I'm Not Aware Of Too Many Things/I Know What I Know If You Know What I Mean

Nick's doubtful 'bout Dipset, I parlay a three-year old trip to South Carolina into a T.I. record review with limited success, Matt Fluxblog gets all Associated Press on a Thom Yorke listening party, and here's a massive, scam-detailing Clevescene cover story by Hoffman that ran the week of his wedding. Here's my first-ever book review for the Baltimore City Paper with more to come soon; I'm quite enjoying the partial shift of critical energies from one medium to the other. (In fact, I need to spend some more quality time with Cellophane as soon as I finish this post.)

Malia, Alecia tells me, is always in motion -- I have the feeling that it'll be difficult to keep up with her once she's up on two legs. That seems a long, long ways off, but then again it feels like it was just yesterday that we found out Malia was en route and now there's a little more than two months to go until she arrives, a little more than three months until we move to Pennsylvania. Still no definite job prospects; at least I've been able to grab plenty of freelance writing. Small victories, small steps.

I have a feeling that my co-workers will be throwing me a baby shower in the very, very near future -- too many whisperings and hints around here today. In case I didn't mention it, we have a registry at Target. (Which isn't a hint unless you want it to be.)