Autumn Memories

The air reminds me of one of my fondest memories circa September 1977:

My very very pregnant mother stuck me on the back of her blue Columbia 3-speed (without a helmet). We rode to an open space (a park) at the end of our 'hood (Mom used to drag me around on her bike before she had two of us to haul around--the Columbia was replaced by a 1966 Malibu without seat belts--a bad ass car, really). I played (unsuccessfully, fell on my resilient face) on some sort of playground equipment (a jungle gym). There were children playing all around (annoying). I was thrilled to be hanging out with my mom. She had purchased a kite, a Gayla Baby Bat (dig that image from the package) . We assembled it on a big pink blanket that my mother had brought along. I couldn't run fast enough to make the kite fly. Just when I was about to give up, the wind picked up, and the kite soared high above us. We sat on the blanket. The kite tugged at my little hands.

I was happy. Please forgive the puerile writting style on this one. It's almost like a dream to me.
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Now playing: The Angels of Light - The Man with the Silver Tongue

Lost And Found and lost again

Been a lot foggy lately, my friends. Running red lights...stopping at green ones..."losing" important documents. Essentially, I feel high, however, that is not the case. It's like someone is putting depakote in the water supply (supposed to be on 1,500 mg a day). Really miserable. I believe that this numb feeling is a stress-related deal. I've got the "I'm stressed out" rash, again (third time since I was 17). I seem to be dealing fairly well this time.

I probably require a vacation and some weed.

This weekend was restorative, though. My pets are feeling lonely, for sure, but those little assholes have been getting on my nerves. I'm feeling better about the girl after moving in for a few days. We made it out to a show (saw a lot of pals). I had "lost" my driver license. The fucking patriot act means that I can't make a deposit at the bank without one (fuckers). The state of Colorado doesn't accept my birth certificate as valid (although I was born in a U.S. military hospital in country). It's a two-day hassle to get another license. Fuckers.

Practice with BLC was instrumentalists and missing a bass player (put me on the spot without a net). I'm still feeling things out, for sure. My "menacing" tone might not work for this band. I'll try something different for the next practice. If I get the dynamics right, I think that it's doable, though. That's a reasonable goal, right? It's proving to be difficult to adjust to a much quieter band (on 2, the practice rig is far too much--The OC goes to 11). I think that they would've said something if I had been really obscene. They're used to a subliminal bass player, which isn't what I've been doing lately. Andrew did clue me into a decrescendo that I totally did wrong. Thanks, dude--I got it now. It's all going to work out with a little practice. One month until the debut of the unfuckwithable new lineup. Fingers crossed.

I found the MIA license in a truck that I drove a week ago today. Excellent.

Later, I got a bad phone call with another cancer scare. Why is it that everyone I really care about is having these fucking issues?!? Meanwhile, back in my crotch, the "lymphoma" seems to have cured itself sans medical intervention. Whoot.

I'm probably dying. Whoot.

Maggots Are Back!

My twelve-hour day today can only mean one thing: summer is right around the corner!

Good:

1. School's out, so the Starbucks on university hill is easy to drive into;
2. Rockshows;
3. The summer haircut;
4. Motorbikes!
   

Bad:

1. Wondervu is beautiful this time of year, although the recent precipitation means that the "roads" are soft enough to gobble up trucks;
2. Tomorrow, I'm laying tile all day in a steel building--Sweatyman rides again;

Ugly:

The three yards of rotting meat that I had to deal with at four o'clock.