I can be remarkably chipper even when the song running through my head is Johnny Cash’s apocalyptic-sad cover of “Hurt” by Nine Inch Nails.

Crime fiction is rarely all that interesting to me. True crime, too. I’m reading a novel that kind of combines the two, American Tabloid by James Ellroy, the L.A. Confidential author. I know now I’m not really in the mood to read about an almost all-amoral cast of crooked characters whose actions lead to the Bay of Pigs debacle, but it takes a lot to get me to give up on a book, so I’ll keep going. (Interestingly enough, I actually like the film of L.A. Confidential quite a lot, so maybe a different part of my brain was able to process the movie…)

For one person, it seems I generate massive amounts of dirty dishes.

It’s neat that I get to go past an actual submarine on my commute, and that I work at OHSU’s hilltop campus, which reminds me of Starfleet Headquarters on the hills northwest of the Golden Gate.

Oh, I know more. But I won’t write about it yet…