Tears Me Inside Out

"There's something about you
Tears me inside out whenever you're around
There's something about you
Speeding through my veins until we hit the ground
And there's something about this rush
Take it away
It made me feel so good . . . "

(New Radicals)

I know this is at least the second time I've quoted this song in here. It's great. It's called "Mother we just can't get enough" and every time I hear it I get this whooshing feeling in my chest. It's awesome.

Spring is about good music. Actually, scratch that . . . all year should be about good music. Speaking of good music, Adam alerted me that new Oasis is out there. Thank goodness someone is more dedicated at keeping up with the band. I'm a horrible fan. Just in general, I suck at memorizing facts and remembering things and knowing the news.

The clock finally clicked the end of perhaps one of the longest weeks ever. I don't know how else to put it. I have a long and bitter anthem for everyone to hear about. But there were some really really good parts, like seeing people do even better than you expect them to, winning at poker, finding breakfast in downtown Dallas at 2 a.m. even though things are worrisome, getting really dressed up and then buying more gym shorts.

When I was packing to go to TIPA I found two spanking-new pens in my backpack. They're so pretty black and smooth. I really do have an addiction to office supplies, but it's not a problem. Counselors are for wimps.

I just almost bought a Polaroid camera online. I told Dan about my plans a few weeks ago. I'd like to have one, take random pictures of people when they're not looking and then walk over and hand the picture to them. I don't think most people realize how perfect they are most of the time. I'd like to write something on the back, but I don't know what.

Just spend a second or two looking at someone who's not looking at you. How perfect.

"And there's something about you
That makes me fly
You're a heart attack
Just the kind I like"

Won't Get Fooled Again

It's disconcerting that I was thinking of Mitch Hedberg with my last post and today found out he's (allegedly) dead of a heart attack. I'm afraid to wonder about other comedians now, because what if they keel over as well? Last thing I want is for the Executive Transvestite bunch to lose their leading member as Eddie Izzard gets beaten by the Queen with a brick in her handbag. If this is a ruse, I'm gonna be mad. But happy. For now I'll be mad and sad.

Speaking of sad . . . it's sad that this whole Terry Schiavo thing is going on. The entire situation is just revolting. I was flipping through channels and it's on the news, on documentaries already, whatever. But if I'm ever stuck in a bed and can't talk to people and can't read and can't get outside and can't see the wonders of my world and can't do things to make people happy and can't be productive . . . don't just remove the feeding tube, and I don't care what the neurological exams show, just give me a lethal amount of morphine and let me float away, tripped out of my mind.

What a way to go. It will make up for all the times I said no to drugs.

I feel like I'm on a drug trip sometimes, still . . . I got the weirdest feeling of deja vu this week when I was in the newsroom until I realized duh, I have been here before, I have done this before, this is stupid. Isn't that absurd that the brain would let you experience deja vu about something you do all the time?

This show about Schiavo is showing a preacher with a megaphone talking to a crowd of picketers. (I'm against picketing, but I don't know how to show it.) I would love to get a megaphone and sit somewhere and just start rambling. Sometimes it takes a while to get me to talk. Sometimes I just ramble and can't help it. But I would sit with my megaphone and spew the most original sentences I can think of, that's all. It would probably be nonsense. But it could be beautiful (or damn ugly). If somebody were to ask me to just talk in original sentences, I would. I would give them all the words they ever wanted. (And afterward, would they want to talk to me ever again?)

I would like someone to read the lyrics from Blue Eyes by the Cary Brothers from the Garden State Soundtrack and think of me. Wouldn't that be nice? But only the good lyrics, not the lines I don't like. If someone did that, paid attention to only the good lyrics, that wouldn't be nice . . . that would be badass. Because it even mentions me rambling with my megaphone all those sentences pent up somewhere.

. . . I just wanna sing a song with you
I just want to take it off of you
Cause Blue Eyes
You are all that I need
Cause Blue Eyes
You’re the sweet to my mean
Fess it up, dot on the palm of your hand
I can help you to stand
Saved it up for this dance
Tell me all the things you can . . .
Cause Blue Eyes
You’re the secret I keep
Cause Blue Eyes
All the lights on and you are alive
But you can't point the way to your heart
So sublime, when the stars are aligned
But you don't know
You don't know the greatness you are . . .
I just wanna sing a song with you
I just wanna get it on with you
Cause Blue Eyes
You’re the secret I keep
Cause Blue Eyes
I just wanna sing a song with you…