We already have "Maximum Explosium 2" (In space, no one can hear you explode.)

Possible tag lines for the fake movie poster "Roboclash: The Reckoning"

"The final battle between good and evil. And robots."
"In the year 2525 only the ROBOTS will be alive."
"When the world is ruled by robots no one is safe except the robots."
"In the future the world is ruled by robots. Of death."
"Positively Robotic. Positively Maddening."
"They can't feel pain, but they can dish it out."
"Hot steel on steel action."
"These robots aren't going to heaven, they're going down."
"Where metal meets metal and makes loud clanging noises."
"Destruction. Robo-style."

Which one is your favorite?

Log #5883: weekend activities thus far.

acquired hiring status of one construction company.
began production on murder mystery/elevator disaster movie involving one stuffed animal of note.
noted stuffing loss on said movie star.
looked for a bench.
looked for a bench in the shade.
defended self from onslaught of strobe attack.
considered using a strobe attack during mystery/elevator disaster movie pivotal battle scene.

"what do you think, co-producer?"
"did you happen to see where I put my beer?"

You don't have to be clinically insane to work here, but it helps.
Which I guess explains why it's just us two. It gets so and so and so and so.

Explosium!

What can be done so that a girl can get some sleep around here.

The Inman Park Festival can take a long walk off a short pier or a short walk off a long pier- either way so long as they die a painful watery death in the death grip of ten sharks.

Then maybe a girl can get some sleep around here.

(you don't need that shoddily constructed yet strangely loud drum for the entire festival and for my sleepy ears to know that you are walking down the street. that pastel jumper resonates volumes.)

I'm meeting with clients from Ranstad soon. I really need to stop pronouncing it German-style, "ran-shtad" like the band "Rammstein."
Because they're going to be here in, like, five minutes.

The irony inherent in some panty raids.

"Why would she do that? Is she anti-panty? An antipantite?"
"One would assume."
"Wait do you even own underwear?"
"I have some around here somewhere."
"Maybe you could borrow some from Carrie."
"Oh hell. I don't think I could pull that off."
"..."

more coworkers e-mail chains
And for the record, I did not actually steal anyone's pen.

Subject: Jill just stole my pen

I just want everyone to know what kind of people we're working with.
-----
Carlos is telling all kinds of blasphemies and fabrications.
I just want everyone to know what kind of people we're working with.
-----
Both Jill and Carlos believe in late term abortions up until the child is twelve years old.
I just want everyone to know what kind of people we're working with.
-----
Billows never gives reach-arounds.
I just want everyone to know what kind of people we're working with
-----
REACH AROUNDS????
wow. you're a dirty boy. al, you wanna explain what a reach-around is to everyone?
-----
it's when your cubicle-mate borrows a pen or pencil and doesn't reach around to put it back on your desk.
-----
jill stole my virginity. it was kept in the garage next to my stolen pen collection.
and carlos stole my thunder.
i wasn't working at the time. but still!
-----
That was an accident- I was just looking for a pen.
-----
I still have my virginity. It hasn't done me much good, so Evan, you can have it if you want it.
-----
if you offer it, then i can't technically steal it.
-----
Man, I can't get rid of my virginity no matter what i do!

Last night I didn't want to go home because the idea of going to sleep seemed too fucking depressing, even though I needed sleep like crazy anyone in their right mind would have been sleeping anyways. So to alleviate my mild omnipresent depression, I watched 21 Grams.
What is the opposite of a genius grant? Because I need one of those.

So I ended up driving around the neighborhood, smoking cigarettes in a complete daze.
I really should not have been driving.

21 Grams was pretty good, by the way.

I was told that a friend of mine looked like John McEnroe.

So I did the research.



Yep. He does, indeed, look like John McEnroe.


(knowing the friend I'm referring to really helps with this post.)

As I am currently working on once and future projects, I will leave you with the following diversion:

(curse word)+(one-word product found at Home Depot)= brand new curse word.

examples= shithammer
fuckwrench
assmulch

have fun!

As Holly Golightly would say as putting on her oversized sunglasses, quelle night.

Quelle night, quelle night.

Changed links a bit...can't figure out how to get the right side border back. Can anyone help with that? Much obliged.

Trash this blog and win some dough.

Today is sort of blah.
Grey weather. Black shirt. Lunch sandwich. Blah.
Not enough is going on around here.
I need something to cheer me up.

...


Oh wait, I know.



Wait for it...wait for it...







It's the Toy Store Room from the classic Nickelodeon game show Finder's Keepers!

Oh yeah that's better. (sitting back, relaxing, bored again.)

I miss when all it took was television to entertain me. Were that the case nowadays I would probably have cable.
Television today needs less game shows based on singing and dancing competitions and more based on the premise of tearing shit up and getting all messy just for the hell of it.

Next time someone comments on my messy desk I'm going to tell them that there is a series of clues hidden beneath all the paperwork and if they could find all eight then they win a mountain bike.

From the desk of coworkers...
This e-mail chain started with my response to a nonfunctioning link sent to me about the Transformers.

Jill wrote:


Wow! My robot was disguised as a webpage that not only never appeared, but crashed (or DESTROYED) my internet explorer(bot) and my outlook(tacon) without warning. They just dissappeared. The song remains true- what met my eye was a simple link but there was so much more.

Into the clutches of this evil entity did my programs go, who I can only assume is Optimus Prime's extremely nerdy techhead sidekick- the transformer responsible for all those keyboard lazer sounds in the theme song.

And because the Decepticons took much more lucrative postitions being a fleet of H2s, the only enemy left is technology.

Or lack thereof.

I shall call him Commodorimus (64) Prime, and he shall live on a diet of two dimensional shapes that represent three dimensional foodstuffs.

Thanks Mark! I feel like a kid again!

(this is what happens when all your parents give you to play with is a footstool and a half-korean simon and garfunkle songbook...you think I'm kidding, but I can probably still recite every word to 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin' Groovy).)

Evan wrote:

this is your task in the upcoming weeks, for whomever chooses to accept it.

i'd like an essay based upon the lyrical and time changes in the all-too-brief theme song.

to get you started, the regular common time of the first verse

Transformers
More than meets the eye
Transformers
Robots in Disguise
Transformers

(i believe it might be a variation on trochaic tetrameter)

But then it shifts gears DRAMATICALLY in a completely different time signature and meter. (anapestic pentameter?)

Autobots wage their Battle
To destroy the evil forces
Of the Decepticons

I'd like you to explore these changes, both lyrical and musical, their relationship to each other, and how in fact, it plays such a role in the life of the existentalist 'everyman.' (ie. wage their battle)

Bonus points for referencing the pre-crime and punishment works of dostoevsky.

Carlos wrote:
College boy.
Evan:
home schooler.
Carlos:
Book reader.
Evan:
glue sniffer
Carlos:
Imported cigarette smoker.
Evan:
monster truck t-shirt wearer.
Carlos:
Prog rock listener.
Evan:
HA. that's MATH rock, thank you very much. skoal chewer.
Carlos:
D&D player.
Evan:
mullet grower
Carlos:
Bumper sticker plasterer.
Evan:
cock-fight spectator
Carlos:
Hybrid car driver.
Evan:
1978 camaro on cinder-blocks in your front yard displayer.
Carlos:
Vegan.
Evan:
southern republican.
Carlos:
Non voter
Evan:
jesse helms disciple
Carlos:
Marijuana smoker
Evan:
doral cigarette smoker.
Carlos:
Non monogamous relationship haver.
Evan:
non-healthy-cousin-relationship-haver
Carlos:
Possibly-inappropriate-after-hours-intimate-conversation-with-Classics-professor engager.
Evan:
o'reilly factor 'believer'
Carlos:
Utne Reader reader.
Evan:
mobile home enthusiast.
Carlos:
Sandal wearer
Evan:
"dickies as my sunday wearin' duds" sporter.
Carlos:
Tofu "Rice Dream" dessert server.
Evan:
charlie daniels cover band singer.
Carlos:
Widespread all-3-nights New Year's Show attender.
Evan:
take your first date to captain d's doer.
Carlos:
First date at a Sylvia Plath reading meeter
Evan:
maybe-the-waitress-at-waffle-house-could-teach-me-how-to-read-wisher
Carlos:
Maybe-the-latte-girl-at-Aurora-will-be-impressed-by-my-arcane-knowledge-of-Life-in-Hell-comic-trivia-hoper.
Evan:
wary-of-people-who-aint-from-around-here-liver.
Carlos:
Exotic-yet-inedible-cuisine-for-the-sake-of-being-different eater.
Evan:
maybe-someday-i'll-leave-this-podunk-town-n-git-to-the-big-city:chattanooga-claimer.
Carlos:
Ironic-detachment-slowly-giving-way-to-actual-secret-interest-in-reality-show feeler
Evan:
'blowed up real good' quoter.
Carlos:
Wheat grass drinker
Evan:
imports-is-fer-communists-drawler
Carlos:
Facial hair grower
Evan:
male pattern baldness worrier.
Carlos:
Abstract art appreciator
Evan:
art's a queer man's pasttime confessor
Carlos:
I-think-the-artist-is-making-a-statement-about-the-role-of-women-in-today's-patriarchical-society-through-his-use-of-color-and-form sayer.
Evan:
god-gave-us-dominion-over-beasts-in-the-field'-and-that-includes-my-wife-preacher.
Carlos:
"Hey, a pasture. Let's go look for mushrooms on cow patties so I can see God again" thinker.
Evan:
" first it was evoltuion. then taking out prayer in schools, now it's 'under god,' from the pledge. them liberals is changin' things for the worser.' (sic)
Carlos:
"Grande skinny mocha latte with a shot of vanilla."(sic)
Evan:
dukes of hazzard, season two videotaper.

I am going to make a t-shirt with Darrin Stephens on it. I think he is highly under-represented in the world of t-shirts.

Maybe it's all the Buddy Holly.

Babies are the new white belt.

jill is getting a tennis lesson
jill is new thrill at indiana
jill is helping john get over that new headboard bill
jill is typo
jill is afraid of jack jack is more afraid of jill if jack thinks that jill thinks that jack is afraid of
jill is the alternative to the business
jill is the sole beneficiary
jill is so advanced
jill is my lover
jill is a barrister of lincoln's inn
jill is op vakantie geweest
jill is nude
jill is very confused right now because she really wants to end relations with leslie
jill is a conscientious student who has attained a satisfying result in this subject
jill is a management tool that can run a multi national company as well as a single operation
jill is a newlywed
jill is something for the entire family
jill is a published author of books for children and young adults
jill is a kickboxer with a professional record of 6 wins and 2 losses
jill is an accomplished writer
jill is an iub sophomore who was working at the student recreational sports center and was supposed to start w orking at camp brosius on june 4
jill is now catering to rodeo queen contestants
jill is seriously wounded by brigstine
jill is the speaker; let us consider
jill is proud to be the national director for american beauties plus
jill is a fabulous
jill is surprised when brian reveals that he's actually an illegal alien
jill is new thrill at indiana by aaron sharockman indiana daily student
jill is an accomplished musician playing guitar
jill is absolutely stunning in her tiger stripe halter top and shorts
jill is having a bit of fun dancing with someone not her husband
jill is an avid bicyclist and was dressed for it the morning she disappeared
jill is releasing two singles
jill is an excellent facilitator who exemplifies enthusiasm for her work
jill is special to me becuase she is my one and only internet friend
jill is keenly able to find harmonies and has found her own voice in acoustic rock
jill is sitting at a table alone
jill is the guy
jill is the president of trade wind investments
jill is fucking incredible
jill is a graduate of the university of massachusetts in amherst and the columbia university graduate school of journalism
ill is right handed apple
jill has decided to wear leather armor and will wear a steel cap
jill is the mother of emma and jamie and wife of dave
jill is reading some ho the riot act for trying to sniff all up to her man
jill is a milk & component queen
jill is a senior program officer with canada's mortgage
jill is president of meeting matters
jill is one of the new breed of insurance brokers
jill is pleased to bring you her take on the great debate
jill is the owner of the car
jill is my friend and her dolls are just the best
jill is the wife of our training director
jill is an instrumental artist who delights audiences with her meditative and deeply moving
jill is hot
jill is by far the best way to meet your real estate goals
jill is 20 years old
jill is 40
jill is so advanced
jill is truly a dietitian with a difference
jill is the premier software program designed to record all field
jill is also an accredited staging® professional tm
jill is the the second james patterson book i have read
jill is 12 now
jill is highly experienced
jill is indeed an asset at a closing

www.googlism.com
(no reason)

Sweet mother of cheese, I got a piece in the one show.
Free trip to NYC in May.

Keifer cares.

The AC is broken on my floor today. You know when a bad sitcom has a subplot where the AC is broken in the office and it provides the backdrop for which wackiness to ensue? It's kind of like that, but instead of wackiness we have staring at the computer. And considerably less polyesther.

Can heat+advertising cause delirium? Let's find out!

(oh and yes, the background pic is supposed to look like that. i dropped the opacity. right before droppin some f-bombs.)

who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of conciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus.
to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confesssing out the soul to confirm to the rhythm of though in his naked and endless head,
the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death,
and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America's naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio
with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years. -Allen Ginsberg


Write it on a cupcake because today blog dehumidifier is one year old.

Busy today...trying to get the hell out of here. Last night I thoroughly pillaged miss whitenoise's music files and downloaded some new stuff, some holes in the collection and some random wierdness:

Neutral Milk Hotel- In The Aeroplane Over the Sea
Skinny Puppy- The Process
Cleanse, Fold and Manipulate
Death From Above- Heads Up
Erase Errata- Other Animals
The Calculators- Circuit Breaking Silence
The Decembrists- Her Majesty, The Decembrists
My Bloody Valentine- Loveless
Some Milemarker (can't remember the title)
The Hot Snakes- Automatic Midnight
Wire- Pink Flag
Richard Hell- Blank Generation
Patti Smith- Horses
Yo La Tengo- I Can Hear The Heart Beating As One
Seachange- Lay of the Land
The Liars- They Were Wrong So We Drowned
Slowdive- Souvlaki
Primal Scream- Vanishing
Numbers- In My Mind All The Time
Buzzcocks- Singles
Sufjan Stevens- Enjoy Your Rabbit
John Cameron- Psychomania
Stark Reality- Discovers Hoagy Charmichael's Music Shop
Broken Social Scene- Feel Good Lost
Taxi Girl- Cherchez le Garcon
The Verve- Urban Hymns
Slow Reader- Slowreader
The Homosexuals- The Homosexual's Record
Dangermouse and Jamini- Ghetto Pop Life
Some random French pop from the mid-60s.

* * *

My art director was cleaning out his office earlier and gave me an old library book that he found under a giant mound of briefing forms. It is called "The Revised U.S. Edition of the Official Royal Canadian Air Force Exercise Plans For Physical Fitness." It claims to be two books in one. Which book you utilize depends on whether you are a man or a woman.
And utilize it I will.
You will not recognize me on Monday, for I will be fit. Royal Canadian Air Force fit. I will be showing you where the exits are located with the strength of a thousand gorillas.

And now, ladies and gentlemen: Friday afternoon traffic.

in reference to that bumper sticker "30307: It's not a zip code, it's a lifestyle!"

NEW BUMPER STICKERS

"30307- it's not just a zip code or a lifestyle, it's one giant condo!"

"30307- it's the newer, quirkier Marietta!"

"30307- like your teeth, we're getting whiter by the second!"

"30307- don't worry! soon Reynoldstown will be a Target!"

"30307- Follow Me to Front Page News!"

"30307- It's the edginess of midtown meets the property value of the Highlands!"

"30307- You're Next, Cabbagetown!"

"30307- It Will Be Post Seaboard Soon Enough!"

"30307- Do you like our attempt at hipness?"

"30307- Where Midtown Comes To Park For Slightly Cheaper."

"30307- If A Salesperson is Rude To You, Just Remember that This Zip Code is Busy Raising Their Rent As You Read!"

and finally

"30307- Now Available in Khaki!"

I-Chat or Poetry?

which is the fourth?
life and how to live it
(I think == that's the song i mean anyway)
right...I like the concept of that song
like what its about
it's their most "concept" record in their career I think
I want to find one of those books now
I have one (which I'm sure I've shown you)
i'm very proud of it
where did you find it?
no you've never shown it to me
i got it last fall
ebay
oh so you "found" it on "ebay"
like $100 or something.
cheater.
i'd been searching for one on ebay for weeks..so sorta
they're not easily found any other way I don't think
I want to just be walking down the street one day and trip over a copy.
i bought it from someone who bought it at wuxtry athens in the late eighties
yeah i wanted that to happen for about ten years..finally just bit the bullet
apparently you haven't walked down enough streets.
if there's anything to be learned from willy wonka and the chocolate factory it's some drawn-out metaphor comparing golden tickets and rare books.
ahha
and on that note I am going smoking.
emailed you
ok will check!
it's bigt
brb
big development
no!
now!
ok captain whinypants
see i never say 'brb' i just wander off
woah, what tha
did you rearrange?
have you been REARRANGING FURNITURE?
or did you move?
into your current house's evil but fun twin?
MY GOD THE UNANSWERED QUESTIONS!
Now see you've gone and got yourself lost. It's one of the side-effects of reanrranging.
isn't it crazy?
i'm very pleased w/it
yeah until you can't find your way back to the computer
did you injure your back last time you rearranged?
sorta
i just moved a small bookcase across my room
So one small bookcase=a week of pain, but entire roomfulls of furniture are no problem?
yeah
i just bent my back wrong that time.
I guess that explains the high illeteracy rate..
when you read you own books. when you own books you own bookshelves. when you own bookshelves you run the hazard of injuring yourself moving them.
got it
it's actually a one shelf nightstand w/no books on it but sort of a bookcase..that's why I wasn' thtinking right
gotta go
when are you back?
sun.
ok
til then
have fun getting married.
it's a promise

I just realized that I am 24.
R.E.M. is 24.
And I watch a show which is named "24."

I just figured out the unifying theory of life. I mean, the unifying theory of v+.

(i just need to work foreign policy in there somehow)

I simply do not understand how people can possibly get to work before 10am. First of all are the morning activities in which one must partake in order to be considered sane. Getting out of bed. Showering. Matching belt to shoes, etc. And if that didn't take long enough, there's hair gel. And picking out which cds to bring to work, and which one to listen to in the car. Then you have to nail the lamp into the wall, pick out a safety pin, leave stupid messages on a djs voicemail and gather the appropriate magazines to start the wall of stipe. And that's all before you get in the car! So it makes me wonder, when I see all the cars in the deck that got there before me, if they aren't being a little too haphazard with their safety pins.

Can someone please tell Brian to hurry up with the cigarettes?
Thank you.

A coworker calls this headline the most homoerotic ever.

This week is dragon like puff the magic.
Things that are delicious: pineapple, El Taco Veloz (despite the fact that the atmosphere screams "tapeworm! tapeworm!" and that it's not really that veloz. that was a damn good burrito.)
My posts are also dragon like puff the magic.


I (heart) misguided metaphors.

I think I am going to buy an MST3K dvd after work.

One where I am overdrawn at the memory bank.
It's "the movie that just keeps chucking rectangles at you."

My apathy is palpable.

My art director is putting golf balls in the hall, where I keep sticking my foot out and blocking them while telling him to "watch for hazards."
In other news, I am listening to "Milkshake" and dancing around the cube and I think we're about to go to Mellow Mushroom and I still think it's hilarious that there's an article about MJQ in Rolling Stone.

It's always nice when my nights out and about show up in Rolling Stone.
The sad part being it kind of sounds like every Saturday night, plus or minus the Jet factor.

Monday is...hmmm what should monday be...monday is Magnetic Fields Day!
Happy Magnetic Fields Day, everyone!

So far we have:
monday- magnetic fields
tuesday- herman's hermits
wednesday- TBA
thursday- TBA
friday- fugazi
saturday- TBA
sunday- rolling stones

The TBA will be A as soon as I damn well feel like it.
Now, in honor of Magnetic Fields day I shall sit fetal-style in the corner and cry myself into a restless nap, cigarette in full effect.

One day I am going to wear one of those ribbons people wear to support causes, and when someone asks what cause I'm supporting my answer will be "ribbons."

I am back.

I (heart) moon.

"It's too late, to fall in love with Sharon Tate." -Jim Carroll

Today I am wearing a vintage dress given to me by a friend. Though I'm not sure where she acquired it, I'm pretty sure someone made it from a curtain. Or material one would normally use too cover a couch, or lounge chair. I'm feeling rather like furniture.
And like I should be begging Clark Gable for money.

My unsubstantiated fear of flesh-eating viruses is back, thanks to 24. My coworker thought it would be a good last-day prank to release a flesh-eating virus into the ventilation system. I said no, a better one would be to actually move into the ventilation system in the ceiling, and then five years later jump down into your boss's office (castaway beard in full effect) and say "ha, joke's on you- I've been here the entire time!"

Last night I had a dream about doing ballet (en pointe- yes, I used to do such in real life) and when I woke up my feet were hurting.

This weekend I'm going to St. Simon's Island to stay at my friend's beach house. So I probably won't be blogging, which is a good thing judging from last Sunday's nonsense.

to hot wok!

suckfest.

Suicide Girls is a joke, right?

I mean, these girls can't really have self-esteems so low it bridges into extreme narcissism. "Hey. Check out my tattoos and ability to not wear that many clothes." Wow.

Yep. Must be a joke. (I know I'm laughing.)

More gratuitous bright eyes bashing
I bet Conor Oberst gets told to shut the hell up more than the average person.
Every time I hear Bright Eyes I picture malnourished indie kids in vintage glasses and chucks curled up sobbing in the corner of their dorm room in that way that emo kids do when they are reminded of the existance of a world outside their broken whiny souls.
Emo kids, do not attach your dreams to Conor. Granted he will write a sad song about you immediately after breakup, but later that evening he will write an even sadder one about an annoying hangnail.
I forsee him finally catching that special strain of STD that kills faster than the songwriting process.

I will not eat the doritos on my desk...I will not eat the doritos on my desk...

We had a fire drill this morning. And when I say "we" I mean all twenty floors of our building. It was delightful. The one morning I have two assignments needing to go to the NY creative director and- oh wait- the building's on imaginary fire! Run!

My BFF Sara called from Seattle last night, and is coming to visit her old stompin grounds here in the ATL in May. Yessssssss.

I suppose that's it for now.

(eating doritos)

Darts 'n Laurels

This weekend I made an awesome dress out of a large t-shirt and iron-on transfers of the Edie Sedgwick pic that's here on this blog in the upper right, and an Andy Warhol quote. People asked if I were getting ready to go to sleep. Yes, if by going to sleep you mean looking superfantastic.

If this blog were a DJ it would be playing Franz Ferdinand.

Ever been turned on by something you don't at all understand, leaving you completely unsure how to proceed?....that's when you start throwing around words like pomoerotic.

"The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" is one of the best books I've ever read, even though I'm not finished. I know that's a bold statement concerning Joyce.

"You should have an easter egg hunt using smelt roe." -bakay (my art director)

and out.

That last post was much shorter before translated from it's original language.

You know.

Binary code.



trying to look forward to

(i couldn't think of anything)

STATE OF THE SUBCONCIOUS, AS IT IS THE ONLY BRAIN ACTIVITY NOT SHUT DOWN DUE TO NEED OF NAP.

POST PREQUEL: PREQUEL VS. SEQUAL VS. JASON, WHICH WAS TECHNICALLY RELEASED AFTER THE SECOND MOVIE. AND "SUCKED ASS." (though it would have been ok if the first one weren't so good)

(this one is called: I will sleep when I run out of semi-unexpected but mostly derivative references in this post which is like a roller coaster ride for your subconcious filing system, who is tired of being compared to christopher walken because he is actually christopher walken and instead of filing he is busy being in every movie. Including the one with the plot description detailed in the post introduction Part 4, sections 8-11.)
If it weren't for italics and bolding and commas and parenthesis some of my posts would read like one of those poets that just like to drag you all over the place only to learn in the last five minutes that there is no unifying theme. Just a second grader who has been awake for four days trying to diagram my sentences, only stopping to freebase Ritalin. If he's lucky he'll grow up to a lovely VP title and silver BMW number something instead of being an over-educated cynic forced to model their thoughts around the equally infuriating school of thought
POST POST MODERNISM: (which is actually based upon the foundations of some German guy's unifying theory of him and reality, as seen in his original set of dialectics as penned on a napkin during his smoke break from being resident barista.)
post post modernism is a school of thinking way to far into things, making way too many pop culture references, subcategorizing musical genres until they lose all meaning, and waiting for your head to explode as slowly revert back to your unforgettable mirror phase of 1982 while constantly being reminded that the eighties are back. After attempting to analyze several schools of thought using this theory PHd candidates came to the same conclusion as with other theories that use complicated paperwork to throw you off
course: they would not be trying to answer your stupid semantic queries if they were having sex instead of dog-earing Kierkegaard. And they woud not be enduring Kierkegaard whining if he were having sex instead of, ya know, thinkin.

I BLAME DAVE EGGERS FOR THE REST OF THIS POST, AND FOR MOST OF THE ABOVE, ON WHICH I PARTIALLY BLAME THAT BITTER GUY AT YOUR COLLEGE LIBRARY CIRCULATION DESK WHOSE WRITING TECHNIQUES ARE FAR MORE MATURE THAN EGGERS AND WHOSE TITLES WERE LONGER AND WITTIER. YOU CAN SEE HIS PAIN IN THE DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE WHICH DOMINATES HIS I-TUNES AND CUTS STRAIGHT TO THE ANGER. YET HE CANNOT HELP BUT ENJOY THIS VOICE OF HIS FOREBEARERS WHO CAME OF AGE DURING GRUNGE, ONLY TO STAB GRUNGE IN THE BACK WHEN IT BECAME TOO WARM TO WEAR FLANNEL AND THE ENTIRE GENERATION WAS TOO APATHETIC TO REACH AROUND GRUNGE TO PUT THE KNIFE IN THE SINK.

Michael Stipe tried to pen a song about it but instead became crushed under all the wayward metaphors and the weight of having to replace 9/10th of Temple of the Dog's original lineup. Though I am going to list him in the liner notes as "guest flailer" whenever I find my cassette taped Singles Soundtrack.

They are going to be vaccinating against self-doubt if the SAT scores don't improve.
They never take my advice and just make the freaking test easier. Ask more questions about Hemmies in Dodge trucks. Children love hemmys like they love the unconditional comfort of the tv set.

Some people have war flashbacks during insomnia. Some of these people have been in a war. Some are just flashing back to that week all those world war two movies came out at the same time Coppola Reduxed an old movie and tried to trick us into thinking the extra footage wasn't just Sean Penn trying to weasel his way out of actual "acting." I have flashbacks to starting this post three hours ago.

You won't believe me now but this post has a surprise plot twist harkening back to grunge. And intrigue. Depending on what you consider intriguing.

Do not worry I was not up doing anything rash like penning the prequel to the passion of the christ, which I shall now wittily title the passion of the baby jesus (about how he faced the no vacancy sign with the conviction of an unborn child and claimed his birth was a brave stand against abortion. it turns out myrr is archaic for crack, and the movie concludes with a solid three hours of the reason for the season being slowly weaned off myhrr with a explanation that the virgin mary was recently born again and saved from her dangerous foray into drugs and higher education. (christian rock/rap song about how great it is to be white and male and american, while teaching us the evils of the art house). oh yeah and it's gotta be directed by that guy from Creed because he's totally feeling the power of Jesus, either that or his ego has become so big that it's taken the form of a guy that kind of looks like Jesus. I AM TOTALLY WRITING THAT MOVIE, BOOKING BETHELEHEM, CHECKING IF THERE IS ANY WAY AUSSIE OSCAR WINNER NICOLE KIDMAN CAN PLAY A MIDDLE EASTERN TEENAGE CRACKWHORE VIRGIN AND GETTING SOME THOM YORKE SIDE PROJECT TO MAKE "AWAY IN A MANGER" NICE AND VAGUE.

POST ORIGINAL BEGINNING:
Another post that started as something remotely intelligent but instead took it's usual tangent to ridiculing hipsters, music elitist snobs and the variety of Lemmings that choose to drive their Landrovers over the cliff because they live OTP (off the plateau, yo). It's the same-ol, same-ol bitterness that screams hey you can tell she's spending sunday alone instead of with the sole other rock fan swimming against the pounding bassline by listening to goodbye ruby tuesday inside baumer's tent. Plus my entries would probably vaguely reference that I did "just say no" to drugs back during the Reagan administration, and I am now "just saying no" to the nations growing obesity problem by "just saying no" to my digestive system so thanks again you health concious Republicans for making me pretty, which is my way of indicating who was on what and when in simple "when politics go wrong" code. It's real street, yo. Mad cul-de-sac underground. Of course you can tell I'm not bitter because my rage would be palpable in the form of multisyballic slightly altered words constructed in a code that only me and practicers of my philosophy could possibly decipher
As many parties as my journals would indicate I attend, I'm not exactly a willing social gad about room. The problem being that I know entirely too many people only on a surface (i.e. that friendster you added to win the "let's see who can amass the most friendsters thereby making us look really really popular in the eyes of the same twenty people we always see oh hey did we ever determine when this game ends maybe when Friendster becomes nonhip though I'm not sure how we'd know because its not a hot pink variety 'florida- we have old people and only one person on earth still thinks this is a vintage t-shirt but hey this totally says that though I usually listen to John Mayer, one time Jet came on and I totally rocked out with the top down of my lime VW convertibug hey I'm outta room for more slogan, so check out my pierced navel and lower 67% of my freakishly tan torso-" marked down on the rack at Urban Outfitters so in order for it to be officially uncool someone in the upper hipster echilon has to delete their account but that would mean they'd just have to guess where the Faint afterparty is and god forbid they miss dancing with "ok this hipster looks kinda new" guy in band so I guess the contest- like the movie it's oh so ironic to love- is neverending.") level. I know that contest sounds really complicated but keep in mind that it takes several days just to log in and years to get a message through, much like in days of yore. (I think the mid 60's are the current hip days of yore.)
That was quite a tangental parenthetical (also the title of beck's next track 4- and what beck and I shall dance to at our upcoming nuptuals, the title of which shall be "hey, check out this bougeois social convention we're totally about to partake in and have witnessed by trained seals and a guy with tourettes just for some good old fashioned anti-pc backlash but you can tell we're not serious because our formal wear is vintage yves san laurent which we CAN pronounce, and instead of the wedding details here's a list of my favorite notes: B sharp, B flat or just B natural baby in my seafoam pontiac sunbird beep beep beep beep beep on the radio.")
I like really long tangental parentheticals instead of a short title that make fun of hipsters, the rest of the population, and even poke fun at the smartasses who have no one better to make fun of then the hipsters they associate with around the dance floor.
Me looking uncute= she's wierd lets leave her in the corner.
Me looking cute=she's quirky! like the kind of person who provides the comic relief when the cd skips and the electro crowd cheers.

Being considered quirky is a great advantage because it makes the transition to drug addict nearly invisible (morosity too pervasive to budge) and the slip into complete insanity near flawless. In fact, if replaced by a real-enough looking eighteen-year-old, nobody will even realize that you are sipping Tab whilst hoping your Hazeldon juice bar house band will be the next Neutral Milk Hotel with complicated lyrics previously obscured by Parliament lights and that one cartoon you remember from 1st grade and you can't believe they show that at- oh fuck is that the sun? You will start to remember what life was like before electrorockclash and pointlessemocore descriptors. You find your Washing Machine T under a large pile of trucker hats, hang your journalism degree on the wall and remember what it was like to compare bands to Weezer. (Post-"Pinkerton" pre-"Why can't this be more like 'Pinkerton'?" Weezer.) You remember using witty phrases like the previous quip when reviewing the latest Elephant 6 all-slide whistle cover of "Pet Sounds", bonus material includes a cover of "(something really taboo like "Country Feedback" oh yeah we went there and we obscured it behind this 98 song cd just for you! Stipe actually guests on slide whistle...he comes into my rectangular pizza cafe all the time so we're tight, check the liner notes.) You and your bandmates attended Lollapalooza as wide-eyed innocents believing that indie rock could survive anything...and then you remember that one Lollapalooza where a bunch of shit went wrong and all the bands worth seeing vowed to never do it again and the only reason you went the next year was to see the Breeders. And then you get into an arguement where you kind of defend the Cranberries because that one song wasn't so bad and your friends go home in a huff and feel all cool and stuff while listening to Marquee Moon and out of blind rage you accidently pick up your old Casio and start electroclash. And develop a drug habit. Somewhere along the line you switch from first to second person. POV. And then the cycle starts all over again, thus proving the validity of post post modernism (allowing for the theory that it can get away with less substantiation because it's just a sequal).

Oh yeah, I just remembered the point I was making: So as You Can See We are quite busy evading any real productivity or logical thought. Next year we hope to make more connections between Left Bank Cinema and Reese's Pieces Blizzards.

Reception to follow. I mean, cigarette to follow.

Is there really a genre called "shoegazer?" What the hell is it? And what's with the lack of core-ness? Hardcore Softcore Nocore, come on throw me some useless context here!

signed
steve, accounts payable




ps. I am in love with Stephen Dedalus. But I'm only on chapter three.
I certainly hope this goes better than the Jake Barnes incident, or I'm moving on to protagonists with a dream! An American Dream!
more to come...

Who am I kidding...I'm not getting anything else productive done at this here office today. It's Friday at 6:30. Friday. at. six. thirty.
I'm going to go work out and then go to Tower to buy the 2nd Family Guy dvd and then hopefully not sit in traffic on the interstate but instead move along at a steady clip.
I need to hire an assistant to do all my work for me so I can spend all my time on blogger.

An assistant I can pay in pink-frosted cookies.

Don't even suggest hiring a blind monkey; that did not work out last time. Yes, management did, in fact, have a problem with the poo-flinging. No, it wasn't that he was throwing fecal matter; it was just because of his vision problem he came nowhere close to hitting his intented target. And then he sued for lack of accomidation for his handicapped poo-flinging ways. Montlick and Associates showed up and a heavy door slammed and the monkey got quite a settlement. They. Mean. Business!

I'm never entirely sure where my posts will go when I start them. If someone had told me three minutes ago that I would be writing about Montlick and poo I would have slapped them upside the head. Soundly.

To the gym!

Every time someone calls today I turn the music up to very loud, put the phone on speaker and yell "what?" "WHAT?"

Because Friday is Fugazi day.

Earlier, while writing headlines for "no roaming" in Canada, I wrote the following:
"Canada: Now the 52nd state."

52nd state? Why did I think we had a 51st state?

I'm never going to pass the Iowa Achievement Test now.
I'm going to be a child left behind, proof of our failing education system.

So much for being a dermatologist.

UPDATE!

I am now eating a taco.

"Hey, they found that girl."
"I didn't know she was missing."
"Yep, she was missing all right."
"Where was she?"
"I already told you. She was missing."

I'm eating Bugles for the first time in years. I'm beginning to realize why.

I just realized that the "Up With People III" album that I have on my desk at work has lyrics on the sleeve. Every day I shall post a new and equally uplifing song. Beginning, of course, with the song they are best known for which is titled (appropriately enough):
Up With People
It happened just this morning,
I was walking down the street,
A milkman and a postman
And policeman I did meet.
There in every window,
At ev'ry single door,
I recognized people
I'd never recognized before.
Up! up with people!
You meet 'em wherever you go!
Up! up with people!
They're the best kind of folks we know.
If more people were for people,
All people ev'rywhere,
There'd be a lot less people to worry about,
And a lot more people who care!
(repeat last two lines)
People from the southland
And people from the north,
like a mighty army
I saw them coming forth.
'Twas a great reunion,
Befitting of a king!
Then I realized people
Are more important than things,
Up! up with people!...etc.
Inside ev'rybody
There's some bad and some good
But don't let anybody
Start attacking people-hood
Love them as they are,
But fight for them to be,
Great men and great women,
As Jeebus* meant them to be,
Up! Up with people!...etc.
(repeat chorus)

*diety changed to more accurately reflect the beliefs of Homer Simpson.

Ok, the song seems to have a positive (if a bit smarmy) message. That is, if one can overlook the songwriter's seemingly omnipresent existential struggle and fundamentalist apocalypic undertones. Plus ev'ry is not an actual contraction, much like people-hood is not an actual word. And I was quite suprised at the blatant advocation of cocaine usage mid-song (repeat 2 lines)....I'm curious as to where the rest of the album will take us.

Here's hoping the MJQ 10th Anniversary Party tonight will be something like this: Scarf Party 2004!

Yeah I know. You're thinking to yourself, how can MJQ be celebrating a 10th anniversary when earlier this year they celebrated their 6th anniversary. A little secret: in the underground club realm, time is not only governed by the laws of physics, but also by whiskey and amphetamines. (and curls) In other words: don't question it.

"Love Me Like A Rock." What does that even mean, for jeebus's sake? And why doesn't he want mama to take his kodachrome? Paul Simon is like a mystery wrapped in a folk song wrapped in a giant mess of Garfunkle hair.

Blog of note!
"Girls Are Pretty"
You'll laugh, cry and slap yourself around a little bit.

Oh, and I almost forgot the most important part, the part about us putting all the oversized things in the same corner. I think that came somewhere between the roof and the floor.

I think I've listened to almost six hours of Modest Mouse today. I wonder how that will affect the rest of my evening?

I just ate one of those sugar cookies with a cherry in the middle.
Yep, like they used to serve me in the grammar school lunchroom.
It was vaguely reassuring.

I've felt more visual today, so I worked on uploading some clips.
Check it: People Doing Nothing at 107.

More to come, as there is lots of doing nothing there.

I should have left hours ago, never should have came really. And I don't know why I was crying well yes just don't know in so many words. Maybe I would never let go, tell everyone I found someone to die with. Suicide pact write it line after line. Any day now.

Fucking fatalist.

It feels like a panda crapped a rainbow in my brain and then rolled over the rainbow.
"Wait, am I smoking an unlit cigarette?"
"Yeah you are."
"This same unlit cigarette I've been smoking for ten minutes?"
"Same one."
(pause)
"God, this bathroom floor actually feels really good."
"Let's not speak of this to anyone ever, ok?"
"Ok."

On resumes...
"My skills would read: spinning records, 'that guy' always present in people's hallucinogenic trips."

I'm loving the "dance party" battle going on over on friendster. Here's a sample of what's going on from my friend jamal. (The funniest thing is that both sides say they "don't care.")

so awww, where to start . lettme start with this is jamal
and this has nuttin to do with dylan my dj partner and
friend. also lettme say i was at the 1st few kiss dance
parties at the echo and they were cool. also i do like
preston and think he is a desent dj however, he is an
habitual line stepper, and some1 has got to check him.
enter, ME, im here to check him.
1st kiss is a clone, dance parties have been around
forever it is a direct clone of wenseday at MJQ. respect
it. your not super unique. 2nd know your place, yea i
maybe the guy who plays way to much 80's but i know
that. your a guy that made a wenseday, and a saturday
night on a friday, do you want a cookie or something, i
pretty sure no one cares. and please for love of all that
is good give up this "im gonna educate the kids on
good music," let the babies have there bottles. there is
no music elite in atlanta if there are they hang at the
earl not the masquerade. a dj is the servant of the
people they let people chill and relax and god knows
complain. people wanna chill not to be browbeat.
people make the party not one person, well people and
drinks (proof being people still going to lenny's on
friday no matter what). even when you wrote your little
bullentin did you think about it. did you ever say to
yourself; self:"i sound totally condesending and
annoying and not cool"
and now let's just get it all out there. being a rock dj in
atl use to be about a few free drinks doing a few girls
and getting a bump or two in the crapper. and then you
came and became this relentless, territorial, die and let
die, not a good time. have some fun it's not that serious.
are you really that crazy. your like hatetron 3000, some
people fear some people admire i just "dont give 2 left
testicles"-quote from popular 1992 rollerblading movie
airbonre-
and then your set list like comeon... international noise
conspiracy, stellarstar, longwave, like do you hate
eardrums or have all the gwinnett haircore kids kidnap
and brainwash you. anyways this week this is what im
gonna play,is... whatever you want, total request if i got
it and it aint the BNL or DMB i'll give it a spin go where
you want. i don't care. i've been on this scene for so
long im a fossil. im the grumpy old dude that has had
more then enough just call me dj. tibbs. this week at
lenny's the drink's are the same price and still cheap,
there is a great band called xiu xiu playing. its free from
11 to 12. no more gimmicks no more trash talk
everyone get out and have a good time. and preston
the next time you want to blame people for not being
music elite and not liking new stuff remember your at
the masquerade. lenny's this week kids or other places
there is more than enough space for every1.

It's amazing the amount of power that 75/85 south yields over me. What is normally, with a regular traffic flow, a fifteen minute commute turns into an over-an-hour long drive home if any sort of accident clogs up lanes. And what an accident there was yesterday! The sign at Sidney Marcus read "major accident on 75/85 at I-20, four lanes blocked exit now to avoid." And how I exited! I've never merged over three lanes so quickly in all my driving experience. Even with exiting (which is what everyone and their mother was attempting) it still took an hour to get home. At which time I was grumpy and just wanted to sleep.

Speaking of sleep, the Age of Relative Responsibility is making me sleepier than ever. Three full nights of sleep in a row and I'm ready to zzzzzzzzzzz....hey! Wake me up if that happens again! Thank god I'm going out tonight. My body doesn't like this forced detox.
ciao manhattan.

At this time of day, it usually takes about 132 seconds for your photo to appear on your Fotolog.

...strange amount of time.

Today ushers in a new era of responsibility for me. I call it the Age of Relative Responsibility, and I expect it to last two, maybe two and a half days. This morning (after getting to work on time, after a full night of sleep) I paid bills and balanced my checkbook. And then filled out a bunch of timesheets. Tonight instead of going out I plan on reading, doing some light housekeeping and possibly writing. Then I will go to sleep at a decent hour.

And it was a golden age indeed.
I love it when people call themselves hip. Personally I prefer "pseudo-intellectual fuckup."

Some insights from Monday night:
-you cannot find cigarettes in downtown Atlanta before seven am. Especially if you are
driving around having this conversation:
Me: "Which way do you think we should go?"
Him: "I'm not sure. Maybe right?"
Me: "That's a one-way street."
Him: "Maybe we should go around the block again."
Me: "Ok."
Him: "Why is it nothing but breakfast places are open?"
Me: "Seriously. Don't they know some of us like nicotine for breakfast?"
and upon arrival at BP:
Him: "Do you want me to get out and get them?"
Me: "That's ok, I'll do it."
Him: "Are you sure?"
Me: "Uh-huh."
Him: "Really?"
Me: "Yep."
continue to sit in car.
Him: I'm getting out with you.
end scene
-A lot of my life is spent discussing and/or participating in cigarette acquisition. That shall be the subject of my next novelette.
-Towing companies are pure evil.
-Margaritas are pure evil (still).
-No matter how much you think they'll change, some people just continue to dissappoint. Not hurt, just dissappoint.
-I can somewhat understand the above because I have not been the best of friends lately. It's nothing personal, it's just the state I'm in. Not a great one, admittedly, but I'm there nonetheless.
-Some people (see: earlier cigarette dialogue, see: earlier dissappointment) are also smarter than I think a lot of people give them credit for. (Quit rolling your eyes; I don't exactly throw around smart cards.)
-I'm pretty pathetic, huh?
-Not getting enough sleep for seven nights in a row is not a good idea.
-I need to allocate money in a wiser manner.

Now is the time that I resume my studies on the fine art of passive persuasion.

Ciao, Manhattan!

Flying Shark vs. Flying Croc: A Picture from the Dramatic Battle!



Nothing was concluded, as they are sock puppets.

Do not challenge this guy to a board game. You will not win:








I am an overnight internet sensation.

Last night I got all ambitious (or encouraged others to become all ambitious, as I am crap with electronics) and set up the DVD projector at the Factory to watch "Perfect Square" in big screen larger than life glory. Lemme tell ya, it's twice as good when it's ten times bigger than your normal big screen tv. It was like being in a movies theater where you can lounge on a couch with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of peach schnapps in the other. And watch R.E.M.

This morning the 'Rolla had a flat tire so I took it to Decatur (which is what you do when faced with a flat tire, right?). I took Marta in to work, which would have been fine except a massive cold front decided to take a GIANT CRAP all over Atlanta this week and I was walking against gale-force winds. I don't understand the physics in walking against the wind no matter what direction you're facing.

I did manage to read a sizable portion of "Flatland" while on the train, which is shaping up to be pretty interesting. It's basically about a society that exists only in the second dimension, the class strata determined by how many sides you had (the more, the better- circles being the highest of all), and one square's struggle to find other dimensions. I'm interested in multi-dimensional studies, so I like stuff like this...don't know if you the viewer would like it or not.

Ok I'm off to buy candy.

synesthesia
synestatic

Oh, and that reminds me of a short dialogue from Friday night:
Open on my car pulling into parking lot of Neutron Bomb, tipsy from libations, haphazardly blasting R.E.M. out the window that doesn't shut all the way. Car in park, engine still running, some young punk kids ( I can tell cause of all the zippers and acne) walk by. One of the males begin to speak.
Male Punk 1: R.E.M. sucks!
Me: Fuck off! Jesus, just because something doesn't have a 2/4 beat...
(end scene)
ENCORE!
Me: I love the fact that the toilet is overflowing onto all these wires.

My goal this week is to work R.E.M. into every post in some way or another. Nope, no reason.

I just converted a drum and bass/ambient dj into an R.E.M. fan. I'm like a Jehovah's Witness, except with better clothes and dance moves.
He said he stopped listening after "fables" for no particular reason, and then (insert number here) years later-meaning, a few months ago- he finds out that I like R.E.M. and decides that there might be something to them after all because my tastes are impeccable. Oh, and he said he heard "Nightswimming" for the first time (ever!) a week ago and was impressed. Plus stipe once danced at a place that he dj-d and anything for a fan. So this afternoon we're gonna watch "Perfect Square" and I shall instruct in the fine art of flailing.
Ok, gotta get back to the turntables...the "innagattadavita (extended dance remix)" is going to be over soon and I have yet to decide which Rapture song to play next! Though the dance floor here at the factory is suprisingly empty for 8am...I love the random shite that happens here. Earlier I walked in on a naked coffin photo shoot and it really didn't phase me as much as not being able to locate a lighter. Oh, and there's a coffin here. In the middle of the floor.
No seriously. The turntables. Anyone else notice that Parliaments are kinda tricky to open now? It took the strength of me and guy who reclaimed my badass sunglasses to open one pack. I guess the "stand at either end and pull" idea was golden after all. We'll have our cancer yet! Let's wear mexican blankets and make out, for old's time's sake. If I had my way I'd play Herman's Hermits and Dave Clark Five and Franz Ferdinand and "Temptation" by New Order and Cabaret Voltaire and there would be no saying no. Because my way is solely dictated by me.
Linoleum floor! Linoleum floor!
(flail)

Afterhouse. The tip of my toungue was raw from playing with the dental work behind my teeth. Eventually, I'm thinking, it will either become a giant callous or rub off in a bloody mess. My friend was discussing corporate interest in her impending public bus trip spanning the length of the United Kingdom, from northernmost Scotland moving south. Her eyes were wide and mine were drifting due to a recent covisit to the bathroom, my sinuses were beginning to strike out against my brain and complete lack of common sense. I would need kleenex soon.
I heard a dull buzz from the kitchen. Someone had broken out the juicer and was attempting to puree everything resembling fruit.
"Vodka smoothie."
"Put some wheatgrass in there. It's really good for you."
Might as well throw some cigarettes in there for all the good it will do. Even the idea of being publicly sarcastic seemed unappealing. There were so many people in the room that I had no interest in communicating with, especially the sudden influx of giggling drunk girls. I looked downright sullen and exceptionally plain next to this barrage. Mister recent fling seemed to have no interest in speaking to me, though I really didn't care. And by "really didn't care" I mean "was making me physically ill." It's one of the more attractive aspects of only wanting what you can't have, wasting energy on the wasted, picking at the sore until it bleeds.
More so than the cigarette smoke or the disgusting tonic concoctions. He's only being an asshole because I allow it, and so I went to my car and vomited into the street. Lit a cigarette and drove home.
Today has been wonderful. My tounge is still raw.

Does anyone else find that Bowie "Laughing Gnome" song vaguely disturbing?

I think if there were an orthopedist's office called "The Well-Tempered Clavicle," I would go.
Even if I had no orthopedic issues.

Some people last night used Saint Patrick's Day as an excuse to drink.
Me? I used Wednesday.

fuck, this is funny...as written by jenn trezza in her livejournal:

Razorblade Thursdays
Djing with Jennifer on Thursday at Lenny's. I don't see how we can possibly compete with Brian McParris and his evil henchmen at McMJQ. How can you compete with the machine? They should call their night Corporate Banality. Atleast I know musically we will shit all over them. Even if there are only 2 people there. Everyone can McBlow me.

McParris. McMJQ. McBlow. The jokes just write themselves.

I am starting to REALLY HATE fotolog. They're always claiming to be in-progress of making "great improvements." They've been saying this for MONTHS AND MONTHS. And I have yet to see any improvement. I understand how the volume is increasing lots and lots and it's hard to control, but don't promise great improvements if you can't deliver. Or just make it a members-only site (where everyone has to wear the jackets to get in).
And make it illegal to make those stupid smiley-faces or hearts out of words in the comment box.

ps. the margaritas are making me slightly tipsy.

This morning I went to the IMAX 3-D NASCAR movie at the Mall of Georgia (as paid for by someone else) and then watched a bunch of guys in their 30's and 40's act like eight year olds while playing the NASCAR simulation game.
I am currently drinking margaritas and eating focaccia, cheese and fruit. And listening to Franz Ferdinand, whose album is growing on me like krazy.

I am getting paid to do all of this.

random musings from pod 6
Everyone seems to be jetsetting to Florida or California or Mooseport or other exciting destinations because of spring break. (SPRING BREAK! WOO-HOO!) But alas, I work a full time corporate outfit for a living and do not get a spring break or a spring day off. It's killing me it's so beautiful outside-

Hold the phone, I just overheard the following:
"Doesn't Scott have the original bracket hand drawn on a napkin?"

-I need a pool, and how! I would take a walk if I weren't chained to the cube for another hour.

Please don't ever ever again let me call out of work for sex or drugs or rock and roll ever again. I am twenty four, not sixteen.

I just had a piece of delicious party cake, and before I ate it I mixed all the icing colors together to make a wierd purply grayish concoction. If anyone asked about it I would tell them, "Yes, my party cake has bruise-colored icing."

I have decided I fall in love easily but not often. Whatever the hell that means. The more I think about it, the more I think that the napkin bracket comment had something to do with the NCAA office pool.

It's five pm. I'm going to try and sneak out now, or nowish or in the future, but not too far in the future. AKA sometime close to now.

Apricot rugelah is not all it's cracked up to be.
I would like my fotolog archives back, please.

My badass sunglasses that aren't really mine and belt that isn't really mine are about to be reclaimed by their rightful owner. This is NOT COOL.

"Questions will be asked.
And destroyed.
By ANSWERS!"

Who Would Win?

I'm going with flying crocodile. I mean, do you see the thigh muscles on that thing?

I'm feeling rather strung out and strung along these days.
Ever met someone and thought somehow and someday this person's going to be trouble? Yeah, and then six months later it hits. Hit.

I'm jealous of everyone who is happy in love and acting all smarmy cutesy.

Yesterday Jenn and I worked on some music (well, she worked on music and I worked on lyrics), and watched a Kylie Minogue concert on tv. Kylie is pretty rad but her background dancers were wiiiiierd in a right-said-fred kind of way.

I also finally finally watched "Slow Century" and decided that I still have a girlhood crush on Malkmus. "Cut Your Hair," while not my favorite Pavement song, has to be one of my favorite videos ever. I had completely forgotten about drinking the blue liquid (barbasol?). In case you were wondering some of my other favorite videos are "Coffee and TV" and "Weapon of Choice." Even though I hate the song, Christopher Walken could dance around to freaking Donnie and Marie and I would watch it.

Today I am dressed all French, with beret, bun and off-the-shoulder shirt. And lots of black. One of my coworkers told me I should be brandishing a gun, which would make me look like a French mercenary and would be awesome.

Today is sort of grey, despite the curry.

Jet rocks my watery vodka tonic.
I'm updating from a foriegn land-nay, a great and foriegn land. And this foriegn land is known to the native folk as "Bean's House." No, not that Bean, the other one. Currently there are several people partaking in a lively discussion involving electronic noise arranged into a series of notes and chords known to some as "music." Jenn is about to go hardcore midevil on everyone's sorry asses. I mean, watch out if you know what's good for your general well being. Tonight, however. shall go down in the annals as one of the greater nights in the history of de-humidifier. For tonight ladies and gents at mjq there arrived such a breeze, a wind even, from the general direction of the land down under in the form of one musical sledgehammer. And emblazoned on the side of this sledgehammer was the name "Jet." Yes, my general public, I partied with Jet. And by partied I meant stood with and commented on various drunk people. And to be honest at first I didn't know they were Jet. I thought maybe the Hiss were reproducing. With accents.
Tell me one two three how's it gonna be....when I go smoke this next cigarette?

Well. Tell me.

In a few hours I depart for casa de madre in LaGrange where I shall consume large amounts of normally non-vegetarian food which my mom has made vegetarian by substituting the broth of a chicken for the broth of a mushroom. And salmon croquettes will somehow, I'm sure, be involved. They always are- those bastard interloping fried pieces of deliciousity. I will then be finished with my requisite food consumption for the month and can go back to my normal nicotineladen ways.
Other big weekend plans involve doing taxes and getting my car serviced. It's going to be hot in that back room at mjq kinda way- except with a Goodwill Emporium. I love the Emporium.
Speaking of which, oh shit, I gotta join AAA.
So what I'm saying is don't call me tonight at 5am because I will be catching up on sleep. There is a small chance I'll be back on Saturday but most likely it will be Sunday, just in time for Sunday at Stokeswood.

And also, everyone read Mesmerization Eclipse. Do not question me.

It's the "Yeah, like I needed a test to tell me that" test.

Disorder	Rating
Paranoid:	High
Schizoid:	Moderate
Schizotypal:	High
Antisocial:	Low
Borderline:	Very High
Histrionic:	High
Narcissistic:	Moderate
Avoidant:	High
Dependent:	High
Obsessive-Compulsive:	Low
-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! --

I've already told you to keep me away from rivers.
I guess pills and such now as well, though pills don't work very well because by the time you get to the point where they actually start "working" you've thrown up all the ones you took to begin with.
Nothing beats shoving your scars in people's faces. They're never quite sure what to say.

Lovely.

Earlier I looked at my watch and said, "It's almost 7:30. I should probably get going." One more cigarette on the cold cold porch. Good god, I feel like shit on a shitstick and it's probably going to get worse. At least I didn't call out this time.
R-E-S-P-O-N-S-I-B-I-L-T-Y is a fucking long word.
I told Ken his new earrings made him look like a pirate. I don't think he appreciated it.
I was kind of shitty to some of my friends last night, who were probably wondering why I was talking to Ken in the first place.
Good fucking question.
My heart's the bitter buffalo, however, is a better question.

Perhaps it was the disillusionment following the fall of the communist bloc. Or perhaps simply a particularly lethal combination of absinthe, insomnia and the rising popularity of the uber-innovative supergroup Up With People. Either way there's no denying that 1991 found the members of Electroschnitzel questioning the very foundations of their "sound," or lack thereof. And so laden with nothing but a casio keyboard and fifteen mismatched wrestling boots, they found solace in the basement of an abandoned bank (which would later become the disco "Das Banken," and still later be forced to change locations and names: "Das Laundromaten" and "Das Wilheilm'sBasementen," consecutively) It was there that Electroschnitzel attempted to write their one and only "song." Liner notes from the unfinished single "Neuer!" point out the difficulties of writing a song in a key that didn't yet exist. Some still question the validity of "diminished F flat neutral," pointing out that the whole song consists of nothing but the quiet hum of the only working AC in East Berlin. The rarely-performed and hard to find "Neuer" remains a danse hall classic to this very day, especially when it was later remixed as "House of Jealous Lovers."

Celebrity Jeopardy
"Mr. Connery, it's your turn."
"I'll take the rapists for 200."
"That's therapists."
"And the day is mine!"

Anyone know who sings that song that keeps repeating "your love is better than my love, sing it..." (or perhaps vice versa)? Heard it last night at postmodern while sippin on champagne and subsequently forgot to ask the dj about it.
Last night I also wrote more lyrics to songs that still don't have music, as inspired partly by the Belle and Sebastian dvd "For Fans Only." Beautiful videos, by the way.
blip blip blip.
(exactly)

One sign that you're out too late: watching people jump roof-to-roof at eyedrum and thinking "well, nothing seems wrong with that."
The one time I forget my camera and people become airbourne.

"I didn't know anyone was throwing rocks at the window, but I was wondering what that rock-like sound near the window was."
"It could have been possums in the wall."
"If the possums got out of the wall and started throwing rocks at the window."
"Exactly."

Fill me with bar-b-que sauce, because I'm dumb as hell!

Dear life,

STOP IT!

thank you.

Assembly lines assemble the lines wait in line for an assembly
Whatever they say life is, the dead philosophers and ill-advised literature, the cached think tank of well-bred idiots, whatever overarching plan or archaic demise we look forward to and have to look forward to and fall on to look forward to and cry alone to look forward to and medicate to forget, whatever we dance to drink to hesitate to daydream to whatever we look out the window for and we all look out the window for whatever we care to love or can't help to love or make us smile and oh god make us smile whatever the crazy look to the sane, whatever they scream doomsday scream backwards backwoods dialectics whatever they (and especially them) say life is
I just see a lot of furniture. I see a lot of opportunities to sit.

Though the phenomenon of static electricity had been around since the beginning of time, I don't think it ever saw dryer sheets coming.

I have four blankets on my bed. When I last left the house at 5pm, each one was crumpled into it's own little separate pile on the floor.
I don't want to go back just yet. Everything reeks of afterhours, of early morning. Called out of work because I was really very violently ill, and because I needed sleep. And sleep. And sleep. And kleenex. Yeah, ill, jumpy/hands crawling brand of ill. Details are fuzzy, can't explain why or anything these days.

There's a profile of my friend Jenn in this week's Creative Loafing: Right here!

Yes, but no one has said a damn word about the mise en scene in "The Passion of the Christ." I don't need to know how very very Christian it is, but I'll be damned if I see a movie without being pre-informed about the rate of mise en scene.

I love blogs that are titled "My blog." Or "Mike's blog." Or "My world." God, don't over-exert your imagination or anything. I really really want to read about your life now, what you thought about Oprah's book of the month, what prescriptions you picked up this afternoon at CVS, what your favorite mashed potato topping is...

A recent Melting Dolls post reminds me that I'm really tired of hearing- at some point during every party: "I'm so excited! I'm so excited! I'm...so...scared..."

I like cheddar cheese. On mashed potatoes that is. (or, as I like to call them in my head, mashie p's)

I like Imperial Teen, toasty apple cider, dressing like a French mercenary, and sex on friday. You?

slammed!

this side of monday...
-The Paris Hilton sex video is exquisitely unremarkable. The fact that it is filmed through night vision goggles just makes me feel sorry for Paris's remaining brain cells.
-Next time I am on a pseudo-runway I shall put the cigarette out in someone's eye.
-It's rare that I'm in a situation so odd that I think "I need to go do normal things, like massive amounts of drugs." So fuck me kitten, you are wild.
-I've smoked so many cigarettes/even the voices in my head are hoarse and losing it.
-Last night I started writing random song lyrics. (see above- though they don't all sound like wilco).
-Just some words to sync up with robotic blips. I'm thinking "Universal Traveler" meets "Debaser" meets the noise of an angry Comodore 64. But with style!

...ciao! Manhattan.
dehumidifier

This weekend, um, happened.
Yep.

(uncomfortable silence)

(sips coffee)

Gotta go.