Other people's friends

Jay says that the city says that they're "reconsidering" the legality of Darwin fish. Yeah, she's still fighting that battle, and it's my job in the balance but I'm mostly disinterested.

I have nothing against rules, unless the rules make no sense, and of the billions and billions of rules about selling on Telegraph Ave, about three of the rules make sense. All the rest should be burned, along with the rule-makers.

No word on when to expect the city's decision. My guess? 1999, and the answer will be no. Meanwhile, Darwin fish remain contraband in Berkeley. If you ask, though, there's a stash under my table.

Black market fish? Only in Berkeley.

♦ ♦ ♦

Corby's in town, and staying in the guest room. He's been subscribing to the zine you're reading for a year or so, and he's sent me lots of letters and a few packages of cool stuff, and I've written back to him and said thanks, twice, so clearly he's one of my best friends in the world.

He lives in Oregon but frequently comes to Seattle, and we met when I was visiting Sarah-Katherine and my family in Seattle a few months back.

He's also responsible for a lot of the zine's tiny circulation, because he buys extra copies and sends them to his friends, some of whom then subscribe, too. I guess Corby is my Marketing Department. There are probably twenty people on the mailing list who are either friends of Corby, or friends of Corby's friends. 

One of the people he introduced my zine to is Judith, who bought a few copies, then subscribed, then call me up to meet, and now she's my flatmate and landlord.

Corby and Judith have been friends all their lives, and tonight the three of us sat in the living room making obnoxious jokes and laughing. Then after yukking it up for a while, they invited me to dinner with them and a few of their friends.

I'd never turn down dinner when someone else is paying, but I turned it down. Corby and Judith's friends are my strangers, and smiling and pretending to be sociable with strangers is exactly my idea of a bad time. I'd rather stay home and type, so I did.

From Pathetic Life #16
Friday, September 29, 1995

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.

Pathetic Life
← PREVIOUS          NEXT →

itsdougholland.com
← PREVIOUS          NEXT →