If this journal seems more like a retrospective of my life than a diary it's because I have such an incredibly banal life here in the Athens of the South. I dare not bore you with too many anecdotes of my shopping expeditions or my excitement at finding I *did* wash my favorite grey shirt. Let's face it, my past is more interesting than my present. I'm not bad at extrapolating from the small to the large issue but even I can't mine the tiny moments of my life for much in the way of entries. I'm afraid you'll have to wait until I move to a different town for tales of wacky adventures in real life.
I do lie in bed at night thinking up great journal entries based on deep thoughts and extended heaviosity but, as you perhaps know from your own experience, those thoughts seem a trifle jejeune in the morning. I'm thinking about getting out my tape recorder, though. Who knows? Maybe those thoughts are worse in recall mode than in the heat of the conception. Anyway, I also want to start recording some images from my dreams because I have vivid and amusing dreams during which I think, "Dang, this would make a good graphic for my journal." Of course, I realize I'm likely to play back my recordings and hear myself excitedly babbling about the Spice Girls or something.
Speaking of them, I heard them singing on David Letterman last night. Oh, dear. Oh, dearie dear. They are awful. None of them can sing very well, although only one of them was actually off-key part of the time. It was karaoke gone horribly wrong. They're pretty cute, and they do nice energetic kicks, but if they're singers then I'm a cabbage. Well, well. Even Bananarama eventually taught themselves to sing. If the Spice Girls stay together long enough, they may, too.
Oh, and apropos of nothing, the University of Utah is interested in John. Salt Lake City hovers on the job horizon like a glittering, wavering mirage. Pray for me.