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| Tuesday, December 25th, 2007 | | 10:46 am |
| | Monday, October 15th, 2007 | | 11:11 pm |
This is a quote from a skeptical forum that I troll on occasion. Blow Jobs are forbidden in Islam. only matching parts are to be touching each other during children making. Mouth to mouth, chest to chest and sexual ogran to sexual organ and so on. So you are not supposed to even do BJ. Now if it does happen, you should not thank her rather you should say: "I'll see you in hell !!" | | Saturday, October 13th, 2007 | | 8:37 am |
| | Tuesday, October 2nd, 2007 | | 10:05 am |
Beat this quote "This is like smoking dried pigeon shit in the sixties." -Citizen Skeptic. | | Thursday, September 20th, 2007 | | 8:47 am |
| | Wednesday, August 15th, 2007 | | 9:08 am |
| | Sunday, August 5th, 2007 | | 9:42 am |
My nomination for the coveted Lawrence Summers award.
This is from the Fellowship Baptist Creation Science Fair http://objectiveministries.org/creation/sciencefair.html 2nd Place: "Women Were Designed For Homemaking" Jonathan Goode (grade 7) applied findings from many fields of science to support his conclusion that God designed women for homemaking: physics shows that women have a lower center of gravity than men, making them more suited to carrying groceries and laundry baskets; biology shows that women were designed to carry un-born babies in their wombs and to feed born babies milk, making them the natural choice for child rearing; social sciences show that the wages for women workers are lower than for normal workers, meaning that they are unable to work as well and thus earn equal pay; and exegetics shows that God created Eve as a companion for Adam, not as a co-worker. I sincerely want to read these 2. "Pokemon Prove Evolutionism Is False" - Paul Sanborn (grade 4) "Thermodynamics Of Hell Fire" - Tom Williamson (grade 12) I happen to know that Hellfire is ice-cold, thanks to Marvel's Ghost Rider comic books. An energy source based on Cold-Fusion fueled by human suffering? Finally, an alternative to oil! Thank you, Tom Williamson (grade 12) | | Wednesday, June 27th, 2007 | | 10:26 pm |
| | Friday, June 8th, 2007 | | 11:15 pm |
Damnit. The truth sucks.
Everyone who hates Paris Hilton, please continue to do so. But here's how I see it.... The LA sheriff's department is in a 12 year battle with the LA district courts over reduced sentences due to the overpopulation issue. The courts want their mandates enforced, the jails simply cannot keep up with the traffic. Sentences under 90 days are dealt with by early releases, work release, house arrest, etc. Every conservative am radio talk show host is in an 'outrage' over this. They make statements like, 'with reduced jail time, there's no reason NOT to pursue a life of crime in LA!!!' Personally, I've dealt with LA jails on 4 occasions. Due to overpopulation, I was only processed into county once (the towers). One night of being transferred around the holding cells will expose you to enough staph and violence to 'scare you straight' if that is at all possible. Fuck Paris Hilton. She got caught violating court orders and deserves whatever book they throw at her. But... She recieved a harsher sentence than I would have for the same violations. She did everything the most recent court ordered her to. Right now she is a pawn trapped between 2 political agendas and will become the mascot of whatever local legal upheaval takes place. I hate to say it, but they're making this issue bigger than she is. Or using her to inflate public awareness on the matter. And probably making her a pariah in the process. The legal system should be above and beyond biases... even that which we all have for Paris Hilton. Go ahead, disagree with me. | | Thursday, April 5th, 2007 | | 11:12 pm |
manknd z doomd
languages in general are poised for complete upheaval. The advent of texting has led to a darwinian pressure to efficiently communicate using less letters and grammar than standard 'proper' english. I assume this phenom z taking place in othr languages as well. My alltime fvrite word: VERNACULAR, now deserves a grandstanding applause. It wins...grammar loses. The purpose of language is communication. That is a quote I can't reference... made all the more appropriate since I can't reference it. I once recieved failing grades in penmanship. What's a pen? when a gerund follows a preposition after a compound....wht xakly z d rule? i fget. I spnt a fl yr in h skl writing pprz... in prep fr a university college tht nvr dmnded nywhr nr z mch.... I don't text. I call if I care. There is nothing we can do to stop the updating and upgrading of our hieroglyphs. the only question is... do we become the 1st generation ever to accept unpredictable change as a natural force and rather than fight it or arrogantly predict it.... will we have the decency to quit trying 2 be cool? Elder statesmen of eras gone by? I fukn hope not. I intend to be socially irrelevant yet comedically sentient until the day i..... ...become neither. until then.... f u r hrny thn jst mk a wsh n a crss yr yyz nd i wl b wth u az we jk f tgthr nt2 d mnlght 2 d sownd v wltzng unicornz n i wl pnch u n d nz th u lv me n u wl no th i alrdy fgot wt ur nm wz u chp hkr thx 2 U my dk brnz my dr sz i hv aydz idiz yr flt u chp chp hrin slt hr hr hr hr hr call me. | | Monday, October 31st, 2005 | | 12:10 pm |
VEST ZIDE!!!!
That's what the group of young Hungarian hooligans shouted at myself and John E. Depth, as they twisted their right hands' middle and ring fingers into a W. I didn't get robbed by the cab driver that swung by the projects to pick up a musclebound 'friend' in the middle of my ride. This girl feigned communication barrier and waited until I exagger-pantomimed the process of taking a leak before she let on that she spoke excellent English and told me where the fucking bathroom was. The people who speak broken english here talk like Count Chocula. My (I can't believe I get to say this) 'contact' is this dude named 'Zolt,' who met me in a dark restaurant with a silent blonde girl and said these things in this order. "How vazz your flight, Hmm?" "Vee haff problem with you leeving monday. You stay later, No?" "Money. My brother, He give you seex thousand dole-ahrs to give to me? No?" "Vee haff BEEG problem." "This is (I don't remember her name.) She vant to look at you in face before she say if she vahhk you. She say 'okyay,' she vill vahhk you." I thought, 'I'm in the wrong meeting. This guy is going to expect a crate of Uzis and stinger missiles from me.' The only more conspicuous person in the country is the other american on the trip, John E. Depth, hilarious 6'3" black male performer with dreads. Wandering around downtown Pest on Saturday, we got looked and treated like friendly martians. This guy drove us around to lookat hookers translated back what they said as "OOHHH! LOOK AT THE BEEG, CHOCLATEY MAN! HE HAS MONEY!!!" By the way, the most beautiful women in the world are 16 year old hookers in Budapest. If you look at them in face, you will want to vahhk them. Gotta go. I'm on my own and it's noon on Halloween. Got some trouble to get into. | | Tuesday, October 4th, 2005 | | 10:36 am |
oh shit
Ever notice that "genius" and "jackass" start with the same sound? Today, I am both. What an incredibly unique and enviable position I am in. Don't worry, Vegas odds say: I'll stay true to form and fuck everything up. More later on that. I love waking up in the morning with a bemused curiosity as to what curveballs life is going to throw at me. Recently, life drafted Roger Clemens and told him to hit the batter. 'Fuck the automatic walk... we need to clip this motherfucker.' There are several people on the planet whom I owe both a hug and a bullet. Not Y'all. Which debt to settle first? I'd hate to embrace a bloody corpse, and I'd hate certain individual's last memory to be me hugging them like all is OK. Ahh, Dilemna. I guess I'll just get drunk. I'm in Ft.Lauderdale. A cab to South Beach sounds about right. Yeah. | | Saturday, April 23rd, 2005 | | 10:11 pm |
I never know what to put here. Howzabout 'UPDATE?'
Haven't updated in quite a while. My journal, or for that matter, myself. I cut off my ponytail sometime in '00, no progress since then. Did you miss me? No? Well fuck you then. Some Motherfucker (and I use the term spitefully) spilled beer on my keyboard, nullifying the middle 3rd of the keypad, and I just got the replacement board. I learned alot about iMac (tm) trying to circumnavigate three vowels plus P, L, M, & N. Things like 'Don't fucking bother.' Mind you, drunken Motherfucker was doing something really important for the human race, like downloading that awesome deep house song that goes "Umphss...Umphss...Umphss...Umphss...Too dle-deedee-dee-doo-doo-daa...doo-doo-dee-d oo-doo-Dumphss...(repeat, add meaningless vocals, or don't). What's that you say? ALL stupid house songs sound like that? Well you must not be a robot then. This music is strictly For Robots, By Robots. Certain chemicals can allow you to act, think, and be as interesting as a robot for a limited time. Speaking of, there was this DEA multistate drug bust recently that nailed several people I know well, several that have been to my apartment recently, and several that I surely would have met within a week or so. As a result, the apartment went from 'Free Drugs' to 'Drug Free' basically overnight. After the initial scare of everyone worried that they might be involved, things have settled down. No one is 'fiending', 'getting sketchy', 'withdrawing', or any of those other health class terms (altough both of the cats seem to be up to something sneaky. Probably pursuing their own agenda, with little to no regard for others. In fact, the kitten seems far too animated and rambunctious, I think it's got a hidden stash somewhere. Shady-ass Holdout!) Huh. Wonder what else I've been lied to about. I know of several falsified reports that 'The Gov-Ment' backed regarding drug abuse, long term effects, etc. Dare I begin to question the very backbone of democracy, our infallible congregate of selfish old white men? Nah. Oh yeah, I'm 31 now, and let me tell you, IT"S AWESOME!!! So much wisdom, so little time left. Speaking of 31, the son of the owner of Baskin Robbins lives around here, he was trying to buy stuff for DSC and be a sugar-dipshit for a while, I drove his SUV for a week, before he decided it was stolen. I never met the guy, (I sincerely want to, the more hear about him, the better he gets.) He refers to himself in the third person as St. Snoopy, is firmly convinced he can move clouds with his mind, and travel through time. SERIOUS. I wanna be his best friend. Too bad there's a girl in the way. So, anytime you purchase a daiquiri ice or rocky road from Baskin Robbins, know that a theoretical portion of your $4.79 goes to a health care plan, an insurance provider, and a pharmacist, to provide this great man with his MUCH-NEEDED medication. That's all for now, more later when I care again. | | Thursday, April 14th, 2005 | | 8:10 pm |
continued from josho's post
So I'm trying to decipher the hidden meaning from my Dr. Pepper Bottle cap. My father was a cryptographer in Vietnam, so puzzle solving runs in my 40 proof blood. Here is the message. 3NZH1 BARR4 A55UB So let's break it down... RUBN 1Z A55 B4 A 3HR Rubbin' his ass before a 3 run homer BURNN 1Z ASS 4 3HR : Burnin' one's ass for 3 hours ASS BAR 4 HNZ31 RUB: Ass bar for Heinze 31 massage 3N 4H1Z RUBBAR ASS 3 nights for His Rubber Ass 3 RABB1 UZN A55 4 H 3 Rabbi Using Ass for Heroin? (Bay, could this be true?) Must...Stop....Writing...Ass.... Childish Humour...and Latent Homosexuality....becoming obvious... | | Thursday, March 31st, 2005 | | 2:27 pm |
so, I guess I win
To make sense of this story, I must first tell you another story. Five years ago, I had moved to L.A. and had a bartending job. I was frequently listening to the grandstanding bullshit of wannabe actors, musicians, directors, writers, etc. Part of the job. So when this one guy, who led the few remaining tuesday closing time patrons in a philosophical debate, told me he worked for Hugh Hefner and was going to have me work a party at the Playboy Mansion, I didn't believe him. In fact, when he called me a few months later to hire me, I didn't even remember what he was talking about. So bartended 3 parties that year at the mansion, the Midsummer Nights Eve, Halloween, and New Years. I have many amusing stories from these nights that I'll try to get to sometime. (the lead singer from The Tea Party tipped me in mushrooms, I ate them, and right when they were kicking in, Fabio came up to me to order a drink. I started giggling uncontrollably and fell over; he looked so fucking ridiculous, chest hair sprouting out of his lacy, unbuttoned blouse. He knew I was laughing at him too, that made it even funnier.) This was the same year that I cut my hair, and for the New Years party I dyed it manic panic vampire red and liberty spiked it up, with blonde anime bangs in front. It looked awesome, I was having a perfect hair day, and I was going to the mansion. As I was setting up the bar, 2 playmates (Ann Marie Goddard, Shea something) complimented me on it. at separate times. So I'm feeling like the world is my oyster and that I just might be God's gift to women for an evening when the bar manager tells me I have to comb it down. Huh? I didn't believe he was serious. This wasn't a funeral. It wasn't the presidential inauguration. It was New Years Eve at the fucking Playboy Mansion. And I'm supposed to be conservative? HELL, no, cracker. (This is the guy, who at the beginning of every party, tells the new staff "It's an open bar, no one will get mad if you underpour. We want everyone to have a nice time, but not to get drunk and out of control. So easy on the booze.") Pardon my contradictory opinion, but I don't want people to have a nice time. I'm looking for a celebrity bar brawl followed by a full scale Roman Orgy. I'm pouring heavy, motherfucker. It turns out he meant it. He told me that guests could look however they wanted, staff had to look like staff. I had to use my fingers to smear it down, (lotsa wood glue in liberty spikes). The result was not anywhere near as cool. (Hey, it was either conform or go home, how punk rock would you be?) Later in the evening, one of the playmates from before (Shea Marks? Parks? I should know this) asked me what happened to my hair, pouted when I told her, and said she had wanted a picture with me. Let that sink in. A PLAYMATE wanted a picture with ME. Rule of thumb: If a Playmate compliments you on your style, don't change it. EVER. There is no better demographic to impress superficially. NONE. So, this was the last party I got called to do. I don't know exactly why. Might've been the hair, or the fact that after my shift, I tried to hang out with the guests, or 10 other things. Oh well. The fact that I was there at all is still in my top 10 accomplishments of all time. As I was being ushered out by the off-duty cops I toasted with this couple that I had met at a previous party (They looked like stunt doubles for Alec Baldwin and Sharon Stone, I think they were soap opera actors) and stated that one of my minor lifetime goals was to come back to the mansion for a party as a guest. They said good luck. So.... last thursday: I mentioned Hawaii and then Boodypest, and didn't go to either. Hawaii happened without me, because I had to keep my schedule clear for Europe, which got pushed back so we could go to L.A. The reason? The Spice Channel threw a private party promoting the Spice Hotel video series, and Destiny St. Claire was the guest of honor. That means I go, too. The location? The Playboy Mansion. The entryway was a shrine of posters of DSC's boxcover for the movie (which I'm in, in fact this was the scene that cased all the legal troubles at spicechannel. at one point I was advised to maybe get a lawyer, but it all worked out cool and they want to use me again.) Having not eaten all day, DSC, her friend Vanilla Skye, and I savagely raided the wandering caterpeople and the open bar. (Gourmet tip- never follow up a chocolatey dessert wedge with sushi. It's bad) So we mingled and wandered and fed the monkeys and I got tilted on some weird vodka. DSC had to do all these photos and signings so she was busy, I was busy being a drunken sarcastic loudmouth (in a lovable way, I think?) I was talking to the bartenders, and I mentioned the above story, and they laughed and told me the same guy still ran the bar. No shit. A few minutes later, I guess they mentioned it to him, and lo and behold, out comes the same lanky motherfucker who punked my style that day. I walked up to him, screamed "DETROIT ROCK CITY," kicked him square in the balls, shaved his head into a mohawk and said "Now you're fuckin' fired, Asshole!" OK, that part didn't really happen, I just figured if you read this far, you deserved that ending. What actually happened is, after a brief recap, he remembered me, and we joked about it for a few minutes. He's actually a nice guy, I don't fault his decision, and I myself have enforced hair and dress standards on employees to avoid being yelled at/fired. My hair was not red this time, I keep it blonde for the industry, the guy is not in charge of staffing, I actually like him so he's not much of a lifelong nemesis for me to finally get vindication from, the party wasn't like the ones I worked at (1500 people, celebrities, and hollywood partyfolk) it was a small event (150 people, directors and pornfolk), I never saw Hugh or any playmates, and the whole deal was pretty low key. So, as cool as it was to be there, (and it was fucking BAD-ASS) I don't think it quite counts. I need to get into the big parties to achieve my goal. The last thing he said to me? "Well hey, now you're here as a guest, so I guess you win." Huh. Yeah, I guess I do. And now DSC wants a pet monkey. | | Monday, March 14th, 2005 | | 7:55 pm |
Bad music, for starters
I have come to terms with the fact that I like some things that are just plain terrible. Things I coudn't defend if my life depended on it. Specifically in regards to music. I wholeheartedly embrace some of the poppiest, most obnoxiously harmonious butt-metal ever overproduced, and I do not feel any shame in it. (I do recognize that shame is due, keep my tab running) Right now I'm listening to Phunk Junkeez, and I just realized in tandem how terrible they are, as well as how much I love them. Damn, they're bad. So catchy though. I'm sporting an involuntary head nod as I type, (I've noticed the same behavior in the mentally handicapped. Is rocking back and forth a natural comfort, or does music today stifle the brain's development? Careful, I'll get pretty tilted if it turns out my mom was correct in her attempts to shield me from the evils of rockmusic.) I kicked my AC/DC habit long ago. Don't like them anymore, change the station if I hear them. Except for 'All night long,' of course. But the head nod isn't going anywhere. This band's songs are so fun, and the lyrics so remedial, that I suspect 'hooked on phonics' was a big influence for them. Damn I love these idiots. I recommend 'Rock it science', 'Handle my bizness', and 'Me 'n Yer Girl.' Here's some other crap that I dig. Three's Company (why? can't help myself) Bands that start with W: Whitesnake, Warrant, Winger, White lion, (well Zombie, actually, but I'm trying to stay true to genre) Taco Bell (migrant mexican trash sifters shake their heads in dissapproval when they see me go in there.) marginally clever sexual innuendos (pays off when a dumb girl stares blankly, suddenly gets it, and hits me) More where that came from. So... What do you like that's crappy? | | Sunday, March 13th, 2005 | | 10:49 pm |
Dear Gretchen
If there's ONE thing you can trust me with, it's... well nevermind - I guess there isn't. But it would have been couches. I was going to respond to your query personally, but then I thought, Goddamn, I'm so chock full of wisdom I should impart it to all of my newfound cyberchums. I feel that having an appropriate couch is far more important to an individual's overall happiness and fulfillment than a healthy lifestyle, rewarding career, supportive family, futuristic gadgetry, and reciprocating soulmate all combined. Any who doubt my exaggerations should bear in mind that 10 yrs ago I had an itchy, chicken-wire, pulled out of the dumpster area abhorration that Ryan couldn't even pass out in. I was stuck in retail management and unable to even impress my high-school attending female employees enough to get invited to their parties. Now, with a bold, new couch to showcasing my slouch, I'm getting flown to Europe as part of my new 'job', I have self confidence almost to a fault, and am the toast of the dudes who live underneath me. (for real, they woudn't stop fucking toasting me yesterday. clink-clink, glug-glug, can I get a new tradition in here already?) A new couch will redefine the comfort level of your social atmosphere, and encompass you in your moments of leisure and intimacy. DO NOT sacrifice comfort for aesthetic appeal, NO! NO! NO! Use the largest dimensions possible; I recommend a single L shape unit or a 2-piece perpendicular set directing attention to your entertainment center/nativity scene. Overstuffed cushions are the best, xtra pillows are essential. The upholstery might vary due to pets/sloppily destructive friends, look into skotchguarding. Make sure it is soft, those tightly bound leather sets look and feel like a giant Sketcher shoe. The plasticky vinyl types are easy to slide off of during sleep, go with something cloth. MY favorite set of all time is this kid glove faux velvet material set, I owned it when I lived in Tremont (Cleveland) a few years ago. http://www.craftonco.com/products/upholstery/UnitedFurniture/cf_4600.htm. Cut-Copy-Paste RULES! I got this set on clearance, the loveseat smelled faintly of dog, and I could never get it completely off. Febreeze, do your sweet thing. As for the Ikea set, I am extremely pleased with it's comfort, stability, and contortionability. (later, I'm going to make a fort. No, really, I am.) Compliments were plentiful all weekend from the lounging patry-folk who made my acquaintance this weekend and miraculaously seem not to have stolen anything. If you would like to see the couch-style, go to IKEA.com. It's the Tylosand Series in black, so far we have the big couch and a chaise lounge, and will likely order at least 1 more piece to complete the lazy area of our place. These couches are great, I cannot speak for the other styles. I hope this helped. Oh, and Hallie, Bay, Dave, Hello. I wasn't ignoring you guys, I'm just kind of a lazy typer. easier to group you together this way. Cheers, everybody! CLINK, GLUG, YEAH! The Drifter | | Monday, March 7th, 2005 | | 7:47 am |
A pleasant note
I built a couch today. Not from scratch, but from an IKEAN box that arrived several days ago. Actually, the delivery truck got hopelessly lost in the projects and I had to drive over and lead them to my large, obvious, and easy to find building. Why do they call it a project? I never see anyone working on it. It should be called a So me and a friend expertly assembled the pieces. It is entirely adjustable, and organizing the layout is like playing with giant nerf legos. As an impromptu commemoration, 7 strangers came over (invited by 3 recent aquaintances who are far stranger than the strangers) and sat on the couch and drank my beer. (if you build it, they will come). No one has yet spilled a drink on it. I'm considering running a betting pool on the usual suspects to see who christens it. Until now the furniture in the main room consisted of a wooden swing, 2 trampolines, a coffee table, and slumbering bodies. Now, in the window corner, exists a couch-like mass A couch is where I'm most comfortable sleeping, reading, and you-know-what. Beds are strange, floors uncomfortable, and closets just don't seem practical. So now I can sleep on a couch. All is well. Except for the dumb stripper talk. | | 7:22 am |
uh oh, I feel a moral coming on
I have a friend who is frequently in trouble with the law. (I also have friends that AREN'T in trouble with the law, smartass, I call them Efriends. That means you. Don't dissappoint me) Some background; At one point, he was on the FBI's list of most wanted juveniles. He never made the top ten, but he held no. 11 for several weeks. No. 1 on the adult list was Osama Bin Laden. He was manufacturing and dealing meth out of his house, was brilliantly successful at it, and only got caught because his brother agreed to let an officer investigate the house on an unrelated matter. It nauseates me even to think about it. Anyway, several brilliant lawyers later, he's back in society and basically fucking up again. In ways that discredit his previous professionalism and level mind. He already fucked up his probation once, has been back to jail, probation harsher and extended, and is likely to be back in jail soon, for a long time. Have you ever been to jail? It's horrifying in ways I can't explain. Everyone around you is stupid as hell, and as you anguish in boredom you feel yourself growing less intelligent exponentially. I'm no longtimer, 22 days was quite enough for me. No thank you. (if you're looking for guns/drugs/etc, there is no better place to go. I've seen more deals get arranged in jail holding cells than I've seen in real life and TV combined. Serious.) Back to Dude. He is far too intelligent for this. Not for a life of crime, that's fine, but to go down stupid. It sincerely bothers me. Remember in 'Heat' when DeNiro backtracks to the hotel to take care of Waingro? I sat there, in dread, suddenly knowing just where the movie was going, and helpless to interfere. He was doing so well for so long, good grades in college, peeing clean, and 'on the right track.' He majors in chemistry, by the way, Ha Ha, no really. Too bad his resume can't include his successful running of a manufacturing and distributing company for several years while attending high school. I'm not going to address the morals of dealing an illegal substance. Whatever you think about it, you're probably right. 'Dude' and I have been both positive and negative influences on each other. The way it should be. The reason I'm bringing this up is that he just left my apartment to go 'tag' a few things. Dumb. High profile. Screwed if he gets caught. He and his friend invited me to go with him. I'm writing this instead. I appreciate talented grafitti in urban areas more than most. It gives a city personality. It's hard NOT to like colorful, renegade illustrations sneakily created in public areas for all to enjoy. The downside. A friend of mine owns a business in a crappy neighborhood and has to repaint his building twice a year due to a city ordinance against grafitti. I assure you, it is not he who writes barely legible cursive on his brick walls to demonstrate that it's his territory. This is pointless action (O-Dog doesn't really own it), hurts his business, and serves no real function. Random destruction. Undeserved, pointless, and ineffective. As much as I love the spirit of rebellion (long live the mullet, in our hearts, and down our shoulders) I just can't condone this action. Grafitti should be performed by certified illustrators who respect no artistic boundaries but have enough civic pride to be responsible for the well being of the community. Competitions and sponsorships should fuel the endeavor. Paint underneath a bridge hurts no one; concrete is pale, lifeless and boring. Anyway, I didn't want to be part of this for several reasons. First, I am not adept or even practised at spray paint as a medium, so whatever I creat would probably embarass me. Second, I didn't want to act as a moral enforcer to people who don't agree with mine and deserve better behaviour from me. It's not my place or right to interfere with how people fuck up their own lives. Third, I suddenly felt conflicted emotionally and had a moral dilemma. This is rare to say the least. What passes for my conscience stirred from it's zombie state, and I wanted to think this one through. And lastly, this didn't seem like a team sport. Whatever art/destruction one chooses to pursue in public, it should not be the result of male bravado/comraderie/fuck-it, why not. It's not traindodging, beer-chugging, or Gratiot cruising. If I ever do this, it will be a private moment. Plus, I don't want my accomplices to paint tits over whatever I do. 'Dude' just returned with his friend. That's how long it takes Neanderdrifter to type. I have to stare at my fingers or else they make embarrasing typos and grope at passerbys. (Passers-by?) All my Efriends seem intimidatingly literate. So I guess I'll make it a point to critique his work. And decide whether this ordeal was worthy of instigating a "serious moment," in my otherwise meaningless and carefree evening. And I'll mind my own business. I have my own life to fuck up. | | Saturday, March 5th, 2005 | | 3:19 pm |
Hawaii, not Hawaii, Colombus?
I was supposed to go to Hawaii for 3 weeks and 'work' every day. I was looking forward to this in every way possible. 2 days ago i recieved the inevitable phonecall from the producer, explaining 'we lost funding, I'm sorry, blah-ze-blah.' Which was OK, because I've learned my lesson about mentioning things before they happen and therefore jinx/cursing them into not happening at all. Then having to explain why to everyone I boasted to. So I kept relatively quiet about Hawaii. And I'm trying not to mention Boodypest. Yesterday, Lo and Behold, a call from the producer 'how fast can you get on a plane, I need you here, we're going anyway, what's the least I can pay you to do this, blah-ze-blah.' I have never been comfortable negotiating my own rate of pay, for any job, it is a personal weakness that I admit. But especially in this industry. I have seen agents choke on their free catered food when they hear me say 'why don't you see what kind of job that I do, and pay me accordingly?' I've actually done allright with this tactic, although it is the result of to squeamish cowardice rather than old fashioned southerner hand-shake ethics. So I professionally respond 'whatever, dude, I understand your situation, pay me what you can, I just wanna go.' By the way, this is the same producer who helped get DCS signed and who decided to give me a raise on my talent rate for really no reason at all. So I go into 'Batman Mode,' (which means I try to suddenly be efficient and effective after weeks of lethargy), and call my travel agent, who is a much better batman than me. Her office is closing in 20 minutes, my flight needs to be by noon the next day, I have to pay her in cash (you give me more credit by reading this than a bank ever will again), so I have to speed drive to the ATM and then to her office, far away, suddenly I have 2 flat tires (how the fuck does THAT happen?) and I have to call the producer back to get him to put it on a credit card, which is embarrassing and lame, and then I get this speech... 'Are you on contract? Are you your own man? How can you let people just tell you what you can or can't do? This is bullshit!. I need you! This isn't fair!' - no, not from a crazy girlfriend, from the producer. Apparently DSC's contract company were the ones who pulled funding from the trip and need me to be available for the Boodypest trip, which is imminent, and didn't want me to go to Hawaii, and it seems are breaking all ties with the producer in question. So here I am, in Cleveland. I don't go to Hawaii. I might go to tropiocal, exotic Columbus, Ohio and mingle with the natives tonight. Maybe I go to Boodypest soon. Have I mentioned it enough times to fuck it up? I will. Happy ending.... Flogging Molly is playing House of Blues on monday, here. Some of my DEE troit boys are coming down for it. Also, after 8 months of no real furniture or decor, we have a couch, and are painting the walls. By the way, I AM MY OWN MAN. Nobody owns me. But you can DEFINITELY rent me. Aloha Motherfucker, The Drifter |
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