Mired in self-actualization

OK, so I was all set to move forward on Georgia and keep the 50 states a-rolling through to the exciting land of Wyoming, but I'm afraid I've become bogged down...

Don't blame me, blame my iPod...

I was fully ready to commence a snark heavy write up about Savannah, and Gone With the Wind, and Ted Turner, and peaches, and former WWF superstar The Big Bossman, but then it happened...

Like a flash of light transporting my essence through the ether into a wholly different demention of space and time, a land where clocks run backward and it's still totally acceptable to wear bellbottoms and speak with an olde English accented drawl...

Or perhaps I just stuck my tongue in my desk fan...

My iPod started in on Van Morrison's Astral Weeks

I am therefore rendered snarkless, and paralysed to all things not cosmically intertwined with the goodness of the universe as a whole. Such is the power of Van Morrison...

So while I try and claw my way out of this powerfully ethereal Morrison-Mind-Meld, enjoy some less relevant musical expression...

I hope to rend my soul from Van's Irish Heartbeat prior to Thanksgiving, but if I do not, I hope the holiday finds you well fed, well lubricated, and stuffed to the brim with merriment...

Here's an early Turkey-Day gift, one of the forgotten treasures of the 80's...