The box of wine I hauled up the hills of SF to get to my apartment, is starting to turn. I'll have nothing more to drink than the fluid of sorrow from my blisters.

On another note, in my pursuit to become the foremost C. Bale Scholar and win a MacArthur Genius grant, I watched The Machinist last night. In the words of a certain Christopher Walker, "Wowy wow wowza." It's like Memento where you are just as much in the dark as the character is, but better. I was incapable of movement after watching it, but that could have also been the post-orgasm effect too.

wtf, the grapes I'm muching on have also turned...single people probably shouldn't buy in bulk. That's probably my one and only motivating factor to settle down and shoot out a genetic recombination of me and some douche bag - so I can shop at Costco every week and puruse the aisles and get high on the deeply discounted bulk treasures. "Is this a 20lb slab of Brie for $7 dollars? By god I must have it."