I want to waterboard myself in the bathtub.
I haven't written a proper entry in two weeks, partially because I have been really busy, partially because the Internet kept cutting out with unnerving frequency for the entirety of the first week of this month. Let's see what little I remember that doesn't involve romantic disillusionment, the acquisition of new headphones, disenchantment with my pathetic little Discman (the worst product Sony's ever made - my Memorex portable CD player from 1998 with ten-second skip protection worked more efficiently than this piece of shit that I've been meaning to replace for ages but haven't gotten around to thanks to lack of monetary funds/never passing by Best Buy with the warranty in hand) and the usual bits of DJing/working/tabling. Not much, probably.
After a bit of confused wandering, I introduced Shawn to the wonders of the Goldstein Library on Wednesday. Or rather, the children's section of it. I need to go back there sometime soon and spend the day reading Charlotte Sometimes.
Recent movie viewings: A Woman is a Woman, The Hawks and the Sparrows, Mother Kusters Goes to Heaven, and Hiroshima Mon Amour. My feelings are rather undecided about all of them except for the latter, which I did relish.
Fall Fever/Second Friday (it had to be delayed a week because Florida A&M's homecoming would have made it impossible to enter Railroad Square) was a little quieter than I thought it would be, but we weren't really in the hub of all the activity since we weren't near the stage where the bands were playing. I recognized loads of patrons anyhow and that made everything a little more enjoyable, especially since I find it difficult to converse with a number of the volunteers. (That's not a slight against them at all. It's more of a comment on how difficult it is for me to connect with and relate to them since I'm a lot drearier and only succeed in becoming less and less interesting these days.)
Mona had a pre-birthday dinner party on Saturday that I ended up attending (without Shawn, harumph!). I was surprised to find that I was the only DJ in attendance, and Mona was making last-minute phone calls to people she'd already contacted because she was afraid people weren't coming. Other friends and associates of hers did appear from the woodwork, but it was a little odd to be the only V89er. I enjoyed myself nonetheless and it didn't turn out too badly by any means. The food was certainly exquisite - she and Divya served up about eight different portions of Indian food for everyone. It was also very sweet of Divya to offer me a ride home.
I spent the early part of Sunday working on music reviews for the station, and after I submitted my batch of discs for rotation this week, I retreated homeward for dinner and eventually ventured over to 80's Night. It started out very quietly at first, which was a bit of a shame because the music was at its best early on; Truell was playing music like Delta 5, Gang of Four, very early Psychedelic Furs, Konk, and even culled a selection from that Nao Wave compilation of Brazilian post-punk. A very weird crowd streamed in shortly afterward as the DJs changed, and for a good while it seemed like whoever was behind the turntables was actively trying to avoid the Eighties. My mother nearly fought the DJ after she complained about the music selection. A lot of the people I invited didn't show up (what's with people being so fucking dodgy lately?) but there were a few familiar faces. Dancing with Becky was a blast and probably the highlight of my evening, and afterward Forrest, Hollie, my mother and I went to Waffle House at 4 AM and discussed romance and attraction very bitterly. We didn't get home until after 5:30; Hell, we barely made it home at all, since my mother momentarily fell asleep at the wheel and nearly crashed into a slough of trees on the narrow, canopied wonder that is Old St. Augustine Road. Of course, I panicked and startled her awake in time to avoid the veritable roadside jungle. A meter more and I'm positive that we'd be on life support at best, considering the rate of speed we were traveling at. I don't want to die so meaninglessly. I'm sure Camus would sympathize.
Actually, I will note something about work (contrary to what I wrote earlier at the start of this entry). I'm wondering what I did to get stuck watching cones for several hours tonight during a basketball game instead of charging for parking. Well, not quite, but it wasn't really fun to stand around for ages with sore legs (from non-stop ecstatic dancing the night before) and drowse-yearning eyes. I haven't had to do that since I started working there when I was sixteen, so I spent half the night hypothesizing about how I seem to have regressed back to that sorry age. The only bit of amusement I received was from watching someone who looked almost exactly like Milton from Office Space. His hair was slightly longer, but almost everything else about him was eerily similar, even the walking gait. Oh, and I should also mention that whoever decided to schedule the filming of Recount (an upcoming HBO production about the 2000 electoral debauchery) during FAMU's homecoming weekend can pucker up and kiss my ass. Streets downtown were closed hours longer than they should have been and made parking extremely fucking difficult for everyone attending the homecoming concert; a lot of people had to drive in a big loop around downtown just to park in the garages on Bronough Street after the ones on Madison filled up. It really didn't help that EVERY incoming customer was extremely slow driving into the garages and pulling out money for parking. Maybe I'm just too quick for them and prefer to ease people in efficiently and speedily so they can hurry up and see another typically overpriced concert. That's enough for this entry. I'll leave with you with the following:
Kitchens of Distinction - "Hammer"
(The last three minutes of this song sound exactly what I feel like inside. And I usually feel like this at least once during some point in the day. Every day. Pity that I can't play it while DJing thanks to those FCC bastards, because that "Ian's Dark Hour" idea that Jackie and Chantelle conjured up for me would probably start weekly with this song.)