Oct 20, 2005 15:50
I wonder how many songs the Dandy Warhols have recorded while stoned out of their minds. Surely "Smoke It' is one such song.
In 24 hours, I'll be in Chicago, Illinois, for a weekend with the girlfriend and the family. Hell to the yes.
"Brighton" wrapped last saturday. I'm was so fucking sick and tired of that play--stage managing has its perks (low-stress due to the fact that the show's mostly in the hands of the director and actors), but it's as boring as hell during the show (I would play cell phone games or read Klosterman in between light cues) and no one ever tells you 'good job'. Additionally, there's a key scene in the play where the entire family of seven people eats dinner--supposedly liver and cabbage--which for some reason consisted of instant mashed potatoes and grape jell-o for our performance. I have no idea whose bright idea it was to use such a disgusting combination of food, but having to clean off those nasty-ass plates on a nightly basis is something that I'm not going to miss.
I have a job now--working in the mainstage scene shop--which should prove to be both entertaining and lucrative (for someone who spends zero dollars a week, $25 every seven days is mighty appealing). Right now we're in the middle of building the two-story, dozen-door set for "Noises Off", and it's nothing short of insane. It's also very fun.
The "Brighton" cast party was ridiculous. The theme, Black and White, was fairly uninspired, but they had jungle juice and white russians, both of which I'm very enthusiastic about. Brynn and I failed terribly in beer pong (I'm sucking more and more at that game, probably due to my increasing sobriety at parties) and everybody danced around gyrating to Alanis Morrissette. It was shameful, but spectacular. Evan was there, still convinced that my name was Lars, and all was well with the universe.
They've opened a Target in Harrisonburg. I was initially totally opposed to even setting foot inside, but then I realized that I didn't have any icey pops left, and Wal-Mart didn't have any, so I reluctantly stepped under the foreboding monolithic red bullseye and went straight into the belly of the beast. Target. My own personal retail hell. I quickly found the icey pops and moved as quickly as possible to leave. It turns out that the Target Corporation has since terminated my employee discount since I quit my job (amazingly), so I didn't get my 10% off. I was fucking pissed off. That's thirty-five cents I could've saved. Fuck you, Target. Fuck you in the ear.
Several people have observed that the Harrisonburg Target employees are disturbingly friendly. They insist that I simply worked in a more 'evil' Target, and that my animosity towards the company is biased and unfounded. I just scoff, roll my eyes, and point out that all of the H-burg employees are green, and naieve when it comes to the retail world. It took me three days working at the Snellville installment (plus a night of working with Neal, admittedly) to absolutely fucking hate my job. It's just a matter of time before that damn store goes up in flames, whether on accord of my torch or of its employees. Someday, folks.
Now then. Off to pack some warm clothes for the windy city.