Last night was a traveshamockery. Atleast the horrible bit.
I'm almost starting to believe that I'm suffering from a curse. Not the total buttfuck of destruction kind but that niggling "really.. this is actually fucking happening?" type of curse.
Around 9PM I received a text from a friend and former bandmate inviting me to the studio to work on some tracks and decided that despite the fact that I didn't particularly feel like driving all the way across town that I should make the sojourn for the sake of my music, my social life, and my sanity.
My car has been having myriad electrical problems (the control panel lights flicker on and off and the radio/cd player cuts out intermittenly and I have to beat the living shit out of the dash to "convince" it to come back on.) Despite a fleeting premonition as I watched my "oh shit" lights flash on the panel, I told myself that my car's issues were just another in a long line of excuses I commonly use to blow people off.
I drove 30 miles primarily in silence (after a few sessions of pimpslapping and karate chopping my radio, my hand hurts mightily) and my tom-tom basically abandonned me at his street basically saying "you find it in the dark, bitch!"
I drove very slowly down the road and finally saw a white mustang similar to Frankly's and pulled in only realizing at the last moment that it wasn't his car. Upon attempting to back out, my car started making a wicked bad noise and shut off like I'd slipped it a mickey. Now my car is half-way in the road totally dead and squeeling and Frank isn't picking up the phone.
Finally a woman drives into the neighboring driveway and she and her children do the absolute bare minimum of helping me push my car into the driveway and then they disappeared.
So much for Samaritans.
Finally, I hear the faint sound of a guitar and follow it to a house where someone had just pulled up. I recognized the guy as being Frank's brother despite not having met him before as they bear a vague familial resemblence. I impart my story onto his unwitting brother and then, very embarassed, helped Frank push my car BACK into the road (which seemed to have taken forever of sweating and grunting and not getting off.. manual labor is suck that way) so he could jump-start my car.
It ended up being fine and we worked on some ideas and talked about concepts a bit.
I'm ultimately glad I went as I'm trying to rebuild the bridges I've burnt through sheer contrition but I was still fairly mortified.
Now I owe him beer. He was lovely about it despite the fact that he mentioned that it seemed like I always have trouble looming over me.
Yay! I sucks.
Also, in watching Pillars of the Earth I find myself in that annoying group of people who compare the book to the movie and marvel. I honestly typically try NOT to do that as literature and film are different art forms and provide their own entertainment but the ultimate secret of the book.. the one that lasted me 800+ pages.. is exposed IN THE FIRST FUCKING 15 MINUTES?! I don't really understand why they took that tact as the suspense is part of what makes the book great. Sure there is plenty plot to go 'round and Matthew Macfayden is so much more lovely to gaze upon than my e-reader but I did sort of get indignant at the major spoiler. The book spans 50 or so years and the secret is therefore really protracted and painful in the book. In the mini-series, it feels far less important. IDK.
I'm almost starting to believe that I'm suffering from a curse. Not the total buttfuck of destruction kind but that niggling "really.. this is actually fucking happening?" type of curse.
Around 9PM I received a text from a friend and former bandmate inviting me to the studio to work on some tracks and decided that despite the fact that I didn't particularly feel like driving all the way across town that I should make the sojourn for the sake of my music, my social life, and my sanity.
My car has been having myriad electrical problems (the control panel lights flicker on and off and the radio/cd player cuts out intermittenly and I have to beat the living shit out of the dash to "convince" it to come back on.) Despite a fleeting premonition as I watched my "oh shit" lights flash on the panel, I told myself that my car's issues were just another in a long line of excuses I commonly use to blow people off.
I drove 30 miles primarily in silence (after a few sessions of pimpslapping and karate chopping my radio, my hand hurts mightily) and my tom-tom basically abandonned me at his street basically saying "you find it in the dark, bitch!"
I drove very slowly down the road and finally saw a white mustang similar to Frankly's and pulled in only realizing at the last moment that it wasn't his car. Upon attempting to back out, my car started making a wicked bad noise and shut off like I'd slipped it a mickey. Now my car is half-way in the road totally dead and squeeling and Frank isn't picking up the phone.
Finally a woman drives into the neighboring driveway and she and her children do the absolute bare minimum of helping me push my car into the driveway and then they disappeared.
So much for Samaritans.
Finally, I hear the faint sound of a guitar and follow it to a house where someone had just pulled up. I recognized the guy as being Frank's brother despite not having met him before as they bear a vague familial resemblence. I impart my story onto his unwitting brother and then, very embarassed, helped Frank push my car BACK into the road (which seemed to have taken forever of sweating and grunting and not getting off.. manual labor is suck that way) so he could jump-start my car.
It ended up being fine and we worked on some ideas and talked about concepts a bit.
I'm ultimately glad I went as I'm trying to rebuild the bridges I've burnt through sheer contrition but I was still fairly mortified.
Now I owe him beer. He was lovely about it despite the fact that he mentioned that it seemed like I always have trouble looming over me.
Yay! I sucks.
Also, in watching Pillars of the Earth I find myself in that annoying group of people who compare the book to the movie and marvel. I honestly typically try NOT to do that as literature and film are different art forms and provide their own entertainment but the ultimate secret of the book.. the one that lasted me 800+ pages.. is exposed IN THE FIRST FUCKING 15 MINUTES?! I don't really understand why they took that tact as the suspense is part of what makes the book great. Sure there is plenty plot to go 'round and Matthew Macfayden is so much more lovely to gaze upon than my e-reader but I did sort of get indignant at the major spoiler. The book spans 50 or so years and the secret is therefore really protracted and painful in the book. In the mini-series, it feels far less important. IDK.