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Friday, Jun. 20, 2003 @ 12:00 am

It takes a few days after a trip for the body to readjust to normal sleeping patterns, the cats’ non-stop pleading for attention, the un-fried foods, the meager amounts of soda, the computer back online and 100s of messages about my limp penis, its lack of width, and all these naked women wanting to call it to order. Limited Time! Special Offer! Act Now!

No, not limited time. These are eternal days, and the sun is staying up so damn long. Nighttime, with its eager thoughts and relentless wide eyes, does not afford the motivation to sit down at the computer and put the shit down properly. Early morning (the sun returns, dammit) there is sleep – finally an exhausted rumple of covers.

Last night John Vanderslice and his band of raving lunatics ripped the stage down at Graceland. They were main support for Jets to Brazil, who also rocked with honorable heart and a carefree attitude. I’m not into the most recent Jets record, but it is worth noting that when they’d finished playing, the entire band was smiling. Blake read a poem by Wallace Stevens, the one that brought the band a title for the new LP. I leaned over to my friend Josh and told him: Takes some balls to do that. The crowd stayed quiet, even applauded when he was done.

The entire of cast of Jawbreaker, that saver-of-souls, was on hand for the night. Adam the drummer was playing in the opening band, and the bass player was kickin’ it in plaid pants, just hanging around for the night, I suppose.

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