You Know You’re The One And That That Hasn’t Changed
Since You Were Nineteen And Still In School Waiting On A Light
On The Corner By Sound Exchange
Not a real last post, a last - here - post, plus, I've already had like 3 last posts. If you call the fireman he'll climb right up his ladder, at the very least a Weekend Update post.
Let's begin.
Friday I left work a tad early to go with L. to R. to purchase Old Enough 2 Know Better, (Lest I begin to sound like certain other killogger, I swear this will be my last mention, other than a description of the actual thing) I read this month's Rockpile on the way over and met L at his new place off of Belmont. From there we walked down to Reckless and purchased there two copies of Old Enough 2 Know Better, one used one not used. Then we had 4 way chili at 5 pepper chili. But the 4 way sort of devolved into two separate components of greasy and non-greasy voyeurism. I touched dog. And a girl stomped my foot. On the way back, we stopped at "Land of the Lost" to which I shall return later this week. The guy who owns the store knows Mike owner/bartender of C's bar downtown and invited us to go to this fest enjoined us, really. If anyone would like to own a pair of vintage Star Wars Sheets, I can purchase them there for you, but you have to ask me by 5:00 o'clock tomorrow They also have for sale a Snake Mountain condition unknown. Then, we went to the Army Surplus and looked at shoes. Certain shoe production capacity has gone to zero, so, as shoe inventories dwindle, shoe prices go up - way the fuck up. I declined. Then, we parted ways. I hadn't slept in many hours. I went home and Rachel came over, gave me a valium and she rubbed my back until I fell asleep and she fell asleep next to me. Sometime early in the morning, I woke, we fucked, then I kicked her out because it was Saturday
I rushed on the bike to the train station to make it in time - I was lateish - I hate leaving my bike at Foster, where half a dozen mangled frames warn of unseen malefactors. It didn't really matter, CTA's sterling record of incompetence would have made me late anyway. On the train, I read a really excellent article in the Believer about this year's MLA conference, the place of the English Professor, and a really egregious use of a, let's call it, prepositional phase "what for." I really dug this author and the way he explored the realities and perceptions involved in university-level humanities scholarship. During the second day of the convention, he pins down a Queer Studies professor, who lays it out for him: scholarship is not meant to be therapy, college English and jargon is written for peers, not the public, writing by humanities professors for the public is separate and should be analyzed separately. (that last point is something that's become enormously apparent to me working here) he briefly discussed the de Man stuff, which bothered me as a student. Anyway, no great breakthoughs, though - and certainly much more than what I am presenting here. He admits at one point that growing up, English Prof. had the same dazzling effect on him that airline pilot or astronaut has on other people. I respond to moments of recognition like that.
Somewhere on the way over, I realized that, despite the chili, I had not farted at all. I was amazed. I met L. and we walked over to Wishbone on School and something, Lincoln, maybe: The place offers Southern Reconstruction Comfort Food, I had cheese grits, a jambalaya omelette (du fromage) and toast, M. had french-toast dipped in corn-flakes, and I forget the rest. I drank a tank of coffee. And we had a fabulous gay waiter who bantered with us. Those gays! They sure do know how to banter. I tried to tip him hard. But, no one was having that.
the receptionist had the best Polish, accent. Those Pollacks! Next we walked to Propaganda, but they don't make t-shirts. So, B.A.L.M, wandered over to Roscoe Village thrift. And things got fucking awesome.
First, I found this t-shirt for a bar mitzvah that says" I had a blast at Michael's Bar Mitzvah" with a date, and a graphic of a dildo-shaped space ship blasting off. Priceless - 2 bucks - fits me great. Then, I found a polo style shirt for a church choir, with the name "Peaches" on the back. M. found this awesome blue, plastic vest and purple sequined get-up for a Prince concert that night. L. got a jack daniels thing. I wandered downstairs and found a Atari 2600 in perfect conditions with all the accessories and a perfectly preserved Bell and Howell Super 8 camera. Then, I started testing the luggage they have - most of it is locked with no combinations on the outside, some of it is unlocked but too flimsy. Hardly anyone is around, so, I begin testing all the suitcases by tossing them as a baggage handler would (as I used to when I worked as a baggage handler at O'Hare) L. wants to leave and asks me about the luggage:
"All of it is locked I said, what isn't, sucks"
Thinking I'm demonstrating with one I've already inspected, I threw it on the ground. Something thumped inside. I tried to open it. It popped open, inside was a time capsule of an insane man who disappeared in 1990.
Inside were checks to the IRS in small, monthly payments, plans to move to Mexico, perscriptions for both Lithium and Valium, medical records, lists of things to put in the suitcase, brochures about opening a White Hen Pantry, His SS#, tons of newspaper clippings, random, insane notes to himself.
I bought the suitcase.
Later, we went to this t-shirt place and submitted our orders.
Then, at the Brown elephant, there was a fountain for 1,800 dollars. The fountain originally commemorated someone who was killed in that airplane crash Art mentioned earlier last week. It was butt ugly. I bought a semi-dressy shirt and tried on all of their suit jackets.
We went to pennies for dinner and then to Stranger Cargo. Then I went home. I found the hotel's sauna and rec-room. Worked out, fell asleep and woke up late to meet everyone at the hungry-brain - second bar I ever visited here, favorite, tied with the empty bottle, Carol's, the Fireside and the venerable Hideout - although Matilda's and the Tiny Bar will always hold a place in my heart.
I ate cigarette butts, discussed my regrets, my future, ate tamales that the tamale guy brought: "Hola Amigos! Hot Tamales!" "Tamale Man, I'm leaving Chicago, take your picture with me!" "Of course, Amigo!" "Viva Tamales!" Flash. (not a drop of listeria on my breath this morning,) Everyone chipped in and bought me a hungry brain t-shirt that I will never wear, except to pick up high school girls in BR. "Hey little lady, ever heard of the hungry brain? No? Wanna slob my knob, cochie?" L.E.A. went to a party after. "You're a marine Biologist?" I asked someone claiming to be a Marine Biologist "Yes, I am" "Tell me," I asked sinking forward in my chair "Do you have any opinions about carp?" (I wanted to pounce my snakehead to kill carp, electric eels to kill the snakehead, genetically altered rubber-trees to vanquish the electric eels scheme for ecological balance on her, but mostly, she talked about shrimp and her dildoes) Some other girl chimed in that she often shamed her man by finishing herself off in the bathroom, in his earshot after she tired of him during sex.
You are a horrible person, I thought, please don't have children.
It was 4.
I called Rachel, but she was too coked-up to come hang out. So, I went home with A. and that was fine. I slept well past 2 p.m. Got up, missed my last lunch with D. Headed to Belmont and met R. to go to the Observatory which has all kinds of cacti and succulents, a variety of ferns, the famous double coconut, the century plant, and the "Golden Shower Tree" - picture and nameplate forthcoming. Outside is a replica of Monet's garden - filled with bees. The light was awesome. I really hope that they came out good, the pictures. On the way over, we watched a teenager paw his mother like she was a girlfriend, it was - very disturbing. It was pointed out to me that a certain bridge had been stuck in the "up" position for over a decade. I ate at some place called Campeche.
On Friday, Nick, Angie and I went down to VA.
The Ken Stringfellow show was okay. Very, very mellow. I wish he had played more songs on guitar, but he played most of them on piano.
Not the best pianist. Very witty though.
After the show, we stopped in College Park to get some food.
We sat down at Barnside Diner, and were served coffee.
I heard a loud bang, but didn't really perk up. "Is somebody drunk in the bathroom?" someone asked.
Suddenly, I heard another loud bang, and glass breaking just a few feet behind me. Patrons began running for the door. I stood up and looked at the broken window. The hood of a van barged through the wall.
In the parking lot, one of the Barnside waitresses' car had been destroyed. A van had backed into her car, bashing it up a hill and crunhing the hood halfway in.
Then, the van had pulled forward and driven into the wall of the Barnside diner.
The driver of the van was a middle aged woman. She looked confused but not drunk.
Saturday morning I woke up, got my oil changed, and headed for New York.
I met up with my friend Amber. We went to a party of a fetish model friend of hers. I met some nice people.. other models, drag queens, photographers, and artists.
Most of the conversation was about Ambers new breast implants, and fetishgossip.com, a site made by someone with too much time on their hands, bitterly mocking various models and photographers.
Afterward, we stayed up late and Amber showed me the trailer for a possible documentary on the "new burlesque revival," we talked about peoples' various projects and things. I'm pretty out of touch with all of that anymore.
I had some awesome breakfast at this Diner place. Scrambled eggs with chives, salami, and cream cheese.
The drive home was nice and painless.
I got home and showered, and got into my Snoopy pajamas. Angie wanted to go out for a drink, so we went to the Ottobar. I saw my ex-boyfriend, which made me feel kind of dumb for looking like a slob, but nobody noticed the fact that I was wearing my PJs. I had told Angie that they wouldn't!
When people think of the 1960's, one of the first images they think of is Hippies.
The fact is, that only a small portion of the actual population were hippies, yet their image dominates. Maybe this is because of their politics regarding the war.
In 2004, it seems like Americans are obsessed with "Hipsters." I think that when people remember the 2000s in the future, pictures of tall skinny hipster guys will come to mind. Hipsters are the Hippies for a new era.
I got to bed early last night. I was a fun weekend. This week I am chillin down in the District of Columbia for a few days.
Today is my birthday, and what a glorious day it is. I am 29 years old. I began celebrating last night with Marcia, goddess or war and of chocolate and with Olivia, goddess of bicycling and of mudslides. We drank in the East Village, first by going to Niagara for a few drinks, and then by going to the Lakeside Lounge. It was there that we partook of the photobooth, a sublime drunken ritual.
Really though, I began celebrating this weekend, for I went to Boston. It was there that I met Myriam, goddess of architecture and of Jack and Ginger. On Saturnday, Myriam took me all around the city, and I got to see such wonderful things as Beacon Hill, Cheers, Kerry's house, the Hancock Building, and the Public Library which had fabulous stone lions and Arthurian murals. We also sat in a park which shall remain unnamed, and we had conversations about the nature of time and space, one of my favorite topics of discussion. Later that same evening, I met back up with Marcia and her friends George and Ian at a place called the Enormous Room, a dark place filled with many couches, alcohol, and fashionable Bostonians. We had lots to drink, and hopefully Myriam made it to church on Sunday.
Today is also significant, for I am giving my two-weeks notice at work. I am so excited about this, and I cannot wait until my boss gets to work so that I can give her the delightful news. These moments in life are rare, and they must be savored.
I've been having a good time, lately, and I should. It is the end of New York City. I just have two weeks left, and I'm gone. It is the end of New York, and the start of new things.
My weekend with Pig Destroyer and Hellfest.
I got up at around 8 on Friday morning to drive Pig Destroyer to Hellfest. WE went to pick up the Brian and his girlfriend, who wasn't ready, went to Brian's parents house to load in. Left and went to pick up Scott, who wasn't ready, got gas and liquor and headed out at around 11:30. Traffic on the 495 beltway was horrendous. We started making good time until like exit 3 on the NJ turnpike, when from out of nowhere, the deluge happened, then more traffic until exit 11. We FINALLY get to Elizabeth, NJ at about 5:30, and pull into the hotel, check in and head to the venue. We got there too late to see any of the bands I wanted to see.Instanly, Relapse calls, and we have to turn around and go back to the hotel. We drink a little and check the time, surprise suprise we are running late! We don't have time to get out laminantes or wristbands, because we are so late, so we hurry and unload, and I drag 3 boxes of shirts upstairs through 5000000 kids to the table we had. Set up the merch with my friend Greg next to the Burning Angel .com girls and proceed to answer the same question 1000 times. NO, we don't have any small shirts, even though the sizes were clearly listed. Jerry Only was cruising around introducing himself to all the merch guy, and I tried to sell him a PD shirt. My relief came,stepped outside for a cigarette and couldn't get back in becasue I didn't have a laminate, snuck in, saw my friend Wes and Nathan. Drank a bunch of beers in the parking lot and saw the Misfists with Dez and Marky Ramone and Jerry Only. It was ridiculous and terrible, it made me sad. We went back to the hotel, hung out with a bunch of people and crashed at about 6 am. We got up,and started driving to Amityville Long Island for the show with Premonitions of War, who were really cool guys. We get to the club, and I act like PD's tour manager, and get the beer and food from the kid setting the show up. Met Will from Mortician who was really nice, but really really scary. Everyone came up to me and thought I was in PD and I played along. We drove home at around 8 pm unloaded and I got home at about 4 am. Yesterday, we went to Fraziers to hang out with my friend Gordon who is leaving to San Francisco soon.
Having become quite bored with the traditional pancake, in the past few weeks I've been playing around with different combinations of gunk to throw in my pancake batter. All of the results have been quite pleasant if I do say so myself:
THE ORANGE CREAMSICLE PANCAKE
Is pretty simple. Add a drop or two or Orange Extract and a drop or two of Vanilla extract to the batter and (if so inclined) top with Orange Marmalade and powdered sugar. I don't normally like marmalade but on these 'cakes it seemed to fit and was quite good.
BLACK-FOREST PANCAKES
I'm still kinda tinkering with the formula for this one. The first time I made 'em it I basically pitted some cherries (I'm talking the plain old cherries not the ones that come in jars), cut 'em in half and threw in the batter then poured in some chocolate syrup. They were real good. I made them again two weeks later this time with finely diced cherries and tons more chocolate syrup. Again they were good but still not quite perfect yet. I think I'll try chocolate chips/chunks next time and maybe instead of milk I'll use chocolate milk. The thing is each time you can taste the chocolate but what I really want is full fledged chocolate pancakes.
WHITE CHOCOLATE PANCAKES
At Trader Joe's they have these big blocks of white chocolate and I finally bought one (after fighting the temptation in the past.) I didn't really know what to do with a big block of white chocolate except eat a piece every once in a while. Well this morning I was making 'cakes and decided to throw some WC in. First I tried to melt a chunk but that was a pain, so I just took a cheese grater and sprinkled a bunch of white chocolate shavings in my batter. Needless to say the pancakes were really good but not quite white-chocolatey enough. I could taste it but I wonder how much of that was because I knew the stuff was in there.
So ... our little Gents and Ladies clubs as well as the Dating Service have been getting more action than our main page of late.
Is this because we really enjoy talking about each other in relative secrecy? Or because we feel free to post insipid 'not worthy' things within the safety of the clubs? Or because we know trolls can't read them?
Not that I truly care about Justin Timberlake and Cameron Diaz's relationship, but I did pick up a copy of US Magazine, "Justin Didn't Cheat On Me." Honestly, I am fascinated with a couple of things here.
The first is their age difference. I will be the first to say that I once had zero interest in dating anyone more than like four years older than me, mostly because I really would feel that references to things would seem to induce someone's eyes being rolled or whatever, it's a ridiculous reason I know. Same goes for the tables being turned. Also, I find that lately dating guys, they always seem to think, "Oh she's the one!" I think it's just the age thing, and they are more ready to get married, the older they get. So I don't feel this way now, and I know I could write about this for a good while, and apologize for the many ways that a lot of people find this insulting. I do however find it HOT when an "older" woman dates a younger guy, within legal reason of course, for one reason in particular, the bedroom (oh god I know).
Back to Justin and Cameron. The second reason I find this fascinating is because I always thought that when Justin was dating Britney it was for the press only, a scam for attention. The reason why this is significant is because I guess I believed that it was real only when he started dating Cameron. She could do so much better (he he, mean of me to say) and he is kind of a...KID!
Soooo....I have been obsessively listening to "Cry Me A River" all day. I did get into this song when it was being played on the radio, 'cause it's so damned catchy, and the production is SLICK on this cut, not like anything I normally listen to so loudly,( am blaring it currently...so fun!) I know this song is supposed to be about Britney, but have you ever really listened to the words? I am such a sucker in a way, or am I, but I believe that he wrote them. Now I am not going to go online to prove it, but "you didn't know all the ways, I loved you. so you took the chance, made other plans, but I bet you didn't think they would come crashing down." Those aren't complicated, but simple enough for me to say, damn...whoops, britney. "girl i refuse, you must have me confused with some other guy. bridges were burned, now it's your turn....to cry." that is HOTTTT!! I am in no way attracted to Mr. Timberlake, but I feel for the boy, and love this song.
Everybody, I don't get the couple, diaz and timberlake, but for today, I am into dipping into US magazine while slowly walking around to "cry me a river" out loud on my stereo.
The bottom floor of the house I am living in is opening up for rent in September, so if you are thinking of moving to here, this is a good opportunity.
4 Bedroom, 1 Bath apt with parking spaces available for $50 each
$2300 a month with an additional $2300 deposit
The house has a small backyard and a big roof that is cool to hang out on, plus upstairs neighbors that are really mellow, so you can be as loud as you want.
The place is in the heart of the mission district on York st near 24th. Down the street are plenty of shops and restaraunts. There is a 24hr safeway close by as well(although, I rarely find myself going there cause there is plenty of food within walking distance). There are also many bars nearby, in fact half a block away is Pops, a fun sleazy/hipster/dive/semi-dyke bar. The neighborhood itself is mostly working class latino families, with a few younger kids like myself thrown in. This is actually a good opportunity since the places here go for alot more, plus the landlords are really mellow. Feel free to e-mail me through Killoggs if you want contact info.
Just when I thought it was all over. Just when I thought the end had come. Just when I thought I couldn't force down one more can of french vanilla Myoplex. He appeared.
The Chef.
The Chef was there. The Chef was there, bringing wonderful processed wares like ravioli, ABC's & 123's, and Rollercoasters. He came from the hills bringing joy, sheer joy I tell you, to my war torn mouth. Round my bed he bounced, baker's hat in full aplomb, regaling me with tales of riboflavin, niacin and Yellow number 5. Yes, the Chef, the same Chef of old, still flying the flag for tortured children and heavily drugged lawyers across the globe.
Five Killoggs "I'll buy you a drink" points to anyone who identifies the above reference without googling. Honor system in effect.
Anyway, although the first rule of the GC is that you never talk about the CG, I got absolutely NO response to this when I posted it there, so I'm posting it to the front page in the hopes of at least provoking disgust, if nothing else:
I had the most incredible idea for a porn movie.
Another Shrimp in the Barbi - A buxom young blond is gangbanged by a bunch of midgets.
My cursed mother hath returned to the castle bearing an entire pot of smoked chicken and sausage jambalaya. To add to this insult, she has also produced a full one-gallon ziploc bag stuffed with chocolate chip cookies! Curses! First scorned by the Chef, now this!
Killoggers, I call upon thee. Help me fashion a punishment for my cursed mother to meet this insult. I plan to attack while she sleeps tonight.
Somehow I've convinced my program director at the cock rock station that I work at to let me have my own metal show. It'll be an overnight shift ofcourse. But considering that this is a commercial station, not college radio, I'm amazed that it's going to happen at all. I'll probably get cancelled after the first couple of shows because the stuff that I'm going to play is anything but commercial. Any suggestions for a name for my show?
I think this image captures something essential about the Comicon: Women--show as much of your bodies as possible, Men--hide inside costumes with fake muscles drawn onto them. These girls in the mini-tanks and pink... uh "skirts" were representing an adult comics company directly across the aisle perpendicular to our table. The girls themselves have nothing to do with comics, they are just there for photos. For most of the convention there was a group of sweaty men with cameras lurking like a pack of hyenas. Even X-Folk come to have their picture taken with the blonde stick-figures. Okay, maybe I looked at them every few minutes or so. And even though I didn't go near them or try to talk to them, I'm pretty sure I developed a special intellectual relationship with each one. I really feel like I got to know them, just by watching, and I'm pretty sure they felt the same way.
it has been stupidly hot here. the kind of miserable hot which is just fine if you live in a place where it gets hot like this all the time. the kind of place where the indoors is air conditioned. honestly, if i wanted to deal with weather like this i would have just stayed in louisiana where the rent is cheaper. so, what is the smart thing to do on a record breakingly hot summer day in seattle?
i don't know, cause instead i spent it all repainting my home to make it more appealing to some mysteriously bland potential buyers, who would be offended by actual colors on the walls.highly offensive colors, like the lovely reds and blues i had. however, the paint chips lied like they always do. so the walls are a brighter yellow than they were meant to be, and the doors are too light of a beige. and it feels like i'm living inside of a lemon cream pie. which if i was going to choose a pie to live in, let me tell you it wouldn't be lemon cream. but i'm not repainting it. and i'm not taking down the upside down cross, the large nudes, or the autographed picture of jesus. dammit.
worst of all, my gold lame' curtains no longer match the living room.
next place i live better be 70 degrees and overcast at all times.
(p.s. if i were going to choose a pie to live in, it would be berry pie. or cherry pie. oh yeah.)
