Love, Drill Press

Dyna Moe

Love, Drill Press
Why can't the city just shut down Club Luxx instead for sucking like a hurricane? Yet another trip to this out-of-the-day asshole club in "rural Williamsburg," halfway to central Rectum Brooklyn to see DBA. It was bitter cold and gusty and although the show was supposed to start at 8, and we arrived at 8:05 it took them an HOUR to even let us in the building.

Main reason for going? Junior's birthday and i had purchased a painfully adorable Clifford the Big Red Dog from the Scholastic Store with MAGNETS IN ITS GODDAMN FEET. When Junior and I were together, watching Clifford on channel 13 was a daily activity. It is probably the most cute show on TV... nothing really happens and its really show, but everyone is nice to each other all the time. I gave it to him after the set, and I think he was a little embarrased. Lisa, Dan's girlfriend, piped up "You love Clifford!" to remind him, and he thanked me and hugged me. He pointed out that the toy was not very big (that being Clifford's main attribute), but Lisa said "compared to a bug it's pretty big.

Aside from making us wait a long time (and also being really slow at the door... we missed the first part of DBA's set even because the guy didn't have the take-money-check-ID-stamp-hand process down too well), the sound system was staticy, cracking and all around sucky. DBA sounded really out of tune; I think the monitors weren't working too well either. Junior smashed his snare a couple songs in, so the Epoxies' drummer responded to the band's appear for a snare as someone else in the band added "don't break it." which is kinda rude. Well, it's an awkward position... the band on stage says "we need a drum" and there's really only one person in the house who can provide it. If you say no... well, you're a jerk. While we were killing time outside we saw who we were now realizing was the drummer of the Epoxies. At the time, I thought he was a homeless junkie, since he was walking down the street brushing his teeth and talking loud enough to suggest that it wasn't a real cellphone he was talking into.

The Epoxies followed, which is what Joe Erg was most excited to see (since we've each seen DBA 40 times the thrill isn't really there), but I was tired, cold, and suffering from back ache since we got there. I judge bands by their fans, so the Epoxies are on my shit list. The place was overcrowded irritating drunk overweight jerks in quaint 80s style new waver "costumes" aggressively moshing into a slow-motion circle pit. The Epoxies do put on a pretty impressive Arena-rock-style show in a small club and most indie bands totally lack showmanship, so big ups on that front. Five piece combo, including lesbian icon singer and ridiculous amounts of keys (triple deck synth) all in black and day-glo outfits (except for the tooth-brushing drummer who probably had to be browbeaten into compromising and putting on a tie). They had a fog machine, strobe, red and white flood lights (which looked great richocheting off the fog) two sets of black lights and a giant KISS-style backdrop that spelled out EPOX IES in Christmas lights. All of these were used at least once per song.

The red-lit fog was the most impressive, but the black light was the one they put most of their effort into. Everyone's stage costume had at least one glo-element in it and the keyboardist (and ex-Automatics member, which had most of the Mutant Pop nerds braving the front line of the moshing 'tard crowd) had overwrapped his black skinny pants outfit with white band elastic mummy-style. The lady singer had orange glowing eyeshadow and the rest of the fellows put on some kind of glow lotion on their faces (that was invisible in regular light). Unfortunately, rock and roll is a sweaty business, so most of it had sweated off in patches. making the band look like melty Swamp Things in skinny ties under the black light. It definitely gave me some idea for the Girl Crush J-Pop musical number I want to do.

The music, unfortunately, was pretty indistinct.

I didn't stay for the third group, but they did load in a full-sized tube Hammond Organ.
 

Dyna Moe

Love, Drill Press
Czech me out!

I did see a very odd movie -- Rebelové-- a syrupy Czech period musical.

Yes, "Where Have All The Flowers Gone" AND "Downtown" translated into the most musical of tongues. It's super bright and technicolory and every musical number dissolved into a huge Busby Berkeley style dance number of identically-dressed teens frugging. And trombones. Czechs love trombones and there are TWO dancing with trombones sequences.

The rival male "jerk" to our teen heroine, among being ugly and clumsy (and in his 30s playing a teenager) also signals his jerkiness by being the son of a Communist Party member. JERK!

We were halfway through the movie before they said what year it was... it could have been any time between 62-70, really, until the teens are being congratulated as the class of '68. I was like "Isn't that when the Soviets invaded?" and sure enough, the love story stops pretty fast as huge tanks roll in and destroy everyones' world. The teen boy gets sent to prison and the girl runs from the tanks. The end. (It's like if Hairspray progressed as normal and then in the last scene everyone got shot in the amusement park riot.)

Eastern Europeans are a grim people that not even day-glo go go boots can cheer. Worth checking out though.

http://www.musicabona.com/catalog2/SU5344-2.html
 

Dyna Moe

Love, Drill Press
My roommate left on Monday for his thanksgiving duties down south, leaving me alone in my palatial apartment. I can so watch TV in a state of disrobe and wee with the door open.

I don't eat well... it's making me sick. I wonder if Mama's is open now... their fried chicken is very sweet-tasting.
 

Dyna Moe

Love, Drill Press
King Jerk

I'm not a real big fan of food-based holidays (as opposed to liquor-based holidays... those seem to be the two stripes they come in) and all the local news chuckling about "Oh, I gain ten pounds every Thanksgiving" and references to undoing one's pants after eating extremely stomach churning. I hate this country some times.

To celebrate being above the poverty line and having the superfluous income to do so people are expected to gorge themselves while nationwide (and internationally) people starve? Oh, what a gloomy holiday gus I am. And a whining liberal prick, too.

Don't forget everyone has to deal with their "crazy" families. Oh, families are "crazy."

Fuck you, holiday.
 

Dyna Moe

Love, Drill Press
Rage Corn!

My internal rage kettle is well nigh serving up some delicious buttery rage corn. I don't feel like elaborating, but the last couple evenings have been a hamster wheel of nightmares, insomnia and stream-of-consciousness horror shows.

My parents' home, also referred to as the Space House, is a great setting for insomnia for the reason of having complete sets of book serieses. I got 2 books (More... and Further...) into rereading the complete Tales of the City (skipping the first since I know it too well from the TV series). The second sleepness night I thought I might mix it up and read Sure of You (the last) out of order, but then I realized I hated that one. Stupid 1989. Stupid dissolving of Mary Ann (yuk) and Brian (double yuk)'s shitty 80s marriage.

I also read "Goodbye Mr. Chips," which is a horrible thing to do when trying to avoid a 2 AM mental freeforming on the futility of existance. Even the color folio of scenes from the exciting film musical (included in this edition) based on the book didn't do much to cheer me. It didn't seem to have much to do with the book... the scenes pictured anyway... and I couldn't tell what year it was supposed to be since Petula Clark looked very weirdly 20s-ish but all the lads had definitely 50s two-tone safety glasses in the background. The book takes place from 1850-1930s but I'd already established the relationship between book and film was tenuous at best.

I'm knocking out rather uninteresting web layout right out. I wish I knew what the hell I was doing. I missed my chance to go get a curry, and so I shall try and knock together some sort of sorry dinner out of canned tuna and dried rigatoni. Sad sad sad.
 

Dyna Moe

Love, Drill Press
DeLugg

My mother has demanded I get a new coat since seeing the ragged state of the coat I have. Large chunks of it are coming off and it's about as thick as a bathroom rug.

When cold, I eat coconut curry at Thai restaurants. I have just done so and now I keep puking up coconut curry back into my mouth. It is not my day.

I tried to get a sticker printed from stickerguy.com repeatedly but it wouldn't go through. First the file wouldn't and then my credit card wouldn't go through. I downloaded Netscape to try and get their online ordering shit to work and it still didn't. Finally I dropped it and ordered from contagious graphics even though it ended up being $10 more for the same thing... not worth the aggravation.

I managed to go through the list of "potential performance spaces," and found SPACE had an opening the one day no one in the "cast of thousands" has a conflict. It is also close to my house and they weren't going to charge us much. Communication isn't their strongsuit. I wanted to look at their space before I agreed but the manager wasn't going to be there until Wednesday. One of the other managers called me... his phone sounded like a deeply resonating coffee can and string operation and he also had a very intense stutter so I barely understood him. He wanted to talk about the politics of the UCB shutdown and specifics I didn't have; I just wanted to see the damn space.

I said I'd be there in a few minutes and found it pretty easily (even though the building was unnumbered and unlabeled, but the buzzer didn't work or no one was answering it. After five minutes, a guy stomped out and opened the door and then disappeared again without saying a word. I was in a large pink 2nd floor hallway with no signs or arrows or anything. There were theater flyers, so it had to be somewhere on the floor. I knocked on the nearest door and there was a one-room, multidesk office that I learned from the giant poster on the wall was Students for A Free Tibet (one of their sherpas opened the door).

They said the theatre was "straight back" which was bullshit... straight back was a cement wall. I turned the corner and found the stage behind a steel door but still no office. There was finally a labelled door... "restroom," not much help. There were piles of wood and boards and that sort of thing on the hall floor. I was getting fed up, so I called the theater number on my cellphone and a phone on the wall 2 feet from me rang... still no information as to where the elusive office was. A guy came out of a side door... he was Scott the Stutterer, I introduced myself and confessed to be the phone ringer.

Even though someone else's rehearsal was going on, he said I could look around, which made me feel very intrucive. I couldn't get a very good look at anything either, so I made a very perfunctory sweep and then offered to pay a deposit on the space, which Scott told me wasn't allowed... I had to give the money to the main guy who I had spoken to on the phone (who wouldn't make an appearance until Wednesday). I just want to make sure I don't lose the space.

This whole misadventure makes me puke in my mouth even harder. I hate doing this kind of shit. I was supposed to go to an Ergs show, but decided I was too depressed and irritated to go back to Jersey again. So tonight, I wallow.
 

Dyna Moe

Love, Drill Press
I did some shitwork for a indie label website... basically going in and fixing all the bad programming and broken links. In return, Jonnie sent me a big stack of CDs, mostly from the European label Stardumb. They were all in cracked cases and unwrapped... I guess I got the left over "reviewer copies."

Most of them are pretty bad. I guess I don't have much patience for records. Stardumb is located in the Netherlands, so they have a couple of Netherlander bands...The Apers, Retarded... but the other bands are from Italy -- The Popsters & The Manges.

Italian dudes in bands all want to be the Ramones. Remember that part in Amadeus where the Emperor's advisers were balking at the idea of opera in German instead of fluid and romantic Italian? Well, kind of the inverse is true in punk... German works great for barking but Ramonescore sounds really bizarre in Italian. Too many syllables. Luckily (?), these guys do it in English, but it's kinda like Furio from The Sopranos singing "Blitzkreig Bop"... there's a lot of odd tones and stretched vowels. Totally weird. 'Waan, Tu, Three, Fa-our."

The Dutch bands sound pretty American, but some of their word choices are a little off sounding. I can't really put my finger on it.

There were a couple of domestic bands (from Whoa Oh's label backstock). These guys sound pretty amatuer, but that's the point of DIY releases I guess. The nasal whiny vocal thing is in full force, which I think is pretty cute. The Ergs stopped doing it since Junior learned to sing (he's a real crooner now, when he's not screaming). Less cute is the throughline of "lout" attitude on a lot of these... at least one song per album is a profession of pride in jerking off/being a pig/liking tits and so on. It's pretty tedious.
 

Dyna Moe

Love, Drill Press
Everything matches.

This band on Conan... "Soundtrack of Our Lives" is aggressively Swedish in their unattractiveness. And they have six members? SIX! Oh god, a pudgy lead singer with an ascot, beard and a cane PLUS a keyboardist.

I have determined the best way to break my very unproductive sleep cycle is to just disrupt it and start over. I tried taking Klonopin but that only knocked me out until two, which is just pathetic. So I'm staying up AAAaaaaaalllll night (in order not to sleep through therapy).

It's just 4 now, so I figure I'll go to an all-night diner in a bit and get something breakfasty. That's my halfway point. Then I gotta keep moving so I don't pass out.

All these freaking sleeping pill ads on TV. Ambien and Shop NBC.

I wish I could stop sporadically and uncontrollably crying. It's a real pain in the jock.
 

Dyna Moe

Love, Drill Press
Dammit.

I could not be more sluggish and bored.

I walked yesterday. Long circuotous paths through the cold in my dazzle lurex sparkle tights. I was operating on little sleep, but I knew I had to wear myself out or I'd be up all night again.

I went uptown to my mother's work... she demanded I come so she could buy me a winter coat during the elusive Bloomingdales secret sale on Friday. She said I looked cold when I came up for Thanksgiving. I'm always cold... they live in a house that's 85% windows.

She was frantic because she had a real estate closing that afternoon (to refinance their apartment) she hadn't anticipated and her boss had asked her to do some presentation. I was nearly dead from lack of sleep, but kept my mouth shut. She warned me she didn't have much time and we couldn't have lunch and I had to be quick about this coat thing (even though it was her idea).

Bloomingdales looks like every other department store in the universe in malls across this country, except for rich people. Coats are like... coats. Most of these were upwards of $600, and yet they were sitting on racks in multiples like they were regular old coats. There were like $6000 worth of coats on one rackunit (even though I once worked in a department store, I will not even try to pass that off as official industry lingo).

I don't really like shopping and picking out something as blandly useful as a coat, an item I held little preferences in the area of, was boring. I found a red coat that looked ok and it was just north of $170. A super bargain in the room, my mom seemed a little disappointed, "I could have gotten this one without the coupons." So I have a red coat now. With a hood, which actually looks pretty stupid, so I might take it off when I get a hat.

We got deli sandwiches at a deli where my mom knew all the guys who worked there and then went back to the Citibank building. They have a lot of glass walls on her floor. It's kind of a silly security measure... if someone wanted to get in really badly they wouldn't have to do much to just smash the walls. I asked who they were trying to keep out and my mom was like, haven't you seen the news? All these investigators want to get to our files..." She had a paperweight on her desk that was the Citigroup logo and underneath it said "I AM RESPONSIBLE." They gave it away as a motivational aide at some conferance. I said, this seems like a red flag for pinning blame on people when the day comes that the federal investigators come for the files. It's an admission of guilt in solid form! My mom said originally only her boss had an I AM RESPONSIBLE sign on his desk, so she made her own that said CHUCK IS RESPONSIBLE.

I left and went to UCB to sticker Girl Crush flyers (Please come to Girl Crush. Nov 10 at 8 PM. I need to make my money back on the SPACE space rental). Shannon was there to inventory the UCB TV props the theater is selling on ebay and I gave lots of unsolicited advice on how to make HUGE PROFITS on EBAY L@@K! The only massive SALES BONANZA experience I have is dumping all my MST3K memorabilia when I first moved to Brooklyn ($200 on the lunchbox, $100 on a third season poster...$50 for a collection of press clippings). The UCB aren't selling the most signature stuff -- the jackets, the dolphin head, a couple of "alternate" jackets like Trotter's pimp uniform jacket in red brocade. There are tons of creepy UCB superfans in the world-- I'm sure the Arange Drank overalls will go for a thousand dollars. (Idiots.)

I walked around the rest of the afternoon. Went home. Went out again. Walked around. Ate at Sammys Noodle Shop. It is the most Americanized Chinese restaurant in the universe. I realized that there was not one unfamiliar item in my chicken dish... no bamboo shoots or chilis or weird Asian root vegetables of any kind. I put hot oil over the top and ate it with a fork. Then I walked up for a long time.

I decided to go to the PIT fundraiser. I wanted to see what the inside looked like, and I had also thrown an email hissy at Shannon Manning days earlier for not being privy to any insider info on the goings on at PIT. Mostly, I want more flyer work. Nyah. So even though I didn't have $15 to my name, I walked up 30 blocks to PIT. It has a very elaborate door, which is kind of necessary to encorage people to commit to walking up the stairs to floor 2. It's a committment from a passer-by to leave the groundfloor, I think. The door, with its red and black bold graphics actually makes the place look like a Gay Fetish club (the name doesn't help).

The inside reminded me a lot of SoloArts. I saw a couple of GUNSHOW people inside and then Doug Moe, but the place was packed to the gills with people I didn't know. The closing of UCB at 121 W 22nd is kind of the last nail in any sort of seniority I could feel over the throngs of improv masses... *I* was there when it opened. I predate UCBT bla bla bla. No, I don't actually perform anymore... and yeah, well, see there used to be this guy called Besser... And then they walk away to go talk to, I don't know, whoever the flavor of the month Harold team player is.

PIT has very high ceilings. And a large ante-chamber (which made me think of Solo) where Doug Moe and Celine and I stood around. The inside was far too crowded. Eventually, after being shushed innumerable times, we squeezed into the hallway leading to the stage. It was really huge... like a soundstage more than a theater. Jamesey-come-Lately Eason showed up and we saw Brian Fountain perform Vaganus, which I had heard in some Sketch Show I think. There was a short set of speeches from Ali and Armando and thank yous and then they started stacking up the chairs and music started, but the conversation was really too loud (finally freed from the "shushing") to make out much. I said hi and congratulations to all those involved, walked around and looked at everything, and then went back out into the cold... it was already midnight by now.

There were no cabs but a lot of people were walking around, so it didn't feel all that desolate. I walked all the way crosstown first, debating whether to crash at my parents' (E 37) or my own house (E 8th). In the end, I walked south and eventually got a cab on 23rd. I got home by 1 AM but...didn't sleep. I chatted on IM for a couple hours and then laid still until eventually getting some kind of sleep.

I woke today at 2 PM. And watched "Jack Frost" And then it was dark outside. Dammit.
 

Dyna Moe

Love, Drill Press
Setback

After "Jack Frost" my roommate rented "The Importance of Being Earnest" for no particular reason. It was, as you might expect, pretty queer. No one tops dumpy old British actresses in the mugging department. Lots of befuddled "Why I Never!" expressions in it.


Then we watched "Dead Pool" -- a very late Dirty Harry movie with Liam Nieson as a ponytailed horror director who showcased his Englishness by ending every sentance with ", love" -- on TV. It sucked. It just didn't make sense? Criminals would burst into a place crowded with bystanders and start shooting even though they were unmasked and clearly had no means of escape. And then Dirty Harry shot them.

I decided I'm going to make my own Dirty Harry movie with Brian Huskey. That would be hilarious.
 
Last edited:

Dyna Moe

Love, Drill Press
Setback

We emptied the basement of GirlCrush props... Brian Huskey said the UCBT was like an abandonned Russian space station with only Cosmonaut Chad sitting in the front office of the locked and gated theater... lights off, alone, everything torn apart and tipped over. Just quietly going insane.

I cleaned out our cubbies, but some heavy shit has gone down in the basement... there's upturned boxed of flyers and loose flyers all over the floor... like a bar fight or a raid had come through. There's mushed up crackers and other grit and open food cans sitting on the shelves.

A lot of our stuff was missing... like big stuff. The Baku puppet and the tentacle (both found in odd places). It was a terrible system... I don't know what anyone's shit looks like. I called Terry about the puppet but then I don't think I got his bag with his clothes and mask... and his gun. I went over and over the trashed basement.

TerrySeal: the gun is in a plastic case and is heavy...and is at the bottom of the (fairly light...plastic bag...lightish in color...TJ Maxx label...tied at the top) the gun is in a plastic case it might be pinkish...the bag...but...don't remember...if it's more off-white

The office officially fired me from doing their art. Not surprising really since they don't need any art since the theatre's closed and they need to save their money. The slight monetary safety net is gone, so I have to actually get a regular job now. My freelance work wasn't even covering my insurance much less my expenses. I'll worry about it after tomorrow.
 

Dyna Moe

Love, Drill Press
Dynamite! Dynamite!

My samurai sword is missing.

The show at SPACE passed without incident. Hopefully the taping went over pretty well. The proof is in the tape.

One incident confirming my belief that SPACE is run by stoner idiots... Like twenty minutes before the show started the manager told me I wasn't allowed to take money at the door, despite the fact I told the owner I was going to take money at the door when I rented the space. A bunch of the manager's friends showed up mid performance and walked through the extremely crowded/backstage hallway, which was a little distracting. And the whole place smelled like paint. I probably wouldn't do another show at SPACE until they get their shit together.

But the show went fine. I didn't even make close to my money back on the rental (even if I did charge at the door), but I should when I sell the tapes.

I'm glad its over.
 

Dyna Moe

Love, Drill Press
Bleek

Above Kleptomania at Show World has a very distracting stage... there are mirrored tiles arranged in diamond shapes all over the red and black walls and ceiling. It's very decadent, but ruined by a brown linoleum floor that brings to mind Roy Rogers restaurants in toll plazas. I don't know how anyone could watch naked people in that space... the walls are so distracting.

I saw Gun Show perform there just now. It's a little unsettling to go into a porn palace next to the bus station to see a comedy show... On the outside its still the flashing-light, vaguely circus themed strip joint it was in earlier days. The house music hasn't changed either... anemic hip-hop that's perfect for grinding to.

All of 7 people were there, which luckily was more than the number of members of the group that showed up (4). I had to sit through some other group that only had two people. The total number of audience members equalled the number of performers total.

Gunshow did their form and were stretched pretty thin for the lack of members. They were cut of at seventeen minutes in what was supposed to be a 25 minute form. I couldn't really give any notes on that, so I just was generally negative for what they did get done. The rest of the show was basically a montage.

Afterward everyone kinda took off. This was our last meeting before we took the rest of the month off for the holidays. I followed Ryan downtown and went to his office party. Unfortunately, most of the food had been eaten by the time we got there. His company editted the Kid Stays in the Picture and they were showing previews for it on monitors. Most of his coworkers were well into their cups by then... All the ladies in the office were very fashionably attired... of the Sex and The City school of wide belts and assymmetrical tops. I felt very grubby since none of them had patchy dye jobs.

My mother called to check in and I told her UCB canned me. She immediately went into an angry panic. She told me to call my relatives and beg for work, which I know is pretty much a waste of time. I have to do something; I guess I have to file for unemployment, even though I made so little from UCB I doubt I qualify.

As sucky as everything was before I have succumbed to a new level of suck. I guess I had grown complacent with my marginally employed status. When looking for better work was getting no results I just said screw it, I'll just stay in this crappy state. Now I have no choice.

Once again, a new, I feel like I have very little to look forward to.
 

Dyna Moe

Love, Drill Press
I'm taking Klonopin to sleep, which almost worked except now I can't seem to stay awake. Permanently drowsy and disoriented.

I took a walk, an aimless walk around the neighborhood. I got a call from Joe Erg unexpectedly while in a drugstore. He said Honeybee Robotics has left him stranded in the Arizona desert for the last week with no phone and no computer and no tv. He's living on microwaved Hungry Man dinners and sleeping in the supply RV watching the drills as his bosses go into town and stay at a Best Western.

He finally broke down and started using the "emergency phone" to call his friends and family. He's still going to be there for two more days.

DM
 

Dyna Moe

Love, Drill Press
Bastards of Jung

I fell asleep at 5 and only woke when SPACE called me to tell me they found the samurai sword. I hadn't mentioned to Joe I had lost his sword since I figure spending the last week staring at cactus had worn his moral down enough.

The guy who runs SPACE was pretty pissed when I told him the manager that night told me I couldn't take money at the door. He told me that was "fucking ridiculous" and said that he hoped it wouldn't deter me from doing a show at SPACE again.

Catherine came over a bit later and we dyed my hair. The grim realization that shitty job hunting is in my future and the all-together patchy shit job Hello Beautiful in Williamsburg did on my last coloring prompted me to just throw in the towel and go natural-ish. So its yukky brown. Thanks A LOT shitty economy. You win.

We had two different parties to go to, the first near my apartment at Tribe, but it was packed, so we skipped it. The second was in Williamsburg, the Red and Black something where some friend of hers was "spinning." It also was packed. We stayed for about five interminable minutes, the hip-hop being "spun" barely audible above the richocheting voices of Williamsburg assholes. It was her friend, so I waited for her to decide this place sucked and then we took off to The Abbey where we got sloppy drunk. The free round from the pourmeister didn't help things.

I am now a shimmery cocktail or tired, nauseated and headachey. Gotta do a flyer. Told Modern Humorist I'd write a piece this weekend. Oh, and find a fuckin' 9 to 5'er. Jezzus.
 

Dyna Moe

Love, Drill Press
A Gassy Madman

A call from Joe Erg... he has just touched down in Newark without incident. The day before he managed to commandeer a shower from a grade school pen pal of his and step back into life among civilized human beings (out of the Western allure of being a hermit drill custodian). He got in so late I declined to brave the PATH this late to go and see him. It will wait until tomorrow.

Please someone give me piles of money. I need a proper job and perscription medication.

And also, I am writing Christmas cards.

Please come swiftly, O Death, and take me in the night!
 

Dyna Moe

Love, Drill Press
Suckafresh

Our raditators have been going full tilt for the last few days... even turning the knobs to "off" didn't affect them. My roommate complained... now we have no heat. I think he's left for Xmas already so I can't even blame him in person.

I went to my medical appointment, despite it being ridiculously early and far from my house. There was a minor crisis since Dr. Kim was not my official Personal Care Provider (unfortunate acronym) and they weren't going to let me see him, despite not having any other PCP, so I had to get on my cell and call HIP to "officially" change the PCP before he would see me without a referal.

My main reason for going was to get other referals... mostly for a pharmacologist, which he said he couldn't do... psychopharmachologist referrals have to come from HIP central intellegence or some shit. He wrote me a perscription for bogus brand-X PROZAC and an ambien (which wouldn't be covered by HIP, so I didn't get filled) and to make my trip worth my while, tossed in a blood and urine test.

I basically felt like shit the rest of the day, but managed to get some ass stupid presents for my family, including a bowl made from a record that looks like a double-wide DEVO energy dome (the whip-it hats). It seemed like everywhere I went was full of assholes... I got backed into twice by jerks not looking where they were going (or my lack of personal pep kept me from sidestepping them).

The Union Square Holiday Market? Oh Jesus... I wished desperately I had the power to send a force wave of chi in all directions (as in State of Emergency) to knock over all people and buildings in all directions. The concentric rings of shit merchants begged for that kind of destruction. There are one or two stalls that had ok stuff... I found a "metalcraftsman" who my mother owns a items of his oevre... so I thought about getting her another item... a knickknack or tschochke... and I was looking at one and this dude BACKS INTO ME and then turns around to mutter sorry and then see's I'm looking at something and says "Uh, I'm buying that." I put it down... the cashier says "Ok, so you're getting that" "Oh, I haven't decided between this one and these ones over here." So the whole shelf is he has staked claim on. Asshole. So I took off. No charming metalwork for me...

Now I'm just in my apartment. And cold. And angry, but mostly cold. These off brand Prozacs look like horse pills. Aw Jesus.

I hate everything. This journal is going out on a definite whimper.
 

Dyna Moe

Love, Drill Press
Jorb

I used to pretty much read everything on the IRC boards, even after many of my peers started peeling off. Most of it is filler and conversations, if I had been observing in real life, I would have politely excused myself to go back to the bar. I think the tedium of posts here has reached critical mass. I often get whipped into a froth of anger over stupid, unfunny posts...I have to stop reading all the sections.

I went to two Xmas parties yesterday. Both were tiny apartments in outer burroughs (Brooklyn; Jersey City*) filled to firehazard capacity. Both made me uncomfortable. The JC one would have been more fun because there was a game involved where you'd trade gifts randomly and anyone can steal your gift and you get a different one, but I forgot my gift at the first party (It was a Paint-by-Number Snowboarding scene), so I didn't get to play.

I'm here until Tuesday.
 
Top