(An) Alternate Route to Vulcan St.

So where were you when the temps broke 40 this winter?

Me, I was soaking up the negativity at 1369. Or maybe I was apartment hunting with Meg. I don't quite remember. I'll tell you one thing I do remember, and it was chatting with hot kelly on a porch in brighton. I'll tell you one other thing, and that's this



Somewhere in the middle there I was about eight beers up and wondering how I'd get home. Somewhere in there I was closing the store. Somewhere in there was a linear narrative. I'm trying to write a short story about a television obsessed with an author who is obsessed with television. Because It has become a common thing, since the latter half of the last bit of the twentieth for people to be obsessed with television. WIth television reality and reality becoming tv. Etc. Etc. Tell me you get what I'm saying. I don't want to explain further, because I have to work soon and probably blow my nose. But every time you close your eyes:



Maybe I'll write a love letter to Comets on Fire. They're in australia though.

This entire entry could have been put to better uses.

The Meritocracy of drinking

Well, the laptop has shit the bed, and the car is still in the shop, but otherwise things are going swimmingly. I'm at the rents for tonight (hence the blogging) but heading back up to the city tomorrow morning, for work until 5, and then a crazy evening that should shock and awe my existence to its very core.

Items:

Clap your hands say yeah's new disc sucks balls. Old album still rocks my socks off.
Comets on Fire. Best. Band. Ever. Don't complain, don't you fuckin complain to me!
I scare the rainbow/green party with my Comets on freakin fire, don't complain to me, Grace Ross
I saw Martin Amis. Again.
I bought a new guitar. For no discernable reason.
I vomited for twelve hours straight, then worked a full shift, then went to a bar.
Why did I ever like Indie rock girl anyway? This makes her seem, well, much better than she is.
Dude, Alexis and Shar invited alec and I to a party. Bad idea?
Do you know how freakin difficult it is to write a story narrated by a television set?
Comets on freakin fire.

Round the fuck up:

I need my car fixed and a new laptop. I also need a dozen more drinks and a girl to get sloppy all over me.

Damn.

[gluglguguguglglggugugglglgugugggllgugugg] [pop] Hi there[pop] [gluglgguguglglgugglguguggl]

That's apparently whats been going on.