Mike and Rachel left today, and I'm starting to get the itch to do so as well. I wish the weather could have been a little better for them as they only really enjoyed one day on the beach as it was raining most of the weekend, but hell, that's not my fault. We rocked it pretty hard regardless, actually a little more hard than we ought to have on Friday as none of us really fully recovered until this morning when the left. I remember very little, which is unfortunet as I dropped a lot of cash that evening, but some how after watching a 16 year old Incubus cover band we wound up back at some girls from TN's crap filled Motle room, and after Mike punched out their bathroom window by mistake, he proceeded to charge down to the beach with a bottle of liqure and run around naked with one of the girls. I woke up the next morning miles away with one of the girls and had to relearn how to drive stick as I had to get her back to her place in time to run back and meet my parents to pretend like none of the above mentioned had happened. I've been singing a lot of karaoke as well, and I also must stop doing this as, I joke not, everywhere I go damn people keep coming up to me and asking if I'm singing again the next night as they want to bring their family / spouses / friends ... to come see me, like I'm part of their vacation package's entertainment. Not to say it didn't enlarge my ego for a little while, but I'm getting damn tired of being known as they dude who flails around half naked singing Backdoor Man and Rod Stewart. They hated Backdoor man for the record, wanted to know why I "came all the way down from New York." I guess the men really don't know what the little girl's understand. Oh shit, then this damn woman with her husband next to me and two kids, age 8 and 12, comes over to me and slips me her number and whispers into my ear: "I may be married, but I do what I like." This was while I was sitting with my father. It was a father son bonding moment I suppose, but I was hoping the fishing trip on thursday would take care of that and not some drunken horny housewife. Well shit, I'm getting looks from the man behind the counter as I think he's letting me use the internet for free, so I'll keep posting as often as I come across a computer. The one I've been using before at my dollar earlier. Looking forward to my return in August.

I've given up trying to do anything productive down here. I wake up, rub lotion on myself, go to the beach, dance around, go back to the room, eat a sandwhich, go back to the beach, drink a few beers, eat a porkchop, take a shower, sing, dance, drink, pass out. Meinhold is here now with me and having a delightful time. Sorry you couldn't make it Robin, though it has proven to be a little more expensive than I had orginally thought. Nothing else of much interest to report on. No naked parties as of yet, but I did muster up the courage to talk to some females the other night, but they bored me and I spent the evening talking to a vet who claimed I was personally responsible for 911. That was much more interesting than the girls from New Jersey. Coming back to Buffalo in around two weeks and not exactly looking forward to it. Until then...

4:52 seconds left of my one dollar... nothing really too pressingly urgent to report on.... took my parents to kareoke night for the first time tonight.... crooned fiona apple "criminal,"
Tom Waits, "the piano has been drinking," and the old southern crowd pleaser Kenny rogers "the gambler," My mother was very impressed. My father sipped ginger ales... my mom and I slugged beers and red bull and vodkas.... apparently the two goals of getting in a closer relationship with my parents and easing off on the drinking are mutually exclusive... Robin, god damn it, call Mike Meinhold... well actually, anyone who is intersted in joining me down here call mike meinhold... 716.465.5901

The idea was simple: get the fuck out of Buffalo for a few weeks, spend some much needed quality time with the parents, quit smoking, and ease off the drinking. As I am not working until I start my full time job in September, the choice to live and eat rent free for two weeks in South Carolina was an easy one to make. As always, things have not worked out as I had originally intended. After my mom shoved numerous gin and tonics down my gullent last night, and I realized a pack of smokes down here cost little more than two dollars, I asserted with conviction to her that god damn it, how could I possibly quit smoking down here when a pack of smokes are three times less than the patch that would keep me off them for one day? Feeling a little loose at the moment, finally found a computer to use, though I can't recall the last time I've paid for internet access and heard a modem handshake. Things are awfully surreal in tourist town, the car's parade down the asphalt runway nightly, while the beach remains empty, and I can't recall the last time I felt so ridiculously unsexy and worthlessly intelligent. I'll be upholding the american tradition of working a shit job 50 weeks out of the year and justifying it through a two week escape to shitstown for two weeks returning to Buffalo just before Aug 1st. I suppose I'll get used to doing nothing, I've already finished two books and have a stack more back in the room. I've also brought my video camera, but I'm a little hestitant of bringing that out in the sand and salt. The chances of a gigantic naked party on the beach are slim, but I do not rule out the possiblity. Not really surprised to hear about your loss of empolyment Robin. If you're looking for a way to kill time, I think Meinhold and Roxy may be heading down here next week to visit. Only takes two tanks of gas. Well, shit, my dollar is running out and my mother most likely needs help prying my father away from the boobtube. I suppose I'll be making posting regular entries for now on. No time for the spell checker.

Have you ever watched your sister make out with a friend of yours and think, "wait, I should be making out with her?" then wake up head throbbing the next morning to spend the entire work day trying to convince yourself that everyone has thoughts about their sister in that light once in a while... ?

spent the last five days moving to 1041 Elmwood, feel free to stop by and say hi should you be in the area, I'm taking off for a few weeks to give my liver a rest and spend some time with the family down south, and as I do not have access to the internet nor hot water, don't expect much from me until close to august

bad robin

We lost our internet last week and as we are moving July 1st, we decided there was no point in having it reconnected. I have found life without internet to be rather awkward at first, but I have now found it as liberating as giving up TV. I spend hours searching countless news sites to attempt to gather as many perspectives on current events, but to what end? There is simply more information availible than one person could ever sort through and I find myself mentally drained every day trying to do so. I might just get dial up at my new apartment to help curb my addicition and keep me away from the porn sites. Upset about the Kurtz inditment, thinking about leaving Buffalo for a few weeks, moving to 1041 Elmwood in the morning, perhaps going camping this weekend, sorry that I have not found Terry's belt, and excited about the calander Paul... oh, and no hard feelings about leaving early last night Holly, I don't know how these naked parties continue to happen, but I'm getting kind of tired of them. One minute I'm trying to enjoy a smoke, next thing I know Harrington's wang is flopping around and I'm dealt a series of crap poker hands forcing me to do the same. Thanks for the pad, Robin.

I wake up naked with smoke coming from the kitchen. It's the pasta salad I tried making before passing out somewhere around 7:00am. It is now a black cake. Someone with parkinson's is ringing the doorbell. She tells me her belt is broken and she absolutly must get it fixed as Melissa Ethridge would be furious if she did not wear the belt buckle she gave her. I look around and realize I have no idea where my car is. It's 3:30 and I need to go to work in an hour and I'm walking all over ALlentown looking for a shop that sells belts. I run into the director of Squeaky Wheel which I haven't been to in three weeks as I keep telling them I'm working everyday and she tries to talk to me about some technical issues related to the cable access show I was programing there. I can hardly string sentences together and the woman who needs a belt is comping at the bit to find one. The director gives me a perplexed eye and I continue down the street looking for the belt and my car. I find the car in front of the tarrot card reading house on Elmwood, ditch the search for the belt and drive to work to find out I got the salaried full time position starting in September. I also left my plunger at the pink last night. Very confused at the moment, good night.

I stop working this Sunday at my current job and am in need of another one to hold me over until September when I just might start a full time position. Anyone know of someone looking for a landscaper /drywaller /concert producer /stagehand / videographer / receptionist / projectionist for summer employment? Until I find something, I’m looking to enjoy summer to it’s fullest in my time off, so anyone interested in camping / hiking / relaxing at the beach let me know. I have a soccer mom mobile and am willing to drive.

Robin, we desperately need our plunger back. Please bring it back ASAP.

Thanks for blowing my spot Paul. Yes, I type my entries in word and paste them into the box, my spelling is atrocious. This also explains why I do not use the spell check. It is doubtful my spelling ability will ever increase to the point where I am comfortable writing without training wheels, but I have been making an effort to due so at work when I write in my notebook. Having been introduced to word processing in elementary school, nearly all of my writing that I have done has been done on a computer. Unlike those who learned writing without a computer, those who were forced to somewhat clarify ideas in their head before externalizing them as they did not have the ability that word processors do to instantly edit and manipulate their writing, I have difficulty sitting down and getting ideas directly out of my head and on to paper or the computer in the order I would like them. I’m practicing on changing this, but change comes slowly when you’re trying to change something you’ve been doing all your life, like biting your nails, or smoking. Speaking of smoking, I have wanted to quit since the moment I realized I was addicted. That was six years ago. Waking up in the morning is the worst, feeling groggy, bad taste in your mouth, and knowing that sooner or later you’re going to have to have that first cigarette which knocks you on your ass, and eventually go and pay someone five dollars to get through the day. The first cigarette I ever smoked was at a Yolk concert at Trader’s Sport’s bar in Vestal, NY, a dumpy bar that eventually was bought up by Taylor Garbage service that kept their garbage trucks in the back. Always one to make a spectacle of myself, I bet a friend that I could smoke an entire cigarette up my nose. I did so, up the right nostril if my memory serves correct. I then repeated this shtick numerous times for other friends, coworkers at Subway, and I think at once for members of my church youth group. My church youth group, that’s topic enough for several journal entries: Handbells, handjobs, and Jesus. That will have to wait, in the mean time back to smoking. I think in all honesty I smoked about half a pack of cigarettes up my nose over the course of a month before ever putting one in my mouth. I suppose the rest is history. Speaking of history, and in response to Lilho’s last entry, I have historically been fascinated with poop. I don’t know what spurred this fascination, but if you ever want to talk shit, I’m your man. Here’s a performance proposal I wrote for my performance art class last semester that was to include the five senses. Someone should enact it and let me know how it goes. Documentation would be fantastic to see:

The act of defecation remains one of the -if not the only - functions of the human body that reconnects it to the natural world. Through both the physical act itself and the spatial context in which it occurs, the individual is isolated from societal self reflection and his or her actions become directly meaningful to accomplishing the task demanded by the body’s natural processes.

Other such processes essential for the survival of the human as a natural being have fallen from meaningful natural acts to those of performances. The act of consuming energy in food has become a ritualistic performance with the rise of the culinary arts in the presentation of food and the display of proper “table manners� in it’s consumption. Tastes for food have become contingent on market and social forces. More often than not the majority of food we consume bears little resemblance to anything that could be found or sustained in nature. The act of sleeping has more or less been bastardized by outside forces dictating the proper posture, apparel, and amount of time one is to engage in this act. Even urination, the sister process of defecation, often becomes subject to forces outside those of the natural. Etiquette is widely discussed betwe
en
men as to the proper amount of urinals that must separate two men in the bathroom when possible, and an argument can be made that a unique bathroom discourse has evolved between men while engaging in this act. Younger women often travel to the bathroom in packs or at least pairs and occupy the same stall urinating while talking among each other.

The elevation of the aforementioned acts to meanings far detached from the natural processes themselves has for the most part not acted upon defecation. Physically, the act of defecation reconnects the body to that of a natural composter or consumer of energy. Regardless of the appearance or setting in which the food was consumed (a five star restaurant or a TV dinner) this matter will be ejected from the body in an identical form regardless of one’s position in the “social hierarchy.� This strips away for the time being any pretension of superiority one may feel while among others outside of the act of defecation. One can eat better, sleep better, and fuck better than another according to relative social standards; but is it possible to shit better than another?

On the strict psychological level, the context in which defecation occurs offers the individual a spatial and temporal area in which all outside influences and perceptions of audience are shed. Using Ervin Goffman’s theory of the Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, defecation with it’s status as a social taboo and the manner in which it is hidden behind closed doors may offer the closest opportunity for an individual to realize his or her self in its most sincere form. With surveillance technologies encompassing more and more areas in which the individual could previously believe his or herself alone, it has come to pass that there now stands few places one can go where he or she is certain to be free from the gaze of the Panopticon. The simultaneous growth of literature and media representations dictating the proper actions and appearance one is to exhibit has left few spaces where one can feel as if he or she can act in a natural, audience free “backstage� area. Without seeking such spaces, or actively searching for self-awareness, the mandated daily act of defecation may be the one time the individual has to his or herself to act and think in a manner separate from the dictums of the social environment.

Dedicate up to 24 hours free from any other obligations or interferences that could distract from successful completion of this sensory experience. Cook or purchase a meal to consume. Note it’s appearance, texture, smell, flavor, and the sounds emitted from the act of consuming it –i.e. cooking, chewing, swallowing. Focus exclusively on these sensory experiences while clearing your mind of any thoughts unrelated to the act for which you are engaged. Should you choose, attempt to isolate each sense by removing all others –i.e. to isolate taste place yourself in a completely silent and dark space and do not chew. Following the meal, choose a secluded space and attempt to reflect upon this experience using a medium of your choice. While reflecting, continue to notice sounds and sensations occurring from within your body as the meal is processed in your digestive system.

When the time comes, utilize the same attention to sensory experience as was undertaken while the food matter was brought into the body. Position a mirror across from yourself and observe yourself in the act of excretion. Concentrate exclusively on the nuances of your bodily movements. Listen intensely and breathe deeply. Summon memories of the scent and flavor of your meal. Compare the sensation of touch and movement of your hands to those you observed while consuming the food matter. Stare intently into the mirror before you and take yourself seriously.

Reflect upon this experience in the same fashion and medium as was done following the meal. Use the objects created through both periods of reflection in any way you see fit.

Thanks for the hospitality last night Paul, Terry and Mathew. I hope my housemate and I didn’t wear out our welcome. It didn’t really occur to me at the time, but I hope your downstairs neighbors didn’t get upset with you for impromptu dance party that took place around 4:00AM. Speaking of dancing I worked the last dance recital of the season this evening, I’m sorry to see them end. Oh, Jill, I’m serious about starting a dance group so be warned that I will begin to hound you about this once work begins to die down. I’d like to elaborate more, but I have to return to work at 7:00AM tomorrow for the Guitar Festival load-in. Sleeping will be a little difficult this evening as the man in the middle of this photo is currently wailing out on guitar in my living room. Who am I to try to kill rock and roll? Going to find some earplugs and hit the sack.