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September 19, 1997, Friday

note: again, this entry contains censored content

I apologize; this entry is choppy after I got finished hacking it up, and no doubt this will displease you. For your own sake, you should join the mailing list which I am setting up. This is not to be a notify list in the typical sense of the word, just an alternative method of communication in which I will actually know the composition of my audience.

Spoiled little rich kids no doubt once entertained envious friends here.

I


  woke up around noon and found Jessika cleaning the living room. The place is usually a complete disaster. The fellow online personality known as Turtle had sent me a Chilton's repair guide for the Dodge Dart, and I thumbed through it as I wished for caffeine.

Jessika and I went on a little stroll to get coffee. We took a circuitous route that led beyond a decrepit nearby mansion to a deluxe treehouse in a beech tree. This was the treehouse Jessika had visited with Ocean last night.

We climbed up the rickety ladder to the platform and sat in the interior rooved section. The platform was ringed by a low railing obviously designed for little people to lean out over. The tree had grown noticeably since the treehouse had been built; it struggled up through narrow holes in the platform and distorted the floor hatch through which the ladder entered from below. Most of the lumber was still sound, which made me think the treehouse not much older than ten years. Spoiled little rich kids no doubt once entertained envious friends here.

His little back porch abode is a miniature gothic wonderland of blue bottles, oddly shaped mirrors, wrought iron and black lace curtains.

The treehouse inspired Jessika. In addition to one day finding the proper cult to join, she'd like to own forested land and build her own personal Ewok village.

We continued around the block to the 7 Day Junior (a little convenience store beyond the fence that runs behind Kappa Mutha Fucka) and bought coffee and Beast Ice beer. Yes, folks, I've gotten into drinking Beast Ice again after a summer hiatus. I only wish they printed the "5.9 % alcohol" celebration in even larger type on the box.

On the way back home, Jessika found a number of unopened bottles of fruit juice and some "high potency vitamins" outside a dumpster. True to form, she gathered them all.

Monster Boy was playing Gary Numan as I made coffee. His little back porch abode is a miniature gothic wonderland of blue bottles, oddly shaped mirrors, wrought iron and black lace curtains. He pays only $50/month.

From this theory follows the suggestion that people take their dates to horror movies and roller coaster rides.

I proposed a theory to account for sudden mutual romantic inclinations between two people involved in an auto accident. I read somewhere once that when a couple of prospective romantic partners is subjected to high levels of stress together, it's possible for their brains to misinterpret the feeling as one of lust, love, or attachment. From this theory follows the suggestion that people take their dates to horror movies and roller coaster rides.

T


o increase the excitement of our day, Jessika and I walked down to the Haunted House to see if Rory was in. We were there only briefly before he arrived from the store (on foot, of course) with a 12 pack of Natural Ice.

It soon became clear that he'd found and read the uncensored version of yesterday's musings entry, which is good, since I'd wanted him to know exactly how I felt about his distressing behaviour of late.

What did he have to say for himself? "It's really fucked up," "You don't know the situation" and other unhelpful stuff like that, said seemingly more to simulate sensitivity than to express real regret. I even detected a subtle "it's us against the world" attitude just beneath his somber expressions.

 

We were all drinking beers on the back porch, and that distorted towards positive all my feelings about Rory. I so badly wanted this issue to be over with that I was willing to look for any possible justification for Rory's behaviour.

 

 

All he could say was "it's the British way."

 

For his part, Rory tried to extend olive branches. He suggested we form a musical ensemble.

In other things, I asked Rory why he'd set up a Princess Diana joke page when, among our friends, it was he who'd seemed to be the most disturbed by her untimely death. All he could say was "it's the British way."

I was more disturbed than I expected to discover from Rory that I have a reputation for being a "light weight" when it comes to drinking. My Taurus Rising should rejoice that I'm apparently such a cheap date. I think this reputation stems from the fact that I'm often much more drunk than other people I hang out with, though the necessary drinking actually took place over a longer period of time.

Rory's reputation instantly changed from that of well-meaning but hapless sailer on the seas of life to cruel, manipulative, cynical, selfish, bumbling villain.

Jessika and I returned to Kappa Mutha Fucka to find Matthew and Leah talking on the front porch. When Leah disappeared, Matthew, Jessika and I set out to get a bottle of Carlo Rossi Paisano vino, just for old time's sake. Jessika had been wanting Carlo Rossi since yesterday. In a gesture of goodwill, Rory had given me a wad of money for the effort.

 

What makes Rory's treachery especially insulting is all the trouble Matthew went through to get Rory accepted into our little world. He invited Rory over. When Rory fucked up poor Deya's car, Matthew spoke in defense of Rory's honour. When Diana expressed disgust in Rory's drunken toe-licking behaviour that same night, Matthew argued that Rory was repentant and contrite. When Rory was homeless, it was Matthew who said he could sleep on our porch or camp in our yard. If there was ever any one person in town that Rory knew he could depend on, it was Matthew Hart.

Rory's reputation instantly changed from that of well-meaning but hapless sailer on the seas of life to cruel, manipulative, cynical, selfish, bumbling villain.

I lay down on the weathered wooden platform and immediately fell asleep.

W


ith the Carlo Rossi we bought at Farmer Jack, Matthew, Jessika and I headed down to the Haunted House. We considered just drinking it by ourselves, but Rory had paid for most of it. There we found Tyler, Rory, Leah and Ocean (the hippie guy who'd attended the hit and run). I suppose, give the ensemble, I should have been uncomfortable. But I was already too drunk. When Leah and Rory were briefly out of the room, Matthew expressed discomfort, and when she returned, he asked if he should leave. "I don't know, I guess so..." she said. It was a heartbreaking moment. But we all stayed anyway.

The only thing I remember from this phase was Ocean and Rory talked about writing web pages. Evidently Rory is teaching Ocean all the HTML he's learned. I began to feel claustrophobic. I simply walked out, and went to the treehouse Jessika and I had visited early today. I wished Jessika would follow me, but I hadn't said anything to her. I lay down on the weathered wooden platform and immediately fell asleep.

When I awoke, I staggered home and passed out in my own bed. The digital clock radio read 11:30pm.

Jessika force-fed me a Vivarin and then a No-doz, washed down with vino.

I


  sort of expected Jessika to wake me up later, and sure enough, she did. She dragged me out of bed, in a combined expression of irritation and adventure, and shoved me down the stairs into the living room. I was incredibly tired and sought the comfort of lying on the couch.

Jessika force-fed me a Vivarin and then a No-doz, washed down with vino. Both pills contain concentrations of caffeine, the legal addictive drug currently being kicked by Andrew Denyes.

I could feel the caffeine putting a minty white glow in my stomach. Then the glow extended throughout my body. It had lost its minty vibe and gone on to become a tight electric buzz, a feeling of possibility, inspiration and energy. This is precisely what Jessika had wanted.

In our symphony of states this evening, it seemed fitting to pay our local fraternity a visit.

E


arlier in the day, while walking around getting coffee and beer, Jessika and I had noted the BQP (Beta Theta Pi) fraternity in the yard diagonally behind ours to the southwest. Normally one cannot see anything in this direction because of a shed and some trees in our back yard. Despite being near the university, there aren't many fraternities in our neighborhood. Most are located on the other side of the University grounds to the north in the place we call "Fratville." In our symphony of states this evening, it seemed fitting to pay our local fraternity a visit.

So all of us (Monster Boy, Deya, Jessika and I) hopped the fences and soon enough were in the BQP backyard. In the nearest corner of the yard (almost touching the little shed in the Kappa Mutha Fucka back yard), there is a small isolated shack where the air conditioner is always running. We knocked on the door, but no one was home. So we continued on to the frat house, a large white stucco building with an impressive red ceramic half-pipe roof in the style of the older buildings in Oberlin.

I should point out that at this point, I was actually pretty sober, even if I was charged up on caffeine. My sobriety was interfering with my desire to follow the others as they simply barged in through the fraternity's back door, but soon enough I was with them.

They invited us to future parties, and even expressed regret we hadn't come sooner to the one that had just happened.

There had been a party earlier in the evening, but now it was over. Increasingly warm, increasingly flat plastic cups of Natural Lite sat in dejection on flat surfaces everywhere. I poured one into my cup and continued drinking. We went through the building and emerged at the front door and sat and talked with the frat boys there.

We were friendly, they were friendly. We invited them to future parties. They invited us to future parties, and even expressed regret we hadn't come sooner to the one that had just happened. The president of the frat, who gets to live in the little shack near our yard, said he'd heard me playing my guitar on occasion, but said nothing bad about it. Monster Boy tried to pick up some of the sorority sisters mingling about, but none of the fratboys seemed even the slightest bit interested in Jessika or Deya as sexual conquests. We hadn't stolen anything except a bandana from the porch of the little shack, but they took it in stride and Deya gave it back, mildly embarrassed to have been so easily busted.

The frat boys were dorky about it when they finally kicked us out, expressing concerns about "liability." But the experience had been pleasant, and we departed on good terms. As antithical to all things fraternity as we are, we have a built-in mechanism which demands that we at least try to get along with our neighbors. This coping mechanism is ancient; falcons never prey on the birds with whom they share a tree.

In the back yard of the our house, Jessika had me practice some Kung Fu moves she's learned in a self-defense class she's been taking. Don't sneak up behind me and grab me, or you're done for.

Justified or not, I was left with the uncomfortable feeling that I might just be the villain in that story.

Matthew went wandering off on his own looking miserable. We worried about him and wondered what to do. He'd eaten hardly anything today and looked terrible. His skin is even breaking out a little, which is unusual.

At the end of the night, towards 4:00 am, Jessika, Deya and I all sat around in my messy room, talking about things. Deya took me to task for what she saw as my exploitative behavior visa-vis Katie, the 16 year old girl from South Carolina who visited me recently. Deya thinks the girl is in love with me and I'm just toying with her. I explained that I actually like Katie, that our email correspondence wouldn't be taking place were that not so, and that if what Katie is doing is ill-advised or doomed, then I'm not the one to be blamed. No doubt she'd be carrying out a similar relationship with someone else if it weren't with me. None of these defenses impressed Deya. Truth be told, they didn't impress me either. Justified or not, I was left with the uncomfortable feeling that I might just be the villain in that story.

See some images captured from video shot on this day.

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