At least you're not an Australian seaweed fly

I'm reading an interesting book right now: "Dr. Tatiana's Sex Advice to All Creation", which dispite its racy title, is more of a text book on evolutionary biology, written in the guise of a sex therapists letter colum. For example, a green spoon work sponge writes in that she accidentally inhaled her husband, and Dr. Tatiana goes on to explain that for this particular species of sponge, the male is 200,000 times smaller than the female. She then goes on about gender determination through chromasome matching, and so on and so forth. Makes for interesting reading when you come across letters from the female spotted hyena with a phallus and a slime mld from northern Europe with 500 different genders. Kinda puts the dating game in perspective a bit.

In other news, we found a new roomate, a grad student who works for the Grand Canyon Trust, big nerd like us, should fit in well. And that means that with all the rooms rented out, I am free to wander off when the time comes. I have decided however to give it at least two months. I figure I owe it to myself to get grounded and be stationary for a spell before I meander off. I sure don't intend to be a doorman at Charly's forever, especially seeing how surly and curmudgeony the long time bartenders get, but it is a descent place to cool my heels 'till I figure out what I am doing.

And what I am doing this afternoon is making a batch of watermelon whiskey!