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| Friday, August 5th, 2005 | | 9:18 am |
Too Lazy For E-bay
Anybody want to buy a vintage Wendy's table? (The kind with the old newspaper ads?) | | Wednesday, April 27th, 2005 | | 8:12 am |
party
I swore off LJ forever quite a while back but, nevertheless, since it is 8 in the goddamned morning and I still can't get to sleep thanks to the acid lauren convinced me to take last night, I would like to take this opportunity to announce a cinco de mayo party on that very date at my digs on the fifth floor of the ramada. (We're very much into the number five there.) I would also like to say that LJ is very trite and boring and that I am ready for colors to go back to being dull again. Oh, sweet sleep, it is beyond my grasp... | | Tuesday, December 21st, 2004 | | 8:51 pm |
Juggalo Season
The last time a herd of boneheaded Juggalos assembled at the hotel they stole a blue dummy and a wheelchair from the hallway outside my crib. I looked all over the damn building but only recovered the wheelchair. This past weekend the building was infected with Juggalos again. At about 5 in the morning I was standing atop a red stool just inside my front door, listening to Adult., working on my broken glass mosaic, a project Ralph Nader would no doubt dub unsafe in any place. (I already tripped and stumbled forward into the wall, cutting the living fuck out of my left index finger.) I heard people in the hallway. Then their voices started receding again, with no knock on any door or any door opening or closing. I thought I better spring into Neighborhood Watch mode, so I walked out into the hallway. I saw the doll with "Weirdo" written on it was missing from the "R.I.P. O.D.B." pumpkin. I started walking down the long hall at a quick pace. I could hear the Juggalos by the elevator, so I called out "Y'all take something?" in the best deranged backwoods redneck voice I could muster. "Please,tell me you did," was the subtext of the question. I rounded the corner to find the doll dropped on the floor, and the fleeing Juggalos safely boarded on the elevator. I called "Bitches!" through the closed elevator door, but I don't know if they heard me. In closing, I hate peabrained rappers ICP and the subhuman scum who venerate them. I think I might even be glad their shitty manufacturing jobs are being taken by more qualified people overseas. And don't even get me started on how they don't tip in the Diner. | | Monday, November 22nd, 2004 | | 1:56 am |
basket brawl
Regarding that ugly melee between members of the Indiana Pacers and fans at Friday night's Pistons game: I've never seen fans behave in such a way at any sporting event here in Detroit. Those folks out in Auburn Hills just don't know how to act! That's just one of the reasons I prefer to stay on this side of 8 Mile. | | Friday, November 19th, 2004 | | 12:01 am |
The legendary Nathaniel Mayer and the Fabulous Shanks are playing at the Belmont on Friday November 19th! If you're always saying you're going to gee see Nate and never do, or if you're a chick named Lexy whom Nay Dog always requests to see, go check that shit out! | | Tuesday, November 16th, 2004 | | 8:24 pm |
If a tree falls in Live Journal and nobody posts a comment does it really happen? | | Saturday, September 18th, 2004 | | 5:26 pm |
a fellow junker
I saw Larry, the dreadlocked, funky-dressing, bucket-playing junk seller, most often seen at Willis & Cass or in front of the Majestic Complex, at the Taco Bell inside the Wayne Mistake Stupid Center yesterday. He strode up, wearing a straw Coolie Man hat, and gave me a big hug. He was loud and acting erratically, like he was cracked-out. Looking up at the Taco Bell menu, he said, "Alright, look, you got the nucle-eye, the molecl-eye, the bull's eye and the red-eye". He waved his arms around wildly as he said this. "What about the Popeye, Larry?" I asked. "Oh, yeah, you got the Popeye, too! He fits right in there!" (I knew it had to be FIVE eyes, and not just four.) I looked around and saw people giving Larry dirty looks, and giving me dirty looks, probably just because I obviously had a repertoire with him. I asked if he was taking care of his daughter and he said, "Oh, yeah, you got to". I gave him a taco. I hope he's more stable the next time I see him. Current Mood:  discontent | | Tuesday, July 13th, 2004 | | 2:35 pm |
| | Sunday, July 11th, 2004 | | 1:52 pm |
rickshaw
Captain Sketchy got a rickshaw for Five from the Armada junk fair! Unfortunately, there's no Asian to pull it included; it's the kind you have to pedal yourself. In other junk news, I now have 8 bowling pins, meaning I need only two more to have regulation bowling in the hallway. So look out for bowling pins, everybody out there in LJ land. I'll even pay. Interesting trades considered. | | Saturday, July 10th, 2004 | | 4:48 pm |
I'm totally dying of Cancer!
There's this mole I have on my belly. I've had it my whole life, but just recently I noticed it has gro-o-ooown. My stomch used to be totally flat, but now when I run my hand across it, I read this big black button like an exclamation point in braille. I remember my grandpa and uncles on my mom's side having big, gross, hairy moles, but how did this happen to me all of a sudden? Must be all those abandoned building pollutants. I'm soooo dying of cancer. Feel bad for me and send me lots of free shit because I'm sure to be dead as a doornail soon! | | Friday, July 9th, 2004 | | 2:50 pm |
broken glass
Here's to leaving your vehicle unlocked. Last night, both the vehicle parked in front of me and in back of me had windows smashed out. As for me, I had a pair of lock cutters and a pair of DVD's that were behind my seat stolen, but my windows were mercifully left intact. The thief was also discrimating enough to leave behind a VHS tape of The Wedding Singer behind. (What a waste of two hours that was!) In other broken glass news, once again I have broken the glass of my framed photo of my dead friend Tristan. I'm starting to think his ghost WANTS the glass broken. Also, if breaking a mirror is really seven years of bad luck then I have a few lifetimes of bad luck racked up. | | Monday, June 14th, 2004 | | 1:41 pm |
a weirdo
Today I took the Junkmobile into Campus Auto Repair on E. Grand Blvd. to get the brakes fixed. I threw Captain Sketchy's Corridor Cruiser in the bike so as to have some form of conveyance while the ol' teal bucket of bolts was under repair. (My own bike is presently unpedalable, the front wheel mangled from some jackass plowing into it with their vehicle.) I rode away from the repair shop on the flat black Corridor Cruiser in search of food. My tapeworm, which I have cleverly named "Tapey" was growling with hunger. I decided to check out the little diner at John R. in Piquette. I've driven by it many times, but have never been inside on account of it only being open for breakfast and lunch. I never seem to go by and be hungry during those hours. The diner is completely anonymous. There are no signs of a name on the outside or even inside on the menu. There is a framed photo on the wall of the diner with a "Dave's Drive-In" sign Photoshoped on the front of the building, but I could only take that as a gag. Even the sign at the corner that rises above the diner itself is blank, covered with bore-me beige paint and a small clock stopped dead in its tracks. Appropriate, since a trip inside the diner showed it was like a place time forgot. The horseshoe shaped counter seats more than the booths around it.The walls are adorned with bad paintings of the abandoned A&P warehouse down the block. Old, black ladies dressed in white work the floor.On the radio I hear the shrill voice of a god-fearing woman browbeating listeners with the word of the Lord. My waitress calls me "sweetie". When I ask for an ice water with my coffee she assures me, with a touch of my arm, that she brings EVERYBODY coffee - AND greets them with a smile. She's wearing gold rings and necklaces. One has an Egyptian pendant dangling from it. Most of her mustache is gone, but two small Fu-Manchu remnants linger on each side of her lips. Eeeew. My coffee is served on a saucer. Seems pretty high class, until I discover my java tastes old and nasty. I slurp it down anyway. I pick up a Free Press from off of the counter and revel in the reports of the Pistons defeated the much despised Lakers. An old black guy walks in from off the street. He's wearing one of those Muslim caps - I'm ignorant as to what they're called - which isn't really odd and a fur coat, which is very odd considering it's a sweltering June day. He can't wait patiently for service. He starts fussing right away, so one of the waitresses takes his order for toast and grits to go. The fur coat wearing Muslim retreats to a booth, but can only sit there for a minute. He relocates to the counter, telling the waitress his order better be "proper". "I don't want it if it ain't proper," he warns. "What a fuckwad," I think. I wonder what the Koran says about the wearing of fur. It looks fake anyway, but wearing a fur on a day like today seems like a sin to yourself, no matter what your religion. Barely another minute goes by. Mr. Twitchy stands up and announces that he has to leave. His order is taking too long and he doesn't have all day. I would beg to differ, since I can't imagine what he would possibly have to do, but I keep my mouth shut, maintaining my role of passive observer. "Sorry to inconvenience you. God bless you...and God bless me," he proclaims as he leaves. He was smart to call upon God to bless him, since he needed a blessing - or just a good slap upside the head - more than anybody there. The waitresses debate whether he really wanted anything after he leaves. The other customers are oblivious, impassively sitting eating their food and reading their newspapers. A lady with a neck brace slowly limps behind me. My waitress gives me the check. She then has the nerve to tell another waitress, who has just popped a squat at the counter, that she's beginning to grow a BEARD. The other waitress is mortified, covering her face with her hand in shame. Funny, I didn't notice any facial hair on her, while my waitress's mustache tips fairly screamed at me that she had just let herself go. What a strange place; it was almost Telwayesque in its oddity. | | Thursday, June 10th, 2004 | | 7:28 pm |
Moving
My God, moving is such a collosal pain in the ass. I've been moving my stuff, on and off, for the past two weeks, from 4th St. back to my old crib downtown, and it's exhausting just contemplating all the work I've done. And now I have to set everything back up, organize and clean. Not to mention I've embarked on the new project of writing the Egyptian Book of the Dead on the flat black walls of my new bedroom in silver paint marker. I'm doing this and I haven't even reassembled my futon from hell yet. But it feels good to be back on Five, the first place that ever felt like a real home to me, even if I already yelled at Captain Sketchy to fuck off because he was giving me a hard time about having a coffee pot, of all things. I even have a new "5" tattoo on my chest, right over where my left lung, blackened by my excursions to collect fantastic new junk for 5, is. I almost lost my big circle mirror, bought from Larry in front of the Majestic years ago. It fell out of my truck in the middle of Warren. I could tell by the tire treads over it that somebody had run over it in the short time it laid there, and yet I found it still in one piece. Now that's a tough-ass mirror! | | Friday, May 21st, 2004 | | 12:22 pm |
Firewood
I noticed a pile of tree parts on the sidewalk on a street by Wayne State. I pulled the Junkmobile over to load it up to use as firewood for the infamous 4th St. bonfires. I'm carrying two big pieces to my truck when I see two black guys walk up carrying more. They had to cut down a tree next to a building and now they had to carry all the wood out to the curb to be picked up. I tell them I can use the wood for firewood, and they tell me to pull up closer and I can haul away as much of their stockpile as I can. I pull up and begin to do this. Everything is working out - they're helping me and I'm helping them. So I tell them a bit about the bonfires on 4th St. "You should come by," I say. "We just sit around, drink beer, smoke weed..." "Yeah, we'll come by," one of the guys responds. "We smoke WHATEVER." Okay. Thanks for sharing, fellas. I'll have to remember not to give you any change if I ever see you asking for it. | | Tuesday, May 18th, 2004 | | 4:21 pm |
5 Things I Learned This Week
1. Chuck can scale a barbed wire fence like it ain't no thing. ("It's JUST barbed wire.") 2. When Ziam discovered that Gwen and myself were brother and sister it blew his mind. ("I started wearing my afros bigger," he said.) 3. You can make the most perfectly hideous milkcrate canopy bed for somebody as a practical joke and they will still love it. 4. If you have five things displayed at an art show the one that's absolutely not for sale will be the only one anybody will want to buy. 5. Perogie the cat should have been named Houdini. You can put him in a coffin with chains wrapped around it and put that in a tank of piranha infested water and then walk outside to find the little varmint has escaped from the house yet again. | | Monday, May 10th, 2004 | | 4:01 pm |
feather bowling
Last night I went to the Cadieux Cafe with L-Boogie to spend some quality time with the folks for Mom's Day. My sister Gwen and her hubbie Jeff were there, too. After dinner we indulged in an old timey Belgian sport known as feather bowling. Cadieux Cafe bills themselves as having North America's ONLY feather bowling despite the fact that there's now one other place in the area with feather bowling lanes. At any rate, it was surprisingly fun. We layed girls against guys and split our games one apiece. Feather bowling is played in concave dirt lanes. The object is to roll wood disks down the lanes and land as close as you can to a feather at the other end without rolling into the gutter at the lane's end. However many disks one team has closer to the feather than the other team is how many points that team recieves for that round. The first team to get ten points wins. I had such a good time I'd like to organize a field trip with some fun lovin' fools to go play feather bowling. I also want to organize an urban camping trip on the roof of an abandoned building. It could be the "Moonlight Beach Party" that Captain Sketchy and myself talked about having on one of the many roofs of the sprawling Packard Plant. Anybody out there in LJ land down for either of these activities? | | Tuesday, May 4th, 2004 | | 4:04 pm |
Detroit Road Warrior
So last night I'm chilling at L-Boogie's, where L-Boogie and Rachel are high on drugs yet again. Me, I know how to use drugs, and know they work best when you mix in periods of sobriety, so all I'm doing is smoking a little reefer. Jason E calls, and we plan to go walk to meet up with him so we can come back to 4th St. for another of those already infamous bonfires. Only Rachel is a lazy, drugged up hippie and says she can't move because she's "glued to the floor". I'm hungry anyway, so I offer to swing by and pick Jason up with the Junkmobile, thinking I'll grab myself some grub as well. I was going to hit up the White Castle, but then I remembered last time it gave me a sore belly, and I didn't even finish what I ordered, so on second thought I bust a right on Cass, planning to head down to the Classic Coney on Grand River and Trumbull. I'm driving through the intersection of Warren and Cass when some motherfucker in a white Mercedes blows a red light and plows into the side of my truck. "Oooh, fuuuck," I think and pull over for the ordeal of exchanging information. Inside my head is a thunderstorm of the cuss words I want to rain down on this fuck. But Mr. White Mercedes doesn't pull over. Oh, no. He takes off going west on Warren. "Oh, hell, no!" I think. Fortunately, I find my truck able to drive after him in pursuit. I can't get my drivers side door shut, though. I opened it when I pulled over, and because of the impact can't get it to shut properly. So I hold it shut with my hand, by the window, and begin my chase. White Mercedes blows the red at Warren and Second. He blows the red at Warren and Anthony Wayne. I do a sort of rolling yield at both lights. He's starting to pull away, which sucks because I need to read the fucker's plate. He crosses over the Lodge, then I see blue and red police lights turn on behind him. Sweet. Now the po-po's are on his ass. I chase him past Trumbull, and see that a second cop car is now chasing him. White Mercedes must have been into some serious shit, because now he's fleeing the cops. I continue my chase, holding my door shut, feeling like the paper boy from Better Off Dead who just wants his two dollars. Twice, I have to pull over because a cop comes from behind me, to join in the pursuit of the white Beamer. By the second time, my anger at the hit and run is even overshadowed by the excitement ensuing. "This is a pretty sweet adventure," I think to myself. I pass Grand River, I pass Lawton where I just was earlier in the evening scoring a massive haul of firewood. Finally, miles from where he plowed into me, I see the white Mercedes, stationary, surrounded by four cop cars. I pull up, to be greeted by a Wayne St. cop to announcing into his walkie talkie that they've found the other half of the accident. They have the driver of the Beamer in the back of a cop car. He's all dressed in white. I'm tempted to ask the officer for permission to speak with him, so I can cuss him out, but think the better of it. I hope he has insurance. Mine is actually still active, and I plan on filing a claim and getting mine. That fucker did almost $400 of damage to my truck, and even though Detroit's all about nobody seeing anything and "Don't Ask, Don't Tell, Don't Get Shot", I'm going to seek the recompense I'm owed. I managed to get my door shut, picked up Jason, and even though my front driver's side wheel was sitting funny, and of questionable safety, I stubbornly made my way to the Coney so I could get some food. That's the Taurus in me. The morale of the story: don't fuck with me or mine because I'll chase you down to get what's mine. Ex-girlfriends who owe me money for parking tickets would do well to abide by this. | | Friday, April 30th, 2004 | | 11:00 am |
School's Out for Summer!
I just took my one and only final. I don't think I did all that well. I did manage to get a 580 out of 600 on my last paper, though. So now I have time to tend to all the shit I've been putting on the back burner...like showering, doing laundry, cleaning my room, writing in my computer journal at home (you didn't think I was going to give the LJ crew all the REALLY good shit, did you?), paying bills and even a couple of parking tickets so the Junkmobile doesn't get booted. The latest update on the Junkmobile is somebody stole an Optimus Prime Transformer out of the back. I really need to be less lackadaisical about putting the stuff I junk away. Speaking of junking, it's also time to kick that into high gear. As for right now, it's raining, and I don't feel like riding my bike home in the rain. So I'm going to take myself a nice nap. All that other shit can wait. Now is the time for sleep. | | Thursday, April 29th, 2004 | | 1:49 pm |
4th Street
5 Animals I would like to see added to the 4th Street managerie: 1. Porcupines 2. Walruses 3. Duck-billed platypuses 4. Fireflies 5. Guys who hang out all day wearing penguin costumes, pretending to be penguins (hey- maybe that could be Damon's new job) | | Wednesday, April 28th, 2004 | | 3:10 pm |
I'm old now
I'm now thirty years old, or two hundred and ten in dog years. That's pretty fucking old. Not only that, but L-Boogie found my first gray hair nestled behind my ear last night. I was actually excited about it. Thanks to everybody who wished me a happy birthday, and an extra special thanks to everybody who gave me DRUGS for my birthday. MMMMM...Drugs. (Imagine Homer Simpson's eyes rolling back in his head and his tongue hanging out with a big ol' loogie hanging from it here.) I slept until two thirty today because I'm the laziest motherfucker ever. I should've just slept through my birthday altogether. That would've been quite the feat. I saw xian just now in the library, but he was reading a book and didn't see me, so I dodged him. Does that make me a bad person? I hadn't had my coffee yet, and xian's a bit much to take without my java junk fix, even when it's three in the goddamned afternoon. |
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