at least i know where i get it from

It's funny that I'm writing this at 4:20 am. You'll see why later. If you're cool. Are you cool, man?

I just put the finishing touches on some information I've been putting together for my mother. She called me up last week and spoke in that grave mother voice she always does. "I need you to do something for me." Like it was the most dire thing in the world.

"What mom?"

"I need you to get on the computer and find out everything you can about an actor named John Lund."

"Uh. Everything?"

"I want to know where he's buried."

"What?!"

"Would you just do it?!" She was kidding about the buried thing. I think. She likes to throw things in there like that to make sure I'm paying attention to her. I think she thinks that you can type anything into a Web browser and instantly find the answer to any question, but as we all know, unless you're looking for porn, that's not the case. John Lund--I couldn't find a picture--had his heyday in the '40s, was retired by the '60s and died in 1992. He's not well known, but he did work a lot, and he starred with some really famous people like Frank Sinatra and Grace Kelly. Aside from IMDB.com and Allmovieguide.com, I really couldn't find much, though I did find an abstract of his obit from the New York Times. It would have cost me to read the whole thing, but apparently, he died from unknown causes, though he had a history of heart problems. He was 81 and, from what I found, married to the same woman for 50 years up until the time of his death. All in all, seemed like a pretty good life.

Since I couldn't find much outside of IMDB, I spent a good portion of time typing the names of his films into Amazon.com to see if any of them where available on DVD. I think about six were. I'll mail the info out tomorrow, and I hope that she'll be stoked.

My mom has a long list of celebrity obsessions. She once found out the number of the hotel room Gordon McRae (the guy who starred in Oklahoma) was staying at when he was in New York and called it. I asked her if she realized that they call that "stalking" now, but she said there was nothing wrong with that back then. I'll have to take her word for it.

And I wonder where I get it from. As I was looking up info on Mr. Lund, I split time reading up on Mary-Louise Parker, an actress I'm very familiar with, but who I only just realized is completely badical. I think I only just realized because I spent the three hours prior to my Web search watching the first disc of the first season of Weeds, which, as it turns out, is a fucking great show and stars Ms. Parker as a well-to-do, widowed, 40-something pot dealer--pretty much my perfect woman. If anyone knows of such a woman, please have her comment here. I haven't smoked weed in many, many years, but it could never hurt to start again. I actually got in a conversation recently where at I first I was kidding--and then became somewhat serious--that I could help out my woeful financial situation if I just sold a little weed on the side. But I think I'd be the world's worst drug dealer, and I wouldn't want to cut in on the action of the dude's living down the block.

pluto, we hardly knew ye

Because I keep a blog, I feel as though I'm obligated to mention Snakes on a Plane. I saw it this evening, and it was very entertaining, but I thought it ran a little too long.

Now that that's out of the way, I'd like to bid a fond farewell to Pluto, the little planet that could. Anyone who's a fan of movies like Rudy surely had a soft spot in his or her heart for Pluto, the scrawny little bundle of ice and rock that was believed to be a planet. Today, the International Astronomical Union met in Prague and unceremoniously stripped Pluto of its planet-ship. For the past 76 years (that's earth years. It takes Pluto 246 earth years to circle the sun so, if you look at it that way, Pluto has only been in our solar system for about one or two Pluto seasons), Pluto served as our most distant, icy neighor. A wonderful magical place no doubt inhabited by buxom elven women riding dragons (but I'd like to think every place is inhabited by such things). In this humorous article from Seattlepi.com, the writer commemorates the announcemen with an obituary. But really, if you think about it, Pluto didn't die. It's still there; we're just not "hanging out" with it any more. In short, Pluto got dumped, kicked to the curb, treated like a two bit 'ho.

And why? I'm sure there's some scientific mumbo jumbo to explain why we told Pluto, "It's not you, it's us," but since it's a planet, I figure a better answer could be found in the stars. Astronomers can brag about all the charts and equations they want to, but really, none of them have ever left this planet, so they're just guestimating anyway. Astrologers on the other hand tap into something much more universal: the desire to take vague, meaningless sentiments and shape them however best suits what we want to hear (in a whimsical, cosmic manner, of course). So, here's how this equation works. Since I'm just a stupid human who can't keep his own meager finances in check, let alone plot the course of celestial bodies 80 bajillion miles away from my stupid college town home, I will set Pluto's birthday at Febuary 18, 1930, which was the day it was discovered by Clyde W. Tombaugh. This means Pluto is an Aquarius.

According to Daily-Horoscopes.com, this is what Pluto has in store for Friday, August 25, 2006:

You'll feel that things are really going your way now. Others recognize your talents and potentials. You reach your goal and your charm opens new doors for you. Temper over-optimism and extravagance so you are taken seriously.

And there you have it. Optimism. Pluto was too optimistic. Maybe it thought that being one of our planets was just swell, maybe it pined for Neptune and told its moon Ceres that one day, if it kept circling that big yellow ball of gas that Neptune would figure out how special it was. Sorry Pluto. Better revolve elsewhere.

hail seitan

Just to start off with an aside, I have Photoshop CS thanks to a connection of mine but I haven't gotten around to installing it yet. I made the dandy graphic you see above with the janky but dependable Microsoft Photo Editor. That's my level of skillz. Recognize.

Looking at the graphic, you'll notice a malificent being with horns and fangs on the left, and on the right a plate of a meat-like substance that looks kinda like Fancy Feast cat food. Without gravy. Let's call the horned chap Satan, Lord of the Bottomless Abyss, because that's his name, and the plate of lumps on the right Seitan, because that's what it's called. I pronounce them both the same way because it's funnier that way and inspires me to make stupid graphics in Microsoft Photo Editor for my stupid blog. Everyone has their "kink" or so I'm told. This graphical device is once again stolen from Steve. It's just so damn effective, and I'm so damn drunk--well not really, but I'm pretending to be--that I can't think of anything better.

I guess if you have to explain a joke it no longer becomes funny.

It's been a shitty couple of weeks. I'm not going to lie. I'm officially sick of it, too--completely had it. The only thing that's kept me going is depressing and disturbing movies. I'm totally fucking broke, really fucking bored and good meals have been few and far between. I like to eat. It's one of my life's great joys. So far, I haven't found anything on this planet as good as a warm plate of cheese ravioli when the sauce is made just right. But I've had to go without such luxuries as grocery shopping and rely on free meals at weddings and bars that'll take my beer stamps for food. Tonight when I got home to break into a six-pack I'd liberated from the office and plunge into my fantasy football draft, my roommate emerged from her room and told me she was going to cook dinner. She's a vegetarian, the kind soul, and she confessed she wasn't much of a cook. She returned from the hippie supermarket with a bundle of items she meant to fashion into curry. I love me some Thai food or any free food for that matter, so when she offered, I didn't hesitate to belly up.

She used mushrooms, red peppers, broccoli, long grain rice, coconut milk, some kind of curry paste and a peculiar meat substitute called "Seitan." The curry was really spicy; my other roommate, her boyfriend, added some extra paste, but damn was it tasty.

I'm really carnivorous. I find it hard to consider any meal anything more than a snack if there's not some kind of carcass involved. I know this means I'm living on borrowed time, but I'm not keen on the idea of living much longer than I have to anyway. But this seitan stuff was truly a beguiling substance. I've had all sorts of soy "meat" before, but I think seitan was the closest in texture to actual dead animal. It tasted, as you would expect, like chicken, only if the chicken in question was kinda flavorless.

After the meal, and before we went out, we watched Criss Angel Mind Freak on A&E (it's kinda funny that there was a time when the Arts & Entertainment channel actually had arty stuff, but is now pretty much all dopey reality shows). Criss is a magician/daredevil, and, if you couldn't tell by the photo, is kind of a douchebag. But, for whatever reason, whenever I watch his dumb show, I always end up going from thinking, "This guy is a complete douchebag," to, "Whoa, dude, how did he...WHOA!" I guess I'm kind of a douchebag too. On this episode, he tried to suspend himself via FLESH HOOKS from a heliocopter, which, if you think about it, isn't really some crazy slight of hand, mind freaky illusion type thing, but I'm sure it's something you can parlay into getting yourself laid.

Afterwards, I caught a ride downtown where I bar hopped and got some valuable vitamin B and a healthy buzz via pints of Guinness (no, seriously, it's why the Irish rock) and returned home, quickly, because seitan was having his way with my bowels. Good thing we have a plunger.

i went to see the doctor, and i said, "doctor, it hurts when i do this," and he said, "then don't do it."

There's a spot on the left side of my nose that's a little raw. It hurts when I poke it. Of course, I can't keep my finger off it. There's no bump I can discern, though it does seem a bit red. I think it may be a bit of a sunburn from the wedding I went to on Saturday. It was nice, casual, an outdoor affair, but the sun was a muthafucka. Luckily for me, I don't really burn like most people. I keep a constant shade of pale. But I like to think that consistancy is important.

This weekend was sort of rocky overall. I partied on Friday, had a rent a car to drive up to the wedding on Saturday, realized I was out of money in my checking account, maxed out my credit card and had about $30 left in my savings account. I don't even know why I started that fucking thing in the first place. Today I went into forebearance on one of my student loans, again, in hopes that in six months' time, I'll be in a better place financially--only to be put back in the same shitty rut. I scrapped together change on Sunday so I could buy a burrito from the liquor store window and took a 6-mile walk around the park. I walked first, though, then I had the burrito. Today I took the day off, but I ended up working from home, writing e-mails and arranging things for a meeting on Wednesday. I waited and waited to get the okay to come in and get my pay check, but it never came. I walked down to the office at a quarter to five, and it still wasn't there. I still hadn't eaten. I ended up stuffing bags for the college's information fair tomorrow before I got paid around 6. I deposited the check and took money out for Chinese. I ordered the "house special" chicken, which was served with mushrooms and zucchini squash (or something that looked like zucchini) in a spicy garlic sauce; the BBQ pork with mixed vegetables; and steamed rice. And I have plenty of leftovers. My fortune read: "Good humor is the health of the soul, sadness it's poison." I don't know what that makes feeling sorry for yourself. My lucky numbers are 7, 15, 23, 35, 43 and the supplementary 19.

When I got home, I watched part one of the Spike Lee Hurricane Katrina documentary, When the Levees Broke, because I guess I didn't feel shitty enough. It's really harrowing to watch, and it got me pretty worked up. Obviously, this isn't something that affected me personally, but I don't think any one could catch even the glimpse presented in this film of what those people went through and not be moved by it. I could parlay that into a big political argument, but as much as bureaucracy played a part in the bullshit that followed in the wake of the hurricane, people left to die in the streets isn't about politics. At least it shouldn't be.

Over the weekend, I also caught Brick, a film noir-style mystery with characters that were high school-aged. It was a lot better than it sounds. And I also saw Woody Allan's Match Point, which was excellent, but also very creepy in the same sort of way Eyes Wide Shut was. I don't like all of Woody Allan's work, but when I do, I really do, and that was the case with Match Point. Plus, Allan wasn't in it, so I didn't have to sit through that squirmy-stuttery thing he does. Scarlett Johannson was really good in it too, and no, I'm not just saying that.

But even if I was, I probably wouldn't admit to it.

wino

I'm pretty sure I'm going crazy. I saw A Scanner Darkly tonight, and that kinda fucked with my head, so I'm sure that's not helping matters. A friend of mine was working the door and he let me in for free. I got the last ticket, too. It was showing at this tiny, old school art house theater here in town with really uncomfortable seats. But the sound is good and they always pick good movies to show.

Anyway, lately, at night I hear all sorts of noises. Our freezer hisses at me sometimes, and there's some cat in the neighborhood who's always getting in some kind of trouble. I can hear it screeching bloody murder after everyone goes to bed. We polished off the bottle of wine tonight, and I was supposed to be in bed about an hour ago. I promised I'd be in at 9:30 tomorrow. I'm still going to shoot for that. I have to cancel an interview because I forgot that I had to resign my lease tomorrow, and I don't want to do it anyway. Not now. Tomorrow, supposedly, I'll be done proofing the magazine and I'll be able to take a couple days off, which is good because Wednesday night my friend is throwing himself a bit of a bachelor party: strip club, bars, maybe gambling? I don't know how I'm going to afford it all, but I'll make do somehow. In the mean time, I should probably get going to bed.

how i spent my vacation 2

Yesterday was too relaxing, I guess, so today I decided to put myself through a good deal of physical and emotional stress.

I woke up to find Encore Love was playing Before Sunrise. I tried to resist the temptation, but I just couldn't. I curled up on the couch like a baby and watched Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke roam the streets of Vienna and got nostalgic for when I first saw the movie when it was released in the theater like 11 years ago. There was pretty much nothing in the world that I wanted to do more than take a train through Europe, meet the European Woman of My Dreams and have a brief fleeting affair with her and then forever pine over what might have been. It would also help if we were both amazingly witty and intelligent and were able to poetically articulate our deepest, most intimate thoughts and philosophies in a thoroughly entertaining sort of way. Of course, my conversations with the fairer sex--of whom I'm sexually and spiritually (whatever) attracted to--usually consists of "So, uh, you having a good time tonight?" in addition to nervous side glances and awkward silences. Regardless, Before Sunrise pretty much defines what I think "love" should be and regurgitates that in under an hour and a half, which is why I find the damn thing so compelling, wonderful and unfathomably depressing. Basically, that fucking movie ruined my life.

I haven't seen it in quite some time and I was happy to see that it stood the test of time (unlike Clerks). Its witty banter and soaring romanticism put me in a sober and ponderous state that really could have only been cured by alcohol. But since it was still mid-day, I decided to walk through the park instead. There, I didn't encounter any charmingly intellectual French women, but I did notice a gathering of Mexicans off the path by the creek. They were singing and clapping and there were a lot of them. When I got around the bend, I strolled off the paved road into one of the dirt paths that lead up to the creek and saw that they were performing baptisms. One of the congregation would step into the water and the preacher would perform the ceremony before dipping the person into the water. Each person's baptism was greeted with one person shouting, "Halelujah!" before the rest would break off into song. They were clapping hands and hitting tambourines, and the whole thing seemed pretty joyous. It reminded me of the scene from O Brother, Where Art Thou, where Pete and Delmer become "saved," but only a lot more exuberant. Something made me want to join them, but I'm sure it's a sin to crash a baptism, so I continued on my walk until their loud rejoicing faded away behind me.

There were a lot of people in the park today, because it wasn't too hot out. But as I pushed deeper passed the swimming holes, the park-goers became more scarce. I walked faster and worked up a bit of a sweat. A lot of the dirt paths I liked to walk during the winter time had become rather overgrown with weeds, so I had to back track a few times. Eventually, I finished my figure 8 loop through the park and headed toward home where I made myself Spam and eggs for dinner and popped in my DVD of the sequel to Before Sunrise, Before Sunset, because, apparently, I was asking for it.

Other than Julie Delpy being ridiculously dreamy, I think the movies strike a chord with me because the main two characters are about my age. I was 18 when the first one came out and the characters were 23, now, nine years later (the movie was released in 2004), the characters have aged as the actors have (though Julie doesn't look like she's aged a day). In Before Sunset, Celine and Jesse are both 32, and I guess it's easy for me to see myself in them (though I'm not nearly as good looking). It's just as good, if not better, than the original. It's nice to see a movie without special effects or plot twists or action--well, sometimes. They just walk, and talk, and they're perfect and I hate them, which is why I'm on Guinness three.

I'm supposed to be at work in a few hours. Tomorrow starts the online proofing of the magazine, which means I basically just click a little button with my little mouse and wait for pages to load and wait for ads that may or may not come in and stress that the whole thing is fucked up and it's going to cost us hundreds of dollars to fix it. I'm not looking forward to it. With any luck, this Guinness will make me sleepy and help me dream of European cafes and beautiful women and interesting conversation and other things I won't encounter in the forseeable future.

how i spent my vacation

I woke up at 8am, then again at 10am, but I forced myself to go back to sleep and didn't really wake up till 1pm. That was nice. I stayed in my room until 5 and only left to order food. I realized around 8pm that doing nothing was driving me crazy, so I walked to the liquor store to pick up some "stay-at-home" supplies. Inside, the same fucking vagrant who asks me for money five times a week asked me if I could spot him some money as I looked over the rack of cheap wine. I have given him some cash on occasion, but it's rare for me to actually carry cash or change. I've resorted to just purchasing things with debit. I told him I didn't have any money on me and he gave me a look. I can't fucking stand that guy. Mostly because he never seems to remember me.

Luckily, day one of my two-day unplugging from society went very smoothly, thanks to the items listed below.

Finding out that this site comes up on the second page of a Google search for "counting backwards." Googling my own site, while obviously a cry for help, also informed me that Throwing Muses has a song named "Counting Backwards." I'm a fan of the band, but hadn't known that before. Though I didn't name this space after the song, finding out this tidbit of infotainment only reinforced my belief that I'm the coolest person I know.



Perving out over women's tennis. Women's tennis is sort of like the network television sports equivalent of pornography to me, basically because it's girl-on-girl action and they wear skimpy clothes, grunt and get all sweaty. Today I saw Jelena Jankovic defeat Serena Williams in straight sets. While Jelena is clearly no Maria Sharapova, she is totally hot in that really not hot at all sort of way and has a pretty rocking body. And she's Serbian...which I guess counts for something.

Madden 2006. I bought this game used a few months ago, but hadn't had the time to play it. It's really fucking detailed, like I actually have to look over the defence to decide if I should audible or change my receiver's route. Normally I'd find such technical mumbo jumbo extremely annoying, but today, I was able to let it go. I'd planned to sit in my room and play video games all day anyway, and since this one was so damn time consuming, the hours flew by in no time.

The Weatherman starring Nicholas Cage. I'm not sure why I wanted to see this movie. I think it was because the trailer had that "Passenger" song by Iggy Pop playing through it. Whatever reason, it was pretty damn good. I laughed out loud a bunch of times. The one thing me and my roommates got a kick out of was all the product placement for fast food companies. I guess that's how a small movie like that gets big stars like Cage and Michael Caine.

The Flaming Lips. They're just one of those bands I've always meant to really like but never got around to it. My roommates got the documentary about them Fearless Freaks through Netflix, so I watched it tonight, and it made me wish I had some of their albums, or at least been to see them live. I actually saw them at Lollapalooza in 1994 on one of the crappy side stages for about three songs and I remember thinking, "Wow, these guys are kinda weird," before moving on to the main stage. I guess it's kinda like how I like mushrooms now. If you want to be my friend, send me Flaming Lips music so I don't have to pay for it. I'm broke.

Yellow Tail Cabernet Sauvignon. I'm not much of a wine drinker, but my roommates usually offer me a glass and I usually take them up on the offer, so as to not feel like a total freeloader, I picked up a bottle at the liquor store. I'm now three glasses in and I have to say it's not that bad. And it only costs $7, which is way cheaper than a bottle of rum, and you don't have to get anything to mix with wine. That's savings. Being a functioning alcoholic is not a myth after all.

junk in the trunk

For me, this year's pretty much over. We're just about done sending our Sept./Oct. issue. and the next one will be the last one of the year. It'll be done some time in early October, so I'm already taking stock of 2006. I've already compiled of a compulsory list of my favorite songs of this year, and it's pretty extensive. I'd probably put just about the whole Thermals and Regina Spektor albums on there if I could.

I don't know how this leads me to Kelly Clarkson, but I'm going to try to tie this all together. This may get a little sloppy, so bear with me.

My roommate went to go see Kelly last weekend. She said she was awesome, and I'm sure she was. I was working, of course, while my roommate was enjoying my favorite (well second favorite, no one tops Shakira) pop princess in my favorite venue on the West Coast.

Actually, I'm not sure if I can tie this together. Let's just leave it at my roommie had bought a Kelly magnet for our refrigerator, and the last song I heard before I wisely evacuated the bar this evening was some dance remix of "Since U Been Gone." It wasn't as good as the regular version. If you were wondering. And I like that Kelly has some meat on dem big southern bones. It's ridiculous to me that people like to mention her weight.

Forget all that stuff about Kelly. I don't know where I was going with that. This Sept/Oct issue is going to linger around like a bad cough for the next couple days as we wait for ads and I sit in front of a computer approving the whole thing, which is the most annoying and tedious part of the process. In this lull in the action, I've had time to go through some of the albums I've received over the past few weeks and months that I haven't been able to take stock of, like the new Silversun Pickups record Carnavas, the new Heartless Bastards, All this Time, and other such stuff. It'll take a few days before I can actually bring myself to enjoy music again, however. It's enjoyable, I'll tell myself. Really.

Everyone I know--at least the bar going type--will be out of town this weekend, and I haven't decided whether I'm going to use that as an excuse to hibernate for a couple days or venture out to meet new and interesting alcoholics. Only time will decide, I guess.

ever watchful

This critter here is a remarkable creature. I don't know much about puma, but they sure look like magnificent beasts. Those eyes are very alert. I can't see for shit, really, but there are certain things my eyes are drawn to very easily. I can spot a spider with my glasses off and the lights out if there is one in my bedroom when I'm trying to get to sleep, and I also have a knack for discovering suspicious lesions on my body. Of course, I'm a bit of a hypochondriac (not in the traditional sense--I'm not obsessive about washing my hands, and I don't use toilet seat covers if I have to take a shit in a public bathroom), so any mark upon my person is suspicious. Regardless, when it comes to mysterious marks, bumps and moles, I'm much like that striking jungle cat pictured above. More or less (mostly less).

Last night I was laying in bed and discovered some discoloration on my inner right for arm--a somewhat significant, kinda tan area, which immediately raised an eyebrow because I am physically incapable of tanning (or burning for that matter). I first subjected the offending region to the old mother test, i.e. I licked my finger and rubbed at the splotches. They didn't disappear. Then, since I thought it may be a bruise, so I jabbed at it vigorously to no effect. It didn't hurt. It didn't itch, it didn't look in anyway infected, so, this morning, I decided to self-diagnose.

The Web is quite a place, basically because it's able to cater to every sort of perversion and obsessive behavior. If you're a hypochondriac, the Internet is a veritable vortex of worry and paranoia. I started my Web search modestly with "skin discoloration," but really, this was just foreplay, and I was seriously horny for some woeful distress. I stopped beating around the bush and googled "melanoma." This brought me to WebMD, which is like paradise for the hypochondriac. A few simple clicks at this site, and a simple cough could be a sign of lung cancer. It didn't take long for me to convince myself I needed a doctor, but I stopped myself pretty quick. I'd seen plenty of pictures of what real skin cancer looks like, and it's not pretty (I don't suggest doing an image search for melanoma), and I'm kinda tired of worrying, but I think I'm sort of addicted to it, or at least to the feeling of relief that comes from realizing you had nothing to worry about. Perverse indeed. I think I may block WebMD, just to avoid any further temptation.

real american heroes

It's debatable what make someone a hero, but I've had too many Guinesses to debate that now. However, I would like to nominate Tyson for such an honor. You see, Tyson is a bulldog. And he can skateboard. If you need any more convincing of this trailblazing pup's heroism, then clearly you don't have a SOUL. If you're the sad and lonely type who needs convincing of such things, you can see him in action at this Web site. However, your lack of faith will still render you quite soulless. Sorry about your luck.

KRAK-thoom

There's a bit of thunder and lightning outside, but I don't see a trace of rain. I can't remember the last time I heard and saw such things here. Probably happened some months ago--maybe before the new year. It's remarkable, sure, at least enough to distract me from watching Mets highlights to post about it here. I suppose this means there'll be fires in the foothills because of the dry lightning strikes. Weather.com says there's thunder in the vicinity. Obviously, I was aware of that, but they don't have maps like they used to so I can geek out on the radar. They want to charge $20 a year for that, but fuck that, I say. There's a video now, but it's really wack. Just some dude yammering about my local weather. I'm a pretty suggestive guy, but when it comes to weather, I want to see radar, sattelite shots and charts. Give me numbers and graphical interpretations of super cells popping up on the mountain sides. Relief maps, barometric pressure, water vapor models. Just writing about it makes me kinda giddy.

invocation

I went to the dentist for the first time in five years on Monday. I can't say whether it went well or badly. It just kinda went, I guess. The dental hygenist who gave me my cleaning was very friendly and very thorough. She was also good about explaining to me every procedure she performed. She checked to see if there was any bone damage around my teeth and called out numbers to an assistant as she went from tooth to tooth, but when she did so, she kinda sang them

Two, Two, Two. Four, Two, Two. Three, Two, Three. Three.

It was actually kind nice--soothing considering there was someone looming over me and prodding my mouth with a metal rod. It was better than being at the office anyway. The numbers were a measure, I was told, of how much bone deterioration I had around my teeth. The scale was from 1 - 6, 6 being really bad. Most of my numbers were two or three, which didn't worry her, but she told me to watch out for those fours. She showed me proper brushign and flossing techiniques, and she marveled at what little work I've had to have done--only four fillings in all my years, and I got them all one visit when I was 22. My wisdom teeth were even in. Considering I hadn't been to a dentist in such a long time, I was happy that I was in decent shape over all. But things went sour once the dentist poked in.

He shook my hand told me his name and asked how old I was. 29, I answered. The hygenist said she was close, only two years off. She thought I was 31. Burn.

Turned out I do have just one cavity. It's not hurting me at all, though, so I never noticed. All my wisdom teeth had come in pretty straight, except for one, which came in at an angle, pushing up the root of my molar above the gums--or something like that. Long story short, the cavity is between the molar and the wisdom tooth, just kinda chilling out there. He said that it'd be tough to just fill it properly, unless I got the wisdom tooth pulled. He then suggest that I get all my wisdom teeth pulled. I told him I couldn't afford all that--I don't have dental insurance--and he patted me on the shoulder and said, "Well, the ball's in your court."

They wrote up a referal for me to see an oral surgeon. I still haven't made an appointment. I'm considering just having the molar and the wisdom tooth pulled and be done with it. I'm also considering just letting it go and hoping nature sorts itself out. Pain isn't much of a problem. That's what they made pills and alcohol for.

I have so little money right now, that I had to transfer money from my savings account so my rent check wouldn't bounce. So much for my sister's wedding gift, I guess. I found out that I had less money in my account than I had thought when I was having a post-work cocktail with my old roommate and this other coworker. I kinda freaked, so, since I can drink for free, I ordered another. Later, I went back out to the same bar for a local show (I'd already taken money out for tip, which informed me of my checking account troubles), again the drinks were free. And since I was out, I ended up at an after party, though not nearly as interesting as the one this chap went to. In fact, there were a lot of "chaps" and quite a few people chattering on speed It was really annoying, but I managed to score a free can of beer from the kitchen. I drank it real slow and sat on the porch with some friends. I took this big group picture of everyone there because I didn't want to get into the shot. No reason to leave any evidence behind. This was not an event worth remembering, though I guess I will now, having written it here. I was really depressed about the sorry state of my finances, but the sunny side was that I'm still able to drown such sorrows at a low, low price. That was sarcasm, I think.

getting there

Hm. I think I'm just about bleary-eyed, but once I get started tweaking, I just can't stop. Like today, I just couldn't stop working. When there was nothing left to do, I made up another task for myself. I just couldn't stop. It's a sickness, I'm sure. I'm kinda glad I did keep working, though, because going through my mail, I found the new Heartless Bastards CD and the new Cardigans CD, neither of which I listened to just yet. I spent all day fluctuating between The Thermals' The Body, the Blood, the Machine and Blind Melon's Soup. I can always go back to that one and really enjoy it. When this issue's sent, I'm definitely taking a few days off. Maybe more than a few. I want to watch cable and be useless for a while. I just hope that doesn't drive me crazy too.

please excuse the mess

You may notice a certain blandness to this space, but that's hopefully going to change in the next couple days. I love the old design very much and I thought it was about time that I try to fuck around and do something on my own and make a site that is much less visually appealing. I'm really tired because The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada was a huge fucking letdown. I was really disappointed. I'm babysitting the dog and he'll kill me if he doesn't get to go to bed soon so more tomorrow for sure.

PS. The house doesn't smell like shit any more. That's about the best thing to happen to me all month.

for the love of the game

My house smells like shit. I don't mean figuratively either.

I came home from work late with my old roommate's dog. I played my Boston album loudly on my computer and sang to him and everything was cool. I washed dishes. My roommates came home and for the first time in months, we were all home and awake at the same time, which was kinda nice. It was fun talking to them. I sat in the living room with my dog and then I heard a gurgling. So did the dog. then it sounded like the water was being sucked out of the house. Then there was this...smell...I did what any man would do in such a situation. I went to the bar.

Everyone I work with was there pretty much. I had a few and I was in a good mood, and when these two things coincide with one another, I get loud. Not in an aggressive way, but in a, well, I'm not gonna lie, a giggly way. It's embarrassing, but I like to laugh and I don't get to do it that often. I told one of my coworkers that on my recent work-related trip to NYC, I spent almost half of my per diem for the weekend at a strip club on the first night. He said that was the coolest thing he'd ever heard, and we continued our sporadic ongoing talks about an adult magazine that we've been planning for the past year. Honestly, I think it might happen one day.

Anyway, it was good times. And I think I talked jokingly to myself the whole way home. The jovial mood quickly faded upon entering the house and getting smacked back upside the head by the mysterious smell of feces.

The dog is innocent. I know that for a fact. And I'm reasonably sure none of my roommates took a dump in the living room. I know, because I checked with a flashlight. I know we're on the sewer system, and contractors have been working at the end of the block. Is that what's going on? If so, can I sue? Because I could use the money--at least to get a hotel room for the time being.