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  hey, listen to this

simone, who introduced me to me modest mouse, elliott smith and the pixies, recently brought to my attention this new yorker.
  ¶ 5:17 PM

  Quickie

Atlas Shrugged is Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, taken seriously, and with a strange, strange philosphy drizzled all over it.

  ¶ 9:56 PM

  Triumph

I'm hanging around the New School on 5th Ave. with Peter Orlovsky. We're just sort of standing there, waiting.

After twenty minutes I had to ask. Hey, Pete, what are we waiting for?

He wasn't sure. But he said we should wait and find out.

A woman in a crazy fur coat came up to me. She looked like Dana Morgan. She wanted to know if we were registered to vote. Peter lied and said he was; I told the truth and admitted I wasn't.

Great! she said, her eyes blazing up a little. My name's ---- and I'm from VH1, and would you be willing to be intervied by Triumph the Insult Dog and be filmed as you are registering to vote? I'll need to take down some basic--

I get to be a movie star? I interrupt her. She nods. Peter Orlovsky is laughing uncontrollably.

Okay, I'll do it.

(That is kinda the only way you'd ever vote, said Peter Orlovsky, only if you got to be a damn movie star while you were doing it.)

Triumph the Insult Dog, or rather, the sweaty, frustrated funny-man who had his hand up Triumphs back end, took one look at me and said, "Too intelligent. Do you watch VH1?" I shook my head. "You're a valuable voter, then. You should vote. VOTE, BIATCH!!" The kids seemed to like it, but something just wasn't working out between me and the funny-man. Then he found another girl. "I'm sorry," said the funny-man, wiping sweat from his brow, "but I'm switching to this girl, she's just too perfect."

And she was. Her poison green shirt was falling off to reveal a black bra, which in turn fell down to reveal the tops of her white breasts. She wore witchy ammounts of makeup and had some dimestore rhinestones attatched in unlikely places.

The funny-man licked his lips. Triumph asked the girl on camera which Presidential candidate she would rather bang. Someone slipped me twenty bucks, and I left.

I've never voted before. But hey, if TRIUMPH says I should . . .
  ¶ 11:23 AM

  You'd never guess they were straight.

I come home early from work and find my roommates sitting together, enjoying the President's speech. They are all excited to show me what they picked up on their shopping trip- a white belt with pink and red flames and a heart buckle.

I try it on, and they're all happy it fits. "And it was on sale!" they say, proud.

And my mother was afraid I wouldn't be able to live with two boys.  ¶ 5:31 PM

  sexy

i didn't write this.

the rain is coming down. only just now. it loves me. oh i love it! i want it. i'm breathing faster now. my mind races over ways to unite. first- hold it to the lower third of my face. second- eat it. third- argh! i want it so bad. it's never left me. always courting but i don't know how to consummate. go into me. stay there. clean me. start over.

john marie wrote that. a year or two ago.  ¶ 2:49 AM

  more of an experience than a drink

this is called "ugly."

pour beer in a glass. pour tomato juice down the side, inside the glass. throw a little salt on the top. just as the beer is about to foam over, chug the whole thing and yell, "UGLY!!"

(irish carbombs are SO two years ago.)  ¶ 11:53 PM

  this is as political as i get.
  ¶ 11:25 PM

  yay.

i learn stuff. like how to link!! to my blogfather. will someone please buy me these boots? more links to people who are getting married. random links to pretty girls. and to alma maters. and to places i used to work. and bands i love!! also: girls that have soul. and i guess to be fair boys that have soul too. patrick is trying to sleep and wishes i would stop linking to random stuff. i think i have the hang of it so . . . goodnight.
  ¶ 10:37 PM

  Hey Seldom
In case you needed a reason to get to New York faster, the Venus Chill Trap just recieved a bottle of Absinth in the mail from the Czech Republic- thanks to Jedno.
We are waiting til you get here . . . but I don't know how long it will last. So step on the gas.
  ¶ 10:26 PM

  Four Bugs.
a play for the kids

Cast:
Four Jeruselem Crickets
Roy Johnson
Me
John Marie
Max Summe
Upstairs Wife
A fresh-girl
That Annonymous College

Fresh Man

I grabbed a net and a walkman and went to search for BUGS. Ran into Upstairs Wife in the cafeteria. We looked at eachother. I was wearing army boots, an army jacket covered with spikes and boyscout pants. She laughed at me.

I tried not to care. But when all the moths flew out of reach around the lights of the faculty parking lot, I started to cry. What if I never complete my Fabre project? What if I never graduate? What if California doesn't want to be my friend?

Roy Johnson, the poetry writing, breakdancing senior, gave me two plastic cups, between which was a Jeruselem cricket. Don't worry, he said. Everything's gonna be alright.

I pinned that cricket in the middle of all the other bugs on the Victoria's Secret box and said yes when Roy asked me out the next day.

Wise Fool

I laughed at the freshman wearing boots who tried to catch moths that were out of reach. It was my right as a Sophmore. The little girl in my dorm started pinning a Jeruselem cricket to her styrophoam board and I stopped her. Are you sure it's dead? I asked. She paused. Better put him in the freezer for a couple days, I advised, full of wisdom.

She pinned the frozen bug to the box in the morning. By the afternoon, the cricket had deflated and leaked all over the other bugs. I didn't offer much advice the freshman after that.

Junior

John Marie leaned against the rail of the 400 dorm in the purple light. It was a moment between day and night, and we were either no longer or not yet drunk. He was very earnest and so was I. I asked him if he ever cried. He sipped his tea silently for awhile. Then told me: walking down the hall of his dorm one night, he felt someone watching him. He turned. There, in the middle of the hall, was a Jeruselem cricket who had escaped an untimely death as a Fabre project bug. It had lifted itself from the box, straight pin and all. It was crawling towards John Marie, jerking from side to side, crablike, impaled. John Marie demonstrated with his own body, crawling through the air grotesquely, watching my face and exaggerating his motions until I expressed disgust. He sipped his tea again. It was so ugly, he whispered with horrified reverence. Then he confessed: I ran towards it, and stomped on its head until it was dead. And then I ran to my room. And cried.

Senior

I felt something moving in my shoe, but I was busy creating and participating in drama, so I let it go for a couple hours. When I got a minute to myself, I found a bathroom and took off my shoe. There in the toe of my converse high top was a Jeruselem cricket the size of a finger. He was miffed. I shook him out and found the nearest freshman on the smokers patio who hadn't finished their Fabre project. I think it was Max Summe. And I think he gave the cricket to a girl he liked.



  ¶ 3:16 PM

  Harlem

Sign outside a crumbling brick building:

CH_ _CH
WHATS MISSING?

that's a shout out to the endless approach.
  ¶ 1:02 PM

  Flaky

I left work for "personal reasons." Promised I'd be back in twenty minutes. That was over an hour ago. I just needed to listen to some American rock & roll.

John Marie asked me in early September (not this September, a different one, obviously) if I wanted to go to Seattle, you know, just to go. It seemed to make sense that we'd dig it, since we both liked NY and SF.

The young Nepali boys, if they get drunk enough, will ask me over and over how I can work in Jackson Heights and be white at the same time.

John Marie asked if I wanted to meet up in Poland later. You know, because I'm "polish."

My brother, upon returning from the Czech Republic, called me a superficial American bitch.

I think that's why I'm going back to work now.


  ¶ 4:59 PM

  New York: Good News/Bad News.

The bad:
My CD player was stolen right under my nose.

The good:
Now, instead of getting blissed out to Radiohead on the subway, I whip out Webster's Spanish-English Dictionary for Students and clumsily try to translate the ads that line the cars. (Ex: I think La pintura con polmo descascarda se comierte en polvo enerso means something like If you paint with lead on your walls it's shameless when there are small children about.)

The good:
On the way to work, an old man asked where I was from. I said America, and he proceded to play a medly of American show tunes on his violin with the sweetest old fingers and laughing eyes. "God bless your America," he told me. Not a dry eye in the broken subway car. I thanked him.

The bad:
On the way back from work (same day) a business man followed me out of the subway car to say, hot breath on my neck, "You've got great legs." I did not thank him.
  ¶ 10:24 PM

  watch this

Peterface brought home Slingblade. Said we should watch it. Is it a good movie? I asked, rolling my eyes to high heaven. I thought it was going to be about a guy in black leather blowing shit up a la Ah-nold.

I couldn't have been further off the mark.

Rent it. Watch it. You'll be glad you did.
  ¶ 7:57 PM

  Word

Subway rules in NYC say, among other things, that one may not write grafitti or

SCRATCHITTI

(a new word, boys and girls, meaning scratching your thoughts or gang related sympathies into the glass of the NY Subway cars.)

bonus: The singlular grafitti is grafitto. Dig your Latin roots.
  ¶ 11:37 PM