There are two myths regarding King Midas
Been having nightmares. The kind where you wake up in a sweat.
You know the story of King Midas and the golden touch, yeah? He’s got a lesser known story. His servant knew a secret of Midas and couldn’t bear it. So the servant whispered it to a bed of reeds but the reeds told the world.
I meet people all the time. The last several weeks have been blurs of What’s your story, morning glory? But nothing ever comes of them because of the things in my head. So many things.
When I’m out and about, I’m innocuous and easy without a hint of depth; like Wonder Bread.
Had a recent conversation with a girl I reconnected with. We got onto the topic of regrets somehow and I told her it was the story of my life. She asked, “What could you really have done that was so bad?”
Against my normal character, I told her the least of it and she looked back at me with a face I’ve seen many times before.
Threw her a wink and a smile and that was the end of it.
For her, anyway.
There are no reeds I know of in my fine city (s’ok, they’re gossip folk anyway) so I leaned over and whispered my dirty to some tulips in Central Park on Sunday.
Let’s hope they can keep a secret.
Location: @3PM, Sunday, Strawberry Fields
Music: If I don’t get some shelter, oh yeah, I’m gonna fade away
Location: on a green twin-sized bed
Music: faded jeans I hope you get your dreams Just go ahead
I cut my hair finally because we shot all my scenes for 72nd to Canal. Psyched. I hated that haircut.
To continue in the vein of my Monday post, my friends have been mocking me incessantly about how I hold my left hand when I stand. It’s worse when I’m out and about.
I never noticed it until they mentioned it. I think it’s because of my fencing class because I don’t do it with my right hand.
Speaking of my fencing class, I met this brown-eyed girl outside of it whom I’m sure is from NJ:
Her: (concerned and eyeing what’s in my hand) I’m sorry, do you live here?
Me: No, I take a fencing class here. Don’t worry, it’s not real.
Her: (relieved) Oh, that’s great, do you like it?
(15 minutes of conversation later)
Me: I’m sorry, this is going to sound like a weird question, but are you a vegetarian?
Her: (laughing) That is a weird question! I’m actually a pescatarian, that means…
Me: (nodding) …you only eat fish. Right.
Her: I’d better let you get to your class, Logan. See you around?
Me: See you around, Jen.
I won’t be seeing Jen around.
What does your desk look like right now?
This is what my desk looks like right this minute.
Please note that my passport, rum and gum are within easy access should I need to bolt. You can barely see it, but the hardcover book behind my screen is A Cricket in Times Square. On that note, the other books are travel books for places I will never see.
What does yours look like and what’s the most interesting thing there?
Location: In front of the picture you see below
Music: I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words, how wonderful life is
Dr. Kelso: Are you an idiot?
JD: No sir, I’m a dreamer.
Can you see God in the bright blue sky?
Location: @7:30 AM, Central Park in spring
Music: You’re good at makin’ me feel so small And I know you
Been looking at my passport like a guy looks at his girl
I just found out that Blue Jean Eyes reads my journal. Interesting.
She also told me that she’s already signed up for a dating website looking for a Jewish, vegetarian version of me. Also…interesting.
I don’t believe those options are available on my particular make/model. Odd comes standard, though.
A lot of women from my past seem to be popping up in my life lately. I miss some aspect of all of them, I think. Europegirl is now UKgirl, French-Koreangirl is happily occupied and No. 6 is…still No. 6.
Been thinking of my conversation with the blue-eyed Lawyergirl but that’s for later.
In the meanwhile, I’ve been looking at my passport like a guy looks at a pic of his chick.
I’m heading to SFO in May (I lost my place to crash so if you’ve got a couch in SF in May, drop me a line: logan607 at hotmail). Some friends are going to Montreal and I just got an invitation to Las Vegas in June.
Outside it’s cloudy in New York, but in my head, it’s sunny elsewhere.
Location: still here
Music: If I could escape I would
Don’t want to comment on all the tragedy; there’s enough. So, here’s four happy/stupid:
- Instead of a birthday cake, I had a low-fat, low-carb ice cream sandwich. It was great good not so bad.
- CindyE sang me Happy Birthday, in-aeternum sent me an amazing gift, in_a_silver_bag sent me a picture of soup, and so many of you guys left me comments – I can’t even tell you how that made my day. Plus people remembered that I didn’t think would and people forgot that I didn’t think would. All good. Finally, katsmw digitaldewi, and frieseurfrau, all mentioned me in their journals. Cool.
- At least 15 people left me voicemail per my request.
- I could use some more (especially male) for the project I’m considering. Could you give me a ring? Don’t leave your name if you don’t wanna.
- I appreciate all your kind thoughts but here’s my favorite greeting from the past week or so:
Him: Hey, I wanted to wish you a happy b-day. By the way, I’ve got some good dirt.
Me: Sweet, hit me.
Him: Remember when I told you that I ran into your ex out here?
Him: We totally hooked up. I mean full-on.
Me: (pause) How is that good again?
Him: I meant for me.
Him: Why’s everything about you? Oh, there’s my ride, I’m out. Happy Birthday!
I’ve decided that hope is good.
Thanks for the hope.
Location: on my birthday, in the UWS, swinging sticks around
Music: built my life around you but time makes you bolder Even children get older
A little art project
Me @ 17. My hair is blue. Yes, I’m a dork.
It’s my birthday.
To celebrate, I’m just going to work out. It’s OK, I did a lot of living last week.
I’ve updated my pictures per a reader’s request.
Now…I want something from you.
I think it’s fair; I pour out all my insanity for your entertainment, but once in a blue moon, I’m going to ask you to do something for me, besides get me soup (which no one did, not that I’m bitter):
- Call this number: 1.XXX.XXX.XXXX and listen to the directions. (20070419 EDIT: thanx! I’ve gotten all the voices I can use)
- Wait a sec and then say your name/LJ name
- Wait another sec and read the below work, I Remember Seventeen
- If you screw up, hit # and start again.
Remember to change the fifth line to the proper age from when you were 17 (ie, if you’re 29, change the line to read Man, twelve years ago).
If you’re a chick, I have no idea what to change lines 9 an 14 to; I leave it up to you to figure that part out.
Since we’re are not dating, please keep your crazy to yourself – I’m deleting everything else that deviates.
Read it how you read it. I wanna hear your voice reading it the way you would read it.
It’s only fair
You know what I sound like.
I remember seventeen
I remember seventeen,
All my ways and means,
All my little dreams.
I remember seventeen
Man, seventeen years ago
Back when I had flow
(Or I had thought so)
Love’s simple, the beauty queen.
My friends, all on the scene;
trying to be cool,
looking like some fools.
But I thought I was pretty slick
with the pretty chicks.
But really, I had no flow
and those girlies, they laid me low.
Back then it all meant so much,
all those little cuts,
everything that sucked.
Me, a stupid kid
hoping to be big.
Course, it’s a little sad
all my memories;
how different I thought I’d be
from my current state of me.
Still, sometimes, so far away
sometimes, like yesterday,
yeah, I remember seventeen.
All those little cuts…
Location: @ my parents in front of an ice cream sandwich
Music: I had so many crashes That I couldn’t feel at all and it feels like I’m 17 again