Show that I'm in:



La Corbiere

But no shit: I was sitting outside work today, and this nice looking blue car drove by with homemade signs on the sides and rear of the vehicle that said:

STOP THE MIND READING

I couldn't be sure, but my memory tells me the woman driving the car looked something like this:

for starting fights so bad at the Warehouse tonight that both the paramedics (who were there to take a coldcocked guy away on a stretcher, and deal with various other bloody people) and the police were called. I am too old to deal with this. I do not have time for this type of bullshit. Kids, almost without exception, only fuck up the space, fight, and act like all around self absorbed assholes durring streetpunk/skin/oi, etc shows. I cannot do them anymore. And at the end of everything tonight, I hope we can still do shows at all. This is the third show of this sort with violence in a row. Appologies are appreciated, but can only go so far. We work very hard keeping the Warehouse togther. It takes alot of time and effort (that is either un, or under-paid) to this place affloat. Kids don't care. They don't come out to support shows, or they come and act like animals.

up the punx,
thanks,
Denman

Okay,

So I am seriously considdering purchasing a blackberry. This week I have been getting up at 7:00, and not getting home until after 11:00 at night. In the interum I have incurred almost 600 band e-mails to respond to. I need something to answer e-mails with wherever I'm at. Questions:

Does anyone know anything about them? (I can get a refurbished one from Cingular for $69.)
Are they worthwhile?
Is the e-mail service dependable?
Can I send/recieve e-mails from my yahoo account?
Can I do this without extra fees?
Will I get mugged alot?
Will I lose my "cred" with "the kids"?

The answers to all this and more wil be in your responses.

So,

There is this guy who comes to the Warehouse. He used to be really annoying, but has recently chilled out. Also, he is going to be directing me in my next play. However, he still irritates many people, and always excpects to get everything here for free...........So I like to play this little "game" with him. He always asks me for special coffee (with a shot of something in it), and I always pour some crazy liquor in it. Today is my crowning achievement. I just gave him a large black coffee with Jager, Sambuca (to cover the jager), southern comfort, and wild turkey. All in all about four shots worth of this mish-mash, or one third of the cup. I cannot keep a straight face......And yet he so far has said nothing about it being odd or strong........

heheheheheheheh
Denman

So,

Everytime it snows these kids hang out around their appartment complexes on 7th, near the Warehouse, and attack people. I don't mean cutesy snowball "attack." I mean come at you to inflict physical violence. So, today I was going to work at about three in the afternoon, and sure enough, there they were. About twenty-thirty "youths" haning out outside the offices (!?!?) of their appartment complex. I'm biking through and a couple crossing the street stop so I can go by. Not really as a friendly gesture but more to shove me down as I pass. Now I'm strapped in using clips and straps (thank god I don't go clipless!!) so I can't really gain my balace using my feet. So, I careen towards the curb with kids shoving, hitting, and pelting me with snowballs. Notice, not a person stops to help, and no one comes out of the offices to break things up. As the kids are screaming in glee I get up, and in a furious monotone, hiss out,"fuck. off." To which a kid in camo comes back at me "what you want some more motherfucker?" At this point there is no course of action. So, I leave, but I do not give anyone the satisfaction of feeling like they have frightened me. As they are still all there debating more pumelling, and tossing a few odd snowballs, I slowly and calmly get on my bike and ride off. I recount the story to my co-workers, pissed off about hitting the curb with my bad knee. And eventually I shake it off............

Hours later, I close down the Warehouse, and procede to my bike. Hitting the pavement I notice an odd sensation. That's when I see that my front tire is flat. You can fuck with me all day long, but do not fucking TOUCH my fucking bike. Walking home made me angry enough, but thinking about my poor impaired bike makes me want to FUCKING KILL EVERY LAST JUVENILE MOTHER FUCKING ONE OF THOSE KIDS WITH A TIRE IRON!!!!!! The worst part is, there is nothing I can do about it. Calling the cops, even at the time of incident, would do nothing (except maybe make the kids angrier. I mean, they are at the suicidal age, they won't stop, even with a police threat.) I couldn't talk to the appartment owners; clearly they don't care. Hell I couldn't have even made it to the door this afternoon. You certainly can't talk to them, that's about as intelligent as trying to take them all on physically. Lenora said I should get some mace or pepper spray. I will admit that I mulled that one over for a while. I imagined my retort to that kids,"What you want some more motherfucker?" to be "EAT PEPPER SPRAY!!" But in reality I can only imagine what would happen if those kids saw me "reaching." I mean a beat-down sure, a gun down....no thanks.

So in conclusion: why are people alowed to propegate?
Man this Cannibal Corpse is helping though.


Say it to your face
Fuck you you fuckin fuck
I hate the human race
Fuck you you fuckin fuck
It's just a useless waste
Fuck you you fuckin fuck
I'm a human rascist
Cuz people fuckin suck!

So, it's snowing here in marry old District, and it is, might I say, fucking beautifull! There was a dribble more than a drizzle when I went to the Cat this evening, but by the time I left I had to find my bike in the pile of snow encasing it. Winter-better late than never. I always get a thrill out of riding through the snow, especially when it's been accumulating. So there I was sloleming through the alps, the music from my favorite decade (okay maybe not so much) still pulsing through my veins, and I shoot through an intersection where a lone individual is rapping, yelling, having an argument, sharing a motivational speech with himself. As I decide to keep periphrial tabs I hear him exclaim,"Damn son, you a soulja, a soulja, a soulja!" And my now repped witty reply was,"Word up!" Seriously, proudest momment of my life. (A post ride photo to follow when the battery on my camera re-charges...)

So,

Last night for no real reason I had insomnia. Not the fun "dig through all your old stuff, and write e-mails to friends at four a.m.," but the "for the love of jesus jumpin jackrabbit can I please PLEASE just go to sleep!!" I also remmember at some point my stomach hurting, and just adding to the excitement. Needless to say today feels very strange. Like floating in water with just a slight current. Thank god I opperate no heavy machinery to pay my bills, or I would be in serious danger of learing to do everything with one hand. It's colder and quite windly today and at some point I remember thinking,"I can feel the wind, but not the temperature. No chill, just ghostly texture." Thinking is a well placed together labor, and my attention span is nil........Everything seems so far away. Thank god I get to take a nap around three.......

So,

Yesterday I got up early so I could go by the grocery store on my way to the Warehouse (yeah, I know almost like I have a real job!....) to pick up food for the day. I was tired and cranky, and wandered around the store in pouty frustration. So, I have no idea why I finally snatched up a jar of peanut butter, a jar of jelly, and a loaf of bread before storming out.

I thought,"Sure peanut butter is filling, maybe I will eat one for luch and take the rest home for late night snacks." Needless to say, I ate about five pb&j's yesterday. I just can't get enough. After my roomate took a fourty-fucking-five minute shower today, and I was FINALLY able to get ready for work (wow I actually said it!) all I could think about was getting here to slather on the creamified peanuts and the abstraction of fruit into "the color purple."

God....I think I'm going to have another.

(Also, I can't stop listening to Jawbreaker today, does this mean I'm pregnant?)

Bands!!!!

So, many bands, so many e-mails. Like rabbits, for everyone I delete two pop up......So many people that want to use e-mail like IM. Brain........hurtz....thinking not so good anymore.........sooooooooo mmmaaaaaaaa aannnnnnnnnyyyyyyyyy bbbbbbbaaaaaaaannnnnn nddddddssssssssssssssss sssssssssssssssssss sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss sssssssssssss ssssssssssssssssssssssssss5555555 55555555555555555 5555555 555555555555 55555555555-------- ------------------------------.... ................. ..................

Jobless update: Another Day.

Slept in today, even later than yesterday. Discovered "exhorbinant" is not a word. Took an exorbitant shower. Went to Sparkey's, had a bagel, drank some coffee, read the New Yorker. Saw a barista friend of mine, who asked about my voice. She also said one of her co-workers is lobbying to get me to work there. Nothing exites me more than the prospect of working at a place I hang out in all the time. Came home, checked the classifieds. Regret not having a MA in business administration. I am curiously pessimitic about the lack of well paying, part time jobs in the arts in the DC area. Still cannot check my e-mail from home since my pornophile roomate has screwed up random parts of our home network for the past month or so. I will have to wait until I'm at the Warehouse tomorow (FOUR FULL HOURS OF WORK!!!) to see if I've gotten any repsponses to my few work-related queries. At least I am oppening a show tonight.

Denman

I just found my digital camera that has been missing for over six months!!!!!
(Myspace look out!)

K-I won't post anything else today.

Jobless updates: day-Whatever day it is.

Got up at noon; took an exhorbinant shower. Am going go to Sparkey's for breakfast. Maybe later I'll clean my room and send some e-mails. At some point I will leave for dress rehearsal. Probably not going out after that. Still worried about having lost my voice Mon, and openning on Fri. Will probably not feel motivated enough to do anything than watch adult swim until I fall asleep. Will probably wake up tomorow and do something very similar........

Denman

So,

It has recently come to my attention that I need another job. Not a different job, just an additional one. Working at the Warehouse has become part-part time, and for some reason (though I was making a shit-ton this fall) freelancing has kind of dried up. I know most people would dream of a life where day in, day out they roll off the bed whenever, and do nothing. This kind of life sends me running for the barrell of a gun. Any advice (the kind I'm excpecting or real advice) that could help me get a two-three day a week 9-5 ish job in the area would be greatly appreciated.

"Do they owe us a living? 'Course they fucking do!"
Denman

This is from Democracy Now today. I know this is really news, but I felt like putting on the fp.


"Today is the start of the Survivors General Assembly and Strategy Conference in Jackson, Mississippi. Katrina survivors are gathering at this conference and demanding the right to return to their homes and to take part in the reconstruction process. They are also calling for reparations for what they say is the government's criminal indifference and malicious actions towards the survivors before, during and after Katrina.

AMY GOODMAN: We'll turn now to excerpts from that hearing. We hear first from Ishmael Muhammad, an attorney for the Advancement Project, part of the People's Hurricane Relief Fund.

ISHMAEL MUHAMMAD: The purpose of the People's Hurricane Relief Fund and Mississippi Disaster Relief Coalition is to insure that those who have suffered the most before, during and after Katrina, and whose voices have been historically disregarded, are empowered to be heard and take charge of the monies being raised in their names, the reconstruction of their communities, and the repairing of their lives. Therefore, the testimony that I'm going to give today, on behalf of the legal work that we're doing and on behalf of the People's Hurricane Relief Fund and the Mississippi Disaster Relief Coalition, will be from those voices. And we urge all of you to seek out those voices that we cannot bring you today.

Denise, a 42-year-old black woman from New Orleans, interned in the Convention Center, reports, “I thought I was in hell. I was there for two days with no water, no food and no shelter, with my 63-year-old mother, 21-year-old niece and two-year-old grandniece and thousands of others. Police would not come out of their cars. National Guard trucks rolled by, completely empty, with soldiers with guns cocked and aiming at us. Nobody stopped to drop off water. A helicopter dropped a load of water, but all of the bottles exploded on impact. Many people were delirious from lack of water and food, completely dehydrated. Inside the Convention Center, conditions were horrible. The floors were black and slick with feces. Outside wasn't much better, between the heat, the humidity, the lack of water, and old and very young dying from dehydration. There were young men with guns there, who organized the crowd and got food and water for the old people and babies, because nobody had eaten in days. When buses came, it was those men who got the crowd in order. Old people in front, women and children next, men in the back. Many people decided to walk across the bridge to the west bank, but armed police ordered them to turn around at the top of the bridge. The first day, four people died next to me, the second day, six. Make sure you tell everybody,” she said, “that they left us there to die.”

Nicole, a young black woman from New Orleans, who was interned in the Superdome, states, "We survived despite being abandoned by federal, state and local government. Black families with children and no money were the majority in the Superdome. I noticed only 5% of people were not black and they were mostly unfortunate white and Asian tourists. While waiting in line behind a barricade for 18 hours to board a bus away from the Superdome, I noticed a group of tourists, three white and two Asian people, rushed quietly out one side of the barricade that held thousands of exhausted, financially underprivileged black families with babies. The looting was people's main rebellion, because it was hotter than Satan's oven in the Dome and people wanted cold drinks, ice, anything cold. The National Guard did not serve or protect. They were constantly threatening us and herding us by machine guns like cows. I saw a teenage boy beaten up by a National Guard officer in front of a crowd of thousands of people. The National Guard was disorganized. They did not try to instill order to the chaos of ration distribution. Nobody ever knew when or where food was given out, and people stood in line for hours. I was alone and female. Many of the older men and women were protective of me in the Superdome. Nobody really laid a hand on me, except for a white police officer, Officer Hall, badge 185 or 158 (I wish I could remember). He grabbed my booty in Texas during a 3:00 a.m. bus search, while we were on the way to Dallas. The U.S. is the richest country in the world. I don't understand why so many people would have to die in Hurricane Katrina. The U.S. has the money to evacuate people in a disaster, especially one that has been awaited for a number of years.”

Shelly, a 31-year-old who was trapped in the Superdome, adds, "When buses came to take us from the Superdome, they were taking tourists first. White people, they were just picking them out of the crowd. I don't know why we were treated the way we were. But it was like they didn't care.”

Alva, a 51-year-old grandmother from New Orleans East, remembers, “When we were taken to the higher ground in Jefferson Parish, what did we have to greet us? A line of military police with M-16 rifles. They watched us, caged us, laughed at us, took pictures of us with their camera-phones. I saw a young man get down on his knees and beg for water for his little baby, and I saw the child die right there on the concrete. This was murder. They wanted us dead. They just didn't think so many of us would survive."

Tammy, a black woman in her mid-30s, complains, “I was trying to evacuate with my two daughters by car, when we were stopped by police, made to get out and told, ‘Lie down on the ground, you black monkey bitch.’ I was arrested and thrown in jail with my daughters and could not get out for several weeks.”

John, a New Orleans resident displaced at the Houston Astrodome, says, “I was in the Astrodome and told to move from the bleachers to the field on the lower area, but I refused because I had seen dead bodies down there and I was with some of my 12 children in the upstairs area. There were just too many unsafe issues down there. I was forced to leave the stadium. Me and my family were taken out at rifle-point.”

Agnes, a 70-something-year-old Creole woman who was a resident of Iberville Public Housing Development; Maybell, a woman in her late-70s, a longtime resident of St. Bernard Public Housing Development; Joseph and Cynthia, who are residents of B.W. Cooper Public Housing Development; and Alberta, who is a resident of Lafitte Public Housing Development, have all been displaced, and all are wondering why they have to be locked out of their public housing residence when their homes have received little to no flooding and are habitable.

These stories illustrate that these are the people who need to be heard, because their stories illustrate the failures of the government on every level."

Someone help me; my life has devolved to repeating Jawbreaker on the stereo over and over!
(Not that there is anything wrong with that....you understand.....)

I am yet again in another play (so is mylife). It runs in the NCDA space in Georgetown for a month. We open on the 14th (Yes, that's this week), and though the suggested price is $25 (I believe), Charter Theatre is always pay-what-you-can. Anyway if you are interested, here is the info:

Yar, here be the info



*remeber this is at NCDA in Georgetown, NOT the Warehouse

Yar, here be some promo's






Okay that's it, hope you are all having a great day.

Ladies and gentlemen, I submit to you the only holiday worth celebrating, in the only season that reminds us that we are alive. The countdown begins today. Here's to you and your loved ones in this very special time.

Love,
Denman

So, if you are me and you are reading this post the same way that I am writing this post, you have just hit play on Joe Jackson's "Steppin' Out."

In leu of recent events, even the smallest things can mean the most, and what normally constitues a mundaine evening becomes an adventure. I tried my best to get away from my demons this evening, and the first step I took was to role the dice with a visit to the Black Cat. Yes I know, it's one of the only two places I inhabit in DC, but tonight it was different. I ran in to my friend Rusty. By now I've realised that I really am starving for human interaction, and hiding away is just making things worse. So I was thrilled to spend some quality time with a person that I feel I can talk to. We pulled up a spot at the bar and held out until the bitter end. I slugged back water straight up, while Rusty preffered Bud Light and straight wiskey. I got all the bad news up front and out of the way right off the bat, so we could move on to greater things. It basically went like any lengthy exchange between fifteen year old boys. I don't have to do an impression, you can all fill those blanks in. At one point Evan Dando from the Lemonheads (on the mainstage this evening) strolled out in to the red room from backstage. For some reason Rusty came up with amazing scenario where he walks over and decks the man. We both thought this was a great idea and spent about an hour discussing the logistics and rationale of this action. (By now you should have switched to "Surrender" after spinning "Jail Break") In the end he and his hipster entourage had to leave the bar the same as we did.

Instead of peddaling home, I opted to stick with Rusty who thought he might see if anyone was still at his workplace. Someone who might possibly be able to give him, say, a beer. We wavered a crisscross of a pattern to get from 14th to 18th street. In the end it was all for naught. The lights were off, and nobody was home. We saw a crowd accross the street, and used this as the impetous to not give up the good fight. (Okay now switch to "Fiends of P") We had been sold out once again, as it was just a crowd departing from some overly important club. However Dan, my favorite homeless guy in DC was wandering through his customers. He magically had a guitar, and did an original piece for us that involved seeing his face melt in the mirror while drinking whiskey and smoking crack. We tossed him a few well earned dollars, and I told him about a show going on at the Warehouse.

Rusty told me his plan was to zag from there to the Dinner, and when I said that sounded like a worthwhile plan he addmitted that it wasn't really a plan so much as a thought that just occured to him. (Okay follow me here, Jawbox "Savory") On the way over I told him about a short play that I was tossing around in my head. For me it would be a humorous way to make a statement about unrealistic lifestyles we are fed. It would be a guy (or girl, whatever) going about a normal day. Okay maybe a more exciting day than ususal; you know stopping by a party, going to a show, then unwinding at some late night spot. So the first time through it would be a realistic approach with all the ups downs and looooong middles that we really encounter. Then a screen would come down, and we would watch in awe as the whole thing was replayed via a flashy, slowmotion, tv montage compete with horrible OC soundtrack. (Which reminds me, now let's go waaay back: Faith No More "Epic") We talked out all the details until finally we were at the final destination.

Luckily Adams Morgan does not party terribly hard on Wed, night, so it was relatively easy to get a table there. Looking at the menu we decided that fries and coffe was the only option of the hour. He mixed his with gravy while mine went to it's demise via ketchup. The service was remarkably good, and soon we both had had one too many cups of coffee. Still and all while I was wired, Rusty kept falling asleep mid conversation. Starring blankly at me, eyes wide shut. At one point there was this terrible "brit-pop" electro song that came blaring over the system (while you should now be listening to Sonic Youth "Mote"). I looked up and saw Rusty and myself in some energetic, conversational post, palming coffee cups, surrounded by hip people and realised: This was it. This was the second half of my play, and for a momment (though we were moving far too fast) we were living that unrealistic, hyper-existance.

This I considerred to be the climax of the evening. We killed our mugs, and Rusty called for a taxi. We stood outside for a few momments, and talked about Rusty going to his parents house for his week and a half vacation. Then a long red car whisked him into the night. Well, I say night loosely; at this point it was four in the morning.

I sailed home in the crisp early morning air. DC was a ghost town. That is the only wonderfull thing about a city who rolls up it's streets early, Careening through the darkness, admiring the block after block that is completely yours.

Now I am home, the day is done. And as simple as it was, god I needed this.

P.S. It is late so I am not proofing this, but I am listening to the Dismemberment Plan's "You are Invited"

So,

I just found out that a young cousin of mine died. He couldn't have been ten years old. When he was four or five doctors found a large and frightening tumor in his brain, and luckily he survived a risky opperation to have it removed. It was a dream come true for my aunt and uncle (from Texas, who had to evacuate), the only members on my mother side of rich asshole, rascists who I actually call family. This morning he simply wouldn't wake up. He was found by his older brother. Normally if someone passed on from my mother's family I wouldn't stop my sched. to deal with it, but I really would like to make it to the funeral. I guess in the end it caught up with him.

fuck everything

So,

I've been trying to contact people I know down in MS/LA to try and figure out what we can do from here to help (No, not what national campaigns are suggesting, but real people, from the area). Anyone got any updates on that? What more does the armory need? I also have begun to consider going to MS in november for a while and try to help out more directly. Any other ideas?

So, considdering this is the fp, I will spare you the humorous details, but let's just say that a week ago I was hand dragged into an audition at the Warehouse (I was running a band load in, and had no interest). A week later and I just accepted an unknown roll in a trailer being filmed this weekend to raise funds for a movie about:

*Zombies