Tired

I wish I could find the magical combination of caffeine and slumber that would make me feel truly awake. I'm tired of this somnolent dragging about and lack of energy. I don't know if soporific stress, brain-fogging depression, or simple lack of sleep is to blame, but usually this time of year I have those great, "I feel so alive" moments after dark when I feel as if I could fly away on the sharp air toward the full moon, wafted on woodsmoke and the chill breeze.

Vitamins? Wiccan ritual? Exercise? Danceable tunes? What will be the prince's kiss to waken me?

Two hours later, since this post wouldn't upload:

Naps are magical. I'm not quite at the toe-tapping, get-down stage yet, but I feel alive again. Although two hours is a tiny bit indulgent...

Last Night's Cinematic Pick: Sahara
Saw the movie Sahara last night, after reading the book a few months ago. Cussler is one of my new favourite flavours of pulp. Although McConnaughey is quite delicious, I actually slept through pieces of the movie. Movie compared to novel ratio of interesting was ... um.. nothing. I have a theory that to make the movie they wrote on little slips of paper fifteen things from the book, put them in a hat, stirred them around and plucked them out at random, then strung them together with an entirely new narrative, written by the janitor after the creative team was fired. Or something.

I really don't much like Penelope Cruz at all. Steve Zahn, however, had some dorkishly brilliant moments.

so the plan was...

Go to New Glasgow. In exchange for use of company car, work for free doing NG Community Swap. Sure thing. Must have put in at least three hours planning for this by now. Booked the car.

It's my sister's birthday.

But then... the other car has to go in to the shop.
No, wait... never mind. It can wait.
But we need that car to do audits!!

Rent a car? No authorization.
Take a bus? Too expensive, plus the ordeal of transporting display stuff by bus.

No, wait, the audits tomorrow are taken care of. Take the car.

I have had no lunch.

But! There's an audit tonight!

well... you could...

or....

CANCEL THE DAMN TRIP IS WHAT I CAN DO.

Fuck the works.

I forgot my wallet. I have to steal a ticket to get home on the bus.

I miss the ferry.

My head aches. I can't get high. There just ain't no drug out there.

i can't fight your demons mine are winning

right behind you
swinging wildly
tending
your wounds
soothing
your beasts
fighting
your battles

a thousand tiny spears pierce my back
and the poison seeps in.

the writer dreams on a barefoot wakeful evening

Every word
Dripped onto page:
Rises,
Dusts herself off and leaps into
Reader-engaging, charming,
Heart-wrenching, heat-inducing, endearing
action,
dance giggle wink shake embrace weep laugh fascinate

in a slow-growing dervish whirl, a plot is
woven a
heart is broken
a cat yowls in the dark night
and the denouement--

the denouement washes down like warm sweet tea.
Peace and a dark screen.

And then, the writer pads upstairs, back to
bed back to
warm back soft breath
snuggle and sleep.

Split Crow food

Last night we had supper at ye olde Split Crow, that venerable Halifax institution. It was wing night, but I forgot and ordered shark. I've had the shark there before and it has invariably been good... i'd had a good low fat eating day to that point so I felt pretty virtuous about my shark and rice.

The shark tasted like it had been soaked in perm solution. Really. It was the most horribly nasty taste imaginable, and I'm just that stupid that I had three bites to be SURE I wasn't just imagining it. I flagged down our curly mopped waitress and sent it right back, remembering the Wing Night as I did, so I asked for six wings instead (I had tucked away my rice before sending the shark back).

The wings were pasty and ickily non-crispy. Who makes soft wings?? WTF? Altogether, a disappointing evening at what used to be one of my favourite places, back in the day.

On the other hand, the night before, Sean and I ducked into YFM to escape the rain, and discovered it was burger night, where the second burger platter ordered was only 2 bucks. Their veggie burger was not dry, it was tasty, and their fries were supremo (not quite Nail & Kneecap, but then, that's asking a bit much).

Am I eating out too often? Yes, indubitably, but in my defense, Sean's dad was down and we were eating out to entertain him. Honest.

Working from Home

A somewhat productive morning despite the sick kid underfoot. Today is mostly an up day so far. I'll celebrate at noon in case it changes. Best part of working from home: making healthy lunches. Today's menu: Brown Rice with sauteed Italian vegetables. Yum. (we'll see what the kid says).

another wasted night looking at my computer monitor

At least I got the dishes done.

Should I look at the MACT program again? Something to consider.

Now I'm off to see if a bath will fix what red wine didn't.

Morosity

Is that a word? I wish I could shake these blues.

grey cloud descends and it's
a good day to
stare

dark windows
look back

I can't do anything right
but curl up in a blanket
and just
sleep.


Today I took two wrong turns trying to find the exit to the Valley and managed thus to drive for almost an hour and never leave the HRM. I am too incompetent to be an adult. I am too incompetent to be. I am too incompetent.

HPX - Mock Explosion @ Gus'

I have a bunch of things to get done, but first a long blog post is definitely in order.

Last night S and I rocked the Mock Explosion at Gus'. An early show, full of the Local brand of Scene Attendees (as a social observer, it piques my interest at events like that to try to put the face to the avatar as it were. It's kind of like bird watching). I'm sure there's a whole post on the social science and protocols of your virtual and real worlds colliding, but this is about the music.

Mark Black had some kind of speed hard punk thrash metal sumpin sumpin to start off the evening. I've read his blog on occasion, and been impressed with some of his insight and passion around the CBC strike, so I would have expected a more lyrical and reflective music style, had I thought about it ahead of time. However, Die Broke or whatever they were called, were too loud, too guitary, had no discernible vocals, and made my ears bleed. They made me want to seek out a Signal Hill show.

Luckily I had previewed online tunes by the next two bands so I didn't despair. I plugged my ears, watched the very pretty M. Catano et al eat cookies, and bided my time. I also took a moment to admire some of the skin art around... a nice big-ball bowling tatt on a lovely young lady with a cool hair cut caught my eye.

The Jeff Coll 5, apparently a reunion of some sort that featured members of various other scene bands (DBN is the only one I can remember off hand), was up next. Awesome edgy dancy pop: singers were a deranged jesus sort and a clean cut looking young fella who reminded me of Steve Miller the SMU bootlegger. The Steve Miller guy ripped up the floor dancing when the other guy was singing, like a boy gogo dancer on speed. The band also featured none other than the gypsy hippie gal whose dancing I've admired at so many sloco shows. Wearing jeans she seems more down to earth, but still is an embodiment of joy and grace. A somewhat creepy skinny girl was hitting on her later, next to me on the dance floor. "No sullying the gypsy!" thought I, inwardly... but minded my own business.

After JC5, Tom Fun were up. Pipes, guitars, fiddle, stand up bass... I was already dancing to their set up and didn't rest till they stopped. They were fan-freaking-tastic. There was no sense of, "this is a chance for me to show off my guitar skills," or what have you. They were tight, all about the songs, all about the crowd and the energy coming off them could blow the roof off. I loved every second... how Ian's Tom Waits growl played counterpoint to the Yellow gal's interpretation of Carmen Townsend's vocals; how Lachie Macdonald was rocking the mandolin like I've never seen one rocked before... how there were three guitars and yet guitar did not dominate. No one thing dominated, in fact, so the music won out. That's pretty visceral and I'm not sure I can explain any better, but they were Rawlins Cross for a new generation, Broken Social Scene of the east coast, and they owned.

And then, the cap to the evening: a special top secret appearance by one of the stars of the Pop Explosion who were most officially NOT Japanther but may in fact have been very very much like them. Wicked two person dance punk (I guess that's what you'd call it)... it was fresh and different and they had pink telephone microphones which unduly impressed me.

Outside it rained and stormed, and inside, we danced. Gus' shook.

We skipped down to the Seahorse after where they served me coffee, and for our six dollar entry fee, we watched that testostorone-laden fool Epworth do about four or five songs. Also got to see Victor have a little hissy fit at two very busy bartenders because he couldn't find chalk for his pool game. "Never mind those customers, I NEED POOL CHALK." And so, the mighty Vic strives to tear down another rock institution in Halifax by bending it to his needs. Never mind that, I know not of what I speak, only that's what I perceive.

The new Seahorse ambience was not conducive to continuing our groove, so we headed home to finish grooving in private.