Blerg

So you guys, I got nothin'. I like to post three times a week for continuity and to challenge myself, but wow, right now the words are just not my friends. Fact: I've been working on this post for an hour, and this is all I've got to show for it.

I know, right?

Screw it. Here are some old words instead. I wrote this poem on a napkin at Sharis on a weekend home from college (well, we didn't have a lot of options when we were 19, you see*). I'm not sure why this has stuck with me when so much from that time has been lost. But so it goes.

To U2
I saw Bono the other day.
He was backstage.
So was I.
So I went up to him.
I wanted to have a deep, meaningful chat.
So I said to him, rather sullenly,
As if the whole world's existence depended upon his answer,
"Have you ever eaten
Purple soup?"

Side note: It would help, when you read this, to be high on bad coffee, too much sugar, your own brilliance and a fervent love of Bono. See? Totally makes it better.

* Sharis was the only place in town open 24 hours, and it was a hotbed of activity for the high school and underage college crowd. The manager -- who was our age and totally old man cranky (Frank! What happened to Frank, Mara?) -- would let us sit at a table for hours as long as we intermittently ordered french fries, milk shakes or that aforementioned terrible coffee.