miss america...got the clap
1. How to catch a cold and get chapped lips at the same time
I use public computers all day long. My lips are chapping. Everyone around me just got sick for the second time in a month. I've been doing my best to fend it off. I get up to wash my hands. The pink goo is economy soap, scentless and hypoallergenic. As soon as my paws are wet, I touch them to my lips. Realizing they are not adequately clean I scrub them vigorously for two seconds, pull the paper towel roll from atop its perch above the paper towel roll dispenser and give it a kiss, drying my mouth out more than before.
2. As soon as your teeth are gone, it's all over.
In my mother's car, I listen to B96. The song is called "Look at my Grill." Sarah wants gold caps. Nothing showy, like the sort Kelis and Nas exchanged at their wedding, or fierce like Ol Dirty Bastard Wore on the cover of the "Brooklyn Zoo" cassingle. Just a gold cap.
The homeless man on the train is all smiles. As far as I can tell he is down to four teeth. They surround the place where the two front teeth would be up top and below. His fingernails are yellow and bent like a scrap of cardboard left in a puddle, dried and evaporated by the sun. He says he was roughed up. Maybe he fell. He tells me he wishes he knew how to talk to women, and maybe if he had went to college he would be as smart as the redheads avoiding his stare. He may never have sex again. This is my thinking. He will never hold a job. his situation will never improve. No one will ever see him for who he is, just four fangs and too much gums.
I splurged yesterday. Fructodent Mint & Licorice Whitening Toothpaste for Smokers with Vitamin C. The tube is shaped like a rocket, the paste is dark grey and foams like a thick whipped cream. When people go to Hollywood, the first thing they do is whiten their teeth. The first flaw the camera picks up that the mirror misses is yellow teeth. Only Shane McGowan can get laid with a mouth like that, and very few of us are Shane McGowan.
I would pay for more fluoride in my water. I wonder what the rate of tooth decay is among ADD. I have free dental as long as my uncle is alive. He's in his ighties, and still fairly hard-assed but his hands shake these days. The equipment he uses looked old when I was to young to know the difference. I want to run a geiger on my Aunt Rosalyn, who acts as his receptionist. I don't see them enough. I'm no good at making appointments/.
3. I haven't listened to B96 since I was twelve, but the radio station I work at is too close to my parent's house and the car I've just borrowed to change the station. In ten minutes I hear two advertisements for strip clubs. Both of them are aimed at men, but pretending to be aimed at women. Want to have fun? Need a little cash to go to the mall? Come out to the Admiral, compete in amateur's night, and apply for a job.
The voice actresses have the priorities of fourteen year olds. No doubt, that's who they're looking for. Nice girls to imprint on who'll come down fresh as soon as they're legal or have something that says they are. That's what they want and that's what they want the men to think. These aren't cold cynics and single mothers. Just kids lookin to have a spot of fun before hittin the real world.
Don't get me wrong, I've known a lot of nice girls who've worked as strippers and a lot more nice guys who've frequented their clubs, but this isn't what the job is like. It's cutthroat hard work where you're guaranteed to get harassed as far as you'll allow the patrons to harass you, and then a little bit more. The money is good though, if you don't trust no one. Carreer girls don't need shopping money so much as college degrees and Similac, and they need em enough to fuck you over good for em.
I have no problem with stripping, strippers, or the whole sex industry in general, but I've got a serious beef with the machinations of commercial radio. Especially when the commercial breaks are longer than ten minutes. People keep asking me why I don't do real radio, when they can see how much I love learning about bands and playing music for people. I just can't stand this shit.
3. (addendum) The thing I always say is that I wouldn't do right-side-of-the-dial radio unless a gig fell in my lap. I would indeed do it though if it fell in my lap.
4. In highschool there was a kid named Marco. He was gayer and more Puerto Rican than anyone I'd ever met before and dually filled with pride. He was the only boy in women's clothes who wasn't doing it to get attention. I had never heard the term Fat Tuesday before. We were in Mr. Scotese's English class. He turned around and dumped a handful of Lifestyles condoms and generic lube packets out of his purse and onto my desk. "Do you want these?" he asked. A beaded Puerto Rican flag dangled from his neck. He pretended not to be cold in his mesh shirt but it was obvious.
"Sure. Why?"
"I'm giving up sex for Lent."
"You?"
"Jess."
"You're Catholic?"
"Jess."
"And you're giving up gay sex for Lent."
"Jess."
"You're still going through Lent because you're Catholic even though Catholicism wants nothing to do with you and will condemn you to Hell anyway."
He looked at me and didn't say anything. He gave me a half nod and turned around as Mr. Scotese entered the room. I scooped all of the condoms into my overcrowded duffel where they would become bent and unusable anyway.
5. My eyes hurt. They know they're in the wrong city. They want to watch the Zulus and Frenchmen. They want to party and rebuild. Crabcakes are not enough. Beads are not enough. To day, Chicago does not cut it.
I use public computers all day long. My lips are chapping. Everyone around me just got sick for the second time in a month. I've been doing my best to fend it off. I get up to wash my hands. The pink goo is economy soap, scentless and hypoallergenic. As soon as my paws are wet, I touch them to my lips. Realizing they are not adequately clean I scrub them vigorously for two seconds, pull the paper towel roll from atop its perch above the paper towel roll dispenser and give it a kiss, drying my mouth out more than before.
2. As soon as your teeth are gone, it's all over.
In my mother's car, I listen to B96. The song is called "Look at my Grill." Sarah wants gold caps. Nothing showy, like the sort Kelis and Nas exchanged at their wedding, or fierce like Ol Dirty Bastard Wore on the cover of the "Brooklyn Zoo" cassingle. Just a gold cap.
The homeless man on the train is all smiles. As far as I can tell he is down to four teeth. They surround the place where the two front teeth would be up top and below. His fingernails are yellow and bent like a scrap of cardboard left in a puddle, dried and evaporated by the sun. He says he was roughed up. Maybe he fell. He tells me he wishes he knew how to talk to women, and maybe if he had went to college he would be as smart as the redheads avoiding his stare. He may never have sex again. This is my thinking. He will never hold a job. his situation will never improve. No one will ever see him for who he is, just four fangs and too much gums.
I splurged yesterday. Fructodent Mint & Licorice Whitening Toothpaste for Smokers with Vitamin C. The tube is shaped like a rocket, the paste is dark grey and foams like a thick whipped cream. When people go to Hollywood, the first thing they do is whiten their teeth. The first flaw the camera picks up that the mirror misses is yellow teeth. Only Shane McGowan can get laid with a mouth like that, and very few of us are Shane McGowan.
I would pay for more fluoride in my water. I wonder what the rate of tooth decay is among ADD. I have free dental as long as my uncle is alive. He's in his ighties, and still fairly hard-assed but his hands shake these days. The equipment he uses looked old when I was to young to know the difference. I want to run a geiger on my Aunt Rosalyn, who acts as his receptionist. I don't see them enough. I'm no good at making appointments/.
3. I haven't listened to B96 since I was twelve, but the radio station I work at is too close to my parent's house and the car I've just borrowed to change the station. In ten minutes I hear two advertisements for strip clubs. Both of them are aimed at men, but pretending to be aimed at women. Want to have fun? Need a little cash to go to the mall? Come out to the Admiral, compete in amateur's night, and apply for a job.
The voice actresses have the priorities of fourteen year olds. No doubt, that's who they're looking for. Nice girls to imprint on who'll come down fresh as soon as they're legal or have something that says they are. That's what they want and that's what they want the men to think. These aren't cold cynics and single mothers. Just kids lookin to have a spot of fun before hittin the real world.
Don't get me wrong, I've known a lot of nice girls who've worked as strippers and a lot more nice guys who've frequented their clubs, but this isn't what the job is like. It's cutthroat hard work where you're guaranteed to get harassed as far as you'll allow the patrons to harass you, and then a little bit more. The money is good though, if you don't trust no one. Carreer girls don't need shopping money so much as college degrees and Similac, and they need em enough to fuck you over good for em.
I have no problem with stripping, strippers, or the whole sex industry in general, but I've got a serious beef with the machinations of commercial radio. Especially when the commercial breaks are longer than ten minutes. People keep asking me why I don't do real radio, when they can see how much I love learning about bands and playing music for people. I just can't stand this shit.
3. (addendum) The thing I always say is that I wouldn't do right-side-of-the-dial radio unless a gig fell in my lap. I would indeed do it though if it fell in my lap.
4. In highschool there was a kid named Marco. He was gayer and more Puerto Rican than anyone I'd ever met before and dually filled with pride. He was the only boy in women's clothes who wasn't doing it to get attention. I had never heard the term Fat Tuesday before. We were in Mr. Scotese's English class. He turned around and dumped a handful of Lifestyles condoms and generic lube packets out of his purse and onto my desk. "Do you want these?" he asked. A beaded Puerto Rican flag dangled from his neck. He pretended not to be cold in his mesh shirt but it was obvious.
"Sure. Why?"
"I'm giving up sex for Lent."
"You?"
"Jess."
"You're Catholic?"
"Jess."
"And you're giving up gay sex for Lent."
"Jess."
"You're still going through Lent because you're Catholic even though Catholicism wants nothing to do with you and will condemn you to Hell anyway."
He looked at me and didn't say anything. He gave me a half nod and turned around as Mr. Scotese entered the room. I scooped all of the condoms into my overcrowded duffel where they would become bent and unusable anyway.
5. My eyes hurt. They know they're in the wrong city. They want to watch the Zulus and Frenchmen. They want to party and rebuild. Crabcakes are not enough. Beads are not enough. To day, Chicago does not cut it.
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