Thursday, September 30, 2004

east coast fall

My workdays have been too long, my nights too short. The projects seem neverending and the music I was supposed to work on is sitting untouched in the living room. I have barely had a chance to enjoy the grey skies, sitting on my couch, watching movies, drinking hot chocolate.

I want the world to slow down for just a moment. Long enough to figure out that song we wrote on sunday on the keyboard that Duncan left for me. The one that is set up on my computer desk like a stand up piano, reminding me of the Yamaha from my grandparents that is sitting in some stranger's house now, most likely beaten up and bruised from little kids and no memory of my childhood toying left over.

Fall always reminds me of my childhood. It makes me happy and sentimentally sad at the same time. It makes me want to smoke less and walk around more. Drink less and write more. Sleep less and sing more. Work less and live more. I cannot wait to spend my Halloween in Clayton, so close to my own hometown. Isolated in a friend's parents' house with the people I enjoy most and have known longest. Eating and drinking and watching Matt poledance. Okay, everything except that last part.

peppermint marshmallows, yay!

All that I want right now is to be home, in my robe, on my couch, cuddling with my cats, drinking hot chocolate, watching Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. With the dark sky's minimal light fading slowly. Carlights moving through the curves of the 580 freeway. The radiator sputtering every so often. My fuzzy giraffe-print slippers sitting on the hardwood floor below me, waiting patiently to be attacked by Ricochet. Frankie taking advantage of the distraction to move even closer to me.

Tuesday, September 28, 2004

this is when i just back away very slowly...

Goebbels Speech Has Disturbing Parallels With Modern Day Neo-Con Rhetoric

Ed Henry | September 23 2004

Thanks to Harry Browne of the Libertarian Party for bringing us this reminder. It's a speech by Hitler's Minister of Propaganda, Joseph Goebbels, and delivered to the German people almost 65 years ago. Nearly every line was met with thunderous applause.

Any resemblance between this speech and those delivered by our current leaders such as Vice President Dick Cheney is purely coincidental.

"I ask, which leader is it today that has the vision, the willpower, and yes, the backbone to best protect us?

The clear answer to that question has placed me in this hall with you tonight.

There is but one man to whom I am willing to entrust our future and that man's name is Adolph Hitler.

There are some crazy men who would kill us if they could. So Adolph Hitler has told us: 'All private plans, all private lives, have been in a sense repealed by an overriding public danger.'

But where is the national unity in this country when we need it most?

Now, while young Germans are dying in the mud in Czechoslovakia and the mountains of Poland, our nation is being torn apart and made weaker because of the Social Democrats manic obsession to bring down our Fuhrer.

What has happened to the nation I've spent my life working in?

I can remember when Social Democrats believed that it was the duty of Germany to fight for freedom over tyranny.

Time after time in our history, in the face of great danger, Germans worked together to ensure that freedom would not falter. But not > today.

Motivated more by partisan politics than by national security, today's Social Democratic leaders see Germany as an occupier, not a liberator.

And nothing makes me madder than someone calling German troops occupiers rather than liberators.

Tell that to the Czechs, Poles, Frenchmen, and Belgians who have been freed because Adolph Hitler led an army of liberators, not occupiers.

Tell that to the millions of men, women, and children who are free today from the Baltics to the Crimea, from Poland to the Balkans, because Adolph Hitler built a military of liberators, not occupiers.

Never in the history of the world has any soldier sacrificed more for the freedom and liberty of total strangers than the German soldier. And our soldiers don't just give freedom abroad; they preserve it for us here at home.

Right now, the world just cannot afford an indecisive Germany. Fainthearted, self-indulgence will put at risk all we care about in this world.

In this hour of danger, our Fuhrer has had the courage to stand up. And I am proud to stand up with him.

God bless this great country and God bless Adolph Hitler."

The United States of America now has more than 725 military bases in 70 percent of the world. Regardless of what else happens in Iraq, we will have at least four more major military installations in that country to "protect our national interests" (oil) and from which we can conduct a military crusade to bring our brand of democracy to the rest of the Arab world without, of course, an Electoral College.

Meanwhile, far too many Americans continue to wonder why people hate us and continue to believe the story that the rest of the world envies our way of life.


As to the analogy between Goebbels and Republican propaganda, this reminds me of how one can find sections of the Old Testament to prove anything and everything (and people do). Politicians have been using the warning that their opponents will not protect their country properly since time immemorial (e.g. John F. Kennedy scored points against Richard Nixon by claiming that the Republicans under Eisenhower and Nixon had allowed the Soviet Union to advance beyond the US in development of nuclear missiles, creating a great threat to the US - this "missile gap" was, of course, absolute bullshit and Kennedy knew it. But it was OK because Nixon was an asshole).

As it looks like Bush may win a second term (its still a close call), the "elites" on the West and East coasts (e.g. all my friends in California and NY who I speak to) are achieving new levels of desperation and sour grapes. It is disconcerting to them that Bush winning means that half of their fellow Americans disagree completely with them. This is now dismissed as being due to the fact that the half of American voters who will vote for Bush, must be ignorant and stupid. This is why such people on both coasts are known as "elites." They think they are "elite" and that everyone that disagrees with them is stupid (e.g. they think Bush is stupid - this is particularly funny when the person making the remark is a Hollywood actor or actress with the IQ of an iguana).

What has not occurred to such "elites," is that the primary drive of mankind, if you believe the theory of evolution, is neither sex, cappucino or French movies, but is survival (food is a subset of survival and sex is a subset of species survival but not individual survival). Thus, most Americans are less worried about abortion or gay marriage (important but secondary issues in that less than 10% of Americans are gay and a good deal less than 10% of American women plan to have abortions in the next few years whereas 100% of Americans in the vicinity of a nuclear explosion can plan on being dead within milliseconds) than they are about the fact that 1 billion Muslims hate us and our culture and are adherents of an extremely violent religion (there are NO moderate Muslims because Islam is NOT moderate, even Cat Stevens) who would gladly see us all dead (especially Jews) and will eventually get their hands on a nuclear weapon (Pakistan already has them and calls their weapon the "Islamic bomb," and thanks to European aid, Iran is on the way to getting them and the leaders of Iran, the "mullahs," are true religious fanatics who make right wing Christians look like Quakers).

(violent comment deleted)

I'm voting for Nader. Bush is my second choice. I do not consider Kerry to be a viable choice as he favors the French approach which is to bend over and await the consequences.

Love, Dad

a hardness of 7.5

I have discovered that I enjoy shopping at office supply stores far too much. Yesterday I bought a slew of random materials (including a single-hole punch, a pack of Vision Elite super fine pens and an exacto knife). I spent the evening watching Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets and cutting articles out of magazines, punching holes into them and putting them in a binder. What the hell is wrong with me? Yes, well, I just needed a project, is all. I needed a distraction from writing and music because I've become so involved in them that I'm getting frustrated again. I needed to step away and do something mindless. So I got all my old issues of Real Simple out and decided to keep only those parts that I thought I would use at some point. Articles on how to understand various legal documents, what kinds of spray paints work best on which materials, how to reorganize your closet, which fruits are in season when. It was fascinating at the time, but thank god it's over.

Duncan and I have three songs now. Three songs that don't have set words yet. I promised myself that I would not make plans this week, outside of writing and attempting to figure out the keyboard Duncan left for me. My brain is empty of all interesting thought and I have apparently forgotten how to type (all typos removed before publishing).

I used to sit in the dark at my old house in Santa Barbara and just type until every bad feeling left my body and I could just be simple and quiet again. There were always too many things going on in my head and really I just wanted to be sitting at Shang Hai, having that fake chicken dipped in garlic soy sauce. Damn, that was good. I miss that place. I miss alot of things about Santa Barbara...and yet I don't think much of returning there. I suppose every place I go will have certain things I miss. I miss Green Leaf in Ashland. That great deli Noah took me to in Montclair, New Jersey. The bagel place with the Seinfeld them in downtown Santa Barbara. Red Dora's Bearded Lady in San Francisco (which is no longer in business). If only I could have them all in one place (namely Oakland). Instead, I will have canned vegetable soup for lunch and get back to work.

Oh yeah, aquamarine.

Friday, September 24, 2004


I cannot claim to comprehend the fear, anger and ignorance that I have seen recently in people I hardly know. I have been shown example after example of individuals who do not make the occasional mistake of a rude comment or a lashing out, but actually accuse people of things that are mostly projected from their own psyches and/or tell their side of the story to everyone who will listen without the slightest idea that there might be another side...or twelve.

"you can't really place blame
cuz blame is kinda messy
some of it was bound to get on you
while you were trying to put it on me"
-ani difranco

People who view life one-sided frighten me. They will always believe themselves either a hero for being cruel or a victim of someone else's cruelty. They do not take the time to understand the wounds that create moments that someone might be ashamed of, though never repeat again. They do not look at a person and see that behind the physical form there might be insecurity and weakness. They are emotional vampires and as cruel as little children, but they know better. This is what makes it so much worse. They know that it hurts, they know that each person has their own issues, but they put themselves and their feelings first and foremost and assume all else to be less than worthy of their attention or care.

My mother and brother worry that I care too much for other people and am far too sensitive. Most of my friends would echo this. But when it comes down to it, I would rather be the person getting hurt and making mistakes, then apologizing for them, than the person who goes through life hurting people at will and feeling no remorse or pity. I do not look down on the latter, but I would never want to be one, just the same.

Wednesday, September 22, 2004

if i had a sugar daddy

Click Here To See My Fright Catalog Halloween Wish List!

I love Ollie for having a link to this site on his blog.


the taste of childhood all grow'd up

Have you ever heard of a food-type-thing called chreese? That's right, you heard me, chReese. Or maybe it should be Chreese. Or ChReese.

Nacho chreese dip. Does that sound appetizing to you? It kinda makes me want to giggle and vomit simultaneously. Which really, in the end, could be quite messy and inconvenient.

Let's see what it's made of: water, organic tomatoes, organic green lentil flour, nutritional yeast, organic jalapeno peppers, unrefined sea salt, organic garlic powder, xanthan powder, citric acid, organic ground mustard seed, organic ground cumin, guar gum, capsicum and annato." Er...I really don't know how to feel about any of that... My friend Steve used to make a luscious pseudo-cheese sauce with nutritional yeast... He was one of those zany vegan types. Now he works at Berkeley Whole Foods and has, or had the last time I saw him, a white boy 'fro.

So here is the next question...what horrible yet totally enjoyable movie should I next rent from Netflix? I believe I require a comedy. I haven't been getting very much sleep and have spent every available moment working on the one song my friend Duncan and I have put together for our little project. Lord knows what will become of me when we have ((gasp)) more than one song... I will most likely fall to pieces and even the idea of Pete in a flesh-colored unitard will not be enough to restore me.

I think that last sentence might have made me a bit ill, actually. Let me think of something else...

Even the mental image of Pete pouring hot nacho chreese dip over his naked-but-for-manties, that's still too upsetting...any suggestions?

Tuesday, September 21, 2004

feel my robe

I don't like having a life too often. I just go through phases where it just kind of happens. I guess lately I've been forcing myself to go out even when I'm not too excited about it because I don't want to get into my old bad habits of avoiding the world. I at least need to be productive.

This past Friday I went to see M83 with Revaz. One of my co-workers, Ben, works as a bouncer there and got us in for free. The other bouncer outside, a tall pretty girl with blonde hair, was searching my bag when Ben noticed me. At the same time that she was asking me where she could get a journal like mine, Ben was asking me if we're already gotten tickets. I was confused but delighted with both of them. The band that played first, The Invisibles, was completely horrible. A girl outside said they were making her ears bleed (then the question is, why did we go in?). Thankfully, M83 was amazing. I think I prefer them live. I'm usually not into electronica, but they with a full band that night. Even though I was tired and my right contact lens wouldn't stay in my eye (thus ended up in my mouth for safekeeping, don't ask), I wanted to stay as long as I could stand it because they were just so wonderful. Sometimes people would get in my way and everything was blurry, but mostly my left eye could see what was going on. Good times.

Saturday I went to San Francisco with Pete. We ate at All You Knead on Haight, then went to attempt to find him a black velvet smoking jacket. I usually hate that area, but it was surprisingly enjoyable with Pete. And I bought a new bag (which made other friends roll their eyes, I seem to have some sort of bag fetish) at YakPak. We looked at all the thrift stores, but never found Pete his jacket. However, I did have a chance to say "NO" to many of the ones he picked up and tried on, which is always fun for me. We sat in the park to have a cigarette and a rest, then walked down to the conservatory. Pete knows more San Francisco history than I imagine can truly fit in his brain. I like to think that he is actually an android, which really makes a lot of sense if you know him... In any case, he told me all about the conservatory and how the building was almost completely destroyed by the El Nino storms in the late 90s (I was living in Santa Barbara at the time, he had just moved to the Bay Area). It took them several years to rebuild it, but now it's open and only $5 admission. The water plant room looks really interesting, but it was closed when we got there (we peeked in the windows).

Later that night was Kelly's bridal shower. I was an hour late due to traffic and having to feed my mum's dogs in Vallejo (always quite torturous). Her mom answered the door and said, "Oh, you're just in time for the games!" I had forgotten about the god damned games. I hate the god damned games. I have promised myself and all my friends that if I ever get married, there will be no bridal shower games unless it's Scrabble or Trivial Pursuit...or Taboo. Lots of food, lots of booze, but no fucking games. Fortunately, Kelly's sister, Laura, is not a sappy maid of honor. There were only two games and one of them was only for Kelly. I discovered that night that I either know nothing about Kelly...or I've chosen to forget it all. That's right, Kel, I'm blocking you from my memory. Our love is over. But I'm still glad you liked the lingerie I bought you because I'm really not good at that kind of girly-thing.

On a fabulous side-note: One of Kelly's friends from out of state, Chris, works for Victoria's Secret and sent Kelly a huge white feather boa that was worn by whichever-the-fuck model in a commercial for the company. Have you seen that commercial? Yes, that boa. It was huge. Kelly was thinking she could take a catalog of theirs and paste her fact onto all of their bodies for Dustin.

Sunday was my first music-type-thing with Duncan. We were both exhausted, but happy to get started on our little project. We got one song ( guessed it, Song One!)started and played it until Duncan's fingers were cramping and I had started rolling my eyes too far into the back of my head because the words I was coming up with were god-awful. But it was good and we were happy with the results. It's going to take a lot of work, since we are both so out of practice. I don't recall having ever been a very good songwriter anyway, but Duncan knows that and doesn't seem to mind. It's just good to be doing it again, even if it doesn't go anywhere. You just have to do it and not just talk about it anymore.

Friday, September 17, 2004

some indian food can't be made mild

I am afraid that my dinner with Kelly last night has left me feeling ill even now. The best Indian food I could ever hope for, but my sweet lord, my stomach cannot handle it. I need water.

Have you ever become lost in a site and had your eyes widen and wondered why there weren't more wonderful things in the world just like it? Yes? No? Well, go here anyway:

Revaz is taking me to see M83 tonight. Or, rather, I'm taking him, but it was his perhaps we're taking each other. Either way, I'm going, dammit. As I don't really go to shows anymore, it's rather a big deal for me. And yet I agreed to it immediately. But then, Revaz is truly irresistable, despite the fact that he gets lost in Oakland and I find that kind of sad.

I'm sorry this isn't more interesting, but I've just spent about thirty minutes feebly editing some entries for Bad Poetry, Good Times. I'm afraid it's been far too long since I wrote poetry or songs, so my skills are leaving much to be desired at this point. There are some good lines, but they don't necessarily come together well. Feel free to let me know how you feel about them.

Wednesday, September 15, 2004


I am sick, shaky and at home today. Work will not miss me and I certainly will not miss the stress and anxiety related to it lately. I woke up weak and still exhausted this morning. Forced myself out of bed and to the bathroom. Then came back and collapsed next to my curled up cats and decided to call in and resign myself to being ill. I have not been able to sleep again since then, which has made me anxious, fidgety. I want to be out walking around, but I am barely making it from the kitchen to my desk without feeling like collapsing. A walk is out of the question.

I am preparing myself for some songwriting. Something I have never been particularly good at. However, I must prepare myself somewhat for my friend Duncan's visit later tonight. Duncan is a talented musician and a good friend. The latter is more the reason I asked him if he would be interested in playing with me for this half-assed project I've cooked up. I needed someone I know, someone who knows my voice already and my flaws, my fears. Duncan may not completely understand me, but he comes closer than anyone else I know who might be interested in something like this. I needed someone I could be completely comfortable with. I could screw up in front of Duncan and we would just laugh it off and continue.

It is a delicate process at this point, because I do not have the confidence I did the last time I played with anyone. That was a decade ago and I was a very different person. I seem to have traded my then fears for the ones I have now. I used to be afraid to let my true voice out, to play the music I really wanted to play. Now I am not afraid to do the things I really want, but I am afraid to fail. It is something you really need to get over, in order to succeed. Fear of failure can make the most talented people in the world stumble over nothing. I can't afford to let that happen.

Whatever I come up with will doubtlessly end up posted to the Bad Poetry Good Times blog, for your torture or amusement (depending largely on your sense of humor). Enjoy.

Tuesday, September 14, 2004

through the lens (random bits of a day)

I am a bit fragile today. My eardrums are tender, my eyes are feverish, my neck is tight, my head is aching almost unbearably. I could not stand to wear my contact lenses feeling this way, so I am wearing my new wire-rimmed glasses. I now understand why I have been feeling so tired lately. Something has invaded my system and is making me dizzy and spacy. Who wants to run and get me a hot chai with soy? Anyone? Anyone?

I am tired of criticism right now. At least criticize the things I really have done wrong. Tell me something constructive. Something that will help both of us. I grow weary so quickly of all your frustrated outburts based on nothing more than your own disappointment. I have no desire to play Shoot the Messenger, especially given that my tongue can sharpen itself all too well on your hipocracy.

Has anyone noticed yet that each posting's heading is an external link?

I would like to take this opportunity to think Oliver and Hekate, who have made changes to this blog for me because I am a bit of an idiot. Also, Hekate is responsible for the loverly template you can view at

Monday, September 13, 2004

panties are for girls...manties are for men

So...I had another nightmare last night. I have been trying to stop these nightmares for about a year now because they tend to traumatize me a bit more than I think nightmares should traumatize anyone.

I have scary-looking stuffed animals that I sleep with (mostly when my cat Ricochet isn't around...when he is, he likes to take them from me in the middle of the night and disembowel, really), a really gruesome painting that my friend Gabriel gave me (on the back he wrote: dear jessexica, hope you don't have nightmares) and I have tried to be more lucid, to have more control over the circumstances in my dreams.

I do not have them as frequently as I used to, but the ones I do have are really screwed up. However, this one was just plain weird. I won't go into the full story, I'll just say that it involved a paperback book of evil that was moldy and let off noxious fumes and a tall Asian man in a tracksuit who kept grabbing my left foot and making me angry and scared.

I had to spend ten minutes thinking of what my friend Pete ( would look like in those red manties with black ribbon and white lace trim just so I could go to sleep again.

Friday, September 10, 2004

the good burn

We are often blind to the damage we do to other people. We scrape and we cut and we rub them raw, then turn around and act scandalized by their retaliation to this behavior. Then we turn suddenly and say, "Why are you so sad?" "Why are you so angry?" "What on earth have I done that was so awful to make you think I deserve this?" We seem incapable of seeing things from the other person's perspective. Incapable of understanding that turning cold to someone you once acted as if you cared for is a form of cruelty in and of itself. Unable, suddely, to remember that people do not heal instantly, no matter what they try to convince you of or how they smile weakly to please you. We all need to be apart from the weapon that dealt the blow, no matter how small the wound may be.

At this point in my life, that scene can be nothing more than history. A painful history that will now be left behind, except for the occasional dive from this upward spin of letting go. Even the dive down is necessary, on occasion. We cannot allow ourselves to completely forget where we have been. Otherwise we would not realize how far we have come.

It is strange and wonderful, walking out into the world I had so casually let slip by and catching the sun burning me eagerly. I love the red and the pink of it. I delight in the change of color in my skin. That charge of feeling when the sun is warming up to me and sweat rolls down my forehead from my hairline to the tip of my nose in one fluid motion, as I turn to catch my breath from all the excitement of the breakdown that led to the release that led to whatever this is that I am now in. I smile through my dark glasses, eyes closed, at the brightening day. At the new experience that is a resolution to live louder than I ever have before.

Thursday, September 09, 2004

i want to believe

I want to believe that I did not just delete that really fabulous piece of writing that I just finished editing to put up on here.

I really, really want to believe that.


"Factualness" is just not a good word.

In any case, there are only a few things I know for sure and these are they:

Purposely using poor grammar will never fail to piss off Danny (also, improper use of the German language).

Pete, though a true goth, is really fucking funny.

Alan should totally wear manties if he's going to whore himself.(

The phrase "hella mighty" is extremely useful in keeping Northwesterners at bay.
(I found no website to fit in with this, for some reason...perhaps I should make one?)

my bones are crunchy

I feel like I've had too much stimulation and I can't bear to be at work any longer. I need the walk that my break will take me on and the silence of thought that my headphones will sustain. I've been writing so much at home and I no longer want to rewrite any of it on here, I just need the space to fill and I don't want to fill it with anything over just a few minutes old. I don't know what to do anymore, I feel anxious about something that I'm not aware of yet. I don't know what to eat, I want people to tell me what I should, so I don't have to think about it. It doesn't interest me anymore, I just know that I have to have food in order to have any energy.

I'm fidgety lately. My hands have to keep themselves so busy that I don't even notice them moving anymore. My leg makes me foot tap against the side of my chair nervously, even though I have nothing to be nervous about. Typing this is a great release, going as fast as I want, without thinking or worrying or pausing to check for grammatical error, misspelling.

My head is a bit muddled again. Not in a necessarily bad way. I am just really distracted and I can't remember the last time I wanted so badly to not be working. Truth is, I'm bored. I love my job, I love my boss, but I'm bored to tears right now. I want to be outside, I want to be walking, I want to be exploring, I want adventure...I wanna be a pirate! No, not really, sorry about that.

I just want out.

Wednesday, September 08, 2004

tomato shaped the electrons to say

I love my music. It is the secret soundtrack to the lives of the people I watch quietly as I go walking my way about the city.

Yann Tiersen's "Amelie" plays as I watch a girl smile sneakily at something bad only she and I know she must have done. Elliott Smith sings soft and bitter about the moon while I watch a boy walk with his face fallen and hands in his pockets from what must now be his ex-lover's apartment.

I like to think I know not all about them, but just what the song implies. I look at them and I think, "You. This song is yours. Did you know?"

But sometimes I think they might be listening to "Tiny Vessels" by Death Cab for Cutie and looking knowingly at me. The thought shames me, as lines of the song play back in my head.

Even I cannot escape the soundtrack I have made.

ne regretter rien

The great devastations and humiliations in life are always the greatest catalysts for positive change.

I am quoting myself from a letter I just sent to a friend. Because I like that sentence. Because it represents what I am going through right now. And it finally relieves me of my previous regret.

It is not worth it to feel regret. I understand that it happens and I have allowed that, on occasion, I will feel a sense of regret for something recent. But it must fade with time, when the lesson is learned and the bitter taste of it has been washed away. I do not want to look back on any part of my life and think that I regret a mistake made or another heartbreak.

they have spies

"Relax, dress down and go out in search of inspiration and the kindness of strangers."

Well, shit, people! My horoscope finally caught up with me. They have spies, you know. Crazy bastards.

Tuesday, September 07, 2004

not so different from inspired bad poetry

I have been writing songs lately. Bad songs that rhyme. I wrote one about the blues last night...something about how the blues don't come after you, you have to meet on common ground. Except it rhymed.

I also started writing a song about my mom never letting me drive her car, but it turned into a song about my ex-girlfriend. I have no idea how to explain that one.

In any case, the songs are coming out in this shiftless form right now because I realized recently how much I miss singing. I called my friend Duncan last night and left him a voicemail about it. I need to make a project of this, actually try to go somewhere with it. I remember how much I loved it before, but it was just so damn long ago. Oh sweet lord, it was a decade ago. I almost stop to worry that it has been too long and there is no going back now. But I do not honestly believe that and will not allow myself to start thinking that way.


Have I mentioned how much I love honey turkey? No? Well, lemme tell ya, I really do. I mean, it pales in comparison to Genoa salami, but then, what doesn't? I know what I'm having for lunch today. I'm going to the Genoa Delicatessen in Walnut Creek and getting a sandwich. And I'm going to love it for the rest of my life. Or at least, the amount of time it takes to eat it. Which hopefully won't be that long because that's kind of disgusting. I'm sorry.

I have been trying to open my mind to some new music lately. It has turned into me getting excited about bands that everyone else has been listening to for at least a few months now. Yeah, I've been out of the loop. That's what being in a rut is all about, didn't you know? So what I've discovered is:

The Darkness is damned entertaining, but best on special occasions.
Elliott Smith's music is totally depressing and I could listen to nothing but it for the rest of my life and be perfectly content...but I won't.
I am even more in love with Ryan Adams now that I own Love is Hell, Part 1.
The new Modest Mouse (Good News for People Who Love Bad News) really is the coolest thing on earth, you goddamn scenester.
Even though my dad believes that their guitar playing is a sign of the end of civilization, I not only enjoy the music of Interpol, but the singer's speaking voice makes me giggle.
My decade-long affair with PJ Harvey is still spicy, thank you very much.
Frou Frou is fancified.
Stereolab doesn't do it for me anymore.
Damien think so.
Death Cab for Cutie actually makes me want to write songs. I'm not sure I like that they have this effect on me, because I think the truth is that the subjects of their songs make me angry...but I do love the music.

heat, noise and bacon

My brain isn't completely up for communication of any form right now. And yet, here I sit, typing my boring nonsense for all to read. Christ, I'm tired.

I want to be sleeping in right now. I want to have my face pressed into the pillow on the left side of my bed with my feet hanging off the edge of the right side. I want to have the sheet pulled over my head and my arms wrapped around one of my cats.

Don't fucking wake me.

The office is quiet today. Most of our supervisors are still in Canada. The office manager has been wearing fancy, very uncomfortable-looking shoes lately. I wonder why on earth she would choose to do this in the warmest weather of the year. Isn't she worried that those slides are going to slip right off? Why, she could really hurt herself if she isn't careful. Crazy bitches. Fine, I understand wearing a skirt right now (although I'm still wearing jeans), but c'mon, heels? Why?! Haven't you people heard of flip-flops?

At least no one is wearing mandles. I thank the sweet lord for that.

Although manties would be fine...

I usually do not enjoy hot weather. I grew up with the stagnant concrete heat of Concord. The summer temperatures were often in the 100s. My rubber-soled Sabra Negevs would stick to the sidewalk, making it even harder to walk to the store. I didn't drive until the year before I left, so I grew to truly despise the summers there. Luckily, there were a lot of trees. I would hurry through the shadeless areas, then walk slowly under the trees. I had all the time in the world back then. I had no work ethic whatsoever and knew nothing of urgency. Nothing seemed to bother me. I lived between a Red Cross and a Mormon church, across the street from a high school. This is probably one of the reasons I love being able to hear the freeway in my current apartment.

But that's beside the point. The point is that I spent all of Sunday wandering through Mission and North Beach in the city with the sun bearing down on me and was sweating like crazy, along with everyone else, but was totally happy about it. I sat in La Rondalla midday with a glass of ice water pressed to my forehead before I ate a pretty fabulous bacon (bad Jew!) and tomato sandwich. I grossed out my friend Tim by dipping my french fries in the salsa. I had a Negra Modelo and still wasn't cooled off. Later in the day, we sat in Vesuvio, sweating with the other patrons while our waitress warned everyone not to try sitting upstairs, where the heat was sweltering and people were sticking to the chairs. But, as I finished my second Jim Beam and Coke, a slight breeze finally swept through the city to accompany us back to Montgomery Station.

Monday, September 06, 2004

my mad obsession with zach braff

Go to the link now. Do not pause to think, "Do I really want to go to the link?" or "But I don't have time to go to the link!" Just go to the god damn link.

Oh, the link is in the title of this post: Garden State. Yes, that one, now click on it, dammit.

the littlest logic

My memory absorbs pain the way my tongue absorbed the color from a Black Cherry Blowpop when I was nineteen and everything was laid out in front of me. But I walked around the path, the trail of breadcrumbs so carefully left, because I had read that one before and I did not want to get trapped. So I left the easy way behind and found the most difficult way to go. That might seem out of place in my story, but it really makes the little sense of me that one can make. The little logic that I have learned to take.