Finally got rid of the cumbersome IKEA bed.
It was never a "bad bed" per se, but it was just a pain in the ass to reassemble, and usually required at least two people in its construction. And since girls don't really count as "people" when it comes to lifting heavy objects, only 1.5 people were available to wrestle that wooden leviathan into submission.
I doubt it was ever intended to be slept in by more than one person. I think the broken support beam was a warning sign.

Message received, good buddy.

Have a nice time with your new family.

The government makes money off people like me. Not the ordinary "income tax" sort of money-making schemes, but the "I know there's no way in hell that you would know the minute details of the DMV and how they relate to various aspects of the owning and the operation of a motor vehicle, but we're going to fine you just for the hell of it". Actually, they're attempting to fine me. It'll be a cold day in hell when I pay them the money that they want, however. Well, not without a fight. Not so much a Waco Branch Davidian sort of fight, but at least an exchange of words...an airing of grievances, if you will...in the spirit of Festivus perhaps...

The thing is, I'm more hurt by all of this really. In my entire history with working cooperatively with the Department of Motor Vehicles, I've never had a quarrel with their procedures and guidelines. Whether it's the hassle that comes along with waiting in the well-known long lines to renew a license or the brutal driving test administered by Sue Benton, I've put up with the bullshit. But this new parlor trick is just inexcusable. It just reveals even more the depths, rather shallowness, of this branch of our government. Rather, the government of perhaps the worst state in the entire Union.

It's all some paper-pushing game to these folks. Psychological torment of sorts. Sue Benton was their Weapon X back in the mid 1990s. I handled my first road test well enough to pass on my first attempt, but for some reason, she failed to pass me. On my next attempt (roughly two weeks later), I arrived again to face off with this Grendel to my Beowulf. Only this time, I had an ace up my sleeve...uh...like Gambit! And was it ever charged with explosive energy. Who would have thought that just showing up with a police officer would ensure that one was a safe driver? Not only was her demeanor more friendly, but she took me down the "easy path" rather than through the city/traffic. Instead of having to deal with left turns at seemingly major intersections, I was tackling a two-lane road (can it be considered two lanes if there is no center line?) sandwiched between cornfields and blue sky. I saw no other automobiles during this second attempt at a driver's license. I could have taken a half hour when pulling off my three-point turn (my favorite of all the driving maneuvers, I might add).

The test, in total, lasted maybe ten minutes, and that's including the parallel parking. Hell, I think I even tanked that part of the exam.

Nevertheless, I earned my license.

The lesson here isn't that "it's not what you know, it's who you know". It's that the government is all apart of this grand game. Behind the facade of "making sure the nation runs smoothly", the powers that be are really just looking to pound us, the citizens, into submission and to make money in the process, just to spend it on something as incredibly stupid as a meaninglessly long war in the desert.

Usually, I can stomach the bad (lack of universal health care, the disgusting distribution of wealth among the classes, etc.) with the good. But this time, to coin an 80's tagline, it's personal...

When the government attempts to punish the innocent using the ways of the con-artist, something has to be done.

Of course, I am just one man, and an overly polite man at that, so I'm fucked.

They've got me on my back..."like a turtle"...

Blah...

Back in my late high school days, a teacher told me something that has stuck with me to this day.
He didn't necessarily "aim" the comment at me (as I believe it was directed towards one of the more popular girls in the class) but it sank in me like Jason Voorhies in Crystal Lake (Happy Spooktober!)...
He made the statement that the friends we all have now (although, "now" was back then) would most likely not be our friends in the future...hell, even the near future. He claimed that, in high school, you have, let's say, ten friends. Friends that you hang out with regularly...that you socialize with...that you seemingly trust.
As you gain age and maturity, the number of friends decreases from the ten, to around five. The years continue to pass.
That five becomes three. If you're lucky, by the time you're an adult, you have one left from that original ten.

Sure, as one carries out all of life's chores, more friends (and lovers) are made (and lost), replacing the ones that fall to the wayside, confirming the universe's harmony/balance.

If anything, that certain teacher's comment, although somewhat insignificant at the time, makes me believe that change is natural...and inevitable.

"It's evolution, baby".
Rather, social Darwinism.

It seems that music and the guitar have decided to befriend me again this week.
How will my current love affair go with my tunes?
Will I get frustrated and bitter towards it/them?
Will we make "beautiful music" together?

Probably not the latter is so subjective. Plus my guitar has a cold.

Life is a remarkable experience.
We humans have been on this Earth for countless ages now, and we're nowhere closer to fully understanding "life" than we were back in the days of Socrates, Plato, etc. If anything, we're not even up to their level...a devolution, if you will, in thought...understanding...really seeing what is in front of us.

Socrates knew it. And it's so simple. Life is about internal growth...improving oneself...screw material possessions ie money. Focus on the importance of good relationships, friendship, nourishing each other...becoming a true community...all of that fluff...The truth is below the shadows of existence, not right in our faces, or on the faces on our dollar bills. But I suppose most folks back then were a lot like us...unwilling to part with the desire to have multiple houses, multiple cars, a fat savings account...continue living life in total ignorance just as soon as the voice of reason is silenced.

But, being the bad ass cowboy that he was, Socrates bit the bullet and rode off into the sunset with dignity, opting to face the firing squad rather than escape and live the rest of his days in hiding. Alot like Jesus really.

Bill Hicks, during one (probably during many) of his stand-up acts, made a comment concerning the fact that we somehow need to kill the revolutionary minds, and this seems to be especially true concerning the United States. MLK Jr., Kennedy, hell, John Lennon comes over here and we kill him.

Are we just so involved in the status quo, fearing change/revolution that we have to destroy anything that threatens this shaky existence? What if this isn't "it"?

I'm certain that this isn't "it". Life cannot be about everything I do and think about day after day...for years...

At some moments, I allow time, space, existence to pass over me. Instead of swimming along in the current, I stop flapping my arms and moving my legs. I drift for a second, then extend my legs and allow my toes to touch the floor. The waters pound my back, spitting mist over my shoulder. The longer I avoid the tide, the stronger it becomes, forcing me to bend...forcing my mind to bend...to question...

Am I just a pair of ears and eyes...looking down my nose...gathering visual and audio information...Veins...brain...blood?
What is that voice in my head? Why does it tell me to "think"? Why does it tell me to love, and not to hate? Why doesn't it tell me to just accept the way things are? Would I really be able to live in such a world if I truly did hear the cries of pain?

I punch away at a thousand dollar keyboard while children beg to God for food. I care, yet I feel ultimately powerless, and honestly I am.

What skill do I possess that could help my fellow man? I'm a terrible beggar, and refuse to ask others like myself for their food, shelter, etc. What good is taking away the little that we (I) have while the callous, seemingly uncaring millionaires sacrifice nothing, yet take and take and take, even going so far as to complain when they take slightly less?

Our system needs a complete overhaul.

Bill Hicks had some good ideas. Shame he was merely a jester and died too young, leaving us all in this mess with his limited amount of material. Perhaps his ghost or spirit could send us some more bits?

Probably the most profound (yes, he made some profound statements all the while making dick and fart jokes) statement he made concerned humanity, specifically, the humanity in the United States. I'm not holding the common man at fault. He (We) are pretty powerless unless a revolution on a major scale occurs, but he mentioned something about how our nation allows all this money and manpower to be spent on building machines for war, while, if we used the same resources in a more constructive way, we could feed and clothe the rest of the starving, naked world many times over.

Fuck it, can we all just start over? Is it too late to apologize for eating off that damn Tree of Knowledge?

I suppose breathing in dust and dirt is a bad thing...

It wasn't as noticeable on Saturday (or maybe I was distracted by the intense heat and slight humidity), but walking up to the gate to enter the music festival, I noticed a slight haze in the air. It seemed the sun was partially to blame. I can't fault the grass for dying in that 100+ degree heat. I'd probably do the same under similar conditions. Add to that the hundreds of thousands of feet beating the once green and moist earth-hair, all to the tempo of whatever folksy band or rock group was closest and/or loudest.

Perhaps it was karma at work. Mother Nature's revenge, if you will.

I meant her no harm, however. I walked the minimum amount on her babies, only traveling on foot to get much-needed water, or, once, to go take a slash in the "port-a-johns". The smell of the day old, boiling urine and the sight of pounds of toilet paper marinating in piss would seem like enough punishment, in my opinion. It was, at least, some shelter.

Before the headlining act started playing, there was a mass migration of concert-goers to the main stage. And with them came this cloud of dust. I'd never seen anything quite like it before. With each footstep, small amounts of dirt and deceased grass were kicked up into the air, and multiply this by roughly 352,000 and you get the end result.

To put it into a proper perspective, if the dirt in the air was locusts, we' would have been in the Biblical end-times.

Folks were walking around with bandanas over their nose and mouth, some also sporting surgeon's masks, ripped t-shirts, napkins from concession stands...
I had to make due with the latter.
The truth escapes me, but I hope I didn't mock those wearing the makeshift masks when I entered (unlike those I mocked for wearing those stupid "camel back" backpacks). If I did, I got what was coming, I guess.

As the sun vanished and darkness spilled out onto the park, so did, similarly, snot from my nose.
I was sneezin', coughin', and weezin'. If the sun had gone down any later, I would have been exposed as the allergy-prone wuss that I am, forever ruining my hardcore, festival-goer image that I had built up in front of these strangers the day before.
I went through a half dozen napkins, filling each one with equal combination of snot and dirt, knowing fully well that at that moment, I was bested. Although if I had a white flag, I wouldn't have been waving it. A far more practical use would have been to use it as a filter to breathe through, or as a tissue.

The last band of the night was pretty spectacular, and almost made me forget about the horrible damage I had done to my nose, throat, and lungs. But surely this was just some minor irritation. I mean, my respiratory system was used to taking in garbage. I smoked for nearly a half dozen years...

I arrived home with the C. at my side. We retired after washing ourselves of the night's experiences, dirt included. All our lungs aching...

The next day, I found myself in some level of hell. Not the level occupied by the liars, or the thieves, or even the dark room filled with lustful naked people, but some milder, yet still painful, place.

Coughing. Sneezing. Hacking up mucus. Skin burning. Sweating, but cold.

The immune system was working, seemingly. My body shut down after taking a shot or two of cold medicine. I felt high, yet jittery, and uncertain as to how this episode would end in the t.v. dramedy that is my life. I passed out...

Several hours later, I rose from the bed. My energy was gone. Maybe it never really came back after that first full day at the music festival, but I believe my lack of umph had to do with this cold/fever born of hours of inhaling dirt crystals.

Sleep that night was horrible. I dreamt of sweat. My nightmares coughed.

Gradually, the hold of the sickness began to grow softer. I felt much like Frank Costanza ie like a phoenix rising out of Arizona.

Thankfully, on this third afternoon after the "Day of the Dirt", I am at, approximately, 75%. I'm still not feeling too certain of myself, but then again, my throat isn't aflame with goo and itches. Still hacking up globs of fluid-remnants my body has deemed unnecessary.

Wonder if anyone else got sick? The C. didn't really. But then again, her excuse is the ol' "I'm from a third-world country where there's dirt everywhere, all the time, even in milk and candy, therefore my body is used to it aka Darwinism will not take me into the fires of Hades, unlike you, weakling". But surely being from a fairly rural area where there's always a dust storm or two whipped up from farming vehicles (tractors, combines, etc.) would have given me some sort of immunity...

Unrelated, I dreamt about the shark from JAWS last night. I think my mind spawned another sequel to the shark-based franchise. And, like most of the other sequels, this one too sucked and lacked imagination. Unlike the dream the night before where I was a vigilante "suiting up" with a couple knives, some camouflage clothing, and a baseball bat, on the cusp of a journey into the mysterious forest in search of a plane that had crashed while on a mission transporting serial killers. I never got around to sticking nails out of the baseball bat, although I had thought about it while in the dream.

Can't wait to get "Lost" tonight. Plus we'll get to see the encore second-season premiere since, for some reason or another, we missed it last week.

Word.

Clockwise, from top left...
Thong sweat, Coldplay, that stupid camel-back backpack/water container, nearly sundown, more Coldplay...
I've gotta figure out how to make this photo layout look better.
This looks like complete shite...

Saturday = hot...burned by the Austin sun. Hurricane Rita a threat, my ass. I knew everyone in Austin was crazy. I'm glad I didn't add to the insanity. On Thursday most of the grocery stores were out of water and bread, even hot dog buns! Definitely a knee-jerk reaction to the storm that nearly destroyed New Orleans...

Getting to the music festival at 2:30 pm was probably a mistake, as I felt exhausted by 5. We were perhaps overzealous, but lessons were learned. The C. felt like barfing at one point, and my exposed skin was red and hot to the touch. We would have loved to leave this land of girls in practically bras and panties, white old dudes wearing the colors of Jamaica, unlimited marijuana smoke, and creeps wearing some new sort of backpack/water container device, but if we did give up, we would not see one of the better bands to come out of the mid-90s alternative scene. We saw it in the distance, through the swirling dust storms...a mirage? An Oasis!

These fellas from abroad really knew how to put on a show, even though Liam has a tendency to get under my skin. Even though they rocked the house, I couldn't help but feel that Liam was just "goin' through the motions". Noel was entertaining however, although he told a story about him calling up room service to kill a couple cockroaches. Quite pathetic, but I suppose stardom has a tendency to make one forget that they have an inner caveman deep inside capable of smashing bugs with shoes, or capture-and-release'n em, what have you...

We waded through a sea of other rocked-out festival-goers, and eventually boarded our shuttle after an hour of standing/walking/briskly walking.

Immediately upon our arrival at home, we showered, washing the hours of dirt and sweat off us like so much dirt and sweat..uh...

Slept in again on Sunday...even later than the Saturday sleep-in...

We decided to blow off the "smaller" bands like The Bravery, Wilco, Arcade Fire, others and opted for more sleep and "couple time" away from that damn boiling sun. Our exit was around 5:45 pm. It was still 105 degrees, however.

As we entered the park, Coldplay's fluffer band Franz Ferdinand was in the middle of their set. They weren't too bad, but they were the garden salad before the Prime Rib. If you ask me, they played an hour too long, and Coldplay started an hour too late.

The sun began to fall. The dirt began to rise.

After Franz's set, I embarked on a mission to get the C. a cup o' tea (I suppose she was inspired by the brits). The air surrounding me was filled with dust/dirt/dried grass particles. I took in air, along with sand. I grabbed some napkins from the tea stand. I opted to use the napkins to cover my lover's tea from the increasing cloud of dust. My nose was left exposed. Later I would cover my nose/mouth with my t-shirt. Moot point really since I'm certain the damage was already done.

Darkness entered.
Artificial light was born via the rather large video screen adjacent to the main stage.

Coldplay began its love affair with us (the thousands of us). The lighting was spectacular. The sound even better. There was never a moment of uncertainty...a moment where I lost interest or intensity.

It was the greatest show ever. Better than Oasis the night before. Better than the Pixies. Better than them all, and by miles and miles...

And even though I'm hacking up dirt, or dust, or glass, whatever it may be, it was an awesome experience overall, and I got to enjoy it with my lover...my soulmate...my girl.