Twosday, All Saints’ Day, Tayler knockt on the door drunk & hatless, asking for help. Kenan was in 308 spilling water over everything & so we had to put him to bed. Then this kid from my Sociology class, Brooks, who lives in 202 directly below Tayler, came up & chilled with us. I put vodka in my powderd Gatorade an’ we started sippin. Introductory convo about girls & computers, music & smoke—It was really, really foggy & chilly outside. After a while Tayler & Brooks & I wanderd down to talk with some of the black guys who live in the 320s. Tayler was rambling about his atheism, how one rogue youth pastor had told him his dad was gone-to-hell for adultery & from then on, Tay’d only paid attention to historical facts instead of scripture. I tried to suggest that God was about faith not fact, saying “my dad’s a minister & he doesn’t go around condemning folks to hell like that”—but of course he was too drunk to listen or care really. But so was I, so it was all good. He ended up having to be put to bed like Kenan was. Brooks & I were now the babysitters. I got the perfect amount of alcohol in me—any more, and I would’ve been sick. (Seems I’ve learned my lesson.) I realized this just as I filled my cup with the vodka/punch mix, so I stuck it in my freezer for next-day use.
And the next night, Wednesday, I drank it and only got a little buzzed & played guitar. I have been playing that guitar so much, every day in the practice rooms. Normally I end up not really practicing my assigned pieces but instead just playing Cat Power or Frusciante songs. Some of them give me goose-bumps when I sing them right. (“Top Expert” comes to mind.)
Saw Memento tonight with Sean & Blake at the Belcourt Theater, in a private screening organized by the Psychology Club, of which Blake is a member. It’s like my third or fourth time seeing the movie. We drank fountain Dr Peppers & I quietly observed the crowd, trying not to think about the assignments due tomorrow. I am compiling in my brain all non-school projects: music, stories, languages, maps…
Turns out Jordan was bullshitting on Monday; he didn’t try coke & doesn’t really want to try heroin that badly either. He apologized and said he was trying to scare me & himself. I feel bad for him, this is a sucky time in his life & I’ve kinda been a shitty friend. We’re hanging out this weekend tho, so hopefully things will be cool.
Jeff Alford, concert hall manager, sucks giant turds. The end.
(This has been a non-stop busy week & my brain is FRIED)