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Monday, December 1st, 2003
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1:25 am
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Well,
I'm sure something terribly interesting has happened since my last post, but I'll be damned if I can remember what it is.
For the kids:
I have no right to gripe about spelling, mine is atrocious, but this is a pet peeve of mine.
(You wanted a peek into the dark recesses of my soul, no? Well, here ya go sparky.)
It is spelled
NIGHT, not NITE.
LIGHT not LITE.
Piss off you wankers. Stop putting misspelled words on signs for all the illiterate youth to emulate, don't we have enough problems?
NIGHT
...GHT! GHT! GHT!
arse.
M.
current mood:  frustrated
current music: Toy Dolls
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Friday, November 21st, 2003
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10:04 pm - Momus is forced to do things he doesn't want to do
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No, Virginia, sometimes there really is no such thing as free will.
Sure, all you semantic fanaticists out there, there is always a choice, I understand all the arguments blah blah blah.
That selfishly bitter comment out of the way, let's get on with the story.
Prequil:
A few days ago a cute little puppy started showing up at my door, exhibiting all the cute little stray puppy signs; timid, awfully cute, almost EXACTLY the kind of dog you want, and he shows up at EXACTLY the time in you life when you cannot have a dog.
Somewhere between 4-7 months (a wild guess) the little fella seems to have quite a bit of black lab, some chow (black markings on the tongue) and perhaps a very small amount of pitt bull. He's very friendly once he understands you're not going to whack him one. Being a puppy he does nip, but never bites, hangs out downstairs with the neighbors two rabbits, and tried vainly to play with my cats (who were none too amused with the idea.)
It all boils down to him being really well behaved with other animals. (crap, I don't need a dog I don't need a dog ad infinitum)
Then I hear the downstairs neighbors yelling at him over the past two days, things like HEY! DON'T EAT THAT!, and NO! NO! NO!
Good, they took the puppy in.
I notice that he is pretty much living on their porch at this point.
Today I leave for work, walk past Mr. Puppyface, and think I am just going to make it on time.
Mr. Puppyface has a better idea.
Apparently that idea was "WALKIES!!!"
The neighbors were not home, the dog was not tied up.
No amount of "STAY!", "SIT!", or "aww, cummon you silly mutt, go back home, I'm gonna be late." seemed to work.
If the dog did know any commands, it subconsciously knew Heel, for it never strayed further than ten inches from my left leg the entire walk to work, even when he really REALLY wanted to pee on something.
Now, on the way to work, I have to cross several busy streets, so obviously there is no way I'm going to let this little guy find his way home on his own.
Needless to say, the little bastard has found his way into my house, and is currently enjoying the dog chow, the comfy carpet, and my very large balcony.
My cats are soooo pissed.
Anyone want a dog?
M.
current mood: defeated
current music: my head, pounding into the wall
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| Wednesday, November 19th, 2003
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6:13 pm - Downtown Wilmington in the rain.
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After skipping out on work for no particular reason, I wandered through the rain, as is my want.
I stopped into the record store next door to my restaurant. How long has it been since I've been record shopping? Too long, months.
As my fingers rolled through the hopes and dreams of all these little indie bands my mind began to wander. Or to be a bit more specific, my mind began to drift slowly back to Earth.
I found that I was quietly chuckling to myself as I passed from story to story. Shuffiling through the albums had brought back memories of all these people I had met, their faces plastered on tiny CD booklets. The copious lemon drops done with Jimbo and the Reverend Horton Heat before I had the bright idea to get them, the Butthole Surfers and the Toadies to sign my car with a giant magic marker. I promised them they could push it off a cliff when the car finally gave up the ghost. Instead it was sold to a hispanic landscaper for a hundred bucks. I wonder what he thought of all the writing, inside and out, everywhere on the car. Being lookout while Trent Reznor took a leak off my friends roof, all the while drunkenly berating him about the "radio-friendliness" of his upcoming debut album. As I reached the comedy section I was reminded of making an utter fool of myself in front of David Cross while attempting to harmlessly flirt with Janine Garraffalo.
This isn't about bragging,
this is about the quiet solitary surprise of realizing you've lead a pretty interesting life.
Kim Deal, Nick Cave, walking my dog with Iggy Pop late nights at the Washington Square Park dog run, almost getting into a fist fight with the guys from Social Distortion over the honor of a friend who turned out to have none. Rob Zombie and Radiohead, Kate Moss and Arnold Da Governator (how I ended up "meat"ing him half a dozen times, I'll never know. Sorry 'bout the pun.)
Strange the path of life.
When were the cards dealt that gave me the opportunity to reply "Oh, man, she's probably still pissed at me." when a friend mentioned "Lisa Bonnet is hot."?
And out of all this, who am I? I'm no one.
Just the guy sitting alone with his pint at the Blue Post, your waiter, the tall one walking in down town Wilmington in the rain.
I guess I don't know what my point is,
perhaps it's simply that everyone deserves a second glance.
M.
current mood:  nostalgic
current music: Beth Gibbons & Rustin Man- Out Of Season
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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12:48 am - More Media
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Ok,
I have officially decided that the Music Match channels waaay down on the cable dial (does the word "dial" in itself show my age?) friggin' rock. They may just be the radio stations I have always hoped for. Today alone I have heard everything from old Souxie, The Cult, The Fixx (sorry, bit I love 'em) etc... to Interpole and Joe Strummer.
WARNING CLUMSY SEGUE TO FOLLOW:
Speaking of music, The Morphine song Yes is now featured in a car commercial.
Mark is turning in his grave.
M.
current mood: infuriated
current music: The "tink tink" of advertising against M. Sandmans soul.
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(comment on this)
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| Monday, November 17th, 2003
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10:56 pm - Well, serves me right....
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Having never seen the movie, I'd always assumed Pearl Harbor sucked.
I was right.
I watched that piece of shit for three hours and Ben Affleck STILL didn't die.
I want my three hours back.
current mood: aggravated
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(4 comments | comment on this)
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| Wednesday, November 12th, 2003
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3:35 am - Marvin the Paranoid android says:
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| Sunday, November 9th, 2003
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11:05 pm - I guess an explanation is due...
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...for my rather enigmatic previous post.
A young woman passed out while I was waiting on her. She wouldn't respond to any stimulus whatever.
Ambulance was called, she was hauled off.
I was told by her friend in halting english (the entire party of 10 people were tourists from France) that she was severly bulimic and hadn't kept a meal down in over a week.
I guess I should have brought the salads out quicker.
What a stupid thing to do to yourself.
M.
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(comment on this)
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2:43 am
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All my prayers to the young woman I sent to the hospital tonight. No one dies on my shift.
M.
current mood:  worried
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Tuesday, November 4th, 2003
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10:36 am - AAAARRRRGGGHHHH!!!!
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I have huge bitey ants in my pants!
Man, waiting for the new computer to arrive is more frustrating than waiting for the damn hurricane.
I've been tracking it's movement since in left Sioux City 5 days ago in it's three big cow boxes, and it is finally "out for delivery" here in Wilmington.
Hold on, I have to peer helplessly out the window for a big brown truck....
Damn, no truck yet.
M.
current mood:  anxious
current music: If UPS had a jingle, i'd be humming it
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(comment on this)
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| Saturday, November 1st, 2003
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12:02 am - Hollow weenie
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Well, I worked all night, sadly this meant no chance to dress up. It did however afford me the luxury of not giving a damn about what to wear this year.
Huzzah.
I have this problem with halloween costumes, I always think of something fantastic to dress up as around Christmas, and promptly forget after New Year.
So I work, which amounts to pointlessly staring at empty tables until Kris decides to close the joint.
I then walk the half a block to the local watering hole and have that best of beers, the after work beer. A wonderful invention, it provides the psychological bridge any human needs to unconsciously recognize the spiritual movement from proactive to inactive.
Of course it's Halloween, and I'm not dressed up. Did I mention the costume contest?
So here I sit, truly enjoying people watching, my psychological bridge, and music.
Inevitably, the drunken question start;
Edward Sissorhands "What are you?"
Me, "What do you mean?"
Eddy, "You know, for Halloween."
Me, "Is it Halloween? Damn, that explains a few things."
Betty Boop, "So what are you dressed up as?"
Me, "A service industry worker who never gets to enjoy the holidays."
Marvin The Martian, "So, dude, who are you? The mostest boring guy on the planet or what?"
Me, "I'm your embittered youth, and if you look deep inside you'll find that you're not actually angry with your father for his mild physical abuse you've played up to get your girlfriends sympathy, but you're actually angry with yourself for never taking any real chances with your life, and the sucking fear that the best years are behind you and all you have to look forward to is endless tedium spent with a woman you thought was hot once but in the long run has no real substance."
Marvin, "..." looks at his beer and walks away.
After that I decided it was time to curb my tongue, get my tab and come home where I can't hurt anyone.
I LOVE HALLOWEEN!!!!
M.
current mood: cynical
current music: You guessed it, Ministry "Everyday is..."
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(comment on this)
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| Tuesday, October 28th, 2003
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11:48 am - American Refugees
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-OR-
Columbus, Ohio, rears it's ugly supernatural head, and how in the hell did I end up in Detroit?
There was a time when I used to joke about Columbus, and that towns ability to trap a soul like a pitcher plant lures a fly. How many times have I tried to escape that grasp, only to be pulled back by unnatural forces rivaling that of the Bermuda Triangle? How many friends do I have still stuck in that quagmire of a city, pulling their feet one sucking step at a time like a charactor from an H.P. Lovecraft story.
The jokes are over.
The town has spooky powers beyond our imagining.
I'm pretty damn sure of it.
Here's my story, dear readers, and it is simply the latest in a long chain of evil Columbus hugs, hugs that pull you to the soft, simple, busom of the city and never ever let you go.
Tiffanys Sister had a baby not to long ago. Being the caring family members that we are, we dropped all hopes of keeping up with the bills this month and flew up to Cowtown to see the wee sprite. A two hour drive to Raleigh, long term parking, and several airport bar drinks that seem to taste so much better with the excitement and possibilities that surround. The flight up was quick, unnassuming, easy. We were met at the gate by family. All was good.
Until yesterday. When Columbus wakes up to the fact that we are trying to leave.
Monday begins with a plan. Some shopping, then off to a Mexican resturaunt for dinner, drinks and goodbyes, ending finally with the mother-figure dropping us off at the airport and one more quick flight back to Raleigh. Simple.
Shopping: Goes off without a hitch, consignment shops are ransacked, clerks flee in terror. Our first surprize is finding out our flight leaves and hour before we thought it did. No problem, we have alloted ourselves plenty of time. Happily strutting back to the car, loot en-tow, Mother-Figures phone rings, it's Agorophobic-Step-Father-Figure. His daughter is having triplets, natural triplets, RIGHT NOW! Tiffany is going to be an Aunt many times over. Agorophobic-Step-Father-Figure needs Mother-Figure there, understadably so.
"Just drop us off at the Mexican place, we'll get a ride from someone, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, etc..."
A dark cloud has begun to loom in the back of my mind, but it as of yet remains unidentified.
Luggage and loot are dragged inconviently into the resturaunt and our table is secured. We are first to arrive due to the sudden birth of triplets. You know, the usual random shit that seems to permiate my life. One big tall delicious frosty beer is consumed, wonderful conversation is had. Tiff and I are left alone for the first time all weekend, sigh. Yet, the dark cloud is persistant. The friends/family begin to arrive in the one-at-a-time fashion that drives servers crazy. The conversation becomes chaotic, and more drinks are brought. (Important side note; we have been informed that the bartender is not on duty for another hour, so all drinks will have to be made by the manager.) People that have not yet seen us this weekend arrive, people that have not seen the Wee-Sprite arrive, "awws" and hugs and tears are abundant. Your humble narrator, distracted, takes a drink from his new draught and comes away with a mouthfull of glass. The small shards that end up at the bottom of an uncleaned cooler. Chaos. (To alleaviate any heart trouble related problems, I must now insist that I was fine, no cuts or abrasions, I'd been practising a long time for this moment, and I know when not to apply force with my lips.)
I addition, now that my attention has been firmly locked on my adult beverage, I see that the glass is filthy. Not just a lipstick smear or a piece of dried lettuce, but caked in crusty crunchys of unknown origin.
The dark cloud grows, and is recognized. Columbus would rather have me dead than let me go one more time.
Waitress: "Ooooh, I'm sorry, would you like a new beer?"
Need you ask? No, I'd like to finish this one, please. YES GIVE ME A NEWFUCKINGBEER!
The waitress soon returns with a new drink and a surprizing revalation:
"You know that you'll have to pay for both of these."
ARE YOU FUCKING ME IN THE MOUTH??? A: Glass was filthy, B: GLASS HAD GLASS ALL OVER IT!
Needless to say, is was seeing red at this point. Long story short, talked to GM, got drink paid for, left annoyed.
Now, when saying goodbye to people while on a time limit, it is absolutely necessary that said people MUST remember cute stories to tell you at the last minute, while you are standing, car door open, prancing like you have to pee, waiting to go.
The ticking of my watch had become a booming in my ears. Fortunatly we had secured a ride to the airport.
Then the dark cloud turned to a thunderstorm, and lightening struck.
"You have your tickets?"
"Yes, good sir, send us home."
"Oh, American Airlines flight whatever was cancelled, mechanical failure, we can fit you on AmericaWest flight doesn'tmatter direct to Raleigh, it leaves in about an hour."
Fine, says I, no problem. At this point, because Columbus has nothing, if not a sense of timing, a woman comes running ap and declairs that the America West flight also has been canceled due to mechanical failure.
Columbus is breaking all the planes in a last ditch effort to keep me here.
"Well," says our friendly ticket guy, "looks like I'll have to do a little typing."
We end up on Northwest Air,
We end up transferring in Detroit. I hate Detroit. hatehatehatehate.
The Detroit airport, for those who have not yet had the immense pleasure, is basically one long strip, with gates starting at 1 and ending at 78. 1 is in a West Suburb of Detroit, while 78 is somewhere in Canada. We arrived at gate 2, guess where we had to go. Yup, 72. Now gate 72 is the only gate hidden around a corner, behind some fast food burger joint.
We did have about half an hour to make this trip, not too daunting, so we decided to find a place to smoke. We were informed the the entire terminal is non-smoking, you would have to go outside and face the security gates again, or go to the Weston Hotel bar, that is a smoking bar. Well, up to this point, security had made a game out of pulling me aside, going through all my bags, putting me in the position, removing pieces of clothing, swabbing my shoes for liquid explosives, the whole friggin' gambit. So, no thank you, we won't be going outside, we'll just hit the hotel bar for a quick one, it was, after all, on our way.
Now, in retrospect, it was silly to assume that I would not have to go back through security after entering a hotel, dumb Momus.
Tiff and I hotbox our cigarettes, and head back to to concourse, to be stopped, now predictably, by security.
They take our tickets, and shout "Two selects coming through!"
Now, I had never head this before, and in my niavety, I thought perhaps this meant that because of the impending departure of our plane, we were to be rushed through.
"No," the woman chides me, "you have been selected as a special case, and we are to go through everything you have in great detail."
"Why?" I ask, "because we were re-routed and sent to Detroit against my wishes?"
"Yes, that would be the reason."
OK, so, because I have already been horribly inconvienced, the airline industry has decided why not go the full route. Assholes.
Once again, the humiliating process of being a selectee begins, except this time, the guards are laughing, saying "You're never gonna make your plane."
No shit, your wasting my time sniffin' my dirty underware, pervert.
The last thing the guards said to me was, "Can you run?"
We find we can. We run. Knocking people out of the way like a bad action movie.
We arrive at gate 72 with 8 minutes to spare.
The door is locked, the lights are off, and there is not an airline employee anywhere.
At this point I make my best puppy face the the piolet, who I can see, sipping coffee through the huge plate glass window.
I think someone, somewhere, realized Tiff and I were just about to begin tearing down the airport to its foundations, because we got on the plane. I'm still not sure how, but we did.
I'm in Wilmington, fuck you, Columbus.
M.
current mood:  accomplished
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(12 comments | comment on this)
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| Thursday, October 23rd, 2003
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5:28 pm - Job Rant to follow, fun, interesting, but still just a rant.
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You have been warned.
This just in:
Momus gets sent home from work, story to follow.
Deep breath, exhale, sip the beer... write.
OK, To try and expediate matters, I will only write about events begining from Saturday. Needless to say, there are many small things that happened before this, but chalk those up to typical "Frustration With Your Boss, and How You could Do A Much Better Job In His/Her Position."
Saturday: L. (The recipient of my latest ire, the woman with quite possibly the worst people skills on the planet, the woman who makes the schedual, my boss,) writes me down to work on the following Monday. Our scheduals run from Sunday to the next Tuesday (showing just over a week, with Sun, Mon, Tues duplicated to the next schedual) obviously this means that I have been expecting Monday off for just about a week. Was I available to work? Yes, if needed, I could, and would, have worked. Here's the tricky bit, she didn't write it on the current schedual, but on the new, and as of yet unposted one. Nor did she happen to mention, you know, just in passing, that I WAS SUPPOSED TO FUCKING COME TO WORK. So I walk into work on Tuesday, only to find that I never showed up for work the night before. Confusing, I know. I'm still trying to figure that one out.
Tuesday:
L. acts all "huffy" with me over the fact that I didn't show up the night before. Sorry, huffy is the only way to describe it, she never came out and bereated me, nor did she ever confront the issue, instead her modis operandi was to... yes, huff. She was (and my dear reader, please remember THIS, it is very key to the final explosion that got me sent home today) very upset that there were only two servers on the floor Monday night, and if it had gotten busy, they would have been in some trouble.
Later I notice some commotion from my fellow servers around the new schedual. I am told, in very flowery language from an ex-army ranger, P., who happens to be our strongest server (no pun intended) and the type of person who loves working when understaffed. He loves the adrenoline, the way time just slips by, and obviously, the money you make. The new schedual, to bypass the details, is simply fucked beyond words. A large private party was simply put down for the wrong day, L. had it down for yesterday (meaning we were overstaffed) when it was actually today, among many other stupid mistakes. I mention to L. that due to her mistake, I am now the ONLY person working 3 dining rooms, 9 private balconies, and a patio, on what is traditionally a busy weeknight. This is Tuesday. She has three days to correct what I have to emphasise is her mistake. (Remeber how huffy she was when we only had two people on the floor on Monday, traditionally our slowest day?)
This brings us to....
Today:
I get a call from L. saying my bar drawer was off from last night, meaning I needed to bring in enough money to cover the difference. It's... possible. I'm not ruling out the possibility that I may have a mistake, but I'm very anal when it comes to working with other peoples money. I also have a good memory when it comes to customers, what they ordered, how they paid, what they left me, and what kind of change I gave back. Just because I don't want to be in the situation I was put in today. The amount of money the drawer was off was a rather large round figure, I had no customers last night that paid with large bills. Not once did I have to give a customer even a twenty dollar bill in change, so for the drawer to be off like this implies miscounting to me. But no... L. absolutely denied there could me any mistake on her part. No re-count, no letting me look at the paperwork, nothing. I'll speak to the owner later.
Now I'm already in a bad mood, I'm coming to work X amount of dollars in the hole. I check the schedual, well, shiver me timbers! I'm still the only fuckin' person working.
I have a philosophy when I wait tables. I don't try to give good service because I want the money (although I do, of course.) I give good service because I've had really bad service. I generally like people, I want them to be happy. I put myself in their shoes and understand that if I was going to go out and drop a few hundred dollars on dinner, I want the courses to come at the right time. I want my food to be hot. I want my waiter to be attentive and informed, but not annoying, I did't come out to eat with a waiter, I came out to eat with friends. I want the wine to be served properly. Simple, general things. I'm not the best waiter in the world, I'm not even the best waiter in my resturaunt, but I'm good enough to make my guests happy, leave with a pleasent memory, and probably come back again. It's silly and it's small, but I take quite a bit of pride in that. I have little else, to be honest.
I know for a fact that I can't do that when I am the only server on the floor. And that pisses me off.
Soooo....
Deep breath, exhale, sip the beer...
My shift begins.
L. and I talk about the drawer. Who knows, I'm willing to conceed this one, simply because there is an off chance that I'm in the wrong, and in a year will it really matter?
P. comes in to host. For the record there are more hosts than servers schedualed, but, you know, L. said there was no possible way to get anyone else to work.
I get my first table. Our computer system, like most these days, requires a key card to work it. L. is the only person at this time who can give me my card. L. sat my table. L. had not yet givin me my card. (don't worry kids, the explatives are on their way.)
I greet the table, take their drink and appitizer order, and go to get my card.
The straw, my dear readers, that broke this camels back, the straw was this. Straws are small things, if you will recall the metaphore, but when piled high, they add up.
KNOWING that I as of yet did not have my card, L. gives me a table then promptly runs outside to pet a fucking puppy. I now cannot do my job properly, the kitchen cannot do their job properly, the bartender cannot do her job properly, because my manager had to waylay some poor schmuck with a puppy.
L. comes back in a short time later.
I say...
"If you're finished petting the fucking dog, could I please get my card?"
She say...
"Yes, and I head that comment, and I don't appreciate it."
I, on a roll, say...
"Well, you don't have much of a job, but if you did do your fucking job, this wouldn't be an issue."
Literally only 7 seconds go by (I was counting, waiting for it), when L. came back and said:
"You can go home, I have someone to cover your shift."
REALLY?????
Three fuckin' days go by and you can't get a second person on the floor, now you have someone in seven seconds?
Kiss my ass, woman, I'll go home, but you obviously don't care about the business.
This has gotten too long and cumbersome to spell check, and for that, I apologize.
M.
current mood: pissed off
current music: Motorhead
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(8 comments | comment on this)
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2:32 am - I pose a question to you.
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How can anyone, assuming you have one ounce of integrity,
Walk into a bar,
Order a Mai Tai, (ack)
Baked Brie en Crue for an appetizer,
and Meatloaf as an entree????
Tell me, because this woman seriously hurt my brain.
NOTHING fits.
I am seriously flummoxed.
M.
current mood:  amused
current music: Still White Stripes, but the next song
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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2:23 am - Go figure
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Sorry, but I predictably jumped the bandwagon
What I want to know is how can I be more than 100% compatible with someone.
current mood:  tired
current music: White Stripes
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(4 comments | comment on this)
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| Sunday, October 19th, 2003
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11:00 pm - Blaine, David
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You know, there has been a lot of criticism about this young magician, people carrying on about how he's just a publicity hound.
Err...
No shit, he's a magician.
M.
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Thursday, October 16th, 2003
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2:39 am
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Second night bartending.
Second night bartending.
Second nii...
oh? hello there dear reader, didn't notice you drifting vaguely through the random thought (sic) of my life.
Yes, to catch you up, this was my second night behind the bar, still training, so no bar bucks yet. My first shift was after three hours sleep and just over 14 hours long. Needless to say I had no idea what the hell I was doing.
Tonight I was working with the mother of all hangovers (Thank you Red Elvis's, you broke something around my liver area.) and yet another night of little sleep, thanks to me veeeerrrry slowly and deliberately typing out my last unintelligable post. I swear that paragraph took me well over an hour, seems that it's difficult to type when you are seeing something slightly more than triple. Somehow I "Rocked the House." On a very slow, cold, and slightly rainy Wednesday, I pulled well over a hundred dollars. Seemingly this is a good thing, the bar manager bought me a few drinks after.
Sorry, just had to brag a bit, I've been a little stressed about this whole thing. It's nice to feel that it just may work out. I'm going to keep my Sundays off, which throws everyone else into a brief chaos of re-ordering their life, including the bar manager, and the General manager, so needless to say, I didn't want to flat suck.
In other news:
I'm getting a new computer!!!!
Holy snotwads, Batman! I've NEVER had a new computer. EVER EVER EVER.I've had hand me downs, friends build me frankensteiny monsters out of duct tape and artificial sweetener, but I have never had the ability to just buy a new, top of the line, flat panel, simply HUGE monster machine. Honestly, I got a bit moist.
I have over 1000 cd's, a few hundred albums, untold and as of yet not unpacked boxes of cassettes, and no stereo, but GODDAMN if I'm not getting a new computer.
I'm counting the days until that big cow print box of geeky love comes-a-callin' at my door.
To be perfectly frank, all it took was Tiff trying to do her lab-work on my computer for, oh, I dunno, three hours, before she said: "Jeff, I hate this thing, we're getting a new one."
I replied: "sniff... sniff... I... I love you."
I should be arriving two days before my birthday. Excellent.
OK, enough pointless rambling, I'm sure, you dear reader, if you have managed to make it this far, are wondering "god when will he shut the hell up about his life and say something funny?" well, you know what? I'm not gonna! So there!
Oh, shit, how'd it get to be 3am? Oh, yeah...
My second night bartending.
My sec...
M.
current mood: sleepy
current music: pitter patter of little dreams
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(comment on this)
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| Wednesday, October 15th, 2003
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2:12 am - Guess what I just did...
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Nope...
No, that's not it either...
Err... no, and that's a bit sick.
Ok, fine.
I'll tell you.
I just saw the Red Elvis's or however you spell it. At a very very small bar with about 15 other people.
I have to say this about the band, ANYONE who can cover one of Tom Waits saddest songs, transform it into a surf-tango-punk-Tom Jones song... well, they are my new gods. All I know, is at one moment I was dancing... (Does anyone here know how long it's been since I've danced?) Dancing A drunkin' tango when the whole song burst into a sloppy martini kinda slam pit. At this point I realize, I'm slamming around to "A Soilders Things" put to a surf/punk/tango rythm.
Long story short, I got the bass player drunk enough to give me on of their older "It's my favorite, but it's only sung in Russian" CD's and had the whole band sign it. The Cramps lack history, The Reverend Horton Heat lacks desperation, Devo lacks the Iron Curtain they sooo wanted.
The Red Elvises.... They Have it all.
current music: Red Elivises
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| Friday, October 10th, 2003
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1:20 am - Rain
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When I lived in NYC, one of the things that I missed the most were the thunderstorms I grew up with.
I love rain.
I love the sound, the perfect sound of rain. Better than any Digital surround sound system hi fi nonsense ever made. Rain just rolls across your eardrums, the drop hitting your windowsill creates perfect harmony with the thunder and the downpour rolling in just over the horizon.
The color... the water in the air turns even the ugly dumpster a perfect shade of green... everything is crystal. Rain turns evening into the most wondrous strobelight. And everything glows.
The small drop of water that just fell on me may have came from the west coast of Africa, bringing with it dreams of giraffes, rhinos, and a musky hedonism. Freedom and simpler times.
I lay down one night with the woman I love, cranky, in the middle of a heat wave. We had a pointless argument. Rain began pouring in through the window, wetting us both. It was one of the most romantic moments of my life. We held each other.
Drops hitting my eyelids, my shoulders, my arms. Drops hitting my back and my chest and my head. If there is a god, I love that god for creating rain.
M.
current mood: happy
current music: rain
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| Wednesday, October 1st, 2003
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2:37 am
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Ahh, crap.
You ever get that feeling, you know the one... that "I suck, not only as a friend but as a human being" kinda feeling?
That "Not so fresh" kinda feeling?
That "Cummon, Ma, tell me what I should do now" as you run along the beach kind of feeling?
That "Why aren't there more hours in the day" kinda feeling?
That "I'm not the person I wanted to be" kinda feeling as you watch seemingly everyone you knew as a child gain fame and fortune?
That "I know how to better spend my time yet due to strange walls within my psychoses I can't seem to get the desire to even go to bed let alone get up and thus create a proactive kinda day" sort of feeling?
Yeah, that's the kind of feeling I have right now.
current mood:  awake
current music: thrum thrum thrum
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1:44 am - OK
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I did my best.
I turned down the bartending job.
I walked straight into the office and said, "Kris, we have to talk, thank you for the opportunity, and blah de blahblah with a little deblah, I really would jump at the opportunity if it wern't for the whole business with the blah, and as you know it's the only day I get to really huzzah."
Kris sayith: "I totally understand, thanks for the blah, and don't worry, no harm done, we'll just go ahead and start training you behind the blah."
I reply, as is my want: "err... wha?"
Bossman: "Well, we're just going to go ahead and train you and get you started."
Apparently I can't turn down a promotion.
It's not so bad, we are trying to work around my day off with the Goddess who deigns to cuddle with me, and that's basically my only misgiving about the whole situation, but it does seem kind of odd to be denied a denial of a promotion. (of sorts)
M.
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