but I still spit your girlfriend’s favorite verse

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This may shock you: it’s snowing.

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On Monday, I saw Michu () and Vickie () spin at River Gods. I’ve probably passed that bar at least two hundred times in all the years I’ve lived in Boston but never set foot in it before this week. It’s not just Celtic – it’s fucking pagan. And I mean in the “let’s ritually kill our king to ensure a good harvest” sense. The DJ booth is a little alcove above the floor with a tiny church window; it’s quite cozy. Someday I hope to sit there.

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Going to sleep after tying two on always leads to interesting dreams. Last night’s featured a mash-up of, well, MASH, the UFC, McDonald’s, high school debate and jiu-jitsu. Some of you were there. No, I’m not saying who.

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Nobody ever warns you about the logistics involved in preparing for black belt. Tammi, one of the other students promoting with me, has graciously acquired several precut sheets of eastern white pine, which I’ll need to drive my elbow through in just about two weeks’ time. We did the math and figured we’ll need at least 14 boards each (4 to break on the day of, 1+2+3+4 to practice breaking in incremental stages) plus probably another 10 each to practice. Remind me: I owe her a check.

On top of that, we need to pick a place to go drinking afterward. Sensei Nick regularly asks me if we’ve picked a watering hole yet and every time I tell him no (I do have a lot on my mind). It needs to be some place that can accomodate twenty to forty people. Fortunately, there aren’t any major holidays coming up that weekend so I anticipate very little trouble.

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For the past 24 hours, I’ve devoted a significant portion of my day to trying to unscrew the spigot on a bottle of Target brand moisturizer lotion. It’s one of those little push-down spigots that comes snapped into place; you need to twist it a few times in one direction to get it to snap up. I have twisted it infinite times in all directions, to no avail. If you’re in the Watertown area and are smarter than me, please stop by my desk.

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I’m no longer a karaoke regular, to my chagrin as well as yours, but I braved the bluster and snow last night to stop in at Asgard. DJ Paul apparently didn’t know he’d been nominated for Best Karaoke in Boston (vote, you fools!). I chatted BC improv with Serpico () and Devil in the White City with Victoria. After some depressing hipsters failed their way through “Baba O’Riley” and “Because You Loved Me” …

: Oh, I get it! He’s wearing that tie ironically.
: Because it’s not a button-down collar!
: And he’s wearing that hat with the earflaps ironically too.
: Let’s be fair – he could just be cold.
: Or it could be a resonance chamber.

… I felt obligated to do some DJ Kool. So I did. The end.

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Graham Greene: good light reading.


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