Freeform. Friday. Transcribed from the Interstate Archive:
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There is a message written carefully in blue sharpie on the third turnstile in the Harvard Sq. T station that says, "Easy now." I slide my pass there every time I go through because it makes me smile. It's been there for weeks.
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I love that Google celebrates holidays and historical events.
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Who, for the love of all that is holy, allowed a Morphine song to be played in a BMW commercial? Buena? I think not. Poor Mark Sandman is rolling over in his grave. Please pause for a moment of silence.
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I want to do a photo essay of people's faces as they miss the subway.
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I received anonymous chocolate via inter-office mail today. It's probably not from my sweet, unavailable coworker with whom I would like to go make out in the stacks. But it warmed my little heart.
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I made Mon Frere sit still and listen to the entire fifteen minute explosion of "Infinity Bitch" off Los Halos' self-titled album. It sounds like the best sex and worst fight you've ever had. Whenever it ends in sweeping, victorious climax, I need a cigarette.
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Three months, two weeks, two days, 17 hours, 40 minutes and 13 seconds. 1616 cigarettes NOT smoked.
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I won't tell you what coffee shop I'm going to be working at. You'd probably not like me anymore.
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I put new strings on my Takamine last night. My fingers hurt. It's a sweet pain. When I get to Seattle I'm going to form a Go-Go's cover band. Chasing Chaos, my front porch summer band, will no longer exist because, well, it won't be my front porch anymore. Besides, who the hell needs acoustic when you're West Coast? It's all about Superfuzz and Bigmuff, my friends.
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Mon Frere and I have recruited Nathan Bright Autumn Sky for our cross-country drive in June when he gets back from saving the world in Guatemala. More to follow.
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NYC: T minus 3 hrs. Start spreadin' the news.
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