Shady Grove, my little miss, Shady Grove my darling

My alarm jarred me out of, nay, rescued me from, an odd dream this morning. I was at a Beastie Boys show at my old junior high school auditorium and, in the dream, the Beasties weren't very good. To get the crowd, such as it was in that small venue, into the show, each of them jumped off the stage and ran up the aisles.

I groaned as they began calling out the names of audience members who were to get on stage and enter an undetermined contest. I groaned because I knew in my gut that I was going to be picked, however slim the odds were.

Sure enough, I was picked. I dutifully ran up onstage. There were about seven of us up there, including Lebron James, whose presence I took note of, but in my surly state, dismissed as being not much of a big deal.

The Beasties came back to the stage and assembled us in a horizontal line. Our challenge was to do the Macarena without messing up. If we performed it successfully, one of us would be chosen to drive Kevin McHale to the airport. That was the prize. No wonder I was surly.

My alarm went off just as we started dancing. For a change, it worked in my favor.There is justice in this world.
--

Marcy gave me a bunch of stuff to do with five minutes left in the day. She didn't realize what time it was, she told me later, when everyone else had left. She apologized, but didn't need to; I'll take any over time I can get.

I got tied up in traffic on the way home and, consequently, got home quite a bit later than I usually do. I listened to WEEI during the ride and was dismayed at all the Red Sox talk. I was hoping for some Celtics or Bruins, but it wasn't to be. Well, there was one Bruins call, but it wasn't very interesting.

What I hate about Red Sox talk is all the people calling up talking out of their asses. From what I can determine, they're usually comprised of older folk with a lot of time on their hands and nothing very interesting to say. Here's a taste of what I'm talking about.

Host: Here's Roger in Everett

Roger: (slow, thick New England accent) I wanna talk about Ellsbury. I think we should trade him for A Rod.

Host: Roger, there's no way you can do that..

Roger: I know, but he stinks so bad. I was thinking about that time last year in spring training when we were playing Tampa -- I think it was the second inning -- and Ellsbury was at the plate with a full count. Do you remember that?

Host: No, but continue.

Roger: Well, I saw him look into the other team's dugout and I think he winked at 'em, like he was trying to say, "Hey guys, I'm gonna hit a home run". I'm pretty sure he winked.

Host: Roger, what does that have to do with trading him?

Roger: Well, he didn't hit the home run. A Rod woulda hit it. That's why we should trade for A Rod.

Host: That's ridiculous. That will never, ever, ever, happen. No one, not even a three year old, would make that trade. Even if A Rod lost the use of his left hand and could see out of only one eye, no one would make that trade. Do you seriously believe that trade can happen?

Roger: I didn't say I think it could happen. I'm just sayin' I think it should happen. Ellsbury's a bum!

Host: Actually he's been... (insert favorable stats) ..... He's actually playing pretty well.

Roger: Yeah, that's what I'm sayin'. Ellsbury's doin' well for us.

Yeah, and that's another thing: these callers have no back bone. Here's a tip: even if the premise of your call is absolutely bannanas and doesn't reflect reality in the slightest, at least stick by it. It's the least you can do for wasting every one's time.

I guess it's not fair to declare that only Sox callers are like this, but whatever, it's my blog and I can say what I want. Got a problem with that?

Ok, I'm off to watch the rest of the Celtics game.

I can hear the wild waves break this island of bone

I wasn't at work very long today when Marcy asked if I wouldn't mind accompanying Ann to the registries in Cambridge and Boston so that she could show me the ropes of researching and recording documents. Unsurprisingly, my arm didn't have to be twisted.

On the way to Cambridge, my lip started bleeding profusely (remnants of a cold sore-- sexy, I know). Fortunately, Ann had some tissues and I was able to control the blood flow, but man, I bled a lot. I was hoping that wasn't a sign of how the rest of the day was going to go.

We spent all day at the registries. Ann did a fine job teaching me the whole registry process, but there was a lot to digest and I'm certain I won't retain much of it. It didn't help that Ann was looking particularly good today and that I was enjoying her company so much. Somehow, I managed to focus on the work at hand every once in a while.

It's really too bad she's moving. I didn't realize just how well we'd get along; I had an idea, but I figured she'd be more, I don't know -- reserved? Quiet? She was neither: we laughed a lot and there was no shortage of conversation. We learned a lot about each other today. I hope we'll be able to keep in touch when she moves.
--
Had a decent weekend. Knowing the weather was slated to be summer-like, I was all geared up for a run on Saturday. I woke up, had some breakfast and hit the road.

It wasn't an easy run. I wasn't even halfway through the run when the urge to stop became insistent and almost overwhelming. My knee ached, and because of the heat, my body shivered. I cowboyed up and finished the course.

Fortunately, my run after work today went a lot smoother. In fact, I had a lot of energy during the last leg and probably could have run a bit further. I didn't, though; I'm trying to pace myself. Soon, though.

Hung out with Mara Saturday night. We took Baby Boy Z for a walk and came back to the house and watched Man On Wire, which was good, but we were both tired and had trouble getting into it.

Foley stopped by yesterday and hung out for a while. And later in the day Spira came by and went for a run with Janelle. I tried convincing both of them to watch Rachel at the Wedding with me, but both declined because of work they needed to attend to.

I watched it anyway and loved it. Such an organic, soulful, and enjoyable film. There wasn't a formal score, but it was populated with some fantastic music. If I ever get married, and I hope I do, if my wedding is anything like the one in the movie, then it will be a success.

Janelle and I launched our Everly Brothers project yesterday with a rehearsal of the gorgeous song Kentucky. Sounded good, especially for our first attempt. I love the Everly Brothers and one day came up with the idea of learning all the songs off their record, Songs our Daddy Taught Us, one of their very best. And because there are two vocals going at all times, I needed a singing partner. Janelle and I have been discussing playing together for a while now, and I thought this would be a great project for us. And so far it is.

I've been spat on and shat on and raped and abused

Mara came over last night. We didn't have plans, but she was in Davis Sq. and feeling lousy about life. She called and asked if she could stop by. I could tell by her voice that she needed company, so I told her she could.

I won't go into what was bothering her, short of saying it didn't have much or anything to do with the fact that I'm not her boyfriend anymore. Sometimes I'm effective at pep talks, other times I'm merely adequate. Last night, I was somewhere in between. Still, Mara's demeanor improved throughout her visit and she just texted me "Thanks" as I was writing this paragraph, so I did ok -- a solid B -. Anyway, how the hell did she know I was writing about her. I wonder if she's been probing my brain? Probably. I'll have to proceed with caution.

Bruins swept the Habs. Mwuahaaahaaahaaaaaaaaaaaa....

And the Celtics are positively destroying the Bulls right now. Mwuahahahahahhhaaaaaaaaaa...

After work, I hurriedly changed my clothes and went for another long run. I was hoping to have enough time to eat and shower before heading to Foley's for rehearsal, but it wasn't to be. I managed to eat: a nice, fat salad with all the fixins (except E.L. Fudge cookies -- we were out).

When I got to Foley's, we worked on one of my songs. I was playing it poorly at first -- probably because he was watching my fingers intently and it threw me off a bit -- but it wasn't long before I was playing it well.

Christine came over about a half hour into practice and put some cello over the song. It feels so gratifying playing with other people again. Both Foley and Christine put some fine parts over the song. I'm looking forward to hearing the finished the product.

I'm almost finished Winterbirth. Surprising to see such a deftly-crafted, mature, well written book from a new author. Must have something to do with Ruckley being Scottish.

Going to watch the C's finish off the Bulls. 104 to 77 in the fourth. How's my ass taste, Chicago?

Each Halloween your faces get more frightening

Finally got my exercise groove back on and I'm looking to take it to another level. To that end, I ran four and a half miles today. I've gone further than that before, but with periods of walking. Tonight, I ran, or more, jogged, the whole way. I am proud of myself.

Janelle and I took Baby Boy Z to the Fells this past Sunday for a run. It was a gorgeous day and we covered a lot of distance. Baby Boy had a huge smile on his face the entire time, even when he was being harried by a group of dogs. He's a lucky boy: Janelle is a fine mother and takes him on all sorts of field trips. If only my mother was so hands on, I wouldn't be such a miserable prick. I'm kidding -- that's only half true.

The C's barely beat the Bulls last night in game two. It was close all the way, a great game to watch, except for the fact that the Celtics are the superior team and shouldn't have let a bunch of upstarts nearly beat them at home like they did in game one. Ah, but there's no KG and now Powe is done for the year. We're weak up front and other teams will exploit that weakness, provided, that is, we make it through this series, which is a dubious scenario. I still won't count them out, though. They do have heart.

Oh, well, we'll always have last year.

The Bruins, though, look great. I don't know if it's the Habs shitty play that makes them look so, but, whatever the cause, they're about to take the series. I love it.

Spira and Brad came by Sunday night for dinner (lamb chops and beet salad --- yummers!) and a movie. We watched Happy Go Lucky, a film I'd attempted to see in the theaters numerous times, but got sidetracked from my purpose every time. When I saw it on Netflix, I shot it right up to the number one spot on my cue. That's right, it jumped ahead of and Too Fast, Too Furious and Gossip Girl: Season One.

I really enjoyed the film. Simply put, it's a story of a good woman, as Roger Ebert put it in the opening paragraph of his review. Equally funny, heartwarming, and sad, I can't recommend it enough. A lesser movie would have been formulaic, obvious in it's intent, but Mike Leigh wasn't interested in the Box Office: he, and his wonderful cast, were all about being true to the characters and it showed.

Ok, there's more -- there's always more -- but I've got stuff to do. Have a blessed evening, bitches.

I'm sick to my guts of the railway, poor Paddy works on the railway

Watched the Celtics lose to the Bulls in OT. Not a good way to start the playoffs. They lacked energy and looked as if they felt they would roll through the series by entitlement alone. If they manage to face the Cavs on their way to the finals, they'll need to play much, much better to even stand a chance.

At least there's the Bruins and their spirited, disciplined play. They're about to go up two games to nil in their series against Montreal. A lot has changed in a year. I like their chances to go all the way.

After being ill for a good portion of March, I'm finally getting my wind back up and have been exercising like before. Every day this week, I've either gone running or practiced yoga. I'm hoping to add some miles to my runs. By summer, I want to be up to at least six miles per run.

I showed up at Foley's place this afternoon for practice, but he wasn't there. His roommate, Rachael, suggested I come in and knock on his door, but she didn't think he was home. His door was about a quarter of the way open and I peeked inside. No Foley. As I made my out of the apartment, I said "He's dead!" to Rachael, who was on the phone.

"No he's not", she said with a smile and some doubt.

"Go see for yourself", I said. "If I were you, I'd get that body out of the house before it starts to decay. The smell will be unbearable."

Foley called me later at home. He got tied up somewhere and lost track of time. He was apologetic. I didn't need the apology. He lives less than a mile from me. If I had driven to New Hampshire and he was a no show, well I'll tell you what: I'd be pretty peeved.

Janelle and I plan on going to the Fells for a run tomorrow. I look forward to it. I've been running the same pattern for a long time; will be good for a change of scenery. Spira has been running along the Charles and told me it's a nice run. I'm sure we'll be running it together soon.

For some reason, my computer won't play the disc of The Wire: Season Four I got from Netflix. That stinks, because my dvd player shat the bed last week. And the dvd player in the living room is lacking a remote, which means, without going into why, I'll have to watch all the episodes at once or not at all.

Dvd players are cheap enough now. I'm so worried about having to dump a lot of money into my car, that I'm hesitant to purchase anything nonessential.

Listening to a lot of The Pogues lately. I love them more than I ever I have.

Mara and I hung out at her place last night. We hadn't hung out since her trip to New York a couple of days back. It was nice seeing her. We caught up and enjoyed each other's company. A nice visit.

Re-reading The Franklin Cover-Up, a book that should be required reading for anyone willing to open their eyes to some ugly and frightening truths. I wish I had the time to give a thorough synopsis. Maybe in another post. Satanism, child abuse, and murder in Nebraska. That's just scratching the surface. The never-released documentary, Conspiracy of Silence, was based on the book. It's all over Google video, if you're interested.

Kentucky, I miss your laurels and your redbud trees

Meant to post last night, but got wrapped up in the writing of songs. I was going to recount the past weekend; I will do so now.

Friday. What did I do Friday night? Oh, I stayed in. I worked on music, watched the last two Office episodes online, and read. All day at work, I had looked forward to spending some quality time with myself. It was a nice date, though I didn't get lucky at the end of it, unless you call falling asleep while reading Webster Griffin Tarpley lucky.

Went to Spira's housewarming party on Saturday. She had sent out an Evite announcing it and close to forty people didn't respond. Even choosing the "maybe" option seemed to be too taxing for them. I asked her if perhaps she had outdated email information for many of the non-responders and she replied that all of it was current. "They're just rude assholes (I'm paraphrasing)", she said.

Despite that disrespect from many of her friends and family, in the midst of the party Spira maintained, and I believed her, that she was still having a great time with with her present company, old friends and new.

So was I. When Kevin, Nicole, Scott, and Rachael -- people I wish I saw more often -- showed up, I was thrilled. A fun group of people. We ate from the delicious and abundant spread of food that was compiled on the dining room table. We drank wine. We joked, we laughed, we sang songs.

Easter at my grandmother's house lacked its usual pep. My grandmother, or Nana, as we call her, was recovering from having a pacemaker put in only two days prior. She's not very moblie these days -- she's 91 -- but on the heels of this surgery, she was worn down and, despite enjoying being with her family, it was difficult for her to be engaged in the event.

My mother, too, was suffering. She was in the grips of a wrenched neck and back, and could barely move, herself. My parents left early because of this, but the day was still a good one. The kids did the Easter egg hunt in the back yard and, as I watched them scurrying around, I wondered where the time went. It wasn't so long ago, it seemed, when my sister and my cousins were hunting for eggs.

And I did other stuff over the weekend, but I don't want to give it all away. Have to leave some things for the imagination.

Watched the Shane McGowan biopic, If I fall from Grace With God, last night. Here are some of my thoughts about the film.

1. He drinks A LOT.

2. Somehow he's still alive.

3. The Pogues were a great band.

4. Shane was more an integral part of the writing process than I thought he was.

5. It's a shame seeing what alcohol can do to talent.

6. Despite his addiction, he seems pretty happy. Some people take Prozac, Shane drinks.

There's some crazy email business going on right now with Foley and a bunch of people he cc'd, which included me. I don't have the time, or the inclination, to get into it, but it involves someone potentially being embarrassed by a comment I made in one of my replies to Foley. I tell you in good faith that nine out of ten people would find nothing wrong the comment, but for some reason it became an issue. I defended myself and offered a sweeping apology to the alleged victim and anyone else who may have been embarrassed or offended or rendered suicidal by my comment. The whole thing is really very silly, and it should never have been an issue to begin with.

Came up with an idea that will, if it comes to fruition, be one of my better ones over the last decade or so. It has to with music and friends and performances. I'll elaborate more if it looks like it's going to happen. Just figured I'd throw out a little teaser. You like teasers.

Ok, I'm out. Playoffs -- both hockey and basketball -- are upon us and I'm determined to watch as much as I can. This amped up TV watching might interfere with my social life, such that it is. I'm playing music with Foley on a regular basis and I haven't seen Mara in a while. She's hosting an art exhibit at the Somerville Museum this Thursday. It's the same event I met her at last year. Oh, where does the time go?

Who can watch the night as it passes by, who can live without meeting anyone?

My car is going through the doldrums. I suspect it needs several major repairs, which include brakes and whatever the mechanism is that makes it go faster. This morning, it took a few tries for the car to turn over. That's a new one. Well, the good news is my bank account is stacked to the chin with cash and I'll be be able to afford a multitude of repairs and still have plenty left for sexy weekend getaways and extravagant dinners. No wait, that's Clooney; I'm poor as fuck.

Foley and I rehearsed tonight. I was eager to redeem myself after a disappointing vocal performance the previous rehearsal. First, though, I needed to have my thumb ripped open by one of Foley's cats in an unprovoked attack. i bled all over his bathroom sink and floor. He pulled out a box of Band Aids and offered me one. "They're clear, though", he said, as if he wasn't sure my tastes in Band Aids went in that direction. As if its color, or lack thereof, could effect its usefulness. Evidently, I thought it could, because I almost asked Foley for a brown one before I came to my senses.

We had some tea with whiskey and ran through the song a few times. I was much better this time around. Since our last practice, I got to know the song a lot better. Between takes, we waxed philosophic over last night's Lost episode, which I thought was as good as they get and he didn't. And we talked about Stephen King's Dark Tower series, which we both agreed was incredible.

And we also waited for Christine, the cellist.

I've never played with a cellist before but have always wanted to. It's one of my favorite instruments in the world. When she did arrive and started tuning her instrument, Foley and me were grinning and staring at the cello like a couple of six year olds watching cotton candy being made. I've determined that the cello is the only instrument that sounds good being tuned.

We practiced the song a bunch times and Christine sounded fantastic, even as she was finding her way through it. I held back the urge to beg her to play over all of my songs. All in due time.

Afterward, I walked home in the spring night, feeling a little better about my life and a little more hopeful.

You can drive out nature with a pitch fork, but it always comes roaring back again

Let's lighting round this bitch so I can watch some Celtics and Lost.

Dane Cook sucks. Actually, his comedy isn't soo terrible, but the presentation, the grandiosity of
his shows, makes me want to hurt him bad. If you've been a regular reader of mine, all of this is
old news. Sorry, but until he retires or, even better, goes to jail for the rest of his life, I feel it is my duty to point out how shitty he is. (Incidentally, my Uncle used to teach middle school in Arlington, and had Dane Cook as a student. Every so often he'll regale my family with tales of
how hilarious Cook was even back then. Yes, I am ashamed of my uncle.

Ok, about my love of Sister Salad...nope, still not ready.

The Chilli Peppers put out one great album: Blood Sugar Sex Magic. Since then, they've slowly and steadily submerged themselves in the cream of mediocrity. That's right, I said the cream of mediocrity. Got a problem with that? Anyway, they suck now.

There's a commercial for Consolidating Credit Counseling Services that I'm sure you've seen
before. Anyhow, the spokesman looks a lot like Gabriel Byrne, the fine Irish actor. In fact, I think it could be him,but that doesn't jive -- why would he lower himself to filming bush league commercials? Maybe he needs the money for smack and sex slaves. I know I do.

It's come to my attention that some of you skim when you read my blog. Fair enough, and with
that in mind, I'm thinking of changing things a bit to accommodate all y'all skimmers. Here's a taste of what the new, skimming friendly, blog will look like.

Yesterday, I did three somersaults and a cartwheel. I think tomorrow I'll add a tumble to the routine. goo goo ga goo doo doo daa doo fhfh dkk alkj dhdh tom hanks masturbates dk goo ddaa jjo fid flippity flop dii pie is for adults cake is for children gdii doiiau i hate every single one of you so effing much bdd dj fkjd i eiai kia ddk phantom menace is underrated kdj dkdj iaa I dkdk dk . dkjd .

See how I'll doos it? I'll make my point in the first sentence and in bold type, even, so it catches your eyes quicker. And the rest will be gibberish. Now you won't ever have to skim again and I won't have to waste anymore time writing paragraphs. I'll institute this new format in the next post, and by next post, I mean never. Fuck you, skimmers!

About halfway through Winterbirth. Loving it. Oh, shit, the C's are on. Holla!

Well, I hope that someday, buddy, we have peace in our lives, together or apart, alone or with our wives

Got a lot done after work. I went for a run as soon I got home and stopped at Mckinnon's in Davis for some of their incredibly cheap meat (chicken thighs and hamburger, if you must know) on my way back. Once home, I baked some chicken, did some laundry, and once the chicken was ready, I added some to a salad I prepared for supper. After I ate, I headed over to Market Basket and braved the swarm of shoppers. It was hairy at times, much like what our troops experienced on the beaches of Normandy, I'm sure. I made it home with my skin and sanity intact. I even managed to get some gas on the way home. "My hero", I can hear you cooing. I do what I can, on this planet we call Earth, to be an example of strength and purity. Glad I've made a difference in your lives.

On a more serious note, I've been feeling like almost everything in my life could fall apart at any moment. My car, my job, my relationships, my living environment, my health --- all seeming ready to collapse under my feet like a trap door. It's been a rollercoaster ride, to be sure, and I fucking hate rollercoasters (well, maybe not, but whatever). Well, many of us are going through it -- the economy, global warming, etc. -- and having a tenuous hold on several aspects of life can be empowering, right? No? Okay, but I still contend that it can. I'll get back to you on how.

Did some recording at Foley's last night. He's having me put vocals over one of his songs, and so far it's been both interesting and challenging. And frustrating. For years now, I've only sung my own songs. And because Foley writes differently than I do and because he wants things done a certain way, it hasn't been easy. But I'm glad I'm doing it. It's good to expand one's horizons, no?

The song we we're doing is about Foley's new flame. I met her after rehearsal. She seems a little shy and, given the fact that I had just been singing about her for the last couple of hours, our introduction was slightly awkward. Back to the song. In shortl, it's about how he met his new love and how jubilant he is to be with her. As we were rehearsing the song, he kept urging me to sing happier. "Can you sing it with a smile on your face?", he asked. "No fucking way", I responded. There's much I'll do to help Foley manifest his vision, but not that. Besides, he didn't sound very gleeful when he sang it, so why should I?

Our friend Sara had layed down some vocals on the song a few days before I did, and they sound great. She reminds me of Vashti Bunyan. That, my friends, is a very good thing. The vocals I did last night, well, sucked. Okay, they didn't suck, but I can do much better. I hope. To be fair to myself, it's a song I'm not too familiar with and I'm being directed to alter my singing style, which, for those of you don't know, is a cross between Lil Wayne and Pat Benatar.

Listening to Led Zeppelin II. Not feeling it even slightly. Time for a change. Everly Brothers will do just fine.

Ok, I'm off to watch some UFC. I love the sport but never seem to catch it when it's on. Last night, though, I was lucky and caught some while flipping channels. And the same thing happened tonight. I was going to riff on my recent discovery on Youtube, Sister Salad, and why I enjoy it so much, and why it's probably better for me not to interact with pretty much anyone anymore. Perhaps I'll cover it in my next post.

Stay tuned, bitches.

New Swirled Order

Just watched this doc yesterday. Pretty well done. I think it's a German production, but don't let that sway you; it's in English with no subtitles. I urge you to watch this. At the very least, you'll see some incredible crop circles. Personally, I think the man-made ones are in the minority. As you'll see, many crop circles are complex and rich with meaning. Makes you wonder why these creations aren't cropping (pun intended) up in the news more often. Even if they're believed to be the products of hoaxters, they're still wondrous to behold and therefore newsworthy. Some suppression going on in the media, me thinks. I can only guess as to who makes the crop circles, the how and why, but I have my theories. And so will you.

But you want that picture, don't you darling?

In the past, I've expressed, pretty much to anyone who'd listen, my annoyance with the highly unnecessary comments some people post every three minutes on Facebook. I don't see the point of informing everyone that you just put a pair of socks in the hamper. With all the important thoughts and actions I undertake on a daily basis, I have no time for useless information. But now, after posting a couple of videos that no one responded to and feeling a little hurt as a result, I've come to a better understanding of why people feel compelled to comment on the slightest bit of minutia every three minutes.

I was surprised at my hurt feelings. I had ostensibly only posted the videos ( two clips from the brilliant The Office (UK) ) out of a desire to share some comedy with friends, but when no one commented on how hilarious and perfect the clips were and how bitchin' I was for sharing them, I didn't like it. I wanted recognition and approval. I was met with silence.

That is where it ended for me. I suffered through some shame and humiliation, let the tears run freely, but then I put the baby in the crib and was done with it. And here comes the point you feared would never arrive: I believe many among the chronic commenters, who will henceforth be referred to as CC's, originally only posted very little and experienced some some rejection, but unlike me, weren't strong and brave and pure-hearted enough to put the baby in the crib. No, they sought acknowledgement and approval and weren't going to rest until they got it. And when they finally did get some positive feedback and subsequent validation, they liked the taste so much they wanted more.

So they kept going and discovered at one point or another that leaving tiny, insignificant comments may not generate many responses, but posting a lot of them all the time will accrue enough to hurl you into the belly of ecstasy.

And let's not forget about the people responding to these irrelevant posts. They're just as bad in my opinion. Maybe even worse. You tell me. Who's more revolting: the one who posts " Tomorrow is Sunday" or the one who replies "No kidding! Sometimes I forget that Sunday comes after Saturday LOL!!". I'll let you sort it out. Me? I think they're both the same creature and, if I were to let the animal in me have the floor, I'd horsewhip them both in the face and privates with equal measure. But that's just me.

Before I conclude, I want to acknowledge the percentage of CC's that didn't need the impetus of rejection to urge them on, the ones who are hard-wired to broadcast every thought they have. I don't know how many of them there are, but, they are to be feared and avoided. They are the Dark Lord's excrement, acrid and foul.

As for me, I will not post ever again, unless of course someone responds to the hilarious videos I posted. In that event, I will comment like it's hot.

I laugh every time

My heart is a furnace, full of love that's just and earnest

After handing forth a goodly sum of money to the mechanic over the weekend, my money situation is as pitiable as it's been in years. That said, I'm surprised, even though the amount will barely sustain me until next week, I have any money at all. I was expecting to have to ask my parents for a little cushion to tide me over, but I don't think I'll need to. That is a good thing.

I went to record some docs at the registry in Lowell with Ann today. They want her to show me the ropes, so that I can eventually record on my own in Cambridge and Boston, a hike for Ann, but close to where I live. I was happy to get out of the office for a bit and to spend some time with her.

On the way, Ann told me she was going to give her notice soon. She's moving to Georgia in May. I wasn't too surprised; she's always maintained, at least to a few of us, that she wanted to move in the spring. It was still kind of sad hearing the news, though. Even though my feelings for her have abated , I'll miss her all the same. Who else am I going to talk about music and trashy reality shows with?

Went to Spira's last night and we walked over to the Old Navy in the Galleria. I had a gift card to redeem and she had an exchange and some coupons she wanted to use. We didn't stay too long. I was disappointed with the prices. Thirty bucks for a pair of jeans? Twenty five bucks for a short sleeved shirt? Fuck that! I ended up getting some socks and a t shirt.

The store was virtually empty and when we went to checkout, there was no line. Spira went first. As is her style, Spira became fast friends with Barry (she got his name in record time), the cashier. The three of us had a nice conversation about the different theories surrounding the show Lost. During our convo, I noticed a line had formed behind us. And then I noticed that the transaction was taking FOREVER.

Barry was having trouble with her coupons (frankly, I'm not entirely sure what the hold up was). The woman behind me chatted me up about seeing someone in the store she hadn't seen in months, but was about to call. She was slighty flakey and looked like a pudgier Liv Tyler wearing nice glasses. We had sex in one of the changing rooms while waiting for Spira and Barry to finish up. Oh, I kid -- April Fools! Had you going there, didn't I?

After a while, Liv Tyler grew frustrated and found another line. So did everyone else. I wondered if Barry was purposely taking so long because he found a couple of people to talk Lost with. He was a nice kid and it was a good conversation, but I was getting antsy, even after all the fun I was having razzing Spira about holding up the line. I told her that if I didn't know her and wasn't part of the conversation, I would hate her so much.

Overall, I had a fun night out with one of my best friends.

I'm almost finished reading Ken Shole's Lamentation, which has proven to be worthy of the hype that has proceeded it, despite it's patches of weak writing. I'm also reading Brian Ruckley's Winterbirth, a book I'd been meaning to check out for a couple of years, but have always put off for one reason or another. The book, which is part of a trilogy, has been a fantastic read so far. The impetus that got me to finally give it a try was reading Ruckley's blog and noting how well-written it was. I'm pretty good at judging the quality of authors, and I was right on the money with this one. He's an assured, skilled writer. I've found myself re-reading passages throughout the book quite because they're so good.

Ok, off to finish Lamentation, watch some C's (Tony Allen returns tonight), and then head over to Mara's for Lost.