Ceci n'est pas une cybercarnet.

Oh, and this is hilarious... (but you still have to scroll down and comment on the "I think I broke my toe" post.
In fact, you know what? Do that before you read this. It's ok, I'll wait.
Hmmmm-hmmm-hmmmm-mmmmm-da-de-da.
Oh. Hey.
Did you comment? Good. Now back to the title of this post. What's that? Oh, you're right, the title is done. Well then, on to the post.)

My friend Billy just moved to Colorado on Tuesday, and his former, um, pseudogirlfriend was out at the bar last night and offered to take me home and fuck me. Needless to say, I declined. Actually, not needless to say, because if I hadn't said it you would have... WAIT A MINUTE... if you really went down and commented on the "broke a toe" post before reading this, then you would know I didn't fuck her and it would be needless to say. Hey, the cheat, go get me some water.

ZOOM FLASH BANG BOOM BASH POP PAZZ JOP

A hungover brilliant idea.

I hereby claim the title "The great blog'n'roll swindle."

Just call me Steve McLaren.

I also claim the right to assemble a band called Blog Wow Wow.

I want some candy.

And I'm pretty damn sure I broke my toe.

I think I broke my toe.

Seriously.
Can I get some friends that don't drink?
Please?
All I wanted to do last night was go to Target, go to the record store, go to the health food store, cook dinner, drink a bottle of wine, watch the Wilco DVD and The Big Blue and maybe get a milkshake.

What did I do?
Went over to Kurte's, drank Jack, went out to the bar, drank jack, played all of Yoshimi and Slanted&Enchanted on the jukebox, and of course MAMA SAID KNOCK YOU OUT and GOIN' BACK TO CALI (which really has the phattest intro of any rap song ever, and one of the best B&W videos, too) and Ring of Fire and City of New Orleans, and got hideously drunk, spent too much money, went to FUCKING Whataburger (and you know it's bad if I went to Whataburger at like 230am, especially now that there's a 24 hour MCD's right there, so I don't have to risk certain food poisoning at fucking ghetto-ass whataburger.), lost my ciggies, tripped on the steps up to my cave, possibly, probably, certainly, broke MY FUCKING TOE, and fell asleep listening to Kill the Moonlight (THE best album of 2002 and if you don't think so motherfucker, i'll fucking make you eat the jewel case, bitch), woke up at some ungodly hour like 6am and decided to check my email just in case someone from like the middle of the FUCKING PACIFIC OCEAN had decided to email me in that 4am-6am CST block, and finally woke up again at 845, had the brilliant idea to turn the other way on my bed so the stupid skylight isn't right above my head but was too awake, so started reading zine guide and then decided to post.

THIS is why I need friends sans drinking problem.

Ka-ch
Ka-ch-ch
Ka-ch-ch-ch
Ka-ch-ch-ch-ch
Ka-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch
Ka-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-chUNK!

Owie. well, maybe I just dislocated the motherfucker cause it made a satisfying *POP* just now while playing with it. HURT LIKE SONOFBITCH, though.

Do me a favor people and fucking comment on this shit.
You can say "hoo-dy woo-dy" for all I care, but I need to feel some FUCKING comment love. I'm shootin for 15, but I'll settle for 8.

Thank you for indulging me, now back to Zine Guide.

Things that occupied my mind while taking the GRE which may have lent to my disappointing score

Graffiti in the bathroom I saw before the test:

Does Matt still love Lacey?
Does Lacey still love Matt?
Has their love become stagnant in the nine months since Matt (I'm assuming it was Matt since it was in the men's room, but I suppose it could have been Lacey as well) inscribed their love for all GRE takers to see?
Did it meet a tragic end?
Did Lacey run off with a construction worker?
Did Matt impregnante some ho and get dropped by Lacey?
Is their really such a thing as love?

twenty-twenty-twenty four hours to go

24 hours from now, I will be starting the GRE.

I did OK on the practice tests I took tonight, but it's really a crap shoot as to whether or not their words are part of my vocab, the math is the stuff I remember how to do, and the analytical essay is a completely unknown quantity.

Wish me luck.
I need it.

hurry hurry hurry before I go insane

you won't let those robots defeat me

Oh, and ONE MISS LIZ PHAIR. I think I'll throw my boxers up on stage for her.

And the Starlight Mints, who are also cool, and my buddy Blaine plays gee-tar for.

ok people, listen up

it's time for group participation again.

I desperately need new clothes. As in all of my old clothes are falling apart desperately.

Now, as a 26 year old, where do I go to find clothes?

And before my few indie centric viewers out there tell me thrift stores, left me tell you a few things about thrift stores. I've found some good shirts at thrift stores, and some better books. But, the majority of the clothes I like at thrift stores are pre-1985, and judging from the selection of thrift stores all over the world, it seems that there were no chubby 5'10" guys before 1985. And I am a chubby 5'10" guy. In addition, thrift stores involve shopping. Looking for shit. I want to be in and out, people. The only things I enjoy shopping for are books, magazines, comics, music and furniture. So don't tell me thrift stores.

Also keep in mind that my budget is not that big. Sure, I'd love to walk into A/X and buy a $50 t-shirt, cause man, do they look good, but I can't be spending no $50 on a t-shirt (besides, I don't think tulsa even has an A/X, and if we did, it'd probably be in the Mall from hell, and I don't go to the mall from hell, except to get BoBa.)

That's another thing. I hate malls. Hate hate hate. So here's what I can think of off the top of my head that doesn't involve me going to the mall from hell. Work with this and give me some suggestions:

Target
The Gap
Banana Republic
Ross
Old Navy
Dillard's
Mervyn's
Some ritzy men's boutique thing that I went to once
A bunch of thrift stores.

I want to be kinda stylin' here people. But I'm lazy. I'm also accepting applications for the spigot's personal shopper. You can play dress the spig (ooooh, that sounds dirty!).

the first thing you need is a name, then you'll know what kind of band you are

it's cheesy, it's juvenile, but yet it's fun and pretty damn well written, and I must say, I love Empire Records.

And it was called "Rock & Fun" in overseas release.

Can't beat that, not with a stick.

god fucking damnit

i really fucking hate sending my writing out to be read.
especially when I know it's shit.
but what really irks me is that I want the comments and destruction back immediately (like 5 seconds is too long) after I send it.

shit.
shit.shitshitshitshitshitshit.

Clearly, as my mom said to me on the phone today from vermont, I shouldn't be a writer.

Thanks, mom.

From some western...

We've got money and whiskey and lovely ladies, just had a beautiful fight, I tell ya, we really ought to be thankful for our blessings.

And I say this not in any smug, rueful or victorious way

but just as an observation.

Reading my blog is a bit like a dream come true for you isn't it?
A little more insight into he that everyone thought was enigmatic, when he is really just confused most of the time.

It's almost like reading my journal with permission
And even the things obviously (or not so obviously) addressed to you are a bit like that because even though I know you read this now, they're still things that I wouldn't just come out and say to you.

Like this for instance.
I could just email this to you.
I am working on being more forthcoming though.
It's just... shall we say difficult.
Contrary to my nature.

Suprisingly, at a loss for things to say...

pip 52 has a great site and linked me some time ago, and I need to make the addition to blogs I heart, but I'm gonna wait til the massive redesign.

Oh, and pip, I always want to comment on your entries, but never know what to say.
Which I imagine is probably how people reading this site feel when I'm not asking them if I should cut my hair.

Go check it out people. It's kind of like me, but more coherent and more eloquently written.

my life as a house

Down the street from me, they are building a house. Rebuilding a house. Or rather, neither.
It is one of the oddest things I have ever seen. There was a house with a single story front and a two story back. The front of the house had no windows and always made me think of some Amazing Stories episode. It was an ugly house, and I'm not sad to see it replaced.
But the manner in which they are replacing it is amazing.
They have built a new two story house frame around the old house.
If you look in the windows of the new house you can see the roof, the door, the front porch of the old house. They even leave the porch light on at night, which makes for one of the strangest images I have ever seen.
I asked the contractor why they didn't just tear down the old house. He said that was his recommendation, that it would have been easier, cheaper and better.
But the owner wanted to use the old back and part of the side walls from the two story rear of the original house.
Which led to the house within a house.
There is no reason for the owner to have used the remnants of the old house, it would have been cheaper, faster and easier to build new ones. The owner just purchased the house a few months ago, so there is no sentimental attachment to the old house.
In addition to the oddity that it already is, the owner has insisted on living in the house during the entire construction. Moving from section to section, room to room, as they are gutted, destroyed, rebuilt, or just built.

Now that's what I call an intensely real metaphor.

the best and worst thing anyone has ever said about me

IT IS WHEN YOU ARE HONEST THAT YOU ARE MOST BEAUTIFUL.

Lay Me Down

I will write you letters that
Explain the way I'm thinking now
I, I will return to you
What I have taken long before
I, I will return again
When it gets dark and day is done

And lay me down
In the hallowed ground
Down by your side I will stay
So lay me down

And if you wanna stay with me
Then let me know before it's light
I, I will recoil myself
Into the black and darkest night

And lay me down
In the hallowed ground
Where my father waits I will stay
So lay me down

And lay me down
In the hallowed ground
Down by your side I will stay
So lay me down

-the frames

pictastic 5.28

best band name found while looking for spoon's british label's site (technically found afterward, but because of the looking)

I love you, but I've chosen darkness

The coolest website I've ever accidentaly stumbled across while looking for spoon's british label's website.

Craig Giffen's Homepage

for miss sepi

Usage Note: Throughout most of its history in English myriad was used as a noun, as in a myriad of men. In the 19th century it began to be used in poetry as an adjective, as in myriad men. Both usages in English are acceptable, as in Samuel Taylor Coleridge's “Myriad myriads of lives.” This poetic, adjectival use became so well entrenched generally that many people came to consider it as the only correct use. In fact, both uses in English are parallel with those of the original ancient Greek. The Greek word murias, from which myriad derives, could be used as either a noun or an adjective, but the noun murias was used in general prose and in mathematics while the adjective murias was used only in poetry.

The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition

atom bombs and blunt razors

every now and then I fall apart

this tim hutton song seems so damn appropriate for me sometimes, I want to fucking cry.

but i ain't no cryer.

hear ye, hear ye.

turn around white eyes

My viral infection appears to be gone.

Now we do the dance of koi!

i can tell this night is going to require a couple packs of camel lights

yeah.
damn.
i just got semi-blown away.
now off to buy ciggies and sit down and clear my head and write about the delusional illusionist.

write a story, a personal statement and fix my archives?

my, you certainly are demanding, miss K.

baby don't you go and cut your hair

time for a vote here at the spig.

should i shave my head ala renton in trainspotting like I usually do, should I just let it continue to grow wild and wolly, or should I let someone other than me cut it for the first time in about six years (six years? holy hell, has it really been that long?)

lady, i don't have a clue who you are, but that was cool

i just answered the spigot family phone (something i rarely do, as it's rarely for me) and of course, it was for poppa spigot, not me.

but the lady on the other end of the line gave me the coolest parting statement ever:

"Peace with your travels."

Ain't that beautiful, folks?

Excuse me, is this the new stereolab?

Caroline Fortis from the reader is a dead ringer for BM #2.

standing on the field of battle...

conquest is my new favorite TV show.
Peter Woodward is cool, and it's on the History Channel, so I don't feel as bad watching it as when, oh, say i watch my other favorite show

Although, if Conquest was hosted by lauren graham, I'd be the happiest man on the planet.

oh and by the way, which one's pink?

i should be studying for the GRE.
i should be writing my lame ass writing sample.
i should be tracking down a third person to write a letter telling them it's worth letting me pay 30k to learn how to write.
i should be figuring out where said 30k shall come from.
but, i'm not.

...

every artist is a cowboy/ every poet is a thief/ all kill their inspiration/ and then sing about their grief.

the man

Miss Sepi is Cool!

Happy Birthday, kiddo!

May 19 be a great year for you!

EVERYTHING'S GONNA BE COOL THIS CHRISTMAS

Baby Jesus, born to rock.

(E)

looks like I was feelin' it a bit after all, homies.

look for a complete redesign soon, and the Spigot Pamphlet coming in mid-june.
The grad school application is delaying it a bit. that and the partial blindness.

maybe i should just follow bob's lead and quit...
just kidding, i'm a total attention whore. i'll never quit.

The only baggage you can bring is all that you can't leave behind, and the fly glasses

I am 26 years old. I need to stop drinking like I'm 18, acting like I'm 60 and sometimes 2.
I am not old.
I am young.
I am smart. Smarter than you think I am.
I have a certain flair for the written word, despite what you see here.
If I could focus, I could be a good writer. Maybe even a great writer.
I have no discipline.
Which is why the blog is so scattered.
Which is why my life is so scattered.
I said some shit I needed to say in the last post.
I need to say some more.
I have done a myriad of stupid and bad and mean things in my life.
I have questionable morals sometimes.
I have done drugs.
But, as of right now, I am done, I declare myself clean, new, and a good person.
I am letting go of all the shit I carry around with me that makes my soul black.
I am letting go of the guilt and the harbored thoughts, things I never said, the jealousy, the envy, the fear of not being as good as i want, the fear of pretty much everyone and everything, the things that are over, all that shit.
I am good, I am young, I am new.
And I will be fucking great one day.

Yee-fucking-haw.

Newsflash:

Steve is not feeling it today.

What do I want?
I want my best friend to figure her life out, I want her to be ok.
I want billy to move to colorado and be happy and graduate from college.
I want tommy to get a huge record contract and tour with radiohead and U2.
I want my parents to live long and happy lives and circumnavigate the globe together and finally die simltaneously, decades from now, peacefully in each others arms.
I want Mattypoo to make a movie, write a book, do something that he is proud of, because I know if Matt does anything near what he's capable of doing, it will blow the entire world away.
I want Andy to find a new girl and forget about the screwy one in Iowa.
I want katie hall to always be the fun happy smart cool katie that I had such a blast with, and to make my matt happy foreva and eva, and I want her to blog more often, and to write a book.
I want sourbob to come back.
I want Sarah B. to hang out with me more cause she's a fucking blast folks, and I want her to only have happy things to post and to not cry in showers.
I want greg and muls to sell their house for way more than it's worth so they can buy a beautiful house in colorado and lots of beers.
I want Tizza to make a great fucking CD and tour the world with tony, and I want heather to tag along with him, cause otherwise he'd probably drink too much.
I want the people I love to be happy. Everyone I know. Euphorically happy.

Miss K, I want you to be happy.
Miss K, there are things we're dancing around.
Miss K, methinks we should stop the dancing.
Miss K, I'll just lay it out.
Miss K, I think you are one of the most wonderful, fun, intelligent, interesting people in the whole wide world.
Miss K, I love you.
However, Miss K, Against all my wishes for exciting world traveling storybook romances, I must say, I'm glad you have a guy.
Miss K, I'm glad you have a sweet and loving guy who treats you nicely (and if he doesn't I'll take him down).
Miss K, would that you didn't have a guy. *sigh*
Miss K, I'm going to stop flirting with you.
Miss K, for once in my life, I think I will just resign myself to being your friend.
Miss K, I'd hate to break up a relationship.
Miss K, be with your good guy. What I want for you is to be happy, and to be my friend.
Miss K, I have no idea if this makes any sense, and no idea why I'm writing this now, but there you go.

To recap:
Steve loves you, and wants you to be happy, so Steve needs to stop fucking with that and to yeah, ramble on incessently in a semi-public forum.

If you have any questions, you know where to reach me.

your friend, who loves all the people on this list and more, cause it did start out as a semi-coherent post,

Steve

Oh, and I need to meet a nice normal girl

Is that really too much to ask?
Probably.

Frankie says relax.

So sourbob quit.

I'm wearing an eye patch.

I may have a stalker.

I can barely see, which makes studying for the GRE and writing quite difficult.

It's not conjuctivitus, but som fun viral eye infection that leaves clouding on the cornea.

So far I've just been sitting on the couch listening to saturday night live.

Let's just say the last week has not been the best.

Fucking fun times. But, it's not like I can complain. Like I said, I should be dead at least twice a week.

When you're a drunk, you're a drunk all the way...

When I drink, really drink, I do stupid things.
I become a TV character when I drink.
I think it's something like Pacey from Dawson's Creek, but honestly, I never watched it enough to really know.
But I sleep with single mothers (3. Three? Yeah.), married women (just one), I dance on bars, I buy people rounds, I drive so drunk I don't remember it, I hit medians and bend my wheels, I get in fights, I start fights, I run from fights, I finish fights, I drunk dial, I tell people things I shouldn't.
I am a bad person.
By all accounts I should be dead.
But I'm not. Because I'm the lovable scamp. The fan favorite, the writer's charicature of an unfortunate drunk.
God damn, I need to get out of this town.

Fellow bloggers and blog readers and that one girl who I don't know quite how to address who has been helping me not lose my mind in relation to certain things recently, and making me quite nervous/excited about others

I work a lot of shit jobs, people.
This comes from doing my best to avoid any real sense of responsibility and my fear of anything tying me to any one place. And having a degree in Philosophy.
But let me impart these simple requests on you as guidelines for when you deal with the people who deliver your furniture, serve your drinks and cater your parties.

Don't be an asshole.
Have a clue.
Know where you want your furniture to go, and then don't make us move it again when you change your mind.
It's not my fault there's only so much alcohol in a shot. If you bitch about it to me the first time, I will never, ever overpour your drinks, bitch.
If the other people at your table tell me you are done eating and I take your plate, don't get mad at me if you aren't. Get mad at them.

I'm too tired to go on.

Just try to be nice, have some common sense, and realize that the guy lugging in that headboard may be a lot smarter than you think he is.

Good night, all.

3 thoughts that occured to me while writing at the empire

1 you are the guy writing at the bar on his laptop.
2 associating drinking with writing is a great thing, associating writing with drinking is not.
3 the best part of this story? you don’t have a title yet.

I am Johnny Mathis' Feet

I am I am I am Superman and I know what’s happening
I am I am I am Superman and I can do anything

You don’t really love that guy you make it with now do you
I know you don’t love that guy cause I can see right through you

If you go a million miles away I’ll track you down girl
Trust me when I say I know the pathway to your heart

Johnny looked at my songs and he said,
"Well at first guess, never in my life
Have I ever seen such a mess.
Why do you say everything as if you were a thief?
Like what you've stolen has no value
Like what you preach is far from belief?"

Outside this bar, there's no one alive.
Together we'll turn this love into violence.

Those creatures jumped the barricades
and have headed for the sea
She began to breathe
To breathe at the thought of such freedom

The time to rise has been engaged
You’re better best to rearrange
I’m talking here to me alone

-REM vs. AMC

why do I always freak out and assume I'm not a good enough writer?

like a cat to the ninth power

it's a cool day here in tulsa, and I sat outside, drinking my coffee, watching the teenage catholic school girls go by, and then went to buy the new starlight mints album, which they hadn't even put out yet, and i went to borders and not my local indie store, cause they don't open til noon, and they never ever have anything i want unless i nag them about it, and i feel bad for not supporting the little guy, but the little guy does shit to cater toward me and i spend alot of money on records, so maybe i don't feel that bad, and i started to think about how beautiful and crisp and overcast it was and how my coffee tasted and how the catholic school girls reminded me of my own catholic school days, and i've heard the arguement that if you went to catholic school you get desensitized to the arousing effects of catholic school girl uniforms, and after 9 years there I can tell you it's not true, and I got pissed off about all of that, because what I wanted to convey to you, my 5 readers was not that I got coffee, am a dirty old man and bought a great CD, but i wanted to convey how it felt, how it felt to be me, sitting there on a cold grey morning, thinking of a million things, new york, scotland, kavalier and clay, chicago, elvis costello, that bench in front of notre dame, how it felt to want to die, where I was saturday night when i took the mysterious picture of the dead end sign, ex girlfriends, girls that were friends that could have been more, best friends lost and not talked to, people who were barely friends who died so fucking young you drove all night to go to their funeral and then felt guilty for being there guilty for crying guilty for not knowing them better, the times when I looked at you and you and you and you and I knew, that this was one of those moments, one of those it doesn't get any better moments when you're so ecstatic that your heart is literally pounding through your chest, dancing around like a two year old to the beta band, and to realize you love everything I love everything and i'm all connected and although i've made mistakes and broken people, the world will go on and it will be sad and beautiful and transcendent and painful and hate filled and angry and tragic and triumphant and filled with tears of joy and sorrow and cries of happiness and misery and it will go on and it is, it just is and that in itself is the most beautiful thing of all.

But I could never convey how that felt, and the thing that will stick out most in your mind from all of this is girls in catholic school skirts.

Now They'll Sleep

Mm mm, Mm mm
Mm mm, Mm mm
Mm mm, Mm mm
Mm mm, Ooh

Now I've lost the plot
I'm not the hero I could be
But not the dog I was

Kind of common cry
Kind of common living lie

Color my fast fading heart
People laugh at anything
and things just fall apart

Kind of common cry
Kind of common living lie

You know the shape my breath will take before I let it out
Stand like you did when I was beauty-marked in your eyes

Now they'll sleep on lies

Mm mm, Mm mm
Mm mm, Mm mm
Mm mm, Mm mm
Mm mm, Ooh

Now eyes burn circles in the dark
And when the mirror talks to me
I listen with my heart

Kind of common cry
Kind of common living lie

You know the shape my breath will take before I let it out
Stand like you did when I was beauty-marked in your eyes

Now they'll sleep all right

Mm mm, Mm mm
Mm mm, Mm mm
Mm mm, Mm mm
Mm mm, Ooh

You know the shape my breath will take before I let it out
Stand like you did when I was beauty-marked in your eyes

You know the shape my breath will take before I let it out
Stand like you did when I was beauty-marked in your eyes
Stand like you did when I was beauty-marked in your eyes

One common cry
(do do do do)
One common cry
(do do do do)
One common cry
(do do do do)
One common cry
(do do do do oh-ooo)

-Belly

How's this for a messianic thought...

I'm dead.
Or rather, almost dead.
Trapped in that last epic moment of consciousness that happens right before life or the spirt or the electrical impulses leave the body.
I've been convinced I've been lucid dreaming for the last three weeks.
Things are too unreal.
But now I see, I died somewhere along the line.
The rest of this is just "my life flashing before mine eyes."
Nothing is real, and I can do anything I want.
For this brief, eternal moment.

I need this tattooed Memento-style to my arms...

Brilliant.

I think we're just gonna to have to be secretly in love with each other and leave it at that, Ritchie.

God I love the Royal Tenenbaums. I think I watch it too much for my own good

My head hurts. I think I scratched my cornea last night.

Sorry for the drunken phone calls.

Seriously.

Steve, this is your body.
Please, please, please stop drinking before 5pm.
Please stop thinking it would be a good idea to go to a bar after the festival thingy you've been drinking at for like 5 hours.
Please stop buying the singer from irish bands shots of jameson.
Please stop talking to random welsh guys.
Please stop leaving one bar to go to another bar because the drinks are stronger.
Please stop getting in political discussions with pretty girls at 1am.
Please.
Please stop drunk dialing people.
Let's try and calm down for a few weeks.
The fact that crazier and crazier things keep happening to you is not a good sign.
Quit trying to destroy me.

oh, and...

congratulations.
on the whole masters degree thing.
I'm very proud, and I always knew you were smarter than me.
That's my girl, she's wicked smat.

zombie, very zombie

I'm turning into the living dead.
Must.
Eat.
Flesh.

here's a crazy thought...

So if I move to LA, I'll need a roommate. You should move in with me. We could move down the street from Katie and Matt. It'd be fun. Like 1995 all over again.

Crazier things surely have to have happened.
I mean, seriously, why not?

I'd even make you breakfast in the mornings.

Well, ok, if I get up in the mornings

Don't mind me, I'm just drunk. And crazy. Definitely crazy.
You could make me write though.
It'd be fun.
I'd make sure you got your thans and thens right in your writings, too. Like a free editor.

I'm like brandon walsh

A big house that my parents left me in charge of whilst they went off to a foreign country.

I just need a pretty girl here with me so that I don't get all scared alone and such.

And to take up the rest of my tiny bed.

How do you not fall down more?

Oh, I fall down quite a lot, thank you.

it's not getting any better.

Now, you may ask how I get myself in these situations

but I would have to tell you that honestly, I have no idea.

Is it a superpower?
A super curse?
Is it the booze?

Who knows.

Remember that one time, when I came to visit you in Paris?

I just found the transcription of the phone conversation I had with your host lady at DeGaulle right after my plane landed (written on the back of an Edinburgh club flyer, no less).

"Hallo"
"Hello, is K there?"
"Yes, she is sleeping."
"Yeah, but could you tell..."
"She is sleeping well."
*Click*
"Bugger."

(ok, I didn't actually say "bugger")
So I took the bus into the city and wandered around until the evening when I called you again.

Us both being writers and all, don't you think one of us should have written about that trip?

Well, I guess I did, on the blog, but I think that was a bit before you started reading.

Here's the best part (or worst):

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...

And I know I misquoted, but that was the gist of the words that passed between us.

How's this for interesting?

A good reward for chapters 456?

Thus anwering the age old question...

I just smoked an 8 year old cigarette.

It's from Jim's and my trip to denmark and france in 1995.

It was just fine, thank you very much.

curious

going through my stuff again, I found a curious movie ticket stub.

Bicentennial Man, Dec 26th, Pampa, TX

Now, I save all my movie stubs, but, I've never ever been to Pampa, TX.

And I am filled with self doubt.

And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.
- Sylvia Plath

Conjunctivitus junction, what's your function?

pictastic, random bits

Matty!

Katie!

Rock 'n' Roll hair in the middle of Texas 6 days ago!

Other desert cities!

And yes, I really am this blurry in the morning. It takes me a few hours to focus.

i hate to see you lying there in your superman skivvies

hey, remember about a month ago when I posted this:

I shall never get you put together completely

Well, it's going to be just a wee bit late people. The writing is all done, but I need to do some layout work. And there are still a few copies left to reserve.

It'll be finished and mailed soon, people, I promise.

too much bad pop music part deux

do you think justin timberlake feels like a pussy when he hears 'cry me a river' now?

Whaaaaaa?

Ok, J.lo has a flashdance homage video.

I always knew that Matt Damon had all the talent and brains.

I want to take you driving through small town oklahoma

because you really haven't lived till you've seen the fields covered in fog and a moon so bright it illuminates everything while listening to the replacements, looper, and david byrne.

that and because i want you to come to oklahoma. Just once, you know?

I forgot...

How much I loved Katie Holmes.

Someone shoot me.

It's official.
I'm a sentimental sap.
After spending all day going through my life's remains, I am now watching the Dawson's Creek 2 hours finale.

When did I become this fucking cheesy?

I keep finding things from the really really dark moments of my life

as I'm cleaning out/organizing/trimming down all my worldly posessions, and I wonder why I kept these reminders of how low I was, or how horrible I was or what terrible things I did to myself and to others.

And I guess I know why I kept them, because it's all material, and even when I was at my lowest, most pathetic, most vile points, I can remember thinking "I should save this, I can write about it one day."

But it makes me feel so dirty. So flawed.

But I still can't bear to throw all of it away.
Yet.

[do you feel loved]

take these hands they're good for nothing
you know these hands have never worked a day
take these boots they're going nowhere
you know these boots they don't want to stray
you got my head filled with songs
you got my shoelaces undone
take my shirt go on take it off me
you can tear it up
if you can tie me down

DO YOU FEEL LOVED? DO YOU FEEL LOVED?

TAKE THE colours of my imagination
TAKE THE scent hanging in the air
take this tangle of a conversation
and turn it into your own prayer
with my fingers as you want them
with my nails under your hide
with my teeth at your back
and my tongue to tell you the sweetest lies

DO YOU FEEL LOVED? DO YOU FEEL LOVED?
AND IT LOOKS like the SUN BUT IT FEELS LIKE RAIN

love's a bully pushing and shoving
in the belly of a woman
heavy rhythm taking over
to stick together
a man and a woman
stick together
man and woman
stick together....

DO YOU FEEL LOVED?
DO YOU FEEL LOVED?

AND IT LOOKS LIKE THE SUN
BUT IT FEELS LIKE RAIN
and THERE'S HEAT IN THE SUN TO SEE US THROUGH THE RAIN

-Bono and The Edge

Happy belated birthday to my favorite man in the world, the man whose words I frequently use in place of my own.

Oh fuck it...

Just go buy this album and listen to it over and over and over and...

Sometimes I think I'm a big dumb clod, like the the rock eater from The NeverEnding Story, or the Hulk

I think my thoughts and actions in life are nimble and swift and accurate, but when I find out what they really did, it looks like a gigantic toddler has made caricatured sweeps through the hallways of my life, destroying and marking everything in garish crayon.

This is what comes from thinking you're more clever than everyone else. You hurt people. You convince yourself that you know what's best, hell, you're even pretty good at convincing others that you know what's best.

But you cause more damage than good.

You hurt people you care about.

You try to make up for these things with other people, but you end up hurting them in new, other ways.

You get chances, every once in a while to fix things, but it doesn't seem that you can. Things are too different, the wounds you caused have healed, but the scars remain.

How's that for a 9am thought?

My second passport.

It was issued March 8th, 1982.
I was still not married and had no children.
No longer listed in the text, but judging from the picture, I now had blonde hair and blue eyes.
My mom signed it for me.
It expired March 7th, 1987.
I have stamps from Orly (Paris) 18 MARS 1982, Japan, March 2nd, 1983, Heathrow (london) 24 AUG 1984, and curiously, only a return stamp from my trip to China, March 31 1984.

My first passport

It was issued two months and two days after I was born.
I was 1' 10".
I was not married.
I had brown hair, and blue eyes.
It expired Dec 28th, 1981.
I did not sign it.
I also have no stamps in it.

i wanna be sedated

I get these anxiety attacks sometimes, usually at times when my life is either at a complete standstill, or at times when everything seems to be happening at once, rushing up to me like some hyper-motion early 90's MTV video shot of highway driving.

Now would be the latter. Things like making a sad, fairly big life decision (I'm not going to Greece. Money, time, and good sense make it unreasonable. Sad as hell, but unreasonable.), stressing over having to find three letters of recommendation, take the GRE and come up with a good writing sample by July 1st when I haven't written anything in God knows how long, don't know anyone to recommend me, and have forgotten all the math I ever knew (I'm applying to Grad school. Or rather, I am if I can get over the paralyzation by fear and turn in the application), the claustrophobic feeling of moving back in with one's parents at age 26, having other unresolved life issues, not knowing whether to go to Border's to buy Lisa Germano's new CD, go get a cup of coffee, shower, go get a beer, take a nap, call a friend, watch Kicking and Screaming, go get a waffle cone of mint chocolate-chip, go for a run, smoke a million cigarettes, drink that bottle of scotch, sit down and try to write, look at my GRE study book, email people to ask for recommendations, surf the net, lie on the floor and listen to music with the lights off, read one of the thousands of books I have but have never started, go through the boxes that contain my life and try to sort/clean it out, look for places to live in LA on the net, maybe I should just go to greece and spend another year here, but then I get to feeling like luke skywalker, waiting on the moisture farm for another season, and what if I'm reading all these signals wrong, and what if I can't write and what if I'll always be like this.

I think I can rule coffee off the list.

You better watch out for Sharks...

they'll eat you and drag you down to the dark.

God, why you gotta play me like that, son?

Things Steve thought last night

in his stoned haze, that he either doesn't remember, or wouldn't say sober.

1) He wishes he talked to you more. He wishes you randomly called him and if he didn't pick up, would leave nice messages, and if he did, would have nice conversations with him. He also likes the emails he gets from you, and he smiles everytime he sees your name in his inbox.

2) He's not sure if #1 is healthy.

3) That pop music was better in the early sixties because they were creating a cannon, a cannon which has now become tired and stale, and the only innovation really goes on on the fringes of popularity because they subvert the cannon, and in the 60's, rock'n'pop was some weird amalgam of the fringes of popularity and of popularity itself.

4) The Beef & Lemons album could save the world.

5) He wished there was some way he could levitate his iBook out of the living room and up to the attic so he could do some writing.

6) How he wishes that you didn't have a significant other, and not in that "I wish you'd break up with them"-way, but in that, "maybe if you didn't, and I didn't, just one of these times, maybe something good would happen instead of this, which is beginning to feel like an old movie, where we'll end up writing letters until our old age and then one of us will die, and then the other one will confess unrequited love to the other's fading soul"-way. But we all know he can be melodramatic when he's stoned.

7) How he needs to eat this apple and go to sleep.

l8r,
I am that I am

So, last night...

I went over to the Beef & lemons house and we all listended to the new album which should be out in late June/early July. They bitched at me for not having anything done as far as web design goes, and then plied tony and me with corn on the cob, steak, potatoes, and beer.

And I smoked for the first time in probably 7 months.
And I got high. One hit.
And I had some weird thoughts, and some thoughts that I was glad I didn't feel like my words were making any sense of the thoughts in my head, because if they had, I probably would have stoned dialed people. Person, really.

And I went to bed, really early at like 11pm, and the dreams...

Jesus they were weird.

Dream One (about 12:37am):
I had this dream about KK, the nice-but-jealous-and-insecure-girl I met in Israel and dated for a year and a half. I met her at this party, and we were both kind of drunk, and after she was angry and cold to me for a while, we both started flirting, and ended up alone in a bedroom. Now this was the kind of party from BBC shows, I was wearing a dashing suit, and KK was in some frilly formal dress and we were in some country mansion with a ballroom and a thousand bedrooms. So we started kissing, but soon, as her long gloves came off, and her skirt came up a bit, I discovered bruises all over her covered areas. I asked about them and she just kissed me, but I asked again, and she said they were from her ex, but she didn't want to talk about it, and I said, these look very recent, and she said she had just left him two days before.
I sat up, and said I couldn't do this, that if she wanted to talk about the ex, if she wanted to do something about him, if she wanted to tell someone I would help her. She said all she really wanted to do was kiss me, but by then, reality had set in, and this was no longer a light-hearted drunken hook-up with an ex, this was real, this was abuse, and this was serious. So we stopped, rather, I stopped, she turned down all my offers to talk, said goodbye politely and went back out into the huge house, into the crowded party, and I sat there, alone on the bed.

Dream Two (about 3:45am)
And there was the dream where I was in Pasadena, getting ice cream, marvelling at the diagonal crosswalks, and you were there with me, and we walked around old town all night, till our feet got tired, going into penny lane, into Rizzoli's, where I bought a book on kandinsky that I already own, and you bought the companion book on Klee, and we talked about the Heroic Roses and how when I came to paris two times ago, the floor of the Pompidou with Klee's work on it was closed, and then suddenly we were standing outside the Pompidou watching the clock that used to count down to the millenium, which was now counting forward at an alarming rate, a rate so alarming that just looking at it made me think all of eternity was going by in mere seconds and that if we didn't get out of here soon and stop looking at this clock, the world would end. So we ran, we ran past Piccasso's house and into the alleys, and then we were in the maze-like chora of some greek island, all twists and turns so as to confuse pirates attacking the city. But we didn't have any time there, because you had to take the next ferry back, back to Pasadena, I guess, so I sat there and waved goodbye to you from the dock until your ship was a tiny speck on the horizon.

Now seriously, what the fuck?
No more smoking for me, my dreams are weird enough as it is.

I was feeling so bad,

I asked my eye doctor just what I had
I said doctor,
Mister M.D.,
Now can you tell me what's ailing me
He said "yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah."

Now gimme that good good Neomycin, Polymyxin B, and Dexamethasone
All I need is Neomycin, Polymyxin B, and Dexamethasone
Good good Neomycin, Polymyxin B, and Dexamethasone, baby.

Whoo-hooo!

The good news is Ed has been renewed for season 4, so maybe my own life can stop turning into one of those kind of hour long dramadies. (I always saw myself as more of a Chris Stevens than a Fleischman anyway. And while Chris got the girls, he never got the girl. Just like Wolvie.)

Oh, and the Gilmore Girls are back, so everything I watch but the Brak Show (damnit) will be on the air again this fall. Happy days. Now if they'd just replace that horrible, horrible theme song that GG has.

Will you still love me when I'm blind in one eye?

So I awoke yesterday to find my left eye welded shut with nasty eye mucus and the entire left eye area swollen. So I washed out my eye with some saliene, and didn't put on my contacts till about noon. It was still a bit red and irritated, but everything seemed all right. So I went about my day, going on a car rally/scavenger hunt with mi madre, and going to the empire to drink, smoke and write away the afternoon (and have amusingly awkward phone conversations).

I also saw The Real Cancun which was the best movie I've seen in about a week, much better than X2, but not as good as Winged Migration. I would recommend getting the bartender at your empire (your local, whatever it be named.) to buy you a couple of shots in addition to your Guinness intake because he's "never seen you drinking this early before- on a Sunday." Being drunk definitely heightens the Real Cancun experience.

Meanwhile, back in my eye, I guess driving around in a convertable and being next to smoke didn't help at all, as when I woke up this morning, my eye was red, huge, and I could barely see. I went and got an eye wash from the local pharmacy, but I think I might actually have to go to the doc for this one, which sucks, as I have no health insurance, and very little cash.

I have pictures of the gross eye (after using the wash, so not as gross as it was) but I can't find my USB cable for the camera, and I don't really feel like looking for it, you dig?

So for now, to quote Doooooougie:
"If I don't die or worse, I'm gonna need a nap"
I'm gonna go sleep and hope that my irrigated, clean, closed eye will sort itself out.

So you people are gonna have to get more impatient about the last post.

I just went to Liz Phair's website, and let me say...

1) God help us all, the apocolypse is upon us.
2) My heart is broken.
3) Why do the lips want to tour with her? Wait, maybe Wayne and Stephen can save her, maybe that's it.

Liz, baby, I'll always love you, but really.
Just quit the whole music thing and come live in Oklahoma with me.
You can sing Flower to me anytime you want.

A request an dedication from me, to...

Me.

So don't go reading too much into it, ok?

Long December

A long December, and there's reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can't remember the last thing that you said as you were leavin
Now the days go by so fast

And it's one more day up in the canyon
And it's one more night in Hollywood
If you think that I can be forgiven...
I wish you would

The smell of hospitals in winter
And the feeling that its all a lot of oysters, but no pearls
All at once you look across a crowded room
To see the way that light attaches to a girl

And it's one more day up in the canyon
And it's one more night in Hollywood
If you think you might come to California...
I think you should

Drove up to Hillside Manor sometime after two a.m.
And talked a little while about the year
I guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower,
Makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her

And its been a long December, and there's reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself
To hold on to these moments as they pass

And it's one more day up in the canyon
And it's one more night in Hollywood
It's been so long since I've seen the ocean...
I guess I should.

-Counting Crows

I totally forgot to go see the ocean while I was in LA. Damnit.

Fate, or a piece of shit internet service?

Ha, see, I had this big long post called The things I shouldn't say, which were all the things I wanted to say to her but in good conscience probably couldn't bring myself to actually say over the phone, and just as I posted it...

I got disconnected.

Post gone.

Sign from God?

I guess I'll have to let him answer that (by the way, where is God? He hasn't posted in like a month. Slack-ass bastard.).

Or just stupid coincidence?

I Have The Touch

The time I like is the rush hour
cos I like the rush
The pushing of the people
I like it all so much
Such a mass of motion
I do not know where it goes
I move with the movement and...

I have the touch

I'm waiting for ignition
I'm looking for a spark
Any chance collision
I light up in the dark
There you stand before me
all that fur and all that hair
Oh, do I dare...

I have the touch

Wanting contact
I'm wanting contact
I'm wanting contact with you
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Give me the thing I understand
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Shake those hands, shake those hands

Any social occasion
it's hello, how do you do
All those introductions
I never miss my cue
So before a question
so before a doubt
My hand moves out and...

I have the touch

Wanting contact
I'm wanting contact
I'm wanting contact with you
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Give me the thing I understand
Shake those hands, shake those hands

Pull my chin
stroke my hair
scratch my nose
hug my knees
Try drink, food, cigarette
tension will not ease
I tap my fingers
fold my arms
breathe in deep
cross my legs
Shrug my shoulders
stretch my back
but nothing seems to please

I need contact
I need contact
Nothing seems to please
I need contact

-PG

Across The Universe

Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup,
they slither while they pass, they slip away Across the Universe.
Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my opened mind,
possessing and caressing me.

Jai Guru Deva Om

Nothing's gonna change my world, Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world, Nothing's gonna change my world.

Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes,
they call me on and on Across the Universe.
Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box,
they tumble blindly as they make their way Across the Universe

Jai Guru Deva Om

Nothing's gonna change my world, Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world, Nothing's gonna change my world.

Sounds of laughter, shades of earth are ringing
through my opened ears inciting and inviting me.
Limitless, undying love, which shines around me like a million suns,
and calls me on and on Across the Universe

Jai Guru Deva Om

Nothing's gonna change my world, Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world, Nothing's gonna change my world.

-Lennon/McCartney

Things were so much easier when I was cruel

I'm at a loss.
A complete and total loss.
There are a thousand-million things I want to say, but I think all of them would make things more difficult.

I just don't know.

Is this one of those epic moments where I should just pour it all out, consequences be damned?

Or is this one of those moments where it's better to languish in silence?

So here I am, committing to neither.

I guess I'll have to decide at some point.

I wish this was more eloquent.

If any of you bastards call me out for being too sentimental with this, I will hunt you down and kill you. So if you don't appreciate the bitter-sweet humor of both the song, the message of the song and the fact that I'm posting it, don't leave a comment, you bastards. (And just keep in mind, comparing me to Felicity was funny ONCE.)

I love this album, and listened to it twice on the drive back from LA, and in light of what I discovered upon my return to the wired world, this song just seemed too funny/perfect/sad/ironic/true/nostalgic/horribly tasteless to actually post/appropriate, I had to do it:

Nineteen

Nineteen,
is not the age of reason.
I didn't have a reason
for setting you free.

I've seen
a lot of love go sour.
but that's not our love.

You see the problem was

I was only nineteen.

Yeah, I was only nineteen.
Finished up with high school,
headed for a state school.
Wandered into you.

Big screen,
kissing in a movie.
God, you moved me around.
We got seriously down.

But I was only nineteen.

All I ever wanted to do
Was lie around in bed with you.
I was only nineteen. I was only nineteen.
I was only nineteen. I was only nineteen.

I've seen
a lot of love go bad now.
That's not how our affair
would've wound up I swear.

But I was only nineteen.

All I ever wanted to do
Was lie around in bed with you.
I was only nineteen. I was only nineteen.
I was only nineteen. I was only nineteen.

I was only nineteen.

- Old 97's

All the pretty girls go to the city...*

What does it mean when she gives me a story to read and says "I have to be honest with you, this one is about EUROSTAR TRAINS and has you in it. Of course you never lived in London, and your name isn't Paul, but I just switched them out for Edinburgh and Steve."

Excerpts about me, chosen by me, that make me feel like a million bucks and an asshole, respectively:

But, of course, Paul was different from the unoriginal first-love sob stories of my girlfriends. The first time I walked into Paul's room I saw that, like me, he had maps of foreign cities on his walls... We both loved the rain, and agreed that a rainy day in Los Angeles could bring a redemption that intellectual conversation could not... he would send me postcards with song lyrics for no apparent reason... We agreed that tragedy in life is inescapable but beautiful... For a romantic, adventure seeking 19 year old girl, how could these things not add up to true love?

... as Paul just wanted to be my friend, and I couldn't imagine a more insidious pain. I had too much pride to openly argue, and I spent the week hiding my outrage at true love's betrayal with trips to St. James Park, the Tate Gallery, the Imperial War Museum, and many pints...

apologies to the author. (In more ways that one.)

*This post was edited at the request of "the author," and reflects the changes suggested in her comment to this post. That's why the comment looks so out of place now. Not cause she's a totaly neurotic freak, I swear. (Just kidding.)

Pictastic, the beginnings of a random photoblog

LA to Tulsa and back to LA in 48 hrs

posted while listening to 1952 Vincent Black Lightning by Richard Thompson, back in LA, where you, dear readers, along with Matt, Katie, and my parents are the only people who know I'm here.

Alright Alright (here's my fist where's the fight?)

If you happen to live in tulsa, and saw a mid twenties guy with crazy insane blond bedhead driving to the used book/record shop, rocking out to this, in a british racing green Miata Convertable, that was me, and I'd just like to say, that was my ma's car, and yes, I know I'm not nearly as cool as I think I am, but you gotta come hard when you're driving a Miata .

Back to Greek.

And fantasies of the Saharas beating the crap out of the Donnas.

ok, so maybe I'm procrastinating a bit...

but there's finally something at The Incredible Moses Leroy's Site.

And a new album july 15th 2003.

And there a sniplets up of 4 of the tracks.

Happy Day!

And since I'm procrastinating, I thought I'd link my fellow Oklahomans over at madpony, cause Kristin wrote a alarmingly dead-on example of procrastination. Although waaaaaaaaaay back when I got my undergrad degree in 1956, my procrastination usually involved alcohol.

The Spigot Claims its place in post-punk history

I flew into tulsa last night at 11.45pm.

but wait, didn't you drive out to LA?

Don't ask too many questions.

I am a Greek learning Ma-Sheen for the next 21 hours.

I'll fill you in on LA later. I'm busy. That and I left my computer with Matt in LA.

Really, I promise, more after I get back from LA, again.

From last friday's party...

tied to the whipping post

Lauren and I in Flagstaff

It says expoused by matthew, but just so you know, it's still me...

Thanks for asking me to go to the one act play festival last night.

It was great.

As always, it was incredibly inedibly awkward being with you.

You astound me.

So I went out and got ridiculously drunk with senor del.