Monday, June 3, 2013

Captain’s log stardate June 3, 2013

 I’m sitting on my bed in an empty 15’ by 20’ rectangle that contains a whole buttload of stuff I neither need nor particularly want. Also food and musical instruments and cloth genital coverings. The power is out. I don’t know why it’s out this time, but I assume it has to do with the complete disregard for financial stability the roommate property manager drag/welfare queen drug dealer has. 24/7 he runs the A/c in the front room. 80* in the winter, 68* in the summer. It’s obscene. I paid a bill for him one, in that I motivated my self to the bill paying place with money he gave me. $382 for a month’s electricity. I assume this is why the power is out, but this is new Orleans still and basically power is optional.

I’m sitting here on the bed drinking a beer we found outside sitting by a bench. Unopened. It’s either lethal or a message from god, either would be acceptable. Yesterday we went to Barcadia, the bar that Is also an arcade, yet not a dave and busters. It was somewhat disappointing, or it would have been if I hadn’t already dismissed it as hipster wank material. The bar was filled with 20 somethings that were too nicely dressed and too cleancut to be anything other than maybe Tulane Loyola students slumming their way into the cbd. 

Asshats, no doubt. The machines were hit and miss and the skeeball device, which promised fun prizes and rewards, cost a dollar to play and feel terrible about yourself with. 410 points to a draft. Means you have to hit the 100 at least once if you want a beer. The other machines were at least appropriately priced, assuming their coin slots worked. The place was also a beer garden, advertising dozens of bottles and taps. Exactly the kind of thing you might think was cool if you’re one of those twenty somethings who sometimes thinks of themselves as a hipster. Turns out the whole thing is part of a chain from texas, at least partly owned by a rather fierce 40 year old texan dyke who is big into EDM, explaining both the faux nostalgia (these twenty somethings weren’t born when half the machines were made) and the general concept of the place. A concept the website stole word for word from a review in a dallas scene zine. The Houston location shut down abruptly and pissed off a bunch of employees, but still exists on the website, adding to the overall complete lack of polish.

Whatever, at least there’s arcades somewhere in this godawful town. Not that I can afford to go to them. I’m shit broke, more or less. It’s summer I’m always shit broke now. I’m apparently so shit broke that even other people don’t understand when I use flourishes like “shit” broke and they look at me funny and I have to do a dead-eyed stare and say. Mother fucker I am shit. Broke. It’s useless. I bitch about this shit every summer too. And I probably will continue to bitch about this shit until I’m hired as professional bitch in the head bitch kitch at the itch. Fuckin iunno. I’m sitting here writing out fuckin sexuality 101 fer dipshits and wondering how much of what I’m saying is a complete waste of time and how much is the kind of thing that people just don’t think about and actually need to be taught. I know I sure as shit didn’t know anything going to soc of sexuality the first time. It’s goin’ be hilarious taking it as a graduate level course in fall. If I’m lucky it’ll be almost identical, but with more reading. If I’m unlucky it’s gonna be a lot of dry texts from people who don’t get laid conjecturing on the motives of those who do.

Finally went to plaquemines yesterday. Cal&I drove there (well she drove, I babbled) to check out the lock and rode the ferry back to belle chasse, which is like the epitome of the jank bank label. I said something like ‘if new Orleans is the weird European city in America, all of its shit suburbs are the reiteration of America around it.’ Or something similar. Being hostile about rural areas seems kinda mean. I grew up in rural areas, and I also grew up in urban areas and all I can say is that cities are all pretty much the same but rural areas are like little territories of crazy. You go one place and it’s nothing but Mormons. Go another and it’s some extreme Baptist sect. you go a third and it’s the insane motherfuckers who commute 40 miles to get into a city for jobs but can’t afford to live in the city and don’t even try to make it work. You want a house, you can have one, you just have to live in shitall bumfuck to own it. The only good thing that comes out of ruralism is some kind of respect for your fellow nutjobs and the unabridgable ability to sit somewhere and be completely alone. In cities it’s nothing but all people all the time and everyone eventually resents it and them. They either go nuts keeping a tiny little circle around themselves at all times or they spend all of their time trying to get further and further away from the cities until they find themselves in bumfuck area 3.

Anyway Cal found a cool sign bout plaquemines being a military zone or something and shooting looters on sight and all that. It was just sitting on the bank of the river, gathering scum. The river is real fascinating. The bayou even more so. It’s what America is going to look like post-apocalypse. Just miles and miles of plants and weird colored bits of plastic trash all the fuck over the place. Little tidal islands of debris and unnatural abiotic shit just herpin and derpin and contributing to ecological changes. We’re a goddamn plague is what we are.

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