May 20, 2004


  • I'm sitting on my own dock (nobody else here) on the mouth of the Cuyahoga River and Lake Erie.


    I'm drinking my own beer unmolested even though this is 'prime entertainment real estate' in Cleveland's Flats on a gorgeous 82 degree and mostly sunny early evening.


    A seagull just told me that "You're onto yourself."  But wtf do seagulls know?


    If they were smart, seagulls wouldn't be hanging about a lake.


    Except that the Great Lakes were initially mistaken as 'Sweet Seas' by early explorers due to their immensity and unpredictable volatility (and because they were 'seas' without salt).


    So maybe the seagulls got taken in by the explorer hype.


    No, no seagull pictures.  Seen one, seen them all.  (The pictures, not the seagulls themselves.)


    Here's my setup.  Where are the pretty girls?  Where are all the drunken sailors?



    Perhaps I should just let bygones be foregones and drink until I usher myself into a state of utter ecstasy.

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