Tuesday, December 30, 2003

Paper says I was rather busy this year, but it was that green and white striped commodore 64 paper and has been printing since 1982 so I find it somewhat difficult to believe. I'm never well-rested, never well-scrubbed so either I've actually been as busy as paper says or I just accepted a role in a Civil War movie. It's a toss-up, really. Here is some shite accomplished by this set of genes in one 2003:
-attended my last class ever, as well as my last graduation save any future classes in ceramics or drunk driving.
-got a real job, with a real cubicle, a real desk, a real dental plan, and an actual mess of crap paperwork piling up on existing desk!
-dated. as in left the house to see said boy at said location. results: varying, but not spectacular because I remain unspectacularly single.
-had a relationship last longer than a stick of fruit stripe.
-had my emotions stepped upon and ground into the sidewalk like fruit stripe.
-overanalyzed above situation to no end.
-overused metaphors.
-broke hearts (pure speculation).
-saw my mom, dad and brother ride in the same car for the first time in twelve years. managed an argument in those two blocks.
-saw that happen the same day as graduation, which is also the same day above relationship started, cheesily, in a bar.
-realized that maybe I had a big day instead of a big year.
-saw my number of friends increase exponentially, or maybe that was just friendster.
-got a godamn business card. it is embossed and glows. it does not actually glow.
-saw my friends disperse to every corner of the country making travel plans more and more difficult.
-saw R.E.M. in full live concert
-had an extremely glam backstage at R.E.M. moment complete with hot tubs and strippers.
-saw Beck, Radiohead, Belle and Sebastian, Interpol, Enon, etc. etc.
-saw R.E.M. again. was forced to explain the missing cristal.
-said "I'm on the guest list" way too many times for my own good.
-partied like a maniac. maniac.
-only went to athens once.
and most importantly:
-discovered the beauty that is homestarrunner.

So much me! Can you handle all the me-ness? I didn't think so, suckers.

kmartcashier13: next...part 2!!
vplus2001: hahahaah
vplus2001: goddammit

I have nothing to blog, so I'm going to copy and paste a still-ongoing conversation with V+. Please. Enjoy as one would a mint julep or, perhaps, a mojito.

kmartcashier13: what is up?
vplus2001: goddamn 24
kmartcashier13: is it new??
vplus2001: no
vplus2001: it wasn't on
vplus2001: not til next week
vplus2001: 2 weeks in a row of NOTHING
kmartcashier13: thats what I thought
vplus2001: son
vplus2001: of a bitch
kmartcashier13: why I'm not at home
vplus2001: ?
vplus2001: oh
vplus2001: right
vplus2001: right
kmartcashier13: that is why I'm not at home
kmartcashier13: whats your alternate plan?
vplus2001: none exists
kmartcashier13: didn't know it was a rerun?
vplus2001: no rerun
vplus2001: just the paris hilton show
vplus2001: I knew
kmartcashier13: or nothing
vplus2001: but didn't think it thru
vplus2001: trying to figure out mac mail
kmartcashier13: hmmm....well, I got nothing.
kmartcashier13: fun!
kmartcashier13: I THOUGHT I was going out to get drinks but I'm downtown again watching people move things
vplus2001: huh??
kmartcashier13: They're trying to get this place ready for NYE party tomorrow night
kmartcashier13: and U
kmartcashier13: sorry I'm
kmartcashier13: just watching...
vplus2001: what place?
kmartcashier13: downtown warehouse
kmartcashier13: that mysterious space I
kmartcashier13: I'm
kmartcashier13: always iming from
vplus2001: oh yeah rippy and I were talking about that the other day
kmartcashier13: huh?
vplus2001: we were talking about fotolog
kmartcashier13: rippy knows nothing!!!
kmartcashier13: It's like Narnia
vplus2001: no kidding he doesn't -- neither of us do! Where are these mysterious psycadelic parties Jill goes to seemingly eight nights a week??
kmartcashier13: ok no psychadelia
kmartcashier13: I'm not a godamn hippie.
vplus2001: exhibit A
vplus2001: http://www.fotolog.net/kmartcashier/?photo_id=3908403
vplus2001: if that's not psycadelic
vplus2001: then i don't know how to spell the word!
vplus2001: um
kmartcashier13: I have a feeling this is going to be jal's stupid spencers machine
kmartcashier13: psychic
kmartcashier13: psychadelic
kmartcashier13: psychology
kmartcashier13: yep
kmartcashier13: I am not in charge of any petrie dishes projected onto the walls
kmartcashier13: hello?

vplus2001: arrghghh
kmartcashier13: what up
vplus2001: getting tech support
vplus2001: on mac mail
vplus2001: from stevie
kmartcashier13: fun-ness
kmartcashier13: melting dolls has exceeded her bandwidth
vplus2001: huh?
kmartcashier13: I tried to visit a sec ago
kmartcashier13: thats whats I gots
kmartcashier13: you should come hang out here
kmartcashier13: I'm bored
vplus2001: at the warehouse?
kmartcashier13: oh yeah
vplus2001: "ware" the hell is it??
kmartcashier13: downtown
kmartcashier13: luckie street
vplus2001: it's an apartment?
kmartcashier13: its a big ass warehouse
kmartcashier13: a whole floor
vplus2001: and what are people doing? why are you there even when there's no party??
vplus2001: stuffing confetti in the paint guns?
kmartcashier13: yep
kmartcashier13: i'm on the internet
vplus2001: goddamn this is so irritating
vplus2001: problems galore
kmartcashier13: free alcohol here
vplus2001: what's the scene like over there? give me an idea, I'm not walking into a trap.
kmartcashier13: There are literally only 4 people here
kmartcashier13: people are moving things around for tomorrow
vplus2001: is there a ping pong table?
kmartcashier13: some people are coming and going
kmartcashier13: theres an elevator
kmartcashier13: theres a rood
kmartcashier13: roof
kmartcashier13: oh, wheelchair jousting!
kmartcashier13: did I mention the free alcohol?
vplus2001: ok
vplus2001: here's the deal
vplus2001: Rippy needs to meet with me to talk about some situational things
vplus2001: I'll be hearing from him soon
vplus2001: and I will do my best to persuade him to go
vplus2001: I think I will be successful in my efforts
vplus2001: if so
vplus2001: I will call you for more details
vplus2001: if not, I will tell you here
kmartcashier13: how soon will said situation be going down?
vplus2001: soon
kmartcashier13: 10 4.
vplus2001: there are some uncertaintie sthere
vplus2001: I'm not absolutely sure
vplus2001: b¨t it's the best guess
kmartcashier13: I'm going to the restroom. be right back.
kmartcashier13: Oh and i'm also going to smoke so it may be a bit
vplus2001: ok
kmartcashier13: i have returned!
vplus2001: sorry
vplus2001: my mac mail WORKS
vplus2001: finally
vplus2001: but expect more email from me in the future to come from a new address
kmartcashier13: ok
vplus2001: for off-work hours
vplus2001: when they come along
vplus2001: what e-mail address to you have access to?
vplus2001: I want to test it!
vplus2001: I tested it w/another from the same domain name
vplus2001: Want to test externam
vplus2001: external
vplus2001: ok
vplus2001: ok it's on it's way
vplus2001: its way, rather
kmartcashier13: i'll check!
kmartcashier13: just read yr blog, btw
vplus2001: Blogger has been giving me headaches
vplus2001: there were like seven thigns I tried to blog yesterday
vplus2001: and they didn't publish properly and were lost
vplus2001: this isn't a template issue
kmartcashier13: works...all work and no play
vplus2001: it's a blogger issue
vplus2001: good
vplus2001: wonderful news
vplus2001: this changes EVERYTHING
kmartcashier13: @youlovethatshit.com?
vplus2001: you love that shit
kmartcashier13: sure do
vplus2001: exactly!
vplus2001: www.youlovethatshit.com for more
vplus2001: it's literally the funniest thing on the face of the universe.
vplus2001: it's actually just relaunched
(edited for violent/sexual content)
vplus2001: yeah
kmartcashier13: what is that icon, btw?
vplus2001: a coworker
vplus2001: no significance to it
kmartcashier13: have you talked to rippy?
vplus2001: no
vplus2001: I'll call him now this is getting out of hand, it's freaking eleven thirty
kmartcashier13: early
vplus2001: i mean, I'll call him now...while it's still early
kmartcashier13: yep
kmartcashier13: I have nothing to blog...maybe I'll blog THIS ENTIRE CONVERSATION
vplus2001: let me look over it first...
vplus2001: ok
vplus2001: ok

Friday, December 26, 2003

Being a child of divorced parents, Christmas day is over and yet my Christmas is only halfway over. Long live dysfunction! So far I got some Gucci and this fuzzy blanket thing that my mom insists my bed cannot go one more second without. I'm like a long lost Hilton sister, with my Gucci and that blanket. To the liposuction machine!

Thursday, December 25, 2003

The superflu is not super. It is, in fact, anything but. So far Christmas is sucking pretty hard core.

Monday, December 22, 2003

This just in! Aussie rockers "jet", have rocked southern california
mtv correspondents are estimating their effect was a 6.5 on the rockin scale.
(courtesy of jal)

I now have a livejournal.It's mostly for my friends who don't read this blog. All my fictitious ramblings shall remain here, so stop panicking.

Anyone know what goes in a casserole?

Man, I did some blogging yesterday. Don't know where that came from, exactly. Grey matter, anyone?

Sunday, December 21, 2003

The Pocket Travel Guide to Misguided Philosophy
Part 2: Vacationing in the Waiting Room

Enter you, upon seeing another: "I guess we got the same directions." "You don't know?" "I know my directions led here." "You know the directions because you wrote them." "I did? I can't recall, exactly." "Don't blame you. It was buried in the subtext. Remember the forms?" "There are always forms." "Are you going to sit?" "I'm easily distracted. It might take a second." "It's the patterns. Blue chair. Orange chair. Blue chair. Orange and again." "Which should I sit in?" "They are all the same." "Genetically speaking , of course." "No they're really all the same. Every time, everywhere. The color repetition. It's easier on everyone." "That explains the deja vu." "Where did you sit last time? The reason for the deja vu, there must have been a last time." "Blue." "There you go." "How long have you been here?" "I either forgot that long ago or recently. It's unclear." "I have to be back at a set time." "Yeah, I did once." "How long ago?" "You lose track." "Derailed?" "I got comfortable." "It happens." "It's the patterns. One two one two, chairs, tiles, pretty soon you hear patterns in the ac ducts, even in time passing." "Nobody wants a shock." "My paradigms are rigid from inactivity." "I should write it on my hand." "You can try." "Do you have a pen?" "Here, take mine." "It's how I keep track." "I used to make mental notes." "This pen doesn't work." "The consonants and vowels just started separating." "It doesn't matter, I dropped it." "That's when I started counting." "I was wondering about the tiles." "Forwards, backwards. Then I started adding. I subtracted. I multiplied. Then I discovered division." "Percentiles." "Exactly, with a slightly modified mathematical symbol." "I remember." "I'm currently searching for infinity." "How brave." "Uncharted territory. Someone should plant a flag." "But there aren't enough tiles." "How many numbers can you place right of the decimal point?" "However many you can stand, I guess." "And each time the number gets smaller but never completely diminishes." "Infinity is nothing?" "No, it's the process of getting to nothing." "That's an important endeavor." "I have a grant. You never told me why you are here." "I was trying to go somewhere else, but the directions kept leading here. The directions can't be wrong." "That would mean..." " I know, let's not think about it." (pause, thinking about something else) "You'll never reach infinity, you know." "That's exactly what I'm proving." "Goals are really what makes it all worthwhile. That's what they say." "We must keep the same company." Curtain. Repeat, as needed.

Some parents read their children bedtime stories. My mom read me the dictionary. I think that's where the problem started.

The Pocket Travel Guide to Misguided Philosophy
Part 1: Now Available! Day trips to Absolute Zero.

Find absolute zero on a map, upper left hand quadrant, half-finished key. Take the straight line route from here to there where every inch between the thumb and index represents a shift in brain activity. Say that straight line routes are pragmatic, require no thought, operate on one dimension. Say a straight line doesn't carry luggage, too much dead weight, say it before your metaphor becomes lost in transition. Halfway there, check your mirrors. Already halfway there but still here, billions of us, working to shift from random to organized. You can call it a mess, once you find the voice box. These people look through us like two more worker bees clearing away the dirty dishes. This is in between, mid cell division, mid train of thought, mid circular logic, the temperate zones, no opinions, just lifetimes lost in pursuit. We are racing towards a theory, stumbling, back at start. Red on red, where blood begins freezing and snapping. Stop trying to make sense out of nonsense, logic out of illogic, thinking everything into submission. When illogic is all you have you create using illogic. When chaos sets in it infects organization, it kills comfort, it brings planets to a screeching halt. When evolution has nowhere left to go it moves sideways. We are here building ramshackle homes for our own fossils.

"Is there anything to mix this with?"
"Hold on, lemme check the fridge....orange juice and-"
"Hand me that cranberry juice."
"That's actually grape juice."
"That'll work."
"You'd mix vodka and grape juice?"
"I like grape juice."
"I don't see a knife."
(enter swiss army knife)
"Vodka, grape juice and a lime?"
"Do you want a lime?"
"In a screwdriver?"
"I like limes."

exit bar.

Say you find yourself bored at a hipster party in a confined space. 99% chance "House of Jealous Lovers" is playing. What to do, what to do. Spill some beer in a walkway. Watch people fall. As the situation escalates (i.e. people drink more), strategically place objects over spilt beer. Banana peels are the best but if you don't have any just stand around and wish that you did. Because that would be pretty funny, huh? Stand back! That excessively studded belt is gonna hurt when it hits the ground! When you get bored with that watch your ex-boyfriend feel up every girl in the room. Because that's pretty fun too.

UPDATE! : I am still drunk.

Saturday, December 20, 2003

Here is a picture of me wearing leather. It does require imagination.

...and continued
page 109

The first date. The first car. The first day at college. Marriage. Children. They call them watershed moments for a reason, and I was determined to find out why. Little did I know that the hardest part of this endeavor would be locating my nearest watershed.

Excerpt from the autobiography of Josephine Drake, who does not exist.
page 58

Upon exiting junior high one asks oneself and possibly those in earshot if there is anything worse than junior high. Yes. Of course there is. One could leave junior high only to discover that one's house is for sale and one's parents now live somewhere completely different. One could discover that this is in fact some sort of survival tactic planned out by one's parents to find one's new address. One could panic upon realizing that they could have moved anywhere on earth, subsiding only after one realizes that parents do not have passports. One could wonder how the property value could possibly be altered by leaving your belongings in the backyard, only after discovering location of said belongings. One could contemplate assimilation into a new family, one that allowed consumption of most major food groups and did not refer to one's fear of the microwave "irrational." One could think of the hours of uninterrupted espionage, the acceptance of a one-page manifesto as a history essay, and the complete freedom to choose one's own brand of dryer sheet. One begins to contemplate tearing down the wallpaper and putting in the much-desired dumbwaiter. One begins mental blueprint of dumbwaiter, and exactly how many winecoolers can be transported for safekeeping in the basement. One imagines sneaking into alan's car with a newly fashioned friend and drinking said winecoolers, and one thinking that one way streets are, in fact, a suggestion and only designed for people who live in the first dimension. One can imagine an ensuing fiery crash and the news report being used for years as a bad example in drivers ed, to the point where the clothing looks laughably out of fashion. One imagines a class laughing at fashion instead of fire. And then one turns around to learn that one simply had the wrong house, and that one's parents were not moving but simply existing as they were yesterday when they decided you no longer needed a map. One could curse the original architect of split-level suburbia. One could decide to leave a paper trail in the future. One could decide to get a lot of paper.

Friday, December 19, 2003

The answer is, yes I do have something on my mind. Except I can't discuss it in front of mixed company...it's why I'm on the computer in the other room instead of mingling with the party-goers. Lets all be more cryptic!

There's no 13th floor in our building, as in many buildings, and therefore no 13th floor button on the elevator. But, if you visit the service elevator there is a button for the 13th floor. Way up at the top. Above the button for the 21st floor, which is nothing but giant air-conditioning units. It's a mystery, one I was going to solve until I learned that it's impossible to get that button to light up. Ok, mystery stopped in it's tracks. But someday when I get around to it I will solve it. It's kind of a pain in the ass to get to the service elevator. I mean, you have to use your access card and everything.

I don't mind the band "Pretty Girls Make Graves." I listen to it on me i-tunes and think "hmmm...this isn't so bad." But then my stomache begins to knot up for some reason. Why is this? My disembodied head likes it but my stomach doesn't. I guess each of my body parts has it's own musical tastes.

Thursday, December 18, 2003

I can't imagine ever saying "I've got it! We'll name our son Kiefer!"
Not out loud, anyways.

Excerpt from the autobiography of Josephine Drake, who does not exist.
page 2

I suppose they forgot to tell me that I was born because I didn't realize it until four, maybe five years later. The first three years are so remarkably obscure that I can't help but think that my parents involved me in some sort of brainwashing, the kind of brainwashing that teaches children to react favorably to shiny objects. Occasionally there would be dixie cup apple juice and bland cookies. I thought all the storybooks were real like encyclopedias or phone books. I guess whoever read those stories to me must be dead by now, because only the elderly could tell a story that convincing.

Wednesday, December 17, 2003

Just tell your roommate that you finished off his bag of cool ranch Doritos because you were smoking pot. He'll understand.

Anorexia. The Anti-Drug.

And speaking of stupid anti-drug commercials, those Truth ads? Truth.com? They were not done by a group of kids who actually have strong feelings against tobacco. Those kids are actors hired by an ad agency who won a shitload of advertising awards for those ads.
Those copywriters and art directors don't care about kids not smoking, they just want to win awards.
Ad awards are a whole other thing...some people in the industry live for that shit. How many people actually know that they give Cannes awards for ads? -yes, those Cannes, the bastard child of the film awards. So you get that great dream job at (insert "good" agency here), then what?
Eight months in the industry and I'm already jaded.
Monday night I'm supposed to go to my creative director's house and do tequila shots and watch the Cannes reel. Me and the fourteen boys in the department? I'm giving it an hour to turn into a Halo-fest. If the other girl in my department doesn't go then I'm out, especially since it'll probably turn into ultimate fighting at some point.

For the twenty-billionth year in a row, I am going to have no one to kiss on New Years Eve. (and I don't mean everyone falling over each other in a drunken mess where lips might make content with some portion of my elbow). I know it's stupid like Valentine's Day, but it would be nice, for once.

Last year I spent New Year's Day with Allen and Sam and Marcus riding around Decatur looking for something open, and it was really one of the first times I hung out with those kids. Which is odd because I've hung out with them so many times since. I love those kids because they're fun and funny and incredibly loyal, whether you're moving or been screwed over by some asshole or numerous other situations. Kristin, too. Big ups.

Have fun in Amsterdam. Wish I could be there. Sometimes having a full-time job sucks.

A bit of Christmas buying insanity advice: If you are at Wal-Mart and have in your cart a microwave, DO NOT attempt to take it through the U-Scan. Because you cannot lift it on your own. And even if you can, there is no angle on earth that's gonna make that bar code hit that scanner. Even if the really nice girl behind you helps. And the U-Scan "cashier" says "you have all these bar codes on them you have to scan the right one" (when you know full well that you didn't put them there). And all the other lines are god-awful long and some old people behind you are complaining about how Wal-Mart is making so much money by only keeping two lanes open. And even if you have a kickass timex digital indiglo watch in your cart. Usually I enjoy a good trip to Wal-Mart but usually I don't go during the Christmas rush, and usually I go at two in the morning to wreak havoc. Actually, I only had fun there when Sara and I went to collect "EVOL HIGH" supplies. Every other time I either get hit on by some creepy guy or get hit on by some other creepier guy. I recall playing over and over again with a Presidents of the USA toy where when you pressed the George W. Bush button it said "leader of the war on terror." We pressed it about 50 times and found it hilarious each time.

My mom has big plans for us to see "Mona Lisa Smile" and make cookies, presumably not at the same time. While it sounds good in theory, I'm going to guess it dissolves into an argument in about five minutes.

A good portion of my extended family thinks I work at CNN, even though I've told them otherwise. Okay, granted my workplace is a series of initials so they're halfway there. Eventually I'm just going to give up and let them think that. I'm an anchor. But you have to watch all the time or you might miss me. Hey, I might actually get an educated political discussion out of this! Or just more bigoted mid-Alabama rants.

My mom won't let me argue with my ultra-conservative family members, no matter what they say. It can get really annoying.

Where did they get CNN from?

I have since had my caricature drawn and eaten some licorice candy and possibly twisted my ankle in the ensuing sugar rush.
In other news, I think V+ might have actually passed out at the computer judging by his response rate.
Someone might want to check on that.

Rat Zapper? Isn't that a metal band? Nope, it's what they're selling up on my banner.

I'm currently having an IM conversation with myself.

I'm actually insane.

Can you handle the fun?

Did anyone catch the new Conan last night? You know, that show where I get most of my information on what's going on in the news? (just kidding, that's the Daily Show) Conan did one of those tv screen "lips" interviews with Bush that was one of the funniest ones I've seen in a while. Conan asked Bush how he was planning on finding Osama, and he said he was just going to wait outside the same hole. "If the terrorist hole ain't broke don't fix it."
"Ace of Spades"
"Col. Mustard in the Conservatory with the Candlestick"
"Whatever you say when you win at Scrabble."

"There's a place that's not on any map. They call it 'Woman Island' and I'm it's only chap!" ~Conan

Randomly found this during the search for Conan pics:
"Transported to a surreal landscape, a young girl kills the first woman she meets and then teams up with three complete stangers to kill again." ~ TV listing for the "Wizard of Oz" in the Marin, CA newspaper.

I think my favorite movie title ever in the history of movie titles has to be "Mother, May I Sleep With Danger?" And the made for tv movie doesn't fail to dissapoint. I think Tori Spelling's in it, but it's been awhile so I can't be sure.

Tuesday, December 16, 2003

I can't decide whether or not to order this. It costs a whopping 32 dollars, but keep in mind that the first song is "Bohemian Rhapsody."

Grape Kool-Aid would be ideal right now.

Monday, December 15, 2003

I just spelled "Dostoyevsky" right on the first try. I am so proud of myself I just do not know what to do.

Sunday, December 14, 2003

The roadmap to freedom, which was actually lost about twenty rest stops ago, has led us into a giant hole.

Note to self: stop construction on own hole immediately.

Attempting to name our emocore band without leaving the kitchen.

The Forks
The Dirtiest Dish
The Soysauges
The Blenders
The Unidentified Smell

Reaching periphreal hallucinations.
But I can't miss one second of this hot beard-combing action.

I enjoy writing sentences that would be a nightmare for a fourth-grader to diagram.
I hope casual readers realize that the "autobiography" entries are supposed to be overwritten and nonsense, and not at all like an autobiography. Otherwise I probably look like a really bad writer.

Hey, if Burroughs were here he'd maybe say the same thing. Or maybe shooting up in the bathroom. Like the owl says, no one will ever know.

Excerpt from the autobiography of Josephine Drake, who does not exist.

April 1st, 2001

I'm not entirely convinced the IRS exists, or at least that it exists as one entity in one building. There must be at least two buildings, one for all the conveyor belts and giant calculators and one for paperwork. If this mystery network of agents insists I keep all my paperwork, including receipts, I'm just going to pull the rubber and glue comeback and insist they show me all their paperwork as well. We'll see who's glue then!
Of course if the IRS actually doesn't exist they automatically become glue because that makes their whole "tax" theory (or scheme), a shamble.
I don't question where the refunds come from. I don't question a lot of things, but I especially refrain from questioning free money magically appearing in my account.
I've been trying to keep better financial records, so every bit of information I gather regarding taxes or how to get more money so high quality items are not beyond my grasp goes straight into the notebook. Number one: writeoffs. Somehow the key to more money. How remains a mystery buried in mathematics. If I were clever enough about such things I could say that technically "finding" and "adopting" are the same thing. And that "puppies" and "broken television sets" require the same amount of maintenence. And that "puppies" and "babies" weigh roughly the same. And conclusions would be met! I could be rich. Math could work for me, proving the age-old saying true: "Math. It can work for you!"
Should I put my apology in writing? I can't find all my reciepts and I'll admit it, IRS, sometime I never even requested a receipt. Sometimes upon pulling up to the gas pump I haphazardly pressed "no, I don't need a receipt," thus keeping my transaction a secret between me and pump 10. Should I find that pump and beat a receipt out of it? Can I be responsible for my actions when the IRS is contantly breathing down my neck, watching my every move, censoring my letters home?
So far tax season is proving to be the worst season and I think we all know how I feel about summer. I feel I'd be leaving important information out regarding taxes if I didn't mention how close I'm getting to the perfect cocktail of medication. They say any day now. I take comfort in their vagueness, or will once I do a thorough background check.
This will prove important later. I didn't know it at the time, but I certainly do now. As does the IRS department responsible for fielding complaints and foriegn objects.

I've been watching CNN for awhile now and they keep showing footage of people dancing in the streets of Iraq. This one guy's been doing the "swim" for several hours. Every time they cut to his crowd there he is, doing the swim. It must be the only dance he feels confident enough to exhibit.
Me? I'd be doing the electric slide, as it is the official dance of unearthing evil dictators from spider holes.

Thanks, cnn, for giving me the opportunity to throw around words like "spider hole."

It's very odd to hear about Saddam's capture at an afterhours party, and then spreading the news to others.
"I guess that justifies the war."
Yeah, I just didn't feel like getting into a discussion about that particular reaction.

(insert some thorough political examination here)

(because it's damn 7:30 in the morning)

Operation Red Dawn? Wasn't Harrison Ford in that movie?

Saturday, December 13, 2003

I think Meatwad said it best: "Can I go swimming? CAN I GO SWIMMING?"
My car had a slight collision with a parking-deck pole this morning. That was really only a matter of time, considering my poor judgement of distance. Nothing serious, a small(ish) crack in the front bumper. It adds to the crap-fest charm that is my car.
But still. It's Saturday and I'm at the office and I ran into a pole already and now I want a sandwich.

Friday, December 12, 2003

Oh, okay. Never mind, then.

Thursday, December 11, 2003

Me and Sebastian, who rocks it out as only a cat can rock it out.

Why are there two ads for getting rid of moles at the top of my blog? I don't recall ever writing about moles. Maybe they ran "espionage" through the synonym finder. That seems like a lot of work, though, doesn't it?

I should join a band, and cram something else into my schedule. Because, honestly, 2 hours of sleep a night is just not enough.
I've written, like a hundred commercials today. Only one features slugs and salt shakers in a war to end all wars. And that spot is going to get killed, mercilessly, like a slug cowering under a salt shaker.

Wednesday, December 10, 2003

Check it out, this blog is going to belong to a 13 year old for a minute:

Boys are trouble, aren't they? Rather.
I need a guidebook. For me, that is, not for boys.

Aaaaaaand over.

Now we can get back to espionage and existentialism.

I wish I had something significant to write about.
Like foriegn policy. Or espionage.
But I write ads for a living, and it's not as glamorous as you may think.
Or may not think; I don't live inside your head.
My friend Geoff called today from NYC, from his desk at the ad agency in NYC.
I might go up there for the Rufus Wainwright show in February.

Yes, I like Rufus Wainwright, and you probably didn't know that. It would be nice to see him in New York. Hell, it would be nice to get out of town for a bit. This weather is bringing me down, man!!! (though I know it's no better anywhere else).

Now, whether or not to go see Placeabo...

I don't buy that someone with a heroin problem can get things done, especially things of such a grand nature as saving the U.S. from a fate worse than death, or something like that. Do you hear me producers of the show 24? I don't buy that for one second.

TV is a magic box.

Of all the Pavement albums, "Brighten the Corners" has to have the most obscure lyrics, especially "Type Slowly." Maybe I should do a Pavement lyric of the week feature, and have everyone guess which song it's from. You know, for all 4 people who read this blog. Any takers?

(one of us is a cigar stand)

Tuesday, December 09, 2003

You know what this blog needs? More pictures of me.
So there you go.

Now, I'm off to watch my requisite Tuesday nite TV.

I don't know if you guys ever actually go through the "blogs of note," or whatever on the blogger home page, but this is from that list. I don't even know if it's true.

Ladies and gentlemen, The blog of a London call girl.

Interesting stuff, especially if you enjoy reading about sex.
And who the hell doesn't?

Aaah, the annual Flying Biscuit Christmas party. This year seemed a bit tamer than the previous two, considering no one broke a limb or even threw up on the floor (or at least not before I left). It's kind of lost something now that I don't work there anymore...

Kristin and I sang "Bohemian Rapsody" a la karaoke. We were the last performers and certainly brought the house down in a blaze of glory. It was almost magnificent, just how bad it was!

But open bar. Damn. Not a good idea for some people.
Not me; I was driving and responsible. But for some people. I mean, damn.

The headlines on netscape news this morning:
U.S. Rep. Convicted in Killing
Woman Kills 5 in Red Square
Boy Dies in School Bus Stabbing
Dru's Blood, Knife Found in Car
Victim's Kin Spare Killer for $1M

Jesus Christ.

Monday, December 08, 2003

Sunday, December 07, 2003

Here the beginnings of an idea I had for a short story, maybe around ten excerpts or so (though I doubt I'll make it past two):

Excerpt from the autobiography of Josephine Drake, who does not exist.

April 16, 1987
One tends to remember unfortunate encounters with flora, and remember them either quite well or rather vaguely. Or not at all, depending on the species of plant. Because I was only seven some details are obviously fuzzy. Others are sharp. The sharpest of all being the complete erradication of the last remaining honeysuckle plant of the season by a sugar-mad group of third graders, leaving us with nothing to fulfill our need for trace amounts of sugar in the afternoon.
Blame it on our poor knowledge of botany. Blame it on a suspect batch of stew at lunch. Either way we somehow reached the understanding that not only were azaleas edible, they were at least ten times more delicious than honeysuckle nectar. And they were pink, which didn't hurt considering the large number of second graders known to consume frosting by the tin.
Perhaps if I hadn't been distracted by the sight of a nearby game of red rover slowly turning into a clotheslining deathsport for the weak, it would have been I that consumed enough azaleas to kill a small bear, or perhaps even a larger bear. The larger bear would most likely have to have an azalea allergy in order to die, because larger bears probably eat whole rose bushes without the slightest bit of indigestion. At some point in my life I hope to study bears and perhaps publish a dissertation on the relationship between bears and their digestive systems.
The poor kid who did finish off an undetermined amount of azaleas was later found wandering the halls muttering about how he was trapped in the body of a chicken.
And that chicken was trapped in the body of a famous basketball superstar. A very sick famous basketball superstar. It didn't help that we had yet to learn responsibility, and that resposibility meant dialing poison control and not just a random seven digit number. One isn't just handed responsibility on a platter. One has to earn it, with multiple mortgages and a relatively clean credit record.
I think we all learned an important lesson that day. Start building credit early. Credit card companies don't know you're seven, especially if you tell them you're thirty-four.
No, that was the lesson we learned several months later when I became the first person in our class to charge my Swatch. And my seven other Swatches.

Plantlife can be ruthless. Plants feel no mercy, because they have no feelings due to lack of a central nervous system. Photosynthesis produces oxygen. Not love.
That particular azalea bush was destroyed by the fire, but not before tasting my cold dish of revenge. Which probably tasted a lot like fire.

Second grade was a good year.

I hate Christmas shopping. I hate it so very very much.
I hate standing in line at Starbucks. Because you need caffiene to determine which colors match.
I hate how much Anthropologie charges for everything.
I hate people who can afford to buy presents from the Apple store.
But most of all....
I hate that song "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus."
I hate all Christmas music, but that one really sticks in my craw.
Alias twinkletoes, next time you want to go shopping you can take alias v+ with you.

Beige and darker beige do not match.

Oh god. I have to wrap someday.
Maybe this year instead of wrapping I'll just hide all the gifts and let people find them.

Friday, December 05, 2003

Aussie Girls Story
Squirrels with Coffee
OrchidSex - The is a smal...
Jah Jah Dub
Growing Pains
The blog of doom
Brownie com Sorvete
ageing as exile?

These were the 10 most recently published blogs a few seconds ago. Out of all those, you wouldn't think "Squirrels With Coffee" was the one targeted towards young gay men. But it is.

If I were to audioblog, it would sound something like this:

3:30 pm:
So yeah, I'm sitting here in this chair. It's pretty comfortable, I guess. Kind of a greenish color. Not really seafoam green, more like a pea green. I think it's adjustable, but I'm okay where I am so I haven't tried to adjust it. I might get more coffee in a few minutes.

3:35 pm:
Bill just walked in and asked where Chris was. I said check the pool table. He said okay and left.

3:43 pm:
I just got some more coffee. Dark, one equal. I don't like milk...wait, what? What was that? Oh, they were looking for Bill. Sometimes people call out for Bill and I think they're saying Jill so I respond but it turns out they weren't looking for me. They were looking for Bill.

3:50 pm:
Well, I just filled out my timesheet.

4:00 pm:
Fifteen. Fifteen tiles.

I love waking up and having a message from my friend Sara on my machine. It just makes the day that much better. I'm visiting Seattle again soon, I promise. I wish I could just stay there indefinitely, for I am in love with that city. Stupid having to have money.

That graffiti in the bathroom at the Earl? That's ours. The squirrels, evol high, evil cats.

To the moon!

To the arcade!

My comments work. Everybody do the joy dance, all together now.

My friend Geoff has a new charity he's very excited about. I would let him tell you himself, but alas he lives in Brooklyn and not in this blog:

For those who don't live in New York, or those who do but don't
recognize me on the street, I'm part of a charity called Mustaches for Kids. It's
sponsored by the Make-a-Wish Foundation and basically a group of guys
get together every year and grow mustaches. When someone says, "Are you
growing a mustache?" You can respond, "Yes I am. It's for charity. Would you
like to make a donation?" By drawing attention to ourselves we draw attention
to a good cause. We meet every Wednesday (at the big styrofoam cup so you
know it's all business) and pool our money. Why am I telling you this?
Because I want a piece of your paycheck. That cold hard cash you've been stowing
in a cookie jar or under the mattress. Do you really need that latte today?
Are you ever going to wear that tacky Christmas sweater you've been eyeing
at the mall? Is that new car a necessity or are you just saying that
because you look good in leather seats? Seriously, if you can afford a buck or
two and the stamp to mail it that would be great. And remember it's going
to help a bunch of kids who would be forever grateful. But if parting with
a little spare change makes you uncomfortable, just think how I
look...less like Burt Reynolds and more like a French exchange student. Cash is
great. Checks are perfect (make it out to Make-a-Wish Foundation). If you live
locally I'd be happy to meet and pick it up. Otherwise just mail to the
address below. My one last plea is that it ends December 16th so we
have to get the money it by then. Thanks for your help! This is an official tax
write-off charity so if you need a receipt let me know. And the next
time you're watching a Magnum PI rerun remember you're helping a kid make a

p.s. Anyone who donates is invited to a gala on the 16th where the best
mustache will be picked by judges and the amount of money raised will
be announced. I'll send the details if you're interested.

Thursday, December 04, 2003

My favorite part about "Queer Eye?" The running.

Whenever they leave the SUV to go to Emporio Armani or wherever, for some god unknown reason they run. My other favorite part? The random black guy. Huh? It's the ol' Darrin switcharoo. God. I need better topics.

So you may be asking yourself, what happened at that mountain house, anyways?

Norma Jean the dog wore a wig sometimes.

So did this pineapple. This pineapple later met an untimely death by way of butcher knife.

Meanwhile, I pretend to djdj by standing.


Jal put on as many pieces of clothing as possible, which turned out to be eight, thereby proving the theory that a person cannot wear more than eight pieces of clothing at one time.

And Chad made a tater-launcher!

Somewhere there is a deer walking around the chi-chi gated mountain community of Big Canoe with a potato lodged in its head. And that makes me smile, when you really think about it.

Tuesday, December 02, 2003

Q: Cinnamon or nutmeg?
A: Cinnamon is a nice spice people are comfortable consuming throughout the year, sprinkled either on toast or in a delicious coffee beverage. Nutmeg is a nasty, gritty substance that wants nothing to do with us in the spring or summer but demands our favor come November, only to disappear to the back of the shelf for another year. Why do we continue to accommodate this so-called seasoning? Nutmeg is a stupid jerk.
-from McSweeneys.net

Ben Kweller makes boring music. He's like a boring version of Weezer. I'm so bored with him. Boring, boring, bored. Let's all sing a dull song.

Oh, yes.

Monday, December 01, 2003

Now I'm frowning. I have my reasons.

Someone I work with has more R.E.M. on his i-Tunes than me. This situation needs to be remedied, and soon.

In other music news, I now feature "Lyric of the Week" under "on rotation" down below my links. I guarantee "shake it like a polaroid picture" will never ever be a lyric of the week.

Yeah, I know. I haven't been posting much lately.
The reason, however, is three-fold, so that should make you happy:
1. Aqua Teen Hunger Force DVD has kept me rather occupied.
2. Lack of internet access in North GA mountains.
3. Pie.

"Reports that say something hasn't happened are always interesting to me, because as we know, there are known knowns; there are things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns -- the ones we don't know we don't know."
-Rumsfeld, news briefing, February 2002.

Tuesday, November 25, 2003

"War with hipsters. Trustfund babies should not be allowed to own records.
Enough said." -Jennifer Trezza, who will be performing with The Prids Saturday nite at Lenny's, presumably for a bunch of hipsters.

Monday, November 24, 2003

Last night I saw credits roll near the end of my afterhours dream and everyone was playing themselves and I was a supporting character in small print. Except it didn't end with credits because I tried to hide on the stairs and in the bathtub and he said "if you say a word twice does it lose all meaning? Try it." which killed any lingering romance. If it were a real movie it would be depressing the way wood panel is depressing under bad light.

Friday, November 21, 2003

Ok. Maybe it's just me.

My friend Sam wrote this:

To the editor of People in response to the article concerning the sexiest man alive.

Dear Editor,
This letter is the first of many that you will be recieving I am sure.
While I do not subscribe to your magazine I do occasionally see the
cover while at the local supermarket. It was just last night while I was
picking up some Vitamin B-12 I noticed the cover to your magazine. I
must say that was as far as I got. After reading the words emblazoned
on the cover that stated Johnny Depp was the sexiest man alive, I went
into a panic. I got a little dizzy and my mind started racing. I screramed
at the lady behind, "Hold me, I think I may very well be dead!" She
looked at me with fear in her one good eye and fled to the frozen foods
section some twenty yards away. "Can you see me?" I asked the cashier.
After he tried to kick the bejeezus out of me, I threw a five on the
floor and ran out of there clutching my B-12. As you might imagine,
the bus ride home was just as strange. Surely these people can see me, I
thought to myself. Yet, like a ghost, I sat silent at the back of the
bus. It took me quite some time after I got home to realize that I was
alive, and you, sir, had made a horrible mistake. I do not know
whether it was the fact you did not know I was still alive or the quality of
your research department had slipped greatly. In either case someone should
be reprimanded for the error which dashed my sexiness onto the rocks of
uglification. I have started a grass-roots campaign to get a recall
vote going and be forewarned, it is quickly and quietly gathering speed.
Like a riptide of radiant beaty against a wave of withering sexiness this
procession will spread throughout your readers and leave them demanding
a recall in this illegitimate crowning. I speak for the people, sir, and
with great pride I say, "WE WANT A RECALL!"

Vote Sam!

Thursday, November 20, 2003

Me and Kristin under surveillence.

"Concourse" is one of my favorite words. It's very mod, don't you think?

Wednesday, November 19, 2003

Home, provided I was actually remembering "home" and not a carefully planted facsimile, promised mismatched socks and less-than-glossy backissues.
So driving driving and eventually I end up in a chair, because eventually everyone ends up in a chair. They don't want to explain the chair, or explain themselves in the chair, because even after years and years of French kings named Louis trying to glam up the chair, a chair remains inherently boring.
"Of course you could, say, trip over the chair or throw the chair and then you really have something. But my god. Furniture. Is it really worth the effort?"
"Well. Beds, probably. Posturepedic."
We were trying to layer topic on top of topic and still retain coherence, scattering "uh-huhs" and furiously bobbing heads. Trying to remember where we lost track proved dangerously close to migraine territory.
But there really is no better way to spend a Sunday morning, into Sunday afternoon, into Sunday evening. Because we did after all have what in common, and had who in common and could throw around names and places in record time. And motivation! like a poster, like a sad motherfucking school counselor. Yeah, everything's on fire sometimes. Just give it a day or two.
Every time is like coming back to life, like coming back to life after a small death, just look away or you'll see how scary a blank stare gets.
She likens it to the pull-cord bringing the living, breathing, talking true-to-life as it gets doll back to life so it can kick and scream it's little cord out.
"Just don't let it get stuck." Too long alive and the doll begins to think everything is real and everything can stay magnificently real. The cord rips, she falls too fast. It hurts.
"I'm fine. Really. God, I hate metaphors. Why do I spout metaphors? Shit."
Feet. One. Two. Still there. Excellent.

"I've got a fever. And the only prescription is more cowbell."

Tuesday, November 18, 2003

Maybe I'll shake it up and become the female portion of a female/MALE DJ team. We'd be called DJs Steve and Edie. And if anyone asked, that's Steve McQueen and Edie Sedgewick to you.

From McSweeneys.

A N���O P E N���L E T T E R
T O���U M L A U T .

October 13, 2003

Dear Umlaut,

You think you're so damn cool, huh? Just hanging out, chillin', above all those vowels. You're all, "Ooh, look at me, I'm a chic umlaut. I make girls' names look modish, like Zo� and Chlo�, and I rock with strung out '80s metal bands!"

Well, guess what? You're only an umlaut if you're modifying the pronunciation of a singular vowel, like in "F�hrer" or "�ber." If you're stressing the second of two consecutive vowels or one that would usually be silent according to common English usage, you're just a plain old boring dieresis. How 'bout that, you na�ve jackass? God, you're such a poseur, umlaut. You're nothing but two measly dots. You're a Eurotrash colon lying down. Nobody thinks you're cool.

Josh Abraham
Kew Gardens, NY

There really are no words to describe how wierd and funny last night's Captured! by Robots show was. It was some sort of musical (death metal, mostly) reenactment of the Ten Commandments, starring J-Bot as Charlton Heston as Moses and the other robots as the supporting cast. Interaction sort of went as follows:
"Let my people go!"
"No! Fuck you!"
"I said no!"
Hopefully Jal will have the pictures up soon so I can post some on here.

Monday, November 17, 2003

Anyone else notice the larger and larger amount of bad/uninteresting photos on the "most viewed" list on fotolog?

Does bashing The Hiss and watching episodes of Sex and the City count as productive? If so I had an incredibly productive Sunday.

Friday, November 14, 2003

The hipster trend of two-girl DJ "teams" is nauseating. They usually just stand behind the turntables looking bored, because they are bored, because they're too good for all this. Get a motherfucking job.

Don't look at me with those puckered lips.

I now have pizza. Life is ok.

Thursday, November 13, 2003

Melting Dolls has the Designing Women Quiz. I am blatantly ripping her off as I bring you the WHICH GOLDEN GIRL ARE YOU? quiz. It don't get much better than this, folks.

I also have huge hair.

If you're gonna eat lunch at a small airport, make it "Downwind." (don't ask)

Wednesday, November 12, 2003

Nobody but nobody is on AOLIM today. And that's a shame. A damn shame.

I'm listening to "Up" right now. It's not that bad. Actually I kinda like it. Yeahhh...then again you have to take into account that I'm losing my mind one healthy cell at a time.

Is anyone still angry about the assasination of Lincoln? Becauce the folks at Cingular sure think so.

Today I paid 5.99 for three bites of noodles. I'm such a rock star, wasting food.

I had to sit down this morning after blow-drying my hair, because I used up too much energy and got tired. Fuck. Can I sleep on this desk?

It sucks when there's someone in the world that hates you so much they can't stand to be in the same room as you.
It sucks even more when you don't know why they hate you.

Monday, November 10, 2003

This is soooo good.

Saturday nite was my friend Kristin's birthday shindig. And oh what a shindig it was! I always enjoy an evening that ends with someone hanging a giant satellite dish from the ceiling. Chris said he was going to hang all his furniture from the ceiling. I told him he could be like Christo, except with hanging.

That's me (looking fabulous...I wasn't actually drunk at all) and Carrie, who is mentioned in the AJC article on Friendster (she calls it electronic crack. I'm suprised the AJC printed the word "crack").

Saturday, November 08, 2003

He had read "The Stranger" at least a dozen times, judging by the dog-eared copy that managed to find it's way across the floor and into my hands. He could quote Camus. I could quote Ayn Rand. Our so-called intellectual conversations were a complete joke, the funniest part being that I didn't necessarily agree with or even like Ayn Rand except that my Libertarian father forced "Anthem" into my hands as soon as I put down The Babysitter's Club.
"And I certainly have no interest in architecture."
I was never ever going to find time to read his favorite book. I was going to remain a disappointment, not wanting to redeem myself at these late stages.
It's a funny thing, being responsible for someone's self-torture. No one trained me for that growing up, not at any stage, not in any capacity. For months a storm cloud had been gathering in the corner that no one wanted to talk about, and we stare at the ceiling, at the floor, anywhere anywhere else.
You stay on your side of the bed, I'll stay on mine.
Don't think I'm not grateful for your contributions to my nomadic lifestyle.
But none of that funny business, okay?
"Do you want to go get some coffee?" Oh god, not coffee. Coffee requires traveling time, cooling time, drinking time, and I'd probably end up paying for both cups. (It should be noted now that some people study cheap like science, and become so good at it that no one really even notices.)
"I have...crap. To, um, do." It wasn't awkward, it was just time. I scrambled for my shoes. I was sleepy, and in party clothes, and was stumbling to my car. This was definitely not in the plan.
My upper hand needs to be slapped, I kept repeating, until it became a bad song lyric or bad grafitti wisdom. Write it down then tear it up.
And the whole time Camus was baking in the passenger-seat sun. Maybe I'll just read the last five pages.

Friday, November 07, 2003

An example of how flawed the new system mentioned below is: When I try to send or reply to e-mail, it takes at least three minutes from the time I press the "send" button to the time the e-mail actually gets sent. In the meantime the computer freezes and is rendered completely useless. My art directors' computer has the same problem. Both of us mailed help desk Detroit and got the same answer: "We fixed that problem last night. There shouldn't be anything wrong with your computer." But...but...there is. Clearly there is something wrong. And replying to that message takes another ten minutes. If we could only, I don't know, walk around the corner to HELP DESK ATLANTA for some help than I wouldn't have this problem. But no. We have to go through Detroit.

Thursday, November 06, 2003

Flat Stanley visits Ari Fleischer! More at White House Dot Gov

Today has been a BAD DAY. That is all.

Wednesday, November 05, 2003

I'm on a rampage. A blogging rampage.

Best game ever.

Latest incarnations of goth:


I can't wait one more dang minute for my new supercomputer. And here's why: It's gonna be one of those tiny mac laptops with OSX. CD and DVD burner. I-tunes with apple store compatibility. My computer probably won't freeze fifteen times a day. And last but not least, it won't take 3 hours to access the V+ and Melting Dolls blogs. Which I have determined is solely the fault of my slow-ass might as well be Commodore 64 computer.

This morning my art director and I decided to download some of the songs from the first Stone Temple Pilots album. You know. Plush. Sex Type Thing. etc.. I'm not sure why.
It really took me back to my days of being a flannel-wearing 8th grader.

Tonight I complete the Cremaster Cycle. 4 and 5. Then I'll stop talking about it.

Tuesday, November 04, 2003

Road to hell is paved with unbought stuffed animals. Not my fault.

Monday, November 03, 2003

Excerpts from Halloween weekend:

1. I dressed up as a Golden Girl. Over the course of the evening all the other Golden Girls mysteriously dissappeared. People kept asking me if I was Southern Baptist.

2. Cremaster 3. Trying to completely understand that movie is like trying to understand the relationship between Matthew Barney and his subconcious. And I barely understand my own relationship with my subconsious. I think I got some parts of it, but I'd greatly appreciate it if someone would please explain the potato part.

3. MJQ, Saturday nite
Me: Halloween would have been so much better in Athens.
Gavin: Yeah, but that's Athens.
Me: Uh-huh.
(Proceed to dance to OutKast and The Rapture, proceed to competely lose voice)

4. I coughed so much last night that my new landlord probably thinks I have tuberculosis.

Sunday, November 02, 2003

It will have him in it, and her, and the other two hims. The setting is somewhere unremarkable, within the city limits, managable. Never straying too far from the issue at hand, exploring subcategories on a superficial level. Politics, being a subcategory for any number of topics, might be brushed aside at any moment. Some people lack class. Some subjects are taboo. Halfway there is meaningless. Three-fourths is stupid. Likes and dislikes will be assigned accordingly. Every word counts. From now on, when people question my ethnicity I will tell them that I'm half sperm, half egg, and billions and billions of cells coexisisting in relative harmony. Yep, that's a definite keeper.
I have a notebook, but no pen. A pen, but no notebook. Oh well. The stock ticker I call a brain moves at breakneck pace, too many ups and downs. Eventually this one will cross again, in two hours or two months.
Midway point- stretching across the floor I was hoping to be mistaken for dead. Then maybe someone would scream and break the monotone vocal buzz. Because that's what people do when they see a dead body. They scream. Nobody was screaming. I was beginning to think maybe this crowd wasn't adequately prepared should this have been a real emergency.
Every single one of his stories seemed familiar. Did anyone else feel that way? Was I just being polite? Should I save him the trouble of reciting the ending?
"Does this count as meditation?"
"It counts as sleeping."
"Well what the hell counts as meditation?"
"I think you have to reach a higher plane or something."
"Higher plane? On this higher plane, is everything pink with sprinkles?"
"You might want to ask someone with actual religious tendencies. Or hippy tendencies."
They could talk and talk and talk and information would stay on this plane, my plane, one dimensional, the line from nerve ending to nerve ending. Seven years old, Sunday school dropout. We were instructed to talk to Jesus. Jesus would then talk back. We as students would then relay information to the class. What the teacher never told me was what Jesus sounded like.
Was Jesus the voice from the breakfast cereal commercial? The one reciting multiplication tables, or a one-hit wonder? Was he one of my characters from the stories I made up, wrote, and destroyed? Was he simply random dialogue? I looked around the room. Everyone else seemed to know exactly what was going on. I panicked.
And made something up. I knew I wasn't crazy. Religion was crazy. Motions, nothing but.
Going through the motions requires no special skills or training.
It has nothing to do with brainwashing.
It is a means to get a full night's sleep, and maybe a nap in the afternoon.
"I need more sleep."
This needs a once-over.

Thursday, October 30, 2003

There is some sort of sickness slowly attacking my sinus cavities and throat. It is the opposite of fun. No matter how sick I am, I'm still going out for Halloween. Mark my words. I'm not staying inside for the best holiday ever.

Apparently if I had stayed past the Electric 6 after party at Lenny's weird and wacky things would have happened. Alas, the 9-5er.

My blog is now the color of chocolate. Or poo.

Two phrases I've been throwing around recklessly this week: "contingency plan" and "tort reform." (originally I had this spelled "torte reform" but I think that's a pastry. Or not. I actually have no idea which is right, which is kind of sad for the 7th grade spelling bee 4th place champion).

Wednesday, October 29, 2003


Tuesday, October 28, 2003

The blogaverse (blogniverse? blogauniverse?) is getting smaller.

My blog is now the colors of my new bathroom.

Junior Senior really really want you to remember that their name is "Junior Senior." It's in every song. At least 10 times. Fun show, but I really expected Junior to be the crazy one, when it was in fact Senior. Some guy was standing behind us was wearing a shirt that said "I'm Rad." It was a lie. It should have said "I'm lame."

Monday, October 27, 2003

Belle and Sebastian rocked it out hard core! I don't know if I've ever been in a wilder pit!

Ok, one more for the masses: they're malnourished emo kids. They break easy under mosh pressure. Alright, that "joke" is officially retired. I told it twice last night; the second time I didn't even realize it because I was so lacking sleep.

Also, I was so tired that I couldn't figure out how the bathroom stall door lock worked. And there was a line. It was embarrasing.

Bad guys with French accents aren't all that threatening.

Thursday, October 23, 2003

Last night I dreamed (dreampt?) that R.E.M. was playing another show in Atlanta. So I went and it was just a football game. Then I woke up.




Wednesday, October 22, 2003

Damn. Now I'm sad.

Tuesday, October 21, 2003

Finally! Someone else sees the corellation between Radiohead music and a thousand-foot ice cream cone. (I'm not sure if I spelled "corellation" correctly, or even used it in the right context. Which is kind of sad for a writer.)
Anyways, it's an amusing article about 5th graders' interpretation of Radiohead.

"Kill Bill" ROCKS.

Monday, October 20, 2003

God, people can be such morons. This weekend I had conversations with:
1. A guy who saw no point in voting, yet was endlessly critical of the government for no discernable reason.
2. A (different) guy who was absolutely convinced that Arianna Huffington was the porn star than ran for governor. He also thought that there was only one debate for that race, period.

And you can't convince stupid people otherwise.

ALERT! It turns out that California is the best state for giant scary babies hovering over the Golden Gate Bridge.

Saturday, October 18, 2003

I NOW HAVE AN APARTMENT!!! (double thumbs up, big cheesy grin)

Friday, October 17, 2003

Well, I got nothin. It's raining, I want to be at home, and traffic is gonna suck.
Other than that (thumbs up).

Thursday, October 16, 2003

Best food review ever.

Ever forget where the letter "M" is in the alphabet? Like when you're trying to listen to an album in i-tunes that starts with "M," and you just can't find it? I think I need to repeat kindergarden, with special emphasis on "left vs. right." (not the political tendencies, the directions. i've always lacked the instinct for left and right).

Worse prescription drug side effect: heart palpatations or anal leakage?

Wednesday, October 15, 2003

"At My Most Smart"
"Trivia, Lower"
"I'll Take the Onion Rings"

DIY publishing now underway. Coming soon:
"Your Dress Code, Explained!"
"How to Build a Robot Out of Everyday Office Supplies."
"Breakfast Recipies of the Future"
"Breakfast Recipies of the Future II: Junky Edition"

Monday, October 13, 2003

Well, if everyone else is going to review the R.E.M. show...

For a review from CNN's employee of the month, and someone who knows R.E.M. way better than you, see the V+ blog.

For a song-by-song breakdown and shirt-by-shirt clothing removal analysis, see the Hindsight blog.

However, if you'd like lessons on how to dance like Stipe, you've come to the right place!

First of all you'll need music. And you have to understand the lyrics to dance to the song. We suggest something simple for beginners, maybe "Losing My Religion," or "Man on the Moon." Do not, I repeat DO NOT attempt these steps to New Adventures in Hi-Fi. We've had several people end up in the hospital as a result of attempting to discern "E-Bow the Letter."

First, raise you're right arm in the air. Now the left. Now yell something. It doesn't matter what. "Cool" or "Fire" will do this fine. Louder, now, they have to be able to hear you in the back. Rub your stomach until it gets creepy. Now jump. Higher!

Ok, now that you've mastered jumping, it's time to move on to running across the stage. Pretend you have no bones in your legs. Now run! to stage left. Stop. Stare for a second. Like we practiced, arm in the air. Now stage right. Repeat, as needed.

If you should get hot at any time, feel free to remove one of your eight shirts.

Before we continue, stop and think of some catchphrases that you'll want to repeat when doing this particular dance. Some suggestions are "My name is ___ and this is what I do." or "There is no yesterday. There is no tomorrow. There is only right now at (your nephew's bar mitsvah/club eleven50/the basement)" or wherever you are. DO NOT CHANGE THESE CATCHPHRASES. You'll only confuse people. Oh, and now would be a good time to look up the word "flail"

Now we have come to the "flailing" portion of our lessons. Both arms in the air again. Now flail. Flail! Get those feet going. Who cares what you look like! Choreography is for people without decent songs!

Before you know it you'll be breaking it down to "Imitation of Life."

The show was thouroghly enjoyable, by the way. Not as good as Birmingham, and a bit Hi-Fi heavy, but still good.

Oh, and remind me never to go to another Interpol show. It was like the album come to life. No variation whatsoever.

Signing off,
Assistant Instructor
Miss Parson's School of Dance

Oxycotin? (I don't feel like looking that up to see if I spelled it right) If you're going to have an addiction, Rush, at least get a real one. One where you have at least one story that includes a crackwhore. Being addicted to Oxycotin is like being addicted to Advil.

Thursday, October 09, 2003

Listening to Interpol makes me feel like I'm tipsy in Greenwich Village, living in a better week.
Call me a huge dork, but I'm fucking stoked about tonight's show.

Mark's latest out-of-office autoreply:

I�ll be in Southeast Asia dealing with my garment factories.

It would seem that my half-brother Nguyet Billows (same father different mother) has let the family garment factories miss their quotas for the third straight quarter and it is time for me to throw my weight around. It appears the workers in my factories have been goofing off like children rather than working like them. The person I blame for this ordeal is the head foreman Binh Hai. It is his negligence that has let my factories dissolve into a large pile of manure that poses as a factory making shirts, but instead only makes more piles of manure with Hilfiger labels on them. I would expect this kind of carelessness from a five year old, but Binh Hai is almost ten. What is doubly disappointing is that he has been employed at my factory since the age of four: his nimble Laotian hands making everything from Air Jordan sneakers to Gap cotton chinos. But an example must be made. He�s going to have to go.

Because of Binh Hai�s managerial incompetence, the children in my factory have begun a strike and have made the following demands:

Demand #1: A five-cent raise in pay. (That�s more than double what they get already. Screw that!)

Demand #2: That the workday be reduced from 18 to 16 hours (you want to work bank hours than go work for a bank you little brats! Until then suck it up.)

Demand #3: The windows are to be open in the summer. (They were obviously painted shut for a reason you evil munchkins, so don�t mess with them!)

Demand #4: The doors to the factory are to no longer be locked during work hours. (Those doors are locked to keep them protected from things like, I don�t know, wild angry monkeys and pissed off snakes.)

Demand #5: No more leg shackles. (Now wouldn�t that defeat the purpose of having leg shackles? Idiots.)

Demand #6: We are to no longer be forced to worship your likeness as a God. (I give you jobs and a purpose. Without me you�d have nothing. Now if that doesn�t make me a God, I don�t know what does?)

Honestly, it�s as if they criticize every freaking move I make � �we don�t want this� � �we don�t want that.� For crying out loud, they act like those 4th graders in Pennsylvania I had mining coal over summer vacation. This constant complaining is enough to drive me nuts. And you know what really gets under my skin? All those people who go on and on about how children are our greatest natural resource. Well you know what? That�s a load of crap. Do you know how many kids you have to burn to heat just one house? Well I lost count, but trust me, it takes a lot.

Now lets get back to the matter at hand, the strike at my factory. First off, I haven�t gotten to where I am today by bowing down to the ridiculous whims of my employees. I know for sure I can break this strike. How you might ask? Well fortunately, if there�s one thing I have learned about Southeast Asia it�s that cigarettes solve most every problem. One pack of smokes for each kid and these demands will be forgotten the moment they light up. However, if they refuse my gracious appeasement I have no other choice than to break-off negotiations and replace them with toddlers. Sure it takes two or three toddlers to do the work of one kid, but they work really cheap: usually for stones with smiley faces painted on them. And yes, I am fully aware the toddlers will decrease efficiency, but I figure with what I save in hourly wage, it�ll work out all the same.

I�ll be back as soon as I restore capitalism to the Far East. I should be done by Tuesday.

Monday, October 06, 2003

I saw a trailer this weekend for the movie "Sylvia," based on the life of Sylvia Plath. They called her "the century's most powerful voice," which seems like a bit of an overstatement. Not that I have anything against Sylvia Plath. I read everything she wrote in high school. It helped shape me into the breezy upbeat person that I am today. But still...the century's most powerful voice? Maybe in the top 20.

Speaking of depression, the Radiohead show is tonight. I've never seen them in concert. I hope they rock, and it isn't the live version of "Kid A."

Did I just pseudo-diss Sylvia Plath and Radiohead in the same post? I'm sorry, high school self!

Is it wrong that I laugh quietly to myself every time I think about Roy vs. the tiger? I'm going to feel awfully bad if he dies.

Friday, October 03, 2003

Bathroom grafitti is a perfectly valid form of literature.

My roommate and I are going to make shirts that read "Strung out on Steve," with pictures of famous Steves on them. The original idea came from a Steve Perry song called "Strung Out," but we've decided to expand it to other Steves, such as Steve McQueen. Any ideas?

I have to move in a month. Where to go, where to go.

Top Spice really is top spice. You should go.

Thursday, October 02, 2003

When did Lenny's become so hipster? It seems like that's the only place to go Friday nights now. I can't decide if it's good, bad or just wierd.

Monday, September 29, 2003

Hmm. My friend moved to Chicago yesterday. Which makes me sad.

But I found out they released one of the Cremaster cycles on DVD. Which makes me slightly happier.

Saturday, September 27, 2003

I went ahead and added some links to blogs I read semi-regularly. I don't actually know any of these people (except for blogaventure, who I've seen walk through the room SEVERAL times, and has a car that will someday fly), but there you go. Soon I will probably be attempting to add you cats to friendster. (I WILL beat Jal!!!...maniacal laughter) I also added Plane Rep, which is a promotions company (group? co-op? commune?) run by my friend Carrie. Her job is so much cooler than mine. Wow, I need to stay far away from the computer when I'm messed up. Luckily the existance of this blog is keeping me from sending friendster messages to ex-boyfriends. Ill-advised, my friends. Ill-advised. I really do want to know what's with the make-up. Because it's just plain scary is what it is. Is what it is.
On the positive side, I did get two modeling gigs today. That almost never happens. And by almost I mean never.
Alright, off to Jackie's birthday party. I love dancing.
Oh, and sorry about any friendster testamonials written in or within the surrounding hours.

Thursday, September 25, 2003

God, I am so freaking tired. Rediculously tired, even. The R.E.M. show last night was awesome, though, and completely worth the loss of sleep. Instead of writing anything comprehensive myself, I'll just direct everyone over to V+'s blog and let him do the talkin'.

Tuesday, September 23, 2003

Headline of the day:
"Now is the winter of our discount tent."

I didn't write that (thank god).

I just looked up directions to the R.E.M. show in Birmingham tomorrow (actually Pelham, AL, south of Birmingham). Get the shotgun ready because the directions include, no kidding, taking a right at the log cabin.

I might make a Falco song play when you open this page. "Vienna Calling," I think.

Well, this is addictive.

Some of the guys at work are going to make bumper stickers that read "My girlfriend is an honor student at Woodward Academy."

Monday, September 22, 2003

Some observations:

I've written more billboards lately than anyone should have to in their entire life.

I'm so glad there's an R.E.M. show to cut this week in half. Otherwise it might be unbearable.

Last night I went to see a DJ spin at Echo Lounge, and I felt old. I then walked over to Raw (R.Land's gallery) to see a punk band and I felt young. Then it started raining and I felt moisty.

Friday, September 19, 2003

I'm going to Circus graduation this afternoon. People keep asking me who I'm going to graduation to see. I don't know. Random friends? It's an excuse to leave work, people. I'm thinking I would make a really good DJ. Not the radio kind, but the 2 turntable sort.

Also, right now I'm listening to "fhqwhgads," starring Strong Bad.

Last night I noticed they used an Interpol song in an episode of "Friends." Interpol seems less cool now, if they ever were to begin with. I'm strictly listening to The Rapture now. Ok, that's a lie. I still love you, Interpol.

What an odd morning. It seems as though last night some young vandal took it upon his or herself to slash tires in our apartment parking lot. For some reason my car (along with one or two others) was spared. The irony being that I need new tires, and the insurance company picking up the bill for it sure would've helped. The chicken bomb is starting to smell. It's going to be lovely in here Monday.

Thursday, September 18, 2003

How much do I like the new R.E.M. video? A lot, that's how. I made my art director watch it, who does not at all like R.E.M. and he even thought the video was really cool. (he later admitted that the real reason he doesn't like R.E.M. has less to do with the music than it does with the fact that he can't look at Stipe for very long.)

This morning I watched Matt Lauer interview David Bowie on the Today Show. It was kind of painful, in a way.

Wednesday, September 17, 2003

I love the band enon. I went to see the band enon last night. I did not appreciate it when the lead singer (who seemed beyond wasted) began berating the crowd. I don't know. Maybe I was in a bad mood.

Monday, September 15, 2003

Do you think the Carbonas argue before every show about who's pants are the tightest?

Mark's new automatic out-of-office reply on his e-mail:

I�m currently out of the office as I�m going to my high school reunion.

Yes it�s true. I�m having my high school reunion. Which should be nice, because I was home schooled and this will be the first time I will have seen my parents since college. My Mother and Father have told me to look at them as teachers and not as parents on this occasion, being that this is a school function and not a family one. They�ve even insisted that I call them Mr. and Mrs. Billows and that I wear a one of those �hello my name is� stickers so they�ll know who I am. Certainly, most people have never been home schooled and some, if not all of you, are probably interested in how my home schooling was different than your own schooling. So I�m going to quickly describe it for you.

My home schooling was probably typical of any school. I had extracurricular activities just like you did, for instance I was yearbook chairmen, class president, and captain of the chess club. I also had a senior prom, which consisted of my mother, my father, and myself standing around a punch bowl. It was a good time until my father saw me dancing with my mother and hit me with a beer bottle. I think that whole episode is why I went from an A to a C in his history class, but I graduated from Billows High, that�s what my parents called it, and started looking at Colleges. I applied to several Universities out of state, all of which sent back very pleasant letters if it were not for the word rejection repeated several times. I did however get an acceptance letter from Billows A&M, which strangely enough was located in my very own basement. I felt quite fortunate for the acceptance as I hadn�t even applied there, but the letter explained, and I quote, �Your advancement through the prestigious Billows High as well as being under the tutelage of the fine teachers who grace that school is qualification enough for you attend our college.� So I packed up my stuff, said goodbye to my parents, drove around the block three times and then pulled back into my driveway where I was greeted by Professors Mr. and Mrs. Billows.

I was nervous like any other college student upon their first days on campus - you know, about fitting in and stuff like that. I noticed a flyer on the refrigerator for pledging a fraternity. So I figured it was worth a shot. The fraternity consisted solely of my Father at the time and the only pledges were me and Rosco, the family dog. Initiation consisted of doing the chores I normally do, except this time I was to do them drunk. Two weeks later I became a proud member of Alpha Sigma Sigma.

Unfortunately, being an Alpha Sigma Sigma didn�t do much for my social life. We threw parties that basically ended up like my senior prom did, except it happened much more frequently and painfully. Most of my fraternity life was spent in the basement listening to my Dad talk about Vietnam, or Nam, as he liked to refer to it. He�d tell me about all the buddies he lost in places that sounded like food packed with MSG. He�d always start out with something like, �We were in the Migong Delta, and me and this greenhorn private were leading our platoon into the jungle�� Every one of these stories, regardless of how they started always ended with some guy being blown to pieces all over my father. In this particular story it was the greenhorn private. The only thing I could surmise about Vietnam was that if you were within a ten foot radius of my father you were going to explode into a bloody mess and be buried in a shoebox.

Anyway, after telling me how every friend he had died, he would proceed to tell me how I wouldn�t last five minutes in Nam. He would begin by informing me of all the numerous ways I could die in the jungles of Southeast Asia. Imaginary tales of me being shot or blown apart in rice patties, villages, and rainforests made for very stimulating conversations. I of course would counter his scenarios with my own. One�s in which I would stitch up my wounds, or in some cases, regenerate my limbs like a combat hardened starfish, and set out with only a knife and some piano wire and proceed to wipe out an entire brigade of VC regulars. My father hated my scenarios and would scream, �That crap only happens in the movies you jack ass.� But by the time he finished his sentence I had already been shipped back stateside to receive the Congressional Medal of Honor from Lyndon Johnson.

Amazingly, my history classes were virtually the same thing as my fraternity. I spent the better part of my first four semesters listening to my father continually talk about Vietnam. Somehow he believed that all of human history was neatly bundled into a small thied world country halfway around the world. By my sophomore year my mental stamina for this particular conflict in this particular country began to wane. This was apparent to my father who finally accused me of failing to respect the job he did in Vietnam. I replied that I thought killing serves a great many purposes and that there should be more of it. I then went on to say that it was terribly rude of Vietnam to hog most all of the world�s killing from 1966 to 1974. My father took my sarcasm as sarcasm and hit me with a beer bottle.

Besides lectures, many of my history lessons were spent learning how to take apart and then reassemble an M-16 assault rifle until I could do it blindfolded. My father then came to the conclusion that all my final exams should be done blindfolded. Much to his surprise, I proceeded to fail that semester as well as lose two fingers. Fortunately my fingers where reattached. However they put the wrong fingers on the wrong stumps. I wanted my parents to sue for malpractice, but they replied that suing wouldn�t be as humorous as my hand was. And the matter was summarily dropped.

As you can see my college career wasn�t turning into all that good a time. I decided at this point to quit my fraternity and drop my major in history. This began the downward spiral of my college experience. Eventually I became depressed to the point that my grades suffered. Plus I started making a habit of skipping classes, which was no easy task. I basically had to hide in my attic like I was Anne Frank. And just like Anne Frank, I kept a diary in hopes that it to would one day be published and become required reading at middle schools everywhere, but before I could get passed my first entry the Nazis busted in. Okay, maybe they weren�t real Nazis, but that�s what I screamed as my parents dragged me downstairs to class.

By the beginning of my senior year I had the distinct feeling my parents were passing me just to get me out of the school. One of my requirements for graduation was to write a thesis. So I wrote one entitled, �You�re both Fascists and here are sixty-seven pages why.� It received an F. I think the spelling mistakes are what did me in. Anyway, because of that grade I failed to graduate from Billows A&M. However, several months later I was given an honorary degree on the condition that I move out. I agreed, and that was the extent of my home schooling.

I�ll be back after the reunion.

Friday, September 12, 2003

Maybe I should stop leaving my house.
Maybe that's the problem.
Yesterday I felt like getting a real fruit smoothie, but I wanted company as well. I wasn't sure who to call so I ended up listening to Kraftwerk instead. Nobody is not on fire.

RIP Johnny Cash.

Thursday, September 11, 2003

Friendster is evil. It sucks away time and inflicts unnecessary pain.
It's nothing but a hipster clusterfuck.

Tuesday, September 09, 2003

Went and saw The Sounds last night. Very rad. Very dance-able. Very hot. Swedes are hot.

On a happier note, I think I must repel men. Just, you know, in general.

Friday, September 05, 2003

Good name for a smartass death metal band: Sarchasm.

There really aren't any convincing modern-day beats. Sometimes I have the strong desire to dress in black, smoke opium and just see what kind of creative shit occurs.

I tried it one day, about two years ago during a Kerouac phase. Sans the opium. I was pseudo-beat, at best. It was probably the lack of opium.

I'm going to go to the store downstairs and attempt to have an interesting customer service experience.

My ability to lose important documents is amazing. Uncanny, even.

Clearing up a couple of hipster rumors floating about:
1. A DJ did not go flying through the air as a result of a spat last Friday night at Lennys. Someone knocked someone else down. That's it.

2. The drunk driver at the drive-in invasion only hit one guy in a chair (and a couple of cars). Yes, the ambulances came, but there was not a death race 2000 type massacre.

Thursday, September 04, 2003

And don't for a second think I won't light you on fire as well.

Because I'll do it.

Tuesday, September 02, 2003

Death Race 2000 is now my favorite movie. I just ordered it from Amazon.com, and when it arrives there will be a Death Race 2000 party. Oh yes.
You have to dress like Carradine.

Thursday, August 28, 2003

Oh and one more thing...you must go to the Drive-In Invasion on Sunday nite. The Woggles are playing along with everyone's favorite Ramones flick "Rock n Roll High School." Should be something, if not something better.

Dragon Con is this weekend. DRAGON CON. We were discussing making really bad costumes and trying to pass ourselves off as obscure aliens i.e. "What? You don't remember the Paper Bag People? Well, they were only in ONE episode." Oh, and tickets are stupid expensive so we'll probably just end up hanging around hotel lobbies before eventually making it to Trader Vic's. Everything eventually ends up at Trader Vic's.

Remember how I once said the Baptist convention was convention gold? Well I lied. Dragon Con is indeed convention gold.

Wednesday, August 27, 2003

kmartcashier in tha house.

I am so golded up. But I accidently golded up under "kmartcashier" and not "dehumidifier." So I'll make the transition.

I'm only going to post under "kmartcashier" now.

Formal fotolog announcement to follow.

It seems like I once had something to write about...

Friday, August 22, 2003

elf. powa. give it up.

Thursday, August 21, 2003

More from the office e-mail thread
(names have been thinly veiled)
i won a free lunch from jersey mike's for me and my co-workers. up to 15 people. but there's a godamn catch. james from american express would come and talk to us about investing and iras for 20-30 min while we eat.
i told him we don't want to be talked to, we want to have fun. he said it is fun. i didn't bite.
would you guys want to do this?
i'll go on popular vote, if you do, i'll book it with roy. if not, screw that guy, i'd rather pay $6 and go have fun at lunch.
I agree. I'm kinda a no, on the sell while I eat.
Theres too much of this going on in America anyway.
People in France would never even consider this.
But I'll make an exception if he puts porn in his powerpoint presentation, I'll give you my go ahead vote.
I'm serious.
I've never seen porn in a power point presentation and i think i need to see it.
So thats my requirement.
I'm with Ronald. Pornography and Coldcuts is a long-neglected American tradition.
three layer biscuit porn and i'm in.
I disagree that this lunch could not be fun and am frankly disappointed in all of your lack of vision. Suppose we went to lunch and brought bull horns and heckled this man. Wouldn't that be fun? What if we threw meat products at him and repeatedly chanted,"Cry, Cry, Cry" until he did so. What about that? What if we took him outside and beat the living shit out of him and proceeded to urinate on him, leaving him in a gutter somewhere to die? Fun? O.K. maybe not fun in the traditional sense, but it would make a nice finish to a hearty sandwhich.
ok, forget what I said a second ago. kip's idea gets my vote.
Me too. I'll bring a pipe wrench.
ok. i'll go with kip. but can i still bring some Bisquick?

Wednesday, August 20, 2003

Last night I saw "Sweet Home Alabama" for the first time. (Yes, it was an exciting, exciting night) They did a great job stereotyping everyone from Alabama.
I give the movie two thumbs down, except for V+ and Scarnsworth's performances, which get standing ovations, rousing mid-living room standing ovations.

Tuesday, August 19, 2003

Apparently the crazy kids running things over at wuog have come up with a game worthy enough to be featured on the front page of their webiste. What's up floorbouncewallcrate.

Monday, August 18, 2003

Oh, joy. I get to drive to Douglasville tonight to pick up my birth certificate. Apparently you have to have one in order to get a passport. Luckily I was born and didn't spring forth from a pod like some people I know. Also luckily Kristin'sgoing with, so I won't have to talk to myself the whole time.

Somebody sent this to "All staff" via company e-mail:

I just had to send an email out to everyone (so forgive me if you�re not interested)�

I saw the movie �Open Range� this weekend with Kevin Costner and Robert Duvall and �it was such a well done movie which had really breathtaking lovely cinematography.� No there were no grand special effects, but the interaction and the level of acting between Duvall and Costner was really a sight to behold.� Total understatement.� �If you get a chance, go see it.� I don�t think you will be sorry if you do.�

And then my art director sent this out to everyone in response:

just had to send an email out to everyone (so forgive me if you're not interested)...

I saw the movie �Freddy vs Jason� this weekend with Freddy and Jason and �it was such a well done movie which had really breathtaking lovely cinematography.� No there were no grand special effects, but the interaction and the level of acting between Freddy and Jason was really a sight to behold.� Total understatement.� �If you get a chance, go see it.� I don�t think you will be sorry if you do.�

Thursday, August 14, 2003

This is a pretty good example of everything that's wrong with Alabama.

News Anchor Wonders Where All These Great Stories Come From

SALT LAKE CITY, UT�Midway through a story about new evidence in an unsolved area homicide, KTVX news anchor John Reesen wondered aloud where all the great stories come from. "Yet another gripping investigative report, right here on KTVX," said Reesen, during Tuesday's News At Ten. "Wow. Who comes up with this news?" Reesen posed a similar question to weatherman Gary Yount, wondering who could possibly know all that science stuff.

Last night was karaoke night at Lenny's. Aren't you sad you missed it?

Wednesday, August 13, 2003

A couple of nights ago I went to see Kid 606 at the Echo Lounge. I spent most of the time trying to figure out how to have fun. I'm not really sure what to do at "DJ" shows (or ninja sound artists or whatever my brother calls them). It seems logical to dance, but there weren't that many people there dancing. Hell, there weren't that many people there at all. So I just stood there. With my drink. And my hat.

I just found out that local graffiti artist Totem did the work inside our office. Which is kind of depressing, in a way.

Tuesday, August 12, 2003

I have yet another fotolog. I found a bunch of old pictures and slides at my mom's house and decided to subject the world to them. It's called Prehumidifier.

Monday, August 11, 2003

Last night I dreamt (dreampt?) that my friend was on a ocean liner- the old-fashioned steamboat variety- bound for the south pole. He was wearing a smoking jacket and ascot, sitting on the deck. He was playing chess. There were icebergs in the background. This is probably the 3rd dream I've had in the last month involving traveling in the southern hemisphere.

It seems that lately every time I look at "recently published blogs" there is always one titled "Radio Free (your name here)."

Friday, August 08, 2003

CNN.com - Another gelatinous blob, but this one stinks - Aug. 8, 2003: "The state Department of Environmental Protection poked at the blob..."

It's gelatinous.

Sweet mother of cheese, some coworkers have found the Star Wars Kid video and all its manifestations.

Wednesday, August 06, 2003

TheStar.com - Invasion of the flash mobs
I love this.

Tuesday, August 05, 2003

**Special Feature: Dehumidifier's Ole Fashioned Record Revue**

Recently I've been enjoying "The Fantastic Area" via stereo, but every time I play it at home the cat attacks the boombox.

Monday, August 04, 2003

Since I work in advertising, I figure it's only appropriate that I reference the subject once in a blue moon. Though I highly doubt that no money changed hands. I'm sure somebody somewhere bought someone else a Voss.

From www.adage.com:

Make-believe Ad on 'Sex and the City' Creates Real-Life Sensation
August 04, 2003
By Claire Atkinson
NEW YORK (AdAge.com) -- Absolut Spirits hit the product-placement mother lode last week when its iconic vodka advertising was featured as part of a story line in HBO's Sex and the City. The deal, which did not involve any money changing hands, came together following negotiations between the show's producers at HBO, Absolut and its entertainment agency, Ketchum.

Creating a fictional campaign
Ad agency TBWA/Chiat/Day, New York, which, like Ketchum, is part of Omnicom Group, was drafted to create a campaign tailored specifically for the scriptwriters' needs. The agency came up with a billboard ad showing PR-maven Samantha Jones' struggling actor boyfriend positioned with an Absolut bottle between his legs, with the tagline "Absolut Hunk."
"This is product placement taken to new heights," said Patrick O'Neill, TBWA's group creative director, who said he was inspired by poster campaigns from the '70s featuring Farrah Fawcett in a swimsuit and Burt Reynolds on a shaggy rug.

Digital alterations
Mr. O'Neill said the agency digitally altered the photo to remove actor Jason Lewis' love handles and to obscure a more graphic view that could be seen behind the bottle.
The ad appeared on a New York bus stop, but its appearance within the show as a Times Square billboard was added digitally. Sex and the City message boards on the HBO Web site were full of folks -- male and female -- asking for copies of the "Absolut Hunk" image. Swedish photographer Peter Gehrke, who usually does the photography for the ad campaign, shot the ads.
One of Mr. O'Neill's other ideas for the ads included putting Mr. Lewis in a bubbly bathtub with a cherry in this mouth, the Absolut bottle shape seen in the suds. He was asked to come up with something that would create a bit more controversy.

Not a typical Absolute ad
Absolut's vice president of marketing, Jim Goodwin, said the company leapt at the opportunity to be part of the show. "If we'd dithered it would have been gone," he said. And while it has opted against running the campaign itself, it will capitalize on the huge publicity. "It is not exactly consistent with the campaign, not to mention a bit salacious," Mr. Goodwin said, who added that the company plans to extend the shelf life of the placement by creating recipe cards for a new Absolut Hunk cocktail.
The experience has given Absolut a new appetite for product placement for its vodka. Absolut will also appear in a music video from Nelly and Brian McKnight, coincidentally named "All Night Long."