Jouis Dans Mon Cul, Spiderman (Old Myspace Blog from 3/19/07)

Well, the marker has officially been set a-ticking. I have exactly one month more in France before departing to my motherland in Chicago.

There are good things, though, namely that the greatest concert announcement I could ever daydream of (ha ha) has happened. Sonic Youth (my favorite band of all time) will be performing Daydream Nation (my favorite album of all time) in its entirety at the Pitchfork Music Festival in Chicago. I really don't think I will be able to handle this moment.
My predictions for the top moments of this concert:

1. Absolutely do doubt will be the performance of song four "Cross the Breeze". This is my favorite Sonic Youth song of all time and I've never heard it live and assumed I'd die before hearing it live.

2. The "Teenage Riot" opening. I've heard it, love it, bleed with it, but never tire of it. I will have immediate shivers.

3. The "Trilogy" at the end. The beautiful sonic lull of "Hyperstation" working it's way into "Eliminator Jr"... I just don't know what I'll do when I hear this live. Then it will be over, but I won't be upset because it will surely be that good.

4. Whatever unexpected moment happens during "Providence".

5. Eric's Trip going straight into Total Trash. I've heard these songs live before, but I couldn't imagine them back to back. And when I heard Total Trash live in Cincy, it was unrehearsed, so I'm thinking that the noise portions will be drawn out the most for the concert. I'm thinking that this might be a slightly long version.

6. God, being outside, Front Row Thurston as always on a great Chicago night will just be as great as it always is. The only problem is that I'll have to be there from the morning until the night without moving which will be a little shitty, especially because no one I know will even remotely possibly play along with that. But I'll get to witness an unbelievable spectacle.And Pearl Jam is heavily rumored (with a Chicago Trib article to back it up) to be headlining Lolla this year. At bare minimum, it will be interesting and it will assure me of going to this.
But things have been quite interesting on my tail end portion of France. Hmmm, there's really so much to say as of late.

Significant updates:

1. Amsterdam was wonderful and glorious and special, etc, but my closest friendship came to a screeching halt. Adriana and I are no longer friends, lovers, Romans, or countrymen. For the last three weeks we haven't spoken after a major blow out on the last day of the trip. It was inevitable, but I was thinking that it would be inevitable in the future, not in the present. I have mixed feelings about all this, but unlike past events, my feelings are rather subtle and not (by any means) overwhelming.

I also realized that I'm not nearly as proud of a person as I thought I was or some people I know are. Pride is not just a "sin" but it's rather annoying and cloying. So after three weeks, I sent her a text message and asked if we could grab a drink, to which I was told "no". I'm sure she enjoyed this moment immensely, I was bothered but really not too much. It's funny how you don't know people until they fuck you over. You think you know them, but they're really just figments of your imagination. I used to get angry at my mother because she would be in love with suitors (usually car salesmen) that were complete bastards. I knew they were complete bastards (even at the age of 12 or so) but she couldn't see it. Then they would hit her or the cat or yell at me and she would see it. She would see what she was blind to all along.

I guess we all have these moments, but in thirty years, I've never had a moment as poignant as this one. Unavoidable? I'm not really sure. I stand by my motto that in order to really get to know someone, you have to see them at their worst (really drunk, really pissy, really angry) then you can take the relationship from there. But never in my life have I been so deceived and misread a human being to such a level.

Also, slightly important to note, I really did nothing wrong. God, this is all sounding like a pathetic episode of Dr. Phil, but I've played it out in my mind (and oh what a rational mind it is!) a million times and can't figure out why anyone should be pissed but me. My personality doesn't allow for people to accept that I'm pissed because I'm always so fucking nice to everyone. It really should be that when I get pissed, people realize it's for a good reason, but they don't. My anger never is taken seriously because I look ridiculous when I'm angry. Then (looking ridiculous and being fully aware of it) I turn to the only device that I know will piss people off and that is passive aggressive silence. I pout like the poutiest pouting champion four counties over. Pout with passion. God, people don't take well to that. I understand all of this; it just sort of sucks to be in the center of it.

2. I went to a really cool sauna in Baden Baden, Germany with Carole and had one of my fonder experiences on the trip. It's only like ten euros for three hours and you get to swim in these awesome pools that have jets that just turn your muscles into jello. A current pool also. I don't like or know how to swim, but I have to say that I enjoyed just floating on my back with the current.

The upstairs was mandatory nudity. This was odd for a few reasons:

a. It's weird to be naked with your girlfriend in public. I'm not sure if this is just me or if everyone would agree.

b. There were a strange mix of people (old people that needed the heat for their arthritis, cripples, fat people trying to sweat out a few pounds... but then also really gorgeous young tall blonde German women). It was tough not to stare, but then Carole said that she stares at everyone and examines them because she can't help it, so I did too. She said she once saw a man with "zee biggest sex I have ever seen!) He was old and it was lying on his stomach. For some strange reason I enjoyed this story, but found it horribly disturbing simultaneously.

c. You have to take a cold shower when you get out of the sauna for reasons I'm not sure of, but this... uh... well, yeah.

d. There was one guy that was really playing with himself... Like totally going at it.
Otherwise it was great. I was so relaxed by the end. We went to the "Blue Room" where we sat on these chairs that have meditative music playing right into your ears in surround sound. It's intended to make you go into a trance and it worked for me. I felt like a new man after it.

3. I went to two parties this weekend. One party was thrown by Alex, a guy with a line beard and a shirt that always attempts to show off his chest. We got there late (Carole, me, Alexander, and Robin) and stayed until the end. A whole lot of cheap champagne was consumed as we waited for Carole to arrive. That stuff is suicide the next day; worst hangover ever. You can't complain about the price, though. €.89 for a full bottle. That would be like sixty cents in the US. There's no reason to not go for it and get seven bottles in a night when it's that cheap.
Carole and I were getting along quite well. The Italian girl I work with was talking to me for quite a while and I had to be careful about that. It seemed like she sort of liked me, even though she's never given any sort of sign like that in the past. Maybe just my imagination, but Robin agreed.

There was some drama in the end, but nothing insurmountable. Alexander is leaving and I think we're all a bit unsure how to react to it. Robin and Carole cried a bit (Carole's mother died two years ago on that day, I later found out) and Alexander and I had a great debate over the merits of the Velvet Underground's "Loaded" (I said it was their worst album, he said one of their best). A good night, all in all.

Saturday was a party at Stephanie's where the theme was "Dress as a Drink". This seemed like an impossible task to all of us (everyone but Carole went) so we just didn't dress up at all.
****Ah, major sidenote is needed to interupt here. Betsz sent me the greatest gift I've ever received in my life! In the mail (just in time for the parties) was a pair of purple sunglasses that light up (totally robotic, man). My idea is to take a picture of everyone I see with the glasses on. I've got about twelve people so far (including a man with one arm (my guess is tractor accident)) and hope to get a bunch more. They were my costume, though I had no connection to a drink. I said I was electric kool aid, but that was a pretty stupid answer.
Anyway, I was in one of my extremely over-confident moods and decided that I wouldn't be a wall flower this evening. There was a table of hard alcohol that aided that decision. People were really nice and cool and I had a swell time. We got there late and people left relatively early, but the night ended with me on the bed with three other assistants giving back rubs until I passed out and (supposedly) snored through the entire night. There were numerous other relatively hysterical moments and things said, but I feel like a bit of a creep when I act like that. I like being aggressive, but sometimes it's a bit absurd. But in the words of Gladys Knight, "That's what France are for... keep smiling, keep shining, I know that you will always count on me, for sure" etc.

4. Carole and I are getting along smashingly. I think I would have been really upset about the Adriana thing without her. It's so strange that I found this relatively perfect person that I could never imagine fighting with or having any issues with three months before I have to return home. She's getting quite sad about it, and I am, too. We went last night to the Molodoi for a noise concert (just like the kind that I always see in Chicago) and it just felt so perfect. She likes everything that I would want a mate to like (good music, movies, books, clothes, etc) and we have that nice sort of relationship where we have inside jokes and stuff that only we know about. The name of the concert last night was "Art is Anal" and one of the bands booked themselves as "Jouis Dans Mon Cul, Salaud" which roughly translates into "Come in my ass, bastard". Carole told me what this meant, and I haven't been able to stop saying it since. She gave me a temporary spiderman tattoo the other night, so I kept saying it to Spiderman. "Jouis dan mon cul, Spiderman", I shout out at least fifteen times per night. God, it's really horrible when you're someone like me that either is completely unable to please someone or unable to be pleased... it's horrible when things seem perfect and this insurmountable problem is going to bring it to an end in 30 days. I'm trying to talk her into coming to Lollapalooza and seeing Chicago (God, she's fucking love it), but she doesn't seem to have the resources for it. Maybe. There's a lot that goes on in her head that doesn't make it out her mouth. Tough to really know much at all of what's happening. I guess I wonder whether this thing is only perfect, though, because it's inevitably going to end. It makes it less scary and uncertain. We will never see each other again after thirty days... it's just something that you can't argue with.

I don't want to make a pity party of this. We had fun, I'm sentimental, but a better sentimentalist from afar than up close. I guess there's nothing wrong with experiencing a short lived unflawed relationship that will get the proverbial band aid ripped off of it in one sudden jerk.

The last band of the night (They were the "Jouis dans mon cul, salaud" band) were three guys that stood behind strobe lights that were completely blinding for over one hour making a horrible drone sound with keyboards. Then they got naked (I think, it was impossible to see with the strobe lights) and continued the noise. Everyone in the audience was so weird and totally wacked out on drugs. Drug use is not a problem at the Molodoi. People just pass it around and offer it up to strangers. I was totally sober and couldn't get into the music, but some people were just losing their minds with the strobe lights and the noise, and everything.

Carole and I were sitting on a couch, I got up to go to the bathroom and these two guys took my seat and the seat next to Carole. They refused to get up when I got back. For many reasons, this is my most hated moment that I have as a man. It's so much trickier in France as well. I've never once in my life been the guy that punches the guy in the face, let alone even the guy that gets pissed and tells him to move. Last night was the same. I just stewed and thought for the entire concert about how badly I wanted to punch the guy and tell him that he was a lousy fucking bastard that should have some fucking respect for people and their seats. None of this happened. Carole and I just joked about the fact that Spiderman would soon get on the stage and have the musicians Jouis in his cul. I know I'm just sort of rambling here, but I haven't yet really processed all of this and the strange emotions that these events stir in me.

So, in terms of my existence in Strasbourg, Adriana won't talk to me, Alexander is leaving on Friday, I have some people I see on a slightly regular basis, but the death is starting. I'm sort of feeling like my cat Simpson that died on my eighteenth birthday. Simpson was a great cat (our first) that had more personality than a thousand Schmoos. Simson seemed immortal, like she'd been through so much and we never thought she'd bite it. I came home from school and couldn't find her but heard her moaning somewhere in the house. I guess cats try to go as far away to a remote hiding place when they're about to die. They don't want their owners to see them in such a bad state. I wanted to pet her while she was still alive though and try to console her. She sat behind the toilet where it was nearly impossible for me to comfortably reach her. I did, though, and told her it would be all right and she'd be fine if she hung on and all that. My mother came home, saw her, said we should go to Red Lobster anyway (birthday dinner, ha ha), and left her to die. She was dead when we came back from Red Lobster. I couldn't look at her; my mother just threw her in the garbage.

I feel like Simpson. It's easier to not see people before they go than it is to see people that matter a whole lot right before they/you go. Shit gets all weird, and no one likes weird except egomaniacs that need huge parties to send them off. Maybe I'm pushing people away... I just sort of wish that things didn't have to de so complicated (god, I think I just quoted Avril Levigne!) and disheartening. We'll say good-bye, promise to keep in touch, probably do so for a while, then drift away.

There was a moment when Adriana played that horrible fucking Modest Mouse song that stupid people like ("Float On") in our hotel room. I wanted to tell her that that song sucks and she has shit taste in music for having it on in her ipod type thingy. I don't like the idea of floating on. We don't fucking float. If you're smart, intense, and have the nerve to actually look around at the world once in a while, you don't just float through it. Fuck, I'm getting angry now. I remember one of my sister's friends had a mix cd of THEIR favorite songs that they gave away at their wedding. They were songs that supposedly meant something to the couple. Guess number fucking one... "Float On". Shit, if a girl ever told me that "Float On" should be our wedding theme song, I'd shit on her wedding dress.

I was talking to my Doner Amigo the other day. He asked me if I liked to swim (all of this is in French which has gotten a slight bit better in the past couple weeks surprisingly) to which I replied that I don't know how. He said he didn't either.

I said something pointless and stupid (as most conversations with Doner Amigo are (not because I don't like him, but the langauge barrier makes anything profound quite difficult)) that ended up being something I really liked. I think I want to write a poem about it (god, somebody shut me up!). I said "Good people don't swim". I meant it literally, but ended up being quite fond of the metaphorical implications as well. Good people don't swim, they fucking sink, man. It's the opposite of the lyrics to "Float On" because you're not ever ok after shit goes wrong. It makes you tough and weary. Turns your flesh wrinkly and into leather. The weight of all this and the fact that every single moment of every single day matters so much and plays into the formulation of an existence make you sink. If you don't sink, you don't think. And if you float, well, then you're a fucking moron.

Well, enough. I could say more, but I need to let this ranting die.

Ah, Monsieur Nagle is coming to visit... one more little shin dig before I return. Going to Budapest and spending some time in Strasbougie. As always, it will be nothing short of interesting when we get together. Paired with a foreign land, it will hopefully not result in arrest or death.