Friday, January 30, 2004

Oh and one more thing: any band that names an album "De-Loused in the Comatorium" needs a swift kick in the hiney.

Last night I had a dream that V+ somehow had an alien baby implanted in his head. Twinkletoes was there too, but I can't remember in what capacity. It seems funny now, but in my dream it was a very, very dire situation.
I guess I was asleep, then.
Funny, I don't normally dream in sci-fi.

On a side note, Johnny Rocket's has the best malts and veggie burger. Which is a good thing, because this meal has to last all weekend.

I like big bowls of cereal.
I have not been sleeping well.
I probably won't sleep more than six hours this weekend.
It's hard to tell whether I've been asleep sometimes, it's all perpetual fog.
I also like wearing high heels, and soy chai lattes. Those are good too, especially with a big bowl of cereal.
High heels and short skirts are good for chainsmoking in dj booths the world over.
I like New Order, especially "Temptation."
That is all.

Wednesday, January 28, 2004

I know you're wondering, well, what exactly happened last weekend.


A C&C Music Factory cover band called "Things That Make You Go Is That A C&C Music Factory Cover Band?"

An elevator disaster movie using an elevator that only goes 2 or 3 floors.

My friend Jennifer is spinning at MJQ tonight, so get yr scene on. I'll let you guess which one is Jennifer.

Tuesday, January 27, 2004

Sometimes it's all dusty wax doll smile when we enjoy keeping the gloss over their eyes. Play lover/play mother and never recognize anyone on a neutral morning. Play smash forever into the days, forever is into night.
We're not killing time- we're forcing it into slow suicide.

I hate how when you eat half of a banana, or maybe slice up half a banana for use in your Honey Nut Cheerios, the other half is un-saveable. Because it gets all brown and mushy within five minutes. Stupid fucking bananas. They can all go to hell.

Monday, January 26, 2004

After a rousing game of basketball, my friends and I like to shoot up and then vomit for eight hours.

State of the Blogland Address:

V+ made a Je Suis France video that is the best France video yet, but I can't seem to get the link on his webpage to work anymore.

The Melting Dolls page seems to be missing. I've alerted authorities and an amber alert is underway.

Twinkletoes is still rocking and rolling with his weekly analysis of the hit drama "The O.C."

Scarnsworth has not only fixed his comments and added links, the oceanchum blog now gives you the opportunity to sign up to win a date with Tad Hamilton.

"Well, Dick Cheney is still insane." -YMSP82

Red Duct Tape's blog is developing a Midwestern accent.

Captain Scurvy is working on his 6th plate of mashed potatoes and doesn't seem to be anywhere near stopping. That bear sure has some tough competition this year.

And Sticky Fluffy remains the undisputed "Dance Dance Revolution!" champion. He entered his high score under the initials "ASS."

Thank You and Goodnight.


Sunday, January 25, 2004

I bet sometimes posters wished they were octagonal but they have no method of communicating this to us. Because no one would buy a poster that says "I have a secret desire to have four more sides." Over and over they scream "you don't have to be crazy to work here but it sure helps," when all they want to do is grab you by the shoulders and shake you and cry out to whoever will listen "you have no idea what it's like to have thousands of voices screaming at you from inside a frame! I work here! And I am crazy! And all I ask for is four more sides!"
But alas Sears portrait studio cannot help you, due to a severe shortage of psychiatrists working in the customer service department.
Do they taunt you, the stopsigns? Are you really a street sign in disguise?
When you see the pictures of happy smiling and often golfing and/or graduating families do you just want to burn down their sailboat?

But what you fail to realize is that if the camera were to pan slightly to the left, one would realize that the stock photo family is being held in thrall by cattle-prod wielding photographers. Of evil.

It could always be worse. You could suffer the fate of Magic Eye posters, once stared down but now cast aside. Even those depicting, after doing some magic eye wizadry, a really bitchin corvette. With a screaming chicken.

Or you could be a stopsign.

Always wanting nothing more

than to be a stoplight.

And to stop getting shot at by the neighbor's kids.

I think if I have a rediculosly large number of children at once I will name them:

That tiny creepy head growing from Octavius's arm that keeps demanding cheese.

I bet Sextavius would get taunted a lot. And you might think Bitavius too, but his name would just get mispronounced. The bite marks would never quite heal.

Kids can be so cruel, can't you Red Rover chain? Let's send the tiniest girl over to be clotheslined. Just wait until they taste "land mine kickball."

Saturday, January 24, 2004

When is the money going to start rolling in?

And not rolling to the direct loans people?

"Everyone likes puppies. Even Hitler liked puppies."
-The Quotable Billows

They move like ghosts on worn-out video, quicker now look stop look away. Slow invisible film on film speed. Backlight your yellows and blacks, and I'll show me mine.

The first issue of my 'zeen (or "mag" or "aga" or "magaz" or "five xeroxed sheets of paper") is complete!
If you would like a copy send me your address and I'll send you one. It's free! Except you'll owe me one bitchin stamp.

The theme of "Camp Basement Issue #one" is corporate handbook.
It's a corporate handbook for Omnicom Conglomacore (or something like that).
You will be on the fast track to success!

If it sparks your interest maybe you might want to write for issue number two, theme to be decided later.
Just let me know.

Someday, like McSweeneys, I will be able to reject people in the grandest of fashions.

Friday, January 23, 2004

Here is a conversation I had earlier with agentcrusher:

kmartcashier13: are you actually there?
kmartcashier13: guess be late...where your blog at?
kmartcashier13: oh wait you're not there to answer.
kmartcashier13: sometimes I forget things...
kmartcashier13: this conversation is riveting! I'm totally going to blog it.

And so it was. And so it shall be.
(picture of majestic unicorn)

Remember when Dee-Lite was popular?

Remember "I love your smile?"

Remember back when the Smiths convention was in town?
(ok I ripped that one off)

Remember back when that guy from The Black Crowes briefly joined R.E.M.?

Hey, remember the early 90's?

No? Ok, I guess that's for the best. Not one of our shiniest happiest shiniest moments.

I think "Quentin Tarantino Theater" is going to be a weekly Thursday event.
I'd like some other regular weekly feature, like maybe "stupid car of the week?"
(having already made fun of Nissan Titan in my own special way).

Any suggestions?

I'm working again this weekend.

Which sucks, because I really wanted to see "Equity Element" and "DJ Arpu" down at the Echo.

Words/phrases used during the two hour quarterly state-of-the-business address I just got out of:
-equity element
-gross revenue
-annual gross revenue

Wolfman (of Wolfman and Donna, of gallery furniture) died.


Thursday, January 22, 2004

I'm sorry but I must repost this from livejournal because it is so very very funny.

Kobe is at it again!

Here we see Kobe about to rape a small, helpless cloud.

(courtesy of Mark from two cubicles over.)

Here is a flag I designed for my friend Joshua to accomidate all his conquistadoring needs:

It is a pirate sword and a snake with fangs (and NOT, as previously believed, a green bean with fangs).
I think it will strike fear in the hearts of the masses.

I have decided to start taking my news once a week in glossy form. That being said, which weekly news magazine should I subscribe to?

...and next week on "Quentin Tarantino Theater:"

Don't you hate that?


Uncomfortable silences. Why do we
feel it's necessary to yak about
bullshit in order to be

I don't know.

That's when you know you found
somebody special. When you can
just shut the fuck up for a minute,
and comfortably share silence.

I don't think we're there yet. But
don't feel bad, we just met each

Well I'll tell you what, I'll go to
the bathroom and powder my nose,
while you sit here and think of
something to say.

I'll do that.

Thank you and goodnight.

Wednesday, January 21, 2004

John Wayne+Fu Manchu= Ghengis Khan.

Sorry about all that nuclear testing out in New Mexico where you filmed this masterpiece. And about all that cancer that killed 20 cast members.
I was thoroughly entertained for a few minutes...and then forced to change the channel.


Combos. They cheese your hunger away.

I would like to name cars for a living.

The Toyota Tuberculi. Luxury is contagious.

I think someday the Nissan Titan will have the ability to transform into a robot and fight crime. Then we'll have to call it either the Nissan Optimus or the Nissan Titan: Optimus Prime edition.

24 was wierd last night.

Tuesday, January 20, 2004

There's nothing going on today here. I'm bored as fuck, provided that fuck is as bored as tombs, which better be at least half as bored as I am, because I am pretty bored.

I don't care what anyone says, and by anyone I mean stomp and stammer, I like the Dandy Warhols. You know what I don't like? Stomp and Stammer. Yet I still read it's at-least-two-weeks-too-late pile o' crap every month, like I really need last month's concert lineups. They have enticed me with their freeness, those bastards. I'm going to start my own zine, except I'm not going to call it a zine. Because that word makes it sound like all the editors are wearing flannel shirts and listening to Mudhoney.

Hell, I have access to free Xeroxes. I'm as pseudo-intellectual as any of those shits putting out all that other xeroxed name-dropping black and white irony.

Who's with me? It's going to be like McSweeneys except not good or professional.
Are you ready to be not good or professional? Can you handle it? Can you?

I hope this goes at least half as well as my attempt to start my band, Camp Basement, which now consisits of me and my Rubix cube (who has, as of late, been rather slow on the uptake).

I am so good at starting projects that don't go anywhere. I am even champion, I think. I would attribute it to me being a gemini, but I don't believe in that shite. (But more power to anyone that does. I mean, we have to have something to fill the void so we won't have to admit to ourselves that there really is no meaning to anything.)

On a completely unrelated note, I read "The Stranger" again last night. Charming book. Quick read. Highly recommended, especially to those who are students of astrology and/or religion. If I were The Cure I might just write a song about it. But as I am merely Camp Basement I will just sit and yell in your face and throw mashed potatoes at the wall and maybe sacrifice some rodents all in the good name of absurdism and in the badass name of ROCK AND ROLL. Motherfuckers.

Jal has been idle on AIM for 42hrs and 42 mins. That sounds like a really really rediculously stupid record.

What rot, I say. What rot you chaps. I really want to bring back semi-archaic British-isms.

The combination of ads at the top of this page today is wierd.

Random movie reviews from Sunday nite movie nite:

"Evil Dead Trap" (Evil Death Trap?) is a good movie, if you like Japanese horror. Better than Ringu, or so I've been told having never actually seen Ringu.

"Maybe Baby" is not a good movie unless you really really really like Hugh Grant romantic comedies. Not that this movie even had Hugh Grant in it, it just seems like it would appeal to the same demographic.

"X Men 2" (X2?) was pretty good. I heard it was better than the first one, but again, I've never seen the first one.

I can't believe everyone sat through "Maybe Baby." I felt nauseated at the opening theme song (McCartney singing Buddy Holly).

I'm going to buy some juice now.

Saturday, January 17, 2004

"Ulysses" by James Joyce is generally considered to be the greatest book of the 20th century.
"The Bible" by God and whoever else happened to be in the room at the time is generally
considered the greatest book ever (overlooking religious technicalities, etc.)
If James Joyce had written the Bible, we would still be waiting for God to create light as he struggled to tie his shoes for 500 pages.

"Ulysses" taunts me mercilessly with its sheer length. I have a theory that no one has actually finished the book, and that those last 4000 pages could contain any of the following:
-Hundreds of tiny classified ads.
-Your missing DVD player manual.
-1000 pages of Joyce muttering about a hand cramp.
-The script of the final episode of "Friends."
-How many licks it takes to get to the tootsie roll center of a tootsie pop, with an in-depth description of each lick.
-A complete biology textbook.
-2000 final pages of complete jibberish, seeing as Joyce had finally run out of words and was forced to make up new ones.
-Atkins recipies.

I really need to read this book. Hey, there's my New Year's Resolution! I found it.

Then I can pretend to understand it the same way I pretend to understand Pavement lyrics and "Last Year at Marienbad."

Friday, January 16, 2004

Whores, you are all whores. Blow and blowjobs. My god.
I'm going to bed.

I said god damn.

How does five hours pass without anyone noticing that five hours had, indeed, passed? And why must those particular five hours be smack in the middle of the night, the prime sleeping hours? Today would be perfectly lovely more or less if I were allowed to simply chainsmoke on the porch and watch the end of "LBII: RW&B." Lovely.
More or less.

Thursday, January 15, 2004

This is what happens when you enter the word "Dance" into the Getty One stock photography search engine:

In the future, women will only dance with apes.
Damn, dirty apes.

Happy election year, everybody!

Wednesday, January 14, 2004

I like cereal. Cereal is good people.

There is a kitten on my calender. It stares blankly into the distance as it sits in a delicately hand-painted teacup on a bed of greenery. That kitten is probably dead now.

The CD I bought from is here. It is the soundtrack to the film "Downtown 81" and it is going to be so cool once I open it. I like ordering cds and dvds, forgetting that I ordered them, and just letting them be surprises for myself.

Party cake.

Monday, January 12, 2004

My sinus cavities must look like tiny war zones, if I had to guess.

And one more thing: Atkins bread sucks ass. I don't think it's made of anything found in nature. What a way to ruin a perfectly good pb&j.

Sunday, January 11, 2004

For those familiar with 90.5 (fm-is-wuog-athens) circa 99 or 00, wasn't there a promo or a fake promo that aired with someone singing about salsa? Or have I just made this whole thing up in my head?

I had an obligatory 4am shift once. I was always late, and the kid who I relieving would always get pissed because I was late. His name was Wayne and we became friends later.

I was not put on this earth to operate machinery with a lot of buttons.
I will tell you that much.

Things people probably don't think about on a regular basis, but at any given moment is on the mind of some member of the human race:

-The TV show "Sisters"
-The evil queen's interchangable head in "Return to Oz."
-Whatever happened to that one mime.
-The Ford Edsel parked in the garage in that one frame of the original NES game "Maniac Mansion."

I have that game for my NES and I still can't beat the damn thing. Anyone wanna give it a go?

Saturday, January 10, 2004

Let me know if this is an episode of the Twilight Zone, because something feels off. I'm at work on a Saturday and not ready to face people much less carry on a conversation thanks to my sporatic insomnia, though last night I actually spent most of my allotted sleeping time writing a very long letter to Sara Jane. Looking at the mess I ignore and the caffiene that is in charge of my system I make a note not to venture near any rivers. It gets to the best of us.

Friday, January 09, 2004

There's something about a cloudy day at the office that lends itself to listening to the entire R.E.M. catalogue as background music to your busywork. I'm about halfway through "Monster" and am barreling towards present day, though I might skip "Hi-Fi." It might be too tedious for late afternoon, and this mid-monster nonsense is difficult enough.

Plastic bags: Silent. Deadly.
(A portion of the article.)

Thursday, January 8, 2004
A Mt. Pleasant Township couple wants Wal-Mart to pay for foot and toe injuries they claim were caused by canned goods and condiments that tumbled from an overfilled plastic grocery bag.

According to a two-count civil lawsuit filed Wednesday in Westmoreland County, Brenda and Ronald Sager contend a plastic bag they brought home from the East Huntingdon Township store last month was deficient and overstuffed.

The bag, which contained a 32-ounce jar of Miracle Whip, a 46-ounce bottle of ketchup, three 15-ounce cans of fruit, an 18-ounce bottle of ranch dressing and a 12-ounce bottle of mustard, broke open when the Sagers returned home and started to put away their groceries.

That's when the handle tore and the bottom of the bag broke, the Sagers claim.

"... all of the contents of said small plastic bag immediately fell onto and struck the right ankle, foot and toes of the plaintiff, Brenda Sager," the lawsuit said.

The 14-page complaint filed by attorney John Scales claims Brenda Sager suffered numerous injuries including cracked and damaged toenails. Brenda Sager also claims she sustained more serious permanent injuries and other physical problems, such as ligament damage and a broken right foot.

The Sagers contend Wal-Mart was at fault for her injuries. The store, they claim, failed to properly instruct and train its employees to correctly bag products, negligently provided a defective bag, recklessly overpacked the bag by placing in it too many heavy items, failed to double- or triple-bag the purchases, and placed Brenda Sager in a "position of peril."

She is seeking damages in excess of $30,000.

Her husband also is seeking that amount in damages, claiming that as a result of his wife's injuries he has been deprived of her attention and comfort and suffered a loss of consortium.

Maybe they should try turning it off and then turning it back on...

The Mars Rover is Stuck.

My friend recently returned from Europe and brought me a Kinder Suprise! chocolate egg, more German chocolate, and a superawesome hat that makes me look like a stewardess for USSR Air. German chocolate just kicks the ass of American chocolate so hard core that I could eat it by the pound. I could also kill some German gummi products pretty fast. I must visit Berlin, and then I think I'll move in.

If what they say is true, that is.

Thursday, January 08, 2004

Earlier I had the phrase "I break me down for you" running through my head like a wound-up stock ticker, but I didn't have time take action. Maybe I'll just concentrate on finding a suitable font.

This is why everything is still unfinished. Details, details, punctuation.

I have old-lady hands. Dry and inky. I should acquire lacy gloves, and soon.

Let me know if you should find yourself at number 1000 on my counter. Just curious.

Wednesday, January 07, 2004

Have you seen the i-pod minis? They're tiny and come in pretty colors, so you can match your pink i-Pod to your pink Vespa and your pink MINI.
When you drive by people will wonder if you're from the future.
Because in the future all appliances will fit on the head of a pin.

White chocolate Reese's cups are delicious. I hope Reese Witherspoon continues to invent such delicious foodstuffs.

This giant Jude Law poster in my cubicle is a positive addition. Thanks goes out to whichever random paper company sent us this piece of free poster goodness.

Apparently "Rape the Road" is not a good tagline for a car company.

Tonight at the Earl:

I Almost Saw God In the Metro (CD release party)
Jennifer Trezza
Scream Machine

Go. I command it.

Bush In 30 Seconds.
Check out the panel of celebrity judges. Do you think they all have to meet in one big room to judge these? If so, I bet it would go down something like this:

Moby gets really pissed and goes on a hunger strike because Al Franken keeps accidently calling him Michael Stipe. Jack Black tries to break the tension with a song. Eddie Vedder starts beating up on Jack Black a little for being annoying. Chaos erupts. Moby eventually dies of starvation and Michael Moore releases a documentary on the whole incident, the liberal slant on a roomful of liberals actually going so far it surpasses liberalism and is seen as extremely right-wing. Meanwhile, in the corner, James Carville enjoys a taco.

Tuesday, January 06, 2004

No time today to think of something new to write, so here's a repost from my livejournal:

My Take On the Bars Closing Earlier

It's kind of like when third world governments taken over by extremist groups pass laws making it legal for the military to shoot people point-blank in the street for looking at them the wrong way.

No, wait. Never mind. It's nothing like that.

What I meant to say is that it's like back in high school when your parents take an hour off your curfew and it becomes a huge pain in the ass to steal their car because the alarm on the new Lexus is so loud.

Yeah, that's it.

Monday, January 05, 2004

Wow. I feel like crap on a crap cracker.
Crap warmed over.
If I were a smoothie flavor, it would be crappleberry.

From the new "Plug" (see links): "Either Stouffer's is the leader of nouveau cuisine or they fucked up my lasagna."

That previous post re: the band started out as something as simple as "Hey, I want to start a band. Anyone interested?" And then it started to get out of hand. I don't want my years of piano lessons to go to waste is all.

According to "Party Out Of Bounds" the Athens music scene was only good for about an hour back in 1981. Either I'm just born too late for everything or someone's bitter because they're old.
It made me have this strange repetitive dream about R.E.M. The same scene kept repeating every five seconds or so like a slow sepia toned filmstrip.

My mom taught me that once you ask a friend to do something, you should wait until they ask you to do something before inviting them again. If they don't it means they're not your real friend. Thanks to my mother, I have no idea whether some people are my "real friends" or are just tolerating me.

I've always been wary of becoming too close to someone because I was taught that nobody is as genuine as they seem and they'll probably drop you eventually.

Feel free to pull up a couch.

Sunday, January 04, 2004

2004 is going to be all about the sandwich. People are going to take sandwiches to new levels with their daring choice of filling. Fluffernutter is going to make it's comeback as the chic topping of choice.

Mac and cheese from the box is going to become so overwhelmingly cheesy that the cheese is actually engineered to conquer and colonize the macaroni. Kraft is forced to admit that the cheese is not real after the finished product emits a greenish glow.

I didn't make any resolutions. At least I didn't write any down, I've had the same goal for awhile now but I'm failing miserably. Or at least failing to varied results depending on the day.

I need to make a post-it note on my fridge instructing me to eat the food within. My digestive tract needs a similar reminder.

A Band Will Surely Justify My Existance!
The Journey of This Idea I Have Every Few Months

In the spirit of philanthropy this the new year I have decided to start giving back to the Atlanta hipster scene which has given so much to me. Appropriate belt width. Rapture lyrics. Understanding the line that divides irony from what is actually hip. A better understanding of lemming behavior once the lemming control group is dressed in red leather and forced to socialize. And of course justification that there is nothing cooler going on in this other words the delicate act of putting yourself out there while remaining indifferent. And in the corner.

It's knowledge developed on the mean streets of Williamsburg and refined on a different block in Williamsburg. It's called street smarts.

Phase 1: An Idea Approaches.
If I could pass off falling as dancing, certainly I could substitute substance for volume. I could also start my own subgenre of newness: simply core. Except no simply. Core doesn't need the protective padding of emo or screamo or b flat. You won't see us coming and we'll startle you. Because we'll probably be standing a little too close.

Phase 2: The Idea Attacks!
I am going to start a band, and this time I'm using actual audible notes. It's like I'm going back to the roots of noise. Sort of velvet underground meets classic tv theme songs meets a geriatric choir covering bowie. We will posses all the whimsy of belle and sebastian without the bulky cellists and excess Stuarts. We won't care if you get it, because Antwerp will. And if it doesn't we'll force him to with an all-out assault on his senses! Which he will accept, and request more, because our brand of hardcore emo takes hardcore screamocore to another level: nougat. Why destroy expensive dental work on the crushing center of feedback vs. death screams when you can ease your way into the world of core. The marshmallowy goodness will assure you that nobody has any clue about the subgenres of emo and hardcore, they just know how to sound cool by describing an unknown band as a combination of two equally unknown bands. Every once in awhile throw in Joy Division- it doesn't matter where. Ripping off Joy Division is now hipper than ill fitting pants. The nougat will be delicous and by the time it's all over you might just find yourself wondering why you ever got rid of your Manheim Steamroller tapes, because some bands will only be appreciated by elevators and ficus trees. But you know that they were decking the halls on another level, and you were waiting for them with a can of spray snow. You knew that they knew that mood music could kind of rock. And so did your dad, but not for another week at least.

Defending Yourself Against An Idea Whose TIme Had Come: Nurturing the Idea Phase
Take it up a notch? I have a timeshare on that notch with plenty of room for you during hurricane season! That is to say it's taken. I'm already considering seeing if I can actually record photosynthesis and if so bringing the ficus plant on tour. Electrosynthcoresis, asking the world just where cell division lies on the musical register.

A guitar playing botanist would be a plus.

You've seen ficus trees be decorative distractions in your local bank but have you ever seen one in the spotlight? Or any plantlife? Information on plant bands was scarce.

Feeding Your Idea A Sandwich and Watching It Grow
So far it's me and my ability to read music and play the piano and write obtuse lyrics and throw stuff at people and get drunk. And my desparate reach for something slightly original.

I probably need some other people to play other instruments. Guitar, probably and some drums. I need a singer with pizzazz! My voice sounds like nico but nico covering Television is just derivitive of everything that killed emogoth. core. I think instead of another guitar I'll just see what small instruments I can distort using a wah petal. And I don't think we necessarily need a bass, considering that there's probably a button that provides fill. They make buttons for everything these days.

Loving Your Idea As If It Were Your Very Own.
I have some possible names:
The Future is Next Week
Hayley Mills Replication Kit
Camp Basement

Don't think based on the names that I'm trying to rewrite Pet Sounds for the math rock set. Pet Sounds took into account harmony, whereas my (our) philosophy is that any three notes played together can be a chord if you believe it enough.

I want to perform in both Atlanta and Athens, so you have to be obsessed with both your image and appearing to know more than anyone around you. You not only know that Macha did that progression already, you know when, where, and how many other bands were signed to that label based on their ability to ride coattails.

Making Friends With Your Idea And Growing Old Together, Or Letting Your Idea Go Gently
So...lemme know, ok? I'm pretty busy rehearsing my electrophyll outfit Electroschnitzel at the moment but I should have some free time soon depending on whether or not the Ouiji board actually produces the spirit of Falco like the box promises or just continues to answer in ones and zeros. (Never try to upgrade a ouiji board, it only channels dead geeks.)

I know people still use old-tyme reel to reels but has anyone tried a reel to reel to........reel?
Do people recognize the format Bach used for his warmup pieces? Does Radiohead?

We might need a research department/ go go dancers.

I will take risks like this for the future of electromath rockcore. Which I think actually requires a knowledge of vector systems and at least calculus II to understand.

Your Idea, Your Future, And You. How To Train Your Idea At Home For A Career in Medical Transcription
If you are ready to live at least a month into the future of music, get on the train bound straight for indie credville. Which I think at the moment is Omaha, or Branson. Like everything else there's no sign. You just have to know. Transportation a plus.

Saturday, January 03, 2004

Tonight at Lenny's the following exchanges occured between the hours of one am and three am:

Between me and a friend:
Me: Ok, other than being drunk how are you?
Him: Great!
Me: Good, what've you been up to?
Him: Well last week I beat my record for most sex had in 24 hours. How have you been?
Me: Wow, not that good!
Him: (laughter, something unintelligable)
Me: You're not driving home, are you?

Right, let's stop sharing now.

Between me and a guy I'd never met but who looked like a Carbona-in-training:
Him: Hi, what's your name?
Me: Jill. And yours?
Him: (I don't remember this). How old are you?
Me: Twenty-four.
Him: I'm ninteen. Do you want to dance?
Me: I'm not really feeling the dance floor right now, but I'll let you know.
(proceed to lose him in a crowd of his twins.)

I guess that was his stab at picking up a mysterious older woman, though I don't know if he assumed that women secretly dream of random hook-ups with underage hipsters. Pretty far down the list, kiddo, especially considering that a nineteen-year old hipster and a twenty-six year old hipster are pretty much the same thing, emotions-wise, except the twenty-six year old had been in more failed bands and probably doesn't live with his parents.

Between me and the guy who used to own MJQ:
Me: Hey I know you from New Years.
Him: Oh god. Yeah I remember that.
Me: You were in the hot tub the whole time.
Him: I didn't try to kiss you, did I?
Me: No, but I didn't really meet you until nine in the morning.
Him: Me and my rhinestones.
Me: How was the highland inn?
Him: It was ok.

Between me and a guy I had a crush on in college, but he does not remember my name and why should he? It's been four years. We are shouting because we're shaking it one time on the dance floor
Me: I have a degree from the journalism school!
Him: I was in the journalism school!
Me: I know! We had classes together!
Him: I don't know how I don't remember you! You look sort of familiar, though!
Me: My memory is wierd! I remember the most random people!
Him: I'm really bad at it! So do you have a job?!
Me: Yeah!
Him: Six years of school and I still work in a coffee shop! I'm twenty-four! I'm like the oldest person here!
Me: LeBrian is older than you! Givan is older than you! (names changed) I'm your age!
Him: I feel like a fossil!
(kudos to me for refraining from mentioning the fact that I knew which restaurant he worked at and still had his picture. in a book somewhere kids, not on me. I'm not crazy that way. Too much energy drain.)

Between me and a guy I met at a random party a few months ago and I assumed I'd never see again so I gave him my friend's e-mail address when he asked for mine. Because I was kind of messed up and he kept following me around which was kind of creepy at the time.
Him: I e-mailed you and you never wrote back.
Me: Really? God, I'm sorry about that. I must've thought it was junk mail.
Him: (skeptical) maaybe...
Me: I really don't remember. But I am sorry.
(I felt kind of bad for not giving him the real address because he's nice enough and has a girlfriend, but my friend and I like to give our other male friend's address out when we get asked for our e-mail addresses by strangers. It's not only safer, it also provides a brief moment of hilarity).

Between me and my friend Jal:
Jal: Are you ready to get out of here?
Me: Yes.
Jal adjusts riding helmet, both head for door.

These are available in short play form for public performance. Just ask!