  Yo La Tengo - Our Way to Fall Sipping nearly-frozen ice water from a frosted tumbler. Two halves of a Mexican lime, one floating, one sunk in deflated defeat at the bottom. Lingering light from yet another spectacle put on by the sun and summer day. Bryan took a macro shot of one of my roses in the amber ether that flooded the backdrop. Id plug in my digicam to show ya, but its downstairs, and Ill be damned if I have to walk up and down those stairs one more time than I have to. Too much walking and driving today sent my ankle into a fussy tantrum at the mall. Ill turn this car right around if you dont behave!
It sulked and went along with me. Needed some new threads to clothe my increasingly squishy body. Reminding my foot how bad its going to be when I return to my elliptical addiction at the gym seemed to shut it up for now. It could probably use some fizzy adult beverages to soothe its ache, but Im broke and a little burnt out on the whole idea of alcohol. The compulsory one glass of wine inevitably becomes the compulsory bottle of wine. And too, I have some writing to do tonight that requires more of my faculties than the usual drunken, bantering, self-indulgent monologue.
But some entertainment for my readers before I bow out for a spell to get to the more pressing tasks. Theres a short on the urlLink Coachella Independent Film Festival DVD called Scrapyard of Hope that both horrified and delighted me the other day. Warning: heavily dependent on your ability to stomach bad 80s television series. Ok, so bad is redundant. Enjoy, my pretties. urlLink 
