Los Bros Hernandez, �Flies on the Ceiling: A Love and Rockets Collection�
Well, I think I just hit bottom.
In earlier posts, I mentioned that I was fortunate even in the wake of the theft of my bank balance, as I had already bought my stockpile of liquor and cigarettes. The beer ran out two days ago. I have my money back, but I�ve also been too scared to venture outside, lest my bag get stolen once more and I start the process all over again.
But I went out tonight to the dive bar with the punk rock night, the same place that I DJ�d at a few weeks back. Each week, they put out a new �zine showcasing the biggest hams of the night � the kind of snapshots that feature people with their mouths wide open, tongues or tits sticking out, flashing devil horns to show how independent and unique they are.
One of my roommates described how he liked this �zine as he only makes it there about every other week, and he uses the photos as a reference to remember what happened. He�s not the only one � I see people clamoring over these �zines when they arrive, looking to see if they made the new issue, tongues wagging and fingers flashing.
So I walked in tonight, and I�m one of the first pictures.
I�m reading quietly at the bar.
Oooh, evil.
It�s not my fault. Last week, when the picture was taken, it was fairly dead in there for whatever reason. I�ve never felt comfortable in these situations, having nothing to look at and being unwilling to stare at the mute television for visual stimuli. So I trekked back to my car, got the book, and returned to finish my shitty beer. Apparently, this was considered a picture-perfect moment.
And actually, that�s not the bottom that I hit which I�m referring to. No, the bottom comes from the fact that I got home tonight, loaded my Newcastle pint glass with ice, filled it halfway with Jack Daniel�s and then realized I drank the entire stockpile of my soda yesterday in a rare sabbatical in my room. I dug through the refrigerator and unearthed an old half-full liter bottle of diet coke. It didn�t make any noise when I twisted the cap.
And that�s what I�m drinking now. This is why I�ve hit bottom.
Which is why it�s appropriate to be writing about this graphic novel. It�s been recommended to me since as far back as I can remember, but I always ignored it. The reasoning behind it was that people always mentioned how true to life it was.
To me, that�s not a recommendation. Most people I know are boring.
Now, however, I can see what they meant. Most of these characters are people who are living on a day-to-day existence, and their actions seem plausible. But looking back on it, and seeing how I was just made a crime victim, I couldn�t help notice how many of these people turned to crime to help alleviate their situation.
Not huge or glamorous crimes � that would shatter the true to life aspect. Instead, they get an opportunity to make some quick cash and they jump at it. Usually it makes things worse, but not in a government-sponsored morality film kind of way. So, thinking about these characters, I thought again about myself.
After that last entry where I mentioned how the person forging my signature all over town (poorly, I might add) happened to write their own address, people mentioned with a nudge and a wink how I wouldn�t have any control over what other people did if they happened to know said address.
It�s not an entirely new idea. About ten years back a friend of mine happened to pull into a parking lot of a 7-11. He stayed in the car while his girlfriend ran inside to buy a Slurpee, or cigarettes, or condoms, or whatever.
Within two minutes, some jocks had pulled into the space next to him. Within three minutes, they had dragged him out of the car through the window, and were busy kicking the back of his head, knocking his face into the curb before the four foot tall skinhead Filipino speed freak who worked behind the counter chased them off with a baseball bat.
My friend was fucked up. He needed serious reconstructive work on his face; but he got it and it worked, and he looks fine now. But when it happened it looked like he would be quoting The Elephant Man for the rest of his life.
At this time, I was living in a four-plex in a gangland area filled with Crip members. When we first moved in, things seemed a little sketchy. We soon made friends with most of these people, however, for two reasons � they realized that we were a bunch of drinkers, had huge parties, and could hold our alcohol. Also, I had blue hair, which they thought was the greatest thing they had ever seen.
When my friend showed up after his beating, the Crips pulled out various firearms and demanded to know who needed to get killed. It took a while, but we finally convinced them that that kind of severe retribution wasn�t necessary.
[I just refilled my pint glass for a second drink. Good god, the �Best Before� stamp on this says October 16.]
What my friend didn�t tell the Crips was that he did know who did this to him � he had known the main instigator since middle school. It was simple enough to get him arrested, and he sued for medical and other expenses. He took ten of us to Reno when he collected.
But we had our own idea of retribution that didn�t involve getting a bullet in the brain. Since the guy who started the attack was known, we also found out that he had an account at the video store where our friend worked. From that, we got his driver�s license, social security number, address, and phone number.
So we held a contest.
We were careful to toe the line on illegal activity. Instead, we encouraged people to do things that would be inconvenient or annoying. Subscriptions to book and record clubs. Personal ads in the alternative weeklies for spanking sessions. Requests for applications or admission to communist groups.
I was in the lead when I scheduled sects from six fringe religions to show up for informative sessions, all at seven in the morning. But ultimately, the winner was somebody who arraigned for a limousine to pick him up for the evening, his destination � the New Kids on the Block concert.
This tactic fits my style for this situation.
I still need to find out if the address provided by this person who forged my checks is a real one. But I just wanted to let you know that I�m considering it.
So start plotting.
