dream last night

Jason Cooley — Tue, 11 Mar 2003 15:01:36 +0000

dream:
A guy who posts on the Kochalka website forum “Steveistops” turns out to be a writing editor for PLAYBOY. Somehow he hooks Kochalka up with this really hot playmate. They are going at it in my living room. She has nice red panties on. I leave and go to work. My bosses are thinking of making a complaint to the Muzak company. They feel that the musical choices that Muzak is providing lacks variety and that customers don’t even know it’s there. I think of people like Mark Arm working at the Muzak place to make ends meet and put forth the idea that if the customers don’t know the music is there, then the Muzak people are doing their job, the whole point of their existence is to provide music that doesn’t challenge the listener or disrupt his meal. If the customer notices the music, then there is a problem. I don’t remember how this went over. I leave to get coffee. Then I see my old roommate Ashley on the street and tell her I’m not really a detective. She says she knows and starts laughing and then I wake up.

Perfect days

Eric Olsen — Fri, 07 Mar 2003 14:31:32 +0000

Ah, yes. We have so much to look foward to, don’t we? Bombing ultimatums, colored advisory tides, softening up, the oncoming Peterbilt of cancer and other lurking ailments … music just seems to suck it up, and film– well, what can one say of modern cinema? But my SUV runs like a charm, I tell you what. And my Viennese dark roast really hits the spot on cold mornings like today. I just hold my shiny (elevated) yellow mug with both hands, covering the cartoon Chicago with my right palm, and hum. Debilitate/liberate, my dad would always say … that, and “accelerate through the turns, son.” Yes, I know: good advice, especially during these cakewalk times of pen-cameras and duct-taped VW doors.

Relief awaits the patient … this has been made evident by the announcement yesterday of a new airline: HOOTERS AIR. Yes, chickenwings and orange satin shortyshorts have now taken to the air. Limited runs between Atlanta and Myrtle Beach, with connections to Newark on the way. Brings me back to the good old days when me and my frat brothers would hop a slow moving freight train behind McCormick Plaza and ride the 35 minutes down to Gary, Indiana, walk down 7th Avenue to the best fucking Hooters in the country, catty-corner from Demont’s Drive-Up Liquor & Gun Shop.

Shit. Worst thing is, you can never go back, man, you know? I couldn’t tell you where half of those guys are at now.

This is how I like it now, though. Drinking the coffee at the precipice of a despot-less world, sitting in front of a 21″ flat-screen in my underwear, scratching my soft gorilla chest until the phone rings. I take pictures of cornerstones and collect them in my filing cabinet under a folder entitled PROOF. And people never let me down because I don’t expect different from them … this makes it all the easier, I say.

Icebox Records » coffee

dream last night

Perfect days