i'm doing a good job pretending to be sober.

sounddoc

if anybody can recommend good alternative free e-mail with more space than hotmail, and no shady advertising like gmail, please let me know: puppybooger@msn.com. i've had it with yahoo. it's been taking days to get e-mails, plus i can only log in half the time, and their customer service dept. is abismal.

sounddoc

i was in a mood for a while last night. i'm so afraid of getting older. as i was scanning the usual (and not usual in a bad way) crowd at the common ground last night i saw all my wonderful friends / aquaintances, those who i see everyday, on the weekends, or just on thursday night, i realised that there will come a time that i will see any one of them for the last time at any given point, whether it be soon, or in a few years, or on my deathbed. i will see ryan, DJ nebula for the last time in my life at one point. even DJ Brian, and (a cautious 'god forbid') athena, i will dance with for the last time. all things end, and usually in the end, it's for a good reason, or for the best, but for some things, that seems like an impossibility for me. i really love it all so much, and i never want it to end. at least not in theory. i wish that atmosphere, that dancing, that music, and those people would last forever. that at any given time, i can go back to the common ground, and they'd all still be there. when things end, they usually end for a good reason. but not always so. there was a time i could go to the common and collins would be there. i could walk out my door, and he'd be there. but he's not anymore. he moved to amsterdam. and it hurts. i miss him, and think about him everyday. all things end, and in the end, they usually end for a good reason. when i was 4 years old i had a similar thought to the one i had in the common last night. i watched a lot of tom & jerry cartoons as a little kid, and that cat would die in every episode. but he was always back a few minutes later to get killed all over again. i was 4 years old in my backyard in madison, ct. and i was next to the house walking up towards the stairs of the deck. i realised that i would die, but i would not come back. at age 4 i was painfully aware of my own mortality. it didn't depress me, but scared a little. at 4 my thoughts of death were simply that you die in pain, crushed under a piano, or blown up with dynamite. but it wouldn't happen until you were really old and in the hospital. my biggest fear about death at 4 was that it would hurt, and there was no way out of it. you cannot cheat death. we will all die. i was 4?! thankfully the thought that my parents would die too was too much for a 4 year old to comprehend, so i didn't ponder that. i think i would have seriously fucked myself up if i did. it is inevitable. as there will be a last time i blink, breath, close my eyes, touch my stomach, or scratch my foot, there will be a last time that i see my thursday night dancing buddies. i just hope these two final events don't conincide. dieing at the bar is uncool. they might call me capt. bringdown and the buzzkills.

i hope it never ends. i want to go to the common ground when i'm 40 and walk in on a thursday night, and there would be brian, spinning some god awful hair metal, and beautiful cure, and all my wonderful friends / aquaintances, those who i see everyday, on the weekends, or just on thursday nights were there - not a day older than when i last saw them - never growing old, never going grey, never getting married, or divorcing, or having kids. just on the dance floor having a great time, spilling beers, creating drama where there doesn't need to be, and rushing to the dance floor every time new order comes on. i hope these days never end, but they will. all good things come to an end, and sometimes there's a good reason for it. or at least a tolerable one.

sounddoc

people have finding my blog with the following:

fuck arab air force

rocked air force

bettersweet --- i see you :P

sounddoc

on saturday the peeps of freezepop had a party at their house in upper allston. good times. beck got so drunk that i literally had to carry her home with hallie. at the bottom of the foot bridge i was sobered up enough to go and get my car and drive us all back. i noticed as i drove out that the sun was coming up. 5:15AM.

the party was cool. before was cool AS WELL. athena and i went to transmission, and danced the whole night. it was great. so many hotties. beck was with hallie and kimberly at the model before. apparently that was filled with hotties too.

at the party i got talking with a guy named omar who was leaving for iraq at the end of june. i told him good luck, and repeatedly told him to 'do the right thing.' he said he wanted to be around to vote for nader. they better leave his shit alone over there. he was cool. why he was in the army, i'll never know. another guy just got back. we talked politics for a while. a long while. i still stand by my points, but he was very conservative, and made some good ones himslef. but one thing i never understand is that all the conservative points seem very one-sided. very USA-centric. one thing we did agree on though was that the US gov. doesn't understand that politics in the iraqi culture is more religious centered than american politics. but not by much.

sounddoc

my rent check bounced. she was late cashing it. i should put a stop payment on all checks that aren't cashed within 15 days of being mailed. even that's lenient.

my check to the IRS might bounce. but either way, i get paid tonight through direct deposit, and tomorrow, most of that will be gone. at least i have no checks out there any more. i totally forgot about the rent check because i sent it out almost a month ago. fuck this shit. i hate money, i always have. i think about a second job, but that would fuck so much of my time up. maybe just saturday and sunday mornings or something. i haven't been going out as much, and i don't spend as much any more. not buying lunch helps, and not buying cigarettes as often helps too. but goddam, this is no way to live. i'm getting sick of crappy, cheap food. hey, at least it's vegetarian / organic. thanks, trader joes. i think mark's rent check bounced this month too. at least i'm not alone. it makes me feel a little better. a little.

sounddoc

so this blog is getting a lot of hits from boston university. i know a couple peeps out there, but i wouldn't think it's them. what's up BU? please stop bunging up the green line. move to the back of the trian.


move to the back of the train.

sounddoc

i just filed my taxes.

me me me me me

whine whine whine whine whine

fuck the IRS.

sounddoc

listening to joy division, and remembering mod night at the comon ground. next week will be the last mod night ever. 7 years it's been going, almost 2 and a half of those i've been a regular at. it started to drop off aout a year and a half ago. when it was good, it was good, though. i came to boston, not knowing anyone, and mod night introduced me to many. athena being the most prominent i guess. i was out with her tonight, listening to her ramble on about whatnot. it was kind of nice. i saw a girl i went to high school with. 3 times i yelled her name, and she looked at me. yeah you went to hand high school. but nothing. i guess she didn't want to know. but she is a cokehead from what i heard when i met her sister over the summer. either she was kristen and her sister was katherine or vice versa, i don't remember, but they were sisters.

anyway, knowing that mod night is ending is really sad. it's trully passing of sorts. first start! ended, and now mod night. when the pill and 80's love night go, it's time to move out of boston, i guess. everything's different for me now, than since i started at mod night. back then collins was here, jenny, amy, rob, and everyone else who lived / hung out at 153 brighton ave. in allston. the allston chronicle, the constant turmoil of emotions that was the opposite sex. eating at china garden, despite my better judgement. having emotional meltdowns on a daily basis. forgetting jessie, making new memories, escaping with PBR, and living in that blessed studio apartment, 153 brighton ave, #3. i miss those days, but these are still better. but, i miss those days.

how appropriate. day of the lords, joy division just came on winamp. the first joy division son i ever downloaded, after a recommendation from my sister - an old manray goer from the 90s.

the memories are flying by quicker and quicker it seems.

i'm sure i will elaborate next week after the last one. i'm going to do my best to rally all the people i met there to get out to the last one.

sounddoc

i'm sitting on the phone with a customer while they install the our product in the most simplest of ways. a stand alone demo installation on windows. yet, they have the need to make me sit through it. it's torture. he keeps trying to make small talk with me, but i have no desire to participate. it's horrible. the silences. well, maybe for him anyway, i'm happy sitting here writing. i don't need to know, nor do i care where he grew up, or what the weather's like wherever the fuck he is. oh, and the douche feels the need to call out what percentage the installation is at. what a douche.

two more days, and that's it. two more days. two more days of bullshit tech support for our external customers, and then i get to sit in my own office, and do interesting work.

sounddoc

i'm so scared for the world sometimes. i almost feel it's my responsibility to quit my job and become a full time protestor to this regime.

sounddoc

I just realised that run of the mill blogging to no one in particular is the epitomy of attention whoring. whatever I write on here may be read by people who know me or not, but despite this, these writings are more thoughts I have, and shame on you for reading them! ha! whatever - it just seems weird that I feel the need to have my thoughts public, no matter how cathartic it is, and no matter how much it fulfills my love-me-daddy inner child. I embrace my self indulgent behaviour with everytime I click Post & Publish. read it, bitch. read it and like it. I know it's boring. and so, I shall continue to blog. there. still reading? good.

sounddoc

i'm so sick of my job. i have 3 more days of afternoon phone shifts before i'm 100% in the internal IT position. no more idiot mac users to walk through copying files, no more unix admins that think they know the installation better than i do. i will have my own office! no more cubicles!! i'm sick of these retards. i wish i could talk to the smart ones who never call. the one's who don't need help. i found that i smoke more when i'm working this job in the afternoons. i have a smoke every hour it seems. and the time drags and drags. 3 more days. just 3 more days.

sounddoc

"I agree with you but in my case it is Jazz musicians that piss me off. There is Charlie Parker, Mile Davis, John Coltrane and the harmonic efforts to wrestle the blues out of jazz. Cool shit but it's time to move on, the course has ran.
R."

Word. i forgot to mention that like there's an exception to every rule, there is some jazz that i like. the one's mentioned above by my friend are cool, and for a while in my "experimental college days" i experiemented with enjoying jazz. jazz musicians piss me off, and that's what i was getting at before i fell asleep last night with my laptop. the popularity contests at school were the most brutal. the composition majors were obviously the equivalent to the freaks / nerds and art shool kids in high school. the jazz musicians were the jocks. the singers and instrumental performance majors were everyone else.

sounddoc

must have been all that mahler and wagner.

but let's face it, a lot of music is shit. it's the most expendable art form. you don't have to be a genius to create it these days, and you definitely don't have to be talented to be successfully marketed. it's too bad, christina aguilera has a really nice voice, and her talents could be used much better in either a more experimental genre, or old skool blues. skinny little white girls probably shouldn't sing the blues as much as they do though. maybe she could be on stage with some old black guy singing the blues, and in a a fit of rage the guy could lash out at her like she's the master's daughter or something. i don't know. i'm all about poetic justice, in it's most absurd setting i guess. but violence isn't cool. maybe he'd spit on her new shoes, or make some lewd yet witty and ironic comment about her cotton panties.

i worried once that it isn't jazz so much that's pissing me off, but the freedom of expression, etc... but i learned pretty quickly that that's not true. freedom of expression is far more evident in contemporary classical, experimental, noise, minimalism, avant garde, etc... jazz is not free. jazz is a look, a sound, a style that sticks to super pretentious standards, (at least the jazz i was versed most in at Hartt) and worst of all long fucking boring as snot solos . at the hartt school we were forced to sit through an hour and a half every thursday in "musicianship" class, or as it quickly became known as "musician-skip", becuase if you had any common sense on the matter, you wouldn't waste you or the performer's time suffering through a concert that you wouldn't go to unless someone made you. yeah, sure, it's great to support your peers and fellow students, but come on, you can't force people to do that! you just create musicians like myself. anyway, whenever my department, composition, would have their thursday, the audience would groan (except the percussionists, of course) - 'oh shit, here come the weirdos, what are the psychotic freaks going to do today? another smashed amp? smashed guitar? smashed records? smashed umbrellas? yeah, composers like smashing things. especially things that represent conventions. like Fender Stratocasters, amplifiers and rock and roll. when the vocalists were presenting, it was another snore fest for most, because who wants to hear opera at 1130 AM on a thursday? oh, but when it was the jazz department's time to present, look out - it was like the crowned king and queen of prom night were stepping forward to allow the peasants to be so greatfully shat on. fuck jazz. it pissed me off. everybody thought it was so great, because they were afraid of the possible reprocussions of being called a racist, if god forbid, someone didn't enjoy the most "diverse" department at the Hartt school. bullocks. great bolshy bullocks, they are. my friends and i didn't buy into it. the solos, which ordinarily were painful to sit through, were especially painful because they were student solos. anyway, i could at the time appreciate jazz. that wasn't too hard. i was in love with zappa at the time, so it didn't seem that hard to appreciate solo lines, and pick out the melodies. doing musical math - maybe that's what got me through the 18 minute power solos of these novice douchebags. so constrained and tied down to the image, the image of them trying their best to impress their elder professors. what a bunch of bullshit. ok, i just fell aslepp for a seond.....maybe i'll continue this later, if the mood strikes me.

"jazz isn't dead, it just smells funny" - F. Zappa

sounddoc

heh. some time around 1am last night hallie and becky were dragging me out of the plan at great scott to a party that the guys in one of the bands that played that night. reuben, a friend from college had already left with his girlfriend, let's call her J. we were packed into this converted van with no seats, as a bottle of jack was passed around, and the members of head quarters were trying to find parking around lower allston (thank god it would be near home). somewhere along the way the floor tom fell off the raised shelf in the back and on to hallie's head, which incurred a minor bump, but i manager to stop the falling tom before any major damage took place. becky seemed quietly optomistic through the scary van ride. all the while this one guy in the band who looked an awful lot like the lead singer in the hives kept screaming if anybody knows anybody who has some coke. jesus, i wanted to yell at the prick for being so stupid. but whatever, be a mediocre rock star while you can be, i guess. so we arrive at the party which is on alcot st., and there's a couple people there instructing us that we were all going to another party, an underwear party, in a little just soon after, so we couldn't drink any of their booze. after 20 minutes of standing around and doing nothing, we start to get ancy, so me and this guy charlie from head quarters start taking their liquor cabinet stuff. all of a sudden there's this screaming match between reuben's girlfriend, and some of the people that live in the house, and she's screaming how she can't find her shoe. her fucking white shoe. the guy who lived at this house was seriously coming close to smacking this girl who seemed to get more and more frantic. she ended up leaving - finding her shoe outside in the bushes. we started heading out to the next party, because the people who lived at this house were wanting to head out themselves. beck hallie and i go outside to wait, and there's reuben, poor reuben and his girlfriend who is screaming her head off on the phone for some reason. it was weird. i gave reuben my number in case he needed to call or anything. we go back a few years to early college, '95, 96 or so, but haven't exactly stayed in touch or anything. so then we're all wondering what the fuck it's going to be, where's the party, how are we getting there, etc, somebody already had come out of their house to tell us to shut up, and standing around outside wasn't cutting it. i was sobering up fast, and so were head quarters. the coke kid was merely wanting a ber at this point. after a little while someone comes out and tells us that the party's a bust, and we're not going. just like that, we head out, and the band drove back to new york.

sounddoc

yes, i know you're bored, beck. i'd like to just keep sitting here for some reason. franz ferdinand is pretty cool. i'm digging it. i'm comfortable. i could sit here and write inane, boring babble all night if i could. we're missing the pill. so sad. we're poor. even sadder.

sounddoc

so now you're going to read my blog? are you hoping to see something you don't already know? are you going to try to decipher my lame-o ramblings into something interesting? i don't mention your boobies anywhere. go on, read it. READ IT!! HA!

okay, fine, i'll come and pick you up now.

sounddoc

listening to the ruins. it sounds a lot like zappa.

i still have no money. i just a check to the IRS for $500+ which should pay off the rest of my bill to them. then it's time to go after the credit cards. something like $4k. not too bad considering the state of some of my friends. yikes.

i wanted to start recording some stuff like i used to today. i managed to get out one song. not like the stuff i did last year, so much as the stuff i did in college, and before. i want to start a resource for the super lo-fi people. i love lo-fi art, and everything that is severely under-produced, displays a crippling low budget, and generally unpresentable for public consumption. the recordings your roomates did in college, or the high school garage band. sweet. i want to write little songs like i used to, except be more experimental about it. now that i'm not afraid to use synths, it should be fun.

my lyrics for tonight:

this was our house
this was were your black eyes shone
taken 7 steps back
it looks a lot like home now

i lay on my back
i wouldn't say it like that
you tripped on your feet

and it was fine until the start
and it was one for us to take
it never lent itself too much
but it lingers in my head a lot

i said you'd never see us through
but that was before you came back
short hair and pieces
of my thoughts of you

leave some under your feet
leave some for the ones there now
take some for your head

this was our house
this was were your eyes shone black


becky's coming over tonight, so i'll hopefully have some more. i can't wait, actually. it'll be fun to have someone record with me. yes, it's about total control over the art. she'll be the, uh talent?

sounddoc

fuck memories

in ray bradbury's Illustrated Man there was a story about a two astronauts stranded in their craft. one kept saying how memories are no good. how they're like porcupines. you kick them around, but end up with a foot full of sharp, painful quills. even the good memories give you some level of strife. the last few months i've been thinking about jessie again, and it's bugging me. i'm getting more and more curious to know what she's up to these days, but without starting shit, or getting back in her life. i still think about holly too. yeah, and even tanya occasionally. i only sort of dated her for a few months, and word has it last night that she's an alcoholic with not too many friends left. she spends most of her time at the model. big surprise. i'm a pretty nostalgic person for thre most part. i'm not sure why, but i've always been like that. i always idealise the past, and while i guess that's an optomistic way of looking at things, it drives the people close to me a little crazy sometimes. all in all it leaves me with some feelings of emptiness, like the past is lost, and things will never be as good. fuck the greener grass. the grass is just as green now as it was then. but then again all i have to think about is my balding head. it's slipping way dude. it's slipping ever so slowly away.

sounddoc