I don't go to sleep to dream

I had a dream where I charged three Australian Aborigines to deliver a message for me via a primitive wooden biplane. I watched them fly over me through a small gap in the mountains and I expected the trip would be a doomed one, given the craft they were flying. As I watched the plane shrink in the distance, I scolded myself for doubting their plane's ability. Whatever the message was, I have since forgotten it. I hope the trip was successful.

Kevin Garnett is a Boston Celtic! Well, it hasn't been made official with a capital "O", but according to just about every beat reporter and sports blogger, it's a done deal. His addition to the team will make them an instant contender in the East. K.G., Ray Allen, and Paul Pierce will on the same team. That's three Hall of Famers. Even with that dream lineup, I will still miss the players we're giving up.

I'm off to do some reading and then I'll practice for a while. And then off to bed, where I'm hoping to find out if my message was delivered.

Columnated ruins domino

August is Bob TV's last month in our apartment. He just gave his two weeks notice at his job, one he's been at for the last seven years, and will be moving in with his mother in Nashville, so he can save money; ostensibly for film school, but I'm not completely sure. I won't miss his neediness and poor hygiene, nor will I miss his total disregard for cleaning the house. Having said that, there are aspects of Bob TV, like his easygoing manner and intelligence, that I will lament the passing of, and knowing that I probably won't ever see him again adds a little weight to his leaving.

Kreg will be our new house mate and I'm confident he will be a good fit. I've lived with him before and it worked out well, as I suspect it will this time around. It will be good living with an old friend again.

My legs are adapting to the stress running places on them, and I'm pleased to report that, after this morning's run, my gait doesn't mimic a nursing home resident's, like it has in days prior. I'm quite mobile---a little sore, but mobile---and I'm hoping this trend continues.

Running is as much a psychological challenge as much as it is a physical one. With the heart racing and the lungs burning, the mind seeks a return to comfort (this is before one enters the "zone", when the experience becomes more meditative and vivid, and thus tolerable). Many times during a run, my mind tries to negotiate a cessation of the act by broadcasting thoughts such as "Your heart can't take this much abuse; you better stop"and"Better not to push it; walking the rest of the way will serve the same purpose". And when that fails to work, my mind pulls out the big guns, inserting visuals in my head, like the one I had the other day where I imagined myself collapsing a ways up the bike path and strangers rushing over help me. I laughed in the face of the image; it's glamour had no hold over me. I'm proud to say I've overcome all of the mental hurdles that have come my way, and I have to think that in some way I'm stronger because of it. Still, I'd prefer smoother sailing.

I've figured out a way to have my cake and eat it, too at Shaw's. I'm a fan of the place in every way except for their prices. I've never gotten a Shaw's card because I haven't shopped there enough to justify getting one. Of late, though, I've been going there more, but still I resist getting a card, and the reason is because I don't need one. I discovered that when I reply "I do, but I left it at home" when the cashier asks me if I have a Shaw's card, they give me the discount anyway. This has worked for me twice now and I don't feel at all bad about my ruse; I'm fairly certain I'm not going to put them out of business.

Off to work on some music. I'm hoping my guitar is ready soon, so I can begin rehearsing for my upcoming shows in earnest.

And someone saved my life tonight, sugar bear

I get the feeling that my writing here resembles too much that of a smart ass, know-it-all high school sophomore, barely out of his swaddling clothes. When I occasion to review past entries I'm indeed left with that impression. I hope to shed that skin someday. Ah, maybe I'm just being a prick to my past efforts. It happens.

I've experienced a set back of sorts recently that, though typical of the pattern that's weaved itself into my life over the last, I don't know, ten to fifteen years, surprised and then dosed me with a spell of melancholia. Yes, it concerns a female and, to quote Mr. Gump, that's all I'd like to say about that. Fret not, dear readers, I'm functioning quite well despite the set back and will, despite my utter frustration over my shit luck, venture forth with head held high. Fuck, yes!

Who can succumb to the grief inherent in being utterly overlooked as a potential mate when there are the films of Alejandro Jodorowsky to experience. After waiting years for El Topo, the surreal western, to come out on dvd, I was, as I mentioned in a previous post, rewarded for my patience. I watched the film twice; once by my one-zies and once with Luke Warm. I could watch it again, but that would prevent me from watching his other films.

To cheer myself up, I traded in some dvds at Newbury Comics and purchased a box set of Jodorowsky's early films. The set includes three features, including El Topo, and the soundtracks of said film and The Holy Mountain, both of which Jodorowsky scored, on cd. For forty bucks, the set is a steal.

Tonight, I will watch The Holy Mountain, his next film after El Topo. I'm excited to watch it because it's considered by many to be his masterpiece. Jodorowsky set out to make a film, much like El Topo, that spoke in the language of symbols the spiritual path. To prepare for the film, he put himself and his crew through a month long regimen of spiritual practices, including deep meditation and shamanistic journeys aided by hallucinogenics. I'm not sure if that last bit is entirely true, given the fact that Jodorowsky claims he never really did drugs, even though his films would suggest otherwise. I could go on and on about the man; he truly has drank deeply from the well of life. In addition to being a filmmaker, Jodorowsky is recognized as one of the world's leading researchers of the Tarot; a playwright; an author of novels and comic books, a practitioner of almost every spiritual path under the sun; a lecturer; and musician.

Presently, a cool shower beckons and I must heed it's call.

Hyssop in your perfume

Sometimes I get the impression that the Gods are pranksters and I'm the one they enjoy messing with the most. I'm completely assured in the probability that I'm not the only one who's ever had such a notion, but I wasn't saying it to score points in originality. How are the Gods pranking me, you may be asking yourselves? Well, you know what? I'm not the caliber of writer to tackle such an elusive and nearly inexpressible question as that. I was just saying: sometimes I feel like the object of a series of big fucking jokes. And I have no idea to express it any more concisely than that. So, uh, yeah.....

Beginning yesterday, my legs have felt sore after running. I think this is the case partly because I've been running slightly longer distances and pushing myself slightly more in the process. I'm alright with that; no pain no gain, right? Sure, Kevin, whatever you say. Really, though, I'm feeling the effects of running and I've been skulking around like I've just been kicked in the nuts. But I will endure whatever discomfort is necessary in order to look and feel better. I've already lost sixteen pounds in two weeks!

I need to start rehearsing for the August show and yet both of the guitars I'd be using are out of commission. Go figure. I've been playing my twelve string just so I can be playing something, but it's got a different feel and, consequently, I need a period of adjustment. I'm afraid if I practice too much on the twelve I'll find playing a six string at the show an awkward experience. So why don't I just play the twelve at the show? I would, but it goes out of tune rather easily and having to constantly tune a guitar with twelve strings is a time consuming and involved affair. I don't think my set will go off very well if I'm spending half of it tuning my guitar. Of course, some might find it a welcome change from listening to my hackneyed songs. I do have a knack for making the tuning of a guitar a blissful experience. Anyway, what I'm going to do is take one of the six strings to a guy Luke Warm recommended and see what he can do.

Okay, I'm off to watch El Topo, one of my new favorite movies, with the commentary on. Yes, I am a geek. Oh yeah, I didn't lose sixteen pounds in the last two weeks; I was just joshing. That would be pretty tough to do, and if I were to do that I'd have to run A LOT more than I'm running now. And I'd also have to say no to eating whole cakes every night before bed. In my defense, I don't eat the frosting that always gets smeared inside the box the cake comes in. I'm not a pig, you know!

Sometimes I think it's a shame, when I feel like I'm winning when I'm losing again

Yesterday events conspired to make sure I didn't engage in any social activities. I was going to do some chores, go to Chelmsford to see my parents, and then go out to dinner with Amanda. Spira had called me the night before inviting me to go to the beach with her and Luke Warm, but I declined because of time restrictions.

The first wrench in the works was my parents not being available. They ended up going to my sisters to baby sit my nieces and it would have been too much of a drive to go all the way to Ashburnham for a visit. I called Amanda around noon and got her voice mail. I told her I was just calling to see if we were still on for later. After hanging up, I went for a run, came home and showered. I checked my phone--no calls.

Some time after three, I received a call from Amanda. I knew right away she was bailing on me; I could tell from the tone of her voice. She had an assignment for school she needed to take care of and wouldn't be able to do anything with me. She suggested today for a rain date, and I said sure, but I didn't expect it would happen.

After that, I called Luke Warm and got his voice mail. Then I tried Spira and got her voice mail. I was pretty sure they were still together; maybe they were sore that I didn't go out with them in the first place and weren't inclined to hang out with me anymore.

Very odd, yesterday. I didn't do a thing. Kind of sad and frustrating, but I got by. I had been looking forward to seeing Amanda, but after talking with her I felt kind of foolish for thinking that way. I had hoped to see my parents--hadn't seen them since my birthday--but that didn't happen, either. And Spira and Luke Warm disappeared into the ether. Oh well, I got to watch El Topo, a film that had finally made it to dvd after being out of print for years.

Well, there's nothing for it but to go on with my life and hope that yesterday wasn't a sign of things to come.

I won't forget all the times I waited patiently for you

It's been slowing down at work and I'm pleased with this development. It was fairly brutal for awhile--May and June were harsh mistresses--and now that we're making a slow entry into our down time, I've had more time to amuse myself at Ryan's expense. I've played phone tricks on him ( see one of my recent posts), shut the light out on him while he was in the bathroom taking one his many marathon craps, and put all manner of stickers on his back and butt (I wouldn't apply the sticker with my hand in that instance, but would kneel by his chair making as if I was looking for something on the floor, and right when he'd be about to sit down, with deft sleight of hand, I'd place the sticker sticky side up on the chair and let him unwittingly affix it himself ). My latest trick, I do believe, trumps them all.

I didn't set out to mess with Ryan, but when he said to me the other day, "Gio and Lenny just left to go to Brookline", I held back the laugh that had risen from my gut and kept my cool. See, Ryan had erroneously referred to Larry as "Lenny" and I wasn't about to disabuse him of that notion. Strange, I thought, that Ryan would utter the name of his man- crush incorrectly, but a gift is a gift and this was one of the better ones I'd received in a long while.

Periodically throughout the day, I'd bring "Lenny" up in conversation. "Is Lenny back from lunch?", I'd ask Ryan."Did you give Lenny his check?". "Karen's thinking about having Bill teach Lenny how to operate some of the machinery out back." I made sure to keep a straight face and only brought "Lenny" up when it was only Ryan and me in the room.

At one point, as I was wrapping up a conversation with Karen, I even went as far as staying on the phone after she had hung up in an effort to reinforce the "Lenny" myth. "Yeah, I had Dan and Lenny move the truck", I said to the dial tone. "Oh, you want Lenny to go on lunch first ? I'll make it happen." I made sure not to overdo it and distributed my "Lennys" with careful precision. Ryan was none the wiser.

The payoff came later in the day, but only after a bump in the road. Much to my chagrin, Ryan had referred to Larry as Larry, and my heart sunk. I did my best to hide my dismay and rather than succumbing to defeat, I redoubled my efforts. Finally, about an hour later, Ryan asked me why "Lenny" was late to work that morning. Good boy! I could have kissed the son-of-a-bitch, but I held back because he eats his boogers and fingernails and emits the foulest odors I've ever had the displeasure of whiffing.

After that, it was all gravy. Ryan only referred to Larry as "Lenny" and all was well in the world. My mind, body, and spirit were aligned in the satisfaction of a pulled-off prank. I expect I'll have to do some touch-up work in the days ahead, but I'm pretty sure I've stamped the "Lenny" myth firmly into Ryan's head.

Now, I don't claim ownership of this frame job; in fact, I'm pretty sure Jim did something similar to Dwight on "The Office". Whether I was the author of this prank is moot; what matters is I was able to convince Ryan that "Larry" was "Lenny", and in the process amuse myself.

My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums

After work today I went for a run in the rain. I haven't reached gazelle status yet, but I'm able to run greater distances and with more bounce in my step than I was a week ago. I came home and enjoyed a garden salad with pieces of a chicken-chili-lime burger on top. And for a beverage I had a delicious smoothie. All that and I still feel like hurting myself. I'm kidding.

Ryan, the round mound of sound hates all the drivers and they hate him. They think he's lazy and bossy, and they're right on both counts. He thinks they're lazy and incompetent and should all be fired. He's right in a way, but his assessment of them is too harsh.

Last week, one of Gio's friends started working with us. His name is Larry and at the end of his second day, when Karen and I were sharing our thoughts about his work ethic, Ryan chimed in with his opinion, which went like this: "I think Larry is an amazing worker. Really. He's only been here two days and he puts everyone else to shame."

Karen and I shared a look and then I said to Ryan, "How is it you like this guy so much and hate everyone else who works out back?"

"Because Larry's the real deal and the rest of those guys are idiots."

Well, that was that. Karen opined that perhaps Ryan had a little crush on Larry, and Ryan didn't do too much in the way of telling her she was wrong. As far as I know, Ryan's straight, but when the shirt incident occurred, I began to wonder.

A day or two after Ryan's glowing appraisal of him, Larry approached me and asked me what was up with Ryan. I assumed he was referring to Ryan's laziness, because that's usually what people bring up when they speak to me about him. Instead, Larry told me that when he came in to work in the morning wearing his black Taylor Rental shirt for the first time, Ryan told him he looked really good in it. Hmmmm. And that wasn't the only time; Larry told me today that Ryan made another comment to him about how good he looked in the shirt a couple of days ago. Larry seems like a nice guy, but he's not feeling very good about being courted by a lazy, obese, booger eating, fingernail chomping, college student. And the shocking part of the story is that I'm jealous! Again, I kid. Or do I? Hmmmm.........

In the wee small hours of the evening

I wish I could express what's going on in my head right now; let me tell you it hasn't been a joy holding it back, but I'm afraid, at least for now, I must. It's nothing bad, quite the opposite--I've touched upon it in mysterious fashion in previous posts--and the reason it's a secret is because, well, damn, there's a time and a place for everything. So maybe I should keep my mouth shut about it then, instead of teasing around the subject. I'll do my best, though hopefully soon enough the planets will align in my favor and I'll be able to divulge the particulars of the matter.

Man, I love my new blender. I've been making fruit smoothies with it and they've been delicious. The jolt of energy I feel after downing one is something else. I feel like Popeye, though without the pipe, spinach, and missing eye. Now, where's my Olive Oil?

I went over Amanda's place last night and we hung out in her room and watched Extras until we were sore from laughing and photoshopped some goats (don't ask). Knowing ahead of time that I wouldn't be arriving home by bed time, I wasn't too surprised when I pulled in the driveway at 12:30. Sometimes you have to break routine.

I just finished watching The Matador and though it wasn't as good as I thought it might be, it didn't turn out as bad as it appeared it would be as I was watching it. My mother absolutely hated the movie when she watched it a few weeks ago---she said it was too weird---so I was pretty sure I was going to like it. And I did--so how do you like that?

If you're looking for a great album to have on as background music as you clean or write or surf the net or whatever, look no further than Califone's Heron King Blues. I've had the album for a couple of years now and it's really pretty and cohesive. And when I say it makes for great background music, I don't mean to suggest that it doesn't perform well under close scrutiny, because it certainly does.

Now it's off to work on some songs, and if that doesn't pan out like I fear it won't, I'll do some reading. Now, if you'll excuse me....

Stars of track and field we are

Just returned from a really long walk and the first thing I did was throw a bunch of fruit into my new blender and attempted to make a smoothie. I say attempted because, though the blending part was a success, the pouring part left something to be desired. Lets just say the bottom fell out, or rather, I helped it fall out and the aftermath was a thick red puddle all over the counter. I wasn't deterred and made another smoothie, this time making sure not to mess with the bottom of the container.

As you may have figured out already, I'm trying to get healthier. Not to say I've been leading a particularly unhealthy lifestyle, but the mirror doesn't lie--no, it certainly does not-- and I decided to take action. So, it's a mainly vegetarian diet for me and plenty of running and walking. If I slim down as a result of my shift in focus, then perfect, but at this point in my life I'm more concerned with feeling good than looking good.

I've been meaning to watch The Matador for a couple of weeks now; maybe tonight will be the night. Now don't take this the wrong way, but I'm still sweaty from exercise and am about to step into a nice, cool shower, after which I'll enjoy my smoothie and think the kind of profound thoughts you imagine I think. I'll leave you with the sage words of Steven Wright.

If heat rises, then Heaven must be hotter than Hell.

Fell into a sea of grass and disappeared among the shady blades

At Olympia Sports today I purchased a much needed pair of running shoes. I knew ahead of time that I wanted to get a pair of New Balance shoes, and within minutes of entering the store, I found the pair I was looking for. The customer service, which at first I welcomed, grew talons and attached itself to my back for the remainder of my time in the store. I was in the store a total of fifteen minutes and I was asked about six or seven questions by one of the two guys working there.

"Do you want to leave the shoes at the counter while you browse, sir?"

"No thanks, I'll be leaving shortly."

"Do you need any shorts today?"

"No, I'm all set."

"These are great shoes. Let me show you these great inserts that you need to get with them."

"How much are they?"

"Only twenty dollars."

"No thanks."

(taken aback) "You don't want them?"

"I'm good, thanks."

"Aren't you worried about your knees?"

"Not particularly."

"Really?"

"I'll tell you what, the minute I start noticing some discomfort in my knees, I'll come back and talk to you about these inserts."

"Do you want to be a part of Olympia Sports rewards program?"

"No thanks."

"Are you sure?"

"I am sure."

"It will just take a minute to fill out the..."

"I'm a little pressed for time, so I'm going to pass."

(smirking) "If you started filling out the form when I suggested, you'd already be a third of the way from great discounts and...."

"Maybe some other time."

"Do you need any shorts today?"

"We covered that already. No."

"I see you're getting some socks. If you buy the six pack, you'll save...."

"These will do."

I was ready to box his ears with a couple of glass bottles, but the only thing that prevented me from expressing my displeasure with his aggressive sales approach was the notion that he was genuinely trying to be helpful. Whatever the case, I got out of there as quickly as possible.
--

Went to a Lisa's house last night with Kreg, Spira, and Luke Warm to attend her party. Her boyfriend Trevor is a foodie and made some tasty dishes. The salad was exceptionally good. Not much of note happened, but it was a good time. We walked back to Spira's afterward and hung out a bit. It was funny watching her; she was heavy-lidded with drink and looked ready to fall asleep at any moment. Ever the trooper, she stayed awake for the entirety of our visit.

Had a bit of a dark night of the soul that lasted a couple of days last week. I worked through it with meditation and exercise. It wasn't so bad, but I could have done without the experience all together. Such is life.

Earth, water, fire, and air, met together in a garden fair

Not much to report. Not really in the writing mood. Maybe I'll just not bother and erase what I've written thus far.

Ok, I couldn't bear to do it; I'm a coward.

Sean landed us a show at Brewed Awakening in Lowell in August and I'm looking forward to it. It's on a Friday night, which is good and the location will serve as a kind of halfway point between our New Hampshire and Boston friends, so hopefully we'll get a decent draw. August 10th. Remember the date.

I've been taking longer and faster walks lately. Yesterday, along the bike path, I was neck in neck with this girl who I think had the same idea in her head that I had, which was to reach the Willow st. crosswalk first. She beat me by a few feet---man, she was fast---but I wasn't shamed in defeat; I was inspired. If we meet again, though, I will emerge victorious.

I'm off to watch some Extras and then I'm going to read from "The Lies of Locke Lamora". So there.

And now his ghost is a rising host above the blinding blur

I stayed up late on the phone with Amanda as she attempted to send me a picture on MySpace. It was getting well past my bed time, but I would have stayed up 'till dawn to await the picture. Around twelve thirty, she completed her masterpiece and sent it to me. It was well worth the wait; I got on MySpace and there waiting for me was a picture of the Solid Gold dancers, with Amanda's head superimposed over one of them. Funny stuff, particularly because it carried some significance, of which I won't divulge because it would incriminate the fuck out of me. Let's just say I had affection for the Solid Gold dancers when I was younger and leave it at that.

Today was one of the better ones I've had at Taylor Rental. It was slow, but the day didn't drag. Everyone went about their work in good spirits and my stress level was at Defcon 1. There was a little excitement at the end of the day, though.

For some reason, beginning at four thirty, I dealt with a string of customers who couldn't speak a lick of English. The first was a woman returning some napkins. There was a discrepancy on her order and I tried explaining it to her, but she could only react with a string of profanities in Spanish. I eventually gave up trying to explain it to her, so I pointed at the door, hoping she'd interpret the gesture correctly. She did, and she left with a smile.

The next arrival was a little Potrugese guy I had placed an order for a few days ago. He reminded me of Yohei, the meek villager in Seven Samurai and right up until he got upset with me, he maintained that image.

This man had rented from us a Moon Bounce, one of those inflatable houses kids jump up and down in, and he was attempting to return it. When he had placed the reservation, he had to put his friend on the phone with me, because his English was nonexistent. Today, his interpreter was nowhere in sight, so we had to wing it. From his hand gestures and certain words in Portugese I was able to decipher, I figured out that he didn't have the Moon Bounce with him because he didn't have the use of his friend's van to transport it. He tried telling me in his Yohei demeanor that he wanted us to go pick it up for him, that it was only a couple of streets away. I told him we would, but that it would cost him twenty dollars. He agreed and gave me his credit card.

It was declined. After spending the next five minutes trying to explain to him that without payment, we wouldn't be able to pick up the Moon Bounce. The problem was that if he returned it tomorrow, he would have to pay for another days rental. He started yelling at me and tried to tell me in his pulverized English that I had overcharged him to begin with and that even after the twenty dollars for the pick up, we'd still owe him a couple of hundred dollars. At that point, I went looking for Al, one of my drivers, so that he could speak explain to the guy in Spanish what was going on.

Al tried to talk sense in Yohei, but it didn't do any good; he continued ranting and raving. Finally, after taking all that I was inclined to take, I butted in and told Al to tell him that the guy was already a day late and that, by rights, I could charge him another two hundred dollars. I wouldn't do that, though, if the guy gave me the twenty dollars necessary for us to go pick up his rental. Without stopping for breath, I told Al to also tell Yohei that if the matter wasn't resolved quickly, I would send the man on his way, leaving him to figure out how he was going to return the Moon Bounce and with another days rental to pay for. This tactic seemed to work on the man, because he quickly forked over twenty bucks in cash. Al told me the guy was upset primarily because I never explained to him that he had to pay taxes on the rental. Explain to him? How in bloody hell did he expect me to do that when he couldn't speak more than three words in English.

Most people who come into the shop who aren't fluent in English are usually pretty articulate. Often, they're embarrassed to even try to speak the language, but when they eventually do, I'm almost always impressed at how much they know. But people like Yohei, and the other couple of people I dealt with at the end of the day don't even try. C'mon, people, meet me halfway.

And these feelings in my heart I know are meant for you

I confronted Bob TV about his piss bottle the other day. It was Saturday and I had just come home from work. I noticed the bottle was still on the floor by the door, so I went into the living room, where Bob TV was and asked him if he was planning on throwing the bottle away any time soon, or if he was displaying it as a piece of art. He said he'd throw away--by the look on his face, he'd forgotten it was there-- and did so promptly. I hope he elects to stick with the toilet from now on. Something tells me, though, that I'll see another of his piss bottles laying around.

I went to my parent's house yesterday for my birthday party. My sister, her four kids, and my grandmother were in attendance. Like always, I have to adjust to the general chaos that ensues when there are multiple children in a room. The crying and screaming and everything else associated with children made it difficult to have a conversation; as soon as one would get going, a child would start crying or step too close to the open cellar door or knock over a flower pot. It wasn't a necessarily bad experience, but, as I said, one that needed adjusting to.

I was grateful for the party. My oldest nieces, Shannon and Kiley, made me a banner that said "Happy Birthday" and had drawings of balloons and guitars on it. And later, Kiley stood in front of me and performed a few songs on her violin as a birthday present for me. Her playing was horrible and it was some of the most beautiful stuff I've heard in a while. Colleen, the little one, hid from me the moment I arrived. She does this often; my parents think it's because of my beard, but I'm not so sure. Maybe it's awe; the light I cast is damn bright.

After everyone had left, I stuck around and talked with my parents for a couple of hours. I left feeling fortunate that I have the family that I do.

I went over Amanda's house later on and helped her put in her new air conditioner. That was my fourth installation of the summer. I'm getting pretty good at it. We put it in just in time; the room was starting to get pretty muggy. Once the room became comfortable, we had a couple of beers and, sitting on her bed, watched commercials and tv show clips from our youth on Youtube. Watching Ricky Schroeder break dance on Silver Spoons was nothing short of sublime.
I came home around two and read some Sherlock Holmes before falling asleep with the book on my chest.

Now, I will go cook some dinner-- maybe I'll grill a chili lime chicken burger-- and afterward I'll work on some songs and watch some Deadwood. Sounds like a plan.

Daisy Glaze

Ok, let's recap the 4th of July: I did nothing. Now, on to the 5th, my birthday. I spent the first part of the day shopping. I treated myself to a Sherlock Holmes anthology and bought a shirt and a pair of flip-flops at Old Navy. I hit Trader Joe's somewhere in between and went back home where I watched the next to last episode of Rome and loved it so much I held off watching the last episode. I hope to do so tonight, though it will be bittersweet. There will be a month wait until season two comes out. It already seems decades away.

Last night, I went out to dinner with Spira, Luke Warm, and Michael. We went to Dali's, a wonderful Spanish restaurant in Cambridge. We had a table full of tapas, which included cheese balls in a sweet sauce, tasty ribs, lamb in an almond and mint sauce, and scallops. A perfect birthday dinner.

I returned to work today and even though it was relatively quiet, we didn't miss out on our daily bit of catastrophe. Tantrums were thrown, orders were inaccurate, customers arrived in clumps right at the end of the day---the usual. I can't complain too much, because it's a short week and after tomorrow, I'll have another two days off.

I came home from work today and talked with Rich for a spell. He pointed to the back door and there, on the floor to the right of it, was a bottle of Fresca that looked to be half full ( or empty, if you maintain a negative outlook). I had noticed the bottle there yesterday when I was coming up from the basement. It occurred to me that the contents of the bottle resembled piss more than Fresca. I quickly shrugged off the notion. Why would someone leave a bottle of piss in a highly visible area?

Well, Rich informed me that Bob TV had told him when he moved in that sometimes, when the bathroom is occupied, he'll rush into the kitchen and swipe an empty bottle off the top of the fridge and piss in it. He even told Rich where he leaves the bottle, which so happened to be the spot where the Fresca bottle resided.

I puzzled over why, with the garbage cans only a few steps from the back door, didn't Bob TV take those goddamned steps and throw his bottle of piss away, instead of leaving it on the floor for all to see. And this isn't the first incident, either. I'd seen another bottle in the same location a few months ago, but convinced myself that Bob TV had just left a bottle of soda lying around. Anyway, what a sick fuck. I don't object to the idea of a piss bottle---do what you've gotta do---but I strenuously object to it being displayed in the common areas of the house like a bowling trophy.

I will most definitely have to confront Bob TV about this, and knowing him as I do, will have to explain to him why it's not a good thing to be leaving a bottle of urine around. In a lot of ways, I'll miss Bob TV when he moves, but I will not miss his methods of relocating his waste. Between molting all over the stairs, bleeding on the sofa, and now this, I wouldn't be surprised to find a pile of scat in the corner of our dining room. Hey, why not? If you've got to go, you've got to go.

One last thing about this pissing business. Apparently, Bob TV had told Rich, his new roommate, that the reason he sometimes pissed in bottles was because someone would be in the bathroom when he needed it. Now, he lives with two guys who do not spend an excessive length of time in the bathroom. Couldn't he hold it in?

I talked with her today. I feel smitten, confused, frustrated, scared, hopeful, excited-- the gamut. I hope clarity will hit sometime soon, when my direction is clear, when I take definitive steps in some direction, and something good comes out of it. I'm actually surprised I had forgotten that affairs of the heart are hardly simple affairs. Well, damnit if I don't remember now.

Battle at Kruger

The Landlord

She was the most beautiful cloud that ever passed before the face of a girl

After a couple of days off from work, my first day back was like being thrown into a cactus. There were points in the day that I'd like to forget, and forget them I will. Overall, though, it was a manageable experience, especially in light of the fact that I have today and tomorrow off.

Last night I went to the Abbey to see Foley and Chrissy play. They each played a short set and I was happy I got to see them. I'd always wanted to see Chrissy play, but she had retired from playing out around the time I met her. So this was a momentous occasion and she didn't disappoint. She's got a great voice and her songwriting is impressive. She performed a humorous cover of GnR's "Don't Cry", or whatever it's called. We plan on working together sometime soon. I look forward to it.

After the show, a bunch of us went over to Christopher's and had some food and drink. I talked with Bridgette about how she's able to sleep entire days away. For some reason I'm fascinated by people's sleeping habits, so this was music to my ears. I think we filled at least twenty minutes discussing it. Kreg, she may have you beat.

At one point, after a couple of Blue Moons, I went to the bathroom for a piss and read some of the messages written on the wall. One said "Christopher's is Fag World". Perhaps it is, I mused, and perhaps the author of the message wasn't being homophobic when he wrote it, as I first assumed. Maybe he himself was gay and was just letting his brethren know that Christopher's is bursting at the seams with gays. If this is the case, then the man should be commended. I bet with that one message, he's helped countless homosexuals find partners, both short and long term. Imagine the dejected guy, out on the town with his friends, searching in vain for a little man love, going to bathroom at Christopher's and reading that message. And imagine his victory walk back to his friends hanging out at the bar."Guys, I think we've struck gold!", he'd say . So, to those of you looking for a little sodomy, remember that Christopher's is Fag World.

Foley and Tamsyn had bought me a couple of books about the stranger side of New England as a gift for participating in their wedding last summer and I carried them around with me all night. The odds of me leaving them behind were high, but thanks to Pete, who handed them to me as we were leaving for the night, they are still in my possession.

Although I didn't drink that much, I woke up late this morning with a head thick with fog. I drank a large glass mixed with a variety of juices and meditated in an effort to bring myself back to my usual hale self. I was mostly successful, but I'm still lethargic. I'm reminded of why I don't drink that often.

Well, it's the 4th of July and I'm not sure there's anything going on. I haven't heard of any cook outs or similar activities taking place, so maybe I'll lay low and do some reading. Maybe I'll watch Manhattan at some point. Or maybe I'll take a page out of Bridgette's book and go back to bed.

Is it to the sky

I had a nice relaxing day. I watched Hannah and Her Sisters and read up on Sasquatch. I also took a sunny walk down the bike path and listened to my mp3 player, which sensed the comfortable climate and picked for me complimentary songs. Looking through the roof of leaves to the sun while on the bike path, I listened to some Beach Boys and Bert Jansch, and my heart was sated.

It's back to work tomorrow, but only for one day and then I'll be off again. I could get used to this.

Had a friend, she once told me, "you got love you ain't lonely"

I had my first surprise birthday party last night. Well, sort of. Kreg and I showed up at Luke Warm's house well after his roommate Peppy was supposed to have been surprised by his friends and family. We entered the house, me first, and a room full of people screamed surprise in my face, blew on noisemakers, and sprayed me with copious amounts of silly string. Several things went through my mind, in this order: 1. Peppy had already been surprised, but the revelers thought it would be a silly little prank to provide the same service for all subsequent entries into the house 2. This was in fact my surprise party 3. They thought I was Peppy.

I immediately discounted option three because I was in a brightly-lit room and only two or three feet from everyone. If they couldn't figure out I wasn't Peppy, then Peppy should consider getting some new friends and family. Peppy and I look fairly alike, but we are far from being identical.

The notion that the party was being thrown in my honor had some weight to it. My birthday is only a few days away, so the timing was about right for a party in my honor. It occurred to me when I didn't recognize most of the people, that perhaps I'd run out of the amount of friends required to qualify for a party and the planners had to hire people to fill in the gaps. I continued to believe the party was for me, though, because, as I stated before, everyone kept yelling "surprise" well after the point it should have been apparent that I was not Peppy.

But the truth of the matter was they thought I was Peppy. His close friends, coworkers, his sister---they all were convinced I was him. After loads of apologies and laughter, everyone regrouped and issued the real Peppy a hearty surprise. Mine was better.

So, no birthday party for me, though there was a surprise. Too bad, because a huge amount of kudos would have gone out to the organizers. As Kreg pointed out, there would have been such a veil of secrecy surrounding the event that even he, the guy who brought me there, wasn't privy to the truth.

It was a fun party. I played with Michael's insane cat, drank some Carlsbergs, met a buxom girl who really, really, really liked pot, attempted to watch "Battle at Kruger" on Youtube with a few people, and other stuff that one could label as being enjoyable.

Now, I'm off to Trader Joe's with Luke Warm. We'll probably go to Old Navy afterwards. Maybe I'll be able to convince him to shop for curtains with me. Nothing like an emasculating activity to start off the week.