The day began with the startling threat of rain from heavy dampened sky, a threat to me and my day because your DC's finest, your Q and Not U was going to be playing a free show at the the timeless outdoor fort reno stage. Now, believe me, I would stayed in the rain to this band, seen them a couple times, been their shows a couple more times but missed their set (too busy bro'n out on the streets of Mt. Pleasent). Based on my super underground DIY bloody nose, bro's before ho's mentality, I would see the band under all circumstances, all other shit goes second. So if I was to stand in the rain to see a band, and then be the moistest loser at the party afterwards, so be it, x fuck you x. But luckily it didn't really rain much that I can call. (Q and not U played a decent set almost all from their newest full-length, Different Damage, yes, they did the shovel thing) The JRussell front was hit with some tidal depression, but you know, that don't matter, uhhh, er, the list is something. Ah yes, the list.
So the big farewell/fuck off/fuck me before you leave/let's get in that fight we need/where the fuck have you been/fleeting farewell party was last night. Seeing as how it was at one dem narrow, long "Georgetown" houses, with more than memorable paintings of Budhists and tripped out masks, this is obviously a fine establishment, apparently there was some keg action, but that ain't my thing. But they attempted to do a list, which I thought was an asshole thing to do, so maybe when got there as late as we did, they'd be so strapped they'd be like "I don't have a lisp". Whatever, we got in, either because we fucking rock or because they didn't care, whatever, those Puerto Ricans can ruin our near symetrical flag any day.
Because of getting the runs (of sadness) throughout the day, I had distilling pockets of doubt about this party and about life in general, but this party had some damn good things going for it. Firstly, probably most important to me, by far, this party had the most girls with good tastes in music. So that had me feeling damn good about life, because I never really knew if girls like that existed in real life or just at (hXc) shows. But there were some great personalities there, that Annie from Burke who's down with Majority Rule recognized me having seen me a half-dozen times in the last week, I'm all about that recognition, you know. There was the other classic contemporary hardcore girl there, Alex posssibly, with her own Majority Rule shirt (bullet design), severed and sewn tighter and with that part on top cut off where she'll most likely have some fucked up phrase tattooed there. But it was cool talking to her, I got some you know, cred for wearing my Majority Rule shirt, but she also encouraged my intentions of doing a DC grind band, but she got pissed off when I told her I hadn't got in to Hassan I Sabbah. I mean I've heard of them and want to check them out, but I'm so fucking content with the DC/MD/VA scene I don't really expand my screamo/grind/emotional violence horizons that much. As far as dreamy conversations about grindcore go, this one was pretty high on the list, but I had probably had the coolest screamo conversation earlier at that party. Through that near-temptress Aurora, Nate and Tim from motherfucking Crestfallen were at the party. Cresftallen is a an intense thrashy screamo band, that I'd like to say is metal as fuck, but Nate who is no longer edge declared "I fucking hate metal". So it was cool to be talking to them, just on the general wuss-level, hey man, remember that show at the Chicken Bone house, yeah, that was awesome. But we really met on that plane about being with your bro's, and that whole "fuck yeah man, go out there, play fucking grindcore and fuck em if they don't like you, no no one really likes my band except for the people that like us because Mike (pg99) is in the band". It was really cool to be talking to guys whose album I own and listen to, break lamps in my room listening to. But also in this dialogue was a fella from Baltimore's Flowers in the Attic.
Oh shit man, they told me about this new band, with possibly the best lineup ever, man, oh fuck yes. dude. Chris Taylor and Mike from pg99, JR from Pig Destroyer, Nathan from Crestfallen, and some dude from the Index. fucking awesome. Hissing Choir, supposed to be 80's Industrial shit. Exciting shit my friends. Also met a dude, Sam, works at 9:30 club, actually ended up talking to him for a while, managing to still get the occasional grab ass or 'hold my beer while I call my boyfriend' type things. He's a down guy, hardcore kid at GW, got a job at 9:30 club. Encouraged me to go School of Visual Arts in New York, he also said I had the right mindset to work at 9:30 club, some cool shit.
But I'll tell you, that was one hot fucking house, so the cooler place to be was outside, but then you got Maryland assholes spilling beverages on you and bride of chucky telling you shut up. Ah, well, let's go force some goodbye kisses and get nachos. Fucking well-needed Georgetown road work, who called it and who deserves it?
Sorry for the lack of fucking wit.
Here's when I realized I've gone to far. I was looking at my moniker, the JRuss moniker and while I was ogling this fine sobriquet, I saw it, I realized that under the right circumstances, the word JRuss looks like the word Jesus. Now I haven't lost it, so don't think I'm comparing myself to that dude who was in the popular novel, but I was thinking I could up the ante in terms of marketing myself. Think about it, JRuss is my copilot, What would JRuss do? I guess it was round this point in the progession of tounge-in-cheek righteousness (lonlieness) I realized I may have gone to far. But I'll make bumper stickers if you'd like, JRuss loves you (and I do).
Yes, yes. We'll call it tragic, a modern tragedy, err uhh with mannerisms exclusive to the Washington, D.C. metropolitan area. Hmmmmmmmmm.
So apparently I got kicked out of WAY Too Cool to smoke. For what reasons, I may never know, everyone ends up either losing track of how many licks or just biting through that shit for the wild jazz fusion Tootsie roll center, damn owl. But aside from the Bitches Brew induced lollipop excursion, apparently the white trash chick (savethelastdance) took control of the anti-smoking organization and kicked me out. I'll have to put this situation back in to the right, back where it belongs, in the hands of a Christian emo kid in nice pants and old shoes. I kind of miss that group of kids already, and it's been a little over 12 hours since I understood my expatriation. I found out in what I guess is a garage cum ruckus room?. It was decent place though, in Cleveland Park, in the same area as that series of knife rapings were years ago. I remember it well, I was walking to the luxurious Uptown Theater with my dad, probably to see The River Wild or that one that's like Speed on a plane, shit, either Air Force One or Executive Decision. But these Cleveland Park knife rapings were the first time I had seen a house surrounded by SWAT (but certainly not the last, because Featherhead's friend threatened the president). In more recent times, I had driven down Macomb St. during this prolonged winter on my to SAT prep class at your Washington International School, but eh, what a time. So I had managed to mangle my ways in to this Cleveland Park gathering based on an intoxicated invitation from the chick whose house it was. She had been in the Record Exchange and impressed me beyond belief telling me she had gotten a copy of 'Emergency Numbers' for free the Majority Rule CD release show, what a babe, but then the lost some admiration by defending Atreyu (you know, for sucking). Also at this party was the girl that I had opened the 4 & 5 dolllar VHS case for once, memorable because of her navy varsity style Bane hoodie, ah yes. Apparently she went to Janney Elementary school and recognized me and Sam from back then pretty cool, and she likes Bane, what a day. But Del the funky homosapien reminds me, time keeps on slipping.
Speaking of Del the funky homosapien, our favorite endangered runaway, the Andrew Huber himself, got himself in to Deltron. I would have quoted him talking about the roots Deltron 3030, but I err uhh x'd the box out, but I do have a Huber quote to
i was in this hotel here called Le Parker Meridien, which is like the most futuristic hotel ever, and i was blazed out of my mind, and while i was walking down the hall i was cinvinced i was in 3030 too
Good times. Thank you to Jamie Denvir for opening your house up to the kids. I had a great time in the pool until other people came in, damn girls and scrawny punk rocker have to ruin everything. Whatever I've still got my Hall & Oates and my Free Nelson Mandela. So I kind of thought like 'yeah man, I've gone through a catharsis, I'm one refined summaabitch, I might actually get the whole girl thing done at this party, go me'. So with that on mind and noise conspiracy shirt making me look mod-emo, even I'd been rocking the Andrew WK and the Pantera sideprojects (Down, Superjoint Ritual) all day, I was kind of an excitable boy, they'll be rockin in the projects for sure if all goes well. And I go to make myself breakfast, aw these raw materials blow, let's go to steak and egg, aw damnit that's up hill. Fine, nobody will know, I'll do it, I'll go to McDonalds, I mean they own Chipotle so I'd rather not pretend I'm fighting that system by any means. So while I'm my breakfast platter and sipping a syrup-y breakfast cola, I look at my horoscope, and it pretty much says this. Your self-worth is rising, you're going to score tonight, but you will have a short fuse. It could be true, I do feel better about myself, and I kind of thought I was gonna you know, score, but but, but, but but but but, what's this short fuse shit. Now there's obviously the possible phallic reference, but i'm pretty sure that's not it, there's the other thing that I don't really know that well that I've been warned about, fuck it, white riot. fuck, there has to be some other meaning, no wait, I know how this works, if I think about it it won't happen, that's how this astrological suprise shit works. Long story short (terrible choice of words), it turns out my short fuse was making camera rewinding after 8 shots, damnit, short fuse. I hate my life, describe the ruckus. uhh party, blah, blah, party, blah, plastic cups, old friends, blah, blah, blah, I remember you from somewhere, ehh ahh err uhh wellsasfasf, your grandfather was watching us, blah blah. More disappointment than embarassment. raise your fist in the air, drug free.
