getting burned

i'd really love for this blog to be a space where i sit at my keyboard and spin fantastic webs of light. i'd love for my words to jump off the page and rattle around in some fellow's brain until they bust a hole in his ventromedial prefrontal cortex, short-circuiting his laissez-faire let-it-be morality, shaking him from his apathy, making him high with the possibility of some greater purpose. but i'm neither prophet nor poet. i'm the anti-dillard--i fill space with preposterous commentary, not meaningful echoes of the sublime. truth is a dreamy-eyed hermit who visits me in secret; she rummages through my cupboards, raids the fridge, and occasionally i catch sight of her coat as she runs through the backyard grass and into the trees. yes, these posts are mostly about grammar, sports, and cooking, but perhaps one day i'll stumble upon her yellow plastic hood bobbing in the rain. until then, i'll be that guy with a holeless brain.

(this itsy-bitsy paragraph was loosely inspired by two burned fingers, a few months of richard dahlstrom's preaching, the blue road, and the book of hebrews...i'd say more about that, but i only have one and a half hands to type.)

andrew david. "imagine these yahoos in christmas sweaters--are we sure we want to go caroling?" shekinah, saskatchewan.

all full of turkey and nowhere to go?

hi, everyone. i'm finally back from thanksgiving festivities in salem, portland, and poulsbo. during the lonely drive to and from oregon, i had several thoughts that might make it onto the 17 point scale, but most of the miles were spent contemplating song lyrics and the two books that i'm reading, blue like jazz and the road (collectively known as the blue road).

i'm glad to say that the blue road has propelled me back into my normal literary state of andrewdom. let me explain. i'm fairly laid-back about most things; i may grimace at a loathsome vegetable or blast the evil howard schultz, but generally speaking i don't really get passionate about particulars. and it's the same with books: i tend to enjoy most reads. in fact, for most of my life i have identified my favorite book as whatever novel i'm currently reading. i'm fickle; i love the latest fling. but during the last year i've fell prey to a snobby disdain and distance from most authors. david james duncan's the brothers k has remained my top dawg for more than a year, and (despite the fact that tbk is a masterpiece) this kind of embarrasses me. so, in celebration of some new favorites, i've decided to expand the rating links (look to your left) in a full-blown blog post.

however, my parents dial-up connection prohibited me from any kind of work on the blog-front. and then, upon arriving home, i discovered a strange white powder covering the ground outside my house. after deliberating with my roommate, i decided that the mysterious white required further attention. so, as usual, i'm not going to say much of anything tonight. still, perhaps i'll be back soon. perhaps the snow will shutdown the city, and on monday i'll have nothing to do but blog.

andrew david "2.2 inches, under my window" seattle, washington.
mark tomato "abnormally clad snow dancers" seattle, washington.