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

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

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

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)

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

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

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

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.