. . . but jesus wept
Music: Fischerspooner: Odyssey Last night was a late one, which is unusual for me: headphones on and bourbon in hand, I played DJ like there were many tomorrows (for dancing). Lamentably, electroclash is officially dead (signaled by the removal of the genre label from Juno records "new releases" categories), but it has morphed into this thing called "electro house," which is just fine. I mixed electro house last night. My new favorite find: Kissy Sell Out. That shit is hot. And I knew very well what I was doing: holding desperately onto my twenties.
I awoke this morning slightly hung-over to a telephone ring (I have this thing for antique telephones, and they litter the house, and ring very, very loudly): my sweetheart left a message and wished me a happy birthday and mused that Christ died when he was 33. I was thinking that if our personal savior would have just waited four months it'd be a record. Har har.
So what did birthday boy do today? I slept in. Then I re-read Joan Copjec's fantastic chapter in Read My Desire on the "Tephlon President." If any of y'all are scratching your head about GWB's presidency, go back and read Copjec's stuff: I mean, wow, she's so on the right(eous) tip! Then I deposited birthday money in the bank. Then I went to Dan's Burgers and read Chuck Morris' awesome article on silence and passing in The Quarterly Journal of Speech (seriously, it's a nice, beautifully written, new take on "the rhetoric of silence" and its relation of to secrecy, something I've been obsessed with for years). Then I went to the Natural Gardener, a very cool nursery with lots of groovy--but ridiculously overpriced--stuff. I wanted to buy a garden gnome and a rose bush. But I thought they wanted too much money for that stuff --$57 bucks for an unpainted gnome!--so I settled on some pruning shears.
Then I made my way to the bookstore, and picked up a copy of Neil Sperry's Complete Guide to Texas Gardening, since all bets are off on semi-desert-style gardening. I mean, I have no clue what to do in an environment in which nothing ever dies (except my inner-20-year old). This book should help me figure out what replace the previous owners ugly, old lady plants with. Then I went across the street to Waterloo Records, picked out the new Arab Strap, Mogwai, Esther Drang, and Revolting Cocks to buy. I waited in line for what seemed forever. Finally a cashier motioned to me to come hither. He de-magged my CDs, but then decided he needed to change-out the register drawer . . . so I waited, as customer after customer went to other open registers. . but my bladder could not wait, so I had to leave behind my purchase and amble quickly next door to pee.
Bored yet? Heh. It's my birthday so I'm going to write about my navel.
Anyhoo, I came home and then cleaned up the patio, pruned the rose bushes, and had a beer. I'm now drinking a Bombay Sapphire martini. I ordered a pizza. Tonight I have a date with the Ghouls n' Ghosts video game (re-released by Capcom for Xbox!), after Wife Swap, of course. Usually I'd be out to dinner with friends or something, but it's spring break here and it's like a ghost town (few have stayed in town, as we're overrun by the SXSW crowds; the traffic is horrid already!). Thanks to all of you who phoned, emailed, sent inappropriate stripping old men to my computer screen, or phoned in to remind me I'm not a kid anymore. I feel only a little lonely (but I have my screens! My beloved screens!).
Being over thirty is not so bad if you feel loved. I'm so thankful to feel loved.