Yeah, just not in the mood for writing. At least not here; I've been working on 5000+ word fare, and I'm not ready to burst past a self-imposed 3254 word limit I've set - and matched twice - on these pages. It's been a strange weekend, starting off with an adrenaline boost then decelerating to a welcome, peaceful monotomy. I may throw some fragments on here, but right now I'm trying to maintain a pace slightly beyond an encroaching beer buzz.
Haute Trash was a blast; Bree strutting Michelle's Stranger dress stood out in the bunch. But the rain! WTF? Most all converged on a packed Canterbury for an after-gathering. Some orchestrated, some abdicated.
Saturday was an aimless, carpetmouthed day (I drank at each of the three stops along the way the previous night). I gave over to cat-sitting at friends, which was a little weird - the friend being Michelle's (different Michelle: my ex) sister...and my lack of enthusiasm over dealing with the output of 80 pounds distributed across 5 cats gave away to me, sitting cross-legged on the floor, poring through a dozen photo albums. That, and I fucked up their television - at least the audio. But I did find their porn. Note: never have me housesit / catsit for you.
Today wasn't much different. I tracked down a copy of Stephen Dixon's Gould on my morning promenade. I need to go back and pick up Frances Farmer's autobiography. I didn't want to spend 12 bucks on a trashed pocket-sized paperback, but I have a feeling if I don't, I won't see it for awhile. Oh, and I picked up the Harvey Danger album at Easy Street.
Haute Trash was a blast; Bree strutting Michelle's Stranger dress stood out in the bunch. But the rain! WTF? Most all converged on a packed Canterbury for an after-gathering. Some orchestrated, some abdicated.
Saturday was an aimless, carpetmouthed day (I drank at each of the three stops along the way the previous night). I gave over to cat-sitting at friends, which was a little weird - the friend being Michelle's (different Michelle: my ex) sister...and my lack of enthusiasm over dealing with the output of 80 pounds distributed across 5 cats gave away to me, sitting cross-legged on the floor, poring through a dozen photo albums. That, and I fucked up their television - at least the audio. But I did find their porn. Note: never have me housesit / catsit for you.
Today wasn't much different. I tracked down a copy of Stephen Dixon's Gould on my morning promenade. I need to go back and pick up Frances Farmer's autobiography. I didn't want to spend 12 bucks on a trashed pocket-sized paperback, but I have a feeling if I don't, I won't see it for awhile. Oh, and I picked up the Harvey Danger album at Easy Street.
4 comments:
I hunkered down to read another 87 pages of your blog, but I guess you're behind. :)
Thank you so much for the Haute Trash ticket, I had a lot of fun!
Absolutely fun. I still want that ONE pic. The blinding one.
And anksthay orfay ouryay ennanigansshay ndyay ouryay arningsway.
Or why god hates pigs.
Well He sure loves us.
He made them so tasty.
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