Encyclopedia Updates: Additions for 2007 edition(s)
Newnewnewnewnewnew:
1-year
2-jersey
3-army
(1)
What I said as the countdown expired and we expired
waiting for the kid who woke up hours later with balls sharpied all over him,
(Joeboswell)
was,
“2007 is going to be better than 2006
(because 2006 didn’t really exist.)
2008 will be our year
2009 will be challenging
and 2010 will be creepy and interesting because something ridiculous and most likely funny is going to happen.”
I said this several times and one of those times, Alan said,
(2)
“I’m thinking that it definitely did exist.”
(2006)
-I- still don’t officially buy it, but,
I hope he’s right.
I also hope that Jasko survives his piece-identification deathwound to the neck.
(3)
Renegade + Shakespeare = Foxarmy
(while Clark is just classic)
--
I am not fresh. (Are you?)
Nor am I a fire.
(Clear the air so I can breathe again)
We laugh through the smokey o’s.
(Cough it up and pass it on. )
And there’s milky way hot chocolate
And there’s a document on the computer desktop
(On text-edit)
It’s labeled,
“peacepeacepeacepeace,”
This is New Jerseyan for ‘goodbye.
It’s about listening to records and it’s about welcoming invasion.
(And deciding not to pose.)
--
Peacepeacepeacepeace
Gianna Volpe, you're putting on a Run DMC Record. And I'm thankful for that.
You're having fun, we're all having fun.
Steve Jasko is talking.
Steve Jasko is rolling a blunt.
It's almost blunt time.
Time for a blunt.
Almost.
(This may have been written by the following kid)
(and was the possible fruition of an alliance with the foxarmy… unless that’s just in the photograph)
--
Fancy is:
A) the stack of plates and silverware by the un-cut brownie sheet
B) imagined hand on my shoulder and knee before flanks and cheeks then lips and lower back, lower, lower, this back has cheeks and that’s last when the clothes are gone, fear and shame and care and anticipation forgotten in shy backward revolutions of a stepped waltz ballad that cat-calls it’s future.
--
Rollerskating:
It goes great with beer.
(Ad campaign for roller-keggers in 2007)
The limbo:
It becomes epic and dangerous with beer.
(AD campaign and possible future restrictive warning for roller-keggers in 2007+)
--
Starland Ballroom:
(waking, williamelliotwhitmore, underdog, clutch)
((12/30/06))
There’s:
Security and I have just enough time to
Stick my
Switch blade into my bra
So that the guard’s hopefully mediocre pat-down does not detect it.
Success, except for a bottle of water, which I
Stalk for the entire show. (constantly checking the
Security
Station. Afterward, it is missing and the guard gets me a new bottle.
Smokers are cattle in the penned outside area and I
Stand high above heads next to a guard who
Slips me a Newport when I am out of
Stoges.
Someone catches my eye once and I
See that it is the banjo-wielding
Sir with the peddler fedora.
--
My Uncle Ray is probably the chillest alpha male that I know.
He has a dog named Bandit.
(Dog = Man’s best friend)
And he slices meat like a pro.
Last thanksgiving he cut some meat and on the footage I have from that time, he explained how years of practice had paid off for acquiring the elusive slicing skill.
The downside, he says, is that once everyone figures out your affinity for the perfect slice, they’ll ask you to do it EVERYTIME.
So, next time you are at a party and want to help out, then, just kiss the nearest cook.
Or slice-artist.
christmasdinner06
--
A lesson in jersey slang:
Faux-9-
(n.) (f-oh-n-eye-n)
Any type of security officer or “mall cop” whom is independently contracted
(not actual officer of the law)
-
On the plane to the east coast that I took on December 16th (from MO), I asked a lady what time it was and she said, “Twenty to five, New York time.”
I nodded and pressed my face against the window.
The Plane was dipping and circling the vast electric jungle that sparkled in reds and greens.
Christmas on the coast is truly a visually electric mindfuck for the descending airplane passenger.
I held my Chihuahua close and with eyed wide, I muttered how amazing it was just
HOW MANY FUCKING PEOPLE LIVE HERE.
(rush, rush, run to the smog-top)
An example of one such suburban warrior:
--
“You are too wedded to the scenario you have constructed.”
-Nathan Oates.
“New Jersey is like the best punch in the face of your life.”
-Gianna Volpe
“It’s a boy, Mrs. Walker, It’s a boy.”
-The Who
“Hand me one of those papes.”
-Clark Starace
--
I got in a fight the night before going home to Jersey for winter break.
I was at Tim’s holiday party dressed as Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer.
We bought brandy and whiskey for the apple cider
(brandy cider was my suggestion b/c matt had once made it and it had been delicious).
Tim’s roommate Hannah made the cider with fresh apples and the stove.
Later on I got in a fight with a guy because he threw me off him when I was three feet off the floor being held up by his arms wrapped around my lower back.
The move causes me to impact the floor with my back before sliding across the floor and slamming to a stop when my head hits the oven.
I jumped up, saying,
“motherfucker, I’m going to fucking kill you.”
I then put him in a headlock and took out his legs while I slammed his face into the stovetop.
I then gathered my nose and antlers and went outside to smoke my emergency cigarette.
I wonder if it is debilitatingly embarrassing to get your ass kicked by a five foot three inch tall reindeer (excluding my antlers, those make me taller)
I remember the funny thing about that party was that I was always combating insinuations of “Christmas time cheer and joy” because I’d be like, “eh, I hate Christmas, wouldn’t you too if it was your only day of the year that you worked?”
And that I refused to go out of character.
I was Rudolph until some time late when tim and I are in the bathroom and he suggests my taking my costume off and I do so and then re-introduce myself to all the persons left at the party.
--
Dad got vertigo some time within the last few months.
He showed me the therapy packet with diagrams depicting how to re-teach your body what is
Up
Down
Left
Right
--
This is what is updownleftandright.
Up
(Jesse and Amanda Volpe; brother and sister)
Down
(Ashley Volpe and Madison Valez: Aunt and niece)
Left
(Raymond Volpe and Ashley Volpe; granddaughter and grandfather)
Right
(Paul Amodio; stepfather)
--
Sam was in New Jersey and I picked him up from the airport and he sat on the same bench waiting for me that I always sit at when I arrive in Newark and together we battled highways and strips of the Palisades mall.
He has a nose ring now and a nape piercing and more ink
And he still hugs me into a perfect tight fitted puzzle.
“I miss our puzzle!”
My bed has been seducing every person who has been in my room this break.
It is definitely beating me in the category of seduction.
(But not in the category of lighting peoples’ cigarettes.)
Last time I checked it was 13 ½ to 13 ½, to 2.
--
Tell Bambi that the deal is off and to be careful in the meadow, damn.
--
I left Boston on Saturday morning (December 30th) in order to make it back to New Jersey in time for the clutch show that my older sister had asked me to accompany her to.
I arrived at Port authority on 42nd street where I had arranged for my sister to collect me from at 2:30 ( I think )
And walked outside to see if she was waiting with all the taxis and scattered SUVs.
With a cigarette and my cell phone in my hand, I paced the front and scanned the line of cars and absent-mindedly wandered to a place near the curb and taxis that had police line barricades up and faux-nines walked the area.
I walked through and was not bothered because I looked important in my heir of busyness and I thought that it was funny how looking busy keeps people from approaching or talking to you.
A cab driver looked at me and began jamming his finger against the glass and pointing at me.
I assumed that HE had assumed that I wanted to get picked up because I was past the police lines and I waved to him that I didn’t need a cab and kept walking.
Momentarily thought that my older sister might have taken a cab and whirled around, still talking to my mom, and leaned to see if I could see the taxi’s passengers (if there were any)
This is when I noticed one of the chick security officers pointing over to me and calling at me.
I thought she wanted to yell at me for walking where I had been walking so I just kind of watched her point at me and yell at me while ignoring her in favor of my phone-freak out about Where my sister could be (because her cell phone was off and I didn’t know where to go to get picked up).
This is when the security officer yelled, “MA’AM, YOUR HAIR IS ON FIRE”
And I dropped my cigarette, startled, watching the chunk of hair attached to the embers curl and rot.
A man leaning against port authority ran over, hurdled a cement-bound shrub, and began to smack me against the head.
The fire hadn’t gone out completely.
After the ordeal was over, I endured a minute of shock as I stood there touching my hair and saying to my mom, ‘I just fucking lit my hair on FIRE in FRONT of PORT AUTHORITY” before I peaced around the block and stood on 41st and 9th with my bags and my bag of thrift shop vinyls and green eggs and ham board game.
Then my older sister picked me up.
She is the mother of this child:
(Madison after I say, “moviestar.”)
--
A-team + B-King= Motley Barbecue
Motley Crue and Barbecue sauce
Rock out without your cock out or the Burger king bitches will call the forreal-nines up.
--
I just opened my notebook to find a quote from a dumb chick who sat behind Alan and I at the diner and I found a… letter addressed to me from someone I wouldn’t have expected to receive a letter from, especially concerning what it concerns.
For privacy reasons, the author will not be alluded to or revealed and hopefully will not be pissed for my printing this in a public place, but I think it’s absolutely the most endearing letter I’ve ever read or received and the picture that was drawn of me on the back of it is so good.
(it furrseriously looks like me, even with my football player shoulders and tweety bird hat)
Dear Gianna, Everytime you leave for college I find myself in a depression. Last night while I rolled face I wrote you a really long text message, which I never sent. Here is a quote from it:
“Like I always pictured when you + me are older we lived exciting drug adled lives maybe things would be different but I don’t know, I’ve always just admired you from afar + sat behind this invisible wall where raw emotion + physical attraction turn into latent love + admiration for another person whom one shares a connection with, always on the brink of something amazing but never quite committing to taking a chance where I might end up feeling awkward.”
--
Dear Friend,
Sometimes the record skips and the champagne bottle slips teenaged secrets as the ball drops and the call drops and the boy drops (the cab careens down highway streets.)
We’re kin to the belief of the psyche-connect that carefully constructs our crew of champions (fire in our palms, cancer in our face, marijuana in our blood, and rock and roll in our every cell.)
I remember the beginning and I remember the end of the preliminary era that marked the beginning and I remember the cups of coffee, the snow, the lies, the headlights in the darkness, and the day that I, myself, was forced to that room that housed the invisible wall
(Where raw emotion and physical attraction turn into latent love and admiration for another person whom one shares a connection with)
And I remember that it hurt and that sharpied love notes became the only thing that made me sure that the wall still stood, to taunt, to shame to, lie awake next to (or at the feet of).
Sometimes I think that when I picture the future, we will have lived exciting drug adled lives and that some people made it out and some people refused to and in the end of the thought, I will take a swig from my whiskey glass and wonder if I made it out and how many times you were next door to me on those Saturday afternoons that I assembled Sunday New York Times and Records and Star-Ledgers in that back stock room that shared a dumpster with a pizzeria.
--
12/23/06
2:05am
“Yeah, so I drew tom Cruise with like a clown outfit on and like a scientology hat on his head.”
-some chick at the diner
over and out
1-year
2-jersey
3-army
(1)
What I said as the countdown expired and we expired
waiting for the kid who woke up hours later with balls sharpied all over him,
(Joeboswell)
was,
“2007 is going to be better than 2006
(because 2006 didn’t really exist.)
2008 will be our year
2009 will be challenging
and 2010 will be creepy and interesting because something ridiculous and most likely funny is going to happen.”
I said this several times and one of those times, Alan said,
(2)
“I’m thinking that it definitely did exist.”
(2006)
-I- still don’t officially buy it, but,
I hope he’s right.
I also hope that Jasko survives his piece-identification deathwound to the neck.
(3)
Renegade + Shakespeare = Foxarmy
(while Clark is just classic)
--
I am not fresh. (Are you?)
Nor am I a fire.
(Clear the air so I can breathe again)
We laugh through the smokey o’s.
(Cough it up and pass it on. )
And there’s milky way hot chocolate
And there’s a document on the computer desktop
(On text-edit)
It’s labeled,
“peacepeacepeacepeace,”
This is New Jerseyan for ‘goodbye.
It’s about listening to records and it’s about welcoming invasion.
(And deciding not to pose.)
--
Peacepeacepeacepeace
Gianna Volpe, you're putting on a Run DMC Record. And I'm thankful for that.
You're having fun, we're all having fun.
Steve Jasko is talking.
Steve Jasko is rolling a blunt.
It's almost blunt time.
Time for a blunt.
Almost.
(This may have been written by the following kid)
(and was the possible fruition of an alliance with the foxarmy… unless that’s just in the photograph)
--
Fancy is:
A) the stack of plates and silverware by the un-cut brownie sheet
B) imagined hand on my shoulder and knee before flanks and cheeks then lips and lower back, lower, lower, this back has cheeks and that’s last when the clothes are gone, fear and shame and care and anticipation forgotten in shy backward revolutions of a stepped waltz ballad that cat-calls it’s future.
--
Rollerskating:
It goes great with beer.
(Ad campaign for roller-keggers in 2007)
The limbo:
It becomes epic and dangerous with beer.
(AD campaign and possible future restrictive warning for roller-keggers in 2007+)
--
Starland Ballroom:
(waking, williamelliotwhitmore, underdog, clutch)
((12/30/06))
There’s:
Security and I have just enough time to
Stick my
Switch blade into my bra
So that the guard’s hopefully mediocre pat-down does not detect it.
Success, except for a bottle of water, which I
Stalk for the entire show. (constantly checking the
Security
Station. Afterward, it is missing and the guard gets me a new bottle.
Smokers are cattle in the penned outside area and I
Stand high above heads next to a guard who
Slips me a Newport when I am out of
Stoges.
Someone catches my eye once and I
See that it is the banjo-wielding
Sir with the peddler fedora.
--
My Uncle Ray is probably the chillest alpha male that I know.
He has a dog named Bandit.
(Dog = Man’s best friend)
And he slices meat like a pro.
Last thanksgiving he cut some meat and on the footage I have from that time, he explained how years of practice had paid off for acquiring the elusive slicing skill.
The downside, he says, is that once everyone figures out your affinity for the perfect slice, they’ll ask you to do it EVERYTIME.
So, next time you are at a party and want to help out, then, just kiss the nearest cook.
Or slice-artist.
christmasdinner06
--
A lesson in jersey slang:
Faux-9-
(n.) (f-oh-n-eye-n)
Any type of security officer or “mall cop” whom is independently contracted
(not actual officer of the law)
-
On the plane to the east coast that I took on December 16th (from MO), I asked a lady what time it was and she said, “Twenty to five, New York time.”
I nodded and pressed my face against the window.
The Plane was dipping and circling the vast electric jungle that sparkled in reds and greens.
Christmas on the coast is truly a visually electric mindfuck for the descending airplane passenger.
I held my Chihuahua close and with eyed wide, I muttered how amazing it was just
HOW MANY FUCKING PEOPLE LIVE HERE.
(rush, rush, run to the smog-top)
An example of one such suburban warrior:
--
“You are too wedded to the scenario you have constructed.”
-Nathan Oates.
“New Jersey is like the best punch in the face of your life.”
-Gianna Volpe
“It’s a boy, Mrs. Walker, It’s a boy.”
-The Who
“Hand me one of those papes.”
-Clark Starace
--
I got in a fight the night before going home to Jersey for winter break.
I was at Tim’s holiday party dressed as Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer.
We bought brandy and whiskey for the apple cider
(brandy cider was my suggestion b/c matt had once made it and it had been delicious).
Tim’s roommate Hannah made the cider with fresh apples and the stove.
Later on I got in a fight with a guy because he threw me off him when I was three feet off the floor being held up by his arms wrapped around my lower back.
The move causes me to impact the floor with my back before sliding across the floor and slamming to a stop when my head hits the oven.
I jumped up, saying,
“motherfucker, I’m going to fucking kill you.”
I then put him in a headlock and took out his legs while I slammed his face into the stovetop.
I then gathered my nose and antlers and went outside to smoke my emergency cigarette.
I wonder if it is debilitatingly embarrassing to get your ass kicked by a five foot three inch tall reindeer (excluding my antlers, those make me taller)
I remember the funny thing about that party was that I was always combating insinuations of “Christmas time cheer and joy” because I’d be like, “eh, I hate Christmas, wouldn’t you too if it was your only day of the year that you worked?”
And that I refused to go out of character.
I was Rudolph until some time late when tim and I are in the bathroom and he suggests my taking my costume off and I do so and then re-introduce myself to all the persons left at the party.
--
Dad got vertigo some time within the last few months.
He showed me the therapy packet with diagrams depicting how to re-teach your body what is
Up
Down
Left
Right
--
This is what is updownleftandright.
Up
(Jesse and Amanda Volpe; brother and sister)
Down
(Ashley Volpe and Madison Valez: Aunt and niece)
Left
(Raymond Volpe and Ashley Volpe; granddaughter and grandfather)
Right
(Paul Amodio; stepfather)
--
Sam was in New Jersey and I picked him up from the airport and he sat on the same bench waiting for me that I always sit at when I arrive in Newark and together we battled highways and strips of the Palisades mall.
He has a nose ring now and a nape piercing and more ink
And he still hugs me into a perfect tight fitted puzzle.
“I miss our puzzle!”
My bed has been seducing every person who has been in my room this break.
It is definitely beating me in the category of seduction.
(But not in the category of lighting peoples’ cigarettes.)
Last time I checked it was 13 ½ to 13 ½, to 2.
--
Tell Bambi that the deal is off and to be careful in the meadow, damn.
--
I left Boston on Saturday morning (December 30th) in order to make it back to New Jersey in time for the clutch show that my older sister had asked me to accompany her to.
I arrived at Port authority on 42nd street where I had arranged for my sister to collect me from at 2:30 ( I think )
And walked outside to see if she was waiting with all the taxis and scattered SUVs.
With a cigarette and my cell phone in my hand, I paced the front and scanned the line of cars and absent-mindedly wandered to a place near the curb and taxis that had police line barricades up and faux-nines walked the area.
I walked through and was not bothered because I looked important in my heir of busyness and I thought that it was funny how looking busy keeps people from approaching or talking to you.
A cab driver looked at me and began jamming his finger against the glass and pointing at me.
I assumed that HE had assumed that I wanted to get picked up because I was past the police lines and I waved to him that I didn’t need a cab and kept walking.
Momentarily thought that my older sister might have taken a cab and whirled around, still talking to my mom, and leaned to see if I could see the taxi’s passengers (if there were any)
This is when I noticed one of the chick security officers pointing over to me and calling at me.
I thought she wanted to yell at me for walking where I had been walking so I just kind of watched her point at me and yell at me while ignoring her in favor of my phone-freak out about Where my sister could be (because her cell phone was off and I didn’t know where to go to get picked up).
This is when the security officer yelled, “MA’AM, YOUR HAIR IS ON FIRE”
And I dropped my cigarette, startled, watching the chunk of hair attached to the embers curl and rot.
A man leaning against port authority ran over, hurdled a cement-bound shrub, and began to smack me against the head.
The fire hadn’t gone out completely.
After the ordeal was over, I endured a minute of shock as I stood there touching my hair and saying to my mom, ‘I just fucking lit my hair on FIRE in FRONT of PORT AUTHORITY” before I peaced around the block and stood on 41st and 9th with my bags and my bag of thrift shop vinyls and green eggs and ham board game.
Then my older sister picked me up.
She is the mother of this child:
(Madison after I say, “moviestar.”)
--
A-team + B-King= Motley Barbecue
Motley Crue and Barbecue sauce
Rock out without your cock out or the Burger king bitches will call the forreal-nines up.
--
I just opened my notebook to find a quote from a dumb chick who sat behind Alan and I at the diner and I found a… letter addressed to me from someone I wouldn’t have expected to receive a letter from, especially concerning what it concerns.
For privacy reasons, the author will not be alluded to or revealed and hopefully will not be pissed for my printing this in a public place, but I think it’s absolutely the most endearing letter I’ve ever read or received and the picture that was drawn of me on the back of it is so good.
(it furrseriously looks like me, even with my football player shoulders and tweety bird hat)
Dear Gianna, Everytime you leave for college I find myself in a depression. Last night while I rolled face I wrote you a really long text message, which I never sent. Here is a quote from it:
“Like I always pictured when you + me are older we lived exciting drug adled lives maybe things would be different but I don’t know, I’ve always just admired you from afar + sat behind this invisible wall where raw emotion + physical attraction turn into latent love + admiration for another person whom one shares a connection with, always on the brink of something amazing but never quite committing to taking a chance where I might end up feeling awkward.”
--
Dear Friend,
Sometimes the record skips and the champagne bottle slips teenaged secrets as the ball drops and the call drops and the boy drops (the cab careens down highway streets.)
We’re kin to the belief of the psyche-connect that carefully constructs our crew of champions (fire in our palms, cancer in our face, marijuana in our blood, and rock and roll in our every cell.)
I remember the beginning and I remember the end of the preliminary era that marked the beginning and I remember the cups of coffee, the snow, the lies, the headlights in the darkness, and the day that I, myself, was forced to that room that housed the invisible wall
(Where raw emotion and physical attraction turn into latent love and admiration for another person whom one shares a connection with)
And I remember that it hurt and that sharpied love notes became the only thing that made me sure that the wall still stood, to taunt, to shame to, lie awake next to (or at the feet of).
Sometimes I think that when I picture the future, we will have lived exciting drug adled lives and that some people made it out and some people refused to and in the end of the thought, I will take a swig from my whiskey glass and wonder if I made it out and how many times you were next door to me on those Saturday afternoons that I assembled Sunday New York Times and Records and Star-Ledgers in that back stock room that shared a dumpster with a pizzeria.
--
12/23/06
2:05am
“Yeah, so I drew tom Cruise with like a clown outfit on and like a scientology hat on his head.”
-some chick at the diner
over and out