This post will be long, guaranteed.

It's going to go on and sweep, like something Kerouac wrote. I never liked him, but wrote two papers on his work. I had a 'phase' where I was interested in Beats. Not anymore. I don't think I could finish a Ginsberg poem. Every male poet has a hard-on for his sincerity at least once during their life. I had a birth as a senior in high school. It died. Then another kid as a freshman in college. I read Howl like fifty times. I always hated how he edited the word 'crazy, from the poem, in reference to his mother.

Whatever, Ginsberg. Go scratch.

**

So, I heard somebody shit talk Yo la Tengo and that upset me greatly. It was while I was in Starbucks getting a latte' for myself and something with chai for a co-worker. I don't remember what this person said, but it was definitely total bull shit. My stomach tied itself in a knot and begged to die. It was limping like a gruff hound whose stomach sags and gets nicked by rocks. It was awful, almost like somebody was bad mouthing your folks.

**

Today I finally listened to Heartattack and Vine from beginning to end, which means I've now listened to every single Tom Waits album. Ever. I'm not sure what this says about me. I've never seen him in concert. I'd probably pay upwards of $500 if I got the chance to see him perform.

**

Opening Day is Sunday. It doesn't seem probable for me to put how this makes me feel into words. All I know is it's baseball season again, and I get to think of fantastic hypothetical situations, such as: would I rather face 1984 Dwight Gooden, 1999 Pedro Martinez, 1968 Bob Gibson or 1966 Sandy Koufax? That's like choosing between acquiring AIDS, heart disease, brain cancer or some virus that eats your face from the inside-out. You know all are inevitable death, it's more of a question of which one is going to be the most fun to die from.

Knowing that I actually saw 1999 Pedro Martinez, I'd probably give him the nod. Back then, hitting 98 with a chest-high fastball was a frequent occurrence, and when he'd pull the string on that curveball, the best hitters alive would look like toddlers trying to hit a wiffle ball off a wobbly tee. Oh yeah, he had a slider, too. And two change-ups. A two-seamer? Sure. It'd stiffle righties.

I think the scariest part about 1999 Pedro Martinez was his strikeout-to-walk ratio. 8.46 to 1. Yes. Not a typo. 313 wiffs compared to 37 free passes. Are you kidding me? And he only gave up 9 long balls. I need to dig up some vintage videos of Pedro dropping hammers on professionals. I mean, there was a time in Pedro's career (1997-2004) where he could've probably told each batter, "Okay, here's the sequence: Belt high, wheelhouse fastball, a circle change, down and away slider, and we'll try out another barn burner and see if you can catch up to hit.

There could be video game shit going on: people could slow down time, Matrix-style, and he still would've collected 300 strikeouts. The man can throw a baseball through a Froot Loop. He was that cerebral. It's a shame that in the twilight of his career, the man can't even get signed to a minor league contract.

**

One of my favorite things in the entire world is using the bathroom RIGHT after somebody cleans it. Not to be a dick, but it's like: it's comforting, you know? The toilet water is kool-aid blue and the soap is full and nothing else really matters, you can just piss or shit in a clean bathroom. It's weird whenever you use a bathroom at somebody's house, and you know it hasn't been cleaned in a few weeks.

**

The American Analog Set is a great band.

**

Let's curl up on the couch
so you can whisper something useful
or lovely.
It's your chance to stop using
the thumb-sized Post-Its
and the soft talk over the phone
while I press concrete at work.

We can just sit here
with my arms across yours,
and you can talk
talk until my ears get warm
from everything you say.
Then, sooner or later
we can fall asleep
to have time to think about
what we both said.

**

I like the prospect of us waking up together every morning. With bad breath and bad hair. Almost naked, cold feet, runny noses, the small bacteria strings that float around our eyes and whatever else. I've said that about other people before, but I never looked at them when I said it. Those other times I said it they were insincere. But so were those people.

**

I got that promotion at work. Kind of exciting.

**

I told you this blog would keep going. It's almost painful to keep writing. None of this seems pertinant.

**

I'd like to eat something with Tabasco sauce on it for dinner. Don't even care what it is.

**

This blog is over. For now.