weekend jibbajabbas

Well. That was an interesting way to spend the weekend. My overdeveloped sense of entitlement lead to some no-frills, up-til-5-am debauching and pokering on Friday night - some unexpected financial windfall is the only way I was able to accept not winning - even though the loss was a humble $5, normally I ball up my fist and have to go punch something inanimate.

Saturday - got woken up inappropriately early (No!) by the friendtor (tentative yay) to get champagne and have fancy breakfast made for me (un-tepid yaying). Drank from approximately 12-6, fell into unfortunate post-day-drinking emotional coma, then proceeded to watch Battlestar Galatica with little to no regard for the outside world. Now, I must broach a rather painful subject - my unabated lust for Galactica-n Jamie Bamber (who is the actor playing Lee 'Apollo' Adama) is no secret. Indeed, it is so unsecretive, I often introduce myself to others as a raging Bamberist first, and follow-up with my...name. Anyway, he be FINE (click it!) to a rather ridiculous degree. Please consider this meager spolier space if you are a Galactica fan who has somehow not seen the end of the second season - one year later he's fat! I've been wounded in the way that only those close to you can do. At first, I thought it was just an unfortunate angle for his chin (how could I not have noticed before?) but then I saw my friend who loaned it to me and her first query was 'What did you think of Fat Lee?'

Horror of horrors.

Onto much more badass things - I actually got to meet Alison Bechdel, ubercool authoress of one of my most potent graphic obsessions, Fun Home. She gave a really fun, warm and engaging reading and Q&A at Austin's illustrious Book People (this is totally my hyperlinkiest entry in my blogging history). It was really exciting to see her in person because I loved the book so much - she did a kind of Power Point presentation so while she was reading, she could cue up the corresponding image for that passage. I had never seen this but suddenly it seems to make so much sense. I guess I've never been to a graphic novel reading before so I didn't even know what to expect.

Apparently, I'm going to write about this a lot, since I thought it was cool - before I lose sight of this, however, I feel compelled to mention that you can totally almost see me on the second of the Austin photos from her blog. Moving forward...

She opened herself up to questions, after having read two chapters and done a really awesome presentation of how she made the book using sketches, composite-imaging, Illustrator, etc. What's interesting to me about this kind of Q&A thing is how people think they have license to ask a memoirist whatever the fuck they want. A startling number of people stop thinking of an author as a human being under these circumstances, and the crowd starting drilling her about some uncomfortable details on her father's suicide. I couldn't stop cringing at that. If I was in the hot seat, I would ask my questioner to draw me a vivid sketch of their genitalia; or to share with the crowd their most honestly mortifying or tragic moment in their life.

I did get in a few questions, but wasn't extremely content with the answers. Due to the extremity of my comic renaissance, I really wanted to find out what inspired her in the comics community, since she is, above all else, a cartoonist (her word, not mine). Because of my line of questioning, when I came up to ask for her signature in my book, she asked if I was a cartoonist.

'I wish,' I replied.

All part of my desire to really try to do something write-y professionally. Write a comic book. Write for magazines. Write a screenplay. Write for TV even (gasp!). Life is such an inescapable cache-22 right now - I have to work my tragic dayjob to survive. Most of my off time is spent drinking or socializing because work is so vaccuous and zombifying - I want to be with the lively, beautiful, strange people I love...getting fucked up, too, obviously. It's so fucking hard to make writing more important than that. Because I am a dilettante? Maybe. Or because I need a patron. Whichevs.

Everything else passed away in a bit of a blur, but I did get to take in a badass French action movie B13 that had some sweet action sequences, interesting allegorical content, and most importantly an outrageously hot French boy with sexy tats.

I also read a really cool article on the making of/reception of
Shortbu in today's Times, which I would encourage anyone interested in the film or the idea of making it to check out.

My evening is drawing to a close - work OVER and I'm gonna go see Art Brut and Spinto Band. Yay!

lukewarm off the presses

SHIT! I forgot to throw these hot-potatoes out into the ether. There were two rather amusing morsels from my otherwise alternately hellish and boring day at the ACL box office.

1.) Celebrities at the box office? We all knew it was an inevitability, what with Austin becoming the new LA and everything (actually I think it's mor on par with American companies outsourcing to nations they can pay practically nothing, but I'm an asshole like that). But I at least assumed they would be going more toward the guest list. But no, dear readers! One monumental celebrity came up to the box office just like a regular American...and it was Chuck MO'FUCKIN Woolery! That's right. We all had a brush with greatness in that moment. My impression of him: was one of instant recognition, followed by instant revulsion at my recognition, followed by trying to figure out his actual place in the pop culture puzzle. He has the craziest bags I've ever seen under a pair of eyes in my life. Coupled with what may be among the top 20 wackest 'blond on top, dark on the sides' 'dos I have ever had the misfortune to gaze upon.

With that little piece of bitchery out of the way, we can move on to....

2.) Fashion: So, lots of people wanted to either debut their freaky/hot/chic new look at the festival. That, or dust off their most obscurely hip band shirt and take it out to play. But I did see one look that rather surprisingly blew the lid off of my reality - pastel Polo shirt with the collar popped (obviously) and the sleeves cut off (EGADS!). This is so much cooler than I would have thought and I can't really believe I'm re-stating it hear, but it's too late to turn back now.

Other news? Hopefully rounding the corner of my random possibly allergenic sickness (round two) as well as that of my random depression sad party (round 4008) - both of which may have been aggravated by working eleven fucking days in a row. Wow, that's horrendous. And mercifully over in 48 minutes. Hello weekend!

confession (non jimmy mcgreevey style)

So, I've got this nasty little problem staring me down right now. Far more insidious than other addictions.

It is my 'favorites' section on myspace. I now have a harem of people whom I can spacestalk at my whim, with little to no 'restrictions' as it were. Meaning 'actual interaction.' It's filling a void I've been missing since college - seeing the hot one in your class or around campus randomly was such a sick thrill. I figured they were either straight or generally uninterested in sleeping with me (ahh the chubby, chubby times).

I've got a hot mix of people I had crushes on in high school, my most (mysteriously?) hated Austin local, hot boys I've never met before, some guy I obsessively hated in a creative writing class who was the roommate of one of my 'Austin family,' ex-friends (of course!) and even some kid I had most of my schooling with who is de gay and actually turned out QUITE hot - truly a mix.

I just had to get that frivolity/creepiness off my chest. There! You know! I use it!

Thinking about being in someone's favorites list makes me feel more horny than scared/paranoid. In the case of other people favorite-ing me, say FOR EVIL...well, that's cool too.

delinquing as usual...

Goddamn, how dare I ever refer to myself as a blogger? Such inconstancy! And what precisely have I been doing to bring my life to new and thrilling heights as well as enriching myself and those around me? Um...well...now that you mention it...

One of the things that seemed of consequence to me about why I do this is so my poor partydrenched brain doesn't forget all the wonderful little things that have happened. And yet I go weeks without mention of these things. Does this lead my faithful public to the assumption that I am not doing anything interesting? Or that I cannot claw my way out of an eerily lit opium den? Interesting things have been happening nonetheless.

Did I tell you, for example, about seeing one of those flip-down LCD screens in someone's truck playing hardfuckingcore porno? Right behind me?

Or have I made mention of any of the plethora of psychics that seem to congregate around North Austin in the 35ish area? There's one in a rather massive house with a balcony on the second floor - sometimes a woman in a red shawl stands out there; watching, waiting....it also looks kind of like a whorehouse, which makes me wonder if the whole thing is a cover. I do know I will go there and have my cards read prior to my 25th birthday. And no, that is not a euphemism.

This was slated to be my massive weekend of going-out-ing - Friday night came and went with little aplomb, as I accidentally overdrank and decided I had to flee Austinist's free local music showcase at some new incarnation of the Velvet Spade (oops, oops). Last night I saw Kings of Leon at Emo's which fucking KILLED and was certainly the best show I've seen in months. Tonight, I was going to chance traffic and check out some freebies and afterparties, but I really don't think I can hack it...since I'm working the ACL Fesitval all day tomorrow in a very 'get up early' kind of way. Yikes. At least I'm going to get to see some shows for free on the pm - yaaaaaaaaaay!

Speaking of work, I'm trying to claw my way toward a rather substantial promotion. We'll see how that goes - more word on this as/if it develops.

Also, I think I'm pretty solidly oves my romantic foray. Seems like he probably is too (fatalism?) so at least no one's getting emotionally eviscerated over this turn of events. Need to actually talk to him about it. Or avoid it and him as long as possible, which ever is the path of least resistance.

can i get a mulligan on my weekend please?

Fuck. Fuck. Let's proceed in order of immediacy.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

My beautiful eye! Fuckfuckfuck!

So, there I was. Tweezers in hand. Some mysterious fumble caused them to fly out of my hand and directly into my left eye. Cue lots of panicked running, attempts at looking in the mirror with my one good eye at what the fuck was wrong - oh wow, this is the worst thing that's ever happened, to think my new plaything was just commenting on how hot my eyes were (finally, someone notices their tragic beauty!) and now I'll have to halve my appeal with a fashion accessary that is so painfully two years ago! Referring of course to the patch - trust me, if you were in Seattle in '04 you wouldn't want one either.

It was kind of hilarious driving with one eye squeezed shut with tears randomly falling out, deciding to smoke my last cigarette...did I mentioned I semi-sucessfully quit smoking? Coup on top of coup, I tell you. Anyway, it's a miracle no one died. And actually I finally look like a normal person again, the swelling and redness have pretty much gone the way of the saber-toothed tiger (I was getting a little attached to saying 'the way of the dodo,' time to fetishize a new extinction) but I still have a slight flutter happening in my left eye and there is stll one spot that's kind of red, like maybe I busted a vessell. Ewewewew, just thinking about it fucking grosses me out. Seeing people putting in their contacts makes me want to throw up. Such is my touch-of-the-eye-aversion.

Moving backward, this happened after I pissed away my entire weekend, dousing myself with nyquil in response to some mysterious throat problem. The Friendtor recently pointed out to me that this is a horrible thing to do and I should have just taken a bunch of vitamins and chilled out and not smoked/drank. I guess I didn't feel like I could handle quitting unless I was hardcore doped up - it was certainly easier to not smoke when I was unconscious for 14-16 hours a day.

But I didn't really like the idea of me not smoking yet. So after a surprisingly manageable 48 hours (thanks, nyquil!) I smoked five or six cigs yesterday, mostly out of necessity from watching my friend Beth chimney up in front of my very eyes. Basically, it's just like my approach to homework in college - I would start working on it in advance ever so slightly, pat myself heartily on the back and then get fucked up nonstop until 48-72 hours prior to actual deadline. This deadline is my 25th birthday, so I've still got some time together with my lil addiction. Though, it's too bad I'm not more of a badass - think of all the money I could be saving in the meantime!

Wrap it up, wrap it up...oh yeah, and I missed RJD2, that which incited a minor war o'words with one Kurt Wikel (oh yeah, I first and lasted the bitch, now when you google him it will lead straight into the psychological honeycomb that is this blog). Tear in my wineglass...I figured, why stop wasting my weekend now, why not take it all the way home? I don't think I even had any cool quil dreams. Wahwahwahwahwahwahwahwahwah.

That is mofucking all.

Who needs money anyway?