Okay, so today was better. If only marginally so.
It was my day off, for one, so that was nice.
I applied for work at two places. One of them is another coffee shop where my friend Lisa works. She apparently is the head girl there, and has been for a bit, but is leaving. She gave me the application without asking and said she put in a good word. Whoot!
I also applied to Borders. Man, a four page application to hawk over-priced books! Actually, it was more an act of Solidarity with Jayward, who also applied at Borders. We Jays must stick together.*
I also finished the second Harry Potter book. I derided them for a long time, and have been fully sucked in. It really was a great little book. I'm looking forward to reading the third one. And seeing the film.
Not only are they well-written and well-plotted little things, but they teach morality in a way that is effective and not all sappy or obtrusive. A hudred years ago, they'd have a big label on that says "Improving Moral Examples!"
When I went to visit my parents for dinner last week, I was surprised to see three of my nieces staying with them. When conversation died (four minutes into dinner, natch -- I checked) I innocently asked "Will you be going to see Harry Potter this weekend?"
I should mention that my sister is an ultra-right wing fundamentalist Christian, as in no Disney (they support Gays!) and never, under any circumstances, that little magick-wielding Satanist limey, Potter.
You'd think I 'd asked if they were going out for a round of genital piercing after a long night of sodomy.Not that they -- or even their mother, for that matter -- would know what that means.
These three little girls didn't speak to me the rest of dinner. My parents, amusingly, were full of smirks.
All I really want to know is what monster stories my sister is telling these kids...
I'm starting The Two Towers tonight, although I did read the first chapter of I, Claudius and was fascinated by it.
Hmm. I need to come up with $20 to keep them from turning off the phone tomorrow. If I don't post, folks, you now know why.
I will freak out though.
I wish I knew where one could go to pick up tricks. I'd so do that at this point for some hot food or some cold booze.
(Amusingly, some one who said they have a crush on me has not been for two days. The tongues of de men be full of de lies...***
I'm not at all upset. I was biting my tongue, dying to say "Really, now, how much *have* you had to drink to say I'm cute?" as he was speaking. I've got no problem in seeing him again, though, 'cause deep down I do like to hear those kinds of things.
And how much I really believe him is a little secret I'll keep to myself.)
*If I get the job, I'm getting new glasses and wearing them all the time.
** Henry V, Act V, scene ii
Thursday, November 21, 2002
Tuesday, November 19, 2002
Wow.
There are days when it just doesn't seem worth it to keep going. I pretty much feel like that right now. I'm so tired of being poor and harrassed. I've not slept well -- barring one night -- for probably three months. I'm beginning to think the black rings around my eyes may well be permanent now.
Friends would be nice: I got the royal sham tonight from somebody I've wanted to talk to for days. Not that it was so very bad in itself (nor was it a pleasure) but the timing was all wrong. I mean, Jeez, not *tonight*.
Or having fun would be nice. Or being happy. Besides the same time as the good night's rest, the last time I was happy was driving to the Employment Office months ago. I remember it quite well: the sun, the color, zipping around old 86, the to do for BossaNova on the radio...
Being poor takes so much energy that sometimes I think it may just be easier to give up: a draught of sleeping pills or a flick of a razor.*
Oh, I know I should stop moaning. I called and got extensions on the last three pressing bills and paid the last of the overdue rent today. All I need before next paycheck is $20 for the phone bill, which I need before Thursday, but I think I can get.
But I'll be busted till 13 December. (My next paycheck is total already budgeted out.) Most of that's spoken for, as well.
Okay, Jay, make yourself Happy:
Top Ten Things I would do with Ten Guilt-Free Dollars:
10) A six-pack of Rolling Rock Lite
9) The Perks of Being A Wallflower
8) A ticket to Harry Potter
7) a large latte with a shot of raspberry
6) Anne Rice's Queen of the Damned
5) a Wendy's Spicy Chicken Combo, Biggie-sized
4) A ticket to the new James Bond movie
3) New Lemony Snicket
2) Any of the Doctor Who novels from the past six months
1) Belle and Seabstian's If You're Feeling Sinister on VINYL**
Speaking of Belle and Sebastian, there was this faboo show on WXDU tonight as I drove home from work. I called in and requested B&S and they played "The Wrong Girl." Whoot!
I'm beginning to feel all slightly swoony of late, and it's worth mentioning cause it makes me feel so much better, but I don't like to talk about these kinds of things before the fact, out of supersticious fear. That, and I have a gentleman's sense of discretion.
I mean, somebody who can correct my French and Latin...
*Chill out. Like I'm brave enough to try.
**I've so decided this will be First Purchase after I actually make money. I'll sit in my hovel and listen to Judy and the Dream of Horse and Stars of Track and Field over and over, drink beer and be happy.
I may cry. I mean I want to now, but that's the one thing I will not let myself do till I break even. I'm afraid if I start, I just won't stop. I mean, this shit is really hard to get through. And that's how I've decided to celebrate getting through it.
The 13th of December after I cash my check, get out of work, I'm going to CD Alley and buying that album.
There are days when it just doesn't seem worth it to keep going. I pretty much feel like that right now. I'm so tired of being poor and harrassed. I've not slept well -- barring one night -- for probably three months. I'm beginning to think the black rings around my eyes may well be permanent now.
Friends would be nice: I got the royal sham tonight from somebody I've wanted to talk to for days. Not that it was so very bad in itself (nor was it a pleasure) but the timing was all wrong. I mean, Jeez, not *tonight*.
Or having fun would be nice. Or being happy. Besides the same time as the good night's rest, the last time I was happy was driving to the Employment Office months ago. I remember it quite well: the sun, the color, zipping around old 86, the to do for BossaNova on the radio...
Being poor takes so much energy that sometimes I think it may just be easier to give up: a draught of sleeping pills or a flick of a razor.*
Oh, I know I should stop moaning. I called and got extensions on the last three pressing bills and paid the last of the overdue rent today. All I need before next paycheck is $20 for the phone bill, which I need before Thursday, but I think I can get.
But I'll be busted till 13 December. (My next paycheck is total already budgeted out.) Most of that's spoken for, as well.
Okay, Jay, make yourself Happy:
Top Ten Things I would do with Ten Guilt-Free Dollars:
10) A six-pack of Rolling Rock Lite
9) The Perks of Being A Wallflower
8) A ticket to Harry Potter
7) a large latte with a shot of raspberry
6) Anne Rice's Queen of the Damned
5) a Wendy's Spicy Chicken Combo, Biggie-sized
4) A ticket to the new James Bond movie
3) New Lemony Snicket
2) Any of the Doctor Who novels from the past six months
1) Belle and Seabstian's If You're Feeling Sinister on VINYL**
Speaking of Belle and Sebastian, there was this faboo show on WXDU tonight as I drove home from work. I called in and requested B&S and they played "The Wrong Girl." Whoot!
I'm beginning to feel all slightly swoony of late, and it's worth mentioning cause it makes me feel so much better, but I don't like to talk about these kinds of things before the fact, out of supersticious fear. That, and I have a gentleman's sense of discretion.
I mean, somebody who can correct my French and Latin...
*Chill out. Like I'm brave enough to try.
**I've so decided this will be First Purchase after I actually make money. I'll sit in my hovel and listen to Judy and the Dream of Horse and Stars of Track and Field over and over, drink beer and be happy.
I may cry. I mean I want to now, but that's the one thing I will not let myself do till I break even. I'm afraid if I start, I just won't stop. I mean, this shit is really hard to get through. And that's how I've decided to celebrate getting through it.
The 13th of December after I cash my check, get out of work, I'm going to CD Alley and buying that album.
Monday, November 18, 2002
If brevity be the soul of wit,
then let also be the seat of pity -- note especially the last two verses.
Miniver Cheevey, child of scorn,
Grew lean as he assailed the seasons;
He wept that he was ever born
And he had reasons.
Miniver loved the days of old,
When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;
The vision of a warrior bold
Would set him dancing.
Miniver sighed for what was not,
and dreamed, and rested from his labors;
He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot
and Priam's neighbors.
Miniver mourned the ripe renown
That made so many a name fragrant;
He mourned Romance, now on the town,
And Art, a vagrant.
Miniver loved the Medici.
Albeit he had never seen one;
He would have sinned incessantly,
had he been one.
Miniver cursed the commonplace
And eyed a khaki suit with loathing;
He missed the mediaeval grace
Of iron clothing.
Miniver scorned the gold he sought
But sore annoyed was he without it;
Miniver though and thought and thought
And thought about it.
Miniver Cheevey, born too late,
Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
Miniver coughed and called it fate,
And kept on drinking.
then let also be the seat of pity -- note especially the last two verses.
Miniver Cheevey, child of scorn,
Grew lean as he assailed the seasons;
He wept that he was ever born
And he had reasons.
Miniver loved the days of old,
When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;
The vision of a warrior bold
Would set him dancing.
Miniver sighed for what was not,
and dreamed, and rested from his labors;
He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot
and Priam's neighbors.
Miniver mourned the ripe renown
That made so many a name fragrant;
He mourned Romance, now on the town,
And Art, a vagrant.
Miniver loved the Medici.
Albeit he had never seen one;
He would have sinned incessantly,
had he been one.
Miniver cursed the commonplace
And eyed a khaki suit with loathing;
He missed the mediaeval grace
Of iron clothing.
Miniver scorned the gold he sought
But sore annoyed was he without it;
Miniver though and thought and thought
And thought about it.
Miniver Cheevey, born too late,
Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
Miniver coughed and called it fate,
And kept on drinking.
Saturday, November 16, 2002
The past few days have been pretty awful.
The (second, maybe, though the point is currently under contention) best point in days -- days, I tell you -- was a damn picture. Not even a naked picture (though it was oh so close). I'd wanted to see a picture like this for a long time and was quite shocked when someone directed me to it.
I think it may be the only picture I've ever seen that actually lived up to the anticipation (up to and including the 1996 Fox tele-movie, for those who even know what that little abortion was). It was divine, to use an old Southern word.
Not only was, you know, the goods advertised absolutely, stunningly perfect, it may well appeal to every prurient, deviant desire I hold. The best bit was an abandoned school tie in the corner.
I haven't quite gotten the balls to actually download this image, but I imagine I'll get over that little hang up tout suite.*
And Brian, should you ever read this: I'm re-considering that whole "You are not my lord and saviour" bit. You may be after this.
Despite the fact I paid some off last week, they turned off the cable the other day. Not that I watch that much television, but still that stung.
Fortunately, I've managed to (just) pay my rent. It means no cash till next pay day (two weeks): no gas, no Diet Coke, no milk. The only food is what I toted home from a last-second trip to my parents (pinto beans and vegetable soup). O what a way to lose those last five pounds.
However, this is the hump. I'm working 35 hours a week, will pay rent on time next month and start paying off bills. It's just a matter of getting through till payday.
I also heard a new (independent) bookstore is opening up round here. I'd love to work there. I need the money and would be good for that sort of thing.
I'm worried about the little red car. She needs an oil change badly and to get this year's state safety inspection tag. But I can't afford those. Her "Service Engine Soon" light is on as well as the oil light and she's a but jerky. I don't what I'll do if she conks out. I did spend all last winter with that "Service engine soon" light on (yes, I know bad) but I need her to pull through a few more weeks.
I wanted to see Harry Potter tonight, but no dice.
I want to see James Bond next week, but no dice.
I'm just frustrated that I can't do anything I want right now. Money exists as an opportunity to do things and right now I've got sod all opportunity.
Except to read and listen to music and watch old videos.
I keep thinking the lyric "Full of woe and further to go..."**
Tries to think postively: my show last night was great. I played the new Saint Etienne I'd heard a lot of and loved it, ditto a new group called El Gato. More Stitches, as well -- Pure Poppy Goodness, as I said. I played back to back versions of "This Charming Man", by Death Cab for Cutie and the Smiths.
I played a killer Classic Country set: "Barbara Allen", Hank Williams, Sr's "Kawliga", Johnny Horton's Battle of New Orleans, " Johnny Cash's "Get Rythym!", "La Golondrina" and two songs from the Soundtrack of O Borther, Where Art Thou?, "And the Baby Made Three" and "Big Rock Candy Mountian". All but the last two were on vinyl -- cued flawlessly.
I also played Man or Astro Man and Beulah, which I had wanted to for a while.
There was a Llew set, "Sexy Ankles" by Superchunk, "We Dance" by Pavement, "Sometimes I Still Feel the Bruise" by Trembling Blue Stars. The Smiths/Cutie double play was a part of that, as well as was "This Is Just a Modern Rock Song."
I still need to play Sleater Kinney and Magnetic Fields.
Warm and fuzzy feeling have not appeared as needed ot desired.
Today's Reason Laura Llew rocks: "Hello! I have a crush on you! You can't just walk up to me and start talking!" I have never expressed myself as well ever.***
In related news, Nate, BWWiSMID, actually talked to me today. I refilled a sweet tea urn for him. I also found out he's in a band.****
Book of the Day: I'm still reading Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.
*I'm not worried if you know who this picture is of, really. If you actually are this person (an off chance, admittedly, but not strictly impossible), the evidence of a picture from the A&F Quarterly posted on the wall gives me complete license to pursue you. And you know I'm not as scary as that bit would make me seem. Probably.
**"The Chalet Lines", Belle and Sebastian, "Fold Your Hands Child, You Look Like a Peasant." Glasgow, Jeepster, 2000.
***Promised Llew quotes shall make up forth-coming 'Reasons Laura Llew Rocks' entries.
***I found out today that Darren Jessee, one of the me*mbers of Ben Folds Five, frequently hangs out in our little cafe. Go fig.
From previous entry
*This only increases my attraction.
The (second, maybe, though the point is currently under contention) best point in days -- days, I tell you -- was a damn picture. Not even a naked picture (though it was oh so close). I'd wanted to see a picture like this for a long time and was quite shocked when someone directed me to it.
I think it may be the only picture I've ever seen that actually lived up to the anticipation (up to and including the 1996 Fox tele-movie, for those who even know what that little abortion was). It was divine, to use an old Southern word.
Not only was, you know, the goods advertised absolutely, stunningly perfect, it may well appeal to every prurient, deviant desire I hold. The best bit was an abandoned school tie in the corner.
I haven't quite gotten the balls to actually download this image, but I imagine I'll get over that little hang up tout suite.*
And Brian, should you ever read this: I'm re-considering that whole "You are not my lord and saviour" bit. You may be after this.
Despite the fact I paid some off last week, they turned off the cable the other day. Not that I watch that much television, but still that stung.
Fortunately, I've managed to (just) pay my rent. It means no cash till next pay day (two weeks): no gas, no Diet Coke, no milk. The only food is what I toted home from a last-second trip to my parents (pinto beans and vegetable soup). O what a way to lose those last five pounds.
However, this is the hump. I'm working 35 hours a week, will pay rent on time next month and start paying off bills. It's just a matter of getting through till payday.
I also heard a new (independent) bookstore is opening up round here. I'd love to work there. I need the money and would be good for that sort of thing.
I'm worried about the little red car. She needs an oil change badly and to get this year's state safety inspection tag. But I can't afford those. Her "Service Engine Soon" light is on as well as the oil light and she's a but jerky. I don't what I'll do if she conks out. I did spend all last winter with that "Service engine soon" light on (yes, I know bad) but I need her to pull through a few more weeks.
I wanted to see Harry Potter tonight, but no dice.
I want to see James Bond next week, but no dice.
I'm just frustrated that I can't do anything I want right now. Money exists as an opportunity to do things and right now I've got sod all opportunity.
Except to read and listen to music and watch old videos.
I keep thinking the lyric "Full of woe and further to go..."**
Tries to think postively: my show last night was great. I played the new Saint Etienne I'd heard a lot of and loved it, ditto a new group called El Gato. More Stitches, as well -- Pure Poppy Goodness, as I said. I played back to back versions of "This Charming Man", by Death Cab for Cutie and the Smiths.
I played a killer Classic Country set: "Barbara Allen", Hank Williams, Sr's "Kawliga", Johnny Horton's Battle of New Orleans, " Johnny Cash's "Get Rythym!", "La Golondrina" and two songs from the Soundtrack of O Borther, Where Art Thou?, "And the Baby Made Three" and "Big Rock Candy Mountian". All but the last two were on vinyl -- cued flawlessly.
I also played Man or Astro Man and Beulah, which I had wanted to for a while.
There was a Llew set, "Sexy Ankles" by Superchunk, "We Dance" by Pavement, "Sometimes I Still Feel the Bruise" by Trembling Blue Stars. The Smiths/Cutie double play was a part of that, as well as was "This Is Just a Modern Rock Song."
I still need to play Sleater Kinney and Magnetic Fields.
Warm and fuzzy feeling have not appeared as needed ot desired.
Today's Reason Laura Llew rocks: "Hello! I have a crush on you! You can't just walk up to me and start talking!" I have never expressed myself as well ever.***
In related news, Nate, BWWiSMID, actually talked to me today. I refilled a sweet tea urn for him. I also found out he's in a band.****
Book of the Day: I'm still reading Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.
*I'm not worried if you know who this picture is of, really. If you actually are this person (an off chance, admittedly, but not strictly impossible), the evidence of a picture from the A&F Quarterly posted on the wall gives me complete license to pursue you. And you know I'm not as scary as that bit would make me seem. Probably.
**"The Chalet Lines", Belle and Sebastian, "Fold Your Hands Child, You Look Like a Peasant." Glasgow, Jeepster, 2000.
***Promised Llew quotes shall make up forth-coming 'Reasons Laura Llew Rocks' entries.
***I found out today that Darren Jessee, one of the me*mbers of Ben Folds Five, frequently hangs out in our little cafe. Go fig.
From previous entry
*This only increases my attraction.
Thursday, November 14, 2002
So... It's late.
I've spent much longer than I anticipated talking to someone on #sinister.
It was quite nice, like a restaurant after it's closed and everything's quiet, and the wait staff is pointedly ignoring you.
Like a big public space shrunk down for two.
What is #sinsister, you ask? I'm sure I've mentioned it before.
However... I've just decided to go to my warm, snuggly bed whilst I still feel warm and snuggly myself.
So yeah...
Tomorrow:
Scary girl from work smooches me!
Just what is this #sinister anway?
Addenda from past two entries descried ( *, **)
The same damn quotes from Llew I've been meaning to post for a week!
I have a show tomorrow night, at 3 am (8 am GMT) for two hours. Follow the link above to 88.7 FM.
I've spent much longer than I anticipated talking to someone on #sinister.
It was quite nice, like a restaurant after it's closed and everything's quiet, and the wait staff is pointedly ignoring you.
Like a big public space shrunk down for two.
What is #sinsister, you ask? I'm sure I've mentioned it before.
However... I've just decided to go to my warm, snuggly bed whilst I still feel warm and snuggly myself.
So yeah...
Tomorrow:
Scary girl from work smooches me!
Just what is this #sinister anway?
Addenda from past two entries descried ( *, **)
The same damn quotes from Llew I've been meaning to post for a week!
I have a show tomorrow night, at 3 am (8 am GMT) for two hours. Follow the link above to 88.7 FM.
Tuesday, November 12, 2002
So the past few days have been sehr boring.
The Fun Hang-over continues.
I'm low enough on funds that I can't do much.
The bright point of the day was Boy Who Works in the Same Market I Do (BWWiSMID). I served today (a la cafeteria line, a job I have once a week) and he came by twice.
He has these magnificent dark blue eyes and is quite very cute. He's blond and tall and indie kid-esque. I can tell by the way he smiles as he walks away that he knows I'm swooning after him. I can almost but not quite look like a jabbering like an imbecile.
He's so straight, but it so doesn't matter.*
Amusing Smiths reference of the Day:
A guy freaked out when his lattes took more than 17 seconds. When he started to bitch, wanting to know what they would be ready, I was finishing up. As I turned around with the drinks, I smiled and said "I see... You want to know How Soon is Now, yes?"
It's actually been an entire week since I was at Llew's. I honestly have a hard time believing it.
Fortunately, I've been tarting around #sinister, the Undernet chat room for the Sinister Mailing list. Llew is there all the time, so there is frequent converse. I also can talk to Jayward (the original Jay to my Autre Jay), Brian (the joannou.net founder and potential dreamboat), Markelby, Ken Chu and so on and so on.
It's like a poor man's social life.
I need to start tarting around for a Christmas/New Year Llew Experience.
I've at last finished The Fellowship of the Ring and am 75 pages into Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. I'm thinking of starting The Two Towers and a book of 16th Century City Comedies that is called The City Girl and Other City Comedies (it has The Shoemaker's Holiday).
I have to finish Harry Potter before I see the film on Friday and Two Towers before it comes out.
New BOND next Friday!
I've not seen any Doctor Who in the past several days, though I did watch Cybermen: The Early Years (The Moonbase parts 2 and 4, The Wheel in Space, 3 and 6) and The Daleks: The Early Years (parts from The Dalek's Masterplan and the Evil of the Daleks).
I'm in the middle of my favorite story, Pyramids of Mars.
I'll comment on these later.
Also: With Laura, when we went to Brevard, we spent some good quality time at a coffee shop called Essence of Thyme after we ate a Big Mike's. They had the best Hot Chocolate in the World. Really. And a piano.
They had these silly little blank books wherein retarded 12 year old and Brevard College students (if there's any difference) wrote in things worthy of a high school yearbook (Don't ever change!; Be where you are!) I wrote in a vomitrocious story about how Belle (who was really Lazy Line Painter Jane) met Sebastian, the King of all the Hipsters.
Llew, the Queen of all things Cool, merely wrote caustically spot on comments in the book.(Though she wants to marry the coffee store boy, I will marry Llaura.)
Before I got up properly but after I first woke up, I had a bizarre dream. I got up out of my real bedroom and went into the main room and turned on a 27 inch TV.
But it was the main room here. It was the main room of the first appartment I ever had in Kill Devil Hills. And I only have a 13 inch TV/VCR combo). That's pretty much the dream.
This apartment, though is dear to me. Like in the novella Breakfast at Tiffany's, it has memories. It was in a converted beach-house a block from the sea. The estate agent put up pulp board to seperate the old rooms into flats. We had two rooms: One had a bunk bed and a queen bed and a dresser. The other room was a little larger with three chairs, a table and a counter.
The other room was different. It had a white clapboard wall. It had originally been built as a screened in porch and was lit by a single porch light. It had also subsided a bit so one side was about 10 inches below the other, and the room listed about 12 degrees. You couldn't put anything on the counter because it would fall.
I lived there with two people for four months (at $900 a month for 250 square feet -- suck that NYC people -- AND it was my first place!).
Goodnight.
The Fun Hang-over continues.
I'm low enough on funds that I can't do much.
The bright point of the day was Boy Who Works in the Same Market I Do (BWWiSMID). I served today (a la cafeteria line, a job I have once a week) and he came by twice.
He has these magnificent dark blue eyes and is quite very cute. He's blond and tall and indie kid-esque. I can tell by the way he smiles as he walks away that he knows I'm swooning after him. I can almost but not quite look like a jabbering like an imbecile.
He's so straight, but it so doesn't matter.*
Amusing Smiths reference of the Day:
A guy freaked out when his lattes took more than 17 seconds. When he started to bitch, wanting to know what they would be ready, I was finishing up. As I turned around with the drinks, I smiled and said "I see... You want to know How Soon is Now, yes?"
It's actually been an entire week since I was at Llew's. I honestly have a hard time believing it.
Fortunately, I've been tarting around #sinister, the Undernet chat room for the Sinister Mailing list. Llew is there all the time, so there is frequent converse. I also can talk to Jayward (the original Jay to my Autre Jay), Brian (the joannou.net founder and potential dreamboat), Markelby, Ken Chu and so on and so on.
It's like a poor man's social life.
I need to start tarting around for a Christmas/New Year Llew Experience.
I've at last finished The Fellowship of the Ring and am 75 pages into Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. I'm thinking of starting The Two Towers and a book of 16th Century City Comedies that is called The City Girl and Other City Comedies (it has The Shoemaker's Holiday).
I have to finish Harry Potter before I see the film on Friday and Two Towers before it comes out.
New BOND next Friday!
I've not seen any Doctor Who in the past several days, though I did watch Cybermen: The Early Years (The Moonbase parts 2 and 4, The Wheel in Space, 3 and 6) and The Daleks: The Early Years (parts from The Dalek's Masterplan and the Evil of the Daleks).
I'm in the middle of my favorite story, Pyramids of Mars.
I'll comment on these later.
Also: With Laura, when we went to Brevard, we spent some good quality time at a coffee shop called Essence of Thyme after we ate a Big Mike's. They had the best Hot Chocolate in the World. Really. And a piano.
They had these silly little blank books wherein retarded 12 year old and Brevard College students (if there's any difference) wrote in things worthy of a high school yearbook (Don't ever change!; Be where you are!) I wrote in a vomitrocious story about how Belle (who was really Lazy Line Painter Jane) met Sebastian, the King of all the Hipsters.
Llew, the Queen of all things Cool, merely wrote caustically spot on comments in the book.(Though she wants to marry the coffee store boy, I will marry Llaura.)
Before I got up properly but after I first woke up, I had a bizarre dream. I got up out of my real bedroom and went into the main room and turned on a 27 inch TV.
But it was the main room here. It was the main room of the first appartment I ever had in Kill Devil Hills. And I only have a 13 inch TV/VCR combo). That's pretty much the dream.
This apartment, though is dear to me. Like in the novella Breakfast at Tiffany's, it has memories. It was in a converted beach-house a block from the sea. The estate agent put up pulp board to seperate the old rooms into flats. We had two rooms: One had a bunk bed and a queen bed and a dresser. The other room was a little larger with three chairs, a table and a counter.
The other room was different. It had a white clapboard wall. It had originally been built as a screened in porch and was lit by a single porch light. It had also subsided a bit so one side was about 10 inches below the other, and the room listed about 12 degrees. You couldn't put anything on the counter because it would fall.
I lived there with two people for four months (at $900 a month for 250 square feet -- suck that NYC people -- AND it was my first place!).
Goodnight.
Sunday, November 10, 2002
So, I've been very slack in blogging lately.
Call it a fun hang-over.
Friday and today have been sooo very boring, especially after my weekend (which was Wednesday and Thursday).
I went to visit Ms Laura Llew.
Whoot, whoot and double whoot!
I left home Wednesday morning. I took all my laundry* with me and stopped in Hickory, where my parents went. We went for lunch at Shell's Barbeque. I had a cherry-vanilla-Sundrop,** two chopped BBQ sandwiches and an order of fries. They still use actual grease there for the fries, not canola oil or anything healthy, so even though they are deadly, they are so tasty.
It was quite a coup when the original shack -- and I do mean a literal shack -- circa 1950, was demolished earlier this year and replaced with a streamliner train car replete with 50s memrobelia crap. I'm pretty neutral as to the rebuild and decor, as the food is exactly the same. The biggest deal, though was that they stopped using Coke products and started using Pepsi. This apparently made the local papers and was cause of multiple letters to the editor of the Hickory Daily Record. We also went to the Post Office, which is studded with 6 deer head, a boar's head and a stuffed trout. I counted, oh yes.
After this, I departed for the trip to Easley, SC. It felt like it took about ten minutes, such was my anticipation. Right at 6 pm, I arrived at le Bookshop de Llew.
She was right there with the faithful Flan.
We zipped through the mountians to her AMAZING home an hour away. I got to hold Flan in my lap (good pets are so great. Flan made Murph look like cold crap, dude) while being all charmed by Llew. We went through places like Dacusville (where there's a pizza place and where pigs go missing) and Pumpkintown (where, oddly, there are no eponymous pumpkins).
I so loved her house. It was big and old (in the loved and fuzzy way) and painfully charming, and far enough into the country to completely escape light pollution. It even had a mutltiplicity of farm cats. While Laura completed some work, she let me tap away on her piano. She didn't even recoil at the sight on my glasses.
Then we went up to Asheville to eat. We wandered around downtown (just about my favourite thing, wandering through towns) looking soooo very cute we even achieved twee-ness. I had on a baby blue oxford, a shapeless old blue sweater and these to-die-for sand colored cords, with a co-ordinated scarf and perfectly-cut suede jacket. I looked old hat next to Llew, though, who sparkled and shimmered and sported a corduroy jacket and cute ebony -- not just black, Llew could never be bothered with something so simple as mere back -- top.
We *finally* found a little pub that was open and went in for dinner, after passing a sign what said Sluts and Jewels [never say Asheville is boring]. (L L = grilled chix sand and a great pasta salad, me = okayish Philly Cheese Steak Sandwich and potato salad). Maybe five minutes after we got there, I spotted a gorg boy walking away. When he walked back towards us, I saw it was my old friend Paul from Manteo!!! I'd not seen him for years, and he came over to talk to us, after he took a minute to recognise me. We exchanged info. He was the manager (dude, he's like 22 and has a better job than me!) and had to work.
Then the band (the Marsupials) started. Imagine pain incarnated as a poor man's Los Lobos and you can understand the noise. Paul came back and we caught up for a bit. They had booths there and so he sat next to me while we talked. But he left soon, frightened by the band. We did, too, though Llew accused me of pulling.
Paul is so like a little brother that I felt guilty for checking him out at first before I recognized him. I still have a mind to give Llew his digits. I still can't convince her I've not pulled, ever, at all.
When then went back to the House of Perfection. We took a walk with Flan after midnight and looked at the stars. I found Orion and the red star Betelgeuse. I couldn't find the Big Dipper. The stars were so beautiful, that far out, that I saw the Pleiades (after L pointed them out) and the Milky Way. Shooting stars were also seen. The moon was new, so it was even better to look at stars. We also talked the whole time, and faboo tales were traded, my own of which have probably appeared here.
We then retired to watch TV. We watched some old videos of Fawlty Towers, which went over well. Some old footage of me as B'rer Y'Alligator may also have been viewed. I'm not sure if it was amusing, as my eyes were covered. I did hear a giggled "This is sooo bad, he he, guffaw!" though.
After talking some more, we went to bed.
And oh, how I slept! The bed was huge and soft and the room dark and quiet and peaceful. I haven't slept as well in as long as I could remember. It was close to 6 when we turned in, we had talked so long about Sinister people and books and well, everything...
I woke up before noon the next day and after getting ready (Black oxford, black tie, black v-neck jumper, and dark khakis) we went up to the Blue Ridge Parkway. We went up to the falls at Graveyard Fields, where we hung out talking on the rocks for a while. It was lovely. I wanted to curl up on the rocks and snooze, and we were on top of a mountian in November. This is how great Llew is.
At one point, I tried to suggest I was sure footed. I *promptly* fell down and busted my ass. I drank water, there, as well, but it tasted like my ring. I wanted that hour at the falls to last at least ten or fifteen years, as I can't honestly remember better time spent with someone. Giggling and smiling and mutual understadning abounded, to say the least.
We went up (down?) to Brevard for lunch, where we (Hip hurrah!) wandered around a downtown again. We went to a bizzare little record shop and looked at vinyl and old movie posters. We got directions to Big Mike's, this little place where we had lunch. (Llew = chicken parmagian sub, me = New England Fish and Chips, though the whole New England thing beat me.) We listened to the jukebox, as well! It was the worst juke in the world and we listened Toad the Wet Sprocket, Jimmy Buffett (oh, I know) and the Beer Barrel Polka. The food was quite good there at Mike's.
Then we went to OP Taylor's, a toy store and played. Then we looked for an Apple Pie, but didn't find any.
Then we went back home. Llew can drive, let me tell, sehr fast on curvy mountian roads. I'm so tempted to give her Curve by Estee Lauder for Christmas, 'cept that it reeks.
We visited #Sinister for a bit and said hello to Biodino and Brian Joannou and everybody! There was talk of a guy named Damon who lives hereabout. Oh how I hope events transpire to discuss here.
Then it was time to go. We drove back to Easley, with Flan on my lap again! Cept when she fell off around a curve.
Then I had to go home. I got a mix tapes, though, and David Sedaris tapes which made me laugh the whole way back.
The better thing was the warm fuzzy feeling I still have! I am *so* in love with Llew now and the fab life she gets to lead.
I so want to marry that girl it's unbelievable.
The Major and Mum were well pleased I was late in returning to them. Girls, and all. They fed me a joint and York. Pud. with a baked potato and green beans and sent me on my way.
I got back home about three am to find TBWWBR *smoking* in the main room. This was quickly ended, though the smell of the incense he was burning and fags is still lingering.
But we talked and smoothed out a trouble or two that been brewing and he paid his bills, which was cool.
Since then has been so boring as not to mention, though I did tart around a bit on #sinister. Llew withdrawal pains me.
Call it a fun hang-over.
Friday and today have been sooo very boring, especially after my weekend (which was Wednesday and Thursday).
I went to visit Ms Laura Llew.
Whoot, whoot and double whoot!
I left home Wednesday morning. I took all my laundry* with me and stopped in Hickory, where my parents went. We went for lunch at Shell's Barbeque. I had a cherry-vanilla-Sundrop,** two chopped BBQ sandwiches and an order of fries. They still use actual grease there for the fries, not canola oil or anything healthy, so even though they are deadly, they are so tasty.
It was quite a coup when the original shack -- and I do mean a literal shack -- circa 1950, was demolished earlier this year and replaced with a streamliner train car replete with 50s memrobelia crap. I'm pretty neutral as to the rebuild and decor, as the food is exactly the same. The biggest deal, though was that they stopped using Coke products and started using Pepsi. This apparently made the local papers and was cause of multiple letters to the editor of the Hickory Daily Record. We also went to the Post Office, which is studded with 6 deer head, a boar's head and a stuffed trout. I counted, oh yes.
After this, I departed for the trip to Easley, SC. It felt like it took about ten minutes, such was my anticipation. Right at 6 pm, I arrived at le Bookshop de Llew.
She was right there with the faithful Flan.
We zipped through the mountians to her AMAZING home an hour away. I got to hold Flan in my lap (good pets are so great. Flan made Murph look like cold crap, dude) while being all charmed by Llew. We went through places like Dacusville (where there's a pizza place and where pigs go missing) and Pumpkintown (where, oddly, there are no eponymous pumpkins).
I so loved her house. It was big and old (in the loved and fuzzy way) and painfully charming, and far enough into the country to completely escape light pollution. It even had a mutltiplicity of farm cats. While Laura completed some work, she let me tap away on her piano. She didn't even recoil at the sight on my glasses.
Then we went up to Asheville to eat. We wandered around downtown (just about my favourite thing, wandering through towns) looking soooo very cute we even achieved twee-ness. I had on a baby blue oxford, a shapeless old blue sweater and these to-die-for sand colored cords, with a co-ordinated scarf and perfectly-cut suede jacket. I looked old hat next to Llew, though, who sparkled and shimmered and sported a corduroy jacket and cute ebony -- not just black, Llew could never be bothered with something so simple as mere back -- top.
We *finally* found a little pub that was open and went in for dinner, after passing a sign what said Sluts and Jewels [never say Asheville is boring]. (L L = grilled chix sand and a great pasta salad, me = okayish Philly Cheese Steak Sandwich and potato salad). Maybe five minutes after we got there, I spotted a gorg boy walking away. When he walked back towards us, I saw it was my old friend Paul from Manteo!!! I'd not seen him for years, and he came over to talk to us, after he took a minute to recognise me. We exchanged info. He was the manager (dude, he's like 22 and has a better job than me!) and had to work.
Then the band (the Marsupials) started. Imagine pain incarnated as a poor man's Los Lobos and you can understand the noise. Paul came back and we caught up for a bit. They had booths there and so he sat next to me while we talked. But he left soon, frightened by the band. We did, too, though Llew accused me of pulling.
Paul is so like a little brother that I felt guilty for checking him out at first before I recognized him. I still have a mind to give Llew his digits. I still can't convince her I've not pulled, ever, at all.
When then went back to the House of Perfection. We took a walk with Flan after midnight and looked at the stars. I found Orion and the red star Betelgeuse. I couldn't find the Big Dipper. The stars were so beautiful, that far out, that I saw the Pleiades (after L pointed them out) and the Milky Way. Shooting stars were also seen. The moon was new, so it was even better to look at stars. We also talked the whole time, and faboo tales were traded, my own of which have probably appeared here.
We then retired to watch TV. We watched some old videos of Fawlty Towers, which went over well. Some old footage of me as B'rer Y'Alligator may also have been viewed. I'm not sure if it was amusing, as my eyes were covered. I did hear a giggled "This is sooo bad, he he, guffaw!" though.
After talking some more, we went to bed.
And oh, how I slept! The bed was huge and soft and the room dark and quiet and peaceful. I haven't slept as well in as long as I could remember. It was close to 6 when we turned in, we had talked so long about Sinister people and books and well, everything...
I woke up before noon the next day and after getting ready (Black oxford, black tie, black v-neck jumper, and dark khakis) we went up to the Blue Ridge Parkway. We went up to the falls at Graveyard Fields, where we hung out talking on the rocks for a while. It was lovely. I wanted to curl up on the rocks and snooze, and we were on top of a mountian in November. This is how great Llew is.
At one point, I tried to suggest I was sure footed. I *promptly* fell down and busted my ass. I drank water, there, as well, but it tasted like my ring. I wanted that hour at the falls to last at least ten or fifteen years, as I can't honestly remember better time spent with someone. Giggling and smiling and mutual understadning abounded, to say the least.
We went up (down?) to Brevard for lunch, where we (Hip hurrah!) wandered around a downtown again. We went to a bizzare little record shop and looked at vinyl and old movie posters. We got directions to Big Mike's, this little place where we had lunch. (Llew = chicken parmagian sub, me = New England Fish and Chips, though the whole New England thing beat me.) We listened to the jukebox, as well! It was the worst juke in the world and we listened Toad the Wet Sprocket, Jimmy Buffett (oh, I know) and the Beer Barrel Polka. The food was quite good there at Mike's.
Then we went to OP Taylor's, a toy store and played. Then we looked for an Apple Pie, but didn't find any.
Then we went back home. Llew can drive, let me tell, sehr fast on curvy mountian roads. I'm so tempted to give her Curve by Estee Lauder for Christmas, 'cept that it reeks.
We visited #Sinister for a bit and said hello to Biodino and Brian Joannou and everybody! There was talk of a guy named Damon who lives hereabout. Oh how I hope events transpire to discuss here.
Then it was time to go. We drove back to Easley, with Flan on my lap again! Cept when she fell off around a curve.
Then I had to go home. I got a mix tapes, though, and David Sedaris tapes which made me laugh the whole way back.
The better thing was the warm fuzzy feeling I still have! I am *so* in love with Llew now and the fab life she gets to lead.
I so want to marry that girl it's unbelievable.
The Major and Mum were well pleased I was late in returning to them. Girls, and all. They fed me a joint and York. Pud. with a baked potato and green beans and sent me on my way.
I got back home about three am to find TBWWBR *smoking* in the main room. This was quickly ended, though the smell of the incense he was burning and fags is still lingering.
But we talked and smoothed out a trouble or two that been brewing and he paid his bills, which was cool.
Since then has been so boring as not to mention, though I did tart around a bit on #sinister. Llew withdrawal pains me.
Friday, November 08, 2002
Who are you?
Okay. I admit it. Now I'm going back to my Belle and Sebastian, Trembling Blue Stars, Gentle Waves, Snow Patrol and Smiths records, yo.
What obscure band are you?
Hunh? I'd never ever heard these guys till two days ago. They *obviously* are like me rather than vice versa.
Wednesday, November 06, 2002
Tuesday, November 05, 2002
Saturday, November 02, 2002
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 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.
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.
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.
Thursday, October 31, 2002
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 30, 2002
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).
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).
Tuesday, October 29, 2002
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.
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.
Monday, October 28, 2002
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.
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.
Sunday, October 27, 2002
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.
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.
Saturday, October 26, 2002
Where did I put my Vitriol?
So, tonight I fought the law and I won.
Driven by hunger, I took my 1953 $2 bill to Chic-Fli-A. I got my little combo meal, and satand ate it quietly. As I was walking out, I was accosted by Mall Security Officer X. (He thinks he deseves the capitals, anyway). The 14 year old at the till decided since he had never seen a red-seal bill that it was a fake. He told the manager (17), who had Mall Security Officer X detain me till the Police came to charge me with passing a counterfeit bill.
And indeed, the Police came. We all -- Teen Team Leader, idiot cashier boy (you'll excuse my vitriol, here, as this boy was the sole reason for this event), Mall Security Officer X and PatrolChicCop -- stood around out front of the store in the lovely University Mall discussing the transaction. We were soon joined by Officer K9, PCC's partner. The transaction was again described.
At this point, I should mention I was flat broke. I had brought just enough money for my combo. I have no bank accounts (any more) and no credit card (that isn't overdrawn). This was mentioned each time, along with my promise to bring in $2 on Monday to correct the situation.
We were then joined by a team of detectives. They took one look at the bill and said it was real.
I wasn't counterfeiting.
Yeah.
Teen Team Leader felt bad enough to give three free Sandwich cards.
I'm not sure I'll use them...
I picked up a sub shift a XDU tonight, 12 to 3 am. It's an extra hour longer tonight, because of daylight savings.
I'll talk about my new job and other stuff later...
So, tonight I fought the law and I won.
Driven by hunger, I took my 1953 $2 bill to Chic-Fli-A. I got my little combo meal, and satand ate it quietly. As I was walking out, I was accosted by Mall Security Officer X. (He thinks he deseves the capitals, anyway). The 14 year old at the till decided since he had never seen a red-seal bill that it was a fake. He told the manager (17), who had Mall Security Officer X detain me till the Police came to charge me with passing a counterfeit bill.
And indeed, the Police came. We all -- Teen Team Leader, idiot cashier boy (you'll excuse my vitriol, here, as this boy was the sole reason for this event), Mall Security Officer X and PatrolChicCop -- stood around out front of the store in the lovely University Mall discussing the transaction. We were soon joined by Officer K9, PCC's partner. The transaction was again described.
At this point, I should mention I was flat broke. I had brought just enough money for my combo. I have no bank accounts (any more) and no credit card (that isn't overdrawn). This was mentioned each time, along with my promise to bring in $2 on Monday to correct the situation.
We were then joined by a team of detectives. They took one look at the bill and said it was real.
I wasn't counterfeiting.
Yeah.
Teen Team Leader felt bad enough to give three free Sandwich cards.
I'm not sure I'll use them...
I picked up a sub shift a XDU tonight, 12 to 3 am. It's an extra hour longer tonight, because of daylight savings.
I'll talk about my new job and other stuff later...
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