I wish I had a window over the bay, and a black horse grazing on the green all day

Listening to My Bloody Valentine. I don't listen to them all of the time, but Loveless is a special album, and whenever I listen to it, I let it's dreamy fuzziness (or fuzzy dreaminess, if you prefer) sweep over me. All of these years later, I still can't make out any lyrics. I wouldn't have it any other way.
-
Today was better than yesterday, which wasn't all that bad, but it had its moments. To wit: I spent a good amount of time in Probate up in Nashua, copying every page of some one's estate. What a drag. They won't let you take any pages out of the folders, so you have to get creative when making copies. I didn't know that the last time I was up there and got chewed out by an unpleasant, mustachioed, troll of a woman. She kept a careful eye on me this time and, to my dismay, I discovered I was a little intimidated by her. Just a little, mind you, but enough to bother me. Anyway, the copying process took a long time and was a tiring ordeal.

After that, I stopped at the courthouse in Lowell to record some documents. Turned out I was short a check, so I went back to work. It was late in the day, and I only expected to be there shortly before heading home. The problem was, I had to wait for someone at the law firm next door to bring over some documents for me to record in Cambridge today. She finally arrived at five and I hit the road. Half way home, on the highway, Marcy calls me and asks if I could come back to pick up some more documents the aforementioned law firm forgot to send over. Not thrilled, was I. Traffic was heavier on the way back and I didn't get home until six. Things got better, though.

Upon my arrival home, I changed into a t-shirt and shorts, grabbed my iPod and pedometer, and hit the road. I changed up my running routine by taking the route I've been taking on my marathon walks, only going about half the distance. Because the bike path at various intervals meets a road running perpendicular to it, I would sprint every other "block". Worked out really well. I felt like a stallion at times. That's right: a stallion, son! I'm looking forward to developing this routine.

I was at the registry in Cambridge almost the entire day, mostly just waiting my turn. End of the month, everyone wanting to get on record. I didn't mind: I entertained myself by people watching and making a mental list of all the wonderful things I do.

Yoga after work and then other stuff. And now, for my final trick, I will make myself disappear.

Poof...

I came out here to look for my friend, I don't think I'll ever see him again

While sitting on the wooden bench during break today, I fell asleep. I was engaged in Ficciones, and then I drifted from this world. It was so quiet and peaceful; I couldn't help myself. I was only asleep for a few minutes, but it was an indication of how tired I was.

Yesterday, I took another marathon walk along the bike path. My trip lasted about three hours and covered a distance of close to eleven miles. I only stopped once to take a pee in the woods, which was more hazardous than I anticipated. I didn't make it my grandmother's house, but I went further this time and fully intend to end up there eventually. Upon my arrival home, I realized I was late for Aviv's gig in Union Square. I took a quick shower, got dressed, picked up Mara, and headed over to the pub. I even managed to sneak in a banana, which wasn't as enjoyable as it would have been a couple of days ago, but it was the nourishment I needed.

Among those in attendance were Shane, Karen, Janelle, Janelle's aunt Diane, Spira. A good show, performed by a string quartet. The music was in the vein of Django Reinhardt and anytime I get to hear cello, upright bass, violin (oh, especially that), and guitar, I know I'm in for a good time. And I was, apart from feeling sluggish(despite the banana) and enduring a throbbing post-root canal mouth.

After spending some time there, Mara and headed back to her house and put on Herzog's The Great Ecstasy of Wood Carver Steiner. I fell asleep fifteen minutes in. I've seen the documentary a bunch of times already, so I didn't miss out. Back at home I made some coffee and watched Francis Ford Coppola's Tetro.

I enjoyed the film. Shot in black and white, it tells the story of a young man meeting up with his writer brother in Buenos Aires, where he lives with his wife in self-imposed exile. Very operatic, this film and beautifully shot. Plenty of humor, plenty of pathos - and entirely bohemian.
-
Today I felt lousy about a number of things in my life. I counseled myself to keep a rational outlook. I'm not about suppressing negative feelings, they should have their say, but the trick is to keep them in check and not let them become overblown, which is precisely why I consider it a victory that I'm not catering to them in this post. As I said, I'm not about suppressing negative feelings, but I'm equally not about feeding the damn things. It was a struggle, but I came out of it okay; in one piece, as they say. I let go of the nonsense, the woe is me stuff, the creeping despair.
-
I'm getting tired. Maybe an early night, but knowing me I'll find a way to go to bed far too late. We'll see. Before that happens, tne thing I need to do is get some lyrics written; rev up the song machine. And then I need to get of my butt and book some gigs. But that will be for another time.

I wouldn't move to stop her theft, her deft hand moved across my chest

Very thirsty. Allow me to pause and drink deeply my water. Ahh...that's better. I walked over ten miles after work. Took about three hours. I was so thirsty; of course I didn't bring anything to drink; would have been too practical. Instead, I looked at puddles of brackish water and other suspect liquids lustily as I headed home. I went to Shaws and bought several bottles of water and some orange juice. I was barely out of the store before I cracked one open. So, to come full circle, I'm still pretty thirsty, a couple of hours later.
-
On the bike path earlier, I was singing aloud to the song playing on my iPod-I think it was Elliot Smith's "Condor Avenue"- and feeling pretty good. An elderly woman walking by frowned at me as I sang. It could have been because she didn't like my singing, but I'm a pretty good singer, so I'm going to say it wasn't that, but I don't sing like Bing Crosby, so maybe she did find my singing atrocious (For those of you not keeping track, I used variations of the word sing four time in that sentence. I was going to go for five, but I like to pace myself).

I digress. What I was trying to illustrate is that some people don't like to see other people happy. I don't know if the woman I described is like that, but it sure felt like it. I only had a sourpuss on my face for a few seconds before returning to my revery. This world can suck the happiness right out of you if you let it. It happens in soft increments over the years, so you've got to be vigilant. Alright? Don't let 'em bring you down. Fuck 'em. Be happy for happy's sake. Kill 'em with kindness, that sort of thing. Yes, I returned to my revery, I sang even louder.

Lately, for some reason I can't fathom, some people have been dismissive of and/or rude to me. And I've got to say, as objectively as I can manage, that I did not deserve to be treated that way. Happened with people I don't know and with someone I know quite well. As I advocated above, I'm going to ignore it and try to be happy for happy's sake. People can be dicks, we move on. There's your haiku for the month.
-
Root canal yesterday. Not a painful procedure, but I'm glad I've got it out of the way. Wasn't terribly thrilled with the dentist and his staff. All a bit prickly, a bit edgy. Might have been it was the end of the day and they just wanted to go home. Or they were just dicks.

And there's your post for the day. I'm off to work on some music, do some reading (Abercrombie's Best Served Cold has been a bit grueling at times to get through and I think it has to do with its emphasis on violence. Used to feed off that type of thing, but these days not so much. Thankfully, I'll add. Anyway, Abercrombie is a good writer and knows what to do with a story and is very good at not glorifying the violence he describes. But still, I could do with less of it), and maybe check out some World Cup.

Post script: I witnessed something last night that, if I was to share it with you, would have the likely consequence of painting me in an unflattering light. Nothing cowardly like seeing someone get knifed and not intervening or calling for help, but something I.......Ah, forget it, for now at least. I was done with this post a paragraph ago.

Good night.

Here's a truck stop instead of St. Peter

Three calls today from the dentist's office. Not my regular place, but the one I'm going to for the root canal. Three calls. The first was made this morning: no message; had no idea who it was. The second call was made around two and a a message was left. It was the receptionist reminding me I had an appointment tomorrow. She was also wondering if I'd be willing to change my appointment from the afternoon to the morning. The third call was around four. Her tone suggested she'd been trying to get a hold of me for a week and was starting to finally become fed up. "Hi Kevin, sorry to bother you, but I really would like to hear back from you for confirmation and about whether you can switch your appointment to the morning. Please give me a call."

I wasn't thrilled at being badgered in this manner. Three calls was a bit much. It seemed evident to me that there was a scheduling conflict and she was scrambling to fix it. Not my problem. I called her back after work and she immediately asked me about coming in the morning instead of the afternoon. "No, I'd prefer to keep my appointment in the afternoon", I said, barely able to conceal my annoyance.

"Ok, we'll see you at four, then", she said curtly and hung up. Now, do you think it was possible that I may have unleashed my tongue at that moment and said "Fucking bitch!" with a healthy dose of contempt? Could someone with a pure heart and an infinite amount of love and respect for women say such a thing? I'll leave that for you to decide, dear reader.
-
Rachael came by last night and hung out with Janelle and me. Always love seeing her. We discussed the merits of scallops and bacon and made plans to watch the extended versions of each movie in the Lord of The Rings trilogy back to back. It will take over twelve hours to accomplish, but I think we can do it. It's been on my bucket list. I think Craig has done it, or at least made the attempt. I'll have to ask him.
-
I'm pretty sure Janelle and I are alone in enjoying the sound of the vovozelas that have been prominent throughout the World Cup. Seriously, everyone hates them the way I hate that awful singer from the Counting Crows. I'm glad I have an ally in this.
-

Ugh. Having trouble lately assembling ideas for this blog. The ideas are there, but the ambition is not. There was a topic I wanted to flesh out, but I just don't have the energy. Not tonight. It is hot and muggy and I've got the AC on, which has the tendency to make me sleepy and, consequently, unambitious. Like how I blamed the AC for my lack of drive? The buck has been passed.

Ok, off to watch some World Cup even though I already know all the damn scores, despite a herculean effort to avoid such knowledge. Still, I'm looking forward to watching the USA beat Algeria and England beat Slovenia. May do some reading on the porch, possibly with BBZ at my side and maybe I'll see the one I've developed a crush on walk by.

Summertime and the living is easy

I walked ten miles yesterday. I set out on the bike path around eleven and ventured forth, taking the same route as last week only this time I intended to go further, possibly even reaching my grandmother's house.

My initial concern that the heat would sap my energy and make for a laborious walk was allayed almost immediately; though the temperature was predicted to reach upwards to ninety, there was a steady breeze and little, if any, humidity. By the time I reached Arlington center, the point where I turned back during my last walk, I had plenty of energy and hadn't really broken a sweat. I crossed Mass Ave and met up with the bike path, wondering how much further to my grandmother's house in Lexington, the next town over.

I walked a few miles and decided to head back. I was still in Arlington and knew it would probably be another several miles to my grandmother's house. It was such a glorious day; I was glad to be outside enjoying it. I was a little stiff by the time I reached my place, but I felt great overall. I hope to go even further next week. Soon enough, I'll reach my grandmother's house, not quite over the river and through the woods, but pretty damn close.

Mara called me in the afternoon and said there was a music festival going on in the park near my house. I wondered if she had the right park because that one is very close to my house and I hadn't heard a lick of music all day. She said she was going to check it out and asked if I'd like to meet up with her there. I obliged.

Sure enough, there was music in the park. I walked through the orange glaze of the waning sun to the top of the hill where the park is situated and met up with Mara, who was sitting on a stone wall off to the side of the stage. We relocated to the lawn and listened to the blues band, who were pretty good, for a while before walking over to Yoshi's for some sushi. I had just eaten and told her I was just along for the ride, but I ended getting some sushi anyway. I knew I would.

I eventually dropped her off at a friend's house and headed home. I was tired and wanted to relax. I picked up Ficciones, which I had been reading from off and on all weekend, and settled in to the night.
-
Rich stays in his room almost constantly. There are days that go by where we don't see him. Or hear him, for that matter. Sometimes he bunkers down to such a degree that you wonder if he's even home at all or, worse, dead. His room is right off the kitchen and often, when I'm in there preparing meals or getting a snack, I don't hear a single peep coming from his room. It begs the question: What is he doing in there? I'm sorry, but I don't want to weird myself out contemplating the answer.

I've figured out, though, that he frequently leaves his room, only when Janelle and I are not around if he can help it. Often, usually right after I head upstairs at night, I hear him skulk out of his room, like some midnight gnome. If I had just opened a window, he closes it; if the heat was on, he adjusts it. He works the late shift, this one.

I frequently hang out in the living room late at night and read. Doing so, I get to see how much Rich scurries about. And this motherfucker scurries a lot! I'll be on the couch reading and I'll hear a faint creaking sound. I look towards the kitchen and see his head poke out, checking to see if the coast is clear. Seeing that I'm no immediate threat, stretched out with a book in the other room, he goes back and forth from his room to the kitchen, his room to the bathroom, and so on and so on. One night I decided to count how many times he makes these nocturnal trips and stopped counting after twelve. Only twenty minutes had passed. Twelve times - in and out, in and out, in and out. Going to the fridge for some diet coke, heating up some tater tots, going to the bathroom to piss out the copious amounts of diet coke and Gator Ade he spills down his gullet, back to kitchen to drop off a plate, more tater tots, etc.

Notice how I haven't made the obvious and apt comparison to a rat. I neglect to do so because comparing Rich to a rat brings to mind the wrong connotation, namely that he is a snitch. I don't believe Rich is a snitch, but his behavior does mimic the rat in other ways. Still, out of respect to him, I'll not pursue the rat comparison.
--

Maybe some World Cup tonight, maybe some music. Maybe both. Most likely, I'll be reading at some point. Whatever I do, I'm about to begin doing it.

They won't give peace a chance, that was just a dream some of us had

It was work and then the dentist; both painless procedures. The only bummer was being told I need a root canal and will have to go to a specialist. And then it's back to the dentist for a couple more visits. Take it as it comes, is what I say, especially when my tank is full of Zen like it is right now.

Back at home, I went for a vigorous run. Felt great. They're predicting heat and humidity this weekend, but I'm itching to hit the bike trail and take that long walk I've been planning. Can still happen, but it may be a shade more uncomfortable. We'll see.

Two books arrived in the mail today: Ficciones, by Jorge Luis Borges and Justine, by Lawrence Durell. Combined cost of ten dollars including shipping and handling. Not bad. Eager to read them, but will finish The King of Elfland's Daughter first. Yesterday at work, I finished The Picture of Dorian Gray. I liked it, but I read it so sporadically and often with limited attention; I feel like I didn't get the full experience. It happens.

Because a lot of World Cup games are played in the daytime, I've been hearing the scores before I get to see the rebroadcast at night. Consequently, I've been doing my best to avoid these spoilers. Hasn't been easy.

Celtics/Lakers game seven tonight. Can't wait, but if it looks like the C's are getting blown out, which I doubt will happen, I'm bailing. No matter the outcome, it will be bittersweet. This is the last game of the season and the team as we know it will look quite a bit different next season.

On the couch with Baby Boy Z this afternoon, he licked my arm as I hugged him. Then he licked my face. Why am I telling you this? Because I love him, that's why.

Fuck BP and their ilk! I can't word that strongly enough.

And with that, I'm out. Off to save the world or something.

You're gonna make me lonesome when you go

I've had two new songs looping in my head all day. Fine with me -- I'm really fond of them. I may be stating the obvious, but I write songs I'd like to hear. These two, while I think they're great, may be rubbish to anyone else. Good thing I'm not writing for anyone else.
--

I'm loving it: we're heading into July and it's all basketball talk on the sports radio stations I listen to when I drive. Soon enough, it will be the excruciating over-analysis of every bit of minutia concerning The Red Sox. If someone on the team has a hangnail, it will be discussed ad nauseum for days and days and days. Though I have nothing against it, I don't watch baseball, so even rational, informative talk about the sport would mean little to me, but the aforementioned nonsense? No way, son!

My phone just vibrated, letting me know I have a new voice mail. Hmm, that's odd: my phone's been beside me for the last hour. How did I miss the call? Oh, yes, silly me, I forgot - for some reason I don't get service roughly between six and seven every night. No calls can go out (I call a number and "Temporary Failure" pops up on the screen, effectively ending the call) and no calls can come in. So, basically, my phone was letting me know someone called and left me a voice mail that I CAN'T RETRIEVE! Ah, technology. Dropped calls, phone shutting off at random intervals, and now this. Makes me pine for the good old days of land lines.

It was probably my dad calling. I had called him earlier in the day. He's got to be the happiest retiree in the North East right now. My mother is spending the week at my grandmother's house and he'll be all alone. Ever since my mother retired, he's been feeling a bit encroached, I think. At least for the next several days, he can spread his wings.

And now, I'll spread mine and venture off to other things, one of which will be to watch the Celtics game. I may even work on some lyrics, time permitting. We shall see.

Hold on John, John hold on, it's gonna be alirght

As far as Mondays go, this one wasn't so bad. I did, however, have to fend off the tendrils of despair that whisper and undulate in my mind these days, faint but present. Most of it is grounded in reality, but still, I can't and haven't let it overwhelm me.

My parent's arrived at my place early yesterday morning and we made the trek into Boston to find the court house my mother will be serving jury duty at. My dad drove, I rode shot gun, and my mother sat in the back. I expected her to be more audibly anxious than she was. Even when my father took the wrong exit and we ended up driving through the city for a bit before we got back on the highway, she was fairly composed. I was impressed.

The courthouse was easy to find, right on the harbor and outside the city proper. My mother took solace in this and by the time we arrived back to Somerville, she was in good spirits. We went in to Davis Square for breakfast at Mr. Crepes and as we ate, I told my mother I was impressed with her composure during the trip.

"I had my eyes closed the entire time", she said.

"Ah, that explains it."

I'm not sure if that's progress or not, but I'll take it.

Speaking of my mother, there wasn't any fallout from the birthday incident. I ended getting her a nice, burgundy-tinted, hanging lantern for their porch. It matches the decor, too, which is not too shabby coming from a straight guy with a rudimentary sense of interior design.

So, here's the deal. Father's Day is coming up and if I forget this occasion, too, I'll definitely be in the running for worst son of the year. As an act of charity, dear readers, please feel free to remind me.

I've been thoroughly engrossed in The King of Elfland's Daughter. I lack the vocabulary to describe how enchanting this tale is. Reading from it is like seeing the world as a three year old again. I'm not suggesting the story is fit for a three year old, but the dreaminess of it just brings me back to that time. Anyway, enough trying to explain something I said from the outset I wouldn't be able to. It's enough for me to say I love this book and the warm, deep, spell it casts.

Great Celtics game last night. Kobe dumped 38 on us, but we still won. One more game to win and the C's are champs. I think they can do it.

I felt the urge to go for a long walk yesterday, so in the afternoon I hit the bike path and walked all the way into Arlington center. I traversed three cities: Somerville, Cambridge, and the aforementioned Arlington. I walked briskly and only stopped once to hang out at the shore of a pond for a few minutes. When I reached Arlington center, I looked at my pedometer and was surprised to learn I'd only traveled a little over three miles. I thought I had traveled double that distance. Still, it was a great walk. I plan on doing it again, only next time I'll go through Arlington and into Lexington, where I'll step off the path onto my grandmother's back yard and pay her a visit. Should be fun.

And you know what else should be fun? Some more World Cup soccer. I'm off to see if there's a game playing. I was going to share an interesting plot line in my life that could get a little sticky, but I'm going to see how things develop first. Stay tuned.

We have all been here before

Yesterday was my mother's birthday and I would have forgotten if my father hadn't reminded me. And that was after I had just left my parents a voice mail that covered subjects other than my mother's birthday. My father told me she felt hurt. I don't blame her. I got her on the phone and apologized profusely and sincerely, but I didn't make a single excuse. I told her the flat out, disappointing truth: I forgot. The fact that I did, I explained, revealed only that I can be flaky, that my head resides in the clouds more often than perhaps it should, and had no bearing on how much I love her. She could have replied, and fairly so, that if I loved her so much, I would have remembered her birthday, but she didn't. She seemed to understand and took it in stride. But I know I hurt her, and I know I messed up.

I'm not pleased that I forgot my mother's birthday - it's inexcusable, especially at this stage in my life - but I owned up to it, made no excuse, and moved on. I didn't beat myself up about it, either. It happened, I moved on. If for nothing else in this circumstance, I'm proud of myself for that, and I got the sense my mother was, too. If I'm worth my salt as a son and as a human, I will use this experience as motivation to never forget her birthday again. Or anyone else's.

Out of the conversation with my mother, I agreed to accompany my parents to Boston on a dry run to the courthouse my mother will be visiting next month for jury duty. To say that she's apprehensive about the whole thing would be putting it mildly. My mother is a jittery driver and ten times worse as a passenger. Just the idea of driving in the city almost makes her pass out. Even if my father drives her in everyday (because this is a federal court she'll be serving in, she might have to be there for a week, even if she's not selected for a case), she's going to freak out. Tomorrow's dry run is meant to alleviate some anxiety. My guess is, even if the trip's a success, her anxiety will lessen only the slightest bit. The good news is, the court house is outside the city proper and should be more or less of a straight shot.

I'm not sure why I'm needed on this trip, especially since I'm not too familiar with that part of the city, but I suppose it's about moral support. We're heading out early to avoid any traffic. Initially, my mother wanted me to drive the forty minutes to their house rather than them picking me up on the way. When I told her it made much more sense for them to pick me up, especially since I live right outside the city, she hedged a bit. "I don't know if I'm up for having to locate two places", she said (My parent's still haven't been to my place, despite the fact that I've lived here a number of years). She eventually came around and saw the logic in them picking me up.

I've portrayed my mother as being a nervous wreck, and she is in certain situations. Much of the time, though, she's even-keeled. She's a strong, caring, woman, overall, but she has her neurotic tendencies. And this one related to driving, is a doozey. I really think she should talk to a professional about it. It's not going to be a fun, relaxed trip tomorrow, that's for sure, but I'm happy to go. It's the least I can do.
--
Just watched the USA/England World Cup game. I love the sport, played all the way through high school, and this game, which resulted in a tie, was a fine one. This tournament, played on a world stage, is colossal and makes America's big sporting events, like the so-called World Series and The Super Bowl, seem puny. I watched the entire game and loved it.
--
Last week, when things at work were at a crawl, I started thinking about reality and how much we as individuals are able to script it. I'm already convinced that through intention one can manifest his or her desires, but are we able to influence things seemingly more outside ourselves? With that question in mind, I recalled a time when we were busy at work. Last year we got stacks of orders from a title clearing company that was almost overwhelming. That's what we need now, I thought. I pictured what it would be like having all that work pour in.

A day or two later we were swamped with work from the very same company. I didn't stop once this past week, we were so busy. It was like rain on the crops after a drought. Coincidence, or did I manifest this development? I'm guessing the former, but still, pretty cool.
--
There's more, but I just looked at the time and I've got to be rambling.

Cheers.

Take me to heart, and I will always love you

After work, I practiced yoga and then made a super salad. When I lived with Spira, she used to make salads with a welter of healthy ingredients. Even though she was breaking rule #3 in the Book of Salad Etiquette, which states that a salad's ingredients must not number more than four, I was impressed and soon after began making my own "super salads". The one I made tonight was so potent I felt like Popeye after a can of spinach. I didn't go around beating the shit out of people like Popeye was known to do, but I was injected with vim and vigor. See, that's what it's about: feeling good! And feeling good is good enough, to quote a line uttered by who-the-eff-knows in Platoon.

Anyway, the ingredients.

1. mixed greens ( w/ plenty of baby spinach)

2. grape tomatoes

3. oil cured black olives

4. tofu marinated in teriyaki sauce

5. Extra sharp cheddar cheese

6. sprouts (alfalfa, and some others I can't recall)

7. cashews (my favorite nut ever since it beat out the pistachio in a stunning upset a few years
ago)

8. onion (Bermuda style)

9. sweet potato (I love it so much it hurts!)

10. blueberries

11. black beans

12. avocado (I love it so much it hurts!, part two)

13. orange pepper

14. extra virgin olive oil (the only dressing I ever use)

15. cookie dough ( not true but I wanted to see if you were still reading)

Pretty good, huh? Only slightly more nutritious and tasty than a McGriddle, but still worth it.
--

The Celtics/Lakers game is on soon. I will probably miss some of it in favor of working on some songs, a couple of which are new and could amount to something. We'll see. I'd also like to read from Lord Dunsany's The King of Elfland's Daughter. I've only read about ten or so pages of it, but I've been floored at least a couple of times by the lyrical, descriptive prose, and how the book has unexpectedly got me thinking about different aspects of my life. Lord Dunsany wrote the book with quill and ink in 1923, or thereabouts, which indicates to me every word, every sentence, was important to him.

To wit:

And the color of Elfland, of which I despaired to tell, may yet be told, for we have hints of it here; the deep blue of the night in Summer just as the gloaming has gone, the pale blue of Venus flooding the evening with light, the deeps of lakes in the twilight, all these are hints of that colour. And while our sunflowers carefully turned to the sun, some forefather of the rhododendrons must have turned a little towards Elfland, so that some of that glory dwells with them to this day. And, above all, our painters have had many a glimpse of that country, so that sometimes in pictures we see a glamour too wonderful for our fields; it is a memory of theirs that intruded from some old glimpse of the pale-blue mountains while they sat at easels painting the fields we know.

Neil Gaiman, in his preface to the book, referred to it as a "rich, red, wine". I already agree, this early on. The above is pure poetry; it speaks to our deeper levels and that is why I find it so beautiful. The King of Elfland's Daughter, along with other works by Lord Dunsany, had been out of print until recently. A shame, but I'm glad he's back.

And with that, I'm off to the fields I know.

Time has told me you're a rare find, a troubled cure for a troubled mind

At the courthouse in Cambridge this morning, sitting down waiting for my number to be called at the Registry of Deeds, my gaze fell on the cute blond title examiner I see just about every time I'm there. I admired her for a bit without trying to be obvious. Or creepy. I don't want to be the creepy guy if I can help it. I was surreptitious and didn't ogle, but I did watch her. Not in a sexual way, really, but.....ok, why do I feel like I'm digging myself into a hole - a creepy hole, no less - that's getting deeper and deeper?

Look, here's the skinny. She's attractive, she's easy on the eyes - yes, I took notice, have taken notice before - but I wasn't drooling or moaning (well, maybe I was drooling, but that's another issue all together). I was mostly appreciating her laugh and body language. She's got a good laugh - unfiltered and expressive - and I'm a sucker for a good laugh. And she's pretty animated with her hands and face; she'd probably make a good mime. From about twenty feet away, I felt as if I knew what her conversations were about without hearing a single word. And do you want to know what they were about? They were about me and how dreamy she thinks I am and how much she wants to ask me out but is too shy. Actually, that's what I wish they were about.

In case you're wondering, I'm pretty sure she's married, judging by the ring she was wearing. I'm not crestfallen, though, so don't pity poor ol' me. I did, however, feel a little lonesome at not having a girlfriend. It happens from time to time.
--
After Janelle and I put in our air conditioners yesterday, it immediately became cool outside. It's still cool a day later. Mother Nature is fucking with us. What a jerk!

I'm a little sleepy. Maybe it was the vigorous run, maybe it's the cool air. Whatever the cause, I'm going to end this and work on some music. Failing that, I'll probably watch The Wire and do some reading.

Ciao.

All the rockets go bang

I just finished watching The Road. Not quite the laugh riot I was expecting, it being the story of a father trying to protect his son in a post-apocalyptic world and all, but it did measure up to the book pretty well and, thus, I'm glad I watched it. Now all I've got to do is wait for the dark cloud that's been lurking above me ever since to dissolve. Don't fret, dear readers: this post will not be a dour one.

As a gesture of good faith, I'll begin with the fine wedding I attended over the weekend. My friends Jaegan and April tied the knot up in Olgunquit, Maine. Janelle, Aviv, Baby Boy Z, and I got off to a late start and ended up missing the ceremony, but we were right on time for the reception, which everyone knows is the funnest part of a wedding. It's dessert.

Many friends were in attendance. Some of them, like Mark and Becky, I haven't seen in close to a year. Even Luke Warm, who had gone underground months ago, was there. I talked some World Cup soccer with Ray during the meal (he's English, so of course we did). At one point, he asked me if I was interested in getting married. "Without question", I told him. "What I'm more interested in, though, is the idea of being with someone I share a deep and solid bond with." We went on to discuss the importance of being with someone you really connect with.

The reception wrapped up sooner than I expected. I had just finished my fourth beer when people started filtering out. Some friends, the ones who were staying the night, retreated to their respective rooms for naps or a change of clothes. Others got in their cars and left. That left a few of us hanging out in the parking lot deciding what to do next. My plan was to catch a ride home with Spira, as Janelle and Baby Boy Z were staying the night. Before that was to happen, though, the three of us, sans BBZ, who stayed back with Aviv at the hotel, took a walk down to the beach. We took off our shoes and walked along the water. I rolled up my dress pants and let the tide lick at my feet. I lamented not bringing a change of clothes, but it was no big thing.

We ran into Becky, Karen, and Marissa, and continued walking. There was a hazy pinkness blanketing everything, cloud and sky merged in a soft pastel. It was like a dream, or maybe like being dead. Whatever it was, it was pleasant and comforting. Becky and I, immersed in conversation, had gotten ahead of the group. It occurred to us at the same time to look back and see if they were still following. Right as we did, we saw Janelle and Karen waving us back.

I found the synchronicity interesting, especially when Janelle revealed she had told Karen, who was wondering how they were going to get our attention, that the best way to do so was to telepathically deliver their intentions directly to the wavelength of my pure heart. Well, it worked. If there was ever doubt about the purity of my heart, here was irrefutable evidence. No joke. This really happened.

We met up with Tracy, Ray, Heath, Aaron, and Mark. Heath and Ray had fishing rods and were casting from the shore. We hung around a bit longer and then headed back. Spira and I hit the road and everyone else made dinner plans. If I didn't have wet pants and sand in my socks and boxers, I probably would have stayed. With these people, parting is always such sweet sorrow.

Back home, Spira and I went to Yoshi's for dinner. We had tuna tartar and an avocado salad for appetizers and then it was sushi the rest of the way. Rolls of yellowtail, tuna and avocado, and the always transcendent Black Dragon, made an appearance. A fine meal.
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After one too many restless nights of sleep due to oppressive humidity, I installed my AC today. So much better. I'll sleep the good sleep tonight.

The Celtics just tied up the series 1-1. A good game, Ray Allen sunk threes like they were going out of style, but I didn't watch too much of it. As much as I love these games, I still can't bring myself to watch them straight through. I just can't justify devoting three hours to any sport these days.

Monday looms. Work has been slow; I hope things pick up this week. Everything seems to be so uncertain. I'm not just talking about work.

Been re-watching The Wire. Man, did that series ruin other shows for me. One of the best shows I've ever seen.
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I think I'll go take a shower. There will be soap, there will be shampoo; there will be water and a towel to dry off with. But you kind of suspected that, didn't you?

Wake me up before you go go

Recently I had a dream. It was one of the reoccurring airplane dreams I've had for most of my adult life, but this time, instead of waking up just before or after takeoff, I made it through the entire flight. My destination? Florida, for a couple of days.

The flight went well. I closed my eyes until we were airborne. I opened them for the rest of the flight. Opened, attentive. This isn't so bad, I thought. I was seated at the rear of the plane. Craig was there. We talked. Good having him around. I won't bother delving into the meaning of this, and similar dreams (for the particulars of those you can reference older posts if you're inclined, but I know you're not, so forget I mentioned it), but it was a victory. It signaled growth, evolution. I woke up smiling. Wish I remembered what I did in Florida. Maybe Craig and I were in an alligator wrestling tournament.

Got back from the dentist about an hour or so ago. Four fillings, mostly painless. I love this dentist. I never have to wait; in fact, I never even get to sit down in the waiting room. I come in, he pops his head out, I follow him out back, and he gets to work. And he's good, too. Years ago, I used to frequent the dentist my parents went to. He was nice enough but his work was sloppy, as if he was a little buzzed on something, and always seemed to take way longer than necessary with most procedures.. Oh, and he could barely speak English, or to be more precise, the English that he spoke was unintelligible (I think he was from Taiwan). Poor man, I portray him as a bumbling idiot, but I call it like I see 'em.

I don't miss those days.

Anyway, the flying dream correlates with today's visit to the dentist. I won't elaborate, but I'm feeling pretty good about it.
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Tonight, the Celtics. Game one of the finals. Hope the Lakers are ready to lose. I really mean that. I hope they've all sat around and prepared themselves for tonight's loss. I don't want it to come as a surprise. Sure, they're the opposition, but they're still human beings, and I care very deeply about them on that level.

Uh, let's move on...

Today, my libido stirred in the presence of someone I would not ordinarily be attracted to, not if I was heavily inebriated, not ever. And that's saying something because I'm attracted to a lot of different looking women, at least on a physical level. I didn't let said libido take over; the woman was not ravaged, she was none the wiser, but the incident was just short of alarming. I need to get laid before matters escalate. Until I do, no one is safe. You've been warned.

I'll leave you with that. What else is there to say?