What I Did Tonight:
I went with Greg and his drunken friend, What's His Name, to a party house in "the ghetto" where super-duper indie people had set up a venue for artists to exercise their brilliance. One must acknowledge, while abstaining from prententious behavior, that brilliance is decided upon by the audience, not the performer, or if you prefer, the artist. Choosing against non-protentious observation, I inform, you the reader, that there are just some people out there who, should give up their hopes and dreams with age, and fade nicely into the worker-consumer haze.
One of the performers I happened to catch was a chubby, white guy in his late 20s, early 30s, who's idea of stage fashion was a direct derivative of multiple viewings of The Last Emperor. He sat on his knees on this Sort of a Stage in the "show room" and pressed different electronic music instruments: Keyboard, sythesizer, and other things, which are probably named differently than the previously mentioned 80s era "electronic music" instruments. He would say/yell (labeled this, as his behavior dictated the blurred stages between saying something and yelling it) into a distorted microphone and thencu go back to pressing general keys that gave atmosphere to the noise he called experimental music. By the way the Chubby White Last Emperor was heckled by an obese guy, who utilized the one-crutch and asked, "Hey, you going to eat his tea leaves?" He should've just called him a Chinaman and gotten it over with (by the way, I purposely chose to end the sentence with a preposition, oh deranged reader). Also, there was some cool guy who smoked pot in the back of the "show room" (movie theater style chairs) with A Way Too Hot for Him Girlfriend. This guy kinded of acted like a douche and his style (real short hair, goodfy golf hat, goatee, and matching suit) really owed a lot to his apparent devotion to not only Paul Giamatti, but his fame. That's right, this Too Cool for School Mo-Fo was banking off the Paul Giamatti hype associated with Sideways. That's my opinion and you can take that one to the bank, oh kick-ass reader.
I also realized that there's a world of fucking difference between me and, not only the Douchey McDouchigans that rides the coat tails of Paul Giamatti's hype, but the motherfuckers who don't call him on it. Man, the first time one of my friend's dressed like this douche I would've been like, "Change your clothes before we go out. I'm not hanging with Paul Giamatti. I'm hanging with you motherfucker. We can't get pussy this way." But this guy had a girlfriend! An attractive girlfriend! Sometimes, I marvel at how different we all are.
I bought a 7" record of a band I saw. They wore huge masks that reminded me of Mexican parades and Mardi Gras. I am happy tonight.
Tomorrow morning, Easter Sunday, I am going to church with Myrna. Can you believe that? I'm going to church. It'll be something to do tomorrow. Otherwise, I'd wake up and watch shitty TV (because nothing good's on Sunday morning) until at least noon. Then what? At least, this way I'm doing something damn it!
Don't worry, my fair reader, as I shall not succumb to organized religion, or any religion, where I must meet inside a designated building, be it wood or rock. Make it steel, pal, I'm still not coming. My God's powerful enogh to hang with me, where ever I am. Now take that to the Christian Bank, motherfucker!
I've wanted to make a coastal venture, but I know I must not. I would love to have surprised my mother by coming home for Easter, but it wouldn't be a wise financial venture. I am not due for a coastal visit until April 23, 2005. I believe my mother doesn't want to come home at all. No, I'm kidding. But I don't think she would want me to visit until that time (childhood friend's wedding) because she wants me to get used to Houston as my home, which it is. I love this city. NYC, Los Angeles, and Chicago are the three biggest cities in the U.S. Houston is the fourth, but it lacks the cultural significance of the top three. I will bring it out. That is my project.
Catherine's a blond now. It takes some getting used to, but it looks good. She really can pull off the tramp look when she wants. I don't mean that in a negative way. What I mean, is that she puts on the shirt, but not the too-short skirt, with fishnets and shows off her cleavage, while balancing on high heels. I mentioned that she balances because she's not a stranger to falling flat out of a car or slipping onto her ass.
I transferred a sketch (and then some!) (<- ha!) from a kick-ass legal pad (Stuart Hall, Executive model) to the laptop, while of course revising at the same time. Good stuff. Nicely productive day. Loved it.
I haven't been this exhausted in a very long time. Last Night/Early Morning... It was an all-nighter, so to speak. I drank a lot of beer; shot tequila. I made out with Myrna (not pronounced as it's spelled). I went to sleep at seven something this morning. I've felt exhausted all day. Seriously, I've slept like a motherfucker, or as Joel would proudly say, like a mug.
On Monday, I went to the Houston Media Source, which is Houston's public access. For $150 per year, you can have access to their video, audio, lighting, editing, etc. equipment, as well as have your own show on Houston's public access! All you have to do is become certified in certain fields, which means all I have to do is take some pretty interesting classes (running $50 each for the most part) and BOOM baby! I'll have my very own show. I'm excited. The juices are flowing! That wasn't a metaphor dealing with creativity. I'm a hemopheliac. That's right, I free bleed. But seriously, I'm damn excited. You hear me? DAMN EXCITED!
Also, Chris, Lauren, Zana and I are going out for drinks. You hear me? That's right, folks - Hot Zana. I'm feeling great. Before I didn't have a job, I was in a rut. Now, I have a job. It doesn't pay much, but it's a start. Plus, I love working downtown. It's great. All I need is an iPod for when I'm walking around downtown and riding the Metro Rail (aka, the Light Rail) home. I'm writing and I'm having fun.
I've started downloading a lot of jazz, old Mowtown stuff. Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, Ray Charles, Herbie Hancock, Otis Redding, Duke Ellington, some James Brown, a little John Lee Hancock, a bit of Louis Prima, Miles Davis and John Coltrane, little bit of Stevie Wonder, and a song by Wayne Shorter. It's good stuff. I downloaded a great song from Pitchfork Media by the band Mommy and Daddy. I really like the song Confetti. It's good stuff. I'm going to see NIN in May. I'm excited. I saw Ray this past weekend - Just in time for the Oscars, that ego-filled, self-censored ass-kiss fest for motherfuckers who have never heard of this thing called humor (Sean Penn, I'm looking right at you! Come on! You were in Fast Times! Smoke some pot, do something, you blockheaded, Hollywood leftist jerkoff!). So, I saw Ray, right, and Jamie Foxx totally deserved the award. I felt the film wasn't as concentrated as it could have been, but with anyone else playing Ray, the film would've blown. I was so wrapped up in his performance that early on I forgot it was Jamie Foxx.
God, I'm addicted to chips and salsa. There have been few times when I've felt like too much is too much. I love that it's so healthy. I feel like it should be bad, perhaps cancer-causing because it's tasty. Tasty, tasty, tasty. Not like Zana, who's sexy, sexy, sexy. Ha!
By the way, I've been taking Adderall on a regular basis again: 10mg/day, Monday-Friday. Usually, I take it around 8 AM, as I'm starting my day at work. I like to have a cup of tea sometimes before swallowing the pill because tea's good. There's nothing particularly clever I can say about it, other than tea's good. It's gewd. So, I'm really trying to cut back on my coffee consumption, which is how I keep myself jazzed up for work after lunch. Once I get some food in my belly, I tend to slow down. Really, my supervisors should treat me like pyramid-building slave. Feed me enough to keep me working and beat me if I don't praise the pharoh enough, which is how I think all businesses should operate.
I'm listening to Mamas and the Papas' "Age of Aquarius." Screw the age of aquarius. When's the Age of the Gemini and what the fuck does it even mean? Now, I'm listening to Michael Jackson's "Don't Stop Til You Get Enough," which is off his first record. Honest to God, it makes me want to dance. It kicks ass! In fact, that album kicks ass. I'm a dancing fool when I hear it. I'm even dancing right now. That's right, motherfuckers, I love it.
Good times!
I hope I get tired some time soon. I have to be up at 6:30 tomorrow for work. Ehhh, I'll just drink some milk.