do you think your security can keep you in purity? you will not shake us off, above or below. scottish friction. scottish fiction.

so i had this whole emo plan today to write an open letter to everyone who ever done me wrong (or done me right) all at once like every sentence would be about someone different but i would write is as just one letter.

but instead i went to digitallife with my friend john to see some dorks and video games and then we drank quarts of beer from this japanese place in soho and now i feel like my head could roll off my neck and i'm sure as hell not about to air all of my business i've ever had with anybody in front of you nosey people right now.

at the convention i got a "geek squad" monitor brush which i can use to get dust off my screen instead of just using my hands like i used to. progress.

i'm gonna order a burrito for delivery from fresco tortilla. i don't know what you're gonna do.

win one for the kippur

today is another day i am off work for a jewish holiday. i went to the dmv. see, even when you have a valid driver's license from another state, you've got some hoops to jump through to get a ny license. and since my old license expired, i needed to do it.

a visit to the dmv is basically the worst thing imaginable. there are lines, but nobody in any line knows what they're in line for. or at least, they won't tell you. and everybody who works there hates you. even little old ladies who try to chip through the tough exteriors of these people can't get through and leave with their tails (or shawls) between their legs.

i just realized it's totally unoriginal to write about a dmv trip. everyone has done it. i just wanted to use the word obfuscated, because i was reminded today what a great word that is. so now i went and used it. moving on.

i've listened to idlewild's record warnings/promises a few times in the past few days and i finally get it. that band is fucking brilliant. i met them one time and was a total douchebag and just held out something for them to sign rather than try to engage them in conversation (even though there are a million things i would've loved to ask them). it is one of the few times i've been starstruck in my life. regardless, roddy woomble is one of the most gracious-even-though-he-doesn't-have-to-be rock musicians i have ever met.

omgwtfbbq

there is a bbq joint in soho (i can't even remember what it's called) that i went to last night which, based purely on food deliciousness, is the best bbq joint i have ever been to.

if you take atmosphere into account then wes' rib house in providence still gives it a run for the money. their flowering onion (absent from the menu at this place in soho, tisk tisk) is a good preview of heaven, which it also serves (along with the rest of your meal there) to bring you a little bit closer to in a temporal sense.

so anyway. while we were there my friends and i were a bit...boisterous. and as we got up to leave the 3 or so tables that surrounded around us all got deathly silent and gave us the stink-eye.

god damn that was some cold shit.

it's raining in baltimore, baby

well, i don't know if it is or not. but it sure as hell is raining in monroe, ct. i'm here because it's my old man's birthday, and we're going to celebrate when he gets home from work. in the meantime, i've spent most of the day battling a headache and reading old issues of rolling stone, which my parents inexplicably have a subscription to.

in the august issue there's a great feature on coldplay that reminded me how much i like that band even though i think x&y kinda sucks.

i am only posting right now because i've been reading magazines for a very long time and can't bear the thought of starting another one.

i played my dad's old guitar for a little while but i can't find a pick anywhere in this house and i really wanted one so i just quit.

i took the dog for a walk but it's pouring and she didn't want to go very far because she wasn't the one who had an umbrella. so basically we turned around right after she did a huge poop in the middle of the street.

in the city rainy days are different. you can't hear it hitting the roof.

it's never going to heal if you keep picking at it

i've posted what looks to be the final version of "new york city" at all the music sites. check it out when you get a chance. i think it sounds pretty good.

i'm not sure how the whole record is going to go just yet, but i'm pretty sure the 2 new songs that are up will be the last 2 on the record, in the order they've appeared. so you can let me know if you think that's dumb.

and i guess you can't see the image of my horrid moustache on myspace unless you join, so if you don't want to do what all the cool kids are already doing, you can check it out without joining anything at pulverradio, all you gotta do is put your mouse over the thumbnail on the bottom right. that picture isn't going to stay there long because the more i look at it the more i get creeped out by myself.

i put myself at the mercy of the court

ok i put the picture of my shady moustache up at myspace. for the benefit of everyone (read: david and only david) who expressed an interest. mostly i put it up because i'm a glutton for punishment and i welcome your comments. my mom said i looked like "a chicano high school kid trying to look tough." see if you can top that.

let the record show that the moustache lived for approximately 15 minutes before i lost my nerve.

also there are now 3 songs completely done for the record. i am on a roll.

also i am a dirtbag.

also i wish i kept the moustache.

this is one difference between guys and girls

this weekend i shaved but i left the moustache. then i took a picture of it with my lame camera phone and sent it out to a trusted ally to see what he thought. he liked it, but i didn't have the balls, so i cut it anyway. but i saved the picture. it's dirtbag-rageous.

100% of the females i've shown it to think it looks disgusting.

100% of the dudes who've seen it think it rocks.

i myself am kinda obsessed with the idea of a really ratty moustache and promise to do it at some point. but probably not anytime soon.

maybe i'll put the picture up somewhere where you can see it. you know, if you want me to.

lest we forget why we're here

the record is coming along surprisingly well. only two songs remain completely unrecorded, and all the rest are in various stages of completion on the mixing/editing end. i listened very loudly to what i've got so far in the car today and i have to say i'm really happy with it. for whatever that's worth.

i have a couple days off of work this week because of the jews. i plan to be entirely unproductive, and try to recharge my batteries a little bit.

how's this for emo?

when i was in high school i tried out for the soccer team 4 years in a row and got cut 4 years in a row. i was just thinking about how much that sucked today because i had breakfast at tom's diner in brooklyn (go there, the harvest pancakes with sweet corn and cranberries are the greatest thing on earth that you can consume and still safely operate heavy machinery).

when you're waiting for a table there's a guy who comes around and gives you cookies and coffee and orange slices. and i was reminded of ayso soccer way back when i was a kid and it was always someone's mom's job to bring sliced up oranges for halftime. if there were a pie chart somewhere representing my sweetest childhood memories, ayso soccer would be responsible for a good chunk of the pie.

tonight i am going to drink like i mean it.

some red handed sleight of hand

the setting: briarwood. a sleepy urban/suburban neighborhood in queens. nights are quiet here, except when they are occasionally pierced by the sound of a car alarm. always the same alarm, always only for a few seconds before it's deactivated.

it is a mystery as old as time itself. or at least, as old as my occupancy in this 3rd floor apartment in sleepy briarwood.

today i caught him. the guy who just opens his car door and lets the alarm screech instead of deactivating it before he gets in. he is a middle aged asian man driving an old beater of a minivan. and he lives in my building!

in typical mikey fashion, i said nothing. but i know what he looks like now, and i know where he lives. and i have a whole drawer full of stinkbombs here. and one of them has his name on it. metaphorically that is. i don't really know his name.