reel to reel

there is a lot i want to tell you about this weekend. well, scratch that. there is a lot that i could tell you about this weekend. but i dont have the time to write it, and im sure you dont have the time to read it either. so even if i wanted to, i couldnt tell you much of anything.

i couldnt really explain the look in my eye when i found a record, one i had purchased over the internet earlier this week, at the bottom of my stairs with the rest of the mail. and it wouldnt make any sense trying to justify why i had spent $50 on this record, or why when i brought it back upstairs and put it on my turntable, i played it two times in a row and after that smoked a spliff and played it three more times again. i can only say that it is by Moodyman and it is very rare, and hope that explanation holds some weight with you.

and i definitely couldnt expound upon my friends reaction to the investment, which was, -oh. yeah, i just bought a record for $1400. this old african funk jammy, original pressing. nor could i accurately reveal to you just why i was so impressed by this. what i can do though, is make clear that when he told me greg wilson was in town for a gig, a rare stateside appearance from the legendary uk jock, i made firm plans to catch him and floated the promoter an email, securing my name on the guest list.

still, i wouldnt possibly try to describe the scene that friday night, but i will offer L-swivels assessment of there being, "lots of music geeks." and if you had seen all the horn rimmed skinny doods in attendance, im sure you would have made the same valuation. the music was absolutely brilliant and inspiring, but it would take forever to for me to untangle the sensation i felt when i realized he was working deep disco re-edits with a turntable, a laptop, and a reel to fucking reel, so i wont even try.

i couldnt begin to transcribe the conversation we had on the subway into the city about the size of shaqs cock. shit, it would take days just to break down the penis size to body proportion argument. lets just say that women should probably be glad shaqs penis looks sort of small, and leave it at that.

and there is no way i could illustrate the look on my friends faces when [absentmindedly and probably a result of me currently reading a novel written largely in scottish dialect] i referred to the bartender, a laid back looking white guy with curly hair that poured drinks like they were his own, as a 'capital gadge,' nor will i paint a portrait of their frowns when i bluntly added, 'the cunt.'

i will say that ive been peeping this new cats boom bip blog. because that was short and easy, and didnt take much time to relay.

and i will say i got an email from someone that read this blog. and i will say that i dont get many of those, and that it was kind of cool, like making a friend. people who read this should email me. i like exchanging emails. but i wont get into why, that would just take too long.