Current mood:	cold
Current music:	Blue Öyster Cult- Heavy Metal (The Black and Silver)

See I'm standing in the foothill
America is cold. America is pumpkin central. America is the only place in the world you can find signs with the words HUNGRY HUNGRY GAGAMOOS written on them for no apparent reason.

And I have Internet. What a novelty.

Bought a cool issue of NME at the airport. Has Panic! on the front. Has lots of cool bands I've never heard of that I am having great fun investigating. Radiohead is cool, BOC too, but I need something new. Corey Taylor from Slipknot is amsuingly normal. We Are The Physics is awesome. But Peaches is a ho.

Practically broke down at Customs, though. Stupid Feds. And their stupid paranoia. And their stupid forms which nobody tells you anything about until you get to the desk and they're all, what is the purpose of your visit, did you bring any moths, did you bring any meat, did you bring any armed nuclear warheads or letters from Bin Laden?

HEAVEN FORBID THAT YOU BRING ANY SNAILS. GASTROPODS OF THE GRAVE. FOUR HERMAPHRODITES OF THE APOCALYPSE. THEY WILL MOLLUSC YOU TO DEATH.

But lots of Dean angst. So much Dangst, in fact, that I'm beginning to think that the Impala scene could spawn a whole new series on its own titled Assurances of the Previously Known, subtitle, Dean Winchester Is A Little Fucked Up.

I wish I could write good Dean fic. But it always just starts off with Dean wanting to kick the shit out of something, and then disintegrates into a rant about how awesome he is.

Oh well.