I feel like I’ve been drinking caipirenas (kai-pee-REE-nyaz). My head is swimming, I’m pukey. Urk. Fucking phone. So the wedding went better than they typically do. Philip added a lot. We had our own hotel room and boy oh boy was it hetero.
This seven year old (my cousin’s son) challenged me to a dance contest…he got served. That little fucker owes me ten thousand gallons of ice cream on which I have yet to collect.
Man it was hot. I was flat on my back thrusting my legs straight up into the air while creeping towards him all the time. I destroyed that kid.
The DJ sucked. From Frank Sinatra to the goddamn fucking Chicken Dance to Cotton Eye fucking Jo to 50 Cent…Christ. It actually got worse from there. The final song was “Last Dance” (what a cock) and that was when I dismantled the kid. but I prefer a DJ to a band. Wedding bands are always so fucking sappy and depressing to look at.
My cousin, Michael and his bride, Jean made parts of their wedding jokes though and that was pretty awesome. The gifts were these little boxes of Jordan almonds with the phrase “Thanks for coming and making this the best day ever!” on them and their first dance song was “Forever Young” from Napoleon Dynamite and Old School respectively. Pretty good.
AND, I was talking to my sister about that fucking Gwen Stefani song about her feces being fruit. My sister (four years more 'in the know’ than myself) informed me that I was thinking too hard. Obviously she wasn’t saying her feces was bananas (B-A-N-A-N-A-S), but this new slang was baffling. Turns out she is saying bananas to mean crazy. She was going back to the old days as far as sang. Wow. I feel lighter.
I think I should arrange a hotel room trip. Someplace out of the way where twelve people or so can get three hotel rooms and have a big thing. Hotels are awesome. Totally awesome. Room service is too, although olives in Caesar salad are NOT awesome. They are, in fact, naughsome. Naughsome xmax.
The beds in this place were supersexy too. I probably would have enjoyed it more if it I hadn’t been coming down with the Furry Death (the malady I am currently afflicted with).
Earlier today I had organic milk for the first time.
I am ambivalent. Alternating gulf streams of scalding fury and arctic loathing roil about my feet, legs, torso and neck while a gentle nonchalant breeze caresses my face and tries to separate the adventurous orchid from my magnanimous hat.
Algolagnia, my friends, is underrated. Give it a try; make your hickey into a love bite. Make your love bite into a health risk. Make your health risk into a baffling case of exsanguination. There was this special on serial killers, specifically those that ate their victims. One thread that kept coming up was a deep love for the person that was consumed. The eaters wanted to be closer than any sexual act would allow. They wanted their object to be a part of them.
I think that is amazing. And a bit sexy. Think about it.
I’m going to stat my new book now and enjoy my watermelon Jolly Rancher lollypop.
6.20.2005
6.19.2005
I'm going to the chapel and I'm gonna get mah-ah-ahrried.
Spent the end of last week and beginning of this weekend at my cousin's wedding.
I like riding in cars.
I like riding in cars.
6.15.2005
One down...six to go...
I adhere to the belief that there are seven (7) Perfect Days in a year, meteorologically speaking. These are days where there is a wonderful breeze, you don't sweat at all and it is as pleasant in the sun as it is not in the sun. Today is one of them.
6.07.2005
Gold Day
6.7.05
11:19AM
How can this day be getting better already? I woke at 10:25 refreshed and swaddled in an intangible amniotic sac of Good Feelings. I went to my PC to find the aforementioned NIN Mexico City show downloaded and displaying excellent quality and then I set about preparing for my commute. I dressed, filled my water bottle and left. Thirty seconds later, I enter the only air conditioned room in the Hospital…the room I work in, to find a HUGE box of what look like muffins on my desk. I lean over and ask the Security guy if I could grab one and he says he thinks they’re here for the Operators.
Gorgeous.
As I sink my shining white teeth into the soft fresh baked golden brown skin of this muffinesque…it hits me…it is a croissant…in the shape of a muffin! I take a moment to realize that Jesus made these just for me.
It’s amazing, the vague feeling of Good that was drifting around me has become palpable…in the form of a Croissant/Muffin.
OH me oh my I hope I haven’t jinxed myself! Time to read a book.
*****************************************************************
Anyway, the day maintained its Happy and that...is Good.
11:19AM
How can this day be getting better already? I woke at 10:25 refreshed and swaddled in an intangible amniotic sac of Good Feelings. I went to my PC to find the aforementioned NIN Mexico City show downloaded and displaying excellent quality and then I set about preparing for my commute. I dressed, filled my water bottle and left. Thirty seconds later, I enter the only air conditioned room in the Hospital…the room I work in, to find a HUGE box of what look like muffins on my desk. I lean over and ask the Security guy if I could grab one and he says he thinks they’re here for the Operators.
Gorgeous.
As I sink my shining white teeth into the soft fresh baked golden brown skin of this muffinesque…it hits me…it is a croissant…in the shape of a muffin! I take a moment to realize that Jesus made these just for me.
It’s amazing, the vague feeling of Good that was drifting around me has become palpable…in the form of a Croissant/Muffin.
OH me oh my I hope I haven’t jinxed myself! Time to read a book.
*****************************************************************
Anyway, the day maintained its Happy and that...is Good.
No habla Nine Inch Nails
Just downloaded the NIN show from Mexico City. The audience is hilarious. They're singing along and it's great. This is going to be an awesome day. I love all that is and was and might still be. Rock on y'all. Rock the funk on.
6.06.2005
Reflections on the past few days...
Weekend Recap/Welcome to the Fungle/__________
Sleepy duck fluff tickles my nose
I smell something funky…it’s my clothes.
The weekend was fun, except for the sun.
That fucking fiery ball…thinks it’s SOOOO tall.
You’ll see what’s what when I cover you in sack cloth.
Pissed off, ripped off.
Tired.
Wired about Phil
can’t wait to chill
‘pop’
somewherebetween12th&13thonthird
Thank you B lady for the chill suggest
Now we got the card back, that’s off our chest.
Now that we got cool breezy
Everything’s easy
The summer will please we
Can you turn down the music?
What music?
All I hear is cool.
A bit trepid ‘bout the kisses though
Make a man go and blow
a load dans his pans…whoa.
Magic lips, magic hips, magic tips,
flip the script, Strength, RESIST.
Fretting like a member of F.I.G.A.
Try not to be a chauvinist pig-a.
Welcome to the Castle ___________
You mean so much to me, __________
Did I say _________ ? I meant ________
Drink the Chrism of Life
No worries, no strife.
Clear skies, smooth sailing.
Take a look over the railing.
What a view.
What to do?
Who to do?
Who NOT to do.
PG not PJ, PG not PJ
Change your ways,
spend your days fighting
who you are
who you were
who you want to be
who you want
*******************
I know I usually use my web page for this kind of thing, but I think this is an apt capsulation of recent history.
Sleepy duck fluff tickles my nose
I smell something funky…it’s my clothes.
The weekend was fun, except for the sun.
That fucking fiery ball…thinks it’s SOOOO tall.
You’ll see what’s what when I cover you in sack cloth.
Pissed off, ripped off.
Tired.
Wired about Phil
can’t wait to chill
‘pop’
somewherebetween12th&13thonthird
Thank you B lady for the chill suggest
Now we got the card back, that’s off our chest.
Now that we got cool breezy
Everything’s easy
The summer will please we
Can you turn down the music?
What music?
All I hear is cool.
A bit trepid ‘bout the kisses though
Make a man go and blow
a load dans his pans…whoa.
Magic lips, magic hips, magic tips,
flip the script, Strength, RESIST.
Fretting like a member of F.I.G.A.
Try not to be a chauvinist pig-a.
Welcome to the Castle ___________
You mean so much to me, __________
Did I say _________ ? I meant ________
Drink the Chrism of Life
No worries, no strife.
Clear skies, smooth sailing.
Take a look over the railing.
What a view.
What to do?
Who to do?
Who NOT to do.
PG not PJ, PG not PJ
Change your ways,
spend your days fighting
who you are
who you were
who you want to be
who you want
*******************
I know I usually use my web page for this kind of thing, but I think this is an apt capsulation of recent history.
6.05.2005
After arriving home at 5:14am and being woken up by the Sun at 8:32am, I wrote this reaction to the Sun then returned to sleep.
Fun in the Sun
The Sun is bad
He hurts my eyes
He pours his angry
From the skies
Yes, I know that I've been drinking
But, guess what, I've been thinking
The Sun is full of hurty rage
Pinioned in his celest'l cage
He looks on down
And starts to frown
And raises the temperature gauge
MY shit is bananas
Fun in the Sun
The Sun is bad
He hurts my eyes
He pours his angry
From the skies
Yes, I know that I've been drinking
But, guess what, I've been thinking
The Sun is full of hurty rage
Pinioned in his celest'l cage
He looks on down
And starts to frown
And raises the temperature gauge
MY shit is bananas
6.03.2005
5.26.2005
ZING!!!
From Nine Inch Nails' official site:
"Nine Inch Nails will not be performing at the MTV Movie Awards as previously announced. We were set to perform "The Hand That Feeds" with an unmolested straightforward image of George W. Bush as the backdrop. Apparently the image of our president is as offensive to MTV as it is to me. See you on tour this Fall when we return to play in America."
Trent Reznor
5_26_2005
"Nine Inch Nails will not be performing at the MTV Movie Awards as previously announced. We were set to perform "The Hand That Feeds" with an unmolested straightforward image of George W. Bush as the backdrop. Apparently the image of our president is as offensive to MTV as it is to me. See you on tour this Fall when we return to play in America."
Trent Reznor
5_26_2005
5.24.2005
5.24.05
7:59pm
Man, am I awesome.
9:07pm
Presque vu: A sense of experiencing something that has not happened yet, but will. Not precognition, exactly, but misplaced memory.
I have this every once in a while. A snatch of something that seems like it will be familiar when it happens. When it does happen (and it has many times) it is chilling. I’m filled with a feeling that time is some palpable substance and that it is flawed or faulty in some way. Very strange. Like this thinness in reality.
On a different note, I am considering buying Marvel Vs. Capcom 2 for the PS2, but I don’t know who I would play it with.
9:17pm
I dream of living in a world without Spanish.
9:18pm
Or Ebonics.
9:19pm
Ebonics doesn’t pop up on spell check, but stromboli does. The Italians must be pissed.
7:59pm
Man, am I awesome.
9:07pm
Presque vu: A sense of experiencing something that has not happened yet, but will. Not precognition, exactly, but misplaced memory.
I have this every once in a while. A snatch of something that seems like it will be familiar when it happens. When it does happen (and it has many times) it is chilling. I’m filled with a feeling that time is some palpable substance and that it is flawed or faulty in some way. Very strange. Like this thinness in reality.
On a different note, I am considering buying Marvel Vs. Capcom 2 for the PS2, but I don’t know who I would play it with.
9:17pm
I dream of living in a world without Spanish.
9:18pm
Or Ebonics.
9:19pm
Ebonics doesn’t pop up on spell check, but stromboli does. The Italians must be pissed.
The Tallest Fuck You EVER
5.24.05
3:05PM
Today, before I arrived at the Hospital anyway, it was sunny out. Honestly, a bit too sunny for my tastes. However, as of now, it looks like the rain predicted for earlier in the day is to commence rather soon…any minute now actually. I hope it does rain. I enjoy the calming effect it has on the City. Tomorrow in the late morning, I will go for a swim at the Club. I might bring my blazer so I can enjoy some gnarly burgers, maybe. I’m pretty happy with the weather thus far this summer. I hate aspects of the summer: having to plug in the AC and jack my electric bill twenty or thirty bucks a month for three of four months, the chattering locals sitting mere yards under my Sleeping Place, the Death’s Balls heat one must endure if one wants to leave their home, sweating, etc but I do enjoy some things…I guess. Hm. Ice cream trucks, I like those. Well, just the ice cream really.
You know, I like I might like to live in the Pacific Rim. That’s the same thing as the Pacific Northwest, right? Seattle and Oregon and such? From what I hear, the climate is more my style than New York (at least during the summer months). Cool and rainy. I like that.
I spent the early part of this day walking the dog and listening to Aphex Twin’s “Drukqs”, an excellent album. It redefined Aphex Twin. Christina and I met up in the park and the dogs all bit and humped each other. Norman Rockwell xmax.
I’ll be here ‘til 5ish then I’m on break ‘til about 7, then it’s a straight four hour burn through Baker and Barstow and Berdue. After that? Home, from whence I roam. Then an episode or two of Sopranos. I’ve watched the first five or six episodes and I am not that impressed. I guess watching it with six straight men and watching it alone are two different environments. Oh well. If I continue to be unimpressed, I’ll move onto something else.
I am going to go food shopping sometime soon. Mmm. Food. Speaking of food…what should I have for meal today?
INTERRUPTION
I just received my employee evaluation sheet.
The top is where your info goes, Name, hire date, department, position etc. Then there are six areas in which I am rated either above average, average or “needs improvement” (PC for “below average”), just like in 5th grade, remember?
Below that are these lines:
Does he/she help promote the Center’s mission by respecting the dignity of every human being? Yes or No
Then: What are his/her strengths?
Then: “What are his/her areas that need improvement?” (PC for “what sucks about him/her?”)
Then: Overall rating (Above average, average or sucks)
Then: Reviewed by:
Then: Approved by:
Then a section for “Employee Comments” then finally, employee signature.
Here is my evaluation sheet for this year…or at least the important parts.
1. Quality of Work: Average
2. Quantity of Work: Average
3. Dependability: Needs Improvement
4. Cooperation: Average
5. Attendance: Average
6. Punctuality: Needs Improvement
Apparently, I do uphold the Center’s mission by respecting the dignity of every human being.
My strengths: “Paul, has been really great just need to be more accurate about time.”
Areas in which I suck: “(Punctuality)”
My overall rating is “Average”.
Under this, both the “Reviewed by” and “Approved by” lines are blank, because another Operator filled this out (which is illegal), and she plans on just signing it after I do. Fat fucking chance.
Now, I looked at those blank lines after “Employee Comments” just staring at me and decided, hey, what the fuck, let’s see just how far I can stick my dick into this organization.
So here’s what I wrote: “I agree with everything but ‘Dependability’ and ‘Quality of Work’. In the case of ‘Dependability’ I would be far more dependable if I weren’t called at 2pm for a 3pm shift. As for ‘Quality of Work’ (I shit you not readers, this is what I wrote verbatim) I am the most polite, well-spoken, friendly, helpful and diligent operator on staff. Ask anyone in the building who has ever spoken to me. Granted I’m often late, but never more than a few minutes. Once I arrive though, (verbatim) I shine and I would like some attention brought to that luster. Thanks.”
Man, since I wrote that I can’t stop smiling. Look at it this way, if nothing happens, I continue working here and I acertain that my power is infinite. If they fire me, I go to the news stations and tell them everything, plus I get to hang out with Phil almost 24/7 once he arrives. I feel like someone should take a picture of this: I am BEAMING.
3:05PM
Today, before I arrived at the Hospital anyway, it was sunny out. Honestly, a bit too sunny for my tastes. However, as of now, it looks like the rain predicted for earlier in the day is to commence rather soon…any minute now actually. I hope it does rain. I enjoy the calming effect it has on the City. Tomorrow in the late morning, I will go for a swim at the Club. I might bring my blazer so I can enjoy some gnarly burgers, maybe. I’m pretty happy with the weather thus far this summer. I hate aspects of the summer: having to plug in the AC and jack my electric bill twenty or thirty bucks a month for three of four months, the chattering locals sitting mere yards under my Sleeping Place, the Death’s Balls heat one must endure if one wants to leave their home, sweating, etc but I do enjoy some things…I guess. Hm. Ice cream trucks, I like those. Well, just the ice cream really.
You know, I like I might like to live in the Pacific Rim. That’s the same thing as the Pacific Northwest, right? Seattle and Oregon and such? From what I hear, the climate is more my style than New York (at least during the summer months). Cool and rainy. I like that.
I spent the early part of this day walking the dog and listening to Aphex Twin’s “Drukqs”, an excellent album. It redefined Aphex Twin. Christina and I met up in the park and the dogs all bit and humped each other. Norman Rockwell xmax.
I’ll be here ‘til 5ish then I’m on break ‘til about 7, then it’s a straight four hour burn through Baker and Barstow and Berdue. After that? Home, from whence I roam. Then an episode or two of Sopranos. I’ve watched the first five or six episodes and I am not that impressed. I guess watching it with six straight men and watching it alone are two different environments. Oh well. If I continue to be unimpressed, I’ll move onto something else.
I am going to go food shopping sometime soon. Mmm. Food. Speaking of food…what should I have for meal today?
INTERRUPTION
I just received my employee evaluation sheet.
The top is where your info goes, Name, hire date, department, position etc. Then there are six areas in which I am rated either above average, average or “needs improvement” (PC for “below average”), just like in 5th grade, remember?
Below that are these lines:
Does he/she help promote the Center’s mission by respecting the dignity of every human being? Yes or No
Then: What are his/her strengths?
Then: “What are his/her areas that need improvement?” (PC for “what sucks about him/her?”)
Then: Overall rating (Above average, average or sucks)
Then: Reviewed by:
Then: Approved by:
Then a section for “Employee Comments” then finally, employee signature.
Here is my evaluation sheet for this year…or at least the important parts.
1. Quality of Work: Average
2. Quantity of Work: Average
3. Dependability: Needs Improvement
4. Cooperation: Average
5. Attendance: Average
6. Punctuality: Needs Improvement
Apparently, I do uphold the Center’s mission by respecting the dignity of every human being.
My strengths: “Paul, has been really great just need to be more accurate about time.”
Areas in which I suck: “(Punctuality)”
My overall rating is “Average”.
Under this, both the “Reviewed by” and “Approved by” lines are blank, because another Operator filled this out (which is illegal), and she plans on just signing it after I do. Fat fucking chance.
Now, I looked at those blank lines after “Employee Comments” just staring at me and decided, hey, what the fuck, let’s see just how far I can stick my dick into this organization.
So here’s what I wrote: “I agree with everything but ‘Dependability’ and ‘Quality of Work’. In the case of ‘Dependability’ I would be far more dependable if I weren’t called at 2pm for a 3pm shift. As for ‘Quality of Work’ (I shit you not readers, this is what I wrote verbatim) I am the most polite, well-spoken, friendly, helpful and diligent operator on staff. Ask anyone in the building who has ever spoken to me. Granted I’m often late, but never more than a few minutes. Once I arrive though, (verbatim) I shine and I would like some attention brought to that luster. Thanks.”
Man, since I wrote that I can’t stop smiling. Look at it this way, if nothing happens, I continue working here and I acertain that my power is infinite. If they fire me, I go to the news stations and tell them everything, plus I get to hang out with Phil almost 24/7 once he arrives. I feel like someone should take a picture of this: I am BEAMING.
No Phone
Early Friday morning, I awake. I check my list for the fifty third and (hopefully) final time. The unmarked boxes are for items I don’t think I’ll really be needing for this trip. I leave my apartment with two bags and two pillows. I jump into a cab and tell the driver “910 West 162nd street….wherever that is.”
He begins to move South along Central Park and I ask him if 162nd is South of 105th. He doesn’t understand. Once we reach 96th, he cuts through the park all the way West to that highway. We speed along through the chilly morning air. I love riding in cars. So peaceful. I arrive in front of Kevin’s house twenty minutes early for our 8:00am meeting g time. I contact him and let him know I am here. He did not expect anyone to me that early he confesses. He tells me he is at a diner down the street. I tell him to take his time as I am enjoying the gray, damp morning by myself just fine.
Soon, Kevin shows up and invites me in while he does some last minute stuff. He is driving one of the four cars to New Lebanon, New York where we will spend the weekend at the Theatre Barn. We have two performances of Lysistrata: The Musical to put on before this incarnation of the show is over.
One by one the others arrive. First, Scott (big and gay), then Ricky (clean cut, straight and in for more pussy than he can handle this summer…) and finally, Steven (slim and gay, bestest friends with Scott). These are to be those riding in the K Rock Mobile this weekend.
We stuff ourselves into Kevin’s Outback and get rolling. I made three mix CD’s for the trip. The first two discs containing songs like Jump in Line by Harry Bellefonte, Louie Louie by the Kingsmen, Chains of Love by Erasure, Sexx Laws by Beck and, of course, the Ultimate Mix Tape Song: Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen (a must for any CD being played for a group of people) and the third disc (which was not used) containing mellow songs in case we were all sleepy or not in the mood for rock.
The drive there was about three hours or so and it was excellent. I need to take more road trips. I mean, I hardly know these people and the trip was awesome, I can hardly imagine what a road trip with close friends would be like…
Everything was so lush and green yet subdued by the grayness of the day. It would have been tear jerking if I had not been singing the Duck Tales theme with the other four gentlemen.
Eventually, I handed navigation duties over to Ricky who has had experience and can read maps and see.
Once we saw the first barn, we realized that we were indeed no longer in Manhattan.
We arrive at a quaint little collection of pretty white trimmed house and farms around 11:40. We drive along the road where Theatre Barn is supposed to be located but find only regular barns. We also happen t pass a large lot filled with shed and things like it. A large sign proclaims “Shed Man”.
“Let’s ask the Shed Man for directions!!!” I scream. Kevin pulls into the parking lot and we step out of the car, snickering. It is evident within seconds that the man in front of us is, indeed, the Shed Man. It is also evident that he can tell we are from New York. It is further evident that he does not like New Yorkers.
He is, however, able to restrain his bile and tell us where the Barn is. We thank him, snicker and hop back in the car. A moment later, we are at the Theatre Barn and we are being greeted by Joan, the owner. She is a short, round woman who must smoke at least four packs a day to have achieved such a gravelly tone in her voice. Underneath the truck driving exterior, however, beats the heart of a mom. Let me paint a clearer picture if I may: If there were a zombie attack and Joan lost her arm somehow, she would gladly wield a pump action shotgun with one arm and holler “You think that’s gonna slow me down you undead cocksuckers?! Bring it on, you disintegrating fuckheads!!” She shows us the place, the green room, the dressing rooms and the rest of the theatre proper then introduces us to her husband, Abe. Abe rocks.
After ascertaining that we are the first to arrive of the 18 or so people in our party, Joan takes us to the cast house. Now, the cast house is pure rock. The cast house is a fourteen room house with an upstairs, downstairs and terrifying basement. There is a Friday the 13th vibe about it that emanates in waves from the place and we are all instantly exhilarated. I predict that at least three of us will be killed by a psychopath. The entire group at the time are certain I am the psychopath, but only time will tell. I pick a three bed room for Kevin, Rob and myself. After I set my bags down I hear several small chirping noises coming fro just above the window of our room. Turns out a birds nest, complete with five baby birds will serve as our alarm clock for this weekend. Awesome.
Slowly, the others arrive and unpack their stuff. We were told to bring bed stuff, shower stuff, money for food and everything. Someone mentioned that it might be colder here than in the city (I’ll get back to this), but no one mentioned that there is no cell phone service within three miles of the house. Whatever.
Once we all arrive, it’s time to hit the theatre and get acting. We do so and it feels very good with our new pianist (who can play ALL the notes on the page and well, too), our three new cast members (the aforementioned Ricky, Debra and Liz) and our new stage manager, Michelle.
After our brush up/run through, we scatter a bit and eventually return to the house. The evening is spent hanging out and bonding with several people in the cast including our director, our drummer and our house manager. It’s really amazing to have a group of people that get cooler the more you hang out with them. Some of you might remember that after the New York run of Lysistrata I was bummed about having such a close relationship with all these people and suddenly not seeing them again. Another part of me wondered if I would actually want to see them again, if the time we all spent together meant anything to anyone else. This weekend was an affirmation of just how cool these people were. Looking at the bunch of them now, I can think of three or four people I would actually hang out with. First off, Rob and Kevin I have already hung out with once or twice. Rob is the kind of guy who would be me in his usual circle. Him and I work together so well, it’s creepy. Together, we don’t even see the line let alone notice when we’ve crossed it. Kevin is the easily shocked type. Priceless. Then there’s Amy Garson. Almost everyone I know said she looked familiar (she played Tara in the play). She did stand-up comedy in NYC to two and a half years before stepping out because of nerves. But she is another one of those rare “funny girls”. Her and I share the same sense of humor and I look forward to hanging out with her some time soon. Then there’s Debra. She is Neo Leah and I love it.
Anyway, once we discovered there was a basement in the house, we all started telling ghost stories and freaking ourselves out. Then we all talked and drank and slept. At 2am I awoke to find myself dead. I could see my breath and recalled someone saying “It’s a bit colder here.” Well fucking thank you for being specific. I got little sleep that night and woke up early the next day for my 1pm call. For breakfast I ate white chocolate covered pretzels. We ran once, had some brush ups and then a break until the show at 8pm. After the rehearsal, we all went to a diner called Fresco where Eleanor (who had been at the Barn several times before) was pimping their stromboli’s like it was her job so I ordered one. Oh my sweet fucking erect God. This thing weighted about 8 pounds and I ate the whole fucking thing. After this act of food sex had taken place, I returned to the house for a quick nap before the show. I woke up about five minutes before call with my stromboli not even starting to digest. The show was amazing and my delivery of David’s line went from impassioned to furious. The audience ate it up with spoons. After the show, we went to Joan’s house for the cast party. My mind was neither erased nor whatever the verb I used last time, but it was very fun to watch people get smashed. I was unable to eat any of the wonderful food prepared because the stromboli was still in my throat, but the vibe was there. After the cast party proper was the cast party improper that took place in the cast house. It was wonderful relaxed fun. People mingling and chatting and laughing and bonding and all sorts of good vibe stuff. Eventually, we went to sleep, (me with two pairs of socks, three shirts and a pair of pants on) and woke the next afternoon in time for the 2pm show and after that we all said our goodbyes and piled into our respective cars and went home.
All in all, none of you now anything that went on and there’s no way for me to describe it to you. To be frank “You had to be there.” It was super fun and memorable, like summer camp while doing a play, but none of you will ever know exactly what it was like 100%. Just me. There were sheep and chicken wire and light sabers and Penis Dances and G.I. Joe PSA quoting and none of you will ever be able to experience that, even if I tell it to you in detail.
Man was it clear up there. Stars and air and trees.
Since I returned home all I’ve wanted to do is stare.
Sit and stare.
Philip will not be at the party this weekend.
He begins to move South along Central Park and I ask him if 162nd is South of 105th. He doesn’t understand. Once we reach 96th, he cuts through the park all the way West to that highway. We speed along through the chilly morning air. I love riding in cars. So peaceful. I arrive in front of Kevin’s house twenty minutes early for our 8:00am meeting g time. I contact him and let him know I am here. He did not expect anyone to me that early he confesses. He tells me he is at a diner down the street. I tell him to take his time as I am enjoying the gray, damp morning by myself just fine.
Soon, Kevin shows up and invites me in while he does some last minute stuff. He is driving one of the four cars to New Lebanon, New York where we will spend the weekend at the Theatre Barn. We have two performances of Lysistrata: The Musical to put on before this incarnation of the show is over.
One by one the others arrive. First, Scott (big and gay), then Ricky (clean cut, straight and in for more pussy than he can handle this summer…) and finally, Steven (slim and gay, bestest friends with Scott). These are to be those riding in the K Rock Mobile this weekend.
We stuff ourselves into Kevin’s Outback and get rolling. I made three mix CD’s for the trip. The first two discs containing songs like Jump in Line by Harry Bellefonte, Louie Louie by the Kingsmen, Chains of Love by Erasure, Sexx Laws by Beck and, of course, the Ultimate Mix Tape Song: Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen (a must for any CD being played for a group of people) and the third disc (which was not used) containing mellow songs in case we were all sleepy or not in the mood for rock.
The drive there was about three hours or so and it was excellent. I need to take more road trips. I mean, I hardly know these people and the trip was awesome, I can hardly imagine what a road trip with close friends would be like…
Everything was so lush and green yet subdued by the grayness of the day. It would have been tear jerking if I had not been singing the Duck Tales theme with the other four gentlemen.
Eventually, I handed navigation duties over to Ricky who has had experience and can read maps and see.
Once we saw the first barn, we realized that we were indeed no longer in Manhattan.
We arrive at a quaint little collection of pretty white trimmed house and farms around 11:40. We drive along the road where Theatre Barn is supposed to be located but find only regular barns. We also happen t pass a large lot filled with shed and things like it. A large sign proclaims “Shed Man”.
“Let’s ask the Shed Man for directions!!!” I scream. Kevin pulls into the parking lot and we step out of the car, snickering. It is evident within seconds that the man in front of us is, indeed, the Shed Man. It is also evident that he can tell we are from New York. It is further evident that he does not like New Yorkers.
He is, however, able to restrain his bile and tell us where the Barn is. We thank him, snicker and hop back in the car. A moment later, we are at the Theatre Barn and we are being greeted by Joan, the owner. She is a short, round woman who must smoke at least four packs a day to have achieved such a gravelly tone in her voice. Underneath the truck driving exterior, however, beats the heart of a mom. Let me paint a clearer picture if I may: If there were a zombie attack and Joan lost her arm somehow, she would gladly wield a pump action shotgun with one arm and holler “You think that’s gonna slow me down you undead cocksuckers?! Bring it on, you disintegrating fuckheads!!” She shows us the place, the green room, the dressing rooms and the rest of the theatre proper then introduces us to her husband, Abe. Abe rocks.
After ascertaining that we are the first to arrive of the 18 or so people in our party, Joan takes us to the cast house. Now, the cast house is pure rock. The cast house is a fourteen room house with an upstairs, downstairs and terrifying basement. There is a Friday the 13th vibe about it that emanates in waves from the place and we are all instantly exhilarated. I predict that at least three of us will be killed by a psychopath. The entire group at the time are certain I am the psychopath, but only time will tell. I pick a three bed room for Kevin, Rob and myself. After I set my bags down I hear several small chirping noises coming fro just above the window of our room. Turns out a birds nest, complete with five baby birds will serve as our alarm clock for this weekend. Awesome.
Slowly, the others arrive and unpack their stuff. We were told to bring bed stuff, shower stuff, money for food and everything. Someone mentioned that it might be colder here than in the city (I’ll get back to this), but no one mentioned that there is no cell phone service within three miles of the house. Whatever.
Once we all arrive, it’s time to hit the theatre and get acting. We do so and it feels very good with our new pianist (who can play ALL the notes on the page and well, too), our three new cast members (the aforementioned Ricky, Debra and Liz) and our new stage manager, Michelle.
After our brush up/run through, we scatter a bit and eventually return to the house. The evening is spent hanging out and bonding with several people in the cast including our director, our drummer and our house manager. It’s really amazing to have a group of people that get cooler the more you hang out with them. Some of you might remember that after the New York run of Lysistrata I was bummed about having such a close relationship with all these people and suddenly not seeing them again. Another part of me wondered if I would actually want to see them again, if the time we all spent together meant anything to anyone else. This weekend was an affirmation of just how cool these people were. Looking at the bunch of them now, I can think of three or four people I would actually hang out with. First off, Rob and Kevin I have already hung out with once or twice. Rob is the kind of guy who would be me in his usual circle. Him and I work together so well, it’s creepy. Together, we don’t even see the line let alone notice when we’ve crossed it. Kevin is the easily shocked type. Priceless. Then there’s Amy Garson. Almost everyone I know said she looked familiar (she played Tara in the play). She did stand-up comedy in NYC to two and a half years before stepping out because of nerves. But she is another one of those rare “funny girls”. Her and I share the same sense of humor and I look forward to hanging out with her some time soon. Then there’s Debra. She is Neo Leah and I love it.
Anyway, once we discovered there was a basement in the house, we all started telling ghost stories and freaking ourselves out. Then we all talked and drank and slept. At 2am I awoke to find myself dead. I could see my breath and recalled someone saying “It’s a bit colder here.” Well fucking thank you for being specific. I got little sleep that night and woke up early the next day for my 1pm call. For breakfast I ate white chocolate covered pretzels. We ran once, had some brush ups and then a break until the show at 8pm. After the rehearsal, we all went to a diner called Fresco where Eleanor (who had been at the Barn several times before) was pimping their stromboli’s like it was her job so I ordered one. Oh my sweet fucking erect God. This thing weighted about 8 pounds and I ate the whole fucking thing. After this act of food sex had taken place, I returned to the house for a quick nap before the show. I woke up about five minutes before call with my stromboli not even starting to digest. The show was amazing and my delivery of David’s line went from impassioned to furious. The audience ate it up with spoons. After the show, we went to Joan’s house for the cast party. My mind was neither erased nor whatever the verb I used last time, but it was very fun to watch people get smashed. I was unable to eat any of the wonderful food prepared because the stromboli was still in my throat, but the vibe was there. After the cast party proper was the cast party improper that took place in the cast house. It was wonderful relaxed fun. People mingling and chatting and laughing and bonding and all sorts of good vibe stuff. Eventually, we went to sleep, (me with two pairs of socks, three shirts and a pair of pants on) and woke the next afternoon in time for the 2pm show and after that we all said our goodbyes and piled into our respective cars and went home.
All in all, none of you now anything that went on and there’s no way for me to describe it to you. To be frank “You had to be there.” It was super fun and memorable, like summer camp while doing a play, but none of you will ever know exactly what it was like 100%. Just me. There were sheep and chicken wire and light sabers and Penis Dances and G.I. Joe PSA quoting and none of you will ever be able to experience that, even if I tell it to you in detail.
Man was it clear up there. Stars and air and trees.
Since I returned home all I’ve wanted to do is stare.
Sit and stare.
Philip will not be at the party this weekend.
5.19.2005
So what.
5.18.05
6:09
Sew buttons…motherfucker.
A few nights ago saw Nine Inch Nails at Hammerstein Ballroom. Pretty awesome shit. Not only did they play one of my favorite songs, but I was three feet from David Bowie (and, incidentally, twelve feet from Chris Rock). He came out to his seat about five minutes before the show started but one fan noticed him and thought it would be helpful to shriek “DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE!!!!!!” It seemed Mr. Bowie found this less helpful than the fan thought it would be and left. A moment or so after the show started, he came out and took his seat. At one point, another overzealous fan wanted me to pass a drink up to Mr. Bowie, thinking that he would love to accept and drink from a cup passed to him from a Nine Inch Nails pit. I explained to the guy that I didn’t think Mr. Bowie wanted to be disturbed and that he didn’t look all that thirsty to me. After the show the guy came up to me and said he understood why I didn’t pass the cup to him and that he bore me no ill will. Whew. That would have totally ruined my night otherwise.
After the show I mingled with people who have more artistic ability in their feces then I will ever have in my entire body…unless I fill my body with their feces.
I also noticed yesterday that the new Star Wars comes out tonight (midnight) and I discovered that being able to say I was at the first showing is about as important as being able to remember where I was during 9/11. It isn’t. Why would I go that far out of my way to see it? So I can impress my unborn children by telling them I was there? I don’t plan on raising my kids to be impressed with bullshit like that. Jesus.
In a short time I will put up a link to Iggy Pop’s cover of “Louie Louie”. It is pure rock and it features a guitar solo that will singe your pubic hair…guaranteed.
Philip joins our cadre on Monday. I find myself unable to become excited. I think I have damaged my circuitry. All I can do to show my eager anticipation is wander around in a priapic state much to the chagrin of the local authorities. I will soon be cited for “sexually assaulting the air”, a fine I will gladly pay.
I am two episodes away from the end of Oz and the episode I watched today had me bawling for a good fifteen minutes. I have received the first two discs of “The Sopranos” from NetFlix and I look forward to redigesting that series soon.
At this moment, I have over four hours left in my shift at the Hospital and I am bitter because I was only scheduled to work four hours total (3p –7p) but blah blah called in and blah blah blah. Idiots. They couldn’t schedule an erection at the Priapism Clinic…where I was earlier today.
I can feel the warm, fuzzy fingers of Sleep fluffing a pillow under my head and I just might doze off a bit. The board and phone have been rather quiet…oh wait, I turned them off…well, anyway, I might answer a few calls and then lay my head down for forty winks or so. A power nap. Yeah, a power nap…
NO! I must not succumb to Satan’s Sleep Whisperings!!
MUST…STAY…DISTRACTED!!!
So, as some of you might know, I am doing two more performances of Lysistrata: The Musical this weekend in New Lebanon, New York at a place called Theatre Barn. We have replaced three people in the cast and I have charged myself with welcoming them (officially) to the cast this weekend.
We arrive just before noon on Friday and rehearse until 6. Then a cast dinner somewhere in New Lebanon. We have another day of rehearsal until our 8pm show on Saturday night, after which there will be a mind-bending/erasing cast party during which the Welcoming shall commence. Part one will welcome the two new girls: Liz and Debra. It consists of me lip-synching to Beck’s “Debra”, treating Liz as “Jenny” and Debra as “Debra”. Debra has seen almost every incarnation of Lysistrata and now that she has become a part of it, she is happy as a theatrical pig in theatrical shit to be here. Liz, I don’t really know, but I hope she likes to be groped and offered “a fresh pack of gum”. Part two of the Welcoming will be for our new “Cadman”, Ricky. I plan to serenade him with Electric Six’s “Gay Bar”. If he isn’t actually gay now, he will be once I’m done. Sursly.
Now, Christina, I’m sure you remember a certain cast party where your certain boyfriend made out with a lot of other certain people and then there was a certain Mono scare going around. Well, this time around I promise not to kiss ANYONE, male or female, gay or straight, plant, animal or mineral…not that you’d notice. I can barely make you out on the horizon as you speed off in your Short-Filmobile with your new talented friends with their talented feces and leave me in my Theatredust with my own nutrient deprived waste products.
Anyway, after the Brain Washing Bash on Saturday night, we have a second performance set for Sunday afternoon at 2pm. Personally, I think that is a BAAAD idea. Quite a few members of the cast are horny problem drinkers with no morals to speak of and I fear that come 2pm on Sunday, half the cast will have drowned in a pool of OPV (other people’s vomit) while the other half will be dealing with OPSTD (other people’s sexually transmitted diseases). Which leads me to ask: Why the fuck are theatre people so goddamn loose?
The Theatre Company at Fordham was a veritable Fuckfest. A student just arriving at Fordham this year could, conceivable catch the same crabs that afflicted a senior from twelve years ago. I remember my Freshmen year these two girls (ugly ones who would never be a part of the fucking, so they had to find something wrong with it) did some digging and created a flow chart of hook-ups, blow jobs, one night stands and anything else that connected the students, past and present of the Theatre Company. It was a sobering diagram, my friends. Lisa’s college was a total Fuck Out also. I am amazed and thankful that she didn’t contract syphilis, clamydia or some new STD created solely by the licentious droves of Florida Southern simply from being in contact with these walking Petri dishes. Just thinking about it makes me want to wear a condom and immerse my genitals in bleach.
So why is it? Why do Theatre people fuck so much? Is it that much of a turn-on to pretend you're someone or something you are not? Or does acting not have anything to do with it? Is it just a gathering of people who understand on the most instinctual level that the people around them will put out? I am baffled by it, but every single show I have ever been in with more than one person in the cast has had sexual tension you could cut with a pink jelly double-dong.
8:06
I don’t know if you ever got around to digging up the story or not but a few weeks ago, a man just wandered out of the Hospital. He showed up here two weeks later, grinning like an asshole. Anyway, the security here is not top notch, to be nice. A moment ago, some lady in a wheelchair rolled passed the security guards into the security office and sat talking to me for a solid twenty minutes about how she feels bad that she annoys me and wanted to apologize for everything she’s done and she hates that she’s impatient but sometimes she can’t help it…only I have no idea who this woman is. I don’t know if she thought I was a priest or her dead husband or what but, oh my fiery lord was it creepy! She had almost no hair and her eyes were fucking HUGE in her gaunt, waxy face. She wouldn’t look me in the eyes, but I felt her gaze on my arms like ants trying to find a way in. Finally, after too long to tell, the phone rings and I turn away. I continued speaking for three minutes after the person hung up, feeling these ants on the back of my head. Suddenly, her ants were gone and she was rolling away, down the hall. If I ever do call the press about how bad things are run and done here, remind me to spend a point or two of blood to shame the balls off of the Security Force, the lazy fuckstains.
You know, my encounter with this sepulchral woman reminded me of a thought I had a few nights ago. I was thinking about being older. Not getting old or being old, but being older. Forty-five or some age like that. At first, I was unable to picture myself at forty-five, then I saw myself clearly and decided that I would have to kill myself before I get much older than thirty. Aside from how creepy I’ll look in twenty years, there’s all the medical stuff that is only peripheral right now but will get worse and worse as I age. I figure once I start to get up there, you all will have forgotten this LiveJournal entry and I will have successfully phased myself out of your lives over a period of years and then, BAM, a lanky, beautiful god-star becomes a lanky, beautiful copse before it can become a creepy zombie man trying not to look at people for fear they misconstrue my accidental glance as a psychic assault on their unborn child or something equally plausible. You see, with the advent of the new TMBG, Beck, eels and NIN albums this year, I realized something: no matter how much importance I place on material possessions, there is still an emptiness, even bigger than before I obtained whatever object I was looking for, and the only thing that will stop the hole from widening is to stop the one with the hole in him. All I really have to look forward to is aging and pain and complications brought on by my various maladies. My eyesight, my connective tissue, my heart, none of that is going to get better with age. The only things that gets better with age is cheese and wine and even the best of each will become unusable after enough time has passed. Friends, I am NOT cheese nor am I wine. I have accepted this. Everything I do is just a distraction. Watching HBO series from NetFlix, checking the same dozen websites hour after hour, day after day for news about a concert, a video, a single, a poster, sleeping whenever I can, everything. The big question up until now was: A distraction from what? Life, folks, life and the fact that it is ending, right now. I sit here reading, talking on the phone, listening to beeps, phones ringing…I am killing time. Killing time until I can get home and watch TV shows that stopped being new three years ago, so I can buy food from the deli, so I can go to sleep, so I can download music, find it lacking and delete it. I’m always desperately looking for something to kill time. Maybe I should stop killing time. You know, time had no real meaning for me until my sophomore year in college. Then all of a sudden, a day was a day. There really were sixty minutes in an hour. I could count three seconds and three seconds would have passed. The time elongation I enjoyed as a kid ended abruptly in my second year at college. I didn’t feel older, I still feel like an 8th grader in a 24-year old body. But I was now able to feel the passage f time for what t was. Days no longer lasted forever. I remember the last day I feel the elasticity of time. It was the birthday of one of Danielle Grelik’s roommates and also the first day of Daylights Savings. We had just gained an hour but I did so much that day. I finally looked at my watch and saw it was only seven o’ clock at night. Five hours later, it was nine. Three hours later, eleven, an hour and a half later, midnight. Slowly, but surely, time became time. It’s only going to keep getting faster from here on out. Some writer described time as “the old bald cheater.” I don’t think time can be personified like Death or the Fates. Time is too immense to be crammed into one, finite form. Time is sort of like a wind. When you are younger, you don’t feel it moving, because it isn’t really. It is surrounding you, swirling this way and that, keeping you warm in your happy, blurry kiddie days. As you get older, it starts to move a bit, gets less warm. Eventually, it starts moving in one direction: towards the future and it gets colder and faster as you grow up. That’s why old people are always cold and forgetful. Time is moving so fast that they have nothing to hold onto, not even memory. God damn that’s grim; and I, for one, would NOT like to be a part of that. So how about this: as soon as I run out of things to do (as in, as soon as I stop finding things to distract me) or my body finally goes from passive to active as far as self-destruction, I’m out of here. Deal? Good.
My head hurts.
6:09
Sew buttons…motherfucker.
A few nights ago saw Nine Inch Nails at Hammerstein Ballroom. Pretty awesome shit. Not only did they play one of my favorite songs, but I was three feet from David Bowie (and, incidentally, twelve feet from Chris Rock). He came out to his seat about five minutes before the show started but one fan noticed him and thought it would be helpful to shriek “DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE DAVID BOWIE!!!!!!” It seemed Mr. Bowie found this less helpful than the fan thought it would be and left. A moment or so after the show started, he came out and took his seat. At one point, another overzealous fan wanted me to pass a drink up to Mr. Bowie, thinking that he would love to accept and drink from a cup passed to him from a Nine Inch Nails pit. I explained to the guy that I didn’t think Mr. Bowie wanted to be disturbed and that he didn’t look all that thirsty to me. After the show the guy came up to me and said he understood why I didn’t pass the cup to him and that he bore me no ill will. Whew. That would have totally ruined my night otherwise.
After the show I mingled with people who have more artistic ability in their feces then I will ever have in my entire body…unless I fill my body with their feces.
I also noticed yesterday that the new Star Wars comes out tonight (midnight) and I discovered that being able to say I was at the first showing is about as important as being able to remember where I was during 9/11. It isn’t. Why would I go that far out of my way to see it? So I can impress my unborn children by telling them I was there? I don’t plan on raising my kids to be impressed with bullshit like that. Jesus.
In a short time I will put up a link to Iggy Pop’s cover of “Louie Louie”. It is pure rock and it features a guitar solo that will singe your pubic hair…guaranteed.
Philip joins our cadre on Monday. I find myself unable to become excited. I think I have damaged my circuitry. All I can do to show my eager anticipation is wander around in a priapic state much to the chagrin of the local authorities. I will soon be cited for “sexually assaulting the air”, a fine I will gladly pay.
I am two episodes away from the end of Oz and the episode I watched today had me bawling for a good fifteen minutes. I have received the first two discs of “The Sopranos” from NetFlix and I look forward to redigesting that series soon.
At this moment, I have over four hours left in my shift at the Hospital and I am bitter because I was only scheduled to work four hours total (3p –7p) but blah blah called in and blah blah blah. Idiots. They couldn’t schedule an erection at the Priapism Clinic…where I was earlier today.
I can feel the warm, fuzzy fingers of Sleep fluffing a pillow under my head and I just might doze off a bit. The board and phone have been rather quiet…oh wait, I turned them off…well, anyway, I might answer a few calls and then lay my head down for forty winks or so. A power nap. Yeah, a power nap…
NO! I must not succumb to Satan’s Sleep Whisperings!!
MUST…STAY…DISTRACTED!!!
So, as some of you might know, I am doing two more performances of Lysistrata: The Musical this weekend in New Lebanon, New York at a place called Theatre Barn. We have replaced three people in the cast and I have charged myself with welcoming them (officially) to the cast this weekend.
We arrive just before noon on Friday and rehearse until 6. Then a cast dinner somewhere in New Lebanon. We have another day of rehearsal until our 8pm show on Saturday night, after which there will be a mind-bending/erasing cast party during which the Welcoming shall commence. Part one will welcome the two new girls: Liz and Debra. It consists of me lip-synching to Beck’s “Debra”, treating Liz as “Jenny” and Debra as “Debra”. Debra has seen almost every incarnation of Lysistrata and now that she has become a part of it, she is happy as a theatrical pig in theatrical shit to be here. Liz, I don’t really know, but I hope she likes to be groped and offered “a fresh pack of gum”. Part two of the Welcoming will be for our new “Cadman”, Ricky. I plan to serenade him with Electric Six’s “Gay Bar”. If he isn’t actually gay now, he will be once I’m done. Sursly.
Now, Christina, I’m sure you remember a certain cast party where your certain boyfriend made out with a lot of other certain people and then there was a certain Mono scare going around. Well, this time around I promise not to kiss ANYONE, male or female, gay or straight, plant, animal or mineral…not that you’d notice. I can barely make you out on the horizon as you speed off in your Short-Filmobile with your new talented friends with their talented feces and leave me in my Theatredust with my own nutrient deprived waste products.
Anyway, after the Brain Washing Bash on Saturday night, we have a second performance set for Sunday afternoon at 2pm. Personally, I think that is a BAAAD idea. Quite a few members of the cast are horny problem drinkers with no morals to speak of and I fear that come 2pm on Sunday, half the cast will have drowned in a pool of OPV (other people’s vomit) while the other half will be dealing with OPSTD (other people’s sexually transmitted diseases). Which leads me to ask: Why the fuck are theatre people so goddamn loose?
The Theatre Company at Fordham was a veritable Fuckfest. A student just arriving at Fordham this year could, conceivable catch the same crabs that afflicted a senior from twelve years ago. I remember my Freshmen year these two girls (ugly ones who would never be a part of the fucking, so they had to find something wrong with it) did some digging and created a flow chart of hook-ups, blow jobs, one night stands and anything else that connected the students, past and present of the Theatre Company. It was a sobering diagram, my friends. Lisa’s college was a total Fuck Out also. I am amazed and thankful that she didn’t contract syphilis, clamydia or some new STD created solely by the licentious droves of Florida Southern simply from being in contact with these walking Petri dishes. Just thinking about it makes me want to wear a condom and immerse my genitals in bleach.
So why is it? Why do Theatre people fuck so much? Is it that much of a turn-on to pretend you're someone or something you are not? Or does acting not have anything to do with it? Is it just a gathering of people who understand on the most instinctual level that the people around them will put out? I am baffled by it, but every single show I have ever been in with more than one person in the cast has had sexual tension you could cut with a pink jelly double-dong.
8:06
I don’t know if you ever got around to digging up the story or not but a few weeks ago, a man just wandered out of the Hospital. He showed up here two weeks later, grinning like an asshole. Anyway, the security here is not top notch, to be nice. A moment ago, some lady in a wheelchair rolled passed the security guards into the security office and sat talking to me for a solid twenty minutes about how she feels bad that she annoys me and wanted to apologize for everything she’s done and she hates that she’s impatient but sometimes she can’t help it…only I have no idea who this woman is. I don’t know if she thought I was a priest or her dead husband or what but, oh my fiery lord was it creepy! She had almost no hair and her eyes were fucking HUGE in her gaunt, waxy face. She wouldn’t look me in the eyes, but I felt her gaze on my arms like ants trying to find a way in. Finally, after too long to tell, the phone rings and I turn away. I continued speaking for three minutes after the person hung up, feeling these ants on the back of my head. Suddenly, her ants were gone and she was rolling away, down the hall. If I ever do call the press about how bad things are run and done here, remind me to spend a point or two of blood to shame the balls off of the Security Force, the lazy fuckstains.
You know, my encounter with this sepulchral woman reminded me of a thought I had a few nights ago. I was thinking about being older. Not getting old or being old, but being older. Forty-five or some age like that. At first, I was unable to picture myself at forty-five, then I saw myself clearly and decided that I would have to kill myself before I get much older than thirty. Aside from how creepy I’ll look in twenty years, there’s all the medical stuff that is only peripheral right now but will get worse and worse as I age. I figure once I start to get up there, you all will have forgotten this LiveJournal entry and I will have successfully phased myself out of your lives over a period of years and then, BAM, a lanky, beautiful god-star becomes a lanky, beautiful copse before it can become a creepy zombie man trying not to look at people for fear they misconstrue my accidental glance as a psychic assault on their unborn child or something equally plausible. You see, with the advent of the new TMBG, Beck, eels and NIN albums this year, I realized something: no matter how much importance I place on material possessions, there is still an emptiness, even bigger than before I obtained whatever object I was looking for, and the only thing that will stop the hole from widening is to stop the one with the hole in him. All I really have to look forward to is aging and pain and complications brought on by my various maladies. My eyesight, my connective tissue, my heart, none of that is going to get better with age. The only things that gets better with age is cheese and wine and even the best of each will become unusable after enough time has passed. Friends, I am NOT cheese nor am I wine. I have accepted this. Everything I do is just a distraction. Watching HBO series from NetFlix, checking the same dozen websites hour after hour, day after day for news about a concert, a video, a single, a poster, sleeping whenever I can, everything. The big question up until now was: A distraction from what? Life, folks, life and the fact that it is ending, right now. I sit here reading, talking on the phone, listening to beeps, phones ringing…I am killing time. Killing time until I can get home and watch TV shows that stopped being new three years ago, so I can buy food from the deli, so I can go to sleep, so I can download music, find it lacking and delete it. I’m always desperately looking for something to kill time. Maybe I should stop killing time. You know, time had no real meaning for me until my sophomore year in college. Then all of a sudden, a day was a day. There really were sixty minutes in an hour. I could count three seconds and three seconds would have passed. The time elongation I enjoyed as a kid ended abruptly in my second year at college. I didn’t feel older, I still feel like an 8th grader in a 24-year old body. But I was now able to feel the passage f time for what t was. Days no longer lasted forever. I remember the last day I feel the elasticity of time. It was the birthday of one of Danielle Grelik’s roommates and also the first day of Daylights Savings. We had just gained an hour but I did so much that day. I finally looked at my watch and saw it was only seven o’ clock at night. Five hours later, it was nine. Three hours later, eleven, an hour and a half later, midnight. Slowly, but surely, time became time. It’s only going to keep getting faster from here on out. Some writer described time as “the old bald cheater.” I don’t think time can be personified like Death or the Fates. Time is too immense to be crammed into one, finite form. Time is sort of like a wind. When you are younger, you don’t feel it moving, because it isn’t really. It is surrounding you, swirling this way and that, keeping you warm in your happy, blurry kiddie days. As you get older, it starts to move a bit, gets less warm. Eventually, it starts moving in one direction: towards the future and it gets colder and faster as you grow up. That’s why old people are always cold and forgetful. Time is moving so fast that they have nothing to hold onto, not even memory. God damn that’s grim; and I, for one, would NOT like to be a part of that. So how about this: as soon as I run out of things to do (as in, as soon as I stop finding things to distract me) or my body finally goes from passive to active as far as self-destruction, I’m out of here. Deal? Good.
My head hurts.
5.17.2005
5.13.2005
That fucking bear....
Soooooooooooo...Sunday at 12:30 - 1ish, be at my place. From there we will traipse into the Park for a pick-a-nick, then back to my place for s showing of "The Life Aquatic".
5.12.2005
Craw daddy
5.12.05
11:24
Thinking back to endless evenings at Philip’s old house in Heathrow Woods. All great memories. Speeding around the rotundas in the pitch blackness with “Firestarter” blaring from the gargantuan speakers in the Geo. Watching any number of terrible/excellent movies while eating chip combinations, angel food cake or whatever in various locations. Totally Hetero wrestling. Games of pool in which the Truth was discovered. Giles hitting his head on Phil’s pool while trying to throw me in. Eating kielbasa while discussing the Batman soundtrack. Playing the “Rub Burnt Cork On Leah’s Face” game with Phil and B.J. All of us playing Street Fighter II in a strobe light to see if it affected our game. Filming the “Lean On Me” video with Sunir while at the same time engaging in some heavy duty ass fucking…only with the door shut. Sleeping on the floor or at the foot of Phil’s bed with three other people. My father sitting out in the rain in his car screaming not-quite-loud-enough to be heard over the storm and becoming angry at Phil and I for not being able to do so. The massive pool party Phil orchestrated that included having two televisions and Playstations set up. Bulbous Melons, medieval replicas, the Gates of Hell, Damn Crazy Psycho Midgets…and brothers. Lots of brothers.
Those were indeed the good old days, and hopefully myself and Philip (maybe even Will when he gets tired of working hard for a living and “achieving things”) can find some new version of those blissful times. The important thing was the abundance of time that we had. There was no need for a “plan” for the evening because there was no rush. If we didn’t do something Friday, we would do it Saturday. And that was during the school year. Summer vacation was almost too much to handle.
I have a noted lack of wanderlust. This peeves, irks, vexes, perturbs and infuriates Christina at times. But what she doesn’t understand is that it isn’t where I am, it’s who I am with. That’s why going to upstate New York with Will and Phil is gold, sequestering myself in a shack in the desert with Will and Phil is gold, going to Wales with Phil, Will, Chris and whoever is gold. The People, man, the People. Phil, Will, B.J., Lisa, Jackie, Danielle, Casey, Maria, Katrina, Leah, Stephanie, Derek, Angie, Mark, Nick, Sunir, Nigel, Giles, Jenna, Allison, Marty, John, Dan, Brian, Walker, Hilary, Sid, Chris All of them played a part back then in making me see the importance of People. Unless I make that bomb I’m always talking about, I will die alone. I have accepted that and I’m fine with it, but if I’m going to die alone, then I’d prefer to live with friends.
12:56
I don’t know if you have all had McDonald’s Sausage, Egg and Cheese on a Biscuit or any of those nasty breakfast sandwiches, but I will assure of something: Any McDonald’s breakfast concoctions you get there are trash compared to a REAL Bacon Egg and Cheese on a Bagel that you get at a restaurant or Deli. My Deli makes a Sausage, Egg and Cheese on a Bagel that will make you soulgasm.
Also, does anyone else out there think that opening cartons of milk or juice is a bit vaginal? I mean you fold back these sets of flaps and then drink the sweetness within…maybe that’s why they are phasing out the old design for the ones with the screw on cap on them.
Also, there is .a spot in Central Park…not too far from here…where you can get the best GAWDDAMN…just kidding. It’s one of the most perfect spots in the park and soon (in two weeks or so) I will be sharing it with Phil. I was sitting there the other day and called to share the beauty with Will but he didn’t answer his phone, asleep on the job again, eh William? Heh heh. So I then called Phil and he pointed out to me that THIS was the peak of my life, it’s all downhill from here. To quote E: “Who’s to say?/These could be the good old days.” It’s true. People having a good time, a really great time hardly ever stop and say to themselves “Hm. This is the happiest I’ve been in recent memory. This could be one of my best memories from this period in my life in ten, twenty, fifty years.” Maybe we don’t do that because it makes us feel self-conscious in the moment, thus ruining it, or maybe it turns our minds to the uncertainty of the Future. Who can tell? All I know for sure on the matter is that those times in my life where I did stop for a moment and say to myself, “This…this is going to be huge” I have forgotten, whereas the times mentioned above just happened, I can recall them perfectly.
Also:
Beth – Space Ghost seasons I and II
Alan – Futurama season IV
Lauren – The Boondock Saints and Hunky Dory
Ray – Silent Hill 3
Sorry, just keeping track.
This weekend I might have people to see The Life Aquatic, in case you missed it in theatres.
And; any thoughts on how to drive out the Cunt Beneath would be greatly welcome. I’d like not to turn to infanticide…again.
Also: Did you know that both Luke Perry AND Method Man were in the fourth season of Oz? Meth was his usual fun self, but Luke Perry? Man, do I respect him now. I mean his acting was good and then, all of a sudden, he did a full-frontal nude scene. From the pretty boy bitch on whatever that show was to full fucking frontal on Oz. He’s got balls…and a lot of pubic hair.
11:24
Thinking back to endless evenings at Philip’s old house in Heathrow Woods. All great memories. Speeding around the rotundas in the pitch blackness with “Firestarter” blaring from the gargantuan speakers in the Geo. Watching any number of terrible/excellent movies while eating chip combinations, angel food cake or whatever in various locations. Totally Hetero wrestling. Games of pool in which the Truth was discovered. Giles hitting his head on Phil’s pool while trying to throw me in. Eating kielbasa while discussing the Batman soundtrack. Playing the “Rub Burnt Cork On Leah’s Face” game with Phil and B.J. All of us playing Street Fighter II in a strobe light to see if it affected our game. Filming the “Lean On Me” video with Sunir while at the same time engaging in some heavy duty ass fucking…only with the door shut. Sleeping on the floor or at the foot of Phil’s bed with three other people. My father sitting out in the rain in his car screaming not-quite-loud-enough to be heard over the storm and becoming angry at Phil and I for not being able to do so. The massive pool party Phil orchestrated that included having two televisions and Playstations set up. Bulbous Melons, medieval replicas, the Gates of Hell, Damn Crazy Psycho Midgets…and brothers. Lots of brothers.
Those were indeed the good old days, and hopefully myself and Philip (maybe even Will when he gets tired of working hard for a living and “achieving things”) can find some new version of those blissful times. The important thing was the abundance of time that we had. There was no need for a “plan” for the evening because there was no rush. If we didn’t do something Friday, we would do it Saturday. And that was during the school year. Summer vacation was almost too much to handle.
I have a noted lack of wanderlust. This peeves, irks, vexes, perturbs and infuriates Christina at times. But what she doesn’t understand is that it isn’t where I am, it’s who I am with. That’s why going to upstate New York with Will and Phil is gold, sequestering myself in a shack in the desert with Will and Phil is gold, going to Wales with Phil, Will, Chris and whoever is gold. The People, man, the People. Phil, Will, B.J., Lisa, Jackie, Danielle, Casey, Maria, Katrina, Leah, Stephanie, Derek, Angie, Mark, Nick, Sunir, Nigel, Giles, Jenna, Allison, Marty, John, Dan, Brian, Walker, Hilary, Sid, Chris All of them played a part back then in making me see the importance of People. Unless I make that bomb I’m always talking about, I will die alone. I have accepted that and I’m fine with it, but if I’m going to die alone, then I’d prefer to live with friends.
12:56
I don’t know if you have all had McDonald’s Sausage, Egg and Cheese on a Biscuit or any of those nasty breakfast sandwiches, but I will assure of something: Any McDonald’s breakfast concoctions you get there are trash compared to a REAL Bacon Egg and Cheese on a Bagel that you get at a restaurant or Deli. My Deli makes a Sausage, Egg and Cheese on a Bagel that will make you soulgasm.
Also, does anyone else out there think that opening cartons of milk or juice is a bit vaginal? I mean you fold back these sets of flaps and then drink the sweetness within…maybe that’s why they are phasing out the old design for the ones with the screw on cap on them.
Also, there is .a spot in Central Park…not too far from here…where you can get the best GAWDDAMN…just kidding. It’s one of the most perfect spots in the park and soon (in two weeks or so) I will be sharing it with Phil. I was sitting there the other day and called to share the beauty with Will but he didn’t answer his phone, asleep on the job again, eh William? Heh heh. So I then called Phil and he pointed out to me that THIS was the peak of my life, it’s all downhill from here. To quote E: “Who’s to say?/These could be the good old days.” It’s true. People having a good time, a really great time hardly ever stop and say to themselves “Hm. This is the happiest I’ve been in recent memory. This could be one of my best memories from this period in my life in ten, twenty, fifty years.” Maybe we don’t do that because it makes us feel self-conscious in the moment, thus ruining it, or maybe it turns our minds to the uncertainty of the Future. Who can tell? All I know for sure on the matter is that those times in my life where I did stop for a moment and say to myself, “This…this is going to be huge” I have forgotten, whereas the times mentioned above just happened, I can recall them perfectly.
Also:
Beth – Space Ghost seasons I and II
Alan – Futurama season IV
Lauren – The Boondock Saints and Hunky Dory
Ray – Silent Hill 3
Sorry, just keeping track.
This weekend I might have people to see The Life Aquatic, in case you missed it in theatres.
And; any thoughts on how to drive out the Cunt Beneath would be greatly welcome. I’d like not to turn to infanticide…again.
Also: Did you know that both Luke Perry AND Method Man were in the fourth season of Oz? Meth was his usual fun self, but Luke Perry? Man, do I respect him now. I mean his acting was good and then, all of a sudden, he did a full-frontal nude scene. From the pretty boy bitch on whatever that show was to full fucking frontal on Oz. He’s got balls…and a lot of pubic hair.
Maize
5.11.5
3:23
I LOVE Haribo Gummi Bears. After trying them, regular Gummi products seem pointless. I challenge you all to that test.
Anyway, the Deli on my corner had a large box of Haribo Gummi Bears and nothing would make a bad day fair and a fair day good than a small bag of said Gummi snacks. Today I set off to the Hospital at 2:57 for my 3 o’clock shift and I stopped at the Deli to grab some Gummi Bears. They were out.
It’s now 3:24 and I am suddenly having a bad day. I am overly irritable and will most likely turn off the switchboard and phone to try and sort everything out.
The question: Could I really be having a bad day because of the lack of Gummi Bears? I don’t eat them every day. Maybe three small packs a week or so, but the lack of Gummi Bears when I wanted (needed?) them today has seeming cast a shadow over my usual cheerful demeanor. Updates on my mood as they occur…
4:41
Just in a shitty mood, I guess. People on the phone make me want to scream, patients on the board make me want to infect them with cholera…more so and the loud, ignorant bastards that work around me make me want to call up the local news and make stories up about them.
I’ve been considering calling a news station anonymously and giving them details about what happened and also letting them know just how fucked up things are here. For one thing, I am still gainfully employed. Yesterday I hung up on, misdirected and sassed the same impolite woman for about 15 minutes. I made it my goal to say “Sursly” and “Meow” (a la ‘Super Troopers’) to the patients over the board as many times as I could while keeping a straight face. I mean, holy fucking shit. If the people in charge were any more stupid than they are now…I can’t even picture them being any more stupid actually.
But the best/worst part is, I am a far cry above the others in my department as far as job performance. I mean, I may fuck around with the patients, hang up on people and spread my own malevolent miasma throughout the establishment, but I am still, head and shoulders, better than all the other operators. I am convinced that I am unaffected by consequence and anything going against this hypothesis would be welcomed. Reality is different for me here…thinner for me because of something I can’t put my finger on. I think I’ll call the Fox Five Problem Solvers on this place. See what fun that causes.
Falling down and down and down.
10:28
Did you now that a secondary definition for “elope” is “to slip away, to escape”? I didn’t. So when I got a call this evening about a patient “eloping” this afternoon, I was understandably confused.
Right now I am ignoring a ringing phone and listening to Nine Inch Nails as I sit at my switchboard. When I get home in about a half hour I will watch some more Oz, then totter off to sleep. I feel sluggish.
Three words: French vanilla popcorn.
I think I just heard one of the Spenglish guards say: “Canto Burrito”. Could this be The Singing Burrito? I most certainly hope so.
The Life Aquatic DVD has some interesting things on it, including an interview with Mark Mothersbaugh in which he misuses the term “palindrome”. Silly, silly Devo.
Eels will be at Town Hall on June 30th. I and everyone who is worth my regard will be there.
10:55
Just got a call from the filthy fat cunt relieving me this evening. She’ll be late. Either way, come 11:00 pm, I AM DONE. Turning phone and switchboard off and humming with my eyes shut. Sursly.
I really like my hair. So soft. I have been unable to swim this week so far. My body yearns to be in water. The feel of it is…exhilarating. I learned to swim before I learned to walk. I spent hours in the ocean when I was younger. I loved it. My body is already showing a slight improvement with the few days of swimming I have done. Friday I will be back in full effect. I might have a burger too. And a cup of New England Clam Chowder. Mmm.
11:XX
I = OUT
3:23
I LOVE Haribo Gummi Bears. After trying them, regular Gummi products seem pointless. I challenge you all to that test.
Anyway, the Deli on my corner had a large box of Haribo Gummi Bears and nothing would make a bad day fair and a fair day good than a small bag of said Gummi snacks. Today I set off to the Hospital at 2:57 for my 3 o’clock shift and I stopped at the Deli to grab some Gummi Bears. They were out.
It’s now 3:24 and I am suddenly having a bad day. I am overly irritable and will most likely turn off the switchboard and phone to try and sort everything out.
The question: Could I really be having a bad day because of the lack of Gummi Bears? I don’t eat them every day. Maybe three small packs a week or so, but the lack of Gummi Bears when I wanted (needed?) them today has seeming cast a shadow over my usual cheerful demeanor. Updates on my mood as they occur…
4:41
Just in a shitty mood, I guess. People on the phone make me want to scream, patients on the board make me want to infect them with cholera…more so and the loud, ignorant bastards that work around me make me want to call up the local news and make stories up about them.
I’ve been considering calling a news station anonymously and giving them details about what happened and also letting them know just how fucked up things are here. For one thing, I am still gainfully employed. Yesterday I hung up on, misdirected and sassed the same impolite woman for about 15 minutes. I made it my goal to say “Sursly” and “Meow” (a la ‘Super Troopers’) to the patients over the board as many times as I could while keeping a straight face. I mean, holy fucking shit. If the people in charge were any more stupid than they are now…I can’t even picture them being any more stupid actually.
But the best/worst part is, I am a far cry above the others in my department as far as job performance. I mean, I may fuck around with the patients, hang up on people and spread my own malevolent miasma throughout the establishment, but I am still, head and shoulders, better than all the other operators. I am convinced that I am unaffected by consequence and anything going against this hypothesis would be welcomed. Reality is different for me here…thinner for me because of something I can’t put my finger on. I think I’ll call the Fox Five Problem Solvers on this place. See what fun that causes.
Falling down and down and down.
10:28
Did you now that a secondary definition for “elope” is “to slip away, to escape”? I didn’t. So when I got a call this evening about a patient “eloping” this afternoon, I was understandably confused.
Right now I am ignoring a ringing phone and listening to Nine Inch Nails as I sit at my switchboard. When I get home in about a half hour I will watch some more Oz, then totter off to sleep. I feel sluggish.
Three words: French vanilla popcorn.
I think I just heard one of the Spenglish guards say: “Canto Burrito”. Could this be The Singing Burrito? I most certainly hope so.
The Life Aquatic DVD has some interesting things on it, including an interview with Mark Mothersbaugh in which he misuses the term “palindrome”. Silly, silly Devo.
Eels will be at Town Hall on June 30th. I and everyone who is worth my regard will be there.
10:55
Just got a call from the filthy fat cunt relieving me this evening. She’ll be late. Either way, come 11:00 pm, I AM DONE. Turning phone and switchboard off and humming with my eyes shut. Sursly.
I really like my hair. So soft. I have been unable to swim this week so far. My body yearns to be in water. The feel of it is…exhilarating. I learned to swim before I learned to walk. I spent hours in the ocean when I was younger. I loved it. My body is already showing a slight improvement with the few days of swimming I have done. Friday I will be back in full effect. I might have a burger too. And a cup of New England Clam Chowder. Mmm.
11:XX
I = OUT
5.11.2005
TITS!!!!
5.10.05
6:XXpm
Earlier today I was sitting next to a toddler on a bus. I noticed a moment after taking my seat that the small child smelled of burnt toast. Because I know people with brain tumors often smell things like oranges and burnt toast, I was understandably worried. I then noticed the man across from me was eating a Caesar salad…complete with slightly blacked croutons. I was relieved at first, but then I became concerned. How could a man be so busy that his schedule only allowed him the length of a bus ride to eat his lunch? He must lead a terribly hectic life. I have days like that every now and then. Waking up, going to an audition, hitting the Club for some swim swim, walking a dog, working at the Hospital. Whew. Good thing I only have days like that four or five times a month.
Another person I know who has a rather full plate…my friend, Philip W.F. Tucker. Busy busy man. He’ll be taking some time off in New York City in a few weeks or so.
I do know some people on the opposite side of the spectrum though. My friend William J. Pomerantz for instance. He went to these crazy high schools and colleges and grad schools where he was sooo busy. Now? He just sits around and eats crackers all day. In his underwear. Watching porn. Clown on dolphin porn. Clown on dolphin porn XMAX. Sursly.
Man, if anyone from his numerous schools could see him now? I just don’t know what they would have to say…
On a different subject...last night, Silence of the Lambs was on UPN. Did any of you ever want to see that fat girl get killed? I sure did. She was spoiled, fat and worst of all, she was singing along HORRIBLY to that Tom Petty song. Jesus.
Seeing Nine Inch Nails in a week, should be fun. Think I might steal some AIDS blood from the Hospital in case someone tries moshing with me. Man, would THAT be worse than a hangover or what?
6:XXpm
Earlier today I was sitting next to a toddler on a bus. I noticed a moment after taking my seat that the small child smelled of burnt toast. Because I know people with brain tumors often smell things like oranges and burnt toast, I was understandably worried. I then noticed the man across from me was eating a Caesar salad…complete with slightly blacked croutons. I was relieved at first, but then I became concerned. How could a man be so busy that his schedule only allowed him the length of a bus ride to eat his lunch? He must lead a terribly hectic life. I have days like that every now and then. Waking up, going to an audition, hitting the Club for some swim swim, walking a dog, working at the Hospital. Whew. Good thing I only have days like that four or five times a month.
Another person I know who has a rather full plate…my friend, Philip W.F. Tucker. Busy busy man. He’ll be taking some time off in New York City in a few weeks or so.
I do know some people on the opposite side of the spectrum though. My friend William J. Pomerantz for instance. He went to these crazy high schools and colleges and grad schools where he was sooo busy. Now? He just sits around and eats crackers all day. In his underwear. Watching porn. Clown on dolphin porn. Clown on dolphin porn XMAX. Sursly.
Man, if anyone from his numerous schools could see him now? I just don’t know what they would have to say…
On a different subject...last night, Silence of the Lambs was on UPN. Did any of you ever want to see that fat girl get killed? I sure did. She was spoiled, fat and worst of all, she was singing along HORRIBLY to that Tom Petty song. Jesus.
Seeing Nine Inch Nails in a week, should be fun. Think I might steal some AIDS blood from the Hospital in case someone tries moshing with me. Man, would THAT be worse than a hangover or what?
5.09.2005
Sweet Dreams
A few nights ago I had this awesome dream where I was in a small apartment with several people and someone owned two or three ferrets. They took a liking to me and would climb all over me when I called them. They were very friendly.
'Life Aquatic' DVD comes out tomorrow. Super Portuguese Bowie Features abound.
'Life Aquatic' DVD comes out tomorrow. Super Portuguese Bowie Features abound.
5.08.2005
5.07.2005
Today, while I was walking Louis and Eloise, a beautiful French girl asked me for directions. I purposely sent her the wrong way. Not only would I never cheat on Christina, but I would send other women to incorrect places just to show them how unattainable I am.
After dogging, I went to the Club, swam and hit the Hot and Steam Rooms for the first time. The Hot Room is a little scary, but the Steam Room? [insert opening ululation from 'Musicology'] I am purged of toxins.
Then I had some lovelys over for Forbidden Zone. Mixed reviews. I continue to (un)consciously retain my crown of Odd.
I feel dizzy , nauseous and hateful towards the Cunt Beneath and I need something to change in our dynamic or else........
After dogging, I went to the Club, swam and hit the Hot and Steam Rooms for the first time. The Hot Room is a little scary, but the Steam Room? [insert opening ululation from 'Musicology'] I am purged of toxins.
Then I had some lovelys over for Forbidden Zone. Mixed reviews. I continue to (un)consciously retain my crown of Odd.
I feel dizzy , nauseous and hateful towards the Cunt Beneath and I need something to change in our dynamic or else........
4.29.2005
Doot
Habla Espanola? Because I certainly don’t. Voco Latin. Anyway, saw HGTTG last night. And there was tighter security there than at fucking Kennedy. I was waiting and hoping for someone to check my rectum for recording devices but (sigh) no such butt luck. I was expecting 9 people and got 6, not bad.
And here we go: If you have read the books (or some of the books) and like them, you will like the movie. If you haven’t read the books at all, you will like the move but be confused at a few references, motivations, and characters. If you are a super fan, you might be disappointed at some things, but impressed with others.
For those that have NO idea, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is a series of five books (The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, Life, the Universe and Everything, So Long and Thanks for All the Fish and Mostly Harmless) written by Douglas Adams. It is one of the funniest, most accessible and cleverest science fiction series ever. The whole series spans about 700 pages and the narrative is very complex and circular at times so what Hollywood did was drop all the pages in a bag and just grabbed stuff from each book and put it into an order they think the masses would understand/find the most interesting/easy to follow. Bloody Yanks. While there was a DEFINITE effort to stay close to the books, there was some pap thrown in to appeal to the movie going idiots who thought Julia Roberts deserved the Oscar for Erin fucking Brokavich over the rest of the real actresses. However, the director did an excellent job sticking to the feel of the book, including little details like the sighing doors, “Resistance is useless!”, the whale/pot of petunias (one of my favorite parts of the book) and other such details. Sadly, A LOT of stuff was glossed over, introduced and not explained or just cut out. Also, it really is hard to capture the dialogue of the book and where they tried, it didn’t always work. The acting was very well done I feel and they really did have a line on the characters. Arthur was a tad colorless but that is sort of the character. Ford (Mos Def…yes, Mos Def) is excellent as is Zaphod (Sam Rockwell- who was in a few Stella Shorts). Trillian, meh (kind of reminded me of that chick from Raiders of the Lost Ark). The best by far was Marvin, voiced by Alan Rickman. Never before has a literary character been so perfectly captured. Slartibartfast was also very well done by Bill Pughy (?) (played Phil in Shaun of the Dead).
In the end, the gigantic plot of The Hitchhiker’s Guide was boiled down and distilled into something less in many aspects but still enjoyable. P.S. The opening is probably one of the best to any movie, ever. See it and stay for the credits.
Post movie, we (Christina Notgirlftiend, Lawn, Roy, Steve and Sarah Vagina) went to Iguanas. If you’ve never been there, picture Pirates of the Caribbean (the ride) with overpriced, but very good Mexican food. I had fresh guacamole and it was fucking awesome. I also had some of the biggest coconut shrimp ever. Their Caesar was amazing too. I was noting the lack of croutons when suddenly, at the bottom I felt something…something flat and solid and warm…I was VERY worried a first, but upon further investigation, I found a big nacho, complete with melted cheese and then after a tasty moment, I figured out that it was there in lieu of the croutons! You tricky Mexican pirates you! Thank you for the salad nacho, but you still can’t have my doubloons! After the meal, we were hoping for change but they never brought it. Fucking Kikes. We left and were subsequently dropped off at our respective homes by Steve. WOO STEVE! Sooper stoked about the Family Guy thing tonight. Hoping to catch some sleeping after job/rehearsal/dog. Might do swimming if I am able. Saw the first trailer from Land of the Dead and it looked zombie. To quote Dennis Hopper from the trailer: “Zombies, man…they freak me out…” SHUDDER JERK JERK SPUTTER GLERP!!!
And here we go: If you have read the books (or some of the books) and like them, you will like the movie. If you haven’t read the books at all, you will like the move but be confused at a few references, motivations, and characters. If you are a super fan, you might be disappointed at some things, but impressed with others.
For those that have NO idea, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is a series of five books (The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, Life, the Universe and Everything, So Long and Thanks for All the Fish and Mostly Harmless) written by Douglas Adams. It is one of the funniest, most accessible and cleverest science fiction series ever. The whole series spans about 700 pages and the narrative is very complex and circular at times so what Hollywood did was drop all the pages in a bag and just grabbed stuff from each book and put it into an order they think the masses would understand/find the most interesting/easy to follow. Bloody Yanks. While there was a DEFINITE effort to stay close to the books, there was some pap thrown in to appeal to the movie going idiots who thought Julia Roberts deserved the Oscar for Erin fucking Brokavich over the rest of the real actresses. However, the director did an excellent job sticking to the feel of the book, including little details like the sighing doors, “Resistance is useless!”, the whale/pot of petunias (one of my favorite parts of the book) and other such details. Sadly, A LOT of stuff was glossed over, introduced and not explained or just cut out. Also, it really is hard to capture the dialogue of the book and where they tried, it didn’t always work. The acting was very well done I feel and they really did have a line on the characters. Arthur was a tad colorless but that is sort of the character. Ford (Mos Def…yes, Mos Def) is excellent as is Zaphod (Sam Rockwell- who was in a few Stella Shorts). Trillian, meh (kind of reminded me of that chick from Raiders of the Lost Ark). The best by far was Marvin, voiced by Alan Rickman. Never before has a literary character been so perfectly captured. Slartibartfast was also very well done by Bill Pughy (?) (played Phil in Shaun of the Dead).
In the end, the gigantic plot of The Hitchhiker’s Guide was boiled down and distilled into something less in many aspects but still enjoyable. P.S. The opening is probably one of the best to any movie, ever. See it and stay for the credits.
Post movie, we (Christina Notgirlftiend, Lawn, Roy, Steve and Sarah Vagina) went to Iguanas. If you’ve never been there, picture Pirates of the Caribbean (the ride) with overpriced, but very good Mexican food. I had fresh guacamole and it was fucking awesome. I also had some of the biggest coconut shrimp ever. Their Caesar was amazing too. I was noting the lack of croutons when suddenly, at the bottom I felt something…something flat and solid and warm…I was VERY worried a first, but upon further investigation, I found a big nacho, complete with melted cheese and then after a tasty moment, I figured out that it was there in lieu of the croutons! You tricky Mexican pirates you! Thank you for the salad nacho, but you still can’t have my doubloons! After the meal, we were hoping for change but they never brought it. Fucking Kikes. We left and were subsequently dropped off at our respective homes by Steve. WOO STEVE! Sooper stoked about the Family Guy thing tonight. Hoping to catch some sleeping after job/rehearsal/dog. Might do swimming if I am able. Saw the first trailer from Land of the Dead and it looked zombie. To quote Dennis Hopper from the trailer: “Zombies, man…they freak me out…” SHUDDER JERK JERK SPUTTER GLERP!!!
4.28.2005
Media Frenzy
4.28.05
7:29am
So, I know you all know that I work in a Hospital. Not all of you know the name though. If you do know the name, do a Google search for two recent events; one tragic, one sort of…irresponsible I suppose? With that being said: the Media has been trying to contact employees here at the hospital to get info about these events. I was told that I will be contacted by the Media today, but that I am not to say anything. This is FAR too good an opportunity to pass up. Today is going to be fun.
P.S. Anyone read the Daily News today?
P.P.S. Middle of page ten?
Also, the State Dept. has several representatives here as well. They have already fired one member of the staff for not paying attention to his job. My remaining time here can now be measured in hours!!!
Now, a topic having NOTHING to do with the missing, frozen, partially autopsied body of an 87-yaer old woman…
Things are bubbling. Bubbling xmax, if you will…and I think that you will. This incorporeal poltergeist of excitement is beginning to take solid shape. It seems to be manifesting in the form of a bull. An Excitement Bull, fully equipped with Horns of Anticipation. Friends, I am ready to be gored. Ready xmax, to be gored xmax.
At the moment, my living room has been rotated 90 degrees, the empty room that will be officially Philip’s in a matter of hours is not empty and I have a DVD from Netflix that has been in my possession, unwatched, for almost a month.
Xmaxcitement
Nyarlethotep Beck KJUDOS TrotterNAIRE XMAX 5.14.05
The new NIN album in 5.1 Surround 5.03.05
NIN in concert 5.16.05
Free screening of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy 4.28.05 (show up at the Ziegfield [141 W. 54th] BEFORE 7:30 tonight to come with me or call my cell)
Family Guy live cast reading and new episode screening 4.29.05
Getting ripped as shit 4.27.05 - __.__.__
**MEDIA UPDATE** The first call just came in at 8:09am from NY1 News!! My demeanor was coy and maybe even a little rambunctious, but I kept my lips tightly sealed about the matter at hand. I did make sure to inform them that one of their news people interviewed me when I was Hagrid. That gave the lady pause, and then she hung up. More news as it comes in…**MEDIA UPDATE**
Lysistrata: The Musical Redux 5.21.05-5.22.05
An interesting note about this show and its aftereffects on me: After the show closed, I felt this CRUSHING depression and loneliness. It was like theatrical post partum, seriously. I had this shared bond with these 10 new people for three months and then, BAM, gone. Thinking it over in a clearer state of mind, I decided that I would probably only want to hang out with a few of them and maybe one of them would probably want to hang out with me. Once I applied a healthy smear of logic to the situation, I started feeling better instantly. Philip being in close vicinity also helped. Sometimes tea and Philip are better than a Prozac Colada. See, I have friends, close friends that I hang out with from time to time. Aside from them and the people I work with at the hospital, there aren’t really many social interactions in my life. I suddenly had TEN NEW SOCIAL CONTACTS and I suppose I got a little overloaded and when they were suddenly gone, a part of me felt like ten friends had just disappeared. Another big reason that affected me was my whole routine thing. These people had become part of a routine and that was altered quickly and violently. Like the deli on my corner being shutdown for health reasons…ick. We’ll find out how I really feel about them (and, I suppose, how they really feel about me) in a few weeks. If anyone really seems to have missed me or has a vested interest in hanging out, maybe I’ll actually try to form a friendship with them. If not, fuck them. They aren’t worth shitting on. I’ve got friends.
7:29am
So, I know you all know that I work in a Hospital. Not all of you know the name though. If you do know the name, do a Google search for two recent events; one tragic, one sort of…irresponsible I suppose? With that being said: the Media has been trying to contact employees here at the hospital to get info about these events. I was told that I will be contacted by the Media today, but that I am not to say anything. This is FAR too good an opportunity to pass up. Today is going to be fun.
P.S. Anyone read the Daily News today?
P.P.S. Middle of page ten?
Also, the State Dept. has several representatives here as well. They have already fired one member of the staff for not paying attention to his job. My remaining time here can now be measured in hours!!!
Now, a topic having NOTHING to do with the missing, frozen, partially autopsied body of an 87-yaer old woman…
Things are bubbling. Bubbling xmax, if you will…and I think that you will. This incorporeal poltergeist of excitement is beginning to take solid shape. It seems to be manifesting in the form of a bull. An Excitement Bull, fully equipped with Horns of Anticipation. Friends, I am ready to be gored. Ready xmax, to be gored xmax.
At the moment, my living room has been rotated 90 degrees, the empty room that will be officially Philip’s in a matter of hours is not empty and I have a DVD from Netflix that has been in my possession, unwatched, for almost a month.
Xmaxcitement
Nyarlethotep Beck KJUDOS TrotterNAIRE XMAX 5.14.05
The new NIN album in 5.1 Surround 5.03.05
NIN in concert 5.16.05
Free screening of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy 4.28.05 (show up at the Ziegfield [141 W. 54th] BEFORE 7:30 tonight to come with me or call my cell)
Family Guy live cast reading and new episode screening 4.29.05
Getting ripped as shit 4.27.05 - __.__.__
**MEDIA UPDATE** The first call just came in at 8:09am from NY1 News!! My demeanor was coy and maybe even a little rambunctious, but I kept my lips tightly sealed about the matter at hand. I did make sure to inform them that one of their news people interviewed me when I was Hagrid. That gave the lady pause, and then she hung up. More news as it comes in…**MEDIA UPDATE**
Lysistrata: The Musical Redux 5.21.05-5.22.05
An interesting note about this show and its aftereffects on me: After the show closed, I felt this CRUSHING depression and loneliness. It was like theatrical post partum, seriously. I had this shared bond with these 10 new people for three months and then, BAM, gone. Thinking it over in a clearer state of mind, I decided that I would probably only want to hang out with a few of them and maybe one of them would probably want to hang out with me. Once I applied a healthy smear of logic to the situation, I started feeling better instantly. Philip being in close vicinity also helped. Sometimes tea and Philip are better than a Prozac Colada. See, I have friends, close friends that I hang out with from time to time. Aside from them and the people I work with at the hospital, there aren’t really many social interactions in my life. I suddenly had TEN NEW SOCIAL CONTACTS and I suppose I got a little overloaded and when they were suddenly gone, a part of me felt like ten friends had just disappeared. Another big reason that affected me was my whole routine thing. These people had become part of a routine and that was altered quickly and violently. Like the deli on my corner being shutdown for health reasons…ick. We’ll find out how I really feel about them (and, I suppose, how they really feel about me) in a few weeks. If anyone really seems to have missed me or has a vested interest in hanging out, maybe I’ll actually try to form a friendship with them. If not, fuck them. They aren’t worth shitting on. I’ve got friends.
4.12.2005
The mirror has two faces...and both are mine.
So a few days a go I updated my web site www.angelfire.com/ny2/GuidoHut) that I've had since high school. However, a day or so after that update, I went to update again and could not sign in as ny2/GuidoHut, but only ny2/guidohut. The server was not recognizing the difference between the caps and the lower case. I was a bit confused, but there was no real loss or damage, so I just updated guidohut resigning myself to being unable to ever change the content of GuidoHut ever again. Just this minute however, I was allowed access to BOTH. The question: What I should I do with these two halves of a whole? The possibilities are limited by space and bandwidth, but hmm...
4.10.2005
4.04.2005
WHY OH WHY DID THE GREAT GOOD LORD MAKE ME SOOOOOO SEXY?! It boggles the mind of everything on this planet and several others. GOLD bay bay PURE FUCKING WET GOLD! TASTE IT! TASTE THE LOVE! I MADE IT MYSELF! BIZAGITRONICON FUCKING XMAX!!!!!!!!!!!!!
3.31.2005
3.30.2005
Where-o?
And here is my review of the new Beck album Guero
It’s not Sea Change. It’s not Mellow Gold. It’s not Midnite Vultures. It’s not Odelay. It’s not Mutations. It’s Guero. So shut up.
E-Pro - Hello! Welcome to the new album! This is the perfect first single/intro to the album track. It has an infectious, accessible rawk guitar riff and a sing along chorus that you will be humming until you claw out that section of your brain…and that’s good. The lyrics (if you can make any of them out) are darker than anything Beck has written before. They are still non-linear and non-narrative, but there are definite themes introduced in “E-Pro” that are prominent throughout the album: (death, dust, devils).
Que Onda Guero – Que Onda Guero (“What’s up, white boy?”) is Beck reminiscing about his roots. He grew up in East L.A. and the numerous (and incredibly obnoxious) Spanish voices heard throughout this track are actual recordings made by Beck just walking around the streets of East L.A. Less obnoxious and more dorky is the rapping Spanglish Beck springs on us. While the subject matter of this song really doesn’t add to the lyrical themes of the album, it pinpoints the musically theme: Beck Does East L.A., South America, Mexico, Brazil and Points Beyond. Ole!
Girl – Picture it: You’re driving in a little red Corvette with the top down, the wind is blowing through your hair, the sun is shining, everything is pure love, baby, pure love. That’s the music and tone of this song, but if you stop putting on suntan lotion and polishing your sunglasses long enough to notice the lyrics, you will find yourself hard pressed to resist a shiver despite the warm sun. Reading the lyrics gives the impression of reading a serial killers journal: “I saw her, yeah I saw her with her black tongue tied round the roses” leads to “and I know I’m going to steal her eye/she doesn’t even know what’s wrong/I know I’m gonna make her die/and take her where her soul belongs/I know I’m gonna steal her eye/nothing that I wouldn’t try/my sun-eyed girl”. The naïve portrayal of the girl and the use of the possessive (my sun-eyed girl) just make this song even creepier.
Missing – This song was originally titled “Brazillica” and although “Missing” is more appropriate lyrically, this song feels like “Brazillica”. The music fills one with the image of someone at a club who has lost their way and is looking for their friend while dancing at the same time. A very swaying song. The lyrics tell a much sadder story. A man obsessed with a woman. “I prayed heaven today/would bring its hammer down on me/and pound you out of my head/I can’t think with you in it”. He goes on to try and console himself with the idea that “something always takes the place of missing pieces/you can take and put together even though you know there’s something missing” but eventually, we see his mind so consumed by this girl, he finishes off by mumbling a more vague “something always missing/always someone missing something”. This track also features some string arrangements by Beck and his freakishly talented father David Campbell (see “all gut-wrenching string arrangements from Sea Change”).
Black Tambourine – Did someone ask for the double order of funk? African tribal drums provide a pelvic thrusting spine to this track about slavery and sex. Yes, Beck made a funky song about slavery and sex. “Black heart in effigy/we sing a song that was hated/all dressed in rag and bone/shark smell the blood that I’m bleeding/I know there’s something wrong/might take a fire to kill it/might take a hurricane/don’t know what life that I’m livin’” Read into it what you want, but that verse smells of slavery. The sex part comes in at the end where Beck states: “and when the sun is down/we’ll shake and rattle our bodies/to keep it warm at night/my tambourine is still shaking”. For those that aren’t familiar, “tambourine” is slang for vagina (thank you, Prince).
Earthquake Weather – The title and atmosphere of this song go perfectly together. The background features unsettling moaning noises, the guitar makes you uncomfortable and the lyrics? They don’t help. “Something’s coming/sky is purple/dogs are howling/to themselves/days are changing with the weather/like a rip tide could rip us away/I push/I pull/the days go slow/into a void we filled with death and noise/that laughs/falls off their maps/all cured of pain/and doubts in your little brain”. This is the kind of music that zombies masturbate to.
Hell Yes – I hope you kept your Funk Pants nearby because it’s about to get smelly again. In this song, Beck brags “my beat is correct”. As a Doctor of Beats, I can completely support Mr. Hansen’s assertion. Only Beck can take the flavor of blues harmonica, Japanese techno-rock and a Dust Brothers bassline and cook such a tasty musical burrito. This is the most nonsensical track on the album (a true return to “the lyrics being the most important and least important element in a song”) but it matters not! This track is funky in an archetypal sort of way; in other words, the Collective Subconscious understands and appreciates the funk of this track. I dare anyone hearing “Hell Yes” to try and stop from feeling like month old milk…rotten with funk. “Perfunctory idols rewriting their bibles/with magic markers running out of their ink/lives in white out/turn the lights out/fax machine anthems/get your damn hands up” gladly Beck, gladly.
Broken Drum – A pause from the funk attack. This is a simple, beautiful, sad song. The almost palpable feeling of isolation and loneliness comes from the echoing guitar, the piano and Beck’s cold/warm vocals. In this song you can actually witness the end of a relationship, apparently because of drug use. “I won’t take it back/I’ve seen your eyes”. But although he seems to be taking a firm stance on the issue, he finishes off with “Your setting sun/your broken drum/your little drugs/I’ll never forget you/never forget you”. It looks like in the end, all he has to remember her by are her bad habits.
Scarecrow – This is “walking along a dust road” music. AND it features the bassline to Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean”. What more could you ask for? The problem with this track is that it has little to offer when compared to the other works presented. It’s still a good song, it fits in well with the aesthetic of the album with lyrics like “I’m walking to the other side/the devil tryin’ to take my mind/and my soul’s just a silhouette in the ashes of a cigarette” and “I wanted hope from a grave/I wanted strength from a slave/what gives you comfort now might be the end of you then”, but I guess every album has to have a weak link, and this is it.
Go It Alone – If I may take a moment to talk about handclaps. Any song can be made 40 times better by encompassing handclaps. I do not know why; maybe it has something to do with accessibility and making the listener feel like clapping along, but be it They Might Be Giants, Cake, eels, Beck, Nine Inch Nails or Weezer, it fucking works. This track, with its handclaps, Jack White bassline and dusty imagery fits perfectly into the whole. This is a wonderful track to slow down to. If you’re pacing or nervous or something like that, just take a moment to feel how laid back Beck is and chiiilllll…but don’t chill too much. Although this is a great slacking song, the last line (“the sky is burning in my rearview mirror”) reminds you that you are in Guero Town…and things are totally fucked up.
Farewell Ride – See what I told you? Fucked right up. This is the goddamned dustiest song I have ever heard. In fact, you can actually hear the dust on the guitar strings. Aside from the guitar, there are actually chains in the instrumentation of this song as well as the dustiest of dusty instruments: the harmonica. This song finds Beck waiting to be brought to the gallows. “I don’t see the face of kindness/I don’t hear the mission bell/I don’t smell the morning roses/all I see is/all I see is/two white horses in a line/carrying me to my burying ground”. Beck is apparently not doin’ fine anymore.
Rental Car – A last burst of energy, and very well done, might I add. Again handclaps sooth our souls until the always excellent “yeah yeah yeah” chorus comes in. This is a good song until about two thirds of the way through when it becomes an excellent song thanks, in part to the Dust Brothers. “Hey now girl/at the end of the road/down where the reaper is walking alone/singing a death knell clapping along/at the end of the night there’s a road we’ll be on/taking me far/far as a rental car can go.” Great, now Beck’s dead.
Emergency Exit - Amazing ending to an amazing album. This song has some of the most somber lyrics ever sung by Beck and the feeling of “over” is totally there, man. “What’s left of death is more than fear/let dust be dust and the good lord near/it’s a little too much to ask of faith/a little too late to wait for fate/so tell the angels what you’ve seen/scarecrow shadow on a Nazarene.” I don’t think Beck will be breaking any sexx laws any time soon.
This is where the regular CD ends, but the super deluxe DJ Shadow remix version has 7 more tracks, three bonus B-sides and four remixes. Here is some info on the three B-sides…
Send A Message To Her – The only reason this was not included on the album is because it resembles a few others on the album proper and that sucks because is a great song. Awesome guitar, catchy-as-hell chorus and a synthed-out 80’s breakdown towards the end would have made this an instant classic. But I guess you need B-sides.
Chain Reaction – A heavily distorted track blasts out uber-fuzz rock guitar and malfunctioning computer blips and bloops. This man has a bad case f crazy…in his soul. I must say I appreciated this song 100 times more after I saw the lyrics. “Barracuda believer with a heathen guitar/apocalyptic nostalgia tokens/dark arks set sail for Antarctica oceans”. Pure Beck. Now if only I could make these lyrics out…
Clap Hands – See? Beck digs the importance of handclaps. This song expresses the inner-robot-gypsy in Beck…more so than his other work to date. The BPM (beats per minute) are exactly 240 so you can cook eggs to this song. “I’ll drive to San Francisco/death to disco/I’ll take my shirt off/I’ll swim to Mexico/don’t tell the mermaids where I’m goin’” I won’t tell the mermaids a thing, Beck. See you in Mexico.
In conclusion: buy the album. I recommend spending the extra five or seven dollars on the deluxe edition. The regular CD is the first thirteen tracks in a standard jewel case, but for a little extra you get a 52-page hardcover book with the lyrics, pictures of Beck and original art by Marcel Dzama, the aforementioned CD but with the seven bonus tracks (remixes are “Girl” (Octet remix), “Broken Drum” (Boards of Canada remix), “Still Missing” (Roykopp remix of “Missing”) and “Fax Machine Anthems” (Dizzee Rascal remix of “Hell Yes”)) AND a DVD with the entire album remixed in 5.1 with a visual mix made for each track by the British video artist D-Fuse, random interesting photos and two music videos for “E-Pro” and “Black Tambourine”.
More info on Beck.
It’s not Sea Change. It’s not Mellow Gold. It’s not Midnite Vultures. It’s not Odelay. It’s not Mutations. It’s Guero. So shut up.
E-Pro - Hello! Welcome to the new album! This is the perfect first single/intro to the album track. It has an infectious, accessible rawk guitar riff and a sing along chorus that you will be humming until you claw out that section of your brain…and that’s good. The lyrics (if you can make any of them out) are darker than anything Beck has written before. They are still non-linear and non-narrative, but there are definite themes introduced in “E-Pro” that are prominent throughout the album: (death, dust, devils).
Que Onda Guero – Que Onda Guero (“What’s up, white boy?”) is Beck reminiscing about his roots. He grew up in East L.A. and the numerous (and incredibly obnoxious) Spanish voices heard throughout this track are actual recordings made by Beck just walking around the streets of East L.A. Less obnoxious and more dorky is the rapping Spanglish Beck springs on us. While the subject matter of this song really doesn’t add to the lyrical themes of the album, it pinpoints the musically theme: Beck Does East L.A., South America, Mexico, Brazil and Points Beyond. Ole!
Girl – Picture it: You’re driving in a little red Corvette with the top down, the wind is blowing through your hair, the sun is shining, everything is pure love, baby, pure love. That’s the music and tone of this song, but if you stop putting on suntan lotion and polishing your sunglasses long enough to notice the lyrics, you will find yourself hard pressed to resist a shiver despite the warm sun. Reading the lyrics gives the impression of reading a serial killers journal: “I saw her, yeah I saw her with her black tongue tied round the roses” leads to “and I know I’m going to steal her eye/she doesn’t even know what’s wrong/I know I’m gonna make her die/and take her where her soul belongs/I know I’m gonna steal her eye/nothing that I wouldn’t try/my sun-eyed girl”. The naïve portrayal of the girl and the use of the possessive (my sun-eyed girl) just make this song even creepier.
Missing – This song was originally titled “Brazillica” and although “Missing” is more appropriate lyrically, this song feels like “Brazillica”. The music fills one with the image of someone at a club who has lost their way and is looking for their friend while dancing at the same time. A very swaying song. The lyrics tell a much sadder story. A man obsessed with a woman. “I prayed heaven today/would bring its hammer down on me/and pound you out of my head/I can’t think with you in it”. He goes on to try and console himself with the idea that “something always takes the place of missing pieces/you can take and put together even though you know there’s something missing” but eventually, we see his mind so consumed by this girl, he finishes off by mumbling a more vague “something always missing/always someone missing something”. This track also features some string arrangements by Beck and his freakishly talented father David Campbell (see “all gut-wrenching string arrangements from Sea Change”).
Black Tambourine – Did someone ask for the double order of funk? African tribal drums provide a pelvic thrusting spine to this track about slavery and sex. Yes, Beck made a funky song about slavery and sex. “Black heart in effigy/we sing a song that was hated/all dressed in rag and bone/shark smell the blood that I’m bleeding/I know there’s something wrong/might take a fire to kill it/might take a hurricane/don’t know what life that I’m livin’” Read into it what you want, but that verse smells of slavery. The sex part comes in at the end where Beck states: “and when the sun is down/we’ll shake and rattle our bodies/to keep it warm at night/my tambourine is still shaking”. For those that aren’t familiar, “tambourine” is slang for vagina (thank you, Prince).
Earthquake Weather – The title and atmosphere of this song go perfectly together. The background features unsettling moaning noises, the guitar makes you uncomfortable and the lyrics? They don’t help. “Something’s coming/sky is purple/dogs are howling/to themselves/days are changing with the weather/like a rip tide could rip us away/I push/I pull/the days go slow/into a void we filled with death and noise/that laughs/falls off their maps/all cured of pain/and doubts in your little brain”. This is the kind of music that zombies masturbate to.
Hell Yes – I hope you kept your Funk Pants nearby because it’s about to get smelly again. In this song, Beck brags “my beat is correct”. As a Doctor of Beats, I can completely support Mr. Hansen’s assertion. Only Beck can take the flavor of blues harmonica, Japanese techno-rock and a Dust Brothers bassline and cook such a tasty musical burrito. This is the most nonsensical track on the album (a true return to “the lyrics being the most important and least important element in a song”) but it matters not! This track is funky in an archetypal sort of way; in other words, the Collective Subconscious understands and appreciates the funk of this track. I dare anyone hearing “Hell Yes” to try and stop from feeling like month old milk…rotten with funk. “Perfunctory idols rewriting their bibles/with magic markers running out of their ink/lives in white out/turn the lights out/fax machine anthems/get your damn hands up” gladly Beck, gladly.
Broken Drum – A pause from the funk attack. This is a simple, beautiful, sad song. The almost palpable feeling of isolation and loneliness comes from the echoing guitar, the piano and Beck’s cold/warm vocals. In this song you can actually witness the end of a relationship, apparently because of drug use. “I won’t take it back/I’ve seen your eyes”. But although he seems to be taking a firm stance on the issue, he finishes off with “Your setting sun/your broken drum/your little drugs/I’ll never forget you/never forget you”. It looks like in the end, all he has to remember her by are her bad habits.
Scarecrow – This is “walking along a dust road” music. AND it features the bassline to Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean”. What more could you ask for? The problem with this track is that it has little to offer when compared to the other works presented. It’s still a good song, it fits in well with the aesthetic of the album with lyrics like “I’m walking to the other side/the devil tryin’ to take my mind/and my soul’s just a silhouette in the ashes of a cigarette” and “I wanted hope from a grave/I wanted strength from a slave/what gives you comfort now might be the end of you then”, but I guess every album has to have a weak link, and this is it.
Go It Alone – If I may take a moment to talk about handclaps. Any song can be made 40 times better by encompassing handclaps. I do not know why; maybe it has something to do with accessibility and making the listener feel like clapping along, but be it They Might Be Giants, Cake, eels, Beck, Nine Inch Nails or Weezer, it fucking works. This track, with its handclaps, Jack White bassline and dusty imagery fits perfectly into the whole. This is a wonderful track to slow down to. If you’re pacing or nervous or something like that, just take a moment to feel how laid back Beck is and chiiilllll…but don’t chill too much. Although this is a great slacking song, the last line (“the sky is burning in my rearview mirror”) reminds you that you are in Guero Town…and things are totally fucked up.
Farewell Ride – See what I told you? Fucked right up. This is the goddamned dustiest song I have ever heard. In fact, you can actually hear the dust on the guitar strings. Aside from the guitar, there are actually chains in the instrumentation of this song as well as the dustiest of dusty instruments: the harmonica. This song finds Beck waiting to be brought to the gallows. “I don’t see the face of kindness/I don’t hear the mission bell/I don’t smell the morning roses/all I see is/all I see is/two white horses in a line/carrying me to my burying ground”. Beck is apparently not doin’ fine anymore.
Rental Car – A last burst of energy, and very well done, might I add. Again handclaps sooth our souls until the always excellent “yeah yeah yeah” chorus comes in. This is a good song until about two thirds of the way through when it becomes an excellent song thanks, in part to the Dust Brothers. “Hey now girl/at the end of the road/down where the reaper is walking alone/singing a death knell clapping along/at the end of the night there’s a road we’ll be on/taking me far/far as a rental car can go.” Great, now Beck’s dead.
Emergency Exit - Amazing ending to an amazing album. This song has some of the most somber lyrics ever sung by Beck and the feeling of “over” is totally there, man. “What’s left of death is more than fear/let dust be dust and the good lord near/it’s a little too much to ask of faith/a little too late to wait for fate/so tell the angels what you’ve seen/scarecrow shadow on a Nazarene.” I don’t think Beck will be breaking any sexx laws any time soon.
This is where the regular CD ends, but the super deluxe DJ Shadow remix version has 7 more tracks, three bonus B-sides and four remixes. Here is some info on the three B-sides…
Send A Message To Her – The only reason this was not included on the album is because it resembles a few others on the album proper and that sucks because is a great song. Awesome guitar, catchy-as-hell chorus and a synthed-out 80’s breakdown towards the end would have made this an instant classic. But I guess you need B-sides.
Chain Reaction – A heavily distorted track blasts out uber-fuzz rock guitar and malfunctioning computer blips and bloops. This man has a bad case f crazy…in his soul. I must say I appreciated this song 100 times more after I saw the lyrics. “Barracuda believer with a heathen guitar/apocalyptic nostalgia tokens/dark arks set sail for Antarctica oceans”. Pure Beck. Now if only I could make these lyrics out…
Clap Hands – See? Beck digs the importance of handclaps. This song expresses the inner-robot-gypsy in Beck…more so than his other work to date. The BPM (beats per minute) are exactly 240 so you can cook eggs to this song. “I’ll drive to San Francisco/death to disco/I’ll take my shirt off/I’ll swim to Mexico/don’t tell the mermaids where I’m goin’” I won’t tell the mermaids a thing, Beck. See you in Mexico.
In conclusion: buy the album. I recommend spending the extra five or seven dollars on the deluxe edition. The regular CD is the first thirteen tracks in a standard jewel case, but for a little extra you get a 52-page hardcover book with the lyrics, pictures of Beck and original art by Marcel Dzama, the aforementioned CD but with the seven bonus tracks (remixes are “Girl” (Octet remix), “Broken Drum” (Boards of Canada remix), “Still Missing” (Roykopp remix of “Missing”) and “Fax Machine Anthems” (Dizzee Rascal remix of “Hell Yes”)) AND a DVD with the entire album remixed in 5.1 with a visual mix made for each track by the British video artist D-Fuse, random interesting photos and two music videos for “E-Pro” and “Black Tambourine”.
More info on Beck.
3.29.2005
3.22.2005
Lysistrata: The Musical
(formerly Women of Athens)
April 7th to April 24th at TADA Theatre
15 W. 28th Street
Showtimes
Thurs. 4/7 8pm
Fri. (my parents are going to this one) 4/8 8pm
Sat. 4/9 8pm
Sun. (matinee) 4/10 3pm
Mon. (press) 4/11 8pm
Thurs. 4/14 8pm
Fri. 4/15 8pm
Sat. 4/16 8pm
Fri. 4/22 8pm
Sat. (i believe will is coming to this one) 4/23 8pm
Sun. (matinee) 4/24 3pm
Tickets
Tickets are $21 ($15 for students & children)
Phone: (888) 868-4444
On Line: Lysistrata: The Musical
(formerly Women of Athens)
April 7th to April 24th at TADA Theatre
15 W. 28th Street
Showtimes
Thurs. 4/7 8pm
Fri. (my parents are going to this one) 4/8 8pm
Sat. 4/9 8pm
Sun. (matinee) 4/10 3pm
Mon. (press) 4/11 8pm
Thurs. 4/14 8pm
Fri. 4/15 8pm
Sat. 4/16 8pm
Fri. 4/22 8pm
Sat. (i believe will is coming to this one) 4/23 8pm
Sun. (matinee) 4/24 3pm
Tickets
Tickets are $21 ($15 for students & children)
Phone: (888) 868-4444
On Line: Lysistrata: The Musical
3.15.2005
ANNOUNCEMENT
All you idiot heathen pigs: Go here and prepare to get mind fucked by my philosocock.
Also, I was informed yesterday that my Le Petit Ecolier commercial is on TV. It was spotted during a show called "Extreme Makeovers" around 8:30 PM. I am an animated cookie with a French accent. I also happen to play said cookie in the aforementioned commercial.
Also, I was informed yesterday that my Le Petit Ecolier commercial is on TV. It was spotted during a show called "Extreme Makeovers" around 8:30 PM. I am an animated cookie with a French accent. I also happen to play said cookie in the aforementioned commercial.
3.10.2005
3.09.2005
3.02.2005
And now I'm gay...
http://www.gaypimp.com/mvideo.html
Watch both videos. Be gay...in the most hetero sense this footage allows.
Also, did any of you fags check out the G.I. Joe PSA's? Well then fuck off. Your fucking loss.
Watch both videos. Be gay...in the most hetero sense this footage allows.
Also, did any of you fags check out the G.I. Joe PSA's? Well then fuck off. Your fucking loss.
2.28.2005
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.
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.
2.22.2005
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 ./
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…
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…
2.21.2005
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."
"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."
2.20.2005
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.
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.
2.15.2005
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.
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?
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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.
2.14.2005
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.
2. After eating tuna, my pee smells like tuna.
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