Dust Commander rides again
I keep thinking the past two days are Sundays. Bizarro. I really shouldn't stay up late reading bad novels or flipping through E&E. So $2.50 jook and greasy ass chow mein for breakfast after waking up with a headache. The place smelled damn tasty until I realized it was all wafty from this huge porker that had been roasted intact except for the hacked off limbs. Not sure whose benefit the red paper streamers blasting from the ears were for. If you're going to roast my corpse, you might as well make my ears look cute? Then off to see the morning Batman with Tah. I am so sticking to matinees from now on, even if they make my eyes hurt when I walk out into sunlight. I want to teach people how to make pencils disappear and I love Morgan Freeman's God-voice/God-being.
I forgot how delicious Costco food is. Combo pizza and chicken pastry can't be beat.
Then Avant Gardarama experimental one-act plays with Miz Shum...I am still in a whacked out frame of mind. It was either really really bad or really good. Audience of about thirty on fold-out chairs, cast of three in a Big Boy version of the foil box you cooked hot dogs with in fourth grade. Mindless faded-out chatter with Iraq War overtones "installment" already made me antsy. First play about Alsace and soldiers and the foreign legion and I was already thinking, "Okay, I see why these are experimental films." The children and the forget-me-nots and the what now? Second play about horses, stuck zippers, wee ones. The play looped. Literally. I'm sure Sartre had this in mind for his sequel to No Exit. Holy shit, Grand Gignol expectations deflated. Intermission was signaled by someone just walking out and the rest of us going along with it, haha. Third play was comparatively awesome. After an hour of deep ass shit zipping by me, I was like, "Yes, I can grab ahold of this and make meaning." Sacred cow, last cow, minotaurs, what? Maybe not. One-woman show though and fog machine, so I was impressed/carcinogenicked. Last Mel's diner on the face of the earth is a good image for me.
Borders is awesome at 10 at night. Clean well-lighted place. I basically wanted to curl up in the History section with my (temporary possession) book. Paul Neilan wrote the book that I would love to write. FuK. And what's with all the Proust spin-off books? Proust as neurologist, Proust as Idiot's Guide writer, Proust as etc.
I forgot how delicious Costco food is. Combo pizza and chicken pastry can't be beat.
Then Avant Gardarama experimental one-act plays with Miz Shum...I am still in a whacked out frame of mind. It was either really really bad or really good. Audience of about thirty on fold-out chairs, cast of three in a Big Boy version of the foil box you cooked hot dogs with in fourth grade. Mindless faded-out chatter with Iraq War overtones "installment" already made me antsy. First play about Alsace and soldiers and the foreign legion and I was already thinking, "Okay, I see why these are experimental films." The children and the forget-me-nots and the what now? Second play about horses, stuck zippers, wee ones. The play looped. Literally. I'm sure Sartre had this in mind for his sequel to No Exit. Holy shit, Grand Gignol expectations deflated. Intermission was signaled by someone just walking out and the rest of us going along with it, haha. Third play was comparatively awesome. After an hour of deep ass shit zipping by me, I was like, "Yes, I can grab ahold of this and make meaning." Sacred cow, last cow, minotaurs, what? Maybe not. One-woman show though and fog machine, so I was impressed/carcinogenicked. Last Mel's diner on the face of the earth is a good image for me.
Borders is awesome at 10 at night. Clean well-lighted place. I basically wanted to curl up in the History section with my (temporary possession) book. Paul Neilan wrote the book that I would love to write. FuK. And what's with all the Proust spin-off books? Proust as neurologist, Proust as Idiot's Guide writer, Proust as etc.