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2007-10-06 - 7:38 p.m.

I got elaborately drunk last night. Visiting Baltimore for the weekend, and a friend had a birthday party that started at his apartment's building patio and then moved to the Owl Bar. I drink three Sierra Nevada pale ales and drank a quarter of a bottle of white wine, from the bottle. Then I drank a dark beer of some sort at the bar and then drank some more Sierra Nevadas and then a Stella and then I met an Irish guy and started talking to him and then I don't remember what I drank but it had to do with pineapple juice. I felt elaborately awful today but managed to get over to the warehouse and finish cleaning out my room there.

I'm late coming to these guys, probably, but I like Peter Bjorn and John, especially the song "Up Against the Wall." I like that fluid, guitar-groove style. Guitar-groove?

I'm reading The Natural. Roy Hobbs is an entirely different creature in the book. I have to say that I prefer movie Roy Hobbs. He's kind of a tail hound and isn't all that likable. But I see what he's doing. There are sections, every ten pages or so, where we get these glimpses into his being and it's everything that someone like Roy Hobbs, 1950s-style terse-faced hero, can't express. I think everyone's drawn to people who are really good at something, and he's playing with that, too. I always think of Good Will Hunting when I think of characters being really good at something. I think they made the Matt Damon character kind of ridiculous in that regard, and I really like that movie.

I visited my parents the middle of last week. At 12:45 in the morning, mom and dad asleep, I wanted to get out of the house. I'd taken a nap that afternoon, so I was restless. I got in the truck and flipped the knob for the headlights and everything lit up like a baseball park in the blackest night. I always forget how dark the dark is when you live in a city and are not used to real dark. Anyway, I decided to go and smoke somewhere, so I got out on the highway, a fast two-lane highway that is the setting for my youth, and just fucking took off. I was restless. So I drove and smoked and knew I was going too fast but didn't care. There were no cars behind me or ahead of me and only a few passed the other way. So I flew past a Chrysler and Dodge dealership and read on its sign that it called itself a "Four-star dealership" and wondered if they just made that up. Then I saw that a car had come up behind me very fast and right when I thought that, the red-and-blue lights came on. My first thought was maybe I'd gone to high school with the cop, whoever he was, and that maybe I'd get lucky.

He was called "T. F. C. King," he said, and told me I was going "fifty-four in a forty." He was about my age, but his cruiser's floodlight was so bright that he was silhouetted and I couldn't make out much except for a light-colored goatee and a thick, pale, hairless head. He looked like a wrestler. I tried to remember a King from high school and couldn't. I was thinking I could afford, actually, to pay a two-hundred-dollar fine but still didn't want to. After a few minutes, he came back, handed me my license and registration card, and said, "Here's a warning. No fine, no points. Keep the speed down. Have a nice night." I obeyed the law after that but wanted to go fast again. I did roll the window down and that was nice. It allowed for a little of the free feeling.

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