late june 12 2000
oh, lawd. so mom-dukes and sissy spacek came in for the weekend, but since i don't believe in putting family out there like that, i'll hold off on the stories. suffice it to say that the puerto rican day parade was not ready for my mother. she was up in that piece waving a huge foam glove that said "#1 boricua mami," and my sister was rocking a t-shirt that said the same thing. then they hijacked the big pun memorial float and started lip-synching to it's so hard. frankly, i was a little embarrassed, but hey, it's blood. not much i can do.
well, that's not really how it went down. sunday was actually spent cowering in the air-conditioned homage to canned foods that is my grandmother's apartment. the day before we hit up the met, which i hadn't been visited in 6 long culturally arid years. being a savage, i tend to shy away from the highbrow, but the l'ecole de paris fauvist/cubist exhibit was off the heezy fo' sheezy. also, the modernist design exhibit gets my propmaster see-this-at-all-costs award. for added frugality, use your long-expired columbia i.d. and cover up the date with your finger so you get in for free! sheeeit, it's art. might i suggest that we go ahead and ignore the fact that i was completely absorbed by an exhibit of art deco housewares. in fact, to distract you from my highly-developed aesthetic palate, we'll move on to other matters.
like brooklyn thuggery! saturday night was spent at two parties. the first featured gunshots directly across the street. well, we didn't know they were gunshots at the time. well, i did, but that's just my fine-tuned bladder-emptying spidey sense. i was involved in a highly predatory conversation with a young lady (since i'm, you know, an unrepentant predator), and we heard the three pops. the ensuing conversation was something very much along the lines of:
me: yo, was that shots?
her: what? nah, that was a car backfiring.
me: sounded like shots to me.
her: psssh. i'm from dc. i know what gunshots sound like.
[Ed. note: this young lady happened to be from dupont circle, which is basically the chelsea of washington, dc. that is all]
...soon after, the girl's friend comes up to us...
friend: yo, there's mad cops outside. some fools were shooting.
me (looking pointedly at girl): i told you those were shots.
her: please! you thought that was a car backfiring.
there were more highlights to the night, that will be dealt with in subsequent installments of the serialized version of "the first hot-as-goat-balls weekend of the summer." they will include such bone-chilling adventures as "pj opens someone else's car door" and "we met the trix bunny's daughter," as well as perennial favorites like "i like reggae" and "i like girls who dance well to reggae even more." it's not a very deep repertoire, but it serves me well. also, there's a recent-ish pic of me up at sparky's cronies page. the hat = well-cultivated brutishness. mmm, posturing.
to recap: fauvism is off the heezy fo' sheezy. bladder-emptying spidey sense. thank you.
p.
and yo. my full-on venture kneejerk.net is up and running, though not nearly full. go and getcha read on. for me.
props to darkcounter.com
and sitemeter