The Tinkerbell Plan and Other Non-Sequitors

(May 30, 2003)

It's seven o'clock in the freakin' morning, I'm in my REI lost-and-found box Champion sweatshirt (from when I worked there in college) and red-checked men's boxer shorts (I sewed the flap closed, it's so crass otherwise) and ya know, I can't figure out why am I not asleep yet. HEY. I'M UP. I've been awake since yesterday. When did I get up yesterday? Ten, I think? I dunno. What did I do all day? I know I figured out that I trained a cat. I didn't even know I could do that, but as it turns out, I'm a cat whisperer. After a series of explanations-by-demonstration which left the cat bored but did wonders for my fingernails, I assumed he'd never use the perfectly good scratching post, opting instead for the soft plushness of the carpet. But, not unlike his carbo-bloated namesake, this Elvis likes to eat. So, with food as a reward, he now scratches his SmartyKat SuperScratcher Plus instead of my carpet. And when he's done he comes to find me and glares greenly until I give him a Moist Whisker Lickin's treat. Salmon and Tuna Flavor. I can tell by his expression that he doesn't even need to scratch; he's just peckish. Who, one could argue, has who trained?

What else did I do yesterday. I know I did band stuff. Then took a bath and bopped around doing stuff that included dinner with Michelle, seeing the Mobius Band, waiting around for Bill, getting Neil a chocolate milk and Hub some ice cream (pistachio), watching a weird movie (The Secret Life of Altar Boys), and going to the beach.

I must have been distracted when I apparently, I'm guessing, secretly and unbeknownst to me, drank a fucking gallon of coffee, because it's now 7:30 in the morning and I'M STILL UP.

When I got home I had the worst yen to hear Boy Wonder's Wonder Wear CD. Luckily I found it. right between Nick Heyward and Billy Idol. Whilst searching for it, I realized that I have Death to the Pixies. I didn't know that. I thought I only had Doolittle.

You want to hear something weird? I wake up with songs in my head all the time, right? But yesterday, I woke up and it was not a song. It was a single spoken sentence, in my own voice. It said, "Be a guide to your own heart." What the hell does THAT mean. Then I thought maybe it WAS a lyric so I did some Google searches. It isn't. It came from me. Okay, so...I'll be a guide to my own heart. Or whatever.

I've decided that only wusses buy "Best Of" albums. I have 42 Best Of's.

I'm sad that The Lone Gunmen was such a short-lived series. Not because it was good. It wasn't. But because I really wanted it to work.

I don't actually have 42 Best Of CDs. I don't know how many I have. I would get up and count, but I'm listening to Boy Wonder now and I'm shackled to the boom box via headphones.

If I ever start a band it'll be called The Tinkerbell Plan. I will be the only one who knows what it means.

I'm lying-- even if I weren't listening to Boy Wonder, I wouldn't get up and count the number of Best Of CDs I have.

You know what else? Last night at the Middle East, a certain Well-Known Local Photographer engaged me in a conversation about linoleum. "Were you here when it was carpeted?," he asked. "No," I said. I don't know how things veered so totally to linoleum. But linoleum is apparently made from sawdust and linseed oil. In case you wanted to know.

So Boy Wonder was done and I put on another thing I found that I didn't know I had, a Big Hits of the 80's CD? And it's got Scandal on it. Does that song say "Shootin' at the walls of heartache, bang bang, I am the warrior"? It does. And then, I'm listening more, right? And this utter CRAP comes on? And I read the jewel case and it's "Heaven" by Warrant. I miss MojoNine. I shouldn't have bailed on hanging with him on Friday night. I'm not doing that anymore. Just GO, man. (Those readers who know MojoNine understand that going from the topic of Warrant to the topic of MojoNine is not a non-sequitor.)

Eddie Money is on this 80s CD too. This CD SUCKS! What should I do now?

I have eleven Best Of CDs.