Suburbia!

Sorry I've been among the missing for so long. I've been housesitting for Zappagirl, who is in California visiting Timmy.

Yeah, it's a tough life. Brand new Mac, lots of coffee, DVD and cable, and Zappagirl's extensive and eclectic CD collection. I even got the garage door opener this time.

I always have great plans when I'm over here. I'm going to post every day! I'm going to watch cable until my eyes bleed! And then when they've stopped bleeding, I'm going to watch every DVD, including all the commentaries and bonus material! I'm going to burn a million mix CDs!

I have accomplished none of this. Unfortunately, I'm easily distracted. My great plans usually end up with me drinking too much coffee or wine playing one too many games of You Don't Know Jack. I did get a chance to listen to JohnnyB's live webcast on Tuesday night, which was great except for one thing: I had to enter a chat room to click on his banner and get the feed. Now, I'm sure that chat rooms have their place in the world, but it's not a part of the world in which I currently reside. They kind of freak me out. If I'm going to chitchat with complete strangers on the internet, I'll stick to bulletin boards. They're more my speed, and the conversations are more focused. (I remember sitting in with JohnnyB one of the first times he entered a Buffy chat site...and no one was talking about the show. I was very confused.) But I bit the bullet and entered the chat room, then lost my courage, clicked on the banner and bolted out of the room, into the safety of the Hissyfit forums.

Man, those people must have thought I was a complete loser freak. JohnnyB must have seen my click and dash routine, because he mentioned me when he was saying hello to the members of the room. Hopefully he was being kind while he was chatting as well. (And since he's never going to get his website up and running, I'll at least link to the evil chat room. If you're in the mood for some gothic/industrial on a Tuesday night, he's on from midnight to one.

(And a hearty congrats on the birth of JohnnyB's new nephew. My sister is due soon; I see the battle of cute kid pictures starting again.)

I'm currently listening to Musashi's Destroy All Radio which is also worth a listen while you're finding out who got booted off the island this week in the latest installment of Survivor: Monster Island. Although what possessed him to go from Meat Beat Manifesto to Miles Davis, and then follow it up with the Legendary Pink Dots...pure genius or sheer insanity? You make the call.

I'm really excited about a computer with sound. The one I use at work cruises along in complete silence. This is still a novelty to me.

Of course Roger Mexico's response when he called and found me fiddling around with streamcasts was predictable. "Dude! You gotta go to Napster!" He doesn't realize how close he came to having "Napster Whore" as a pseudonym.

It's finally spring here; the good weather arrived with the Reds Opening Day Parade. The office was conspicuously empty. Wonder where everyone was? Oh yeah, watching the Braves trounce our butts on the new natural grass playing field at Cinergy Field. Whatever. I'm not all that big on sports; my main concern that day was getting to work before I was trampled by a high school marching band and the Budweiser Clydesdales. (Admittedly though, the parade is still kinda cool in an old traditional kind of way.)

OK, who watched X Files Sunday night? Who really thought that Mulder was actually dead? No one? Yeah, me neither. I guess when you end almost every season with the same character dying or missing, presumed dead that you get a little cynical. Yeah, so they buried him. Go exhume him already because no one is buying your little ruse, Chris Carter. And thanks for finally making Scully's pregnancy show - since she announced that she was pregnant last May!!! Further proof that she's carrying a scary alien fetus...

I so need a life. Well, that and something to wear with my Rock Star Pants for the [shameless plug] upcoming gig at Sudsy Malone's. Saturday March 14th, Gojira, Full Contact Poetry, and the band to be named later. Grab your earplugs and a load of towels for the washing machines and check us out!

The Warehouse continues in its tradition of unusual promotions...any bar can have ladies night or college night. In two weeks, the Warehouse will be having a Gothic/Industrial Toga Party. (Memo to myself: must go buy a black flat sheet.) And at the end of May, the Ms. Bald USA contest returns. Yep, women getting their heads shaved. This is all Scalphunter's fault.

Interesting side note here: I did the radio commercial for the pageant the first time it was held at the Warehouse. My illustrious radio career lasted a whopping 15 minutes. I have the cassette tape to prove it.

Oh, and inspired by Crew's latest obsession with those scary "Learn to Dance" links, I present Dancing Paul! Watch him go! (Thanks to SamIAm for the link.)

My wild week is starting to catch up with me. I've been staying up too late, partially because I've spent way too much time playimg at the computer, but mostly because I can't sleep. There's melodrama a-brewing, but I'm not at liberty to discuss it at the moment. Let's just say if what I suspect is true, it will probably have a rather profound effect on my relationship with someone very near and dear to me. I don't want to count my chickens just yet, but signs are pointing towards a conversation that I really am not looking forward to, and it's weighing heavy on my mind.

I think my body has finally given up. I think I might actually sleep tonight, mainly because my brain is tired of tossing and turning over the speculated situation. I only hope that I'm just being paranoid and making something out of nothing.

At least I did manage to get some laundry done while I was here. I'll burn CDs later.