8.31.2005

I'VE GONE COMPLETELY FUCKING MENTAL

first off, i would like to address the individual (or individuals) who thought it best to post spam on my blog disguised as an authentic comment: please return to the putrid, lice-infested vomitorium from which you emerged so that you may die an agonizing death paralyzed from the neck down while large, rabid swamprats feast and commune within your entrails and crows pick the skin from your bones.

die, die, die.

now that i've dispatched that particular piece of unpleasantness, i shall continue on to the more pressing matter of my going completely fucking mental. you see, my friends, i have gone completely fucking mental. in the span of three days i willed myself to (oft times drunkenly) assemble all my worldly shit, send it westward, quit my job, drive a thousand goddamn miles (totally and completely car-tarded), move in with my parents, get semi-drunk, and attempt to publicly re-hash these events with the hope i will eventually wake up to the fact that, yes, this actually did happen and, no, tammy faye baker will not appear and titter, you don't need to be helped any longer, you've always had the power to go back to kansas...

that's right, i just quoted the wizard of oz, and no, i don't know why tammy faye is glinda. it's my dream, fuckers.

it really sucks though, leaving everyone behind. i sent E and DMC back to boston yesterday, and this is the first time i've had the chance to sit down and assess the damage. thankfully mom and dad went and got themselves cable and DSL, so i can at least watch Hogan Knows Best and check up on my favorite nudie websites, though they both have failed to bring me the kind of joy i've come to expect.

no more Redbones, no more Thai dish, no more buffalo burgers and jack daniels at Joshua Tree for Sox games, no more Fenway, no more T, no more Barking Crab, Border Cafe, John Harvard's, Grafton St., Burren, Sligo... no more bitchy Cambridge chicks, no more slutty Faneuil Hall girls, no more chubby Davis babes, no more Harvard smarties, no more BU hotties... no more swanky redline, no more slow-ass green line, no more people-watching on Newbury, no more skateboarding on memorial drive on sundays, no more beach days in Glouster, no more pissing on national landmarks in Cambridge, no more Vermont road trips, no more mountainclimbing in NH, trivia night, getting fucked up on back bay roofdecks, house parties in allston, frat parties in somerville, mike's cannoli in the north end, scorpion bowls in cambridge, hangover after hangover after hangover....

coffee at 9am, whole foods at 6pm, on demand in bed by 10pm.... driving over the mass ave bridge to work at sunrise, waking up happy, fucking around mercilessly at a fortune 500 company, working hard, playing hard, loving hard, bitching, kicking, screaming, and having such a good goddamn time, i feel like i'm nuts to let it all slide.

i do love that dirty water...

on the other side of this bitter little coin, i find a warm welcome here in wisco. i can't help but think that in the midst of all the insanity of the past two years, i've managed to find the precise people i was looking for; those that, when i go back, will behave as if nothing at all has transpired in the meantime. it's like that here, now, giving me just the proper amount of egocentricity to believe that i actually matter in the greater whirlwind of all this madness.

farewell and best wishes to all. it's been a great fucking wild ride.

California, you're my new bitch. brace yourself, sweetheart....

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8.18.2005

PRICELESS

for some reason this hit me just right today...

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8.11.2005

HOLY FUCK

ummm... speaking of things that happened between 1980 and 1989, but just fucking barely, i've just discovered brooke hogan was born in 1988.

1988. that's nineteen eighty-eight.

now, i'll admit there are a number of things wrong with that, not the least of which is my comment about 'building a lasting masturbation fantasy' about a girl i assumed was well into her twenties who, in fact, is only seventeen years old.

but more importantly, i had my first fucking ten-speed by 1988 when brooke hogan was born. it was made by Huffy. it was the fucking tits.

without pointing out that, according to UK standards, i am technically not a pedophile, i think i'll just end this auto-conversation and start fresh tomorrow.

god i hope nicole richie's not jailbait...

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HOGAN KNOWS BEST?

i'm boning up on my pop culture (tee hee... 'boning') and i've decided i really, really dislike Johnny Fairplay, but i really, really fucking love Xzibit...

i tuned into 'Hogan Knows Best' on VH1, hoping to build a lasting masturbation fantasy with Brooke Hogan, but instead i flipped to the show just as Hulk ('Terry'... fucking priceless) was pulling his trademark red and yellow wrasslin' tights over his black thong.

yes, i just saw Hulk Hogan's 50 year-old ass clad only in one, giant, melancholy thong.

i'm not sure how long i will pursue this generation's pop culture. perhaps i'll drink a bottle of jameson and enjoy 10 straight hours of 'I Love the 80's' (1980-1989). that ought to put me back on track again...

wait... i seem to recall something about 'Hulkamania' that occurred during that timeframe...

goddamnit...

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SAND EVERY FUCKING PLACE

i caught a whiff of tidiness in the air tonight and attacked my untidy room with the prejudice reserved for seasoned field marines. i discovered there's sand every fucking place in here as if, bit by bit, the insidious sahara were creeping its dusty fingers towards my bed...

which is also filled with sand.

i gnash my teeth with disbelief but, alas, there's no use fighting the inevitable heat-death of the universe.... lousy goddamn entropy.

so a funny thing happened to me yesterday: i was walking home from work, minding my own pretty business, not hurting anyone, whistling a pleasant tune whilst tiptoeing down the sunny lane, and some dumb-fuck woman drove her mercedes into a man driving a motorcycle in the opposite direction.

apparently she really, really wanted that parking space.

so there i stood, the only witness to the scene unfolding before me like the gentleman on the motorcycle tumbling down the pavement in a miraculous recreation of pollock's White Light (the one from Coleman's Free Jazz... thank you Ken Burns!)

(PS. NYC by Interpol is a really great fucking song)

where was i? yes, the leaky gentleman on the busted motorcycle, yes...

so i, of course, morph from being a witness to the scene to being The Eyewitness to the Scene as far as the Cambridge police (te he... "police") were concerned, and spent the better part of my dwindling late-afternoon-early-evening acting as the only one with a fucking clue. i refuse to believe that these people can live/drive in cambridge/boston and not know how to handle themselves in a traffic crisis... i had to call the towtruck in for chrissake.

oy.

so anyway, i've decided to think of my bedroom as one tiny beach, and my bed is the sailboat that will take me away to dream island... thankfully this boat comes equipped with wireless internet. did i say 'internet porn?' i meant NPR.org...

sweet dreams, kids.

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8.10.2005

SHE'S A BITCH...

i found this photo oh-so-satisfying...

...it's Chicago LF Scott Podsednik getting punched in the face by a Yankee fan, which, for anyone who's paid the eensiest, weensiest little bit of attention to gary sheffield is just poetry in (suspended) motion. I'm not 100% convinced it's not just a convenient piece of photomagic, but what a dainty little piece of photomagic!
ahhhhhh....

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8.06.2005

TATTOO BADASS

if i ever get another tattoo, it'll be a picture of me fighting a T-Rex with nunchuks...

that'd be superbadass.

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8.05.2005

QUE SERA, QUE SERA

by the way, Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam is a sweet band...

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8.04.2005

DRIVING MISS DAISY

i'm getting back into pop culture again (relatively speaking, pop culture reached its glorious apex in 1986. duh), and i've noticed something very strange about jessica simpson...

is she a symbol of christian purity and moral fortitude, or is she an eeensy-weensy little flesh vixen? i am so confused...

also, i think she has a touch of the palsy...

...and my strange fascination with Nicole Richie continues... maybe because i'd love to be Lionel's son-in-law? how sweet would that be? i could be an honorary Commodore!!

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8.03.2005

CAFTA

i totally forgot to rant about CAFTA...

you, the public, get to decide:

CAFTA: a thinly veiled economic hegemony that will no doubt subjugate the slave labor force of poorer nations while the vast chasm between the ultra-rich and the growing numbers of unemployed on both sides of the border widens a notch (and the veritable treasure chest of anti-american 'extremists' bulks up under the newly created dictatorships in Central America, paving the way for future attacks on the US)...

...or giant box of cock?

you decide.

the ruling party in this great, but wounded nation of mine (i.e. Senator Fuckusintheass, R-Everywhere) would have me believe it's in the interest of national security to bring forth riches and good tithe to poorer nations, but tell me this: when the only work in the neighborhood is sewing nike shoes together for pennies a day, while phil knight saves $5.15 per hour on labor costs, what the fuck are these people going to eat? a hungry man is an angry man, and a hungry mob is an angry mob. learn from your mistakes, jackasses.


And by god, i just found my copy of Sandinista!

Oh, Mama, Mama look there
Your children are playing in that street again
Don't you know what happened down there?
A youth of fourteen got shot down there
The Kokane guns of Jamdown Town,
The killing clowns, the blood money men
Are shooting those
Washington bullets again

As every cell in Chile will tell
The cries of the tortured men
Remember Allende, and the days before,
Before the army came
Please remember Victor Jara,
In the Santiago Stadium,
Es verdad - those Washington Bullets again

And in the Bay of Pigs in 1961,
Havana fought the playboy in the Cuban sun,
For Castro is a colour,
Is a redder than red,
Those Washington bullets want Castro dead
For Castro is the colour......
That will earn you a spray of lead

For the very first time ever,
When they had a revolution in Nicaragua,
There was no interference from America
Human rights in America
Well the people fought the leader,
And up he flew...
With no Washington bullets what else could he do?

If you can find a Afghan rebel
That the Moscow bullets missed
Ask him what he thinks of voting Communist......
Ask the Dalai Lama in the hills of Tibet,
How many monks did the Chinese get?
In a war-torn swamp stop any mercenary,
Check the British bullets in his armoury

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8.02.2005

LE' GOAT

while flipping through my work notebook, i came across the following passage:

...somedays i develop a nasty pain the my leg, which i attribute to a past injury involving my freshly-tarred roof and a particularly ill-tempered goat. i find the pain to be nearly unbearable, especially in the company of women, and i am quite unable to remove their various petticoats, a most unfortunate condition, indeed...

i'm a scientist. such things should not appear in my notebook, and i don't think i was the one who put it there, having neither leg-injury, nor freshly tarred-roof, nor goat.


strange days, indeed, friends...

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