Hello, I'm a big jerk antifolk musician who puts his fucking napkin-doodles on his Web site.
[here is where I am too chicken to link to this guy's actual Web site.]
It's been rainy in the mornings. I think that one of these days I'll fill you in on what I was up to in the PAST. So maybe start reading my archives. If you are an old, dear, faithful reader, maybe you'll see something new. If you're a new, dear, flippant reader, they're all good. My life is FASCINATING.
Also will you marry me, and if so will someone else marry me too so we can have an enormous, complicated family like on Big Love? I really like that show, partially because it has such an amazing child bride on it. I love how she is a wilful, spoiled, manipulative, manipulated child bride. And a stealer! But I was a better child bride still. I didn't steal, I drank! Also I have a friend who thinks that her personality is more suited to being a second wife, but I was at a friend's photo exhibition--her MFA show--at the time, and was distracted by a photo of a snake, and didn't have time to find out why she would be a good second wife. It might have been something about being deferential or a wallflower or something, but maybe that's a quality that's equally suited to being a regular wife? Dear friend, if you're reading this, let me know what you were talking about.
Meanwhile the IR was looking at the color-saturated snake pictures (snakes on different patterned fabric) and she was kind of jealous and she was like, "Whatever, I could do an awesome snake picture, except I'd put the snake on my tits like I was Elizabeth Taylor, you know what I mean?" and I was like, "I guess so." Then we went out front and smoked lettuce cigarettes and contemplated the smoky violet air. Then everyone went out to a bar that gave you an entire free pizza if you bought a beer, and I didn't buy any beer but there was so much free pizza that I still was allowed to have some. And then I have no stamina for going out anymore--I'm so, so old--and so I stumbled home and read [i] The Thirteen-Gun Salute[/i] on the train.
Also! For Mother's Day my mom came to visit me and we went to see a revival of "Jacques Brel" and it was pretty great! A crazy, junky little theater with a dark upholstered labyrinth of a bar/lounge before you got into the actual theater itself, with middle-aged moms jostling each other & questing for drinks & seating under the low-hanging tangles of Christmas lights and in between the looming shadows. Something about the whole thing reminded me of the one semiavantgarde circus I went to in Paris. There was a popcorn machine. Then you went into the small theater which was better-lit than the bar and you sat with your mother on a little loveseat made out of a carseat, and you watched a man in a fedora and enormous 60s-hip-nerd glasses mount some precipice over the stage & throughout the show he just beats the hell out of an accordion and piano and guitar, and you watched a very small-scale, perfectly-proportioned, veteran-of-playing-Edith-Piaf chanteuse woman with her hair in a loose chignon and her features like the weathered, chiseled features you want to have when you are fifty, or forty even, and the most perfect tiny stockinged legs come onstage and sing a song about the devil (Ca Va) in a rough, full, whiskeyed, joyously savage voice, and it is great. And also there is a tall enormous man with a kind of cynical and threatening French businessman's face who sings that song "Jackie" in just the cynical, savage, tortured, hilarious way he should, and also a kind of goofy lovable guy who looks like two of your friends, and a beautiful quirky younger girl, and it is a lot of fun, and the only bad part is that you thought the woman could have been rougher and more desperate with "Marieke," which is the best song and which is why you were almost named Marieke Toast-Vinciennes, and were almost not someone who had no name at all.