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.
6.23.2006
6.23.06
4:07 PM
Today I went to the Times Square Toys Backwards R Us to pick up Monopoly. There are 181 different versions of Monopoly (25th Anniversary Edition, 70th Anniversary Edition, 100 Years of Aviation History Edition, Lords of the Rings Edition, Star Wars Edition, Family Guy Edition…); I just went with the original where the boot is the boot and not Chewbacca (p.s. “Chewbacca” is in Microsoft Word’s dictionary. Awesome.) I came to the conclusion that Toys Backwards R Us is hell for bad children. Except all the toys are sharp and hot. And Geoffrey the Giraffe penetrates them with his long, blue, sandpapery tongue, treating their soft genitals like bark.
I also realized how ghetto that store is. Then again, Times Square, hello…HELLLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
After I left I had a hankering for Red Lobster… and slaves.
4:07 PM
Today I went to the Times Square Toys Backwards R Us to pick up Monopoly. There are 181 different versions of Monopoly (25th Anniversary Edition, 70th Anniversary Edition, 100 Years of Aviation History Edition, Lords of the Rings Edition, Star Wars Edition, Family Guy Edition…); I just went with the original where the boot is the boot and not Chewbacca (p.s. “Chewbacca” is in Microsoft Word’s dictionary. Awesome.) I came to the conclusion that Toys Backwards R Us is hell for bad children. Except all the toys are sharp and hot. And Geoffrey the Giraffe penetrates them with his long, blue, sandpapery tongue, treating their soft genitals like bark.
I also realized how ghetto that store is. Then again, Times Square, hello…HELLLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
After I left I had a hankering for Red Lobster… and slaves.
6.21.2006
For nouf.
I have dedicated journal entries to lots of people since I started yammering off into the internet void; to Jade, Jenna, Michelle and others.
I don’t think I have ever rambled about Christina though.
Christina Girlfriend that is, in fact, that’s all there is from now on. Who needs more than one? Thursly.
Honestly, it’s a little weird. There is so much I know about her and so much I respect and love about her I kind of get lost. It’s like trying to describe the qualities of one snowflake during a blizzard or one drop of water in the ocean. You’re thinking about just how refreshing and cold the snowflake is but then you’re distracted by its beauty only to be lost in reflection on how unique it is.
I’m going to try though.
Where the fuck do I start? She’s amazing. She’s tolerant (wink), helpful, amazing, caring, loving, a hot ass, the utter shiznit, amazing, an awesome cook (though lacking some confidence), she is SO tolerant you have no idea, I mean 97% of the people who know me can hardly stand me and she LIVES with me…, she’s fun AND funny, she’s fickle (but in this context let’s say she keeps things interesting, how about that?), she has a magic in her that reminds me of how I used to look at the world when I was a child, she’s more compassionate than anyone I have ever met but in what appears to be a genuinely altruistic way (unlike that cunt Mother Teresa), she likes waterfalls AND the desert (also goat cheese AND goats), she can make a bad day tolerable, a neutral day good and a good day amazing, without really doing anything. She rubs my head. She scratches my back. She gives me billugiliugg. She is the equivalent of Lauren as far as style, but whereas Lauren shines brightest when it comes to subtlety, Christina will always be able to make me worry how my parents will react when they see what she has put together (although she can rock a plain, hot dress or jeans with the best of them). Her eyes are very peaceful and expressive although I can’t really talk about them or I’ll just get distracted or fall over or something. Her neck is often ticklish but I can put up with that. She’s amazing. She has just enough elements of a mother to make mine a bit jealousy at times…and that is fucking awesome. She has her problems but she is also finding ways to use aspects of those problems to solve solutions and to grow. She’s understanding and that’s a big one since I often feel like no one really gets me. She listens to Gavin Friday, Gogol Bordello, The Tiger Lilies and other stuff that just might baffle and scare the casual listener.
She is Tylenol when my head aches.
She is potato soup when I am hungry.
She is the Gay Bar.
She is magic when everything else is mundane.
She is rawk.
And I love her.
A lot.
I don’t think I have ever rambled about Christina though.
Christina Girlfriend that is, in fact, that’s all there is from now on. Who needs more than one? Thursly.
Honestly, it’s a little weird. There is so much I know about her and so much I respect and love about her I kind of get lost. It’s like trying to describe the qualities of one snowflake during a blizzard or one drop of water in the ocean. You’re thinking about just how refreshing and cold the snowflake is but then you’re distracted by its beauty only to be lost in reflection on how unique it is.
I’m going to try though.
Where the fuck do I start? She’s amazing. She’s tolerant (wink), helpful, amazing, caring, loving, a hot ass, the utter shiznit, amazing, an awesome cook (though lacking some confidence), she is SO tolerant you have no idea, I mean 97% of the people who know me can hardly stand me and she LIVES with me…, she’s fun AND funny, she’s fickle (but in this context let’s say she keeps things interesting, how about that?), she has a magic in her that reminds me of how I used to look at the world when I was a child, she’s more compassionate than anyone I have ever met but in what appears to be a genuinely altruistic way (unlike that cunt Mother Teresa), she likes waterfalls AND the desert (also goat cheese AND goats), she can make a bad day tolerable, a neutral day good and a good day amazing, without really doing anything. She rubs my head. She scratches my back. She gives me billugiliugg. She is the equivalent of Lauren as far as style, but whereas Lauren shines brightest when it comes to subtlety, Christina will always be able to make me worry how my parents will react when they see what she has put together (although she can rock a plain, hot dress or jeans with the best of them). Her eyes are very peaceful and expressive although I can’t really talk about them or I’ll just get distracted or fall over or something. Her neck is often ticklish but I can put up with that. She’s amazing. She has just enough elements of a mother to make mine a bit jealousy at times…and that is fucking awesome. She has her problems but she is also finding ways to use aspects of those problems to solve solutions and to grow. She’s understanding and that’s a big one since I often feel like no one really gets me. She listens to Gavin Friday, Gogol Bordello, The Tiger Lilies and other stuff that just might baffle and scare the casual listener.
She is Tylenol when my head aches.
She is potato soup when I am hungry.
She is the Gay Bar.
She is magic when everything else is mundane.
She is rawk.
And I love her.
A lot.
6.18.2006
6.16.2006
Sausages and root beer
6.16.06
8:55 PM
Hey, who am I to ever turn down free food.
Also, I just realized reading a passage in Desperation that I have, at times, confused Ingmar Bergman and Ingrid Bergman, simply based on the names.
Another also, I will not be able to sleep tonight. I will go home, watch the NIN live DVD, listen to the new album in 5.1 and then lie in bed with it playing on my headphones until it is time to wake up (7 am) and then I will begin the long, long process of seeing Nine Inch Nails in Long Island. I am attempting to bring in my digital camera and take some shots since this show is quite the spectacle from pictures I’ve seen so far.
And: I listened to Depeche Mode’s “Ultra” for the first time in its entirety today. Very solid. A bit heavy n the instrumental tracks, I could have handled one more with lyrics, but hey, what are you going to do, tell Depeche Mode not to put so many instrumentals on an album?! Ha! Good fucking luck! Dave Gahan is a total dictatorial asshole when it comes to these things! Ha!
Ha!
And speaking of free food, I went to meet Meg and her boss, Bill for lunch today and when I arrive at Meg’s job (XM Satellite radio) she tells me that Bob Edwards will be joining us. BOB FUCKING EDWARDS! He is one of the top three most famous radio personalities in history! He was really cool and we talked about some really strange things. Bill was cool too. Turns out Bill has worked with none other than Billy West for the past 20 years. BILLY FUCKING WEST! Ren, Stimpy, 60% of Futurama, 80% of The Oblongs, 75% of The Critic, The Brain, Orson Wells, Tiny Toons, Animaniacs and the fucking list goes on. Next time I see him (next week to record some sweepers for XM) he’s going to give me a comedy CD that he and Bill West did together. How much madness is that?
And on top of all that happy goodness, I had a great on screen audition today for Food Network. Probably won’t get t, but it felt very good and that is what rocks, walking out with that sense of at least it went well.
Anyway, mung.
8:55 PM
Hey, who am I to ever turn down free food.
Also, I just realized reading a passage in Desperation that I have, at times, confused Ingmar Bergman and Ingrid Bergman, simply based on the names.
Another also, I will not be able to sleep tonight. I will go home, watch the NIN live DVD, listen to the new album in 5.1 and then lie in bed with it playing on my headphones until it is time to wake up (7 am) and then I will begin the long, long process of seeing Nine Inch Nails in Long Island. I am attempting to bring in my digital camera and take some shots since this show is quite the spectacle from pictures I’ve seen so far.
And: I listened to Depeche Mode’s “Ultra” for the first time in its entirety today. Very solid. A bit heavy n the instrumental tracks, I could have handled one more with lyrics, but hey, what are you going to do, tell Depeche Mode not to put so many instrumentals on an album?! Ha! Good fucking luck! Dave Gahan is a total dictatorial asshole when it comes to these things! Ha!
Ha!
And speaking of free food, I went to meet Meg and her boss, Bill for lunch today and when I arrive at Meg’s job (XM Satellite radio) she tells me that Bob Edwards will be joining us. BOB FUCKING EDWARDS! He is one of the top three most famous radio personalities in history! He was really cool and we talked about some really strange things. Bill was cool too. Turns out Bill has worked with none other than Billy West for the past 20 years. BILLY FUCKING WEST! Ren, Stimpy, 60% of Futurama, 80% of The Oblongs, 75% of The Critic, The Brain, Orson Wells, Tiny Toons, Animaniacs and the fucking list goes on. Next time I see him (next week to record some sweepers for XM) he’s going to give me a comedy CD that he and Bill West did together. How much madness is that?
And on top of all that happy goodness, I had a great on screen audition today for Food Network. Probably won’t get t, but it felt very good and that is what rocks, walking out with that sense of at least it went well.
Anyway, mung.
6.15.2006
In these silences something may rise
6.15.06
9:30 PM
I just had a long conversation with Barrett. None of you know Barrett and that’s just fine. Barrett is a guy I met at my last NIN concert in New York City in November (I think). He is the only person I know with whom I can share my excitement and anticipation of this concert. And that’s okay. Honestly, I don’t give a fuck if the person I’m going to the concert with or even my girlfriend of six years (the girlfriend who I started dating, sort of, BECAUSE of NIN’s music) doesn’t see eye to eye with my 6’8 anticipation; as long as there is one person I can talk to about it. Barrett is that person. I didn’t feel self-conscious telling him I feel like a 6 year old girl on Christmas morning. Why? Because he totally empathizes with me. He knows EXACTLY what I am thinking and feeling because he is thinking and feeling it too. And it isn’t just about the fact that I can squeal like a little girl about this with him. He and I can discuss the evolution of the setlists from the first leg of this tour to this current leg. We can talk about how this ever-so-subtle change to the lyrics might mean a lot more than what people think it means. We can talk about how, after so much time has passed, Reznor can always top himself without seeming like he’s trying to do so. We can talk about just what the hell is motivating Jordie to wear little black dots all over his face. These are the things that I can’t even share with my girlfriend of over half a decade because she doesn’t give a shit about these tiny, little details. I really don’t know why, but whatever. It’s just something I have to deal with, and I can, thanks to Barrett and the other obsessive, scrutinizing fans of the bands I like.
To refocus myself slightly, my chat with Barrett (who has seen NIN about 20 times now to my 5 times) has quadrupled my excitement. No…quadrupled it a thousand fold. NO! Quadrupled it a thousand fold...XMAX. Yeeeessssss. That’s like over forty thousand infinities for all you non-Paulitospherical mathematicians reading this.
You know who you fucking are.
9:59 PM
Earlier tonight, a call came through that was someone’s voicemail. In other words, someone called someone else and hung up but the end of their answering machine message was transferred to my line. I waited for the beep and started whispering, “In these silences something may rise” over and over. I really hope that affects whoever gets that message.
9:30 PM
I just had a long conversation with Barrett. None of you know Barrett and that’s just fine. Barrett is a guy I met at my last NIN concert in New York City in November (I think). He is the only person I know with whom I can share my excitement and anticipation of this concert. And that’s okay. Honestly, I don’t give a fuck if the person I’m going to the concert with or even my girlfriend of six years (the girlfriend who I started dating, sort of, BECAUSE of NIN’s music) doesn’t see eye to eye with my 6’8 anticipation; as long as there is one person I can talk to about it. Barrett is that person. I didn’t feel self-conscious telling him I feel like a 6 year old girl on Christmas morning. Why? Because he totally empathizes with me. He knows EXACTLY what I am thinking and feeling because he is thinking and feeling it too. And it isn’t just about the fact that I can squeal like a little girl about this with him. He and I can discuss the evolution of the setlists from the first leg of this tour to this current leg. We can talk about how this ever-so-subtle change to the lyrics might mean a lot more than what people think it means. We can talk about how, after so much time has passed, Reznor can always top himself without seeming like he’s trying to do so. We can talk about just what the hell is motivating Jordie to wear little black dots all over his face. These are the things that I can’t even share with my girlfriend of over half a decade because she doesn’t give a shit about these tiny, little details. I really don’t know why, but whatever. It’s just something I have to deal with, and I can, thanks to Barrett and the other obsessive, scrutinizing fans of the bands I like.
To refocus myself slightly, my chat with Barrett (who has seen NIN about 20 times now to my 5 times) has quadrupled my excitement. No…quadrupled it a thousand fold. NO! Quadrupled it a thousand fold...XMAX. Yeeeessssss. That’s like over forty thousand infinities for all you non-Paulitospherical mathematicians reading this.
You know who you fucking are.
9:59 PM
Earlier tonight, a call came through that was someone’s voicemail. In other words, someone called someone else and hung up but the end of their answering machine message was transferred to my line. I waited for the beep and started whispering, “In these silences something may rise” over and over. I really hope that affects whoever gets that message.
Reminder to me and whoever:
A) My girlfriend likes other men and
B) Stop reading over my fucking shoulder.
Go
Go
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Okay. Now she's gone.
Anyway, Scissor Sisters are playing for free on Saturday, July 15th at Coney Island's Siren Music Festival. There are like 30 other bands I have never heard of so I don't know how I'm going to handle that one...
and also, The New Pornographers are playing Thursday, August 3rd (also for free) at Central Park's SummerStage. I plan on skipping work that day so if anyone is interested, hooty hoo.
A) My girlfriend likes other men and
B) Stop reading over my fucking shoulder.
Go
Go
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Okay. Now she's gone.
Anyway, Scissor Sisters are playing for free on Saturday, July 15th at Coney Island's Siren Music Festival. There are like 30 other bands I have never heard of so I don't know how I'm going to handle that one...
and also, The New Pornographers are playing Thursday, August 3rd (also for free) at Central Park's SummerStage. I plan on skipping work that day so if anyone is interested, hooty hoo.
6.14.2006
It was destroyed it was destroyed!!!
6.14.06
3:12 PM
Today I am here to sing the praises of Advil. I woke up at 6 this morning with a terrible, ligament snapping pain in my leg. I tried stretching, and a whole bunch of other shit to try and stop the pain, but nothing worked. I had no clue what was wrong. Anyway, I woke up, took three Advil and tried to go back to sleep. When I woke up at 11 or so, the pain wasn’t just dulled, it was fucking gone. The upside is that the Advil worked great for pain relief, but the downside is I can totally see myself getting addicted to painkillers later in life when Advil just doesn’t cut it. Meh. I always thought I would make a good junkie.
6:35 PM
I just ordered some dinner from La Famiglia and the guy called me Paulie. Awesome. I’m a Goodfella now. The excitement of the NIN concert this Saturday has almost completely consumed me. Ray and I are going to set out stupidly early and get sunburns in order to see a soundcheck and/or meet and greet. Ray plans on giving Reznor a copy of the EDIETS video and Binding Silence if he sees him.
Also, I must now begin to download songs for BEECHOUZATRONICON XMAX. I’m sorry if this sounds like a dictatorial decision, but I am planning on not allowing any albums to be played while we’re there. Not for my benefit but think about it, can you think of one album that 7 people can agree on? Chris mentioned Sergeant Pepper and Achtung, Baby and I thought maybe some Guns N Roses, but who knows. I plan on downloading Billboard’s Top 100 from the early 90’s and burning them onto several CD’s although Gia suggested an mp3/iPod solution. Whatever the case, the time is rushing up. This is going to be dumb fun.
Pizza is here.
Ha-whooot!
3:12 PM
Today I am here to sing the praises of Advil. I woke up at 6 this morning with a terrible, ligament snapping pain in my leg. I tried stretching, and a whole bunch of other shit to try and stop the pain, but nothing worked. I had no clue what was wrong. Anyway, I woke up, took three Advil and tried to go back to sleep. When I woke up at 11 or so, the pain wasn’t just dulled, it was fucking gone. The upside is that the Advil worked great for pain relief, but the downside is I can totally see myself getting addicted to painkillers later in life when Advil just doesn’t cut it. Meh. I always thought I would make a good junkie.
6:35 PM
I just ordered some dinner from La Famiglia and the guy called me Paulie. Awesome. I’m a Goodfella now. The excitement of the NIN concert this Saturday has almost completely consumed me. Ray and I are going to set out stupidly early and get sunburns in order to see a soundcheck and/or meet and greet. Ray plans on giving Reznor a copy of the EDIETS video and Binding Silence if he sees him.
Also, I must now begin to download songs for BEECHOUZATRONICON XMAX. I’m sorry if this sounds like a dictatorial decision, but I am planning on not allowing any albums to be played while we’re there. Not for my benefit but think about it, can you think of one album that 7 people can agree on? Chris mentioned Sergeant Pepper and Achtung, Baby and I thought maybe some Guns N Roses, but who knows. I plan on downloading Billboard’s Top 100 from the early 90’s and burning them onto several CD’s although Gia suggested an mp3/iPod solution. Whatever the case, the time is rushing up. This is going to be dumb fun.
Pizza is here.
Ha-whooot!
6.06.2006
6.6.06
8:49 PM
So this resident calls me (not for the first time) to complain about some damn thing. She says, “There is something VERY wrong here…” in a don’t-think-you-can-put-one-over-on-me tone of voice, then she pauses for effect. Never one to waste a silence, I ask, “Something specific or is it just a feeling of general malaise?” and she hangs up on me. If trying to clarify a vague statement made by some cantankerous bitch in a smarmy fashion makes me an asshole, well then fine, I’m an asshole, but at least I’m not a whiny resident at a shitty, badly run hospital. Ha!
Also, I did this…
Party Time
Or
Inchoate Darkness
Bawls out party time.
Tying my dick around my neck party time.
Impregnating the dead party time.
Pissing down my leg, off my toe and onto an ugly baby party time.
Ejaculating into the milk only to discover it isn’t milk, but a whole lot of ejaculate party time.
Wolverine in the South Hamptons party time.
Duck Tuxedo party time.
Note to self: Don’t order the cheese fries from Steak & Hoagies party time.
Sitting quietly whilst reading a book party time.
Considering buying Hitman: Blood Money but hesitating because I spent a lot of money on Chris’ B-Day and if I keep spending money I’ll never make any party time.
Considering buying those Dragon Fastback’s but hesitating for the same reason party time.
Hand cramping from writing so long party time.
The stabilizing force in the Universe is the scaly shit in between my toes party time.
Incomprehensible immigrants party time.
Deep-seded spelling error racism party time.
Intercontinental Rock God party time.
Running out of ideas party time.
Erectile dysfunction party time.
Time not fucking moving fast enough party time.
Baboon Rape Party party time.
Marilyn Manson has lost his mind and ate my balls party time.
Waste of paper party time.
Going to stop this pretty soon party time.
Twiggy in make up party time.
Backflipping Dixie Chicks party time.
Getting Up to Get Down party time.
Chex Mix party time.
Cheerios in Beer(ios) party time.
Pie stand party time.
Impromptu poetry party time.
Oleous discharge from the Anus party time.
Revisiting backflipping Dixie Chicks party time.
Sussingham cell phone party time.
100 pizzas party time.
200 Cigarettes party time.
At least $4,000 (four thousand dollars—it looks bigger spelled out) coming in soon party time.
Crossing guards, fingers and legs we break $10,000 (make that ten thousand dollars) party time.
Latoya (yes, for real, Latoya) is gone party time.
So am I party time.
Party T. Guyet
8:49 PM
So this resident calls me (not for the first time) to complain about some damn thing. She says, “There is something VERY wrong here…” in a don’t-think-you-can-put-one-over-on-me tone of voice, then she pauses for effect. Never one to waste a silence, I ask, “Something specific or is it just a feeling of general malaise?” and she hangs up on me. If trying to clarify a vague statement made by some cantankerous bitch in a smarmy fashion makes me an asshole, well then fine, I’m an asshole, but at least I’m not a whiny resident at a shitty, badly run hospital. Ha!
Also, I did this…
Party Time
Or
Inchoate Darkness
Bawls out party time.
Tying my dick around my neck party time.
Impregnating the dead party time.
Pissing down my leg, off my toe and onto an ugly baby party time.
Ejaculating into the milk only to discover it isn’t milk, but a whole lot of ejaculate party time.
Wolverine in the South Hamptons party time.
Duck Tuxedo party time.
Note to self: Don’t order the cheese fries from Steak & Hoagies party time.
Sitting quietly whilst reading a book party time.
Considering buying Hitman: Blood Money but hesitating because I spent a lot of money on Chris’ B-Day and if I keep spending money I’ll never make any party time.
Considering buying those Dragon Fastback’s but hesitating for the same reason party time.
Hand cramping from writing so long party time.
The stabilizing force in the Universe is the scaly shit in between my toes party time.
Incomprehensible immigrants party time.
Deep-seded spelling error racism party time.
Intercontinental Rock God party time.
Running out of ideas party time.
Erectile dysfunction party time.
Time not fucking moving fast enough party time.
Baboon Rape Party party time.
Marilyn Manson has lost his mind and ate my balls party time.
Waste of paper party time.
Going to stop this pretty soon party time.
Twiggy in make up party time.
Backflipping Dixie Chicks party time.
Getting Up to Get Down party time.
Chex Mix party time.
Cheerios in Beer(ios) party time.
Pie stand party time.
Impromptu poetry party time.
Oleous discharge from the Anus party time.
Revisiting backflipping Dixie Chicks party time.
Sussingham cell phone party time.
100 pizzas party time.
200 Cigarettes party time.
At least $4,000 (four thousand dollars—it looks bigger spelled out) coming in soon party time.
Crossing guards, fingers and legs we break $10,000 (make that ten thousand dollars) party time.
Latoya (yes, for real, Latoya) is gone party time.
So am I party time.
Party T. Guyet
6.02.2006
Anything worth doing…it’s worth doing right.
6.02.06
3:15PM
My fucking thumbnail is stabbing into my thumb from playing Nintendo for two hours straight. Fuck you, Mario. This is going to be a problem. This never used to happen when I was young. At least it teaches us that ergonomics isn’t bullshit. It also teaches us that eating mushrooms makes you bigger, Italian plumbers can break bricks with their bare hands and that being in close contact with tobacco leaves will turn you into a flying raccoon. Crazy Japanese and their crazy children’s’ drug culture. What is it about this game that makes it so addictive? The accessibility? The simplicity? The Koopas? Could it be the tobacco? Could it be the satisfaction of stomping waves of politically incorrectly named enemies? Could it be that green boot that makes you invincible? Could it be Giant World? In a way it’s all these things. And THAT is why they are still making Super Mario Brother games to this day.
Changing the subject drastically, I received a call from my agent earlier (while I was in Water World) and he told me that he wants me to be in a short film he wrote and is filming in a few weeks. It’s a tiny, non-speaking role in which I laugh and smoke (I’ve never even lit a cigarette, let alone smoked one) but the fact remains that he asked me personally. How cool is that? I really have no clue where the Great Magnet is taking me, but I would be a fool to resist.
3:15PM
My fucking thumbnail is stabbing into my thumb from playing Nintendo for two hours straight. Fuck you, Mario. This is going to be a problem. This never used to happen when I was young. At least it teaches us that ergonomics isn’t bullshit. It also teaches us that eating mushrooms makes you bigger, Italian plumbers can break bricks with their bare hands and that being in close contact with tobacco leaves will turn you into a flying raccoon. Crazy Japanese and their crazy children’s’ drug culture. What is it about this game that makes it so addictive? The accessibility? The simplicity? The Koopas? Could it be the tobacco? Could it be the satisfaction of stomping waves of politically incorrectly named enemies? Could it be that green boot that makes you invincible? Could it be Giant World? In a way it’s all these things. And THAT is why they are still making Super Mario Brother games to this day.
Changing the subject drastically, I received a call from my agent earlier (while I was in Water World) and he told me that he wants me to be in a short film he wrote and is filming in a few weeks. It’s a tiny, non-speaking role in which I laugh and smoke (I’ve never even lit a cigarette, let alone smoked one) but the fact remains that he asked me personally. How cool is that? I really have no clue where the Great Magnet is taking me, but I would be a fool to resist.
5.30.2006
Having problems with my pictures? idiot?
I have put the pictures in my photobucket account. If you aren't signed up, take a moment and do so, it is fast and free.
http://s16.photobucket.com/albums/b15/guidopaparazzi/
http://s16.photobucket.com/albums/b15/guidopaparazzi/
A nice time was had by all...in Nice.
I have bundled my Nice photos, audio entries and journals into two .rar files. You can get them here...Photos and Ausio & Journal.
Let me know what you think.
Let me know what you think.
5.25.2006
Me. Naked.
Not really. I am about to head out to the premier of Binding Silence. It's going to be interesting to see what people who don't know me at all think of it.
Also, both Will and Dorothy saw my VH1 spot yesterday. That totally rocks. I don't really have anything for you.
I finished my account of the Nice thing so that should be up in a few days. Iight.
I'm out!!
Also, both Will and Dorothy saw my VH1 spot yesterday. That totally rocks. I don't really have anything for you.
I finished my account of the Nice thing so that should be up in a few days. Iight.
I'm out!!
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