In your face

I like my big nose.

It gives me the liberty to say a lot of things to my morning coffee. Chief amongst them being: All the better to smell you, my dear.

I had the best weekend ever at St Pete's beach. I think the awesomeness of a trip is decided by the number of pictures you have of it. I have 3 of the beach, which means I was too busy being grossly salty and happy to bother with capturing anything significant.

This post was supposed to happen on Sunday night, but like, ha.

Apart from OD'ing on icecream and chlorine, we went to a comedy club which I think was a great blend of intensely funny and offensive. I think we need more of this in India, where the remarkable levels of repression might just give rise to genuinely funny standups.

Over and out,

Weasel.

And another thing.

Sharan makes me feel as if I'm in the wrong life. She is among other things the reason I believe in alternate universes. There has to be another me that doesn't care deeply about kinetic isotope effects and their repercussions.

I feel so terribly bad for all those alter-we's that we shed somewhere along the way. And that I hadn't devoured Philip Pullman during those years when my three brain cells were growing.

Things are madly out of control on the work front. Somewhere, Murphy is smirking quietly. Kill me if I write about the weather.

Eeks, where's my mojo?