june 6 guess I didn't know In one of those little random mind wanders I have (when I just let the thoughts go where they will, something like a conscious dream) I started thinking about "Busy Child," the annoying yet compelling electronica song by Crystal Method. Then I started thinking, "Wouldn't it be cruel if your last name was Metheny -- like the jazz musician Pat -- to call your daughter Crystal? Cause she'd be Crystal Meth her whole life. I think it was still on the brain last night because I had a dream where I was drugging it up pretty hard and on the run from some general Authority Figure and it all seemed to be a powder layering over objects that was getting me high. I had a point in writing here tonight, and now I forget what it was.
Well, until something better comes along, all should bow down and pray to the great journal goddess that is Shelley. She was nice enough to write me back and tell me what sort of digital camera she's using (that's my new fetish object), so here's her website: Shellyness. Oh, wait, I mentioned her last time. Screw it. Damn. What was it I was going to say. The brain is gone to mush. That won't help when I have to write a speech for my next toastmaster group. Let's see, the day went like this: Expected horrible work load due to lack of news section on day of closing of magazine, sweated that until I was almost talking to myself, got in, and as with many things, the anticipation is the worst part. We still didn't get out until 7, but it all fell neatly into place. Not that I could rely on Her Royal Highness, aka The Amazon Hurricane, for advice. Tuesday afternoon, I ask AH if she has any advice since we're getting to closing with almost no news section. (Normally, I'd speak with Her Other Royal Benevolent Highness, aka The Princess, but she was out of town.) Here's the response I got: "Well, you're the news editor, aren't you? I hope you have a Plan B." Talk about inspiring. I could get haughty rhetoric on the street corner, thanks very much. Later on, AH screamed out, "It's hot in here!" and I couldn't help it -- I said aloud, "No, you're just fat." Fortunately (for my own safety), I was around the corner and down the hall as she said it. Yeah, talk about voices carry. So it wasn't work I was going to write about. Not much happened after work, actually, either. Too late. Hmm. Maybe it'll come to me in another crystal meth dream.
Meanwhile: Saturday - The Great Marc Maron speaks! I'm so there, whether company comes along or not. "Without me, there is no show."
