FireVaney's

[ PART II ]  We regret to inform you that the stimulative effects of the 10:00 PM Venti Mocha Frappuccino, two glazed doughnuts, and half a butterscotch pecan scone are, at this time, wearing off.  Time to brew a fresh pot…  Mister Coffee’s brewed Breakfast Blend will, with any luck, motivate the digestive tract to shit out much of last night’s consumed fat. Maybe that’s not how it works, but a fatso can dream.  Try going to the gym today, after staying up for so long, and you’ll likely give yourself a stroke. Not the worst thing that could happen, no, so long as said stroke wipes-out the memory of ever having met a few too-deeply-imprinted individuals…  The game plan, now, it’s to remain conscious long enough to fix Pop breakfast.  John Ottman’s score for X2 just ended. Mozart’s trio 5 in E Major, Op. 542 just began. It’ll be followed by Mozart’s trio 7 in G major, KV 564; followed by his trio 4 in B flat KV 502.  But is any of this relevant?  15 June 2005  

 [ PART III ]  Time flies when you revise a single stupid sentence twenty-seven times. I’m kidding. I don’t keep track of how many times I revise a single sentence, whether stupid or smart. Talk about true madness! If I ever get to that point, swear you’ll have me committed. Pinky swear. But if you happen upon a clean and tastefully padded room, with a clear view of a nudists beach, I might be up for that.  People I know woke up forty-five minutes ago for work. Some of these people, I’d like to know better, but doubt I ever will, seeing that I avoid them now. Which brings us back to fear.  And by now, the coffee’s likely cooled off. Which means I won’t have to pour in too much “French” vanilla creamer. For what little it’s worth (which is very likely less than a tenth of a penny) I simply cannot stand the taste of “French” fat- free creamer. No, I’ve got to use the “French” fat- full creamer…  Damn, just poured in too much damn creamer…  That the sun’s rising, what has that to do

[ PART IV ]  I’ll go look out the window for the paper. If it’s there, at the mouth of the driveway—‘cause if it’s there, that’s always where you’ll find it—I’ll go grab it.  I’ll slip the plastic sleeve off and lay the paper on the sofa. If I don’t put it on the sofa, or on the coffee table in front of the sofa, Pop’ll never find it. But then where else would I put it? He spends most of his waking hours sitting or lying on the sofa.  Pop’ll spend several hours looking at the paper. He never mentions a thing about what he’s read. Perhaps it’s his impression that I don’t follow the news. Untrue. What’s true is that I’ve never cared for the feel of newsprint. But what is the point of reading the newspaper? Is it to pass judgement on the state of things? Most newsworthy things occur elsewhere. Those who make the news rarely have time to read it. A weather forecast is useful, but more so from any other medium. A newspaper is but a morbid and unfulfilling sort of entertainment. Admittedly,

[ PART V ]  The coffee’s finished,  and I wanna take a dump.  So that’s going to happen…   …and so it did.  Do you sniff what you wipe?  Howard Stern once proclaimed,  “on the air,”  that he did ,  which is why  I don’t  listen  to him  anymore.  All those stupid  ideas  he seeded my brain with…  Good.  Sky’s looking less cloudy already.  Damn.  There it goes,  graying up again…  Perhaps the quest for relevance is an exercise  in futility.  Does it matter?  Matter only matters to matter.  And what’s the matter with that?  15 June 2005