2001-09-10|12:30 a.m.
The wedding was fun. For the first time in my life I salsa danced. I owe it to the few beers I had.
In fact, the only music they played, with exception to �Can�t Touch This,� �Tootsie Roll,� and �YMCA,� was salsa music. I decided, before the wedding started, that I would cut up that floor. And I did.
Uncharacteristic of me? Yeah, a little. But even I can have an extroverted good time.
In abnormal psychology, we learned that instead of calling the person who comes in to see you a �patient,� that the proper thing to call them is �client.� Maybe, I am too in love with George Orwell to have an original opinion on this, but being politically correct about something like this builds my frustration. What is wrong with our language? Better yet, what is wrong with us? If patient, as a word, has a negative connotation, it is because of what we have made it. The word wasn�t bad. Innocent little vocalizations shouldn�t take blame. The word client is just a way to start over...pretend that we have a new view on things because we call it something different now. We can�t just treat the person in a less demeaning way; we must use a new word and hide the past.
My favorite bastardizing of a phrase/concept is �servicing the target.� The military and news use it as a dishonest way to say killing the enemy. In fact, the government in general is notorious for using terms that water down reality.
�The world is no different now, people still hate each other. They just don�t talk about it.� ---Seymour, Ghost World
I went down with my dear friend MM, R, and my boy A, to see my friend MZ in LA. We also went out that evening to see the movie Ghost World. I have been anxious to see this movie as soon as I heard that it was going to show. Man, that comic is just pure gold. All I can say is that I really enjoyed myself. And the boys enjoyed themselves. If Enid were an actual person, she might be flattered to hear that she builds boys� forearm muscles. You know what I'm sayin (nudge, nudge, wink, wink)?
MZ, that wonderful boy, has two tickets to see James Taylor in his last concert. And who did he ask to go with him? Me! But I have to drive, that is the clause. But what a wonderful day. Me and MZ having a good time, listening to James Taylor, how could I ask for more?
My dream car is a Delorian. And I don�t care that I may look silly.
I went shopping for clothes yesterday, and I found the perfect pair of work shoes. For a little over half a year, I have been looking for a good pair that is comfortable, durable, practical, and something that would fit my tastes. Also, above all something that is not made out of the skin of an animal. Do you know how hard that is? Well, I found the perfect pair, and they fit! Only, that last important detail wasn�t right. They were leather. I almost bought them too. I knew I might never find a pair that would satisfy me. But then I remembered why I stopped eating meat and buying animal made products� if I couldn�t go out there and kill that cow and skin it and make my shoes then what right do I have to buy it. If something like that would make me ill, then maybe I shouldn�t fool myself into thinking it disgusts me less if some invisible person/ company made these shoes.
Every time I see Office Space I call in sick at work the next day.
I wanted to write this book of short stories called the Cigarette Diaries. It was supposed to be a compilation of twenty stories (20 cigarettes) that unfold in the time it takes to smoke a cigarette---random jumps into people�s lives. I don�t know if I should do this or just write a story. Here is one that I wrote for the book:
Polly Jean tugged at the baseline of her gown making it appear full again. She turned to Oscar and asked him for a cigarette. Without any acknowledgement other than the action itself, he gave her an unlit Marlboro. She put it in her mouth, not caring that she couldn�t smoke it.
�I hate dressing up. And I hate proms,� she said. The cigarette hung off her lips bobbing with the movements of her mouth.
�Well, I didn�t ask you. You asked me,� Oscar said as he pulled out a cigarette for himself and lit it.
�I know that,� she said and paused. �I just hoped that if I came he�d see me maybe. And I know not me, but me like this. And maybe, I could�ve had a chance.� She pulled back a stray hair from her face.
�Come here,� Oscar said as he reached up his hands to pull her cigarette out of her mouth. He lit it with the one he was smoking and handed it back to her. She smiled and took a big drag from it and laughed to herself.
�You know, this world just doesn�t work right. All the guys who don�t have girls like you are the nice ones. They�re the ones sitting home reading comic books or something, occasionally looking up to day dream about being here with Jennifer or some other rich bitch with long, blonde hair and big tits while the asshole who took her here is just that, an asshole and I am here outside smoking with you, thinking about him,� Polly Jean said. She threw down the cigarette and stepped out its flame.
�Not all of them are thinking about Jennifer, or those other girls, you know. I�m tired of you always thinking this is doomed against you. Like there is this love triangle divinely designed from God to destroy your plans to get Travis,� Oscar said, his voice cracking. He still held his lit cigarette even though it was down to its filter. His hands were trembling at his sides as the glow of the flame marked their unsteadiness.
�Oscar, I know. I know that this isn�t about me. But what am I supposed to say? If I talk about starving children in Africa am I a better person? It doesn�t change how screwed up all of this is. And I include myself. I am not looking for some kind-hearted guy who loves his mother to whisk me off my feet. Let�s face it; even if Travis gave me a chance, he�d probably treat me like shit and I�d just put up with it until he dumped me. Then I would probably feel worse than I do now. But it�s true. That�s how it works. But, I just don�t understand it.�
�Godammit Polly!� Oscar said as he flicked his cigarette as far as he could into the night. He turned to her, his face looking into hers. �It�s all about fucking. It isn�t about finding love or someone you care about. It�s about some primitive instinct to pass on the asshole genes to keep the race going. Asshole Darwinism. And you�re part of it. But then again, you�re not, because they don�t want you. I do. I want you. I always have and you know this. Fuck.� He turned from her, guarding his face.
Polly Jean went to hold his shoulder to comfort him, but he pulled away.
�Oscar, I don�t know what I am supposed to say,� was all she could produce from her mouth. It felt heavy and she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. Oscar turned back towards her.
�I know,� he said and walked out into the night.
Ok�back to my scattered life:
You know what annoys me? DO�s and DON�T�s of fashion magazines. It just sounds so silly to tell someone that they can or can�t do something with what they wear.
Forget Robert Crumb and his big-bootied girls. Daniel Clowes�let�s make a million comic book nerd babies.
Word of the day: toothsome-- agreeable, attractive/ of palatable flavor and pleasing texture.
Coming soon: Pictures of me and these people I go on about.