I'm gonna let your goldfish go, motherfucker.

LJ Barcode LJ username:

Don’t ask me what the fuck I’m supposed to do with this.

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Times like this remind me how much RENT fucking rocks. I love this musical, for ever and ever and world without end, amen. Of course, my MP3 player is on shuffle, so by the time I fill out the Music box it’ll be playing something else.



Which Agent Smith are you?

By Madeline Elster

Yes. Yes, I did cheat on this quiz.

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Not much of a week so far. Dad talked to Nanna (his mother.) She’s getting old and ready to die. I feel horrible about it but I don’t care that much. She’s my grandmother, but she was never really a part of our lives; more like a guilty afterthought. I mean, she can be such a vindictive bitch. Like when my Aunt Lenore was burned to death in a car accident, she wanted Uncle Mike to give her the insurance money that he got. And she hates my mother to no end. Not Mater’s fault- really- it’s not personal. But she picked Dad to take care of her when she got old and then he went off and got married. Ever since she’s had a bug up her ass. Plus Joan living with her threw more distance in there. Anyway. The point is that she’s dying and I just shrug and keep on going with my own life. I feel really bad about that.

Also Carl’s dad is dying. A lot faster than Nanna is- I guess he’s on life support right now, but he’s not breathing for himself and they don’t know if he’s going to pull through or not. I feel bad for Carl. He’s gotten dealt a really shitty hand, but you’d never know it to look at him. He’s 44 and doesn’t look quite 35, and he’s singing and laughing and animated all the time. But I mean, c’mon. His youngest son was shot and killed, allegedly by the other son- ages 5 and 7 respectively- he always said that his stepson, who was watching them at the time, did it and blamed it on the other kid, but the cops didn’t believe him. Doesn’t matter now- the stepson’s dead too, got shot about a month ago.

So everyone’s dying and everyone’s got problems. (Obviously an overstatement.) Life is at its normal SNAFU-y self. Huzzah.

I’m not scared of dying. Hell, I can’t wait, but that’s not angst and it’s not a suicidal tendency. I’m gonna kick the bucket when I’m old. Like Aunt Doris did, right after Christmas is over with, so I get one last good party in there. Then I’m gonna go back to Staten Island and die. Even if the polar ice caps have melted and Staten Island isn’t there anymore. I’ll row myself out over it in a little rowboat, drop an anchor, lie back and watch the sun set over the towers that are still above water in Manhattan. Then I’ll watch the stars and let the waves rock me to sleep one last time.

And then WHAM! I’ll be in Heaven, zooming around on (dry) city streets on a Ninja with Legolas. For the rest of Eternity, or until I get sick of it. In which case we’ll go hang out at Nona’s house and eat meatball soup.

I miss Nona.

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Short, nonsensical update, but it’s better than nothing. Or maybe it’s not. The real point is this isn’t an entry at all; it’s more like half of one. I write them up in my head all day, and they’re quite entertaining, but then I’m just not motivated enough at the end of the day to do all that much about it.

Fuck. I’m tired and hormonal and hungry and I’m going to bed before I hurt something or someone.

But before I do, I’d like to share with all of you a phantasmagoric song by Van Morrison. I suggest you download it, cause the way it’s sung is just really… odd. It grabs your attention. No one can figure out who the hell Justin is. Not Justin Timberlake. The “Justin… gentler…than a man…” line makes me laugh. I’ll leave it up to you to figure out why.

( In The Days Before Rock’n’Roll )