Saturday afternoons...

Those were the worst, cartoons were over and that ment that it was Bob Villa, golf and news for the rest of the weekend. Dad was at work, but mom worked nights, so she was getting up soon, and she'd be saying any minute now some variation on the following; "clean up the Cinamon Toast Crunch all over the floor", "go get changed out of your PJ's," "Go play outside, it's beautiful out.", "I said clean up the floor!" or "Pick up your socks!"

Then one day i discovered that if i got up early enough on school days i could catch an hour of cartoons that would come on between rush limbaugh and the morning news, man i was so there. usually it was Ducktales. I would sit patiently through Rush, trying to comprehend why it was exactly that he was sweating like that. I never figured it out, but i watched him intently most mornings knowing intuitivly that i must be watching some sort of special brodcast intented for my parents eyes only. Not long after that i started to sneek back downstairs after i was sent to bed and hide behind the couch so i could listen to my parents talk about what i assumed was their plans to rule the world.
They never really said much to each other though, infact, i don't think they ever talked to each other after me and my sister went to bed, they're jobs were done, nuff said i suppose. Some nights i would just fall alseep behind the couch, it was nice cause my back was right up against the register.

Eric getting in the zone w/ A's Mandolin

Relax, it's just an Umbrella...

Who needs sleep...

I aparently don't. Five weeks of Aristotle and Kant, plus a smidge of Hawthorne, and not a single night spent staying up all night listening to records, talking absolute shit, smoking cigarettes or driving amlessly through empty pre-dawn streets, coughing up laughter, waving at road signs, or cursing the sand im my mouth. Not at least, until last night, but now the cigarettes are gone, replaced with a tall glass of water, the records are still spinning however. Yume Bitsu, is good rainy saturday morning music. the new Time Lag Compilation, is getting heavy rotation, but next up is Ghost, snuffbox imanence.
I can see people moving around on the TV but that's only on TV, nothing here is moving except my fingers, and occasionally my jaw as it chews up my toungue on it's own volition. the shades are drawn down, down almost to the bottom, but if had drawn them down all the way, they would have crushed A.'s Jade tree, and that would have made me cry. So istead, there is half light, and there is a wonderfull feeling that it'll do for now.

Get the headphones out

So here is the Album of the week, if not month (year?) - The Sunset Tree, probably the most intimate Mountain Goats release... ever, and that's saying quite alot concidering their last release. Where he's usually dropping galloping tales of acid slinging highschool football stars, marginalized culture junkies, and lovers on the run from, well, themselves - he instead decides to turn his literary razor on his own wrists and lets go with a warm salty tourent of childhood trauma and solace in innocent sex and stereo headphones. Heartbreaking stuff, and i would imagine for some this album will hit a bit to close for comfort.

The elusive dancing window fairy

Here i is 

Me and A surviving nuclear fallout 

So much for Friendster

I've decided to move my blog to Blogger cause Friendster is going down the shitslide - i'm gonna try to move my posts and pictures here but chances are it won't work very well.