2005-05-16 - 1:26 p.m.

Hey, pardon the construction, re-invention in progress.

Ahhhh, crack the ole spine on this diary one more time. Let's see...

I've been meandering for the past couple of weeks, dabbling in a little bit of this, a little bit of that. The last week was spent back at the folks' house, playing golf 3 times in 4 days, attending a mediocre performance /unbelievable light show by U2, and visiting with old friends.

The golf was terrific, one round with each member of the fam. Golf with Daniel was 25% serious golfing, 75% bonding/golf cart tomfoolery/unnecessary cursing. Golf with mom was 50% serious golf, 50% gossiping. Golf with dad was 80% serious golf, 20% bloody mary's.

So besides the trip home, things aren't really that much different these days. Still got the same ole jobs, still toiling way in the same ole cubicle and still jockeying the country bar from end to 40 ft end.

Bought some new toys for recording purposes. Looking back at entry after entry devoted to promises of impending songwriting has made me more aware of the lie I've been living when it comes to the creation of music. I'd convinced everyone, including myself that I was a songwriter. And yet I have no songs. So I sank a grand into a new amp and a recording device as sort of a "put up or shut up" maneuver. Now we'll see if I can deliver. If worse comes to worse, the new pieces of equipment are asthetically pleasing to the eye and make wonderful conversation pieces.

Alright so unless I'm lying to myself I'll be spending the evening hooking up the new shit and doing a preliminary round of recording.

Watched the rocumentary "Dig!" last night. It's about the Dandy Warhols and the Brain Jonestown Massacre and the timoultuous relationship the two bands share. This Anton guy (leader of the BJM) is undoubtably a genius, but of course (unfortunately or perhaps its a requirement) he's strung out on heroin and the most destructive musician I've ever seen. I'm watching this documentary of raw footage as he kicks crowd members in the face, slams his bandmates with microphone stands and calls out record execs at the shows, challenging them to fist fights.

I was inspired.

So anywho I'm loveless these days, but again, no big deal. The bar provides me with the cheap weekend thrills that seem so important to a boy at the age of 24. The week is resigned to work during the day, gym in the evening, practicing guitar/general malaise at night. The weekends find me mowing the lawn, cleaning the room during the day, being domestical and whatnot, and then assuming the mantle of rockstar egomaniacal bartender at night. I've developed so many distinct personalities that they seem to function completely independent of each other, or the main OG me... which is exactly who or what, I'm uncertain.

Not that I have a problem with this. My life is in order, parents are proud, I'm pleasently content, and for the most part I'm not doing any extensive harm to anyone. I'm sure some of my late night rendezvous have mislead people close to me, and for that I'm fairly apologetic, but then again I also feel like I've been fairly upfront with everyone involved?

So rock and roll kids. That's the key this summer. Music and writing, music and writing. The bar will wane per usual as the city expels the college kids back to their homes. The gaping wound is meneded by us townies as we enjoy the open parking spots, quieter afternoon downtown and close-knit summer relationships.

Spectacular things await me this summer. Weddings, concerts, etc... All kinds of things to keep my brain busy. So please Me, please, do this for real. The talk will only sustain you for so long, Me.

That's it for now. Nobody else is stronger than I am.

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