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Saturday, March 30, 2002
easter pics
Tuesday, March 19, 2002
you know, angels, even devils, child, all await to show how far we've come to joy.
short story
co-worker and i go to kinko's next to our building in order to get cards made for no-account web design group. kinko's goofs up cards. we take them back. manager is a grade A prick. finally we convince him to re-make cards. co-worker and i discuss failing state of service economy. no good service anywhere. things fall apart, etc. weeks pass. months. co-worker is driving out of building parking garage when he sees two young hispanic guys running full steam down the road. not thinking much of it, he turns out onto street in front of our work. driving by the kinko's he sees a guy on the ground. hurt badly. gets out of car to help. guy says he was mugged by the two punks. they kicked him and took his wallet. the guy is the manager for the kinko's. he was coming into work at midnight to run a special job for some clients. the security camera for our building caught the entire incident on video. later, manager, co-worker and security guard watch the tape with the police. co-worker feels strange sense of camaraderie with the manager now. i go in to kinko's today to get cards made for my wife's business. manager is there. i wave. he nods his head.
Sunday, March 17, 2002
finished strong.
the immortal lee county killers - emo's jr. - 8pm
the meat purveyors - mother egan's - 9pm
bob log III - emo's jr. - 10pm
dressy bessy - buffalo billiards - 11pm
the gift - element - 12pm
the offenders - emo's main - 1am
the sadies - b.d. riley's - 2am
the gift were by far my favorite band. they're from portugal. lead singer like bjork with a deeper voice. button beautiful, but with a weird spaced out edge. horn section. keyboards. really tripped out ambient sound like portishead, but with a little more brass and kick. i know i'm not describing them well. carlos and i were blown away. the others thought we were lunatics. it was a sold-out crowd though. if they changed their name, they'd be the next big thing.
Friday, March 15, 2002
more. more. more.
the woggles - emo's jr. - 9pm
grand champeen - gatsby's - 10pm
the delphines - gatsby's - 11pm
wearing down. very fast. tonight we go for supagroup and the new duncan imperials. good music so far. but nothing outstanding. i think the woggles have been the best so far.
Thursday, March 14, 2002
whew.
color filter - buffallo billiards - 8pm
blue noise band - ritz lounge - 9pm
the bloggs - red room - 10pm
the hissyfits - red eyed fly - 12pm
junior brown - stubb's - 1am
brown whorenut - elyisium - 1:30am
toss up between blue noise band and brown whorenut. both are bands from austin. the hissyfits were the lamest. think L7 without the L. or the 7.
Wednesday, March 13, 2002
it's good to be home. in time for sxsw no less.
some ideas for band names that may not yet be taken.
red x circle bitmap
the cigar bugs
deny post
the meilinger schema
Tuesday, March 12, 2002
city of hate (1.3.5)
i realize you think this city of hate thing has gotten out of hand. that dallas isn't so bad. it's like any other large american city with it's crime and it's ignorance and it's average skyline. well, in a way, i couldn't agree more. dallas is the typical american city for texas. it's dull and bland and glitzy all at the same time. people drive SUVs and talk on cell phones just like everywhere else. there's a renovated downtown section with a tgi fridays. what more can you expect? i guess i would feel the same way as you do about it had i not been to the city's pound. there is no surer way to uncover the rotten heart of a city's decrepit body than to go to it's pound.
first off, my co-worker and i had to rent a car. we were going to drive to the pound to recover whatever valuables were left in my car. a wrecker would have to actually tow my car to a repair shop. we finally got to the hertz dealer and rented this tiny shitbox of a mazda. not soon after, we were lost. or so it seemed to me. we passed the same gas station twice. to top it off, the hot mexican food lunch and the crazy zigzagging through dallas' frenzied streets sent me straight into a tailspin. it got to the point where we finally had to pull over. i ended up retching in a tiny field in-between a set of flat tires and what looked to be an entire engine block. i could tell this wasn't where we needed to be. after several more circles and driving past the same small gas station at least 12 more times, we found the city pound. a nondescript building out on the edge of dallas. it seemed to be well-hidden for a purpose. for no sooner had we entered the brown brick building, than both my co-worker and i realized that this was the 9th circle of hell.
scenes from the pound...
- mildewed yellow plastic covers for the fluorescent lights
- signs made out of legal paper and red marker that said "Please form single line" and "Do NOT step over the RED LINE until your name is called."
- the smell of dust. can you smell dust?
- the waking feeling that everyone in this room had lost all hope
- the little kid in the corner screaming that he wanted candy from the candy machine. i almost gave him a quarter.
- the 35 minute wait inside this room
- my co-worker asking me if this day could get any worse
- the minor clerk who said "speak up and more slowly" and then sighed like a goddamn trojan every time she had to walk away from the window to look in a stack of papers for my car. i felt for her. really.
- the dilapitated police cruiser that they use to drive you out to your car
- the old guy who sat next to me in the cruiser. his car looked like it had run into a tree. "light pole" he said. "my wife ran into it going 45." jesus, is she alright? "she's in critical condition" he sighed. "they had to reconstruct her pelvis with pins." jesus. "that's painful" he said as he got out of the car. he was very matter of fact about the whole thing. "looking for her purse and her damn phone" he said. he told me she was talking on it when she had the wreck.
- the battery and the license plates in the trunk of my car. the cops put them there when they recovered them from one of the shit's other cars. why would they steal the battery? it turns out that the battery didn't work anymore. when the repair shop tested it, no juice. again, no clue. aren't batteries like worth 20 bucks used? 40?
- looking out over the pound and thinking that every one of these cars has some sad story. then thinking that it's soft-headed shit like that which makes the Lifetime Channel possible.
i don't know what more to say. dallas stinks. not just for what happened to me. the people seem desperate and completely superficial. cars are stolen all the time. there are places like this pound which exist and are worse than the dingiest flophouse in austin. don't bring up other cities. like houston. houston stinks too. another armpit if you ask me. it's enough to let the crazies drift towards these hornet's nests and leave austin for the sane and rational folk. the ones who wake up with their cars intact and their transvetite mayoral candidates brassing on the corner with a mocha frappucino and a thong.
Tuesday, March 05, 2002
city of hate (0.2)
so i'm standing at the counter at walgreen's waiting for a prescription to be filled and this big black dude comes strolling up. i've got a suitcase that i'm buying for a lousy trip to dallas. he says "going on a trip?" and i say yeah. "vegas?" he asks. now don't ask me why, because most normal people nod politely and stare off into space, but i turn and take a good look at him. every one of his teeth is gold. i mean the full-on rusted-out gold tooth. nope. dallas i say. the big shitty d. "man, i really want to goes to vegas" he says. yeah. his eyes are bloodshot and he's got on a green wool cap. he asks me if i've ever been. nope. then he asks the pencil-necked pharmacist. "say man, say." the pharmacist looked like most white folks do when they see a 6'5" black man with gold teeth asking them a question. completely terrified. nothing in their 9-5 life has prepared them for anything like this. "you ever been to vegas?" the pharmacist shook out a no with his tiny bald head. "shiiiiiiiaaaat" says gold tooth. "vegas baby" he says. "always wanted to go." yeah. everybody is laughing nervously. the pharmacist. his assistant. even the old guy behind me. the pharmacist placed my medicine in a white paper bag. "there and africa" he says. africa? i ask him where in africa? he says "i dunno man. wanna go see the jungle and shit." the jungle? "yeah man, the jungle. get up close with some wild animals." now the way this went down was that i grabbed my prescription and my suitcase and i walked out the automatic doors into the overcast crud. i nodded politely and stared back off into space. but the truth of it is that i thought about the fact that there are plenty of wild animals right here. sometimes they'll just smile at you and maybe play with you a bit. other times they'll split your fucking head wide open. most of the time, you don't even realize it.
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