august 12 2008

I AM THE BOGGLE CHAMPION

argued with the fam about whether or not people who shoot holes in the water tanks in the desert are murderers or not.  i say they are.  if you know thirsty people will be slogging through an area, and you shoot holes in containers full of water that could save their lives, how are you not a murderer?  family focused on all sorts of rationalizations for their actions, but the fact remains that they would be responsible for someone's death.

august 11 2008

mexican/carribean restaurant in asheville, salsa's?

best food ever.  seriously.

if i ever move somewhere new (unlikely), it will be asheville.

everyone says "hello."

every business seems local.

it's insular in that portland sort of way without being insular in that lincoln park/wicker park kind of way.  hippies, punks, social justice-y folks all hanging out together, the way it should be, yanno?

also, weird that the first time i went to asheville it was almost exactly four years ago to see this bike is a pipe bomb play outside of a warehouse... this summer, i borrow rymodee from tbiapb's amp to play a show in chicago!  small world.

august 10 2008

my mom is the best boggle player in the universe
the board spelled out "fuck," "slut," and "dick" today, we had a good laugh about those.

august 9 2008

"once there was a farm...
now there's an airport"

-advertisements in the pittsburgh airport

baxter has two bad legs now. he did his usual thing where he didn't recognize me at first, then he flipped out when he realized who i was, then he hurt himself trying to jump up and lick my face and limped around the rest of the night.

august 8 2008

jamie got knocked unconscious while we were playing

holy shit

she's okay

folk fest was friend overload, in a good way.

goodbye party at work was less awkward than expected, and actually kind of sweet.  i think it helped that yelene didn't show up til like 30 minutes before it was over.

august 7 2008

mauled by tigers fest day one last night

so fun

but it highlighted why i can't stay in this town

everyone who was there from chicago (except for me, ricky, john, toby, etc.) was sectioned off into little hang out groups.

john, ricky, rob and i revived the dance caucus.

everyone who wasn't from chicago was having a great time with each other.
well, not EVERYONE.

but i get the point.

hot new mexicans, the ergs!, lefty loosie, a buncha others.

cori is in san fran, i am jealous.

punch

Living in the Age of Terrorism, as we do, when the Streets are Unsafe at Night, and the Neighborhoods aren’t What They Used to Be, it is the narrator’s supreme hope that you will take this story with the utmost of seriousness. In years past, it may have been necessary to marginalize this True Story as a Parable or Metaphorical Commentary, but now that we are all busy Never Forgetting, the Average Reader will hopefully have learned to embrace the cold, harsh Reality of Random Violence and at least be comfortable with the idea of the overall Absurdity of Life once relegated to the pages of College Books.

Our story takes place in Jacksonville, a nice city sprawled lazily across the northeastern corner of Florida. The city is nestled against the underbelly of Georgia, and owes more to the sometimes anachronistic hospitality characteristic of the American South than it does to the bright lights, dance halls, and contemporary flair of Miami, or the gaudy touristic highways of Orlando. The city is preparing to celebrate the embrace of its one-millionth citizen, an achievement tracked by a bulletin board greeting every citizen crossing the St. John's River into the downtown area: "999,936! Get Ready, Jacksonville!"

august 6 2008

the man who helped the woman who wanted my mattress sounded like he was having a heart attack while we carried the mattress downstairs. he kept saying things i couldn't hear and laughing really loud. he had a kickass old astrovan.

august 5 2008

ever ting ess boxt

august 4 2008

i walked past some fresh cement today. some hooligan had scrawled FUCK into it. at this point in my life, i probably shouldn't be giggling.

august 3 2008

show at the evelands' tonight. definitely reached fever pitch. i got to lie on the ground and roll around with the microphone and be hoisted above the crowd, during one song. i'm pretty sure that's when you know it's working.

all the other bands were really good. i wish i'd seen/met the duders in cloudmouth way earlier. actually, i wish i could just re-do the first six months or so in chicago.

august 2 2008

dance partaaaaaay

holy shit, climbing rules

so sore today

couldn't even open the refrigerator

had to put both hands on it and then use my weight to pull it open

august 1 2008

thomas (not tom) wolfe sure was a racist

july 31 2008

talked to bob about the apartment. feel better about it now... he's under a bunch of stress, i'm under a bunch of stress, it's a big stress parade.

a couple of months before i left in phoenix, a man named rocky came up to me and told me how much he loved my songs... it took me a couple seconds, but i realized i'd actually met him before, about two years ago, after a mono show at modified. he told me he wanted to give me a tape of his band's music. i told him i would be flattered, but i didn't have a tape player. a couple weeks later, at the modified, rocky rode up on his bike and handed me a walkman.

"our tape is in there," he said.

that skinwalkers tape ruled pretty hard. i got to use that walkman this morning to listen to the split fran did with whitman. her side of it is really, really, really beautiful... she turned 4 of her favorite poems into songs, and they sound like they were always meant to be sung. whitman's half is perty good, too, but his vocals are way too low in the mix - or maybe my walkman is dying.