So many things to write about.

And such little time. I know I was somewhat lame this weekend, but in my defense, I've been running around like mad for the last few days. I haven't hardly seen my family, let alone my computer.

So, now that I've gotten that out of the way, I've gotta say "gawwwwd damn, I love seeing the ladies when it's warm out." I went out to the 500 Club last night, and everywhere I looked there were cute little honies running around wearing little tiny outfits. As it's the Mission, they're not necessarily skanky, which is also nice.

I've also spent a good deal of the past few days reading. Mind you, in this instance, it's not exactly "pleasure" reading -- I am finishing reading the last book I haven't read yet that I'll be using for my thesis. In reading this book, which was first published in 1916, I've come to realize something: Henry Ford can suck my ass. Yeah, I know our beloved "Captain Assembly Line" is an American icon, and I honestly tip my hat to the man's ingenuity, but for all the benefit everyone has reaped from the automobile and its mass production, he's damned us all too. For those of you reading outside the Bay Area, let me first explain that I filled up my gas tank today. It cost me $73.75. That's a nice dinner. For all the talk I do about drinking and living it up, I realize that I probably spend more on my car in any given month than I do on myself or going out.

So what about this book? Well, it's all about a road trip from New York to Indiana. It doesn't sound like much, and honestly, reading with a modern eye, it isn't much of a book in the end. But this book is sort of what got the ball rolling for all these people who want to travel the country and write the great American novel upon their return home. I once entertained this fancy for a brief while. I still want to travel a hell of a lot more within the US, but at the way gas prices are going these days, I can't hardly afford to get out of the Bay Area, let alone the state. In the other books I've read, there has been some sort of compelling or interesting occurrences going on around the journey - be it romance, recreational drug use, or just a whole lot of sociopolitical landscape. This is just a couple of guys driving from spot to spot, and writing about and drawing pictures of the towns they pass through. Now I am dragging Ford into this for a very specific reason: he made things affordable for motorists. In these early road novels, you had to be someone just to have access to a car. Nowadays, for anyone who has driven in the last year, you all know people can't drive for shit anymore. The time of this book was an era when driving was like an Olympic sport. And I'm not talking racing either, just the act of keeping your car straight ahead and on the road, even at five miles per, was really something. Now we have cars that can parallel park themselves. It makes me sick.

You'll have to excuse me if I seem to be tip-toeing around and through this topic, but it's all kind of half-formed in my head, and at this late hour, I'm not especially coherent. Maybe I'll sleep on it and see if I can come up with a more cogent addendum tomorrow afternoon.