Expect typos, I’ve grown far too used to my own computer, and typing on any other machine is pretty alien to me. My pricey, custom-built Alienware 51m has failed me after only 7 months of use. A pretty complete death – by the time I was packing it off to Florida, it wasn’t even powering up. I was ready to cry.
Anywho, for those of you out there who are emailing me and suchnot and whatnot, that’s why I might be a bit slow about responding. I almost lost everything on my harddrive – luckily for me, my friends Allie and James – they had the POWER!!!
James got obsessed with my problem, and though it took him hours and hours of working and wiring and rewiring and a little bit of hacking – he finally got into my harddrive and got most of my data and saved it to DVD. Unfortunately, I have lost all of my email contacts and the emails themselves. It’s a frustration. I had a lot of old email from old girlfriends, not to mention Tyler’s old letters from when we were really flirty (back when I thought he was that cute little blonde).
I swapped RAM, I pulled my harddrive, I looked at a melted part of my motherboard. It was determined that a stick of RAM, my powersource, my display cardie thingie had all gone bad, as well as a corrupted user profile, and some other random disasterous stuff. I was pretty fucking pissed.
So, today it’s a long day of catching up, and trying to get Heather’s laptop to fill in the gap left by my machine’s unfortunate demise. In the background, the SciFi channel is running a classic Star Trek marathon, and based on their commercials, they seem to think that their viewership demographic is comprised mostly of women suffering from “feminine itch” as well as menopause… oh, and people looking for arthritis and denture creams.
That just doesn’t seem right.
Sigh, in the meantime – Captain Kirk’s body has been taken over by a chick. Most unfortunate.
I swear, when Heather wanders off to the next room, she misses the best stuff.
PLOJ XXVII.
Brennan was having a very, very strange night. This was just a momentary evil face. I really, really think that he’s not as frightening as this photograph might, at first, suggest. It was really just gas. I’m assured of this fact.
Since moving to the College Perk, Brennan has gotten the added stress of being a half-a-PLOJ host, and frankly I’ve allowed MOST of the PLOJ hosting stresses slip to his shoulders. Actually, maybe THAT’s what that face is about.
The PLOJes have always been such fantastic gatherings. We’ve been running them for about five or six years now. We started on New Year’s Day back in 1999 – I was Living with Syl and Sara Smith and working as a freelance illustrator, doing a lot of random work for different telecommunications companies in Northern Virginia. I had just quit teaching high-school, and was really interested in finally persuing my Life as an artist.
Whatever type of artist I was going to be – visual or musical.
Syl had been the guy who had really inspired me towards music – before I was just a bass-player – but Syl inspired me to sing – mostly to impress him. I sort of feel weird, realizing that I started singing in high-school – but then became a bassplayer because I Loved being on stage so much… I learned to play guitar in order to impress Audrey – and then I really focused on being a singer/songwriter because of how much I admired Syl. Is anything I do self-motivated? Psh… don’t matter. I Love it anywho.
Off to Philadelphia and then Stroudsburg, PA…
Tuesday night we continued our wanderings, and returned ourselves to the fine city of Brotherly Love. Shane welcomed us to Philadelphia, PA – where we played the Point before going back to the dorms of Drexel University.
The Point was bloody nightmarish. This was the place we went the first night of our Trip – and we’d been blown away by the talent and the overall feel of the place. Since then, we keep going back with fiercely high hopes – and keep getting disappointed. It was one of the most horrific nights … oh God. It was agony to sit through. I stood in the back lamenting with the host… wincing.
There were a couple of cool acts (we even ran into some friends that we’d met in Red Bank, NJ – Tommy Anton and I traded tour thoughts), but mostly it was just one of those nights that would never, ever end.
We crashed with Shane, and we played Halo. I didn’t die as much as I did last time, but there was no Slutty Tofu, either.
Wednesday we drove North up to East Stroudsburg University. Mapping it out, we realized that ESU was like… five miles away from the Deleware Water Gap.
There’s no reason to know of the Delaware Water Gap… of Minsi and Tamanee… calling me… except for an amazing Richard Shindell song – and Heather said that we had to go there, since we had the time. I plotted a new course and headed the car through Easton to the Delaware River. We wandered through some spectacular houses, some spectacular neighbourhoods – Heather’s asked me not to fill the Journal with pictures of the houses, but they’re gorgeous… I’m going to sit with those pictures flipping past me as I fall asleep tonight. I shall dream of Easton and their turreted houses and stone walls and fantastic things.
Poor Heather – after Easton, I look at her fine, fine figure… and think… “hey baby… nice roof. You’se a brick HOUSE.” Mmmmm.
The gig at Stroudsburg was very, very small. Above and around, you see pictures of literally half the audience. We had a rough night… a night that inspired me to sing “Bitches and Fuckheads”, which simply displayed what a good idea it is for me NOT to record every performance.
Sigh – anywho, we’re caught up, whether you like it or not. We could talk of the long long drive home, or of our deviations of course – lost on 83 South. We could talk of the New Deal Cafe open mic and the high point – Richard McMullin, and how much I Love listening to him play… or we could even talk of going to see Heather’s brother’s play tonight, “Bye Bye Birdie”, and why high school girls are the best screamers… but all in all, I think I shouldn’t.