Oy with the lateness and the singing

So I grabbed a cab home tonight, resplendent in my exhaustion as I realize that my awful awful, once-a-year-nasty-sore-throat is about to hit. Might as well, it is the beginning of February almost, it's about time. Of course this sore throat didn't help my karaoke singing tonight at The Hidden Cove. I rocked it out on Looking Glass "Brandy," heated things up with Blood, Sweat, and Tears "And When I Die" (complete with a dance breakdown), but petered out on Otis Redding's "Try a Little Tenderness" as I tried to recreate the Duckman's amazing dance from Pretty in Pink. Smoking is bad, kids. And it will only make a sore throat more sore. John, how the hell did you ever quit? Well, I feel a quitting time coming on. Especially since my birth chart last night said that if I, in fact, am a smoker, I should quit. Don't you think it says that to everybody? Or do the stars, in fact, encourage some people to move towards the option of an iron lung?

Anyway, I was all set for bed, when I decided to check the ever expanding library of blogs I've come to read. And while I was METICULOUSLY reading a certain "acquaintance's" blog (oh yes, you heard me, acquaintance), I was called to arms to defend my honor. Now I'm all hot and bothered, in a literary sense. Someday, technology will simply spawn an easy and affordable way for our notepads (read "PDA's of the future") to instantly post to our blogs. That way all those "in the moment" thoughts we have throughout the day can be collected in one place, and for that matter, a place where everyone can read them and see how brilliant they are. I'm telling you, copyrights for blogs are just around the corner, mark my words, dagnabit.

My "acquaintance" is in fact quite brilliant, by the way. But I'm boycotting a hyperlink to her (ah! a clue!) blog for this posting, because apparently, according to her, this blog is dead, which, also apparently, makes this blog the messiah of blogs, as it is in fact quite alive and well.

Non sequitir. I was expounding earlier today on my own self-consciousness within my workplace. I had planned to run errands during lunch today, and was very excited to get out of the office, to the point where I ended up telling people where I was going, and excitedly asking if they needed anything, whereas truly, I was just hoping to tell them I was leaving the office, and how that made me infintesimally happy. Then, after receiving one queer look, I found I was acting like quite the dolt.

But it's ok, "when did self-consciousness become a bad thing?," I began to realize. So long as it doesn't get in front of the truth of who you are, you might as well feel awkward about the things you are doing. I'm sure Van Gogh felt a little awkward when he was halfway done with his left ear. And he was a genius.

So anyway, I'm self-conscious and that's that. Proud of it in fact. Yowza.

To end this adventurous evening, I'm going to steal a topic of many blogs, but in my own , streamlined fashion. Here's a list of ten songs played at random from my iTunes playlist of 3500 songs. With no descriptions. Please be kind.

10. The 5 6 7 8's - Woo Hoo
9. Bic Runga - Sway
8. Ludacris - I Wanna Lick You
7. Shadows of Knight - Gloria
6. The Saw Doctors - I Useta Love Her
5. The Arthur Murray Orchestras - The Speak Up Mambo
4. Beastie Boys - 3 MC's And 1 DJ
3. Beastie Boys - Get It Together
2. Ja Rule - Put It on Me
1. Streets - Let's Push Things Forward

Very interesting, to me in fact. No Magnetic Fields. No Beatles. Not even any Sublime. But some solid hits all the same, methinks. Speaking of methinks, methinks it is time for bed. Whoo boy. You're a beautiful audience, thank you very much.

P.S. Of course, the next two songs to play were Sublime "40 oz. to Freedom" and Belle and Sebastian's "Get Me Away from Here I'm Dying." Good things come to those who wait. Or to those named Taloo.

On no, it's Thursday again

So I'm home from the show and what happens the minute I walk in the door, ready for a night of, well, sleep? My roommate calls and says, "Hey man, we haven't gotten a drink in awhile. Come on out, it'll be fun." And here I sit weighing my options.

Now I won't propound on this point too far. Another roommate already gave this subject a far better handling in one of his editor's notes, September, I think. Check it out at the hippest online magazine on hiatus: www.606mag.com. Yeah, that's right, I live with that guy. Freakin sweet, I know.

So anyway, here's the real question: Do I want to go out and spend the money on an ATM, as there are no ATM's near here that are, in fact, LaSalle Bank ATM's? Yes, I'm that cheap. I don't mind the cost of the beer. It's the ATM that gets me. Now, if the ATM somehow gave me an amazing sense of euphoria, even for an instant, like whippets, I would totally not care. But all it gives me is money. My money. And it takes more of my money away. It's not providing a service. It's providing a toilet through which I can idiotically flush my hard earned cash away. I guess I can thank god I'm not a coke addict.

But i've digressed, and now because of my fun with hyperlinking, I'm only that much later getting to the bar. Alright. Time to shit or get off the pot. Okay, that one was just for fun. I'm out!

well here we are

Many a time I have found myself typing www.blogger.com into my navigation bar, and quickly scrolling away. So what's different about tonight? There's a ferocious game of SSX3 being played in the next room, and I have Shakespeare homework to work on. Creating a blog takes a lot less concentration than scoring Shakespeare in order to learn the Folio method of acting. It also takes a considerable amount less energy than any number of things: making a grilled cheese, cleaning the bathroom, setting my alarm, hell, getting off the couch to put myself to bed. These things require energy. Here I'm just spilling out onto the page. Your welcome.

Well, SSX3 just ended, meaning that I will now be hearing a rousing battle on the fussball table. Basement living is fun. I'm prone to caves. In fact, I've entertained wild fantasies about moving to the Amazon, stringing together some pants made out of grass and hooting and hollering at any "tourists" that the river is damned and that they best turn back. I'd probably just end up catching up on my reading. Cause man, I'm behind.

It's funny how the number of things to read once you graduate doesn't decrease, it increases. Because now you have the freedom to read what you want, and lo and behold that isn't always Vanity Fair. Who the hell does read Vanity Fair? You do? Well good for you.

But seriously, the Amazon. There's a reason they named a website after it: it's got everything! Pirahna, trees, bikini-clad women carrying spears, seriously, anything you could want in this world, sitting right in front of you in the Amazon. Except for Wonka bars. Everyone expects Wonka bars. Sheesh.

I was watching Willy Wonka tonight in fact. Why are they remaking it? Asinine, I tell you. But then again... no, wait, it is asinine. My brain just crash landed into the word "asinine" and refused to move further. Luckily the runway crews cleared up the mess and we're moving right along again.

Oh dear, is it that obvious I'm tired? I believe it must be, so I'll go and conclude this session of Peegie's Weegies. Except that Peegie Weegie is me, and don't you forget it. I'll regale you with stories soon. But don't hold your breath, I'm a busy man. A busy man on his way to the Amazon.