0�0�1�0�0�1�0�0�1�0
1�0�1�0�1�0�1�0�1�0
c�o�l�d�d�i�g�i�t�s
0�1�0�1�0�1�0�1�0�1
1�1�1�0�0�1�1�1�0�0



1�0�1�0�1�0�1�0�0�1 2003-09-30, 4:57 p.m.

bad music


Since I'm on a roll with this writing-in-my-diary thing, I might as well write about the dream I had last night.

It was about Slacker Musician Ex. A. and I were at a big outdoor concert, one of those big day-long festivals (which probably made a cameo because of the $100 we just dropped on Bridge School tickets). Much to my surprise, SME was one of the opening acts (one of the first ones of the evening, the crappy unknown one that warms up the crowd).

He was dressed the way he used to dress: flannel shirt, icky t-shirt, dirty jeans. And he was playing and kind of thrashing around. And he was terrible.

Seems SME had gotten all experimental. And his sound was just plain bad.

The audience booed. I was very embarrassed. A. either pretended not to notice or simply didn't at all. You gotta love him.

I actually haven't heard from SME in a long time. He hasn't updated his Web site. He never really commented on my marriage, name change, anything.

Do I care? Not sure. Sometimes I hope he's happy. Sometimes I still feel angry. Mostly I feel grateful. That because he didn't love me, I eventually grew up, got away, discovered happiness like some unchartered, perfect continent.



before � after