summer 'lovin

Happy 29th of the fifth month lads and gals.

I still owe you my 8:48 story but due to a busy Memorial Day Weekend and what has been a short, tiring, and ailing work week, time has been a lackin'.

Remember that paralyzing song Pearl Jam released on their '94 Vitalogy album creatively titled "Bugs"? I enjoyed playing this jingle for family members, set to repeat, until insanity ensued. Aw, the memories. I even choreographed an accordian skit to sometimes perform while the song played.

June is upon us which means my body has been temporarily seized by The Mosquito. This class, the lowest on the social insect tree, loves me. Every part of my body itches at any given second of the day (almost every part, pervs). I have become so accustomed to this relentless nuisance that at times I don’t even notice the burn. What exactly causes the violent craving to rub hard? The mosquito, an insect bearing hideous wings larger than its very own body, takes an unwelcomed bite of human skin and leaves what? A dry pocket that survives solely on the scratch? At times, after a mad finger to skin session fails to please, I attempt to remove the bite from my body in its entirety in an attempt to stop the madness only leaving a masacre. Guess what. Still itches. Try scratching a pool of blood. You don’t know where your target is but something is driving you to the looney bin. How about those bite-free chaps who, lacking an ounce of personal knowledge, preach “don’t itch it; you will only make it worse” accompanied by the 'ole index finger shake. I have TRIED to “let it pass” but it never does. Last night while in bed I counted mini horses for two full hours waiting for the nagging bites to terminate mission but apparently they never sleep. I became delirious in my agitated state. I have not been able to shave my legs in a week. When I do sleep at night I subconsciously claw at the unmerciful sensation until fresh blood is drawn. I have several three inch deep nail marks on my ankles. Getting in a bathtub full of hot water is currently impossible. Odds are good I have West Nile. Don’t ask yourself “is West Nile still around”. It is.

To add insult to injury, this week I was victim to a blood sucking, disease infecting tic. If you think about it, I mean really dwell on it, what those gremlins do is pretty unforgiveable. Unbeknownst to us mortals, the vultures suck the life out of you while working, singing, playing cards, pumping fuel, eating ice cream, watching Cops, playing cops! They are not unlike the Red Cross only this time I didn’t sign up for the donation. The trespassing tic was discoverd four nights ago while getting some shut eye. I had an unusually strong[er] itch behind my left ear and when I succombed to the urge I felt the cold, hard shell as the bastard sucked my head dry. Once the sucker (pun yes) was removed a small sore developed and eventually a large puss producing bump took residence.

[4 mind wrenching hours later]

I have confirmed (sans a diagnosis from a medical care professional) my body has been tainted with a tic passing disease known as Lyme Disease kudos to the freeloader that invited himself and his fangs to use my body as a host for his feast four nights ago. I wonder how long he made my body his home. I will be the first to admit I am a hypochondriac but do I have to remind anyone how the Boy Who Cried Wolf ended? Exactly.

I have reviewed webmd and various “survival” websites for the avid outdoorsman. There is a 1.7% possibility that I read the symptoms and my mind adopted them as its own, but I swear my throat is sore and my lymph nodes are swollen.

TGIT [sounds like tgit] I am fanatically awaiting the weekend for no particular reason. I'm out like a scout (who wears OFF - better to be safe than sorry).

~ JOSIE'S ON A VACATION FAR AWAY...

clarity

I need to set the record straight...

I was not hungover in that pic ↓

Jerry, on the other hand, reaked something awful of crown and stale tobacco. It was the longest ride home.

Speaking of hangovers...

I title this next story "8:48". Buckle up ~ it's gonna be a nasty ride.

put a fork in me

Ahhhhhh....!!!

I am coming off a music induced adrenaline high. I am calling it MORI (aka Magic of Radiohead Part I), without a doubt there will be MORII and if the gods are good to me, MORIII. I peg myself as a die hard Radiohead fan (borderline fanatic) and, for the first time in the 10 years I have been following the boys, report I am no longer a Radiohead virgin.

I like to call this

"THE DAY AFTER" [yes i am wearing my concert T - no I did not wear it during the show]


Radiohead was positively an invigorating experience and incredibly personal. An emotional rollercoaster, if you will. The show, packed with hundreds of Dallas locals, hipster kids, and one man in a banana suit, far exceeded my expectations. Radiohead mesmorized me with their melodic, sometimes haunting magic, leaving me hungry for more. I am not one to gush about emotion and when I do break the seal [wink] I try to be subtle about my feelings, but allow me to dork out for a second and state for the record that during the 120 minute show (give or take) I connected with the music in a way that paralyzed me. I did not wig out like a 15 year old teeny bopper at her first Beatles concert, but I did tear up during their debut performance and it was not the only time. Radiohead delivered each song with power, passion, and creativity in a way that opened and fed my soul. Due to lack of a more fullfilling phrase I can assure you that during those 120 minutes I was moved over and over again. At one point I turned to Nikki and shouted, with a big fat grin, "this is one of the happiest moments of my adult life". You don't get that sort of sentiment often from me. Unforgettable. For those of you who quesetion how, this is living.

I had a difficult time choosing a video clip to share with you guys from Radiohead's Dallas show. I chose Fake Plastic because it was the second moment I teared up during the show and it was a brilliant performance. It was also the most surreal moment of the night for this girl. When I wasn't getting sappy, I was dancing my ass off and screaming into some dude's right ear who was standing at an alarmingly close distance in front of yours truly. When I watch this clip, in addition to other performances from this incredible show, I still get chills.

"But I can't help the feeling...I could blow through the
ceiling...If I just turn and run..."

5 days and counting...

we hope that you choke, that you choke, that you choke

coming soon to a computer near you

that dickie hard at work again...




marlow the tease...

"how u doin"


SUMMER '08
MARLOW AND DICKIE

don't call it a comeback

As birds were beginning to chirp this morning, I was enjoying a rather intense sexual rendezvous when I was disrespectfully interrupted by my iPhone, imitating church bells, fullfilling its daily 5:45 a.m. duty of waking me from golden slumbers knowing I have no plan to clear the sheets a second before 7:15. No day should start out this disappointing before making a complete exit out of slumbersville. Naturally, I wished upon the dream fairies to teleport me back to the euphoric entaglement but instead found myself reunited with odd acquanitnances and long lost friends together as a group in my high school gymnasium for no particular event. Double wammie. Lost sex dream faced with memories of the dorks of my youth I fought so hard to forget.

It…it…it t’was…SOAP POISONING….!!!

taking a break, blog for 'ole times sake, clearing my thoughts, connecting the dots...

[eat your hearts out rapper wannabes....don't hate the magic]

I've got an idea...take a look at this devil...



Folks, I would like you to meet my roommate, and dear family friend, Jerry Oscar Seinfeld. Don’t be fooled, Jerry is not a full blooded canine of the Jack Russell Terrier family. Jerry's blood runs half rodent/half dinosaur. Clever kid that one - struggles with ambition. After his bout with Seasonal Affective Disorder the die hard started putting in 14 hour days at The Weekend Theatre working directly under Frits Milchowsky, Director of Events and Sr. Casting Exec. These days when Jerry comes home at night, correction if Jerry comes home at night, he demands a double scotch and water, hops on the couch where he inevitably passes out, and tests my sanity with ceaseless snoring. When he can't sleep at night Jerry escapes the demands of art by means of a phony myspace account posing as "Chino", a Vegas promotions manager at The Mandalay Bay Casino and Resort who was born and raised with his 2 brothers, 1 sister, and 1 half brother in a little town called Moapa Valley. Jerry doesn't think I notice the light shining through the door crack at 3 am but I do. Half the time I don’t know whether he’s coming or going. True story: two nights ago Jerry walked through the front door at 9 pm, puked on the hardwoods, then proceeded to clean up the brown concoction half single malt scotch whisky half dead bird with the tongue of his very own mouth. Jerry means well, he does. This is the first month Jerry has been able to make rent, on time and in full, and I am really trying to give the little guy a second chance. Having dabbled with depression last month I feel its necessary to keep the boat steady if ya know what I mean.

I promised Jerry a plug: If you are looking to get out this weekend please keep in mind The Weekend Theatre's rendition of "Sailor's Do Cry" debuts Saturday evening, curtain call at 8:15.