Everyone will start to cheer, when you put on your sailing shoes

Today kicked my ass and, consequently, I am beat. I spent the entire day at the Registry of Deeds in Cambridge trying to get a mortgage and a ton of other documents on record for Jeff. He had a closing this morning and, in his words, "These documents HAVE to get on record today".

Fine with me, but this whole affair was so convoluted - there were about twelve documents for this one property - I won't even bother trying to explain it. Just know that I had to record in the Registered Land dept., which is old school and by the books. One document on a single piece of paper might take them a half hour to record. And there I was with a stack of documents that were complicated and needed to.....aw, I don't have the energy for even a small explanation.

Anyhow, the docs were rejected, which set off a string of calls back and forth to the office. The clerks at the registry aren't allowed to speak to anyone over the phone, so I was the middle man between Jeff and the clerk. "Why can't they accept the Trustee's Certificate if it has the same language as the Affidavit?", Jeff would ask. And the clerk, who was not hiding how pissed she was that she got stuck with me, would respond "Because you need a Chapter 184 signed by the seller's attorney and blah, blah, blah"

This type of thing went on all day. Everyone I talked to at the Registry told me they couldn't accept these documents and Jeff kept telling me to try harder to find out exactly why they couldn't. Not an easy task, especially considering I had little or no idea about the documents in question. I had no idea what a Chapter 184 was. Jeff kept telling me the docs had to get on record today, but he failed to understand I couldn't make them put them on record. Maybe if I had a gun, but I left it in my glove box.

Eventually, near the end of the day, the technical advisor, who was one of the few helpful people I dealt with, worked out a way we could get on record. Phew! It took almost two hours to record all the docs, but they were recorded. The whole process was taxing. I can't tell you how many times I had to run up and down various stair cases to retrieve faxes and what not. Oh, day, I'm glad you're done. All's well that ends well.

My lunch was at the office, so I didn't eat or drink a thing until supper. I practiced some yoga after work and did some laundry. Now, after I wrap this up, I am going to slip into a vegetative state. Oh, The Office is on. That might perk me up.

If you go down to Hammond, you'll never come back

Saw Mara last night. It had been a while. Not a terribly festive evening. She's been in the grips of depression for a while now and, apart from listening to her and trying to cheer her up, there is nothing else I can do for her. She's been through this before; she's gone to therapy, taken meds. I can relate to her condition only so far. I've had my spells, my dark nights of the soul, but nothing that's stuck around and taken full control of my life. Hell, even during my worst days, I've always retained an appetite. Mara could barely eat last night and has had trouble sleeping. This has been going on for over a month. I wish her well.

I'm pretty tired. Went to the dentist after work followed by a vigorous run. It's been so damn muggy the last couple of days; the run was taxing at times and positively sweat-inducing. Worth it, though.

Listening to The Roches constantly. Makes me happy, it does. Such a fun record, that first one, and a joy to sing along to. And, oddly enough, Robert Fripp produced and played guitar on it. Guess it's only odd if you know who Robert Fripp is. If you're curious, Google him. I ain't got time for a biography, son!

Over the last couple of days, it hasn't felt right being alone. For example, I'll be getting ready for bed and it will feel strange that I'm getting in bed alone, as if it's a new thing. Strange. Maybe I'm on the verge of a relationship. If so, well, that would sure be swell! It's about time. I'm sick of being a perpetual solo act. Come on, ladies, give this fellow a chance. He's not too repulsive and he'll sing you a song.

Watched a bit of True Blood last night. Had no idea what was going on because I jumped right into the middle of the series. I don't usually do that, but I wanted to get a feel for the show to see if it was worth diving into. Seemed kind of cool, but kind of melodramatic. A lot of yelling and posturing. One vampire, named The King, took another vampire and his girlfriend (?) hostage. He let another vampire, who seemed to have a history with the kidnapped vampire, torture him. The girlfriend hung out with the King, who tried to get her to tell him about her powers. And then there was another vampire who seemed like a bad guy with a heart a gold. Like Sawyer in Lost. Oh, I don't know - I was so confused. Maybe I'll Netflix season one and see where it takes me.

Early night for me. Going to watch a mini documentary about a guy in Australia's experience with a Yowie, their equivalent of Bigfoot. Already watched part one. Very interesting. This guy seems very credible. Ok, nowI'm out.

At times I see you, you silver rider, sometimes your voice is not enough

Kind of a shitty week, but I think I've handled it pretty well. I'm understanding, and, for the most part, applying, the importance of staying in the moment, being alert, not letting thoughts run rampant. To get by in this world, it's a fortunate thing to favor bending over breaking. Staying flexible got me by.

What caused this week to be shitty? Well, you can chalk it up to several unsavory things manifesting almost at once. Computer troubles, money troubles, weird social hiccups, and a welter of small, gnat-like, troubles that in concert became a formidable foe. Felt like I was on the precipice of complete disaster, still does a bit, but, as I said, I was flexible throughout

Listening to Inara George's collaboration with Van Dyke Parks. Beautiful, sophisticated, highly listenable. Parks is one of my all-time favorite composers. Anytime I hear about him scoring an album, especially if it's an artist or band I already like, I check it out in short order. His work with The Beach Boys, Joanna Newsom, Rufus Wainwright, and his solo work has been nothing short of brilliant. And Inara, being the daughter of Lowell George, has the pedigree, not to mention the chops, to keep up with Van Dyke. And, keeping it in the family, I've been listening to Little Feat's Sailing Shoes.

Also been listening to Robert Plant's Band of Joy. Was impressed with his collaboration with Allison Krauss and am no less so with this album. And then there's The Roches. Love them! Can't believe it took me this long to discover them. Three sisters combining folk, barbershop, shades of punk, and pop. An interesting cocktail and it works. Their first album is fantastic. It's fun - a lot of the lyrics are about everyday things like wishing you had your old job back, even though you hated it.
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Rich is finally moving out. He told me last weekend. Moving to Colorado. I'm glad he's moving, for everyone's sake. Janelle and I had just been talking about how difficult it's been living with him. Lately, he's been particularly withdrawn and negative and has a couple of tantrums. That, coupled with the fact that he barely, if at all, contributes to the upkeep of the house, had him on the chopping block. I'm glad we didn't have to kick him out. He's not an evil guy, just troubled, and it would not have been enjoyable asking him to leave. I'll have to write a retrospective of my time living with Rich. I can assure you that it will be interesting. He's an odd dude. In the meantime, we need to start looking for a roommate.
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The season premier of Dexter is on tonight. Will have to order the channel. Might have Pat and Allie come by to watch. Maybe Spira, too. After plowing through the dvds of the last season, I'm ready to dive back in. Been watching season 3 of Mad Men. I don't think I say a bad thing about that show. It's so well done; I savor every scene like a fine wine.

With that, I should get my day started. Might see what Mara is up to, but will probably putter around and work on some music. Who knows.

If my wings should fail me Lord, please meet me with another pair, so I can die easy

Don't really feel like posting tonight, but I don't feel like doing much of anything else, so here I am. At work yesterday, I felt the beginning of a cold coming on. Sore throat, clogged sinuses. Fuck! I was hoping it was just an allergy or sinus issue and would go away quickly. I went for a run after a work, just to show this malady that I wasn't going to let it have its way with me. It was a good one, too. Everything felt good except my head, which was just plain heavy and clogged.

I feel better today, but I'm not myself. Don't like it. I have no defined mood. I'm ambivalent about everything. Maybe I should just call it a night.

Heard "Highway To Hell" twice in a half and heard a couple of Bad Company tunes in the same time span (I feel like maaakiinng love tooo youuuu!). Regarding the former, I wonder, superstitiously, if it's a sign I'm destined for hotter climes. There were other repeat moments today, but I can't conjure what they were. One of those days. I heard "HighwayTo Hell" and a couple of Bad Company tunes twice today. I question whether it's some kind of sign that I'm Hell-bound. There were other repeat moments today, but I can't remember them right now.

There are topics to cover, there is news, but I'll save that for another time. I'm no good to anyone right now. Nothing for it but to throw some headphones on, dim the lights, and listen to Physical Graffiti.

If you want a do right, all day woman, you've got to be a do right, all night man

It is Sunday morning and I'm sipping at my coffee, mulling over what shape my day should take. Should I go full tilt and engage in activities that will leave me exhausted and broken, worn and limp? Or should I take the advice of no less an authority than God and honor the sabbath by treating it as a day of rest. I'm not going to lie to you, I'm leaning towards the latter option. I've got some Tom Waits ballads broadcasting from my speakers. I am content. Next up: Edith Piaf.

Rest would be fine. The days leading up to and including the wedding were rather hectic, but entirely manageable, especially compared to what the bride and groom must have gone through. And poor Janelle: her week had been a whirlwind that would have left those with less mettle than she whimpering in the corner. She pulled through.

The wedding was communal and festive, replete with touching and humorous moments. In other words, just the way you'd want a wedding to go. I rode up with Kreg, Pat, and Allie. Kreg did the driving (Pat and Allie don't own a car and mine was lacking operational headlights) and despite our best efforts, we arrived to the church a half hour late. Traffic, among other things, was the cause. We walked into the church, which was grand and expansive, right as the priest said "You may now kiss the bride". Good timing.

Even when it was evident that we were going to be late, I didn't feel so bad about it. Maybe I should have, but knowing it was a catholic wedding and that they're often long, drawn out, affairs, I was confident we'd only be missing out on a portion of it. In the interest of full disclosure, I should note that ever since I was a wee lad, I've never been enthusiastic about church, but you should know that the prevailing reason I didn't feel too bad about being late was that I was trying, in the tradition of eastern thought, to live in the moment and not get hung up on things outside of my control. The man upstairs shouldn't find fault with that. I guess I'll find out eventually.

Immediately after the ceremony, I hopped in Janelle's car and we headed over to the reception in Pelham. Nice place. Rolling lawn, gazebo, a bar set up outside - picturesque. An area by the bar was designated for the musicians. We weren't there long before we were called up to play. Not sure how well the song went over, pretty good I think, but the only thing that mattered to me was being up there with Janelle and the pride I felt hearing her sing. She was wonderful.

I played another song by myself and halfway through it, I recognized a former coworker of mine. I hadn't seen Christy since our Brookstone days, which was years ago. I had thought about her only a few days prior, going as far as looking her up, unsuccessfully, on FaceBook. Interesting. Fortunately, she was a coworker I got along with, so seeing her wasn't a bad thing.

She approached me afterward and we caught up a little. As we spoke, I recalled why I got along with her so well. While very disciplined in her professional life, Christy has an endearing flakiness about her that separates her from the pack. Throughout our conversation, there were moments I felt like I was talking to Annie Hall. La dee da. Nice reconnecting with her.

In the dining room, Shane's dad Skip sat with an acoustic guitar and sang "Even Though We Ain't Got Money" with his daughter, while Shane danced with his mother (His own mother, not Skip's mother. I could have structured that sentence better). Very sweet and touching. Janelle made me laugh when she asked if my father would do the same thing at our wedding. "That would be positively surreal", I replied. At the risk of my evening taking too strange a turn, I abolished the thought of my father serenading me and went about the business of having fun.

Years ago at my friend Tony's wedding, they did that thing where all the married couples get on the dance floor and throughout the song, the DJ says things like "Will any couple married less than ten years get off the dance floor". Well, Janelle and I, unmarried, got on the dance floor and outlasted nearly everyone. It was worth it if only to see the strange looks we were getting. Well, we did the same at this wedding - it is kind of a tradition, after all - and, while we didn't stay out there too long, we did have some fun with it. Kevin's little girl, Bella, danced with us. We formed a ring and every so often, Bella would twirl.

Janelle. It occurred to me later, back at home getting ready for sleep, how effortless my relationship with her is. I feel such a deep closeness to her, such a kinship, that it sometimes surprises me when I think about it. Like I did after the wedding. I mused over how essential she is to me, how important. I feel more at ease around her than I do with almost anyone else. So much is subtle, like how at the wedding if she wasn't around I'd look up to see where she was. Subtle. Janelle, I adore and love you so much. Thank you for being in my life.

An all-star lineup of friends that night. And I got to sit with a good lot of them at the table: Scott, Tracy, Ray, Mike, Kristen, Kreg, Pat, Allie, and Janelle. Most of them I've known almost my entire adult life. We don't always get to see each other, but when we do it's always a good time.

Shane and Jennie are married. I'm thrilled for them. The last dance at the reception was to AC/DC's "Big Balls". We all circled around the couple as they danced gaily, triumphantly, and before long, they invited the lot of us to join them. Many of us did. And we've got the biggest balls of them all.
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Spira came by with Missy last night and we watched the last episode of Dexter. Wow! Can't wait for the next season to begin. Today, I watched an episode of Mad Men. Forgot how well-written and well-acted this show is. Actually, it's well-everything. Oh, I love this show.

Enough of me. Practiced yoga earlier and cleaned the house. I guess I didn't end up resting too much, but still, it was a relaxing day. On to Monday.

One way is Rome and the other way is Mecca, on either side of our motor bikes

Late, late, late, but I'm posting because I'm not yet ready for bed; I want to stay up as late as I can. Busy week. Tonight was spent up in NH at Shane and Jenni's rehearsal dinner. Janelle and I showed up to a good-sized group of people milling about in and out of the house. We were both hungry and when the food was brought out, we got to business post haste.

Some great music was played tonight. Plenty of musicians in attendance. Janelle and I performed Rufus Wainwright's "The Greek Song". It went well and was a good test run for tomorrow's performance. After that, I played a few of my own tunes, not as well as I would have preferred, but I enjoyed myself. It was cool having people playing along with me. Tonight was the closest I've come to the spirit of the movie Rachel Getting Married - lots of music with a communal vibe. If I ever get married, I want plenty of music. Rachel Getting Married is worth seeing just for the music.

I've finally arrived at the conclusion, after giving it serious thought, that the greatest comedy to ever appear on television is The Office (UK). I didn't initially believe so. It took repeated viewings over the years to fully grasp the brilliance of the show. Watching it recently, I marveled at how perfectly crafted every episode is. Not an ounce of fat anywhere; no weak spots. It's a bold statement saying this is the best comedy ever, especially when you've got some heavy hitters like Seinfeld and The Office (US) to contend with. I'm satisfied with my decision though. The Office (UK) did everything right. It only aired two seasons, even though it wasn't anywhere near jumping the shark. Left on a high note, with integrity. It also never strayed from its truth. It never slipped into slapstick land, never became broad. Even the best comedies were guilty of that. Anyway, I could go on, but I won't because I'm sleepy.

Must end this. The wedding is tomorrow. Car issues and other impediments to smooth sailing won't get the better of me. I'm hoping for a good weekend. It'll start off great, I know that. One of my good friends is getting married. I'm glad I'll be there to bear witness.

The colors blend and roll as one, together in the Sun

A layabout weekend, more or less. Despite being fairly active (run on Friday, yoga yesterday and today) I feel a bit like a loaf at the end of it. Could be the weather, the fact that I have a bit of a toothache, or a whole host of other possibilities. I'm not terribly concerned about it.

Spira came over last night and watched some Dexter with Janelle and me. She brought along Missy who was gassy all night. Man, there was some pungent goings on! I got word from Michelle too late about heading up to see her and Frank for our much-anticipated Deadwood marathon. If you have not seen Deadwood, I suggest you get on that as soon as you finish reading this post. I'm not kidding.

Going to be a busy week. Shane's getting married on Friday and there's the rehearsal dinner on Thursday. I'll need to get some songs in order, too. I'm looking forward to the event.

Been trying to favor music in my iTunes library that I don't listen to very often. Today, I listened to some Sarah and Maybelle Carter and I'm listening to Nico as I type.

After yoga today, I made a delicious lunch. I stir fried some tempeh in garlic and honey and added slivered almonds, sliced plum, avocado, grape tomatoes, and black beans. It was delicious and nutritious. For dinner, I made some Pad Thai, which was equally as delicious, but not quite as nutritious. Speaking of food, I missed out on some at the Greek Festival here in the city that Spira invited me to attend with her. The toothache wouldn't allow for a lot of chewing. Oh, well, I probably would have pigged out and gotten sick.

Late last night, I watched an Eckhart Tolle lecture. It was the equivalent of meditating. He is so calm and clear when he speaks; I felt as if I was hypnotized.

What a dream I had

This may be my first two part post. Thrilling, I know. Let's begin.

Commentary

The first part of the dream is significant insofar as the location and the players involved. I'm going to gloss over it, however, because of who it involves and what it suggests. Better I keep it to myself. The threesome, while welcomed, is beyond my ken at this stage. I don't know what that was about.

Up until our privacy was interrupted by Mr. X (again, I'm not naming names), the dream had the feel of any other dream. Bounding through the woods, escaping my pursuers, had the air of familiarity about it, and for good reason: For quite a while now, the woods behind my parent's house (for all intents and purposes, that's where I was in this dream) have been a metaphor for my deeper self, my subconscious, if you will. It's always night in these dreams. Fitting for a journey to the depths of one's self.

In keeping with the format of these dreams, my journey through the woods brought me somewhere decidedly un-forested. I arrived at a barn situated on the rim of an ocean-sized plain. I recall peaking behind the barn and admiring the scene. It wasn't long before I was immersed in it.

My "friend" in the dream, the one I met at the barn, was nothing more than a guide. He was there waiting for me and without him, I would not have woken up within the dream, not have been able to make this journey. I wish I could remember what he did that changed my frequency, that woke me up, but it hasn't escaped me that the archetype of the guide and being given or fed something in order to travel from place to place is seen frequently throughout mythology.

Whatever was done to me worked. I was awake and in a very real, albeit foreign, place. I remember thinking that my pursuers would not be able to reach me here, even though I was only behind the barn heading into the wide open plain. I used the word frequency before and it is an apt descriptor. I seemed to be occupying the same space, but just in a different frequency.

I cannot adequately describe just how awake I was. I've "woken up" in dreams before - we all have. Usually, though, while being aware that we are dreaming, it is fleeting and we either wake up or fall back under the spell of the dream.

Here, I was fully awake, as awake and aware as I am right now, and for a sustained period of time. If I'm being redundant with this point it's only to stress how very conscious I was, how alive. I remember how incredulous I was that I was awake. I remember my guide laughing at my behavior, like I was a baby thrilled at taking his first steps. I said before that I felt like I was in a Van Gogh landscape and it was. Silvery night, lush and vivid. Gorgeous.

When I arrived back at the house, things felt like a dream again, only I was acutely aware that I was dreaming. If my alarm hadn't gone off as I was levitating, I believe the dream would have seduced me back into its maw.

I will not likely forget this dream. The next day I thought back to that great plain, lit by a mysterious moon, and longed to be back there. Our lives are filled with distractions, with the mundane, but the universe is vast beyond our comprehension and as much as we try, we can't keep it at bay.

One last thing. It occurred to me that in a recent post I wrote, in reference to another dream, that it beat being chased through the night by gun-toting hooligans. I'm not sure if the hooligans had guns, but I was most definitely being chased through the night by hooligans. Ah, I love cosmic humor.

Penetrate the evening while the city sleeps to hide

Last night I had a lucid dream. They are rare, few people experience them. I've had at least a couple - I'm lucky - but nothing like the one I had last night.

The dream:

I am at home, though it's not the house I live in now. It's where an old friend grew up, but he is not present. I am with a few friends and my roommates. Two of the people in attendance I'm annoyed with, which is why, aside from the obvious reasons, the distraction of two of my female friends suddenly deciding to take a shower together after expressing rather loudly how much they enjoy threesomes, is welcome.

I map out in my head the chances of me getting involved. I decide they're pretty good and knock on the bathroom door, saying I need to brush my teeth. They welcome me in. Good sign. I brush my teeth and listen to them kiss and giggle in the shower stall behind me. I make my move; they don't mind. I disrobe and join them.

Despite the ease at which I immersed myself into this scene, I feel slightly uncomfortable. Both of the women have boyfriends. Whatever moral dilemma I muster up is quickly overshadowed by the attention I'm getting from K (I'm not naming names ). In mid-grope, the door opened and C walks in. He's one of the scoundrels I'm annoyed with. Of course it has to be him! He steps out and closes the door, but it's too late: he knows whats going on and will probably tell anyone who'll listen. I already suspect him of spreading disinformation about me - it's why he's not in my good graces presently - and am pissed at my carelessness. Too late. He knows.

Things get murky here. I discover there are several goons, I sense they're in the mafia, who are displeased with me, possibly over what just happened in the bathroom, but I'm not sure. They are entering the house. I sneak out the back door.

It's getting dark. I skulk around the side of the house and listen for signs of pursuit. A door opens, there is shouting. They are after me. I run - no, I bound - into the woods. I am one with everything. I know these woods. I am so confident they won't catch me, I stop about fifty feet in and peak behind a tree trunk to see how much ground I've gained. I see my pursuers, thugs all, lit by the moon and running in my direction. They are disorganized and confused, though, and will be easy enough to outdistance. Still, I know they will not stop until they catch me. And there are more of them elsewhere. Like a wolf, I tear into the woods. Deeper, and deeper still.

I arrive at the edge of a massive clearing. The moon is so bright it's almost like day time. I encounter someone I know working on some machinery in a rickety barn. I tell him my predicament. He tells me we need to go deeper in. I know exactly what he means.

We walk behind the barn and there the land opens up, a massive plain of lush green, tinted silver under the moon. What looks to be a large kite with an engine takes off near the barn. My friend's apprentice is piloting it. As we watch the craft bob and weave above us, my friend says "You know, we could get you out of here in that".

"No", I say. "I need to go deeper, like you said." He nods in agreement. He breaks out something big.....actually, I don't really know what he does. All I know is that by some method, he is able to make it so we can travel this great plain before us, which, now that I really get a good look at, reminds me of one of Van Gogh's landscapes. Everything is lush, vivid. I'm itching to be immersed.

Whatever my friend does takes effect. And I wake up. In the dream, I wake up. I cannot believe I have woken up in this dream! Suddenly everything is clearer. I feel the breeze on my arms, my thoughts are ordered. I laugh in disbelief. "Am I really awake?", I ask my friend. "You most certainly are", he replies.

How is this possible?

It's like walking into a movie. I have forgotten about my pursuers, but I know they are constructs of my imagination and cannot harm me. What matters is that I'm fully conscious that I'm dreaming. I am awake within a dream. Everything is beautiful beyond expression. I don't want to leave.

As we wraiths stalk the night, I keep thinking how incredible it is I haven't woken up yet or that the dream, as dreams are like to do, hasn't shifted focus. I intuit that I'm its architect and that being lucid within it enables me to hold it in focus for as long as I want.

We're back at the house. Suddenly. A friend approaches who is in cahoots with my pursuers. "What are you doing back here?" he asks. It's a challenge, but there's a note of concern. He is my friend after all. I tell him not to worry. We go inside.

I am supremely confident that everything is going to be alright because, again, I am aware that I'm creating my experience. We join several others at a long banquet table. A bearded man is speaking at the other end of the table. He is telling the group something, a parable, I think. He speaks about levitation and looks at my friend and me pointedly. "I think he expects us to levitate", my friend says.

For a brief instant, I believe it's unachievable, but then I realize I'm dreaming and that, because I'm calling the shots, I can make it happen. I will my friend and me upward and we rise, chairs and all, to the ceiling as easily and steadily as if we were standing up.

Then my alarm goes off. I wake up a second and final time.

My next post will offer commentary on the dream. If you've made it this far, you may want to read it. If you abandoned ship at the first mention of the word dream, then you will be sure to skip over that post.

My sister and her boyfriend slept in the park, had to leave home because he was dark, now they parade around in New York with a baby boy

How exquisite is Nick Drake's music? Very exquisite, I say unto you. Listening to Bryter Layter as I type. So good. I don't know why, but some music is so dear to me that I prevent myself from listening to it sometimes. I've talked to Scott about this before and he's experienced the same thing. Maybe some music is like a good bottle of scotch that's saved for special occasions. Or something like that. No special occasion to report here, but yet I'm listening away to Mr. Drake. Oh well, let's move on.

Last night, I read this from Eckhart Tolle:

If you were not familiar with our contemporary civilization, if you had come here from another age or another planet, one of the things that would amaze you it that millions of people love and pay money to watch humans kill and inflict pain on each other and call it "entertainment".

He goes on to explain that it is our pain-body, the part of us that feeds off of and creates negative energy that fuels our addiction to unhappiness, which in this case is manifested in our attraction to violent media. Then he adds:

Is it always "wrong" to show and watch violence on television and cinema screen? If films show violence in its wider context, if they show its origin and its consequences, show what it does to the victim as well as the perpetrator, show the collective unconsciousness that lies behind it and is passed on from generation to generation, then those films can fulfill a vital function in the awakening of humanity.

Come and See is a film that does all of the above. After watching it again the other night, it struck me how many films are pro violence. Try this as an exercise: name the last movie you saw that didn't have a gun or some kind of weapon featured in it. Go ahead try. Come and See walks you through the horrors and consequences of war, the absolute evil of it. It serves as a reminder that violence is ugly and hardly sexy. Reading Tolle's thoughts on the matter put things further into perspective.

Had a dream last night that I was staying at a hotel the night before a friend's wedding. Everyone in the wedding was staying there and the climate was like that of a college dorm. Everyone was venturing from room to room hanging out and partying. Early on in the night I had met a young and attractive woman. She had an air of mischief about her, which I liked, and was always with a female friend of hers.

It became apparent she was into me. That was good, because I felt the same way about her. I was cautious, though: here was a young, very pretty woman who could be with any guy she wanted. I figured her interest would be fleeting at best. She kept coming around though. Even when everyone left to attend a party in someone's room on another floor and I was left behind. She came and got me and we headed to the party. Then I woke up. The dream probably had a little to do with the fact that I had just watched the episode of The Office where Jim and Pam get married. Still, a fine dream. Better than being chased through the night by gun-toting hooligans.

Okay, I'm done with you. The night's a blank canvas. What shall I do? Hmm....

And my head told my heart, let love grow, but my heart told my head this time no

My mind is behind a day;I keep thinking it's Monday. This will work in my favor when Friday arrives and I think it's Thursday. Kind of like the alarm going off on a Saturday morning. "Oh, damn....Hey, wait a second - I don't have to get up!"

A general sense of uneasiness today, but it was overshadowed for the most part by the feeling of confidence I've had going for the last couple of weeks. In tandem with the uneasiness and confidence, I also had going a system-wide feeling of horniness today. In my travels, I came across some fine looking women (sigh). Everyone of them a reminder that I'm due for a good shagging or two or three or five. Fret not, ladies - and I'm referring to those of you read this here blog - I was discreet in my admiration. However, in the interest of full disclosure, I did get my flirt on at the registry in Nashua with Linda and a coworker of hers. They started it. I'm serious.

Cold shower, anyone?

Watched A Prophet last night. A great film. I always feel bad for people who won't give subtitled movies a chance; they're missing out on so much. This was a french film and I barely noticed the subtitles, it was so engaging. If you like prison dramas with a scope as epic as The Godfather, than I suggest you see this gem.

I've come to the conclusion that the depth of one's artistry can be determined by observing how flaky they are. In other words, if your life is in complete disarray, if you're always late and lack focus, if the word regimented brings about instant nausea, than you're a Redneck...er, pretty damn artistic, that is.

Here's the thing: the above, while probably true to some degree, is more about me looking for a cool reason as to why I have trouble keeping my affairs in order than anything else. Actually, I am pretty ordered, but probably way less than most people. I'm through with this tangent. Through, I tell ya!

I am about to watch some episodes of The Office: Season Six. First, I shall work on some music. Will lyrics flow out of me like a mountain stream after a thaw? I'll keep you posted.

Oh, Leigh, thanks for uploading some Mumford & Sons. I'd been kicking around the idea of picking up the album and now, after hearing two complete tracks, both really strong, I'm certain I will. They remind me a bit of Fleet Foxes. If you haven't checked them out, I suggest you do.

Goodnight you princes of Maine, you kings of new England.

Your kisses scourge me, hysop in your perfume

The weekend went by in a blur, as most long weekends tend to. Much of last week and beyond was spent trying to coordinate the surprise birthday party for Janelle that was held at our place. It was difficult at times trying to work in concert with multiple party planners, especially through emails, but the party went off without a hitch and Janelle was surprised.

Friday, the day of the party, was a lot of running around in preparation. And the heat was absolutely oppressive. I came home as early as I could and cleaned the house furiously. Mike and Kristen came early and helped out where they could. And later, so did Spira, Tracy and Ray, and Karen. By the time the rest of the guests arrived, the house was a sauna, despite the open windows and ceiling fans operating in high gear. I had hoped the so-called hurricane that was supposed to have asserted itself that night would have ushered in cooler weather; it did, but not in time. Not in time. We sweated, we toiled. And no, the reverie was not lessened. We persevered.

Later in the evening, when the party found it's legs amidst the departure of some of the guests, I broke out a guitar and Craig's Beatles songbook I've had in my possession for a while now. Several of us sat around and rolled through the discography, some songs sounding better than others. Ecstatic harmonies did peak through clouds from time to time. I remember clearly.

Overall, the party was success. I think Janelle and our guests had a good time. I know I did.
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Spira came by Saturday and had breakfast with Janelle and me. She hung around a while after that and, after not liking my suggestions about what we could do, left in a state of restlessness that had little to do with me. I was not insulted: I had just finished the post-party clean up and was looking forward to a bit of relaxing with a book.

Rachael came by later that night to drop off a birthday present for Janelle. She was shooting a wedding the night of the party and wasn't able to make it, which is a shame because she's a model party goer. She did, however, take part in the party planning by sending out invitations to a fake party for Janelle that was to be held at her house and slated for the night after the real one. It was the only way we could think of that would throw Janelle off the scent.

Yesterday, I went to my parent's house for a little cookout. I picked up my grandmother on the way and was surprised by the absence of my sister and her family. "Oh, didn't you get my email?", my mother asked. "I sent you one the other day explaining why they couldn't come." I didn't tell my mother this, but most of her emails to me are forwards, the ones that usually end with an admonition to forward it to twenty five people I know or my friends and family will be drawn and quartered in front of me, and, as a general rule, I delete most that come my way. Why? Because people who forward emails usually tend to do so a lot and along with that I guess I'm not a big fan of superstitious bullying. My mother picked up the habit from her sister. Forgive her, for she knows not what she does. Anyway, I missed her email about the cookout.

It was a nice gathering. Had a burger and a hot dog and wondered quietly and without much concern whether my stomach would get all riled up over the transgression. My dad had roasted some peppers and they made a fine addition to the burger and dog.

Our small group ate in the dining room and as we ate, my mother confessed that she was glad in a way that my sister and her family didn't come because this way she'd be able to spend some quality time with her son without all the commotion that children invariably create.

Last night I watched a couple of episodes of Dexter with Janelle. Despite still being at the beginning of Season 4, we both know how the season ends thanks to the Dexter fan page on Facebook. The news that blew everyone away a few months ago and that I did everything in my power to avoid, is now known to both of us. Fuck you, Dexter fan page. Really.
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Spira thinks Melanie and I would make a good couple. Perhaps. I don't disagree, but how can I know at this stage if that it is so?I thought about it before, but not too deeply. There was definitely some kind of chemistry and other indications, which I won't go into here, not yet, at least, but the odds of anything happening seemed pretty slim, particularly because she had just started seeing someone during our camping trip. According to Spira, though, that wasn't going anywhere. I guess we'll see. I'm not banking on it and am keeping my options, such as they are, open. It's not an unpleasant way to be.

Might watch A Prophet tonight. Maybe a second viewing of Army of Shadows or The White Ribbon instead. Maybe none of the above. Again, options are being kept open.

I went for a run earlier today. Beautiful day for one. I needed it. The weekend screwed up my exercise routines, which is to say I abstained from doing any, and I probably ate more cheese than I have in the last three months, thanks to party leftovers. So, yes, the run was needed.