We're gonna find out what it is all about...

The lovely and talented Shayna sang a song about me. It's just one of the many ways that crazy chick rocker spreads the love about the blogodrome. Between this, her interviews (it is an oversight that I failed to mention her most recent one, guest-starring the also wonderful Miz Bohemia), and all the rest, she's always over there making someone feel special. I love that I even know her, let alone that every once in a while I fall under her spotlight.

If that sounds at all fruity you should know that I'm feeling lightheaded and yet not tired. This may just shape up to be an interesting night.

And now for an introspective rant. Yeah, I know. What else is new. Not quite sure where or how long this is going to take me.

It's kind of weird. I've often made note that nothing goes on in my area during the hours that I prefer to be awake, but I'm wondering if I wouldn't be spending all this time on my computer anyways. It's a weird thing about the way my head works. I'm always, always in a better state of mind when I know I could be doing something else. That's why much of my time in school sucked. Because of my, well, extemporaneous nature to put an overwhelmingly positive spin on it, I was told as a tiny thing to do my homework as soon as I got home and that I could do nothing else until it was done. I suppose it was a good enough thought. And hell, I attribute most of the things I consider worthy about myself that I wasn't born with to my past as a social cripple (the inevitable result of being cooped up inside all day not doing homework). It just sucked then was all.

But where was I? Oh right. Nothing to do. My late night coffee buddy's work schedule changed and our rendez-vous... um, whatever the plural form of that is (Mrs. Roberts, I'm sorry. You were a good French teacher, honest. I just never used a single goddamned thing you taught me and here we are). whatever. they're toast. null and void. No longer part of the regularly scheduled program. Oh right. That reminds me. There may be a concrete and predictable end to this. Maybe when Cooper signs on, if Cooper signs on. Then again I may just leave it open. All things are possible.

Music playing. The sibling sitting next to me, at another computer, just put on Dark Side of the Moon. Took me I think seven years to get him to enjoy good music. And now all he seems to play is Pink Floyd, Bob Dylan, and Led Zepplin. I'm not complaining. They're awesome. And if nothing else the redundancy will force me to expand my tastes. Speaking of which I played my friend's album earlier today. She sounds better live, of course, but so does everyone. Then again maybe not as the people who tend to respond best to the howlings from my vocal folds have never heard me live. I'm not impugning your taste, I promise =P. Speaking of which I just got a call back from Daddy's Junky Music. The bad news is that my amp is toast. The good news is they're giving me store credit for it. The bad news is that I have to return the frikkin sweet loaner amp. The good news is that with the credit I can instead of an amp buy a gadget that runs my guitar through my computer. And to boot I just learned a song that wasn't written by Kurt Cobain. Not to knock Kurt of course. He's in the trio of my favorite dead musicians: Jimi Hendrix, Ray Charles, and Kurt Cobain. Not that he was a particularly great guitarist (hence it hasn't been much of a tall order to learn his songs) But damn could that dude write a lyric.

Anyways, the first song you hear from me with me on vox and guitar will be one that you've never even heard me make mention of.

But yeah. After midnight, I want to let it all hang down, but the fucking Man won't let me. Well, specifically, no one around here seems to be permissive. I just want one place. An all night cafe with a pool table and chill music and an open mic at least once a week. Maybe an arcade or something as well. And WiFi, so I can bring you all with me. There has got to be someone around here thinking the same as me. Blah.

I'm trying to structure this net habit of mine. make it more efficient. Organized my bookmarks. only need to click once to bring up all the blogs I read. once more to bring up the comics. RSS tells me which sites have updated. Don't check my own blog anymore. Don't have to. Turned on comment notification, and firefox tells me when a new email hits within three minutes. Shaves off some time for me to squander in a different way.

On the 21st, our favorite Cowgirl, who can it seems think of 15 readily availible and quite impossible to refute reasons to date her, made mention that her birthday was "in four days" Well, it's been the 25th over here for an hour and a half, and I believe the esteemed Cowgirl operates on Central Time, so it follows that it's been her birthday for a half an hour or so I think. In any case, I've been hammering away at these keys on and off for at least that long so Cowgirl I want you to pretend that I wished you a Happy Birthday way up at the top of this post. I also want you to imagine that I'm playing a distorted "Happy Birthday" on Ophelia. I cant, of course, because I don't have the (much) aforementioned gadget yet. Of course it'd get redundant if I did that for everyone's birthday. Unless of course I played it noticeably different each time. Well, in the words of Ted Kennedy, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

*puts on a pot of coffee*

I swear that the sixth scoop I dumped in there made a sound like "six." Maybe coffee wasn't such a great idea. Whatever. As Pia keeps reminding me, I turn 20 soon. 20 is still young enough to engage in some self-destructive behavior without committing fully to it. I think. And I'm not even quite there yet. Samantha, who to my utter distress hasn't been around in a while, told me about a year ago that 20 isn't really a big deal. I think I wouldn't mind it if my age wasn't a big deal... And not that I don't love hearing how surprised some of you (this would be you, Pia, Shayna, and Miz B) are that I'm as young as I am. It's that I'm sick and tired of being castigated for it. Heh. Well Coop, I was able to work it in before you.

Earth-toned equatorial analeptic, fill me. Vivify me. No sleep shall come ere the sun rise. The consumption fuels. It takes, it gives, it resets.

Flickering pixels on the screen. Entertainment from across the pond. Speculative fiction. Time Travel. My attention is demanded.

Later.