DARLING, I'VE BEEN BREAKING GLASS IN YOUR ROOM AGAIN
I'm drinking something called "Lo-Carb MONSTER ENERGY." What a bad sign for the night.
Today I found out that the jazz concert a week from Wednesday will be about three hours long, or about 18 songs. This is of little importance to most of the people in either ensemble, except for me because I'm in BOTH OF THEM playing all first trombone parts. In other words, I'm afraid you'll have to carry me home in a bag, mom and dad.
I'm not feeling any MONSTER ENERGY yet, but my stomach is making weird sounds.
Carolyn says that boys hit on me a lot more than I realize. I'm trying to see it her way; I would probably be a happier creature if I felt more flirted-with and less bothered-by in general. I think the only answer is to keep Carolyn with me at all times so she can whisper in my ear: "Come on! He maintained constant eye contact! Are you nuts?"
Books I've been reading: If on a Winter's Night a Traveler, Italo Calvino; Culture and Imperialism, Edward Said; The Stones of Summer, Dow Mossman; Vice, Ai; The Dollmaker's Ghost, Larry Levis; A Lover's Discourse, Roland Barthes. Music I've been listening to: Low, David Bowie; Armed Forces, Elvis Costello; On the Beach, Neil Young; Station to Station, David Bowie; Songs From Michigan, Sufjan Stevens; Eureka, Jim O'Rourke; Hounds of Love, Kate Bush. The Bowie has been of most importance lately. Low has so many songs that relate directly to my own personal sphere of drama. Yes, David, "always crashing the same car" indeed.
And still no MONSTER ENERGY.
I'm drinking something called "Lo-Carb MONSTER ENERGY." What a bad sign for the night.
Today I found out that the jazz concert a week from Wednesday will be about three hours long, or about 18 songs. This is of little importance to most of the people in either ensemble, except for me because I'm in BOTH OF THEM playing all first trombone parts. In other words, I'm afraid you'll have to carry me home in a bag, mom and dad.
I'm not feeling any MONSTER ENERGY yet, but my stomach is making weird sounds.
Carolyn says that boys hit on me a lot more than I realize. I'm trying to see it her way; I would probably be a happier creature if I felt more flirted-with and less bothered-by in general. I think the only answer is to keep Carolyn with me at all times so she can whisper in my ear: "Come on! He maintained constant eye contact! Are you nuts?"
Books I've been reading: If on a Winter's Night a Traveler, Italo Calvino; Culture and Imperialism, Edward Said; The Stones of Summer, Dow Mossman; Vice, Ai; The Dollmaker's Ghost, Larry Levis; A Lover's Discourse, Roland Barthes. Music I've been listening to: Low, David Bowie; Armed Forces, Elvis Costello; On the Beach, Neil Young; Station to Station, David Bowie; Songs From Michigan, Sufjan Stevens; Eureka, Jim O'Rourke; Hounds of Love, Kate Bush. The Bowie has been of most importance lately. Low has so many songs that relate directly to my own personal sphere of drama. Yes, David, "always crashing the same car" indeed.
And still no MONSTER ENERGY.
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