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Cult of the Dead Cow 337
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...presents... Reid Fleming: Lady Killer
by Reid Fleming
09/01/1997-#337
__///////\ -cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc- /\\\\\\\__
\\\\\\\/ Everything You Need Since 1986 \///////
___ _ _ ___ _ _ ___ _ _ ___ _ _ ___
|___heal_the_sick___raise_the_dead___cleanse_the_lepers___cast_out_demons___|
I wrote this thing in September of 1994. My life has changed considerably
since then.
I no longer work for a multimedia software publisher.
I am pierced.
And, thanks to the cDc, the money & girlies have poured in.
But way back then, when I was desperate for human female companionship, a
personal ad in the local weekly seemed appropriate. The following is an
account of one of the dates generated by my ad.
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I placed a personal ad in the paper a few weeks ago:
"SWM, 25, seeks HIV- 20ish mentally agile borderline alcoholic, profane, and
likes books and comix. OPTIONAL LIKES: MST3k, L7, Xuxa, Janeane Garofalo. No
goths or veggies."
This is my outgoing voicemail message at the newspaper's personals VMB:
Hi, my name is Reid.
Let me explain myself a little bit: I'm a flabby 25 year-old U.S. citizen
with full-time gainful employment at a software company. I read _Wired_
magazine, _Scientific American_, and _Film Threat_ on a regular basis, and then
whatever comes across my purview.
My favorite authors are Neal Stephenson, Charles Bukowski, Thomas Pynchon,
Marvin Mudrick, David Hume, and David Mamet. I just finished a book called
_Friday Night Lights_ about high school football in Odessa, Texas. It's
amazing.
My favorite filmmakers include Stanley Kubrick, John Sayles, John Woo, Jane
Campion, and David Mamet again. I just saw Romeo Is Bleeding, Natural Born
Killers, and Colossus: The Forbin Project.
On TV, I like to watch the Secret Life of Machines, Nova, Talk Soup, Kids in
the Hall, MST3k, Absolutely Fabulous, The Simpsons, Duckman, TV O, and Larry
Sanders whenever possible (although I don't pay for HBO). I'm looking forward
to Saturday Night Live's new season if Janeane Garofalo's really on it with
those two Kids in the Hall members, but we'll see if that happens.
In the comics world, I like to read Alan Moore's stuff, Eddie Campbell,
Frank Miller, Neil Gaiman, whatever.
I'm more or less looking for somebody who's really smart, if possible. Not
necessarily genius, but just somebody who's sharp, and who doesn't buy into all
the cultural stereotypes that are expected of us. I don't mean that I'm looking
for somebody who's necessarily covered with tattoos or anything, but just
somebody who doesn't buy into all the bullshit.
Anyway, I'm a sucker for nose rings. Although not septum rings. They look
too much... bovine to me.
(ironically) This is going quite well... Anyway, just leave your name and
number, or address or something, and we could do something. Thanks.
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FROM COMPANY E-MAIL
Subject: Reid's personal ads bears fruit immediately!
From: Reid Fleming
Date: 9/8/94 9:48 AM
[I received this message in my voice-mail]
Hi, my name is Amity, Reid. And I have to admit: between the message in the
paper and the message on your voicemail... it's pretty interesting. Well, you
want intellect but no septum ring. I think you're being a little cheesy.
You're in Slackerville, USA, otherwise known as San Francisco.
Okay, my name, like I said, is Amity. I'm 25. I'm a 5' 8", 125 pound
model, and have my own multimedia CD-ROM erotica company. I'm into psychotropic
research.
I'm into (magazine-wise) _Ben Is Dead_, _Wired_, _New Media_, and, you know,
the like... _Boing Boing_. As far as comics are concerned, I like, you know,
_Love & Rockets_, _Tank Girl_, that king of thing.
As far as TV shows, well, if it's on Nickelodeon, if it's on MTV, if it's on
the Comedy Channel, if it's on... what else is there? Okay, there's Nick, MTV,
the Comedy Channel, the Sci-Fi Channel. I think that generally covers it.
Fox. Fox is pretty good, too, as long as we're going into TV Land.
What else? Directors? I like whoever directed La Femme Nikita and Betty
Blue. I'm not good with names. And, of course, the guy who directed
Videodrome.
Like I said, I was pretty bowled-over by both the ads. One problem: even
though I fit everything, right down to Janeane Garofalo, I am a vegetarian. Not
a soapboxer, but I am a vegetarian. That's it. Chill.
This message left at 7:43am on September 8th
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RESPONSES FROM CO-WORKERS
She sounds pretty cool. I strongly believe blatant honesty is the best way to
start any relationship/acquaintance-ship. (Bovine is _the_ word!)
-Kat
Go Reid!
-Lis
Any chance of getting one of her demo CDs?
-Chris
I wonder if she's in those interactive erotica CD-ROMs... I suppose she would
be. If nothing else, I plan to trade her a bunch of ours.
-Reid
Since when do WE do interactive erotica? Mario Early Years Fun with Uncle
Irving? San Diego Zoo Presents the Breeding Practices of Homo Sapiens?
-Kat
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Here's the real meat:
REID'S DATE WITH AMITY
Well, here I am at the Squat & Gobble, sitting at the same table where Dean
& Jennifer & I ate that one day. I guess it's about 10 till 11, so I'm early.
I'm so nervous that it bothers me. I'm sweating. Visibly. Not Albert Brooks
style, but my forehead is slick and stays that way. My glasses will be coming
off soon, involuntarily.
I half expect Amity to show up and then ditch me. It would be easy to stand
me up. Even though I have her phone number, she's moving soon and always lets
the machine answer. Besides, she knows what t-shirt I'm wearing ("Marine
Sniper") and I can't really identify her unless she comes and strikes up a
conversation.
Three minutes later, she comes up to me. She is about half as attractive as
I'd imagined, silly me. More from my notes:
She came up to me in the Squat & Gobble and asked if I believe in the
paranormal. Because she had had a premonition that I would physically remind
her of the guy in her band, which apparently I do.
We go to a park about 3 blocks away and sat under a tree. We sit down under
the shady tree and she pulls items out of her black rubber purse for her to
offer me.
"Gum?"
"No, thank you."
"Ricola?"
"I'm fine."
"Certs?"
"OK."
"'He took the Certs...'"
Later:
"Cigarette?"
"I'm cool."
"Acid?"
"No, thanks."
I didn't tell her that I haven't done drugs for four years. I didn't want
to scare her off, necessarily. Although I spent a lot of time looking at the
veins in her arms and what looked like bruises on her forearm. Maybe they're
three-week-old needle divots. Maybe they're just some weird physiological
thing. Lord knows my body has its weird spots.
"What's that?" I ask, pointing to what looks like a partly washed-off hand
stamp that's on her wrist.
"It's a tattoo. Me and my EX-boyfriend made it. I made the green cloudy
part and he made the defined blue dot in the center."
"Did you guys use a needle?"
"Yeah, a needle, thread, and India ink. He has these all over his arms. I
just have this one. I'm thinking about making it into a atom symbol; kind of
fitting. But the thought of getting a real tattoo sort of scares me."
"And they're expensive."
"Well... yeah."
She grew up in New York State, about 50 miles north of NYC. She was raised
vegetarian and still practices it.
She has worked as a pastry chef, receptionist, answering service operator,
assembler at The Perfect Cookie, model, and stripper for 2 months at a club in
SF called The Market Street Theater. She is currently unemployed.
Both of us, coincidentally, have worked for photo developers. Both of us
were fired from our respective photo developer jobs. Both of us were fired for
having a bad attitude.
The conversation somehow turns to body piercings. "I'm really pierced," she
says. None of them are exposed to sunlight, apparently. "I got my belly
button pierced, my nipple pierced, my hood and my one on each of my inner lips.
I want three on each lip."
"Did they hurt?"
"Not the lips. Not really. But the hood -- OH MY GOD did that hurt."
"Why did you do that?"
"I went to get my clitoris pierced and the guy said, 'I have never seen a
clitoris too small to pierce.' And then: 'Oh my god -- yours is so _TINY_!'
So, I said fuck it -- do the hood... The pain was so intense I jumped. My body
tried to jump away. I have never felt that kind of pain before."
While working as a pastry chef, she got to design a big wedding cake for an
important couple. She made a four-tier cake with champagne glasses for pillars
and black and pink ribbons. It had freshly-cut live roses for decoration. It
sounds neat to me.
She hasn't had sex for one year, two months, and two weeks. Not for a lack
of offers, she says. I don't have trouble believing that. It's San Francisco,
after all.
She tells me that the other night she and a girlfriend went to a tiny park
in SF and a raccoon was there. She went up to the animal and gave it a Ricola
cough drop. She likens this to communing with nature. In retrospect, it
reminds me of the line "Feed Doritos to the bears" in that Dead Kennedys song.
As is often my wont, I finish her anecdote for her by saying "...and then I
noticed its foaming mouth -- it had rabies!" Her response: "No, it _didn't_
have rabies."
We went back to her apartment because she had to pee really bad. She lives
half a block north of Page & Fillmore. On the way there, she tells me that she
had responded to a few ads in the paper, but mine was the one that intrigued
her the most.
"I gave everyone else my stage name and a bogus number. You're the only one
I gave my real name & number to."
"What's your stage name?"
"Molly."
"Why 'Molly'?"
"From Molly Millions, in _Neuromancer_."
"Ahhh, yes."
We get to the door of her house.
"Breaking blind date rule number one," she says. Then she opens the door.
It's narrow and mazelike. Anyone relying on a wheelchair or crutches would have
a hard time getting in. She explains that 3 of her roommates are male and one
is female. She mentions that the female one is from Australia and only dates
black men.
We go to her bedroom. I sit in a chair and she sits on the mattress, making
and receiving phone calls for most of the remaining 30 minutes.
On the walls is an odd assortment of stuff: a poster of a naked woman
pouring water out of a jug, headlined "LIBRA -- blah blah blah"; aluminum foil-
wrapped cardboard stars and a cardboard rocket ship; a calendar depicting a
naked woman reclining on a crescent moon; a Skinny Puppy poster; a mirror; her
tape collection; her CD collection; her phone; a wide black-and-white poster I
can't figure out (probably a band poster); a leather mask; a leather dog collar
(human-sized); some other stuff.
We loan each other periodicals: I lend her the 1st issue of "Bob's" Favorite
Comics, and she loans me an issue of _High Society_ magazine with pictures of
Xuxa. By coincidence, Amity's in there, too.
At some point she tells me that in October of 1991, she and a couple of
other people were riding back from a Pigface show in San Diego. Her roommate
fell asleep at the wheel. Everyone but her was killed in the car wreck. She
moved back east for a while, and then returned to SF. [Ed: incidentally, our
own Lady Carolin knew someone who died in that car crash. How's that for
spooky?]
She tells me that she spent last night doing crystal meth and is now just
too tired to think straight. We were supposed to go to the Exploratorium and
then, if things were working out between us, to a block party happening in the
vicinity of the grand opening of a silkscreening shop of a friend of hers. But
she looks too tired to do anything right now. Fair enough.
She ends up taking a Valerian root pill. She asks if I know what it is, and
I confess my ignorance. She says it's good for putting you to sleep. She hands
me a paperback called _The Herb Book_ by John Lust. I look up Valerian in the
index -- no dice. Nor is it in the alphabetical list of herbs in the front.
Then I check the malady list for Sleeplessness -- it says look up Insomnia. I
do this. Valerian root remains unmentioned.
I point this out and she grabs the other herb book and fans through it.
It's not there, either. I tell her that she's been had -- Valerian root pills
are just sugar pills. She says, "I _wish_." Whatever that means. I think she
knows I was only kidding. They could work great, for all I know. There are
plenty of natural narcotics.
After a little while longer, she says, "I'm kicking you out. I have to take
a nap."
Me: "OK."
We get to the front door.
Her: "Well, I have your number. So, I think we should, uh... get together
again sometime."
Me: "And exchange hostages."
Her: "Right on. Bye."
commonalities differences
------------- -----------
both borderline alcoholics she does drugs
both fired from photo developer job I'm employed
both know all the SubGenius stuff she still belongs
both like Janeane Garofalo she believes in ESP
both like MC 900 Ft. Jesus she likes the rave scene
both like pornography she's in it
both like Steve Albini she likes Skinny Puppy
both like the Exploratorium she's a veggie
both like the Pixies she's pierced
both need dental work I have dental insurance
Later, I wonder what would fellow Cult of the Dead Cow member Tequila Willy
have done? Willy is quite the stud. I ask 0mega and he tells me that from the
first minute, Willy's reaction would have been: "Oh my God -- I'm getting the
hell out of here!!"
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/.ooM \ / \ .-. [ x x ] .-. / \ /.ooM \
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/lucky 13\ / \ / `-(' ')-' \ / \ /lucky 13\
\ / `-' (U) `-' \ /
`-' the original e-zine `-' _
Oooo eastside westside / ) __
/)(\ ( \ WORLDWIDE / ( / \
\__/ ) / Copyright (c) 1997 cDc communications and the author. \ ) \)(/
(_/ CULT OF THE DEAD COW is a registered trademark of oooO
cDc communications, PO Box 53011, Lubbock, TX, 79453, USA. _
oooO All rights reserved. Edited by Grandmaster Ratte'. __ ( \
/ ) /)(\ / \ ) \
\ ( \__/ Save yourself! Go outside! Do something! \)(/ ( /
\_) xXx BOW to the COW xXx Oooo
