My friends Eric, Ashley, Tom and I have started a band. It's called Doom Town and it's tremendous if you don't mind my saying. So that's good.
I need to put in some time pouring concrete in my basement. My studio gear is all strewn throughout the house and I haven't done any recording in 5 months. There are a bunch of amazing new bands with wonderful people in this town; I want to spend long hours with them in an underground bunker.
I got a job as a shoe salesman. I just finished a job working for the World Bank in South Africa, making the website of an alternate reality game for tech-school students to get to know each other. The premise was so weird I had to do it. I posited the moral question of working for the World Bank to my boss. It went like this:
Me: Does it concern you that we're working for an organization that makes loans to underprivledged nations?So that's good.
Boss: Whadja mean?
Me: I mean what if they can't pay. Usually when a poor African country can't pay, and they usually can't, the banks have to recoup their investment someway. That tends to be children having their feet cut off and lowering them into diamond mines. I mean a contract's a contract!
Boss: I dunno, I don't think our website can do that.
This weekend is Buckminster Noodles' first birthday. He's daring and nimble, affectionate and appreciative, all fine qualities a young boy should have. I feel as if I'm raising a brave son who will someday take over my estate.