when the beat drops just keep swingin' it

I'll say one thing for Hurricane Frances - my car hasn't looked that cherry red in months.

( Remember that handwritten entry meme? My belated offering of my afternoon of Trek with Miranda. )

My poor little township. University Avenue was a ghost town tonight - I would've taken pictures, but there was literally nothing to be seen: Streetlights were out, businesses were entirely without power, even the traffic signals were useless, not even blinking. The cops were pulling up to 13th, one of only about four major intersections in this entire town, just as I got there to direct traffic. Man, I can't imagine what it was like before they arrived. Which, by the way, the rain did as well, yet again. We're so beyond drenched, we're supposed to conserve water because there isn't enough that's clean.

( Work, oh work. )

Dwayne and I discussed and came to the conclusion that, as much as we bitch and moan and lose sleep, we love our jobs and would feel bereft and lost without the paper to come to, all the while fearing we'll never have this much fun in a real newsroom. But how do you not?

Gators are apparently considered a heartier bunch than the rest of the school-going population of Alachua county, whose studies have been suspended for the rest of the week while we get to report to morning classes as usual. And so before I lay me down to sleep, there's a case between the FCC and Pacifica Foundation to be briefed. I hope to make coolwhipdiva proud.

Quote of the Day:

Warren: Hey, Justin, when are you going in to work tomorrow?
Justin: Sometime after my eyes open and before I start drinking again.

Insta-rec!

Thicker Than - by lilysaid

Her entry for the Soap Opera cliche challenge, though I won't spoil it by telling you which one. Bassez, wonderfully drawn and JC knowing but not and the details like the baby and I am the consistency of happy goop in its wake. But then, with an opening like this, I was destined to love it:

Lance’s momma is a proper southern lady, and has taught him almost everything he knows. She taught him how to drive a stick-shift, iron his own clothes, and how to control the stubborn cowlick on the back of his head. Ironically, it’s also from his momma that Lance learns to watch JC.

It's so good. In a thousandmilliongoogolplex ways. But do yourself a favor and don't take my word for it.