Thursday, January 29, 2009

I was wearing a tie when I wrote this but I'm not wearing a tie now

I used to wear a tie all the time. I sometimes wonder: What has happened to me? I used to be better

Trouble is: I’m still better than most.

The tie that I’m wearing today is 100% silk, or at least that is what the label indicates. It also indicates that it’s made in China.

Meatloafs are basically very large meatballs and meatballs are basically very small meatloafs

I was going to say that I didn’t know why I don’t make more meatloafs but the reason is that I don’t like forming and or mixing it, which really needs to be done by hand, but I think I might be getting over it.

So more meatloafs are on the horizon. I might quest to find the best meatloaf.

I was told that those large meatballs I made where closer to little meatloafs.

I like frying slices of meatloaf to crispy brown.

I baked potatoes because I got lazy; I really wanted mashed and I regretted not taking the time to do so.

Meatloaf and mashed potatoes are sometimes unbeatable.

But meatloafs, like women, come in different shapes and sizes and flavors.

And potatoes, too.

So, I was bored so I went and bought some candy and one of the choices is peanut butter cups because I know xTx likes them and I always want to be prepared incase she’s ever in my cube and checks out the candy bowl.

When I buy candy, I’ll buy stuff that’s on sale but only if I like that stuff, if nothing I like is on sale, I’ll buy the stuff that I like at full price but usually something’s on sale; sometimes it’s buy on get one free so I’ll get two; and when I get two I’ll stow one away.

So, I bought more candy than I needed and was stowing the rest and in my stow area, I found previously stowed stuff. Stuff stowed from Christmas.

I put it in the candy bowl anyway. Candy doesn’t go bad too quickly even when they are Peppermint Patties; or at least that is what I’m telling myself.

If you think that CVS cycles through their York peppermint patties in four months, you’re nuts.

If keeping meatloaf at my desk wouldn’t be extremely odd, I would do that too.

“Hey, Tim.”


“What’s in the box?”

“Umm, it’s meatloaf.”

“Oh. Did you bring it in for lunch?”

“Umm, sort of.”

“What do you mean, sort of?”

“I would rather not get into it. I think I’ve said too much already.”

Years ago, I baked pita bread just so I could say that I baked pita bread

I remember when I first realized that someone was actually consistently reading my blog; it was the day my blog changed.

It’s hard to block out your audience.

I think most of us will sing along with our iPods if we know no one is listening. I think most of us stop singing when someone comes along.

She asked if I liked to cook; I paused a moment trying to find the most actuate answer.

I said, “Well, it’s more that I like to eat.”

Sometimes, I just write to write; I’m not trying to convey a message or even tell a story, I’m just passing time.

I was doing such the other day, watching the letters that I typed as they strung together into words and I realized that I wasn’t looking at the keyboard like I normally do and I wondered: “When the heck did that happen?”

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

naming names

She works in the office of one of the city councilors. City councilors tend to be a needy bunch and they usually will not accept “No” as an answer very easily. But then their jobs are on the line, if it doesn’t look like they are getting things done, so I understand their persistence.

We were on a three way phone call, the councilor, her and myself; I was saying “No” and he was saying “It needs to be done,” and she was trying to come to a compromise. I stated what needed to be done before I would approve it and she made it happen.

I decided that I liked her; she heard what I had to say and she accepted my position and then she did the leg work to make it happen. She later walked up to my office.

She was young and cute, had a smoking hot body and a seemingly constant smile when the conversation wasn’t too serious for one. If I had seen her before the telephone call, I would have done the leg work for her. I would have said, “Tell me what you need and I’ll make it happen.”

She needed some other things at some other later date and of course things went smoother. Now, she always greets me with a smile and she’ll chat with me a bit. I always try to maintain eye contact mostly so I won’t get swallowed up in her beauty.

I have a co-worker who always tries to get her to come to the office, mostly so he can drool over her. I try to get her to come to the office because she’s a ray of sunshine in the damp dark pit of an office I work in. I think my co-worker is a crude, short sighted fool.

I was reminded of her recently as I was thinking about someone else.

so what's that? thirty-two?

Each batch had sixteen individual flat breads.

I did some research before I baked the second batch and asked some more questions and ended up changing the way I baked them, so now I don’t know if the second batch was better because I changed the baking style or because they contained yogurt as well as sitting in the refrigerator over night.

Thirty-two flat breads over two days is sort of a lot, so it's really not too surprising that there are some left sitting in a zip-lock bag

I was told that the second batch was close to what is served in an Indian restaurant.

Monday, January 26, 2009

These are the problems I have:

So, let’s see.

I got up – I’m pretty sure of that and I think the next thing I did was take the bread dough out of the refrigerator. I then went to a union meeting. I got there on time, said hello to a couple of folks. I wondered why these same folks were at my union’s meeting. I then guessed that maybe some of the locals were having a joint meeting and then realized that the union meeting wasn’t for my local union but for a different local.

But I feel justified in my mistake because the notice I read didn’t mention any locals only the major bigger union which I am indeed a part of, and the meeting was at the same place as my local union meets.

It sucked a bit planning and then showing up for a meeting that wasn’t you own, at least I knew a couple of folks. I’m sure they will give me some grief because I’m sure I would do it to them if the roles were reversed.

The next day I made some Indian flat bread, flat bread from India, which I liked but I didn’t know if it was correct or not because I’ve never had Indian flat bread. I asked someone who has and they couldn’t tell me how it was different but just that it was different.

I have to assume that mine is better.

I have some psychological problems so I actually made two versions of the Indian flat bread, the first was with buttermilk and the second was with yogurt. I’ll bake the yogurt version today. I actually meant to make just the yogurt version but when I was reading the recipe it said add the buttermilk so I obediently added the buttermilk and I immediately regretted it. In the list of ingredients it says you can use either buttermilk or yogurt and I wanted to use yogurt and somehow screwed that up. (It was because I didn’t have “everything in place” which is a good tenet of baking which I frequently ignore)

I also have two large batches of pizza dough in the frig.

I got a desire for meatloaf, so while I was at the supermarket I picked up some ingredients to augment the ones I had at home for making meatloaf. I grabbed one of my favorite cookbooks and couldn’t find meatloaf in the index so I made meatballs instead, only I made then extra large and I also didn’t measure any ingredient. I just eyeballed everything.

Unfortunately, they turned out good. The unfortunate part is that I’ll probably never be able to duplicate what I did because of my lackadaisical attitude. I thought the only worry was bad meatballs, I wasn’t thinking about if they were going to turn out good or not. I’m going to have to try to follow the recipe next time and see what happens. It should be similar.
I have no stories of grand adventure.

I do have some stories of survival.

I’ve never sought out danger but I’ve never shy away from it either when there was no way around it.

Watching my nieces reminds me that not being fearful and being overly reckless sometimes have a narrow gap between them. I try not to encourage fearfulness but I also don’t want them to break their necks. I try to explain the possible consequences and then let them decide, as long as something isn’t too dangerous. Sometimes, they get bruised.

I’d take a flying leap off of more things if whatever my soft landing was could take my weight.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Is that bee's wax I smell?

I tend to worry when the airwaves go silent, but this time at least there was mention that this would be the last broadcast until further notice.

But until when? When can I start to worry that something didn’t go as planned, that something more dastardly has happened?

I wondered why there were no comments, but then I didn’t know how to respond – maybe everyone else was in the same boat too.

But then there was a comment by someone I know and it was hopeful and I felt like a silly boy.

Don’t fly too close to the Sun.

Not everyone with wings is an angel.


So I have a facebook page, I mostly created it because a friend said that I should. I’ve been getting messages from people from high school and they ask what I’ve done between then and now. I think, “Who care?” because I certainly don’t. It’s old news. I try to think of the high points and the important things but then I think “Whatever, let’s just move on.”

The trouble is: it’s so easy to quit.

It’s so easy to quit and nobody seems to care either way.

Sink or swim.

It’s just that I don’t feel comfortable quitting when the only reason to do so is because I’m lazy. That just doesn’t seem right to me.

I often plead with myself just to get off my ass and do something.

“Just please do it now. There is no reason why you can’t and you’ll just have to do it later. You know you’ll feel better once it’s out of the way. Please.”


I could be greater.

What I have is nothing special to me; I think everyone has what I have; I think everyone can do what I can do.

I sometimes try to remind myself that this may not be true, usually when I’m expecting something of someone.

Sometimes, I’ll modify my believe to something like we all have a bucket of the same size and all the buckets are full to the same level, it’s just that some people have different things in their buckets.

I sometimes try to remind myself that this may not be true, usually when I don’t want to help someone in need because I have needs of my own.

So, my neighbor has taken up snow-blowing other people’s sidewalks; he’s trying to out-green catfish the green catfish, or at least keep pace. I’m glad he does because then I don’t have to worry about getting out quick to do my sidewalk and any other sidewalks he does after that are sidewalks I don’t have to worry about.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

it's actually a magic oven but I don't want it stolen so I say that it's a regular oven

“Do I look fatter?” she asked as I sat down. I looked down to her waist and answered “No. Should you?” She then told me that she should because of all the bread she ate. I had forgotten that I hadn't seen her since.

“Kerry asked if you baked it yourself in a regular oven. You just have a regular oven, right?”

“Yeah, it’s just a regular oven. But I use a baking tile and I do some other things, to get crisp crust and stuff.” I felt a little embarrassed as I was going to explain the finer points of baking breads in a conventional oven but I realized that that wasn’t the question she wanted answered. “But it’s just a normal oven,” I said more to myself than to JM.

It’s actually a convection/conventional oven which I’ve equipped with baking tiles and a cast iron skillet that sits on the floor of the oven, into which I toss some ice right before I close oven containing the shaped and risen dough. I also use a spray bottle for moistening the dough and creating even more steam then just the cast iron skillet. It’s a bit of a process.

I also have half sheet pans and Silpat baking mats, special wicker baskets, a covered vessel made of clay, forming pans and a few other things. Not to mention a bunch of books purchased in the last four months.

I’ve probably dropped three hundred bucks or more on everything, although I did have a few items prior to his latest baking fit.


You probably shouldn't waste your time reading anything here entitled: untitled

I’m not going to complain about the cold but I will say that I was surprised to hear my local weather update tell me that it was negative four degree.

My kitchen is at a great temperature for making puff pastry or flaky pie crusts.

Shooting the breeze over coffee, he asked if I had a lot to do today. I replied that there was a lot that I could do.

A lot of Tom Jones is fun to listen to, or so I think.

He joined me for lunch and mentioned that a co-worker and the big boss were at a meeting down at headquarters. He added that the co-worker was probably going something that I also do. He mentioned it because he thought I would be concerned that someone was trying to steal my job.

I replied, “I still get paid right? What do I care? And he probably should be doing it anyway.”

He was disappointed with my reply.

I’m not going to get riled up over a non-issue. My employment is not affected by this, if someone wants to do some of my work for me, then let them at it.

I read the papers. I listen to the news shows. I read and listen to a bunch of dumbfucks, and I worry that most Americans are satisfied with the low quality of bullshit they are being feed.

I worry that most Americans wait to be told what to believe.

I’ll ask, “Does that make any sense to you?” and I’ll often get a sheepish answer to the negative, so I will then ask “Then why do you believe it?”

So, I’ve been actively baking bread now for a few months so I’ve been left to deal with unsliced loaves of bread and I can tell you that slicing bread is not a big deal so I’m rather unimpressed with the phrase that something or anything is “The next best thing to sliced bread.”

Bread actually stays fresher if it is left unsliced. I actually like to choose the thickness of my slice according to what I’m going to use the bread for.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

I do have gorgeous eyes, even though I rarely get to see them

It’s why people come to the decisions they do that make me wonder. I want to know how your brain got to the point where it decided that, “Yes, this is a good idea.”

“Like cooking breakfast everyday in the office,” I continued with my wondering. “How does a person come to that conclusion, that it will be a good thing to cook breakfast every day, in the office. I can understand, ‘Hey, there’s a stove – I would like me some eggs,’ but then you need to get a fry pan and some eggs too. It’s not just one compulsive thought that you act on right away. You have to plan that stuff or at least work at it.”

There are sometimes I just need to know what people were thinking before they acted. I’ve come up with some crazy thoughts myself but the moment I was about to actually do them, I’d stop because it’s crazy.

But then I know a few people who never think about that next step, who like to leap without looking.

There is a difference between taking a chance and acting like a fool.

So I said something that a smartass might have said, not really to her but sort of about her and she called me on it and I was a complete stranger to her.

“Why won’t you look me in the eyes?” She asked.

“Because I don’t look anyone in the eyes.”

“Is that true?”

“No, it’s not.” I said as I turned to look at her.

“See, you have pretty eyes”

“Now he’s blushing,” the receptionist said.

“It’s just that I’ve really had no doing in the color of my eyes.”


“Yeah, I’ve done my best to keep sharp objects away from them but other than that, I’ve pretty much done nothing.”

Sometimes I wish the newspaper was worth reading

People like me. I don’t say that to brag. I say that as an explanation as to why I get attention.

People will come over to my desk and talk and usually I will nod and sometimes even speak my responses. One of the things on my desk is a bottle of Purell which I swiped from an unattended open case. I don’t use it too often but I like to have it around, especially during the extra germy winter months.

A friend from a different department was talking to me and noticed the bottle, picked it up and gave it a squirt. He properly aimed it at his hand but the bottle had other ideas and sent a stream of sanitizer right at his crotch. It turns out, he’s still pretty spry for an old guy and he quickly scooched backwards. It turns out the spout was partially blocked by old mostly dried out Purell.

After laughing at his folly, I helped him look for errant Purell. There was none in his crotch area so we figured he was safe until I notice some had hit his sweater, right above the belt line. He then asked if there was any bleach in it and then explained that this was the first time he was wearing the sweater and that it was a Christmas gift from his wife. He then told me a story how he ruined a sweatshirt type thing while loading the dishwasher. He said he wiped his hand across the lower part of his shirt and didn’t realized that he as dishwashing liquid on his hand and ended up with a discolored streak across belly.

Purell is mostly alcohol.

mostly I type when I'm bored and have run out of other options

I thought nothing of the dip in temperature on the right side of my house that morning because the weather people kept saying that the cold was on its way and that it was bringing some wind with it; and when the wind and cold team up, the right, unprotected side, of my house gets colder. I went about my business in the other parts of the house.

Later, when I returned to the cold part of the house, it was colder than it should have been no matter what was going on outside, so I touched the radiator and found it to be stone cold, or at the very least as cold as cast iron left out in the cold. That meant a trip to the basement.

In the basement I could hear the circulator humming, which was one worry crossed off the list. I then removed the cover to the boiler and found that the pilot was out. I then went to the kitchen to grab some kitchen matches because even though the boiler is in the basement, if figured that kitchen matched would still just fine.

I did the things that one is supposed to do to light the pilot and the pilot lit; I then did the thing that one is supposed to do to turn the pilot on but the pilot went out. I then relit the pilot and tried to turn it on again but it went out for a second time. I sighed a little sigh of relief as I thought: thermocouple.

It just so happens that I try to keep an extra thermocouple or two on hand and as fortune would have it. I had two on hand. So after some effort I got the new thermocouple installed and the pilot stayed lit and the heat kicked on and all was well in Timmy Land.

Well, at least heat-wise.

I find it odd that if I’m given a book that shows some wear, it doesn’t bother me but I won’t buy a new book that has any damage to it and I do my best not to damage any book in my possession. I won’t dog-ear a page, I do my best not to cause a crease in the spine and I will never write notes or messages within that book.

I once gave a cookbook to one of my favorite bartenders of all-time, Danielle, and she asked me to write something in it which I refused to do. I explain why but I regret that still today. It’s something I’m working on.

Monday, January 12, 2009

now with initials

I feel like I want to write something but I have nothing to write. In cases such as this, I’ll go over the things I’ve done; mentally crossing off every item as a bore.

I made pizza dough for some future date.
I baked bread.
I ate bread.
I delivered bread.
I went to the bar on a Sunday.
I had Bass Ale.
I moved snow.

Going to the bar was part of delivering bread. When I walked in the bartender said, “I didn’t know you got out on any other day than Friday.” The place was quiet, when I walked in there was an eighty year old regular, two guys I didn’t recognize, a night manager having nachos which the bartender was sharing with him, and then the staff that was working which included a waitress and a day manager, in addition to the KF the bartender.

Often Sundays can be like hanging out in someone’s living room, if you’re a regular. I used to be there frequently on Sundays; I stopped when a bartender friend was no longer a bartender.

The KF asked what I was doing there; I didn’t know how to tell the truth without catching some grief so I just blurted it out and said I was waiting to meet one of her co-workers, JM. I then thought about explaining why I was meeting JM but I thought the reason I was there was even more damning.

I like KF, she’s smart and aware; but I often don’t get to see her. I’m not there like I used to be, often I’m only there on Fridays, just like she pointed out when I walked in.

I tried some charm and mentioned that I was happy to see that she was the one bartending but it only worked a little.

After awhile, the other bartender walked in and then a mutual friend of practically everyone there came in. The mutual friend, CM, was actually the reason I had left the house at all. She had me promise to share some homemade bread with her, which caused JM to make me promise that she would get some too.

I had already dropped off a baguette and a loaf of ciabatta to CM at her house and after other some other plans got revised, meeting at the bar was the most convenient for JM.

After a couple drinks JM left, CM asked how long I was staying, “I don’t know, yet but I’m only sticking around because KF is here,” who was right there pouring a draft.

“Are you just saying that because we were fighting earlier?”

I smiled and put a puzzled look on and said “I didn’t know we were fighting earlier.” I then finished my forth beer and then asked for my bill.

“You can’t pay.”

“Why can’t I pay?”

“Because you have no bill.”

“Why do I have no bill?”

“Because someone paid it.”

“Who paid it?”


“She paid it when you went to the men’s room,” CM said.

“Wait. That’s not fair. And you knew about it?”

“Yes, and it is fair. You’re always doing things for other people so it’s only fair that some people are nice to you.”

I just shook my head as I counted out some money for a tip, I remembered JM asking the bartender if she had tipped enough and I thought it was odd because I thought JM had already settled up prior to me leaving my seat. So, I then realized that when I came back, the tip she was talking about was a second tip, a tip on my tab.

I folded my bills in half, lengthwise and placed them under the corner of the garnish station so the forced hot air vent wouldn’t blow them away.

“What’s that? Fifty bucks?,” CM asked. I answered that it wasn’t but then thought my fifteen dollars might be a little lacking despite all of my calculations. Fifteen would have been more than what my tab should have been, if you weren’t counting the extra unwanted beer from an over-pour, which I was told I could have. For some reason I thought leaving twenty bucks would be too much, I felt that it would sort of be disrespectful to JM’s gesture if I were to leave what my bill should have been plus my usual tip. If I had done that, I felt that if would be like re-gifting JM’s generosity to KF. I didn’t think that was the right thing to do, especially when there would be witnesses.

The bill was paid and a tip was left even before any of my money was placed on the bar, most of my gratitude was due JM not KF; fifteen bucks on a four beer tab is about a 50 percent tip, which I think is generous but not crazy, considering.

I have a complicated tipping formula; there is a minimum and a maximum, unless it’s a special occasion, I tip on the value of the drinks I get as opposed to what I’m charged because I get oversized drinks and quite a few of then are free. I shoot for over thirty and under fifty percent. If I think my normal tipping routine isn’t sufficient, I’ll supplement it with gifts cards and the like.

So many phones

So, she starts walking around with a scrap of paper in her hand. She started at the first cube in my row (or column if cubes were spreadsheet cells) and asks about the phone lines. In the section I’m in there is one line that rings on all the desks and then there are direct “private” lines, no one has more than two lines, and if someone’s private line is ringing there’s a button that can be pressed at any other deck to pick up that line. All the lines are necessary.

“What’s that line for?” She asked the newest member of my section. I know he might not give the proper answers so I start shouting out the correct answers, and I’m a little pissed that she’s asking any questions about phone lines in my section. I pick up my phone and my supervisor picks up his and we both are pretty quick to pick up the common line. Bottom line: we pick up our phones. She on the other hand doesn’t. She’ll be chopping down on some vile bit of food while the phone rings and rings. She’ll be on one line, chatting with one of her aged friends, while other lines ring and ring.

It’s her job to answer the phones.

She’ll walk around the office, talk to other people and all sorts of other things, except answer the phone. She’s a horrible receptionist and not a very good person.

When she got to my desk with her questions, I wasn’t happy.

“So, what’s that number?” She asked as she pointed to a button on my phone.

I told her the number and then added “But that line stays. They both stay.”

“I was just asked to find out the dead lines.” She said, which was a total line of bullshit.

She retreated back to her desk where the phone was ringing, not that she cared.

We have a guy that normally goes around asking things about phones and copiers and computers and lights and whatever. If there is a problem with things in the office, such as phone lines, that guy is the one that handles it and she ain’t that guy.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

I have other pictures of bread but I'm not feeling goofy enough to post them.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

I don't have a post, so I'll publish this...

I found out she's moving away in February; to Vegas of all places. I have it on good sources that Las Vegas is a filthy stink hole, or something maybe not too dissimilar. But I think there must be a few good people out there; her mom's out there.

She leaned over as she asked "Do you have your camera?" As it so happened I did.


This is a friend who likes to serve me vodka drinks and she likes to serve them to me in pint glasses. I think I was on number five when this photo was taken. And the vodka drinks didn't start until after a couple beers and a few different newly created shots that I asked my opinion on.

Thursday, January 08, 2009

How bored are you?

It had to be done…

I feel like I’m forgetting something…

It had to be done, so I did it. It was later than I would have preferred but some goofing off earlier in the day took up more time that I thought it would; anyway when I was finished with the stuff that needed to be done and was left with the stuff that will need to be done, the phone rang. It was 8:30pm.

She asked if I could print out some photos for her. I asked how many, what size and when they would be desired. I was told that there was about twenty six and the sizes varied and that she wanted them by the morning.

While we were talking about the photos and other things, I grabbed my car key and jacket and made my way to the door. I was going to need some ink on hand for my printer and my local neighborhood Staples closes at 9pm.

While I was there, photo paper was on sale: buy one get one free, so I picked up some of that as well. I left the store with ten minutes to spare and I slightly felt that I didn’t budget my time well and thought of some things that I could have browser for to use up the available time.

I also deemed that the customers that were still in the store were being rude to the employees by still being there.

Anyway, I finished at 1:15am, partly because all the photos had to be sized and partly because they needed to be cropped and partly because there were red-eyes and partly because some were too dark and pertly because some where too light.

Oh, yeah that thing that needed to be done was: use the pizza dough that had been in the frig since Sunday. Most recipes for pizza dough require at least an overnight stay in the refrigerator with a recommendation that it be used within three days, if you don’t freeze it beforehand.

Hey, Tim, don’t forget:

one hour Sunday bills

5-8 on Tuesday advertising

8:30 – 1:30 on Wednesday photos

I don’t find any of this interesting.

How bored are you?
I would like it better if there were someone else besides myself to blame.

It’s a new year, or so they tell me; parts of it still smell a lot like last year.

Tuesday, January 06, 2009

Media Mail

Sometimes, I think that I actually want to make a concerted effort; as opposed to doing whatever it is that has come my way.

I've come to the conclusion that I have self control but I have little self discipline.

I've come to the conclusion that my supervisor likes to be miserable; it's an active choice of his. I tell him he has the choice of what to focus on and he always chooses the negative. He does some foolish things.

I still think the US Mail is a good deal: some dude carries your stuff across the width of the nation for a couple bucks and he'll carry a letter for forty three cents.

Saturday, January 03, 2009

Books, Babies and Bread

There are two and I barely use the one. Some of those books are supposed to be on a different shelf; I'll have to talk to the librarian.

She's digging in her plastic cup for pieces of ice.

"You are really in love with your bread," is what she said after I showed her the other picture of the rolls I baked.

I wouldn't say I'm in love with it. I mean, I'm not going to marry it or anything.

I shot this from overhead because she said that she couldn't tell if the others were rolls or a loaf. These are rolls, definitely rolls.

There were two loaves of Italian bread but that bread was only good enough for eating - not for showing.

Thursday, January 01, 2009

Adios, my friend.

The internet told me that Donald E. Westlake had died. I wasn't crazy about the ending of the last two books of his that I had read but I'll still miss him.

I'm still proud of the fact that I introduced him to my sister; she's read a lot more of him than I have but then she reads a lot more than I do.

Horse Hair and Plaster



I guess they were Iris's





Regardless that he was calling out for Santa and speaking of aliens, I thought he was lucid.

Santa is a member of Samuel's posse. He has white hair, a beard, is old and pudgy.

Standing right in front of Samuel made me realize that he was shorter than I had thought. I've known him for over two years. That was the first time that I had actually spoken to him.

I kind of wanted the bouquet but I felt that they were sellable and I felt that I wouldn't properly appreciate his pencil drawings.

My old house is drafty and I got a chill this morning, I wondered where Sammy was


I want to eat a sandwich just so I can eat those rolls