Man, I was in the Portland Sprint Store trying to change my number over
from a New Orleans area code and i was fucking around with the display
phones when it hit me - I had to shit so fucking bad that I nearly blew out
my jeans. I grabbed my girlfriend and tried to make it down to a coffeeshop
two blocks away, but I knew I couldn't possibly hold it in for such a long
distance. So i ducked into the Quizno's right next to the Sprint Store and
made a beeline straight for the unisex bathroom, dropped my pants, and in
the process of sitting down on the toilet seat, began to shit in mid-air. My
ass finally made contact with the porcelin bowl and was it fucking disgusting.
I've been eating a ton of cheese since i moved up here and had decided
earlier that day to drink a few cups of coffee to grease the wheels, you know?
So I continued to blow out the bathroom for a few minutes and then just
kinda sat there for a while, savoring my relief. I finally decided to wipe and
bent over with a wad of paper when I finally noticed the horror of my present
situation. My ass had exploded in mid-air with such ferocity that I had shat all
over the toilet seat, the back of the tank, the wall, the floor, the other wall, even
the little plastic thing that holds the scrub brush. It was like a Jackson Pollack
painting up in there. I proceeded to clean off my ass and then contemplated
leaving the sub shop real quick or cleaning up the mess. I still can't believe
that i did this, but i actually cleaned it up. Only the bowl though...I left the spray
all over the walls. The only reason I did this was because I was worried that there
was someone right behind me and that's a hell of a bluff to pull off. Of course,
there was no one behind me, so it was all in vain. Although my girlfriend was
really proud of me. I washed my hands too. Easily my best shit story since my
shortlived stint as the "Phantom Shitter" when I would shit in the urinal of the Saint
during Benji Lee from Supagroup's shifts. It was a hard maneuver since there was
no lock on the door. Now that's a real hard situation to worm your way out of.
I also upperdecked every toilet that i had to shit in from Philadelphia to Syracuse
when I was in twelfth grade.
Other than that, Portland is not so bad. I saw Das Oath the other night in
some shitty club called the food hole. They were fucking great. I am still
looking for Pig Champion but i can't find him. I don't think he gets out much.
I have also met three people that have smoked crack with King Louie. Also,
Judas Priest is playing on July fourth, but that's another post.
I got fired from a job already too - totally my fault. Oh yeah...
I also terrorized some guy the other night from that shitty band the Gossip.
I told hime the only reason that he was in such a shitty band was to hump
awkward college art school students. He completely agreed with me.
Then he agreed to play the sax during Sex Bomb in my Flipper / Fang
cover band project that I've been working on for a year, tentatively entitled
FLANG
or
FLAPPER.
Which do you prefer?
When in Portland, don't use the bathroom of the Quizno's
on 12th and Broadway.
Last nights dreams really bothered me. They weren't so much scarey as just really hitting at deep psychological/biological fears that I possess. Apparently my sleep behavior during the process was pretty messed up too, as I will explain.
As most of my friends and family know, I have no desire to have children. I am actually afraid of babies and really don't like to hold them or be near them. I become okay with children once they reach the age of 4. Now, I'm not saying that I will NEVER have children. I am aware that people change their minds about these things. I am just saying that right now, at this moment, I cannot see myself ever desiring motherhood.
So of course, in my dreams last night, I was a mom. In ALL of my dreams. In the first one, I had a new baby, but I almost never saw it because both Jeremy and I continued our lives pretty much as they are and the child was in daycare from 10am to 10pm. Jeremy had made arrangements to drop the baby (a girl, she was actually beautiful) off on his way to work and he picked her up on his way back because I had rehearsal. We also had a dog that went to doggy day care at the same time. We lived in a house that had two glass walls and two solid walls and an open kind of loft-like kitchen and living room. Huge house on a street corner downtown. In the first dream I was panicked because I couldn't figure out how to get the baby out of day care or if they had closed and if I was going to have to leave her overnight. I called Jeremy who explained that it was fine to go get her now and told me how to do so. I woke up FREAKED OUT.
I calmed myself down, got some water and went back to bed trying to think of ANYTHING except for babies. Unfortunately I fell back into the dream except this time I was in martial arts class and my girl was in the 'child room' at the academy. I was in the locker room changing and all the women were remarking on how wonderful I looked for just having had a baby and how quickly I went back down to my pre-preggers weight. They were showing me pictures of Courtney Cox and Debra Messing and talking about how they got down to their original weight also. I had to take the baby home after class and I also had to pick up our dog, but I had waited too long and the dog was going to have to stay over night. We were in the same house and I wondered why we even had a dog we couldn't take care of. I was holding the baby and wondering how in the hell I became a mother and wondering what to do with her and she started talking to me. It occured to me that she had grown so fast and that I didn't think I had even told my mom that I was pregnant. I asked her if she wanted to call her grandma and talk to her and she said yes and was very excited. I was trying to go through my phone and get the number but I was having problems and was concerned that it might be too late. While I was doing this, Jeremy arrived and was cheerfully cooking dinner for the children in the kitchen. Now I had six kids. They were all beautiful children and milling around the kitchen happily helping their dad prepare a meal. I was still having a hard time dialing the correct number for my mom. Jeremy was talking to one of his friends happily saying that he and I had been married 'a couple times' and it was really much better this way. So we had six kids and were not married, had obviously been divorced a couple of times and it was years later.
This time Jeremy woke me up and told me I was freaking him out and speaking in tongues. I asked him what I was saying and he said, "You were LITERALLY speaking in tongues. It wasn't a language that I've ever heard before. I've been waking you up all night to stop you. Sometimes you just say nonesense and go back to sleep." What kind on nonsense? "Well, last time you told me that they needed to complete this cycle and that it wasn't going to happen again until the cycle was complete." I apologized for speaking in tongues and freaking him out and tried to go back to sleep and NOT have children.
Unfortunately this was not to be so. This time I had the child and had given her up for adoption. She somehow found Jeremy and I when she was around seven or eight and complained that she hated her adoptive parents and why did we give her up? We somehow became invisible and went to check the situation out. Her parents were incredibly rich and horrible people and we debated trying to get her back but the rich people were angry that we let them do the 'hard part' of raising her and now wanted her back. She was clearly miserable and again a gorgeous child but for many legal reasons getting her back would have been impossible.
I woke up again and decided I was never going to sleep again.
Two horribly un-amusing things to pass on from last week. One abit of good news, one not so good.
Well, they could both be good news depending on how you feel about me......
First:
So, last week I once again stumbled over to Falshpoint. Because if you are me, and you have a day off, you have no idea of what to do with yourself other than visit places you currently work or have previously worked at. Besides, I had the excuse of going to see the new installation as my ticket into the building. Okay, well besides annoying the staff, this really was the reason that I had stopped by. Of course the first thing I did was ask Rebecca if Julianne was around, and of course this was the week that she had taken off to toy with the idea of moving to Memphis (!?!?!?!!!!!). So I had no choice but to turn my attention towards Rebecca instead. And after a while I did actually start to eye the installation. I must admit that I was amused by the artist's explanation of the show. (Artists' justifications always amuse me. Oh don't get me wrong, I do like modern art, it's just that somtimes going into the mind of it's birth can be a very special place.) It went something like,"....to explore the important relationships of the inanimate objects that we converse with every day....and preserve the memory of those no longer deemed worthy of existence..." (Okay so this is a horrendous paraphrase). One piece of the installation was a series of antient AV (like in gradeschool, with you r braces) record players. While I was eyeing them in detail I was mistakenly informed that I could turn them on,"Some of them are quite loud." No, not mistaken in the fact the fact that I could, but more in the fact that I would....all of them.....up loud. I couldn't help it. I was a kid in a candy store, if white noise is anything like white sugar. I played with tone, speed, volume. A symphony of decibulic waves came crashing, endlessly, and I could feel myself getting sucked under, deeper, and deeper, until finally a hand grapped my head, and air shot into my lungs. It was Ann Corbit, the executive director of CuDC with a genuine look of perplexion on her face. And then she saw it was me, and her demeanor changed to genuine understanding. She even came over and tried to converse with me, yelling over a tonal armada. All the while Rebecca sat toiling away at her desk as though it was only a spring breeze. I finally...finally drug my hands towards the off switches, and made them do the dirty work. I appologized to everyone while latent vibrations still shot through my wirey body. In sad reality, I could easily still be lost in that sea if left to my own devices. Dying of starvation, covered in my own filth, but like a junkie stuck to a needle, unable to drag myself away. What can I say, ths artist is a true maverick of happy accidents.
So, if you are in the district, and happen to slide past the MCI center area of Flashpoint, please check out the new show, and by all means, turn those bad boys on.....all the way to eleven.
Second:
Also this week, I finally got my come-upance. My bike and I had a slight altercation with an automobile. Was this cutting off cars in Dupont? Perhaps slolleming around busses in Georgetown? Oh, no, none of the above. This was laziny teetering along to brunch on Sun. I was at an intersection waiting for the light to turn green. Signified was "go," and I went with a car turing right......into me, bringing up the rear. I'm sure you could see the swear words shoot out of my skull in thick black font, as I went over. Pulling my half man-half simple machine body from the ground I turned to see a shell shocked driver stuck on the repeat message of,"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry........." He has no idea how lucky he was in that I had not yet had the first drop of coffee. I would not have been able to pass a psycholigical test to determine cognitave memory/stability. I believe I even shook his hand. I eyed my bike, and aside from a dashed chain it seemed to be in working order. So, I shrugged the whole thing off, and filed it under,"life is a bitch, and then you die." Several streets later however, I began to notice a playfull tugging, like a well built baby gently tugging a rope tied to the back of my bike. This playfull tugging became a gratting irritation, and I quickly took it curbside to have a look. The appearance still held true, but when I spun the wheel it looked a little intoxicated, sauntering back and forth slaming into the brakes with each rotation. This is truly how I wanted to start my day. Going up 18th street was like finding a rat trap in a christmass gift. I can't wait to take it to chain reaction, and get it fixed. (yes, sarcasm). Thank god I only use it to help drop those extra pounds......
Wednesday is the 1st Official Indierock Night at the bar I work at. Kim and I have been pleading to be allowed such a night for almost a year, and now we finally have one. (And I should really make flyers so that everyone else knows this.)
I have the next two days basically free of work at my other job, so I have plenty of time to download music and burn stuff onto CDs. We're eventually hoping that other people bring in their vinyl and CDs, but for now, it's just Kim's and my music collections. So, I am posing the question to Killoggs:
If you could be here on Wednesday night, what would you want to hear us play?
