If I Cry to Set the Mood, Oh Please Would You Cry Too?

Don't be ridiculous. Of course you won't. My old books and my obscure music don't matter much to anyone.
No one cares about what I do anymore, the relique of an age that never was.

Today was no better.
I heard "Long December" by the Counting Crows today at work. I hate them, but the song expresses how I feel, worn out and past care. I can't even find a way to properly describe how I feel. I just... don't feel anything right now. I don't want to do anything or talk to anyone or do much else but sleep. There was a party tonight, people from work, and lots of people asked if I was going. I didn't. I don't want to drive there, I don't want to drink, I don't feel like having fun.
It could be worse. I could be on a crying jag. Not that I can remember the last time I cried about anything.

I cut my finger yesterday quite badly. I was cutting lemons. I sliced into my finger at an angle. It's maybe 1/2 inch long and 3/4 inch deep. It's open and gross and will take forever to heal.

There are two new links up for those who are interested, to Kevin Jackflap's and Damon's blogs. They are both quite nice. I'll mention them later, I hope.

The Pastels were recommended to me recently (see below) by Kristin Idleberry. I wasn't going to listen to them at all, because someone was making me a mix CD of them. I gave up on that and played them on my show. They rock AND the boy is cute. I'll listen to more of that, oh yes.
I wanted to say that since I'd not responded at all to that comment.

I can't think of anything else to say.

I've just realized I've done a crap job of blogging lately.
I suck.

I've spent the last few nights talking to someone til very late which explains a bit.
I've also been working day after day (I'm on Day 6 of 9 consecutives ones. I loathe my crappy dead-end job right now) which explains a bit.
But mostly, I've just been despondant and apathetic: I'm morbidly depressed but can't be arsed to /do/ anything about it.
I should be writing and should be reading.
All I do is sleep and work. I've even stopped eating properly (Since Yo La Tengo my solid food has been: three bites of cauliflower, a beef and bean burrito, egg and sausage and, tonight, corned beef and cabbage) since I drink three lattes a day and the caffiene destroys my appetite. Conveniently,. I *am* losing weight.

I have links to post.
I have songs to discuss.
I have poems to put up.

But...
I'm just not in the mood tonight.
I thinkI'll just sigh and go to bed.

Eighteen Dead in Yo La Tengo Concert Disaster

Carrboro

Eighteen young people are dead tonight after a riot at local live music venue, the Cat's Cradle. The event is a bizzarre real-life version of an event described in the online parody newspaper, The Onion.

The riot started when Laura Llew*, 25, of Western North Carolina, was interrupted while tinkering with sound equipment. Llew was removing connecting wires from their jacks when she was approached by the technician.

Nonplussed, she took up an aluminium crutch used by another patron and started swinging. She may also have been provoked by an unidentified Emo girl who stepped on her.

"It was real weird. She was all curled up and quiet when Bam! She took to swingin. She hit me right in th' mouth. It hurt real bad," said another victim, a blonde girl in a denim jacket who asked to remain anonymous.

Reports have Llew masochistically screaming "Spit on me. Spit on me!" It appears nobody did.

The violence accelerated soon after. Six people were killed and 2 dozen people recieved minor injuries from flying beer bottles and cigarette burns. Members of the band cowered in a corner of the stage. They remained unhurt.

Twelve victims were killed in a stampede for the door, as has happened twice recently in clubs in Chicago and Rhode Island. "I hate to see so many young people killed for no real reason" said Curtis McClintock, a Carrboro police officer who was on the scene. "It was just unreal what happened. Blood everywhere. Lot of ruined vintage clothes."

In a gruesome twist, Llew appeared to have stolen the clothes from at least one victim. Charles Levier, 19 of Maston Grove, IL, was found without his frame glasses. Witnesses recall Llew pointing to him earlier in the night.

Police are still looking for Llew as of press time. Also wanted for questioning is Jason Eckard, 24, of 501 Jones Ferry Rd, who may have also been a participant.

Club owners have already started rebuilding. They hope to be open for a show by the Delgadoes late next month.

A spokesman for Yo La Tengo has said the band is "Shocked and appalled such a thing would happen at their concert. They grieve with the families of the deceased and pray for the injured. They will continue on their tour, but 'Autumn Sweater' [the song played when the riot began] will not be played again."

Yo La Tengo has a new album to be released next month.

*A known alias

Blah, Blah, Blah...
Or, Warning: Bitchy Post Ahead

I'm very susceptible to outside influence. I've been moody of late, as in the bipolar sense of ecstatic one minute and hiding under the bed the next and I'm listening to this morose Sinister mix tape. I just got two. One is Grr-eat and one is currently making the idea of slitting my wrists attractive again.

I'm not going on about how generally disatisfied I am or how much I want a boyfriend or a career. I waste far too much time here whining and whining is UNPRODUCTIVE.
Although I think I realized one of the reasons I like having a boyfriend. Yeah, I imagine there are more, like sex, but it's been so long I forget exactly what that is and why exactly it's desirable.
[Here I had to get up and change the CD. I'm listening to my Best of Edith Piaf album...]
Contrary to what you may gather here, I do not in fact talk about myself very much in person. Almost everything I talk about is what my friends have done, current events and obscure historical events/perspectives. At best, you might get the odd story of what I did five or ten years ago.
What you'd never, ever hear me discuss is how I feel, let alone why. Ever.
Unless you just happen to be the person I was going out with*.
That's what I miss. Talking about the way I feel to somebody who (presumably) understands. I feel like I know a lot of people and none very well. I certainly don't feel like anybody knows me very well. (Oh yeah? What am I most afraid of? See?)
I think the word I'm looking for is "intimacy." Yep. Got none o' that in these parts.

Intersexual Relations

There's this boy I kinda like at work. (No, of course I haven't talked to him like that. I like him.Though we do talk about music some, since he works at WXYC.) His best friend at work is a lesbian. I was talking to her today about him (Me: "Is he going to be at the Big Boring Meeting tonight? Her: Why? Me: No reason. Her: YOU LIKE HIM! Me: *stutters and ineffectively denies it*)
As I got back into our little cafe, the [straight] cashier asks: "Who are you talking about?" I refused to discuss the subject.
In thinking about this little exchange, I realized I'm pretty cynical about my relationship with straight people. At least at work. Especially straight boys. Often they'll ask what boy I like. I never tell them. I've never met boys that question did creep out at some level. They phreak if they think it's them, like I'm going to try to rape them in the workplace. And they suspect any innocent boy I might like as an automatic fag, which I don't necessarily want to happen to them.
It just doesn't do much good to ever answer that question at work.
Straight girls I will talk to, but I have to know them very well. I tend to think they'll immediately run and tell said boy and create the whole situation over again.
Gay girls and boys are different. I fee like, wait, I know, they know the score. It's a bit moot as I think I'm the only gay boy at work, but there are very many girls at work. A LOT.
Isn't this dumb? I should have a bit more faith, but I *do* live in the South. I do have some experience in such relations and they all tend to support these views.
Also, this generally only at work. Outside it's a bit different. I'm hoping this is some attempt at professionalism.
Ha! The professional coffee-boy!

People, you need to comment more. I need feedback.

Book of the day: Thus Was Adonis Murdered, Chap. 5. I read this at work tonight during a store meeting about health care benefits and other general crap. The Prepared Foods Supervisor stared at me the whole time. We ARE paid for these meeting, but they're after we close (9 pm) two hours long, incredibly tedious and unabashedly repetitive and aimed at 6th grade level. I therefore brought a good book. I imagine I'll get bitched at tomorrow.
Oh well.

Word of the Day: Zeugma: the imagistic version of syllepsis: She went home in tears and a sedan chair. "Zeugma" is from the Greek word "to yoke". My antedeluvian book Dictionary of Modern English Usage (1929) says that only tired old Drama Critics use it in tired reviews for hackneyed comic effect.
Yeah. Gotta remember that.

This post brough to you by: Edith Piaf, "La Vie en Rose**", "Milord", "Le Piano Vieux", "Toujours Aimer", "Mon Dieu", "Hymne l'Amour"; Mozz, "You're the One for Me, Fatty"; Sara Vaugh, "Key Largo".

*Notice the past tense here

Fuck it all

This is the third time I've started to write this damn post. I keep going to fetch an address for a link to Duncan Sheik site's and losing the text at Blogger Editing.
Damn you Ducan Sheik! Damn you to hell! You shall get yours!

First things Second, now

Poked by Brian I went to this site, the video for a cute little novelty act.
It's great! It'll get stuck in your head and you'll sing it to yourself at work. At least, I did.
"GAY BOYFRIEND! GAY BOYFRIEND! La, la, la, la!"
I need to get hardcopy to play on my show. I figure, Brian may be able to book 'em in New York, but I can play 'em in Durham.
I think I went out with one of these girls in high school*; I know for damn sure I did in college.
Anyway, the blonde's gay boyfriend is hott. If all goes to plan, I too shall fit into blue vinyl pants by June.

Housing Authority

I found a new place to live today. In Durham, in a nice, quiet little neighborhood near down town and my radio station. It's a house and it has hardwood floors, piano, cheap rent and they'll take my cat. I move in April.
I don't like not being down the street from Henry's or Cat's Cradle or the Orange County Social Club, but they're still close and I've not been frequenting them as much lately because of my poverty. And now I have an excuse to hang out in Durham places.

We're the Coolest Place in 1996 in 2003

The above was my response to being in my store Thursday. Two-thirds of the late Ben Folds Five were there (D*rren Jesse and Robert Sl*dge) and a Squirrell Nut Z*pper, Ken M*sher was around since he works there now. It was unintentionally catty.
They all were talking again together on Sunday, and I got waved over by Ken. We talked local music for a bit with me thinking "If only this had happened when I was a senior in high school..."*** We all began to deride...

Duncan Sheik or,
No, I Don't Really Care If He Reads This

First of all, a review if his newest album (Daylight, I think. I can't be bother to find our for certain. I DO know the single is called "On a High" because I was assailed by it when I visited his website for some addresses) from the Lost at Sea website here.
It equally applies to David Grey*** or John Mayer**** as That Heterosexual Dave, who gave the address site, himself quipped.

I have a particular distate for Duncan Sheik as I used to have a wee crush on him. Think about: a tall, pale, dark, melacholy boy who plays the acoustic guitar and moans about being alone. Definite crush matieral, yes? Here he is, as he would look: Just look! Note especially his tasteful lack of shown apparel.
Imagine my surprise when in fact, he looked like this: scroll down till you see his pic.
Eek! Talk about misrepresentation! If I were England, you'd better believe the Trade Descriptions Act would be invoked!
There's also a story about him being locked in a limo at a party by four girls. With that pic, I can believe it!
This is to say nothing about the progressively whinier, poppier music he creates.
I still like some of his older stuff (his last release, Phantom Moon, all acoustic music, is still good, but it was written as the soundtrack to a play and none of the lyrics are his own.)
He plays the Cat's Cradle in three weeks. I'm so there in heckle mode! I'm not bothering to get advances tickets as I can't imagine it selling out and I couldn't bare the smirks on the faces of the advance tix salespeople.
Duncan also claims to be working on a musical adaptation of Frank Wedekind's play Spring Awakening. It's all about teen sexuality -- its highlight is a circlejerk -- and has been censored since it was written (I'm relatively sure the unexpurgated version's not been done). Stop drooling, Andy.
How exactly this lends itself to faux-indie crooning, I don't know.
This bit does segue nicely into...

I'm in Transports of Delight, Yo!

Everyone's favourite concert venue just released its Spring Schedule here. Coming up this season: the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Cat Power, Arab Strap, Bright Eyes, Yo La Tengo, the Delgados and Spoon!
*Wiggles butt in rock anticipation mode*

Mundanities now

Book of the Day: Thus Was Adonis Murdered, Sara Cauldwell. This book makes me feel smart ans witty, like I could just manage to be one of the characters. They all seem terribly familiar. And I know some about the Art History of Venice, even if I've never been there. (Which is almost just as well as I understand the canals smell terribly.) I love the working of sex and gender into the story, in a way that lets you speculate what Britian would have been like in a warmer climate. A bit wordy, but worth it.
I suspect the narrator is female (you can't tell) merely ona hunch.

Dr Who of the Day: Doctor Who and The Enemy Within, or as it's more popularly known, The US Telemovie with the Pertwee Logo. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. All that was bad about the show cobbled together, then dumbed down and padded with needless action shots for the American audience. It has huge problems with script (how does the Master get in the TARDIS being the most glaring) and the show's history (Oh yeah, the Doctor's half human. We forgot to mention that.) Fannish pedanticism as that seems, it's worth noting. The NAME of the show is Doctor WHO. He is never called anything but "Doctor." He is supposed to be mysterious and alien. Not human. It's the basis of the show.
He certainly doesn't snog the girl!
And wasting 80% of the budget on the console room was silly. Even if it looked good.
Which was a shame, because Paul McGann was quite good. He provided an excellent basis for the Doctor in the BBC novels, a real foil to the dark, manipulative Doctor who followed him.

Word of the Day: syllepsis, in grammar, it is when one word performs to syntatical functions or a single word acts in two roles: "Pan with sheep, the Pythia with Laurels crowned." In more modern days, people confuse it with Zeugma.

Recommended television: Not Boomtown. Man, there's only so much plot you can cram in 52 minutes. The actors have so much going on they stop acting and just emote all over the place.

HAPPY MARDI GRAS FOLKS!

*Not literally. Just the type of girl

**Vowels removed to prevent errant googling. Well, how would you feel if you googled yourself only to come up with my bitchy remarks?

***Yeah, I listen to him, too.

****But NOT HIM. Ugh. He's a ponce royal.

I Lied...

Not long ago, I said "My Friends Are Cool... But I Am Not."
Turns out it was a lie. I am cool.

This is the article from the New York Times. Sunday's hard copy had several pictures of Ryan.
Sunday night, I got an email from the Raleigh News and Observer's Fashion and Style editor. The letter ran:

"Dear Mr Eckard
Can we call you Jay?
First of all, congrats on being included in Ryan McGinty's new show in New York. We're sure the after party was fab!
We'd love to sit and talk with you about your New York society experiences, the underground scene there and McGinty's photography of the "Indie" World. It's to be included in an upcoming story in our Sunday Stylin section.
Just contact us at [their email address and telephone number].

Thanks!"

Very chatty for an newspaper editor, I thought.
Nice story, though, right?
The catch: I've been to New York only once. New Year's, remember? I doubt McGinty was combing the streets of Manhattan in the freezing rain looking for soaking hayseeds in leather car coats.
I'm not in any of his pictures.

I can't decide which of the three options to follow:

A) Balls it out big time:
"Oh yeah. I almost skipped the gallery completely. My date -- Jeff Buckley -- and I tottered out to see a show during the opening. We came back for the afterparty. It was totally gear. Mad booze, man, mad booze. I was standing talking to one of those Le Tigre girls -- can you keep them apart, I can't! -- when Ryan walks up to say hello. Of course, I play it cool, cause everyone knows Ryan is really a pain in the ass, but hey, it's his night, you know? When Mick Cooke threw up on my shoes, it capped the night. It was a statement really..."

B) Lie, but close to reality:
"Yeah, I went with my two friends Brian and Laurel. We pottered around the gallery for a while, kinda late cause we went out drinking first. The party was huge, and Brian and Laurel knew like everybody and I knew four people, so I stood in the corner, drinking. After a while, I worked up enough courage to talk to a boy in the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. He was cool. Later, I got the number of a really cute boy from Weehauken when he realized I was in one of the photos. I left earlier than most."

C) The truth: "I'm not in any of his pictures, but I would like to meet some of the boys who are."

The truth may set you free, but it's not nearly as much fun.

Speaking of amusing...

At work, we wound up talking about crazy high school stuff, and I told these two tales. Both true.

My senior year of high school, we gave out awards to the teachers. They were "The Armour Brand Potted Meat Food Product Awards for Excellence Above and Beyond the Call of Potted Meat Food Product." The Committe of Three -- my friends Darren, Chris and I -- would select an appropriate teacher and anonymously deliver a can of said brand Potted Meat to their desks.
We did it all year, but no-one ever figured out who was doing it. We even heard teachers debating who would get the next one in jealous terms.
At the end of the year, we chipped in and got a can of Spam Bronzed for the bronzen Spam Award, the year's culmination of monthly awards. Dave Thomas, master of Social Studies, was the recipient. He proudly bore it on his desk. At last report (last year) it was still there, six years later.

Collegiate non-sense

It is a little-known fact I had a political career.
I was the leader of an independent country for an afternoon. Since it lost its war with the US and had its sovereignty dissolved, I am a Minister in Exile. Just like the Shah of Iran.
During my summer job at the Elizabeth II in Manteo one year, we discovered that part of our island flooded when it rained. You have to understand the E-2 was moored off Iceplant Island, an Island in Shallowbag Bay, off Roanoke Island. Therefore after the flood, we were an island off an island off an island.
Naturally, we declared independence.
We read that in war, to formally end, the country must be officially recognized.
We knew that to shoot a Coast Guard vessel was an act of war.
Our friends were passing by in a CG skiff.
We had a gun with blanks.
We fired.
Fortunately, our friends recognized us and went along with it. They filled out the appopriate incident forms. Our country was The Independent and Sovreign Republic of St. George; its capital was our little shrine from the soldier's camp, St Jay's By the Soundside; it leader, the First High Minister, Jason-Andrew Collins Le Fey Eckard. Population: 6. Government: said High Mininster, Ross Braxton Bryant (Minister of Culture) and Paul Anderson (Deputy Minister in All Affairs).
Our country ceased to exist at 5.03 pm, 28 July 1999, after existing since 12.40 pm that afternoon.

We mourn for her still.

Book of the Day: White Darkness. I'm still getting over how odd this version of Dr Who is. Bitchy, gun-toting companions. He finally switches out of his TV get-up (that stupid Question mark pull-over) for a sweet linen suit, silk shirt and jade green cravat. Topped off with a cream fedora with paisley band. Nice sense of style.
The writing is bad, clunky and unfinished with little editing. The ideas are not bad or un-developed, just... derivitive? Not quite... Immature, I think, and rushed. Virgin's Dr Who department was putting out one book a month with virtually no experienced authors to a pretty bitchy audience, so it was surprising the work wasn't total shit. No suprise was its nick name, The Fiction Factory.

Dr Who of the Day (yes, more...) Masque of Mandragora, part 2-4. Ooooh. Swell. Plus que swell. The same script editor/producer team that created my very favourite story (The Pyramid of Mars) return to the same kind of story. Alien influence in a historical setting. This time the Mandragora Helix (intelligent energy spiral) versus 15th Century Italy by means of the revived Cult of Demnos.
San Martino come to us from a little Renaissance town built in Wales (no, I have no idea why, boyo, but it makes a change from t'Pit I geuss). And since Aunt Beeb is the patron goddess of period drama, it looks gorgeous. The plot works well -- destroy Science before it was born and take over the world by a little cult (Hey, don't knock it. It worked for St Paul...). The acting is great and Heiroynmous is superbly Over the Top. And there's swordfighting.
A new console room is introduced, all maghony and brass. Forgotten for years, it's prescient of the Let's-use-all-the-buget-on-one-set console room extravaganza from the US Telemovie with the Pertwee Logo.
Highly Recommended.
Repeat Offender: Norman Jones, the evil astrologer Heiroynmous was Major Baker in Doctor Who and the Silurians, where he spread the plague that almost destroyed the world. He was in The Abominble Snowmen, too, but nobody's seen that since the Seventies when it was junked.

I can't think of a good word of the day. You tell me one for a change.

The entry brough to you buy: "Not Quite a Yes" Arab Strap, "Hallelujah" Jeff Buckley, "Chicago at Midnight", Spoon and "Living Room" by Tegan and Sara.

Recommended Television: None. I haven't seen much this week except this extremely disturbing Elementary Maths show with a multiplication X with two heads called Multiplex who asks questions like "Can you recongize this pattern made with /shapes/?" It's called MathMonsters. Still better than FOX, though.
Damn. I need cable. Stat.

I haven'd been to XDU to snoop around on good new music yet this week.

By Demand

So I was harrassed the other day about not updating.
Thank you, Mr No-Blog.
Expect reciprocity when yours is up and running. ;)
Accordingly, here is the demanded update. Be warned. You asked for it.

First things First

I was the Recommended Blog of the week at Recro-Secretarial this week!
Whoot!
Everyone should accordingly go there and take in the bliss therein contained!
It's not for no reason she's called secsy.
(It's a pun, geddit?)

Also, I was the second person to sign up for the Sinister Weblog.
Set up again by Secsy. Check the new neato ad down to the bottom of the page.
I imagine it'll be huge by next week as these things spread like no-one's business and every Sinister kid and his brother has a blog, but I was in On The Ground Floor. Oh yes.

The I Still Don't Get Girls Dept.

I found the most disturbing document I've ever seen at work today.
We have unisex bathrooms (ick) because it's Whole Foods Market. I saw a slip of paper on the floor there, and being bored, picked it up and read it.
It was the directions for our Organic Tampons.
Ew ew ew ew!
They were explicit, dude. Like more explicit than any girlfriend I had ever was with me! "Use your hand to ease open the skin that covers your vaginal opening."
Now, I'm intentionally ignorant of how these things work, but do they really need INSTRUCTIONS?
It got worse the more I read. The last instruction: "Never insert more than one tampon at a time."
I mean: ??!?!
The icing on the cake: "Always remember to remove the last tampon at the end of your period."
What, do you forget these things are up there? Honestly!
I was so disturbed I couldn't talk to a girl for over an hour...

Go See This Film

Metropolis, Fritz Lang, 1927.
My hokey. This is the most incredible thing I've ever seen.
I've seen German Expressionism before (like The Cabinent of Dr. Caligari) but it never worked like this. This was beautiful. The imagery was genius. It was beautiful and powerful. The Overcity was Epic, Megalithic, but simple and understated which made it more effective. Think: a modern Stonehenge.
The Undercity was bent and exaggerated, perfect for the sunconscious mind.
And the acting. The acting! It came off perfectly even without sound. It was stylized, but it was so in sync with the rest of the production that it wasn't an irritant like it could have been. There was a fluidity of movement counterpointed with mania that gorgeous. It was like mime.
It was simple enough to be mythic and archetypal but complex. Actually I think simplicity is an illusion created by functional complexity. It all comes together in a unity of purpose, function and uniqueness -- Aquinas' claritas, unitas and quiditas -- so seemlessly that looks easy. Everything occurs at once together without conscious effort. Understanding occurs spontaneously. That's why the fairy tale that is a depiction of the ego versus the id or the concsious verus the subconcious or the workers verus the elite is so deceptively simple.
That sums up what I like best about it: everything in this works together in the telling of the story. No disperate elements. Of course, that's how it's supposed to work always. The danger with expressionism, I find, is that the conventions used overshadow the story instead of serving it.

This Week's Big Idea

Actually, I've been noticing this for quite a while recently, and I imagine I'll go on for some time.
It's music producers' work, or what you hear when in a song.
I was listening to Belle and Sebastian's "Seeing Other People" on their mixtape I made that I always listen to in my car when I noticed Belle Campbell sawing away on her cello at the end of the song. I'd never noticed before. I went back and listened, and it's there the whole way through, but very quiet up until the end. It adds so much to the song to have that there at that point, I think this great, solid bass sound underneath the rest of the music.
SInce then, I've been listening intensely to all the music on that tape (and everywhere else). I think it has to be music you know very well to really appreciate it, to hear something different the 150th time, but it's very rewarding to suddenly realize:My god! The drums in Lazy Line Painter Jane!
Actually, I LOVE THAT SONG. The organ in that has done to save my soul than anything else in my life. I listen to it obscenely loudly. In summer I will make an ass of myself as I have been screaming along with it this winter with the windows up and will continue to do so with them down when it is warmer.

Book of the Day: White Darkness. The TARDIS arrives in Haiti, 1915. Ancient evil stirs. Vodoun (apparently how you really spell voodoo, along with zombi or jumbi for zombie) appears. World War I is waged in Europe and the US prepares to take over Haiti. Egregious references to H P Lovecraft arise (The local pathologist cum anthropolgist [Is this an odd combination to anyone else?] is named Howard Phillips. Cue the subtle flashing neon light.)_
Did you know the US ruled Haiti from 1915 to 1934? Me neither.
I realized with a start this book is TEN YEARS OLD. I remember buying it in Waldenbooks in Valley Hills Mall. I haven't read since I first bought it. It seems clunky and a little hacknied, which isn't too odd as it is the author's first novel. And it's strange how the series has changed from the uber-manipulative seventh Doctor who is actually not very heroic and strangely distant with a transparent past to the all-too-touchy feely Human Eighth Doctor with no memory.
Not that I'd know. I haven't read a new Dr Who book since June. June, people. Please, Britons! Pity me and bung one in the post for me! They're cheap!

Word of the day: houngan: a voodoo priest

This entry brought to you by: Perry Como, "Papa Love Mambo"; Baxendale, "Music for Girls", Harry Belafonte "Man Smart, Woman Smarter"; Art Attack, "I Am a Dalek"

Recommended new music from WXDU: Pac/Cal and Survive and Advance, Vol II (a new comp from MERGE records, featuring Lampchop, the Buzzcocks, the Magnetic Fields, Superchunk and lots of other great stuff 16 of 18 tracks are unreleased matieral)

Celebrate It!

Today, o folks, I deem it the

International Day of the Minx.

That's right. It's Maddie's birthday today.
To help us all think appropriately Minxy-BookshopGirl thoughts, a few keys phrases to memorize and slip into your daily conversations:

"The Perils of being a teenage slut: it costs a fortune in accessories."
"It makes me feel like a cheap blowjob round the back of Kristal's Nightspot."
"I want to go back to 1994 and lose my virginity to Morrissey."

Yes. I feel now closer to the MinxMindframe*.

Quote of the Week

Andy: Does the idea of the girl turn you off?
Me: Straight sex is so... unappealling and inartistic.
Jayward: Is there anything you're not a snob about?

Book of the Day: still Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Potter slashfic found; I was to grossed out to read the one story I found, a Lucius Malfoy/Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter story I found.

Dr Who of the Day: Ghostlight, parts 1-3. A simple story of a crashed spaceship and its occupants in Victorian England. That evolve and leave husks behind. And are a subject to a semi-omnipotent being sent here to catalogue every species on Earth. This is, of course, exclusive of the attempt to kill Queen Victoria, how Ace burns the occupant's house in a hundred years abnd the destruction of the planet in a Firestorm program.
Confused? You should be. It took me watching it at least 4 times to figure it out PLUS reading the novelization of the script. Worth it? Possibly, fifteen years later, I'm still not totally sure what's going on.
Althought the bugs coming back to life was creeep-pey.

Word of the day: wold -- a high, rolling treeless area. Think Lincolnshire.

It's all snowy and icy today. Work shut early, which was bad as I REALLY needed the money. I may go in early tomorrow, but I don't really want to. I'm at Tense stage regarding money: I've got a registered letter from the Landlord I have to get at the Post Office tomorrow. Bodes ill, I say.
I'm also hungry, as I'm broke and have no food. This is probably why I'll go in tomorrow, just to get food.
I've also considered looking to BE someone's roommate, rather than looking for one. Anything to stay here.

Soon I plan to re-start the Grad School search -- any help greatly appreciated. I really want to find some school in New York. (NYU has a writing program I absolutely WILL NOT fall in love with.)

I met someone online today who literally lives across the street. And a #sinister boy at that. Some above comment probably applies here, as well.

Recommend Television: Foyle's War, a series on Masterpiece Theater. Criminal Investigation during the Second World War, before the Blitz. Stars Michael Kitchen. Very, very good.

Oooh. I'm cold and lonely and tense and uncertain. I don't like this at all. I'm sick of being Poor.
I'd better shut up before I start an extended rant that nobody wants to hear.

Oops!

Through a slip of the tongue, I just suggested on air a friend of mine was being Sodomized by one or more members of the Lucksmiths.

Um, sorry, Australia-travelling friend.

My Friends All Are Cool...

Take for instance Brian. He's eastwest.nu's Fag of the Week. That, along with a below topic, make me absolutely certain I am a second-class fag.

Or take Laurel (That's No-Site-Available Laurel) who just got a job at Time Warner Books as a Senior Editorial Assistant.

Or Ms Elle who wrote me a poem for Valentine's Day:

He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven

Had i the heaven's embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Or Markleby who had already had and quit a job I'd kill for.

Or Laura Llew, who is now in "Too Cool for School" mood these days.

...But I Am Not

There is a yin to every yang, a hip for every twee:
I am 78% twee. This is quite twee. Find out for yourself here.
I am 70% Hip. This is just shy of the 72% needed to be an actual, certified Hipster. Test yourself here.

I am also a Performer according to the personality test here.
I am also 44% gay. How gay are you?

For both of the Spark tests, you can enter people's email address and compare yourselves with them. If you're smart, you can find mine here for that, but I'm not going to go advertizing my email address. I get enough porn ads as it is.

The result of the gay test, couple with Brian's achievement, has convinced me of my second class-ness. Phil, who speaks knowledgeably regularly of college sports, got a 43%.

On A Completely Different Note

I've been listening to tapes of my radio show lately.
This isn't as narcissistic as it seems. I don't hear me when I'm on the air, so my tapes give me a chance to see what I do good and, uh, what, uh, I do bad, uh. Fortunately, I'm fairly good at assembling sets of songs and seguing from one set to another. My voice is good when I'm stuttering or suffering massive bouts of aphasia.
But I discovered I talk about one person.
A lot.
Almost always I have some good reason to talk about them (they're way cool) but this much repitition makes me wonder just what I feel about them. I mean, I don't /think/ I have a crush on them.
But then again I am really bad at determining these things on my own.

(And yes, I know full well it's not grammatical to use 'them' in the above paragraph, but I don't feel like distinguishing gender at the moment.)

If you're up for whom I'm in love with a the moment, there are several. There's Brian that I work with (no Brian Joannou), whom nobody would know, and two Sinister boys, whom you all might and so you get no futher information. Niether is currently on the continent, so they're both completely unrealistic right now, which (paradoxically) makes them perfect crushes.

Cosmology is Fun!

From the Front Page of Yesterday's New York Times
I'm not actually going to say what was in the story (You're a Big Boy! You can Read!), but it was interesting and very important. I tried to talk about it on #sinister, but it went over like a lead balloon.

Essentially, it's a picture of the Universe from a very long time ago. It shows stars showed up much earlier than anyone predicted. Big honking stars that as they died created every element except Hydrogen.
The clusters they found also confirm a theory that minute imperfections seconds after creation helped form the galaxies and galactic clusters of today.
It also helps revise theage of the universe to about 13 billion years, give or take a percent.
Yep, Dr Who does it again, when ten years ago he celebrated the 13, 500, 020, 012th Birthday.

There's more in the article, about polarizing microwaves, but what struck me was this. Up until fairly recently, you could look out into the universe and seeing blazing light all through the heavens, the energy afterbirth of the Universe's creation in the form of radiation.
The handwriting of god, indeed.

Not that I believe in god, but I like the metaphor. I think I can look into the inexplicable and say "I don't know what that is" and not call it "God."

Cosmology though is terribly interesting. This article also goes to hint that the Universe is an open set (no two parallel lines will ever converge). This means that the Universe will keep expanding till all the energy in it runs out (Heat Death).
I like the idea of a Closed Set, where the Universe expands to a point (Red Shift) then contracts (Blue Shift) to a singularity (the Big Crunch) in the mirror image of the Big Bang. This means there's only one Universe that goes through an infinite amount of permutations.

This is without going into the idea of Ur-Universes, micro universes, pin galaxies or how there could be multiple universes or even how the universe could have created itself.

So settle for this: the Universe is shaped like a balloon. Think about it.. If it started as a point and then expands, it's one curved space (Einstienian Space/Time). With Nothing in the middle or the Outside, cause nothing exists outside the Universe, by definition.

Book of the day: Still Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. The Dementor's Kiss: freaky. Now I wonder if there's Harry Potter slashfic, and guiltily, if it involves Oliver Wood. As it's technically a children's book, I do want to go round criticizing it, as long as it remains entertaining.

Word of the day: Bijou. Small and fine and fussy. Think tea cup poodles and lace doilies. Icky little word, isn't it?

Reason for today Laura Llew Rocks: "Attention Burglars: this is a linen closet, not a bedroom." Very clever. I approve.

Hmm. I drink too much and smoke too much and am broke again. But the WXDU-WXYC Prom is tomorrow night. Whoo-hoo!

A Boy and a Girl and Boy Equals...

I have other stuff I should talk about, but this -- hands down -- is the most interesting event lately.
I was asked to be in a threesome.

It was by this couple who come in quite a lot at work. Her I knew vaguely in school (we had the same piano instructor and I think she was in 1 or 2 of my Art History classes). Him I knew from the store. I had talked to him several times and thought maybe he was coming on to me. I didn't know till after that he went out with ******. (Her name, by the by, is a sylph in certain Daniel Handler novel. No, not Flan.)

Since I knew them both, and they came in during my lunch break, I sat down with them for a bit. In between, actually, not realizing I had been manipulated there. I thought it odd when she mentioned she had wanted to ask me out in school (I had thought about asking her out, as well) and if I was seeing anyone. I thought it odder when she asked me what I thought about certain goings at a club called Hell, but we /had/ been talking about the Chapel Hill social scene.
And well, then they asked.
Amazingly, I didn't spit out my chai all over them both. Equally amazingly, I didn't go "Nonononono!" I was so shocked I only managed an ever-so-polite "Well, I'll certainly consider it." They seem well pleased.
All I really could think was "Wow. How different would my life be if I did go out with her? I mean, a girl who lets me sleep with boys?!"

Will I say yes? Not even I know the answer to that.
(Yes, he is totally cute. She's pretty, as well.)

Speaking of loving girls:

I know she never comes here, but Laurel is responsible for me being here now. She told me to go talk to the Landlord about the Roommate copping out and consquent lack of money. We sorted something out. Things'll be swell if I can find a roommate by the end of the month.
I'm even managing to pay off the odd few bills as well.
But not the DSL bill. Which is pretty steep. They're disconnecting this week. I can still get to the internet at work, so no real worries, but the lack of #sinister will be a bit jarring. If everything goes as planned, I should pay of that bill within a few paychecks. Or get a new kind of (cheaper) ISP even sooner.

I Love Laura Llew

She sent me a package in the mail for Valentines Day. He he he!
It had The Austere Academy (fits of giggles) and a very promising-looking novel called Thus Was Adonis Murdered, which besides having an intriguing title, has a Gorey print on the cover.
[Note to self: include a link to an Edward Gorey site very soon.]
Chocolates were seen in abundance as well -- and don't think I didn't notice the delicious Andes Mint.
With no nuts.
Best of all was Lip Balm of the Gods. My cracked, dried lips never had it so good. That stuff roX0rs my soX0rs. I even carry it in the fifth pocket of my jeans, 'cause you know:
WWLLD?
(It's the next logical step from WWDPD?)

Right, In Your Best Mr Humphries Voice...

Also, less fascinatingly, a conversation from work:
George: Sir, are you being served?
Me: "I'm free!" *dissolves into a fit of giggles for several minutes*

Book of the Day: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Dark. Scary. But promises to have more Oliver Wood in the next film, so completely acceptable.

Also, tomorrow: more reviews and fascinating comments, but I wanna sleep now.

A Note to Myself...

Dear Jay:
Your love life would be much better if you could avoid
falling in love with people who are:
dead or
straight.

Thank you for your time,
Your suffering subconscious

A Note as the World Ends...

Well, my world anyway.
I threw out BWWBR over the weekend as he's neglected to pay his bills of late.
Now, I have no way to pay rent or utilities, let alone other bills.
I'm terrified I'll have to move out and I'm not sure where I'll go. I'd just as well shoot myself than move in with the Major and Co. I don't want to leave where I live, my friends, my radio show, my music.
But I will get through this. I've been through this before.

But here's a thought:
A line in Jeff Buckley's song 'Hallelujah' (and Oh! how I love that song right now) goes: "All I've ever learned from love is... that it's not a cry you hear at night, it's not somebody who's seen the light, it's a cold and it's a broken "Hallelujah..."
It reminds me of Faulkner's As I Lay Dying or Browning's "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came". Actually, I think it's more eloquent in its concision. It isn't "He who survives to the end will recieve absolution."
He who survives gets knowledge.

It's very late, so I'm not sure how much that sense that makes.

I may have said this, but I miss having someone to sleep with. Not to have sex with per se, but it would be quite nice just to have someone there at night.
To snuggle.
There, I said it. To snuggle.
And I wouldn't object to falling asleep in somebody's arms either for that matter.

Let's all carry on like I never said that aloud, shall we?
We all have reputations to uphold.

I've recently finished reading The Return of the King, Bored of the Rings and The Miserable Mill. I've watched Dr Who and the Silurians and The Sea Devils. I just bought Le Tigre's first album (Rocks!). Would we all prefer to talk about those instead?!

Damn That Dose of Thrush...


Lazy Line-Painter Jane.


Which Belle & Sebastian Song Character are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

This is also the answer to one of the questions on my friendtest.

Yeah, yeah, yeal. I'm alive and blogging.
No doubt I'll bore you to tears later with the result.

Righteous Musical Indignation

WHY am I just finding out about Jeff Buckley?!
I'm at the station, playing this song called "Hallelujah" that he covers and melting.
Melting.
And he's fabulously cute AND dead.
This is the makings of a serious, long-term crush.

The End

I'm seriously considering deleting this site.
I can't really keep up the pretence that anyone is really deeply concerned with my ramblings.
Certainly they don't find it amusing or thought provoking, and I can't stand the idea of people coming here for pity's sake to see the newest bunch of my sniping and snivelling and I know far too well I'm too abrasive to evoke any sympathy.

And it dovetails nicely with my new decision to unsubscribe from several mailing lists, close up my public email account and give up my radio slot. To disappear back to the ether I came of, as it were.

I may keep the site up, unchanging, to come back to in some future place and stare at the ghost for a bit and think on what was.

About here I'd add some flip comment on my own mercurial nature, and how all this is likely to change before dinner tomorrow, but the more I write, the more certain I am in my course.

I shall read and ponder and slowly fade in memory into something better than I ever truly was. I grow old, I grow old, I shall wear the bottom of my trousers rolled, for I am old and alone before ever my time has come and I presume too much on the courtesy of others to sustain me.

Think well, if you think of me at all, for I have enjoyed being here, but I've overstayed my welcome.

Good night.

An Open Apology

For various reasons I won't go into here, I've been crazy for the past several days.
Bitchy. Mean.
I've offended several people who simply didn't deserve it and left others wondering what the hell is wrong with me.
Sorry, folks. I'm a fuck-up. I apologize.
I'll try to make amends if anyone can stand to be near enough to me to let me try.
But I don't blame you if you can't.
I'll probably hole and leave everybody alone for a few days to get over myself.

Wasting Time Is All I'm Gonna Do

Someone -- actually two someones -- tonight made me quite mad. I realized I either sounded like a total ponce or a total bitch.
I'm quite sure they didn't understand they touched a completely raw nerve.
They were making fun of actors. Specifically, they were suggesting that anyone and their mother in New York can get a bit part on Law and Order.
That had a point, granted: it is easy to get on the show, I suppose. I know plenty of people who have. I'm glad of it to, easy jobs for actors. I mean, it's a paycheck and a resume slot, all in one.
What really, really vexed me was their sneering attitude towards actors. The implicit idea that anyone can do it and that it requires no real training.

Which is so not true.
Obviously, as someone who studied it seriously for four years and who studied it for a decade before that, I take umbrage when a person belittles my profession. It takes a great deal of training, study and work to be any good at acting.
Stanislavski's students -- and most programs based on his teaching -- require besides a rigorous theatre study, fencing, gymnastics and dancing. Along with studying literature, art, history and pyschology. And when I say rigorous theatre study, I mean, poise, elocution, movement and newer programs teach tai chi and othe eastern movements.
And acting is only the beginning. Directors, dramaturgs, producers and designers all take acting classes as a practicum to understanding their own studies.
It takes dedication, understanding, and lots of work to be an actor. To suggest anyone can do it is an insult. It shows disrespect to the art.
No one says that about dancers or sculptors or poets.

Obviously, I spend a lot of time defending what I do. I take pride in it. I do what Shakespeare did. I what Marlowe did, and Tennessee Williams and Brecht and Ibsen. I can change the world, because I can change the way people see the world.

Also, it irritated me because I can't -- or probably more accurately, don't -- get on in the world of theatre.

I should go. I have to work early tomorrow.

Glud-vin!

As a part of my New Year's Resolution to read the newspaper much more often, I bring you this article.

http://www.charlotte.com/mld/observer/4945183.htm .

For those of you unfortunates not in the know, Cheerwine is the king of all sodas. It's a cherry-esque soda brewed in North Carolina, and marketed in NC, SC and parts of TN, VA and GA. It totally rules.

My thanks to Kristen Idleberry, the cutie who hooked me up with Norwegian translation of "Cheerwine".
For the record, she also speaks Nynorsk and the other Norwegian tongue, Swedish, Danish and Finnish.
And she's not blonde nor helmet with horns.*

My other Resolutions include: exercizing more, being on time more and reading more quality books (i. e.: Portrait of a Lady rather than Dr Who: Combat Rock).

*Joke, K., joke. Hotties never wear armour.

And from last time:
*I did, however, order a free sample of Astroglide. We were talking about the site, and I went, and was totally intrigued. It was really well designed, in as much as I notice these things. Did you know it was invented by NASA? Be a patriot: use some!

Go here.

"I've been to Nice and the Isle of Greece
While I sipped champagne on a yacht."

Yesterday was fun, for a day I spent eight hours in my car.
I dashed south only to meet a fairly significant snow storm. Missing my target, I sped back North with the storm on my heels.
Then I gave in.
There's this porno palace right at the state line.
I've passed it dozens of time, but I've never been past it alone at a reasonable hour. I've either been with people who'd NEVER go in or past it at 3 am (Not even I want to try it then).
It was pretty frightfully dull, really.
Lots of straight people having sex. All the vidoes had to be able to be aired on cable TV, so they were all broing soft-core stuff. The most risque tape had black girls in it. They had magazines (I found an old two pack of Playgirl, the only one I even thought about) but the really scary ones were the local Swingers Mags: Georgia/Alabamba/Tennessee Swings!
*shudders*
And there were toys. I'd never buy any*, but these people put some Serious thought into masturbation. Serious thought.

I had been at the Major's for a few days and missed seeing somebody I had wanted to, so I geuss I was looking for amusement. I mean, I had to u-turn and travel back five miles after I passed it...

Speaking of the Major's, I escaped there for a few (umm... eight) hours and came away with the Mix of Perfection. I started out attempting to download music from my own computer, burn it and free up memory. When I couldn't find me on KaZaA, I started downloading stuff I wanted.
Thus the Mix was born.
It's got Tatu, the Russian Teenage Lesbian Sensation (like you need a reason to like *that* ) doing a cover of "How Soon Is Now?", Lemon Jelly, Belle and Sebastian, three songs from Sixty Nine Love Songs, Serge Gainsbourg ("69 Annees Erotique") and Camera Obscura!
AND it has my new favourite song, "I've Never Been to Me." It's the hysterical song about the girl with the perfect life moaning about it: you can see this woman with a cigarette holder in a bar in 1978, drunk, harassing some chica. What sells it is the absolute commitment this lady, Charleen, invests it with. Top it with an uber-kitschy spoken monologue and Damn, boy! you got a tune.

Otherwise, life has been quite boring. I'm in debt again to the phone company. I expect they'll get a bad check. Work, work, work and no fun.

There was a bit fo drama earlier this week when BWWBR almost got thrown out for not paying his bills, but it was worked out amicably, almost. The Little Red Car got some work done for free and is working nicely for the first time in months.

It snowed. For the first time in my memory, the snow didn't lay on the road and ruin the world as we know it. It was very pretty while it lasted. It reminded me that I like Winter, even as little as it comes down here.

For those who are interested, I died of a drug over-dose, though where that came from. I've no clue.

Reading: I'm STILL reading The Return of the King. I'm on the last book, though, and looking forward to the indices, as nerdy as that sounds. Tolkien was a historian and linguist, so it should prove interesting reading. I'm impressed by his efforts in creating Middle Earth, but I still think it's sad.
Deeply sad. I'll save actual commentary on the book till the end.

Word of the day: fell -- extremely bad, cruel, fierce, terrible.As Eldritch is to Lovecraft, so Fell is to Tolkien. You know it's a bad motherfucker when he pulls that word out. Which he does with regularity. The Nazgul is fell; the troll is fell; the balrog is fell; The Mines of Moria are fell; the fell is fell.

Dr Who of the Day: Destiny of the Daleks, parts 1 - 4.
"Ooh, look! Rocks!" The beginning one of the strangest season ever. Douglas Adams was now the script editor and Tom Baker was in control of the directors. And snogging the girl who played Romana (they later got married). The whole thing is played very fast and loose, and if you think too hard it falls apart.
But man is it fun.
There are great touches: the newly regenerated Romana's clothes are a female version of the Doctor's, down to the boots, coat (in pink) and long scarf. While penned in, the Doctor reads "Origins of the Universe" by Oolon Caluphid, which crops up several times in the Hitch-hiker's Guide Trilogy.
Unfortunately, the budget is crap. The eponymous Daleks are a bit dodgy (you can see the dowels that hold them together in part 4). And the Movellans! Disco Robots, baby, with silver dreds and a groovin space ships. It was 1979, I suppose...
Plotwise: eh, it's a dalek story. They trundle out 23 minutes into part one. Not really a climax when "Dalek" is in the title (Not that that hadn't been a problem for at least a decade at this point.) The idea is interesting though, of two logical minds in combat. And it puts the Doctor and Davros in nice opposition. Underscored nicely by Baker's manic movement and Davros in his wheelchair.
Yeah, I recommend this puppy.

Reason Laura Llew Rocks, number *mumbles a bit*: Girls with Power Tools. Oh yeah, how much did I want to see that? I bet she'll be on a tool company calendar now, no doubt in her ******** *****.
What's that? The next Reason She Rocks, natch.

You Aren't Reading This...

I got an email today out of the blue from a friend of mine in high school whom I haven't seen since he graduated in 1995.
Apparently, rumor there has it I'm dead.
Isn't that GRATE?
It's been so long since I've been home, so long since I've had anything to do with anyone from there they actually think I've passed on.

This totally makes my day.

Big Time New Years Deal.

For a concurrent view of this trip, please see Petullant.

So, I went away for New Years.
I was invited to a dinner party and after a little initial waffling, decided to go.
Ms Laura Llew drove up on the 30th. She was 2 hours early (she us Llaura Lleadfoot), so I didn't have time to make the appropriate Andes Mint Cookies and hot cocoa. Fortunately, this was the only disappointment on the trip. We went to Henry's and Lantern for drinks -- well, I drank -- and mooched around campus for a bit. We broke into Old Playmaker's Theater and nosed around as well for a bit.
Amusingly, we ran into Gordon, the Coolest Bartender in These Parts, while at Lantern. He told us how he thought BWWBR had MS till re realized he was just very drunk. Then I taught Gordon how to make Sazeracs. Then he made another one for me on the house that was better than the first.

We left early on the 31 to glamorous* Jersey City. Well, early for me, 10.30. We zipped through Durham and Richmond, got on I-95 and zipped though DC and left the South listening to The SantaLand Diairies We stopped outside Baltimore (in Finksburg) to drop off books to a Random House warehouse. It was closed, contrary to what had be promised the Llew. I left my own form of criticism**. Fortunately, this necessitiated a longer stay so we could drop off the books on the 2nd. About this point we saw a sign that created the expression "Jesus Doesn't Do Smack."
We ate our meal at a Bob Evans (I had a Chicken Cordon Blue Sandwich with tasty fries. Llew had an omelette without many of the listed ingredients.)
I fell asleep at one point, clutching the bag of CDs like a teddy. This was, apparently, quite Cute.
Then we got back in the car and zipped across Delaware (mean little state with mad tolls: I disapprove) and into Joisey. We got in Jersey City about 8.30. We found Brian's place and Llew managed to parallel park nearby. Now, the funny part was as we argued about who would ring the buzzer, people were watching. And, I suspect, laughing. But they let us in.

Brian and Matt, his boyfriend, were our hosts***. Will and his girlfriend Katy were there, and a little bit later Laurel appeared. We ate fondue and spicy sausage stew. I drank a rum and coke. We watched Trading Spaces (had never seen it and found it tedious) a Channel 4 show called Spaced (the newest trend? I dunno, I'd never heard of it but found it amusing). At midnight, we went outside and listened to fireworks we couldn't see and drank champagne and a fascinating raspberry champagne. After that, we watched an episode of The Gold Girls -- one where Rose has a triple bypass -- because Laurel had never seen the show before. We listened to Tatu (?), a group of Ukranian Teenage Lesbians covering "How Soon Is Now." Then Laura and I walked back to Laurel apartment, maybe three blocks away, where we were staying. I must have fallen asleep within 20 minutes, throwing myself on the floor when Llew claimed the couch. Or so I am reliably informed. This was 2 am.

We woke up late the next morning to have brunch at a place called The Coach House. It was filled with amusing Jersey stereotypes. There were old ladies with flourescent light blue eyeshadow and fake leopard fur shawls and toughs in a party of 10 trying to get in ("Who do you have to be to get in here, God?" "Jesus, party of 12!") I wanted them to continue talking despite the fact they were terribly loud and obnoxious. We also met Ben there. I had a Spicy Buffallo Chicken Sandwich. Llew had another omellette.
After bruch, we stopped off at a Kohl's in Secaucus (late the home of W H Allen, imported of Target Dr Who books) to exchange Ben's sheets. Then we went through the Lincoln Tunnel -- "Lincoln dug this with his bare hands" -- to the Algonquin Hotel. We had $13 cocktails (my biggest expense on the trip, actually) that were quite good. I had a drink named after Woolcott's radio show, Brian (Matt had gone back home and Ben to somewhere else) had one named Woolcott's suite, a Wit's End, I beleive, and Laurel a martini. We smoked in the Blue Bar.
Then we went to Grand Central Station ("You can look up now.") of which I was secretly thrilled to see because I used to have the great picture of it in my dorm for years. We walked from there to a store called H&M, with Llew and I about 20 paces behind Laurel and Ben, with me gawking at the buildings and Laura avoiding heating grates.
Did I mention it was pissing rain and 30 degrees? It was.
We nosed around the store, me attempting to thaw and dry simultaneously, and debated me buying another fuzzy hat. I didn't. After that, we hoofed it the flagship Banana Republic store. Usually, this would have had me in three kinds of extasy, but since I couldn't afford Jack, it was a bit pointless.
We opted next to go to a bookstore called Rizzoli's (I think) and walked some more. On the way -- quite unexpected, I might add -- we passed Rockefeller Center, complete with Tree. I was secretly floored, since nobody had even mentioned we'd pass it. I stared. We stopped at a Japanese bookstore, Kuni-something, where I read up an hamster care (I was doing it all wrong, apparently) and Hamtaro.
Then we hit Rizzoli's just before it closed and they kicked us out. They had "art" books by Bel Ami there. I wanted one.
We caught a taxi (my second) to Penn Station for Llew to meet her date. (Oooohhhhh... It went well). After we say them off, we took the PATH train back to Jersey City.
Laurel and I spent the rest of the night waiting up on Llew, watching a Vin Diesel movie (actualyl quite good) called Pitch Black and eating Chinese Food. When Laura got back -- ecstatic, as I predicted -- she was thoroughly debriefed. I fell asleep quite quickly again.

We woke up the next morning and stopped at a coffee shop called Grounds. I inadvertantly left the barista a $15 tip -- I had used a $20 to pay, then another single for the 4 cents change, telling him to keep the change. He looked at me funny, but said nothing. Once I got outside, I realized my mistake and dashed back in. I mean, he was cute, but niether he nor the chai was *that* good.
We met Brian on the way out and said our goodbyes. (Laura got a cool book from Brian.) I only left two rings, surprisingly. We only made one wrong turn on the way back to the NJ Turnpike (my fault, as I am an awful navigator) and zipped not stop back to Finksburg. They were open this time and we dropped of our books.
And I swiped a recording of Anne Rice's Merrick read by Derek Jacobi from a box marked "trash." Llew disappoved. We ate there again, at a Ruby Tuesday. I had a cheeseburger; Llew, a veggie burger.
Traffic outside DC was awful, as in the 3 hour delay variety. We missed the exit onto I-85 from I-95, but found a little cut through in Dinwiddie County, VA.
We got back about 11.30 and pretty much crashed. In the morning, Laura followed me to the Interstate as I drove to work.
Then I worked. I was quite dull, as life generally has been since then.

*I saw this with no irony.

**As I told Laura, don't ask, don't tell.

***These boys have the most gorgeous apartment I've ever seen. I'll probably go on about it at length soon.

Oh, this was long.
Regular service to resume soon.

"All that we ever see or seem..."

I hardly EVER have nightmares. My life is sufficiently fucked right now not to need subconscious nonsense, but apparently last night, my soul disagreed.
I had four. Seperate. Nightmares. In a row.
One, I absolutely cannot remember, but here are the rest:

Dream the First:
This is also dimly remembered, but involved a series of pyscho-trippy roller coasters with extremely steep hills and plunging depths and tunnels of gnashing teeth and lasers.
Also, each coaster train, I got on with the gang from Scooby-Doo. The animated Scooby Doo, it's worth noting, not the Sarah Michelle Gellar/Freddie Prinz, Jr. film ones.
I never got to sit next to Freddie.
Or Daphne, for that matter.

Dream the Second:
My driving with my parents in their early 90s Lincoln Towncar over this HUGE bridge. Apparently, it crosses a river between Arkansas and Kansas. (Yeah, I know: it was DREAM.) The ascent was very steep and on the first attempt, was so steep as to be vertical. The car stopped going forward and fell backwards.
The second attempt, we made it to the top only to find that the gap between the roadway and the top strut of the bridge was not enough to admit the car.
The bridge itself was highly reminiscent of the Delaware Memorial Bridge I crossed twice last week.

Dream the Third:
This was the most involved. I came home to my apartment to find BWWBR had thrown a huge, drug-infested party. In my bedroom (In the dream, utterly pimpin', unlike real life) was the wall fixture on chains from the cieling with dozens of candles on it. One of Matt's friends had lit all the candles and swung the fixture, spilling wax all over the carpet. This incensed me, and I tried to throw them all out, but couldn't.
I walked out to find the apartment was actually in my old dorm. But instead of being 10 stories, it was about 40. I walked to the top and found my Grnadmother there with a bunch of old ladies in bleacher seats. She tols me to set down.
The bleachers were on a square of floor that was on a rod that telescoped out maybe a quarter of a mile really fast. It turns out the dorm was where my Grnadmother's house is, and all the old ladies did this to see all the gardens around and to relax.
We zoomed around in several directions foe a while...

I have now remembered bits of Dream the Fourth
It was another I'm In High School dream, where I can't find my locker. This time, I knew which bank of locker it was, I just couldn't find the right combination lock. Oddly, I did not the combination.
(I can never remember combinations.)
There was something about being late to lunch, too, but I forget.

http://quizilla.com/users/kundavega/quizzes/Which%20Edward%20Gorey%20Book%20Are%20You%3F/">
Which Edward Gorey Book Are You?
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I've been slack.
Tomorrow, I promise: big exciting New Years things.
Unfortunately, big exciting New Years things have made me ill.
*coughs and coughs*

Yet again...
Like it Needed to Be Said.


Which Member Of The Basic Eight Are You?
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That's right...
I wonder if GayDoug would do me.*

*I do not own a linen suit; I do own a a seersucker one, though.

Which Doctor Who monster are you?
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Okay, I promise this is the last one for a bit.
Silly as they seem, they were cool enemies the first time round.
And it's only appopriate I should get a third Doctor villian.

what doctor who are you?
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Aw yeah boyz!
I'm reversing the polarity of the neutron flow AS WE SPEAK!
Gimme my velvet coat!

""Which cocktail are you?""
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Oh yes.
For once, this is bang on and I didn't have to cheat.
I love me some Gilmets.

Happy Christmas, yo...

Ugh.
Holiday bliss my sweet ass.
I've got my usual icky holiday feeling going on.
At my house, Christmastime means all my family gather in one room and stare viciously at each other.
Presents exist only as means to extend (now) decades-old disputes. Or better yet, out and out name calling, especially to me.
A relic of some strange Puritan compulsion makes us all go, every year, and endure it like purgatory.
It makes me feel sad to know I go to this and everybody else looks forward to this time of year, and sad that I have to go through it.

Oh well.
Only a week to New Years.

One hand washes the other
or,
Yeah, we all knew this was coming...


Who is your Ideal Lord of the Rings (male) Mate?
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What kind of porno would you star in?
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Coincidentally, MS magazine has Orlando Bloom on its cover without the ears and hair.
He has black curly hair, and according to the headline "has an accent and EVEN recites poetry."
If you love me, you will give him to me for Christmas.*

Mr Bloom is number four on Jay's Christmas List

The Other* speaks...

I had a really interesting conversation the other night about straight people playing gays and vice versa. I made a comparison to it being a bit like blackface. That didn't go over too well, but I still think the analogy holds. In both, the actual characteristics of the other are eschewed for amusing exaggerations. Ree's reply was that exaggeration was an effective comedic tool. She's quite right of course.
My rebuttal was that having straight people play gays suggests two things:
1) They couldn't find any actual gay actors for the portrayal.
(Pfft)
2) The actuality of being gay -- having real gay characters -- isn't as important/interesting as the gross exagerrations. This is essentially bigoted. I particularly find this idea offensive because it's at the top of a slipperly slope that leads to Nowhere Fun, like the idea that the other aren't real people.

I think everyone in #sinister went along with this much. Well, most everybody.

Then we got into the discussion about the opposite, gays playing straights. I think this is completely different, because of the majority/minority issues. I mean, not that it doesn't happen. It's just not comedy when it does.
It's not ipso facto demeaning when it happens. I think, you don't have to do anything special to play a straight character, but you have to do something to be a gay character. Straight is the norm.

We wound up talking about performance technique, a fiddly thing at best, how being a gay character is bad acting but a character who is gay is good acting. I think I was trying to communicate that in Stanislavski's techhique, you're trying to reproduce an entire pyschology, and that (only is rare cases) is that pyschology dominated by one single trait. I'm not sure that came across.

(The problem with this, of course, is that even Stanislavski's technique is defined by some convention. But then again, all art period is.)

Anyway, who would have thought that Will and Grace would have given rise to such a interesting conversation?

I was going to go see The Two Towers last night, but Carl was sick and I was broke. It's just as well, as I haven't finished the book.
For that matter, I'm also reading Bored of the Rings, the Harvard Lampoon parody of Lord of the Rings (it's funny) and about 150 pages into Queen of the Damned. And at work, I'm reading through MacBeth on my breaks.

I didn't mention it, as I haven't mentioned my date last week at all, but I found a great indie book store called the Regulator on Ninth Street in Durham. I almost bought the Miserable Mill, my next Lemony Snicket book, there.
By the way Laura, a new Indie book store opened in Chapel Hill last week, Chapel Hill Books. It's a member of Book Sense. I checked tonight. Update your map accordingly.

I've also seen Star Trek: Nemesis and Die Another Day. Reviews will likely follow tomorrow, especially if Carl is too sick to go out. (Preview: Star Trek was okay, okay for a ST film, I suppose. The Bond flick was horrible. Too many needless references to the series' past, big clunky ones, and the fencing was icky.)

My friend Phil, the world traveller, is going to Kyrgyzistan. He may get me a hat. I'll have to put out for it, but THAT'S OKAY, as I have lusted in my heart for such a hat for several months.

Word of the day: Furlong -- 660 feet, 220 yards, 1/8 of a mile. From the word for the length if a furrow, or the length of a plowed field. Very useful for those reading Lordof the Rings, as it is mentioned all the time.

Dr Who of the Day: The Keeper of Traken, part 1. I quite liked the design for this story, all swirly medieval, and use of rich, dark colour and farics like velvets and velours. It's just inside the John Nathan-Turner re-thinking of the series, when uniforms replace costumes. Design, though, is great and quite a change from the panto-like atmosphere of the late seventies (This is the 1980 series). It's a studio-bound piece, so they garden scenes are a little disappointing.
The story is interesting enough. Not great but okay: amusing if not enthralling. Denis Carey is in it, though, quite good as the decrepit eponymous Keeper, and Anthony Ainley's Tremas is really warm and sparkling and likeable. Tom Baker is (of course) quite good as well, with his insanity a little more restrained (I like that, discipline is good for the actor) and reasonable.
It's clear that an era is over, though, and probably the show's greatest one.
To his credit J N-T made the show his own in a trice.

Yeah, my summing up comment is this, as it slides into Peter Davison era: "Not great, but okay."

Reason Laura Llew rocks: Commando raids for chruch pews. Man, if the Major did that, I'd be ALL ABOUT some church.

*Check out the link here from Ms Minx' page. That explain all.

Plus Quam Perfectum

Today was dull. I went to work.*

Yesterday was better. I paid ALL my bills, which involved some running around.
The day before I had seen my Dr Who pimp** and went to his store. Of course, they didn't have this month's issue of Doctor Who Magazine. I did go to the Book Shop on Franklin Street. Foolishly, I bought a 1772 copy of the Work of George Farquhar, in relatively poor condition, for $13 as well as an old Dr Who novel I didn't have, The Seeds of Doom. Then I went and bought Tigermilk on vinyl.

This was my third Belle and Sebastian on vinyl this weekend. (See below, as well.)
Ms Laura Llew got me Fold Your Hands Child, You Walk Like a Peasant on vinyl.
*Swoons and swoons*
And an Edward Hopper calendar. I was so impressed. And thankful.
I Love Laura.

Turns out she was also responsible for more gift-age.
I got a Sinister gift from ******, this boy I have a small crush on. The package was great: a mix tape, a novel (with the label inside "Headmaster's Award for French, 2001") called Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit, and little head beats.
But it was the letter that got me all swoon-y. Handwritten. With a fountian pen.
Ahh. Such a lovely script.
"I come as the magi, all rolled into one..."

Actually, in my perambulations yester, I noticed many band posters. I noticed EVERY boy I like*** is in a band. Neil the Recordshop Boy, the Other Recordshop Boy, Perfect Man, Schoolkids Records Boy...
In any other town, this would mean I like Boys in Bands.
Not here: it just means I'm the only boy in town not in a band.

"Wanted: Band Needing Lead Singer. Influences: Belle and Sebastian, Hank Williams Sr, Duncan Sheik, Morrissey, Ben Folds. Can play piano and guitar as well. Also a songwriter. Call 928 - 0452."

*Though I did have another hella nosebleed. I was woozey afterwards I lost so much blood. This can't be good: I would see a doctor if I could afford one.
**The clerk at a store called The Second Foundation, which is pretty much the place you'd imagine. In the past three or so years, I've bought out every single Dr Who item they had I didn't already own and get my DWM fix there each month.
***Except Carl, though God knows, he probably is in one, too.

My Life is Now Complete

So yes, I had a very successful 12-hour date with what I am increasingly considering my boy.
Yeah, I got paid.
Yeah, I got to eat for the first time in two days.
Yeah, I saw the new Star Trek movie.
Yeah, I played a fabulous Looper/Gentle Waves/Amphetameanies/Snow Patrol/Mum/Belle and Sebastian set on a prime time slot.

FUCK ALL THAT.

I bought If You're Feeling Sinister ON VINYL!!!!

*groans orgamically*
I may never, ever go anywhere or do anything ever again.
Shit: Judy and the Dream of Horses is on now...

Ahhhhh........

I grow old... I grow old...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

I simply should not have gotten out of bed today.

The best thing that happened to me actually happened yesterday. I heard a version of a ballad about Water Raleigh that appears in the Lost Colony, but all Blue-grassy.
"If I sink her in the lone and the lonesome sea, if I sink her in the lonesome low..."

Other than that, all I can say is I've gotten double karma for lambasting somebody yesterday.
(Even though most of it fell after I changed the damn post.)

And to top it all off...
(gods, a pause here effect is not unwarranted)
I've gone and made Llew mad at me.

Christ, what I fuck-up I am. I know: my parents always gently remind me of that, but usually I can come up with a defense against it. Not today. Not now.
I'm poor, dumb and alone. And I suspect/know I deserve it.
I can hear my parents guffawing in their own endearing manner, letting "See... We were right about that, as well" fall out between gales of hooting.

Now here's the really funny part: I can't even afford a bottle of malt liquor to drink myself into/out of a humor.

"I have grown old before my time,
If ever young I were.
Ambition was a grievous sin,
and grievous was my wage.
My hope is scattered in the wind
And yet it drives me on."

There's an overpass near my house that I sometimes walk over. I always wonder what it'd be like to jump off.

Fuck TIVO


My. That came out 100% nastier than I expected. At least I never mentioned him by name.
Being a Gemini, I expect by tomorrow I'll have either completely forgotten about this or completely forgiven him and resume raving to others about how utterly witty and fab he is and how lucky to have such a hot boy. Mercurial nature/new shiny metal objects and all.

See. Gone already.

I Wish She Were Mine

Conversation today with Charlotte, the cute hippy who runs the cash register at work:

Charlotte: "Yeah, there were lots of naked people there [a Phish concert]. And they were attractive. No money for food, you know.

Me: "Well, they wouldn't have, would they, what with shrooms and pot and Strawberry wine to buy...":

Charlotte: "What about the last concert you went to?"

Me: "Which one? Trembling Blue Stars, Mum, Lambchop, Portastatic, Jett Rink, Cold Sides or Belle and Sebastian?"

Charlotte: "Oh."

Me: "Yeah, the hipsters, they don't go in for the nudity."

Charlotte: "Yeah. When you're naked, you don't look at the shoes, really."

Me: giggles uncontrollably for the next hour

Who says the outsiders don't understand us?

Dr Who of the Day: Arc of Infinity
The bestest comment ever about this episode, inexplicably set in Amsterdam: "Dr Who is the only person ever to run 20 minutes through downtown Amsterdam without passing a retail outlet for sex, drugs or porn."
It's also the only episode that's poof-tastic. After getting kicked out of a hostel (?!), fey little Stewart gets hunky Colin to bed down with him in a crypt. AND Colin is wearing a Fun Boy 3 t-shirt and neon pink socks.
Unfortunately, an anti-matter chicken comes in and beams Colin away

Perhaps it's just as well Carl doesn't put out...

On an unrelated note, the guest star for this episode is Michael Gough, as in Alfred, the guy who cleans up after Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson in the Batman movies.

Word of the Day: Ataraxia -- calmess of mind. Amusingly, almost the opposite of ataxia.

*No, not local public house. Chatroom, hence the inefficacy of snubbage.

**I actually don't remember how tall he is. Everything else is bang on, though.

***As if this matters. No doubt even as I sleep, I shall receive vengeful comments/tags/emails.

Doesn't the site look lovely?
Ms Llew is the one to thank. She did a marvelous job, didn't she?
Everyone, let's make cookies and send them on to her!
(I would if I could, Laura...)

Ho hum, ho hum.
Work was still quite busy. Much hot chocolate was drunk.

Dr Who of the day: Terminus, Parts 3 and 4.
Olvir's still cute, his girl companion is still Scary 80s Spice. Large hunks of the story remain unexplained. What is the Garm and why is he on Terminus. Why are the Vanir slaves to the company? Why don't the Lazars get hydromel? And just where do they go?
Nyssa leaves the TARDIS. Tegan, alas, does not.
Oh... amusing, if you squint, I suppose, like most of the Fifth Doctor's era.

I haven't seen BWWBR since before Thanksgiving. He may be dead. As long as I get my rent, I don't really care. Theoretically, it worked well last night, as I did, in fact, bring a boy home. In practice, as we did sod all, it was merely an academic point.
My goal: to make Boy spent some gruellingly agonizing time with a boy of mine alone. Small talk, indeed. I always want to say, as the tart of the week drunkenly reels about my bookcases:

"So tell me, just how drunk do you have to be not to be able to fuck? I mean, I suppose as a Total Whore you can do it unconcious, but where's the fun? Oh yes, you haven't HAD Matt yet! *chuckles* Well, you'll soon find out."

So, tonight was date night. It went well, I think.
Well, well-ish.
All I can say: KISS ME!
I mean, really: I can't put out till you make a move!*

Work was hellish. We were one of perhaps three places open in Chapel Hill and people were phreaking out. "Is there caffiene in my water?" some lady asked. Ickle.

At least the power came back on... after two days and two nights. I have wax all over the place now from the candles. It was SO cold: 18 degrees last night, 15 the night before. There are close to 60,000 people without power. Even in this complex, only a few building have power: out across the parking lot, it's dark.
(There was a severe ice storm Wednesday night... over an inch of ice on top of maybe two inches of snow. There are states of emergency in Durham and Chapel Hill, and EVERYTHING is closed. There's even a curfew.)

I spent last night reading The Two Towers by candelight. Charming. (I'm still in the first book -- Book III of LotR.)
I missed Carl last night -- we were to meet and didn't -- and could only find a crackmart for food: a biggie-sized Hershey's Nutrageous, two Ding-Dongs, a bag of Pork Rinds and a 6 Pack of Natty Light. This was the entire day's meal, as well. I had to beat back the desire to fuck a goat and watch NASCAR.

Dr Who of the Day: Terminus, parts 1 and 2. Oh... Olvir is a cutie. And the TARDIS break-up is freaky. And the Lazars are odd (first sign of the disease: you shed your clothes for nasty rags). But dig those 80s spacesuits: capes and bubble helmets. *wags eyebrows* The Future Is Now, baby, and it looks good.
I'm making up my mind about the Garm and the Vanir, and how the whole Norse overlay works.

Word of the day: Ataxia -- a loss of co-ordination.

Reason Laura Llew rocks: Check the comments feauture!! And comment! If I'm a good boy, there could be anew header, as well!

In completely unrelated new, I have picked out Ms Llew's Christmas present (he he he!!).
It's plus que fab!

If I never, ever blog ever again, the reason's simple:
I've run off to live with Laura after looking at these pictures: here.

Blah, blah snow.
Blah, blah power may go out as I sleep.
Blah, blah little red car in hideous crash after sliding on ice after three a. m. decision to run to Pissgah Forest.

At least I'd die with a smile on my face.

Great Scott!
It's snowing! Big, fluffy flakes are coming down really quickly.
And it's lying!
How happy am I that I have the day off?

So, yeah. I've been all slack of late.
As promised, the major points of late.

Last Saturday was the WXDU/Radio Free Records Benefit at the Duke Coffeehouse. It was a fund-raiser for my radio station and for this ace recordstore that was broken into and needs to recover funds. I was supposed to meet Aruni there, but she didn't feel well and wisely stayed at home.
I got... fucked up... beforehand (BWWBR gave me festivity to pay for late bills. Against my normal credo, but it *was* a special event.)
Christina, IGP, was there moments after I arrived. I talked to her for a goodly while, when I saw Neil, the Recordshop Boy. Turns out he's in this band called the Cold Sides (I think). This occupied my attention for a great while. Then I bought a WXDU shirt.
Then Viva's band, Jett Rink, went on. Scary, but fun. He got covered in Gold Bond Medicated Powder.
I volunteered to help clean up after, so I picked up any number of beer cans/bottles. I talked to Viva after and despite having met AT LEAST six times, he had no idea who he was. The last time was the previous Thursday (two nights before) when I literally fell over his feet at the station.
Pfft.
I was out till 4 that night.
I saw so many people I hadn't seen in months and felt, for the first time in months, like a real member of the Indie Community.
Neil even recognized me after the show and said hello.
Of course, I just stared at my feet and mumbled.
I mean, Hello! He can't just walk up and talk to me like that!

The day before Thanksgiving, I saw my friend Jamie at work. I'd not seen her since... May, I think, when she moved to Nantucket for the summer. She's back now. I've talked to her twice, and I anticipate in the near future getting drunk with her at Henry's and stumbling down Franklin Street, singing Belle and Sebastian.
This is a big deal, seeing Jamie, and it absolutely made my day. She's quite lovely, folks.

When I went home the next day for the holiday, one of my tires blew out. Like, blam! And Swerve! I BARELY made it to an exit off the Interstate, which luckily had a filling station. Some man took pity on me and helped me put on the spare. When I got to my Grandmother's house, no food was left.
I got to spend the next hour cruising round town trying to find a new tire. No joy, of course. But I did get a stereo version of "What were you thinking? Why did you let your tires get so worn? You're a danger on the road! Are you daft, driving like that?"
Then they saw I needed an annual safety inspection (since 1 Nov., actually) and an oil change. Bitching only intensified.
I left early, so as to make my radio show. My show went from 3 am to NINE FUCKING AM, since the other two djs (5 am and 7 am) Japped out on me. I did play some great stuff, though, the Maybellines (new BiG Deal), Jackie O Pillbox, El Gato. I also played a massive local music set, with Cold Sides (he he). Mayflies USA, and this great new local comp called Patchwork.
I had to work an eight hour shift that Friday at 11 am, which was hella fun.

But the weekend made up for it.
I went to fiddle with my Nerve ad. I added the picture of me Laura took went I visited her. When I was done, I "Matched" myself, and for the first time got a match within, like, 20 miles.
I sent him a little message, and he wrote back. Yeah, folks, I was stunned as well.
This was on Saturday, I think, and then on Sunday night we met. We went to Henry's.
It was SO quiet there it was bizarre. Quite nice, though, for our purposes. We talked for a couple of hours, till the bartender turned on the lights to toss all five people out.
He had never been to Henry's before (I know, I was shocked as well... I mean, I was there by my first week in Chapel Hill, and this was before it was THE cool place). Apparently, he doesn't go out much, which I have a lot of respect for.*
He was SO tall -- 6' 3" and was kinda quite cute (he had sehr cute glasses, Llew). And very funny in a very not-predispossessing way. You can see his profile at Nerve.com under "Ataxia." He works at Weaver Street Market, the major competitor to where I work and right next door to Elmo's, oddly enough. And he works with the girls upstairs. He's an English major who wants to be a writer.
Prefers cats to dogs, stays up late, doesn't watch TV, like British Sitcoms.
Has never heard of Belle and Sebastian!! But then again, at some point, none of had. (In 1998...)
He seems to me very... pre-Indie, I think would be the term. Like, not in the scene but completely primed for it and would so fall for it. Interpol plays her next week, and I'd love to take him, but man, Interpol, if you don't know the crowd and the sound, could be freaky. I mean, Viva will be there, for god's sake. And he scares me at times...
He says that he doesn't kow-tow (points for vocab, there) to gay sub-culture. This I approve most strongly of. He doesn't go for the boy of the week club (*wipes brow in relief*). He told me that he only starts serious relationships with friends, with the intention of a regardless of romantic relationship, always remaining friends.
Yes, I know, terribly, terribly naive. But I like the idea of someone who can think that.
I should mention that the only real thing I thought twice about was the fact that he's 21. I mean, that doesn't seem so young, but well...
I still kinda like him.
I think we're going out again, but we've yet to determine where or when.

What Type of Villain are You?

mutedfaith.com /
<º>

I'm sorry about not blogging lately.
This past week has been busy what with the Hol and all.
Many event have transpired, like the WXDU Benefit (how not to be Jay at a function), seeing Jamie, exploding tires for beginners, Nerve-ous boys and mammoth Radio shows.

I'll spill the beans tomorrow, as I'm recovering from a parental visit.

The Hairdresser, the Zombies and the Talking Squirrel

Okay, so this dream was *unusual* even for me.
I was at house I used to live in. It had a chain link fence around the backyard, and I was doing gardening work beside it. A friend of mine who teaches pilates was next door gardening on the far side of her yard, along with Angus, her bald, gay, Scottish hairdresser. He says hello, and I pretend not to hear hoping he won't come over. He does, though.
He comments on the up-keep of the front yard. I demure, telling him it's all the work of the zombies I control. I try to call them over, but they've all gone away.
There's a buzzy little voice in one of the old pin oak trees that explains that to us. I tell Angus that is my talking squirrel, who has no name, but whom I'm thinking of calling Cindy.

Rather thankfully, this is the time when I woke up.
I'm scared to know what it means.

Brief note while I DIE of hysterical laughter

Unheralded by me -- which is a shame, really, as it really is my duty to render prayer, praise and thanksgiving unto Llew at all times and places* -- the Links at the remote bottom of this page (where nobody, I expect, goes) have been moved up to the side where they are officially visible. This was done via the expertise of Miss Laura (not Ms).
A few links were also added, like the Sinister one (which may not work) and one for Maddie Minx.
Now, as I have been tarting around #sinister in many senses of the word, I haven't been nosing around other blogs as much. But I mosied over to Maddie's just now to visit and saw she had reciprocated linkage.
Now -- at last -- the funny bit.
All the people there get interesting titles (i. e.: the TEMPTRESS or the HISTORIAN or the ARCHAEOLOGIST).
Me: I'm the OTHER**.

Ha, ha, ha!
It's so right, it's hysterical.

*This is a joke off of Luther's Explanation of the First Commandment, as written in his Small Catechism, memorized by me in 1988 or 1989, and apparently never replaced by anything more pertinent.

** Please see this