Yet Another Minute Breakdown Of A Day In The Life (alternate title: Yet Another Breakdown)
Almost a week in bed and I still haven't updated. Pathetic.
I was feeling pretty okay when I woke up yesterday, which was good considering it was Celebration and my schedule for the day was to look something like this:
8:00 a.m. -10 a.m. - Set up Visual Arts Society sale. Heavy lifting, multiple trips, lots of running around. General being in-chargeness.
10 a.m. - 1 p.m. - Greet and entertain Mother and Stepfather. Fully update them on the world of venomous arachnid attacks. Get some lunch.
1 p.m.-3 p.m. - Narrate glass demos in hot shop. Lots of yelling, question answering, traffic directing, heat, and noise. Greet Father, Stepmother, and (not so) little (anymore) sister.
4 p.m.-10 p.m. - Wait tables. Try not to limp too much.
In actuality, it broke down a little more like this:
7:30 a.m. - Arrive in cold shop to discover a friend was taken to the hospital the previous evening for having been beaten by unknown parties for unknown motives at a concert in Nashville. Details are scarce.
8:00 a.m. - Begin setting up VAS sale. Consume too much coffee on a stomach that hasn't eaten much in the last four days. Run circles around campus in the rain, snap at people who don't necessarily deserve it. Ignore giant waves of nausea and dizziness.
10:00 a.m. - Sneak away, run into Randy's parents. Requisite catching up.
10:30 a.m. - Finally get someone on the phone who has information about aforementioned busted-up associate. 8 staples in the head, relieved of $80 by attacker, but awake and returning home. Run to glass studio to update professor and friends. Run into friend who suggests quick trip to my room to put something in the air, which sounds good considering growing nausea and dizziness.
10:45 a.m. - On the way to my room, receive call from mother, who has just arrived. Seriously considering putting her off until after the trip to my room. Decide against it, offer raincheck.
11:00 a.m. - Lead parents to cafe to score food. Despite unbelievable hunger, pick at soup and salad for over an hour. Meet Rachael's entire family, congratulate her on a phenomenal senior thesis show. Feel worse. Limply lead parents to glass shop.
12:45 p.m. - Hug parents goodbye, learn from mother I am most definitely running a fever. I don't run fevers. Ever. Sick as a dog...maybe 99 degrees. It was the bane of my existence in grade school. So I have a fever. Pop a couple of asprin. Return to hotshop.
1:00 p.m. - Begin narrating demos. Almost faint and hit head on the corner of annealer #5. Discreetly request a stool and some water.
1:30 p.m. - Receive phone call from unrecognized number but decide to take it anyway. It's my boss informing me my table waiting services will not be required for the evening. Decide there is a God after all. Repent.
1:31 p.m.-2:45 p.m. - Try very hard to pretend I am in perfect health, yell over noise in studio, greet parents and sister. Try not to cry at the sight of my dad, who does not look good at this point in his battle with lymphoma.
3:00 p.m. - 4:00 p.m. - Hang out with parents, sister. Feel too awful to accompany them to dinner.
4:30 p.m. - Return to room and collapse on bed.
5:15 p.m. - Begin calling people out of boredom. Realize I'm missing Rachael's reception. Limp to gallery. Socialize, nibble on cheese. Answer questions about my health with more whining that is strictly necessary.
5:45 p.m. - Guilt friend into watching some Carnivale with me while I rot in bed.
7:30 p.m. - Y'all? Carnivale is fucked up.
8:00 p.m. - Generalized internetting, music appreciation.
9:30 p.m. - Receive call suggesting Grindhouse in Nashville at 11:30 p.m. with a few of the most fun people I know. Very briefly think it might be a good idea to sit this one out. Search out stashed pain pill instead.
10:00 p.m. - 4:00 a.m. - Hysterical laughter, screaming, near asphyxiation due to hysterical laughter, repeated knee slapping. Forget entirely about feeling so incredibly deathlike for a few blessed hours. Discover new favorite movie ever.
4:15 a.m. - Decide against immediate crashing in favor of toothbrushing. Notice spider bite has changed color and become intensely itchy all of a sudden. Step out of bathroom just in time to see tiny, brown, reclusive arachnid scurrying under a bag on the floor. 1.)Decide I have gained spidey sense 2.)FREAK OUT. 3.)Vow to never sleep again.
4:20 a.m. - Continue freaking out while picking everything up off the floor, shaking out bedsheets, looking for little friend.
4:45 a.m. - Smash little friend with a patent leather peep-toe wedge. Limpy victory dance. Scoop up carcass for later identification/trophy mounting.
5 a.m. - Decide against leaving bed on Sunday.
All in all, a shitty day to cap off a shitty week, almost wholly redeemed by Rose McGowan's machine gun leg, brainless Fergie, and Thanksgiving. And every other minute of Grindhouse. This overly long post is my public service announcement to you. Watch out for spiders, go see Grindhouse.
Regretting I Already Used the Flaming Lips Reference
Here's a tip from me to you:
Don't ever use the phrase "I don't have much to report" regarding your life, the universe will hear and correct the situation.
I am not into spiders, at all. I can barely look at pictures of them, much less think about them crawling around on me when I'm asleep. Imagine my discomfort, then, with the Brown Recluse bite I received sometime between bedtime and wake time this morning. I've lived in the woods off and on for almost 5 years now, it was bound to happen.
So, I'll keep you posted. Right now I'm staying off my feet and staying on drugs. It hurts. A lot.
Yo Shutthefuckup, Chico man...
Went to look at our house last week. It's small, but the kitchen is great. I was informed today, however, that we make the neighbors uneasy, which is odd considering three of us were there for about 20 minutes, and really didn't speak to anyone but the guy who yelled at us from across the street that no one lived there. Hmmmmmmm.
I don't have much to report, nor have I formed any new or astounding opinions on current events or life at large. I haven't been to a movie theatre since Xmas (I think). I've been Netflixing hip-hop/graf/breakdance films from the early 80's, and they're fascinating. A repeat viewing of Downtown 81 began the frenzy, and now I just can't get enough of films that are heavily sampled in my favorite modern hip-hop music. In a funny bit of synergy, I discovered (only 13 years late) Nas' Illmatic mere days after watching Wild Style, in an unrelated incident, no less. Furthering the madness, I checked out the Feeze's page and found this, which also references Wild Style. And is sick. If nothing else, I found the opening sample from Professor Booty in its blessed original context. Moving on, Beat Street...more crazy-ass breakdance fights, plot, semi-automatic weapons, tragic electrocutions, and bizarre romance scenes than Wild Style, but very similar overall. Now I think I'll embark on a Japanese ultra-violence kick, complete with second attempt at Ichi the Killer, one of the few films I have ever turned off in disgust/vomitous state.
If you have any ideas for Netflix fests, please feel free to discuss in das comments.
If you're in the southeast region of the country, or would like to be, the millionth annual Fiddler's Jam-bo-reeeeeee is in July and we's throwin' a gourmet-style hoedown to celebrate.
Matt and I are going to New York in May, tell us what to do.