2002-10-22 - 4:58 p.m.

The job is getting to me. I'm waiting for a day off. I really need one. An ad hoc one outta nowhere, preferably. Maybe next week. That would be so sweet. No rush-hour subway trips to the city, no airports, no visitors from out of town. Just me and my apartment. Maybe a hot DVD and a cold brew.

I'm making a mix tape because my CD burner seems too unreliable. I think it's hyper-sensitive to scratches. Any tips? All I know is that 12 tracks into The Soft Bulletin, it gave up the ghost and spat out the disc. I checked the CD in my player, and it was clear sailing all through that crickety instrumental that comes before the two reprises. Tapes = better. I still don't have a Discman, so I need Walkman fodder.

See, back in '97 Joe plugged an AC adapter into the wrong port of my first (and only) Discman when we were down in Charlotte. We saw smoke. The damn thing never played right after that.

Is it obvious that I have next to nothing to talk about? There were good times way out in Bushwick on Saturday. Scary neighborhood, that. Sue hit it on the head: I mentioned, after exiting the subway after riding three different lines, that I kinda liked the surroundings cause it reminded me of Detroit. What I'd neglected was exactly what Sue was thinking: In Detroit, you never have to walk around in that type of bullshit. It's just scenery.

But Nami's friends' loft was amazing in its simplicity. Wood, lights, concrete. I didn't see a damn magazine or a coat anywhere. No bedrooms, either: these four guys live like the Monkees in cozy little loft-bunks.

Any time I heard the word "pretentious" tossed about at that party, however, I wished that the pretense had washed over the party's musical selection a little more liberally. Cut off Loveless and put in funk. No wait, more My Bloody Valentine. Danceable '80s hit. Trance. Metal. Funk. No cohesion, no direction, no dancing. In Minimalist Paradise, it's an obvious but easily forgotten point that you just can't have it all.