My brother Benjamin looks like Will Wheaton, my least favorite ensemble player from Next Generation. I looked at Wheaton's twitter page, twitter profile, and I have absolutely nothing to say about the youngster but I am filling space by saying his performances in recent years have been too self-conscious, and though I considered following him, I need a better reason than the fact that Patrick Stewart melts me and the boy used to be near the Shakespearean trained actor. Patrick Stewart restores in small measure my dwindling lubrication. Benjamin called me back (again) after I had, metaphorically, stomped my foot, but a new chasm has arisen, alas, over my niece and her graduation, and I am not sure my sister and I wouldn't, at some point, resort to a bad cat fight. However, when Will says twitter is fun, I have to ask, why? I no longer have fun, but my enjoyments are archaic. Horseback riding, hockey sticking, baseball, good theater. These things fun. Cyberspace and its gadgets less so. I in fact find the Internet frustrating or a net negative distraction, as much as it is a virtual tool when used properly, and not for procrastination. Certainly texting can convey humor, but as a form of entertainment, it makes me hedge.
I am still mourning my child, if not the atrocities in Houla, and my little black Vincent is still searching for his brother, playing the games they used to play. Since there is no one to mourn with me, I mourn with John Burham Schwartz, cheating by eating up the good stuff on kindle, a discipline issue. "Read the dreck, the free stuff first, or the things you are studying..." Reservation Road reminds me of the style of Richard Yates, but my feelings are still too engaged with the story, feeling guilty that my free time is easier because my beloved Joey is gone. Vinne is different, as I've conveyed, though we are both undergoing separation anxiety.
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