January 31, 2003: How Does it Feel?

I had one of the oddest Post Office experiences ever. Granted, nothing really interesting ever happens at the Post Office, so when something partly palatable happens, not since people stopped sending terrible diseases in random, unmarked envelops - so it's like. Wow! when something does.

But, the Post Office is basically a place where you pick up bills, wait in long lines and look at the new stamps commemorating the lovable, colorful Looney Toons characters. At this point, I have to admit that I've bought stamps just for what they've look like. The US Post Office came out with Andy Warhol stamps and I've used them to personalize everything that demands a sticker; my phone, my car, other people's cars, random asses that come to close - it's a sick sticker and I don't treat it as a stamp. My brother told me one time, that you can write "Free, service for the blind", on an envelope, and your letter will get to it's proud destination... eventually.

I went to my PO Box, which is located in the Post Office on Walnut Street in Boulder. It's about a hour away from my apartment in South Denver. I keep it there, even though I've lived in Denver since last summer, because it's the last thing I have of Boulder that's really mine; a small, 6" by 6" by 12" nook in the heart of downtown, near where I spent many a nights sip sipping expensive coffee while reading heavy books, days where I had nothing to do but skate and look cool doing just that, the afternoons where I'd work till 6 pm, take a break and come back to work. My ex girlfriends in Boulder aren't mine. The skatepark isn't mine, that box; that little pathetic metal box. That's mine.

So today, I received a envelop from Japan, which cool just because it's different. It has Japanese writing a stamp of Mt. Fuji and the envelop is sealed from the side, and not the top and that's just cool as fuck; again, for a Post Office Experience.

I also received a announcement that I had a larger package awaiting me. Anything that doesn't fit in the nook, gets put somewhere else and I have to wait in the line of Hell and retrieve it. While waiting, I went through my mail. I licensed out a trade name, and now I get junk mail offering everything from credit cards, to insurance, to merchant accounts. It's pathetic. I also received the Random, Small Envelop, usually used to send checks. I receive a lot of checks in the mail, from freelance work. I eagerly opened it up.

Inside was a sticky, it said something to the effect of, "Here's the money - Initial". This wasn't out of the ordinary, except that the sticky seemed to be written with an odd pen - or not even a pen... as if it was really a faux sticky. Attached was a check. For $10,000.

I thought; Holy Shit, this must be fake. I looked for the sweepstakes form I fill out to make the check Mine, but there wasn't any. The check itself also looked printed in fake. But. It wasn't.

I then looked to see who it was made out to. The CU Boulder Ski Team.

The check wasn't mine. I opened someone elses mail. I am going to jail. I told the clerk immediately and she didn't seem to concerned, although she thinks the name was associated to someone in the Clinton Administration. She asked if I knew the name. I don't know anything about politics. In my bundle of mail, I received about 3 other letters to the CU Boulder ski team, all misboxed. The letters weren't even in my zip code.

The clerk gave me my random package. I was awaiting a t-shirt I was given for making a donation to Rhizome - a nerdy art site that has some ties to the Whitney and I wouldn't mind having ties to the Whitney as well. And hell, the donation was tax deductible!

This package wasn't from them, it was from no one I knew. Inside was nothing but a video. The video was Velvet Goldmine. Starring Ewan McGregor and loosely based upon David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust era. It's no secret, that if I was gay, the first person I would bang would be David Bowie, seconded only by Ewan Mcgreggor. Why this random person mailed me this Video, I don't know. I checked the label. My first and even last name, was perfectly spelled.

I called Melissa about this. I think I may be going out with this girl I don't know. She's the only person that I know that's more into Bowie than I am and she takes part in online auctions much more than I will ever. She didn't send the video. No one did.

Everyone did. I was still wondering about the State of Melissa and I, so I offered her the simple test. I asked her to meet me at the skatepark to watch me skate. I think someone has watched me skate who was also romantically involved with me one other time. She came. Brownie points galore.

We mucked around Boulder and went to thrift store. I bought socks. She bought socks. I went home and nerded and thanked her for meeting me.

I nerded around and decided to go dancing. It was 80's night at the closest dance club to me, the Dead Beat Club. It's a dive. But I have this odd fascination with anything from the 80's. A curse put upon me for being named the child of the 80's name: alex.

Dancing was awful. The DJ was just out of his rooker. You know the feeling where whoever is in charge of the music thinks he's Paul Okenfold? Not to be too harsh on the chap, but he has a very noticeable style and it's repetitive; he uses the same kind of breaks in the same kind of way. He can pull it off. Lame DJ for the Night Man, can't. Especially, especially on 80's night. I simply adore it when they take a sure song like, New Order's "Blue Monday and play, oh, 25 seconds of it. You can do that song for 10 minutes and go wild. It's an easy song to muck about in. It does it for you. It's like the automatic transmission of 80's night song, training wheels for lame DJ Man. No No No: 10 seconds of Ian Curtis bliss and onto "You Shook Me All Night", by AC/DC - which, could be partly dance able if not for the fact that the Frat boyz are too busy buying awful beer, dancing with their skanky dates and humping the wooden posts keepin' the roof up (I kid you not). Don't get me into how many pairs of jeans and sneakers I saw.

So, how does genius Dj end the night? Well, after Mixing his bubble rave beats to Cyndi Lapers, "Time After Time", he crescendos with... Men At Work's... "Down Under" - which wasn't ever a good song. The only thing it had going for it was the lame fact that the band was from Australia and was probably on a Crocodile Dundee soundtrack. It's maybe 60 bpm. I didn't know what to do, but like, dancehall skank. Give me Neil Diamond. Any of it. It's just as slow and out of place, but good.

I have nothing really else to say, other than I should write more often,

and find somewhere else to dance.