Wednesday, January 15, 2003

Vague writing is bad writing. BUSH wouldn't get any Swiftian satire.
And thank you Jim for pointing me to this wonderful ghost-written praise of the sanctity of life by our esteemed president.

I would send him something Swiftian, but he just wouldn't get it.
My college home town seldom makes it into the news. College quarterbacks who are selling drugs within a hundred yards of a school, major college sports corruptions, mockeries on the Simpsons, George Bush saying "I want to keep it simple so the boys in Lubbock will understand."

NOW THE BUBONIC PLAGUE. Thanks, Daniel.
Ahhh, yes. I am so glad I have the bright shiny moments with my bright shiny friends. This last weekend was a good time for me, especially when I went to Hell. For the last few months, I thought that hell is located at my junior high, second floor, 12th room from the end. And it is, but it is only lowercase hell. It might even be a mere purgatory, a place to atone for some sins, maybe a mass genocide in a previous life.

Uppercase Hell is a good place, cozy, good couches, swell drinks. It's in the meatpacking district, which I thought, well, was euphemistically named. And, just as I expected, all of my friends were already there. And, just as many of my friends expected, they were playing 80's music in Hell. After being there for a short time, I came to the conclusion that I would prefer to stay in Hell. The lighting is better, the conversation is merrier, and Jimmy Swaggart isn't allowed to enter.

Afterwards, Andrew treated me to my first sober taxi ride in the city. Normally, if I'm above ground, I'm either walking or in a bus. Taking a taxi in a sober state is quite disturbing to me. The seats are slick and precarious, the 'new car smell' has been replaced by the funk of forty thousand years, and the roof of the car seemed extremely agressive, looming towards me, accusing me of being a newbie. Walking takes more time, but I feel that it gives you more of the scale of the city. The taxi diminishes everything's size, shrinking huge buildings to some surreal zoetrope. However, it was cheap, and maybe I'll do it more often.

Normally I don't go out if there is school the next day, but I never get to hang out with Barry and James. They convinced me to go see a show Sunday at Galapagos by this guy John Moran. I spent my last dollars to get there, and I stayed out much too late, but it was totally worth it. The music was so different from anything I've ever heard, plus the sense of humor was biting. A joke about pot was pulled at the very beginning, and I fell for it, dragging the fishhook in my mouth for a good ten minutes. Brilliant, plus I love my friends' enthusiasm for provoking thought. They keep reminding me why I am here in this town.

Last but not least, my roommate sent me to The Ukes of Hazzard's music video "Gay Boyfriend" site. My god. Good stuff, although not as amazing as the Wau Wau sisters.

Monday, January 13, 2003

Comments from my roommate tonight:

"I need to order a pie."
"I can't believe the view of Deanna Troy's pudendum."

I'm gonna miss him.