FistoPlex Productions

So, long story short:
Back in March, Nine Inch Nails released a two disc instrumental album entitled 'Ghosts I-IV'.
Trent Reznor then asked the fans to make videos to accompany the tracks.
Here is the entry that Christina, myself, Barrett and Micol (NIN friends) made.
It was all shot at the Grumman facility in Bethpage, New York where the first Apollo lunar module was made.
The guy you see is Barrett.
It's taken us over two months but we are very proud of the results.
Check it out here:
http://www.youtube.com/user/FistoPlexProduction

Hey...I won...yeah...

Mm hm.
'pointless' won the first week of the 2nd Annual Shortened Attention Span Festival.
AND, I got a review on nytheatre.com!!
I've never been reviewed!
How fucking cool is that?!
I GOT A REVIEW!!

Review:
(As the previous play ends), Death enters, juggling three clocks as a young woman holds up a sign that says "a metaphor." This marks the beginning of the final item of the evening, which is pointless. The eight performers of pointless offer 20 vignettes written by Paul Guyet, with frequent, often very humorous, announcements reminding the audience that these sketches are all, well, pointless. In one, a man stands alone onstage. Another enters, and asks him what he's waiting for. He replies, "Godot." In another skit, a banana is murdered during a party. In a third, Edgar Allan Poe is caught dancing to "Too Sexy" and says he's having a "laudanum freak-out." Some of the vignettes are very funny and others just very vulgar, but they are all performed by a very strong, energetic ensemble.

WOO HOO!
VERY FUNNY!
VERY VULGAR!!
WOO HOO!!!!!
Ray taped the first night and, although it's TOTALLY going to lose something in translation (hopefully not Scarlett Johansson's amazing ass *CHOMP*), I am going to put it (or most of it) up on my You Tube.

Thanks to all the superawesome people who made it out.
And to those who didn't?
I just HOPE you need some of my blood or semen someday.
Oh ho you shall FEEL my grudge...

realization

6.3.08

10:02 pm

Sitting here, listening to this fucking guy in the security office rambling on and fucking on about HOW MUCH HE LOVES KUNG FU MOVIES brings me to the realization that I want to die.

Wait.

No.

I want HIM to die.

Of internal hemorrhaging.

Maybe brought on by kung fu injuries.

Yes, Bruce Lee is cool.

SHUT THE FUCK UP.

If he himself were a kung fu master then yes, I might be interested in his blather, I might even engage him in conversation, but he is a balding Hispanic guy in his late forties talking about "Bruce" like they grew up together.

"Do you know what would happen if Bruce kicked you?" is one of his FAVORITE questions.

I resisted the urge to respond, "nothing" and that he would probably crumble to the ground like cheese seeing as that he is dead and has been for decades and that maybe you should stop talking about him like he's in the bathroom waiting for you to come in and join him for a game of Ookie Cookie.

Although, if you're this dork, there's no such thing as losing a game of Ookie Cookie to Bruce.

*sigh*

He's so creamy...uh...dreamy.

Dreamy.

Nuts.

Bruce's nuts.

Slurp.

10:38 pm

NOW HE'S THE COACH OF SOME NBA TEAM!!!

Jesus Fucking Christ, this guy's imagination puts Calvin's to shame!

I bet he has a time machine in his basement too.

And a transmografier.

what's that smell?/totally fucked

6.2.08
4:02 pm
In Stephen King's 1991 novel, The Dark Tower III: The Waste Lands, a character enters a run down, creepy house in Dutch Hill.

At one point, the character, Jake, enters a room that smells horribly.

Here is how King describes the smell: It was as if someone had set a mattress on fire, let it smolder a while then put it out with sewer water.

I now know what that smells like because, on my way to work while passing the trash heap that changes daily in front of the projects, I saw that very mattress and, like it or not, I smelled it.

I enjoy living in LIC oodles more than Spanish Harlem.

And that is the truth.

Also, this week 'pointless' goes up.

I was a little nervous until last night's rehearsal.

It went so well that I got a Theatre Boner.

And those are the best kind.

I am a little pensive since the head of security at my job is coming.

Man, is he going to learn a lot more about me than he should.

Also, my sainted aunt Gerry is coming as well.

Holy beans, is this going to be an eye opening experience for some people.

At times I reflect that "it won't be that bad", but the ONE line that keeps echoing back to me is "so anyways, I says to the guy, I says..."

The next family reunion should be interesting.

At least it'll be a change from the usual list of questions I'm asked.

Hopefully 'pointless' will just blur by for those that shouldn't see it.

Like the photos of the dead people in 'The Ring' or something.

Hm.

I'm totally fucked.

Paging Mr. Cock

5.12.08

3:43 pm

I just had to page a resident named Harry Johnson.

No shit.

So, in case you (person) haven't heard, 'pointless' is coming back to the world at large, jaws wide and dripping jaw water.

You should go, because it's real.

It's Thursday, Friday and Saturday (June 5th, 6th and 7th) at 8pm and Sunday the 8th at 3pm.

All at the Player's Theater on 115 MacDougal Street.

Take trans to the West 4th stop and it's around there.

Google it, you lazy bastards.

You can all 212-352-3101 or 866-811-4111 (toll free) for tickets.

Tickets are $18 at the door and $20 if you order them from those numbers.

I apologize for that but here's how this thing works...

'pointless' is one of five plays at this festival.

It's called the Shortened Attention Span Festival because each of the five shows are 20 minutes or less.

Get it?

Although, seriously, people with a REAL shortened attention span can hold onto something for, what? three minutes?

The good news is 'pointless' is a collection of about twenty one-minute vignettes, so it's designed specifically FOR people with actual shortened attention spans BY people with shortened attention spans.

It's was mostly written by me with help from Heather DuCharme who disappeared into the UK last time I heard, and there is one or two contributions from Will.

So, on top of being a Harvard X-Prize astronaut who's dating a chick named Lady, he is also a playwright.

He also saved Latin.

You should see it because, as Christina says, it's me...made slightly accessible.

So...yeah.

I'm sorry I'm not more...expansive today.

Feel like an old rug.

Whatever the case,old rug or new, it's going to be good.

We got some Fordham alums (Jessica Howell, Marco Formosa, Gia Frisillo and Sarah Bell) as well as some non-Fordham alums (Kevin Rockower and Colin Goldberg) so, whether or not you went to Fordham, there's something for everyone!

YAY!!!! 

Seriously though,these are some funny motherfuckers I got.

And you will laugh...until you die.

review of Nine Inch Nails' "The Slip"

I am going to skip over the huge but musically unrelated facts that a. this is the second major release from Trent Reznor in about as many months (yes, months, not years) (the first being the 36-track instrumental experiment 'Ghosts I-IV') and b. Reznor released this album solely on his web site, www.nin.com, for anyone and everyone to download completely free and just focus on the new album, 'The Slip'.

 

As a stand alone Nine Inch Nails album, 'The Slip' is solid, but as a sequel/aspect/coda to 2007's 'Year Zero', it's excellent.

The world of 'The Slip' could indeed be that which Reznor created for us a little over a year ago.

Many of the songs match in tone as well as subject matter and, at times, musicality.

"Letting You" is about fury at those who hold you down and pull your strings, but it is also about fury at yourself for letting these people do these things to you.

In "1,000,000", an excellent NIN album opener (and, hopefully, soon-to-be live staple), we see an individual so dulled, so numbed by his routines that the only way he can tell he's alive is to kill himself again and again.

 

There is also a distinct sci-fi feel to this album with such tracks as "Lights In The Sky" which may be a direct reference to The Presence (the huge, four-fingered hand whose appearance the sky seemed to indicate imminent destruction that was introduced on 'Year Zero'), "Corona Radiata", a 'Ghosts I-IV'-esque soundscape that is beautiful in its subtlety (except for Reznor's choice to include the stock sound effect of a cat yowling towards the end which COMPLETELY takes the listener out of it), "Demon Seed", a layered piece with some excellent drum programming lifted from "38 Ghosts" (a leftover from the 'Ghosts I-IV' sessions) that tells about a seed that is growing and changing the narrator and the album's intro track "999,999" with it's building, alien synth-pulse.

While including elements of 'Year Zero' makes 'The Slip' a bit esoteric, the straight up Nine Inch Nails radio track "Discipline" (part "The Hand That Feeds", part "Only") makes at least some of it accessible to the casual listener.

 

An interesting theory some people are batting around is that, based on the similar sound most of the tracks share, and their subject matter plus the first line spoken on this album (which might be "how did I slip into this?"), 'The Slip' is actually an album CREATED by the Nine Inch Nails OF 'Year Zero', the year 2022 in which the government, environment and society in general are in an apocalyptic state of emergency.

 

Whatever the case, like 'Year Zero', 'The Slip' is an album made richer by the context in which it's set.

Without that context though, the album isn't a complete success.

So you've got a choice:

Either head over to the homepage of 42 Entertainment, the company responsible for the four month ARG (alternate reality game) that set the stage for and accompanied the release of 'Year Zero', and spend an hour or so digging through the massive amount of story surrounding it or just turn up the volume on the four or five loud tracks and headbang like you're 16 again.

Either way, you'll have fun.

Wanted: Abused Children

4.9.08 

11:36am

This morning, eyes half closed, listening to Air, I found myself staring directly at an "abused child".

The eyes were hollow, the set of the jaw smacked of Dickensian mistreatment and the mouth was in that perpetual sob state, a dam ready top burst at the slightest urging...by a fist.

I focused on the rest of the sign and saw it was a call for child protection detectives.

The "abused children" were in the areas above the seats and the "child protection detectives" were on the top, lining the car.

Along with the "detectives", who were all world-weary and determined...with a hint of sadness..., was the slogan: Are you bold enough?

For a moment, I was confused.

I thought that was the slogan of Doritos.

And then I thought, "How abused can they be if they're getting Doritos?  Doritos are delicious!  Except those new fusion ones. They're pretty gross, so I suppose that could be considered-"

Then I stopped.

I started to consider the looks of the "abused children" and the "detectives".

During my time in "the business" (the SHOW business for all the laypeople), I've come to realize that people who say they are people (Hi, I'm a dentist...really...) or people who say they are not people (This woman who lost three hundred pounds in a week is NOT AN ACTRESS! TOTALLY!) are usually lying.

I then decided that these "abused children" looked too abused and that these "detectives" looked too detectivey.

Then I thought, wow, what an advertising nightmare!

You can't just photograph abused kids because that's fucked up and off putting.

I mean, who would want to join up if you had a picture of a battered (as in beaten, not as in covered in delicious batter) of teeth and bruises as your poster child (pun possibly intended)?

But then again, you can't hire actors because that's fucked up in a different, more hypocritical, sort of glossing over the problem and making it fake way.

But then again, you can't pitch becoming a child protection detective without SOME visual stimuli.

It would be like a car commercial without a car.

So I guess my solution (because if you don't have one of these you are part of the problem, even if the problem is child abuse) is to find the more attractive of the abused children and take their pictures.

It's a win-win situation.

You get the real deal on your posters and, therefore the ring of truth and you also get attractive, young, UNDISCOVERED models who might get seen by the right ad guy and BAM, the next fill-in-the-blank.

I'm just trying to help.

Actually, I was just trying to get to work, but Fate forced me into trying to help.

Luckily, I enjoy a challenge.

And a tall, cool glass of pear juice.

The Looza brand is the best.

Real Brazilian type stuff.

I remember once in college, I had a friend who had a friend whose father ran a Brazilian restaurant.

I was over at their apartment (might have been Gia, Taylor and Ruth's place) and she had a bag with some drinks in it.

There was mango juice, guava juice and cashew nut juice.

Most people snatched up the mango and guava, leaving the cashew nut juice.

Of course I opted to try the cashew nut juice.

It was a bit off putting that the juice really did smell like cashews, but you know me and nut juice...

I took a sip and was head over heels for this stuff in an instant.

A few days later I returned to 8F after a rehearsals and saw my roommates gathered nervously around a cardboard box.

They looked at me and said that a while ago, someone knocked on the door and when it was opened, nothing was there but this box.

For some reason, my roommates expected me to have something to do with the creepy, unmarked cardboard box that had been delivered.

And they were right.

I opened the box and was tickled to find forty bottles of cashew nut juice.

I was so stoked about this windfall of nut juice that I went around to my friend's apartments with the box and started handing out bottles.

To spread the nut juice love.

I had a lot of takers but I'm not sure how many people actually drank it in the end.

Whatever the case, it was an excellent gift; frightening and nutritious.

Tonight is Saul Williams.
******************************Just got back from Saul Williams.
You know, I'm done trying to turn people on to new stuff that is amazing.
Fuck you, find out for yourself.

Avoid elevators

When I returned to my apartment, the doorman had his hands full with a group of Irish women in their late 20's/early 30's.

They were a group of friends that all happened to babysit children in my building and none of them had their ID.

They'd all worked there long enough to know that you need ID to get in if you aren't a resident, but they'd also worked there long enough to develop a proprietary sense that the doormen should all know them by sight and "just let them up".

I squeezed by, smiling at the doorman who gave me the look of a drowning man.

I sympathized, but only on the surface; I was too tired to care about his little problem that would inevitably be sorted out in a few short moments.

I turned the corner and stood waiting for one of the two elevators to arrive.

They are notoriously slow and while waiting, a man from the building who I knew had some debilitating disease that had yet to debilitate him approached.

I knew about his disease but I did not know his name.

There appeared to be some depth of feeling between us, but I didn't know where it had come from.

He looked like an old Shakespearean actor.

After a time, the elevator arrived.

I got on as did a young boy.

The old man got on, then got off, either forgetting something or remembering something.

I pressed my floor, eight, and, although the boy must have pressed his, I hadn't noticed.

I then saw the emblem sewn onto the left breast of his blazer.

It was that of my alma mater, St. Bernard's.

I asked him something about his school and he replied.

Apparently, he'd done badly on a test that day and was disappointed in himself.

I told him that, no matter what he thought at the time, that St. Bernard's is an excellent school and he should be enjoying every minute of it.

He didn't disagree but hearing it helped.

He was relieved to know there was something beyond the fourth grade.

I then noticed that he was the spitting image of my old next door neighbor's son.

"Is your last name Goldman?"

He answered yes.

Around that time, the elevator arrived at my floor, the eighth.

The doors opened and I saw that the landing was about two feet over my head.

For some reason I didn't consider this abnormal and I was about to grab the landing and climb out when I turned back to the boy.

"Whatever the case, have fun at six Bernard's...seven Bernard's..."

He was giggling and I was smiling, but, for some strange reason, my tongue was tangled and I was unable to say "Saint Bernard's".

I had just arranged the sounds required to express myself when the elevator began to fall.

No small lurch to indicate something was wrong, simply the feeling that the massive hands of gravity had disappeared.

I had time to see the terror on the boy's face and was considering saying something or taking him in my arms when the lights flickered and everything went dark.

HOT MESS VS. OKAY!!

3.31.08

3:56pm

At approximately 3pm on the afternoon of March 31, 2008, I bore witness to one of the most exciting events...in the History of Man:

HOT MESS VS. OKAY!!

The Contenders:

Big, fat, chattery clump of noise vs. the twittery idiot box (not a television, a person, a box of idiocy) 

The Background:

The Oaf was regaling the Twit with stories of her grandmother who went nutty toward the end.

The Oaf kept referring to her grandmother as a "hot mess", the reaction of the Twit to these recollections was to continually repeat "okay!!"*

After a few moments, I realized that this was much more than a mere recanting of tales, this was a bloodmatch.

Or deathmatch.

Or bloody deathmatch, as the British might say.

So I began to keep count of who said what more, "hot mess" or "okay!!".

The Results:

It was a grueling five minutes but in the end...it was a tie, 7 to 7.

Rematch?

A rematch is almost certain and I will be there to bring the noise, the funk and all the other things that one would want to bring to a mind fart contest like this one.

Stay tuned!!

*I wish more than anything that I could attach a sound clip of her saying "okay".

It is probably the most annoying delivery that two syllables can have.

I will try to describe it:

The emotions are always disbelief and amusement, but exaggerated; as if her subtext is:

'Whoa! Too much information! Thank-ah yoooou-ah!'

Very high school/valley girl.

The intonation is ALWAYS THE SAME, whether it's in reaction to stories about someone's crazy grandmother or a UFO sighting or a dead baby stuffed full of shit and maggots by a lunatic who then sent said baby to the Pope, which adds a lot to the element of I-want-to-step-on-your-throat.

It starts off high and nasally, always nasally and remains at the same note, pitch and timbre until the "a" in "okay" is reached, where it slides down the octaves until it is inaudible.

Also, lending to the sandpaper-on-my-scrotum feel is the fact that she says this about 400,000,000 times a day.

Give or take.

The Music of the Spheres

3.20.08

10:13 pm

Oh ho yes indeed.

The Music of the Spheres.

The Spheres of Terrible R&B.

Specifically, Usher.

Usher’s new "joint" is entitled "Love In The Club".

Or maybe "Love In This Club" (it’s hard to go off half-cocked if you know exactly what it is you’re talking about...in all honestly, I’m really not even sure it IS Usher but again, a half cock in your hand is...worth......gross, never mind).

Whatever the case, I heard the title first and thought to myself, "Aww, that’s kind of sweet.  Taking such a gross, sticky, sex and drug laden place and imparting it with some sense of romance is kind of nice."

Then, oh silly silly me, I listened to the song.

Silly silly.

Me.

The song is not, as I had dared to dream, about catching someone’s eye across the crunk and vial littered floor of a club and finding True Love, no.

It’s about wanting to fuck someone SO BADLY that you do it...in the club.

L’amor.

The chorus is actually "make love in this club".

One line in particular (paraphrased xmax; half cock, you understand) stands out like a priest’s erection on Easter (TOPICAL!!!!)

"I’ve got the medicine that you need the most/and I know you’re gonna swallow every dose"

Ah euphemisms...sweet, sweet euphemisms...for semen.

Whatever the case, this wet piece of shit is better than that fucking obnoxious idiot anthem "Yeah Yeah Yeah (Yeah Yeah Yeah)" that dominated our charts AND hearts in recent years.

Although that isn’t saying much.

Like, "Hey, today there’s more blood than pus coming out of my penis! Yay!" isn’t saying much.

Half a cock...in your hand.

'Does anyone smell that?'

3.14.08
7:40 pm
The above question (spoken in broken, heavily accented English by an African nurse) is what has lead me to create the paragraph below.
I swear to you that this is true.
So.
You all know that I don't work in the best Health Care Facility in the World or even in New York City.
But seriously, there is a difference between "not the best" and "populated but goddamn inbred fucking idiots".
So.
I arrive today to find a message in my Inbox with the rules for smoking inside the Hospital attached.
I think nothing of it since it, like most of the messages in my Inbox, does not concern me.
I thought that maybe a resident had been caught smoking where they shouldn't have been or perhaps an employee was suspended for the same reason.
A little later, I was informed why each and every person with a mail box in the system received the same message.
A resident who was supposed to have "One to One" coverage (which means for each of the three 8-hour shifts that make up a workday, there is a professional- and I'm going to go with the dictionary definition which is one who receives monetary compensation for performing a service- nurse with that person) had accidentally set himself on fire.
Yes.
Instead of watching him and, hopefully, intervening, she merely commented, "Does anyone smell that?"
Turns out that yes, several people smelled that...and screamed...a lot.
The resident was moved to a better Hospital (actually a piss-stained cardboard box down the street, but a better Hospital nonetheless) but the nurse remains unpunished.
Why?
Because nurses will cover each others asses no matter how bad they fuck up.
Why?
Because each and every one of them is intelligent enough to know that they are stupid enough to fuck up massively enough to need their OWN ass covered and they are merely banking the good karma.
Like, imagine a spider web made by spiders who are cunning and have a strong sense of self preservation but are dumb as hammers with developmental disabilities.
These hammers are taking care of the infirm here at my place of business.
Anyway, the Admins decided that the best way to stop this from happening again was to send out an e-mail reminding people of the smoking policy and add an extra Security guard to the shifts to wander around from floor to floor and literally check to make sure that no one is on fire.
Honestly...I don't have anything else to say.
*****************************************
Happy Pi Day

happy. birthday.

3.13.08

3:13 pm

Say what you will about Paul McCartney beating up his wife (quite frankly I think she only has herself to blame; I mean, name one super-mega-star that doesn't have something fundamental wrong with them (Michael Jackson much?).  Success of that magnitude should be a clear warning sign, like a rattlesnake's rattle or an angry, screaming spider waving a gun) but "Happy Birthday" is just an hilarious, uplifting song.

The frantic, insistent yelling of "we would like you to dance", the children singing "birthday", the infectious guitar riffs and the heightened celebratory mood brought about by a multiple Birthday.

This song serves as aural Prozac.

In fact, if you hear this song and depression persists, you may just want to kill yourself because you're bumming everyone out. 

Thanks for that.

Asshole.

People need to be more careful.

3.7.08

5:10 pm

And here's why...

Occasionally, my phone here will ring.

Sometimes it's a wrong number, sometimes silence, some times even, a person trying to reach this number.

And every once in a while...it's something different.

With the outdated phone system we have here, every once in a while, the phone will ring and I will pick up and find myself in the midst of someone else's phone call.

If it's two people, I'll just hang up and reconnect them, but sometimes it's someone voice mail.

Let me explain, say you wanted to called someone's cell phone from a phone here.

You get their machine and hang up.

Well.

For some strange reason, it will pop over to me so that when I pick up, I'll hear that person's answering machine message and,if I want, I can then leave a message.

I often do.

They aren't normal.

I have never done anything more...bad?...than that.

Until today.

So, the phone rings and I say, chipper as a chipper, "Operator may I help-"

I hear a voice cut itself off...and then begin again.

"I didn't get that.  Say: 1 the policy balance, 2: another sum"

I say "1".

The robot informs me that: "Your balance is $188.44.  Would you like to deduct that from your checking account?"

"Yes" I say.  I wanted to, very much.

"Okay, now our records show you've done this before.  Does your checking account end in 4418?"

Mine doesn't, but I'm sure someone's does.

"Yes" I intoned.

"Okay, your policy balance has been paid off.  This transaction might not show up on your statement until-"

I hung up, bored with his candor.

Then I paused.

Then I laughed my fucking ass off.

I just helped pay off someone's policy balance, whatever the fuck that is.

I'm a good person.

And they need to update this phone system.

nine inch nails ghosts i-iv

one single page

2.27.08

3:06 pm

My milk goes bad today and I still have quite a bit left.

If I can and it's drinkable, I am going to have a large glass of chocolate milk this evening when I get home.

Also, someone smelled like either Fritos or Triscuits on the Subway today.

The smell wasn't unpleasant, but the fact that someone actually smelled like whichever one it was was.

The BEECHOUZATRONICON XMAX '08 beach house has been selected.

It is undergoing funkification and sexitizing processes as we speak, although these processes won't be fully completed until Those Chosen enter the premises.

As usual.

Feeling slightly Russian today.

Paulikov.

Been watching the penultimate season of The Wire.

If you like good things, check out this show.

The characters are very good.

Very.

Good.

Very good.

Forgot breakfast today, but I did abs so I can just chomp on the endorphins until my break.

chompchompchomp

Monday was me and Chris' 8th anniversary.

In celebration we went up to Cold Spring on Sunday and had an excellent day.

I had a steak wrapped in prosciutto.

I'd like to call it the 'Fuck You Gia' since she is embarking upon a week of veganism.

And I will.

The 'Fuck You Gia' was excellent.

I also climbed a mountain with my nouf and we took ridiculously cute pictures.

I ate snow and it was cold.

I honestly hope that you all get as much love in your lives as I have.

Just not with my girlfriend.

Wetness.

Just saw the trailer for the new Indiana Jones movie.
There's wetness.

the vantage falling from the ivory tower

2.15.08
10:11 pm

Is it strange that a priest who has undergone gastric bypass occasionally gives me Werther's Originals?
Hm.
I was wandering around 57th the other day and I happened to pass the Tourneau with all the different clocks out front and I noticed, for the first time, the constant ticking sound emitting from it.
I found it whimsical yet practical, but wondered if the people who work right next to Tourneau enjoy it as much as I do...
I auditioned for the part of Death for an upcoming White Castle commercial.
Surprisingly it had little to do with the quality of the food.
I'm reading "Pattern Recognition" at the moment and finding Trent Reznor less ingenious by the page.
My biceps are harder than any time in recent memory and I'm good with that.
Also, my already-well defined calves have become even more so.
Am okay with that as well.
Was in major bog for a day or so, but have pulled myself out of it.
Hope to begin and finish filming this weekend.
I weep for those without Monday off.
You need to find new jobs that respect whatever the hell we should respect in regards to the day we have off.
Actually, I DO know what Monday is.
It's a goddamn affront.
I remember when we had Washington AND Lincoln's Birthdays off.
Who fucking decided to break it off just under the dentate line and make a Presidential Frappuccino out of days off?
Dogfuckers.

A decision.

1.31.08

8:59pm

Yes.

I have made a decision.

I have made it on my own and, I'm sorry Christina, there will be no bending on this.

No matter HOW talented or smart or sexy we consider our child/children to be, he/she will not be allowed to answer the phone until they can understand and respond accurately to the question, "Is your mother/father there?".

Now, I'm sure you're wondering how I came to make this irreversible, unbending decision.

Well, I'll tell you how.

One of my co-workers just called some goddamn relative of hers and, for at least three minutes, her side of the conversation consisted of: "Put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone,  <idiot fucking laughter at just how CUTE and FUNNY the child on the other end of the phone is for NO PUTTIN' GRAMMA 'N THE PHONE>, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, <idiot fucking laughter at how NOT obnoxious the aforementioned child is>, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, <idiot fucking laughter at just how CLEVER this little bundle of joy and teeth is> put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, put Gramma 'n the phone, <burbling noise as my index finger enters the brain>.

I like the last part.

I have nothing against kids but I'm REALLY not a fan of the "my kid is better/more special/etc. than yours simply because it's mine" sentiment.

I guess it's more that I have a problem with the parents of said children.

There are three types of children: the normal ones (who should not be heard from or seen by anyone but those in the child's IMMEDIATE family, and even then only by choice, until they can handle the phone as mentioned above), the stupid ones (like brain defect stupid) and the terrifying prodigies.

The prodigies should be worshipped as Gods so they don't get the wrong ideas and destroy humanity, but other than that?

Keep them in a box until they can function (at least on the telephone) like well trained dogs...that can talk.

Or just don't fucking make me listen to your uninhibited mirth and joy at reveling in the innocent retard ramblings of your should-have-been-aborted fuckling.

Whichever.

Anyway, TMBG this weekend.

Rock on.

Also, I'm planning on filming the third installment of  'The Inchoate Trilogy', entitled 'sextodecimo' in the next week or so.

Now, I know I'm occasionally guilty of hyperbole, but, seriously, this is going to cause the moon to explode and send the earth spinning either into the sun or off into the black depths of space, I'm not sure.

Will should know.

Will?

I'll keep you updated...   

Oh, also, if anyone wants to join me and others at either the Saul Williams show on Wednesday the 9th of April at Irving Plaza or eels at the Highline Ballroom on Tuesday the first or Wednesday the second of April, let me know.

Should be fun...

Diary of the Dead?

All right, fine.
I like zombies and zombie movies as much as the next person who likes zombies and zombie movies, but after Land of the Dead (which blew zombies) Romero is REALLY going to have to bring it ("it" being the stuff of which great zombie movies are made).
And DOTD looks like someone saw the Blair Witch Project, then the trailer for Cloverfield and then called Romero and said "first person is in, George!" and he fucking fell for it.
But, hey, whatever.
I'll see you in hell Diary of the Dead...you'd better be worth the bus fare.

New Favorite Website.

Hot Chicks With Douchebags
Warning: May cause internal bleeding.