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Dog Not a Lamb "Thunder, thunder, lightning ahead...Kiss you, kiss you, dark and long. (Ride the train, ride the train.)" Underworld's DUBNOBASSWITHMYHEADMAN album is a little uneven, but there are tracks of sheer brilliance reflective of and even ahead of their time. Let's face it: Without Underworld, no Dirty Vegas. Without Dirty Vegas, memories of driving faster than I should through rural Maine backroads on bright summershiny days with the windows and sunroof open and all the locals turning to stare as though they'd never seen or heard the like would be not at all the same. Somehow, it's only occurred to me just now what a fantastically gritty urban night-driving track "Dirty Epic" is. Things here are paranoia and change-a-go-go. I finally went to the grocery store last night, so now there's food in my apartment, but I blew more dosh than I meant to, so I think that means I don't get to go back again until early May. Well, it's either that or stop going out and drinking, and that's just not an option, 'cause it doesn't look like more money is on its way in anytime soon, but I might be wrong. Since I've gotten in the habit of getting up with or before the sun, I've also taken to making myself coffee and having a cigarette or breakfast. This morning, it was a small bowl of Raisin Bran (Kellogg's, of course, but maybe I'll try Post sometime), with milk and all. I actually fucking bought milk. This is rather incredible. I also bought a 30-pack of Miller High Life, though, of course, and unbelievably, it was cheaper at the grocery store than it is at my favourite liquor store by like two dollars. My taste in beer is utterly inexplicable. I love microbrews like you wouldn't believe, and Guinness makes me a very happy Irish boy (and has, indeed, been known to substitute for meals on occasion, but it's not recommended), and Belgian sludgebeer (Hey, it almost looks like a real Flemish word!) is the finest stuff around 'cause those monks have gotta do something with their time other than pray and I believe God loves a good beer as much as if not more than I do, but when it comes to the day-to-day, I'll have a Miller High Life. It's so much better than Budweiser (an ironic name, as it really is its antithesis: StupidAss is what they should've called it), and tastes exactly like I think the day-to-day beer ought to taste. ROWLF: Listen, when you've been tickling the ivories for as long as I have, you've seen a broken heart for every drop of rain, a shattered dream for every falling star. KERMIT: Exactly. She just walked out on me. ROWLF: Yeah, typical. That's why I live alone. KERMIT: You do, huh? ROWLF: You bet. I finish work, I go home, read a book, have a coupla beers, take myself for a walk and go to bed. KERMIT: Nice and simple. That's the day-to-day beer. And though when I was a puppy, I of course knew nothing of the echoes of Waits in the character, I guess somewhere deep down, I've always known I was Rowlf the Dog, though that "Millions of people happy...Hunh" bit with Kermit in the swamp still gets me every time. How wonderful is it to see good news on the front page of the papers today? I'll enter yesterday's entry later today, but the fear and loathing I was feeling has given way to hope, despite the weather that's been projected for today. (Temperature in the low 40s this morning, rain starting, temperature to drop to about 25 Fahrenheit and accumulate about 5 inches of snow this evening, which will begin melting promptly tomorrow or the day after, I'm sure...Such schizoid weather March brings...It's especially true around here: "In like a lion, out like a lamb.") I'm no lamb. {And here we will take a moment of silence to mourn the apparent passing of ryan8-5cut's diary into the vaults of oblivion. I regret that I never really had any notable direct communication with him, but I regret even more that his uberpsychofuck students felt the need to invade where they'd no business going and forced him to put up more impenetrable walls behind his gates, thus blocking out the many of us who were enjoying the view of the sometimes party sometimes paper-grading fellow with his shoes on the right feet on the ground, laced up and tied neatly double-knotted...My way of saying I think he was tight -- in the good and nonsexual way. Hope the privacy suits you, dude.) r
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