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rue-madame's Diaryland Diary

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Holden doesn't like phonies or things that are corny and neither do I.

Here’s something that made me laugh the other day:

I listened to Black Flag on Amazon.com

This struck me as particularly hilarious and I mentioned it to Terence, and he started cracking up. Then I called my sister, and she agreed that listening to punk rock snippets online is probably one of the strangest developments in recent history. Of course, I was listening to them because my 15 year old nephew fancies himself a skate punk and asked for a bunch of cds for Christmas, AND Terence kept singing the “tv party tonight” song, and I couldn’t remember what album that was on (“Damaged” in case you’re wondering.)

My nephew and his friends have started a band, and they practice in the garage. He plays drums. My sister thinks this is pretty cool, but she can’t let on that she thinks it’s cool, or my nephew will think it’s uncool and stop. Oh that crazy teenage logic. She’s not excited that he’s getting “Damaged” from me because she doesn’t like Henry Rollins (“he’s a jerk” she says) but she’d rather he listen to Black Flag than Slipknot. Last year, I got my nephew “Golden Shower of Hits” by The Circle Jerks, and I did listen to that before I gave it to him. Good goddamn, that is one funny fucking album.

I oddly sort of like Henry Rollins. I like his angry, taut body and the fact that he can do a handstand and scream lyrics a million miles a minute. Something about that kind of frenetic energy is attractive. The mysoginy thing I can do without, however.

Anyway, I am sad that Joe Strummer died yesterday. “London Calling” was really my first exposure to non-Top 40 music. My older sister played it for me when it first came out, and I was electrified. I loved the music, I loved the fact that my sister thought I was cool enough to appreciate it, and it basically set my music obsession in motion.

In other news, some friends are down from San Francisco and we hung out with them and their little boy today. Their kid is adorable, but we can no longer have conversations. Sentences just sort of break off abruptly because the kid is fussing or putting something in his mouth or touching something he shouldn’t be touching. It’s just a drag not being able to TAWK. Maybe in 5 years?

I’ve trained Terence to be my Quark monkey. I’ve taught him style sheets, function keys, pagination, etc, and now he’s going to be doing all of my book production. This means I’m now free to work on new projects. There’s a poster in the wings, and perhaps an invitation for some big p.r. company party. I shouldn’t count my chickens before they’ve hatched, but I’m a chicken counter. I can’t help it.

I finished re-reading “Catcher in the Rye.” It is now a completely different book than when I read it as a teenager and that’s not a bad thing. I think the book’s actually better, to tell you the truth. Makes me want to go out and buy a ridiculously big and red hunting cap and wear it backwards. If I had money, I’d got to the nearest Army Surplus place and go shopping.

Instead, I’ll just sit here, drinking wine and eating these little canapés that Terence made (Carr’s cracker topped with 2 slices of Comté, a sliver of cornichon and a tarragon leaf.) Not such a bad substitute.

6:55 p.m. - 2002-12-23

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