Thing. (Other thing)

I ate many soy based products this evening for dinner. (Thanks to the beautiful and talented Miss Day for the recommendation.) I can’t stop thinking about becoming homeless. (Another tenant moved out today.) We’ve been having these sudden rainstorms that just roll in and look real scary. (Made me think of driving through the southwest and seeing rain off in the distance, while it’s clear and sunny where you are.) The fourth is coming up. (A late friend’s birthday. There will be fireworks.) I want a lighter camera. (I must be getting weaker.) I don’t know how to have a vacation. (It’s been over five years.) It makes me sad when I’m around her. (It makes me sad when I’m around her.) I’m still lost. (No, it’s not a generational thing.) I hate working two places at the same time. (It just makes everyone involved unhappy.) I just figured out a Foreigner song on guitar. (I think. Just heard a short clip as bumper music on Coast to Coast.)

Week.

The Supreme court made a ruling last week that I thought was kinda interesting. A black man sentenced to death in Texas was able to get a new trial because the court ruled that the selection of his jury was racially biased. Now I agree that if the prosecutors conspired to stack to jury with whites, then he should get a new trial. You cannot legally exclude a potential juror solely on the basis of skin color, and that’s the way it should be. But what I find interesting, and a bit scary, is the court seems to be saying that if you presented the same case to two different juries, you can reach two different verdicts. I think we all knew deep down inside that it’s an imperfect system, but it’s kinda nice to hear the top judges in the land say it out loud.

The new landlords are buying tenants out of their leases. According to my super, there’s already about ten empty apartments. They haven’t made me an offer yet, which is a little strange, but I can’t imagine it being large enough to make me move. There’s no way I can find rent this cheap anywhere else in this city. The part that bothers me is wondering what will happen if I say no. I don’t trust landlords as a whole, and figure they’ll try to get me out some other way. Better start saving up. But what’s after this place?

Dragon.

I was listening to an all Sinatra show in the radio, backed by the screaming push-bar fire alarm on the door to my roof. I couldn’t make it go off, so I covered the alarm with some duct tape. Then, the radio program changed to a show about Islam. This is what I do at 4am. I have a lot on my mind, and no will to go into it. Instead, I would like to thank The Whores for giving me a ride home.
I hope Kelli’s okay. I hope Kristin is okay. I hope Becca’s okay. I hope Megan is okay. Is anyone okay? Unrelated picture to follow.

Hanging.

The streetlight outside my building fell apart, is hanging by two wires, and is pointed at our windows.

Radio.

Art bell is taking calls from people who have made a deal with the devil.

When I left, they were $2000 over.

I didn’t make any money, but tonight was okay. The bands weren’t too loud, were actually pretty good, and I knew a lot of them.
I don’t speak with Molly often enough.
Steph seemed good. Miss having her around.
Everyone at work is wondering what the benefits are for.
Wes returned from Iraq. Showed up a day early to surprise Sara. I’m really relieved he’s back.
I forgot to eat my fries, and they got cold and limp.
I need to buy developer.
I hear the Seagulls outside. I often forget how close we are to the sea.

Out of sight, out of mind.

And another thing...

How did cocaine become the punk rock drug of choice? How did punk rock adopt the drug of choice of the disco era? Way to bring punk fully into the mainstream, guys! Okay, so I didn’t do much historical research, but it just seems funny to me.

I’m hungry.

There’s a really beat mandolin I saw and should have bought a month ago. Every time I go to the spot where I saw it, the place is closed. I was hoping I could go get it now, and it would offset the annoyance of not having hot water today. Instead, I went out, got hot and sweaty, came home without a mandolin, to a home that lacks hot water.
They are painting the stairway/hallway completely white. It’s unsettlingly bright. I passed by a girl that was wearing a white dress, and for a second, all I saw was a head floating up the stairs. It’s just primer, so I’m sure it will be a really ugly color in a few weeks.
Hey, saturday night, didn’t you just want to go find her and give her a hug? She’d be all like, “why are you doing this?” And you’d be all like, “trust me. You need a hug.”
A guy on the radio just said the art market is the largest unregulated business in the world. He’s telling great stories about art forgeries. He says about 40 percent of the art in the Met is fake or misattributed.
Horns and whistles outside can only mean that the parade has made its way back to the hood.

How are you?

I’m disappointed over a firing. I’m unsettled over liking someone. (Probably not you.) I need to tell a friend she fucked up. (Still not you.) I’m unconfident about an upcoming trip. I’m getting bitten by a mosquito. I’m happy recently learning one of my pictures is on a stranger’s wall. I’m disappointed in myself for not being as productive as I should. I miss my friends. I’m confused about my job lasting longer than I thought it would. I’m happy about a few friends that seem to be doing very well. I’m worried about someone I know in Iraq. I’m overwhelmed by all the shit in this apartment.

On the bridge tonight.

Traffic slowed to a near stop. We crawled past a couple on a motorcycle, stopped. Then, two guys on their feet, helmets on, one of them limping badly, holding his knee, and propping himself up on the guardwall. I got the impression he was going to throw up. Don’t know why. Then, a bike without rider, on its stand, lights on. Then, a bike without rider, on its side, lights on.

...continued...

That sounds like a good ol’ time, Becca. I was probably three years old, and I knew something bad was happening. There’s also that feeling of being in a car that was made 35 years ago. The damp and cold get through to you when it’s raining. A romantic feeling that is gone with todays well-sealed vehicles. Romantic to me, anyway.
You found that bag with some junky’s shit? Sean showed me that bag on saturday. Thought he would have trashed it. Or would have at least put a warning sign on it so no one would get stuck.
It was fun staying up with you last night. Maybe we could do it in the same room one of these days.
(I just talked to you, but I’m posting it anyway.)

Flood.

While riding tonight’s cab through the lake at the end of the bridge on my way home, I remembered this time when I was real real little. I was in a car. Don’t know who's. A sort of valley in the road was full of water. Raining hard. We got stuck trying to drive through it. There were other cars stuck as well. Water coming into the car. There were other kids. We needed to be carried to safety. It’s all very fuzzy. I need to ask Mom if she knows this story.

Mars is home, earth is space.

I just don’t feel right in there. I have no problem going to bars, even though I don’t drink. In fact, I think I’ll be going to more bars in the future. But not that one. I saw too much in there. I felt too much in there. I lost too much in there. I have regrets. I hate regrets. I have pictures. Lots of pictures. They say many words. Seen the bar on fire. Both sides of the shutters. Dancing. A deaf mute eating birthday cake. Future aids victims. Future heartbreaks. Lovers. Cheaters. Scammers. Fighters. Crooks. A fucking death metal band! Poker nights. Gibbs ripping it up. Amanda blowing out the windows with that voice. That voice. Regrets. Sitting still and waiting for the rats to come. Standing outside and watching buildings fall around us. The 5am bus home full of drooling outpatients and scout troop field trips.
Walk in the door, someone shouts out your name, your favorite beer is on the bar before you even sit down, free of charge. All that’s left now is Joel and Gary in the same spots they were in seven years ago. Been there. Got the shirt. Don’t wear it any more.