2003-03-26 - 5:03 a.m.

Notes--

1) My dear sweet lord above, this weather has been kickass, and believe you me, I haven't forgotten it for a second. Left work at 11:30 PM tonight, got the train to Lechmere, waited outside, and it's soooo great to not be freezing was like a song stuck in my head.

2) Got my refund for $216.00 from the state of Massachusetts yesterday.

3) Gone. Three pairs of socks, a pair of boxers, and a hoodie from H&M, two bottles of shampoo and a deodorant stick from the Body Shop, a Diaryland gold membership renewal, a chicken sandwich from BK, some smokes, a 30-pack of Bud, a three-pack of plastic hangers from Target, a pound of ground coffee beans, a new bath mat, and

4) a pedometer, my only frivolous purchase. I love this thing so much--I haven�t bought a toy for myself in awhile. I got the good one that counts miles--I�m always curious after big walks.

And it looks like a pager circa 1990--remember when nobody had cell phones (cellys, for those of you born after 1982), and all those idiots instead had translucent plastic beepers in funky colors? Yeah, it looks like that, which I find highly amusing, and it tells me what time it is--although I have actually gotten pretty good at keeping mental track of time, it�s nice to check for accuracy every now and then. I might be indifferent towards my awesome pager, I mean pedometer (I�m going to call him Peety), in a few days, or moments, who knows. But I�ll always treasure the accompanying manual (The Benefits of Walking, which I skimmed on the bus, like a tract)--that explains how to walk. Best line--Walking doesn�t require any special equipment or clothing. All you need is a good pair of walking shoes, comfortable clothing, a pedometer, and you�re all set.

5) I mention all the stupid shit I bought �cause I got that refund check, and I seem to come across an unusual surplus of money about two or three times a year--a Christmas bonus, a security deposit returned, a ton of overtime, a tax refund, what have you--two or three times a year, and it�s gone in a matter of days (in this case, a day). When it's gone, I always wonder where it went--well, in this case, that�s where it went (the rest is going towards the stupid credit card). I always blame it on a frivolous night out, but I�ve actually been pretty good in the past--Christmas presents. Some wacky expensive obligation conveniently solved by the surplus. Or clothes. I mean, when you pay $39 for a sweater, and you wear it 50-100 times over three or four years, and it makes you at the very least a little bit happy each time, can you hate yourself over the $39?

6) There are five, not four, Wednesdays in April. Wednesday being my payday. This means I get five, not four, checks before rent is due. Do I need to say Yay!? For someone who doesn�t really like the concept of money very much, I sure do log log hours thinking about money, while pursuit of it eclipses my own free time. I�m not complaining, just ploabin�. I really hate being broke--even if it�s just for a few days--I get all anxious and depressy. I get jealous when my friends go out and do awesome stuff and I can�t go, even if it�s �cause I went out and did awesome stuff with my girl three days before. Money is stupid--yet it works--say what you will, but the concept of the president of my company driving home in a nice car, and me taking the train home and sitting next to someone clipping their fingernails, has an internal logic that makes sense, at least to me.

7) Sorry to be going on about stuff like this, but it�s been on my mind for the past couple of weeks. Something happened inside of me, a little clog in my brain got draino-ed, and I can think about money for more than 20 seconds without getting a self lecture about roots of evil and bullshit and just wait �till you hit big on the lottery and what not. And I realized--yeah, fucker, if only you were as disciplined then as you are now, and it�s not even like you are now anyway. And the guy talking through the scrambled cable channel was right--imagine that $2200 credit card balance, where they charge me $53 for nothing more than the privilege of paying the minimum balance and me not charging anything. Now imagine a world where I had sucked it up and had paid not $100 a month, but $200 a month, over two years, and had had not one moment of weakness. It�d be gone. Done. No more hoping it goes away. It�s gone. If, two years ago, I had been a little nicer to future me, right now me could spend more money on right now me, even fleece up future me a little here and there, as opposed to slowly pay off past me�s good times, as well as pay off stuff right that right now me already owns.

8) Make sense? And here�s the awesome thing--that part of my brain that stops me from using logic--I think it gave up on this point. If I�m lamenting like a ninny over the litany of things I didn�t do to make things better for myself now, hey, why not do things now that will make things more awesome for myself in two years? It�s true--I shouldn�t be living as if I�m either going to die or hit the lottery in the next year or so.

9) OK--so that�s been on my mind for quite some time, and I finally got it out. As awesome as I can be in other areas, money has been a big problem in my life that I�ve been super shitty with foryears.

10) OK--so let�s move on. Hal Hartley is a super awesome filmmaker--I love his films to death--they get me kinda excited. I used to believe that there was a secret world of artists and hot chicks and liberals and that all I had to do was figure out where it was and I�d be where I was supposed to be--cut off from the stupid real world, surrounded by art, stimulated by pointed discussion, stimulated also by chicks that love patchouli, clove cigarettes, and Robert Smith, nourished with words and soup, maybe it was in Europe, I don�t know, but al;sdkjf a;sdjfakjsdfkasdjfl;kasjdf jkasdfjkasdkjf;asdjfkajsdf fuck it, it does exist, in some form, I guess, �cause I�m ready and willing and scared to make this world exist every time I hear a Softies song, but I�m too fucking smart to actually believe that a world can be secret, never mind plausible--there�s always gonna be someone around, a friend of a friend, that�s gonna fuck it up, and make it horrible, and I�d rather have my girl, a 30-pack, and a pedometer, than go through that slow dissolvement. Any day.

But anyway, when I watch a Hal Hartley film (with the unfortunate exception beingthe Book of Life), or a Richard Linklater film, or for that matter, do just about anything, like listen to a GBV album, I kinda see how such a fantasy is tiny and possible. Way to thumb your noses at me, assholes.

Bonus--I have a show coming up--Tuesday the 8th at the Abbey Lounge. I�ve only performed solo--without the (ex)--once--I was at the Charles Playhouse. I tried to be amusing, and it was a disaster. This time, I promise, it�ll instead be an amusing disaster.