"Enlighten me, please."
My head hurts on both sides and I'm currently re-downloading everything that was once on my iPod of over 12,000 songs. I've just begun the letter A... this is going to take forever. This sucks. Today, I watched the sky turn from robin egg's blue and purple to gray and black. In under a minute, it was a downpour with thunder and lightning that only lasted about fifteen minutes. I threw my couch out today, as well as numerous other wooden objects that I've never questioned the purpose of until today. I'm selling everything else. I am writing this on an ancient HP laptop from 2004 (in computer years, that's like ten years ago) that Tara and her mom donated to me, since my laptop is broken. Since the 4th of July is a week away, the ghetto will be vibrating with explosions, pops, whistles, and sizzles nonstop until probably two weeks after. So annoying. How American to celebrate the nation's birthday with loud noises and bright colors, most of which are ironically illegal to actual American citizens. Anyways...
First, a few things I forgot to mention about my first show with Perestroika and our pitiful loss at that corny little battle of the bands. The judges were hilarious. One guy in his forties, looking and sounding like dad pathetically trying to keep up with the kids, referred to the band Marshall Everywhere as, "hella tight." On our papers where we were able to read the actual ratings and criticism, one of them said, "Put the drummer in front!" as if to suggest that the rest of us were untalented and ugly. They even were so bored, they drew pictures of birds all over the sheet. We got mostly 2s, which was fine, if they didn't give us such low ratings in categories such as creativity and instrumentation, where we definitely excelled. The winning band, Marshall Everywhere, was called, "economical," which literally meant, "generic enough to sell." It felt like Chaos Con Queso all over again, except much more fun. I received a Truth Box comment after my entry about the night that I'm assuming is about the way I treated the drug addict tools in Dirty-D, saying, I do not dislike, Dave. As a matter of fact, I like you alot. You're a really awesome kid. But I honestly think you're a hypocritical, apathetic fuck-face sometimes. You criticize people you do not know, for things you know nothing about and then act like THEY are the assholes for doing things you disagree with. Honestly, most people I've met who know you disagree with your belief system and STILL manage to say, "Oh, he's a cool guy, though." Does it make sense to you that you can fuck up any person's day who you think looks like a "Faggot", but it's no fair if someone wants to try and fuck up your day? Think about it, because you're a decent kid with a good heart, but a bitter outlook and a sour tongue. Bitter outlook? Agreed, but given this life in this world in this city, one can find it impossible not to be bitter. Sour tongue? Agreed, but how can one speak of all the bullshit without being sour? Hypocritical? Never, and I'd like to know how you figure that one. Apathetic? Never, and I'd also like to know how you figure that one as well. I would never attack someone solely over the way they dress. I'll make fun of it, but I'm not gonna try to ruin someone's day or mood over it. I can't stress enough that the way people all dress alike, no matter what the sub-pseudo-counter-culture they're trying to impress, are part of a bigger picture that I cannot stand and I only go after people when they're exploiting the kindness of others, strutting unjustified egos (btw, pretty much all egos are unjustified), judging others without judging themselves, and raping or making a mockery of something that I find important. I believe I am shallowly, inaccurately, and unfairly judged, by people who I judge for reasons that I find, well, reasonable. I'd like to think I'm a good person, and if being mean to mean people, hating hateful people, and bullying bullies makes me a bad person, then so be it, I guess. Now, moving on...
Sunday was the day of the Ghost Mice show I was running. I was really excited. Not only was I going to meet one of my favorite bands, but this was technically my first show back in the business of show promotion in the 518 area. I was a bit nervous, having flashbacks of how every show I had when I was 'NoMoreCore Booking' literally was disastrous in one way or another. I had found out the day before that the 21st was actually Father's Day, so it also had me worried about how many people would come. I woke up and posted a bulletin or two, then got myself ready and made some phone calls to rally people together. Swan wasn't coming because of Father's Day, which was pretty lame. But everyone else was. I grabbed a bag of vegan and anti-Coke literature and left with Tara. We picked up Bianca from around the corner, then got everyone else from Yoda's house; him, Kayla, Sam, and Mike. Katt said she was coming and had a ride, and Yoda and I were shocked that she was finally going to come to something she said she'd come out to, since she never does. Samm had said he was coming, too. Lots of people I knew said they would be. When we got to the UAG, the two members that would be watching over the show with me were already there, sharing little plastic shots of wine. I set up my table with the bowl asking for $5 donations and all my literature, all from either PETA, KillerCoke.Org, or KnowMore.Org. Within minutes, people started coming, just after 7:30PM. People I didn't recognize at that, which made me think that flyering actually paid off. xIann Matthewx showed up before any other act, saying he got there by hitching a ride with some guy. Caleb Lionheart showed up next with a group of people. A couple people on Schwinns showed up, as expected, and I honestly figured anyone with facial hair, a thin physique, and an expensive roadbike that rode by would be back for the show. Kara showed up and gave me a really yummy cupcake. Everyone but me went to Bombers. I talked to Iann for a bit. Ben showed up. Everyone chilled outside and I told everyone I was basically waiting for Katt to get there. By 8:30, it was obvious she wasn't coming, so I started the show. Iann played an awesome set and I, as well as everyone else I knew, fell in love with him. He brought more people than most locals do and he's from Plattsburgh, so I'm really glad I gave him the opportunity to play with one of his favorite bands. He broke all our hearts with a song about how his girlfriend and mother of his child turned into a Juggalette. I threw him $20 for playing afterward. Caleb Lionheart played next. Tony's voice is ridiculously good. Their set was awesome. They're such nice guys. Ghost Mice and Heathers showed up at the beginning of their set, looking for a bathroom. It was crazy seeing Chris Clavin and Hannah in person. I made room on the table for their merch and Chris opened his giant suitcase enclosing his entire distro. The place was packed come the middle of the show and it was getting humid in there with all the lights blazing down on us all from above. But everyone was having fun. I made sure everyone who came in donated and everyone was pretty nice about it. A few snobs came in and made snide facial gestures at one another in response to the other performers and I wanted to kick them out, but didn't. As long as they kept their snobbiness silent. Heathers played next and were so adorable. It was the first time I'd ever heard an Irish accent in person and they were both overly polite and shy. They're two nineteen-year-old twins all the way from Dubland. They didn't look at the crowd while performing, but everyone was sucked into their set. Their music is beautiful and their voices are incredible. They're one of the best duos I've been privy to in a long time, probably since Tegan and Sara. They even did a cover of The Mountain Goats' "This Year". At the end of their set, Ghost Mice joined them to do the song "Slices of Palama" and then their set began. They had everyone turn to one side of the room for their set and we turned off some of the ceiling lights. It was awesome seeing them live and singing along. After they finished, I stuck around and cleaned up. Yoda and I laughed about how Katt, as well as everyone Tara knew who said they were coming, didn't come. Over sixty people attended, based on the money made. 100% of the money made at the door went to Ghost Mice, which equated to $130. I got Yoda two 7" vinyl and I got myself a t-shirt and some stickers. Everyone told me it was one of the best shows they'd ever been to. Ghost Mice and Heathers would be staying at my house. Ben needed a ride into Colonie, so he hitched one with us. He made us wait a half hour, though, which was annoying. We had six people stuffed into the back of Tara's car. I got dropped off first so I could straighten up my place for everyone. Chris wanted to watch Talladega Nights, so we sat in the living room and watched that together. They all went to sleep in the other room. Chris is unbelievably modest. I'm pretty sure if I'd accomplished everything he has all by himself over the years, I'd be pretty cocky. But not him. Just very mellow, very friendly, and full of wonderfully dry humor. Heathers were great. Tara and I fell asleep on the couch. Kitten was in the living room with us so she wouldn't bother everyone in the other room.
xIann Matthewx!<3
Caleb Lionheart!<3
Heathers!<3
Ghost Mice!<3
Hulett is officially punk rock because he slept with Chris Clavin.
Monday, Tara woke up and left early, to go home and get ready for our eventful day we had planned together. Ghost Mice and Heathers were up and out of here by noon. The cats effected Hannah's allergies and it made me feel really bad. I ate some tofu dogs for lunch and Tara was back over by 1 or so. Even though I had told her about it a few days earlier and she said it'd be fine, she suddenly was all worked up about picking up my online friend Loren (lorrilai) before going to the show in Syracuse. She knew how important it was to me, since it would be convenient and it's on my list of 100 Things In 1,001 Days to get done, but she out of nowhere, "didn't remember me telling her about it," and was, "scared," of doing it, using what had happened to her a few weeks ago as the reason, when, knowing her, I knew she was just using it as a means of guilt-tripping me (I've watched her do it to her mother before). I got pretty pissed about it. And then she tried to say that Loren could possibly be someone else, capable of raping her and robbing us. Which, even though I know it really does happen, was nearly impossible. We had a better chance of getting into a car accident on the way there than that happening. So I kept trying to reason with her, but she was hellbent on not picking Loren up, on the off-chance that she was a he and had a posse of men with her prepared to mug us and rape her, which was all part of a nefarious plan devised over the course of almost a year using three mediums online to create a character to woo me into one day meeting her. It was insane. We got into a huge argument and I eventually said, "Fine, we won't pick her up, it's your car, your decision." After I said that, she suddenly wanted to pick Loren up. It was annoying. We picked Yoda and Swan up. Mike ditched us for his ex-girlfriend who he claims to hate. Sam decided against going because he preferred to lay on the couch all day and play Grand Theft Auto. We stopped by Wal*Mart to return bottles and cans with Yoda so he could have some money for the day and then got going from there. We listened to the Heathers CD, which is a masterpiece, and it was a pretty fun drive up until Tara suddenly said she didn't want to pick up Loren again. Yelling ensued, mostly because the directions I had written down go to Loren's house first (meaning we'd definitely be near her house before the show). It was so stupid and I got really mad and said a lot of mean things, which upset Tara. I called Loren, who was as silent as Kara on the phone, and told her we couldn't come and get her, while Tara screamed repeatedly, "WE CAN GET HER!" Once again, changing her mind the moment I agree to her decision. I didn't bother letting it happen, though, because I knew it wasn't what she wanted to do. So that sucked, but I got over it. We seriously were right near her house before getting to the venue. We stopped in the 'hood of Syracuse to look for some snacks and found one convenience store that accepted EBT whose windows were all gated off. When we got out of the car, two gangster four-year-olds glared us down and their entire family stared at us from a porch. The convenience store was empty. There were five Coca-Colas, four AriZonas, some pet food next to motor oil, and a few bags of chips and cereal. It was hilarious. We got whatever we could and left. The owner was the nicest guy ever. We got to Castle Rockmoore and parked. Matt, of Marco Polio, asked us for $5, and we awkwardly stood around near some hipsters. Tara used the house bathroom and I looked at a table being set up by Alex of Alex & the Imaginary Friends of his 'zines and vinyl, since he runs Raise Your Fist Records. He for some reason recognized me and knew me by name and we talked briefly. He's a really cool guy. I bought three of his 'zines from him. For some reason, it was decided that the show would happen in the small living room instead of the spacious attic. Their living room is a museum of collector's items and random memorabilia. It was more fascinating than the first band that played, The Plurals, who looked like Blind Melon and played really bland '90s grunge punk. A girl came in who looked just like Winona Ryder. Tara insisted she looked like her and then got pissed off when I said she didn't. A girl named Sara played really pretty acoustic music with her pretty voice under the name Hello, Halebopp! and then assisted Matt while he played some of his Marco Polio stuff, which is like Johnny Hobo, if his vocals sounded like he was struggling to breathe and gurgling on air. He for some reason vibrates his screams and it's almost embarrassing. But I can't help but be moved by how passionate it is. The show was moved upstairs from then on, per Chris Clavin's request, and Heathers played another great set. Then Ghost Mice came on and brought even more energy than the day before. During their last song, "Up the Punx", a giant inflated bottle of rum about seven feet tall was thrown around and surfed over the crowd. It was fun. Oh, and I met Weston (orphanendorphin) in person and he was a really cool fucking guy. He had an awesome triple-V vegan tattoo on his wrist that he prints on his homemade patches and I really want one. I might be booking his band, Oak & Bone on the 11th, if I can. I wish dudes like him lived around these parts. We said our goodbyes to everyone and then got going, thinking we'd be able to enjoy a good dinner at Strong Hearts. But when we got there, after going in circles, lost due to inaccurate Google Maps directions, they were closed. Even though they boast on their MySpace how they're, "open mad late," I guess they're only open until 6PM on Mondays. It sucked and we didn't have anywhere else to go that was vegan-friendly. So we went to the nearest Wegman's and got food there, using their cafe area and unattended microwave to make our own food. We had fun sitting there and eating food that made our stomachs hurt. Tara and I ate an entire box of key-line Tofutti Cuties. We didn't get home until after 2 in the morning. Tara's a trooper. I ended up having a great day and night. She stayed over night with me.
Heathers (again)!<3
Ghost Mice (again)!<3
Giant, inflated bottle of rum! Up the punx!
Monday, Tara left before I woke up and didn't come back, so I woke up alone and then paced in my living room a lot. Any day after an entire day of being out of Schenectady feels like something caught in my throat. Vacations from here just make being back here feel that much more like being in prison. I didn't know what to do with myself, so it was pretty clear that I had to get on my bike and move. So I did. I went to Anthony's house since it was around 5, just in case practice was going to happen. It wasn't. So I left there and went downtown to look for my brother and the usual crew. I found them, but they were doing something or something. So I went to Muddy Cup by myself to sit online for a bit. Anthony and Jake Hill showed up, which was pretty cool. They were going to a family pub/restaurant to play Monopoly with Jake's mom, so that definitely made me feel like what I was doing wasn't that pathetic. Sam stayed with me for some reason and spent the day following me around, which was weird because he usually doesn't do anything without Yoda. We left there and walked around. Yoda and Mike were taking forever to get back to us. I went to the Moon & River Cafe to get a California sandwich (tofu, tomato, avocado, Vegenaise) and talk to the owner, Richard, about getting a show there in August for two touring acts of mine. The place was packed around some kids doing acoustic music. One duo did an awesome cover of "Under the Milky Way Tonight" by Church. I saw Laura Esmond there and it was gross. I hope I ruined her day. I found out she smokes cigarettes, which makes her even more gross and despicable. If you smoke cigarettes, you're not an environmentalist, nor are you a vegan. So shut the fuck up and die. I bumped into this lady and I felt really bad about it, but none of the Stockade yuppies there would move even a little bit for us to get by, probably because we were sweaty and not in hipper clothing. I got the date I needed there confirmed, which was nice, and got my sandwich to go since yuppie hipsters really aggravate my social anxieties. My sandwich was so good that I didn't want it to end. But it did. We finally found Yoda and Mike. They got their midnight tickets to Transformers 2. I wanted to go, but Yoda said that when he went in there, they almost didn't sell him tickets because they thought he was me. Total bullshit. I plan on going there soon and making a stink, especially since they don't know my name. I'm pretty sure, legally, they can't ban someone from the theater based solely on looks. They need an identification or something, or so I assume. After they left, Sam and I walked around and got bottles and cans from garbage cans. I hadn't done that in a few weeks. A drunk guy we always see donated a giant black bag to us so we could do it. I got on my bike after that and left once we cleared all the cans of downtown Schenectady. I rode home with the bag over my left shoulder. By midnight, I was nearing home. Going up Frank St., I passed by a big group of black kids, probably between the ages of 18 to 21, but the size of basketball players nonetheless. I didn't really worry about it like I would have a year or two ago, because I'm not racist, and I'm just not scared of this city anymore, after so long of roaming these streets in the middle of the night. So I didn't turn around. I had headphones, so I couldn't hear anything.
I crossed Albany St. to the other end of Frank and then, about fifty yards from my apartment, I got jumped. Two of them in the group were on bikes. One of them came up from behind me and skidded my back tire with their front one. I didn't fall. One on foot ran up alongside me and punched me in the head. I didn't fall. I tried to ride faster, because in the past I'd usually just outrun these situations, but the other one turned in front of me and ghostrode his bike into me, causing me to fall and my body to be thrown off the bike into the sidewalk. All six of them then gathered around me and began to punch and kick me. I got kicked in my face a bunch of times. It was stomped into the sidewalk once, too. I didn't know what to do. My knife was right in my left pocket, but reaching for it seemed useless against six black kids with so little to lose that they'd be willing to mug someone who looks like a homeless person just for a bike. They took my iPod from me and then tried to rip my bookbag off my back. But I refused to let that happen. I kept trying to get up, but they kept punching and kicking me back down. I didn't throw any fists or anything. I yelled once, maybe, something like, "Yo! Why are you doing this?" and tried to tell them there was nothing in my bookbag, to which one replied, "Oh, we'll see 'bout dat!" I was right in front of a stairway to that lead to the second floor of two-apartment flat, so I went for that and tried to tell them it was where I lived. They didn't budge. So I pulled myself up these stairs with all my strength while three to four of them yanked on my arms, legs, and bookbag the entire time, kicking and punching as many times as they could. I reached the top when the buckled they were pulling on tore off. I banged on this door for five minutes, ringing the doorbell over and over. But no one answered. So I went downstairs with my hand over the right corner of my head that was kicked against a jagged, broken sidewalk panel. My bottles and cans were scattered all over the sidewalk, but at least I still had my bookbag, which carried my laptop, digital camera, and wallet. I found a couple sitting on their stairs who must've heard and/or seen what was happening and hadn't done anything and asked to use their cellphone. I called 911. The operator asked where I was and I gave them the address. Then they kept asking questions. I took my hand off my hand and realized it was covered in blood and that the swelling on my head was the size of a grapefruit. I kept asking if an ambulance was being sent and the guy said it wasn't until the police got there to, "secure the area." I kept yelling, "I'm gushing blood from my head, please send an ambulance!" but he wouldn't do it. I told him, "I'm a white male! I'm a priority!" at the suggestion of a black woman from a second story apartment window. He got sarcastic with me and then mockingly said, "Now I'm going to ask you all your medical information." I could hear the laughter in his voice. So I hung up and called my grandmother. She was over in five minutes. As we got to the end of Frank, I turned and saw the group of kids at the corner of the next street over, Harvard, without bikes. They must've stashed everything there. Cops were coming from the other direction, so I had my grandmother follow them. I hopped out of the car and told them the kids were on foot going left on State St. It was a cop I'd fucked with before. They came back in under two minutes and said they couldn't find them, which I honestly think was bullshit. I sat in an ambulance and they checked out my wounds. My blood pressure was, "really low," they told me. Not sure what that meant. My grandmother drove me to the emergency room and I got checked out. I was bleeding everywhere from scrapes on top of bruises. I made some phone calls. Tara's mom wouldn't let her come and see me for some reason. It was horrible. I wasn't angry. I didn't, "hate niggers," or anything like that. I was just confused and disappointed, and felt almost stupid for not turning around and listening to my racist intuitions. I was covered in dirt still. The nurse did a half-ass job cleaning my wounds. The cops who came to fill out a report for me left laughing with one another. I had grains of dirt in my teeth, in the cracks of my lips, in the torn skin on my arms. I was in so much pain. Luckily, I didn't need stitches and my eyes were responding correctly to light. My grandmother drove me to Yoda's. He was still in the movies, so I went to Bow Tie and sat outside of it, waiting for him to come out. When he did, he ran over to me and was really upset. He got on the phone with my father and told him what happened. My dad was there immediately. We grabbed bats and drove through every square inch of every local ghetto we knew of, looking for these kids. But the streets were dead. So at 5AM, we went home and slept. It was hard for me to sleep. My body hurt so bad and there wasn't a side of me that wasn't scraped up. My laptop screen was broken. I was so pissed about losing my bike and iPod, as stupid as that sounds. I'm poor. These things were supposed to last until I'm dead, because I'll never be able to afford replacements. I had a horrible stutter.
Where's this 'white advantage' I keep hearing about? Because I've never been able to use it. I keep hearing that my people are, "the man," but does The Man actually have a skin color? No, he doesn't. That's what bothers me the most about this happening. I live in the same 'hood as these kids. I'm poor, too. I have drug-addled parents who didn't take care of me right. I'm discriminated against every day because of my looks and social class. Why can't we all unite, regardless of skin color, against the real enemy, THE RICH? I've been poor my whole life and I've never even considered harming someone else to get something I want because I otherwise cannot afford it. There's no excuse for what these kids did to me. I don't care about the unfair treatment of their ancestors and I don't care about their upbringing. There's no excuse for this. And because I'm not a racist, I'm not going to write off their actions just because their skin color is darker than mine. There is no more white and black. It's just rich and poor now. The sooner the residents of the 'hood realize that, the better. Crackers and niggers unite! No more jumping one another. And yes, I wholeheartedly believe I was jumped because I was white.
These were both taken fifteen minutes after the incident. I needed to see what I looked like, so I used my camera.
Waiting to get picked up outside the hospital with a ridiculous bandage taped around my head.
Someone's thirteen-year-old, named Precious, disappeared. They're trying to find her through graphing paper with these notes on them.
A terrifying bug-crap-monster thing Sam and I found the other night. He's the size of our palms. Ugh.
Wednesday, I woke up as late as I could and stayed at Yoda's, pretty much scared about going home. Tara eventually came and got me. She was all upset about what had happened to me. We went to Bombers and she got me tofu fries. But I couldn't eat and she ended up eating them. We went back to my place and napped. After a while, we went down to my brother's house so I could use a laptop and get my mind off the pain. I got another show confirmed, which lifted my spirits a bit. We stayed in Yoda and Kayla's air-conditioned bedroom for an hour or two and then she left. I asked Yoda if he wanted to go get food at Bombers. But my wallet and things were at home. So I called my father and asked him to take me there. He came and got me, with my mother. I didn't really wanna see her. As we neared my apartment, I saw a black kid on what looked like my bike. So we turned the car around and followed him into the ghetto-ass apartments next door to me. We went through the neighborhood and saw him and his friend outside of an apartment, with the bike leaned against the stairs, while one of them sat outside. We turned the car off, hoping they'd come out and I'd be able to confirm it was my bike. But the kid became suspicious and rode off, using a path that connects the two apartment neighborhoods. We sped around the corner and saw him go to Harvard, the street where I saw the group of kids stash shit before the cops got there the night before. We rode up it over and over again, trying to see if this kid was on my bike. But it was dark and he was evading us pretty well. The house he was chilling in front of had bike parts outside of it and a table of drugged-out residents sitting around. My Dad got out of the car and walked up the street, hoping to see the bike up close himself, since this kid was giving our vehicle the run-around. But the second the kid saw him walking up the street, he bolted. We parked in the parking lot near my apartment and my Dad got out of the car to walk up the path to the apartment we saw them at before. My brother and Mike followed behind him. A minute or so later, they come running back and hop in, saying my Dad took the bike. We speed around the corner and find my Dad riding up a nearby street. I look at the bike and it's mine. I could even see the leftovers of the stickers they tried to tear off. We stuff the bike into the car trunk and ride to Stewart's in Niskayuna. I was so happy. And it was decided then that my father was the biggest bad-ass in the city. So we knew where these kids lived now. I got dropped off at the police station and told them. The cop at the window told me, "We just do the paperwork. This is up to the detectives now," and wrote a number down for me to call the detectives. They picked me back up and I called the number. An answering machine picked up that also gave a number, "if you need immediate assistance." So I called that and the guy who picked up seemed confused as to why I was calling. Him and a woman, at the same time, yelled at me, and told me they couldn't do anything for me. They kept telling me to leave a detailed message on the detective number's machine, but also told me that they, "don't really have set hours, they kinda just come in whenever they want." They really said that to me. They asked if I wanted a cop sent to me, but I told them the cops already told me they couldn't do anything. I ended up having them send one anyways. When the cop got there, it went pretty quickly and the cop told us upfront that it's up to the detectives now and that, even though we know where these people who assaulted and robbed me are, they couldn't do anything about it. It was shocking to me. I left a message to the detectives with Yoda's cell number and stuff. The cop said they'd get a hold of me probably around 8:30, 9AM. He didn't seem sure.
They never called back. I woke up at 2 and left another one, with both Yoda's and Tara's numbers and even the incident serial number from the report sheet. They never called back. My Dad knows a cop personally, so he gave his cell number a call about it and he said that if they don't call me back by tomorrow, call him and he'll take care of thing himself. It was insane to me that they'll fingerprint spraypaint cans to catch someone who vandalized an abandoned building a year ago, but refused to arrest people who could have killed me a night before. People die on Frank St. and I easily could have been one of them that night. Wow. I went to dinner at my parents' house, even though I wasn't in the mood to hear my mother speak. She thinks we can be won back by a vegan dinner, but she's sorely mistaken. She made us corn, vegan chick'n strips, and mashed potatoes. It was yummy, but being there sucked. I got dropped off at Yoda's until Tara picked me up. We went to The Spectrum and saw this special screening of a documentary called Under Our Skin, a multi-award-winning documentary exposing the underrated epidemic in America of Lyme disease and how the corporate medical community are misdiagnosing and refusing to properly treat victims of Lyme disease, which shares the same genetic formula as other diseases like Parkinson's, Alzheimer's, and Lou Gehrig's Disease. The documentary was terrifying and discouraging, but I'm really glad I saw it. I like learning new things and being depressed by it, I guess. This country is such shit. I strongly suggest you all go to their site and absorb information. Her mother donated an old laptop to me for until I get my Acer fixed. I might be covered by the warranty, but maybe not. I might also be able to get paid restitution by the people who assaulted and robbed me if they're ever caught and dealt with. So maybe I'll get my shit back, or at least be able to replace it. I got my bike back, which is pretty cool. So I spruced up the laptop after Tara spent over two hours eliminating all her old files from it. I started cleaning up and throwing things out. I watched a movie called Dirty Filthy Love a British indie dramedy. The guy in it portray a man with Tourette's and OCD really well and it was a pretty good film.
Today, I woke up late, alone since Tara had left way earlier in the day. I spent the day fixing up this laptop to suit my needs and sending out messages about shows I'm booking. I cleaned up a lot. I got rid of a huge bag of unused clothes and dumped it in a donation box around the corner. I threw away a bunch of stuff I need to part with. I'm a pack rat and I'm trying to overcome that and spit in the face of the sentimental value I place on virtually anything that has some sort of memory attached to it. I threw out some wooden things. I took pictures of everything else so I can post them on Craigslist and try to make a few bucks off of them. I want to empty this place of as many belongings as I can. I threw out a book shelf and a Subway thing I had in my living room for no reason. Tara and I worked together to get my couch out of my living room and to the dumpster and now the twin-size bed is in here. It stormed really bad for less than a half hour tonight. Tara left and I've been here since, downloading music and trying to write this. Both sides of my head still hurt and from sitting the way I am right now, now my back hurts. Tomorrow, my father and I are talking to his cop friend and hopefully, something goes down with these pieces of shit who mugged me. I hate humanity.
Michael Jackson is dead and I don't fucking care. He had some good songs, but was also a child molester. So fuck him.
So as of right now, here are my plans...
Finish off the things I've got going on here in Schenectady. Run the shows I have booked and all that. Tara's mother owns property, a few acres, and an entire house, in Glenville. Tara and I are moving into it for free at the end of July. I'll stay there for a little bit. We go cross-country sometime at the beginning of September. When I come back, I'm gonna go to Syracuse and be homeless, living on the street while searching for an apartment there. And then I'm going to take up permanent resident in the 315. Living here is horrible and it always has been. There's literally nothing keeping me here other than laziness, fear, and lack of funds. But those are all obstacles that are easily overcome. Getting jumped the other night was the final push I needed. I refuse to die here.
First, a few things I forgot to mention about my first show with Perestroika and our pitiful loss at that corny little battle of the bands. The judges were hilarious. One guy in his forties, looking and sounding like dad pathetically trying to keep up with the kids, referred to the band Marshall Everywhere as, "hella tight." On our papers where we were able to read the actual ratings and criticism, one of them said, "Put the drummer in front!" as if to suggest that the rest of us were untalented and ugly. They even were so bored, they drew pictures of birds all over the sheet. We got mostly 2s, which was fine, if they didn't give us such low ratings in categories such as creativity and instrumentation, where we definitely excelled. The winning band, Marshall Everywhere, was called, "economical," which literally meant, "generic enough to sell." It felt like Chaos Con Queso all over again, except much more fun. I received a Truth Box comment after my entry about the night that I'm assuming is about the way I treated the drug addict tools in Dirty-D, saying, I do not dislike, Dave. As a matter of fact, I like you alot. You're a really awesome kid. But I honestly think you're a hypocritical, apathetic fuck-face sometimes. You criticize people you do not know, for things you know nothing about and then act like THEY are the assholes for doing things you disagree with. Honestly, most people I've met who know you disagree with your belief system and STILL manage to say, "Oh, he's a cool guy, though." Does it make sense to you that you can fuck up any person's day who you think looks like a "Faggot", but it's no fair if someone wants to try and fuck up your day? Think about it, because you're a decent kid with a good heart, but a bitter outlook and a sour tongue. Bitter outlook? Agreed, but given this life in this world in this city, one can find it impossible not to be bitter. Sour tongue? Agreed, but how can one speak of all the bullshit without being sour? Hypocritical? Never, and I'd like to know how you figure that one. Apathetic? Never, and I'd also like to know how you figure that one as well. I would never attack someone solely over the way they dress. I'll make fun of it, but I'm not gonna try to ruin someone's day or mood over it. I can't stress enough that the way people all dress alike, no matter what the sub-pseudo-counter-culture they're trying to impress, are part of a bigger picture that I cannot stand and I only go after people when they're exploiting the kindness of others, strutting unjustified egos (btw, pretty much all egos are unjustified), judging others without judging themselves, and raping or making a mockery of something that I find important. I believe I am shallowly, inaccurately, and unfairly judged, by people who I judge for reasons that I find, well, reasonable. I'd like to think I'm a good person, and if being mean to mean people, hating hateful people, and bullying bullies makes me a bad person, then so be it, I guess. Now, moving on...
Sunday was the day of the Ghost Mice show I was running. I was really excited. Not only was I going to meet one of my favorite bands, but this was technically my first show back in the business of show promotion in the 518 area. I was a bit nervous, having flashbacks of how every show I had when I was 'NoMoreCore Booking' literally was disastrous in one way or another. I had found out the day before that the 21st was actually Father's Day, so it also had me worried about how many people would come. I woke up and posted a bulletin or two, then got myself ready and made some phone calls to rally people together. Swan wasn't coming because of Father's Day, which was pretty lame. But everyone else was. I grabbed a bag of vegan and anti-Coke literature and left with Tara. We picked up Bianca from around the corner, then got everyone else from Yoda's house; him, Kayla, Sam, and Mike. Katt said she was coming and had a ride, and Yoda and I were shocked that she was finally going to come to something she said she'd come out to, since she never does. Samm had said he was coming, too. Lots of people I knew said they would be. When we got to the UAG, the two members that would be watching over the show with me were already there, sharing little plastic shots of wine. I set up my table with the bowl asking for $5 donations and all my literature, all from either PETA, KillerCoke.Org, or KnowMore.Org. Within minutes, people started coming, just after 7:30PM. People I didn't recognize at that, which made me think that flyering actually paid off. xIann Matthewx showed up before any other act, saying he got there by hitching a ride with some guy. Caleb Lionheart showed up next with a group of people. A couple people on Schwinns showed up, as expected, and I honestly figured anyone with facial hair, a thin physique, and an expensive roadbike that rode by would be back for the show. Kara showed up and gave me a really yummy cupcake. Everyone but me went to Bombers. I talked to Iann for a bit. Ben showed up. Everyone chilled outside and I told everyone I was basically waiting for Katt to get there. By 8:30, it was obvious she wasn't coming, so I started the show. Iann played an awesome set and I, as well as everyone else I knew, fell in love with him. He brought more people than most locals do and he's from Plattsburgh, so I'm really glad I gave him the opportunity to play with one of his favorite bands. He broke all our hearts with a song about how his girlfriend and mother of his child turned into a Juggalette. I threw him $20 for playing afterward. Caleb Lionheart played next. Tony's voice is ridiculously good. Their set was awesome. They're such nice guys. Ghost Mice and Heathers showed up at the beginning of their set, looking for a bathroom. It was crazy seeing Chris Clavin and Hannah in person. I made room on the table for their merch and Chris opened his giant suitcase enclosing his entire distro. The place was packed come the middle of the show and it was getting humid in there with all the lights blazing down on us all from above. But everyone was having fun. I made sure everyone who came in donated and everyone was pretty nice about it. A few snobs came in and made snide facial gestures at one another in response to the other performers and I wanted to kick them out, but didn't. As long as they kept their snobbiness silent. Heathers played next and were so adorable. It was the first time I'd ever heard an Irish accent in person and they were both overly polite and shy. They're two nineteen-year-old twins all the way from Dubland. They didn't look at the crowd while performing, but everyone was sucked into their set. Their music is beautiful and their voices are incredible. They're one of the best duos I've been privy to in a long time, probably since Tegan and Sara. They even did a cover of The Mountain Goats' "This Year". At the end of their set, Ghost Mice joined them to do the song "Slices of Palama" and then their set began. They had everyone turn to one side of the room for their set and we turned off some of the ceiling lights. It was awesome seeing them live and singing along. After they finished, I stuck around and cleaned up. Yoda and I laughed about how Katt, as well as everyone Tara knew who said they were coming, didn't come. Over sixty people attended, based on the money made. 100% of the money made at the door went to Ghost Mice, which equated to $130. I got Yoda two 7" vinyl and I got myself a t-shirt and some stickers. Everyone told me it was one of the best shows they'd ever been to. Ghost Mice and Heathers would be staying at my house. Ben needed a ride into Colonie, so he hitched one with us. He made us wait a half hour, though, which was annoying. We had six people stuffed into the back of Tara's car. I got dropped off first so I could straighten up my place for everyone. Chris wanted to watch Talladega Nights, so we sat in the living room and watched that together. They all went to sleep in the other room. Chris is unbelievably modest. I'm pretty sure if I'd accomplished everything he has all by himself over the years, I'd be pretty cocky. But not him. Just very mellow, very friendly, and full of wonderfully dry humor. Heathers were great. Tara and I fell asleep on the couch. Kitten was in the living room with us so she wouldn't bother everyone in the other room.
xIann Matthewx!<3
Caleb Lionheart!<3
Heathers!<3
Ghost Mice!<3
Hulett is officially punk rock because he slept with Chris Clavin.
Monday, Tara woke up and left early, to go home and get ready for our eventful day we had planned together. Ghost Mice and Heathers were up and out of here by noon. The cats effected Hannah's allergies and it made me feel really bad. I ate some tofu dogs for lunch and Tara was back over by 1 or so. Even though I had told her about it a few days earlier and she said it'd be fine, she suddenly was all worked up about picking up my online friend Loren (lorrilai) before going to the show in Syracuse. She knew how important it was to me, since it would be convenient and it's on my list of 100 Things In 1,001 Days to get done, but she out of nowhere, "didn't remember me telling her about it," and was, "scared," of doing it, using what had happened to her a few weeks ago as the reason, when, knowing her, I knew she was just using it as a means of guilt-tripping me (I've watched her do it to her mother before). I got pretty pissed about it. And then she tried to say that Loren could possibly be someone else, capable of raping her and robbing us. Which, even though I know it really does happen, was nearly impossible. We had a better chance of getting into a car accident on the way there than that happening. So I kept trying to reason with her, but she was hellbent on not picking Loren up, on the off-chance that she was a he and had a posse of men with her prepared to mug us and rape her, which was all part of a nefarious plan devised over the course of almost a year using three mediums online to create a character to woo me into one day meeting her. It was insane. We got into a huge argument and I eventually said, "Fine, we won't pick her up, it's your car, your decision." After I said that, she suddenly wanted to pick Loren up. It was annoying. We picked Yoda and Swan up. Mike ditched us for his ex-girlfriend who he claims to hate. Sam decided against going because he preferred to lay on the couch all day and play Grand Theft Auto. We stopped by Wal*Mart to return bottles and cans with Yoda so he could have some money for the day and then got going from there. We listened to the Heathers CD, which is a masterpiece, and it was a pretty fun drive up until Tara suddenly said she didn't want to pick up Loren again. Yelling ensued, mostly because the directions I had written down go to Loren's house first (meaning we'd definitely be near her house before the show). It was so stupid and I got really mad and said a lot of mean things, which upset Tara. I called Loren, who was as silent as Kara on the phone, and told her we couldn't come and get her, while Tara screamed repeatedly, "WE CAN GET HER!" Once again, changing her mind the moment I agree to her decision. I didn't bother letting it happen, though, because I knew it wasn't what she wanted to do. So that sucked, but I got over it. We seriously were right near her house before getting to the venue. We stopped in the 'hood of Syracuse to look for some snacks and found one convenience store that accepted EBT whose windows were all gated off. When we got out of the car, two gangster four-year-olds glared us down and their entire family stared at us from a porch. The convenience store was empty. There were five Coca-Colas, four AriZonas, some pet food next to motor oil, and a few bags of chips and cereal. It was hilarious. We got whatever we could and left. The owner was the nicest guy ever. We got to Castle Rockmoore and parked. Matt, of Marco Polio, asked us for $5, and we awkwardly stood around near some hipsters. Tara used the house bathroom and I looked at a table being set up by Alex of Alex & the Imaginary Friends of his 'zines and vinyl, since he runs Raise Your Fist Records. He for some reason recognized me and knew me by name and we talked briefly. He's a really cool guy. I bought three of his 'zines from him. For some reason, it was decided that the show would happen in the small living room instead of the spacious attic. Their living room is a museum of collector's items and random memorabilia. It was more fascinating than the first band that played, The Plurals, who looked like Blind Melon and played really bland '90s grunge punk. A girl came in who looked just like Winona Ryder. Tara insisted she looked like her and then got pissed off when I said she didn't. A girl named Sara played really pretty acoustic music with her pretty voice under the name Hello, Halebopp! and then assisted Matt while he played some of his Marco Polio stuff, which is like Johnny Hobo, if his vocals sounded like he was struggling to breathe and gurgling on air. He for some reason vibrates his screams and it's almost embarrassing. But I can't help but be moved by how passionate it is. The show was moved upstairs from then on, per Chris Clavin's request, and Heathers played another great set. Then Ghost Mice came on and brought even more energy than the day before. During their last song, "Up the Punx", a giant inflated bottle of rum about seven feet tall was thrown around and surfed over the crowd. It was fun. Oh, and I met Weston (orphanendorphin) in person and he was a really cool fucking guy. He had an awesome triple-V vegan tattoo on his wrist that he prints on his homemade patches and I really want one. I might be booking his band, Oak & Bone on the 11th, if I can. I wish dudes like him lived around these parts. We said our goodbyes to everyone and then got going, thinking we'd be able to enjoy a good dinner at Strong Hearts. But when we got there, after going in circles, lost due to inaccurate Google Maps directions, they were closed. Even though they boast on their MySpace how they're, "open mad late," I guess they're only open until 6PM on Mondays. It sucked and we didn't have anywhere else to go that was vegan-friendly. So we went to the nearest Wegman's and got food there, using their cafe area and unattended microwave to make our own food. We had fun sitting there and eating food that made our stomachs hurt. Tara and I ate an entire box of key-line Tofutti Cuties. We didn't get home until after 2 in the morning. Tara's a trooper. I ended up having a great day and night. She stayed over night with me.
Heathers (again)!<3
Ghost Mice (again)!<3
Giant, inflated bottle of rum! Up the punx!
Monday, Tara left before I woke up and didn't come back, so I woke up alone and then paced in my living room a lot. Any day after an entire day of being out of Schenectady feels like something caught in my throat. Vacations from here just make being back here feel that much more like being in prison. I didn't know what to do with myself, so it was pretty clear that I had to get on my bike and move. So I did. I went to Anthony's house since it was around 5, just in case practice was going to happen. It wasn't. So I left there and went downtown to look for my brother and the usual crew. I found them, but they were doing something or something. So I went to Muddy Cup by myself to sit online for a bit. Anthony and Jake Hill showed up, which was pretty cool. They were going to a family pub/restaurant to play Monopoly with Jake's mom, so that definitely made me feel like what I was doing wasn't that pathetic. Sam stayed with me for some reason and spent the day following me around, which was weird because he usually doesn't do anything without Yoda. We left there and walked around. Yoda and Mike were taking forever to get back to us. I went to the Moon & River Cafe to get a California sandwich (tofu, tomato, avocado, Vegenaise) and talk to the owner, Richard, about getting a show there in August for two touring acts of mine. The place was packed around some kids doing acoustic music. One duo did an awesome cover of "Under the Milky Way Tonight" by Church. I saw Laura Esmond there and it was gross. I hope I ruined her day. I found out she smokes cigarettes, which makes her even more gross and despicable. If you smoke cigarettes, you're not an environmentalist, nor are you a vegan. So shut the fuck up and die. I bumped into this lady and I felt really bad about it, but none of the Stockade yuppies there would move even a little bit for us to get by, probably because we were sweaty and not in hipper clothing. I got the date I needed there confirmed, which was nice, and got my sandwich to go since yuppie hipsters really aggravate my social anxieties. My sandwich was so good that I didn't want it to end. But it did. We finally found Yoda and Mike. They got their midnight tickets to Transformers 2. I wanted to go, but Yoda said that when he went in there, they almost didn't sell him tickets because they thought he was me. Total bullshit. I plan on going there soon and making a stink, especially since they don't know my name. I'm pretty sure, legally, they can't ban someone from the theater based solely on looks. They need an identification or something, or so I assume. After they left, Sam and I walked around and got bottles and cans from garbage cans. I hadn't done that in a few weeks. A drunk guy we always see donated a giant black bag to us so we could do it. I got on my bike after that and left once we cleared all the cans of downtown Schenectady. I rode home with the bag over my left shoulder. By midnight, I was nearing home. Going up Frank St., I passed by a big group of black kids, probably between the ages of 18 to 21, but the size of basketball players nonetheless. I didn't really worry about it like I would have a year or two ago, because I'm not racist, and I'm just not scared of this city anymore, after so long of roaming these streets in the middle of the night. So I didn't turn around. I had headphones, so I couldn't hear anything.
I crossed Albany St. to the other end of Frank and then, about fifty yards from my apartment, I got jumped. Two of them in the group were on bikes. One of them came up from behind me and skidded my back tire with their front one. I didn't fall. One on foot ran up alongside me and punched me in the head. I didn't fall. I tried to ride faster, because in the past I'd usually just outrun these situations, but the other one turned in front of me and ghostrode his bike into me, causing me to fall and my body to be thrown off the bike into the sidewalk. All six of them then gathered around me and began to punch and kick me. I got kicked in my face a bunch of times. It was stomped into the sidewalk once, too. I didn't know what to do. My knife was right in my left pocket, but reaching for it seemed useless against six black kids with so little to lose that they'd be willing to mug someone who looks like a homeless person just for a bike. They took my iPod from me and then tried to rip my bookbag off my back. But I refused to let that happen. I kept trying to get up, but they kept punching and kicking me back down. I didn't throw any fists or anything. I yelled once, maybe, something like, "Yo! Why are you doing this?" and tried to tell them there was nothing in my bookbag, to which one replied, "Oh, we'll see 'bout dat!" I was right in front of a stairway to that lead to the second floor of two-apartment flat, so I went for that and tried to tell them it was where I lived. They didn't budge. So I pulled myself up these stairs with all my strength while three to four of them yanked on my arms, legs, and bookbag the entire time, kicking and punching as many times as they could. I reached the top when the buckled they were pulling on tore off. I banged on this door for five minutes, ringing the doorbell over and over. But no one answered. So I went downstairs with my hand over the right corner of my head that was kicked against a jagged, broken sidewalk panel. My bottles and cans were scattered all over the sidewalk, but at least I still had my bookbag, which carried my laptop, digital camera, and wallet. I found a couple sitting on their stairs who must've heard and/or seen what was happening and hadn't done anything and asked to use their cellphone. I called 911. The operator asked where I was and I gave them the address. Then they kept asking questions. I took my hand off my hand and realized it was covered in blood and that the swelling on my head was the size of a grapefruit. I kept asking if an ambulance was being sent and the guy said it wasn't until the police got there to, "secure the area." I kept yelling, "I'm gushing blood from my head, please send an ambulance!" but he wouldn't do it. I told him, "I'm a white male! I'm a priority!" at the suggestion of a black woman from a second story apartment window. He got sarcastic with me and then mockingly said, "Now I'm going to ask you all your medical information." I could hear the laughter in his voice. So I hung up and called my grandmother. She was over in five minutes. As we got to the end of Frank, I turned and saw the group of kids at the corner of the next street over, Harvard, without bikes. They must've stashed everything there. Cops were coming from the other direction, so I had my grandmother follow them. I hopped out of the car and told them the kids were on foot going left on State St. It was a cop I'd fucked with before. They came back in under two minutes and said they couldn't find them, which I honestly think was bullshit. I sat in an ambulance and they checked out my wounds. My blood pressure was, "really low," they told me. Not sure what that meant. My grandmother drove me to the emergency room and I got checked out. I was bleeding everywhere from scrapes on top of bruises. I made some phone calls. Tara's mom wouldn't let her come and see me for some reason. It was horrible. I wasn't angry. I didn't, "hate niggers," or anything like that. I was just confused and disappointed, and felt almost stupid for not turning around and listening to my racist intuitions. I was covered in dirt still. The nurse did a half-ass job cleaning my wounds. The cops who came to fill out a report for me left laughing with one another. I had grains of dirt in my teeth, in the cracks of my lips, in the torn skin on my arms. I was in so much pain. Luckily, I didn't need stitches and my eyes were responding correctly to light. My grandmother drove me to Yoda's. He was still in the movies, so I went to Bow Tie and sat outside of it, waiting for him to come out. When he did, he ran over to me and was really upset. He got on the phone with my father and told him what happened. My dad was there immediately. We grabbed bats and drove through every square inch of every local ghetto we knew of, looking for these kids. But the streets were dead. So at 5AM, we went home and slept. It was hard for me to sleep. My body hurt so bad and there wasn't a side of me that wasn't scraped up. My laptop screen was broken. I was so pissed about losing my bike and iPod, as stupid as that sounds. I'm poor. These things were supposed to last until I'm dead, because I'll never be able to afford replacements. I had a horrible stutter.
Where's this 'white advantage' I keep hearing about? Because I've never been able to use it. I keep hearing that my people are, "the man," but does The Man actually have a skin color? No, he doesn't. That's what bothers me the most about this happening. I live in the same 'hood as these kids. I'm poor, too. I have drug-addled parents who didn't take care of me right. I'm discriminated against every day because of my looks and social class. Why can't we all unite, regardless of skin color, against the real enemy, THE RICH? I've been poor my whole life and I've never even considered harming someone else to get something I want because I otherwise cannot afford it. There's no excuse for what these kids did to me. I don't care about the unfair treatment of their ancestors and I don't care about their upbringing. There's no excuse for this. And because I'm not a racist, I'm not going to write off their actions just because their skin color is darker than mine. There is no more white and black. It's just rich and poor now. The sooner the residents of the 'hood realize that, the better. Crackers and niggers unite! No more jumping one another. And yes, I wholeheartedly believe I was jumped because I was white.
These were both taken fifteen minutes after the incident. I needed to see what I looked like, so I used my camera.
Waiting to get picked up outside the hospital with a ridiculous bandage taped around my head.
Someone's thirteen-year-old, named Precious, disappeared. They're trying to find her through graphing paper with these notes on them.
A terrifying bug-crap-monster thing Sam and I found the other night. He's the size of our palms. Ugh.
Wednesday, I woke up as late as I could and stayed at Yoda's, pretty much scared about going home. Tara eventually came and got me. She was all upset about what had happened to me. We went to Bombers and she got me tofu fries. But I couldn't eat and she ended up eating them. We went back to my place and napped. After a while, we went down to my brother's house so I could use a laptop and get my mind off the pain. I got another show confirmed, which lifted my spirits a bit. We stayed in Yoda and Kayla's air-conditioned bedroom for an hour or two and then she left. I asked Yoda if he wanted to go get food at Bombers. But my wallet and things were at home. So I called my father and asked him to take me there. He came and got me, with my mother. I didn't really wanna see her. As we neared my apartment, I saw a black kid on what looked like my bike. So we turned the car around and followed him into the ghetto-ass apartments next door to me. We went through the neighborhood and saw him and his friend outside of an apartment, with the bike leaned against the stairs, while one of them sat outside. We turned the car off, hoping they'd come out and I'd be able to confirm it was my bike. But the kid became suspicious and rode off, using a path that connects the two apartment neighborhoods. We sped around the corner and saw him go to Harvard, the street where I saw the group of kids stash shit before the cops got there the night before. We rode up it over and over again, trying to see if this kid was on my bike. But it was dark and he was evading us pretty well. The house he was chilling in front of had bike parts outside of it and a table of drugged-out residents sitting around. My Dad got out of the car and walked up the street, hoping to see the bike up close himself, since this kid was giving our vehicle the run-around. But the second the kid saw him walking up the street, he bolted. We parked in the parking lot near my apartment and my Dad got out of the car to walk up the path to the apartment we saw them at before. My brother and Mike followed behind him. A minute or so later, they come running back and hop in, saying my Dad took the bike. We speed around the corner and find my Dad riding up a nearby street. I look at the bike and it's mine. I could even see the leftovers of the stickers they tried to tear off. We stuff the bike into the car trunk and ride to Stewart's in Niskayuna. I was so happy. And it was decided then that my father was the biggest bad-ass in the city. So we knew where these kids lived now. I got dropped off at the police station and told them. The cop at the window told me, "We just do the paperwork. This is up to the detectives now," and wrote a number down for me to call the detectives. They picked me back up and I called the number. An answering machine picked up that also gave a number, "if you need immediate assistance." So I called that and the guy who picked up seemed confused as to why I was calling. Him and a woman, at the same time, yelled at me, and told me they couldn't do anything for me. They kept telling me to leave a detailed message on the detective number's machine, but also told me that they, "don't really have set hours, they kinda just come in whenever they want." They really said that to me. They asked if I wanted a cop sent to me, but I told them the cops already told me they couldn't do anything. I ended up having them send one anyways. When the cop got there, it went pretty quickly and the cop told us upfront that it's up to the detectives now and that, even though we know where these people who assaulted and robbed me are, they couldn't do anything about it. It was shocking to me. I left a message to the detectives with Yoda's cell number and stuff. The cop said they'd get a hold of me probably around 8:30, 9AM. He didn't seem sure.
They never called back. I woke up at 2 and left another one, with both Yoda's and Tara's numbers and even the incident serial number from the report sheet. They never called back. My Dad knows a cop personally, so he gave his cell number a call about it and he said that if they don't call me back by tomorrow, call him and he'll take care of thing himself. It was insane to me that they'll fingerprint spraypaint cans to catch someone who vandalized an abandoned building a year ago, but refused to arrest people who could have killed me a night before. People die on Frank St. and I easily could have been one of them that night. Wow. I went to dinner at my parents' house, even though I wasn't in the mood to hear my mother speak. She thinks we can be won back by a vegan dinner, but she's sorely mistaken. She made us corn, vegan chick'n strips, and mashed potatoes. It was yummy, but being there sucked. I got dropped off at Yoda's until Tara picked me up. We went to The Spectrum and saw this special screening of a documentary called Under Our Skin, a multi-award-winning documentary exposing the underrated epidemic in America of Lyme disease and how the corporate medical community are misdiagnosing and refusing to properly treat victims of Lyme disease, which shares the same genetic formula as other diseases like Parkinson's, Alzheimer's, and Lou Gehrig's Disease. The documentary was terrifying and discouraging, but I'm really glad I saw it. I like learning new things and being depressed by it, I guess. This country is such shit. I strongly suggest you all go to their site and absorb information. Her mother donated an old laptop to me for until I get my Acer fixed. I might be covered by the warranty, but maybe not. I might also be able to get paid restitution by the people who assaulted and robbed me if they're ever caught and dealt with. So maybe I'll get my shit back, or at least be able to replace it. I got my bike back, which is pretty cool. So I spruced up the laptop after Tara spent over two hours eliminating all her old files from it. I started cleaning up and throwing things out. I watched a movie called Dirty Filthy Love a British indie dramedy. The guy in it portray a man with Tourette's and OCD really well and it was a pretty good film.
Today, I woke up late, alone since Tara had left way earlier in the day. I spent the day fixing up this laptop to suit my needs and sending out messages about shows I'm booking. I cleaned up a lot. I got rid of a huge bag of unused clothes and dumped it in a donation box around the corner. I threw away a bunch of stuff I need to part with. I'm a pack rat and I'm trying to overcome that and spit in the face of the sentimental value I place on virtually anything that has some sort of memory attached to it. I threw out some wooden things. I took pictures of everything else so I can post them on Craigslist and try to make a few bucks off of them. I want to empty this place of as many belongings as I can. I threw out a book shelf and a Subway thing I had in my living room for no reason. Tara and I worked together to get my couch out of my living room and to the dumpster and now the twin-size bed is in here. It stormed really bad for less than a half hour tonight. Tara left and I've been here since, downloading music and trying to write this. Both sides of my head still hurt and from sitting the way I am right now, now my back hurts. Tomorrow, my father and I are talking to his cop friend and hopefully, something goes down with these pieces of shit who mugged me. I hate humanity.
Michael Jackson is dead and I don't fucking care. He had some good songs, but was also a child molester. So fuck him.
So as of right now, here are my plans...
Finish off the things I've got going on here in Schenectady. Run the shows I have booked and all that. Tara's mother owns property, a few acres, and an entire house, in Glenville. Tara and I are moving into it for free at the end of July. I'll stay there for a little bit. We go cross-country sometime at the beginning of September. When I come back, I'm gonna go to Syracuse and be homeless, living on the street while searching for an apartment there. And then I'm going to take up permanent resident in the 315. Living here is horrible and it always has been. There's literally nothing keeping me here other than laziness, fear, and lack of funds. But those are all obstacles that are easily overcome. Getting jumped the other night was the final push I needed. I refuse to die here.