Hank Stuever, how I love thee. I know I am always posting links to articles by him, but that's because they are good, damn good, and I feel like no one reads them except people that read The Washington Post, but he is the best columnist ever, he almost makes me jealous with his wit, with his fun article ideas that are interesting ideas gone right, written wonderfully, makes me want to be a columnist. He is by far my favorite - I think his writing is top-notch, it always resonates with me in some big way, big time. It's because I remember Canterbury Lane, Bucknell Elementary and "rapist vans" - the windowless ones that did always circle the block, and hiding in the bushes with Michael, Evelyn and my sister whenever they passed, fearing our abductions. And Hank Stuever is so on pulse, always right on it, he remembers it, makes me remember it, and just read him. Here's the link.
In news directly relating to my life - the gossip, if you will - I am going to the Rainbow Room tonight with Bonnie to meet the PIRGers for sure and to hopefully also meet Giancarlo, who said he'd "try" to make it - whatever the fuck that means. I went to the Willy Street Co-op picnic tonight with Bonnie and ate brats, corn on the cob, and drank some beer, lusted after LoverBoy, checked out all the tough young moms with tattoos and bangs. They looked so cool, made me want to be a parent, made me want them for parents, made me not want to leave Madison in t-minus three days towards a town, an attempt at one, with no cool people, no cool places, no strong progressive community, perhaps even no community in the broader sense. And I am now downing a Jack and Vanilla Coke (which Bonnie wanted to try, and which is decent, but just makes me feel like a brand whore since it is the exact same thing as cream soda, it just has a Coke label on it and so it's "good", obviously - because it is a coke product, and yes I am a label whore, I really am enjoying it, probably more so than if I were drinking AnyBrand Cream Soda. There's something sick, something wrong with me, that the knowledge of a brand adds to the flavor, that the hype, the popularity of the drink makes it more enjoyable, makes me cool, part of a consuming public, part of something big, of something, anything, perhaps even making me slighty sexually aroused by the slight power trip of drinking name brand soda, the label moving through me, and yeah, I am drinking COKE. I'd like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony. I'd like to buy the world a Coke. And keep it company. Still remembering that song from the commercial, the little African kids singing it, the Asian ones, holding hands, smiling with Coke, the patronizing attempts at diversity, the appropriation of the idea, of the hope, to sell a soda product, perhaps ironically showing the homogenizing effects of multinational corporations, an economic imperialism/colonialism. The commercial played so many times during Live Aid, which my dad taped, and which he occasionally watched (the whole tapes, the performers, not the Coke commericals in between) for years afterwards, well into when I was in high school. I think I liked the commercial, the song more so than the actual concert.)
Anyways, yeah, I am well on my way to drunk, am waiting for Bonnie to get here so that we can go out and get further drunk, and hopefully I will get some sex, some cock-sucking action from my current crush, my near obsession, a one Mister Giancarlo.