n'est pas

My mom has this annoying habit of pointing out exactly what's in the kitchen that I can maybe eat for breakfast or for lunch, and she does it to the nth detail- because god knows I'm incapable of going into the kitchen and maybe finding out for myself. That in itself is not so annoying as the fact that she talks over whatever I am trying to watch on television. I have a minimum amount of crap cable programming to catch whilst I am on vacation, learning about cereal varities on the side is not helping me achieve said minimum. Here's an idea- why don't you just tell me what to avoid eating such as hey don't touch the cinnamon rolls they are made with a thin level of arsenic. And also: love.
Oh man, Atlanta was pretty nice. I keep saying next time I'm going to get a hotel room and a rental car, thereby freeing up my need to be in constant nomad-mode. But I never seem to have enough money for such swank digs as...the highland inn. I guess. I had my first mjq-related hangover in over a year, missed Battles (even though I heard it sold out), watched Decatur dump a stupid amount of sand onto the street in what was either the set-up for the beach party or the beginning of an absurdist performance art piece, went bike riding with the moms at callaway, and lots of other stuff including a lovely bookstore opening and a field trip across the tracks (no, literally) to procure cigarettes. Now I'm back at my office, in my office, in Las Vegas and let me tell you. I've been flitting (A flying with lightness and celerity; a fluttering) from creative director to creative director all day trying to tie up loose vacation ends and whoring myself out to other projects.
My camera is broken so I didn't take any pictures. Oh, frown.