(me) plural

For better or (most likely) worse, I bought a denim jacket yesterday while out shopping for secondhand sportcoats for my new jobie-job. I've always wanted, but had better sense than, to rock the denim suit with the black crap underneath--you know, shoes, shirt, etc., but I'm probably not a hard-enough man for it. Eh, I'm doing it, and it's Tucson, so it can't really matter that much anyway.

For the longest time I've been a prude about buying records--I think it's actually called having a family--but things have come out and I've hit the listening station or whatever and that's been the end of that. It's probably like having a subscription to Maxim or some crap and being married: sure you can look and be whatever it is you want to be, but it's not going to help you in any meaningful way. You can't donk the plastic chicks, and you can't get it in limited-edition, colored vinyl (unless you're BJ#2 and vinyl just miracles itself to you--sometimes, man, sometimes...). Speaking of that guy, man, he's got a class down here on Mondays but I haven't seen him yet. I don't know what getting a PhD is like, so I'm definitely not complaining that he hasn't returned my calls, but I'm kind of complaining, too. And by calls I'm pretty sure I mean I called him once and didn't try again because I hate the telephone more than stepdads hate the proverbial red-headed one of the bunch.

What I'm trying to say is that I'm excited to buy the new Make Believe album this weekend. Then I'm excited to see them play on November 5th. I know there are a bunch of other records I'm really excited about getting, but when you open up the first Maxim in a long time, you gotta just sort of start out slow--a few pages at a time--working your way up to the really really hot one at the very back or something. If you don't, you just go on overload and the album never has time to unfold its potential. Man, I can't believe I wrote this much. For some reason when I get this tired an odd reserve of energy comes on just as I settle in to home. It's probably just the life of a jean-jacket wearing mothafucka.