That last entry was meant to be the beginning of something larger but I'm not sure what I had in mind and I have this rule about not deleting stuff so it stands as it stands.
It's also pretty important to leave there as I was feeling pretty shitty all evening about being uberbusy. I like being busy. But it's getting to the point (it's gotten there, in fact) that I don't have a day of the week without a comittment of some sort. This means that every day of the week in the forseeable future there is a certain hour on the clock by which I have to no longer be in my underwear at my computer in my filthy room. This seems like a much bigger deal when you realize how much I like being in my underwear at my computer in my filthy room, which is a lot.
But by the same token, my academic schedule, despite being a full load, is incredibly light. Three days of the week I only have one class. All my committments are self-created, and I know I wouldn't have it any other way. If I had to be putting as much effort into something I legitimately didn't want to be doing, like, say, a job with a tie, or a statistics class or something, I can't imagine how I'd feel. There are people like that all around me. They speak very loudly on their phones.
I looked around the computer lab tonight at people knee-deep in PowerPoint presentations and essays and textbooks with tiny, tiny words and thought dude, shut up. Your to-do lists is full of tasks like "dress up like a viking and hand out fliers for your comedy show," and "write bits for your comedy show," and "do your comedy show." You are living the dream. So shut up.
That said, I could probably use some sleep. And a day in my underpants.
Also I think I might study abroad in Dublin next fall.
I love making shit up more than I love anything in the world.
Creation is the most sacred and wonderful act you can do as a human being, there's a reason it opens the Bible.
This is more than a theory:
Andy Kaufman had this character, his alter-ego Tony Clifton, and once people realized Clifton was Kaufman he had his buddy Bob Zmuda play Clifton so the two of them could show up in the same place at the same time. Lil' Jon is a modern day Tony Clifton. A succession of people strap on the trademark dreds and baseball cap and take the golden goblet out of its ceremonial case engraved with all the names of the LJs who've gone before, then take a limo to whatever award show or middlingly-talented Southern rapper video shoot the Lil Jon persona is scheduled to make an appearance at that day. As for his beats, they're produced by a supercomputer that used to process static from outer space into readable data, until somebody spilled a glass of SoCo on it and it began smoking, sparking, and the hook from "Get Low" came out.
Look, I'm privy to information a lot of people aren't privy to.
ASU/U of A buddies:
The Facebook is now open for business at your respective schools. Find out if kids you've heard of are attractive, or if whether or not they have made the wholly original choice of saying Donnie Darko is their favorite movie, all pleasures NYU students have been enjoying for a semester now. Be my friend, see my douche-y picture. Do it up!
The new Destiny's Child joint is pretty hot, y'all.
I would put it on my iPod if my iPod were more than theoretical, like it is right now. My computer needs a shit-ton of modernization in order to make it compatible, but the NYU computer store doesn't have my baby in yet anyway, so I don't have the motivation to do all that upgrading that 20 pure-as-newfallen-snow gigs sitting in a sleek lil' box on my desk would provide.
Also, Yo La Tengo will go on there. They will be the official music of fall, I think, which, the past few unexpectedly warm days excepted, it is now.
Hammerkatz has a new show at NYU next Saturday. We put it together in four weeks which, plus a week, is gonna be the standard production time for our monthly school shows. After this one there will be one in November and one in December. Hopefully I will be able to squeeze time in between them for sitting around in my underpants and going to the gym, both activities I've been sorely missing since school started.
It's Donald's twenty-first birthday this Saturday. He is my name-buddy, one of my best friends, and probably the funniest person I know. In the words of Ray, we are going to drink it all up.
Johnny Ramone is dead. Long live Johnny Ramone.
What you can do to honor his memory: Today, play it louder and faster.
And shout ONE TWO THREE FOUR before everything you do.
I received one of the better compliments of my young life yesterday:
DC, you're one of the few people I know who know exactly what you want to do, and it doesn't make me hate you.
This might make more sense if you are around NYU art students all the time, half of whom seem to want to be artists because they perceive it as an iconoclastic rebellious thing to be, like fifteen year olds more interested in studded belts and shirts with permanent marker on them, than, say, actual anarchy in the actual UK. They have no real sense that their disapproving parents are not, y'know, the world, and that the world at large is in fact way too forgiving of artistic pretension because it starts with the letters A-R-T and when the world is harsh on "artists" it's because most of what they produce is self-indulgent horsehockey of interest to no one but the twenty-year-olds the studded-belt fifteen year olds grew up to be.
And yes, I realize I used the term horsehockey. Before you scoff: imagine a bunch of horses, attempting to hold hockey sticks in their maws, skates clumsily grafted to their shoes, frightened into attempted stampede by the end-of-period buzzer and collapsing to the ice, whinnying and breaking legs.
Then watch your average student film.
I don't just pick words out of a hat here, people.
Case in point:
Chris and I had this idea, actually it's Chris' idea, we open an online gallery, because the overhead is so low. But then it's like a real gallery, with, like, hours, you can only access it at certain hours.
This from a girl sitting on the park bench next to me, talking to her boyfriend. It was actually a little hint-of-fall windy in the park and I didn't have a jacket but I figured I could rough it out 'till Psych class. This drove me in to the library, where if the people around me were idiots, they were respecting library policy enough not to pollute the air with it.
I like people. I love people. I swear I do. I just don't like the people I'm supposed to like all the time. The artists. The artists-in-training. People who do arbitrary avant-garde reinterpretations of Shakespeare, when what would really be brave and honest (and all those other things they claim to want to be in their first day of class introductory speeches in between the feigned humility and the feigned insanity) is to just do fucking Shakespeare. People who like all the things I like. I don't think I reach any more Holden Caulfield of a point than when I overhear somebody describe how much they love something I love. Not because I'm no longer unique. Being unique in this little world of kids whose every breath is spent figuring out ways to set themselves apart consists of simply not giving two fucks about being unique. Because there's a point and they're missing it.
And no, I can't explain what I mean by that. All I know is that if I have to listen to another circle of film-student types stand around exchanging "Family Guy" quotes for an hour, or read anymore variations on the phrase "dubious promise of the so-called American dream" in the summary of a movie, play, or novel, or hear something stupider than what I heard from the girl who gave me yesterday's best-compliment-ever, that her playwrighting classes' first assignment was to write a five-to-seven page scene about a young person breaking the controversial news to their family that they "want to be an artist," there are going to be problems.
Not everybody is full of shit. Case in point, my Shakespeare For Writers professor, Deloss Brown. Irish Catholic. Reputedly heavy drinker. Prototypical badass.
None of you are permitted to committ suicide, he said in class on Tuesday. Singly the most sensible words that have been spoken on the subject.
Also (and this is paraphrased heavily):
Some of you may have been to The Globe, I don't know what it's really like, I've never been there. My whole life I've been in England a total of five hours and I spent all of them in a bar.
I am downstairs in the lobby of the Tisch Building staring at a flier for a movie being made by "Hamfisted Productions."
Jay said it best:
HOV's a living legend
and I'll tell you why
everybody wanna be HOV
and HOV still alive
Don't bite my style, folks. Get your own.
- Bong piece
Also I have written a fake blood recipe.
It's gonna be a good night.
Hammerkatz movies are in full effect. Go to the site and click on "Shorts." They will be updated with a regularity you've learned not to expect from yours truly.
Man, I wish the Republican Party was my grandpappy's Republican Party so I could swear permanent allegiance to them immediately after getting my Professional Acting check.
The government sure do take a bite, don't she?
But as it is the Republicans will take just as much as the Democrats and probably spend it on equally stupid or far stupider shit.
Dude will never sleep this year but he will write some papers and screenplays and make some people laugh and, as long as tonight is a sickeningly sober fluke, get drunk and kiss girls, and if he's lucky, they will occur on occasionally seperate occasions.
Do it up.
Drawing class got out early so me and Caileen mobbed over to Kimmel where we asked what floor the show was on and were told "Coles Sports Center," which is clearly not a floor of Kimmel but, in fact, the NYU gym some blocks away, so we hustled and neither of us had tickets which, we were told by the pessimistic girl working the VIP table, would prevent us from entering under any and all circumstances, despite the fact that tickets were given out free to anyone with an NYU ID, which we clearly had, so Caileen left but I was not so easily deterred (read: nothing else to do) so I stood on the corner and offered to buy people's tickets. Two giggling freshmen girls accepted the eight bucks I had in my wallet in exchange for one of theirs; I think the line, "You know you don't like them that much and you know I do" had its intended effect.
Then I was inside and The Fiery Furnaces opened the so-called Mystery Concert. I have seen them twice now (once at Siren from 200 feet away) and before I found them pretentious and rambling. Now I find them to be fucking fun and awesome. They also dropped one of the most rock and roll lines ever rocked in a rock and roll song (rock): "You got a wing in your snaggletooth/and you can't knock it back with no 80 proof." Also there are no breaks between their songs, thus proving efficiency and ass-kicking are not incompatible ideas (which Mango Spitcurl Bad, the Japanese surf-rock outfit who rents rehearsal space in my closet, were happy to learn).
Then there were The Shins and they were just fuckin' The Shins all over the place. I could've done with less people standing around between me and the band, and more people writhing and twitching retardedly and singing along really loudly, so I wouldn't have felt so alone. Ah well. They covered "Strange Powers" by the Magnetic Fields. If there is a God, he favors me heavily.
There are few words sweeter than "we have a few more songs."
Rina says she likes a song or a band a ton and then just listens the shit out of them and gets tired of them in a week. Songs go from being The Best Thing Ever Committed To mp3 to a victim of "Hey Ya!" syndrome in as much time as it takes you to hit "play" on your iPod. This is one of the aspects of my personality I am actually proud of as opposed to laughingly forgiving of: I put things on the back burner lest I play them out. I listened to "Anthems For A Seventeen Year Old Girl" by Broken Social Scene like three times back in March, then more or less forgot about it. Then I cued it up again one of the first nights I was in my new dorm as part of my new tradition: lying on my hardwood floor (which I am quickly populating with dirty socks and dead peanut butter jars), head on a pillow my ex-roommate left behind when he moved back to Kansas or wherever, new headphones on, looking out at where people in ties go to work during the day. This is especially nice at the end of a drunken evening, and this is probably what it was. And the universe opened up, like it does for a good song at the right time, and my body reminded me of how many nerve endings I have and what they can do when prompted by crescendo.
I am getting an ipod with some of my Professional Acting Money and that will probably prompt more faggy writing about listening to music by myself.
I am missing The Shins at NYU's Mystery Concert because I have my first Drawing class that night and I told myself I wasn't one of those people who hate it when a band I have loved for a long time gets a shit-ton of new fans but if you've only heard them on the Garden State soundtrack then you just...well, at least you better not have taken all the free tickets 'cause you half-dig "Know Your Onion," just in case I get up my ballses and decide I want to ditch out on Drawing.
I took a douchey picture of myself makin' a poopy face to commemorate the occassion.
My roommate and I never cross paths (dude has his own room) and I don't really have to wake up earlier than 11 any day of the week 'cept Mondays, but I have a Friday class by absolute necessity and I want to drop my Psych class, and with it the real-student work which it alone brings to my schedule; I have a thick stack of free Chipoltle burrito cards and dining hall food tastes as awful as I remember, if not worse.
It really is a good life. I could stand to get made out with more but then you guys would never get your poetry collection, would you?
I know I don't usually post news-y stuff but DID YOU GUYS FUCKING SEE THIS?
Donovan, I'm sorry, and you know what I'm talking about.