| test |
[Jan. 29th, 2005|03:03 pm] |
|
just testing out my new bloggin client, ijournal. |
|
|
| house party |
[Jan. 29th, 2005|03:41 pm] |
|
Last night my house held a "rent" party. We got two kegs of Yuengling , told everyone we've ever met to come and bring their friends, and charged 5 bucks a cup. The result is about $200 of profit for the house, and an ungodly mess. If such a party had been held at the last house I lived in, I would have been stressed or even upset. But my current house is little more than a waystation on the way to a rented room in my brother's new house.
Thanks to my access to free and unlimited storage facitities (my parents' basement), I moved into this current house with only a carload of clothes and my bike. So while my overriding impulse--as drunk punk kids trip over each other and muddy up the carpet--is to freak out and lay down the law with my maglite, I very quickly chilled out and just went along for the ride. After all, I have little invested in this house (none of furniture or appliances are mine), so I don't really care what happens as long as no one comes upstairs and starts messin with my stuff.
Though the party was, as I would expect, dominated by white punks and other assorted new bohemians, our neighbor James stopped by. He peeled his $5 keg fee off a fat roll, in contrast to grimy hands pulling crumpled singles and quarters out of black carharts.
Another young black man was in the kitchen with me, when we got going in a pretty funny series of cuts on the most common fashion choices in the room. It started when he asked me where he could stash his coat, a perry ellis parka he said he paid 80 dollars for. He commented that he was afraid someone that didn't know him would just walk off with it. I pointed out how silly this was, looking at the crowd. That jacket might be black, I said, but it isn't an extra small, so no one at this party would want anything to do with it. He agreed.
He went on to tell me about how much he loved to party with the punk kids ("I love my Caucasian persuasion"): how they turned him on to grain alcohol (he was skeptical at first that a little bottle of something clear would get 9 people fucked up), and how he passed out on the grass with them one night. He drew the line, however, at "eating out of a trash can," and said that he preferred to pay for his trash at the Burger King. |
|
|
| hey |
[Jan. 29th, 2005|07:37 pm] |
|
does janine ever read this? if so, you should email me. |
|
|
| Dahr Jamail's Iraq Journalism |
[Jan. 29th, 2005|07:48 pm] |
If you haven't yet had a chance to hear or read some of Dahr Jamail's independent coverage of the events in Iraq at the moment, I suggest you start reading his blog.
We’d already pushed our luck, so after talking to a few folks we grab lunch and head back towards home. “Let’s play a game and see how many photos we can take before we get pulled over or shot at again,” I joke to them both.
They laugh, appreciating my acquired Iraqi humor-if you don’t laugh at this situation, you lose your mind promptly. “Yeah, why not,” replies Abu Talat as we speed down another mostly empty street.
Ahmed, 15 years old, tells me one of his friends was shot in the back by an Iraqi soldier because he drove by an unmarked checkpoint. “He’s in the hospital now, but he’s in too much pain to talk to me,” he says.
-from "high anxiety" |
|
|
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
margins_of's journal