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Archive for June, 2009

the best club in town.

Che Guffaws

there is more here. thanks, vinh.
-MBD

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before mail…

the good-ish life.

the good-ish life.

after mail…

what

what

have

have i

done to

done to

deserve this?

deserve this?

even though i don’t really know who you are, and i can’t figure out how to recreate the cute macron in your surname, please do me this solid:

for the love of GOD stop sending me this magazine. k, thx. -MBD

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further reflection.

ramblin'

ramblin'

at 21 i was given my first breathalizer. i passed. shortly thereafter, my first drunk test. i passed. albeit barely. the first incident was ridiculous. a completely unnecessary situation that erupted out of unfortunate machismo (not guilty) and an inability to walk the other way (… ahem). in any case, it was silly. especially in hindsight.
the latter situation was far more dicey. combine two work shifts, a rock show, snowy roads, 4 am… and, yeah, drink. as something of a prank, BG insisted pretty adamantly that i transport GG from show to home. GG was a famous drunk, known most commonly for soiling his pants on two occasions. with nos. 1 AND 2. and, naturally, at 3:15, he was pretty famously not sober. he lived “on my way home” in one of those ways that folks in small towns can only understand. the word nuisance has an entirely different meaning there. in truth, it was bullshit. he wasn’t even much of a friend. and BG lived three blocks from me. but i’m a mensch, see? and we’re all neighbors.

we discussed the talking heads in the car. i think i was listening somewhat regularly to a david byrne record at the time. it was our only common ground. but at that hour, it’s enough to keep you going. at one point we neared a traffic stop (again, small towns…) and wiser minds (mine) told me to steer clear. which i did, deftly. twenty minutes added to my journey, i left GG in his driveway, probably peeing in the yard or some shit (to be fair, i took some poetic license with this… he probably went inside, sans incident; i heard years later that he drove a car through the side of the house not too long after that, in an ill-advised stab at parking), and redirected my course toward home.

exhausted and no longer leaning on the crutch of a boozy lunatic to keep me awake, it wasn’t a great drive. nor was it long. but so be it… my lack of dramatic flair prevents me from lazily recounting the cliched tale of slippery roads, and an even slippier sense of whether i should stay awake or sleep, but, alas, at shortly after 4 am, i had demolished the neighbors’ mailbox. all of 2.5 minutes from home. and gotten the car stuck in a bank.

i woke the neighbors myself.
i called the police myself.
later, i paid for the mailbox, which is not nearly as cheap as it should be. it was hideous, to boot.

in truth, i would have run, but the car was quite stuck. and i went to high school with their kid. we weren’t friends. i remember trying to explain to the police when they arrived that the roads were slippery, and i just lost control of the car on a turn. while all along they were looking over my shoulders at tire tracks in the snow (damned snow!) that told an entirely different story. tire tracks that didn’t veer even remotely from a direct path straight through a certain mailbox.

“it looks more like you might have drifted off at the wheel, no?”
queue drunk test. queue lectures. again, i passed. i suppose it’s not really the point. i was 21. i was following a pen with my eyes. i was walking on an imaginary tightrope that had been drawn in the snow by a police officer’s foot. i was 21. welcome home, kid.

nine years later…
i made my first dinner reservation. and shortly thereafter my first cancellation. at 30. i’m not sure how much growth has been involved. and, yeah, this is a super loose thread to be pulling between a driving incident and an unfulfilled promise of dinner, but that’s life, kid. they seem connected… or at least i think there’s a case to be made.
and, no, i haven’t been able to claim any mailboxes since. my slate is mostly clean.

but there are memories, and then there are memories, and while it seems reasonable for me to recollect upon the crashes, and the consequences, that have come before….
it’s quite a different battle to explain how i have not many fonder memories than spending an entire afternoon getting blissfully drunk and epically scrubbing down every inch of a house that wasn’t even mine, just so that we could comfortably spend six hours in a dank and soundproof room in the basement (an entirely other room) with a drum machine, a half-case of miller high life, and a few guitars, without having to dread the rotting filth that awaited us upstairs.
i know that makes little sense. but that’s kind of my point.
or, how, in the very same house, you once split my chin open with your forehead for no good reason. i awoke the next morning bandaged and clean.
these passings don’t make for very fine anecdotes, but they live vividly in my head. as evidence of a decade past.

and, yeah, in between there were graduate degrees, girlfriends, partners, ex-girlfriends, one fistfight (in which i threw NOT a fist), debts, etc.
but that’s not what sticks. not at all. i forget daily that i ever went to graduate school. i do remember frequently that we had the best flat parties at UCL (as far as i could tell), and that one time an aged scottish man wore a kilt with nothing underneath and tricked you into thinking that he was dying. and that our greasy greek landlord lied about literally anything, and that we could fit five people into the ridiculous sauna in your bedroom. yeah, there was a sauna.

i suppose looking back, i’m not sure what to keep. it’s not that i hit the mailbox, or that i did or didn’t pass the seriously arbitrary drunk test… but rather that the woman from across the street was the first to find me, and the first, no joke, words out of her mouth were, “are you fucking wasted?” and that the guy delivering the local daily ended up pulling my car off the bank with a rope tow before the police even arrived. i’m keeping that.

i’m not keeping london. or the goose and granite.
i’m not keeping rejection. or success.

instead i’ve got your toothbrush, and when you brought up seth cohen the first time we kissed. i’ve got the way-too-many-times you’ve mistaken the salt for sugar and yet still haven’t managed to fix the labels. i’ve got your poor poor english, and your endlessly fascinating love of dick jokes. there’s your loop pedal, and your crazy insecurities. there’s you at the cinema, the family stone perhaps. there’s the mummy marathon. there’s peggy wang. there’s ping pong, and euchre. banjos, and ukes.

i’ve got your beautiful potential, and my total lack of ambition.
it’s all flapping. and all not flapping.
-MBD

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last of the gang.

last of the gang.

hey, do you know that smiths’ song “there is a light and it never goes out”? yeah?
well, i think morrissey wrote that song about my basement! i mean, seriously, people…. can we go ONE night without leaving that shit on?

and… that’s the joke. -MBD

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art

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Hello! I play catch with  New York Yankees. I will tell joke to you. Here is joke.

What do you call a baseball team from Boston?

Answer: Red Sox baseball team.

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