Yes it's sad to say you will romanticize everything you've known before.

Tuesday.

I'd reviewed Cormac McCarthy's 2005 novel No Country For Old Men but failed to score an interview with McCarthy, getting only so far as to an associate of his publicist. He's only given two interviews in the past ten years, and sadly, The Big Spring Herald a name that appears on people's doorsteps daily.

I spent the weekend in the company of a six year old girl who thinks bulls are cute, people are strange all over and that dancing in the street is a crime. Somehow I became her charge and carted her all over the countryside trying to find exciting things to show a six year old that I take for granted. Highlights:
We went to the Rodeo.
We went on top of the mountain with a cheesy telescope to look at stars.
She bought a butterfly net at a gardening store.
We ate sloppy joes.

I think these are things that six year olds like to do, and apparently there were no complaints, only a thank you and being singled out as the favorite among my brothers.
Actually, it wasn't hard it all. You just have to keep in mind that their train of thought is in constant motion and that you have to learn to not think about anything but what's happening at the moment.

Other thing to note:
Myspace surveys. I fill them out due to complete boredom. Do people really care if I have a scar and can remember it or what my favorite fast food place is? No. I don't really think so. I don't think you can really know a person through their internet personas. I still think there are two different people at work there, one physical and one mental. I don't think meeting people you talk to online is the same as meeting someone face to face.

Just keep saying to yourself "I'm adequate."

Working in the newspaper is getting me 60 hour weeks and damn Dirty Laundry (Don Henley) all stuck up in my brain matter.
I need to get up to Denton at least on the 30th to see Last of The Interceptors along with The Riverboat Gamblers and The Arrival. I can't find the flyer so I can't post it right now.

Whatever happened to the kinds of bands that drank too much and were open about their drug abuse? The kind of guys that you were like, "Man, if this guy wasn't in a video or on stage every night, he'd be dead."
A major part of me still wants to see Slash standing on a curvy road, mountainside, watching the car as it crashes below.
I want to see Robbin Crosby of Ratt still burping Vodka bubbles and telling everyone "It's not really a problem, because this can happen"- breaks into a blistering solo and still continues to drink, no hands, bottle tilted above his head.
I still want every night that I was in a band to be like Motley Crue's video for "Girls Girls Girls."

When I was young, I thought that was what it was all about. Not having to apology for the way you felt, and you did whatever you wanted to do on a daily basis. No matter how crass, no matter how wrong, you were a musician and things happened like that.

Plus the whole Patton Oswalt dirge on actually changing the physical property of an object just with your music. That's something else that I want.

I say all this as I listen to Bloc Party, mind you.

Then why is he? Is that the only way you can make this a dream, to put a dwarf in it?

I spent the entire weekend watching movies.


三更


Living In Oblivion


The Way Home


เรื่องรัก น้อยนิด มหาศาล (Last Life in the Universe)


The Motel


The Rage In Lake Placid



A lot of other stuff happened (involving a puppy) but I worked 12 hours today and it sucked.

There's nothing more tragic than a war in an Eskimo village.

I think it'd be really easy to get sucked back into having a life here.

I've been seeing a lot of old friends that I didn't really keep in touch with. It's like I left them right where they were, in the halls of the state hospital, the oil stained garages, in rows of cubicles staring at computer screens.
Same haircuts. Same skin problems. People sleeping with people that you never expected. Some people married, divorced, kids, but keeping the same pace like they were seven years ago.

I don't even have to wonder anymore. I know my life would be different had I stayed. Hindsight is great when you know you made the right decision. I decided to move, and in less than two weeks I was already in Denton. That was it. Everyone here talks about leaving, it's just they never do. It's not sad.
I'm not sad.

Don't watch Ghostrider. I wish I could review films for work, because I'd use 'ghastly' over and over and over.
Warm and Scratchy

Asobi Seksu is the new sex-u.

Imaginations run riot in these paper thin walls.

While both my laptops are out of commision (the PC having a faulty ac adaptor replaced and the macbook being, well, a mac and needing to constant upgrades) I have to use my brother's computer. Seth's walls are covered in polaroids of blonde girls that seem enamored with having their photo taken. Most of them are covered in glittery ink that say luv you!

Gah. I've been spending most of my days in the office, listening to Mondo Bongo and The Fine Art of Surfacing, two recent purchases put out by Bob Geldolf and his Boomtown Rats. Both the albums are fairly decent listens, just with them crying their new wave hearts over hand claps.

Tomorrow I begin dividing up my things, what I really need to take to NYC and what I need to leave behind. It's not like I can't have my parents send me things I need, but I need to make sure things fit well.

You look like Babe Ruth's gay brother, Gabe Ruth

This is mostly for Jane. And Amy.
Why does myspace keep thinking I'm British? I don't make pounds, I make dollar bills.

Plus tomorrow: The Tuesday edition of The Big Spring Herald will have my invigorating interview with a woman named Glenna where in which we discuss the mysterious acts of the Vatican via the Sacred Heart Catholic Church Summer Festival. There will be fry bread and a dunk tank.

Strong finger on the trigger like it's dwarf's hands

DNTN.
How I already miss this place.

I spent most of the day driving. I can't wait to not have a car anymore, but then again I wonder if I'll miss it. Public transportation is almost like a wet dream. No responsibility but just being able to breath, walk, and have a metrocard.

Somehow I got an entire entry about me on wemadeoutonce.com. More debauchery tonight I'm sure.

Right now I'm sunburned, full of vodka and listening to some New Order remix...I think by Hot Chip. I have a story to write before Monday morning. I have all of it saved on the macbook and my digital tape recorder, although I sound like a shy stuttering fool on there during most of the interview.

Doing all this makes me wonder about the lives of people that we see everyday. Like, the superintendant of a school district, a teacher, a post office worker... all these people in our society that are so stereotyped and pigeonholed. It's very Half-Nelson. A double life. When I put on the tie monday morining and my slacks, do I tuck this life back in a drawer or do I carry a part of with me?

Oh yeah. Go watch A Guide To Recognizing Your Saints. It's like The Basketball Diaries.