joel

Good lord, I try to not be one of those people that updates ten times a day with nothing new to say, but yet hear I go: I am in the library again, because Bonnie needed to come to finish a paper which she realizes now that she can't do, and so I have time to kill and will tell all you lucky readers about a boy named Joel.

Joel is from Wisconsin. He is in the Agriculture school like many people living in our house. Bonnie and I, were sitting on the couch in our room with the door open eating chips and salsa, when Joel (the star of this episode) sort of stood in our doorway with a huge goofy grin, staring at Bonnie, and making conversation with the two of us. This was weird because no one in this house so far, seems to be a big fan of interacting with each other, rather just staying in their rooms. It was even weirder because he was not talking for periods of time and just grinning like mad. And okay, Joel is hot. Red hot. As has already been mentioned, Joel is from Wisconsin, and so has the best Wisconsin accent in the world.

I asked him if he was a farmer boy. Bonnie later told me that this was slightly uncouth. He, however, said he was. That he was a dairy farmer. He was flirting with Bonnie so much and I was so in love with this boy. Joel. He's damn cute. Here's a little tidbit that Bonnie and I have discovered these past couple days: Wisconsin boys are the hottest boys in the USA. Perhaps this can be a Grain Silos song, a sort of remake of California Girls. Joel stood in our room, looking at our bookshelf while we were talking to him. Bonnie, later said, after he had left that perhaps our books revealed too much about our characters. She said this because he asked her if she was a vegetarian, I guess after seeing all her vegan cookbooks. After Bonnie made this comment, we looked at the books, and saw "History of Gay Literature," "Tripping" (some book about acid), gay photo books, Bonnie's books about adolescent sex, "X Rated Wines," etc. etc. But, Joel didn't seem to think less of us - he kept on smiling goofily until Bonnie said "It was nice meeting you," and as he left our room. He loved to smile, and God, what a cute smile. Bonnie is not so enamoured with this boy even though she very much should be, so she could smooch him, and I could get my kicks with Joel vicariously through her.

And the library is closing soon, which is good, so I end this little bit of nonsense that I really should not even post. Thankfully, this means I will not be able to post anymore silly posts, since we still have not figured out how to connect to the internet in our room.

cheese and alcohol - oh yeah, do we love Wisconsin

Wisconisin. I have made it unscratched. I got here in good ol' Madison sometime around four yesterday afternoon. Drove up with Bonnie from Atlanta - Bonnie almost killed us on the curves of North Georgia roads, we saw Nashville, glanced at the Grand Ol' Opry, decided it was not that grand, and then continued on our little road trip until we got to Marion, Illinois, where we rested for the night for the low low price of only 29.95 at the finest lodging establishment this side of the Mississippi, the Marion Motel. Drunken card games, bad movies on HBO, and even worse programming on the Travel Channel filled our night until at some point, we fell asleep. Not enough hours later, we woke up a little before eight, on our own accord, and headed out for Madison. And thank fucking god, we made it. So don't tell me what didn't fucking make it, says my favorite scene in one of my favorite movies - We fucking made it. We are here - we have arrived. Look out your window, Mikey, it's sunny every fucking day here. It's like Manifest Destiny.

Or maybe like Desinty's Child latest manifestion - that seventiesish little ditty that I heard on the pop station in DC before I left that made me happy happy happy. And wait, did I mention that I am here? That I have in fact made it, as they tend to say? So let me tell you about this place. That I have made it to. There are an insane amount of young people in this town. An insane amount. Seeing hundreds of my peers flowing through streets is something wonderful and yet also somewhat unsettling. For some reason, people in my own age group sort of intimidate me. That is why it is silghtly unsettling. But other than that, it is wonderful wonderful wonderful - knowing the potential that lies in these filled streets - in these boarding houses on these tree lined blocks. I feel as if I am on the edge of something amazing and glorious - like something big is about to happen and I am a part of this fermenting mass of kids in trendy clothes and tough airs, that regardless of that stuff, that silly stuff, that very silly stuff that will all do, that something is alive - that we are - me, you, she, he, all of us - we are going to put our hands to work and do something fantastic. Maybe today we will just rearrange furniture with our hands, and put clothes lying on the floor into drawers - but I can see the potential in all these hands - these young hands - the possibility that they could be on my skin, touching me in whatever way they felt like and which I consented to, touching you, touching us.

And, right now, Bonnie and I are in the computer lab in the school's big library, doing a little diary updating. Today, we sort of went jobhunting. And now we are tired, having just drank some very yummy fresh lemonade sitting in the school's little quad area, watching people pass by, on their way to do great things. The job prospects are not looking so hot for me right now. We went to this call center place that I guess takes messages for people, and applied for jobs, which involved a very tedious computer typing test, and grammer test, and spelling test - oh, and let's not forget the comprehesion test. I do not think I will be getting hired there for far too many reasons. Okay, so I was not in the most alert mode when I did all this, and did not realize that the typing speed test had started, or that what I was looking was the test - I just thought it was some long screen of directions that appeared before the actual test. And so, I read through the whole thing, and then sat and waited for the test to start, for the next screen to appear that would have the actual test. I sat some more, and then I realized that I am grade a sillly and saw the clock in the corner that was already on like two minutes, freaked out and started typing like a mad man. I got a measly 40 WPM. And let's not even talk about the comprehension test - let's just say I did not comprehend what I was supposed to do, and totally didn't do it. I have two applications that I am going to turn in tomorrow. One is from some pizza/bakery place on State Street and the other one is for a porn store also on State Street. After this, we are going to go to Whole Foods to see if they are hiring.

The house: It is not what Bonnie and I expected. Not a co-op by any stretch of the imagination, rather a weird frat-house sort of thing for agriculture students. There was a Hog Farmer's Weekly in our room. Yes folks, there really is such a magazine. But, I really love the house - our room has scary bunked beds that seem like they will collapse at any moment, green shag carpet, too many of Bonnie's clothes, and two window which somehow provide no cooling whatsoever to our room. Just our room. The entire house is cool and comfortable except for our room, which is always just a little too warm.

Um, I think that may be it for Madison updates as of now. Oh wait - cheese curds are the best damned cheese product in the world. And the ag. school is right by our house, and so their our grain silos right by our house and cows and horses, and it looks so weird because it's in the middle of what is a small city. And The Grain Silos is going to be the name of Bonnie and me's band, do you want to join? And there are so many cute boys here that I want to jump on and tackle in the streets. But, of course, as you may know, such things are pretty much not acceptable in most parts of the world. If not all.

don't you love it when the last song you hear in the car is a really good one?

With that and with this, I wondered if I could make it mean something. The "that" is the masturbation and the way it made me feel - "feeling like I don't even know what" - and that sad bracketed description leads into "this": The "this" is to accept the fact that in writing, it is not acceptable to say such things as "it made me feel like I don't even know what." Obviously I, as the writer, will have some sense of what that was intended to mean - the feeling to which it was meant to refer. But you, the reader, have no idea what the hell I meant - and even if you thought you did, more than likely it would be a misinterpretion. You would take that vagueness to mean one thing, while I had said it meaning something else entirely. And so, I'm going to from now on try to remember that the act of writing is an attempt to verbalize what was felt, instead of just giving up, citing the too oft spoken line that language is inadequate and can just never describe some things. And while that may very well be true - in fact, I guess it is - but whatever, that does not mean that we can not and should not strive to give the closest approximation to our experiences as possible. Otherwise, what is the fucking point?

And even if I do somehow manage to capture what has actually transpired in words, maybe even ones like these, that would not neccesarily preclude (mis)interpretation by you, the reader. And of course, there is all that reader response bullshit about the meaning of the work lying in each individual reader's interpretation of that piece of writing. And really, I don't even know what I am trying to say, because I totatlly do believe that that is the case - I am not trying to argue against literary theories that empower the reader - what I am trying to say is that for me, as a writer, for my own benefit (and directly stemming from that, the reader's benefit) - I need to be more explicit in my descriptions of how things personally affect me, instead of resorting to calling these things "indescribable" - because I mean really, what things are not indescribable? And if right now you are listing things that you think are not indescribable, then I think that you have your feet too firmly planted on the ground and need to recommune with this beautiful world and each of its parts, and realize that it is all indescribable.

And fuck, I am totatlly contradicting myself with each sentance. Okay, let's review:
1. Quit being too chicken to confront words and hogtie them until you get then to say what you are feeling.
2. And so, as should be obvious from that maxim, do not say things like, "It was so amazing - I cannot even desribe how it felt." Other phrases to avoid: "beyond words," "indescribable," and "words couldn't even describe it." I mean, duh - we all fucking know that...
3. every single thing is indescribable.
4. But, that is the purpose of writing - to try our damnest to put into words these things - so that the reading can serve as a sort of re-creation of how these things felt. Maybe even a re-creation of the event itself, in our secular longings for eternal life.

And goddamnit, we should be getting off on language. This is why I am in love with erotic writing, because it demands the participation of the audience in a way that no other type of writing even comes close to. When words can make you hot in the crotch, then that is fucking amazing.

Okay, we're going to perhaps contradict myself even more, because I have just been struck by some of the positive effects of vagueness in writing. To say transcendental things like "Words would fail miserably in attempting to describe the joy - the joy - the sheer fucking joy of self-pleasure" - I mean, to say something like that is sort of good in that by being so vague, you are also allowing for the reader to attach their own feelings of "indescribableness" to the moment. As opposed to a very detailed description of the joys of masturbation, which in its detailedness, may seem alien to most readers who do not relate the described feelings at all. By being so vague, a very broad interpretation of meaning is possible, in which every reader's feelings are accepted with open arms - the vagueness of the writing serves as a democratic force, taking in all the readers and their interpretations.

And really, I did not mean to write any of this. I sat down meaning to talk about my day, which included two instances of masturbation, lots of packing, and just general tiredness. Tomorrow I have to wake up at 7:30 to assist my mom in moving furniture to her new house. I really dread waking up in the morning, and am so not looking forward to spending the whole day moving shit in the heat with other people.

The other thing which I had intended to write about was a place called the American Road, and about how excited I am that on Monday, I will fly into Atlanta, hopefully be picked up by Bonnie, and drive to Madison, Wisconsin. This will probably be my last entry until I am settled into Madison since tomorrow morning, bright and motherfucking goddman early, I will be disassembling this computer and sticking it into a big moving van. And so good-bye Virginia and Route One, which I have just realized is perhaps one of the most amazing, beautiful stretches of road I have ever seen. Or at least, the ugliest - which is very often translated to mean "character" - which to me means fucking beautiful. Good-bye Ty and Mary. Ty, I could do without seeing you ever again. Mary, I sometimes dream of rescuing you and turning you into the benign person underneath all that Mac makeup you sell. Good-bye. Good-bye Eastern Market, and rushing past Yes, scared to show my face. Good-bye Sarah. And related to that, good-bye Starbucks, Kingstown parking lots, cute lesbians, maybe even devastingly cute. Good-bye free ice cream from Ben and Jerrys. Good-bye Dad, you I will not miss, not at all, only the memorey that I used to have of you. Good-bye Mom and your excessive kindness that always makes me feel loved. Good-bye Jamie and your pigginess in the bathroom. Good-bye to that really hot sculpture in front of the Library of Congress, that makes me "hot to trot." Good-bye muscular boys with nice penises at Wet. Good-bye Rebecca. Good-bye Metro escalators that stretch on for eternitys. Good-bye CityPaper and articles by Hank Stuever in the Post. Good-bye scent of honeysuckles.

And as they say at the end of the opening theme song to "That 70's Show":

Hello Wisconsin!!!

Prince wants to be the only one you cum for

Sometimes you're motivated to attempt to write something meaningful and other days, you're too tired and not with it to do it, but yet still, on these days, I end up writing something anyways even though nine times out of ten, it is crap. Today is one of those days - where I just feel the sick urge to document what I did today.

Woke up at noonish, lied in bed and masturbated for about an hour. Then took a shower and started to pack up my room. Called Hour Eyes and bitched about this crappy contacts they tried to give me. Talked to no joke, three different people before talking to the store manager who was a lot more helpful and told me to come in tomorrow and switch them, but doubtless there will be problems and more arguing with these twelve year olds in labcoats when I go in there. Tonight, I met Rebecca at Eastern Market and we walked to the Library of Congress, where we watched Johnny Guitar, this crazy 50sish western, with two out of control women as the main people instead of men. Emma was nutso and out for blood and it was so good. The dialogue is so good and so not what I thought a 1954 movie could do - but wow, wow, wow - some of those lines are just too good to be true. The movie is basically a flim verson of Susan Faludi's Stiffed, showing an emasculated American male that doesn't really know what his place is in a world where women also have power. The female characters in this movie are so kick-ass - damn, it was such a good movie. The movie was the best movie I have seen in the past couple weeks, and that is saying a lot, since working at Blockbuster, I watched so many movies. And then I came home, ate some Taco Bell, watched Seinfeld, and am now about to masturbate and go to bed. The circle of life as our friend Simba would say.

slippery when wet

My bag is tough. Tougher than Glad tough. And why the fuck did someone ever think that it was a good idea to name a trash bag company Glad? Are you ever glad about trash bags? Maybe you are, or maybe like me, you are a sensible individual who finds pleasure in meaningful things like making fun of what trash bags are called. Whatever, in fact, I really could care less what you thought about trash bags. What I was talking about before I sidetracked myself was my backpack. It's tough. Glad tough. It could kick your ass. And your grandma's in a thumbwrestling match. Even though my bag doesn't even have thumbs - it's that fucking tough, is what I am trying to say.

I sometimes refer to it as my Mary Poppins bag for its magical ability to fit so much stolen loot inside of it. This is just one thing that makes it tough. The other thing is its ability to withstand spill after spill and still not smell yucky. So many things have exploded in my backpack. I have had countless bottles of lotion explode in it. And you know what? It keeps on fucking trucking. Countless bottles of water have turned into countless empty bottles in this bag, spilling water all over the fucking place. A couple months ago, I was bringing home a box of chocolate soy milk in my bag on the metro ride home, and the shit spilled all over the place and leaked all the way home.

But, the bag survived. It always does. It survived to serve me well today when I stole two Zero7 cds from Starbucks for Sarah and I. It was equally tough, if not more so, when I stole a bottle of Cab, two wine glasses, and a bottle opener from World Market. After eating at the food court at the mall, we went to put these stolen products to use. I carried in them in my tough, tough bag to the kid's park where we were going to drink it and play on playground equipment that would most likely be too small for us. At the playground, we opened the Cab, poured it into glasses and began to drink it, as we swung from the swings, smelling the crisp, unseasonably chilly air that smelled alternatly of honeysuckle and sewage. Thankfully, for the most part, it smelled like honeysuckle, that beautiful smell that isVirginia. No smell brings me back to childhood, nearly as much as that smell - of running through the woods, of pulling the flowers off of fences and sucking out the sweet honey. The smell was so dominant and so lovely. And combined with the swinging motion and the pleasant effects of the Cab on our reaction time, it was pure heaven. The sky was clear and I swung and swung as high as I could, shaking the swingset, looking up when I would reach the peak of my swinging arc, at the sky, the beautiful night sky, void of streetlights, teeny flickering stars calling me home, reassuring me nothing bad could ever happen to me or to you or to any of us. And I swung higher and higher, getting dizzier each time, laughing at the craziness of it all, knowing that I knew nothing except how to laugh, and loving that realization, swinging back and forth, revelling in my mobility - my living. And did I mention those stars? God, they were wonderful. Fuck it, they were God - who am I referring to? They were the world, my existence - and I wanted to get closer to swing my way into them - and so what if there It fucking looked close enough, and so I swung higher and higher towards what I thought could be my salvation.

And then, a car pulled up behind us at the back entrance to the park and it had its headlights shining. And I pointed it out to Sarah, and then we began to wonder if it was a cop. And I saw him get out and shine his flashlight, and I was up quicker then I don't know what, pouring my Cab out of my glass and rushing to put the bottle of wine in my bag. Sarah was buzzed and pretty much oblivious to the possible severity of the situation. When she saw me scurrying to conceal the alcohol, then she realized that it was a cop and now there were two cars, and she went and hid behind a slide. I walked over to where she was with my bag on my back, and fucking shit, don't tell me I did. Fuck yes, I did! Goddamnit. Not you stars, that other thing, you know? I had thrown an unsecurley corked bottle of wine into my tough, tough bag and the bottle spilled all over my bag.

The cops didn't even walk up to the park, they just fucking left, and I had spilled all this wine all over my fucking bag. Upsetting for two reasons. One, being that I had spilled wine all over everything in my bag. And two, being that I had spilled the fucking wine that was so good and that I wanted to drink barrels of. A little bit had managed to remain in the bottle and we got back on the swings and drank the remaining wine, then buzzed from the wine and the swinging, we played on slides and horses and ducks and generally had all sorts of fun, remembering what exactly was so fun about being a kid, and going down a slide feeling like you are living in the end times, sliding down Niagra Falls or something much larger than yourself and the four foot tall plastic slide - that you were doing something amazing - but you weren't just thinking you were, you fucking were doing something godly. No one can tell me what we were doing was not utterly amazing. Well they can, but that doesn't mean I can't and won't tell them to fuck off.

Then I convinced Sarah to come to Wet with me, since I really wanted to go before I left for Madison, and since I especially wanted to go since it was Amateur Night, which is always red hot with lots of guys getting up to strip naked. Lots with hard cocks. And so, we were off to Wet, me so so excited about seeing naked boys. Of course, there were problems getting there, since me and DC roads are not the best of friends. We were forced off on to the totally wrong exit which ended up taking us almost to Maryland, forcing us to backtrack and wander around DC streets for too long before I spotted the Capital which we drove to, since I know how to get anywhere from the Capital (my one talent). We finally get there, and when we do, lots of people are exiting the club which makes me sad because that obviously means that we missed the contest, which was the main reason that I was so insistent that we go tonight.

We got in there and I was in heaven. The stars may have been God, but this kids, was fucking heaven. Cute, young boys all over the place, and cocks in your face. Dancers wearing nothing but socks dancing on the bar. People, I am a pervert, and am really obsessed with Wet - I love watching naked guys for a couple of hours - it is quite possibly my favorite thing. We sat on some empty sidestage until two naked dancers with the biggest cocks in the world started dancing on it right behind us. We stood for a while by the bar, until feeling awkward, found an empty table in an empty corner. We didn't care, we really weren't there to socialize. Or at least I wasn't - I was there to be a voyeur. I really cannot say what Sarah's reasons were other than that she is the nicest fag hag ever for coming with me since otherwise I probably would have not gone. The dancers really weren't that exciting tonight. Normally, they have big, erect cocks that they play with. Tonight, all of the dancers were soft and small - but they had red hot bodies and ear to ear smiles that more then compensated. Except for of course, the aforementioned guys with the hugest dicks I've ever seen dancing behind us. And then later in the night, one of the dancers had the hugest erection ever, showing the miracle and wonder of the penis for its magical ability to morph from something ordinary into something extraordinary. Mighty Morphin indeed. And the club showed their love of this miracle, as he was surrounded by gawking guys looking at something that they had not seen on that stage all night, or at least, since we had been there - we missed the amateur contest, where there were doubtless, mucho mucho hard cocks. But this kids hard cock was so pretty and so straight up. It wasn't a horizontal erect one, it was almost perfectly vertical, and we were in love. We were all those ancient civilizations that worshipped the phallus and Priapus - we knew that we were witnessing God. God is everywhere you know, not just in the stars. It's in every single erect cock, and round, bent over ass, and in every stroked calf prior to sticking a dollar in someones sock. And it's here in these headphones, and you are witnessing it now too. Touch yourself and have your own communion right now - direct religious experience. I plan on doing so as soon as I finish babbling - masturbating to recalled images stored from Wet.

I had Sarah buy me a drink, which was strong as hell and made me even more tipsy then I had already been from all the swinging and swiging. I decided that I was in love with a boy named Nicholas. Nicholas. That's really what he said his name was. Not Nick, but Nicholas. He came to our lonely little corner and started talking to me, making my night. Okay, I'm a big loser and was real excited by this, because boys never ever ever ever (and one more) ever hit on me. And the ones that do are never exciting, but this boy was so so cute. He's a grad student at Catholic Univeristy, and ahhh - he was so fucking cute, and so nice - and I really wish that I would have gone to some gay clubs earlier, instead of less than a week before I go to Madison.

And the other weird thing about tonight, is that normally Wet it is not a hot spot rife with cute, young boys - normally it leans sort of heavy on the dirty old man side - but tonight the place was filled with hot hot young guys - and I was dying, grabbing Sarah's leg to squeeze it when I what I really wanted to squeeze was boy after boy after hot boy. Nicholas tends bar on Mondays and Thursdays and wanted me to come visit him - how fucking sad - that I could not have meet this nice boy earlier. Then LaTroya, the resident drag queen, came over and said hi to us.

Earlier Sarah and I had been talking about how hot she looked, and so when she came over, I told her this. Or maybe I told her that Sarah had thought so. That Sarah thought that she was red hot and said she wanted to marry her. LaTroya, then started playing with Sarah's hair, giving her advice for a makeover, and then I decided that we should share our red hot cheer with LaTroya. I told LaTroya that we had a cheer about her, and Sarah looked so confused so I briefly reminded her, but then a few seconds later when it was performance time, she got a little stage fright and I was left there chanting by myself. R-E-D-H-O-T. RED HOT. RED HOT. R-E-D-H-O-T. RED HOT. RED HOT. WHOOO!

She liked it a lot and gave both of us a big kiss on the cheek and then advised me to hide the big X's on my hand when I was drinking. She was so cool. Me and Sarah were in love with her. I was also in love with Nicholas and was still so so excited. And hello, don't forget the fact that there are naked boys dancing with their cocks in our face, showing us their Gods - their beautiful bodies. And god, fucking god, I love Wet - why didn't I go more while I was at home - I think watching naked boys may very well be my favorite activity. And when we left the club, two guys approached us, asking for money for booze, I gave each of them a dollar. They asked for another one, saying that two dollars could buy them a joint. I laughed and told them that I was trying to save money. They said, "That's cool. We understand. You're with your girl." And I just left a gay club with a dyke and I was with my girl, and lovely lovely lovely, the world is the funniest place. And so, I laughed and told them to have a good night. But I didn't say "have a good night guys" as merely a parting expression. No, no, it was advice, maybe even an ultimatium from learned experience, from having such a good night, I wanted everyone to have one - to love this moment under these stars and to have a good fucking night.

formerly blank tape #3

Madison or Bust #3
Side A
B-52’s - Roam
James Brown – I Feel Good
Bob Seger – Old Time Rock n Roll
Frankie Goes to Hollywood - Relax
Madonna – Into the Groove
Sublime – What I Got
Bob Marley – Mr. Brown
Roots - Dynamite
Curtis Mayfield – Move on Up
Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons – Dec, 1963
NIN – The Perfect Drug
Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys – Roly Poly
Paula Poundstone sketch
Chemical Brothers – Lost in the K-Hole
Jurassic 5 – Concrete Schoolyard
Quiet Riot – Cum on Feel the Noise
Utsumi - Candomble

Side B
Faint – Worked up so Sexual
Alanis – You Oughta Know
TCR – Butterflies
Marvin Gaye – Mercy, Mercy Me
Roots – Love of my Life
Mos Def – Umi Says
Pharcyde – Round and Round
Grand Puba – I like It
Michael Jackson – Billie Jean
Pearl Jam - Daughter
Le Tigre – My Art
Le Tigre – Keep on Livin
Bruce Sprinsteen – Born to Run
Cure – Inbetween Days
Common – The Light

my sister made some reference to all the butch girls at her work and sarah laughed for a couple of reasons

Let's see. Sunday, I quit working at Blockbuster. Called them up, told them I had to quit, that I was moving to Wisconsin in two days, and needed to pack. Chris responded with a Huh? said in the form of an unsure "Okay..." And I said good-bye.

Good-bye Blockbuster. Good-bye shitty job with shitty pay and even shittier hours. Good-bye Chris, and your ponytail, and your two litter bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper. Good-bye people who look lovely and could probably still be saved, but do stupid stuff like check out lame movies. Good-bye XXL long-sleeve tucked in shirt. Good-bye to people that don't fucking know better, that I'd like to show naughty things. Good-bye you and your stupid, is that a credit or debit card. Good-bye to it all. To all the fucking spiritually debilitating aspects of Blockbuster. Here's your shirt and your Lost Boys video back, now go shove them up your khakied ass and try to get off on it - try your damned hardest to experience the touch of something against your skin and wonder what exactly that means. Talk about the awesome shots when you recommend it to whatever customer asks you for a good movie to rent, reference other films, other directors of movies you saw when you should have been masturbating, and make that sell. Impress upon them, upon me, and upon yourself that you are culturally savy, and do it all with a smile. Because that, after all, is what customer service is about. Good fucking bye Blockbuster. Oh, and thanks for the free rentals.

***********************
Today, I spent at least four hours in the car. I know this because I listened to both of mix tapes all the way through and started to listen to the first one again. This morning, I went out to Springfield to go the dermatoligist. I then came home, picked up my sister, and dropped my sister off at work at Ben and Jerry's in Old Town. Then, I was off down Duke Street to the Alexandria Library to return the oodles of books I had been keeping of theirs. Then, further down Duke Street to Fresh Feilds, so I could buy some Dr. Brommers peppermint soap and deodorent. Then, back home, where I masturbated with the house to myself. Took a shower with the new soap. Dried off feeling so fresh and so clean clean as my friends Outkast would say, and headed off towards Kingstown to meet Sarah for coffee.

I talked to Sarah for so long there, about stuff which I now cannot even remember, it seeming so long ago. But, I remember that I was having fun and feeling comfortable, so it must have been a good conversation. Then she came with me to pick my sister up from work. My sister brought me some ice cream, which I devoured, it being so so yummy. Dropped sister back at home, and then headed to Tower Records with Sarah out near Landmark.

Inside Tower, we start looking at the magazines, and what do I see? Muffy! for fuck's sake. I screamed with delight and ran and showed it to Sarah, so so surprised to see this New College magazine for sale in this huge chain store deep in suburban Virginia. Still so so excited, I went through the magazine page by page, pointing out all the pictures to Sarah, telling her about "the indie kids." This sparked by the band pictures of LOB and Sam. I gushed at the Sam picture about how cute he was and how my roommate and I both had a crush on him. And, I remembered how much fun it all was. Memories of running around B-dorm with a huge, gross candle and making asses out of ourselves. And that was just one thing. There were so many. I think Sarah was kind of bored by my excitement about Muffy, but seeing it just made me so NC homesick, thinking of so many wonderful people.

Then I bought Bruce Springsteen's Nerbraska and Rufus Wainwright's Poses. Sarah knew one of the employee's and so we got a huge discount which was so sweeet. And that "sweet" didn't translate to well to print and perhaps that's a good thing. It was one of those long, extended sweeeets that stoner characters say in movies a lot. And so, really I don't know why I said it other then to be funny, and quite honestly I feel that you did not pick up on that humor at all and if anything, are probably a little annoyed by this attempt to explain why this usage of "sweeet" was humorous. But, you know what? If that's the case, then you can go fuck yourself with a Blockbuster shirt and a Lost Boys video, too. Anyone that gets in my way tonight can go fucking do that. I am in a feisty mood.

Fuck that. Not really. I lied - I'm in a tired mood. I listend to Poses and it put me to sleep. I just woke up right before I started writing this. Lullabies are always nice. And I sort of feel like going back into that state of sleep. And so, this is the end. -- Do you think that if I go to bed listening to Nerbraska, I will have really scary nightmares? I feel like I already may have them since I spent so much time reading online about Charlie Starkweather, and have read all the lyrics and now realize what a creepy album this is. But, nightmares may be fun. Take your kicks wherever you can get them.

two formerly blank tapes

Madison or Bust 1
Side A
John Mayer – No Such Thing
Police – Message in a Bottle
Joni Mitchell - California
Mr. Big – Be With You
Destiny’s Child - Bootylicious
80’s – I Think We’re Alone Now
David Bowie – Young Americans
Strokes – Barely Legal
Bjork – I Miss You
Led Zepplin – Bron-yr-aur
Zepplin – Down by the Seaside
Os Mutantes - Baby
D’Angelo – Devil’s Pie
Jack Johnson – Middle Man
Faint – Call Call
Dusty Springfield - Spooky
Herbie Hancock - Cantaloupe

Side B
Soul Coughing – Mezzanine
Soul Coughing – Soft Serve
Buju Banton – Champion (remix)
Duran Duran – Come Undone
Neil Diamond – Sweet Caroline
Violent Femmes – American Music
Outkast – Da Art of Storytelling
Lauryn Hill – Every Ghetto, Every City
Orb – Little Fluffy Clouds
Beatles – Drive My Car
OMD –If You Leave
Cure – The Caterpillar
Ben Harper – Gold to Me
Common – The Sixth Sense
Bad Company – Feel Like Making Love
Everly Brothers – All I Have to Do is Dream
Jen and the Holograms – I Believe in Happy Endings

Madison or Bust #2
Side A
Tom Waits – Chocolate Jesus
AVP – Come on Eileen
Rancid – Ruby Soho
Bright Eyes – It’s Cool, We Can Still be Friends
Get Up Kids – I’m a Loner Dottie
Billy Joel – Only the Good Die Young
Cake – Rock n Roll Lifestyle
Blacalicious – Rock the Spot
Prince – When Doves Cry
Joni Mitchell – Yellow Taxi Cab
Take on Me (punk cover)
G. Love – This Ain’t Living
Zepplin – All of My Love
John Mellencamp – Jack and Diane
John Mayer – Why did you mess with forever?
P5 - Roma

Side B
Ani Difranco – Out of Habit
Ani Difranco – Pale Purple
Kasey Chambers – A Little Bit Lonesome
Gillian Welch – Elvis Presley Blues
Cranberries - Dreams
Moby – In this World
Moby – In my Heart
Faint – Your Retro Career Melted
Le Tigre – FYR
Mr. T Experience – Don’t Go Breaking My Heart
Green Day - Longview
Bob Marley – Redemption Song
Bjork – Army of Me
Bruce Springsteen – Dancing in the Dark
Depeche Mode – Enjoy the Silence
Guns N’ Roses – Don’t Cry
Guns N’ Roses - You Ain't the Firstt

blank tapes

In an unbelievable turn of events, Amelie has died. The stolen video which caused so much drama for me at Blockbuster is broken before I got to watch it even once. My sister watched it sometime yesterday. That is what happened to it. My sister is a gorilla in the china closet. She doesn't mean to, but she always breaks everything. Scratches CDs, breaks headphones, crashes cars, breaks dishes all the time, spills stuff, uses up every single bathroom product within days of coming back home, and now she has somehow managed to destroy a brand new fucking video tape. The fucking video tape, Tommy? The fucking video tape!

After SNL tonight, I thought I would settle into loveliness and watch Amelie. I stick the video in the VCR but it doesn't play - it just ejects it. I try again. But it just ejects it again. And again. I try rewinding it. Doesn't work. Fast forwarding it. Also does not work. I then look at the tape and see that the ribbon is all funky in one part. I thought I could fix this by just pulling the ribbon out. Well, appearantly this is not the way to go about such things, because I ended up ripping the ribbon in half and now the stupid video will never play. And there is something entirely too emblematic about this whole thing.

**********************
William called me this afternoon to get me to try to do something with him. I really didn't want to since I'm leaving next Monday and really don't see the fucking point, and do not feel like spending my few days left here with people that I don't even like that much. There are too many people I like that I need to see again before I leave. But of course, "what howls restrained by decorum," I civilly made up some nice excuse about how it was a rainy day and I just felt like kicking it in my pjs and packing up since my mom is moving. But the dumb boy would not accept this answer and kept on persisting - asking if he could come help me pack - if I wanted to come over to his house and watch a movie - and on and on, with me telling him the same thing over and over again for at least ten minutes, no fucking joke. I was looking for any escape to get off the phone with him, but just as I would try to bring the conversation to some finality, he would again propose some new suggestion. It was so weird for numerous reasons. One among them being that I felt in the wrong position - never having to be in the postition before to turn someone down - normally I am the turned down and so it just felt so weird. And besides that, he was being fucking scary about it. The second I got off the phone with him, I called Sarah before he would have a chance to, so that I could talk to her about how weird it was. I then talked to her for too long about it, complaining about what a nutcase that boy is. And then I got off the phone with her and saw that there was a message on the voicemail. And it was Rebecca! And I was so fucking pissed that I spent all that time on the phone with William because I could have talked to Rebecca and she left like a three minute message but of course failed to leave a number where I could call her back, and it didn't show up on the caller ID since I was on the phone with that stupid boy.

Oh, tomorrow I may further add to my reputation as the Worst Worker Ever. I still have not told Blockbuster that I am quitting and they only have me on the schedule for ten hours this week, three of them tomorrow. I really am thinking about calling in the morning and just quitting since ten hours seems worthless to me and I really don't feel like working there for one more second. The only thing that is holding me back is the free videos. I really want to get the five free rentals for next week, which I won't be able to do if I quit tomorrow. The difficult decisions retail workers are faced with.

Tonight, I went to Wal-Mart and purchased a four pack of 120 minute cassettes and stole the new Moby CD, which I listened to in Borders yesterday and loved. Even though I feel the urge to kick in Moby's bald head every time I see the little media whore in his clunky glasses talking all soft to whomever, I really do love his albums. It's so disconcerting though to hear the songs on every commercial, but yeah - I really enjoy the album a lot. And the blank tapes are going to be made into good ol' fashioned road trip mixtapes for the long drive from Atlanta to Madison that will happen in t-minus eight days.

the big two double ohb

Is it just me or did we have a moment?
No, it is not just you. It never is. We sure as hell did have a moment. Let us be aware that we are having a moment every fucking single moment of our lives. And yeah, that's a well duh sort of thing to say, but I like saying well duh sorts of things.

Who do you think will marry Rachel?
Well, I hope she will marry Ross because he's such a cute guy, but I feel like she may end up marrying Joey just because the world is like that. Or, at least in situational comedies they have a habit of being predictable in their unpredictableness.

Do you know what the bases are, when you are smooching someone?
I honestly have no fucking clue.

What was your favorite album when you were in ninth grade?
Under the Table and Dreaming, which I still love no matter how much of a dork it makes me seem to like Dave Matthews.

Do you wear your seatbelt?
All the time.

Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?
Why hell, I try to do that every time the moonlight is pale.

When was the first time you looked at porn?
It was probably third or fourth grade when I started to hang out at Bobby Wozniak's house, whose mom for some reason subscribed him to all these porn magazines.

How many people of color do you typically see at bowling alleys?
Typically, I don't go to bowling alleys.

What is your favorite song lyric?
Oh, now this one's a tough one. There are so so many and to choose just one seems to involve a little more effort than I am willing to commit to right now. So, here a few of them: I remember back when we started, my kisses used to turn you inside out -Bruce Springsteen
Hold on to sixteen as long as you can, changes come around real soon, make us woman and man -John Mellencamp
I want my old friends, I want my old mind, I want my old life, fuck this time and place-Ani Difranco
If revolution had a movie, I'd be theme music - my music, you either fight, fuck, or dream to it - Common
People talk about hip-hop like it's some giant livin in the hillside comin down to visit the townspeople, we are hip-hop - me, you, everybody, we are hip-hop, so hip-hop is goin where we goin, so the next time you ask yourself where hip-hop is goin, ask yourself.. where am I goin? How am I doin? -Mos Def
Cause those are your arms and that is your heart and no, no, they can't tear you apart -Le Tigre

Okay, I am real bad with choosing one of anything. I stopped for no good reason, just because I thought that my list was already getting a bit out of control since I was supposed to list "my favorite." I'm real bad with "favorites" questions. And so, let's just ask two more to make things easy for me.

What are your favorite pizza toppings?
Onions and olives.

Favorite day of the week?
Sunday.

Why are you so boy-crazy?
I think it’s because I’ve never been in a relationship, and so I can mytholigize it [having a boyfriend, that is] into this thing that would seem to hold the key to my happiness. Of course, it probably wouldn’t, but you know, who cares, because it’s the yearning for something that is also fun. Even if I never ever touch a boy again, I still can find excitement in the wanting of one. And besides all this crap, there’s the fact that it has been far far too long since I have gotten some action. We are talking over a year now. And so, go fuck yourself with your why are you so boy-crazy questions. Why the fuck do you think?

What are you insecure about?
Talking to gay boys. Talking in general - I am very aware of my high, shrill voice, and am hesitant about talking out loud to people I don’t know. My acne. Talking to people about my dad. My manliness, or perhaps more accurately, my absence thereof – as a fag, I sometimes squirm when someone refers to me as effeminate.

What do you want to be when you grow-up?
I don’t really know, but I sort of hate working, so something that involves little interaction with other people and even less manual labor.

If you could be doing anything you wanted right now, what would it be?
Swimming in some body of water. Preferably, a warm one with big waves.

How do you envision yourself in middle-age?
Sadly, I predict, a lonely spinster, living by myself, reading too much, trying to find love and companionship in pet dogs and in sad attempts to engage cashiers in conversation at grocery stores.

What attracts you to a person?
A smile that seems like it is breaking free from a restrained person. A smile that can't be contained.

Do you know how to change a tire?
Hells no.

Blondes or brunettes?
It’s all about the brown hair. Jimmy Fallon. Marky Mark. Brown is beautiful.

What do you think about when you masturbate?
I think about people I know or have known, maybe even you, boys mainly, having sex, or treating me like shit.

When were you born?
June 12, 1981. Year of the cock. And a Gemini.

Do you believe in horoscopes?
I can say no, but the fact is I do read them often, and so I’ll be honest and say yes.

What do you want?
Hot sex. Eternal life. Enough money to not have to work. Knowledge of everything, good posture, and a huge cock.

What do you tell people you want?
Taco Bell.

What’s a secret about yourself that you don’t tell anyone?
Well if I told you, then it wouldn’t be a secret, now would it?

If you were selected as Miss America, what would you do to help create world peace?
Give the world a coke and teach everyone to sing in perfect harmony.

What advice do you have for the youth?
Love it. Every fucking single moment. We did have them. We are having them. And we will have them forever, until our bodies decompose back into Earth, and until then, fucking dance the night away. Light fires all over town. Rip leaves from tree branches that are within arms reach. Touch everything within arms reach. Touch everything that’s not.