You Arrogant Bastard

The Infamous ELEPHANT Act

I've got to tide you over with something...

Melissa: p.s. what rey ou doing up so late on a shcool night
Myself: writin that sonnabend paper
Melissa: tiiiight
Melissa: brb
Melissa: youre breakn hearts and youre breakn guitars
Myself: say what?
Melissa: its your birthday and you dont even know how old you are
Myself: oh oh oh
Myself: swing low
Myself: SWEET CHARIOt
Melissa: what?
Melissa: hahaha
Melissa: happy brithday ralph i love you
Melissa: even though you are fucking disgusting
Myself: we singin bout slaves?
Myself: what is this, ani?
Melissa: hahahah
Melissa: atom and his package
Myself: oh yeah
Myself: i seen that disc
Myself: copt it
Myself: NAW
Melissa: i would hope ani could come up with some better lyrics than that
Melissa: well you should
Melissa: its quality musak
Myself: how about this for some ani lyrics
Myself: i know he's watching me
i can see his crack
Myself: everything i do
i do for the first time
i got a big crush on you
and it's crushing my mind
you fucked me on the pool table
and i drank from your love hose
Myself: what a weird singer
Melissa: your mom is a wierd singer
Myself: those are her lyrics
Myself: fi true
Melissa: i dont go around mocking dance hall music or whatever is that you listen to now do it?
Myself: heys hut up youre the one who brought up buju
Melissa: those arent actually her lyrics stop
Myself: i just wanted to see if you picked up in my lyrical alterations!
Myself: hahaha
Myself: finally
Myself: i just changed it around a little bit
Melissa: which song?
Myself: born a lion
Myself: fourth of july
Myself: you fucked me on the pool table
and i drank from your love hose
Myself: classic ani
Melissa: what??
Melissa: no its not
Myself: haha
Myself: i know
Myself: that was my alteration
Melissa: my roomate is meeting her this weekend
Myself: meetin her for the old bump and grind? or meeting her for the old ass-to-ass double sided dildo hovering over a bed of prickly spidres
Myself: or is she INTERVIEWING her
Melissa: jesus christ man
Melissa: sh'es going out to a dinner with her
Melissa: ...her sisiter is interviewing her
Myself: aha
Myself: sorry
Myself: i just read about the stuff that ani did once
Myself: at a huge cave-themed sports bar
Myself: turned dildo stadium
Melissa: what???
Melissa: explain
Myself: i wrote an article about that and then read it
Melissa: youre a punk you know that right?
Myself: heheheheh
Myself: call me a "student":
Myself: that fits better
Melissa: some day i will put you in a situation where you are forced to listen to ani
Melissa: and you're gonna like it
Myself: whatever, i heard her once
Myself: or, overheard her, that is
Melissa: i meant punk a deragatory term of sorts
Melissa: yea shut it
Myself: screaming about a dildo stadium at which she once performed her infamous ELEPHANT act
Melissa: i hate you

How Junius Ruined Our Winter Break premieres February 5th at the Wilson Players Winter One Act Festival. Check it out... if you value your life!

The End of the Rum Dynasty

I have been turning this over in my mind all day now, and my fingers have been burning with type-hunger so terrible that I was unable to enjoy or concentrate as my Grandmother celebrated her birthday with rum cake and J. Crew woolen scarves.

When I noted "Phase 3" in that last post, I was alluding to several things. 2003 went out with a bang. The last couple of months were extremely rewarding, enjoyable, and fun. But I knew that such revelry and mirth would not last... when I felt the tides begin to turn, when that metaphorical roller coaster was released from the pull-chain and began to glide noisily down the 80-foot banked-turn drop through the concrete skull of the never-functioning Typhoon SeaCoaster, I silently slid an image up here of the economic model, with its climbs and peak, and that inevitable dive back down to square one. Pick your own metaphor- the freewheelin' winter break was ending, and the kids were all waking up in their vomit soaked scarves and machine-knit sweaters, too finely knit to be of the human hand, getting ready to step back into the all-too-bright outdoors of the last semester of high school. On top of that, Bohemian/Whiskey Gang relations have been stretched to a breaking point, and Dco1 and Jill, the standard bearers of all long-running youth relationships, separated. We can assume that it is permanent. To top it off, 2004 marks the beginning of the countdown to the Cocaine in Motion diaspora. The end of summer will bring a shocking twist that will send our brave young men and women to all 17 corners of this great nation (18 if you count Michigan as a corner. Note: Numbers were made up). These are bad omens leading into 2004, but nothing could have prepared me for what I saw next.

Spanish teacher did not show up for class today, so I took a leisurely drive home, and after playing video games and scratching myself to contentment, I remembered that I had left my copy of the Flaming Lips’ “Soft Bulletin” at my workplace, the Record Exchange as the oldschoolers would call it. I had also just seen an article mentioning J-Live’s performance at H.E.R. (at Ben n’ Mo’s, see this post) and I wanted to show it to my boss, who runs that show. The walk from the CVS lot to the Exchange was one I am quite familiar with taking, so I walked with a spring in my step, glad that my midday trip consisted of errands other than obtaining alcohol illegally. I was expecting my usual warm welcome (“Oh, hey man.”), which may have been why I was so shocked to discover that the store was empty, except for Nick, manager of the Rockville store and former employee of the Tenleytown store back in summer ’02 when I was hired, and the Regional Manager, who greeted me with an uncomfortable “’Ello, chap! ‘Ow bout some tea, then?” The cockney accent is exaggerated… what actually happened, was he read my confused glance, and replied simply with

“As you can see, we’ve made some changes. Laura and Charlotte are no longer with us.”

Damn- Laura is a manager, and Charlotte has been working there as long as I can remember. I wasn’t sure what to say…

What about Herb?

That’s all I could come up with.

Herb is probably going to be working mostly at the Adams Morgan store from now on.

Wow. Two managers gone in one fell swoop? Legend has it that such an operation was conducted years ago at the College Park store, when one of the head honchos in Cleveland dropped by for a surprise visit to find a record store rife with foetor, bestiality and meth labs or something to that extent. Or a baby was rotting behind one of the shelves. They say he fired the whole store, right there on the spot, and they had to re-staff. I wonder if that is what happened here… I glanced at Nick, a good man to be true. The Regional Manager told me that he would be the manager from now on. I was relieved. He is a kindhearted man- twas Nick who gave me my first skim-off-the-top-of-a-trade free CD, way back in July 2002. I remember it well. It was Dave Brubeck- Time Out, featuring the ever-popular “Take Five” which could be found in the AudioGalaxy directories of even the most fervent jazz-hater. Later that night would Gabe’s legendary midsummer blowout occur, replete with BombNO!!!’s and puke-soaked Sport and Health Club uniforms. Time Out saw play in the changer that night. So if there really was a coup d’etat, and Herb really is gone for good too, then I’m glad Nick is our L. Paul Bremer III. But when I glanced at him I saw that he was not particularly comfortable either, as nobody is when they work with the Regional Manager. So I grabbed the Soft Bulletin, looked for a way out of the conversation, and fled back to Wilson. As Washington Post columnist Tina Brown puts it,

It's the time of year when CEOs get back from the ski slopes and fire everybody. Bosses are pent up with murderous longing from Thanksgiving to New Year's, begged by their human resources departments and communications chiefs to Wait Till After the Holidays.

I told J. Russell, whose thoughts turned to Scott, the redheaded fellow in the picture and cynical post-AU indiepopper. We emailed him and got this in reply to our frantic queries:

That's quite a shocker. I'm sitting here at home,
busted knee and all, and I find out this news...So, I called Herb, and he said he didn't think I was fired, but wasn't sure. So, I figured, what the hell, I don't care, I'll just call [Reg. Manager] and find out. [Reg. Manager] said first off that he wasn't going to bother doing anything with me now because I'm out injured, but when I come back, I'm probably moved to Rockville. So, I'm not fired, but I am now moved far away, which sucks, but it's a real kick in my ass to find a real job and quit this one. One can only hope. So, I assume that I'll be working, but, you never know, [Reg. Manager] might just be waiting for me to come back to work so he can fire me, so that he's not firing an injured worker, which would be illegal, but I doubt that would happen.

…You should stop by here, I have big TV and can buy beer.

Oh, and Soft Bulletin is an amazing album. I still get teary eyed when I hear Wayne Coyne wail, "Looking into space, it surrounds you. Love is the face that you're drawn to." Oh, and the two scientist racing for the prize. And who can forget the heartwarming "Waitin' for a Superman." Such a good album.

So there you have it. The nail in the coffin. The Rum Dynasty is over. From the balmy summer days when I was trained during the times of Luis Morales to the happy camaraderie of J. Russell as store clown, ending with this. I wasn’t fired, but should I have been? Things are going to change, I suppose. I don’t think a store can operate with just one manager. The Regional Manager told me that “now is my time” or something, that I should “step it up” and I could climb the ladder I guess. But what’s the point of climbing the ladder when the people on the next level are swept aside to make room for you? I am happy in my position now. If somebody starts to bitch me out, “You should ask the manager.” Scott never took the manager position. I think he is wise… I don’t want to have to start doing real work. Is it time for Jrussell and I to step down? Is it time to pass the torch to Alex Loew and the next batch of hip ephemeral AU kids who stick around long enough to realize that their wage isn’t going to increase? I am thrilled that A Loew has secured the job that Trevor was too lazy to try to obtain, but I fear that the job will not live up to his expectations after this tidal wave of layoffs and restructuring. So the bottom line, ladies, is that if you want to see your black stallion Herb, you’ll have to find parking in Adams Morgan. Now from where will the endless river of spiced rum flow? Is Nick down? Whatever. I don’t need it. I’m no Lichman, with aspirations to alcoholism... I just fear that such a high peak at 2003’s end will send us into a deeper rut as 2004 shuffles forward. Shuffle forward, you mighty steed.

Phase 3