Wardrobe

I have a feeling a feeling that very soon, my wardrobe will consist of nice clothing for formal events (Meaning, some button-down shirts, a few nice pairs of pants, and some jackets), and then a collection of Natalie Dee, Married to the Sea, and Jinx t-shirts.

I'm becoming the man I was always meant to be.

September 15th. Trip back to NYC

Just past midnight on the 15th of September. Sitting on the curb of a parking lot near a restaurant called "Baxter's" in Bloomington, Illinois. Jeans. Shoes. Three layers of shirts to keep my warmth in place. Crickets chirp and Drunks cackle. I'm not sure where either is coming from.

I'm waiting for the airport to open at 3:30am. I've never heard of an airport closing, but I've never lived in Bloomington, Illinois. So fuck me. I was hoping to get some sleep in the airport before my flight, but that's not happening. Maybe an hour or so. For now I am just sitting here watching an insect I don't know the name of trying to climb up the curb and falling backwards on his ass every time.. It beats Glenn Beck.

Glenn Beck. You undigested wad of animal fur, bone, and feces.

3:50 am (ish) (4:50 am NYC time)

Close to 3:50 am, sitting in the now open and ostensibly god-forsaken airport. Bought a 3 Musketeers and a pop-tart. Washing it down with my bottle of Diet Mountain Dew. Getting strange looks from the staff. You know, because I'm probably here to bomb the shit out of the place. Right. I'm doing a poor job of blending in if that's the case. One of them, an older gent with a beer belly and a sour puss is up on the balcony level, watching me. I waved at one point. He gave me a half-nod and a turn away that whispered "fuck off". Just a whisper though, so maybe I'm merely going crazy again.

4:19 am (5:19 am NYC time)

Just checked my bag. Waste of $20. Also just saw some old lady totally get owned by a self-check-in machine. Everyone else did perfectly well when put up against said machine. This only further proves my theory that machines aren't out to destroy all of mankind. Just the old people.

4:50 am (5:50 am NYC time)

Made it through the cacophonous maelstrom that is airport security pre-5 am in Bloomington, Illinois. Day's just begun and already the security staff are being yelled at by a crazy. I pretend that the unfortunate display of immaturity isn't happening as I scrutinize a shrine to the "Eureka Capture +" vacuum cleaner that has been placed for my easy-viewing in the middle of the small collection of gates.

Pukishly pristine plastic encasing dozens of small moving parts all designed to break down within a year or so. Pearl white trim outlining the unyieldingly yellow body. Every inch of its existence bellowing, "I AM YOUR GOD. AND BOY, DO I SUCK."

8:06 am (NYC time from now on)

Mid-flight. Bye bye Bloomington. Hello, Detroit. Am I the only person who looks at the aftermath of blowing his nose into a tissue? That's weird, right?

9:45 am

There is a tunnel underneath a airport in the city of Detroit, Michigan. It is said that this tunnel is a passageway used by women and men alike to traverse from Concourses B and C, to Concourse A.

Well, what is said and what is the truth can sometimes be oh so different.

In reality, this tunnel is home to the world's most awkwardly located gay bar. Simply called The Fuck-me-tron. Where the sounds of campy electronica rush at you like a drunken European football crowd and the walls trade flashes of creeping yellow, dominating red, sobering blue, calming green, and fucking pink. The only drawback to this wonderland of color and potential homoerotica, is having drunken pilots constantly crashing the party. But then again, the night isn't complete unless you've taken home a drunken pilot. Right boys?

I'm serious, this place exists. I have seen it.

10:48 am

Saw that Patrick Swayze had died while I watched Good Mourning America in Detroit's airport.

H&P

JOIS

Oh, hey, there's people on the porch.

She opens the porch door and hovers in the doorframe.

Hey people on the porch.

A few "Hey's", "Hi's", and a "What up?" are heard.

...are you guys freshmen?

FRESHMAN

Yeah.

JOIS

Ah. I'm Jois.

FRESHMAN

Hi Jois.

JOIS

Great. See ya later, Freshmen.

FRESHMAN

Bye, Jois.

Jois walks back inside and closes the screen porch door.

JOIS

Who the fuck ARE these people?! Why are there so many God Damned freshmen here?

September 10th. Trip to Illinois

Wandering through JFK on no sleep. I see piles of humanity laid across tables snoring their way through the tedious clean of the marble floors. The pale light of the men's room. The grumble of the crowd waiting to get on the plane.

Everything pulses and blurs as the touch of my shoes sounds alarming reverberations around me. I yawn. My eyes close. I snap awake, sitting down near my gate, refusing to allow myself the stupidity of missing this flight.

And it's all worth it.

It's 2:47 pm. Detroit, Michigan. I've convinced a not-at-all-belligerent worker at Einstein Bros. Bagels to sell me a sandwich. Egg, sausage, and cheese. That and the hour or so of sleep I stole on the plane have perked me up enough to enjoy the muted CNN on the TV screen across the aisle. Which is a sad, sad state of affairs.

3:21 pm (4:21 pm NYC time)

Each time we land whenever I ride a plane, I'm hit with the realization that I should have been shitting myself the entire time. Somehow I never understand how thin the line is between me, inside a metal tube, and a horrible death. Until we are safely landed and I'm on my way.

It's 5:51 am. I'm packing items into a suitcase too large for a 5 day trip with shards of this song ripping through my attention span.

Dance Music - The Mountain Goats

Not that that's a bad thing. Those guys are fucking epic. I can't remember having such a visceral reaction to a band before. John Darnielle's lyrics are simple, honest, and gut-wrenching. And I could listen to them all day. I mean, damn. Here's another one for you to listen to once and make a split-second judgement of.

Sax Rohmer #1 - The Mountain Goats

I head off to Illinois in approximately 3 hours. My flight is out of JFK at 12:30pm, but I'm leaving my apartment at 9am because I really don't want to miss this flight. I'll have a lay-over in Detroit where I hope not to get shived repeatedly, but instead, have a nice sandwich or something. Chances of either happening are pretty much the same.

Quit my dayjob officially a day or two ago. I'll be on the road doing another TheatreworksUSA tour for october, november, and december. Hopefully, I won't need to go back. No me gustan los dayjobs. Los dayjobs son crap.

Up to number 79 in my 101 things to do in 1001 days. I'm almost there. I could fill the rest of it up with stuff I don't actually care about, but what's the use of that?

Currently watching the copy of High Fidelity I rented from Blockbuster 3 years ago and never returned. Oh John Cusack, teach us once again the way from boyhood to manhood.

And the sun rises once again over the hope-filled, urine-stained alleys of Harlem. The time is currently 6:19am

Ryan LaMont and Chris Norwood are...

KITTY JO & THE TWATWAFFLING WEREWOLVES

With their self-titled debut album featuring the tracks:

-Lukewarm & Tepid

-Big Spoon, Little Spoon, Let's Have Sex

-Hipster Dinosaur

AND

-If You've Got a Fork, You Can Tap It

That one's own district is unsophisticated and unpolished is a great treasure. Imitating another style is simply a sham.

A certain man said to the priest Shungaku, "The Lotus Sutra Sect's character is not good because it's so fearsome."

Shungaku replied, "It is by reason of its fearsome character that it is the Lotus Sutra Sect. If its character were not so, it would be a different sect altogether." This is reasonable.

-Hagakure