I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans

Work is going well, except there's not much of it right now. Today, my coworker Deb, whispered to me that she expects them to cut more hours or outright let people go. I won't be surprised if something like that happens---it'll be a shame, because I like the job---but I've been through similar situations before and I don't suspect my world will be shattered if my tenure at the firm comes to an abrupt end. Of course, I would not be the picture of contentment, either.

Craig and I spent most of Sunday recording. We put a good chunk into four of my songs and tonight we'll get back to work. Overall, I've been happy with the proceedings, especially when I consider that we're doing this pretty quickly and there are bound to be resultant blemishes and warts. Sometimes, though, it's hard to be objective. I've alternated between smiling and cringing when I listen back to what I've done so far. I think I've written some good songs, but I'm not always sure I've performed them the right way. That's how we improve, right? By not being easily satisfied?


So, with that, I'm going to prepare myself for another go at recording. I'm excited to hear the finished product. This has been good for my psyche. Reminds me that I'm proficient at something, that I'm not some purposeless lout. Life has a way of suppressing our gifts, but they can never be extinguished.

She has a house and garden, I would like to see what happens

Saw Aleister perform at Sally O'briens in Union Sq. with Mara last night. The show started at six and, consequently, there wasn't much of an audience. Aleister is a great performer in the classic Folk tradition and one of Mara's best friends. Accompanying him on a sweet Tele was his friend, whose name I forget so I'll henceforth refer to him as Kid Cookie.

(Edit: I just saw that I had a couple of calls from my grandmother that I missed. I nearly panicked, thinking of all sorts of unfavorable scenarios for why she called. Why would she call me this late? I sat there hoping she was alright, but feared her health had taken a turn for the worse. I even envisioned calling her back and my father answering, explaining that she had passed away. In the midst of all this thinking, my phone buzzed, alerting me I had a voice mail. I listened to it immediately and, thank God, it was her voice on the other end. Turns out she called to thank me for putting her windows in the other day. Whew!)

Mara and I ate burgers as we watched them play. I got a mushroom swiss with fries and it really hit the spot. Between sets, Aleister joined us and ate the onions Mara had taken off her burger. It wasn't very appetizing watching him dip them in ketchup and eating them like chips.

There was a guy in the bar who looked like a skinny, haggard, weather-beaten Hobbit. I couldn't take my eyes off this mythical creature; Mara told me not to stare on more than one occassion, but I ignored her. If she evers sees a unicorn when I'm with her, I'll implore her not stare. See how she likes it.

After the show, I came back to the house and did some recording with Craig. We came close to finishing a song and I'm thrilled at how it's progressing. We're going to put more time into it tomorrow and I'm really looking forward to it. The goal is to record at least four of my songs, but if Craig is willing to to take the time to do more, I'm not going to object.

Okay, I'm going to play some music and maybe watch Frailty or Michael Clayton.

Well, the wind careens madly through wide windows paneless, fragrances mingle in a room full of shame

Went to my grandmother's house after work today. Ostensibly, the reason for the visit was to give my sister the diaper bag I had retrieved from the police station in Everett, but it had been a while since I'd last seen my grandmother and I looked forward to seeing her.

I installed storm windows in her porch with the help of my sister. My grandmother couldn't help herself and put herself to work, my admonishments to go sit down and relax notwithstanding. She was trying to move these door-sized windows around the porch and my sister and I finally had to put our collective foot down and order her to sit down. She obeyed, but only for a few minutes. Stubborn, that one.
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Craig announced he'll be moving back in with his parents at the end of the year while he attends school. It'll be sad seeing him go. The three of us lived well together.
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I've had some vivid and bizarre dreams lately. I won't even bother delving into them because they won't read well. I do, however, think they were important, which is why I even brought them up.
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Linda Godfrey, author of The Beast of Bray Road and Hunting the American Werewolf, has an online radio show and I've been avidly listening to the archived episodes. The show covers all sorts of high strangeness---Bigfoot, werewolves, ghosts, ufo's, shadow people, etc. Linda and her co-host do a great job with the show and each episode is riveting. I'm hooked, baby!

Speaking of high strangeness, I just caught up with Lost last night. Good stuff. What's the deal with Locke? Don't know-- I'll have to wait until next year to see what happens next. Oh, I can't wait, I tells ya.
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Have more to say, but if I don't finish this now, I won't be able to get to other stuff that begs my attention. Tomorrow, I'll try to pick up where I left off. Aloha.

My autumn's done come

I went to the Everett police station this morning to retrieve my sister's diaper bag. According to Mapquest, the distance from my place to the station was about five miles, with a drive time of about twelve minutes. Well, fuck you, Mapquest! Seriously, fuck you.

It took me about an hour to find the place. I wasn't pleased. It should have been an easy matter: follow Rte 16 for two miles, take a left on Vine st, and two more quick lefts before ending at the police station. I discovered immediately that there are almost no street signs on Rte 16, at least not between Medford and Everett. And if you miss a turn, like I did several times, you have to drive forever before you can loop back around.

I called the police station after making no progress for twenty minutes. I explained to the person I was speaking with the directions I got from Mapquest and he said they were way off, that I needed to go further up 16 and take a left onto a street I forget the name of. That didn't help me much because there were no street signs to guide me.

Eventually, through trial and error, I found the police station and picked up the bag. Everything was in it save my sister's camera. I called her and told her the news. She was relieved to have the bag back---they didn't take her check book ---but she felt violated and sad that she'd never geet to see the pictures she took of her daughter's first day at school.
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I couldn't stay focused on anything I attempted to do last night and jumped from activity to activity without being productive. Don't know what that was all about.

Had a dream last night about hanging out with some old friends in Nashua. We were bar hopping and having a good time. I woke up feeling a little melancholy, knowing those days are behind me.
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A woman, middle eastern looking, walked by me in Davis Sq. with a t-shirt that said " I am not a terrorist". Pretty cool. I only wish I was wearing my shirt that said " Did I say you were one, bitch?". No, that would have been too ornery. I should have worn this one: " Terrorist or not, I'm still going to rob you." And rob her I did.

Don't think of the dangers you could have avoided if only you had stayed

I had two hopes concerning yesterday's wedding: That the ceremony would be brief and that there would be good eats at the reception. Whatever else happened, I'd consider the event a success if my hopes were manifested. They were.

Earlier in the day, I pretty much dicked around until it was absolutely imperative for me to get ready. I won't relive the unnecessary stress I put on myself rushing around multi-tasking and sweating like a pig on a rotisserie. Just know that I somehow got to the church with a few minutes to spare before the ceremony started. I even beat my sister and her family, who barely made it on time. They really need to get their act together.

The rain came down at almost precisely the same moment the ceremony began. I don't really believe in omens, but if I did, I'd say that certainly wasn't a good one. The priest looked like Cliff Claven and talked a lot about Jesus and love. He shared a couple of anecdotes that were meant to be funny, but weren't. At least not to me.

Every time he said something like "Jesus brought you together and Jesus will keep you together", I'd think: " How can you say that with any certainty? You can't even come close to proving that God exists and Jesus is his only son". I only felt a little guilty for having those thoughts. Maybe I've grown cynical over time --- I used to be more accepting of creation myths and religious dogma ---but I'd prefer to think I've just opened my eyes. I haven't just dumbly believed everything that's been presented to me. I know, this coming from a guy who's convinced there is a species or two of giant bipedal apes that exist in North America, but in the case of Bigfoot, there isn't only anecdotal evidence to go on.

My intention with this post is not to make it an essay on my religious beliefs, but I will say that, even though I think most organized religion has only a loose affiliation with the truth, I still believe there is something out there greater than all of us, a guiding force that cannot be pinned down, that is inexpressible. To see otherwise intelligent and seemingly thoughtful people buy into their faith without questioning it even a little bit, is a little disturbing to me, I confess. Know what, though? It looks like a lot of these "sheeple" are better adjusted than I am, leading healthy, fruitful lives. Maybe there's something to organized religion. They could serve better food during mass, though; one wafer and a little wine doesn't cut it. How about some bagel bites?

The ceremony, as I stated above, was brief and afterward we all filed out into the rain to head over to the reception in Andover. Once there, my sister told us she couldn't find the diaper bag she had left in the van when they headed into the church. It had her camera and check book and she was concerned that it was stolen. More on that later.

I sat with my family at a table that was placed as far back as you could get. I didn't care; we were situated so close to the kitchen that we had first dibs on all the food, of which there was a bounty. Scallops and bacon, spinach pie, quesadillas, chicken fingers, meatballs, and bread and cheese. All of these appetizers were delicious and they kept coming and coming. I felt like the Marx Bros. in Night At The Opera when they crashed the banquet on the ship they were stowaways on and stare wide-eyed at all the food being heaped on their plates. I've never been to a wedding with food as delicious and plentiful as this one.

When I saw that my nieces Kiley and Shannon were getting bored, I initiated a game of twenty questions with them and we played round after round until I got bored with their lack of skill (It took them nineteen questions to guess Dieter Dierks! What the fuck?). At one point, my cousin Michelle and her newly-anointed husband Michael made their way over to our table and said hello. It was strange seeing her all grown up. I still think of her as the little girl who used to follow me and her older brother around at the lake in Maine.

Her brother Brian came by a few minutes later. After talking with him for a bit, I discovered we live only a few minutes away from each other. I gave him my number and we made tentative plans to grab a drink some time along with his girlfriend, Hannah, whose uncle, she told me, had a bit part in Fanny and Alexander. I'm curious to know the details of that story. Maybe she could give me the juice on Liv Ullman.

I left the reception around ten and made the treacherous drive home through the brutal rain. I thought about how unlikely it is that I'll ever get married and that made me a little sad. It's still possible, obviously, but the odds are not in my favor, not at my age. Ah, but who wouldn't want to marry me? Don't answer that question.

My sister called me this morning and told me a guy had found her diaper bag on the side of the road in Reading, miles from the church. He dropped it off at the police station near his house in Everett. She asked me if I wouldn't mind picking it up for her. I told her I would and we marveled at why someone would steal a diaper bag from a church parking lot. And they didn't even take her check book or camera. Maybe they just wanted the diapers. Gross!
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I walked over to Rite Aid yesterday to purchase an iron, and on my way there I saw two women having an argument with a guy next to a moving truck. I noticed that the truck had sheared off a sizable branch from a tree on the sidewalk. That was what they were arguing about. He downplayed what happened. "It's just a tree branch", he said.

The women were in tears. "It's a living thing!", one of them sobbed.

You see some interesting things around here, to be sure.
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A word of congratulations to my friend and reader of this blog, Frank, for his recent nuptials. Love the pictures you posted, Frank; the joy in your faces is palpable. Wish you all the best!
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Went to the Greek festival on Central st. with Spira and Seany Boy Friday night. I hadn't eaten anything substantial since breakfast and I was starving. Each of us got a big plate of food and we sat under the big tent on the lawn and pigged out while we listened to an incredible group of musicians belt out some traditional greek music. After we ate, Spira joined the group of dancers in front of the band. It was a treat to watch, especially with all the hot women who were involved. I had tiny crushes on at least four women that night. We stayed longer than we intended to, but the music and the festive vibe made it hard to leave. A good night.

And speaking of good nights, I bid you all one because I'm out of here, bitches.

Three kings with the legions come, and preparations soon were made

Escalay (The Water Wheel), Hamza El Din's epic masterpiece, arrived in the mail the other day and I've been listening to it a lot. For those of you who don't who or what a Hamza El Din is, he is a human from Nubia and plays the oud. The album I just got is considered to be among his best. Feel like I should be drinking some mushroom tea when I listen to him, which, even though I don't ever plan on doing 'shrooms ever again, suggests he's the oud player for me.
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At Bed Bath & Beyond earlier this evening, Spira was fooling around with the little key chains that were on display at the counter while I was waiting for the clerk to print out my cousin's wedding gift wish list. The key chains were neat--- each of them different creatures from the animal kingdom---and if you pushed the button on their back, their eyes flashed in a harsh, silver glow and they called out in a manner representing their species. When I spotted the chimp, I smiled and took note of the synchronicity that had just taken place.

When I was working at Taylor Rental, my coworker Kim came into work one day and showed me her new toy. It was the chimp key chain, the same one I'd see months later at Bed, Bath, and Beyond. I fell in love with it instantly; the combination of the flashing eyes and the piercing cry of "ooh ooh aahh aahh ahhhhhh" made me want desperately to either buy one as soon as I was able, or steal Kim's. I neglected to pursue either option and soon forgot about the chimp .

Upon our arrival at the store this evening, I saw Kim getting into her car a few rows away from mine. I pointed her out to Spira, refererencing her as a conniving bitch, as we headed into the store. Not two minutes later did we see the chimp key chain. Almost eerie, this series of events. A lot of that type of thing has been happening to me lately.
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Spira and I had been debating over which Bed, Bath, & Beyond to go to--- the only one I knew of was in Burlinton, so I headed there. When Spira caught wind of our direction, she said, "Nuh-uh, lets go to the one in Everett, it's closer."

"Yeah, but there'll be a ton of traffic on 16", I replied.

"I'm telling you we'll be there so much quicker if we go to Everett."

"Alright, we'll go there."

"You'll see, we'll be there a lot quicker."

" I know, but I was thinking more about comfort than timing. Burlington would have been a smoother ride."

When we arrived at the store, which most certainly was a lot closer than the one in Burlington, Spira said, "See, I was right: it's much closer!"

I laughed. "I never really disagreed with you on that."

"I want you to tell me I was right and you were wrong."

"Well, I don't know if I'd go that far."

"Concede!", she said in a firm and even tone that brooked no argument.

That cracked me up. "Concede? What are you, a Roman general?"

We laughed at how awesome my line was and how sexy and groovy I was for saying it with such impeccable timing and delivery. She gazed at me with the same awe I imagine primitive man must have reserved for the stars in the sky. And then we got out of the car and saw my old coworker Kim, the conniving bitch.

They sing a song my poor heart never can forget

I've been pretty good, especially lately, about considering what food I allow down my hatch. Last night, though, I decided to loosen the shackles of healthy living and walk over to The White Hen and buy some sparkling water and a bag of mint-flavored Milanos. Somehow I rationalized that I owed it to myself and Pepperidge Farm to enjoy two or three, conceivably four---ok, maybe five if things get out of hand---of their exquisite cookies. I decided it was best not to get in the way of this thought process and went forth to meet my destiny. Should have just got the water.

In all candor, I nearly ate the entire bag of cookies. I knew the day would come when I'd cross the threshold from snacking to gorging, from etiquette to savagery, when it came to these treats. I just didn't think it would happen last night. The only thing that made me feel less lousy about the incident was that I at least left a few in the bag.

A subsequent frank assessment of the situation, however, revealed the effect wouldn't have been all that different if I had gone all the way and committed cookie genocide and left not a trace of their existence: I still committed the sin of excess. To that end, I went for a long, guilt-born power walk to burn off some of the calories and shame, if possible. It was my penance for a foul deed committed. I'm not out of the water yet, though; things look to turn grim later on; I see a quick and brutal end to the aforementioned remaining few cookies. God damn Milanos!

Though I've been weakened by the black arts of Pepperidge Farm---not only the Milanos possess me, but the Goldfish, too--- I am determined to crawl out from under this thing. It won't be easy, will take guts, determination, and a healthy attitude---three things I have in spades---to escape from the prison camp that is Pepperidge Farm, but escape I will.
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I'm not really looking forward to this wedding I'm going to on Saturday. I'm not close with that side of my family (my mother's) and I imagine there's going to be a lot of sizing up beneath the small talk. It's been years since I've seen any of them; I hope it won't be too awkward an experience.

Ah, I'm sure it'll be alright. It will probably be a fun time, culminating with me sleeping with one of the hot bridesmaids later that night. I'll make her breakfast the following morning (fresh fruit, coffee, and scones) and later on, when I drop her off at her car, I'll say: "Look, baby, last night was some magical shit. We painted a physical masterpiece on the canvas that was my bed and the long and the short of it all is I think I've fallen in love with you. You make me want to be a better man.

And she'll reply: "Isn't that last thing you said a line from that Jack Nicholson movie, the one with that blond lady from Mad About You.

"As Good As It Gets?"

"Yeah, that one. Isn't what you said from that movie?"

"No."

And then, after we hug and kiss for awhile, we'll agree to become boyfriend and girlfriend.
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Been munching on some Lee Hazelwood, Lee Scratch Perry, Townes Van Zandt, and the new Sigor Ros these past few days. Good stuff and they all have one thing in common. Know what it is? I'll tell you: they're all from Iceland. Nah, I'm just pulling your leg, but I meant what I said about it being good stuff.
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I'm up to two new songs and of course the only thing they need are lyrics, because I approach writing lyrics with the same enthusiasm I'd extend to a midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. But I'll get 'er done, as Larry the Cable Guy is wont to say, and have a pair of new songs I'm content with under my belt.

I'd taken about a month off from doing any songwriting; didn't even pick up the guitar once. What I did instead was listen to a ton of music, more than usual and all across the map. And by listen, I mean actually sit there and absorb what was coming out of my speakers. I'll go through periods like this at least once a year. Music is still an education for me, and as I've discovered during this last stint of focused listening, there's still a lot to learn.