6.30.2006

some good friends and their space shuttle cafe are to be featured on huel howser's california gold august 15 (with a repeat on august 25). the episode will also feature my parents and poppo. watch it and be cool!

6.29.2006

listening to mose allison, getting out of the sun for a bit, drinking coffee, etc.

i switched back to firefox again. being one who at times suffers mildly at the hands of ocd, i took an hour and a half to reorganize my favorite bookmarks and whatnot. i enjoy order, but i'm also lazy. i usually just sit around worrying about order without doing anything about it.

almost finished with the beautiful and damned. it was a bit slow going; needlessly wordy at times, but i am really enjoying the last 2/3rds of it.

pg. 178

"Work!" she scoffed."Oh, you sad bird! You bluffer! Work-- that means a great arranging of the desk and the lights, a great sharpening of pencils, and 'Gloria, don't sing!' and 'Let me read you my opening sentence,' and 'I won't be through for a long time, Gloria, so don't stay up for me,' and a tremendous consumption of tea or coffee. And that's all. In just an hour I hear the old pencil stop scratching and look over. You've got out a book and you're 'looking up' something. Then you're reading. Then yawns-- then bed and a great tossing about because you're all full of caffeine and can't sleep. Two weeks later the whole performance over again."

6.28.2006

aleister crowley, skull and bones, and judge reinhold were all prominetly featured in my dream last night. judge reinhold has been in my dreams the last two nights. all have been freaky.

i am going for a run.

6.27.2006

it's been a lazy day. too lazy in fact. too many chips, not enough mangos. we watched the pilot episode for magnum last night. so-so. i kept falling asleep. harry nilsson is on the ipod.

i went running twice yesterday, so i'm making up for it today.

friday we will have maximum fun. we went to charlie's (a bar/ restaurant frequented by the red headed stranger hisself on occasion). turns out a band called the planetary bandits are playing.

6.26.2006

had a nice anniversary yesterday. we ate sushi on the grass where we got engaged. drank some nice drinks on the roof at a new restaurant on front street. mai tai for me, lava flow for her. tropical places are where it's at.

poke is my new favorite food. i consumed a pound and a half of it with my dad yesterday.

we went on a sailboat today and are about to eat fish tacos and my homemade poke i just put together.

6.20.2006

we leave for hawaii on friday. i am quite looking forward to it. then it's off to montana. then it's off to find work for the summer. i passed one of two csets. i will be missing os mutantes, but a trip to montana beacons and sounds like more fun. my wife will be in africa helping babies live better and learn to be cool. i'll be chillin' with my homies and puppy dog. i've got a rock band that'll rock some this summer. and i will work on many stories. some funny ones and some weird ones and maybe a funny one that is supposed to make you cry (while farting). love jesse.

6.13.2006

by Jesse Gloyd

He was sleeping beside her breathing heavy. The sweet smell of wine hung in the air close to his face. They had been drunk for a time at dinner. Him more than her. Ten dollar martinis and a bottle of something red, she couldn't remember, that he'd ordered with the lamb had done the job. When she got drunk, she would get fuzzy in her lower jaw and a slight pressure would build in her temples. She had been spinning when she fell asleep and was glad to have turned down the fancy ice wine that he had ordered with the fried banana desert and its lines of criss-crossing chocolate syrup.
A breeze moved the blinds and cooled the room. She wasn't drunk anymore. They had fallen asleep talking about Arizona; about the red rocks of Monument Valley and how they reminded her of giant petrified sand castles. It had made him laugh and she now wondered what had put that image in her head. She felt the pang of embarrassment for a moment but it passed quickly after tasting the rotten alcohol and cigarettes that had settled on her tongue and the roof of her mouth. He was much worse than her, she thought. He would be thinking more about water and brushing his teeth when he woke up.

She sat on the balcony in the dark and shook a cigarette out of a soft pack of Camel Lights. She remembered how he had gone on and on that first night with his mind clear and his half naked body covered with the cool bottom sheet of the bed. “James Taylor has the most perfect pitch,” she remembered him saying with the room a filtered cloud that smelled green like she believed marijuana was supposed to smell. “His chord phrasing effervescent, his fingers dance with my bow like gulls over the sea.” She never wondered about love or the validity of the situation; it didn't really even excite her much.

They were to have one more show with her to the side of the stage. The free cocktail shrimp and the asparagus wrapped in prosciutto never got old. She would bite into the pink flesh that smelled faintly of the ocean where it once would hump alive through the kelp, suspended between rays of light- green, dark blue, and black- like his arm as it flicked and beat with the urgency of the moment across the strings of his instrument. In his black suit, solitary and cold, he played like a statue with the brass and wood of the orchestra behind him. Nobody in the audience knew that he wore the same shirt every night; that the sweat that beaded off his forehead collected always in the stained yellow armpits, whose smell never went away.

Smoking, she knew that it would end after the next show. The stars in the Denver night were bold and crisp in their whiteness, as snow flakes falling on old snow. He would be back in his New York condo soon, she imagined. With the movie view of the green trees of the park; of Woody Allen and his daughter walking hand in hand, wearing glasses, and balding perpetually with their dog... him inside, high above, drinking chamomile tea and watching the Knicks dance across Madison Square Garden.
She wouldn't think much of him. No. A story to a friend maybe. Nothing of the sex… of course it would be implied. Just the curiosity that hung with the smoke of the cigarettes that she held between stained fingers and the needless wondering on whether he minded being called Yo-Yo, or just Yo when they were making love.

6.12.2006

i'm listening to baseball prospectus' podcast. i wish they would focus more on current baseball as opposed to random shows on specific themed topics. i just had a bowl of frosted minis and have finished getting the crockpot full of split peas and pig's feet for dinner.

to do:

unload dishwasher, fold clothes, clean bathrooms, write satchel more, get a job, wash car, jog, watch movie with wife and eat said split peas and pig's feet.

now i will do the things listed.

6.10.2006

so my sister's getting married tomorrow and i'm watching the commentary on "yankee doodle dandy." it is the last film from afi's arbitrary top 100 list. it's really quite good. michael curtiz directed james cagney, who is a fantastic dancer. good stuff...

i'm looking forward to "prairie home companion." i've heard a few interviews lately with altman and garrison k. altman is like the updike of film. both are very influential, both have made some of the most fantastic works of the last forty years, both became hip in the late 60s, and both have a lot of crap wedged between greatness. i ought to read rabbit is rich someday.

i just finished for whom the bell tolls. done with hemingway for a time. moving on to let us now praise famous men.


books i'm taking to hawaii: beautiful and the damned, confederacy of dunces, augie march...

any recommendations?

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i'm in outerspace man

like for real.