Productive Despite Myself

Monday morning. I hope everyone had a nice weekend. The vast quantities of work that have to get done around here continue, preventing me from spending any time on blogging or even emailing, let alone anything that requires standing up or looking at things that are not a computer.

However, I was able to get out on Saturday to buy some very needed new pants. When it comes to clothes, I pretty much agree with Harvey Pekar that people spend way too much money on them and then look like crap anyway. And I really hate the ordeal of trying to find something you even like and/or fit into just so you can hand over your hard-earned cash. So it was nice of Alison to come with me and offer her advice. We spent most of the afternoon looking in every store we could think of. I started getting tired and very frustrated, but the "one last store" we tried had lots of decent pants that were available in my size. Sure, they were expensive. But I would've paid a couple of hundred dollars just to stop shopping at that point.

Other than that, besides nine billable hours of work, I also got a new song recorded this weekend. It was rattling around in my head and driving me crazy, so I just had to get it out, even though there really wasn't any time to spend on it. It's fairly scrappy in quality, therefore, but I finished it super fast and didn't even use any microphones. Garageband is incredible these days! It's unbelievable to me that I can sing an idea to my laptop and come away a couple of hours later with something that sounds this good.

That sun's supposed to be going down instead of coming up, by the way (remnant of an earlier verse sequence), but I can't be bothered to go back and fix it. Now to get some more work done!

Happy St. Patrick's Day

After Black History Month, I'm glad we now get to celebrate the history of pride and suffering that is the Irish identity. It's only fitting, as they were the ones used mainly as slaves by the British until the latter stumbled on the idea that bringing shiploads of Africans in for that purpose would mean their slaves would speak a multitude of mutually incomprehensible languages, and hence couldn't organize against their owners as easily as the pesky Erinese had. Once that idea had caught on, it wasn't long before the strategy was taken up by the Americas and other colonies, freeing the Irish to live a life of peace and liberty in their abject poverty.

In solidarity with this brave and indomitable people, may I present my rendition of this traditional Irish ballad? Sorry about the sound distortion. I got a little too passionate at times.

I'll also, of course, be drinking and subsequently vomiting gallons of green beer like everyone else.

Sounds of the Human Condition

The house on Harvard Street that sometimes displays poems handwritten in chalk on a blackboard hanging on its front veranda (see here and here, e.g.) is continuing to do its very fine thing that it sometimes does. I really should just knock on that house's door one of these days and tell whoever answers how much I appreciate their efforts, because every time I stop to read one of these, I end up either laughing out loud, directing a pensive "huh" at the trees and sky, or making an uncontrollable noise somewhere between "Hey!" and "Oof!" and falling onto the sidewalk, usually just as a snooty-looking woman and her small dog happen hoity-toitily by, the latter of whom invariably sniffs at my crotch before stepping on me. Today was a laughter day:

Poem Addressing People Who Are Tired, Hungry, or Horny

These things can wait. This is a very good poem and you’d be very myopic to lose sight of this beauty simply because some of your baser needs are asserting themselves. I’ll keep this short, but you should exercise some control, okay? Stay with me here. Allow this poem to carry you beyond yourself, transcending your mortal flesh as you wed yourself with the potentially infinite.

- Peter Davis

And, hey, speaking of uncontrollable noises, lately I keep getting woken up in the middle of the night by loud, horrible screams. That's a pretty awful thing to happen, but not as awful as when I realize they're coming from me. Some kind of nightmare keeps scaring me so much that I have to wake myself up by yelling out loud, and let me tell you, the screams of an unconscious person trying to become a conscious person would be horrific enough even if both of those people were NOT myself. If only I could remember the dreams when I wake up, I might be able to get to the heart of what's bothering me. But they immediately withdraw like slippery sea creatures under a rock before my memory can grab hold of them.

Psychic Fair and The Reference Desk will both be contributing to the racket that St. Patrick's Day at Gus' Pub promises to be. This Sunday, starting at 1:00 in the afternoon, the bar is hosting 14 different bands, offering live indie rock until well past the bedtime of anyone with any kind of conventional job to get back to on Monday. I'll be there at 5:something and again sometime after 10. Stop by if you're in the mood for some loud music and ironic young people enacting borderline offensive cultural stereotypes in the name of getting drunk.

Stir Crazy

Sorry no bloggy blog. Too much worky work. Today I finally felt sort of on top of things, though, so I was able to get outside for awhile and see some other members of my species wandering around. From what I could tell, I'm still passing as human.

Still, it'll be nice to have a weekend now. I didn't really get one last time around, there was so much work to catch up on. Looks like it's going to be a nice one, too, so I'm hoping to get some nature walking in — all work and no play makes Jack pretty much unfit for social interaction.

(By the way, Jack, happy birthday. And Henry, and Hannah. And happy International Women's Day, too!)