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February 18, 2001
[steve sent me some questions...]
Steve sent me some questions about The Real World (not the show) and about music, and I answered them. Now they're here. This may be my first and last published interview, so I should bask in the nearly non-existent feelings of fame while I can.
Oh yeah, I was interviewed on TV once. Tug McGraw, a winning pitcher on the 1980 Phillies World Series victory team, later became a reporter. He visited my grade school when I was in fifth grade and interviewed me about an exercise program called "10 at 10" that our school had implemented. Every day at 10 a.m., we would do 10 stretching exercises, each lasting for 10 seconds. I had no idea who he was (though everyone else in my class seemed to) or what to say about this program that everyone knew was ridiculous and ineffective. I remember saying that it helped me with playing basketball. Ha. Nothing could have helped me with that.
February 15, 2001
[taking stock of the filth...]
Taking Stock of the Filth
| Room in Apt |
# Empty Soda
Cans
|
# Empty Glasses
|
# Empty Wine
Coolers
|
| Office |
2
|
2
|
0
|
| Bedroom |
1*
|
1
|
1
|
| Living Room |
0
|
1
|
0
|
| Kitchen** |
0
|
8
|
1
|
| Bathroom*** |
0
|
0
|
0
|
* half empty, actually
** also features other assorted unclean dishes
*** has not been cleaned once since moving in, July 2000
February 12, 2001
[this happened almost a year ago...]
This happened almost a year ago, and the parties described in that entry provide my most staid memories of that era. The picture helps keep it alive, too. Just getting momentarily nostalgic. Read any other entries from this time last year, though, and you'll realize I have nothing to be nostalgic about. The prevailing theme of the time was rejection.
Anyway, all of this is not what has to be written.
Last week, I was involved in two auto accidents. The first one was just between me and a snow bank. The road was icy, but it didn't look like it. I skidded, my rear end flew out towards oncoming traffic, and I stopped when my car ran up onto Mr. Bank of Snow. A guy in the oncoming lane who resembled Tom Green gave me an admonishing look, but he did not slow his pace.
The second accident was more interesting, and now I'm not sure if I want to write about it in a way that coheres with the rest of this entry. It deserves more. It should be more dramatic, like Steve May's reaching-for-the-moment's-importance entries. So, I will hold off, and stick it somewhere else, and link to it later.
I really like the band Big Star.
February 11, 2001
[last night, greg and i...]
Last night, Greg and I saw my cousin Liam's band Dillinger Escape Plan and Snapcase play at the Electric Factory. Cool place. It was my first hardcore show, and I think I was the only one in the building wearing a skirt. But it was a denim skirt, at least. The males and females had to enter the building in separate lines. Everyone ahead of me got patted down, but I didn't. I wonder if I looked old in addition to harmless.
I was making coffee this morning at my parents' house (I was visiting to do laundry), and the following conversation ensued:
MOM: Your butt looks like it's as big as mine.
ME: No! Don't say that.
MOM: Thanks a lot!
ME: I mean, no, I can't be that bad yet!
MOM: Thanks a lot again!
ME: I mean, I'm not forty yet!
MOM (turning her back to me): Well, my butt isn't that big anyway, see?
ME: Okay....
Anyway, the show was cool. The members of Dillinger express a sort of controlled lack of self-composure onstage. Liam has told me that most of the band members cut themselves on their instruments at some point during their shows, and we could see why: they convulse and thrust themselves into each morsel of their songs. Watching Liam reminded me of when I saw Chris play last year around this time. Like Liam, Chris allows his body to experience fully the forces of his music. And to me, a sister to them both, it's all very amusing.
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