Ummm… good morning.
I read an article somewhere promoting a service that disables the ability to dial certain pre-specified numbers from one’s cell phone at ungodly hours of the morning… like 4:19 a.m.
The service is there to prevent one from calling grandma at 4:19 a.m., simply to inform her of one’s current level of intoxication.
Why… oh why, does this service not exist for bloggers?
“It’s amazing,” Sam thinks aloud, “that at 4:19 a.m., Sam knows that he should brush his teeth before collapsing on the living room floor in a drunken pile of contentment.”
“Things,” Sam says, “are finally starting to look up.”
Today is a very special day. Very special indeed. On this very special day, I brought something very special into my home. And, I’ve been feeling very… what’s the word… special, ever since. (Do you hate me yet?)
At Cutler’s Records in New Haven, Connecticut, I picked up my very own copy of Opeth’s latest masterpiece, Ghost Reveries.
My fingers trembled as I held it in my hands. How long have I been waiting for this? It feels like years… but it’s only been a matter of months. With the outer plastic removed the only thing keeping me from heaven on earth is my own masochistic need to savor every last moment of excruciating pain. It will all be over soon. Pleasure cannot be understood unless one knows pain. And then, as the pressure mounts, I guide the CD into the side of my Powerbook. iTunes launches. It takes hours. Looking up track names? No… just… play…
And then it plays.
And I swear it was god herself, speaking to me from the heavens. But it was not god. No. It was better. It was Opeth.
More to follow…
