Broken Record

Once every 6 months or so I have to restore my ipod. Generally it's a pain in the ass. My music is scattered across not only my computer, but my room as well. My music lives on my little laptop, an external hard drive, various data discs and some is still on another computer that sits outside my door, tucked nicely in the hall corner.

Most times I want to break my ipod into a few little pieces when this happens, but that would leave me without an ipod, then where would I be? (The way we, and by we, I mean I, rely on electronics is ridiculous) My ipod is my constant companion, records on the go, coping mechanism, catcall blocker, mostly a way to either escape or exacerbate whatever feeling or experience I'm having.

So, what's the point?

Let's get there. I make playlists. I don't put my ipod on shuffle, I don't choose one thing and listen to it to death, I make weekly playlists of where my head is, where my heart it, where everything is and listen to that list until the feeling goes away.

When I restore my ipod, I lose my playlists. I don't keep them and that's for good reason. There are times I don't want to revisit what was going on, or what i was feeling. If something is important enough, it will stay.

With that being said, I lost my last 5 months of playlists.

Good riddance, there are some things that need to be destroyed.

Chaos Theory

My concept of time is a bit screwey.

I routinely have to be at work hours before the sun is up, I spend 9 hours on campus, days feel like weeks, my weeks like months.

That being said, I can't even remember Monday. Photos and receipts are how I remember. Some people use words or experiences, I need evidence of real life.

Looks like Monday and Tuesday were a blur

Wednesday was a good time.




I used to be a regular at Benders' Whiskey Wednesdays. Every Wednesday, for months straight, without fail, you could find me at this bar. I never left standing.
Desperate times.
Last Wednesday was the first time I'd been there in months, nice to see not much has changed.

Thursday was long.



Photo class, every Thursday, without fail. Also went to a rad house show, but I failed to bring my camera.

Friday I had the blues.




But I shook 'em off with the help of one of my best friends and a squeaky giraffe.

And somewhere in there I got my show tickets for Chaos in Tejas

Bikeage

Not much to report.

Work, school, shows, tutor, friends, repeat.



There are times when I feel I'm being overly social and some things of greater importance fall to the back burner. Most of the time I'm a-ok with this. The company I keep holds my head slightly above the drowning point.



In the mean time, my buddy Andrew was my model for my rudimentary photo class. We biked around SOMA, drank some beer and took some photos.

A Little Time

There's something about 3AM.

Ray Bradbury said 3AM is the closest to death you'll ever get. For me it's when I feel the most alive. I've never been a day person, all my good ideas, plans and actions come after dark. Tonight is the same.

I started tonight not intending to be awake now, I didn't want to be awake, I have some rather heavy business to take care of tomorrow, but sometimes (well most times) plans get derailed and life gets in the way.

Earlier tonight, around 8, I punked out of a rad show (that in retrospect I really should have gone to), I went home, watched Mean Girls, ate soup and knitted and napped. Really, how interesting for a Friday night.

I cleaned up my mess, settled into my room, ready to retire for the night. Instead I got a message from my roommate to let him up, that he forgot his keys. He brought with him some of my favorite people in the world.

A wasted night of intentional lameness turned into something amazing, mildly productive and all clarifying. This might be coming from sleep deprivation or inebriation either way everything feels together, honest and for the first time in a long time I'm really excited for tomorrow.

It's times like these that I welcome 3AM.