(Insert "Sequel to The Passion of the Christ" joke here)
The dogs were lowing (last night at 2 am) and poor Nyet - he waked, and you'd better believe there was some full on cry/yelling going on. I still have not determined what caused the sudden middle of the night bark fest, but they hit me at the crux of sleep cycles and sent me into a sympathetic (nervous system, not emotional pity kind) storm that made me get up and look at the computer for answers as to why i could not fall asleep. Fortunately, such searching came up with this, which was not good for my sleeping but good for a very twisted laugh...
SO I got next to no sleep last night, which made me something of a highly incompetent teacher-drone (and a pilotless one at that!). I shlepped my way through biology tutoring, a class (which went quite well, actually), algebra tutoring, a talk on Martin Luther and the Guttenberg press, miscellaneous school work and some calculus tutoring before I won the right to head home after a solid 7:15-3:15 no breaks workday.
And this is the part where I knew the Pain of the Beck - ALL I WANTED TO DO WAS TAKE A NAP, somethign which anyone who knows me can attest is something I never do. So that indicates teh death con seven level tired state I was in. So I lay down and got maybe 15 minutes in when the rumble rumble pound pound bark bark began drifting downstairs... Don't Call Him Owen or COmma Ryan:
IT'S NOLAN!!!!!!!!!!!
The upstairs Calvin-look-alike who has a propensity for running lap after lap after lap around his apartment, screaming all the while and apparently taunting his dog into a near-rabid frenzy. I can't imagine how his mom puts up with it. NEhoo, it was LOUD AS HELL in our bedroom and I could not sleep at all, but I was too borderline comatose to do anything productive. So I basically sat there in half asleep stupor, unable to formulate any kind of standard non zen koan-esque line of thought that could lead to me falling back asleep. Despite the fact tha tit doesn't even work in the movies, I tried pounding on the wall and ceiling, nothing. SO the nap was destroyed, and hours later I am still in the same sleep-deprived trance-without-the-psychotherapeutic benefits state.
Oh, But Nappyless Nyet Will Have His Revenge on Seattle, er, Nolan: I finally dragged myself out of bed, walked into the study, plugged in a guitar, turned it to 7 (which, trust me, what with the advances of science and all, is way better than the 11 from years ago - trust me, it's kinda like volume inflation), walked out of the study to protect my ears, closed the door and played a Grafton-shaking A5 chord. After some of the loudest, most experimental discordant riffs I could muster in my insomniac delirium, I stopped, turned off the amp, and listened. Nary a Nolan stomp to be heard. Scared straight, or at least still. Tromp on my ceiling, will you, exuberance of youth? Behold the power of avant rock. I'll have that little Watterson-esque bastard listening to Sonic Youth in no time (which mean, I suppose, that my revenge really will have been had on his parents and / or future girlfriends who can't stand his indie rock record guy ramblings). The whole of his future determined on the second afternoon of spring in 2007 by your restless downstairs neighbor - I hope Nolan appreciates the magnitude of such a gift.
So almost immediately after the St. Fun debacle, Ali called and invited me over for dinner with the Gringoat. SO I went, and we ate Chinese and watched a show about Chinese Bones. Awesome. I highly appreciate the GG's hospitality (horse brutality?) in these Beckless Times, and I will gladly repay their generosity in the future, perhaps with some kind of ride to an airport - or, failing that, a ride to an IT factory, or a similar Sodom & Gomorrah inspired Gyroscope based vehicle.
Word. SBeck reports that all is going well in texas; she has one more interview to go in austin. She's alread received a couple of job offers, so Nostradamus's prediction taht "The Beck and the Nyet will eat in the year 2008" is looking to be true. Sweet.
And before I forget, another couple of pics which show the eye tracking study trends I may or may not have mentioned to you. The gist is that some eye tracking studies have revealed a strange tendency in men to stare at crotches. And another one shows that artists look at the world differently. (Um, for the first one, interesting, but for the second, I'd like to hire those "scientists" at Proctor & Gamble's new "2 + 2 Still Equals 4" R&D branch. SOLID WORK, PEEPS.
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