Thursday, February 17, 2011

Almond Roca Shoegaze

What can I say, I sat on a bar stool and caught my finger between the cushion and then I sat on my finger and didn't realize it until I started scooting in. I cursed loudly for I had the full weight of my tush on it and Johan whose looking a lot less like Udo Kier these days and more like George Michael circa Faith on account of the well-manicured beard and brown tinted shades he wears at night, was in the stool next to me, his hands up safe, told me to tell the barmaid to give you a free Ouzo shot, but I let it go and I won't hold it against. I'll be back. I like the local Greek grill, hazardous as it may be.

Reading Hemingway's My Old Man and thinking of my young Pappy during sentences evocative of childhood bliss like this one: “He'd ask me questions about things and some of the things I'd say he'd laugh.” The story has to do with corruption at the horse races. Led me to come up with a good lyric for a hard rock band: “they'd just as soon use the horse hooves and hide then keep the horses alive.” I resisted the decadence and abstained from eating Almond Roca last night. It was a Valentine's gift from my Valentine, my Mother. She also sent me some Vaseline intensive dry skin repair because she reads my blog. On Valentine's I listened to this excellent mash-up my good friend Steve from Wales sent me featuring My Bloody Valentine. Having not listened to this band in yonks really sends you into orbit.

Bought Peet's Columbian blend Coffee because that's what they drink in Chronic City. I went to bed at 8.30pm last night, so I could get up early and drink a bunch of it and I have had a large percolator full of it and it's now 10.21am and I'm not totally convinced by it and think I'll go back to bed.

Tuesday, February 08, 2011

The Waste Land

Fighting a cold, but gonna come out on top, unlike my battle with the Belster over Black Swan, I'll eke a decision there, but it won't be until the eleventh round and the exhumation of Tennessee Williams.

Good Super Bowl last night, my first in twelve years. Alternated between sudafed and Papa John's pizza. Subjected to far too many putrid commercials.

Drank and partied to some pub rock Friday night. I was somewhat flat, but the energy in the room was good. Corwin needed to get out of town the next day and given that I never get out of town I emerged from the hideaway and accompanied him west on 66. First we went to Target to get some masking tape for his new tattoo. I impulsively bought a 12 pack of Irish Spring and a creme cleanser that subsequently turned my face into The Waste Land.

Spare a minute to talk about facial cosmetics? Winter here is cruel to be kind on my skin. I am desperate for lip balm. I tried to do right with this clearance cleanser I got at Target and it is horrendous, no wonder it was on clearance.

We drove to Williams, a first for me and him, less weird for me since he's from Phoenix (he played the boy in Poltergeist). We ate lunch at Jessica's Greek Family Restaurant. I was reminded of Destroyer's Song for America, which we listened to on the way. “Wrote a song for America they told me it was clever, Jessica's on vacation to the dark side of town forever.”

It was just me and him at a booth in the restaurant and some member of Jessica's family that was not Jessica because I asked if she was Jessica and she said no Jessica is in Chicago. We both drank ice tea. I ordered a hot meatloaf sandwich covered in gravy. It was alright, though I can't imagine ever getting a craving for it again. Alright back to T.s. Eliot's She Wolves of the Waste Land.