Being a pizza delivery driver, I must peak my activity when most others are dragging in theirs.  When most people get back to business, I get a break.  I’m learning that no matter what role we play in the capitalist society, it’s still the same damn game.  Fuck it all.

An attempt to transpose:
The square weekend is roughly from 5 p.m. Friday until about 8 a.m Monday.
My weekend is typically from 10 p.m Sunday until anywhere from 11 a.m to 4:30 p.m on Wednesday.

So, here’s my best attempt at creating for myself a comparable transgression into freedom (weekend):

  • I caught the last two songs of the Knotwell’s set at the Turf Club, assuming the show would be going on until at least 1 a.m.  Luckily I didn’t have the pay the cover charge.  I bought a beer and talked to an old acquaintance and then left.
  • At the CC Club, I read more than I cared to get through of Chuck Palahniuk’s Novel, “Survivor,” as I’m getting kind of bored of it.
  • I Completely cleaned my entire apartment from one end to the other.  I’m not talking about just picking up trash and dirty clothes.  EVERY piece of furniture got moved and dusted.  When the rug under the drum set gets shaken out, you know it’s serious.
  • I Bowled two consecutive games scoring 123 at Memory Lanes, during the first of which I succesfully picked up a 7-9 split for the first time ever.
  • I got at least halfway through “The Communist Manifesto” with an increasing interest in the subject, seeing as how I’m trying my best to party on a Monday night.  (Why is Punk Bowling night at Memory Lanes on Monday?  Because it’s so punk rock to drink and bowl while the Squares [Bourgeoisie] are going to bed.)
  • Also at Punk Bowling, I was sitting at the bar, drinking PBR and reading Marx, and I was offered a free PBR.  I said yes and I got a free sticker and a tall boy.  She admitted, when I asked her, to being “out marketing.”  Not very punk rock, but then again it’s free beer, and thus, a toss up.  What is punk if not a conflicted ideology anyway?

By the way, all of the above took place by myself.  Seems everyone I know (with the exception of the acquaintance I ran into at the Turf Club) is just too Bougie.  Oh well.