Saturday, July 31, 2004

i wish my whole body looked like my left arm. it's a toasty, even, brown color after five hours spent dangling out of the car window. it could be a stunt double for harry belafonte's left arm.

the only trouble comes when the toasty left arm is viewed beside the pasty right arm. this happens quite a lot actually, since, like most arms, they are conveniently located in close proximity to each other at all times. i look like one of those vaudeville acts where the guy dresses up in two half-costumes, one for each side of his body.

the attentive reader might clear their throat, raise their hand, and politely ask-- where did you drive to and why did it take so long? thank you for the beautiful segue, attentive reader.

merge records just turned fifteen years old and, to celebrate, hosted several nights worth of concerts. i decided against the fancy, laminated, three-day pass (NOW WITH LANYARD!) and instead searched for the one night with the highest concentration of bands that i wanted to see. that's how i picked friday.

when i arrived in chapel hill, i had just enough time to check into the hotel before i was supposed to meet friends for dinner. the first person to arrive was christa. i've been reading her weblog and listening to her show for a while now, but this was the first time we ever met in real life. we talked about movies and made each other laugh and, a few minutes later, pinky and mister p walked up.

after dinner, christa headed home and the rest of us headed to mergefest where we met up with robin. the music started around 7:30pm and the lineup looked like this--


i left around 1AM, right after camera obscura finished their set.

i could spend an entire post talking about the performances themselves, maybe tomorrow, but my favorite part was seeing so many musicians just milling around. as soon as i walked in, i saw laura from superchunk. she was very, very pregnant. some women are so radiant and adorable when they are with-child. i always thought it was hokey when folks said that a pregnant woman glowed, but there really wasn't any better way to describe her.

i stood on the same square of concrete near the front, righthand section of the stage for almost five hours. it proved to be a nice little piece of real estate, because, whenever the lights would come up between sets, another batch of musicians would be standing nearby. my internal monologue sounded like [please read in excitable fifteen-year-old girl voice]-- oh, there's ira from yo la tengo! oh, there's fontaine toups! oh, there's the drummer from versus! oh, there's half of camera obscura!

when it was all over, i basked in the warm glow of my hotel room's three HBOs and then slept the sleep of angels.

last heard: the pretenders 'precious'
last read: "All of this falls under the broad category of the collateral damage of feminism," she said. [via sharyn]

Wednesday, July 28, 2004

when i worked in the midwest for that year, ric inhabited the same department. he was the first person i spent any real time talking to who was obsessed with film. until that point, i'd had friends who liked movies, but i never had a chance to talk to someone who honestly lived as though his everyday time, his working and sleeping and eating time, was just space between films.

all of his small talk centered, predictably, around film. he was tethered on a conversational leash that allowed a wide range of motion, but only within a predictable radius. i soaked it up though, since, at that time, it was all new to me.

ric kept a maltin guide on his desk. if you've never seen one when they are new, a maltin guide is a neat little dense brick of a book, but perfect only in those first few times that you flip through it. their bindings are notoriously bad.

ric's copy could be called a book only in the loosest sense of that word. the covers were really just a file for all of the pages which had come loose long ago. two rubber bands stretched tight around the mass of unbound sheets and fought hard to hold everything in a rough order. they weren't the thin office rubber bands that you might think of; no, ric had two of those thick blue rubber bands like grocery stores put around stalks of broccoli.

ric kept a yellow legal pad on his desk. i would stare over and read the names of films i recognized but had never seen. beside each title, there were arcane dashes and seemingly random numbers, a weird system he devised to denote something, but i never asked what.

lately, i've been watching a lot of older films. tonight, it was love in the afternoon, a film in which playboy gary cooper is so rich that he has an actual band of gypsies who travel with him and play music in his hotel room whenever he romances a new woman.

since this was the first time that i'd seen the film, it reminded me of something that ric once said. it was right after i admitted never having seen citizen kane. his eyes kind of drifted away. he stared into the distance wistfully and, with a straight face, he whispered, i wish i could watch it again for the first time.

last seen: love in the afternoon
last heard: belle and sebastian 'step into my office baby'
reading: rohinton mistry family matters

Tuesday, July 27, 2004

it isn't fun, sitting here, waiting out the flat. i made it home fine, driving down busy streets, thinking things were swell. i started hearing a vague, rhythmic bump bump bump after making the slow turn onto a side street. i pulled the car over and crouched beside the wheel well, flattened my palm and ran it over the warm rubber surface, expecting my skin to catch on a half-bent nail.

a family of four across the street took extra long getting into their car, time enough to stare at the odd man in the starched shirt fooling with his tire. i didn't find anything. they got tired of staring at me. we all looked up into a grey sky that was about to open up on us.

i eased the car around back, parking on the gravel drive behind my place. i almost never park back there but it was closer than parking out on the street and more convenient for the hourly checks back and forth in the rain to see if the tire had deflated any. i'm compulsive about these kinds of things. well, it looks a little lower than an hour ago, but maybe that's just a shadow. it doesn't feel like there's less pressure.

four hours have gone by which, i think, is more than enough time for a tire to go flat. so, i may be out of the woods.

curiously, four hours was also the exact amount of time it took to finish reading my book, eat some dinner, and wonder if, maybe, i parked in such a way that it pinched the hole in the tire, thus sealing it, holding in the air, until i drive to work in the morning, when the tire will blow out, and i will careen down an embankment and somehow catch on fire before finally coming to rest at the bottom of a ditch, dying unloved and alone without having read any proust and before finishing the AFI top 100.

last seen: monkey business
last heard: dusty springfield 'i don't want to hear it anymore'
last read: david sedaris dress your family in corduroy and denim
bonus: Hmmmm.....looks like the next Vice President of the United States is moving in next door!!!!

Sunday, July 25, 2004

months and months go by without visits from out-of-town guests, then, all at once, i'm pleasantly blindsided. the three days of this weekend passed, each one spent with different friends from far away.

christy was on her home coast this weekend, after flying in from san francisco late thursday. we caught up on things over a blissful, lazy friday which even included time for a matinee. she then continued southward to see her sister, niece, and nephew. christy's visits are typically bittersweet; this one was no exception. still, i will always take seeing her, however briefly, over not seeing her at all.

saturday brought another surprise. my friend catherine was in town with her new boyfriend. she used to be my upstairs neighbor at the fight club house; until last fall, when she accepted a new position in charleston. the three of us had lunch, then went bowling.

two lanes over was a young man who arrived with his own suitcase. it was on rollers and contained a couple of different-sized bowling balls. he must have been a professional or, at least, a first-stringer on some bowling farm team. i figured he was a professional because he did that thing some bowlers do where they don't put their fingers in the ball. instead, they just kind of palm the thing from underneath and then spin it, so that the ball drifts over, barely kissing the right gutter, before curving in at the last moment, violently blasting the center pin.

i watched him bowl an entire game of nothing but strikes and an occasional spare. he would get very angry when he bowled a spare and dramatically snatch up his hand towel and castigate himself under his breath, but loud enough for us to hear. it was great fun to watch.

today was the third day of out-of-town visitors. mark had a cookout for jan and elizabeth who came down from raleigh for a concert. the last time i saw jan was in may for michael's wedding. i had not seen elizabeth since i was up there a few months ago for ted leo. mark was quite the host and grill master. i even gave him the opportunity to test out his shiny new bartending equipment; i can always be counted upon to have a vodka tonic, if it helps a friend.

last seen: bus 174, i, robot, we're not married
last heard: lois 'you love your wounds'
last read: Sarah Vowell's forthcoming book, titled Assassination Vacation and due to be published Spring 2005, is about tourism and presidential murder.

Friday, July 23, 2004

the state library held a training session in the town of salisbury yesterday and i drove the 45 minutes north to attend. the town sits just off of interstate 85, sort of near the middle of the old north state. i passed it many times, on countless trips between charlotte and chapel hill. salisbury was a place to purchase fuel and supplies, but, even then, i stayed close to the interstate, never continuing into the town-proper.

before thursday, this little burg remained memorable to me for two reasons only. first, because the stretch of interstate 85 that runs alongside their town has, for years, festered in a state of perpetual, yet somehow unchanging, construction, and second, because local evil-doers recently saw fit to close a donut shop which used to occupy a piece of real estate near the bottom of the exit ramp. this last fact alone was enough to get the town of salisbury bumped from a potential top-five slot on my ideal rest areas of north carolina list.

so it was with low expectations and not a little trepidation that i journeyed into the town for this workshop. i highly recommend entering every situation that way. no matter if it is a new town or a parole hearing or a christian singles mixer. usually you'll wind up pleasantly surprised.

my favorite thing about salisbury was the neighborhood near the center of town, full of well-maintained historic homes. some of them were open for tours and a few had been converted into bed and breakfasts. salisbury has a wide main street called, ironically enough, Main Street. it is lined with old storefronts and broad sidewalks, good for ambling down whilst holding hands and listening to cicadas.

i'm not sure what all there is to-do in salisbury, but it is a quaint town. i might visit again some weekend, maybe next time i have a special ladyfriend, and stay in one of those giant houses.

last seen: anchorman, bourne supremacy
last heard: tullycraft 'superboy and supergirl'
reading: david sedaris dress your family in corduroy and denim

Tuesday, July 20, 2004

dear person who delivers mail to my new apartment who i haven't met yet,

a few weeks ago, back when i lived three blocks away, my mail was always delivered promptly. i would lift the tiny door on my mailbox and see all manner of bills and magazines. occasionally, i would see the random advertisement, usually the kind printed on cheap paper with coupons for a tire rotation on one side and electronically age-progressed photographs of missing children who had been kidnapped by an estranged parent on the other. most importantly though, i would see those familiar red envelopes from netflix smiling at me from between all of the mail i didn't care about.

the sight of those red envelopes made my face brighten, all innocent and excited-like, the way toddlers and small dogs and the mentally-deficient perk up when when they hear a key work its way into a lock on the other side of the front door.

it seemed like there was always a new red envelope in that box. several times per week there was a new red envelope. i was sick with red envelopes and i was happy.

now that i've moved three blocks away though, no more red envelopes. pourquoi?

grrr... (this is my mean face) GRRR, i say!

the company sends me emails. we're sending you a new red envelope, they say. i know they are supposed to be here. i already had to report one missing. so, my question to you, person who delivers mail to my new apartment who i haven't met yet, is--where are my red envelopes?

i do not want to rent a post office box. i hope no one is stealing them after you put them in my box and i hope you are not rubber-banding my red envelopes with plans to deliver them en masse at week's end.

please help.

your pal,
gloomy gus

last seen: kiss me deadly
last heard: nas 'halftime'
last read: colson whitehead's john henry days
bonus: what for is a university?

Sunday, July 18, 2004

my weeks and days started running together, everything beginning to look the same, so i skipped town this weekend. i undertook a sojourn to asheville in hopes that the hours-long car ride and final destination might clear my head.

for the benefit of non-locals reading this, asheville is a beautiful town which sits in the mountains of western north carolina. in addition to being one of the few liberal enclaves in our fair state, the town boasts interesting architecture, temperate climate, a thriving arts community, several antique/junk/architectural salvage shops, a handful of independent bookstores, many good restaurants, and a high concentration of the kinds of cute, bookish girls i tend to favor.

for all of these reasons, it remains my favorite place to visit on daytrips and keeps me scouring the buncombe county job listings for vacancies in their tiny public library system.

my usual itinerary is unstructured and organic on these visits; it involves a lot of wandering with no real plan. this time, however, to try something different, i dug around on the internet and found a trolley tour sponsored by the visitor's bureau.

i should mention here that asheville doesn't have an actual trolley/streetcar line, rather this was one of those tours that they bill as a trolley tour because you are driving around town in a vehicle that looks like a streetcar. they have these in uptown charlotte, too, and, whenever i see them, i think they look a bit foolish, like the next evolutionary step might be train tours of historic sites, but they will just cart people from block to block in an enormous locomotive retrofitted with giant tires.

despite the embarrassment of riding around town in a bright white trolley car, the tour itself was well-worth my fifteen dollars. the guide nimbly steered the lumbering metal beast down even the narrowest of residential streets making sure to point out this house or that valley view and, all the while, peppering his talk with pieces of town lore.

i even saw the hospital, just a large house really, where zelda fitzgerald perished along with several other patients; they were trapped in an upstairs room when fire broke out.

after the tour was over, i walked around for a few hours, stocked up on some zines at downtown books and news, and, before driving home, had lunch at a place that jen recommended only a few days earlier.

last seen: fight club, the lady from shanghai [editor's note: rita hayworth is dreamy.]
last heard: beat happening 'other side'
last read: It is the quiet strength of ordinary streets and unexceptional buildings that allows the icon to be special. We need to look at the city as a whole, and no building should leave it worse off.

Thursday, July 15, 2004

i spent the better part of yesterday in transit, attending two meetings and visiting three libraries. when i finally did make it home, i used another 90 mintues of non-work time to finish up a monthly order in B & T.

there are some of you for whom taking work home is a regular part of doing the job. sorry. now i can empathize. thankfully, it is a rare occurrence in libraryland and usually a personal choice, rather than necessity.

another rare thing, i'm discovering, is 90 minutes worth of uninterrupted quiet time at my new job. so, i decided that if i have to steal that time at home, it is well worth it to get out from under the dark cloud of a looming deadline and for the satisfaction of inking through one more task on my to-do list.

i shouldn't give the impression that the past two days have been pure evil though. they have not been. i ate lunch with juicy fruit and her brother, scott, yesterday. he is a soldier, on leave from korea. i sat across from him and listened to stories about adjusting to life in another country, the food and the traffic and the people. there were moments, as scott spoke, when i thought about my dad. how, at scott's age, he was a soldier living in germany and adjusting to the same sorts of things. i wondered whether he ever came home on leave and had lunch with his sister and a friend of hers.

tonight wasn't bad either. i caught up with the jen(n)s. we talked about books and movies and friendster and whether the kids were still doing that anymore. there was much fried food and some miller high life and a short walk to the dairy queen for a cherry-dipped cone. white trash never tasted so good.

last seen: bound for glory
last heard: the kinks 'monica'
last read: ...a few more plugs for shorter guys: They're easier to hug and you can look them in the eye. [via that little sidebar when you logout of hotmail]

Tuesday, July 13, 2004

this coffeeshop i end up at a couple of times a week sits on the corner of a busy intersection. the room is lined with windows and every seat gets some natural light as the hours pass and the sun dips lower and lower. when it's finally dark, i begin to catch headlights passing over people's faces, cast by cars that slowly round the corner outside.

sometimes i hear the familiar squawk! squawk! of squad cars far off in the distance and, by the time i finish reading my sentence, i can look up from my book and see the walls sprayed with blue and white lights, rotating and filling the room.

the lights will stay here for a short while as the patrol car slows at the intersection and someone's unseen thumb--

squaw-squaw. squaw-squaw. SQUAWWWK!

--presses a button impatiently, trying to open a space in the swiftly-moving crosstown traffic. when the seas finally part, the crown victoria roars away and traffic smoothes out. i peer around the room one last time and catch the eyes of several others who also looked up from their books. each of us sighs, quietly, in our turn, and then begins reading again.

last heard: the magnetic fields 'is this what they used to call love?'
last read: I thought there were 100 to 200 words of powerful, cogent observation there wrapped in 3,000 words of flamboyant malice. [can't get enough dale peck? go here]

Monday, July 12, 2004

my old kitchen, the one in the fight club house, boasted the same square footage as a large coffin. you know, the kind that families with dead relatives of a certain size have no choice but to pay extra for. this kitchen of mine did not have a single functioning electical outlet, unless you count the one behind the refrigerator. this forced me to plug my coffee maker in another area of the cramped apartment, just off of the kitchen.

real estate people with very shiny teeth probably called this area the breakfast nook, or, if they were in a hurry, simply, the nook. i called it another area of the cramped apartment, just off of the kitchen.

in addition to no functioning electrical outlet, the kitchen had but one drawer. it was approximately one-and-a-half feet deep and six inches across. this i used for all of my utensil-storing needs.

the one silver lining in this dark cloud of a kitchen was the ample cabinetry, so dang big that i believe it was specially-made and arrived via locomotive from texas. this last bit though, i can't prove. any meager joy i culled as the proud owner of texas-sized cabinets, however, was cancelled out by a complete lack of counter space.

once you begin to get a picture of my old kitchen, you'll understand how much i appreciate my new one with its dishwasher and garbage disposal and actual working electrical outlets. i can even start the dishwasher, run to the bathroom, flush the toilet for no good reason, then jump into the shower. you know, if i wanted to. in my old place, i had to wait for each plumbing gadget to complete its work before the water pressure was such that i could begin the next task.

explaining all of this to my mom, she thought i'd moved from a third-world country to, at least, a second-world one.

really, i just moved three blocks east.

so, you should come to visit. i might cook you something that doesn't come out of a can. i'll whistle while i do this and, if you need to, you can excuse yourself and go use the bathroom at the same time.

last seen: tootsie, napoleon dynamite
last heard: the streets 'dry your eyes'
last read: not funnies
PSA: little shirley beans has made her last few radio shows available as massive mp3s. they might take a second to load, but you'll thank me (and her) later.
bonus: pinewood dialogues from the american museum of the moving image

Thursday, July 08, 2004

there are some in my family, and they shall remain nameless, who have trouble with coordination. they tend to trip on even the smallest irregularities in sidewalks or yards. their feet seem magnetically drawn to dips in the terrain. their ankles twist and sprain with painful regularity. this is not to say that the rest of us are completely graceful, but we can fake it. this week, however, i have been the clumsy one.

on tuesday, i was reading a piece in the new LJ about the director of the atlanta-fulton public library; she was handed her walking papers on june 2nd. so enthralled was i by the blurb that i continued reading while walking down the stairs. actually, i continued reading while walking down a stair, singular. i didn't get far before i tripped down the other five steps onto the first landing. the show was not pretty as i came to rest, limbs akimbo, mortified, in front of a pair of co-workers.

then tonight, after a few miles worth of daredevil nighttime bike riding, wherein i pedalled inches alongside a speeding city bus and even dodged several cars yet managed to emerge unscathed, i still ended up going ass over teakettle because my front wheel got stuck in a four-inch drainage ditch right behind my house.

my hands scraped the sidewalk as i was thrown from my bike. i made it all the way into the house before i noticed the blood coming from my left hand and about fifteen tiny rocks embedded in the skin. the wounds are clean, but now my wrist is achey and numb. (he said, typing in agony.) that can't be a good sign, can it?

there is still time before the week finally ends and everyone knows that horrible things happen in threes. i can't wait to see what painful blunder awaits me in the next day or so.

i'm shining up that insurance card just in case.

last seen: cinemania
last heard: spencer davis group 'keep on running'
last read: "Shame, shame, shame," Democrats chanted as the minutes passed and votes were switched. [more here and here and here]

Wednesday, July 07, 2004

here--this will be fun.

for the next few days, take note of the conversations you find yourself engaged in five mintues before you leave work. if i were a bettin' man, i'd say the odds are good that your conversations are frequently mundane, definitely not work-related, and, perhaps, even funny. mine are. if not, you work too hard...or you're boring. both are terrible but i don't judge. i'm just telling you this because i love you.

those last five minutes are a magic time, a time for shooing civilians away and standing around with your coat draped over your arm, talking about nothing.

today was no exception. somehow talk meandered toward the conversational island of people we've dated and their relative heights, a topic dear to my heart and one which i didn't even bring up. i kind of walked into the conversation in progress.

this co-worker of mine, a woman of average to slightly above-average height, told us about a young man she used to date in high school who was shorter than she was. apparently, this young man was all skin and bones. he would even lie about his weight by adding a few pounds. when people asked, he told them that he weighed 110 pounds. (what a bruiser.) he took to drinking those horrible, chalky, weight-gaining milkshakes but they never seemed to work. she was a normal healthy girl and told us that she had, at least, a good thirty pounds on this kid. now here's the funny part-- if they got into playful fights or wrestling matches, she would simply sit on his chest and there was nothing he could do except flail around.

at first, i thought, how incredibly degrading.

then, seconds later, i thought, how incredibly funny.

true, they were only in high school but imagine if you saw grown-up couples doing that to each other. you hear an argument a few aisles over at the grocery store and when you turn the corner a woman is sitting on her husband's chest. i would high-five her or, at least, throw dollar bills.

last heard: rilo kiley 'science vs. romance'
last read: France may be somewhat unsuccessful economically, but it's successful in its long lunch break.

Tuesday, July 06, 2004

i exchanged quick hellos with the cute tattooed girl loading her clothes into a washer down the way, then opened my book, trying to get cozy in what was possibly the world's most uncomfortable wooden chair. she closed the lid on her washer and smiled as she passed me, walking out the front doors to handle some kind of urgent cute tattooed girl business.

the only people left in the laundromat were me and a young korean woman who was working the counter. she is there whenever i go. i think her parents may own the place. her english isn't very good, but each time someone walked in to pick up their clothes, she would practice the same sentence. it is soooo hot outside today, huh? and, just like i did, the person would reply oh, yes. yes it is. she would giggle.

one person came in, grabbed their laundry, and, just as quickly left. soon it was only me and the young woman behind the counter again. everything was quiet and suddenly a dryer door flew open of its own accord and spit out all of its contents, sending a heap of half-dry clothes onto the floor. if it were a cartoon, the dryer would have anthropomorphized into a giant pair of lips and gone ah-BLAH! we looked at each other in stunned silence, grinning.

with the tiniest little steps, she scurried over to the drier, shoved the pile back in, pushed the door closed and mashed the start button again with her thumb. she looked over at me, he will come back and say... [her voice got a few octaves deeper here, mocking the customer] uhhh, your dryer doesn't work. we both laughed.

last seen: control room
last heard: belle and sebastian 'jonathan david'
last read: They could very well be a modern-day, non-tragic Romeo and Juliet, healing an old feud with their love. [via pinky]

Monday, July 05, 2004

i spent the afternoon swimming. it was my first time this summer and i wanted to be prepared for a day at the pool. before settling into a deck chair, i diligently slathered sunscreen onto many of my exposed parts. i pulled the ample brim of a large hat low onto my forehead for shade. i packed a novel to occupy the non-swimming moments of the afternoon. i even made sure to bring a large bottle of water. i was protected against skin cancer and illiteracy and dehydration.

the only thing i forgot to do was put SPF 500 on the tops of my feet. now that i'm back indoors, they are beet red and itch like the dickens. it is, officially, summer.

last heard: sleater-kinney 'words and guitar'
last read: it is disconcerting to see you drop your fork, turn red, and groan in the middle of dinner.

i'm kind of funny about fireworks. like last night, i stood there, neck craned like everyone else. for a while, i enjoyed the innocent pretty lights, the way i could feel the boom and the crack of each explosion in my chest. i listened anxiously for the FOOMP!, one of my favorite sounds, as each shell was thrown skyward. i watched each tiny orange light climb up and up and up; they looked the way cigarette butts do when they're flicked out of a car window at night. just when each light got too small to see, fading as though it had burned out, the shell would burst, filling the sky with green or red or blue.

sooner or later though, on every 4th of july, i start to think about the fireworks a little too hard, about how one of the things they are supposed to represent is the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air. i wonder how comfortable i really am about celebrating rockets and bombs and i think about how, in real life, these things always did land some place, but no one ever really talks about that part.

then i imagine what my dad and most of my friends would tell me-- that i probably ought to just lighten up and enjoy the innocent pretty lights. so, for the rest of the evening, that's what i did.

last seen: the hot rock
last heard: slumber party 'i don't mind'
last read: In 1951, Tharpe married Russell Morrison in what was billed as "the wedding of the century." And that it was. The wedding was held in Griffin Stadium in Washington, DC. Admission was charged...

Saturday, July 03, 2004

unpacking boxes and not shaving, that's what i've been doing for the past few days. now everything is in its place and i can breathe again.

the thread that runs through all of moving time for me is juxtaposition. at one point, while unloading the car, i was carrying a toilet plunger in one hand and a saxophone in the other, all while wearing a cowboy hat. i felt like a little boy again. if only i owned a cape, maybe that would have completed the look.

the thread followed me into the apartment. i spent eight hours of the next day unpacking and organizing things. all the while, my computer shuffled its entire music catalog. every song was a surprise, each made better by the wonderful randomness of that which had played just before and that which would be coming after--

these arms of mine, choices, cool guitar boy, i hear you knockin', how to make a baby elephant float, clair de lune, i've got a tiger by the tail

--it was like an aural peanut butter and banana sandwich. you just don't know how well these things are going to complement each other until you try them. it made me happy.

the thread followed me to target where i dropped a c-note on a cart full of necessary, but seemingly-random, consumer goods. things like a throw rug, powerstrip, cereal, full-length mirror, two-drawer file cabinet, etc.

by the way, i think that the purchase of a file cabinet means that, sadly, i'm a grown-up now. i was getting tired of carrying all of my important papers around in cardboard boxes.

last seen: spiderman 2
last heard: tom waits 'jockey full of bourbon'
last read: They became disgruntled guardians of high modernism, defending its monuments from the pigeons of the new.

Thursday, July 01, 2004

no matter what your mom tells you, the high that you get from cleaning products is not the, you know, good kind. believe me. my windows are all open, there are two fans blowing simultaneously, and still a noxious cloud of scrubbing bubbles, tilex, and soft scrub is making my lips tingle and eyes cross. so ends day one of moving, a play in three acts.

after work, i dropped by the new apartment. though my lease doesn't officially start until tomorrow, they assured me that, today, the backdoor would be unlocked, the keys sitting in a kitchen drawer. i figured on unloading a couple of boxes and maybe cleaning the place before moving the heavy furniture in on thursday night. alas, this was not to be.

two painter guys stood in the tiny patch of yard behind my kitchen as i walked up. can i just mention here that there was a bud tallboy sitting on the porch? wouldn't it be nice to have a job where drinking was socially-acceptable while you were on-the-clock? i digress. they told me that the floor waxing guy would be there in the morning and then a final cleaning crew. i could, maybe, move in tomorrow about midday. this was slightly maddening.

i walked three doors down to mark's place, vented to him, taped a hastily-scribbled note on the apartment manager's door with bulleted points outlining the many reasons why this situation was very, very bad, then headed to dish. dinner was great and, after a half-hour pitstop at mark's for a few rounds of grand theft auto, i went home.

since most of my boxes are already packed, i skipped the moving-out-first part and started with the final cleaning. the refrigerator is completely defrosted and spotless; the bathroom is too. hence, my cleaning products buzz. tomorrow i shall try this moving business again.

last heard: epmd 'let the funk flow'
last read: A good finishing move at the end would be some baby biting another baby's leg off