Me And You And Everyone We Know

It’s Friday night. I worked a twelve-hour day today. I’m due back at the office in just twelve more.

I cleanse the pallet toggling between “Dogtown & Z-Boys” on The Sundance Channel, and “Trouble at the Top” on Trio. I flip through a week-old Entertainment Weekly. I eat sushi. I blog.

Big plans this weekend? Not really. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: I always thought Aimee Mann nailed it on her song “4th of July.”

Today’s the Fourth of July
Another June has gone by
And when they light up our town I just think
What a waste of gunpowder and sky

Do I need to trek to the edge of the island, cram myself into some crown of hooping and hollaring tourists, and watch shit blow up? Nah. I’ve got CNN.

Still, thought I might see “Murderball,” or maybe “Heights,” or “Me and You and Everyone We Know.” Or all of ’em. I’ve got a few DVDs in from ye ole’ Netflix queue. Definately have to get a ride/run combo in — New York City Triathlon is next weekend. I’d like to buy some seasonally-appropriate pants. Jeans don’t do it in ninety-four degree heat. And Executive Producers don’t wear shorts. Maybe I’ll finish my Dylan bio, and move on to Hornby. I’ll probably download some Jeff Tweedy live tracks from Limewire.

And I have some rehearsing to do. I’m recording an iTunes exclusive CD on Thursday. Betcha’ five bucks I release four records this year…

But not tonight. I have a date with a bowl of green tea ice cream. And a really fascinating article on “Superman Returns.”

I’m certain that I am alone
In harbouring thoughts of our home
It’s one of my faults that I can’t quell my past
I ought to have gotten it gone

And she’s got the river down which I sold her.