Dear Log,
My parents are in town, visiting me. The cat seems to consider them some kind of optical illusion.
I bought a big tin of crackers at the Filipino corner store today, to go with some goat cheese that I can eat without my entire body turning to ebola goo (my usual reaction to cheese). The crackers are Filipino crackers. When you open the tin, there is a very earnest and verbose and courteous, almost courtly, note. The note asks that you, kind generous customer, really should consider storing this tin in a cool dry place, so that the crackers may sustain their highest realization as tokens of unconditional love from the cracker company to you, with freshness for as long as possible in this world of eternal transience.
And then there is a company newsletter.
From the Filipino cracker company.
It is long. And it is in color.
I am in a state of aesthetic arrest, where dadaism sprays into reality and segfaults my brain.
