What I need to be doing vs. what I’ve been doing should make me go cry in the corner, but I usually reserve that behavior for post-coitus. JK. I drank booze last night, thus resulting in one of my uniquely misaligning hangovers. These things kill my productivity, but I have spent a collective four hours on MySpace. I am getting paid to sit in front of a computer, if that makes anyone (me) feel any better. I’ve been looking for people with over 3,000 friends (usually bands, labels, and for some reason, Brian Teasley, oh yeah, he’s in a band - HE’S IN THREE HUNDRED BANDS!!!). I invited both Candlebox and forgotten boggy footnote Skin Yard to be friends. I invited a lot of complete strangers; many of which complied without so much as a “who are you?” message. I will have a lot of friends. I’m averaging five new acquisitions per hour.
Here’s what I did to MySpace Tom:
Is everyone’s first friend a robot? In order to find out, I sent him this message:
Hey man…
I’m going to be passing through Santa Monica soon, and was wondering if I could stay with you. It’s just for about six, seven weeks. Eight tops. Aside from my very sick cat, I’m coming alone. I don’t have much cash, but I do carry a Diner’s Club card, so maybe I can buy you dinner at a cafeteria or something…but don’t push it. See you soon.
-Andrew Earles
As per usual, there is a TV running in the background - the premiere of Stacked. Well, I think it’s the premiere. This is Pamela Anderson’s book store sitcom. Er, it also stars Christopher Lloyd (Taxi, dipshit). This appears to be the only thing that I can concentrate on today. I can’t even pour over the new Pelecanos book, and those are usually like candy for me.