I cut my nipple

while shaving earlier today and it bled for several hours. It looked like I was lactating blood, which is totally metal and awesome.

I mowed the lawn yesterday. It looks worse than it did before when it was all jungly.

I've been doing a lot of Enjoying The Summer type stuff the past few days: drinking clandestinely by the river on docks that don't belong to me, swimming without having planned for it, letting the hot sun get my blood running all crazy. I recommend it.

I think I'll write a bit of fiction tonight, if I don't get distracted in between here and there.

That is all.

Half-Blood Prince

"Your King Osama looks like a dirty wizard, or a homeless Santa Claus."

-Sacha Baron Cohen as Bruno

Which unfortunately kind of sums up my personal appearance today. I'm all unkempt and unshowered and whatnot, I need a haircut, and I just had one of those weird epiphanies which revealed to me that I'm still wearing the same shirt I was wearing twenty-four hours ago. I've changed everything waist-down, thank God, but no dice with the shirt. You ever have those? I'm pretty easily distracted, and then sometimes stuff like this escapes me.

Also, see Bruno. Even if you're easily offended, you need to be offended by this. Besides being the funniest movie released this year (to say the least), it's an important piece of cultural reflection, probably will stand as one of those weird time-capsule artifacts in fifty years. And honestly, haven't you always wanted to watch an English comedian in character as an Austrian fashionista blow the ghost of Milli from Milli-Vanilli during a seance?

I also saw Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince yesterday, and I thought it was just a gorgeous movie. I'm one of those rare folks who think that the series is much better on film (J.K. Rowling is a hack who had one good idea). Many elements are missing from the bloated, self-indulgent source novel, and that's a good thing; conceptually, it remains intact, but many of the unnecessary bits from the book can be summed up in a single scene. Which they are, here. I'm glad they stuck with this David Yates fellow (who, for the uninitiated, directed Order of the Phoenix and will now go on to direct the two-part Deathly Hallows). I actually kind of hate the last three Harry Potter books, Order more than the others, but I absolutely loved that movie. And this one.

It contains, first of all, the most magnificent shot of the series: the camera backs away from Hermione, crying on Harry's shoulder in a heartbreaking failure of strength, then it begins a radial track winding like a spiral staircase up the outside of one of the tower/turrets of Hogwarts, through a window of which we see Ron sharing a secret kiss with his new infatuated girlfriend; at the top of the tower, the camera shifts into a vertical track of the castle to reveal Draco Malfoy brooding in the shadows of an upper floor, tormented by the injustice of the course his life must now inevitably take. A single, unbroken shot, mind you, no edits which are in any way obvious.

Things like this are what make this movie; action is mostly absent (although what action there is feels harsh, brutal, and absolutely real). But I love the element of burning sexuality among the students, which comes more to the forefront here than ever before. For anyone who cares to listen, I've long thought it criminally idiotic to pretend the age of sexual consent to be 18; the entire cast of Hogwarts kids, from 14 on up, are totally capable of said consent, and the camera simply loves them for it. It's evident in a curve outward of hip, as Ginny Weasley goes in for another secret kiss with Harry (she has a boyfriend, and tells Harry "You can leave that up here as a secret too, if you like"), in totally natural, undirected physical cues evident in everyone; that these actors are actually teenagers is apparent in every way. Mr. Yates, brilliant though he is, didn't have to tell them how to kiss each other, or how to attract each other. See Hermione sit coldly next to Ron, wanting furiously to imagine them as an old married couple before any overt courtship has ever begun; see also the way she takes his hand and leans over him while he hurts in Madame Pomfrey's sick room, relieved that she can do what she needs to while he sleeps. That's what this movie is about; I won't bore anyone with spoilers or plot details.

The new Wilco album is awesome. I don't have the proper perspective to write about it yet, but you should buy it.

No one forget about the Clever Animals' dates on the 24th and 31st. That's all. :)

wut I've been up to

The show unofficially opened tonight - forty people showed up for Final Dress Rehearsal and it was as much a performance as any of the official ones will be. So thanks to everyone who came! It was fun.

Also, you should come. (Don't worry; the plug will be over in just a moment). July 10, 11, 12 and 17, 18, 19. I forget the number and all that jazz, but just call Northeast Alabama Community College and follow the bouncing ball and you'll eventually find your way to where you need to be.

The show's funny as hell. Promise.

Since last updating, The Clever Animals have recorded a new eight-song EP, "Glances and pauses," and played The Potato Festival in Henagar. I had a lot of fun recording; it was done quite quickly in about two weeks, most of the new songs in a completely new setting since the addition of Ashton on drums, and it was really just a blast. I won't speak for the other guys, but I suspect one or two of them may have enjoyed it, too.

It's not about anything, this EP. I like the idea of albums as a series of songs which relate to one another, a cohesive whole - a novel rather than a collection of short stories, if you will. Which is why I insist on calling this thing an EP, I guess. There have been "albums" that aren't as long as this thing (most of the songs are 4 1/2 - 5 minutes, and "London Sunshine" is well over 10), but the songs belong in different "albums" lol. How dorky is that? I pre-arrange songs in groups before they're recorded.

I play all electric guitar on this one, which is new and exciting for me. That's all. I don't have anything very interesting to say about it.

I'm seeing this girl a little bit. She's pretty cool, and I'm pretty ridiculous. Both of us are, actually. So typical. I'm constantly shocked at what a human being I am, how much I am still a slave to norms and to biology. Are you reading this? We're ridiculous. It's not a secret.

A new song; Junior Extravaganza

I keep threatening to post a demo of the thing and keep putting it off. So here are the lyrics, anyway. Names are named; everyone is implicated. Which is, as you'll see, the point.

As many local readers will know, the Junior Extravaganza is a prom fundraiser arranged and performed annually by Juniors at my high school alma mater. I've been feeling kind of nostalgic in a creative sense lately, so this song is about some of the things that happened around our Junior Extravaganza, with, as always, a little poetic license exercised (although this time it isn't for drama; all the drama was there without any help at all from me). It also occurred to me that this could probably still work for anybody who doesn't know what the Junior Extravaganza is, as I think that phrase is a pretty apt metaphor for the horrible things 16-17 year-olds are liable to do to each other anyway.

So here's one for the 06-ers. I'm not sure you guys will thank me for it...

"Junior Extravaganza"

I had a secret Screwdriver at Vanessa's house
Made with vodka that my cousin Tanya bought for me
"Junior Extravaganza" nominal practice - son, I wasn't the only one
I wasn't the only one
Jill said that she was in love with me
But the way she kissed me, I could never have known back then
She saw the bottle, boy, and she left the house with me
I got her drinking - son, I wasn't the only one
I wasn't the only one
On stage in the school cafeteria;
The room is filled with mostly old folks that can't let go
It's hot with bodies, all the chairs and the catacombs
My heart got lazy - son, I wasn't the only one
Look there - there's a girl in a brand new light,
A budding, slutty sort of princess that can't slow down
She took the bottle to the end of the world with me
I left her out there - son, I wasn't the only one
I wasn't the only one
Cloth seats with the stains and the chicken bones;
Huge bed without a toolbox to hold us down
Beneath the stars, you'd think it'd be something beautiful
But it was not the way I pictured it before - she wasn't the only one
Drive home with no music, the windows down
Fingers smell of spit and pussy in the midnight wind
She lied and told me that she's never been touched before
Relativity, I guess - it's such a mess; "What a whore," we say
Cause it's a sin to seek a respite from loneliness;
It ain't God's will that we should all feel alive

And I will convict us all
It's criminal that no one flipped and set the prom on fire
We are the Judases and Pilates and Jesuses;
We are the victims and the murderers of our friends

Zac saw the bra through the window there
Some girls were changing, shall we say, in more ways than one
And some guys were in there, too - we said, Let's all be mature
I said I wouldn't look - I lied; I wasn't the only one
And that guy, he was never all right, you know
So he had it harder once he started to feel that burn
And wasn't it natural how we all made it harder still?
These days he's sedated - son, I wasn't the only one
I wasn't the only one
I swear, I wasn't the only one...

Expatriate post

Just an update for its own sake, really. I don't have the time to think of anything clever or interesting; I'm at my mom's house, borrowing online time because our internet has been shut down for two weeks. If it persists, I will hunt koala bears to extinction.

James and I began filming for www.pianoanytime.com today. His content is brilliant, but we'll have to reshoot everything from today because I apparently have this nigh-undetectable mini form of Parkinson's which renders me completely unable to hold a camera still. And it wouldn't hurt us to have more lights either. We need a taller tripod for sure, and we'll resume tomorrow. I hope no one who subscribes to the site ever reads this and discovers its humble-bordering-on-the-ludicrous beginnings.

But I think it'll be awesome. I really do.

Rehearsal for The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged) is lots of fun. We've had seven sessions now and are making huge progress. I encourage you all to see it; we open July 10th-ish, I think. All the information is at www.nacc.edu/nacctheatre/abouttheshowshkspr.htm

Also, my group The Clever Animals will be playing a concert with the talented singer/songwriter Ms. Katrina Barclay at the DeKalb Theatre in Fort Payne on the 24th of July. Kyle Putman's band will be there, too (are you out there, Kyle? I don't know the name of your band yet). I think it'll be like five bucks at the door, to cover our rental cost and whatnot. But we plan to debut as many new songs as possible, and it will be our drummer Ashton's first show with us. And in fact, our first show with a drummer. Yikes. Anyway, it should be lots of fun. Come out and support local art, then talk to me after the show. We'll hang out.

I've been writing a crap-ton of fiction lately, staying up all night and sleeping during the late morning and early afternoon. There's a short story called "Gold in the Hills," which is in no way about the West, or gold, or prospectors, or, God forbid, cowboys. It's set in a fictionalized version of Fort Payne/Sand Mountain, and I quite like it. If I can find a way to post it here in .pdf so nobody can get in and edit the text, I'll post a link to it.

(Christ. How paranoid I am. Why would anyone want to edit the text? But still.)

There's also a novella in the works, tentativly titled "God's Stomp." Yes, I realize the word is actually supposed to be "stamp," but as it is also set in my mythical Fort Payne/Sand Mountain area, you can imagine that regional vernacular certainly plays its part. And "God's Stamp" sounds terrible. Like a postage stamp, not a skull-crushing footfall. Which is what my story hints at.

So I'm off to work at the studio a bit, then tonight, the Campsite. Sounds great.

Ooh yeah, here's some stuff. You should see: The Hangover, Drag Me to Hell. Both worth a few chuckles in very different ways. I love adult comedies and fictional hell, so both these were right up my alley. Enjoy. And tell your friends about the shows, both of them. I'll post more often once they get our internet working again.

Quickie #1

My sleep cycle has already reverted to its natural vampiric incongruity with that of most mortals, and I still have two days of work left. After partying Friday night, I had breakfast and then went back to bed at ten, then slept until 5:30 yesterday afternoon. I haven't been back to sleep since then. My friend James cooked, so my brother and I went over to eat and watch S. Darko (skip it), then I came home, read for a while, and have been writing since then. I'm so fucking exhilirated... I don't even know. I don't have much to say. I just went for a walk in the rain, and I'm wearing this long-sleeve tee so it retained all the droplets and cooled me off and eventually I was just running. And I guess I just wanted to say that this is what it's supposed to feel like. I think it's going to be a good summer.

I ought to be cleaning out the space that will eventually be the studio. And I did some of that earlier, I promise. But now, I'm not. I'll get back to it. It is, as they say, all about the journey.

But it's totally not in this case.

The pure volume of shit five people can accrue over twenty years is ridiculous. We have so much stuff in the house that most of the work in fixing it up the way Jake and I will like it is intellectual; it's like a puzzle, where we just have to find the best way to arrange all this stuff in a space too small for all of it. Plus I still have another week of work, and fuck working twelve hour days when eight of those are in retail.

My Life's too short attitude fascinates me. For anyone who's heard this spill already, you can go ahead and skip a paragraph. Okay, so I know the way my mind works, which everybody knows doesn't necessarily mean I can go inside my mind and fix it. I must enjoy my life; I can't make myself do it any other way. You see, your parents are the boundary between you and your own mortality. When one of them dies, it's broken in your subconscious, especially when it's something potentially hereditary like lymphoma. I have this weird, irrational, but quite potent idea in my head that I could die at any moment, so there's only so much hard work I'll even allow myself to do, which is why I hope I can work in music once this thing gets going. Music never feels like work.

One more note on my idea that I could die at any time, in my defense: I could. So could you. No foolin. Do some stuff you like.

I wrote a new song the other day. It's called "Junior Extravaganza" and isn't nearly as lame as it sounds. I'll try to get a rough demo made pretty soon and put it up here (I'd like to use this page as an initial feedback song tester along with everything else).