What the Fuck Files
I just saw these little sponges that women can stick under their armpits to keep sweat from gushing out there. These little guys are called "potnice." That's Slovene for passengers.
Tonight, I'm going to see an Iranian production called "Bitter as Honey" at the National Theatre. It's about a deaf, dumb, blind girl and her love affair with a mutilated angel. I'm trying to convince the supermodel bartendrix at Makalonca to be my date.
Recently, I have become much more political than ever before. I don't really like it. This new political intention has reached a sort of Jainist nakedness. Like I've stripped off all my trappings and I'm buried in some insane prayer state. But, instead of embracing this meditation, my mantra is basically, "Oh shit. Here we go again."
I'm trying to develop a Men in Black mindstate, that the world is constantly on the verge of being blown to smithereens. And, it's just blind luck and random invisible mechanisms that prevent that from happening.
At 5 this morning, I was at Ajda, a fast food joint open 24 hours. Makalonca supermodel was saying that all the dudes at the all-night fast fooders come from Albania, Montenegro and Macedonia. And that they all know each other. As we're talking, some guy asks her where I'm from. She says "New York." Then in heavily accented Slovene (or Bosnian, I can't tell them apart yet), he asks her if she's going to blow me up. She gives him a flip response. And then, he looks at me and gives me the head-nod and that smile. You know that smile dudes do right before they get into a fight? He was the poster boy for that. I fortunately got distracted by the cook asking me what I wanted on my pleskavica. (Yeah, I know. Pleskavica at 5 AM?! That's retarded.)
Confrontations like that are totally political. And there are a billion issues buried in there that I don't have the brain cells to wrap any sort of logic around. Basically, my life philosophy is "Wake up, have a conversation, read a book, write, have a drink, go to bed, repeat." And really...I'm happy with my life. But when you get a facefull of angry internationalism while ordering a pig/horse/chicken burger, it's sort of hard to stay focused on the simple pleasures.
I'm gonna buy a backpack full of those "potnice." And I'm gonna write "No sweat" on them and hand them out to these dudes. And when they hand my ass to me, I'll use them as little bandages.
Tonight, I'm going to see an Iranian production called "Bitter as Honey" at the National Theatre. It's about a deaf, dumb, blind girl and her love affair with a mutilated angel. I'm trying to convince the supermodel bartendrix at Makalonca to be my date.
Recently, I have become much more political than ever before. I don't really like it. This new political intention has reached a sort of Jainist nakedness. Like I've stripped off all my trappings and I'm buried in some insane prayer state. But, instead of embracing this meditation, my mantra is basically, "Oh shit. Here we go again."
I'm trying to develop a Men in Black mindstate, that the world is constantly on the verge of being blown to smithereens. And, it's just blind luck and random invisible mechanisms that prevent that from happening.
At 5 this morning, I was at Ajda, a fast food joint open 24 hours. Makalonca supermodel was saying that all the dudes at the all-night fast fooders come from Albania, Montenegro and Macedonia. And that they all know each other. As we're talking, some guy asks her where I'm from. She says "New York." Then in heavily accented Slovene (or Bosnian, I can't tell them apart yet), he asks her if she's going to blow me up. She gives him a flip response. And then, he looks at me and gives me the head-nod and that smile. You know that smile dudes do right before they get into a fight? He was the poster boy for that. I fortunately got distracted by the cook asking me what I wanted on my pleskavica. (Yeah, I know. Pleskavica at 5 AM?! That's retarded.)
Confrontations like that are totally political. And there are a billion issues buried in there that I don't have the brain cells to wrap any sort of logic around. Basically, my life philosophy is "Wake up, have a conversation, read a book, write, have a drink, go to bed, repeat." And really...I'm happy with my life. But when you get a facefull of angry internationalism while ordering a pig/horse/chicken burger, it's sort of hard to stay focused on the simple pleasures.
I'm gonna buy a backpack full of those "potnice." And I'm gonna write "No sweat" on them and hand them out to these dudes. And when they hand my ass to me, I'll use them as little bandages.
posted by J Wilson at Tuesday, September 20, 2005
5 Comments:
Jer, because of the way the Blogger comments work I can't hit reply back to the comment you left on my blog, so you can just email me at madolan [at](as if this will still fool the spambots) hotmail.com.
I enjoy this entry for many reasons.
The first of which is that you split it up into paragraphs.
I like you. I would say that your blog is my favorite blog, but then ashbloem might get jealous.
I'll live with it somehow, Sir Pupil.
I just won't wrestle you over a snowbank next time you are a giggling wonder drunk.
no me gusta plescavica. it's res gumi for me.
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