I'm Drunk And I'm Not going to Fix My Typos

I'm Drunk And I'm Not going to Fix My Typos

I left Katie with her mother at the Cincinnati airport two and a half hours ago. she slept for over an hour, and I had to repeatedly tap her on the knee from the frotn seat and yell "Katie! We're at the airport!" to wake her up. Took 20 minutes. Littiel booger was GONE. Finally, she started into "Airpot! airpot! Airport! Aiport! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Nommy!"

She sat on my lap as we waited for them to show up. Finally Sheryl and Sean were there, but it was heart-chewing to sit there and feel Katie's emotions dripping through the way she leaned into me. she wanted to hang onto me, she seemed totally unwilling to let go, but she wanted to be with Mommy too. At one point (we were only there less than 20 minutes before they showed up) she said "It's taking too long for Mommy to get here" as she snuggled closer into me.

I think Katie is far more prepared for true emotional complexity at age 5 than I still am at 36. As much as it hurts ot say goodbye, as much as it hurts to be apart from her most of the wweek, I know she's learning thigns now I should have learned three decades ago myself.

We drove to two Egg albums. The Civil Surface and Polite Force. Katie played with her dolls as Dave Stewart wrenched ungodly proggish noises from his organ. I somehow made it home fine, but the drive down there was pure hell, and I kept turning the Egg louder and louder to keep myself awake. Katie didn't complain once.

Sounds like a hell of a weekend was had in SoCal by Sheryl and Sean. He had on a Dog t-shirt, so if I had any doubts before, I know he's cool now. For a while, I thought about the summer of 2000, sheryl and I going to San diego for nonkerstock, sitting maybe 40-feet from keneally as he rpped the sky apart during Kedgeree, and I was sad. for a moment. Then I remembered why it's all good.

I drove home from the aiport with a Brand X bootleg from the Roxy in LA from 1979. Ahhh, Phil Collins bak when he had testicles. As big as fucking watermelons.

When the tape ended (filled out with selections from Inner Mounting Flmae by the Maha-fucking-vishnu Orchestra) I turned on the local high school radio station. This is about three miles from me, and can barely be heard more than 10 miles away. It's mostly 80s shit, but they don't follow much of a real format, and sometimes surprise me with a genuinely cool tune.

Of course, I probably only really listen to it becuase 2/3rds of the people running it are high school girls with nice voices. God, i'm a sick fuck. By the way, this is what wakes nme up every morning.

A great friend - probably the best friend I've had in the past year - is going to be a father probably within the next week. I've tried to be a helpful source of semi-adivce, but I moslty just hope he gets through this in one emotional piece. I love ya, man. call me if you need me.

i love the fucking Pixies. She told me that once back befoe she decided not to write anymore. Dammit, I miss her.

Saw Amanda today. I hand't planned on goign bak, but me and Katie had lunch there on the way back from Marion. She had an even brighter verion of The Smile, and I was reduced to staring at my coffee trying to think of something NON_STUPID to say. I couldnt' think of anything. But I told her we recorded the gig Firday (too bad we didn't record Saturday, whenit was really GOOD) and I'll have A CD for her soon. I'll probably fill it out with songs meant for her. Dammit, I want to win this woman over. I finally feel totallyu in one piece about this, totally in the right place. I want you, Amanda. Everyone else is a mere fucking distraction. The goal is clear now. Amanda. Only Amanda.

Steel Reserve numbing my brain. I need to be awak ein just over six hours. goodn ight, you fkccers.

Love,
Dougie

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