I. Am in a mood.
The emo, full of the weepy melodies & introspective lyrics, has been put on hold .
Instead, loud walls of sound rule.
The Jesus Lizard. Jawbox. Mudhoney.
I’m rocking out like it’s 1994 and people are still asking “Rivers who?”
You know, I saw The Jesus Lizard play in 1993. And it made very happy.
What I remember most? There was a mic stand in the corner, right next to the screaming David Yow, pointing at him. It had a black sheet over it and it wasn’t supposed to look like the Grim Reaper.
But it did.
And I bought a T-shirt.
At that time, I never had money for swag, but my two best music-geek friends at the time loaned me the 20 bucks, and I held onto it tight all night. It was special night having David Yow all screaming evil right in front of me. I wanted to remember that with a little souvenir.
When I got home, I set the T-shirt on my dresser at home. I went to sleep.
When I woke up it. It was gone.
I know my roommates had no interest in it. They were too busy doing their hair.
To this day, I have no idea where it went.
And now, in other news, I am caught in a living, breathing episode of COPS, people.
The fireman who lives across the hall came in very early this morning screaming.
“Fuck you! And Fuck that shit! What? Does that excite you? Do you get off on that? Do you want to see me killed?”
From what I could tell, some sort of pub-brawl went down earlier. And his girlfriend started it. And he had to finish it.
He was screaming. She was screaming right back.
It was almost 2:00 am.
Apparently they did not have a happy St. Patty’s day, and I am so glad they decided to come home to work it all out.
I fell back asleep, ignoring the domestic dispute.
But, next time, I think, I am gonna get a hold of the theme from COPS. And I am gonna blast that through the walls.
And maybe if he all hears, “bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do?”
Perhaps he will Shut. The fuck. Up.
And I can get some rest.
But I am telling you, people. If you happen to be watching COPS filming in the Chicagoland area and you see a drunk-ass screaming moron in skivvies being pulled out of an apartment over some spendy art-shop in the near future…
That’s the fireman.
The brown eyes you see peeking through the blinds above? That’s me. I’ll be laughing.
Why can’t the fireman be a nice, quiet, jovial drunk, like me?
Oh, and someone puked on my car Saturday night.
Yeah, I know what you’re thinking – where’s the punchline, annfrankenstein?
Sorry kids, there ain’t no punchline. All that shit’s not funny. Especially when I had to come home tonight to hear the loud shrieks of make-up sex coming through the heating vent.
< sarcasm > I am soooooo glad I am living next door to the dysfunctional fireman whose relationships thrive on drunken brawls and chaos. < /sarcasm >
But then again, what really, is left to do but laugh?
I mean besides turning up the Jesus Lizard then turning to the sky to ask, “Where the hell is my goddamn T-shirt?”