Finland, Finland - so many trees John Denver would be pleased

The weekend asserts itself; I grow content. My first order of business upon arriving home from work was to murder some pesky flies that have taken up residence in my kitchen (a sign of biblical doom?). I won't get into my methods - to share them would be akin to revealing a secret recipe - but I will say that I felt the satisfaction of a job well done.

For work, I traveled to the registry of deeds in Lawrence and recorded a mortgage. I saw Delia (I think that's her name) working at her station behind the counter. As usual, we exchanged clandestine glances and, as usual, nothing came of it. And nothing will, I reckon; she seems a little too dour for my tastes and I'm not too attracted to her physically. Frankly, these shared glances serve only to provide a little thrill to my not often thrilling days. The ego likes to be liked. Am I saying I would turn her down if she got down to brass tacks? No, but I am saying it would be unlikely. Then again, the ego likes to be liked. And the dick likes to get laid (I almost cut that sentence out, but it made me laugh. It stays).

Last night,Matt, Fred, and I walked over to P.J. O'Ryans and watched the Celtics get shellacked by the Heat Lebron James. We checked out a couple of places prior to heading there, but they were packed; everyone was eager to see the Celtics advance to the finals. Everyone but Fred; he just wanted to find a place where he could order dinner and have some beers. Not a sports fan. Thought I might run into Bridget at P.J.'s, but she wasn't working. So, yeah, the only game I've seen all year pretty much blew.

Afterward, we headed back to the house. The entire walk, which took about fifteen minutes, was spent listening to Matt rant about his intense dislike for Lebron James. I didn't know whether to find it humorous, unsettling, or impressive. All I could do was listen. The only time I spoke up was when we neared our place. "You know, Matt, I'm starting to get the idea you don't care much for Lebron". Fred found this funny, but Matt was someplace else, adrift a river of loathing for a man he essentially knows nothing about. " I don't dislike the guy, but someone needs to give him a reality check", he said. I was in agreement that someone needed a reality check, I just wasn't sure it was Lebron who needed one. I hear guys like Matt every time I turn on sports radio. They get awfully worked up about things that have no direct bearing on their lives. To each his own, but if I ever reach that level, I want you to put a bullet in my throat and one in my cranium and one in my spine. And, to ensure that I'm dead, put another one in heart.

Well, I've said all I care to say. The weekend, if my plans pan out, looks like it will be a dandy. I'll let you know how it goes, rascals. As I type, I'm listening to Bitches Brew, but you can bet your sweet, well-rounded, ass that at some point I'm going to explore the new Sun Kil Moon record like I've been doing all week. Such a good album; intimate,open, sad, often humorous. Mark Kozelek's guitar playing is a sweet brew of finger picking; I admire it greatly. And he's loosened up in the exact right way. Neil Young would be proud. He's bypassed the mind in favor of the gut and stilled to silence the badgering blathering of the inner critic. I think I'll always love this album.

Ah, you don't give a shit, but if you're sick of Katy Perry (who's last record was referred to as an opus in an article I was reading about her in  Billboard, which is reason number 326 why the world is teetering on the precipice of being pulverized under the weight of our obnoxious and vulgar behavior), and you want to hear someone spill their guts in an act of pure, unvarnished, honesty, done so over lush, arpeggio-rich guitar playing and occasional, spare backing band, then I suggest you do one right thing in your life and devour this album like it's the only crucial thing in this bleak, monochromatic existence. *

Ok, bye everyone. Enjoy your day!

 * I think this could my longest sentence in blog history. There must be a cupcake in this for me. At least a cupcake.