I had trouble getting started from a shell
Our work production has come to resemble a turtle and the hare scenario, whereby we kick ass and complete a good portion of work in the morning, and then look at the Inter-Web all day, only to realize, with ten minutes to go, that we did not do enough work that day. As per the general sentiment around these parts, however, nobody really seems to give a fuck, and that’s nice. Because if they did, we suspect a greater part of the workforce would be fired tomorrow.

Today we have unearthed a particularly brine-bestowing piece of sediment which manifests as Albany crit, and we are all over that. Check out the Parenthetical Girls' website, which features Albany architecture reviews and audience member critique (we were at this show, and we can assure you: Johnny Neon, the video camera wielding, spiked-hair entrepreneur, was an audience member like no other. Several times throughout the night we heard audience members say, get that guy away from me). When you’re done with that, The Unicorn’s Tear gives Albany a two thumbs down, which makes us laugh and laugh. Can you imagine hurtling forth in your over loaded van, packed down with gear, only to arrive at ye old capital, to find the human detritus of New Scotland Avenue asking you for change. It seems pretty bad, and we can attest that it actually is. One of the blogspot’s favorite possessions is a T-shirt which contains the message, Albany is Eggcellent. And thus we reveal to you, further perceptions of its Eggcellence.

You're in a cut up world with the goodbye girls
Monday morning, the building looms large against the palatial backdrop of doom and despair. The woman entering before me holds the door. “Oh, I just hate Mondays,” she says dramatically. It seems like such an obvious suggestion that I have no idea how to respond and can only agree that, yes, Mondays are a real blower. Although, from another point of view, it could be Monday morning in Rwanda, in which case you’re infinitely worse off. Or: alternately, you could be in the rock group documentary that we watched last night, getting harangued by reporters. “I could never deal with that sort of treatment,” A. says. But I could deal with that sort of treatment a lot easier than I could deal with my actual job, I say. And so Monday morning, I guess, from converging points of view. I try and take the high moral ground, imbuing some kind of good, and mostly i suck at guitar.

Pizza at L. Trela’s last night. “Could I get a cup of coffee?” I want to know, just as she’s about to serve dinner. I then spend the next 20 minutes complaining about how slow the coffee pot is, and how my own coffee maker is infinitely superior. “You know, you really do suck,” she says to me. And it’s true: I’m not a very good house guest. All I can demonstrate is a bad posture, a really bad form. After dinner, I outrageously suggest that everybody retires to the other room to watch reruns of the show Growing Pains, and am promptly thrown out of the house. But somehow I keep getting invited back, and keep eating everything in sight. Thank you, L. Trela: you are a good person. The world needs more people like you.

Later I tried to call back all of the people I’ve been meaning to call back. But mostly, nobody seemed to be at home. The no answer situation lead me to contemplate all of my past behaviors, and how I could have been better. But in the end I conspired a theory that some disaster had occurred out in the world, some calamitous event, and that’s what was preoccupying everybody. It’s probably not true, but it’s best to stay positive.