Nobody Dies A Virgin, Life Fucks Us All Over
Damn idiot boring teek geek pigfuckers LIKED their free booze and made me work overtime. Hard to feel like a grownup when you're calling Mummy to pick you up from the Big Bad.
Bah, today sucked. I'll be glad when these fucks are out of my life.
ADD: Finished Foley's book, ***½ of 5. REALLY f'n violent, and the ending seemed staplegunned on, but I got no real issue. Kinda short, about how long I expect my novel (madly laughing) to be.
STILL hate those techie fucks. Word life.
7/31/03
7/29/03
Blogupacional Hypnotherapy
52 to 48. I took this online test about a year ago and yet the result sticks with me. 52 to 48.
48 is how much of me is lust. 52 is love. And that seems about right.
After all, 48% writes prOn--THAT is another story for another time, I'm just prattling on right now before I fall prey to the television at the bottom of the hour and grooving on some Audioslave--and 52% of me, even as I write, thinks, "Well, there's got to be more to it than THIS, right?"
48% of me looks down and sees a scarlet V all the time. It just doesn't matter, work, home, shopping center, and it feels the V is noisy and loud. "LOOK AT ME! I'M A FREAK! BEARDED LADY, LOBSTER BOY, VIRGIN! WOOGIE BOOGIE!. The 52 is saying "It's not that important", but you know what? 52 gets weak every so often, and he can see the V. He might not hear it--or might not choose to for his own safety--but he sees it, and in that moment the 2% gap narrows.
I'd be lying if I said I haven't been in love before. It's awesome, I assume it would be like that first line of cocaine before the downward spiral. You smile a little more, the sky's a little clearer, and it's all the shit you see in movies, film, and other pop culture. However many times it is I've put my love out, it's never been returned.
Fucking OW.
See, this is where pop culture fails. There's nothing worse than watching your heart just get pushed in a wheat thresher and not being able to stop it. And the pain doesn't really go away, at least not in my case. Places, things, songs, colors--reminders. You walk along in the day just fine, you're messing with the radio dial, "Wonderwall" comes on and it's like a gunshot to the face. Just sitting there, in the dark, every memory you pushed to the back clearing it's way to the front of the line. You taste that regret in your mouth, like munching aluminimum foil. You feel heavy, like your heart is about to go and you don't really care if it does, because to paraphrase Dogma, it's better to be dead than be in hell. Yeah, after the first couple of weeks, time heals it a little bit.
No one ever mentions scar tissue and how the slightest jolt can just make you start bleeding all over the place again. Now you've got to get somewhere, and fix it, and you do. But it's touch and go. Another wrong touch, and you'll go off like a hemophiliac at a Ginsu convention. Sometimes you get slagged enough to where the heart's almost entirely scar tissue, and then you're really fucked. You walk sideways like Nicholson in As Good As It Gets, because you know any wrong move--a scrape, a punch, not looking where you're going--and you're going to bleed to death in the sidewalk.
You know, in the lighter moments when it doesn't get to me so much, I remember a guitar pick I saw Dave Navarro have. It listed all the guitarists that weren't Flea in the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and all the names before him had a line through them. And underneath "Dave", there was a simple question mark. In the lighter moments I think of listing all the girls I loved and didn't love me, followed by a question mark. It'd make an excellent shirt, but I get the feeling besides it being a massive in-joke it's a little too easy for it to switch from "self-mocking shirt" to "the last thing we saw him alive in".
I could make a girl happy. I'm just not. And some days that's fine. And some nights I look out the window and instead of indifference it makes me want to take a A-bomb and sprinkle it around the world.
I don't know why I'm talking about this now.
This is not a personal ad; or it's the worst one in the history of mankind. *shakes head* There's a lot of chaos upstairs, if you hadn't noted.
I'm standing in the circle, alongside everyone else. And the music plays, and I walk around. I feel an impending sense of doom, why I don't know, but I keep walking like everyone else smiling like everyone else, for the impending sense of doom is merely impending and yet to present itself.
And then the music stops, and I scramble for a chair, and I hang on. Someone else is out. There goes the chair.
And the music starts again, and it suddenly occurs to me: you know, pretty soon, YOU'RE going to be the one who's out.
52 to 48. I took this online test about a year ago and yet the result sticks with me. 52 to 48.
48 is how much of me is lust. 52 is love. And that seems about right.
After all, 48% writes prOn--THAT is another story for another time, I'm just prattling on right now before I fall prey to the television at the bottom of the hour and grooving on some Audioslave--and 52% of me, even as I write, thinks, "Well, there's got to be more to it than THIS, right?"
48% of me looks down and sees a scarlet V all the time. It just doesn't matter, work, home, shopping center, and it feels the V is noisy and loud. "LOOK AT ME! I'M A FREAK! BEARDED LADY, LOBSTER BOY, VIRGIN! WOOGIE BOOGIE!. The 52 is saying "It's not that important", but you know what? 52 gets weak every so often, and he can see the V. He might not hear it--or might not choose to for his own safety--but he sees it, and in that moment the 2% gap narrows.
I'd be lying if I said I haven't been in love before. It's awesome, I assume it would be like that first line of cocaine before the downward spiral. You smile a little more, the sky's a little clearer, and it's all the shit you see in movies, film, and other pop culture. However many times it is I've put my love out, it's never been returned.
Fucking OW.
See, this is where pop culture fails. There's nothing worse than watching your heart just get pushed in a wheat thresher and not being able to stop it. And the pain doesn't really go away, at least not in my case. Places, things, songs, colors--reminders. You walk along in the day just fine, you're messing with the radio dial, "Wonderwall" comes on and it's like a gunshot to the face. Just sitting there, in the dark, every memory you pushed to the back clearing it's way to the front of the line. You taste that regret in your mouth, like munching aluminimum foil. You feel heavy, like your heart is about to go and you don't really care if it does, because to paraphrase Dogma, it's better to be dead than be in hell. Yeah, after the first couple of weeks, time heals it a little bit.
No one ever mentions scar tissue and how the slightest jolt can just make you start bleeding all over the place again. Now you've got to get somewhere, and fix it, and you do. But it's touch and go. Another wrong touch, and you'll go off like a hemophiliac at a Ginsu convention. Sometimes you get slagged enough to where the heart's almost entirely scar tissue, and then you're really fucked. You walk sideways like Nicholson in As Good As It Gets, because you know any wrong move--a scrape, a punch, not looking where you're going--and you're going to bleed to death in the sidewalk.
You know, in the lighter moments when it doesn't get to me so much, I remember a guitar pick I saw Dave Navarro have. It listed all the guitarists that weren't Flea in the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and all the names before him had a line through them. And underneath "Dave", there was a simple question mark. In the lighter moments I think of listing all the girls I loved and didn't love me, followed by a question mark. It'd make an excellent shirt, but I get the feeling besides it being a massive in-joke it's a little too easy for it to switch from "self-mocking shirt" to "the last thing we saw him alive in".
I could make a girl happy. I'm just not. And some days that's fine. And some nights I look out the window and instead of indifference it makes me want to take a A-bomb and sprinkle it around the world.
I don't know why I'm talking about this now.
This is not a personal ad; or it's the worst one in the history of mankind. *shakes head* There's a lot of chaos upstairs, if you hadn't noted.
I'm standing in the circle, alongside everyone else. And the music plays, and I walk around. I feel an impending sense of doom, why I don't know, but I keep walking like everyone else smiling like everyone else, for the impending sense of doom is merely impending and yet to present itself.
And then the music stops, and I scramble for a chair, and I hang on. Someone else is out. There goes the chair.
And the music starts again, and it suddenly occurs to me: you know, pretty soon, YOU'RE going to be the one who's out.
7/27/03
Waking Sleep
Sorry, ladies, gentlemen, lowlifes, and whatever the hell Chaz is. Life's been pretty boring here, and plus I think this'll bump the wedding story off the front page. :( But Sara, Hot & Tall will live on forever, and Dupin GIT YOUR OWN KOOL-AID.
Anyway, today sucked at work: technology meetings disguised as an annual conference of BORING. I was three more "Where's Ballroom 20?"s away from going to Hooters after work and having a $6 Heineken for the ambiance and calming effect of boobs. Though the one downtown I ran into a classmate of mine working there who was 18 at the time. I can assure you there's nothing in the life instruction guide that handles the moment you run into someone you copy edit with at Hooters.
Vengenance was good but that UT/Cena ending...UGH. Like eating a giant sundae and finding a SARS-infected needle sticking to the roof of your mouth after. Bah.
Off for the past few days, bought a bunch of shit, you can see it in the usual spot in the sidebar under Welcome To The Fold. I ended up with the live instruments do-ever version of N.E.R.D. and it fucking rocks. ****½. All the stuff that was really good before just rules the free world now, especially "Lapdance" & "Brain". If you're into hip-hop and/or rock, you'd do well to hunt it down. Foley's book is excellent so far but I'm still early on in it.
I'm starting to have Tuesdays & Fridays off for some odd reason. I don't know how those days got picked, but whatever.
Getting back into writing, but YOU BETTA NOT BRING YOUR KIDS!
I realize the blog effect is still rippling, so if you wanna be a whiny bitch and get linked up 'cause you've given me said benefit of the doubt, get at me via the comments.
Promise things'll get interesting for me. Stay tuned, loyal viewers. Alllllllll 17 of ya.
Sorry, ladies, gentlemen, lowlifes, and whatever the hell Chaz is. Life's been pretty boring here, and plus I think this'll bump the wedding story off the front page. :( But Sara, Hot & Tall will live on forever, and Dupin GIT YOUR OWN KOOL-AID.
Anyway, today sucked at work: technology meetings disguised as an annual conference of BORING. I was three more "Where's Ballroom 20?"s away from going to Hooters after work and having a $6 Heineken for the ambiance and calming effect of boobs. Though the one downtown I ran into a classmate of mine working there who was 18 at the time. I can assure you there's nothing in the life instruction guide that handles the moment you run into someone you copy edit with at Hooters.
Vengenance was good but that UT/Cena ending...UGH. Like eating a giant sundae and finding a SARS-infected needle sticking to the roof of your mouth after. Bah.
Off for the past few days, bought a bunch of shit, you can see it in the usual spot in the sidebar under Welcome To The Fold. I ended up with the live instruments do-ever version of N.E.R.D. and it fucking rocks. ****½. All the stuff that was really good before just rules the free world now, especially "Lapdance" & "Brain". If you're into hip-hop and/or rock, you'd do well to hunt it down. Foley's book is excellent so far but I'm still early on in it.
I'm starting to have Tuesdays & Fridays off for some odd reason. I don't know how those days got picked, but whatever.
Getting back into writing, but YOU BETTA NOT BRING YOUR KIDS!
I realize the blog effect is still rippling, so if you wanna be a whiny bitch and get linked up 'cause you've given me said benefit of the doubt, get at me via the comments.
Promise things'll get interesting for me. Stay tuned, loyal viewers. Alllllllll 17 of ya.
7/22/03
I am not short!
[07-23-2003, 01:01] Radical Rob T: happy birthday, my powerless friend
[07-23-2003, 01:01] JMShapyro: yayayayayay!~
[07-23-2003, 01:02] JMShapyro: I am on the fucking aim express tho
[07-23-2003, 01:02] JMShapyro: I hate it so bad
[07-23-2003, 01:02] Radical Rob T: AIM Express is truly ghetto. I used it in lab at school.
[07-23-2003, 01:04] Radical Rob T: Are you gonna be able to do anything for your birthday?
[07-23-2003, 01:04] JMShapyro: I don;t know :( :( :(
[07-23-2003, 01:04] JMShapyro: we must get our POWER back
[07-23-2003, 01:06] Radical Rob T: here's hoping they get everything back up and a-going, Maybe you can call Charlie and go party with him. :-D
[07-23-2003, 01:07] JMShapyro: yes fucking Charlie still has his power in nearby Franklin
[07-23-2003, 01:07] JMShapyro: 15 minutes between blackout and
[07-23-2003, 01:07] JMShapyro: us
[07-23-2003, 01:08] Radical Rob T: Charlie needs his fucking power so he can see to choose which fucking wig to wear
[07-23-2003, 01:09] Radical Rob T: that supremely sucks, though, seriously.
[07-23-2003, 01:12] Radical Rob T: this should help make up for it, though. A picture of one of your favorite OWF stars, Butch Rosser
[07-23-2003, 01:12] Radical Rob T: in a TUX
[07-23-2003, 01:12] Radical Rob T: http://limelight-photography.com/gebhardt/pages/146.htm
[07-23-2003, 01:12] JMShapyro: OMG
[07-23-2003, 01:12] JMShapyro: but OH WAIT
[07-23-2003, 01:12] JMShapyro: gay ass AIM Express won't let me drag my mofuckin mouse
[07-23-2003, 01:12] JMShapyro: for copy and paste
[07-23-2003, 01:14] Radical Rob T: sucktacular. You can't direct connect with Express either
[07-23-2003, 01:16] JMShapyro: please send it to me again when we next meet
[07-23-2003, 01:16] JMShapyro: I am already marking out
[07-23-2003, 01:16] Radical Rob T: hahaha okay. It's also linked on his blog (butchrosser.blogspot.com)
[07-23-2003, 01:18] Radical Rob T: have you managed to watch RAW yet?
[07-23-2003, 01:20] JMShapyro: no I am at my college's computer lab getting caught up on some stuff
[07-23-2003, 01:20] Radical Rob T: you're, what, 21 now
[07-23-2003, 01:25] JMShapyro: that's right
[07-23-2003, 01:25] JMShapyro: I am a real man's man
[07-23-2003, 01:25] Radical Rob T: you're legal
[07-23-2003, 01:25] Radical Rob T: you can drink beer like Austin
[07-23-2003, 01:32] JMShapyro: which pic # for badass tux rosser
[07-23-2003, 01:32] JMShapyro: all I see is some bride and her baby
[07-23-2003, 01:32] Radical Rob T: 146
[07-23-2003, 01:32] JMShapyro: thx
[07-23-2003, 01:33] JMShapyro: oh man
[07-23-2003, 01:33] JMShapyro: how awesome
[07-23-2003, 01:01] Radical Rob T: happy birthday, my powerless friend
[07-23-2003, 01:01] JMShapyro: yayayayayay!~
[07-23-2003, 01:02] JMShapyro: I am on the fucking aim express tho
[07-23-2003, 01:02] JMShapyro: I hate it so bad
[07-23-2003, 01:02] Radical Rob T: AIM Express is truly ghetto. I used it in lab at school.
[07-23-2003, 01:04] Radical Rob T: Are you gonna be able to do anything for your birthday?
[07-23-2003, 01:04] JMShapyro: I don;t know :( :( :(
[07-23-2003, 01:04] JMShapyro: we must get our POWER back
[07-23-2003, 01:06] Radical Rob T: here's hoping they get everything back up and a-going, Maybe you can call Charlie and go party with him. :-D
[07-23-2003, 01:07] JMShapyro: yes fucking Charlie still has his power in nearby Franklin
[07-23-2003, 01:07] JMShapyro: 15 minutes between blackout and
[07-23-2003, 01:07] JMShapyro: us
[07-23-2003, 01:08] Radical Rob T: Charlie needs his fucking power so he can see to choose which fucking wig to wear
[07-23-2003, 01:09] Radical Rob T: that supremely sucks, though, seriously.
[07-23-2003, 01:12] Radical Rob T: this should help make up for it, though. A picture of one of your favorite OWF stars, Butch Rosser
[07-23-2003, 01:12] Radical Rob T: in a TUX
[07-23-2003, 01:12] Radical Rob T: http://limelight-photography.com/gebhardt/pages/146.htm
[07-23-2003, 01:12] JMShapyro: OMG
[07-23-2003, 01:12] JMShapyro: but OH WAIT
[07-23-2003, 01:12] JMShapyro: gay ass AIM Express won't let me drag my mofuckin mouse
[07-23-2003, 01:12] JMShapyro: for copy and paste
[07-23-2003, 01:14] Radical Rob T: sucktacular. You can't direct connect with Express either
[07-23-2003, 01:16] JMShapyro: please send it to me again when we next meet
[07-23-2003, 01:16] JMShapyro: I am already marking out
[07-23-2003, 01:16] Radical Rob T: hahaha okay. It's also linked on his blog (butchrosser.blogspot.com)
[07-23-2003, 01:18] Radical Rob T: have you managed to watch RAW yet?
[07-23-2003, 01:20] JMShapyro: no I am at my college's computer lab getting caught up on some stuff
[07-23-2003, 01:20] Radical Rob T: you're, what, 21 now
[07-23-2003, 01:25] JMShapyro: that's right
[07-23-2003, 01:25] JMShapyro: I am a real man's man
[07-23-2003, 01:25] Radical Rob T: you're legal
[07-23-2003, 01:25] Radical Rob T: you can drink beer like Austin
[07-23-2003, 01:32] JMShapyro: which pic # for badass tux rosser
[07-23-2003, 01:32] JMShapyro: all I see is some bride and her baby
[07-23-2003, 01:32] Radical Rob T: 146
[07-23-2003, 01:32] JMShapyro: thx
[07-23-2003, 01:33] JMShapyro: oh man
[07-23-2003, 01:33] JMShapyro: how awesome
A Few Thousand Words
The wedding pictures are IN and I don't know; I'm not photogged as well as I thought I'd be. Thing doesn't pick up charisma is what it is, is what it is.
Hm...where to send you guys along the sidebar...
43's THE MINISTER (thank you Carly and Jo Who Never Gets Mentioned On My Blog Now SHADDAP) holding the rings.
54's the moment of impact.
Screw 62 to 64, they shoved me to the end. Go to 74 to 76 instead. It's about as well as I came out, I think.
104's the man right there; his smile only looks good when he laughs. I can assure you he's not a child molestor, occifer.
109's the bride, natch.
120's me pimping because well, what the hell else do I do besides insane rants?
146 to 148's yours truly bringing the highlight of the night, since the dancing will be on the tape and must be seen to be fully appreciated.
151's Jeremy's list of grievances. #1: Dustin never knew when to pull out.
154! Sara, hot & tall! Mmm mmm good.
175. Dustin would later explain he got lost.
No dancing pictures and nothing of the ring bearer going down on Sarah when he caught the corset. SHAAAAAAME.
188. Jeremy & Dustin make up, per usual after one of their tiffs.
199. F'n Jeremy time-sharing my bitches. This must've been after I reeled in his girl.
200. It's very simple: I believe that children are our future. Teach them well, and let them lead the way.
201, where the happy couple dance into the sunset.
203, KISS THE RINGS, BITCH!
But hopefully this'll help all y'all who only know me through this put faces to names mentioned last week. Any questions, you can get at me via the comments. Where? DOWN THERE!
And for old time's sake
Everything's chaaaaaaaaaaanging when I turn around/all out of my control/i'm a mobile...
The wedding pictures are IN and I don't know; I'm not photogged as well as I thought I'd be. Thing doesn't pick up charisma is what it is, is what it is.
Hm...where to send you guys along the sidebar...
43's THE MINISTER (thank you Carly and Jo Who Never Gets Mentioned On My Blog Now SHADDAP) holding the rings.
54's the moment of impact.
Screw 62 to 64, they shoved me to the end. Go to 74 to 76 instead. It's about as well as I came out, I think.
104's the man right there; his smile only looks good when he laughs. I can assure you he's not a child molestor, occifer.
109's the bride, natch.
120's me pimping because well, what the hell else do I do besides insane rants?
146 to 148's yours truly bringing the highlight of the night, since the dancing will be on the tape and must be seen to be fully appreciated.
151's Jeremy's list of grievances. #1: Dustin never knew when to pull out.
154! Sara, hot & tall! Mmm mmm good.
175. Dustin would later explain he got lost.
No dancing pictures and nothing of the ring bearer going down on Sarah when he caught the corset. SHAAAAAAME.
188. Jeremy & Dustin make up, per usual after one of their tiffs.
199. F'n Jeremy time-sharing my bitches. This must've been after I reeled in his girl.
200. It's very simple: I believe that children are our future. Teach them well, and let them lead the way.
201, where the happy couple dance into the sunset.
203, KISS THE RINGS, BITCH!
But hopefully this'll help all y'all who only know me through this put faces to names mentioned last week. Any questions, you can get at me via the comments. Where? DOWN THERE!
And for old time's sake
Everything's chaaaaaaaaaaanging when I turn around/all out of my control/i'm a mobile...
7/20/03
I'd appreciate it very much if you'd just . . . shut the fuck up.
And I'd appreciate it very much if you'd just . . . go the fuck away.
And I'd appreciate it very much if you'd just . . . back the fuck up.
And I'd appreciate it very much if you'd just . . . DROP DEAD.
Thank you to Pitchshifter and "Keep It Clean" for the title.
To the two pigfuckers who gave me a citation for "tresspassing" because the trolley runs every 30 minutes instead of 15 and I'd rather not be late for work than try to get up four hours early due to the capriciousness of the Sunday schedule: FUCK YOU. Get cancer.
And to the SEVEN pigfuckers--my alleged co-workers--who enacted the world's largest cockblock to date around Dushku, her puppy, and the boyfriend (```````````````, btw), FUCK YOU, get cancer, get bent, get PROSTATE cancer, get a facelift with a chainsaw, get raped up the ass by a SARS-riddled bear, get eyes that see only Runaway Bride & Will & Grace, ears that only hear Celine Dion and fourteen-inch dicks that don't orgasm.
All nine of you cum-chugging ass clowns have positions of power but your own self-fellating makes you think you're the three richest kings of Europe. DIE. SLOWLY. Reaching for something you want but will never have.
Nolite te bastardes carborundorum; by the time I get up at 4, I'll be on to the next thing, but your scumbaginess is going to be a gnat at my ear for months to come. Congratulations. You're on the shitlist.
NEXT.
And I'd appreciate it very much if you'd just . . . go the fuck away.
And I'd appreciate it very much if you'd just . . . back the fuck up.
And I'd appreciate it very much if you'd just . . . DROP DEAD.
Thank you to Pitchshifter and "Keep It Clean" for the title.
To the two pigfuckers who gave me a citation for "tresspassing" because the trolley runs every 30 minutes instead of 15 and I'd rather not be late for work than try to get up four hours early due to the capriciousness of the Sunday schedule: FUCK YOU. Get cancer.
And to the SEVEN pigfuckers--my alleged co-workers--who enacted the world's largest cockblock to date around Dushku, her puppy, and the boyfriend (```````````````, btw), FUCK YOU, get cancer, get bent, get PROSTATE cancer, get a facelift with a chainsaw, get raped up the ass by a SARS-riddled bear, get eyes that see only Runaway Bride & Will & Grace, ears that only hear Celine Dion and fourteen-inch dicks that don't orgasm.
All nine of you cum-chugging ass clowns have positions of power but your own self-fellating makes you think you're the three richest kings of Europe. DIE. SLOWLY. Reaching for something you want but will never have.
Nolite te bastardes carborundorum; by the time I get up at 4, I'll be on to the next thing, but your scumbaginess is going to be a gnat at my ear for months to come. Congratulations. You're on the shitlist.
NEXT.
7/19/03
It's The Most Psychotic Time Of The Year
Early unofficial rumors have the 4-day ComicCon ranging from 75 to 125 THOUSAND. Today was the epicenter, and due to getting switched to a breaker, I didn't have glitterati time much.
Halle Berry--dressed down, as much as someone like her possibly could.
Angelina Jolie--t-shirt and jeans, seemed very "aw shucks"y which made her even hotter
Jaime Pressly--TINY. So small she could perform oral on me without bending, so I say that makes her the hottest. That and the accent and Poison Ivy 3.
Definitely the highlight was getting THE Luke Skywalker's attention just so I could yell out "Hamill, you the bomb in Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back, yo!" before running off. If I'd known how close they were going to let me get I would've gotten him too but I'm happy with what I got the past two days.
Met a couple local stars (one press, one TV), and this bit actor who I recognized from "Everybody Loves Raymond" & "Seinfeld" parts. Ah, well. Still, nothing has violated the sanctity of my Kevin Smith autograph.
Tomorrow I get something from the View Askew booth.
And there is the matter of Eliza D-Day.
More updates as space and time warrant; right now my back's flaring up. I need a backiotomy or somethin'...
Early unofficial rumors have the 4-day ComicCon ranging from 75 to 125 THOUSAND. Today was the epicenter, and due to getting switched to a breaker, I didn't have glitterati time much.
Halle Berry--dressed down, as much as someone like her possibly could.
Angelina Jolie--t-shirt and jeans, seemed very "aw shucks"y which made her even hotter
Jaime Pressly--TINY. So small she could perform oral on me without bending, so I say that makes her the hottest. That and the accent and Poison Ivy 3.
Definitely the highlight was getting THE Luke Skywalker's attention just so I could yell out "Hamill, you the bomb in Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back, yo!" before running off. If I'd known how close they were going to let me get I would've gotten him too but I'm happy with what I got the past two days.
Met a couple local stars (one press, one TV), and this bit actor who I recognized from "Everybody Loves Raymond" & "Seinfeld" parts. Ah, well. Still, nothing has violated the sanctity of my Kevin Smith autograph.
Tomorrow I get something from the View Askew booth.
And there is the matter of Eliza D-Day.
More updates as space and time warrant; right now my back's flaring up. I need a backiotomy or somethin'...
7/18/03
DINGERS! DINGERS!
Sure, I could get into an off tangent about how I saw 3 friends for the first time in years, or how management must love me because they put me with the crazy old people on one end of the building, or do a statistical breakdown of all the different freaks I saw about today.
But I MET KEVIN FUCKING SMITH, THE MACKDADDY OF FUCKING JERSEY, SO KISS THE RINGS, BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITCH!
I come back from lunch, and start positioning myself. Since I'd gotten bored earlier I was counting freaks, so I kept looking at the door, looking away, and so forth. Well, the door opens around 2 and I look, and before I can turn back I suddenly swing around back to the door. One-and-a-half take.
Kevin Smith.
He looks like John Cena, he's wearing this ludicrously pimpin' retro Harlem Globetrotters jacket, but it's KEVIN FUCKING SMITH. No posse, no limo, just a couple of other giddy fanboys getting shots. Smith's on already, master of the house, turning on the charm, ready with a handshake and an open palm. They get away from him. He's not supposed to show until tomorrow, in fact, this is so unplanned his own people didn't know (he's shooting a piece for Leno's shitty show so ah hell I'll actually have to watch for consecutive seconds). My original plan was to wait until tomorrow and try meeting him then but what am I, simple? I quickly advance and put my worksheet of the day (just like IYARI LIMON, Renner!) in his face. I said my name and a couple platitudes, but who the hell knows? This is one of the demigods of my world here! He looks at me and goes "Aren't you supposed to be working?" and without missing a beat I said "FUCK them!" Had I thought I had something more than 30 seconds I would've thrown in "Fuck them up their stupid asses!" but he's too busy chuckling and signing the back.
I shake his hand, and just that quick he's inside the actual convention.
And I get back to my desk, and I bust out my Brodie dance, and oh, yes, it is ever so good and sweet, much like a hug from Iyari Limon. In fact, after about 10 minutes I was angry because I had nowhere to gloat. But finally, I am here.
AND IT'S GLOATING TIME, BABY!
*BRODIE DANCE II ELECTRIC BOOGALOO*
TOMORROW! Halle Berry! Angelina Jolie! And Quiet Robert again, this time hopefully on my Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back DVD. Because he can sign, but I need room for two initals I plan on getting Sunday.
Sweet, glorious Sunday.
ELIZA D-DAY.
We now return you to your attempted viewing of the sailboat already in progress, nooch.
Sure, I could get into an off tangent about how I saw 3 friends for the first time in years, or how management must love me because they put me with the crazy old people on one end of the building, or do a statistical breakdown of all the different freaks I saw about today.
But I MET KEVIN FUCKING SMITH, THE MACKDADDY OF FUCKING JERSEY, SO KISS THE RINGS, BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITCH!
I come back from lunch, and start positioning myself. Since I'd gotten bored earlier I was counting freaks, so I kept looking at the door, looking away, and so forth. Well, the door opens around 2 and I look, and before I can turn back I suddenly swing around back to the door. One-and-a-half take.
Kevin Smith.
He looks like John Cena, he's wearing this ludicrously pimpin' retro Harlem Globetrotters jacket, but it's KEVIN FUCKING SMITH. No posse, no limo, just a couple of other giddy fanboys getting shots. Smith's on already, master of the house, turning on the charm, ready with a handshake and an open palm. They get away from him. He's not supposed to show until tomorrow, in fact, this is so unplanned his own people didn't know (he's shooting a piece for Leno's shitty show so ah hell I'll actually have to watch for consecutive seconds). My original plan was to wait until tomorrow and try meeting him then but what am I, simple? I quickly advance and put my worksheet of the day (just like IYARI LIMON, Renner!) in his face. I said my name and a couple platitudes, but who the hell knows? This is one of the demigods of my world here! He looks at me and goes "Aren't you supposed to be working?" and without missing a beat I said "FUCK them!" Had I thought I had something more than 30 seconds I would've thrown in "Fuck them up their stupid asses!" but he's too busy chuckling and signing the back.
I shake his hand, and just that quick he's inside the actual convention.
And I get back to my desk, and I bust out my Brodie dance, and oh, yes, it is ever so good and sweet, much like a hug from Iyari Limon. In fact, after about 10 minutes I was angry because I had nowhere to gloat. But finally, I am here.
AND IT'S GLOATING TIME, BABY!
*BRODIE DANCE II ELECTRIC BOOGALOO*
TOMORROW! Halle Berry! Angelina Jolie! And Quiet Robert again, this time hopefully on my Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back DVD. Because he can sign, but I need room for two initals I plan on getting Sunday.
Sweet, glorious Sunday.
ELIZA D-DAY.
We now return you to your attempted viewing of the sailboat already in progress, nooch.
7/17/03
.
Can't Knock The Hustle
Yo, did you see that shit? Bitches LOVE me...I GOTS to be the craftiest motherfucker alive!
--Archbishop Jay, two quotes from "Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back"
Now listen. I can get into how much fun coat check was, or how 65,000 freaks from all walks of life have converged on the CC, or even why birds suddenly appear every time you are near.
OR I can talk about how I spent a break and got two autographs from two of the supporting stars of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, only one of the five finest things to grace the cyclopian light of television since the advent of cable.
So, kids, what is it: the horrifying truth? Or DINGERS?
Yeah, that's what I thought.
There was a break period. I worked nine-and-a-half today and due to the setup of the center in conjunction with my HQ, there's no time to go and change. But when I looked in a handbook and saw Iyari Limon (Willow's girlfriend/Slayer-In-Training Kennedy from the last season) doing autographs from 3 to 7 upstairs, it just became real easy. I get a break, I go upstairs, I make the fawning noises, I gets the John Hancock.
So finally my second break comes around, so late I won't get a third, thus allowing me to stretch out. And I go to her side of the hall, but her line is long and in a shorter line there is Danny Strong, geeky arch-villian/alternate universe "Superstar" creator Jonathon. I love his character, for some reason the socially inept geek resonates with me. Anywhoozle, he says hi to me first because out of everyone in line, none of them actually work in the building. He says hey, he's wearing a Scotland soccer jersey. I would've said something but what black American cares about soccer? I explain to him my situation on how I'm on break and sort of risking my job and he gives this great laugh that belongs to someone a foot bigger. Autograph.
On to the next line. I'm in line and I'm becoming increasingly late in what was supposed to be a small break but fuck it, not many people show up and my presence is unnecessary. Besides, my co-workers are old and talking about cars and stuff. I really care. So, I'm talking to people in line and a little boy says "That guy is Spike's friend, and the girl is Willow's friend." WILLOW'S FRIEND! Holy god, that was the cutest damn thing I'd ever heard. So I'm waiting and worrying but evenutally comes my time. I explain to her I am now running late and took like half an hour on what was allegedly a 20 minute break. She's awesome and self-deprecating and when she hugs me it smells like tangerine. Damn you, animal magnetism! WHY? WHY must you torture the poor women so! A pretty little 19-year-old girl who has now fallen prey to my charm and rugged manly countenance! Ohhh...the cross, so heavy, the cross, the cross, the cross. I didn't ASK to be born this damn suave, it just happened after years of work. *siiiiiiiiiiigh* Now I'm probably gonna get freaky phone calls and dirty e-mails and all sorts of manner of things. DAMN YOU, KEVORKA.
Tomorrow I hear I can meet Amber Benson (Tara) which is plenty of time to buff the right forearm to a mirror shine. 'Cause if I get my way like I got it today, by Sunday afternoon it'll say in a lovely Sharpie written look
PROPERTY OF ELIZA DUSHKU
Don't hate the playa, Renner. Hate the game.
Yo, did you see that shit? Bitches LOVE me...I GOTS to be the craftiest motherfucker alive!
--Archbishop Jay, two quotes from "Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back"
Now listen. I can get into how much fun coat check was, or how 65,000 freaks from all walks of life have converged on the CC, or even why birds suddenly appear every time you are near.
OR I can talk about how I spent a break and got two autographs from two of the supporting stars of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, only one of the five finest things to grace the cyclopian light of television since the advent of cable.
So, kids, what is it: the horrifying truth? Or DINGERS?
Yeah, that's what I thought.
There was a break period. I worked nine-and-a-half today and due to the setup of the center in conjunction with my HQ, there's no time to go and change. But when I looked in a handbook and saw Iyari Limon (Willow's girlfriend/Slayer-In-Training Kennedy from the last season) doing autographs from 3 to 7 upstairs, it just became real easy. I get a break, I go upstairs, I make the fawning noises, I gets the John Hancock.
So finally my second break comes around, so late I won't get a third, thus allowing me to stretch out. And I go to her side of the hall, but her line is long and in a shorter line there is Danny Strong, geeky arch-villian/alternate universe "Superstar" creator Jonathon. I love his character, for some reason the socially inept geek resonates with me. Anywhoozle, he says hi to me first because out of everyone in line, none of them actually work in the building. He says hey, he's wearing a Scotland soccer jersey. I would've said something but what black American cares about soccer? I explain to him my situation on how I'm on break and sort of risking my job and he gives this great laugh that belongs to someone a foot bigger. Autograph.
On to the next line. I'm in line and I'm becoming increasingly late in what was supposed to be a small break but fuck it, not many people show up and my presence is unnecessary. Besides, my co-workers are old and talking about cars and stuff. I really care. So, I'm talking to people in line and a little boy says "That guy is Spike's friend, and the girl is Willow's friend." WILLOW'S FRIEND! Holy god, that was the cutest damn thing I'd ever heard. So I'm waiting and worrying but evenutally comes my time. I explain to her I am now running late and took like half an hour on what was allegedly a 20 minute break. She's awesome and self-deprecating and when she hugs me it smells like tangerine. Damn you, animal magnetism! WHY? WHY must you torture the poor women so! A pretty little 19-year-old girl who has now fallen prey to my charm and rugged manly countenance! Ohhh...the cross, so heavy, the cross, the cross, the cross. I didn't ASK to be born this damn suave, it just happened after years of work. *siiiiiiiiiiigh* Now I'm probably gonna get freaky phone calls and dirty e-mails and all sorts of manner of things. DAMN YOU, KEVORKA.
Tomorrow I hear I can meet Amber Benson (Tara) which is plenty of time to buff the right forearm to a mirror shine. 'Cause if I get my way like I got it today, by Sunday afternoon it'll say in a lovely Sharpie written look
PROPERTY OF ELIZA DUSHKU
Don't hate the playa, Renner. Hate the game.
Version II. A Co-Host? And I'm Not Even Kevin Eubanks.
Version II. A Co-Host? And I'm Not Even Kevin Eubanks.
On the heels of watching High Fidelity, I get the invite to ASCTR version II. I'm the kid behind the register who refuses to sell you a record to be a jerk, and Butch is the owner guy who tells you, "I'd refused to sell it cause HE'S WHITEY. Just to see the look on his face! Little nerdy fucker. Probably listens to Journey."
In case you don't know me, yo me llamo Rob T. I'm absurdly white, but Butch puts up with me anyway. Probably because of all the bribes I've sent his way and the fact that I convinced him he would be able to score in Vegas. So cruel, so cruel....I've been told I have my funny moments, but that is a matter of some debate. I like football, yes I do. Formerly, I was employed for some five years and change as a manager at the Butch-coined Big Head Enterprises. Right now, I just kinda sit around and be cynical, kinda like Butch was before he got this job as Kevin Spacey, the air traffic controlllllah. But he gets to quite possibly see and meet Eliza and Kevin Smith and I sit here and blog for you, so who's really got the last laugh there? I've also got my own blog, and it's linked over there.
Since this IS Rollerball Butch blog, and we're all about hot womenz, PLAYMATES!. Be good or at least hide the bodies well, people.
On the heels of watching High Fidelity, I get the invite to ASCTR version II. I'm the kid behind the register who refuses to sell you a record to be a jerk, and Butch is the owner guy who tells you, "I'd refused to sell it cause HE'S WHITEY. Just to see the look on his face! Little nerdy fucker. Probably listens to Journey."
In case you don't know me, yo me llamo Rob T. I'm absurdly white, but Butch puts up with me anyway. Probably because of all the bribes I've sent his way and the fact that I convinced him he would be able to score in Vegas. So cruel, so cruel....I've been told I have my funny moments, but that is a matter of some debate. I like football, yes I do. Formerly, I was employed for some five years and change as a manager at the Butch-coined Big Head Enterprises. Right now, I just kinda sit around and be cynical, kinda like Butch was before he got this job as Kevin Spacey, the air traffic controlllllah. But he gets to quite possibly see and meet Eliza and Kevin Smith and I sit here and blog for you, so who's really got the last laugh there? I've also got my own blog, and it's linked over there.
Since this IS Rollerball Butch blog, and we're all about hot womenz, PLAYMATES!. Be good or at least hide the bodies well, people.
7/16/03
Making sure no guy out there gets prostate cancer
Making sure no guy out there gets prostate cancer
Just looking out for everyone. Bet I get comments about THIS.
Just looking out for everyone. Bet I get comments about THIS.
Growing painless
Changed the pitch up...
Added the Girl Of A Thousand Nicknames & Sexual Holds, Ms. Penny Lane to the Blog Army. *pounds chest*
Added comments so all 20 of you what come here can tell me just how awesome my Vegas story is, or in the case of Sarah Hot & Tall, leave your AIM so we can cyber and I can secks you. *pelvic thrust* DUFFMAN SAYS A LOT OF THINGS! OH, YEAH! Sorry about that.
There's a counter.
There's a complete revamping of the site, thanks, Easy.
Jester's not coming back until I get reciprocity, fuckdammit.
My favorite sociological trend of the early 21st century is cute white girls with big asses. Best of both worlds.
Added the Girl Of A Thousand Nicknames & Sexual Holds, Ms. Penny Lane to the Blog Army. *pounds chest*
Added comments so all 20 of you what come here can tell me just how awesome my Vegas story is, or in the case of Sarah Hot & Tall, leave your AIM so we can cyber and I can secks you. *pelvic thrust* DUFFMAN SAYS A LOT OF THINGS! OH, YEAH! Sorry about that.
There's a counter.
There's a complete revamping of the site, thanks, Easy.
Jester's not coming back until I get reciprocity, fuckdammit.
My favorite sociological trend of the early 21st century is cute white girls with big asses. Best of both worlds.
7/14/03
"And With THAT, There Only Remain Three Signs Of The Apocalypse."
"And With THAT, There Only Remain Three Signs Of The Apocalypse."
the shade is a tool
a device
a saviour
see i try
and look up
to the sky
but my eyes burn...
--the Deftones, "My Own Summer (Shove It)"
So I'm sitting here looking at a placecard with my name on it. And MR. is in the front, and a little bell is at the end.
Really, it all happened so fast.
At one moment I was a little 12-year-old behind some big white kid with a mullet going "Hey, he ordered the same thing I'm going to get! Good taste." The next, I stand in a rented tux inveighing about the power of love and the words, while not prewritten by any sense of the imagination, flow like booze from the open bar. It was just before Memorial Day, and my friend Dustin said he was getting married. I said, that's nice, what's really going on? How was I to know? Just last month we'd been watching Syracuse smack around Texas in a Hooters and he hit on the waitress. (Missed it--picked up a crayon off the floor. Long story short, my journalistic mind was perplexed as to how a crayon got in a freakin' Hooters.) Six weeks later, the thunderclap, the speeding bullet. BOOM.
I'm getting married. You're a best man.
After some hiccups, it took place this weekend in Las Vegas. Got a lot of memories. Got some time and space to write them down. Got a few people interested in the now-notorious Rosser Perspective. So let's go.
DISCLAIMER: Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages, Another Step Closer To Rollerball proudly brings to you a WBR Production of one cynic's twisted drunken viewpoints on a three-day weekend. Some of you may be unintentionally misquoted or portrayed with your halo slightly off to the right but if you want names changed to protect the innocent, go watch some fucking Dragnet or something. Colin Quinn 3:16--this here's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
FRIDAY
Up at 5:30. Usually I would've been into a kvetching seething rage about this but there's something about a new job making you get up at 4 for two weeks straight that really just makes the horror less horrifying. I turn on the last great radio station, 94.9, and attempt to wake up while I surf the net one more on the way out. I know, I know, what a toooool. Anyway, I check to make sure I haven't missed anything on my packing. Packing for Vegas is great because you know what you won't be packing: anything heavy. A few shirts, a couple pairs of shorts, 58 condoms, the Jordan jersey (natch). Get the toiletries ready. Make sure to pull out the ID, make sure I got every last little thing (pocket organizer, shirts, good fancy shoes). I wait outside, Amanda shows up. Amanda's one of my three best friends in the world, and the best girl I have. She's like a sister to me except occassionally through drunken hazes I still harbor incestuous feelings.
We meet Cecelia & Sandra. Cecelia's the resident den mother in my circle, and will be doing the driving. Sandra's a friend from the Evil High School Down The Block that's heading to Japan in a couple weeks to teach Japanese business such pertinent American common-day phrases as "What up, pimp?" We get a ride downtown, we pick up the rental, I actually get into Denny's within the hour I get there with one white person and Amanda being mocha, I pick up my fat Fourth-of-July check, and we're rolling.
Up the windows. The HEAT. Holy fucking hell, the heat. I compared it throughout the weekend to a punch in the face followed by a kick to the crotch and various circles of hell. No exaggeration. I mean, a dessert in the afternoon in July, you kidding? We could've done the Golino/Sheen sex scene from "Hot Shots" and put some tabscky on the hash browns on the side. I mean, it got down to double digits (99) Saturday night and I was actually happy. It's so hot the BREEZE is hot! I'm going off about this because here in San Diego, the breeze is cooler than a DQ Blizzard. Like walking into a supermarket on the better days. AHHH, cool breeze just danced under my arms. But through the desert, into Sin City itself, pressure cooker.
We got there pretty quick. I want to say six hours but being I woke at 5:30 I was stealing naps when we weren't playing a movie trivia game. Cecelia began using Moonstruck as a running gag as I used Runaway Bride for every evil category. I will not budge from that, that movie was pure fucking evil. An hour early and we all slowly melted into our room. Pretty good considering it was only $15 a night betwixt us four. Two beds, desk, nice two-tiered bathroom with sink in front and shower & toiler in back, TV. Of course if you looked outside the sun would burn you like an ant under a microscope.
Off to the rehearsal, because it's time. It took about five minutes and I got to say hello to Dustin's family who hadn't seen me for a year or more (running gag: "What're you doing?" Me, in response: "Drugs. You know, X, blow, whatever gets me through the day.). I meet the bride, she's perfect for him and is sarcastic like me. Got to love the sarcasm. I say hi to my old friend Jeremy, who along with Amanda and I will be serving (have served, now) as the Best...People. I make the requisite jokes a black guy makes to a friend who's become a white cop and meet his girlfriend Michelle. Very cute, very quiet, very observant. Kinda looks like a cross between Natalie Portman and Catherine Zeta-Jones if I had to earmark some familiar faces.
Dustin's wiped. No bachelor party. I mean, seriously. What sort of boy doesn't want a bachelor party? I know dick about getting married but one thing TV's taught me is that best men throw bachelor parties where hilarious complications ensue! But he's barely able to remember to breathe, and he crashes out. So, there's a getting-to-know party where the families & friends interact. The HELLO MY NAME IS sign is put on my back so I get one on the front that says "the Best of ALL (underlined) Possible Men". I get to meet, however briefly, everyone on her side of the family for the shindig. I meet the bridesmaids. I have six Bud Lights. I try to control the music system but quite frankly it wasn't any 50 on there and when I put on "Let Me Ride" I got looked at. *sigh*
Party finally dies down, Dustin's bravely trying to rally. We go downstairs to an Irish pub where my cop buddy introduces me to an Irish Car Bomb. All the rumors about Guinesss are true, it is well and truly thicker than J-Lo's ass, I could've thrown a fork in there and it would've stood up. If it wasn't for the shot of Bailey's Irish Cream that went in there, I'd still be chewing it now. As it is, it tasted like Vanilla Coke with a tinge of the al-ke-hol. A live band was there and we all sang "I Want You To Want Me", "Underneath It All", "Breathless" and other songs. We all...not all, less Cecelia and Dustin to an extent beat on the table and said songs and tried to hold conversations. Good times, good times. Then I went to play blackjack and shit away $20. Stupid blackjack. I won the first two hands with ease and of course I was thinking Back the truck up and push back the wedding, time to make some sweet change but within 15 minutes it was the usual "What the hell happenened?" most everyone gets in Vegas. Part of the charm of the joint.
Back to the hotel. Hello, pillow. Hello, darkness.
D-Day
Someone opened the window and AIEEEEEEEEEEE there is the sun turning me darker black melting my eyes. 9:30. Meeting the groom for breakfast in the lobby. We all eat something, except for Dustin, usually a voracious lover of the culinary arts. He is nervous. I mean like a boy about to go down on his first priest. Practically no sleep and the whole love of his life thing going, can't really blame him.
But we seperate for a bit, and I watch Big because it rules and it's on. Cecelia & Sandra switch to X-Men II while I hop in the shower, and Amanda's already off to the big show.
It is then and only then do I come up with an opening line for my toast. And immediately stop. I know, but I know what I'm doing. I had a speech for Academic Decathalon back in the day. Four months to write it, wrote it on a bunch of note cards on the way up, 3rd out of about 150 in the county. Simmer. Now a couple hours go by and I'm over at Jeremy's room with his girl and the groom getting ready. They've got a great expensive suite, a Jaccuzzi tub where 8 people could have sex in it, and a balcony the size of a ripped stamp. I wish I could say we all realized the levity of the moment and spent it in quiet reflection, wondering how our lives would change, or if this girl was the one and this would be us soon, or if the girl would ever come.
Instead, I "pretended" to write the speech and we told the same dick-and-fart jokes that've kept us friends about a decade. Dance with who brung ya. In fact, the whole thing was so laissez-faire less my complete consternation over my tux ("THAT"S why niggers wear throwback jerseys!" I screamed after my Evil Racist Left Cufflink poked out for the third time--and would do so 4 more times during the evening) that we were all standing, looking ourselves over in the mirror with 15 minutes until it was time to make the doughnuts, all singing along with the radio Hold my breath as I wish for death/oh, please God, wake meeeeeeeeeeee... Maybe the girls had some good stories about Zero Hour but less the tuxes and ritzy setting we could've been getting ready to make a beer run. You can put a guy in fancy clothes, but he's still a guy. Hell, Jeremy was drinking a Bud Light on the way down and if that doesn't say CHRISTMAS CARD I don't know what does. Dustin gets miced downstairs which amuses me greatly and the families mill around. It takes a while to get the whole line in order, but after a bit we're ready.
The wedding goes off. The music for "Here Comes The Bride" and the exeunt music the name of which escapes me skips to the point where it's stopped. You'd think that's ominous much but it goes smoothly. Minister was a pro. He said a lot of stuff about the power of love. I stood there and looked on while making sure the ring bearer didn't step on my shoes or block up too much of me for the torrent of photos. I had quite the conversation with him about the Red Wings bringing back Hasek Friday. I tried to explain to him offense puts the asses in the seats while defense wins the championships and that's why the goalie's more important than any Federov but you know 8-year-olds; think they know every damn thing already. The ceremony flew. People cried. And then my friend was married and I became uncle verite to two five-month old twins.
Pretty f'n cool.
As opposed to the picture session outside. The pictures took longer than the ceremony (I may even be kidding for effect but I doubt it) and it was about 4:30 so of course it was 115. We all talked here and there. I got in the pictures but they put me away from Dustin at the end. Stupid photo bitch only did it cause I'm black and better looking and I'd upstage him. I was about to crack her one. With THAT over, the bar opens. I begin to have wine because I'm thinking ritzy celebration but Merlot's a lot drier when it's not in a box and I go to my dependable friend Mr. Heineken and start tipping them back. There's a tape that goes to the bride and groom, I say the usual platitudes and in a nod to the Irish pub tack on "May you be in heaven an hour before the devil knows you're dead". I'm a surprisingly good public speaker, three drinks in me or not.
Time for the dinner ceremony. RITZAAAAAAAAY. The floor behind the ceremony hall hosts, with tables on the sides, a DJ table in the middle, and the big shot table at the head of the room. I get next to the groom with my people to my right, the bride's people on her left less C & Sandra. They get introduced to "Sirius", better known as the Bulls opening theme. I was waiting to hear "From North CAROLINA!" but alas, no dice. Same thing happened at my graduations when I looked for "Macho Man" Randy Savage and he just didn't show. First dance to "Unforgettable". Out comes the food. Also ritzy, but then again I suppose the rules of society dictate you can't have Roscoe catering with three courses of chicken and waffles. There's a crabcake with a Creole remolade that I plow through, it's awesome. There's a Caesar salad.
And there's also a dance floor.
I love dancing. I range from ludicrous to good but a lot of it is I genuinely like dancing. And it's fun. So I grab Sandra, and we do a little bit across the floor and it's nice. She's actually shorter than I am so it works pretty well and the dance goes by in a flash. "Ain't Too Proud To Beg" starts playing and I get Jeremy. In the pre-game show (so to speak) I'd mentioned we look like the Temps and if they played a Temps song, I'd teach him the little three-step shuffle they used to do to complete the look. I start doing it. 1, 2, 3, turn, 1, 2, 3, turn. After a couple missteps, Jeremy gets it. We're doing it, and I'm laughing because it's actually pretty good considering by this point we've split 10 beers. I look up.
Me & Jeremy...has become Me & Jeremy & Dustin. Well, the shit's obviously on now, and I'm clapping on the turns and I look up again and now the WOMEN have joined in: the bridesmaids, the bride, the parents, Dustin's parents. I'm leading 12 people along, six to a side, and the moment is ridiculous but completely right. This IS on tape and I WILL get a copy if I have to kill someone. Just crazy. For some reason (something similar happened at a 70's Dance I went to) I get down and people follow. I'm like a less gay version of the Pied Piper.
Things settle down for me, but not after I dance with Sarah, Hot & Tall, Bridesmaid Extrodinaire. Time for the filet mignon, and then time for the speeches. At this point I'm not even worried. It's probably the booze, but I just feel completely ready for whatever I need to say and do. Jeremy's going over his speech since he was the only one with the foresight to write it for about the 28th time today, and Amanda's sort of quiet, which means she's nervous. As the Best of ALL Possible Men, I get on deck first. I get off a quick joke about how the family knows me on his side for better or for worse and say hello to her folks. (Originally, I had a joke that his parents were afraid he was going to get married to his sister and how my parents were afraid he was going to marry me but I respected the wishes Dustin told me 383,432,327 times and cut it.) I get in the line I thought up about marriage being considered an outdated institution and then I launch into a Sturm and Drang about the power of love. I throw in a couple of jokes but really I just bring some of my feelings to the surface and talk about the family. I end the toast. APPLAUSE. And so, a little champagnia. Amanda does her speech and it's good, Jeremy does his speech and the fucker nearly upstages me with his own jokes. Fucking piggies. The bridesmaids talk about how well they know the bride, and they're funny, too, and the next thing you know the eye of the storm has passed.
Back to dancing. My mojo (and the free booze) was severely working. I'm taking compliments from the bride's family about the trueness of my speech. I'm dancing with Cecelia, who never dances, because I'm just smoother than vanilla soft serve and I am Geppetto and this whole thing now runs through my puppet strings. I pause for wedding cake. I hit on Sarah because well, what the hell else am I supposed to do? I dance with Dustin's older sister Julie, a peace treaty after we broke up her relationship when she was in seventh grade & we were in eighth with a guy some eight years ago we later became friends with. I'm on such a roll at one point I do the "reel 'em in" to Michelle who was off to the side talking with Jeremy and she just plays along and gets reeled in and takes me for a spin. Cojones the size of church bells, amigos. Nice trait to have but it makes buying underwear a bitch. I say hello to my nephews. I teach the ring bearer the Roger Rabbit & Cabbage Patch to attract girls. I have gotten everyone to buy into the hype.
I actually AM the Best of ALL Possible Men.
The party ends shortly after my Swingers homage, and after Julie does some quality control over Jeremy's toilet we hit the Strip. Traffic is going in reverse. It's crazy, but even when you're outside on the street you feel like you're in a dome. We walk through the Paris and down towards the Imperial Palace where we meet Amanda's ex-boss Xavier. I am sobering up and since that's just not happening on my Vegas vacation--well, that and Sarah is leaving me hanging--I get one of those nice big Mudslides. Alcohol fixes everything, don't it? Thought so. IP has a club I can't get in because I'm rocking the Kobe jersey so we end up going to New York, New York and I make a little bit at video blackjack that gets immediately ursurped because we go to the Mirage where he's staying and I split $100 with him at a blackjack table. Soon I am out. Soon he is out. Total losses: $130? There you go, went to Vegas, lost a grip of cash that'd normally make me freak--lost about how much it cost to rent the custom-fitted tux. But I'm an adult now that I've lost it. So hooray.
Sandra & Amanda play the penny slot Munster game for a solid couple hours (J & Michelle went back their own way at NYx2) as I sit there nursing my free Heineken. I'm very fucking blitzed. After they cash out we hop a cab back to our room and then I add one to the blooper reel as I try to lay back on the bed after someone turns out the light, I overshoot, go over the corner into the wall and fall between the wall & the bed in the little gap. I utter "SHIT!", completely forgetting Cecelia's in the room asleep and begin laughing like a mental patient into my pillow.
Ah, no bridesmaid love, bitter about losing money, fall-down drunk: it's like I've been to Vegas for years. Couldn't close a deal at a Vegas wedding--I've been told this roll of stamps I've just been handed is to mail it in. G A H.
I'd throw in Sunday, but not much happened. Did get a couple DVDs and got Amanda a birthday present with the pack set of Real World: Las Vegas (sooooooo have to get one for me). I have been since I got home compiling copies of the original toast, the best quotes of the weekend, and now this here recap deal, so I think I'm going to put this thing to rest.
You got a happy couple. And I've got enough memories to last me until they shove me in the cryogenic chamber: GRANDPA!, the counter girl at the Most Crowded In-N-Out asking about the MJ jersey, the Temptations dance line, the odd feeling of isolation standing on an SD street corner when not 18 hours ago you were enveloped by Strip traffic.
And I'm going to remember my friend, who wanted Skittles & Sprite like I did, and was willing to talk to a weird small kid he'd never seen because they got the same thing at the counter.
To the new husband. To my best friend.
The REAL Best of All Possible Men.
G'night.
the shade is a tool
a device
a saviour
see i try
and look up
to the sky
but my eyes burn...
--the Deftones, "My Own Summer (Shove It)"
So I'm sitting here looking at a placecard with my name on it. And MR. is in the front, and a little bell is at the end.
Really, it all happened so fast.
At one moment I was a little 12-year-old behind some big white kid with a mullet going "Hey, he ordered the same thing I'm going to get! Good taste." The next, I stand in a rented tux inveighing about the power of love and the words, while not prewritten by any sense of the imagination, flow like booze from the open bar. It was just before Memorial Day, and my friend Dustin said he was getting married. I said, that's nice, what's really going on? How was I to know? Just last month we'd been watching Syracuse smack around Texas in a Hooters and he hit on the waitress. (Missed it--picked up a crayon off the floor. Long story short, my journalistic mind was perplexed as to how a crayon got in a freakin' Hooters.) Six weeks later, the thunderclap, the speeding bullet. BOOM.
I'm getting married. You're a best man.
After some hiccups, it took place this weekend in Las Vegas. Got a lot of memories. Got some time and space to write them down. Got a few people interested in the now-notorious Rosser Perspective. So let's go.
DISCLAIMER: Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages, Another Step Closer To Rollerball proudly brings to you a WBR Production of one cynic's twisted drunken viewpoints on a three-day weekend. Some of you may be unintentionally misquoted or portrayed with your halo slightly off to the right but if you want names changed to protect the innocent, go watch some fucking Dragnet or something. Colin Quinn 3:16--this here's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
FRIDAY
Up at 5:30. Usually I would've been into a kvetching seething rage about this but there's something about a new job making you get up at 4 for two weeks straight that really just makes the horror less horrifying. I turn on the last great radio station, 94.9, and attempt to wake up while I surf the net one more on the way out. I know, I know, what a toooool. Anyway, I check to make sure I haven't missed anything on my packing. Packing for Vegas is great because you know what you won't be packing: anything heavy. A few shirts, a couple pairs of shorts, 58 condoms, the Jordan jersey (natch). Get the toiletries ready. Make sure to pull out the ID, make sure I got every last little thing (pocket organizer, shirts, good fancy shoes). I wait outside, Amanda shows up. Amanda's one of my three best friends in the world, and the best girl I have. She's like a sister to me except occassionally through drunken hazes I still harbor incestuous feelings.
We meet Cecelia & Sandra. Cecelia's the resident den mother in my circle, and will be doing the driving. Sandra's a friend from the Evil High School Down The Block that's heading to Japan in a couple weeks to teach Japanese business such pertinent American common-day phrases as "What up, pimp?" We get a ride downtown, we pick up the rental, I actually get into Denny's within the hour I get there with one white person and Amanda being mocha, I pick up my fat Fourth-of-July check, and we're rolling.
Up the windows. The HEAT. Holy fucking hell, the heat. I compared it throughout the weekend to a punch in the face followed by a kick to the crotch and various circles of hell. No exaggeration. I mean, a dessert in the afternoon in July, you kidding? We could've done the Golino/Sheen sex scene from "Hot Shots" and put some tabscky on the hash browns on the side. I mean, it got down to double digits (99) Saturday night and I was actually happy. It's so hot the BREEZE is hot! I'm going off about this because here in San Diego, the breeze is cooler than a DQ Blizzard. Like walking into a supermarket on the better days. AHHH, cool breeze just danced under my arms. But through the desert, into Sin City itself, pressure cooker.
We got there pretty quick. I want to say six hours but being I woke at 5:30 I was stealing naps when we weren't playing a movie trivia game. Cecelia began using Moonstruck as a running gag as I used Runaway Bride for every evil category. I will not budge from that, that movie was pure fucking evil. An hour early and we all slowly melted into our room. Pretty good considering it was only $15 a night betwixt us four. Two beds, desk, nice two-tiered bathroom with sink in front and shower & toiler in back, TV. Of course if you looked outside the sun would burn you like an ant under a microscope.
Off to the rehearsal, because it's time. It took about five minutes and I got to say hello to Dustin's family who hadn't seen me for a year or more (running gag: "What're you doing?" Me, in response: "Drugs. You know, X, blow, whatever gets me through the day.). I meet the bride, she's perfect for him and is sarcastic like me. Got to love the sarcasm. I say hi to my old friend Jeremy, who along with Amanda and I will be serving (have served, now) as the Best...People. I make the requisite jokes a black guy makes to a friend who's become a white cop and meet his girlfriend Michelle. Very cute, very quiet, very observant. Kinda looks like a cross between Natalie Portman and Catherine Zeta-Jones if I had to earmark some familiar faces.
Dustin's wiped. No bachelor party. I mean, seriously. What sort of boy doesn't want a bachelor party? I know dick about getting married but one thing TV's taught me is that best men throw bachelor parties where hilarious complications ensue! But he's barely able to remember to breathe, and he crashes out. So, there's a getting-to-know party where the families & friends interact. The HELLO MY NAME IS sign is put on my back so I get one on the front that says "the Best of ALL (underlined) Possible Men". I get to meet, however briefly, everyone on her side of the family for the shindig. I meet the bridesmaids. I have six Bud Lights. I try to control the music system but quite frankly it wasn't any 50 on there and when I put on "Let Me Ride" I got looked at. *sigh*
Party finally dies down, Dustin's bravely trying to rally. We go downstairs to an Irish pub where my cop buddy introduces me to an Irish Car Bomb. All the rumors about Guinesss are true, it is well and truly thicker than J-Lo's ass, I could've thrown a fork in there and it would've stood up. If it wasn't for the shot of Bailey's Irish Cream that went in there, I'd still be chewing it now. As it is, it tasted like Vanilla Coke with a tinge of the al-ke-hol. A live band was there and we all sang "I Want You To Want Me", "Underneath It All", "Breathless" and other songs. We all...not all, less Cecelia and Dustin to an extent beat on the table and said songs and tried to hold conversations. Good times, good times. Then I went to play blackjack and shit away $20. Stupid blackjack. I won the first two hands with ease and of course I was thinking Back the truck up and push back the wedding, time to make some sweet change but within 15 minutes it was the usual "What the hell happenened?" most everyone gets in Vegas. Part of the charm of the joint.
Back to the hotel. Hello, pillow. Hello, darkness.
D-Day
Someone opened the window and AIEEEEEEEEEEE there is the sun turning me darker black melting my eyes. 9:30. Meeting the groom for breakfast in the lobby. We all eat something, except for Dustin, usually a voracious lover of the culinary arts. He is nervous. I mean like a boy about to go down on his first priest. Practically no sleep and the whole love of his life thing going, can't really blame him.
But we seperate for a bit, and I watch Big because it rules and it's on. Cecelia & Sandra switch to X-Men II while I hop in the shower, and Amanda's already off to the big show.
It is then and only then do I come up with an opening line for my toast. And immediately stop. I know, but I know what I'm doing. I had a speech for Academic Decathalon back in the day. Four months to write it, wrote it on a bunch of note cards on the way up, 3rd out of about 150 in the county. Simmer. Now a couple hours go by and I'm over at Jeremy's room with his girl and the groom getting ready. They've got a great expensive suite, a Jaccuzzi tub where 8 people could have sex in it, and a balcony the size of a ripped stamp. I wish I could say we all realized the levity of the moment and spent it in quiet reflection, wondering how our lives would change, or if this girl was the one and this would be us soon, or if the girl would ever come.
Instead, I "pretended" to write the speech and we told the same dick-and-fart jokes that've kept us friends about a decade. Dance with who brung ya. In fact, the whole thing was so laissez-faire less my complete consternation over my tux ("THAT"S why niggers wear throwback jerseys!" I screamed after my Evil Racist Left Cufflink poked out for the third time--and would do so 4 more times during the evening) that we were all standing, looking ourselves over in the mirror with 15 minutes until it was time to make the doughnuts, all singing along with the radio Hold my breath as I wish for death/oh, please God, wake meeeeeeeeeeee... Maybe the girls had some good stories about Zero Hour but less the tuxes and ritzy setting we could've been getting ready to make a beer run. You can put a guy in fancy clothes, but he's still a guy. Hell, Jeremy was drinking a Bud Light on the way down and if that doesn't say CHRISTMAS CARD I don't know what does. Dustin gets miced downstairs which amuses me greatly and the families mill around. It takes a while to get the whole line in order, but after a bit we're ready.
The wedding goes off. The music for "Here Comes The Bride" and the exeunt music the name of which escapes me skips to the point where it's stopped. You'd think that's ominous much but it goes smoothly. Minister was a pro. He said a lot of stuff about the power of love. I stood there and looked on while making sure the ring bearer didn't step on my shoes or block up too much of me for the torrent of photos. I had quite the conversation with him about the Red Wings bringing back Hasek Friday. I tried to explain to him offense puts the asses in the seats while defense wins the championships and that's why the goalie's more important than any Federov but you know 8-year-olds; think they know every damn thing already. The ceremony flew. People cried. And then my friend was married and I became uncle verite to two five-month old twins.
Pretty f'n cool.
As opposed to the picture session outside. The pictures took longer than the ceremony (I may even be kidding for effect but I doubt it) and it was about 4:30 so of course it was 115. We all talked here and there. I got in the pictures but they put me away from Dustin at the end. Stupid photo bitch only did it cause I'm black and better looking and I'd upstage him. I was about to crack her one. With THAT over, the bar opens. I begin to have wine because I'm thinking ritzy celebration but Merlot's a lot drier when it's not in a box and I go to my dependable friend Mr. Heineken and start tipping them back. There's a tape that goes to the bride and groom, I say the usual platitudes and in a nod to the Irish pub tack on "May you be in heaven an hour before the devil knows you're dead". I'm a surprisingly good public speaker, three drinks in me or not.
Time for the dinner ceremony. RITZAAAAAAAAY. The floor behind the ceremony hall hosts, with tables on the sides, a DJ table in the middle, and the big shot table at the head of the room. I get next to the groom with my people to my right, the bride's people on her left less C & Sandra. They get introduced to "Sirius", better known as the Bulls opening theme. I was waiting to hear "From North CAROLINA!" but alas, no dice. Same thing happened at my graduations when I looked for "Macho Man" Randy Savage and he just didn't show. First dance to "Unforgettable". Out comes the food. Also ritzy, but then again I suppose the rules of society dictate you can't have Roscoe catering with three courses of chicken and waffles. There's a crabcake with a Creole remolade that I plow through, it's awesome. There's a Caesar salad.
And there's also a dance floor.
I love dancing. I range from ludicrous to good but a lot of it is I genuinely like dancing. And it's fun. So I grab Sandra, and we do a little bit across the floor and it's nice. She's actually shorter than I am so it works pretty well and the dance goes by in a flash. "Ain't Too Proud To Beg" starts playing and I get Jeremy. In the pre-game show (so to speak) I'd mentioned we look like the Temps and if they played a Temps song, I'd teach him the little three-step shuffle they used to do to complete the look. I start doing it. 1, 2, 3, turn, 1, 2, 3, turn. After a couple missteps, Jeremy gets it. We're doing it, and I'm laughing because it's actually pretty good considering by this point we've split 10 beers. I look up.
Me & Jeremy...has become Me & Jeremy & Dustin. Well, the shit's obviously on now, and I'm clapping on the turns and I look up again and now the WOMEN have joined in: the bridesmaids, the bride, the parents, Dustin's parents. I'm leading 12 people along, six to a side, and the moment is ridiculous but completely right. This IS on tape and I WILL get a copy if I have to kill someone. Just crazy. For some reason (something similar happened at a 70's Dance I went to) I get down and people follow. I'm like a less gay version of the Pied Piper.
Things settle down for me, but not after I dance with Sarah, Hot & Tall, Bridesmaid Extrodinaire. Time for the filet mignon, and then time for the speeches. At this point I'm not even worried. It's probably the booze, but I just feel completely ready for whatever I need to say and do. Jeremy's going over his speech since he was the only one with the foresight to write it for about the 28th time today, and Amanda's sort of quiet, which means she's nervous. As the Best of ALL Possible Men, I get on deck first. I get off a quick joke about how the family knows me on his side for better or for worse and say hello to her folks. (Originally, I had a joke that his parents were afraid he was going to get married to his sister and how my parents were afraid he was going to marry me but I respected the wishes Dustin told me 383,432,327 times and cut it.) I get in the line I thought up about marriage being considered an outdated institution and then I launch into a Sturm and Drang about the power of love. I throw in a couple of jokes but really I just bring some of my feelings to the surface and talk about the family. I end the toast. APPLAUSE. And so, a little champagnia. Amanda does her speech and it's good, Jeremy does his speech and the fucker nearly upstages me with his own jokes. Fucking piggies. The bridesmaids talk about how well they know the bride, and they're funny, too, and the next thing you know the eye of the storm has passed.
Back to dancing. My mojo (and the free booze) was severely working. I'm taking compliments from the bride's family about the trueness of my speech. I'm dancing with Cecelia, who never dances, because I'm just smoother than vanilla soft serve and I am Geppetto and this whole thing now runs through my puppet strings. I pause for wedding cake. I hit on Sarah because well, what the hell else am I supposed to do? I dance with Dustin's older sister Julie, a peace treaty after we broke up her relationship when she was in seventh grade & we were in eighth with a guy some eight years ago we later became friends with. I'm on such a roll at one point I do the "reel 'em in" to Michelle who was off to the side talking with Jeremy and she just plays along and gets reeled in and takes me for a spin. Cojones the size of church bells, amigos. Nice trait to have but it makes buying underwear a bitch. I say hello to my nephews. I teach the ring bearer the Roger Rabbit & Cabbage Patch to attract girls. I have gotten everyone to buy into the hype.
I actually AM the Best of ALL Possible Men.
The party ends shortly after my Swingers homage, and after Julie does some quality control over Jeremy's toilet we hit the Strip. Traffic is going in reverse. It's crazy, but even when you're outside on the street you feel like you're in a dome. We walk through the Paris and down towards the Imperial Palace where we meet Amanda's ex-boss Xavier. I am sobering up and since that's just not happening on my Vegas vacation--well, that and Sarah is leaving me hanging--I get one of those nice big Mudslides. Alcohol fixes everything, don't it? Thought so. IP has a club I can't get in because I'm rocking the Kobe jersey so we end up going to New York, New York and I make a little bit at video blackjack that gets immediately ursurped because we go to the Mirage where he's staying and I split $100 with him at a blackjack table. Soon I am out. Soon he is out. Total losses: $130? There you go, went to Vegas, lost a grip of cash that'd normally make me freak--lost about how much it cost to rent the custom-fitted tux. But I'm an adult now that I've lost it. So hooray.
Sandra & Amanda play the penny slot Munster game for a solid couple hours (J & Michelle went back their own way at NYx2) as I sit there nursing my free Heineken. I'm very fucking blitzed. After they cash out we hop a cab back to our room and then I add one to the blooper reel as I try to lay back on the bed after someone turns out the light, I overshoot, go over the corner into the wall and fall between the wall & the bed in the little gap. I utter "SHIT!", completely forgetting Cecelia's in the room asleep and begin laughing like a mental patient into my pillow.
Ah, no bridesmaid love, bitter about losing money, fall-down drunk: it's like I've been to Vegas for years. Couldn't close a deal at a Vegas wedding--I've been told this roll of stamps I've just been handed is to mail it in. G A H.
I'd throw in Sunday, but not much happened. Did get a couple DVDs and got Amanda a birthday present with the pack set of Real World: Las Vegas (sooooooo have to get one for me). I have been since I got home compiling copies of the original toast, the best quotes of the weekend, and now this here recap deal, so I think I'm going to put this thing to rest.
You got a happy couple. And I've got enough memories to last me until they shove me in the cryogenic chamber: GRANDPA!, the counter girl at the Most Crowded In-N-Out asking about the MJ jersey, the Temptations dance line, the odd feeling of isolation standing on an SD street corner when not 18 hours ago you were enveloped by Strip traffic.
And I'm going to remember my friend, who wanted Skittles & Sprite like I did, and was willing to talk to a weird small kid he'd never seen because they got the same thing at the counter.
To the new husband. To my best friend.
The REAL Best of All Possible Men.
G'night.
7/13/03
7/10/03
Call me Republica Double-Down Trent...
Call me Republica Double-Down Trent...
...cause I am ready to go to VEGAS, BABY! VEGAS!
As Ice-T so eloquently put it and I copped, I'm outta here like I stole somethin'.
And in the immortal words of Mahatma Ghandi when India was released from British rule after World War II, "Picture me ROLLIN'!"
...cause I am ready to go to VEGAS, BABY! VEGAS!
As Ice-T so eloquently put it and I copped, I'm outta here like I stole somethin'.
And in the immortal words of Mahatma Ghandi when India was released from British rule after World War II, "Picture me ROLLIN'!"
7/9/03
Hey! Wait! I've Got A New Complvcsgvc8w7ec1t426815
Hey! Wait! I've Got A New Complvcsgvc8w7ec1t426815
We're the same numb, and it brings our knees to the earth...
All right. Since the convention is boring as hell (cartographers already know where they're going) and all my running around for the weekend's to be done tomorrow. So let me describe my ride to work. All you 14 out there who love it when I shift into even blacker Lewis Black mode may want to grab a brew, some pretzels, and roll back.
K.
Considering things didn't turn out bad later on I'm really hesitant to assign "blame" to the series of events that happened in the early afternoon. But my dad and little brother jacked me something fierce.
My dad sends me to a place at the mall. Says a guy works there he's friends with can maybe swing me a deal for my churchy holier von thou shoes. I gotta go an hour early before work because I get off too late to do it after, but ah well, deal's a deal. And tomorrow's gonna be crazy enough. Let's do it.
Of course, since I have to go an hour early instead of the larf across the street for one bus, I have to go two blocks down to the other one. Not an issue. At least, not until I see that up and down the block (throughout the TOWN as it turned out) the bus lanes are cut off by massive construction. So now instead of a 3-minute ride it's a 20-minute walk. Of course, I have a long-sleeve sweater on because it's overcast and I get off work at 9 but that all collapses on me, much like my deoderant, and I end up sweating like a crackhead going through withdrawls.
AND I lose not one but two sets of double A's from the busted-up ghetto-ass CD player my brother no longer has use for. It reminds me of how I lost MY bomb-ass CD player/radio tuner the day after Angelina Acuna broke my heart. Man, she was something. Probably #2 on the all-time High Fidelity Top 5 Horrible Breakups list. Wow, covered #1 & #2 in the same week. Go me. siiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh...anyway, that's another thing I need to buy, and a new radio system since everyone else in the family's gotten one in the past year.
After about 20 minutes and 4 pounds down, I get there. Of course, the guy isn't there. And the CD player's raped the BNL Greatest Hits CD Corkscrew Plancha got me. I think it's the dead batteries so after 3 stores I manage to get a ghetto-ass four pack for $2, thus allowing me both music to escape and money to purchase food at work. I put in Renegades because I NEED TO HEAR "MAGGIE'S FARM" RIGHT NOW.
It is now I find out that the CD player has re-enacted the 86 Sprint we used to have before my parents took it to the Saturn dealership: no reverse, no turbo, just PLAY/GO. And it rewinds on it's own accord.
[As I wrote this note, a cartographer skipped through the hall. A grown man, no less. THIS is what passes for Cartographers Gone Wild. THIS was the biggest thing to happen in my section all day. What a difference from NarcAnon.]
So I try playing it through and it doesn't even get through the first verse of "I'm Housing" before channeling Linda Blair.
DEFCON FUCKING ONE. So I can't go forwards? Fine. I play my GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME ANTHEM which just coincidentally enough is a lead track--the one off In Utero, "Serve The Servants". I have to open it after the song's over and close it back up to hear it again, but at least I avoid punching someone in the face. You can see the title for what happened when I tried to be daring and it got to "Heart Shaped Box".
(And to paraphrase Sideshow Bob, I'm fully aware of the irony of being full of homicidal rage on the way to a public relations job listening to "Serve The Servants", so don't bother pointing that out.)
I was so irate over that prison-assraping of a 90 minutes that just thinking about it after the fact caused me to misbutton my shirt.
So, there you go.
TO DO:
--grab check
--cash Friday
--get tuxedo
--get a pack of underwear
--get a pack of condoms (oh, the unholy arrogance)
--buy church shoes
--grab wedding gift
--NOT KILL
--get up early Friday
The Storm did some damage today, but I came out the other side no problem. One more day, and I will see the top of the mountain. And it will be damn good.
BE'LIE DAT, PLAYA.
Drain you of your sanity/face the thing that should not be
We're the same numb, and it brings our knees to the earth...
All right. Since the convention is boring as hell (cartographers already know where they're going) and all my running around for the weekend's to be done tomorrow. So let me describe my ride to work. All you 14 out there who love it when I shift into even blacker Lewis Black mode may want to grab a brew, some pretzels, and roll back.
K.
Considering things didn't turn out bad later on I'm really hesitant to assign "blame" to the series of events that happened in the early afternoon. But my dad and little brother jacked me something fierce.
My dad sends me to a place at the mall. Says a guy works there he's friends with can maybe swing me a deal for my churchy holier von thou shoes. I gotta go an hour early before work because I get off too late to do it after, but ah well, deal's a deal. And tomorrow's gonna be crazy enough. Let's do it.
Of course, since I have to go an hour early instead of the larf across the street for one bus, I have to go two blocks down to the other one. Not an issue. At least, not until I see that up and down the block (throughout the TOWN as it turned out) the bus lanes are cut off by massive construction. So now instead of a 3-minute ride it's a 20-minute walk. Of course, I have a long-sleeve sweater on because it's overcast and I get off work at 9 but that all collapses on me, much like my deoderant, and I end up sweating like a crackhead going through withdrawls.
AND I lose not one but two sets of double A's from the busted-up ghetto-ass CD player my brother no longer has use for. It reminds me of how I lost MY bomb-ass CD player/radio tuner the day after Angelina Acuna broke my heart. Man, she was something. Probably #2 on the all-time High Fidelity Top 5 Horrible Breakups list. Wow, covered #1 & #2 in the same week. Go me. siiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh...anyway, that's another thing I need to buy, and a new radio system since everyone else in the family's gotten one in the past year.
After about 20 minutes and 4 pounds down, I get there. Of course, the guy isn't there. And the CD player's raped the BNL Greatest Hits CD Corkscrew Plancha got me. I think it's the dead batteries so after 3 stores I manage to get a ghetto-ass four pack for $2, thus allowing me both music to escape and money to purchase food at work. I put in Renegades because I NEED TO HEAR "MAGGIE'S FARM" RIGHT NOW.
It is now I find out that the CD player has re-enacted the 86 Sprint we used to have before my parents took it to the Saturn dealership: no reverse, no turbo, just PLAY/GO. And it rewinds on it's own accord.
[As I wrote this note, a cartographer skipped through the hall. A grown man, no less. THIS is what passes for Cartographers Gone Wild. THIS was the biggest thing to happen in my section all day. What a difference from NarcAnon.]
So I try playing it through and it doesn't even get through the first verse of "I'm Housing" before channeling Linda Blair.
DEFCON FUCKING ONE. So I can't go forwards? Fine. I play my GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME ANTHEM which just coincidentally enough is a lead track--the one off In Utero, "Serve The Servants". I have to open it after the song's over and close it back up to hear it again, but at least I avoid punching someone in the face. You can see the title for what happened when I tried to be daring and it got to "Heart Shaped Box".
(And to paraphrase Sideshow Bob, I'm fully aware of the irony of being full of homicidal rage on the way to a public relations job listening to "Serve The Servants", so don't bother pointing that out.)
I was so irate over that prison-assraping of a 90 minutes that just thinking about it after the fact caused me to misbutton my shirt.
So, there you go.
TO DO:
--grab check
--cash Friday
--get tuxedo
--get a pack of underwear
--get a pack of condoms (oh, the unholy arrogance)
--buy church shoes
--grab wedding gift
--NOT KILL
--get up early Friday
The Storm did some damage today, but I came out the other side no problem. One more day, and I will see the top of the mountain. And it will be damn good.
BE'LIE DAT, PLAYA.
Drain you of your sanity/face the thing that should not be
7/8/03
Today's brain farts after seven Bean-O-less hours
Today's brain farts after seven Bean-O-less hours
*Due to my odd schedule, I was the only one at my briefing today. Of course it began twenty minutes late and what info I didn't figure out from sussing out the sheet was all of three seconds. Check cashes the same. God bless America.
*I get assigned to the far south end of the building and upstairs to boot. This'll become important later.
*You know, maybe it's just the fact I dealt with Starbucks-mainlining ex-junkies on Cuatro de Julio at 1:45 in the morning after a WAR concert but in comparison cartographers are a LOT easier to deal with. They're all--to a fault, nearly--REALLY quiet, focused, and plugged in from the womb. In some small and major ways it was like watching my creation Keith Scott Zimmerman surge to life. At least the opening session they got some booze, which made them seem less like cyborgs and more like people. Pretty boring people, mind, but certainly nothing to fuss over.
*Sometimes, in the ebbs of the job, I feel like a glorified Barky the Dog. "No, I'm NOT sure where it is. I have a very good idea of where my foot'll be! Care to wager a guess?"
*They shut down my area around 8:20. Off went the escalators and the lights dimmed with time. Some of the more astute of you may know my shift was until 10. And now, a look inside my head during the final hour plus:
i am slowly going crazy 1 2 3 4 5 6 switch
crazy going slowly am i 1 2 3 4 5 6 switch
i am slowly going crazy 1 2 3 4 5 6 switch
crazy going slowly am i 1 2 3 4 5 6 switch
No, I didn't think/sing that the entire time, but it was long enough to make me pause for a second and think--"Hell, maybe I really AM going crazy. What if I am already and can't tell?"
Then I realized in essence I was getting paid while thinking this train of thought and let out a laugh that let me know one thing in no uncertain terms: LOON.
*You know what's hilarious when you put the Police's Greatest Hits on random? Hearing "Every Breath You Take" immediately followed by "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic". I need to buy some CDs for the first time in like two years. N.E.R.D's, the last Coldplay & Norah Jones for sleepytimes.
So this is the Eye of the Storm. I'm still here. And tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after.
Be'lie dat, playa.
*Due to my odd schedule, I was the only one at my briefing today. Of course it began twenty minutes late and what info I didn't figure out from sussing out the sheet was all of three seconds. Check cashes the same. God bless America.
*I get assigned to the far south end of the building and upstairs to boot. This'll become important later.
*You know, maybe it's just the fact I dealt with Starbucks-mainlining ex-junkies on Cuatro de Julio at 1:45 in the morning after a WAR concert but in comparison cartographers are a LOT easier to deal with. They're all--to a fault, nearly--REALLY quiet, focused, and plugged in from the womb. In some small and major ways it was like watching my creation Keith Scott Zimmerman surge to life. At least the opening session they got some booze, which made them seem less like cyborgs and more like people. Pretty boring people, mind, but certainly nothing to fuss over.
*Sometimes, in the ebbs of the job, I feel like a glorified Barky the Dog. "No, I'm NOT sure where it is. I have a very good idea of where my foot'll be! Care to wager a guess?"
*They shut down my area around 8:20. Off went the escalators and the lights dimmed with time. Some of the more astute of you may know my shift was until 10. And now, a look inside my head during the final hour plus:
i am slowly going crazy 1 2 3 4 5 6 switch
crazy going slowly am i 1 2 3 4 5 6 switch
i am slowly going crazy 1 2 3 4 5 6 switch
crazy going slowly am i 1 2 3 4 5 6 switch
No, I didn't think/sing that the entire time, but it was long enough to make me pause for a second and think--"Hell, maybe I really AM going crazy. What if I am already and can't tell?"
Then I realized in essence I was getting paid while thinking this train of thought and let out a laugh that let me know one thing in no uncertain terms: LOON.
*You know what's hilarious when you put the Police's Greatest Hits on random? Hearing "Every Breath You Take" immediately followed by "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic". I need to buy some CDs for the first time in like two years. N.E.R.D's, the last Coldplay & Norah Jones for sleepytimes.
So this is the Eye of the Storm. I'm still here. And tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after.
Be'lie dat, playa.
7/6/03
Sundazed
Sundazed
All your insides fall to pieces, you just sit there wishing you could still make love
I've figured why everyday between break and lunch I become convinced I will not make it to the end of my shift without killing somebody(ies). As all--what, 14?--regular hitters-up of ASCTR will not, one thing I do not do is suffer idiots gladly. Nor am I saying I will because there ought to be an IQ Mendoza line to live, execute the stupid and solve a lot of the problem. But the entirety of what I do right now is dealing with people at their dumbest, people from out of town/state/country who just want to get to their little workshop on whatever without somehow ending up in the donkey show in Tijuana.
Hit the bonfire yesterday, went OK. The last couple have been kinda eh, probably college causing grow apart as opposed to our more wolfpackian high school days. Dustin & Erika didn't show and I bet Cecelimom gives them the beats for that at the wedding this weekend. Thanks to a lull between this weekend and ComicCon 03, I get a SIX-DAY weekend, so hip hop hooray for that. Triple X, popcorn cookie-cutter CGI action flick. The Guru is either brilliant or stupid. I'm not sure which.
I have nothing else at this point to add that is either relevant or true.
So put me out of my misery with all your suicide kings and drama queens
All your insides fall to pieces, you just sit there wishing you could still make love
I've figured why everyday between break and lunch I become convinced I will not make it to the end of my shift without killing somebody(ies). As all--what, 14?--regular hitters-up of ASCTR will not, one thing I do not do is suffer idiots gladly. Nor am I saying I will because there ought to be an IQ Mendoza line to live, execute the stupid and solve a lot of the problem. But the entirety of what I do right now is dealing with people at their dumbest, people from out of town/state/country who just want to get to their little workshop on whatever without somehow ending up in the donkey show in Tijuana.
Hit the bonfire yesterday, went OK. The last couple have been kinda eh, probably college causing grow apart as opposed to our more wolfpackian high school days. Dustin & Erika didn't show and I bet Cecelimom gives them the beats for that at the wedding this weekend. Thanks to a lull between this weekend and ComicCon 03, I get a SIX-DAY weekend, so hip hop hooray for that. Triple X, popcorn cookie-cutter CGI action flick. The Guru is either brilliant or stupid. I'm not sure which.
I have nothing else at this point to add that is either relevant or true.
So put me out of my misery with all your suicide kings and drama queens
7/5/03
Eli's coming, hide your heart girl
There is the time and a half. There is the holiday. No fireworks. No WAR in the next floor up. Now let us never speak of this day again.
I had a fun story about the 4th of July two years ago but since I'm very tired and it ends with me drunk and heartbroken on 9/11...you don't get to hear it right now. Sorry.
And since I'm the last one to give a fuck, I'll turn out the lights, natch.
ADD: Barry White DIED?!? In the immortal words of Samir, this--this is a FUCK! Everyone go make babies in his honor to his music NOW. DO IT I TELL YOU.
I had a fun story about the 4th of July two years ago but since I'm very tired and it ends with me drunk and heartbroken on 9/11...you don't get to hear it right now. Sorry.
And since I'm the last one to give a fuck, I'll turn out the lights, natch.
ADD: Barry White DIED?!? In the immortal words of Samir, this--this is a FUCK! Everyone go make babies in his honor to his music NOW. DO IT I TELL YOU.
7/4/03
Thumbnail sketch
DAMN YOU, JESTER
name= Butch
birthday= February 9, 1979
piercings= don't have the courage
tattoos= see above
height= 5'8"
shoe size= 12
hair color= black
length= short
siblings= Jacquet (Quay), 15 and strange
pets= self. A LOT.
Last...
movie you rented = Almost Famous for the billionth time before I bought it
song you listened to = Kenny Wayne Shepherd's "Blue On Black"
song that was stuck in your head = the chorus to Good Charlotte's "Boys & Girls"
song you've downloaded = Emimem's "Run Rabbit Run"
cd you bought = By The Way, RHCP
cd you listened to = the Battle of Los Angeles, RATM
person you've called = Ivan (left message)
person that's called you = Amanda
tv show you've watched = SportsCenter
person you were thinking of = the idiot who said "Starbucks COFFEE?!" That may very well end up being my "If it weren't for my horse, I wouldn't've spent that year in college."
Do...
you have a bf or gf = nope
you have a crush on someone = nope
you wish you could live somewhere else = yeah
you think about suicide = not without taking people down with me
you believe in online dating = a little more now that my friend's getting married next week
others find you attractive = probably not, but that's why I have to kill them on my way out
you want more piercings = nah
you want more tattoos = I don't know where or how "Nolite te bastardes carborundorum" would fit but yes
you drink = not in forever but I would more if the opportunities presented themselves
you do drugs = used to smoke the ganj. Don't now. Job.
you like cleaning = since I'm male and straight, no
you like roller coasters = since I'm male and straight, you bet your ass
you write in cursive or print = usually print, which I'm told is very neat
you carry a donor card = no. How'm I going to see which apprentice devil's torturing me if some kid in Missouri has my eyes?
for or against...
long distance relationships = I dunno yet.
using someone = yeah. Do onto others before they can do unto you.
suicide = I'm FOR suicide because I'm pure evil. Please.
killing people = Depends on who they are and what they did.
teenage smoking = Not my lungs, go nuts.
doing drugs = Depends on the potency of the drug
driving drunk = See suicide answer
gay/lesbian relationships = I've turned too many girls lez to be against
soap operas = AGAINST AGAINST AGAINST
have you..
ever cried over a girl/boy = yes
ever lied to someone = HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
ever been in a fist fight = one.
ever been arrested = not
what...
shampoo do you use = a blend of Suave & Head & Shoulders. Let's hear it for misguided hope
perfume do you use = none
shoes do you wear = white Pumas for the job, black Chuck Taylors when I'm going w/friends, grrrrrrimy ass slipper socks for loitering
are you scared of = dying alone.
number...
of times I have had my heart broken = somewhere between twice and 8
of hearts I have broken = I think one, maybe
of continents I have lived on = here
of people I would classify as true, could trust with my life type friends = 2
of people I consider my enemies = a lot. People just annoy me a lot and I have letting go problems.
of people from high school that I stayed in contact with = 10 to 20
of cd's that I own = around 50
of scars on my body = a bunch, stiches from falls, chicken pox reminders, whatever this blotch on my chest is
of things in my past that I regret = if I had it all again I'd change it all
songs...
Remind you of an ex-lover = Tori Amos' "Silent All These Years", Oasis' "Wonderwall", Madison Avenue's "Don't Call Me Baby"
Reminds you of an ex-friend = "American Pie" by Don McLean first and foremost. Aren't enough words
Makes you cry = see the first three
Makes you laugh = None, really. Sometimes I laugh at a good Jay-Z line
You never want to hear again = TRL. Yes.
Sums up your teenage years = Nirvana.
You used to hate, but now love = Everything I hated before I hate now. And probably more.
You like to wake up to = Doesn't matter. I like the surprise.
You like out of your parents record collection = Marvin Gaye
You love that you wouldn't know about it if it wasn't for a friend = This Is Cult Fiction
Makes you think of someone who died = n/a
You love the video more than the tune = Christina Aguilera's "Dirrty"
Reminds you of your first crush/love = Bush - Glycerine
Reminds you of your now crush/love= Violent Femmes - Add It Up (hopefully someone gets that joke)
Makes you think of sex - Marvin Gaye
You love to hear in your disc man = Whatever I'm listening to when I'm listening to it
name= Butch
birthday= February 9, 1979
piercings= don't have the courage
tattoos= see above
height= 5'8"
shoe size= 12
hair color= black
length= short
siblings= Jacquet (Quay), 15 and strange
pets= self. A LOT.
Last...
movie you rented = Almost Famous for the billionth time before I bought it
song you listened to = Kenny Wayne Shepherd's "Blue On Black"
song that was stuck in your head = the chorus to Good Charlotte's "Boys & Girls"
song you've downloaded = Emimem's "Run Rabbit Run"
cd you bought = By The Way, RHCP
cd you listened to = the Battle of Los Angeles, RATM
person you've called = Ivan (left message)
person that's called you = Amanda
tv show you've watched = SportsCenter
person you were thinking of = the idiot who said "Starbucks COFFEE?!" That may very well end up being my "If it weren't for my horse, I wouldn't've spent that year in college."
Do...
you have a bf or gf = nope
you have a crush on someone = nope
you wish you could live somewhere else = yeah
you think about suicide = not without taking people down with me
you believe in online dating = a little more now that my friend's getting married next week
others find you attractive = probably not, but that's why I have to kill them on my way out
you want more piercings = nah
you want more tattoos = I don't know where or how "Nolite te bastardes carborundorum" would fit but yes
you drink = not in forever but I would more if the opportunities presented themselves
you do drugs = used to smoke the ganj. Don't now. Job.
you like cleaning = since I'm male and straight, no
you like roller coasters = since I'm male and straight, you bet your ass
you write in cursive or print = usually print, which I'm told is very neat
you carry a donor card = no. How'm I going to see which apprentice devil's torturing me if some kid in Missouri has my eyes?
for or against...
long distance relationships = I dunno yet.
using someone = yeah. Do onto others before they can do unto you.
suicide = I'm FOR suicide because I'm pure evil. Please.
killing people = Depends on who they are and what they did.
teenage smoking = Not my lungs, go nuts.
doing drugs = Depends on the potency of the drug
driving drunk = See suicide answer
gay/lesbian relationships = I've turned too many girls lez to be against
soap operas = AGAINST AGAINST AGAINST
have you..
ever cried over a girl/boy = yes
ever lied to someone = HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
ever been in a fist fight = one.
ever been arrested = not
what...
shampoo do you use = a blend of Suave & Head & Shoulders. Let's hear it for misguided hope
perfume do you use = none
shoes do you wear = white Pumas for the job, black Chuck Taylors when I'm going w/friends, grrrrrrimy ass slipper socks for loitering
are you scared of = dying alone.
number...
of times I have had my heart broken = somewhere between twice and 8
of hearts I have broken = I think one, maybe
of continents I have lived on = here
of people I would classify as true, could trust with my life type friends = 2
of people I consider my enemies = a lot. People just annoy me a lot and I have letting go problems.
of people from high school that I stayed in contact with = 10 to 20
of cd's that I own = around 50
of scars on my body = a bunch, stiches from falls, chicken pox reminders, whatever this blotch on my chest is
of things in my past that I regret = if I had it all again I'd change it all
songs...
Remind you of an ex-lover = Tori Amos' "Silent All These Years", Oasis' "Wonderwall", Madison Avenue's "Don't Call Me Baby"
Reminds you of an ex-friend = "American Pie" by Don McLean first and foremost. Aren't enough words
Makes you cry = see the first three
Makes you laugh = None, really. Sometimes I laugh at a good Jay-Z line
You never want to hear again = TRL. Yes.
Sums up your teenage years = Nirvana.
You used to hate, but now love = Everything I hated before I hate now. And probably more.
You like to wake up to = Doesn't matter. I like the surprise.
You like out of your parents record collection = Marvin Gaye
You love that you wouldn't know about it if it wasn't for a friend = This Is Cult Fiction
Makes you think of someone who died = n/a
You love the video more than the tune = Christina Aguilera's "Dirrty"
Reminds you of your first crush/love = Bush - Glycerine
Reminds you of your now crush/love= Violent Femmes - Add It Up (hopefully someone gets that joke)
Makes you think of sex - Marvin Gaye
You love to hear in your disc man = Whatever I'm listening to when I'm listening to it
9½ HOURS
Where do you want to go today?
To paraphrase Lisa Simpson, I no longer fear hell, for I have worked a nine and a half hour shift that gets out at 1:30. On the way, I listened to Jay-Z Unplugged & Stankonia. Then before a slice of pizza, I wrote down the jerseys they had out that intrigued me. Football, gold Terrell Owens & a retro Chargers style. Don't matter who.
Now to basketball (deep breath): black retro Kobe, retro Warriors Richardson, ludicrously expensive 1962 blue-and-white Elgin Baylor, retro dark blue Nowinski, retro Milwaukee Payton (superceded if the Lakers sign him WHICH THEY SHOULD), black alternate Iverson (stars & stripes down the sides), black retro Bulls Williams (cause it sucks what happened to him and it's retro), a T-Mac, and a white Kobe. Not too shabby, list subject to change, force majeure and whatnot.
So, 9.5 hours at the NarcAnon. 50th anniversary too. Lots of guys hugging. I guess it's helping them get over but I usually only hug things that're pretty and have breasts. Except for the bad days, in which case they just need to have breasts. Plenty of pretty girls, of course THEY didn't hug me. Really funny joke that'll expedite my trip to Hell: You know how you get a girl at NA? You beg, and then when that doesn't work you sing "I've got blooooo-oooooooooow." I know, I know. But that's what happens after nine hours of people asking "Is that upstairs?" when you say "DOWN. THE. HALL." and one misguided jackass who actually said to me "Starbucks Coffee?" No, Starbucks Rent-A-Car! On the corner of You Need To Be Vascetomized and Why Would It Be Illegal For Me To Kill Your Dumb Ass? Just a cacophony of noise that didn't stop unless I was on break until I got off of work. I was listening to "Straight Out Of Line" & "Come Out & Play (Keep 'Em Seperated)" and it was all I could do to keep my eyes open.
And I get to do it again in 14.5 hours! You better hold me, 'cause I'm scared.
The Storm draws strength. I'm going to surf the net another 20 and call it a night.
Parting thought: is trading the needle for 3 frappacinos REALLY progress?
I don't need to walk around in circles, walk around in circles, walk around in...
To paraphrase Lisa Simpson, I no longer fear hell, for I have worked a nine and a half hour shift that gets out at 1:30. On the way, I listened to Jay-Z Unplugged & Stankonia. Then before a slice of pizza, I wrote down the jerseys they had out that intrigued me. Football, gold Terrell Owens & a retro Chargers style. Don't matter who.
Now to basketball (deep breath): black retro Kobe, retro Warriors Richardson, ludicrously expensive 1962 blue-and-white Elgin Baylor, retro dark blue Nowinski, retro Milwaukee Payton (superceded if the Lakers sign him WHICH THEY SHOULD), black alternate Iverson (stars & stripes down the sides), black retro Bulls Williams (cause it sucks what happened to him and it's retro), a T-Mac, and a white Kobe. Not too shabby, list subject to change, force majeure and whatnot.
So, 9.5 hours at the NarcAnon. 50th anniversary too. Lots of guys hugging. I guess it's helping them get over but I usually only hug things that're pretty and have breasts. Except for the bad days, in which case they just need to have breasts. Plenty of pretty girls, of course THEY didn't hug me. Really funny joke that'll expedite my trip to Hell: You know how you get a girl at NA? You beg, and then when that doesn't work you sing "I've got blooooo-oooooooooow." I know, I know. But that's what happens after nine hours of people asking "Is that upstairs?" when you say "DOWN. THE. HALL." and one misguided jackass who actually said to me "Starbucks Coffee?" No, Starbucks Rent-A-Car! On the corner of You Need To Be Vascetomized and Why Would It Be Illegal For Me To Kill Your Dumb Ass? Just a cacophony of noise that didn't stop unless I was on break until I got off of work. I was listening to "Straight Out Of Line" & "Come Out & Play (Keep 'Em Seperated)" and it was all I could do to keep my eyes open.
And I get to do it again in 14.5 hours! You better hold me, 'cause I'm scared.
The Storm draws strength. I'm going to surf the net another 20 and call it a night.
Parting thought: is trading the needle for 3 frappacinos REALLY progress?
I don't need to walk around in circles, walk around in circles, walk around in...
7/3/03
Welcome to the Fold, and the Eye of the Perfect Storm. Hang on.
Wow, there's just nothing better than making people march in line with what you do. I feel like Jim Jones, pre-Kool Aid and possibly post-shooting that guy who tried to stop him.
Anyway, three of my main e-fed in Action homies have started up. Dupin's cool but if you mention Eliza Dushku or Alyson Hannigan he'll faint and you can take his wallet. Ben Pants has a much better half but good luck with the coat factory. Hell, I got hired so anything's possible.
Mike Renner is pure evil, which explains why he's down with me. He's brilliant and lifeless to the point where I'm quite sure he's a cyborg.
Now that there are so many blogs I broke up them from my regular links. Splinter celled them, if you will. Anyway, tomorrow starts the Perfect Storm...
But Butch! What's the Perfect Storm?
This.
later, Thursday the 3rd: working 4 pm to 1:30 am. I might get on AIM for an hour before I go to work but it's not likely.
Fourth of July: working AGAIN, 5 pm to 2 am this time. Same deal as Thursday.
Saturday the 6th: annual bonfire with friends. Will be gone for the majority of the afternoon and night.
Sunday the 7th: working 8 am to 3:30 pm. This is the best chance to get me, Sunday night.
Monday the 8th: work, 3 pm to 10 pm.
Tuesday the 9th: work, 2 to 8 pm.
Wednesday the 10th: work, 2 to 9 pm.
Thursday the 11: work, noon to 6 pm. Then I need to get home and pack and/or pick up my tux and/or the wedding gift because...
Friday the 12th-Sunday the 14th: best man to friend's wedding in Vegas.
There you go, and I've got some not-necessarily-above-board things to finish writing, so nighty-night.
BLOG FEVER! CATCH IT!
Anyway, three of my main e-fed in Action homies have started up. Dupin's cool but if you mention Eliza Dushku or Alyson Hannigan he'll faint and you can take his wallet. Ben Pants has a much better half but good luck with the coat factory. Hell, I got hired so anything's possible.
Mike Renner is pure evil, which explains why he's down with me. He's brilliant and lifeless to the point where I'm quite sure he's a cyborg.
Now that there are so many blogs I broke up them from my regular links. Splinter celled them, if you will. Anyway, tomorrow starts the Perfect Storm...
But Butch! What's the Perfect Storm?
This.
later, Thursday the 3rd: working 4 pm to 1:30 am. I might get on AIM for an hour before I go to work but it's not likely.
Fourth of July: working AGAIN, 5 pm to 2 am this time. Same deal as Thursday.
Saturday the 6th: annual bonfire with friends. Will be gone for the majority of the afternoon and night.
Sunday the 7th: working 8 am to 3:30 pm. This is the best chance to get me, Sunday night.
Monday the 8th: work, 3 pm to 10 pm.
Tuesday the 9th: work, 2 to 8 pm.
Wednesday the 10th: work, 2 to 9 pm.
Thursday the 11: work, noon to 6 pm. Then I need to get home and pack and/or pick up my tux and/or the wedding gift because...
Friday the 12th-Sunday the 14th: best man to friend's wedding in Vegas.
There you go, and I've got some not-necessarily-above-board things to finish writing, so nighty-night.
BLOG FEVER! CATCH IT!
7/2/03
Midseason Report
I spend a lot on all the clothes that I got 'cause all the geeks that I meet, they all look cooler than me
Some of the more anal of you will note it's July 2nd but that won't begin for me until I go to bed in a couple hours and wake up around 10:45ish.
I did get some work done on the novel. Not as much as I wanted (in my more delusional moments I thought I'd be done) but I got pre-production out of the way and a lot of pages too. However, it's going to be stalled for a while. I put everything on hold socially so I could work on the novel and I get the feeling it's good but the shit has yet to really hit the fan. Updates to come, whenever I can get back into the right frame of mind to write a corporation-driven near-post-apocalyptic world controlled by Christ again. I think it may require cerveza.
I'm really grateful for the new job, however much it aggravtes me, because it's money coming in. Plus, a couple years of unemployment's made me self-sufficent and cheap: one cool b-ball jersey, a DVD, and then bank the rest to transfer at the alpha of next year. Sure, some of the people I've met I've wanted to kill, but no one I tightly work with, and that's a plus.
Getting ready for the mad season: seven of the next eight days working, the lone miss being the NINTH(?--gotta look into it with someone who'd know) annual bonfire before the Vegas wedding and three days during which I plan to implement the initiatives that will one day lead me to the Presidency of the United States: getting paid (blackjack) and getting laid (self-explanatory). Anyway, by the time all that's bounced off the fan the month'll be half up and some poor attractive girl will be pregnant by a man she only knows as Butch R. Fong.
You know, you have the worst year of your life a few years in a row and while you're pretty sure the law of averages says the next year can't possibly be this horrible--said law, of course, has been kicking your ass so far out in so many different ways it looks like an asterisk. And then, you have a year and it's not horrible. Sure, it'd be nice if I had somebody, but whaddya gonna do. I die alone, I take the S.W.A.T. team with me; I mean, I die alone and I die alone. That's all.
And on that note, good night and have a pleasant tomorrow. The second half of 2003 come a-callin'.
Knock knock knockin' on heaven's door, hey, hey, hey hey yeah
Some of the more anal of you will note it's July 2nd but that won't begin for me until I go to bed in a couple hours and wake up around 10:45ish.
I did get some work done on the novel. Not as much as I wanted (in my more delusional moments I thought I'd be done) but I got pre-production out of the way and a lot of pages too. However, it's going to be stalled for a while. I put everything on hold socially so I could work on the novel and I get the feeling it's good but the shit has yet to really hit the fan. Updates to come, whenever I can get back into the right frame of mind to write a corporation-driven near-post-apocalyptic world controlled by Christ again. I think it may require cerveza.
I'm really grateful for the new job, however much it aggravtes me, because it's money coming in. Plus, a couple years of unemployment's made me self-sufficent and cheap: one cool b-ball jersey, a DVD, and then bank the rest to transfer at the alpha of next year. Sure, some of the people I've met I've wanted to kill, but no one I tightly work with, and that's a plus.
Getting ready for the mad season: seven of the next eight days working, the lone miss being the NINTH(?--gotta look into it with someone who'd know) annual bonfire before the Vegas wedding and three days during which I plan to implement the initiatives that will one day lead me to the Presidency of the United States: getting paid (blackjack) and getting laid (self-explanatory). Anyway, by the time all that's bounced off the fan the month'll be half up and some poor attractive girl will be pregnant by a man she only knows as Butch R. Fong.
You know, you have the worst year of your life a few years in a row and while you're pretty sure the law of averages says the next year can't possibly be this horrible--said law, of course, has been kicking your ass so far out in so many different ways it looks like an asterisk. And then, you have a year and it's not horrible. Sure, it'd be nice if I had somebody, but whaddya gonna do. I die alone, I take the S.W.A.T. team with me; I mean, I die alone and I die alone. That's all.
And on that note, good night and have a pleasant tomorrow. The second half of 2003 come a-callin'.
Knock knock knockin' on heaven's door, hey, hey, hey hey yeah
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