Nothing.

I did nothing today.
I did nothing yesterday.

Birds are chirping. Time for bed.

I bar-hopped between three bars until closing, and since I only ate a small dish of fried plantains since breakfast, made dinner around 5am. Now it's close to 6am, and I'm thinking about how there's no way I could be conscious right now if I still drank. Anyway, this has been a long week, and tomorrow will be a day of rest. That is until I go see Mr Gibbs at Pete's.
Why do people randomly come up and talk to me at bars now? This didn't start happening until very recently.

...can't find your ass with both hands.

I know a little bit about wasted potential. When everyone was telling me I had to go into some math related field, I didn't do it. I didn't want it, and decided that just because you're good at something, that doesn't mean you should devote your life to it. Whether or not it was the right thing to do is one of those questions that can't be answered without a time machine, or guardian angel named Clarence. But still when you waste such potential because you'd rather be a junky, and you just live your life one fix at a time, for some reason it doesn't seem like the same thing to me. Maybe it is. Maybe it's your choice to not use your vast creative talent, and would just rather spend your life vacillating between sick and nod. Just because you're good at something... Your choice, right?
Some friend of yours is gonna have to find you dead. I just want to make sure you know that. That's the only way these things resolve themselves on their own. I'll never understand. So you make your friends sad because they're watching you slowly kill yourself. You pick up on how you're making them feel, and it makes you want to crawl deeper into that hole. When I see my friends who cleaned up, I'm so happy and proud, and I know how lucky we all are to have them with us. You could do that too, along with so much more.

Appleworks sucks.

When I was in high school, there was this little junior high girl who was a violin virtuoso. Maybe she was 11 or 12. One day, Marc and I were in the room they gave us as a band rehearsal room, and this girl and her friend just happened to be hanging out. She sorta offhandedly told us at one point that she had perfect pitch. I proceeded to test her by playing different notes on the bass, and having her guess what the notes were. She got every one, and even correctly told me I was a little out of tune with one of them. Her name was, and still is, Elizabeth Pitcairn. Last week I heard her play and give an interview on the radio. Someone I'm proud to be able to say "I knew her when..." about.

There was a police chopper hovering around my neighborhood late last night. Big spotlight scanning across rooftops and buildings like a cartoon prison break.

"I knew what was art and what was shit. But sometimes the shit was more interesting." -Mary Woronov

Okay.

I was sick the last week. I've been having trouble catching up with people. I've pleasantly ran into a couple of people unexpectedly. That sounds redundant. It's time to do laundry. Jed found Angela. If anyone wants to buy any camera gear, let me know before I start putting it on ebay.

Sorry, but my train of thought was just interrupted by hearing a Supertramp song as bumper music on Coast to Coast. I'm not a big Supertramp fan, but I've always thought this song had a really cool chord progression. Very obviously written on piano, I needed to look up some help from here:
http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/tabs/s/supertramp/the_logical_song_ver2_crd.htm
I still think that G#maj7 in the chorus is wrong, but it's close. Anyway, it's songs like that that make me wish I could play piano. Too bad the words are so dumb.

And hey, when you leave me a voicemail that says, "I'm at the bar," could you add some info that would help narrow it down for me?

The horror.

I had a really bad "doing sound" related dream last night. The potential of future sound work must have brought it all back. I think I need professional help. This dream involved U2 and Bon Jovi, and they were playing in my dad's kitchen.

I just looked over proofs from the year 2002, and while there were maybe four really good pictures, as a whole, it sucked. Looks like I'll have to skip the 2002 yearbook, and include those keepers in some other kind of collection. Guess I should have made a 2001-2002 book. Really bad year, though. Depressing to look through.

Book for sale.

A book of 61 black and white pictures I took in the year 2001. This is the first in a series of yearbooks. It's available, along with some other items, here:www.lulu.com/joshwertheimer

No idea.

I'm sick and I hate sick and you would hate me sick and I'm drinking tea and I swear my mug of tea is TICKING. Really, it is. Okay, I just took out the tea bag, and the mug is still ticking. No idea.
That teenage girl who got a half million dollar book/movie deal just had her books pulled, and her deal canceled. I've heard three or four so-called examples of her plagiarism, and I don't see it. The last one I heard dealt with a guy smelling good. Both writers wrote that a guy smelled good. That's about where the similarities end. I guess no one can ever write a book again since someone else already used words.
The ticking has slowed.

"Regrets, I've had a few, but then again, too few to mention."

A few months ago, I started thinking about mistakes. Mistakes I've made. Mistakes I avoided. Mistakes I'll never know about for sure. Most of my mistakes were passive. Failure to act, or saying no. I haven't made enough mistakes in my life. We learn from our mistakes, and I've only learned half of the lessons. How this realization will alter the course of things remains to be seen. Maybe one of you should have bail money ready. Probably you in the mask will get the call.

There are 300,000 homeless veterans in the USA.

I feel sick. It's just starting. Hope it doesn't get any farther. Don't know where I got it. I have to work on my eating habits. I have to sort out my free-time goals. When I don't know what to do, there's always film to develop. It's amazing how little money I spend when I don't work. I've taken two naps today. When I start to get sick like this, all I want to do is eat. Some kind of automatic reaction my body has needing fuel to fight off whatever it needs to fight off. Oh wait. Maybe tonight would be a good time to make those cameras I was planning to make. I developed a couple rolls of film yesterday from last year, and they both kinda suck. So this day without immigrants thing seemed to forget one possibility: What if the absence of immigrants showed everyone just how many jobs would be available to unemployed americans if they all got deported? Now I don't wanna deport everyone. I just think they should have thought that one through.