Happy New Year!

I am sitting at O’hare airport and smiling from ear to ear. I am going to Los Angeles. LA-LA-LA!

I guess today is a perfect day to fly – no lines, no madness, no hostility.

I crack jokes with airport security (something unheard of, I usually declare a cold war the moment my shoes go off, and they – security, not the shoes – return the favor). No, I still can’t get over the shoes. My mom is a doctor, and my childhood heavily revolved around hygiene. (Did you wash your hands? I said, DID YOU WASH YOUR HANDS? WITH SOAP? HOW MANY TIMES?). But sane and unusually vulnerable X-ray conveyer guards lift my spirit. I can tell they just want to go home.

Plus, I was able to perform my stance of freedom and successfully smuggle two pieces of cooked fish past security checkpoint. Yessssss!

I feel playful. My mind is sifting though lazy thoughts of Britney Spears, her pregnant sister, and that ugly yellow dress on the cover of People magazine. The dress gets my undivided attentnion for a second. Are they trying to trick the unsuspecting population of the United States of America into believeing that this dress is pretty?

Dear Population! Don’t believe them, this dress is a fashion disaster, if not fashion blasphemy. Take my word for it.

Still thinking of fashion, I adopt the most glamorous facial expression (slightly cross-eyed, chin up, no interest in any human being whatsoever) and gracefully wiggle my hips as I am walking nonchalantly past the airport shoppes, in fur coat slow motion.

Hm, that’s nice. I like “fur coat slow motion”.

Time to eat the fish in the name of freedom.

Hello, world!

As I am making myself the morning pineapple juice, I am listening to my friend’s new track (Adler. Passing out at Sunrise). It’s so great, and it’s so him. Feels like an backwards time machine, but did we really change?

The day when I met him – a misfit rebel teen boy carrying a green inflatable crocodile – seems like today. I think I am the only one who still calls him “Croc”, it stuck. I think he would rather I don’t.

Silly grown-ups.

Saying things how they are…How they are, it’s easier to sing or touch, not say.

The thought that passed

I can’t stand the cold weather. I don’t want to go outside, I don’t want to talk to people (liar), I want to…

I was going to write about something entirely different. I meant to write a concise and meaningful post…raise a question, find out the answer.

But it is cold outside, and want to be somewhere where palm trees grow and carefree aborigine…no, fuck the aborigine. I want to be somewhere where palm trees grow and I can bathe in the ocean and do nothing. Eat and fuck. Oh yes, I like to sleep, too.

I am so shallow.

Alternatively, I want to hang out with lively and adequate humans (predominantly male) to whom I do not have to explain why, for example, I want to save the world. Cuz.
Cuz it makes sense too me.

You poor narrow-minded mammals.

God I am so singular (yep, I wanted to use that word).

So confused.

So underloved.

So don’t give a fuck.

So want to cry.

So don’t want to admit to that.

Because it feel like, not matter what, I am fine.

But now I …

I …. ….

At the risk of turning my blog into a Power Guitar Feature

Here is another one. Adam Fulara.

What can I say, I am very biased towards guitar techniques. A little hello from the times when I lived with a shredder. Funny how it works.

Evet Socrates the Grim Shredder

Comments

I don’t know about you, but I cringe when I get myspace comments along the line of “Nice tunes” or “Like your stuff”.

Nice tunes, eh? Nice effen tunes? DID YOU EVEN LISTEN?

In that context, I luv the following comments that my friends made on my request:

(made by William)

(made by Digital Dan)