like that, three days or three weeks blow past, an eternity in internet time, to let go for the sake of an advancing warm front.
And in the end, outside in the 45-degree drizzle, you're surrounded by air that's neither moving nor sitting still, because she's gone.
At night, I hear frogs. These days, the cranberry bogs and wetlands behind my house resonate with a pulsing, muted-but-multilayered chirping. We've always call them "peepers". It's similar to the sound of cricket legs-a-rubbing, but less distinct, produced by air sqeeezed through amphibious mouth-membrane. Frogs are small and sit in the mud. Sometimes, frogs site on rocks. When I fall asleep with my window open, it's hard to identify the sound's source. Zero-point audio. In the afternoon, the peepers' singing intermingles with the voices of robins and insects. When you walk close to the edge of a cranberry bog, the nearby frogs quiet down in response to vibration, waiting for you to pass. As night wears on, the continuous chorus breaks apart into individual voices, sometimes waning to a mere five or seven voices.
This sound is a familiar and comforting part of living in the home where I've always lived. Rain today, sun tomorrow, grass greening. I'm a sucker for sense-of-spring, that feeling of the season-cycle building up to something.
Someday, I'll have the chiseled, conceited, discerning face of Robert Patrick.
i know, rationally that productivity breeds productivity. once i get myself to start doing some of the important stuff that needs doing, i get all motivated. i fight to complete this important stuff as soon as possible, and keep up with all my responsibilities and friends and chores and creative projects. but when there are too many responsibilities, i do nothing. when there are too many options, i do nothing. and when there are too few responsibilities or options, i do nothing. i'd continue explaining what i mean, but i'm busy.
I left work early last Wednesday and drove downtown to do some research on erosion at the library. The library is funny - you use a computer to hunt for books on a specific topic, then you scrawl a Dewey Decimal number representing that book or topic onto a small piece of scrap ditto paper, and then you hunt through rows of stacks to discern whether or not the section corresponding to that number actually contains the volumes which, according to the computer, probably live there. But that section might be empty, in which case you have to order out from another library. When I'm hunting for information on the web, and I can't find what I'm looking for, it's either because a) the particular resource doesn't exist, or b) it's not a popular resource, and therefore one difficult to find. When I'm hunting for information in the library and I can't find what I'm looking for, it's either because 1) I'm tired of walking, or 2) the resource is not where I know it would be, but is instead hiding in some kid's backpack somewhere, or else being used as a steady surface for the rolling of a big fat doobie in the back of an '85 Aries. And certainly when it comes to the subject of soil conservation and erosion-control, you're better off just running Google searches on the library's poorly networked P-75 Dell machine that the visiting IT staff has locked at an intolerable screen res of 640x480.
Libraries are beautiful, though, because they remind you that knowledge easily occupies large volumes of physical space.
At 5:20 that Wednesday afternoon, the school bus dropped my sister Alyssa and her classmate Brendan off at the library. I had finished my "research", so the three of us hopped into the old Land Shark and drove into downtown Plymouth. I dropped them off at ballet and driver's ed, respectively. The sun was still shining as I cruised along Route 44, music blasting, and rolled into the K-Mart parking lot. I had to buy some primer, Bondo, and spray paint. I'm not a big fan of K-Mart, but I couldn't muster up the energy to hunt for a smaller local business deserving of my patronage.
As I waltzed into that little gumball-machined foyer, I noticed a small sign printed across each of the automatic doors. It read, "WELCOME BACK TO K-MART".
"What an obnoxious salutation," I thought to myself. "What if this was my first visit to K-Mart?"
And that's when it occurred to me - it's almost NEVER anyone's first visit to K-Mart. The sign isn't obnoxious because those friendly corporate bastards know that the only people making an inaugural trip to K-Mart are people who can't yet read, or people who can't yet read English.
I've got my new comments system up and running, I'm listening to Stephen Hawking bust phat rhymes, I'm struggling to fill out both Schedule D and Schedule B (and that's only Federal), I'm admiring one of Corey's many beautiful photographs, I'm ready for bed, I'm getting older, I'm going gray.
Matt: Hey, are those fresh strawberries? Me: Uh, yeah. Matt: Man, you gotta take those strawberries and get some baker's chocolate and some milk. Me: Really. Matt: You dunk 'em in chocolate and let it harden and then you give 'em to a girl. It's the best aphrodisiac EVER. Me: The best ever? Matt: Well I mean, next to Air Supply.
On the last friday in March, after the Equitone show, Jonah, Eileen, Jill, Matt and I drove over to a party that Mariah was throwing in honor of a friend who had decided to leave town. The party was "hopping", as the kids like to say these days. A big beautiful loft packed with people and loudest of two-step, drum 'n bass. Heavy sounds. The five of us hung on one wall, sipping, enjoying ourselves. I chatted Mariah up a bit, but she kept busy playing host. Later, as we were walking back to the car, Jill and Eileen in their bright red jackets. Jonah, Matt, and I were left stumbling behind, so we chose to discuss important issues particular to the lives of men. I tried to convince them that it's impossible to drink a gallon of milk in two hours, but they told me I was crazy. I said, "Yeah, those first two quarts go quick, but then you're in some real trouble, my friend."
They were exceedingly doubtful, so I started to wonder if I had misheard the challenge. Is it "one gallon of milk in two hours", or "two gallons of milk in one hour", or "one gallon in one hour". Do lactose intolerant people get extra time? Has anyone tried this? I'm thirsty. It's fun to do stupid things.
never underestimate the power of moonlight and music in a quiet, empty forest.
Thaks to my brother Jeremy for sending me a link to the funniest record review I've ever encountered from Pitchfork. It looks like I'd better track down a copy of Amon Tobin's Supermodified as soon as possible.
I'm a big Radiohead fan. So are most people. I'm very much looking forward to Amnesiac, the new album to be released on June 4th of this year. So are most people. The track listing is as follows: ....01. packt like sardines in a crushd tin box
....02. pyramid song
....03. pull/pulk revolving doors
....04. you and whose army?
....05. i might be wrong
....06. knives out
....07. amnesiac/morning bell
....08. dollars and cents
....09. hunting bears
....10. like spinning plates
....11. life in a glass house
You know, you really got to hand it to Radiohead for coming up with the most Radioheadish sounding song titles one could imagine. Dollars and Cents? Packt Like Sardines in a What What? Fricking Life in a Glass House? If I made this stuff up myself people would be sure I was lying. They're really determined to keep this whole post-Floydian, societal-subtleties-reflected-inside-my-skull mojo working for a while.
Half of these songs are available through Napster, but watch out, because there are imposters. Even the songs listed as "The Real Studio Version" are hoaxes, a lame publicity stunt. The April 4th entry over at Follow Me Around News lists the lengths and origins of the legit versions.
Toke Nygaard: "Creativity is a bloody nuisance and an evil curse that will see to it that you die from stress and alcohol abuse at a very early age, that you piss off all your friends, break appointments, show up late, and have this strange bohemian urge (you know that decadent laid-back pimp-style way of life). The truly creative people I know all live lousy lives, never have time to see you, don't take care of themselves properly, have weird tastes in women and behave badly. They don't wash and they eat disgusting stuff, they are mentally unstable and are absolutely brilliant."
It's been a fine twenty-four hours. Yesterday I slept until noon, sauntered into work to help taste-test hot dogs (so much for eating healty), worked under the sun for five hours, raking and operating an excavator, headed home with plenty of daylight to spare, did a little minor body work on my car (grinding off those rust spots), cooked up a giant pan of stuffed shells, ate most of it and a glass of grigio with my family, fell asleep in our recliner for four and a half hours, took a walk, boiled up a french-press full of guatemalan coffee, and typed on this keyboard for a while. Now I'm heading to work on time. Somewhere in that paragraph, in those events, there's some kind of contradiction or conflict. I'm not sure where, exactly, and that pleases me.
to night i visited robyn my post-highschool friend from highschool who lives in falmouth near my highschool robyn home from spring break has not had the best of days i rolled to falmouth via 764 hero and spoon and outkast crossed the bridge in ye olde land shark granada to see her always the best of friendship driving eating dinner and drinking drinks chimichangas a bit less laughing than normal talking about that fool who has no idea what the fuck hes throwing a way but i do believe me and before we headed back to her house to watch a quick episode of the muppet show we drove a long loop through masphee and 151 bought smokes and i spun 69 lovesongs for a few tracks a few tracks too many because it's not what either of us needed to hear she fell asleep heart exhausted i drove sometimes when i drive north from falmouth under a nearly full moon i shut off my headlights it was last summer i believe when i left them off for five miles at 3 am not a car or house light in sight just natural moon dark what a beauty and overwhelmed but secure tonight i traveresed tristeza towards home with lights out only briefly moonlit and home again for a great phone conversation now its a late night thinking posting eyes rolled no time for the old in and out today love im just here to read the meter
April Fools, from a couple of Massholes named Smitty and Sully.
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