Saturday, May 21, 2005

 
Well, the Nark played our fourth show of '05 last Thursday at the newly opened cake shop in the fab LES. Why just "Nark," you ask? Because we were missing a 'mo, that 'mo of course being Brian Griffin, off on his posh Australian vacation. So it was the mellow Monark jam instead of our usual formula of "weed, feedback & earplugs" (except we don't really smoke much weed, unfortunately). Our hosts (we were "special guests," isn't that sweet?) Nightwatch brought the cinematic loop noise and the dope merch, and a good time (and free beer) was had by all. Actually, probably only the bands got the free beer, but cake shop is a nice place.

This review of Jonathan Safron Foer's new book makes me very happy. It lays out, in a far more scholarly and eloquent manner than I could muster, just exactly why JSF sucks the midget's nutsack. It can't quite explain why everyone shat they draws over Everything Is Illuminated when it was so obviously terrible, but there are some theories presented. If you liked Illuminated, you are gay. And not in the good way.

I've been neglecting the internet lately, not because I don't care about you, my loyal fans, but because, again, I've been hella busy. A couple 70+ hour weeks in a row can really drain one's interest in things like reading Gawker and writing about how you snarfed in the elevator at work or whatever. I've found that drinking has had to stand in for spare time as a means of unwinding. Speaking of drinking and stupid work stories, here's one.

The 50s-ish CFO of the company I sometimes work for took a few of the younger staff out for margaritas after work yesterday, to a bar where the bathrooms are labeled for gender with stylized line drawings - a figure with boobs for the ladies' room, and a figure with cock and balls for the guys. About 4 margaritas in, I tried to explain why I believe that the balls are the closest thing men have to breasts. A girl can flash her boobs in public, and it's not really a big deal (so long as there's no camera crew present), but it's unlikely that she's going to unveil the downstairs goodies just for a laugh. Similarly, I can rest my sack on a guy's forehead at a party for a photo op, no big deal, but if I stick my dick in his mouth, it's a whole different story. I finished that little oration and immediately began cackling uncontrollably as my coworkers looked on in what I can only hope was exaggerated shock and horror. Ah, tequila.

Also, I shook hands with the president of Atlantic records yesterday.
bq 12:52 PM

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