30/01/04
28/01/04
Hrm. I've had this carpet steamer that I sorta borrowed (as in, didn't log it out, or pay for) from work for like three days now. I ducked out of jamming with the Brand New All-Star Supergroup last night (woulda been our first jam) with the intention of cleaning these damn dog-puke-encrusted carpets, and hopefully getting the thing back to my workplace before anyone noticed it was gone.
Then Cara somehow made it seem more logical to down some eight packs and Chinese at her place and go out to Mullet Monday at the Seapig.
"Oh well," says I, "I'll do it Wednesday morning, after work."
6:01 AM: I walk in the door. Hey, there's a new vomit stain.
6:03 AM: Telephone rings. "Ngey, itsss Mike. We're goin' ta tha cashino. You owe me fucker. Come out and driiiinkh."
My poor carpets.
|
Then Cara somehow made it seem more logical to down some eight packs and Chinese at her place and go out to Mullet Monday at the Seapig.
"Oh well," says I, "I'll do it Wednesday morning, after work."
6:01 AM: I walk in the door. Hey, there's a new vomit stain.
6:03 AM: Telephone rings. "Ngey, itsss Mike. We're goin' ta tha cashino. You owe me fucker. Come out and driiiinkh."
My poor carpets.
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25/01/04
In the foreground there's a speaker telling me what I want to hear
Over there some shredded paper
I'm blind in one eye
I shouldn't have given myself this haircut
But that one kissed me out of nowhere!
And that other one mussed it up like the Anti-Mom
Before they left
And I woke up with an answering machine
I really shouldn't smoke pot.
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Over there some shredded paper
I'm blind in one eye
I shouldn't have given myself this haircut
But that one kissed me out of nowhere!
And that other one mussed it up like the Anti-Mom
Before they left
And I woke up with an answering machine
I really shouldn't smoke pot.
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24/01/04
I miss sex as a bonding ritual, as opposed to just a mutual gratification thing.
I miss profound sex.
People mistake that for love sometimes. No wonder they always wanna be in love.
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I miss profound sex.
People mistake that for love sometimes. No wonder they always wanna be in love.
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23/01/04
"I do not want to live past the age 30. Hopefully more wisdom comes with age and I change my outlook, but I feel my existence would be pretty sad and useless. Like people would pass me off for not achieving certain things, that I couldn't be normal if I tried but more importantly no one would enjoy humoring me when I'm aged. Mixed with my lack of appreciation for most social codes, I could be a lonely rambling un-intelligent old man dreaming all day with no money to take care of myself. Everyone I once knew just disgusted with how I turned out. It's like unless by some bizarre twist of fate I receive special circumstances, I'll be a useless member of society when I reach that state."
Your future, my friend; my present. I hope you don't mind me quoting that (I seem to be stealing more from other people's writings than actually writing anything myself lately, haha), but it really resonates with me, and also seems to be fairly relevant to Crystal's latest entry too, if I'm reading her right.
I honestly don't know where I thought I'd be at this age. I didn't think about the future much. Still don't, really. I think a part of me did believe that I'd recieve that bizarre twist of fate, that special set of circumstances. I suppose in some ways I even did, depending on the way I look back at things. To some people I'd imagine I lead the very definition of an empty, directionless life, but there are people who only ever sit around and daydream about a lot of the things I've experienced and been a part of. The things I daydreamt about, I went out and DID, and that's what yr doing. That's what I'm still doing, and sometimes it sucks, but if it weren't rewarding I'd have moved on- and there are still things to be done. I wouldn't have looked at it this way when I was yr age, but that's a GOOD thing. I think a lot of people get to my age, take a look around themselves, at the instability of this kind of life, and just bolt. They latch onto an idea -anything, marriage, a respectable career, Amway, religion- and they settle for that, because, to them, at that moment, ANYTHING seems better than an uncertain future. For some of these people, this move is genuine, and I envy anyone who finds a calling in the respectable realm of life or true love or whatever. I just pity the people that make a facade of these things by doing them out of fear a lot more. What about all the things they'd hoped to do? How much better off would they have been if they'd already done it all anyway? Where the fuck d'you go from there? See, you've got it backwards- THAT'S when yr better off dead. It's scary sometimes, and, at the risk of sounding overly-dramatic, I've seen my share of casualties in the alternative-lifestyle department, but I've managed alright, and I'm glad I still have teenage fantasies to live up to. Maybe in my 30s I'll get laid more.
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Your future, my friend; my present. I hope you don't mind me quoting that (I seem to be stealing more from other people's writings than actually writing anything myself lately, haha), but it really resonates with me, and also seems to be fairly relevant to Crystal's latest entry too, if I'm reading her right.
I honestly don't know where I thought I'd be at this age. I didn't think about the future much. Still don't, really. I think a part of me did believe that I'd recieve that bizarre twist of fate, that special set of circumstances. I suppose in some ways I even did, depending on the way I look back at things. To some people I'd imagine I lead the very definition of an empty, directionless life, but there are people who only ever sit around and daydream about a lot of the things I've experienced and been a part of. The things I daydreamt about, I went out and DID, and that's what yr doing. That's what I'm still doing, and sometimes it sucks, but if it weren't rewarding I'd have moved on- and there are still things to be done. I wouldn't have looked at it this way when I was yr age, but that's a GOOD thing. I think a lot of people get to my age, take a look around themselves, at the instability of this kind of life, and just bolt. They latch onto an idea -anything, marriage, a respectable career, Amway, religion- and they settle for that, because, to them, at that moment, ANYTHING seems better than an uncertain future. For some of these people, this move is genuine, and I envy anyone who finds a calling in the respectable realm of life or true love or whatever. I just pity the people that make a facade of these things by doing them out of fear a lot more. What about all the things they'd hoped to do? How much better off would they have been if they'd already done it all anyway? Where the fuck d'you go from there? See, you've got it backwards- THAT'S when yr better off dead. It's scary sometimes, and, at the risk of sounding overly-dramatic, I've seen my share of casualties in the alternative-lifestyle department, but I've managed alright, and I'm glad I still have teenage fantasies to live up to. Maybe in my 30s I'll get laid more.
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22/01/04
Hee hee. So now I'm privy to certain classified information.
"38. Who was the best new person you met? (in 2003)
Eben"
Totally likewise, without question. Way to go asshole, now I feel all warm and fuzzy and goofy inside.
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"38. Who was the best new person you met? (in 2003)
Eben"
Totally likewise, without question. Way to go asshole, now I feel all warm and fuzzy and goofy inside.
|
21/01/04
19/01/04
"Long time no see."
This is problably symptomatic of some kind of socio-analytical disorder of mine, but I hate when I catch myself resorting to one of those pat, pre-programmed conversational responses. Like, when someone says "Hey, how's it going?" and you reply, "Oh, not much." These little fragments of linguistic detritus convey about as much information whether employed in proper context or not. I mean, I do understand that, in a deep, profound, let's-not-go-there sorta way, all words, phrases and various other parts of language are just as inherently devoid of meaning on their own. It quite literally is the thought behind language as a whole that counts. It means only what it represents, as much to the speaker as to the listener. Gestures and intonation and probably a zillion other things provide the backdrop for the ideas being exchanged. I'm sure there's a plethora of gestural and facial equivalents to "talking about the weather" too, as it were. I guess that's what bugs me about this shit- to someone who's really paying attention, the only information really being conveyed is the EMPTINESS of the words (or gestures, or whatever). I fear being exposed in this act like nothing else. And trust me, I indulge. It's almost fucking inescapable. I also guess that this is why I feel more comfortable with the printed word. Deprived of the bolstering effect of colourful enunciation or whatever, you really gotta look at words for what they are. The redundancies of much of the thoughtless pleasantry we exchange in day-to-day life appear glaringly obvious in this milieu, and are thus that much easier to avoid. I am not a thoughtless person -far from it, I'd like to think- but my awkwardness and social ineptitude often find me resorting to default chit-chat in my very efforts not to sound awkward and socially inept. I don't doubt that this often results in the impression that I am, indeed, thoughtless. Or clueless. Or something. I am incredibly self-centered, but not really in a "selfish" sense (if that makes any sense); more like in an I'm-analyzing-myself-in-six-million-different-ways-right-now-so-as-not-to-sound-like-an-idiot-to-you way. When I catch myself in one of these things it's like a downward spiral into gibberish. Whoever I'm speaking with at the time probably didn't even notice whatever little thing set me off into hyper-self-analysis mode, but I'm sure they notice the tard I become once anxiety about it sets in. I know I'm far less critical of it in others. So yeah, if yr ever talking to me and I'm coming across like a douchebag, it's probably that. Either that or I'm drunk. Then I just don't give a fuck. Hell, this is probably WHY I drink.
Meh, whatever.
Saturday was another blast. I finally got around to seeing Iron Giant. Chris Lewis has been a buddy of mine for about a decade now, and the band's been playing here like once a month since their inception like two years ago, so it was about damn time. I was not disappointed. Not real big on the whole stoner rock thing myself, but they had just the right mix of Sabbath fuzz and Kyuss "Oh yeeeaahhhh!" and weirdo Wayne Kramer style guitar solos. None of that boring Fu Manchu shit. Plus, the man's beard has become a show in and of itself. I was tempted to go jump into him onstage, but I wasn't sure he'd recognize me right away, and I would not wanna be on the recieving end of one of that man's fists.
Man, I could tell stories about those Moncton guys, haha.
|
This is problably symptomatic of some kind of socio-analytical disorder of mine, but I hate when I catch myself resorting to one of those pat, pre-programmed conversational responses. Like, when someone says "Hey, how's it going?" and you reply, "Oh, not much." These little fragments of linguistic detritus convey about as much information whether employed in proper context or not. I mean, I do understand that, in a deep, profound, let's-not-go-there sorta way, all words, phrases and various other parts of language are just as inherently devoid of meaning on their own. It quite literally is the thought behind language as a whole that counts. It means only what it represents, as much to the speaker as to the listener. Gestures and intonation and probably a zillion other things provide the backdrop for the ideas being exchanged. I'm sure there's a plethora of gestural and facial equivalents to "talking about the weather" too, as it were. I guess that's what bugs me about this shit- to someone who's really paying attention, the only information really being conveyed is the EMPTINESS of the words (or gestures, or whatever). I fear being exposed in this act like nothing else. And trust me, I indulge. It's almost fucking inescapable. I also guess that this is why I feel more comfortable with the printed word. Deprived of the bolstering effect of colourful enunciation or whatever, you really gotta look at words for what they are. The redundancies of much of the thoughtless pleasantry we exchange in day-to-day life appear glaringly obvious in this milieu, and are thus that much easier to avoid. I am not a thoughtless person -far from it, I'd like to think- but my awkwardness and social ineptitude often find me resorting to default chit-chat in my very efforts not to sound awkward and socially inept. I don't doubt that this often results in the impression that I am, indeed, thoughtless. Or clueless. Or something. I am incredibly self-centered, but not really in a "selfish" sense (if that makes any sense); more like in an I'm-analyzing-myself-in-six-million-different-ways-right-now-so-as-not-to-sound-like-an-idiot-to-you way. When I catch myself in one of these things it's like a downward spiral into gibberish. Whoever I'm speaking with at the time probably didn't even notice whatever little thing set me off into hyper-self-analysis mode, but I'm sure they notice the tard I become once anxiety about it sets in. I know I'm far less critical of it in others. So yeah, if yr ever talking to me and I'm coming across like a douchebag, it's probably that. Either that or I'm drunk. Then I just don't give a fuck. Hell, this is probably WHY I drink.
Meh, whatever.
Saturday was another blast. I finally got around to seeing Iron Giant. Chris Lewis has been a buddy of mine for about a decade now, and the band's been playing here like once a month since their inception like two years ago, so it was about damn time. I was not disappointed. Not real big on the whole stoner rock thing myself, but they had just the right mix of Sabbath fuzz and Kyuss "Oh yeeeaahhhh!" and weirdo Wayne Kramer style guitar solos. None of that boring Fu Manchu shit. Plus, the man's beard has become a show in and of itself. I was tempted to go jump into him onstage, but I wasn't sure he'd recognize me right away, and I would not wanna be on the recieving end of one of that man's fists.
Man, I could tell stories about those Moncton guys, haha.
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18/01/04
17/01/04
The end of an era is fast approaching. I have no idea how I'm gonna deal with what comes afterwards. Anyone who doesn't own a particularly game dog is probably not gonna get this.
When Java was just shy of a year old, back when I still lived in the shed/warehouse thing ("the Shop") in my grandmother's backyard, and maybe a month before I moved here, she sustained an injury that almost killed her. My mom was out playing fetch with her on the lawn. With a good ol' fashioned stick. What else would you play fetch with, right? When Jav was this age, she made divots outta the lawn as she ran. Pitbulls outrun greyhounds in the first sixty meters or so. So my mom tossed this stick, and it managed to plant itself in the ground, jagged side up. Poor Jav was running so fast she impaled her face on it. She ended up with a "splinter" the size of my pinky finger embedded in the rear of her jaw. I don't have a small pinky finger.
My mom brought her into the house, and I pulled what I could of the splinter out of the back of Jav's mouth. As ever, she seemed relatively nonplussed. I went upstairs to get ready for work. When I got outta the shower, my mom seemed awfully concerned. I figured it was just my mom being my overconcerned mom, but when I went back down to see Jav, she, my crazy hyperactive dog, was lying there shuddering feverishly with her eyes rolled back in her head. She could barely move.
This was a sunday in a small town. The nearest open veterinary office was an hour away. I was scared as fuck. Mom convinced me that it was cool for me to go to work; she'd drive Java there, and call me at work with updates. I got no calls. That was the worst shift of my life.
Got home and found my mom still awake after my night shift. She was pretty shook up. I was fucking freaking out. Jav had gotten a ragingly intrusive infection from her wound. According to the out-of-town Vet guy, had she not been taken there within the hour she was, she'd have died.
So I stopped using sticks to play fetch with. For lack of anything better, I started using this cool Nylabone tug-of-war toy for playing fetch, and over the years Jav and I have developed a simple, yet elaborate game revolving around this toy. Every game we've played for the last five years has revolved around this toy. Every walk to the park revolves around this toy.
This toy was discontinued last year.
My mom, in her infinite coolness, snatched up the last two she could find at her local pet store. I've gone through maybe a dozen in my life with this dog. I lost the second-to-last one tonight in the drifting snow.
The only thing I can think of is to write the company a pleading letter to please re-continue the toy in question.
Please?
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When Java was just shy of a year old, back when I still lived in the shed/warehouse thing ("the Shop") in my grandmother's backyard, and maybe a month before I moved here, she sustained an injury that almost killed her. My mom was out playing fetch with her on the lawn. With a good ol' fashioned stick. What else would you play fetch with, right? When Jav was this age, she made divots outta the lawn as she ran. Pitbulls outrun greyhounds in the first sixty meters or so. So my mom tossed this stick, and it managed to plant itself in the ground, jagged side up. Poor Jav was running so fast she impaled her face on it. She ended up with a "splinter" the size of my pinky finger embedded in the rear of her jaw. I don't have a small pinky finger.
My mom brought her into the house, and I pulled what I could of the splinter out of the back of Jav's mouth. As ever, she seemed relatively nonplussed. I went upstairs to get ready for work. When I got outta the shower, my mom seemed awfully concerned. I figured it was just my mom being my overconcerned mom, but when I went back down to see Jav, she, my crazy hyperactive dog, was lying there shuddering feverishly with her eyes rolled back in her head. She could barely move.
This was a sunday in a small town. The nearest open veterinary office was an hour away. I was scared as fuck. Mom convinced me that it was cool for me to go to work; she'd drive Java there, and call me at work with updates. I got no calls. That was the worst shift of my life.
Got home and found my mom still awake after my night shift. She was pretty shook up. I was fucking freaking out. Jav had gotten a ragingly intrusive infection from her wound. According to the out-of-town Vet guy, had she not been taken there within the hour she was, she'd have died.
So I stopped using sticks to play fetch with. For lack of anything better, I started using this cool Nylabone tug-of-war toy for playing fetch, and over the years Jav and I have developed a simple, yet elaborate game revolving around this toy. Every game we've played for the last five years has revolved around this toy. Every walk to the park revolves around this toy.
This toy was discontinued last year.
My mom, in her infinite coolness, snatched up the last two she could find at her local pet store. I've gone through maybe a dozen in my life with this dog. I lost the second-to-last one tonight in the drifting snow.
The only thing I can think of is to write the company a pleading letter to please re-continue the toy in question.
Please?
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15/01/04
Well I'll be damned.
Some people you just don't ever picture getting the internet. But shit, I was one of those. Welcome aboard Crystal. Don't hurt me, cowgirl.
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Some people you just don't ever picture getting the internet. But shit, I was one of those. Welcome aboard Crystal. Don't hurt me, cowgirl.
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1) Using band names, spell out your first name:
Epoxies
Butthole Surfers
Existench
Naked Raygun
2) Have you ever had a song written about you?
Do shitty a capella Lilith Fair type poem-songs count? I hope not.
3) What song makes you cry?
Not tellin'.
4) What song makes you happy?
Hey Mr. Bassman, as sung by Kermit thee Frog. Several thousand others.
5) What do you like to listen to before bed?
The sound of my heart still beating.
6) Name a song by Coal Chamber:
I saw a video by them once. I think Ozzy was in it. Poor schmuck.
7) Who was/were your idol/s when you were younger?
Ford Prefect. Natas Kaupas. Bill Sienkowicz. Seriously.
8) First album you ever bought?
I hadta think about this one a lot. I'm pretty sure it was Who Made Who by AC/DC. Maximum Overdrive ruled.
9) Name a song that reminds you of someone and why:
No.
a p p e a r a n c e
HEIGHT: 5' 7" or so
HAIR COLOR: shitish blonde
SKIN COLOR: transluscent
EYE COLOR: sometimes green, sometimes grey
PIERCINGS: uvula, prostate, pinky finger
r i g h t n o w
WHAT COLOR PANTS ARE YOU WEARING?: black
WHAT SONG ARE YOU LISTENING TO?: Solid Gold Hell by Laughing Hyenas
WHAT TASTE IS IN YOUR MOUTH?: the kind that you don't kiss a girl with
WHAT'S THE WEATHER LIKE?: you suck at small talk
HOW ARE YOU? too young to be this antiquated
d o y o u
GET MOTION SICKNESS?: Nope. Drinking has given me perpetual sea legs.
HAVE A BAD HABIT?: Only two now.
GET ALONG WITH YOUR PARENTS?: Only met my dad twice. Seems like kind of a douche, but we get along fine enough I guess. My mother and I have had rough times, but we have always been best friends.
LIKE TO DRIVE?: I miss driving so much. It's like a video game when I get to drive now.
f a v o r i t e s
TV SHOW: Nothing in current rotation
CONDITIONER: haha
BOOK: A single book? Not gonna happen.
MAGAZINE: I'm between favourite magazines. If I say Harper's will I look smart?
NON-ALCOHOLIC DRINK: President's Choice 100% Juice Ruby Red Tangerine.
ALCOHOLIC DRINK: But they're all so good. Just nothing with rum or milk, thanks.
BAND OR GROUP: Band, all the way.
l o v e
BOYFRIEND: No thanks.
GIRLFRIEND: Nope.
SEXUALITY: It's all tedious.
CHILDREN: Christ no. Maybe when I grow up.
CURRENT CRUSH: Here and there, yeah. I know that's not an answer. Fuck off.
BEEN IN LOVE?: Not really. Seriously.
HAD A HARD TIME GETTING OVER SOMEONE: Fuck yeah. First time took an entire summer. Mistook that for love.
BEEN HURT?: d'uh
GONE OUT WITH A SOMEONE YOU ONLY KNEW FOR THREE DAYS: Yep. Only relationship that almost worked.
r a n d o m
DO YOU HAVE A JOB: No, I sell my pheromones to research laboratories, and live off the sex.
YOUR CD PLAYER HAS IN IT RIGHT NOW: A bunch of shit I don't give a flying fuck about.
WHAT MAKES YOU HAPPY?: Wish I knew. I don't believe in happiness as an object of cultivation. It just happens.
WHO MAKES YOU THE HAPPIEST?: Myself, when I'm not being Mr. Anxiety Man.
WHAT'S THE NEXT CD YOU'RE GONNA GET? Whatever has a decent enough cheap-to-suck ratio.
WHO DO YOU CONSIDER GOOD FRIENDS?: Pretty much everyone I've ever been in a band with, to varying degrees. And Yan and Cara. Seriously, people who are good friends to me know it, so this is unnecessary. If you are my friend, you mean more to me than anything, ever.
WHAT DO YOU LIKE TO DO?: draw, drink, smoke, bitch, sing, play guitar, be fabulous, start shit, end shit, fuck*
w h e n / w h a t w a s t h e l a s t
TIME YOU CRIED?: August or September. Not exactly sure. It was a long time comin'.
YOU GOT A REAL LETTER?: Just last week, actually. It'd definitely been awhile.
YOU GOT EMAIL? Too often ago.
THING YOU PURCHASED: A ticket outta nowhere.
TV PROGRAM YOU WATCHED: I dunno, some sports crap at Cara's place. Or Jeopardy.
MOVIE YOU SAW AT THE THEATER: The first X-Men movie, I think.
Man, what a lame, anticlimactic end to a survey.
*stolen almost verbatim from who I stole this survey from.
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Epoxies
Butthole Surfers
Existench
Naked Raygun
2) Have you ever had a song written about you?
Do shitty a capella Lilith Fair type poem-songs count? I hope not.
3) What song makes you cry?
Not tellin'.
4) What song makes you happy?
Hey Mr. Bassman, as sung by Kermit thee Frog. Several thousand others.
5) What do you like to listen to before bed?
The sound of my heart still beating.
6) Name a song by Coal Chamber:
I saw a video by them once. I think Ozzy was in it. Poor schmuck.
7) Who was/were your idol/s when you were younger?
Ford Prefect. Natas Kaupas. Bill Sienkowicz. Seriously.
8) First album you ever bought?
I hadta think about this one a lot. I'm pretty sure it was Who Made Who by AC/DC. Maximum Overdrive ruled.
9) Name a song that reminds you of someone and why:
No.
a p p e a r a n c e
HEIGHT: 5' 7" or so
HAIR COLOR: shitish blonde
SKIN COLOR: transluscent
EYE COLOR: sometimes green, sometimes grey
PIERCINGS: uvula, prostate, pinky finger
r i g h t n o w
WHAT COLOR PANTS ARE YOU WEARING?: black
WHAT SONG ARE YOU LISTENING TO?: Solid Gold Hell by Laughing Hyenas
WHAT TASTE IS IN YOUR MOUTH?: the kind that you don't kiss a girl with
WHAT'S THE WEATHER LIKE?: you suck at small talk
HOW ARE YOU? too young to be this antiquated
d o y o u
GET MOTION SICKNESS?: Nope. Drinking has given me perpetual sea legs.
HAVE A BAD HABIT?: Only two now.
GET ALONG WITH YOUR PARENTS?: Only met my dad twice. Seems like kind of a douche, but we get along fine enough I guess. My mother and I have had rough times, but we have always been best friends.
LIKE TO DRIVE?: I miss driving so much. It's like a video game when I get to drive now.
f a v o r i t e s
TV SHOW: Nothing in current rotation
CONDITIONER: haha
BOOK: A single book? Not gonna happen.
MAGAZINE: I'm between favourite magazines. If I say Harper's will I look smart?
NON-ALCOHOLIC DRINK: President's Choice 100% Juice Ruby Red Tangerine.
ALCOHOLIC DRINK: But they're all so good. Just nothing with rum or milk, thanks.
BAND OR GROUP: Band, all the way.
l o v e
BOYFRIEND: No thanks.
GIRLFRIEND: Nope.
SEXUALITY: It's all tedious.
CHILDREN: Christ no. Maybe when I grow up.
CURRENT CRUSH: Here and there, yeah. I know that's not an answer. Fuck off.
BEEN IN LOVE?: Not really. Seriously.
HAD A HARD TIME GETTING OVER SOMEONE: Fuck yeah. First time took an entire summer. Mistook that for love.
BEEN HURT?: d'uh
GONE OUT WITH A SOMEONE YOU ONLY KNEW FOR THREE DAYS: Yep. Only relationship that almost worked.
r a n d o m
DO YOU HAVE A JOB: No, I sell my pheromones to research laboratories, and live off the sex.
YOUR CD PLAYER HAS IN IT RIGHT NOW: A bunch of shit I don't give a flying fuck about.
WHAT MAKES YOU HAPPY?: Wish I knew. I don't believe in happiness as an object of cultivation. It just happens.
WHO MAKES YOU THE HAPPIEST?: Myself, when I'm not being Mr. Anxiety Man.
WHAT'S THE NEXT CD YOU'RE GONNA GET? Whatever has a decent enough cheap-to-suck ratio.
WHO DO YOU CONSIDER GOOD FRIENDS?: Pretty much everyone I've ever been in a band with, to varying degrees. And Yan and Cara. Seriously, people who are good friends to me know it, so this is unnecessary. If you are my friend, you mean more to me than anything, ever.
WHAT DO YOU LIKE TO DO?: draw, drink, smoke, bitch, sing, play guitar, be fabulous, start shit, end shit, fuck*
w h e n / w h a t w a s t h e l a s t
TIME YOU CRIED?: August or September. Not exactly sure. It was a long time comin'.
YOU GOT A REAL LETTER?: Just last week, actually. It'd definitely been awhile.
YOU GOT EMAIL? Too often ago.
THING YOU PURCHASED: A ticket outta nowhere.
TV PROGRAM YOU WATCHED: I dunno, some sports crap at Cara's place. Or Jeopardy.
MOVIE YOU SAW AT THE THEATER: The first X-Men movie, I think.
Man, what a lame, anticlimactic end to a survey.
*stolen almost verbatim from who I stole this survey from.
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14/01/04
I say so little. It still feels like too much.
Feelings are too complicated for words.
Words are too complicated for feelings.
See?
Me neither.
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Feelings are too complicated for words.
Words are too complicated for feelings.
See?
Me neither.
|
13/01/04
***********
Ok, this entry has been edited, because this whole debacle is absurd, and I realized that slinging insults is not the most effective means of staying out of something.
***********
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Ok, this entry has been edited, because this whole debacle is absurd, and I realized that slinging insults is not the most effective means of staying out of something.
***********
|
12/01/04
For a guy with zero religious beliefs, I dream an awful lot about damnation. I wish I could tape my dreams. I'm terrible at remembering them, even when I make a mental note to do so. All I remember now about this one is that the Devil -manifested in the form of Homeless Dave, of all people- was trying to make some hip contemporary form of a deal for my soul. I was onto his scheme, and resisted temptation. Walking away, I felt so impossibly good and proud of myself, like I'd done the first Right Thing ever in my life. Then he physically assaulted me from behind. We ended up locked in a game of "Mercy" (remember playing Mercy in elementary school?) with the fate of my soul in the balance. He was winning, and I jolted awake as he snapped my wrist... which is particularly disturbing, 'cause I studied Jui-Jitsu with Dave, and man, I could totally wipe the floor with the guy. No offence to Dave.
Also disturbing is that I think I was Ben Stiller in this dream.
I also had a strange and amazingly vivid closed-eye daydream/waking hallucination today of a cougar or a mountain lion or something gorging itself on my entrails as I looked upon, paralysed. I wonder if that kind of shit qualifies as an acid flashback. Most of my old friends have admitted to having them on occasion. I always thought stuff like that was just me being weird, but this was awfully vivid.
All truly great bands have rivalries. Tobias, being the savvy, enterprising lad that he is, seems to have taken it upon himself to cook us one up with some band called the GCO on the Halifaxlocals board. Hilarity is sure to ensue. I guess I'll haveta like, see or hear or meet this band at some point now. I think they fancy themselves drunkards, so I already know my winning point in this rivalry. I bet I've had more STDs too.
The curable kind. Shut up. You'd rather I talk about my haemorrhoids?
I'm starting to go nuts without the comments box. I need entertainment. I'm almost tempted to go out tonight, but I've gotten spoiled lately, and I don't feel like being a public drunken loner right now.
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Also disturbing is that I think I was Ben Stiller in this dream.
I also had a strange and amazingly vivid closed-eye daydream/waking hallucination today of a cougar or a mountain lion or something gorging itself on my entrails as I looked upon, paralysed. I wonder if that kind of shit qualifies as an acid flashback. Most of my old friends have admitted to having them on occasion. I always thought stuff like that was just me being weird, but this was awfully vivid.
All truly great bands have rivalries. Tobias, being the savvy, enterprising lad that he is, seems to have taken it upon himself to cook us one up with some band called the GCO on the Halifaxlocals board. Hilarity is sure to ensue. I guess I'll haveta like, see or hear or meet this band at some point now. I think they fancy themselves drunkards, so I already know my winning point in this rivalry. I bet I've had more STDs too.
The curable kind. Shut up. You'd rather I talk about my haemorrhoids?
I'm starting to go nuts without the comments box. I need entertainment. I'm almost tempted to go out tonight, but I've gotten spoiled lately, and I don't feel like being a public drunken loner right now.
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"BlogSpeak is currently down. This situation should be resolved by this evening. Thanks for your patience."
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I kept expecting Micheal Moore to jump out from some hidden corner and ambush me with a bunch of loaded questions about consumerism or corporate hegemony or something. "Gimme a break Micheal," I imagine myself to rebut, "you look like you eat Quarter Pounders for tea." I hope against hope as I order my Number 7 chicken sandwich combo (with a baked potato!) that no one will pick up on the potential absurdity of some guy sheepishly clutching a dog-eared copy of Fast Food Nation as he waits in line at a Wendy's. I knew the jig was up when she walked in. Told myself to just not make eye contact, but damn, she was cute. Sexy stockings and a wry grin, and I knew I was busted. Her look said it all though; "I see you there, squiming, and I recognize that book- but what can I say? I'm eating here too. You get off easy this time, bub." I shot back with a goofy eyebrow and a glance; "let this be our little secret. Let us never speak of this." And so we kept our little smiles, and never did.
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11/01/04
My band has now been described as "confusion core." Hey, whatever works.
Went out for dinner/breakfast with Cara last night, and ended up having to change a flat on her car. Hadn't done that since like high school. It was a great way for both of us to reinforce our respective gender roles, haha. I thought I was getting the frozen end of that stick, until she treated me to awesome mexican food afterwards. Thanks Cara! That Mexico Lindo place rules. You rule.
The Seahorse last night was a gas. Way more people were there than I expected considering the weather, and it seemed like every time I rounded a corner I stumbled into a conversation with people I like. Can't say I was a fan of the first band, but the McFaddens are always fun, and I had a great time during their set despite some weird random violence in the pit. Hung out with Crystal and Kasey afterwards, and they somehow beguiled me into getting stoned. I'm so incredibly awkward when I smoke pot nowadays... hope I didn't come across like too much of a weirdo or a jerk. They's good people.
When I woke up this morning, I found that I'd taken my pants off before going to sleep, but not my coat. That's different.
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Went out for dinner/breakfast with Cara last night, and ended up having to change a flat on her car. Hadn't done that since like high school. It was a great way for both of us to reinforce our respective gender roles, haha. I thought I was getting the frozen end of that stick, until she treated me to awesome mexican food afterwards. Thanks Cara! That Mexico Lindo place rules. You rule.
The Seahorse last night was a gas. Way more people were there than I expected considering the weather, and it seemed like every time I rounded a corner I stumbled into a conversation with people I like. Can't say I was a fan of the first band, but the McFaddens are always fun, and I had a great time during their set despite some weird random violence in the pit. Hung out with Crystal and Kasey afterwards, and they somehow beguiled me into getting stoned. I'm so incredibly awkward when I smoke pot nowadays... hope I didn't come across like too much of a weirdo or a jerk. They's good people.
When I woke up this morning, I found that I'd taken my pants off before going to sleep, but not my coat. That's different.
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10/01/04
Well, the show last night was... something. We offered to play first because some tactless folks in either the GCO or the Mackoids were trying to get Capital Death to open at their own frigging farewell show.
Toby's synopsis of our set:
"The venue was shaped like an unusually narrow shoebox. With the bands set up in the front. The walls were bright orange and they were playing the song "heroin" by the velvet underground as we started our set.
Our set was hilarious, our playing was cruder than normal. It was pretty cramped. The drums had no mat underneath them so they slid apart during every song. At one point we used Matt Carrol as a piece of human drum equipment to hold the cowbell in place for an entire song. I was told after there was some un-needed targeted violence in the pit, if I had known at the time I would have said something because that's obviously not what we are about at all. You could actually hear the vocals (which was a first for our band), and they sounded good. During the last song (or the last song we played before everything was broken) Eben broke most of his guitar strings... Will and I were jamming on something for probably a minute, at the same time Will handed Eben the other guitar (which also had broken strings) and Eben switched guitars and we finished the song. And then ended. I think we played six songs in total."
"Pretty cramped" is a major understatement. The place hadta be packed three times over capacity. Two firetrucks with emergency lights blazing pulled up to the curb outside just as Capital Death were gearing up for their encore. I wiped some steam from the window, and caught a glimpse of several firefighters quickly approaching the door. I whipped around and shouted over to Dave Brown "if yr gonna play a last song, you'd better play it now!" This added an urgency to the last song the band will ever play that couldn't have been more perfect. They ripped it up. The firefighters burst in near the very end of the song, and I'm sure everybody in attendance thought it was curtains. Turns out they thought the venue was on fire because passersby had mistaken the massive quantities of sweat-steam pouring out the door into the freezing night air for smoke. Hilarious.
I ran into Katie and Nancy outside, and as much as I wanted to see the rest of the show, I couldn't pass up the offer of a lift back to Halifax. Cabbing it there with the gear had cost twenty bucks. Ended up heading over to Jarrett and Keri's place with them, and had a relatively quiet, enjoyable night.
"Just as well," I thought as we were leaving. Cops were now milling about outside the place. I don't know the full story, but apparrently the rest of the bands all got to play, despite the GCO playing well into the Slutz' timeslot, even after having been told their time was up. I can't stand when bands do that. It's just fucking rude. Then the Lotus was promptly shut down and slapped with a huge fine. One night only, kids.
And another one bites the dust.
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Toby's synopsis of our set:
"The venue was shaped like an unusually narrow shoebox. With the bands set up in the front. The walls were bright orange and they were playing the song "heroin" by the velvet underground as we started our set.
Our set was hilarious, our playing was cruder than normal. It was pretty cramped. The drums had no mat underneath them so they slid apart during every song. At one point we used Matt Carrol as a piece of human drum equipment to hold the cowbell in place for an entire song. I was told after there was some un-needed targeted violence in the pit, if I had known at the time I would have said something because that's obviously not what we are about at all. You could actually hear the vocals (which was a first for our band), and they sounded good. During the last song (or the last song we played before everything was broken) Eben broke most of his guitar strings... Will and I were jamming on something for probably a minute, at the same time Will handed Eben the other guitar (which also had broken strings) and Eben switched guitars and we finished the song. And then ended. I think we played six songs in total."
"Pretty cramped" is a major understatement. The place hadta be packed three times over capacity. Two firetrucks with emergency lights blazing pulled up to the curb outside just as Capital Death were gearing up for their encore. I wiped some steam from the window, and caught a glimpse of several firefighters quickly approaching the door. I whipped around and shouted over to Dave Brown "if yr gonna play a last song, you'd better play it now!" This added an urgency to the last song the band will ever play that couldn't have been more perfect. They ripped it up. The firefighters burst in near the very end of the song, and I'm sure everybody in attendance thought it was curtains. Turns out they thought the venue was on fire because passersby had mistaken the massive quantities of sweat-steam pouring out the door into the freezing night air for smoke. Hilarious.
I ran into Katie and Nancy outside, and as much as I wanted to see the rest of the show, I couldn't pass up the offer of a lift back to Halifax. Cabbing it there with the gear had cost twenty bucks. Ended up heading over to Jarrett and Keri's place with them, and had a relatively quiet, enjoyable night.
"Just as well," I thought as we were leaving. Cops were now milling about outside the place. I don't know the full story, but apparrently the rest of the bands all got to play, despite the GCO playing well into the Slutz' timeslot, even after having been told their time was up. I can't stand when bands do that. It's just fucking rude. Then the Lotus was promptly shut down and slapped with a huge fine. One night only, kids.
And another one bites the dust.
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Y'know, that Dido song is really pretty. I think I'm gonna add it to my list of mainstream songs that I consider genuinely romantic. I'd still rather fuck to Psychocandy or something, but whatever.
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I can't stand when people call Kurt Vonnegut a pessimist. Why not just call him "quaint" and get it over with?
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09/01/04
Perfect. Just fucking peachy.
*sigh*
Ok, where are we gonna relocate this show to? How many times is this?
Punk rock. Or something.
Those zany beatniks over at Bella Muse got their asses shut down again, so barring yet another last-minute venue scrounge, anybody who wanted to see us this weekend had better head on over to the Lotus in Dartmouth extra-early tonight- I'm told the place has a capacity of like 75.
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*sigh*
Ok, where are we gonna relocate this show to? How many times is this?
Punk rock. Or something.
Those zany beatniks over at Bella Muse got their asses shut down again, so barring yet another last-minute venue scrounge, anybody who wanted to see us this weekend had better head on over to the Lotus in Dartmouth extra-early tonight- I'm told the place has a capacity of like 75.
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08/01/04
I wish I weren't so self-conscious about singing. I miss it so much sometimes. Like now.
I wish I had anyone's voice but mine. I could be singing the most vitriolic, sarcastic, or mournful lyric ever, and still sound like the vocal equivalent of a fucking clueless grin.
The only thing I miss about living in rural isolation is that I could sing.
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I wish I had anyone's voice but mine. I could be singing the most vitriolic, sarcastic, or mournful lyric ever, and still sound like the vocal equivalent of a fucking clueless grin.
The only thing I miss about living in rural isolation is that I could sing.
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07/01/04
So courtesy of Mr. Derrick Hiltz, there's this live footage of TMWSD at BAAAMfest '04. When those Truro folks boogie down, they boogie the fuck down. So not only did Matt Carrol salvage the show, play the show, and record the show to four track, but he revealed himself as the best fucking dancer this side of Elaine on Seinfeld. And I totally mean that in a good way- I think everybody should dance like Elaine. Fuck that graceful shit.
I'm glad it ended up in Matt's garage instead of that giant-ass Legion. You could draw two-hundred people to a show at a place like that, and it'd still feel empty. Jam fifty-or-so people into a garage show, and it feels like the most happenin' place on Earth. Not to mention the stage thing. I don't like big stages anymore. Stage fright is an apt term, because it's that kind of separation between audience and performer that causes me to feel like that- rather than a simple fear of performing. I think it's probably more fun as a spectator too, in most cases, to be on eye level with the band yr watching. I saw Fugazi around '97 or so in this buttfuck-nowhere rec centre outside Fredericton NB, and there was no stage, no fancy lights, not even a drum riser. Here was my favourite band, playing the same kind of show, in the same kind of venue, that I'd been doing all along. That was the final blow in shattering any notion of audience/performer "class difference" or whatever in me. At a show like that, everyone's a participant. The one time we played at the Truro Legion, we just got everybody to come up on the giant stage and dance while we played. That was awesome.
Shit, now I'm thinking about the Bella Muse show. The stage in that place is gigantic compared to the size of the venue. I wonder if they'll let us set up on the floor. Come to think of it, I drove by there before work last night, and there were a couple cop cars parked outside. Christ, I hope the place doesn't get shut down again before we even get to play there.
So anyway, Truro was a blast. It was fun driving there and back with Will and Cara and Derrick. About damn time we all got together, considering we're already paying rent on this band, heh. Will was like "holy shit, you guys are even older than Eben?" hahaha. There was also much sex talk, to which I had very little of recent interest to contribute. Bleh. I'm such a retard with women. But yeah, the show was the most fun I've had in months, and Neima and Matt and everybody else that made the show happen are kings among men for pulling through like that. There are also a bunch of pictures sorta like this one, my personal fave:
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I'm glad it ended up in Matt's garage instead of that giant-ass Legion. You could draw two-hundred people to a show at a place like that, and it'd still feel empty. Jam fifty-or-so people into a garage show, and it feels like the most happenin' place on Earth. Not to mention the stage thing. I don't like big stages anymore. Stage fright is an apt term, because it's that kind of separation between audience and performer that causes me to feel like that- rather than a simple fear of performing. I think it's probably more fun as a spectator too, in most cases, to be on eye level with the band yr watching. I saw Fugazi around '97 or so in this buttfuck-nowhere rec centre outside Fredericton NB, and there was no stage, no fancy lights, not even a drum riser. Here was my favourite band, playing the same kind of show, in the same kind of venue, that I'd been doing all along. That was the final blow in shattering any notion of audience/performer "class difference" or whatever in me. At a show like that, everyone's a participant. The one time we played at the Truro Legion, we just got everybody to come up on the giant stage and dance while we played. That was awesome.
Shit, now I'm thinking about the Bella Muse show. The stage in that place is gigantic compared to the size of the venue. I wonder if they'll let us set up on the floor. Come to think of it, I drove by there before work last night, and there were a couple cop cars parked outside. Christ, I hope the place doesn't get shut down again before we even get to play there.
So anyway, Truro was a blast. It was fun driving there and back with Will and Cara and Derrick. About damn time we all got together, considering we're already paying rent on this band, heh. Will was like "holy shit, you guys are even older than Eben?" hahaha. There was also much sex talk, to which I had very little of recent interest to contribute. Bleh. I'm such a retard with women. But yeah, the show was the most fun I've had in months, and Neima and Matt and everybody else that made the show happen are kings among men for pulling through like that. There are also a bunch of pictures sorta like this one, my personal fave:
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06/01/04
01/01/04
Mostly written before I passed out, fully clothed, the morning of the first day of the new year:
Cara came out tonight! Yay! She picked Toby and I up here, and we drove over to Benny Bjabin's house, where she parked her car for the night. We began the stroll over to Crystal and Casey's place, and there were firecrackers and noisemakers going off everywhere in the background. We rounded the corner onto Crystal's street and ran smack into Alleen and the whole Slitchhaus crowd, who'd just left the metal party and were on their way to the same place we were. Cool.
Hung out there for a good while. The mix of music was good- good enough to make both me and Colleen happy, haha- and the mix of people was pretty cool too, even if it eventually ended up being the punkers in one room, and the artsy crowd in another. I stuck around the punk room. Funny how I'm the artfaggy guy in that crowd, but I don't relate very well to arty people. Saw whatsername from this summer and somehow got sucked into yet another yawnfest of a conversation while she apparrently gave Cara "the eye" (my words, not hers) for chatting with her boyfriend, who is an old acquaintance of Cara's. Christ lady, I don't see yr boyfriend eyeing me with suspicion for talking to you, although I think I may have caught a glimpse of pity.
Walked with Cara back to where she was staying, and we hung out on the step just shooting the shit for awhile. I enjoyed that very much. It felt silly and special.
Toby had forgotten the CD-R Casey gave him with the Hold's track for the punk site comp (heh, Colleen gave him a lot of vodka), so I headed over to the Bella Muse in the hopes of catching him before he took off to some dance party on Fuller st. No such luck. Ran into Nat on my way in. She was dressed up like some kind of sexy Wookie or something, replete with furry underwear, and seemed pretty uninterested in talking to me. Oh well. Shuffled through the hordes of art people and made my way inside. No Tobias. I was just about to fuck off when I ran into Katie and Jarrett and Maracle and that crowd. For the life of me I still can't imagine how the hell they ended up there, but with a few friends around, I figured it was worth hanging out for a bit. Then I ran into Claudette. We chatted for a bit, and then I told a joke or something, and she turned around and spewed all over the wall. That's right, I'm that charming. Still, never have I seen a more poised, elegant example of vomiting. Even the bile looked pristine for Christ's sake.
That seemed to be the end of that conversation, so I took off with Scott et al back to his place. (This is as far as I wrote before passing out.) Things get sorta hazy after that, but I remember having a fairly interesting friendly argument with Jarrett about government funding for the arts, and the sometimes-fine line between art and pornography. I started getting really hungry after awhile, and Scott just lives around the corner from me, so I came back here with the intention of throwing together a turkey sandwich and heading back over. Then I woke up six hours later. Oops. Took off my boots and my clothes and went back to sleep, this time on the bed.
Not a bad start to the year. Not bad at all.
The Truro show is back on, and we even managed to secure another lift! Three cheers for Ron! Several more for Matt Carrol!
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Cara came out tonight! Yay! She picked Toby and I up here, and we drove over to Benny Bjabin's house, where she parked her car for the night. We began the stroll over to Crystal and Casey's place, and there were firecrackers and noisemakers going off everywhere in the background. We rounded the corner onto Crystal's street and ran smack into Alleen and the whole Slitchhaus crowd, who'd just left the metal party and were on their way to the same place we were. Cool.
Hung out there for a good while. The mix of music was good- good enough to make both me and Colleen happy, haha- and the mix of people was pretty cool too, even if it eventually ended up being the punkers in one room, and the artsy crowd in another. I stuck around the punk room. Funny how I'm the artfaggy guy in that crowd, but I don't relate very well to arty people. Saw whatsername from this summer and somehow got sucked into yet another yawnfest of a conversation while she apparrently gave Cara "the eye" (my words, not hers) for chatting with her boyfriend, who is an old acquaintance of Cara's. Christ lady, I don't see yr boyfriend eyeing me with suspicion for talking to you, although I think I may have caught a glimpse of pity.
Walked with Cara back to where she was staying, and we hung out on the step just shooting the shit for awhile. I enjoyed that very much. It felt silly and special.
Toby had forgotten the CD-R Casey gave him with the Hold's track for the punk site comp (heh, Colleen gave him a lot of vodka), so I headed over to the Bella Muse in the hopes of catching him before he took off to some dance party on Fuller st. No such luck. Ran into Nat on my way in. She was dressed up like some kind of sexy Wookie or something, replete with furry underwear, and seemed pretty uninterested in talking to me. Oh well. Shuffled through the hordes of art people and made my way inside. No Tobias. I was just about to fuck off when I ran into Katie and Jarrett and Maracle and that crowd. For the life of me I still can't imagine how the hell they ended up there, but with a few friends around, I figured it was worth hanging out for a bit. Then I ran into Claudette. We chatted for a bit, and then I told a joke or something, and she turned around and spewed all over the wall. That's right, I'm that charming. Still, never have I seen a more poised, elegant example of vomiting. Even the bile looked pristine for Christ's sake.
That seemed to be the end of that conversation, so I took off with Scott et al back to his place. (This is as far as I wrote before passing out.) Things get sorta hazy after that, but I remember having a fairly interesting friendly argument with Jarrett about government funding for the arts, and the sometimes-fine line between art and pornography. I started getting really hungry after awhile, and Scott just lives around the corner from me, so I came back here with the intention of throwing together a turkey sandwich and heading back over. Then I woke up six hours later. Oops. Took off my boots and my clothes and went back to sleep, this time on the bed.
Not a bad start to the year. Not bad at all.
The Truro show is back on, and we even managed to secure another lift! Three cheers for Ron! Several more for Matt Carrol!
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