Really now: how about that tadpole swimming around in your bowl of cereal?

Stock trumps custom. Advertising trumps word-of-mouth. This is the web in which the programmed consumer is snared.

A


  mission in the Dodge Dart ended up taking me to the horror that is US 29 North of Charlottesville. I'll provide no link to the Glossary; let me just say that 29 North is the same as all the strip developments that give lie to the idea that there is any culture in this country. Being a recognizable plug-in component (much like a Pentium processor, Bosch distributor or Shimano derailleur) is the essential characteristic of any business in this region. Stock trumps custom. Advertising trumps word-of-mouth. This is the web in which the programmed consumer is snared.

I went to the Albemarle Square outlet of the Plan Nine records franchise, wondering if any of my stolen CDs were showing up there. There are no identifying marks on any of my CDs, so I have to work with the statistics of what titles are available in the used rack. However, the only two CDs that matched titles stolen had two used copies available for each! What should I do in such a situation? I already love Bob Mould's self titled CD and Dinosaur Jr.'s Without a Sound, and it looks like they aren't coming back any other way, so I bought them both used, for $7 each. I've budgeted money for the restoration of lost CDs, treating it like an unfortunate expense (like a traffic ticket). I consider it a debt owed to me by the known miscreants responsible. I will see to it that I will be repaid in some way.

I also bought The Cult's The Manner Sessions CD, used, for $7. It's a rare EP and that's why it wasn't cheap. The Manner Sessions are studio out-takes from 1988. I'm very pleased that one of the songs on the CD is called "Bad Fun." That's a term that occasionally was used as a synonymn for Big Fun. I did like this CD when I heard it later. It has much of the energy of 1989's Sonic Temple while maintaining a healthy dose of the sissy-boy goth sound from earlier days. I especially like the animated background guitar riff that pervades the song "Electric Ocean."

A classic rock song can be wonderful when you've never heard that particular classic rock song a million times before.

I continued on Park Street to downtown Charlottesville and bought Sebadoh's Bubble and Scrape manmade and new from Spencer's. It was only $12. I suppose I could have mail ordered it from SubPop and had it much more cheaply, but who has the time? CDs are all about immediate gratification. This particular album, which came out in 1993, is lower-fidelity, noisier and noticeably less poppy than Bakesale. But it is not particularly hard. The folksy element is still strong, but there's also some jazz and surf influence (listen to track 10, "Emma Get Wild"). Occasionally I'm reminded of the Byrds, though I never thought I would be. A classic rock song can be wonderful when you've never heard that particular classic rock song a million times before. Interestingly, the guitar in the background of track 8, "Sacred Attention," sounds a little like a famous lick from The Cult's album Love. Naturally, my sensitivity for connections between unrelated CDs is heightened when I purchase them on the same day. The lyrics are always reliably good in Sebadoh. Textures of lyrical obscurity (The term "Capricorn Rising" crops up in "Elixir is Zog.") is frequently pulled aside to reveal surprisingly uncorny self-involvement. Say what I have, Bubble and Scrape is rather complex stuff and it will take some digesting before I can form a coherent opinion about it.

Fake pleasantness is a surefire ticket to employment.

B


ack at the Dynashack, I was met by Leah, Matthew Hart's on-again off-again girlfriend-now-wife (I have to stop that). We debated what to do about Monster Boy visa-vis our potential new house. The problem is that it appears Monster Boy is unemployable, even as a dishwasher. He's pleasant, warm hearted, dependable, funny, entertaining, all these things. But no one wants to hire him. Perhaps it's his dower gothness, not that he's especially so. He's just so honest, he has difficulty putting on the fake pleasantness at which Sara Poiron, Jen Fariello, Matthew Hart or Elizabeth so excel. Fake pleasantness is a surefire ticket to employment. If Monster Boy can't pay rent, how the hell can we offer him a room. What does he bring to our co-operative? We may be friends, we may feel we owe each other support, but what we need is money. Not that we won't be supporting Monster Boy; he just might have to end up sleeping on a couch in the living room is all. Deya, on the other hand, is highly employable. She's looking more like a housemate every day. If she expresses an interest in getting a room, she might trump Monster Boy. The Gemini may just fall victim to Aquarian hegemony.

Leah, who works at Fresh Fields, the all-natural supermarket on 29 North, was killing time waiting for husband Matthew to get off work at the C&O. But he would be working until 1pm, and so in the meantime she was stuck with me.

Something was lacking. Hanging out with Leah, one needs to have a beer in ones hand. The latest beer sensation in our little world is Schlitz. It's very cheap, and I've decided I very much like the flavour. I swear to 666, it tastes like expensive beer. Perhaps the brown lettering on the cream-coloured can gives me this impression. I proposed we go pick up a twelve pack in the Dodge Dart. Leah does not say no to such proposals.

Amy needed to be told that "it is time to go from looking rebellious to acting rebellious."

As we headed west down Wertland in the Dart, we came upon the Brazilian Girls, Cecelia and Leticia. They were going to rendezvous with Monster Boy at my house and depart for a big goth show in Richmond. They wanted vino, we were headed for the store, so they hopped in. Cecelia likes sweet white wine, so I bought her three litres of Carlo Rossi Rhine Wine with the money she handed me. Monster Boy and the Brazilian Girls would be riding to Richmond with Amy, the new goth girl mentioned in yesterday's entry. Cecelia was concerned that Amy wouldn't allow her to drink vino in her car. I told her that if there were any problems, Amy needed to be told that "it is time to go from looking rebellious to acting rebellious." Just more evidence of why you shouldn't let me near your children.

R


eturning to the Dynashack, we found, Monster Boy was all gothed out with black eye makeup, his black Throbbing Gristle tee shirt, and his metal-studded belt. He and the Brazilian Girls left for the Corner to find Amy the goth girl. Leah and I hung out on the front porch with Liz West and housemates John, Elizabeth, Steve and Penley (Andrew and Ches are both in Europe, doo dee doo). We gossiped about Jacques deBeaufort's sleazy housemate, Jeremey, and then moved on to tales of other famous Charlottesville womanizers such as Farrell. Elizabeth termed as "gay" Farrell's habit of reducing his pant-cuffs by tucking and folding. "Gay" used in this context is derogatory and means overly-affected. She swears she'd never sleep with a guy like that.

And that boy doesn't just know how to make me cringe with inane humour; he can eat like a lumberjack too.

Leah and I set off to the Corner to order a Gumby's pizza. Gumby's is so cheap that we went ahead and ordered an "extra large with mushrooms" for $5.35 even though there were only two of us. As I put it, "you never know who's going to show up." One of those I predicted would turn up is Josh Mustin. Every time I have ordered a Gumby's pizza so far, Josh has made an appearance, usually just as the pizza comes out of the box. And that boy doesn't just know how to make me cringe with inane humour; he can eat like a lumberjack too.

Suddenly Matthew Hart and Ian Cohen the dance show organizer appeared. Matthew Hart had arranged to have Morgan Anarchy cover the rest of his dish washing shift at the C&O. Since Leah and I would be having so much pizza, Matthew and Leah were naturally invited to participate. When I expressed my fears that Josh Mustin would show up, Ian suggested that Josh had a secret hotline connection to Gumbys.

Leah and I had a head start on the pizza back on the Dynashack porch. I slurped up five pieces in total; Leah only had two. Matthew and Ian killed off the rest after they showed up bearing a six pack of expensive "5% alcohol" hard cider in dark brown bottles. Then Josh Mustin appeared from the east. He was only about one minute too late. If I'd been eating as slow as the others, he would have gotten free pizza, the fucker.

When I awoke from my pre-work nap at 12:10am, I was so thirsty I would have considered drinking like a dog from a toilet bowl. Digesting the proteins in pizza cheese requires lots OH- and H+ ions, and these come from water.

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Is the world a mind boggling puzzle, seemingly without any organizing principles, origin or direction? Never resorting to formulæ, Ceej explains all. Laugh your way to a better tomorrow.

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