My dad says he doesn't like Kerry because the only reason he went to Vietnam was to win metals.
I replied with something along the lines of at least he went to Vietnam, unlike certain other candidates. I was going to ask my father (being a Vietnam vet) why he went, but it seemed like a tangent passing a little too close by home, so I veered the conversation closer to Cheney's thunderdome of insanity.
Strange, though, how he's never admitted just how upset my mother claims he became when recieved his draft notice. They were living in Boston, my mom was a telephone operator and my dad played the keyboard in a rock and roll band, and even if that's not entirely accurate that's the way I piece it together. And of course why would you want to leave that story, but they weren't hippies so they didn't go hide in Canada. I can't imagine some of it.
I imagine my trips overseas as landing on some beach in Spain and immediately becoming under the influence of something exotic. I cannot imagine flying overseas for the first time and having my first image be that of dead bodies being shipped back to the states- more dead bodies, my father recalls, than soldiers landing on the ground. Nothing I am doing with my life at the moment can be considered noteworthy or character-building. When my dad called Kerry a "waffler," I laughed because it sounded like something you would order at "IHOP."
It's hard to argue with a Vietnam vet, because I suppose if you've witnessed a massacre you understand the end of everything.

Social Commentary, by The Dehumidifier

I think if I were hungry and had no money, I would make a sign that said: "Feed Me, Else I Will Be Forced To Eat This Cardboard Sign."

I found out this evening that Edwards was in Atlanta earlier today.

Thanks for calling me, guys. I lost what may have been my only chance to get on his hairstyling team.

You all suck.

"Okay. You know you don't have to act with me. You don't have to say anything and you don't have to do anything. Not a thing. Oh, maybe just whistle. You know how to whistle, don't ya Steve. You just put you lips together and blow."

Je Suis France and Oneida at the Earl last Saturday night








In those pictures, Oneida was playing a song by the rock group Oneida.

This blog is doing some rezoning.

Zone 1: ESPNZone
Zone 2: Autozone
Zone 3: Interzone
Zone 4: P'zone

Elections are going to be quite interesting this year, I can just tell it.

I AM GOING TO THE LAKE!

this holly golightly/billy childish album is really really good. i think i shall take it to the lake.

"This rocks, but I wish it would rock so hard that my face would just explode!"

RESULTS OF LAST WEEK'S POLL:



The poll ended in a dead heat between "something resembling a mop" and "the 'Asshole To Your Left Who Keeps Bidding A Dollar Less Than You' beating stick" (shown here with asshole.)

Be sure to participate in my new poll, as seen to your right.

So I'm working this weekend...again. I want to smash something.

Whilst on my morningly drive, coasting at a good 70mph northbound on 85, I noticed that a highway patrolcop had pulled over some poor speeding soul, or had otherwise decided to pull to the side of the road and flash it's lights. Not that it's by any means an odd occurance, it's just what he had decided to pull over which made the situation quite situational.
Ever seen one of those mobile hot dog/sausage/other food item vendors hitched to the back of a truck?
No, he didn't pull over one of those. Not the truck part anyways.
It was just the vendor portion. Seemingly missing the truck needed to make this cart of tasty wares mobile. A guy was standing by the cart, looking perplexed. (or at least the three seconds I saw him he seemed perplexed.)
Which made me wonder what exactly was going on. Had the truck sped off leaving it's cart in the dust? Did someone hijack the truck and decide the hot dogs were just dead weight? Or was this cart somehow self-mobile...and going just too damn fast for the law...
It is one for the ages.

Hey, what the hell are you doing inside? Go make the most of the weather!

BEST MOVIE CLIP EVER.
Just trust me on this one.

VI Phase six.

-Discover Roman numerals.
-You stop obsessing over everyone's music tastes, clothes.
-You quit compartmentalizing yourself and others.
-Figure out "personality" and "persona" are wholly different from each other, and that ever since you were 14 you've been subscribing to the latter.
-Realize that being a white middle class suburban child of the 80's (if this applies to you) means you will never, never, never be "cool."
-You begin to take interests in things you normally wouldn't, or have secretly always liked but were afraid to admit, or secretly didn't think sucked as bad as you pretended to. Like sports. Mainstream television. Or mainstream anything for that matter.
-Admit that your facade 'indie/emo/punk' cred is blown.
-Accept the fact most of your idiotic, self-aggrandizing friends will not talk to you the next time their phase changes.
-Realize things aren't ironic and don't need to be observed.


VII Phase Seven

-Overdose
-Die

As the Bulb Turns

THE EVOLUTION OF SCENE KIDS (as found on someone's livejournal, but i don't think she wrote it)

I. Phase one.
-Discard all Pacific Sunwear clothing.
-Buy all Hot Topic clothing.
-Discard all albums from the labels Epitaph, Nitro, and Fat Wreck Chords.
-Discard your Green Day, Sublime, and Metallica collections.
-Purchase albums by these bands:
The Get Up Kids
The Promise Ring
Alkaline Trio
Taking Back Sunday
Juliana Theory
Saves the Day
Weezer
-Purchase several argle-patterned sweaters.
-Buy horn-rimmed glasses with colored lenses ; pop lenses out and wear as
'normal' glasses. Fake tape on nose-bridge optional.
-Start going to 'shows'. Go to any show, regardless of who is playing. Don't
even pretend to be interested, nevermind dancing or enjoying yourself.
-Leave your hair the same, you haven't yet realized that fashion is crucially
important in a scene that is supposed to promote individuality.
-Join The Get Up Kids' 'Fun Club'; wear the T-shirt you receive frequently.
-Start a band; play Blink 182's 'Dammit' only.
-Change your AOL screen name to 'NFGEmoDood182'.
-Receive condescending looks from people in the following phases.

II. Phase two.
-Realize that liking all the bands whose CDs you have just bought is not 'cool',
because everyone else likes them which makes them 'sellouts'.
-Sell all previously bought CDs and purchase CDs by the following 'underground' bands:
Death Cab for Cutie
Texas is the Reason
Sunny Day Real Estate
Jets to Brazil
Built to Spill
Pedro the Lion
-Begin shopping for clothes at thrift stores and your dad's closet.
-Start a new band; the name should be at least three words. It helps
if one of those words is conspiracy, hope, love, project, or theory.
- Play music that 'can't be classified', meaning that everyone you
know calls it indie rock.
-Most importantly, deny that you ever listened to any of the bands
from Phase One UNLESS you drank too much PBR and ran your mouth.

III. Phase three.
-Realize that the bands from Phase Two are not actually underground.
-Hit insound.com in a panicked attempt to find 'underground' bands.
-Purchase albums (preferably colored limited edition 7"s) by these bands:
Mineral
Orchid
Indian Summer
Antioch Arrow
Moss Icon
The Locust
-Start your own local 'zine'. Use a photocopier at Kinko's to make the
first issue. Never make a second issue.
-Get an online diary. Extra points for your own domain, with a name like
'myheartbleedsfornoone.net'.
-Change your AOL screen name to 'as close to cold'.
-Begin typing in all lowercase letters, and ...like.this...
-You don't love anything anymore. You 'heart' it.
-Quit your band. Bands are lame.
-Berate Phase One people for A) liking 'juvenile pop' music and B) not knowing who
the bands are that you list in your friendster profile.

IV. Phase four:
-Become an 'intellectual'.
-Carry obscure and/or philosophical texts in your used army bag. IE Siddhartha, Dostoevsky, Kafka.
-Become a 'photographer'. Always carry your polaroid camera, because you find things
that most people overlook to be 'beautiful'.
-Make 'collages' with the colors pink and black.
-Talk about going to 'art school' and taking 'road trips'.
-The only CDs you buy are the ones pitchforkmedia.com says are cool.
-Buy music by these bands:
q and not u
Cap'n Jazz
Don Caballero
The Wrens
Mogwai
Neutral Milk Hotel
The Rapture
-Determine that rock music is 'dead'.
-Change your AOL screen name to ' delete radio '
-Inform everyone of how long you have known about your recent musical
selections, which is of course long before they did, and scoff at them for being 'poseurs'.
-Declare that the 'scene is dead', but even if it wasn't, scenes are lame.
-Start a new 'musical project'; classify it as one or more of the following genres
(if you absolutely must resort to something so lame as classification):
Post-punk
Noise
Grindcore
No wave
Space rock
Drone
Shoegaze
-Sound like Trans Am or Shiner.
-Smoke cigarettes (rolling your own is a bonus, cloves take off points);
write songs about smoking cigarettes, whiskey, and other such 'nonsensical'
topics. Love songs are lame.
-Dislike 'other people' on the basis of their inherent intellectual inferiority. Laugh
derisively when they mention their band / their favorite band.

V. Phase five:
-Scoff at the term 'emo'.
-Become one of the following:
a. Indie -
-Get many tattoos, all bad.
-Wear plugs in your ears. 00g at the highest.
-Grow sideburns; always be somewhat unshaven. Beards are a bonus.
-Have a few piercings, but not enough to make you look like you are
pierced to be 'cool'.
-Be in a band. Dislike the band that you are in.
b. Mod-
-Wear a denim jacket, small, regardless of the weather.
-Grow your hair out, just long enough that it hangs down over your
forehead. Bonus for resembling Spock.
-Ride a Vespa.
-Wear a scarf. Bonus for a scarf with a vespa logo on it.
-Be in a 'minimal' band with only keyboard and vocals. Dream of being
able to present your music to Sigur Ros and Yo La Tengo at once.
-Give your band a somewhat French name, preferably starting with 'le'.
c. Hardcore-
-Have 'opinions' on 'important issues'.
-Inform anyone and everyone that you would die at any time for your
beliefs, because you are 'intense' and 'for real'.
-Write lyrics or poems that are emotionally driven, but not wimpy. Talk
about all the struggles you have gone through for your beliefs, and all
your friends who have sold you out. Make frequent references to your
blood flowing.
-Have a band with A) a name that is a single, but powerful word, like
'Indecision' or B) a name that is multiple words, and vague yet ominous.
IE 'The Enemy of my Enemy is My Friend'.
-Talk constantly about how much you hate emo kids. Frequently use the
phrase 'Quit crying, emo kid', as well as clever variations like, 'Hey emo
kid, need a Kleenex?'.
-Wear a hoodie. Always.

Apparently, gorillas now have better dental insurance than most humans.

Onion rings and a root beer float may seem like a delicious meal in concept, and continue to do so even towards the beginning of the eating process.
One hour later, you realize that there is a violent coup going on in your digestive system and that grease has the upper hand.

I blame the onion rings. Root beer floats are too good for this sort of nonsense.

Wow, this is even more painful than listening to me attempt my college Spanish oral exam. And that's saying something, lemme tell ya.

I can't believe only two people have taken the poll of the week. That is just unacceptable.

I like finding files I forgot I had, deciding to throw them into photoshop with the rest of my pictures, and then discovering that it is a ten million step process to turn an excel file into a jpg. Uh huh.

I should really stop asking for everything in spreadsheet form.

In the words of Teen Girl Squad:
I have a crush on every boy.

Oh and also, "Wolves, Lower" was played. And I did flail. Flail!

Pylon??!!! wtf???

Fluxblog has some Je Suis France songs posted. Nice.

Provide your own context:

My coworker just said: "I'm going to go hijack the salami tray."

Pictures Found Whilst Searching the Word "Robot."


Ah, just the way I like a robot...shoddy parts, hasty construction and with a routine.


Man, robots used to be so stupid...sticking their hands on stoves...stupid robots.


There is something very very wrong with this picture, I just can't put my finger on exactly what.


This is like that time my brother's build-it-yourself kit attacked Paris.


This must be someone's idea of a joke.


When sundries attack!


I don't think this guy realizes that having his hand out is going to do little to deflect all those giant arrows headed for his face.


Showroom dummy nazi robot dreamboats.


Ok, if this isn't proof enough for the presence of WMD in the future (when this picture was taken) I don't know what is.


We support diversity!


Oh my god Brad's a robot!


3 bits of action.


Tron is such a turn on, apparently.

Sometimes I wonder when I dial the long-distance access code "123456" who is actually getting billed.

Things I managed to work into the radio scripts just sent to New York:

The phrase "what in heck ramsey was that"
The phrase "middle management"
Kenny Loggins
A one-toned version of "Highway to the Danger Zone"
"Steve's Rockstantinople"
synthcore-metal
people setting themselves on fire
a skull attacking an animal
"Jumbo Rock Tsunami"
ambiance
Inflatable DolphinBuddy
death grip
wild boar
a strong gust of wind a-blowin'
Lord Jeepington Knickerbockers

Now I just sit back and wait for the rejection to roll in. And search for robot pictures whilst doing so.

oh hell i just remembered that it's my dad's birthday. and like the good daughter I am I forgot to send a card or gift or anything.

ok i called. he's on the golf course and basically unreachable.

i'm going to now go buy some cutesy birthday card about being on the golf course and basically unreachable.

I really can't watch this little piece of music video greatness enough.

It's nice to see Electroschnitzel is having quite the influence on people.

fat elvis and skinny elvis are also engaged in a lifelong battle for title of superior elvis.
but when elvi fight no one really wins, for an elvis divided against itself cannot stand.
so I say unite and become one average size elvis!

or one extra fat elvis, depending on your method of unification. in which case I suppose fat elvis would win...

it is so! fat elvis wins!

next week-

kangaroos vs. koalas
austrailia, would you stop hogging all the cute animals and just pick one already?

Tomorrow is going to be great, I can tell already.

Oh don't give me that tone.

Y'ever had one of those meetings where you show up two minutes late and consequently miss the gist of the entire meeting? And you sit there having no idea what's going on and are too embarrased to raise your hand and ask what exactly we're being instructed to do because you don't want to admit that you were the dumbass outside smoking when you were supposed to be gathering together for a meeting? Yeah.
(Almost) everyone I like here at the office is leaving in the next coupla weeks. Work is going to get less fun. Exponentially, like caluculus yo.

On Friday I went to take pictures of the freakshow that is Underground Atlanta. Unfortunately the battery in my camera went dead before I could get all the pictures I wanted. I attempted to remedy this dire situation by waltzing into the nearest photo processing store and demanding they charge my battery on their nearest battery charger. Or to walk in and wait in the corner until the one employee was finished dealing with the loudest, most obnoxious family to ever have their image captured on film.
It was truly one of those moments that makes me proud to be a part of the human race. Not only were they demanding that the poor employee take shot after shot and to know the price of every single piece of crap they could plaster their image on, but they were demanding so in a loud and extremely rude tone. And then complained about the prices, shockingly enough.

Which made me think...

I really want to venture down there with a bunch of friends and have our images put on mugs and keychains and pyjama pants and french horn cases and whatever else we can find to generally annoy people and add more crap to our existance.
I also want to be part of the space race.

Here is a picture I took at this hole in the pavement:



It's the Future Nightclub of the Past! hotttt...

Yet another reason to be proud of humanity:



If the disembodied head of Stevie Nicks isn't allowed to hover over the American flag whilst simultaneously being attacked by a bird of prey, then the terrorists win!

Phonetic Terms Which Are, In and Of Themselves, Quite the Terms.
Words That Make Me, As A Linguistics Geek, Feel Awfully Clever That We Found Them First.
Oh, The Delicious Esoteric Pseudoirony.

Fricatives
Lateral Liquids
Approximate Consonant
Click Consonant
Cardinal Vowel
Diphthong
Epiglottal Plosive
Glottalic Egressive
Monophthong
Near-Close Near-Front Unrounded Vowel
Pharyngealisation
Retroflex Approximant
Triphthong
Velaric Eggressive
X-Sampa
Schwa

I like walking into the main room at MJQ and hearing the cosby show theme song. It made me want to jam it on the one.



God, I feel like I need to read the dictionary or practice my times tables in attempts of retaining the brain power sucked away at the after"party." Can hair product actually decrease your ability to say anything remotely interesting?

cigaretteandanap.ohyes.

I think more songs need someone yelling, quite loudly and quite without warning: "Just look over your shoulder honey!"
The more bloodcurdling the better.

I am writing song lyrics but I don't know why.

Cans of worms are EVIL.
I am going to go make clothes now i.e. try not to sew my finger into anything.

routine brain maintenence..this is rather long and tedious so feel free to skip it, especially if you fancy yourself a skimmer.



Sometimes if I fall enough out of sleep, if my eyes roll back just such and such I can see the folds in my very own grey matter. They constantly abide and unabide according to entropy and blood flow and I cannot keep up. Because when I see it I shake myself out of sleep, because every time I try to sleep even though I am so so tired as i have said I experience such a sudden and terrible dizziness I think I might fall permanently into these folds and never come out. I could get lost you should see it oh everyone would be lost I'm lost and I'm out here. Once I sat straight up in bed it was such a forthright reaction and then I tried to move back and forth backandforth and rockingchair myself back to sleep.

I think the mentally ill who are constantly back and forth like in the country porch swing of that dream and mumble something repeat it and mumble it again are just trying to make it out alive are just trying to sleep.

I don't buy left brain right brain that is just too easy and I never fully grasped left and right anyways. It seemed about a solid a concept as god, and I would have none of it.
I think some brains work like a grid of streets and avenues and besides the occasional wreck or jam they pretty much have traffic flowing smoothly up there. The pharmaceutical industry wants all these little planned communities where we gate out all the unwelcome information into ghettos and then starve these ghettos. The pharmaceutical industry really just wants money of course like a lot of people but they make people sick and make people think they're sick people who just need to stand back a minute and look around.
How many of my favorite lyrics, how much of my favorite bathroom dimlight underfoot graffiti will starve this year?

I saw how Einstein mapped out the universe and can you imagine even! Even in one dimension the lines don't always work out and something gets screwed up, doesn't cancel itself out, or just plain looks off, and he mapped infinity in four separate dimensions and then mapped them all together. Even if quantum mechanics came and blew his grid to hell with microcosmic science experiments we still owe him for the pieces we are trying to link to the other pieces before we can know everything. Once we unify physics and physics we can play god and collect our nobel prize-winning lobotomies. We can win our piece of the heavens at the blackjack table sitting next to james lipton who is using blue cards instead of playing cards but it still makes sense because its not really being televised. Every time I fall in love I will name another solarsystem, I have decided and I tend to do that sometimes.

I think a lot of people operate in that space between. It's a big space, so beyond big as we measure scale, universes are born and give way to gravity's temper tantrums in the space between knowing nothing and knowing everything. The tiny tiny chaos we marvel even works day to day has to align itself so that the one two three four and so on but exactly right until god knows when before one day we just know. And it has to be perfect, even though nothing is perfect so they say once this happens we can look back and say "ok that was perfect. that is the standard from now on."
The biggest catch of them all is that we won't see it coming until the very end, and who knows when it starts or when it ends or if it's already started or if it's ending in the next five seconds. If we are lucky (and it really is pure luck, none of this karma nonsense) some of our used subatomic mess ends up looking down on this planet wearing a goddamn smirk. Just knowing when and where.
But mostly it becomes waste.
I see the future as me and you and the others I hear knowing knowing everything in the same moment we are vaporized to bits. Split the right atom chain and its humanity all at once my god what a long line at the pearly gates if that's what you think of when I mention of splitting atoms. And yes I honestly think that these exponential years of evolution leading up to man what we consider modern, what we call intelligence was all for one moment of understanding for the lucky pools of radiation. Grab a snack you're gonna want to watch this.

Returning now to brainmaps and how I see them without the help of rays (gammaray, xray, manray) and without the burden of logic and how portion a fits to portion b. And how I was numbering the population living in the expanse between giving up and giving intothisorthat. Don't call them culdesacs call them roundabouts because you can get stuck in the middle forever or dabble on the outskirts a second at a time. Everyone is looking for what I've heard named the signified what I've heard named the american dream what I've heard named happy, and they don't know that this restless is all there is.

Contentment in it's purest state must resemble purgatory, because you aren't burdened by the past and don't fear the second in front of the next.

I think the planner in charge of grids and such just forgot to get around to me in the shuffle, which makes sense because I can't keep a days events straight for anything and oh wait what did I forget to do today? Something financial probably I fucking hate moneygoingsons. I don't know what it's like to drive on a map that looks like knotted wire even on paper in the first and by example in the second and by failure in the third and resignation over time. So these folds they're just tangents and I get lost on one and hit another and get lost on another and never find my way back and they move and move like the labyrinth in the movie. People are always coming and going and people are good for those things and some people stay awhile because they are good at this and some people stay awhile because they have always been there in parts due to genetics or due to what they left and some people stay awhile because I force them to even though they are slipping or in pieces and I know it but I can't rearrange yet to accomadate such an absense.
Some people move fast like sound moving over the desert in a since-antiquated epcot adventure representing what we must do to close this gap and yes they are insane. You designed a ride designed for kids, you must be insane or you must be laughing and you better be both.

Some people remember what they wanted and they wanted to be famous they say (or maybe those are the ones we hear).
Or they wanted to be very very good at one thing hopefully a talent otherwise people cry into such a sad pipe dream when really their lives are much worse.
Lookatthebigpicturemygodthedetailsleaveusmundaneandpettyanddon'tyouwantmorebecausethereissomuch-
(But nobody wants to hear that when a one night fuck doesn't give a call or a one night call doesn't give a fuck. There's a reason they don't make me write advice columns.)
Some people just think they want money but not really they just want more and more stuff because they collect layers and masks and armor and cars and stereos and clothes and anything to be quickly judged and not have to deal with it all. That is why people must wear sweater sets and I think j crew might as well change its name to "wear this and no one will care what the fuck you do" Or maybe cammo, cause slipping under the radar is just one mall visit away.

The only constant thing I can remember wanting since I can remember wanting is just a complete or close as possible understanding of what I couldn't quite piece together. I wanted to know where the dinosaurs fit into to all the church stories and how the mythology of the greeks and the planets of the romans fit into the church stories and how other people lived because i didn't know how I was supposed to proceed quite frankly. i wanted to know what the tv people had to do with me and what all this news was and what was real and what they told you was real and the difference and I don't ever remember believing in santa claus. i just thought everyone was in on it and we weren't supposed to ruin the joke.

I wanted to know why I was expected to toil over basic figures when I was really thinking about the infinity that exists between the numbers 6 and 7.
I suppose eventually you'd run out of space for decimals, once you reached the edge of the universe you'd hit it but I'm willing to bet you'd first run out of writing utensils. First whats labeled for writing, then whats labeled for making do, then scratching for depth, eventually writing in your own blood. A body or even two or even a team of bodies only have so much blood but I guess for some people it's worth it. Does logic have its martyrs? Can we grant curiosity a saint or two? Just to see what happens?
This decimal's running straight through the vatican and we're taking all that money marked indulgences and buying enough drugs to forget about the guilt which funded the house that hubris built. You are rich and worshiped they are scared and sleep in the same gutter your piss runs through but they don't care because you are untouched and I just want to shake them and tell them that your robes represent the same theft that capitalism grants the three piece suit.

My god I just want to wake people up sometimes.

When you are or really when I am seven I can't piece it all together like I want and I think when I get older and stronger and more assertive like the strangers i'm grouped with sometimes I would know better and I would know just what to do. I assumed everyone lived by the same paradigms of right and wrong and I was the one who didn't know any better, had to be taught and sometimes I wonder if I made it all up because it remains so buried and has to remain so buried in mixed company for reasons and yes there are reasons. Sometimes I wonder if what happened really did because the gaps are so huge, names, faces the useful believable bit but I still remember where the sun hit the light blue tile and how I wasn't swimming with the others because my ears were too prone to damage and how to keep a secret because maybe if I could keep quiet enough they wouldn't notice I was even around. And my god I remember the smell it hits now and then like a vague punch in the stomach and I wonder how many times and I don't want to think. When you don't know where the line might be and that there was a line and that no maybe this was too far over so much more than the others who were crying on the high dive you do what the line says and in retrospect it is hard to believe no one on that line was old enough to take into consideration, certainly between them they learned guilt or maybe they just learned line mentality. I can't say and I really can't say any of this because it is so overwhelmingly mine, funny how the guilt remains but its a what reason for not saying what you mean to say and never telling anyone and its not so bad learning people are like that.
I think maybe I was just in a movie or maybe just my own movie because I was the only one there who cried which came so easy and I had to stay all day every day until I cried too much and my mom thought I was too shy to make friends and hired a nanny. I think I loved whoever that nanny was because I could sit in the tree and just pretend to be stronger. Everything started to distort and the knots became real but I knew it was me and maybe I should just hide forever.

I think maybe this can of worms is open a bit too much for comfort, even keeping things cryptic makes me hesitant.

I may erase this too soon because I lodged this smack in the middle of a rediculous venue and shouldn't you be saying such to someone with too much education to listen and too much money to care? Sometimes I enjoy keeping life absurd as to keep life anything remotely constant.

Happiness as it is known, sometimes I say it was my naivete before seven and yes probably but then people became scary and vile and I thought they all wanted the worst in you to parade through town and then move onto the next one. I don't remember when I really sorted it out again, when I knew right and wrong in the larger concrete sense and not in the way that just floated an abstract nebulous pain from too many corners to count.
And I remember wanting friends so badly I mean friends that wanted to talk to me and not friends because your moms banked together or because you had the same nanny. No one would live in these knotted wires because every time I tried to speak for myself my mom would say it was wrong and every time I tried to imitate my friends would say I was doing it wrong. They had more stuff more armor and could take all this and I hid in the closet a lot and I dissappeared a lot to where no one knew where I was and just existed.

I began writing on my own accord to make sure a person could be like the people I read about. If I could create someone who wanted to do more than get the most smile points or be the sitcom second man to whoever was considered most liked, then maybe they would actually show up. Maybe if I use this special pen with all this useless junk on it that smells like sacchrine it will happen but usually those pens wouldn't write anyways. And then I would have this useless thing again and mom would look at me and say "look at how much money you spent on something that doesn't work."
I used to cry a bit too much for my own good. It's still a default reaction when something is so overwhelming or sudden. I look back and it is stupid.

I look back and this post is stupid.
I hate sounding self-involved or looking like I'm looking for anything, least of all pity.
I sometimes wonder why I can continue with people after they act in suchandsuch a manner, why I choose to live all the life in me in a short period of time, why I don't care if it's a short period of time.
There is so much meanness and desparation in parts of my life right now that I don't take much personally- I know what chemicals are capable of and if I leave I leave suddenly sometimes I leave suddenly before hitting the ground because I need to be alone first. One time I was hyperventilating and was ignored by the other people in the room (no one who would be reading this is involved or even know these people, pinkie swear), so I know other people sometimes don't act like people.

It does, however, leave the unfortunate side-effect of mistaking any bit of actual kindness for what might possibly be more than common decency. My people-reading-scope is a bit distorted, so you'll just look away and let me go back to adjusting it.

So I am choosing to do this instead of what I should be doing so they won't talk, which is drinking and doing the talking for them. I sometimes feel bars are the ultimate waiting rooms you are dancing and you are marking time.
All I can do is stand aside and try to remain decent and try to remain unbalanced and try to keep it from making me sad.

Because it is just too much sometimes, even too much for sometimes.


I repeat: this post is for no other purpose but routine maintenece. sometimes I have to fly through these corridor and bring back bits and pieces of poorly researched theories and trite backstory but we all have it right I mean we all have to move forwards relatively speaking unless i suppose you're that car from ferris bueller or the carousel from something wicked this way comes but then you risk falling through a sheet of glass or being followed around and heckled by johnathon pryce trying to sell you an infiniti.

i bet halfway through this post you would not have predicted it ending on a jonathon pryce reference. yeah, me either.

hey kshykomedydancer, we should make that last post into a short film.
you are in charge of: actors, setpieces, sound, cinematography, editing and promotion
i am in charge of: poking joan rivers until she falls over and dies.

I bet riding a tandem bike (you know, one of them bicycles built for two) is a lot like using a ouija board. Except queries as to who's moving the game heart become:

"Are you pedaling too fast?"
"No, are you?"
"No, are you?"
"Oh great now we're not even moving."
"You have to concentrate!"
"Why? This bike is a joke! It's nothing but a factory mistake masquerading as a fun two-person activity!"
"Oh just because you can't keep up with simple 7/8 time, even after I gave you several Don Caballero selections to hum so you wouldn't lose the rhythm. Some tandem bike friend you are."
"Hey. Buddy. Turn around for a sec."
"What. What is it now? You wanna complain that I didn't spring for the tandem segway?"
"Have you noticed my lack of knee joints? Or legs in general? Yeah, I'm a goddamn stuffed tyrannasaurus rex!"
"Oh like I've never heard that one before."
"From your talking lamp?! This voice you're hearing from me? That ain't me! That's in your head! I'd say you have bigger problems then immobility."
"Watch it...you remember what happened to my goldfiah bowl."
"Goldfish bowl? I don't remember fish...frankly I'm starting to question the functionality of a stationary tamdem bike."
"That's right you don't remember my goldfish bowl because that goldfish bowl was my former stationary bobsled partner! Until he claimed not to 'possess the abilities to steer a bobsled'..."
"Uh huh. Damn if I could inch I would be inching towards the door right now...down the hall...to the lobby of what I can only assume is either an asylum or George Harrison video."
"Fine. But you can forget about ever making it to the stationary olympics!"
"...either way I'd say it's pretty damn scary."
"So are we going to go on this excursion or not?"
"I guess I could just repeatedly fall on one of the pedals."
"That's the spirit!"
"Point A here we come..."
"Dammit next time I'm just calling Marie Curie. She never complains about physical setbacks."
"And Marie Curie would be-"
"The sample tune from my Casio keyboard."
"Right."


yeah, something like that.

Quelle night!

It seems as though I was drunk earlier.
I am not so much now...

Just returned from a "pool party" (sit-fest?) with Interpol (the band, not the international police).
I am thoroughly chlorinated and less than musically enlightened, though it is nice to walk into a room and be greeted by the lead singer of a band you like with "it's the famous Jill!"
And then me responding with "it's the famous...whoever you are."
There is something to be said for maintaining sobriety, and I was quite sober by then.
Girls can look awfully silly at times, hey lets be like cats all territorial and then complain about how fat we look in bikinis.
I'll be over here, slowly crawling under the fence. Lest we forget my hair is so pretty and red.

Earlier I decided to write a post noting the pettiness of the previous post, but in light of recent events I find it sufficive to say:
I am drunk. Motherfucking mojitos and thier ways.

I just talked to Sara...maybe I will move to Seattle.

Ok i am still drunk five seconds later.

I am going to mjq now. I have a feeling i am going to regret this later.

But hell interpol's there and as big of assholes as they were last time I met them maybe they have since matured. Uh huh.

To mj(ackass) q!

Oh hell, I'm gonna post it on over here too:

Things men have done or said which cause us females to talk shit and name names.
In other words, guys...write these down and try not to do them.

-Leaving a person ten seconds after said person fell down an entire flight of stairs. This is a breach of common decency.

-Stopping mid-sex to ask "what the hell are you doing?"

-Being with a different girl every night out...which is quite often. This applies to many guys, actually. It becomes ridiculously predictable in its unpredictability.

-Forgetting to mention the presence of a girlfriend, even in passing, after talking to someone for what I consider a considerable length of time. Months, even.

-Giving tips on bulimia.*

-Ignoring a girl on her birthday in lieu of a shallow hook up.

-Owning more hair product than me.

-Deciding the best way to break up with someone is to simply stop calling, and then proceed to ignore this person for almost a year.

-And then after a year decide to become a giant mindfuck by hitting on me.

That's all for now, though I'm sure I'll think of more in time. Hell, I could probably formulate an entirely new list after one night out.

*didn't actually happen to me, but does reference one of the guys responsible for other things on this list.

(this is me being passive-aggressive as all get out)

Happy Birthday Carrie!

In honor of your birthday, here is a birthday picture:

Picture Time!
Mostly from Brooklyn, except for the last one (which is a riveting shot of the toiletries at the W).

I have returneth from NYC. I am exhausted. Thanks to eastern seaboard stormfest 2004, my flight didn't get in 'til 3am. Luckily I was well entertained at LaGuardia thanks to the likes of THK at the 'Crat Convention- which was getting prime airtime at Gate 2.
Oh and on the way back from the airport I got pulled over for supposedly running a stopsign (turning right into the Krog Street Tunnel). Which was complete bullshit, because even though I know I stopped there was nothing I could say to defend myself. I'm pretty sure it was just a ruse to look for drunk drivers, though, because he let me go, sans ticket, before I could even find my registration.
But still. The real irony is that I'm always criticizing people for the inablility to correctly follow 4-way stopping rules. Where are the cops then?
Bullshit, I'm calling bullshit.

Some child actors are creepily professional.

Did you guys know that Andrew Jackson sounded a lot like Ted Baxter? Well he did, so if you hear any radio spots that sound like Ted Baxter you will know that we did not make that up.

In the spirit of bandwagon jumping...blog dehumidifier proudly presents:

HOW TO GET LAID THIS TIME NEXT YEAR, WHICH IS IN THE FUTURE!
A step-by-step guide in a ten-step arrangement.

1. First picture yourself this time next year. If you see that you have gained a noticeably large amount of weight and/or see your face covered in the orange cheeto stain, or if you see yourself after having survived a horribly disfiguring accident you probably will not get laid. Not then, anyways. It will take time for your potential mate to warm up to the idea of getting freaky with the victim of a "remote-controlled lawnmower incident" or a "giant pudding refinery incident." But we are talking about the here and now that will be there and then one year from now, and in the future the facts are hard!
2. If you see yourself in such position that a pudding refinery accident would be feasable, you had best give up as well.
3. Ok now that we have thinned the population down to the hookupable it's time to get down and dirty but wait! What about those people who live on a space station? They can't get down OR dirty. Because in space there is no gravity by which to pull you down to the dirt below. And by "those people who live on the space station" I of course mean everyone. Because it is the future goddamnit and according to EPCOT scientists the future is nothing but space. And robots.
4. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO HOOK UP WITH A ROBOT! THEY WILL KILL YOU! AND EVERYONE KNOWS THAT WILL SMITH EXPLODED UPON RE-ENTRY SO DON'T EXPECT HIM TO SAVE YOUR ASS!
5. Say you are in the space station Mir, Mir II, or Mir III (the final frontmir) and you are lounging around in the futuristic CQ-looking bar. You soon realize that you are surrounded by communists, and that communists are usually waiting in line three days for bread. You, my friend, need to get some bread. And that is not a metaphor for money, you need to go down to the spacekroger like the good capitalist you are and buy a loaf of rye because that is your ticket to lovin at least in this neck of the milky way!
6. If I happen to be in your space station I do not like rye. Keep that in mind.
7. Two words: de-pressurize.
8. Again, there is no gravity in space. Meaning big hair is going to get even bigger so use product if you want to avoid looking like some outerspace version of smoky and the bandit.
9. There are a number of brilliant people on the space station that are incredibly essential to the future of humanity, constantly conducting experiments and running tests so as to ensure our contunuing existance, and then there are the people you will actually want to sleep with. Don't get so liquored up that you can't tell the difference otherwise you might be subjected to a two hour postcoital lecture on quantum metaphysics.
10. Remember that in space, getting laid also means running the risk of exploding, especially those quickie "spacewalk nooners." Space is a vacuum. Not the good kind, the kind that makes you explode when you are just trying to get a piece. I mean, come on space. What the hell is your problem? You're just out there being all infinite and shit...We're just a couple of kids trying to have a good time. I mean, seriously. Damn.

I could've sworn I saw The Plug (or his real name, maybe) last night at MJQ but whoever it was remained too surrounded by the ladies to tell for sure. Or maybe I just got distracted by the exhaust fumes from the scooter driven across the dance floor...mmm..nicotine and exhaust.
Alls I know is that I can't stop listening to that damn Janet Jackson voice mail medly. Or subjecting everyone around me to it.

It's a rare day that I let work stress me out more than personal stuff.
This is one of those days. And I've been taking it out on the wrong people, too.
Damnit, I need a weekend. Even the NY stuff is stressing me out. Anyone know what time Marta opens on weekday mornings?

So. Last night I fell asleep at 9pm for a nap and didn't wake up until 9:45am. Again.
Oh, and I am back in the office. On a Saturday. Yessssssarcasm.
A few months ago, (a few weeks even) accidentally extending my nap to an entire night would have pissed me off in grand fashion. Now I'm just kinda well, whatever about it. I don't wanna go out on obligation.
I'm getting a lot of "good for yous" when I tell people about it. Is sleeping twelve hours some sort of accomplishment? Hmm...maybe for me. I'm still sleepy, but hell I've been sleepy since the second grade. Maybe I should stop "going out" altogether and focus on writing, photography and making clothes. Collectively I enjoy those activities more than forced socializing. Goddamnit, it's posts like these that make me feel self-absorbed as all hell. Oh well.
So I'll see you all tonight at MJQ, right?
In the meantime, here is a dress I cut up to look all edie (though I still haven't hemmed it):



the collection grows...

I found Christo's Vespa.



(thanks to guy on fotolog whose name i can't remember right now...not that i got permission or anything...)

Ok, so it turns out I AM going to New York on Monday...early flight in, coming back late Tuesday night. I need to go downstairs and pick up seven hundred dollars.

Perks. They are good.

Raise your hand if you think it's fucking amazing that I am in perfect health. Hell, I'm not even anemic.
Apparently my "deteriorate my respiratory, deprive my digestion" healthy living plan is working. Better than atkins, anyways, but I'm not the one eating a giant plate of bacon covered in cheese.
I'm going to go smoke one in celebration of my clean bill.

Move to the left (that's your left!)
Move to the right (that's your right!)

meatwad has the moves.

carrie says hi.

Decisions Decided Today:

1. A coworker and I are going to run for office on the Whig ticket. Will there be actual wigs? Oh you better believe it.

2. My new favorite musical genre is that of 1960's/70's music from German commercials. Especially those that sound like they could be the soundtrack for "Das Gut, Das Bad, und Das Ugly."

3. I am going to get some candy now.

"I rule you!"
-Travis of the Cosmos

Another hot new release from the department of "What the hell were they thinking".
Those kids and their ways...

Things You Need To Pack If You Are Going To Canada
pants
shirts
boxers
socks
birth certificate
more pants
cargo pants
performance fleece cargo pants
beer coozie(s)
flask
did i say that already?*
pants cut off into shorter pants
short pants!
swimming pants
sleeping pants
capri pants
cigarette pants
silk pants
orgy pants (often the same as silk pants)
"captain pants" uniform

*not technically pants.

Hmm..I wonder how work is going on the Cheney Secret Hideaway Thunderdome..

Oops, I mean-

I wonder how work is going on the Cheney So Fucking Secret Hideaway Thunderfuckingdome...

The Woggles On Adult Swim!
(from a newsletter recieved via e-mail)

Hi Folks!

Cartoon Network's Adult Swim website is doing a big promotion this week to try and get 1,000,000 unique visitors. They've imprisoned their whipping boy/mascott "Hockey Chicken" and forced him to stay on their webcam till they reach their goal.

The Woggles are part the entertainment to:
a. give him release from the never ending scrutiny
b. annoy him unmercifully

The Woggles will play a set on Wed. July 21 at 10pm Eastern that will be webcast live on www.adultswim.com. Go to the site, click on Hockey Chicken and soon you'll find his dedicated web cam.

See ya there!!

The Woggles

So yeah, everyone watch that...

Last night I had a very vivid and very loverly dream about hanging out with V+ and Michael Stipe and then we were front row at an R.E.M. show and I remember Stipe was wearing a hot pink jacket and I think it was in some sort of gothic setting with lots of blues and greens. As it turns out I dream in garish technicolor, or maybe spot color, something that seemed beautiful at the time. I woke up in the middle thinking I was still out of town and had to drive back to Atlanta for work and then I was vaguely dissapointed to be awake.
I know how much everyone loves dream posts and that is why I chose to make it my topic of choice.

Once upon a time, roughly not too long ago and not too short either, I stumbled on the realization (and off of the time I stood upon) that maybe I could feel something for someone else. Something other than that undefinable numbness I'd been previously wading through for mister before, which some called stupid and everyone said call off. Something very very new, and new is something I don't see much of anymore.
No sooner do I realize this than reality slaps me in the face, or maybe just on the wrist since wrongdoings had no time to rear its head. So much for new.
Damn, I am so tired of being lonely, lonely in crowded rooms, crowded dance halls, crowded corners. It is unfortunate I find most people so dull or content.
Meanwhile I'll stay put upon that time, jumping on it both feet now. Waiting, god I'm always waiting.

Electrosluttiness!






More here.

If anyone has any 8mm films they would like to project I now have an 8mm film projector.

I am a proud owner.

(bobble told me to write a record review and i said send me a song)

Artist: b o b b l e
Title: Woolite

This record (or track, rather) is (for some reason) titled "Woolite." It is not fabric sofener. It is music that uses all seven notes (A-G) in a variety of manifestations. But trust me, they are all there. If I told you what order they were in it would ruin the surprise for you. This music is the kind of music that makes me want to collect some plant life. And then divide all my plant life into "flora" and "fauna." And then further break down these two categories into smaller subcategories, noting the biological nomenclature of each. Except I do not know any biological nomenclature, so I would just be making shit up- like "Branchicus leafae" or "Flowerius shrubbae." I would also want to look into performing photosynthesis. I would wear a beret and insist on being referred to as the "Jacques Cousteau of the Plant World." By then the song would be long over and I would have accomplished nothing of note.

It's a long story...

somethingequallyhilarious: I'm assuming you're at work.
BambalanceLance: frayed so
BambalanceLance: holding down the fort solo this morning too
BambalanceLance: only tapes producer on line
BambalanceLance: today
somethingequallyhilarious: wow! all of cnn!
BambalanceLance: until 2p
BambalanceLance: yeah hold on I gotta go zoom the camera in
somethingequallyhilarious: you're singlehandedly running cnn?
BambalanceLance: and scoop out some cheese eggs at hard news cafe
somethingequallyhilarious: you're the anchor, too
BambalanceLance: of course
somethingequallyhilarious: keep running back and forth from show to show
BambalanceLance: and write the scripts
somethingequallyhilarious: good thing you're talking to me
BambalanceLance: well it's a commerical break
somethingequallyhilarious: if i turn on cnn it's just going to be this chat, isn't it?
BambalanceLance: nah
BambalanceLance: this chat is just on the crawl at the bottom
somethingequallyhilarious: HA
somethingequallyhilarious: i bet no one would notice

I feel like an idiot. I'm sorry- I didn't know.
It seems as though every time I allow myself to become the least bit attatched to someone I end up dissappointed. And people wonder why I rarely date.
I am sad right now, but it's less an isolated incident sad then it is an on-top-of-everything-else sad. What to do, what to do...
Oh right, deaden more nerve endings. Sounds like a plan.

Selected conversation snippets from last night's activities.

"I can't believe you would lose something like that!"
"At least I'm not the kind of person who hurls tranquilizers at another person...you...asshole!"

***

"What is that, a dance? What are you doing?"
"Zoobamofoo!"
"What?"
"You know, with the lemur? The one that dances?"
"Right. The dancing lemur."

***

"Dammit, why didn't you tell me there was a tree there?"
"There's a tree there. Try not to open the door into it like you just did, ok?"
"Ok."

***

"Are you out?"
"No, I can't leave until the name-dropping quota has been met."
"Oh god."
"Pretty close, though. I think we might have some sort of record on our hands."

Just revised a radio script using Andrew Jackson as a spokesperson. This is one of those few moments when my familiarity of the term "manifest destiny" came in handy.

The other time was when I decided to claim France in the name of fundamentalist atheism. It didn't work.

Why the hell am I listening to Pink Floyd?

I see them taking that opportunity to leave slipping unheard through the window its like a plot from the first season but season after season and no they don't know.
I feel like I'm caving in. People keep coming and going.

How many of you have seen the classic horror flick "The Re-Animator"? (raise your hands...)
Ok now, how many of you remember that the movie featured a disembodied head in a casserole dish? (ok i guess some of you were making out instead...)
Finally, how many of you find that this blood-marinated noggin' bears a striking resemblance to presidential hopeful John Kerry?


It's creepy in so, so many ways.

And not to cut short my Kerry/Edwards photos, here is what I predict that year two of the Kerry administration will be like:


Hmmm...well at least this way they can keep Kerry alive if that minister decides to postpone elections until the baby jesus comes back to earth and makes the final decision on who gets to be president.
I know, I know, but they swear it's really Jesus and not just Cheney with a fake beard and strong backlighting.

(maniacal laughter)

Someday Kevin Costner will make a movie about all of this.
And good god, the pain.

From now on I shall be known as "Dehumidifier, the V+ of Paper, Rock, Scissors."

And also, does anyone know where I can get the job of Edwards' stylist? (thats Edwards of the Kerry/Edwards duo, not just a soandso Edwards of some other duo.)

Because I really want to be "Dehumidifier, the V+ of Paper, Rock, Scissors and stylist to VP Candidate Edwards and the stars" (but not really the stars, cause i'd be pretty busy on the campaign trail and then its paperrockscissors season again and a girl's gotta rest!)

I should probably start looking for a Caboodles in extra large...taking hair product on the road and all.

[The President calls the Soviet Premier]
President Merkin Muffley: [to Kissoff] Hello?... Ah... I can't hear too well. Do you suppose you could turn the music down just a little?... Oh-ho, that's much better... yeah... huh... yes... Fine, I can hear you now, Dmitri... Clear and plain and coming through fine... I'm coming through fine, too, eh?... Good, then... well, then, as you say, we're both coming through fine... Good... Well, it's good that you're fine and... and I'm fine... I agree with you, it's great to be fine... a-ha-ha-ha-ha... Now then, Dmitri, you know how we've always talked about the possibility of something going wrong with the Bomb... The *Bomb*, Dmitri... The *hydrogen* bomb!... Well now, what happened is... ah... one of our base commanders, he had a sort of... well, he went a little funny in the head... you know... just a little... funny. And, ah... he went and did a silly thing... Well, I'll tell you what he did. He ordered his planes... to attack your country... Ah... Well, let me finish, Dmitri... Let me finish, Dmitri... Well listen, how do you think I feel about it?... Can you *imagine* how I feel about it, Dmitri?... Why do you think I'm calling you? Just to say hello?... *Of course* I like to speak to you!... *Of course* I like to say hello!... Not now, but anytime, Dmitri. I'm just calling up to tell you something terrible has happened... It's a *friendly* call. Of course it's a friendly call... Listen, if it wasn't friendly... you probably wouldn't have even got it... They will *not* reach their targets for at least another hour... I am... I am positive, Dmitri... Listen, I've been all over this with your ambassador. It is not a trick... Well, I'll tell you. We'd like to give your air staff a complete run-down on the targets, the flight plans, and the defensive systems of the planes... Yes! I mean i-i-i-if we're unable to recall the planes, then... I'd say that, ah... well, ah... we're just gonna have to help you destroy them, Dmitri... I know they're our boys... All right, well listen now. Who should we call?... *Who* should we call, Dmitri? The... wha-whe, the People... you, sorry, you faded away there... The People's Central Air Defense Headquarters... Where is that, Dmitri?... In Omsk... Right... Yes... Oh, you'll call them first, will you?... Uh-huh... Listen, do you happen to have the phone number on you, Dmitri?... Whe-ah, what? I see, just ask for Omsk information... Ah-ah-eh-uhm-hm... I'm sorry, too, Dmitri... I'm very sorry... *All right*, you're sorrier than I am, but I am as sorry as well... I am as sorry as you are, Dmitri! Don't say that you're more sorry than I am, because I'm capable of being just as sorry as you are... So we're both sorry, all right?... All right.

metamorphilosophizing
There is a cockroach loose somewhere in my room. God knows where- last I saw it (around eleven-thirty, twelve I believe) the creature had attached itself to the part of my bedspread where the spread itself meets the fringe and the fringe sweeps the floor. Meaning to say it didn't make it very far up the bed but was instead saving it's energy to hang on for dear life, even when halfheartedly swatted at by the business end of one iron power cord.
I stared at the roach for a second, unsure as how to proceed. I didn't want to chase it (as I was on my way out the door). I didn't think I could handle the crunch of a demolished exoskeleton, either, not when my stomach was already a bit off-kilter. I considered remedying the situation in the same manner as the strange bathroom ant infestation of 5?a.m.- 9 a.m., A Week Ago 2004 and dampen the area with ant and roach spray. It certainly deterred that particular bunch of wayward ants, but ants are not exactly the toughest of species. Sure, they can lift an apple like something crazy but one shoe to an antbed and the motherfuckers scatter like hide and seek.
Have you ever wondered whether you would be the sole survivor of an apocalyptic situation? No, of course not. Because it's not the lone John or Mary of Darrin Stevens of the apolcalypse, it's the lone cockroach of the apolcalypse. And if cockroaches can survive nuclear devastation/earth freezing over/four magical evil horsemen, certainly the product developers at Raid had not made a substance that could effectively finish this tiny creature so immersed in man's filth and castoff that it has become immune to what kills us off en masse. And I certainly didn't want to deal with the temper tantrum of a bug aggravated by irritants.
So I let it remain where it was, and left the house. I figure it's made it's way out by now if it's not still plowing through a barely organized pile of "receipts for write-offs, 2004." I’m messy but I don't leave food sitting around, mostly because in order to leave food sitting around one would first have to own food, and my one meal a day (give or take a light breakfast) is most often consumed at or around work.
I like to think that by letting roaches live I will be responsible for saving the life of the one chosen for apocalypse survival duty.
I wonder what a roach would do all day in such a devastated, barren landscape. I would imagine a fair amount of scuttling, that is until yet another fish crawls out of the ooze, evolves into man, and man in turns invents the second generation of shoe.

As the credits roll, we see a high-powered agent is talking to Party Bear.

Agent: The house in Malibu, the cars, the diamond phone, you gotta sell it all baby. You're broke.

Party Bear: Broke? How could I be broke? I have six million dollars in the bank.

Agent: Yeah.. remember how you bought the Six Million Dollar Man?

Party Bear: Hell yeah. (pause) Ohhhhh. And then he ran away. Nobody's catching him.

from Sealab 2021

rock it.

Yeah, Edwards....(i'm a bit slow on the uptake, i know.)
I'll vote for candidates who can make paper fall out of the sky just by raising their arms in the air. (and waving them like they DO care.)



Yep, Edwards is still by far the best looking VP candidate.

Lately I love it when systems go this way or that at will, myself allowing such meander giving up all but auxillary control. Sometimes I think everything is just spinning out of control and I'm watching it from the best seat on the ledge. I used to think more often than not that navigation gone off course was navigation self-healing, now I think shit that map is gone and you didn't even notice.
Yeah, sometimes I love it.
Sometimes I'm overwhelmed by every worst possible scenario, that there is no way out and there is no real change and every option seems like the wrong option because every goddamn door has a tiger behind it. Whatever's happens is gonna be big for someone, and I'm right in the aftershock and I see me in certain aftershocks. I just want to know, for the time being, that everything is ok. I'm just taking count of the lucid and the barely so, I'm just taking a pulse and it hurts like hell.
This morning I put on a sundress and heels because everything else was off.

I had fun last night in Athens, even though the previous might indicate otherwise. Sometimes taking general state of the wellbeing is kind of rough.
I wish I were more energetic so as to take full advantage of the dance floor. I was giving it the ol' half ass, at best.
Good lord, I promise the next post will be decidedly less cloudy.

I think I am going to get some ice cream now.

Friendly service at both Wuxtry and The Grit? This is NOT the Athens I know and love.
I think someone replaced Athens with a robot.
Someone should check into that before that other someone does something crazy like build a Doc Chey's.

Yeah, I've been one giant blogging "don't" as of late...but to make up for it, I shall leave you this: A fun and instructional video on the country of Kenya.

Today is "Complete Mockery of My Remaining Sanity Day."
Everyone celebrate!
Celebrate good times!