Lull

I've been told that I rarely smile in photographs. With much effort and many fruitless attempts, a picture of me (sincerely, effortlessly) smiling has been carefully fashioned. It will now grace the front page of this blog until I decide that the awkward collar situation of the shirt I'm wearing in the picture is too much to bear.

Smiles are overrated anyway. The true smile is an invisible one. One need not show teeth to impart joy and frivolity.

This is that lull. Late June. After the NBA playoffs, before the draft. After the preliminaries, before the trip to Vegas. After the planning and the promises, before the annual summer trip to the Midwest. After the season finales, before the premieres of Monk and Mad Men. After the news that the new Hold Steady album will be coming, before it arrives in my ears. The lull.

But it's been said: "Time keeps on slipping slipping slipping. Into the future." What seems like a lull is the life itself.

The good of my weekend: Skipping through South Coast Metro, sleeping with the shades drawn, Pico, knowing about wild mountain honey, plans, and Commerce chicken.

The bad, the ugly: All the hot heat in between.

I'm in the very middle of the book Beautiful Children by Charles Bock. It's pretty amazing and harrowing. Whether Bock has an astounding imagination or possesses the most spot-on observational skills (of family/strangers/city) doesn't matter. I rewrote that last sentence six times and I can't make it any better than that. Tired. Cold (the office air conditioning - it's relentless.)