pilgrims, pills and tourists

Why are there no good murder ballads anymore? I always loved good murder ballads. What the hell does that say about me? Hell, I didn’t even know thay were a specific genre.
On the other hand I have the Decemberists singing to me about lost, dead baby ghosts, teenage runaway prostitutes, sailors being eaten by whales and what your mother has to do to get the money to feed you! I’ve been on a Decemberists kick since, well…December.
So when you see that girl in the volvo driving down the street belting out a song about gay love in the trenches of world war one, you’ll know that’s me.
This week at work has been crazy and it’s only Tuesday. I have, however, vowed not to write about either situation here out of a sense of propriety and because I don’t want to get dooced! But, as my friend Mark said today, “work is great, you just sit back and the entertainment is free”.
Yeah, i got nothing unless you want a box filled with whining about how much my hand hurts, how much I like my dogs or how David consistently surprises me with happy.