Time: 1:32 a.m.
blammo, just got back from the nyc->troy drive. the drive down is always so fantastically nice. there's almost always sunlight, the top is almost always down, the music is almost always freshly burned, the plans are almost always freshly laid. the drive home, in contrast, offers nothing but miserably boring monotony and general pain. it's uphill so it burns more gas and it's typically dark and there are loads of policemen and policewomen with lasers and radars pointed at your personal speeding ass. yes.
so bleah. but it's over, yes yes.
maqui says, while listening to this (26 meg mp3) in my car while dodging suv's on flatbush avenue: "I'm so glad I can trust your music tastes." this makes me feel good.
my friend anthony moved into a super mega hott loft in bed-stuy. it's one gynormous room, basically, and before he builds walls I'm going to try to convince him to let me and my rpi crew rave the fuck out of it. shouldn't be that much of a challenge, yeah. maybe next weekend? we shall see.
I'm kind of glad my date cancelled for that concert, cuz it got superlatively rained on. while I have not overlooked the fact that this would have created a serious cornucopia of romantic-umbrella type moments, it would've gotten real old real fast, and plus this way I didn't have to self-conciously modulate my facial grimacing and other potentially wack gesticulations of rock'n'roll pleasure during the face-meltingly excellent music joyride. I mean, during de la's set, dres from black motherfucking sheep took the stage and did 'choice is yours'. how was I supposed to *not* lose my shit entirely, I ask you? and we all know that type of public shit-loss just isn't very sexy, unless you already know the person freaking out very intimately, like to the point where they've already brought you breakfast in bed, in which case it might be cute or something. yeah.
lord jeezus almightly I'm fucking tired. that's why I wrote that last wack paragraph. cuz I'm tired, yeah. so bleah, more later. word to the mother.