I'm dog tired and can barely lift this pen, but I'm doggone determined to get every knotty detail of my life down on this blog that I'm just working through the yawns. Obviously what you are reading will be what I transpose from the notebook I am currently writing in, an additional exertion that I will doggedly complete in the name of churning the stuff out. I just encountered a carnival on my bike ride. I went for a bike ride to work off the nachos I had for lunch. Here's a photo:
Friday night Feel Free played a ragged set at Mia's, the early Replacements being a worthy touchtone. I told Tony, who's like Flagstaff's J Mascis, to turn up his guitar and once he'd done that I said, do Teenage FBI, referring to their GBV cover - he obliged me. Moreover, he tagged Echoes Myron on to the end of that and that was the end of that. Udo and i staggered to the Monte V because Sarah, who's in my program waltzed in and said let's go, my fav band is playing and so we said alright. The band weren't crash hot, but I ate a burrito and met a marketing manager from Prescott, in town for business with her boss. The only reason this is important is because Udo and I lost our ride and on our walk home we got whistled at from an SUV by two birds. We walked up to the SUV in the Jack in the Box drive-thru and wouldn't ye know, it was the marketing manager from Prescott and boss lady. We ordered a bag of food too and they dropped us home to eat it.
I'm watching Bourne Identity now and naturally thinking of Mitch Babb, who I went to high school with and whose European travails strangely mirrored Bourne's. Good man, I think we may be hooking up at a mansion he has access to in Havasu around my birthday.
Guess what? I saw a seminar on the Navajo code talkers yesterday unexpectedly. I was riding my bike, saw that they had a cool exhibition on at the museum and then I was worded up about the talk when I was checking out the awesome Aiken's. Apparently the Japanese were good at breaking codes until this guy named Philip suggested Navajo, which subsequently stumped them. A lot of them were stationed in Guadalcanal and saw all kinds of hell. I was hungover and got a little teary. I was also underdressed in my swim trunks. The code talkers would make a good movie if David Fincher was allowed to make it. Someone told me last night that there was a movie, but I don't believe them. There's a sculpture on campus of one of the code talkers, Gorman, I forget his first name. I liked it so much I took a bunch of photos during orientation.