Deep in your room, you never leave your room

As I was running on the bike path, a convoy of marathon runners approached me heading the other way. Later, when I got back on the bike path heading in their direction, I noticed a lot of activity at the point where it met Davis Square. As I got closer, I realized I was looking at the finish line. There was a runway sectioned off by stanchion ropes and on either side stood a horde of people comprised of spectators and runners who had completed their run. When I was about fifty feet away, I saw that they were cheering me on. I looked behind me and the nearest person was far behind .

I didn't want to run through middle of that group, but then I did want to run through the middle of that group. I wanted the feeling of exultation at having finished a marathon. Their cheering infused with me energy and I ran faster towards the finish line. I straightened my back and ran towards glory.

As I was about to raise my arms in victory and dive into my sea of fans, I was jolted back to reality, to the first thought I had of not wanting to run through that group of people. I recalled I didn't want to because A) doing so would have been a fraudulent thing to do, which when you have a pure heart like mine, is a sin of the highest order and B) if I did go through with it, I would have been the guy in last place. The only person behind me was a woman walking her Collie. Oh, and C) I didn't want that many people focusing their attention on me. Yes, sometimes a guy can get shy. Even one with a pure heart.

Even when I'm a fraud, I don't settle for last place. I stopped running about ten feet from the finish line and pulled out my Ipod and pretended to fiddle with it. And while doing that, I veered off the path and snaked through the people clustered there. When I came out the other side, I felt a tinge of regret at not having crossed the finish line. Who knows, I probably could have gotten laid out of the deal or at least handed some kind of ribbon, or something. I guess I'll never know.
--
Went to Newbury Comics after the run and picked up cd's by Can, Porno For Pyros, David Bowie, and Neu. Aside from Porno for Pyros, it was the closest thing I could muster to a trip to Germany (for the those of you not familiar with the Krautrock scene, Can and Neu are from Germany and Low, the David Bowie album I got was recorded in Berlin and heavily inspired by Neu).

I called my grandmother at the hospital on the way to the store. She didn't sound very well ---her voice was gravelly and she sounded tired. My Uncle Dick was there. He had flown in from North Carolina yesterday and surprised my grandmother when she was in the recovery room after her surgery. She told me how happy seeing him made her. "My baby has been taking care of me all day. He's been doting on me like a mother hen", she said. A few minutes later, after I hung up with her, I felt bad about not visiting . It hadn't been on my day's agenda, but I didn't really have much of an agenda, so I went to the hospital. It was the right thing to do and I'm glad I went.

My parents were there and it was a nice visit. Nana was looking good, much better than the way she sounded on the phone. I was glad Dick was there. He's a very funny guy and watching the interplay between him and my father is always a treat. When they're together, they're a perpetual vaudeville act. It's when my father seems the happiest. I like seeing him that way.

When we were all leaving, they asked me to go out to lunch with them. My dad was buying so I accepted the invitation. It's never a good idea to turn down a free meal. My aunt Maureen met us at the restaurant and we spent two hours discussing how cool, handsome and erudite I am. No, really we did.
--
Janelle just posted some of her writing on Myspace and it's of the highest caliber. I've always enjoyed her writing, but this stuff has eclipsed all that has come before. Skilled, insightful, tight, lyrical----these are just some of the ways to describe her writing. Believe me, if I possessed the vocabulary, I'd have constructed a much longer list. She's an inspiration.
--
Ok, I've got to get started on other projects. And one of them is watching more Lost episodes. I'm almost done with the second season, bitches.

Good day sunshine

Luke Warm and I made the trip to Salem last night to watch Spira play. When we arrived, the band was already playing. We saw a couple of Spira's coworkers and sat with them. From our vantage point, which was off to the right of the stage, I couldn't see Spira, who for the first fifteen minutes or so after our arrival, I'd assumed wasn't playing yet. It took Luke Warm to inform me that she was tucked away in the corner. She played great; it was nice seeing her with a band again.

It was a bittersweet night, though, for Luke Warm and me. The Celtics were playing the Bobcats, the only team they hadn't beaten. When we left for the club, they were neck in neck. It looked like we were going to miss a great game. When I found out later that the C's had won, and that it was a tight game, I put my fist through the TV and cursed Spira and her stupid rock show. Ok, I'm fibbing---I didn't do that to the TV.
--
Murph was at the house last night hanging out with Rich. When I saw him, I laughed. I didn't intend to, but for some reason his outfit, an ensemble that consisted of loose-fitting stone washed jeans, loafers, and a foliage-colored camouflage polo shirt, set me off. I guess it was more the way he carried it than anything else. He's an interesting looking guy, what can I say. So, you're probably waiting for me to describe him, and I guess I should, so here goes.

He's short and a little stocky, has an angular, yet fleshy face, a moustache, and white, feathered hair that he keeps close to the scalp with mousse or possibly gel. And every inch of his frame is dripping with sexuality. Though I consider myself a staunch hetero, I often have to fight back the urge to drag my tongue across his pasty flesh. He's so fucking hot, I .........ok, even as a gag I can't go any further with this. No disrespect intended, Murph, but I'm not attracted to you. I'm sorry, my friend, but that is the cold, hard, truth. Go gentle into that good night, my sweet little lamb, and forget about me, about us.
--
I've discovered a bunch of various podcasts online concerning the paranormal, Bigfoot, etc. Great stuff, except the sound quality is usually poor. I'll often listen to shows in bed at night and fall asleep at some point only to be brutally ripped from my slumber by a dramatic spike in the broadcast's volume. Either the voices being transmitted are too quiet or, as I just described, too loud. It's still worth it for me, though. Last night I listened to a great interview with an old school Bigfoot researcher. He was a great story teller and I was captivated for a long while before I finally succumbed to sleep. And, of course, about an hour later I was brutally ripped from my slumber by a dramatic spike in the broadcast's volume.
--
My dad called me about an hour ago. I answered the phone with a certain measure of apprehension. I suspected he was calling about my grandmother, and these days a call concerning my grandmother warrants apprehension.

He didn't make it easy for me, my father. Here's what he said as close to verbatim as I can make it. I've included my commentary in parenthesis.

Dad: Hey, Kev. Just wanted to call you with.....ah, so Uncle Dick flew in yesterday and was with Nana at the hospital when she had her procedure. I showed up a little later and uh....and Maureen showed up a little after that. She wanted to run some errands first and then she had to call Megan (get to the point, please) and then she came by at......I don't know......maybe around three. Well, Nana had the procedure and it seemed like it went well (just fucking tell me if she's alive) and then Dick stepped out for a bit with me while Nana was recovering. (he's saying all this slowly, like he's trying to put off telling me some bad news) And then, while we were out, Maureen went to check on Nana and, well....(just fucking say it!) she looked pretty good. And then I went home for a while and Dick and Maureen stayed at the hospital. Oh, and Brian went to the hospital to see Nana. And then......(lots more small talk). So, I guess she's doing pretty well.

Obviously, I was expecting some pretty bad news. The fact that he got around to the news that she appeared to be recovering well from her surgery after a lot of inessential small talk is par for the course with him. It's just the way he is and I don't fault him for it. What's frustrating is that, if she had died, he would have preceded the news with the same amount of small talk. Needless to say, I was relieved at the end of the conversation.
--
A friend of mine expressed interest in dating someone significantly older than him. I was surprised to hear it; not because I think it's a bad idea, but because I was in the same room with the two of them and I wouldn't have guessed, not in a ton of years, that he was interested in this person. After thinking about it, I could see it working out, or at least being worth a shot. I hope he acts on this.
--
As for me, I recently discovered that someone of the fairer sex had left me a couple of comments a few posts back. Feel free, if you're curious, to scroll down and check 'em out. Apparently, I sound sexy to this woman and I think I owe it to myself to make a love connection with her. What do you think? Hell, if we become a couple, you won't have to read anymore about "her". Unless, of course,the nature of my new relationship is casual and allows for expressions of unrequited love. I'll have to ask about that. In the meantime, if it doesn't work with my new lady friend, there's always Murph, who could never claim to be bringing sexy back, because---and this is the absolute truth---it never left him in the first place. Oooohh yeahhhh!!

Lost in love and I don't know much

Watched about five episodes of Lost yesterday. It's been hard to stop watching, especially when I don't have to wait until the next week for another episode. I still have many episodes to watch until I catch up. My mantra is going to be "moderation", but I suspect I won't adhere to it.

I won't be watching any episodes tonight. Spira's band is playing in Salem again (why does everything seem to go down on Friday nights? Must be because I have to get up at six the following morning.) and because I missed her last performance (she's playing percussion with her old college professor's band) I can't miss this one. I'm sure I'll have a good time.
--
Kim had to steer the ship in my absence yesterday. For someone who never fails to toot her own horn, she was in the weeds for a good portion of the day and, from what I understand, was frazzled throughout it all. Everyone gets frazzled, but not everyone makes themselves out to be much better than they are like Kim does. And usually at my expense, I've noticed, which is why hearing about her ordeal felt pretty good. A bit of poetic justice.
--
I discovered in my last post, the one about Kim, that it may have appeared that I was writing about her in the last paragraph. If it wasn't already clear, I'll say it now that Kim is not, I repeat NOT, the woman I was pathetically pining over. The confusion, if there was any, may have arisen over the fact that I had referred to this other woman only as "she" in the last paragraph, which came on the heels of a bunch of tripe about Kim. It would stand to reason, as a consequence of my lazy writing, that the "she" I was referring to was Kim, even though it would have been a peculiar thing switching gears so dramatically. So,I inserted a tiny paragraph about watching Lost in an effort to diminish any confusion, because, and I can't stress this enough, I am not into Kim. At all. Nor will I ever be. Well, maybe after a Rolling Rock or two, but even if she spent the next twenty years devoting her life to being my dream girl, she still wouldn't hold a candle to "her". Who knows, though, if Kim works really hard at it, she may indeed become my dream girl. As much as the thought makes me nauseous, I've learned to never say never. So bring it on Kim---let's see if we're a match!

I think I'll retire the subject of "her" for a while. I have to admit I don't feel very comfortable going on like I have been about someone who, if she even knows how I feel, has shown me enough in the way of signs that she's not interested. I do have my pride, after all. However, there's something in me that believes, stupidly I think, that I have a chance. I'm too much of a cynic, though, to let that dog off the leash for too long.

So, as I said, I'll put the subject to rest for a spell. I've been frustratingly vague when writing about her and, though the reason for it is to protect the innocent, as it were, I realize it's not exactly good copy. Maybe one of these days I'll be bold enough to make an overt declaration of my feelings for her in an act of full disclosure. And by full disclosure I mean details, people. Ah, but that wouldn't be fair, now would it? No, it would not. And if I take that road, I will have thrust myself firmly back to the days of junior high, where this type of behavior nestles comfortably between all the note passing and locker gossip. Ah, better to lay off the subject; maybe for good.Yet, here I am still writing about her. Call me Ishmael.

I feel the pain of everyone and then I feel nothing

Kim is the type of person who laughs at the end of every other sentence. It bugs the fuck out of me. It's a big, hearty laugh that always sounds out of context. I'll hear her on the phone and she'll say something like, "I sent it over to you but I think you gave me the wrong fax number". Now, it was misleading of me to say that she laughs at the end of every other sentence when she really laughs near the end. So, if you take the above quote and apply the laughter it will appear this way: "I sent it over to you but I think you gave me the wrong fax number" (italics indicate where she starts laughing almost uncontrollably).

Now, what in the hell is so funny about that, I ask you? Yeah, yeah, yeah---I know it's probably a nervous affectation, but my gut tells me she really thinks what she's saying is funny. Oh, and the answer to the question is nothing---there's nothing funny about what she said. It is annoying however, especially when you have to listen to it all day. I guess I'd probably find it endearing if I didn't think she was so sketchy. I don't know, maybe I'm just being a grump about her. I'm sure she finds it annoying that I work topless and constantly ask her if she thinks I'm handsome (she says I am, but she's obviously lying. How could anyone look at the pile of rat dung that is me and think I'm handsome? I'm just fooling, I think I'm hot and so do you.)

Ok, enough bitching about Kim's inappropriate laughter. I'll explore it further, and in greater depth, in forthcoming posts. Stay tuned, readers.
--
Tonight I will continue with my Lost marathon. I'm about halfway through the second season. I've still got a while yet before I'm completely caught up.
--
She lingers in my head, in the recesses and corners of my mind. I think about what could have been, what still might be, why it will never be, the gamut. All of this in whispers and gossamer; nothing heavy or urgent. Still, I hold no illusions of anything ever happening. I'm not about to try and force a situation, especially when there doesn't even appear to be a situation. No, I'm open to other possibilities. But, man, she's something else.

Slow gin fizzy, do me 'til I'm dizzy

When my alarm's clipped shriek forced me awake this morning, I hurriedly got out of bed and got dressed before the impulse to stay put got the better of me. Mornings, especially the first of a new week's work cycle, are always a drag. And it's not so much work itself, but a host of other things, that treated individually are minor enough to bear, but when they clamor for my attention like hatched chicks, present a formidable assault. I sometimes feel that I'm at a place in my life right now where the sour has bullied the sweet right out of the room. Ah, but it'll return. Right? I mean, the odds would favor such a thing happening, no? Let's hope. Hope is what gets us through.

I don't mean to sound like a downer. It's just...well, it's life and it's not always rosy, so I'll honor that and, you know, if I sometimes sound like a depressed lout, I'll live with that. Anyway, if I was merry all the time, you'd all want to gut me out of sheer jealousy.

I just heard from my dad. He spent all night in the hospital with my grandmother. She's suffering through constant back spasms now and no amount of morphine has been able to dull the pain. My dad doesn't think she's going to last much longer. I didn't like hearing that, but I like even less the fact that she's in constant agony.
--

In spite of it all, I had a pretty decent day today. I brought sushi home for dinner and watched a couple of episodes of Lost online. I've been catching up after not having watched it since the first season. Soon, I'll be able to dish about the latest the episode with my geeky friends and family who are hooked on the show. It's still not as good as practically any show that HBO has produced over the last few years, but it's still damn good. I only wish they didn't make a punch to the face sound like a battering ram crashing into a steel door. I hate it when TV shows and movies do that. A punch to the face should sound like a punch to the face. Know what I mean? Ah, you don't care. Anyway, I've been watching Lost.
--
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to go work on a couple of songs and then read from Before They Are Hanged, Joe Abercrombie's brilliant new book that already has me lamenting the wait until the next installment is published and I'm only halfway through it.

Wrap your troubles in dreams

Last night my stomach felt bloated and I didn't like it. I figured it was the roast beef I had at my grandmother's house. I didn't have too much, but seeing how I haven't had red meat in a long while, a little was all it took. Or it could have been the three boxes of Peeps I had eaten around the same time. Oh, and did I mention they were chili flavored? Yeah, that might have done it.
--
Traded some cd's in at Newbury Comics today. I came home with Nico's Chelsea Girl, Neu's self titled debut record, and Fairport Convention's Unhalfbricking. I was going to include Lisa Gerrard's The Silver Tree and Can's Soundtracks, but I didn't get as much back from the trade-ins as I thought. Oh, well, I have enough to keep me occupied for a while.
--
Over the last two nights, I've had dreams about Bob TV coming back to the house. Though they wouldn't qualify as nightmares, the dreams were hardly pleasant. I dubbed them Get the Fuck Out Of My House, Parts I and II.
--
Ok, I'm keeping this one short so that I can go off and do other sexy stuff.

Go, you restless souls, you're gonna find it

Easter at my grandmother's house was a little sad. It'll probably be the last holiday we spend with her. She is not doing well and will probably never get better. Her failing health was the elephant in the room and we all did our best to have a good time, but it was difficult. The writing is on the wall and my family needs to ready ourselves for her passing.
--
Went to a great party in Brighton last night. Actually, it would be more appropriate to call it a show, because, in essence, that's what it was. Everyone, about twenty of us, assembled in the basement to listen to some music. It was a cozy atmosphere, replete with cushions of the floor and mood lighting. There was plenty of beer and wine for everyone, as well as some bread and hummus. I stuck with the beer.

First to perform was a cellist named Garth Stevenson. It was a moving set--sometimes soft, sometimes muscular, always engaging. One piece, though gentler, reminded me of the music during the masked ceremony in Eyes Wide Shut. His use of electronics often changed the sound of his instrument so drastically, you'd never guess it was a cello if you didn't see it with your own eyes.

Next up was John Shannon, a very quiet and frail individual whose singing and guitar playing matched his demeanor. He reminded me of Damien Rice a bit, but without the dramatics. His songs were delicate and perfectly suited for the mellow environment. A woman named Caroline sang pretty back ups on some of the songs. My only criticism was his Casteneda-like musings between songs ("I sat Indian style in the desert for four days on a vision quest and when I returned from my spiritual journey, a butterfly landed on my shoulder and he stayed there for fifteen minutes. And then I met Caroline a few months later and she had a butterfly tattoo. I knew we were destined to create music together") and the fact that most of his songs were indistinguishable from one another. Minor criticisms, these--the performance was transcendent.

I lucked out and managed to sit next to, at least in my estimation, the finest looking woman in the room. She reminded me a bit of someone I've been known to write about from time to time. We had a nice conversation in between sets and at the end she disappeared into the night.Women hover in and out of my life like wraiths.
--
Yesterday, I had to go on a delivery with Alex, one of my new drivers. He's a good kid, soft spoken and polite, but I've noticed on more than one occasion that he'd benefit from a shower and some deodorant. Riding in the truck with him, I was assaulted with his b.o. The closest thing I can compare it to is the smell of sharp cheddar cheese left out in the sun too long on a sweltering August day. I longed for something to plug up my nostrils with.

Throughout the day, I continued to smell his b.o., even though he was hardly in my presence. I sniffed hard on my shirt sleeve to see if his stench had been absorbed by my clothes. The results were inconclusive. What was happening seemed to be the olfactory equivalent to phantom limb syndrome. Or, and this notion disturbed me, I was the one with the b.o. That would have sucked, but it was a possibility.

I thought back to what I'd eaten recently that could have caused the odor. Out of everything, the dill hummus was the likely suspect. But was it playing havoc on my pores? I didn't know; the only thing I was sure of was I wanted this smell, however it attached itself to my being, to beg off.

On the way home from the party last night, I explained to Spira and her friend Sarah the b.o. situation---I could still detect its presence, though it was faint---and asked them if they could smell it. They told me they couldn't. I was relieved, to be sure, but I was starting to get frustrated with this phantom cheese smell. Fortunately, I awoke this morning and the odor had left, hopefully never to return. Oh, and I decided it was that smelly prick Alex who infected me. No way did I smell that bad.

If I should fall from grace with God

Just came back from a satisfying run and I won't tell you about all the crazy shit that went down during it because I know you think I only write about my runs to satisfy my ego and you resent me for it (I rejected the comma in this sentence. Why? Because I effing can). Look, I'm not trying to massage my ego, I'm just trying to fill up space. And massage my ego. Anyhow, you won't be hearing from me about my adventure with CPR and how lives were saved. You'll have to watch the news like every one else, my friends.

For reals, though, I did have a satisfying run, even though I ran against the wind the entire time. So that's what Bob Seger was talking about. So, uh, yeah...........next topic.
--
I was thinking the other day about whether I'd hire someone if they used the abbreviation BFF during the interview. And I'm talking about a good interviewee, I mean REALLY good. Everything is going well---they're qualified, have references, impressive work history, etc. Then, at one point during the interview, they say something like, "My last boss and my brother are total BFF's". And they're not being funny, either. Very important, that part. They say it like they it's a part of their daily vocabulary, like the way I insert "Wazzzuuuuppppp" gracefully into mine.

So do I go ahead and hire this person anyway? I don't know. Does it make a difference if they're male or a female? Maybe. Am I enjoying asking myself a bunch of questions and answering them? Yeah, a little bit. Ok, I'm stalling. I'll put everything on the table. Yes, I probably would hire the person, especially if they were the best prospect. What I'd probably do is try to keep them talking in order to find out if there are other ways they sound like an eighth grader. If I hear them say "prolly" I'll end the interview immediately. No fucking way am I dealing with "prolly". BFF, maybe---"prolly", no way!

It's tough having a pure heart sometimes. Against my better judgment, I'd probably hire the BFF person because I care so much for every human being on this planet, except for Rachael Ray and Dane Cook, but they don't really qualify as humans (ouchhhhh!!!)Now, if they were interviewing at a law firm, I don't know. That might be a little too weird. But, you know what? I'd love to hear an attorney say BFF or even prolly. I just wouldn't hire them to defend me.
--

I might go watch some Alan Partridge tonight, but the person I really want to watch it with is Amanda. Her taste in comedy is top of the shelf and I think she'd dig the show. And so might you, if you could just drag yourself away from Flava of Love for a half hour.

I'll follow the Sun

It is morning. It is bleak. And wet with rain and snow. Doesn't help my outlook for the day very much, but so far I'm in better spirits than I was yesterday at this time. Sometimes when I come in to work, as was the case yesterday, a feeling of creeping dread surrounds me. It tells me to leave this situation, but offers no alternatives.

It's no secret I'm unhappy at work. It's been a while since I've had a job where I trust people so little, including the boss, and don't feel particularly well-liked or valued. In paradoxical twist, I often feel the sometimes burning need to flee this place, while at the same time worried that I'm going to be fired. Not quite the whistle while you work environment, to be sure. There are days when things run smoothly and there's a feeling of kinship, but it's fleeting And, even if there were no personnel issues, there would still be the job itself, which is less than fulfilling, to say the least. Yes, I need to move on. All of the signs are there.

A spiritualist will tell you that when you're on your path, things will click---you'll meet the right people at the right time;the money you need to fulfill a goal will fall into your lap; you'll be enveloped by an increasing sense of wellness; etc. And they'll tell you the opposite is true---when you're off the path, as it were, it'll seem like the heavens have opened up and dumped a torrent of shit all over your life. Can't say I disagree with the spiritualist.

For example,there wasn't much going on at work yesterday. Mid-morning a guy came in to pick up a pressure washer. I set him up with one, though I was barely confident on how to use it properly. Luckily, I figured it out, showed him how to operate it, and sent him on his way. He came back a half hour later, which I somehow knew he would, and told me the machine kept stalling out and the pressure wouldn't release from the wand, making it impossible to disconnect.

I tried setting him up with a new one, but that proved to be a frustrating experience. I was the only one, save Kim, working. That meant I was entirely on my own. I somehow managed to assemble another pressure washer (by assemble I mean gather it's respective parts, like the hose, wand, etc.). Of course, while I was doing this, a massive tractor trailer pulls up with a delivery, of which we only get about three a year. I asked him to wait for a few minutes while I helped the guy with the pressure washer, but he wouldn't have it. "This has to come off NOW!", he bellowed. "I've got other stops to make." So the three of us---yes, my pressure washer customer was nice enough to help---pulled a three hundred pound grill off the back of the truck.

Things got even more tangled up, but you get the idea. Why did the customer and the truck have to show up at virtually the same time? And why did it all happen when I was the only one to help out? Why, why, why. I know the fuck why. Doesn't make it any easier, though. No, it does not.

Need to find that path.

A lot is up in the air right now, and not only with the job. I've covered the scope of it in previous posts and will not do any re-examining. Nothing worse than a ton of complaining with no thought towards a solution. Well, there are plenty worse things, I guess, like being bull-whipped in the eyes and testicles, but you know what I mean. Or do you? Hmm...

It's a bleak day and I'm tired, tired in every sense of the word. Nothing for it but to forge ahead. Always ahead---that is life summed up in two words.
--
Spira convinced me to attend a Yoga class with her tonight in Cambridge. It's a type of Yoga, the name of which I forget, that is not taxing on the body and thus ideal for beginners and those suffering injuries. I admit, I'm not really thrilled about going right now, but I'm sure I'll be happy I went.
--

I've stopped making an effort to be quiet when I get ready for work in the morning because, even when I move like a ninja, Rich wakes up and heads for the bathroom. I've begun to wonder if he looks forward to these morning visits, like a child laying in bed waiting to open presents on Christmas morning. I bet he gets bummed out those rare times he sleeps through my morning ritual. "Oh, man", he must think, "Kevin's already left for work and I wasn't able to bless him with the utterly foul stench of my morning shit. All those energy drinks and tater tots I inhaled last night have gone to waste!"
--
Not everything is sour. There are friends and family. There is Before They Are Hanged, Joe Abercrombie's new book. There is the coming of warmer weather. There is a roof over my head. Etc.

And that is enough out of me for one day.

When the dream came, I held my breath with my eyes closed

Had a dream about her last night. It was more of a haunting, now that I think of it, though I don't mean to imply that it was scary. Get what I'm saying? Of course you do-- you're very intelligent and powerful. As with other similarly toned dreams, I woke up just as things were getting interesting. I'm not referring directly to sex, though there was a good chance of that happening, but to something else I fear I won't be able to express here very well, so I won't even bother trying. I woke from the dream angry at having been pushed out of it. As well as we get on, she is still a mystey to me and the dream, I think, was trying to fill in the gaps. At any rate, I was left thinking of her and her enigmatic ways. I miss her.
--
It was a good weekend. Went up to Nashua with Luke Warm and Kreg to visit with Mike and sundry. We went out to Fody's and had some drinks. Jaegan was in top form, as untamed and vivid as ever. When the night trickled down to morning, he held court in the kitchen at Mike's place, disintegrating into oblivion with each passing minute. His sister Amy is as unique as he is, but in her own way. When the two of them are in the same place together, one must attach his seatbelt because it won't be a gentle, boring ride. It surely wasn't. As fun as it was seeing everyone, it was too bad some of our other NH friends weren't there.
--
Spira, Luke Warm, Kreg, and I watched No Country For Old Men last night. Man, I love that movie. Sometime today I plan on watching Into the Wild. For now, I 'll content myself with a little reading as John Fahey preaches his guitar gospel in the background.

Little Eifel stands in the archway

I've got to get my read on. Joe Abercrombie's Before They Are Hanged, his sequel to the magnificent The Blade Itself, is out and so is the new book on 9/11 by David Ray Griffin, the preeminent author on the subject. As it stands, I still have to finish his book on the 9/11 commission and Midnight Tides, by Steven Erikson. And, I'm still plugging away at Lonesome Dove. Whew! At some point in my adult life I've taken to reading several books concurrently. I like the variety, but it gets too easy to get ahead of myself. Damn, am I a frickin' nerd, or what? That sucks, because I hate nerds!
--

There's a few things going down that I could write about, but frankly I'm a little pressed for time, so everything will have to wait until another day. In the meantime, check out Oliver the Humanzi.

Since Halloween is so close.....

Some of the best EVP I've ever heard, provided of course it's legit. From what I hear, it is.

I'm leaving you this lonesome song

I've been feeling restless and uncertain. Mostly uncertain. Almost every aspect of my life feels like it, at any moment, could fall apart. Surprisingly--or maybe not so surprisingly, given the general quality of these aspects--I'm not entirely against this happening. Given my track record of non-deliberate and sudden changes, I'd prefer, at this stage in the game, for the demolition of any part of my life to be orchestrated and put forth in a controlled manner by me. If the ground beneath my feet is going to give, I'd like to have a hand in it.

I guess, in my muddled way, I'm trying to say I'm not satisfied with the way things are. This is not news to any of my regular readers and it's not an epiphany as far as I'm concerned. I am in good spirits, though. Perhaps it doesn't seem so, judging by the above, but it's the truth. Just like the rest of you, I'm trying to fashion a good life for myself. No, make that an exceptional life for myself. Now I'm better than the rest of you. Nice!

I found out today that Spira and I share a primary care physician. How weird is that? Maybe not so weird, but out of the many doctors I could have chosen, I chose the one she goes to. This is a good thing. I will ask---no, demand---that this doctor hand over Spira's chart. I'm very curious to know every detail of her medical history. What are you hiding, Spira?
--
Coming home from work today, a woman walking by caught my attention, and when I returned my gaze to the road, I discovered the car in front of me had come to a stop and I was about to barrel into him. I slammed on the brakes and I was certain I was going to crash into him. Miraculously, my car stopped within inches of his rear bumper. I'm not sure he even noticed, but my heart was pounding in my chest. A narrow escape.
--

Had dinner at Spira's last night and afterward we watched Across the Universe. Spira's great to watch movies with because she's good for at least one cry during them. Well, maybe not comedies, but you get the idea. She had a good one last night, and I got a little misty, too, but don't tell anyone or I'll end you. Got me?

God's going to set this world on fire some of these days

Early yesterday, I went to my grandmother's house for a visit. As I pulled in the driveway, my sister and her kids were just leaving. I was hoping I'd be able to spend some time with them, but I got off to a later start than I wanted to because of that dastardly daylight savings. I did manage to see my mother, however, who stuck around to help out with some chores.

It was a relief to see my grandmother in better health than she had been in recently. Though she still has back spasms, they're less frequent and, consequently, she has more freedom of movement. Her hearing is just as poor as it had been, though; I nearly went hoarse trying to converse with her. It was nice seeing seeing her.
--
Got together with Spira when I came home and we went to Yoshi's for dinner. It was the best meal I've had in the last month. For appetizers, we ordered some Miso soup, Edamame, and Tuna Tartar. The tuna was incredible! I lack the means to give it an apt description, save that I was transported directly to the ocean with every bite. And of course we ordered some Black Dragon. Amazing as always. And there was more, but I fear if I continue with this, I'll run over to Yoshi's and demand they open their doors and make me some food. That would be pathetic, so I'll move on.

We were going to watch Across the Universe when we got back to my house, but it was getting late and Spira had work in the morning, so it'll have to wait until another day. I started watching Planet of the Apes after she left, but I kept nodding off, so I shut it off. Maybe today I'll revisit Charlton and the chimps.

After Spira left, I went to the grocery store and upon my return, Rich, who was making a sandwich in the kitchen, asked me if I was angry with him. He said for the last week he had felt tension between us and he wanted to clear the air. He was fairly wound up and I could tell he was trying to keep himself in check. I thought back to the turd on the floor incident and wondered if I my irritation concerning it had lasted longer than I thought it had. After giving it a few seconds thought, I resolved that it hadn't, and even if it had, I had seen Rich maybe twice since the incident, and those encounters lasted about minute combined. I asked him if there was anything specific that made him think I was upset with him.

"Well, I don't know, I mean.... well, there were a couple of times you left the door unlocked and I thought you might have been sending me a message. You know, like 'Fuck you, Rich. I'm not locking the doors because I'm pissed at you'. That type of thing".

I was a bit incredulous. There had been a couple of occasions when I didn't lock the door. The first one was when I went for a run. It was in the afternoon and it was sunny out. Rich was home. I figured the chances of Rich being the victim of a home invasion during the half hour that I was out running were slim. I don't know, maybe I was blanketed by a false sense of security with all the people out walking their dogs and the sun shining kindly. And Rich being home.

The second time was similar to the first, except it was dark out and there weren't as many people out walking their dogs. I remember it well: I had gone out the back door and paused in the driveway by the front of my car so I could adjust my Ipod's earbuds. As I did this, I looked up at the window by our pantry, counting down the seconds before Rich took a peak through it. I anticipated this action, which, by the way, he took, because I knew he'd been in his room listening carefully for the click of the lock, which he never heard because I didn't have my key with me. Once alerted to the fact that our apartment's defenses could be breached, and that we were now in Defcon 5, I knew he'd rush to the door to lock it, which he did, and then take a peak through the window to see where I was headed or, perhaps more likely, look out for any cat burglars lurking about .

I make light of his concern, but in reality I'd rather live with someone like Rich than with someone who constantly leaves doors unlocked. Erring on the side of caution is fine with me, but I'm not ready to take it to the next level, the one where I'm constantly paranoid about a home invasion and drawing up blueprints for a moat around the house. Sometimes I wonder if Rich is nearing that mindset. Anyway, I explained to him I wasn't angry with him.

"Rich, I did leave the door unlocked but it wasn't because I was pissed at you. It was because I'm not used to locking the door when someone is home and, though I'm fine with doing it, I'm prone to forget sometimes."

"I'm probably just being paranoid, I guess. Your explanation makes sense. I've just been really stressed out, lately."

I could tell. Like I said, he was pretty wound up. He calmed down after we talked for a bit and all was well. I didn't tell him about the turd on the floor. No need for that. I just pray it doesn't happen again, because then I'll have to address the matter with him, which I predict would be an uncomfortable, but necessary, exchange.

On a somewhat related note, I've taken myself out of the toilet paper sweepstakes. We've all been taking turns buying toilet paper and overall, it's worked out ok. However, Rich just bought some tp from CVS that feels like you're wiping your ass with a bird's nest, and after using it once, I concluded that I couldn't disrespect my body any longer with that stuff. So, I went out and got some Wet Ones, which are a little more expensive, but much kinder and gentler than anything else out there. I made the right decision.

Ok, I'm off to other things. I'm listening to some Bluegrass from the Smithsonian Folkways collection and I'm aiming to lay back and listen to the rest with my eyes closed. Sounds like a plan.

Weird fishes

When I came to work this morning, Kim started complaining about a strange smell. Kim complains like a rain shower. At first, it's just a couple of drops on your head, but looking up at the sky, you know there will be more. And, sure enough, the rain intensifies to the point you need to seek shelter from it. Because it's Saturday, I knew she wouldn't make it through the day, that she'd concoct a flimsy excuse to leave work early (Last Saturday, when she had to rush to her daughter's side it was, I later found out, because their cat nipped at her. Kim immediately took her to the hospital because, as she put it, "cat bites can be fatal". They can if they rip your throat out, but from a nip?).

I didn't smell anything, but I was a little stuffed up. I asked Gio and he said he detected a faint burning smell. Kim's complaining escalated to the point where, if she was as bad off as she said she was, she was about to drop dead, or at least into a coma.

I went out back for a few minutes and finally caught a whiff of what they were talking about. There indeed was a burnt smell in the warehouse. I talked with Gio for a bit and both of us started feeling a little light-headed. I came back to the showroom and the smell was stronger there. So Kim was right, at least about the smell.

I called Nstar and our heating company to see if they could diagnose the problem. They showed up around the same time and, though each guy smelled it, gas wasn't the cause. Kim had already bolted at that point, which I was happy about. Thirty seconds wouldn't go by without her saying something like, "Oh, my eyes are burning up" or "God, my chest has tightened up so much I think I'm going to pass out". It's true, I timed her. Finally, I looked at her and said, as levelly as I could, "If it's that bad, then why don't you go home." She was out the door before I finished my sentence.

Just to be safe, I had the fire dept. stop by. They couldn't detect anything amiss, so that was that. Since shutting off the heat a couple of hours ago, the smell has dissipated considerably. Don't know what it was. The strange thing about it was that we could smell it outside, too. Well, I don't feel nauseous anymore, so maybe it's gone.
--
We have special ed. kids from Leslie College work with us two days a week. Usually, I'll have them do simple things, like clean chairs or sweep the floors. Last Thursday, I had two guys instead of the usual one. The new addition was only going to work the one day. Everything went fine. I had the two guys clean chairs all day and that was that. I barely saw them.

Yesterday, Gio told me confidentially that the school had called Karen and told her that one of the guys, the one who only worked that one day, had reported back that a fifty year old guy was selling pills out of the warehouse. Right away, I thought of Bill, our mechanic. But Bill wasn't there when this guy worked, so that left me, as I was the only other male working that day.

Gio did some detective work for Karen and found out from Eric, one of our warehouse guys, that Bill had sold him some prescription pills one day . Eric suffers from severe ulcers, so his purchase wasn't for recreational purposes. However, his sharing a joint with Bill and Jeff, one of the Leslie guys, on the roof one day, most assuredly was. Why Bill would do that is beyond me, but it looks like he's going to get the hook. Just as long as I'm not the one accused of hustling pills. I wait until I get home for that. The fact that Karen hasn't shared this information with me, though, has given me pause. Perhaps I am a suspect. Well, I'm already sexually harassing people, so I may as well peddle drugs to my staff.
--
Watching the Celtics play this season has been an absolute treat. Not since the days of Bird,Mchale, and Parish, have we seen a team so good, so destined for greatness. Whether they win a championship this year, I'll still look back at this time and know I was witness to something special.

I look forward to sleeping in tomorrow, especially if the weather is as crappy as it is right now. I hope to visit my grandmother early in the day and later accomplish some songwriting. Or maybe I'll purchase some curtains. I've been putting off that chore for too long now.
--

Ok, it's back to work with me. It's slow today and with Gio at home on break, I'm all by my self. Not so bad, actually.

He's so spacious

Something happened today that has left me so traumatized the only way I can relate it to you is by giving an imaginary press conference. My feelings about the amazing Celtics game last night and the allegations made against Gio by another coworker will have to be put aside for the time being. I'm sorry, but I've got to get this other matter off my chest. So, I present to you my imaginary press conference, my only method of coping.


Thank you for coming. I'll try to be as brief as possible. I'll be happy to answer your questions when I'm through speaking. This morning, while getting ready for work, I entered the bathroom and after spraying a large amount of air freshener---a certain individual had just done his business in there prior to my arrival---I noticed something near the center of the floor. It was about an inch in diameter and brown. Assuming it was a rock or a piece of chocolate, I kicked at it with my foot. To my surprise, my foot went right through the object. Immediately, I realized it was fecal matter and quickly took off the sock that touched it. Disgusted, I cleaned up what was left on the floor and finished getting ready for work.

Throughout the day, I thought about what had taken place. It wasn't pleasant reliving the experience, but I couldn't help myself. Needless to say, it was a distressing day for me. I hope to put it all behind me as soon as I can.

That's all I have to say. I'll field your questions now. Ok, you in the green.

Imaginary reporter: Who was it that left the feces on the floor and do you think it was intentional?

Me: I'd rather not say who the person is quite yet. I'm not sure if the feces was put there intentionally. I don't think so, but....

Reporter: If you discover it was intentional, will you press charges?

Me: I won't rule out the possibility. Yes, you with the hat...

Reporter: Thank you. How is it that you didn't recognize the object for what it was, especially given it's nearness to the toilet?

Me: You have to understand it was pretty early and I didn't have all my wits about me yet. And, I know it sounds silly, but I had been eating chocolate the night before and my brain just latched on to that as one of the things it could have been. And, you know, people, even the lowest among us, know how to use the toilet. Obviously, even given the nearness to the toilet, I just couldn't believe that someone would leave their shit on the floor. I was under the impression that I was living with a human being and not a wild animal. You in the back...

Reporter: Yes, how can you be sure it wasn't you who left the feces on the floor?

Me: Well, I had already been to the bathroom that morning, but only to urinate. I didn't see the poo at that time. If it had been there, I would have either seen it or stepped in it. Our bathroom is fairly small. The individual in question, as he does every single day, snuck in the bathroom in between my visits and took a smelly, rancid dump. I know for a fact that he did so this morning because, like I said, I had to spray, like I do every morning, when I went in there and saw his excrement on the floor. Okay, you in the corner...

Reporter: If what happened was an accident, how do you propose it happened?

Me: I've given it a lot of thought and the only thing I can think of is either A) he walked into the bathroom naked and the poo, encountering no resistance, fell to the floor unimpeded and unnoticed by him or B) he was wearing boxers or shorts and the poo had somehow made its way out without him feeling it's progress. And there is also the possibility that the poo was planted on the floor intentionally. Of the three, I believe the first scenario to be the most likely.

Reporter: Does it bother you that a grown man couldn't control where his excrement went?

Me: Yes, it does bother me. Look, I'm not easily grossed out and Im sure I've done some things that others may deem unpleasant, but I know how to take a shit. I put myself through potty training school and came out the other side with a Masters in shitting. It may be asking too much, but I expect anyone who's been through potty training to be effective shitters. It's not good form to leave your scat all over the place. Having said that, I'll allow that the dropping may have been unintentionally left on the floor as a consequence of his having the stomach flu or some other bowel-related illness, which could have significantly weakened his control of his bodily functions. I'm not in favor of that theory, however, because he didn't miss work and later, when he came home, he was whistling merrily in the kitchen. Not the behaviors one would expect from someone who earlier in the day couldn't keep his feces in check.

Reporter: Did you get any of it on your hands?

Me: Thankfully, no.

Reporter: If the act was intentional, do you think it could have been directed at you?

Me: I was the only other person home at the time, so yes.

Reporter: Can you think of any reasons why this individual would insult you in such a way?

Me: Who the hell knows why anybody does anything? If someone's leaving their shit on the floor to fuck with me somehow, that person is touched in the head and needs some counseling. There's not much more I can say about that.

Reporter: Have you or will you confront this person?

Me: I haven't and I don't think I will. Most likely, what he did was an accident and I'm pretty sure it would embarrass him pretty heavily if I told him what he did. If it happens again, though, I will confront him. Ok, you with the tie...

Reporter: Did the scat look healthy?

Me: Uh, healthy? Well, judging by this person's diet, which consists mainly of Hot Pockets, tater tots, massive amounts of coffee and energy drinks, and pork, I'd say the specimen wasn't exactly healthy.

Reporter: Follow up question: Did the scat emit any kind of odor?

Me: Well, the room, as I stated earlier, already stank something awful. Whether it was from the scat on the floor or the scat that made it to the toilet, I couldn't determine. Okay, next question.

Reporter: Was a sample taken so that it could be tested?

Me: I disposed of the evidence quickly and didn't take a sample. One thing I absolutely sure of, though, is that the feces came from a primate.

Reporter: Where in relation to the toilet was the feces?

Me: About two feet in front of it and about four inches to the left.

Reporter: Will you be more vigilant scanning the floor when you use the bathroom from now on?

Me: You bet. Ok, thank you all for coming.

And you won't make me jealous if I hear they sweetened your night

I just forgot how to climb stairs properly and nearly fell flat on my face. The only damage, besides that done to my pride, such as it is, was the glass of juice I was carrying emptying some of its contents on the stairs. Overall, in spite of the fact that I fell to begin with, I'm pretty impressed with the way I staved off a messier and painful outcome. That is not to say, however, that my disposition was a cheery one as I cleaned up. It was most assuredly not.

I had just come off the heels of a tasty and healthy dinner. I had improvised a rice dish that involved black beans, avocado, polenta, feta cheese, some carefully applied spices, and of course, rice, which was brown in case you're interested. Very tasty, it was, and I know what you're thinking: I should publish a cookbook of all my kick-ass recipes and make a shitload of money. Yeah, you're right, but I'd rather wallow in near poverty for a while longer. I'm told it's good for the soul.
--

Big game tonight. The Celtics are set to face their conference rival, The Detroit Pistons. Both teams match up quite nicely and I'm all giddy inside over watching it. But you're not, and I'm sorry it has to be this way. I suppose you could seek solace in that Bret Michaels show on VH1 you love so much. There's always that.
--

Leesa emailed me about setting up a show at the Abbey and I'm excited at the prospect. I'm gearing for a surge of gig booking that will rival the one our troops have set forth in Iraq. I've gone all winter not playing out and I'm ready for a change. With apologies to Pink, I'm coming up, so you better get the party started.
--

In the Valley of Elah was a solid movie. Tommy Lee Jones is one of the most effortless actors I've ever seen. It was an Oscar-worthy performance, to be sure. As good as the movie was, I think Zodiac eclipsed it. It's days later, and I'm still thinking about it. It was such a well-structured movie; I think I want to watch it again. Ah, but when? When, I ask you?
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Hobbits at Harvard tomorrow night. There will be a lecture on Homo floresiensis, those pint-size skeletons they found on Flora. I'm going to try and go. (My italics function has run amok and I can't reset it to normal type. I've always had issues with it, but this is ridiculous. Fuck you, Blogger! I'm out of here.)

We teach old hearts to rest

I watched Zodiac last night. It was close to three hours long, and I barely noticed. It's been a long stretch, which has encompassed more than a few great films, since I've been this attentive throughout one. I'd done enough research into the film to feel pretty confident that I'd enjoy it, but it surpassed my expectations. The best way for me to put it into perspective is to note that the last film over two hours long that swallowed me so completely in its embrace was Seven Samurai. If you've been keeping tabs in this journal, you'd know I consider that film to be one of, if not the, all time best. I'm sure someday I'll come back to this entry and scoff at my bold statement about Zodiac .
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I just spent about a half hour relaxing my body and mind. I found myself starting to worry about a thing or two outside of my control and decided I didn't like where things seemed to be headed, so I did some breathing exercises and some Tai-chi inspired moves. I felt markedly better afterward, and continued the theme of relaxation by taking a nice, hot shower. A nice victory over crippling thoughts.

I'm going to end this as I listen to one of the most gorgeous songs ever: Leonard Cohen's Joan of Arc. I plan on getting some quality reading done and later I'll watch In the Valley of Elah.

Cheers.

Thanks to you, it will be done

Took Spira out to dinner last night, partly because I missed her gig in Salem the night before. I genuinely felt lousy about missing the show and the dinner was the least I could have done to express my regret. We had a good talk about it---I indeed hurt her feelings a bit by not going---and put it behind us as we enjoyed each others company. We had some good Brazilian food on Medford st, though it took us about fifteen minutes to find parking, and hung out at her apartment afterwards. I rocked it in my boxers the entire time I was there because I had spilled coffee all over my crotch in the car on the way to her place. I was hoping she'd use the line " Let's get you out of those pants", but she never uttered it. She did, however, blow dry my pants for me while I hung out in my boxers, which was much appreciated.

Just got back from watching the C's beat the Hawks at Luke Warm's house. It was a great game, replete with amazing passes and shots by the Celtics. KG was in fine form.

I'm about to go watch In the Valley of Elah and after that, if I have time, I'll watch Zodiac. And maybe, just maybe---again, if I have time---I'll watch some more Planet Earth. So, with that, I'm off. Hollah!