WHEN YOU'VE GOT THE BUNGALOW BLUES

WRITING RULES DEFINITELY MAYBE

2009-10-22T11:52:00.000-07:00

I haven't written anything in a while, apart from some long-winded passages in my small journal. I've been doing exercises to try to come up with something: I'll sit in one place, facing one direction, and describe the scenery. I'll write automatically. I'll take a marker and cross out all the writing on a newspaper, leaving only the occasional word, in hopes to come up with something poetic, if not profound.* I take everything apart and deconstruct, but nothing comes. I kick the watering hole in my mind for being not unlike a desert.

Why is it that way? What is missing? I am challenging myself to put pen to paper, to think abstractly and outside-the-box. I am still trying to remain open to new things, still going downtown with no plans to find something or nothing. I am still looking at everything. Where did it go? Perhaps something needs to stir. Maybe I've been playing it too safe.

* On yesterday's front page of the entertainment section of the Toronto Star, I came up with Just the most beautiful way into the epic landscapes. Await peaks, themselves. Different subject provides steps through brilliant experience ideal. I thought it had it's moments.

I've been thinking about writing a set of rules for myself, a series of dreams and aspirations to which I will (try to) live by. I think you can get to know a lot about somebody from the guidelines they've cut out for themselves, or at least you can get to know what they want to shy away from. Can you imagine if we all had our own book, consisting of all our habits, fears, on-going resolutions, and hopes? I think that would be interesting. I once wrote a song called The Book of Me, maybe I'll bring it out of retirement. Anyway, my new rules will be both concrete and abstract, ranging from little things that can be easily applied to any day (eat lots not too much mostly plants) to more obscure, if-and-when moments (stop staring/do you like her laugh?). Once the rules are done, they'll have to be edited and aligned for the sake of coherence. Maybe then they can be turned into something that at least resembles art... a poster, an illustrated magazine, some songs?

I've been working on words for about a month and a half now for a piece that Jeff came up with during rehearsal. I thought up a subject matter that I thought suited the off-kilter musical arrangement we were playing. It's loosely based off a few encounters I had with some very nice people this summer, who seemed to be very genuine and friendly but unfortunately lacked the ability to say no when they really wished to. When people feel forced to positively respond to a situation when they feel the opposite, it can lead to a series of confusing misunderstandings and countries of embarrassment. It did for me. It's tentatively titled Definitely Maybe Positively Sometime, and it's gonna have moments of spoken-word. Yesterday at Value Village with Adam, I stumbled upon a volume of hardcovers that I thought might be inspirational to browse for the sake of the lyrics to this song. I didn't end up picking them up (volume five was absent) but maybe I'll go back. I still need a Halloween costume, after-all.

ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND WEBSITES, SOON TO DIE

2009-09-28T08:27:00.000-07:00

Did you ever make a website, upon first having the internet, just to have a website? I did. This was much before any every-day-people-blogging came along, and certainly before you could get to know somebody over the internet by searching for a profile. Building a website, for me, was a way to extend your existence (as it still is for many people, of course). And even though I didn't really know what I was going to put on it, I was determined to have one.

Inspired by small independent Canadian rock bands (such as Svelte) to make a space of my own, where I could create my own scene and there was plenty of room, I made a website on Geocities in 2002, three years after they were bought up by Yahoo. If you're so inclined, you can go take a look at the old thing. It's un-cluttered, it's pretty clean. Looking back, it was the launch-pad for a lot of my current e-designing habits: I still love the minimalist white page with black lettering, I still post pictures at the top of articles for no-one in particular, and I still use song-lyrics as headlines.

Anyway, Geocities is closing it's doors on October 26th. I can't fathom why: surely Yahoo can afford to keep a bunch of hokey, old websites standing? According to some Q&A they have posted, the corporation has "decided to focus on helping [their] customers explore and build relationships online in other ways." Of course! Clear away all that self-expressing, amateur crap to make way for a new social-networking revolution, why didn't we consider that in the first place?

I don't know if I can find the right number, but that basically means that a bucket big enough to hold Mars filled with personal websites are going to vanish into thin-air in one month's time. Isn't that fucking sad? Sure, people have the opportunity to save their websites, to download all their old files and HTML layouts and put them up somewhere else, but who is actually going to do that? Nobody has that time. Most people, like me, have embarrassing, modest websites that they don't deem deserving of redemption. But embarrassing, modest things should be preserved, shouldn't they? Yes, one may argue that there are typically non-profit websites like Archive.org that spend time maintaining dusty or done websites, but they won't cover everyone.

Who will preserve our e-History when we're gone?

LET'S MOVE TO THE COUNTRY

2009-09-15T09:31:00.000-07:00

It's weird to be back home after six days away on the road. I'm sitting back in my room, looking at all the junk I have around that I truly kid myself into believing I need. It feels to me like everything I needed was in my two bags, or somewhere else in the van. My backpack with 6 shirts, 4 pairs of pants, numerous under-garments and toiletries, while the other housed my books, laptop, camera, Rubix cube and various wires for media transferring. I think I could've lived like that for awhile, but by the end of the trip I was certainly itching to do some laundry.

I've started writing about the tour in spurts, when I remember certain details or how things went about going on. It was a really fun time, and taught me a lot of things about making music, being in a band, and doing it all independently at that. It was definitely a step that had to be taken, and it will be interesting to observe exactly what influences it will have on the four of us as a working whole, creatively and otherwise. It'll probably take me a solid week of writing-- whenever I have time-- to achieve any sort of coherence, to make anything worth reading from an outsider's perspective. But I'll get there.

THE FIRST TOUR

2009-09-08T22:37:00.000-07:00

Though I have no doubt any of the places we're going to be this week will be as glamorous as to have dressing rooms such as the Isabel Bader Theatre, I'm ecstatic about the shows ahead. We leave tomorrow around four in the afternoon and probably won't be back until Monday. In that stretch of time, we'll spend about one day sleeping, two hours eating, and nine hours playing music. But we'll also clock in at twenty hours combined driving-time, which will be the core of the tour. The possibilities for how we'll spend that time are limitless.

ANOTHER DREAM

2009-09-05T09:24:00.000-07:00

Back in June or July sometime, I had a dream involving a female friend of mine. For privacy reasons, I won't disclose her name. And she's not a close friend of mine, necessarily, though we've had a few fun times together. I remember this dream very vividly, and that's why I'm able to go recite it's moments so acutely. I don't know what it means, and part of me doesn't care. Maybe you can tell me more. We're on my bed, and... well, I guess we're having sex and I'm at her from behind or something. This is a crude but important detail. If you know my room and the way my bed is positioned, you'll see why this point matters.

My window is wide open without a screen. The blinds are retracted completely and the sky, from what I remember, is overcast. At some point I catch something coming closer and closer to the window. Something flying. A tropical parrot comes flying into my room and I catch it between my thumb and index finger. Instead of the bird squishing and subsequently squawking at me, it folds itself like an accordion, so it's as thin as a piece of paper. "Look Tina, it's a parrot," I exclaim at my friend. She just mutters something with a wide smile.

I looked behind her and on the bed were two turkey vultures, cocking their heads back and forth.

ROPES

2009-08-12T21:02:00.001-07:00

ROPES
Like a spider I zoom in on your words
A piglet goes to dirt
Windows I’d like to gaze upon
Oh but not yet
(Think very carefully about
the first question he asked you)

Could you feel the weight was being lifted
As my attention drifted
Felt the shrinking it was all right
Oh but not yet
(Think very carefully about
my running around in circles
while trying to break some paper)

Been unsuccessful up to now
But you know some paths they bend just like a bow
And you know I’ll kick myself if I’m the cow
And you know has anyone ever spoken to you about very much resembling
Oh! Sinéad O'Connor
Oh! Sinéad O'Connor
Oh! And that singer turns me on
Oh! Of her I'm very fond

Like a ball I’ve been bouncing on your floor
Won’t be asking for more
Until you lay me on the table
Oh but not yet
(Think very carefully about
my making small advances
while asking an alarm to call)

Been unsuccessful up to now
But you know some paths they bend just like a bow
And you know I’ll kick myself if I’m the cow
And you know has anyone ever spoken to you about very much resembling
Oh! Sinéad O'Connor
Oh! Sinéad O'Connor
Oh! And that singer turns me on
Oh! Of her I'm very fond

Written by Spencer MacEachern
© 2009 Nosebleed Noise (SOCAN)

CHAPTER ONE: YOU ARE WORTH YOUR WEIGHT IN GOLD

2009-07-16T07:50:00.000-07:00

On the evening of April 29th, accompanied by a few good friends and even more acquaintances, I went to go see Elvis Perkins in Dearland at the Horseshoe. Up until the day of the event, even though I'd seen him a few years ago and was blown away then, I was a little skeptical about this show. I was slightly less enthused over Dearland (the album) than I was about Ash Wednesday, which is an album I hold very close to my heart.

But as mentioned I got really stinking into the record that day. I listened to it until I discovered every nuance, every kept secret, all the little creases filled with blood and spilt liquor. And I fucking loved it! Now I can't remember why I was unsure about Perkins putting on a good show, I can't remember a cent.

Wearing some paisley shirt under a suit-jacket and a bright orange toque, I scoped him out during the opening band's set: he was talking to the merchandise guy, seeing if he had some extra cash for a drink. So I asked what he wanted and bought him some whiskey. (After the set he would come up to me and offer me a drink, though it wasn't as nice as the one I bought for him-- understandably.)

The set was glorious! He seemed to be in good spirits, even though he's somewhat hard to read, and his band was having a lot of fun. He played alternate versions of most of the Dearland record and only two or three from his first record. And apposed to having twelve-string acoustic-string-- what he toured with before-- he was armed with a string of five electric/hollow-bodied guitars, most notably a Fender Starcaster! What a bizarre guitar... upon seeing it I realized why exactly they decided to stop making it back in the early '80s. The lack of material from Ash Wednesday along with the no-acoustic instruments upset a few of the people I had gone to see the show with, but they enjoyed what they got. I think by the end of the show they understood that Perkins is the type of person who wants to keep you guessing as he goes along. That's one of my favourite things about him!

I think by the end of the night I was pretty famously drunk, which was cool by me. It was a very inspirational set.

PUSHING MOUNTAIN COUCH POTATO BLUES

2009-07-06T08:48:00.000-07:00

Fuck I've got so much to tell you, it's ridiculous. Life-changing events, dreams, moments, stories. I need to sit you down in my backyard over a cup of green tea and just go, but there's not enough time. I have decided that this is the summer of Spencer. Before you judge that sentence as being conceded and self-centered, wait until I explain myself. A vague re-cap, to be deconstructed and explained in full:

// Perkins in Dearland at the horseshoe.
// the song I wrote the next day while watching Will & Jeff paint a house.
// the keg party that started it all, and forgetting my hat/ring.
// obtaining all Talking Heads LPs on vinyl from the new store in Markham.
// 'high hills' ep release party at the Horseshoe.
// my 23rd birthday presents: new microphone, new camera, and a pair of underwear.
// getting drunk with Harrison & Simon, holy fuck/jesus christ tears.
// "change my hair-style so many times now."
// David Byrne.
// the rest is noise & arboretum (thank you Eunice!)
// NINE (9) new Woodward Company songs, including untitled three-part suite/sweet.
// fake blood at wrongbar for nxne, that night, etc.
// making signs, fabulous yawn solo show, the release of 'this machine...'
// falling in love and saying hello, falling out and saying goodbye.

I'm in Chicago right now: big open eyes taking it all in. What my memory won't retain my camera will, thankfully. Hopefully today I will find the Chicago Music Exchange (as referred by Graham) and get my ukulele re-strung by a professional. Then songs might start coming!

Here are some lyrics to an old song that I recently re-visited and added to, the title of which is at the top of this entry:

Pushing a rock all the way to the top
My palms are bleeding from the blistering rough
And agreed are my feet it’s no easy feat
Keeping me company on this journey
The couch absorbs the sound of you getting back to me
I do not see it until the morning
I was in the kitchen honey cleaning up the sink
My blood and all your breadcrumbs
My cart’s broken wheel lies abandoned in the field
Couldn’t leave it a land-mark made sure it was concealed
And my horse well he tried he stomped until he died
So it’s me only me up on high
The sound of passing cars is what you need to fall asleep
Not for some country mouse like me
I was in the backyard honey burying my head
Curse words muttered at the worms
I caught a rattlesnake sneaking on by
It’s highly improbable but try as you might
To that I just grinned don’t expect to win
But I’m never simply never going home again
When my brother I told him and the clothes I was folding
He smiled cheek-to-cheek saw the devil’s weight I’m holding
Nearly fucked it all when mum wept bet dad doesn’t know yet
Now it’s me only me until the end
The kettle whistles out I cannot hear what you just said
Something about the steps I’ve lead
I was in the high hills one time tripping over you
When I stray far from my house I’m bound to lose
I caught a grizzly bear roaring about you
It’s going to rip her heart out it’s true
Well I kept up my chin she isn’t an option
I’m never simply never going home again
by spencer maceachern
© 2009 nosebleed noise (SOCAN)

Here's a Richard Swift video that sums up exactly how I'm feeling. We'll talk again soon, and that's a promise.

FUCK YOU, I'M NOT DOING ANYTHING TO MY HAIR (THERE'S ALWAYS TIME)

2009-05-06T09:34:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was at work: miserable, exhausted, lonely, confused. I was running on about two hours of sleep. The night before I'd obtained about an hour and a half's worth on some foreign futon in the back-lands of Richmond Hill and another forty-five minutes back in my own bed-- with, of course, an hour and a half of commuting on the bus in-between these jaunts of sleep. So even after chugging a cup of hour-old coffee and a three-minute shower at home, being to work at nine-thirty that morning was brutal. And then I realized I'd forgotten my cigarettes in the breast-pocket of my shirt (in my room, on the floor). FUCK! My brother was a decent enough person to drive them down to my work. Although I'm sure he knew he'd end up being in for a nice, tasty beverage, the only incentive my brother needs to help me out is knowing he's helping me out. Bless him, bless him!

That didn't put me in any better a mood... that was just insurance that I wouldn't need to run across the street during my break and buy another pack. But yeah okay it put me in a better mood, for that reason alone. I knew it was going to be a rough day. My co-workers kept asking if I was alright, which isn't anything unusual because I have tremendously violent mood-swings all the time-- seriously, I jump like two hyper eight year-old's on a seesaw-- but even they knew I wasn't really there. I need my sleep, it seems, and I just can't garner the enthusiasm required for any daily tasks when I'm not well-rested.

And boom: a turn for the worse. Who seemed like just another customer in line ended up being the health inspector. She flashes her card to me, comes behind the bar and starts snooping around, and I start convulsing in my head and my heart. She starts her inspection while myself and the girl I'm working with start doing all that we can to make the floor look as presentable and "healthy" as can be. She asks me some questions and tells me to perform some routine duties to ensure that me, and presumably the other managers at my store, know what the fuck we're doing and how we're supposed to be doing it. At the end of her check-up, she firmly places the proverbial stethoscope around her neck and begins typing up a report on her laptop. She asks me to sign on the screen, and I do, happy to be seeing her nearing the end of her stay.

Then she pulls me into the back-room and tells me about something she didn't bother putting into the report. She tells me she'll just give me a verbal warning, rather than issuing a $50 ticket. And so it goes:

Inspector: You need to be concealing your hair.
Spencer: Uh, sure? Okay.
Inspector: Does *company name* supply you with hats to wear? They should be.
Spencer: Uh, sure? Yeah, they do. I look absolutely ridiculous wearing it, so I don't bother.
Inspector: Okay, but you need to be concealing your hair. If you hair was shorter, I wouldn't be saying this. If you were a girl with longer hair and you had it tied-up, I wouldn't be saying this. But your job involves serving food to the public, and you need to be concealing your hair.
Spencer: Okay, I get that. Fine. Just for inquiries' sake, what is it about my hair that makes you say this?
Inspector: (pause)
Spencer: (awkwardly smiles, while shitting his pants)
Inspector: You need to conceal your hair. Don't make me say this to you again.

What the fuck? I've worked this job for going on five years and this has never happened to me. I'm speculating that since she didn't have anything negative to say about our store, she probably needed to say something. But what the fuck? I'm a pleasant person, everybody who comes in to purchase beverages or foods or any goods from us whatsoever can see that. And they can probably tell that my hair is, if you'll allow me to say, an extension of my free-falling personality. So how the fuck did I get the short end of the stick? I can't pull off the hat, I end up looking like some greasy tow-truck driver. And I can't pull off putting pins in my hair, I end up looking like some conflicted white-boy who craves life in Woodbridge (and all that entails). How come I got fucked?

If you're reading this, Joan, take care. Continue enjoying your job, protecting the public from contaminated foods and ensuring that every restaurant in the Markham area is chock-block ready to go. But, and I mean this respectfully, fuck you for kicking me while I was down and ruining my day. And please, don't make me say this to you again.

And now, Quasi!

I Never Want To See You Again - Quasi

GREETINGS FROM MATTHEW FRIEDBERGER

2009-04-26T09:49:00.000-07:00

This morning, still recovering from the bug I mentioned in my last post, I received a very exciting e-mail in my inbox from Matthew Friedberger of the Fiery Furnaces.

Hi Spencer,
How have you been?
We have a record coming out in July, I'm going away. It's relatively short and simple. We're going to play in Toronto at the beginning of August--we think?
What are you up to?
Best,
Matt

I'm pretty sure I'm going to spend an hour or so today writing him and Eleanor a letter, I figure they'll appreciate reading that more than an e-mail. What an excellent way to start a day I otherwise feel like shit on!

THE COUCH ABSORBS THE SOUND OF YOU GETTING BACK TO ME

2009-04-24T19:29:00.000-07:00

I had to call in sick for my shift today because of a terrible fever. After being horizontal for about 95% of the last 24 hours I feel much better, although still a little stuffy. It's amazing how much moaning and groaning I am capable of when I feel sick, and further, how much better it makes me feel to do so.

Springtime is officially here, and so are the ants that come with it. They have found their way into my house already, there's one looking into the headphone jack of my computer as we speak. I'm really not bothered by them at all, what bothers me is how the heck they get in here in the first place. I must admit this little guy's persistence is inspiring. I've flicked him in various directions about five times now, made him violently hit the posters that line my wall, but he just keeps getting back up. My hat goes off to him.

My buddy Mitten exposed me to this ridiculous e-find called 'Codex Seraphinianus'. During the seventies, this fellow Luigi Serafini spent thirty months creating this visual encyclopedia documenting some fictional world (much like our own, admittedly). The most fascinating thing about it is the fact that it's written in a made-up language which, to this day, still hasn't been cracked. The entire thing is available for download here, I really suggest you take a look at it. The artwork is stunning, the ideas are hilarious... my favourite are the trees swimming and reproducing...

I'm potentially moving downtown this September, finally. Really the idea has just been talked about, but the rent is dirt cheap, and it's a full-house in Kensington Market on Nassau Street. The three people I'd be living with have pretty much secured some hold on the property, and are going to go down and take a look at it soon. Isn't that exciting, for me? C'mon. Spencer MacEachern, moving out of Markham, living in Kensington Market, trying to fit in with Kensington hipsters, etc. I just salivated onto my keyboard and nearly electrocuted myself. The hilarious ingredient to this recipe is that these three people I'd be living with are all girls. Would I want to kill myself by the end of our lease, or would it be good for me? Surely it's better than living with three other guys, I should think. I could help bring balance, act as a referee during any moments of estrogen-infused cattiness (mind you, knowing me, I'd just swim in it). Plus all of them are musicians-- well, Kate used to play violin and doesn't really anymore, but I'd change that. Excited!

TAKING A MOMENT IN NEUTRAL (OR, THE PAUSE BEFORE THE EVACUATION)

2009-02-19T18:57:00.000-08:00

I've been sitting on this far longer than I ever should've. Putting it off until next time, waiting for the perfect moment to come into view & fall into my lap. I am a shameful dog of hypocrisy, with my lying mouth hanging open and my tail between my legs. It isn't going to come so gracefully-- it could be anything but easy, and the results irreparable. Procrastinating day after day, letting the minutes pass and the dust settle for longer & longer. Most nights in my effort to sleep, I find myself shaking tiny spiders off my arms wildly. Why do I do this to myself? The man is my friend, I have known him for many years, and regardless of whether or not I am flawless, he should be privy to the way I am feeling.

But still I continue on this way, hiding...

HER LIGHT SHINES DOWN ON ME

2009-01-21T07:56:00.000-08:00

We went to an amusement park or something, her in her dad's van and me somehow on my bicycle. Her dad took my things and told me he'd put them away somewhere safe, before we knew it he was out of sight and we ventured into the grounds. When concession stands pop up in your dreams, the prizes are never cotton-candy and blow-up dolls from shows you've never heard of. They're things that generally interest you-- in this case, it was synth-modulators and miniature keyboards. And as we walked in and out, I could tell she was bored but that she was trying for me.

We had our arms over each other like we occasionally used to, seemingly happy in love. I was still trying to recognize her, she seemed younger than in recent pictures I'd seen. We danced in and out of the spectators and visitors. Before we knew it our lips were hitting each other like violent asteroids creating craters, at least on my end of things. But it all came to an end as quickly as it had started, she was gone quietly and in the dark. I started searching for my belongings but couldn't find them anywhere, and the lights in the amusement park were turning off at a rapid rate.

It was then that I awoke, and my heart started crying like a singing saw.
Do you still dream about me?
And what do I look like?

FEVER DREAM

2008-12-25T17:01:00.001-08:00

I woke up this morning in a cold, fever dream of a sweat. Thinking I was just hungry, as if I hadn't had enough pork roast and sweet potato the night before, I went downstairs to get something to eat. Upon arrival in the kitchen I realized that I was definitely not hungry, that I was going to be sick. In total I puked six times: twice between 6 and 6:30a, again after I got out of the shower, twice when I went to work in order to locate a co-worker's phone number & try to get my eight-hour shift covered, and once more when I got back home. Since then I've spent the majority of the day sleeping, and still haven't really had anything to eat apart from a piece of cinnamon raisin toast and a few scoops of some muesli cereal.

I've concluded that it was a bottle of old Budweiser that did me in, the last remains of a two-four I purchased back around Thanksgiving. I didn't think it was going to upset me at all, really I gave no thought to the fact that the alcohol had been in my basement for over two months. Bloody hell!!

Other than that, my Christmas was pretty spectacular. I got me a brand-new Macbook, which I'm obviously typing on right now. I thought I was just going to get money to go towards eventually getting the laptop, but my parents obviously had me fooled. Other highlights include: The Complete Lyrics of Nick Cave 1978-2007, The Book of Longing by Leonard Cohen, numerous pairs of socks and boxers, gift certificates to Long & McQuade and HMV, and a new pair of slippers. Santa was great to me, even if he didn't think to go into the basement and take a few for the team.

And I'm still trying to figure out what I'm doing for New Year's. There's a lot going on, as usual, and I really don't feel like being downtown at all, bar-hopping and paying expensive covers. This year should be rounded off with a nice house-party, but I don't see any takers. Why don't you host a party? C'mon, c'mon! We'll be good!

This year was pretty sweet, I have to say. Mostly it was band-related happiness, but there were other moments of pure bliss as well: my trip to Nova Scotia with my dad's side of the family, a short trip with Eunice (and Simon) to New York state to see the Furnaces, watching five seasons of The Wire with mum and dad, meeting my girlfriend, etc. Even though the music wasn't as good as last year's, the events were pretty satisfactory.

Take care & have a safe New Year's! Until next time...

THE STREAM WAS SWIFT IT WAS CLEAR, BUT THE LIGHT WAS GETTING GREY

2008-12-11T13:00:00.000-08:00

Today I woke up in my own bed for the first time in three days. We've been in the recording studio for a few days up in Newmarket and I haven't felt the need to commute home, so I stayed at Will's. The process has been educationally rewarding thus far, having laid the bare-bones live recordings down and only really begun the overdubs (I was stellar and speedy with my guitar takes, much to everyone's delight). I'd reckon we still have about three full days of work to do. I'm so happy to be finished with a few of these songs, two out of the six we're recording were written over a year ago. We have a bunch of sub-par versions of them kicking around, not to mention an excess of live recordings. I'm glad we'll never have to record them again. Right now we're kicking around ideas for what the name of the EP will be... any suggestions? Marshmallow, bones, dossier, watches, free apples? It's all up in the air. But yes, six songs clocking in at about a half hour of entertainment, to be ready and released in January. I'm so happy I could scream.

Last week I made the mistake of not buying a ticket before boarding the Viva bus with some friends. It was around 1:00a, we'd all had a lot to drink, and we thought we could get away with it-- only needing to take three stops, and all. Unfortunately the six-pack of Rickard's that we were holding must've tipped the fare-enforcers off, as they cornered us at the first stop after we got on. So now I need to hike back up to Newmarket sometime next week to try to barter down my $150 ticket. The fucking one time I don't buy a ticket I get busted, honestly. And right before the holidays!

In other news, does anybody want to go to New York next September with me? C'mon, ontop of the Flaming Lips and both Animal Collective & Panda Bear, fucking Dirty Three are performing Ocean Songs?!?! What more could you want???

Today I'm not going to leave my house. It's too cold outside & I can't afford to spend any money.

FIRST POST? SAME AS THE LAST POST

2008-12-04T21:01:00.000-08:00

In my boredom it appears I've gone and made another vanity blog, complete with a digital mirror. Although I believe my days of online publishing are over, I often find myself yearning for another forum to voice my thoughts and observations. Do I have any idea what the content of this page will be? No, but I promise I will be honest-- for the most part.

My name is Spencer & I'm twenty-two and a half years old. My hair is brown and my eyes are arguably blue. During the day I work at some modest coffee shop *cough* and at night I sing and play the guitar in a rock band called Woodward Company. You should check us out! If you want.

Tomorrow I'm going to see both NEIL YOUNG and WILCO. I'm ridiculously excited. I've always kind of compared Jeff Tweedy to Mr. Young for some reason, maybe because of their similar electric guitar squeals (like "I'm the Man Who Loves You" and anything off A Ghost is Born), but I never thought I'd see them share a stage. My head may or may not explode, maybe this is both the first and last post of this blog after all. We shall see.

Do you like Neil Young? Here is a song called "See the Sky About to Rain", a mournful number from On the Beach, the second album from Neil's ditch trilogy:

That song makes me miss my girlfriend. Do you also pine for your absent significant other? Please let me know how you feel.

It's getting reasonably late and I work early. It's been real!