areyoulistening

I am going to see the Misfits tonight at B.B King’s in Times Square. For the most part, I haven’t done that much as an adult on Halloween. I’ve either gone to bars downtown and made snide comments with my friends at people dressed in costumes or gone to parties at people’s house that usually aren’t all that fun. Tonight feels like it will be the first Halloween thing I’ve done in a very long time.

I had to convince Elaine to come with us because she “only likes their old stuff.” But that was my fault because I forgot she saw them a few times with Danzig when she was an infant. I have always been a little scared of the dark side of punk and metal. All that make-up and feeling of impending doom always made me feel uneasy. When I want make-up mixed in with some impending doom, I’ll go visit my Aunt Gloria! Ya know what I mean!?!?! Sure ya do, look at ya smiling there reading this on your computer or your jazzed up phone…hey, thanks for reading, by the way! Let’s get back on track on here.

I can recall looking in the music section of the Caldor on Central Ave at a very young age and being very scared by the cover of KISS albums or even the name Grateful Dead. I also really hated the inside art of the Appetite for Destruction album. That one scene where that poor woman has her panties down and looks she had been raped by that robot or something. Am I making this up? I’m pretty sure that was what is looked like. Here it is:

See? I mean, I was like 7 years old. The most I was willing to deal with was Michael Jackson as a zombie (even though at the end of the Thriller video he smiles at the camera and had cat eyes…I’m not sure what we were supposed to make of that.)

Part of me was always kind of disappointed to find out that KISS didn’t sing about zombies or hanuted houses. I mean they sing Rock and Roll All Night Long for God’s sake. They’re nothing more than Eddie Money with some shit on their faces. But the Misfits, they are scary. I am a little scared of them. I am going to be nervous when the fucking lights go down knowing those creepin’ Jesus motherfuckers are going to take the stage. And you know the crowd in that place is going to look a bunch of extras from a Tim Burton movie.

I’ll see how it goes. If you don’t hear from me again, it is because I was eaten by a zombie from outer space or by B.B King.

When I get a cold, I get usually get a lowdown, no good, yellowbellied kind of cold. I cough and hack up meatball sized chunks of phelgm that look like chicken fat, I can’t breathe and get caught picking me nose on the subway by strangers and I sweat. I should take it easy when I get like this but I never do. Case in point: last night.

I met Tracey, Dave and Bri at the Four-Faced Liar (the dumbest name for a bar I’ve heard in awhile) on 4th Street. We watched the fucking Red Sox come back and pull that shit they’re been pulling since 2004. We sat at the bar and had some beers. Nothing crazy but when you’re sick it only takes a little nibble of the creature to bring you down. So I woke up today with what they call ”the double dip.” I had the sinus headache from the snot that seems to be caught behind my very eyeballs and a pretty nice hangover headache to boot. That right there is “the double dip.” You get 2 for the price 1 and you buy one and you get one. 

I can’t take Nyquil really anymore because I can’t stop moving my legs whenever I take it. I lie in bed stuck in between a state of drug induced sleep and being 100% awake while my legs move to and fro. It is enough to drive you to drink….but then you’d wake up with”the double dip” and we’d be back at square one. So what do you do? I take 47 vitamins a day, I drink that Vita C shit, I eat 16 oranges for lunch and  I act like Green Tea is an elixir straight from God’s pharmacy in the sky.

I also get very irratible when I have a cold. I have trouble dealing with people who refuse to admit I’m right about something. In fact, if you ever want your ass kicked, call me when you know I’m sick and disagree with me. I’ll reach through the phone and scissor kick your neck. Fuck it, text me now, you fat idiot!

I didn’t think I’d like Facebook. I haven’t been on Myspace for awhile and I just kind of assumed Facebook was just like Myspace. Boy was I wrong! If you asked me a few weeks ago if I would care about a social network that allowed me to find out that a girl I went to grade school with is apple picking with her three kids or someone that I went to College with is upset about the economy, I’d smack your mouth. But I fucking love it!

People posting pictures of their friends babies or sending little treats to friends, you know? It all adds up to a good time. Not only do you get to see what other people are doing, they also allow you to view what people are saying on your friends pages! It’s like talking to people you don’t really talk to without all the awkward pauses!

It also reminds me of how you can be walking down the street and overhear someone say something like, “Look, there are reasons they sell KY Jelly…”and because it is socially unaccepted to stop and listen you’ll never the rest of that story. Facebook allows you to get all the facts. It should be called Factbook. Actually, I’ll start a social network called Factbook. Don’t steal it, dickheads.

There was a story in the Daily News a week or so ago about another classical musician leaving his or her (alot of these classical types have wacky names and you just never know) instrument behind in a cab. I feel like this happens way too often. Hey Mozart, get your head out of the clouds and cut the shit. These cab drivers always return the instrument because they don’t fucking know. What are they going to do, see if any of the fellas back at shop are in the market for a Giovellia? No, there is just no way to sell one of those things on the street. So the story always goes that the driver hangs on to the instrument until Wagner, Jr. gets someone to dial a phone for them and have a conversation with another human being without breaking out into hives. He or she gets the instrument back and the world keeps on spinning. Next time sI say the cab driver get to smash the instrument in the street. Teach these bastards the world does not stop and start at their convenience.