Creme De Peche Mode

Title refers to a drink we devised tonight: Vanilla Vodka, Peach Schnapps, and Half and Half. A work in progress.

I know I certainly didn't look at this page eleven times in the last few hours...have we actually had a couple of visitors? My cat is laughing at me.

Hanging Posters in Window

One day, perhaps in a novel-type format, I'll address all of the notes I write down, night after night.

For her sake, I hope that Durham decides to publish memoirs, and that those get a lot more credit than anything I offer up.

In the meantime, some slogan-worthy advice:

"If they've never heard of it, sell 'em a Yuengling." Also, "Unobjectionable."

And,

"Who rocked the Casbah?"

(According to Durham, I did.)

Castles Made of Sand

Why is Hendrix the coolest? Why? Why??

Rip This Joint

If String Theory is the idea that the Universe is made up of tiny, vibrating strings, then count me in. Also, review all of the notes I've made while under one influence or another, and tell me why I shouldn't believe in such crazy things...

**explore! Explore, not Explode!"

DYAC. Cibo Matto, Birthday Cake, Kids In the Hall Brain Candy.

All or Nothing Crazy

profound idea to post online, for the benefit of any body that takes anything from it: lost. "I'm the kind of guys that wants to walk around with an open shirt and a beer, and still have a definite sex appeal." But, I guess we all want to be that guy... Tonight's Grocery List. Flat Tonic? George Thoroughgood --Tables (21, 9, 5 --feet for bottoms Managers M: --Frank --Staffing Beer Week --S. --Beer Filights S! Ooh, a dirt list. Can't talk too much about that. My dream the other night, in Beats as I remember them. 1. EXT. Busy Innercity. Night. Character (Man) in argument with Girlfriend. 2. EXT. Busy Innercity. Continuous. Man gets into truck, solo. 3. EXT. Innercity road system. Moments later. Man, driving under cover of dark, takes "right" turn. 4. EXT. Dark road. Moments later. Man, seeming in the middle of nowhere, pulls up to a gate. 5. EXT. Gate. Continuous. Man climbs over to explode. And so on and so forther. Man ends up exploring an abandoned dam facility, encounters a series of three creepy hobos, attempts to escape the damn but is confronted by the damn's changing terrain; discovers that the three creepy hobos are ghosts who died when the damn was originally flooded; escapes the damn's "Cube"-like infrastructure, while it is flooded by the storm that drowned the creepy hobos; runs across the storm-savage plain; happens upon a town outside of the storm's savagry; ultimately learns that the town is under siege of the Civil War, effectively placing him back one-hundred-fifty years from the start of the book? Second dream-story to involve time-travel, also fancying that Steven King dreamt a number of his own ideas and plots and many of those dreams involved time travel;;;my typing fingers seem so very far away from the body, disconnected; ordinate; (not subordinate, you see, what's the word? Sentient. Yep, they've got their own little thing going on down there, completely detached but psychically committed to the same obligations that the brain up here is committed too...God, if you could see all the mistakes that I've erased...God, if you could see those, and you are seeming them is the point, what would you have to say about it? Let's open the floor to questions: Whew...I guess this shit is working...this and shit are anagrams...I thought they were pentagrams...In fact I meant palindromes...because shit spelt backward is siht, and that's not the same thing... Definitely working. But I want to go to bed, don't want to...shot of Fireball whiskey...don't want to push this to one of those ends...it's daylight already. I used to be a liaison to daylight. Once.

The Simoleon Equation

We've just started playing The Sims. Just started if it's me, of course; just continued if you're talking to Verano, who will play The Sims, but only The Sims, and no other kind of video game ever made ever. I'll make this thought short, because it's late and I need to turn in: I was inevitably comparing myself to my little Simulated self, and I wondered why my Sim ("Claudio") had to settle for a measly $308 a day job. Of course, I already work for less than that, but...who has time to be mad about such cruel realities? My Sim is getting underpaid, dammit. It's makes me mad, even if I can't properly apply this heavy, appropriate metaphor to the part of my life that is undoubtedly mostvulnerable to its teachings. So, Claudio is so much responsibility that, when he finally gets home, I wonder if the rest of his upkeep is worth the measly $308 he makes everyday? Plus, on that salary, I don't get to build a fancy home, or edit his lifestyle, at least not any time soon. Why worth the trouble? I can just cheat and put in the multi-million dollar code. There! Now, suddenly, Claudio can have whatever he wants, and I'm stuck here living vicariously through a computer program when I could be making these unspecified dreams come true for myself. In the fake game of Life there's a cheat code that gets it done for you. In the real game that cheat code is only wishful thinking. Claudio has the best house of any scientific test subject that I know.