Sunday January 30 2011

DREAM: Observing some kind of sports game similar to soccer except a Frisbee is involved. However, you’re not allowed to catch the Frisbee. You have to hit it a certain way and keep it in the air—passing it off to another player—trying to get it into a net goal. This is all being filmed for a reality TV show. An amazing play just took place and everyone is cheering, hollering, and acting enthusiastic. I just missed it actually. One of the dudes is trying to describe what happened. “Alright, well show me!” The whole thing is re-enacted for a replay.

Waking up around 4:30 p.m.

Cinnamon Raisin Toast with Butter. Orange Juice. Zinc, Vitamin D.

A hard earned work shift at China Wok. It’s crazy busy—answering phone orders—writing tickets—planning the most efficient routes—delivering—making good tips.


Pulling up in the driveway, I notice my roommate Brendan standing there with Kenneth. “Prodigal son,” I announce. He’s been gone the past week or so.

Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Talking with my mom on the phone. I haven’t really had the chance to do the mother-to-son chat since everything started getting hectic. Talking about the car situation—talking about things with Margot and I—discussing the psychology of relationships and egos and understanding one another.

Her thoughts:

“It’s like her claws come out…”

“I can’t always be in control of everything…My way is not only the best way. It’s hard to analyze yourself…Coming to realize I don’t have to stress about this…Just let it go.”

“There’s three sides to every story. There’s his side. There’s her side. And then there’s the truth.”

Cleaning up the house a bit for an inspection happening tomorrow morning.

Talking on the phone with Margot on my headset while I cook dinner—the words exchanged are soft but still heavy—the possibility of ending the relationship because our needs are different, we don’t click, she’s bored because I’m a homebody, I’m preoccupied with musical ambitions (a busy man), etc. Not feeling certain about our status, she wants to know now what we’re doing. “Margot, I’m not ready to make that kind of a decision. There’s no such thing as purgatory. We’re either with each other or we’re not. And right now, we’re together.” It still seems like she doesn’t feel secure in that. “Look! I have not dethroned myself from your kingdom. You’re still queen and I’m king!”

Kenneth was walking around during our conversation. He was entertained by some of it, “Hey Rob, were you on the phone? I’m sure you were catching some insecurity stuff. I love that, ‘I have not dethroned myself from your kingdom. You’re still queen and I’m king.’ Haha. That bitch don’t know what to say after that!”

Dinner: Sundried Chicken. Lemon Brown Rice with Onions and Red Peppers. Broccoli.

Newspaper Route.

Trying out one of 7-11’s Old Fashioned Blueberry Donuts and Coffee.

There once and still is a boy who delivered papers every day early in the morning before the birds even began to chirp their morning melodies. And today was no different for that boy.

I told Kenneth to make sure his stuff was cleared in front of the house before the inspector comes but he’s asleep on the couch. So I take care of everything and move it all to the backyard.


Settling bank loan things.

Watching Jackie Brown [1997].

Sleep sometime after 10 a.m.

Saturday January 29 2011

8 a.m. I’m still awake waiting to settle the loan over the phone. Watching Sleepers [1996]. Eating Popcorn—drinking water.

I’ve been approved for the loan. Finally getting everything secure and set in stone.

Sleep just before 11 a.m.

Waking up. 5:30 p.m.

Breakfast: Egg and Cheese Burrito from Sonic. Orange Juice.

Work at China Wok.

Sharing Toasted Peanut Butter English Muffins with James and Chris. Honey Green Tea.

First anniversary SHOW N TELL of the year at 1623!

The vibe is reminiscent of the debut Show n Tell last year—intimate, a lot of reading and poetry.

James G. set up paint, brushes, markers, and colored pencils to draw with along with small white sheets of paper. Everyone creates his or her own art and later it is constructed into a collage. We should do this every month.

The fire magicians from Halloween dazzle us again in the front yard—spinning firelight on batons and string.

I like this crowd of people. They’re genuine and non-agro but still looking for adventure—young and free spirits. Being able to keep this kind of scene cultivated is crucial for the arts, and more importantly for the soul.

In the kitchen cooking dinner—everyone still hanging out around me. All of a sudden, Margot barges into the house wearing her serious I’m not happy and I want immediacy face. “So were you going to answer your phone?!” she inquires. A little confused—I realized she may have been calling but my phone was on silent and she told me she would be out with friends tonight, so I didn’t expect to see her. “Let’s go,” she says. Let’s go? “Huh? No. I’m making dinner right now.” After that she plays the usual game of I’m going to storm out the door in frustration, run to my car, then storm back in the house and make Robert feel bad for letting me leave. At this point, I’m totally clueless as to what she is so flustered about. We had exchanged a few nice texts back and forth earlier so what was this all about?

Dinner plate in hand by the computer. She comes back inside for the second time to confront me. “Margot, what is going on? What is wrong with you? I really don’t understand.” She threatens to turn the dinner plate over in my hand and take her car back—pulling out her keys. Her stubbornness and bad attitude is so unbecoming. I lose it. I put the plate down on the table and pull her away with intention on resolving this in a room somewhere. She resists. I pull. We trip and fall to the ground in the living room. “Don’t touch me! You pushed me!” It’s a furious moment—she’s wailing her arms and pretty much hitting but not so much to hurt me. I continue to hold her tight and pull us into Dustin’s room.

She sits down on the bed. I knew she had been drinking tonight but she couldn’t have been that wasted. However, it’s quite consistent that whenever she does drink there is a firm chance we’ll get into something like this. I’ve told her several times I don’t like it when she drinks. She’s announcing all these hurtful things to me, “You’re the worst boyfriend! You don’t care about me!” Finding every excuse she can to put all the blame on me for her pain. None of this makes any sense. There’s absolutely nothing I did tonight to deserve such hostility except miss a few phone calls. But obviously, this is unearthing deeper issues, like her dissatisfaction with the relationship: lack of time spent together, my being busy all the time, lack of affection, lack of attention. She mentions how she’s 21 and wants to have fun unlike me who’s 26 and lives like an old man, rarely going out and being a homebody. This has always been the conflict. At one point, she says, “You’re going to write about this in your blog. You’re blog is dumb. People ask me all the time, ‘Why does he write about all that? Doesn’t that bother you?’” She uses insult as ammo, thinking that breaking me down will make her feel in control. The reason we’re here having this debacle is because of her lack of control. It’s all about control, isn’t it? Really though, I should know by now that when she blames me and holds me responsible for her disappointment and unhappiness, her only way of communicating that is through hate. She wants love. And so do I. How do we get there? Or can we?

Later after she leaves, I overhear a conversation between Erin and Jordan on the porch. He says, “I’ve been in so many relationships where I had to fight so hard to make it work.”

Inside, James reminds me of the comparison the old man told me the other day about the wife and dog in the trunk. “Who’s gonna be happy to see you?”

Sometimes I’m convinced she cannot live without the drama of being insatiable. Something is really wrong here.

Warming up my dinner plate then heading to the newspaper docks.

Dinner: Sun-dried Tomato Chicken. Cheddar Cheese Pasta Shells. Broccoli.

Newspaper route.

Coffee and Donuts from 7-11.

Back home. Eating Garlic Naan Bread.

Finishing Sleepers.

Text from her: “I just want more from you than you can give me and I’m sorry. Maybe I should lower my expectations?”

I’ve come to realize that the first sentence in this text is the root of all out problems.

Sleep just before 10 a.m.

Friday January 28 2011

It’s just after 10:30 a.m.

Eating an Egg and Cheese Burrito and some leftover French Toast Kenneth left for me to try, and Milk.

In Chesapeake—picking up the Toyota Camry from the dealer to bring to a mechanic around the corner for a general diagnostic.

In the waiting room—tired as I’ve ever been. I completely skipped sleeping to do this today. Another man with white hair and a white beard is making conversation with me about what I do and where I grew up. He used to play drums and sing in a trio a back in the day. Explaining to him how looking for a used car is like looking for a wife, making sure they’re not high maintenance. He responds with a joke: “You put your wife and your dog in the trunk of a car over night. The next morning, whose gonna be happy see you?” Not sure where he was going with that one.

The Camry turns out to have a list of mechanical repairs needed, which I expected.

Returning it at the dealer to discuss the repairs and what he can take care if I buy it—lying on the couch next to a terrier dog who decides to lay his head on my stomach.

Making my next move to a dealer in Portsmouth to pick up the Subaru Outback and conduct the same process. For some reason, this takes exceptionally longer than the Camry. Awkwardly sitting in the waiting room chair attempting to stretch out my legs and lean my head against the gumball machine. It’s cold. I can’t even nap—just pretending to doze off.

Finally, they give me the list of repairs needed. Bringing it back to Russ, the dealer. He offers a similar deal to take care of certain things before I purchase, but pushing me to make a decision to quickly. The more persuasive he is the more reluctant I am to make a decision.


Driving home, taking 264 all the way. Lack of sleep is really getting to me. I’m stressed. I don’t know which car to go with—I can’t make a decision.

Meanwhile, I get bad news about my van from the shop. I took it to a place called BP Automotive the day before. $500 needs to be put into it but will still not be drivable. This is just getting ridiculous. Margot’s upset too because of me using her car so much. Again, she’s been such a blessing. I know she’s stressed about it because the family is breathing down her neck about it, completely opposed to the idea of me even borrowing it. I’m just out of breath. I’m just out of luck. In frustration, I call the Toyota Camry dealer and put in the down payment. This just can’t wait any longer. I’m just gonna have to trust in Toyota’s reputation and go with it. But I still have to wait for the loan to go through and that will take some time, needing my dad as a cosigner and all.


After a three and a half hour nap, I feel a little better. The sound of thumping and a gathering of people outside my room. In other words, it sounds like my roommate Kyle’s friends are all here partying. I feel trapped. All these kids are so agro too. I don’t need this right now.

Eating a Tuna Salad Sandwich with Lettuce and Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Finishing Matchstick Men [2003].

Counting quarters.

Writing lyrics for a new song at the storage unit.

Eating Vegetable Beef Soup.

Newspaper Route.

Apple Fritter, Banana, and Milk from 7-11.

It’s around 8 a.m. Waiting to talk with the bank in the morning but I’m going to sleep for a bit.

Thursday January 27 2011

Around 4 p.m. I wake up. Eyes hard to open.

Breakfast: Sesame Bagel with Cream Cheese. Orange Juice. Zinc, Vitamin D.

Driving to Chesapeake and Portsmouth.

One date with a 1995 Toyota Camry Wagon, cute little Japanese bugger—a lot of miles—has that nice old car smell, which is actually appealing to me—one of the most reliable cars on the market, and has a lot of rave reviews online. Nabil, the dealer, isn’t a very enthusiastic person and doesn’t try to sway me either way.

Then, a second date with a Subie, 2000 Subaru Outback—just over 100k—a little more experienced—our test drive was impressive—has that new car smell, which is also appealing to me—also one of the most reliable cars on the market—not as cute, but stronger and more functional. I’m crushin. Russ, the dealer, is everything you’d expect in a charismatic salesman. Charming, always smiling, ready to please. After mentioning that the Subaru was my first choice, he replies, “Oh, somebody did his homework.” Sitting down at the desk with him as he writes a mock bill of sale for the bank. “What’s your last name, Mark?” “Smith. Oh, and it’s Robert, not Mark.”

Picking up Margot from work and bringing her home.

Enjoying a little happy beddy suggle time with a sex additive.

I mention about wanting to grow my beard out. She’s opposed—a short trimmed beard is her preference. I also find out that she got a month deal at a tanning salon. She doesn’t need to be any darker. And I have my issues with tanning and it’s harmful effects on the skin. Our sun is a much better alternative. Just wait until summer. In her mind, the darker the better. You’re already exotic enough, baby. She makes a joke about how hanging around me makes her look tanner, because I’m so white. “Alright. I’ll make a deal with you. I won’t grow a beard if you stop going to the tanning salon.” Deal.

She does this thing with her eyelashes when she’s being cute and begging me to stay or do something for her. It always reminds me of butterflies. I start singing a silly song about it, “Two butterflies. Over the ocean. Taking a bath. In Japan. Rainbows. Unicorns. Bunny rabbits…”

Back home.

Lunch: Tuna Salad Sandwich with Lettuce and Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Matchstick Men [2003].

Attempting to nap in my office chair—not very helpful. Reverting to the bed for 30 minutes.

Classic phone prank:

Dinner: Dry Roasted Tomato Chicken. Lemon Pepper Brown Rice with Onions and Red Peppers. Broccoli. Garlic Bread.

Newspaper Route.

Coffee from the old man. Blueberry Muffin from 7-11.

Doing more research at home. Finding a lot of disappointed reviews on the 2000 Subaru. Its kind of scaring me. Reconsidering the Toyota—finding more satisfied owners with this one. Japan VS Australia. Who will win?

Actual review of 1995 Toyota Camry: “If aliens abducted this car tonight, I would go out and buy another one.”

Cracking my head open over this decision. Bank loans. Money. Cars. Life, man.

It’s about 10 a.m. I’ve decided to just go back to theses dealers right now, get the cars double checked by a mechanic nearby, and make my move. I’ll sleep later.

Wednesday January 26 2011

DREAM: I’m in a fenced-in car lot. Margot’s car is parked in a corner. But now it’s my green minivan. The left rear tire needs changing. I gather a new tire and car jack to replace it but it’s very difficult to figure out how to do it because the car jack is missing a rod to unscrew the bolts. I stop for a minute and look out on the grassy field. Meanwhile, a lady has the van towed. It’s been put into what looks like a horse stable. I’m angry and yelling at the lady. “I was trying to fix it, dammit! You couldn’t give me just a few minutes?” She’s unresponsive. I find a way into the stable. Discovering the van is head first into the ground with its rear sticking out. A few people nearby help me pull it out. The van is my mother now. She’s unconscious lying on her stomach. It’s understood in my mind, or maybe in a parallel universe, that she’s still alive in another location somehow. I untie her left shoe and pull it off her foot. Her body starts to move—I’ve awakened her. She makes sounds as if she’s just woken up from a night’s sleep.

Waking up shortly after 5 p.m.

Breakfast: Cinnamon Roll Toast with Butter. Orange Juice. Zinc, Vitamin D.

At Carmax—test driving a Saab wagon—figuring out my financing options.

Kenneth walks in my room strutting flip-flops and some kind of nightwear. Discussing some of the current house drama and what’s going to be done about it.

Reading Obama’s second State of the Union address. Everyone should read this:

"At the California Institute of Technology, they’re developing a way to turn sunlight and water into fuel for our cars. At Oak Ridge National Laboratory, they’re using supercomputers to get a lot more power out of our nuclear facilities. With more research and incentives, we can break our dependence on oil with biofuels, and become the first country to have a million electric vehicles on the road by 2015. (Applause.)

We need to get behind this innovation. And to help pay for it, I’m asking Congress to eliminate the billions in taxpayer dollars we currently give to oil companies. (Applause.) I don’t know if -- I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they’re doing just fine on their own. (Laughter.) So instead of subsidizing yesterday’s energy, let’s invest in tomorrow’s."

Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea. Apricot.

Finishing The Vicious Kind [2009]. A darker version of Dan in Real Life I think—awkward moments abound but a smooth flowing film.

Researching more options for cars because I’m scared to buy the Saab because of expensive upkeep and maintenance, and it’s unique foreign engineering makes it difficult to find mechanics.

Practicing songs at the storage unit.

Margot had a plan to spend the night at my house so she could use her car in the morning. I pick her up from her house. On the drive back I explain the struggle and frustration of my ongoing search for a new car, and mention I would need her car during the day to meet with some dealers. She seems to be irritated by something. I’m sure she has a list. Sure enough, when we arrive at my house, it all comes out. This and that piles up and begins the ever turning wheels of disappointment in her brain. Eventually, I’m able to calm her down and things are cool. I really didn’t expect this kind of attitude from her tonight. Despite the typical trials of life, things are okay, and life is grand. But in her mind the trials are dramatic and overbearing. Other issues like the lack of quality time spent together, and priorities are discussed.

Borrowing her car has been a nuisance from the start. I have nothing but gratitude for her willingness to even let me use it. The urgency to find the best deal on wheels is quite an ordeal.

Dinner: Egg. Basmati Rice with Onions, Mixed Vegetables, and Hearts of Palm.

Newspaper route.

Coffee from the old man. Apple Fritter from 7-11.

My brain is in overdrive—configuring all my options with everything. I’ve gotten to the point where I can conduct this newspaper shift in robot mode to allow for meditation on other things. I even write songs in my head during these times.

Back home, organizing plans to get my van towed to a reputable mechanic down at the oceanfront.

Running errands.


Watching Margot get dressed for work. I get some kind of enjoyment out of it for some reason.

Dropping her off at work—she’s being early-morning cranky.

Finally, sleep around 10:30 a.m.

Tuesday January 25 2011

DREAM: I’ve been assigned to steal money out of a stranger’s car. Using Margot’s car—driving through an intricate maze of dark tunnels. Finally coming out the other end to a parking lot. There’s the hit mark. The stranger’s passenger side door has already been opened for me. I step in and quickly feel around for any money. Everything is so dark—can barely see anything. My hands stumble upon a heavy tray of coins. I snag it and grab anything else I can with possible money in it. I see lights shining at the far end of the tunnel. Somebody’s coming! Quickly, I get back in Margot’s car with the coin tray. At this point, my dream is pushing me to wake up. I resist for whatever reason, maybe because I want to know that I escaped successfully. The dream environment is fading from my vision. So I start imagining everything—putting the key into the ignition—driving swiftly back into the tunnel maze just as the other car pulls into the lot. Theft accomplished.

Shortly after 5 p.m. I get out of bed.

Breakfast: Sesame Bagel with Cream Cheese. Orange Juice. Zinc.

Musicplayer practice at the storage unit. Working on a fresh idea—building the song structure. At the end of one of the takes Kal responds with a good hearted smile and a “Oh my gosh!” It’s an exciting new song, one that makes me feel rapturous.

Chris has a good idea for a title: “Sassy Bat!”

Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. some Salt n Vinegar Chips and Homemade French Fries. Honey Green Tea.

Watching some footage from past Musicplayer shows with the band mates.

Poker turbo rounds with Art and James G.

Sharing Chocolate Fudge Berger Cookies and Milk.

This just isn’t my game tonight. Noodling on the guitar.

Dustin walks in to vent about issues going on at his job. After he’s pretty much done, James says, “You look better now.”

Art wins the game.

Dinner: Basmati Rice with Onions, Mixed Vegetables, Hearts of Palm, and Egg. Garlic Bread.

Newspaper Route.


Coffee from the old man and a Blueberry Muffin from 7-11.

One lesson I learned today: Don’t use the term ‘beautiful’ in identifying anybody else but Margot.

Starting The Vicious Kind [2009].

Sleep around 8:30 a.m.

Monday January 24 2011

DREAM: In a big house that was built in a new development area in Virginia Beach. Other 20-somethings my age were spending the night here. Margot and I stayed up all night. It’s about 8am and we’re trying to find a place to have sex. Every time we settle down somewhere, it feels uncomfortable. The kitchen. The patio. The hallway. There’s just too many ways for someone to walk in on us. Yet, somehow we’re able to actually do it. Realizing that some people are waking up now, we stop. Being on the second story, I point over the balcony at someone sitting on the couch, “See. They’re awake.” There’s some commotion in the kitchen too. I hear a girl singing something on a singular note. In another room is what looks like a baby grand piano. I run inside and start playing harmonizing melodies to go with what the girl is singing. I discover the piano only has 16 keys on it rather than the standard 88 keys.

Just after 5 p.m. I wake up.

Breakfast: Apricots. Orange Juice. Zinc.

Business and scheduling.

Meeting and talking with two guys at their house where they run a taxi company called Roadrunner—I’m considering being a taxi driver—they give me the rundown of everything. There are kids marching around the house wrestling and playing with toys as we speak.

Lunch: Tuna Salad Sandwich with Lettuce and Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

The Basketball Diaries.

House meeting with the roommates. It goes well until the issue of particular guests freeloading off the house’s resources comes up. It’s not even just that. But there’s too much negative energy developing and lingering in this house and I’m not gonna take it anymore. Be reasonable. Be mature. Be respectful. Grow up.

Strawberry Yogurt.

Working on songs at the storage unit.

Back home.

Dinner: Homemade French Fries. Mixed Vegetables and Onions with Egg.

Margot’s here. Venting to her about how exasperating my day has been so far.

Me: “I cried all the time when I was little. But I don’t cry much anymore.”

Her: “I didn’t. Maybe that’s why I cry so much now.”

Newspaper Route.

Berger Cookies and Milk.

Back home.

Eating Cinnamon Roll Toast with Butter.

In my room counting quarters on the floor. Doug says, “You’re gonna get sick of quarters soon.”

“Soon?” On second thought, “I’ve actually grown to love quarters and hate every other coin.”

Sleep around 8:30 a.m.

Sunday January 23 2011

DREAM: In a foreign country of an Asian descent. A little girl, maybe ten years old, takes me by the hand and drags me into a building. We’re on the second story—standing in an open face attic—there doesn’t seem to be any roofing or floorboards, just ledges spaced out from each other. People are walking around below us and just outside the window. “I want you to hug me and bite me,” she says. She wanted to do this in secret but I’m concerned about the people all around us. She plops down on one of the ledges and starts playing with the pink insulation. “Don’t play with that,” I tell her. “It’s not good.” I didn’t quite understand what she meant by biting her. Nonetheless, I insist she get up so we can get out of here.

It was one of those deep sleeps. Getting out of bed around 4:15 p.m.

Breakfast: Toasted Bagel Plain with Cream Cheese. Orange Juice.

Driving over to Margot’s house to exchange cars real quick because I have to be at work at 5. She told me this morning her nana didn’t want me using her car so much. Stuck trying to get out of her neighborhood—the van just won’t go—acceleration is malfunctioning more than usual, and I’m late. Frustrated. Barely making it back to her house—she lets me use her car again. She’s been a blessing.

Work at China Wok.

Something is wrong with the count at the end of the shift and I’m short some money. My boss can’t seem to figure it out. Bleh.

Lunch: Tuna Salad Sandwich with Lettuce and Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Finishing Falling Down [1993].

Scheduling. Business.

Eating a Chocolate Fudge Berger Cookie via Emily with Milk.

Talking with Kal on the phone for almost an hour about Musicplayer and everybody’s role in the band/project, and our goals. Coming to some understanding.

Maybe I can get a job as a taxi driver?

Dinner: Polenta Provincale with Chicken, Eggs, and Mixed Vegetables. Garlic Bread.

Starting The Basketball Diaries [1995].

Ice Cream with Chocolate Syrup.

Newspaper Route.

Coffee and a Cinnamon Melt from McDonalds.

At the storage unit to jam on some music. Gosh, it feels so good.

Sleep 8:30 a.m.

Saturday January 22 2011

DREAM: Running. Running. Running. On an interstate—no cars on the road. Veering around the corner and up a slope that leads into the tunnel—walls on either side of me. I turn around and hold my hands up just as a group of guys who have been chasing me run out into the intersection. Immediately I raise my middle finger before they look over to see the offensive sign. Then, I start running some more, heading deeper into the tunnel. A door. I open it and step inside. It seems to be a locker room, and it’s full of bathroom stalls. Everything’s brown and rusted. I go to the last stall, the handicap one. There’s a square metal sheet bolted into the wall. I tear it out with ease in hopes I can escape through the ductwork, but it’s too compact for me to fit. I notice roofing above all the stalls and climb up on top of it. It’s very flexible and feels more like a blanket. I’ll just hide up here. I lie down on my back and situate my body. Kind of half-waking up at this point—realizing my body is in the same position as in my bed.

Just before 5 p.m. I climb out of bed.

Breakfast: Toasted Plain Bagel with Cream Cheese. Orange Juice. Zinc.

Work at China Wok.

Delivering an order on Sandyville. The bulky black dude invites me in from the cold. His apartment smells like someone took a bottle of cologne and soaked the walls with it. It’s that strong Aspen or Calvin Klein stuff, too. It lingers on my gloves the rest of the shift.
An RV pulls out in front of me with a red spray painted statement on the back of it: “CHUCK NORRIS IS MY DAD—WHAT SON”

Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Driving Margot and I to Chris, Emily, and Tyler Yowell’s apartment for their birthday bash. She’s had a few drinks previously in the night before she met up with me and she’s blabbing on about silly things and being cute, but only for a little bit. Then, she gets frustrated about me keeping her car overnight the past two nights and is quite verbal about it. I mean, she has every right to feel upset because it’s her car and she’s letting me use it for my job until I get a new car. But she persists in making me feel guilty for even having the job and for using her car. The bitter words exchanged back and forth all the way to Graydon Street. Then, we just sit there, car parked, continuing this upsetting conversation—a few moments of silence to cool off. I wish I could’ve recorded the whole thing. It would be easier to understand how it got like this.
Time to go see our friends and put on the “life is great” face, which I do thoroughly believe is.
A chill and happy get-together. It’s rare that I get to visit this side of the water and see all the friends that ditched Virginia Beach for hip Norfolk.

“Happy Birthday, Chris. Here. I got you a bag of Salt n Vinegar Chips.”

I finally get to see the cat. It’s been quite a long time since Emily took him away from me. “Ambrotious…kitty.”

Teaching Elliott how to produce a realistic fart sound. This causes uncontrollable laughter.

Driving back home. Talking with her about what a “serious relationship” means to us individually. She describes a dream to me she had just the other night where I proposed to her. She had a hard time believing me, but said yes. Also, she was telling off a girl that tried to hit on me.

Doing the sex thang. Incredible as usual.

Dinner: Chicken from Kenneth, Broccoli, Garlic Bread.

Sitting down at the card table with her eating my dinner. She had just finished a burger meal from Wendy’s and out of nowhere, starts pestering me about affections I had with a girl from over a year ago, which is something I thought we had already discussed a long time ago. She’s starting to sound like a broken record and refuses to stop asking me about it. I answer her questions with simple answers. It’s not that I was afraid to talk about it. I just didn’t see the point and I knew this was going to ruin the positive energy we worked so hard to achieve tonight. Really, Margot? “Why are you bringing this up right now? This is irrelevant to anything and it’s counterproductive!” I lecture her about forgiveness and trust and how crucial it is to our relationship. “Why can’t you let go of the past? You tell me all the time that you love me but without forgiveness and trust, there is no love.” It’s kind of a funny scene because Kenneth just put on the movie Geronimo and curses out loud at the white men invading the Indian’s land. He gets a free ticket to our dirty laundry.

She wants to spend the night. I give her a quick hug, “Baby, I like you and I love you, but you’re stressing me out.” Then off to work.

Newspaper route.

Ginger Chews.

Coffee and Donuts.

I find myself singing a de-stressing blues chant (I wouldn’t take this too seriously):

Finally settling into bed next to her. Warm.

Sleep sometime after 8:30 a.m.

Friday January 21 2011

DREAM: I just finished handwriting a manual using a square shaped composition notebook—instructions on the left side, respective shapes/images on the right side. I’m showing the manual to Becca—she’s lying on the floor propping her head up with her right arm—her hair is dyed a bright magenta color. I begin to draw her face with a pencil on a piece of paper out of the notebook. Outlining her hair—developing the frontal features. There’s a protocol in the manual where you have to lift your pencil off the paper in between strokes. Explaining this to Becca—she questions it, “You can’t just draw in a straight line?” Realizing it may be complicated for her to understand, and it didn’t make sense to me either, I reply, “Of course you can. You can do whatever you want.” I emphasized that last part. Thinking to myself I need to quote this for later. Some time after, I find myself at a gas station copying the drawing of Becca onto the cement ground with chalk and quoting what we said to each other.

Becca: “You can’t just draw in a straight line?”

Me: “Of course you can. You can do whatever you want.”

Getting out of bed around 4 p.m.

Breakfast: Toasted Plain Bagel with Cream Cheese. Orange Juice.

Driving over to Margot’s place to exchange cars. Things got complicated with Brian the architect and his Subaru—the shop found a bad oil leak and blah blah blah, something about $3,000 worth of work. I was just about to purchase the car for the same amount. Pacing back and forth in her room and venting about it. She insists that I go to a dealer, which I’ve attempted and still probably will. She also thinks I’m being too picky only looking at Subarus, which I am slightly because this is an important decision, and I like what I’ve researched about Subies. I try to explain how having a car is like having a girlfriend, in a lot of ways. “To a man, a car is a girlfriend. To you, it’s like having a puppy.” She’s also feeling inadequate because I’m so bummed about the whole search for a car along with other unaccomplished feelings. “I’m sorry I’m such a Debby Downer. I just need you to be there.”

Car shopping online. I gave Carmax a chance and fell in love with a Saab wagon. We’ll see within the week if this is just a passing crush or a potential relationship.

Job hunting.

Cleaning up the clutter in the front yard with Kenneth and his friend.

Stretching. Crunches.


Dinner: Edamame. Rice with Peppers and Onions. Garlic Bread.

Ice Cream.

Starting Falling Down [1993]. Why did I not watch this sooner—a fine forgotten 90’s flick written with absolute cleverness.

Newspaper Route.

Coffee and Blueberry Muffin from 7-11.

Smooth and profitable shift.

Counting quarters.


Sleep 8:30 a.m.

Thursday January 20 2011

3:50 p.m. I wake up.

Breakfast: Toasted Plain Bagel with Cream Cheese. Orange Juice. Zinc.

Bank errands.

Meeting Felix and Aaron at Panera in Town Center to discuss music licensing for Tokyo’s songs and brainstorm some ideas for the Tokyo reunion/DVD release show.

Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Watching a documentary about Harry Nilsson, Who is Harry Nilsson (And Why is Everybody Talkin’ About Him?) [2010].

Elliott stops by the house—he comes with me to check out this Subaru a guy’s selling down the street. Then, I sell him a guitar cab he originally sold to me a year ago.

Business. Bills. Insurance. Scheduling.

Stretching. Crunches.

ASCAP business.

Researching how to become your own publisher.

Dinner: Chicken-less Cutlets filled with Black Beans. Rice with Peppers and Onions. Broccoli.

Watching Frozen [2010].

Ice Cream.

Practicing at the storage unit.

Newspaper Route.

The mains are late again today pushing me back an hour.

Coffee from the old man and a Blueberry Muffin from 7-11.

Meeting an architect named Brian at the auto shop to leave his Subaru for a general check-up before I possibly buy it from him. Giving him a ride to work—he tells me about this new technology the military is working on that’s basically the same thing as a lightsaber. Within the next few years they will be putting them to use.


Sleep sometime after 8:30 a.m.

Wednesday January 19 2011

It’s around 1 p.m. She’s waking up to go to the gym and work out. I can hear Kenneth’s voice reverberating through the walls. I can’t tell if he’s talking to himself or talking on the phone, but he just keeps going and going. It’s like putting on one of those cassette tapes and a narrator reads a whole book to you. No breaks or stops. I think he’s even singing at one point.

Attempting to go back to sleep. I’m too restless though. My head hurts. And there’s a lot of commotion outside my room—bickering, marching footsteps, harsh door slamming, yelling. It’s stressing me out.

Somehow I fall asleep with the help of earplugs.

Getting out of bed at 5:30 p.m.

Breakfast: Toasted Bagel with Peanut Butter. Orange Juice. Zinc.

Trader Joe’s and Target.

Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

James picks up Brendan and I and we meet up at Becca’s place. Walking into the garage, she’s cutting her dad’s hair. Then she cuts mine.

Apricot. Hot Dark Chocolate. Popcorn.

Watching a Korean film called I’m a Cyborg, But That’s OK [2006], an imaginative story, “A girl who thinks she is a combat cyborg checks into a mental hospital, where she encounters other psychotics. Eventually, she falls for a man who thinks he can steal people's souls.” Slow moving at times but entertaining and beautiful in a way.


Quarter counting.

Dinner: Edamame. Polenta Provencale. Garlic Bread.

Newspaper Route.

Coffee from the old man. Blueberry Muffin from 7-11.

Jamming to my first love, melodic dance music, along the likes of Aqua, 2 Unlimited, The Real McCoy, and Dance Dance Revolution.

More quarter counting.


Kenneth is standing just outside the house rocking a homemade shawl and headband—resembling an Iraqi native—along with a Jewish star medallion and a silver cross around his neck. What a character.

Dropping off Margot’s car at her house. I step in just to say hi. She’s still in her pajama wear, Small Soldiers tee and yellow shorts. My cold hands feel good on her warm back.

Driving back home—a bag lady at the bus stop—photo-worthy.

Sleep 9 a.m.

Tuesday January 18 2011

5:30 p.m. I get out of bed.

Breakfast: Hot Oat Bran with Brown Sugar, Blueberries, and Milk. Orange Juice. Zinc.

The dishes have piled up in the sink over the past few days. I cleaned half of the clutter yesterday. I ask Elaina (Kyle’s former girlfriend whom he banned from this house but now they’re just friends somehow) if any of these are hers or her friends. Of course, I get a denial response even though I know for a fact that 90% of the dishes sitting in the sink were used by her and/or her friends that have been here recently. I do not have the energy for immaturity and lying, or for that matter, freeloading. Kenneth walks in, so I vent to him about it while I just clean the rest of the dishes myself. This is my house! And I’m not your daddy.


Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

James G. is over here—venting to him about the current events of the house.

He rides with me to Joe’s house to pay back the money spent on a checkup for the car.

It turns out to be a 3-man poker night with Art and James.

Banana and sipping on Coffee.

Super Turbo Rounds—some heavy hands, but in the end, James takes the pot.

Margot comes over after the guys leave. We had made tentative plans to have a sleepover at my place. She gets a little pouty and weird after showing frustration because she won’t stop asking me what I want to do, when I know what she wants to do, which is spend the night. Why do you need so much affirmation to feel secure? Then again, I shouldn’t complain on annoyances of affirmation because, well, I need it too.

A little sexy time at the storage unit. Because of the chilly temperature of the room, I was having a hard time getting it up in the beginning. I mean, our hands were like ice. But in the end, our exchange of pleasure was a success. She teases me a little but assures me she would still love me even if I had erectile dysfunction. “I do not have erectile dysfunction! I’m not that old yet.”

Dinner: Lentil Vegetable Soup with Garlic Bread. Vitamin Water.

On the interstate, heading to the distribution center. A cop pulls me over. He asks me if I have a concealed weapons permit. “No sir.” He asks if I have a concealed weapon. “No sir, I don’t have a concealed weapon.” He asks me if I’ve been drinking. “No sir.” He tells me he pulled me over for speeding. I explain that I’m on my way to work and that I work for The Virginian Pilot (he shines flashlight in the backseat full of newspapers). “This is my girlfriend’s car and I’m still getting used to this V6 engine. Something might be wrong with the speedometer.” He lets me off with a warning.

Doing the route. It’s running smoothly.

Eating a Blueberry Muffin and Milk from 7-11.

Back home.

She’s making rustling sounds in the bed. I like her noises.

Subaru Joe informs me he cannot sell the car just yet because of finances. A little bummed about it because I was really looking forward to this new car.

More car research and shopping.

Sleep 9 a.m.

Monday January 17 2011

DREAM: In North Carolina driving around in my car—on the phone with my dad telling him I should be arriving at his house soon. I end up parking in the driveway of my childhood friends Trey and Andy’s house, except it’s in a new location, quite a ways from my dad’s house. Walking up to the front door. Trey’s dad greets me. Then Trey gets up from the couch and hugs me—he’s really skinny as I remember him to be. “Hold on. Let me put my stuff down so I can give you a bigger hug.” Switch to another scene. I’m in a hallway—brightly lit. A stall door ahead of me, like that of a bathroom stall door. Carefully swinging it open to find some old bald-headed dude guarding the door—he won’t let me through. Suddenly, I’m somewhere else, holding a burgundy plastic device that has the words What The Fuck I Am am engraved on it. Thinking how silly it is that am is written twice. There’s a small lever next to a small hole—I attach my fingers on it because it keeps moving on it’s own. For some reason I don’t want the lever to cover the hole. Abstractly, it’s directly connected to the old man closing the door on me and not letting me through. I struggle keeping the lever from moving but the force against me is difficult to control.

5:20 p.m. I wake up.

Breakfast: Toasted Bagel with Peanut Butter. Orange Juice. Zinc, Vitamin D.

The roommates are being loud and obnoxious. Whatevs.

Musicplayer practice at the storage unit. Working on new material. Song Architecture.

Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Banana. Honey Green Tea with Cranberry Juice.

The Missing [2003].

Doug and Lucy are on the couch exchanging music along with Doug’s friend Darrell.

I’m in and out—washing dishes.

Checking my credit report and discovering a possible identity theft.


Eating a bowl of Cherrios with Brown Sugar.

Newspaper Route.

Eating leftover Sinigang Rice with Vegetables and Hard Boiled Egg.

Lots of driving.

Meeting with Joe to get the Subaru looked over at Art Walker’s.

Sleep 9 a.m.

Sunday January 16 2011

DREAM: Bill Maher’s voice is narrating but he appears on the scene as Paul Giamatti, a prominent figure and leader of a movement. I’m half watching the filming of the movie and half a part of it. In a hallway, peeking through a window into a huge coliseum where thousands of people are gathered around a stage to celebrate New Years—the whole place is dark with bright neon colored lights—a female host on the stage with a headset microphone wearing a flashy red outfit and an absurdly designed black hair wig. The vibe is that of a concert or TV show. I continue to walk around the perimeter of the coliseum—every now and then peeking through a window. Sometimes people notice me and recognize me as the Giamatti Maher fellow. I try to keep my distance from the chaos. At some point the event is over and people start meandering in the stairwell and leaving. A few girls are standing there half naked—their backsides to me. One of them is Keri Patrick (In waking life I used to have a crush on her in 7th grade). I say hi to her in an awkward unsure kind of way. Eye contact. She replies with the same. Moving on. I run into Aaron Lachman and start describing the dream to him as if I was already awake. Later, I’m in a medium sized room with tables and chairs set up—people sitting down and eating. I’m aware that the video camera is moving around. It’s understood that I play a part in the film or at least with the crew. I see Bill and Christy McCloud at a table curious as to what’s going on (In waking life they were my youth pastors from a long time ago). I get close to Bill McCloud and discreetly tell him, “This is going to be on a D-V-D.” I say it like it’s supposed to impress him.

Around 4:20 p.m. I wake up.

Orange Juice.

Work at China Wok.

Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Emily visits for a little while.

Meeting with Chris Cloud to give him some of the older Tokyo footage for the DVD.

Researching and applying for jobs online—work-at-home jobs—Google jobs.

Stretching. Crunches.

Dinner: Leftover Sinigang Soup Base with Egg, Rice, and Mixed Vegetables. Garlic Bread.

Starting The Missing [2003].

Doing what seems like a complicated exchange of cars with Margot—at Harris Teeter getting a few things.

Breyer’s Vanilla Ice Cream with Milk and Chocolate Syrup.

Working the newspaper route—smooth.

Snacking on Goldfish.

The Missing.

Sleep 8:30 a.m.

Saturday January 15 2011

Shortly after 5 p.m. waking up from a rock hard sleep.

My dreams have left me…

Breakfast: Toasted English Muffin with Peanut Butter. Orange Juice. Zinc.

Work at China Wok for a few hours.

Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Insomnia [2002].

Researching auto loans. Getting advice from mother and father.

Eating some cake.

Visiting Margot at her place.

I love that blue dress she’s sporting, accentuating those ingenious curves of hers. She reminds me that “Aunt Flow’s in town,” which is code for I’m on my period, which is also code for, No sex. To her it’s gross to do anything of that nature during that time of the month. Whatevs.

Wii Donkey Kong.

Dinner: Spaghetti with Peppers and Onions. Garlic Bread.

Doug discovers a magazine on his bed addressed to one of our old roommates. It’s entitled “Healthy Living,” and includes handy overpriced single-functional products, like the kind of stuff you’d find in a “Skymall” magazine on the airplane. Randomly, there are two pages dedicated to dildos and penis pumps. Hmm.

Doing the newspaper route.

Coffee and Donuts.

Only one theft on one box tonight. Changing the locks.

Sipping on Roasted Brown Rice Green Tea.

Sleep 8:30 a.m.

Friday January 14 2011

Just before 5 p.m. I wake up.

Breakfast: Toasted English Muffin with Peanut Butter. Orange Juice. Zinc.

The Hype Machine’s 2010 Zeitgeist is up. Lots of good albums…!/zeitgeist/2010

I get called into China Wok for half an hour.

Lunch: Tuna Salad Sandwich with Lettuce and Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Starting Christopher Nolan’s Insomnia [2002].

Submitting and organizing songs for music licensing.

Doug and James G. are on the couch watching Back to the Future.

Baking a Chocolate Funfetti Cake.

Angel Graves and a guy friend of hers stop by. She pulls out a small Owl designed case with a miniature set of bowling pins and a miniature bowling ball in it.

I make a comment about a bottle of rum that’s been in the fridge for a few weeks—left from the new years party we had. I ask out loud why rum has always been associated with pirates and seamen of the like. Angel’s friend enlightens me with a gist of the reason why, dealing all the way back to Columbus and how the history of rum has started and ended wars. Wow. “So how exactly do you know so much about this?” Come to find out, he works with wine for a living.

Kenneth pops in. Listening intently to his stories and ravings. Talking about him not having a stable location to live and how that’s affected his well-being and mental health. He’s a true Virginia Beach veteran—knowing his ins and outs on the street—knowing the right people for any kind of job…this guy owes him a favor—he owes that guy a favor—I’ve got a friend who’s an expert in this—and so on and so on. It’s good to know Kenneth.

That cake filled my stomach up plenty along with two glasses of Milk.

Working the newspaper route.

The mains were late arriving at the plant setting back everyone at least an hour. Not good. Standing there in the cold garage room with the others—sharing our grief and complaints with the job.

Eating leftover Pizza and a Hard Boiled Egg with Vitamin Water.

As I’m conducting the route, I discover that someone is stealing from 5 different stops—they’re taking all the papers and the money somehow. Thoroughly frustrated—talking to my boss about it. Even though he assures me I will get credit for the stolen papers, I still come short of making any profit off tonight. This is the only way I get paid, from these vending machines. Ahhhh!. What’s even more disheartening is the fact that I made more money working that half hour at China Wok than I made in the 3 and half hours working this route.

Meeting a guy off North Landing whose selling a Subaru—test-driving it.

Sleep 9 a.m.

Thursday January 13 2010

DREAM: Driving. Stopping by a bartering stand where somebody is selling a bunch of miscellaneous furniture and other bulky items. Everything is stacked really high, almost three stories. I spot a mini-fridge on the top and mention my interest in it—it’s only $20. The boy working the stand uses an abnormally tall forklift to retrieve it from the top. He’s also selling ice cream.

4:30 p.m. I get out of bed.

Breakfast: Toasted English Muffin with Peanut Butter. Orange Juice.

Bank. Target.

Test driving a Subaru someone is selling at the oceanfront.

Selling a mattress.

Lunch: Tuna Salad Sandwich with Lettuce and Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Finishing Goodfellas.


Stretching. Crunches.

Practicing songs at the storage unit.

Margot hangs out with me while I make pizza…

Dinner: Pizza with Peppers and Onions.

We get into an argument in regards to me borrowing her car again tomorrow night for my job. My van hasn’t been reliable as of late and she’s been kind enough to let me use her Kia for the past couple of days. But she’s closing at her work the next day and needs her car to get home. Trading vehicles made simple sense in my head but she’s head strong about driving her own car home. Come to find out, she’s been having a bad day already, and this disagreeable spat we’re having just fueled it even more. Trying to be nice and understanding with her—this mood she’s in is hard to change. Earlier in the day, she said she wanted to spend the night with me. We planned on spending time with each other for a few hours before I had to go off to work, and then I expected her to sleep in my room until I got back at around 6:30am to join her. But she’s very particular and apparently can’t sleep if I’m gone, especially in a place other than her home. Aww. So I encourage her to just ride with me on the newspaper run.

Starting the route. She’s in the passenger seat blaring some catchy electronic pop tunes—the mood is enthusiastic and happy. She gets sleepy and naps for a little bit.

Coffee from the old man.

Doughnut stop at 7-11. She wakes up and starts to feel nauseous. At the hospital stop she gets out of the car, hurries around the corner, and throws up. This queasiness and vomiting continues for a quite a while.

“I feel stuck,” she says.

I feel so bad because we’re only about half way through the route. There’s nothing I can do but grab hold of her shaky hand and finish as fast as I can. Food poisoning is the most likely cause.

She relaxes after a while.

I’m finally done and take her home.

Sleep around 8:30 a.m.

Wednesday January 12 2011

DREAM: Riding in the passenger seat with a friend—we’re on I264. The route takes us to a highway bridge. Just as we get on it we find a man standing in the middle of the road. We stop the car to analyze who this is and why he’s just staring at us with a crooked smile. I recognize him as the actor Guy Pearce but my friend and I identify him as “Joan Roam”. Pearce begins to rip off his face—he had a realistic mask on. I’m typing and documenting all of this on my laptop as we sit in the car. The particular font I’m using automatically creates a picture character depending on the words you type, kind of like when Google automatically corrects your spelling mistakes. I type in “Ullie Battlefield” and it turns into an embolden black battleship. ☼☼☼ I’m supposed to be somewhere else doing something important from the list of things to do in my head. I get distracted by a heavyset old man with a red truck. Spontaneously I start helping him gather big bumpy yellow squash off thin brown corn stalks. They’re kind of hard to carry over the shoulder—throwing them in the back of the truck.

Just before 5 p.m. I wake up.

Breakfast: Toasted English Muffin with Peanut Butter. Orange Juice. Zinc.

More car researching.

Supposed to have band practice tonight. The bass player has bronchitis, which is understandable. But the drummer has other things in mind. Cool. Let’s waste an opportunity to work on music and continue to elongate the time it takes to make this record. Upset and feeling alone in my ambitions.

Stretching. Crunches.

Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Starting Goodfellas [1990].

Here’s my kind of blog. It’s called Frugal for Life:

ASCAP business.


Dinner: Shrimp Sinigang with Peppers, Onions, Mushrooms, Tomatoes, and Green Beans.


Hanging with the girlfriend “for more than 30secs”.

Eating Cookie Dough Ice Cream—lounging on the couch and venting our frustrations on the lack of money being made at our jobs.

Newspaper Route.

Coffee from the old man. Blueberry Muffin and Banana from 7-11.

Practicing vocal exercises during the long commute home.

Sleep 8 a.m.


DREAM: The camera pans from left to right in an ultra fast movement, focusing on the entrance to an office building with long wide steps built in front. I’m like a fly on the wall—just observing. The glass doors open. I’m inside the foyer, which resembles a closed in patio. I look past another set of doors to find cubicles and people working—the harsh fluorescent lighting—the busy atmosphere. We find a man in his late 30’s, our main character, in the middle of a conversation with a co-worker. He steps into the foyer for a minute. Through the windows I can see complete and total darkness. It’s understood there’s a big black dog, similar to a German Shepherd, roaming around just outside the steps. Fear envelopes me as I peer through the window down the steps. It’s so dark. I can barely make out anything. The man opens the side door for a second. I warn him about the dog and tell him to “Shut the door! Quick!” Just before he closed it I was able to catch a glimpse of the black dog. Close call. The man attempts to step back inside the main building and go back to work but the door is locked. “What the heck is going on? Someone open this door!” Suddenly the lights flicker off inside the building. Nobody else is there anymore. No cubicles. No co-workers. It’s as if he was imagining everything and he’s come to realize his whole reality was just a psychological dream. He’s freaking out and pulling on the door desperately. I watch as a spooky white ghost appears in the darkness and charges at the man. He quickly turns around and runs, jumping straight through the glass of the foyer, then falling over and down the abyss of steps. The ghost follows behind but continues forward rather than falling with the man. He saved himself from the ghost but not from gravity. Camera pans out from right to left in an ultra fast movement.

Just before 4:30 p.m. I wake up.

Breakfast: Toasted English Muffin with Peanut Butter. Orange Juice. Zinc.

Car shopping online.

Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Finishing the Ralph Nader documentary.

There’s a segment where they discuss the lack of any kind of woman in Nader’s life and how he was hardcore because of it, “The hardcore or the spousecore. Which side are you on?”

Ralph Nader: My father was there, he said, “Well, Ralph, what did you learn in school today? Did you learn how to think or did you learn how to believe?”

Organizing old Tokyo footage for the DVD.

Jon re-introduces me to the Sesame Street Dogs from the 70’s.

Poker with the boys—with Art, Roma, Doug, Jon Reynolds, Dustin, and James G.

Chocolate Chip Cookies with Milk.

It gets down to the wire—just Doug and I battling it out—the chips shuffle back and forth—his advantage, my advantage, his advantage, my advantage. This may be the longest poker game we’ve had here at the house. Winning the game with a pair of tens—but then Art points out that Doug had a straight that none of us noticed. So, to make it fair, we play the best out of five blind rounds. After it’s all said and done, I finally break the rut and win with Doug getting the second place winnings. Phew.

Dinner: Shrimp Sinigang with Onions, Peppersm Tomatoes, Green Beans, and Mushrooms. Garlic Naan Bread.

The newspaper route.

Coffee from the old man at the Super 8. Blueberry Muffin from 7-11.

Sleep 8:30 a.m.

Monday January 10 2011

DREAM: In a thrift store—everyone is organizing the clothes and other items to be sold before the store opens. I have a collection of hats that I need to place somewhere. I drape a towel over a metal bar in order to pin them on. It’s not a good idea. Eventually I find an actual hat rack made out of white plastic. I start putting the hats in their respective spots. There’s a coffee pot missing a lid—looking inside to see the boiling brown water.

4 p.m. I wake up.

Breakfast: Orange Juice.

Going to the bank—getting information on an auto loan.

Lunch: Hard Boiled Egg. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Hanging out at Chicho’s Pizza—performing a solo set alongside Mike Gombas.

Margot takes me to the Fuji Yama Sushi Bar off Great Neck Road. The whole restaurant is glowing with a curious warm orange light. Eating the Spicy Salmon Roll, the Volcano Roll, the Great Neck Roll, a special Salmon and Tuna roll on the house, and Miso Soup.

She helps me count and roll all the quarters from the newspaper vending boxes—the pile covers most of the card table.

At her house—lounging on the couch—eating ice cream—watching Whose Line Is It Anyways on the tube.


I borrow Margot’s car to run the newspaper route, which turns out to shave at least an hour off the time it normally takes.

The old man at the Super 8 gives me a cup of Coffee and a Blueberry Muffin from the hotel’s complimentary breakfast table.

Eating Goldfish and a Banana. I forgot how tasty and delicious Goldfish are.

Watching some of the Ralph Nader documentary.

Sleep 8 a.m.