| the Journal | the Cult of Saint Cecilia

So, we're enveloped by darkness, and my nightvision is completely impaired by the light of my laptop. I'm only dimly aware of signs flashing by and the occasional noisy car flashing past, or creeping by.

A couple of dinners later, and we found 0urselves at Jammin Java's open mic, advertising ourselves like cheap whores (c'mon! $10 tricks and you get to watch for free?!).

Crossing the American Legion Bridge - remembering when I was stuck in Virginia after work for some four hours while some poor sod contemplated commiting suicide off this here bridge. He held up traffic well into the night, and eventually jumped, injuring his leg. I think he's now in jail, and STILL receives hate mail.

Anywho - Jammin Java. It seems a little less the hoppin businessy networking spot that it was, and under it's new host, Kris Oleth - it seems to have become a bit more relaxed, more casual, and a bit more fun.

(scary huge construction lights at first look like on-coming cars)

We advertised our show, got off the stage, sold some stuff - and watched our friends Might Could play guitar like I wish I could play. Sigh. Drooling, we go back to Damian's house for a night of chili, wine and baklava. Oh, and Cranium. Damn cool game.

We made baklava. We're going to have group baklava making, methinks, at New Year's Eve. And Cranium. Hell, we might get little dolphin bottle openers and British accents to complete the imagery.

That really won't make sense to most of you, but I think now, that I'm mostly typing just to type, and should just give it a rest.


December 18th, 2003.
I've gone to Trilogy Tuesday at the Senator Theatre, watched a MASH Marathon, and in general, spent an awful lot of time on my ass.

Last night, the band gathered together for the first practice we've had in a month - and it always feels like this... completion when the sound pulls together.

Frank had originally said he wouldn't be able to make it tonight, so when, an hour into practice, he came plodding down the stairs, bass amp in hand... well, I think I like it best when we arrive at practice one by one. The jamming starts, and slowly the sound fills in. What begins with nods and the plugging of plugs and unravelling of cords, slowly metamorphs into the full band sound.

I really, really, really, Love coming home to that. It makes me feel like some little sound god.

SO, slowly, the sound awakens, like some sleeping beast - and we rumble through our favourite songs, and as usual, I'm sort of shocked by how little rust and dust there is on our performance. There's a missed note here or there, or some random part that wanders off, but mostly, this is a product of the fact that Heather and I play a lot of the tunes a little differently.

Anywho, for as much as I Love travelling and being with Heather for our explorations - I'd really give just about anything to be able to take the whole band with us. It's not logistically or financially feasible... but maybe... someday.

"I'm gonna make a lot of money and quit this crazy scene..."

I then spent the night here at Alfred's, playing with Tristan (his dog) reading, playing guitar, answering emails... woke up this morning and continued pretty much doing the same.

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