Perchance to Dream
I remember having a really cool dream this morning, but I'm able to recall precious few details. I think it was set during the Second World War, which makes sense since when I couldn't sleep last night I used ye olde internet to read up on Nazi Wunderwaffe and Vergeltungswaffe. And there was a stupefyingly beautiful girl, but that's hardly surprising. Every dream worth having revolves around a stupefyingly beautiful girl. I know this was a seriously cool dream full of excitement and adventure. I don't remember it, but at least I remember how it made me feel. And that's no small thing. What a great way to start off the day.

To borrow (steal) another line from the Bard, "To be or not to be, that is the question." What remotely rational argument could be put forward in support of bloggy blogging? Mexico, a friend, neighbor, and ally of my beloved America, is fighting for her political soul. No one cares. The spectre of the world-conquering madness that periodically possesses the Germans has been raised once again, or at least a shade of the spectre (A shade of a spectre is, like, what? One-tenth of a ghost? One-seventh?), and just as before the two greatest bloodlettings of the 20th Century, no one wants to listen. Street clashes in Hungary, a coup d'etat in Thailand, Iran's quest for the bomb. *snore* But dare to impugn the mystique of invincibility of Notre Dame and even U of M alumni turn traitor and fall all over each other to offer fellatio to Charlie Weiss. The world? Bollocks. Sports? Boring. An assault on Notre Dame's honor? To arms! To arms! The barbarians are at the gates! I have often said that I have the greatest friends in all the world, but when even their tastes and interests take a turn toward vapidity, why continue?

I should contain such thinking to my personal journal.