A Thousand Pieces Around (Me)

Yes there are days like this. I wake up on my couch unsure of how I fell asleep on my couch. Oh I remember. I never went to my bed. I curled up on the couch with a laptop and a remote and a cat and a bottle of Target's store brand water. After the Ambien. And next thing I know it's the sunrise and is that the Hollywood sign dead-clear in the hills, no fog and smog in the way? Yes it is. Wasn't I just waking up on Emerson Avenue in south Minneapolis, putting on my glasses so I can look out into the alley to see if the snow stuck to the ground? Wasn't that just yesterday? No. That was more than years ago and then there are days like this.

So I get out of bed and change the cat litter and discover that that new brand of "revolutionary" litter... those spring-fresh-scented pellets that would make my life easier.... well, they don't exactly work. You see - they get rid of the urine odor but allow the actual feline urine to coalesce in the little space above the "filter." When I lifted up the box to pour the litter out, I also poured out... never mind. I'll just say I cleaned it all up and returned the old purple litter box to its rightful place. The kitchen no longer smells like urine. Rather, it smells like Begley's Best surface cleaner.

In between the waking up and seeing the Hollywood sign and changing the cat litter I watched a Hulu'd episode of Psych. It's getting closer - the moment when I declare Psych the true revolution, at least during the Monk hiatus. I know - what the hell happened to me? I used to have an edge. I bought R.E.M. 12-inch singles in unlit low rent indie record stores in '84. I wateched Spike Lee's student film in the student-run screening room on the crappy student-run film projector at the University of Minnesota back in '85. I saw the Tindersticks at the Troubador in '96, with 23 other people in the room and a heatwave outside. And here I am praising shows on the USA Network - but dude on Psych they referenced the Robert Forster-read audiobook of Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections in an offhand truly unnecessary aside. I loved that book (the printed one). He needs to write another one. Essays don't count.

I'm writing this from the Sabor y Cultura coffeehouse on Hollywood Boulevard. High ceilings, space between tables, and free internet. Perfect for a Sunday morning. Pretty good coffee. I'm listening to The National on my headphones. Two songs left and then it's Nellie McLay on the alphabetical playlist. So yeah I need to take action soon. Sunday has just begun.