Blogkward

Yep. I love this. I mean, right?

Have I sneezed out my last capable brain cell? Yesterday I blanked on the last four digits of my phone number at the laundromat. I also find myself having to say “What?” when having conversations in noisy places. A lot. I either have cotton in my ears, a brain tumor (the usual), or am getting old. I sure hope it’s the cotton, because I’m going on a spritely twenty-six. And like, my abs look great these days.

Please tell me if anyone else between the ages of 23 and 33 has had a similarly deflating episode.

P.S.: Some of Bjork’s early stuff sounds like it was produced on MarioPaint. Remember the fly-swatting game?

Every time I write a new song, all I can think is “Look, I made a hat where there never was a hat.” That’s how I feel every time. Yesterday, this didn’t exist. It always blows my mind.

I must sing this for someone, somewhere, sometime.

I try not to overture things, but I do promise to build something in the sand off of Lake Michigan this week. I can promise us that much.

Let it always be known that I was who I am.

So I was like, “If I really want some semblance of a music career someday, I have to start doing something about it.” So I started with a betterfasterstronger computer and Logic. Clearly these are the things that make people famous.

Fiddled around and recorded a Smiths cover. I could have done this in Garageband and it would have sounded identical, since I have no idea how to use Logic. YET.

http://myspace.com/gladfanny

You’ve already heard it because I whored it out on Facebook, but I’m home after a ten out of twelve and I have a glass of wine and some weepy music and, like, a YEARNING to write. You’re welcome.

As many of you know, it’s been about two years since I’ve lived in the same place for more than three months. Within these two years I have lived in a wide – WIDE – range of accommodations. Most of them have been quite, quite lovely and while the uprootedness of it all leaves me exhausted, I feel lucky.

The place I’m in now is nice. I thank the company for which I work for a pretty good place to crash after work. There’s a kitchen, which is more than I can ask for.

Unfortunately, these are sounds I hear almost daily, and almost always before 9 a.m.:

~ A garbage truck emptying three giant dumpsters right outside of my window.

~ Jackhammers.

~ Someone pounding something or dropping something. This morning, I think someone is moving into the room above me. I’m hearing what I believe to be the release of very heavy things onto the floor after carrying them up three flights of stairs. And the men carrying them are not particularly happy or quiet.

One of the guys just yelled at the other guy in the thickest Wisconsin accent. “Just slide the fucker down!”

Sleep, we hardly knew ye.

A huge perk of working in Milwaukee for ten weeks (and there are many, surprisingly), is that Chicago is $22 and a 90-minute train ride away. So this is where I will be going on my days off, and this is where I went on my day off. I squeezed in a haircut, a trip to American Apparel to replace the hair bow I lost, and catch-up time with no less than four friends.

Amanda and I didn’t venture far from our safe list of lazy-day activities: eating frozen yogurt, vintage shopping, eating straight from her refrigerator, fending off canvassers, eating. En route to Empty Bottle we grabbed dinner at Earwax in Wicker Park; our evenings plans nearly changed when I saw this tacked on the wall:

I mean, I haven’t seen a more appetizing amalgamation of delights since bar trivia. I almost wanted to set my alarm just so I could take a cab over in my pajamas to see the 2:30 Surprise by Antoine Dodson. Do they just play the song or DOES HE MAKE AN APPEARANCE? Since it looks like this happens every Monday, I’d bet not. And since it looks like this happens every Monday, I’m glad I have Mondays off, and that Amtrak is so reliable.