rock over London. rock on, Chicago.

I have three days off. thank you, big guy in the sky. and Mar is visiting Charlottesville tomorrow. I am pumped, I haven’t seen Mar in, what. four months?

jesus christ. just give Canada back one of its hockey teams already.
the Phoenix Coyotes are filing for bankruptcy. whatever the minutae may turn out to be, there is one overarching reason that this has happened: no one gives a fuck about hockey in Phoenix. 
now I may not know much – I’m not long in this world, after all — but it just so happens that I’m an amateur Canada expert because the guy I sit next to at work is has dual US/Canadian citizenship. and is more of one or the other when it suits him. choose a team, pal.
hilarious, I know. but does anyone doubt that Ontario will fall on that team like starved men on a bucket of chicken? they will eat that shit up. give Canada back the Winnipeg Jets.

why am I still up? what kind of marathon am I running here? I’ve got shit to do tomorrow, I need to be asleep.
there is a large truck outside on Avon Street about four doors down across the way. it is idling, loudly, and if I can hear it, know that half the block can, too. the engine is whining, like something is charging up, or about to snap. not what you fall asleep to. but I’m going down anyway.