31/12/03
So the plan was to sleep a couple hours, get up for a quick beer run, go back to bed, and wake up all fresh-faced for a night of debauchery. Or something.
Was just about to go back to bed, and than Toby messaged me.
Was just about to go back to bed and then Cara messaged me.
Was almost asleep and then the phone woke me up.
Was almost asleep and then Java woke me up.
Was almost asleep, and then I realized I had fifteen minutes until my alarm was to go off.
So I jumped outta bed, grabbed a beer, cranked the music, and now I'm dancing around my apartment Tom Cruise-style in my underwear, trying to convince myself that I'm fully rested and prepared for a long night of partying. Hopefully I don't pass out on anyone's floor. I'm going on like four hours' sleep...
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Was just about to go back to bed, and than Toby messaged me.
Was just about to go back to bed and then Cara messaged me.
Was almost asleep and then the phone woke me up.
Was almost asleep and then Java woke me up.
Was almost asleep, and then I realized I had fifteen minutes until my alarm was to go off.
So I jumped outta bed, grabbed a beer, cranked the music, and now I'm dancing around my apartment Tom Cruise-style in my underwear, trying to convince myself that I'm fully rested and prepared for a long night of partying. Hopefully I don't pass out on anyone's floor. I'm going on like four hours' sleep...
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30/12/03
What's that you say? A song?
This one's a little less on the spazzy hardcore side of things than the majority of the stuff we recorded, but it's the one that's going on the Punk Site benefit comp that Toby's putting together. I'm not entirely pleased with my guitar playing on the track, but that's probably just me being anal.
I'm pretty bummed about the Truro show. Not only was it a great lineup of bands, but it was gonna be Capital Death's last hurrah before Matt takes off. I really hope someone manages to dig up an alternate venue or a big basement or something.
We just got invited to play some art space in Dartmouth called the Locust on the 9th. Not sure what the deal is with that, but it should be interesting. We're also playing the Bella Muse on the 10th with the Hold (Crystal from Pistolwhip's band), Spincycle Squared and the Tragedies. We're playing first, I think. Crossing my fingers for no noise complaints...
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This one's a little less on the spazzy hardcore side of things than the majority of the stuff we recorded, but it's the one that's going on the Punk Site benefit comp that Toby's putting together. I'm not entirely pleased with my guitar playing on the track, but that's probably just me being anal.
I'm pretty bummed about the Truro show. Not only was it a great lineup of bands, but it was gonna be Capital Death's last hurrah before Matt takes off. I really hope someone manages to dig up an alternate venue or a big basement or something.
We just got invited to play some art space in Dartmouth called the Locust on the 9th. Not sure what the deal is with that, but it should be interesting. We're also playing the Bella Muse on the 10th with the Hold (Crystal from Pistolwhip's band), Spincycle Squared and the Tragedies. We're playing first, I think. Crossing my fingers for no noise complaints...
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Toby found me a drive!
Then the show got cancelled.
For fuck's sake.
There is some other potentially-exciting stuff that I am not really at liberty to talk about though. Keeping my fingers crossed there.
For a guy who spent half the 90s with funny-coloured dreadlocks, I sure am becoming a hair nazi. It's maybe an inch-and-a-half long now, and it's... oh wait, gotta tell this joke:
Pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel in his pants. He sits down and orders a beer. Bartender fetches it, and as he hands it to the pirate, says "hey, what's with the steering wheel in yr pants?" Pirate takes a long pull off the beer, wipes his lips, and says "ARRRR, IT'S DRIVING ME NUTS."
So yeah, um, my hair. It's driving me nuts. Read into that what you will, but it really doesn't have much to do with my testicles. Sorry. That was anticlimactic.
I think my mom is finally starting to pull the when-are-you-gonna-shack-up-and-gimme-a-couple-grandchildren thing. God bless her for being so incredibly supportive, but she has some strange illusions about me and my life. Yeah mom, not only am I raking in more than enough money to start a family, but the ladies are lined up around the block having catfights over me too. Not to mention how completely appropriate my lifestyle is for family life. All this time I thought there was an unspoken agreement between my mom and I that the need for "significant others" was a fabrication of society. Love is great, and the desire for it is undeniable, but society fosters this idea that yr not a complete person without someone on yr arm at all times. I know people who haven't gone more than a month without being in a relationship for ten years, no matter how ridiculous or unhealthy the relationships were. Sorry, but that's fucking pathetic. These are the incomplete people. "Just because" is not a valid reason to enter a relationship. Learn to live in yr own skin first, goddammit, and I'm still learning to do that. A romantic relationship should be based on more than just mutual insecurity about being alone, or fear of looking like a social reject. Kids? Jesus.
All that aside, I never really learned how to function in -or initiate- a relationship anyway. I've only ever been in one worth talking about, and that was pretty short-lived by most people's standards. Sure felt long to me though. Still not exactly sure why I broke up with her. A few years ago I was pretty into psychoanalizing myself, and I came up with the idea that this has always been difficult for me because I was never provided a relationship prototype as a child. I guess that's pretty lame.
How and why the fuck did I start talking about this? Shut up you fucking douche.
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Then the show got cancelled.
For fuck's sake.
There is some other potentially-exciting stuff that I am not really at liberty to talk about though. Keeping my fingers crossed there.
For a guy who spent half the 90s with funny-coloured dreadlocks, I sure am becoming a hair nazi. It's maybe an inch-and-a-half long now, and it's... oh wait, gotta tell this joke:
Pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel in his pants. He sits down and orders a beer. Bartender fetches it, and as he hands it to the pirate, says "hey, what's with the steering wheel in yr pants?" Pirate takes a long pull off the beer, wipes his lips, and says "ARRRR, IT'S DRIVING ME NUTS."
So yeah, um, my hair. It's driving me nuts. Read into that what you will, but it really doesn't have much to do with my testicles. Sorry. That was anticlimactic.
I think my mom is finally starting to pull the when-are-you-gonna-shack-up-and-gimme-a-couple-grandchildren thing. God bless her for being so incredibly supportive, but she has some strange illusions about me and my life. Yeah mom, not only am I raking in more than enough money to start a family, but the ladies are lined up around the block having catfights over me too. Not to mention how completely appropriate my lifestyle is for family life. All this time I thought there was an unspoken agreement between my mom and I that the need for "significant others" was a fabrication of society. Love is great, and the desire for it is undeniable, but society fosters this idea that yr not a complete person without someone on yr arm at all times. I know people who haven't gone more than a month without being in a relationship for ten years, no matter how ridiculous or unhealthy the relationships were. Sorry, but that's fucking pathetic. These are the incomplete people. "Just because" is not a valid reason to enter a relationship. Learn to live in yr own skin first, goddammit, and I'm still learning to do that. A romantic relationship should be based on more than just mutual insecurity about being alone, or fear of looking like a social reject. Kids? Jesus.
All that aside, I never really learned how to function in -or initiate- a relationship anyway. I've only ever been in one worth talking about, and that was pretty short-lived by most people's standards. Sure felt long to me though. Still not exactly sure why I broke up with her. A few years ago I was pretty into psychoanalizing myself, and I came up with the idea that this has always been difficult for me because I was never provided a relationship prototype as a child. I guess that's pretty lame.
How and why the fuck did I start talking about this? Shut up you fucking douche.
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29/12/03
We wrote a new song last night, and I can't stop listening to it. I think this is the closest I've come to meshing my playing style with this band to date. This makes me very happy, especially considering how naturally the song came together for everybody. There is an incredible dynamic to this band, and it almost feels like we're reaching a new level of creative understanding. Like we're finally starting to speak each others' languages or some schlock like that. Or maybe it's just me being loopy. Whatever it is, I'm feeling pretty damn good about it at the moment. I can't wait for the little upcoming spate of shows to begin.
Speaking of which- um... anybody wanna drive me to Truro on Saturday? It's coming fast, and I'm starting to get a little worried about the transportation situation. I'll pay yr gas/buy you beer/get you in free/whatever. I guarantee you will have fun. The Hold and Oh God! are playing too, and it's Capital Death's last show ever. Plus, you need to see ZAAT. Trust me on this. This show is gonna rule. Even moreso if I make it there to play...
Help.
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Speaking of which- um... anybody wanna drive me to Truro on Saturday? It's coming fast, and I'm starting to get a little worried about the transportation situation. I'll pay yr gas/buy you beer/get you in free/whatever. I guarantee you will have fun. The Hold and Oh God! are playing too, and it's Capital Death's last show ever. Plus, you need to see ZAAT. Trust me on this. This show is gonna rule. Even moreso if I make it there to play...
Help.
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27/12/03
I think I may be developing an allergy to New Brunswick. About two hours into the ride, just around the time we crossed the border into NB, I woke up from my after-work snooze and immediately knew that I was coming down with something. I was sick the entire time I was there.
Woke up about two hours into my pre-work nap on the ride back, just around the time we crossed the border into NS, and immediately felt a wave of the sickness leave me. Barring the nap, I've been awake for about 27 hours now, and I still feel way better than I did yesterday. I should feel fucking dead.
I'm not really trying to be metaphorical here. It's odd, because aside from being weak and pathetic and sick, I had a pretty good time.
I barely drank at all. My 90-year old grandmother sure did though. That was sure something. I shoulda taken the opportunity to kick her ass at Scrabble for once. I think my poor mom has her hands much fuller with Grammy than she ever did with me. Even at that age she's a firecracker. And even after five years or so, I still feel a little guilty for having set up camp in another town. After Grampy died, I was always sorta the mediator between the the two of them, in some weird way. Family dynamics are so strange. I feel like I should be there to help, but I am my own form of trouble anyway.
The place seems so empty now. The town. The homestead. All of it, so remote. All my life there it felt like such a centre of activity, and now it just feels inert. I wonder if the people there feel it too, or if it's just me. Am I fucking growing up? For all its many, many flaws, I don't wanna stop romanticizing my hometown.
At any rate, cabs there sure are cheap.
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Woke up about two hours into my pre-work nap on the ride back, just around the time we crossed the border into NS, and immediately felt a wave of the sickness leave me. Barring the nap, I've been awake for about 27 hours now, and I still feel way better than I did yesterday. I should feel fucking dead.
I'm not really trying to be metaphorical here. It's odd, because aside from being weak and pathetic and sick, I had a pretty good time.
I barely drank at all. My 90-year old grandmother sure did though. That was sure something. I shoulda taken the opportunity to kick her ass at Scrabble for once. I think my poor mom has her hands much fuller with Grammy than she ever did with me. Even at that age she's a firecracker. And even after five years or so, I still feel a little guilty for having set up camp in another town. After Grampy died, I was always sorta the mediator between the the two of them, in some weird way. Family dynamics are so strange. I feel like I should be there to help, but I am my own form of trouble anyway.
The place seems so empty now. The town. The homestead. All of it, so remote. All my life there it felt like such a centre of activity, and now it just feels inert. I wonder if the people there feel it too, or if it's just me. Am I fucking growing up? For all its many, many flaws, I don't wanna stop romanticizing my hometown.
At any rate, cabs there sure are cheap.
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22/12/03
You are THIS MESSAGE WILL SELF-DESTRUCT.
You are putting out a split 7" with a band
from New Jersey called "Dear Tonight"
and going on your first tour to Toronto and
back in late April. For more information on
yourself visit:
http://www.angelfire.com/ex/destruct
PS- I'm so proud of you.
Which Nova Scotian punk band are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Thought I'd leave everybody with something fun. Now I'm really going. Really, I swear.
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This muffin tastes like fish. That, unfortunately, is also not a double entendre.
So my holiday plans have been amended to exclude any vermin of the urban variety. Alexander Keith will be remaining on the guest list.
Man, DoD was really fun. Punx is good people sometimes. I never get to hang out with that crowd anymore, since they upended the Slitchhaus and defected to the south end. Lots of people I hadn't seen in a long time. Moose showed up around whatever o'clock with an arsenal of strange and dangerous liquors. If you don't know Moose, well, he doesn't indulge- he just finds some sick, sadistic pleasure in concocting bizarre drinks with the express purpose of getting everyone around him despicably wasted. It worked. Dave from Thy Flesh Consumed and I made the dubious discovery that Jagermeister, Goldschlager, and Jack Daniel's, when combined in just the right proportions, can taste enough like Sambuca to prompt you to continue drinking shots of said ungodly mixture until you get it just so. Odd, considering neither of us likes Sambuca. I'm pretty sure I made an ass of myself on a few occasions, most likely in the company of Bizarro-Other-Cara, but it couldn't have been too bad, 'cause she wasn't spitting any drinks in my face on this particular occasion. Besides, I'd have been conspicuous not making an ass of myself at that party, and I'm sure mine is far from the only foggy memory of the night.
Well, I'm off to the land of Alpine lager, cheap hashish, and unironic moustaches in about two hours, so I'd better get packing. Everybody have a nice Jesus Day/Solstice/Kwanzaa/whatever, and feel free to come up with New Years plans for me while I'm gone. I don't have the first fucking clue what I wanna do.
Hey, speaking of cheap hashish, maybe I should do Mark Black a favour while I'm there...
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So my holiday plans have been amended to exclude any vermin of the urban variety. Alexander Keith will be remaining on the guest list.
Man, DoD was really fun. Punx is good people sometimes. I never get to hang out with that crowd anymore, since they upended the Slitchhaus and defected to the south end. Lots of people I hadn't seen in a long time. Moose showed up around whatever o'clock with an arsenal of strange and dangerous liquors. If you don't know Moose, well, he doesn't indulge- he just finds some sick, sadistic pleasure in concocting bizarre drinks with the express purpose of getting everyone around him despicably wasted. It worked. Dave from Thy Flesh Consumed and I made the dubious discovery that Jagermeister, Goldschlager, and Jack Daniel's, when combined in just the right proportions, can taste enough like Sambuca to prompt you to continue drinking shots of said ungodly mixture until you get it just so. Odd, considering neither of us likes Sambuca. I'm pretty sure I made an ass of myself on a few occasions, most likely in the company of Bizarro-Other-Cara, but it couldn't have been too bad, 'cause she wasn't spitting any drinks in my face on this particular occasion. Besides, I'd have been conspicuous not making an ass of myself at that party, and I'm sure mine is far from the only foggy memory of the night.
Well, I'm off to the land of Alpine lager, cheap hashish, and unironic moustaches in about two hours, so I'd better get packing. Everybody have a nice Jesus Day/Solstice/Kwanzaa/whatever, and feel free to come up with New Years plans for me while I'm gone. I don't have the first fucking clue what I wanna do.
Hey, speaking of cheap hashish, maybe I should do Mark Black a favour while I'm there...
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21/12/03
Day of Decadence. My existence hurts. In a non-existential way. I need about 36 hours of sleep.
Looks like I missed my opportunity to do the Tight 'n' Shiny.
Edit- Ella just called KZ and me "bright lights in the stinking morass of sludgery." Then she disavowed poetry forever. I hope she reconsiders, 'cause that's seriously the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. I'm going to bed while I'm still feeling the love. That's not a double entendre, assholes.
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Looks like I missed my opportunity to do the Tight 'n' Shiny.
Edit- Ella just called KZ and me "bright lights in the stinking morass of sludgery." Then she disavowed poetry forever. I hope she reconsiders, 'cause that's seriously the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. I'm going to bed while I'm still feeling the love. That's not a double entendre, assholes.
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19/12/03
What is it with joggers always chirping "Good morning!" to me, a complete stranger, as I trudge home from work at 6 am? Go flaunt yr fucking endorphins elsewhere, you leotard-wearing assclowns.
Anyway, it looks like xmas can jam a shining star up its own distended corporate anus this year- I'll be spending it with Alexander Keith and several thousand freeloading insects.
Yay.
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Anyway, it looks like xmas can jam a shining star up its own distended corporate anus this year- I'll be spending it with Alexander Keith and several thousand freeloading insects.
Yay.
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18/12/03
*Cheap disco/funk bassline*
Have you seen this dumpster?
Have you seen this man?
Have you seen this copyright infringing on yr plans?
With activation instinct
Pray enter in yr plea
A motion to attenuate this melodrama please
Pour him a cup of coffee
Pour him a cup of tea
Pour him a cup of cyanide with lemon empathy
For every lump of sugar
For every drop of cream
For each miscarried pregnant pause and each unrav'ling seam
We activate this dumpster
We activate this man
And now we are all privy to his fucking stupid poem
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Have you seen this dumpster?
Have you seen this man?
Have you seen this copyright infringing on yr plans?
With activation instinct
Pray enter in yr plea
A motion to attenuate this melodrama please
Pour him a cup of coffee
Pour him a cup of tea
Pour him a cup of cyanide with lemon empathy
For every lump of sugar
For every drop of cream
For each miscarried pregnant pause and each unrav'ling seam
We activate this dumpster
We activate this man
And now we are all privy to his fucking stupid poem
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17/12/03
Well that was fun. And nary a broken digit.
I tend to feel pretty out-of-place in unfamiliar social settings (unless I'm drunk... then I feel at home just about anywhere. Not always a good thing), but the room had a nice, laid-back vibe, and it was cool to put faces to folks I'd only ever encountered in print, and hang with some others I only know as acquaintances. Gerry talked a lot about milking monkeys. I met someone who'd spent some time in my hometown, and knew a shitload of people from my old gang of friends. Small world. There was talk of some sort of turkey that comes with a duck inside (bonus!). Claudette gave Phillip a haircut, of which I only caught the first movement. Lil' Gnat left before I could work up the cajones to cross the room and go bask in her coolness (I'm such a wuss avec les femmes). Slightly bummed about that. No long johns were to be seen. If I'd been drinking, I'd most likely have stripped down to mine regardless. Probably for the best that I hadta go to work afterwards...
Felt a little bad about taking off without thanking the host (so yeah, thanks Phillip), but I hadta go. If there's one thing I'll miss about this job, if and when I ever get off my ass and get a real one, it's gonna be the informality. I can show up two hours late, wearing long johns, and all I get is a bunch of "Hey, look who bothered to show up!"-s. Actually, they had no way of knowing I was wearing long johns, but it made for a nice turn of phrase, don'tcha think?
So many lingering questions. Did the remaining people go to the bar afterwards? Did Phillip end up with a mohawk? How is "ham" pink, while "pork" is white?
Fun.
ZAAT is everywhere.
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I tend to feel pretty out-of-place in unfamiliar social settings (unless I'm drunk... then I feel at home just about anywhere. Not always a good thing), but the room had a nice, laid-back vibe, and it was cool to put faces to folks I'd only ever encountered in print, and hang with some others I only know as acquaintances. Gerry talked a lot about milking monkeys. I met someone who'd spent some time in my hometown, and knew a shitload of people from my old gang of friends. Small world. There was talk of some sort of turkey that comes with a duck inside (bonus!). Claudette gave Phillip a haircut, of which I only caught the first movement. Lil' Gnat left before I could work up the cajones to cross the room and go bask in her coolness (I'm such a wuss avec les femmes). Slightly bummed about that. No long johns were to be seen. If I'd been drinking, I'd most likely have stripped down to mine regardless. Probably for the best that I hadta go to work afterwards...
Felt a little bad about taking off without thanking the host (so yeah, thanks Phillip), but I hadta go. If there's one thing I'll miss about this job, if and when I ever get off my ass and get a real one, it's gonna be the informality. I can show up two hours late, wearing long johns, and all I get is a bunch of "Hey, look who bothered to show up!"-s. Actually, they had no way of knowing I was wearing long johns, but it made for a nice turn of phrase, don'tcha think?
So many lingering questions. Did the remaining people go to the bar afterwards? Did Phillip end up with a mohawk? How is "ham" pink, while "pork" is white?
Fun.
ZAAT is everywhere.
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16/12/03
I guess four hours' sleep really wasn't enough, 'cause I slept through my alarm clock royally. Missed out on Nat's Monstrosity thing. No big deal, I know, but it's the little things that count, right? Schmuck. I really did wanna go. I wanna see you in yr native habitat.
The telephone. I spent more time on the telephone today/tonight than I have in the past month. My mom's not as bothered by the fact that I might not be able to make it back to the homestead for xmas as I thought she'd be, and that's a relief. She's so amazing. Old friends of mine that I haven't been in contact with for years still stop by to visit my mom. My grade school best friend, who was horribly abused by his father, and was inevtiably taken in by my mom every time he ran away, still visits her every coupla years. I wouldn't even recognize his face now, it's been so long. But yeah, he just visited her again a day or two ago. He and his wife own a chain of bodybuilding shops. He drives a Humvee. Jesus, maybe my mom shoulda abused me. Or not have broken up with the boyfriends that tried. My mother deserves more than her lot in life.
Stuff for the all-star supergroup is falling more and more into place. This band is going to own you. And you'll still love us. We just haveta, y'know, all be in the same room together and write some songs and stuff. Minor details.
In other band news, people have been bugging me to get TMWSD on the bill for the New Years' show at Rejections. I figured the rest of the band already had plans at this point, but that turns out not to be the case. So I might have plans for New Years' after all. I just need to find Craig Malenko's e-mail address.
Drock got a threatening phone call from a collection agency today about the large sum of money he owes on his credit card bill. Funny thing is, Drock doesn't have a credit card. Actually, that's not particularly funny. It's Drock. It's be mind-blowingly hilarious if he actually had a credit card. Anyway, he lost his wallet and all his identification a year or so ago, and it looks like somebody's been living it up in his guise, and at his expense. What I wanna know is, how the fuck does someone scam a credit card masquerading as Drock? Anyway, I miss the guy, and I feel like an asshole for getting so outta touch with him lately. I guess Jord's gonna be back sometime next week. If I'm still in town, you can probably expect a terrible drunken System Poop reuinion onstage in Tuesday Hell.
Is it particularly difficult or painful to break maybe, say, a toe? I'm a terrible liar, and I desperately need some valid excuse to get outta working tomorrow, so I can attend the blog party. I even dug out my long johns.
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The telephone. I spent more time on the telephone today/tonight than I have in the past month. My mom's not as bothered by the fact that I might not be able to make it back to the homestead for xmas as I thought she'd be, and that's a relief. She's so amazing. Old friends of mine that I haven't been in contact with for years still stop by to visit my mom. My grade school best friend, who was horribly abused by his father, and was inevtiably taken in by my mom every time he ran away, still visits her every coupla years. I wouldn't even recognize his face now, it's been so long. But yeah, he just visited her again a day or two ago. He and his wife own a chain of bodybuilding shops. He drives a Humvee. Jesus, maybe my mom shoulda abused me. Or not have broken up with the boyfriends that tried. My mother deserves more than her lot in life.
Stuff for the all-star supergroup is falling more and more into place. This band is going to own you. And you'll still love us. We just haveta, y'know, all be in the same room together and write some songs and stuff. Minor details.
In other band news, people have been bugging me to get TMWSD on the bill for the New Years' show at Rejections. I figured the rest of the band already had plans at this point, but that turns out not to be the case. So I might have plans for New Years' after all. I just need to find Craig Malenko's e-mail address.
Drock got a threatening phone call from a collection agency today about the large sum of money he owes on his credit card bill. Funny thing is, Drock doesn't have a credit card. Actually, that's not particularly funny. It's Drock. It's be mind-blowingly hilarious if he actually had a credit card. Anyway, he lost his wallet and all his identification a year or so ago, and it looks like somebody's been living it up in his guise, and at his expense. What I wanna know is, how the fuck does someone scam a credit card masquerading as Drock? Anyway, I miss the guy, and I feel like an asshole for getting so outta touch with him lately. I guess Jord's gonna be back sometime next week. If I'm still in town, you can probably expect a terrible drunken System Poop reuinion onstage in Tuesday Hell.
Is it particularly difficult or painful to break maybe, say, a toe? I'm a terrible liar, and I desperately need some valid excuse to get outta working tomorrow, so I can attend the blog party. I even dug out my long johns.
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15/12/03
Wow, it's really snowing out there. Just got back from a wonderful breakfast with Nat (not long enough- no fair!), and I'm fucking soaked. So much for getting my new (to me) bike fixed up today. I want to be tired. I should be- work was insane last night- but I'm totally not. So here I sit, stewing in my own juices, trying to think coherent thoughts.
I feel like a passive observer in my own life right now. I'm not sure if that's good or bad. Part of me thinks it's one of those times to be in Take Command Mode, but I don't have a fantastic record for making the best of decisions when I try and take charge of my own proceedings. I never even know when the ball's in my court.
I can't think right now. I'm all over the fucking map. I think I need to tell my brain to shut the fuck up for a little while, and just enjoy the Whatever.
Enjoy the Whatever. That's my new mantra. Just Enjoy the Whatever, you neurotic freak.
Bama Lama Bama Lou. Ye Olde rock 'n' roll is currently saving my soul.
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I feel like a passive observer in my own life right now. I'm not sure if that's good or bad. Part of me thinks it's one of those times to be in Take Command Mode, but I don't have a fantastic record for making the best of decisions when I try and take charge of my own proceedings. I never even know when the ball's in my court.
I can't think right now. I'm all over the fucking map. I think I need to tell my brain to shut the fuck up for a little while, and just enjoy the Whatever.
Enjoy the Whatever. That's my new mantra. Just Enjoy the Whatever, you neurotic freak.
Bama Lama Bama Lou. Ye Olde rock 'n' roll is currently saving my soul.
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13/12/03
I just had an idea. An extremely hypothetical idea. What's everyone doing for New Years'? I don't care if I know you from a hole in the wall or not. If yr reading this, and you live in this town, I want you to comment.
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So the yellow police tape cordoning off my driveway was gone by the time I woke up last night, and with it, the the hilariously-antiquated looking (that is, until you catch a glimpse of the decidedly-modern looking forensics lab within) Big Red Forensics Bus that was parked outside my front window. Seriously, that thing looks straight outta an early Warner Brothers cartoon. So I flip on the local news for the first time since Juan Week, and, lo and behold, there's my house. Well, some of it. Most of the footage was shot from my driveway. So I guess it's been confirmed that the dead guy they found next door was "beaten to death," in News Anchorperson parlance (Well, I say "avoision!"). I guess he was an old guy, too. Who the fuck beats an elderly man to death? Anyway, as of last night, the police hadn't issued an official statement. I hope it wasn't the guy who lives there that lavishes me with thanks every time I give him my bottles and cans to take to the bottle exchange. I like that guy. We have a symbiotic relationship, of sorts. He's definitely a little sketchy though. Whatever.
Tomorrow night (tonight? I don't even know anymore) is going to suck an incredible quantity of ass. One of the only perks this fucking job had going for it was that, no matter the comings-and-goings of the workaday week, Saturday was, come hell or high water, the one day I could always count on to have off. (I know what yr gonna say Cara, and the resume is done, haha. I just need to confirm that a couple of the phone numbers on it are up-to-date.) I'm not gonna go off on a rant about Sunday shopping, because, frankly Scarlet, I don't give a fuck. All I care about is that someone up in Atlantic Wholesalers' head office totally fucking botched this for us. I won't bore you with the details. Just trust me. It's not even the fact that I'm working the graveyard shift on a Saturday night that pisses me off, really. I don't have a big problem with working the occasional Saturday, but there's not even any fucking real work to be done. Other than the cleaner, I'm gonna be the only fucking person in the entire store for eight hours. I'm there for "liability reasons." Anybody feel like showing up in the wee hours and helping me lose my job with style? I've got the keys to the store.
It's not just the Saturday thing, I guess. I'm not getting the days off I was promised when I agreed to this shift, and the hours it forces me to keep in general are becoming more and more of a hindrance to my having any semblance of a life. As natural as it is to me to stay up all night and sleep all day, it's nice sometimes to have the option not to, y'know? I like the guys I work with well enough (speaking of which- it'd seem that I'm now destined to be known as "The Guy Who Would Suck His Own Dick If He Could." Hey, I didn't bring it up. They seemed awfully disappointed to find that the title doesn't bother me in the least. Prudes.), but I don't ever want to get to a point where I'm more in touch with them than I am the people I choose to have in my life. I feel like things -important things- are beginning to slip through my fingers. Some of them I've not even grasped yet.
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Tomorrow night (tonight? I don't even know anymore) is going to suck an incredible quantity of ass. One of the only perks this fucking job had going for it was that, no matter the comings-and-goings of the workaday week, Saturday was, come hell or high water, the one day I could always count on to have off. (I know what yr gonna say Cara, and the resume is done, haha. I just need to confirm that a couple of the phone numbers on it are up-to-date.) I'm not gonna go off on a rant about Sunday shopping, because, frankly Scarlet, I don't give a fuck. All I care about is that someone up in Atlantic Wholesalers' head office totally fucking botched this for us. I won't bore you with the details. Just trust me. It's not even the fact that I'm working the graveyard shift on a Saturday night that pisses me off, really. I don't have a big problem with working the occasional Saturday, but there's not even any fucking real work to be done. Other than the cleaner, I'm gonna be the only fucking person in the entire store for eight hours. I'm there for "liability reasons." Anybody feel like showing up in the wee hours and helping me lose my job with style? I've got the keys to the store.
It's not just the Saturday thing, I guess. I'm not getting the days off I was promised when I agreed to this shift, and the hours it forces me to keep in general are becoming more and more of a hindrance to my having any semblance of a life. As natural as it is to me to stay up all night and sleep all day, it's nice sometimes to have the option not to, y'know? I like the guys I work with well enough (speaking of which- it'd seem that I'm now destined to be known as "The Guy Who Would Suck His Own Dick If He Could." Hey, I didn't bring it up. They seemed awfully disappointed to find that the title doesn't bother me in the least. Prudes.), but I don't ever want to get to a point where I'm more in touch with them than I am the people I choose to have in my life. I feel like things -important things- are beginning to slip through my fingers. Some of them I've not even grasped yet.
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12/12/03
Wadda fucked up day. I hadta step under "Police Line- Do Not Cross" tape to leave my place last night. The forensics wagon is still parked outside my window.
Remember the One-Armed Man? No, it's not a Twin Peaks reference. I wrote about him a month or so ago. How incredibly strange it was, then, to pick up the phone last night, and find him on the other end. He just got outta the clink, and, for reasons beyond me, they dropped him here in Halifax. I can't believe it's been four years already.
I don't know how to feel about this. There are a few other people from the old gang scattered throughout this town, but I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who wouldn't flat-out tell him to fuck off royally, and hang up in his face, after what he became. Loyalty will be my undoing.
Fuck. I don't need this. Not now. By no means am I society's success story, but I'm slowly leaning how to be some kind of functional adult human being type-thing. I don't know if I've come far enough yet to be the one to try and help acclimatize someone to the straight life. But that's what he needs, and that's what the unspoken request was. And I'm probably the only person on the planet stupid and/or sentimental enough to give the guy the time of day now. For all that he eventually degenerated into, he was, once upon a longass time ago, one of the most dynamic and intelligent people I've ever known, and a fiercly-loyal friend. I felt privileged to know him, let alone count him as a best friend. I looked up to him. How can I turn my back on that? Y'know how there are maybe a handful of people you can think of who had such a profound impact on yr life that they ended up shaping who you are today? He's one of them, for me. Watching him turn into a monster was a lesson-and-a-half in Life 101.
So what do I do? The last time I went out on a limb for someone who didn't come outta the old days as intact as I did resulted in possibly the lowest point I've ever reached in my life, both emotionally and mentally. And, three years later, Homeless Dave is still homeless, if not dead. I don't know. The last time I saw him was over a year ago, in the emergency ward of the QEII, watching him OD on PCP again. The year-and-a-half we lived together reduced me to a shell of a human being. In some ways, I'm still recovering from that. I wasn't doing drugs, either. It was just an opressively bad vibe, like the entire universe was out to get me. People ask me if I get lonely sometimes, living alone like this. Of course I do. But you can be in a room packed with people, and still feel lonely. I'm lucky enough to have some pretty remarkable, excellent friends, and you don't haveta always be in close proximity to find comfort in friendship. Plus, my dog rules. In short, I value my solitude. My autonomy. I value distance as much as I value intimacy. I'd haveta be incredibly connected to someone to ever consider sharing a domain again.
Whatever. I made it clear to the One-Armed Man that there would be no consideration of him staying here, even briefly, but that doesn't change the fact that he's somehow managed to infiltrate my life again, after all these years. Even if I wanted to avoid him, contact would be inevitable. I live around the corner from the methadone clinic. I don't know how to deal with this. He needs a job. He needs a place to live. He needs someone to help ease him into a "normal" life. I owe that much to him. I just don't know if I can handle it. Twenty-four hours ago I felt as emotionally-rich as I've ever felt in my life, and now I can already feel the drain. What do people see in me, that they always look to me for an anchor? I certainly don't feel like such a strong person. Maybe I'm just a sucker.
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Remember the One-Armed Man? No, it's not a Twin Peaks reference. I wrote about him a month or so ago. How incredibly strange it was, then, to pick up the phone last night, and find him on the other end. He just got outta the clink, and, for reasons beyond me, they dropped him here in Halifax. I can't believe it's been four years already.
I don't know how to feel about this. There are a few other people from the old gang scattered throughout this town, but I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who wouldn't flat-out tell him to fuck off royally, and hang up in his face, after what he became. Loyalty will be my undoing.
Fuck. I don't need this. Not now. By no means am I society's success story, but I'm slowly leaning how to be some kind of functional adult human being type-thing. I don't know if I've come far enough yet to be the one to try and help acclimatize someone to the straight life. But that's what he needs, and that's what the unspoken request was. And I'm probably the only person on the planet stupid and/or sentimental enough to give the guy the time of day now. For all that he eventually degenerated into, he was, once upon a longass time ago, one of the most dynamic and intelligent people I've ever known, and a fiercly-loyal friend. I felt privileged to know him, let alone count him as a best friend. I looked up to him. How can I turn my back on that? Y'know how there are maybe a handful of people you can think of who had such a profound impact on yr life that they ended up shaping who you are today? He's one of them, for me. Watching him turn into a monster was a lesson-and-a-half in Life 101.
So what do I do? The last time I went out on a limb for someone who didn't come outta the old days as intact as I did resulted in possibly the lowest point I've ever reached in my life, both emotionally and mentally. And, three years later, Homeless Dave is still homeless, if not dead. I don't know. The last time I saw him was over a year ago, in the emergency ward of the QEII, watching him OD on PCP again. The year-and-a-half we lived together reduced me to a shell of a human being. In some ways, I'm still recovering from that. I wasn't doing drugs, either. It was just an opressively bad vibe, like the entire universe was out to get me. People ask me if I get lonely sometimes, living alone like this. Of course I do. But you can be in a room packed with people, and still feel lonely. I'm lucky enough to have some pretty remarkable, excellent friends, and you don't haveta always be in close proximity to find comfort in friendship. Plus, my dog rules. In short, I value my solitude. My autonomy. I value distance as much as I value intimacy. I'd haveta be incredibly connected to someone to ever consider sharing a domain again.
Whatever. I made it clear to the One-Armed Man that there would be no consideration of him staying here, even briefly, but that doesn't change the fact that he's somehow managed to infiltrate my life again, after all these years. Even if I wanted to avoid him, contact would be inevitable. I live around the corner from the methadone clinic. I don't know how to deal with this. He needs a job. He needs a place to live. He needs someone to help ease him into a "normal" life. I owe that much to him. I just don't know if I can handle it. Twenty-four hours ago I felt as emotionally-rich as I've ever felt in my life, and now I can already feel the drain. What do people see in me, that they always look to me for an anchor? I certainly don't feel like such a strong person. Maybe I'm just a sucker.
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10/12/03
Ok, I'm giving the Rapture a second chance, and maybe they're not so bad after all. Some pretty engaging bass playing. I think I was put off by them being touted as "no wave," when they're really more of a dance-y Cure clone. Catchy, but still not very substantial. Speaking of umpteenth-generation no-wave, apparrently one of the guys from Cop Shoot Cop (who I like) is now in a band with some of the guys from Arab on Radar (whom I'm sorta indifferent to). I'm gonna haveta check that out.
I haven't heard the new Strokes album, but apparrently I don't need to be embarassed about wanting to check it out. Cool. I'm catching enough flak for liking Interpol.
The first thing Mark said to me after lending him the new(ish) Pretty Girls Make Graves album (which rules) was "Hey, that guitar player reminds me of me!" I'm telling you man, you (and, by extention, me, haha) were way ahead of yr time. Time to cash in soon, methinks, especially what with this Go4/Television renaissance thing.
I'm still borderline-obsessed with the Epoxies' album. So gritty and slick at the same time. Roxy Epoxy is just phenominal. Did I mention I usedta post on the same messageboard as her, before the band became a big deal? Are these scene points redeemable?
I was flipping through a back issue of Punk Planet on the shitter yesterday, and read a laughable review of Death from Above's EP. It criticized the "trebly guitars," which is pretty funny, considering the band consists only of a bass player and drummer. Anyway, I dig what the band is driving at, even if they maybe don't quite hit the mark. I'd like to hear whatever their new release thingy is.
I'm not sure who's more overrated, Black Eyes, or Black Lips. Both have a couple decent songs, and both have equally-forgettable albums. I dig the Black Eyes songs where the guy who sounds like D Boon sings though. I guess there's even some band called Black Moustache being hyped now. Gablack would be proud. I swear I will start a band called Black Fingernail to make this circle complete.
I have yet to hear the new Against Me! album, and I'm hearing pretty mixed reviews. The punx0rs sure don't seem to like it, at any rate. Whatever, I'm still stuck on Reinventing Axl Rose anyway. Go ahead and laugh.
I'm still really digging Burn, Piano Island, Burn, and, after putting it aside for awhile, and digging it back out, it's maybe the Blood Brothers' best album. Any band can make wanky noise. Few manage to balance it with hooks like that.
Blah. How did this turn into an album review entry? I need to go on another CD buying spree soon. So many new albums I want. So few will I be able to afford.
Can I please stop having girl-on-the-brain now?
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I haven't heard the new Strokes album, but apparrently I don't need to be embarassed about wanting to check it out. Cool. I'm catching enough flak for liking Interpol.
The first thing Mark said to me after lending him the new(ish) Pretty Girls Make Graves album (which rules) was "Hey, that guitar player reminds me of me!" I'm telling you man, you (and, by extention, me, haha) were way ahead of yr time. Time to cash in soon, methinks, especially what with this Go4/Television renaissance thing.
I'm still borderline-obsessed with the Epoxies' album. So gritty and slick at the same time. Roxy Epoxy is just phenominal. Did I mention I usedta post on the same messageboard as her, before the band became a big deal? Are these scene points redeemable?
I was flipping through a back issue of Punk Planet on the shitter yesterday, and read a laughable review of Death from Above's EP. It criticized the "trebly guitars," which is pretty funny, considering the band consists only of a bass player and drummer. Anyway, I dig what the band is driving at, even if they maybe don't quite hit the mark. I'd like to hear whatever their new release thingy is.
I'm not sure who's more overrated, Black Eyes, or Black Lips. Both have a couple decent songs, and both have equally-forgettable albums. I dig the Black Eyes songs where the guy who sounds like D Boon sings though. I guess there's even some band called Black Moustache being hyped now. Gablack would be proud. I swear I will start a band called Black Fingernail to make this circle complete.
I have yet to hear the new Against Me! album, and I'm hearing pretty mixed reviews. The punx0rs sure don't seem to like it, at any rate. Whatever, I'm still stuck on Reinventing Axl Rose anyway. Go ahead and laugh.
I'm still really digging Burn, Piano Island, Burn, and, after putting it aside for awhile, and digging it back out, it's maybe the Blood Brothers' best album. Any band can make wanky noise. Few manage to balance it with hooks like that.
Blah. How did this turn into an album review entry? I need to go on another CD buying spree soon. So many new albums I want. So few will I be able to afford.
Can I please stop having girl-on-the-brain now?
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07/12/03
06/12/03
I lend no credence to astrology, but I'll be damned if that Free Will Astrology guy isn't speaking directly to me sometimes. It's downright creepy.
I mean, I'm enough of a non-idiot to realize that all horoscopes tender in vague, open-to-liberal-interpretation, self-help type advice. Like, when was the last time yr horoscope told you that, yeah, maybe you should jump off that bridge this week? The appeal is generally that they allow you to make inferences ("Hey, I see how that [insert metaphor] applies to my [insert personal situation]!"), thus giving the interpreter the opportunity to feel a little clever, and possibly self-empowered enough to get through another week of profane, non-metaphorical life. All in all, a pretty harmless little scam, right?
Thing is, I dunno sometimes. Maybe it's just a vestige of the fifteen-year-old kid I once was, who obsessed over UFOs and Wicca and ESP and Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle and the Loch Ness Monster and yeah, even astrology (just to set the record straight, this predates the X-Files by a good five years, haha)... but, well, like I said, I dunno. I abandoned any pretense of "spirituality" long ago, and I'm generally happy to leave the existence of god, extraterrestrials, honest politicians et al up in the air until further notice. I'm a textbook agnostic. Belief, disbelief, whatever. Both are equally presumptuous in the absence of something you can quantify. Mystery is fun and scary and profound. Let it be. Let it unfold. Unfold with it. If there's any purpose in life at all, it's getting caught up in the mystery, not explaining it away, and both cynics and flakes alike are guilty of that. Both point so hard they miss the point.
Uh, speaking of missing the point... I'm not sure what mine was anymore. I think it was gonna be that, despite all my outward cynicism and existential angst, there's still a part of me that refuses to dismiss a holistic view of life and its proceedings. Empirically speaking, there is an interconnectedness to all things. Cause and effect, stimulus, response, and all that. The trick would seem to be to try and make connections between disparate things, and I guess that's the guilty appeal of astrology to me. It's a crock of shit, but not an entirely implausible crock of shit.
Flakiest. Rant. Ever. Time for bed. I'm expecting a phonecall in a few hours :D
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I mean, I'm enough of a non-idiot to realize that all horoscopes tender in vague, open-to-liberal-interpretation, self-help type advice. Like, when was the last time yr horoscope told you that, yeah, maybe you should jump off that bridge this week? The appeal is generally that they allow you to make inferences ("Hey, I see how that [insert metaphor] applies to my [insert personal situation]!"), thus giving the interpreter the opportunity to feel a little clever, and possibly self-empowered enough to get through another week of profane, non-metaphorical life. All in all, a pretty harmless little scam, right?
Thing is, I dunno sometimes. Maybe it's just a vestige of the fifteen-year-old kid I once was, who obsessed over UFOs and Wicca and ESP and Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle and the Loch Ness Monster and yeah, even astrology (just to set the record straight, this predates the X-Files by a good five years, haha)... but, well, like I said, I dunno. I abandoned any pretense of "spirituality" long ago, and I'm generally happy to leave the existence of god, extraterrestrials, honest politicians et al up in the air until further notice. I'm a textbook agnostic. Belief, disbelief, whatever. Both are equally presumptuous in the absence of something you can quantify. Mystery is fun and scary and profound. Let it be. Let it unfold. Unfold with it. If there's any purpose in life at all, it's getting caught up in the mystery, not explaining it away, and both cynics and flakes alike are guilty of that. Both point so hard they miss the point.
Uh, speaking of missing the point... I'm not sure what mine was anymore. I think it was gonna be that, despite all my outward cynicism and existential angst, there's still a part of me that refuses to dismiss a holistic view of life and its proceedings. Empirically speaking, there is an interconnectedness to all things. Cause and effect, stimulus, response, and all that. The trick would seem to be to try and make connections between disparate things, and I guess that's the guilty appeal of astrology to me. It's a crock of shit, but not an entirely implausible crock of shit.
Flakiest. Rant. Ever. Time for bed. I'm expecting a phonecall in a few hours :D
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05/12/03
I have come to the following conclusion:
Bathtub + boredom + alcohol + scissors = Not a combination I endorse.
Eureka indeed.
So anywaaay...
I've taken all these tests before, at one point or another, but since this one seems to be all the rage on the blog/lj circuit at the moment, I'll bite again:
Take Free Personality Disorder Test
Yikes!
Anyway, this site is pretty good. It even has a couple different versions of the Myers-Briggs test, which is, I believe, the generally-accepted one in the shrink community these days.
Oh, and just in case yr wondering, I didn't injure myself.
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Bathtub + boredom + alcohol + scissors = Not a combination I endorse.
Eureka indeed.
So anywaaay...
I've taken all these tests before, at one point or another, but since this one seems to be all the rage on the blog/lj circuit at the moment, I'll bite again:
| Personality Disorder Test Results
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Yikes!
Anyway, this site is pretty good. It even has a couple different versions of the Myers-Briggs test, which is, I believe, the generally-accepted one in the shrink community these days.
Oh, and just in case yr wondering, I didn't injure myself.
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04/12/03
This started out as a reply to Mark Black's last blog entry, but it just became too lengthy and self-indulgent.
I was raised by a single, agnostic mother, on the fringe of a larger, devoutly-catholic family. It was tense. I don't know how she did it. I've always been staunchly unreligious, even as a child, but it's funny how I can still be overcome with catholic guilt once in awhile. It's crazy how insidious religious imagery can be.
None of that matters. What the first paragraph of yr rant reminded me of was the death of my grandfather. I seem to be talking about him an awful lot lately. Anyway, as I've said before in here, he was basically my best friend and father figure until he died when I was ten. I spent a good deal of time with him on his deathbed. I knew what death was, and I knew he was dying.
He was not a religious man. He was a cut-the-crap kinda guy. But he married into catholicism. My grandmother's sister, a spinster, was a crazy bitch, and a catholic nut.
Imagine dying of cancer. Unspeakable pain. You know you have hours to live. Maybe you believe in god, maybe you don't; either way, you know protocol can be damned at this point. You please just want to die. And as you lie there in agony, a hideous, hateful woman, a woman you loathe, whispers prayer upon spiteful prayer into yr ear. You lack the physical strength to beg her to stop. You lie there. You are in hell. Hours pass, and you welcome death, because no hell is worse than this.
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I was raised by a single, agnostic mother, on the fringe of a larger, devoutly-catholic family. It was tense. I don't know how she did it. I've always been staunchly unreligious, even as a child, but it's funny how I can still be overcome with catholic guilt once in awhile. It's crazy how insidious religious imagery can be.
None of that matters. What the first paragraph of yr rant reminded me of was the death of my grandfather. I seem to be talking about him an awful lot lately. Anyway, as I've said before in here, he was basically my best friend and father figure until he died when I was ten. I spent a good deal of time with him on his deathbed. I knew what death was, and I knew he was dying.
He was not a religious man. He was a cut-the-crap kinda guy. But he married into catholicism. My grandmother's sister, a spinster, was a crazy bitch, and a catholic nut.
Imagine dying of cancer. Unspeakable pain. You know you have hours to live. Maybe you believe in god, maybe you don't; either way, you know protocol can be damned at this point. You please just want to die. And as you lie there in agony, a hideous, hateful woman, a woman you loathe, whispers prayer upon spiteful prayer into yr ear. You lack the physical strength to beg her to stop. You lie there. You are in hell. Hours pass, and you welcome death, because no hell is worse than this.
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You can learn a lot about someone from their lint.
Man I wish I had some speed. The last time I undertook a cleaning operation of this magnitude, Homeless Dave (my roommate at the time. God I wish I knew whether or not he was still alive) and I took a whack of speed, cranked the music through my PA, and just totally spazzed out in a cleaning frenzy. I mean, we went nuts. We worked up a sweat. We got shit done. We were like machines. It was epic.
Come to think of it, that was probably the last time I did speed. That was like two years ago. I'm turning into such a square.
I've been "cleaning" for like two hours now, and the place still looks virtually untouched. I keep taking breaks to have a smoke or a beer, and they keep getting longer as I get more and more sucked into the stupid internet. What's really putting me off is the inevitable fact that I really, really need to come up with some sort of filing system to deal with the thousands of random paper scraps, essays, half-written songs, letters, show posters, documents, and various other jibber-jabber that litter every other surface in this place. I need either to learn to organize this shit, or to fucking throw it out. It's a daunting prospect, but I've known for years that I need to curb my packrat tendencies. Maybe I'll do the artsy-angsty thing, and just have a nice little bonfire with all this crap.
Nah, I don't feel like paying for a singed carpet whenever I move outta this place.
AND THAT'S ANOTHER THING! Carpets are real cozy and all, but I don't reccommend them for anyone who happens to own a dog with severe stomach problems. What I'd give for cheapo vinyl flooring. Dog puke, mmmm. PuNk RaWk!
Fuck all this organizational shit, I'm gonna go tackle the bathroom. Scrubbing is easy.
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Man I wish I had some speed. The last time I undertook a cleaning operation of this magnitude, Homeless Dave (my roommate at the time. God I wish I knew whether or not he was still alive) and I took a whack of speed, cranked the music through my PA, and just totally spazzed out in a cleaning frenzy. I mean, we went nuts. We worked up a sweat. We got shit done. We were like machines. It was epic.
Come to think of it, that was probably the last time I did speed. That was like two years ago. I'm turning into such a square.
I've been "cleaning" for like two hours now, and the place still looks virtually untouched. I keep taking breaks to have a smoke or a beer, and they keep getting longer as I get more and more sucked into the stupid internet. What's really putting me off is the inevitable fact that I really, really need to come up with some sort of filing system to deal with the thousands of random paper scraps, essays, half-written songs, letters, show posters, documents, and various other jibber-jabber that litter every other surface in this place. I need either to learn to organize this shit, or to fucking throw it out. It's a daunting prospect, but I've known for years that I need to curb my packrat tendencies. Maybe I'll do the artsy-angsty thing, and just have a nice little bonfire with all this crap.
Nah, I don't feel like paying for a singed carpet whenever I move outta this place.
AND THAT'S ANOTHER THING! Carpets are real cozy and all, but I don't reccommend them for anyone who happens to own a dog with severe stomach problems. What I'd give for cheapo vinyl flooring. Dog puke, mmmm. PuNk RaWk!
Fuck all this organizational shit, I'm gonna go tackle the bathroom. Scrubbing is easy.
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03/12/03
So, um, I was gonna just quickly scan the messageboard I frequent before bed, but, uh... this is pretty weird...
I don't know the details at the moment, but it appears that it's been shut down. In the 24 hours since I've checked it, it seems that most of the core group of two-or-three hundred people have, for lack of a place to post, randomly hijacked the official Ned's Atomic Dustbin forum en masse. That's right, Ned's Atomic Dustbin. I don't remember them either. Is it possible that I'm witnessing the inception of cyber-squatting?
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I don't know the details at the moment, but it appears that it's been shut down. In the 24 hours since I've checked it, it seems that most of the core group of two-or-three hundred people have, for lack of a place to post, randomly hijacked the official Ned's Atomic Dustbin forum en masse. That's right, Ned's Atomic Dustbin. I don't remember them either. Is it possible that I'm witnessing the inception of cyber-squatting?
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Another Yay!
Sorry folks, but that one's gonna remain cryptic too.
Scroll down to the "One-Eyed Pete" entry at the bottom, and check out the Nip or Tuck for an informed correction of my ham-fisted explanation of the slang French usage of "away." Attention is also brought to the bizarre gun-nut ads often featured at the bottom of the comment boxes. I only noticed those recently myself. Kinda freaky, yeah, but what's even freakier is that the ad alternates with one for something Unix-related. Wha? At any rate, yeah, the program I'm using for Nip or Tuck is pretty fuckin' sub-par, but I'm just too computarded to chance messing with the template for this thing any further. There's actually quite a lot I'd like to refine about the look and feel (terrible font and font size, borders too wide, more links to add, wanna add picture to banner... I could go on. Sorry though Toby, I actually like the colour scheme. It's one of the only things that came out exactly as I'd envisioned), but the last time I tried changing the template, I somehow managed to delete the entire contents of the site in the process. Thank fuck I was only on my second or third entry. Anyway, just in case anyone was wondering, uh, I'm not a gun nut. I don't use Unix, either, haha. I'm so painfully mediocre.
So anyway, enough about that. Dim the lights, fellow Mood Surgeons, for I find myself, tonight, at a crossroads. I am between endeavours, and cannot decide which of two prospects will better serve to further enrich my life for a fortnight; One Day In the Life Of Ivan Denisovich by Solzhenitsyn, or Grand Theft Auto III by, uh, a bunch of rich geeks. The former has been gathering dust for three years, and will no doubt be the cause of some future embarassment, if left unread long enough for someone who actually gives a shit about literature to take a wrong turn into my house. The latter... well, it's Grand Theft Auto. I've been wanting to check that game out for like forever. Not to mention that if I don't give it a go soon, I'll catch more shit from its lender than I do about the still-unassembled entertainment center he gave me four months ago.
I'm gonna sleep on it, and decide after I perform triple-bypass surgery on my living quarters tonight.
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Sorry folks, but that one's gonna remain cryptic too.
Scroll down to the "One-Eyed Pete" entry at the bottom, and check out the Nip or Tuck for an informed correction of my ham-fisted explanation of the slang French usage of "away." Attention is also brought to the bizarre gun-nut ads often featured at the bottom of the comment boxes. I only noticed those recently myself. Kinda freaky, yeah, but what's even freakier is that the ad alternates with one for something Unix-related. Wha? At any rate, yeah, the program I'm using for Nip or Tuck is pretty fuckin' sub-par, but I'm just too computarded to chance messing with the template for this thing any further. There's actually quite a lot I'd like to refine about the look and feel (terrible font and font size, borders too wide, more links to add, wanna add picture to banner... I could go on. Sorry though Toby, I actually like the colour scheme. It's one of the only things that came out exactly as I'd envisioned), but the last time I tried changing the template, I somehow managed to delete the entire contents of the site in the process. Thank fuck I was only on my second or third entry. Anyway, just in case anyone was wondering, uh, I'm not a gun nut. I don't use Unix, either, haha. I'm so painfully mediocre.
So anyway, enough about that. Dim the lights, fellow Mood Surgeons, for I find myself, tonight, at a crossroads. I am between endeavours, and cannot decide which of two prospects will better serve to further enrich my life for a fortnight; One Day In the Life Of Ivan Denisovich by Solzhenitsyn, or Grand Theft Auto III by, uh, a bunch of rich geeks. The former has been gathering dust for three years, and will no doubt be the cause of some future embarassment, if left unread long enough for someone who actually gives a shit about literature to take a wrong turn into my house. The latter... well, it's Grand Theft Auto. I've been wanting to check that game out for like forever. Not to mention that if I don't give it a go soon, I'll catch more shit from its lender than I do about the still-unassembled entertainment center he gave me four months ago.
I'm gonna sleep on it, and decide after I perform triple-bypass surgery on my living quarters tonight.
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02/12/03
I had a feeling. An old, wrong feeling. It's always needed dealing with, but it's slippery. I was lost in music, and it crawled out of nowhere. I tried to look at it sideways while I snuck up on it, but it saw me. I tried to wrap my hands around it, but it saw me. I tried to disguise myself, but it knew me. It saw me and knew me and sank back into my chest with a gulp. Now I feel heavier and emptier. I can see it down there, hiding, away from my grasp. I almost had it.
Get out of me.
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Get out of me.
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In Low Light
The mysterious proportions of things
That reveal themselves in low light
Abstract, but not esoteric
Make, not more sense, but somehow
Better sense
A mystery not to be solved
But left
Forever unfolding
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The mysterious proportions of things
That reveal themselves in low light
Abstract, but not esoteric
Make, not more sense, but somehow
Better sense
A mystery not to be solved
But left
Forever unfolding
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01/12/03
Haha, true story: While Drock was out drinking on Saturday night, his dog somehow escaped his house and took off. After getting the news, Drock headed home, and spent the whole night sitting on his doorstep waiting for Creep to return. As it turns out, Creep's smarter than he looks- he was found in the wee hours of the morning, looking for Drock at the Seahorse.
It's now officially "the Most Wonderful Time of the Year." How do I know this? Because intercoms everywhere began spewing out canned xmas jingles at the crack of fucking midnight. Bloody hell, the one at work was churnin' 'em out two hours before it even became December. I know this is flogging a dead horse here, but cripes. Contrary to what a handle like "Ebenezer Stooge" might indicate, I'm by no means a "bah humbug" sorta guy. In fact, I generally like xmas... all TWELVE DAYS of it. This shit is just ridiculous, and an entire month of hearing Bony M doing Felize Navidad six times a night is what I would constitute as cruel and unusual punishment. If I wanna hear jingle bells, I'll throw on some Flying Saucer Attack, thanks.
I've had it worse, I guess. I suppose I got spoiled the past couple years, what with usually being on leave from work for university this time of year. The worst was the year ('96, maybe) I worked in this goofy mall boutique called "Mystique Island" that sold numerology playing cards and overpriced Indonesian trinkets to lesbians and wannabe hippie kids with rich parents. Hey, it was a job, and the chick that owned the place was a drug buddy of mine. Flaky bitch still owes me a hundred bucks. Anyway, the mall it was in had this tape of reprehensible country interpretations of all the classic xmas carols (for the record, I dig some country music, and even the odd xmas song, when tastefully done, but this was awful shit. Early 80s Nashville awful) on 24-hour repeat, for the entire month of December. It'd obviously been their staple xmas soundtrack every year since the cassette was released- I'm guessing 1981- 'cause at various places it'd slow down or speed up where the tape had gotten weak from overuse. After a couple maddening weeks of hearing Nashville's worst making a mockery of some originally-pretty songs at grotesquely-inconsistent speeds, over and over and over again, I think just about everyone who worked in the mall was about to snap. Toward the end of the season, when the tape would get to one of the slow, surreal, mutilated parts (which we all knew by heart at this point- I particularly remember a Lynchian drag in the middle of the Dolly Parton song) the girls who worked in the upscale clothing boutique next door and I would chant "Snap! Snap! Snap!" in the hopes that the tape would finally break. The fucker never did though, and I wouldn't be surprised if employees of stores currently situated in the "Place Bathurst Mall" are being subjected to that fucking sonic abomination as I type this. Pity them. If you have an ounce of empathy within yr soul, pity them.
Caraaaaaaaaaa! I need resume advice! Heeeeeeeeelp meeeeeeeeeeee!
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It's now officially "the Most Wonderful Time of the Year." How do I know this? Because intercoms everywhere began spewing out canned xmas jingles at the crack of fucking midnight. Bloody hell, the one at work was churnin' 'em out two hours before it even became December. I know this is flogging a dead horse here, but cripes. Contrary to what a handle like "Ebenezer Stooge" might indicate, I'm by no means a "bah humbug" sorta guy. In fact, I generally like xmas... all TWELVE DAYS of it. This shit is just ridiculous, and an entire month of hearing Bony M doing Felize Navidad six times a night is what I would constitute as cruel and unusual punishment. If I wanna hear jingle bells, I'll throw on some Flying Saucer Attack, thanks.
I've had it worse, I guess. I suppose I got spoiled the past couple years, what with usually being on leave from work for university this time of year. The worst was the year ('96, maybe) I worked in this goofy mall boutique called "Mystique Island" that sold numerology playing cards and overpriced Indonesian trinkets to lesbians and wannabe hippie kids with rich parents. Hey, it was a job, and the chick that owned the place was a drug buddy of mine. Flaky bitch still owes me a hundred bucks. Anyway, the mall it was in had this tape of reprehensible country interpretations of all the classic xmas carols (for the record, I dig some country music, and even the odd xmas song, when tastefully done, but this was awful shit. Early 80s Nashville awful) on 24-hour repeat, for the entire month of December. It'd obviously been their staple xmas soundtrack every year since the cassette was released- I'm guessing 1981- 'cause at various places it'd slow down or speed up where the tape had gotten weak from overuse. After a couple maddening weeks of hearing Nashville's worst making a mockery of some originally-pretty songs at grotesquely-inconsistent speeds, over and over and over again, I think just about everyone who worked in the mall was about to snap. Toward the end of the season, when the tape would get to one of the slow, surreal, mutilated parts (which we all knew by heart at this point- I particularly remember a Lynchian drag in the middle of the Dolly Parton song) the girls who worked in the upscale clothing boutique next door and I would chant "Snap! Snap! Snap!" in the hopes that the tape would finally break. The fucker never did though, and I wouldn't be surprised if employees of stores currently situated in the "Place Bathurst Mall" are being subjected to that fucking sonic abomination as I type this. Pity them. If you have an ounce of empathy within yr soul, pity them.
Caraaaaaaaaaa! I need resume advice! Heeeeeeeeelp meeeeeeeeeeee!
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