The Silent Majority and the Parliament Funkadelic

(listening to "El Beso Secreto" by Compay Segundo)

I'm drinking Pete's Wicked Ale. My father was named Pete. My nephew is named after him. I wish my dad could participate in our home buying experience, he was a manly, house-fixin', steak-grillin', get-your-life-in-order kind of man. I miss him.

The house inspection was today, and nothing but minor stuff is wrong with the house. Some flashing, a crooked door, an attic fan, stuff like that. No termites, no cracked foundation, no one claiming rights to the property. Capitalism has been cleared for takeoff! We'll be sweating our asses off moving in less than a month.

The job search is getting me down. When I'm not happy, nothing seems doable or worth doing. Funks suck. A job won't permanently remove moodiness; that's part of life. Busyness and challenges do, however, make a reasonable facsimile of purpose.

(listening to "Ramble On", Led Zeppelin)

I'm peaceful when happy, and I am happy when at peace.

But it seems like such a long time since I've accomplished anything more impressive than focaccia. The last thing of note that I did was move across the country.

I want more.