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Furry Cheese
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9.26.2003
so hey, in keeping with the apartment burglary theme, we went to a party this week at what i am convinced is the one and only loft seen in every movie about rich new yorkers. this place had to have been at least 4,000 sqft. (and you fellow city dwellers can appreciate this) of open space, divided only by the very stylish and unobtrusive 8 ft. dividing wall between the kitchen and dining area. this place had track lighting all over the floors, chamgagne (bleeach!) in every corner, floor to ceiling windows, 5 cats milling around(yay!), and an extra helping of helf-starved 80 lb. 20-something girls ambling around in jeans and high heels. lord only knows how i find myself at these things. the good part was that it was to celebrate our friend jeremy's wedding, which happened last weekend. now 2/3 of the band are married.... purdy scary...
:: Shericat 7:59 PM [+] :: speak
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9.21.2003
why is that the only people i want to hang out with are the ones who always bail on me? other perfectly good friends sit around waiting for me to call them like i said i would and instead i'm obsessing over the ones who hardly remember i exist. must be some kind of residual self-abusive adolescent bullshit. damn why can't i shake that?
in the meantime we're looking to move again. we've only been in our apt. for a year and yet we're going to put ourselves through the hell of packing all our shit up yet one last time. i used to have this fantasy of starting an apartment-robbing schtick. we'd rent a truck, dress all in black with ski caps and bust in on someone's great rent-stabilized-since-the-70's apt. and force them at gunpoint to pack all their shit in the truck and hand over the lease. sounds like a better idea every year i live here.
:: Shericat 7:49 AM [+] :: speak
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9.20.2003
today this really amazingly crazed old polish woman stopped us on the street. she had on some very gaudy orange moo-moo frock but she pulled it off with matching lipstick and white-rimmed plastic sunglasses that were way too big for her, just so you get the picture. she also had platinum hair that looked like my own home-grown version of a cute, spunky haircut. so she stops us and says "is this still america???" we nod and smile "yes" she throws her wrinkled hands in the air and exclaims how she doesn't understand why so many foriegners are in the neighborhood and how nobody greets you in the supermarket anymore. just when i think i'm getting bored with new york.
:: Shericat 6:00 PM [+] :: speak
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9.15.2003
right now i hate people. i know it's immature and insolent and probably a self-fulfilling prophecy, but really the world is against me. i'm also fat and i look like an alien. or maybe i'm just premenstrual.
:: Shericat 3:25 PM [+] :: speak
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9.12.2003
in lue of his recent passing, i really feel that i should share my story of meeting Johnny Cash.
about 6 years ago i was working at some bakery in albuquerque and we were catering the backstage hooplah for Johnny Cash's show there. now, my boss at the time always had all sorts of strange people wandering through the kitchen en route to his office, some were famous musicians, some were homeless people who wanted to joing the Forum, some where the employees, you get the idea. so one day i'm pouring MGD over a pot roast for Mr. Cash - supposedly this was the marinade he specified- and this kind of old, kind of freaky looking guy saunters in like he owns the place. of course i'm thinking "sheya, whatever dude just get your free coffee and sit down" but he approaches me and kind of stands over my shoulder checking out the roast. so i kind of gave him a sideways glance as if to say "may i help you?", and he asks me in this very gravely but kind of comforting voice "whatcha doin' there?" so i wow him with my wonderous articulation and say "um, i'm marinating this pot roast." so then he points at the bottle in my hand and asks "whatcha got there?", i show him the label, he busts out this big grin at me, claps me on the back hard enough to spill part of the beer and says "well good on ya!", then walks away.
at the time i was totally flustered and went downstairs to bitch to the head caterer woman and the minute i got down there she's all hysterical "oh my god he's here isn't he???? i heard he's upstairs ohmuygawd!!" and so on. thus i find out after the fact that i got clapped on the back by a musical legend.
:: Shericat 4:43 PM [+] :: speak
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things i hate about the anniversary of 9/11:
1. listening to the news is pointless because all you hear is the theatrical sobbing of the bereaved.
2. it is yet another poignant example of our country's devotion to hysterical melodrama as the only valid form of recognizing something terrible happened. quiet reflection is simply not an acceptable means of observing a horrible event.
3. this arms-in-the-air disposition american's have adopted is totally reinforced by all the "powers that be", convienently detracting attention from the squalid job our president is doing, including his steadfast refusal to charge a private investigation of the attacks.
4. post-apocalyptic/yay america! merchandizing.
5. people are still throwing around the term "war against terrorism". we can only hope that it's just as successful as the "war against drugs" or the "war against poverty" for that matter.
also, johnny cash died today. wesley willis died a couple of weeks ago, making two great losses to the musical community in the past month. i am sad.
:: Shericat 4:59 AM [+] :: speak
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