Spent just about the whole damn day wrangling the last couple disasters of the Coal catalogs.

Brad just comes down here from Seattle—home of millions and millions of ‘smarter-than-Portlanders-to-the-south’ assholes—and really puts the thumbscrews to me. Cagematch. Lots of headwear. Pagination wars. Discussion about “lambs wool” and “yarn dye.” No less than three shouting matches ensued, two fistfights, four “come to Gary” epiphanies and one heart-to-heart went down over the last five days between Brad and I. Special thanks to Lovejoy for carrying the weight of this one on his back. He kicked the shit out of the book on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday.

On Monday we send the books to a land far away, and a factory full of happy, productive professionals prints the thing up. A mystery, really.

So once the years were dried up and Brad was on his way back up north, I went home to my lady and weiner dog, and then we went out…

- - - -

…to see the most tearjerking documentary I’ve seen all year long. Christ almighty.

Dear Zachary was down at the Hollywood theater, and I’ll just warn you right now: Bring some goddamn kleenex, or, wear a sweatshirt with long sleeves. You were warned.

Even as I type these words I get goosebumps. Whoa.

The world is a mysterious place, and evil is out there. I’ll say that much about it.