Thursday, April 28, 2005


One thing I know for sure: a few hours at The Paradise, and you don't know which end is up. I think I might have been solicited by a call girl, but I'm not sure. That's the kind of night I've had.
Off to bed now, where I'll hold my nose and jackknife off the cliff into the tepid water of tomorrow...

Monday, April 25, 2005

Bar Fly

"Sunday nights are the professional's nights," a friend of mine once said.

I don't know about that, but Sunday is definitely a good night to tie one on. You never know what'll materialize out of the yellow haze of the weekend's end, the last hurrah for those who refuse to acknowledge the impending thunderhead of Monday looming like a bad dream on the horizon. There is something quite liberating in the wadding up all that compiles your good common sense like a fast food wrapper and throwing it out the window into traffic. You know you're gonna pay for this with a hoard of termites in your head tomorrow as you trudge through the muddy trenches of work, but somehow you don't care. You might miss something fun, afterall, something profound. Right? That's what you tell yourself.

And thus, the Bar Fly took off once more in search for his buzzzz, all upon a Sunday dreary.

The night was a blur, an expurgation of all the bottled up bull plop that was compounding interest over the course of the week in that little broom closet of my id. Drinks were quaffed, conversations were had, money was thrown out the same window as the crumpled up common sense. The gang was all in, and the night was ripe.
And for some reason, I left early. Everything was going fine, but I wanted no part of it. Call it growing up, or maybe just a brain weary of being saturated in booze. Either way, I was out the back door like a whisper caught in your throat, and before I knew it, my new Saucony sneakers (bought at deep discount) were taking the empty vessel of my body homewards. The Madison night life has become like that sweatshirt you've had since you were 16: you don't want to toss it because you've been through so much together, but the damn thing's just to small.
I don't need a new sweatshirt, I need a whole new wardrobe.
Peter's List of Mindblowing Stuff to Check Out:
Book: Atonement by Ian McEwan
CD: Willie Porter, Dog Eared Dream
Fruit: Banana and/or Kumquat
Animal: Squirrel

Saturday, April 23, 2005

On A Saturday Sunny

Well, summer seems to have been skipped following an abbreviated taste of spring fever, and fall plops back onto Madison like a fat guy onto his sofa after a long walk to the fridge and back.
"Just when I think I'm out," right? Well, well, well.
This week has been pure Bukowski, and I am thankful for the break from myself on this Saturday afternoon, despite less than desirable temperatures out of doors. Just call me Chinaski.
Deciding to forgo delivering myself anywhere near a bar of any sort last night, I have left myself a day in which I have awakened to a head devoid of any post-alcohol-imbibing fuzziness and that elusive feeling of productivity. I almost forgot what that felt like. So what did I do when I cracked open my eyes at 8:14 am, rolled back over until around 11, and finally got my ass up at about 11:25? I went to Cleveland's, that's what. By myself. Yeah, that's right. It was wonderful, and I felt at one with the near-noon clamor of the busy diner and the slippery eggs. The clientele of the place is like a mix between a science experiment gone terribly amok or wonderfully brilliant. Between the two pajama-clad dudes debating the pros and cons of Marxism at the table in the corner, the group of coffee shop hippie poet wannabes all so helplessly trendy in their efforts at being "anti," the pair of rather butch lesbians practically making out with one another (wearing identical gray, Army T-shirts, no less), and the rest of the largely hungover cravers of all things greasy, I found it difficult to keep concentration on my crossword. So it goes. I could have done without the little red-headed girl they've got working there, though. She's always bubbly to the point of absurdity, and she runs on her way to do anything, however menial the task. It makes me nervous. I kept having horrid visions of my omelet crashing violently to the floor after she tripped over something in mid-gallop. No one should be that happy at work.
After breakfast, it was off to the coffee house to while away the remainder of the afternoon by drinking dark roast until I could no longer hold my book steady. So I guess my initial feeling of productivity never really yielded anything. At least I've been productive in my lack of productivity. I've got that going for me.

Thursday, April 21, 2005


"It's late in the evening," according to Paul Simon. Caught half a buzz here and there after work, spent the past hour or so walking it off and listening to Wilco while thinking things through, and, now, here I sit in a sweet racoon vest I bought off of Cosmo for six bucks. Seriously. Don't ask. So ends another day in the life of Me...
Great Cosmo quote of the Day:
"Hell's a nice place if you like bats. You hear me, kids?"
Funniest Quote of the Day:
"So I think I had a gay, speed-metal afterbar last night. But I'm not sure, I was blacked out. There were Parliament cigarettes put out in my ashtray."
-- Dom
Quote of the Day:
"To live outside the law you must be honest."
-- Bob Dylan

Monday, April 18, 2005

View From A First Floor Balcony...

Twilight descends upon Madison as soft as a feather, and here I sit in the growing darkness on Grandma's old easy chair, listening to the gradual dwindle of happy chirping from the branches above. How wonderful. Tranquility laps at my uncluttered brain like the cool water of a lake with no agenda, and all, for the moment, is well. The bustle of downtown seems distant and removed as the orange sky gives way to a pre-darkness pale blue, the only things working are the spiders twirling their webs about the porch, and there is an open, job-well-done beer opened and awaiting my instructions on the table to my right. This is the way I like it. As to what job it was exactly that was so well done, well, I don't really know to be honest, but it just seemed like a good idea. Cold beer is always appropriate, especially on nights when I remain out of doors in shorts and a T-shirt when it is nigh on eight o' clock.
Boy, it sure is great to have that fucking ape called Winter off my back...
Things I learned today:
  1. That noise coming from the upstairs apartment that sounds like someone bench-pressing a sumo wrestler is most definitely our neighbors engaging in some very apathetic sounding sexual intercourse. "Cool," you might think. No. This is not "cool." It is distracting from my daily quest for nirvana. Besides, these people are not what I would term pleasant or cordial in any sense of the words. In fact, they, the woman especially, may be directly in cahoots with Satan himself. I'm only saying. The only redeeming factor I can see from our brief exchanges is the guy's initials are J. Hendrix. Sweet. Sort of. It'd be a lot cooler if J. didn't stand for Jason.
  2. Breathing becomes much less labored following the relief of quitting a job you don't particularly enjoy being lifted off of your shoulders. While my time at "Hank's" drawing to a close does mark the end of an era in my life, the time has come to boogie forward to a new scene. The longer I worked there, the more like a rabid squirrel I became. I was lost in a maze with no reward at the end. As of today, an ultimatum has been laid down, and I await the reply. Either way, I walk. Pretty much. Mixed feelings ensue. More as it unravels. As if you care.
  3. My brain is numb with spring fever. Each year I feel like a blind man who's just been granted sight for the first time, and I am completely, helplessly hypnotized by the sudden onslaught of all the flesh jiggling around. Holy crap. The female form is a powerful weapon. Or perhaps I'm just a pervert. Either way, I walk. Oh wait--I said that already.

And onwards into the night...

Sunday, April 17, 2005


When the hell did the weekend suddenly become the weekcontinuingindefinitely? Did I miss something here, or what? I remember back in the good old days when the Monday through Friday abyss was pleasantly bookended by those two shining, back-to-back 24-hour periods of relaxation and glorious, unbridled freedom known as Saturday and Sunday. Ah, to think back upon it! The sun seemed to be forever suspended in a backdrop of blue sky, and the hours in between the last morning cartoon and dinnertime seemed to stretch for eons. Those were the days when innocent hedonism was supreme, a time when chasing after a fly ball to the warning track was more important than chasing tail or a cheap buzz, a time when life was still early enough for there to be a little dew on the lawn. Life, however, continues to scroll by, and I welcome the future with open arms and a bottle of inexpensive champagne. The fact that the weekend has blended with the work week in an amalgamated mess of deadlines and obligations comes with growing up and living in the hustle and bustle of the American rat race, I guess. That doesn't mean I have to like it, nor does it mean that I will not do my damnedest to avoid abiding by those standards. I cannot help but worry, though, that someday soon I'm going to open my eyes to a big "The End" written in glaring cursive before me without ever really having seen the movie.
I dunno, this stuff's been on my mind for the last few days. Not sure what my point is. I'm currently in a weird state of consciousness where sleep dangles before me like a carrot to a rabbit who hasn't eaten in a decade, but it's that fool's gold type of fatigue where you know that if you gave in and went to bed, you'd be lying there for hours staring at the ceiling in amazement at how tired you feel, in addition to how the brown water mark above your bed bears an uncanny resemblance to Kevin Spacey. Or, maybe that's just me. Why oh why couldn't it have been Heidi Klum?!
Damn you, Shitty Leaky Pipes In The Upstairs Apartment, damn you to hell!

Tuesday, April 12, 2005


I've begun a blog, a blog I have begun. Or perhaps it's begun me. Only time will tell...

Following a particularly exemplary beginning to 2005, which has continued to blossom, despite my furious objections, into a mangy devil-bush overgrown with gnarled thorns and spindly needles, I have sought out this website as a means of catharsis and the pursuit of a new-found inner peace. Amidst all of the exposed flesh and shameless commercialism that floats lazily throughout our netspace like a million hungry buzzards, I figure the fodder that spews forth from my fingertips will either fit right in with the rubbish or be hailed as a welcomed addition to the ever-increasing quagmire. Who's to say where this particular path of abused words and lofty thought may lead, if anywhere at all, but I choose to think optimistically and with a head devoid of static. Firm footing will be found just over the hill, and the breeze that ruffles my hair whispers of good things to come. After all, the only direction to go from where I sit in this bleak chasm is up. At least that's what they tell me. Just ignore that shovel over there...
See you in Oz, or somewhere along the way.

Monday, April 11, 2005


And thus begins my swan dive into the digital oblivion that is the World Wide Web... Wish me luck.