The soundtrack in this game is by the Gone Jackals. If they're still a band I'd like to go to their show. In San Francisco. On a Harley. (Miss u motorcycles. Let's hang out soon, k?)
Almost springtime yall!
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Lucasarts nostalgia
Monday, March 2, 2009
hope & umbrage
I just want to move on this one, to clear for town with nothing in my way but black open road. Oh, weary traveler, step into my sanctuary. Let me take you to your lonesome home.
But no! You're a Brentwood bugger! A smug bastard in your bloody, blasted Brentwood bungalo, waterfront at that! You're rich! You cheat, you scoundrel, you mock my earnest effort, my patient waiting. I carried your bag! I endured stultifying small talk! Begone wretched traveler, leave me to drive this twisted path.
I will go drown my sorrow and swallow my bile. I will erase your sin etched against my dripping heart. All I asked was that we go South. You chose West. A pox on you, carrier of baggage, dweller in Brentwood.
But no, I will not go yet to sit in chic, sombre rooms, to drink the grapes of France, the malts of Scottland. Instead I return to waiting for my chance at freedom, for another soul to join my company and direct my hands and body.
I just want to move on this one, to clear for town with nothing in my way but black open road.
-- Post From Taxi
But no! You're a Brentwood bugger! A smug bastard in your bloody, blasted Brentwood bungalo, waterfront at that! You're rich! You cheat, you scoundrel, you mock my earnest effort, my patient waiting. I carried your bag! I endured stultifying small talk! Begone wretched traveler, leave me to drive this twisted path.
I will go drown my sorrow and swallow my bile. I will erase your sin etched against my dripping heart. All I asked was that we go South. You chose West. A pox on you, carrier of baggage, dweller in Brentwood.
But no, I will not go yet to sit in chic, sombre rooms, to drink the grapes of France, the malts of Scottland. Instead I return to waiting for my chance at freedom, for another soul to join my company and direct my hands and body.
I just want to move on this one, to clear for town with nothing in my way but black open road.
-- Post From Taxi
Sunday, March 1, 2009
FML: epilogue
The good news is I've moved-in the furniture that will fit up the stairs. The bad news is that doesn't include my leather couch or chairs.
Now that the disruption is past (and the lifting mostly over) I can look forward to joyously re-organizing my space. My idea is to do the living area like a bedouin tent with mats, cushions and a low table. My people once wandered the desert for fourty years, and have been scattered across the globe for the last two thousand; being semi-nomadic should come easily.
As I was about to leave for work this evening a georgeous sunbeam came bursting through the rear windows casting a glow on the kitchen. It reminded me that I work mostly in darkness.
J&K: apologies for the frantic four-AM call/txts re: "please please don't leave town with my laptop power cord." I admit, I panicked, but in my defense four-AM for me is like six-PM for normal people.
-- Post From Taxi
Now that the disruption is past (and the lifting mostly over) I can look forward to joyously re-organizing my space. My idea is to do the living area like a bedouin tent with mats, cushions and a low table. My people once wandered the desert for fourty years, and have been scattered across the globe for the last two thousand; being semi-nomadic should come easily.
As I was about to leave for work this evening a georgeous sunbeam came bursting through the rear windows casting a glow on the kitchen. It reminded me that I work mostly in darkness.
J&K: apologies for the frantic four-AM call/txts re: "please please don't leave town with my laptop power cord." I admit, I panicked, but in my defense four-AM for me is like six-PM for normal people.
-- Post From Taxi
FML
...from the moment I checked my Facebook messages this morning to this very minute as I sit in my now bare and humble apartment, listening to the squawks of early morning seagulls. To summarize the shittiness:
As part of the wonderful experience of subletting, my apartment was releaved of all it's furniture today. Bye bye kitchen table, so long waste baskets, shower curtain and clothes racks, adiós daybed, coffee table, dresser, mirrors, towel racks, couch, stereo, nightstand, yadda yadda, etc, etc..
I knew this was coming, but after having been settled amidst my friends' things for a month and a half it was slightly upsetting. They did leave me the desk, for which I'm grateful. I have plenty of furniture of my own to replace it all, mind you, but it's like moving all over again and I HATE moving. I have to move again in two months, supposedly to a place that's furnished. Fuck my life (to borrow a phrase).
And then I went to work... the dispatch computer in the taxi refused to operate tonight, and by nine was completely blank-screen dead. It felt like being blind, and I spent the first seven hours of the night not making any money. Numerous old cabbies fiddled with the buttons and wires. "Nope, it's not working," they said. I did fine business once the bars got going, but overall the night was a massive pain in the ass.
The icing on the cake was to return home at four in the morning to find that the power cord for my laptop was taken away along with the furniture. This was truly crushing. Of all the objects to mistakenly remove, this is the one that most seriously affects my ability to cope.
Fuck My Life. Someone come get drunk with me Sunday night. I'll be at the Mint around midnight.
-- Post From iPhone
As part of the wonderful experience of subletting, my apartment was releaved of all it's furniture today. Bye bye kitchen table, so long waste baskets, shower curtain and clothes racks, adiós daybed, coffee table, dresser, mirrors, towel racks, couch, stereo, nightstand, yadda yadda, etc, etc..
I knew this was coming, but after having been settled amidst my friends' things for a month and a half it was slightly upsetting. They did leave me the desk, for which I'm grateful. I have plenty of furniture of my own to replace it all, mind you, but it's like moving all over again and I HATE moving. I have to move again in two months, supposedly to a place that's furnished. Fuck my life (to borrow a phrase).
And then I went to work... the dispatch computer in the taxi refused to operate tonight, and by nine was completely blank-screen dead. It felt like being blind, and I spent the first seven hours of the night not making any money. Numerous old cabbies fiddled with the buttons and wires. "Nope, it's not working," they said. I did fine business once the bars got going, but overall the night was a massive pain in the ass.
The icing on the cake was to return home at four in the morning to find that the power cord for my laptop was taken away along with the furniture. This was truly crushing. Of all the objects to mistakenly remove, this is the one that most seriously affects my ability to cope.
Fuck My Life. Someone come get drunk with me Sunday night. I'll be at the Mint around midnight.
-- Post From iPhone
Saturday, February 28, 2009
GPOmyself
This photo was taken in my neighborhood on the way home to drink a cold local brew. As we passed Fan Tan alley a crusty hipster complemented my style.
The coat I picked-up at H&M in Berlin, the scarf is an ancient benetton, nudie jeans (via Iain), an old paul & shark sweater, serengeti sunglasses, and shoes from a homeless man who'd found them at the carwarsh (beautiful, brand new handmade Italian).
Appearances are not always what they seem...
Natasha engaged me to chauffeur her to a going away party for our mutual friend. I stayed long enough to snap this photo, and to be advised that I ought to write a play about the life of Jacques Brel in which I play the lead. It sounded plausible...
Later, K. called: he'd been dueling with wooden swords and had proven his mettle to merit being given a razor sharp Wakizashi. I hastened to pick him up; I did not think it wise that he walk through the downtown neighborhoods with such a weapon.
Later still, a German complemented my driving:
"So precise. We have people like you where I'm from."
I discovered tonight that I share a birthday with author Neil Gaiman. Thank you, Sandman liner notes.
-- Post From Taxi
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)