Summer Laze

It's late, and I should be in bed since I have to work tomorrow in the day and bring the party to the Beckster for her 22nd birthday party in the night. However, I'm not feeling it and have decided to write a little bit here.

I just got off the phone with my former roommate Sancho Panza who will be living in South America next year which makes me incredibly jealous. His life sounds pretty good...at least entertaining. Of course, I maintain a certain confidence with Sancho, so none of that will be elaborated on here, but he always has a lot on his mind, cracking me up and boring me at the same time. Hadn't actually heard his voice in seven months, so that was more than exciting.

This weekend reminded me of how hilarious my life can sometimes be, just from an observer's perspective, without me really having any action. Between some crafty, passive-aggressive homewrecking on my friend's part disguised as a surprise visit at a birthday party in addition to denied Indian/brown fetishes proving themselves once again, to getting in trouble for relating a story and evesdropping despite the fact that I was simply relating a story that I heard the next day to dime slit eyes, to getting ditched while doing a very noble job of stealing toilet paper and Wubulu always cracking me up for reasons I don't quite understand. These are somewhat vague references, but they're going to have to suffice.

My job continues, and the training portion proves to be more exhausting than that for the CIA or FBI. I'm still maybe only halfway done, and I've been working there forever.

I don't know if I mentioned this in the blog before, but it bears repeating. Everyone around me knows this, but I have yet to elaborate on it here. I've come to the conclusion that poverty breeds crime. This would be obvious to anyone living in urban America, and of course I've known this before, but since returning to America, I know it from personal experience. For example, in my more desperate hours, when I was unemployed, crime was always popping into my head. Every time I went to the grocery store all I could think about was how much I would rather steal food than pay for it. Of course I couldn't do it, but I think that if I had gone a little longer without income it seriously would have happened. Hooking was also a very considerable option that I weighed. Honestly, I'd be a hot commodity, a fetish item, like an Asian or midget. There's got to be a specialty market for bony white boys with mullets. This actually came to me the moment I stepped out of the Chinatown bus in Boston. I was thinking about how awful it was going to be walking across Boston from South Station to the northern suburb of Cambridge, and all I could think was how much easier it would be to give a cabbie a hand job in exchange for a free ride to Eliot. Try to get that image out of your head!

Actually, I can! When Schnocone returned to South Station after spring break in Puerto Rico last year he was mulling over the idea of staying at the station until the subway restarted when he went to the bathroom to see some guy in cowboy boots defecating in a stall with the door open and...wait for it...a hobo washing his genitalia in the sink. I hate to steal the thunder of that story from Schnocone because it is oh-so-hilarious, but I needed some mental sorbet to cleanse the brain palate, and since I didn't have any, I decided to throw that rank stinking pile of garbage into your head.

Umm, this is what happens when you're basically lazing around in the summer. Your mind wanders. Currently reading Winesburg, Ohio and about to start American Pastoral in order to finish it before I go home and devote my time to finishing off Moby Dick. Yesterday I watched Todo sobre mi madre, or All About My Mother...so good. I love that imbecil Almodovar, I don't care what my Spanish parents say. Also, I'm totally freaking out for Liz Phair. Seriously, what happened? Before at least she said she wanted to make throwaway music that was catchy as hell and kind of fun, but now I read a NYTimes article where she talks about the label pressures and how she's still able to control some of her artistic decisions. This just makes me sad and mad as hell. How can a label engage in such a smear on one of the greatest minds, male or female, of pop music in the last ten years? God, they already have Sheryl Crow, why do they need a clone that can't even live up to her dumb standards and ends up compromising and falling short of even that low standard. I'm sorry, but this is really upsetting. I blame LA. This would never have happened if La Liz had stayed in Chicago. Ugh. And I don't need people who never really appreciated Guyville completely to join in my lament, because you don't really understand the fall. I care shit for credibility or hype. I'd take another whitechocolatespaceegg, but this is ridiculous.

OK, that went on a lot longer, but I realized I was ranting. In other news, nothing.