wanna go HOME now...

  As If

19 March 1999

5:37 PM: You know what I don't understand? The connection between being a swingin-dick kind of guy and really bad music that features high-voiced guys and derivative guitar wanking. I just don't get that. "You see, if I had actually functional musical taste, that would prove that I am less than a man."

In other words, Manly Man and the boy crew are having another beer fest here...

8:34: Aghj. That's a typo but it feels right, y'know?

Parties, clubs, places, see, do, be, hi, no no nope, nope. Fight to sleep til 3:30. Show up at 4:30. 5 of 5 days, good show. More visits to another, better life in sleep, too. This is what we call in engineering, "testing to destruction."

12:22 AM: So. I leave work. I get off the train. I go to the liquor store to buy cigarettes. I nearly drop dead.

Because standing there, buying soda with a friend, is Mary. Not really Mary, not Mary as she would be now - she'd be older, she was already starting to go gray nine years ago. No, this was Mary as she was, say, when she left her husband to come live with me, in 1986. A ghost.

I don't mean the hair was the same in that light, or from the side it's weird how much she looked like, or for a second I thought. It was her. She sounded like her, the Northern California accent. Same eyebrows, same nose, same height. All I could do was stand there. Some other guy in the store asked her if she was PJ Harvey. "No, you dummy, that's a ghost, and besides, PJ Harvey is the band." But I didn't say it.

Hey, God - put a fork in me, I'm done here, OK? I couldn't even go recover in stunned silence with a beer because The Bar is having a private party. Fuck me. I demand a better screenplay.

Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.

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