3:27 pm | 09 June 2003 | smooth jams

I was fairly productive this weekend--i managed to only be drunk once, and it was a productive drunkenness, if that makes any sense, and then i read Villette and half of Middlemarch, had lunch with Kashe, painted part of my house (Bored/Manic Redecoration 2003B is in effect), wrote some shit, smoked a lot, listened to the new Blur, jammed out solo, went to the dentist wildly hungover while a Korean woman named Leann attacked my teeth for forty-five minutes with a wide array of metal implements that never fail to horrify, went for lots of walks with the dog, was briefly ill, and hung out on the roof, studiously ignoring the dwellers of the neighbouring roof and photographing the skyline. So, not bad. Although i came perilously close to physically assaulting my cholo friends down the block, to whom firecrackers of the eeeeeeeee--POP! variety are endlessly compelling, and who let them off ALL FUCKING WEEKEND at ALL FUCKING TIMES, despite it not being the Fourth of July, Puerto Rico Day, or even some kind of weird state holiday. I hate that.

My car's cd player sometimes coquettishly refuses to play cds, spitting each disc out with an LCD plaint of ERR (which is probably supposed to mean ERROR but which i usually think of as just a petulant "Err"). This happens at the worst times, such as on my morning commute, when the radios strive mightily to play nothing of substance and when i am cranky and most want familiar music. "Nooo!" i sulked audibly. "Not this morning!" I jimmied the PREV and NEXT buttons, hoping to acheive some kind of successful combination of elements that might override the cd player. No such luck. And then, to my disgust, i heard myself whine, "I need my smooth jams!" Yes. YES. I said "smooth jams." IN REFERENCE TO DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE. What is HAPPENING to me? clm.