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2:46 a.m. - 2004-11-20
say you'll be with me.
Last night at the indie rock karaoke, DJ Geoff sang so hard on a song about "lightning striking" and "hot hot hot," that the monitor fell over onto the table next to me, flinging two candles' worth of hot wax all over me and to a lesser extent Jacket Rick. Aside from making me look like I'd gotten jizzed on by like twelve people, this was basically amusing and gave me the needed boost in hilarity to perform a one-man version of "Hunger Strike," to the adoration of the crowd. Except one guy who said he wished he had been included. ????

I can think of a worse life than one defined by karaoke, long dark walks, crushes bordering on obsession, and shootin' the shit with the ultimate Bits. Also having lots of money and ideas for mixtapes, that's good too. Gotta keep on the magazine, gotta maintain focus. This is a good youth for me except the not-having-a-lover part but whatever.

I may or may not have mentioned this, but my new idea is to write a book that explicates the self-help value of singing songs in front of strangers. It will be called "Theraope," as in the combination of therapy and karaoke if that's not clear in text. It may also be the name of my album, but that's had about a billion possible names going back to 1999: Six Months On The Underground, Sherriff Brittany, Octopistachio, Doom Service, We Become Cigarettes, and The Unfunkable Titanic, to name a few that may or may not have been in the running.

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