JRussell's BlogNO!!!!

Part I of the Labor Day Weekend in DC TRIO-LOGY

The Rambling Extraneous Introduction
The night I left my fantastic hometown DC for the great unknown capital of the Confederacy two hours south was a night that I wanted to be a crazy night, full of explosions, landmarks, bare-breasted glory with strobe lights and slurpees and someone wearing a lampshade. That it wasn’t, although that last night in the city was pleasant. I stopped by the old Record Exchange, receiving my second to last check, which bore a note from boss (“Get out!!!!!”). I picked up a two-disc Pixies album and some tapes (Ride The Lighting, The Ramones Leave Home, a couple others, oh Spirit the Dr. Zardonicus one) and headed down to the Black Cat with the man behind You Arrogant Bastard, that’s a good pal right there. At the time he was fervent about his Midwest Funk CD, which indeed is a cool CD, had he collected those ‘45s himself and made a funk collection that way, I would have paid to dub a tape. We went to Ben’s Chili Bowl and the Black Cat, where we managed to use our connections (former Record Exchange/Steak & Egg employee, singer of Exosus) to get in the show for free. Originally the plan to get in for free lied in our sundry connections to the band, DC rockers, the Shakedowns; we’re down with Nick Popo, my dad printed shirts for the big show at 9:30 Club, Johnny Squid is the man. Since I waited til we got to the show to work out my plan to get in for free, the band couldn’t help us; their list was full of girls, gamma rays, and spoonboys. But we got in for free; saw the Shakedowns (Ramones + MC5 + Makers?) and the Five Maseratis (Zombies + Cars?). Due to drunken skinhead violence and an apparent party, we departed. The night ended calmly and uneventfully with a crew of us (Swest, Scorpion, some burke girls and I) drinking Slurpees on Fort Reno stage until a policeman drove up, shined his magnificent light on us and told us to “Do the right thing”. I went home, my room was barren. I listened to the Pixies in the morning, and drove down to the great RVA. We stopped at Ponderosa Steakhouse, which is a truly awful establishment. Now I’m a man who enjoys my greasy spoons and truckstops, but of all the all-you-can-eat buffets in this shithole highway consumer nation, this one takes the fucking sponge cake. Now maybe my parents will heed my warning when I say “There’s a Waffle House on this side of the road”.
So two weeks went by in Richmond, I didn’t make any real friends. My roommate and I silently set up some sort of relationship where we don’t talk to each other and we share appliances (my TV, his microwave). I spent most of my time in room. White walls, green sheets, it was a very cold room, but I’ll be glad I have some air conditioning come planting season (humid spring). There was a life of possibilities, but I soaked up the time, sleeping, embalming myself in frigid depression, drinking black coffee (staring at the wall). I ran out of cash pretty fast (the last four dollars I had I spent on a third pressing of the Pg,99/Circle Takes the Square split 7” and a red Ultra Dolphins tape). There was a void between when my ATM card came in the mail and when I ran out of money, so gone were plans of comfort spending and finally getting one of those surfboards with wheels. There was a hurricane. I spent that night drinking Brisk Iced Tea and dropping vicodin listening to a chilled out mix (Dead Meadow, My Bloody Valentine, some of the Slackers dub tracks, Dismemberment Plan’s cover of “Close to Me”, Augustus Pablo, Black Dice, Lungfish, King Tubby some Fugazi tracks off Instrument, “Lay Lady Lay”, “The Man in Me”, and some Sonic Youth) watching the lightning while I think a lot of the kids on my floor convened and watched ‘Sixteen Candles’, you know, eating popcorn and lounging on weird solid triangular bean bag seats.

“We’re going to kill all the California girls”

Labor Day weekend was the weekend I returned to home. I indeed, was homesick. I hadn’t given college my full effort, maybe I was expecting too much, maybe I had gone in there telling myself it was going to blow because it wasn’t Yale or even Michigan. Maybe I thought I was going to get blown as soon as some girl saw my impressive crate of records. Either way, I wanted to come home to DC, because it was DC, and I know DC. I had more records and CDs up there, my tube of posters is up there, there’s Chipotle up there (while there are Chipotles in Richmond, they are in no way accessible to me, plus their location sounds like a plastic contrived bullshit community, ‘Stony Pond’ or some vinyl sided shit like that). That Friday my dad came down to DC to pick me up. At the last minute I kind of wanted to stay in Richmond that night. Jerry Seinfeld was doing a night at the Landmark Theater a block from dorm (the former Mosque that Dizard describes in one of his entries), and Stop It! was playing at the Nanci Raygun that night, but no, I’d rather go back to DC. My dad and I got some Carytown Burgers & Fries and after stopping at a couple thrift stores we were out. My big catch at Diversity (homo) Thrift was a bunch of Cure bootlegs, and a bunch of unopened blank cassettes at a quarter apiece.
Later than sooner, I was back in DC, not in time to watch the Simpsons, but I got a money order from the liquor store on Mt. Pleasant St. with my dad. We got horchatas from Pollo Sabroso, like we’ve done many times before. I was wearing my pair of Dickies shorts, the one which the zipper is thoroughly destroyed and constantly comes unzipped, I find myself walking around with my hand on my crotch like I did all the time back in fourth grade. Walking around the schoolyard with my hand on balls (Al Bundy inspired) sure got me in to some confusion when I was ten.

(10-year old Josh holds balls, reads DuPont Registry)
Young Sklover – Josh, you’re masturbating!
Young Josh – What the hell is that?
Young Sklover – It means that you’re fucking yourself.
Young Josh – That’s what fucking is?
Young Sklover – Yup, you pervert. Oh. Sweet, my mom is here to read the class ‘Oliver Twist’
Mama Sklover (reading to class) So Oliver Twist made good friends with Master Bates in the whorehouse
(The class giggles)
Mama Sklover – What are they laughing at?
(Young Josh thinks to himself) – Oh no, I gotta stop grabbing my balls in public, don’t want to be fucking myself. All I care about is Ducatti motorcycles and Star Wars action figures and that’s all I’m ever going to care about.

Labor Day weekend back in DC is just beginning.