Thursday, July 29, 2004

Three Hours 'til Magic Time

So I'm moving into the Drake in a few hours. I have two bags packed with clothes,three books, a few CDs, a TV Carnage DVD, and various clothings, among otherthings. I thought my check-in day was this past tuesday, but it turns out Tyler Clark Burke is taking her sweet-ass sweet time sweetly moving out ofher sweet pad, and so I was homeless for two days. A lie. I am at my parent's house and will be after the residency as well. It's really getting time toleave the nest. The umbilical cord attached to me is starting to reek and rot. Maybe I should just let it rot away naturally--meaning, not move out of my parents' house until they or I die. It would be a funny contest. No, but really, I do want to leave the family nest. I think I only want to when I'm absolutely prepared though, both mentally and walletly.

I guess this Drake residency will entail performing there various times, and end with an edition of L'Afterparty on Wednesday August 25th,with my performance filmed for some kind of DVD, and also Brutal Knights will play, and also there will be DJs, and also there will be other performers. If only I could afford to have Nelly do a one-time only comedy set. What a dream. Seriously, I need to pick who's gonna play it, and fast.

Anyway, I started this entry two days ago and am now only just finishing it. Without
any further ado, more of my tour breakdown. Death Becomes Her is on the boob tube and I need to watch it, buddy.


We had bagels with Hollie in Boston and used the internet. It was awesome. Then we started driving again, listening to the new Neurosis album and critiquing various people we knew. The trip was short, but Providence was incredibly rainy that day, and mostly populated by Dunkin' Donuts, which seems to own most of the town's downtown area. Joey Mcintyre was performing at the Dunkin'Donuts Skating Rink that night, alongside Hanson and somebody else who probably has a weird slog of a life and is the toast of their hometown.

Muthafuckas be talkin' funny as flourescent talking shit in Boston and Rhode Island. Indian comedians probably do impressions of that type of accent as often as North American comedians use the 'funny indian' voice. You know what I mean. Providence was fairly miserable and drizzly, and we waited hours and hours before the club opened,attempting to eat fruit and veggies as much as possible that day, seeing as it seemed every night I was eating meat, and every morning also eating meat. The latter was often in the form of a sausage mcmuffin or sausage mcmuffinesque item. The club we arrived at didn't even have posters up for the show, and this led to a wildly underattended event. Luckily, I managed to garner somelaughs from those present, and me and Marco managed to find a place to stayin short order after my set--with a girl named Colleen, who we accompanied to 'metal night', which apparently occurs right above 'eighties night' in Providence. We were mostly drunk, save for Marco, and when arriving at Colleen's we proceeded to party further, unfortunately waking her sleeping roomate,as well as her sleeping roomate's sleeping boyfriend, who was none too pleased to see a couple of amazing dudes totally prepped to make a cuckold out of him, which didn't occur because it wasn't a possibility. Then a bunch of other peoples showed; one girl and a bunch of dudes me and Marco now refer to as a band called "The Cockblocks", because that's what those guys seemed to be all about. We got wasted and fell asleep without brushing our teeths. Waking up the next morning felt gross, and was compounded by the buying of brekwiches, the listening-to of the new Adam Sandler CD, and the drive back to New York City, which took forever, especially when we were actually in the city. Oy. Boo. Daaaam.

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