and, well, just foundries, really.

In the distant foliage, a foreign family went about discharging a series of firearms.


I enjoyed a pleasent drive back home.