The Obscure

He said, "You look cool."

So I just got back from the Ravi Shankar show, it was amazing. Of course, like with every other show I will ever go to ever, I fell asleep for a small period of time. But this wasn't usual sleep, it was more like meditation. I could still hear the music perfectly, but my body was shut down. It was a really cool experience, I'm so glad I got to see it. For more details, talk to Tim, he'll be able to tell you about it in less-moronic detail.
My keyboard is being stupid, hang on, I'm going to switch.

Curse my furiously generous and devishly handsome nature! I gave away all my keyboards except for my ultra-back-up one, which is this old IBM piece of crap that clacks like a typer-writer. On the plus side, the thing is unbreakable, unlike several of the other keyboards I have had. My good one just needs some cleaning, that's all.

I have all of these notes jotted down for a piece I want to write on here, something that isn't just my daily ramblings about my daily life; something that actually involves literary talent. So naturally, I won't be able to do it.
Ha! Self-deprecation.

Any keyboard manufactured in 1985 is A-Ok by me.

Seriously though, I'm going to actually post a writing on here that will be different from my usual Off-The-Cuff writings. The reason being is that my mother is trying to get me to write a college essay, and I want to see if I can write in any kind of structured way at all before I start cracking on an essay that I will almost assuredly fuck-up.
Of course, it won't actually be "structured." It will be my weird form of structured that doesn't adhere precisely to the laws of the art in which I indulge.
Anyway, look forward to that. Or try not to think about it lest you become irrevocably depressed. Either way, I'm going to do it. I've got some notes jotted down for it right now. The only problem is, I don't know what the paper will actually be about yet.
But I guess I can hash that out later.

**EXTREME SUBJECT CHANGE**
I woke up this morning at about 6 o'clock to the sound of my father tapping away on my darbuka apparently in the middle of the hallway outside my room. When I got out of bed half an hour later I asked him, (who was still tapping, mind you) why he felt it necessary to play my darbuka at 6 A.M. when we all know that I cannot be as beautiful as I SHOULD be if I don't sleep until at least 9:35.
He replied, "You usually do."
Of course, I quoted myself in a wildly incorrect manner when writing the previous paragraph, if you had heard what was actually said, his answer would have made sense. He was referring to the fact that I can usually fall back asleep without any kind of trouble. Unfortunately, that is not the case anymore. When I was in high school my body would go to sleep at any available opportunity (except late at night, when it was s'posda) so if I was woken up in the wee hours of the morning by middle-aged puerto rican men playing turkish hand-drums (which happens far more often than you'd think) I could just shake my fist at them and then conk back out for a few more hours; making myself incredibly late for school in the process, of course.

That being said, I only have one thing left to say: I strongly dislike infomercials.
I love you, one and all. Today looks like it will be a good day, for the next two hours. Then I'll be at work and it won't be a good day anymore. Damn.

P.S. My brother-in-law is getting a free van from a friend of their family's! So I should be getting my truck back sometime this week, which is great, because without transportation, I'm not any kind of man. Goodbye friends, you've been a wonderful audience! I'll leave you with these lyrics.

Tom Waits/Kathleen Brennan

Around the curve of The Parrot Bar
A broken-down old movie star
Hustling and Easterner
Bringing out the beast in her
A high dive on a swimming pool
Filled with needles and with fools
The memories are short but the tales are long
When you're in the Reeperbahn

Oh, they called her Rosie when she was a girl
For her bright red cheeks and her strawberry curls
When she would laugh the river would run
She said she'd be a comedian
Oh what a pity, oh what a shame
When she said, ‘come calling’, nobody came
Now her bright red cheeks are painted on
And she's laughing her head off in the Reeperbahn

Now little Hans was always strange
Wearing womens underthings
His father beat him but he wouldn't change
He ran off with a man one day
Now his lingerie is all the rage
In the black on every page
His father proudly calls his name
Down there in the Reeperbahn

Now if you've lost your inheritance
And all you've left is common sense
And you're not too picky about the crowd you keep
Or the mattress where you sleep
Behind every window, behind every door
The apple has gone but there's always the core
And the seeds will sprout up right through the floor
Down there in the Reeperbahn

(Lie-die-die-die etc..)

Down there in the Reeperbahn

(Lie-die-die-die etc..)

Down there in the Reeeeeeperbahn