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[24 Mar 2003|11:21am]
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i hate 'tussin [10 Mar 2003|04:55am]
cough syrup does strange things to me. it's 5 am, i have to work tomorrow, i got one hour's sleep, i'm feeling loopy, and my stomach is making strange gurglings--but at least i'm not coughing.

i figured now would be a good time as any to update.

despite the fact that work kicked my ass this week (and things with that radio spot are still unresolved), i'd consider last week a victory in mood elevation. maybe it was the whiskey, more likely it was the fact that i started up at the gym again. i exhausted myself going out every night, but at least i wasn't lying around feeling sorry for myself as i have been. i saw some good bands, hung out with some great people, and even managed to make a batch of my famous chicken cacciatore (just about the only dish i CAN cook). monumental considering the way things have been feeling lately.

Friday was fun. after practice was the Model, which is no surprise. but for some reason, the place was packed (with a line out the door even). the cool thing was that i knew about thirty people, so i spent the night bouncing around the bar. met a cool girl who will probably aid me in my quest to rule out every single female in Boston as a potential romantic match...but i'll bitch about that bridge when i come to it.

Saturday and Sunday were spent mostly running around doing errands, gym, amp repair stuff. sounds uninteresting, to be sure, but it's a major improvement from past weekends when i haven't been leaving the house before 7pm.

this coming week promises to suck. i've got those seminars for work so i'll be stuck in bu-tee-ful Rocky Hill, CT next weekend, St. Patrick's day weekend, when i live in probably the best city in the world in which to enjoy it (well, other than Dublin). i'll just have to stick to a strict regiment of gym attendance and whiskey. i'm going to try my luck at sleep now.
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Drinking: everyday, all day [07 Mar 2003|02:27pm]
So work this week has been utter hell. My psychic medium client had a death in the family (don’t even ask me why she didn’t see that one coming) and was supposed to go on the radio this week to promote her seminar next week. I’d had all kinds of issues trying to book that radio spot, but got it done. Well, the day before she was supposed to go on, this happened and she let us know she couldn’t make it . So now I’ve been scrambling to reschedule, nobody’s calling me back, and everyone’s on my ass to get it sorted out. On top of that, my other clients have been freaking out about other things. Fun.

The only thing saving my sanity is the fact that I’ve been out almost every night catching rock bands and drinking heavily. I’ve seen 12 bands in the last three days and have increased my usual whiskey intake by 500%.

This afternoon, I actually had to run to the radio station to try and settle this (to no avail). I stopped at home for lunch and pounded a beer before heading back to the office. I’m feeling a bit better because of it. Therefore, I’ve decided from now on I’m drinking nothing but alcohol, constantly, through out my day.

There are myriad benefits for everyone. My clients will benefit because I’ll be more chipper on the phone and excessively friendly in meetings. My roommates will benefit because our apartment will always be well-stocked with booze, and my insurance company will benefit because I’ll be sure to get in a fender bender here and there and they’ll be able to charge me outrageous premiums (although it's, not like they don't already). Everybody happy!

Bottom’s up!
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stupid hairless monkeys. [26 Feb 2003|11:19pm]
you know what i hate?

people. Seriously.

so i'm parked behind an SUV, waiting in my car for a friend to come back from an ATM. the owner of the SUV gets in his monstrosity, and proceeds to back straight into me, slicing a few nice deep scratches into my hood with his bike rack, then pulls away quickly when i honk at him. luckily, he got stopped at the light and i jotted down his lic. plate number. normally i wouldn't bother, but i hope my insurance company nails his ass to the wall. then we continue on to Anna's Taqueria (i've had a hankering all week). well, it's obviously cold outside but the line is out the door so we wait in the cold, with the door shut to keep the heat inside, like civilized people. once we've gotten our food and manage to grab a table, suddenly every moron in line is holding the door wide open, freezing everyone to death. all these strangers at the tables looking at each other wondering who's gonna finally say something, noone does.

who raises these people? man, i've been known to make an ass of myself in public. i've been clumsy, i've been brash, i've been known to put my foot in my mouth, ruffle a few feathers. i'm no angel, i'm not perfect. but at least i make some attempt at civility. i like to think i aim toward a life of peace among the upright monkeys.

i wanted to yell at those people with the door. i wanted to walk right up to them and explain the practice of heat-dispersion, how warmer molecules immediately travel into areas with cooler molecules and continue to do so until the whole area is of the same general warmth. therefore, when you hold a door open in sub-zero weather, the nice people eating their food freeze their fucking tails off! i wanted to explain to Mr. SUV that just because he invested in a larger automobile, i'm pretty sure it didn't come with a liscense to fuck up my car (i'll call the dealership tomorrow just to make sure). you would think these sorts of things would be common knowledge. i would think schools might teach this sort of thing. maybe it's on the MCAS now...

i hate people. stupid hairless monkeys.


now, having gotten that out of my system, the good news:

as Zack also posted today, the band finally has a gig booked for Boston. the Middle East Upstairs, Sunday April 27th. It'll be a great way to finish off the weekend. if you don't know us, download some of The Information's songs at http://www.theinformation.net/demos.html. we've also got some other gigs in the works with some kickass bands. this made me happy today, and i've been on edge lately.
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applicable anywhere [18 Feb 2003|03:51pm]
one of my favorite Homer Simpsonisms. Useful in so many situations, mostly when someone is bitching about something completely asinine:

(NOTE: best when used as a response to, "...oh, you just don't understand...")

"Just because I don't CARE doesn't mean I don't UNDERSTAND."
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baby’s first mass organized protest [18 Feb 2003|02:19pm]
Greetings, true-believers! I know I’ve been a complete non-entity as of late, and I apologize to everyone who had been keeping up. The word of the day (for weeks now, actually) has been UNINSPIRED, and it’s only getting worse. More on that later.

Valentines day this year was a real non-thing. I didn’t even go out and get shitfaced (per my usual tradition more years than not)--I had a much different agenda. I turned in early because Brad and I were headed to New York Saturday morning for the big anti-war demonstration.

I’ve never really been an activist. Most of the people I’ve known who’ve been most active in that sort of thing have done it more to be associated with a certain group of people--surrounding whatever cause--rather than the cause itself. For them, it’s just been an excuse to be unruly in public and to do it in the name of something "worthy." I’ve always hated those people and have never wanted to be associated with that sort of thing. Also, I’m not willing to chain myself to anything unless it involves a woman in tight black leather…but enough on that.

So to find myself waiting for a bus to New York at 4:30 on a Saturday morning, standing in the freezing cold next to an odd mixture of students and aging ex-hippies, was a shock even to me. I’ll tell you, though, it was an amazing experience.

When we got off the bus in NY, we immediately headed over to NY Public Library to join one of the feeder marches. Because NY had denied the request to march, activists decided instead to start 100 marches from different points, fucking up the city. The march we were a part of was joined by a few others as we walked and by the time we hit 3rd Ave, the march spilled off the sidewalks and into the street, stopping traffic and panicking the cops. People were friendly for the most part; lots of smiles and signs and songs. There were some points of turmoil as we passed: a group of people arguing with a group of cops about Iraq aggression vs. 9/11, a verizon truck left marooned in the middle of the street with a black-clad activist standing atop, waving a flag, I saw a 60-year-old woman help take down a barricade amidst 20 riot-gear-clad cops. It was an eventful afternoon and it DID make me feel better to see that about 400,000 other people were as pissed about recent events as I am.

Brad and I managed to even get to a bar later in the afternoon and to the Model when we got back home. Fight tyranny, get loaded. That’s a full day in my book.
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[11 Feb 2003|04:57pm]
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a riddle [11 Feb 2003|10:48am]
Q: What's "Shut up! Shut up! ...Cut his mic..."?

A: The most rational, logical statement put forth by right-wing supporters of all this post-9/11aggression in the Middle East.

Read on:


p.s. my apologies for being political on a Tuesday morning
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S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night! [09 Feb 2003|03:48am]
Saturday evening is definitely the high point of a weekend.

Fridays can always feel forced, with a responsibility to go out, do things, conquer. No release should ever hold as much pressure as Fridays tend to do. Fridays are the kid brother of the weekend: deep down, you love them, but you sometimes resent the fact that you have to take special care of them when you would probably rather be doing something else. But you treat Fridays accordingly because they are, well, Fridays.

Now Saturdays, on the other hand, never ask for extra understanding. Saturdays don't expect anything more than you going after what you want for yourself. Saturdays are more forgiving, and more open to adventure. They also more often follow a full-nights rest (even if it stems from drunkenness the night before). Saturday nights have usually been better prepared for, readied. Saturdays are never as much of a challenge. Saturdays are action-packed, Saturdays are gold.

And on another note, I must say it's nice to be wearing lipstick when it's been applied second-hand.
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The afterlife, now only $50! Operators are standing by! [07 Feb 2003|12:48pm]
My client talks to dead people.

So I had to be at work at 7:45 this morning (hence the post below). One of my clients was on the radio and we had to be in to take ticket orders for her upcoming seminar. Now, I work for a PR/marketing firm but we book, arrange, promote and sell tickets for these 250-400 person seminars this client holds twice a year. She’s the only client we do this for. Oh, yeah, I should mention that she’s a medium--a woman who talks to the dead for a living.

Ever seen John Edward? THAT’S what she does. She runs around these big conference rooms and gives "messages" from the "other side" to the audience members. It’s pretty crazy, and certainly the weirdest part of any job I’ve held. When I mention that I have a client who does this, people always ask me, "so is it fake?" Here’s my take:

At heart, I generally want to believe this stuff. I want to believe that there’s something more after we shuffle off this mortal coil. I think most people do. However, I try to be a skeptic because I never want to be taken for a ride.

Like on Mr. Edward’s television show (if you've ever seen it), this client of ours walks into the room, and begins by asking for a name. She’ll say, "I’m getting a ‘J’ name, like Jack or John." Now I would wager that anybody can walk into a room full of 400 people and find a person who knows someone (living or dead) named John. She builds from there, asking general questions. "He’s showing me his hands, he worked with his hands, with tools," and the person will say, "Oh he was a carpenter…" or something like that. She creates a more detailed profile like that, working from the very general to the specific.

I definitely see how anybody who’s quick-witted and knows the right questions to ask could fake their way through this. Everything starts so generally and with the help of a crowd that WANTS to believe. But every so often, she’ll do something ridiculously specific. This one time I remember, she seemed to "make contact" with a couple’s young departed son. She went through all the basics and painted a pretty clear picture of the kid. She finished with them and started to talk to someone else, then turned back around. "Why is he showing me a big vehicle? I see, like, a big truck," she said. They looked at her dumbfounded and replied flatly, "He was killed by a school bus." Creepy.

So, the jury’s still out for me on this stuff. But, the world is full of believers, apparently, because the phone’s been ringing off the hook all day. If I don’t get some more coffee soon, I’ll be making my own contact with the dead.
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'morning [07 Feb 2003|08:39am]
Mornings. Mornings are cold, heartless animals. Careless of any individual’s needs, they barrel on through, never minding who you are, where you’ve been, how you feel. You can’t escape them. They are merciless creatures. Long claw-like rays of light pry their way into windows, under doors, through curtains, blinds, whatever protection you may set up for yourself is no match against the relentless pursuit of a morning.
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nuclear war is one big pop act [06 Feb 2003|03:36pm]
Anyone else notice that the more the world focuses on Iraq's "Weapons of Mass Distruction" the more threats North Korea puts out, trying to position itself as the baddest of the baddies?

North Korea is the Christina Aguilera to Iraq's Britney Spears.
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the difference [05 Feb 2003|02:46pm]

It's all about a secret I have or kept or stole from you.
It's all about not knowing if I missed out something new.

Texas is the Reason "The Magic Bullet Theory"


"I love to go down to the schoolyard and watch all the little children jump up and down and run around yelling and screaming...They don't know I'm only using blanks." -- Emo Phillips
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frenchie [05 Feb 2003|11:29am]
Ok, so I'm going to share a secret. But it's only for you. You and the other nameless, faceless, anonymous masses that may happen upon this journal--but that's it. SHHHH! Don't tell:

I watch American Idol.

I know, I know, all my indie cred just went out the window. "You corporate puppet!" you shout as you slam your monitor. I know, I apologize. In my own defense, I only usually watch programs of some sort of political or social satire--favorites including The Simpsons, The Daily Show, South Park and The Sopranos. I never watch reality shows, have never seen a full episode of Survivor, stopped watching The Real World back after San Francisco ended. So why am I watching this pre-fabricated, over-dramatized bullplop? One word:


If you happen to be watching the show too, you'll know that Frenchie is this big black girl with AMAZING pipes. The girl can sing, can belt it out, can blow away anybody else on that stage. On top of it all, she has a great attitude. She knows who she is, knows she doesn't fit the standard size 2 form of all the other female contestants, she doesn't care.

Watching her make it through round after round has been like viewing a test of American cultural decency. When will the judges cave to the current, shallow view that talent must also adhere to the accepted standard of beauty? Well, she's made it this far, and now, the judges have their say, but the viewers are the ones who vote. Now we get to see if the American people have bought everything the media have been selling. Can a person without a "TV look" (although she is certainly stylish in her own right) be accepted for her raw talent? I don't have a lot of faith, but we'll see. One she's out, I'm done watching.

I hope my bandmates read this and kick my ass at practice. Jesus, fucking American Idol....
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empty pages [05 Feb 2003|01:23am]
Three black and white steno books, two hardcover sketch pads, and a leather-bound notebook.

All of these have gone to waste in my vain attempts to keep journals over the years. All have gone mostly empty, more than half of each's clean white pages, though ripe for rhetoric, left pitifully untouched. Treehuggers have mounted full campaigns against my writing, picketed my house, and called begging me to just give up and stop trying to get started, knowing full well that I'd just waste another perfectly good book. And yet, here I am again. Except this time, maybe I'll only waste a mere 250k of space on a server somewhere before I give up. Diligent hippies are this moment sucking the sweet smoke off a bong in celebration.

Three black and white steno books, two hardcover sketch pads, and a leather-bound notebook.

Each had potential. With each I said, "this time I'll get it right." With each I had the highest aspirations, the very best intentions, and little motivation to back it up. Each began with an opening, much like this, probably something smart-alecky, talking about the futility of trying to calcify my thoughts into one living document. Each failed.

Three black and white steno books, two hardcover sketch pads, and a leather-bound notebook.


Three black and white steno books, two hardcover sketch pads, a leather-bound notebook, and a livejournal.
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