Old people, the Royal Rumble, SD cards that can S my D

I swear I’m not technologically incompetent. If anything, I’d rank myself slightly above average, maybe a nice 7.5/10. Maybe it’s just the nature of the beast, or Murphy’s Law, or that other variety of Murphy’s Law from that show I never remember the name of, ‘everything that can go wrong will go wrong at the worst possible moment,’ but somehow my cell phone, my sister’s camera, and my computer all failed at the same time, and I lost my camera.

I have since found the camera, in a backpack that got put in the hall closet. Never again with the compact cameras. I shouldn’t be able to lose a means of recording in a backpack pocket. I need my cameras to inconvenience me.

Anyway I decided I wanted to make a Royal Rumble reaction video because I made one last year and I’ve played it over a couple times since then and it amuses me. My thought process is basically, well, do you find this funny? Then do it, at this point. The urgency of the Royal Rumble reaction video is entirely my family’s fault. My Mom broke her foot what feels like several years ago, but was really about a month ago, and I don’t think I’ve taken a deep breath, like in a literal sense, since then. My Mom has the physical grace of a donkey, which is all the more amazing given she is maybe 100lbs. Her lack of control of her being is so acute it somehow manipulates the laws of space and gravity and physics and I’m sure there’s a blanket concept for those three things I would know if I learned science in high school but I didn’t. Usually it’s just annoying but with the lack of foot and added crutches and even if I keep making fun of her, very real injury, it’s scary. She fell literally seconds after we got back from the hospital, flat on her back in the middle of a dark road, no less, and took a header ironically, going to the physical therapist’s office. I learned it’s really hard to pick another human being up, even if they are light. If they have a satin-y puffer jacket on, it’s worse. If you haven’t cut your bangs in a while and you can’t see and also it’s pitch black out, that also ups the difficulty.

It’s gross to see your Mom in pain or incapacitated like that. I have no other way to describe the wrongness that goes beyond just empathy. Both my grandparents died recently, and the terror of their mobility has been high on everyone’s minds. I don’t know so much that my Mom is flying to close to the sun, so much as she has some innate drive to hurl herself into it and then refuse help. Like my grandma, my grandma who in the last months of her life, with 100% mental clarity, and nearly 0% vision, decided to deep fry potatoes, blind, because it was a waste of money to order takeout french fries when they had perfectly good ones in the freezer.

I’m so fucked. My grandparents deteriorating health destroyed their half-dozen kids, and billion grandkids or however many there are. I have my sister, who makes my Mom Uber to appointments when she is home, and once cancelled on my birthday lunch with our Dad because she forgot to call off work, only she didn’t go to work, she was at home. I know this because we live in the same house. I mean what?

So that has been heavy. The thinking about caretaking. Which great news, I am fucking horrible at. Then that’s setting off good old-fashioned sibling rage. Rage.

So I haven’t been doing much besides trying to stay calm. My Mom was feeling good enough we went to return some stuff from Christmas that never got done. Thank God for 90 day return policies. A nice girl held the door for us. I got a new pair of sunglasses. We went to get groceries and I got a bunch of movie theater snacks and a motherfuckin’ sub. I ingeniously taped a selfie stick to my bookshelf and got my little reaction capturing set up going and did a little test video and things are looking up.

I recorded about 25 minutes (light on, counter going up, everything) and decided you know what, I’ll be smart and hit stop, and start a new video, so I don’t have one 2 hour video to contend with, and if something fucks up it will be contained. So I hit stop, I watch the video ‘save,’ go to play it back, and THAT FUCKER DISAPPEARED. NOTHING IN THE GALLERY. NO FILE. NOT ON THE MEMORY CARD. NOT ON THE PHONE. WTF!?!?!

I pulled the memory card, because motherfuck you SD card, this ain’t my first rodeo, so it wouldn’t get overwritten, but so far so shitty. I borrowed my sister’s camera (I realize my borrowing something from her/my talking shit about her in the same couple paragraph span is sort of wrong, though I do think her, trust me, abandoning me with our theoretical elderly parents is a different realm,) and recorded the last bit of the Rumble, but at that point my heart wasn’t in it as I was distraught about what new means my phone had discovered of torturing me.

To be clear, I realize this all sounds silly as fuck, and is in the grand scheme of things, incredibly minor, it’s just been a genuinely hard month, and I was so looking forward to that little spot of dumb indulgence. I managed to get so gutted I had to make a trip to my old cryin’ spot, sitting on the (lidded) toilet in our basement bathroom while praying there were no centipedes in there. I think I’ve classical conditioned myself to cry in there, because if I’m going to cry, it is virtually always in the worst room in the house.

I’m so glamorous.

Sometimes my tenacity is a bad thing and now is one of those times, because I’ve devoted far too much of this week to trying to recover a file of me eating a sub while hating Baron Corbin. I just don’t want that memory card to win, and right now I feel like it is. I hate forgetting things, losing things, and being one upped by machines.

Also my music lesson sucked this week. Where is sanctuary. Ugh.

As requested by no one, what I’ve done recently

Oh my God. 2 weeks ago, I got so sick completely out of nowhere. One afternoon I’m enjoying the unseasonably warm weather, getting peppermint cake pops, catching Pokémon in the Starbucks parking lot, preparing for Thanksgiving, and the next day I’m on my ass.

I don’t have a real hearty constitution, and I am a whiny sick baby. I oscillate between self-care and crying in the fetal position and there is no in between. Also I am an emotional eater.

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B& from DC

I’m just going to write everything backwards because my life is a fucking mess anyway. This all happened prior to my last post, so mid-August, but I think I just learned WordPress uses the time stamp of when the draft was written, not when the post was published, so who the hell knows when it will say this was posted.

My cousins came down from Toronto for a wedding, not a wedding on “my” side, although I’m sure I would have loved to attend because they’re Guyanese and everything I’ve heard indicates the Guyanese party game is on point.

They were nice enough to bring a bunch of my grandfather’s tools, and my grandma’s cooking books, mementos basically as a bunch of my family went to clean out their house and get it ready for sale. My grandpa’s tools was more of a practical thing, he amassed quite the collection and we have some belt sanding to do. As I suspected, I have no idea how the fuck anyone in my immediate family is going to physically handle this belt sander, my grandpa was not a large man, but apparently he did not fuck around. My grandma’s cookbooks are amazing. We got a reproduction copy of one last year when we thought they’d all been lost, with this amazing (in theory) recipe for canning moose. There are some real gems in there. Some because of their super 70s or super Newfoundland content, others for incredibly geographically specific or WTF value like one on indigenous plants.

The best part was they brought the coffee table from Nanny & Poppy’s living room, a true “mid-century” splayed leg, two level, press board lacquered in fake wood kind of thing, that when flipped over reveals a bulls-eye someone had drawn on the underside for use as target practice.

We went downtown to see my Mom’s friend who was staying at this amazing hotel called The Donovan. It had the most futuristic shower that I did not use. We brought her a Welcome 2 Amurica bag that was filled with Old Bay seasoned cheese balls and American flag beer cozies. When the ungodly torrents of rain stopped, we wandered around and went to a bar/restaurant called The Drafting Table that had duck grilled cheeses and “poutine” with sausage gravy that did not taste as bad as it looked but was still not fucking poutine.

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When you order poutine in D.C. #poutine #what

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We walked around U Street at night, God, U Street is the shit now. I remember going to see The Blood Brothers at The Black Cat in high school, and our friend’s Dad dropped us off and stayed in the area the entire time because we were not allowed to walk around there alone. Now they have a Room & Board. What a 180. When we went to see Chris Hardwick at 9:30 Club, I couldn’t even figure out where I was. All these contemporary faux loft-y condos? That cool Satellite (?) bar on the back? WTF! I’d live there. If I was going to live in D.C. that would be at the top of my list. I’m not naive enough to think with all this “gentrification” there isn’t some seriously racist and classist politics at bay, but superficially, damn does it ever seem fun down there.

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Chili bear #benschilibowl #ustreet #dc

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We went back to the hotel and on the way back we stopped at a liquor store that had individual glasses of Moet in the window. They said they were “display only.” What kind of cold hearted bastard does this to someone? Shame! Shame! Shame!

I got a Sapporo tall can instead. What? I don’t know. I’m not really okay with drinking in front of my family. It was good though. This is going to sound like the ultimate Dad thing, but it was the real sturdy metal can (redundant?) Very satisfying. I can only fine the little normal cans around here.

Proceded to stay up until 2AM talking to my Mom and sister while her friend slept. We are great guests. My Mom snored so fucking loud I did not sleep the entire night on my air mattress, that was rapidly deflating. It was one of those bed height air mattresses, so when it started sagging, the differential between my head & feet and ass-zone was multiple feet. I slept in a v-shape. By morning my head area had also sagged, so my body was at a maybe 35-degree angle, with my feet in the air and my head on the ground, in the saddest, vinyl clammiest, sleep deprived, nauseaus, dizzy, weird hotel specific damp coldest version of Where Is My Mind! available. Then I drank a room temperature Red Bull. Great decision making!

Walked around some more, went to some weird empty bar that was called… World of Beer? I don’t know how old people constantly get tricked by dive bars that serve food, but this was one of those instances. Like, you know how some bars are BARS and they just happen to have food for LEGAL/EXTRA INCOME REASONS and you don’t go to these bars for food specifically because it’s a BAR and also because you put a Steigl banner in the window it doesn’t make you INTERNATIONAL. YES YOU KNOW THIS BECAUSE EVERYONE KNOWS THIS. Yeah, this was not computing. My Mom’s looking at THE BAR MENU IN THE WINDOW ‘this doesn’t sound very international’ IT’S NOT INTERNATIONAL THEY JUST HAVE A BUNCH OF BEER SIGNS IN THE WINDOW BECAUSE IT’S A BAR. Our campus bar was literally draped in flags. They had irish car bombs and spicy sweet potato fries. That was as “international” as it got.

It actually wasn’t bad, but it was 1. cavernous 2. very dark (already covered by cavernous?) 3. incredibly, incredibly, awkwardly empty.

They had the best root beer float ever though. They used Dominion root beer, but the ice cream is going to plague me until the end of time. I know they weren’t handchurning their ice cream in the kitchen that passed of a chicken nugget as a “chicken fritter,” so it had to be store bought, but where!?

I will say this, as we were leaving, I got struck with horrible diarrhea that I will blame on the duck grilled cheese but was probably just my own ecosystem turning on me violently. The fact this place was empty put me about 40000km from another human as I contemplated how God seriously fucking hates me and Jesus Christ I was just trying to welcome our oldest family friend into the neighborhood and all I got was the worst sleep of my life and no individual cup of Moet and fuck why did I eat a duck grilled cheese at a restaurant I had never been to and FUCK THIS IS WHY I CAN’T TAKE RISKS AND I LIVE A SHELTERED SAD LIFE THAT IS LACKING IN SO MANY RESPECTS BECAUSE I CAN’T EVEN EAT A DUCK GRILLED CHEESE WITHOUT NEARLY SHITTING MY PANTS AND FUCK IT I’M GOING TO SEE IF THERE ARE ANY POKEMON IN HERE.

There were. Not only that, the cave reception was so bad the GPS kept hurling my avatar across D.C. as I racked up spins from a thousand random PokeStops.

I will accept this as divine intervention.

We saw my Mom’s friends new place and it is amaaaazing and her realtor randomly also went to U of T and I continued to not shit myself which I will also accept as divine intervention.

Burlesqueer at The Black Cat, Chris Hardwick & April Richardson at 9:30 Club, My Birthday, Father’s Day

Friday: Burlesqueer at The Black Cat
So this ended up disturbing the fuck out of me. Possibly because our previous Burlesqueer performance was such a life-affirming, mind-boggling experience, a regular, non-Rocky Horror Picture Show themed, sans-Sparkle Bois performance was doomed to mediocrity. The inconceivably adorable Dutch Oven MC’d again, and I would definitely pay to see her co-host Betty O’Hellno again (I just started watching the lastest season of Ru Paul’s Drag Race and she reminds me a lot, in a good way, of BenDeLaCreme) but nothing could really erase the horror of Pussy Noir dump a candle on herself. Adriana suggested it was maybe some sort of bad intersection of drag and burlesque that just didn’t work out so well, but I don’t think she had the same reaction that I did. I felt like I was in a k-hole. I usually like genderfuck-y performances, and my favorite performance of the night was actually a bearded man that gave me a vaguely vaudevillian / German musical villain vibe that stripped from lederhosen, but dear God. It felt exploitative. I felt like I was watching the victim of human trafficking. It was so uncomfortable.

Continue reading “Burlesqueer at The Black Cat, Chris Hardwick & April Richardson at 9:30 Club, My Birthday, Father’s Day”

Pete Holmes Live from the Ice Planet Hoth

Holy fuck, it’s so cold outside. Adriana and I were going to go see a show at the DC Public Library, but the weather was like, you are going to freeze your ass off and die if you go outside, so we noped the fuck out.

I still want to see a show at the library though. Adriana says they’re renovating the basement and holding punk shows down there for the time being, until they put a new collection or whatever in. Would be pretty cool to see a punk show in a library.

We did go see Pete Holmes at the Improv though, because we bought tickets what feels like six years ago. I actually think I bought the tickets for that before I bought tickets for RAW, so yeah, a long fucking time ago.

I would just like to describe to you how fucking cold it was outside. It was Montreal cold. The kind of cold where you’re pretty sure you can see the air forming into hanging sheets of ice. Everything felt heavy. My usually teddy bear soft Hollister jeggings promptly froze into panes of canvas and then proceeded to rub all of my leg flesh off. We stopped in a bakery because we got turned around trying to run towards heat, and when I looked down to pull out my tickets and check the address, my eyes welled up with what I’m assuming were defrosted tears.

Fucking bullshit.

Pete Holmes was incredible though. Every bit as tall and gangly and adorable as I had been hoping. He had barely any clearance and shoved his arm through the fiberglass ceiling tiles a few times. It was just such a warm atmosphere, I loved his style. He would start giggling at himself, then the crowd would start giggling, then he would laugh harder, then everyone was fucking laughing. Watching Pete Holmes was like if you could get drunk the way they do in movies, childlike joy interspersed with fantastic, well-timed life advice. Like being that perfect three-drinks-in-everything-will-be-okay buzzed forever.

Totally recommend.