Friday, June 29, 2007

June 29, 2007
Demon House
WDC, 20009 USA

"Just the bang and the clatter as an angel hits the ground" -U2

Been thinking too much. Kim S.K. always says it's bad for me to do that--I agree. JB always says, "Don't think too much if you don't think too good."

Sitting on the porch watching the world go by has become my favorite thing to do, it's my job. George said that dogs need jobs to do, and if they're not given one they'll make it up (for instance: chewing up your furniture, and guarding the house from trucks, planes, and mailmen); Margaret told me that idea years ago in relation to one of her dogs. I think the job I've made up is one for which I'm well suited. I sit on the porch and think.

For as long as I can recall I've tried to avoid thinking (I hope I've done a visibly good job). But porch-sitting has got me thinking. And when I think, I think about thoughts (frequently interrupted by Groucho-styled eyebrow-waggling, grunts, groans, and other cavemen sounds inspired by my appreciation for the many, many, lovely women who walk by during the course of my deep thoughts) such as intelligence and what people take for granted in their day to day lives. What I take for granted and assume to be common-sense is vastly different from everyone else's specific concepts of common-sense and intelligence. And that intrigues me. Or maybe it's the beer that intrigues me and makes me think those thoughts. It certainly aids the leering lascivious thoughts that interrupt.

I'm not school-smart anymore. I was. Decades ago. I really remember very little about the terrifying periods of school that wound up making me leave for good. From the course of my entire school career--pre-school and Sunday school, kindergarten through the major hiccup of 3rd, and from 4th to the terminal 6th grade--I have only a few memories, and they form as mental images. These aren't images I've appropriated from photographs or videos. My family didn't shoot a lot of photos after we were little and we never had a video camera. School-smart is for passing classes. I was good at it while at the Corcoran, but didn't learn much, was exposed to a lot but didn't learn much that I am actively aware of using or being able to use to inform others. Learning often means doing things repetitively, but it also means doing things that can get one in trouble. I see now that my flights from the 3rd and 6th grades were very childish ways (and I mean that positively) of being. Being myself. Listening to your intuition, inner voice, daemon, whatever-the-hell-you-wanna-call-it as an adult gets one looked at as unreliable, immature, and incapable of growing up. Whoop the fuck-ee. Google "Picasso childlike" and see how many returns you receive. I yap.

Bah. Hunting and pecking tires me. I just mean for you to know that, despite all the fotos and words on my blog about consumption of alcoholic beverages, I'm still not fully imbecilic--despite my best efforts. This doesn't mean I'm going to answer your phone calls, or initiate calls either. I continue to communicate primarily non-verbally.

Hit the neighborhood bar to get a burger last night earlier than I usually am there and it was crowded with attractive girls and the requisite lame DC dudes. My last tip must've knocked me into the consciousness of the notoriously non-smiling bartender I've always liked despite the glum factor. I wasn't drunk enough to eat their burger (the one that around midnight, with half a dozen beers in my belly, tastes like perfection) and she wanted to know what was wrong with it (nothing, as I told her), insisted on taking it off my check, and kept serving me beers. I finally checked out and the tab was about a third of what it should've been, so I hoped I tipped big enough. It's cool to get smiles from someone not known for smiling!

Oh, and I've said it before, but it remains true, "I expectorate better, therefore I do." It's a play on words! Ha! Get it?! Expectorate = expect to rate! OMG! Ha! Goddamn I'm funny. Effing hilarious. I'm better liked when I STFU. So I'll STFU.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

6/27: Friday's Artcade party: Dusk Comes To 14th St; Mike's new license; Carlos; Tang; Natalie (identify the dropdead gorgeous woman in the striped pants behind Natalie and my gratitude will be yours for eternity).
The party was a raging success. Roughly 600 people attended. I hung with Craig Webb, my good friend and an amazing printmaker, who will be pursuing his MFA at OSU starting this fall. Was pleased to see Mark Cameron Boyd. LJC rolled through, giving me a super hug before confusing me by disappearing at Wonderland. I know it's readily apparent to those of you who regularly glance at my blog, but I'm terribly effing simpleminded. Fighting a pissy mood, I rolled to Gavin's bar and found my friends Samina and Dave celebrating Dave's new job, so I hung out with them until closing time.

"Sex is not all I think about, it's just all I think about (is you)." Prince.

6/27: For some reason I wound up at Big Hunt last night despite trying hard to not ever go there. Philosophized with the always badass Mr. Walker. Watched Audrey shoot pool.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

6/25: Monday was a day off. Breakfasted at The Diner with Rafal. Emily joined us. Max too. May have had a few mimosas and might have been inebriated before noon. May have taken a very long midday nap on the couch. Possibly stayed up really late with Rafal, Emily, Dave, Max, Adrian, and a large hilarious singing drunk at Stetson's. May have slept on the couch. This is all hypothetical. Pictures lie. Just like words, numbers, and people. Most everything can be taken out of context, given enough effort. Better stop thinking. Look at that giant arm! Look at that smile! Time to varnish more photos.

6/26: More old kamrafone pix.

Sunday, June 24, 2007

6/24: Answered Mike's text from bed this morning and made the long walk up the hill to Heller's for coffee. A bit of hanging out ensued. The beginning to our full day of adventure was barely underway when Larissa biked by on Mount Pleasant St. with a cheery "Hey guys!" Back down the hill, printed out Mike's stuff at Demon House, and walked to the National Portrait Gallery to catch the last day of the Saul Steinberg show. Very engaging and witty. Or maybe it was just funny and good. "Witty and engaging" seems a mite formal. ... brief pause for a smirk before moving on.... A short walk later we were hustling through the Foto show at the NGA. It was crowded and we wanted sunshine, so I'll have to go back to see it again. Made the return trip up 16th, got some beer and absorbed it on Demon Porch. Mike read me old articles he's using for a newspaper job application's writing samples--and I enjoyed them! Whoo! Back up the hill to Mike's for immense plates of awesome steaming hot pasta smothered in his homemade sauce full of chorizo, multiple peppers, onion, cilantro, ginger... etcetera. Beers in travel mugs, we crossed the road to sit on Frank Day's porch while phoning to announce our presence. He graciously extended hospitality to the two haggard wretches he found encamped upon his porch. He took us to his roof, and from there we gazed with forlorn eyes at the lonely visage of the Cathedral, jutting so high from the horizon as if attempting to cast shadows on other continents. Tales may have been recounted of a woman named Maggie. Other names came up: Ethiopia, Kabul, Arturo, Frito Lay, Miami, Horatio, Veronica, Velveeta... wait. I fear this operator may have a virus and be forced to restart, causing all finger-based communications to halt. Cheerio. (Hunh?!)

Friday, June 22, 2007

6/22: Old kamrafone pix.

Knocking a chunk out of a panel painting = arghhh!

You'd best head on down to Rachel Fick's Artcade 8PM kickoff party tonight at 1529A 14th St. Art, dancing, kegs, music, the youth of today = the adults of tomorrow. Always.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

6/20: Mike called early this morning. I finally picked up and agreed at gunpoint to hang out on the porch and lend him my presence, as if I was going to listen to him yap about his second breakup with my viewer. On some level I care, because he is my good friend and I love him like my brother. But since I'm selfish and enjoy spending my mornings alone on the porch watching my neighborhood walk to work, I don't care to listen to him repeat himself. I'm an asshole, it's true, but I like spending my mornings alone on the porch before I go to work. Before long it began to sprinkle and he turned his Starbuxx cup into a rainproof camera-protector. How can one not enjoy having his creative problem-solving presence around? I think we're going to drink beer and leer at girls this evening. Or just look at them. Fricking hell. WTF.

Varnished another batch of photos for Joe.
Spent big $$$ on clothes downtown.
Gorgeous day to walk around (many, many inches covered).
Lunched on a patio with Rafal.
Got movies: Babel, Children of Men, Crank, and Death of a President.
Talked with Prica.
Texted with Emily and Alex.
Summer heat is awesome.
A/C is for old folks and pussies.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

6/19: 1) Roxette singalong; 2) ghosts; 3) U St; 4) photos I varnished for Joe.

Sunday Rafal and Adrian hooked me up with passes for You Kill Me at Landmark. It's hilarious. Starring Ben Kingsley, twinkle-eyed king of deadpan, whipsmart and super-duper-hot Téa Leoni, and always droll puppydog Luke Wilson, this movie is gorgeous and tight. I wanna see it again, so lemme know if you're gonna see it.

Monday, June 18, 2007

6/18: Woke up Sunday afternoon. Broiled on L'Enfant's sunny patio for a couple of hours, feasting on a cappuccino, four mimosas, and two strawberry and Nutella crêpes. Drank beer on the porch for the rest of the day, ignoring phone calls, listening to selections from my awesome array of fantabulous mp3s: mashups, American Analog Set, Gym Class Heroes, Wilco, Modest Mouse, Nelly Furtado, Lily Allen, Jurassic 5, Mogwai, Pavement, Silver Jews, Yo La Tengo, Twilight Singers, Bill Evans, Bjork, Lyle Lovett, Arcade Fire, Vince Gill, NAS, Rihanna, Brazilian Girls ("pussy pussy pussy, marijuana"), David Kilgour, Nena, Dwight Yoakam, Tricky, Chris Isaak, MC Solaar, Gigi, John Lee Hooker, Lost Prophets, Erin McKeown, Girl Talk, DMB... anything and everything that came to mind. Musicless people are godless people. I bet those who live in the White House don't like music--yer either wif em or agin em... yeehaa.

Friday, June 15, 2007

6/15: Barely Friday as I write. Beer and pizza with the newest roommate... great fun... she's awesome. Had a good day without beer Wednesday, and Thursday a good project involving repetitive processes at the gallery. Chilly weather... good sleeping weather... wish I slept anymore... I love life... even when I hate it on occasion, it's so silly... even when sad things happen, it's still incredibly good. Maybe that's why I don't get along with lots of people--y'all are too intent on being poopy. I mean poopy in the scientific terminology usage. Sure. I just wanted to type poopy on my blog. There, congratulations to me, I've done it. But, just to make sure: poopy. Good night. Thank you beer. I only had two, I'm not actually drunk, just being silly. By silly I mean retarded. By retarded I mean stupid. By stupid I mean offensive. By offensive I mean really stupid. Does this lead anywhere? Yaaar. Life... I love you... marry me? I think I'm getting a dog soon. It's out there waiting for me. And when I go to Barcelona to live, it'll go with me. I want wings. I want to fly like a bird. Played bass tonight for a couple of hours and kicked ass like I hadn't in some time. I amaze myself. Imagine how awed the rest of you goofballs would've been if I awed myself... sheesh. Small ego, giant balls. Audrey, Emily, and I followed a small bubble around the house Wednesday evening as it traveled, over the course of a handful of minutes, baffling all of us, from the kitchen through the front hall to the living room, picking up cobwebs along the way, to the front hall, where we thought it burst, up the stairs to the landing where, finally, it decided to be no more. Punctuation. Right. Gotta set a date with my sailing buddy soon, but I think it'll be July before I go out on the Bay. May hit OBX then too, as well as return to tree work. Next week I begin varnishing photos for Joe. Emailed my Bulgarian friend after a long empty spell. Picked up (and started reading) a book I'd had a bookmark in for over a year. Finished an amazing book, The Kite Runner, last month. Kind of tired of drinking as much as I've been drinking since February... almost nonstop. Life goes on... and beer doesn't have to be in my blood all of the time... although it sure as hell does taste good. Been downloading awesome remixes of Rihanna's Umbrella song.... good stuff... woohooo. End of fucking transmission. Dear Diary session complete. Holla if you see me. Artcade opening party Friday the 22nd on 14th St. Check that shit. Miss Fick gotz it going on. Mind yer peas and queues.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

6/12: Drove to Charlottesville Monday. Ate at Christian's Pizza, my old girl-watching haunt. Hung out with Gomi while he gardened. Used my awesome new climbing saddle today with Lyt. Whooo.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

6/10: 1841 hit Dewey for an overnight adventure. We raced through the flatlands, got pizza before hitting the beach, ate crabs, envied Raf's ripped physique, played cards around the pool, laughed drunkenly with retarded Yankees, went to a bar where Raf befriended a fellow Polish GIANT (6'8" 280lbs? dude was huge!) whose arms dwarfed our resident He-Man's arms, and finally Max, Josh, and Liz joined us before the night was done. After shots at the bar, we celebrated Yves' 27th birthday with champagne on the beach, where a couple of us may have wound up skinnydipping and cavorting around the beach cackling like madmen. While I won't name names, I will tell you it was a lot of fun! ;) Rafal and I fell asleep on the beach, but were rousted by the Po-Po. Boooooo. Dewey and 1841, it was fun.

6/10: Last Wednesday night a dozen of us caught the Nat's game at RFK. They blew the lead, but won it in the bottom of the 9th when a runner scored on a wild pitch. Fun game, even if that jerkface TMC gave me his cold. ;)

Friday, June 08, 2007

6/8: Came home early from work Thursday once I realized my cold had turned into a fever. It finally broke last night from a high of 102.3 thanks to my newest housemate Emily insisting I take Advil. Still running a low fever this morning, but feeling lots better. So, more old pix from my '05 days in Europe.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

6/6: That'll have to do. Gotta get food before the game.