Kinda sorta like the thing the_automatik just posted
[12 Nov 2006|10:09pm]
I was musing aloud the other night; I think it was a combination of cold medicine, whiskey, and "shut up and listen 'cause it's my birthday", whatever the case was, there was talk of one's early adolescent crushes that seriously warped one's perceptions of desire for the rest of one's life.
I like to say "one's".
Point is, I realized long ago was never going to fall in love with the "girl next door" and i credit MTV in its early days for that.
Exhibit A: Chrissie Hynde of The Pretenders. Specifically "Tattooed Love Boys". The woman still makes me want to chew chair legs and bang my forehead through a window. You ever found someone so attractive it actually physically angered you? Maybe just me then.
"I shot my mouth off and you showed me what that hole was for." I mean just, just... I mean...
There's a reason i don't post much anymore, but i'll let funnyman Alex Blagg sum it up:
"Blogs About Living In NYC – As if Sex and the City, countless books and almost every sitcom just wasn’t enough, now every asshole in Manhattan with an internet connection and a third-grade composition level is regaling us with all their exotic tales of life and love in the big city, like they’re the first fucking people in history to inhabit this island. For the love of god, would you people stop before I’m forced to destroy every single Starbucks wireless connection in this city so you smug fucks can no longer sit there tap-tap-tapping away about your meaningless lives on the over-priced Powerbook you don’t need while sipping cinnamon-nutmeg lattes and looking around to see who’s looking at you? Ladies, no one gives a shit about how hard it is to date here (though here’s a free hint: stop reeking of desperation and maybe he’ll stop exploiting you and then not calling). And guys, the adventures of you and your buddies binge drinking and systematic infection of the entire city with HPV are neither original nor interesting. Stay at home, Netflix Swingers again and shut the fuck up."
Enough with the Cocaine, already. It's played out, this ain't the Eighties any more, and I'm sure it's overpriced cut-up shit.
Also, most of you are boring assholes with crappy personalities, and the coke deludes you into thinking you have just "fascinating" things to say, and you just can't stop repeating yourselves.
I never thought I'd miss the halcyon days of being surrounded by stoners. About ten or so years ago, if you asked me what i was going to do on a particular day, I'd probably respond "I'm gonna go smoke some dope and listen to some Melvins".
Simple. No muss, no fuss, no tedious conversations about my "5 year plan".
I'm no straight-edger by any means, but the "Studio 54" schtick is tired and retired. Drink whisky, take pills, shut the fuck up.
Oh, and just so we understand one another, this isn't a passive aggressive attack on anyone in particular, but you can be assured I'll tell you to your face if I have to.
In nicer news, the new TV on the Radio absolutely slays me. It's so good that even though I downloaded it, I'm still going to buy it when it comes out.
That's keeping it real for a cheap date like myself.
I wish i had a program to display and translate the product descriptions. I'm sure it's all slogans like "New togs to make now revolution" and "Smash Salaryman in foul face! With fist!"
Must have now. Especially this one. What the fuck? Is that like, John Paul Belmondo?
There needs to be a swift moratorium on any and all hating of the new Belle and Sebastian. Not that i've heard anything directly, i just have an idea that it's happening, and it's just not cricket.
What else doesn't suck? Hopewell. Hopewell doesn't suck. The A Number One:Gabe played their new cd for me this past sunday and it were real real good. Recommended highly, if they ever get a domestic record deal and if it ever gets released over here.
Me and him also met up at the last morning hurrah at el Matador. Being piss drunk and singing along to Thin Lizzy at 8:30 on a Monday morning is a good thing sometimes.
I took some pictures. I should post them if i can figure out how to do so.
Yeah, no update for two months. It'd have been mostly me repeating "fuck this shit" over and over.
Well, everyone's gotta have a mantra.
Tuesday night at El Matador, The Brian Jonestown Massacre massacred. Great set, including two 20+ minute blasts of sonic fury and contained chaos. My ears still ring.
Anton even controlled his legendary ranting, except for when he went off on "magic clubs and fuckers who think they're Hadrian trying to build their own personal wall around themselves".
Oh yeah, he also promised to move to new orleans and become a vampire and "start snapping off aereolas, left and right". What a card.
I have to work tonight, not looking forward to it. If you've had just about all the fun you can take lately, come join me and allow me to salt your wounds and/or your margarita.
Trolling for customers on the internet is so the gay, i know.
I'm vacating my apartment in the Bayou St. John neighborhood at the end of Sept. I told the Landlady (a.k.a. the upstairs neighbor) that I'd try to find a suitable replacement.
So listen up kids.
It's a 2 bedroom, one and a half bath basement(i.e.,ground floor) apartment. Or it could be a one bedroom with the larger bedroom doubling as a studio for all y'all artsy types.
Right off Esplanade by the Hare Krishna temple.
Rent should be under $600 a month. It's a little beat up in places, but if you've lived in New Orleans for any length of time, you know the drill.
Christopher is the #11 most common male name. 1.035% of men in the US are named Christopher. Around 1267875 US men are named Christopher! source namestatistics.com
You may NOT call me Christopher. Chris, Churchy, Moody fuckin' Prick, etc. are all acceptable. There are only 2 reasons by which you may refer to me as Christopher (and I ain't tellin' so don't bother askin')
My middle name is Wayne, BTW. I don't use it on any official documents, because it's my father's middle name, and i would rather use my Grandfathers M.N.(Albert), for personal reasons. News of the Weird occasionally has a section named "That Middle Name" wherein they list the criminal activities of men with the middle name of "Wayne".
Coincidence? I say nay.
(actually i just said "neigh", but i'm feeling a little hoarse right now.)
Does Cirque du Soleil own incriminating photos of the programming execs at Bravo? Seems like every time i flip past, they're showing another round of those prancing schmucks.
Honestly, people. Maybe i'm just a cranky old philistine, but the only way i could find this stuff entertaining is if the dancers (performers?, interpreters?, winsome bringers of dreams and childlike joy? Whatever.) were being chased about the theatre by a pack of cranked-out rhesus monkeys trained to go for the crotch? I'd buy a ticket for that.
The preceding statement contained my first and only use of monkeys as a humourous device within this journal. No more tired monkey references here. This i swear to you now.
Crotch injury laughs will continue unabated.
Oh, before i forget- I need to plug the advice column that me and marquisdd are trying to get started. So if you need schooling on matters of the heart, mind, spirit, and other and such sundry topics, drop us a line or three at setmestraight@dejadu.com.
Remember, i'm a misunderstood genius and a self styled expert on everything, so you're in good hands.
Please activate your extreme sarcasm filters for that last sentence.
The light in the sky streams down in yellow. Like we are suspended in amber, or covered with layers of some nacreous glaze. We are all photos in an old newspaper now.
I think i've been listening to Songs:Ohia much too much lately. Not quite as forlorn and longing as Will Oldham, but it approaches.
I got stopped by the cops tonight, and they searched my car for drugs.
I was let go, 'cause i was clean, but at one point i was handcuffed in a police cruiser while they searched my car.
They found a couple of Valiums (given to me as a tip by a drunk customer), and let me off with a warning.
Sitting in a police car is some scary shit(especially when you've had a few), the thought of OPP is terrifying(especially if you're a skinny white boy), and hearing the early 90's semi-hit "How do you talk to an angel(it's like trying to catch a falling star)" whilst cuffed in the back of said police car is especially the worst.
I can joke about it now, but about 2 hours ago i was convinced i was in for a weekend of not much fun at all.
I need a drink.(going to find hidden stash of Jameson)
Come see me at Molly's at the Market for more details.
Ima go see San Diego's finest The Dragons at El Matador tonight. Their new cd "Sin Salvation" has been on constant repeat for the last 3 days, and i'm glad to say that every song sounds just like every other song they've ever done, and i can appreciate that. The Ramones, Supersuckers, AC/DC, they all put out the same record each time, and in a world of subjective and often uncertain reality, such remedial consistency is a blessing.
That and it rocks like a motherfucker, too.
So y'all should skip the rash of Eighties nights that have popped up all over town and come check it out.
I am all thugged up on Friendster. Any of y'all who'd like to link to me just look for churchy.
I guess that's how it works.
There's this local fellow, we'll call him "Prince Ranier", and he fancies himself quite the man about town.
I am going to run this foppish dandy down in the street, leaving only strands of lank, wavy hair and vespa parts.
He does annoy me so.
Today, whilst driving down Esplanade ave, I noticed him scootering alongside singing "What i like about you" in a tuneless screech. If that wasn't bad enough, as he passed me, he repeatedly punched the air for emphasis. You know, to really punctuate those choruses. What a tool. I'm glad i saw him get his preening ass handed to him for crashing my friend Colin's wedding reception. Again, what a tool.
Oh and then there was the girl, the not quite hippy, not quite gutter, WASP girl with the sandals and the bad tattoo. You know, the "I'm hanging out with the scruffy dudes that my parents would totally hate" type. She wanders up to me in the Virgin Megastore after one of her friends announces that he's "Gotta piss real bad", and in lieu of a greeting or introduction, asks me:
"Hey dude, will you buy me a cd?"
"Uh...no".
"Can i get a cigarette?"
"No! Get a fucking job, hippy!"
I stomp off, wondering why the crazies always wanna talk to me.
Then i told the main security guard that there was a bunch of drunk white kids wandering around, looking suspicious, like maybe they were stealing cds or something.
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