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01 may 2000
come closer darling Memories in a quickie-mart, or so it was, as I stopped on the way home from the rehearsal studio at this little "hole in the wall" convenience store halfway between Lincoln and Walgrove on Venice Boulevard. I walked through the door, a brief "whazzup" to the counter clerk, I looked around and felt a bad sense of familiar. It came back to me, like a sledgehammer between the eyes. Over two years ago, I stopped at that market with my then-girlfriend. It was the night she broke up with me, according to her, although I had no clue at the time. (in retrospect, it's strange how long it took me to "get" the fact that she had broken up with me) We were on our way home from dinner (she insisted on paying for the meal that night, which should have been another obvious sign for me that something was up) and stopped for ... I don't even remember why we stopped there. I _do_ remember buying a carton of "Mr. Bubble," because her stomach was a bit upset and I had promised to give her a nice hot bath. The choice of "Mr. Bubble" was mine, because I wanted her to smile, and she wasn't smiling much that night. We got here and I ran the bath. She undressed and got in. I sat on the ledge with my pants rolled up and my feet in the water, caressing her legs with the tips of my toes. We talked, but the conversation was strained. I was so wrapped up in my job, my "perfect life," to realize the relationship was over. I felt invincible at the time, like there was no problem that couldn't be solved. Of course, there were big problems. She had her own way of telling me, and yet I was tuned to the wrong frequency. That was the last night we slept together ... until almost a year later, when we gave the whole thing another shot, but that's a completely different story. So I stood in a daze in the soap and hardware aisle, absently staring at the boxes of "Mr. Bubble," lost in memories and half-regrets. Strangely, my only thought walking out of the store was "Who makes those little 'ding-dong' doorbell things they put under floor mats at quickie-marts and is the person who invented them rich?" ~~~ The new song nearly completed itself in my rent-a-car this afternoon. Driving down Pico, on my way from the office to the band, the whole rhythm of the verse came to me, along with a few random lyrics, which I pounded through my head for ten blocks until I remembered them ... "she was a hip hoppin goddess in a skin tight bodice, oh yeah" to "i'm singin nick-nack, paddy-whack, give this dog a bone, oh yeah" -- yet again, stoopid place-holder lyrics for a song that truthfully has yet to be written. Of course, what I told myself were "place-holder" lyrics for my last tune wound up being in the final song, so who knows? I like this "away from the keyboard" method of songwriting. If you can get the song stuck in your head before you even attempt to see how it really sounds, it _has_ to be good, right? At the rehearsal studio, I showed the band the design for the new website (seen in part in today's screenshot), which will be up in about a week, and they were very receptive. It's rather dark and hi-tech compared to the webshit I've been spewing out of late, but I think it'll work pretty well for this band. Thanks to TJ of vignette.org for inspiration on the leftside menu. He claimed he stole an idea from me once; I thought I'd return the favor, so to speak. I do so like those slashes. (oh, and the "amaebi's diary" thing was meant to be a joke, but the band likes it, so who knows?) We finished recording "I Mean To Tell Ya," lot's of "ooo-oooh"s went down on tape tonight ... mostly backing vocals. The tune rocks. I'll link an MP3 of it up here when it's all mixed down, probably a week or so, considering all the mixing is done at night in IceDog's living room to the visual soundtrack of the WWF, NHL, and South Park. It's truly amazing what a Macintosh can do for mixing a song these days. ~~~ The car's in the body shop. Dropped it off this morning. Enterprise rental came to pick me up in the form of a rather cute woman named Nicole, who blasted the Foo Fighters during the short ride to my new Toyota Corolla, which will adequately serve to get me from point "a" to point "b" for at least the next week or so. I was too tired and grumpy to make any kind of meaningful conversation with Nicole. I must have come across as quite boring and corporate. Too bad I didn't have any fliers on me for our next gig. People pay more attention to me when they find out I'm in a band. Pathetic, ain't it? Work itself is picking up. My boss, the CEO, is in New York, so it's a bit awkward communicating back and forth all day. I only met the guy for an hour before he ok'd the hire, and then turned around and said he wanted me answering direct to him, as opposed to my old boss, who I'm sharing an office suite with now. And it still feels strange being at VP level, almost like I don't deserve the title. Maybe if I gave a shit about my work, it'd be different. It's interesting, it keeps me busy, but my passion is elsewhere, in the one place that will never make me money. I guess that's ok. Off to sleep now. I'd say "off to bed," but there's not much of a bed left in here. Continuing the move where I left off tomorrow night, and on through Saturday, when the truck will take whatever's left to my new abode. What a strange fucking week this is going to be. I can feel it already. 01 may 1999: didn't write: and I have no idea what I was doing, either. 01 may 1998: didn't write: Lunesse was in town.
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