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2006-01-13 - 10:30 a.m.

We had fog today. Fog is a treat. I like it. We left the warehouse windows open last night, for airing purposes, and I could be wrong but I think it was a little foggy on the inside today. I could be wrong. But shit, man, it might have been foggy inside the place in which I sleep and eat. And even if that's not true, then what a notion.

I'm reading this book right now:

Dear Ian McEwan,

I love your book "Atonement" but all this about Briony's every permutation of thought between lines of dialogue is really making for some slow reading, homeboy. At times, I start thinking I'm reading "The Last of the Mohicans" or some such, in which scratching one's balls becomes a three-page meditation on Native American dress and the differences from White Man dress and, eventually, the New England Patriots. One of the magazines, on the back cover, calls you the "most psychologically astute author writing in English," and I agree, but I'd prefer more ball scratching and less thinking between scratches. Word.

I kid, Sir Ian. It's an amazing book and it's so rich in life that I don't mind the tiny, tiny zigs and zags of thinking. You should keep it up, I guess. Thanks.

This online photo-posting business is hilarious. Somebody listed one of the photos of my ex-girlfriend as a favorite. She is smoking a cigarette. She is half Chinese. When I followed the link to this person's favorite photos, there were about sixty photos of Asian women smoking cigarettes. Nothing else.

Went duckpin bowling Tuesday night. We drank pony bottles of High Life. When I asked Kevin why, he said, "Little bottles for little balls." Duckpin bowling is harder than the other kind, but I've discovered a maxim: Harder=better. I tried to finesse the first six or so frames, but if you spin it just a little and roll it very hard, then better things usually happen. You've kind of got to knock the shit out of the pins and hope for the best. I'm sure professional duckpinners would say something else, but the regulars downstairs were all drinking Natural Light Ice and so I didn't ask them.

A journal has asked me, for their spring issue, to identify first an album and then a song from that album that's meant something to me. And then I can either talk about that song or not, if I so choose. My first reaction is to be daunted by this, and I suspect many people would feel the same way. And then I want to forgo trying to choose just the right song that identifies me as cool and savvy and all that because I figure I'll never pick just the right song. Which leaves me with picking a classic, something that never dies, something I found as a kid, maybe, and have never tired of. What I can say about that is that when I was in the ninth grade, when my high school was being renovated and I had the house to myself from noon until my parents got home from work, is that I got into my dad's records and played that early Motown (I think) song, "Stay." I researched it a few years ago and found out it was the shortest (in song length) song ever to reach No. 1 on the charts. Anyway, I rocked that song for weeks, dancing in the living room and everything. I may have already talked about this in this journal. But it's stuck with me, that song and that context. More contemporary songs that never die: Beta Band's "Dry the Rain," Superdrag's "Feeling Like I Do," Smashing Pumpkins' "Set the Ray to Jerry," "Whir," "Obscured." And three or four from "Blood on the Tracks" and tracks one, two, three, and five from "OK Computer," and, you know. I'm kind of leaning toward "Airbag," however, if only because I've been listening to it a lot lately, in the truck, hitting "play" just after I start the engine. It's a really exciting way to begin, I think.

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