Still, I'm updating my livejournal because when I don't, I feel like I'm failing my friends (not that they want to know which Jim Gaffigan routines I like or how smoothly Monday night's the tree removal went (oh yeah, I helped my dad cut down a tree on Monday. It went smoothly)). I used to like telling stories about the messed up things that happen to me at the bank, or the bizarre fortune cookie I got, but these are dead ends, too. My last fortune cookie said something like, "Watch your MSG intake, buddy", and the last time I went to the bank, I accidentally got snippy with the gorgeous teller whom I like to pretend I'm wearing down. I can't remember what I said, but I obliterated any chance I had at small talk, which means that I couldn't misinterpret it as flirting. Oh well.
Hey, it's been a long time since I've talked about coffee, hasn't it? Let's see... the last time I actually used coffee as the subject of a sentence was on April 30th, so here's the state of the onion, as it pertains to coffee: Um, I have nothing to say about the coffee in my life. With the AEG gone, nobody in my department makes fresh coffee in the morning. The stuff the company provides for free is nasty, so I bring my own from home. It was easy to come up with funny stories when I was being served terrible coffee by other people, but I like the coffee I make, and there's nothing amusing about that. My most recent experience drinking someone else's coffee was this afternoon, when I was in the mood for something sweet and epicene. I think I offended the barista at Victor Allen's by not leaving her a tip, but in fact I did leave one. She didn't see it because I left it while she was facing the other way, preparing my iced mocha. That's too bad since she was cute too. At least I didn't accidentally cop an attitude, like I did with the bank teller.
Come to think of it, accidentally rubbing people the wrong way is something I'm good at. Remember back in like, 1999 when I accidentally called a waitress a "dumb whore"? No? Oh. Well, then. One time in like, 1999, I accidentally referred to a waitress at Perkins as a "dumb whore." I don't know how it happened. I am not -- and have never been -- in the habit of calling anybody a whore, even if I'm really angry or they happen to be an actual whore. It just slipped out, and my friends didn't mention it to me until after we had left the restaurant. My God, I hope I left her a good tip. This story is a thousand times funnier when theenigma42 tells it, but that doesn't make me feel less bad about the whole thing.
I'm uh, digressing a bit, so let's get back on track here. The point of all of this is to say that I've been insanely busy since mid-April, and it's having a detrimental effect on my social life, my creative endeavors, and (from my perspective, at least) my livejournal. My most practical recourse is to wait it out. Meanwhile, I'm snatching whatever pleasure I can during the empty spaces between obligations, but it's not working very well; I'm too stressed out to enjoy much of anything.
Anyway, I'm working hard trying to come up with an MP3 of the Month for August. There are a handful of serious contenders, and it depends on which one I get done second. Why second? Because the piece I'm most likely to finish soon is a cover of No Spill Blood, Oingo Boingo's tribute to H.G. Wells' The Island of Dr. Moreau. As much as I love that song, I've posted like, seventy covers in the last year (at the rate of one a month, oddly) so I probably won't be posting this one. Still, those who've given this post their diligent attention are rewarded by a tiny MP3 excerpt of my version of No Spill Blood. Download it here.
Anticlimactic, huh? Go read Too Much Coffee Man.