Mjarc
I don't know why I'm writing right now. I should be in bed, with a humidifier (or de-humidifier - I never know which one works in what situation) gently running in the background. Somehow I got sick today, which is actually pretty fucking cool. I've been so busy lately, I was dreading, literally terrified of getting sick when I had all those papers to do. But now, I've got nothing on the slate at all for the next five weeks, and I feel this cold coming on. I'm sitting on the couch, with a can of Keystone Light in my hand (one of more than a few, mind you), saying over and over again, "I'm sick! Fucking rad!" And, of course, I'm saying all this in our newly remodeled living room. Not that much different though. Moved the tv against a different wall and rearranged the couches accordingly. Whatev. Now it's more like a debate area instead of just a plain old living room, and as a bonus, Matt got to keep his couch intact. Word, y'all.
Another plus: I found my Spoon CD under the stereo on top of the entertainment center. I love that CD, but I'm not so sure it loves me. This is the second time in the six months I've had it that I've lost it. The previous time it surfaced after a lengthy dissappearence from underneath the passenger seat in my car. Little fucker. Oh well, "when you love something, set it free ..." If it comes back to you.
I found out last night, for absolute certain, that I will be receiving a digital four-track from the P's for Christmast. How much more awesome can life be right now? Seriously. I'll be releasing my first solo album by summer, and I'm assuming that I'll have a certified gold record before next fall. That's all I'm looking for, really. One gold record and I'll call it quits. That platinum shit's way overrated. You can't go anywhere. You can't get sandwhiches from your favorite delis, and I'll be damned if everyone you've ever known isn't calling you up asking for favors and whatnot. Give me gold. Self-released so I claim all the profits and can retire and work at some shitty record store for the rest of my life.
You know how you have friends and they always talk about shit like "What would you do with 300 million dollars?"/"What's your dreamcar?"/"Where, if you could live anywhere in the world, would you live?" ? I've always said that my dreamcar would be a Honda Accord, brand new with all the options (ie - sunroof, cd player, and airconditioning - which isn't exactly all the options, but its good enough for me), which I already own. I don't care where I live, but I'd never want a big house. I only want a house that has a big enough basement for a recording studio of some type. Screw money, brah. Puffy had it right with that "more money, more problems" hook back in the day. Know what I'm saying, suckas? Word.
Expect tons more from me for the rest of tomorrow (or today - whatever you want to call it). If I'm sick, I guarantee I'm going to be bored out my mind. Good thing I bought plenty of peanut butter and jelly to get me through til Christmas. Good eats. Good couch arrangement. Got plans to watch Barry Lyndon, which I've never seen but have heard was really good. And, if all goes well, maybe I'll finally watch my copy of Jesus' Son again. The Pike's had it for the last two or three months. But now that he's shipping off to be some kind of whack ass soldier, he figured he'd better give it back. An army couldn't contain my wrath if he would've taken off with it. Lates, peeps.
I don't know why I'm writing right now. I should be in bed, with a humidifier (or de-humidifier - I never know which one works in what situation) gently running in the background. Somehow I got sick today, which is actually pretty fucking cool. I've been so busy lately, I was dreading, literally terrified of getting sick when I had all those papers to do. But now, I've got nothing on the slate at all for the next five weeks, and I feel this cold coming on. I'm sitting on the couch, with a can of Keystone Light in my hand (one of more than a few, mind you), saying over and over again, "I'm sick! Fucking rad!" And, of course, I'm saying all this in our newly remodeled living room. Not that much different though. Moved the tv against a different wall and rearranged the couches accordingly. Whatev. Now it's more like a debate area instead of just a plain old living room, and as a bonus, Matt got to keep his couch intact. Word, y'all.
Another plus: I found my Spoon CD under the stereo on top of the entertainment center. I love that CD, but I'm not so sure it loves me. This is the second time in the six months I've had it that I've lost it. The previous time it surfaced after a lengthy dissappearence from underneath the passenger seat in my car. Little fucker. Oh well, "when you love something, set it free ..." If it comes back to you.
I found out last night, for absolute certain, that I will be receiving a digital four-track from the P's for Christmast. How much more awesome can life be right now? Seriously. I'll be releasing my first solo album by summer, and I'm assuming that I'll have a certified gold record before next fall. That's all I'm looking for, really. One gold record and I'll call it quits. That platinum shit's way overrated. You can't go anywhere. You can't get sandwhiches from your favorite delis, and I'll be damned if everyone you've ever known isn't calling you up asking for favors and whatnot. Give me gold. Self-released so I claim all the profits and can retire and work at some shitty record store for the rest of my life.
You know how you have friends and they always talk about shit like "What would you do with 300 million dollars?"/"What's your dreamcar?"/"Where, if you could live anywhere in the world, would you live?" ? I've always said that my dreamcar would be a Honda Accord, brand new with all the options (ie - sunroof, cd player, and airconditioning - which isn't exactly all the options, but its good enough for me), which I already own. I don't care where I live, but I'd never want a big house. I only want a house that has a big enough basement for a recording studio of some type. Screw money, brah. Puffy had it right with that "more money, more problems" hook back in the day. Know what I'm saying, suckas? Word.
Expect tons more from me for the rest of tomorrow (or today - whatever you want to call it). If I'm sick, I guarantee I'm going to be bored out my mind. Good thing I bought plenty of peanut butter and jelly to get me through til Christmas. Good eats. Good couch arrangement. Got plans to watch Barry Lyndon, which I've never seen but have heard was really good. And, if all goes well, maybe I'll finally watch my copy of Jesus' Son again. The Pike's had it for the last two or three months. But now that he's shipping off to be some kind of whack ass soldier, he figured he'd better give it back. An army couldn't contain my wrath if he would've taken off with it. Lates, peeps.
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