Scatter-brained
2003-02-15 � 1:09 p.m.

Firstly, go read this entry of TheRedArmy's. That made me laugh out loud and coffee come out of my nose, which is bad, because I'm not at my own computer, and now this computer has coffee on the keyboard.

I'll just have to pretend it wasn't me. I'm good at that. I pretend it wasn't me almost twenty-four hours a day.

I'm kind of spacey, because I'm O.D.-ed on the aforementioned coffee. I upped my consumption on purpose because, even though I am feeling better (and thanks for the well-wishing by the way — you kids are the coolest), I am exhausted and I need to work. I should have remembered that that's not really a solution. Now I'm exhausted and my extremities are shaking. Go me.

(My phone just informed me that my good friend George has located a new sushi restaurant that can create Vegas rolls! We thought it was only at Ah So, which is now closed, so this is grand news! Plus I'm l33t 'cause my phone is telling me about sushi restaurants.)

We have no DSL at home again. This is do to a combination of factors, but mostly boils down to the fact that my roommate and I are fuck-ups.

There is a particular kind of freedom that comes with admitting one's faults and foibles. It's like the SubGenius All-Purpose, All-Inclusive Divine Excuse — it covers your ass in any situation. It's addictive, kind of. "Gosh, I'm sorry I screwed that up. It's because I'm fucked up. What? You ask me, 'Who isn't?' Well, I can't answer that. I'm too fucked up." Luckily, admitting my flaws still makes my gut clench and my teeth grind together, so hopefully I won't get in the habit.

Time keeps ticking past, and I'm still going nowhere and doing nothing. What a waste of flesh I am, I am. Well, that's not entirely true — I don't have much meat on my bones, so it's not I'm wasting that much flesh.

I did a bad last Saturday, punishing my body and consciousness with sleep deprivation, weird vegetarian nachos, too much alcohol, rock and roll, and...things...done in cars outside of bars...with people I don't know. These all conspired to drive me into a mental and physical fugue state for the next couple of days, which probably led directly to me being sick, what with my body's energy reserves being low and all. I mention this because it caused me to be too messed up on Sunday night to totter over to Powell's Books and see William Gibson read from his new book, Pattern Recognition.

That's too bad, because this book is amazing. Seriously, this is one of the best novels I have ever read. Now, I realize that I am biased — Gibson is my favorite author. I maintain that Neuromancer is the best novel ever. But the thing is, Pattern Recognition isn't like anything else Gibson has ever written. Oh, his style is there of course, but this is not a science fiction novel. It's contemporary, it's forward thinking, and it's cool too. I recommend it heartily.

Sheesh. Scattered. Sorry 'bout that.

-t

Currently Aurally Inducing: Shellac, Song Against Itself
Selection of the Lyrical Vocabulary: "This is a song against itself..." (go figure, huh?)

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