Thursday, June 29, 2006

distracted abstract fish

dear jennsee,

looking over my last letter, i realized that like always, when you tell me to get to the point, i've already forgotten what i was talking about. as you said, there are boulders in my conversations.

what i meant to talk about before my fish wandered off, was that it is so neat to hear and see all those little lights: like someone telling me that you warned them about melodrama too. like how at one point in your celebration, pastor mike told us to turn to our neighbor and share a memory of you. that was cool because that was all we spent the weekend doing, between gasps and tears, we reminisced not just about you, but about everything and i learned more about my friends and you and above all about myself.

WE are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.
-from Arthur O'Shaughnessy's Ode


p.s. hey what do you want? i told you i was made by hallmark

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

this little fish of mine, i'm gonna let it shine....

dear jenn see,

i think talking at your celebration yesterday was one of the hardest things i have ever done. you know how much i love talking in front of people anyway, but there were so many people there... and it was beautiful.

i keep thinking of things i meant to say. like how i am so grateful to your family for sharing their jenn with me and for allowing me to share a little of the light from the jenn i know. and how every one has their little light - the jenn they know - and each little light, like a brightly colored fish... but then, you would say i was being abstract and melodramatic and to get to the point.

oh and i really meant to call you a fashion-diva, if only for laughs.

but there's time enough to say everything that needs to be said. there's time enough to make you understand, no matter how stubborn you are. i think i have enough spirals for that. each little fish - a spiral on spirals.


Sunday, June 25, 2006

's a fish

right now it's the stupid things that are hurting. like the fact that i drove to my parent's house instead of mine.

saturday fish

dear jennsee,

i flew to philly today. it's difficult coming back to the east coast this way. after two years gone, there are things that were never resolved i have to face along with, well, this. but it's good to be with friends. i miss you.


Saturday, June 24, 2006

crystalizing fish

thank you all for your kind words and thoughts. i know we all need them.

my love and light is gone. i will not hold her again. i will not smell her again. i will not feel her again. i will not see her smile nor hear he laugh again. she will never again say "is that my love?" from our control room here when i come home from work. i have felt so much pain and grief and anger in the past two days to fill up several lifetimes, but these emotions will not get the best of me. jenn would not have wanted it.

when life gives you shit you have to kick it in the fucking teeth.

instead of posting one long rambling entry about jenn i am going to be posting individual and focused ones. they will come when they do and they will not stop, even when my tears do. there are also several draft entries that jenn never got the chance to finish. i will be posting these as best i can, for i cannot know what she had intended for them or what it was they were waiting for the be finished.

situations like this were made for cliches, so here's one.

it's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.

most recent and final photo of jenn and i, home from bonnaroo and happy, 6/19/06

jenn was, is, and always will be a part of my life, and i'd have it no other way. if you have love, or if you're still finding it, hold it and cherish it when you do. never go to bed angry and never underestimate the importance of saying i love you. jenn has taught me how to love. really, wholly, and unabashedly love.

at present i am in our home, alone, acclimating myself to being here without her yet surrounded by her. i am here for proxy, but how do you console a cat? she's one of the many pieces i still have left of jenn and i will hold and cherish her for as long as she remains with me. i hope you don't mind, mysfit. ;-) she's clawed me once already and i gave her a kiss for it.

you always hear about people dreaming of lost loved ones. how they came to them in a dream and spoke with them one last time. until now i have chalked that up to subconscious trickery. something the psyche does to help us deal with loss. i dreamt of jenn the night we lost her. she said goodbye and that she loves and misses everyone. she wishes she could come back, but she knows she can't. when i tell you that i felt her....that i actually reached out and touched her, you may or may not believe me, but it's given me a little bit more of the resolution that i so badly need right now. there will never be such a thing as closure.

einstein: time?
crichton: wounds all heals.

if you are in the area and so inclined, jenn's celebration, we're not calling it a funeral, will be held on tuesday morning, 6/27 at 11am at

wimberg funeral home
1707 new road
linwood, nj 08221

please do not send flowers. we are setting up a scholarship fund for artists and musicians in jenn's name. we feel that this will be a good way to further jenn's legacy. anything you'd like to donate, no matter what or how much, would be graciously received. when i have more information, i will publish it here on the fish.

in parting, some of jenn's favorite bands and artists

the smiths
arcade fire
bright eyes
regina spektor
pink floyd
the moody blues
clap your hands say yeah
nick cave
the flaming lips

again, thank you all, from the bottom of what's left of my heart.


Friday, June 23, 2006

friday fish

dear jennsee,

i keep forgetting what i'm doing today. i am useless at work but it is better than sitting at home drinking myself into a stupor - or is it? i jump every time the phone rings and i don't know what to say. i've talked with a lot of people today and none of them were actual conversations. something in my head tells me that people often look for meaning in things like this, i'm just looking for some way to get through the day. for now though, i've found the only thing that works: i love you.

i've decided not to apologize for anything any more. you never did.


good night sweet fish

dear jennsee,

thank you. i love you. i wish you peace.


it is with deep sadness that i come to the fish tonight. i keep trying to come up with the right words to describe what happened today but there are none. jennifer passed earlier today from what they think is a heart aneurysm. i don't have any comfort to give and i don't want any - not yet. she was a beautiful girl full of life and love and i just want to miss her for now. i miss her dearly.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

bonnaroo fish: episode 0.5

there's so much to say about the Bonnaroo expedition/quest/journey/etcetera that i'm not really sure where to start...

i have posted Volume One of the epic series of photos taken through the weekend on the tourist, & though these are only of the road trip down i'm sure it's already evident that it was not just a festival but a great big Thing that extended far beyond the physical borders of the festival...

by the time we hit southern PA we were already seeing wandering tribes of Bonnaroo-ers (the official term i think is "Bonnaroonies" but that just makes me think of macaroni when i'd rather not...) collecting in groups & scattering again at every rest stop & gas station & Waffle House & Wendy's we hit, although my favorite was the trio of boys at the last rest stop before Manchester pushing their crappy boat of a car uphill (& the rest of the way, i guess?) & laughing hysterically about the whole thing...

even yesterday, back at work in the real world, a group of Bonnaroo voyagers stopped at oldben's work to have something taken care of on their car, & hung around outside his office window, playing in the fountain, smoking joints, & kicking a hackeysack though the festival were a thing that still hasn't ended yet...which for me is true, anyway, with my hundreds of photos to deal with...
(a note on photos: Mike Doughty has posted a couple of my shots of his Sonic Stage performance on his blog, which gave me a little thrill & cheered me immensely.)

as for being home, well, no matter how far we voyage into strange loops of space/time, we have to come back eventually, & the real world was waiting for us, a little sullen at our brief escape, it seems...those of us that weren't immediately smacked upside the head with a forever-long day at work had other disappointments to face...

we mourn the passing of a fellow Bonnaroo-er's dear old friend Maggie, a sweet if temperamentally-behaved big old shaggy loveable dog of i don't know what breed, who with that supernatural ability of animals to Know About These Things waited for her master to return before saying farewell. i understand the loss of a pet & friend that was also a connection to a past part of life that will never return, & i feel for my friend, so let us all give fishy-well-wishing winged thoughts to the spirit of Maggie as she lopes her way toward a paradise of toilet paper to eat, knocked-over trashcans, & backyards with no boundaries.


as for myself, having spent the last few months collecting records, letters of recommendation, & medical information, as well as writing a small mountain of correspondence, i came home to find that my appeal to return to Rutgers University to finish the last 12 credits of my degree was rejected via a form letter that implies that no one even looked at my appeal in the slightest, the bureaucratic bastards.

so i will spend the next few days reveling in the past & in memories, collecting myself in the present, & looking to the future...which promises many new things & much Change, along with all that comes with these things.

Monday, June 19, 2006

these fish return...


more on that later, when this fish is not delirious & double-vision-y & where are my legs-y & headachey & please let me eat something other than burgers-y.



Wednesday, June 14, 2006

pop of the moment: regina spektor

i've said a few things here before about Regina Spektor, but since her new album, Begin to Hope, is released today, & her promo co. was kind enough to send me a "Side 1" prerelease cd, i thought i'd offer some thoughts on these tracks in particular...

my favorite video i've seen for the new stuff thus far is the origami-animation-piano-reflection stylings of "Samson"...the version on this album is different from the one i've heard before (where the earlier version came from, i have no idea), a little faster, but still exquisitely beautiful. admittedly the video is a little too classic-artsy for my taste but i love the animation style. the song itself reminds me vaguely of Leonard Cohen, somehow, although comparisons to Tori Amos are more immediate & inevitable, but if Regina Spektor is reminiscent of Tori, it's a stripped-down, Under the Pink era comparison.

there's also a video for "Better", which was the first single of sorts from this album, & which, i have to admit, i don't enjoy very much. it's not the song itself--when i saw her live she performed a (piano-only) version that i thoroughly enjoyed & thought was beautiful--but the production on the album buries the song under layers of guitar & harmonies & all things signature for too many chick-pop anthems. twitch.
this is a phenomenon, though, that i've noticed all across the board: artists with bare-bones performance styles & unplugged-esque tunes on the whole, when faced with a studio & whatever goes on in there, emerge with uber-layered multi-instrumental barrages of sound that bear little resemblance to the song as performed live. i don't get it. if you play an acoustic guitar, why go electric & add drum treks on the record? admittedly having access to layers & other instrumentation is probably a windfall for a lot of musicians..."ooh look what we can do here"...but it has to be done skillfully & tastefully or the whole original sense of the music is lost.

one song though that i think the production really works on, though, is "Apres Moi", which not only raids the artist's classical training along with her Russian heritage, but also builds up into a passionate kind of crescendo where the various instruments...& there are a number of them...kind of coalesce into something that's quirky, a little sarcastic, & very much in keeping with her style as a's a progression, rather than a piling-up, & it's definitely memorable.

also very worthwhile & irresistibly catchy are "Fidelity", which is a lovely song that i think i've recommended before, & "On the Radio", my current favorite. you have to love a song with such a serene approach to life that still manages to communicate a very adorable, biting-your-lip kind of anxiety, & has a refrain devoted to listening to "November Rain." yeah.

"Field Below" is a very melancholy, sonata-feeling track, & one of those songs that highlight her similarities to Tori Amos &/or Fiona Apple. thankfully the solo-piano style is preserved in this track, but it's overshadowed, i think, by most of the other songs on the album, although i really dig the jazzy-music-box feel to it.
i really want to like "Hotel Song"...& i suspect it's going to be the next thing from this album that i listen to all the time...but something about it is relentless poppy-80s that contains the kernels of dozens & dozens of other songs. & i do mean dozens. which is not necessarily a bad thing, in the end, but i think it's going to take a little effort or time to get past.
"20 Feet of Snow" has that music-box feel to it again, which i'm very fond of, but the song is all over the place, very chaotic, & that's before the drum tracks cut it. i'm going to have to think about this one.
"That Time" reminds me (stylistically) of nothing so much as Regina's previous collaboration with the Strokes, "Modern Girls & Old-Fashioned Men".
i really like "Summer in the City", though, it's got a movie-soundtrack vibe to it, & after all, it's summer in this city, which is more or less her city too.
which is nice.

i hope all the links work, i don't have the time really to double-check them...

happy listening, fishies.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

(not really) skeptical fish

talking about the skeptical view of the universe, i was looking to post something along the lines of Terry Pratchett's "In the beginning, there was nothing, which exploded..." or the similar quote from Good Omens, or perhaps the animated Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy clip about the creation of the universe (which you can find here but i can't link to directly)...but instead i give you this clip from the same film.

who are we?

why do we exist?

you fishies ponder that whilst i run off to make even more lists of things to bring to Bonnaroo.

Friday, June 09, 2006

the mark of the... um... beast?

only days after the day of the devil - 6/6/6 - a mysterious and smelly creature appeared on the fish. the slightly disgusted fishies huddled in fear bemoaning the end of well, everything. but as the creature eerily jumped up and down and up and down and... the fishies need not have worried - not much anyway. It's only:
and the end of the worl... the univer... the, well, everything really, is not until next week's episode - or the one after that... maybe...

(mysfit's note: all the religions that have prophesied doom doom doom and the end of, well, everything have been so apparently wrong, it's frankly embarrassing - unless, of course, we don't actually exist in the first place, then everything could have ended many times in the time it took you to read this post, and no one would have noticed anyway.)

because time is like a fish...

it's been a year since i did this flashback-meme, & i thought it'd be fun to do again this year, shifting all the stories one year ahead.

10 years ago:

late spring, 1996.

the beginning of the summer of '96, & i was entering my full-on neo-flower-child phase. guitars, VW van circles in the woods, a fascination with fungi, vagrancies in Ocean City, working the graveyard shift at the Chatterbox & sleeping under the boardwalk. Jahn, who i was totally enamored with, wiping down tables at the Promenade while Monique worked the lemonade stand. midway through the summer i went to Greece with a bunch of smart kids from school & discovered the most beautiful place i've ever seen.

sigh. that was a good summer.

5 years ago:

me in paris, May 2001.

the beginning of the summer of 2001...the spring just closing like a flower, & what a spring it was, leading into...a horribly stagnant summer, actually...
in May i went to Paris with my mother & had a most beautiful time, drinking wine in sidewalk cafes, writing poetry late into the night in the little atrium-courtyard outside our room, visiting Monet's gardens at Giverny, & looking for Baudelaire's grave.
that summer, unfortunately, devolved into a boyfriend i wasn't sure i wanted moving into my apartment for lack of anywhere else to go (& oh how everyone loved him, that lunatic...) & summer classes that went on forever...culminating in one of the worst autumns ever.
but at the beginning of June everything seemed bright & i'll hold on to that bit & let go the rest.

1 year ago:

me with a wild rose, June 2005.

ah, june 2005...tagged along with Happy Anarchy on a short tour that hit DC, Long Island, & Philadelphia...attended an anime convention & lost all my photographs therof...had a cocktail party on this very weekend a year ago...saw dancers in a reflecting pool & vaudeville in an art space...caught up with some old friends on some old ground...

street sign in my old hometown.


choya umeshu.

oldben & i eat sushi (i love edamame!) & watch the Star Wars: Clone Wars dvds, taking a short break so he can go down to the Red Room & record guitar tracks. he returns bearing a gift of a dinosaur egg. it rains, again. i discover new & interesting ways in which my spine can explode into painful vertebrae flowers. i discover the joy that is umeshu, which i've never had before, not the least of which is the awesome company site. i chat briefly with the mysfit & wonder whether or not i've actually seen The Last Exile. (i haven't.)


the sun is shining! sing with me: "the sun'll come out...tomorrow..." because it's stuck in my head. i write this while drinking coffee. i decide which photographs to scan in from past expeditions to complement this flashback. i plan to walk to the Pathmark & buy supplies, because our cupboards have somehow become rather bare. i think i'll stop by the used bookstore & see what kind of credit i can get for some of my unwanted books. hopefully i'll find a copy of Chapterhouse: Dune but i doubt it, i've been checking there for months. tonight we're hosting a beginning-of-the-summer / let's-plan-our-caravan-to-Bonnaroo gathering. i'm going to eat, drink, & make merry, offer an apology to someone i was rude to, & hope all the social circles can coalesce without any strange chemical reactions.
but before this evening rolls around i'm going to sit in the goddamn sunshine on my pathetic scrap of lawn. & probably have a glass of umeshu.

(note: i'll add a photo here when i have one from today...)


i will be driving down home to ol' Atlantic City to celebrate father's day a week early, because (heehee) i'll be in Tennessee next weekend. i'm going to use my parent's laundry facilities to wash some blankets. hopefully the sun will keep shining so i can lay out on the beach for a bit, because if i head south into the stronger sun without getting a bit of color on my pale pale self i'm going to fry like an egg. or boil like a lobster. turn fiery red, is what i'm saying. i look forward to a tasty dinner & even tastier wines, because my parents have impeccable gourmet taste. yummy.

happy weekend fishies!


note from the fish: how we forget!
i forgot to mention a few things.

from yesterday:
i love it when people play with my photos.

henri banks from web-pix did this:

to my photo of my scary eye.

carl v. did this:

for my self-portrait "hair down" series.
i feel now i must consider what such a text would contain: poems? excerpts from the fish? a prosy autobiographical collections of rants? an explanation of the theory of jennodynamics? hmmmm...

& for today:
i will probably end up wasting some time playing old NES roms on this machine with our kick-ass usb-converted controllers. yeah. jaws, it's you or me this time.
although i think i'll leave beating Final Fantasy for another day, because the last time i tried the Temple of Fiends killed me instantly. apparently this serves me right for using a red mage instead of a black mage.


yesterday i was wearing all white,
but didn't end up taking the photo i meant to
until i was wrapped in this happy blue blanket.
ah well.

Thursday, June 08, 2006

oh internet gods, throw bloggie a bone

because it's acting like a deaf & blind three legged dog, wandering in circles, banging into the furniture, & crapping on the carpet.


Tuesday, June 06, 2006

happy tuesday!

of course the day of the devil falls on a tuesday...

mysfit suggests that i may have evil origins...

but i promise i'm a good girl...

at any rate, beware of creepy children on this day...

Thursday, June 01, 2006

an old fish

this one dates back from ye olden dayes during high school...bordering on ten years now...but i had a few reasons for digging it up, so here it be:

A dry place

You could spot him on corners, whenever you were wandering vaguely down streets, going nowhere in particular; he would be contemplating a sidewalk somewhere, always lounging against a curb or perched the wrong way on a bench. He stood out, no matter what manic crowd he was wearing away, gleaming with the reflections of the air on his icy skin, his blue eyes changing tones with the sky, mirroring low gray clouds or collected storm drops or blazing sun, or the dark and deep flecked with pinpoints after midnight. He wore dull, heavy colors, absorbing the light or whatever ambient personae were his environment, cloth both dark and faded like a strange dream. Maybe he believed he’d blend in with the asphalt, but they set off his long pale bones like a shroud, dusty and smelling like a closet in a room stacked with spilling ashtrays. His movements were dreamlike, his sentences spoken out of sleep, but it was never quite definite if you were half-awake or he.

He traveled in convoys, or alone, but always to somewhere or from somewhere you wouldn’t want to touch for fear of permanent scars on your feet or your reflection. His companions rolled behind him, around him, like the tide, in all shapes and colors, ash-blackened and greasy or bleached, mischievous, characters your mother would watch in creeping suspicion from the window should they grace your front steps. These were bitter children, hardened and verging on sadistic at the sight of you when they knew you weren’t trapped in the core like they were; you were a satellite touching down on this boy, a probe, and they saw that you believed pathetically somewhere that one morning you’d carry him back with you.

The air of sadness around him was penetrating, pervasive, an atmosphere caught by an ethereal gravity. He’d fade, into the backdrop, unless you began to scratch out his rich secrets like a scrim forest in a grim fairy tale: his efforts at almost-lovely lyrics racked with hints of what he thought, the narrow white bones of his face untouched by raw boiling-water scars staining the nape of his neck, his lust for romance that could be discovered if you knew the things to say and the right way to gaze up at him through your eyelashes, the self-effacing humor he’d spit like bullets when he’d refer to his mother and the unreal things she had prayed for before she flew away.

To you, for whom evenings still provided excuses and cheap thrills, he was a smoking angel on the shoulder, faintly grinning and kissing your hand, a gift of affection to you, and somehow a quiet plea for balance. He was a closet romantic, pressing tiny cheap mementos into your palm with a sweet glance in his eyes and a startling flash of something else, something that was never awake enough for you to pin down precisely.

He’d throw pebbles at your window in the dark hours of the morning and wait for you to slip down and off with him, lighting your cigarettes if your hands trembled too hard with that anxious part of you. He’d come around down under your bedroom, after the rest of his world was slumped out wherever they’d landed, and only then, when he wouldn’t have to face the whiplash glares of the ones who hated you, for being or for finding him, who believed this boy was above you or you were above him or you were perfect together and that somehow terrified them. But he’d come around still, and you could always find him when you suddenly knew yourself in need of that soft hunted embrace, and you’d question your motives: were you falling for him? And in the end it never mattered, because what was there between you somehow blunted the edge of the hunger, for both of you. Or so you’d believe.


You find him one night, earlier than you expect him to be roaming, and he’s drenched to the skin, his dark clothes sucking at his body to leave him a silhouette trudging in the cool rain washing lines of static over the hazy orange glow of the streetlights. You’re pounding towards home, from some room that has no importance to any story, but you’ve just now emerged from shelter and are not dripping with the storm until he clasps you between his arms in greeting, spreading his long evening in the rain in rivulets over your shoulders and back.

Where are you going?      you ask up at his eyes staring past you.

I don’t know,      and he squints against a raindrop wedged in his eyelids.      I need to go somewhere.

If I had anywhere to go I’d take you with me,     in a slow voice that stumbles under sudden resonance and the silence that follows in the damp night. For hours there’s only the sound and scent of water tumbling over the mouths of the gutters. The block is deserted; no one dares venture out into the wet air. You think, Why am I here? and murmur,     Why are you here?

There’s nowhere I’d rather be,     and the loving tone acquainted with those words is lost under the knowledge that you are only standing in the rain.

Where are you coming from?

I don’t know,     he trails off. The pause is heavy. I found a letter tonight.

Who wrote you a letter?

My girl,     and you remember that he is in love, a round green-eyed olive-skinned beauty, and suddenly for a second you’re sick with Maybe you’ve fallen hard too. You deny it, scolding your head for such notions brought on by the hour and learning of a companion drowning in an evening downpour.

He looks into your eyes at last and his face is so close in the dim ocean air that you can’t watch both pupils at once, and you flick from one to the other praying he can’t see your stubborn brain’s insistence that there is poetry here.

She can’t handle me anymore, she’s dropped away,     and his voice and your fingers ache.

Do you need to talk? I’ll listen.     And you can’t chain yourself back from wanting him to release cascades out of his head over you. You want to promise that the rain would wash the traces of him from the puddles on the sidewalk into the storm drains and away, and by morning no stranger could read by his fallen words what he’d whispered to you, and you’d take his heart in secrecy to the grave. But you say none of this, you’d give him nightmares.

No, I don’t have anything to say. I’ll just make it home and be mad in love in my room, eventually, I don’t want to weigh on you.     Portraits rise in your mind of this boy hunched in his bed, dry-eyed and going mad, hair twisted up like wet ribbons; and you know you want to sketch yourself into this picture, vaguely, afraid to be definite in oil paints and color, leaning beside him with hands crossed over his chest and your chin on the crown of his head, whispering that some girls are not meant for love—but neither are you meant for a charcoal sketch.

I can be here for you,     you begin, and have nowhere to go after this.

He breathes, small waterfalls lilting over his knotted expression and the strong bridge of his nose.

No, I don’t want to burden you. You should walk home, you don’t need to be here.     
He hugs you close, a grasp full of arms and ribcages, and you can feel the shaking deep in his stomach like the rolling of thunder over the far end of the street. And he lets you go, and weaves past.

Goodbye, love,     you say, and because you call everybody love he can’t catch the hesitations in your voice.

Sweets,     he calls you, and the shape of his back retreats into the rain. You stand there, alone with the soaked streetlights, and you can’t move. You question your sudden collapse of distance, a traveling body confronted with a black hole, and could you really truly promise you were falling? And in the end it doesn’t matter. Once, in a poem traded like a postcard, you named him a starving heart, and you know you can’t slice enough chunks out of your mass to feed him; what you can spare is far from enough. And in the end you know you’ll settle to still his thirst with the raindrops that race in streams over your neck and cheekbones and lips, or at least the words that describe these, and you’ll take the edge off his lack of love. Or so you’ll believe.

this fish anticipates summer...

images of may...

update fish of the future

remember this?
well, this is me lying in the street, my dear little clock-maker bleeding from the ears.

ok so that's a little gruesome, but according to my fish i owe you an update on a little thing i like to call 'my life' or alternately: 'mysfit's life of doom'.

the lurking mandate of change has indeed taken the big metal fish of the future: and bashed me over the head with it - repeatedly. and as i was forewarned about this almost two months ago, i am totally and utterly...

...disarmed by this attack. but you already knew that, right?

it's finally happened! i've been offered a full-time job. after languishing for a year-and-a-half in the purgatorial hell of temp-hood ("job-shoppering"), one of my jobs has took pity on me and decided i'm worth giving benefits to. yay! it's not as much money as i like, nor exactly what i want to be doing, but it's a job! they offered it to me last wednesday, had to decide by friday and started yesterday - damn but life moves quickly once it gets off it's couch-potato ass. i asked my other boss about it on friday and he said it's a no-brainer... take it. ah well... i should have learned to play hardball, but

oh and i told you about that super-cool dude who wanted to move in - but no. not going to happen. there's just not enough space in my garage for him to do all his weldy-metally stuff and now that he quit his other job, he's a) unemployed; b) a contractor between assignments; c) a metalsmithing guy who needs a three-car garage; d) still a super-cool dude - so who am i to argue. it's ok though, we're going to move in with him. so my 'happy dance of not packing' has now (or soon will) turn into the frantic dance of oh-my-god-i-have-so-much-crap.

the bullshit part of this is that we told out landlord (read: property management company) that we weren't going to renew and in less than a week they put a "for rent sign" on our front lawn and a key box on my front door (which is just plain creepy)! and without telling us! we still have two months and i don't want some strange-ass woman with fifties poof and pink powersuit wandering into our house whenever she damn well pleases. (please don't be offended - i have a strange image of real estate agents). as far as i know, this may violate my tenant rights and i will not stand for it.

anyway, the end point of all this is that everything being insane right now, i'm going to be taking a short break from the fish.

i miss you already,