And then the creaky, Stones-esque reunion at 81. If I make it to my 80's, I'll get another chance to see Halley's comet! At least, that's what I was thinking when I missed it in 1986. Whatever tiny parts of me are left in that year will probably be just as nonplussed at comet Halley's smeary, unimpressive presence in the night sky as everyone else reportedly was when I was 10. Wheee, a fuzzy star. (cf "flocculent")

Kris has made it through 25 years alive. That's not a bad age to live to, back in the days when you still worried about coming down with polio and dying. Twenty five. He's a perfect square! The root of that is 5, which is how many years I've been keeping this log running, as of 14 days ago.

We're playing a show tomorrow, but I'm not very excited at the moment. My body feels like it is stalled in exhalation. I've got no strength to heave myself around and play music. I think what I need is a few hours of sleep, but maybe I've come down with some subtle illness which saps my strength just before gigs and makes me eat too much bi bim bap. Oh yeah, that's probably it. I ate too much goddamn food today and my body is having a cow trying to deal with it all. The solution is obviously to lie around eating fudge before I fall asleep.

I did many things today, which could contribute to this fatigue. I imagine the spongy flesh in my face sopping with tired blood. I shopped, washed, maintained, documented, transported, planned, teleconversed, and dined out. And then I went to band practice for a few trials of our new piece, the CDP-D11. It's massive overkill, but that has always saved our asses in the past, so we're going with it.

Helen said, "it's easy to get obsessed with gear." It's not just easy, it's fun! I could spend an entire day just looking up all the different models and purposes for, oh I dunno, laser pointers. I'm sure there are in-depth reviews of things like wattage, brightness, exact wavelength of light transmitted, and so on. I derive some kind of dopey glee from having stuff which is highly suited to some specific purpose. If I found, for instance, that there was an uncommon type of laser pointer which emitted light at 696 nm which turned out to be the optimal shade for drawing attention to portions of your Visio diagram being projected on the corporate viewscreen, I would have this thing. ESPECIALLY if it were kind of shady and weird-looking. It's not just min/maxing, though. Some of my most obsessed-about gear is somewhat cantankerous and annoying. The Sidstation is a good example, and I find it all the more pleasing for its weird interface and unthinkably (in modern music production) loud noise floor. I would be this into gear even if I were one of those leathery guys whose job it is to wear an orange vest and break streets into crumbs with a jackhammer. I'd go read jackhammer trade publications, compare loudnesses and concrete-penetration rates and such. Anyway, so now I'm doing it with internal-frame backpacks.

What they really wind up being is conversation pieces. People still talk to me about my car at gas stations because it is kind of an odd thing. A sportion wagon. Increased personal contact enriches my life, does it not? Sure it does! And what would manly men talk about when they trusted each other if not personal gear preferences? Well, ok, music. And movies and stuff. but then what? Lawnmowers!

Oh right, birthdays. Happy birthday Kris, I hope you make it to 85 and I'll see you there.

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