Diet is going well. I cheated a little bit on accident this morning. The girls had left one of their breakfast bars in the kitchen and I ate a bite of it before I remembered. It tasted fantastic.

But I made up for it with some athletic masturbation. Satisfied, Jack?

Change of subject.

Does anyone besides me think On The Road by Jack Kerouac was gay? And I don't mean in the homosexual way, although it is that too.

This supposedly defining novel of the Beat Generation would embarrass me a little if I were the author. It swings from innocently joyful to jaded and cynical. I suppose that was part of it's charm. At least it isn't Naked Lunch, which always struck me as being written for the sole purpose of instigating the obscenity trial. Perhaps I'm worn out with beatniks and hippies. They haven't had a new idea in 40 years yet they're still held to be this paragon of intellectual/academic non-conformity.

Kerouac, for all his faults, realized this before anyone else and removed himself. And he really does have the coolest name in all of literature.