In Which Your Humble Blogger reminds y'all Gentle Readers that you gotta see the show cause then you'll know the vertigo is gonna grow cause it's so dangerous, you'll have to sign a waiver.
In Which Your Humble Blogger trods the boards. Squeak!
In Which Your Humble Blogger stumbles blindly on. Sorry, Brooke.
In Which Your Humble Blogger things it's a drag.
In Which Your Humble Blogger doesn't actually write about the subject of the conversation, which frankly is only moderately interesting, even to YHB
In Which Your Humble Blogger could instead have written a much more sensible note about the 're' and 'er' spellings.
In Which Your Humble Blogger wonders. Idly.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is in fact aware that most teenagers weren't at the protests, but most teenagers weren't hippies or beatniks, either.
In Which Your Humble Blogger enjoys a very special, really magnificent part of the process. Or is it really special? No. Really marvelous and... wait, that's not right, either. Very special, really magnificent. I'm almost sure.
In Which Your Humble Blogger probably oughtn't call it a diary.
