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post #139
bio: stu

first post
that week
my links

Favorite Things
· The Flaming R. Kelly
· Malfatti
· Johnny Cash
· Chuck Klosterman
· Deadwood, Seasons 1 & 2

Previous Posts
Notes on Sobriety
Republicans Are Tough Guys
Brain Fog
Clown Posse
Uber, but For Wrong Numbers
On the Greatest Political Satire of the 21st Century


Category List
February Smackdown
Literary Shit
Mad Craziness
Random 10


Goin' Out West
...Where They Appreciate Me

Not three hours out of New York City, and we already pissed off the locals. We didn't even know why. It's possible they just hate our freedom. Or for possibly being Jews. Or being loud. Who knows?

There we were, at a Denny's, which is our own fault, I know, but whatevs. We were hungry. I'm not trying to justify it. We're just outside of Scotrun, PA, doing what everyone does at a Denny's at midnight on a Friday: smoking cigarettes, drinking crappy coffee, talking, and feeling vaguely dirty for being there in the first place. And as we were leaving, the guys at the table next to us--who looked like Phish fans who hadn't quite hit the "showering optional" stage of Phish fannery, leaned over and said, "You were very rude, thank you." As we pull out of the parking lot, we could see one of them standing at the top of the stairs, giving us the finger all crooked like, as if he was hitchhiking but also wanted to let us know we were pricks.

Usually when people dislike me, I have some idea why--either because I've been directly rude, abrasive, curmudgeonly, etc., or because I've wanted them to like me--a rare occasion that backfires horribly and gets me banned from certain bars/homes/countries (Denmark, I swear, I didn't mean it! Please take me back, baby.)

But seriously, we have no idea why these guys wanted to hate on us. We hadn't said anything to them, we hadn't done anything to them, we hadn't blown smoke or kicked sand in their faces. All we'd done is talked at a normal volume.

Okay, we'd talked some shit. But not about them.

Eh. There are a couple possibilities.
  • They were Creed fans, offended by our mocking of Scott Stapp, back in the news because of his recent arrest, and the release of his sex tape, co-starring Kid Rock (you can't make this shit up!).
  • They thought it rude that we kept pronouncing "Scotrun," their home city, as "Scrotum" ("Where the balls dropping at New Year's Eve is a sight to see!") and then giggling like schoolgirls.
  • The story about the crazy guy in the Apple store who kept muttering, "Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off, fuck off, fuck off, fuck off, fuck off!" offended their maidenly sensibilities.
  • They really detest Larry Clark and thought we should never have brought up the movie Kids in their presence.
  • New Yorkers really are assholes, and don't even realize it.
Real Road Trip, Fake Road's hard to tell the difference sometimes

It was interesting taking a road trip to Michigan--not only because I'd never driven to Michigan from the east before, but also because I'd pretended to drive this exact same route just four months ago. It was great to see it in the flesh, rather than sit in a New York dive bar and type "Passing the 'Highest Point on I-80 East of the Mississippi' right now." I could tell my fellow travelers, "Hey, I once pretended to pass that very sign right there!""

Why I Can't Quit Smoking, Part 184

Smoking outside gives me too many stories. Just the other day, I was outside, and a petite black woman came walking down the street, muttering to herself and shaking her head violently. I tried to slink back into the corner so I wouldn't get noticed, but she stopped right in front of me, stepped directly into my personal space, made eye contact, and said clearly and tenderly, "I love you too, babe." And then she continued on down the street.

Putting the "Sir" back in Cirrhosis.

I stopped drinking on my own.

This is a stupid decision. I need to go back, if only so I can fall asleep faster, and get back to writing things that aren't crappy.

These are Apocalyptic Times

[I wrote this immediately after receiving a text from Honky saying "These are apocalyptic times," while listening to Bloc Party's "Like Eating Glass." As soon as the song ended, I lost all ability to continue with it. It'll never get finished, and it's way too melodramatic for me to pick it up again.]

Everyone around you is entrenched. They've grown complacent with their little lives. You think you might be complacent, but you don't want to. It's time to break out. It's time to fuck things up. It's time for a change--if you force it, everyone might change with you. And if they
don't, it's their own damn problem. They can take it up with the person you once were, if they can find him.

Just smash it all up.

Apocalypse does not mean "the end of times." It's not the destruction of everything and everyone you know. The Apocalypse is not the end of the universe. Apocalypse means "revelation." To uncover. The Apocalypse is only the end of the universe as we know it (and you'll feel fine, really, I swear). Take a step back. Then take four or five big fucking steps forward.

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