Lexington Crater

So I happened to be in midtown (or whatever you want to call that neighborhood) last evening and got to witness this shitshow. Crazy.

I took an obligatory cell phone photo and once again kicked myself for not carrying my real camera with me more regularly:
Mmmmmmm smokey
I have to wonder if a bit of karma or cosmic intervention or luck or whatever might have saved my ass. On my way up to 42nd Street on the 4 train, we get to 14th Street/Union Square and proceed to get stuck in the station for like 15 minutes due to some door issues. I guess they wouldn't shut or something. If not for that, I probably would have continued on as planned, got off the train at 42nd Street and walked back down Lexington to my destination. And the timing of it all makes me think that I very well could have been right around the explosion zone at the wrong time. Instead, thanks to some crappy door, I wound up getting off my 4 train and got on the 6 train (also slow). When we got to 33rd Street they announced that it would be the last stop and everyone got off only to come upstairs to a giant cloud of smoke and steam.

Man September 11th has changed everyone. It's just complete panic if anything goes wrong. Not that I wasn't thinking like that too, but it really is shitty that when anything of decent magnitude happens we all think "terrorists!"

So anyway, it wasn't terrorists so that's nice and I guess I owe that shitty door some thanks. Or maybe the stars. I don't know. Either way, I feel pretty OK to be alive.

Stop Me When I'm Passin' By

So this new neighborhood of mine is quite different from my old one. There are a lot of things such as (a) I'm the only white person that I've seen and (b) there are lots of anti-robbery styled Chinese restaurants and delis. There are plenty more, but I don't know that they need to be discussed here and now. That said, the one difference that I think is the most entertaining so far is the ice cream man.

Now maybe I've lived a sheltered life, but most of my experience involves the ice cream man rolling by in the afternoon or evening -- targeting times when kids with money from mom and/or dad can chase them down. Not around these parts. The first night I was here was a Saturday and two friends were over enjoying some Chinese food and a 40 oz. or two. Then that distinctive ice cream man music came sailing through the sticky Brooklyn air. It didn't even really register at first, but then a couple of minutes later my friend says, "The fucking ice cream man? It's 12:45! A.M.!" I instantly think of Mr. Whoopee from Vice City out delivering things other than ice cream.

Then tonight I just heard him again. 11:04pm on a Tuesday? Lot of kids out there? Maybe there are. I don't really know nor do I feel like looking, but nevertheless, it's odd. At least odd for everywhere else I've ever lived.

Ah, Brooklyn.

When Lacking in Material Run With Gore(d)

So I was going to blog and then sort of drew a blank. There's some shit I wanted to blah, blah, blah about, but can't for various reasons. It's a little annoying to say the least but that's life I suppose. Anyway, just so I don't have nothing at all, I thought I would post a photo. Photos are always fun, no?

So, I was away this weekend. Where? None of your F'ing business, that's where. Ha! Anyway, when I was away this weekend I picked up the local paper during breakfast/TV watching and there was a nice, big version of this photo. Pretty sick for a family publication, but really, who's going to pass on this shit when the AP shoves it in your face?
Michael Lenahan, 23, of Philadelphia, Pa. is gored in the leg by a fighting bull during a traditional bull run in Pamplona, Spain, Thursday July 12, 2007. Two American brothers were gored Thursday during the longest and bloodiest morning bull run at the San Fermin festival in the northeastern city of Pamplona. Lawrence Lenahan, 26, of Hermosa Beach, Calif. and Michael Lenahan, 23, of Philadelphia, Pa. were gored by a bull who strayed from the pack, turned around and ran the wrong way. The older brother suffered a eight-inch (20-centimeter) goring in the left buttock after a dangerous sharp right turn in the course Lenahan described as a 'dead man's curve.' The younger brother was injured shortly before the bull ring, the end point of the daily runs, after the bulls horn entered beneath his skin in his right shin. (AP Photo/ Inaki Porto) [http://news.yahoo.com/photo/070713/481/ef5af798074f4a4e8070577d110017a8]
And if you read that caption, you'll see that Shin Boy and his brother both got gored. Worst running family ever it seems.

I knew it was bad, but the color version really shows the detail a little better than the B&W version in the newspaper. I think it's safe to say that this is not something you want happening to your leg. Ever.

I'm into piercings, body modification and cool scars, but a horn under my skin from mid-shin to knee is a bit much. Nevertheless, who wants to run next year? It looks like fun. Oh, and you Lenahans ain't invited.

New Pad

So as of this past Saturday afternoon I am a resident of Brooklyn. You can probably tell as I am already way more hip and slightly more gangsta.

When I first moved to NYC, I lived in Manhattan for a bit, but then moved to Brooklyn where I spent a year in a rather annoying and awkward living situation. Although I managed to have fun (mostly thanks to $1.75 PBRs at The Village Idiot), it wasn't my greatest year on the planet by any means. I sort of blamed Brooklyn and swore to never move back, but here I am once again. But whatever, I think this time through it might be a little better. If nothing else I'm sure it will result in some blogging material (let's hope).

Also nice is the fact that I can now make use of some popular (or not so popular if you're not me) music that just isn't fitting unless living in Brooklyn. Well I suppose it could be, but I think it's a little bit better as a resident. Let's see:

Beastie Boys (featuring Kerry King of Slayer fame on the guitar solo)
"No Sleep Till Brooklyn"
You know you this will be in my head during every late night journey back home. Rule of the year -- don't fall asleep until I get to my bed. Or at least the couch.
Universal Music Group ain't down with the embedded feature so you'll have to hassle yourself with a link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RI2IyHXJo5M

Biohazard
"Five Blocks To The Subway"
This is nice as my new crib is actually five blocks away from the subway. Now I can honestly sing along "Five blocks to the subway, I can do that any day." Any day. I did it this morning as a matter of fact.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qVO8tSbJgPY

Biohazard
"Wrong Side Of The Tracks"
This is all about gearin' up for possible trouble when wondering around, but probably more useful when wanting to (a) scare my family with how tough my neighborhood is or (b) building street cred with all those pansy friends of mine who are back in fancy Manhattan or the suburbs. I'm tough now. Remember that! Oh, the phrase that makes it all work is "And when you're in fuckin' Brooklyn, you best watch your back!"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k-Qw0Y_w6n4

3rd Bass
"Brooklyn-Queens"
After those Biohazard tunes, you have to lighten the mood a bit. How better than with some good ol' 3rd Bass? Brooklyn footage, sweet 1989 fashion and some dope dance moves by MC Search (including a sweet leap frog move) make an already catchy tune even better when in video form. Feel free to sing along.
Another Universal Music Group restricted deal (what's up with you, Universal?): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p4WWDprtFMM

Watta Ya, Born In A Barn?

So on Saturday I moved out of StinkStuytown to head for greener pastures. Greener? Well probably not, but definitely cheaper pastures at least.

On my way out I had one of those nice last kicks that made the leaving less bittersweet and more just F.U., I'm out.

I'm standing by the moving truck guarding all my riches and this older woman comes out and heads my way. She's old enough to be my mom and seems pleasant enough. She starts off with "You have the door propped open." Definitely a statement, not a question.

Me: Yeah.

Lady: You know there was a break in a few weeks ago because the door was propped open and someone got held up at knife point.

Me: [thinking "Bullshit, lady"]: No, I didn't hear that.

Lady: Well it happened.

Me: Sorry to hear that.

Lady: Well the door shouldn't be open.

Me: OK.

Lady: You wouldn't think a knife point hold up was funny if it was your mother or girlfriend or sister.

Me: I don't really think it's funny now. I'm not laughing.

Lady: Well it's serious.

Me: OK. I know that.

Lady: You are standing here within sight of the door, I understand that, but you don't know who lives here and who doesn't.

Me: OK. I get it.

Lady: [walking away] If you get it, then go shut the fucking door.

Me: I'm not sure why you are cursing at me.

Lady: Fuck you.

Geez. How I'll miss my friendly, friendly neighbors.

On a side note, the neighbors I "saved" were nice about me leaving. No "F" word at all. The lady gave me a hug and even got a little teary and the guy gave me a "Good luck out there kid" which is I think as close to a hug as he's ever come.

Chili Dog

I'm not Mr. Sports by any means, but this is a sports story that inspires a little mention here in Stinktown. Rod Beck was found dead in his home on Saturday. Two things motivated me to write here.

The first is that he was 38. This always freaks me out. It sounds pretty young to die to begin with, but then I realize that I'm only four years younger than that and I think "shit I'm old" and also reinforces that 38 is too young to die. At least for me.

The second thing is my friend and former co-worker, Matt D. Matt is probably the only reason I paid any legitimate attention to Beck. This happened back when Beck was on the (hated) Red Sox. One night we were watching the some Yankees/Red Sox action on the work TV (watch CNN my ass!) and Beck was just being his usual fat, messy, crazy mustache-wearin' self, but that was enough for us.

Matt says to me something like, "You know what that guy's favorite food is?"

I say, "No, what?"

"Chili dogs."

"What? How do you know that?"

"I don't know. He just looks like he eats chili dogs all day long."

"You have a point. That's entirely possible."

I was sort of mulling over the idea of eating nothing buy chili dogs a little while later while still watching the game and Matt comes by again.

"You know the flavor that gum Beck is chewing?"
I look over at Matt and before I could throw out a guess ... "Chili dog."

So, ever since that day I've referred to Rod Beck as "Chili Dog" and probably always will. I hope Beck will understand that this isn't all that much of an insult coming from someone with my eating habits and won't ask God to drag me off this wacky planet in less than four years. I've got shit to do around here still.

Thanks for the memories, Chili Dog.

Smokey Wakeup

So I'll start by saying that I sleep pretty heavy. If there is one thing I do in this world well, it's sleep. I've been known to sleep through some pretty loud shit in my day and honestly it is nice.

So, that said, last night I'm doing my usual deep sleep and I get blown out of it with the sound of breaking glass. The first one I'm thinking maybe it is just some A-hole garbage truck guys throwing shit in the back of the truck, and don't allow myself to get all the way awake, but then another one comes and another. I jump out of bed. It's 2:50am. I go to the window figuring that someone is smashing up someone's car windows or something. Maybe some sort of Jerry Springerish love triangle exposed or something. When I look out, there's none of that. Instead, it's a big fucking fire truck, ladder extended up to the 5th floor (just three floors under me) with a fireman smashing out my neighbors windows so they can get at what? A fucking fire. A fucking fire! Just three floors below. Holy shit!

Years of stupid fire drills at work and school and then all kinds of PSAs and educational pamphlets and movies and whatever else fire-related shit I have in storage fly through my head. I grab some shorts, jump in them, throw on my newly purchased flip flops and gather up money, cell phone and credit cards/ID. I quickly rethink my process and then opt for sneakers instead of flip flops as that seems like open toe style could be a mistake. I open the door (after feeling it first, of course) and the hall is filled with smoke. Stinky smoke. It wasn't so bad that I had to crawl or anything, but I did put my shirt over my mouth and nose. I knock and ring doorbells waking up neighbors (Hero!!) and hit the stairwell furthest from the fire.

Once I got below the 5th floor I felt a little safer and tried to get the adrenaline under control. I was still pretty jittery for awhile though. I think waking up to glass breaking alone would have gotten me riled up, but the fire along with it was sort of overdose.

Anyway, the fire was put out and other than the usual water/smoke damage I think everything ended well. My hall still smells a bit smokey and I'm sure there are some messed up apartments, but mine is fine. Phew. I was able to get back in bed around 4ish and got back to what I do best, sleep ... and oversleep, making myself late for work. Perfect.

Here are some photos from the night taken with my cell. I missed most of the action (the smoke, flame and glass smashing) but at least it's something:

From the ground, looking up:




From my living room window looking down:

Nothing Like Sex To Bring Back The Blog

I've had some complaints about my lack of blogging. You know what? Fuck you guys. Really. I do this for free and to be quite honest I have quite a bit going on in my world.

I kid. I'll admit it. I have been pretty lazy, but I guess that's nothing new. I've been really lazy. Really, really lazy. Plus I've been just feeling rather lacking in the creative or interesting I guess.

Anywho, here's something for you complainers, those of you with patience and maybe even for me as perhaps this will get the old creative juices flowing a bit ...

I went to the Central Park Zoo this weekend. The polar bear swimming around on his back was cool as were the wacky penguins, but this was my favorite part of the day:
That's right. Reptile sex!! Note how the guy doing the riding is using his buddy's (or maybe competition's) head for leverage. Just step right on there and you've got a whole new angle to work from. You can click on the photos for a bigger version if you want to really inspect the method in use and perhaps incorporate it into your own bedroom or barnyard antics.

Although I couldn't get him to turn his head any further, this shot still manages to capture the O-face pretty well:

Good times!

Man, That's Refreshing

I keep stumbling upon this retarded ad for Skoal Citrus Blend:

I'm not much for analyzing ads, but every time I see this I think there are some major problems going on.

First, is the gal in the background with the surfboard. Where the fuck is she going? There are no waves anywhere in sight and unless a tsunami comes I don't think there will be. Sorry honey, but that's the way some of these reef-protected tropical islands work.

Second (and this is the big one, at least in my eyes), is these idiots jumping off the boat. Check out the two girls closest to them. The water barely comes up to their thighs. That leap from the boat is going to hurt. The water isn't going to do a damn thing to cushion the impact. Those three midair jackasses are going to hit the water, the packed sand below, break their legs, scream, swallow their Skoal, throw up and then get dragged to some shitty hospital where they will stay for the remainder of their vacation. They will not be getting laid, getting tan or having fruity drinks with little umbrellas in them. How embarrassing. But shit, maybe that is just one of the best ways of "discovering local flavor."

A-holes.

Sunday Again

For the first time in awhile I have had a weekend that was a nice mix of activities. Really all the way from nothing to something. Such a Renaissance man, I am.

Thursday, I went to B.B. King's to see Front Line Assembly with Jeff (aka Y.B.). Not one of my favorite bands ever, but I've heard some of their shit and I thought I'd give them a shot. It was a good time. Good music, dry ice fog, lots of kickass drumming and a wacky crowd. A lot of older, industrial/punk types which is always fun -- business jerks by day/hard rockin', head bobbin', surly starin' fucks at night. It doesn't get better than that.

After a late start on Friday, I found a date for some early evening fun. My date was Lozo. H-O-T!! When I get together with Lozo there are two givens: (1) making fun of people (including ourselves) and (2) laughs. I guess I really should add (3) drinking as I think every time I've seen Lozo since he left my place of employment there has been beer involved. Anyway, we went to see Hot Fuzz. I'd recommend that you go read Lozo's review here, as he is a bit more slick with the words. Brigita has a little review 'round here also. I'll just wind up saying things like "fucking funny" and "I nearly pissed my pants laughing" which isn't really classy enough for you educated readers so I'll leave the dirty work to them. But really, I suggest seeing that movie STAT. That is if you like to piss your pants in public.

Saturday, I headed up to the Boogie Down for some Yankees baseball. Bleacher seats, baking in the sun, idiots all around and thanks to "rules" there is no beer. No beer in the bleachers. It's like prison. I eventually got over this irritation and was fine, but really! Come on! The game came pretty close to being a historic event. Chien-Ming Wang, so very, very close to being only the 16th pitcher to manage a perfect game since 1900 and the first since 2004, but alas, one out into the 8th inning it all got wrecked.

Saturday night I had some Brooklyn time, visiting with some long lost friends in "The Slope." We went to Union Hall. Pretty cool minus all the douche bags there. Especially the one guy playing bocce who was so fucking smug I was feeling the urge to smash my beer bottle across his face. You'd think I would have just gotten in there and beat him in bocce, but I felt like the beer bottle was a better solution at the time. Nevertheless, I opted to not play or smash.

Today (Sunday) I did jack shit. Well, I did some stuff, but nothing worth reporting at all.

And the curtain falls on another weekend.

Say It How It Is

On my way to work today I passed the Beauty Bar as I often do. The majority of the front window is totally smashed. The one chunk of surviving glass had this note attached that really started my day off right:
Photo taken with my new phone. Not too bad.

Nevada to the Pig

Dear Nevada Smith's,

Sorry it has taken me so long to write this, but I've had a bit of an off week. But anyway, better late than never as some like to say. So, here we go. Remember last Sunday when I stopped in to have a couple of brews with my friends? Well, whether you do or not, I'd like to voice my disapproval and give you a big ol' "fuck you" for throwing me out just because I had a skateboard with me. Was I riding it or swinging it around or even talking about its existence? No to all of the above. It was just leaning against the wall, out of the way. It wasn't dangerous to anyone or anything. This is extra sad as we've had such a long history together. Since I first visited you back in June of 1996 you have been filled with annoying people, but at least you were cool to me personally. But now you've wrecked it. WRECKED IT! I'm sure you'll survive without me, but I thought you should know what happened. Jerks. You suck.

Sincerely,
WJR

PS We went a few blocks away to the more accepting, Blind Pig Bar and Grill. They didn't mind the skateboard or the fact that we liked exchanging money for beer.

Bring On the Heat

I know it's not even the end of April yet, and I know the weather certainly hasn't been hinting at anything other than winter lasting forever, but today I got something that makes me feel a little confident that summer is just around the corner. Strawberries. Feast your eyes on this fat motherfucker and tell me that juicy, red deliciousness doesn't shout "Warm days ahead!"



And it was indeed delicious.

The Cleve

So, this past weekend I went to Cleveland, Ohio. I got to visit with some old friends and made some new ones. Sure the new ones were mostly drunken lunatics, but would I want to meet anyone who's not?

It was my first time in Cleveland. Actually, it was my first time in Ohio. Due to the last second nature of the trip, I got there via automobile instead of by plane. Just in case you are thinking that is a good idea, I could tell you otherwise. While it's not the worst thing in the world, it's certainly not the most fun either. Construction, truckers clogging up both lanes, rain, snow, wind, zero scenery to look at ... it's crappy. Co-worker, Jeff (aka Y.B.) made the trip with me in a rented Hyundai Sonata. I didn't think it was too awesome on first glance, but it was remarkably smooth drivin' and quick. When traffic wasn't messing up our business we hovered around 80mph or above, and the Sonata complained not. Nor did the police. We survived 1,018 miles of driving over a span of about 16 hours (roundtrip, stops included) on a steady diet of sunflower seeds, water, beef jerky, Gatorade, DQ Blizzards and CDs galore (including Huey Lewis and the News -- can someone tell me how they are not in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame?).

So anyway, despite all that, it turns out that Cleveland was pretty fun. I'm not sure I'm prepared to move there, but as far as a town with some good people, drinkin' options and entertainment, it ain't half bad. We hit an Indians game, had some beers, stole some pizza, yelled at smokers, did a little tour of the town, ate some brunch, went for a jog, ate some dinner, went to a birthday party, drank many drinks, brawled with one of my hosts (the female one), went on a joyride to Denny's and slept very little.

An exciting sidenote, is that I have now been in another state in our great land. That puts me to being in 50% of our great nation (does not include stopping in airports), and spending the night in 39%. I have a ways to go, but I have plenty of time.

Been in 26 states (50%):

create your own visited states map

Slept in 20 states (39%):

create your own visited states map

Woooo! Exciting stuff!

Here are some photos that I think are worthy of showing (hopefully the subjects in them won't mind):

Myself and Kevin doing God knows what. Looking tough. Or maybe just lost. I don't know.

When I was younger, someone making this mistake might get written/drawn on with a Sharpie. Now that we are older, wiser and more mature, they just get fingers of disapproval. Here Alberto gets the abuse.


Here's me with Meg C., 50% of the birthday team that was our motivation for our trip to begin with. I think we may have had a bit to drink at this point in the night. Oooh, yes. I actually have a shot in hand at that very moment. Kudos to me.


Here my trusty roadtrip sidekick/co-pilot, Y.B. [right] demonstrates how we in Jersey City react when B.C. [left] sends us requests/work/anything from Cleveland.

That's all I guess, until my next journey to the state that's Hi in the middle and round on both ends: O-Hi-O ... get it? That never gets old.

Peeped

Last night I went to see Peeping Tom at Irving Plaza. Fucking good.

Before I get to the goodness, a brief side note. According to a sign there, that was the last show at Irving Plaza as the name is changing to The Fillmore. Why? I don't know. Change in ownership I'm guessing, but even so Irving Plaza seemed good to me. Irving Plaza on Irving Place ... it seems like that all makes things easy to recognize and easy to find, but that's just me.

So, in any case, the show was good. Well, I said fucking good in the first line so I guess I should stick with that. The show was fucking good. Mike Patton (although possibly deranged) is a musical and entertainment genius so off to a good start. Along with Patton was Dan the Automator making Synthesizer noise/scratching, a keyboard guy, the Dub Trio (a drummer, bass player & guitar player), a back-up singer, Imani Coppola who added some violin when not singing, and another back-up singer/beatboxer, Butterscotch.

As an added bonus, Jennifer Charles of Elysian Fields and Lovage fame (?) came to (sort of) help out on a tune and Rahzel of The Roots fame came on encore style, to do a little beatboxing and help out on a cover of Bobby Womack's "Across 110th Street." Pretty sweet.

I'll also mention that Patton was wearing a red, button down shirt with a bulletproof vest over it. I guess he was going with the gangsta motif. Anyway, that's all the recap I'm gonna do.

I will also mention this too ... now I'm not one to often get all that excited about famous folk, and even less often do I get a stage or celebrity crushes going, but I think I now have one. It's Butterscotch. The beatboxing was awesome, she sings, she plays instruments, she can dribble a basketball better than me (that might not be too impressive actually), oh and did I mention the cuteness? No? Well, she's cute too. I think big, fat guy when I think beatbox, but not in this case.

There. I said it and it feels good to get it off my chest.

Anywho, here is a pretty cool clip of her on Tom Green Live. Sit through the whole thing. It's worth it:

-fin-

Sneaking Under The Midnight Cutoff

Dear Meg C.,

Happy Birthday, yo!

Sincerely,
Me

Calendar Confusion

Is it just me, or is it odd they are releasing the remake of Halloween on August 31? That's two months before the actual Halloween just in case you couldn't piece that together. It will probably be out of the theaters by the time October even hits. I think that might be beyond just odd. It might actually be dumb. But then again, I'm not a Hollywood bigshot.

If you desire, you can peep the trailer here. I don't know if it will be good, but I think it is safe to say that it will be bloody.

Geographical Genius

So I'm at the post office in good ol' Jersey City on Thursday. I overhear a conversation between a guy in line who has a package going to Canada and the woman behind the counter:

USPS lady: You want airmail?
Guy: Sure. I guess.
USPS lady: OK, that will be seven to ten days.
Guy: OK. How long for the non-airmail option?
USPS lady: Airmail is seven to ten days, the other option is by boat which will take fourteen to twenty days.
Guy: By boat?
USPS lady: Yup.
Guy: By boat?
USPS lady: Yes.
Guy: Um ... Oh ... Kay. Um, I guess I'll go with the airmail.

Boat to Canada? I'm not sure which part of Canada it was going to, but it's odd they wouldn't just drive it or maybe put it on a train. Maybe they go via Erie Canal? Or maybe from Jersey, down through the Panama Canal and back up to Canada? Who's to say? I guess the USPS knows best though.

That Looks Natural

When I was up at the 'rents house a couple of days ago I found a bag of photos in my closet. I haven't looked through all of them yet, but from the looks of things most seem to be from my college years. And that means some real historical gems. Lucky readers you are!

Instead of being patient, looking through them and finding an order or a theme I'm just going to get one from the top of the bag into the blogging mix ASAP.

This is another in the "Man you had some stupid awesome hair!" category. I had had some dumb haircuts before this, but this is my first venture into dye ... well, that is if you ignore the time I soaked my hair in cranberry juice (which seemed to attract a lot of winged insects and not really make my hair reddish) or the time I dunked my head in a bucket of undiluted swimming pool chlorine (which burned my scalp and made my hair feel a bit like straw). So, yeah. Let's just say it's my first hair dye venture. This was my sophomore year of college, so it was 1992 or 1993, making me 19 or 20. My friend Marge helped me with this venture as she is always up for anything that she can laugh at.

Along with the color, there seemed to be a strange part going on. Just to set the record straight, I think this part was created from having it in some sort of weird position, up in a towel while drying. I didn't generally walk around with my hair parted like this:


Either way, it was pretty obnoxious. Mission accomplished.

Stay tuned for the evolution of WJR's hair. Eventually more photos will surface. Guaranteed.

Back To The Grind ... A Slightly Odd Grind

So, Friday was supposed to be my last day at work, but I was asked to stay on for a little while. I had a couple of days off, and went upstate to visit with the 'rents but was back to the grind today. When I walked into work this morning I was the only person here. Really, the only person. So it's just me and my computer and the apple I brought. A little spooky coming in and seeing nobody in an area that in normal times, over the course of the day had forty somethin' people running around, screaming, throwing papers and slamming phones. ... it was actually so quiet today that I could hear water running down from the roof through some sort of drainage pipe in the wall behind me. At least I hope there is a pipe back there. My aloneness ended after an hour and a half or so, but even then it was only a five person posse. Anyway, crisis averted, other than a lot of forest destroyed to fulfil my need of tissues to mop up my tears.

I did get to have some "me time" before anyone got there which involved staring into space and listening to the new Machine Head album. Only eight tracks, although some were long, so we'll let it slide. It's actually pretty good. Some are saying their best ever. I'm not sure if I agree with all that. The music may be more intricate, but intricacy isn't what necessarily brings joy to my ears.

Anyway, work is OK in this new format. Fewer people, fewer phones, less interaction with the outside world all pluses. I thought going back after already having my mind set on being an unemployed slob would be bad, but it's not all that horrible. At least after one day it's not. We'll see if that lasts.

What a disjointed mess that post was!