My planeride into London was relatively free of turbulence (turbulence feels similar to being on an amusement ride to me- horrifying) and I got to sit beside a cool lady in her late 70s who said she painted “ladies of the night” and had to change the title of her work in order to do a show at a church. I gave her husband my chicken and she gave me her vegetables. Customs were decent, as I rushed to the front and the customs guard seemed satisfied with my answers.
Currently, I am sitting in the very modern looking lobby of a hostel in Dublin, Ireland. In the middle of the night, two of my hostel mates (who I hadn’t met yet) literally crashed into the room and it sounded like they were trying to have the beginnings of sex with slapping and crashing into luggage involved. And they turned on the lights and talked loudly, as if me and the other gal in the room didn’t exist. You know me, a slap here and there is all fine and dandy if the mood is right, but in a hostel while I’m as sober as a nun? Those guys were definitely not as sober as nuns. So I yelled at them and they ignored me, and I totally heard blowjob sounds, but luckily it didn’t go on for long. Then I couldn’t stop coughing, so I read a magazine. But then their phones started going off and there was snoring, and I just couldn’t pretend I was ever going to sleep again, so I came down here and ate a croissant with cheese (disgusting, by the way. That much cheese doesn’t belong in a croissant, but I was starving) and oddly (for me, at least), an orange pop.
The ride from London to Dublin was crazy turbulent and I felt like crying, but seeing the flight attendant smiling and laughing when I asked if that was normal calmed me (plus he had nice eyes, probably). If I was going to crash in an airplane, he could hold my hand. I was extremely happy to arrive in Ireland, as it’s somewhere I’ve never been. My first night, I people watched at some pubs, and walked until I was exhausted. A few people told me to smile. I guess I must look downright miserable when I’m only a bit bored.
An Irish guy asked if I had a boyfriend and when I half-lied and told him I am married, he told me he is too and that we should be swingers and kissed me on the cheek. How sweet?
Anyway, Ireland is impressive. Tomorrow I will ride the train Cork. I’m excited about the train ride, as trains are my favorite method of travel.
Ok, I will try to get a few hours of sleep after all.
So I’m reading Bitches Gotta Eat from 2009. I like this. She’s answering Cosmo questions. It’s a bit jokey, so don’t take it tooo seriously…unless it’s this question and answer because I somewhat to mostly agree with the bolded bit at the end.
Question: for the first time in my life, i’m involved in a fling with a guy, and i’m having a blast. but recently, he started bringing emotions into the mix. i just want to have fun! i thought that was what all men wanted.
Irby: man, this bitchass shit is a total bummer. nothing dries the panties up faster than some idiot you’re just trying to grind on getting all sticky and emotional. ew. i spent most of my formative years dyyyying to be someone’s stupid girlfriend, and then when it finally clicked that dudes just want to eff you and move on to someone else and i was sort of okay with that and trying to do my own thing with whoever i want i get the, “why don’t you want to be my girlfriend?” speech. and what’s funny is dudes never really MEAN it, they just can’t handle you hollering at some other dude. he doesn’t want to commit to you, he just wants you to commit to him. he wants you all weak and strung-out over his ass, sitting at home in your curlers while he fucks some hooters waitress. to hell with that. do your thing, bitch!
Last night, I went to the Blouse show and it was really great. They took me to the carnival after. I ate french fries and went on bumper cars and into a psychedelic house. I got mayo in my eye. I made the poor decision of buying Glühwein from a kiosk. Today I feel awwwwful. I think I smoked 20 cigarettes. Today I’ll watch Modern Family and think of my grandma, because it would have been her birthday today.
I’ve been coming to the shitty realization that a lot of musicians are playing some kind of egotistical bullshit fame game. Here are some things that annoy me that musicians do:
-don’t gossip enough or talk about their life in interviews and only talk about their music. shouldn’t your life, knowledge and experiences be a part of your music?
-when artists/actors/musicians are afraid to be controversial/subversive. nice interviews are great for the interviewer, but does a reader really want to read about how blessed celebrities are to have fans and fortune? no! give me your secret thoughts, your real opinions, the dirt. watch an old david bowie interview and watch how people used to challenge each other in interviews. ok, kate bush does interesting “nice” interviews, but it’s only because i imagine she’s my cool aunt while I listen to her answer questions. it’s ok to be nice, but be interesting. at least a little bit. or pretend, like i do.
-pass you along to their manager or booking agent when you ask them directly to play a show with you. ok, I can see the benefit of doing this, but it’s a little irritating, especially when i’m only asking them to play a show with me in hopes of meeting Eric Wareheim from the Tim & Eric show. I’m totally not talking about Tearist. But I am talking about Tearist and a bunch of other people at the same time. I want to be in a video with Eric Wareheim. So really what i hate about musicians is how they prevent me inadvertently from meeting my comedic heroes.
-don’t respond to/don’t want to contribute to a fundraising release that can help people whose lives are in danger in the philippines. fuck you and fuck your career moves. one song is not that hard to write. and if you don’t want to be with “lesser artists” on a compilation, at least start your own famous people fundraising comp, ok?
-artists who write lyrics but don’t really have anything to say or express. unless written by sparks or brian eno, i am not a fan of meaningless lyrics. and sparks is funny and clever, while eno is poetic and strategic. so they still win, and so do i for listening to them.
-artists who write shitty music and care more about fame and vaginas than anything else and succeed in getting both. one day you will be cursed with shamefully looking back at your discography while bathing in a hot tub with 5 models.
-artists who become friends with me on facebook just spam me with their music or get me to “like” their stuff so they can get more attention, but don’t even like my band. fyi spammers: i’m not famous and i can’t help you and your spam is patronizing me, reminding me of myspace before everyone stopped using it and embarassing you. if you want someone to facebook notice you, you just have to add them, find their email, and send them embarassing fanmail in which you offer to be their manager/nude photographer like i do
-bands who think they are above playing with musicians that are not as famous, even thought they might enjoy the music of said band, or that band might actually be better than their own band.
1) Why the fuck did I think that I shouldn’t wear eyeliner on my lower eye bits anymore for the last two years? Too early 2000s? Going for a retro look? Not anymore, these eyes are going to be so intense they’ll make you cry and scream inside
2) It is really necessary to swear in your first question?
3) Does anyone else close their eyes and grip the arms of their airline seat when they fly (especially when hitting turbulence)? Maybe since my eyes are closed when this happens, I can’t see all the other people doing it
4) Can you call anything “art” as long as it has an idea or concept behind it?
5) Does it matter if the idea or concept is good? I guess “good” is subjective, so no use in asking this rhetorical question.
6) Why has my phone been dying daily recently? What’s going on with THAT?
7) What will happen in the next season of Girls?
8) How many of the times I’ve been sick in the past year are mostly due to smoking? I guestimate 4.
9) Will my cat and niece shun me when I go back to Vancouver?
10) How much more self absorbed can questions get?
Time for bed.