Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our descent into Los Angeles...

Hello and welcome to a special left coast edition of the spig.

A classic rock station is stalking me.
As I pulled onto the 10 in ontario, Highway to Hell.
As I got off the 10, it started playing The Boys are back in town.

It couldn't be any more cheesy.

I wish I was making this up.

at long last...

a moment of meta-spig

Movin' on up...

Or down, depending on how you look at it.

back in with the parents for about 22 days.

Wheeee!

Here's the pitch, it's a martial arts movie set in Tulsa, called Lil' Tiger, Drunken Dragon and it's about Lil' Tiger trying to give Drunken Dragon a black-eye. That's all I've got so far...

You know you've hung out with Sarah B. when you wake up with sharpie tattoos on your knuckles and the right side of your face hurts, but you don't have a black-eye.

The best part was my brilliant drunk idea to re-enact it over the phone for the benefit of Brian and Alex's answering machine twice.

Do you believe me now?

And no, kyle, I did not hit a girl.
Seriously dude, do you think I'm the type of guy who would hit a girl?
Well, maybe if she tried to switch the TV off the NASCAR race, but that's it.

"You hit me in the ear!?!?!?!"

Steve 4, Black-eyes Nil

Bring it, Lil tiger!

I want to start a ? and the Mysterians cover band and call it:

! & the Exclamations

I am a reprehensible human being...

I've started to do the homeless guy thing of going through my overflowing ashtray and smoking the 3/4 smoked butts.

Disgusting, I know.

But I LEARNED IT FROM WATCHING YOU, ALRIGHT!

"I could spend three dollars and sixty-three cents on diet coca-cola and unlit cigarettes"
-Wilco

Last chance to dance trance (perhaps)

So we're having the big blow-out Weird Science/say anything.../that one movie that ruined a prefectly good replacement's song title and then didn't even have the decency to put the song in the film-style party. Sarah B. will be there, along with the evil overlord, Morgoth.

You're all invited too, if you want to come.

I gaurantee, hijinks will ensue, and MST and I will talk about obscure british bands from the 90's, someone will say "aren't you glad we attacked Iraq now, Steve?" and I'll punch them, Bobby will hook up with a girl, or at least something girl-like, while tony and I will pass out around 3:30, probably having just eaten a mary jane's pizza, alone in our respective beds.

Good times. The last of the really good times.

Fuck, now I'm all sad.

god fucking damnit, i feel guilty for not linking this earlier, but better nate than lever...

go buy a fucking book from fucking sourbob, because, not only is he the best writer I personally know, he's a heavy drinker as well. Bob kicks so much ass, I'm 90% certain I'm gonna drive to Chicago just to drink with him. which will be a meeting of epic proportions.

Seriously, bob rules. Including all my real friends and not just my 'net friends, he ranks in the top fifteen. Actually, most of my 'net friends rank high upon that list. That's why I'm a nerdy net addict.

But bob especially deserves your support because he's an effing brilliant man.

so go here and buy an effing book already.

you rock, bob.

as does your lady friend.

GO ON MY BROTHA!

Mike Skinner (AKA the streets):

"It's quite nice having all the girls want you. That's all you really need, really."

via nerve

dearly beloved... we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life, an electric word, life, it means forever, and that's a mighty long time. But I'm here to tell you, there's something else, the afterlife.

All work and no play make steve something something.

Go crazy?

Don't mind if I do!

Let's go Crazy
Summon up the mass! Play on the pan!
Staring dreads are jerking their locks
As the white star liner sank in the docks
But on the drummers face, there is a look of dread
As he drums away 400 years of dread
The dancer man-in the power of mas
Is smoking ti the mighty sparrow's blast

So you wanna go crazy? Then let's go crazy
So take it on crazy! So they get all crazy
Bricks and bottles corrugated iron
Shields and helmets carnival time
'N moa ambassa, sledgehammer sound
Ray symbolic from jamdown town
- The Clash

Thank you, Rob, but we're no longer called Sonic Death Monkey. We're on the verge of being called Kathleen Turner Overdrive, but tonight, we are Barry Jive and the Uptown Five.

Rob Gordon's top ten, all time most memorable moments while living in this house:

1. The KLA is gonna rock you! (it sounded like someone was slaughtering animals in your room, Billy.)
2. "Where's steve?" "He passed out." "But it's only 11pm." "Yeah, and he's convinced his girlfriend is French, and that the French are out to get him, so he's locked himself in his room."
3. "Bobby, you're swerving all over the place." "Shut up, Tommy, I ain't swerving." KA-CHUNK!
4. Tony getting attacked by wasps while mowing the lawn. (Thanks MST)
5. MST and I deciding Neutral Milk Hotel would be the best thing to play at a party, and it going over like the proverbial lead ballon. (again, gracias, MST)
6. Capri-sun and Vodka night.
7. Manhole cover bowling.
8. Zaireeka night.
9. The one BBQ where we had spaghetti over.
10. Tommy's jack-ass inspired roll off the hood of Billy's car, and Bobby having to clean his bloody arm. He whined like a 5 year old.

and four, and this is the most important...

whenever making out with a girl, try to put on side two of led zepplin IV.

blame it on the black star

blame it on your sad songs that reign in heaven.

Won't be back again

I used to win
I used to lose
that's one thing
you'll never really get used to
when I leave
I'll leave for good
I left no tracks or traces
no one understood
no more
back again
no more
won't be back again
you made me run
you made me cry
I gave you all I had
but you're not satisfied
you drag my name
through the mud
you pull me by my cord
until I unplug
now I'm gone
won't be back again
now I'm gone
won't be back again
- the samples

demons dance alone

i'm gonna drown my sorrows.

be on the look out for the first drunken posts in weeks.

Alone, alone, alone
taking a shower,
take another nap,
watching television,
taking a bath
alone, alone, alone
I feel like a book but I just can't start it
I feel like a lover broken-hearted
I look in the mirror at the face in the glass
I look like a question that no one ever asks
Alone, like I'm supposed to be.
-Wilco

R.I.P. Despotiko Dozen.

And suddenly, all my plans went to shit.

That's it.

I'd explain, but i really don't feel like it.

I think I'm gonna go drink my sorrows away.

The first rule of Spigot Club is...

I look out and I see lots of new faces here at Spigot Club.

That means a lot of you have been breaking the first rule of Spigot Club.

And remember, if it's your first time, you have to comment.

Let's review the Rules of living in a house with two of your friends:

1. You do not talk about New Year's Eve 2001.
2. Always have beer.
3. You are not allowed to control both the computer and the television at the same time if someone else is in the living room.
4. Always make sure you lock the doors at night, as you never know who might sneak into our house and into bed with Tony.
5. You did not hear any noises coming from Aden's bedroom. It was a dream. Go back to sleep.
6. Only one single mother allowed in the house at any one time.
7. Do not try to sneak in Tony's window if you have lost your keys. Bad things will happen.
8. If all else fails, drink the Mongolian vodka.
9. It's the Tommy, Billy and Bobby show.
10. Chasing the green fairy is not as cool as it sounds.

Ten things I hate about Julia Stiles

This actually has naught to do with Miss Stiles.

I move out of my house on Sunday, and after two years of living with two of my friends, I thought I'd do ten things I learned living here each of my remaining 5 days. So here's installment #1:

1. No matter how drunk you are, check your pockets for your keys before you punch through a window to open the door.
2. Friends hardly ever listen to my advice about girls, even when everyone else agrees it is right, so I should just keep it to myself.
3. Video cameras + drunkeness = either A) Brilliance or B) Tragedy.
4. It is entirely possible for two people to drink a handle of Jack in 6 hours.
5. Fuck Redbull and Vodka, Kahlua and coffee is the poor man's speedball.
6. It sucks being the only person who cleans the bathroom.
7. I should always live in situations where I'm the dirtiest roommate. Cause if I'm not, it drives me fucking nuts.
8. Walnuts can break car windshields.
9. When you first move in, living within walking distance of 5 bars seems like a good idea.
10. Buying that Britney Spears DVD was a great idea no matter what any of our friends said.

Huh. I guess I got my answer.

"what about you? hmm.

when i think of going through life, there are these whirlwind points, and lots of sunlight, kind of like the rayonist/futurist pictures. like movement. and i think of all the little ppoints [sic] when i connect, and when someone or something kept me going and i remember the way that grass and flowers and ocean and hot asphalt smells, and when the wind blows and how i always pretend like when i was little that if its strong enough it will blow me away, up in the clouds, and all my memories when i look swallow what's behind but look ahead and smile, they all swish by me,

but there are these brief close-ups that come *smack* right up to my face, and the people in them look at me and smile, and i have this feeling of connection
and you're in one of my most special close-ups,

with blond curls, the tiny gap in your teeth, and that smile that i know i'll never, thank god, forget."

Sca-ree!

Fucking frightening.

The most interesting part of last night...

Was not running into the girl I convinced I was an anesthesiologist last week.

Nor was it not getting into a bar because I was wearing tennis shoes (my snazzy black suede pumas with the silver "go faster" stripe down the sides).

Nor was it getting free drinks at anther bar because the bartender was new and kept messing up other tables' drinks.

Nor was it getting pizza at 3am (but that was good- thank god for delivery 'til 4:20)

Nor was it my roommate disappearing from the bar at 1:40.

Nor was it the noises coming out of the darkened bathroom from my roomie and the girl he brought home.

No, it was getting up at about 4:45, going into the bathroom to pee, and as I sort of glanced around the bathroom, standing there peeing, in my half-drunk/half-sleep and realizing that that girl that the roomie brought home was passed out in her undies, in a fetal position on the bathroom counter, and continuing peeing.

As a semi-pro archaeologist, I felt this should be brought to everyone's attention

The 2003 Iraq War & Archaeology

(What's a semi-pro archaeologist, you ask? Well, in my world it means you were a history of philosophy major, a religion minor, took several ancient philosophy and religion classes, have dug at a site in Israel for 7 weeks, and two summers (and are returning for a third) at a site in Greece, and are taking Latin and Greek in an ill-advised and now scrapped plan to prepare for a Master's in Classical Archaeology.)

Makes you wonder how the other half dies...

Imagine if you will:

You're one of my ex-girlfriends. We dated freshman year of college, and then I dumped you 'cause I was going to Scotland and didn't think we needed to try a long distance relationship. I met you in Paris months later, and we slept in parks, on subways, in front of Notre Dame, went to Jim Morrison's grave to make fun of all his fans, spent all night one night hanging out with Mario VanPeebles' cousin and his Turkish girlfriend and his French rugby player friend in a Drag club, met a manic-depressive french couple in a brasserie and you talked to them all night while I sat there chain smoking, marveling at you. We ended up having sex, but it was meaningless, empty, like something that was expected of us to do just because we were in Paris and we used to have sex.

But honestly the sexiest part of Paris was the first night, in the Crazy Violin, when we were dancing or almost dancing or between dancing and sitting back down, and I was too close behind you, the length of our bodies touching, and you said "You're being very territorial" and I said "Sorry, it's just being drunk and around you again, I momentarily forget that you're not mine anymore" and you replied "No, I like it. I miss the way you press against me in crowds" and I just fucking melted, wished that I hadn't broken up with you, but knew it was too awkward to continue, so we just subtly flirted until we fucked, and then we decided fucking had been a bad idea.

Then you came to visit me in Scotland, a couple months later, and you slept in my bed, but nothing happened. It was awkward. We were both so different from when we dated.

We both came back to USC the next year, and ended up drunk at the end of a couple of parties, doing things we shouldn't have been doing with each other. I tried to date your best friend, but only after you told me it would be ok.

We grew further apart, maintaining a very loose aquaintence. Last year, I came back to LA and saw you for the first time in about 2 years, and we had a fantastic, phenomonal time. It was fun, and different, and horrible and painful, and drunken, but it was us. Totally us. Nothing happened, but I'm convinced that if your mom hadn't walked downstairs to make sure we didn't want a 3 AM snack I would have been compelled to finish the lean-in that you started and take you in my arms and kiss you. (How your mother recognized me after 6 years, I have no idea. And at 3 AM.)

I was a bit messed up about that meeting, but I don't think you knew too much about it. I came back to LA four months later, and you were my date to a wedding (I had asked you via email when I was in Greece and you were in Prague) and that was less weird, more fun. We were both in the middle of long distance relationships, and there was no sexual tension.

So Monday night, I email you (in poorly translated french, as is my custom) and tell you I'm coming to LA for another wedding at the end of the month and would like to see you.

You email back and tell me you have alot of work to do and you'd feel guilty if you make plans, but to call you when I'm there and we'll do something. This is very you.

But what I really, truly want to know, out of personal curiosity, is what on earth do you think of me?

Is it fond rememberance of our relationship that has grown into friendship?

Am I that wacky ex who rolls into town and you go have a few drinks with?

I really have no idea what you think of me.

two new search queries which just came in:

1. archnemesis (wouldn't it be cool if you could just plug that into google and find out your one true archnemesis? I wonder who searched that. I'll foil their plans one of these days.)

2. now back to our regularly scheduled porn (Ahahahahahahahahahahahaha!)

best search queries that led to the Spigot

11. broken windows theory (I think this is the name of a New Tantric Snipes song)

10. pictures of choppa rapper (Amy, you never told me you rapped.)

9. did ed choose carol vessey or frankie? (Carol. Damnit. I love Frankie. Oh, and save Ed.)

8. say what you will about the tenents of national socialism (at least it's an ethos.)

7. am i still drunk (Do you have to ask? This must be your first time here at the Spig.)

6. it's a motherfucker getting' threw a sunday (Apparently it was also a motherfucker getting threw grammar school for this person.)

5. go fuck yourself music (yeah. Take that, music.)

4. pierce yourself (why on earth? Let it be known that I did have a piercing at one time. But I ain't tellin' where.)

3. listen to proud to be an american (bet this Lee Greenwood loving hic-fucker was disappionted)

2. fucking for peace (Yes please!)

1. scarface comforters (God I want one! "Good night, Tony Montana, I love you." "Good night, my little friend.")

Get on yer bikes and ride!

FAT BOTTOMED GIRLS

are you gonna take me home tonight?
down beside that red fire light
are you gonna let it all hang out?
fat bottomed girls you make the rockin' world go round

I was just a skinny laddie
never knew no good from bad
but I knew life before I left my nursery
left alone with big fat Fanny
she was such a naughty nanny
heap big woman
you made a bad boy out of me

I've been singing with my band
'cross the wire, 'cross the land
I've seen every blue-eyed floozy on the way
but their beauty and their style
went kind of smooth after a while
take me to them lardy ladies every time

won't you take me home tonight?
down beside your red firelight
and you give it all you got
fat bottomed girls you make the rockin' world go round
fat bottomed girls you make the rockin' world go round

listen here
now your mortgages and homes
all your stiffness in the bones
ain't no beauty queens in this locality
but I still get my pleasure
still got my greatest treasure
heap big woman
you done made a big man of me

now get this
you gonna take me home tonight?
down beside that red firelight
you gonna let it all hang out?
fat bottomed girls you make the rockin' world go round
fat bottomed girls you make the rockin' world go round

Get on yer bikes and ride!

-Queen

I shall never get you put together entirely

Somehow in all the confusion around the spigot household lately (I'm about to vacate my domicile and travel to Greece for two months of excavation) I forgot to mention the best thing I've received in the mail since, well, since The Choppa sent me a very cool mix CD.

I received the new Medusa Poetry Zine from Auntie Sarah. Also enclosed was a very nice handwritten note that asked me if I had anything similar, and if so requested one.

I immensely enjoyed the zine, and felt compelled to come up with something. If not something similar (I gave up writing poetry after I realized I wrote the best poem I will ever write in 1994), something nonetheless.

So here's the stitch.

The first 20 people who email me their addresses (19 actually, as Sarah gets one in return for the inspiration and the zine) will be the lucky recipients of The First and Most Likely Only Special Print Edition of The Spigot Pamphlet. With a scheduled release date of May 15th, this unique Fellini by 11 edition of The Spigot may contain such things as:
• A short story in 150 words.
• The afore mentioned best poem I ever wrote.
• My all time favorite H2BH list.
• A brief conversation with Sylvia Plath
• Entries from my hard to find and now collectable (going for $100 a url on eBay right now) former blogs (June 2001 to March 2002).

And possibly more.

Or less.

But it will be collectable, numbered and utterly unique.

So sign up today.

ADDENDUM:
Please, please, please do not forget to include your physical mailing address in your email as this will be a real sheet of paper which I will have to mail to you. Hand-numbered, don'tchaknow.

My favorite man on Earth...

"I went looking for spirits, found alcohol.
I went looking for soul, but I bought some style.
I wanted to meet GOD, but you sold me religion."

-the man

the rain, the rain, the rain, the rain, the rain, the rain

if there's something inside that you wanna say, say it alright, it will be ok

I neeeeeed love

it's absatively fucking gorgeous out.

I need someone to go throw the frisbee with me in the grass under the towering overpass.

I need someone to come up with wacky photo ops with me.

I have a digital camera burning a hole in pocket.

And most importantly, I need someone to drive around with me screaming out the lyrics to all the songs on my special spring day mix.

And then come back to my house, sit on the couch, drink High Life with me and watch I am trying to break your heart with me til it's time for dinner.

S.S.D.M.:
Wilco - Heavy Metal Drummer
Flaming Lips - Yoshimi
Beta Band - Dry the Rain
Weezer - Dope Nose
R.E.M. - Finest Worksong
Coldplay - Yellow
pavement - Cut Your Hair
the Incredible Moses Leroy - 1983
Cornershop - Brim full of Asha
Cracker - Eurotrash Girl
Pulp - DISCO 2000
U2 - Desire
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers - American Girl
Tommy James & the Shondells - Crimson & Clover
Elvis Costello - (The Angels Wanna Wear My) Red Shoes
Beach Boys - Sloop John B.
The Shins - Girl Inform Me
Jack Johnson - Flake
Spoon - Jonathan Fisk

California Stars

I'd like to rest my heavy head tonight
On a bed of California stars
I'd like to lay my weary bones tonight
On a bed of California stars
I'd love to feel your hand touching mine
And tell me why I must keep working on
Yes, I'd give my life to lay my head tonight
On a bed of California stars

I'd like to dream my troubles all away
On a bed of California stars
Jump up from my starbed and make another day
Underneath my California stars
They hang like grapes on vines that shine
And warm the lovers glass like friendly wine
So, I'd give this world
just to dream a dream with you
On our bed of California stars

-Woody Guthrie

I miss the innocence I've known

I think I was better at blogging when no one read this thing.

Not that I really want no one to read my blog.

It's more of a personal failure I think.

I feel like I'm intimidated by the fact that people read this.

Confounded.

I guess I need to grow as a writer/blogger.

What i need to do is quit fucking blogging and expend all of this fucking energy on writing something real.

We'll see how that goes this summer when I'll only have computer access once every few weeks or so.

To leese:

(this is in the comments too, I'm just getting tired of scrolling down so far to continue this discussion. in any event, hopefully, this will end the discussion, as I'm about done with it.)

All writers draw from their personal lives and experiences to create their characters. All journals and personal papers are about people's personal experiences. This being a combination of the two, my personal experiences are going to come out. The disdainful phrase "dirty laundry" does not seem applicable to what I'm doing here.

That said, I believe that the only person who could even claim to have had any of their "dirty laundry" aired by me is a girl named Shannon. Everybody else comes off looking pretty good, or at worst, human.

And to be honest, If indeed I have aired any of Shannon's "dirty laundry", I feel I've earned that right.

And having just reviewed most of my blog entries over the last 4 or so months, no one comes off badly apart from Shannon. And she doesn't even come off badly, just messed up.

Actually, scratch that, one person does come off badly.

Me.

But in response to your addendum, nothing incriminating or too personal has been said about anyone apart from myself and possibly Shannon. And as stated above, I feel I've earned that right.

So I don't think your query really applies to me.

So if this is just a general question about the limits of what I feel can and can't be posted on blogs/online journals, that's my answer.

If, as I get the sneaking suspicion, you feel I'm wronging someone in someway, then you'll have to come out and say it, because I'm done with the explanation of my theoretical limits of what I feel is appropriate to post on my personal website.

Basically, I'll post whatever I want. True or not. And I'll also refrain from naming specific people, apart from first names or initials, but only because that is my preference.

Hopefully, this is 'nuff said on the subject.

If anybody wants to get me something for Boy's Day...

This would be perfect.

How can you say that I'm too bold...

when the angels have stolen my red shoes.

the worst fortune cookie fortune ever

you will become a tragic figure.

334 56 78 982

this just in...

Ed chose Carol Vessey.

There is no hope.

Call me stupid, but I was hoping he'd choose Frankie.
An affirmation of new love, new compatability, not the affirmation of the fact that when you've found that one person you were meant to be with, even if it was when you were a freshman in high school, you were still meant to be with that person.

Stupid predictable TV.

Even Ed failed me.

I need some sleep, and to lay off the Nyquil.

it's a motherfucker

it's a motherfucker
Being here without you
thinking 'bout the good times
thinking 'bout the bad
and I won't ever be the same

it's a motherfucker
getting through a Sunday
talking to the walls
just me again
but I won't ever be the same
I won't ever be the same

it's a motherfucker
how much I understand
the feeling that you need someone
to take you by the hand
and you won't ever be the same
you won't ever be the same

- e

Now if only I could trade my smoking habit for an art habit.

the art*o*mat

Hey, peace-boy, why don't you shut your fucking liberal mouth about the goddamn war?

OK, fine.

Big news on the record company front.

CMJ reviewed Tony's album.

Damn skippy.

Once again, I implore you to go order the album here.

And now, back to your regularly scheduled ranting.

Shut up. Don't ask any questions.

Not really that proud to be an American.

Fucking scary.

That man in no way represents me.

This guy would do a better job.

(Thanks to Matt for the Irvine Welsh link)

And on a side note, I want a buddy named Yentz.

Do you ever get the feeling that real life people you didn't want reading your blog, found and now read your blog?

Yeah, me too.

when I was 20-teen, that was a very good year...

circa may 1997, emailed to Matt:

top ten songs/albums that remind me of ex-girlfriends:
1) U2- All I Want is You (LP)
2) Cowboy Junkies- Trinity Sessions (HD)
3) Counting Crows- August and Everything After (LP)
4) Elvis Presley/UB40- I Can't Help Falling in Love with You (M)
5) Soft Cell- Tainted Love (K)
6) Dave Matthews Band- Crash into Me (K)
7) James- Laid (HD)
8) Fleetwood Mac- Second-hand News (LP)
9) Jeff Buckley- Grace (HD)
10) (TIE) Bob Dylan/Sophie B. Hawkins- I Want You (LP)
10) (TIE) U2- Joshua Tree (HD)

Just in case you wanted to know.

it seems to me that maybe pretty much always means no

From the files of be careful what you wish for...

I just sort of got dumped.

Confronted, rather.

Asked if our relationship was about more than sex. Told that she was the closest to reality I had ever come. Asked if I wanted a serious relationship. Told that I don't respect her. Told that it was tearing her up inside, and she needed to know.

So I told her I wasn't sure. And it would take me some time to decide, but that if it was really tearing her up inside, we should end it.

She agreed.

We said goodbye.

I am now totally single.

And for once in my life...

Not looking.

Sorry about the long post.

And the lack of comments.

But that was for me.

I think a lot of us are pulling stuff over mountains

Listen to this while reading the post below.

I will write you letters that explain the way I'm thinking

The Spigot came into being because I didn't know what else to do.

I was in the midst of the second worst depression I have ever experienced, I had no job, no direction, no goals, no desires.

I had lost my way.

It was obstensibly triggered by a girl, Katie, dumping me as I rode the train from Baltimore to New York. I had just returned from the Iceland Airwaves Music Festival, and called to talk to this cool girl I had been seeing since June.

And she dumped me. Right there on the phone, on the train, with a crying baby sitting behind me, and my former best friend sitting next to me. His only response after I got off the phone was, "that sucks, dude."

She was right to break up with me. We had no business being together. We had shared a perfect 10 weeks together in the Greek Islands, and should have just left it. It was too good to last. She was too good to last. I was too good to last.

But I fell in love with her, and she didn't fall in love with me. So it continued, long distance, gradually deteriorating, the pressures of the real world and our real selves slowly eating away at it. It should have never begun, but it did. I'm not sorry it's over, I haven't been for months, and I can look back at the time in Greece fondly now.

She wasn't the reason I collapsed.

I had been on the verge of falling apart since 1999. Actually, I fell apart in 1999. I was dating Shannon, a bulimic/manic-depressive. She helped trigger the worst depression of my life. I was unhappy with my school, my major, my friends, myself, and on top of all of that, was trying to keep another very flawed human being together. I totally lost it. Somehow I made it through and made it out with a college degree and a broken persona that I never really fixed.

I went through an entire fairly serious relationship with KK, the girl who wanted to marry me, while not even knowing who I was. I started a business. I waited tables, I tended bar, I managed a CD store, I delivered furniture. At times I was happy. At times I drank so much I halucinated, drank so much I punched through windows, drank so much I wouldn't notice that I was still broken.

I was convinced that I was fine, that moving away from LA and Shannon, and beginning a serious relationship with another girl meant I had fixed myself, but I hadn't.

I threw myself into drinking, into my record label, into music things, into managing resturaunts and retail stores.

But what I failed to realize is that I didn't really want any of that.

And those things I thought I had been doing because they were what I wanted, weren't. I have to go back seven years to find a point in my life where I was really headed toward a goal that I wanted.

I became confused and consumed by other people's goals.

I'd like to think I'm better now. I think I'm getting better. I copped out and go to a therapist, something I always swore I would never do. I finally know what and how I want my life to be.

But in that spirit of getting better, I find myself in this situation. I'm dating a girl. Sort of dating a girl. She lives about 100 miles away, so she comes up here or I go down there every few weekends.

I am not in love with her. She's very cool. But I've never been one to maintain a relationship for any length of time with girls that I'm not in love with. But I am (maintaining a relationship).

It's about sex, our relationship. We get along well, have good conversations, etc., but it's really about sex. I don't want to be in a relationship that's about sex.

She also has a child. A seven year old. I have never met the child, and do not plan to. She and I have discussed our relationship a few times and have agreed that our sex based, informal arrangement is good.

Theoretically, I agree. But I'm fairly certain this is not part of who I want to be.

What are my options here?
It fizzles out, and I just had lots of good sex, but may miss out on someone really cool while being satisfied by my pseudo-relationship.

I do eventually begin to like this girl more and more, and I decide to settle down with her and her child. This destroys all my globe trotting dreams, and saddles me with a kid that's not mine, and I fucking hate kids.

Essentially, it seems fairly simple. This is not what I want.

If I really want to fix myself, then it is ultimately clear what I need to do.

Besides. I want to meet a nice mid-20s girl, sans kid, who likes the same things I do, but not exactly, is cute as shit, smart as a whip, and is as immediately and indelibly attracted to me as I am to her.

To paraphrase my 90s indie queen:

I want a girlfriend
I want a girlfriend
I want all that stupid old shit
like letters and sodas
letters and sodas

What if i fit into both catagories?

"Like them, we have a nerd fanbase. Wounded nerds everywhere are attracted to us, but I'd rather attract them than people who want to look up my skirt."

-Tanya Donelly
NME, Jan. 1993

So about last night

yeah.
well, judging from the photographic evidence, I got really drunk.
I danced on the bar at least once, made my friends dance on the bar, took a shot of jager, almost puked, took a picture of myself peeing, had a drink or two poured on me, started photographing random cute girls, had copious amounts of sex, and more when i woke up (it's never a bad night if a girl ends up in your bed, right?), tried to stop said girl from leaving and going back to OKC, only succeded insofar as had more sex, posted the lyrics to super-connected, think i might be in love with an entirely different girl who lives thousands of miles away, and am SUPER-CONNECTED.

My head is going to hurt so badly.

I am sooo still drunk.

Super-Connected

I'm your third broken window
your hair full of glass
throw your clothes in the hallway
just a sheet on your back

so you're super-connected now
all the freaks gather round
and the crowd in your bedroom waits
for a piece of your personal space

are there heartstrings connected
to the wings you've got slapped on your back
better climb in the window cause I'm closing the door

I'm your third broken window
with your hair full of glass
saw your clothes in the hallway
just a curtain on your back

are there heartstrings connected
to the wings you've got slapped on your back
better climb in the window cause I'm closing the door

my heart spinning on a dime
my heart spinning on a dime
now I'm spinning on a dime

like you claim to do
like you claim to do
right now
right now

are there heartstrings connected
to the poison coming out of your mouth
are you super-connected
are you super-connected now

I'm spinning on a dime
throw your clothes in the hallway
and I'm closing the door

-belly

I was a teenage archnemesis

SK: good. Room was a bit big for them though, and I've seen them do better.

PJ: awesome. A tad dissapointing, but when you've been wanting to see them for over ten years, that tends to happen. Overall very good. And amazingly Eddie didn't get booed off stage when he criticized the war and that fucker in the white house. Go eddie.

More later.

Oh, and I'm starting a photoblog for all my random pseudo-art pictures.

But for now, if you want to find me, I'll be underneath the SeaLab.

So, I get to see Sleater-Kinney tomorrow.

And some other band.

What was their name?

Oh yeah.

PEARL JAM

Envy me.

Hi, everybody. Sorry for the semi-serious tone lately. I'll get back to our regularly scheduled drunkeness, talking with Sylvia Plath, messages from pissed off God and such soon.

Can we just keep two things in mind?

One of the things we wish we could uninvent.

and

What can happen when our government and society get a bit too overzealous trying to stamp out those that oppose their views.

Thank you. Carry on.

The only useful thing I've found on Pitchfork in months.

Go to Protest records and get 'cha self some good old fashioned protest songs. Maybe even hear the line "Fuck your Bush." Wait, that may have been from a porn junk mail I got. I forget.

And now...

your moment of spig.

I totally stole that from Loquacious J. Just to give credit where credit is due.