| when you're not starving, life is just the mechanics of eating |
[entries|friends|calendar] |
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| 349 |
[11 Oct 2008|12:07am] |
Wow, this is gonna be silly, so just bare with me.
Where do I even start? I have a night to myself, which I originally didn't want, but it happened anyway. It's fine. I haven't had a chance for a little pause to stop and think about things in a while. Ironic, isn't it? All I had in Florida was time to be jobless because no fucker down there wanted to take a chance on anyone, time to sit around bored and depressed indoors because the weather fucking blew all varieties of cock, to drink shitty overpriced booze, to go outside and sweat in the overbearing sunshine and look at palm trees and wanna puke. I look back on the months since I've moved back here and at first there was that period of emotional readjustment, but now everything has fallen into place, but at the same time as a human being I'm still confused. Confused about even more, overwhelmed by the fact that my initial plans all fell in sync immediately. Was it because I'm back home? I lived in Florida so long, I never got along with that place. I fell victim to anxiety, I felt like shit all the time, and I didn't even know it. So fucking submerged in the overt swampy heat and heavy rain and kids that pissed me off, girls that looked at me like the most crass, ugly, unseasoned piece of shit they'd ever seen. Okay, time to stop bitching about my recent personal history.
Then there's you, if I were a better person I wouldn't have been freaked out about how you acted the first time we ever went to a bar together, I was still freshly recovering from the lethargic depressed state of living in Florida, and you coming onto me totally confused me. Shame on my retarded ass for not reciprocating months ago. I love how we're not going out but we pretend we're a couple in public. I love the early morning cruises through Queens going home 'cos we've been up all night drinking heavily. Earlier in the night we had Napalm Death or Carcass blasting in your car, but at this hour we have My Bloody Valentine or Jesus Lizard on some low volume. Last time we rolled out on Roosevelt Ave. under the rusty iron erections that hold up the 7 train, I was holding your hand and leaning in totally close to you, and it was about 55 degrees out and we had the windows open, and everything was just as it should be. It is around 6:30 in the morning and we turn left onto Queens boulevard, beginning the five mile or so trip through these interesting old neighborhoods; Woodside, Rego Park, Kew Gardens, Forest Hills, Ridgewood, Briarwood... we are riding down the corridor of our family history. My mother and aunt were born in Kew Gardens, what was once a hospital is now a parking lot. We get down to Hillside Ave. and travel east, we pass the address of the house my grandmother grew up in, we pass the intersection where my great-grandmother's sister owned a pet store. We pass through her neighborhood, Queens village, and then she pops on the Cross island to take me back to Valley "piss" Stream. About six or seven minutes later, I'm back at my place. There we are, like shitty teenagers, making out in the car while the sun comes up. I feel so stupid writing about this, but I'm having trouble not thinking about it. Jonna needs to quit being so introverted and hang out with me again. What's hilarious is she just started her new job being a taekwondo instructor at this place near the intersection of Queens Blvd/Woodhaven Blvd. She's a black belt at that shit. I think that's pretty sweet, even though I know nothing about it.
Oh yes, these drives, when these neighborhoods are empty and we have the world to ourselves. Sodium street lamps mimic the feeling of 5,000 suns and we are in some ethereal place. I'm glad we don't work together anymore, because now we can actually hang out like normal human beings.
Jesus, I'm fucking stupid. I can't be developing adolescent crushes like this, love ain't in the air and a good friend is better than anything else. Also, two thumbs up for fucking drunkenness, few people in Florida understood. No offense for remaining friends, you guys are all fucking awesome and should at least visit here. Then move up.
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| 348 |
[09 Oct 2008|08:25pm] |
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| 347 - random thought |
[07 Oct 2008|07:57am] |
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Yeah, I need to get some new clothes come next paycheck.
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| 346 |
[07 Oct 2008|06:56am] |
Sunday night was fucking great. Jonna ended up picking me up from my place at around 8:30 and then I figured it would be fun to meet up with Erin and see what happened - we ended up having a blast, although I think we freaked Erin about a bit. It was a little unusual to have someone who I've known for years and someone I've known for months interact, but it was cool. Jonna and I brought over a handle of vodka, a two liter of ginger ale, some apple soda (which rules), and two loud mouths. The three of us sunk back about half the handle before going to the Brooklyn Barcade for more booze and old school games.
Haha, you can't see it but I'm drinking out of an obnoxious looking plastic boot-shaped glass that had this weird air bubble thing going on. On the way there, I lost my metrocard and Jonna and I snuck in through the emergency exit, then took turns covering each other while pissing at the end of the platform. Attractive. At this point already we're going on a steep downhill spiral. At the barcade, Erin got cider and Jonna and I sank back a few disgusting whiskey & ginger ales, the house whiskey had to have been some rot ass shit, because even I was kinda... eweewewewgughhh... but whatever. Jonna was all into it, like "Hmm, well at least we can taste the booze in this." We were there probably until about 2:30 or 3, and then found a kidnap cab for a swift ride back to Queens. I guess Erin didn't want to fuck with the trains that late at night, I certainly wouldn't have cared less. How typical, three wasted ass kids in the back of a shady ass like '95 Lincoln Towncar with a different type of rim on each wheel. I knew it wasn't good when all the sudden Jonna's head goes out the window and you just hear "Blurrrwwwuhha!" Vomit comet. She got it all over her shoulder and it was dripping from her mouth, so I... very gentlemanly... took my sleeve and rubbed it all over her face to clean her off. Now I smell like vomit, too. Erin is just like... what the fuck? That's how we roll, lolz. We get out around Elmhurst Ave. and go to this sweet taco stand and everyone's looking at Jonna and I, and some guy says that Erin looks like Sarah Palin. Classic. Jonna was just like, "Hey, if they ask about the shit on my shoulder, you can say you came all over me." Okay. We walk back a few blocks to Erin's apartment eat, I continue drinking, and then she goes to bed, leaving Jonna and I alone. Oh, Jonna. Before long we're making out all over the place, falling into things, and although I had no intentions of even trying to fuck her, she goes, "Playground's closed tonight!" ...what a reference. It was now six in the morning, so we headed back down Queens boulevard to our area, actually beginning to sober up, we had a nice conversation about things, and then she dropped me off at home. The sun is coming up. I feel like someone has taken a shit in my stomach, but it was worth it. This has become the typical night out, usually with more people, sometimes with a show involved. It's funny to think how different things were at the beginning of the year, but hey, you gotta keep life interesting.
I have zero recollection of Erin taking this on her cellphone, maybe because my eyes were closed. I left my camera and phone at her place, and they're still over there. I have today off (don't ask why I'm up at 7:20 in the morning) so hopefully something along the same line happens. Summer has packed it's fucking bags and left, so the weather is fucking amazing here again. High around 60, low around 40. I just want to be outside twenny-fo' seben. I think I'm gonna go back to sleep, hopefully wake up around noon and go get my ass some baltic porters and fuckin' garlic noodles for lunch. Yes.
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| 345 |
[02 Oct 2008|09:54am] |
Haha, disregard everything in the last post. I'm confused as hell and just leave it at that. Haha.
Also,
Hank, I'm so glad you're back here! Fucccck. Two nights ago, like four/five of us just swigging vodka on the street, going from bar to bar, getting sloppily drunk. I met these two chicks by accidentally spilling their whiskey all over them, I whip out what's left of the vodka handle at the bar itself, and some girl... no idea who she was, smiles, takes it from me, unscrews the cap and chugs down. What the fuck, haha. That was amazing. I knew the people doing the set that night, so we got to hear some awesome tunes.
Last night... yeah, was with Lauren until about 7 this morning. I feel like such an asshole for that last post, but shit, she knows how to push my buttons beyond any rhyme or reason. Last night was a nice night just for beers and 4am conversations concerning music and life and everything in between. I'm glad we got some little issues behind us, and we'll see where things go from here. Neither of us want a relationship, but I guess we both want someone to be able to lean on at all times. It's such a nice feeling not feeling alone for the first time in who knows how fucking long. Yeah, I've been childishly bitching about her in the past few entries, but that's only because I totally have a thing for her. I fucking suck.
Recently:
Discreetly taking a piss while swuggled, oh! I didn't mention, I totally shit myself two nights ago and had to deposit the soiled boxers in a dumpster outside, and wiped my ass with newspapers (they seemed pretty clean) and washed my hands by pouring vodka on them. Fucking nuts, huh?
These dudes were visiting from London, and we got mad the fuck wasted - it was great. I can't stand the little wussy cup I have though, but at least it was straight up vodka with a twist.
Yeah, I need to sober up. This is why:
I look... like such a dook burger, haha.
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| 344 |
[22 Sep 2008|10:55pm] |
Plans for the middle of the week: Blow off the chick that wants to straighten me out yet needs me to lend her $200 so she doesn't starve/get her phone cut off and is a hypocrite who pops pills every night for the chick that will pick me up from work and we'll get smashed and I won't need to hear anything critical about my personality, physical shape, "drinking problem", or cynical outlook.
Hey, what would Jesus do? Don't fucking answer that.
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| 343 |
[19 Sep 2008|10:53pm] |
What a fairly obnoxious although humorous past few days. I guess I've finally brought myself to a place of such emotional detachment that nothing bothers me anymore, and to put it bluntly: it rules. Lately I spent a lot of time with a chick that literally seems to think I'm the most asinine, needlessly negative, unhealthy, pointless, obnoxious, underachieving piece of shit you'll ever come across. It's been an interesting run but I think I'm done with that now. I wanted to test my own ideology, and see if it held up against criticism, and unfortunately, it's just been reinforced. I don't view myself as negative, or even really that cynical. I'm just not a "lover of life" or someone that necessarily wants to smile and hold hands and be a fucking fruit. That just ain't me. I might be fairly outgoing and such, but at my core I really am not a people person and I hate feeling like I'm being forced to do something.
Dear my LJ friends, I love a lot of the shit I come across by clicking on my friends page. I'm sorry I haven't been online as much to comment and such.
Damn one day without vodka was too many days.
Total fucking truth. I hate to openly admit this, but at this point I drink more than ever and it's awesome. When you're an awesome drunk and you find other awesome drunks, the rest of the world can fucking gobble on your cock 'cos nothing else matters. Yesterday man, I fucking just poured an entire liter of vodka in a 1.75L bottle of cold Orangina and fucking swilled that shit on the go. I had an extremely cathartic moment last afternoon swilling the potent libation in the beautiful afternoon breeze outside the train station with The Jesus and Mary Chain blasting through my headphones. Cindy kills me every day. Forget where I took the train to, because all I did was get myself into a lot of needless frustration and realize the person I had been occupying most of my thoughts with isn't really for me at all. For a few seconds there, walking wasted back to the train much too early in the evening, I actually felt like there was a little void in me, but fuck it. Ran into the first bodega and grabbed me some cans and chugged them as I went on my way. When I got home I actually called Emine randomly for a few seconds, and I loved the fact that she just laughed in the phone at me, I have no idea what I was saying. In a heavy stupor, I decided to run down to my corner store and get a couple sparks (yeah, haven't had that in a long fucking while) and chug them and see what happened. I guess they worked, 'cos I left again and hung out with Jonna who I had pretty much fucking blew off for weeks. I'm glad she wasn't pissed or anything, and we had an alright time just shooting the shit. She doesn't currently have a job so I guess I'll be hanging with her whenever I get bored, plus I can spot her for booze. Ha.
I have very little recollection of getting home, but I remember getting chills when I got off the train in my neighborhood just 'cos it was such an eerie, empty night. Usually here even at 3-5am, the trains are still fairly busy and people are generally being drunk and reckless. Not this night. A dead quiet. Generally I can find comfort in the noise and be distracted by people, but this town just didn't give me that luxury. Honestly, I felt a little empty. I woke up drunk today and slammed back a vodka + orange juice before work. I actually forgot what day it was and that I had work, but all went okay. I actually had a just fine day. The weather is fucking amazing right now, about 55 degrees so I got the window open and the fan on and a glass of vodka + tea by my side and tunes playing. All in all, I need to not let my emotions get to me and just have a pleasant night, because everything is just fucking fine. Fuck that girl, no pun intended. Today was actually the first day we didn't extensively communicate with one another in weeks, and it was all fucking good.
I miss you Sandy! UGH FUCK, before I could even finish this, motherfucker is calling me. I'm going to be an asshole and not pick up. Also to further sound like an asshole, these being public entries are always fucking intentional.
Awful picture, but that is my new vodka and overall liquor of choice, for sure. Smooth, and hangoverless. I think I am going to kill a liter tonight. At $14/liter $23/handle, it's also something I can afford to constantly get down on!
Also, here is a Jesu hoodie I randomly came across and had to pick up. Pretty decent, and only $30!
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| 342 |
[14 Sep 2008|11:24pm] |
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music |
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the jesus and mary chain |
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It has been so long since I've updated. Please excuse all the pictures, but it's better than rambling on at this point. A couple fun nights, I guess:
I'm really sorry about the lack of a cut. Hey, I probably have the slowest computer out of all of you anyway. There's been a lot of various shit happening, and to be honest I'm in a very strange mood right now. I will elaborate on this later, however for right now I'm into the notion of continuing the recent trend of ultra-wastedism and forgetting all the emotional bullshit I've gotten myself into. At least I feel I have a life again. On the bright side, fest looms ever closer on the horizon. On the bright side, I can't wait for the first winter in years. On the bright side, things are okay. I know what perimeters I should set on my life, and I just need to drop all the crap.
I miss a lot of you, despite my lapse in long-distance communication.
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| 341 |
[20 Aug 2008|10:49pm] |
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Got out of work on Monday night at 9:30, got home as quickly as possible and changed my clothes and altered my face and headed out into the netherworld. I didn't get back until just now. The past two nights have been drowned in porters, lagers, hard liquors, pretzels and beautiful, foresight-less escapism. Spent the entire time with two of my favorite goilsss and would like to conclude this final night with a toast to oblivion. I haven't had that much fun in a while. It had been a long minute since I spent an entire day just shooting the shit, watching Rocko's Modern Life and Ren & Stimpy amidst brews and drags of weed from a goofy wooden bowl. Yesterday Erin and I spent the better half of the afternoon drinking on benches and people watching at the Boardwalk on Coney Island, an exercise in lovely slothfulness. The latter part of the evening was spent at my bar of choice, the Rabbit Club, where I drank Saint Bernardus on tap and got to hear Sean (the bartender) talk about how great the Weedeater/Black Cobra show I missed on Sunday was. All good though, I had about four of that 10.50% ABV brew before getting serious dry-mouth and wanting to head in for the night.
I didn't really do shit with my two days off, but it was a blurry good time. Being that I couldn't make it to Best Friends day 7 in Richmond, I really hope Fest makes up for it. It totally should.
Also, I hope a certain someone enjoys the upside-down-cross they waxed into their vagina-hair-space. lolz
Life is so fucking trite and obnoxious, haha. Will I ever turn away from this repugnance? Do I give a shit? I lay here right now exhausted but unable to stop thinking at 1,000 miles per hour - my heart feels light as if I'm excited about something - but all I have to immediately look forward to is long fucking days at work throughout the end of the week. I guess I've just finally felt like myself again for a couple days. Once in a while, it's good to stop acknowledging convention and just be yourself. Let your mind start roaming, and eliminate convictions.
Do whatever you need to do to maintain some fucking semblance of happiness and purpose in this shit hole of a world. Laugh in the face of mass produced fear and carefully cultivated cultural self-consciousness.
Don't listen to me, I'm full of shit. But then again... shit helps produce life, so... ...yeah, whatever.
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| 340 - excuse this sort of stuff |
[09 Aug 2008|12:30am] |
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So amidst a few of these brews, I actually took a step back in this livediary a year, and then two years. My conclusion was surprising, and a little reassuring. I am much happier now than I was then. I mean, I haven't gained any steps on the metaphoric pyramid to self-actualization, but that shit is a joke anyhow. I still serve no intrinsic purpose, and I still visualize my entire life as the pulverized carcass of a bug on an automobile windshield - but I've finally come to terms with all of that. There is no reason for anxiety when you finally make the jump from "I'm doing something wrong" to "This is who I am, take it or fucking leave it."
Of course, moving back here definitely played a major role in this mental shift. Problems are solved quickly because bullshit passiveness doesn't exist. I never got accustomed to Tampa - either mentally, emotionally, or physically - and I always felt like a fish out of water there. Actually, just to be blatantly honest, I don't really ever see myself wanting to even visit that place again. It always was a blight to my person, and has become a black mark in my memory.
On to more positive things, for the first time in my life - someone actually said, "everything sucks without you." You know that you need to get back here soon! Things just aren't what they should be... I mean, that is, until you get back here! When you describe you, you describe me, and it's fucking scary - but also pretty amazing.
We are not bi-polar, we are Capricornian existentialists. We are the pink-eyed morning drinkers, although you are the day-sleeper and I just wander consciousness as if it were a dream. Our end result is the same - our woken hours are spent with dizziness and our dreams are plagued by viscerality and confusion. You're counting on me for a kidney nine years from now, but mine will be as repugnant as your's. In other words, this is a metaphor for the fact that we'll be a constant slumped trainwreck, but I don't ever want to get old anyway. I would rather my life be enriched than elongated. At one point I wanted to go against the grain and change things, but right now I just want to live my life uninterrupted, and I won't do much to interrupt your's.
What else can I say? You're the Van Gogh painting and I'm a black and white photograph. I make everything look worse, but you'll cut off your ear for no good reason. We'll both drink until all reasons are no good reasons. Our livers will regenerate, but they will still have scars. As far as kidneys go, I fucking hope they have synthetic ones by the time we're thirty-five.
When I'm thirty-five, let alone twenty-five, I have no bloody fucking idea what will be going through my head - although at this point I am at easy terms with the fact that I won't live past 40.
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| 339 |
[08 Aug 2008|11:05pm] |
Fuck! I return to my native store to find that like three people have been fired! Most of the people I was friendly with got shafted! Fuck! I hope they still want to hit the bar on Sunday nights, but I doubt it. The most awful/hilarious story was the firing of Jonna though. pictured here. I mean, I'm not gonna say anything bad, but for a while we were the internet fiends in the store... and once they blocked youtube, then things just turned even worse. But anyway, the main reason I think she got canned was the fact that she called in a lot, and didn't really make up for it on her days there.
What was classic though, is what the the manager said... "I was gonna fire her the first day she came back after not calling in for two days... but I figured I'd let her stay for a few days after that just to see if I could get a blow-job." Haha... fucking unreal. Now I have nobody to slip Carcass CDs in the store's CD changer with. Fuck. I had no idea she got fired, and was a bit of a smart ass to her that day. Shit. I tried to call her twice, no answer.
What else is new? Fucking nothing. A few co-workers and I started back-up the whole sippin' something at work thing, and since we all know the TV show Oz, we began pretending the entire store was a prison. I got shanked about 5 times, although this was because my plan was to bring the inmates together to wage a riot on the warden. I guess in a real prison situation, this also wouldn't work... because your other coworkers/inmates are too fucking stupid to realize the master goal of your plan. Today was a twelve-hour shift, but it was so fucking laid back that I couldn't care less. I just wish I had tomorrow off.
But then again, I want to save up a lot of fucking money for the end of the year, so I'll shut the fuck up.
Tomorrow is Ed's party in St. Albans and I'm probably going to smoke myself into a coma and eat like fifty pounds of greasy cornbread - I think I'm going to have to just call in on Sunday - or fuck that - just go into work and see what hilariousness ensues.
Then next week is the Melvins, plus Six Organs of Admittance on Monday, if I happen to have Monday off - I'll probably go to that, as well.
Right now I'm slamming back some vodka + green tea and I have five HOEGAARDEN witbieren blanche to indulge in. Fuck... I mean, my eyes are really dry and I want to get some sleep tonight... but that's so overrated!
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| 338.2 |
[07 Aug 2008|10:57pm] |
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haha, don't mind my quazi-cryptic-ass entries. i'm drinking vodka and GRAPEADE now...
...so you know that's a total mood elevator.
My favorite moment of the day:
(Ordering lunch with my co-worker Ed - we get a free can of soda with the chinese lunch special.)
Ed, "Get me orange... or," I interrupt. "What, grape?" "Yeah, or red... WAIT! Fuck your slickery and your trickery!" "Well, you are..." "Yeah?" "And you mix Bacardi with fucking kool-aid." "Yeah?" "And you either get Arizona fucking Watermelon or Grapeade." "I think I should get a back-piece in old english lettering that says NIGGA and YOU AIN'T SHIT on my arm." "Like that movie Back in the Day?" "Totally."
Of course, he totally got me when he walked in on me eating my bowl of bullshit on meebo, and says with an extremely feminine voice, "Enjoying your to-fu dish, Lucccciano?"
okay... this post was probably entirely fucking worthless. sorry. i'll stop now. But there also was an older (40s) Russian (maybe Ukranian? maybe Latvian? who knows...) couple that came in BOTH with Bauhaus shirts on. I had to run up to them and exclaim my love for that band. The wife (I presume) jumps right back and goes "BAUHAUS! ZE BEST!" ...and an awkward conversation ensued.
o0o0o0o0sdfsdf
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| 338 - fucking shit. |
[07 Aug 2008|10:19pm] |
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Looking out the window tonight, there are hideous ghosts silently screaming death throes under incandescent bulbs of the deserted train station. I want to close the window, but there is an awkward attraction to this epiphany in deliriousness. The same feeling as when you rubber-neck past a gruesome, hair-raising car accident and know there is every reason to look away, but you look closer. There is something about the visceral alphabet of human soup that just looks so intriguing scattered out across the hard, hot asphalt. It's even more intriguing when there is no car accident, no human wreckage, no asphalt, but just sleep deprivation and this dizzied state of excessive drinking. The sky went from black with the amber aurora of streetlamps to gray and back to black again. Everything has lost it's importance. We are diminished to searching for our next pleasure just like a cockroach searches for a nesting place.
The trick is quit hoping for this day when suddenly all our lives will miraculously make a one-hundred-eighty degree swerve in the other direction. That day never comes, hunger persists. The trick is to quit searching for the right person or naively putting faith into the absurd notion that one day love will save us. That day never comes, hunger persists. The trick is to not think of yourself as a human, but as an animal. We were born with souls, but our pilgrimage across the human void has turned our souls and lungs into ash. Stop waiting for that day that you'll suddenly return yourself into the supernatural shell. That day never comes, hunger persists.
We have all become dogs with our faces smashed in our own messes. Fuck the false beauty brought about by the sunlight, because the real beauty exists under the pale light of the moon. You might be thinking that I've never seen beauty - which isn't true - but when you get to the bottom of what makes something beautiful, there is something much terribly uglier at the core. Let us diminish our discoveries to the undersides of bar tables. Let us seek out the stories of drifters living on a week-by-week basis, our muses with their rotting alcoholic guts. Hang over a toilet bowl puking out your drunken guts in the middle of the night. Take notice of the foul drool hanging from your unhinged mouth. Feel the sensory rip of your stomach bile burning in your nostrils. Feel your body crumbling with you in it.
Things fall into place when you come to terms with looking for nothing more than the pocked, run-over face you see in the mirror every morning. There's a little piece of me in everyone, whether or not you admit it we're all the same. Those same lines still fucking echo out into the abyss. I'm every morning you wake up alone. I'm every time you're drunk and walking home. I'm all the tears you cry 'till you can't see. I'm everything you swore you'd never be.
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| 337 |
[06 Aug 2008|08:57am] |
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life long tragedy |
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Well, it has been a hot minute since I've updated this beast. They ended up having to fire this one dude from my department, so since last Thursday... I've been pretty much making up his hours. Somehow I've been getting by with nearly no sleep day in and day out. Nearly twelve hour shifts Thursday through Monday - I'm glad that shit is over. I can't complain though, work isn't a huge mental or physical drain to me at all. My co-worker Shane went on vacation after Saturday though, so no more of his bottles of Patrón to take shots from during the work day. Not until tomorrow, anyway.
I guess what's keeping me going is the fact that there's that bare minimum level of insanity day-in and day-out to keep shit at least mildly interesting. Last week was bad - bad in that "reckless but awesome" way. After last Thursday, I actually took a little break from drinking until... last night. I had downed around a third of a handle of Vodka, then around five in the afternoon I stopped in the liquor store on the way to the train station to pick up something small to sip on en route. I have to remind myself NOT to go with what I think will be "interesting" when I enter a liquor store already drunk. Since I had never tried it, I picked up a 350ml bottle of Tanqueray. It fit into my fag-bag, and I got to the station just as the steel worm was lunging to a stop. I take a seat on the train, and there's this dude on the opposite row already drinking a beer. (Blue Moon) I take out my bottle of Tanqueray and take a sip... and whew... I totally should have gotten Wild Turkey or something worth drinking, haha. Fuck that crap... anyway, he asks me what kind of beer I'm drinking, although when he sees the bottle, he's just like "Oh wow... gin? Nevermind." He's going down to Brooklyn and I'm heading into that obnoxious midtown Manhattan bottleneck of pissy fuckheads and tourists. We talk about Jazz until we transfer to different trains at Supthin Blvd. He says he's on that 6:00 train pretty much every day, although I haven't seen him since then. I fuck around a few record stores and camera shops, and a military surplus store, all the while buying bottles of tea and spiking them with gin.
At around 7:30-8 I met up with Erin around 115th/Broadway, and she wants to take a taxi to the bar. That's cool, I guess - it's the first time I've been in a cab in years. I can't really remember what I was going on about, but my low-brow vulgarities seemed to have the cab driver laughing, and then we went to the Rabbit Club. Same bartender there, still can't remember his name although I ask him each time I go there, anyway... I got to hear exactly what I wanted while entering new levels of drunkenness. Sleep, Eyehategod, Amebix, Jesu, Torche... and whatever other good stuff he had on his playlist there. Other than that, I remember it being the usual hipster mix... nothing awful, just one Matador band after another. I got two or three heavy-as-fuck Irish imperial stouts - and after that things begin to become blurry. I remember having about $60 left in cash, so I went on a piss-drunk 1:00am weed excursion. It didn't take me but six or seven blocks to get solicited by this rasta guy. Due to our proximity to NYU, I kept telling him I didn't want to get ripped off - in retrospect I feel bad that I was so rude to this guy, but it paid off in the end. The stinky rastas have great marijuana, you just have to make sure that they don't totally shaft you. I completed my transaction, and then figured I would wait until I got back out home to indulge.
This is one reason why NY fucking blows: A 1:15am train on a Wednesday fucking night - and it's packed to the point of standing room only. At that point all I fucking wanted to do was sit down. All you can do is rest your head against the glass of the window, and gaze out with the self-titled track from GZA's Liquid Swords on full volume on your headphones. Blast over all the neighborhoods in the darkness. Sunnyside, Elmhurst, Forest Hills, Kew Gardens, Rego Park, Briarwood, Jamaica, St. Albans, Locust Manor, Laurelton, Rosedale... then finally home. Walking down the steps to ground level, you can't hear anything outside your headphones, but you can feel the ground moving as the train hurdles out into the abyss towards where ever it's going. Night over. FIN.
I woke up in such pain that I had to take a break. The next day at work, I kept going to the bathroom in the beginning part of the day because I had a weird feeling I was going to hurl at any time. But anyway... anyway...
It's been fun so far. I can't wait for the Melvins/Big Business next Wednesday.
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| Discussion: |
[20 Jul 2008|01:45am] |
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A controversial decision at any point... but which of these two brews is actually the best cheap-shit beer?
This:
or this:
Pabst is great, we all know this... but I've begun to lean a little towards the Schaefer brew... which, if people were actually open minded about their brews, would rival PBR as the hipster/anti-hipster/punk/northern white-trash beer of choice. Schaefer (at least around here) is the same price per twelver. Both cans exhibit a pretty cool unchanged design from when they were first canned. Both kick the living pissy shit out of Miller/Budweiser/Busch/Michelob/whatever. Does Pabst deserve it's reign at the top for those of us who don't quite accept the white Republican Budweiser-drinker mold? Is Pabst kind of falling off with the taste, or am I just one dumbass faggot who's tastes are changing? (Don't you dare answer that.)
Either way, at this point I switch between one or the other each day. Compromise is probably the best solution. Schaefer does have a sweet jingle though: The beer to be having when you're having more than one.
And that said... while I write this, I am drinking PBR. Because PBR will always still fucking rule.
-r
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[19 Jul 2008|09:28pm] |
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music |
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a tribe called quest |
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Haha... sorry about the huge pictures... although I was incredibly wasted at that point. (Ironically, I think it's obnoxious when people blame silly shit on being drunk, oh well.) Yesterday I got off at four, and last night we had planned to first see the new Batman movie and then head out to a show in Greenpoint... obviously neither thing happened, and yeah... I got drunk to the point where having my back waxed was an amusing prospect... and I don't know if it was the booze or my pain tolerance (probably the booze)... but it didn't hurt at all. This morning, however, it did sting for a couple hours. I have very little recollection of the train ride home, although I woke up with a few mystery wounds (a bunch of scabs on my leg, a huge bruise on my arm, and a big scab on my elbow) and about five single-shot bottles of Wild Turkey that I must have drank on the train. I thought I had at least $20 in cash left over, but somehow there was only $8. I woke up drunk at 7:45am for work and at that point (and for the next few hours)- everything was great. I got my Arizona Energy Tonic first thing in the morning, and I was pretty tipsy and having fun fucking with people at work until around noon, when I began to feel like an huge piece of dogshit. Headache, stomach ache, soreness, burning back, the exact opposite of how you want to feel in every way conceivable. My manager was cool enough to let me go home early at four, and I've pretty much been sitting in the dark here for a while. I wanted to hang tonight, too... but... eh, I need some down time.
Yeah, really insightful entry... huh?
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[14 Jul 2008|11:26am] |
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music |
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spacemen 3, still. |
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So yeah, as I said before... less hours at work = time to actually visit museums, sweaty basement record stores, 6th avenue knock-off retailers [no relation to the store i work at, i'm talking about the actual road, haha], pit stops in dive bars, ride the trains to neighborhoods I've never been to before, go to theaters that show strange old films, eat strange food, etc. After working twelve hour days on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday though... today I'm just going to fucking sit on my ass and read. Speaking of work, they finally fired this guy that had been there for two weeks, and was downright hilarious on so many levels. He never did anything, for starters. He would just play around with digital cameras and take point-blank, out of focus pictures of his hands like some dwindling crackhead. His face had a couple moles on it, and to describe him perfectly... imagine a twin brother of Ronnie James Dio with a heavily-greased comb-over and a few bonus chromosomes. He was simply known as Joe. It took us about three of four days to fully realize how strange and vulgar this guy was - on about his fourth day of work, he kept bitching that he wanted to go home early... and when my co-worker Rajiev asked him why, he just began humping the showcase so that the whole thing was rattling and cameras were falling over inside. His scent was beyond repugnant, and it was an onion-in-sour-milk smell that just stuck in your sinuses even thirty seconds after he walked away. When I stumbled upon him in the bathroom, he was leaning into back from the urinal with both of his hands on his ass, doing this little twist-dance with the piss stream occasionally missing the urinal and hitting the wall. He didn't wash his hands - and he touches every camera. He went to the bathroom about once every 15 minutes, which was also strange.
Once, when I asked him, "What did you do in the bathroom?" he replied, "I shot a load over the bathtub."
What bathtub? Oh right... it's called a toilet to the rest of us. That would explain the smell. A few days before he got fired, he asked me to go to break with him, insisting... "I have a few joints in my car I'm gonna smoke, so..." No. Smoking a joint after him would probably guarantee fucking botulism. Occasionally when he went to the bathroom, he said he was going to shoot up drugs... but when I followed him in, (about a minute later) all he was doing was standing at the urinal pulling out strands of his own pubic hair. Fucking gross! At some point amidst these disgusting-yet-hilarious idiosyncrasies, a few of us realized that we could say anything we wanted to him, and he didn't give a shit. He didn't give a shit about... well... anything. All he would talk about at work was the advantages of a birch drum set as opposed to a maple drum set, and how he wanted to get a "hum-job" from the woman who lives down his street... who is actually Tera Patrick... and her husband is Evan Seinfeld... (from Biohazard) so he can have fun trying to get at that.
There was never a dull moment with Joe, and just when you thought he had run out of stupid things to say, he would begin acting really strange and talking in third person. He would spit on his hands and rub them together while you were talking to him, and it just made you want to squirm. When Rajiev asked him if he had washed his hands after using the bathroom this time, he put his hand to his crotch, began wiggling his fingers, shouting "we-we-we-we-we-we" and chasing him around. In front of everyone, he stuck both of his hands down the back of his pants, and then put them up to his face, gently waving them around, wafting the scent... as if someone would waft up the scent of a flower or something.
As if all this wasn't odd enough, he walked around with an ATM card that he cut into like ten pieces, and would constantly pay someone $1 or $2 to use their phone... who he was calling, I have no clue. On Saturday morning when he got fired, he just clocked out and walked out like he didn't give half of a fuck. He lives somewhere around Valley Stream, so hopefully I get to see this clown in the future. He's been sighted near the Valley Stream public pool... that thought alone makes me shudder. Work will not be the same without him, and now I'll have to find ways to amuse myself again.
...also...
this is coming just over the horizon:
I'm hoping for an even better lineup than last year.
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