Friday, August 30, 2002

Despite the pathetic fallacy of late -- it's been cloudy and raining of late -- I have had a lovely day.
*Does a happy dance of almost inappropriate measures. Sings a bit. Even Laughs*
I got stuff in the mail, the greatest of all pleasures.
Books, to be precise.
*Dances a bit more*
From Llew, of course. And what books indeed: The first Lemony Snicket book AND The Basic Eight....
Sorry, but swooning was quite necessary at the moment. I had looked for these books for a few days, with little effect as I had forgotten the title of one and the author of the other.

I have heard -- hearsay, you see, not actual overhearing -- that this is only a secondary Laura Llew website. I started to get het up and say, no... But then I looked over the site. It is. This brings us to
Reason Laura rocks seven: Not only is she cool enough for her own site, but she has this secondary site. Wow. I wish I was interesting enough for one site... Let alone two.
No wonder *some random person* never visited Chapel Hill.

The Shedd's Spread Country Crock couple has bred. A couple of hands of gotten it on to the extent that they've married, fucked and given birth. I can't even get a date...
This comes of watching too much Dr Who.*

*This is rationalization: even Vince on Queer as Folk got some, and he knew more about the show than I did.

It's a pity no-one has ever heard me roar. When mad, I roar. Unfortunately, it doesn't sound fearsome. I sound like the little tiger cubs on children's programming, almost literally "rrrooarrr." It's quite cute and charming. Just like me.

Book of the Day: The first five chapters of The Bad Beginning, obviously (he he he) and the first chapter of The Basic Eight. I even managed to move on to Book XI of the Pickwick Papers.

Dr Who of the Day: The Visitation, part 4 and Black Orchid part 1.
Even Dr Who admits he hates Tegan, the uber-bitch. It is quite interesting that this Visitation should be about an incipient plague. It was made in 1980 and broadcast in 1981, just as AIDS was being recognized. In just a few years, the idea of rampant disease would be so much more current and scary.

And I cleaned the hovel today.

Thursday, August 29, 2002

Overseen* today:
"Love me. Becuase love doesn't exist and I have tried everything that does."
That fits in the mood de semaine.
Except I haven't tried everything. Very few things, really. But you Get The Point.

*formation based on folk etymology of 'overheard'
Hey Look! On the Horizon!
It's Windmills! What need tilting!
Better call in Don Jay-hote. Patron of lost causes! Reader of old books! Thinker of forgotten thoughts!
Defender of the honour of Laura while not being at all Petrarchian!
Did y'all know that up until this Century, Don Juan and Don Quixote were pronounced with English rules: Don Joo-an and Don Kwizote....
"Love without hope, as when the young bird-catcher
Swept off his tall hat to the squire's own daughter,
So let the imprisoned larks escape and fly
Singing about her head, as she rode by."
Robert Graves (the same guy who wrote I, Cladius)

I like that one...
The point of lyric poetry to describe the emotion of a moment. I think that poem hits it. It means a lot to me, as it describes a good 98.5% of any affection of mine. Not that anyone would know this, working as I have for years to build up a cyncial shell.
I have lovely dark circles under my eyes from staying up till 5 am talking to a Vicious Bi Bookshop Girl.* **
I continue to wear my fake fut hat.
I smoked an actual cigarette today. *Swoons in extasy (yes it is how you spell it) at the mere recollection* Man, I miss the smokes. And you look so very cool doing it. Sigh...

I also chaned the Blog's name. More poetic, if not actually as precise.

*Llew is not actually Bi. It was only part of her collegiate experience. It was a religious experience, apparently.
** Llew is not actually vicious. At all. She is the modicum of all female virtue. She quite regrets cropping some young Turk's feathers. Though he did deserve on't.

Wednesday, August 28, 2002

Reason Laura Llew rocks, number something. Let's say five: She never, ever would insult anybody. Who didn't deserve it. Cripes, she' s got what -- 87 people at her house now -- and she Loves Them All. All I've got is one perma-peeved Kat.
A less black thought:
One of the perks of being a full-time waiter -- and if you squint your eyes and suspend disbelief, it is a perk -- is getting a new "guest check pad" each shift. On the back you can write all the daily specials and such. I was always write some amusing song lyrics on the back. I found about 15 floating around today, with sundry lyrics on the back. They include:

"I would go out tonight, but I haven't got a stitch to wear." The Smiths
"Indie boys are neurotic" The Moldy Peaches
"Make a new cult everyday to suit to your affairs." Belle and Sebastian
"Her name is Yoshimi, she's got a blackbelt in karate." The Flaming Lips
"If you're feeling Sinister, go off and see a minister..." more B&S
"For a bit of honesty, I will repay you handsomely..." The Gentle Waves
"I never thought you'd be a junkie because heroin is so passe." The Dandy Warhols
"Will you be there for me?" Reindeer Section
"Take me to the haven of your bed, something that you never said..." more Smiths
"But when I come to blows, when I am numbering my foes, I just hope your are on my side my dear" B&S

For what it's worth, I think the "Make a new cult..." one came up the most.

Dr Who of the Day: The Visitation, part two. Richard Mace still rocks. He should have made it as a regular. Pretty much everybody else sux. The 17th Century costumes rock.

Tuesday, August 27, 2002

My black mood has not abated. I've decided I'm going to be poor and lonely for the rest of my life.
Because of my lack of meaningful social contact, I'm becoming weird.

I've commenced to wearing a black suede and fake fur cap with earflaps around the hovel. It is 95 degrees outside.
I've been talking to my cat. About art history and English Literature. Oddly, his comments reveal that he is an inveterate Deconstructionist with a penchant for postcolonial novels.
I sit around a lot, doing nothing. Not even thinking, staring at the wall.
I sing along with grossly inappropriate torch songs at unpleasant volumes: Lazy Line Painter Jane, Goldfinger, Dancing Queen.
One word: EMO.
Getting emotionally invloved with multi-episode storylines on G. I. Joe. I did not need the narration bridges for 'Arise, Serpentor, Arise.'
I admit to watching an episode of G. I. Joe called 'Arise, Serpentor, Arise.'

What I am not doing:
Reading anything worthwhile.
Writing anything at all.
Going to hang out at trendy Indie bars like Henrys or Orange County Social Club. God forbid I should meet new people, see old friends or enjoy myself when I can be self-indulgently miserable.
Drinking safe and reasonable amounts of alcohol.

The really sad bit is this: I see happy people about all the time, but I can't remember the last time I was happy. Not even for a minute or two. I distinctly remember smiling and laughing a great deal, but now I have the same moody, maudlin and self-servingly-sad air as a Sentimentalist Poet or bitchy adolescent.
Too bad absinthe's illegal. It poisons you as you drink it.
I have decided everyone hates me. After the past few days of being unable to rouse anyone to conversation at the very least, through personal contact, telephone or internet, I have come to the conclusion I am a social leper: Jamie, Heath, Angie, Darren, Crystal, Christina all abhor me. As far as I can tell, the only person not currently loathing me is one Muriel Glass. And that's not even her real name.
I don't write, I don't read. All I do is drink. My dream of late, to befetch myself to London, is becoming less and less practicable. Extreme debt does that.
Murphy got a flea collar today.

Dr Who of the Day: The Green Death, part 6 and The Visitation, part 1.
Jo gets the best leaving scene ever. Boss is also a hugely underrated villain: he has working knowledge of Dvorak, Beethoven, Wagner, Wilde and Bach. What other baddie gets that? And the effects with the Metebelis crystal are trippy as fuck. Oh yeah, it's 1973, so that makes since...
The Visitation: Let's all kill Adric, yes? Then top Tegan... How, exactly, did Dr Who make it past 1980 with this cast? And the 'open-faced' young Doctor, whose balls were surgically removed? Thank god Richard Mace rawks and the mysterious android rules. The plot is great, just these damn regulars. And how great is the egregious Theatre History? "I lost my job at the closing of the the Theatres..." 1642, for all y'all, when the Civil Wars started, to keep down plague and treason. One worked, at least... And younf Colley Cibber is prolly kicking around, waiting to rape the Bard...
I read little, of late...

Monday, August 26, 2002

In wandering the various highways and byways of the internet today I saw a fabulous new expression:
Indie poof.
I blushed furiously, having been speared exactly. Then I smiled. Iquitelikeit.
Nice to know there's something vaguely amusing In A World That Sux.
" We'll go no more a-roving
so late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving
and the moon be still as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath,
and the soul outwears its breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
and love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving,
And the day arrives too soon.
Yet we'll go no more a-roving
By the light of the moon.

Jesus. Byron wrote this hungover after the Venetian Carnival. I'll go hide now.

Sunday, August 25, 2002

Ever have one of those moments when you want to talk to somebody, anybody and you Can't Find Anybody At All? Sod it. Sod it all.

"As Time Goes By" is a great show. Very often, I wish I had somebody to grow old with. This is a joke: I can't even borrow somebody to be young with for a few minutes.

I may just go and drink to excess.
Random interesting fact:
On the first album from Ben Folds Five, there's a song called 'Summer B.' It's about a girl who worked where I do now. Not my biggest clain to fame (see: knocking down Matthew Broderick, offending Robert de Niro and getting shot at by Andy Griffith) but still quite interesting.
I was thinking today about how I want to fix up all my friends. Odd, this, considering my own apathy towards my own amours. I'm almost curious about when I not only accepted I shall be monkishly celebate but that this is also appropriate.
Actually, I think I'm being disingenuous. No. No, I'm not. I keep everybody just at arm's length away. I think I even know why -- a whole seperate issue. Suffice it to say that being happy makes me supsicious.
On a similar note, I watched Casablanca tonight. *Swoons* Ingrid Bergman is quite lovely in that. I wish, wish that I had somebody to feel that way about. I mean, I've got the cynical exterior. I can only hope to have the romantic core. I think I do -- I've studied the period enough. (How I love Byron!)

At work today, I got a two dollar bill as a tip. A 1953 $2, with red ink and silver standard bearings. They have Monticello on the back, instead of The Signing of the Declaration of Independance. It's prolly worth something. It made my day, anyway.

Dr Who of the Day: The Green Death, part 4: Jo lives, thanks to the local Deus e Machina. Whee... Frilly green shirt improved by a rust colored waist coat: semi-cool. Next episode: Dr Who in drag. Seriously.
Another cool fact: giant maggots were made from fox skulls and large condoms. I find this a fascinating comment on BBC special effects. Exactly what, I dunno. But It Must Mean Something...

Book of the Day: you geussed it: The Pickwick Papers, Book X.

Reason Laura Llew is cool, number four: by mentioning her Moon River CD, I got an actual email from Ken Chu. I felt so special. (How much of this is irony? You decide...)

Word, as 'twere, to yo' mother.