Blather Rinse Repeat (Wherein I Empty My Head And Try To Plan Dinner)

Oh man internet, it feels so good to have finally gotten some sleep. Granted, it took most of a twelve pack, some marathon love making, and six hours of Band Hero (so what if I do a mean Taylor Swift impression? I HAVE NEEDS TOO OKAY). All that matters is that for a little over eleven hours I slept the sleep of the narcoleptic. Except, instead of still being full clothed and behind the wheel of a Greyhound bus i was in my own bed and drooling all over the remarkably absorbent Tempurpedic pillow I stole received as a gift from an ex-girlfriend.

The hearty dinner of spicy black bean and corn chowder I’d made and devoured a few hours before didn’t hurt either. The secret ingredients of which are both love and chugging Miller High Life between adding every other ingredient. Okay, maybe one of those ingredients was just for me. It still did the trick and we ate like kings. Kings who would much later be rioting in a Wal-Mart bathroom and cursing about organic foods through the stall walls. Can you tell I love making poop jokes? They are my bread and butter.

And now I’m sitting here with a sleep hangover and trying to figure out what I’m going to make for dinner tonight. Unfortunately we don’t have much in our kitchen in the way of real food, though if you’d care for a can of tuna or three hundred, we’re your best bet on the west coast. Alright, I will concede that tuna does constitute “a real food”, but I’m trying to stick to a vegetarian diet and the last time I checked tuna isn’t a vegetable at all. I would normally make a joke about Tuna Schiavo at this point, but that’s a pretty dated reference don’t you think?

Probably I’ll just wind up coarsely chopping some baby carrots, mixing them into some hummus, and calling that dinner. Maybe if I’m really lucky I’ll be able to figure out a way to turn that into a hummus/carrot equivalent of a salmon patty. Or perhaps some sort of stuffed pepper can be arranged.

Wish me and my stomach luck.

“…And What’s The Deal With ______?” (Wherein You Get Bored)

It is quite late internet. Or is it quite early? What does 5:35am count as these days? I can never tell anymore, as sleep madness has pretty much taken over my life. Sleep madness is of course the colloquial term… Basically my insomnia has turned me into Jason from Home Movies.

So here I sit internet. I’m still in the middle of ripping all my CD’s to my laptop’s external hard drive and have discovered some interesting quirks in my musical taste. Somehow, my Zune has a playlist including:

Against Me!
The Proclaimers
Oingo Boingo
They Might Be Giants
Muddy Waters
Barbra Streisand
Black Flag
Roy Orbison
NOFX

and

Squarepusher

Basically, what I’m saying is that I’m a hopeless contradiction and should probably be much more ashamed of my musical tastes. Also, when I think that the fact I’m simultaneously listening to LCD Soundsystem and Hank Williams is blog-worthy it means I’ve officially gone over the edge and need to get some fucking sleep.

Inaugural Post (Wherein Much Blabbering Occurs Due To The Late Hour)

“Why do you keep starting over?”
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t answer my question with another question! Who do you think you are, David Caruso?”

No internet, I don’t think I’m David Caruso at all. For one thing, I look awful in sunglasses. Plus I’ll never be able to pull off those ridiculous stances. Maybe he just has awkward shoulders? I shouldn’t judge. After all, don’t we all have figure flaws that need minimizing? Personally, I’m getting a bit on the chunkier side. And you internet? Well to be perfectly honest you’re starting to become a swollen and entirely unappealing mess. But you know what? Dove says that’s okay. And we all know Dove wouldn’t lie to us.

That’s right: Advertising is truth, truth advertising.* At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what Keats was getting at. Right?

No you see internet (can I call you “internet”?) the thing is that I’m a pretty restless dude. I don’t sleep, I drink too much coffee and even more whiskey. I’m constantly restarting things, launching spectacular failures, canceling promising projects, and generally throwing my life into an uproar in the name of BEING ABSOLUTELY BATSHIT FUCKING CRAZY!

Really. I’m not even counting my crushing depression and seasonal mood swings in this. I’m fairly certain I’m going to devolve into a blithering psychotic mess at any moment. Or at the very least find myself pulling a Jack Torrance and sitting in front of a typewriter until my brain melts. Though, I’d like to think I’ll have a decidedly Arthur Dentish edge.

And I. Can’t. Wait. I mean come on, crazy guys get all the chicks. Look at Hunter S. Thompson and Bukowski.

So basically internet (I hope it’s still okay that I’m calling you “internet”) here I am again: Crazy, strung out, more than a little hungover, and begging for your attention. Love me internet. Love me like I love you.

At least until I get antsy.

*Sidenote: One instance where advertising is indeed beauty (and in turn truth) is the Levi’s “Go Forth” campaign. I still get chills every time I see one of their ads.