Got home from our whirlwind holiday tour of the Buckeye State tonight, finishing the last 100 miles in a driving rain. Fifty-eight pieces of e-mail were waiting for me, 57 of them spam. I don’t want a larger penis; how do I let these people know?
Thank God for Mail’s spam filter. It caught all but 11.
I’ve been feeling a little guilty for not writing much lately, and then I didn’t. One of the things the director of our Fellowship told us early on was to treasure the year’s empty spaces as much as the full ones, to not deprive us of time spent “staring at the ceiling,” because it’s there, as much as anywhere, that inspiration will strike. This week, in between the driving, has been a ceiling week, and I think I know what he’s talking about. There’s much to be said for just smiling and passing the eggnog, for keeping your mind as empty as Paris Hilton’s, for enjoying a detective novel and letting the well refill. So that’s what I’m doing.
But here’s a movie tip: If you get a chance to see “In America,” do so. Treads the line between sentiment and sap oh-so-deftly. “Return of the King” will still be there in a month. But this little gem is an art-house bubble, so go now.
More from me as the spirit moves.