So I got bit by a black widow. It was when I accidentally tipped over a casket at a southern baptist funeral.
I think marriage is an antiquated, outdated tradition, I don’t understand why people do it, it makes no sense to me. The only reason I can see for people to be married is if they want to have and raise children. Kids need two parents, and parents need someone who can help them, so other than training a human to be an adult, there is no need for marriage. In my opinion.
I have been pretty much alone for a good portion of my life on this spinning ball of dirt. I can cook for myself, I can do my own laundry, when I go to the movies I only have to pay for myself. why would i need someone else? Sex is awesome with another human, yes, but after years of marrying my bed (anne sexton, “the ballad of the lonely masturbator. Google it) I have pretty much come to be used to being lonely and alone.
Lonely. Ah yes, that is it, isn’t it? But sometimes, I think I would rather be lonely than be with someone who I don’t want to be with. It is Friday night as I write this, I am in my room with all my friends. Alone as usual. I would love some kind of companionship, and if that companionship came with a set of tits and female genitalia I could taste, well that would fucking rock. But you don’t need to be married for that. that aint gonna happen anyway, though. I would have to leave my room for that to happen, and even if I did leave my room, I could pretty much guarantee I would end up back in my room alone.
People used to marry for life, sure, but they also only used to live to be 40. We live longer now. Being with the same person for so long would get old and boring after awhile. How many people marry young, and realize after a few years they have changed and their tastes have changed and they no longer are interested in the person they are forever chained to? Our bodies regenerate after every seven years or so….every cell new, a complete new body, new person. Isn’t it possible our tastes change as well? Did you like the same foods as a kid as you do now? As stated earlier, other than an 18 year contract to raise another human, I can see no reason for staying together. Of course, I am weird and see things differently and I am a solipsistic little bastard, so there is that. As for infidelity….if I could get only the people who have cheated on their spouse to vote for me, I would be president without a doubt.
There is no perfect person, I know. No matter how perfect a person might seem, after a month, you see their flaws. I think the trick is to find the person who you are attracted to sooooooo much, their flaws are outweighed by your desire to be with them. Someone you can talk to, who you want to talk to, someone you want to listen to when they talk. I meet people and think “wow, why don’t I meet chicks like that?” and I know I would eventually get annoyed with them and their weird quirks, and I am pretty certain they would get sick of me in less time than it takes an avocado to get over ripe, but still…..if only…….
So I think it would be funny and/or cool if avogadro called up someone and got their machine with the message “leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you” and he said” yeah, this is avogadro, my number is six point zero two times ten to the twenty third. Thanks.”
Friday, September 09, 2005
Monday, September 05, 2005
demons are a gouls best fiend
The devil and I sat down for a drink
I had so many questions from all the time I had to think
about the way life works, or rather the way it don’t.
Do you think I’ll care that’s grammatically wrong?
Well, no. no, I won’t.
So I ask the unholy host of the netherworld if he has anything to do with art and the internet and all that, and he laughs derisively, making me feel even worse, and in a voice smoother than Mel Torme and more reassuring than a hug from someone with a soft fuzzy sweatshirt, Ol‘ Scratch says to me, “It’s retarded questions like that which cause me to marvel how cognitively simple animals like you ever figured out how to procreate and keep your worthless species alive. Do you have an extra chromosome or something?”
Then he went on to explain…
“I have nothing to do with artists and the internet. However, and see if you can follow me on this you failed abortion, the artists and internet do in fact work in my favor. Artists, the truly talented artists, the ones you aspire to be and will fail at miserably every time, they get that from, oh lets call him “the deadbeat dad.” However, the teeming masses of untalented fucks like yourself, well, you morons get all jealous, and are filled with self doubt and self hatred, and *THAT*, my useless animal, works for me. I don’t have to do anything, which gives me time to fuck your mother and grandmother in the ass…yes, your pious mother and her mother are both down with me, you‘ll see them soon. What? I would never lie to you . Anyway….
The internet…no I had nothing to do with that. You animals do most of the work for me really, I just sit back and reap the benefits. The easier it is to show unlovable refuse like you how smart and loved and revered others are, the quicker you go about trying to be something you are not, and that usually leads to me. You are never satisfied, you are never content, and the internet shows you what you are missing, and shows you how worthless you truly are. The beauty is, you think you are in some kind of competition, and you struggle to be something you are not, and you think you are missing out on something. You will try to reach that spectre of success, and in reaching, you will grab my hand. Here, let me get you another drink, ok?”
So he comes back with two fresh drinks and I ask him, “What about that guy I work with, the 25 year old whose bases his life on what he reads in MAXIM. The one with the perfect skin, perfect height, perfect set of muscles, and his buddy? They have a close friend ship, chicks dig them, guys dig them, they are living the life right now, and me? Well, anyway, I just want to know, do you have something to do with their success? It makes no sense. Forget the personal angle, what about all the stupid people who people have to work with and deal with, the dumb ones who get the kudos the ones who don't work but everyone thinks is so great? What about the idiots who have no clue yet seem to be the ones making the decisions? ”
“Look, you Special Ed dropout, I don’t. But as you should be able to see, their success works for me, even though it may be a gift from the deadbeat dad, which shows you how much he cares about you now, doesn’t it? Don’t you feel neglected? Don’t you hate the fact that those two perfect models for pro-wrestling seem to have more talent and success than you and the chicks flock to them and look at you like you are covered in vomit? Doesn’t it make your veins run with the sweet ochre of jealousy and rage? When you have the correct answer but they won’t listen to you and fuck shit up, and they are seen as doing things the right way, doesn’t that just bother you like an itch on the bottom of your foot when you are wearing thick soled boots? Well, there you go, I have nothing to do with it, and yet, it comes back to me. Do you know what I do? Do you know how you sit there, and it’s like a pimple right under the surface, you just *KNOW* you have something there, but you cant get to it, like when a pencil falls behind the desk and it is *JUST* out of reach of your fingers no matter how you scrape your arm to shove it a half millimeter farther? *THAT*, you stupid fuck , is me. So was the drunk driver who killed your father, and yes, your father sucks my dick after I fuck your mother in the ass. But as I was saying, it’s not too difficult really, I just keep it from you. As far as you know, you have nothing, I just make you *THINK* you have something that you can’t get to. Hahahah, what do you do? You get frustrated, etc etc, ad infinitum. This really bores me, you bore me, I hate you just like everyone who knows you hates you whether they say it or not to your face just know in your heart everyone hates you and suicide is an easy and quick solution. Ta.”
And he was gone. And yes, the motherfucker stiffed me with the bill.
I had so many questions from all the time I had to think
about the way life works, or rather the way it don’t.
Do you think I’ll care that’s grammatically wrong?
Well, no. no, I won’t.
So I ask the unholy host of the netherworld if he has anything to do with art and the internet and all that, and he laughs derisively, making me feel even worse, and in a voice smoother than Mel Torme and more reassuring than a hug from someone with a soft fuzzy sweatshirt, Ol‘ Scratch says to me, “It’s retarded questions like that which cause me to marvel how cognitively simple animals like you ever figured out how to procreate and keep your worthless species alive. Do you have an extra chromosome or something?”
Then he went on to explain…
“I have nothing to do with artists and the internet. However, and see if you can follow me on this you failed abortion, the artists and internet do in fact work in my favor. Artists, the truly talented artists, the ones you aspire to be and will fail at miserably every time, they get that from, oh lets call him “the deadbeat dad.” However, the teeming masses of untalented fucks like yourself, well, you morons get all jealous, and are filled with self doubt and self hatred, and *THAT*, my useless animal, works for me. I don’t have to do anything, which gives me time to fuck your mother and grandmother in the ass…yes, your pious mother and her mother are both down with me, you‘ll see them soon. What? I would never lie to you . Anyway….
The internet…no I had nothing to do with that. You animals do most of the work for me really, I just sit back and reap the benefits. The easier it is to show unlovable refuse like you how smart and loved and revered others are, the quicker you go about trying to be something you are not, and that usually leads to me. You are never satisfied, you are never content, and the internet shows you what you are missing, and shows you how worthless you truly are. The beauty is, you think you are in some kind of competition, and you struggle to be something you are not, and you think you are missing out on something. You will try to reach that spectre of success, and in reaching, you will grab my hand. Here, let me get you another drink, ok?”
So he comes back with two fresh drinks and I ask him, “What about that guy I work with, the 25 year old whose bases his life on what he reads in MAXIM. The one with the perfect skin, perfect height, perfect set of muscles, and his buddy? They have a close friend ship, chicks dig them, guys dig them, they are living the life right now, and me? Well, anyway, I just want to know, do you have something to do with their success? It makes no sense. Forget the personal angle, what about all the stupid people who people have to work with and deal with, the dumb ones who get the kudos the ones who don't work but everyone thinks is so great? What about the idiots who have no clue yet seem to be the ones making the decisions? ”
“Look, you Special Ed dropout, I don’t. But as you should be able to see, their success works for me, even though it may be a gift from the deadbeat dad, which shows you how much he cares about you now, doesn’t it? Don’t you feel neglected? Don’t you hate the fact that those two perfect models for pro-wrestling seem to have more talent and success than you and the chicks flock to them and look at you like you are covered in vomit? Doesn’t it make your veins run with the sweet ochre of jealousy and rage? When you have the correct answer but they won’t listen to you and fuck shit up, and they are seen as doing things the right way, doesn’t that just bother you like an itch on the bottom of your foot when you are wearing thick soled boots? Well, there you go, I have nothing to do with it, and yet, it comes back to me. Do you know what I do? Do you know how you sit there, and it’s like a pimple right under the surface, you just *KNOW* you have something there, but you cant get to it, like when a pencil falls behind the desk and it is *JUST* out of reach of your fingers no matter how you scrape your arm to shove it a half millimeter farther? *THAT*, you stupid fuck , is me. So was the drunk driver who killed your father, and yes, your father sucks my dick after I fuck your mother in the ass. But as I was saying, it’s not too difficult really, I just keep it from you. As far as you know, you have nothing, I just make you *THINK* you have something that you can’t get to. Hahahah, what do you do? You get frustrated, etc etc, ad infinitum. This really bores me, you bore me, I hate you just like everyone who knows you hates you whether they say it or not to your face just know in your heart everyone hates you and suicide is an easy and quick solution. Ta.”
And he was gone. And yes, the motherfucker stiffed me with the bill.
Saturday, September 03, 2005
dragonriders of porn
the "hotel" i am staying in is a room, it's an apartment type arangement. there is a hotel about two blocks from here that has a "continental breakfast." every now and again, i pop over there and get free coffee and a bagle. is that wrong? i dont' think so. i figure there is at least one person in that hotel that is not drinking the coffee or eating the bagel, and really, a lousy cup of coffee and the occasional bagel isn't going to bankrupt them. mmmm, free food.
if you are bored and hungry and have nothing better to do, go to a large hotel that has room service and walk up and down the halls and you can get some good stuff on the carts outside rooms waiting to be picked up. if you are feeling extra ballsy, go into a crowded restaurant at peak hours, and if you time it right, you can get the leftover food on people's plates when they get up and leave. mmmm, free cake.
so....it is done.... it is complete. i now have a no shit, true track bike. a fixed gear bicycle the way it is supposed to be. i took the brake that came with it off. i now have no brakes on the bicycle. to see the difference, go to the pics, they are there. you will notice a distinct lack of things like gears, cables, brakes, or any of those things you just dont need when riding a bicycle in traffic...
i rode a few laps around "the block" after removing the brakes. it was a smooth dream-like ride, the temperature was perfect, the road felt smooth and flat, and frankly, i think the bike rode itself, i was just a passenger. here are the thoughts that popped into my head as i glided along:
*sniff sniff* someone's grilling...
hey, a rabbit...
hello dog..., hey! stop barking at me dumbass, good thing you are fenced in...
that guy is watching sports on tv in his living room...
must be a wheelchair at that house, there is a ramp...hey, a house with a ramp, that might be fun...
oh crap, an intersection, hey, i don't have brakes....
i bet that driver thinks i can just stop whenver i want to...
"hey baby" or in this case "hola chica"...
holy shit, i forgot i am actually peddling...
god i love arizona....
it was better than looking at porn on the internet. i tried to stay at a controllable pace, but the bike was like "hey, lets go a bit faster, c'mon, we can go just a *bit* faster," and who am i to argue. it occurred to me just what having no brakes means when i got to the intersection and realized "hey, there might be some cars coming..."
but it was effortless, and i loved it. i had to be aware, i noticed things a bit more, but it is a great bike. next i must get me a track bike tattoo, possibly ringed in little devils and fire and skulls and such...
tomorrow, i shall take the bike on the highway and go a bit farther....just to be safe, i will only make right hand turns...
if you are bored and hungry and have nothing better to do, go to a large hotel that has room service and walk up and down the halls and you can get some good stuff on the carts outside rooms waiting to be picked up. if you are feeling extra ballsy, go into a crowded restaurant at peak hours, and if you time it right, you can get the leftover food on people's plates when they get up and leave. mmmm, free cake.
so....it is done.... it is complete. i now have a no shit, true track bike. a fixed gear bicycle the way it is supposed to be. i took the brake that came with it off. i now have no brakes on the bicycle. to see the difference, go to the pics, they are there. you will notice a distinct lack of things like gears, cables, brakes, or any of those things you just dont need when riding a bicycle in traffic...
i rode a few laps around "the block" after removing the brakes. it was a smooth dream-like ride, the temperature was perfect, the road felt smooth and flat, and frankly, i think the bike rode itself, i was just a passenger. here are the thoughts that popped into my head as i glided along:
*sniff sniff* someone's grilling...
hey, a rabbit...
hello dog..., hey! stop barking at me dumbass, good thing you are fenced in...
that guy is watching sports on tv in his living room...
must be a wheelchair at that house, there is a ramp...hey, a house with a ramp, that might be fun...
oh crap, an intersection, hey, i don't have brakes....
i bet that driver thinks i can just stop whenver i want to...
"hey baby" or in this case "hola chica"...
holy shit, i forgot i am actually peddling...
god i love arizona....
it was better than looking at porn on the internet. i tried to stay at a controllable pace, but the bike was like "hey, lets go a bit faster, c'mon, we can go just a *bit* faster," and who am i to argue. it occurred to me just what having no brakes means when i got to the intersection and realized "hey, there might be some cars coming..."
but it was effortless, and i loved it. i had to be aware, i noticed things a bit more, but it is a great bike. next i must get me a track bike tattoo, possibly ringed in little devils and fire and skulls and such...
tomorrow, i shall take the bike on the highway and go a bit farther....just to be safe, i will only make right hand turns...
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
i'd like the "all you can eat ribs," but i won't eat them all
holy shit, i have just discovered the "local morning news show." wacky morning fun and witty banter with freinds i've never met; the kooky weatherman who does some shtick that makes jim carrey look like donald rumsfeld, and then tells me about rain with seriousness of a mortician; the hip and cool white male and female anchors with thier personal yet non-offensive opinions; and the smooth and sassy black national news chick who gets two minutes of airtime every 20 minutes and is off in the corner. great local stories like....new dog food, how to get out of a date, old people dating habits... things *I* need to know. it fucking rocks! seriuosly, i think it's possibly better than MTV News. does every town have this?
when i hear the term "hung jury" all i can think of is a porno movie.
so i finally did it, i got me a new girlfriend. she is thin, black, and i really think i love her. she makes me sweat, gets my heart pounding, but she also calms me down, and she makes me think, allows me to open my mind. she will (i am hoping) always be there for me when i need her, and what i really love about her is..she is simple. no fancy shmancy this and that. some people may think she is dangerous for me, cause she will let me go and won't stop me if i'm heading in the wrong direction, but i see it as good for me, she will help keep me focused on what i'm doing, and if i'm not careful, i know i could hurt us both.
anyway, i took four pictures of her, if you want to see her. one on the couch, one close up on the couch, one of her ass, and one where she is lying provocatively on the bed. no, i'm not in the pics. but trust me, she is mine. go on over to my cool pics and she is the top row.
we may go out tonight. or i might just stay in, and take her out tomorrow. i'm tired and may just go to bed early.
when i hear the term "hung jury" all i can think of is a porno movie.
so i finally did it, i got me a new girlfriend. she is thin, black, and i really think i love her. she makes me sweat, gets my heart pounding, but she also calms me down, and she makes me think, allows me to open my mind. she will (i am hoping) always be there for me when i need her, and what i really love about her is..she is simple. no fancy shmancy this and that. some people may think she is dangerous for me, cause she will let me go and won't stop me if i'm heading in the wrong direction, but i see it as good for me, she will help keep me focused on what i'm doing, and if i'm not careful, i know i could hurt us both.
anyway, i took four pictures of her, if you want to see her. one on the couch, one close up on the couch, one of her ass, and one where she is lying provocatively on the bed. no, i'm not in the pics. but trust me, she is mine. go on over to my cool pics and she is the top row.
we may go out tonight. or i might just stay in, and take her out tomorrow. i'm tired and may just go to bed early.
Sunday, August 28, 2005
memories of things yet to happen
i gotta say, i kinda miss the snacktruck. i still think "SNACKTRUCK" would make a great tv show, if filmed in retro vision, with everyone wearing polyester and afros and the music would be all "starsky and hutch"-y. i was thinking how "SNACKTRUCK" would make a great radio play, and maybe i could have a series on the web. if, for no other reason, than to put on the internet for anyone to listen to, the phrase "well, jimmy, show me on this cheese danish where Coach Stedge touched you."
it would be cool to have a superhero whose super powers change every few days, without notice. one day he wakes up and he can be invisible, the next day he can fly, the next day he can walk through walls and bi-locate. i think a cool super power would be to always have the correct change. like, you can''t just reach into your pocket and pull out whatever money you need, thereby allowing you to be infinitely rich and buy whatever you want. but, as long as you can afford it and you were gonna buy it anyway, no matter what the price is, you reach into your pocket and automatically pull out exact change. no need for counting your change, or making sure you got the right amount of cash back. you walk up, they say how much it costs, BAM, you pull out the exact amount. it might not save the universe, but it may make it a slightly better place to live, and isn't that what it's all about? really?
it would be cool to have a superhero whose super powers change every few days, without notice. one day he wakes up and he can be invisible, the next day he can fly, the next day he can walk through walls and bi-locate. i think a cool super power would be to always have the correct change. like, you can''t just reach into your pocket and pull out whatever money you need, thereby allowing you to be infinitely rich and buy whatever you want. but, as long as you can afford it and you were gonna buy it anyway, no matter what the price is, you reach into your pocket and automatically pull out exact change. no need for counting your change, or making sure you got the right amount of cash back. you walk up, they say how much it costs, BAM, you pull out the exact amount. it might not save the universe, but it may make it a slightly better place to live, and isn't that what it's all about? really?
Friday, August 26, 2005
anal beads of sweat
his eyes belied a sadness, perhaps hinting that the demons which reside in the dark depths of all our hearts are a bit closer to the surface in him. he was quiet, using words sparingly, like they were the last drops of water in his canteen and he was in the middle of a desert. perhaps his silence indicated his pensive, calculating chinese nature, or perhaps they hinted at a deep level of wisdom that is seen in only those with the longest, whitest beards. either that or he just didn't speak english that well.....(i found this written on a scrap of paper in an old notebook i was ripping pages out of, i wrote it a year or two ago...i think i posted it before, but i like it, so i put it up here again).
it's friday night, i'm hanging out with all my freinds. i am really really tired, perhaps i should sleep more than five hours a day, but then again, it's not that i want to be up before the sun...
i have ideas floating around my head...i want record a "radio show" and put it on my blog or the web or something. i want to have a weekly serial, something wierd and funny, that i can put on the web and people can listen to. two guys, Holden McGroyne and Phil McKraken and a chick, Anita Bonghit, and thier wacky adventures. the first thing i would need is a plot, a story, a script, something...i figure i could whip up something, given the right stimulus (no, i'm not talking about chemicals, i mean the right people who spark my creativity). next i would need the people. i know one guy, he would be good, but he is busy all the time. and i don't know any chicks. then i would need something to record our voices on. if i had those things, i could start a website and post weekly serials and stories and such. i would call it "the great 30 minute saturday adventure horror mystery variety hour" or some such kick ass name.
and now i shall read until i fall asleep, which shall take me about 47 seconds.
it's friday night, i'm hanging out with all my freinds. i am really really tired, perhaps i should sleep more than five hours a day, but then again, it's not that i want to be up before the sun...
i have ideas floating around my head...i want record a "radio show" and put it on my blog or the web or something. i want to have a weekly serial, something wierd and funny, that i can put on the web and people can listen to. two guys, Holden McGroyne and Phil McKraken and a chick, Anita Bonghit, and thier wacky adventures. the first thing i would need is a plot, a story, a script, something...i figure i could whip up something, given the right stimulus (no, i'm not talking about chemicals, i mean the right people who spark my creativity). next i would need the people. i know one guy, he would be good, but he is busy all the time. and i don't know any chicks. then i would need something to record our voices on. if i had those things, i could start a website and post weekly serials and stories and such. i would call it "the great 30 minute saturday adventure horror mystery variety hour" or some such kick ass name.
and now i shall read until i fall asleep, which shall take me about 47 seconds.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
it feels like algorithms
i believe the term "piss flaps" or "meat curtains," when referring to the female labia, (as opposed to the male labia) can be a romantic term, if you just accept it as such. "oh darling, my heart, my love, how i long to suck on your meat curtains...."
it is 5:52 in the morning, i've been up since 4 in the morning. why? cause i am a freak, (on a leash-for all you old skool korn fans). i dont' know why. maybe my secret identity is.....
sleep disorder man!
anyway....thanks to system restore, i have fixed my computer. yeah, i lost whatever was on it, but it was mostly pictures that i don't even look at, and now my computer is back to when i first bought it, hooray for factory settings. i am now virus free.
i am currently living in an apartment/hotel/suite kind of deal. i have to do my laundry in the laundry room using quarters. now, most people would get change by going to a bank or breaking a dollor at a store or something. not me, oh no. how do i get my quarters so i can wear clean non-smelly clothes? there is a vending machine where i work, it sells various body poisoning substances of the chocolate and potato chip variety, usually for 75 cents. so every day, i buy a bag of chips or a candy bar using one dollor, so i can get a quarter change. one load of laundry costs me 1.75, 7 quarters. i spend 7 bucks on potato chips and candy bars just to do my laundry, cause that's the kinda guy i am....
it is 5:52 in the morning, i've been up since 4 in the morning. why? cause i am a freak, (on a leash-for all you old skool korn fans). i dont' know why. maybe my secret identity is.....
sleep disorder man!
anyway....thanks to system restore, i have fixed my computer. yeah, i lost whatever was on it, but it was mostly pictures that i don't even look at, and now my computer is back to when i first bought it, hooray for factory settings. i am now virus free.
i am currently living in an apartment/hotel/suite kind of deal. i have to do my laundry in the laundry room using quarters. now, most people would get change by going to a bank or breaking a dollor at a store or something. not me, oh no. how do i get my quarters so i can wear clean non-smelly clothes? there is a vending machine where i work, it sells various body poisoning substances of the chocolate and potato chip variety, usually for 75 cents. so every day, i buy a bag of chips or a candy bar using one dollor, so i can get a quarter change. one load of laundry costs me 1.75, 7 quarters. i spend 7 bucks on potato chips and candy bars just to do my laundry, cause that's the kinda guy i am....
Monday, August 22, 2005
fuck
my computer is phucked up like crazy, i'll be off line for a while. goddammit.
saw velvet revolver in tucson last night, kick ass show, they did guns and roses tunes, stone temple pilot tunes, a pink floyd song, and some velvet revolver tunes. sweet show. chevelle opened, they had to cut thier set short, but they rocked.
weather was beautiful, it was outside in an amphitheater, perhaps the heat and the small area and the chairs bolted to the floor kept things mellow, perhaps arizona crowds are just laid back, but there was no tension, energy, but not that buzz kind of energy. good show though.
what is rock and roll? a megaphone. scott wieland must have used the megapone (bullhorn, whatever) at least 5 times.
see you all in a few days, in shah allah
saw velvet revolver in tucson last night, kick ass show, they did guns and roses tunes, stone temple pilot tunes, a pink floyd song, and some velvet revolver tunes. sweet show. chevelle opened, they had to cut thier set short, but they rocked.
weather was beautiful, it was outside in an amphitheater, perhaps the heat and the small area and the chairs bolted to the floor kept things mellow, perhaps arizona crowds are just laid back, but there was no tension, energy, but not that buzz kind of energy. good show though.
what is rock and roll? a megaphone. scott wieland must have used the megapone (bullhorn, whatever) at least 5 times.
see you all in a few days, in shah allah
Thursday, August 18, 2005
rachel ray is one sweet biscuit
i don't understand the whole "club card" thing. i know that if i go to safeway, and i want to buy four oranges, it will cost me USD $47.33. HOWEVER, with my safeway club card, it only costs me 58 cents. this is to encourage everyone to get the club card.
but what dragons must i slay to obtain this precious item and be allowed the priveleges of paying less than your average rube on the street? what herculean efforts must i give to earn the right to one of these symbols of the elite? what trials must i endure to be allowed into the sanctum sanctorum of the coveted "club card"? i have to ask the lady behind the counter for one. that is it.
i don't even have to take a test or wait for approval. and it cost's nothing. they give it to you.
so, i can either pay 5 dollars for something, or half of that for the exact same item if i have the club card. why can't you just sell me the goddamn 4 oz of cheese wihtout me using some token figurehead piece of plastic, another milimeter of thickness to my already overstuffed wallet that i must always have like a fucking albatross around my neck?
today i bought some corn (you know you can eat corn raw, right off the cob, right? no need to cook it, it's sweet and juicy just as it is) and the lady asked me for my card. all i bought was corn, and i didn't need the card for it, there was no special price. i asked why i needed the card and the lady gave me some bullshit excuse. i know she's been co-opted by "them."
the reason for the card..."they" (the ubiquitous "they" that start the rumors and control the world, you know, the illuminati "they") are tracking us. that can be the only excuse. they want to know our habits, what we eat and buy etc, so they know where to put the mind numbing brain killer drugs so they can break us down and control us easier.
so i found the joy and beauty of the dollar store. everything is a dollar. so, why would i want to pay $3.00 for a roll of aluminum foil when i can get that roll for $1.00? ok, so maybe the food is a bit sketchy, i'm not gonna buy the used sushi, but for things like soap and towels and such, hell yeah i'm gonna buy them for a dollar. and i don't need a club card either.
but what dragons must i slay to obtain this precious item and be allowed the priveleges of paying less than your average rube on the street? what herculean efforts must i give to earn the right to one of these symbols of the elite? what trials must i endure to be allowed into the sanctum sanctorum of the coveted "club card"? i have to ask the lady behind the counter for one. that is it.
i don't even have to take a test or wait for approval. and it cost's nothing. they give it to you.
so, i can either pay 5 dollars for something, or half of that for the exact same item if i have the club card. why can't you just sell me the goddamn 4 oz of cheese wihtout me using some token figurehead piece of plastic, another milimeter of thickness to my already overstuffed wallet that i must always have like a fucking albatross around my neck?
today i bought some corn (you know you can eat corn raw, right off the cob, right? no need to cook it, it's sweet and juicy just as it is) and the lady asked me for my card. all i bought was corn, and i didn't need the card for it, there was no special price. i asked why i needed the card and the lady gave me some bullshit excuse. i know she's been co-opted by "them."
the reason for the card..."they" (the ubiquitous "they" that start the rumors and control the world, you know, the illuminati "they") are tracking us. that can be the only excuse. they want to know our habits, what we eat and buy etc, so they know where to put the mind numbing brain killer drugs so they can break us down and control us easier.
so i found the joy and beauty of the dollar store. everything is a dollar. so, why would i want to pay $3.00 for a roll of aluminum foil when i can get that roll for $1.00? ok, so maybe the food is a bit sketchy, i'm not gonna buy the used sushi, but for things like soap and towels and such, hell yeah i'm gonna buy them for a dollar. and i don't need a club card either.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
hey, does this look infected?
i added some pictures, they are not worth the energy it takes to move your mouse and click.
so i have this story rolling around in my head, about a guy who, at birth was burnt in a horrible accident (as opposed to a wonderful accident). he was allergic to shellfish and pennicillin and other stuff, and the doctors used him to test out a new fake skin, made entirely of vegetables.
so the docs grafted all this vegetable based fake skin on him, and it took and he was ok, lived fine, a normal life. when he was 15 or so, he lost his appetite, slowly but surely. he didn't get skinny, he wasn't weak or hungry, he just didn't eat.
it turns out his skin, plant based, retained it's photosynthesis properties, and he would get nourishment from the sun. he no longer needed to eat. this saves him time and money and he doesnt get all the bad crap from all the processed chemical foodstuff poisoning everyone else who has to suffer from KFC and wendy's and taco bell. comedy ensues.
hey, so tommy lee, the crazy famous drummer with the 32 inch penis who was one of the few thousand to have sex with pamela anderson, has his own show, about him going to college. OH BOY!!!! tommy lee is going to school. holy shit, call the presses. he definately deserves his own show. and i understand he made the drum team. must have been a stretch. and he gets his own tutor, who happens to be a hot chick. not a fat pimply guy, not a fat pimply girl, a hot chick. comedy ensues.
why is this such a big deal? why does he get his own show? i'd rather watch the funny guys who end up writing for the onion or the simpsons go to college. now that would be entertainment.
fuck that, i just wanna watch gary busey lose weight.
so i have this story rolling around in my head, about a guy who, at birth was burnt in a horrible accident (as opposed to a wonderful accident). he was allergic to shellfish and pennicillin and other stuff, and the doctors used him to test out a new fake skin, made entirely of vegetables.
so the docs grafted all this vegetable based fake skin on him, and it took and he was ok, lived fine, a normal life. when he was 15 or so, he lost his appetite, slowly but surely. he didn't get skinny, he wasn't weak or hungry, he just didn't eat.
it turns out his skin, plant based, retained it's photosynthesis properties, and he would get nourishment from the sun. he no longer needed to eat. this saves him time and money and he doesnt get all the bad crap from all the processed chemical foodstuff poisoning everyone else who has to suffer from KFC and wendy's and taco bell. comedy ensues.
hey, so tommy lee, the crazy famous drummer with the 32 inch penis who was one of the few thousand to have sex with pamela anderson, has his own show, about him going to college. OH BOY!!!! tommy lee is going to school. holy shit, call the presses. he definately deserves his own show. and i understand he made the drum team. must have been a stretch. and he gets his own tutor, who happens to be a hot chick. not a fat pimply guy, not a fat pimply girl, a hot chick. comedy ensues.
why is this such a big deal? why does he get his own show? i'd rather watch the funny guys who end up writing for the onion or the simpsons go to college. now that would be entertainment.
fuck that, i just wanna watch gary busey lose weight.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
himba chicks have boss hair
how can they call it a desert when it rains every fucking day? yeah i know one has nothing to do with the other, but there it is.
i finsihed the book POPULATION: 485 BY MIKE PERRY, a bunch of essays about life in a small town as a volunteer fire guy. its my 29th book this year. i will again fail to reach my goal of reading 52 books a year, one a week. eh, i've failed bigger and more important things.
the book was good, it made me look at my own wierd existence. the guy is comfortable and happy, fitting in in his home town, a local, a thread in the fabric of the town's history, interwoven and integrated with the other lives and souls. living a transient life these many years i have no "home" to go to, i am not part of anywhere or anything. if i decide to settle and take root here, i guess i could integrate myself in the community, but all these years of breezing into a town, staying for a short while, then leaving, like the hulk, only without the green muscles, has left me a bit insulated from others. i'm an alien on my own damn planet, a foriegner in my own damn country, an interloper in my own damn town.
it's interesting how our lives come in contact and we click, and then move on, like billiard balls. fire needs three ingrediants to live; heat, oxygen, and fuel. without those, you can get a spark, a breif sputter, but nothing more. so how many, and what are the ingrediants needed to sustain the attraction/fire/whatever between humans?
the other thing the book made me think about, which isn't a new thougth for me, is how temporary it all is, how thin the strings on our marionette lives are and how easy and quickly those strings break and leave us a crumpled heap on the floor, disposable. here i sit, thinking about what i have to do tomorrow, and i have no guarantee i will need to worry about it.
there are two tattoo parlors in town. i have some ideas. i think it will be time to once again go under the gun....
i finsihed the book POPULATION: 485 BY MIKE PERRY, a bunch of essays about life in a small town as a volunteer fire guy. its my 29th book this year. i will again fail to reach my goal of reading 52 books a year, one a week. eh, i've failed bigger and more important things.
the book was good, it made me look at my own wierd existence. the guy is comfortable and happy, fitting in in his home town, a local, a thread in the fabric of the town's history, interwoven and integrated with the other lives and souls. living a transient life these many years i have no "home" to go to, i am not part of anywhere or anything. if i decide to settle and take root here, i guess i could integrate myself in the community, but all these years of breezing into a town, staying for a short while, then leaving, like the hulk, only without the green muscles, has left me a bit insulated from others. i'm an alien on my own damn planet, a foriegner in my own damn country, an interloper in my own damn town.
it's interesting how our lives come in contact and we click, and then move on, like billiard balls. fire needs three ingrediants to live; heat, oxygen, and fuel. without those, you can get a spark, a breif sputter, but nothing more. so how many, and what are the ingrediants needed to sustain the attraction/fire/whatever between humans?
the other thing the book made me think about, which isn't a new thougth for me, is how temporary it all is, how thin the strings on our marionette lives are and how easy and quickly those strings break and leave us a crumpled heap on the floor, disposable. here i sit, thinking about what i have to do tomorrow, and i have no guarantee i will need to worry about it.
there are two tattoo parlors in town. i have some ideas. i think it will be time to once again go under the gun....
Saturday, August 13, 2005
cuatro, con yuca, para llevar
it is saturday morning, not even 6 in the a.m, why the hell am i up so early?
i was told or i read, i forget which, that ancient chinese soldiers (soldiers of ancient china, not really old guys in the chinese army who should have retired and died years ago, crazy english) used to sleep on the ground because they believed they would draw thier strenght from the ground and it made them hard like the earth. i would think they slept on the ground because carrying a boxspring mattress and headboard would just be cumbersome and ridiculous.
i want to write a story about twin sisters, named Flora and Fauna...they do something cool..that's as far as i got so far on that...
i'm bored and horny...i was thinking, is it toooooo much to ask to find the woman of my dreams? is it too much to ask to find a woman who:
*WANTS* to have crazy sex just for the sex, likes to be on top, on bottom, on side, and any other possible way she can get it, can lay on her back and touch her knees to her ears, likes art and literature and fine food and camping and dangerous adventure that may end up in loss of life or limb, might be interested in sharing another female every once in a while, can be comfortable enough with me to drop all inhibihtions and indulge in whatever twisted crap her mind came up with at that point during sex when your mind is in the groove and comes up with the most twisted possibly illegal in some states shit that you would never really mention to anyone, might yell out an obscenity or three while fucking me like she is trying to kill me, would use me as a fuck toy when she feel like it, would cum loud and hard, lay quiet for a few minutes, then say "hey, lets do that again, only this time i wanna do it like this"...., feels comfortable in jeans and t shirts and isnt' freaked out if she has to go a day or two without a shower, will let me go down on her all the time, can supply half of an interesting conversation, can pick what movie, restaurant, or event we are gonna do that day/night, can take control or relinquish it depending on what we both wanna do, is as perverted and darkly twisted as myself, can spend a whole day, morning to night, naked in a bed, playing, talking, teasing..., will be my fucktoy when i want, i feel comfortable with, doesn't care about my heinous grammatical and spelling errors, can take off with little more than a backpack, can be capricious and a bit careless and reckless but is still always dependable and solid, emits and radiates energy and life, and doesn't just take it in and drain those around her....
blah blah blah....anyway, i went camping, it rained a significant portion, but i got to not shower for five days so that was pretty cool, although i went light, which meant no stove, which meant no coffee...i got a cool picture of a snake, a rattler, he was angry and rattling (i'll post him and the pics tomorrow or after that), and the mountains were rather wonderful. it was so dark and quiet at night it was wonderful. i am a freak, i sleep better on the ground with a rock poking me in the side than i do on a bed with conditioned air. it was very....embryonic. in my tent, the rain tapping outside, dark, warm....if i could figure out how to get internet access in a tent in the middle of nowhere, so i could look at porn and order books from amazon.com, i think i would not live in a house. or i could get a house and live in a tent in the yard....
i think i shall go rub one out and see if i can fall back asleep for an hour....
i was told or i read, i forget which, that ancient chinese soldiers (soldiers of ancient china, not really old guys in the chinese army who should have retired and died years ago, crazy english) used to sleep on the ground because they believed they would draw thier strenght from the ground and it made them hard like the earth. i would think they slept on the ground because carrying a boxspring mattress and headboard would just be cumbersome and ridiculous.
i want to write a story about twin sisters, named Flora and Fauna...they do something cool..that's as far as i got so far on that...
i'm bored and horny...i was thinking, is it toooooo much to ask to find the woman of my dreams? is it too much to ask to find a woman who:
*WANTS* to have crazy sex just for the sex, likes to be on top, on bottom, on side, and any other possible way she can get it, can lay on her back and touch her knees to her ears, likes art and literature and fine food and camping and dangerous adventure that may end up in loss of life or limb, might be interested in sharing another female every once in a while, can be comfortable enough with me to drop all inhibihtions and indulge in whatever twisted crap her mind came up with at that point during sex when your mind is in the groove and comes up with the most twisted possibly illegal in some states shit that you would never really mention to anyone, might yell out an obscenity or three while fucking me like she is trying to kill me, would use me as a fuck toy when she feel like it, would cum loud and hard, lay quiet for a few minutes, then say "hey, lets do that again, only this time i wanna do it like this"...., feels comfortable in jeans and t shirts and isnt' freaked out if she has to go a day or two without a shower, will let me go down on her all the time, can supply half of an interesting conversation, can pick what movie, restaurant, or event we are gonna do that day/night, can take control or relinquish it depending on what we both wanna do, is as perverted and darkly twisted as myself, can spend a whole day, morning to night, naked in a bed, playing, talking, teasing..., will be my fucktoy when i want, i feel comfortable with, doesn't care about my heinous grammatical and spelling errors, can take off with little more than a backpack, can be capricious and a bit careless and reckless but is still always dependable and solid, emits and radiates energy and life, and doesn't just take it in and drain those around her....
blah blah blah....anyway, i went camping, it rained a significant portion, but i got to not shower for five days so that was pretty cool, although i went light, which meant no stove, which meant no coffee...i got a cool picture of a snake, a rattler, he was angry and rattling (i'll post him and the pics tomorrow or after that), and the mountains were rather wonderful. it was so dark and quiet at night it was wonderful. i am a freak, i sleep better on the ground with a rock poking me in the side than i do on a bed with conditioned air. it was very....embryonic. in my tent, the rain tapping outside, dark, warm....if i could figure out how to get internet access in a tent in the middle of nowhere, so i could look at porn and order books from amazon.com, i think i would not live in a house. or i could get a house and live in a tent in the yard....
i think i shall go rub one out and see if i can fall back asleep for an hour....
Sunday, August 07, 2005
What Would Jesus Blog?
i feel like a junkie. i feel like one of those unwashed scraggly smack addicts who live in one dank room, sleeping on a stained bare mattress, alienating himself from everyone by stealing from his freinds and being a complete jerk to everyone, including those who try to help him.
and i am not even close to that. i am showered and have a bed with sheets and a blanket. maybe it comes from staying in a hotelroom with bad lighting? maybe it comes from not sleeping so much, like reguarl people do? but i feel like i should be guilty of something, like i did something wrong last night that i can't remember, as if i'm going to call someone and they are going to tell me i peed in thier car and tried to have sex with thier poodle in front of thier 7 year old. luckily i don't have anyone to call.
but last night i didn't go out, i stayed in, hanging out with all my freinds. i watched crappy tv, surfed the web and went to sleep.
i did pick up a fucking trojan virus, goddammit. it's gone, but i swear once the malicious program fucks with your computer, even after you "fix" it it's never the same. like a scar, or the everlasting parasites you get when you go to india. you never really get rid of them, you just learn to peacefully co-exist with them, but they are always there, and you are never quite right again.
perhaps i have the whole "fight club" thing going on. maybe when i think i am sleeping, i am actually creating havoc and "breakin' the law, breakin' the law" (some judas priest for all you old skool metal heads). i have been extra freakin tired lately, and i'm a bit of an insomniac. if i am living another life, i wish i could be concious of the fun exiting life and leave my droll existence to my subconcious.
that would be a cool twist on the "fight club" thing. a wild rebellious anarchist who lives to destroy the current establishment and shake things up doesnt realize is he is schitzoid, and living a double life. when he thinks he is sleeping, he is actually organizing disaffected youth and creating a beuracratic juggernaut, restoring and enforcing order and a calm, practical, methodological way of accomplishing things that need to be done. his "army" all wear white shirts and ties, and have breifcases, and they go around and make businesses and services more efficiant and orderly.
i will not have internet access for a few days, so i will not be "online" as the kids call it, until saturday.
and i am not even close to that. i am showered and have a bed with sheets and a blanket. maybe it comes from staying in a hotelroom with bad lighting? maybe it comes from not sleeping so much, like reguarl people do? but i feel like i should be guilty of something, like i did something wrong last night that i can't remember, as if i'm going to call someone and they are going to tell me i peed in thier car and tried to have sex with thier poodle in front of thier 7 year old. luckily i don't have anyone to call.
but last night i didn't go out, i stayed in, hanging out with all my freinds. i watched crappy tv, surfed the web and went to sleep.
i did pick up a fucking trojan virus, goddammit. it's gone, but i swear once the malicious program fucks with your computer, even after you "fix" it it's never the same. like a scar, or the everlasting parasites you get when you go to india. you never really get rid of them, you just learn to peacefully co-exist with them, but they are always there, and you are never quite right again.
perhaps i have the whole "fight club" thing going on. maybe when i think i am sleeping, i am actually creating havoc and "breakin' the law, breakin' the law" (some judas priest for all you old skool metal heads). i have been extra freakin tired lately, and i'm a bit of an insomniac. if i am living another life, i wish i could be concious of the fun exiting life and leave my droll existence to my subconcious.
that would be a cool twist on the "fight club" thing. a wild rebellious anarchist who lives to destroy the current establishment and shake things up doesnt realize is he is schitzoid, and living a double life. when he thinks he is sleeping, he is actually organizing disaffected youth and creating a beuracratic juggernaut, restoring and enforcing order and a calm, practical, methodological way of accomplishing things that need to be done. his "army" all wear white shirts and ties, and have breifcases, and they go around and make businesses and services more efficiant and orderly.
i will not have internet access for a few days, so i will not be "online" as the kids call it, until saturday.
Friday, August 05, 2005
in space, no one can hear you fart
i am a three sided mobius strip, a submarine with screen windows. imagine if you walked into a crowded place, and looked at all the faces, and you couldn't tell if you knew any of the people or not. you can't tell if you recognize anyone, you dont recognize anyone, but some of the people may be your freinds. for some reason, you see them, but your brain just doesn't registger knowledge.
i wonder if i drank enough hot tea could i raise my body temperature high enough to simulate a fever, and cook my brain, get that pink floyd comfortably numb feeling while permanantly losing capabilites to read or think logically, if only just a little bit.
sometimes i think i cannot help but make the wrong decision, like i have some kind of limited free will. i can have *ANYTHING* i want off of side "A" of the menu, but all the winning choices are on side "B" and side "A" has all negetive outcome. sure, i feel like i have a free choice, like i can make my own destiny and all that crap, but really, in the larger sense, i do not.
or maybe i am just tragically doomed. god that always sounds so romantic and heroic when you read about it, but when you have to live it, it's not that great really.
sometimes i feel removed from humanity, like i just dont belong on this planet. sometimes it's like watching myself from outside myself, i can see me saying dumb things, doing dumb things, making the wrong choices, and all i can do is watch, knowing full well i am fucking up in triplicate.
i have been deja vu-ing like mad. i am either seriously fatigued (probably) or this life that i have lead is slowly coming back to me (cool thought, but...eh, not buying it) or as we all know, it's just a glitch in the matrix (yes!).
humans are reletively predictable, and i bet if you really really really studied hard, and used thousands of hours of research and ovservation, i am willing to bet you could talk to someone for about 15 minutes and tell them thier future. we seem to do it all the time. like when we see people at work, and we know they are going to end up fucking each other at the office party, and regretting it later, and becoming bitter, but they don't know it. and then it all happens. so, i bet you could do it on a wider scale.
i must be getting old. i keep fantasizing about a time machine, i *WANT* there to be evidence of a time machine, i entertain the childish fantasy that i might someday find one, stumble onto one, whatever. i want to go back in time, knowing what i know now. shit would be different.
i really really really need to sleep now. and i haven't even had anything to drink.
i wonder if i drank enough hot tea could i raise my body temperature high enough to simulate a fever, and cook my brain, get that pink floyd comfortably numb feeling while permanantly losing capabilites to read or think logically, if only just a little bit.
sometimes i think i cannot help but make the wrong decision, like i have some kind of limited free will. i can have *ANYTHING* i want off of side "A" of the menu, but all the winning choices are on side "B" and side "A" has all negetive outcome. sure, i feel like i have a free choice, like i can make my own destiny and all that crap, but really, in the larger sense, i do not.
or maybe i am just tragically doomed. god that always sounds so romantic and heroic when you read about it, but when you have to live it, it's not that great really.
sometimes i feel removed from humanity, like i just dont belong on this planet. sometimes it's like watching myself from outside myself, i can see me saying dumb things, doing dumb things, making the wrong choices, and all i can do is watch, knowing full well i am fucking up in triplicate.
i have been deja vu-ing like mad. i am either seriously fatigued (probably) or this life that i have lead is slowly coming back to me (cool thought, but...eh, not buying it) or as we all know, it's just a glitch in the matrix (yes!).
humans are reletively predictable, and i bet if you really really really studied hard, and used thousands of hours of research and ovservation, i am willing to bet you could talk to someone for about 15 minutes and tell them thier future. we seem to do it all the time. like when we see people at work, and we know they are going to end up fucking each other at the office party, and regretting it later, and becoming bitter, but they don't know it. and then it all happens. so, i bet you could do it on a wider scale.
i must be getting old. i keep fantasizing about a time machine, i *WANT* there to be evidence of a time machine, i entertain the childish fantasy that i might someday find one, stumble onto one, whatever. i want to go back in time, knowing what i know now. shit would be different.
i really really really need to sleep now. and i haven't even had anything to drink.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
the oranges are ripe in valencia
i walk into the place. it's more like a "joint" than a place. three old people, with a collective age of at least 210, are smoking and drinking coffee at the semi-circular counter. their heads turn my way as i enter the one story cinderblock building painted red and yellow. each one gives me a hearty and, i do beleive, sincere "howdy."
the waitress is about 5 foot 7 and must be no more than 110 pounds, 10 of those pounds are her hair and makeup. if she had a coke habit or a meth habit, i would not be shocked. some people's lives are written right there on thier face, and this lady's life was written by bukowski, or whoever wrote "less than zero." she also gives me a "howdy" and i take a seat at the counter.
i am dining with "all my friends" (my euphamism for all alone). i ask what's good, i get the reply of "it's all good" but not in an "urban-youth-jerry springer" kind of way. no sarcasm, no wink, no feeble attempt at humor by refrencing modern culture. it was an honest reply. i get the buffalo burger. mmmmm, buffalo.
the old people are smoking like they are having an AA meeting, and they have obviously been smoking for years, as evidenced by the spectacular cough on the lady. they are happy, and are having a good conversation, and they are not embarrassed by it in the least. they are loud enough for all to enjoy, and i think join in, or at least feel included, but not so loud as to be intrusive. they glance my way as if to include me. i smile and nod.
living in japan, i was quite used to eating out alone. no big deal, most people are alone in that country, by choice or not. i was alone in a crowd of people, and that was natural, expected. in the states, however, in many places there is a wierd stigma attached to being alone. i used to be self concious about it, but now, i don't much care. sometimes being lonely is better than being with someone who grates on you like nails on a chalkboard.
the waitress throws out some one liners, comments with no *need* for reply, but a reply would not be out of place if you choose to speak up. perfectly crafted, whether she meant it or not. maybe she is being polite, maybe genuinely wanting to talk to someone closer to her age, maybe trying to make me feel less alone in her own way. is she pittying me?!?!?
hahaha, how full of hubris can i get? not everyone has an ulterior motive. (i'd like to believe that, i really would). i make a remark or two, based off her comment, a variation on a theme, turning her monologue into not so much a dialogue, but two monologues that dovetail nicely. she goes about her business. she isn't too busy, but keeps moving, earning her paycheck or whatever.
this place is a small, "locals" kind of place. i realize how far removed from humanity i have become. everyday people live like this. no movers or shakers, no business deals, no power lunches, no pretentions, none of that false crap that people mistake for something that matters.
the food...not so hot. i've had better, i've had worse. but what sells it is the atmosphere. and they didn't even try to have any. it was real. real life. with it's bad dyed hair, its tuberculean cough, it's conteded happiness on the inside, despite what it looks like on the outside.
"willy", another ancient, apparently known by all players on this stage but me, drove up with his RV, walked in with his wrinked tattooed arms and his tank of oxygen, with the tube up his nose. (the smokers commented how they went through a tank just today. willy didn't need oxygen while he ate, he just used it for walking around, emphysema does that to you i guess) willy sat down and had some dinner. as he ate, the smoking gang finshied their coffee and headed out. willy was left dining with "all his friends." i wished him a good night as i walked out the door.
i wonder if i was just granted a glimpse into my future?
the waitress is about 5 foot 7 and must be no more than 110 pounds, 10 of those pounds are her hair and makeup. if she had a coke habit or a meth habit, i would not be shocked. some people's lives are written right there on thier face, and this lady's life was written by bukowski, or whoever wrote "less than zero." she also gives me a "howdy" and i take a seat at the counter.
i am dining with "all my friends" (my euphamism for all alone). i ask what's good, i get the reply of "it's all good" but not in an "urban-youth-jerry springer" kind of way. no sarcasm, no wink, no feeble attempt at humor by refrencing modern culture. it was an honest reply. i get the buffalo burger. mmmmm, buffalo.
the old people are smoking like they are having an AA meeting, and they have obviously been smoking for years, as evidenced by the spectacular cough on the lady. they are happy, and are having a good conversation, and they are not embarrassed by it in the least. they are loud enough for all to enjoy, and i think join in, or at least feel included, but not so loud as to be intrusive. they glance my way as if to include me. i smile and nod.
living in japan, i was quite used to eating out alone. no big deal, most people are alone in that country, by choice or not. i was alone in a crowd of people, and that was natural, expected. in the states, however, in many places there is a wierd stigma attached to being alone. i used to be self concious about it, but now, i don't much care. sometimes being lonely is better than being with someone who grates on you like nails on a chalkboard.
the waitress throws out some one liners, comments with no *need* for reply, but a reply would not be out of place if you choose to speak up. perfectly crafted, whether she meant it or not. maybe she is being polite, maybe genuinely wanting to talk to someone closer to her age, maybe trying to make me feel less alone in her own way. is she pittying me?!?!?
hahaha, how full of hubris can i get? not everyone has an ulterior motive. (i'd like to believe that, i really would). i make a remark or two, based off her comment, a variation on a theme, turning her monologue into not so much a dialogue, but two monologues that dovetail nicely. she goes about her business. she isn't too busy, but keeps moving, earning her paycheck or whatever.
this place is a small, "locals" kind of place. i realize how far removed from humanity i have become. everyday people live like this. no movers or shakers, no business deals, no power lunches, no pretentions, none of that false crap that people mistake for something that matters.
the food...not so hot. i've had better, i've had worse. but what sells it is the atmosphere. and they didn't even try to have any. it was real. real life. with it's bad dyed hair, its tuberculean cough, it's conteded happiness on the inside, despite what it looks like on the outside.
"willy", another ancient, apparently known by all players on this stage but me, drove up with his RV, walked in with his wrinked tattooed arms and his tank of oxygen, with the tube up his nose. (the smokers commented how they went through a tank just today. willy didn't need oxygen while he ate, he just used it for walking around, emphysema does that to you i guess) willy sat down and had some dinner. as he ate, the smoking gang finshied their coffee and headed out. willy was left dining with "all his friends." i wished him a good night as i walked out the door.
i wonder if i was just granted a glimpse into my future?
Monday, August 01, 2005
marsha marsha marsha
an idea for a comic strip, i doodled it today during an important lecture that i was supposed to be listening to,
i call it "Frank and Stien" about a hot dog and a german beer mug who work together and hate each other, (yes, i am vaguely ripping off "milk and cheese") both vying for the love of some chick in thier office. i drew the beer mug kicking the hotdog in the nuts, it looked pretty funny, but then again any strike to the nuts is pretty damn funny, unless they are your nuts....
like the wierd kid in 7th grade you always was a bit off and suspected but weren't sure who grew up and went to college and tried to kiss you when he was drunk then later confessed about his true nature and now openly subscribes to "Advocate" magazine, i'm out...
i call it "Frank and Stien" about a hot dog and a german beer mug who work together and hate each other, (yes, i am vaguely ripping off "milk and cheese") both vying for the love of some chick in thier office. i drew the beer mug kicking the hotdog in the nuts, it looked pretty funny, but then again any strike to the nuts is pretty damn funny, unless they are your nuts....
like the wierd kid in 7th grade you always was a bit off and suspected but weren't sure who grew up and went to college and tried to kiss you when he was drunk then later confessed about his true nature and now openly subscribes to "Advocate" magazine, i'm out...
Thursday, July 28, 2005
sno-cones of the dead
contentment and happiness kills. flat out. i can't seem to come up with anything, even though deep inside i know i have stuff i want to say and write, but when i type it out, it is like a stuffed tiger, lifeless and non threatening, and even though his teeth are bared and his claws are coming at you, there is no fear, no thought, it's an emtpy shell, a representation of an idea, a grand facade, a lie, emotionless lifeless and dull.
where has the spark gone? perhaps the burning and acid has been soothed by the pepto bismal of happiness and contentment? the sky here is hugemoungous, blue, goes on forever. the mountains are perfect, i am living in a tourist brouchure. i am happy, a bit frustrated, but too happy to care. when we are happy, we let out guard down. we don't need to believe in god, we don't pray, we aren't scared, we don't need favors, everything is going along quite swimmingly thank you very much.
if gwen stefanni had the exact same voice, but was fat and pimply, would anyone want to listen to her? really? i don't want to holla back, girl . i want to change the channel to something more interesting, like an infomercial.
i had an idea about a guy who is miserable and wants to kill himself and tries to induce a heart attack by running hard. he passes out, comes close, but doens't quite die. he keeps trying, and insteat of dying, he gets super fit and healthy and is a great runner, and now his skin clears up, he is trim, and all the endorphins make him happy all the time. it would be obvious for him to get hit by a truck, now that he is happy, so the ending would have him marrying a former pornstar and living to be old and happy.
how many people are living lies right now? how many people are unhappy, because they think they are supposed to have this job and marry at this age and have this many kids and live "this life" from A to Z. these are the people who are bothered by people like marylin manson or other free spirits who do what they truly deep down enjoy. the "normal" people are angry because they are jealous becuse they fell for the lie of a "respectable normal life." in some ways i feel i've compromised my integrity and sold out, even though i really hadn't, cause i dont have any talents i could pimp out and do my own thing with really. but the hypocrisy and small minded jealous driven attacks by patheticly weak people with small insignificant lives, it just drives me up the wall.
and i don't know why i wrote all that, because, like i've said, i am happy. and right now i am tired and going to sleep.
where has the spark gone? perhaps the burning and acid has been soothed by the pepto bismal of happiness and contentment? the sky here is hugemoungous, blue, goes on forever. the mountains are perfect, i am living in a tourist brouchure. i am happy, a bit frustrated, but too happy to care. when we are happy, we let out guard down. we don't need to believe in god, we don't pray, we aren't scared, we don't need favors, everything is going along quite swimmingly thank you very much.
if gwen stefanni had the exact same voice, but was fat and pimply, would anyone want to listen to her? really? i don't want to holla back, girl . i want to change the channel to something more interesting, like an infomercial.
i had an idea about a guy who is miserable and wants to kill himself and tries to induce a heart attack by running hard. he passes out, comes close, but doens't quite die. he keeps trying, and insteat of dying, he gets super fit and healthy and is a great runner, and now his skin clears up, he is trim, and all the endorphins make him happy all the time. it would be obvious for him to get hit by a truck, now that he is happy, so the ending would have him marrying a former pornstar and living to be old and happy.
how many people are living lies right now? how many people are unhappy, because they think they are supposed to have this job and marry at this age and have this many kids and live "this life" from A to Z. these are the people who are bothered by people like marylin manson or other free spirits who do what they truly deep down enjoy. the "normal" people are angry because they are jealous becuse they fell for the lie of a "respectable normal life." in some ways i feel i've compromised my integrity and sold out, even though i really hadn't, cause i dont have any talents i could pimp out and do my own thing with really. but the hypocrisy and small minded jealous driven attacks by patheticly weak people with small insignificant lives, it just drives me up the wall.
and i don't know why i wrote all that, because, like i've said, i am happy. and right now i am tired and going to sleep.
Monday, July 25, 2005
temporary layoff..easy credit ripoffs....hangin in a chowline
i hate all small living creatures, such as cats, small children, and any stupid adult who takes such hellishcreatures along with them on a 13 hour journey in a small enclosed space at 13 thousand feet...
my cab driver was a nice guy, who talks to animals and listens to his dog...the guy did come up with a great plan for combating nature, dissipating tornadoes and hurricanes before they become huge enough to do damage, as he said, they are living things....he may be a bit sadistic and going about it the wrong way, i wouldn't want to kill an air elemental, lest they come back and kick my ass personally, but he had the right idea....must be the sun, bakes everyone's brain, makes em a bit nuts, but it makes for interesting conversations and an overall good group of people at the bar....
at last...i seem to be not the most insane wierd guy around...
having lived in foreign (to me, not to the people living there) countries, now that i have returned to the land of milk and honey and supersize chocolate bars and 80 oz. buckets of soda with free re-fills and cars cars cars, i can see why people hate us....i wish all americans would live in another country for one year, hell, make it six months, really live there, so when they return home, they can see how loud, arrogant, rude and solipsistic we have become. people are freindly and nice, i get a nod and a hello as i walk down the street, but for the most part, on the outside, people appear to be all those pejoritive terms previously mentioned above....even if they aren't that way truly, that is how they are initially.....what happened to my country? or has my skin lost a few layers?
still, i am happy to be here...i like the sky, it's fucking huge...i can walk down the street in the sun and watch a lightingn and rain storm off in the mountains...live entertainment for free...better than the neon swarm i had to fight through....
neon kills the spirits you know...
television is awesome...i have like 76 channels or so, of crap i hardly care about....but i get to watch gary busey lose weight along with the snapple lady and that dude from warrant (once, in hawaii, i met the dude from warrant at a strip joint and he invited me along to some bar and we played pool and i got to hang out with the dude from warrant...i don't even like warrant....and all those chicks were hot, but i managed to not get laid...it's a talent...)...i also get to see all the commercials for feminine hygene...aparently, these ladies don't have time for period pain....oh, and kids love thier new cool diapers that tell them when they peed in thier pants...are the kids that dumb that they don't notice?... i have to write a whole thing on tv, let me keep watching it...i cant turn away....
the best part is the jet lag...it leaves me in a mind numbed doped up state, all naturally....without having to worry about being arrested by "the man"... damn the man....too tired to write coherently, but not too tired to spank it...so without further ado, time to give myself a low five and get some sleep....
a few months and i will be ready to go....
my cab driver was a nice guy, who talks to animals and listens to his dog...the guy did come up with a great plan for combating nature, dissipating tornadoes and hurricanes before they become huge enough to do damage, as he said, they are living things....he may be a bit sadistic and going about it the wrong way, i wouldn't want to kill an air elemental, lest they come back and kick my ass personally, but he had the right idea....must be the sun, bakes everyone's brain, makes em a bit nuts, but it makes for interesting conversations and an overall good group of people at the bar....
at last...i seem to be not the most insane wierd guy around...
having lived in foreign (to me, not to the people living there) countries, now that i have returned to the land of milk and honey and supersize chocolate bars and 80 oz. buckets of soda with free re-fills and cars cars cars, i can see why people hate us....i wish all americans would live in another country for one year, hell, make it six months, really live there, so when they return home, they can see how loud, arrogant, rude and solipsistic we have become. people are freindly and nice, i get a nod and a hello as i walk down the street, but for the most part, on the outside, people appear to be all those pejoritive terms previously mentioned above....even if they aren't that way truly, that is how they are initially.....what happened to my country? or has my skin lost a few layers?
still, i am happy to be here...i like the sky, it's fucking huge...i can walk down the street in the sun and watch a lightingn and rain storm off in the mountains...live entertainment for free...better than the neon swarm i had to fight through....
neon kills the spirits you know...
television is awesome...i have like 76 channels or so, of crap i hardly care about....but i get to watch gary busey lose weight along with the snapple lady and that dude from warrant (once, in hawaii, i met the dude from warrant at a strip joint and he invited me along to some bar and we played pool and i got to hang out with the dude from warrant...i don't even like warrant....and all those chicks were hot, but i managed to not get laid...it's a talent...)...i also get to see all the commercials for feminine hygene...aparently, these ladies don't have time for period pain....oh, and kids love thier new cool diapers that tell them when they peed in thier pants...are the kids that dumb that they don't notice?... i have to write a whole thing on tv, let me keep watching it...i cant turn away....
the best part is the jet lag...it leaves me in a mind numbed doped up state, all naturally....without having to worry about being arrested by "the man"... damn the man....too tired to write coherently, but not too tired to spank it...so without further ado, time to give myself a low five and get some sleep....
a few months and i will be ready to go....
Thursday, July 21, 2005
the sun sets in the east
my bags packed, my feet besocked, i find myself with time to murder....what better way to fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way than to blog it to the world...
like the fat kid in dodge ball, i am outta here...done...and although i may look back fondly and remenisce from time to time, i will not miss it outright...me and this country have gotten enough out of each other, it's time we see other people...we've had a good run, but all things, good and bad, must come to an end...
the next time i write a blog entry, i will be in the states....i may write something about a movie star named Tori Adore, who brings joy to the world with her magical breasts, that inspire men and women to break out of thier hum drum lives and achieve greatness in various fields, ranging from nanotechnology to the nascent job market of international truck wrestling...but that shall have to wait...
now i must be off to squeeze myelf into a long metal tube that weighs a few tons yet manages to give the finger to gravity for about 12 hours in a row, and we forget how that is almost magic, and just think about the crappy food foisted upon us......seriously, flight, television, all that crap, still amazes me if i think about it....
i am happy and looking forward to whatever new crap sneaks up and cracks me on the back of the head...perhaps i will find whatever the hell i am looking for.....
like the fat kid in dodge ball, i am outta here...done...and although i may look back fondly and remenisce from time to time, i will not miss it outright...me and this country have gotten enough out of each other, it's time we see other people...we've had a good run, but all things, good and bad, must come to an end...
the next time i write a blog entry, i will be in the states....i may write something about a movie star named Tori Adore, who brings joy to the world with her magical breasts, that inspire men and women to break out of thier hum drum lives and achieve greatness in various fields, ranging from nanotechnology to the nascent job market of international truck wrestling...but that shall have to wait...
now i must be off to squeeze myelf into a long metal tube that weighs a few tons yet manages to give the finger to gravity for about 12 hours in a row, and we forget how that is almost magic, and just think about the crappy food foisted upon us......seriously, flight, television, all that crap, still amazes me if i think about it....
i am happy and looking forward to whatever new crap sneaks up and cracks me on the back of the head...perhaps i will find whatever the hell i am looking for.....
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
MOVIE REVIEW: War of the Worlds
NOTE: before i begin this entry...... my prayers and condolences to australians on the loss of thier women's national cycling team, who suffered a great loss and were pretty much taken out by a driver in germany...
MOVIE REVIEW on "WAR OF THE WORLDS":
i am not a big tom cruise fan, but the movie *is* based on a story from HG Wells, who was a bit of a visionary, predicting a decent amount of modern stuff we take for granted today. interestingly, orson wells, no relation (that i know of) scared the bejesus out of america (now we have no bejesus) back in the day, when everyone was still a bunch of gullible rubes who believed in any crackpot story. sure, we still are still a bunch of gullible rubes, but now it's more high tech, modern, or cool crackpot stories we believe in.
i like orson wells a lot actually. as trite as it may be, if you watch "citizen kane" with a critical eye, it is a genius movie all around. also, orson wells was an accomplished "amateur" magician, which is pretty cool, and he even used that when he was in the movie "casino royale", the james bond spoof, where orson played a bad guy who was doing magic tricks while he gambled at the casino. (note: casino royale was the first "james bond" book written by ian flemming, who also wrote "chitty chitty bang bang" but the first bond movie made was "dr. no". of course, the book was serious, but i liked the way they made it into a spoof, with david niven and woody allen, who i think is brilliant really.
i think one of my favoirite woody allen movies is "love and death" which takes place during the russian war against napolean, absolutely hilarious, excellent dialogue, well worth checking out. a lot better than his more well known movies like "sleeper" which is a pretty funny look at the future.
speaking of the future, why the hell aren't i wearning a jumpsuit and driving around in a flying car, just like all the movies of the future told me i was gonna do? in a way i'm kind of glad, i am not a big fan of the jumpsuit, but they do seem pretty damn simple. imagine everyone walking around with the same gay ass jumpsuit? and an annoying robot like Twiki going "bitty-bitty-bitty." remeber Twiki from the old "buck rogers" tv show? i had a thing for erin gray, the hot chick in that show. i really like brunettes. then again, i like blondes, red heads, bald chicks....pretty much if it's female, i like it.
anyway, getting back to the review.... war of the worlds: it sucked.
MOVIE REVIEW on "WAR OF THE WORLDS":
i am not a big tom cruise fan, but the movie *is* based on a story from HG Wells, who was a bit of a visionary, predicting a decent amount of modern stuff we take for granted today. interestingly, orson wells, no relation (that i know of) scared the bejesus out of america (now we have no bejesus) back in the day, when everyone was still a bunch of gullible rubes who believed in any crackpot story. sure, we still are still a bunch of gullible rubes, but now it's more high tech, modern, or cool crackpot stories we believe in.
i like orson wells a lot actually. as trite as it may be, if you watch "citizen kane" with a critical eye, it is a genius movie all around. also, orson wells was an accomplished "amateur" magician, which is pretty cool, and he even used that when he was in the movie "casino royale", the james bond spoof, where orson played a bad guy who was doing magic tricks while he gambled at the casino. (note: casino royale was the first "james bond" book written by ian flemming, who also wrote "chitty chitty bang bang" but the first bond movie made was "dr. no". of course, the book was serious, but i liked the way they made it into a spoof, with david niven and woody allen, who i think is brilliant really.
i think one of my favoirite woody allen movies is "love and death" which takes place during the russian war against napolean, absolutely hilarious, excellent dialogue, well worth checking out. a lot better than his more well known movies like "sleeper" which is a pretty funny look at the future.
speaking of the future, why the hell aren't i wearning a jumpsuit and driving around in a flying car, just like all the movies of the future told me i was gonna do? in a way i'm kind of glad, i am not a big fan of the jumpsuit, but they do seem pretty damn simple. imagine everyone walking around with the same gay ass jumpsuit? and an annoying robot like Twiki going "bitty-bitty-bitty." remeber Twiki from the old "buck rogers" tv show? i had a thing for erin gray, the hot chick in that show. i really like brunettes. then again, i like blondes, red heads, bald chicks....pretty much if it's female, i like it.
anyway, getting back to the review.... war of the worlds: it sucked.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
don't fight the band that heeds you
social distortion makes me want to drink beer out of a longneck bottle, smoke cigarettes, and play pool....they have that sound, that scratchy, tacky floor littered with peanut shells sound, the sound that makes people with motorcycles hang out and chicks who ride on the back of motorcycles shake thier lucious asses provocitively on the dancefloor....
stage 14 is done, lance is comfortably in yellow, things appear right with the world, at least on the superficial surface....
bread and circuses...yay..
no matter what happens, the world keeps going around the sun and we keep marking the passing, the future, much like the hits, keeps on commin'! i have less than one week before i go back to the states for a few months in preperation for the new job. the next few months will be busy, i won't write much online (my notebook journal is getting a good workout) but eventually, i will be back to keeping the online journal blog thing. i will go back to blogging, full contact blogging, with the note leaving and the reading and the daily posting etc etc. ...
i hope my plane doesn't crash.
stage 14 is done, lance is comfortably in yellow, things appear right with the world, at least on the superficial surface....
bread and circuses...yay..
no matter what happens, the world keeps going around the sun and we keep marking the passing, the future, much like the hits, keeps on commin'! i have less than one week before i go back to the states for a few months in preperation for the new job. the next few months will be busy, i won't write much online (my notebook journal is getting a good workout) but eventually, i will be back to keeping the online journal blog thing. i will go back to blogging, full contact blogging, with the note leaving and the reading and the daily posting etc etc. ...
i hope my plane doesn't crash.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Lo! what wild talents are in the miso soup
in the words of sir george washingtonalot, "i cannot tell a lie...i like big butts."
my hand on the small of your back, eyes meet, we both know it's coming. the gravity between our two solid bodies increases as we draw imperceptibly closer. eyes drop to half mast, sultry, inviting, almost pornographically hinting. the kiss.
we are supine, your lips are sanguine, you are divine, i am yours and you..well, you know...
another kiss. a drop of sweat forms at the maginot line of your hair and scalp. i suckle you like a starving child, your head bobs in ecstasy, the drop of sweat rolls slowly down your forehead.
my hands grab and knead the flesh of your perfect and beautiful ass. the drop of sweat rolls between your eyebrows.
you lower yourself on me, slowly, like easing yourself into an extremely hot bath, the pain melting into pleasure. the drop of sweat rolls down your nose. the nose i love to kiss playfully, or rub like an eskimo with my own, which makes you laugh. i like to make you laugh, your smile is a ray of sunshine, your giggle is beethoven and marylin manson.
your hands grab my chest, your fingers dig into my pectorals like a cat getting a good backscratch. the drop of sweat hangs on the tip of your nose as you look down at me looking up at you looking down at me.
at about this time, the guy sent to clean up the spill on aisle 4 comes over and tells us we are causing a disturbance and we need to leave the supermarket. we dress and quickly leave.
if only i had gotten your name and number.
my hand on the small of your back, eyes meet, we both know it's coming. the gravity between our two solid bodies increases as we draw imperceptibly closer. eyes drop to half mast, sultry, inviting, almost pornographically hinting. the kiss.
we are supine, your lips are sanguine, you are divine, i am yours and you..well, you know...
another kiss. a drop of sweat forms at the maginot line of your hair and scalp. i suckle you like a starving child, your head bobs in ecstasy, the drop of sweat rolls slowly down your forehead.
my hands grab and knead the flesh of your perfect and beautiful ass. the drop of sweat rolls between your eyebrows.
you lower yourself on me, slowly, like easing yourself into an extremely hot bath, the pain melting into pleasure. the drop of sweat rolls down your nose. the nose i love to kiss playfully, or rub like an eskimo with my own, which makes you laugh. i like to make you laugh, your smile is a ray of sunshine, your giggle is beethoven and marylin manson.
your hands grab my chest, your fingers dig into my pectorals like a cat getting a good backscratch. the drop of sweat hangs on the tip of your nose as you look down at me looking up at you looking down at me.
at about this time, the guy sent to clean up the spill on aisle 4 comes over and tells us we are causing a disturbance and we need to leave the supermarket. we dress and quickly leave.
if only i had gotten your name and number.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
anchor what? pt 2
i posted a few more pictures, i think that shall about do it for now, they all start to look the same after awhile...
so i'm sitting in this shady "cafe" and i order a coffee, i get a cup one third filled with black liquid and a hot kettle. i figure i am supposed to add the hot water and make a full cup, so i pour the water in. it is a bit off color, but i figure it's boiled so it is clean. turns out i invented green tea coffee. i gotta say, it's not bad, not bad at all....
i hate haggling, just fucking hate it. first off, if we both know i am going to pay $1 for a ride, why do we have to go through the dance? save time, tell me the price, and lets move on. second, on bigger things, i just know i am getting ripped off, and why do i have to pay more just cause i am a "rich" westerner? yeah yeah, basic economics, but it seems prejudice and unfair that i have to pay more cause you are greedy and i am supposedly rich. i don't mind paying a bit more, but if something costs you 50 cents and i have to pay two dollors, that is a huge markup. fuck you poor people...
the smell and sights of fly encrusted meat and dubious drinking water really helps you appreciate your blue passport...
although it would cause assloads of damage and should never happen ever, it would be pretty damn cool to have a rave type party, with laser lights and djs spinning records and people dancing and bass booming through you and all that all night long at the top of the hill that overlooks ankor wat and all that, where you go to watch the sunset with the other three hundred people....
i want to start tours for cambodians and vietnamese and other third world people. i will drive them in a bus up a regular street in a small town in the states, and they can take pictures of people mowing thier lawn, laying out, walking thier dog, etc. then i would take them into someone's house, and they would walk all over and take pictures of the people watching tv, taking a bath, cooking. then i will give them a tour of wal mart, and let them go shopping. i figure, that is what we do when we go to the third world, it should work in reverse....
ok, enough of that. i mock and laugh at those people who go somewhere, and for the next week, every sentance starts with "well, when i was in _________...." and act like they are the only people who have been there and are all experts on it now. those people get old after about 15 minutes, and i want to be young forever....
i am getting a bit bored with the planet. doggammit, i wanna travel the universe and bum around the galaxies, i wanna do it with alien chicks (actually, i'd be rather happy to do it with human chicks, but that doesn't seem to happen ever, so maybe i need a new race of beings.) i want adventure, excitement, crazy space diseases, i wanna meet aliens and hang out with them, be their pet human. i wonder how you would be able to tell if an alien is a nerd on his planet. what if you met some alien, and you listen to him or her cause they should know what's going on, but it turns out they are losers on thier planet?
i'm a junkie looking for a fix
i'm a hooker looking for new tricks
i'm an excommunicated priest
i'm the dearly departed, recently deceased
i'm a guitar playing the wrong chord
i'm burnt out, and frankly, i'm bored
so i'm sitting in this shady "cafe" and i order a coffee, i get a cup one third filled with black liquid and a hot kettle. i figure i am supposed to add the hot water and make a full cup, so i pour the water in. it is a bit off color, but i figure it's boiled so it is clean. turns out i invented green tea coffee. i gotta say, it's not bad, not bad at all....
i hate haggling, just fucking hate it. first off, if we both know i am going to pay $1 for a ride, why do we have to go through the dance? save time, tell me the price, and lets move on. second, on bigger things, i just know i am getting ripped off, and why do i have to pay more just cause i am a "rich" westerner? yeah yeah, basic economics, but it seems prejudice and unfair that i have to pay more cause you are greedy and i am supposedly rich. i don't mind paying a bit more, but if something costs you 50 cents and i have to pay two dollors, that is a huge markup. fuck you poor people...
the smell and sights of fly encrusted meat and dubious drinking water really helps you appreciate your blue passport...
although it would cause assloads of damage and should never happen ever, it would be pretty damn cool to have a rave type party, with laser lights and djs spinning records and people dancing and bass booming through you and all that all night long at the top of the hill that overlooks ankor wat and all that, where you go to watch the sunset with the other three hundred people....
i want to start tours for cambodians and vietnamese and other third world people. i will drive them in a bus up a regular street in a small town in the states, and they can take pictures of people mowing thier lawn, laying out, walking thier dog, etc. then i would take them into someone's house, and they would walk all over and take pictures of the people watching tv, taking a bath, cooking. then i will give them a tour of wal mart, and let them go shopping. i figure, that is what we do when we go to the third world, it should work in reverse....
ok, enough of that. i mock and laugh at those people who go somewhere, and for the next week, every sentance starts with "well, when i was in _________...." and act like they are the only people who have been there and are all experts on it now. those people get old after about 15 minutes, and i want to be young forever....
i am getting a bit bored with the planet. doggammit, i wanna travel the universe and bum around the galaxies, i wanna do it with alien chicks (actually, i'd be rather happy to do it with human chicks, but that doesn't seem to happen ever, so maybe i need a new race of beings.) i want adventure, excitement, crazy space diseases, i wanna meet aliens and hang out with them, be their pet human. i wonder how you would be able to tell if an alien is a nerd on his planet. what if you met some alien, and you listen to him or her cause they should know what's going on, but it turns out they are losers on thier planet?
i'm a junkie looking for a fix
i'm a hooker looking for new tricks
i'm an excommunicated priest
i'm the dearly departed, recently deceased
i'm a guitar playing the wrong chord
i'm burnt out, and frankly, i'm bored
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
poor people annoy me and i hate them
"Many children lost thier lives. I was one of them" - some cambodian guy i talked to
instead of boring you silly with a day by day, minute by minute account of my trip to vietbodia, you can make up your own cool stories based off of observations and phrases and crap that is in my head from what i have seen and done this last week....
- vietnamese chicks are indeed "boup coup dinky dow." so are cambodian chicks. (no, i didn't get laid, not even close).
- hey, Mr. lonely planet, only the women wear the lampshade hat. you don't look as cool as you think and everyone is silently laughing at you.
- apparently, vietnamese will worship just about anything they think will bring them good luck. if i can convince enough people scratching my hairy back will bring them good luck, i am moving to viet nam, starting my own cult, and building my temple right next to the eyeworshippers temple and the XU lady temple and i can have my back scratched all damn day. benefit to the people is they don't have to give me any money or food or all that other crap they have to give the other cults. they just have to scratch my back. everyone wins.
- hey, Bitchy McCrab, how about you smile and not look at me with hatred when you sell me the damn t-shirt, you work in the tourist industry. If you aren't happy with my tourist dollors and don't like it, you can make the same money to feed your family by having butt sex with fat sweaty germans all day and night, how does that sound? isn't it just easier to fake a smile?
- crossing the border from Chou Doc, viet nam, up the Mekong River to Phnom Penn, cambodia, by speed boat is as exciting as it sounds....for the first 10 minutes. the next three hours are just boring.
- just cause someone doesn't wear $200 nike shoes and Ecko clothing and have an ipod does not mean they are poor. the next fucktard who wants me to give money based off a picture of a naked kid in a thatch shack gets a punch to the forehead. the kid is naked cause it's fucking HOT and the house is a shack cause it's easier to break down and carry for the move they do every few weeks. you don't see the television and food and the people playing cards inside the hut. and if a kid is really starving, they don't wave and smile and laugh and play in the mud puddle. poverty is reletive.
- if you drive around on a US$1,000 moped, you aint poor. there is more food in the jungle than you can eat. i'd rather be content than have lots of money
- i want to cross a chicken and a monkey , and call it a chunky. it will have the head of a monkey and the feathered winged body of a chicken, with little monkey hands. i can train it to do cool things and then eat it.
- a gentle, natural smile, for no apparent reason other than human freindliness, can change your mood in a nanosecond, and makes the whole world seem wonderful. it almost makes you believe the myth of finding love and happiness.
- fierce jungle chickens.
- large pots are not only good for cooking large amounts of food, but are great personal watercraft for paddling around the lake. see the picture on this one.
- siem reap (translation: the Thai levelled this city) is quite safe, clean, and heavily touristed. even the slow season is busy. there aren't khemer gunmen everywhere like you might have thought.
- ankor wat, ankor thom, all those places, are worth the visit, and you should go while you can still climb all over them, before all the foot and ass traffic makes them off limits. where else can you sit on ruins? it would be cool to have a rave there, i gotta say. they are a great place to meet mobs of south koreans with cameras and matching hats who get in all your pictures and are EVERYWHERE.
- i would rather hang out with the three old fat australians who were freindly and fun than the young tie dye wearing, hemp wearing, pierced backpackers who thought they should be the only ones allowed in the park. the younger english chick was pretty cool though, i would hang out with her.
- if the pumkin soup doesn't agree with your digestive system on one night, it's pretty stupid to get the fried pumpkin the next night. really.
i have more, i might write them later, i might just not....pics are up, but not all of them, i might add more, i might just not....i'm home now, think i shall rest....
instead of boring you silly with a day by day, minute by minute account of my trip to vietbodia, you can make up your own cool stories based off of observations and phrases and crap that is in my head from what i have seen and done this last week....
- vietnamese chicks are indeed "boup coup dinky dow." so are cambodian chicks. (no, i didn't get laid, not even close).
- hey, Mr. lonely planet, only the women wear the lampshade hat. you don't look as cool as you think and everyone is silently laughing at you.
- apparently, vietnamese will worship just about anything they think will bring them good luck. if i can convince enough people scratching my hairy back will bring them good luck, i am moving to viet nam, starting my own cult, and building my temple right next to the eyeworshippers temple and the XU lady temple and i can have my back scratched all damn day. benefit to the people is they don't have to give me any money or food or all that other crap they have to give the other cults. they just have to scratch my back. everyone wins.
- hey, Bitchy McCrab, how about you smile and not look at me with hatred when you sell me the damn t-shirt, you work in the tourist industry. If you aren't happy with my tourist dollors and don't like it, you can make the same money to feed your family by having butt sex with fat sweaty germans all day and night, how does that sound? isn't it just easier to fake a smile?
- crossing the border from Chou Doc, viet nam, up the Mekong River to Phnom Penn, cambodia, by speed boat is as exciting as it sounds....for the first 10 minutes. the next three hours are just boring.
- just cause someone doesn't wear $200 nike shoes and Ecko clothing and have an ipod does not mean they are poor. the next fucktard who wants me to give money based off a picture of a naked kid in a thatch shack gets a punch to the forehead. the kid is naked cause it's fucking HOT and the house is a shack cause it's easier to break down and carry for the move they do every few weeks. you don't see the television and food and the people playing cards inside the hut. and if a kid is really starving, they don't wave and smile and laugh and play in the mud puddle. poverty is reletive.
- if you drive around on a US$1,000 moped, you aint poor. there is more food in the jungle than you can eat. i'd rather be content than have lots of money
- i want to cross a chicken and a monkey , and call it a chunky. it will have the head of a monkey and the feathered winged body of a chicken, with little monkey hands. i can train it to do cool things and then eat it.
- a gentle, natural smile, for no apparent reason other than human freindliness, can change your mood in a nanosecond, and makes the whole world seem wonderful. it almost makes you believe the myth of finding love and happiness.
- fierce jungle chickens.
- large pots are not only good for cooking large amounts of food, but are great personal watercraft for paddling around the lake. see the picture on this one.
- siem reap (translation: the Thai levelled this city) is quite safe, clean, and heavily touristed. even the slow season is busy. there aren't khemer gunmen everywhere like you might have thought.
- ankor wat, ankor thom, all those places, are worth the visit, and you should go while you can still climb all over them, before all the foot and ass traffic makes them off limits. where else can you sit on ruins? it would be cool to have a rave there, i gotta say. they are a great place to meet mobs of south koreans with cameras and matching hats who get in all your pictures and are EVERYWHERE.
- i would rather hang out with the three old fat australians who were freindly and fun than the young tie dye wearing, hemp wearing, pierced backpackers who thought they should be the only ones allowed in the park. the younger english chick was pretty cool though, i would hang out with her.
- if the pumkin soup doesn't agree with your digestive system on one night, it's pretty stupid to get the fried pumpkin the next night. really.
i have more, i might write them later, i might just not....pics are up, but not all of them, i might add more, i might just not....i'm home now, think i shall rest....
Saturday, July 02, 2005
kick me in the crunch berries
here it is the 2nd of july, but it don't matter until it is the 2nd in france, cause that is where Le Tour is, and it starts on the 2nd, yay. now that lance armstrong is riding, it seems americans finally kind of care about cycling, so that is one good thing that came out of it. once he stops racing, i assume the majority will no longer care, but those of us who watched Le Tour before lance will continue well after he is gone. damn i wish i had the outdoor life network channel. anyway, the Giro d' Italia (italian tour) is a way cooler race, cause it's in italy. still...Vive Le Tour!!!!!!!
i went to the waterfall as i said i would, and although it was raining, it was still quite beautiful. the gray light of the sky was filtered through the vibrant green of the wet leaves, the rush of the water was echoing off the rocks, i was wrapped in the smell of wet earth. i could imagine zen monks sitting there practising thier meditation, which is what that place was, an old training place for monks. the cool thing is, although there is a (very small) sign on the side of the road about it, it is empty of people, totally void of humans, which is strange in japan. the small shrine house for ancestors that is there was freshly stocked with piles of salt and inside was a fresh basket of crackers and doritos (i assume the ancestors love the cool ranch flavor?), so people tend the area, but the two times i've been there, i was the only one. it was serene, and wonderful. of course, the batteries on my camera went dead as soon as i turned it on for the first picture, so, there is that then. no pics, sorry.
i was supposed to go to Nikko, an over touristed place chock full o' temples and beautiful things (google it, you'll see). i even recharged my camera bettery and was all sorts of ready to go, and the guy i was gonna go with flaked on me, so i didn't go. there is that then.
but that is ok, because i kinda didn't want to go, i had this wierd feeling about it, and i took it as a sign that i shouldn't have gone. no big deal, i guess, because in a few days, i will depart for vietnam and cambodia to eat tasty food and see ankor wat and maybe not get kidnapped and ransomed and killed, which always puts a damper on a holiday.
so, i won't be writing here for a week or so, but i will make sure i have fresh batteries for the camera and lots o pics and as long as my plane doesn't crash and i don't get shot by khemers, i will come back and write all about it. i should be posting by the 15th. if i don't post by the 16th, i'm dead, just like luther vandross.
i went to the waterfall as i said i would, and although it was raining, it was still quite beautiful. the gray light of the sky was filtered through the vibrant green of the wet leaves, the rush of the water was echoing off the rocks, i was wrapped in the smell of wet earth. i could imagine zen monks sitting there practising thier meditation, which is what that place was, an old training place for monks. the cool thing is, although there is a (very small) sign on the side of the road about it, it is empty of people, totally void of humans, which is strange in japan. the small shrine house for ancestors that is there was freshly stocked with piles of salt and inside was a fresh basket of crackers and doritos (i assume the ancestors love the cool ranch flavor?), so people tend the area, but the two times i've been there, i was the only one. it was serene, and wonderful. of course, the batteries on my camera went dead as soon as i turned it on for the first picture, so, there is that then. no pics, sorry.
i was supposed to go to Nikko, an over touristed place chock full o' temples and beautiful things (google it, you'll see). i even recharged my camera bettery and was all sorts of ready to go, and the guy i was gonna go with flaked on me, so i didn't go. there is that then.
but that is ok, because i kinda didn't want to go, i had this wierd feeling about it, and i took it as a sign that i shouldn't have gone. no big deal, i guess, because in a few days, i will depart for vietnam and cambodia to eat tasty food and see ankor wat and maybe not get kidnapped and ransomed and killed, which always puts a damper on a holiday.
so, i won't be writing here for a week or so, but i will make sure i have fresh batteries for the camera and lots o pics and as long as my plane doesn't crash and i don't get shot by khemers, i will come back and write all about it. i should be posting by the 15th. if i don't post by the 16th, i'm dead, just like luther vandross.
Thursday, June 30, 2005
this just don't gonna be a nothin
i like to refer to my bathroom as "the poopatorium"
i like to refer to toilet paper as "shit tickets"
i want to write a story about a cursed lord of a castle married to a succubus, and the castle moves every 14th month. it will be a gothic horror sex filled comedy,
today i will go see a waterfall that, although there is a sign for it, it is out of the way and kind of hidden. i will take pictures.
today i think i shall bake a choclate honey cake.
i shook the hand of the guy who was the hand in the addams family movie.
i knew the lady who did the puppets in the incredibly crappy movie "killer clowns from outer space."
i spent an afternoon with Jerry Andrus at his house in oregon, and he is one of the coolest people i've met.
i had this incredibly freaky dirty dream last night that was a bit unsettling when i woke up and thought about it.
a pig raised properly will produce fat that is similar in health benefits to olive oil...high in HDL (good cholesterol) and low in LDL (bad cholesterol), and will be full of tasty flavor and healthy and happy. most of the pigs raised in the states are not raised properly, and if people knew how they were raised, would be disgusted and outraged. what they call "farms" are really factories.
i want to buy a digital video camera and have my own tv show on the web, maybe make 5 minute movies or whatever.
i've thougth about podcasting.
i want to go a whole day (two days if possible) without speaking at all, without uttering a single sound. i bet i would be more concious of the things i say, and perhaps i would be more careful with my words and even a better listener.
if i only had 24 hours to live, i would not be upset or think i missed out on anything. i wouldn't call up anyone and say what i wanted to say to them. i would eat beer battered chocolate cake and potato chips, maybe fry up a duck and dip bread in the sweet tasty fat and smoke a pack of pall malls and drink a bottle of wine and relax and enjoy, knowing it would all be over shortly.
i am hungry and i'm going to eat something now.
i like to refer to toilet paper as "shit tickets"
i want to write a story about a cursed lord of a castle married to a succubus, and the castle moves every 14th month. it will be a gothic horror sex filled comedy,
today i will go see a waterfall that, although there is a sign for it, it is out of the way and kind of hidden. i will take pictures.
today i think i shall bake a choclate honey cake.
i shook the hand of the guy who was the hand in the addams family movie.
i knew the lady who did the puppets in the incredibly crappy movie "killer clowns from outer space."
i spent an afternoon with Jerry Andrus at his house in oregon, and he is one of the coolest people i've met.
i had this incredibly freaky dirty dream last night that was a bit unsettling when i woke up and thought about it.
a pig raised properly will produce fat that is similar in health benefits to olive oil...high in HDL (good cholesterol) and low in LDL (bad cholesterol), and will be full of tasty flavor and healthy and happy. most of the pigs raised in the states are not raised properly, and if people knew how they were raised, would be disgusted and outraged. what they call "farms" are really factories.
i want to buy a digital video camera and have my own tv show on the web, maybe make 5 minute movies or whatever.
i've thougth about podcasting.
i want to go a whole day (two days if possible) without speaking at all, without uttering a single sound. i bet i would be more concious of the things i say, and perhaps i would be more careful with my words and even a better listener.
if i only had 24 hours to live, i would not be upset or think i missed out on anything. i wouldn't call up anyone and say what i wanted to say to them. i would eat beer battered chocolate cake and potato chips, maybe fry up a duck and dip bread in the sweet tasty fat and smoke a pack of pall malls and drink a bottle of wine and relax and enjoy, knowing it would all be over shortly.
i am hungry and i'm going to eat something now.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
one world one milk
the following is taken from the soon to be published book, "The existential gourmet" available from your good friends at Saddle Sore Publishing.....
Get two slices of sourdough bread
Because we make choices based on our experiences, beliefs, and biases, those choices are unique to us — and made without an objective form of truth. There are no “universal” guidelines for most decisions, so if you want to use white or wheat, that is ok as well.
Now, put some dijon mustard on one and only one slice of bread.
Human choice is subjective, because individuals finally must make their own choices without help from such external standards as laws, ethical rules, or traditions. Because individuals make their own choices, they are free; but because they freely choose, they are completely responsible for their choices.
Excercise your freedom by choosing either some cheddar or havarti, or even a bit of both if you want. Shred the cheese and put it between the slices of bread. Feel the freedom?
Freedom, however, is accompanied by responsibility. Furthermore, since individuals are forced to choose for themselves, they have their freedom — and therefore their responsibility — thrust upon them. They are “condemned to be free.”
Freely heat up a heavy pan, cast iron if you have it.
Responsibility is the dark side of freedom. When individuals realize that they are completely responsible for their decisions, actions, and beliefs, they are overcome by anxiety. Do not let this get to you, relax, and put some olive oil in the pan. If you try to deal with the anxiety by ignoring or denying the situation, you are only decieving yourself, and you will burn the bread or make it stick to the pan.
Individuals must accept full responsibility for their behavior, no matter how difficult. Now, with the oil hot, place the sandwhich onto the pan and hold it down with a metal spatula, for about 60 to 90 seconds. You are responsible for this, but applying pressure should not be too difficult. Flip the sandwich and repeat, applying pressure to the sandwich, again, this should not be too difficult.
If an individual is to live meaningfully and authentically, he or she must become fully aware of the true character of the human situation and bravely accept it. Make sure the cheese is melted, remove from the pan, and accept that your sandwich is tasty. You have the freedom to enjoy this sandwich with any beverage you feel like, but iced tea goes with it quite well.
Get two slices of sourdough bread
Because we make choices based on our experiences, beliefs, and biases, those choices are unique to us — and made without an objective form of truth. There are no “universal” guidelines for most decisions, so if you want to use white or wheat, that is ok as well.
Now, put some dijon mustard on one and only one slice of bread.
Human choice is subjective, because individuals finally must make their own choices without help from such external standards as laws, ethical rules, or traditions. Because individuals make their own choices, they are free; but because they freely choose, they are completely responsible for their choices.
Excercise your freedom by choosing either some cheddar or havarti, or even a bit of both if you want. Shred the cheese and put it between the slices of bread. Feel the freedom?
Freedom, however, is accompanied by responsibility. Furthermore, since individuals are forced to choose for themselves, they have their freedom — and therefore their responsibility — thrust upon them. They are “condemned to be free.”
Freely heat up a heavy pan, cast iron if you have it.
Responsibility is the dark side of freedom. When individuals realize that they are completely responsible for their decisions, actions, and beliefs, they are overcome by anxiety. Do not let this get to you, relax, and put some olive oil in the pan. If you try to deal with the anxiety by ignoring or denying the situation, you are only decieving yourself, and you will burn the bread or make it stick to the pan.
Individuals must accept full responsibility for their behavior, no matter how difficult. Now, with the oil hot, place the sandwhich onto the pan and hold it down with a metal spatula, for about 60 to 90 seconds. You are responsible for this, but applying pressure should not be too difficult. Flip the sandwich and repeat, applying pressure to the sandwich, again, this should not be too difficult.
If an individual is to live meaningfully and authentically, he or she must become fully aware of the true character of the human situation and bravely accept it. Make sure the cheese is melted, remove from the pan, and accept that your sandwich is tasty. You have the freedom to enjoy this sandwich with any beverage you feel like, but iced tea goes with it quite well.
Sunday, June 26, 2005
My interview with Saddam Hussien
Check it out!!! I have this "friend" who works for the "government" and he has access to Saddam Hussein at the secret prison location. well, I told him I have this blog and I want to become a huge internet success/star/chick magnet, and asked him if I could interview Saddam himself. after much begging and pleading, he let me. that's right, you heard me, *I* got to interview Saddam Hussein. so, here you go, my personal interview with former Iraqi president Saddam Hussein:
Me: Thank you for your time, I appreciate you talking to me.
Saddam Hussein: (drinking from a bottle of Gatorade, looking comfortable). No problem.
Me: I'm going to just jump right in, so, lets begin shall we? I have heard that just one of your palaces cost millions of dollars, and you had about 90 or so. if you had taken the money for just one of those and distributed it to your people, some kind of "tax rebate" or something, they would have all loved you and claimed you were the best guy in the world. they were so poor, it wouldn't have had to be much at all, and you could have gone on doing what you wanted with no problem and no resistance, seen as benevolent even. why didn't you do that?
SH: Eh, whaddya gonna do? hey, have you heard the new Gorillaz CD? De la Soul is on it, you know. I like de la soul, and that guy from Blur's voice is just perfect, you know?
Me: Yeah, I kind of like it, it's a bit "electronica" and different, but I dig it. but let's try and stay on track, ok? next question....does the death of all the Kurds and others play on your conscience and bother you? or do you feel that even though you gave the orders, since you personally didn't do it you are not responsible for all the deaths?
SH: (thinking for a moment before taking a drag off of a pall mall cigarette) well, you see, it is like this: even if Amy Pohler threw herself at me, and I could spend a night in that vixen's passionate embrace, with her riding me like a wild pony, I would love it, but the whole time I would be thinking of Tina Fey. seriously, I just think Tina Fey is more attractive, physically and intellectually. she is just hot.
Me: yeah? I agree with you on that. so...you lost both your sons, your power, your empire, you've been ridiculed and publicly made the butt of thousands of jokes. you lost everything you had....was it all worth it?
SH: I will tell you what is worth it: the Buster Keaton box set, available online at Amazon. that is some hilarious stuff right there, that guy was a freaking genius. The stuff he did is still funny, and much more pure than a lot of today's comedy, really. in the movie "Steamboat Bill jr." there is this scene, where he is trying on hats, it goes on for about a full minute, and he doesn't move, just stares, it is sublime, totally hilarious. He just had that "look" that is subtle and so damn funny. you should definitely check out Buster Keaton. seriously.
Me: Do you think President Bush truly believed there were chemical weapons of crazy destruction..
SH: Weapons of Mass Destruction. Please, call them WMD.
Me: ok, yeah, so, do you think he honestly thought you had WMD or did he just need an excuse to come after you, to finish the job his dad started? What do you honestly feel about it?
SH: I think, well, it's like your Hollywood, what is up with them? They just keep remaking old movies, good and bad. Can't they come up with original stuff? I like Tim Burton, and the Johnny Depp, he is hot, but really, did they need to re-make the Willy Wonka? Gene Wilder played it great, slightly evil, a bit odd, just wonderful. And now it seems they are making every 70's tv show into a movie. Come on, what is up with you people? Stop trying to re-do everything, and do something original. I think, if your president wanted to do something original, he should have invaded, maybe, Saudi Arabia. They are crazy with the human rights violations, but noone seems to care. Really, without oil, they are nothing but lying brutish thugs who traffic in slavery, abuse thier people, and are complete hippocrites when it comes to Islam. It is a police state, you know that, right? People are put in prison for speaking out against the government. And they kill the filipino and bangladeshi workers, males, after raping them, just like the Kuwaitis do. Ask any filipino guy who has worked in Kuwait or Saudi Arabia. But, really, Hollywood needs to stop remaking old movies or tv shows and make some new shit. How about a movie about a substitute teacher who travels around and changes people's lives, a nomad, or maybe a guy who drives around in a snack truck and solves people's problems, like the Hulk did.
Me: How do you expect your trial go, realistically. are you hoping for a certain outcome, do you think it is all a foregone conclusion? Are you worried at all, does it bother you at all?
SH: You know what bothers me? the fact that hats seem to be so out of fashion. hats are so cool, and I have worn my share, some cool, some not so cool, but still, you know? now, it seems like only baseball caps or, thanks to Demi Moore's boytoy, trucker caps, are the only "hat" you can wear, unless you are p diddy or some other rapper. I guess cowboy hats are ok, but only if you are a cowboy. really, what happened to the fedora, or the regular everyday hat? that pisses me right the fuck off. you wanna make a big deal over the "tragic" death of people you don't even know? how about your tragic loss of a cool fashion accessory?
Me: Yeah, I feel the same way about bowties. I really dig bowties, but when you wear them, people say you look like a referee at a boxing match, a waiter, or some weird geek. to me they make sense though, they don't blow around in the wind and they don't get into your food when you eat. ok, I have a few more questions...
SH: sorry, I must end this. desperate housewives is on. thank you, and please, don't think for a moment I wouldn't kill you if I could get away with it.
Me: I know. thanks for your time. and before I go, just tell us, who is your favorite blog?
SH: (making that devil horn thing with his fingers, like you do at rock concerts when you go headbanging, and shouting at the top of his lungs) SADDLESOREREVIEW.BLOGSPOT.COM. OH YEAH!!!!!
Me: Thank you for your time, I appreciate you talking to me.
Saddam Hussein: (drinking from a bottle of Gatorade, looking comfortable). No problem.
Me: I'm going to just jump right in, so, lets begin shall we? I have heard that just one of your palaces cost millions of dollars, and you had about 90 or so. if you had taken the money for just one of those and distributed it to your people, some kind of "tax rebate" or something, they would have all loved you and claimed you were the best guy in the world. they were so poor, it wouldn't have had to be much at all, and you could have gone on doing what you wanted with no problem and no resistance, seen as benevolent even. why didn't you do that?
SH: Eh, whaddya gonna do? hey, have you heard the new Gorillaz CD? De la Soul is on it, you know. I like de la soul, and that guy from Blur's voice is just perfect, you know?
Me: Yeah, I kind of like it, it's a bit "electronica" and different, but I dig it. but let's try and stay on track, ok? next question....does the death of all the Kurds and others play on your conscience and bother you? or do you feel that even though you gave the orders, since you personally didn't do it you are not responsible for all the deaths?
SH: (thinking for a moment before taking a drag off of a pall mall cigarette) well, you see, it is like this: even if Amy Pohler threw herself at me, and I could spend a night in that vixen's passionate embrace, with her riding me like a wild pony, I would love it, but the whole time I would be thinking of Tina Fey. seriously, I just think Tina Fey is more attractive, physically and intellectually. she is just hot.
Me: yeah? I agree with you on that. so...you lost both your sons, your power, your empire, you've been ridiculed and publicly made the butt of thousands of jokes. you lost everything you had....was it all worth it?
SH: I will tell you what is worth it: the Buster Keaton box set, available online at Amazon. that is some hilarious stuff right there, that guy was a freaking genius. The stuff he did is still funny, and much more pure than a lot of today's comedy, really. in the movie "Steamboat Bill jr." there is this scene, where he is trying on hats, it goes on for about a full minute, and he doesn't move, just stares, it is sublime, totally hilarious. He just had that "look" that is subtle and so damn funny. you should definitely check out Buster Keaton. seriously.
Me: Do you think President Bush truly believed there were chemical weapons of crazy destruction..
SH: Weapons of Mass Destruction. Please, call them WMD.
Me: ok, yeah, so, do you think he honestly thought you had WMD or did he just need an excuse to come after you, to finish the job his dad started? What do you honestly feel about it?
SH: I think, well, it's like your Hollywood, what is up with them? They just keep remaking old movies, good and bad. Can't they come up with original stuff? I like Tim Burton, and the Johnny Depp, he is hot, but really, did they need to re-make the Willy Wonka? Gene Wilder played it great, slightly evil, a bit odd, just wonderful. And now it seems they are making every 70's tv show into a movie. Come on, what is up with you people? Stop trying to re-do everything, and do something original. I think, if your president wanted to do something original, he should have invaded, maybe, Saudi Arabia. They are crazy with the human rights violations, but noone seems to care. Really, without oil, they are nothing but lying brutish thugs who traffic in slavery, abuse thier people, and are complete hippocrites when it comes to Islam. It is a police state, you know that, right? People are put in prison for speaking out against the government. And they kill the filipino and bangladeshi workers, males, after raping them, just like the Kuwaitis do. Ask any filipino guy who has worked in Kuwait or Saudi Arabia. But, really, Hollywood needs to stop remaking old movies or tv shows and make some new shit. How about a movie about a substitute teacher who travels around and changes people's lives, a nomad, or maybe a guy who drives around in a snack truck and solves people's problems, like the Hulk did.
Me: How do you expect your trial go, realistically. are you hoping for a certain outcome, do you think it is all a foregone conclusion? Are you worried at all, does it bother you at all?
SH: You know what bothers me? the fact that hats seem to be so out of fashion. hats are so cool, and I have worn my share, some cool, some not so cool, but still, you know? now, it seems like only baseball caps or, thanks to Demi Moore's boytoy, trucker caps, are the only "hat" you can wear, unless you are p diddy or some other rapper. I guess cowboy hats are ok, but only if you are a cowboy. really, what happened to the fedora, or the regular everyday hat? that pisses me right the fuck off. you wanna make a big deal over the "tragic" death of people you don't even know? how about your tragic loss of a cool fashion accessory?
Me: Yeah, I feel the same way about bowties. I really dig bowties, but when you wear them, people say you look like a referee at a boxing match, a waiter, or some weird geek. to me they make sense though, they don't blow around in the wind and they don't get into your food when you eat. ok, I have a few more questions...
SH: sorry, I must end this. desperate housewives is on. thank you, and please, don't think for a moment I wouldn't kill you if I could get away with it.
Me: I know. thanks for your time. and before I go, just tell us, who is your favorite blog?
SH: (making that devil horn thing with his fingers, like you do at rock concerts when you go headbanging, and shouting at the top of his lungs) SADDLESOREREVIEW.BLOGSPOT.COM. OH YEAH!!!!!
Thursday, June 23, 2005
i feel photovoltaic today
liberace was not a musician. he sucked as a musician. he was a performer/showman who happened to play the piano. he played it technically perfect, each note played just as it was written. so how could he have sucked?
feeling. the music he played had as much soul as a vampire. he was all flash and glitter, no substance.
when i play the guitar, i play other people's songs, other people's music. i listen to how they play, i listen to the timing and phrasing and such, and i do my best to ape them. frankly i suck, and i'm not being modest, i really suck, but i like to play and amuse myself.
but i've been thinking....do i have a "right" to play the music? no, that is not the right words, but, what i am trying to say is...do i have any soul?
i do not play like a man who went down to the mississsippi delta and waited to sell my soul at the crossroads, not even close. when i play, it feels (to me) empty. i used to play AC/DC's "you shook me all night long" note for note, right along with angus, i even did the headbob thing (when i was alone in my room sure that noone could see). i hit all the notes just as they were played, but did it have any feeling behind it? did it have any ass?
now, when i tool around the fretboard, i play a riff here and a lick there, but i wonder, does my voice come out? i think not. music can be and should be an expression, you should feel the passion, the pain, the ecstasy, in each song. there are songs that, when you listen to them, you can feel the smile of a pretty woman, her eyes connecting with your soul, sunshine bouncing off her hair. there are songs where you can feel the empty void of lonliness and despair, or the electricity you feel in that first two seconds when the band takes the stage, it is still dark, and they play that first ripping loud guitar chord, the first two seconds when, no matter how packed in you are, everyone surges forward and you feel like you are trying to disprove that phyics law about no two solid bodies existing in the same space. (if i could bottle that energy and sell it, it would be bigger than solar powered crack).
that is how music should sound, but i don't hear it when i play. ok, so musician is not my primary or secondary or even tertiary occupation, it is a hobby, something i do for myself and no one else. but when i play, i wonder if i am doing Music a diservice, if i am being somehow sacrilgious and profane towards Music.
i know i have some feelings to draw on. i know i have pain and lonliness (at least, it sure hurts like i do), joy and lust, yet i cannot seem to translate that into music, as much as i might want to. if i try to play something with attitude, something that sounds like a sultry vixen swishing towards you in a smoky bar, stilletto heels clicking on the floor as she gives you a "hunry tiger ready to eat it's prey" look, i usually end up sounding like how you would imagine steven hawking playing a guitar. it's like a language where i can say the words but i dont' really know what they mean and i can't make any sentances myself, i can only repeat what is in the phrasebook.
can anyone, with enough instruction and practice, play a musical instrument beautifully? or can only those people who have had significant emotional highs or lows play? if you cannot seem to convey your feelings, is it possible you just don't have feelings deep enough to convey? or can they be too shallow? is it possibl that some people just shouldnt' bother playing a musical instrument? almost...not worthy enough to? what if musical instruments were a way to talk to god, would only those who could qualify as "priests" or "preistesses" be allowed?
that would be a kinda neat story, a culture who uses music as a religion, and only priests can play instruments....hmmmm....
i wonder if liberace ever lounged around in his bazillion dollar mansion, bathing in caviar and champagne, worrying about it.
feeling. the music he played had as much soul as a vampire. he was all flash and glitter, no substance.
when i play the guitar, i play other people's songs, other people's music. i listen to how they play, i listen to the timing and phrasing and such, and i do my best to ape them. frankly i suck, and i'm not being modest, i really suck, but i like to play and amuse myself.
but i've been thinking....do i have a "right" to play the music? no, that is not the right words, but, what i am trying to say is...do i have any soul?
i do not play like a man who went down to the mississsippi delta and waited to sell my soul at the crossroads, not even close. when i play, it feels (to me) empty. i used to play AC/DC's "you shook me all night long" note for note, right along with angus, i even did the headbob thing (when i was alone in my room sure that noone could see). i hit all the notes just as they were played, but did it have any feeling behind it? did it have any ass?
now, when i tool around the fretboard, i play a riff here and a lick there, but i wonder, does my voice come out? i think not. music can be and should be an expression, you should feel the passion, the pain, the ecstasy, in each song. there are songs that, when you listen to them, you can feel the smile of a pretty woman, her eyes connecting with your soul, sunshine bouncing off her hair. there are songs where you can feel the empty void of lonliness and despair, or the electricity you feel in that first two seconds when the band takes the stage, it is still dark, and they play that first ripping loud guitar chord, the first two seconds when, no matter how packed in you are, everyone surges forward and you feel like you are trying to disprove that phyics law about no two solid bodies existing in the same space. (if i could bottle that energy and sell it, it would be bigger than solar powered crack).
that is how music should sound, but i don't hear it when i play. ok, so musician is not my primary or secondary or even tertiary occupation, it is a hobby, something i do for myself and no one else. but when i play, i wonder if i am doing Music a diservice, if i am being somehow sacrilgious and profane towards Music.
i know i have some feelings to draw on. i know i have pain and lonliness (at least, it sure hurts like i do), joy and lust, yet i cannot seem to translate that into music, as much as i might want to. if i try to play something with attitude, something that sounds like a sultry vixen swishing towards you in a smoky bar, stilletto heels clicking on the floor as she gives you a "hunry tiger ready to eat it's prey" look, i usually end up sounding like how you would imagine steven hawking playing a guitar. it's like a language where i can say the words but i dont' really know what they mean and i can't make any sentances myself, i can only repeat what is in the phrasebook.
can anyone, with enough instruction and practice, play a musical instrument beautifully? or can only those people who have had significant emotional highs or lows play? if you cannot seem to convey your feelings, is it possible you just don't have feelings deep enough to convey? or can they be too shallow? is it possibl that some people just shouldnt' bother playing a musical instrument? almost...not worthy enough to? what if musical instruments were a way to talk to god, would only those who could qualify as "priests" or "preistesses" be allowed?
that would be a kinda neat story, a culture who uses music as a religion, and only priests can play instruments....hmmmm....
i wonder if liberace ever lounged around in his bazillion dollar mansion, bathing in caviar and champagne, worrying about it.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
THE SUNDAY PHILOSOPHY CLUB by Alex McCall Smith
what, was this guy paid by the word? because it took him 247 pages to tell a story that only took about 60 pages to tell, and i am being generous.
so a 40 year old scottish lady sees a guy fall to his death. fine, no big deal. but this is supposed to be a murder mystery, and it takes another twenty or more pages until the main character figures out that she is involved in a murder mystery. *I* know she is involved, *You* know she is involved, it's right there on the fucking book cover, why does it take so damn long to get to it?
then, as if that is not bad enough, the next hundred or so pages has the story moving along slightly slower than an iceberg drifting across a lake with no wind. finally, the story picks up in the last 50 pages and gets over with.
so what had been going on the whole time? some freind of the main character's love life story, which has absolutely nothing to do with the main story at all. it's like Smith wanted to write two short stories and decided to meld them into one story, or like he needed padding for his main story, which is supposed to be a murder mystery, but turns out to be a big boring drawn out waste of time.
the ending seems like Smith figures he dragged the thing on long enough, and is resolved in one page. BAM. just like that.
oh, and as for the "philosophy" part of it, it is just for background coloring, really has nothing to do with anything, and it looks like Smith read "Kant for beginners" to get a few ideas to throw in to the story. the main character happens to edit a philosphy zine or something.
i dont' care how wonderful the no. 1 african ladies detective agency (or whatever) is (and really, is there a lot of detecting needed in botswana or the kalihari desert?) this book is boring. dull and boring. and i have no desire to read anything else by this guy. i know everyone has a bad day and all that, but this soured me on him. each sentence of this book is a perfectly good sentance, but they don't link up to make a good story. they don't quite fit right, there is no flow. and actually, maybe it's me, but the meter and dialogue seemed a bit off, as if this was translated or something.
i didnt' like it. maybe if you like tepid, tame, quaint stories that take thier time, like a slow train through the countryside with a milquetoast view, than this is right up your alley. i wouldn't reccommend it though, you would spend your time better reading an agatha christie book and "Kant for beginners."
so a 40 year old scottish lady sees a guy fall to his death. fine, no big deal. but this is supposed to be a murder mystery, and it takes another twenty or more pages until the main character figures out that she is involved in a murder mystery. *I* know she is involved, *You* know she is involved, it's right there on the fucking book cover, why does it take so damn long to get to it?
then, as if that is not bad enough, the next hundred or so pages has the story moving along slightly slower than an iceberg drifting across a lake with no wind. finally, the story picks up in the last 50 pages and gets over with.
so what had been going on the whole time? some freind of the main character's love life story, which has absolutely nothing to do with the main story at all. it's like Smith wanted to write two short stories and decided to meld them into one story, or like he needed padding for his main story, which is supposed to be a murder mystery, but turns out to be a big boring drawn out waste of time.
the ending seems like Smith figures he dragged the thing on long enough, and is resolved in one page. BAM. just like that.
oh, and as for the "philosophy" part of it, it is just for background coloring, really has nothing to do with anything, and it looks like Smith read "Kant for beginners" to get a few ideas to throw in to the story. the main character happens to edit a philosphy zine or something.
i dont' care how wonderful the no. 1 african ladies detective agency (or whatever) is (and really, is there a lot of detecting needed in botswana or the kalihari desert?) this book is boring. dull and boring. and i have no desire to read anything else by this guy. i know everyone has a bad day and all that, but this soured me on him. each sentence of this book is a perfectly good sentance, but they don't link up to make a good story. they don't quite fit right, there is no flow. and actually, maybe it's me, but the meter and dialogue seemed a bit off, as if this was translated or something.
i didnt' like it. maybe if you like tepid, tame, quaint stories that take thier time, like a slow train through the countryside with a milquetoast view, than this is right up your alley. i wouldn't reccommend it though, you would spend your time better reading an agatha christie book and "Kant for beginners."
Monday, June 20, 2005
i am madly in love with tina fey. seriously.
i woke up today to the sound of my Eton Porche design P'132 am/fm/shortwave and xm radio, which is my alarm clock, conducted a quick toilett, annointning myself with a spritz of my Dolce and Gabanna parfume before donning my Armani wool blend suit, which i wear when i feel like dressing down and giving off a lazy bum appearance.
it was raining madly, the sky a menacing grey, angry heavy drops of rain pelting the ground like a hail of bullets from a stuka over world war II germany. i grabbed my trusty Burberry oversized umberella and headed out for a capuccino and a porcini and red onion omlette at my favorite local bistro.
i was immediately taken aback by the hellish sight that befell me, as if i had walked through alice's looking glass directly into a lovecraftian world of horror and the macabre. snakes. all around me were snakes. snakes of all sizes and breeds; asps, vipers, constrictors, the lot of them. what had caused this eerie phenomenon?
the streets were empty of traffic, human and machine, and other than the pulsing of the ground caused by the uncountable number of snakes, there was not one sign of life. i realized then and there that my whole reason for existence, the cosmic hand that caused the breakage of the condom my father, a traveling used shoe salesman, used on the night he made oh so sweet love to my mother, a ticket taker at the dollar movie theater, did so only so i could be born and live to this moment....the moment that I, Swanky McSmooth, would be the savior of the planet.
thinking quickly, i dashed, with the speed and grace of the bastard mutant child of a world champion boxer and a prima ballerina, back into my home. i had to think fast. suddenly, just like obi wan in the first star wars movie when luke was flying into the very heart of the death star, a vision appeared, giving much needed guidance. it was my grandmother, a tough old italian lady who was brought up on the hard knox streets of brooklyn during the depression. a crusty old woman who, much like the cheap toilet paper you get at the dollar store, was rough and tough and didnt' take shit off of anyone.
following her guidance, i took three of my best Henkle Chef knives, an old spring from a mattress that i had "used" until it could no longer support even the weight of the anorexic olsen twin, and some regular everyday gaffer's tape, commonly found on any set in hollywood. i quickly rigged a three pronged slicing machine, and donning my K2 Radical 100 inline Skates with big wheel technology, i glided my way out into the reptile infested rain soaked hell that my world had become and started dispensing some no shit, bad ass, Swanky McCool brand justice.
the last words of advice my spirited grandmother gave me before heading back to whatever eternity she was in was: remove the head, it's the only way to stop them.
i glided along the slick roads, chopping heads off of snakes, but there seemed to be no end. at one point, after a few hours, i was so tired, i had to stop and refresh myself with a vannilla flavored GU packet and some Gatorade Ice. as i regrouped my will and strenght, i lazily gazed at the seemingly eternal amount of snakes, and i caught a pattern. i noticed a concentration of snakes off to the east, and when looked at from the broad picture, it was a giant arrow pointing the direction that i realized i must journey. the source off this nightmare.
i skated hard and fast, chopping heads off of any snake i could as i went in the one direction, my goal. eventually, i realized what the vision had said. remove the head. she didn't mean the head of each snake, but the main snake, and i had found it. bloated and reeking, like anna nicole smith before the liposuction and the atrocious appearance on that award show, it lay before me. one large, black, evil snake. i realized my three knives were too small to do the job, but what my knives lacked in size, my heart made up in....um....heart. i jumped upon its scaly writhing body, the rain all but blinding me, and making it's skin more wet and slippery than a girl who has just been kissed by johnny depp. i skated my way up to its large head, the size of an all new Classic Mini Cooper, and threw my knives into it's eye, causing it to bow it's head in pain. when the head was close to my wet and aching body, i punched it, right in the forehead, just like i wanna do to all the fucktards who piss me off on a daily basis, and the force of that one blow, with all the pent up anger and frustration, felled the beast, rendering it more helpless than gary coleman playing one on one hoops against shaq.
i don't know which happened first, the death of the evil beast or the stopping of the rain and the emergence of the beautiful sun, but all at once, as if wakened from a dream, i realized the snake was dead, all its minions were slowly....for lack of a better term, "melting" into the ground, and the sky was clearing up like a teen ending his awkward acne years.
other than that, i had a pretty boring ass day.
it was raining madly, the sky a menacing grey, angry heavy drops of rain pelting the ground like a hail of bullets from a stuka over world war II germany. i grabbed my trusty Burberry oversized umberella and headed out for a capuccino and a porcini and red onion omlette at my favorite local bistro.
i was immediately taken aback by the hellish sight that befell me, as if i had walked through alice's looking glass directly into a lovecraftian world of horror and the macabre. snakes. all around me were snakes. snakes of all sizes and breeds; asps, vipers, constrictors, the lot of them. what had caused this eerie phenomenon?
the streets were empty of traffic, human and machine, and other than the pulsing of the ground caused by the uncountable number of snakes, there was not one sign of life. i realized then and there that my whole reason for existence, the cosmic hand that caused the breakage of the condom my father, a traveling used shoe salesman, used on the night he made oh so sweet love to my mother, a ticket taker at the dollar movie theater, did so only so i could be born and live to this moment....the moment that I, Swanky McSmooth, would be the savior of the planet.
thinking quickly, i dashed, with the speed and grace of the bastard mutant child of a world champion boxer and a prima ballerina, back into my home. i had to think fast. suddenly, just like obi wan in the first star wars movie when luke was flying into the very heart of the death star, a vision appeared, giving much needed guidance. it was my grandmother, a tough old italian lady who was brought up on the hard knox streets of brooklyn during the depression. a crusty old woman who, much like the cheap toilet paper you get at the dollar store, was rough and tough and didnt' take shit off of anyone.
following her guidance, i took three of my best Henkle Chef knives, an old spring from a mattress that i had "used" until it could no longer support even the weight of the anorexic olsen twin, and some regular everyday gaffer's tape, commonly found on any set in hollywood. i quickly rigged a three pronged slicing machine, and donning my K2 Radical 100 inline Skates with big wheel technology, i glided my way out into the reptile infested rain soaked hell that my world had become and started dispensing some no shit, bad ass, Swanky McCool brand justice.
the last words of advice my spirited grandmother gave me before heading back to whatever eternity she was in was: remove the head, it's the only way to stop them.
i glided along the slick roads, chopping heads off of snakes, but there seemed to be no end. at one point, after a few hours, i was so tired, i had to stop and refresh myself with a vannilla flavored GU packet and some Gatorade Ice. as i regrouped my will and strenght, i lazily gazed at the seemingly eternal amount of snakes, and i caught a pattern. i noticed a concentration of snakes off to the east, and when looked at from the broad picture, it was a giant arrow pointing the direction that i realized i must journey. the source off this nightmare.
i skated hard and fast, chopping heads off of any snake i could as i went in the one direction, my goal. eventually, i realized what the vision had said. remove the head. she didn't mean the head of each snake, but the main snake, and i had found it. bloated and reeking, like anna nicole smith before the liposuction and the atrocious appearance on that award show, it lay before me. one large, black, evil snake. i realized my three knives were too small to do the job, but what my knives lacked in size, my heart made up in....um....heart. i jumped upon its scaly writhing body, the rain all but blinding me, and making it's skin more wet and slippery than a girl who has just been kissed by johnny depp. i skated my way up to its large head, the size of an all new Classic Mini Cooper, and threw my knives into it's eye, causing it to bow it's head in pain. when the head was close to my wet and aching body, i punched it, right in the forehead, just like i wanna do to all the fucktards who piss me off on a daily basis, and the force of that one blow, with all the pent up anger and frustration, felled the beast, rendering it more helpless than gary coleman playing one on one hoops against shaq.
i don't know which happened first, the death of the evil beast or the stopping of the rain and the emergence of the beautiful sun, but all at once, as if wakened from a dream, i realized the snake was dead, all its minions were slowly....for lack of a better term, "melting" into the ground, and the sky was clearing up like a teen ending his awkward acne years.
other than that, i had a pretty boring ass day.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
i'm not responding to the comments cause i am not (in my fucked up little mind) really blogging just yet, all this doesn't count. so don't take it personal. i am actually thinking of disabling comments for a few reasons: 1 - i'm too lazy to respond; B - i dont' want people to feel obligated to say something and comment, it takes pressure off, can't you just read and enjoy; and thirdly, it feels (in my fucked up little mind) like a competition and becomes some sort of quota thing. that said i want to keep the comments so anyone who wants to comment can, if you want to tell me i am wrong or give your opinion on something, i don't want to impede that. so i might disable comments for a bit, until i am full on blogging in october. then again, maybe not. whatever.
so my new thing, when people say "thank you" i like to reply "mastercard" because, mastercard is so worldly and so welcome, so instead of saying "you're welcome" i can say "mastercard" and not only say you are welcome but compliment them on thier worldliness. most people don't get it though, which gives me the extra fun of explaining it, cause really, the fun is in the explanation.....
my other new thing at work is to sign all my work related emails "yours in christ, my name." i am not poking fun at christians or any of that, i am poking fun at the dumb tags people use, and to do that would throw everyone off. they would wonder if i turned born again or what was going on, and they couldnt' complain or stop me cause that would be some kind of religious persecution or whatever, and it can't be offensive to anyone, except maybe a satanist, and i dont' think we have any of those, although i wouldn't be surprised......
and i know i've said this before, but the blogging here will be intermitent, until october, when i am hopefully settled and ready and rarin to go.....
so my new thing, when people say "thank you" i like to reply "mastercard" because, mastercard is so worldly and so welcome, so instead of saying "you're welcome" i can say "mastercard" and not only say you are welcome but compliment them on thier worldliness. most people don't get it though, which gives me the extra fun of explaining it, cause really, the fun is in the explanation.....
my other new thing at work is to sign all my work related emails "yours in christ, my name." i am not poking fun at christians or any of that, i am poking fun at the dumb tags people use, and to do that would throw everyone off. they would wonder if i turned born again or what was going on, and they couldnt' complain or stop me cause that would be some kind of religious persecution or whatever, and it can't be offensive to anyone, except maybe a satanist, and i dont' think we have any of those, although i wouldn't be surprised......
and i know i've said this before, but the blogging here will be intermitent, until october, when i am hopefully settled and ready and rarin to go.....
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
the loblolly pine is my favorite tree
you know the hotel bar they used in the movie "lost in translation"? that little jazz bar? i drank there. a friend of mine, joe mama, is leaving, so crusty mcfuckstain and i took him there for a goodbye cocktail. getting there was like indiana jones and the temple of booze. we had to solve some riddles, fight some pygmies, i had to use my bad ass animal tracking skills, we had to swing on vines across chasms when the rope bridge broke, etc etc, but we made it, and it was worth it, totaly.
we know where it is, it's on the 52nd floor of the park hyatt in shinjuku, and we knew what building the hotel is in (the hotel is in a huge ass office building), but once inside the building, we had to ascend to the bar, which proved a bit daunting. after a series of escalator rides that lead nowhere, we got on the trail, and had to walk a circuitous path, through a small boutique deli/bakery, through various lobbies, through some extremely cool and wierd library, or a room that looked like a library, it was like like the map room in lara croft's mansion, take two different elevators, and finally, we were there. it was spectacular.
the elevator doors opened and i swear i heard that "ah ahhh" angels sing on tv when someone opens up a treasure chest or gets a good idea. we were greeted by over freindly ass kissing staff, and, since we were there before 8 p.m. we didn't have to pay the $20 per person cover charge (bonus!). we rat pack-ed it, martinis and manhattens, (we each only had one, all drinks cost 17 dollors) listend to piped in jazz, took pictures sitting at the table and of the drinks (artistically crafted and swank as swank can be) , looked at the commanding view, etc etc. it was a real moment. and that was the thing....it was a moment.
the business guy (round eye gaijin) a few tables over eating and drinking, he most likely barely took notice of his surroundings, it was another hotel restaurant/bar for him. he was on an expense account, or he was used to the prices, but he probably didn't think anything of a $17 dollar drink, or a jazz bar on the 52nd floor. he was most likely used to that level of lifestyle, and it had become common place, everyday.
when you get a mcludicrous burger and super size fries at mcdonald's, it's not a noteworthy event, you are just getting a burger. you don't notice the tile floors, the smell of the cooking oil, piped in crappy music, whatever. and why should you? it's a common event. that is what this place is to some people, a common event. so "success" has it's price, you get so used to a certain quality that you no longer take pleasure in it, or appreciate it, it becomes routine, it loses it's "holy crap look at us!" feeling. i'm sure a daily diet of that tends to warp the sense of self being and worth and causes some to lose touch with the hard cold reality.
or maybe they do take pleasure in it, and it is not routine. maybe they enjoy it and appreiciate it as much as regular people do. i mean, really, swanky or not, it *is* just a bar on the 52nd floor.
we know where it is, it's on the 52nd floor of the park hyatt in shinjuku, and we knew what building the hotel is in (the hotel is in a huge ass office building), but once inside the building, we had to ascend to the bar, which proved a bit daunting. after a series of escalator rides that lead nowhere, we got on the trail, and had to walk a circuitous path, through a small boutique deli/bakery, through various lobbies, through some extremely cool and wierd library, or a room that looked like a library, it was like like the map room in lara croft's mansion, take two different elevators, and finally, we were there. it was spectacular.
the elevator doors opened and i swear i heard that "ah ahhh" angels sing on tv when someone opens up a treasure chest or gets a good idea. we were greeted by over freindly ass kissing staff, and, since we were there before 8 p.m. we didn't have to pay the $20 per person cover charge (bonus!). we rat pack-ed it, martinis and manhattens, (we each only had one, all drinks cost 17 dollors) listend to piped in jazz, took pictures sitting at the table and of the drinks (artistically crafted and swank as swank can be) , looked at the commanding view, etc etc. it was a real moment. and that was the thing....it was a moment.
the business guy (round eye gaijin) a few tables over eating and drinking, he most likely barely took notice of his surroundings, it was another hotel restaurant/bar for him. he was on an expense account, or he was used to the prices, but he probably didn't think anything of a $17 dollar drink, or a jazz bar on the 52nd floor. he was most likely used to that level of lifestyle, and it had become common place, everyday.
when you get a mcludicrous burger and super size fries at mcdonald's, it's not a noteworthy event, you are just getting a burger. you don't notice the tile floors, the smell of the cooking oil, piped in crappy music, whatever. and why should you? it's a common event. that is what this place is to some people, a common event. so "success" has it's price, you get so used to a certain quality that you no longer take pleasure in it, or appreciate it, it becomes routine, it loses it's "holy crap look at us!" feeling. i'm sure a daily diet of that tends to warp the sense of self being and worth and causes some to lose touch with the hard cold reality.
or maybe they do take pleasure in it, and it is not routine. maybe they enjoy it and appreiciate it as much as regular people do. i mean, really, swanky or not, it *is* just a bar on the 52nd floor.
Sunday, June 12, 2005
disposable roses
she was a moon faced assasin of the soul, and why she chose him as her victim will never be known. perhaps she saw him as an easy target. he was, after all, like an egg: a tough looking exterior that was in truth fragile, and hid a soft center, as opposed to her being more like a peach: soft and sweet on the outside, hiding a gnarled, hard, bitter pit in her core.
she caught him on a rebound, and ensnared him in a trap so well devised he allowed himself to believe the lie that he wanted to end up with her in the first place. for years he tried to get rid of her. he told her outright it would end, but she would turn it around and he before he knew what happened, he would stay. he was unfaithful (but how can you be unfaithful to someone you don't really belong to anyway?) on numerous occasions, but out of "love" she always forgave him, showing how magnanimous she was to all who saw, when all he saw was a more vulpine creature each day. she would taunt him, hiding behind a joke, asking him why he stayed with her when he could have left anytime. but when he brought up leaving, she made sure it never happened.
how could he tell others she was cursed, evil, a parasite thriving off of his misery. they both had jobs that required business trips of up to three months, so they spent a good portion of each year seperated. these were brief respites to him, mini oasis in a desert of lonliness and despair. during these times he would flourish, lose weight, become strong and healthy, happy, enjoy hobbies, but when they were reunited, he would gain weight, get sick, anything he enjoyed ususally came to an end. he suddenly didn't have time for his hobbies or friends, his passions and pursuites, and although she would encourage him to continue, he could feel her will preventing any such nonsense. he often walked around humming a lilting tune, others thought he was happy, but only he knew it was a threnody to himself.
she would walk into the room and only then he would bang his head on an open cabinet that was closed moments ago, or if he were frying dinner the oil would spurt and burn him only when she entered the room. he would only get hurt when she was around, he would ruin a meal he had cooked perfectly numerous times before, or break something he cherished. she was bad luck, pure and tangible. her evil would seep into his dreams as she slept comfortably next to him. in the morning, he would awake sick and tired, and she would be refreshed.
but who would believe him? who could he tell this to? how do you tell people who have replaced thier religion and belief in the supernatural with science and skeptisism that you are married to a succubus? you don't.
and so he didn't, knowing that he could never leave. even if he managed to just up and walk out one day, change his name and move to south america, he knew her jealousy and hunger for his suffering would follow him to the farthest nook and cranny of the globe.
and so he smiled, and joked, and accepted his life on the cross, because really, how do you fight against something only you know exists?
she caught him on a rebound, and ensnared him in a trap so well devised he allowed himself to believe the lie that he wanted to end up with her in the first place. for years he tried to get rid of her. he told her outright it would end, but she would turn it around and he before he knew what happened, he would stay. he was unfaithful (but how can you be unfaithful to someone you don't really belong to anyway?) on numerous occasions, but out of "love" she always forgave him, showing how magnanimous she was to all who saw, when all he saw was a more vulpine creature each day. she would taunt him, hiding behind a joke, asking him why he stayed with her when he could have left anytime. but when he brought up leaving, she made sure it never happened.
how could he tell others she was cursed, evil, a parasite thriving off of his misery. they both had jobs that required business trips of up to three months, so they spent a good portion of each year seperated. these were brief respites to him, mini oasis in a desert of lonliness and despair. during these times he would flourish, lose weight, become strong and healthy, happy, enjoy hobbies, but when they were reunited, he would gain weight, get sick, anything he enjoyed ususally came to an end. he suddenly didn't have time for his hobbies or friends, his passions and pursuites, and although she would encourage him to continue, he could feel her will preventing any such nonsense. he often walked around humming a lilting tune, others thought he was happy, but only he knew it was a threnody to himself.
she would walk into the room and only then he would bang his head on an open cabinet that was closed moments ago, or if he were frying dinner the oil would spurt and burn him only when she entered the room. he would only get hurt when she was around, he would ruin a meal he had cooked perfectly numerous times before, or break something he cherished. she was bad luck, pure and tangible. her evil would seep into his dreams as she slept comfortably next to him. in the morning, he would awake sick and tired, and she would be refreshed.
but who would believe him? who could he tell this to? how do you tell people who have replaced thier religion and belief in the supernatural with science and skeptisism that you are married to a succubus? you don't.
and so he didn't, knowing that he could never leave. even if he managed to just up and walk out one day, change his name and move to south america, he knew her jealousy and hunger for his suffering would follow him to the farthest nook and cranny of the globe.
and so he smiled, and joked, and accepted his life on the cross, because really, how do you fight against something only you know exists?
SUNDAY MONEY by Jeff MacGreggor
Boogity boogity boogity, let's go reading!
So a guy who isn't really a hardore NASCAR fan at all ups and buys a motorhome and he and his wife (who sounds like the coolest chick on the planet) follow the NASCAR circuit like hippies following the greatful dead.
the book is a travel narrative based around stockcar racing, with the history of the sport and organization, anecdotes, interviews, and a regular guy's view of the culture. the less you know about NASCAR, the better, you will learn all about it. as long as you don't absolutely despise the sport, you will probably enjoy the hell out of this book.
the author is quite unbiased. he doesn't just praise NASCAR, he tells the good and the bad, and gives some insight into the whole shebang that touches on things i never even thought about, like how, weather you like it or not, if you buy anything at your supermarket, you are linked to NASCAR.
the book is well written, funny, poetic at times, and i honestly felt like i was living in his motorhome with him and travelling right there with him. the only people i might not reccommend this book to are the hardcore fans, who already know just about everything this guy talks about, but then again, they might enjoy this guy's opinion and experiences, so yeah, i would reccommend it to everyone i talk to. yeehaw!
So a guy who isn't really a hardore NASCAR fan at all ups and buys a motorhome and he and his wife (who sounds like the coolest chick on the planet) follow the NASCAR circuit like hippies following the greatful dead.
the book is a travel narrative based around stockcar racing, with the history of the sport and organization, anecdotes, interviews, and a regular guy's view of the culture. the less you know about NASCAR, the better, you will learn all about it. as long as you don't absolutely despise the sport, you will probably enjoy the hell out of this book.
the author is quite unbiased. he doesn't just praise NASCAR, he tells the good and the bad, and gives some insight into the whole shebang that touches on things i never even thought about, like how, weather you like it or not, if you buy anything at your supermarket, you are linked to NASCAR.
the book is well written, funny, poetic at times, and i honestly felt like i was living in his motorhome with him and travelling right there with him. the only people i might not reccommend this book to are the hardcore fans, who already know just about everything this guy talks about, but then again, they might enjoy this guy's opinion and experiences, so yeah, i would reccommend it to everyone i talk to. yeehaw!
Friday, June 10, 2005
scrotum if you got em
i know this guy with this smoking hot korean girlfriend who make him korean food and she is way sexy, even though she is a bit petite, and i tend to like a bit more meat on the bone....and i thought, damn, if i had a korean girlfriend, then i could be having crazy hot mad sex with a korean chick *AND* i could eat korean food a lot. then i thought, i wonder if korean guys in korea ever tell thier freinds "dude, i got to have crazy hot mad sex with this korean chick, and then she made me tasty korean food."
Thursday, June 09, 2005
angry monkeys flicking feces
motherfucking cocksmoking bastards, the lot of em'
it turns out, i fucked up on the haloscan, and when i fixed it, i lost all comments. so when you come here and don't see your comments, don't get all upset or any of that, it has nothing to do with anything, other than i had to make some changes and i lost what i had. no need to re-comment or any of that. ok? ok.
still in the "getting settled" stages. i have much to say, but i'm kind of saving it up. it will leak out eventually.
i call my co-worker "Crusty McFuckstain" and have lots to gripe out him. you will get to read it all soon enough.
i am drunk right now.
it turns out, i fucked up on the haloscan, and when i fixed it, i lost all comments. so when you come here and don't see your comments, don't get all upset or any of that, it has nothing to do with anything, other than i had to make some changes and i lost what i had. no need to re-comment or any of that. ok? ok.
still in the "getting settled" stages. i have much to say, but i'm kind of saving it up. it will leak out eventually.
i call my co-worker "Crusty McFuckstain" and have lots to gripe out him. you will get to read it all soon enough.
i am drunk right now.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
felicitous collisions
many cultures, asian and some european, have that thing where you take off your shoes before entering a house, which makes a whole lotta sense really. you dont' want to track the dirt and mud and crap from outside all over your nice carpets or floors, do you tough guy? no, you don't. so it makes damn good sense. this, of course, has led to a higher sock market than, say, hawaii has, where they only wear flip flops.
well, wouldn't it be cool if there was a culture where you removed your pants when you entered a house? you come in, take off your pants, and have dinner, hang out, whatever. first off, i think it would help to bond with others a whole lot quicker, cause you would be so much more comfortable. also, it would be great for me to show off my cool skull and crossbones boxer shorts that glow in the dark. why do i have such cool boxer shorts anyway? no one sees them but me. if there was a culture that took off thier pants when you were inside the house, then i can flaunt my kick ass underwear, and the underwear market would soar like never before.
but what about those who prefer to go commando? well, there have been many a day where i walked out the door singing tom petty's "free fallin" using the words "free ballin" let me tell you, and i think that if i were to visit a house in a culture where i would have to take off my pants, that culture would probably be used to it, and going commando would be no big deal. nudity and genitalia swingin in the wind would be as commonplace as tits on a european beach, no big deal.
of course, then there is the whole "i don't wanna go over to bill's house, his floor is dirty and his carpet is nasty, and i dont' wear underwear, and the last time i was there i left with cheeto crumbs on my ass. so there is that whole side of the dynamic.
the other cool thing is, it would be hard to hide stuff, so if you are freinds with a kleptomaniac, you wouldn't feel as suspicious. and if you are a mob guy, you would be able to tell if the guy has a gun on his ankle or down his pants. also, you don't have to worry about spilling things on your pants and staining them, or getting them all wrinkled.
anyway, i still think it would be cool to take off your pants when you enter a house. but for now, i will enjoy at least taking my shoes off. really, it's a great idea and i don't know why everyone doesn't do it.
well, wouldn't it be cool if there was a culture where you removed your pants when you entered a house? you come in, take off your pants, and have dinner, hang out, whatever. first off, i think it would help to bond with others a whole lot quicker, cause you would be so much more comfortable. also, it would be great for me to show off my cool skull and crossbones boxer shorts that glow in the dark. why do i have such cool boxer shorts anyway? no one sees them but me. if there was a culture that took off thier pants when you were inside the house, then i can flaunt my kick ass underwear, and the underwear market would soar like never before.
but what about those who prefer to go commando? well, there have been many a day where i walked out the door singing tom petty's "free fallin" using the words "free ballin" let me tell you, and i think that if i were to visit a house in a culture where i would have to take off my pants, that culture would probably be used to it, and going commando would be no big deal. nudity and genitalia swingin in the wind would be as commonplace as tits on a european beach, no big deal.
of course, then there is the whole "i don't wanna go over to bill's house, his floor is dirty and his carpet is nasty, and i dont' wear underwear, and the last time i was there i left with cheeto crumbs on my ass. so there is that whole side of the dynamic.
the other cool thing is, it would be hard to hide stuff, so if you are freinds with a kleptomaniac, you wouldn't feel as suspicious. and if you are a mob guy, you would be able to tell if the guy has a gun on his ankle or down his pants. also, you don't have to worry about spilling things on your pants and staining them, or getting them all wrinkled.
anyway, i still think it would be cool to take off your pants when you enter a house. but for now, i will enjoy at least taking my shoes off. really, it's a great idea and i don't know why everyone doesn't do it.
Saturday, June 04, 2005
FREAKONOMICS, by Levitt and Dubner
if i told you the reason for the drop in crime was actually the legalization of abortion, you'd be all offended and incredulous. if i told you a gang that deals in crack is set up exactly like corporate america, just like macdonalds, or that the ku klux klan and real estate agents are comparable when viewed from their motives, you would think i was nuttier than the log of poop you flushed this morning.
well, self proclaimed "weakest guy in the world," super nerd steven levitt, can prove it. so, IN YOUR FACE, nay sayers. if nerds were cool, this guy would be brad pitt, johnny depp, and the lead singer of social distortion all rolled up into one. he uses economic principles, tools, and theories to find out what is really going on with things we take for granted or don't even think about.
how about this: all that crap you are doing as a parent is mostly a waste of time, and the little stuff you aren't even thinking about is what is shaping your child. whaddya think about that, smart guy? using alien technology (not really, but it might as well be to me) levitt, an economist who doesn't care about the economy or money or any of that crap, whips up algorithms and other mad science crap like martha stewart whips up sunday brunch, and uses assloads of data to back up his claims. ASSLOADS i tell ya...
the guy either can't write, or has no desire to write, so the book is actually written, or co-written at least, by stephen dubner (a tale of two steves), some new york journalist guy. the book is well and clearly written, entertaining, easily understood by morons like me, and makes me question the current logic about things, like why parents name their kids stupid ass names, and what effect it has on their overall outcome (explained in the book). if more books were written like this, more people would read.
i would definitely recommend this book, in a second, without a thought, to anyone who would listen. you don't' have to like, care about, or understand economics, it has nothing to do with econ at all. it has to do with the world that you deal with every freaking day of your life. the book gets your brain to get off it's ass, take a brisk jog around the park, maybe do a few reps on the lat pulldown machine, and you feel better for it when you are done.
well, self proclaimed "weakest guy in the world," super nerd steven levitt, can prove it. so, IN YOUR FACE, nay sayers. if nerds were cool, this guy would be brad pitt, johnny depp, and the lead singer of social distortion all rolled up into one. he uses economic principles, tools, and theories to find out what is really going on with things we take for granted or don't even think about.
how about this: all that crap you are doing as a parent is mostly a waste of time, and the little stuff you aren't even thinking about is what is shaping your child. whaddya think about that, smart guy? using alien technology (not really, but it might as well be to me) levitt, an economist who doesn't care about the economy or money or any of that crap, whips up algorithms and other mad science crap like martha stewart whips up sunday brunch, and uses assloads of data to back up his claims. ASSLOADS i tell ya...
the guy either can't write, or has no desire to write, so the book is actually written, or co-written at least, by stephen dubner (a tale of two steves), some new york journalist guy. the book is well and clearly written, entertaining, easily understood by morons like me, and makes me question the current logic about things, like why parents name their kids stupid ass names, and what effect it has on their overall outcome (explained in the book). if more books were written like this, more people would read.
i would definitely recommend this book, in a second, without a thought, to anyone who would listen. you don't' have to like, care about, or understand economics, it has nothing to do with econ at all. it has to do with the world that you deal with every freaking day of your life. the book gets your brain to get off it's ass, take a brisk jog around the park, maybe do a few reps on the lat pulldown machine, and you feel better for it when you are done.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
the journey of a thousand miles begins with going to the bathroom first
you know how gandalf the grey fell into the big pit o' fire and was "lost" and emerged as gandalf the white, different but the same, transformed, etc etc? you know how annakin transformed into darth, and even though there was a bit of annakin left deep inside, he was different, but the same? you don't? so i am the geek here? well, anyway, they did, take my word for it, and so have i. the netwielding gladiator was me, and there is still a large part of him in me, but that persona is finished. i am different now. the kick ass page made by deek and helped by indeterminancy and everyone is wonderful, but i don't want that name back, i'm done with it. you all can do with it as you desire. it can stay up, it can be used, rock on with your bad selves, i am no longer he.
i don't want to start and stop and start and stop, i hate being jerked around, and i don't want to be the guy who does the jerking around either. by the end of this month, i may have to stop writing for about a month and i don't want to do that. on the other foot, i got shit i want to say. i have'nt told anyone about this yet, but since i have had three comments (one was deleted when i changed names and started the haloscan) i know the word is out. i'm not trying to hide, i just don't want a false start, i wanted to make sure i would be around when it started. i will not have a sitemeter, so i have no idea how many or who visit this site.
the other conundrum is thus.....i have two sites, this and "impaled teen productions." i was gonna use this as a place to do just book and film and other reviews, writing about bikes and cycling and such. the impaled teen bit was gonna be my main blog, with the day to day crap and ideas and stories and such. but i don't want two blogs, i just want one. i shall save the other one, i think, and use this one primarily, at least for now.
so here is the deal....if you happen to stop by and find this or whatever, feel free to tell whoever you want to, no problem. but i will write here sporadically, or maybe not at all, not for a while. i will resume full on no kidding late september/mid october, before halloween.
so this is an unofficial start. this is like the dress rehearsal, the product tests, the stretch before the run. i'm not saying anything about this place, not yet, but if you read this and you feel like telling whoever, go on, i don't mind. but i am not fully ready to rock out with my cock out, not just yet.
i don't want to start and stop and start and stop, i hate being jerked around, and i don't want to be the guy who does the jerking around either. by the end of this month, i may have to stop writing for about a month and i don't want to do that. on the other foot, i got shit i want to say. i have'nt told anyone about this yet, but since i have had three comments (one was deleted when i changed names and started the haloscan) i know the word is out. i'm not trying to hide, i just don't want a false start, i wanted to make sure i would be around when it started. i will not have a sitemeter, so i have no idea how many or who visit this site.
the other conundrum is thus.....i have two sites, this and "impaled teen productions." i was gonna use this as a place to do just book and film and other reviews, writing about bikes and cycling and such. the impaled teen bit was gonna be my main blog, with the day to day crap and ideas and stories and such. but i don't want two blogs, i just want one. i shall save the other one, i think, and use this one primarily, at least for now.
so here is the deal....if you happen to stop by and find this or whatever, feel free to tell whoever you want to, no problem. but i will write here sporadically, or maybe not at all, not for a while. i will resume full on no kidding late september/mid october, before halloween.
so this is an unofficial start. this is like the dress rehearsal, the product tests, the stretch before the run. i'm not saying anything about this place, not yet, but if you read this and you feel like telling whoever, go on, i don't mind. but i am not fully ready to rock out with my cock out, not just yet.
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