It was Sunday afternoon, and for the life of me I couldn't figure out why my three-year-old son kept asking, "What about the moving rocks? Can we see the moving rocks?" -- but my wife explained it: a few minutes earlier, I had asked him if he wanted to watch The Rolling Stones play some music . . . I was going to check out Scorsese's Shine a Light . . . but then I got occupied by another task, and I wish I had a brain scanner, so I could see what geologically psychedelic movie was playing in Ian's head while he waited for me to play this DVD of rocks that could rock.
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I was talking to my girlfriend this weekend on my way to the Museum of Natural History telling her about Dave's trip(see 1/22), relating the story with "he said, blahblahblah, and then he said..." and I realized that I hadn't spoken to him about it,I had just read the sentence, which meant two things: the good news, Dave wrote a really good, descriptive sentence that made me feel like I had actually had a detailed conversation with him; the bad news, I don't need to hang out or talk to Dave anymore, I can just read his blog--he has become obsolete to me just like he has to Alex(see 1/23).
Could possibly be my favorite sentence to date... What I wouldn't give for that brainscanner... or a picture of Tina Colper.
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