Anger she sours, glowering in whiny misspelled horror

There’s no priest in this dream

All the leaves are brown

Think I’ll go out to Alberta

I don’t care how many letters they send

Lie to me; I promise to believe

Digital Killed the Mixtape Star

We’re all quite old, aren’t we?

That “we,” of course, means those of you who, along with me, experienced the mixtape as something other than a piece of dialog in a Tarantino film, and remember when $200 got you a thing you could hold in your hand that played music, as opposed to a thing that plays music and makes phonecalls and writes short or long letters to your friends and colleagues and is also a rolodex and a compass and a chronograph and a camera and a candle.

Today, we can buy any app we need to feel young (at heart, in mind, of body…)

But the artifacts of our youth are barely recognizable to the people
Who today comprise the ranks of the actually young

They don’t love the weight and the warble
They resent the heft and the hiss
And they don’t understand how the choices work.

The Food Kitchens are all booked up, so instead we’ll

1. Ride BART out to the end and back
2. Call all of our friends
3. Invent new facebook/myspace awesomeness and distribute to same
4. Respond to all the craigslist CE ads with encouragement
5. Dress up like Clowns and make balloon animals at the airport

Expected Surprises

I get it now–she’s wearing a red hoodie because she’s little red riding hood.  Except she’s the wolf.  Which is to say that Hard Candy  is every bit the taught psychological fable of abusers and victims and tables that turn which I expected when I first thought it was a movie by Andrew Vachss, who wrote a book by the same name but with a different set of victims and wolves and tables.  There’s no relation, in fact, but I think Vachss must love this movie anyhow.  It is ugly and brutal and filmed in a lingering and loving way that ratchets up the viscerally disturbing plot to the point where I was quite glad in the end that I wasn’t watching it alone at my apartment.  And watching movies at my apartment but not alone…

Crayon Thieves

It takes a lot of noise to wake me up, but the car alarm did it.  Not after a minute either; I was alert in time to hear the thieves gun the engine of their getaway vehicle and roar away.  Waking is different from rising, though, and it took me a few minutes to realize that the claxon wasn’t going to be turned off by a neighbor, and what’s more, it was coming from up the street where my own sweet Agnes was parked.

My chest has an ache, my foot has a throb, still I sigh.

And it is a not-fully-deserv’d sigh of self satisfaction. Bananas and oatmeal, grapes and figs, more hot chocolate than I’d planned, and I’m up to 100 or so lifts in reps of 20. Mind you that’s still only 30 lbs, but progress is as progress does. There’s three or so people who’ve said to me lately, “I’d love to photograph your apartment,” in response to some spectacle or other. The lovely thing now is that I could actually have them over to do so. And a couple of them are people I’d actually want to whadayacall do so. At other moments, I’ve felt like Tyler Durden shouting up to Edward Norton’s unnamed character, “DO NOT. TALK TO HER. ABOUT ME.”

We have the power…

One of the things I’d like to get up in the air is a dynamic voting tool for abstractchess.info, and this is a test: and we do not yet have that power.

I think it could be done through google pages, and I’m not sure if I think that’s a work-around or if that’s actually a preferable long-term fix.

Reacquiring social acquaintances.

Rob remembered what the shorn look signifies.  Orion was already aware of Paul’s works.  Daimian accepted my apology with generosity and criticism.  Nicole remembered that a pun’s a pun…

Acting before asking

When they find you a new office without including you in the discussion that results in giving away your current one, there may be a silver lining in the implication that they plan on keeping you around.  Or, they may be soaring to new heights of passive-aggressive behavior, figuring that this is an extremely non-confrontational way of getting you to clear out your desk.

If you’re showing up, you might get the call when it comes too.

I wonder if they thought about looking past me, or just took me right on as just as fair, or best because I was already being there?  Certainly if I’d been doing more of what I meant to be doing until now I might’ve reduced the circumstance that led to the change-up, but I’m not getting paid for that kind of pitching or catching, so I’ll let myself off my own hoisted petard.