I look pretty young, but I'm just back dated

I finally had my car looked at today. For months my brake light had been going every time I stopped, and lately it pretty much stayed on all the time. I never got it looked at because I feared it would cost me more than I could afford. Based on performance, it seemed I would need new brakes, which wouldn't come cheap. I couldn't wait any longer, though. I at least had to have a mechanic diagnose the problem.

Fortunately, there's a garage right next to where I work, so I was able to have them look at my car without missing out on any pay. All day, I did my best to keep focus on the work at hand, but my thoughts kept straying to nightmarish scenarios concerning my car. What if they tell me it's much more than my brakes, that I'm better off getting a new car? What if the bill runs in the thousands?

I got the call around two thirty and was told there was a hole in the brake line and brake fluid had gotten everywhere. I needed new shoes and a couple of other parts I can't recall the names of. My cost: $ 180.00. I couldn't believe it. I can't remember the last time I've payed less than four hundred dollars for repairs. Still, I'm a poor son of a bitch, and $ 180.00 is still a lot of money for me to be spending, but it could have been much, much worse. I came out on top, son!

Now that I share an office with Therese, I'm starting to get a little annoyed with her. Only a little, though: I don't think I could ever get past that stage of mild annoyance. She's so nice. Anyway, what I've found annoying is that almost every day she says something to the effect of " I can't believe it's three o'clock already! Where does the time go? There aren't enough hours in the day." And when it's nearing the end of the month, she'll say something like "I can't believe it's almost October." I usually don't respond beyond the occasional "Yes, time does fly" or some other lame response, but every so often I feel like I should sit her down and explain the nature of time, so that in the future it won't be such a surprise to her when it passes. But, I could never do that to sweet Therese. As I said, she's nice. Yet, she can be annoying. I guess we'll just have to see how this unfolds. We may be looking at a cage match down the road.

After work, I did some yoga and went for a run. I came home and made a salad with about fifty ingredients. I'm pretty beat and I think I'm going to get my clothes out of the dryer, take a nice, long, soak, and relax the rest of the night.

In the wee small hours of the morning

A long day. I just got home (it's about 9:30) and I'm beat. So beat, I'm going to make this one short. I want to curl up in bed and read from Abraham and David Ray Griffin's 9/11 Contradictions: An Open Letter To Congress And The Press. I've had the book for a while -- read only about a quarter of it and put it away, though not because it wasn't riveting, but for some distracting reason I can't bring to mind. Anyway, I'm full throttle with it.

I faxed so much shit at work today -- had to hand feed each individual page, which numbered in the hundreds and hundreds -- I'm certain I'm going to dream about it in some twisted manifestation or other. I'll be at it again in a few days. Not so bad and kind of fun if it you treat it like a game.

Went to my parents after work for dinner and computer training. I figured out, well mostly, how to use their new printer/scanner. My parents are definitely not ready to handle 98% of its fuctions, but they're okay with that; as long as they can print, they're happy. And by they, I mean my mother; my dad's interest level isn't that high.

I've got to get my car serviced soon. It's getting to the point where I'm scared to drive it. It's been a trooper, but it needs some help.

Anyway, let's move on to something that makes me very happy, one of the best snacks I've ever had. An ex-friend of mine turned me on to them. I was skeptical, but once I gave them a try, I was in a state of ecstasy, the likes of which I'd never, ever, experienced before. Ok, I'm engaging in hyperbole, but I'm telling you, I love these little devils, and maybe you do to. If you haven't tried them yet, you owe it to yourself to stuff this yummy and healthy (I think) snack down your gullet. And, I don't know if this will sway you one way or the other, but it's rumored that Bonus Jonas is a big fan.I've got to finish this; this website is making things difficult. Wonder if this will post.

He was due home yesterday, but he aint here

In the dream I was with someone I can't name here. We were sitting together and she made an advance, which delighted me to no end once the surprise wore off. How she made her intentions known, I'll leave to your imagination, but it did the trick. She explained this new dynamic in our relationship by telling me she wanted to see me happy. I did too, and obliged her. About thirty seconds into it, I felt the urge to pee. Better do it now and get it out of the way, I thought (Don't do it!). I had a faint notion she'd be gone when I came back, but I shrugged it off, told her I'd be right back, and headed to the bathroom (Turn back! Turn back! She will be gone if you don't!).

So, just like every other dream with the same plot, I went off to the bathroom, got distracted by all sorts of shit upon my exit, struggled to find my way back to the room and woke up before that could happen. This time, though, I knew I was going to wake up, and tried to hurry my progress, but to no avail. I woke up.

I tried to re-enter the dream, but that's a near impossible feat. I knew it, but tried anyway. You've got to try. I did, however, have another dream, almost as sexy, with her in it. And another a while later. All three were intimate and warm. Why am I dreaming about her?

I felt like tearing through my skin today at work. I don't know if it had to do with being denied sexual pleasure, and cruelly so, in the dream, or if the multitudinous negative aspects of my life had decided I'd gone too long not feeling overwhelmed. I did my best to get through it, but it wasn't easy. It was not easy.

I went for a run after work and made a salad for dinner. I plan on doing some yoga soon. Hopefully, these measures will go a ways in counteracting the blues.

The arbitrary:

I'm listening to madrigals on Pandora. I love madrigals. Bet you didn't know that about me.

Here's some unsolicited advice: Beware the Obama cult of personality. Getting scary out there.

I've managed to see portions of all three Patriots games this season. I find, because of the welter of commercials in any given game, I'm able to get a lot of reading done. One minute I'll be stalking the streets of Machi, Abraham's winter city, and the next I'll be watching Belichek frown on the sidelines.

During my run, I spent some time thinking about Bare Naked Ladies and whether I'd listen to them over Jimmy Buffet, if forced to make the choice. With a shudder, I thought that I would. I hope I never have to make that choice, because either way, I'll be miserable. Shoot, let me reconsider."If I Had A Million Dollars" has got to be worse than anything Jimmy Buffet ever put out. It's just got to.

On a similar note, here are some of my relationship deal breakers:

1. If she's a fan of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Even if she likes it only a little, I can't abide that.

2. Same goes for the aforementioned Buffet and BNL.

3. Doesn't appreciate Herzog or Kurosawa. Okay, that sounds snooty, but I really like those two and if she didnt, well, golly, I don't know what I'd do.

4. Wears crocs. They are so gross. Yeah, I hear they're comfortable. Wear slippers if you want comfort, son! Enough with the crocs, already!

5. Wears those gross ballet slippers more than once a month. I just don't get them. Not flattering. No, sir.

Okay, time to get on the mat.

Eyes wide open, naked as we came

Matt Stone, on Bill Simmon's podcast, made me break out in applause. He was talking about how needy Harley riders are. He opined that their bikes are so eardrum-pulverizingly loud because they want everyone to look at them. They may as well wear neon signs around their necks that flash " HEY EVERYONE, LOOK AT ME. PLEASE!", he said. Couldn't agree more. And then he wondered how many conversations and thoughts a Harley disrupts driving down the streets of New York City. Thousands, he figured. In the span of seconds. All because of some needy ass hole.

I suppose we're all needy in our own ways, to varying degrees, and, no, I don't believe all Harley riders on their their noise machines are needy -- only about 98%, I figure -- but I thought that was an astute observation by Mr. Stone. I wonder how many other people find Harleys oppressingly loud. I know there are different models, and some are more loud than other, but in my experience at least, most of them are pretty fucking loud.

Someone told me they make them that way as a safety precaution; if the bike is loud, people, drivers and pedestrians alike, will be aware of its presence and, consequently, accidents will be less likely to occur. I'm not sure I'm entirely on board with that notion, true or not. For one thing, they're so fucking loud that they're probably more likely to cause an accident than prevent one. For the latter to occur, one must have his bearings about him (or her bearings about her -- let's not be sexist). There's a reason why people listen to soft, pleasant music and not the beastly roar of a Harley when they want to relax.

Stone said they're making a South Park episode about the topic, and he's actually kind of nervous he'll offend some Hell's Angel and get beat eight ways to Sunday. In the interest of preserving my own skin, though I find it extremely unlikely members of the Hell's Angels read this blog, I'll state for the record that, despite my having my world tossed around like a seal at the mercy of a pod of Killer Whales, every time a Harley rides within a two mile radius of where I am, I think they'd be pretty cool to ride. Well, at least the less noisy ones.

Oh, and about those Killer Whales.

Top Facts about Killer Whales

1. Killer Whales are one of the fastest creatures in the sea, traveling up to 30 miles per hour.
   
2. Killer Whales are able to control the flow of blood to their hearts and brains, which keeps them from suffering from a lack of oxygen when they are deep underwater.
   
3. killer Whales eat up to 5% of their body weight each day. This averages out to over 500 pounds of food for each Orca.
   
4. Killer Whales do most of their socialization within their own pods. However, pods do socialize with other pods as well.
   
5. When breeding, Killer Whales do not breed with relatives. They only breed with killer whales that are not closely related to them within their own pods.

I'd say no.'s 1 and 3 are where me and Killer Whales are most alike.
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More Herzog tonight? Maybe. I watched The Enigma Of Kaspar Hauser with her last night. She fell asleep through it but professed to enjoy the bits she saw. I didn't tell her it was sacrilege falling asleep through a Herzog film, but my murderous eyes and quivering lip said as much, I'm sure. So, maybe I'll watch a film of his tonight.

Maybe I'll shower. I still feel loose from the yoga I did earlier in the day; maybe a soak will make me even looser. Too bad I don't Twitter, or tweet, as it were. Otherwise, I'd let you know from the shower how it was going. You know, so you wouldn't have to wait any longer than necessary to hear the results.

I've got a feeling, a feeling I can't hide

One thing gets fixed, another goes faulty. It's the way it is sometimes. With the guidance from Mike, I was able to rid my computer of the spyware that had hijacked it. I've learned my lessons from watching horror movies, though, and am not quite ready to slip into the comfort of believing the monster is really gone. Still, I'm thrilled at the absence of pop-ups and the little pucker sound that seemed to emit from nowhere every thirty seconds. And, I'm thrilled I didn't have to shell out a bunch of bills for some anti-spyware software like I thought I was going to have to do. Thanks, Mike!

So, the spyware is gone and, completing the thought I began the post with, some other pain in the ass issue crops up in its place. And that issue is my Netflix account, or more particularly, the credit card I'd been using to pay for it. I just received notification from Netflix that it couldn't access my credit card. Hmm, I thought, I know I've got credit, what's this all about? After some investigating, I discovered my account had been canceled. Not because of lack of payment or anything I did, but because "the program" had ended. I hadn't been aware I was on a program. Guess I should of read the fine print in my contract. A new program will begin in October, I learned, at which time I will be issued a new card. Man, I really should have read the fine print.

I have another card I could use for Netflix, but that one has its own issues that need to be cleared up before I do. What a drag! I was just getting into watching Dexter on Instant Watch. Oh, well, things could be worse. Like my car, for example. Best not to even go there, lest I give myself a headache.
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Last weekend, I was taking a walk with Janelle and she commented that Rich was up to his old tricks again. I didn't know what she was talking about. "Oh, I thought you heard him last night. You had come home and were playing your guitar and I heard Rich at the bottom of the stairs yell "Quiet!!".

I had thought I was past this nonsense with Rich. Like always, I would have been happy to stop playing if he had knocked on my door or called me on my cell and asked me to. It's the yelling I can't abide; I've told him that before and he had professed to agree. It was not my intention to keep anyone up and, though I was trying to play softly, I can't always tell how the sound will travel. This yelling business was uncalled for and I wondered if drastic measures were going to have to be taken.

I was pissed and determined I absolutely had to talk to him about the incident immediately. A week or more leading up to it, he had been wholly unapproachable, he stayed hidden in his room and avoided contact with his roommates as much as possible. He's a study in avoidance. However it played out, I had to talk to him, no matter how isolated he had made himself.

When we got back to the house, I knocked on Rich's door. My anger had abated to the point where I wanted the confrontation to be civil, with an outcome agreeable to each of us. I hoped for the best as he opened his door.

I began by telling him I was sorry if I had kept him up the night before, that, even though I thought he was still up because it was a weekend night, I tried playing softly.

"Oh, you didn't keep me up. I slept through the night", he said.

"Well, I heard you yelled up the stairs for me to be quiet."

He squirmed a little. "Uh, well, yeah, uh maybe I did. I must have been half-asleep when I did it."

Oh, please.

"Well, if it happens again that I'm being too loud, could you just call me or knock on my door? I'd appreciate that. I don't respond very well to being yelled at."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I should get a grip on those outbursts. No problem. I'll call you or knock on your door, like you said."

The tone of the conversation was light, despite what was being said, and at the end of it, I felt really good. I had asserted myself, said what needed to be said, without making matters worse. I think Rich appreciated that. I told him again it's never my intention to keep anyone up and if I do, I will take measures to be quiet.

Who knows if he'll have another outburst -- the odds suggest he will -- but for now, I'm happy we worked things out diplomatically.
--
I smell a Werner Herzog marathon coming. It's about time; the man just has a way about expressing the inexpressible that scratches me where I itch.

Enough of me. I'm off to enjoy the day.

Jumping up, falling down, don't misunderstand me

For whatever reason, I haven't been able to access this site, or, to be more particular, my blog, over the last several days. I thought it had to do with some spyware that hijacked my computer around the same time, but Janelle, on her Mac, was having the same problem. Neither of us could access our Hotmail or Google accounts. Weird. Anyway, just like that, we've regained access. We've wondered why we haven't heard about others who've experienced the same issue. Hmmm.

Anyway, I know you've missed me terribly and your life has become unstructured as a result of my absence. For that I apologize, but, as I explained, it was beyond my control. I've got a little bit of catching up to do, but not tonight. It's getting late and I'm pretty beat. Luke Warm and I just finished practicing and I'm dying to get back to Abraham's An Autumn War, which I just started reading the other day. This is the penultimate book in the quartet and so far it's really good and, if the reviews are any indication, looks to be a lot more epic in scope than the two books that preceded it.

Tomorrow is Friday and I'm glad. I have no plans yet, but I'm sure some will take shape. Ciao!

You grabbed my hand and we fell into it, like a day dream, or a fever

Could have used another hour of sleep this morning -- went to bed pretty late last night -- but Steve, my neighbor who likes to make a lot of noise outside when people are trying to sleep, made a lot of noise outside while I was trying to sleep. He woke me up with a loud spraying sound. It took me several seconds to get my bearings and figure out where the WHSSSSSHHHHH WHSSSSHHHHH was coming from. Fucking prick -- I was having a good dream, too.

Real quick, especially because it's old news at this point, I'll wrap up the post wherein I made a solemn promise to describe my visits with my parents and Luke Warm the other day. I'm sure you've been all squirmy in anticipation.

My parent's house. I made a surprise visit and they seemed pleased to see me. Probably as pleased as I was to see them. It had been a while since we last saw each other. My intention was to make it a quick visit because Luke Warm and I were going to have dinner before we practiced, but it wasn't meant to be.

My mom had lots of computer questions, so we trekked upstairs and I addressed them. As I showed her different applications on the computer, I noticed her disposition regarding it had changed considerably from the agitated and confused one she had previously worn. Now, she was eager to learn and smiled throughout the whole tutorial. Part of that, I think, had to do with having her son in the room with her ( often, out of the corner of my eye, I'd catch her looking at me lovingly), but another, and greater, part, had to do with her having reached a level of comfort with the computer. I showed her YouTube and Hulu; she adored the sites immediately. Progress.

I was happy to help out. I realized that I'm much more resourceful when I'm helping them out on their computer, than I am trying to figure stuff out on my own. Probably because I need to be when I'm helping them out, otherwise, because they're neophytes, their concerns won't get addressed. I'm all they've got in that department. Well, that's not entirely true -- my mom's coworkers have been offering guidance -- but you get the idea.

After fooling around on Hulu for a bit, I saw that it was getting late. Better leave. We went downstairs and, as I was saying my goodbyes, I saw that my dad had the TV stand pulled away from the wall, cables unplugged from their devices and pointing everywhere, looking like a post-modern Medusa.

He didn't say anything about it, but my mom did. She looked at him and said, "Oh, you wanted Kevin to help you with the TV", and then, to me, "Would you mind?"

"Not at all", I replied sincerely.

I won't get into what needed to be done over at the TV because it's pretty convoluted. I helped as best I could; time will tell whether I was successful. I think my parents, like many others of their generation, long for the days of simpler technology, when the only thing you really needed to fiddle with on the TV was the rabbit ears.

I made it to Luke Warms late, but not too late. He made me a delicious rice-based meal and then we got about the business of rehearsing. Presently, Luke Warm is staying with his dad and being at the house was like being in a time warp. Since high school, it was where our friends used to congregate. Luke Warm's dad let our bands rehearse in the basement. Ahh, the good old days.

I say it was like being in a time warp because the house, if it has been changed in any way, it has been only slightly. As Luke Warm and I played in the living room, I'd occasionally find myself reminiscing about the past, about the good times we had there. Long ago, but right at the fingertips, too. Strange, time --does it even exist? Whatever it's nature, Wolf had it right: you can't go home again.
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Saw Life As A House with Mara the other night. Pretty good, but uneven. Kind of like a made for TV movie, but slightly edgier. Good cast: Kevin Kline, Kristen Scott Thomas, Jenna Malone, Scott Bakula, Haydn Christianson, Mary Steenbergen (who had a nice little nude scene and, damn, woman!--age hasn't had it's way with you yet).

Also got to watch the season premier of The Office yesterday. Laughed my ass off. Hope the rest of the season goes as well.

Some time today I plan on watching Knowing, a film I've been eager to see ever since it came out. Looking forward to it.

Almost through with Abraham's A Betrayal In Winter. I might pick up the next installment tomorrow. I've really been enjoying his writing. Might take a little break, though, and give some love to The Pillars Of The Earth, a book I haven't read from in a couple of weeks.

Yoga today? We'll see. I'd like to, but it may not be feasible. It's a good day for it. Sundays and yoga are a great pairing.

Ok, now Steve is painting the side of his house and is blasting talk radio. Am I going to have to choke a bitch?

Stay tuned.

Only kisses on the cheek from now on, and in a little while, we'll only have to wave

Even the strongest bonds, no matter how long they held true, can crumble into dust. Finding that out more and more.

Such is life.

Love me like a bomb, baby, come on get it on

My day had a melancholic note to it. Nothing really to do the day itself -- actually went fine -- but more, I suspect with the dreams that haunted me last night. Most I don't remember, but the one that woke me up this morning was actually kind of cruel. In it, Mandy, the dog of my youth, came up to me with her tail wagging. I crouched down and held her and told her I was so happy that she was alive. For some reason, I had thought she had died, but obviously that wasn't true. Yes, she was looking long in the tooth, but she was still alive. I held her tightly, afraid that if I loosened my grip, she would disappear. And then I woke up. Guess I didn't hold on tight enough.

One of the Paralegals at one of the law firms I deal with on a daily basis was quite a bit more friendly with me today than she usually is. I've only ever corresponded with her through emails and the occasional phone call, but I do know what she looks like and she is cute, to be sure. Anyway, the tone of our emails is usually friendly. Emails are tough with someone you've never met, especially when they're work related. Well, maybe not especially-- perhaps they're easier because you can keep it strictly business and not have to worry about things like sarcasm, always dicey in emails, being misinterpreted. I digress, but you get the idea.

Today, when I sent her an email concerning a mistake I noticed on one of the docs she had sent over, she replied with this: "Oh, I didn't notice that. Thanks for the catch! You are the best ! ! ! !" Not terribly over the top, but a lot more animated than her typical responses. I sent her another e mail addressing a similar concern and this time she upped the ante. "Thank you so0000 much!! You are awesome!" And so on.

Who knows why she acted that way, but here are some of my ideas:

1. She was high on something, most likely Ecstasy

2. She'd been screwing up a lot lately and has been worried about getting fired. My catching her
mistakes staved off the hangman for at least one more day.

3. She might not be that bright and was in awe of me for pointing out the fairly obvious.

4. She has a crush on me. Hey, why not? Must not let her meet me in person, though. Would
ruin the mystique.

5. This one's more convoluted and actually not that implausible. Sherri, the Paralegal in question,
having seen some of my emails to and from her coworker, Carole Anne, grew envious of their
general tone, which is almost always exceedingly friendly, and stepped up her game in that
respect. Maybe they're enemies and are fighting over me. Ooh la la! Sherri has her work cut out for her because, though I haven't met Carole Ann, I'm almost100% positive she is one of the nicest people on God's green earth. Some other time, perhaps, I'll illustrate in more depth
why I think that.

Fuck, I hate to cut this riveting bit of rhetoric, but it's getting damn late. I may have to part 2 this bitch. Wow, my first To Be Continued episode. Or at least I think it is. Anyway, I'll get into the rest of my day, which included visiting my parents and rehearsing with Luke Warm, some other time.

Holla!

You walk down Alameda, shuffling your deck of trick cards

Does the fact that I'm listening to Haydn's Divertimento in C Major as I write this elevate me in your estimation? Take a second to think it over, you just found out. In the interest of full disclosure, I must admit that I'm listening to it for the first time on Pandora, every one's favorite Internet radio station. Still, though, pretty classy, right?

Speaking of classy, in addition to Dostoyevsky's The Brothers Karamazov, I've been reading from Joyce's Dubliners, which because of its short stories is my designated bathroom book. Do you find that revolting, reading in the bathroom? Well, if you do, the fact that I'm reading literature with a capital L in there should make things decidedly less gross. Or so I assume. Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that, despite my uncouth bearing, I'm what you would call wicked cultured. I wouldn't call me that, however -- I'd be sure to use the word renaissance at least once in the description. It wouldn't be a stretch to throw the word regal into the equation, but I may pushing it with that one.
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Baby Boy Z became Baby Boy Flea this week. Yes, the poor boy found himself the victim of the little devils and the other night, after a little cuddling with him, my legs became itchy. Upon close inspection, I saw that there was at least one flea picking on me. I abhor bullies, especially the near-microscopic ones.

Janelle took quick action and sprayed the fuck out of the house the following day. She even washed (someday I want only to say worshed, like the hillbillies do) each of our pillows and blankets. And she vacuumed each of our bedroom floors. It smells like a Snuggle theme park upstairs, I tell you. So, kudos to Janelle for taking swift action, and zero kudos to Baby Boy Z for taking no action. Seriously, though, he's still my BFF and, though I hate to admit it, I think I may have been the one who gave him the fleas in the first place. Don't tell Janelle.
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My TV viewing is so limited these days that I missed the Kanye West incident at the MTV Video Awards. Not when it happened, anyway. I did watch a clip of it a day or two later. First of all, it was my understanding that MTV doesn't show videos anymore, so why the awards show? And, allowing that they do, if Beyonce, according to Kanye, had the best video of all time, then I'm glad I'm not watching that station anymore. And who is this Taylor Swift? Ah, I'm losing touch with the youth. Thank God. Ok, why am I writing about this ridiculous incident? And why has it been so newsworthy? I have my ideas, but I don't care to get into them; I'm getting a headache from this.

Was not prepared for the harrowing ordeal I witnessed last night on Six Feet Under. David getting beaten, forced to smoke crack, almost murdered several times....what a nightmare. I felt greasy in the way I would if I had just watched a beheading video. It was heavy, I tell you. I put in a DVD of The Office: Season Five and watched some deleted scenes to restore my equilibrium.
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If you pieced together my interactions with Rich over the last five weeks, you'd get about two minutes of conversation. Maybe. He's gone underground, that one. He should be a squirrel or some other skittish forest creature in his next life. He's there in every way except physically. It would be an easy transition. Though I haven't interacted much with him, I know he's been miserable. I've heard him mumbling and grumbling about who-knows-what and he's been slamming doors and banging on walls occasionally. Other than that, though, it's as if it's just Janelle and me and Baby Boy Z (good name for a TV show, that).
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Got to watch the fourth, and best, quarter of the Pats game the other night. My interest level is at about 30 % when it comes to football, but I'm glad I tuned in. It was a fantastic comeback. Who knows, maybe I'll watch a game or two this season.
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Ok, I'm off to record some music, practice some vocals, do some reading, the usual. Ciao!

Publish Post

The oak and weed together rise along the common ground

Once again, I am lacking energy as I sit to write. I'll get through it, though, so don't fret. It is Monday, after all, and after an eventful weekend that ended with me going to bed way too late, I'm entitled to be a little sleepy.

The weekend. Shane and his girlfriend, Jenni, came by in the early afternoon on Saturday. It was a few hours before his gig at the Lizard Lounge, and by gig I mean to say his participation, along with a couple of dozen other performers, in the final round of a songwriting competition.

We ate an early dinner replete with good conversation. It's not often we get to see Shane; it was a treat. And it was just as much a treat getting to know Jenni better. They left around five and headed over to the club. About an hour later, Mike arrived at the house. The two of us walked over to the club, with the idea that Janelle would meet up with us later.

Mike and I had a beer at the Cambridge Common, which is situated above the Lizard Lounge. When we headed downstairs, we met up with Shane and Jenni and it was only a few minutes before the show began.

The performers. I have to say I was disappointed in the lack of variety. Most were good at what they did, but what they did was so derivative that it didn't matter how good they were. Most of the male performers sounded like Damien Rice, Jack Johnson, John Mayer, or any other male singer/songwriter you're liable to hear on adult contemporary radio. And the women, especially if they were at the piano, sounded just like Feist, Jewel, Melissa Etheridge, or any other female singer/ songwriter you're liable to hear on adult contemporary radio.

I wasn't expecting pure originality, pure inventiveness -- that's not easy to come by anywhere -- but I was expecting variation. Mind you, there was some -- there was a guitar and bass duo (guy on guitar, tiny cute girl on bass which was taller than she was) that had a punchy post-industrial vibe on at least one of their songs; a guy with a basso profundo voice that sang/spoke in the vein of Lou Reed or Bill Callahan, but way more mainstream -- closer to that fuck Shawn Mullins; a young buck with a raw manner and throaty bellow that pulled his muse from the fiery bowels of his being- an unexpected treat; and there was Shane, the shining light, the most refreshing of the bunch. And that's saying something, considering he's the only one I'd ever heard before.

Where was the blues player, the bluegrass performers with fiddle and mandolin, the Elliot Smith fan, the Joanna Newsom-inspired harpist, the Mark Kozelek devotee, the Joni Mitchell girl? Nowhere to be found. Disappointing, I say. This was supposed to be a representation of the best of the best, locally speaking? I don't believe it, they're out there. Somewhere. I'm sure of it.

As the night progressed, so did the length of the host's rants between performers. He wasn't so bad, seemed like a nice enough guy, but whenever you combine the manic intensity of Robin Williams with alcohol consumption, you're in for a long, sometimes frustrating night. If Shane had been eliminated early on, we would have bailed and gone off into that good night, but that wasn'tj going to happen -- he pressed right on to the final round. Boo yeah, son!

We were so proud watching Shane progress through the rounds. Not so much because he was defeating other performers -- that really didn't have much to do with it -- okay, just a little bit -- music, like any art, is subjective and who's to say who's better than who-- but it was cool, thrilling really, seeing one of our own excel. Sure, we were partial as fuck, but I'm confident each one of us would have voted him the best performer if we didn't know who he was.

As I said, he made it the final round. He had beat out his biggest threat, a Paul Simon-esque performer named Reed Waddle, who was actually quite good and had defeated Shane in a prior competition, in one of the middle rounds, and I figured he was going to be a shoe-in for the grand prize, which was five hundred smackers, in case you were wondering.

By the time the final round hit, it was nearing two a.m. Everyone -- the performers, the judges, the host, the spectators -- was exhausted. The host ushered in the final round laying on the floor with his eyes closed.

Shane was up against the deep-voiced guy, who wasn't so bad, but did not hold a candle to Shane. Fuck, he couldn't even hold a match to Shane. That is the incontrovertible truth. It just is. So did Shane win? Hell, no! The judges fucked up, made a huge mistake, committed a grave injustice that will be felt throughout the farthest reaches of the cosmos.

Know what, though? It didn't matter. We still had a blast. We were still proud as proud could be of Shane, who performed flawlessly, and for whom this contest wasn't so much about the grand prize, but about making connections and challenging himself to excel at his craft.

Janelle, Mike, and I walked home through the post rain Cambridge after hours, buzzed and a little outraged at the injustice we'd just witnessed. But it was done in good spirits and with humor. Hell, Shane made it to the finals. Nothing to sneeze at. And, even if he was eliminated in the first round, would that have made him any less than the phenomenal talent that he is?

Nope.
--

For me, it's music, music, music. On the verge of completing a trio of songs and, hopefully will have at least one finished for Wednesday's practice. And, in between music, music, music, I'll watch some Office: Season Five and maybe some Six Feet Under. Oh, and I'll for sure read from A Betrayal In Winter because it's such a gorgeous read.

The living, it is hard, but it suits me well

Yesterday, Marcy told me I needed to go into Boston before I came to work this morning to pick up some legal documents. Fine with me. What wasn't so fine was when five o'clock rolled around and she still wasn't exactly sure where I needed to go to pick up the docs. She found out fairly quickly -- the Cleric's Office in the Suffolk Superior Court House -- but spent the next half hour trying to sort out directions for me. I tried, as gently as I could manage in my increasingly agitated state, to suggest I do the leg work when I got home. She was determined, however, to figure it out on her own.

I picked up the docs without a hitch this morning. I expected, mostly because the directions I had to the court house were rudimentary at best, to have some issues, but I found the place easily. It was noon by the time I got back to Andover and I had a lot of work waiting for me, all of which, I managed to complete by day's end.

I'm pretty beat. Though it was a short week, it was draining. In a good way, though; I like being productive, and I most certainly was, but it can make a guy sleepy. I will, after working on some music tonight, relax, and most assuredly fall asleep before I intend to.

Luke Warm and I had another good practice the other night. The songs are taking shape, especially the new one I've been fleshing out over the last week or so. I'm really pleased with it, especially the manner in which it's come about. I've put a lot of focus on it and it shows.

It's 9/11 today and it's a terrible thing that justice has not been served yet. Despite overwhelming evidence that elements within our government orchestrated the mass murder that occurred this day eight years ago, we are still a long way from a real investigation. I'm not sure it will ever happen. That said, I tip my hat to the true patriots of our country, the 9/11 truth activists in all their different manifestations. Our founding fathers would be proud.

Been reading from three books lately: The Brothers Karamazov, A Betrayal In Winter, and The Pillars Of The Earth. All three have been enjoyable. I imagine I'll finish A Betrayal In Winter well before the other two concrete blocks masquerading as books. We'll see.

And we'll see if I've got anything left in the tank beyond this sentence.

Nope.

We heard that song while watching the skies

One of the cuter women at the Registry in Cambridge was checking me out today. I say this with confidence. I was about ten feet away from her and she was staring right at me. I did the obligatory look-behind to make sure no one was there. No one was there. She looks to be in her mid to late twenties, which is not a deterrent with a capital D, but one all the same. Doesn't matter, it was a nice moment and I'm going to keep it.

The other day, I made some dinner and sat down in the living room to eat. I put on the TV with the intention of abandoning it if I didn't find something decent to watch. After skimming through a lot of trash, I saw that Charlie Rose was about to begin. Good sign. Let's see who his guest will be. Werner Herzog -- nice! I struck gold. Great interview. Can't wait to see the new films he's got coming out. His remake of Bad Lieutenant should be interesting to say the least.

Whenever I leave work at the end of the day, I get all giddy, like I'm just let out of school, or something. It doesn't have anything to do with the job -- I've been like this at just about every job I've ever had. No, this is about freedom and about... well, about being like a kid for at least a small portion of my day. I can't help it. It could be said that this act of giddy exuberance sums me up as a human being. How exactly is beyond me, but it could be said.

Practiced yoga again today after work. I'm on a roll.

Man, am I digging Sandy Denny lately. I've been studying her voice, trying to pick up tips, that sort of thing. It's been an education, let me tell you. Listen to this and you'll know what I'm talking about.



Ok, off to watch some Office: Season Five.

Let your loss be your lesson

The bulk of the long weekend is over and it's been a good one. The cookout at Tracy and Ray's on Saturday was well worth leaving the city for. Being among an all-star lineup of friends, perfect weather, and an abundance of food and drink -- well, you can't get much better than that.

Scott broke out a couple of guitars, one of which was his new, sleek and buttery Taylor. Pat and I played together at one point, smoothly, in fact, which bodes well for our future collaboration. The lineup is beginning to take shape.

When it grew dark, those of us who remained, and there were still a good many of us, sat around the fire pit and talk about the present and reminiscences of our collective past coalesced into a fine weave. Love these people.

Hung around yesterday in layabout fashion, though I did practice yoga and tackled some laundry. Speaking of yoga, Friday marked my return to it after a longer than intended hiatus, and boy, did my legs feel sore on Saturday. To be expected, and I wouldn't have had it any other way.

In the evening, Mara and I went into Davis Sq. and saw Inglorious Basterds. Glad I saw it again; there were a bunch of things I hadn't picked up on the first time around. I thought for sure Mara was going to sleep through portions of the movie. She had just returned from Florida the night before and shot a wedding a few hours before I met up with her. She looked tired.

Before the movie, we went to Mr. Crepes so she could eat dinner (I had already eaten, in case you're wondering, which I know you were because you care about my eating habits). I could tell by her demeanor, which was bordering on catatonic at times, that the evening might end up being a one-sided affair. Several times during the meal, in response to her unresponsiveness, I asked her if she wanted me to take her home. She replied that she'd be more alert after she finished eating. I had my doubts, but accepted her word. Sometimes she gets like this -- was like this on our first date, even --and, while I don't take it personally, I've taken the nip it in the bud philosophy, which is to say, if you're going to be like this during our time together, we should reschedule, because otherwise, there's no point. Might as well be by myself.

She perked up, though, like she said she would, and managed to stay awake during the film. Frankly, given the fact that it was a Tarantino film we were watching, I would think it would be virtually impossible to fall asleep, but if anyone could do it, Mara could.

After the movie, I asked her what she thought about it. "Oh, I thought it was great. Could have done with a little less scalping, though", she said.

"Wow, we are so different", I said, shaking my head. "See, I was disappointed there wasn't more scalping."

To herald the onset of Autumn, I've been listening to a lot of Sandy Denny's self-titled solo effort and her work with Fairport Convention. Especially her solo album. So good. Can't believe she died so young. That's what falling down stairs will do for you.

On Friday, I finished Abraham's A Shadow In Summer, which was a great read, and surprisingly refined for a first novel. I stopped over at Porter Sq. Books and picked up A Betrayal In Winter, the next book in the quartet. It's been hard putting it down. He's the real deal. While his writing gives a nod here and there to traditional Fantasy tropes, it is one of the most refreshingly unique voices in the genre. Has more of a feel of medieval Asia than medieval Europe, which most Fantasy novels are modeled after.

Today, I plan on working on music, reading, and who knows what else. All after a run, which I'm about to go on once I finish up here. And, guess what? I'm all done with you, so off I go.

So sad to watch good love go bad

You'd be amazed -- maybe you wouldn't, how the fuck would I know -- how much material is filtered out of this blog. Good material? Well, that would depend on your definition of good. The bulk of what doesn't make the final cut is mostly of the "man, my life is bottom of the barrel" variety. Well, perhaps not so neatly summed up as that, or quite as negative, but in the ball park.
Today, I assessed my life as it stands and I barely got a passing grade. It'll get better, it is getting better. So, I will not transmit my melancholic thoughts, my worries, my concerns in this blog. Correction: I will do such a thing -- I'm not about to deny the sour that runs counterpoint to the sweet. To do so would be a mistake. I'm just not going to give it a ton of air time. Ya dig?

Just finished The Sea today. Beautiful, if morose, piece of literature. I handed it over to Maureen who's been dying to read it ever since I described it to her. "Oh, and he's an Irish author? Well, now I'm even more intrigued." Be prepared to have your heart squeeze dried, dear lady.

On to The Brothers Karamazov, another cheery affair. I probably should have picked something by Dave Barry or David Sedaris to read next. Well, at least there's Six Feet Under to provide me with sunshine. Ok, maybe not. I'm wrapping up season three, Lisa's missing, Claire had an abortion, Nate's crying all the time, Billy tried to make out with his sister....No, not much glee to go around. Well, no wonder I've been gloomy. Time to bring the funny back, and you know what that means: Larry the Cable Guy, son! I'm laughing already.

One of these days, I'm going to travel to Bigfoot country, I'm thinking Pacific Northwest, and go on an expedition in search of the elusive great ape. I am absolutely not kidding. Oh, to hear the wood knocking, to see some tracks, hear it's calls, or, better yet, to even see one -- what a time that would be. Who wants to come?

I'm loving the new song I'm working on. It's got a ways to go, but I've been plugging away at it and I think, before the weekend is through, I'll have finished it. Luke Warm played some great stuff over it last night. It's more refined, a little more sophisticated, than a lot of my other songs. Progression, I love it.

A good run tonight. Tomorrow, I hope to get back in the habit of practicing Yoga. I miss it.

Tonight: music, of course; Six Feet Under; A Shadow In Summer; clean the tub (brown, filmy residue galore -- yuck!); and maybe figure out where District 9 is playing so that I may go see it, alone or perhaps with a friend or two.

I'm so lonesome, I could cry

Just completed a fine rehearsal with Luke Warm. We're solid on at least three of my songs. I expect, in the coming weeks, we'll work our way up to a healthy set of material.

I find myself in an empty apartment for the first time in a while. Rich being the sneaky wraith he is, could be home only I don't know it. Always hard to tell with that one. He has the ability to stay in his room for hours and hours on end without making a peep. What he does in there I'd pay a healthy sum to know. On second thought....

Last night's dream wasn't that bad. I was in NH with some friends and was ready to go home and, instead of getting in my Taurus, I drove off in my other car, which was gold. I think it was an Element. Anyway, it was a fine ride and the fact that I owned it, in addition to my other car, spoke of prosperity. Things are trending upward. In tonight's dream, I hope to find myself in that same vehicle, parked on some ocean shore at sunset, making out with my one true love. Upward, upward, I say!

Time for Six Feet Under and, if time permits, finish A Shadow In Summer.

I've smoked my friends down to the filter

My fucking phone, still relatively new, has begun the annoying habit of shutting off at random and inopportune times, like today when I was at the courthouse in Nashua trying to get information from Marcy. I'll be monitoring the situation closely.

Speaking of libidos about ready to burst, mine has reached that point, without doubt. If I don't get laid soon, I....I...I don't know what I'm going to do. Actually, I have a pretty good idea what I'll do, and so do you. Let's leave it at that.

I have reached a new level of bookworm. The other day, I came up with a smashing way to decide which book I'll read during lunch break, once I've completed Banville's The Sea. Because I've got a ton of books kicking around that need to be read -- some I've put a dent in already, others I haven't started -- I organized a playoff-like bracket of thirty two books to determine which book would be next. A flip of a coin decided whether a book would advance to the next round or be eliminated from the tourney. I'm not going to lie to you, I had a lot of fun. The winner: The Brothers Karamazov. I can't wait to finish it so that I can do it all over again. Get a life, you say? Hrumph! You're jealous, son. Jealous of my good times, jealous your life is mired in bland routine, jealous that your lips move when you read (that's a sign that you're a dummy, if you didn't know that already).

My dreams of late have found been kind of lonely, even though they've been peopled with friends and family, and even the wonderful and missed dog of my youth, Mandy. I feel as if I'm on the precipice of a significant change in my life. The problem is, I can't tell if it will bode well for me or not. Ah, but isn't that life in general, this uncertainty?

I've missed every episode of Madmen this season. I'll have to see if they're archived online. In the meantime, I'll continue with The Wire and Six Feet Under.

Music, music, music. I've been making some headway with songs old and new. And playing with Luke Warm and soon with Scott, has been great for the creativity. Soon I'll be playing out regularly, often with accompaniment, if things go well. Stay tuned.

Ok, I'm off.