(no subject)
so I went on little mini-tour in New England doing tape collage, loopin, smashin up a personal histroy of cassettes, tapes that date back to 2010, first fall/winter when Laurel and I lived on Leigh st, with our huge extra room, "the library", up to and including the tape collages I recorded last New Years Eve when I was holed up solo, freaking out and hating all my Richmond friends and feelin the walls close in on me, and some tape collage/screws/chop tapes from the inevitable vinyl party that occurred as I struggled this summer to move two 2x4 Expedits from one apartment to another short term spot and in to metallic willow lawn-y storage barn they're shoved in now, DANCE HALL JAMMERS might be the last tape I made at 104 E Leigh. tour was cool, I. McColm is one of the best homies, young as shit but already wise and determined, the other two Nagual dudes, Oberlin trained chops, but definitely dudes who dig the OUT-freaky vibes, happy to tour the Autumnal foliage New England in a disgusting luxury SUV pumpin spirit jazz jammers and Bachman/Nace/Alvarius B vibes, some shit I'm happy to enjoy with company, which otherwise was my isolated rainy day walk to the Broad Street bus stop kinda tunes.
came back from Tour, worked the next day at renovating venue in Bushwick that was a movie set for a CBS procedural, 13 hour day, ate my first craft services,
worked the next two days, got duped by a contractor who installed some weak shit on my watch, thought that spelled the end for my "job", I was told I was "finished" and had to turn in my keys, which I assumed meant fired, but when I met up with Hank Scorpio boss figure the next that wasn't the case.
worked the door that Friday form 5:30 PM til 5:30 AM at the Ridgewood Queens show spot, handled my shit well for at least the first nine hours of that shift. Had my first Club Mate, got hit on by queer late night ravers. Had to bail on richmond trip I thought I could pull off, theoretical amphetamine logic beat by true exhaustion, how exhausted was I? didn't even get a Yaffa sandwich at 6:00 AM, just passed out wet and sore. Paid in cash, made rent in cash without a local bank to shove that shit into, slept for many days, crashing? Depression? comfortably underemployed? Wrapped in bright rainbow afghan in messy dorm room, whatever, ate a bunch of STROOPWAFFEL one night.
interviewed for dry-ish reporting/writing job that I worked at as a sub last winter (afforementioned NYE solo freakin' out) and some this summer conveniently between schoolyear tutoring and summer school tutoring, made me feel like a damn detective, dressin in some tweed, goddamn pocket protector, emptying out my pockets for some wackass sherriff's deputy, kinda loved it. And paid writing gig, for the first time ever, only really aside from now my surreal dip into Rapgenius' fat pockets this summer.
so I cleaned up for that interview, Fulton street black barbershop, "Coming to America" vibes, boriqua rookie lady barber fucked up my head so an old Kangol-rockin vet from the back of the shop had to come clean my disgusting dome while the young Puerto Rican cried in the bathroom, was kinda amazed that I'd made it out of there with any hair on top, was "COOL WITH IT" if I had to full Isaac Hayes/dude from Fucked Up/dude from Black Eyes/etc (aka every aging motherfucker in this town, fuckahat)
uh, rainy walk through the meatpacking district where some assholes were building "worlds tallest selfie stick", interviewed by a Ween fan and a Steve Agee-y kinda homie, reluctant to say I killed it, but I was earnest and cleaned up and my heels hurt from new Clarks' boots and today I got hired.
This morning I drowned a mouse in the toilet and slept all day afterwards, this afternoon I got hired, so now I have a job in Manhattan and I can say I'm reporter the next time some fuck gives me the "So0o000oo, what DO you DO?"
came back from Tour, worked the next day at renovating venue in Bushwick that was a movie set for a CBS procedural, 13 hour day, ate my first craft services,
worked the next two days, got duped by a contractor who installed some weak shit on my watch, thought that spelled the end for my "job", I was told I was "finished" and had to turn in my keys, which I assumed meant fired, but when I met up with Hank Scorpio boss figure the next that wasn't the case.
worked the door that Friday form 5:30 PM til 5:30 AM at the Ridgewood Queens show spot, handled my shit well for at least the first nine hours of that shift. Had my first Club Mate, got hit on by queer late night ravers. Had to bail on richmond trip I thought I could pull off, theoretical amphetamine logic beat by true exhaustion, how exhausted was I? didn't even get a Yaffa sandwich at 6:00 AM, just passed out wet and sore. Paid in cash, made rent in cash without a local bank to shove that shit into, slept for many days, crashing? Depression? comfortably underemployed? Wrapped in bright rainbow afghan in messy dorm room, whatever, ate a bunch of STROOPWAFFEL one night.
interviewed for dry-ish reporting/writing job that I worked at as a sub last winter (afforementioned NYE solo freakin' out) and some this summer conveniently between schoolyear tutoring and summer school tutoring, made me feel like a damn detective, dressin in some tweed, goddamn pocket protector, emptying out my pockets for some wackass sherriff's deputy, kinda loved it. And paid writing gig, for the first time ever, only really aside from now my surreal dip into Rapgenius' fat pockets this summer.
so I cleaned up for that interview, Fulton street black barbershop, "Coming to America" vibes, boriqua rookie lady barber fucked up my head so an old Kangol-rockin vet from the back of the shop had to come clean my disgusting dome while the young Puerto Rican cried in the bathroom, was kinda amazed that I'd made it out of there with any hair on top, was "COOL WITH IT" if I had to full Isaac Hayes/dude from Fucked Up/dude from Black Eyes/etc (aka every aging motherfucker in this town, fuckahat)
uh, rainy walk through the meatpacking district where some assholes were building "worlds tallest selfie stick", interviewed by a Ween fan and a Steve Agee-y kinda homie, reluctant to say I killed it, but I was earnest and cleaned up and my heels hurt from new Clarks' boots and today I got hired.
This morning I drowned a mouse in the toilet and slept all day afterwards, this afternoon I got hired, so now I have a job in Manhattan and I can say I'm reporter the next time some fuck gives me the "So0o000oo, what DO you DO?"