the floor is mopped. a funny thing about having a dark coloured floor is that it can be quite dirty and you have no idea until you see the utterly foul and filthy water in your mop bucket. i think that i’m genetically inclined towards servitude. i like cleaning. i like the sound of hot water filling my little green mop bucket. i like wringing out my mop in the toilet bowl. and i vacuumed behind my bed. oh my goodness, i had no idea that it was so dirty back there. ok, dusty really, not dirty. this is definitely one of those updates that i should keep to myself. waxing rhapsodic about the joys of domesticity is something that shouldn’t be shared.
tonight i’m going to see janes addiction and there’s an after party, so that will probably offer a temporary glimpse into the life and times of real rock stars. unless they’re all healthy now…is there anything more annoying than a rock star who’s too healthy? ‘dear mr.(or mrs.) rockstar, please leave healthy behaviour to the rest of us. how can you expect to be immortalized in “”behind the music”” if you don’t live the rockstar life? no one wants to see a musician immortalized in “”behind the music”” if all they’ve done is eat well and taken care of themselves…’
oops, i guess that missive could be levelled at me, huh. but at least i’ve admitted that i’m a sad excuse for a rock star. if they ever decide to do a “”behind the music”” on me they’re going to have to invent a lot of stuff. any suggestions?
i mean i’ve gotten up to a few rockstar-ish things in my day, but nothing particularly noteworthy.
and on that note i’m going to go and make potatoes/tomatoes/onions/garlic/tempeh/broccoli.
i like being hungry.
-moby