sk//adrian

a vague collection of daily struggles, hourly arguments, minute concerns, and secondary impulses.

Saturday, April 07, 2007

dead again.

my ticket for Type O Negative arrived today. Dead Again has not tickled my ears since my brother was in town; I wonder if this rumored switch to Catholicism is true.

Friday, April 06, 2007

three little birds.

(I tried writing a sentence using the word "modicum" -- something along the lines of, "the ability to edit my blog entries at will affords a modicum of perfection" -- but every attempt sounded pompous. instead, I will employ the vernacular.)

being able to edit posts is useful when correcting minor grammar, spelling, or web link mistakes, but for the most part, I like to leave my diatribes alone, even if I have left out valuable facts or important clarifications. instead, I leave these wordier explanations for the next few posts, so my blog appears to be active.

during the two/three-screen rant of the last post, regarding the metal v. positivity debate, I managed to mention my friend John but left out my friend Jim. Jim and I met many years ago while sharing employment at the local library, and though our metal swords clashed over specifics -- Quiet Riot? I think not -- we had heavy things in common. for a while, we took bass lessons from the same teacher, a man who, the summer before we longhairs departed for college, convinced us to fork over an additional $20 a week for a lesson about music theory. our goals were lofty and eventually, without the presence of actual instruments, these sessions whittled down to the three of us sitting in the backyard of our teacher's parents' house, swilling cans of coke, swatting gnats, and talking about women. my ears were already party (heh) to Sly and the Family Stone by this point, but it was because of this teacher's insisting that I actually went to a store and bought Greatest Hits and entered the world of Larry Graham.

Jim was already an accomplished musician at this point, so I took his musical leanings to heart. over lunch at work, he once told me how he spent a good fifteen minutes rearranging the speakers in his house so he could listen and dance to "I Want You Back" while showering that morning. really? the Jackson Five? we were at a strange age: old enough to remember Michael Jackson when he truthfully was the baddest man on the planet, but we were also young enough that these dreams were quickly and wholly consumed by the new Michael Jackson, the weirdest man on the planet.

a blog post is incomplete without a shower scene, so here it be.