The Boy Looked At Johnny
April 7, 2003. Afternoon.
I actually wrote this a couple nights ago, but it still
checks out. Although I'm not quite as surly at this moment,
Here it is!
Wait, didn't I promise you kids a trip to New York City?
Why, yes I did.
A few days later, and it doesn't even seem like it really
happened. I got back last Saturday at seven A.M., about a
week ago, after a solitary twelve-hour overnight roadtrip
with no money, a huge car-rental bill, a spent disposable
camera, Jessy kiss-marks all over my body and a major war
in progress. And, as they say, beautiful memories.
Am I torturing myself? Good lord. A trip to NYC with Jessy
was at once the most wonderful thing in the world, and the
stupidest. Stupid? Yeah, for two reasons: 1) with Jackie
moving out, I have almost no money anyway, and renting a
car is soooo expensive, and 2) did I really need another
huge reminder of how tiny and piddling and plodding and
pointless Louisville is? Well, no, but who gives two shits?
I saw New York finally, the beautiful city that beget the
Velvet Underground, Martin Scorsese, Jackson Pollock,
Willem de Kooning, Woody Allen, Patti Smith, Stanley
Kubrick, Andy Warhol, Robert de Niro, Allen Ginsberg, Frank
O'Hara, Cindy Sherman, Robert Rauschenberg, Richard Hell,
Jasper Johns, the Ramones, Edie Sedgewick, James Cagney,
Barnett Newman, the Strokes, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Public
Enemy, Bill the Butcher, Sonic Youth, Run DMC, abstract
expressionism, punk rock and basically every other
wonderful practitioner and form of aesthetic expression
that makes cultural life tolerable in the U.S.A. Excuse my
fanboy rambling, but gosh! To see it all! To have every
single street corner fraught with legend and mythos! The
Times Square of "Taxi Driver"! (well, not really...more
Giulianified) The Bowery of James Cagney! The Metropolitan
Museum of Art of "From the Mixed Up Files of Ms. Basil E.
Franweiler"! The 53rd and 3rd of Dee Dee Ramone! Jesus! Wow!
And of course, my dear little Jessy, though she would never
let me call her that. Heh heh.
But after that, pssssch, fuck it. I overdrew my account
today somehow...I have no money. Preston's is more of the
same. UofL is more of the same. I'm living some ridiculous,
fradulent parody of bohemian apartment life. When Jackie
moved out, she took all her things, of course. "All her
things," though, was basically everything in the apartment
not in my room. I have no couch, no TV, which is tolerable.
Preferable even, with this idiot war and all the U.S.A. #1
claptrap all over the networks. So good riddance. But I
also have no microwave, no toaster, no saucepan, no
kitchenware, no furnishings of any kind. No answering
machine!Which...oh, now that I type it out, it seems petty.
But the apartment is so barren! It's totally depressing.
Even at my worst at 1001 Bardstown, I had a couch and a
microwave and an answering machine. And things to cook
with! And I just have no money to go and buy these things.
Plus...daily nonsense from Bush and Rumsfeld and their golf
buddies. No pun intended, ha ha.
They'll be plenty of time to talk about the war later. It
certainly isn't going anywhere.
Oh, I could go on. These are pretty mediocre, occassionally
depressing times. At least Jessy calls once in awhile.
But you know...it's raining now. I'm listening to Adam Ant.
I've just about finished this paper and my underwear is
clean. Things could be worse. Things have been.
Records to buy after sudden unforseen influx of money:
White Stripes, "Elephant" (of course. These kids have been
critical to the development of Andy as we know him)
Stratford 4, "Love & Distortion" (I heard part of this --
it nearly made my cry it was so good, so dead-on; songs
about staying home alone and talking to your mom)
Black Keys, "Thick Freakness" (I've sung the praises of
these guys in these pages before)
Kills, "Keep Your Mean On" (or something like that)
Interpol, "Turn on the Bright Lights" (from Nate, used --
I've finally softened up to these guys. Strokes-like, yeah.
But great interviews!)