THE PENCOPAL PROJECT
2004-09-15 - 11:34 a.m.
PARANOIA IS GONNA DESTROY YA
Friday’s Franz Ferdinand show was sick. If you listen to the band, you know the concert was fucking awesome. If they’d been around a little longer, it’d be in my top ten, but since they’re still newbies, so they get slot #11. But the pre-party was just as fun as the show.
We got to Pastori-i’s right after he stopped working his corner. He ran upstairs to take off his makeup and his heels, then we started partying. Lately, I’ve been having a problem with paranoia. In my altered state I watched The Honey and Pastori-i pass a joint back and forth. As their eyes got smaller and redder I thought, oh shit, what if we can’t get to the show b/c The Honey’s to effed up to drive? I can’t drive stick. Oh my god, we’re gonna die. So I reminded him not to get too crazy. I started having visions of us driving to the show and getting into an accident or getting stopped by the cops. I felt my hysteria rising so I started thinking of rainbows. That always seems to work. I leaned back and thought, ah, the pretty rainbows. I put my head on a pillow, and it felt so good. Like cashmere. So I rubbed my head and face all over it. Hopefully it wasn't the pillow Pastori-i uses to cover his nuts when he sits naked at his computer. It didn't smell like anchovies, so I guess it wasn't the same pillow.
I heard Pastori-i and The Honey talking, and I interrupted to say, “Yeah, fuck that,” giving “that” the double middle finger. I had no idea what “that” was, but for the next 20 minutes I proceeded to interrupt them, giving the the double middle finger to whatever topic they were on.
“Slow down there, little gansta,” said Pastori-i.
“Yeah Boi, I’m a straight gangsta,” I said, turning into the love child of Li’l Kim and one of Joe Pesci's mafia characters. I couldn’t help myself from throwing up gang signs. I think the part of me that feels repressed in this white collar world I spent most of my time in wanted to come out and play.
“West si-eeeede!” I said, throwing up the two Ws. The Honey and Pastori-i looked on in horror.
I looked down at my capris, rolled up denim with red piping along the cuff. “Yeah, I’m a motherfucking Crip,” I yelled. “Is a Crip red or blue? No, I think I’m a fucking Blood yo.”
The horror with which they stared at me gave way to laughter. It was one of those things where I felt myself saying unbelievably stupid things, acting like a complete idiot, but I couldn’t stop myself. Being an asshole was fun.
“Hey, look what happens when you turn the West si-ede upside down. You get an M and a W. [Insert hysterical, hyena-like laughter here.] I wish my name was Mike Warner. Then I could throw up an M and a W. People would be all, hey, and I’d be all [insert M and W handshapes here.]
After they finished laughing at me heartily, The Honey began to get concerned.
“Hey hon, are you okay,” he asked, touching my back lightly.
Instead of answering, I threw up my Mike Warner sign.
Pastori-i and The Honey were in full effect with crazy jokes and Pastori-i’s description of the Surreal Life was the funniest shit I ever heard. Too bad I can’t remember it. For the next hour, I was out of commission. Pencopal was no more, in her place was a comedian/wannabe gangster hybrid that wouldn’t shut up. Until we listened to the new Bjork; then I morphed into a philosopher with an acute understanding of human potential.
“This is crazy man,” I mumbled during the ride to the Electric Factory. “It’s like, she’s got the key to life or something. She understands just what humans are capable of, and she’s using more of her inner gifts than any other musician, man. She’s totally stretching her arms out and embracing the extent of the universe with this album. She must have a gift from God or something, seriously. This is just amazing, she’s getting inside the heart of emotion and making music to describe that center. Because we can't all get there, man. It's crazy, I can’t believe I’m hearing this. She must use a greater percentage of her brain to come up with this. Actually, this song’s kind of fucking me up inside. It's hurting my heart. I think I’m going to cry. Can you turn it off?”
So what the fuck does all that mean? I really dug her new album.