A matrix consisting of anger, low self-esteem, depression and anxiety, filled out on a day-to-day basis, would best describe me: a kind of hyperdimensional sadcube.
A/LSE/D/A for 4/25/10: 6/7/7/2
I saw some local Norman bands over the weekend at their music festival. I was interested to hear more of a few of them, but can only remember the name of Shitty/Awesome, whom I suspect are at their best live. The keyboardist grabbed the mic on the last song, then dove headfirst into a trash can full of empties (I can't remember this was before or after he'd mounted and humped the keyboard mid-solo). After he'd cleared the area, a dozen people scrambled forward to refill the fallen container. A crowd conscientious enough to tidy up even in the midst of a climaxing set: the hardcorest thing?
Man Without Plan still rules.
Several hundred pages into Frank's Dostoevsky biography, I'm ready to start a new book. But if I quit this one midstream, I'll never finish it.
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