31/01/07
30/01/07
28/01/07
Hi. Yeah. No, I know. It's just that... okay, I'll wait.
Ah fuck hey are you there? Sorry. These things are aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaChrisertxfghdfi. They're in my ears. How did I let this happen to me? Anyzguefrggg, I',;'[,.<<<<< just wanted to tell you that geeeeeeeeryhn I lllllllllllllllll dhfuytrsuytSPLAT.
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Ah fuck hey are you there? Sorry. These things are aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaChrisertxfghdfi. They're in my ears. How did I let this happen to me? Anyzguefrggg, I',;'[,.<<<<< just wanted to tell you that geeeeeeeeryhn I lllllllllllllllll dhfuytrsuytSPLAT.
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26/01/07
Christiana.
There, dammit. I spent the better part of work last night trying to remember her name. I don't want to be the kind of person who doesn't remember these things. Whatever that means.
I don't know why she popped into my head all of a sudden like that, but I sort of regret not having exchanged at least email addreses with her now. At the time my rationale was that I'd never get around to contacting or responding to her, thus making us both feel shitty about it (and I may have said as much--leaving was a blur), and while that's probably true I still wish I had at least that little artifact. The potential. Potential what? It doesn't matter. If you think it through that far the point is lost. The romance is gone.
We bonded over Spaceballs. BB was playing some place in Cincinnati called the Viper Room or the Poison Room or something that had movies playing silently on big screen TVs. It was so sleazy. Like a weather-beaten, chintzy and slightly scarier version of the Marquee. The doors on the washrooms were falling off their hinges and dirty tumbleweeds were blowing through that town. Cincinnati has the sad feel of a once-vibrant place that has lost its lustre and can't find the energy to care anymore. Maybe. I dunno, I was only there for a day. I think maybe the show was good, but it remains nondescript in my mind.
Anyway, yeah. I was sitting at the bar drinking beer and watching silent Spaceballs before our set. I was bored and oblivious to the rest of the place, and she scared the crap out of me when it came time for Dark Helmet's troops to scour the desert planet or whatever, because she yelled out, in unison with me, "Comb the desert!" And there she was, sitting at the bar, oblivious to everything else, drinking beer and watching silent Spaceballs right next to me. We both knew every line of dialogue and proceeded to annoy the shit out of the bartender with such choice bits as, "I see your Schwartz is as big as mine" until closing time. By then she'd bought me a lot of beer.
We ended up crashing at one of the kids in the opening band's place just across the state line in Kentucky. She jumped in at the last minute. This place was like a caricature of white trash squalor. I won't even attempt to describe. When it came time to actually sleep, everybody else in the bands huddled together on a couple mattresses lining the floor on the far side of the room. She and I made a nest on the only fully constructed bed. This was a hilarious task because this "bed" was piled at least two feet high with every chunk of disgruntled white punk teen trash that one could possibly imagine. Hacksaws, computer parts, engine parts, machetes, discarded bottles, Rambo knives. I think there was a stolen street sign. So we made our little nest and waited until everyone was asleep. I said, "You know we're never going to see each other again, right?" She just nodded.
She smoked menthols and taught history. Somehow this is all incredibly romantic in my mind. I guess I'm in sort of a wistful mood
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There, dammit. I spent the better part of work last night trying to remember her name. I don't want to be the kind of person who doesn't remember these things. Whatever that means.
I don't know why she popped into my head all of a sudden like that, but I sort of regret not having exchanged at least email addreses with her now. At the time my rationale was that I'd never get around to contacting or responding to her, thus making us both feel shitty about it (and I may have said as much--leaving was a blur), and while that's probably true I still wish I had at least that little artifact. The potential. Potential what? It doesn't matter. If you think it through that far the point is lost. The romance is gone.
We bonded over Spaceballs. BB was playing some place in Cincinnati called the Viper Room or the Poison Room or something that had movies playing silently on big screen TVs. It was so sleazy. Like a weather-beaten, chintzy and slightly scarier version of the Marquee. The doors on the washrooms were falling off their hinges and dirty tumbleweeds were blowing through that town. Cincinnati has the sad feel of a once-vibrant place that has lost its lustre and can't find the energy to care anymore. Maybe. I dunno, I was only there for a day. I think maybe the show was good, but it remains nondescript in my mind.
Anyway, yeah. I was sitting at the bar drinking beer and watching silent Spaceballs before our set. I was bored and oblivious to the rest of the place, and she scared the crap out of me when it came time for Dark Helmet's troops to scour the desert planet or whatever, because she yelled out, in unison with me, "Comb the desert!" And there she was, sitting at the bar, oblivious to everything else, drinking beer and watching silent Spaceballs right next to me. We both knew every line of dialogue and proceeded to annoy the shit out of the bartender with such choice bits as, "I see your Schwartz is as big as mine" until closing time. By then she'd bought me a lot of beer.
We ended up crashing at one of the kids in the opening band's place just across the state line in Kentucky. She jumped in at the last minute. This place was like a caricature of white trash squalor. I won't even attempt to describe. When it came time to actually sleep, everybody else in the bands huddled together on a couple mattresses lining the floor on the far side of the room. She and I made a nest on the only fully constructed bed. This was a hilarious task because this "bed" was piled at least two feet high with every chunk of disgruntled white punk teen trash that one could possibly imagine. Hacksaws, computer parts, engine parts, machetes, discarded bottles, Rambo knives. I think there was a stolen street sign. So we made our little nest and waited until everyone was asleep. I said, "You know we're never going to see each other again, right?" She just nodded.
She smoked menthols and taught history. Somehow this is all incredibly romantic in my mind. I guess I'm in sort of a wistful mood
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22/01/07
I've just been offered a full-time, salaried position at another store. I wouldn't be "the boss" in title, but I would in execution. I don't know what to think. It's... well, flattering is the wrong word, but it is exciting to the small part of my brain that craves validation in the form of functional adulthood. Or robotic drudgery. Something like that.
This would rule out ever going back to school, and that's kind of really fucking heavy, as reticent as I am on the topic of school. I suspect there would be issues with shows and touring too. I guess I should go back and talk it out with the guy, because I can't trade the one thing that makes me not want to jump off a bridge for more of the making me want to jump off a bridge. That's a formula with poor prospects of winning. And it only turns out to be two dollars more an hour, although I'm capped where I am right now, and this would have substantial increases.
What stupid, boring shit to write about. That store is dead fucking gloom too. Like an impotent zombie sweatpants factory. I'd never realized how fairly pleasant and cheery my current workplace is in a not-entirely-saccharine sort of way. Ah, to serve in heaven or to rule in hell? What a boring hell though. Just how I imagined it.
I'm finally figuring out the 4-track I bought last summer and I'm stuck in some crazy songwriting frenzy. If this keeps up I might even put aside a little bit of my inheritance and press a record. Or maybe I'll just make a Myspace.
I am annoyed at my frequent use of ellipses lately.
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This would rule out ever going back to school, and that's kind of really fucking heavy, as reticent as I am on the topic of school. I suspect there would be issues with shows and touring too. I guess I should go back and talk it out with the guy, because I can't trade the one thing that makes me not want to jump off a bridge for more of the making me want to jump off a bridge. That's a formula with poor prospects of winning. And it only turns out to be two dollars more an hour, although I'm capped where I am right now, and this would have substantial increases.
What stupid, boring shit to write about. That store is dead fucking gloom too. Like an impotent zombie sweatpants factory. I'd never realized how fairly pleasant and cheery my current workplace is in a not-entirely-saccharine sort of way. Ah, to serve in heaven or to rule in hell? What a boring hell though. Just how I imagined it.
I'm finally figuring out the 4-track I bought last summer and I'm stuck in some crazy songwriting frenzy. If this keeps up I might even put aside a little bit of my inheritance and press a record. Or maybe I'll just make a Myspace.
I am annoyed at my frequent use of ellipses lately.
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16/01/07
12/01/07
07/01/07
Everything about the world is falling apart. Look, a piece of my arm just fell off (the part that would have had a tattoo) and my eyeballs are melting away. I'm growing sexual organs that don't exist.
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06/01/07
One of the guys in my crew was describing a recent acquaintance last night.
"Oh, he was cool and really smart, but he's a teacher, right?--and he kind of always talks like that, so you feel like you have to watch what you're saying around him because you might say something dumb. Kind of like..."
At this point all eyes turn to fix on me.
"...like with Eben!"
Again: what? I'm pretty sure all evidence points to me being the guy who says the stupid irrevocable embarassing shit around here. If there is any command to my presence it feels to me like it'd be of the trainwreck variety. I feel about as socially-intimidating as a gnat. Although I guess I don't know much about gnats.
And anyway, don't fuck with me. And seriously, if I make people feel this way it is news to me. Sorry?
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"Oh, he was cool and really smart, but he's a teacher, right?--and he kind of always talks like that, so you feel like you have to watch what you're saying around him because you might say something dumb. Kind of like..."
At this point all eyes turn to fix on me.
"...like with Eben!"
Again: what? I'm pretty sure all evidence points to me being the guy who says the stupid irrevocable embarassing shit around here. If there is any command to my presence it feels to me like it'd be of the trainwreck variety. I feel about as socially-intimidating as a gnat. Although I guess I don't know much about gnats.
And anyway, don't fuck with me. And seriously, if I make people feel this way it is news to me. Sorry?
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