Yes, there's two months of dust up on this piece...despite much hooting and hollering and squawking and gawking and glittering and littering and toiling and boiling and pumping and dumping and schvitzing and spritzing and rolling and tolling and crying and lying and tearing and leering and jeering and cheering and loosing and goosing and stuffing and puffing and slamming and jamming and clamming and bamming and clogging and jogging and spooging and gurlging and a lot of other miscellaneous gerunds and tings that go ing, I haven't posted anything since July.
I actually doubt what I'm writing right now will end up being an actual post, so I won't apologize or attempt to excuse my hazy laziness.
Two ditties - right quick:
[The scene: driving past a string of 1960s surf motels in Montauk in late June]
PATTY: What does resort motel on that sign mean?
[The scene: drinking coffee with my mother]
ME: You're really reading Eat, Pray, Love?
LINDA MARIE: Well, I'm trying to. I'm about halfway done with it.
ME: How is it?
LINDA MARIE: Christ, she needs to get laid already. If Javier Bardem doesn't show up soon, I'm tossing it in the trash.