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"A woman is the most fiendish instrument of torture ever devised to bedevil the days of man." - Ulysses Everett McGill (O Brother, Where Art Thou?)
I finished The Man Who Wasn't There a few minutes ago. The Coen brothers are great filmmakers. I had so much fun last night... but today I'm a little down. I've just been doing a lot of thinking and I don't like what I find under my layer of dust. I let those parts of me collect dust for a reason. I want that protective layer to keep what's beneath blurred and hidden... even from myself... but I feel like I need to do something about it. I need to clean and polish. Maybe I need that to share myself with someone. I don't know. I just know I don't like it anymore.

Blue jeans suit you best.

Kim introduced me to a new Mexican eatery with the tastiest margaritas. I saw Keith again. We met Kim and Gil at said establishment. He's a really great guy... and I am so happy he's part of my life. The show was excellent and Guy gave his usual 150% performance. I got to see Garick and Sommar again. Gil, Kim, and Irfan left early, but the rest of us stayed until they kicked us out. It was a very satisfying performance... like finishing a great meal. I saw unusual signs with chipped paint. I saw gas lamp bulbs in brilliant colors. I heard growling come from a man. I breathed in cold smoke and was wrapped in warm music. I saw an angel and became puzzled. I was mocked for examining multicolored lava lamps that were 4 feet tall. I drank spirits and water and life. I saw smiles and affection and good times amongst friends. I heard crickets. I heard nothing. I was home.

"Sin lies only in hurting others unnecessarily. All other 'sins' are invented nonsense." - Robert Heinlein

"Dirty Sanchez" - BB
Well, I got so much sin seepin' out of my skin,
Gotta get me some time with you.
Don't you tell me your last name, don't say anything.
You know what to do.
I got old time religion got fever, got friction,
got dark thoughts in my head.
You got a purdy dirty mouth,
I got a demon down south gonna make you sweat and beg
for the Dirty Sanchez
and I'm gonna skin you like a cat on a hot plate.
Got you on a hot date, liquored up and ready to sin.
I got a dashboard Jesus, he's ready to receive us
so open up and let me in.
I'm your savior, I know your favorite down and dirty deeds.
Just when you relax I'm whippin out the betamax,
I'm out of style and out to please
with the Dirty Sanchez
and I'm gonna skin you like a cat.
______________

The weekend has arrived. Game on.

Hey Sean... let's play a little game called "Find the Monkeys at Dick's"... maybe they're close to the stage?

Me? Drink? Never.

The closest I ever came to model rockets was Rob and I lighting his mom's yard on fire with the powder we scraped out of model rocket engines. If I were into model rockets though, I'd be like this guy... he rock(et)s! I woke up this morning with a course voice. My throat felt strained... I'm not usually a loud talker and I don't yell or raise my voice much, so talking over the ambient levels of a loud venue takes it out of me. I figure I've half way to Tom Waits. Speaking of loud venues... Guy Forsyth is playing the Fabulous Satellite Lounge tonight. I am just one nap away from being really, really excited about that... but right now I am fashioning a make-shift defibrillator out of paper clips to stick in the wall socket for a jump start.

"He told them to look not at the facts, but at the meaning of the facts. Then he said the facts had no meaning." - Ed Crane (The Man Who Wasn't There)
I'm awaiting a callback on a key transaction for a project I am working and I'm running against a deadline. Watching the phone isn't very fun, so I was skipping through the magical land of electrons. You want eggs with your links? The ridiculous insecurities of the male population and their (our?) fascination with penis size results in crap like this... if I were a woman, I'd be pissed about false advertisement. Michael Bolton ala Office Space thought he had it bad being named after a no talent ass clown? Just think if his name was John Holmes. These guys had a lot of time on their hands. Finally, research worth researching. Who builds sperm mazes... really? Draw a curtain? Rubbish. "I Dream of Teeny"... lol... the special directors cut DVD now available. So this is what their building at ground zero. Ok. I'm linked out. No more links. Links suck. I think I'll eat now. Ring phone ring! Ack!

I followed the link to the Human Clock site off Erin's page just now... it's a cool idea for a project, but what really got me was the description of their webserver. It's a rough job to squeeze a smile from these lips before the crack of noon after a night of little sleep, but those monkeys did it.

Icky poo. One high five to myself says it's Friday and the "three day" is upon us... however, I'm not yet fully awake and can't seem to appreciate the oats and honey goodness of that concept. That post from last night was pure, unadulterated drunkenness. Straight from my liver to you. WTF was that all about? Let's just say that the spirits were flowing with such fluidity that Harry walked the gig and Eric finished the night alone. He and I just left. Crazy. Once I drink a few pots of coffee, I may make some sense of it all. I really don't like mornings.

It's almost 3:00 a.m. and I just got not one, but two phone calls from AT&T about network outages that may effect our Internet POP at work. I am OFF bizatches... I don't need this hoo-ha. Mike called at 6:00. There was some bad joo-joo that caused a drinking spree and for some reason they thought of me. I showed and glowed but was soon doed. Danielle was there and in high spirits, Sean. Erica picked me up for The Big Easy. It was good and it was sleazy, but the dancers were so very very. JC showed up later with a few friends that stayed far, far away. Bill and company showed soon before Erica left. Her departure predicated mine and I ended up going to see Harry and Eric. Harry and I ran like hell to Whataburger in the wee hours of the morning and I swallowed a mouthful of crap and found myself writing this... lucky you.

I am exhausted. The best part of my day was lunch with a friend. I came back to the office on the tail end of a problem that landed me in a lengthy and uninteresting video conference in the Director's office with the VP. I finished that to find myself being reminded that I had a 3:30 with my boss and some of the consultants on heavy issues that my brain was in no condition to evaluate. It now 5:00 and I can finally make a getaway. Tonight is the HBS open jam. It is, in my opinion, the best regular gig Houston has to offer. I am so looking forward to that...

Greg called me as I was driving into town yesterday. A work issue that was quickly resolved left my evening vulnerable to our schizophrenia. Greg and I are professional business associates by day to our respective corporations and peers however, we are really good friends and consigliaries after hours and I knew that once work was done... game on. We stopped at Champps (Uptown Park) briefly, but it's not really my gig so we went over to the bar at McCormick & Schmick. Tanqueray and tonics for me and a nice single malt for my boy. Phone call. Venue change. Rendezvous. We met Mark at his favorite watering hole and I switched to "see throughs" (Gray Goose martinis... very clean and very dry). Mark had to bail before his liver failed, so Greg and I decided to move on to greener pastures. We went to Ling and Javier at Hotel Derek. It was funny... everyone there was made out of plastic. Greg was flying at this point, so I drove his Lexus. That car has more automated adjustments than I've ever seen in an automobile. There was a little button and corresponding motor for everything. A beer later, we were at Baker St. Pub with smiles on. Harry and Eric were playing. Kate was working. Good music and good times. We drank... a lot. Eric blew fire. No farm animals were harmed in the making of our evening. Greg left when his liver cramped. I was tired from my long drive and lack of sleep, so I stayed for one more set and then took a cab home... completely satisfied.

Greg + Clayton = trouble... dammit, always trouble...

"You got purdy lips... dems niiiice."
Goodbye sweet hotel room. It was so purdy. Granted, the decorations, wallpaper, and flooring left little to be desired, but I guess you can't everything. What you CAN have is a living room with a couch, coffee table, and recliner... a big TV and even a VCR... a kitchen with a refrigerator, dishwasher, microwave, oven, and a sink complete with garbage disposal... a bar... a desk in the entry with a purdy little RJ-45 jack spitting high speed access at you while wiggling it's wires... a king size bed (the only size bed in my opinion)... walk-in closet... enough hot water and water pressure to make you cry... yes, you can have all this if you were in my hotel room. It's actually a suite (read: schweet) but I don't like saying that, so it's going to stay a room... a room with some amenities. Another cool thing was the pool and hot tub were on my floor... yes, not the ground floor. That is just plain nifty. It was a rock-star-on-tour hotel room. I was going to break lamps and throw chairs out the window, but then I realized that I didn't have groupies or roadies... dammit. Why can't everyone have groupies and roadies? Goodbye sweet hotel room.