Pima, the place where all the cotton comes from.

So, we're all moved in, mostly. Our house is pretty small, but--and I know this betrays my fatherhood and marriage status--cute. It's rained every day we've been here, even when we've just been visiting. I've been drinking my coffee at Epic Cafe--they have toddy as their iced coffee, and the girls who work there are so ugly that they're practically hot. They're not actually hot--but they're so, so ugly that you keep looking back, thinking, Man, I must have missed something 'cos that girl is really hip, has better-than-average tattoos, awesome hair, and cool glasses--let me take another look... Nope, she's ugly as sin. Lindsey and I were in there this morning, and she said the exact same thing: "I keep looking at that barista over there, just thinking that the next time I do she'll be really beautiful, but every time I look, she's just ugly." I'll try and get a picture up here soon to show all three of you.

I have had two job interviews this week. The job I wanted lost its funding, therefore I didn't get it, which obviously sucks. The second interview went very, very well, but ended up being a glorified secretary job at this literary press. Finally, though--this afternoon hope cracked through with a bitty glisten. It appears that I may have a job teaching English at Pima Community College. It sounds cooler than it will probably be, but I'd be excited about it, and it would be just the type of experience I will kill for in two years when I'm trying to teach at some big silly university.

Matt, enjoy your brother, because there's no chance you'll enjoy Yuma.

Adam, I expect a free Abercrombie hoods-up next time I'm out for a visit.

Paul, are you a father?

Brian, keep a look out for my high school swimming buddy Wiley Wallace at UCSB. He's there for his MFA starting this fall.

I'm lucky if all four of these dudes read this blog, but if anyone else is out there wanting a personalized message, well, as Matt says, You gotta stop lurkin.