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April 12th, 2002

Mail sent, day spent

I finished and mailed my collage for a nervousness.org exchange.
It's fun doing things I know I am not that good at doing--remarkably rut-defying. I had to re mail the mini-poster for the postcardx.net fellow in an envelope, after the postperson deigned to ignore the "giant postcard" in the mail box. When my wife
made a somewhat Freudian interpretation of my alien sea coral
drawing, I had to take some extra penstrokes to alter the appearance; when I draw a cigar, it's a cigar, not a complex.

I am so ready for a weekend. We had a great restaurant meal tonight, in one of those would-be impressive places where they make you order the vegetables separately from the entree.
Fortunately, no sawdust on the floor.

I wonder if I can arise at dawn, and go catch and release at my secret "perfect sunfish pond", the Park Hill Prairie ponds?
The prairie is a few hundred acres of near pristine tall grass prairie in rural northern Collin County. It's tall grass like
the tall grass when the anglos first came. The soil is black, so they call it "blackland prairie". The hiking trail is not long, and not very tree shaded, but it should be awash in wildflowers.
Late spring and early summer in Texas features more wildflowers than pretty much anywhere. The twin ponds at the park receive very little fishing pressure; one catches a dozen fish in nearly no time. But they're "only" sunfish, not bass, so the park's great fishing virtue goes ignored....

I listened to Carla Bley's Social Studies this morning.
I picked this cassette up at the remainder bin at the Big Lots.
I always picture Carla Bley as somewhat jokey avant garde ish stuff, but this album is accessible and fun. A few of the near-pop moments sound vaguely like Steely Dan, and I wonder if Bley is an influence.

Then I listened to the Scott_M Experience,the incredible indy
home done tape a friend gave me. It's simply magic--simple like Johnathan Richman, but not as self-conscious; a real Velvets sound, but no romanticizing heroin; a Marshall Crenshaw like
respect for late 50s pop, but not nearly as cute, and a vocal
track that is so Dylan fixated I am amused. I love this album!