January 17, 2005

• Bollocks it is cold outside.

  
  

  It is so cold that even the Yeti s like…eh I’m staying in tonite. It is so cold that the human torch is like, dam where is my flame resistant jacket. It is so cold that even God is like, whoa i may have fucked this thermostat thing up.

  
  

  And yet, dingleberry that I am, I still ventured out into the cold to go to the library because i am physically incapable of studying at home, and have been for as long as I can remember. So Out i went.

  
  

  I kinda like walking across crunchy snow. It makes me feel like I am some sort of Arctic Explorer, crossing the frozen tundra (Ice! Penguins! Frostbite!) in search of someplace warm where I can continue my dorkiness.

  
  

  My last name, for those of you who dont already know, is Dworetzky. It is a russian last name. Last I checked, russians came from siberia and other cold climes, so why am I so freezing? I need to have a conversation with my russian blood. It would probably go something like this:

  
  

  Me: Hey Russian Blood, what gives? Keep me warm
  Russian Blood: *silent, since blood cant’ talk*
  Me: If you warm me up right now, I will give you some Vodka
  RB: Okay!
  Me: RB, you can talk!?
  RB: For some Vodka, tovarisch, I will make you dance!

  
  

  Another glimpse for you people into my disturbed mind. I dont call this your dose of surreality for nothing.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  This guy had this HUGE FUCKING NAIL in his skull and did not notice anything except a toothache. And I just mentioned how teeth are eerie.

  
  

  A nail gun backfired on Lawler, 23, on January 6 while working in Breckenridge, a ski resort town in the central Colorado mountains. The tool sent a nail into a piece of wood nearby, but Lawler didn’t realize a second nail had shot through his mouth

  
  

   

  
  

  Didn’t realize? What was going through this guy’s mind (aside from a 4 inch nail, haha)

  
  

  Lawler: Ho Hum…doing the construction and what the hey? A nail gun just went off in my face, but I seem to be okay except for this toothache….wonder where that nail got to? Eh, it will turn up…yay lunch break!

  
  

  A friend of mine has friends who are strippers. I dont know why, but i just think that is cool. It did get me to thinking though…how does one become a stripper? are there stripper schools? is it on the job training? are some just born with the natural ability to dance on a pole? Lucky for you, My determined searching of google came up with this handy Stripper FAQ…yes, that is me tirelessly working for you people out there to find answers to all of life’s mysteries. I read the whole FAQ, and man, I know how I am going to pay for my med school education

  
  

  Loans. Lots and Lots of them.

  
  

  My thoughts are all over the place today. I miss raving. I have not been in a long time, and I always enjoyed it. The dancing, the music, the chemically friendly people, the shiny lights, the breakdancing, the clothes, everything. I remember back when I used to be all fresh and googly eyed (no, not from drugs) when i first started the scene. Now I am starting to get a little old to go. Most of the peepz when I last went were around 15-20, not that there is anything wrong with that, but it does make me feel old.

  
  

  Luckily it is an accepting culture, so perhaps I shall go again one day when I return to LA. If any ravers happen to come across this post, message me PLUR

  
  

  Other things I miss:

  
  

  Capoeira. Due to being unable to procure a car, and also due to the fact that it has been fucking freezing the last couple weeks, I have gone to studio since like um november, and this makes me sad. I still practice au and ginga and some other stuff in my living room. I am getting reasonably proficient at walking on my hands (but sadly only backwards)

  
  

  Having a g/f. And not just because of the sex. If you are thinking so, you are wrong. And where you go wrong is in thinking sex is special. It isn’t. Monkeys have it, and not because someone gave them flowers or expensive jewelry. I just like the knowledge that there is someone who will come over for the express purpose of doing nothing, and hmm you know i dont think i can explain this well, so i will stop.

  
  

  However, this does remind me to call airport girl again. She is a crafty minx, this one…she has managed to succesfully turn me down on several occasions, but always with cleverly concocted reasons, like, “I am still in L.A. and you are in chicago,” or ” I am studying because I am in law school, and have finals next week” But fear not loyal followers! I shant give up this easily, and though she lead me on a merry chase, I will obtain an outing to see if it could go anywhere, because I love a challenge.

  
  

  Did you know that the slogan for Colt 45 Malt Liquor is “Works Every Time”? That makes me smile-God Damn, I’m Drunk again! This shit WORKS EVERY TIME!

  
  

  Want to call some pay phones? You can find one in your very own town! Talk to possibly a friendly local, gang member, urban pharmacist, prostitute, or someone who would pick up a ringing pay phone (like me!)

  
  

  On my mp3 list right now came on the song “Sunrise Nippon” by Arashi. I dont remember why I downloaded this song originally, but it is really cheery and if you dont pay close attention, it sounds like they are singing Sunrise, Meatball! Which I think is a pretty nifty mental image. Go ahead an picture one day a giant meatball rising in the sky and shining rays of spaghetti streaming from it. And then it rains marinara sauce. Wasn’t there a children’s book that involved something like that? I think there was….if anyone can find the name of this book and confirm that I am not some crackpot, i would appreciate it greatly

  
  

  And in keeping with another of my ongoing xanga motif’s, namely my interest in etymology, I did some searching and found the origin of crackpot:

  
  

  It suggests that a person’s brain is like a cracked pot, in other words that he or she is in some way deranged. Pot was once a slang term for the skull, and something cracked was obviously defective—a older expression with a similar meaning that used the same word was crack-brain, and of course we still have the slang term cracked for someone who’s thought to be crazy (not to be confused with crackhead)

  
  

  It does make the term pothead, redundant though.

  
  

  Hmm…off to make some brownies…although not the altered kind as I am being good while in school

  
  

  -J

  
  

  Josh whips it. Whips it good.

  
  

   

  • 1:01 am
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