Friday, November 18, 2005

02. Chimes

(((the secret chiefs 3 part ways after the meeting, vowing to put forth their Plan against the Dominion)))

Calling it New York City is a bit of a nostalgic wish.

“Since when do you walk?”
“Time is frozen at its core, eternity is encased and protected by all that is hopeless and stupid.”
“Quiet — Unless the Dominion loses support of the workers there’s going to be hell in eternity. Stupidity has mastered dark matter because that’s the only way it could be understood.”
“But WHY are you walking?”

Conventional walking was best reserved for sidewalks any more. Tactile procession made more sense that way. Floating was what the teens did, purposeless, carefree, wasting the fruits of the mind-over-matter Revolution. Yoll just simply moved, quick, strong and sure. That was sure to show the Dominion a thing or two.

The official report was either meaningless or an attempt at a trap — and either one could mean nothing or something terrible. Halting movement on the Plan would amount to extending the truce, a condition that let the Dominion gain strength and wealth and —ultimately— power. And then it could chose to end the truce, leaving the chiefs and their allies outflanked, and forced to chose a weapon they were hesitant to use.
Yoll had argued for the Plan from near the beginning. It hadn’t been his, but the ultimate goals were what he shared.

The four-hour chimes rang. Yoll stopped, sinking slowly to his feet. He’d already forgot the meeting.

“Radiation is craving style. Energy on its own can be so lame. I prefer matter.”
“Synthesize — don’t separate. Fusion destroys time.”
“Tell me WHY you’re WALKING!”

In the olden days workers drew pay for their labors and in turn purchased what they needed. By the time of the Second Petroleum War, workers might well have been called soldiers, or slaves, because there was no pay and nothing came without a fight.

Sunday, November 13, 2005

A Comprehensive Guide to People You Will See At a Coffee Shop: Part 1

From the backfiles, courtesy of Freaktown:


High school girls – You will find these girls, usually in a pair, sitting in a not-so-isolated part of the coffee shop. They will be talking on cell phones, drinking “smoothies” (not coffee), and will usually apply lip gloss at least once every 20 minutes. They will have lots of make-up on and will be doing everything they can to look older (smoking, talking loudly about sex, applying more make-up). One interesting phenomenon associated with these ladies is that they will talk on their cell phone, leave the establishment, and then return 15 minutes later. This gives the illusion that they are desired by others and that their presence is often requited at other locations. Do not be fooled.

The “Regulars” – This is a crew of five males between the ages of 18 and 25, one female between the ages of 16 and 22, and a whacky old codger over the age of 35 (he is unshaven). They come to the coffee shop every day and sit at the same table. This table is outside on the patio, but is in close proximity to the entrance. All of these individuals are chain smokers. Among the young males, at least one of them will be wearing at least one of the following: a) a trench coat, b) a concert T-shirt, c) a pony tail, d) all black, e) a Member’s Only jacket, f) jean shorts, g) a gold chain, h) a hockey jersey. The female will not be romantically involved with any of the males (exclusively). All of the males in this group drink excessive amounts of coffee and/or espresso. The female will drink a mocha or a glass of wine (if available). One interesting behavior to notice when observing this group: upon arrival, the female must give a “hug” to all of the males (not the whacky old codger). If any of the males are not present when the female arrives, they WILL receive their “hug” when they arrive. Interaction within the group can NOT proceed until each male has received his “hug.” Their egos must be stroked by constant interaction with passing employees. This lets the first-time visitor to the establishment know that they are on the “Who’s Who” list at the coffee shop.

The Whacky Homeless Couple – This man and woman are very old. They have many possessions, and all of these possessions are stored in a grocery cart or luggage neatly stowed next to their outside table. They communicate in a language nobody else can understand. One of them will be wearing some article of sports team paraphernalia. They both smoke, but at a pace much more guarded than that of the “Regulars.” This is because their precarious financial situation and limited supply of cigarettes. They will possess at least one of the following quirks: 1) Ice cubes in their coffee, 2) Ordering hot water only (so they can make their own “tea”), 3) Loud process of hacking up and spitting out phlegm, 4) Lots of touching, 5) A horrendous limp, 6) WAY too much sugar in their coffee or “tea,” 7) MUST have a spoon at all times, 8) Missing teeth. They are friendly, but if you talk to them, they will ask you for money or cigarettes. They have an unusual interest in the entertainment offered at the establishment, but will almost always leave when a band starts playing. Most bands just aren’t their “style.”

The Band – These guys are the band that the coffee shop pays $40 to play for three hours. Most, but not all coffee shop bands will consist of at least one member over the age of 45 and one member under the age of 22. The kid under 22 will play guitar or drums, and is just busy keeping himself musically active while he sorts out “creative differences” with his other “band.” All coffee shop bands have at least one song about coffee. All coffee shop bands abuse the “free drinks for the band” policy offered by most coffee shops. The singer in a coffee shop band always sucks really bad. There is always at least one genuinely good musician in every coffee shop band. There is always at least one person on the audience who is there just to see the band. Everyone else just wants some fucking coffee.

The New Family – This is a man and a woman in their early 30s pushing around a stroller containing their recently born infant. Going to a coffee shop is the only remnant of a social life they have left. The come in for desert and coffee. Their baby is cute, but they are not. Never.

The Guy in a Wheelchair – This guy is always hanging out with everyone at the coffee shop. He wheels himself around, talking to the employees, getting a front-row seat for the band, giving cigarettes to the homeless couple and debating with the “Regulars” about which Quintin Tarantino is the best. He scared the New Family by touching the kid on the face with a lightning quick, but feather light, jabbing motion – an action the couple politely allows because of his disability. He drinks coffee at a moderate pace and is usually in rehab for some sort of an addiction.

The Student – This individual is easy to spot. He or she is usually dressed down, wearing sweat pants, a T-shirt, old jeans, etc. Female students with long hair will have their hair up, to allow for maximum reading capability. The student comes with the following accessories: a highlighter pen (yellow), textbooks, a laptop computer, a discman cd player, chewing gum (Trident), reading glasses (even if he or she has good vision), an annoying male friend, a calculator, pens (many), a pencil, Kleenex and a cell phone. People studying will always sit along a wall if sitting inside the establishment. They will sit near a tree, pole or column if sitting outside on the patio. s will always possess, or be wearing, an object that will identify them with their particular learning institution. People studying always wear socks, unless they are non-Caucasian men. The Student spends much of his or her time playing solitaire on the laptop computer.

Girl Waiting for a Guy – She is way too dressed up to be at a coffee shop. She sticks out like a sore thumb, because it looks like she is ready to go to the Viper Room, when in actuality she is at a coffee shop. Her cleavage will be readily apparent and some aspect of her clothing is best described at “tight” (in the literal sense). Another distinguishing factor will be the large amount of freshly applied make-up she is wearing. She will enter the coffee shop and get all of the men in the coffee shop excited by making one complete tour of the establishment (she is hot). Then she will stand in front of the menu for several moments, only to order a water with lemon, or nothing at all, then sit down at a location where she has a view of all entrances and exits. She will have the following accessories: a small bag, boobs. The important thing to remember if you are a guy: DO NOT try to talk to her. Even if she is friendly enough to engage you in conversation, you will be horribly embarrassed in front of all the other men in the coffee shop (who are constantly watching her) when her hot boyfriend shows up, kisses her and holds her ass, makes eye contact with – and gets a smile out of – the hot girl studying at the next table as he and the original hot chick go to get into his Ferrari and go to some bar you can’t get into.

The Pervert – Also known as “The Staring Guy” or “Creepy Guy With Really Tight Jeans,” the local pervert takes on many forms. In order to be classified as a pervert, an individual must possess no less than three (3) of the following characteristics: Is sexually interested in girls the same age as his daughter, Has a moustache, Excessive and conspicuous staring, All girls at the establishment leave when he arrives, Sticky money, Has seen Home Alone 2 more than six (6) times, All ambulatory movement can be described as “lurking,” Openly discusses how many times he has cheated on his wife, Favorite television program: Bloussant infomercial, Grunting, Constantly squirming in chair do to his erection, Over 40 years old, Sweaty, Hairy, Never engages anyone in conversation (only eye contact), Tight jeans (must be white or black, but never blue). Other characteristics: The Pervert will usually target one female employee or patron at a time. However, watch out for the Pervert. He does not limit his advances to women, or animate objects.

Guy Writing in a Journal – This guy is usually unexpectedly attractive and by all accounts seems like a very cool person. He spends an inordinate amount of time at the coffee shop (four hours per day, minimum). He can be seen writing in his small leather-bound journal for a good percentage of this time. He will also bring a philosophy book and men’s magazine to flip through during periods when he is experiencing “writer’s block.” The Guy Writing in a Journal is an avid smoker. He will usually limit his coffee consumption to a lone latte or one cup of the house blend, preferring instead the refreshment of designer mineral water for his primary beverage. If possible, the Guy Writing in a Journal will eat least one meal per day at the coffee shop. Many of the female employees will envision that the Guy Writing in a Journal is writing epic romance novels with them as central characters, but in actuality the Guy Writing in a Journal is documenting his depression and making note of the anger he feels over the fact that a hot guy just waltzed into the coffee shop like he owned the place and walked over to the hot girl who was sitting alone, kissed her, held her ass and made eye contact with – and got a smile out of – the hot girl studying at the next table as he and the original hot chick go to get into his Ferrari and go to some bar that he couldn’t get into.

Guys Playing Chess – These two have given up on ever meeting people at the coffee shop. They have also exhausted all possible topics of conversation between themselves. Thus, they have resorted to coming to the coffee shop with their chess board and playing out a silent battle of the mind for hours on end. They drink only house coffee or black tea. They are physically androgynous, but are in fact me (generically ugly, pathetic men). They are content. Leave them alone. Do NOT watch their chess game and offer suggestions or strategy. Do anything to avoid getting sucked into the world of Guys Playing Chess. Once you enter, there is NO escape.

Employees – Among the employees there are at least two women (one of whom is over 21, though neither appear to be) with short hair, some of which is fashionably dyed, who bear at least a passing resemblance to Winona Ryder. These are known as the “short cute girls” or the “cute coffee girls.” These are who you need to patronize, not the other employees, one of whom is guaranteed to be a flaming gay man, one a bitchy feminist hippie type (dyke or not), a long-haired man who owns several Pink Floyd T-shirts and is quiet except for when talking about playing guitar, an overly tattooed or pierced man or woman and at least one skater/pothead type who will exercise his duty as a good employee and show you how to huff nitrus on your first day.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Ste. Genevieve is at work

Sorry to burst everyone's bubble but Paris isn't burning.

My Amer. friends and I have all gotten concerned calls and emails from friends and family. Apparently your television stations are at work as always blowing reality out of proportion. Things are fine and calm and normal in Paris. All the activity is taking place outside of the city. The disaffected youths are burning their own neighborhoods for the most part. Yes, there was one night cars burned in Place de la Republique a couple of nights ago, but otherwise, nothing is unusual in Paris. The only way in which we are affected here is that the RER B line stops at Gare du Nord and doesn't go to any stops north of the city. That's kind of intriguing, but beyond that, things are as normal as can be. I don't even hear people talking about the riots. No one cares. Not in any visceral urgent way.

I think it's generally acknowledged that the Arabs and Africans get unfair chances in France, quite hypocritical with France's claimed position to be the pays du droit de l'homme, the Nation of Human Rights. Hopefully the country will take some notice. On the other hand, a lot of these youths are simply suffering an identity crisis due to the fact that they don't fit in here and don't fit in with their parents' homelands. But contrary to the history of blacks in America, no one forced these immigrants to come to France. They chose it.

From my point of view, I see this. They are French and can legally work, but don't manage to fit into the culture. I have no legal rights in France, haven't worked for almost year, but I'm white. And that still means I win.

What a world.



p.s. Part 13 of the bike trip is coming very soon.

Sunday, November 06, 2005

New Rolling Stone Contest!

Play right here.

Zombie Nurse and Keg o' Beer

Careenin' Halloweenin' Funk

Go Kart!


Go Kart!
Originally uploaded by lionelfrailey.
Here's documented proof of the hell Freaktown and I raised on the streets of San Francisco.

Careenin' Halloweenin' Rockin' Funky Good Times

So I had this dream that for Halloween I costumed myself as a hippie, with a cymbal on my head. I'd walk around at parties and this big outdoor concert/basketball festival thing, tapping my fingers on the cymbal the whole time (ts ts-ts, ts ts-ts, ts ts-ts). In my dream I borrowed the wig from JLC and it was perfect.

So I woke up and decided I had to duplicate the dream. Imagine how could that would be, I told my friends. I could walk around and whenever anybody asked what I was for Halloween, I could say I was a hippie with a cymbal on my head, and it came to me in a dream.

So I text messaged JLC, who indeed is in possession of not one, but three wigs! Wow, I thought, this could actually work. Plus, I was in San Francisco, with easy access to hippie clothing. And I know drummers, so getting my mitts on a cymbal isn't exactly out of the question. Yes, I thought, I'm a-gonna be a hippie with a cymal on my head for Halloween, and go around telling people that it came to me in a dream. Not only would it completely solve the problem of what to costume as for the holiday, but it would be far and away the best costume I've ever had. I usually go for stock character types "70s Guy," "Hick," "Lumberjack" and the like.

But then I started thinking how it might be tough actually to pull it all off. I was, in fact, in San Francisco, while JLC and her wigs were in Phoenix. And I was headed back to Tucson... Plus, being in San Francisco was probably a detriment on the hippie clothese, at least as far as price was concerned. I'd probably end up getting hosed for $45 on an organic cotton, hand-dyed shirt by some burnout who used to drop acid with Jerry. And while I know drummers, I don't have the phone number of a single one.

So I abandoned my dream, for this year anyway. I went with the old standby: Zombie. In San Francisco I was a Zombie Nurse, accompanied by a Keg o' Beer. And back in Tucson, I was just a Zombie in a Shirt and a Tie, accompanied by a Zombie in a Blazer and a Pirate. The poor waitress on the patio thoughtly we were merely injured. Alas, we were the undead.