funerals and foghat
as a few of you have noted, i have indeed been away for awhile. and sam, my dear, sweet sam, it has unfortunately been due to that identity crisis thing. i had to go to sue's funeral, a formal occassion which required no less than 3 hours of goatee-grooming, my best, least-soiled pair of tights and a new feather for my cap, which those identity crisis guys drew way too small. then i had to go off chasing dr. light, which as it turns out didn't do it anyway. this caused some complications, primarily that i got the shit kicked outta me by slade. (CAVEAT: i don't care what ralph dibney says, i do not have a bald spot. he's just jealous. plus, he's been drinking a lot lately.)
but i'm back with few stories to tell.
first, carter has totally started shaving his chest. he came in one day and acted like nothing was different, though it was frightfully noticeable that it no longer looked as though he had glued a roadkill to his chest. he insisted that he had not, in fact, waxed his pecs even after the second-day stubble was showing. clark suggested that maybe it was time for hawkman to actually invest in a shirt. second, diana finally had it out with atom for always picking her shoulder to sit on during meetings. i mean, it was pretty obvious that was looking right at those puppies the whole time. my god, who know's where the hell else he's been.
also, the latest chapter in the roommate from hell saga: bats has taken up the guitar. i promptly pointed out that everyone plays guitar and he should take up the viola or the oboe if he wants to be unique, but no, i have to endure "enter sandman" and the ubiquitous "stairway" at all hours. fortunately, dr. fate called earlier and we're going to have a beer later. i could use one after listening to bruce practice the solo in foghat's "fool for the city" for the last 3 hours.