My Heroine

So someone I know primarily through her blog is my new hero.
I don't really feel comfortable repeating her story or directing you to her blog without her knowledge or permission, but most everybody will know who I mean.
Pigtails rocks.
I can't quite match her story, but my Talk With My Parents wasn't easy. The Major was not amused.
These things always take courage but she seems set. She seems so wonderful that she needn't worry. I told her that I would wish her luck, but I don't think she needs luck.
Still, I was upset that she lives in Scotland so that hugs were an impossibilty.
Cyberhugs still Rocks.
And man, she gets 'em.

So everything has been rather boring.
On Halloween, I thought I had the day off. I had an interview at the Carolina Inn, but the manager had mistakenly sceduled it for her day off, so now I have to re-scedule it.
When I got back from that, I had a message from work that I was late. It turns out they changed my schedule without telling me. I went in and work for two hours to help them close up early.
I then went to see Ghost Ship. I was the only one there. It was pretty bad, but it was Halloween and I felt like something spooky. It took itself a bit too seriously. It could have benetited from some kitch power.
It did have one nasty-ass scene where a steel cable whipsaws through a deck of dancers in 1962. Barf. There was this great bit where everybody looks around, not knowing what happened. Then they all literally go to pieces. One woman tries to re-attach her lower half before she croaks (He he. It was silly).
Juliana Margolis saved the day. Fortunately, the cute guy didn't die first, though he did die. The cuter boy turned out to be all evil and stuff. Not a big problem, really.
After that I Talked To Llew!!! I promised to play her a set on my show. I did. It was great. After 'Radio, Radio' by Elvis Costello and the Attractions, my show's themesong, I played
Autumn Sweater by Yo Le Tengo
100,000 Firelies by SuperChunk (originally done by the Magnetic Fields*)
Laura Laurent** by Bright Eyes
Hand in Glove by the SMITHS
and Gillian Welch's Red Clay Halo.
AND Laura was awake to hear it. Yay! Yay! Yay!
She liked it, too. *blushes*
I just started a new slot, Fridays, 3 to 5. I like the guy after me, who is quite cute. I don't like the guy before me, who cut into my show 10 minutes, had like 6 other people (you can only have 1 geust) and was smoking (dope and tobacco) in the Control Room so that it reeked. Icky. And it ruins the equipment.
The show went well and time flew by. I got other requests (Rocky Horror and Little Shop of Horrors) and played some creepy Halloween Stuff, like Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor and Who is the Doctor? and the original Dr Who theme. I also played some great new stuff, like the Snitches.

When I came home, TBWWBR had rather inconviently passed out in the bathroom. He was sitting against the door, so I couldn't even get in. This pissed me off disportionately.

Today was quite boring. I went to work and rented a movie and got Wendy's.
Then I wrote this.

*I forgot this on air, but will amend next week. I was reminded by le Llew.

**So this uber-sexy, super-siren of girl who's smart as whip with a deadly wit has an ad at Salon under the name LauraLaurent. Go see it, if only for her picture. Check out the eyebrows and the smile.*'

*' If you, like me, are moved to kiss her. Let me know. As founder of the BTKLF, I can hook U up.

The Gimghouls...

First things first.
The Gimghouls are the secret society of the University of North Carolina. They're reputed to be the most secret of the old school secret societies. I've studied after them for years and know next to nothing.

Here's what I do:
The Order of Ginghouls was started by 4 students in 1899. If you care, I can tell you who.
Each member has a heraldic shield. They are hung in the atrium of the graduate library, Davis Library.
There may be a fixed number of members, but I doubt it. I imagine, though, there is a maximum number.
They have a castle. Yep, a real stone castle in Chapel Hill. Its official title is Hippol Castle. It was built in the 1925 by a village a Waldensian stonecutters brought in from Valdese, NC (just a few miles from where I grew up). Nobody can get in; there's a custodian on site with a shotgun.
Every Hallowe'en, at midnight, they march from somewhere on campus to the Forest Theater, an outdoor, stone, Greek-style theater on campus. As they process with lit candles, in black robes and masks, they call and respond in some language (possibly made up, though I doubt it). They have a little ceremony, blow out their candles and dash into the woods. Forrest Theater abuts Battle Park which adjoins the castle's property. I assume they dash back to the castle.
The castle is on the highest point in Chapel Hill's municipal limits. It does not appear on any official municipal maps.
On the site of the castle is Dromgoole Rock. It is a large, rectangular rock with a stain that resembles human blood. Legend says it is the blood of Peter Dromgoole, a UNC student in the early 1820s, who was shot to death in the last duel in NC. Dromgoole really existed (I've seen his school records) and disappeared without trace in 1822.
According to rumor, membership is my invitation. If you ever ask to be a member, you cannot be invited.
Nobody knows who they are or what they do.

I followed one four years ago as they ran through Battle park. I followed it for about 3/4 a mile down a path in the heavy woods. She had a considerable lead and when I saw her, she was seated on a cairn. I walked up to her and realized I hadn't really planned this out and had nothing to say. As I started to speak, four other robed people popped out of the woods. Two grabbed my arms.
The girl stood up, looked up and said "Jason Andrew Eckard,* your curosity will do you no good. Stop following us."
Then they all ran away.
I was petrified. My full name appears on nothing but my birth certificate and I have only told one other person what it was. This girl was not that person. I have no idea at all how she possibly could have known that.
I ran back to my dorm and drank heavily.
Since then, they've kind of become a study of mine.
I know no-one else who knows as much about them as I do.

*I actually have five names. The three name version is what I use legally and what I use here.

Great Scott!!!

While looking for something completely different in the vast Sinister archives, I came across this
amazing entry.

Forget this possible crush on XXXXXX XXXXXXX, I declare my love for one Ian Nicholson, whom I've never actually heard from, but if he can write that, is desirable.

Warm, Fuzzy Feelings...

Tonight was the first cold night of the year.
Accordingly, I made spiced wine. Red wine, lemon juice, sugar, nutmeg, ginger, allspice, cinnamon, and cloves. Usually, I have people to drink it with, but tonight it was just me. It was still really good.

Tonight is also the night the Gimghouls march. I'll talk about that tomorrow, but it was fun. Spooookeee. (They're in my book.)

I like when it gets cold. I can curl up with my tiger blanket. I got it probably 15 years ago: it has a tiger in brown on one side, and it is reversed printed on the back. I've sewed up the edges and corners many times, but it's still in good condition. (An aunt gave it to me for Christmas. I think it's probably the best Christmas gift ever. I have two other cousins* on the same side of the family, and the same year Chris got a lion and Jonathan got a cheetah blanket.)
Whenever it's cold or I feel sad, I wrap up with that. It makes me better. I maybe 24, but I think I still have a security blanket.
It's weird, I sleep literally curled up in that blanket with a pillow over my head.

People can be like that feeling. I reckon that warm fuzzy feelings would look a lot like Laura Llew does**. They certain feel a lot a like. Emails = cyberhugs.
(Hey, hey! This is today's reason why Laura Llew Rocks!)

I'm very tired***.
Bye.

*I have many, many cousins in toto. My mother is one of eight kids, all of whom had kids. I don't know most of them. I really don't want to.

**Doesn't this make you to smooch her? It does me. People interested in so smooching, please contact the Boys to Kiss Laura Foundation or BTKLF*' at the contact link above. Used A&F models become property of the founder...

***But I still want to talk about stuff, like Mr Italian Wine Seller at work today, and the BWG. *growls*

*' Does Laura like the regular KLF? Remember them? In '91 they had a number one hit (on the British Charts) with 'Doctorin' the TARDIS*'' ', a remix of Dr Who's theme.

*'' This is The Word.

I Have Always Depended On The Kindness of Strangers

My life is always like a Tennessee Williams play. I don't usually feel like Blanche DuBois, though. Today I do.

I hate breaking my word. It makes me feel bad. Especially lately, when it has begun to mean much more to me. It some ways, since I'm broke, it's all I've got. What it means to me, really, though is the inability to make good with friends, and after the Great Mass Exodus of them, the ones I have no seem so important. Being poor has made me realize how swell people can be and how unimportant stuff can be.

I had plans to meet Aruni tonight that fell through. That kills me.
I can say it wasn't my fault, but that's just being slack. I ran out of gas. I should have known better than to try to drive to Durham with so little gas, but I really thought I could make it. Obviously, I didn't. So I wound up standing her up.
I got a cop to take me from the exit where I broke down to the Waffle House on Hillsborough Street. I ran from there to Duke's campus to try to catch Aruni. I failed. It was probably a two or three mile run, but I was in my favourite boots, so I could run neither quickly nor smoothly. It was raining, too, so I got soaked. I did, however, sing most of the time. Belle and Sebastian tunes to keep myself up -- I remember I'm Waking Up to Us, Judy and the Dream of Horses, and Me and the Major, but there were more. (Attention Sinister folk -- this bit was not in my latest post, as my pride forbad the hilarity it no douby would inpsire.)
I went back to WXDU's station (it's on the same part of the Duke East Campus that the Duke Coffee House, TBS venue, is) and the djs Jennifer and Jason gave me a ride to my car. Jason even loaned me the money to get a plastic gas tank and gas. I'd never even met them before. They rock. Besides the money, I'm paying them back beer. They so deserve it. Jason even jumped my car off when the batteries died -- I had to leave the blinkers on, so the Little Red Car wouldn't be rammed.
So I was upset the whole chain of events happened -- my favourite boots got ruined when the rain soaked through and soaked out the glue that held the sole on (they've been fixed before, and probably will be again, but still, I love them sooo much), I was completely soaked, I walked probably 7 miles (it was a hike to find a phone to call a cop, and I got lost twice on the way back) and I stood up Aruni. But on the bright side, I did meet these two wonderful people. I hope I can help them, sometimes.

The worst part is this though: I missed TBS. I wanted to see them so much... You should have heard my show Sunday morning. I really was through the roof to see them. When I walked into the Cofeehouse at 9.20, there were maybe 6 people. I knew the doors opened at 7.00, so I figured early time, short show. The stage was broken down and the lights bright. I figured I had missed it all. I left and eventually got my ride.

Turns out, the show hadn't begun. And Aruni was there, asleep. (Yeah, Joyce will do that to you.*)
I missed the damn show twice.
I honestly could beat myself.
Even worse, apparently they were only like a dozen people there. THAT SUCKS SO MUCH ASS, DURHAM/CHAPEL HILL. What's wrong with you people?!
Aruni got to talk to Beth Arzy, of Sinister repute, though.
I suck so hard. I'm so beating myself up over this. My ill judgement fucked up a whole night, a night I had really been looking forward to. And my boots.
Why is my life like this?! Errr.
(Secretly, I'm thinking, it's that damn shoe comment from yesterday.)

Now I feel all angsty and dumb, like a teenager.
One of the bases of my disgust is that this is a prime example of how I can't get my shit together. I'm 24 now, and out of school, and I run out of gas. I mean, really.
I'm in a less than dead end job and I should be in school, getting a higher degree, or at least doing something in the theatre to help me get there. I have plans and goals that I'll never fucking reach because I am an unusual mix of lazy and stupid.
And I couldn't get a date to save my life.
Bad Jay. Bad, bad Jay!

*Joyce seems terribly wrapped up in making himself important to his national and literary history (like his contemporary Thomas Wolfe -- ha ha! some original literary criticism). But admittedly, he was a genius. His use of language is fascinating, and his original work in creating modern writing.
But he ultimately went to far with Finnegan's Wake. Art has to exist within convention to be understood, and even if you are playing with the complexity of that, once you completely leave it and nobody understands you, you're masturbating in public (in an artistic sense).

The Malternative... A trend that bothers my sense of good taste.

So, yeah. There's all these malt beverages now, going around on the coat-tails of their parent liquors. The Unwashed apparently believe that these supermarket prizes contain actual name brand hooch, and the ads support this, but it's a lie. They're King Cobra gone up-market.
And they suck. As a friend of mine put it, "How many times can you re-invent Zima?"
There's crap from Smirnoff, Captain Morgan, Jack Daniels, et al. (Like a vodka tonic, rum and coke or Jack and Ginger are that hard to make.)
It all start with hard lemonade. *shudders*
I'm also having a hard time with real booze being advertized on air. It just seems wrong, somehow. Not Fred-Flinstone-handing-Barney-Rubble-a-smoth-relaxing-Lucky-Strike wrong, but still off.
Not to mention the Trojan Man condom spots...

As I am busy pontificating, I'll give another Jay's Rule of Life, a la the rant about the Police and French Fries. People ask me about spotting gay men. I try to persuade them that a) being gay is about whom you sleep with, not what you look like [Hark the Voice of One Crying in the Wilderness here] and b) (as a result) I have no gay-dar.
I cut the difference and give them my one, rock-solid, built on experience and never-contradicted observation. Gay boys have cute shoes.
Yeah, it's not much, but it seems right. They care enough about their appearance to wear something beside bombed-out Nikes.
I have many cute shoes.

I've been going out a bit recently. I've been going (back) to Orange County Social Club and Henry's. I have even been spotted at Hell.
TBWWBR turns out to be wealthy and frequently picks up the tab. In return, I give him a ride.
(And get him home. The boy drinks like a fish but can't handle his liquor. Friday he fell on Franklin Street, face first. He cut his nose and chin and chipped a tooth. I don't mind so much walking/carrying him home, but I'm not really use to transporting drunk boys home without... um, them being really thankful. If nothing else, being sober and talking to/with a drunk is no fun.)
Back to the story. We both are partial to the Social Club (OCSC = any smoky Indie Bar with some pool and a rockin' jukebox. The fact that it's members only only serves to increase the general level of local Indie Kids' smugness -- "They can't get in, he he...") so we quite often go there. Except, Not-Neil the Recordshop Boy has been there every time. He's even been at Henry's a time or two as well. It's quite embarrassing. I'm pretty certain he likes me, cause I think he asked me out once but I didn't twig till I was down the street. Now he's reluctant to talk to me and I'm embarrassed to talk back.
I console myself by thinking that he, like everyone else I fancy, is really straight.
I do like going out again, though.
(I should go out more and meet more gay people [see the I Need Lovin Entry], but I'm too dumb to know where to go*...)

TREMBLING BLUES STARS and ABERDEEN are tomorrow!!! Yay, yay, yay. *Butt wiggles furiously in prolonged Happy Dance* Over the weekend, I though of finding a lover. It would then end tragically today so I'd be in the right mood for tomorrow night. This did not happen. See above.
And I'm going with Aruni, making it an official Sinister event, especially if Stout Robin and a girl can make one in Wales. I will report back there, anyway.

I watched no Dr Who today.

Word of the Day: Malternative Beverage. This is a drink with malt liquor, like King Cobra. Mostly, it's beer fortified with extra malt so that as it ferments, it gives a slightly higher proof. It also leaves a nasty aftertaste similar to bile (which is why good beer eschews too much and has lower proof). It is the base of the nasty drinks I started off babbling about.)

I'm reading Chap 2 of Book II of Lord of the Rings. Man, last night I got sucked in completely. I don't want to turn into a Big(ger) Geek, but this shit is good. I liked the movie, and this is better.

In other Geekyness, I have a curious habit to question. As I have mentioned, I have a large collection of Dr Who books. Geeky, yes, extremely, but one of the great pleasures of my life. I potter around in them like a retired Englishmen in his garden (think Riiiichaaad from Keeping Up Appearances).
Now one of these books is called I, Who. It's not authorized by the BBC, who own the copyrights on Dr Who,** but lists, summarizes and reviews all the books published since 1991. Every single one of which I have and have read.
So why do I keep re-reading this book? I read it quite a bit, actually, but I have no clew why. I'd compare it to re-watching a good movie (like, say, Clue), but it's more like re-watching Roger Ebert review it. And it's filled with glaring typos that drive me up the wall.
Quirky.

Reason Laura Llew rocks number eleventy-seven-something: No reason she rocks more than usual, but I will clarify a point. I'd mention the specific word I was talking about yesterday, but it's soooo glaringly obvious that it would send me into lipothymies of delight (see: It Pays To Increase Your Word Power, folks) and I wish to keep a tattered cloak of mystery to my person.

*I won't go to the one local gay club. I'm not pretty enough, I don't like super-loud techno, I can't dance, and I always felt like the high-light of the night would be "skanky blow jobs round the back of Krystals Nite Spot." (Oh how I love that term). Though to be honest, I'd go for that, if I didn't have to wade through shirtless muscle boys, twinks in pajama pants (I dunno, I guess the drawstrings make for easier access), the Garth Brooks wannabe and creepy 60 year olds to get them.

**Did you know the BBC bought the copyright for Police Boxes off Her Majesty's Government? The BBC own the design for polices boxes, just because Dr Who travels about in one. It's probably not worth much, as two-way radios made them obsolete, but I have heard they're being re-introduced. (I saw the last blue one ever at the Barnett Bypass in Hampshire (I think), as a birthday present from my Gran when I was 4. There's an actual picture of me someone in front of a police box!! *giggles*)
But still, quirky.

The vast length of this post makes up for my recent neglect.

Strike One

No my tres chere Minx, it ain't Marianna.
Though, I grant you, anyone whose interest include porn* AND the Powerpuff Girls must be fascinating.
But: eww, she's a girl.
She's prolly got all those fiddely girly bits.

*Everyone knows the greatest porn ever is Lords of Jet Set Manor.

Also: I was slack and forgot these footnotes from last night:
*Word of the day "lipothymie": a fainting or swooning, when alle the vitall spirits being suddenly oppre'st, a man sinketh down, as if he were dead. (from English Expositor, John Bullokar, 1616)

**This helps answer one of the questions at my Friend Test. Go to it, as I haven;t hawked it around for a bit.

An Odd Word To Use...

So in reading recent Sinister posts, an odd word cropped up. In a post from the possible crush, no less. Suffice it to say, use of this word (and it's rare, believe me) by anyone would induce swooning, but from this person, it was immediate and intense*.
What is the word?
Who used it?
It's my secret, dammit.

In other events, I have started my culty job.
When I lived in Manteo, many moons ago, many of my friends worked for the Full Moon Cafe. They spoke rapturously of the job, and treated the owners, Paul and Sharon, as if they were dieties. I always thought that was odd, but let them go about their days, as you might with an amusingly harmless cult (Oh... they marry their kin... How quiant...).
Turns out, they were right. I worked there the next summer, and I'm here to tell you Paul and Sharon should be treated like gods. It was -- without question -- the best job I ever had. There was free beer, hanging out, free food, games, and any other service you can reasonably require. He did make us jump off the bridge to Ice Plant Island once a week, though.**
My new job at Whole Foods Market is a bit like this, in that everyone is really happy to be there. Staff and customers. It makes it a really nice place to work. (Which is an odd feeling.) It's often a bit boring, but it pays well. I have an interview at the Carolina Inn's dining room Wednesday (I already had one. It seems to be going well).
I'll have to work there for a bit before I either get a real job, go back to school or move to London.
I'll probably save up and move, though.

I'm hungry. There's no food left here. I only eat food left over from work. Paycheck time is soon, so no worries. Murph is slightly peeved, though. His dinner tonight was grilled tofu.

I'm still reading The Fellowship of the Ring. I'm on Book II, now.

Dr Who of the Day: part III of Silver Nemesis. The Doctor beat the Cybermen, the neo-Nazis and the 17 th Century lady.
Just in case you were wondering.