Monday, May 02, 2005

andrew spear in the 'burg Here's a magazine cover by Andrew Spear, my houseguest this past weekend.  He was down in the 'burg to DJ an event called the "World's Worst Music Festival" (or something like that). I invited him to stay at my place after me and Jersey Girl crashed at his Orlando duplex, the weeked of our big billboard adventure.  He accepted my offer, mentioning that the last person he stayed with in St. Pete had a really disgusting bathroom. While I was excited at the prospect of having a quasi-celebrity as a houseguest for the weekend, I was kind of troubled by something else--my bathroom was probably equally, if not vastly more disgusting than the last one he encountered in St. Petersburg. Here are some of its disgusting features: *A toilet that looks and smells like piss and shit. *A toilet seat that is ripped, exposing the cheap, sponge cushioning inside. *A tub that is top-coated with various grimes, scums, and mildews. *A sink that is grey with shave stubble and dirt. *Large ants which spontaneously pop out of this hole above the sink. *A general sense of unsanitariness. Fearing that my disgusting bathroom would soon become the talk of Orlando social circles and beyond, I vowed to bring it up to speed before Andrews' arrival. But with multiple nights of binge drinking the following week, my window for cleaning rapidly closed.  Before you know it, it was Saturday afternoon--the day of Andrew's arrival. About 4pm he gave me a courtesy call from O-Town. "What's up Rock Star, this is Andrew.  I'm about to hit the road.  I've been running around all day doin' errands and stuff and I haven't had a chance to take a shower.  Is it cool if I wash up at your place?" "Oh, no problem," I said, while eyeing my scum encrusted lavatory.  "I'll put out the good towels." "You're the best, Legend." For the next 90 minutes you can imagine a split screen movie of me and Andrew in our seperate situations.  On one side is Andrew, cruising serenely along I-4, jamming with his house music, anticipating a big night in St. Pete. On the other side is me, wearing bright, yellow, rubber gloves, throwing all kinds of bleaches and acids on the tiles and porcelain surfaces, then scrubbing frantically away on hands and knees.   My first plan of simply painting white over all the mildew on the window sill and wood trim didn't work at all.  This is because the window is actually in the shower, where its always kind of moist and drippy and paint just doesn't dry.  (And yes, I've often wondered, despite the blinds, what my neighbors might have glimpsed, in silhouette form, through that shower window.)  Anyway, I spent the next hour and a half cursing, cringing, sweating, scrubbing, sweeping, mopping, etc in trying to wash away four months worth of filth, and present the false impression that I'm some sort of clean and tidy person. When Andrew arrived I played it off like I'd just been chillin', and that (more or less) clean bathrooms are part of my everyday lifestyle. Other highlights of the weekend: *Andrew had a St. Pete fan who kept calling every twenty minutes, eager to see where he was and when he was going to arrive.  He kept telling the St. Pete fan that he was stuck in Orlando, or stuck on I-4 while he was really swilling beers with me and Jersey Girl on my front porch.  He kept up this ruse, right up until, and even past the time he was supposed to DJ.  The tease, suspense, and ultimate surprise arrival was a brilliant touch of showmanship. *I grinded the side of my truck again, pretty much in the exact spot and manner that I did two months ago (and about a month after I got it out of the body shop).  I was having such an ubelievably great time (at the Vitale after-party) that I didn't even care.  (The other car involved was kind of a junker, and the owner was satisfied with $40 on-the-spot settlement). *A stumbling, slurring drunk guy practically begged us for a ride home when we were leaving the Vitale Warehouse at 6 in the morning.  Being a soft-hearted dude, I said he could hop in.  But Jersey Girl, being a street scrappy Jersey Girl, floored it right before the pitiful drunk guy could open the door.  We left him standing in the alley in the pouring rain with his hand outstretched to nothing. *A girl tracked Andrew down at my place (around 6am) and then promptly delivered herself.  When she came over we had a party of four until, and even after the sun came up.  There was a mish-mosh of beers and champagne and tequila, and other things. When me and Jersey girl finally retired to my bedroom, all I could think about was our other guests listening to the sound of my bed frame sqeaking, and bouncing and banging against the wall. *After about two hours sleep I got up and had a warm margarita. 7:00:44 PM    comment [] hair hater I guess me and Jersery Girl were putting on quite a display of affection at this restaurant called Harvey's on Sunday morning (we were there for brunch and drinks after partying all night). After a little make-out session at the bar, our bartender girl came up to us with an unusual message: "I know this sounds kind of weird, but there's been a complaint that you two are touching each other's hair too much.  Apparently someone's concerned that its unsanitary and the hair might get into the food.  The manager asked me to tell you." I sat there and tried to fathom what the hell the bar girl was talking about.  Someone out there was afraid that, because we were kissing and touching each other's hair, it was going to fly up into the air,  travel across the restaurant and land on someone's eggs benedict? I should have told the bar girl to tell whoever to fuck-off, but since we had a group of people with us, I just let it go and proceeded to down a bunch of heinekens along with a steak sandwich. But just in case the hair complainer happens to be an avid reader of "the legend of mark michaels," I will say it now: fuck off. 4:15:50 PM    comment []

© Copyright 2005 Mark Michaels. Last update: 6/1/2005; 9:12:23 PM. This theme is based on the SoundWaves (blue) Manila theme.