Oh! You Pretty Things

Lots of writing, lots of yoga, lots of meditating. No wonder I've been feeling good. I've been researching sensory deprivation tanks and will probably visit one in the coming days. Without taking any psychedelics, I'll be able to trip my balls off. Of course, my intent is purely educational - I'm not looking for kicks. Rae is on board, possibly Spira. Any other takers? Will cost about fifty smackers for an hour in the tank. I'll have to save up.

If you don't know anything about sensory deprivation tanks, the idea is this: you climb into a tank of water that's the same temperature as your skin and packed with epsom salt so you become extremely buoyant, put in a pair of ear plugs, and close the lid to the tank. Once that's accomplished, you're bereft of your senses. It's pitch black, you can't hear a thing, and you feel like you're floating in the cosmos. The ego can't function here and what's left is some deep meditation. Very therapeutic, I hear, and quite a trip.
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It's safe to say I'm fine with my decision to not go camping. It's Wednesday, and everyone who went is still stuck in Vermont due to the damage caused by Irene. Man, of all the weekends to go....

I can see how their prolonged stay could be a good thing. If they had shitty weather leading up to the storm and they came home the day of the storm or soon after, a good chunk of their trip would have been less than ideal weather-wise. I have it on good authority that, despite being stuck where they are, the weather has improved greatly, which means they're finally experiencing ideal conditions. Plus, when nature makes it impossible for you to get back to the "real" world, you can really relax into your situation, guilt free. Really? I get to camp with my friends a few more days and not have to go to work?

I don't know their situation. I'm assuming they're camping out, but for all I know, their tents were destroyed during the storm and they've been sleeping in some farmer's hay loft. And, while getting to extend your vacation is a cool concept, they're still missing out on getting paid. So, of course it could be a shitty time. I'm guessing the trip has had its ups and downs. The sweet and the sour. Craig and I had talked about an autumn camping trip. If I were a betting man, I'd wager he might not be up for that trip.

I spent several hours working on lyrics for a song that doesn't require many. I'm impressed with my discipline in this regard; while I'm usually more or less satisfied with the final product, writing lyrics is often a chore for me. I didn't finish the song - I hope to tonight - but I made some headway. I should go listen to Leonard Cohen and Bob Dylan for inspiration. Or go the Chris Cornell route: he's said in the past that when he's uninspired, he'll pull out the CD booklet of Captain Beefheart's Trout Mask Replica and read the lyrics. Maybe I'll follow suit. Anyway, this song is one I really like, with some of my favorite harmonies. They remind me of Joni Mitchell.

Re-reading John Keel's Mothman Prophecies. Fuckin' good book! I'm also back to my Wheel of Time re-read. Just about finished The Shadow Rising. Only about eight more massive books until I'm caught up.

I'm out, bitches!

Listen, a woman with a bull dozer built this house of love

The wind it gusts and the rain in falls, but so far Hurricane Irene has been gentle with us. Hope it remains that way; we've still got a ways to go.

On Friday, I went to Jim's mother's wake after work. She died unexpectedly and the disbelief and sorrow was evident on every one's faces. Jim had just gotten married only several days before. You just never know.

Glad I didn't go camping this weekend with the weather being the way it was, although I have no idea how it was up in Vermont - could have been ideal - but the risk of it being shitty for at least a good portion of the time was pretty high. Hope those that went escaped the effects of Irene.

Wrote and recorded a song over the course of the last few days and I'm not sure what I think of the final product. Perhaps it could have been longer, maybe the vocals could be different. I need some space from it and then I'll decide what to do.

Between you and me, I'm not in the mood to be writing, so I'm going to bail out and do other things. I may work on music, finish watching The Red Shoes, maybe re-watch 13 Assassins because it rocked so hard, do some reading. Maybe all of these things. If the power stays on, I'll be able.

This is a song Charles Manson stole from the Beatles, we're stealing it back

Heard some sad news about my friend's mother passing away. She was a sweet woman. Seems lately death has been in my periphery. On at least two occasions, a friend of some of my friends has died. And then there's the spate of pet deaths....Ah, let's move on; I'm not about depressing you or me this fine summer day.

After watching Bill Maher's Religulous the other day, I'm even more distressed by religion's predominance in politics, particularly on the right, and even more particularly in the Tea Party. And when religion has a voice in politics, you can bet it's of the greasy kind.

Wrote a pretty song the other night that I've been thinking about a lot. The trick of it is going to be the lyrics. I need to get them right; they will be at the forefront. I will probably only record one track of guitar behind it and add little else. I'm itching to get at it.

Trying to work it out so I can go camping this weekend, but it doesn't look like it will be in the stars. We'll see. My only consolation is that Sunday looks to be a shitty day weather-wise. If I don't go, I will try to get something together in a week or two.

I posed this question to myself today: If Super Bowl Sunday was considered a holiday, would it be the most popular? My answer: Hell, yes. And, for the record, for all intents and purposes, Super Bowl Sunday is a holiday. And, it's the most effective; no other holiday sedates the masses quite like this one.

Or something like that.

She don't care no more, she gets paid on Friday

A bit of tiring day. Moved stuff around at work - filing cabinets, tables, a safe - and went grocery shopping afterward. My ride home was marred by a terrific amount of traffic. Frustrating. And even more frustrating was the phone call I had with a friend who thought we made concrete plans tonight when it was my assertion that we didn't. Put me in a conflicted kind of mood.

I'll probably work on music tonight. Been listening a lot to the songs I put down last week. I like them quite a bit. Some are more unpolished than others, to be sure, but I really like the songs themselves.

My experiment of sending songs to people was not a rousing success. My main intent was to send Scott songs because we'll be working on them together soon, but I figured I'd send a few to select others who I thought might enjoy them. One person responded.

Look, I wasn't expecting a cavalry of immediate praise; acknowledgement of receipt would have sufficed. "Hey, got the file" would have been better than the wall of silence I was met with. I'll be writing songs whether these people give a shit or not, but isn't it bad form to not even acknowledge the fact that someone shared a piece of himself with you? And it's not like I'm a ceaseless self-promoter, hawking my wares to all and sundry ad infinitum. As a confident and viable songwriter, I should probably be doing more of that, but I don't. In other words, It's rare that I share music with people and when I do it has more significance than if I was doing so constantly. Or something like that.

Artists are in a tricky position. On one hand you have to be sensitive in order to create effectively, on the other you have to be thick-skinned when facing the scrutiny of the public. Music is one of the few aspects of my life that I feel I'm adept at and make it mostly for the sheer pleasure of it. Yet, it's nice to get feedback, to be acknowledged.

I feel like I spend a lot of time supporting other people's endeavors. I'm not always successful at this and, despite my efforts, some may feel I've fallen short in that regard. I don't know, but I do know that I hardly extend myself to others. I kind of hate what I'm about to write because it sounds real fucking whiny, but there are only a couple of people that are close with me who show an interest in my life. You know, something along the lines of, "So, what have you been up to?".

To be frank, I'm okay with that most of the time because my life as constituted isn't chock full of exciting events (which is why I keep a blog - ha!). It really doesn't bother me that much, especially because I know my friends do care about me, but it does bother me when I share something I'm proud of and put care into and get zero response. It's rude and dismissive. Maybe I need perspective.

In the end, it doesn't really matter. I'm going to continue making music and there will be people who like it and there will be people who don't. There will be still others who are indifferent. It doesn't matter. It's all subjective anyway.

For the record, I'm not angry at anyone, but I am disappointed. It's a dangerous game to expect people to respond the way you'd like them to respond. That road is fraught with bad tidings. So, on the heels of this silence, I'm left wondering if the non-responders even listened to the songs. Maybe they couldn't be bothered. Or maybe they listened to the songs and hated them and didn't want to tell me. Or, better yet, maybe they're so in love with the songs that they feel like they need to avoid responding via email and instead sit down for a lengthy pow wow and go over all the wonderful things I created. Could it be that my songs had such a powerful effect on them that they were rendered speechless and unable to function in any other way? It's happened to me before. When I first heard "If I Had A Million Dollars", I was a drooling gimp for a month. Of course that wasn't the result of me enjoying the song.

I'm going to go make music and you can rest assured I will not be sending any of it to anyone barring Scott and maaayyybbeeee one or two select people. The rest can go fuck themselves.

Did I just say that. Seems I did. Ha!

And I wish I'd listened to the words you said

Went to bed too late last night (around two-ish) and woke up at four a.m. wide awake. I had a ton of energy for some reason. Wasn't stressed or anything, just wide awake. Don't recall when I fell back asleep, but when my alarm went off I nearly slept through it, something I never do. So, yeah, I'm rather tired, but I'll manage.

Over the weekend, I figured out the business of converting songs from my recorder to my computer. And when I discovered that the format they were in (WAV) made the songs too big to send via email, I figured out how to convert the WAV files to AAC. Persistence pays off.

For the last several days, I've been writing, recording, and sending music. I think I was at it for eight or nine hours on Sunday. Being able to put song ideas on my iPod has noticeably quickened the writing process. I wrote two songs last night that only need lyrics. I recorded them, then copied them to my computer, and from there I emailed them to Scott for his perusal and put them on my iPod. I've been listening to them a lot and hope to have them finished in a day or two.

When I haven't been immersed in music, I've been doing other sexy things. I watched 13 Assassins streaming on Netflix last night. I'd been wanting to see that one since I read Roger Ebert's glowing review several months ago. Yesterday, he posted on Twitter that it was streaming on Netflix. I watched it almost immediately after reading that. Really, really good, t'was. Paid homage to Seven Samurai, one of the greatest movies of all time - in my top three, if you must know - but didn't steal. I kind of want to watch it again, it was so good.

I also finished Martin's A Dance With Dragons. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it. Clearly, it was very well written and better than almost everything else in the genre, but it didn't really grip me like the previous installments. Seemed like not much happened, but when I think back upon it, a lot happened. I think, because I'd been waiting so long for the book to come out, my expectations may have been too high. I bet, when I read the book again, I'll be able to comprehend it better. There were some mind blowing turn of events near the end. Hope I don't have to wait too long before the next installment.

Last night, as I may my way to the kitchen, I saw Ray moving things around in the dining room. I asked her what she was up to. "Oh, I'm thinking about making an obstacle course for Mike, but I'm not sure if I have enough supplies to do it." Reason number 12 why I like having Rae as a roommate.

Both of my roommates are so low maintenance and pleasant, it took me a week or two to really accept it. I kept waiting for some kind of drama, a bout of complaining, something. Nope. Not yet,at least. They are both so generous, too. I really like the dynamics of the household. The only thing that would make it better is if Janelle and Pooch Edward Bottoms still lived here. Then we'd have an all-star lineup, to be sure.

Ok, time to work on songs. I think it may be an early night, which means I'll probably stay up even later than I did last night. Oh, Kevin, you so cray-zay!

El Arbol del Olvido

An active weekend. I came home from work on Friday feeling a little beaten and defeated. My week had been a series of punches and jabs and by the end of it I was about ready to throw in the towel. But I made it, and was invigorated by friends and my own pure heart that heals faster and more efficiently than the average heart. Or something like that.

I had planned to do little on Friday night. I had been recording throughout the week, and I was eager to get back at it. Plus, the week had sapped me of energy and resourcefulness; I wasn't feeling very ambitious as far as social pursuits went.

When I got home, I hung out with Rae a little bit and my mood brightened. She invited me to attend Shakespeare In The Park at the Boston Common, but I declined because it would have entailed me leaving at that moment and I still hadn't eaten.

Later, I sat down for some recording and was fairly productive. I talked with Craig on the phone for a little bit and then Fred invited me to come outside and partake in the barbecue he and some friends were having. I accepted. Hey, when someone offers you beer and burgers and steak and beer and bratwurst and beer and hot dogs and chips and beer and corn on the cob and potato salad, you cannot say no. It's in the Constitution somewhere. Ah, but these days the Constitution has as much value as a coffee-stained diner napkin (Like how I injected a bit of politics? Huh? Pretty cool, that, no?)

I did join the festivities, but only briefly. Foley had called after I spoke with Fred and I ended up walking over to his house. We had some beers and smoke and listened to and talked about music, among other things. He played me some stuff he'd been recording with Scott, which was impressive, and then we talked about the flexible nature of time and how to use it to your advantage. And then...well, it was getting late so I walked home.

Yesterday, I recorded, watched Mad Men, read, and then headed over to Spira's. When I got there, we stopped over Jonathan and Viboo's place for some authentic Indian chai and conversation. I'd met them before and liked them right away. Until I found out they were....gay! Nah, it was cool hanging out with a gay couple because I rarely get to do so. Also in attendance was their friend, Becca, who had just returned from living in England for several years.

We went for dinner at Life Alive, a fantastic and ultra-affordable vegan restaurant in Cambridge. I got a dish called The Emperor that consisted of corn, broccoli, raw almonds, whey, avocado, beans, and cheddar cheese, over brown rice and drizzled with soy sauce. We stayed there for a couple of hours. And the music they played was top of the shelf. We heard Sufjan Stevens, God Speed You Black Emperor, Tom Waits, and a bunch of other stuff that made me feel all warm inside.

It was a great time and I liked meeting Becca. I might hunt her down on Facebook. We'll see. After dinner, Spira and I went back to her place and watched Enter The Void. I came home around one thirty and listened to a Ted Gunderson interview, falling asleep midway through.

Today. I might finish A Dance With Dragons. I'm on the last chapter and am a little hesitant about finishing it because I know I'll probably have to wait another five or six years for the next installment. By that time, Michelle Bachman will probably be President (Yes, it's possible - our dumb-ass citizens gave W. two terms, after all).

And some recording will probably happen. Who knows? The day is a blank slate.

You mute my fears when you talk close to my ear

I probably shouldn't be doing this. I'm not in the best of moods; I'm frustrated with how shitty my recording went tonight, among other things. You know what I feel like? You wouldn't, that's why I'm going to enlighten you. I feel like I'm in Purgatory. Not in the biblical sense, but as a descriptor of the current state of my life. I've reported before that things have been trending towards the shitty, and they have been, but life has also thrown in some bright spots. Purgatory? Oh, I don't know. I'm just frustrated and probably shouldn't be doing this.

But....

But I'm still here for some reason. Frustrated, fed up, angry, resigned. I should be recording or doing something else. Like jumping off a fucking bridge. Best idea I've had all night.

Post script. I returned to recording. It wasn't as bad as I made it out to be, but it needed work. So I worked at it. And it sounds better, but still could use some work. It's okay, it shows I take a level of pride in my music. Maybe I'll post my output here, but I'm not quite sure how to do it.

Leaving the things that are real behind

Today I did things like walk into an elderly woman, fret over money (can you say insufficient funds?), practice yoga (a much needed session), hang out with Rae and talk about stuff, and much, much more. And the day ain't over yet! I hope to do some writing and recording later and fit in an episode of Mad Men or two. Will I troll the Internet looking at porn, as well? You know, now that you mention it, that might be a good idea.

I suppose I should elaborate on this walking into an elderly woman business. I was exiting the rest room at work and I did so in a hurried manner, for no reason other than I sometimes like to hustle. I was looking to my left as I headed to my right and, BLAMMO!, I walked right into the above-mentioned woman. I apologized profusely, but she was pretty sore with me. "You should watch where you're going", she said. What great advice! In the future, I shall endeavor to pay attention to my surroundings when I'm mobile, so that if I ever come upon this woman again, I'll be able to see her before I spit in her face. What? Did I say that? No, I never would. My pure heart prevents such atrocities. And what am I all riled up about, anyway? I probably would have said the same thing if it was the other way around.

So the world feels like it's fucked. Is that a pessimistic view or does it have the flavor of being on the money? Riots, stock market bullshit, unemployment, Rapture-addled politicians, people wearing Crocs with impunity .....Stop the ride! But wait, 2012 is soon upon us and I may get my wish. May you live in interesting times is right!

Nighty night, dearies.

Sprinkled all my kisses on your head

Just got back from the laundromat, where I read some Sherlock Holmes and watched the pretty ladies walk by. Now I'm here before you, with a warm mug of coffee, ready to confess my sins. Hold tight, readers, they are legion.

Is having dreadful sex a sin? If it is, then I'm on the highway to hell. It was the worst I ever had, probably worse than any you've ever had. It was so bad I feel like I'm being fraudulent qualifying it as sex. I'm not about to name names - my initials are not TMZ - but this person should probably read a manual on the subject. I won't say anymore short of adding that I likely would have had a better time with a cadaver. As rigid as a fire poker, she was, but without the occasional warmth. I don't care how long I go without, I will never again engage in such sub par carnality. And, whatever state my self esteem is in notwithstanding, this fiasco had nothing to do with me. I'm being serious. Why are you laughing?

Went to my parent's house after work yesterday. Hadn't seen them in a while. A nice visit, but it's always bittersweet when I leave. I grew up in that house; sometimes it seems like it was yesterday, other times my memories have a faraway, dream-like quality. My parent's are aging and sometimes a part of me desperately wants to to stop it from happening, to freeze everything. I don't heed that part of me, because it's a slippery slope.

Maybe some recording tonight. I finally figured out how to convert mixes to wave files so, who knows, I may even post some songs on this here site. And, if you're not repulsed by music, you may even listen.

Peace.

But if you stay, I'll make you a day, like no day has been

I could have slept past noon, I think, but I felt I would have regretted that outcome and summoned the will to depart my bed around eleven. I was having vivid dreams all morning; two I remember.

The first involved the police being at my house for a reason never revealed. A young female officer was in charge of watching over me while other matters were settled. Our relationship deepened rapidly and we were practically in love by the time they left.There were several odd comedic moments when she would threaten to arrest me and I would just gaze lovingly in her eyes like a dopey pup, swooning through her authority over me.

I think this dream may have been generated from my offhand comment to Craig last night about not being terribly adverse to the idea of a girlfriend who takes a hand in my affairs and makes sure I don't stray from my commitments. I included the caveat that said role would have to be tempered because that could get old fast, but it never hurts to accept a little guidance, particularly when your own has not often enough guided you true.

The other dream was an exercise in frustration. I was at a party in New Hampshire. It was late afternoon and I was having a swell ol' time. Shane announced to everyone that someone had to go pick up some recording equipment he left at the place he was at before the party. He couldn't go, he said, because he was too drunk. He looked at me. "You're the only one who's sober enough to do it", he said.

Begrudgingly, I said I'd go. I didn't want to leave the party, but I didn't want to be an asshole, either. "Where am I going?", I asked Shane. He handed me a sheet of paper with the address written on it. I studied it with dismay."Oh, North Attleboro." I had a trip ahead of me. I thought about whether I should pack a bag.

Some guy, probably an amalgam of different friends, said he'd join me for the ride after everyone else refused. We got in the car and I inserted our destination into my GPS. At least I tried to. For some reason, the usually simple procedure, had become complicated. I was irate. Round trip, the ride was going to be three hours and I couldn't even get out of the parking lot. I could hear my friends in the house singing and laughing as I grew more and more frustrated with my GPS.

And then I woke up. Good thing, because that dream was a drag.

Craig came by last night and we paid a visit to Soundbites, where Craig ate a late dinner and I contented myself with a snack of falafel. Afterward, we retired to my porch and drank beers in the breezy night air.

Yesterday, I watched a couple of episodes of Mad Men. I got weepy at the end of one of them. Don had lost his only true friend. The show is so effin good. I will watch more today.

Scott IM'd me yesterday from Hungary, where he's planning out his wedding with his fiancee, Ezter. We talked about making music upon his return. In the meantime, I've got to figure out how to convert some of the songs I've recorded to mp3s so I can send him some.

Today could be the day I finish A Dance With Dragons. If I do, it will be bittersweet, to be sure. Or maybe I'll just go back to bed and dream away the day.

Move along there bear, there, there, that's that.

Ended up watching Sonatine and Blood Simple last night. Sonatine was great. If it had been made in the states, it likely would have been a by-the-numbers, high octane action fest about a weary mob boss embroiled in a war between rival factions, but this was filmed in Japan and made by the unconventional Takeshi Kitano. Some of it was predictable, but a good chunk of it went places I would never have anticipated.

There was a section of the film where the boss and his crew are forced to hide out at a remote beach house. I expected it to be a brief sequence, but it was allowed to stretch out and encompassed a good portion of the film. Up until that point, the cast was stone-faced, not even the threat of a smile, but the stay at the beach house lightened everyone up to the point they were playing pranks on each other and engaging in mock sumo battles on the beach.

I can't say much about Blood Simple because I put it on late and kept falling asleep throughout it. I'm not entirely sure if that was due to the movie or my being tired. Maybe both. Anyway, it was the Cohen Brothers first film and I'd never seen it. And, after last night, I'm not sure that I have.

I just ate a light breakfast of a few raw almonds and a couple of slivers of smoked mozzarella cheese. Also some orange juice and coffee. I want to practice some yoga and it's never good to do so on a full stomach. Are you feeling me, brah?

Why is it that more often than not when I visit Facebook, I leave it feeling like I want to go live in a cabin for several months? It's an interesting microcosm of human interaction, to be sure, but human interaction isn't always appealing. Maybe it's just my own cynical perspective, but often when I'm on the site this is much of what I hear: "Hey, look at me! Please acknowledge me! Hey, you! LOOK AT ME!!! AT MEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

Ah, it's not that bad, you say. You're probably correct. Maybe it's just my own sour grapes that no one ever comments on the ultra-cool links I post (insert gentle sob here) and I'm lashing out. Maybe I'm the one howling "Please acknowledge me!". Could it be? Could that be the case? Sure, why not. Or, it could also be the case that I find it fucking annoying that I have to wade through knots of mewling attention-getters to get to the good stuff. I'm running out of people to block.

Why do I keep writing about Facebook? Because, as I stated before, it's an interesting microcosm of human interaction and I have little else to write about because my imagination is about the size of an atom. My heart, though, is pure and boundless.! It is everlasting and awash in glory!

Breaking news: I lost control of this post after the first paragraph and I'm going to pull out before things go FUBAR. Chalk it to the fact that I'm wool-headed from sleep and want to go practice yoga.

Now everywhere I go the women all know that I know there aint no other place to go but there

Despite it being Friday, I left work nursing a shroud of agitation. There are tangible reasons for this , but mostly I blame the large cup of coffee I had this afternoon. Got me all fiery and shit. I've since calmed down, but I've also just brewed some more coffee, so who knows what's going to happen. Maybe I should be locked in my room like Lawrence Talbot until the effects wear off. What? You're wondering who Lawrence Talbot is? Oh, lord, you better Google it. I have so much to teach you.

I'm not doing anything social tonight according to the plan I hatched earlier in the day when the plans I had in place fell through. I have it in mind to watch a movie or two and some Mad Men. I've got Takeshi Kitano's Sonatine and Jarhead all lined up. Maybe I'll go ape shit and engage in a movie marathon. Probably not, because I want to write some music and do some reading, but a boy can dream.

This morning, I awoke from a dream in which I was having a smashing good time at a party. Here's what I remember: 1. Foley running up to me and exhaling a thick cloud of smoke in my face. Rather than get cranky about it, I gave him a high five. Then I went over to Aaron and Heath and gave them high fives, too. I think I was trying to be ironic, but I can't say for sure 2. I hijacked the stereo and put on Captain Beefheart's The Spotlight Kid and everyone dug it. 3. Somehow, at this party a trial was taking place. Before it began, I made my way over to a bench in the room it was being held in and sat beside Kim, who gave me a scalp massage. Take note, friends, if I sit next to you, I expect some kind of massage 4. Someone - Scott, I recall - was recording several of the musicians at the party. I woke up before he got to me. Too bad, I was looking forward to it. Party dreams are where it's at.

Have you ever been in the situation where you've gone above and beyond for someone and someone else comes along while this is happening and does something for that person that is so insignificant that it barely deserves mention? Yet, despite your herculean efforts, the newcomer is the one who gets praised. Know what I'm talking about? You most certainly do. Ok, let's move on right the fuck out of this post.

Cheers, bitches!

For if I ever saw you, I didn't catch your name

One thing is for certain: I am fairly buzzed. About two hours ago, Fred came home with a bunch of beers and invited me to indulge in some. I obliged. We went out on the porch and were joined by Mike from upstairs. We talked about free will, Ron Paul, rock climbing, self-mutilation, and prison life, among other things. A good time, punctuated by the longest piss in recent memory.

With that, I'm going to leave you to play some music, followed by some reading, and most definitely an episode of Mad Men, which, over the course of four seasons, has been nothing short of sublime. I can't think of one misstep. So, uh, yeah, I'm going to go do stuff. As you were.

Hello Mr. Soul, I dropped by to pick up a reason

I have a muse. At least as concerns this blog. But I'm not going to explain who it is or who I think it is. All I'll say on the matter is that the individual is a reader of mine. If you think you're the one I'm referring to, and it turns out that you are, I will make you a plate of brownies if you come forward.

Made it back to Cambridge this morning for Act II of my copy-getting adventure. Went smoothly. I dealt with the same clerk, the one who ended her workday in the midst of our transaction and maintained a rigid, off the clock, stance. Being highly sophisticated and evolved, I did not hold a grudge, yet I must confess I was always at the risk of being curt with her this morning.

Went to see Spira after work and helped her out a bit. She's recovering well from her operation, but is still mostly unable to fend for herself. I think we've been getting along so well lately because we have that in common. I made us a dinner of Thai lemon curry chicken leftovers, emptied the dishwasher, fed Missy The Dog and took her out so she could rid her body of waste, and, before I left, told Spira an epic tale that started with two men fleeing the darkest and most brutal of captors and ended with one of them killing the other in the ruddy moonlight over a whispered lie.

Who wants to play some music? Me. I do.

Anon.

It's so sweet to love you darling

I finished my day at the courthouse in Cambridge and my time there was not a success. In fact, it was a bit frustrating. My intent was to purchase certified copies of several deeds. Typically a simple affair, but not today.

I arrived there a little after three and climbed the stairs to the top floor where the Plan Department resides. If there was to be any type of hassle, I figured I'd get it there. Perhaps because of their isolated perch on the top floor, these gentleman are a moody lot, prone to rudeness one day and smiles the next. Today I was treated well and I obtained my certified copy of a Plan without a hitch. Must have been the ol' pure heart that influenced them.

I made my way down a couple of floors to the copy department, which is merely a small section of the square of counters within the Recorded Land section of the registry, to get the rest of my copies. The woman behind the counter informed me that two of the copies I needed were generated from the Registered Land department because they didn't show up on her computer.

I had anticipated this scenario. Marcy had tried to look the deeds up before I left the office. They were old, went back to twenties, and probably hadn't been scanned into the system yet, but they were not from Registered Land. I tried to express as much to the clerk, but she didn't seem to hear what I was saying. It's possible she was distracted by the ever-lasting light that washes over me.

Are you still with me? Good. Hold tight. Take a swig of brandy or ice your genitalia. Get the blood pumping. We still have a ways to go, but the story improves, if only infinitesimally. So I says to her, I says "Look here, you dopey broad! I want those copies and I want them now. If you don't hand 'em over toots sweet, you'll be sleepin' with the fishes!"

We both know I didn't say any of that, chiefly because my name is not Edward G. Robinson and I am not living in the era those old deeds were culled from, but I wanted to wake you from your skimming. I demand your full attention! My ego is so fragile that I die a little bit each instance I don't receive it. You weren't skimming, you say ? I'll take your word for it until I see you face to face. The eyes speak only truth.

After minutes of conferring with a coworker, the copy clerk informed me I needed to go down to the basement and pull the books the two older deeds were in, make copies, and then bring them back up to her to be certified. I was not surprised at this development, but nor was I tickled pink by the inconvenience it was about to cause. I told the clerk, who had already printed and certified the other deeds I needed, that I'd be back in a few minutes with the copies. (I would be remiss if I didn't clarify my mental state and this is as good a place as any to pull over, so please forgive the indulgence. I was in relatively good spirits, moderately irked, but balanced. That's all I wanted to say. We can proceed. My ego can sleep well now, knowing it was well represented.)

In the basement, I found the books I needed and made copies of the deeds. On my way back up to the copy department, I met the copy clerk on the stairs. She looked like she was done for the day. I asked her if there was someone else who was going to process my transaction. "I don't know", she said with little concern. "Everyone is going home. You'll have to come back tomorrow."

Sure enough, when I returned to the Registry, just about everyone was gone. I saw that the supervisor was still there and asked him if he'd certify the deeds I had just copied. He gave me the same response the copy clerk had given me. I told him she had been in the middle of the transaction, that she'd already certified several of the deeds. "Sorry, we can't process anything after four." It was four o'clock on the nose. "You'll have to come back tomorrow." I felt like telling him I live in Fitchburg, or some other out-of-the-way-and-it-would-be-a-real-fucking-thorn-in-my-side-if-I-had-to-come-back-in-the-morning kind of place. Instead, I pulled out my tommy gun and filled him full of lead. That's right, see! Edward G. is bringing the ruckus!

I'll be there again tomorrow. I'm okay with going. Oh, and one last thing, and this is something I learned from working in retail: When you're about to close, and you're in the middle of a transaction and your customer departs to get one or two more things, you might want to tell him YOU'RE ABOUT TO FUCKING CLOSE! And don't you dare blame me for not knowing, because I had no idea. It was a frame job, see! Those dirty rats! .
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My ear is still clogged. I think I've got an inner ear infection going on. Because of my diminished hearing, I've had more than a couple of incidents wherein someone tries to get my attention and I completely disregard them. Oddly enough, this seems to have garnered me some respect.

On a related note, I've had several* men throughout the years express to me their belief, nay, their conviction, that, almost always, women will favor the so-called bad boy over the nice guy. Not too keen on being attached to generalizations, but I've seen plenty of instances in which this seemed to have been the case. It's not uncommon, but it's also not uncommon for people to be passed over for a myriad of other reasons, like stinky-ness (Is that a word? 'Tis now, son.) So keep on being nice all you nice guys out there. You'll meet someone someday who will be as nice as you are. But then again, nice guys do finish last. Says so in the good book, it does.

Netflix is streaming all four seasons of Mad Men. I found this out yesterday and commenced to watching the last season, which I missed when it aired. I'm two episodes deep and you can bet your bottom dollar I'll be watching more tonight.

Oh, I almost forgot to tell you about altercation I had with a cop this morning that nearly came to blows. So, there I was, minding my own business, walking along the sidewalk, when this copper yells at me from across the street, snapping me out of my gentle reverie. I didn't know what was going on, but when I saw how upset, how utterly livid the cop was, I knew it wasn't good.

Here's where the story gets real juicy, so juicy you'll have to place a pan under your monitor to collect all the run-off. I looked around me in the vain hope that the cop is yelling at someone else, but there was no one else in the vicinity. He stampeded across the street towards me, one hand caressing his revolver, the other on his walkie. I heard him requesting back up. He looked like he wanted to rip my face apart. What did I do? I thought about running. He was getting closer. I had to decide a course of action. I knew I was going to regret my next move, but I



* I was going to write "a goodly amount of", but backed off when I realized it would have made me sound like one of those fancy lads. You'd be referring to me as Little Lord Fauntleroy in no time. I couldn't allow that.