Today’s soundtrack: I guess you always knew it
Today at 9:02pm: Trying to eat condensed milk toast without making a sticky spectacle of myself.


I have fallen into a hole but it’s not so bad. Because Patsy Cline is down here too, and sometimes friends come to visit. Plus I have my books and cigarettes and pens and notebooks and tins of ground coffee.

I like the cheap stuff, like Maxwell House and Café Bustelo. To me the cheap shit is real. The shit you drink from Seattle is not coffee, it’s something else, some kind of unpleasant soup. When I am a father my child will not be allowed to bring such products into the house.

When people used to ask me what kind of music I listened to, I’d say “Everything except Country.” Now I can’t stop listening to Patsy Cline. I don’t know why, maybe it’s a hormonal thing, like I’m going through some sort of second puberty. I think I’m in love with her. Even though I think she’s already dead. She’s dead, no?

I have about 44 of her MP3s. Due to possible MP3 mislabeling, one of them is in question: Eumi’s convinced the version of “Stand By Your Man” I’ve downloaded is actually Tammy Wynette.

I guess I’m not really in love with Ms. Cline if I can’t tell her voice apart from Ms. Wynette’s. And I don’t even know what she looks like. I’d rather not seek her picture out on the internet because I don’t want to get any nasty surprises. Avoiding nasty surprises is a big part of getting older, at least for me.

Okay Eumi was right, I just listened to “Stand By Your Man” after hearing “Leavin’ On Your Mind” and it is definitely not the same woman. It’s still a good song so I’m going to leave it in the same folder.

The four of us are walking back from dinner, through Chinatown. The sidewalks on Mott Street are narrow and some random woman’s walking behind us at about the same pace.

“So last night I went looking through my MP3 collection for songs about cheating,” says Tony.

“How about that Al Green song I hate,” suggests Lam.

“Patsy Cline,” I say. “She’s got lots of songs about cheating, f’you want I’ll burn you some.”

We throw out the names of some other musically-inclined cheaters and cheatees--Lynyrd Skynyrd, Billy Paul, the Allman Brothers. Talk eventually turns to the song “Crazy,” which Tony points out was sang by Patsy Cline but actually written by Willie Nelson.

“I don’t know that song, how does it go?” asks Moonberry. But neither me, Lam nor Tony are willing to sing it. “Well what’s the chorus?” she asks.

“Crazy for trying, crazy for crying, crazy for loving you,” I say, and I say it rather than singing it. MB points out how ridiculous it sounds when recited in a flat monotone.

(Maybe someday I’ll break up with a girlfriend that way:

“Why are you leaving,” she’ll say.

“Because I’m crazy,” I’ll state. “Crazy for trying, crazy for crying, crazy for loving you.” Then I’ll gather my things and put my hat on while she throws crockery at me. Most of it will miss and hit the wall.)

Next MB asks Lam to sing it, but he either doesn’t know it or he’s pretending not to.

“Do you know ‘Crazy’?” I hear Tony ask the random woman who’s walking behind us.

“I know it, but I’m not gonna sing it if you guys won’t!” says the woman. “I was eavesdropping.” She’s older, blonde, had kind of a faded hippie look going on, pushing 40.

We have a little laugh, but then the woman breaks into a few bars. “Crazy...” she sings, softly. “Crazy for lying, crazy for trying, crazy for loving you....”

I thought it was nice that she sang it so I didn’t point out she’d switched up some lyrics. Patsy’s not crazy for lying; she’s crazy for loving you.