the ride of your life is in a hearse

On wednesday night I found this in a pile of garbage (shown with shoes so you can gauge the size):


And I'm not talking about on the sidewalk, or in the dumpster or garbage can. I was drunkenly trying to get back to this heavy metal bar, the one with the hearse parked out front that has "honky lips" spray-painted on it. It's also the one that Katherine and I had been drinking beer in front of earlier in the night and were lucky enough to be solicited by a "punk" and his guido friend to come walk to the water with them, where it was "magical" and where they were NOT going to give us some of the punk's orange juice and vodka (separate containers stowed inside his black leather motorcycle jacket). Since we were saying no absolutely not going with you the moment they started talking, the guido friend tried to gain my trust by showing me his resume, which was actually his cover letter, and then I finally had to put the kibosh on all the persuading and say flat out "not interested, man, go away." The incident provided much hilarious fodder for K and I after, at some point prompting me to muse "What kind of pussy tries to pick up a lady with showing off his nasty screwdrivers which I can't have any of?"

Finding our way back to the heavy metal bar, I detoured us into what was basically a landfill. It was just an opening in a fence and within it was what looked like the remains of a war zone. There was so much garbage that you would be hard-pressed to find a patch of dirt to stand on. It was about the size of half a block with some buildings closing in on two sides. One of the buildings was a trailer and as we walked in and looked up, you could see two old people sitting on lawnchairs on the roof of it, gazing up at the sky. They were too far away to hear me gasp when I chanced to look down at my feet and see the storm trooper, lying awkwardly posed and clearly forgotten/unloved. I scooped him into my arms and paid attention to him all night.

Of course I fell asleep on the J and missed my subway stop (brings back a lot of memories). In my storm trooper-clutching confidence I decided to try and walk back home, figuring I'll just follow the J tracks - it couldn't be far. As I walked Jamaica Ave. I quickly realized that I was drunk, alone, and clutching a storm trooper doll. So I found a cab that couldn't break the large bill I was carrying. I had to break a hundred with white cheddar cheezits. While the cab took me back to my bed, I watched evergreen cemetery fly past my window - we were on the jackie robinson (one of my favorite highways?). There was no way I could have walked back to my house. It was 5am when I set stormy on the floor and laid down.

At 8:30am I woke up and dragged myself to the bathroom. My roommates were doing yoga in the living room. I brushed my teeth and blinked slowly at my reflection in the mirror wondering if I would smell like hangover at work. It turned out okay. I ate a bagel and had an afternoon coffee and almost cracked at about 4 or 5 but I made it all the way to 6:30 and went home and went right to sleep.

And today is today. It is also friday.

I just want to take a million drugs and a million beers

There is a lot to say but not a lot I can talk about.

Here is my new room in East Bushwick.

I'm reading The Diary of a Teenage Girl for the second time. It was the last book I read. It really speaks to me and that makes a lot of sense. I just listened to Fleetwood Mac's Tusk. It speaks to me and that makes a lot of sense.

After unsuccessfully attempting to break into the corporate world, I walked dogs in Park Slope for a few days at 10 dollars an hour - not nearly enough money to pay the rent, mind you. At first I considered it lucky that I was making any money at all until I realized that Park Slope is probably my worst nightmare ever. Possibly scarier than sharks and Cirque Du Soleil, or the combination of live sharks as part of a Cirque Du Soleil act. Is everyone fucking pregnant? To see so many people choosing to do something I completely disagree with really fucked with my senses. There were so many strollers and foreign nannies and cool tattooed dads and ikea furnished apartments and framed pictures of the Brooklyn Bridge at night that I started to question my place in the world.

So now I am unemployed and this morning I got to hear my downstairs neighbor yell at his roommate, "RESPECT MY SHIT!" This afternoon they asked me if I smoke. I clearly remember learning in college that they meant do I smoke weed. But for some reason I get confused and return to dork every time. So I proudly answered "Nope!" Then later on while a block party was going on a different neighbor called me over and told me that his nephew was lonely and sad and that I should talk to him. This nephew was about 16 or 17 years old and talking on his cell phone not at all paying attention. "Not old enough for you?" he asked. I laughed nervously and said "Uhhhh, yeah a little bit, man. I'm going to go drink this beer in my apartment now."
I am feeling quite entertained.

I have a lot of ideas and a comedy/tragedy project that will reveal itself in the coming days. Stay tuned. For now I am going to finish my beer on the stoop and try not to be noticed.

Hostel Takeover

This hostel feels more like a Bukowski hotel. There is a sink and a mirror, a window with a fire escape that looks out over Welton St. - the train passes by here every half hour, I'm surrounded by parking lots, and every couple of hours hordes of Mexicans fill the sidewalks for the bus station downstairs that makes stops in El Paso, Chihuahua, etc. Each room has a big metal locking gate and a second wooden door behind it with a peephole. I've found that hostels in America, unlike the ones I have been to across Ireland, are filled with people who are "down on their luck." A lot of people simply in between housing and employment and also a fair amount of creeps. The key to room 208 was to a 6-person dorm. I walked in and immediately noticed a peculiarity. Something was definitely wrong and when I looked around I noticed other people's stuff; bags, sneakers, towels, t-shirts...boxers - panic set in. This old man started following me around "Let me see your room key! You do not belong here!" in a really mean way, like it was my fault the hostel-keepers gave me the wrong key. I kept saying "I know! Obviously! Jeez!" and he made me try the key in both 208 and 203 (the women's dorm). AND OBVIOUSLY it only worked on the men's dorm, he acted like i broke into it! Like i really want to lay in the bunk next to you and watch you sleep old man. The hostel people apologized profusely, the key number had rubbed off to the point where 208 was easily mistaken for 203, and to make up for it they put me in a 4-person room...WITH NO ONE ELSE IN IT. All to myself.

And so, Denver is really pretty sweet. I could see myself staying here in this room, people watching from my window, drinking cheap jug wine and writing blogs all day (many blogs, all sorts!). There are, of course, sneaky and fundamental reasons why I like it so far:

- A bike ride through a strange city by yourself at night is unlike any other activity. The blood starts flowing and the lights of the city guide you through the streets and it makes all the feelings of loneliness and car travel-induced hysteria melt away. This is one of those types of cities where the tall buildings of downtown cluster in one tiny area, while surrounding it are beautiful old houses and small town-type streets filled with bars and record stores and diners and coffee shops. Everything looks delicious and familiar. It also helps that the streets are easy to bike on, flat and not too crowded with drivers.

- There is a vegetarian restaurant. Yep, it doesn't take much to please me. Watercourse Foods - highly recommended. They have got one of those menus where every single item looks incredible and induces salivation. I went with a reuben. This is by far my favorite sandwich of all time and it is with great pleasure that i order it whenever i see it on a vegetarian menu. I felt just like Rachel Ray on 40 Dollars a Day, except I didn't ask any of the locals where I should go for breakfast in the morning (because I am going right back there today). Oh, and the reuben was fucking fantastic, a very welcome western spin on an old favie - homemade red cabbage sauerkraut, portobello mushrooms, chipotle aioli.

- I spotted a wizard. A genuine fucking wizard. He was sitting on a tree stump outside this coffee shop/restaurant diagonal from the hostel and when I saw him, I nearly lost control of the car. Complete with long white beard and long white hair, he was wearing a robe made of indigo velvet, topped with a wedge cap that matched. The robe was accented with gold piping and his hat bore a symbol on the front I could not decipher.
A fucking wizard.

- Right above the restaurant where the wizard roamed, some old timey music was floating out onto the street. People were coming into and out of the place looking happy so I wandered in and gazed upon a dance floor, ceiling covered in christmas lights and plastic flowers. There were about 200 people, young and old, swing dancing. And it wasn't some revival shit where everyone was dressed like they had just watched Swing Kids. Just regular Denverians, looking really psyched, either watching pepople dance in the middle or fucking SWING DANCING. I stuck around for a minute to watch but high-tailed it out of there, needing a beer in a place where no one was dancing. Now I realize that swing dancing probably exists in weirdo pockets across america, but can you believe that shit?

Tonight was like Denver trying to woo me - it doesn't quite know all the stuff that i like, but it's getting there.

PS I saw a flyer for a local band called Bonerama. Sorry Denver.

Left the sun behind me

I know why more people do not move across the country with all of their stuff by car.

It's not because of the drive, although I think 11 hours is my limit. It's not even really the money.

Lugging all your shit around in your car is just a pain in the ass. Why worry about all your worldly possessions that can easily be thieved by a simple smash of a window and why stay in a hostel that feels like a soup kitchen in Salt Lake City...

when you could just stay home?

No matter how many people you know and look forward to hugging at your destination, you probably don't know too many people in between, in places like SLC or Kansas City (well I don't), and this shit is lonely. I keep thinking about how I could just be laying on my clean bed watching Sex in the City, drinking a glass of cheap wine, my stuff securely located all around me. But instead I chose to pay to sleep on the top bunk of a bed in a girl's dorm room where scabies or crabs may or may not live and work.

The hostel is funny; actually kind of nice - big screen tv's with cable, wireless connection, large kitchen. Already I have heard a young pregnant girl wonder aloud if she is having a miscarriage because of the cramps she's having on one side of her belly. There also appears to be a cat because there is a dish of food in a kitty-head shaped bowl on the floor, though I have not spotted a single feline. And there are definitely people living here because from the street you can see into the second floor window and it looks like a teenage girl lives here - complete with a wicker shelf with trinkets on it, tapestries and posters on the wall, a huge vanity mirror...
and then I saw this is on the door to the room:



I have multiple guesses. Does a whole family live here? Did a thirteen year old girl emancipate herself but still has a decent relationship with her parents? Is one of those names Laser? Older person with a mental disability? I'm stumped and I really want to knock but I'm not sure I want to wait. Perhaps I can add my name in red marker to the bottom before I walk in?

Tip for anyone taking long solo road trip: By far the best listening I have done in the car is comedy: Dave Chappelle, Paul F. Tompkins and my man Mitch Hedberg - "What the fuck is a Sesa-ME?"

Listening to anything sad is a BAD idea. Just bad.

Okay so I just spotted people going into and out of Tacy's room. One middle-aged woman wearing Tinkerbell pajamas and a teen complaining about something and a older middle-aged bald man with a moustache. They are whispering in there.

My eyes feel like they are going to melt. Time for top bunk! Goodnight sweet Salt Lake!

The Enormous Hand of Fate

Just two days ago I had been thinking about how I wanted to learn how to play dice. When I was a kid I always thought Mary Stuart Masterson's character Watts in Some Kind of Wonderful was the shit - especially during the scene where she is playing dice outside with the restaurant staff during her break as date chauffeur. Most of the times these notions are short-lived and disappear within a week because it gets knocked out with a new inane goal - just this morning I thought about how I want to learn how to tie different types of knots for different uses. So I was pleasantly surprised when I got to Missouri Lounge last night and Denis was there playing dice with a bunch of people. For money! I quickly badgered him to explain the rules and pretty soon I was in. I found out that no one likes a winner, especially someone who has never played the game before. I started with a budget of four dollars and ended the night with fourteen. I like dice.

Over the weekend Chris and I watched The Butterfly Effect. I'm sure there are many reviews about how bad this movie is, how many questions arise from the inconsistencies in the plot, how lame Ashton Kutcher is, how outrageously uncomfortable many of the scenes are, how outlandish it is to think that Amy Smart's character would actually be in love with the long-haired red-headed guy, etc. So I simply offer the best and most hilarious scene.



I re-played this so many times, and it is an easy shot I know, but it is Ashton Kutcher with no arms forcing himself to fall out of his wheelchair and it has the same type of appeal that the kid in the wheelchair flying off the cliff in the movie Mac and Me does. Wheelchair appeal?

This afternoon I took a nap from my hungover marathon of 30 Rock and in my dream I met a man who had an enormous left hand that was wearing a Mickey Mouse style glove. He had stopped to ask me a question while I was waiting for a bus. I don't remember what he asked me but I realized I had talked to him over the phone earlier that day at work. I asked him about it and he started to flirt with me in this really confident and pretty charming way. I gave him my phone number and I missed my bus so I got on my bike. He called after me and said "I know you'll go on a date with me." I laughed but I was freaked out too. At the end of my dream I accidentally dropped my bike into a pool.

Hands mean "Intellect. Understanding. It denotes threatened misery and loss that will be avoided by wise action." (petrix.com) Well which one the hell is it?
Bicycle "To dream that you are riding a bicycle, signifies your desires to attain a balance in your life. You need to balance work and pleasure in order to succeed in your current undertakings." (Dreammoods.com)
Bus "To dream that you are waiting for a bus, indicates a temporary setback in achieving your personal goals. If you miss the bus or get on the wrong bus, then it indicates that an aspect of your life is out of control. You need to slow down and map out a new plan. To dream that you are at the bus station, suggests that you have reached some new level or stage in your emotional or physical life." (Dreammoods.com)
Pool "To see a pool of water in your dream, indicates that you need to understand and deal with your emotions. You need to dive right in. Alternatively, a pool may indicate your need for cleansing. You need to wash away the past." (Dreammoods.com)

Mickey Mouse Glove was not in the dream dictionary.

So I need to take a shower, ride my bike more often in the East Bay (where it's fun) after work, and avoid misery? This shit is hard.

At sleeps.com I can get my dreams personally interpreted by an expert for only $35!

Now accepting donations.

no excess fat in these feet

On Sunday I ventured out solo to see limpwrist at Gilman. I noticed, in my aimless wandering between sets, that my feet seem to be a lot smaller inside my nikes - and this is the only noticeable difference in my body since starting to go to the gym three months ago. In a way I find it rewarding that I've finally noticed a physical difference besides having these unusual bouts of pure relentless energy that hit at about 8-9 o'clock most nights. But in another way, what the fuck?

After limpwrist played a rousing encore with I Love Hardcore Boys, I finally spotted Greg in the crowd trying to make his way outside. I congratulated his move out here and wholeheartedly welcomed him to the Bay Area but on the way home I thought about how weird that felt for me to say. The Bay Area really didn't feel like mine to give, though I obviously welcomed his presence in my life. Sappy, but I suppose it sums up my experience here and unfortunate that I really only have myself to blame though honestly, unemployment and living at my mom's house seems really pretty sweet.

I just heard Chris say over the phone "Oh hey dude, sorry for getting pasta sauce all over your cd." and then later on he said "Dude, save me a tab."
You know what I'm talking about.

Side notes of a boring life:

I'm so glad that John Henson is back on tv, although Wipeout is not the most ideal place to show off his talents as much as Talk Soup was. I'm also glad that Deanna picked Jesse as the man to marry on the Bachelorette. Though I scoff at the idea of marriage and separately, true love found on a tv show, they really seemed into each other on Bachelorette: After the Rose, didn't they? Like they were really making eyes at each other and kissing like crazy - these people sure had me convinced. And I just want to say, I knew there was no way she was gonna turn down a man that snowboarded with ease while she was riding him piggy back. Dude had it in the bag.

In rather upsetting news, I'm pretty sure that my Whole Foods crush who looks like Jonathan Franzen is gay. I was checking out while checking him out and simultaneously shoving a sample chocolate chip cookie into my mouth while trying to say "Token, I'll take the token." to the clerk. And I don't want to jump to conclusions about someone's sexual orientation here (which I am fully aware that I am doing) but when he did a quick turnaround to answer a co-worker, it was a little too swivel-y, you know? Like hands on the hip, other arm swinging round, head cocked in that "What's up bee-otch?" kind of way. And I could swear that his name tag said "Miley" - which of course might be the major indicator here but this truly warrants further investigation that should not at all be labeled stalking. I shop there every week! I need my dried figs, my occasional kombucha and my organic kitty grass! (I am not a senior citizen)

Kiss kiss and goodnight sweet internet!

Jello Biafra

After I met up with Jacob at the sex vid show, I was walking, drink in hand up the 4-stair flight inside the hemlock and almost got hit in the face by the hand of someone standing on stairs. He was talking with exaggeration obviously, arms out at full length and he didn't say anything to me. When I looked back I saw that it was Jello and it made me stand up straighter and feel slightly embarrassed. Am I the only one that is still impressed by the presence of Jello Biafra? Probably. This wasn't the first time I had ever seen him. One time back in the days of No War in Iraq protests that filled up my days and my mind in New York, I saw him at a smaller protest that was taking place in front of fox news studios. He gave a speech and I was kind of swooning. I saw him afterwards and he was wearing a backpack. When I saw him Thursday at the Hemlock much later in the night, he was talking to a kind of unattractive late twenties/early thirties couple. The girl was wearing a heather green ringer Fender shirt and the dude was wearing a faux-worn target-brand AC/DC shirt. So should I get over being impressed? Probably.

Friday

The mushrooms did not work. They just kind of made me sick.

Saturday

Soundtrack for this - Saturday in the Park by Chicago. Also, Lust for Life by Iggy Pop.
Took Chris to see his elderly Aunt Irene in Los Altos. Shot the shit and drank some water. On the way back we took a detour into Half Moon Bay. Richy bitchy kind of beach town with one shitty cd store called The Music Hut, the kind of music store that sells fine guitar and music note jewelry, but the bakery there had this fucking incredible pesto garlic bread and so it wasn't all for naught. Later on down Highway 1 we came to Pacifica, which is where the famed Taco Bell Beach is located. Best beach in all of California, hands down. The taco bell sits modestly on the beach, looking more like a quaint little wood beach house than a fast foodery. The 7-Layer Burrito was fresh and substantial, eating it on the beach while watching surfers really hit the spot. We found the Sea Bowl right down the road and I managed to beat Chris with a 130 game over a pitcher of beer. My lucky ball was a pearly orange X-treme weighing in at 8 pin-crushing pounds.

My new favorite search is keyword photo in flickr. Try "catsuit." You may or may not like what you see...Star Trek fans unite. Please click to see larger image for wall detail.


Also, have you seen this?