So here I am, just sitting. I finished a bowl of Buffalo Bills Brownie Blitz ice cream. Yeah, I'm a Bills fan. So what if they were only good when I was not alive/only a baby? We love our Bills 'round here. Go Bills! Already excited for football season. The fun in loving a bad team is that losses are far less painful (we expect them) and wins are a big treat.

Have you ever noticed how different books smell, well, different? Let me give a few examples. My copy of Bleak House (by Charles Dickens) smells quite pleasant. I haven't gotten around to reading it, so perhaps that helps (plus its quite new). The Name of the Rose (by Umberto Eco) is a bit older, but it's got a nice smell, sort of rustic, you might call it. It's the kind of smell you might find in a pretty, old building. My Bible (by various people, divinely inspired by God) fares a bit worse. It's pretty beat up so it's not very sweet smelling like Bleak House, but it's not bad. Then there's Les Misérables (by Victor Hugo). It smells awful. It's positively atrocious. This causes me a dilemma. I am trying to read the book, but who wants to read a stinky book? Not me! Perhaps I'm just crazy.

By the way: [link] Awesome song right there. Just plain awesome.