What I don't like about 1 am: It's lonely. Everyone else in the area is going to be unavailable for at least 9 hours. It's pointless to start doing anything, even if I want to. I'm too tired to think clearly. I know I'm going to have to sleep sometime.

One other feature of one a m is that it is time to buy some crappy sushi from QFC. It's my late night ritual. Time to add even more garbage to the stinking heaps in my room. Well, they aren't actually very stinky. "Stinking heaps" just sounds good. Much better rhythm than "Vaguely fishy smelling heaps". Actually, I take that back. I don't know what the hell I am talking about.

Time to inspect the flea bites on my arm. Still red bumps. Julie's cat has a swarming flea population. The cat likes me, and shares its fleas with my arms. When I was young, I used to have very bad allergic reactions to dog flea bites. I don't know if there are different fleas for dogs and cats. Why would there be? Cat fleas or just plain fleas, I find body parasites revolting. Something alien attached to your body that you can not easily remove. Yech! YECH! I'm just glad I don't see any fleas ON me. Gross, man. Gag me with a spoon.

"And anything to drink?" "Iced Tea." "Coke." "Root beer." "I'll stick with water because I'm CUCKOO FOR CAFFEINE, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!"

That's week 2 without caffeine. This is way too easy. I'm going to stick a note on the case of mountain dew that says "YOU CANNOT WIN!" Hee, just like Borf in Space Ace (old laserdisc video game).

Band DID practice today. The reason Brian missed practice yesterday is that he got a one day job with a construction crew, for $80. They got driven out to the site, he did construction things, and then he was scheduled to get driven back at 1 pm, to meet us for practice. The foreman finally got to the site to pick the crew up at 8 pm. Woops. Brandon, it turns out, was scheduled for security guard duty that day. Woops woops. So today we made up for it, invoking enough loud noise to result in a visit from the friendly Seattle police. When Brandon saw the cop cruiser outside, he stopped singing and said "five-o!". I stopped the sequencers and peered out the window. Then we all began improvising quiet, melodic tunes. The police came to the door anyway and told us that the neighborhood was complaining. "The neighborhood?" Well, two people it turns out. I bet I know who those people are. The thin, effeminate guy who complained to us three weeks ago because he could hear us while trimming his flower garden, and his next door neighbor, a woman who apparently makes keys in the early a.m.. She complained the week after. They said that the noise was "real loud" and that the neighbors were mostly bothered "by all the screaming." Hmmm. I can see their point. It's a good thing we have all had sufficient training in being assholes to continue practicing every week until we receive formal orders to shut up. We weren't even instructed to turn it down by the cops. If we are within our rights, we're going to keep doing it. 60 decibels at 50 feet is my understanding of the legal limit. With the windows closed, we're MUCH quieter. The screaming is just kind of unnerving. I don't know if it's as unnerving as being woken up at 7 am by the cutting screech of someone grinding keys in their open garage.

Yow! I still have Evian left over from yesterday! Perhaps I shall begin an obsessive water-drinking program.