You can't take the corruption out of the State, but you can take out the State.
Friday, August 31, 2007
well at least I know what I mean
I'm down with this steamy Friday, but again I am holed-up an' hermited in my air-conditioned domicile, hiding behind stacks of boxed cab-sav and cartons of Parliament FF's. One ashtray, hovering.
I am still struggling to find any single live Hypnosonics recording, but nobody's seeding. If I had one, I'd seed. Selfish fuckers.
Finished the second book in John Twelve Hawks' trilogy, and back on the Philip K. Dick binge. As if I didn't have a stack of unread books only paling in comparison to a stack of read books, a little bird just dropped Stanislaw Lem, which seems worth looking into next. Somebody call James & Mary Laurie Booksellers and warn them about me and my credit card.
SO, Luke wins the lottery.
Nate, Will, Dan, Daddy, Rex, a couple'a others and myself are sitting at Fabulous Fern's, swilling and libating and merrymaking when our attention is interrupted and robbed: a white and gilded horse-drawn carriage pulls in front of the smoking patio, lead by two massive steed blanche. The well-dressed driver hops off of his bench and leaps to the car's door, opening and at attention. Luke steps out, sweeps the tails of his white tux to the side, dons his white top hat, and acknowledges his chauffeur with a tip of his diamond-topped cane. I would have expected his entrance to be accompanied by smoke and theme music, but I didn't, because it was.
Our friend joins us, of course; he's not poncy. After several hours of tipping back 21-year single malt scotches and an innumerable count of bottles of wine (and cop jokes), the inevitable Minnesota-enforced bar close caves in. As the waitress approaches with our tab,
"Pip pip, ol' chums. The time draws in which I must take my leave. You can pick up this round of spirits?"
With a swing of his gem-studded cane, our visions are obscured by smoke, once to clear and reveal nothing, the trotting of hooves heard on their way down Selby.
[Luke: "If I won the lottery, I wouldn't buy people drinks all the time. Jeeeez."]
He's up north right now, so I can speak ill of him.
If anybody's in the market for a new job, I am looking to hire somebody full-time to delete Ron Paul emails from my cotton-pickin' email box. Overtime shredding direct mailings from Daniel Imperato is optional.
It is only Thursday and I am already prepared to be sent to an Action T4 camp.
Well, if there is any good news peeping from the anus of this unforgiving globe, it is the painfully long-awaited release of Kenneth Branagh's Hamlet on DVD. Make sure to bury me with my copy.
In lieu of a few hours in the hundred-degree State Theatre for DT and a couple of opening bands, and four or five hours drinking and melting at Saturday's Pizza Luce block party, I am amazed that I wasn't completely consumed by our awful star, the Sun. Though only a couple of days have passed, I am gratefully near normality and won't be considering leaving the indoors of jolly ol' Sainty Paul for some time.
I expect some pictures and video of the block party will be floating about soon so I can prove it to you. I would have taken a picture or two of the DT show, but a butch usher threatened my life with her mighty air traffic controller light cone when she saw my mobile phone in my hand, merely reading an evasive text from Corey Sax.
closing the shades and cranking the central air, -Brenn