Wearing a baseball hat and pigtails makes me feel cool...
Says a lot for how I feel today and moreover, what qualifies as 'cool' for me. If I've ever called you cool, rest assured my standards aren't low; rather, they're just a little eschew - and *that* is damned cool.
I'll try to make some sort of normal entry today and actually pretend I started this thing to keep friends updated on how I am/what the hell I've been doing. (Read: not solely recording how many bottles of vodka I drink in a week - an act admittedly used to disgust myself). So, working backwards...
This past weekend I ventured into the unchartered wilds of Uxbridge, Ontario where I spent 2 days with an elephant named Caesar and a baby kangaroo named Jack Jr - who I called Binky instead. Pictures to follow in the next day or two.
All in all, good times. I got to see my family in the midst of my brush with exotic wildlife. I found them all well and apparently, taking bets on how long it's going to take me to kill myself. High bet is 10 years, low is anytime now. Sad, I know, but not as sad as the fact I really thought they were kidding.
I didn't get back to K-town in time for M.E. Csamer's book launch - a fact made ten times more upsetting when I saw that she'd dedicated one of her poems to me. The toolish feelings reside.
My week at work was good. I'm still enjoying my job thoroughly; aside from the whole sitting on my ass for 7 hours a day thing. This inertia is made significantly worse by the fact that the pool/gym is closed for a month, I'm too cheap to get another membership at another place and I blew my hip out while running, so I am confined to yoga - which I love, but my commitment phobic tendencies extend to my exercise routine. Variety - give me variety dammit. Above all, give me choice.
Jim's funeral was shit, but that's to be expected.
Long weekend I was invited to go on tour with the delightfully wicked Donkey Punch - a newly signed band with a seriously wicked sound. Jimmy has been playing for them in the recording studio and when they went on tour, they asked if he'd come along. Jimmy, being the been-there-done-that skeptic that he is, agreed, but suppressed the majority of his residual enthusiasm. That said, the energy of these dudes is contagious and Jim had a great time. I did too, of course, but I'm not the jaded musician. The jaded writer, sure, but when it's not my talent on the chopping block, I have the luxury of relaxation. And relax I did.
Other than that, all is moving along with the same lopsided consistency as usual and I'm trying to pay attention.
Word, ya'll.
I'll try to make some sort of normal entry today and actually pretend I started this thing to keep friends updated on how I am/what the hell I've been doing. (Read: not solely recording how many bottles of vodka I drink in a week - an act admittedly used to disgust myself). So, working backwards...
This past weekend I ventured into the unchartered wilds of Uxbridge, Ontario where I spent 2 days with an elephant named Caesar and a baby kangaroo named Jack Jr - who I called Binky instead. Pictures to follow in the next day or two.
All in all, good times. I got to see my family in the midst of my brush with exotic wildlife. I found them all well and apparently, taking bets on how long it's going to take me to kill myself. High bet is 10 years, low is anytime now. Sad, I know, but not as sad as the fact I really thought they were kidding.
I didn't get back to K-town in time for M.E. Csamer's book launch - a fact made ten times more upsetting when I saw that she'd dedicated one of her poems to me. The toolish feelings reside.
My week at work was good. I'm still enjoying my job thoroughly; aside from the whole sitting on my ass for 7 hours a day thing. This inertia is made significantly worse by the fact that the pool/gym is closed for a month, I'm too cheap to get another membership at another place and I blew my hip out while running, so I am confined to yoga - which I love, but my commitment phobic tendencies extend to my exercise routine. Variety - give me variety dammit. Above all, give me choice.
Jim's funeral was shit, but that's to be expected.
Long weekend I was invited to go on tour with the delightfully wicked Donkey Punch - a newly signed band with a seriously wicked sound. Jimmy has been playing for them in the recording studio and when they went on tour, they asked if he'd come along. Jimmy, being the been-there-done-that skeptic that he is, agreed, but suppressed the majority of his residual enthusiasm. That said, the energy of these dudes is contagious and Jim had a great time. I did too, of course, but I'm not the jaded musician. The jaded writer, sure, but when it's not my talent on the chopping block, I have the luxury of relaxation. And relax I did.
Other than that, all is moving along with the same lopsided consistency as usual and I'm trying to pay attention.
Word, ya'll.