From Nine Inch Nails' official site:
"Nine Inch Nails will not be performing at the MTV Movie Awards as previously announced. We were set to perform "The Hand That Feeds" with an unmolested straightforward image of George W. Bush as the backdrop. Apparently the image of our president is as offensive to MTV as it is to me. See you on tour this Fall when we return to play in America."
Trent Reznor
5_26_2005
5.26.2005
5.24.2005
5.24.05
7:59pm
Man, am I awesome.
9:07pm
Presque vu: A sense of experiencing something that has not happened yet, but will. Not precognition, exactly, but misplaced memory.
I have this every once in a while. A snatch of something that seems like it will be familiar when it happens. When it does happen (and it has many times) it is chilling. I’m filled with a feeling that time is some palpable substance and that it is flawed or faulty in some way. Very strange. Like this thinness in reality.
On a different note, I am considering buying Marvel Vs. Capcom 2 for the PS2, but I don’t know who I would play it with.
9:17pm
I dream of living in a world without Spanish.
9:18pm
Or Ebonics.
9:19pm
Ebonics doesn’t pop up on spell check, but stromboli does. The Italians must be pissed.
7:59pm
Man, am I awesome.
9:07pm
Presque vu: A sense of experiencing something that has not happened yet, but will. Not precognition, exactly, but misplaced memory.
I have this every once in a while. A snatch of something that seems like it will be familiar when it happens. When it does happen (and it has many times) it is chilling. I’m filled with a feeling that time is some palpable substance and that it is flawed or faulty in some way. Very strange. Like this thinness in reality.
On a different note, I am considering buying Marvel Vs. Capcom 2 for the PS2, but I don’t know who I would play it with.
9:17pm
I dream of living in a world without Spanish.
9:18pm
Or Ebonics.
9:19pm
Ebonics doesn’t pop up on spell check, but stromboli does. The Italians must be pissed.
The Tallest Fuck You EVER
5.24.05
3:05PM
Today, before I arrived at the Hospital anyway, it was sunny out. Honestly, a bit too sunny for my tastes. However, as of now, it looks like the rain predicted for earlier in the day is to commence rather soon…any minute now actually. I hope it does rain. I enjoy the calming effect it has on the City. Tomorrow in the late morning, I will go for a swim at the Club. I might bring my blazer so I can enjoy some gnarly burgers, maybe. I’m pretty happy with the weather thus far this summer. I hate aspects of the summer: having to plug in the AC and jack my electric bill twenty or thirty bucks a month for three of four months, the chattering locals sitting mere yards under my Sleeping Place, the Death’s Balls heat one must endure if one wants to leave their home, sweating, etc but I do enjoy some things…I guess. Hm. Ice cream trucks, I like those. Well, just the ice cream really.
You know, I like I might like to live in the Pacific Rim. That’s the same thing as the Pacific Northwest, right? Seattle and Oregon and such? From what I hear, the climate is more my style than New York (at least during the summer months). Cool and rainy. I like that.
I spent the early part of this day walking the dog and listening to Aphex Twin’s “Drukqs”, an excellent album. It redefined Aphex Twin. Christina and I met up in the park and the dogs all bit and humped each other. Norman Rockwell xmax.
I’ll be here ‘til 5ish then I’m on break ‘til about 7, then it’s a straight four hour burn through Baker and Barstow and Berdue. After that? Home, from whence I roam. Then an episode or two of Sopranos. I’ve watched the first five or six episodes and I am not that impressed. I guess watching it with six straight men and watching it alone are two different environments. Oh well. If I continue to be unimpressed, I’ll move onto something else.
I am going to go food shopping sometime soon. Mmm. Food. Speaking of food…what should I have for meal today?
INTERRUPTION
I just received my employee evaluation sheet.
The top is where your info goes, Name, hire date, department, position etc. Then there are six areas in which I am rated either above average, average or “needs improvement” (PC for “below average”), just like in 5th grade, remember?
Below that are these lines:
Does he/she help promote the Center’s mission by respecting the dignity of every human being? Yes or No
Then: What are his/her strengths?
Then: “What are his/her areas that need improvement?” (PC for “what sucks about him/her?”)
Then: Overall rating (Above average, average or sucks)
Then: Reviewed by:
Then: Approved by:
Then a section for “Employee Comments” then finally, employee signature.
Here is my evaluation sheet for this year…or at least the important parts.
1. Quality of Work: Average
2. Quantity of Work: Average
3. Dependability: Needs Improvement
4. Cooperation: Average
5. Attendance: Average
6. Punctuality: Needs Improvement
Apparently, I do uphold the Center’s mission by respecting the dignity of every human being.
My strengths: “Paul, has been really great just need to be more accurate about time.”
Areas in which I suck: “(Punctuality)”
My overall rating is “Average”.
Under this, both the “Reviewed by” and “Approved by” lines are blank, because another Operator filled this out (which is illegal), and she plans on just signing it after I do. Fat fucking chance.
Now, I looked at those blank lines after “Employee Comments” just staring at me and decided, hey, what the fuck, let’s see just how far I can stick my dick into this organization.
So here’s what I wrote: “I agree with everything but ‘Dependability’ and ‘Quality of Work’. In the case of ‘Dependability’ I would be far more dependable if I weren’t called at 2pm for a 3pm shift. As for ‘Quality of Work’ (I shit you not readers, this is what I wrote verbatim) I am the most polite, well-spoken, friendly, helpful and diligent operator on staff. Ask anyone in the building who has ever spoken to me. Granted I’m often late, but never more than a few minutes. Once I arrive though, (verbatim) I shine and I would like some attention brought to that luster. Thanks.”
Man, since I wrote that I can’t stop smiling. Look at it this way, if nothing happens, I continue working here and I acertain that my power is infinite. If they fire me, I go to the news stations and tell them everything, plus I get to hang out with Phil almost 24/7 once he arrives. I feel like someone should take a picture of this: I am BEAMING.
3:05PM
Today, before I arrived at the Hospital anyway, it was sunny out. Honestly, a bit too sunny for my tastes. However, as of now, it looks like the rain predicted for earlier in the day is to commence rather soon…any minute now actually. I hope it does rain. I enjoy the calming effect it has on the City. Tomorrow in the late morning, I will go for a swim at the Club. I might bring my blazer so I can enjoy some gnarly burgers, maybe. I’m pretty happy with the weather thus far this summer. I hate aspects of the summer: having to plug in the AC and jack my electric bill twenty or thirty bucks a month for three of four months, the chattering locals sitting mere yards under my Sleeping Place, the Death’s Balls heat one must endure if one wants to leave their home, sweating, etc but I do enjoy some things…I guess. Hm. Ice cream trucks, I like those. Well, just the ice cream really.
You know, I like I might like to live in the Pacific Rim. That’s the same thing as the Pacific Northwest, right? Seattle and Oregon and such? From what I hear, the climate is more my style than New York (at least during the summer months). Cool and rainy. I like that.
I spent the early part of this day walking the dog and listening to Aphex Twin’s “Drukqs”, an excellent album. It redefined Aphex Twin. Christina and I met up in the park and the dogs all bit and humped each other. Norman Rockwell xmax.
I’ll be here ‘til 5ish then I’m on break ‘til about 7, then it’s a straight four hour burn through Baker and Barstow and Berdue. After that? Home, from whence I roam. Then an episode or two of Sopranos. I’ve watched the first five or six episodes and I am not that impressed. I guess watching it with six straight men and watching it alone are two different environments. Oh well. If I continue to be unimpressed, I’ll move onto something else.
I am going to go food shopping sometime soon. Mmm. Food. Speaking of food…what should I have for meal today?
INTERRUPTION
I just received my employee evaluation sheet.
The top is where your info goes, Name, hire date, department, position etc. Then there are six areas in which I am rated either above average, average or “needs improvement” (PC for “below average”), just like in 5th grade, remember?
Below that are these lines:
Does he/she help promote the Center’s mission by respecting the dignity of every human being? Yes or No
Then: What are his/her strengths?
Then: “What are his/her areas that need improvement?” (PC for “what sucks about him/her?”)
Then: Overall rating (Above average, average or sucks)
Then: Reviewed by:
Then: Approved by:
Then a section for “Employee Comments” then finally, employee signature.
Here is my evaluation sheet for this year…or at least the important parts.
1. Quality of Work: Average
2. Quantity of Work: Average
3. Dependability: Needs Improvement
4. Cooperation: Average
5. Attendance: Average
6. Punctuality: Needs Improvement
Apparently, I do uphold the Center’s mission by respecting the dignity of every human being.
My strengths: “Paul, has been really great just need to be more accurate about time.”
Areas in which I suck: “(Punctuality)”
My overall rating is “Average”.
Under this, both the “Reviewed by” and “Approved by” lines are blank, because another Operator filled this out (which is illegal), and she plans on just signing it after I do. Fat fucking chance.
Now, I looked at those blank lines after “Employee Comments” just staring at me and decided, hey, what the fuck, let’s see just how far I can stick my dick into this organization.
So here’s what I wrote: “I agree with everything but ‘Dependability’ and ‘Quality of Work’. In the case of ‘Dependability’ I would be far more dependable if I weren’t called at 2pm for a 3pm shift. As for ‘Quality of Work’ (I shit you not readers, this is what I wrote verbatim) I am the most polite, well-spoken, friendly, helpful and diligent operator on staff. Ask anyone in the building who has ever spoken to me. Granted I’m often late, but never more than a few minutes. Once I arrive though, (verbatim) I shine and I would like some attention brought to that luster. Thanks.”
Man, since I wrote that I can’t stop smiling. Look at it this way, if nothing happens, I continue working here and I acertain that my power is infinite. If they fire me, I go to the news stations and tell them everything, plus I get to hang out with Phil almost 24/7 once he arrives. I feel like someone should take a picture of this: I am BEAMING.
No Phone
Early Friday morning, I awake. I check my list for the fifty third and (hopefully) final time. The unmarked boxes are for items I don’t think I’ll really be needing for this trip. I leave my apartment with two bags and two pillows. I jump into a cab and tell the driver “910 West 162nd street….wherever that is.”
He begins to move South along Central Park and I ask him if 162nd is South of 105th. He doesn’t understand. Once we reach 96th, he cuts through the park all the way West to that highway. We speed along through the chilly morning air. I love riding in cars. So peaceful. I arrive in front of Kevin’s house twenty minutes early for our 8:00am meeting g time. I contact him and let him know I am here. He did not expect anyone to me that early he confesses. He tells me he is at a diner down the street. I tell him to take his time as I am enjoying the gray, damp morning by myself just fine.
Soon, Kevin shows up and invites me in while he does some last minute stuff. He is driving one of the four cars to New Lebanon, New York where we will spend the weekend at the Theatre Barn. We have two performances of Lysistrata: The Musical to put on before this incarnation of the show is over.
One by one the others arrive. First, Scott (big and gay), then Ricky (clean cut, straight and in for more pussy than he can handle this summer…) and finally, Steven (slim and gay, bestest friends with Scott). These are to be those riding in the K Rock Mobile this weekend.
We stuff ourselves into Kevin’s Outback and get rolling. I made three mix CD’s for the trip. The first two discs containing songs like Jump in Line by Harry Bellefonte, Louie Louie by the Kingsmen, Chains of Love by Erasure, Sexx Laws by Beck and, of course, the Ultimate Mix Tape Song: Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen (a must for any CD being played for a group of people) and the third disc (which was not used) containing mellow songs in case we were all sleepy or not in the mood for rock.
The drive there was about three hours or so and it was excellent. I need to take more road trips. I mean, I hardly know these people and the trip was awesome, I can hardly imagine what a road trip with close friends would be like…
Everything was so lush and green yet subdued by the grayness of the day. It would have been tear jerking if I had not been singing the Duck Tales theme with the other four gentlemen.
Eventually, I handed navigation duties over to Ricky who has had experience and can read maps and see.
Once we saw the first barn, we realized that we were indeed no longer in Manhattan.
We arrive at a quaint little collection of pretty white trimmed house and farms around 11:40. We drive along the road where Theatre Barn is supposed to be located but find only regular barns. We also happen t pass a large lot filled with shed and things like it. A large sign proclaims “Shed Man”.
“Let’s ask the Shed Man for directions!!!” I scream. Kevin pulls into the parking lot and we step out of the car, snickering. It is evident within seconds that the man in front of us is, indeed, the Shed Man. It is also evident that he can tell we are from New York. It is further evident that he does not like New Yorkers.
He is, however, able to restrain his bile and tell us where the Barn is. We thank him, snicker and hop back in the car. A moment later, we are at the Theatre Barn and we are being greeted by Joan, the owner. She is a short, round woman who must smoke at least four packs a day to have achieved such a gravelly tone in her voice. Underneath the truck driving exterior, however, beats the heart of a mom. Let me paint a clearer picture if I may: If there were a zombie attack and Joan lost her arm somehow, she would gladly wield a pump action shotgun with one arm and holler “You think that’s gonna slow me down you undead cocksuckers?! Bring it on, you disintegrating fuckheads!!” She shows us the place, the green room, the dressing rooms and the rest of the theatre proper then introduces us to her husband, Abe. Abe rocks.
After ascertaining that we are the first to arrive of the 18 or so people in our party, Joan takes us to the cast house. Now, the cast house is pure rock. The cast house is a fourteen room house with an upstairs, downstairs and terrifying basement. There is a Friday the 13th vibe about it that emanates in waves from the place and we are all instantly exhilarated. I predict that at least three of us will be killed by a psychopath. The entire group at the time are certain I am the psychopath, but only time will tell. I pick a three bed room for Kevin, Rob and myself. After I set my bags down I hear several small chirping noises coming fro just above the window of our room. Turns out a birds nest, complete with five baby birds will serve as our alarm clock for this weekend. Awesome.
Slowly, the others arrive and unpack their stuff. We were told to bring bed stuff, shower stuff, money for food and everything. Someone mentioned that it might be colder here than in the city (I’ll get back to this), but no one mentioned that there is no cell phone service within three miles of the house. Whatever.
Once we all arrive, it’s time to hit the theatre and get acting. We do so and it feels very good with our new pianist (who can play ALL the notes on the page and well, too), our three new cast members (the aforementioned Ricky, Debra and Liz) and our new stage manager, Michelle.
After our brush up/run through, we scatter a bit and eventually return to the house. The evening is spent hanging out and bonding with several people in the cast including our director, our drummer and our house manager. It’s really amazing to have a group of people that get cooler the more you hang out with them. Some of you might remember that after the New York run of Lysistrata I was bummed about having such a close relationship with all these people and suddenly not seeing them again. Another part of me wondered if I would actually want to see them again, if the time we all spent together meant anything to anyone else. This weekend was an affirmation of just how cool these people were. Looking at the bunch of them now, I can think of three or four people I would actually hang out with. First off, Rob and Kevin I have already hung out with once or twice. Rob is the kind of guy who would be me in his usual circle. Him and I work together so well, it’s creepy. Together, we don’t even see the line let alone notice when we’ve crossed it. Kevin is the easily shocked type. Priceless. Then there’s Amy Garson. Almost everyone I know said she looked familiar (she played Tara in the play). She did stand-up comedy in NYC to two and a half years before stepping out because of nerves. But she is another one of those rare “funny girls”. Her and I share the same sense of humor and I look forward to hanging out with her some time soon. Then there’s Debra. She is Neo Leah and I love it.
Anyway, once we discovered there was a basement in the house, we all started telling ghost stories and freaking ourselves out. Then we all talked and drank and slept. At 2am I awoke to find myself dead. I could see my breath and recalled someone saying “It’s a bit colder here.” Well fucking thank you for being specific. I got little sleep that night and woke up early the next day for my 1pm call. For breakfast I ate white chocolate covered pretzels. We ran once, had some brush ups and then a break until the show at 8pm. After the rehearsal, we all went to a diner called Fresco where Eleanor (who had been at the Barn several times before) was pimping their stromboli’s like it was her job so I ordered one. Oh my sweet fucking erect God. This thing weighted about 8 pounds and I ate the whole fucking thing. After this act of food sex had taken place, I returned to the house for a quick nap before the show. I woke up about five minutes before call with my stromboli not even starting to digest. The show was amazing and my delivery of David’s line went from impassioned to furious. The audience ate it up with spoons. After the show, we went to Joan’s house for the cast party. My mind was neither erased nor whatever the verb I used last time, but it was very fun to watch people get smashed. I was unable to eat any of the wonderful food prepared because the stromboli was still in my throat, but the vibe was there. After the cast party proper was the cast party improper that took place in the cast house. It was wonderful relaxed fun. People mingling and chatting and laughing and bonding and all sorts of good vibe stuff. Eventually, we went to sleep, (me with two pairs of socks, three shirts and a pair of pants on) and woke the next afternoon in time for the 2pm show and after that we all said our goodbyes and piled into our respective cars and went home.
All in all, none of you now anything that went on and there’s no way for me to describe it to you. To be frank “You had to be there.” It was super fun and memorable, like summer camp while doing a play, but none of you will ever know exactly what it was like 100%. Just me. There were sheep and chicken wire and light sabers and Penis Dances and G.I. Joe PSA quoting and none of you will ever be able to experience that, even if I tell it to you in detail.
Man was it clear up there. Stars and air and trees.
Since I returned home all I’ve wanted to do is stare.
Sit and stare.
Philip will not be at the party this weekend.
He begins to move South along Central Park and I ask him if 162nd is South of 105th. He doesn’t understand. Once we reach 96th, he cuts through the park all the way West to that highway. We speed along through the chilly morning air. I love riding in cars. So peaceful. I arrive in front of Kevin’s house twenty minutes early for our 8:00am meeting g time. I contact him and let him know I am here. He did not expect anyone to me that early he confesses. He tells me he is at a diner down the street. I tell him to take his time as I am enjoying the gray, damp morning by myself just fine.
Soon, Kevin shows up and invites me in while he does some last minute stuff. He is driving one of the four cars to New Lebanon, New York where we will spend the weekend at the Theatre Barn. We have two performances of Lysistrata: The Musical to put on before this incarnation of the show is over.
One by one the others arrive. First, Scott (big and gay), then Ricky (clean cut, straight and in for more pussy than he can handle this summer…) and finally, Steven (slim and gay, bestest friends with Scott). These are to be those riding in the K Rock Mobile this weekend.
We stuff ourselves into Kevin’s Outback and get rolling. I made three mix CD’s for the trip. The first two discs containing songs like Jump in Line by Harry Bellefonte, Louie Louie by the Kingsmen, Chains of Love by Erasure, Sexx Laws by Beck and, of course, the Ultimate Mix Tape Song: Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen (a must for any CD being played for a group of people) and the third disc (which was not used) containing mellow songs in case we were all sleepy or not in the mood for rock.
The drive there was about three hours or so and it was excellent. I need to take more road trips. I mean, I hardly know these people and the trip was awesome, I can hardly imagine what a road trip with close friends would be like…
Everything was so lush and green yet subdued by the grayness of the day. It would have been tear jerking if I had not been singing the Duck Tales theme with the other four gentlemen.
Eventually, I handed navigation duties over to Ricky who has had experience and can read maps and see.
Once we saw the first barn, we realized that we were indeed no longer in Manhattan.
We arrive at a quaint little collection of pretty white trimmed house and farms around 11:40. We drive along the road where Theatre Barn is supposed to be located but find only regular barns. We also happen t pass a large lot filled with shed and things like it. A large sign proclaims “Shed Man”.
“Let’s ask the Shed Man for directions!!!” I scream. Kevin pulls into the parking lot and we step out of the car, snickering. It is evident within seconds that the man in front of us is, indeed, the Shed Man. It is also evident that he can tell we are from New York. It is further evident that he does not like New Yorkers.
He is, however, able to restrain his bile and tell us where the Barn is. We thank him, snicker and hop back in the car. A moment later, we are at the Theatre Barn and we are being greeted by Joan, the owner. She is a short, round woman who must smoke at least four packs a day to have achieved such a gravelly tone in her voice. Underneath the truck driving exterior, however, beats the heart of a mom. Let me paint a clearer picture if I may: If there were a zombie attack and Joan lost her arm somehow, she would gladly wield a pump action shotgun with one arm and holler “You think that’s gonna slow me down you undead cocksuckers?! Bring it on, you disintegrating fuckheads!!” She shows us the place, the green room, the dressing rooms and the rest of the theatre proper then introduces us to her husband, Abe. Abe rocks.
After ascertaining that we are the first to arrive of the 18 or so people in our party, Joan takes us to the cast house. Now, the cast house is pure rock. The cast house is a fourteen room house with an upstairs, downstairs and terrifying basement. There is a Friday the 13th vibe about it that emanates in waves from the place and we are all instantly exhilarated. I predict that at least three of us will be killed by a psychopath. The entire group at the time are certain I am the psychopath, but only time will tell. I pick a three bed room for Kevin, Rob and myself. After I set my bags down I hear several small chirping noises coming fro just above the window of our room. Turns out a birds nest, complete with five baby birds will serve as our alarm clock for this weekend. Awesome.
Slowly, the others arrive and unpack their stuff. We were told to bring bed stuff, shower stuff, money for food and everything. Someone mentioned that it might be colder here than in the city (I’ll get back to this), but no one mentioned that there is no cell phone service within three miles of the house. Whatever.
Once we all arrive, it’s time to hit the theatre and get acting. We do so and it feels very good with our new pianist (who can play ALL the notes on the page and well, too), our three new cast members (the aforementioned Ricky, Debra and Liz) and our new stage manager, Michelle.
After our brush up/run through, we scatter a bit and eventually return to the house. The evening is spent hanging out and bonding with several people in the cast including our director, our drummer and our house manager. It’s really amazing to have a group of people that get cooler the more you hang out with them. Some of you might remember that after the New York run of Lysistrata I was bummed about having such a close relationship with all these people and suddenly not seeing them again. Another part of me wondered if I would actually want to see them again, if the time we all spent together meant anything to anyone else. This weekend was an affirmation of just how cool these people were. Looking at the bunch of them now, I can think of three or four people I would actually hang out with. First off, Rob and Kevin I have already hung out with once or twice. Rob is the kind of guy who would be me in his usual circle. Him and I work together so well, it’s creepy. Together, we don’t even see the line let alone notice when we’ve crossed it. Kevin is the easily shocked type. Priceless. Then there’s Amy Garson. Almost everyone I know said she looked familiar (she played Tara in the play). She did stand-up comedy in NYC to two and a half years before stepping out because of nerves. But she is another one of those rare “funny girls”. Her and I share the same sense of humor and I look forward to hanging out with her some time soon. Then there’s Debra. She is Neo Leah and I love it.
Anyway, once we discovered there was a basement in the house, we all started telling ghost stories and freaking ourselves out. Then we all talked and drank and slept. At 2am I awoke to find myself dead. I could see my breath and recalled someone saying “It’s a bit colder here.” Well fucking thank you for being specific. I got little sleep that night and woke up early the next day for my 1pm call. For breakfast I ate white chocolate covered pretzels. We ran once, had some brush ups and then a break until the show at 8pm. After the rehearsal, we all went to a diner called Fresco where Eleanor (who had been at the Barn several times before) was pimping their stromboli’s like it was her job so I ordered one. Oh my sweet fucking erect God. This thing weighted about 8 pounds and I ate the whole fucking thing. After this act of food sex had taken place, I returned to the house for a quick nap before the show. I woke up about five minutes before call with my stromboli not even starting to digest. The show was amazing and my delivery of David’s line went from impassioned to furious. The audience ate it up with spoons. After the show, we went to Joan’s house for the cast party. My mind was neither erased nor whatever the verb I used last time, but it was very fun to watch people get smashed. I was unable to eat any of the wonderful food prepared because the stromboli was still in my throat, but the vibe was there. After the cast party proper was the cast party improper that took place in the cast house. It was wonderful relaxed fun. People mingling and chatting and laughing and bonding and all sorts of good vibe stuff. Eventually, we went to sleep, (me with two pairs of socks, three shirts and a pair of pants on) and woke the next afternoon in time for the 2pm show and after that we all said our goodbyes and piled into our respective cars and went home.
All in all, none of you now anything that went on and there’s no way for me to describe it to you. To be frank “You had to be there.” It was super fun and memorable, like summer camp while doing a play, but none of you will ever know exactly what it was like 100%. Just me. There were sheep and chicken wire and light sabers and Penis Dances and G.I. Joe PSA quoting and none of you will ever be able to experience that, even if I tell it to you in detail.
Man was it clear up there. Stars and air and trees.
Since I returned home all I’ve wanted to do is stare.
Sit and stare.
Philip will not be at the party this weekend.
5.19.2005
So what.
5.18.05
6:09
Sew buttons…motherfucker.
A few nights ago saw Nine Inch Nails at Hammerstein Ballroom. Pretty awesome shit. Not only did they play one of my favorite songs, but I was three feet from David Bowie (and, incidentally, twelve feet from Chris Rock). He came out to his seat about five minutes before the show started but one fan noticed him and thought it would be helpful to shriek “DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE!!!!!!” It seemed Mr. Bowie found this less helpful than the fan thought it would be and left. A moment or so after the show started, he came out and took his seat. At one point, another overzealous fan wanted me to pass a drink up to Mr. Bowie, thinking that he would love to accept and drink from a cup passed to him from a Nine Inch Nails pit. I explained to the guy that I didn’t think Mr. Bowie wanted to be disturbed and that he didn’t look all that thirsty to me. After the show the guy came up to me and said he understood why I didn’t pass the cup to him and that he bore me no ill will. Whew. That would have totally ruined my night otherwise.
After the show I mingled with people who have more artistic ability in their feces then I will ever have in my entire body…unless I fill my body with their feces.
I also noticed yesterday that the new Star Wars comes out tonight (midnight) and I discovered that being able to say I was at the first showing is about as important as being able to remember where I was during 9/11. It isn’t. Why would I go that far out of my way to see it? So I can impress my unborn children by telling them I was there? I don’t plan on raising my kids to be impressed with bullshit like that. Jesus.
In a short time I will put up a link to Iggy Pop’s cover of “Louie Louie”. It is pure rock and it features a guitar solo that will singe your pubic hair…guaranteed.
Philip joins our cadre on Monday. I find myself unable to become excited. I think I have damaged my circuitry. All I can do to show my eager anticipation is wander around in a priapic state much to the chagrin of the local authorities. I will soon be cited for “sexually assaulting the air”, a fine I will gladly pay.
I am two episodes away from the end of Oz and the episode I watched today had me bawling for a good fifteen minutes. I have received the first two discs of “The Sopranos” from NetFlix and I look forward to redigesting that series soon.
At this moment, I have over four hours left in my shift at the Hospital and I am bitter because I was only scheduled to work four hours total (3p –7p) but blah blah called in and blah blah blah. Idiots. They couldn’t schedule an erection at the Priapism Clinic…where I was earlier today.
I can feel the warm, fuzzy fingers of Sleep fluffing a pillow under my head and I just might doze off a bit. The board and phone have been rather quiet…oh wait, I turned them off…well, anyway, I might answer a few calls and then lay my head down for forty winks or so. A power nap. Yeah, a power nap…
NO! I must not succumb to Satan’s Sleep Whisperings!!
MUST…STAY…DISTRACTED!!!
So, as some of you might know, I am doing two more performances of Lysistrata: The Musical this weekend in New Lebanon, New York at a place called Theatre Barn. We have replaced three people in the cast and I have charged myself with welcoming them (officially) to the cast this weekend.
We arrive just before noon on Friday and rehearse until 6. Then a cast dinner somewhere in New Lebanon. We have another day of rehearsal until our 8pm show on Saturday night, after which there will be a mind-bending/erasing cast party during which the Welcoming shall commence. Part one will welcome the two new girls: Liz and Debra. It consists of me lip-synching to Beck’s “Debra”, treating Liz as “Jenny” and Debra as “Debra”. Debra has seen almost every incarnation of Lysistrata and now that she has become a part of it, she is happy as a theatrical pig in theatrical shit to be here. Liz, I don’t really know, but I hope she likes to be groped and offered “a fresh pack of gum”. Part two of the Welcoming will be for our new “Cadman”, Ricky. I plan to serenade him with Electric Six’s “Gay Bar”. If he isn’t actually gay now, he will be once I’m done. Sursly.
Now, Christina, I’m sure you remember a certain cast party where your certain boyfriend made out with a lot of other certain people and then there was a certain Mono scare going around. Well, this time around I promise not to kiss ANYONE, male or female, gay or straight, plant, animal or mineral…not that you’d notice. I can barely make you out on the horizon as you speed off in your Short-Filmobile with your new talented friends with their talented feces and leave me in my Theatredust with my own nutrient deprived waste products.
Anyway, after the Brain Washing Bash on Saturday night, we have a second performance set for Sunday afternoon at 2pm. Personally, I think that is a BAAAD idea. Quite a few members of the cast are horny problem drinkers with no morals to speak of and I fear that come 2pm on Sunday, half the cast will have drowned in a pool of OPV (other people’s vomit) while the other half will be dealing with OPSTD (other people’s sexually transmitted diseases). Which leads me to ask: Why the fuck are theatre people so goddamn loose?
The Theatre Company at Fordham was a veritable Fuckfest. A student just arriving at Fordham this year could, conceivable catch the same crabs that afflicted a senior from twelve years ago. I remember my Freshmen year these two girls (ugly ones who would never be a part of the fucking, so they had to find something wrong with it) did some digging and created a flow chart of hook-ups, blow jobs, one night stands and anything else that connected the students, past and present of the Theatre Company. It was a sobering diagram, my friends. Lisa’s college was a total Fuck Out also. I am amazed and thankful that she didn’t contract syphilis, clamydia or some new STD created solely by the licentious droves of Florida Southern simply from being in contact with these walking Petri dishes. Just thinking about it makes me want to wear a condom and immerse my genitals in bleach.
So why is it? Why do Theatre people fuck so much? Is it that much of a turn-on to pretend you're someone or something you are not? Or does acting not have anything to do with it? Is it just a gathering of people who understand on the most instinctual level that the people around them will put out? I am baffled by it, but every single show I have ever been in with more than one person in the cast has had sexual tension you could cut with a pink jelly double-dong.
8:06
I don’t know if you ever got around to digging up the story or not but a few weeks ago, a man just wandered out of the Hospital. He showed up here two weeks later, grinning like an asshole. Anyway, the security here is not top notch, to be nice. A moment ago, some lady in a wheelchair rolled passed the security guards into the security office and sat talking to me for a solid twenty minutes about how she feels bad that she annoys me and wanted to apologize for everything she’s done and she hates that she’s impatient but sometimes she can’t help it…only I have no idea who this woman is. I don’t know if she thought I was a priest or her dead husband or what but, oh my fiery lord was it creepy! She had almost no hair and her eyes were fucking HUGE in her gaunt, waxy face. She wouldn’t look me in the eyes, but I felt her gaze on my arms like ants trying to find a way in. Finally, after too long to tell, the phone rings and I turn away. I continued speaking for three minutes after the person hung up, feeling these ants on the back of my head. Suddenly, her ants were gone and she was rolling away, down the hall. If I ever do call the press about how bad things are run and done here, remind me to spend a point or two of blood to shame the balls off of the Security Force, the lazy fuckstains.
You know, my encounter with this sepulchral woman reminded me of a thought I had a few nights ago. I was thinking about being older. Not getting old or being old, but being older. Forty-five or some age like that. At first, I was unable to picture myself at forty-five, then I saw myself clearly and decided that I would have to kill myself before I get much older than thirty. Aside from how creepy I’ll look in twenty years, there’s all the medical stuff that is only peripheral right now but will get worse and worse as I age. I figure once I start to get up there, you all will have forgotten this LiveJournal entry and I will have successfully phased myself out of your lives over a period of years and then, BAM, a lanky, beautiful god-star becomes a lanky, beautiful copse before it can become a creepy zombie man trying not to look at people for fear they misconstrue my accidental glance as a psychic assault on their unborn child or something equally plausible. You see, with the advent of the new TMBG, Beck, eels and NIN albums this year, I realized something: no matter how much importance I place on material possessions, there is still an emptiness, even bigger than before I obtained whatever object I was looking for, and the only thing that will stop the hole from widening is to stop the one with the hole in him. All I really have to look forward to is aging and pain and complications brought on by my various maladies. My eyesight, my connective tissue, my heart, none of that is going to get better with age. The only things that gets better with age is cheese and wine and even the best of each will become unusable after enough time has passed. Friends, I am NOT cheese nor am I wine. I have accepted this. Everything I do is just a distraction. Watching HBO series from NetFlix, checking the same dozen websites hour after hour, day after day for news about a concert, a video, a single, a poster, sleeping whenever I can, everything. The big question up until now was: A distraction from what? Life, folks, life and the fact that it is ending, right now. I sit here reading, talking on the phone, listening to beeps, phones ringing…I am killing time. Killing time until I can get home and watch TV shows that stopped being new three years ago, so I can buy food from the deli, so I can go to sleep, so I can download music, find it lacking and delete it. I’m always desperately looking for something to kill time. Maybe I should stop killing time. You know, time had no real meaning for me until my sophomore year in college. Then all of a sudden, a day was a day. There really were sixty minutes in an hour. I could count three seconds and three seconds would have passed. The time elongation I enjoyed as a kid ended abruptly in my second year at college. I didn’t feel older, I still feel like an 8th grader in a 24-year old body. But I was now able to feel the passage f time for what t was. Days no longer lasted forever. I remember the last day I feel the elasticity of time. It was the birthday of one of Danielle Grelik’s roommates and also the first day of Daylights Savings. We had just gained an hour but I did so much that day. I finally looked at my watch and saw it was only seven o’ clock at night. Five hours later, it was nine. Three hours later, eleven, an hour and a half later, midnight. Slowly, but surely, time became time. It’s only going to keep getting faster from here on out. Some writer described time as “the old bald cheater.” I don’t think time can be personified like Death or the Fates. Time is too immense to be crammed into one, finite form. Time is sort of like a wind. When you are younger, you don’t feel it moving, because it isn’t really. It is surrounding you, swirling this way and that, keeping you warm in your happy, blurry kiddie days. As you get older, it starts to move a bit, gets less warm. Eventually, it starts moving in one direction: towards the future and it gets colder and faster as you grow up. That’s why old people are always cold and forgetful. Time is moving so fast that they have nothing to hold onto, not even memory. God damn that’s grim; and I, for one, would NOT like to be a part of that. So how about this: as soon as I run out of things to do (as in, as soon as I stop finding things to distract me) or my body finally goes from passive to active as far as self-destruction, I’m out of here. Deal? Good.
My head hurts.
6:09
Sew buttons…motherfucker.
A few nights ago saw Nine Inch Nails at Hammerstein Ballroom. Pretty awesome shit. Not only did they play one of my favorite songs, but I was three feet from David Bowie (and, incidentally, twelve feet from Chris Rock). He came out to his seat about five minutes before the show started but one fan noticed him and thought it would be helpful to shriek “DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE!!!!!!” It seemed Mr. Bowie found this less helpful than the fan thought it would be and left. A moment or so after the show started, he came out and took his seat. At one point, another overzealous fan wanted me to pass a drink up to Mr. Bowie, thinking that he would love to accept and drink from a cup passed to him from a Nine Inch Nails pit. I explained to the guy that I didn’t think Mr. Bowie wanted to be disturbed and that he didn’t look all that thirsty to me. After the show the guy came up to me and said he understood why I didn’t pass the cup to him and that he bore me no ill will. Whew. That would have totally ruined my night otherwise.
After the show I mingled with people who have more artistic ability in their feces then I will ever have in my entire body…unless I fill my body with their feces.
I also noticed yesterday that the new Star Wars comes out tonight (midnight) and I discovered that being able to say I was at the first showing is about as important as being able to remember where I was during 9/11. It isn’t. Why would I go that far out of my way to see it? So I can impress my unborn children by telling them I was there? I don’t plan on raising my kids to be impressed with bullshit like that. Jesus.
In a short time I will put up a link to Iggy Pop’s cover of “Louie Louie”. It is pure rock and it features a guitar solo that will singe your pubic hair…guaranteed.
Philip joins our cadre on Monday. I find myself unable to become excited. I think I have damaged my circuitry. All I can do to show my eager anticipation is wander around in a priapic state much to the chagrin of the local authorities. I will soon be cited for “sexually assaulting the air”, a fine I will gladly pay.
I am two episodes away from the end of Oz and the episode I watched today had me bawling for a good fifteen minutes. I have received the first two discs of “The Sopranos” from NetFlix and I look forward to redigesting that series soon.
At this moment, I have over four hours left in my shift at the Hospital and I am bitter because I was only scheduled to work four hours total (3p –7p) but blah blah called in and blah blah blah. Idiots. They couldn’t schedule an erection at the Priapism Clinic…where I was earlier today.
I can feel the warm, fuzzy fingers of Sleep fluffing a pillow under my head and I just might doze off a bit. The board and phone have been rather quiet…oh wait, I turned them off…well, anyway, I might answer a few calls and then lay my head down for forty winks or so. A power nap. Yeah, a power nap…
NO! I must not succumb to Satan’s Sleep Whisperings!!
MUST…STAY…DISTRACTED!!!
So, as some of you might know, I am doing two more performances of Lysistrata: The Musical this weekend in New Lebanon, New York at a place called Theatre Barn. We have replaced three people in the cast and I have charged myself with welcoming them (officially) to the cast this weekend.
We arrive just before noon on Friday and rehearse until 6. Then a cast dinner somewhere in New Lebanon. We have another day of rehearsal until our 8pm show on Saturday night, after which there will be a mind-bending/erasing cast party during which the Welcoming shall commence. Part one will welcome the two new girls: Liz and Debra. It consists of me lip-synching to Beck’s “Debra”, treating Liz as “Jenny” and Debra as “Debra”. Debra has seen almost every incarnation of Lysistrata and now that she has become a part of it, she is happy as a theatrical pig in theatrical shit to be here. Liz, I don’t really know, but I hope she likes to be groped and offered “a fresh pack of gum”. Part two of the Welcoming will be for our new “Cadman”, Ricky. I plan to serenade him with Electric Six’s “Gay Bar”. If he isn’t actually gay now, he will be once I’m done. Sursly.
Now, Christina, I’m sure you remember a certain cast party where your certain boyfriend made out with a lot of other certain people and then there was a certain Mono scare going around. Well, this time around I promise not to kiss ANYONE, male or female, gay or straight, plant, animal or mineral…not that you’d notice. I can barely make you out on the horizon as you speed off in your Short-Filmobile with your new talented friends with their talented feces and leave me in my Theatredust with my own nutrient deprived waste products.
Anyway, after the Brain Washing Bash on Saturday night, we have a second performance set for Sunday afternoon at 2pm. Personally, I think that is a BAAAD idea. Quite a few members of the cast are horny problem drinkers with no morals to speak of and I fear that come 2pm on Sunday, half the cast will have drowned in a pool of OPV (other people’s vomit) while the other half will be dealing with OPSTD (other people’s sexually transmitted diseases). Which leads me to ask: Why the fuck are theatre people so goddamn loose?
The Theatre Company at Fordham was a veritable Fuckfest. A student just arriving at Fordham this year could, conceivable catch the same crabs that afflicted a senior from twelve years ago. I remember my Freshmen year these two girls (ugly ones who would never be a part of the fucking, so they had to find something wrong with it) did some digging and created a flow chart of hook-ups, blow jobs, one night stands and anything else that connected the students, past and present of the Theatre Company. It was a sobering diagram, my friends. Lisa’s college was a total Fuck Out also. I am amazed and thankful that she didn’t contract syphilis, clamydia or some new STD created solely by the licentious droves of Florida Southern simply from being in contact with these walking Petri dishes. Just thinking about it makes me want to wear a condom and immerse my genitals in bleach.
So why is it? Why do Theatre people fuck so much? Is it that much of a turn-on to pretend you're someone or something you are not? Or does acting not have anything to do with it? Is it just a gathering of people who understand on the most instinctual level that the people around them will put out? I am baffled by it, but every single show I have ever been in with more than one person in the cast has had sexual tension you could cut with a pink jelly double-dong.
8:06
I don’t know if you ever got around to digging up the story or not but a few weeks ago, a man just wandered out of the Hospital. He showed up here two weeks later, grinning like an asshole. Anyway, the security here is not top notch, to be nice. A moment ago, some lady in a wheelchair rolled passed the security guards into the security office and sat talking to me for a solid twenty minutes about how she feels bad that she annoys me and wanted to apologize for everything she’s done and she hates that she’s impatient but sometimes she can’t help it…only I have no idea who this woman is. I don’t know if she thought I was a priest or her dead husband or what but, oh my fiery lord was it creepy! She had almost no hair and her eyes were fucking HUGE in her gaunt, waxy face. She wouldn’t look me in the eyes, but I felt her gaze on my arms like ants trying to find a way in. Finally, after too long to tell, the phone rings and I turn away. I continued speaking for three minutes after the person hung up, feeling these ants on the back of my head. Suddenly, her ants were gone and she was rolling away, down the hall. If I ever do call the press about how bad things are run and done here, remind me to spend a point or two of blood to shame the balls off of the Security Force, the lazy fuckstains.
You know, my encounter with this sepulchral woman reminded me of a thought I had a few nights ago. I was thinking about being older. Not getting old or being old, but being older. Forty-five or some age like that. At first, I was unable to picture myself at forty-five, then I saw myself clearly and decided that I would have to kill myself before I get much older than thirty. Aside from how creepy I’ll look in twenty years, there’s all the medical stuff that is only peripheral right now but will get worse and worse as I age. I figure once I start to get up there, you all will have forgotten this LiveJournal entry and I will have successfully phased myself out of your lives over a period of years and then, BAM, a lanky, beautiful god-star becomes a lanky, beautiful copse before it can become a creepy zombie man trying not to look at people for fear they misconstrue my accidental glance as a psychic assault on their unborn child or something equally plausible. You see, with the advent of the new TMBG, Beck, eels and NIN albums this year, I realized something: no matter how much importance I place on material possessions, there is still an emptiness, even bigger than before I obtained whatever object I was looking for, and the only thing that will stop the hole from widening is to stop the one with the hole in him. All I really have to look forward to is aging and pain and complications brought on by my various maladies. My eyesight, my connective tissue, my heart, none of that is going to get better with age. The only things that gets better with age is cheese and wine and even the best of each will become unusable after enough time has passed. Friends, I am NOT cheese nor am I wine. I have accepted this. Everything I do is just a distraction. Watching HBO series from NetFlix, checking the same dozen websites hour after hour, day after day for news about a concert, a video, a single, a poster, sleeping whenever I can, everything. The big question up until now was: A distraction from what? Life, folks, life and the fact that it is ending, right now. I sit here reading, talking on the phone, listening to beeps, phones ringing…I am killing time. Killing time until I can get home and watch TV shows that stopped being new three years ago, so I can buy food from the deli, so I can go to sleep, so I can download music, find it lacking and delete it. I’m always desperately looking for something to kill time. Maybe I should stop killing time. You know, time had no real meaning for me until my sophomore year in college. Then all of a sudden, a day was a day. There really were sixty minutes in an hour. I could count three seconds and three seconds would have passed. The time elongation I enjoyed as a kid ended abruptly in my second year at college. I didn’t feel older, I still feel like an 8th grader in a 24-year old body. But I was now able to feel the passage f time for what t was. Days no longer lasted forever. I remember the last day I feel the elasticity of time. It was the birthday of one of Danielle Grelik’s roommates and also the first day of Daylights Savings. We had just gained an hour but I did so much that day. I finally looked at my watch and saw it was only seven o’ clock at night. Five hours later, it was nine. Three hours later, eleven, an hour and a half later, midnight. Slowly, but surely, time became time. It’s only going to keep getting faster from here on out. Some writer described time as “the old bald cheater.” I don’t think time can be personified like Death or the Fates. Time is too immense to be crammed into one, finite form. Time is sort of like a wind. When you are younger, you don’t feel it moving, because it isn’t really. It is surrounding you, swirling this way and that, keeping you warm in your happy, blurry kiddie days. As you get older, it starts to move a bit, gets less warm. Eventually, it starts moving in one direction: towards the future and it gets colder and faster as you grow up. That’s why old people are always cold and forgetful. Time is moving so fast that they have nothing to hold onto, not even memory. God damn that’s grim; and I, for one, would NOT like to be a part of that. So how about this: as soon as I run out of things to do (as in, as soon as I stop finding things to distract me) or my body finally goes from passive to active as far as self-destruction, I’m out of here. Deal? Good.
My head hurts.
5.17.2005
5.13.2005
That fucking bear....
Soooooooooooo...Sunday at 12:30 - 1ish, be at my place. From there we will traipse into the Park for a pick-a-nick, then back to my place for s showing of "The Life Aquatic".
5.12.2005
Craw daddy
5.12.05
11:24
Thinking back to endless evenings at Philip’s old house in Heathrow Woods. All great memories. Speeding around the rotundas in the pitch blackness with “Firestarter” blaring from the gargantuan speakers in the Geo. Watching any number of terrible/excellent movies while eating chip combinations, angel food cake or whatever in various locations. Totally Hetero wrestling. Games of pool in which the Truth was discovered. Giles hitting his head on Phil’s pool while trying to throw me in. Eating kielbasa while discussing the Batman soundtrack. Playing the “Rub Burnt Cork On Leah’s Face” game with Phil and B.J. All of us playing Street Fighter II in a strobe light to see if it affected our game. Filming the “Lean On Me” video with Sunir while at the same time engaging in some heavy duty ass fucking…only with the door shut. Sleeping on the floor or at the foot of Phil’s bed with three other people. My father sitting out in the rain in his car screaming not-quite-loud-enough to be heard over the storm and becoming angry at Phil and I for not being able to do so. The massive pool party Phil orchestrated that included having two televisions and Playstations set up. Bulbous Melons, medieval replicas, the Gates of Hell, Damn Crazy Psycho Midgets…and brothers. Lots of brothers.
Those were indeed the good old days, and hopefully myself and Philip (maybe even Will when he gets tired of working hard for a living and “achieving things”) can find some new version of those blissful times. The important thing was the abundance of time that we had. There was no need for a “plan” for the evening because there was no rush. If we didn’t do something Friday, we would do it Saturday. And that was during the school year. Summer vacation was almost too much to handle.
I have a noted lack of wanderlust. This peeves, irks, vexes, perturbs and infuriates Christina at times. But what she doesn’t understand is that it isn’t where I am, it’s who I am with. That’s why going to upstate New York with Will and Phil is gold, sequestering myself in a shack in the desert with Will and Phil is gold, going to Wales with Phil, Will, Chris and whoever is gold. The People, man, the People. Phil, Will, B.J., Lisa, Jackie, Danielle, Casey, Maria, Katrina, Leah, Stephanie, Derek, Angie, Mark, Nick, Sunir, Nigel, Giles, Jenna, Allison, Marty, John, Dan, Brian, Walker, Hilary, Sid, Chris All of them played a part back then in making me see the importance of People. Unless I make that bomb I’m always talking about, I will die alone. I have accepted that and I’m fine with it, but if I’m going to die alone, then I’d prefer to live with friends.
12:56
I don’t know if you have all had McDonald’s Sausage, Egg and Cheese on a Biscuit or any of those nasty breakfast sandwiches, but I will assure of something: Any McDonald’s breakfast concoctions you get there are trash compared to a REAL Bacon Egg and Cheese on a Bagel that you get at a restaurant or Deli. My Deli makes a Sausage, Egg and Cheese on a Bagel that will make you soulgasm.
Also, does anyone else out there think that opening cartons of milk or juice is a bit vaginal? I mean you fold back these sets of flaps and then drink the sweetness within…maybe that’s why they are phasing out the old design for the ones with the screw on cap on them.
Also, there is .a spot in Central Park…not too far from here…where you can get the best GAWDDAMN…just kidding. It’s one of the most perfect spots in the park and soon (in two weeks or so) I will be sharing it with Phil. I was sitting there the other day and called to share the beauty with Will but he didn’t answer his phone, asleep on the job again, eh William? Heh heh. So I then called Phil and he pointed out to me that THIS was the peak of my life, it’s all downhill from here. To quote E: “Who’s to say?/These could be the good old days.” It’s true. People having a good time, a really great time hardly ever stop and say to themselves “Hm. This is the happiest I’ve been in recent memory. This could be one of my best memories from this period in my life in ten, twenty, fifty years.” Maybe we don’t do that because it makes us feel self-conscious in the moment, thus ruining it, or maybe it turns our minds to the uncertainty of the Future. Who can tell? All I know for sure on the matter is that those times in my life where I did stop for a moment and say to myself, “This…this is going to be huge” I have forgotten, whereas the times mentioned above just happened, I can recall them perfectly.
Also:
Beth – Space Ghost seasons I and II
Alan – Futurama season IV
Lauren – The Boondock Saints and Hunky Dory
Ray – Silent Hill 3
Sorry, just keeping track.
This weekend I might have people to see The Life Aquatic, in case you missed it in theatres.
And; any thoughts on how to drive out the Cunt Beneath would be greatly welcome. I’d like not to turn to infanticide…again.
Also: Did you know that both Luke Perry AND Method Man were in the fourth season of Oz? Meth was his usual fun self, but Luke Perry? Man, do I respect him now. I mean his acting was good and then, all of a sudden, he did a full-frontal nude scene. From the pretty boy bitch on whatever that show was to full fucking frontal on Oz. He’s got balls…and a lot of pubic hair.
11:24
Thinking back to endless evenings at Philip’s old house in Heathrow Woods. All great memories. Speeding around the rotundas in the pitch blackness with “Firestarter” blaring from the gargantuan speakers in the Geo. Watching any number of terrible/excellent movies while eating chip combinations, angel food cake or whatever in various locations. Totally Hetero wrestling. Games of pool in which the Truth was discovered. Giles hitting his head on Phil’s pool while trying to throw me in. Eating kielbasa while discussing the Batman soundtrack. Playing the “Rub Burnt Cork On Leah’s Face” game with Phil and B.J. All of us playing Street Fighter II in a strobe light to see if it affected our game. Filming the “Lean On Me” video with Sunir while at the same time engaging in some heavy duty ass fucking…only with the door shut. Sleeping on the floor or at the foot of Phil’s bed with three other people. My father sitting out in the rain in his car screaming not-quite-loud-enough to be heard over the storm and becoming angry at Phil and I for not being able to do so. The massive pool party Phil orchestrated that included having two televisions and Playstations set up. Bulbous Melons, medieval replicas, the Gates of Hell, Damn Crazy Psycho Midgets…and brothers. Lots of brothers.
Those were indeed the good old days, and hopefully myself and Philip (maybe even Will when he gets tired of working hard for a living and “achieving things”) can find some new version of those blissful times. The important thing was the abundance of time that we had. There was no need for a “plan” for the evening because there was no rush. If we didn’t do something Friday, we would do it Saturday. And that was during the school year. Summer vacation was almost too much to handle.
I have a noted lack of wanderlust. This peeves, irks, vexes, perturbs and infuriates Christina at times. But what she doesn’t understand is that it isn’t where I am, it’s who I am with. That’s why going to upstate New York with Will and Phil is gold, sequestering myself in a shack in the desert with Will and Phil is gold, going to Wales with Phil, Will, Chris and whoever is gold. The People, man, the People. Phil, Will, B.J., Lisa, Jackie, Danielle, Casey, Maria, Katrina, Leah, Stephanie, Derek, Angie, Mark, Nick, Sunir, Nigel, Giles, Jenna, Allison, Marty, John, Dan, Brian, Walker, Hilary, Sid, Chris All of them played a part back then in making me see the importance of People. Unless I make that bomb I’m always talking about, I will die alone. I have accepted that and I’m fine with it, but if I’m going to die alone, then I’d prefer to live with friends.
12:56
I don’t know if you have all had McDonald’s Sausage, Egg and Cheese on a Biscuit or any of those nasty breakfast sandwiches, but I will assure of something: Any McDonald’s breakfast concoctions you get there are trash compared to a REAL Bacon Egg and Cheese on a Bagel that you get at a restaurant or Deli. My Deli makes a Sausage, Egg and Cheese on a Bagel that will make you soulgasm.
Also, does anyone else out there think that opening cartons of milk or juice is a bit vaginal? I mean you fold back these sets of flaps and then drink the sweetness within…maybe that’s why they are phasing out the old design for the ones with the screw on cap on them.
Also, there is .a spot in Central Park…not too far from here…where you can get the best GAWDDAMN…just kidding. It’s one of the most perfect spots in the park and soon (in two weeks or so) I will be sharing it with Phil. I was sitting there the other day and called to share the beauty with Will but he didn’t answer his phone, asleep on the job again, eh William? Heh heh. So I then called Phil and he pointed out to me that THIS was the peak of my life, it’s all downhill from here. To quote E: “Who’s to say?/These could be the good old days.” It’s true. People having a good time, a really great time hardly ever stop and say to themselves “Hm. This is the happiest I’ve been in recent memory. This could be one of my best memories from this period in my life in ten, twenty, fifty years.” Maybe we don’t do that because it makes us feel self-conscious in the moment, thus ruining it, or maybe it turns our minds to the uncertainty of the Future. Who can tell? All I know for sure on the matter is that those times in my life where I did stop for a moment and say to myself, “This…this is going to be huge” I have forgotten, whereas the times mentioned above just happened, I can recall them perfectly.
Also:
Beth – Space Ghost seasons I and II
Alan – Futurama season IV
Lauren – The Boondock Saints and Hunky Dory
Ray – Silent Hill 3
Sorry, just keeping track.
This weekend I might have people to see The Life Aquatic, in case you missed it in theatres.
And; any thoughts on how to drive out the Cunt Beneath would be greatly welcome. I’d like not to turn to infanticide…again.
Also: Did you know that both Luke Perry AND Method Man were in the fourth season of Oz? Meth was his usual fun self, but Luke Perry? Man, do I respect him now. I mean his acting was good and then, all of a sudden, he did a full-frontal nude scene. From the pretty boy bitch on whatever that show was to full fucking frontal on Oz. He’s got balls…and a lot of pubic hair.
Maize
5.11.5
3:23
I LOVE Haribo Gummi Bears. After trying them, regular Gummi products seem pointless. I challenge you all to that test.
Anyway, the Deli on my corner had a large box of Haribo Gummi Bears and nothing would make a bad day fair and a fair day good than a small bag of said Gummi snacks. Today I set off to the Hospital at 2:57 for my 3 o’clock shift and I stopped at the Deli to grab some Gummi Bears. They were out.
It’s now 3:24 and I am suddenly having a bad day. I am overly irritable and will most likely turn off the switchboard and phone to try and sort everything out.
The question: Could I really be having a bad day because of the lack of Gummi Bears? I don’t eat them every day. Maybe three small packs a week or so, but the lack of Gummi Bears when I wanted (needed?) them today has seeming cast a shadow over my usual cheerful demeanor. Updates on my mood as they occur…
4:41
Just in a shitty mood, I guess. People on the phone make me want to scream, patients on the board make me want to infect them with cholera…more so and the loud, ignorant bastards that work around me make me want to call up the local news and make stories up about them.
I’ve been considering calling a news station anonymously and giving them details about what happened and also letting them know just how fucked up things are here. For one thing, I am still gainfully employed. Yesterday I hung up on, misdirected and sassed the same impolite woman for about 15 minutes. I made it my goal to say “Sursly” and “Meow” (a la ‘Super Troopers’) to the patients over the board as many times as I could while keeping a straight face. I mean, holy fucking shit. If the people in charge were any more stupid than they are now…I can’t even picture them being any more stupid actually.
But the best/worst part is, I am a far cry above the others in my department as far as job performance. I mean, I may fuck around with the patients, hang up on people and spread my own malevolent miasma throughout the establishment, but I am still, head and shoulders, better than all the other operators. I am convinced that I am unaffected by consequence and anything going against this hypothesis would be welcomed. Reality is different for me here…thinner for me because of something I can’t put my finger on. I think I’ll call the Fox Five Problem Solvers on this place. See what fun that causes.
Falling down and down and down.
10:28
Did you now that a secondary definition for “elope” is “to slip away, to escape”? I didn’t. So when I got a call this evening about a patient “eloping” this afternoon, I was understandably confused.
Right now I am ignoring a ringing phone and listening to Nine Inch Nails as I sit at my switchboard. When I get home in about a half hour I will watch some more Oz, then totter off to sleep. I feel sluggish.
Three words: French vanilla popcorn.
I think I just heard one of the Spenglish guards say: “Canto Burrito”. Could this be The Singing Burrito? I most certainly hope so.
The Life Aquatic DVD has some interesting things on it, including an interview with Mark Mothersbaugh in which he misuses the term “palindrome”. Silly, silly Devo.
Eels will be at Town Hall on June 30th. I and everyone who is worth my regard will be there.
10:55
Just got a call from the filthy fat cunt relieving me this evening. She’ll be late. Either way, come 11:00 pm, I AM DONE. Turning phone and switchboard off and humming with my eyes shut. Sursly.
I really like my hair. So soft. I have been unable to swim this week so far. My body yearns to be in water. The feel of it is…exhilarating. I learned to swim before I learned to walk. I spent hours in the ocean when I was younger. I loved it. My body is already showing a slight improvement with the few days of swimming I have done. Friday I will be back in full effect. I might have a burger too. And a cup of New England Clam Chowder. Mmm.
11:XX
I = OUT
3:23
I LOVE Haribo Gummi Bears. After trying them, regular Gummi products seem pointless. I challenge you all to that test.
Anyway, the Deli on my corner had a large box of Haribo Gummi Bears and nothing would make a bad day fair and a fair day good than a small bag of said Gummi snacks. Today I set off to the Hospital at 2:57 for my 3 o’clock shift and I stopped at the Deli to grab some Gummi Bears. They were out.
It’s now 3:24 and I am suddenly having a bad day. I am overly irritable and will most likely turn off the switchboard and phone to try and sort everything out.
The question: Could I really be having a bad day because of the lack of Gummi Bears? I don’t eat them every day. Maybe three small packs a week or so, but the lack of Gummi Bears when I wanted (needed?) them today has seeming cast a shadow over my usual cheerful demeanor. Updates on my mood as they occur…
4:41
Just in a shitty mood, I guess. People on the phone make me want to scream, patients on the board make me want to infect them with cholera…more so and the loud, ignorant bastards that work around me make me want to call up the local news and make stories up about them.
I’ve been considering calling a news station anonymously and giving them details about what happened and also letting them know just how fucked up things are here. For one thing, I am still gainfully employed. Yesterday I hung up on, misdirected and sassed the same impolite woman for about 15 minutes. I made it my goal to say “Sursly” and “Meow” (a la ‘Super Troopers’) to the patients over the board as many times as I could while keeping a straight face. I mean, holy fucking shit. If the people in charge were any more stupid than they are now…I can’t even picture them being any more stupid actually.
But the best/worst part is, I am a far cry above the others in my department as far as job performance. I mean, I may fuck around with the patients, hang up on people and spread my own malevolent miasma throughout the establishment, but I am still, head and shoulders, better than all the other operators. I am convinced that I am unaffected by consequence and anything going against this hypothesis would be welcomed. Reality is different for me here…thinner for me because of something I can’t put my finger on. I think I’ll call the Fox Five Problem Solvers on this place. See what fun that causes.
Falling down and down and down.
10:28
Did you now that a secondary definition for “elope” is “to slip away, to escape”? I didn’t. So when I got a call this evening about a patient “eloping” this afternoon, I was understandably confused.
Right now I am ignoring a ringing phone and listening to Nine Inch Nails as I sit at my switchboard. When I get home in about a half hour I will watch some more Oz, then totter off to sleep. I feel sluggish.
Three words: French vanilla popcorn.
I think I just heard one of the Spenglish guards say: “Canto Burrito”. Could this be The Singing Burrito? I most certainly hope so.
The Life Aquatic DVD has some interesting things on it, including an interview with Mark Mothersbaugh in which he misuses the term “palindrome”. Silly, silly Devo.
Eels will be at Town Hall on June 30th. I and everyone who is worth my regard will be there.
10:55
Just got a call from the filthy fat cunt relieving me this evening. She’ll be late. Either way, come 11:00 pm, I AM DONE. Turning phone and switchboard off and humming with my eyes shut. Sursly.
I really like my hair. So soft. I have been unable to swim this week so far. My body yearns to be in water. The feel of it is…exhilarating. I learned to swim before I learned to walk. I spent hours in the ocean when I was younger. I loved it. My body is already showing a slight improvement with the few days of swimming I have done. Friday I will be back in full effect. I might have a burger too. And a cup of New England Clam Chowder. Mmm.
11:XX
I = OUT
5.11.2005
TITS!!!!
5.10.05
6:XXpm
Earlier today I was sitting next to a toddler on a bus. I noticed a moment after taking my seat that the small child smelled of burnt toast. Because I know people with brain tumors often smell things like oranges and burnt toast, I was understandably worried. I then noticed the man across from me was eating a Caesar salad…complete with slightly blacked croutons. I was relieved at first, but then I became concerned. How could a man be so busy that his schedule only allowed him the length of a bus ride to eat his lunch? He must lead a terribly hectic life. I have days like that every now and then. Waking up, going to an audition, hitting the Club for some swim swim, walking a dog, working at the Hospital. Whew. Good thing I only have days like that four or five times a month.
Another person I know who has a rather full plate…my friend, Philip W.F. Tucker. Busy busy man. He’ll be taking some time off in New York City in a few weeks or so.
I do know some people on the opposite side of the spectrum though. My friend William J. Pomerantz for instance. He went to these crazy high schools and colleges and grad schools where he was sooo busy. Now? He just sits around and eats crackers all day. In his underwear. Watching porn. Clown on dolphin porn. Clown on dolphin porn XMAX. Sursly.
Man, if anyone from his numerous schools could see him now? I just don’t know what they would have to say…
On a different subject...last night, Silence of the Lambs was on UPN. Did any of you ever want to see that fat girl get killed? I sure did. She was spoiled, fat and worst of all, she was singing along HORRIBLY to that Tom Petty song. Jesus.
Seeing Nine Inch Nails in a week, should be fun. Think I might steal some AIDS blood from the Hospital in case someone tries moshing with me. Man, would THAT be worse than a hangover or what?
6:XXpm
Earlier today I was sitting next to a toddler on a bus. I noticed a moment after taking my seat that the small child smelled of burnt toast. Because I know people with brain tumors often smell things like oranges and burnt toast, I was understandably worried. I then noticed the man across from me was eating a Caesar salad…complete with slightly blacked croutons. I was relieved at first, but then I became concerned. How could a man be so busy that his schedule only allowed him the length of a bus ride to eat his lunch? He must lead a terribly hectic life. I have days like that every now and then. Waking up, going to an audition, hitting the Club for some swim swim, walking a dog, working at the Hospital. Whew. Good thing I only have days like that four or five times a month.
Another person I know who has a rather full plate…my friend, Philip W.F. Tucker. Busy busy man. He’ll be taking some time off in New York City in a few weeks or so.
I do know some people on the opposite side of the spectrum though. My friend William J. Pomerantz for instance. He went to these crazy high schools and colleges and grad schools where he was sooo busy. Now? He just sits around and eats crackers all day. In his underwear. Watching porn. Clown on dolphin porn. Clown on dolphin porn XMAX. Sursly.
Man, if anyone from his numerous schools could see him now? I just don’t know what they would have to say…
On a different subject...last night, Silence of the Lambs was on UPN. Did any of you ever want to see that fat girl get killed? I sure did. She was spoiled, fat and worst of all, she was singing along HORRIBLY to that Tom Petty song. Jesus.
Seeing Nine Inch Nails in a week, should be fun. Think I might steal some AIDS blood from the Hospital in case someone tries moshing with me. Man, would THAT be worse than a hangover or what?
5.09.2005
Sweet Dreams
A few nights ago I had this awesome dream where I was in a small apartment with several people and someone owned two or three ferrets. They took a liking to me and would climb all over me when I called them. They were very friendly.
'Life Aquatic' DVD comes out tomorrow. Super Portuguese Bowie Features abound.
'Life Aquatic' DVD comes out tomorrow. Super Portuguese Bowie Features abound.
5.08.2005
5.07.2005
Today, while I was walking Louis and Eloise, a beautiful French girl asked me for directions. I purposely sent her the wrong way. Not only would I never cheat on Christina, but I would send other women to incorrect places just to show them how unattainable I am.
After dogging, I went to the Club, swam and hit the Hot and Steam Rooms for the first time. The Hot Room is a little scary, but the Steam Room? [insert opening ululation from 'Musicology'] I am purged of toxins.
Then I had some lovelys over for Forbidden Zone. Mixed reviews. I continue to (un)consciously retain my crown of Odd.
I feel dizzy , nauseous and hateful towards the Cunt Beneath and I need something to change in our dynamic or else........
After dogging, I went to the Club, swam and hit the Hot and Steam Rooms for the first time. The Hot Room is a little scary, but the Steam Room? [insert opening ululation from 'Musicology'] I am purged of toxins.
Then I had some lovelys over for Forbidden Zone. Mixed reviews. I continue to (un)consciously retain my crown of Odd.
I feel dizzy , nauseous and hateful towards the Cunt Beneath and I need something to change in our dynamic or else........
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