Monday, October 16, 2006

Everywhere you look around my NYC sized apartment, there are things

Things like a black book shelf (real wood, not that reinforced cardboard Ikea crap wood), stuffed with notebooks (full of hilarity) and papers (everything from CD inserts to clippings of shows I must go see!), CD cases and sleeves (for, you know), containers of various colored glitters (for when I perform, "My Pussy Is Magic" live), glue sticks, VHS tapes & DVDs (of documented Delfino sets!), colored pencils (fancy ones), ink replacement cartridges (it's like I live at a Staples), paper clips (see?), business cards (mine and other people's), rolls of tape and twine, spools of CDs (blank and not so blank), a softball glove, a stapler, a bunch of batteries (some are dead, but I somehow can't bring myself to throw out the dead ones, so now they're all mixed together, ready to wreak havoc on the next electronic thing I have that needs to work right), a hole puncher, a check book (the one thing that proves I'm almost like an adult), a box of slippery elm (maybe two things that prove I'm an adult) - (the pros use it), nail clippers (you need to manage your fingernails in order to play the guitar right), a small clip on fan (to keep me cool while I'm writing the hits), a huge stack of envelopes of all sizes (mostly for fan mail - sending it out, I mean, you know, to all the people I adore, Jessica Simpson, Randy Rhodes, etc.), and if I turn around and look at the cork board, well, that's a blog entry for another time.

My room on a good day (Oooh, too soon?)