self-titled: ^_^

s-t: hey jackass, remember me?

me: yeah yeah yeah, i've actually sat down a couple times and wrote a sentence or two, but mostly i've just been running around like a chicken with its head cut off and haven't had the urge to stop and sit down and write.

s-t: well whatever, it's not like it's really difficult to sit down and write your crappy "today i went to see a movie and then drank beers" entries.  So what have you been doing?

me: i went to see a movie and then drank beers

s-t: class c joke

me: ok.  well, first was college tour, which was what?  i left last friday, a week ago to the day in fact.  Left at around 1:30 which is what time it is now, funny how that works out.  listened to pet sounds and rerealized that although there's a lot of fun to be had in the music, the lyrics are entirely a very very very sad affair.

s-t: ooh, brian finds significance in pet sounds.  want to give another damn song by song rundown like last time?

me: no.  rode out with john sean steph and andy, got the last spot on the ferry and hit long island i forget when.  that night we ate some cookout and then began a powerhour at 11 and drank for a while.  got to bed around 4 or 5.

s-t: original

me: next day i laid out in the sun for a long long time, dimo made some food, we watched the college tour video and drank beers and stuff.

s-t: whoa cowboy, slow down, you're losing me.

me: whatever.  so that was college tour.  got up-

s-t: wait, that's it?  what happened to the old days when you actually said something in these entries.  christ, you just wrote 2 sentences on college tour that does nothing.  No one reading this will find out bit of that interesting, and you in three years won't be able to remember shit by looking at that.

me: oh well, it happens.

s-t: ass

me: so got home on sunday, armed with two unused 30s and found out that there was more stuff to be had here and it was kate's birthday at midnight so there was a little bit of a power hour and then some other drinking type games and then some people, namely those people who were of the legal 21 year old persuasion went to some bars while more fun was had with the 'ettes.  it was a big night, i apparantly took a rest stop at their kitchen table and then indignantly went to my bed. 

s-t: i'm still here

me: yes i know, damn these devices i use only to find myself without the urge or the means to follow through.  shut up for a little.  ok, the rest of the days are a blur.  lots of drinking, eating food out, spedning far too much money and mods mods mods.

s-t: you're a mod

me: oh, after a particularly bad call evening i wallowed in the mess i created by buying cds.  huzzah.  john vanderslice, tom waits, tom waits, crooked fingers, crooked fingers, and something else i think.

s-t: the cds any good?

me: definitely.  well, tom waits is just unbearably scary, but in a good way.  the vanderslice i haven't listened to much but liked what i heard, and crooked fingers is good stuff.  man, the ep that just came out, reservoir songs, is five cover tunes.  they rule, especially under pressure.  also, jude would feel vindicated, as eric bachmann sings a neil diamond song.  also, between this ep and the mark eitzel cover album, i think i really like kris kristofferson, the song on the crooked fingers ep, "sunday morning coming down" is just brilliant.

s-t: ha! you poor bastard, you fell for it.  all i have to do is ask about a cd and you actually write stuff.  pretend that the things you do are music and tell me about them.

me: no

s-t: no, yes no

me: this is getting ridiculous.  Sure i have things to say, but there things that are best kept inside, so they can systematically destroy me from the bottom up. 

s-t: you can talk to me

me: right, so you can go blabbing to everyone and their mothers about what i say

s-t: hey, i'm your creation, so be mindful before you get critical.

me: i know, i'm just getting tired of it.  hey, i've got a great idea, let's have a website where i can just piss and moan about the things that make me feel this weird mixture of physical and emotional pain.  because then, i can get all the shit out, still feel bad, AND look like a jackass when everyone reads the things i don't even want to think.  that's fantastic.

s-t: it's worked this long

me: it hasn't worked for shit.  Name one time my life has been improved for writing something awkwardly personal on you.

s-t: well, there was that one entry 2 years back that started with the built to spill lyric?  that one was good.

me: ok, fine.  how about another?

s-t: well, hmm, i get your point.  but there's some funny shit up in this piece.

me: oh yeah definitely, because i'm an all around awesome guy, and that'll keep coming, just don't get all up in my grill when i haven't sat down to write and don't feel the urge to go through and write out itemized details of my past week.

s-t: i'm not asking for a novel, just something, an anecdote here and there

me: well it's not happening today.  the past week will be but a memory, one that's already a little hazy because of busch light and will continue getting hazier as time passes until i start inventing things that happened or can't remember if something i think of actually occurred.

s-t: ah yes, the whole memory thing.  I remember when you wrote about that, i still really like that idea, that our memory is all created as a way to cope with forgetting.

me: yeah, it has some really nice implications.  i wonder what it'd be like to wake up each day and have it truly be a new one.

s-t: like memento.

me: yeah, but not quite, i'm talking there has to be a level of consistency.  some structure to forgetting.  Like you can't wake up and not know who you are.  you just wake up and forget things that happened.  like a kind of freeze on your world. 

s-t: basically you're saying your a weak person who can't handle change.

me: no no, not at all.  well, do a certain degree i am, but that's another topic, right now i'm talking about my amazing memory solution.

s-t: which is essentially you want nothing in your life to go wrong and if it does you want to be able to forget about it.

me: well yeah

s-t: yeah hi, welcome to the sixth grade loser club.

me: you're a real abrasive son of a bitch.

s-t: what? do you think this is therapeutic trying to cleave yourself in half and have a dialogue deconstructing yourself.

me: maybe

s-t: well then why do i have to be the asshole?

me: because i'm the sensitive and hurt one.

s-t: pretty convenient, huh?

me: absolutely, now let me whine.

s-t: the gift of memory is an awful curse.

me: way to bring me back on topic.  i like that line, what's it from?

s-t: death cab for cutie, stability.  i got it from your ftp site.

me: cool, i've really only listened to the bjork cover. 

s-t: 20th century towers is good too.  stability is a bit overlong, but i still dig it.

me: fuck

s-t: what?

me: everything, nothing.

s-t: you're trying to bait me.  i hate when people do that.  oh no, brian? what's wrong? here, let me hold you and give you a glass of milk and some cookies and you can tell me all about it.

me: screw you

s-t: no, screw you.  grow up.  take control of your life.  things change things are always changing, you deal with it.  you're sitting at your desk now whining about how you don't want to pack.  just fucking do it.  pack your shit.  move out.  move on.

me: god you're harsh

s-t: no i'm not, i'm just sick of your poor me routine.  i just want you to quit moping around.

me: i'm listening to ted leo, not quite moping music.

s-t: oh ok, you're not moping.  you're just really starved for conversation.  riiight.  you fucker, i hear crooked fingers, you're listening to sad bastard music now.

me: sue me.  this song rules:

"Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.
I'd smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and songs I'd been picking.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Playing with a can that he was kicking.
Then I walked across the street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken.
And Lord, it took me back to something that I'd lost
Somewhere, somehow along the way.
On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.
In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl that he was swinging.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the songs they were singing.
Then I headed down the street,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing,
And it echoed through the canyon
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday."

s-t: yeah that is really good.  too bad no one is going to read it, also, it's a lot better hearing bachmann at the helm.  this the kristofferson one?

me: yep.

s-t: weird, from hearing the name i always thought he was one of those lame people like kenny loggins.

me: me too, but he seems like a badass.

s-t: you really dig songs like this, that carry with them this really strong poignancy, don't you?

me: totally, it's hard to explain the feeling, but it's really something.  and it's not all sad bastard music, well i guess it is, but it's not stupid sad bastard music.  holy shit, this song wrecks me right now.  i wish i could express my feelings in words, but i really can't.  i'm just getting ready to gush out words that carry no weight.  this is so fucking sad, i love this song.  ASLDASLHDALSKHDALSKHDASLKHDALSKHD

s-t: ok slugger, calm down.  listen to your sad bastard music and let me get on with my life.

me: "and stumbled down the stairs to meet the day." like, just that line by itself, with the way he sings it.  resignation, that's a favorite word of mine to explain this type of feeling. 

s-t: why don't you talk to other people sober?  why me?

me: exactly that.  "why me?"  no one needs to listen to me.  and i feel awful when i force myself to do so when i'm drunk.  i want to just be care free and drink up and have sunday morning never come.

s-t: what's on sunday?

me: nothing, it was a figurative sunday.  I hate waking up.  There's nothing more sobering than realizing you've woken up and it's another day.

s-t: you're getting out of hand here, shut up.

me: don't take me too seriously, it's all just the same shit.  it's funny, really.

s-t:

me: i said "it's funny, really."

s-t: oh i know, i heard you.  i'm just not taking your bait. 

me: great, now i can't even bring myself to talk to myself.

s-t: no, you're free to talk, but i'm not going to tear anything out of you.  if you want to say something, just say it.

me: well, i guess i don't.  i mean, what's to say really?  nothing i haven't said before and nothing i don't know myself.  i'm not a hard book to read. 

s-t: no, you're certainly not.  this the neil song?

me: yeah, "solitary man," another good one.  he picked his songs perfectly for this ep.

s-t: haha oh shit, is this "when u were mine?"

me: yeah, the prince song.  the dump version is kind of up but still a little sad.  this one is just banjo and a string bass, super slowed down, and wicked sad.

s-t: the lyrics on this are great too.  too bad that fuckwit prince constantly uses "u" in place of "you."  it makes his lyrics seem a little trite when seeing them in print.

me: yeah i know, but reading them, and it's like "wow, this is a hell of a song."  never really figured prince as a sad bastard being all sensitive and shit. 
s-t: cause he wants to take you to erotic city and fuck till the cherry's gone? 

me: basically.  he's a dirty son of a bitch.  and then there's this "when u were mine" which makes him look like a sensitive indie rock dude.

s-t: have you heard the original?

me: no.  ok, this is dump, no more prince.  now it's springsteen's "the river" this is cool too.

s-t: well, i'm getting tired, and we seem to have veered off the annoying self-parody and cloying of our previous conversation and just moved on to talking about prince's dirty mind.

me: you're right.  saw star wars yesterday, that ruled.

s-t: i heard it sucked.

me: well, CGI has gone too too far, and george lucas is perhaps one of the world's worst directors making big time movies, but hey, it's star wars.  makes ep1 look like a joke.

s-t: you downloading it now so i can watch?

me: yeah, probably a shitty cam feed, but whatever. 

s-t: what are your plans for the day?

me: gonna go to dinner i think with tim and sarah and brenda.  and then i'm getting my funk on in the mods.

s-t: awesome. 

me: oh it will be.  until sunday morning of course.

s-t: figurative again?

me: of course.

s-t: that's your choice, dude.

me: really?

s-t: ok look, honestly, i don't know.  signs point to yes, but god knows what you're doing wrong.  give kristofferson a call, see if he ever figured it out.

me: ok i know that was a good place to end this, but then under pressure came on.  first off, his cover of this is just genius.  and then since i'm looking at lyrics today, i checked them out.  "And love dares you to care For people on the edge of the night /And love dares you to change our way Of caring about ourselves" is a nice turn.  and of course the terror of knowing what the world's all about part. 

s-t: oh wow, "under pressure" a great song.  who knew.  why don't you talk some more about pet sounds.

me: actually, i saw a gap commercial yesterday that used some song from pet sounds.  don't remember which, one of the instrumentals or the break in "i know there's an answer"

s-t: it's starting...

me: just threw on "i'm waiting for the day" it's all kinda sad bastard and closes up at the end with brian going "i'm waiting for the day when you can love again."  cause the whole thing is he pciked up the chick on the rebound, and he totally fell in love but she still wants the other dude.  and the song sounds like it's over with a little closing string arrangement and the uhoh, watch the fuck out, cause he starts screaming (as best brian wilson can) basically saying, "i'm giving up on this sad resignation shit and gonna stir up some shit."  it won't work bri, but if you want you can help fund my memory solution research project and i can make her forget about him.  and i'll even throw in some rehab for you if you need it anymore.

s-t: are you still talking?

me: umm, no.

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