Un bateau ivre

The posts lately have been rather desultory. Sorry about that, two or three readers! I just seem to be rather preoccupied with life itself lately, so blogging is getting the bare-bones summary treatment. Which is not to say anything interesting is going on my life; oh no, quite the contrary. Just that the days sort of blur together, and I haven't been in a recording and blogging mood lately.

A little bit inebriated now. All I can say is, thank goodness for automatic spell check, otherwise this would look like a chicken pecked it out. A drunk chicken. So anyhow after work went to Friar's house, then we walked to Sonar's house, where about a hundred people hung out, by invitation only, to sit in the studio for a live recording by Auric's band. That Tom Waits Nighthawks At the Diner ambiance. I believe the Beach Boys also did such a record, live in studio with a hand-picked studio crowd. Anyway, like that. I yelled out the obligatory request ("Freeeeeebiiiiird!!") but I'm sure they'll edit it out. Strait-laced bastards!

A bunch of old familiar friends were there: Palfrey, Friar's boss, 74 and his pregnant wife Zaftig, Gunner, and Skullfuck, to name a few. We listened to the rock, drank the free booze, and peed in the alley behind the studio several times. Okay, only I did that last one (I hate lines). An extremely cute girl gave me her phone number and asked me to come see her art show tomorrow. I was wearing a T-shirt she had designed, and she said, "It looks good on you." (Which seems, at best, a debatable point, but I let it slide.) She wrote her number on my hand. I'm so thick and naive, I have no idea if this is the normal type invitation from an artist or a hint at an attraction by a lady type. Also, I have low self-esteem. Have I mentioned that? Yes.

Been up twenty hours now. Rose tint my world, keep me save from trouble and pain.