This ain’t no mp3 blog, but if you have a moment, you should download and listen to this phone message we got on our machine a few months ago (October 26, to be exact). Q ripped it into mp3 and it’s quite possibly the funniest phone message I’ve ever recieved, far improving upon the calls I used to get to my dorm room for the Montefiore Hospital ICU (someone ACTUALLY LEFT A MESSAGE on my voice mail there once with PATIENT INFORMATION). It also barely beats out the message that we still have on our machine from a few months ago alleging that we sold a faulty UFO to the woman who runs the Monaca Hotel. She sounded rather displeased, and I’m pretty glad we made it out of that one without legal action against us.

(For those of you who aren’t from Pittsburgh, the Duquesne Club is a highfalutin’ social club for the very rich. That should provide some context that might make the message even more amusing.)


also, quickly:

January 30, 2006

If you’re part of the S27 DC class (cf. this post), you should’ve gotten an e-mail this past weekend confirming that you’re part of the class and that your contact information is right. If you didn’t, e-mail the PCJ quick! Thanks.

currently gettin’ read

January 30, 2006

Although I most certainly do not have time for it,I started reading another book that I probably won’t finish in its entirety: Guy Debord, by Andy Merrifield. Debord is one of those I take in small doses then get sidetracked and can’t say I have an amazing working knowledge of.

Funny story: sophomore year, I took the terrifying “Kafka and the Modern World” class, offered by the Honors College, slumped in the back of the class and tolerated dweebface freshmen who liked to talk out their asses about German philosophers they had only a very superficial knowledge of. The point of the class was essentially to parrot the professor, right down to appropriating his idiolect. One day in class I finally have something to say. Whatever it is I read for that particular class reminded me of a sort of prototypical version of Debord. I raise my hand and say so, and Professor looks at me blankly. Who? Dweebface freshmen do the same. “Debord?” says I. “Society of the Spectacle? Situationists? Paris 1968?” A slight look of reassurance comes over Professor’s face. “Oh, Paris 1968. I see.” End of discussion. We move on.

skedaddle n hum

January 27, 2006

Going home for a day or two to visit the dear Mom, whose birthday it is, and for whom the Men of the Family went together on this as a gift. (Should I feel guilty that I’ll end up taking several episodes myself, since she’ll only want certain of them?) (Nah, it wasn’t my idea to get it! I just helped out!)

I’m gonna give her the new CD as well. She liked the last one. Seriously guys! Not just cuz she’s my mom! Awwww come on!

Also, to sleep in a room that is not frigid (I’m afraid to leave the big space heater on all night because it makes the wire mold sort of “hum” when it kicks on high, and goodness knows you don’t want to have an electrical fire in Bloomfield, so I’m not risking it. While pondering a permanent solution, I’m rocking the little space heater, which isn’t all that effective when it’s 15 freakin’ degrees outside. (But it’s getting warmer. I’m ok.)

Also, in a garden update that’s not really an update, we’ll be placing orders on Monday, and I’ll report to you what we ultimately decide on. Then I have to get it together and actually plant the things.

dreams dreamt whilst asleep

January 25, 2006

I tend to have highs and lows as far as dreams are concerned — periods of weeks when I don’t have any of note, then little spurts of dream that will have a pervading tone. It doesn’t always line up with the tone of my actual life at the time, but that’s sort of what’s great about it.

I’ve been visited by some beautifully childlike, peaceful dreams this week. One the other night about going down a steep embankment into a secret forest that was the most lush, beautiful place I had ever been, with a stream, and beautiful trees and flowers. It reminded me of the dream I had the first time I took NyQuil when I was a bit younger. Then last night, one in which a sweet friend, whose album I listened to yesterday for the first time in a while, was chasing me through a field, and I did that compulsive thing I do where I get really freaked out about someone/something chasing me even though I know that either nothing is chasing me or nothing will happen if whoever IS chasing me catches up.* But then said friend caught up, and it was kind of one of those frolick-in-the-meadow things.

Also last night, a dream in which I encountered a group of skater kids, most in their early teens but one who was about seven, and the little one asked me: “So, when you get older, like into your teens, you can start doing stuff like worshipping Satan, right? Well, can you still get into Hell if you join the Boy Scouts?”

I was understandably incredulous, and couldn’t figure out what dream boy was talking about, so I asked: “So wait . . . you . . . you want to go to Hell, that’s what you’re saying?”

“Yeah,” he replied.

“Oh. Well, I think you can join the Boy Scouts and still manage to get into Hell. There are things you can do.”

There are times when your dream life is really satisfying and you want to sleep more than be awake, no?

*I used to do this thing when I was younger — I’ve pretty much gotten over it — wherein when I was in front of my house, say, bringing in groceries with my mom or whatever, and a car was coming down the street, I HAD to run onto the porch before that car passed in front of the house. I didn’t know what would happen if I didn’t, but it didn’t matter; it was a total irrational compulsion, and kind of freaked me out, but I couldn’t shake it for a good long time.

eire in city

January 23, 2006

This just in: the PICT brochure for the 2006 season, which just arrived today, announces that Martin McDonagh‘s “The Pillowman” will be produced this year, in May. Color me stoked. If you’re in Pittsburgh, you should go see this. PICT is a great company, and McDonagh is maybe my favorite contemporary playwright. I’ve never seen anything of his produced before.

And, speaking of famed Irish dudes, this story struck my fancy a few days ago: a new study concludes that as many as 1 in 12 Irish men can trace their lineage back to one guy, presumably Niall of the Nine Hostages. If I remember correctly, legend has it that my clan goes back to him. Interesting.

While I’m on a posting rampage, check this out. Alan is a super nice dude who did a show for us last year and has done tons of shows for tons of good folks at his house in Jersey. What a shitty situation. Hopefully he can get some sort of recourse, although you know how things often tend to go in such instances. Especially sucks since, according to the account posted, the show was in Williamstown proper, which is where the poor fellow lives. Hopefully there won’t be continuing trouble.