(note: the author is drunk as an irish priest and listening to New Order again... how charming!)
i live in an incredibly dense collection of triple-decker apartments, and my neighbors' lives are quite available for inspection if one has the time and opportunity. tonight i went to brush my teeth and, feeling no need to turn on the bathroom lights, stood in the dark staring out the window weaving ever-so-slightly back and forth with the gentle rhythm of the toothbrushing. some subtle movement caught my eye, and i noticed a young woman in the apartment across the alley washing the evening's dishes in her kitchen. like a young kid marveling over the toil of ants in his toy farm, i found myself enthralled with this everyday task this woman performed. before you rush to judgment, like, 'oh he's so creepy and illegal' and all that, think about how stupid-yet-multi-million-dollar-lucrative that goddamn Sim series is.... i mean, for fuck sake, how many people watch reality shows in this fantabulous country?
anyway, i think maybe i should have gotten excited over the whole voyeuristic experience, but instead i came to the conclusion that watching someone wash dishes is just slightly less interesting than actually washing those very same dirty dishes. in short, i think we all should start doing interesting things in the privacy of our own homes on the off chance that at some point, some lucky bastard will catch us in the act.
might as well give 'em a thrill, eh?
or maybe my expectations are violently skewed by porn.... will have to think about that one.
6.30.2005
SIM-MY-APARTMENT
6.29.2005
EARLY MORNING LITERATURE
i haven't engaged the realpolitik lately, but the most ubiquitous source of political discourse in my universe is ratty, somewhat current bumperstickers. i have time to read them as i stew and clench my teeth and white-knuckle the steering wheel and curse the miserable bitch of a mother that brought that frail, frightened, brain-damaged, little mushroom of a man into this world just so he could obtain a driver's license, grow up awkwardly, work a miserable job to afford that oh-so-special car that he's always wanted and basically park it in the left lane, making no effort to even inch that goddamn jumble of steel into the space between the concrete islands in the road (wider than the mighty euphrates, i might add). god forbid he'd think to alert me to his left turn... if only that particular car manufacturer would invent some manner of signaling device... hmmmm....
that's not even the point of the story. the point is i was tired and cranky and hot... and some awful, awful woman drove with me neck and neck the whole way with celine dion blaring out the windows of her jetta. (celine dion! i didn't know these people even existed!). on the other hand, my physician suggested i ignore these people and their terrible burden on society and learn to let go, so when one of my desperate flock sat stranded in the left lane with her right turn-signal blinking away while one by one us nasty commuters failed to let her into the right lane, i waved her in.
she did not give me the thank-you wave. i considered leaving my vehicle to kill her.
what kind of person would forego the thank-you wave, thought i, but luckily her entire political agenda was plastered on the back of her car to fill in any gaps in the profile i had constructed for her in my mind. amidst the aging 'bush-cheney '04' sticker and the clever 'first iraq, then france' sticker spread a myriad of 'conservative' jingoism, as if she were trying to prove a point: nope! not an original thought in my head, but i dooooo think gays are icky! thanks for asking! more iced tea?
good for her, i thought. there's a woman who's not afraid to use magnetic poetry to express an opinion.
at least it was something to read while i sat in traffic.
one that i remember distinctly read: LIBERALISM: the terrible sinking feeling that somewhere.... people can take care of themselves. odd... so was the issue one of conservatives allowing people to run their own lives without intervention or an excessive burden of arbitrarily enforced rules? i was confused. thankfully it was positioned directly above a picture of george washington, thomas jefferson and john adams with the words, right-wing extremists written underneath in red, white, and blue.
i felt my hands tighten around the tire-iron. it took a surprisingly large portion of my strength to not step out of the car please, sir, tap-tap-tap the iron on her hollow forehead and ask, "wouldn't you find anti-imperialist sentiment in colonial america (tap, tap, tap), especially anti-establishment armament and outright conflict against the crown, a little left-wing, eh? (tap, tap, tap), wouldn'tcha? (tap, tap, tap)..."
but i wouldn't want to destroy the fragile little bubble protecting her car from intelligent thought.
it helped filter out the celine dion.
PERSPECTIVE
i've been listening to a lot of problems lately and i've come to one very tender revelation about myself:
no matter what happens in my life, nothing will seem even remotely significant when weighed against a really spectacular set of breasts.
goodnight.
6.27.2005
NUNITY
it's so god awful hot in boston tonight, the only appropriate outfit is stark-raving naked. i hope all creatures, great and small, are sitting around their cramped, overpriced apartments in my cozy, little city with not a speck of clothing on their backs. we can all rejoice in this comforting thought... i call it 'nunity'.
and don't you think kid rock and nicole richie look strangely alike? weird.
christ, it's too hot today....
also, if you misspell the word 'rejoice' as 'rejoyce' it becomes 'to joyce again.' try and use it in a sentence tomorrow.
CULTASTIC-O!!
now, i'm not one to dictate how other people should behave in polite society, nor do i feel i have a particularly strong grasp of PR, specifically as it applies to the film industry and talent management, but i will say this:
she's your sister, Tom, but fire that fucking knobgobblin for letting you say such idiotic things in public.
we've had a great ride together, haven't we tom? i was up there with you in that 4-G negative dive giving the bird to those anonymously evil russians in that MIG 28. i was with you in that courtroom and no... no, i couldn't handle the truth, no sir i could not. i stood with you, defiantly, when that dirty, old bastard paul newman threatened to take away your magnificent Meucci pool cue. i watched you bang rebecca de mornay, elizabeth shue, and nicole kidman... what happened?
you fired your old publicist because you wanted to get all scientology on us... now you're all up in matt lauer's grill over the history of psychology? for shame. matt lauer, for pete's sake. did anyone else picture the two of them on some scaffold in the air, matt lauer's hand is about to get sliced off, tom's wearing black flowing robes and he's standing above matt, threatening him with a clenched fist, and he says:
"you don't.... know.... the powwwwwer, of the daaaaark side"
i felt the same way when i found out mel gibson's all religious because his dad's a holocaust denier.
couldn't you just be content to eat vanilla ice cream off katie holmes' ass? i know i would.
6.21.2005
VIVA LA HASIDIM!!
i was going to just go on and on about how upset i am over the possible 23% cut in funding for the Corporation for Public Broadcasting and how newt gingrich can kiss the fattest part of my white ass for his attempt to 'zero out' federal money for PBS and NPR in 1994 and how proud i am of everyone who wrote to their state reps and raised a substantial uproar against his attempt to mortally wound the highest quality news and educational television source in this here big beautiful country of ours and how 'can you fucking believe that your kids might miss out on sesame street and mr. rogers' neighborhood?!'....
but you all know how shitty that is, so i won't rehash it. what i will do is encourage all of you who vote in wisconsin to write rep. obey and tell him what a good job he's doing. you're my dog, obey.
so instead of getting all worked up about things, i'll send you here. this guy is fucking unbelievable.
6.17.2005
THE BIRTH OF THE BASSMASTER LEGEND
i wrote the following to commemorate this momentous occasion, but also in memoriam to the last time i went fishing. it appeared in a public forum not too long ago, so it's missing my trademark potty-mouth ("YouHandsomeDevil, where good taste comes to die!"), but it appears i'm still banging Semicolon's wife. i'm such a semicolon whore....
a lot of this is reference to inside jokes and shit, so just pretend like it's fucking hilarious.
Most of what you are about to read is true – only time will reveal which parts are fact and which will become legend. the names have been (awkwardly) changed to protect the (laughably!) innocent.
The Bass is a feared and terrible creature, not to be trifled with on this earth…
We hunt him, rather we hunt each other, the Bass and I, and the Bass does not rest. Hence we do not rest. We start early, before sunrise, to catch him off guard.
Our crew is a gnarled, seasoned assortment. Waters has hunted Bass his entire life and patrolled these icy waters since his release from government service. We know better than to inquire about this last point; some things are better left unknown. Waters has lost three limbs to the Bass, and today his stoic countenance betrays the true depth of his vendetta… a vendetta that is neither drawn against enemy nor friend… simply ‘opponent.’
Colton carries with him a lifetime of open water experience. He cut his teeth training America’s Cup skippers in the warm Pacific waters while secretly organizing the single most successful rum smuggling racket in the Caribbean Sea since British colonial rule in the Americas. Colton’s strength is speed, pure speed, and in light of the scars our vessel has accrued over its war-hearty generation, his experience is invaluable.
And the madman, the hunter, I. I’ve spent countless nights surrounded by the most criminal of lunatics, and countless days unraveling their twisted thoughts and scribblings. Though the psychological effects of this obsession are beginning to wear away at my nerves, I’ve developed a nearly clairvoyant understanding of the irrational mind. Though armed with a razor-sharp intellect, to conquer the mad I must descend into madness. On this excursion, our only chance of success is to embrace this skill with absolute certainty.
The night before the expedition, it’s discovered that a number of stress fractures have developed in the hull of our craft that threaten to rip the engine from the boat. The damage is extensive, enough to make the most hardened Arctic crab fisherman turn tail and run, but Waters is unshaken. He snarls, eyeing the possible disaster, then laughs. He is Ahab. Nothing will stop him from excising these demons on this day. He lights a torch from a smoldering ember of the previous night’s cooking fire and daftly welds bracings to the engine and transom. “She’ll hold,” he says with satisfaction, nodding and contemplating his handiwork, “she’ll hold.”
I bid farewell to our long-toothed sea dog, and we shove off under the cover of fog in the morning twilight.
The water is deceptively quiet this morning; like glass. We, like the water, are tranquil and silent, contemplating the long day ahead as we cross into the horizon. Soon we will reach the international zone off the coast of Canada where the only law is piracy and the risks men take for glory are paid… often in flesh.
The boat coasts to a gentle rest, and the motor settles to a hum and stops. Without a word we gear up and cast our lines into the deep and continue on until the only sounds that break the stillness are the pointed whisks of fishpoles. Waters listens intently to the vibrations on his line; he senses something different about the rhythmic pulse of electrons as they dance in and out of phase, as if sensing the brainwave connection between fish and line and man…. Some creature in the deep stalks its prey…
Waters closes his eyes, tuning into the scene unfolding beneath the waves, as the monster edges closer to the bait, unable to resist its hypnotic twitching. With a flash, the monster snatches the twitching lure and turns to escape with its dinner, but Waters has anticipated the creature’s every intention and is ready with his own counterattack. He sets his teeth in a grisly smirk, wheels back, and throws his rod backward like a lightning bolt… or at least it seemes so when black thunderheads roll in and electricity shoots from the sky in tandem with the strike from the Bass.
Fish do not feel pain when hooked, but instinct drives them to run, and run he did. The Bass’s flight against Waters’ line drew the full weight of the boat along the shoreline, and every thrash the fish made drew lightning bolts out of the sky, as the driving wind hurled icy rain at our crew.
When it was over, the clouds broke open and sunshine poured over the triumphant captain. He held his adversary up to the light in glory with no malice in his heart. Both man and beast had fought well that day.
Waters whispered some ancient words to the Bass, patted him on the head and set him free. The fish looked back and seemed to pause in respect to his own opponent, a man who he had met before and was likely to meet again. Then he swam away.
But not before taking Waters’s thumb with him…
Waters laughed, he had lost limbs in such skirmishes, and a thumb seemed an easy price to pay for such an encounter. Colton did not agree. He dove in after the fish, caught him by the tail and hurled the beast back into the boat. The Bass knew Colton had broken the sacred trust between man and fish, but Colton’s intentions were clear to everyone, and the fish began to understand. Screaming at the Bass to return the stolen digit, Colton searched its gullet for the missing thumb.
The fish spat Waters’s thumb onto the deck, shook free and plunged back into the water, making no effort to acknowledge his captor this time. Colton, with eyes ablaze, stood at the bow waving the thumb to the sky, and with dark, menacing clouds gathering behind him boomed, “I am Colton, Bass! Remember my name for you shall hear it again! Do you hear me, Bass!? I am Colton! COOOOOOOOLTON!!”
No one said a word for many hours, but we all knew that on this day a new BassMaster had been born.
6.14.2005
BUTTSEX, THE KEY TO A GOOD COMMUTE
i went out drinkin' last night and left my car at work, so i took the T this morning, a normally benign and anal sex-free experience for me, but something very unexpected happened: i nearly had to fuck a stranger in the ass on my way to work today.
the red line's crowded just before 8 and, despite the searing heat of satanfire that you'd think would make people turn reluctantly to their cars for a luscious taste of A/C, the train was jam packed with sweaty, adhesive, pissed-off commuters leg-humping me like wild dogs. fortunately it's only 3 stops to work, so i didn't trip on it too hard.
i was standing in the middle of the car when we pulled into my stop, so i started wiggling my way through the crowd, trying to displace rather than force people out of the way. suddenly, an older gentleman in probably his mid 40s began to bake the smallest, most ornate cake between his toes... or fucking tie his shoes in increasingly elaborate knots... or fucking fine-tune the fucking gears on some fucking precision time piece down there. how the fuck should i know? all's i know is that there was a slightly-above-average-sized man's ass between me and daylight as he bent clean over at the waist in front of me like some terrifyingly khaki ass-barricade.
i began to worry.
with no space to the left or right and the departure bell ringing away, i was faced with a unique question: do i miss my stop and ride the train until nightfall, or do i close my eyes and walk myself straight into a stranger's smirking asscheeks?
thinking quickly, i grabbed a young asian woman and, using her as a shield, surged forward through the thick piles of flesh to precious freedom just as the doors snapped shut behind me. it was a close call, and i pissed a lot of people off, but hey...
at least i didn't have to fuck a stranger in the ass on my way to work this morning. i can't think of a more distasteful way to start a day.
6.12.2005
SOOO HOT....
it's way, way too hot to sleep. i've sweat away 10 pounds of small intestine and half my precious, precious duodenum, and i've shaved off all my body hair to try and minimize heat retention.
i was thinking, though, that long ago there were two aristocratic men having a heated discussion about the future of their shared business, when one man, having said all there was to say, stood up and proclaimed, "i cannot stand it any more, i will found Catholicism!" to which the other man replied, "i, as well, cannot stand it anymore, i will found S&M!"...
and they've been in fierce competition since then...
my god, i'm deliriously hot right now...
*BLOCK
jockblock: losing a girl to someone much larger and much less intelligent
mockblock: losing a girl to someone much funnier
chock-o-block(-o): losing a girl to something much tastier say, for instance, a box of delicious chocolate
flockblock: losing a girl because you took her on a picnic and were attacked by angry ducks
6.10.2005
ROCKBLOCK
cockblock: the process by which one man surreptitiously draws the attention of a woman away from the man who (presumably) was making progress towards sleeping with her
rockblock: the process by which some assclown whips out a guitar at a party and starts playing 'brown eyed girl' and the hottie you were almost going to nail coos, bats her eyes, and drools, 'ooooo! a guitar!' and sits down next to Sr. Guitarra
lousy hippies...
and just you wait to hear what i have to say about janice rogers brown. "liberalism is slavery"?! you've got to be fucking kidding me.
6.05.2005
HERE I GO AGAIN (ON MY OWN)
awww shit, the new issue of H-bomb came out this month and, following my long standing tradition of anti-traditionalism, i will now, once again, fuck with harvard. (what has harvard done to deserve my wrath and spiteful tongue you ask? well, quite honestly, those fuckers do NOT respect the 'don't walk' hand on mt. auburn street, and that simply will not stand with me, friends... this aggression will not stand, man).
and let me tell you right off the back i do not discourage the dissemination of quality pornography to the willing and eager public (and you can't very well spell 'dissemination' without 'semination,' which i'm pretty sure has something to do with sperm, but I didn't go to an ivy league school, so how the fuck should i know?). i could probably live quite comfortably as a porn archivist in the blessed libraries of San Fernando then retire in gracious luxury to the summary hills of patagonia, so do not confuse me with one of the american taliban (that's right, fuckers, i said it) on god's mission to end this shameful exhibition of our bodies. fuck that.
on the other hand, i really can't stand h-bomb's pretention... their blatant attempt to portray their students as hip, brithawked, dispossessed copies of their heroin-chic-but-this-time-with-actual-heroin west coast version is pretty funny when you consider the environment in which those pictures were taken. women's' eyes are darkly painted, and they slink around weakly as if to say 'oooooo, look! i can't even afford to eat!" to which i reply, "ummmmmm, don't you pay, like, 10k a year to eat in one of harvard's many dining halls?"
and i am confused....
i have some advice for you, harvard, forget the poverty, the grit, the recreational realism, and embrace the fact that you charge well over 30k a year for entry into a themepark known best for grade inflation, specifically within the art and literature departments (ironic, don't you think?). go ahead and make your models look like a jay-z video. you've got the bling, so bling on, bitches, bling on.
if paris hilton has taught me anything (gasp!), it's that our culture has long given up on fucking someone's brains out; we'd much rather fuck the spoiled little rich girl out of our pretty, pretty princess power elite. i'm sort of ok with that... at least it draws negativity away from intellect and places the stigma square on the shoulders of the snooty. snooty? snotty.
and not that i don't have a fucking subscription to that goddamn magazine anyway....
all's i'm sayin' is i'd much rather see one of those girls in 3ct. diamond earrings eating beluga caviar off another girl's ass just as long as she doesn't use metal.... you should never let caviar touch metal, and i'm a stickler for authenticity.
and they should fucking know better for god's sake... it is fucking harvard we're talking about here...
HELLRAISIN'
last week i made a conscious effort to eliminate sleep from my diet. simulatneously, i opened up a new door in legal drug abuse; coffee all day, the nasty, nasty devil chew in the evening, painkillers throughout the afternoon, and good old fashioned firewater all night long.
reckless was in town endearing my heart to late nights of fuckaround and bullshit (as always, thank you), until his freebird ass took off for a stint in london, his mecca london.... a confusing pilgrimage for someone often confused for arab, but i think it makes sense in context. interesting, don't you think?
i, on the other hand, hacked my way through a violent week of work and woke up from that nightmare friday morning. oy, but what an awakening... got to see the sox drop the angels 7-4 with a niiiiiice 2 RBI double from my number one guy JD on friday. i love that guy....
interesting story, though: had drinks with some old friends on thursday, asked my buddy's girl why she knew so much about me, and she replied plainly, "well... you DID used to do my roommate." reasonable enough.
ahhh, the circle of life....
alas, so i've committed to ride a cresting wave of insanity until my departure from bean town. i shall miss you, boston, i do love that dirty water. hopefully my body will hold together until then, but if not, please bury me with a life-sized cut-out of teri polo.... either the 'aspen extreme' teri polo or 'meet the parents' teri polo... either way i'm happy.
