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TUESDAY, 6 JUNE, 2000, PHILADELPHIA |
I’ve been so busy with day job, various and sundry web projects, sound design for a play and dealing with life’s little unexpected slings and arrows that I haven’t been able to play in weeks.You know. Play. Go stand in the desert and go-go dance in a bikini. Or go to a nightclub. Or go out drankin’ and skankin’. You know. Play. Chum Michele dragged me out to see a band play last night. I say dragged and I mean dragged, kicking and screaming. “I don’t wannaaahhhh,” I whined, “I’m tie-arrrrd!” A single stony look from Michele can start or stop wars at her whim — can melt stone or freeze fire — so I went out despite my whinage. Kick-ass band, yo. “Dubbed In English” be their name. Brilliant cultural references. Sounded like Roz from Christian Death fronting for old Cure. With more sparkles. And Pac-Man samples. Weird covers of Joy Division and Faith No More. I was very pleased. I recommend. Lots of little things to say today. They will be separated by our old friend Mr. <HR>, the Horizontal Rule. Ô-frabulous joy! Editor of “Suffering Is Hip” magaine, la Comtesse Melusine de Nuit, has begun today an online diary of her own. She is a woman of many doubtful activities and writes with a quill dipped in venom and honey. She is MAGNIFIQUE! She is a vixen to be bookmarked. http://melusine.diaryland.com/ I had a weird Small Talk Brainfart (STB) yesterday. I was quietly sitting outside having a cuppa tay and listening to the widdle birdie-wirdies chirpy-wirpy in the tweesy-weezy and an acquaintance walked by: LARRY: “Hey Marquis.”At which point I completely lost the thread of this pleasant little interlude. Sat there with mouth agape ready to lob back the next cliché’d volley, but I had nothing to volley. Choked up. Derailed. Had no idea what to say now that Larry had taken the game to the next level by answering questions that hadn’t been asked. “Line! Line!” I thought. I had a mind to reply: MARQUIS: “Thursday afternoon.”… or some such standard inoccuous reply that had nothing to do with the conversation. Age? Malnutrition? Radioactive implants plugged into my skull by aliens probably during that “lost time” I had a few weeks ago? Anyone’s guess. Oh look! Another Horizontal Rule! 
My Secret Pokémon Power today is — I can assume a countenance of concentration on apparent work product in a room full of co-workers ev’n as I am writing this. Lees™ and I have started a new dumb-but-diverting game wherein we recite passages from historical or trashy books of smut on each other’s work voicemail. I started the game with a florid, purple-prosey passage from “Fanny Hill”. She has volleyed back with a seduction scene involving a character named “Rhoda Fletcher” (sexy!). I read her the rape scene from “Deliverance” with sound bites of pig squealing cued for maximum effect, and she has read another explicit passage in the voice of Linda Purl’s retarded Virginia from “Like Normal People” embellished by an occasional impromptu, “Okayyyy, Wahhjahhhh?” Why am I telling y’all this? Because it’s keeping me from accomplishing anything useful. I feel behooved to avoid usefulness today. And you shall benefit from my active apathy (to coin). Lucky you. This diary, and the rest of Château Pernod will be moving to a new server soon, for I have finally decided to register a domain for this project, and my many others. Eyetoke.com, taken from Li’l Fishstick’s “The Bad Girl’s Dictionary”. An Eye Toke is the phenomenon that occurs when one lights a cigarette and the first puff of smoke goes straight into the eye. I felt the term sufficiently summed up my life and everything I have (or will ever have) to say. You be the judge. You will anyway. Sigh. To conclude, I would like to close with a lame joke… Two men were driving in the country.Kay. Done now. Can I pee? 
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