The long pause.

Last night I dreamed that I was mauled by feral dogs. If my subconscious is trying to send me a message, I don’t want to know what it is.

1. When we first decided to move to Indiana, all of our friends told us we were crazy. One friend told us that he was glad to leave the Midwest. He didn’t like the people; he said that Midwesterners didn’t really live, they merely existed. After work, they go home, sit on their couches and watch television; they have no interest in anything cultural or educational.

I can’t help but hear this as some sort of classist statement. The opportunity to “broaden the mind” is definitely linked to economics. Who wants to think about anything after putting in an eight-hour day of manual labor? Seriously, by the time I sit down in my chair at night, I can’t even pick up a rock-climbing magazine to read, much less something a little more challenging. I have spent the last two weeks letting cable TV numb every last little receptor in my brain, and even that seems like it requires too much energy.

2. Do Americans ever get tired of having a president who can’t formulate a whole sentence without getting confused? Don’t get me wrong, I think some of the UK’s social and economic problems are all but unsolvable (and I hate them for backing the U.S. all the time, grow a backbone already!), but wouldn’t it be nice if we had a leader like Tony Blair? He can not only finish a sentence, he can spit out an entire paragraph without taking a breath. I may not always agree with him, but at least I can tell he knows the difference between a noun and a verb.

The only thing I ever watch on C-SPAN is the Prime Minister’s Questions, and after watching the sparring between the PM and the head of the opposition party, I just want to shoot myself out of embarrassment for our incredibly sorry Head of State. If Bush ever had to square off with someone right across the table throwing questions at him, his head would probably explode, even if he was given a list of the questions ahead of time.

3. I wish we would move out of town so I would have a solid excuse for quitting band. I like the role we play in the community, I think people get a kick out of seeing us on the town square and all that, and I like that we take the time to play at the local nursing homes twice a season, but god, I hate rehearsals. Partly, I’m just not very coachable. I hate being told what to do. Form your command as a suggestion, and I’ll do it right away, but directly order me to do something, and I’ll refuse. I know it’s the director’s job to tell me what to do, but I also think he needs to realize that we have two—sometimes three, but often two—percussionists covering anywhere from three to seven parts. I’m doing everything I can, and no, I can not play the cymbals, the bells, the bass drum and the wood block simultaneously, so bite me.

4. Who knew making Christmas presents was so labor intensive? I’m making a grand total of four this year, and you know what? I don’t like anyone enough to do this again. My mom will like hers, but she probably would have liked it just as well if I had gone out and bought something bright and shiny for her. So what was I thinking? I don’t know, but my hands are covered in glue and as far as I’m concerned, that’s not really a good thing.

5. I wish it would fucking snow already.