++LOOK!! I FUCKING UPDATED OMG KTHX.++
I think this journal might be on permanent hiatus. I've moved my shit over to livejournal because their features make me wet myself. I didn't really want to post this journal for a loooong time because it was really masturbatory and angsty, and I wanted to spare what fans I had from that cesspool of emo. But now that I'm done with most of the clawing my heart out and xXbloody_valentineXx@slitmywrists.com bullshit I think we're back on the bullet train to Kicksville. So I'm linking you. So you should go. GO! There is nothing in this text field for you!!
Monday, March 15, 2004 [05:16 a.m.]
C'mon, boys! Let's go to Massachusetts and I'll marry the shit out of you!
Also, Rufus Wainwright is a golden god.
Wednesday, November 19, 2003 [12:46 a.m.]
++an exercise in bananality++
me: :stumbles into the animation lab angry, sleepy:
kayla: :hands me a 2 liter bottle of Coke:
me: "That thing had better be half full of rum."
kayla: "Three-quarters, actually."
me: "Bless you."
So this one time I got screaming drunk and made an animatic. It's like an animation, but choppier and crappier. The sound track we were given to animate (or as I like to say, bananimate) was apparently the "diaper-stealing scene" from Raising Arizona. Those of you that have seen this movie will know what I'm talking about and chuckle heartily, wiping a fond tear from your twinkling eye. Those of you, like me, who have not seen it will simply hear 44 seconds of banjo (or as I like to call it, bananjo) music, squealing tires, and gunshots. When I sobered up enough to focus, it seemed I'd created an epic battle between a toaster in tuxedo pants and a blow-up doll in a bumper car. Fuck! Unintentional alliteration! Below are some screen captures for your pleasure. Click on them in the unlikely event you would want to make them bigger. (Yes, the teacher loved it)
An innocent bystander is caught in the crossfire...
Tuesday, November 11, 2003 [01:38 a.m.]
++several items of business++
1) Thank you so much to all those who assisted in calming my histrionic typhoon by coming here, chucking your precious precious IP addresses at my site meter, and signing my guestbook. Cuey-chan, dear, I am still working on some sort of art site. Thank you for being my devotee. Your ceremonial headdress is in the mail.
2) I have achieved YELLOW STAR LEVEL at ebay because ten people acknowleged that I fling my money around with reckless but timely abandon. Ebay has to be my second greatest ego booster. People tell me I'm A++++++ GREAT BUYER, I get little stars. Fuck, I just got an e-mail from the CEO telling me I should be very proud of myself and a little downloadable certificate to hang on my wall. God bless you, Ebay, for being nicer than Preschool.
3) Whenever someone is walking down the street with their shoulders hunched over an open-topped box that has rumpled clothes in it, far fewer rumpled clothes in fact than that box is capable of holding, that is body language for "I have a tiny, adorable, and possibly injured animal." You should go look at the animal.
4) Go read My Life in Blue because it's updating again after a long hiatus. Afterward or possibly before, or during if you're one of those goddamn hepped up raver kids who can't focus on one thing for five seconds without their teeth rattling out of their skull, stare at this.
Thursday, November 6, 2003 [09:27 p.m.]
++LET THESE FIVE PEOPLE BE KNOWN!!!++
Mary: "I've hooked some of my friends on your blog."
Me: "You what? People are reading this? People who are not you and my roommate?"
Mary: "Yeah. You're funny or something."
Me: "People? Really? Like ... you know, humans? Someones? Peeps, folks and possibly homies? Can they see me? Is my hair okay?"
Mary: "Get out of my house! You're dripping on the floor!"
Me: "I CAN TELL WHEN I'M NOT WANTED! COME ON, PEDRITO!"
pedrito: "Funk-style flippin to the sweet suga jive, ese."
That didn't actually happen. I know, I know. I too am all torn up about it. I'll miss you, Pedrito. THE POINT! I have today installed a site monitor and been watching it. To my pants-wetting joy there did appear five people WHO ARE NOT MY ROOMMATE!
I have been irritatingly happy about this.
Since I'm clearly not above external validation by strangers, but also fearful of the possibility that my stupids get no yuks out of anyone but me, I have restrained myself from putting up a guestbook. BUT I SURE AS HELL AM PUTTING UP ONE NOW. IT'S RIGHT THERE!! To your right. Your right. Right there. No, not that far. That's the door to the kitchen. Put down the toaster. No, no, there's no need to cry. We've accomplished a lot today. You can pick up the toaster. You've earned it. I think we'll end here for today.
Wednesday, October 29, 2003 [02:51 a.m.]
The experience of watching Kill Bill is like trying to reason with and possibly disarm an insane but stunningly attractive hooker strapped with explosives. If you don't want to have the first 30 seconds and about five minutes in the middle of the movie ruined for you, hit the back button now, sport.
movie: "Welcome to the show! Please enjoy this uncomfortable closeup on the pain and suffering of this brutally beaten young woman!"
me: "Oh fuck. This is a Quentin Tarantino film. Let me out."
marsha: "You're staying right here."
BBYW: "Bill, the baby's yours-"
movie: "I'M SORRY WERE YOU SAYING SOMETHING BLAM! BLAM BLAM BLAM!"
me: "I don't feel so good."
uma thurman: "Hello. KNIFE FIGHT!!!"
me: "I think I have an erection."
nice asian man: "Hello. Welcome to sushi bar."
me: "Okay. Oookay. We don't have to kill him. Please? He's so nice. Please don't kill him. Can we go five minutes without the bloodspray - WHY ARE YOU ZOOMING IN ON THAT KNIFE PLEASE DON'T KILL NICE MAN"
movie: "HAHAHA I'm totally just fucking with you."
nice asian man: "I have made another weapon, another thing that kills people. I will say without arrogance that this is my finest sword. And my last."
me: "Don'tkillyourselfdon'tkillyourselfdon'tkillyourself OH GOD DON'T LET THIS BE SOME WACKY BUSHIDO THING!"
movie: "You just don't know what the FUCK I'm going to do, DO YA, TIGER??"
quentin tarantino: "I got more cool than you will ever have. I bleed, sweat, spit and come cool. There is a slow drip of cool from the cleft in my chin. They have to siphon it off so that I can continue existing on the physical plane. Eat it, hippie."
me: "Yes, Sir."
present day [present time]
What? What is it now?? Don't you look at me like that. I was perfectly justified in my use of that hyphen. If you have a problem with my punctuation, fucking say it to my face, little man. Why don't you go turn yourself into a set of BALLS, wankstain??
present day [present time]
++just don't tap my screen. it's creepy.++
I can't write this paper when the helpful Microsoft Word Office Assistant keeps looking suicidally bored all the goddamned time. You know what? I'm sorry, Mr. Paperclip. I don't want to be here any more than you do. But if I had the ability to turn myself into shit like a bicycle and a kinetic sculpture and an exclamation point, don't think I'd just STAND THERE ALL THE TIME. You don't have to wait until I push "save" to turn into a little box to drop your eyeballs in! Fucking go nuts! We don't have to both be tragic shells of human beings. One of us might as well enjoy himself.
present day [present time]
++MEN OF THE WORLD, HEAR ME++
The following is a public service announcement.
Stop buying high rise pants.
The wacky quirk about high rise pants is that they cover your lower back, adding your lumbar to your actual ass to create ONE GIANT ASS. Watching a pair of fitted indigo wash jeans slink down over your hips is nice. Seeing your flattened, augmented, denim-covered derrier because you tucked your shirt into them you silly silly person is NOT NICE. It's upleasant for everyone and it makes me cry.
Now once you've got something respectable covering your nethers, DON'T FILL IT WITH SHIT. I don't care how large and cargofied your pockets are. They are for show. No, don't speak, they are for show. I could live forever without the image of your cellphone, keys, 8 track, what have you shrink-wrapped by khaki to your outer thigh. If you can't leave the house without the sweet security of half your earthly posessions (you woman), buy a messenger bag. They are stylish and hip and you can put little buttons of all the bands you like all over them.
This not only allows me to immediately see if our musical tastes will jive, but also gives me a good measure of the size of your cock, since you don't have ALL THAT SHIT IN YOUR POCKETS.
Right now all you're saying to me is that you're a tiny-dicked music hater trying to throw off my radar. Well you know what? I'm on to you. Also, wash your fucking hair, rockabilly. No one's gonna hit that.
present day [present time]
++memo to self++
Erin! Your hat fell behind your bed! I'm telling you now because you're not going to remember in the morning and you're going to be pissed off and wind up being horrid to otherwise innocent people, and I know you don't have the foresight to actually pick it up now and put it in a conspicuous place. Also you suck. Learn some cooking skills besides pouring water on freeze-dried things.
Sunday, October 5, 2003 [05:10 a.m.]
++it was the trash++
it totally was.
Saturday, September 27, 2003 [10:15 p.m.]
++what's that smell?++
Saturday, September 27, 2003 [10:13 p.m.]
Teacher: "For this first animation, I'd like you all to reduce your character to a simple black shape. You can keep the eyes."'
Me: "But my character is a simple black shape with eyes."
Teacher: "Well aren't you lucky."
Me: "So it would seem. And I know you said we should pencil in our drawings first, but I'd really like to animate this guy with a brush and ink."
Teacher: "Class, for the first assignment, I'd like you to not make preliminary pencils. Use a medium you're a little uncomfortable with, like charcoal or ink."
Me: "Ma'am, are you pandering to me?"
Saturday, September 27, 2003 [01:20 p.m.]
++i have the emotional maturity of a two year old++
a play in three acts.
Thursday, September 25, 2003 [06:19 p.m.]
Me: "Behold! Shrimps celestial boiled waterlessly in a "bag" of Renolds Wrap! No wonder more women buy Renolds Wrap than all other foils combined!"
Me: I love old ads from the 50s. More advertising needs to incorporate the word "Behold!"
Twig: I thought you were just making that up.
Me: No one's ever piss-your-pants excited about their product anymore. Fifty, sixty years ago everyone was all "MOTHER OF GOD!! A NEW KIND OF FORK!! FUCKING LOOK AT IT!!"
Me: Nowadays, advertisers are like, "We don't care any more than you do about new ways to shave your legs."
Twig: "Look, your teeth can't get any goddamn whiter."
Twig: "Here, buy a car."
Twig: "We don't fucking know."
Twig: You're so right
That said, enjoy the hell out of these excerpts from the April 1937 issue of Vogue, entitled "A Primer for the Hostess"
Dramatically depicted to your left is the wrong - the utterly, abysmally wrong way to serve a grapefruit. You begin by first hacking the unsuspecting fruit along the edge until you have achieved a sort of whiskered effect. Then, you pick out a design with cherries in red and poisonous green. Finally, you put the whole thing on a slippery lace-paper doily. The lady in the picture, practically swooning over the effect she has achieved in grapefruit Kultur, would never see the charm of the right way to serve it - with a dark, shining grape leaf as a background for the yellow circle of the fruit, left just as Nature made it, except for the fact that each section is loosened from its moorings.
Observe above that unhappy phenomenon - the beruffled lamb chop. All dressed up with a frilly paper cap - for all the world like a circus poodle on parade. Pity the good guest faced with the dilemma of deciding whether it is something to eat or to take home as a souvenir. And why ever frills on a chop? - one mutters restlessly, automatically consigning the query to that unanswered realm that numbers also the one about crocheted lace nut cups. Let us turn with relief to the restful sight of a smart and correct platter of succulent chops, perfectly cooked and lying in a neat little row, sanely unadorned save by a chaste border of June pease.
Thursday, September 25, 2003 [12:29 a.m.]
++snort, wheeze, hack++
You heard it first here. I can't sleep. It's 6 am and I am too congested to even pass out in my own fluids. Zan, you tart. You did this to me.
"Doug" - "So what do most Erins do for fun?"
Our Hero - "Most Erins enjoy taking a handful of broken glass and slapping it across the faces of the ones they love. Fortunately or unfortunately, I fall under the select demographic of Erins who find that activity unpleasant and painful."
For some reason he never replied. Maybe he wanted to be slapped across the face with a handful of broken glass. It's so hard to find someone these days who doesn't. People need to learn that there are some things I just can't give.
Here's a misplaced spot of art, since I've decided I'm going to be doing that more often from now on. I am an artist or something, so I'm told. :sneeze:
The legend of said art, as told by Brian Froud:
"The spirit of the birch tree is called"the one with the white hand'. If the hand touches a head, it leaves a vivid white mark and inflicts madnesss, but if it touches a heart, it is the touch of death."
I know, right?
Tuesday, September 23, 2003 [05:52 a.m.]
++even more angry than that++
fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you and your goddamn beanbag chin.
"He's dead-on gorgeous and down-to-earth," says Daredevil's Colin Farrell. "He deserves everything that has happened to him."
Including the time I burst onto the set of Gijli/Giggly/Jiggly shrieking like a crazed animal and broke his jaw. Oh wait. That didn't happen because THERE IS NO GOD. First against the wall, Mr. Affleck. First againt the wall.
"I don't think it's dignified for a man to be like, you know, primping himself and pulling out his eyebrow hairs and having facial cleansers," said Aflack, shortly before burying the interviewer in a fetid tsunami of skin flakes and stench. I will see you in hell before I let you ruin the sleek, well-groomed future of the world. IN HELL, AFFLECK!!
Sunday, August 17, 2003 [02:03 p.m.]
++even more angry than usual++
fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you
Sunday, August 17, 2003 [01:59 p.m.]
++i'd say this one's for Mike but it's not that good++
Tom Robbins has managed to write three books now about silly men falling in love with impossible blondes and I still can't get enough of it. You would think I'd get fed up. You'd think I'd never keep coming back for another verbal flogging, but here I am, wading through the filthy and utterly heterosexual mires of Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates.
switters: "Did you know that 'papaya' is the Cantonese word for vagina?"
potney: "No I didn't. Let's be best of friends."
me: "Wait. Why is my Book Sex Radar (see Monday, August 26, 2002, 01:27 a.m. - Ed.) tingling? These two are going to cross genitals! But how??"
::some pages later::
potney: "So the old man said I would die instantly if I touched another man's penis."
switters: "Looks like there's only one way to find out!"
me: "Well, this is rather unexpected."
tom robbins: "I'm so drunk. What's going on?"
switters: "Why do I have a halfie? Tom, where's this going??"
tom robbins: "Whoa! Shit! I'm sorry! I went to take a piss and this whole thing just got way out of hand."
switters: "He touched it! Kill him! Kill him now Tom!"
potney: :keels over:
tom robbins: "Well, I'm glad that was handled without incident."
me: "Don't be so sure."
Monday, August 4, 2003 [03:02 a.m.]
++more angry than usual++
THESE ARE MY GODDAMN BOOTS!!! MINE!! I'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR THEM FOR SIX MONTHS AND IF YOU GO NEAR THEM I WILL FUCK YOU UP. I'LL FUCKING CUT YOU, I SWEAR TO GOD. I HOPE YOU HAVE INSURANCE, "wyattwadrian," BECAUSE IF YOU WIN THIS ONE YOU ARE DEAD. DEAD LIKE SOMETHING I'VE KILLED BECAUSE IT FUCKING STOLE MY BOOTS. YOUR MOTHER WILL WEEP AND VOMIT WHEN SHE SEES WHAT I'VE DONE TO YOU. I WILL STOMP ON YOUR WORTHLESS CORPSE ONCE I'VE PRIED MY BOOTS OFF YOUR LIMP, PITIFUL FEET, AND THEY WILL BE RED. WITH BLOOD!! AND I'LL HATE THAT BECAUSE THEY'RE SUPPOSED TO BE WHITE! I LIKE THEM WHITE!! AND YOU WILL HAVE STOLEN THAT GLORY FROM ME EVEN FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE, AND I WILL RAIN CURSES UPON YOUR PALE AND FLABBY SOUL UNTIL THE WORLD GROWS DIM. YOU WILL HAVE WON NOTHING!! NOTHING!! NOTHING BUT MY SEETHING HATE FOR ALL TIME!
Sunday, July 27, 2003 [02:43 a.m.]
Saturday, July 19, 2003 [08:00 p.m.]
++frijoles de gatito++
me: "Hello, brick-like fiancee of my mother's friend."
chris: "Well hi there."
me: "Say, don't you look a bit familiar?"
chris: "Um. I used to work at School X."
me: "Hey now! I went to School X! Wait! You're Chris! You use to supervise all those weird outings to Mexico!
chris: "Yes, I suppose I did."
me: "You tossed me off a canoe into a river of mud."
chris: "That was the Rio Grande."
me: "No one at school ever really knew what your job was. It was like they paid you to be from California."
chris: "Well, all that's behind me now. I'm back in school working on my PhD."
me: "Good for you. What field of study?"
me: "You're getting a PhD .."
chris: "Uh huh."
me: ".. in fun."
chris: "That's right."
me: "If I apply to your school, do you think I could master in spunky?"
chris: "You could try."
Surreal. Also, to the right you will now find a heading called Cute Porn, because erotica should be adorable and several people seem to agree. I wonder if this counts as a breach of the Pitas TOS. If so, Pitas, warn me before you up and delete my account. Let not a few links stand in the way of our love.
Friday, July 18, 2003 [09:43 p.m.]
++road rage a-go-go++
So I'm driving to the movies in my self-described "boss" champaigne-colored Toyota Camry, when along comes an eight hundred-wheeled monstrocity that promptly tries to run me off the road. My rage is pure as driven snow, but is immediately replaced by warring amusement and fear as the aforementioned monstrocity hits its brakes, clearly wanting me to pass it in order to give me a right bawling out. I refuse to do so. He slows further. As do I. Not finding any particular enjoyment in this game, I beat a hasty retreat two agonizing blocks down the road. Luckily, there was enthusiastic crowd support at the theatre, and a good time was had by all. Later on at the house, however, our hero is met with an unpleasant surprise.
Thursday, July 17, 2003 [11:08 p.m.]
++Are you dreaming? Pure white love. Hello.++
Have you ever noticed that when you drink a lot of coffee, your pee smells like chicken?
Oh. Well, me neither.
Monday, July 14, 2003 [04:56 a.m.]
++more like 28 Days LAMER!! oh who am i kidding, it rocked.++
for a bunch of twits knocking around zombified London, I must say the kids from 28 Days Later seemed rather appallingly unconcerned with their situation.
selena: "I think I'll rattle this big pile of shopping carts around in the near pitch-blackness of an abandoned apartment complex. Then we can go roam unarmed for food!"
me: "Um. Could you maybe not do that?"
frank: "I think I'll hammer at this small aluminum shed in the woods with a baseball bat. What could possibly happen?"
me: "The .. uh .. the zombies .. in this movie about zombies. They might .. with the noticing .. PUT THE BAT AWAY, FRANK."
jim: "I'm just going to go nip off and smell the corpses in this deserted waystation in the middle of fuck all. Cheers!"
me: "JIM, YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK EVERY KIND OF SUCK! MOVIE, MAKE IT UP TO ME NOW!"
movie: "CAR ALARM!!
movie: "Hahahah you dink. I will punish your jumpiness with an excruciatingly slow pan across a half-lit room."
me: "Ehhhh .. hhhh .. eeeeeehhhh ..."
movie: "EYEBALL! MIRROR! GUTWOUND!"
me: "Hey, uhh .. can I get another peek at Jim's unmentionables?"
movie: "Sure, why not. I got time."
me: "My unbridled lust for you is a frightening thing, Mr. Murphy, oh yes."
and that's how it was. and then Jon said something funny that he really needs to remind me of. and now i'm hungry.
Friday, July 11, 2003 [04:51 a.m.]
It's 1:30 in Boston. The concert's long over, I suppose. I am violently unhappy.
Sunday, July 6, 2003 [12:29 a.m.]
++my head is a ball of pain++
Me: "Hello, Cave on the Veldt. Please to give me all your monsters."
Me: "Much obliged. EAT WHITE-HOT AURIC BLAST, STEROIDAL MUTANT FROM THE APOCALYPTIC FUTURE!!"
Me: "Victory for ZIM!! Hey Shadow, let's make like trees and get the fuck out of here."
Relm: "Tee hee! I like puppy dogs!"
Me: ".... You're not Shadow. YOU'RE NOT SHADOW!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"
Walkthrough: "If you opt not to wait for Shadow on the Floating Continent, he will die and cannot return to your party."
Me: "WHAT with the WHAT? I was supposed to wait?? I had ten seconds!! There were .. circumstances! HOW COULD I HAVE POSSIBLY KNOWN THAT?"
Relm: "Giggle! Doggie makes me happy!"
Me: "I'm going to kill you."
Sabin: "Wait. Should we really be attacking our own party members?"
Celes: "Orders from above. Whack the kid."
God: "I HOPE YOU LIKE REPEATING 28 HOURS OF GAMEPLAY! HAHAHAHAHA!"
Me: "CURSE YOU! CURSE YOOOOU!!"
And then we made sandwiches.
Thursday, June 19, 2003 [03:20 p.m.]
I have 15 minutes before the sun comes up and the carefully planned studio light on my still life is ruined.
I have 4 hours until the Dexedrine attacks my stomach lining and turns me into a squirrly little creature who can pretend it's actually slept in six days.
I have 8 hours until my final critique, where Julian and I will have our usual discussion where he suggests I not suck and I suggest he lick my balls.
I have 1 day until I have to pivot sassily in public like the little gay man taught me 7 hours ago.
I have 5 days until I see the Bunny. I hope I hope I hope.
I have 8 days until I move into my shiny new basement apartment.
I have 12 days until I go HOME. WANT HOME NOW.
"I DRAW DINOSAUR! ARGH!!" - Marsha
Wednesday, May 23, 2001 [04:45 a.m.]
Saturday, May 17, 2003 [05:58 p.m.]
++soon, my pretty++
There is an orginal David Mack Kabuki drawing up for auction on eBay. I wait six more minutes and then I fall upon the current high bidder with all the savagery of a wild beast and bash his head in with a rock. Or outbid him by 50 cents. I have six minutes to decide which.
Saturday, May 17, 2003 [05:43 p.m.]
Night before last I hated nearly everyone in the world except my roommates and Mona.
At the show they were preceeded by some dull chaps I don't remember, an interminable jam band, and this fiendish chimaera of American pop who sounded like an off-key Blink 182, and, with the notable exception of Steven Spielberg on bass, looked like the cast of the Real World Las Vegas.
They were terrible and every creepy little blonde in the place knew their lyrics by heart.
Mona played half of OK Computer while they were setting up, and the sound of Thom whispering underneath the racket of drunken idiots "We hope .. that you choke .. that you choke .." was deliciously apt.
Mona rocked. Mona rocked and no one knew it. The crowd left with demi-Blink and the jam band, and they wound up playing to maybe 20 members of the glassy-eyed public.
I was irrationally angry.
It didn't help that the bassist was a spastic freak of nature who goosestepped and rolled around on the floor and humped the singer's leg until he kicked him in the shin.
I'm .. not sure at all what his 'deal' was. He threw an empty cup of water at us and sweated a lot. A thoroughly unpleasant character.
I'm going to sleep. All those words really take it out of a guy.
Monday, April 28, 2003 [03:20 a.m.]
++Operation Indignant Panther++
It's not even noon and i've broken a heart. This is not a good sign.
hey, if you like grandaddy you should check us out. we're called Lullaby Four. i'm mike, the guitarist.
well if u see me on tv someday and u don't have a boyfriend...um....try to contact me or something...our codeword will be 'buttons' always remember that
buttons. got it.
What saves this from being tragic is the fact that they're actually good and rather adorable. Lookadem. Aww. You love.
I feel a need to promote, so since they're a 6 month old foetus of a band with no website, here are two songs that I like. The rest are readily available at Kazaa.
Lullaby Four - The Waves
Lullaby Four - Sleep Tight
If Grandaddy had a very softspoken baby with Sigur Ros ...
While in the promoting state of mind, I will mention that Mona is playing at Lupo's tonight, and they rock, so if you can't be there, fondle their downloadables.
Friday, April 25, 2003 [11:18 a.m.]
++i rather miss nivbed++
Ladytron: "Ground floor ladies clothes sportswear stationery first floor kitchenware furnishings confectionary .."
Me: "Heehee. That rocks. Do it again."
Ladytron: "We make songs other than "Paco!" you know."
Me: "Quiet, eurotrash. I have the playlist and your souls in my chubby American fist."
Attempts at work ethic, part Ass:
me: "Oh I'm editiiiing ... oh I'm editiiiiing on this big scary film machiiiiine .."
lightbulb: "I think I'm just gonna go blow up now, if that's cool with you."
me: "Sure is dark in here. I guess I'll go check one of the other six lamps for a working bulb."
lightbulbs: "Fuck you. Fuuuuck you."
me: "Well, fine. I'll ask this helpful film student."
hfs: "I have bulbs! Here ya go."
me: "Golly, he was nice. Now I just screw this in and -"
me: "That was eerie. I'll go get another."
me: "Umm. I guess I'll go .. sleep now."
Wednesday, April 23, 2003 [12:36 a.m.]
++i am so over that placebo thing. really. no really. shut up.++
Hey man! Mah schooldays insane
Hey man! Mah work's down the drain
Hey man! Well she's total blam-blam
She said she had to squeeze it but she... and then she...
Oh! Don't lean on me man, 'cause you can't afford the ticket
Back from Suffragette Citaaay
ONLY DAVID BOWIE TRULY UNDERSTANDS ME
This is what happens when I try to have a work ethic:
me: "I shall now take digital pictures."
brain: "I will use your trained compositional sense against you to make you take half of them vertically, in the format contrary to the one that is useful to you."
me: "Curse you, brain. I will cut my losses and print the pictures I can use now and retake the rest tomorrow."
computer 1: "Syke! I can't power your helpful USB mass storage device. I hope you like your files locked forever in plastic!!"
computer 2: "Hi!! I have no printer!"
computer 3: "I have no Photoshop! Rot in hell!"
computer 4: "I also have no printer, but I will pretend I do until such time as you attempt to use it."
computer 5: "I think I'll be nice to you so other things can betray you later."
me: "Sweet fucking goddamn. I guess I'll go to Kinko's and make copies of these printouts."
kinkos: "I closed five hours ago, art fag."
me: "I guess I'll go ... sleep .. or something."
me: "Ah! Bright and early! Time to take pictures!"
camera: "YOU DIDN'T CHARGE ME!! WATCH ME DIE!!"
me: "But .. but .. ass! I'll wait a few hours and take them then."
me: "Okay. Pictures taken. I'll go to the lab and print them out! Yay!"
helpful USB mass storage device: "I didn't like the way you yanked me out of your computer last time, so I'll corrupt all your files and enjoy your confusion."
diana: "I will be the angel of mercy and upload the files to my website."
me: "Right. Good. Onward to Kinko's!"
copier 1: "I will scan your photos, and act like I'm processing them, when really I'm just fucking with you for as long as you'll buy it."
copier 2: "I'm just broken."
copier 3: "I've received word from above that God doesn't want you to crack just yet, so I'll make soothing sounds while I efficiently handle your job."
me: "Ehhh ... hhhhhh ... bllrrrbbpt"
me: "Now to transfer these onto other sheets of paper and make them look cool with wintergreen oil. There are 86 of them. It's 11 o'clock. How long could this possibly take?"
god: "AN IMPOSSIBLY LONG TIME! HAHAHAHAHA I NEVER LIKED YOU!!"
me: "I suppose I'll just nip off and have that breakdown now."
teacher: "I'm small and Polish. I will await your inevitable failure with a tight-lipped smile and a slight facial tic."
Wish me luck?
Monday, April 21, 2003 [04:00 a.m.]
++sharp blow to the spine++
Placebo's not .. coming to America. Placebo's not coming to America. They're not coming. Ever. Literally in tears now. I'm a stupid teenager and I cannot cope.
Monday, March 17, 2003 [04:07 a.m.]
James: "At the bakery, the cinnamon raisin muffins go hard as bricks after two days. We keep them out for four. After that, we pack them in boxes of eight and sell them for two bucks a box."
Me: "Who would ever want that to happen to them?"
James: "It's such a deal, though! Two bucks!"
Me: "But James, they're terrible."
James: "But you get eight of them!"
Me: "Why are we even having this discussion? It makes no difference to you or your paycheck whether or not I buy eight awful muffins."
James: "Feed them to your dog! You'll make your dog so happy for two dollars! Isn't your dog's happiness worth two dollars?"
I'm not sure it is.
So why did no one tell me GWAR was the best thing ever? Why was I totally unaware of their video archive's existence until last night? Big hairy men! Giant foam rubber genitals! Spaceships! Dinosaurs! A guitar made of meat!! Meat!! I swear to god, I'm going to look under the director's credit and see the name Joel Veitch, and I will laugh.
Friday, March 14, 2003 [01:12 a.m.]
++steve rambo's butt and dong++
Mobyfication: this sex toy confuses me
DuoNoin: what? it's just steve rambo's butt and dong
Mobyfication: oh! well don't i feel silly
DuoNoin: as you should
DuoNoin: you look like you need a healthy dose of steve rambo's butt and dong
Mobyfication: you know, maybe i do. maybe i do.
DuoNoin: yes. yes i would like a "tall shaft" boot
DuoNoin: oops, they're fresh out of BLACK
DuoNoin: what other shoe brands don't suck?
Mobyfication: i hear steve rambo's butt and dong have a new spring line
DuoNoin: yes, but that's way out of my price range
Tuesday, March 4, 2003 [11:36 a.m.]
++oh such durge and born tools have i++
When Campbell's Soup-at-Hand says the edges of its can are razor-sharp, it does not lie. When it says that it can cause severe burns when microwaved beyond the recommended amount of time, it could not be more accurate. I'm in pain and I have no one to sue, because everything that is currently wrong with me I was clearly warned about. In large print. I feel stupid and used.
I received a strange sort of Valentine today, which said, and I quote, "Let's HANG out sometime (well) - Amanymous" and something I can't read. It was accompanied by various confectionaries, including a chocolate wrapped in aluminum foil, two sour patch kids, and two candy hearts, one reading "I LOVE" and the other "MY BOYFRIEND."
Should I read them together? Am I someone's boyfriend? Is the love mentioned in the first heart a sort of universal love? We live in a world of uncertainty. I'm installing bars on my window as we speak.
Monday, February 25, 2003 [03:51 a.m.]
++taking toys, going home++
Resyiki: oh and I don't think you look that much like a boy
Resyiki: I hope you feel better
No. Not even close. Just one final kick in the teeth. Thanks. Balls to each and every one of you. I'm going to go jerk off in the shower.
Tuesday, February 18, 2003 [04:51 a.m.]
After watching Star Trek VI with Colin today, I've realized that most of the underlying rage with which I live my life can be traced back to my discovery in 4th grade that I would never live to be a starship captain. That sole realization threw me into a black despair from which I obviously have yet to recover. All my anger is frustratingly impotent and directed entirely towards a shining vision of the future some 300 years from the time I will die. Life is bleak, and I want a red bean steam bun so badly I could kill.
Accomplished: Jack all
"Well you're kind of cute. Where are you from again?"
"Texas! Where we cut mother fuckers who tell us we're cute."
Tuesday, February 18, 2003 [01:51 a.m.]
++rag, mama, rag++
Colin, who rocks, handed me a mix tape today with the words "If only for a single time through, any minute I can keep you from listening to Ex Nihilo is a minute well spent."
That, kids, is a good friend. I'm alone in the dark with the blues, which, frankly, is the only way to be.
Monday, February 10, 2003 [02:58 a.m.]
Casualties of Arson: Paper Towel, 1, Brawny
Wax chips: Innumerable
Comments: I live like a goddamn pig. My Marv action figure is swinging his severed head over a half-empty bowl of cous cous and a bottle of Gatorade Fierce Grape, and frankly, it's wrong.
Songs of the Hour: (no particular order)
JJ72 - "Formulae"
Placebo - "Sleeping With Ghosts"
Elbow - "Little Beast"
Kent - "Quiet Heart"
Skip James - "Devil Got My Woman"
Underworld - "King of Snake [Straight Mix]"
Tom Waits - "Get Behind the Mule"
The Walkmen - "We've Been Had"
The Venus in Furs - "Baby's on Fire"
Hot Hot Heat - "Bandages"
Bright Eyes - "Oh You Are the Roots That Sleep Beneath My Feet and Hold the Earth in Place"
I have stuff in my hair.
Monday, February 10, 2003 [12:57 a.m.]
++POUT!! POUT LITTLE PLUSHIE!!!++
Um ... I uh .. well shit ... just .. just don't come into my room for the next couple of minutes, okay?
In other news, my path has somehow crossed with the up-and-coming industrial goth band Ex-Nihilo. Groove to their mighty armada of dissonant chords and animated GIFs while you read what the critics have to say:
Twig: "For a goth group, their little descriptions are so Up With People. "This is Half-Head. He's a demon! He's also a hard worker and likes blueberry muffins and warm spring showers!" "We're a complete band, and we love you! We're evil!" I love them. Do not think that any of the joking is in any way detracting from the love. I mean, Jesus Christ, Spooky, you found the world's only Goth Boy Band. They get cuter the further down you go. Shit, all they're really missing is Jabberjaw."
Flidget: "I hate you so much. I HATE YOU SO MUCH. YOU'RE KILLING MY LOVE OF METAL. SO MUCH HATE! FOR YOU!"
Me: This is the coolest thing that has ever been or ever will be. Failure to agree with me will not be tolorated. Your obviously unsubstantiated disapproval will be met with a brutal fisting.
I like the one who thinks he can get away with white ankle socks.
Sunday, February 10, 2003 [04:00 a.m.]
++i have strep! who wants to lick me?++
I keep clicking the "Mount on Wood" button, but it doesn't give me the option I was hoping for.
Tuesday, February 5, 2002 [05:46 p.m.]
++it's true what i say++
I sure am back. I sure couldn't access my account while I was away. The Pitas admins sure are unreachable. The new Placebo album sure is fucking brilliant.
What, you want stories? What makes you think you deserve stories, you miserable little bastard, huh? Fine.
1) London is gorgeous. I have never felt so at ease in a place so far away from my actual living hole. Flidget is the cutest, tiniest, most snuggly of things. That makes three of the Conjunction members I've now actually met that have been uncompromisingly cool.
2) I can no longer watch a train on the Underground approach the platform without Niel Gaiman's words "It will come for me like a dragon in the dark" running through my mind. And while we're talking Gaiman, the World's End tavern is smelly and full of idiots, and I am sorely disappointed in it and in Niel for being indirectly responsible for it.
3) Despite what Flidget says, it is indeed possible to survive solely on red bean mochi and Tetley tea. Also despite what she says, British home improvement shows are amazing and I will hear nothing to the contrary.
4) When I'm not being reprimanded for indecent exposure, the clubs in London are some of the neatest things ever and populated in equal measures by hardcore pretty and drunken sagbeasts. Guess which category my fans fell into.
5) Amsterdam is weird and terrifying and filled with feces and men who walk up to you and say "Heeeeeeeeeeehhhhh." You could not drag me back to that cesspool of cocks and pot, and if I ever again see a plastic replica of a midget rasta offering me up a fat one, I will cave its skull in with my boot.
End of tale. I'm back at home wallowing in filth and vintage clothing. I will post pictures of the trip when the mood strikes me, and I have an actual online art gallery in the making. Look amazed.
Monday, February 4, 2002 [09:15 p.m.]
Sweet assfuck. I leave for London in less than an hour. I have a tiny black umbrella, a Placebo shirt, and the Queen Mother's face in my pants. I am so ready. I'm coming to London.
D'YA HEAR THAT, ARTIE?? I'M COMING TO LONDON!
Friday, January 4, 2002 [02:27 p.m.]