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Larry cartoon in the Archives page by onlyone.
Diary of a 
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(August 19, 2002) Yes, I Said "Smarmy" A chronological account of the last week would be tedious at worst. At best...well, there is no "best." It would take too long to write and I got stuff to do today. So, taking my cue from that wretched smarmy beast known as Hollywood, here is a montage of clips, like as if you're in a movie theatre. You won't necessarily understand the snippet, but perhaps if there's enough sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll in it, it'll be entertaining nonetheless. So. Please turn off your cell phones and pagers, and remember, no smoking. _________________________________________ "Um...I think if she's smelling colors, it wasn't just pot." This is why it's good to have Hub along. As a Mensa member with a Masters degree in Engineering, he's quite the deductive reasoner. "She just needs to sit here quietly for awhile," I said. Laura, who was either hearing us talk about her or not, remained serene, sitting Indian style, in the reeds on the ground behind Cynthia's house. This was last Saturday night. We'd been to the All The Queen's Men show at The Pond earlier. Now it was later. It was 3am and the party was beginning to wind down. Just like last Sunday at The Abbey, I didn't actually witness Laura consume whatever it was that fucked her up. "Are you like, secretly slamming when I'm not looking?" I asked her the next morning over coffee. "No!" she laughed. Then what? There must have been something freakin' serious in that pot she smoked. Had to be. Seriously, I'd brought a small flask of Orange Stoli to the show, and three of us were sharing it, and there's still some left. There is no way she got THAT wasted on just THAT. The supplier of the pot WHO SHALL REMAIN NAMELESS BUT YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE, says no, it's just really strong. We may never know...she's fine now though. She even smoked more of it last night, but luckily didn't end up passed out in the weeds. _________________________________________ "It's too bad I'm not drinking," I said levelly. "Why?" said the boy whose name I would never remember, if I ever caught it in the first place. He held my right leg above the knee, his tousled dredlocks bent in concentration. "Because," I answered, "if I were drunk right now, tomorrow I'd wake up and go What the FUCK happened? Dude, don't get any on my boots." "I won't," he said. He sat back on the grass. "I'm done." I surveyed his work. My leg, and my right arm, were scribbled over in absolutely illegible graffiti, of a color he'd "made himself." It was, uh, grey. He wanted to "autograff" my other arm and leg too, but I convinced him that less is more. It came off in the shower with little effort. Still kinda wonder what it said, though. _________________________________________ Saturday night, Leah put a dainty rosebud of a lipstick impression on my left breast. Happily, I told everyone. "Was she drunk? She must have been drunk." said Wolf, sitting out on my front steps Wednesday night. "Thanks a lot," I muttered. "I dunno, who cares? I love that woman." I like that he assumes alcohol was involved. Nah, that's not insulting at all, thanks! *I can't believe I called him SEXY in print. Swamp rock dork. (*Sexy. Very sexy...)
(Leah Callahan) _________________________________________ Is it about seeking that tantalizing, elusive fifteen minutes of, er, ahem...fame? Is it about seeing how far I'll go with the...let's call it Truth? Is it, OH, I dunno, ego? Whatever it is, if you can believe it, this week both Mike Baldino and Joe Kowalski expressed desire to be written about. They don't, I think, know what they're asking...let's see...hm... ...okay, well. Mike Baldino, hm? Any regular Jungle reader knows all about Baldino, who is such a *pain in my ass that he gets scads of Jungle time. (*Of course I mean this lovingly. Baldino is my li'l Italian sausage.) Here's one recent funny thing about Mike. At the Linwood the other night, Scenester Boy sidled up to our table. Did "the look" thing that used to come off better when his hair was long. "So," he said. "C-O-M-E or C-U-M? I prefer C-O-M-E." I must say, in terms of conversation openers? Best I've had all week. (We all, in case you were wondering, prefer C-O-M-E, in the interest of...uh...class.) ...Joe Kowalski. Well. Joe certainly needs more explanation... ...Next time.
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