What kind of heart would a blind man choose?

A great dinner last night. For Spira's birthday, we ate at Zygomates in Boston. Oysters (which I enjoyed for a change), wine, lobster crepe, poached salmon (the best I've ever had), and some lemon pound cake for dessert. Good times.

Today, I make the Open Studios rounds. Will probably go to Vernon street first and see Mara. And then maybe off to Spira and Melanie's studio to take a peek. The Bruins are on at three; there's a good chance I meet up with Scott, who came down last night to visit Foley, to watch it. We'll see.

I'm a little sleepy. Did I get enough sleep? Yes, I did. I'm just a layabout right now. Need to get moving. It's a nice, cool day. I should be outside. Funny, I went downstairs earlier and saw that our front door was wide open. Zico was on the porch, so I figured Janelle was the culprit. I also noticed a balloon hanging from a street sign in front of our house. Because people hang balloons in front of their houses for Open Studios, I wondered if people would think we were hosting, especially given the fact that our doors were open invitingly. Sure enough, not two minutes later, a couple come in the house, hoping to see our art. Well, all they got to see was me walking around in shorts with a serious case of bed head.

Okay, off to the races.

I'm hot and I'm young and I'm running free, a little bit better than it used to be

With Nathan Horton's goal, the Bruins have beaten the Canadiens in sudden death overtime. In game seven. You cannot ask for anything more thrilling as a sports fan. When it happened, my entire body reacted in a forceful "Yaaahhhh!!". Yet, I was kind of detached, which was the direct result of a little speech I had given myself about not letting the game dictate my moods. One year, when the Patriots lost to the Colts in a playoff game I felt they should have won, I brooded over it afterward on the walk back to my house. My body was tense and my mood was foul. I snapped out of it in a moment of satori, coming to the realization that there was no need for this. It wasn't me who lost the game. I've never even been that big a fan of football. Ever since, I've done my best, and succeeded, at not getting too caught up in sports.

I could go on, but it's late and I'm tired. Not a proper post, perhaps, but it's something (Don't tell anyone, but I get paid ten cents a word and I gots to get paid. My baby needs diapers.). Today's run was lethargic. I blame the warm temperature. Anyway, I need some sleep. Peace!

Jenny came by on her way, said she had a lot to say

A week since my last post, but I've been writing; just haven't published anything. I have something in the works I'll tell you about when the time is right. I just know y0u're going to love it!

No point trying to catch up on things right now. The Bruins are battling Montreal in game 6 of their playoff match up, and I'd like to devote some quality time to watching it, something I've not been terribly successful at thus far in the series. This post is just a quick hello to let you know I'm still among the living. Perhaps tomorrow I'll present a more detailed one.

Before I go, allow me to express how thrilled I've been with HBO's Game of Thrones series. Based on George R.R. Martin's epic work, A Song of Ice and Fire, the show delivers on all fronts. So far, at least. The books are the best I've ever read and the fact that the show renders them so effectively is quite a feat. HBO, once again, has brought the ruckus.

Ok, off to watch the B's. I have a suspicion they'll lose this one, but what do I know.

My sweet Melissa

The Celtics/Knicks game is on as I write this. It's game two of the first round of the playoffs. The C's are up a game and should be killing the Knicks tonight, but they're barely holding a lead. Oh, well. I only note the game is on because I will probably be distracted from time to time and, as a result, this post may be choppy.

This past weekend will not go down as one of my favorites, but it could have been worse. I hung out with Mara Saturday night. We ordered dinner in and watched Never Let Me Go. Good seeing her; it had been a while.

Sunday found me in a poor state. I had a lot on my mind and was feeling lousy about recent developments and how they bode for the future. Some time after noon, I saw that I had a text from Sandy. Missy had just been attacked by another dog and she was at the animal hospital.

I called her, but she didn't pick up. There was nothing for it but to go into Boston and join her. As I was figuring out a game plan, Janelle arrived home. We headed to the hospital. Midway there, Sandy called me and said they had sent her home. They were taking X rays, followed by some surgery. They told her she'd find it too depressing seeing all the injured and sick animals being brought in while she waited.

We met Sandy at her place. She was upset, but composed. She told us what had happened. Earlier in the day, she took Missy to a dog park they had recently discovered only to find it was closed. She decided to go to another one she knew about, but she wasn't sure exactly where it was. There was a woman nearby training her dog; Sandy, with Missy on her leash, approached her with the intention of finding out if she knew where this other dog park was.

When she got within a few feet of the woman and her dog (a Belgian Shepard, similar to the German Shepard) the dog pounced on Missy and proceeded to maul her. Sandy, in a panic, screamed at the woman to pull her dog away. Finally, the dog heeded the woman's commands and pulled away from Missy.

Sandy immediately brought Missy, who was able to walk, to her car. She worked it out with the woman to meet at the hospital, which, thankfully was nearby (Actually, she tried another place before the hospital, but this isn't a police report, so forgive me if I miss a couple of things). At the hospital, Sandy was told they couldn't admit Missy without a down payment of $2,500. She didn't have that kind of money available to her then, but fortunately the woman who owned the dog that attacked Missy had the money. It was about an hour before they took Missy in to be looked at. Out of anything that happened that day, I think that pissed me off the most.

Back at Sandy's, Janelle and I kept her company while we awaited word from the hospital. We were confident she was going to be alright, but our fingers were crossed. As the day went by, Janelle left for to do some work at home with the intention of coming back later. Around eight, we got the call from the hospital: Missy could come home.

At the hospital, we had to wait a while. They needed to take the IV out of Missy and had to wait for it to drain. Plus, she was still woozy from the anesthesia. While we waited, I understood why they had sent Sandy home earlier. It was a sad thing to behold, all the animals being brought in, some in rough shape.

Finally, Missy was brought out to us. She was limping and wearing a cone. Seeing her injuries, I welled up with tears. That dog really went to town on her. We brought her out to the car, but had difficulties getting her in the back seat. We took the cone off and then she was able to hobble into the back seat. I held her on the way home.

It's been a couple of days and Missy is recuperating. I visited her yesterday and she was in much better spirits. Today, she is even better. What a sweet girl. I love her.

When it blows it stacks

This was a week that wasn't so bad on the surface, but it was tainted in the belly with grim occurrences. All around me - my own, my friend's. Today was the worst day of the week. My Friday began innocently enough, but it ended with me having to process a bunch of shit.

Part of the fun was commuting all over the place in oppressive long weekend traffic. Went to my paren'ts house after work - that part of the day was good - and came home around nine, spent and beaten down. To cap it all off, Janelle informed me she's moving out. I should have stayed the fuck in bed today. Ah, one thing at a time, one thing at a time.

Life grows steadily worse, slowly. I don't like stating that, but it feels that way. Hopefully, and I use that word little conviction, this is a signal of better times to come. I'm about ready for a turnaround. Something good, because frankly, I'm just about done.

Nowadays a woman's gotta hit a man

Had trouble sleeping last night, which is extremely rare. I should have been out like a light, but I kept waking up. I had a dream involving meeting my soul mate in the middle of a Red Dawn-like scenario. Must have been the Greek salad I had for dinner.

Yesterday, I power walked into Harvard Square and enjoyed the fine day. I wasn't home five minutes when Spira picked me up for our trip to the beach with Missy, the dog. It was a fun time, especially watching Missy run around all crazy-like and splashing in the waves. On the way home, we came within inches of slamming into a tow truck that had stopped suddenly. It was one of those moments you see in a lame comedy when the passengers scream "Ohhhhhhhhh Shhhiiiiiiiittttt!" in unison, except we didn't say a word. Spira thrust her arm out in a protective gesture as it all happened, which I found to be equally touching and humorous. "So you do care about me, after all", I should have said. It would have been hilllariouuuusss!

I spent almost my entire day in Salem at the registry and at Probate court. The people at the registry are always very friendly and helpful; today was no exception. Some of the people at Probate, however......well, lets leave that unpleasantness on the cutting room floor.

Two movies to watch from Netflix: Never Let Me Go and Cowards Bend The Knee. Maybe I'll get to one of them tonight. The other day I watched Tilda Swinton bring the ruckus in Julia. A fantastic movie that got almost zero attention when it came out last year. A shame.

Me tired. Me go.

Someone's had too much to think

A few years ago, I started noticing teenage girls wearing AC/DC t-shirts. These were not your garden variety rock tees; no, these were tailor made for young girls. Some had the band's logo encrusted with glitter, some were pink, none displayed tour dates or anything else other than the name of the band. A strange sight. If you know anything about AC/DC, you know their lyrics tend toward the misogynist and, consequently, their fan base is comprised of mostly men.

So, were all these teenage girls wearing these shirts to be ironic? I am certain they weren't. I doubt they had even heard of AC/DC. I bet if the parents of these girls had heard songs like "Sink The Pink", or "Squealer", they might have reconsidered their daughter's fashion choice (Then again, they may not have minded so much. The misogyny of AC/DC is quaint compared to that of much of the hip hop kids are listening to. Where AC/DC and bands of their ilk veiled theirs with double entendres and innuendo, many hip hop artists do so blatantly.)

I have no idea who engineered the marketing of this t shirt trend, but it seems kind of random, which I like to a degree, but am also unsettled by. I'm waiting for the day senior citizens start wearing Justin Bieber shirts. Actually, I'd rather see Noam Chomsky wearing a WWE tee.

This got me thinking about how we're all a bunch of walking billboards. The degrees in which this occurs varies, but it's almost impossible not to wear an article of clothing that serves as an advertisement of some kind. And many of us wear clothing for that specific purpose. Back to AC/DC. Most people wearing their hats or shirts or buttons are doing so to promote the band at the same time they're promoting themselves liking the band. Or to be ironic. Since the majority of the girls wearing the AC/DC shirts have probably not heard, or heard of, the band, none of the above logic fits. So why are they wearing these shirts? "Uh, cuz they're like cool."

Fair enough.

I used to wear rock t-shirts a lot when I was a kid. I used to get them at the flea market my mother would take me to on Sundays. I had some cool ones. I'll never forget my Ozzy baseball tee, with the cover of "Diary of A Madman" on the front. Now, was I doing my part in promoting Ozzy, spreading the word about his dark brand of hard rock? Hell, no - I just wanted other kids to see how cool I was for being a fan of his. If, as a result of this, more people became fans of Ozzy, then so be it, but it certainly wasn't my intention.

I used to work with a guy at that crazy warehouse I've written about who wore Green Bay Packers shirts and hats every single day. From head to toe, he'd be bedecked in Packer memorabilia. For him, I believe this shock and awe ad campaign was more totemistic than anything else. He was such a fan of the team, so invested in how they performed, and superstitious, he believed he was helping the team by draping himself with their junk. I think a lot of sports fans do the same.

With your average sports fan who walks around advertising a team on their clothing, I think the reasoning for this behavior can be multifold and broken down thusly: 1. As a totem of the transferred pleasure they derive from the team 2. As a totem that carries lucky mojo for the team's success 3. To generate conversation/feel part of something bigger than yourself ("No way, dude! You like the Red Sox, too? I thought I was the only one out there!") 4. To spread the word 5. Hey, you've gotta wear something.

These days, the only conscious advertising I wear is the Celtics hat I own. My reasons for the purchase encompass No's. 1 and 5 in the above paragraph. As a by product, if someone approaches me, preferably an attractive woman who's into epic fantasy novels, Werner Herzog, and long walks on the beach, and strikes up a conversation about the team, then great. And then we'll start dating and, later on we'll get married and have matching Celtics tattoos on our arms as a sign of our love for each other and, more importantly, the team.

Her eyes are a blue million miles

A day spent traveling. I did work at the registries in Salem, Lawrence, and Nashua. In my car, I listened to sports radio. We have two stations and both were annoying me, so I opted for some music (For some reason, while driving, I seem to prefer listening to people talk over listening to music, even though most of the time the talk I'm hearing is not intriguing and offensive to me on some level. Guess I get lonely and need some company).

It never ceases to amaze me how caught up people get in sports. The Red Sox have played only three games of a verrrrryyyyyyyy long season and many of their fans, at least the ones calling in to the radio stations, are in a near, if not total, panic. The tension in their voices was palpable as I listened today.

"Ya gotta fy-ah Tito! He's gonna bring tha whole thing down!"

" Three games! They caann't even win three frickin' games! Season ovah!"

As I drove, I wondered why anyone would want to live like that. Rarely happy, often miserable. The Celtics lose a game and it's "They shouldn't have traded Perk! Danny blew their playoff chances!" Similar for the Bruins and Patriots. It's the same with every sport, though I think the pathos is heightened in baseball fans, particularly those who follow the Red Sox or Yankees. They're a different, manic, breed. They annoy me more than fans of other sports, probably because I'm not that into baseball, and share not a whit their silly worries or concerns. Ah, let 'em have their "fun", Kevin. If they really bother you that much, you should listen to more NPR.

Good point.
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Practiced yoga after work. Good session. I pushed myself without being too rigid and worked on my breathing. I was going to go for a run, but the rain changed everything. I'll go for a run tomorrow, even if it's raining. You'll see.

Maddin's Dracula: Pages From A Virgin's Diary was fantastic. The incorporation of ballet into Maddin's film style was something to behold. I can assure you you've never seen the story of Dracula told in such a way. Whenever I watch one of his films I'm inspired to create. Inspired, I say!

Tonight's play list includes Roy Harper, Woods, Brian Eno, Grateful Dead, Journey, Deer Hunter, Sleater-Kinney, Captain Beefheart, Supertramp, Los Lobos, St. Vincent, Aerosmith (Last Child, Back In The Saddle. Hell, yeah!), Laura Nyro, Roky Erikson, and Kraftwerk. I put it together quickly. We'll see how it gels.

Today flew by, but it was a touch draining. I managed to squeeze in some grocery shopping between registries and by the time I got home, I was a bit mentally fatigued. Some cuddle time with Pooch Edward Bottoms followed by yoga and a delicious and nutritious dinner of chicken thighs, mixed greens, and roasted zucchini, squash, and sweet potatoes, did the trick in rejuvenating me. I'm getting sleepy now, though, despite the coffee I'm drinking. Fading, fading, fading....

You thought the leaden winter would bring you down forever, but you rode upon a steamer to the violence of the sun

Talked with my sister yesterday. We've been out of touch since Christmas. These things happen; we were both startled, however, at how the months flew by. It was good catching up with her. She told me about the mild agoraphopia she's developed. I was a little disturbed at the news, but not terribly surprised. After all, I've had my own issues with panic disorder. We both agreed that her recognizing what's been happening is a significant step toward recovery. These matters must be nipped in the bud early on else they grow into a thing of colossal horrors. I know of what I speak.

I got to thinking about my family history and how it relates to both my sister and I having issues with anxiety. In many ways, I feel mine are mostly behind me, but I still have to contend with its subtle gossamer vines just about every day of my life. I hope, having gone through something similar, I'll be able to help my sister out some. I hope I can, because going through that on my own was not a Sunday picnic. Let me clarify: I didn't go through it alone in the sense that I didn't have support, but no one I knew had a frame of reference for what I was going through.
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Finished watching the only season of John: From Cincinnati last night. Milch was bold with this series. He left behind one of the greatest shows ever in Deadwood to develop one about the son of God influencing members of a surfing community. That kind of describes it, but it sounds too definitive and, if I really spent some time thinking about it, off the mark. That's what was cool about the show and also why it was vexing. There were moments throughout the season, and there were more than a few, that were sublime. David Milch is one of our great writer/thinkers and, even at it's worst, the show was pretty good, if only because it was so ambitious. I've not been one to take too many chances, but I admire people that do.

The show's weaknesses can be found in the acting, the characters, and the unfortunate outcome of being canceled. Concerning the last, I was listening to Milch's commentary over the last episode and he said it was difficult holding back the tears as he watched. He was so invested in the show that it crushed him when it wasn't re-upped for a second season. He had framed the season with subsequent ones in mind. This accounts for most, if not all, of the loose ends left behind.

The acting was uneven. There were some great actors on the show and some mediocre ones. Hmm...let me revise my assessment a touch. Now that I think of it, most of the actors were skilled; only a couple were poor (I learned later that they had never acted before ). I think the problem was even the good actors had trouble with some of the dialog. Which, I guess makes their acting not so good if they can't figure out a way to make the lines work. You gotta blame Milch, too, though. He wrote the stuff. Anywaaaaaaaay, some of the dialog came off flat. Tell you what, though: Ed O'neill sold every single line that came out of his mouth. Some of his monologues were exquisite to behold.

The characterization was another thing I think could have been better. I found it difficult relating to most of the characters. Of course, I didn't grow up in a small surfing community. Shouldn't matter, though: if the characters are believable and sympathetic, it doesn't matter where the story takes place.

Would I watch the show again? Most definitely. I have a strong suspicion that it will get better with subsequent viewings.
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Trying to be positive today, but it's been a battle. The fact that it's Monday and rainy hasn't made it easy. I'm doing my best. That's all I can do. Think I might watch Guy Maddin's Dracula. It's a ballet. Should be interesting.

We'll know for the first time if we're evil or divine, we're the last in line

Sunday. It's late morning and I'm not fully awake. With that in mind, please forgive any transgressions I may commit in this state. We'll forge ahead, you and I, and see where this post takes us. It will be fine. Take my hand...

Yawn.

Last night was Spira and Melanie's opening for their art exhibit. I had a lot of fun. Pretty women, great conversations, laughs, music, tasty food and drink. And let's not forget the most essential aspect of the evening: the art (and Missy, the dog, too, but let's stay on point). Spira, with her latest batch of paintings, has evolved substantially, which is not to suggest her previous work was mediocre. Not at all. I'm proud of her. And fortunate to witness her growth first hand. I remember when she first started painting years ago. She's come a long way. And Melanie, too, produced some fine work that was on display last night. Always nice attending an exhibit with art you actually enjoying looking at. Not always the case. I've been to enough Open Studios to be able to say that with a certainty.

Yawn.

Melanie's husband, Jim, DJ'd the event and Pam provided the catering. I focused on the beer and didn't each much, mostly because I had eaten dinner prior to coming, and also because I was afraid if I got started, got the taste of blood, so to speak, I would have foregone being social altogether. What I'm trying to convey is that there was a lot of tasty food on hand. (This paragraph was tougher than is should have been. A product of my fatigue? Maybe, but for us there is no sleep 'til Brooklyn. We forge ahead.)

Conversations. Had some fine ones with Allie, Pat, Evan (a comedian who talks to himself via TV monitors), Cup Head (a moniker I anointed this guy with because, well, he wore a cup on his bald head all night and because I never learned his proper name. Interesting cat, no one really knew much about him beyond the fact that he shows up at all the openings around the city), Jim, Sean, Spira,......you get the idea. Many conversations, good times.

I stayed to the end and helped clean up. Pat and I discussed playing music together, a discussion we always have when we see each other, but never follow through with. Maybe we will this time. At night's end, those of us remaining parted ways and headed home. I gave Pat and Allie a ride home and afterward I cried rivers of tears into my pillow. Tears of rage, tears of regret, tears of joy, tears of terror - the whole shebang. I'm still crying now. Maybe I should take an Advil, or something.

Made a quick playlist before beginning this post that, despite the small amount of thought that went into its creation, has thus proved to be a seamless one. Let's see, I've got some Deer Hunter, Queen, Humble Pie, Jay Reatard, Grizzly Bear, Rage Against The Machine, Dio (Last In Line, baby!), Swell Maps, Joy Division, and Mother Love Bone (Chloe Dancer, maybe their only good song). So far, so good.

Here's an idea I'd like to pursue. It goes like this: Assemble a group of people together and read passages from your favorite books. From any genre, as long as it works as a stand alone. I got the idea while reading from a Chuck Klosterman book. Some writing begs to be read aloud. Anyway, if this idea pans out, all involved will become even more superior to the Jersey Shore watching minions we live amongst (Of course, if someone elects to read from Snookie's book, "A Shore Thing", I'll have to reassess that claim).

Chloe Dancer is playing. Beautiful song, conjures up the past in bittersweet tones. We must not dwell there, we must not. Now, there is only now. Still, those were some times, they were.

I think my breakfast has digested enough for me to get ready for some yoga. You know what that means; I'm out this piece, son!

She was looking like an erotic vulture

Ahhh...Friday. Kind of a shitty day, weather-wise. Snow and slush and clouds and slop. No good, no good. Well, maybe Spring will arrive some day. Otherwise, today was alright, despite the fact that I had to go to the same registry twice. It was also Therese's last day. She will be missed.

In the car, driving to Lawrence for the second time, I vented some anger. Not so much at the pain in the ass the trip was, but in general. It's happened before, I've been keeping an eye on it. Small, arbitrary outbursts and not frequent, but still, you've got to keep an eye on this stuff. I practiced yoga when I got home. It didn't erase what happened, but served as a counterbalance. I've been practicing for a few years now and I'm constantly learning something new.

Saw Mara last night. I hadn't seen her in months. Time, it does fly. It was good seeing her. We watched 2012, which didn't do much for either of us. And it was almost three hours long! Lameness. I left around eleven wondering how our relationship will pan out. Will we maintain a closeness or will we drift apart? Who knows - I didn't dwell on it too long.

This week found me thinking a lot about the LW situation and it's ramifications. I'm pretty sure I figured out some things about how and why it went down and it makes me question certain other friendships. That's all I'm saying on the matter. I pledged in an earlier post I would not return to this subject and I mean to stick to it for as long as makes sense. Anyway, there was some soul searching and I came out the other end having come to terms with some stuff. Ready to move on.

There is more, but I've got stuff to do. Been really working at becoming a better musician. What else am I gonna do? Watch John From Cincinnati? Well, now that I mention it.....