Friday my studio was completely demolished in a night filled with unexpected cuddlers, guitar playing geniuses and the good kind of drunken conversation. It could be that the amount of love, alcohol and awesomeness you pour into an evening is directly proportionate to the fucking disaster you wake up with.
B and I had spent the day slogging off work and fucking around with my new four track. The guy can rock the harmonica. I can sort of sing and he can't sing at all. Combine all this with my acoustic guitar skills and we sounded like a lama fucking a tornado. Record deal forthcoming.
When it got dark people started cramming into my tiny castle. I was planning on taking it easy and getting to bed early so i'd be bright and crisp for my reno trip the next day. I think we clocked out around four A.M.
When I woke up my floor (it's a really small place) was layered in an inch of potting soil (all my plants and their pots were destroyed in the chaos), poker chips, pennies, cigarette butts, guitar strings, pens, bills, poems, beer bottles, undefined liquids (beer? probably) and books (my bookshelf took a tumble... fucking ikea).
Joe Awesome was having a birthday party in Reno. Around noon B and I bought a six pack and hit the 80. We were running away from one disaster and speeding towards another. Reno, at least, is not my disaster. Somebody else fucked that town up a long time ago. I was in the perfect post-break-up-mood for a place like that. The city was constructed, solely, for beating dead horses. I certainly did. I cut off its hooves off and smashed its fucking head in.
********************************************************************
There is something so awesome about driving down an interstate highway with the windows rolled down - listening to some shitty cassette tape you found on the floor of the cab - that I can't even write about it.
The Reno trip was all about A's birthday. He rented some big time fancy suite with a full on bar and big screens everywhere. My job (dude if you're reading this I really am sorry. Who would have thought they would all actualy show up?) was to fill it with as many people A didn't know as possible. We flew D in from LA. One of B's girlfriends found out about the trip and drove in from Berkeley. N happened to be staying in Tahoe that night and joined us as well.
Notes:
- I paid $140 so a strange women would dry hump my knee for twenty minutes
- Ashtray rocked harder than Ashtray has ever rocked
- B is the best drunk driver ever. There should be some sort of compeition for this. He would win.
- I am a horrible gambler
shrimp cocktails and rum in bad ass suite JApaid for hundred dollar bills flying at green felt best guy hugs and inside jokes air conditioned cigarette smell awesome entertainer ashtray operation ivy cover filling rooms with dancing smoking a lot and fun iphone broken strip club antics cab driver conversations uncomfortable crushes D flying in from LA M passing to surf instead all you can eat eat like a bird ding ding ding no coke tonight elevators room numbers you want the truth you can't handle the truth falling down squish on fancy couch screens everywhere record deals well deserved hospitality taken advantage of reno dreams crushed balls ready to explode crying crying crying
B cooked N and I dinner in her tahoe cabin the next night. We prefaced the meal with the most hard core game of chess since Ashley's superb endgame play in 1993. B won, but i definitely talked a better talk and, really, that's what matters.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
asian hookers, false alarms and sea lions
Monday I met M in the city for some adventuring. I was early and, once again, faced with the horrific choice between listening to the crazy christian college kid with the megaphone trying to save souls OR braving Forever 21 which was our proposed meeting place.
I chose option three which was trying to find a place to grab a drink until she showed up. Quick highlight from the Christian with the megaphone (although I already wrote about these fools):
"Evolutionists want you to believe your great grandfather was a monkey! How crazy is that? It's insane! Doesn't make any sense!"
Yeah. THAT'S crazy. What's up talking snakes.
So i ended up around the corner at this semi shmancy place that claimed to be the real bar where the guy from the Maltese Falcon used to fictionally eat. Sam Spade maybe? Humphrey Bogart played him in the movie. I'd like to entertain with the details, but both film noir and detective novels bore the fuck out me.
M finally showed up and we schlepped it (i'm using that wrong. it was an easy walk, but god i love jewey verbs) to china town so i could buy a kimono for someone and M could take pictures for a movie she's making.
We ended up grabbing some drinks at this brothel/karaoke bar. Fools were sitting on couches being seduced by asian hookers and i got this vibe from the bartender like we were wasting her time because we just wanted to drink and flip through the karaoke catalog which, besides the usual standards, also offered bootleg dvds of current new releases.
I have to admit that, for a second, when M said she was taking me to a brothel i thought maybe our first night on the town together would start with a wicked threesome with an asian call girl. No such luck but, M, if you're reading this... hint hint... Asian hooker threesome.
We grabbed some dinner in north beach. Our waitress was funny AND hella fine (you don't see "hella fine" too much these days. thanks for keeping it in style gabe meline), but she was also, like, the worst waitress ever.
We had to wait forever for our check etc and by the time we got to Pier 39 everything was shutting down. M schmoozed the girls in the arcade into letting us hang out a few extra minutes before they locked up. I got my ass handed to me in some low rent Wipeout rip off, but hey, i was in an arcade with a rad girl so it didn't nag at my ego too much.
What else.. Sea lions... Cute photographs.. BART ride home.
***************************************
Check it out: N, B and K crashed out my house on thursday. B was fucking filthy and showed up on my doorstep smelling every minute of his three week salmon fishing expedition in alaska. K is a dog and also a likely, though less likely, candidate for disease spreading parasites.
N woke up in the morning with some kind of insect bite on her leg. I had a bite on my arm. The general consensus was spider bite.
I had launched a campaign of fear against the spiders last summer (partly out of my own crippling fear - partly out of pride), but it could be they've mustered up some courage and are, once again, on the attack. They have to be stopped because I do, after all, pay the rent and that entitles me to not have the shit scared out me by spiders in the middle of the night.
So anyway N had this bite and the next day she showed it to her dad who's like this brain surgeon or astronaut or something awesome which led to this call:
"Hey"
"Hey so my bite has this big, red circle around it and my dad's a doctor and he's positive it's Lyme's disease and writing out prescriptions for us for antibiotics and i'll be by later to drop it off. You've got to get to a pharmacy as soon as possible blah blah blah scary scary scary"
"Wait isn't that shit caused by tics? What is Lyme's disease? Calm down. My bite doesn't have any rings or anything. It looks mellow"
"No. You HAVE to take care of this. Lyme's disease tics are practically invisible and you need to burn all your belongings and vacuum. Be there soon with your prescription. Bye"
"Wait. Vacuum? Hello?"
So panic right? I leaped at wikipedia. Suddenly my whole body itched. I was freaked out. There are republicans in the white house. Seventy eight percent of american's believe noah's ark is a true story. I don't need this right now.
Which was followed by this call:
"Hey so i talked to my aunt (also a doctor) and she said there's, like, zero percent chance you have Lyme's disease and I probably just have a spider bite and it turns out these tics need to be on you for, like, thirty six hours and are super rare in california (rarer in urban apartments i would think) and it's a big false alarm. Bye"
"Hello? Wait. Hello?"
Again, we never even saw a tic. I vacuumed anyway, but only because there's nothing like a freshly vacuumed studio apartment.
I chose option three which was trying to find a place to grab a drink until she showed up. Quick highlight from the Christian with the megaphone (although I already wrote about these fools):
"Evolutionists want you to believe your great grandfather was a monkey! How crazy is that? It's insane! Doesn't make any sense!"
Yeah. THAT'S crazy. What's up talking snakes.
So i ended up around the corner at this semi shmancy place that claimed to be the real bar where the guy from the Maltese Falcon used to fictionally eat. Sam Spade maybe? Humphrey Bogart played him in the movie. I'd like to entertain with the details, but both film noir and detective novels bore the fuck out me.
M finally showed up and we schlepped it (i'm using that wrong. it was an easy walk, but god i love jewey verbs) to china town so i could buy a kimono for someone and M could take pictures for a movie she's making.
We ended up grabbing some drinks at this brothel/karaoke bar. Fools were sitting on couches being seduced by asian hookers and i got this vibe from the bartender like we were wasting her time because we just wanted to drink and flip through the karaoke catalog which, besides the usual standards, also offered bootleg dvds of current new releases.
I have to admit that, for a second, when M said she was taking me to a brothel i thought maybe our first night on the town together would start with a wicked threesome with an asian call girl. No such luck but, M, if you're reading this... hint hint... Asian hooker threesome.
We grabbed some dinner in north beach. Our waitress was funny AND hella fine (you don't see "hella fine" too much these days. thanks for keeping it in style gabe meline), but she was also, like, the worst waitress ever.
We had to wait forever for our check etc and by the time we got to Pier 39 everything was shutting down. M schmoozed the girls in the arcade into letting us hang out a few extra minutes before they locked up. I got my ass handed to me in some low rent Wipeout rip off, but hey, i was in an arcade with a rad girl so it didn't nag at my ego too much.
What else.. Sea lions... Cute photographs.. BART ride home.
***************************************
Check it out: N, B and K crashed out my house on thursday. B was fucking filthy and showed up on my doorstep smelling every minute of his three week salmon fishing expedition in alaska. K is a dog and also a likely, though less likely, candidate for disease spreading parasites.
N woke up in the morning with some kind of insect bite on her leg. I had a bite on my arm. The general consensus was spider bite.
I had launched a campaign of fear against the spiders last summer (partly out of my own crippling fear - partly out of pride), but it could be they've mustered up some courage and are, once again, on the attack. They have to be stopped because I do, after all, pay the rent and that entitles me to not have the shit scared out me by spiders in the middle of the night.
So anyway N had this bite and the next day she showed it to her dad who's like this brain surgeon or astronaut or something awesome which led to this call:
"Hey"
"Hey so my bite has this big, red circle around it and my dad's a doctor and he's positive it's Lyme's disease and writing out prescriptions for us for antibiotics and i'll be by later to drop it off. You've got to get to a pharmacy as soon as possible blah blah blah scary scary scary"
"Wait isn't that shit caused by tics? What is Lyme's disease? Calm down. My bite doesn't have any rings or anything. It looks mellow"
"No. You HAVE to take care of this. Lyme's disease tics are practically invisible and you need to burn all your belongings and vacuum. Be there soon with your prescription. Bye"
"Wait. Vacuum? Hello?"
So panic right? I leaped at wikipedia. Suddenly my whole body itched. I was freaked out. There are republicans in the white house. Seventy eight percent of american's believe noah's ark is a true story. I don't need this right now.
Which was followed by this call:
"Hey so i talked to my aunt (also a doctor) and she said there's, like, zero percent chance you have Lyme's disease and I probably just have a spider bite and it turns out these tics need to be on you for, like, thirty six hours and are super rare in california (rarer in urban apartments i would think) and it's a big false alarm. Bye"
"Hello? Wait. Hello?"
Again, we never even saw a tic. I vacuumed anyway, but only because there's nothing like a freshly vacuumed studio apartment.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
nu uh your smiling they are way to rock to smile DUH lol jk
The eviction party was super crowded and kind of too much to deal with until the police came and told everyone to go home. N and I hid in a back room with some peeps and emerged to find a much more intimate get together. I totally prefer small groups to crowds - plus i was wearing my new red shirt - so the night turned out to be pretty fun.
I bought this red shirt last week that has magical, super powers. When I wear it people are super nice to me. Not that people are dicks to me when I'm not wearing the shirt, but i definitely notice the difference.
I wore the shirt to the eviction party so I ended up meeting a lot of new people and even reuniting with friends I hadn't seen in years. One person I met was this guy, J, who was into asking people this:
"If you could see Kurt Cobain or Jim Morison right now, in their prime, who would you choose?"
The correct answer, and everyone seemed to agree, was Cobain. They were both talentless hacks when it came to lyrics, but at least Cobain's music holds up.
****************************************
After having a few drinks with my Dad at the Albatross I hit the BART and met N in the mission to check out a bunch of short films that her friends and fellow film students had made. The place was a tiny room filled with chairs and had a big projection screen on the wall. There were maybe twenty shorts, a few minutes each, made mostly by budding art students from the local film school. I think I may have been the only person there who was not attached to any of the films being shown.
The ratio of awesome to total shit was about what you would expect. Two or three were pretty decent. One thing that's proving itself over and over again is that if someone doesn't know they suck then they probably also don't know when to stop. Songs, movies, whatever.
I think it's good to keep things short - especially set lists and songs. Just in case I totally suck and don't realize it. Hmmmm I should probably end this blog then - although nobody paid $7 to read this.
I bought this red shirt last week that has magical, super powers. When I wear it people are super nice to me. Not that people are dicks to me when I'm not wearing the shirt, but i definitely notice the difference.
I wore the shirt to the eviction party so I ended up meeting a lot of new people and even reuniting with friends I hadn't seen in years. One person I met was this guy, J, who was into asking people this:
"If you could see Kurt Cobain or Jim Morison right now, in their prime, who would you choose?"
The correct answer, and everyone seemed to agree, was Cobain. They were both talentless hacks when it came to lyrics, but at least Cobain's music holds up.
****************************************
After having a few drinks with my Dad at the Albatross I hit the BART and met N in the mission to check out a bunch of short films that her friends and fellow film students had made. The place was a tiny room filled with chairs and had a big projection screen on the wall. There were maybe twenty shorts, a few minutes each, made mostly by budding art students from the local film school. I think I may have been the only person there who was not attached to any of the films being shown.
The ratio of awesome to total shit was about what you would expect. Two or three were pretty decent. One thing that's proving itself over and over again is that if someone doesn't know they suck then they probably also don't know when to stop. Songs, movies, whatever.
I think it's good to keep things short - especially set lists and songs. Just in case I totally suck and don't realize it. Hmmmm I should probably end this blog then - although nobody paid $7 to read this.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
I want you
Today was sledge hammering my barricade open and running some errands. I was turning into a shut in and it felt good to walk around telegraph, bumping slow walking fools out of my way, dodging petitions and feeling some much needed sun. Fuck anxiety: I'm buying some new fucking shirts.
I had it pretty together in AA until I was next in line and some fool in front of me was, i don't know, trying to negotiate a hostile takeover of Nabisco with their fucking ATM card or something. What I mean is this: They were taking a really long ass time to purchase their goods. The line was getting long and - props for me for getting out of the house - but the crowd was starting to turn and naturally my ears started buzzing and sweat started pouring. I made it out, obviously, alive.
I only lost my cool once: Dude said "that will be $114" and I did, like, a "REALLY?". I got it together pretty quick though. Sometimes I forget I'm PAYING for the uncomfortable atmosphere.
Around 9pm that thing happened where every song playing on my stereo decided to cater it's lyrics specifically to my situation. Everyone knows once it starts - it's hella on. I'll bend the lyrics to "ice ice baby" so somehow it's a metaphor for whatever sad ass thing I'm feeling if I have to. (NOTE: As I'm writing this "Getting Better" by the fucking Beatles just came on... Touché universe.)
Off to an eviction party near the Ashby BART. I've always thought eviction parties were the best kind of parties. There's always this "steer it into the sun" mood. Endings and new starts etc. My cousin recently went to a divorce party and said they put eviction parties to shame. I could see that. Any fool awesome enough to throw a party in celebration of a failed marriage probably knows what's up when it comes to getting fucked up.
I had it pretty together in AA until I was next in line and some fool in front of me was, i don't know, trying to negotiate a hostile takeover of Nabisco with their fucking ATM card or something. What I mean is this: They were taking a really long ass time to purchase their goods. The line was getting long and - props for me for getting out of the house - but the crowd was starting to turn and naturally my ears started buzzing and sweat started pouring. I made it out, obviously, alive.
I only lost my cool once: Dude said "that will be $114" and I did, like, a "REALLY?". I got it together pretty quick though. Sometimes I forget I'm PAYING for the uncomfortable atmosphere.
Around 9pm that thing happened where every song playing on my stereo decided to cater it's lyrics specifically to my situation. Everyone knows once it starts - it's hella on. I'll bend the lyrics to "ice ice baby" so somehow it's a metaphor for whatever sad ass thing I'm feeling if I have to. (NOTE: As I'm writing this "Getting Better" by the fucking Beatles just came on... Touché universe.)
Off to an eviction party near the Ashby BART. I've always thought eviction parties were the best kind of parties. There's always this "steer it into the sun" mood. Endings and new starts etc. My cousin recently went to a divorce party and said they put eviction parties to shame. I could see that. Any fool awesome enough to throw a party in celebration of a failed marriage probably knows what's up when it comes to getting fucked up.
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