Current fantasy baseball standings: third, third, third. At least we are first division in all three leagues, but we'd rather be kicking more ass. Hard to do with no home internet and only the library to compute from.
You know how you totally forget a band and randomly take one of their records to work then go crazy on them all of the sudden after they've been broken up for years and the kids don't know about them anymore and then you feel old and cool, like "yeah, I saw them play with Seam in 1998 and it was Beast City"? Fuck, that is what 32 so totally feels like, in a nutshell. Unwound is the obsessed upon, currently. What a doozy band! Go find your Unwound wacks and listen to them. Or go buy some Unwound. Nothing splashy in their rock jams, but always so totally in the cut. If you want to know where to begin, get in touch.
We are also now obsessed with Kiki and Herb after last night's apartment listening party. Thanks, Miles.
Today we were the recipient of a very fine email compliment from a friend, with whom we share a few of our phobias and social anxieties. These phobias and anxieties have kept our friendship with this person in a constant state of flux; weird text message feints and email withdrawls and all sorts of randomness over the years. For some reason, we wouldn't have it any other way. But thanks, friend. It means a lot.
Odd fixture of sobriety #73: Dreams. More on this in coming posts, but dreaming again is weird. Years of alcohol-fueled dead black sleep have left us unprepared for the subconcious (sp?) cannon fire tracing through the late night of our psyche. Do you dream? Are they good? Do you engage in coitus and then ride around alien planets in odd automobiles? We do. And we are not smoking weed, lately.