Tuesday, July 20, 2004

"If spitefulness were riches, my Esquimaux Lover, you'd live in a preposterous igloo of gold...."

Rummy with Carmel last night at the Ten Cat. Two Woodchuck ciders and I got to overhear some Deadheads talking about music. Boy, the Deadheads sure are cute when they get to discussing that stuff.

After the Ten Cat, I had a few toots of wine and created the drawing to the back of the Preposterous Igloo cds; found an image of an Inuit girl that I used for reference. I've been obsessed with these cds for about six months now and--although I know their creation will alter nothing--I still feel somewhat slightly liberated for dispensing with that nagging urge; I still like to think that it will somehow effect something. I am a dreamer, however. I easily burned 10 different versions, and tore through another twenty or thirty written lists trying to get the right mix. This morning, I played hooky from work for a few hours and printed out the covers (Epson printers are ass), cut them down to size, scored and folded them, and place everything into the cd trays. Now I just wait for the book(s) and drop everything in the mail.

The obsession thing: it seems like I do more damage trying to ignore it or forget it. Seems best to channel it into something productive. Perhaps it's not healthy, but I do get some kind of tangible object out of it.

Bike's in the shop today. They're looking at the "cone body" or some thing like that. I guess you're supposed to downshift into an easier gear when you slow up but I tend to stand and crank in a higher gear when taking off from a stop, creating a greater torque and, hence, loosening the cone shaped assemblage of gears on the rear wheel over time. However, it just doesn't seem proper to start is a pussy gear, does it? Then I feel like one of those old guys wobbling around on bike with their green-striped tube socks pulled up to their patellas, white, veiny flesh translucent in the sunlight.

Faxed off moving contract to Mini Moves today. Yet another step taken in the process of leaving this town.

Back home on the train today. Ugh. Man, I sure hope there's a Cubs game! WOO FUCKING HOO DUDE!

Work. Is. Deadly. Today. I don't know how or why anyone stays at this place for more than a few months. Oh, wait...I'm not staying for more than a few months. Perfect.

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