the only thing worse
than bad memories
is no memories at all..
[dismemberment plan]
2.25.2004
Hi Luc.
My buddy Luc visited me and T. this weekend. He needed a break from dark, cold, and lonely Long Island.
We went to this noodle house on 49th Street for dinner.
When we went in, the Chinese waiter gave him a terribly hateful look. It turns out that the last time Luc was there, when he was getting ready to leave and put his arm in his jacket, he punched the waiter in the head.
I wonder if they pooped in our noodles or put some extra dog meat in it.
Look, we're a totem pole!
--NIPPLE PINCH--
We are SO sauced.
KEVlNCORRlGAN: and the last picture of you with the jacket you look like maggie in the star winter jacket that she has
Funny story about the jacket --
It is literally the size of a sleeping bag on me, but Luc, who is 6'5" and 260 pounds, it's fits pretty comfortably.
When I went up to SUNY to visit him a few days ago, I woke up in the morning, and when he went to brush his teeth, I put on the jacket and hood, curled up on the couch, and went to sleep.
Luc came out and for a very long time, he couldn't find me.
Also, after we got sauced up this weekend, I woke up in the morning, looked at my pile of laundry, and realized that I'd somehow managed to take off my pants without unbuttoning or unzipping or even unbuckling my belt. How in the world did I do that?
It reminds me of when Grampa Simpsons rips off his underpants to read his name written in on the back.
: Grampa, how'd you take off your underwear without taking off your pants??
: (in pain) I... don't... know.
A week or so ago, my "Iliad to Star Wars" professor decided to take us to a production of the Greek play "Agamemnon."
T. and I rushed through the subways, 15 minutes late again as usual, as I froze my tushie off in my horrendously mis-planned argyle kneesocks and skirt. My legs were numb and purple as McDonalds' dumpy mascot Grimace by the time we arrived to some shady looking college auditorium where it was being held.
We ran in -- at this point we were about 20 minutes late -- and found our tiny four-foot-something lady professor in front of the entrance. She gave T. the "Tsk tsk tsk, boys will be boys" look with a smile and handed him his ticket.
She didn't even look at me until I cleared my throat uncomfortably; and when I did so, she twirled around and gave me the evil eye look of death, and her eyes burned red for a very long moment. "THE HELL WITH YOU, BITCH. I SOLD YOUR TICKET WHEN YOU DIDN'T SHOW UP TO CLASS TODAY!!! MWAHAHAHA!"
Then she disappeared into a cloud of smoke.
Okay, so that part didn't really happen, but she DID actually sell my ticket.
That fucking whore.
She did, however, hook me up with a fine seat at the very back of the auditorium (right behind a very very elderly gay couple who would not shut the fuck up), purchased, no doubt, with the lucrative funds she had acquired from selling tickets rightfully belonging to broke-ass college students such as myself.
The play, as expected, was ridiculously bad.
They tried so hard to include everything they possibly could in a theatrical production:
A narrator with overly dramatic intonations, fat ladies doing interpretive dance, surrealistic synthesizer music, a lady with a horrible accent convulsing about the stage, action in slow motion, old people's horrifying boobs almost hanging out, a laser show... It was horrible.
And what really set this production on my list of things I would really like to see a fat hairy man take a dump on was that the director/producer tried to make it "accessible to modern-day audiences." This essentially meant that the men didn't wear togas, but wore little Dick Tracy 1950's suits with fedoras instead. And Agamemnon, who was supposed to be returning from the Trojan War, was wearing what looked like a Civil War uniform and was so old that he could hardly walk three feet without hobbling in pain. What made this play even more perplexingly bad was that the women were wearing more "ancient traditional" costumes -- a bunch of drapey cheap scarves tied around their old, saggy bodies. They must have bagged some geriatrics from the local nursing home to fill up the parts for some of these roles.
Let's think about this for a second. You don't have to be an expert on Greek dramas or anything to know that this is pretty much bastardizing all aspects of a Greek play. Greek plays are ALL about guys running around in little toga dresses and sandals, sprinkling olive oil everywhere, and sleeping with old ladies with powerful, jealous husbands.
And Agamemnon pulled up on stage in a fucking JEEP instead of a chariot.
A JEEP.
Apparently, there was some kind of crazy time warping machine involved in this play. At least, it would surely make everything make much more sense that way. In fact, I would even say that if all of the actors in the entire cast were abducted by aliens halfway through the first act and were forced to sing kareoke songs from the future while a laser light show flashed through the auditorium, it would have made a lot more sense than the pile of tripe that I had to sit there and watch.
Everyone came in to class the following week gushing about Olympia Dukakis, the "Oscar-winning actress," who played the role of Clytemnestra, Agamemnon's wife. Quit sucking her dick, people. She was awful. The whole play was awful. I hated it. I hate you. God.
After a few weeks of being caffeinatedly dependent on Starbucks (of which NYU supplies $300 for me to blow there), the sight, smell, and taste of a latte makes me feel very nauseous.
I weaned myself off of cappuccinos a few months ago, hit a latent low period of no coffee for a while, and then hopped back on with lattes.
I have such addictive tendencies, it's a good thing I haven't started hitting the crack pipe -- yet.
So now lattes taste like the smell of ramen noodles to me -- which normally I'd find delicious, but after drinking a week's worth of ramen-noodle-smell drinks, it's really starting to get to me.
This is probably a very good thing; maybe I can finally start eating solid, real food again.. I was up to drinking just two cups of Starbucks whatevers and nothing else, no water, no juice, no food, nothing. Fuck.
I should have realized that I was having serious caffeine dependency problems when I found myself staying up until 4:00 in the morning frantically downloading obscure, bad early 90's rock songs for no apparent reason... I'm pretty sure I have the full Dishwalla discography hiding somewhere on my harddrive now. Good god.
So now I feel really, really lousy.
I haven't been getting enough sleep because of all of the coffee, I think I'm becoming dehydrated, and I'm pretty sure I probably had a few minor heart attacks during the past few days from being stressed out for various reasons and all hopped up on the "C" (that's what caffeine is called on the streets now: "I NEED ANOTHER SHOT OF THE C, MAN. HOOK IT UP.").
And when I was getting into the shower this morning, I stepped on my PJ pants when I was taking them off and I ripped a hole right through the ass.
So now I'm going back to bed with my butt to the winds.
Hopefully I will die peacefully in my sleep.
People, this is a national emergency.
Please send happy puppies and coloring books to my dorm room.
Now.
Save for this one white trash girl screaming "SHOW US YOUR TITS!!!!" to Isaac at the Irving Plaza show on the 5th, Modest Mouse was incredible. They played a lot of their best songs, but also played a surprisingly awesome new song, "Float On."
I fucking love those guys.
(Couldn't find a picture from the 2/5 show I went to, so this will have to do for the time being.)
Some people got guitar picks, setlists, drumsticks.. but I got his... doo-rag and his burnt out cigarette!!
Man. That's what I get for not being a pushy asshole.
Oh well.
Anyway, T. and I were walking towards 3rd Avenue a few nights ago, when suddenly some girl screams out from behind us, "EXCUUUSSEE MEEEEEE" and whizzes by us on an ugly scooter with a pink fringey basket. Half a block in front of us, she started belting out a song about "not giving up" or "keep on going" or something terrible like that.
When I was visiting home this weekend, I was watching some kind of Entertainment News TV show that was covering the most recent episode of American Idol. Some chick who called herself "Scooter Girl" had apparently been kicked off.
They did a closeup on her big, obnoxiously glittery face, and she spewed, "SCOOTER GIRL IS NOT HAPPY."
Ugh, I hate it when people talk about themselves in third person. What an asshole.
So it turns out that T. and I were almost run over by this American Idol reject, Scooter Girl.
Though it does surprise me that she already has some kind of fan site already up for her, it does make me laugh a little that this post claims Scooter Girl had to buy a new scooter in LA after she was hit by a car.
First of all, I'd like to say that I have an old lady professor this semester, and she is a SMUG LITTLE ASSHOLE.
Bad thing(s) about SMUG LITTLE ASSHOLE old lady professor:
She's a smug little asshole.
She uses words like:
Proposition
Prediction
Implication
Postulate
"INTERSUBJECTIVELY ASCERTAINABLE"
Good thing(s) about SMUG LITTLE ASSHOLE old lady professor:
She grows closer to the brink of death with each passing day.
I went to see the beautiful Steve Burns in concert last night.
It was amazing.
Steve was amazing.
Steve is amazing.
Here is Steve in all of his glory.
Steve in a past life?
I shall put you in my pocket and you shall be mine.
He had a whole DVD thingy going on a projector screen in the background that featured scenes from The Adventures of Milo and Otis, which was the most amazing thing ever.
I used to watch this movie every day.
T. is taking me to the Modest Mouse concert tonight!!!
And then he called me an unappreciative whore.
THANK YOU T.!!!!!!!
Lastly, this girl is really stupid-looking and cute!!!
Aww... Child pornography.
She reminds me of me in my hey-day.
Horatio Sanz of SNL -- I passed him on my way to get waffles... delicious, delicious waffles.
Andrew W.K. @ a record store -- he shook my hand and we talked about how violent Dillinger Escape Plan is live (coming from a man who smashed a brick into his own face), Halloween, and other wonderful things.
Dillinger Escape Plan @ Bowery Ballroom -- I got to talk to the bassist (who I called "Hey Dillinger Guy" because I didn't know his name) and Ben the crazy guitarist.
The Dillinger Escape Plan show was indeed pretty crazy, as Mister Andrew W.K. predicted. However, I made sure to stand in front of the largest man in the venue for a nice, thick layer of safety insulation -- this really nice guy named Mike, by the way (HI MIKE!!!) -- right in front of the stage.
The people there really sucked, though.
There were a lot of dudes there wearing lots of eyemakeup, with long black and purple hair, pubic hair goatees, jelly bracelets, big puffy pants, and obscure metal band t-shirts. Come on, the pseudo-goth look is so five years ago. Jeez.
There were also a lot of skinny-ass guys in girl's clothes (i.e. a tiny pink Adidas jacket on a 6 foot tall guy with dreadlocks), big plastic glasses, and pixie haircuts.
And the "pit" was filled with old guys with aggression problems with Napoleon complexes... All of them were bald, about five feet tall, with big thick necks, and I think none of them were under 30.
Dad??? Is that you headbanging to The Locust??? Wearing a cut-off denim vest and a wifebeater???
But no matter, the show was fun, and that's all that matters.
P.S. Thanks Ron and Ian for taking me to the Dillinger show!!!
[Peek-a-Foo]
: Grampa, how'd you take off your underwear without taking off your pants??
: (in pain) I... don't... know.
