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grindmonkehI'm in a bedhead mode today. And I'm not sure why but my eyes look grey. The Monday was half-immersed in Sunday's usual lethargy. I did little other than sleep and obsessively organize my music directories while listening to a few new albums. The weekend was rushed and convoluted by night-time sleep, but I spent the waking time in good company.
Falsedoobydog and I drove down to Vincennes on Friday, buffeted (buff-it-id) on pizza while watching some whacked out soap opera, saw A Beautiful Mind, and hit the record stores. I was striking out large on everything I was looking for, but this sort-of-cute girl in a scully cap was helping me out. She was writing up the special order for Katatonia - Last Fair Deal Gone Down and Ocean Machine - Biomech when I looked at the bargain and promo cd's right next to the cash register and saw the Katatonia cd new and packaged with a free promo for nine bucks. Point. I thanked her and was leaving when she said, "I'll give you a call!" I hope I didn't have the pathetic a-girl-is-actually-going-to-call-me(?) look on my face...i don't think I did, but that's pretty indicative of how out of touch I've become with this type of interaction. Scully capped (sorta) cutey is going to call out of obligation in regards to the cd that I ordered and I'm almost apparent with surprise. I said, "cool" and walked out feeling geekfuckingtastic. I fell asleep early on Matt's couch while he was restringing the acoustic I'm letting him have/use/wtfe.
We hacked through a few songs on Saturday morning. His amp tone (through which I was playing his electric, while he had his microphone running to it) was sounding like *total* ass and I couldn't stop laughing at how bad I sounded. It really wasn't that funny, but I had tears in my eyes...it was THAT bad, and he was playing and singing like it was totally super-goddamn great and we were going to hit star-search or some shit. He lost it too when he looked over and saw me trying not to fall out of my skin. Fuck it. I grabbed my other amp. If music were brain surgery, we'd operate with hacksaws. We fucked around with some new riffs, and he put down a drumtrack for a song I've been fucking with. And I suddenly realized that this post has stalled and taken a descending course to the over-usage of the all purposed word - fuck. Before I left, he gave me two brand new model kits of the Millenium Falcon and an Imperial Star Destroyer still in the box. How can a God be so cruel as to let me live in awareness of my geekaucity without the ability to dissipate it? I should be thankful that I'm not a fucking spaz I suppose.
I picked up a coffee table for Damon and took it over to his place on Saturday afternoon. We threw darts, had beers, and watched the Mayhem - Live in Marseille dvd. I went to bed early again, and left his house at about eleven a.m. on Sunday. I drove in the rain to my dad's house and was employed by my brother to do body work on a 1981 Bronco he bought. It was too fucking fun. I love bondo. I love sanding. And sanding. And sanding. My brother should smoke crack sometimes before he makes decisions.
The river bottoms were strange as I drove through in the dark and rain. The water has defied containment, settling in low grounds and consuming man-made paths without regard. I was wishing I had my camera with me. The gravel road that leads to my cabin disappears in a seemingly catastrophic lake. On both sides of the high paved road, the thick foliage looms over a woodland swamp. I'll bet the cabin floor is underwater. It rests four feet above the ground on risers, for the river's purging dominance and erosive nature is recurring. I've never seen the cabin standing over the flood, but I'd like to. I might journey down this side of the river to the Merom Bluff and have a look. I have a lot of the bottoms in me.
I lost this week's basketball pool, but I'm still ahead by three games for the overall pot. I picked all the home teams straight down the ticket just to wrench my co-workers and let them pursue by a closer margin. Two weeks ago I picked all visiting teams straight ticket and cleaned house by pure luck. They have pulled within reach though, so I better not do that again.
I'm anxious to run and take a hot shower. Yesterday while Dan and I were running, the women's soccer team came into the gym. I guess they looked pretty good...at least Dan said so, but since I don't run with my contacts or glasses I can't see more than ten feet in front of me. We're going to start running five miles outside in the spring. I hope I can hang...four miles a day is really torquing my knees. So this is what getting old feels like. I blame sobriety.
Falsedoobydog and I drove down to Vincennes on Friday, buffeted (buff-it-id) on pizza while watching some whacked out soap opera, saw A Beautiful Mind, and hit the record stores. I was striking out large on everything I was looking for, but this sort-of-cute girl in a scully cap was helping me out. She was writing up the special order for Katatonia - Last Fair Deal Gone Down and Ocean Machine - Biomech when I looked at the bargain and promo cd's right next to the cash register and saw the Katatonia cd new and packaged with a free promo for nine bucks. Point. I thanked her and was leaving when she said, "I'll give you a call!" I hope I didn't have the pathetic a-girl-is-actually-going-to-call-me(?) look on my face...i don't think I did, but that's pretty indicative of how out of touch I've become with this type of interaction. Scully capped (sorta) cutey is going to call out of obligation in regards to the cd that I ordered and I'm almost apparent with surprise. I said, "cool" and walked out feeling geekfuckingtastic. I fell asleep early on Matt's couch while he was restringing the acoustic I'm letting him have/use/wtfe.
We hacked through a few songs on Saturday morning. His amp tone (through which I was playing his electric, while he had his microphone running to it) was sounding like *total* ass and I couldn't stop laughing at how bad I sounded. It really wasn't that funny, but I had tears in my eyes...it was THAT bad, and he was playing and singing like it was totally super-goddamn great and we were going to hit star-search or some shit. He lost it too when he looked over and saw me trying not to fall out of my skin. Fuck it. I grabbed my other amp. If music were brain surgery, we'd operate with hacksaws. We fucked around with some new riffs, and he put down a drumtrack for a song I've been fucking with. And I suddenly realized that this post has stalled and taken a descending course to the over-usage of the all purposed word - fuck. Before I left, he gave me two brand new model kits of the Millenium Falcon and an Imperial Star Destroyer still in the box. How can a God be so cruel as to let me live in awareness of my geekaucity without the ability to dissipate it? I should be thankful that I'm not a fucking spaz I suppose.
I picked up a coffee table for Damon and took it over to his place on Saturday afternoon. We threw darts, had beers, and watched the Mayhem - Live in Marseille dvd. I went to bed early again, and left his house at about eleven a.m. on Sunday. I drove in the rain to my dad's house and was employed by my brother to do body work on a 1981 Bronco he bought. It was too fucking fun. I love bondo. I love sanding. And sanding. And sanding. My brother should smoke crack sometimes before he makes decisions.
The river bottoms were strange as I drove through in the dark and rain. The water has defied containment, settling in low grounds and consuming man-made paths without regard. I was wishing I had my camera with me. The gravel road that leads to my cabin disappears in a seemingly catastrophic lake. On both sides of the high paved road, the thick foliage looms over a woodland swamp. I'll bet the cabin floor is underwater. It rests four feet above the ground on risers, for the river's purging dominance and erosive nature is recurring. I've never seen the cabin standing over the flood, but I'd like to. I might journey down this side of the river to the Merom Bluff and have a look. I have a lot of the bottoms in me.
I lost this week's basketball pool, but I'm still ahead by three games for the overall pot. I picked all the home teams straight down the ticket just to wrench my co-workers and let them pursue by a closer margin. Two weeks ago I picked all visiting teams straight ticket and cleaned house by pure luck. They have pulled within reach though, so I better not do that again.
I'm anxious to run and take a hot shower. Yesterday while Dan and I were running, the women's soccer team came into the gym. I guess they looked pretty good...at least Dan said so, but since I don't run with my contacts or glasses I can't see more than ten feet in front of me. We're going to start running five miles outside in the spring. I hope I can hang...four miles a day is really torquing my knees. So this is what getting old feels like. I blame sobriety.