(diaryland) July 8, 2001 - 10:21 p.m.

I just had the most bodacious band practice today. We made up at least nineteen thousand songs, and I got some sore throat action due to extreme hoarse pointless yelling. We need a gig now. Someone give us a gig. Yes, you. Give us a gig.

It will be the first gig we have with a new drummer and a new name. It will be nice and fun. People will clap. I will trip over and the lead will fall out of my guitar. Look out for us. We are Breakfast of Champions (not affiliated with Weeties in any way).

I am nearing my dream of sounding like the guitarist from Them (pre 1966). You know, someday my dream will come true. I love that guitarist. Apparently, Jimmy Page played the fucking cool guitar bits on Them's Baby Please Don't Go. Dang, that's a good song. I love it so much. It makes me wave my booty around.

I am about to start reading V by Thomas Pynchon. I can't wait.