or a Sunday, this wasn't exactly intense. I awoke on the couch at the Brick Mansion in the Hood, slipped out the back door, and drove to UVA's Gilmer Hall to do some sort of compulsive internet thing. I was feeling ridiculous for how drunk I'd been last night. And my left elbow is all kinds of fucked up. I can still ride a bicycle, that's what's important.
Back at Kappa Mutha Fucka, I slept until about noon.
While I watched Welcome to the Dollhouse yet again with Deya, Monster Boy went to pick up some Domino's Pizza. I have to say that I'm spoiled on good pizza and Domino's pizza tastes almost as cheap as Gumby's, but it is much more expensive. Still, I ate to excess. Matthew Hart, who was killing time before work, doesn't understand my gluttony. I told him that every piece of pizza I eat now is a piece I don't have to eat later. He thinks that the time I waste lying around on the couch moaning in bloated pain is reason enough to show restraint. But you know, that pizza may not be there when I come back for it later. That's a lesson I learned a long time ago.
The Pieman, by the way, is one of those radicals leftover from the days when it was cool to mail bombs to enemies, to spike the punch with LSD, to incite riots and to read poetry with a lilting pretentious voice.
n internet friend named Katie sent me this link to the Pieman's homepage. But don't click on it unless you're hooked up to a T1 line. It comes to probably ten megabytes. The Pieman, by the way, is one of those radicals leftover from the days when it was cool to mail bombs to enemies, to spike the punch with LSD, to incite riots and to read poetry with a lilting pretentious voice. Back then, they tell me, it was possible to get more than five people to show up at a protest. The Pieman's claim to notoriety was his habit of "pieing," that is, extinguishing pies in the faces of the blowhard targets of his radical wrath.
Meanwhile, fellow online journal-keeper Grinder has returned from web-challenged South Africa with news (via email) of a male knock-off on Ladies of the Heart. As he puts it, "It's all here -- cacky artwork, jaunty MIDI files, 'Iron John,' bad
poetry and men who aren't ashamed to refer to themselves as 'Lord.'" The website is called Renaissance Men, but my own special ridicule will have to wait for some day when I have more energy.
There's a little bit of a soap opera going on here, by the way. Grinder had a trans-Atlantic romance with another online journal keepster, Jennifer, who sent me email today telling me she used to go to high school with the guy who played the guitar-playing hunk in Welcome to the Dollhouse. She says in real life he was exactly like his character in the movie. But more to the point, about the Grinder/Jennifer affair: pick your poison:
This sort of reading just didn't exist anywhere on the planet two years ago, you know.
I used to walk around my college dorm singing Neil Young's "Cinnamon Girl" quietly to myself, replacing the word "cinnamon" with "cynical."