So, for a week or so, I've been meaning to write some lame stuff that I think is interesting here, but I've been too busy wasting my free time on Friendster. And guess what... I still need to balance my checkbook! The artist formerly known as the "Hot Russian Woman At Work" has been discovered to not be Russian at all! It turns out that Barbara is from Italy, but her family was only there for two generations, and are actually gypsies (she used the word herself, instead of the more politically correct "Roma," prompting me to further believe that being PC is bullshit. I've been known to be a cheap Jew in my time. Although I still think it is horrible to call an Inuit an Eskimo, because of the meaning of the word, which I cannot remember right now, but which I think has something to do with being an eater of blubber). Related to that, a new acquaintance of mine told me that she jokes that she is a Spike -- because, like Juan Epstein, she is a Puerto Rican Jew. That had me in stitches. Okay. It's 9:45am. Time for bed. I guess I kind of hope I get that 8am-4pm Monday through Friday job that is open. I've got a better shot at getting that than I do of getting the 10am-10pm caching position that isn't officially open yet, although I did start caching over at MTV2 last night. I had to cache the VJ segments for the Top 20 Countdown, hosted by some chach named Jesse Blaze who was wearing a PVC shirt. When I was cueing the tape to record to the computer, I made him look like he was touching himself and rubbing. I think I was enjoyin it wayyy too much. I just really wanted to make a slingshot out of his shirt and have him fly into a wall face first. It made me think of Steve Buscemi's character Seymour in "Ghost World" when Enid turns on the radio in his car, and he reacts to it as this totally obnoxious, in-your-face, hostile bullshit. I felt much like that. Maybe I'm just an old man. I don't know. I've been listening to the two depressing mix cds my brother made a couple days ago. Right now, is the acoustic version of "Driveway To Driveway" by Superchunk. And the names were all we knew. And the names were all erased. This song, even though I had but one night of drunken makeout sessions in my life, it still touches me in the saddest way. I just want to write a song that makes me feel as much as that song.

The sun has started rising behind me and to the left. I should go to bed. I meant to write a lot of stuff tonight, but I spent too many hours on Friendster again. Just realized tonight that the display for the monitor was set at 800 x 600. Thanks Josh, for calling that to my attention. Josh was making me look at the Bouncing Souls website that he somehow got lucky enough to start designing and maintaining back in the lean years. My brother's pics are up there now, as well, from the Sports Plus show they played last weekend, when I was stuck at work, and could not celebrate the tenth anniversary of witnessing the Souls live for the first time, after falling in love with "These Are The Quotes From Our Favorite 80's Movies" all those years ago.

Friday night was the Godspeed You Black Emperor! show at the Warsaw. They were fucking amazing, and I had a great time. A tired, but still witty and charming Nico was great company, as a fellow rubber bumper in that game of pinball known as Average Lameass Concertgoer Worming Through the Crowd. But all that aside, I was just really frightened of the Bastard Son of Nick Cave and Jim Carrey that kept talking, buying drinks and standing in front of Nico. This guy was tall, and sort of dressed like Nick Cave and Jim Carrey ("Once Bitten"-era Jim Carrey, after he turned vampire and dressed all in black, like, er, Nick Cave). That's now two out of three recent posts in which I mention Vampire movies. Wacky. And I watched "Angel" today, furthering the vampire madness. And Jismo is playing Alkaline Trio on his little audiostream right now. Bonus. We lost an hour, and I am gonna end up sleeping my last day off away. I ned to commit more random acts of hygeine, balance my checkbook, pay some bills and buy socks, and a digital four-track.

Last night, I jammed with Mike Andriani and Desirae. It was a lot of fun, because we were playing moody music. Think Galaxie 500, Codeine and Bedhead. But we don't have songs yet. Maybe next time. I've been dying to create music like this for a long, long time (since first hearing Galaxie 500 in 1990, I believe). I need to do this. To stick to it. For so many reasons. Afterwards, what would a night on Long Island be without a diner trip? So to the Rocky Point Diner we did go.

Sometime today, I need to write the poem that can't get out of my head. Something shall be written. Maybe I will go to Borders or something before Saturday Matinee closes. I need to stop by there and witness Sean and WIll working alone together. I need to go to sleep. I will post something worth reading here sometime in the future. Night.