RandomCha

What a horrible day. But Andy was here at home to comfort me, and I’m grateful for that.

A rather low-key weekend.

Andy has had the first of three all-weekend-long sessions of one of his summer classes. This one is “Fundamentals of Internet and Web Design” and it’s taught by one of the “rising stars” of the library world. And by rising star they mean he’s only 41-years old.

Andy has quite a crush on the instuctor. He’s been joking about it with one of his friends, Veronica, who is also taking the class. I picture them tittering to each other in the hallway, exchanging giggly whispers. Apparently he made some small talk with Andy yesterday, and Andy turned bright red.

The cool weather has been gorgeous. It was a bit off-putting watching SNL last night … it was a Christmas episode from last season, and watching it I had a weird, fleeting feeling that summer was nearly over already and it was time for sweaters again.

I’m reading “Super Flat Times” by Matthew Derby, which is Super Strange. But engaging. Very odd, dystopian stories loosely connected. It’s one of the few books I can remember where the prose itself really IS dazzling enough that the fact that I don’t quite understand what’s going on all the time is almost irrelevant. Usually that kind of show-offy, convoluted postering language annoys the hell out of me. It’s why I did not finish reading “Gravity’s Rainbow,” and also why I’m quite iffy about David Foster Wallace (to Andy’s occasionally-intense scorn).

I’ve been listening to a ton of music all weekend. Lots of different stuff, just kind of randomly going through the CDs and picking out things I haven’t heard for awhile. One of the nice things about having the apartment to myself is being able to play something really loud. And repeating it if I want to. “Idle Moments” by Grant Green, some Salsoul Orchestra tracks, Ellington, more of the Talking Heads boxed set, some of “Nixon in China,” Supreme Beings of Leisure, etc.

Andy should be back from class in ninety minutes or so and I’m going to attempt some broiled chicken with carmelized onions. Upon his arrival I’ll surprise him with a meticulously crafted Bombay sapphire martini with two blue-cheese-stuffed olives.

I hafta say, I feel pretty bad about Leslie Neilson getting that fourth whammy last night on “Press Your Luck” and losing everything. Tim Meadows was funny.

Andy tried to make me feel guilty for watching it. But it didn’t work. On the other hand, I accidentally stiffed the Leona’s delivery guy and didn’t tip him. That, I do feel guilty about.

Just won an eBay auction for the “Network” DVD … Brandon, you and I need to make a date for some classic satire.

First: the commute takes roughly the same amount of time as to the old office BUT it’s OH so much more pleasant to be going in the opposite direction as everyone else. I timed it on the way home tonight: from my desk to the Belmont L platform in 15 minutes. Can’t beat that.

Sure, there are plenty of wrinkles to be ironed out (a phone system designed by the same geniuses who rigged MAS90, a series of front door locks that are so rusty they barely function, a somewhat chaotic layout). But overall I really like it. Awfully much. I can actually do my own work WITHOUT HAVING TO HEAR EVERY SINGLE OTHER THING THAT’S GOING ON EVERYWHERE ELSE. Yes: privacy! And my new desk is three times as large as my old one. Spread Out! And there are places to go in the neighborhood. Culture!

My brain is a little fried because it was a busy day at work, but GOOD BUSY. And tomorrow is Friday! I’m doin’ okay. Martini time.

Brandon will be at the new location all day, coordinating things as the movers do their work. Whoever these movers ARE. No one knows. Anyhow. I’ll be by myself, more or less, at the old building, coordinating things as the movers do their work. Everyone is quite uneasy about the, umm, forwarding of the phone numbers and fax numbers. Because you know wouldn’t it be GREAT if the phone was just ringing its head off tomorrow in the old, empty office with no one around? And the old fax machine spitting out faxes onto the floor?

Tomorrow I will be at the new office. And Friday, when I get off work at 3, I’m meeting up with Jeremy at Scot’s, the gay bar half a block from the new office. Celebrate good times.

I was in the shower Saturday morning, shaving, and as has been my habit lately I was listening to AM Radio Disney. First they played “I’m A Survivor” (can’t remember who does that song). And then “Y.M.C.A.” by the Village People came on.

Yes, Village People on AM Radio Disney. Isn’t that a little … iffy?

Anyone want to see “Hunger and Thirst” with me tonight at 6:30?

http://www.aredorchidtheatre.org/

If so, email or call me.

Thinking. Thinking I should be writing more. Thinking I should go see “Hunger and Thirst” this weekend before it closes. Thinking I spend too much time watching movies; thinking I never run out of movies I want to see. Thinking that “Soul Samba” by Ike Quebec is a damn fine album (and quite rare for its period in that it contains no Jobim songs). Thinking about the year 2000 disturbs me, yet comforts me: that memory of long-enough-ago-not-so-long-ago. Thinking about seeing Edward Albee on the BBC when I was on Thanksgiving vacation in Scotland with my family. Thinking about the fact that I don’t really care for my job, or hate it, or really think much of it. Thinking about finding another job makes me uneasy. Thinking that writing full-time would create its own problems. Thinking that I ought to skip lunch. Thinking I wish I had more friends, or better friends, or fewer friends. Thinking about my road trip from Colorado to New Mexico. Thinking about Andy. Thinking.

We’re watching “Breakfast of Champions” on DVD. The lights are turned out and it’s just us sitting next to each other on the couch in front of the TV. We’re smoking up, passing the pipe back and forth. Before we know it we’re both incredibly stoned. There’s a scene in the movie where everyone is at a bar. Like a cabaret or something. I put my hand on your leg. You look over at me. Suddenly we’re making out like crazy. Our glasses get taken off, or maybe they fall off. We’re taking each other’s shirts off and grinding together. The DVD is still playing and it’s really loud. I catch Albert Finney onscreen out of the corner of my eye. The couch is too narrow. I take your hand and lead you into my bedroom. We get on the bed and pull down each other’s shorts. They don’t come off all the way though. We roll around furiously, it almost makes me dizzy, and then I’m lying on my back and you’re kneeling on top of me. You look absolutely amazing. God, I’d forgotten how big you were. You start jacking us off together like mad and rocking back and forth and then we cum at the same time. I actually see stars. It makes me want more. I’m dazed. We stand up surprisingly quickly and clean off, I guess, and go back to watching the movie. I don’t think we missed anything. The movie doesn’t seem to make much sense.

What Fassbinder film is it?

A one-armed man comes into a flower shop and says
“What flower expresses days go by
and they just keep going by
Endlessly pulling you into the future?
Days go by endlessly—
endlessly pulling you into the future?”

And the florist says, “White Lily.”

–LAURIE ANDERSON.