sketch the third - Your glaze hits the side of my vase
Nov. 19th, 2001
02:05 pm - sketch the third
Oh man. I've been dizzy for days, and I don't know what's going on. This is the sort of haze only a weekend could provide, and with much determination I honestly tried to stay away from my greatest temptations - namely, girls and booze. (insert SFX: malevolent hell-bent MWAHAHAHA) I believe the term "fat chance, buster" was created for my sorry sake. The pounding began as I discovered I was kind of coming down with something, much to the chagrin of the tap water and echinacea in the apartment, which found themselves being consumed at ridiculous rates. Advil cold and cough remedy is the greatest stuff - produces the sort of hum in the head you'd associate with the sodium crickets hopping madly inside streetlight bulbs of the dry San Fernando Valley. The whole day at work on Saturday was like walking on a tightrope, the battle for balance fought valiantly yet won in the haphazard fashion akin to repairing something successfully only to find you've fucked up something else even worse. "He tightens and loosens a few spare parts / One thing's fixed, another falls apart" - deadkennedys. What's this called? Not quite a pyrrhic victory. Maybe just Murphy's law. Anyway fuck what was I talking about. This is sad, I'm listening to The Fall's live album (er, one of them, Part of America Therein, 1981 - twenty years old!) and realize I'm going to be missing them tonight - how could I miss getting tickets for the fucking FALL?! Then again, Mark E. is pretty damn old, and ravaged, visibly, so I'm just gonna pull the sour grapes attitude. Like they'd play Prole Art Threat anyway. Like they'd play Older Lover. Or Barmy. *sigh* So...
Art gallery reception thing for Brooke and Jillian and a host of others, most represented at Tunnel Top the week before, that was saturday night. Lots of fab snapshots taken, lots of booze consumed. A great time, no doubt, and talent hanging from the walls apparent once again. Hop skippenna jump over to Tango Tango, where world class lesbian karaoke night rocked the scene. Mason, my boss, was there with her girlfriend, and I think her words verbatim upon seeing me, delivered with a discernible surprised smirk, were "what the fuck are you doing here?" I had gotten there kinda late, and thus the friend I was supposed to meet there had already split, so my explanation was taken with a grain of salt - how often does a single boy crash a party of nothing but drunken, mic-rocking girls who like girls? The sympathy was free flowing as she bought me beer after beer. Again, lots of fab snapshots taken, lots of booze consumed. What else to do? My spin on the karaoke machine turned out an absolutely appalling "China Girl", much much much more repellent than the last time I tried tackling that tune. Oh baby just you shut yr mouse. Every time I get ready to do that song, I forget I'm going to be crooning the words "marlon", "brando", and "swastikas", and it always surprises me when they come up on the monitor.
Sunday really kicked my arse, and I think I told everyone that I honestly felt drunk still from the night before - the dizziness was pulling my brain along like an A.D.D. child carting my ass in a rickshaw at Disneyland. And it wasn't like I was waiting for the dizziness to vanish before I could start drinking again, it just occurred coincidentally - as soon as Brooke showed up I forgot all about my condition and we started on yet another trailblazing round of alcohol mayhem. Once again Chris brought his friend Joshua to the Stud (he'd previously accompanied Chris to that Entartete Kunst show that me and China played at) for Death Rock Booty Call, and the usual cast of scenesters made the rounds, like that girl with *that haircut*, you know the one, doctor everything'll be allright, is it a mullet? It's like so unhip it's hip, or something, I can't even describe it, you've just got to see it. I know I'm making it seem important, like snacks or advertising, but really what else is there to talk about. Don't worry, there won't be a test. Four rounds of Jack on the rocks for me and Bacardi and coke for her depleted the funds, but we still had enough quarters for two games of pool, both of which she kicked my sorry ass at, although I did win one by default cos she scratched on an attempt at the 8-Ball. All in all one of the most enjoyable nights in recent memory, even though we didn't dance.
Breakfast monday again at the Golden, which is starting to become a tradition for both me and Jillian, who was there again with the asian boy on break from her 9:00 printing class. Back home, and back to the journal which I believe brings shit up to date. I'm going to put out a concerted effort to score a Fall ticket tonight on the street, for which I'm setting a limit at $25, no more. How could it sell out? China said we're better than Erase Errata, at least live, when she saw em open for Tracy and the Plastics. The record's great, if a little one-dimensional, and I've been looking forward to seeing them play, but now I'm worried. If they suck, and if the Fall suck, and I'm already ambivalent about the Evening, then maybe I should just hold onto that $25. But of course, I'd end up spending it on you know what: girls + booze. I can't believe anyone's still reading this. What more do you want to know. I haven't quit smoking. Think I'm gonna ride to Le Video to see if they have "Careful".