How stupid am I?

I’m listening to Art Bell interview a TV weatherman about how all weather is man-made, and I have to get up for work in two hours to do sound for people auditioning to be the lead singer in INXS. What else is there to say?

Second and First.

Mr Gibbs rocked out in a pretty messy set last night, but it still made me nostalgic for when, “on second avenue, Mars in home, Earth is space.” I snap out of it when I think of the confused mess everything was, and the bar was the destination, though at the time I thought it was just a stop along the way. It never led anywhere, but I still like the music. And I’m glad I got to talk to his Mrs for a bit.
Fortune cookie from the other night read, “the hard times will begin to fade, joy will take their place.” So I got that going for me.

You were always on my mind.

It’s easy. Easy to reach out and tap the resources of an ex. There’s always that moment when you know, or you think you know, that one night would be fine. You can handle it. Ex can handle it. You make assumptions about how that person feels. You know from experience how to get what you want from that person because you know what that person likes. You share a history. A higher level of comfort. There’s a lot to be said for feeling good. More to be said for making someone else feel good. What stops you is the belief that moving forward is what you want, and acting on these momentary impulses would be a step back. One of the many things you’ve tried and failed, and tried again. Will try again.

Week.

I tried to break the PA on Saturday. I guess I just snapped. It was a long week. It didn’t break. It just got really loud. The bar staff was unhappy. I apologize. I also tried to break the camera I’ve been using by getting it dripping wet with snow. It didn’t break either. Here’s proof.

Maybe it will eventually fail from corrosion, but it’s just a camera, and it was worth it because picture taking is fun.
I was so tired yesterday that when I’d lie down to take a nap, I’d start dreaming before I was asleep. You know how you can think of something and picture it in your mind? Well, that would happen, but I would immediately lose control of what was going on. Then, the realization of still being awake would keep me from actually falling asleep. So then Arwen lured me over to have some homemade chicken potato curry soup, and sourdough bread. It was good. I’m still covered in cat hair.

“There’s my jacket.”

How come most people get into a mean, obnoxious, messy, stupid or annoying state when really really extra drunk, but Andrea gets even more adorable than usual?
I’ve felt a little sick to my stomach ever since last night’s game of “Who’s A Junky This Week?”
I just ate a bunch of pizza to test the old theory of whether or not eating pizza before bed gives you nightmares.
WNYC is playing Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony on the friday night all request overnight show. I want to call and ask them to play “A Fifth of Beethoven” next. Who did that song?
I have to be back at work in 28 hours. That’s my weekend.
Tonight’s cab ride home made me feel better. There was a passenger sitting next to me in the cab who’s hair looked especially messy. I liked it a bunch, but it caused me to forgot to ask her about the dealer sitting at her bar tonight. Maybe I’m just sick of talking about it. Just sick of talking.

Inconvenience.

I went to a funeral yesterday. It took about 45 minutes to get there. 45 minutes at the funeral home. Maybe 10 to 15 minutes of that were taken by actually greeting relatives that I haven’t seen in years. It took me two and a half hours to get home. A couple minutes out of four hours, and it was worth every second. When I was very young, my mother explained to me that funerals weren’t for the deceased. My cousin Ian died at the age of 43. The warm hug Ian’s father met me with informed me it was probably a good idea to show up. His hug goodbye, as the procession lined up directed towards the cemetery, confirmed that it was worth the cold, the traffic, the trains, the detours, the MTA. Inconvenience does not apply.

...

In no particular order...

I want people to stop killing themselves. I want to get my glasses fixed. I want shoes that don’t squeak. I want to make art for me, not to show her I’m doing fine. I want to get out while I still can. I want to stop forgetting all those ideas. I want to call Kristin tomorrow. I want to eat better. I want someone to remind me to buy boots again. I want to live a moment as romantic as ones we lived in 1989. I want people to take responsibility for their own actions. I want the state of living in denial to disappear. I want us to send mail to each other. I want to be mobile. I want to make you smile because I did something good, something nice, not something funny. I want to feel like going out after work. I want to be in the same room as Kelli. I want to find you all new jobs. I want to do my laundry tomorrow. I want to fuck a friend, not a lover. I want to be on time. I want to stop saying goodbye. I want things to work as advertised. I want to cure my friends of having to live hand to mouth. I want to stop censoring myself. I want to acknowledge the beauty of a woman who, faced with one bad break after another, still manages to send me a Christmas card with little stars stuck to the envelope. I want to take a shower. I want to know those thousand words that are worth a picture.

Suck.

Except for Shooter Jennings, son of Waylon Jennings, tonight may have been the worst night of music I’ve heard in recent memory. Not even the three naked women pouring champagne on each other and rolling in glitter could save the show. Plus, after ten hours in a bar, I just didn’t feel up to going to see my friends play a late night set uptown. I’m just glad they put Coast to Coast AM back on the air in New York.

Happy birthday Bobby Head.

Focus.

I’m feeling much better. I got wrapped up in some pointless ideas, but I set all that aside for now. Okay, they weren’t pointless, but they were distracting. Distracting me from what I want to do. Tomorrow I buy supplies. I lost focus. Got that? Focus, everyone, FOCUS! Okay, I forgot my point. It’s late. Here’s a picture.

I have to get this off my chest.

A few days ago, I was listening to Bush talk about limiting the maximum amount of money a jury can award victims of medical malpractice. That way, insurance companies won’t have to continue to raise their rates for doctors, doctors can stay in business, and more doctors means a healthier America. As usual, this proposed law is an attempt to fix a symptom, rather than address the cause. Close to 200,000 people die in this country every year from medical errors. That’s the sixth highest killer in the U.S. In addition to that staggering figure, 1,000,000 more are injured. Now I could be a jerk and say, “well if doctors would just stop killing people...” There is a small percentage of doctors out there that have a few more bad days that they should. Looking a little more closely at such doctors, and taking them out of the game if they’re not up to the high standards necessary for people we entrust with our lives, would go a long way towards reducing malpractice claims. Let’s take a look at the source, not take it out on the victims.

This common, backwards approach reminds me of another issue that’s bothered me for some time now. A couple of years ago, the supreme court heard arguments as to weather or not government funded colleges could award a few extra points to the admission applications of minorities. I really couldn’t take a side here, because the real problem lies elsewhere. This measure pretty much admits that minorities receive a sub-standard high school and elementary school education. That’s the problem that needs to be addressed. If our nation’s public school systems were able to prepare our children for further studies, minorities wouldn’t need that head start. College admissions could then be colorblind, academic achievement would be the deciding factor in college admissions, and the much desired student body diversity would come automatically.

I know. Easier said than done.

I haven’t posted a picture in a while.

I have about 50 rolls of film to proof, and a few more to develop, but I dug up an old one.

Boots?

I'm at work, and it's hard to write what I wanted to because this band is too loud. Why do you have a really loud band when you sing so quietly? Oh, they're talking about their CD, so mayby they're nearing the end. Can someone remind me to go buy new boots before there's a real snow?

Good riddance.

This was one of the worst new year’s eves I can remember. And that’s keeping in mind that I’ve spent eight out of the last ten working in a rock club. One of those ten was spent in Atlanta preparing for a tour, so that was kinda like working as well. The other one was spent home alone trying to write and record a piece of music called the Home Alone On New Year’s Eve Suite. I never finished that piece, and that failure set a good precedent for a year full of unfinished projects.

I’ve been dying to get through the holiday season, but now I’m realizing I really just wanted to get through with the whole year. Several low points, some very low, the type that reach back and cast past events in an even worse light than you initially thought, all set in the shadow of the presidential campaign. While there were a few bright spots in the form of new friends and acquaintances, I want to put that year behind me so bad that I’m thinking about doing my taxes right now.

So I guess here’s to the new year, but more importantly, goodbye to the last.