Your leaking thatched hut during the restoration of a pre-Enlightenment state.

 

Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").

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Like my brownhouse:
   the ups and downs of social obligations
Saturday, March 22 1997

Evolutionary question for today: What traits might the grasses that grow in grasslands developed to aid the success of predators' hunting?

I woke up well before I had to be at work today. For some reason Deya was in bed with me...

I went walking around in the warm morning sunshine in just a tee shirt. I wanted to experience a little of the day before having to wall myself into Comet for an eight hour shift. At Higher Grounds I ran across Angela's boyfriend Aaron. He was preparing himself for a day of work too, as a bartender at a Main Street restaurant. He was haggard from a fitful night of wondering about his relationship with Angela. He hadn't been able to find her anywhere and doesn't know where he stands with her. The situation apparently totally fell apart in the space of three days. It had seemed as though Angela and Aaron were a good couple; certainly better than Theresa and Persad. But, according to Deya, Angela is known to seduce random guys when she gets very intoxicated. The fallout from such events invariably leads to crisis.

...and the disgusting greasy food smell that pervades the server room.
People don't use the Internet so much on nice days like today. So I had a pretty stress-free shift at Comet. The only things I have to complain about is the fact that I have no money in my wallet because of a paucity of paychecks and the disgusting greasy food smell that pervades the server room. Internet jockeys are not known for their health food.

Deya came by while I worked as I'd said she could. I was hungover and cranky though and really would have much preferred to be alone. But I almost never tell Deya to leave me alone. And for some reason she sticks with me even when I'm completely ignoring her for hours on end. It seems like an unhealthy relationship to me. I find that when I'm around any one person for too long uninterrupted, I start feeling like I'm drowning.

I took a couple "cigarette breaks" at work to enjoy the warmth of the day. Not that I actually smoked any cigarettes mind you; it's just that the smokers at Comet have to occasionally take breaks to go outside and fuel their addictions. Normally I can stay inside for my entire shift. But on a nice day like today I figured I should take the "outdoor" breaks that my smoking coworkers normally take. If you put all the cigarette breaks that I would have taken had I been a smoker and put them end to end, it would probably add up to a fairly substantial vacation. I also walked with Deya to Hot Tomatoes at one point to get a slice of chicken barbecue pizza.

After work, I decided to drive down to the Downtown Mall just for a little variety in my meagre little life. On a whim, Elizabeth joined me. We went into the Mudhouse and had a few drinks. She ordered a shot of "wheatgrass" for $3. What she got for her $3 was less than an ounce of electric green fluid that smelled like a freshly used lawnmover blade. It occurred to me that if someone wants to drink grass juices there is plenty of free grass to be had in just about any East Coast suburban community. Elizabeth contends that wheatgrass is especially health-inducing but I have my doubts. Since it seems she really has quit smoking, such indulgences are probably deserved.

Then Elizabeth and I picked up a 3 litre bottle of Almaden Mountain Burgundy at the Barracks Road Kroger. I blew all but the last dollar in my wallet on this investment in the evening.

Back at the Dynashack I found myself watching Cops and America's Most Wanted while Elizabeth went out with friends to eat sushi. I find "real life" cop shows entertaining for their dopey blustery ambiance.

Deya came by and started drinking vino. Then came Elizabeth, Liz West and a number of complete strangers. And then Monster Boy appeared as I knew he would. He and I smoked some kind bud in the bathroom since he didn't have enough for the others. What exactly we were doing in the bathroom was a subject of mildly humourous debate amongst the excluded ones.

They sing badly, their melodies and instrumentations are unimaginative and poorly executed, and even their name is just a silly variant of "Dead Kennedys."
Then most of us went upstairs to Elizabeth's room to listen to the Dead Milkmen, Elizabeth's favourite band when she was 15. She and Monster Boy apparently both went through a Dead Milkmen phase, so this was another point of common ground for them to explore together. For my part, I've always considered the Dead Milkmen to be a goofy novelty band. They sing badly, their melodies and instrumentations are unimaginative and poorly executed, and even their name is just a silly variant of "Dead Kennedys." But today, under the influence of marijuana, and with the assistance of the commentaries of Elizabeth and Monster Boy, I came to a real appreciation for the lyrics. The revelation I had was that the Dead Milkmen are all about their lyrics. They are basically a spoken word band with musical ornamentation. That's a trait about lots of punk rock (Dead Kennedys included) that has always been less than satisfying for me. But the lyrics in songs by the Dead Milkmen may just be good enough to carry the music.

Deya had a revelation today that friendships are all about common ground between people. This struck her as a profound idea just about the time Monster Boy and Elizabeth were revelling in their mutual love for the Dead Milkmen. Of course I agree that common ground is important for friendships. What I need now is for her to elaborate in essay form on this subject so I might understand why she found the idea to be such a revelation.

Monster Boy picked up Cecelia the Brazilian Girl at midnight from the C&O. She came with her own bottle of Cribari white vino. We'd been eagerly awaiting her arrival since the Almaden ran out.

Many times I have given her my opinion on how diseased the situation has become, but she keeps granpa on life support all the same.
Elizabeth, Monster Boy, Cecelia, Deya and I ended up in my room, listening to Marilyn Manson tapes provided by Monster Boy. Monster Boy and Elizabeth seemed to be really hitting it off while Cecelia was being slowly absorbed by the floor and Deya and I argued about personal issues. Deya thinks I pay too little attention to her in the musings. She says I talk about her actions, but I never probe deeper to what goes on in her head. And she resents the fact that I never mention the romantic relationship we had. She wonders if I consider her less important than others in my life. I didn't feel like talking about any of that stuff, especially in front of the others. So I pretty much refused to say anything in response. There was this "lingering death" aspect to the way we related all day. You see, she was to be heading back to Warren Wilson College and she wanted to leave on a good note while, I know this sounds shitty, I just wanted to shoot the lame horse in the head. For some reason she has found some kind of deep and meaningful significance to how we relate or how we once related. It is all so important to her. I don't know what to say because I feel like at this point it's a fossilizeds thing and I'm just being dragged along by some form of nostalgia. Many times I have given her my opinion on how diseased the situation has become, but she keeps granpa on life support all the same. It's maddening. I don't want to start regarding with dread the prospect of her returning to Charlottesville in the future.


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