April 10, 2004

Exercises for Futility

I am starting to really feel like someone in a band. After being a publicist for eleven years, it's kind of a rude awakening. I am not sure if it feels weird being in a band that I do press for, or if it's just being in a band is a bizarre undertaking entirely. It's sort of like... after years of working in a kitchen at a dive resturant, you really do not want to eat there. Today, I stood in the bushes of my own yard with the rest of Challenger, posing for pictures for a magazine, wondering if I should smile or not. Wondering if smiling is befitting of our aesthetic.

After an unplugged practice at Al and Dave's, discussed with Nora our shared love of Good Friday, she tried to entice me into hitting Latin Mass with her while I painted her nails and smoked, which made me feel really trashy. We then retired to the living room, and engaged in our favorite band-house past-time, sticking our head out the window and listening to the Eminem who lives next door, (on house arrest for stealing the downstairs neighboors car), fight with his mother, who is rageful and very possibly drunk. Dave said the day that the Eminem got out of jail his mother yelled at him from 7 pm until Dave went to sleep around midnight, and that when he woke up for a minute at 4am, she was still going. The son and his friends distribute the handi-crafts of young labourers at cut rate prices, professional, despite the son having on an electronic tether that keeps him perched on the porch. Apparently, this dude, according to Al, thinks I am hot, and suggests with some frequency that "if you ain't hittin' that shit you should be."

Nora and I stood on the couch and hung out the window, listening to the mom scream a string of obscenities which sounded like an Ice Cube song with all the non-cuss words missing, and ended with the following sentence, after what sounded like a lamp or window breaking "I ain't a n_____, I ain't no gay man -- I deserve respect!" in a wretched voice reminscent of Edith Massey. I'd be slingin yay and throwing lamps if that was my mom, too.

Then, instead of going to a party , we all did yoga for a half hour.

Posted by Jessica at April 10, 2004 02:18 AM | TrackBack
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