One of my co-workers asked to do a switcheroo with our hours this weekend, so I found myself doing graveyard shifts. The good thing about graveyard shifts is that the workplace is quiet and peaceful, the bad thing is that they really throw a monkey wrench into one's "internal clock". Yesterday was a gorgeous day, warm and sunny, so I didn't want to sleep the whole day away. I made a point of waking up in the early afternoon and spent a couple of hours sitting on the front stoop chatting with neighbors, re-reading Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius and The Approach to Al-Mu'tasim , while drinking homemade limoncello from an old mustard jar (insert "approach to al-Mustardsim" joke...). I figured that I could get snockered, and sleep it off for a few hours before getting up for work (that's how I roll, baby). Sheesh, this sounds like the song Friday, if it were sung by a drunken pseudo/quasi-intellectual.
It's been a quiet night, and the local college radio station I listen to has been playing some fantastic stuff (check out the archives, people). I'd never heard of the band Return to Mono, but the song Framebreaker made an impression on my befuddled "it's 2:45 AM and you haven't got yerba mate" brain:
I've got just an hour and a half to go before I can hit the sack. This evening, I'm planning on hitting Tagine on 9th Ave. to see Secret Science Club goddess Dorian Devins (one of a pantheon of two!) perform some standards. I think I'll need a pot of strong Moroccan coffee to keep me awake.