That Thing In The Wheelchair

On Friday I went to go see The Gaping Abyss over at Arlene's Grocery, a club that had foolishly turned down The Headliners when we sent them a demo tape several years ago on account of us not being popular enough. Sophie P. and her friend Connor were there, and so were a lot of lame friends of some of the non-principals in the band, all dancing pretentiously and obliviously right near the stage. It was a good show, though. The mean old lady taking money for the tickets kept pronouncing the name of the band as The Gaping Abbess, which kept making me think of the alternate name Alec and I had discussed a few weeks earlier. Anyway, after the show, I asked Razor if he wanted to eat some hamburgers in the park on Saturday, and he said they'd been invited up to Rhode Island to play a show for The Strines, who'd lost their original opening act to a break up (The Pink Slips had all given each other the pink slip). Did I want to tag along? You bet.

Got to Sarah J's house (the rectory up at St. Mary's) around 2:30 and we left for Newport in the church van at around 4:00. Sarah's dad is a dead ringer for Father Damien, FYI. On the way we stopped at a Fairway and bought a whole bunch of cold cuts and bread and sandwich-makings and made delicious and filling sandwiches in the van. It took about three and half hours to get up to Newport and another 15 just driving around to find the club, which turned out to literally be in an alley behind a fish restaurant. After dropping the shit off, we walked around Newport for a while looking for a place to eat. It turns out that Newport is a real shitty little town and you can't find goddamn food anywhere! The only stuff we found in our price range was a sushi place that proudly advertised that they'd make you sushi without any raw fish (presumably because "you" think that's icky) and a panini sandwich place that was filled with nauseating smoke.

It was around this time that I found out that the Abyss wasn't gonna go on until 10:30. Bill had originally thought they'd go on at 9:00, and since the band was planning on staying over in a hotel room, I'd planned to go back that evening on an Amtrak train so that I'd be able to feed the cats that night and the next morning, and, you know, have a day to get things done on Sunday. I'd bought the ticket and everything. Ultimately it ended up that the ticket was refundable, and I couldn't get in touch with a car service to take me to Kingston anyway, so, like I said to Bill, I decided to stop being a neurotic creep (for at least a few hours) and just hang out, kitties be damned. So I stuck around, and it was fun, even though practically no one came (despite a puff-piece about The Strines that they'd put in the local paper days before).

Near the beginning of The Strines' set, this guy in a motorized wheelchair came into the club and started 'dancing' by turning his wheelchair around on the dance floor and sort of puttering around in time to the music. I don't know what his particular affliction was, but aside from being wheelchair-bound, he also had these skinny little T-Rex arms that weren't good for too much except clicking little buttons in his chair. I think we were all glad he was enjoying himself, but his appearance was a bit off-putting. Mario correctly observed that it added a Lynchian element to the atmosphere. After The Strines finished up, everyone headed outside for a smoke and the guy in the wheelchair came out and was telling The Strines and the guys in Abyss that he liked the show, and he even ended up offering a cigarette to Billy.

Well, Billy and the wheelchair guy (whose name turned out to be Bob) got to talking, and it turned out that one thing they had in common was that they both wished they'd smoked some weed before the show. Billy said he'd called his guy but that he hadn't been able to score in time before getting in the van, and that he wished he could've rolled a joint or two. "Fuck that," said Bob. "I'd like to smoke a blunt up in that piece."

"I bet you would," said Billy, and began exhorting him to describe further scenarios, much like one would do, say, with a girl who might be persuaded to disrobe with enough coaxing.

"Next time I fly," said Bob, "I should smoke a blunt on the plane -- fill the whole cabin with smoke!"

"Yeah," continued Bill, his imagination firing on all four cylinders, "but only the passengers in first class get to smoke it. Everyone else just gets a contact high!" On that note, they went off to a little cul-de-sac and rolled and smoked a joint. Or maybe Billy just sucked him off. At any rate, after some fretting about where to stay, an Amherst guy who is now a Brown guy offered his house. On the way there, perhaps as a reaction to me and Billy making noise about wanting to get back to NYC, Chris started going off about how he didn't even care, he was goin' to the beach in Providence the next day. I took that as a hint that I wasn't going to get to call the shots, so I'd need to make my own plans. I also hit him a few times, but only because he was screaming the lyrics to Big Shot into my ear.

Yes, yes, you had to be a big shot, didn't you
You had to prove it to the crowd
You had to be a big shot, didn't you
All your friends were so knocked out
You had to have the last word, last night
You're so much fun to be around
You had to have the front page, bold type
You had to be a big shot last night

Mario snored, predictably. I woke up at six (having gone to bed at three) and called a car service to get to the train station, then hopped the 7:20 to Penn Station. And the kitties. were. okay.

Finished Forever, which had a weak middle but an okay last 100 pages; also finished Leisure Suit Larry for the PS2, which was delightful -- raunchy and funny. I popped a few boners, I'm not gonna lie. M-Biddy came through with a couple of books, in addition to the t-shirt: The Pirates and The Mouse and The Collected Letters of George Orwell. Sick.

Kitty Won't Take Her Shot

I'm sitting in the Lay-Z-Boy, which is now in the living room, waiting for her to calm down a bit so I can give her her allergy shot. She's really dead set against it tonight, which is weird, since you'd think this sort of thing would get easier. The thing is, she's also a lot stronger than she used to be, maybe from struggling with the kitten. The last shot she got, she bent the needle on the syringe with all her wriggling and squirming. She's like the fucking hulk or something.

Last Saturday I was feeling pretty down, but then my sister called me to ask me if I wanted to go to Coney Island with her and her friend, and it pretty much turned my day around. I watched them go on the Wonder Wheel (they insisted on riding in one of the sliding cars; you won't catch me in one of those) and then we read our respective books on the beach for a while, trying to get a tan. The girls went down to the water's edge briefly, but according to my sister, the people down there were "so disgusting; they all weigh like 500 lbs!" She told me I should come with her and my parents to this island they go to in Maine every year. I've avoided it for the past however many years (not least of all because there's no electricity and plumbing is scarce), but this time I'm thinking I'd welcome a change of scenery.

Oh, for those of you who live in Manhattan and can thus peep on the ol' MNN, Mike the Bum has a show on that he'd like you all to watch. I can't remember what it's called, but it's got a pretty sweet timeslot (for MNN, relatively speaking), like Fridays at midnight or something. Jump on it.

I bought some stuff for myself on Amazon, using the gift certificate my 'rents gave me. I tried to get each item from a different category of stuff, so here's what I bought:

• A wireless PCI card for the ol' desktop, which is no longer in the study within cabling distance of the router
• Book One of The Sandman
• Op Ivy's Energy
• The Ring

M-Biddy also got me this sweet Air America "Fire Rove" t-shirt. I want to wear it to work tomorrow, but I don't know how well it would go down with the office idiots; yea, them what pulls the cart. Started reading Forever, which is larnin' me things about Irish history if not blowing me away with its prose.

Alright, I'm giving up on the shot. Maybe I'll try again tomorrow if Mer's around to pin kitty down.

It's Wednesday night now. I just got back from this company "outing" where they chartered this yacht and took a 4-hour spin around tip of lower Manhattan. I was kind of dreading it because, you know, four hours on a boat with business jerks and you can't get off, but one of the other developers slipped me some Dramamine and I actually had a really great time. Story of my life, I guess.

Jesus that fucking kitten has got to go.

Worst Place On Urf

Well, I had a pretty great birthday, celebrating my entrance to mid-twenty-dom over the course of three days. Let me fill y'all in.

On Friday I went to go see Razor and Chrissy play this place called Pete's Candy Store in Williamsburg. The place is pretty sweet -- all sort of decaying wood and lots of twisty little passages, not unlike the venerable and long-deceased Coney Island High. Unfortunately, I got there a little bit late and thus had to stand in the back of the room (which, as Bill pointed out, looks a fuck of a lot like a converted subway car) with a bunch of sweaty hipster dorkuses. They played a good set, though, and we hung out afterwards in this nice little courtyard out back. Chris and Bill were supposed to come to the Dickies show with me at 12:15, but they punked out, so to speak, so I left with Sarah J. and hooked the L to the 6 to the Continental.

The Dickies were fantastic! By the time I got to the Continental, they were already on stage playing their first song, and the ATM next to the club was out of cash, so I had to make a run around the block to get some cash to get in. The club was packed -- kind of a surprise -- and there was no way I was getting anywhere near the stage, especially carrying my backpack, so I wedged myself in about halfway down, and I think I got a pretty good view of things. Maybe it was just that I'd forgotten to bring my earplugs, but the band sounded tighter and better than I think I've ever seen them. Leonard looked worse than when I saw them at the Ramones thing at Irving Plaza, but he seemed to be a bit more tuned in. The on-stage banter was in top (or worst, depending on one's taste) form. An excerpt, presented here for your enjoyment:

Leonard: You know, Stan here has got to be the best Hispanic guitarist in all of punk rock. No kidding. Hell, he might just be the best bisexual Hispanic guitarist in all of punk rock. No, no, no, Stan's gotta be the best bisexual Hispanic muslim guitarist in all of punk rock.

(You might remember this lead-in from an earlier 'blog entry, but this time it was different:)

Stan: Alright, let me tell you people something. You guys know that band Red Hot Chili Peppers? Well, back in 1981, Leonard sucked that guy Anthony Keatis' dick! Plus, he lives with his momma, and he voted for Bush!

Leonard: I got three things to say to you. One, sounds like someone's got a problem accepting a compliment. Two, [can't remember]. And three -- Bush won, people! (Cackling, he throws up the sig heil amid boos and catcalls.) Alright, this next song is so old... [How old is it?] I said, this song is so old... [How old is it?!] This song is so old, this dirty old liberal Jew (points at Stan) wrote it! (The song is 'Give It Back')

Here's their set list, or at least as close an approximation as I can muster:

• See My Way
• Nights in White Satin
• Tricia Toyota
• Waterslide
• Give It Back
• I've Got a Splitting Hedachi
• Got It At The Store
• Paranoid
• Doggie Doo
• Going Homo
• You Drive Me Ape
• My Pop The Cop
• Curb Job
• Gigantor
• Eve of Destruction
• Banana Splits

Note that some of these songs don't get played live very often -- case in point: I've Got A Splitting Hedachi. So that was neat.

Then on Saturday I threw a little barbecue party in the park. I guess I figured it was going to be easier than it ended up being, 'cuz I planned the party for 4:00 but didn't start buying shit for it 'til 3:00, and I also ended up having to shop frantically for a grill, since the gloom-and-doom weather reports didn't seem to keep anybody away, and all the public grills were taken. So I was pretty beat by the time people actually started showing up, but I got a lot of help actually making the food, and people brought drinks, and it was a lot of fun. Ultimately around twelve people showed up, which was more than I expected, and it would have been fourteen had Razor and C-Lo not gotten lost in the wilds of Brooklyn.

On the way home with Tom from the park, this bartender from the 12th St. B & G popped out the door and asked Tom if he'd sell him the whiffleball set he was carrying, which was a little weird. Tom ended up agreeing to rent it to him in return for a round of drinks. We got some G&Ts and then ate some pizza at Smiling, which was real tasty but gave me weird dreams because I hit the sack as soon as I got back from hooking T up with a car service car.

For brunch on Sunday my parents and I went over to the Carroll Gardens apartment of this girl who's the daughter of an old co-worker of my mom's and whom I've known practically forever. Former Headliners may remember her as the hot 'n' sarcastic girl who came to our Continental show in '01. Anyway, she basically made this entire brunch on her own for us and it was delicious -- we ate in the little patio area of her apartment that had a really nice little vegetable garden in one half of it, and talked about a number of fascinating things. Apparently Carroll Gardens is full of dirty racist dagos.

When I got back to home base, Mer'd moved most of her stuff out, which was pretty sad to see. I was planning to rock out with Applebeast / Bloodweiser, but apparently Ted broke some crucial part of his axe, so that's on hold. I moved a bunch of furniture around and converted our old bedroom into my new personal zone with the desk from the study.

I went to Manhattan in the evening and my parents took me out to this great Indian place called Banjara, but my appetite just wasn't there and every muscle in my body was killing me from carrying all the shit to the barbecue, so I didn't eat much (though I've got the leftovers at work today). The 'rents got me a new frying pan, a water pic, and my sister's remaindered copy of Harry Potter and the Artist Formerly Known as Voldermort, which I'm actually kind of looking forward to reading.

The kitten got picked up today by my boss's wife to go get his nards detached. Hopefully he won't be such a dick by the time he gets back.

The Cave of Montesinos

Yeah, so we broke up about a week ago, which was, as she says, scary and sad. I'm still struggling with it a bit -- some days I'm up, some days I'm down -- but like my dad said, you don't get over a three-and-a-half year relationship in a week. Apparently she's moving out on Sunday, which will give me plenty of time to re-organize the house and get used to bachelor life before The Rase moves in in September (she's still in Sierra Leone). Yeah, you heard me -- I'm living with The Rase. Here's a funny thing though: While I was at home on Thursday feeling sorry for myself, I got an IM from someone who'd never IM'd me before. It turned out it was my best friend from pre-school, whom I hadn't talked to in literally, like, I don't know, 10 years? He's living near Tampa and managing a record label. He asked how I was doing, and on a whim I told him the whole thing about breaking up, and he said that he, no joke, had just separated from his wife of 6 years. So we talked about that for a while, which felt good. He even invited me down to FL to go fishing with him on his boss's yacht, which sounded pretty good to me, especially considering I haven't taken any vacation at all this year, except to take Mimi to the allergist. But then the whole hurricane thing happened, and Tom rightly pointed out that the proposal sounded like the premise for a thriller, so I'm gonna think it over a bit more.

In case I neglected to e-mail the invite to any of you, I'm having a little birthday party on Saturday at the grill area in Prospect Park near the entrance at 11th St. near my house -- you are literally all invited.

What else is new?

Been watching some movies. All The President's Men was quite good, though it (or maybe the day-old hamburger from Bonnie's Grill I ate while watching it) gave me weird dreams -- I kept telling myself I needed to some way to evaluate the mutually recursive functions

Woodward(mission) {
  Bernstein(mission);
}

Bernstein(mission) {
  Woodward(mission);
}

Weird, right? I also rented Team America: World Police, which was less "offensive" and less funny than I'd heard, although the filmmakers' actual premise, which I'm pretty sure was that bullshit about dicks and pussies at the end, was just flat-out incorrect. I did laugh at the puppet sex. Tomorrow's my birthday, creepuses. Gonna go to the Dickies show (which is pay-at-the-door, so if any of you want to tag along...), plus the Gaping Abyss show tomorrow night. I might even check out Morning Sedition at Restaurant Florent tomorrow morning, God willing. Tonight maybe me and the recently blog-less Devstar will get our hang out on.

Go Berserk... No Dessert?!

Like Mer, I had a totally killer weekend, though I didn't have to go all the way up to Long Dong Lake or whatever to have it.

Friday afternoon I was feeling pretty down and getting sort of freaked out about it, so when my boss let us off at 4:30, I made an appointment at Ultrasound Studios and drummed for an hour, which made me feel a bit better. I was actually getting pretty good at what I think people call "beat independence," something I've always had a hard time with. I was working some awesome contrapuntal flams into the mix as well. Fuck it, I don't know what the shit it's is all called. Point is, it was a pretty good work out, and I'm still pretty sort of okay at the whole thing. Then I met T-Bone to go see Land of the Dead, which ended up being wholly entertaining, if a bit ham-fisted. Tom Savini's cameo as Hatchet Zombie is alone worth the price of admission. No it's not. Yes it is.

Then on Saturday I went over the friends' place to peep on the housewarming party they were having for their new roommates. The Wy-Man almost kicked the ass of this guy who writes for The Onion A.V. Club for allegedly being rude to his girlfriend, which was... a little awkward. I also talked to these two awful immature girls who had gone to Amherst and knew Razor Lopez down to the littlest detail, including something I didn't know -- that he was in the fraternity Chi Psi!

...Which he fervently denied when I saw him on Sunday at his place over on Water St. He lives right next to this block that houses both a tract-printing press for Watchtower and the DLX Novelty Company. Go figure. And that shit he tells you about the bakery across the street? No lie, dawg. That shit smells choice. I wish I could say that I liked his puppy, but I just... don't. It's got kind of a brutal face like a bear and these very scared eyes whose whites you can always see. The effect is rather unsettling, if you ask me. Chris was there, too. That guy has read Blood Meridian. I could see that one coming, though; that guy's ready everything. So we went up to the roof of the building and were having a pretty good time until all of a sudden this awful woman (who looked like a younger blonde version of the Runaway Bride) shows up and starts trying to strike up a conversation with us. Chris hit the nail on the head when he said afterward that she was ape-shit for volunteering information about herself. Among the non-sequitur gems:

• "I'm so drunk. Can you tell how drunk I am? I'm so sorry." She didn't look or sound drunk at all.
• "Morrissey ruined my life. Morrissey... do you know The Smiths? He ruined my life." Oh, did you know him or something? "No, just a fan."
• "I work with really fucked up people, like meth addicts and stuff? And this woman I'm counseling on the phone, I say to her 'Hey, do you want to talk to my wonderful husband who I just got married to?' And she just hangs up on me!"
• "The projects, man. Those places are dangerous! They'll kill you just for walking in there!" Chris suggests that the projects are not as quite bad as she might think. "I'll drive you right down there and drop you off; we'll see how long you last! I've been living in this city long enough to know how bad it is. Those people will kill you!" How long have you been living here? "About three months now. I keep a carton of eggs and a head of lettuce in the back seat of my car in case anyone tries to mess with me."

Eventually we managed to shake her and her effeminate husband who was a dead ringer for Alan Cumming. Chris threw a chair at me and then pissed on it. Then, as we were leaving, he threw some beer cans off the roof, in spite of Bill begging him not to, and as we were on our way downstairs, this other woman, who must have seen the cans go by her window, came into the stairwell and started giving us what-for. "We're trying to create a living community here," she said. Chris pointed out that the cans had most certainly not hit her porch, but she said he was an asshole. After she went back inside, Billy said, "You don't understand, Chris. I have to deal with that woman every... day."

On Monday, I checked out Kevin Wasserman's BBQ, which is always delightful, though my stomach was kind of upset, and then I headed over to K-Flo's, to check out the fireworks. Unfortunately, I left Kevin's a bit late, so by the time I got to Katherine's everyone was up on the roof and couldn't hear the buzzer. So I went to go find a pay phone so I could call someone's cell and have them let me in, but the nearest pay phone was 3 looong blocks away and fucking broken to boot. The next one I found was in the foyer of this stinky bar and was always broken or turned off; the third one ate all my money and kept asking for 55 cents more. Finally this guy at a deli let me use his phone for free, so I left Tom a message to come down and let me in. By that time, of course, it had all started, so I headed back to Katherine's and watched the fireworks on her stoop. I gotta say, I get less and less impressed with the whole thing every year. I like the fireworks that are bright and have lots of glittery sparks / effluvia / etc., but the most popular ones always seem to be the ones that just go "pop" and spread chintzy-colored dots all over the sky. Uck.

The Boca Burgers I just made were cold inside and floppy, but that doesn't stop the cats from fiendin' for a taste.

I bought this book Forever, upon Emma's official B&N recommendation, to read when I'm done with DQ.