The music just keeps on rolling along

Pain. The pain in my head. I don't want to take more vicodin because it's making me sick. But it's the only thing that's helping the pain.

I find it funny that old Scooby Doo episodes have a laugh track. And it's after almost every line the characters say. It's just not that funny, man. And I dig me some Scoob.

Burnt popcorn is depressing.

The Dennonites are invading D-land tomorrow. I was supposed to go but my surgery was rescheduled. Boo. I know they'll have a great time. It may even rain which equals even more fun because all the kids go home. I went once in the rain. We were kings. I was really looking forward to going. I haven't seen all the updates they've made to Pirates. And I really wanted to check out the pirate shops and have a mint julep in the French Quarter. The Haunted House still scares me. And it was going to be fun to be there with a big group of friends. Possibly drunk. Goddamn the timing. Sometimes it feels like the world is against me.

Shades played Wildcat tonight. I haven't been to the shitty kitty in ages. Same surgery/world against me situation. Not that I've never seen them play but they hardly play at all and there is no live music in this town or Santa Barbara so when a show comes up it's a rare treat and one I like to participate in. And they're my boys. I like to be social. A lot. And it's a tough thing to do in this bullshit of a town/area. So I mourn the loss of a good night of live music. Woe is me. "Whoa". Joey? Keanu? Hmmmm.

Where's my damn remote control? I liked that game show. They should bring that back. You know Ken Ober needs a job. Was Collin Quinn ever funny?

Bravo is obsessed with Blow. Dude. I like the movie too, but could you lay off playing it back to back to back to back? Is it national Blow month or something? Blow appreciation day? Did I miss something because I was too whacked out on drugs? Damn.

I need another pill. Now.

I stood and swayed in my bedroom for minutes. Lazily scratching at my satin PJ pants. You know what I am? Decidedly unhungry. I think I ate twice today. Food is so unappetizing. I wish I had a king-sized bed in my backyard I could lay on during the day. It's so nice out and I don't want to be in my room anymore. I can't breathe in any other part of the house. I love my parents.

I want to go back to Vegas. I want to live in Vegas. I want to roam from casino to casino, drinking and eating and seeing shows and just never stop. I think that would be a hell of a time. I could live like that. For a long time I figure.

My Nano is dangerously close to full.

I should be sleeping. The sport of champeens.

I'm over dramatic. And overly sensitive. That's a molotov cocktail. Not nearly as tasty as an Irish Car Bomb, but just as entertaining.

There's only one man I call Baby. And he'll never know I call him that.

I want to find a Pollock at a thrift store. A first edition "Slaughterhouse Five" at a yard sale. Not my favorite artist or my favorite book. A Waterhouse and "Cats Cradle" would be my holy grails. Among them, anyway.

I need to go to a museum. When was the last time I was at one? I think it was my 27th birthday. In Phoenix. There was a Frida Kahlo exhibit. I hear there is a Dhali exhibit at the LACMA. I have still not been to The Getty. I went to the J. Paul Getty Museum when it was still at his mansion on the cliffs in Malibu. It was fantastic. I've been to The Met, Musee d'Orsay, Rodin, The Tate, I stood outside of The Louvre... I've stood in one room with a Van Gough, Rodin, Monet, Picaso, and Rembrandt and I think my head almost exploded. I love standing infront of a painting knowing that the artist stood right where I am, looking at it just as I am now. See how they held their brush, how they laid the paint on the canvas. Or to pull up some grass next to The Thinker and blush like a voyeur at The Kiss. Running through The Tate I skidded to a halt in front of one of my favorite paintings I didn't even know was there. The Lady of Shalott. It was huge and I had to sit down and soak her in. Simply magnificent. And on the other side of the museum was The Rosetta Stone. THE Rosetta Stone. Holy buddha christ. Drool. HAD to have my picture taken with THAT. I live in a town of nothing but art galleries but I have a hankering for a good museum fling. A notch down from pretension or the height of it? Or D, none of the above. Black patent leather heals, a long black coat, a feathered fan, dripping emeralds, French twist, smoldering behind dark glasses...such over dramatic hilarity would be so fantastic. The pomp. The circumstance.

I need a man who can put on a suit and look good. Work it. Own it. Enjoy it. Sophistication is sexy, boys. Class, Character, Style. Sweating like a dirty bastard and rolling through the mud is sexy, too. I enjoy that as well. But I find few men can really do a suit justice, pull it off with panache. Reckless courage is irresistible.

It's the end of the world as we know it. It's the end of the world as we know it. It's the end of the world as we know it. And I feel fine.

So much more to do...