2002-04-22 - 12:39 p.m.

Correction from last entry: the color I ended up choosing was little boy blue, not baby blue. I figured that way my regression wouldn't be quite so drastic. After a lot of moving, masking, chair-standing, kneeling, brushing, rolling, etc., the whole damn room is a new cheery blue for spring. Late Saturday night found Nami and I alternating with naps on the futon in the living room and each knocking out a wall solo-style. We had discussed getting a drink later on to wind down after a hard evening of work, but I think we both secretly knew that was never going to happen. Oh well. With the new color and new furniture arrangement to boot, I feel like ma chambre is now drink-worthy itself.

Right now I'm floating on some Tylenol 3 clone. Acetominocodeine or whatever. Still healing, you know. It's making me desire caffeine in a way my body usually reserves for bright hangover mornings. So that excuses any langorous language.

Oh, and Powertrane rocked as predicted and so did the Mooney Suzuki and Mariah and I had a damn fine time in the old Greenpoint. We drank beers. We ran into Box from Mazinga whom Mariah knew but I had never really met. He was playing bass for the geezers in the Trane and was a lot of fun. For some reason I will never pass on the opportunity to talk to any Michigander visiting New York. "TV Eye" is never a bad song to play live. You just can't screw it up.

I am jealous of Detroiters who actually still live in the area. Since I don't have TNT, which is picking up NBC's sloppy NBA seconds, I can't watch the Pistons beat the Raptors. I can, however, read about the exploits of Ben Wallace, J. Stack, et al the next day on the Web. But it just ain't the same without George Blaha.