April 11, 1997, Friday

Hey now: said the pickle to the cucumber, "I am not bitter."

Today Uncle Gus discusses abortion!

Gather 'round children. It's story time again! Do you know what today's story is about? It's about "abortion." Can you say "abortion"? Very, very, VERY GOOD! You must have your thinking caps on today! Two days ago, I told you that when Mommy and Daddy want to make a baby, Daddy puts his wee-wee in Mommy's wee-wee. I also told you that sometimes Daddy puts his wee-wee in Mommy's wee-wee even when they DON'T want to have a baby. Sometimes they just do it for fun. You children have done things just for fun, right? That's what we do when we play. Well, sometimes when grown-ups play, they put their wee-wees together or in other places that are fun for them. They can think of some PRETTY STRANGE PLACES to put their wee-wees. Would anyone like to guess where they put their wee-wees? In their mouths? Oh yes, grown-ups do that a LOT. In their noses? No...grown-ups don't do that very much. Grown-up wee-wees are TOO BIG! Oh my, we're off the subject now! We're supposed to be talking about ABORTION! Sometimes when Daddy and Mommy put their wee-wees together JUST FOR FUN, they end up having a baby anyway. It's an ACCIDENT! But, after Daddy puts his wee-wee in Mommy, it takes a long time before the baby is born. Mommy sometimes decides NOT to have the baby even though she has one in her tummy. So she goes to the doctor and asks to get an ABORTION. Sometimes she goes to a clinic and has to pass lots of nice Christians who hold up signs. These signs say "We want you to have the baby!" "We think BABIES ARE VERY VERY CUTE and there should be MORE BABIES!" Do you like kittens and bunnies? Oh, I just KNEW you did! They are VERY CUTE! But Mommy won't let you have every kitten and bunny you see, right? That's because it is hard to take care of kittens and bunnies. They need to eat and they need to be kept clean and happy. It's just like that with BABIES TOO! There are lots of BABIES in the world. And babies one day grow up to be BIG boys and girls just like you. They keep getting bigger until they are grown-ups. The world is so full of grown-ups now that the animals have to leave their homes so people can have shopping malls to buy clothes in and yards for their children to play in! So, even though babies are VERY VERY cute, not all of them can be born! So sometimes mommies get abortions. In an abortion, the baby in the tummy is taken out before it is ready to come out. Then it dies. Does everyone know what it means to die? It means you go away and NEVER COME BACK. That means the baby doesn't get to come home from the hospital. That means that if your mommy gets an abortion, you DON'T get another little brother or sister. This is VERY VERY good for you. Because now Mommy can give you the things she would have had to give to the baby. At Christmas time, this means you get MORE PRESENTS. When Mommy buys icecream, you get to eat more icecream. Isn't that good? Thank you for being so quiet during story time! Now let's go have some icecream!

The day was warm. I'd feared for a couple days that the Spring had been offered and then jerked back by whoever brings us such things. More on exactly who He is later.

why the IRS receives my complete support

I drove to the Downtown Mall to pick up some necessary tax forms. This is the first time in my 29 years I have ever filed tax forms. I think I like the IRS. Not only am I to be refunded all the tax money I paid this year, but I will be given more than 300 additional dollars! That's money from you guys. In effect, I'm so poor that the government is paying taxes to me this year. I don't NEED the money, but I'm happy to accept it. Think of the illegal narcotics I could buy with these tax dollars! Thanks guys!

Gus just took a happy pill

And as poor as I may be, I'm perfectly happy with my life. There is little about my life that I would change. Minor problems crop up, and I have trouble steering the rough social seas as waves of desire for either privacy or companionship sweep through. But such things keep my life interesting. If everything happened according to plan I would have little experience to draw from.

On the Mall, I went to Sylvia's and got a slice of chicken-mushroom. I hadn't been there in a while and now the price is $2.75 for a slice. That's a lot for a piece of pizza. It's almost a half hour of web surfing at my wages!

I also recovered all of my art objects from the Downtown Artspace.

A bottle of vodka joined me at the Main Street ABC store.

The financial situation is always interesting at my place of employ. Today I received a paycheck (the good news) and was told not to cash it until Monday (the bad news). But I am not living resister to diode, so I went and pulled $50 out of my bank account, wandered down to Plan Nine with a red Nation's Bank lollypop in my mouth, and bought YET ANOTHER $6 USED CD. Music purchases are one of the higher uses of money.

In 1991, the world was still virgin to the prick called grunge.

The CD I bought was Jawbox's 1991 album Grippe which is on the very hip & cool Dischord label. Of course, if you'll forgive my speaking self-deprecatingly directly to the punker-than-thou punk rockers in the audience, I only liked Jawbox once they signed with a major label (what that label is I forget). I like this album more than my other Jawbox CD, Novelty (see the Feb. 1st entry). It has none of a Seattle influence, the sort that can be clearly detected in almost all punk and metal from 1992 (I wonder why?). In 1991, the world was still virgin to the prick called grunge. Underground music was still underground music, and such music had a discernable regional sound. Grippe has a creepy anthemic metallic quality that saunters through dissonance like a pretty girl with the courage to dance alone in front of a sober throng. While it's too much like genious to be punk rock, it's too much like punk rock to be metal. It's a lot more coherent and organized than Fugazi, but seems to be born of the same do-it-yourself spirit. It doesn't soar nearly as high or become nearly as insane as Fugazi, but it never really comes down much either. Of course, Grippe isn't trying to be anything. In another age it would be classic rock. But in this age it's just some wicked kick-ass music from the DC underground. The lyrics to Grippe, by the way, are completely impenetrable.

As I was walking home past the fine greening lawns and trees abutting Wertland, I found myself entertaining an amusing thought:

The woman of my dreams is really going to like my CD collection.

What makes this thought amusing is that it is a truism. The woman of my dreams, of course, is going to like the same music I like. It's part of the definition of "woman of my dreams." Considering this further though, it's clear to me that my musical interests are constantly in flux. They stay broadly the same, but I don't think the fat lady has yet sung. So it could be that the woman of my dreams will take all my CDs out to the sidewalk and whirl them around like steak knives on a whetstone and (just as defiantly) introduce me to a whole new musical interest. Watch me swoon.

yes, I'm still an artist, even if I never paint

Jenfariello had called from the Artspace with news that someone very much wants one of my paintings, a rendition of two foetuses embracing in an amnyotic world full of membranes and blood vessels. The painting is both disgusting and strangely evocative, but it's not exactly the sort of painting I ever expected to sell. Some of my gothic friends like it a great deal, but they have no money. Some months ago I had casually priced the painting at $100. I called Jen and discussed the impending sale, my first in more than a year. Jen said she would come and pick it up and give me a check for $80 (Jen gets 20%; that's reasonable). The guy buying the picture is apparently a twin who lost "the other" through some circumstance, perhaps embryonic absorbtion (though Right to Lifers never speak of it, this tidy form "abortion from God" is not an uncommon fate for extra embryos in the human uterus). He's impressed by how little I wanted for it.

I sat in my humble little room and listened to my new Jawbox CD. I was thinking, "this stuff is worthy." A glass of vodka and juice augmented these positive feelings.

Since we're sleeping for a good fraction of every day, we have magic powers during a good portion of every day.

I made myself a glass of vodka with a bag of orange and spice tea in it (yes, this drink still has no name, but that could change) and headed off to the Corner to find diversion. I soon ran across Fatima Durkee, the loopy and weird queen of all that is far-out among Charlottesville teenage hippiedom. Right in front of the Corner Market, in flagrant violation of laws against such things, I gave her a sip of my tea/vodka concoction. She loved it. Everyone who tries it does. She seemed about as bored as me, so we went and sat in front of the vacancy that is Follette's Bookstore and scanned the skies looking for a sign. The crescent moon looked like a comfortable hammock high in the darkening blue skies. I have a feeling Fatima is a firm believer in the power of magic. She says she wants to learn how to make things disappear. I suggested that that would be a handy skill to lower a magician's shopping budget, especially if shelf items could be made to vanish in a store and then mysteriously reappear at a collection point outside the store. I theorized that magicians get by on considerably less money than the rest of us. I went on to point out that we have all kinds of powers in our dreams, including the power to fly and the power to conjur up objects. Since we're sleeping for a good fraction of every day, we have magic powers during a good portion of every day. I compared on our non-dreaming hours to a God assuming the form of a mortal. We are all temporary mortals in the manner of Jesus Christ when we are awake. She liked this idea very much. It formed a basis for her to extend magic to her waking hours.

A couple of well-kempt but informally-dressed youngish-looking teenage boys (they were sixteen-year-old members of a church youth group, it turned out) approached with stacks of little leaflets to hand out. They were Mennonites proselytizing for Christ Jesus. Both of us looked rather in need of proselytizing. Not that my appearance is so weird, but Fatima was wearing a black cape and lots of jewelry, and looked rather like a youthful witch.

She debated the plumper of the two Mennonite lads about the nature of God, Evolution and Hell. Later, a guy who apparently knows a lot about Biology debated him about Evolution, providing lots of evidence to support the beleagured but well-established theory. The poor Mennonite only knew what mumbo-jumbo his Bible and church leaders had taught him and was seriously outgunned. I've heard all religious debates countless times, and they hold no interest for me. There's no chance of converting these kids to the ways of Fatima's brand of Islamic-influenced mysticism any more than there's a chance of convincing Fatima to become a Mennonite. But everyone was civil. As I saw it, proselytizing random freaks on the Corner on a Friday night is a terrible experience to force a kid through. Perhaps they'll learn some social skills in the process, but mostly they'll just be traumatized. Most of my friends who are/were 16 are drinking and carrying on on a typical Friday night.

people who you meet on the Internet are real

Suddenly a rather attractive young woman appeared and asked if I am the Gus. As fate would have it, I am the Gus [doo dee doo] and so said so. Her name is Amy and she's a University of Virginia student who, last night, discovered my musings pages while doing an Altavista search for "Curious Digit." She'd ended up reading the whole Big Fun Glossary, sending me occasional emails as she did so. Interestingly, Amy works the door at the Tokyo Rose, and last year she dated the singer ("the Vitaman") of the Vitamen, the only real punk rock band in Charlottesville at the time. Recently, the Tokyo Rose has been difficult to sneak into, but last year it was easy to. She says she used to see us sneak in, and that she liked the energy our motley contingent used to bring to the place.

pause for analysis

Now, with the exception of Dan Kappus, this was the first time in my life that I have gone on to subsequently meet someone in person whom I have met via the Internet. You've all heard the stories: a guy thinks he has met the person of his dreams on the Internet, only to discover upon meeting the person (in the cruel glaring realness of the offline world) that the person - so inflated in his fantasies - is in actuality disgusting, overweight and riddled with disease, bad _______ and body _______ (use your imagination). Suffice it to say, this hasn't yet been my experience.

She was actually rather nervous. Who wouldn't be? After all she knew all about me, but all I knew of her was what she'd said in her email.

I invited Amy back to the Dynashack (handy new link, guys) to drink vodka and grafefruit juice with me. We ended up sitting around in the living room discussing the Tokyo Rose, musical interests (she has a show on WTJU, one of two local non-profit radio stations). I was pleased to discover that her musical interests hovered in the same low-fi genré as my own. Often, especially around the goths, but also around housemates and Malvernians, I feel isolated by my musical interests. The phrase "Guided by Voices" has been used by both Sara and Jessika to mock me, after all.

I'd left a note to myself that when drunk, I should "obtain" a few of these for my room.

I'd noted earlier today that there were a number of chairs of various makes and descriptions on the loading dock of "The Facility" (the big humming building behind the Dynashack). I'd left a note to myself that when drunk, I should "obtain" a few of these for my room. With all the people hanging out in my room these days, I could use a little furniture. Amy came along. She didn't exactly perform a citizen's arrest upon me as I gathered the chairs, if you know what I mean. Not that I was actually stealing the chairs; most of them were defective (a swivel chair with a missing wheel, etc.), but to say my actions were legal may be wishful thinking. I gathered several swivel chairs and a couple of others. They were mostly austere, academic chairs. Which is fine; I don't want people being too comfortable hanging out in my room anyway.

Amy set off to earn her sushi by watching the door at the Tokyo Rose. I would have liked to have gone there tonight, but I was rather drunk by this point and found myself walking west down Wertland. I wandered into Goth Central briefly. Persad had just come back from a trip to Warren Wilson in North Carolina with his good buddy Hobi. It seems Hobi has a scholarship to attend the college. In addition to visiting Deya, they had done a lot of hiking in the Smokies. One of their treasures from the trip was a beautiful piece of 70 foot long naturally-braided vine.

Wonderboy refused, rhetorically asking, "What about the punk rock?"

I'm a sucker

I lay down to take a nap, and when I awoke it was about 1:45am. Later, the Brazilian Girls both showed up. They'd just had a weird experience over at Raphæl's house. It seems that Wonderboy Neek, who had been living in Jessika's old room, has made himself unwelcome over time. He's been smoking pot in the house and not cleaning up after himself. Other people could probably get away with such things, but Wonderboy is different. According to Cecelia, Sara Poiron said of him once, "He's like a praying mantis, but the kind that you want to squish." He's loopy and irritating in an unstoppable Zachary-on-gin kind of way, only he's that way a considerably larger percentage of the time. So tonight, Raphæl had finally had enough. He tipped Wonderboy's bed up on its side and moved all his stuff into a big pile in the living room. Then he told Wonderboy that it was time to leave. Wonderboy refused, rhetorically asking, "What about the punk rock?" Raphæl called the police. Twice. The Brazilian Girls couldn't handle the tension and had Ray drop them off at my house.

While we sat discussing this in my room, Wonderboy Neek showed up. Raphæl had helpfully suggested he spend the night at my house. Cecelia was still very angry at him and asked Wonderboy a number of hostile questions. She couldn't believe that he'd so embarassed everyone by refusing to leave once Raphæl had demanded him to. Wonderboy responded irrationally that Raphæl's house didn't really belong to Raphæl, that no one owns anything. "Do you think anyone owns land?" he asked, hoping perhaps to make some kind of argument firmly based in the punk rock philosophy.

But then Wonderboy pulled the right string. Without prompting, he brought up how much he likes Guided by Voices. So, sucker that I am, I said he could sleep on the couch out in the Dynashack living room.

A tired joke I found on the internet: why does it take 10,000,000 sperm to fertilize an egg? Not a one will stop to ask for directions.

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