Midnight musings ...

All righty. At the point on a Friday evening when there is both a slight sting and a satisfying comfort when I close my eyes. I'm also a bit weary from a few glasses of Donnie Mac beer and Bardenay wine, so you'll have to excuse the prose. And the syntax. And the nonsense.

Sometimes I like to take advantage of this state of mind and just exercise some stream-of-conscious writing. Much like James Joyce, but with little literary signifigance. The term stream-of-conscious always brings to mind a book called "Johnny Got His Gun" that I was supposed to read over a decade ago but have yet to crack. It's about a disembodied torso or some shit in the middle of a battlefield. That might not even be right, but it sounds like an interesting concept. Trumbo? Naw. Actually, maybe. I'd Google it, but that would defeat my mission right now.

I had lunch with Jared today at Subway. We are trying to get the most out of the sandwich chain's "five-dollar foot-long" promotion while it lasts. The commercials are obnoxiously addictive. I don't really dig them, but I do dig a good jingle. Jared tells me that jingles are coming back, but I'm not sure about that. I'd like them to, though. Jingles are pure marketing put to an excrutiatingly simplistic tune. I dig. "Free credit report dot commmmmmmmmm."

I've substituted spinach for iceberg lettuce on my deli sandwiches. It's way better and I wish I would have started this trend a long time ago.

Had a three-hour meeting today. Ron Paul was at the newly-named College of Idaho, but I missed his presentation as my meeting ran into it. Was a bit upset about that, but had no choice. Oh well.

The Great Gatsby sits on the counter to my right, folded, crinkled, and beautiful. It is of a similar length to "The Catcher in the Rye" and gives me hope for finishing it. James Joyce is dense. F. Scott may not be. Joseph Conrad is a sober day's read. Maybe tomorrow night I'll crack that and finally understand the first page. It's daunting as fuck. Every time I drink, I wake up in the morning and hope I'm not stupider. When I was studying for the GMAT and not drinking at all, I was sharp. Sharp like a madman (TCITR reference). Trying to decide if the abstinence is worth it.

Caught Mike Doughty at The Record Exchange tonight. Maybe the best concert I've seen in the last year, sadly. Save John Mayer/Ben Folds. That was excellent. However, it was awesome to be within arm's reach of Doughty. Great musician. Learning to play the guitar myself and failing spectacularly, I have a lot more respect for artists like him. Stopped a few times in the middle of songs, self-aware and insecure. It's amazing to see a musician who crafts such fine songs acknowledge errors in front of an audience. You can tell he's a bit of a perfectionist. Much like me ... to a fault.

Looking for a place to do comedy. Looking for a place to see comedy. Coming up with a lot of material on my own, but no outlet. Seems frustrating. As soon as I become relatively comfortable, the outlet dries up. Every city needs a comedy club. It's good for its soul. Comedy may be the purest artform left. It's not marginalized, it's not regulated. It's pristine in a lot of ways. Stand-up comedy may be the last bastion of free-speech in this world. Truth in the form of jokes. Or, rather, jokes on us. It's beautiful, really. Comedy is critical and introspective. Much like music, but without duplicity and subtlety. It's a necessary component to any existence. We're seeing a crazy boom of stand-up again and the bubble will surely burst like it did in the 1980's. A new group of vanguards will turn comedy on its head and it will be underground/alternative again. Comedians are on Best Week Ever and acting and shit. No matter what you think, popularity and stardom spoil comedy. When a comedian hits the big time and can no longer relate to humanity, that's when he or she loses his or her edge and becomes unfunny. It's cyclical. Like the economy. Not really.

I don't want to find a picture for this entry. It's too much work at the moment. Finger resting on keys, like there are weights in the tips. I have to go get bagels before tomorrow's volunteer activities. Damn.

The staff at Blue Sky Bagels hates Tom and me. Not exactly sure why, but I bet it has something to do with our boisterousness. That's a word. Yeah, surprised me too. But, really, I guess buying a bagel sandwich doesn't give you the right to sit and people-watch for two hours. At least not for us. You should see the utter disdain in their eyes when we walk in. Boy do they hate us. I'm not even kidding at this point. HATE US. Except for one girl who is absolutely in love with us and awaits our arrival. "Did I see you at Bardenay last night?" she asked me once. The only response I could muster was "Do I have to sign for this?" I never have cash in the mornings. What's up with that? Credit card for $1.25 bagel with cream cheese? I have no choice.

Food rationing. It's in the news, let's talk about it! I love how this nation (the U S of A) is so full of incredulity and smugness about the very idea of rationing food. It'd do 50% of this nation some good to cut down a little here and there. I just can't believe the complacency. "That will never happen in THIS country. Not in this day-and-age." I love the phrase "this day-and-age." Like we've got it all figured out. "The generations of yore were full of unsophisticated chimps. They rationed food 'cause they were IDIOTS! Not because of civic duty or patriotism, but because they were stupid enough to get themselves in that situation. They didn't even have computers, the half-wit mongoloids!" Far be it from us to sacrifice a bit of our daily bread so we're not under the thumb of exporters who now need to feed their own people. 10 million people across the globe can now no longer feed themselves because of skyrocketing food prices. 10 million may only seem like a drop in the 7 billion-person bucket, but it's still 8-9 times the number of people in our (me and my fellow Potatohoans) state. Think about it that way. If you and your family and friends starved 9 times over.

I also find it funny that Costco is rationing rice ... not a food I necessarily associate with the US diet. Shouldn't we be watching our supply of bacon and chili-cheese fries?

Goddamn hippies.

The wine glasses at Bardenary are entirely too cold. They're defeating my oenophilic experience. I kid, I kid. But they are quite cold. I have to paint a mural tomorrow. Hopefully that entails painting within lines, not actually defining them. Where did my dexterity go? Was it with the wine? Aw, it's worth it. And, to think, a year ago I was sharing a bottle 4-5 nights a week. Now I have a wine fridge full of bottles and nary a single one has been cracked. Amisfield. Almost time to open that baby. Nearly time to go to New Zealand ... once the US dollar recovers. Before that: Peru, Nicargua, New Orleans, Niagra, Honduras ... et cetera. Too many places, so little time. Time to become a photographer. Time to let go. How long can I live off of student loans?

MS in Marketing. Time to learn. Time to return to academia.

My face is slumping. I've lost feeling in my cheeks. My friend Joe Davio used to ask us to slap him in the face when he drank. We could knock the hell out of him, like madmen, and he'd only ask for more. Yes sir. Full Metal Jacket. Yikes.

God I'm tired. I feel like I have a mouth full of false teeth. I'm uncertain I could form words with this mouth at the moment. If I did, they'd be over-enunciated in an effort to feign sobriety. Smiley, but full of self-conscious intellect. "Forty-grand in the hole."

Not coming up with much. Nothing in this entry that I'm thrilled with. With which I'm thrilled. Prepositions are weird. I have a big day ahead of me ... I should stop. Thanks for reading. Sorry you had to read it. Peace and love. -Blake J. Bloggerton