7.28.06
6:58 PM
Saw something on the train today that made me think better of the future: two little kids playing Rock, Paper, Scissor. Despite the fact that kids today can download before they can read, can play all three leading game systems and no musical instruments and understand all the rules to Yu-Gi-Oh but fail to grasp the basics of polite society, they still play Rock, Paper, Scissors. Warms my heart.
And speaking of technology that I don’t understand, I bought an HP external DVD burner today. I have yet to burn anything because I am getting a runtime error. A fucking goddamn runtime error. Jesus Christ do I hate those motherfucking runtime errors. Only about 3% of the world understands what the fuck that even means. By the by, I am excluded from that 3%. Goddamn fucking 3%. Wish they’d give me a call and explain everything in layman’s terms. Or even better, Paul-is-a-stupid-asshole terms. Yeah. That would be ever so helpful. Fucking 3%.
As the problem progressed, I had a terrifying moment of recollection. My very first external CD burner (from my freshman year at Fordham) was also an HP. It worked maybe 5 to 10 percent of the time. In order to successfully burn a CD with it, you had to shut down EVERY other application on your machine and then (this is my favorite part) make sure nothing touched the surface the burner was resting on. After the 43rd error message (accompanied by the 43rd shattered semi-blank CD-R) I decided to call the help line. I had the guy on the phone for a while, 15 or 20 minutes, and he walked me through everything from uninstalling to reinstalling to running diagnostics right up until I hit the “burn” button. Then he said, “Now we see if it works”. I was confused and asked how can he say that? Isn’t CD burning an exact science? “Nope,” he responded, “if it works, it works, if it doesn’t it doesn’t.” I was furious and vowed never to purchase an HP product again, however, that was seven years ago and it isn’t the burner giving me a problem…yet. I haven’t even gotten that far. I am still trying to figure out why the fuck Nero Express Vision 3 keeps giving me fucking goddamn RUNTIME ERRORS.
This is just making me angrier.
Fucking asshole technology.
Maybe Ray knows what the fuck is wrong with this filthy piece of dog shit…
7:50PM
Okay, Ray didn’t pick up his phone (he might be scrumping) so I tried Will. He told me all about runtime errors. It seems that a runtime error is an error that occurs during the time a program is running. The sad thing is: that is EXACTLY what a runtime error is. Goddamn it.
So, I never read the paper and never watch the news. I happened to catch a snippet of a teenage girl missing since Monday or something a few days ago. Today I saw the headline of whatever paper was left on the switchboard that had the story about how the naked, raped and strangled corpse of this missing girl was found concealed in a suitcase in a Dumpster in New Jersey. They had the whole story about how she was drunk and left her friend unconscious in an impound lot on 38th and 12th and then saw some drug dealer following her around 12th Ave. so she called her boyfriend who told her to get a cab. Turned out the cabbie took the drunk 18-year old back to a hotel in New Jersey where he raped and killed her. They caught him because he used her cell phone to call some people after he’d killed her.
Two things; first, I hope this guy will get ten times the rape and fifty times the fear and pain he has caused this girl and her family when he arrives in prison and second, this is yet another clear example of why I do not read/listen to the new
7.29.2006
7.27.2006
From the Book of Lamentations
7.27.06
3:58 PM
I dislike when people say “good enough” in reaction to something. What I derive from it is that someone did or said something, gave information about a situation, you know and the result was just “good enough” for the person saying it. Like, it doesn’t satisfy my needs, it’s just “good enough” to be considered adequate. If someone wrote that on a paper, for instance, I would think I had done badly and would ask for an explanation. I mean, don’t misunderstand, I’m sure there are times when that phrase is totally warranted, but when people use it as a blanket response statement like “okay” or “all right”, it just gets on my nerves.
Also, Chris brought to my attention a new bit of jargon that I have yet to hear, but when I (inevitably) do I’m sure I’ll hate it. Instead of asking “What’s going on?” or “What’s up?” people are apparently now asking “What’s good?” That sounds stupid. Then again, this could be me getting older. Resisting the tidal change of the popular vernacular. I hope not and I think just like the principal from The Breakfast Club “it’s the kids, not me…”
I have tried to instill “xmax” and Lauren uses it although whether it’s just to humor me or not is unclear. It’s hard to picture her saying “xmax” at the Associated Press, but if she is then my plan might bear fruit sooner than I estimated.
I think this impromptu rant about the state of slang and language is tied into the fact that I am reading a book set in the early 1800’s in and around London. There is so little being said, but it’s being said so beautifully and skillfully. I miss that. I miss people putting effort into language, writing and speaking it. IM, text messages, e-mail. All of this is leading to the bottom of a Spiral of Dumb. Shit, the fucking President can’t speak English. They’re offering a COLLEGE DEGREE in Ebonics at UCLA! Letters are being stolen from words in the Dictionary!! We are fucked, people. In a literary and intellectual sense, we are fucked.
Feel the pain and sorrow of the idiotizing, of the moronification, of the dumbass fuckery of our world.
If it doesn’t hurt, you’re already dead.
8:01 PM
Yow. Around 7 tonight, we had a code and I was informed that a patient was found dead in their room. I was also informed (along with the security and administrator on duty—who is an inept boob, but still…) by the on call doctor and all the nurses there that the patient was DNR. For those that don’t know, DNR stands for “Do Not Resuscitate”. I don’t know the finer point of this operation but basically if a patient has DNR on their medical chart, the crash cart with the paddles is NOT brought out and the staff does NOT try to bring the patient back to life. If a patient does NOT have DNR on their chart, the doctors, nurses and everyone else who is supposed to, must do their damnedest to save that persons life.
Anyway, at the time of the code I was told (along with everyone else) that the patient was DNR and they did not try to bring him back. 20 minutes later I called back to get more details (the patient’s name, the person who called the code etc.) and I was told that the patient was NOT DNR. In other words, because someone fucked up in a major way, this person was allowed to die.
Now maybe some people believe that when your body says, “die” you should not try to countermand the order by electrocuting your heart, but if someone is waiting for something, say, to reconcile with their estranged child or for the new Nine Inch Nails album to come out, or if they have some other reason to stick around despite their own body’s urge to just stop, I think their wish should be honored. What I’m trying to say is, in the time I have been here, I have heard about children dying under tragic and mysterious circumstances, bodies being misplaced and people who could ONLY exist in a nursing home walking right past security into New York City and this is the worst thing I have witnessed. THEY LET HER DIE. A TEAM OF PEOPLE WHO WENT TO SCHOOL FOR YEARS TO BE LEGALLY ALLOWED TO HELP SAVE PEOPLE’S LIVES LET A PERSON DIE. I know I shouldn’t be surprised but, Jesus this is a new low. I’m seriously considering calling Fox 5 of something to just tell them about all the terrible shit people let go on here. I will most likely not mention the time (Yes. Singular. Just once. Ahem.) I have turned this off or unplugged that because this isn’t about me, man! This is about people who have jobs that matter (doctors, nurses, security personnel), jobs that affect the condition of old, sick or crazy people, completely fucking up and causing death or elopement or the misplacement of a human corpse. These idiots shouldn’t be allowed to heat up Big Mac’s let alone be in the health care profession. All I can do is reiterate (for the umpteenth time): DO NOT SEND YOUR LOVED ONES TO THIS PLACE. THEY WILL DIE WHEN YOU WANT THEM TO LIVE (and vice versa) AND EVEN AFTER DEATH THEIR TERRIBLE JOURNEY IS NOT OVER. They’ll probably end up in the basement of a whorehouse or something.
Sigh.
Never mind.
So, tomorrow I have to wake up early to be in the final scene of my agent’s short film. I play a mental patient. I am deciding between the jabbering, raving type and the drooling, muttering type. Maybe a potpourri of both perhaps? The flavors of my mental patient stew make Baskin Robbins look like a Neapolitan.
HOT DAWG!!
3:58 PM
I dislike when people say “good enough” in reaction to something. What I derive from it is that someone did or said something, gave information about a situation, you know and the result was just “good enough” for the person saying it. Like, it doesn’t satisfy my needs, it’s just “good enough” to be considered adequate. If someone wrote that on a paper, for instance, I would think I had done badly and would ask for an explanation. I mean, don’t misunderstand, I’m sure there are times when that phrase is totally warranted, but when people use it as a blanket response statement like “okay” or “all right”, it just gets on my nerves.
Also, Chris brought to my attention a new bit of jargon that I have yet to hear, but when I (inevitably) do I’m sure I’ll hate it. Instead of asking “What’s going on?” or “What’s up?” people are apparently now asking “What’s good?” That sounds stupid. Then again, this could be me getting older. Resisting the tidal change of the popular vernacular. I hope not and I think just like the principal from The Breakfast Club “it’s the kids, not me…”
I have tried to instill “xmax” and Lauren uses it although whether it’s just to humor me or not is unclear. It’s hard to picture her saying “xmax” at the Associated Press, but if she is then my plan might bear fruit sooner than I estimated.
I think this impromptu rant about the state of slang and language is tied into the fact that I am reading a book set in the early 1800’s in and around London. There is so little being said, but it’s being said so beautifully and skillfully. I miss that. I miss people putting effort into language, writing and speaking it. IM, text messages, e-mail. All of this is leading to the bottom of a Spiral of Dumb. Shit, the fucking President can’t speak English. They’re offering a COLLEGE DEGREE in Ebonics at UCLA! Letters are being stolen from words in the Dictionary!! We are fucked, people. In a literary and intellectual sense, we are fucked.
Feel the pain and sorrow of the idiotizing, of the moronification, of the dumbass fuckery of our world.
If it doesn’t hurt, you’re already dead.
8:01 PM
Yow. Around 7 tonight, we had a code and I was informed that a patient was found dead in their room. I was also informed (along with the security and administrator on duty—who is an inept boob, but still…) by the on call doctor and all the nurses there that the patient was DNR. For those that don’t know, DNR stands for “Do Not Resuscitate”. I don’t know the finer point of this operation but basically if a patient has DNR on their medical chart, the crash cart with the paddles is NOT brought out and the staff does NOT try to bring the patient back to life. If a patient does NOT have DNR on their chart, the doctors, nurses and everyone else who is supposed to, must do their damnedest to save that persons life.
Anyway, at the time of the code I was told (along with everyone else) that the patient was DNR and they did not try to bring him back. 20 minutes later I called back to get more details (the patient’s name, the person who called the code etc.) and I was told that the patient was NOT DNR. In other words, because someone fucked up in a major way, this person was allowed to die.
Now maybe some people believe that when your body says, “die” you should not try to countermand the order by electrocuting your heart, but if someone is waiting for something, say, to reconcile with their estranged child or for the new Nine Inch Nails album to come out, or if they have some other reason to stick around despite their own body’s urge to just stop, I think their wish should be honored. What I’m trying to say is, in the time I have been here, I have heard about children dying under tragic and mysterious circumstances, bodies being misplaced and people who could ONLY exist in a nursing home walking right past security into New York City and this is the worst thing I have witnessed. THEY LET HER DIE. A TEAM OF PEOPLE WHO WENT TO SCHOOL FOR YEARS TO BE LEGALLY ALLOWED TO HELP SAVE PEOPLE’S LIVES LET A PERSON DIE. I know I shouldn’t be surprised but, Jesus this is a new low. I’m seriously considering calling Fox 5 of something to just tell them about all the terrible shit people let go on here. I will most likely not mention the time (Yes. Singular. Just once. Ahem.) I have turned this off or unplugged that because this isn’t about me, man! This is about people who have jobs that matter (doctors, nurses, security personnel), jobs that affect the condition of old, sick or crazy people, completely fucking up and causing death or elopement or the misplacement of a human corpse. These idiots shouldn’t be allowed to heat up Big Mac’s let alone be in the health care profession. All I can do is reiterate (for the umpteenth time): DO NOT SEND YOUR LOVED ONES TO THIS PLACE. THEY WILL DIE WHEN YOU WANT THEM TO LIVE (and vice versa) AND EVEN AFTER DEATH THEIR TERRIBLE JOURNEY IS NOT OVER. They’ll probably end up in the basement of a whorehouse or something.
Sigh.
Never mind.
So, tomorrow I have to wake up early to be in the final scene of my agent’s short film. I play a mental patient. I am deciding between the jabbering, raving type and the drooling, muttering type. Maybe a potpourri of both perhaps? The flavors of my mental patient stew make Baskin Robbins look like a Neapolitan.
HOT DAWG!!
7.26.2006
Radio's cold
7.26.06
3:44 PM
There’s a new Beck song out called “Cell Phone’s Dead”. It’s from the new album coming out in September. This is the album Beck purportedly wrote to go between Sea Change and Guero. The song (in its arrangement) reminds me somewhat of “Hell Yes”, but a bit more complex. Very ass shakin’. The lyrics are excellent. The video has been shot and will be released soon. Michel Gondry directed it.
Also, yesterday the guy on the phone at place I have recently been ordering food from referred to me as a gentleman and then they referred to me as Superman. Yeah. They asked my name like they normally do and I said Paul and then he said: Paul? Yeah yeah, the gentleman, Superman” or maybe it was like a formal title “The Gentleman Superman.” Then he hung up. I don’t know if this is because I tip them well or because I am very tall…like Superman, but either way, it made my fucking week.
3:44 PM
There’s a new Beck song out called “Cell Phone’s Dead”. It’s from the new album coming out in September. This is the album Beck purportedly wrote to go between Sea Change and Guero. The song (in its arrangement) reminds me somewhat of “Hell Yes”, but a bit more complex. Very ass shakin’. The lyrics are excellent. The video has been shot and will be released soon. Michel Gondry directed it.
Also, yesterday the guy on the phone at place I have recently been ordering food from referred to me as a gentleman and then they referred to me as Superman. Yeah. They asked my name like they normally do and I said Paul and then he said: Paul? Yeah yeah, the gentleman, Superman” or maybe it was like a formal title “The Gentleman Superman.” Then he hung up. I don’t know if this is because I tip them well or because I am very tall…like Superman, but either way, it made my fucking week.
7.24.2006
One by one I'll knock you out...
7.24.06
8:31 PM
There is an operator here I have probably never talked about. Her name is Eva and she works the Saturday and Sunday shift 7pm to 7am. She has never asked for more hours or broken a brand new leather reclining chair with her bulk or anything like that. Her deal is that she is a Jehovah’s Witness, but not the awesome kind like Prince. She is the kind that won’t touch any people who aren’t Jehovah’s Witnesses. Also, apparently, she is always telling people to change the climate in the security office rather than bringing a sweater or wearing short sleeves like Robin William’s character in Deconstructing Harry.
Anyway, what she does on her late night 12 hour shifts is this, she’ll do her job until 11 or 12 or something like that, and then she’ll fall asleep. Now, we’ve all fallen asleep at work or in school and the way to do it is to make it look like you’re cupping your hand over your head because you are looking down (intently) at what you are studying. She is not as subtle as that. She lays her head down on her arms and snores like a convoy. When she wakes up around 2 or 3 in the morning, she calls her uncle and they talk on the phone for four hours. That isn’t 100% every time but usually it is.
Security and communications are in the same room and they kind of ignore the blatant shirking of her duty (usually because they are asleep themselves or just not in the security office). In a way, it’s is a long standing joke. If someone looks tired behind the switchboard, they remind you never to “pull an Eva” on the day shifts. So, I came in today to find out a VERY big wig that is usually NEVER here in the weekends after hours totally caught her asleep and snoring like Moses. I don’t know what’s going to happen to the groggy Chosen One, but I’m sure it will be unpleasant. As you can imagine, being asleep behind the board is the operator’s equivalent of letting a patient just walk out (see how unimportant my job is?), but in this case, there isn’t much of a gray area. She was asleep. She was caught. You don’t argue that you were just resting your eyes and head while snoring, it doesn’t work that way. Anyway, the point is, I hope that whatever happens to her will help the other terrible operators to reform themselves before they are also caught using the hospitals property for personal use, eating whole, live chickens and watching DVDs during daytime weekend hours.
To be honest, I really just want them to get rid of Tubby Cuntin and I’m projecting, but a girl can dream, right?
Oh, speaking of Mount Eatmore, she broke the wheel off a brand new leather executive chair (circa $400) by seat dropping into it. We’ve had this thing for a little over three months. Way to go, Tubby.
Changing the subject xmax; got back from my trip to Philly at 2:30 this afternoon. All in all, I consider it a waste of money and I wish I had just seen Peaches at Irving Plaza on Saturday. Philadelphia sucks. It is bad. Watch out, here is comes. Run away. Run away. Now it’s after you. Flee to someplace new. Not even cheese steaks (made the RIGHT WAY WITH CHEESE WHIZ) can redeem this city.
12:29AM
Also, it strikes me that if you speak two languages but don’t know what “bilingual” means, you aren’t bilingual.
8:31 PM
There is an operator here I have probably never talked about. Her name is Eva and she works the Saturday and Sunday shift 7pm to 7am. She has never asked for more hours or broken a brand new leather reclining chair with her bulk or anything like that. Her deal is that she is a Jehovah’s Witness, but not the awesome kind like Prince. She is the kind that won’t touch any people who aren’t Jehovah’s Witnesses. Also, apparently, she is always telling people to change the climate in the security office rather than bringing a sweater or wearing short sleeves like Robin William’s character in Deconstructing Harry.
Anyway, what she does on her late night 12 hour shifts is this, she’ll do her job until 11 or 12 or something like that, and then she’ll fall asleep. Now, we’ve all fallen asleep at work or in school and the way to do it is to make it look like you’re cupping your hand over your head because you are looking down (intently) at what you are studying. She is not as subtle as that. She lays her head down on her arms and snores like a convoy. When she wakes up around 2 or 3 in the morning, she calls her uncle and they talk on the phone for four hours. That isn’t 100% every time but usually it is.
Security and communications are in the same room and they kind of ignore the blatant shirking of her duty (usually because they are asleep themselves or just not in the security office). In a way, it’s is a long standing joke. If someone looks tired behind the switchboard, they remind you never to “pull an Eva” on the day shifts. So, I came in today to find out a VERY big wig that is usually NEVER here in the weekends after hours totally caught her asleep and snoring like Moses. I don’t know what’s going to happen to the groggy Chosen One, but I’m sure it will be unpleasant. As you can imagine, being asleep behind the board is the operator’s equivalent of letting a patient just walk out (see how unimportant my job is?), but in this case, there isn’t much of a gray area. She was asleep. She was caught. You don’t argue that you were just resting your eyes and head while snoring, it doesn’t work that way. Anyway, the point is, I hope that whatever happens to her will help the other terrible operators to reform themselves before they are also caught using the hospitals property for personal use, eating whole, live chickens and watching DVDs during daytime weekend hours.
To be honest, I really just want them to get rid of Tubby Cuntin and I’m projecting, but a girl can dream, right?
Oh, speaking of Mount Eatmore, she broke the wheel off a brand new leather executive chair (circa $400) by seat dropping into it. We’ve had this thing for a little over three months. Way to go, Tubby.
Changing the subject xmax; got back from my trip to Philly at 2:30 this afternoon. All in all, I consider it a waste of money and I wish I had just seen Peaches at Irving Plaza on Saturday. Philadelphia sucks. It is bad. Watch out, here is comes. Run away. Run away. Now it’s after you. Flee to someplace new. Not even cheese steaks (made the RIGHT WAY WITH CHEESE WHIZ) can redeem this city.
12:29AM
Also, it strikes me that if you speak two languages but don’t know what “bilingual” means, you aren’t bilingual.
7.19.2006
Gonna take you up to Glendale...gonna take you for a real good meal...
7.19.06
3:31 PM
I feel vaguely artistic today. Like blue flowers in a vase. Beautiful blue flowers that only want to smell nice for people. But someone has put me in a dark broom closet. If only I had a gun. A metaphorical blue-flower-in-a-closet gun, not a real one. If I had a real one I would probably commit a hate crime. Or is it called a race crime? I feel like a “race crime” would be cheating in the New York Marathon so I guess it would be a hate crime. Can people of the same race, creed and socio-economic background commit hate crimes against each other? Or is it only a straight on gay or black on white thing? If two completely similar white people kill each other, could that be a hate crime? What if they really REALLY hated each other? Hm.
Labels.
I’ve almost finished watching “Kiss Kiss Bang Bang”. Very good movie. I hope I get to tell Robert Downey Jr. (RDJ to his close, personal friends like me) to his face just how lucky I think he is for getting to kiss Val Kilmer. And then I’ll wink really big at him and start growling. Morton Downey was a pretty severe looking guy, wasn’t he. I would freak out if he were my father. I’d be like, “Wow! You’re Morton Downey! That makes me Robert Downey Jr.! That is SO cool! Let’s make a movie.” Then I’d kiss Val Kilmer. And wink real big. And start growling.
You know, I need something to make me feel bad about my racist tendencies.
Anyone have any ideas?
I remember going to see “Amistad” with my high school but I was too young to give much of a shit and also, that’s slavery; EVERYONE knows that’s bad. I need something more current.
Something without Ludacris.
Ludacris. You asshole. You know because of this twerp, MILLIONS of young people think that “ludicrous” is actually spelled “ludacris”. He is single-handedly murdering the spelling of “ludicrous”. People watch “Spaceballs” now and think that the spelling of “ludicrous” in “ludicrous speed” is some weird Jewish spelling gag. FVCK! Oh yeah, I’m petitioning for the retvrn of v’s in place of u’s. You know what? Strike that. I am supporting the return of v’s in place of u’s in the word “fuck”, but only when it’s capitalized and used as a stand alone expletive. It makes it look more important and severe. FVCK! FVCK!! Nice.
I am planning to go to Washington D.C. for the premiere of “Snakes On A Plane” (AKA the highest grossing movie…ever.). My goal is to get Bob Edwards to see it with Will and I. How amazing would that be? Also a correction (for all you keeping track) to an earlier entry. Billy West IS NOT the voice of Brain, that’s Maurice La Marche (think I misspelled that too). I got carried away naming voices that rock.
My superhero costume for Lisa’s party is complete. Oh lordy is it complete. And then, after the party, I will meet up with Ray and Law and we will trek to Philly where I will ingest Peaches.
Busy weekend. Busy busy busy busy.
All of you should rent or buy “Kiss Kiss Bang Bang”. There are nice boobies, Val Kilmer gay and a severed finger.
3:31 PM
I feel vaguely artistic today. Like blue flowers in a vase. Beautiful blue flowers that only want to smell nice for people. But someone has put me in a dark broom closet. If only I had a gun. A metaphorical blue-flower-in-a-closet gun, not a real one. If I had a real one I would probably commit a hate crime. Or is it called a race crime? I feel like a “race crime” would be cheating in the New York Marathon so I guess it would be a hate crime. Can people of the same race, creed and socio-economic background commit hate crimes against each other? Or is it only a straight on gay or black on white thing? If two completely similar white people kill each other, could that be a hate crime? What if they really REALLY hated each other? Hm.
Labels.
I’ve almost finished watching “Kiss Kiss Bang Bang”. Very good movie. I hope I get to tell Robert Downey Jr. (RDJ to his close, personal friends like me) to his face just how lucky I think he is for getting to kiss Val Kilmer. And then I’ll wink really big at him and start growling. Morton Downey was a pretty severe looking guy, wasn’t he. I would freak out if he were my father. I’d be like, “Wow! You’re Morton Downey! That makes me Robert Downey Jr.! That is SO cool! Let’s make a movie.” Then I’d kiss Val Kilmer. And wink real big. And start growling.
You know, I need something to make me feel bad about my racist tendencies.
Anyone have any ideas?
I remember going to see “Amistad” with my high school but I was too young to give much of a shit and also, that’s slavery; EVERYONE knows that’s bad. I need something more current.
Something without Ludacris.
Ludacris. You asshole. You know because of this twerp, MILLIONS of young people think that “ludicrous” is actually spelled “ludacris”. He is single-handedly murdering the spelling of “ludicrous”. People watch “Spaceballs” now and think that the spelling of “ludicrous” in “ludicrous speed” is some weird Jewish spelling gag. FVCK! Oh yeah, I’m petitioning for the retvrn of v’s in place of u’s. You know what? Strike that. I am supporting the return of v’s in place of u’s in the word “fuck”, but only when it’s capitalized and used as a stand alone expletive. It makes it look more important and severe. FVCK! FVCK!! Nice.
I am planning to go to Washington D.C. for the premiere of “Snakes On A Plane” (AKA the highest grossing movie…ever.). My goal is to get Bob Edwards to see it with Will and I. How amazing would that be? Also a correction (for all you keeping track) to an earlier entry. Billy West IS NOT the voice of Brain, that’s Maurice La Marche (think I misspelled that too). I got carried away naming voices that rock.
My superhero costume for Lisa’s party is complete. Oh lordy is it complete. And then, after the party, I will meet up with Ray and Law and we will trek to Philly where I will ingest Peaches.
Busy weekend. Busy busy busy busy.
All of you should rent or buy “Kiss Kiss Bang Bang”. There are nice boobies, Val Kilmer gay and a severed finger.
7.18.2006
Manhouse lives within himself
7.17.06
4:50 PM
dreadnought- n (1806) 1: a warm garment of thick cloth; also: the cloth 2: a battleship whose main armament consists of big guns of the same caliber.
I think the juxtaposition of the two definitions is awesome. Both are nouns and neither has ANYTHING to do with the other. In fact, I love the juxtaposition SO much, that I have been inspired to create a short play based on it…
Behold! The Dreadnoughts of North Hamptonshireworth! Fear! Fear and Distress Shall Ensue Because of Them!! Yaaaaaargh!!!
It is the late 1800’s and people are scared. Kid and Mumsy sit quietly on ottomans in a cozy 30-room mansion in the Southern tip of North Hamptonshireworth. Outside it is cold. Inside the room is filled with insect carcasses, canapés and enough assorted furniture to create dozens of shabby soft and hard sculptures. The wind is blowing. It is midnight. Kid speaks, shattering the silence as if with a metaphorical hammer…
Kid: Ahoy hoy Mumsy, I fancy your dreadnought.
Mumsy: To which dreadnought are you referring, you little accident, the one on my shoulders or the one that just wiped out the British Armada?
Kid: You are so cruel sometimes.
Mumsy: SUCK MY KISS!!!
(blistering bass solo)
Exeunt omnes, followed by a bear
Curtain
WOO! THEATRE!!!
Christina recently brought to my attention an effort by dumb fuckers to make the English language simpler in order to raise the literacy rate. As if all these retarded fucks were just waiting around for them to change “through” to “thru” to learn to read. I personally mourn the loss of all those u’s from “color”, “valor” and “harbor” (to name a few). I also don’t believe that something along the lines of “through” being spelled that way rather than “thru” is really messing that many people up. “Dang, ‘through’ has seven letters, not four. I give up on this whole reading thing.”
Brits and other UKers are appalled when they hear how we’ve fucked up the language, I wonder how they feel about things like Spanglish, Ebonics and (my favorite) Spebonics.
The entire Webster Family is spinning in their fucking mausoleum, and they are right to be.
7:40 PM
There is a patient here with a VERY Irish name. Since she arrived here she has received no less than one call a day from different people and sometimes four or five calls a day, and those are just the ones that contact her through the operator (because GASP, our phone system is shit). Every person I have spoken to has been very polite, very articulate and seemed genuinely concerned/interested to talk to the patient. They have also all been Irish to some extent. Ranging from Bostonian Irish to I-can’t-understand-what-you’re-saying-but-I’m-going-to-transfer-you-to-this-patient-simply-because-you-sound-so-Irish Irish. It always makes my day better to hear these wonderful Irish people with their warm, wonderful accent burring in my ear. It also makes my day to know there is at least one patient here who isn’t alone, mistreated and abandoned by their family. Makes me proud to be half-Irish and sort of makes me want to find out more about my (biological) Irish heritage.
4:50 PM
dreadnought- n (1806) 1: a warm garment of thick cloth; also: the cloth 2: a battleship whose main armament consists of big guns of the same caliber.
I think the juxtaposition of the two definitions is awesome. Both are nouns and neither has ANYTHING to do with the other. In fact, I love the juxtaposition SO much, that I have been inspired to create a short play based on it…
Behold! The Dreadnoughts of North Hamptonshireworth! Fear! Fear and Distress Shall Ensue Because of Them!! Yaaaaaargh!!!
It is the late 1800’s and people are scared. Kid and Mumsy sit quietly on ottomans in a cozy 30-room mansion in the Southern tip of North Hamptonshireworth. Outside it is cold. Inside the room is filled with insect carcasses, canapés and enough assorted furniture to create dozens of shabby soft and hard sculptures. The wind is blowing. It is midnight. Kid speaks, shattering the silence as if with a metaphorical hammer…
Kid: Ahoy hoy Mumsy, I fancy your dreadnought.
Mumsy: To which dreadnought are you referring, you little accident, the one on my shoulders or the one that just wiped out the British Armada?
Kid: You are so cruel sometimes.
Mumsy: SUCK MY KISS!!!
(blistering bass solo)
Exeunt omnes, followed by a bear
Curtain
WOO! THEATRE!!!
Christina recently brought to my attention an effort by dumb fuckers to make the English language simpler in order to raise the literacy rate. As if all these retarded fucks were just waiting around for them to change “through” to “thru” to learn to read. I personally mourn the loss of all those u’s from “color”, “valor” and “harbor” (to name a few). I also don’t believe that something along the lines of “through” being spelled that way rather than “thru” is really messing that many people up. “Dang, ‘through’ has seven letters, not four. I give up on this whole reading thing.”
Brits and other UKers are appalled when they hear how we’ve fucked up the language, I wonder how they feel about things like Spanglish, Ebonics and (my favorite) Spebonics.
The entire Webster Family is spinning in their fucking mausoleum, and they are right to be.
7:40 PM
There is a patient here with a VERY Irish name. Since she arrived here she has received no less than one call a day from different people and sometimes four or five calls a day, and those are just the ones that contact her through the operator (because GASP, our phone system is shit). Every person I have spoken to has been very polite, very articulate and seemed genuinely concerned/interested to talk to the patient. They have also all been Irish to some extent. Ranging from Bostonian Irish to I-can’t-understand-what-you’re-saying-but-I’m-going-to-transfer-you-to-this-patient-simply-because-you-sound-so-Irish Irish. It always makes my day better to hear these wonderful Irish people with their warm, wonderful accent burring in my ear. It also makes my day to know there is at least one patient here who isn’t alone, mistreated and abandoned by their family. Makes me proud to be half-Irish and sort of makes me want to find out more about my (biological) Irish heritage.
7.06.2006
CaffffinnneeesugarsuagrsuagrsuagrsuagrSPEEEED!!!
7.6.06
6:08 PM
I have just tried a new flavor of Pringles, Fully Loaded Baked Potato. It’s like a scene out of Willy Wonka with the full meal chewing gum.
Life is good.
Also, BEECHOUZATRONICON XMAX was the shit and we have the shirts to prove it. It was 100% except for Chris and Lauren having to leave early. I am fully planning on arranging a house for next year so if anyone is interested is having an awesome week in laid-back, family oriented Ocean City, NJ, let me know.
There were a lot of hot Russian women as well. In case anyone is into that.
Yeah.
8:41 PM
I THINK…I may have had a bitty toooo much sugar this evening. Beeecaaaaause……this irritable old woman who always calls and blathers on about this or that just called up telling me she spoke to EVERY ONE IN THE BUILDING but no one will take her to the bathroom. Rather than simply sending her to the nurse’s station and telling her (with that butter/syrup tone of voice only I possess) to feel free to shit herself and then fuck herself with that same aforementioned shit, I took it upon myself to initiate a James Bond-esque chain of events involving three-way phone calls, bedpans and forcing nurses to confront THE MOST cantankerous old twizzy I have encountered in my three years at this establishment.
This woman is madness.
She is a heap of broken images where the tree gives no shade.
She is fear in a handful of dust.
And I am fucking with her like windmills and Don Quixote.
Actually, that is NOT accurate. I am fucking with the whole system like the aforementioned Don Coyote and his trusty friend, Sancho Panda. I am fucking with the crotch, the nurses (not) taking care of the crotch, the woman supervising the nurses (not) taking care of the crotch and the administrator on duty (who is a tremulous little cunt hair) here at the Hospital where the crotch resides.
I am a massive cock.
A Mega Cock set to stun and amaze. To enter my presence is to become cold cocked.
I have never gone off half cocked, only full cocked.
You came to see a rock show.
A big, gigantic cock show.
FEAR ME.
BIIIIIG MUNAH! BIIIIIIIIIG MUNAHHHH!!
And now the lazy fools have left me alone in the security office in charge of EVERY GOD DAMN PHONE IN THE PLACE. I THINK I WILL CALL FRANCE! MAYBE SOME HOT, SEXY 900 NUMBERS!
PERHAPS I WILL ACHIEVE AN ERECTION AND PROPEL MY SEED ONTO THE SECURITY OFFICER’S CHAIR!! THEY WILL SIT IN MY SEED BEFORE THIS DAY IS FINISHED! MARK MY FUCKING WORDS!!! MARK THEM YOU SANS A BELT WHOOOORES!!! WHOOOOOOORES!!! AH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH!!!
YOU.
CAME TO SEE A ROCK SHOW.
I WILL REFLECT THAT WHICH IS SHONE UPON ME.
RECOIL FROM THE REFLECTION OF THINE EVIL DEEDS.
RRRROCK SHOW!!!
YOU CAME TO SEE A ROCK SHOW!!!
A BIG, GIGANTIC COCK SHOW!!!!!!
I am filled with roiling chaos. The only thing separating it from the rest of the world is a thin veneer, an eggshell. My body is that eggshell.
And if that woman calls me one…more…time…the shell will crack.
(shatter)
And my madness will consume this whole world and everyone in it. She will be the first to die and from the jagged tones of her caterwauling it will be a mercy. The rest of Everything will NOT be counted as lucky. It will know pain and decay and time before I have fully devoured and digested it all.
Everything will fall before me.
And when Everything is gone, consumed by the unleashed essence of my fury and confusion…there will only remain Nothing.
And I will command that Nothing.
But my voice betrays none of this.
Despite the thick blackness pulsing and churning on the inside of me, my voice comes out like sun dappled fruit on a tree, waiting to be plucked by a beautiful young girl and her loving grandfather who still has years and years to live. Like a dollop of fresh honey applied lovingly to a priest’s morning tea as he sits and reflects on the true meaning and manifestation of God’s Love. Like a shimmer of sunlight of the face of a freshly minted coin that will be used to contact a loved one and tell them good news of upcoming nuptials.
It will be a complete surprise when my head splits open and I emerge.
I will swallow all the worlds that are or ever will be with the black fire of my heart.
You will not be spared.
6:08 PM
I have just tried a new flavor of Pringles, Fully Loaded Baked Potato. It’s like a scene out of Willy Wonka with the full meal chewing gum.
Life is good.
Also, BEECHOUZATRONICON XMAX was the shit and we have the shirts to prove it. It was 100% except for Chris and Lauren having to leave early. I am fully planning on arranging a house for next year so if anyone is interested is having an awesome week in laid-back, family oriented Ocean City, NJ, let me know.
There were a lot of hot Russian women as well. In case anyone is into that.
Yeah.
8:41 PM
I THINK…I may have had a bitty toooo much sugar this evening. Beeecaaaaause……this irritable old woman who always calls and blathers on about this or that just called up telling me she spoke to EVERY ONE IN THE BUILDING but no one will take her to the bathroom. Rather than simply sending her to the nurse’s station and telling her (with that butter/syrup tone of voice only I possess) to feel free to shit herself and then fuck herself with that same aforementioned shit, I took it upon myself to initiate a James Bond-esque chain of events involving three-way phone calls, bedpans and forcing nurses to confront THE MOST cantankerous old twizzy I have encountered in my three years at this establishment.
This woman is madness.
She is a heap of broken images where the tree gives no shade.
She is fear in a handful of dust.
And I am fucking with her like windmills and Don Quixote.
Actually, that is NOT accurate. I am fucking with the whole system like the aforementioned Don Coyote and his trusty friend, Sancho Panda. I am fucking with the crotch, the nurses (not) taking care of the crotch, the woman supervising the nurses (not) taking care of the crotch and the administrator on duty (who is a tremulous little cunt hair) here at the Hospital where the crotch resides.
I am a massive cock.
A Mega Cock set to stun and amaze. To enter my presence is to become cold cocked.
I have never gone off half cocked, only full cocked.
You came to see a rock show.
A big, gigantic cock show.
FEAR ME.
BIIIIIG MUNAH! BIIIIIIIIIG MUNAHHHH!!
And now the lazy fools have left me alone in the security office in charge of EVERY GOD DAMN PHONE IN THE PLACE. I THINK I WILL CALL FRANCE! MAYBE SOME HOT, SEXY 900 NUMBERS!
PERHAPS I WILL ACHIEVE AN ERECTION AND PROPEL MY SEED ONTO THE SECURITY OFFICER’S CHAIR!! THEY WILL SIT IN MY SEED BEFORE THIS DAY IS FINISHED! MARK MY FUCKING WORDS!!! MARK THEM YOU SANS A BELT WHOOOORES!!! WHOOOOOOORES!!! AH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH!!!
YOU.
CAME TO SEE A ROCK SHOW.
I WILL REFLECT THAT WHICH IS SHONE UPON ME.
RECOIL FROM THE REFLECTION OF THINE EVIL DEEDS.
RRRROCK SHOW!!!
YOU CAME TO SEE A ROCK SHOW!!!
A BIG, GIGANTIC COCK SHOW!!!!!!
I am filled with roiling chaos. The only thing separating it from the rest of the world is a thin veneer, an eggshell. My body is that eggshell.
And if that woman calls me one…more…time…the shell will crack.
(shatter)
And my madness will consume this whole world and everyone in it. She will be the first to die and from the jagged tones of her caterwauling it will be a mercy. The rest of Everything will NOT be counted as lucky. It will know pain and decay and time before I have fully devoured and digested it all.
Everything will fall before me.
And when Everything is gone, consumed by the unleashed essence of my fury and confusion…there will only remain Nothing.
And I will command that Nothing.
But my voice betrays none of this.
Despite the thick blackness pulsing and churning on the inside of me, my voice comes out like sun dappled fruit on a tree, waiting to be plucked by a beautiful young girl and her loving grandfather who still has years and years to live. Like a dollop of fresh honey applied lovingly to a priest’s morning tea as he sits and reflects on the true meaning and manifestation of God’s Love. Like a shimmer of sunlight of the face of a freshly minted coin that will be used to contact a loved one and tell them good news of upcoming nuptials.
It will be a complete surprise when my head splits open and I emerge.
I will swallow all the worlds that are or ever will be with the black fire of my heart.
You will not be spared.
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