The Wee Democracy

neato books

there's a moment of pure joy that people experience sometime. innocent joy, that is. such moments as a 6 year old kid opening his eyes at first light on christmas days before the toys end and the clothes begin (which is usually around 7). new parents welcoming their first child into the world. potheads when the pizza man rings the doorbell.

such was the moment when i found a large bulky package jutting out from the mailbox yesterday morning, as i got the paper. evidently, it was left there the day before, and no one thought to get the mail. anywho, it was a gift from my sister leah, who lives in that hotbed of sin, grime, and midnight shenanigans that is NY.

it was a book. a collection of zines from the mid-nineties called "burn collector" by a fella named al burian. this book....is fucking genius. really, his zines seem like a far more in depth and vastly more intelligent than this mockery of self exploration. there are moments when i laugh so hard the snot in my nose goes a-flyin'.

behold, an excerpt of said snot-flight-inducing humor. it refers to a providence mayor - vincent "buddy" cianci:

If any doubt remained as to the guy having what my dad would call "a mean streak a mild wide," consider the name of his daughter: Nancy Ann Cianci. Say that fast. That's right, it's "Nancy Antsy Antsy." What this means in a nutshell, is that it's my mission in life to befriend Nancy Ann, get invited to some fancy social engagement, and then dawdle and putter around until she gets exasperated and tells me to get the lead out. At this point i say in the most condescending tone i can muster, "Nancy Ann Cianci's antsy!" Her bodyguards beat me to a pulp, but i die a happy man.

there have been moment in my life where i knew i wanted to write. when i first started reading flannery o'connor's stories. when i read raymond carver. nine stories, and the rest of the glass family tales. this guy makes me want to blog professionally, though i don't have the same kind of life experiences and funky friends that al burian has. and i don't draw comics. or visit europe.

so i figure i've got to start.

p.s. thanks to gutman and bekah for linking me up - evidently the northeast, ivy league potsers consider my scribblings to be as cool as, like, the bachman turner overdrive.



feeling: absolutely horrified
thinking of: moving to california, immediately
song of the day: the ramones - happy birthday, mr. burns
i'd just like to say, this gig sucks! up yours, Springfield!