Of course, touring the covered bridges of Lancaster, Pennsylvania, is traditionally done on scooters.

• What is my real attitude toward technology and the hazy future of mankind?
• Would knowing that future change my opinion?
• Can moral systems really work on a universal scale? 
• Why did Puccini have to die in the middle of writing Turnadot?  I cannot help but feel that the second and third act would be as tremendous as the first if he had.
• How does one approach the new year? A mere human calendar the world subscribes to?  If anything, I feel that gives the idea so much more beauty.  How little is shared superficially between us—yet our concept of time is linear and accepted.  We all share the notion of the possibility of change, but our reaction to that possibility can reveal so much more than we typically dare.
• With only so many months left to live on a continent that is not my own, what comes next? Back to America, I suppose—a land that I am not sure is my own anymore than the next.  I have not made this country my own, but I like to think that I will take away from it the ancient feel of its land, a sense of the effect of our human existence upon the earth in a way that has not yet been found in what seems always virgin soil, a second away from tilling the perfect seed.
• “I want to loaf,” Larry says is Maugham’s The Razor’s Edge, and for a second, for a brief weekend, I know exactly what he means, my mouth full of tongue-in-cheek and all.
• The books around me annihilate me—my word of the year is “Evolve”. 
• The next question will be unanswered for a determined amount of time.
• Look where Death is looking and perhaps you may find something to see.

Posted without comment.

My attempt to become one of the shades.

I’d like to say that I’ve been storing up massively important thoughts, writing wonderful poetry, or on the brink of another idea to leave me catatonic for the next few days, but the truth is that between work and vacations, I’ve been left little time to think outside of the extreme alcoholic haze of Mediterranean vacations or the blur of work.

Still, I promise that my meathead and party days are slipping away, just as summer is, and I am grateful to remember the ridiculous moments just as much as the profound ones.  GPOY in favor of relishing the memories of the days when all was carefree and I was lucky enough to enjoy it.

I swear I’ll talk pretty and smart next time.  

And, as a word of advice, when you’ve left to party, leave it all behind and buy a wig.  You won’t regret it.