I wanted to blog last night. I really did. But I got sidetracked by an old piece of meatloaf Being the incredibly cheap man that I am, I couldnt stand to see the last few pounds of this enormous 10+ day-old meatloaf go to waste, so I ate it. I figured there was a 50/50 chance that it would come shooting right back out of me, but I liked the odds, especially if they meant not having to eat a newer, more valuable item from the refrigerator. I waited until Linette wasnt looking and I gobbled it up. (Theres no way that Linette would have let me eat it if shed known.) Then, I just sat on the couch and waited to see what would happen. While I was sitting there waiting, I decided to watch a few of the things that my friend TIVO had taped for me (Project Green Light and the cheerleading pic Bring It On). Before I knew what had happened, the night was over Anyway, I ended up not getting sick, but somehow lost track of time in the process. I swear that it will never happen again.
Tonight, I really want to write too, but theres a band that people have told me that I need to see playing up the street. Theyre from San Francisco. Their name is Sleepytime Gorilla Museum. Heres a review of their stuff.
The opening bands have probably already started by now Maybe Ill write for another hour or so and then go. Maybe Ill just put in an appearance, like Im some kind of hotshot celebrity. (Now that the Detroit Free Press called me one of Ypsis coolest assets, I guess its my duty to start playing the part.)
Fuck, Im tired though. I just want to sit here and post stuff But if I dont go out on occasion, theres really nothing for me to post. You see the predicament, right? Its like a Zen riddle or something Speaking of which, our good friend Mr. Smallwood, as I type this, is in Virginia somewhere, shuttling a Buddhist monk from the airport to a monastery somewhere in the mountains. He runs a free shuttle service for well-known monks. They get a free ride and he gets to talk to them for the duration of the ride about enlightenment and other things of interest to him. I gave him a list of questions the last time he had an opportunity like this and he told me that hed ask them again to this fellow. Maybe their answers will make their way into a Crimewave article one day, if I can talk Mr. Smallwood into doing it.
Oh, on the subjects of zines, I have to tell you that Im very jealous today of my friend Jeff Kay, the publisher of the magazine The West Virginia Surf Report. One of his readers in West Virginia apparently had a lot of flyers made up with Jeffs smoking fish logo on them and then proceeded to cover the area all around the home of Jessica Lynch, the Operation Iraqi Freedom poster-girl who just arrived home to West Virginia today, amid a media frenzy. Jeffs just sitting back now, waiting to see his logo up all over the evening news. I couldnt bear to watch the news tonight for that very reason. Its an embarrassing thing to admit, but I dont handle the success of my friends very well. I love them and all, but Id be happy if they never achieved their dreams. Jeff is one of my friends with the greatest potential for super-stardom. Thats why I pray for his failure every day. (If youd like to join me, I usually do this at 3:00 PM every day. Just face Pennsylvania and repeat, Dear God, please dont let Jeff Kay amount to anything, until you feel yourself begin to lose your voice.)
OK, I just made that up. I dont really do that. I do like the idea though. It sounds very Pat Robertson-esque.
Oh, speaking of Mr. Robertson, I guess hes well over a week into his Operation Supreme Court Freedom now and not a single liberal Justice is dead. I guess that shows you how much clout Robertson and his other ass-obsessed followers have in heaven When I first heard about his plan to pray for the deaths of the Supreme Court justices who had voted to strike down the Texas law against sodomy, I thought, How cool would it be if he just dropped dead right there in front of the television cameras as he began calling on the big guy to smite Sandra Day OConnor down?
My other fantasy would be to have the Queer Eye for the Straight Guy swat team charge in give him a makeover right there on the stage of the 700 Club. (Could we start an on-line petition to have them consider him?)
My theory about Robertson, in case youre interested, is that he wants cock so badly that he ties himself up at night, like the Wolfman. He’s terrified of letting himself go. He just knows that they’d have to pump his stomach like Rod Stewart if he did.
OK, I need to go see the band now.
