November!/Halloween Sucks
2002-11-01 � 11:27 a.m.

Well now -- it's finally November. Seems like I've been waiting for November to get here for years, and I'm not even sure why. But here it is.

That means several things -- Dismemberment Plan next Wednesday, my roommate's birthday -- but mostly it means NaNoWriMo.

I'm not really worried about it, though a lot of people seem to be. I know I can write and write and write. What concerns me ('concerns' not 'worries') is that I am hardly able to maintain a coherent narrative even in the short-form pieces I have undertaken heretofore. And you know what? No matter how much I claim that disjointed, un-anchored brain-spew is artistically valid (and I think it is, or can be), I'm never satisfied with it.

I guess we'll see. I specifically didn't make any concrete plans for this project (aside from making up a ridiculous working title to keep my perspective) -- I just ruminated on bits, made mental notes hoping that they'd jumble together and combine into something that was more than the sum of its parts.

Ha!

Daily wisdom:

"So many roads and so much opinion, so much shit to give in, give in to. So many rules and so much opinion, so much bullshit, but we won't give in."

-Le Tigre, Hot Topic

---

So -- Halloween. All Hallows Eve (which makes today All Hallows, right? All Saint's Day? Or am I on crack again?).

I didn't have big plans, as I think I mentioned. My plans involved silly clothes and some rock music. Well you know what they say, the best laid plans...

I got off work late, made it home, and was stuffing my face and planning my timeline for the evening which was going to work out just fine, in fact even better since I was running late (that really does make sense).

The phone rang.

The caller ID proclaimed that the caller was "DV8 Office." Now, I know that DV8 is a bar over on Powell, and I figured "Hey, one of my friends is out already, and wondering what's going on here with us. Better find out who it is."

I answered the phone, and it was my old friend Scott D.

First I got to receive the brunt of the guilt trip intended for my absent roommate. Seems Scott D., upon hearing of my roommate's assault, called and called and called our house, leaving messages for my roommate to please call Scott D. and tell him if he was alright or not -- which my roommate never bothered to do. Thus, guilt trip. And over something that wasn't even my doing!

Then he announced, "We're playing a show here tonight. Please come."

Ack! Not on my agenda, but the wheels have been greased with the guilt. "What time are you guys playing?" I asked, hoping that the answer would somehow provide me with an excuse not to go.

"In a half an hour."

Shit. Well, I said that I would come, and I promised that I'd try to find my roommate (and that's who Scott D. really wanted to see and talk to) and drag him along too.

So there went my chance to go do any of the three things I wanted to do for the evening (My Regrets, Hot Water Music, or the annual Cover Band Halloween Ball at the Blackbird). I finished eating, washed my face, and attempted to find my roommate.

It was when I called his cell phone and heard it ringing in his room that I gave up and headed out.

Well, the evening only got worse. At first it was okay -- Scott D.'s band sounded a LOT better than I remembered, and I was really enjoying them playing. Plus my friend Jorgen was at the show, and I literally haven't seen him in years, so that was cool.

But then it went sour. The band quit playing after about twenty-five minutes, and I got to watch my friend Scott D. act like a spoiled little brat as he threw temper tantrums at his band mates for quitting early because they thought they sounded bad, at his wife for just being there, and at the bar because it "sucked."

His wife actually left and drove away, it was so bad.

It was when Scott D. ordered food and then emptied the accompanying ketchup bottle onto the floor in some misplaced act of spite (and splashed fucking ketchup all over my shoes), that I decided it was time for me to go.

It was midnight by that point, and I figured I had a couple of options -- I could go home and go to bed, I could go downtown and catch the My Regrets show, because they always start way late, or I could just head over to the Bonfire and have a nice beer and relax and try to stop being angry at my ass of a friend.

Guess which one I picked?

The Bonfire was dead, even though the neighborhood was packed with cars. The Goodfoot was having a big Halloween bash, Tim told me. That was fine with me, I was stressed and unhappy about the way my evening had been going. Chilling out with Tim and Buddy (one of the cooks) sounded just peachy.

Well. I should have known better. My luck was running the wrong direction last night.

It was fine until the phone rang and I heard Tim being very angry at whoever was on the other end. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but he came back after the call and explained that the call was from Ben, the relief cook, and he was trying to call in and say he wasn't going to make it.

Now, Buddy has plans, and Ben agreed to cover for him so he could go do his thing. And to make it worse, he was at a party and had one of his friends call and tell Tim he was "too drunk" to make it in to work. Tim demanded to talk to Ben and told him to get his ass into work even if he couldn't stand up.

I commiserated, and all was still fine...until Ben showed up. He and Tim immediately started to fight, and somehow I was caught in the middle. At least Ben wasn't all that drunk.

I again felt my stress level rising. I had to intercede between them more than once in about a fifteen-minute period, and even had to go into the kitchen once to tell them that the phone behind the bar was ringing.

I bailed. I had to, it was killing me. I don't even work there -- I shouldn't have to feel involved in their little struggles.

Bah.

Okay...work, of a sort, calls my name.

-t

Currently Aurally Inducing: Basement Jaxx, Break Away
Selection of the Lyrical Vocabulary: "Break out! Break Out! Break Out!"

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