With Gusto

A Hundred Miles

I just ate an open faced bagel. One side had spiced gouda, tomato, and a fried egg. The other side had smoked gouda, tomato, and a fried egg. And I won a donut today. Thank you snotroh mit.
The album plays on my stereo. The new album that J.D. and the R. recorded last weekend. There's some good stuff there. I'm at the point where I just want to deal with volume, getting as much done as possible without thinking of serious faults or getting lost with indecision and compromise. That is to say, approach the art with vigor and confidence. A second recording is not going to be flawless. I like listening to what I'm doing this time around as opposed to the MSR. I'm not sure what sucks about the album yet. There's a tambourine part that I'm not too impressed with. As well as a crash cymbal part that doesn't come off well.

Why do we have to market ourselves as "used to be in the MSR." It's not like we had the people of the town screaming, "MSR, MSR," whenever we went anywhere. We didn't even tour, or sell all of our CDs. Why not let the band die and never come back is my question. Move on. Move on.

Rehearsed earlier today with J.D. and the R. We had a guitar jam. Sometimes it's good to kick back and forget about rehearsing songs. Later tonight I'm rehearsing with S-L.
I only made twenty bucks from the show the other night! Pisses me off. We were supposed to get the whole door but apparantly we had to pay the door girl and the sound guy. So the people who support the people who make it all happen make more money than the people who make it all happen. "All" is a little strong. We should've brought in more people. Unfortunately, that seems to be a problem lately.

Watched Martha Inc. last night at C.'s house with my J. and C. Actually funny. There's a chunk of the movie that's utterly boring. But towards the end I had myself believing that Martha Stewart was the only artist of our time. Then I got a hold of my ass and slammed a bunch of whiskey into it at a party afterwards. S-L picked J. and I up the white van and off we went.
As soon as I see a room filled with funky young people with large sun glasses and indie rock t-shirts I tend to end up on the patio couch with a big, strong drink in my hand and an eye for the trees and my friends.

Then there was Paul's Motor Inn for a grim veggie burger and grim fries. I ran into a person from workshop and she berrated me with guilt. "Where were you last night? You should've been there," she said.
I said something about Pierre Trudeau and a documentary. She said something along the lines of. . . "You were probably too stoned and forgot." So I gave her the finger and walked away. Someone from the white van asked me what that was about, so I said (loud enough for her to hear), "Apparantly I was supposed to party with Catholics." She came and sort of apologized later, said that the party was indeed weak. Catholics only know how to do one thing well, and I don't want to go to a Catholic party it that's how they plan on spending their evening. I'm talking about blowjobs. I'd feel dirty if a Catholic girl gave me head, even if I wasn't in a committed relationship.

Welcome to the JunkyHood
Apparantly the woman who lives in the basement suite had her car broken into last night.

Junky Tip of the Week: Remember kids, junkies are so skinny they'll slip through the cracks of your house at night when you are asleep.

Posted by matty-b at April 18, 2004 2:10 PM