I've been listening to a lot of Sebadoh.
And have resolved to clean my room tomorrow.
And am all sorts of contemplative.
Which must mean I'm melancholy as hell.
And that's about it, I guess.

Atom was great. But indie shows make me sad these days, for silly reasons. Ah well.

Which David Lynch character are you most like?

Take the Which Radiohead Album are you? Quiz.

I'm having problems communicating with the Diaryland. Every time I'm presented with my teeny-tiny blank text box, ready to be filled with whatever Diarylands are filled with, I feel like I'm stepping up to a podium to improv some crappy poem, like I'm putting on a performance, and one that ain't too convincing or too good. So I just end up writing e-mails or reading other people's pages instead. Or reading a book. Or going to bed.

I feel like there's a distant audience sitting somewhere in the rafters, out of my line of sight, but there nonetheless. And there sort of is, even if it's just made up of a handful of websurfing friends and random Google searchers. But I can't really bring it into focus so I guess it makes me uneasy that I don't know who I'm writing to and that's why I fall smack down on the dodgy and elusive backup. I don't know. Maybe I've been lame all along. Heh.

But in here I'm fine with writing (probably because nobody reads this except for me and maybe Dawgus. Hi Dawgus!). So that's good.

I am sick and tired of work. Today is day five-in-a-row out of six. Wednesday finally I have the day off, then I work Thursday, and then I have the whole weekend off. Hooray! And Atom and His Package is playing on Friday at Life, and Ed's band is opening, and I hope I hope I hope I'll be able to go. I want to see if Vic is going, though I don't want him to think I just call him when I need rides. But we are busy kids and sometimes a reason is needed to reconvene.

I want Chicagoboy to get to show his paintings. I'm working on it.

I also have to work on the top 5's or 10's of 2002 (the inevitable year-end lists that is) and the new year's resolutions, which I resolved not to resolve, but am now resolving otherwise.

I miss getting packages. I'm spoiled, I've been getting quite a few. But Sean Na Na / Har Mar Superstar goodies are coming in the mail soon, and that is exciting. Check out this website if you haven't already: that's where I finagled my proud proto-ownership of the Sean Tillmann paraphernalia.

Now I'm going to have a smoke or two, work a bit on Miss Molly's mixtape, which is the best I've done in a long time I think (because I'm breaking out of most of my usual mixtape standards), then take a shower and a bubble bath and read my Anthony Bourdain and chuckle. Then spaghetti and milanesa with the parents and Ally McBeal rerun. Then bed, and work, and then, finally, respite.

Anybody want to trade books? Or things they've written? Or anything else interesting + mailable? I'm game, just let me know.

I am a Breakout Bat. I am an abstract sort of creature, who dislikes any sort of restraint. If you try to pigeonhole me, I'll break the box, and come back for more. I don't have any particular ambitions, I just drift, but I am adept at keeping life going along. What Video Game Character Are You?

Interesting. Possibly true.

And if I weren't a Breakout Bat, I'd be an Asteroid, which is not as well-received a description.