The move is done. Done-ish. Like 89%. The remaining 11% is salad dressing left in the fridge and comics piled on the back of the toilet. Unpacked two boxes of dishes at the new place and spent the rest of the time writing and rewriting and letting adjectives run through my mind like a hamster in a greazed up Hamtrackô and pleading with god to help me find another word for "pummel". I will have links to show you soon, to prove that my mind is alive, though my wit is not so rapacious. Too busy. All I got for you is blank stares, but I can make a cup of tea and change the sheets still. Forgot to celebrate the anniversarial deaths of Lennon and Darby Crash (How does one celebrate ol' dead Darby? Draw on a Germs-Burn with eyeliner for a day?). Still no internet and thusly, it's only pilgrim-era fun time games like "give the cat an olive to play with" and "stare out the window" and "do dishes and listen to MCLyte". It has snowed 5 inches (see photo above) and Matt saw our neighboor, a lady, aged 70 or so, step out her front door to get the paper in the nude, in the snow this morning to fetch the Sun Times. That is a dedication I cannot fathom, not for any publication.
Julianne has been in France for 10 days, and I feel like half a person if I do not spend at least 37 minutes a day on the phone with "Pretty Voice".
Norah, who is wearing my old winter hat, is working the counter behind me her at Atomix punx n' coffee n' internet empori-orium. She has just put on Nirvana Nevermind. The week this album came out, I wrote to the Nirvana fanclub, run by Nils Bernstien back in his Sub Pop days, and told them I though it was terrible. I was 16 yrs old by a week and despite only having had worked at the record store for a month at that point, was a TOTAL SNOB, not even on some "sell out" shit. The one and only Nirvana fan club newsletter that came out, the opening line is something like "Thanks to everyone for the nice letters, except for Jessica Hopper in Minnesota who writes" and then excerpts some really "YOUR ALBUM IS TERRIBLE. BLEACH WAS WAY BETTER. BUTCH VIG IS AN ASSHAT. WHERE ARE THE HOOKS?" sentiments from the letter. I do not entirely stand by those statements, but In Utero is a way better album.
Back into the snow. Just wanted to let you know I was still alive and not stuck upside down in a snowdrift, my legs sticking out the top like a twin-pop.Posted by Jessica at December 9, 2005 07:00 PM | TrackBack