To Everything, Yawn Yawn Yawn....

Hello people out in late riser land. I am a late riser and I'm really sick of it. I have got to change my sleep patterns, but every time I get started something holds me back -- me. It's only been recently that this penchance for waking up at 2am or going to bed at 10am after being up all night has started.

I have some tricks, mind you -- they don't seem to work. I have tried resetting using melatonin. This helps every now and again but I don't want to keep taking this stuff. I heard good things about Xanax, but I just don't do well with things like that. I know, if a doctor prescribes it then it must be okay, right? Tell that to all the people who had heart attacks after taking Vioxx.

Today, I awoke at the blistering hour of 1:30am after going to sleep at around 8pm the night before. Unable to go back to sleep, I surfed for a while then headed to midtown to look for people doing the late-night thing. My first stop, The Two-Way Inn, was patently closed, probably for the holiday. I drove by Printer's Alley, but I did not stop. Finally, I made it to Alex's to find, lo and behold, it was practically empty save my friend Ian who, unbeknownst to me, was working yet another job as bartender there. I had a burger and multiple refills of soda while I chatted with people drunk at the bar.

Worst moment of the night was listening to a group of people with whom I was acquainted talking about Elliott Smith. Now, I was in another conversation and I only heard the name "Elliott Smith". I turned around and said, "What about him?" The guy looks up and goes, "Oh what a freaking pussy boy! He killed himself the entirely wrong way! He couldn't even do it right, he should've stabbed himself in the head if he was gonna do it. Waah waah...havent whined this much in a loooong time...bwahahahaha!"

Now, I knew they were kidding around and they don't know me that well. Just as I was about to launch into my speech that I have prepared for people who are being insensitive dicks, it occurred to me: these guys are drunk and there are four of them. They don't know what they're saying and probably don't give a rat's ass what I think. So instead, I gave a hard stare to Brandon, the master of ceremonies. Suddenly, as if I had given the speech, the fanfare ceased, the laughs were gone from the table.

Amazing the power of silent stares.

Anyways, I will be back later, skaters.