i'm a jerk / friends in books

so i've been all busy with my stupid new job, re-discovering my server legs and what it means to come home and just want to go straight to sleep (after masturbating). it's actually great, how the times of peace and calm you have are somehow accentuated by being a contributing member of society.

but i miss my friends, despite how well more than half of them come in and have drinks, i miss the Quartet. i didn't get to hang out with Tim before he left town, can't quite catch up with Bret, and don't really know how to get back in good with Mike, and i miss those dudes, they're good people.

at least with Tim, i've got his book of poetry "I Want a Girl Who Drives a 70's Muscle Car". there's a lot of Tim personality in those verses, so i can always get a dose of his weird optimistic, scientific style whenever i want it.... kinda makes me wish i've finish some kind of book.... we'll see....
 

:doug @ 3:24 AM

fear not of man

Last weekend, after our first Red Star staff meeting and helping Ben paint two stairwells in the resturant, I headed over to Bret's house and then together we went to go see Afro-Punk : The Rock and Roll Nigger Experience at the JHU film festival. A well-made (but I wouldn't say "amazing") documentary, it chronicled the lives of four particular black punk rockers in their respective scenes as well as showed clips from several interviews with many other black punk rockers both young and old, and even EXTREMELY old. So for almost a week the absurdity of "counter-culture" movements has been bubbling in the back of my head.

I'm not one of those people who enjoy passing down judgements on others, in fact I try very hard to remain ambigious when it comes to personal choices, if it makes you happy doing something your own way, I'd much rather you were happy than fake it as someone else. What was so puzzling about the film was the examination that an already ethnically seperated culture would go even further to exclude themselves from society. Though the film tried it's best to explain how their rage at everyday injustice could be easily translated into the rage of punk rock, I just couldn't get on board with the idea that it would be the right way to go.

I mean... why would you want to create more adversity?

And though I understand the preceeding sentiment is either the sentiment of the cowardly or the elderly, I can't help feeling that way given the ridiculous behavior of my youth. I'm sure when I started borrowing (stealing) my older brother's NIN and Ministry album that I was quite convinced of the therapeutic effect they had on me in helping me vent and channel my angst, that's kinda of an idea that you grow out of. (I also realize that I inadvertantly compared my passing suburban teen rage with the plight of the black people in America. I assure you, not the point I'm trying to make)

You get over it. You move on. You stop trying to hard to draw attention to yourself with clothes and weird hair and jewelry. It's not "selling out", it's "letting go". Cause you can still have your rage, kids, just maybe you should do something more productive with it. 

:doug @ 10:51 PM

the weirdest voicemail ever

"hey, my man. you met me, light skin homeboys, tall boy, last week. duck pond. gimme a call. talk to you later."

i swear to god i don't recognize the voice (clearly male) or the number, as such, i refuse to call back. i have the feeling it would be the start of a bad movie where my number got mixed up with a small-time drug dealer. anyone ever have a message like this waiting on their cell to freak them out?

(oh, and i was nowhere near a fucking duck pond last week) 

:doug @ 9:24 PM