over, done

2.28.05
1:36am
Did you know that Elijah Wood was in Back to the Future II? And Billy Zane? And Flea? I have a feeling that Christina (A) did, but only because she looks like Lea Thompson.

4:04am
You know, I think “Back to the Future” might be my favorite movie trilogy (along with Indiana Jones, the Jersey Trilogy and maybe something else I can’t bring to memory at this moment). The second one is my favorite for its totally favorable (except for the humorously high inflation) depiction of the future. I can’t think of any other movies that show the future without flaws. A seemingly perfect future where everything is great except for the censorship or the brutal police tactics or the cannibals or something along those lines. Then there’s the post-Apocalypse crater of society in which the Omega Man is King. Then, my personal favorite…the Negative Utopia; where only the rich have it good and everyone else is a mindless tool/victim of The Machine. Thank you Orwell, Huxley and the guy that wrote “We”; he was Russian. It’s also my favorite because of the wonderful gadgets and Michael J. Fox in a dress playing his own daughter.
The third one would have been great if it weren’t marred by the idiotic love story of Lloyd and Steenburger or whatever her name is and the appearance of ZZ Top. Also, I’m just not a big fan of the Wild West, although “Wild Wild West” is a thoroughly enjoyable movie.
And the first one…the whole movie takes on a different feel when you know as much about Crispin Glover as I do. George McFly ceases to be the nervous, jittery, awkward fatherly dork and becomes a really terrifying character. When he balls up his fist to hit Biff towards the end, you can actually see the Fires of Hell in his eyes. Shudder. And, Christina (A), in the beginning when we see the Loser version of the McFly family, that should serve as a cautionary tale as far as what will happen if you marry some guy your father hits with a car and take to drinking a lot. However, Lea Thompson as the naive 50’s sex kitten? Jackpot. Also, Huey Lewis has a cameo along with more Billy Zane. He was excellent in Demon Knight.
************************************************
Last night was the last 7p to 7a shift for a while. I feel free.

in another Place

Before I sleep tonight, I found that someone stumbled upon another Place and, even more interesting, found ME in this Place. I am called Mr. Salad Fingers. I have five adventures. http://www.fat-pie.com/flash.htm

Behold Paulus, Veritable God Star of the Two Lands

2.22.05
10:05pm
Saturday night I worked 7pm to 7am Sunday morning. Sunday night to Monday morning I worked 7pm to 7am. Since it was a holiday weekend, I worked the same from Monday night to Tuesday morning. I had to wake up two hours after my shift ended to go to a rehearsal for Lysisrata: The Musical (the new title of Women of Athens). I arrived back home at 1 or so and had a shower; I was about to take a sleep when I was called in to work from 3pm to 11pm. Things inside my head are very very weird. I discussed this godcurse with Philip and he explained that sleep deprivation is like a well. The longer you go without sleep, the deeper the well, BUT if you go with NO SLEEP AT ALL, the well remains covered, but, if you take a small nap to “recharge” (as I did from 7:30 to 9 this morning) you open the well and fall in.
Anyway, the purpose of this entry, the Slow Poke Mexican Mouse came back in and has bee using the phone for five minutes or so, When he was in here before he was talking like the mouse slow, sedated, annoying etc. However, this conversation was with a family member who he was trying to get to pick him up tomorrow so it was much more energetic (I don’t think he likes it here, something about hearing strange voices in the night). He sounded like a Spanish Muppet. I have never actually seen the guy and I think if I did it would ruin the image I have of him in my mind: A sick puppet with a big bushy moustache and a sombrero. I can’t wait to start imitating him to everyone I know. I feel soooo strange today. What the hell have I done to myself. I got a package from my parents, it contains cereal. Ceeeeereal. I also got my comforter from Land’s End. It is to be charcoal gray. It shall be snuggly. I NOW UNDERSTAND THE TRUE MEANING OF THE PAULITOSPHERE. Granted it will take several lifetimes to express it in anything but lustful grunts, but I’ll keep whacking away at it. Inside all of you is a little me. I wan you all to embrace me and have a conversation with me. Talk about my favorite foods, my favorite textures and ducks and you will feel at peace with everything. Absofuckinglutely EVE RY THING. I suggest you do it now before I sleep tonight and dream you all into a different place. A place where it might take days or weeks for me to find you. You would NOT want to be lost in my subconscious. What a dark and shining place that is. Everything looks shiny from here I am now. I an on the threshold of something. About to pass over into another Place. Tomorrow, I will be a talking raccoon. I am fine with this. THE PHONE. Don’t worry I got it. Something is wrong and I can fix it but will I choose to do so? Hm. I AMMMM a progressive thinker. But am I progressive tinkerer? I tink not.
Angie has reentered my life after a year of being away. I never realized how much I missed her til I spoke with he for an hour between naps at the hospital. She will be drawn to the City at some point hopefully. I remember little of our conversation and the changes made to the opening number of Lysistrata this morning because the lack of sleep (aside from making my feel like an elephant without hands) it has muddled my memory a bitty poo. I think there was a note change but I’ll have to ask. I listened to nothing but the new nineinchnails song on the way too and froo the rehearsal this morning. I guess I like it now. Fert. Well, I think the stream has dried up. Oh my gooly gosh, I can hear the rats in the wall. They are chewing on things best left unmentioned in polite society. You filthy bastards, YOU are responsible for Thompson’s death. YOU. I put that lame on your fucking heads. May the burden of it shatter your dirty necks. Hilary is also someone I have to maintain contact with. Her show was good. I feel I should do something like it, but I don’t have enough terrible things in my life to warrant an audience. Maybe I could just sit naked in a cage eating cheese balls and Big Macs for an hour. That’s art, isn’t it? I am fucking hope so. A root beer soda is nothing. I made it up but you will never hear me admit it. You picky choosey cockhorse. Eat all the cock you want and may you choke on the resulting spume. Also, Phil is having some trouble dancing. Help him if you canlkn ./

closer still

2.21.05
7:54pm
Do any of you remember Speedy Gonzales? Do you remember his lesser-known compatriot Slow Poke Sanchez or Slow Poke Martinez or some other stereotypical Mexican name? Remember how he spoke, very slowly and in a tired, beaten, pathetic sort of voice? Well, he is here in the security office and he has been here, speaking Spanish in that same fucking retarded, defeated, mournful voice since I fucking got here. Have you ever just felt like you’ve heard too much Spanish for one day? Or am I really the only person in the world who ever feels like that? Whatever. I don’t care if I’m a bigoted asshole or not, I would trade both my testicles for some chloroform right about now.
Speaking of being a bigoted asshole, the lite jazz station (the lesser of most evils) is on and I just heard the “soul” version of Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five”, an essential jazz piece. Look, I know the black community is mad about Rod Fucking Stewart covering “What A Wonderful World”, but seriously, what about those in the middle that are punished by both remakes? “Take Five” isn’t supposed to be “lite jazz” just as “What A Wonderful World” isn’t supposed to be sung by someone who is neither blind nor Afro. I would be willing to kill Rod Stewart and whoever thought it would be a good idea to shit-up “Take Five” in the same bonfire.
What a terrible day. I woke up much earlier than I wanted to around 2pm to hear that Hunter S. Thompson has killed himself. Then, I downloaded the new Nine Inch Nails song that was leaked (good quality, just leaked) and I wasn’t even impressed let alone amazed, same with the first single from the album that was leaked in the form of a very shitty fourth generation mp3. The song went from CD (which was stolen from the video shoot for the song) to radio (three stations played it “without knowing it wasn’t supposed to be played” and are being sued) to tape (some fan) to mp3 (the fan with the tape put a microphone to her speaker and made the mp3) to my computer. Granted, this is the worst quality mp3 I have ever heard and I’m sure there is a lot of nuance that is lost in translation, but what I can hear is in the same vein as the high quality leak of the other song: Meh. Both songs sound just like the shit on the radio today. The lyrics are vague and powerless. Trent Reznor described his new album as “twelve good, hard punches to the face”; I have yet to feel sneezed on. To be honest, I have been preparing myself for let down with the new NIN album for the reasons I detailed in an earlier post. On the upside, the new Beck, eels and They Might Be Giants are all great. The TMBG was released officially the other day and it’s excellent, the new eels was leaked in its final, produced form and that’s amazing and finally the new Beck, which is in prototype form and can only get better. Anyway, I’m not destroyed over the (so far) substandard NIN music.
In case you’re wondering, I am taking obsessively about music (today) because the Hunter S. Thompson thing really sucks and I am initiating my usually defense mechanism by distracting myself. A lot of people know I like the movie based on his book, but really, his quote about Oscar Zeta Acosta really nailed me.
Also, the weather today was Kill Yourself weather. The snow has stopped and the small amount that hit the ground wasn’t enough to keep things white and quite for long, it was just enough to make people’s socks wet.
Pinprick though: I also woke up to a voicemail from Jen who wants to talk about her apartment. Hopefully that will become a flaming beacon once I converse with her and not a soggy match head.
P.S. That fucking slow mouse is still here.
P.P.S. My next DVD purchase will be “Where the Buffalo Roam”. If you don’t know what that is, find out before you talk to me next or I may react violently.
**********************************************************
8:52pm
I just got off the phone with Will and I told him that the only way I will be completely okay with Thompson’s death is if it was caused by something pertaining to “shotgun golf”
**********************************************************
11:02pm
All right, I think I crossed a line. There is this woman in a room here. She only speaks Spanish. She keeps ringing her goddamn bell, I keep telling her that someone is on their way, she keeps ringing her goddamn bell, I tell her to goddamn be patient, she keeps ringing her goddamn bell, I lose it. I opened the channel to her room, put my mouth right up to the mic and whisper “Stop…ringing…the…bell.” Then I started gurgling and hissing into the mic, then I put her on mute. So far, no repercussions, but I’ll keep you updated.

11:06pm
She just stopped ringing her bell. It’s going to be a good night.
***********************************************************
3:09am
Just went on break and burned the two new NIN songs onto a disc. I’ve been here listening to them a while and the second song “The Line Begins To Blur” is starting to grow on me. Took about 12 hours or so, but I’m beginning to enjoy the nuances. I’m still undecided about the first one (The Hand That Feeds) but that one might be too. I’ll be able to discuss it with myself once I hear a better version. I don’t know if it’s my eagerness to want to like the new NIN or if it’s really growing on me. It’s interesting the way people won’t like songs on an album or an entire album at first, and then get into it/them after a time of exposure. For me, a lot of my favorite albums were like that. Sea Change was only four or five tracks for me at first, eventually, the whole thing, same with Midnite Vultures, even Downward Spiral and The Fragile. In the case of They Might Be Giants, if I don’t like one of their songs, I usually don’t grow into it, same with some others. I wonder why that is. Maybe NIN and Beck just put more into their music, sonically at least, that you have to discover. That’s always a good sign but I can also see how that can make one a music snob. If something isn’t as layered as stuff they’re used to, I can see someone dismissing it as “boring”. Speaking of that, Beck said in that Norwegian interview that after he is done touring with Guero, he plans to work on an album that is just guitar and vocals. I guess we’ll see how funky he can be…

CNN) -- Journalist and author Hunter S. Thompson, who unleashed the concept of "gonzo journalism" in books like "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," fatally shot himself in the head Sunday at his home near Aspen, Colorado, police and his family said.

"On February 20, Dr. Hunter S. Thompson took his life with a gunshot to the head at his fortified compound in Woody Creek, Colorado," said a statement issued by Thompson's son, Juan Thompson, to the Aspen Daily News.

"The family will shortly provide more information about memorial service and media contacts. Hunter prized his privacy, and we ask that his friends and admirers respect that privacy as well as that of his family."

A dispatcher for the Pitkin County Sheriff's Department confirmed Thompson's death.

Neither the family statement nor Pitkin County sheriff's officials said whether Thompson left a note, The Associated Press reported.

Thompson, 67, was associated with the "New Journalism" movement of the 1960s, in which writers -- most notably Tom Wolfe and Gay Talese -- took a more novelistic and personal approach to their subjects.

Thompson, who freely dropped cynical opinions and references to his drug and alcohol use into his stories, termed his style "gonzo journalism."

His account of a drug-fueled trip to cover a district attorneys' anti-drug conference as a writer for Rolling Stone magazine was the seed of "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," perhaps his best-known work.

Subtitled "A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream," the 1971 book included his lament on the passing of the 1960s and its "sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil."

"There was no point in fighting -- on our side or theirs," he wrote. "We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark -- the place where the wave finally broke and rolled back."

In "Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail '72," he described the campaign leading to Richard Nixon's re-election as president with terms like "brutal" and "depraved"; puckishly speculated that Democratic Sen. Ed Muskie -- the early front-runner, whose poor showing in the New Hampshire primary doomed his candidacy -- was under the influence of a psychoactive drug, Ibogaine; routinely mocked candidate and senator Hubert H. Humphrey ("the Hump"); and bemoaned Nixon's looming victory by proclaiming, "Jesus, where will it end? How low do you have to stoop in this country to become president?"

CNN national correspondent Bruce Morton -- who covered the '72 campaign for CBS -- remembered Thompson as a bigger-than-life presence who wrote "good stuff."

"He'd perked the campaign plane or the campaign bus up a whole lot, he'd come out and say, had hey, weird stuff's going to happen, Hunter is here," Morton said on CNN's "American Morning." "He was also, it's fair to say, a very good writer. You read his stuff in Rolling Stone magazine, and maybe it wasn't what you've seen and maybe it wasn't what had happened, but by golly, it was good stuff and it was fun."

Morton also recalled the last time he heard from Thompson -- more than 30 years ago.

"The campaign was over, I think early 1973, and I got a phone call, saying the CIA has me, can you lend me 20 bucks," Morton said. "I said 20 bucks is no problem, but I don't think they'll let me in at Langley [Virginia, CIA headquarters].

"You just never knew with him. He was a free spirit and a gifted one."

Taking risks
There is no way to grasp what a shallow, contemptible and hopelessly dishonest old hack Hubert Humphrey is until you've followed him around for a while.
-- Hunter S. Thompson, from 'Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail '72'

Thompson's other works included "The Great Shark Hunt," a collection of Watergate-era essays; "Generation of Swine," his lament on the youth of the 1980s; and his account of Bill Clinton's 1992 presidential win, "Better than Sex."

His lone novel, "The Rum Diaries," was written in 1959 and published in 1998, while a collection of letters, "The Proud Highway: The Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman," came out in 1997.

Hunter Stockton Thompson was born July 18, 1937, in Louisville, Kentucky. He served in the Air Force and was a newspaper sports editor. In 1966, he published "Hell's Angels," a fairly straightforward chronicle about the motorcycle gang, which Thompson had followed around for a year.

In 1970, he ran for sheriff of Pitkin County, Colorado, on a Freak Power Party platform of decriminalizing drugs. He lost in a tight race.

The peak of his fame came in the 1970s, when he contributed stories to a number of magazines.

His most notable client was Rolling Stone, where the dispatches that became "Campaign Trail" originally appeared. His battles with Rolling Stone founder Jann S. Wenner were legendary; his stories occasionally arrived on odd media, such as rolls of teletype paper, and Thompson's expense accounts were often challenged by the magazine. (Examples of Thompson's Rolling Stone work have been on display at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum in Cleveland, Ohio.)

"He may have died relatively young but he made up for it in quality if not quantity of years," Paul Krassner, the veteran radical journalist and one of Thompson's former editors, told The Associated Press by phone from his Southern California home.

"It was hard to say sometimes whether he was being provocative for its own sake or if he was just being drunk and stoned and irresponsible," quipped Krassner, founder of the leftist publication The Realist and co-founder of the Youth International (YIPPIE) party.

"But every editor that I know, myself included, was willing to accept a certain prima donna journalism in the demands he would make to cover a particular story," he said. "They were willing to risk all of his irresponsible behavior in order to share his talent with their readers."

'Shock and dismay'
America's answer to the monstrous Mr. Hyde. He speaks for the werewolf in us.
-- Hunter S. Thompson on Richard M. Nixon

In recent years, Thompson wrote a column for the sports network ESPN's Web site. In his most recent piece, posted February 15, he describes shooting at golf balls like skeet with a friend near his longtime home -- he called it "a fortified compound" -- outside Aspen.

"The general reaction here is shock and dismay, because he was such a figure in town," Aspen resident John Hoag told CNN.

Still, Hoag said, Thompson remained a private person. "The most news we heard from him was when a pack of dogs killed his peacock, Attila, and he broke his leg in Hawaii last year."

Thompson also was the model for the character of "Uncle Duke" in the "Doonesbury" comic strip. But Thompson strongly disliked the characterization, once telling an interviewer that he would set "Doonesbury" creator Garry Trudeau on fire if the two ever met.

In later years, however, Thompson said he had made peace with the "Uncle Duke" portrayal.

"I got used to it a long time ago," he told Freezerbox magazine in 2003. "I used to be a little perturbed by it. It was a lot more personal ... It no longer bothers me."

In 1980, actor Bill Murray portrayed Thompson in the film "Where the Buffalo Roam." And in 1998, the film "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" was released, based on Thompson's book and starring Johnny Depp as the journalist. A new film reportedly is in production based on Thompson's novel "The Rum Diaries."

The writer himself, Hoag said, will be missed. "There's no one in the world these days who writes the truth ... as he seems to, to me," he said. "He spoke to the world and said what people were afraid to say."

Yang.

2.19.05
10:48 pm
So when a button starts blinking on my panel, I ask the resident if they need assistance. Then, no matter what they say (unless it is very specific) I reply, “Someone’s on their way.” Then I announce to the speaker at the Nurse’s Station that assistance is needed in room whatever. Sometimes a resident will ring twice in an hour or even twice in ten minutes. These residents can need anything from immediate medical attention to a glass of water to a fresh diaper. Anyway, someone might need more than one thing in a small period of time, especially if they are old and confused or senile etc. This one room has been blinking for a while. I answer the call then tell the nurse’s station to go to said room. Same thing happens five minutes later. Same thing seven minutes later. Finally, I call the nurse’s station and ask them to send someone in. They responded: “Oh, her? We were just in there.” I say: “Yes. That’s what you get paid for. Now send someone in there.” And I hung up.
The mentality of almost every one of these fucking unintelligible, lazy cocksuckers is that of an assassin; one shot, bang, it’s over, never have to deal with this person again, when they should instead deal with their position that of a baby sitter. I mean, you don’t fucking go, check on the baby and then take a nap, you are constantly paying attention to it so it doesn’t swallow poison or creepy old men. I hate these morons working here. And before you snicker. I am NOT a moron, I am just very lazy…almost dangerously so, but I am not stupid nor am I without compassion. These bastards would happily leave an old women soaking in a bog of her own feces as long as they didn’t get caught. I’d love to be able to leave my post and g up to these non-responding floors and bitch at these assholes. Anyway, I’m going to go back to watching DVD’s. Although you’ll be happy to know the mute button is OFF and I am attending to each and every call I am getting within 30 seconds. I don’t know if it’s my conscience or the look of horror in Hilary’s artic blue eyes today at lunch, but if I were in this position, and after my eye surgeries I was sort of, all I could do was drink water and piss and I have no idea how much time passed between each trip from the bathroom to the bed to the water pitcher to the bed to the bathroom etc. All I know is that I hated being helped and would only call when I needed it, but when I needed it, like I said, I needed it. Some of the people here like to just get attention and will buzz just because. They enjoy being waited on. Either way, I have no idea if these people need help or just want help so, remembering where I was for most of 9th grade, I will try t stop muting the residents here.
But I still plan on hanging up on assholes. That’s my prerogative.

Duh.

2.15.05
8:19am
The 7 to 3 shift at the Hospital is always the hardest for me (Note: All complaining is based on things that are bad to ME, hence Guido’s Fuckrant Page and not Someone Else’s Fuckrant Page. I understand that all of you have much worse lives waking up at 4 in the morning every day of the week to go and be whipped by fat, smegmatic, myopic trolls who constantly ejaculate flaming sand onto your genitals, but I am not used to this routine and so what follows is bad from my point of view, not yours, yes, I understand.). The whole thing is just very jarring to my system. Anyway, I arrive here today, eat my bagel then begin to stare blankly. I cannot watch movies or listen to music on this shift and my eyes are not ready to actually look at anything yet so reading is out. At that moment, the only stimuli brushing up against my shattered nerves are the VERY black conversation being carried out by two security guards about a series of movies (?) two of which are titled “Family Reunion” and “Cookout” or something like that (maybe Johnson Family Reunion/Cookout?); based on their reenactments and quotable quotes (“Hey hey hey! Who you think you talkin’ to playa playa?!” was said at least six times and, apparently, it’s the best line in the movie…) these movies are the African American equivalent of the National Lampoon movies from recent years that no one saw (Last Resort, Family Trip, Seven Deadly Sins, Christmas Vacation 2: Eddie's Caribbean Adventure- I’m not kidding about that last one, it’s on my NetFlix list as is Christmas Reunion which features one Judge Reinhold playing the timeless role of Clark W. Griswald- also on my list), the god awful “hits of the 70’s, 80’s, 90’s and today!! (I remember when these stations were just hits of the 80’s and today, that’s fucking old school)” radio station (which isn’t always horrible, it’s better than a lot of stuff, and they do play Prince so that’s redemptive) and the general ambient beeping that is ongoing here. I began to let myself drift and found myself thinking of last night when I called K Rock and asked them to play the new Beck single, then thinking of calling them and asking to somehow break into this broadcast just to shake things up and then I found myself thinking about a radio station in Florida (Real Radio 104.1) that had a call-in show on weeknights. The last two or so minutes of the show were simply open to people; you would call, hear the phone ring, here it pick up, you’d yell something and it would go out on the air (if it was in accordance with FCC guidelines, of course) and the phone would go dead. Seven seconds later, you would hear yourself on the radio. I always loved that. After that I began thinking about this and that, and then I pulled out my non-live journal and wrote for several pages. I was collecting bits of thought fluff from the branches of my subconscious and giving each puff a chance to be interesting. One tuft seemed interesting and pertinent enough to bring to you all (eight people). I reflected that I felt like I was losing my ability to spell and my perspicacity (I always think that using this word in this capacity is ironic and funny, but in this case, it is neither, it is accurate). I traced this to the fact that for two decades I had been in a school of some sort. Suddenly, poof, no more school. Even though it was boring and we all skipped our share of Finite Mathematics, Latin or in Will’s case Space Law, our minds were being given information and they were interpreting and cataloging it. For twenty years of our lives, our minds were expanding and working without us always knowing it. That has stopped. None of us will gain knowledge unless we do something that adds to the store we have already accumulated. I remarked to myself that after college I had been left to my own devices and that, sadly, my own devices consisted of video games, the Internet and, for reading material, Stephen King novels. Mucho depressing. I realized that I wasn’t doing anything to better myself. None of my jobs were. They were all mindless, distracting tasks. Working at the Roundabout swindling people out of money is the only thing that required any sort of thought. Dog walking should be an excellent opportunity to wander through my mind without distraction, but I always insist on bringing music to distract me. I had a moment of fear in which I imagined turning off the music to hear my thoughts and receiving only silence, but thinking back to the times I forgot my Discman or left it home on purpose or the batteries went flat while I was listening, that fear was assuaged. Basically, I came to realize that the continuation of my education is up to me and I am doing nothing about it. At this point, the only manifestation of this deficiency is the loss of perspicacity and the slight decline in my ability to spell (although I blame a lot of that on the over-dependence on spell checking and the rise of very VERY lazy people (I am merely “very lazy”) using “u” in place of “you” and “r” instead if “are” and other such further bastardizations of the English language in e-mails, IM and letters (what’s a letter?) and since I really enjoy language (yes, six and a half years of Latin) this is a bummer. I hope to change this, although my inherent laziness will surely fuck those plans up. Luckily, I am an intelligent person and I don’t have to start from a 9th grade level or anything. I need to start reading again. I need something more entertaining than didactic, but not solely entertaining. I have a few books lying around my apartment that I meant to read but haven’t, I’ll start with those. My question to you is what are you doing to better yourselves. Grad school and classes are good, but what about those of you not doing these things? Are you happy and comfortable with the knowledge that you will continue to forget information until you are as stupid as the people you make fun of?
****************************************************************************
I just watched an interview with Beck on a Norwegian music show. His parts were in English, but the rest was in Norwegian. It was very soothing. I like Norwegian.

THE FACTS OF LIFE

1. Harry Belafonte's "Jump in Line" AKA "Shake Shake Shake Senora" is an excellent song.
2. After eating tuna, my pee smells like tuna.

going fetal

2.14.05
5:14 am
Tonight I have:
Read Avengers comics.
Slept for a full half hour on the job, endangering an unknown number of people.
Woke refreshed and hungry.
Stared for a full twenty minutes at nothing in particular.
Wrote the voiceover for a short documentary about Christo and his “Gates” project.
Told the security guy I was going to the bathroom then went across the street to get Combos from my apartment and a tuna salad sandwich from the deli.
Read my Christo piece to Phil and Will and discussed Phil’s advent in New York and Will’s love of Magic Missiles.
Ate the aforementioned food.
Watched Shaun of the Dead for the first time in a while, listening to the second of two commentaries, the cast commentary. I was unimpressed.
Watched Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas for the first time in months. This time with the author commentary track. Here are my notes:

First off, I wish it had just been Hunter S. Thompson, but sadly they put the producer and some other idiots in the room with him in order to “keep him on topic”, which translates to “keep hi from setting the place on fire”. Among other things, Thompson screams, howls, shrieks, hisses, cackles, insults random people, calls Terry Gilliam a fag, makes threatening phone calls to both Johnny Depp (whose answering machine message is the “Know Your Dope Fiend” speech from the D.A.’s convention) and Benicio Del Toro (whose number I can figure out if I record the bit of the commentary where the producer reads Thompson the number- they played it backwards in order to confuse listeners, but for those who know about a certain duo whose information I got from their voter registration cards, you’ll know it takes more than backwards masking to dissuade me from anything) and eating radishes. Thompson refers to Depp as Colonel Depp, Timothy Leary as a “sold out fraud and a vicious asshole who was a stoolie for the FBI” and making the movie as a “hound dog passing a peach pit.” He admits to watching the movie at least once a month. He repeats the phrase “press any key” about a dozen times during the hour and a half the movie runs for; whether this is a reference to the DVD player he is watching the movie on or some strange mantra I am uncertain. I can only assume it’s the latter. He also admits to Gilliam kissing him, but not in “a heavy handed way”, which I believe is another way of saying they shared strictly “hetero” kisses.
His parting wisdom to the youth of today: “Stop playing video games, stop jerking off and read the Book of Revelations.”
Overall an excellent commentary, marred only by people trying to interfere with Thompson’s natural, unbridled genius. After I finish writing this, I will probably check out the second disc of the Fear DVD, and then maybe I will indulge in some music.
I would like to end with a quote from the book that has continued to define me ever since I first heard it a few years ago…maybe even more so today…

“There he goes…one of God’s own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live and too rare to die.”

and the clock...stopped...never to run again...

2.13.05
4:11 am
I just finished watching the classic 1987 cinema masterpiece, The Running Man. This is one of the worst movies I have ever seen and if I had not been paid for the time I spent watching said masterpiece, I would be furious. This movie raises a question: What is with movie makers taking titles and character names and the most basic of plot points from old Stephen King novels and then making them into feature length movies? It’s amazing. Fight Club the movie was more like Stephen King’s Running Man than the film version of Running Man. The movie The Lawnmower Man is linked to the King short story by the title alone. I… Hm. You know what? My brain is so numb right now that I can’t even describe any of this to you.
I command you all to see this movie.
I am now going to listen to the commentary track for Shaun of the Dead. Tomorrow (Sunday), I plan to sleep, walk a puppy, then once I get to the Hospital, read comics provided by Alan, watch Fight Club and…I don’t know…maybe…some James Bond? I might start reading the final book of the Dark Tower series. I own and have listened to all seven on audio, but I have yet to finish actually reading the last book. Maybe I’ll write something.
Remember, if you’re interested, Tuesday, February 17th at the Boarders bookstore inside the AOL Time Warner building at Columbus Circle, free They Might Be Giants in store thing. They will start at 7pm so show up a bit early. Also, anyone interested in seeing Hilary’s show on Saturday the 19th, we need to get tickets soon.
Jesus. My mind is still numb from Running Man.

Sex sells...

Sex with Paul sells out.

fuse.tv

then click high or low bandwidth

then find the "Ultimate Gig" link in the little pop up menu on the right

then get some napkins to clean up

I am the sexiest girl I know.

Goddamn mescalin...

I just got off the phone with my father. He is planning to purchase a sonogram machine for the organization that he is chairman of the board of (a pro-life organization) and have a plaque on it dedicated to my biological mother (you know, for not aborting me). A mixtures of thoughts and emotions are washed away by my powerful lust for red salmon.

Time is on my side.

I just received the official DVD copy of the Nike Art of Speed project. My work as the Master of Time, Chronos, has never looked better. I should hopefully be receiving a copy of the Fuse and Scholastic projects soon. Sooner if I decided to meddle with the fabric of time.

Pauldolitry

Well, if my transgressions 'gainst the Lord had gone unnoticed before...that time has come to an end.

http://www.livejournal.com/community/tallpaulfan2/

Join, and find salvation...in me.