Armm n’ Hammer, together forever (taken today at a local cemetery)
How come it seems like every time I sit down to watch a movie lately, the plot revolves around some kind of torture. A few weeks ago it was The Devil’s Rejects, and tonight it was Hard Candy. I come away from these movies feeling like a deranged lunatic for having sat through an hour or two of complete-fucking-torture. Jack and Ken stopped by tonight, as the Philadelphia Phillies — the losingest franchise in sports history — finally stopped sucking long enough to win the World Series. Good job, Phillies fans, now you can get back to sucking. I’m sure your team will make it to 20,000 losses in no time! Oh, right, and then we watched some art house films (Lake Placid, some Cinemax after dark soft-core porno, etc. etc.) before Jack left for the night. That’s when we flipped on Hard Candy, which made my groin sore (by proxy) for about an hour straight. That Ellen Page sure played the part of a powerful female role amazingly considering he’s such a young boy. Ha! Get it? Ellen Page looks like a little dyke!
I got a flu shot this morning. I caved under pressure from my Jew mother, who has spent every day since I arrived here from L.A. asking when I would be getting a flu shot. I told her that I’ve never had the flu before, and that the vaccinations never seem to protect against the most virulent strain, and that I didn’t feel like having any side effects mar my flight home, but she just rolled her eyes like a good little government-controlled flu vaccine supporter, and told me that I needed to get one. She totally played to my hypochondriac tendencies by reminding me that I work in retail and come in contact with many people every day. That smart bitch sure knows how to get me to consent to doing something I don’t want to do.
After a quick visit to the doctor’s office, we — wait a minute, that wasn’t even the first thing I did today. Before I went to the doctor I drove to a family friends’ house to appraise their record collection. Unfortunately, the best titles (Meet The Beatles original with no publishing credits and no George Martin credit, original Sgt. Pepper’s, original soul, prog and rock records, most of which were still in shrink wrap) were hammered. At least the family got some good use out of the records. She claimed to own a few Elvis 45s on Sun Records, but couldn’t find them. Oh well. That’s what I did before I went to the doctor.
After the doctor, my mother drove me to another family friends’ house. He’s started a new business and was anxious to tell me all about it. It sounded fascinating; he had a truly ingenious idea and found a great way to implement it. He also reminded me that I’ve been telling him since college that I would gladly sit down and help him write his autobiography, but I figure why write it now when he’s in the midsts of his most exciting years? He seemed to understand. Someday I’ll send him a tape recorder and have him dictate some stories, but right now I’m focused on other projects.
The whole broken family met for dinner at a fancy steakhouse. I had an eight ounce filet with a side of goose fat potatoes. It was damned good. I’m trying to bulk up while home, I think I’ve gained about four pounds over the last seven days. That’s healthy, right? I’m trying to enjoy it while I can before I return to L.A. and my steady diet of bagels and soda, with the occasional large, formal meal sprinkled in to make me feel like I’m not an anorexic piece of shit.
I have a lot of people to see over the next couple days, before I depart again for the West Coast. Hopefully no one will be disappointed, and most of them will be too drunk to feel sad that I’ll be gone for many months, again.
Is tomorrow Halloween? I don’t know what day it is, but I guess it is rapidly approaching. People keep performing Google searches for “2008 best Halloween costumes,” and they’re directed to my blog. I hope they don’t leave disappointed. Eh, who am I kidding. Everyone who stops to read this drivel leaves disappointed. They’re either disappointed, or enraged. That probably accounts for the majority of the hate mail I receive.
Nirvana & Steve Albini – Evan Dando Prank Phone Call
Japanther – I The Indigene
Leonard Cohen – Bird On A Wire
Quintron – Waterfall
90 Day Men – A National Car Crash
