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and here's something
weird: my place
in Humor 3-space

Tuesday, August 05, 2003
 
Tonight I tread a dangerous road. I am performing my own music in front of a crowd of people who are coming to see a play. They won't be prepared for what they will hear, but that's ok -- we aren't really prepared either. I am jittery as a nervous dog in the purse of an Upper East Side socialite as she tries to walk through the middle of a biker gang brawl. But not for the reasons you'd expect.
     It's not performing per se that has wound my spring; most of my friends would confirm the notion that my entire life is one continuous, neverending, extremely garrulous and irritating high-energy performance. And it's not really the lack of practice, because I've never been prepared for anything, ever. I'm a fly-by-the-smell-of-my-poo guy, a night-before-it's-due guy, a yabba-doo guy -- a fucking lazy fuck. If it weren't for half-assed, I wouldn't have no ass at all. Right, so not that. I am a little worried about sudden, violent dehydration, because I sweat when I sing and I sweat on a stage and I sweat when it's a billion fucking degrees outside, which it is. But I've got some "Fierce" Grape Gatorade hooked up to an IV-drip bag and a catheter to catch any nervous urine and route it into the Gatorade bag.
     I'm nervous because of what it means to have a band. Once you have put together a group of musicians and practiced a bunch of stuff, it becomes harder and harder to claim that you don't want to get famous. Because that's, like, the whole point, innit? The early goal might be "to let the people hear the music, dude," but at the end of that path is the chance "to let the people buy the music, dude." Bands go on tour. Bands carry a lot of stuff and sleep in uncomfortable place. Bands get their sleep schedules all kinds of fucked up, and even some really famous bands are broke-ass po.
     J.Ro is fond of saying that I "owe it to the world" to play my music in public. But does the public deserve to hear it? I already suffer for my art. You want me to suffer more? MORE? Do you want my blood, J.Ro? COME AND GET IT.
     Oh, and wish me luck.

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MY IMAGINARY GIRLFRIENDS

Chan Marshall
Rotem of the IDF
Eleanor Friedberger
Amy Goodman
Bernardine Dohrn ('69)
Maya Rudolph
Joanna Newsom
Imogen Heap
Caroline Dhavernas

Shana Rae Ray

DISALLOWED FOREVER

"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you!"
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"from whence"
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"...the exception that proves the rule"
-
any use of the question "spit or swallow?"
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the phrase "drop trou"
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fake-o reviewer verbs:
"penned" for wrote
"helmed" for directed
"lensed" for whatever
-
"expat"
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the euphemism
"passed away"
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pronouncing merci beaucoup as "mercy buckets!"
(see also: "grassy-ass!")



PET PEEVES

"confinscated"
-
trying children "as adults"
-
"drownded"
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misuse of reflexive pronouns, as when someone says "Please talk to Bob or myself." Come on people now. "Myself" is not just a fancy version of "me"! LEARN IT.
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tattoos in the Courier font
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any use of Comic Sans