Life In A Box

I have become yet another home of randomly-broken silence. This is a good thing, unless you are interested in stories about the three-year-old dust formations my apartment suddenly turns out to be full of. Some of them spell out words, but fortunately none of them have instructed me to kill yet. Only a matter of time, I suppose.

Australia soon. I am still nursing my almost complete ignorance of the place. However, apparently cricket is popular in Australia, and England recently won something called the Ashes. (The name is familiar, and I'm sure I have some deep-rooted cultural memory of what the fuck the Ashes are, but it too is packed in a box somewhere.) On the one hand, I won't really be able to get into the spirit of triumphalism, because cricket may be the one sport I care about less than baseball - on the other, this will hopefully pay dividends in terms of not getting punched in the face. It's a delicate balance of costs, benefits and clouds of sentient dust over here.