I've been chillin' at home for a few days now, and by chillin' I mean shaking and sweating underneath my sheets with the AC off because I've got a wicked fever. They want me to get my tonsils out because they are obstructing my airway. Their all like saying I need to "eat" and "breathe," and I'm like "You ain't up on this." I've missed three days of work and two very good shows.

Yesterday night I was having these wierd hallucinations because of the fever. I had been watching Rushmore the day before and I kept imagining that I was an older version of Max Fisher (played by Jason Schwartzman) who had graduated from high school, but was still trying to get the aquarium built. Except he was trying to build it in my new bed. I was sort of awake, but I kept rolling around on my bed, ending up in awkward positions with the sheets twisted around my body. At each new position, I had to accomplish some task that involved rubbing my feet together really fast. Yeah, it was fucking wierd.

Though I like to limit my time sitting upright to a minimum, this illness has afforded me some time to look for new music online. So far I have found the latest (unreleased) albums from the following groups: the Faint, Pinback, Mission of Burma, the pAper chAse, and McLusky. oh and the new Interpol album. Oh...I'm sorry, did you want a copy of the new Interpol album. Yes, it is very good. Well, I suppose I could burn a copy for you. Perhaps you could do something for me too? I would like a container of hot soup from Mole Foods. And some flowers. Then you can have your CD. Ok, see you soon. Oh, and hey...those flowers better be pretty. YOU GET ME SOME PRETTY FLOWERS OR I'M GONNA KICK YOUR ASS!

Let there be no mistake: Trey circa 2001 would get his ass walloped by current day Trey. While 2001 was a very good year for Trey, this new crop of Trey is stronger, faster, and better dressed. It's not as though I would enjoy kicking my 2001 self's ass, and it would probably be a decent fight, but the outcome is inevitable.

My landlady is getting on my case about designing and landscaping the courtyard behind her apartment. I have no idea why I agreed to do that, because it is going to be a huge pain in my ass with the deluge of freelance work that I have planned into January. So basically, I am going to be busting my ass in the hottest weather imaginable for a fraction of what I make at my real job, so that I can have a beautiful and relaxing courtyard that I will never get to enjoy because I'll be too fucking busy. After it is finished, she will probably raise the rent since the property will be worth more.

love,

Mr. Body Massage Machine

Melissa's trash day
Forgot to take it out twice
Never again, bitch

Stomp and kick and sneeze
Feathers swirl around your head
Allergic, my ass

Life ain't nothin' but bitches and money.

Thanks to the routine suckiness of my current web host, I am switching to a new one. This one will be running dephex, noladiy, and a couple of my clients. Shit might go down.

Just a word to the ignorant: If you or anyone you know writes anything in their "private web journal" about me, using my first or last name, I will find it and read it. I'm really good with computers and terribly insecure, so don't think that I won't find it. That said, I bring you:

The Gay List: Melissa, Chris, Colette, Josh, James, Eddie, Kottke

We have a show coming up.
Manchild | The Trashies
Saturday, July 24. Mermaid Lounge. 10PM. $5

Love

Today is "Everyone Have Really Loud Phone Conversations" Day. Serendipitously, this coincides with "From Now On, Earphones Are Banned From the Office" Day.

I am turning into an ascetic mess. I can't seem to bring myself to break under pressure any more. My body is lithe and muscular. I have energy to spare. I don't sleep more than four hours a night. My eyes, although bloodshot, are keen and focused. My mind, although burdened, is capable and ready for challenge. Friends and co-workers ask me if I am OK. Should I know the answer to that question? Should I care?

Not that the Hives were worth a second glance in the first place, but they are back with a new album titled Tyrannosaurus Hives. In my opinion, the Hives come in a close second for the most annoying band to come out of the "garage rock revival" of recent years, right after the Vines. Anyway, I just watched their new video, and it looks and sounds exactly like their old video. Who would have guessed that these fat Swedes would run out of ideas after one album? Most annoying is the fat guitar player that looks as though he is passing kidney stones when he most graciously adds his backup vocals. Christ.

Word is born. The Trashies are getting a little play this afternoon, and by "play" I mean college-radio airplay. Go to 91.5 in New Orleans or WTUL between 2-4pm CST and listen to the stream. I don't know what time exactly, but apparently we're gonna be representing. Thanks to everyone who came out last night; I had a great time sweating uncontrollably.

The Trashies are playing a show with a rockabilly band from L.A. tonight at the HiHo Lounge. I always like to see friends at our shows so come out and celebrate the End of Essence 2004. Here's what a local promoter has to say:

The Trashies are four young local gentlemen who play wild and passionate rock and roll with reckless abandon. Droning, howling feedback soars over slash-and-thrash punk rock while your ears wait for your mind to catch up. Imagine The Stooges in a noise battle against The Jesus & Mary Chain, then pour voodoo magic on top of it.

In other news, I bought a big-ass bed. This bed will be delivered tomorrow. I have been sleeping on a twin bed since I was a kid. Going from a twin to an extended length king is quite an upgrade. If any ladies out there want to share this experience with me, get in touch.