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mood |
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restless, hilarious, bored |
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music |
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Mariah Carey "Honey" (screw dignity! Love me some '97!) |
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Alright, it was either the optimist or idiot in me (take your guesses, but please be nice), but I nearly had myself convinced I’d love all the freewheeling, listless Lemont time after moving back from Iowa. Louis, WHAT? Isn’t this part of the definition of insanity? Something like “expecting a new outcome after a thousand trials produce the same result”? I should be committed to a mental ward, if not only to better connect with the rest of my family. Keep on chewing the wallpaper, Gloria.
So no, though I’m delighted to be through with finals and RA rigmarole, my excitement regarding suburban slumber is basically kaput. But God love my allies: Elyse, Sarah, Lauren, Kimmie, Jeanine, and even Jessica, who forged her way back to Lemont despite the recommendations of experts and Greg Virtel’s intimidating Xbox skills. While I awkwardly wait to start my (hopefully) kickass internship with The Advocate, my crew of thugs thoroughly entertain me and drive me fun places. I’ll soon be reconnecting with Corey, Rachel (who is marooned in Grinnell, according to hip hop star Judy Fields, who I ran into last night at the LHS musical), old Chipain’s hoes, Erin, Monica, and whomever else gives piggy back rides.
But let’s be honest – my main compadre since I’ve returned home: the Comcast digital cable Gloria wrangled last week. I’m SPOILING myself on Game Show Network, you guys. I watch so many forms of Password on a regular basis that I can now tell you, officially, that Bert Convy is a dangerous, addicting vice, much like heroin, except raunchier to think about all day. But let’s not forget the blazing highs of Family Feud, Jeopardy!, Lingo, Match Game, and Who Wants to be a Millionaire?, which are only a few of GSN’s many delicious flavors of crack, mostly all co-starring Betty White. And of course I have the Bravo network too now, so Kathy Griffin and Tim Gunn feel like family members again.
Plus I have the internet in my room, except you wouldn’t guess it considering how often Comcast’s satellites fuck up. Even now, I’m typing this on a computer with an unresponsive internet. I don’t know how Comcast expects me to watch American Gladiators videos on YouTube with all of these glitches. I’m madder than Gemini losing in Assault, and more bursting with unhinged testosterone than Diamond and her Adam’s apple. Excuse me, what inhumane producer strapped that bison into a leotard? Where the fuck is PETA or Moby writing up a petition for Diamond? They better get here fucking fast, because Charlton Heston is about to harpoon that shit. Ah, and that’s another thing: ESPN Classic plays Gladiators reruns every night. This is somewhat ironic, since SPIKE TV played American Gladiators during the summer after my junior year of high school. Now after my junior year of college, it’s back on. Life, once again, is for living.
As I mentioned earlier, Jessica cruised into town for a few nights last week. She, Lauren, Gloria, and I began our quest to personally evaluate the gluttonous consumerism of the Western world with a scientific visit to Woodfield Mall. Reviewing my notes, it appears that Urban Outfitters supplies kickass shorts for any summer occasion. Gloria and Jessica interviewed esteemed physicists Ann Taylor and Charlotte Russe, who have conclusively proved the validity of the sleek silhouette-cheap price continuum. "Astounding!" we declared. Of course H&M had patented the theorem years ago, once again beating the dumbfucks at Argonne. Breathtaking work all around, team. See you at Orland Square lab headquarters.
Jess also bought five Wendy’s frostees within the three days she stayed in Lemont. At least she owns the addiction. We had a blast (between bouts of crazy) as we circled the same Lemontian streets again and again. She just landed a job in Indiana near where her aunt lives. Okay, despite the work’s apparent “bank” setting, I warned Jessica to remember she’s dealing with Indianans. Therefore, the job likely has more to do with the sale of fireworks than her boss is letting on. All I can say, Jess, is that I told you so – I wish you many successful bottle-rocket exhibitions and I hope your life at the Speedway is a clean one. Don’t come crying when some bearded man in a commemorative Dale Earnhardt trucker hat propositions you under a water slide at Indiana Beach – proving once again there is more than corn in Indiana, even if it’s mostly sex offenders.
Sigh. Enough with the wisecracks. I still have to purchase my plane ticket to California, write my thank-you letter for the fucking journalism scholarship I received a month ago, and re-contact Michelle from The Advocate about goings-on in the office and the pitch I e-mailed in. I sent in a story idea about Sinead O’Connor, who’s coming out with an album soon. Sinead’s a tough subject to write conclusively about, especially for The Advocate’s readership – after all, she was once a lesbian, and then she declared herself “25% gay.” Can I just say I love the bullshit of categorizing sexuality into percentages? “Well, you see, I’m 46% heterosexual, 38% gay, 10% transgender, 4% water, and 2% Lebanese.” I don’t doubt that a person can be attracted to both genders, but saying that you’re “75% straight” implies you’re 75% interested in members of the opposite sex. Must be a shame to those people, since they’ll never have the vagina/penis to satisfy the 25% of you that desperately wants to go to Studio. Anyway, no offense to Sinead, I’ll gladly take the chance to interview her if I can. I certainly own (and love) enough of her material that I feel like I understand her trauma, I mean, artistic point of view.
But that’s that. I’m off to click on Internet Explorer for the next six hours like it’ll just pop back up if I prod it enough. Why can’t all technology be as fixable as an NES game? I’ll flip this computer tower over and blow into its ass if I have to. And it better play Double Dragon beautifully after I spank it a couple times.
Love y’allz, thanks for reading, getting it, playing with yourself when you think of me, etc.
Xoxo,
Louis
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