Drinking to Good Morning America

You know it’s been a long night when you’re drinking your last beer, the sun is up, and you’re watching Good Morning America. I had a rough one last night, and the sad thing is, it didn’t take that much to send me over the edge. I wish they had an alcohol vaccine, so you could drink 28 beers and it wouldn’t do much aside from make you piss a lot. I’ve heard that if you can eat a pound of butter before you drink, you can consume about any amount within a couple of hours and still drive home, but it would be the most discomforting gastrointestinal malady you’ve ever felt.

Actually, that’s what it felt like all day today. I tried to go see Armageddon, and I stopped at McDonald’s to eat first. Half of a chicken mcnugged meal produced a new world record stomach malady, and I was almost certain I would end up in the hospital. In fact, I was driving faster than hell down I-5 toward the hospital, vowing that if I was still in pain when I got to the James St. exit, I would drive straight to Harborview ER and check in. It calmed down before that – it usually does.

Ray Miller says he wants to write a book about me writing Rumored to Exist. Not a documentary, but a weird through-his-eyes postmodern tale of horror. I am flattered, but aside from that, I think it’s one of the coolest ideas I’ve heard before. On the tale of my failed attempt at book3, it’s not so shocking, but this was completely out of the blue. Just the other day, I told Michael that I wished Ray quit everything else and started writing books. It’s not that I dislike the music stuff and the zine, but I could really see Ray turning into some kind of all-out Burroughs-esque skullfuck of a writer. So I hope he does a little work on this.

I think I’m back on Rumored to Exist now, but not at this second. I need to keep working though.

And I need to eat now. Chicken noodle soup, maybe? We’ll see.

07/04/98 14:31

It’s the Fourth of July. My opinion:

I’m not anti-society, society’s anti-me
I’m not anti-religion, religion is anti-me
I’m not anti-tradition, tradition is anti-me
I’m not anti-anything, I just wanna be free

I’m hoping that while all of the idiots are watching fireworks, I’ll be able to watch movies in an empty theatre.

It’s been three years since I pulled into town, which seems sort of weird. It seems like thirty years ago in a way, but sometimes it doesn’t. Last night, I was watching old episodes of ROX, a show that Bart Everson and a few other people made for public access. The shows I have on tape are from 1994, and remind me a lot of that summer – that era: running around in my Mustang with Larry, working at the support center, trying to find a comfortable spot in the mediocrity of Indiana that I could call my own. The ROX gang seemed to have this weird pseudo-hippie commune of cool people doing cool things, and I was always envious of that. It seemed like both me and Larry tried to find other things or activities that would make our pathetic lives seem more Kerouac-like (or GG Allin-like, or Irwin Rommel-like, or whatever.) The ultimate act of adventure finally happened when both of us left town, sick of Bloomington and eager to find that safe haven in a real city.

I guess I haven’t found that yet, although I haven’t tried as hard as I did in the summer of 1994. My life here in Seattle could’ve probably happened in Bloomington, except for my job. I don’t leave the house much, and I could easily type away at a computer in the Varsity Villas as I could here. Bloomington now has a Barnes and Noble, and there’s a few places to buy CDs. But I do like it here better. It’s just a matter of getting out and doing stuff. I think next year, I am moving into a place in the student ghetto near UW. I want a single apartment or maybe a 2-bedroom house, with no roommates, but I want to be close to the action. I want to be able to walk to the Ave on a Saturday afternoon, eat some shitty Chinese food, and buy some good used books and CDs, while checking out the sights and sounds. That’s what I miss about Bloomington, and I want to be close to it. Close to all of the wannabe poets and people in weird grad programs I’ve never heard of, studying dead languages and talking about postmodern deconstrution as flippantly as an Indiana resident might discuss NASCAR.

It’s 2:46 and I haven’t eaten or showered. Time to get on it.

07/04/98 22:45

The rockets are red glaring over lake union. I just went on the deck here at the apartment, and I had a beautiful view of the shitty dreariness of skyscraper park, which blocked my view of the aerials. Oh well, saw ’em last year.

Three years. I never celebrated anniversaries when I was in Bloomington, since there were so many gaps of living in my mom’s basement here and there. When I started my first good run, it ended and I moved here. But three years ago was The Big Rebirth, when I planned to change it all – write books, meet women, buy stuff, live the life. And now, 1096 days later, I’m depressed as hell because I haven’t.

The only other anniversary that causes me this much grief is October 30. That’s the night, in 1993, that Tanya left me, and started what became a minor Big Rebirth. Every year after that, I celebrated another year of singularity – not just to whine “I still don’t have a girlfriend”, but to signify that I was drifting deeper and deeper into the abyss. And even in 1997, when I had a girlfriend, I celebrated in the strangest way possible – I flew back to Bloomington. Yes, when I planned my fall visit last year, it wasn’t scheduled because of my new nephew or Simms’ kick-ass party or the weather or my work schedule. I specifically flew back so I could be in Bloomington on October 30, 1997. And each year, no matter how far I’ve gone, I haven’t done anything if I still think about that date. I don’t even remember what she looks like anymore, but I still have to stop and think about how much things have changed since.

July 4 is different, usually because I’m around other people and watching fireworks and eating barbeque and I don’t think about this stuff. But this year, I didn’t have any plans and it rained, and I sat in my apartment eating a turkey pot pie and replaying the last three years in my mind. I never wrote the books – I’m still stalled with the same two that are always on the roster. I’m single, through no fault of my own, but I don’t think that was in the original plan. I’ve bought some stuff and paid some bills, but I’m probably just as much in debt now as I was in 1995. I can count my friends in this town one one hand, and I don’t feel like I’m part of some tight-knit community or even a loose circle of friends. I could go on like this but it gets ugly – the point is, it feels that in three years, I’ve accomplished what the average human could do in a few days. It makes me wonder what I should do in the next year to change that.

Whew. I saw Armageddeon today. I could see why reviewers are panning it, but I thought it was a pretty kick-ass movie. Very funny, very edge-of-the-seat, and it really pulled at your gut. It was way better than Deep Impact, in my opinion. Of course, Deep Impact didn’t have Liv Tyler…

Time to get to work. If the fireworks traffic wasn’t blocking the whole damn universe, I’d go for a little midnight drive. Maybe I will a bit later…


Jimi Hendrix is the wrong music for this trip

Decided to go grocery shopping. The megaphone blared “you have 10 more minutes to make an alcohol purchase” so I dropped my Pot Pies and headed over to aisle 10. Am now almost finished tearing through a 6 of Rolling Rock, listening to Jimi Hendrix. I’m amazed at how much I can focus on writing if I really try. It’s been so long – 6 – 12 oz bottles of beer is what a fifth of rum used to be.

I worked on the bio – summer of 93. I miss those times – waiting for Tanya, working on Metal Curse with Ray, hanging out with Tom. The Hardee’s late night window, putting my balls against a grinder – wait, that wasn’t me.

Jimi Hendrix is the wrong music for this trip. I watched the Indians picking up the rubble of Woodstock – that was Wayne’s World 2. I have an urge to sleep with every girlfriend I’ve ever had, again, in order. Mexican cheese. I just put my dick in the microwave. 78 rpm. – i fucked the blowhole of a tagged whale – 14 points of time all in one CD. We silver plate the white aryan race of clarinets. They keep trying to get me to drive their cars – it’s the catch. Tell her I want to see if her tan lines are real before she fakes the phone calls. I’d rather bring her to Macri’s deli for a reuben but they don’t give you fries, only chips. Allen Ginsberg fucked Jimi Hendrix, the building on fire. I want a fudge browie, can’t drive. I wrote musical score in ASCII and smashed my head through a VGA monitor/ She taught me Japanese and the history of rock and roll, dubbing cassetes at 4x speed / little richard / the beetles / i dont know all of the 12 steps but i will read you the classified ads and go to see the movie SNEAKERs. i heard about him in the wood paneled lounge, i heard in english class that he cheated on his girlfriend. her name was monica, what a couincidence, she blew him in the back of a ben and jerrys/ i used to walk there, five bucks and a pint of peanut butter crunch or was it a gallon? half gallon? five bucks/ she met him there, stil lin love with me back then but now they are engauged, maybe married. she was embarassed, they all were. but she won out. i wanted to blow my brains out, didnt have a gun/ halloween parties, i i wished i was drunk. i was later. many times. even now. i called people on the phonme/ jimi hendrix, it remindes me of whe i had the vinyl. two copies, taped up but they played. videotape everything. slayer songs embedded in the bac code. his cd player had 23 minutes skip buffer. i forgot his name but he had a spiderman costume, swung down the stairwells and i stole his slot car track. but first, are you experienced? i have. have not. iveeaten mcdonalds ketchup. doritos are made with dog parts. let me prove it to you….


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Col. Kurtz works at Ford Motor Credit

I fell asleep after work until after 11pm, so I didn’t really feel like writing in here, or writing at all, really. I did work on my biography a bit, and that kept me up far too late. So today I am the walking dead again, but there’s relief in that I have tomorrow off.

It’s been weird writing about 1993 for this bio project. It feels like that stuff just happened, but it’s already been five years. Five years since I first ran Linux! I’m in the middle of writing about that summer, when Tanya was still a new item, yet she was in Tampa for the break, and I was working at Voyager on the punch press, and going to shows with Ray almost every weekend in Chicago. Ray lived at home then, and was at the height of his anti-female stage, which made it difficult for me. But we had a lot of good times together – we rented every concievable zombie film on the face of the earth that summer.

I talked to Micheal Stutz for the first time on the phone last night. It’s always weird at first to talk to someone from the computer, but we had a lot to talk about. We’re both stuck in the same place writing-wise, and wish there was some sort of “movement” going on, sort of like the Kerouac-Ginsberg-Burroughs alliance. I need to write about this more when I am awake and have some amount of energy. And I need to keep writing on my own, because even if I had a group of people to trade manuscripts with, it doesn’t work if I don’t have manuscripts.

Blah, I’m going to screw around for the rest of lunch, start looking around on the web. Hopefully, I’ll be able to write more tonight.

07/02/98 22:03

I just woke up, put some french fries in the oven, made some Kool-aid, and nuked some kind of demented aloha chicken meal. If it says 99% fat-free and works in the micro, I’ll try it at least once.

So it’s not a “school night”, and I’m excited about staying up all night, doing some cleaning, writing a bunch, and doing my grocery shopping at 3 in the morning, when there’s no chance at all of Screaming Kid Syndrome. Tomorrow, my pal Jennefer Wagner will be here from Eugene, OR. She’s only in town for a night, and she’s crashing with another friend of hers, but I’ll hopefully get to hang out with her for a bit during the day.

Ford Credit keeps sending me more and more bizarre letters. I think Col. Kurtz works there. The car thing is starting to worry me more and more, especially since the VW doesn’t run. I’m hoping to get that taken care of this weekend.

I found a good web site to waste a lot of time.

Out of it. Nothing to report. More later.

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