Happy Jack wasn't tall, but he was a man

I am here to report that, despite my week ending on a somewhat sour note, I am not disdainful of the gods, wood sprites, gremlins, fate, chance, cause and effect, or whatever it was that orchestrated events. This is because, for all the frustration and inconvenience I experienced, matters played out as well as they could have. Time, of course, will determine if that is the case, but I'm optimistic.

Yesterday, during my break at work, I settled some money concerns that, without getting sidetracked into a lengthy, boring explanation, worked out well for me. That was a relief; the rest of my work day was unburdened and easy. It was a beautiful day and the weekend was upon me.

I left work and walked to my car. When I put it in drive, a deep rumbling came from the rear. I was worried it was my brakes (I've been having brake issues lately). I got out of the car and checked to see if perhaps I was dragging a branch or something.

I wasn't.

I decided to drive it for a little bit and see how far I'd get. A part of me, the one not vested in reality, hoped the problem would correct itself.

It didn't.

The faster I went, the louder and more insistent the rumbling grew. At that point, I was going to try to drive back towards work and stop at Sam's, the mechanic who'd worked on my car in the past.

I didn't make it very far. I couldn't get much speed and had the feeling that if I went any further, something worse would happen.

I drove onto a side street with a slight incline and little traffic. I got out of the car for another look and that was when I discovered I had a flat tire. How could I have missed that?

As I changed the tire, which was on the driver's side, I wished I had discovered the flat before I left my parking spot, which was on a flat strip of road and well away from traffic. My new location was on a hill and, the lack of traffic I reported when I pulled onto the road, was now replaced with a welter of cars whizzing by my crouched frame. Gory visions of being struck and dragged messily for miles under an SUV filled my vision and quickened my pace.

Tire changed and back on the road, I let out a sigh of relief. Could have been something serious, I thought, but it was only a flat. I didn't have to wait for a tow and find a ride back to Somerville. No, the worst I got out of the deal was a pair of soiled hands, scuffed knees, and a later than anticipated return home.

I debated whether to take the flat tire to a garage today or risk the drive to work with the donut on Monday and have Sam plug it. I decided on today.

This morning I drove over to Hillside Auto on Broadway, a place I'd gone to before, and was informed by a guy in the office that there was no work in the garage on Saturdays. He suggested I take the tire to the Sunoco station a couple of blocks up the street. I took his advice.

When I arrived there, I was attended to immediately by Meff, a smallish, possibly Turkish, older man. After a quick inspection of the tire, he gave me my first bit of bad news: the tire was slashed all the way round. Irrepairable. I suspected vandalism, but was disabused of that notion when Meff brought me over to the car and showed me the culprit. One of my struts had broken off, leaving a sharp, jagged piece of metal in its place that tore into the tire. Okay, guess I'll be springing for more than a new tire, I thought.

Meff worked up an estimate for me that totaled five hundred and fifty dollars. Shitty, but manageable. "So that's everything -- parts, labor, new tire?"

"Uh, no, that's not with new tire. With new tire, you're looking at six fifty."

Ouch.

I asked Meff if he'd be able to service the car on monday. "I'll do it today, if you want", he replied.

I told him I'd have to check my available funds first, but that I'd get back to him. I left the station and stopped back at Hillside. I went back into the office and asked the guy I spoke with earlier what he'd charge me, without telling him the estimate I got from Meff.

After a couple of calls to parts suppliers, the guy worked up a quick estimate. "Ok, with a break on labor, your total will be around nine eighty."

Nine fucking eighty?

I told him what Meff was going to charge me and his jaw dropped.

"No, that can't be it. He probably didn't include the springs and the assembly."

"I don't know, he was pretty explicit when he said the total covered everything, which included a new tire."

" Jesus fucking Christ! I didn't even factor in the tire. With a tire, I'd be charging you over a grand. He's charging you less than cost on parts and barely charging you for labor. Well, you need an alignment when you get new struts and I know he's not giving you one because he doesn't have the necessary lift for an alignment. He brings his cars here and since we're not working today..."

"Well, even if I don't get the alignment, I could get one here and still do better than your estimate", I said.

"No shit. Hell, if that's what he's charging you, I 'd go over there immediately cuz you're getting a steal."

"I guess I am, but I'm still paying a lot of money."

"Yeah, no shit."

I went back to Meff . Before I left Hillside, I had the guy write down everything I needed to have worked on and asked him if they'd be able to work on the car on Monday in the even that Meff's estimate was too good to be true. He said they would. So, before I gave my keys to Meff, I said, "So you're taking care of everything with this total, right? New struts, springs, alignment, tire?

"Of course", he said with confidence.

I thanked him and walked home. I wondered if I truly was getting a deal or if I was getting hosed. Was he going to use shoddy parts and poor labor? On my way to work Monday morning, would my tires collapse, hurling me violently into other cars? Is that how it will end for poor Kevin?

Around four, Meff called and said the car was ready. I had half-expected him to tell me his original estimate was way off and the cost was now doubled. Janelle dropped me off at the station and I paid Meff. I thanked him as I left with a mixture of suspicion and gratitude.

Here's hoping my fixed car stays fixed.

Though I'm quite a bit poorer, and at one of the worst times, when bills and rent need to payed, I could be in a much worse position. Just the fact that I was able to have my car serviced on a Saturday is good fortune enough. And what if I didn't go to Meff? Would I be paying double somewhere else, like at Hillside, or was Hillside grossly inflating the price?

Who knows. One thing is certain: I will be poor as fuck for the next couple of weeks. Oh, well, I'll get by.

I am a man cut from the know

Just got back from Foley's place. We've been rehearsing at least once a week and so far, so good. Currently, we're focusing on one of his songs, which is about his new love. I haven't played with anyone for a while; been refreshing.

As for my own songs, I've a few that I'm pleased with. With a little fleshing out and some lyrics, they will be complete. Soon, I hope; I've come to realize that, even though I'm never bereft of ideas, I'm slow to finish songs. I write like an Ent.

I'm on the verge of kissing this cold goodbye. There will be no celebration, no pumping of the fist, until I'm absolutely certain this bug has left my body for good.

I just took a fairly lengthy break from this post -- not intentionally, just got distracted by a song I was compelled to work on -- and here I am again. Where does the time go?

Watched the C's lose to Orlando last night. My heart wasn't in the game, so the loss didn't sting so much. I, of little faith, don't see Boston winning it all or even making it to the finals this year. Cleveland is just too monstrous. However, I would love to be wrong. I'll eat crow until my feathers turn black if it means watching another championship unfold.

I'm in the reading mood, so off I go. There's a gentle, steady rain outside my window. Perfect reading weather.

I might have fucked your Mrs., but I never fucked your daughter

Okay, I've got some catching up to do. Not much in the mood to write, though. Lucky for you, I just gave an interview today that covers much of what's been going on in my fascinating life of late. I'll attach it below for your viewing pleasure.


Q. So, are you still sick?

A. Of course I am. It's only been a couple of weeks -- I'm fixing to keep this thing around. Get back to me in May and we'll see how I'm faring.

Q. What did you do Friday night?

A. Not much. Watched Synecdoche, New York with Janelle.

Q. What did you think?

A. Very ambitious, very dense. I enjoyed it, but not in the immediate way I enjoyed Kaufman's
other offerings. It's a movie to own, I think. I plan on watching it again soon.

Q. What did you do on Saturday?

A. I spent the entire day re-arranging my bedroom. I got rid of a lot of junk and swapped my old bureau for one Bob TV left behind. I cleaned it out thoroughly; Bob TV was, to put it mildly, a rather unhygienic sort.
I was productive, to be sure, but, in hindsight, I would have benefited from a day of rest. I
was fairly wiped out by five o'clock. Despite this, I hung out with Mara for a bit that night. Wemade a hearty dinner of pasta with meat sauce and garlic bread.

Q. Everyone always asks you this, but I'm going to ask you anyway: Are you seeing her again?

A. No, but I'm a big fan of hers all the same.

Q. What did you do on Sunday?

A. Taking a cue from the Bible, I made Sunday my day of rest. I took a nap, played music, even
though my voice sounded phlegmey and guttural, and read. Janelle had the idea to have Spira and
her beau, Brad, over for dinner that night, and she and Rich put out a nice spread. We had
chicken parm, wine, salad, and garlic bread. My second night of Italian food, but you won't
hear me complain.

Q. It's been widely reported that you purchased the new Bonnie Prince Billy album, Beware. Your thoughts?

A. I've only listened to it a few times, but so far, so good. Thicker instrumentation with strong
performances. Over the last few records, Oldham's voice has gotten stronger. He's in good
form here. Yet, at least so far, there's nothing that really grabs me (Edit. I'm listening to the album a couple of hours after writing this and I'm really, really, digging it. It's a beautiful record.) .

Q. You also picked up The Soft Boy's Underwater Moonlight.

A. I did. A lot more depth than is apparent on the first listen.They were an interesting band, with elements of Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd, Can, The
Byrds, Sex Pistols, and The Beatles. They made it work. Good stuff. I also scored
Shane McGowan's The Snake. Rich let me burn his copy. Been listening to it quite a bit. And
a ton of The Pogues.

Q. People everywhere are abuzz with your new movie idea. Care to share it with us?

A. I was going to hold off until it was optioned, but I may as well spill the beans. The idea is this:
Animals vs Humans. That's it. So simple, I'm surprised no one's made this movie yet. Picture
Mother Nature finally being fed up with our irresponsible, destructive behavior. She compels her minions, all creatures, great and small, to commit swift and brutal genocide upon each and every one of us . We'd be overwhelmed, disoriented, scared. We'd put up a fight, kill a lot of creatures, but we'd be annihilated. It would be an epic film, greater in scope than Independence Day and War of the Worlds. I wish I had the time to get deeper into this with you. To cover the subject fairly, several hours would be necessary.

Q. We'd be annihilated. You gave away the ending. Was that wise?

A. We knew how Titanic was going to end, didn't we? Look, all it takes is a few minutes of consideration to come to the conclusion that humankind would be made dust by the animal kingdom if we ever warred. But, who knows, maybe in the film version, we'll come out on top. But, even if we do and once again share this planet with animals in relative peace, will we keep them as pets anymore? I don't think so; we would no longer be able to trust even the cutest and cuddliest among them. What a shame. Sorry, Baby Boy Z.

Q. Still, a happy ending, given what was at stake.

A. Ok, I need to get cracking on the script. I'm out this piece.

Too fast for love

This cold won't leave me. I was getting better and then my improvement was arrested. Aside from this afternoon, when I felt like I was getting worse, my only symptoms for the last several days have been a stuffy head, nagging cough, and fatigue. I want to get outside and run, especially with the arrival of warmer weather, and practice yoga. But, I can't do much: the energy I have at my disposal is limited. I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever get better. Morale is waning, evidently. Ah, but I'll get better soon enough, right? Right? Hmm...

Luke Warm came down last night to pick up the phone that he left behind when he was here at the beginning of the week. We went out to eat and this time were able to get some Tibetan food. I ordered the curried chicken and Luke Warm got some tofu dish with mushrooms. Both dishes were magnificent. Too bad the wait staff was ornery; otherwise I would have written a letter to the Somerville Journal that would have read something like this:

To Whom It May Concern,

Me and Luke Warm ate at Martsa on Elm the other night and their shit brings da ruckus! We got some tasty fucking viddles that made Luke Warm practically blow a load in his already sullied boxers. What a perv, right? Anyways, I ate the chicken and liked it so much I may just go back there again for more chicken. You feeling me, dawg? We had those funky lil' dumplins for apps, and dipped them little bitches in this crazy ass hot sauce. The shit fucked with my senses, but I'm not going to say I didn't like it. So take it from Luke Warm and me, this Tibetan joint, Martsa kicks some serious ass while playing with your balls and kissing your mouth. The only shitty-ass part about the place is they don't have booze. You'll just have to get your drink on in the car before you get there.

Peace, you ratty cocksuckers!

K Dawg

Ok, on that note, I'm out of here.

This land was always ours, was the proud land of our fathers, it belongs to us and them, not to any of the others

I'm still sick! Not as bad as before, and there does seem to be daily improvement, albeit ever so slight, but it sucks all the same. It just plain sucks.

My intention had been to do nothing but stay in bed this past weekend. Didn't happen. Saturday was devoted to waiting for the cable guy to install new boxes. As is the norm with cable guys, he didn't come when he was supposed to. Janelle had picked an eleven to two o'clock window when she made the appointment, and what did they do? They sent a guy over at eight thirty! Janelle sent him on his way, suggesting he come back within the agreed upon time frame.

Well, it was too much to ask to have someone show up within a four hour time frame. I mean, really, it's goddamned near impossible to be anywhere with only that narrow window of opportunity to work with.At two, I realized, and not to my surprise, that something wasn't right and called the cable company to find out where our errant cable guy was. Where for art thou, cable guy? No one home. Janelle had better luck and reached the rep she had spoken to during the week. Finally, around four thirty, someone arrived. My day of rest was not meant to be, but at least I've got cable in my room and can watch Hannah Montana away from judging eyes.

Hung out with Mara for a little bit that night, but lacked the energy to be the social dynamo she's come to admire. I was beginning to realize around that time that I wasn't going to be getting better any time soon. If I am still sick this time next week, I will disembowel myself. That'll show 'em.

I woke up Sunday feeling pretty good. I watched some Celtics here and later at Foley's. When the game was over, we worked on some songs. His roommate, Rachel, and her friends were there. Her friend, Emily, came and said hi. I said hi back. Based on that, Foley saw a connection there and beckoned Rachel to help him play matchmaker. There was no getting around the fact that Emily was a looker, but I really didn't see a connection there at all and, though I couldn't fault Foley for trying to fix a brother up, I wanted him to drop the subject. Rachel seemed to want the same thing.

Luke Warm came over last night. Haven't seen him in a while. Our mission was to get some Tibetan food, but when we got to Davis Sq, we saw that the restaurant was closed. Luke Warm suggested we walk up Holland and eat at the other Tibetan place.

I froze my ass off during the walk. I was under-dressed and my weakened state didn't take well to the cold. Didn't expect to be walking so much and didn't anticipate how cold it would get. When we got to the restaurant, it too was closed. So, we went to Rudy's and had mexican.

I finally finished Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. I've been reading that book off and on for the last several years. Granted, it's a bulky book, but, given the fact that I enjoyed it very much, it's surprising to me that it took me so long to finish. Another one down. I can add it to the list. Next up is A Confederacy of Dunces, another book that's been kicking around for years, despite the fact that I enjoyed reading from it.

Didn't realize it was St. Patty's day until I came to work and saw all the green everyone was wearing. Some Irishman I am. I did, however, listen to the Pogues on the way to work. That should account for something. Oh, and I'll watch some Celtics tonight, too. Erin Go Bragh, motherfuckers!

Ok, I'm sleepy. Time to move on.

How many times can a man turn his head and pretend that he just doesn't see?

Feeling better today, but not in the clear. It is Friday and the weekend looms; I can quicken my recovery with rest, which will be at my disposal. I will try to get outside and walk some. Maybe some yoga will be attempted. Though frustrated at the impediments I've suffered over the last several weeks at the hands of ill-health, I'm ready to get back in the saddle.

At some point, I'll watch Synecdoche, New York, Charlie Kaufman's latest and much anticipated by me. I'll be shocked if I don't love it. And Christopher Guest's For Your Consideration will most likely get mine at some point.

Over the last week or so, my feelings for Ann have cooled a bit for various reasons, mostly because I came to the conclusion that, to borrow from the title of a current romantic comedy, she wasn't that into me and, consequently my enthusiasm for her couldn't sustain itself. Or, to put it another way, I had no fucking idea how she felt and needed more than that in order to ask her out. Although I'll never be accused of being hasty when asking women out, in this case, because we see each other every day, I want to be reasonably sure I have a shot with her before I launch the rocket, so to speak.

Today, my feelings were rekindled. A break in the clouds occurred and it seemed very plain, based on the combination of surreptitious looks and bits of conversation, that she indeed is into me and the only reason she ever seems not to be is because she's trying to conceal the fact, not wanting to be obvious about it. Who knows if that's the case, but today it seemed to be.

In the end, though, it wasn't the epiphany of questionable sustainability that warmed me to Ann again, but our rapport, which was, as it can often be, warm, slightly awkward, humorous, and left a smile stamped on my mug for untold minutes afterward. It's the simple things, my friends; the older I get, the more I covet them. Especially in the heart of these darkening days.

There's more I could tell you, but I'm spent. Ciao.

Twenty fucking five to one, me gambling days are done

Day three. Still sick, but, as I type this, I feel as though I'm getting better, but given the rapid and sometimes dramatic fluctuation of symptoms I've experienced today, I'm pretty sure I'm not out of the water yet.

I slept well, but oddly, last night. I woke up almost every hour, positioned on my side and bundled up in blankets. Then I would switch sides and fall back to sleep immediately. And repeat. All night. I felt as if I was being baked in the oven, with all the flipping around. All in all, though, it was a comfortable night of sleeping. I needed it.

At work, my nose leaked. And leaked and leaked and leaked. I lost my voice for a while, coughed and hacked and everything else in accordance with being sick. I felt gross all day, a soiled, dripping, wretch in the company of the civilized and well-groomed. I couldn't wait for the day to end.

Oh, and I pissed a whole lot. I drank as much water as I could and, consequently, made many the trip to the facilities.

Watched some Celtics last night, their depleted lineup in full effect. I enjoyed seeing the likes of Gabe Pruitt and Bill Walker getting some playing time. And because Rondo's out, Starbury got more playing time, which I liked. I was probably one of the few fans in favor of the acquisition.

Lacking energy, must end this.

With victory on high

Day two. Still sick, worse even. I didn't go to work and stayed in bed as much as possible. Over the course of the day, this bug, this intruder, put me through the motions. I went through spells of tight chest coughing, followed by loose cough expulsion. I had a stuffy nose and then a leaky one. Sore throat, no sore throat. Fatigue, restlessness. In the midst of this, I took three hour- long naps, read, and watched several episodes of The Office.

I canceled plans with Foley. It wouldn't have been good for either of us playing music together with me in such a weakened, undignified state. One of these days we'll get together.

Looks certain that U2 is playing the Somerville Theater as I write this. From a few different sources, I heard that this was the location of a top secret show they're playing. If this is for real, then it's too bad Craig moved out when he did. Who knows, if things had been different, he might have ended up bringing the lads back to our place for a pint or two.

Another thing that looks certain is me ending this so I can get under the covers and wait this bitch out. Oh, how I love being ill.

I used to be cruel to my woman, I'd beat her, and kept her apart from the things that she loved

It's official: I'm sick. Yes, the hint of a scratchy throat that regaled with it's presence yesterday blossomed into a full blown cold. My health deteriorated throughout the day today. I began my work day feeling pretty good and by noon, I was coughing and felt fatigued. At one point during the day, after a bout of coughing, Jeff, from his office, said "Stop faking". He was joking, of course. And so would I have been if I responded by saying "I'm not your wife". I didn't say that, of course, because if I did, Jeff might have been sore at me. So, there you have it: I'm sick, but I plan on getting better real soon. Let's see how that goes.

The bizarre dreams I had last night were a good indication that I was on the verge of something unpleasant. There was one in which I was in front of the mirror in the bathroom and decided to trim my beard. Somehow, I missed the mark and shaved off a sizable patch of hair above my ear. Distressed, I tried combing over it, but no matter what I did, the patch was visible.

And to make matters worse, I saw that I had an inch long black thing dangling from my forehead, right between my eyes. Whatever it was, it was rooted in my head. I pulled at it, and it came out slowly. As I did this, I discovered that it was a very large ant, and it was still alive, judging by the movement of it's legs. It had burrowed into my head, right up to its torso. I managed to pull the body out, but it's head remained entrenched in mine. Frantically, I grabbed some tweezers and got it out.

Don't know what to make of the dream, but the location of the ant, where the mystical third eye resides, is interesting to me. Perhaps, by removing the ant, I will "see" clearer from now on. I'll keep you posted.

I'm going to hop in bed and maybe nap. Or not. We'll see how it goes. I just want to get better.

We're not enemies, we just disagree

Weather-wise, a stark contrast between yesterday and today. I drove to work this morning wondering if my memory of yesterday's temperate climate was real; I entertained the possibility that it was only a figment from a pleasant dream. But, as you know, it wasn't. Nature can be a prick. Nature can blow me.

That's all I have to say.

Sometimes a short post need only be slightly longer than a fortune cookie's fortune, sayeth I.

Always looking for a paradise island, help me find it everywhere

A beautiful day, to be sure. Janelle and I walked over to the Somerville Theater and saw Watchmen, which upheld my suspicion that I'd enjoy it more than the graphic novel. The movie was faithful to the book, but it was more effective and moving in my opinion. The dense exposition in the book was covered incredibly well and didn't slow the pacing one bit. The movie hit all the right notes, from the acting to the cinematography. And there were some surprising, yet effective song selections, to boot. We agreed the film warrants another viewing, this time in IMAX. Spira, if you're reading this, you should join us; I'm almost positive you'll love this movie.

After the movie, we got a couple of cappuccinos and hung out in Davis Sq and enjoyed the day. Back at home, I got changed and went for a run. It was exhilarating, I tell ya, finally being able to be out in shorts.

A few posts back, I wrote about Facebook and some of it's members mundane and too- frequent posting habits. Well, I was just reading Bill Simmons' column for ESPN (which, even if you don't follow sports is a joy to read) and this week he answered reader's mail. Here's a Q & A about Facebook that addresses more succinctly and humorously than I did the reason why many of the people on it can be so irksome.

Q: Can you think of the sports equivalent of the spouses of buddies whose Facebook friend-request you accepted who constantly update their status on the topic of taking care of their kids? Like "Jenn is watching her little ones nap" and "Sarah is playing 'Bob the Builder' with her kids! Yay!" As a 28-year-old unmarried man, it's not that I don't appreciate females or motherhood, it's just that I don't care. For the same reason that I don't update my status with "Kully just put on jock itch cream."
-- Kully, Guangzhou, China

SG: Wouldn't the sports equivalent be like ending up with an undesirable throw-in for an NBA trade (aka Marcus Banks)? The more interesting angle for me is how Twitter and Facebook reflect where our writing is going thanks to the Internet. In 15 years, writing went from "reflecting on what happened and putting together some coherent thoughts" to "reflecting on what happened as quickly as possible" to "reflecting on what's happening as it's happening" to "here are my half-baked thoughts about absolutely anything and I'm not even going to attempt to entertain you," or as I like to call it, Twitter/Facebook Syndrome. Do my friends REALLY CARE if I send out an update, "Bill is flying on an airplane finishing a mailbag right now?" (Which is true, by the way.) I just don't think they would. I certainly wouldn't. That's why I refuse to use Twitter.

As for Facebook, I don't mind getting status updates and snapshots of what my friends' lives are like -- even if "Bob the Builder" is prominently involved -- as long as they aren't posting 10 times a day or writing something uncomfortable about their spouse/boyfriend like "(Girl's name) is … trying to remember the last time she looked at her husband without wanting to punch him in the face" or "(Girl's name) is … just going to keep eating, it's not like I have sex anymore." Keep me out of your personal business, please. Other than that, the comedy of status updates can be off the charts. Like my college classmate who sends out status updates so overwhelmingly mundane and weird that my buddies and I forward them to each other, then add fake responses like, "(Guy's name) … snapped and killed a drifter tonight" and "(Guy's name) … would hang myself if the ceilings in my apartment weren't too short." It kills us. We can't get enough of it. We have been doing it for four solid months. And really, that's what Facebook is all about -- looking at photos of your friend's kids or any reunion or party, making fun of people you never liked and searching for old hook-ups and deciding whether you regret the hook-up or not. That's really it. All in all, I like Facebook.

If I had to do the same again, I would my friend, Fernando

Spent the bulk of the day at my parent's house. My sister and her kids were in attendance and so was my grandmother, who carpooled with me. I've never given her a ride anywhere before and I think I did a commendable job. I kept my speed at a moderate pace and, though it wasn't easy, managed to abstain from the usual battles of the road. Several times I had to still my hand from flipping some prick off for showing bad form. And thanks to my grandmother's poor hearing, I think I got away with a few muttered expletives.

Speaking of my grandmother's poor hearing, I'm surprised I'm not hoarse right now. I spent a good part of the day SPEAKING VERY LOUDLY. That's ok, I've got a big mouth and handled the workload with aplomb.

When we arrived at my parent's house, my grandmother asked me if I'd be giving her a ride back.

"I suppose so, if there's no bus heading that way."

"I don't think there's a bus, dear."

"How about a cab?"

"That would be pretty expensive."

"What about a trolley?"

"Oh, I don't think so."

"Maybe you can hop in the back of someones mule cart."

"That would be hard to find."

"I guess I'll give you a ride, then."

Somehow, I've become the technical genius of the family. This is not based so much on merit, as it is a default position. Any problems with any thing remotely technical, I'm the go to guy. My skills in that department are average, but that doesn't prohibit me from feeling like a fucking genius in the company of my family.

Today, I showed my dad how to use the Discman I gave him, my sister how to use her Ipod and the zoom function on the camera in her phone, and set up my parent's dvd player, making it compatible with the cable and VCR. I have no illusions that these were difficult tasks to perform -- a sixth-grader who still eats his snots would have made quick work of them -- but it felt good saving the day.

When my grandmother and I were readying to leave, my father pulled me aside and quietly said to me, "Hey, if there's ever anything you need to talk about, you can talk to me. I should have told you this a long time ago, but I'm telling you now."

I was a little thrown off. I figured he was saying this in response to my Christmas meltdown, but I wasn't sure. Whatever precipitated it, I choked up a little. It was one of the most touching things my father has ever said to me.

Plan on seeing Watchmen tomorrow with Janelle at the Somerville Theater. I wasn't wowed by the graphic novel, but I hear the film is effective. We'll see.

Missed the big game between the Cavs and the Celtics last night because I was at Mara's watching Jesus' Son. If I had had the foresight to check the schedule before making my plans with her, I would have seen what turned out to be, by all accounts, a great game. Oh, well.

Don't the night pass slow

I've been posting less frequently, much to the disappointment of you, my loyal readers. For this, I apologize and can only hope to win back your favor by posting more often and with more vigor and pep.

I would like to be braver with the content in future posts. And deeper. Not to suggest my output has been fluff, but there's more going on in my life than marveling at my neighbor's snow clearing obsession. That is not to suggest I will cease covering the topic; Steve's hijinks will always be headline news, as far as I'm concerned.

That's all. You're dismissed.

You're living too close to the ground

No work yesterday courtesy of the snow. Marcy called me in the morning and told me everyone had called out already, so there was no point. Fine with me; didn't look forward to a precarious drive.

Steve started up his snow blower shortly after nine. He called it quits around two thirty. He did most of the sidewalks in our neighborhood in addition to the driveways he helped out with, including my own. I watched him, later in the day, shovel tiny areas where the snow blower missed. I remove snow from my driveway so that I can get in and out with my car. If I miss a spot here and there, I leave it. I do this, just so you understand, because a spot here and there will not hinder my car leaving or entering my driveway. I am not concerned what the neighbors might think if they spy a quarter-sized clump of snow on my driveway.

I am not suggesting that Steve's attention to detail with snow removal is not born from the fear of being judged. What I'm suggesting is that Steve goes to fucking town, son, when it snows! I think he's going to marry his snowblower. (Here comes the funny. You're going to looove this!) Maybe he'd settle for a blow job.

Baby Boy Z pigged out tonight. I gave him a bunch of pretzels and some hamburger. He ate a chicken neck. And I'm sure he had other stuff. He still maintains his figure, though. And his thighs are to die for.

Speaking of dogs, I came up with an idea for dog footwear. The shoes or boots won't have soles, because dogs do just fine with their pads. This fact won't be evident to the casual observer, however; the way the paws will be covered, it'll appear they're wearing shoes with soles. The company will be called Dog Martins. Wouldn't you love seeing your dog strutting around the house in his Docs like he was Eddie Vedder? Add a flannel shirt and it's Seattle, 1993. Or maybe a nice pair of loafers or Uggs would tickle your fancy. I'm going to be wealthy very soon. Don't steal my idea bitches!

Ok, I've got to go work on music. I've got three new songs that need lyrics. I'm happy with each of them and am going to present them to Foley.

Dear wind that shakes the barley free, blow home my true love's ship to me, fill her sails, I weary wait upon the shore

Picked Foley up this morning and we made our way to Spira's place for brunch. He wanted to stop somewhere for beer.

"A little early for beer?", I asked.

"It's for the pancakes", he replied. "And it can't be any beer -- it has to be Red Hook".

"I don't know if we'll find a place that's open".

"Just stop at a gas station."

"They don't sell beer at gas stations."

"Of course they do."

"I have a conviction that they don't. Not in Massachusetts. I'm so confident, I'll bet you anything I own."

He believed me, I think. Nearing Spira's we spotted a massive wholesale liquor store that claimed to carry over 500 different brands of beer, which, now that I think of it, is an awful high number. I must have read it wrong. We pulled in the parking lot and Foley asked the three guys milling around the front door with bags of empties if the store was open. "Twelve O'clock", one of them replied. Agreeing the hour wait wasn't worth it, we hit the road.

"Why do you need beer for the pancakes, anyway? Beer pancakes don't sound appealing."

"No, I'd drink the beer with the pancakes."

I never asked him the genesis of the idea. Maybe it's a family tradition.

The brunch went well. Joel, and his wife, who's name I can't recall for some reason, despite the fact that I like her quite a bit, and Spira's new beau, Brad, were in attendance. We ate pancakes without beer, eggs, croissants, and sausages. Lots of laughs; great discussions. Crappy weather notwithstanding, a solid A.

I met up with Foley and his sister, Mary, at the Burren last night. I don't see Mary often, but I always enjoy her company when I do. She razzed Foley about some of his recent courting tactics, which were straight out of Say Anything, and subsequent to that we discussed the fine line between romantic and creepy.

"If a guy behaved with me the way you did with that girl, you'd have gone after him," she said.

"No. No, I wouldn't. I would have admired his style", he responded.

"Please!"

The siblings carried on in this fashion for a few minutes longer. Nothing was resolved.

Mara made me dinner Friday night. We had butternut squash/maple syrup raviolis, chicken sausage, and steamed asparagus. It was yummy. After dinner, I dropped her off at a book swap her friend Jane was hosting, and went home and played music.

I wonder if I'll have work tomorrow. I hear the storm that's approaching looks to be badass. I could do worse than a long weekend, though I hate the fucking snow so god-damn much.

I finished the first season of MadMen today. Very good. I look forward to the next one.

And now, I look forward to other ventures, which have nothing to do with this one and nothing to do with you.