Friday night I went over to the Citypaper to work with Ben to finish the layout on this new split LP I have coming out. Also, some guys from the Catalyst wanted to come by and scan a painting for the cover of their EP. Turns out Eric from the Catalyst works at another location of the same resteraunt where that lady found a thumb in her salad. Weird. So, we went to the Black Cat after. Chuck served me a Guiness as soon as he saw me again, but it was okay because Ben was there and he drinks Guiness. We hung out with Laura and Cricket and I saw my friend Jess. There was some confusion about how Cricket was gonna get home, since she was drunk, but it got sorted out. We ended up staying until last call and then were engaged by someone who we thought was friends with Angele, then proceeded to ruthlessly bash Angele, as well as seemingly flirt with Ben, which resulted in him burning my hand with a cigarette. Two faced drunk girls RULE!
Saturday I woke up to my friend Joe asking me if I wanted to go eat at Barnside.
Of course, I did.
So I jumped in my car, drove out there to meet him - but there was a wait. So we went to McDonalds instead. After, I had to get ready to do this photo shoot for this band I'm friends with, Triac. My friends Blake and Chadd came and picked me up and we swung by Mark's house. The plan was to go shoot inside this abandoned insane asylum, but it was raining so we didn't want to tromp through the muddy woods to sneak in the back way.
Mark's house was pretty nice - near mine, kinda, and he had 3 garages! This is pretty amazing, when you think about it, because you can use them for whatever. They use one as a practice space, one as a wood shop and another as a sort of den. I never even really though about garages before. When I buy a house, I definitely want one.
So, we went out to this tunnel and to this bridge, and to their practice space to take photos. Now, band photos are hard. They are generally ALWAYS lame, just by the nature of the beast. When I do them - which I haven't in forever - I just try to make it the minimum amount of lame as possible. I think I managed to do some of that.
So, we shot some at the MARC station, but then it started to rain... We rushed into Blake's car and he threw it in reverse... And ran over a median in the parking lot. POP, there went one tire. All of us but Blake started to chuckle, then we all got out (in the rain) to help. Eventually, we got back on the road and what did we see, stretching out over the whole sky? A huge rainbow. Not very metal, but cool.
At this point I have to get home because I'm suppossed to go see this movie about people who desire to be amputees for sexual reasons... So I get home, print directions, go pick up Cricket... But when we meet my friend Brad there, there's no movie. I either was told, or more likely assummed, it was at the wrong theater. So I call Marcia to tell her we won't make it, and we eat Indian food instead, then go to the Big Hunt to have a beer, then go see City of God - which was amazing.
We managed to score an amazing parking spot in Dupont, but along with 161423872 club flyers, there is a parking ticket. We spend a few minutes pondering the legality of our spot - there are like, 3 different parking signs so it's somewhat confusing. Eventually I shrug and admit that I don't care about the ticket. Like Loren says, you just have to budget for these things sometimes. We drive Brad to his car and try to give him directions out of the city. I later find out he had advntures finding his way. Cricket and I go back to her place and try to watch The Two Towers, but fail miserably. That movie is just too long, I have never been able to make it all the way through it.
The next day, I have all these good intentions for what I'm going to get done, but I do very little of it. I do manage to do my laundry, take Ben to get art supplies, eat at a Mexican place, clean my room, and putter around however. I even painted a little. And discover we have either mice or squirrels living in our attic. I put out traps.
Its the in thing to do.
So, I'll post about my weekend.
Every weekend is the same these days. I can't even remember what I did...
Lets see... Thursday night I might have done some bong hits if it was legal. So lets assume that it is, and that I did.
I sat and watched some quality television on VHS, and was joined by Rachel H and her roomate-to-be, Kate. I know about 30 people named Kate or Katie. I will lump the Kates and Katies into one group, and so I will call this one Kate 30. I don't know her last name.
I do know some of the last names of these Kates and Katies, but I will count them in the totality of Katiedom, for the sake of accuracy. Kathys will be left out, as there is really only one Kathy that I can think of, and I have never heard her called by any other name.
Kate 30 is a very nice girl. If, again, smoking pot was legal, we three ladies would have done so. So lets pretend that it is, and that we did. We giggled for a little while. I drank some red wine.
We went to the Ottobar. It was a Thursday night, but inexplicably crowded at the Ottobar.
Thursday night was fun. For a few hours, the depressed Kara took a hike, and I was witty and happy, and comfortable around my friends and others.
After a bit of socializing, I realized I'd lost track of Rachel and Kate 30, so I wandered around until I came across Kate.
"Have you seen Rachel?," I asked.
She shrugged.
"I feel bad, since she drove me here and I abandoned her."
"I don't know," she said.
"Okay then, well... I don't feel as bad," I laughed. "When are you guys moving in?"
She looked at me and I came to the realization at what was coming...
"I think you have me mistaken for someone else..." she said to me.
Well, she had the same hairstyle! The girl introduced herself, but in Kara fashion, I don't remember her name.
That's what happens when I don't feel introverted. I go ahead and open my mouth and I fuck it up.
I was hungover on Friday. Carla, Angie, Ted and I went out for drinks that night, but I basically ended up sitting at the Club Charles with the City Paper for company while they went dancing next door.
I've lost my will to dance, really.
Saturday, I woke up and made my way to the post office. Excitement galore. Magazines, junk mail, checks, postcards. A friend of mine burned me some DVDs - "The Man Who Wasn't There," which I haven't seen yet and won't watch until I'm more chipper overall, "Mad Max," "Blade Runner," and "The Complete Truth About De-Evolution." I didn't even request these specific titles. This guy is just intuitive with good taste. He was one of the photographers in my magazine.
I can't remember what I did in the afternoon, aside from cleaning myself and my apartment.
Saturday night was also pretty mundane. I made a mix CD for this girl Steph, whose birthday was that night. I am burnt out on cupcake baking, being that someone I know has had a birthday every single day this week. She seemed appreciative.
If dealing drugs was legal, I would have somehow ended up facilitating such an interaction by introducing two aquaintences to each other. Luckily this is not the case. If it were, I would have then gotten snippy with a friend who I thought was giving me a hard time. Later, I would have discovered that the friend was not giving me a hard time, but was attempting to partake, and then I would have felt like an ass all around.
And THEN, I would have decided that none of it really matters. I would have had another beer.
I was pained that Kate 28 was looking glum. I didn't want to be nosey, so I couldn't really help or ask what was wrong. I still don't know. When you know too many people, its hard to be happy, if you're the sentimental type. I tend to always worry about the person who isn't having a good time. There's ALWAYS someone who's not having a good time.
After LAST CALL LAST CALL FINISH UP GET OUT, we went to a party. Carla, Erica, Rachel D. (not Thursday's Rachel), and I went to Fells Point to this awful party full of smelly anarchists. After about 15 minutes, we went to this awful party in Charles Village full of dumb drunks. One of said drunks was the annoying bitch who, last Monday, screamed into my face about how I was Chris X's ex-girlfriend. She decided that I was now her friend. Immune to my icy stares, she attempted to inflict me with more of her annoyingness.
I got home by 4am, and slept all day on Sunday. I had planned on looking for cars, but I didn't even open an eye until 1pm. I then decided just to wait until next week, like I have been doing for the past few months.
Brie called me in the evening and we went to the laundromat. I am wearing a clean sweater as we speak, and the scent of detergerent is so faintly familiar, exciting - it makes me want to reach for the stars.
I'm sure I will start doing just that after I write this post.
We went by her house to dine on Polish sausage, olives, and cheese. I also got to handle some 3-week old kittens. What in the world is better than puppies and kittens, I ask?
I came home and went to bed some more. I woke up. I came here. I wrote this post. I re-read it and wondered why I wrote it.
So, my fucking weekend started Friday. After work I went to this place in Evanston that serves an Atkin's Pizza. The crust is made entirely of sausage. I have no idea how a sausage this wide is produced. My hypothesis is that a genetic freak boneless pig creature is vivisected by supersonic cutting blades.
G and G's Wife and L and A. and also P. were there.
I was tired, and as I wrote last week, we were supposed to see Richard Buckner at Schubas. Instead, we totally fagged out and spent the night at this bar, "The Inner Town Pub" that looked like a nose-dive from outside. Complete with butt-ugly sign straight from a Brenda Starr conceit. "Look, the sign has articulated, noir nipples" I kept telling everyone. No one cared.
Inside was heaven. Two ladies manned the bar. They were hotties in retro clothes. Some heoroin-faced chick in red fish-net stocking and heels precariously strung decorations up around a burgeoning pool game. The place was filled with aging hipsters, which, if I'm not a hipster, at the very least I'm aging, So these are my people. The Juke Box is eclectic scuzz tops. Patsy Cline, Naked Raygun, and Thee Headcoatees. There are velvet paintings everywhere. And a shrouded Mona Lisa that a woman at work informed me yesterday, was her cop-husband's contribution to the aesthetic. Man, i was happy there. Happier still, though, because BEER was jobs programs from the mentally feeble spending money cheap - 14 dollars for 4 pints and a glass of whiskey. Man, I was happy, I never wanted to leave. Plus, I could have gone home with every fucking woman in that bar. And their dates.
Next, to the Rainbo room, chasing Liz Phair's ghost, I guess. The tamale guy came in hawking his tamale's "Hot Tamale, Hot Tamale." he said. I had none of his Tamales. There are very few places to sit, so I bumped into people a lot. Honestly, the Rainbo room sucked ditch balls, you know, tennis balls that sit in ditches for months. I disliked the people and the bar. But not the music, which gave me a hardon.
Again, if the Rainbo room hadn't been filled with homosasquatches of all races, genders, sizes and ethnic persuasion, I could have gone home with them all. By the time we left, I was considering what to do with the bodies.
Next, the Hookah bar, around the corner. Here's an idea, instead of rubbing elbows with yuppies and paying some Asiatic wannabe eight dollars to pump smoke into my mouth, I'll go home and rub Ban Roll-on across my tongue a few times.
So, we ended the night at the Hollywood, I had hashbrowns and chocolate cake. So did L and A. But A. had something covered in frosting the color of Nana's old Buick's upholstery.
Later, I slapped my balls against some bitch's ass, while she tried to give me anal sex with a wooden dildo.
The next morning, I woke up in a puddle of my own coagulating blood. I read the paper and someone fixed eggs, bacon and coffee.
I shifted nervously during breakfast because, honest to god, I eventually relented the night before. We forewent Hot Doug's for the Riverview but not before going to Best Buy for the FireWire card I needed. (USB 2.0 BLOWS for PC/IPOD makeout sessions). At the Riverview I smoked too much and considered the ludic nature of myself as an introvert. How easily misunderstood I am in that regard, and my real need for time away from people. The slag piles along the River by North are tremendous. I'm going to take some pictures. Later, at a record store, I found Bab's Superman. With her hair on that album, she looks like Orphan Annie turning tricks to fund the likudniks.
Sunday, I cleaned, did laundry, finished "Nothing Feels Good" which doesn't end as well as it started devoting enormous amounts of time and space to Carrabba. As Myriam said: "I thought that Dashboard was a fake emo band, anyway."
Then I went to work for a while. Poked around here and went home. At home I had an hour long conversation with my parents mostly about my reasons for not taking online courses and why I'm not worried about contracting hepatitis through tattoos... "But it's the ink, they say that the ink is what gets contaminated" "Ma, it's not the fucking ink."
Later I spoke to A. about P. and D. But the gyros called. And that was my fucking weekend. You fucks.
"Fellow Americans, it is with the utmost pride and sincerity
that I present this recording, as a living testiment and recollection
of history in the making during our generation."
Allow me to re-introduce myself
My name is Hov', OH, H-to-the-O-V
I used to move snowflakes by the O-Z
I guess even back then you can call me
CEO of the R-O-C, Hov'!
Fresh out the fryin pan into the fire
I be the, music biz number one supplier
Flier than a piece of paper bearin my name
Got the hottest chick in the game wearin my chain, that's right
Hov', OH - not D.O.C.
But similar to them letters, "No One Can Do it Better"
I check cheddar like a food inspector
My homey Strict told me, "Dude finish your breakfast"
So that's what I'ma do, take you back to the dude
with the Lexus, fast-forward the jewels and the necklace
Let me tell you dudes what I do to protect this
Shoot at you actors like movie directors
This ain't a movie dog.
"Now before I finish, let me just say
I did not come here to show out, did not come here to impress you
Because to tell you the truth when I leave here I'm GONE!
And I don't care WHAT you think about me - but just remember,
when it hits the fan brother, whether it's next year, ten years,
twenty years from now, you're gonna be able to say
that these brothers lied to you JACK!"
Ving ain't lie
I done came through the block in everything that's fly
I'm like, Che Guevara with bling on, I'm complex
I never claimed to have wings on
Nigga I get mine - by any means on whenever there's a drought
Get your umbrellas out because, that's when I brainstorm
You can blame Shawn, but I ain't invent the game
I just rolled the dice, tryin to get some change
And I do it twice, ain't no sense in me
lyin as if, I am a different man
And I could blame my environment but
there ain't no reason why I be buyin expensive chains
Hope you don't think users are the only abusers
niggas gettin high within the game
If you do then, how would you explain?
I'm ten years removed, still the vibe is in my veins
I got a hustler spirit, nigga period
Check out my hat yo, peep the way I wear it
Check out my swag' yo, I walk like a ballplayer
No matter where you go, you are what you are player
And you can try to change but that's just as hot player
Man, you was who you was 'fore you got here
Only God can judge me, so I'm gone
Either love me, or leave me alone.
- Jay-Z, "Public Service Announcement", the Black Album/the Gray Album
