1. August Wilson - Having caught Phylicia Rashad on Tavis Smiley’s program recently (a rerun from last year), I was enlightened to the powerful works of August Wilson. Until this point, I’d only remotely heard about August Wilson as being some sort of writer. In my ignorance I didn’t know he was a playwright and I also didn’t know exactly how much impact his work has had on modern literature. I’m in the midst of reading Joe Turner’s Come and Gone, the second book of Wilson’s “Century Cycle,” which is set in Pittsburgh during 1911. The dialog has been so entirely engrossing that I find myself reading the play from the beginning of my lunch hour at work straight until it ends without a blink or a pause. August Wilson’s style is as captivating as it is almost depressing to a point. I’m sure that I’ll be dedicating more thought and space on this blog to August Wilson and his works.

2. Borax – You know you’ve seen that jackass Billy Mays and his Oxiclean all over your tube, especially if you’re watching programming geared toward women. You know when you buy that stuff, you’re basically buying what Borax already does but spending about three times as much, right? I get a box of Borax for just under three bucks and my laundry comes out brighter, smells good, and I can use that shit to clean just about anything. Some Borax and lemon juice ‘ll do the trick – and it’s really all natural! I love my 20 Mule Team.

3. Backing up hard drives - Why does backing up your hard drive make you feel like you’re a new person? I got a new 250GB Passport and I’m right in the middle of backing up my photos and music. I feel like I’ve figured out the secret to life! How strange.

4. Never get food from a strip mall French café - While watching Alton Brown make crêpes last night, I instantly started fighting a massive craving for them. I decided that today we’d get lunch at a French café nearby. Yeah, the café is part of a shitty SoCal strip mall, but I’ve gotten a decent mocha cappuccino and croissant there before. What the hell, the owner’s last name is French, so there was a remote possibility that she is actually French. My girls each got a Nutella crêpe, and I got a strawberry one. Theirs was good, mine was so-so. Mine would’ve benefited from having a nice thin layer of strawberry jam instead of just being naked with sliced strawberries on the side. Kim ordered a croque-monsieur, a rich, cheesy and creamy broiled ham and cheese sandwich. Of course, all she got was a fucking pan-grilled ham and cheese without all the French decadence and deliciousness. Typical.

5. Excellent Italian Greyhound - The sound that Steve Albini pulls out of Shellac’s latest recording makes me shiver. The sound approaches aural perfection. Jesus H. Christ.