my candyland melted down to syrup

so i woke up kinda early today for a sunday. i'm probably going back to bed, in fact, now that i've done what i woke up to do. which was write.

wow. i guess it's good that i did it when i did, because now i'm sitting here trying to tell you about it and the words aren't really coming. welcome back writer's block, old friend. will you be staying long? the loveseat folds out into a bed.

it was a rollercoaster of a week. seriously. but i don't want to talk about it. you'll hear about it in songs in about 8 months. maybe longer. i've still got this record to finish. but you'll hear about it then. because i got up early today and wrote.

not very much of it rhymes. actually, if there's a rhyme in there it's an accident. when i sit down to set it to music i'm sure i'll have my work cut out for me. but i wrote and wrote and wrote and i think i got something down that came from the right place. and now i'm writing about having written and am i the only one that thinks that's a little weird?

i live in constant fear that i'm going to wake up one day and have nothing left to say.

today is not that day.

...

there're a couple stories worth telling from this weekend, but one is a bit fuzzy. i'm going to do my best.

i was meeting friends last night on the lower east side in the bar that we always meet at when we're meeting there because it's right outside the subway station. but since it was the weekend some trains weren't running right and one was theirs, so i ended up waiting in this bar for a pretty long time. these old irish guys from boston came and sat next to me at the bar and started asking me where they could find girls with loose morals aged 24-27. i said everywhere. so they bought me a drink and gave me their business card (they own a bar in boston, go figure). and then they spent about 20 minutes obsessing over my surname, and insisting that it's not really irish, but in fact from the scottish highlands. then when my friend showed up and confessed to having british blood they called him a motherfucker. i kept my mouth shut about the rest of my blood.

the other thing was much weirder. i'm waiting on the subway platform at 4am on friday night (or saturday morning, for accuracy's sake) to go home and you can infer my condition from the setting. there's a really cute girl next to me on the bench with one empty seat between us. she seems to be alone. so then this other guy stumbles over and sits down next to her and fixes his eyes on her for like 45 seconds. and she puts up her hood and looks really uncomfortable, and i'm thinking that chivalry is dead but i probably should do something anyway. so he gets up angrily after a while like drunk people do when they feel slighted, and stands a little bit away, stewing.

another kid sits down next to her and starts chatting me up. he's fresh out of college, says he went to school in boston, to which i reply i went to school in providence and then after a little dancing we both admit where we went to school which was kinda funny. he went to harvard. and he was planning on running in the idiotarod the next day, which my friends had been trying to talk me into spectating at, and he had just secured his shopping cart so we had something to talk about. around this time the drunk guy comes back and stands in front of this girl (who had been peripherally participating in our conversation), stoops down, and stares her right in the face again, maybe 4 inches between their noses. the train comes.

so when she sits down on the end of a row i sit right next to her, so the other guy can't. and she and i and the kid from harvard continue our conversation, which at this point has shifted to music. i had just come from seeing sam champion (they were good) and blah blah blah. our shady friend interrupts to tell the harvard kid that he really likes his shoes. really likes them. i turn to the girl and incredulously whisper "what is going on?"

now here's where it gets weird. it turns out this girl and some other guy who has kept his mouth shut the whole time and the aforementioned scary drunk were all friends, and they were actors. suddenly the guy wasn't drunk anymore, and he's palling around with us. and 2 stops later they all leave together. i feel like i got punk'd. who are these people? was this some sort of weird experiment to see if strangers would come to the aid of a damsel in distress? do i need to sign a waiver?

the harvard kid got off a stop later, and i'm pretty sure he wasn't in on it, but he certainly didn't seem to think it was as weird as i did. i think i gave him my business card.

so much for writer's block, eh?