"I even see the dog, that's how fucked up I still am. I see a man walking his German shepherd and I see our god damn poodle.” - Charlie Fineman

There’s already been three deaths this year of folks I knew, grew up with, or loved. Considering we’re only three weeks into the year, I’m wondering about the state of things to come for 2008. Is it gonna be one a week from here on out? Am I going to spend every Friday at funerals? Also, why Friday? When I hit the bucket, I’m telling you right now, if they hold a Friday night service for me, there better be some good beer, games – trivia would be awesome - and lots of laughter going on.

Somebody asked me today how I was, and I said I was fine.

You know when people really ask, and really want to know, if you’re okay? And how amazing it is when folks really mean that, and actually want to hear how you feel? There’s so few people in the world like that, who truly listen. Or maybe not so few people, but all of us have such a hard time slowing down enough to actually hear what other folks are saying. Walker Percy says it so much better in the Moviegoer: “I have discovered that most people have no one to talk to, no one, that is, who really wants to listen. When it does at last dawn on a man that you really want to hear about his business, the look that comes over his face is something to see.”

I love these people, people who mean what they say. They make it okay for a little bit. On my way home I got really sad. So I took Molly for a walk, put on some Ray Charles, and made homemade mashed potato for dinner. (Just one potato, but with real butter and milk and some chives. But can you really say mashed potatoes if you only used one potato?) There’s nothing like mashed potatoes for comfort.