home | musings index | feedback | other journals
October 1997 index
previous | next page bottom

October 1, 1997, Wednesday

I just put up a series of images captured from video shot in September.

H

ere at Comet this early morning, the phone has been ringing off the hook. I got a call from the guy who'd sent the email on my ersatz skinhead page, saying he was very pleased I'd posted it. And I got a call from Scott Anderson about a secret collaborative project we're working on with a mysterious third person. Scott has a deeper voice than I'd expected. And he speaks fluent Canadian.

Whoah! I couldn't miss out on that! People labour whole lifetimes in exchange for a second of such glory.
Reading my email just now, I was reminded of a story from February, 1995, in my Oberlin days.

One day I was at a party in Harkness lounge and Liz, a fabulously beautiful girl I'd been stalking (in my typically incompetent way) introduced me to her roommate, a somewhat less beautiful girl named Biz. Biz and I hit it off right away and were soon making out in front of everybody on the couch. Yessir, things like that happen at parties, as disgusting as it sounds. She suggested I come home with her and do the old threesome thing with her and Liz. Whoah! I couldn't miss out on that! People labour whole lifetimes in exchange for a second of such glory.

The half mile back to the middle of campus was the most physically painful walk in my life.
So we walked all the way up to Barrows Hall and, in her bed, continued where we'd left off, awaiting the arrival of Liz. When Liz showed up, however, everyone became really uncomfortable about the whole thing. Biz left the room and I was left alone with Liz, and I finally got to kiss her. But then Biz came back in and called Liz out. A discussion ensued in the hall. I was anxious, excited, feeling increasingly sober and ridiculous. Liz came back in and announced that I had to leave.

The half mile back to the middle of campus was the most physically painful walk in my life.¹ And I wasn't done with the evening, either; I crashed a party of dorks on College Street. I wasn't there long. Someone wielding a baseball bat tried to kick me out. But something about the experience with the girls had me fearing nothing, and I mocked my attacker. He backed down, baseball bat and all, and magnanimously, I departed.

Boy did I have a story to tell at the ongoing sausage party at Frank's Afterhours (Harkness 303).

a public service announcement for Jenfariello:

Living With the Enemy

the domestic abuse awareness project.
a collection of fifty images by nationally-acclaimed photojournalist Donna Ferrato.
opening is Friday, October 3rd, from 6-9pm in the Downtown Artspace, under the Jefferson Theatre near the center of the Downtown Mall in Charlottesville, Virginia.
I'll be there too, so why not you?

I do stuff like that for Jen because she's cool like that.

S

ee, what was supposed to happen was that I was supposed to take a file version of the flyer Jenfariello made and make it into a web page promoting the Ferrato show. I do stuff like that for Jen because she's cool like that. But my decrepit 486 crashed each time I tantalizingly approached the instant where I was to copy the emailed file to a floppy disk. I cursed it, I shouted at it. I hated my computer. I hated William "We Can Be Heroes" Gates. I hated technology. If I had remembered, I would have believed in God² just so I could have hated Him too.

Talk about domestic abuse, my robotic roommate almost got the beatdown.

In despair, I resorted to defeatest dorktalk. "The procedure is taking too long," I said as I flipped off the power.

I went all the way in to Comet to find a copy of Jen's emailed show information. Too bad, she'd sent it as a Pagemaker file, and there's not a single working copy of Pagemaker anywhere at my place of employ. So I made a little text-only promotional spot and put it on this very page. A musings entry is a pretty high-traffic page for a day or two, so perhaps my ordeal will actually pay off for this Friday's show.

The chicken was so wonderfully greasy that it afforded me the opportunity to oil my boots.

A

t home, Kappa Mutha Fucka, Matthew Hart got a phone call from his recent bedmate Angela. She told him to get a half gallon of vodka. That would naturally require the involvement of me and my scrutiny-proof ID, but since I had some shopping to do anyway, I was happy to say okay.

In addition to the vodka and my usual shopping items (cans of soup, a loaf of bread and many packages of ramen), I bought a whole rotisserie chicken. True to my gluttony, I ate three fourths of it the instant we got back home. The chicken was so wonderfully greasy that it afforded me the opportunity to oil my boots.

bought

For example, tonight she boldly suggested that Matthew and her finish the whole half gallon of vodka before morning.
Matthew made up some strong drinks with orange juice and vodka, and I had a couple of them. There is something oddly disturbing about Angela's attempts to be domestic around Kappa Mutha Fucka. I guess the question is, where was she two weeks ago? Who was in her place? It's all just a bit too much for me. She's like everybody's sister, see. And a long-lost one at that.

Another thing I don't like is Angela's insistance on Matthew drinking lots of alcohol. For example, tonight she boldly suggested that Matthew and her finish the whole half gallon of vodka before morning. It's difficult for Matthew to simply laugh off such a suggestion. Evidently Angela thinks it's cute for Matthew to drink so much or that it makes him more likely to want to head upstairs. But you know, he's got enough of his own reasons to be drinking without her adding a few of her own.

For example, I jokingly asked if anyone had ever had a hit of "lobotomy bud," which I claimed had the power to make people stoned for the rest of their lives.

I

awoke early from my pre-work nap. Going down the stairs, I found a fairly large population: Deya, Angela, Matthew Hart, Brick Mansion in the 'Hood Sam, Peggy and Zach with their unnamed Baboose, along with Peggy's younger brother, Pete. Pete is a pudgy kid with bleached blond hair and an overwhelming interest in marijuana. All I heard him talking about the whole time he was there was pot, where one could get it, and how much it cost. His manner of speaking was that of the stereotypical burnout, so much so that it sounded contrived. Mostly all I saw him doing was rolling joints and taking hits from a bowl. Zach and I subtly mocked him, and he was completely unaware of it. For example, I jokingly asked if anyone had ever had a hit of "lobotomy bud," which I claimed had the power to make people stoned for the rest of their lives. Pete responded that he was certain that if such marijuana really existed, he'd surely want a hit of it.

Brick Mansion in the 'Hood Sam was pretty drunk, and when he's drunk, he gets really friendly, if you know what I mean. He's one of our few bisexual male friends (by contrast, all the girls claim to be bisexual, even the nonsexual ones). Anyway, it seems Sam used to have sort of a crush on Matthew. But you know, Matthew is kind of spoken for again these days, and it wasn't like Sam was attracted to Peggy's brother Pete. Guess who that left as the recipient of all Sam's friendly energy?

It was a little hard to take, so I went off to my room to resume my prework nap.

Get a sense of what I was like exactly eight years ago and one year ago today.

¹I know that among women, the concept of "blue balls" seems like a fiction designed by men to encourage sympathy fucks. Let me assure everyone, though, that I've had blue balls on many occasions and they hurt. They're caused by incomplete sexual acts. Nonetheless, having an orgasm doesn't immediately reverse the pain.
²This morning at 9:00am I saw lots of sharp-dressed middle-aged and elderly men scattered around the University of Virginia campus, standing at all the major walkways. They were handing out little green books, bibles I suppose. Did they really think there were university students out there without access to bibles?

back to the top
previous | next