tuesday february 5 2002 | 5:48 p.m.
my internet connection is all sorts of messed up, has been for days. i'll be logged on for a minute or so, and then things will start stalling until i'm swiftly kicked offline. so i'm writing this in notepad in hopes that the minute-long window will give me enough time to paste it into the diaryland.
lazy day off from work. i slept into the afternoon. spent it listening to palace brothers, talking to denise, spooning hummus mix out of a bowl, chatting with my dad, writing art gallery guy an e-mail about chicagoboy's paintings, and up until a few minutes ago, reading the wire, hands down the best music magazine i've ever come across. i don't know half of what they talk about with their interview subjects, but the names -- kaija saariaho, lol coxhill, nagisa ni te -- read like poetry, and then you have sentences like
Her soundworld runs from ravishing textures of great delicacy and refinement to the dissonant sound-masses found at the more industrial end of New Complexity,
you know, and that's just the tip of the iceberg. the jim o'rourke piece in the november issue was worthy of being dreamed over, and december elevates mercury rev to contemporary classical levels (and actually, they're classically trained, which i didn't know). anyway. i can't recommend it enough, for those of you ready to kill at the sight of another blink-182 or shakira reference, however offhand or snide, in the usual music rags.
speaking of jim o'rourke. chicagoboy asks me yesterday during work if i've heard the crazy piece with the four movements, he didn't know what it was called, . . . i stared at him awestruck. you have to understand, i live in MIAMI. as much as i love it, as much as the bass museum tries, miami is a cultural black hole pre-universe in a nutshell half-particles-radiating-out. we're talking VOID here, as in nothing. actually i think we were both awestruck. by the way, i know i haven't been keeping up, but it's official, i'm smitten.
on friday afternoon he asked if i was going to this art show, part of the monthly gallery-hop-esque thing they do in the design district, wine and cheese and maybe performances and hanging out with art. (the word "art" has always sounded really rich and thick and paint-like to me. like smelling oil paint and rubbing it between my fingers. yum. a great word.) anyway, i couldn't decide if the invitation was really an invitation -- what the hell else, though, right? i know, i'm an idiot -- and i didn't hint towards needing a ride or anything, so instead i ended up drinking pints at finnegan's and sitting through a grunge/dave matthews cover band with roly and papo.
yesterday he asks me why i didn't go, says he thinks i would've really liked it, swoon swoon. then we talk about david lynch movies (we're both fans) and he mentions eraserhead and i tell him i've never seen it and he says i should and he'd be up for seeing it again. ok, am i reading too much into things? or does that sound like a potential dvd-date? i know i need to chill, but it's so hard, he's fucking amazing and he's right there working with me and looking great and talking about art and fire walk with me. aaahhh! makes coming to work a hell of a lot more bearable, i'll tell you that much.
although i am disgruntled and know i need to find a better-paying, benefits-giving, less abusive job. i'm scheduled as a full-time employee and i'm not getting shit for it. there's a generalized wave of discontent in the store -- cafégirl, who has become a good friend, wants to quit just about now.
good days are great: talking to chicagoboy, stealing company time to have cigarettes with caféboy, having coffee breaks with cafégirl and breaking everything down... but the bad days are really, really lousy. assholes abound. and bad conditions and abuse. so.
anyway. i'm going to try to post this now.
big big hugs to jules across the ocean because i love her. everybody run and hug your best friend if you have him or her around, you lucky bastard.
