Trolling For Tinfoil
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Fixed the damn template.

Instead of sifting thru HTML, I went to the helpsection and pasted a patch in for the huge, gaping space under the post header. All is well in Tinfoil Land again.

In other news, I have a new hobby, albeit a tad misogynistic.. If I imagine the ex with a haircut, I have loads o' fun dropping her and flinging her about.

Yeah, yeah, I know.. It'll pass. It's only a program designed to demonstrate human movement, so don't get yer panties in a wad.

I've benn so self-absorbed lately, (*gasp* NO!.. Really?) I haven't even checked the left side of the blogosphere to enjoy the red-faced spittle mouthed crowd as they piss and moan about conspiracies, oil and whatever the hell they love to tell themselves. The Presiden'ts speech was effective, and purposeful.
The left has no plan at all except "get out". I believe it was Nancy Pelosi (or perhaps another interchangable sour-puss) who stammered and dodged when asked what their plan was.

Apparently, it's much more fun to piss and moan as opposed to contributing any useful strategies. That's just not as much fun when you're obsessed with your own vitriol.

Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Late night post.
Empty screen- Hmmm..

Looks like another stream of consciousness kinda post. Roughly the equivalent of "Here I sit broken hearted.."

I hope my template has miraculously fixed itself, because I don't have the energy to pore through the code to fix it right now. I have been holed up in the house, and due to a schedule snafu- I don't have to play tonite, which left me watching TV and happily scratching my ass most of the night.

It's kinda nice to be a hermit. I downloaded a bunch of Allison Krauss for ye olde iPod, since I absolutely adore the sound of her voice. I shall start stalking her soon.

She loves me- She just doesn't know it yet... Maybe a few dead pets on her doorstep as a token of my affection will woo her.

I burned them to CD to listen to as I fall asleep since as of late my brain has decided that 11:30 is the perfect time to churn relentlessly and pore over every conceivable scenario, real or imagined.
Boy, does that piss me off. The madder I get at myself, the harder it is to get to sleep. It makes you want to get a ball peen hammer and bonk yourself on the noggin. Manual reboot.

Okay- I'm off to toss and turn.

Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Mental Flotsam
The week from hell is over, but I am about to embark upon a new adventure in self-flagellation.

I’m on call this week and over the holiday weekend- It’s a damn good thing I have no life.

I have to figure out how to juggle being on call while playing this weekend.
I mean- It’s not like I can just set my bass down and scurry off to fix someone’s solitaire.

This weekend’s festivities include a two night gig at the ex’s favorite dive bar, followed by a four day stand the following week at the local Holiday Inn where she works four nights a week.. Hoo boy, there’s nothing like watching your drunken ex try to play games with your mind while you’re trying to be the happyhappy rockstar. I have seriously considered bailing out of the music scene, but I need the extra cash- As soon as my bills are paid off, I’m done for a while, I think.

I am getting burned out.

Sunday, June 26, 2005
I just got home, it's hot and humid and the AC is being whipped within an inch of it's ever-shortening life in an effort to remove all the heat and moisture in the air.

We played a six day stand at HersheyPark. For those of you who have no idea what this "HersheyPark" thing is I speak of, it's basically a Six-Flags/Great adventure money pit for parents in Hershey, PA with a chocolate candy theme. A kiddie Casino.

A burger and fries will cost you ten bucks- It's no wonder the parents look absolutely tortured. It's hot, it's loud, the kids are hopped up on Hershey Kisses and Reese's, and they're chasing their brood around in the midst of all this chaos forking out money hand over fist.

Weekdays are pretty quiet, so you get to sit by the artificially cheery stream that runs through it and watch the ducks. Weekends are survival of the fittest compounded by the chaos created by Dave Matthews coming to the stadium. Wall to wall frat kids, lined up asses to elbows trying to get through all the traffic to see their idol.

If I had more energy, I'd straighten this dis-jointed post out, but I'm beat.


Friday, June 24, 2005
My template is hosed.
Not sure what's up with the huge space under the title, but this is a test post at best.

Quickie insta-post.
It's June 24- which according to some scientist somewhere- Today is the happiest day of the year, according to some statistic that he's managed to pull out of his.. Database.

Soooo.. I'm happy. Dammit.

I bought a squishy stress yo-yo thingie at HersheyPark which I promptly managed to pull apart. (I used to do this to all my Christmas toys too.. Apparently, I'm still a two year old, since I still giggle when someone says "uranus".) I'm now completely enamored with the four-colored flashing LED thingie inside it. If I cup it in my palm and hold it up to my eyes, I've got an instant rave goin' on. Woo.

I also use it as in "Idiot Alert" to notify those around me that I'm on the phone with a mentally challenged dimwit. I can also turn it on when my boss walks in. He asked what it meant. I told him it was a hypnotic device, and I will use it control his mind. I then began waving my fingers while saying "wooooo... Give Rob a raise" but it only made him shake his head and leave.

Mission accomplished.

Monday, June 20, 2005
It's 11:00.
I just got home from playing the Ampitheater in HersheyPark after working all day. . It was bee-yoo-tiful out, so between sets I sat outside and watched sugar-fueled children scamper past followed by hot, weary parents trudging along behind the strollers.

HersheyPark is a huge expense, so I feel a little sympathy for the parents, trying to get the most out of their bucks- The ampitheater is shaded, so they sit, more apreciative of the chance to rest than the actual music I think.

All in all- It was a good day. I am officially tired, so I'm off to bed.

Sunday, June 19, 2005
Possibly the last of the Angst-y posts..

I have a little catching up on my blogging to do- I’ve been tasked with completing a Meme sent by Mustang23, some reading I promised Sougata I’d do, and I miss posting in general.

Not really feeling “writer-ish” today, but here goes.

Well, that’s not exactly true.. I feel like dumping, venting my spleen, but I’m not sure that dragging you all along thru the muck is the way to go about it- but I may do it anyway.. Today was a rough day.

I came home after vacation, and did some long overdue house cleaning, laundry and pitching all the ex’s odds ‘n ends. I get annoyed that I have to deal with it at all. Women require a lot of stuff to smell, look and feel girlie, but it only annoys me to look at it, and it’s easily replaceable. It’s not like she didn’t know what my reaction would be- she gambled, lost, and came and got her stuff- so what she left behind goes in the trash. Period. I don’t need it, I don’t want it around, so it goes.

I will back up her files, but those will be passed to someone, since she and I have in the past, a rather nasty habit of torturing ourselves, acting wounded and too proud to bend.

This time there’s no bending, only broken.

I look at this the same way I did when I quit drinking.. I got sick of the negative effects only after rationalizing the positives for waaayy too long.

She had enough things about her that I liked, that made me feel good, that the negatives were worth working on, to my rather convoluted way of thinking. The problem with that theory lies in the fact that only when you get sick of making the same mistakes over and over again will you change, which is what happened to me, and as of yet- Hasn’t happened to her.

My real problem is- I like to drag out my resentments, polish them, look them over, feel angry and work myself into a state of misery. This is a habit I’ve yet to break, but I’m working on it.

It’s made easier by the fact that this was just as much my fault for trying again as it was hers. I have no control over her actions, and you can’t break people like dogs with a rolled up newspaper. I knew better, but ignored the advice of some very wise people and gave it another shot, because I believed what I wanted to believe. .

Pfft. Flippin' lunacy.

Saturday, June 18, 2005
Home at last..

Well… I’m back.

Did battle with the traffic, emerging unscathed.. Barely. I managed to get lost on the beltway around Baltimore, but that always happens to me, since I have no sense of direction at all.

Beltways suck. East is west, north is south, slam on the brakes, downshift, floor it, flip the bird, shift lanes, joust and jostle your way around the whole damn city before finding your way out of the maze. No cheese was offered as reward, but I still beat everybody home.

The week at the beach was very relaxing, almost boring. If you don’t party, there’s not much else to do- I tried sitting listening to music, but as a musician, I’m jaded. I then tried "Seacrets" which as bars go, is pretty amazing, but you can only watch punks and divas for so long before you realize how out of place you are. Put me in a bar, I’m lost unless I’m on stage..

So what did I do?

What else?

I sat on the boardwalk and watched the endless parade of hotties go by. Roughly 4000 little girlies in swimsuits and minskirts crammed into a 5 mile stretch of beach town. All half my age, and completely uninteresting in any other sense but the visual.

But the visual?

Oh. My. God.

*sigh* Youth is wasted on the young.

Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Sandcastles and Sunburn
I have sunburn...

I managed this in spite of sunblock that would keep a vampire alive at high noon.
I wasn't sitting there, baking like a turkey either- I was teaching my nephew the finer points of castle building. He and I didn't quite see eye to eye on a few things, since he's partial to moats. He likes deep ones, with smaller ones surrounding it like miniature water hazards. The castle itself is purely secondary..

I like my castles big, imposing and walled in, heavily fortified with guard towers with interlocking fire, open killing grounds andarcherytowersandcatapults .... You can see where our paths separated. So, I let him dig the moats, while I built fortress Rob.
It looked like a S&M golf resort- moats and waster hazards everywhere, walls and towers, and a huge central hall.

Unfortunately, the sea came. We were thinking siege, but they attacked in waves.

The moats were the first to go.. Then the walls, my nice little guard towers falling one by one. The main hall withstood the onslaught for a good ten minutes, looking like a medieval ruin by the end. Most of it had caved in on itself, leaving a jagged, mountain-like shape standing by itself, all alone on the moor.

Spent more time on the boardwalk..The girls that are graduating High School do NOT look like the ones I graduated with. Good lord, these boys are lucky. Some look girlie and young-ish while others had me contemplating throwing a fishermans net over the boardwalk, gathering about twenty of them into a pile and diving in headfirst into the little ocean of hotties.

I knew it was time to go back to the condo at that point...

Sunday, June 12, 2005
I'm able to post from the shore, as you can plainly see...

Got in late last night, listened to my Mother tell me waaaayy too much about my little sister, who is sweet, but quite the little diva princess. It's not that I don't care about her, or what she's doing, but if my Mother- Bless her heart- starts talking about her, dig in and get comfortable. You will hear every subtle nuance, detail and whatnot about her life.

Took off on my own for about four hours today, walked the boardwalk, and spent a good two hours just sitting, and watching the parade of humanity.

Let's see... The beach report as viewed by Rob
Kids have a lot of tattoos these days. The popular one with the girlies is the tribal across the small of the back, whereas the guys get the usual armband/shoulder tat. Hollister seems to be the "in thing" in clothing, and beads have managed to migrate from Mardi Gras to the boardwalk. Lots of talk about parties, hooking up, and meaningless chatter- Unless, of course- You're an 18 kid fresh out of High School.

Whoo, I feel old sitting there.
39 isn't ancient, but these kids could easily be mine. (by numerical stats only...)

I feel like I'm invisible here, which is kinda nice. Noone pays attention to the guy on the bench, benignly eyeing the crowd. I also feel very angry, bitter and jaded at times, but this will serve to keep me from chasing random skirts in a misplaced effort to get over/past/thru/around the logic blender in my head.

It's wierd, though. People seem to notice me when only I'm feeling that way. or maybe it's just that I could care less who thinks what.
I'm almost wishing for some hardass to start something, some dumbass who sees too little too late. I played for 15 years on the road in some really rough places- I have always gotten out unscathed, probably because of my size.

Hell- I could be five foot nothing and you people would never know, until someone who knows me reads this- but being six-four has it's advantages.

I still like the beach, though. Salt air and Ocean Sounds make for great nightime lullabies.

Saturday, June 11, 2005
Pre vacation observations.
Leaving for the shore at 10 pm to avoid the traffic..

It'll take about three hours to get there, but it's a nice feeling once you roll across the bridge, and all your dirty little struggles seem to blow away with the air coming off the Atlantic.

This is not to say that I won't spend waaay too much time in my head, but there's plenty to do, places to go, people to watch.

I love to sit on the boardwalk, eyeing the people as they pass, doing little mental calculations in my head. What do they do for a living, are they happily married, that kid needs ritalin, she's pretty, she's waaay underdressed for her build, and he's stoned out of his gourd.

It's senior week at the shore, which means the only real downside is going to be fighting little packs and gaggles of teeny-boppers strolling up and down the boardwalk, trying to see and be seen. Like little insecure geese, the girls huddle together, giggling, whispering, eyeing the "hawt" guys, little tenative glances down at their cleavage, a subtle tug on the swimsuit, hoping all the right pieces are in place like wares on display- Self-esteem is at stake, their standing in the pack/herd.

The boys huddle together, but looser- Space between them, yet close enough to give them a sense of security while they walk their awkward teenage bodies- All arms, legs, joints and skinny fuzzy calves sticking out of immensely baggy shorts. You can tell who is better at the game. They have a sense of belonging, sure of their place, knowing what they want. It happens to be prominently displayed wrapped in tight little swimsuits. Quite a little display of darwinism.

I love watching mothers- Some women have great instincts for rasing children. Others- They have to work at it. The beach really seems to highlight the differences, or rather-the boardwalk does. By the time the kids get to the boardwalk, they're tired. Beat from a day of chasing waves, each other and digging sand holes.
Kids these days seem to have lost the finer arts of sandcastles. They dig sand holes instead... Which is okay- I love to watch the looks of determination on their little faces, certain that China lies directly beneath them. They seem to wonder why no-one has ever had enough ambition to dig and find it. So, the intrepid little diggers/explorers set off on a mission to tunnel down and speak some chinese, make friends and be home for supper.

The mothers herd their broods down the boardwalk, their swimsuits cut in such a way as to accentuates anything but the damage wreaked upon their bodies by childbirth. The hips are cut high, which gives them what I call "bumble-bee butt". Looks great from the front, or at least passable- But the view from the back is somewhat less than flattering at times.
Some women actually look really good after having had children - Not in a skinny, hollywood toned and shaped hot way, but in a round, appealing softness that implies sturdiness and dependability.

I'm more inclined to curvy women. I like the solid springiness that some women seem to have- Hips, small waist curving in, a little belly fat, solid muscle underneath giving it a solidity, yet softness.

I will no doubt see a lot of appealing shapes. I will no doubt see alot of interesting people.
I plan on doing a whole lot of nothing, play with my nephew and read a lot.
I'm off- If I have access to the intarweb thingie, I'll post.

If not- Leave something amusing in the comments.

Friday, June 10, 2005
Random One liners.
I'm just about out the door.

I have to pull a little Overtime tomorrow, but then- VACATION!

For a whole week in Ocean City, Maryland.

That damn Hurricane better get its ass moving on out the do' before I get there, because I am officially fried. Mental toast.

The down side, is- I'll be really broke, since what was going to be split in two I am now footing the bill altogether.


My sister usually brings her Laptop, so I should be able to post-

If not, I will throw something together when I get back..


REALLY Angst-y Post (#3 in a series of ..?)

(I promise to get back to normal soon, provided my brain spools down a little.)
I am sitting here wondering how- given my ability to read and understand people as well as most- How I could have wound up being such a dumbass for so long. Don't get me wrong, that's not a statement of anger directed at my ex, it's really more a generally honest question directed at myself. I started disecting both her AND my past behavior. It's scary how you can break it down, step by ugly step..

How to do the nasty on the sly, on the D.L., etc: (Based on much personal experience on both sides..)

1. Flirt with desired target.
2. Become somewhat curious as to what could happen if…
3. Begin inventing excuses to be in same places at same time.
4. Begin “selling” your case- “I’m not happy, or I love my Husband/Wife BF/GF, but….” (Why? This way no one thinks you’re a dog/slut, you’re just “trapped”..)
5. Combine alcohol and opportunity
6. Find right time/place and become “helpless against the attraction..” with said "person who understands".

In my heyday, this was my M.O. if I was actually dating someone.
Do it once- That’s forgivable. Do it consistently, and you become a soulless scumbag. Personally, I became tired of being a soulless scumbag,

So.. What’d I do? In typical dysfunctional fashion, I went out and found someone just like me. I then tried to be “the good guy”, having grown tired of being the local “player”. I tried hammering a square peg into a round hole. Repeatedly.

Ducks attract ducks, my Mother always used to say.
Funny- I am always the one sitting casually, arms draped over the next chair dispensing words of wisdom to others to whom the answers to life are not so easily apparent. If it was a guy, I’d say- “Man up, Nancy.. Move on” and if it was a woman, I’d say- “Suck it up, Cupcake. There’s more to life than a man..” I should've heeded my own advice.

Mweheh. Karma is a bitch.

Thursday, June 09, 2005
The cure for the blues is...

I am sitting here watching “Reno 911”.. The show is pure genius.
Brilliance. It's hard to be self-absorbed when you’re watching those freaks wander around, enforcing the law largely by accident...

In my semi-famous “boobies” post, I took a little editorial license claiming the accused no-show lingerie launcher had called me a 'pervert".

She didn’t.

I made that part up.

*sigh* There.. I said it.

I also promised that I would make a public apology upon the condition that she actually show up, sans bra-

Sooo. Here goes.


I am now officially contrite, provided that the other half of this agreement uphold her end of the bargain. If said party refuses to show up minus breast support of any kind other than outer wear, my contriteness is hereby terminated. Any additional acts of repentance will require jumping, dancing or sheer fabric, at which point I shall joyously renounce any and all statements as required.


I feel better already. Boobs cure everything.

Angst-y Post (part 2 of a series of ..?)
I had a friend once who had a pet boa kept in a glass cage.
All day long, the snake would constantly poke at the glass walls with his snout, relentlessly looking over and over again for a hole, a crack he could slide through- anything. The glass was there right in front of him, but it didn’t matter if he’d just been over it a hundred times- his short term memory wasn’t developed enough that he could remember where he’d just checked. He was convinced in his own reptilian manner that there was an exit somewhere, since he’d been let out of his cage to be held or fed, and this what probably reinforced his incessant search.

This seems to be how my brain works.
Nothing new is really going to make me feel better. I am obsessing, but this is something I’ve always done, turning things over and over in my head, although this changes nothing on a factual level. I think it’s my brain’s way of trying to find a way out of the pain/discomfort. It’s relentlessly seeking relief.

With regard to my previous post- I was right.
Dead on.

Unfortunately, betrayal is nothing new in this relationship. I hate the fact that I was so naïve/stupid so many times over for so long.
I defined myself by what it was. I would draw the line in the sand, and it would subside for a while, but eventually things would deteriorate all over again.
We'd break up. Months of self-inflicted torture would ensue, slowly coming unraveled day by day. We would slowly work our way back towards getting back together again, hoping that it was over this time, but the pattern would repeat itself. She was pretty, funny, smart, sex was amazing, but she was so screwed up from her upbringing that I don’t think she’ll ever get it right.

I have some idea on who the current side affair is but it doesn’t matter. It changes nothing, even if it was the pope.
What she does, doesn’t do or who loves me, who doesn’t love me has no bearing on who I am.

I know this to be true, on an intellectual level.

The worst kind of denial is the kind where, in the face of overwhelming evidence and past behavior, one continues to hold to the illusion of choice. What can I say? Who else do I have to blame?

Just me.

Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Angst-y blogger post.

Pondering changes in my future in a personal sense.

Boobs and butts mentioned in previous posts notwithstanding, I am waxing stereotypically pensive at the moment.

I was wondering when I’d fall for the blogger standard of thinking out loud via the web.. Feh. Blogs are very therapeutic anyway, so why not take advantage of getting rid of some mental flotsam?

Personal relationships are tough, and I’m wondering why it is that I put myself through such drama, whereas other people who I perceive to be less emotionally mature are able to cut loose and move on with relative ease. (So much for perception, eh?)

This is not to say that I’m not at that point, but in the past it has taken a whole lot of denial to stay within the bounds of the relationship. I’m wondering if it’s time to pull the ripcord and bail before I subject myself to needless torture.

The fear of losing the relationship is less than the fear of more self-inflicted angst.

Communication is not that great, since I despise conflict- so does she. However, I am almost required to be as honest at all times as I can be, (taking my direction from friends of Bill W.) whereas she seems to see rationalization as her strongest suit. I know her pretty well, having been down this road too many times before. I sense a real speed bump in the road ahead, and I may well decide that I no longer want to travel that path, having had my fill of “bumps”.

With her, everything is emotional, and what you do is relative to how you feel at the time.

We’ll see.. I could be totally off base, too.. Believe it or not, I have considered that fact too.

Today's perverse post..
Boobs were sooo yesterday-

Today's fixation is on the booty. The behind, the junk in the trunk, the badonkadonk. (dude.. I am so street I scare myself.)

The problem is this..

I work in a building with more grandmas per square foot than your average bingo hall. (Come to think of it, I could make a killing if I put a slot machine in the cafeteria and held lunchtime bingo..) However, I digress from the subject so near and dear to my heart. Boot-ay.

The good news is- When I'm not blogging, I actually work instead of leering. This place is a booty lover’s nightmare- Everyone gets older and things sag, flatten and expand, and it will happen to us all.. But I'm stuck in a booty museum.

Old ladies seem to come in two basic shapes.

Cardboard box.
(flatassicus pancakius) Looks like someone let the air out, rolled it flat with a rolling pin and pumped in some cottage cheese for texture. Looks especially appealing in threadbare double-knit orange polyester.

Huge. Immense. (badonkadonkus rotundus immensicus) Leaves the room several minutes after she does. I can only guess that all the gas from withheld farts has caused it to swell and appear as if it’s crawling up her back. Its natural habitat appears to be a Mu-Mu.

On the bright side we get summer interns- But- most of ‘em are too young and haven’t grown into everything yet. Still babies, basically.
This leaves me at a loss- Am I being punished for something? Why, dear lord did you strand me in this booty-barren wasteland? Have I offended thee in some way?

I dunno.

The girlfriend has been out of town for three days , which I think is the real problem.

Tuesday, June 07, 2005
If you love them, set them free..
Hey- I never claimed to be a saint..

A friend of mine promised to show up at a rather staid, conservative-esque gig and fling her bra at me. Needless to say, this would have caused a riot- and I would have been banished to the dog-house just for leering- but fortunately for all concerned, the proposed launching of the lingerie never came to be.

I was bummed- I was really looking forward to ogling, since things are starting to get warm and humid here on the east coast. It's the only thing I have left to look forward to..

I gave up drinking, since it controlled waaay too much of my time and money. I gave up womanizing for pretty much the same reasons, and you could safely say that I am an almost respectable citzen these days, no longer a full-time drunken-musician-slut. Having done just about everything one can do and live to tell about it, you should also keep in mind that for all my bluster, I an almost insanely anal about being in a monogamous, committed relationship.

No touch.

Not for any reason, because there isn't one good enough for the damage it will cause. Got it?

This does not stop me from being a somewhat twisted individual, so the email conversation this morning went something like this:

Hey, I apologize for not being there Saturday. I didn't feel great, so I stayed home all day. I'm sorry I said I'd be there and I wasn't!
Yeah, yeah..
I was hoping to score a bra.
sorry! next time!
I'm miffed. You were supposed to jump up and down.
I was looking forward to that.
A lot.
Shut up, I actually feel bad!
I had it all envisioned in my mind..
In slo-mo even.
They were real.. And they were spectacular.
Moving, released from their constraints- so happy to be free, waving to me from behind a black silk blouse, living as breasts were meant to live- Unfettered and full of motion.. *Que theme music- Born Free* Booooorrnn Freeee...As freeeee as the wind bloooooows...
Alas.. It was not to be.
you just made me choke on my coffee...
Sort of.
Just remember.. You owe me happy, bouncing boobies.
Happy ones- Full of life, living in their natural environment. None of those sad, lifeless boobies peering dully out from behind a wall of fabric condemned to a life of being stared at by passersby wondering what they'd be like if they were allowed to roam free as nature intended.
A happy, free-range boobie zoo.

Ladies- If you love them and love America- Set them free...
Then you can.. Say- do jumping jacks and play on trampolines?

Friday, June 03, 2005
Beef Jerky Wars
If you'll care to take a gander over in yon sidebar, you'll notice the icon labeled "Bloggers for Beef Jerky".
"Why, what is this?" you ask yourself-

Go ahead.


You know you want to...

For those of you with dial-up or ADD, I'll spell it out for you.

It seems Jean-Paul, of The National Guard Experience is attempting to take advantage of the generosity afforded to him by the donating public. In short- he's trying to stack the deck, grease the wheels, and buck the system by looking the proverbial gift horse in the mouth and declaring it unfit for consumption. He should've started small, asking for gradual changes according to need and taste, but...

He got greedy.

He went straight for the holy grail and asked for, of all things- A friggin' Ipod.

Not only that- He's trying to ruin it for lesser mortals who actually dare to confess a liking for Beef Jerky. I mean.. What if you're out on patrol, in full battle rattle and not gonna make it back in time for chow? Whaddaya do? Reach in your pocket and pull out your Ipod? Do you know how long a charge lasts on those things?

At the very least, you can pull out a nice, healthy chunk o' Dried Cow, which will hold you over nicely, keeping your blood sugar levels normal- thus preventing your hunger-induced bad attitude AND your crappy music from adversely affecting the mission.

The nerve of some people.

Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Meme Time
I have been tasked by Jim to complete the following in order to maintain my cool status.

Ever driven by peer pressure, I shall comply-(Keep in mind I used to play music for a living so my tastes run from the cheesy to the absurd.)

Total volume of music files on my computer: Work- 0 Home- 1gig

The last CD I bought was: Kim Ritchie's Glimmer (What can I say..I love the production values..)

Song playing right now: Poco's Call it Love

Five songs I listen to a lot, or that mean a lot to me: Crowded House Don't Dream it's Over -I'm a sucker for a Hammond B3. Great wind down the day song.

Starship's Jane -It's my morning-drive-to-work-and-get-your-ass-awake-tune.

Atlanta Rythym Section Imaginary Lovers Just one of those slow, suck you in and keep you until the song's over kind of tunes. Even if it is about masturbation. It took years to figure that out- I still liked it even after I listened to the lyrics.

Brother Cain's Got no Shame I can't sit still when I hear it. It compells you to sing at the top of your lungs in the car, play air gutar and air drums simultaneously.

Miles Davis- Anything from Kind of Blue.. Required listening if you are serious about music.

That's it-
Be carefull what you wish for.

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