During rehersal today I used the word [gesticulate].

That’s a funny word. Say it aloud three times.

So I just had a Rum (151) and Coke.

Everyone has their liqour. Most people you hear it’s Tequila. My wife’s is Sloe Gin. Mine happens to be rum. For some reason, everyone has that one distilled spirit that keys in on their personal monsters.

It’s what was handy. So here I am, fighting off my demons.

You’d think I’d learn. Rum and Sean doesn’t equate to a fun time. It makes me angry.

Irrationally angry.

On my way home from rehersal this evening I discovered that I live several blocks from an old acquaintance of my family.

I took that moment to pick up the cell phone and call my parents to let them know that this person was back in town. My father answered. I just let out this stream of thought sentence that sounded rather confused.

My father just laughed at me and hung up.

Turns out, it wasn’t my father. In reality it was some guy who was probably uncomfortably startled by some strangers adled ramblings.

[This] is an interesting little site that I came across today. It gives the inside scoop on a lot of TV news secrets.

How I found it, was apparently an article went out across the ABC Newswire to all of the ABC affiliate stations. Sure, that happens every day, but how many times does that article detail [Al Gore eating a small child]?

Apparently they were training a freelancer on how to input news stories. The Freelancer figured it out and sent [their first news] into the world.

Makes me wonder if that’s happened with more plausable news stories.

… and the moon sees me. SWEET JESUS, THAT’S NOT THE MOON! IT’S A FIREY BALL OF DEATH FROM THE HEAVENS!

Oh, by the way, the Iridium satellites are about to start their deorbit. Iridium was the first satellite cellular phone service. They’ve since gone bankrupt and turned all of their assets over to Motorola.

Motorola in turn will be dropping these things from the sky in the near future. I’ll put up their schedule when the release it. They have 66 of them up there. It’s likely going to be fantastic to watch.

[“Drop the Chalupa and come out with your hands up.”]

Blood was found in a Lawrence, Kansas woman’s Chalupa. It was then turned over to the police for testing. Then it was sent off to a forensic lab.

Me? I would have just taken it up and asked for a new one. Some people are pretty hardcore about their fast food, I guess.

[Frau Berliner-Mauer]’s page is something I came across a while ago. She’s married to a guillotine. Who am I to judge? I have some weird sexual practices by societies measure…

Mom, if you’re reading this, put down the phone. It’s OK… It has nothing to do with animals.

As you’ll read when you click the link…

“My family are The Berlin Wall, he doesn’t live here, and the models of the Berlin Wall. This needs a short explanation. I am objectúm-sexual that is to be sexually and emotionally attracted to objects; in my case The Berlin-Wall and other constructions. I am married to the Berlin-Wall (and have been since 1979). Hence my married name (Berliner-Mauer), which means Berlin Wall in German.”

huh? I… uh…. huh.

Please excuse the Vanya quote.

I feel good though. In interpersonal relationships and professional life, I am content. Sure my back hurts a bit, but that’s just from vigorous bowling excitement. Overall, I feel really good. Solid.

Happy.

Maybe that’s why I haven’t written the next damn chapter on the Memphis story. I was there the other night. I had the bastard open and ready to write. I had a nice screwdriver in my hand. It’s a tool of the trade - No pulp, and the right amount of vodka. I failed. I couldn’t type those damn words.

The story is there in my head. Hell, I lived right through the fucker. I was there.

WHY CAN’T I WRITE THE NEXT FUCKING CHAPTER. You have no … well, maybe you do. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be blocked like that? What have you done?

Am I just too happy right now to write about the most depressing and miserable portion of my life? Anyone? Help.

The word comes from a [Frank Black song]. I like the thought behind it. The word is a lot like undead. Should you find yourself a member of the undead, you aren’t alive, but you aren’t dead.

Undead. Unsomnambulist.

You aren’t asleep, but you aren’t really awake either. You’re up and moving around, working, talking, but you just aren’t quite there. That has pretty much described my mental state for the past few weeks. It hasn’t helped me deal with crowds much. I was bowling again last night when several HUNDRED TEENAGERS descended on the alley like roaches. The din was unbearable. I couldn’t bowl. I broke into a cold sweat. The ball kept sliding off my hand.