I had a dream last night where former kubemate Karl was describing some event that took place for an enumerated set of reasons. Instead of listing reasons, he merely counted to 30, one at a time. Slowly. So my dream focused on someone counting to 30. I woke up at 5:51, agitated by how boring it was, then, based on the light streaming through the window, realized that my alarm clock would be going off in three minutes. A thoroughly dissatisfying to end one’s night sleep, dreaming about someone counting to 30 for no good reason.
To make matters worse, it was a shortened night sleep, as I got roped into a “Top Chef” marathon on TV. This is why I don’t watch TV. I had no previous interest in this show. I have no future interest in this show. It took time out of my life, burned it, and threw it away. It didn’t even compose it. And then I got an hour less of sleep. All for no reason. TV is the mind killer.
When I did get up, I wake to a story about a band of storybook pigs who survive against all odds. Until, of course, they are shot by the sheriff just when you thought they’d make it to safety. This is how they roll in Iowa. I feel badly for the pigs, but the guy in the article has a point – the killing of pigs is how pork and bacon come to pass. And a pig’s worth of pork is not sufficient motivation to mobilize the national guard to relieve the beleagued levee from its procine scourge. By the way, if you’re interested, here are the terms needed to define various types of animals.
Words 
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