Couple of minutes past midnight on a Monday morning. Theoretically, my new hard drive should be arriving tomorrow – which means that I’ll be able to return to something resembling normalcy, computer-wise.

Had a go at cooking what I think were portabello mushrooms tonight. They certainly looked like portabello mushrooms, and they lacked a label saying otherwise. (As in: there were four different kinds of mushrooms at my local grocery store. Three had labels, none of which said “portabello”; the ones that I bought did not. Yes, I’m a firm believer in the process of elimination.)

Listening to the new Jay Farrar disc, which I’m enjoying so far. It’s not nearly as dramatic as his last album (or Son Volt’s Wide Swing Tremolo, for that matter), but that’s not necessarily a problem. Just finished a Jett Brando piece for Copper Press, and I’ve got another freelance music piece to work on before the week is done.

Right now, though, it simply feels good to be typing again; to have something finished in front of me; to feel that sort of satisfaction.

****

Finished Craig Thompson’s graphic novel Blankets a little while ago. At six hundred pages, it’s a fairly dense read; Thompson doesn’t shy away from tackling a number of fairly weighty themes in it. I felt exhausted upon finishing it – generally a good sign, as these things go. There’s a quote on the back cover saying, “…the most important graphic novel since Jimmy Corrigan“. That sounds about right to me.

I picked Blankets up at MoCCA last weekend en route to see Rocky at the Knitting Factory. Accompanying me to MoCCA was this guy.

There’s a MoCCA story to be told, but it won’t be told now.

It’s pretty damn funny, though. It wasn’t funny (well, not to me, at least) at the time, but it’s starting to make me smile.

And it involves a talking tree. Kind of.

I really hope at least one of you is remotely intrigued by all of this exposition.

Buffalo Tom’s been stuck in my head for the past few days – notably, “Taillights Fade” and “I’m Allowed”.

I’m reminded of being in high school and crushing heavily on girls – one girl in particular, when it comes to Buffalo Tom affiliations.

It’s Friday and I’ve felt hung over for most of the week. A nice trick, that, considering that I’ve had a grand total of two beers in the past five days.

It’s an odd sensation to read a novel on one’s PalmPilot, but – having resumed a higher level of Palm usage with my iMac problems – Cory Doctorow’s Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom is a fine read, whether on paper or…er…LED display.

Yeah, I’m looking forward to the exciting conclusion of this week.

Worked lengthy hours at work today. Didn’t intend to. As a side effect, missed the Wilco show I had a ticket for. Have been a bit grumpy ever since. My usual at-home routine – involving Pepsi One – tends to overcaffeinate me, leading to where I am right now: sitting at my desk, wondering why all the nerves in my back appear to be merging into lumplike things straight out of, I dunno, Videodrome.

Thursday, 11:26 PM. Working on a borrowed, very small hard drive that’s humming away more than it should. Have just downloaded 200-odd emails; now, it’s time to make sure that I’ve actually answered most of them.

Taking my hard drive to Tekserve tomorrow – thanks to this guy finding a remarkably relevant shareware application and lending me an old hard drive (these two also provided invaluable mac-related advice), I now have a bare-bones iMac to work with. Which is good. Deadlines abound, and the next few days promise to be anything but quiet…

….and, of course, it seems as though my currently-touring quasi-roommate (whose room he is subletting right now) isn’t moving back in. This coincides with my lease coming up for renewal.

My “should I take this as my cue to depart NYC” feelings are kicking in. Probably a temporary thing, I know, but strangely tempting at this hour of the night.

I hate computers.

And yet, I am quite dependant on computers.

Of course, this happened just as I get a couple of freelance-ish writing things to do. Time to reinstall the quasi-word processing software on my Handspring, I suppose…ah, the fun of writing in bars, pints of Newcastle before me.

Oh, wait. That actually is fun…

My iMac appears to be broken. I’m wondering if this might have something to do with my abortive attempt to load OSX onto it last week in a moment of boredom.

Regardless, if I can actually get it booted back up, I think I’m doing the whole “wipe clean; reinstall the OS” thing. It seemed so daunting a few years ago; now, it’s just something to do.

Random thought of the day…

Watched the Tommy Lee / Robbie Williams Cribs last week. I’ve come to the conclusion that Robbie Williams should be the new Bond villain.

Not “he should play the new Bond villain”, mind you.

“Mr. Bond, we’ve figured out who’s behind it all. It’s….it’s Robbie Williams. He’s a pop star.”

“Oh. The one with the video where he pulls off his skin.”

“Precisely. He’s aiming for world domination, and only you can stop him.”

Last Wednesday night, following a work function that lasted until just shy of 8 PM, I made my way over to Luxx to see Kilowatthours, Dirty on Purpose, and Jennifer Gentle.

I had assumed, via the name, that Jennifer Gentle was a lady. This was not, in fact, the case; said band was instead several fairly skinny Italian fellows playing skronky psychedelic music. Their songs ranged from quasi-pop numbers (leaving you with the notion that they’d be capable of writing the greatest pop song ever if they wanted to, but that they’d chosen a more eccentric path instead) to overlong instrumental pieces. Not a bad set, but one that ultimately grew tiresome.

I had seen Dirty on Purpose in the fall of 2002 in the main space of a bar in Williamsburg. At the time, I had been impressed with certain elements of their sound, but found myself bored with others. Their set at Luxx, though, left me far more impressed. At one point while watching them, this fellow and I began using Copacetic-era Velocity Girl as a reference point. Aside from some obvious differences (Dirty on Purpose has three members who share vocal duties), the comparison is not without merit – there is that excellent balance of an indie among these elements helps drive the songs forward.

I hadn’t seen Kilowatthours since late 2001, and I believe only two members from that lineup are still present in the band. Playing as a five-piece did wonders for filling out their sound; they’re an unapologetically guitar-based band (the ringing in my ears for several days following the show stands as a tribute to that) with any number of genres influencing their sound. They’re heading to the west coast in a few days, and I’d urge readers of this blog out there to keep an eye out for them. Their set – to use the cliche – took the already-fine music that they’ve recorded to a new level.

It’s 2:20 on a Monday morning, and I have to be up for work relatively early. Methinks it’s time to call it a night.

I had forgotten that this had been released last week. Between it, the re-release of the Broken Social Scene album, and the new Radiohead, I suspect that I’ll be a poorer man after this week’s inevitable trip to the record store. Ah well. Music’s an addiction I can live with…

Back from hockey – it was a fine game, which has improved my mood considerably. I’ve showered, consumed my dinner, and am looking forward to the week to come. This will, hopefully, be the week where I start giving my, um, book-length thing a once-over, as I’ve finally gotten over the voice in my head telling me that it’s shite and isn’t worth the effort to go back to it.

Ah, lovely. I’m using the phrase “voice in my head” on here, the weblog that I’d intended to be less personal than its predecessor. Whoops.

I might have the bug to write something tonight. Not sure yet. Looks like I’m going to be getting back into the music writing saddle soon – one print ‘zine and one online venue. Details to come…

Off to hockey in a moment. It’s been a soberingly unproductive weekend – overslept and missed Belmont yesterday; overslept for no particular reason today. Listened to the Western Keys EP on Self-Starter just now. Not bad – kinda alt-country, kinda reminiscent of Modest Mouse and some of the Archers of Loaf stuff I’ve heard.

I’m biting my nails again, for some reason.

Reading David Mitchell’s Ghostwritten at the moment. It’s quite good.

The Twilight Singers album is fine, fine workin-late-on-Friday music.

Yep.

In looking for subway reading, I recently dug out the Granta: The First 21 Years anthology (not the real title, I think) that I got when I subscribed last year. I’ve been good about reading the individual issues, but for some reason, the anthology never made its way into my “read this right now” pile.

It finally made its way into my bag today, though. There was an incredible essay in there by a writer named Joy Williams from the late 90s. A bit of subsequent research (via Google & Amazon.com) has shown that said piece appeared in the a recent collection of her essays. A question to those of you reading this post: have any of you read her work? If so, anything in particular that I should read first? Let me know…

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