September 26th, 2008.

I Love my bathroom time. It is privacy, it is calm. Public restrooms are not generally my favourite places simply because of the lack of privacy and calm. Frenzied caffeinated poundings in coffeehouses, occasional drunken vomiting in bars. Today it was three year-olds.

I was appreciating my voiding. I was in the Zen state of elimination when I was intruded upon by a frantic knocking and the yell “I AM THREE YEARS OLD AND I NEED TO PEEEEEEEE!!!!!”


Here I haven’t seen Sheepdog in about a yeah and he sits himself down within the confines of my poor Saturn, takes off his shoes and refused to leave. Fortunately, his new wife was eventually able to excercise some control and excorcise the beast.

Sigh. Even I can be hurried for a good cause. She was. She did.

It’s so strange to be such a repeat presence in so many places. I’ve been coming home to my new ome in Brennan and Tori’s basement pretty regularly. I am at Java Mammas for my open mic, often for coffee the next morning. Tonight to play bass for Ash. I’m at the House of Musical Traditions about our days a week in the increasingly vain (in the horror that is today’s economy) attempt to sell high-ticket items like nice guitars and

banjos. I’m being associated with places. “I know you from…” as opposed to “I met you at…”

By now Michael Berkowitz is playing on the patch of floor at Java Mammas that passes for a stage and the woman behind the bar comments that “this is MY kind of music”. There are teenagers experimenting unsubtlely on the couch and in general it’s a delicious, cold, rainy night that makes you want to press u against wet bark and find someone who will make you warm.

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