Seventh Sunday after Pentecost
It makes me nervous when prophets predict the future; I'd prefer that they stick to the present. But I guess that if one could pick what he preaches, he wouldn't be much of a prophet, would he?
Though, as ever, I'm talking about a lot of things at once, I'm prompted by Stay Positive, which came out (digitally, anyway) this past month. I'd been theorizing that Lifter Puller songs were mostly about trying to score drugs, and Hold Steady songs were mostly about the stuff that happens as a result of scoring drugs. Stay Positive appears, at second listen, to be mostly about things that can happen to students and growing old. On first listen, it kind of sounded like all the songs from the first three albums that I just wasn't that into. I'm kind of outraged that the one track I'd been looking forward to ever since seeing them with Art Brut on Halloween, "Ask Her for Some Adderall", got knocked off the album. Word is that it'll be one of the bonus tracks when the physical CD drops next month, but still. Laaaame.
So, I'm not going to be homeless yet, apparently, which I guess I'm relieved about; I spent four hours yesterday czeching out Edgewater and the actual apartment I'll be subletting. One block from a pizza parlor, one block from an Episcopal church, three blocks from a beach and the lakeshore bike path, four blocks from a bar I've been meaning to investigate, five blocks from a library, and within walking distance of Devon Market, home to what may very well be the greatest purchasable baked good on this earth. If it weren't so far away from everything else, I'd seriously consider trying to find a permanent place up there. But it is, and I'm going to spring for a monthly bus pass and get up at five thirty every single day. FUN.
Time to finnish packing. FUN.
Tuesday
"I don't know what I would do with the rest of my life if I couldn't micropipette." -Anna M, 06/20/2008
Today I almost got hit by a train! And then I got chewed out by a train driver for almost being hit by a train. And then I saw Speed Racer, and it was so awesome that it was like getting hit by a train. A train made of pure liquid awesome, with Christina Ricci sprinkles.
But weariness has built a house within me, and I fear it's time for a little rest, a little folding of the hands to sleep. Brainwashing children is exhausting work.
Sixth Sunday after Pentecost
"I clogged the bathroom sink this morning by pouring cereal down it." -Anna M, 06/18/2008
Went out last night to a "Solstice Party" in the brownlands. Campfire, comradery, beer. Hot dogs, marshmallows, cookies shaped like pigs. Looking at the city, trying to look at the stars, getting a little homesick. Looking at the fire, cooking at the fire, getting a little burnt. Getting a little bug-bitten. Walking home, because it was such a nice night. Taking a shower, because I stank of smoke so bad I could smell it myself, and because Brian and his 'sailor friend' weren't back from the birthday party yet.
When I get out of the shower, they're home and turning in. I see a purse on the counter; it's the same one as last time. Mystery Girl strikes again.
I hope she liked my shower-rendition of "Cordova".
Friday
"I wouldn't cook my baby!" -Laura, 06/17/2008
I enjoyed listening to The Hold Steady a lot more a week ago.
Though I should by cleaning and preparing to move the contents of my physical environment, I have instead spent some time cleaning up and transferring (with the help of the really quite nice robots I built) old log entries to the new system. The earliest available post is now this one from late second year. Hoo-ray, antiquity! I was told recently that when there's nothing to do in the summer, reading the entire archives of a person's website is just the thing. Creepy as that is, I'll see what I can do to get it all online once more.
"They both fell from heaven; the difference was where they would land."
Monday, fifth week after Pentecost
Friends! I once more have a working cellophone! Call me.
Thursday
"BLOG ABOUT A DREAM, TRY TO MAKE IT REAL!"
I woke up with my mouth hurting like I'd been grinning from ear to ear all night long. Perhaps I had; what I remember of my dreams were pretty terrific. But most memorable was what I'll call 'The Hospital Scene'. Upon waking, I reflected upon this scene, and concluded that, though perhaps the events unfolding around us were not entirely realistic, our reactions to them were spot-on (which I find notable, since as often as not, my dream-reaction to things is to climb a tall building through its ventilation system and then jump off it). Traveling with a large group of people, we had to stop overnight at a hospital, because a few of us needed some small amount of medical attention. While we were there, word apparently got around the hospital that Joel was there with us. As we waited for news of our friends, we were instead surprised when Joel was congratulated, and told that nineteen women had claimed him as the father of their child.
So now, the reactions start. First we go "blebedehuh?" for a while, scrambling to figure this out. Finally, it is discovered that an eccentric and charismatic billionaire had persuaded hundreds of women, on national television, to claim that Joel was their babydaddy. We reacted to this news the same way we would've in real life: Joel immediately began casting about for some whiskey, and I joined him. After drinking quite a lot of whiskey, we staggered into the hospital lobby, where a dance was going on. We tried to dance, but we were both trying to lead, so it didn't work so well. Then I wore a tomato slice as a monocle. Eventually, the rest of our group dragged us out of there, and we essentially ran away from the problem.
Hmm, so now I'm that guy that blogs about his dreams. And maybe it doesn't sound so fantastic written out like this, but it was, oh it was. This is only a small piece of a long and engaging epic, after all.
Monday
"Use more honey! Find out what she knows!"
So I did some things in real life, like go to a concert for five minutes. I respect the guy who recommended it to me (and, hey, it was free), but one of us has terrible taste in music. There were too many people in beards. The walk around the neighborhood was nice, at least.
And now I'll see what I can do to keep comments from being spammed. Everyone's up for a little math, right?
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