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02 july 2000
reflection betrays They always told me "if ya don't have anything nice to say, don't say it," and now I find myself with nothing nice to write, so does that mean I shouldn't write it? I need a haircut. I need them all cut. I get older, my hair grows everywhere I don't want it to and nowhere I want it to. How can so little hair be so big of a problem for me? My sideburns are getting all bushy, and above them, I'm growing wings. If I could master that little trick of wiggling my ears, I may just take flight, soaring over Malibu, just like a dream, and I'll wake up to reality in midflight and go kersplat on Pacific Coast Highway, with just enough life left in me to gradually lift my head off the pavement to meet the front bumper of the Santa Monica Blue Bus at fifty miles-per-hour. Can anyone on the east coast confirm the existence of something called a "McLobster" for me? Yes, it's exactly what it sounds like, lobster from McDonald's. I'm just having a hard time believing it exists. Kind of like my perfect woman... Sunday night, sitting at home, amusing myself by flipping off my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling closet door mirror. There's something about telling yourself to go fuck yourself... All things considered, that's not a bad idea. Mental note ... fuck myself before I fall asleep tonight. Worked on my new song at the Dume Room tonight. It's about love lost, or found, or something. It's a scattering of misplaced lyrical ideas, innocently sensual, yet written from the standpoint of a sexual awakening borne from outright rejection. Or something like that. It's a giant puzzle of words that I need to put together. At least the chord progressions are done. Weird thing about songwriting lately ... the music is the easy part -- the words are kicking my bony ass. Shit ... we're playing the Roxy in less than a week. I'm supposed to be wearing some funkadelic crushed velvet outfit from the 1970s. Hope it's not too cheesy. Brightly colored me, exterior betraying what's beneath. If only I was as happy as I so often seem... (and I'm smiling while I type that -- why, I don't know) Walter Matthau croaked today, didn't he? He always seemed like a good guy. My parents loved him. I've only enjoyed him since "The Bad News Bears," but I've liked everything I've seem him in since then. A funny guy too ... apparently he was 6 feet tall at age ten, so he reminisces by saying "When I drank cherry soda I looked like a thermometer." Kind of a shame to lose him, but at the same time, he was pretty up there in years ... I can only hope I wind up having as full a life as he did. I don't like thinking about dying ... sometimes it scares me. And then I think about not being happy, not being satisfied with my life ... and I think that's ok, and maybe that's why dying scares me. I don't want to die knowing there's so much more I could have done. I will accept being dissatisfied with myself for my entire life ... and at the same time I beg for as few regrets as possible on my dying day. And who said "Carpe Diem" was a daily special at a seafood restaurant? vina liques, et spatio brevi spem longam reseces. dum loquimur, fugerit invida aetas: carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero. I took five years of Latin in high school (a rather fun 'waste of time'), and the above verse never showed up on an exam. We all had it memorized anyway, just like the Pledge of Allegiance and the Gettysburg Address. How could a high school student not appreicate the words "Pour that wine. Quit yer bitchin' about the long term you might have had. Time is kicking our asses right now, as we speak. Seize the day, and hold no faith in tomorrow." ? Wish I could take Horace to heart. In retrospect, today was a fucking waste of time. Presented with death right now, I'd be pretty fucking pissed off. I think it's time to start living. First I gotta figure out how... For starters, I think there's a nice bottle of 1996 Zaca Mesa Syrah downstairs. Vina liques, indeed. In the forum:How much inconvenience is justified by "cheap" airfare? 02 july 1999: : didn't write 02 july 1998: words and music : I didn't think it was possible, but that above paragraph just turned me off of both sex _and_ sushi for a while
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