What do you want me to say? What do you want to hear to let you know that I do mean it?

I alternately feel like I'm purposely selling myself short, and that I'm not good enough to deserve better than what I have right now. Except for Kate, who I'm always afraid is going to leave me, because who wouldn't/hasn't?

1. Is Myspace not working for anyone else? Is that just me ( Read more... )

Gillian Welch performing "Pocahontas" = dying and going to heaven.

David Rawlings, in general = deep seeded inferiority about myself as a musician, man and person.

The two of them + "Long Black Veil" - sound system = dying and going to heaven all over again.

I think I have a built in stupid chip that activates whenever I want to express things I can't write a dissertation on. The previous sentence being the extant exhibit A.

At some point, Livejournal became a mutual love-in. Nevertheless, who am I to buck the tide ( Read more... )

1. Wow. People wrote. Thanks ( Read more... )

1. My dad turned fifty-three today.

2. So I'm reading White Teeth by Zadie Smith, and to be honest, I'm underwhelmed by it. It's good, reading in parts like a British Barbara Kingsolver, but I don't know. The language is wrong, it's middlebrow aiming for highbrow, the mostly jovial tone gets in its way. Maybe it has something to do with her age ( ( Read more... )

So after all of four days, I got asked to leave the house. Or, rather, my penis did. Unfortunately I go where it goes.

Related: fuck hippies.

I just wrote in Jen Lim's journal that "everything seems important and strange." It's true, but I don't know why I wrote it. It comes up apropos of nothing; a declaration of love and then, poof. It's gone. This may have something to with the fact that I just finished Greil Marcus' Invisible Republic: Bob Dylan's Basement Tapes and the Old, Weird ( Read more... )

Reasons I'm still a child (or, "Twenty-five!? I can't be twenty-five! I still forget to put the iced tea back in the refrigerator, for chrissakes ( Read more... )