Put the juice in here, I'll squirt it out.
Last night saw us recording again. We laid down two new tracks, “Secret” and “Get beneath the covers (and go).” The latter was supposed to be a clouded tribute to Rob Halford, but for whatever reason the laws of physics deemed it be, I sound like Karen O from the Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs. Heath thinks it sounds like the singer from Love and Rockets, which I find even more embarrassing because of the prominence of the word “go” in the song. It was supposed to be a punkier version of us, but winds up being slightly more like Suicide (second album, not the first one) or really progressive Soft Cell. The first song is pure synth-pop. We really sat down and said whatever we would normally do, do the opposite. In this way it sounds happy, not miserable. I even started off with a happy lyric (though I’m bedding it in a subtle irony that will help me sing it with conviction).
As always this effort makes me feel exhausted but not tired, so I become a bit zombie like. I think it makes me more susceptible to my allergies as well, as this morning my head feels really done in. It’s not the singing, because my voice is only half-shot, it’s just the dread of having to drive up and back to do only two songs. So much driving. I hate driving.
Tomorrow is gay prance in Boston, which we’ll avoid (I hope) but will go to Manray tomorrow night. I don’t need any beads or rainbow colored soap in my house. I really love my liquid, anti-bacterial soap in the convenient, refillable hand-pump dispenser. Danielle said she was going to get me one of those hand-made pride triangle jewelry monstrosities. That’s so far from being a joke anymore, those things are just tacky. I hate the platinum ones the most. This is not to say that most things in my life aren’t tacky, I just really don’t like this particular presentation of tack. But, like I care. When I’m dead in the ground none of this life will matter, so I suppose you should enjoy what you can, while you can.
Speaking of dead bodies, the sad, sad, pathetic individual I work with who ‘hired’ me is leaving. For whatever reason, this has made him switch his cockiness factor up to 12.5, and I’m really close to drop kicking him in the soft bits.
This is a really pathetic entry. I wish I had more to say but this week has been a real bore. And that includes the two hours I spent watching “The Matrix Reloaded.”
~m
As always this effort makes me feel exhausted but not tired, so I become a bit zombie like. I think it makes me more susceptible to my allergies as well, as this morning my head feels really done in. It’s not the singing, because my voice is only half-shot, it’s just the dread of having to drive up and back to do only two songs. So much driving. I hate driving.
Tomorrow is gay prance in Boston, which we’ll avoid (I hope) but will go to Manray tomorrow night. I don’t need any beads or rainbow colored soap in my house. I really love my liquid, anti-bacterial soap in the convenient, refillable hand-pump dispenser. Danielle said she was going to get me one of those hand-made pride triangle jewelry monstrosities. That’s so far from being a joke anymore, those things are just tacky. I hate the platinum ones the most. This is not to say that most things in my life aren’t tacky, I just really don’t like this particular presentation of tack. But, like I care. When I’m dead in the ground none of this life will matter, so I suppose you should enjoy what you can, while you can.
Speaking of dead bodies, the sad, sad, pathetic individual I work with who ‘hired’ me is leaving. For whatever reason, this has made him switch his cockiness factor up to 12.5, and I’m really close to drop kicking him in the soft bits.
This is a really pathetic entry. I wish I had more to say but this week has been a real bore. And that includes the two hours I spent watching “The Matrix Reloaded.”
~m