Friday, August 30, 2002
So tonight, I'm meeting Josh's sister for the first time. I'm fairly terrified at the prospect, since he only came out to her two months ago (roughly) and she wasn't 100% OK with it... also, there's an (understandable) provision of "no P.D.A.s" attached to the evening. Which is difficult, because I haven't been able to spend good quality time with him since Monday and I miss the intimacy already. (That's not a sex thing, honestly. I'm just very into the whole cuddling / alone together / physical proximity thing, and I think it kind of makes him nervous to begin with... must discuss this).
Now I have to go shave and cleanse myself and try to wear something that doesn't make me look like an idiot, which is difficult since I got hijacked by Erin / Claire / Vicki / Cat this afternoon and couldn't do my laundry... mind you I had a great time (I'd missed them all), but it was inconvenient in a time-management sense. Ah well. Having friends sucks. ;-D
4:33 PM | e-mail |
Now I have to go shave and cleanse myself and try to wear something that doesn't make me look like an idiot, which is difficult since I got hijacked by Erin / Claire / Vicki / Cat this afternoon and couldn't do my laundry... mind you I had a great time (I'd missed them all), but it was inconvenient in a time-management sense. Ah well. Having friends sucks. ;-D
4:33 PM | e-mail |
Thursday, August 29, 2002
All right. If you want the narrative accounts, you'll have to visit the sites of the blushing bride and the chipper confidante, but since I'm sounding off on the blessed occasion waaaay too late, I figure we'll have some fun with it.
Now let's play a game: Five of these statements about Michele's wedding are true. Five are not. The first person to get them all right wins some form of prize! Maybe! If I have any money with which to buy you one! (Michele, Justin, Nancy, and others in attendance at the nuptials are DQed from competing. And that doesn't stand for Dairy Queened).
And now, a little souvenir for those who couldn't make it: Download the bride and groom's wedding song, Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - "(Are You) The One That I've Been Waiting For?" And for Nancy (the classiest woman I've met in a long, long time), here's "There Is A Kingdom," once again by Cave & The Seeds and the source of her beautiful, beautiful wedding gift to M&J. I had a spectacular time, and thank you to everyone who helped to make it so...
2:46 PM | e-mail |
Now let's play a game: Five of these statements about Michele's wedding are true. Five are not. The first person to get them all right wins some form of prize! Maybe! If I have any money with which to buy you one! (Michele, Justin, Nancy, and others in attendance at the nuptials are DQed from competing. And that doesn't stand for Dairy Queened).
- The DJ played three, count them, three, Paul McCartney songs.
- It rained for exactly forty-two seconds.
- Michele downed an entire bottle of tequila by promising that she was done after each shot.
- Nancy hijacked Michele's cigarettes thirty minutes before the ceremony and would not yield them back until the stress was gone.
- I was hit on by one of Michele's crazy aunts.
- 90% of the crowd thinks I was Nancy's date.
- Justin let the air out of the DJ's tires.
- Nancy and I single-handedly decimated an entire pig-in-a-blanket tray.
- For some reason, very few attendees approved of the Jay-Z selection.
- It was the coolest wedding I've ever been to.
And now, a little souvenir for those who couldn't make it: Download the bride and groom's wedding song, Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - "(Are You) The One That I've Been Waiting For?" And for Nancy (the classiest woman I've met in a long, long time), here's "There Is A Kingdom," once again by Cave & The Seeds and the source of her beautiful, beautiful wedding gift to M&J. I had a spectacular time, and thank you to everyone who helped to make it so...
2:46 PM | e-mail |
Public service announcement: If for any reason you seek to get in touch with me, I recommend using this contact form (I'll put up a stable link on the page soon), or sending me an e-mail to (any address) at doyoufeelloved.com. It doesn't matter what you address it to -- "chris," "bono," "fatass," "kingtit" -- as long as it's sent to doyoufeelloved.com, I'll get it. Don't use the Hotmail address anymore, it's getting spammed within an inch of its life and I'm tired of the drama. I'll be checking it occasionally to round up stragglers and suchlike, but it's no longer my primary mail account.
If you're someone I know in real life who hasn't gotten an e-mail with my new address/phone #/etc. in it, hang tight, I'll be sending that out soonish. If you haven't gotten it within the next three days, harass me for it.
12:38 PM | e-mail |
If you're someone I know in real life who hasn't gotten an e-mail with my new address/phone #/etc. in it, hang tight, I'll be sending that out soonish. If you haven't gotten it within the next three days, harass me for it.
12:38 PM | e-mail |
Wednesday, August 28, 2002
Warren Ellis has a blog, and I have broadband several days earlier than expected. Let's get a party started.
10:03 PM | e-mail |
10:03 PM | e-mail |
Monday, August 26, 2002
Right, well, here I am in an NYU computer lab. I was going to type up the story of Michele's wedding from here, since I won't have internet access in my dorm for ten days (Good God), but I signed in to check my mail only to see that one of my classes has been cancelled (Good God 2). My two-day-a-week schedule is undoubtedly destroyed, and all the good classes are probably full. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Must try to rectify that... then, must shop for the essentials of life. (And when I say that now, I mean actual essentials, instead of CDs and comics).
12:50 PM | e-mail |
12:50 PM | e-mail |
Sunday, August 25, 2002
Man, you think it's safe to go to some chick's wedding, and the day you do, U2 go and get their new single played on the BBC. Go download it. I think it's growing on me big-time...
More on Michele's wedding tonight, BTW. I had a blast and a half...
5:47 PM | e-mail |
More on Michele's wedding tonight, BTW. I had a blast and a half...
5:47 PM | e-mail |
Thursday, August 22, 2002
It's crunch time. Things I have done in the last 36 hours:
9:49 AM | e-mail |
- Worked my last shift at Old Navy. God help me but I'm actually gonna miss the people there a bit...
- Gone to the beach with the usual crew (Paul-Shane-Ben-Ashley-Jackie-Mark). Managed to sunburn only my nose and one side of my chest, though I think that's already faded into a tan this morning.
- Traipsed around a mall with Dan and Kalin. Encountered Cameron there and said my goodbyes.
- Bought Pulp's We Love Life.
- Went out to dinner with Paul-Shane-Catlan. Discussed institutionalized racism, with rather a lot of conviction. Had spectacular appetizer. Got discount through Shane. Swizzeet.
- Watched Say Anything with the usual crew. Said my goodbyes to Paul.
- Packed one of three prospective suitcases for the trip back.
- Slept six hours, tops.
- Stripped my room down to the empty furniture and rug, in preparation for carpet-replacement which is going on above me as I type this. My parents' timing on this project was so very far from ideal; I'm not too pleased by having to remove everything I've ever owned from my bedroom right at the most stressful time of my summer...
- Sat down at the computer to write this blog entry.
- Shower.
- Put gas in my car in anticipation of drive to Tampa Airport.
- Get my hair cut @ 1:30.
- Go to my dad's office and install AOL 7.0, since he doesn't know how.
- Swing by Old Navy, pick up my paycheck, mail it out to the bank (USAA exists only on paper and all my deposits have to be mailed. It's frustrating).
- Back up the files I'll need from my parents' computer.
- Ship my heavy bedding to my dorm.
- Go out to farewell dinner with my parents.
- Pack two more suitcases.
- Potentially (but unlikely) go frolic with Ashley-Jackie-Mark-Ben-Phil-etc.
- Sleep for as long as humanly possible.
- Drive to Tampa Airport. Wrangle three huge suitcases.
- Fly to New York.
- Wrangle three huge suitcases to the Upper West Side. Dump them in sister's apartment.
- Get some sweet sweet lovin'.
- Sleep for as long as humanly possible.
9:49 AM | e-mail |
Tuesday, August 20, 2002
Underworld, Hammerstein Ballroom, October 18th. They are devious, they are mental.
(Thank you, Jack)
7:41 PM | e-mail |
(Thank you, Jack)
7:41 PM | e-mail |
TerraFly: Use satellite imagery to virtually "fly" over any point in the United States. Spectacular and a wee bit unnerving all at once...
(via Rhapsody In Blog)
10:21 AM | e-mail |
(via Rhapsody In Blog)
10:21 AM | e-mail |
Monday, August 19, 2002
Aaaand once again I am ludicrously unprepared to move back to New York on Friday morning. And I'm ludicrously unwilling to start preparing until Wednesday morning at the earliest. I sux0r.
9:49 PM | e-mail |
9:49 PM | e-mail |
Last night I got sent 350 copies of a spam message.
I am so done with Hotmail. As soon as I'm set up back on my Powerbook at school (which'll be next Sunday at the earliest), I'm switching all my e-mail over to a DYFL.com address. If you tried to send me something in the last twenty-four hours and it got bounced, resend it now because I've cleaned out my box again... GRRRR.
10:12 AM | e-mail |
I am so done with Hotmail. As soon as I'm set up back on my Powerbook at school (which'll be next Sunday at the earliest), I'm switching all my e-mail over to a DYFL.com address. If you tried to send me something in the last twenty-four hours and it got bounced, resend it now because I've cleaned out my box again... GRRRR.
10:12 AM | e-mail |
Sunday, August 18, 2002
Now that Batman Vs. Superman has been bumped back -- are they about to make Superman 5, and is it actually going to be good?!? Read the August 17th update for some fascinating rumors... apparently an amazing script has been turned in, and WB is looking to hook it up to one of four directors as soon as superhumanly (ha) possible...
1:55 PM | e-mail |
1:55 PM | e-mail |
Oh, and by the way: I think Pepsi Blue is robot fuel. I think the robots already assimilated Pepsico., and they've just rolled out Pepsi Blue so that when the invasion comes, every store shelf in America will be readily stocked with robot fuel. Humans can drink it, but that helps the robots in two ways, because (a.) I'm reasonably sure it contains near-toxic amounts of mercury and (b.) the robots can just suck it back out of our bodies after they kill us since there's no possible way our digestive appartuses (apparati?) could possibly ever put a dent in that shit.
And now that I've told you this, I think I should mention that I like it. Despite the fact that the aftertaste is somewhere between licking an ashtray, chewing an AA battery, and eating an entire carton of York Peppermint Patties...
1:24 PM | e-mail |
And now that I've told you this, I think I should mention that I like it. Despite the fact that the aftertaste is somewhere between licking an ashtray, chewing an AA battery, and eating an entire carton of York Peppermint Patties...
1:24 PM | e-mail |
Mmm... shopping. I need a digital camera to show you all the beautiful new clothes I've bought myself, but I've spent all my digital camera money on beautiful new clothes. The world is funny that way.
I've turned into quite the clotheshorse ever since I started working at Old Navy. Mind you, all I ever buy is pants. I'm obsessed with pants. God only knows how many pairs I have now... jeans especially. I buy shirts, too, but only plain t-shirts with no adornment. I've whored myself for Gap Inc. hard enough; I don't need to be a walking billboard, thanks...
I'm also starting to think that I'm gonna have to work for them for the rest of my life, because without an employee discount, it's simply impossible to justify the price of clothes. I don't understand how people do it.
Clothing retail has also made me a compulsive folder. I fold everything with anal-retentive attention to detail. It must be perfect. I'll also occasionally fold clothing in stores I don't even work at, just to make myself feel better about the mess around me. I've been so headfucked by this job it's untrue.
1:20 PM | e-mail |
I've turned into quite the clotheshorse ever since I started working at Old Navy. Mind you, all I ever buy is pants. I'm obsessed with pants. God only knows how many pairs I have now... jeans especially. I buy shirts, too, but only plain t-shirts with no adornment. I've whored myself for Gap Inc. hard enough; I don't need to be a walking billboard, thanks...
I'm also starting to think that I'm gonna have to work for them for the rest of my life, because without an employee discount, it's simply impossible to justify the price of clothes. I don't understand how people do it.
Clothing retail has also made me a compulsive folder. I fold everything with anal-retentive attention to detail. It must be perfect. I'll also occasionally fold clothing in stores I don't even work at, just to make myself feel better about the mess around me. I've been so headfucked by this job it's untrue.
1:20 PM | e-mail |
Thursday, August 15, 2002
How many movies about Alexander The Great can fit on the head of a pin? And can that pin also accomodate Martin Scorcese, Baz Luhrmann, Oliver Stone, Leonardo DiCaprio, Colin Farrell, Christopher McQuarrie, Ted Tally, and a cast of a thousand Morrocans? This is some fascinating shit -- read up on the race to see who in Hollywood gets to immortalize an already-immortal figure.
(Thanks much, Kalin)
8:57 PM | e-mail |
(Thanks much, Kalin)
8:57 PM | e-mail |
New Johnny Cash American Recordings album coming soon -- duet on Hank Williams' "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry" with Nick Cave (so! much! doom!), and covers of Nine Inch Nails' "Hurt" and Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus." Eeeenteresting.
5:06 PM | e-mail |
5:06 PM | e-mail |
Wednesday, August 14, 2002
So the majority of these are just too self-righteous for their own good, but some of them are classic...
(via X-Overboard)
2:00 PM | e-mail |
Tuesday, August 13, 2002
Took a break from SOOOO MUCH TEMPLATE EDITING and spent the day (well, the afternoon) at Busch Gardens with Ghostface Killah and Big Baby Jesus (thank you sir). Ghostface works there, y'see, so we got in free free free and got discounted food and all kinds of dirty park secrets. Mmm... secrets. Much riding of fast things occured. And now I'm twiddling my thumbs until BBJ calls me back about the possibility of Risk being played tonight. Mmm... conquer.
8:52 PM | e-mail |
8:52 PM | e-mail |
Monday, August 12, 2002
Sunday, August 11, 2002
All the Movable Type templates are truly annoying to configure. I really want some good pizza and none exists in this town. Nor could I really pay for it if it did. Accomplished much less with this day off than I could have. Still have to work at 8AM tomorrow. Cloudy outside.
Blargh.
4:33 PM | e-mail |
Blargh.
4:33 PM | e-mail |
Two great tragedies via CNN: Woman kills self with jump into crocodile pit and Domino's to phase out free delivery.
3:20 PM | e-mail |
3:20 PM | e-mail |
When you're unexpectedly given a Sunday off from work, you're expected to spend it working on projects like this. So here's the tracklisting of my absolute wet-dream fantasy Prince covers album:
01. Pink - "Little Red Corvette"
02. Ani Difranco - "When You Were Mine"
03. Craig David and Basement Jaxx - "When Doves Cry"
04. Michael Jackson - "Cream"
05. Moby with Outkast - "Gett Off"
06. Missy Elliot & Timbaland - "Controversy"
07. The White Stripes - "Kiss"
08. No Doubt - "If I Was Your Girlfriend"
09. Elvis Costello - "Pop Life"
10. Tom Waits - "Raspberry Beret"
11. New Order - "I Would Die 4 U"
12. Red Hot Chili Peppers - "Alphabet St."
13. Andrew W.K. - "Let's Go Crazy"
14. Mariah Carey and George Michael - "Diamonds & Pearls"
15. U2 - "Purple Rain"
Thanks to Paul for the inspired "Raspberry Beret" suggestion. And the awful pun.
Anyway, "Cream" could definitely resurrect Michael Jackson's career, methinks; Pink would sneer and slut her way through "Corvette" so delightfully; and just *think* about Moby whipping out his circa-1992 production style for Big Boi and Dre getting truly, truly nasty. I like 'em fat, I like 'em proud.
Prince is far too easy to do this sort of thing with -- almost every great song he's ever written could be interpreted in most any genre. (This is why I gave No Doubt "If I Was Your Girlfriend"; I'd love to see if they could transform it from truly frightening psychosexual R&B to ska-pop. The melody's there.)
God, I love him so much.
12:12 PM | e-mail |
01. Pink - "Little Red Corvette"
02. Ani Difranco - "When You Were Mine"
03. Craig David and Basement Jaxx - "When Doves Cry"
04. Michael Jackson - "Cream"
05. Moby with Outkast - "Gett Off"
06. Missy Elliot & Timbaland - "Controversy"
07. The White Stripes - "Kiss"
08. No Doubt - "If I Was Your Girlfriend"
09. Elvis Costello - "Pop Life"
10. Tom Waits - "Raspberry Beret"
11. New Order - "I Would Die 4 U"
12. Red Hot Chili Peppers - "Alphabet St."
13. Andrew W.K. - "Let's Go Crazy"
14. Mariah Carey and George Michael - "Diamonds & Pearls"
15. U2 - "Purple Rain"
Thanks to Paul for the inspired "Raspberry Beret" suggestion. And the awful pun.
Anyway, "Cream" could definitely resurrect Michael Jackson's career, methinks; Pink would sneer and slut her way through "Corvette" so delightfully; and just *think* about Moby whipping out his circa-1992 production style for Big Boi and Dre getting truly, truly nasty. I like 'em fat, I like 'em proud.
Prince is far too easy to do this sort of thing with -- almost every great song he's ever written could be interpreted in most any genre. (This is why I gave No Doubt "If I Was Your Girlfriend"; I'd love to see if they could transform it from truly frightening psychosexual R&B to ska-pop. The melody's there.)
God, I love him so much.
12:12 PM | e-mail |
Note to self: First thing (well, maybe second thing) back in NYC, must go see 24 Hour Party People.
(Heads-up on its US release from The Modern Age)
11:10 AM | e-mail |
(Heads-up on its US release from The Modern Age)
11:10 AM | e-mail |
Saturday, August 10, 2002
The first dates of the No Doubt / Garbage tour (Yes. Both of them. Together. :::cumshot:::) have been announced:
10:56 AM | e-mail |
- Oct. 15, Ryan Center Arena, Kingston, R.I.
- Oct. 17, First Union Spectrum, Philadelphia
- Oct. 20, Centrum, Worcester, Mass.
- Oct. 21, Nassau Coliseum, Uniondale, N.Y.
- Oct. 23, Continental Airlines Arena, East Rutherford, N.J.
- Oct. 24, Baltimore Arena, Baltimore
- Oct. 27, University of North Florida Arena, Jacksonville, Fla.
10:56 AM | e-mail |
Friday, August 09, 2002
Jeremy's in town and I have to spend all my time entertaining his ass (and working). So I'm not gonna be writing too much this weekend. Probably. Maybe. Oh whatever. Go look at this thing instead.
5:06 PM | e-mail |
5:06 PM | e-mail |
Thursday, August 08, 2002
John -- you're wrong. There are two reasons to not let Florida be devoured by Gojira (or, let's say, be overrun by genetically-engineered velociraptors): Me, and Carl Hiaasen.
And I hadn't heard a damn thing about this adoption law. It sure is retarded, though. Good God.
12:40 PM | e-mail |
And I hadn't heard a damn thing about this adoption law. It sure is retarded, though. Good God.
12:40 PM | e-mail |
Wednesday, August 07, 2002
Well, I've already hit a snag installing MT. Can't make the stupid MySQL database work. I know nothing about MySQL. So if any of you folks are smart about such matters, why not lend me a hand by answering my question at the MT Support Boards?
UPDATE: Problem solved -- thank you thank you Crys.
11:02 AM | e-mail |
UPDATE: Problem solved -- thank you thank you Crys.
11:02 AM | e-mail |
If you came here recently and saw the frontpage from July 18th, that's a side-effect of the DNS switch -- I'd had an old version of this index file uploaded to the Dreamhost server. The good news is, that means the DNS has already caught on for you and we're ready to rumble on the new server! WOO-HOO!!! I'm gonna go set up Movable Type before 1:00, because I might end up getting called in to wor until 10:00 (blaaaah)...
9:40 AM | e-mail |
9:40 AM | e-mail |
Monday, August 05, 2002
OK. Now that I've appeared to have returned in rare, entertaining form, I'm gonna fuck off again for a while. But this time it's for a good reason, and it should be less than 48 hours. OK?
I'm officially transferring doyoufeelloved.com's hosting to Dreamhost. Meaning I've got to do the whole DNS-propagation malarkey. So the site may become unavailable for a couple of days, starting, oh, right about now? I was gonna wait 'till the last minute to do this, but as it turns out I need everything to be in order to install Movable Type on my Dreamhost server (which I'm halfway through doing right now). So we're gonna get it out of the way and get on to the good stuff. Hopefully the DNS switch won't take long and we'll be back in business by Wednesday night, but no promises... it's completely out of my control.
So be strong. For all of us. ;-D
UPDATE: As soon as I submitted the request, Doteasy informed me that I should allow 48 hours for "processing." Whether or not this is in addition to the 48 hours it takes for a DNS change to catch is uncertain. So, the site may stay available through Wednesday, then vanish until Friday, or something...? Fuck, I don't know. Grrr. I just wanna install my pretty new toy! If I can continue to post here, I will, but don't spit milk on the monitor if the site suddenly vanishes...
6:50 PM | e-mail |
I'm officially transferring doyoufeelloved.com's hosting to Dreamhost. Meaning I've got to do the whole DNS-propagation malarkey. So the site may become unavailable for a couple of days, starting, oh, right about now? I was gonna wait 'till the last minute to do this, but as it turns out I need everything to be in order to install Movable Type on my Dreamhost server (which I'm halfway through doing right now). So we're gonna get it out of the way and get on to the good stuff. Hopefully the DNS switch won't take long and we'll be back in business by Wednesday night, but no promises... it's completely out of my control.
So be strong. For all of us. ;-D
UPDATE: As soon as I submitted the request, Doteasy informed me that I should allow 48 hours for "processing." Whether or not this is in addition to the 48 hours it takes for a DNS change to catch is uncertain. So, the site may stay available through Wednesday, then vanish until Friday, or something...? Fuck, I don't know. Grrr. I just wanna install my pretty new toy! If I can continue to post here, I will, but don't spit milk on the monitor if the site suddenly vanishes...
6:50 PM | e-mail |
Sunday, August 04, 2002
Let's get all the things I need to blog about out of the way one at a time. First: The Road Trip From Hell.
On Monday the 29th we -- myself, Paul, Brinson, Ashley, Mark, and Lyndsey -- set out in my beautiful, beautiful Suburban, Dana, for Atlanta. Our goal? To see Weezer (as well as Dashboard Confessional and Sparta. The Strokes, dicklickers all, cancelled less than a week beforehand because Julian had a boo-boo.).
We were cruisin' along just fine for a while. About three hours into our (projected) eight-hour journey -- just north of Gainesville -- a horse truck pulled in front of us in the right lane. And four giant plastic buckets with steel handles fell off of it and right onto the Interstate in front of us. Being, as we were, in the middle lane, I couldn't swerve out of the way, and so we ran square over them. Instantly the car begins screaming in pain. We pull over A.S.A.P. and investigate the state of things. Miraculously, the car seems fine -- there's a bucket jammed square under the front axle and the stench of friction-burned plastic in the air, but nothing's leaking and the tires still have pressure. We pull the bucket out, christen him Rufus, kick him around for a while, take a picture for posterity, and throw him in the trunk and set out anew.
We drove on for another three hours, including a stop in Tifton, GA for fine Checkers comestibles (Tifton is apparently the Reading Capital Of The World. You wouldn't know it to look at the Checkers clientele...). Then the car started shaking violently at 55 mph. O...K... Then the car started shaking violently at 65 mph. Oh... shit? Then the car started shaking violently no matter what.
We pulled over. Still nothing dripping. Tires look OK. We hobble down the interstate to the next exit, pulling into a Chevron and asking the truly terrifying attendant there (those eyes! those teeth!) where the nearest repair place was. Luckily it was just a couple of miles down US-41 (which, let me tell you, looks nothing up there like it does down here in my town...). Hobble hobble hobble, and soon we're safely ensconced in their air conditioned waiting room watching the utterly unremarkable Mumford on Comedy Central and talking about how the velociraptors are no doubt responsible for this.
The verdict? Good ol' Rufus (or one of his siblings) ruined the belts on the front tires. $180. ARGH.
I Mastercard it up and we're on the road again.
For an hour.
Then the car started shaking violently. And I started screaming with rage.
At this point we're only about twenty-five minutes out of Atlanta. It's also about 5:30 and the concert starts at 7. We pulled off at an exit and got stuck at an intersection trying to decide which way to go to find a service place. Nearly blind with frustration and rage, I decided that we should make a left, turn around in that road, and head in a new direction.
We made the left and there, shining in front of us, is a giant sign saying LICENSED GM-CERTIFIED REPAIRS.
It turns out that the left rear tire had split open in the hour we'd driven since the last service place. We all stared in appreciation at the gaping hole and the audible hiss of escaping air (as well as the comical way in which the back end of the car began to lean over while we watched). Then I learned that the only available tire that'll fit my giant beast of a car costs $120.
I will say that the folks at that dealership were absurdly nice to us -- they washed the car for free, were super-nice and helpful, got us out of there as quickly as humanly possible (We told them all about the Weez), and even gave us lots of paper with which to make a sign bearing the following message for Rivers:
WE DROVE 8 HOURS... :-D
...LOST 4 TIRES :-(
PLAY "WORLD HAS TURNED"
(At the moment of the sign's creation, we weren't sure if they were gonna have to replace the right rear tire too. They didn't.)
We never did hold up the sign, I will say. Not that they would've heeded its urgent plea. We arrived at the ampitheatre with moments to spare before Sparta took the stage. They played a solid if unremarkable set. Dashboard Confessional did the same, with a slightly higher annoyance level (Note to Chris Carrabba: When God smites your sound system in the middle of your biggest hit, he's trying to send you a message).
Then, at dusk, the =W=. Which was really quite a bit better than I'd figured it would be. A couple of days earlier Jack had seen them in Philidelphia and had been slightly underwhelmed -- Rivers clearly just wasn't in the mood, and we'd discussed how they were currently in Ironic Perfunctory Mode, which eventually leads to Ironic Lead Singer's Solo Career Mode and Ironic Three Remaining Members Continuing To Tour Under The Name 'Weezer' And Pretending It's All Good Mode. I'm quite pleased to say that Rivers was in a much better mood tonight and actually seemed to be enjoying himself. Notable quotes of the evening:
--"We came here to lay it down!... so let us proceed!... with the down-laying."
--"This is some heavy metal, 1996-style"
--:::Accompanied by red flashing lights, copious smoke, and thunderous feedback::: "This song starts out in the depths of HELL... Shout at the Devil!!!... Don't take any guff from the Devil!!!... WHAT'S WITH THESE HOMIES DISSING MY GIRL? / WHY DO THEY GOTTA FRONT?"
Here's the complete setlist, if you're interested. I can't think of any particular highlights; it was all uniformly quite good (with the exception of "Don't Let Go." They've decided they like to play it off-key now. Bastards). Of course "El Scorcho" got me completely wet (Rivers' introduction for that one: "This is for all my bitches"). And pyro, pyro, pyro! WOOOO! I LIKE FIRE!
And I caught Brian Bell's guitar pick after "Buddy Holly." Rox0r and rollx0r.
But the Atlanta adventure didn't end there, oh no.
Paul had made a provisional (read: no credit card involved) reservation at a super-cheap hotel nearby ($35 a night!) called the Mark Inn. We all figured it was a total turbo-dive, but hey, $35 split between six people...? After seeing the neighborhood the ampitheatre was in, however, we all agreed that if we drove by the place and it looked like a total shithouse, we'd hop back on the Interstate and find a nice place.
We approached the Mark Inn at about 40mph and slowed to around 32mph before our decision was made.
It was surrounded by barbed wire. Framed on two sides by rental-car lots. And there were four huge guys just standing in the dark in front of it, puttering around menacingly.
We lunged for the Interstate and pulled off in Airport-Hotel-Central, ensconcing ourselves (after some classic spy-movie dialogue bumbling with the lobby attendant; we didn't want her to know we were putting six people in one room, see) in a gorgeous Hampton Inn which we dubbed The Tower Of Power. $99 a night for cleanliness and non-gangsta-trippin' was well worthwhile, we decided.
At this point we were all ready to eat several horses, so we tried to order some pizza. But apparently they roll the sidewalks up in Atlanta at 11PM, because there wasn't a single pizza place in the town open. We know because Lyndsey just started calling any and every pizza place in the area code and asking if they knew any other one that was open. One guy at a Papa John's started hitting on her frantically (Her opening line -- "OK, hee hee, we're not from around here" might've tipped him off that she was an easy catch), making for a lot of fantastic-sounding one-way conversation on our end of audibility. He did try very hard to get us pizza, though. Did you know Papa John's has a secret action code? We do now. We now also know that the area of Atlanta in which we were staying has been deemed "Thugville" by Papa John's drivers (it *was* on the Bobby Brown Parkway...) and they don't go out there much because they tend to get robbed. WOO!
Pizza ultimately didn't materialize. We fed ourselves on mediocre vending-machine "hot" food and collapsed into our groaning, over-stressed queen-size beds.
And I'd love to report that the next day the car exploded and we were hijacked by aliens or something, but in fact, it was completely uneventful, barring some spectacular conversations about Velociraptors and a really hot waiter at Olive Garden.
Aren't vacations relaxing?
11:01 PM | e-mail |
On Monday the 29th we -- myself, Paul, Brinson, Ashley, Mark, and Lyndsey -- set out in my beautiful, beautiful Suburban, Dana, for Atlanta. Our goal? To see Weezer (as well as Dashboard Confessional and Sparta. The Strokes, dicklickers all, cancelled less than a week beforehand because Julian had a boo-boo.).
We were cruisin' along just fine for a while. About three hours into our (projected) eight-hour journey -- just north of Gainesville -- a horse truck pulled in front of us in the right lane. And four giant plastic buckets with steel handles fell off of it and right onto the Interstate in front of us. Being, as we were, in the middle lane, I couldn't swerve out of the way, and so we ran square over them. Instantly the car begins screaming in pain. We pull over A.S.A.P. and investigate the state of things. Miraculously, the car seems fine -- there's a bucket jammed square under the front axle and the stench of friction-burned plastic in the air, but nothing's leaking and the tires still have pressure. We pull the bucket out, christen him Rufus, kick him around for a while, take a picture for posterity, and throw him in the trunk and set out anew.
We drove on for another three hours, including a stop in Tifton, GA for fine Checkers comestibles (Tifton is apparently the Reading Capital Of The World. You wouldn't know it to look at the Checkers clientele...). Then the car started shaking violently at 55 mph. O...K... Then the car started shaking violently at 65 mph. Oh... shit? Then the car started shaking violently no matter what.
We pulled over. Still nothing dripping. Tires look OK. We hobble down the interstate to the next exit, pulling into a Chevron and asking the truly terrifying attendant there (those eyes! those teeth!) where the nearest repair place was. Luckily it was just a couple of miles down US-41 (which, let me tell you, looks nothing up there like it does down here in my town...). Hobble hobble hobble, and soon we're safely ensconced in their air conditioned waiting room watching the utterly unremarkable Mumford on Comedy Central and talking about how the velociraptors are no doubt responsible for this.
The verdict? Good ol' Rufus (or one of his siblings) ruined the belts on the front tires. $180. ARGH.
I Mastercard it up and we're on the road again.
For an hour.
Then the car started shaking violently. And I started screaming with rage.
At this point we're only about twenty-five minutes out of Atlanta. It's also about 5:30 and the concert starts at 7. We pulled off at an exit and got stuck at an intersection trying to decide which way to go to find a service place. Nearly blind with frustration and rage, I decided that we should make a left, turn around in that road, and head in a new direction.
We made the left and there, shining in front of us, is a giant sign saying LICENSED GM-CERTIFIED REPAIRS.
It turns out that the left rear tire had split open in the hour we'd driven since the last service place. We all stared in appreciation at the gaping hole and the audible hiss of escaping air (as well as the comical way in which the back end of the car began to lean over while we watched). Then I learned that the only available tire that'll fit my giant beast of a car costs $120.
I will say that the folks at that dealership were absurdly nice to us -- they washed the car for free, were super-nice and helpful, got us out of there as quickly as humanly possible (We told them all about the Weez), and even gave us lots of paper with which to make a sign bearing the following message for Rivers:
...LOST 4 TIRES :-(
PLAY "WORLD HAS TURNED"
We never did hold up the sign, I will say. Not that they would've heeded its urgent plea. We arrived at the ampitheatre with moments to spare before Sparta took the stage. They played a solid if unremarkable set. Dashboard Confessional did the same, with a slightly higher annoyance level (Note to Chris Carrabba: When God smites your sound system in the middle of your biggest hit, he's trying to send you a message).
Then, at dusk, the =W=. Which was really quite a bit better than I'd figured it would be. A couple of days earlier Jack had seen them in Philidelphia and had been slightly underwhelmed -- Rivers clearly just wasn't in the mood, and we'd discussed how they were currently in Ironic Perfunctory Mode, which eventually leads to Ironic Lead Singer's Solo Career Mode and Ironic Three Remaining Members Continuing To Tour Under The Name 'Weezer' And Pretending It's All Good Mode. I'm quite pleased to say that Rivers was in a much better mood tonight and actually seemed to be enjoying himself. Notable quotes of the evening:
--"We came here to lay it down!... so let us proceed!... with the down-laying."
--"This is some heavy metal, 1996-style"
--:::Accompanied by red flashing lights, copious smoke, and thunderous feedback::: "This song starts out in the depths of HELL... Shout at the Devil!!!... Don't take any guff from the Devil!!!... WHAT'S WITH THESE HOMIES DISSING MY GIRL? / WHY DO THEY GOTTA FRONT?"
Here's the complete setlist, if you're interested. I can't think of any particular highlights; it was all uniformly quite good (with the exception of "Don't Let Go." They've decided they like to play it off-key now. Bastards). Of course "El Scorcho" got me completely wet (Rivers' introduction for that one: "This is for all my bitches"). And pyro, pyro, pyro! WOOOO! I LIKE FIRE!
And I caught Brian Bell's guitar pick after "Buddy Holly." Rox0r and rollx0r.
But the Atlanta adventure didn't end there, oh no.
Paul had made a provisional (read: no credit card involved) reservation at a super-cheap hotel nearby ($35 a night!) called the Mark Inn. We all figured it was a total turbo-dive, but hey, $35 split between six people...? After seeing the neighborhood the ampitheatre was in, however, we all agreed that if we drove by the place and it looked like a total shithouse, we'd hop back on the Interstate and find a nice place.
We approached the Mark Inn at about 40mph and slowed to around 32mph before our decision was made.
It was surrounded by barbed wire. Framed on two sides by rental-car lots. And there were four huge guys just standing in the dark in front of it, puttering around menacingly.
We lunged for the Interstate and pulled off in Airport-Hotel-Central, ensconcing ourselves (after some classic spy-movie dialogue bumbling with the lobby attendant; we didn't want her to know we were putting six people in one room, see) in a gorgeous Hampton Inn which we dubbed The Tower Of Power. $99 a night for cleanliness and non-gangsta-trippin' was well worthwhile, we decided.
At this point we were all ready to eat several horses, so we tried to order some pizza. But apparently they roll the sidewalks up in Atlanta at 11PM, because there wasn't a single pizza place in the town open. We know because Lyndsey just started calling any and every pizza place in the area code and asking if they knew any other one that was open. One guy at a Papa John's started hitting on her frantically (Her opening line -- "OK, hee hee, we're not from around here" might've tipped him off that she was an easy catch), making for a lot of fantastic-sounding one-way conversation on our end of audibility. He did try very hard to get us pizza, though. Did you know Papa John's has a secret action code? We do now. We now also know that the area of Atlanta in which we were staying has been deemed "Thugville" by Papa John's drivers (it *was* on the Bobby Brown Parkway...) and they don't go out there much because they tend to get robbed. WOO!
Pizza ultimately didn't materialize. We fed ourselves on mediocre vending-machine "hot" food and collapsed into our groaning, over-stressed queen-size beds.
And I'd love to report that the next day the car exploded and we were hijacked by aliens or something, but in fact, it was completely uneventful, barring some spectacular conversations about Velociraptors and a really hot waiter at Olive Garden.
Aren't vacations relaxing?
11:01 PM | e-mail |
No, really. I am back. I swear.
I've just been doing way too much stuff to stop and think about blogging it all. Today is no exception -- I work until 11PM tonight doing inventory (grrrrrrr), then work again at 10AM tomorrow, so it's gonna be a while before I can talk about all the things that have happened and are happening to me. Hold out some hope for tomorrow night, and if you see me online, harass me to post. I have tales to tell. Buckets of them, in fact.
1:06 PM | e-mail |
I've just been doing way too much stuff to stop and think about blogging it all. Today is no exception -- I work until 11PM tonight doing inventory (grrrrrrr), then work again at 10AM tomorrow, so it's gonna be a while before I can talk about all the things that have happened and are happening to me. Hold out some hope for tomorrow night, and if you see me online, harass me to post. I have tales to tell. Buckets of them, in fact.
1:06 PM | e-mail |
Thursday, August 01, 2002
I've got the day off work, I've got stories to tell, and I've got gutters to avoid cleaning. So yes: I'm back. More to follow.
10:14 AM | e-mail |
10:14 AM | e-mail |