What the...
There is method to this madness. I will write more as time permits.
I will say this about myself: I am a struggling artist. I make money doing deadline-oriented work and right now I'm on a deadline. Must work. Harder.
Marty
Tuesday, January 07, 2003
Sunday, January 05, 2003
Who the Hell Is This Guy?
I'll eventually tell. I've been working nonstop for 14 hours and I'm a little beat. Plus, there's a rager of a windstorm out right now that cause a short brown out that shut down my computer. Now something in my house is making a burning smell, but I can't figure out what it is. Oh well. What, me worry?
My friend, Brad, is a D.J. in San Francisco at a college radio station. I hadn't heard from him in awhile, and I heard something had happened to him, so I called him. He was smoking in bed and fell asleep. His lit cigarette started a fire that burned down his apartment. He escaped with third degree burns on his back and arms, but poisoned his lungs. He was on a respirator for four weeks, unconscious. Then, two more weeks in the hospital. When he woke up, he tried to get up and fell down, splitting his head open.
The one good thing about the ordeal is that he quit smoking. Four weeks unconscious helps one get over the nicotine cravings. We decided that he should write a thick self help/quit smoking book that only has writing on the first page, "Close this book, place a lit cigarette on top of it and fall asleep."
But he's back home recouperating and there's some talk of a benefit concert, for which he feels rather sheepish, A) because he has trouble accepting help; and, B) he started the damned fire. But I told him that he needs all the help he can get. Plus, if the Radar Brothers, Richard Buckner and Grandaddy play - as promised - then I'm there.
All right. Now I'm a little freaked out because I swear the smoke smell is stronger. Must go hunting with a fire extinguisher. Fire engines throughout the neighborhood. I just moved in here. Give me a break. Maybe it's some other poor soul whose house is on fire. Is it wrong of me to hope that's so? I'll help put out...
Marty
P.S. I'm drinking a non-vintage wine from Gundlach-Bunschu or however it's spelled. It's their "Bearitage", which just means a blend of leftover grapes. Still, quite tasty. Crap. Fire. Forgot. Bye.
I'll eventually tell. I've been working nonstop for 14 hours and I'm a little beat. Plus, there's a rager of a windstorm out right now that cause a short brown out that shut down my computer. Now something in my house is making a burning smell, but I can't figure out what it is. Oh well. What, me worry?
My friend, Brad, is a D.J. in San Francisco at a college radio station. I hadn't heard from him in awhile, and I heard something had happened to him, so I called him. He was smoking in bed and fell asleep. His lit cigarette started a fire that burned down his apartment. He escaped with third degree burns on his back and arms, but poisoned his lungs. He was on a respirator for four weeks, unconscious. Then, two more weeks in the hospital. When he woke up, he tried to get up and fell down, splitting his head open.
The one good thing about the ordeal is that he quit smoking. Four weeks unconscious helps one get over the nicotine cravings. We decided that he should write a thick self help/quit smoking book that only has writing on the first page, "Close this book, place a lit cigarette on top of it and fall asleep."
But he's back home recouperating and there's some talk of a benefit concert, for which he feels rather sheepish, A) because he has trouble accepting help; and, B) he started the damned fire. But I told him that he needs all the help he can get. Plus, if the Radar Brothers, Richard Buckner and Grandaddy play - as promised - then I'm there.
All right. Now I'm a little freaked out because I swear the smoke smell is stronger. Must go hunting with a fire extinguisher. Fire engines throughout the neighborhood. I just moved in here. Give me a break. Maybe it's some other poor soul whose house is on fire. Is it wrong of me to hope that's so? I'll help put out...
Marty
P.S. I'm drinking a non-vintage wine from Gundlach-Bunschu or however it's spelled. It's their "Bearitage", which just means a blend of leftover grapes. Still, quite tasty. Crap. Fire. Forgot. Bye.
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