November 28th, 2001


Dripping with Sweat

I can feel an "I Hate Living in Virginia" day coming on.

There is something drastically wrong when I break a sweat in a collared shirt and jeans jacket at 8:45am on NOVEMBER 28TH. I'm wearing October clothes during September weather and it's almost December for fuck's sake.

On a non-regionally-specific note, I often wonder where other people are going when I'm walking to work in the morning. It's ten minutes to nine. If you have a job, you have less than ten minutes to get to it. If you didn't have a job, you shouldn't be up getting in the way of us job-havers (but then again, if you didn't have a job, what the hell would you be doing up so early anyway). It boggles my mind to see people wandering around like it was a Saturday at the mall. Standing on line to stand on the sanding side of the escalator. Strolling to the turnstile, slowly getting their pass out after they get to it, strolling to the second escalator to stand on line for the standing side again. Plodding along the sidewalk waiting around for walk signs to switch.

One of the more fascinating habits that appears during the waiting for lights phase is that some of these meanderers will walk into the middle of the street to wait for the light to switch as if they are in some sort of hurry, then dawdle across the other half like they were before. The people that waited on the sidewalk for the light to switch beat them across anyway.

I can't possibly fathom where these people are going or how little regard they must hold for their destination. If you're not walking with some determination at 8:45 in the morning on a weekday, you better be over 75 years old or over 350 pounds. Otherwise, either you don't have a job, you don't care about your job or your job doesn't care about you.

Maybe everyone else in the city except my office starts at 9:30 and these people are just early.

For You Dream Analysts

Dale and I were walking around in the parking lot of a strip mall near my old house in Jersey (the Chester Shopping Center with the ShopRite across from where the flea market used to be, for those of you who are familiar) where my mother used to take me grocery shopping a lot when I was a kid. The stores were all different, and one of them was a clothing store that I had a coupon for at home, so we were about to go back and get it when we ran into Pookie, my friend who I have known since I was three but am in less contact with now since she lives near Boston. She was freaking out because she couldn’t get a flight back and her mother was yelling at her about it. The dream did a weird jump-cut to a shot of her mother throwing a pot on a wheel and yelling into a cordless phone. Back to the parking lot, Pook was crying so we took her over to the phone, which happened to be a videophone, and called her father. The man on the screen was her father, but it wasn’t her father, rather the guy who played George Costanza’s boss in the Festivus episode of Seinfeld.

The next part is hazy, but her father somehow assured her that it was going to be okay and Dale and I went on with our shopping. We went into one of the stores and I was recognized from the Road Rules: Son of Real World casting special that apparently I was on and was a finalist to appear on the first Road Rules season. Then the dream cut to highlights of the show, if you will, with Rashel from the San Fansisco Real World season moderating and scenes of me getting annoyed with her.

I remember thinking that I should get up and write this down, and clearly remember writing “Pookie, Festivus boss, Chester, Son of Real World” on a notepad on my bedstand, but that too must have been part of the dream, since the pad was blank this morning.
  • Current Mood
    awake awake

And it burns burns burns like a placenta on the floor

I once had respect for the band Live. Once. I became skeptical when they jumped head first on the namaste bandwagon but this just seals the deal.

On the "Blowjob to Sam Phillips: The History of Sun Studios" show on PBS right now, they're showing studio clips of new bands making a tribute album of Sun artists. A Jason Lee-lookalike Ed Kowalczyk is doing a rendition of Johnny Cash's "I Walk The Line" that sounds eerily similar to "Lightning Crashes." Once you were a bare-chested group of gifted musicians. Think outside your little box, dickwipes. And if trying to sing as deep as Johnny Cash makes your voice fade into a whisper, try a different song. There were a lot of Sun musicians that you could cover.

And Sam Phillips just gets on my nerves. You'd think some of Elvis' humility would wear off on the guy. He acts like he gave birth to the King, for god's sake.