I have no self-control whatsoever when I have booze in my system. Example A: Last night.
I went to go see Avenue D perform at the Cock but not before comsuming an insane amount of rum at the Phoenix. Once at the Cock, I consumed an equally, if not more so, amount of rum because, hey, there was an open bar for an hour, and so why not consume an additional four drinks in the span of an hour?
The night was a blur of events, and really I think that is how I like to experience my events, when they are a blur of noise, dancing, movement, and bodies. The sound system was not up to par for Avenue D's peformance, which I was worried about before hand. But they were still fun to see. The rest is in fragments that I recalled this morning when I woke up, feeling incredibly silly about some of them. Why did I kiss my doom and gloom co-worker Will? And yes, I do feel like I had his cock in my hand for a moment or so. Oh, that's going to be weird seeing him. There was contact with a couple of other boys. Comments from Daniel, Ben's boyfriend, about how he thinks Ben has the hots for me. And he said it jokingly, but I think he was perhaps serious. And to distinguish between Bens here, this is the New York Ben that I have an insane crush on that was being talked about. Not Ben from Sarasota, another crush who was in attendance last night also at the Cock, and it was not a big deal at all. I was excited to see him, to see a familiar face from Florida. Dancing, way too much booze, and going into work with a hangover -- when should this cycle start to worry me? Right now, I could ask for nothing more, except perhaps a better job to go into with a hangover.
Tuesday, December 16, 2003
Saturday, December 13, 2003
Galleries were fun, amazing, and more fun. Marcel Dzama show was mind-blowingly good. Rev. Billy performance was good for so many reasons. Mainly, that it was a New Press X-Mas party and I ran into Izzy and drank way too much free booze, and hit on a boy who looked like Mr. Bean and whose name was Gabriel. Hit on an orange-mohaked boy also. Exchanged air kisses with mohawk boy. Rode home before midnight, Cinderella, Cinderella, catching the last L train before it shut down for the weekend, riding with Peter and running into my manager from Borders in Arlington, Virginia in 1999. Crazy small world. And he made some comment about how everyone that worked there was gay. And my bookstore manager from Virginia from 1999, I ran into on the L train. Fucking fucking small world. Time to write some missed connections. Gabe and mohawk boy.
Friday, December 12, 2003
I am going to blame it on Le Tigre. You see, I was listening to them all day long yesterday thanks to the discman technology, and it got me fired up about a lot of stuff. I went gallery hopping last night in Chelsea with Peter and ran into Daniel and Ben while out. We were at the Kashya Hildebrand gallery, and I asked Peter what he thought of the work, because really, I didn't like it, and I wanted confirmation that this dislike was mutual and was hoping that someone could perhaps articulate my dislike of the work. Peter said he didn't like it, and that the work was "feminine." I reacted probably more strongly than I should have about the adjective choice and I think pissed Peter off a little. It's hard when your friends that you like and respect say something that you find offensive, because tension invariably is the result of trying to discuss the offense. But, I think that it is good to have these conversations with friends, that it does establish some bounds for each of you to be aware of. I just need to work on being more delicate in discussing these subjects so I don't alienate people that I like, that I instead can hopefully by being delicate show them why I take offense to certain things, certain habits of speech.
We then went to other galleries and downed more free wine, both of which helped to alleviate the tension, being away from the art that neither of us really liked that much and that set off a tense discussion about gender, and also having more wine to wash away the tension that I was perceiving. We then went and saw two photography shows, the Joe Deal show, which was amazing, and the Robert McCann show, which I also found to be pretty awesome. And I am sure my enjoyment of these two so much had a lot to do with receiving them right after the Thierry Feuz show which I did not like much, but I am also convinced that it had a lot to do with the pretty much insane quantities of wine that I had consumed by this point in the evening. Being inebriated really does remove some of the self-imposed boundaries that we have. This is obviously why dancing like a maniac and making out with people tends to occur when you are drunk, and this is all well-known, but alcohol also removes those boundaries that exist when you are engaged with a work of art. You allow it to possess a meaning that you otherwise would be to socially aware of how you are being perceived to grant it, and usually that awareness of how you are being perceived is you perceiving yourself, too distanced by levels of awareness to engage with the piece on any meaningful level.
It also probably had a lot to do with these two being photo shows. I wonder if I had lived in a pre-photography era if I would have had a more engaged interaction with painting, because as it is now, I find it much harder to be wowed by painting than it is to be wowed by photography. Peter, Daniel, and I then trotted off to SoHo to see the D Troit show. I was way too drunk by this point and as such, remember absolutely nothing about the art, all I remember is that the opening was crowded with young, pretty people.
The three of us then hiked to Ben's apartment, stopping at Au Bon Pain to eat cookies from the dumpster, stopping at Urban Outfitters where Peter's old roommate works and she was more than a little wicked to me for no particular reason, and then we stopped at K-Mart where I stole a pink headband that says "Princess", and where we were going to buy beer, but where I just walked out with a huge case of it because it looked too easy. And it was. Then we drank more at Ben's, listened to a kitschy song by Jerry Falwell and friends singing an anti-evolution song. Who knows where Ben found that record, but its existence is pretty amazing.
Then we went to country night at Nowhere where I ran into Naomi and her cute friend, Michael, who I started making out with shortly after meeting him. The effects of alcohol at work. And I don't know in what context it was mentioned, but he made some reference to "ebonics" and I stopped making out with him, asked him what the hell he was talking about. Again, I am blaming Le Tigre for my bout of righteousness yesterday. And I was appalled and told him good night, stopped making out with him, and talked to Daniel and Clint, the bartender. We were most definitely going to go home together, and I was really into the boy, but then he had to go and be a jackass, and then his unawareness about the offensiveness of that term, stating that it is a real term, that they use it in his college classes made me even more annoyed with him. I am pretty sure when I asked him what he meant by "ebonics" there was some use of the phrase "jive." Cringe cringe. And so, I put an end to our making out. I have never so briskly and determinedly ended anything. It produced an empowering feeling.
I woke up this morning, and my body stunk like sweat and booze and grossness, like an old man. I took a shower. I feel better. This afternoon's agenda includes depositing my paycheck, finally paying my December's rent and then, of course, more gallery openings. Three of which I am so stoked about: the Rev. Billy, the Inez van Lamsweerde & Vinoodh Matadin show, and the Marcel Dzama show!!! Today is good. Yesterday was. And tomorrow will be also. This is wonderful knowledge to possess. Try stopping me.
We then went to other galleries and downed more free wine, both of which helped to alleviate the tension, being away from the art that neither of us really liked that much and that set off a tense discussion about gender, and also having more wine to wash away the tension that I was perceiving. We then went and saw two photography shows, the Joe Deal show, which was amazing, and the Robert McCann show, which I also found to be pretty awesome. And I am sure my enjoyment of these two so much had a lot to do with receiving them right after the Thierry Feuz show which I did not like much, but I am also convinced that it had a lot to do with the pretty much insane quantities of wine that I had consumed by this point in the evening. Being inebriated really does remove some of the self-imposed boundaries that we have. This is obviously why dancing like a maniac and making out with people tends to occur when you are drunk, and this is all well-known, but alcohol also removes those boundaries that exist when you are engaged with a work of art. You allow it to possess a meaning that you otherwise would be to socially aware of how you are being perceived to grant it, and usually that awareness of how you are being perceived is you perceiving yourself, too distanced by levels of awareness to engage with the piece on any meaningful level.
It also probably had a lot to do with these two being photo shows. I wonder if I had lived in a pre-photography era if I would have had a more engaged interaction with painting, because as it is now, I find it much harder to be wowed by painting than it is to be wowed by photography. Peter, Daniel, and I then trotted off to SoHo to see the D Troit show. I was way too drunk by this point and as such, remember absolutely nothing about the art, all I remember is that the opening was crowded with young, pretty people.
The three of us then hiked to Ben's apartment, stopping at Au Bon Pain to eat cookies from the dumpster, stopping at Urban Outfitters where Peter's old roommate works and she was more than a little wicked to me for no particular reason, and then we stopped at K-Mart where I stole a pink headband that says "Princess", and where we were going to buy beer, but where I just walked out with a huge case of it because it looked too easy. And it was. Then we drank more at Ben's, listened to a kitschy song by Jerry Falwell and friends singing an anti-evolution song. Who knows where Ben found that record, but its existence is pretty amazing.
Then we went to country night at Nowhere where I ran into Naomi and her cute friend, Michael, who I started making out with shortly after meeting him. The effects of alcohol at work. And I don't know in what context it was mentioned, but he made some reference to "ebonics" and I stopped making out with him, asked him what the hell he was talking about. Again, I am blaming Le Tigre for my bout of righteousness yesterday. And I was appalled and told him good night, stopped making out with him, and talked to Daniel and Clint, the bartender. We were most definitely going to go home together, and I was really into the boy, but then he had to go and be a jackass, and then his unawareness about the offensiveness of that term, stating that it is a real term, that they use it in his college classes made me even more annoyed with him. I am pretty sure when I asked him what he meant by "ebonics" there was some use of the phrase "jive." Cringe cringe. And so, I put an end to our making out. I have never so briskly and determinedly ended anything. It produced an empowering feeling.
I woke up this morning, and my body stunk like sweat and booze and grossness, like an old man. I took a shower. I feel better. This afternoon's agenda includes depositing my paycheck, finally paying my December's rent and then, of course, more gallery openings. Three of which I am so stoked about: the Rev. Billy, the Inez van Lamsweerde & Vinoodh Matadin show, and the Marcel Dzama show!!! Today is good. Yesterday was. And tomorrow will be also. This is wonderful knowledge to possess. Try stopping me.
Thursday, December 11, 2003
Work work worked tonight, went to the Phoenix with Joe even though I am supposed to be at work at 9:30 tomorrow morning. Drank way too many beers even though I am supposed to be at work at 9:30 tomorrow morning. Then went to some other bar on Avenue A where my friend Josh was spinning even though I am supposed to at work at 9:30 tomorrow. Danced to Le Tigre, Peaches, and drank more beer... even though, yes, I know, you know about my irresponsibleness.
Waited for the subway at 1st Avenue, listened to Talking Heads before my discman batteries died and checked out a girl across the platform who was checking me out. I was cruising a girl!!! She was a little, cute hipster girl and for some reason kept checking me out. When she got on her train, she gave me a "What's up?" head nod through the windows. And it was weird to flirt with girl, but I am blaming it on Talking Heads and the beer.
I got off the train and walked in the same direction as some random gay boy who I struck up a conversation with since we were walking at the same pace in the same direction, and talked about how awkward that is when you walk next to someone, should you slow down, or speed up, or tough it out. And then at my block, he gave me a kiss. And now, I am home, way drunk, and am supposed to be at work at 9:30 to make up for calling in sick yesterday, and working the early shift so I can get more drunk tomorrow afternoon at gallery openings.
Waited for the subway at 1st Avenue, listened to Talking Heads before my discman batteries died and checked out a girl across the platform who was checking me out. I was cruising a girl!!! She was a little, cute hipster girl and for some reason kept checking me out. When she got on her train, she gave me a "What's up?" head nod through the windows. And it was weird to flirt with girl, but I am blaming it on Talking Heads and the beer.
I got off the train and walked in the same direction as some random gay boy who I struck up a conversation with since we were walking at the same pace in the same direction, and talked about how awkward that is when you walk next to someone, should you slow down, or speed up, or tough it out. And then at my block, he gave me a kiss. And now, I am home, way drunk, and am supposed to be at work at 9:30 to make up for calling in sick yesterday, and working the early shift so I can get more drunk tomorrow afternoon at gallery openings.
Wednesday, December 10, 2003
"Hi Charlie - I thought of you when I saw this - remembering how you wanted a UPS uniform."
My mom just forwarded me a warning about fake UPS employees, and prefaced it with the above sentence. I had totally forgotten that I got a job with UPS just to obtain a uniform. To do something like that seems unimaginable and irresponsible now. I realize that I am getting older when things like this occur, when someone says "Remember when..." and tells a crazy story that I had totally forgotten about, that I could not imagine participating in now. When I hear things like this, I really wonder if I was (or am) crazy.
My mom just forwarded me a warning about fake UPS employees, and prefaced it with the above sentence. I had totally forgotten that I got a job with UPS just to obtain a uniform. To do something like that seems unimaginable and irresponsible now. I realize that I am getting older when things like this occur, when someone says "Remember when..." and tells a crazy story that I had totally forgotten about, that I could not imagine participating in now. When I hear things like this, I really wonder if I was (or am) crazy.
"and every sound is a song to be found"
I just got back from watching Jamie Seerman and numerous other people from the anti-folk scene performing at Pete's Candy Store. It is a pretty nice bar to watch music in. Intimate, well-lit, kitschy. I got a little tired after watching three performers, and had less and less patience as the night wore on. I think three is the perfect number in many respects. This now includes the number of musical acts that should perform on a bill. Anything past three and the audience just gets tired, which is bad for everyone involved. The musicians aren't enjoying an engaged reception with their work, and the audience gets restless, and as result are not having any artistic visions. It ends up in bad art for everyone involved.
Watching Jamie though, and going to see her perform made me aware that I am friends with talented people who often want to share their amazing gifts with their friends, and I feel like I am not doing my part in these friendships, that I do not have beautiful creations to trade with them. It is unbalanced, there is taking and no giving, feeling of unworth. Tonight, I felt like a bit of a putz and thought that I needed to live a more inspired life so that when I see people like Diana and other people who ask the questions, "So what's new? Are you still working at the Strand?" that I can reply No, or can say Yes, I am still working there and I am also doing this amazing thing and this amazing thing.
Friends are good for sharing. I have found out about so many bands and so many writers from good, knowledgable friends. Their knowledge has inspired me to also see the world from these perspectives. I like cream cheese rolls because of Jamie. I like Amy's Burritos because of Bonnie. Friends are good for sharing their tastes with you, letting you discover that mmm, mmm, that is an amazing food product. Or that yes, that is wonderful, that music, or that yes, that is wonderful, those gigantic cloud formations.
And friendships also give the (positive! yes, positive!) gift of insecurities. Your friend works for positive social change. You feel insecure about your own uninvolvement with working towards social change. And out of these insecurites you become more aware of your own self, of your own actions, and often times, to quell those insecurities, you will take action to try to be a "better" person. Similar dynamics go on when you are friends with a creative person constantly producing pretty good art, it makes you want to nourish your own artistic tendencies. It makes you insecure about how you have been negligent in creating objects, about sharing things with this world. And for this, friends are awesome. Seeing Jamie tonight did make me feel a little insecure, made me whip myself for not being as good a human being as is possible. And now I know and will work on change, will work on sharing. Friends rock.
Watching Jamie though, and going to see her perform made me aware that I am friends with talented people who often want to share their amazing gifts with their friends, and I feel like I am not doing my part in these friendships, that I do not have beautiful creations to trade with them. It is unbalanced, there is taking and no giving, feeling of unworth. Tonight, I felt like a bit of a putz and thought that I needed to live a more inspired life so that when I see people like Diana and other people who ask the questions, "So what's new? Are you still working at the Strand?" that I can reply No, or can say Yes, I am still working there and I am also doing this amazing thing and this amazing thing.
Friends are good for sharing. I have found out about so many bands and so many writers from good, knowledgable friends. Their knowledge has inspired me to also see the world from these perspectives. I like cream cheese rolls because of Jamie. I like Amy's Burritos because of Bonnie. Friends are good for sharing their tastes with you, letting you discover that mmm, mmm, that is an amazing food product. Or that yes, that is wonderful, that music, or that yes, that is wonderful, those gigantic cloud formations.
And friendships also give the (positive! yes, positive!) gift of insecurities. Your friend works for positive social change. You feel insecure about your own uninvolvement with working towards social change. And out of these insecurites you become more aware of your own self, of your own actions, and often times, to quell those insecurities, you will take action to try to be a "better" person. Similar dynamics go on when you are friends with a creative person constantly producing pretty good art, it makes you want to nourish your own artistic tendencies. It makes you insecure about how you have been negligent in creating objects, about sharing things with this world. And for this, friends are awesome. Seeing Jamie tonight did make me feel a little insecure, made me whip myself for not being as good a human being as is possible. And now I know and will work on change, will work on sharing. Friends rock.
Tuesday, December 9, 2003
There are other things that I could talk about, about how I called in sick today because I drunkenly last night did not set my alarm after going to the Cock and decided I had a new crush. I could write about how I am still sick, but denying this fact. I could write about how I am reading 19th century British females right now. I could write about my rent (how I haven't paid it yet). Or, I could imagine that I am already late for leaving to see my friend Jamie play at Pete's Candy Store in my neighborhood. But, I just read the latest Ward Sutton cartoon in the Voice, and it shocked me because I had not yet heard that the turkey I saw served over and over again by Bush to US troops serving in Iraq on Thanksgiving was a motherfucking fake turkey! I searched online and found out that it is true! How did I not hear about this? This seriously disgusts me beyond words. Things get more and more horrible. Abominable! Did other people know about this and not post LJ posts about it? Because LJ is often my source for shocking news to further despirit me.
Saturday, December 6, 2003
So you know at the end of a makeover show when they unveil the changed person, decked out in a new haircut and a new outfit, and you, the audience, say wow and look at this person as a totally different person, or you see a person that ugly clothes and an ugly haircut prevented you from seeing.
Well, snow provides that same Wow effect for the landscape. Everything is cloaked in a fluffy whiteness, even the black streets. It is all white, it is all clean looking, it is all changed. Man, snow is so amazing. To make me see the same streets I have seen day after day for months now in a whole new light, to make me see the beauty of my surroundings, of this space that I occupy, that is incredible. Snow under streetlamps may very well be one of my favorite sights in the world. Both the snow flakes falling that are briefly illuminated as the pass through the streetlight's halo, and the snow already firmly settled on the ground that takes on a pinkish, light purple tone, a glow even. The snow contains the light, and it is so gorgeous.
I have slipped a couple times walking around in the snow, but I have yet to fall, although secretly, I would like to. Maybe tomorrow I will fall on purpose.
Well, snow provides that same Wow effect for the landscape. Everything is cloaked in a fluffy whiteness, even the black streets. It is all white, it is all clean looking, it is all changed. Man, snow is so amazing. To make me see the same streets I have seen day after day for months now in a whole new light, to make me see the beauty of my surroundings, of this space that I occupy, that is incredible. Snow under streetlamps may very well be one of my favorite sights in the world. Both the snow flakes falling that are briefly illuminated as the pass through the streetlight's halo, and the snow already firmly settled on the ground that takes on a pinkish, light purple tone, a glow even. The snow contains the light, and it is so gorgeous.
I have slipped a couple times walking around in the snow, but I have yet to fall, although secretly, I would like to. Maybe tomorrow I will fall on purpose.
Tuesday, December 2, 2003
I called in sick to work today. I have a cough that will terrify kids and small animals. I have been awake for no more than three hours total today and I am about to go back to bed so that hopefully I can go into work tomorrow, so that I will get paid some money in this paycheck, so that I can pay my rent.
When I awoke to pee this morning at 11, my groggy sick mood vanished as soon as I looked out the window and saw it snowing like crazy and some accumulation already gathering on roofs. It made me so incredibly happy. With delight, I then thought about how I will be allowed to experience this snow joy this year since I am not in Florida for the first winter in four years.
When I next woke up to pee again at three, the snow had all melted.
I am tired of being sick. I am tired of being tired. It prevents the wild life.
When I awoke to pee this morning at 11, my groggy sick mood vanished as soon as I looked out the window and saw it snowing like crazy and some accumulation already gathering on roofs. It made me so incredibly happy. With delight, I then thought about how I will be allowed to experience this snow joy this year since I am not in Florida for the first winter in four years.
When I next woke up to pee again at three, the snow had all melted.
I am tired of being sick. I am tired of being tired. It prevents the wild life.
Monday, December 1, 2003
don't fuck with michael jackson
Earlier this evening, as I was walking back from a Chinese restaurant with my manager's food, I kept passing lots of restaurants filled with people not too far from my age sitting with friends and eating. Gophering my manager's dinner past these dinner scenes led into a train of thought that went something along the lines of: I am so lame . . . I have been in this city for seven months or so now working at the Strand and have not even applied to one other job . . . I want a real daytime job so I can eat dinner at dinner time, so I can quit thinking two paychecks ahead of this one about how I am going to pay all the various bills I have.
And it was during this depressing train of thought that I passed a boy, and as soon as I passed him, I realized that it was my crush, Christopher. And I thought about whether I should call after him and say hi. I thought about this for a long time. Too long a time to actually do anything. And so, I kept walking back to work, filled now with not only self-loathing but a potent mixture of desire and loneliness (and the two are probaby the same at the root).
Then I started thinking about how perfect that was, just fucking perfect, that right as I am thinking about how much my life sucks, here walks by another aspect of my life practically screaming, "Hey, don't forget about me! While you're berating yourself, add to the list, your appaling lack of luck with boys." And I kid you not, right at this second as I was thinking about the timing of Christopher's appearance, I tripped over a curb. That's what you get for navel-gazing, I guess.
I have been sick. I still am, sort of. For this reason, I have not been in tip-top shape in any respect. Tomorrow, I will be better and the world will look rosy again. The world will look fucking sexy. When you are sick, nothing has sex appeal - you're a zombie with a soft dick, stumbling around the streets, mumbling grunts, coughes, and sneezes. Your body is too busy fighting off those viruses to get hot for all the amazing stimuli this world has to offer a young person, and hopefully tomorrow with the assistance of some more cold medicine tonight, I will be able to see the sexiness in each and every motherfucking last one of you.
PS: Have you guys heard the new Missy album? I stopped into Virgin today to listen to it, and it is so fucking fun. I have to get down to Canal Street to see if I can find a copy, and then I can dance my sickness away.
And it was during this depressing train of thought that I passed a boy, and as soon as I passed him, I realized that it was my crush, Christopher. And I thought about whether I should call after him and say hi. I thought about this for a long time. Too long a time to actually do anything. And so, I kept walking back to work, filled now with not only self-loathing but a potent mixture of desire and loneliness (and the two are probaby the same at the root).
Then I started thinking about how perfect that was, just fucking perfect, that right as I am thinking about how much my life sucks, here walks by another aspect of my life practically screaming, "Hey, don't forget about me! While you're berating yourself, add to the list, your appaling lack of luck with boys." And I kid you not, right at this second as I was thinking about the timing of Christopher's appearance, I tripped over a curb. That's what you get for navel-gazing, I guess.
I have been sick. I still am, sort of. For this reason, I have not been in tip-top shape in any respect. Tomorrow, I will be better and the world will look rosy again. The world will look fucking sexy. When you are sick, nothing has sex appeal - you're a zombie with a soft dick, stumbling around the streets, mumbling grunts, coughes, and sneezes. Your body is too busy fighting off those viruses to get hot for all the amazing stimuli this world has to offer a young person, and hopefully tomorrow with the assistance of some more cold medicine tonight, I will be able to see the sexiness in each and every motherfucking last one of you.
PS: Have you guys heard the new Missy album? I stopped into Virgin today to listen to it, and it is so fucking fun. I have to get down to Canal Street to see if I can find a copy, and then I can dance my sickness away.
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