walls are props

I am running on four hours of sleep. Seriously. Party in, like, 3 hours. You better be there.

First trip to a gay bar, evah. Went to a wedding with an open bar. Met Harper in real life. Didn’t sleep. Told a good friend I love her. Hope she doesn’t mind me telling everyone else.

Sunday we tried to move as little as possible. Today, I do not have that option. Go, brain, go. Write some code.

You know, that thing that makes you paint skies full of pinwheeling stars and write autobiographical novels in three weeks of benzedrine-fueled creative fury? I got a little coffee in me right now, you’ll have to excuse me.

I was browsing Flickr today and realized just how cyclical photography can be for me. It has that nice, self-perpetuating quality that makes me want to take more pictures every time I get some back from the developer. I suppose just about any art form can work that way, but I never really get a rush when I read back over my old poems and stories. I usually just think, “Gosh, this could be better.” Am I a better photographer than writer? I doubt it. But something clicks when I look at a picture that just makes me want to have more pictures. Gotta… catch ’em… all!

No more comments on old posts. Not that anyone will be bothered by that. I just thought I would tell you. The Russian spammers are killing me. For now, I will only allow commenting on the current post and shut it off when I write a new one.

Today is the Governor’s Cup Race and Walk. This means a truck selling “coffee lattes frappes smoothies” is parked just below my window. Maybe I should take advantage of that. Also, there seems to be a cleaning staff downstairs running a vacuum cleaner at top volume. No going back to sleep for me.

When did the kids at the shows all get so young? I could count the people that I knew were older than me on one hand. One was the coolest city council member ever, Mr. Matthew Goodman. He smiled and nodded. Hell yes, I voted for you.

Then the kids walked by with beer. That threw me. I could have sworn…

I do not ever want to be described as “jaded.” “Bitter” works.

There was this crazy dancing girl in front of me that I’ve seen before, and every time I see her, she reminds me of Amy Campbell in a crazy way. It makes me a little sad because I probably had eight thousand opportunities to make out with Amy, and I blew every one.

Take some advice from an old man. Make out with some hot girls before they move back to Chicago. You’ll thank me later.

It seems like a lot of people I know live in Chicago, and I haven’t seen them in freakin’… I haven’t ever seen Harper. I even missed him when he visited Des Moines.

The thing is, I’m starting to like Des Moines. People just keep trying to make is as cool as other cities, and they should totally give up. There is no East Village, and there is no economic incentive to build skyscrapers when they can’t fill the ones we have. But I’m having some fun, I like the people. Maybe it’s just another sign of age. Maybe I need to visit Chicago before I start building rocking chairs for a hobby. And sitting in them.

Mates of State was a cool show. You should have been there. Stop acting like you are too old, get a freaking babysitter and have some fun already! The show was over by 10:30, you could have been home for Leno.

At least I don’t have a kid, you old fart. Go back to bed, I’ll stop making noise if you stop complaining.