Every morning at 4:40 for the past week or so, I've woken up to Bing poking me in the face repeatedly, not stopping until I pick up the comforter at the exact height that allows him enough room to walk under, turn around and hunker down. At the same time, Derrick walks through the house all sports commentatorlike, doing his trilling/thrilling play-by-play of how exciting it is to be alive, yet again. If it were summer and the windows were open, he'd be just in time to join in a chorus with the twittering birds who begin their day with a reverie that sounds like "Derek Jeter Jeter Jeter Jeter Jeter." (Of course they're Yankees fans.)
This next one is here by virtue of the name of the album it's from... Susan Sleepwalking. I used to think this was so beautiful and haunted, and fake drum beats didn't bother me then.
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