set in motion

boarding the birthday train one month in advance.  i don't want to say this too loudly, but i've always REALLY wanted to be 32 (actually, i want to be 33 more; i love odd numbers, the number three in particular so the double dose is like a cosmic tickle to me).   32 has long seemed like a sacred or pivotal age to me, in much the way that "they" say that 27 is sacred or pivotal.  read: a point along the life line where "what the fuck am i doing with myself" moments seem to coagulate.  i love that stuff.  i kind of want to be a disaster for a few more minutes and blast out of the ashes as a mentally gilded Phoenix. it's just the way my life has been charted thus far: dip, spring, dive, rebound, MANIA.  though the gap between  those erratics is starting to mellow.  and that's what you call growing up i guess.  that being said... i don't have any expectations for this year, but i do have urges to do and be and go like i haven't felt in a long, long time.  if i can quiet the contentions from Stability and Finance, i could be headed to some new and fascinating places. 

anyway, i went to San Fransisco for the first time to visit Jason/Juicebox and, like i said, kick the 808 birthday-state into action.  i was gifted a copy of Forced Exposure by the aforementioned genius with features on some minimally influential bands/people!!  i hesitate referring to a zine written largely by Albini as precious, but yeah that's exactly what it is. i think i read the whole thing on the plane back home and more on this issue in the future and more on the tragedy that few folks write with enough witty vitriol anymore.

but before that, we ate 3 courses of vegan swanky decadence at Millennium, after spending the day toying around San Francisco (a whole lot more on that later):

lucky lightning striking down.

let it go

couple days and i'll reach one month of no sugar, no dairy, no wheat, no eggs, no caffeine, no alcohol. this freakish restrictive diet allows me to freakishly recount every infringement which would include a margarita, about five beers, two cocktails and some pancakes that i thought were all buckwheat but they were cut with wheat flour. have to say i feel great. this was doctor suggested; mostly because i've willy nilly cut these things out with no real structure for the last three years and we figured, fuck, let's just do it all and do it all for four weeks and see how my body reacts. two observations off the bat: one, pooping with regularity and with productivity is one of life's lovely simple pleasures and two, waking up and not having to take five minutes to gauge my hangover makes my mornings spring like a super bounce ball. thanks goodness i like to cook and i like to cook healthy and balanced because it made this so easy. i don't know how mcdonald's-a-day types could ever back out of that relationship, especially since "kale" or "flax" are concepts that have probably never fallen from their lips, much less passed through their ears. how depressing.

anyway, here's some multi-faceted celebratory jams. you've got flailing, passive moshing, two of the best beats europe has ever produced, and style so thick i could've spread it on my gluten-free toast this morning.