Night of the Loving Dead

The weird dreams continue. 

And now suddenly I can’t remember the last one anymore.  I know that it had to do with somebody telling me something that seemed like it should either be common knowledge or not mysterious enough that anybody would care that I knew, but then telling me that if anybody else asked me how I knew that thing, that I was to tell whoever asked that the teller was just being curteous because I had impressed him.  Did that make any damn sense? I’m basically still asleep here.

Television has shown me something recently that I absolutely did not know.  Kangaroos are apparently farmed somewhere for their meat and their leather.  Bullwhips are made of kangaroo leather, or at least the ones featured were.  And I believe I saw Anthony Bourdain eat some kangaroo… but that could have been somebody else now that I think about it.  Heck, it could have been Guy Fieri at one of those Diners, Drive-ins, or Dives. 

I seem to be at some flea market or another every weekend lately.  I don’t even know why I go– I haven’t bought anything at one in years. I suppose it’s a combination of wanting to spend time with my father while I’m not working, and hoping against all odds that I will find something amazing.  And it’s not to say that there aren’t interesting things to see.  It’s sort of a sensory overload sometimes, as if there’s just too damn much to look at, causing me to look at nothing. 

At least I didn’t see any horrifying monkey paintings this time.