| Criss-cross-contamination |
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| 09:26p|
13 |
May |
09 | |
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Did you know that most people, myself included, spread the peanut butter side first when making a Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich? It's ludicrous when you think about it. The jelly has so much more to loose! |
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| Que? |
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| 09:39p|
24 |
Jan |
09 | |
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Have you ever tried to teach someone the english language? It's absolute rubbish! homonyms? homophones? homographs?!?! Here's a novel thought: think up a new fucking word. It's not that hard. Widdie, floths, meork. There's three right there.
My guy is crazy about letters right now. 19 months old, thinks that a lion lives in our kitchen sink and can't climb down stairs on his own, but knows his whole alphabet. Upper case, that is. Those lowercase ones are pretty out there. His forefathers didn't have the forethought that someone might actually want to pass this knowledge along. I don't know how to break it to the kid that "Q" and "q" are somehow the exact same letter without shattering his faith in the entire superstructure of human kind.
Being a parent really allows you to look at the world anew and find a whole bunch of asinine things you've never noticed to be personally offended by. But at what cost? My poor kid is going to be the known as that "homeschooled weirdo who speaks Esperanto, measures in metric, and uses the dvorakin keyboard. plus his mom knits his clothes. " |
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| I just like acronyms, ok! |
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| 12:51a|
08 |
Nov |
08 | |
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music: Jumping at the woodside - count basie
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Sebastian discovered the moon tonight. I'm sure he feels we should contact NASA or SETTY some similar astronomic cataloguing body. It was very primal; some "2001: a space oddity" kind of shit. He discovered the moon in the same way scores of men have discovered the very same moon since the infancy of the human race.
He learned the word immediately too, which is impressive, considering he knows maybe 5 words at a deep stretch and only if you count "bck" for "book" and "uh oh, spaghetti-o's" as word....and even then it denigrates into a garble like the monster in "Young Frankenstein" singing "putting on the ritz!"
He does know over 70 ASL signs. Which constantly astounds me, but at what cost?? you see: the biggest musical influence in my life right now is "Signing Time." If you're not familiar with the show, it stars this ultra-bubbly lady with color-coded tape on her fingers who teaches your kid (and you) sign language and sings songs she writes herself with embarrassing passion.
And the songs are Infectious and have the same preda-natural, humanly intrinsic quality as christmas songs do in that you'll be walking down the street humming something for 20 minutes, not even aware you're doing it, only to realize you've been singing "Jingle Bells" for the better part of half-an-hour for all of creation to hear. And then you get mad at your brain for being sucked into it! "Stupid pedestrian brain! You're sooooo lowest-common-denominator." Only, instead of "jingle bells" its "The Diaper Dance" or "Do You Know the Colors of the Rainbow?"
But Sebastian loves it. Absolutely loves it. He signs to tell us to put in on. It is the first logo he recognizes. (a concept both amazing and frightening)
And he uses it (sign language) to tell me all sorts of things, like when he hears a dog outside or when he sees an airplane or when his dolls need to go to sleep. The other day he insisted that there was a baby in my burrito. He kept signing "baby" and i asked him "where" and he kept pointing to my burrito and nodding, then preceded to get down to eye level with it and "talk" to it. I'd like to say it put me off my dinner, but, hell-- i was hungry.
I haven't posted much lately, because I didn't think anybody wanted to hear about my dumb ol' kid, but then I thought "screw you guys: i'm talking about my dumb ol' kid." It's impossible to have this front row seat to the physical, emotional, and cognitive development of a real live human being bearing parts of your very own genetic profile and not want to talk about it all the time.
but occasionally I do have some adult pursuits worth mentioning. Elowsky and I had a table at the APE this year with our friend Sharon and a nice girl who writes a zine about poo. |
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| Save our Wetlands |
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| 01:00a|
10 |
Sep |
08 | |
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Some nice young men from the EPA showed up at my door with a bunch of paperwork declaring that my sink be declared a protected wildlife sanitary. Luckily, one of the agents' clipboard was stolen by a puddle of what appeared to be some sort of hyper-evolved stir-fry or I would be forced to give daily tours to Japanese tourists and sell overpriced shot glasses out of my bathroom. funny.....i can't remember the last time we actually ATE hyper-evolved stir-fry.
I suppose it's time to do the dishes.
next weeks episode: who knows what evil lurks in the heart of the diaper bin? |
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| Ice cream and babies |
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| 12:24a|
01 |
Aug |
08 | |
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If i manufactured ice cream, and perhaps i should, my brand would be called "Chock full of Stuff" (or, alternately, "Hella Stuff" but only on the west coast. the east coast version: "Mad Stuff" ) and It would be mostly the things one finds in ice cream, only a lot more of them. Ridiculously so.
For example, my version of Cookies n Cream would be entire sandwich cookies loosely held together by ice cream.
In other news (yes, I, for one, call ice cream pipe dreams "news."), a photographer friend of ours is working on his portfolio and shot some great pictures of our little drool machine. They can be found here http://www.flickr.com/photos/edmdusty/sets/72157606447825572/show
You should check out his other work and hire him for all of your photographic needs. |
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| The industrial revolution hasn't hit my block yet. |
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| 10:49p|
27 |
Jun |
08 | |
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Without question, my diggs ain't the Taj Mahajhal. We are, if not dumpster divers, then my man and I must fall into the the decidedly less romantic classification referred to -- usually in middle school and with some degree of pointing and laughing -- as "trash diggers." My couches -- one found curbed, one inherited from when my i mean A coke dealer went crazy and gave all his stuff away -- are black. An off-white, discount ikea throw perfectly hides the cigarette burns and the growing 3 ft gash Cousin Corey made when he slept on it for week with a wallet chain. Together with the roadside rug and the plaster-meets-spray-paint lamp the ensemble screams "i just moved out of my parent's house." I'm one cinder-block-and-two-by-four shelf away from....well, what ever fate they reserve for people who use cable spools as coffee tables..
Let me tell you about my pillows. They're a motley crew of mottled, matted heaps that look as if they quite possibly may have, at one time, been made of something that might have resembled fabric or at least an organic compound of some sort, but now look like the unsanitary resting place for "do not remove under the penatily of law" tags. My bed is where polyfill goes to die. So one day i thought to myself "I'm an adult, for christssake!" and I set out to buy myself some nice, sensible adult pillows. Turns out I'm allergic to down. Who knew.
At least I finally retired "Old Scratchy." Old Scratchy was just the disemboweled innards of a pillow, in all its polyester-hunk glory, stuffed into a case. I wanted to take a picture of it before I threw it out, to show all of ya'll, but elowsky said, "Please don't tell strangers how we live."
Anyhow, I digress....
The true purpose of this post is to tell you about my various electronics. As I sit here, I am stareing at my computer speaker that, at any given time, is jabbed with thoughtfully placed household items in a half-assed attempt to fix an electrical short. Its a paperclip right now, but we've covered the gambit: pens, pins, a screwdriver weighted down with the kind of decorative brick-a-brack one finds in one's grampa's study (provided one's grampa has a study, as opposed to a "Radio Shack" franchise like mine did) , an open pair of scissors, etc, etc.
Jurry Rig is my middle name. Erratum "Jurry Rig" Hernandez or Martinez or whatever....
No one can work my can opener but me. even with detailed, hand-illustrated instructions.
Running my washer is like playing wheel of fortune: it involves a great deal of dial spinning, there's usually a speed round, and time is of the essence. Ok, that was really the best metaphor I could come up with, but it really IS complicated. There are no less than eight additional steps needed in order to run a simple load of laundry, including a portion that involves a 10 second window in which you have to drop anything you're doing and dash to the washer or else it will blow a circut and shut off. The fun part about this is, if you miss this step, you don't know when, if ever, you will be able to turn on the washer again. Could be 2 minutes. Could be 2 hours! Who knows!
And the Gordian knot nature of my washer is due in part because it is a "Montgomery Ward's" brand, who i think have been out of business for, like, ten years and it, itself, looks like its at least 30. and partly because.....well, let me just advise you, gentle reader: Never get drunk and stand on your washer for any reason. They're just not really equipped for it.
But the Grand Dame of my personal world of craptacular appliances, The Queen Mother of all was my television set. Given to me in 1998 after my cat broke my first ever television set, this idot box was the electronic equlivant of those "one-legged, blind dog answeres to the name 'Lucky'" posters. The power button had long sinced imploded and so you actually had to insert you finger inside to the set to turn it on. I've had people come over to my house and flat out refuse to touch it for fear of electrocution. And once you actually powered up the monster, I swear to Edward R. Murrow, that I could eat an entire bowl of oatmeal before the picture came in. And, of course, by picture, I mean fuzzy, rabbit-ear shadows. Because I don't have cable (and while you would think the lack of quality programing might hinder me in some way, let me assure you: I don't watch any less TV, I just watch really bad TV.)
The "channel down" button hadn't worked for some time. You miss your channel, you're in it for a whole 'nother round. The remote hung in there for a good while, of course, after the first incarnation had been eaten by a dog. Its eventual death came slow and agonizingly. I just didn't want to give up the ghost. (READ: get the fuck up to actually change the channel.) And so after contorting to all manner yogaic poises and applying all manner of makeshift remote control poking devices, it was quietly laid to rest in a somber ceremony at dawn. Only the cat and I were in attendance.
And at this point, I would like you to extend to me a hand into the, well, the late 20th century, for I gots me a $10 telly off the craigslist and one of them fancy pants digital converter boxes.
Its fucking brilliant. Instead of wavy lines, everything is broken into pixels. (i thought there really were 2 simultaneous Bart Simpsons, suggesting something perhaps about the duality of man. Turns out, the Simpsons were not really deep, my reception is really poor.) Plus I get, like, 30 PBS-es. Every morning Sebastian and i watch Signing Time. and then I watch the channel that shows all the telecourses. Abnormal psychology and childhood development before nap time and then, the language of photography after lunch. Its rad. And also frightening, to any one that's aware there's a "wedding TV' station. |
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| the secret life of mice or Bobby Fisher was a Ruski? |
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| 11:44p|
13 |
Feb |
08 | |
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music: something on pbs about masculinity in hip hop
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When i am playing Tetris, i invariably and almost without realizing it, imagine the game being called by sports commentators; a running critique of my playing as if i'm a competing in some sort of Tetris Olympics.
"she's trained hard all season and was really showing heart coming into this competition, but she's getting sloppy going into level 9 and oooooh that move is really going to cost her. "
"The block was right, the placement was there, but this is just clear example of over-rotation, Chuck. Frankly, i'm surprised at such a rookie move from such a seasoned player."
(p.s. the first guy was named Chuck.) |
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| Conectivity |
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| 12:59a|
24 |
Jan |
08 | |
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music: snores, boy and baby
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every time we have any sort of "weather" at all here in the bay area, the city shuts down entirely. no lie. its always the biggest story on the news "Yes, Dan there appears to be some sort of precipitation falling from the sky. there's no word yet on exactly what the liquid is, be will be broadcasting live throughout the night as this story develops."
and every time someone breathes too hard, my internet goes out. but i've met some extraordinarily nice service repair men in the process.
unfortunatly, my internet was down the other week when we walked out of the house to find there on the sidewalk a dead rat the size of a guinea pig and a pile of human fecees, also roughly the size of a guinea pig.
i'm sure there's a story there, but i was too busy getting a tetanus booster to find out.
the next day, which just so happened to be my birthday, they had both miraculously disappeared.
i considered it a present.
Happy Birthday to Me. |
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| A letter To Ziti: because science must prevail |
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| 03:19p|
11 |
Dec |
07 | |
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mood: chipper music: baby gurping
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Date: Oct 30, 2007 8:55 PM
Subject: hello old friend
Body:
dear andrea,
you suck.
love, ziti
p.s. congrats on the baby, and HOW THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN DOING?!?!?!
Date: Dec 11, 2007 3:20 PM
Subject:
Re:hello old friend
Body:
Dearest Mr. Vucci
I can't tell you how pleased I was to hear from you, but I am afraid I must correct you as to a matter of misinformation contained in your previous correspondence dated 10-30-07. In that letter, you had stated that I "suck." This is plainly a misstatement of fact as numerous documented reports and eyewitness accounts will support, I am, in fact, AWESOME!
In April of 2007 there was a double blind study conducted at The University of California, Berkeley in which it was found overwhelmingly that, not only was I awesome (see above) but that I had charted so high on the Awesome Scale/Rad Index that the current equipment used to measure such things was deemed inadequate, being wholly unable even to handle the extent of my particular degree of awesome and thereby ceremoniously refusing to assist in any further testing. The machinery was quoted as saying "My work is completed; My life's mission, fulfilled"
If you are interested in more information, visit your local library where you will find exhaustive volumes compiled on the subject of my awesomeness, both as a phenomenon and as a utopian model for future civilizations.
We thank you for your attention in this matter.
Andrea
p.s. -- check out the little fella:
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| reconnected: at last |
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| 03:01a|
03 |
Dec |
07 | |
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long clothed in the mortal coil,
waiting - pensive, fevered - for the familiar flash of the warm, warm LAN light like a green beacon in the fast falling november night. and night upon night upon endless, icy night until the days no longer exist and every distant whisper of tread to asphalt must be, has to be the at&t repair van. my life bisected into failed four hour increments of missed meetings and collapsed connections: 8-noon, noon-4, 4-8. weary. poised at the very edge of limbo. my fingers, like claws, numb; wringing the tattered ethernet cable desperate for the taste of
just
one
tiny
little
byte.
its funny how much time i had spent on the planet reasonably happy, all things considered, prior to the invention of the world wide web, doubly so when one compares that length of time with how long after my DSL's subsequent disconnection that i began clawing at the phone jack and holding my modem up to the light moaning incoherent lamentations and -- i'm not ashamed to say -- obscenities.
and thus began the dark days.
and it rained and it shined but i felt not joy.
but O holy of holies
brilliant
respendant majesty
O black hole of white light
O knower of things
O waster of time
O alumum and plastic relic
aide and receive me ye angels in to your series of worldwide, publicly accessible of interconnected computer networks.
in the short hours that i have been reconnected, here are some examples of how i have obliterated a fuckload of precious seconds of my life:
learning about Scopolamine and lobotomies
being introduced to the master of GIFs, apparently,
checking out this weird video my next door neighbor worked on
uploading a bunch of photos
and checking out boobs and books |
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| playing ketchup |
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| 10:56p|
18 |
Aug |
07 | |
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there are few things in this life that are as splendidly transcendent, as pure and utterly sublime in its existence, as representative of the very essence all that is beauty and goodness in this world as this one picture:
Highlighted for your convenience, note the majestic way the brilliant yellow rises sharply, like a sudden godsend, like a great lemony colossus shattering the iron-padded boxes that had formerly contained my scheduled, shuffling death, shift by soul-crushing shift. imagine now, that this yellow wave stretches out before you in an endless expanse, glory in a glittering sea of cadmium freedom. box after box after box; onward into infinity.
May 2nd is when i began my maternity leave. (read: quit my job) In honor, i have collected here a humble tribute with just a few of the entries in which i profess my loathing for my work:
gratuit-tize
Sewer south pacific: an argument for booster shots
as nina Simone says, "i've been workin', and workin' but i still have so terribly far to go"
fun with camera phones
no surprises here
long time no see, sailor
undercover on the food-service industry: part 2
you thought you had enough things to be self conscious about
the manditory exchange: professional
buzzz
Maternity leave was not exactly as i had expected it to be. I had envisioned a super-awesome free vacation in which i would finished everything i had ever started in my entire life but had never had time for. i would wake up each morning and play my guitar in my pajamas and sing until my throat got sore. i would meditate and work-out. i would take long, hot baths and complete all the half-read books collecting dust on my book shelf. i would draw until late in the evening, churning out comic after award-winning comic. i would then spend the rest of the night engaged in intellectual pursuits, learning spanish, updating my journal (HA!), writing long-owed letters to friends, teaching myself AfterEffects, etc, or just "nesting" through various martha stewart-esque home improvement projects and knitting. (yes, i actually knit now. i thought it seemed appropriate, considering the circumstances. and apart from yelling "GODDAMNHELLFUCK" slightly more than the average knitter, i think it makes me seem very "domestic." another interesting note: this is actually the way i curse.)
and i must say, i came very close to doing all these things, but at the last minute, i decided to sleep instead. a lot. pretty much for nine months. as far as pregnancy symptoms go, you hear a great deal about morning sickness, which i never really experienced. No one tells you about the all-consuming exhaustion, the complete and blanketing fatigue. the kind that seeps like poison into your bones and weighs on your very soul.
(another thing that "they" don't tell you is that pregnancy lasts TEN MONTHS! not nine. do the math: full term pregnancy is 40 weeks ÷ 4 weeks in a month = TEN MONTHS!!!!)
when i wasn't sleeping, i was spending much of my time being very, very uncomfortable. when i had imagined being pregnant, i thought i would be me but with a great big belly tacked on the front.
it had never really occurred to me that i would not be able to put on my own socks. for anyone wondering, you feel solid, like someone had filled your middle with sawdust. and towards the end, nothing feels good.
you can't sit.
it hurts.
you can't stand.
it hurts.
you can't sleep.
and on and on.
it had boiled down to the only enjoyable activities on earth being bathing and driving down large hills. and i had a relatively easy pregnancy.
so after all this, what kept me going was the thought "once the baby comes i'll have all the free time in the world."
i know.
you are all laughing.
i know that's just inviting trouble. its like saying "what could possibly go wrong?" or like in horror movies when someone says "Guys? All right, you can come out now. Hey guys, this isn't funny."
i mean, i wasn't completely naive. i didn't think i would have a perfect silent accessory of a child who would match my outfit and take good photographs. but i did believe that i would have two or three hours when the little tike was quietly napping to steal away and draw or piss around on the computer. or at the very least be able to brush my teeth.
let me say that our little guy is really good natured as far as they go. he rarely cries, but that is mostly because we never put him down. as long as he's in someone's arms he's pleased as punch, but he could be in a dead sleep, i'll set him in his crib and in five minutes he's doing something we call "gurping," a prelude to crying. so we're sort of forced into attachment parenting which is cool, but it has involved me watching a lot of daytime tv and eating with my right hand. (fyi: i'm left handed) i've really embraced domestic life. (see above knitting aside) i've added Oprah and Judge Alex to my list of daily viewing and its only a matter of time before i turn to soap operas. sad but inevitable. its only in the last couple days that i learned how i can get away with hanging out on the computer with him, which will revolutionize my life or at least cause me to watch less "Divorce Court". so all of you out in computer-land have to forgive me for not commenting on your journals like a good internet friend should. but i HAVE been keeping up with all of your journals. except the boring ones. JOKING! only joking.......i read the boring ones too;) i have a lot of catching up to do. here are some comments that i had wanted to make, but never had the opportunity:
1.) i totally agree!
2.) i disagree
3.) that's awesome!
4.) that totally sucks
5.) yeah, try drawing a blueberry in a lab coat then talk to me about hard. (you see its hard to put clothes on something thats totally round)
but, all in all, motherhood is rad (i think june cleaver originally said that.) Soda's just learned to smile these great big, dopy, gum-filled baby smiles and when he's clean he has this ultra-sonic baby smell that compels mama's to sniff babies. (i'm not the only one, i swear!)
when he's dirty, he smells like cheese. |
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| things you need to know |
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| 05:52p|
13 |
Jul |
07 | |
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music: Abegail Anne- Jeremy Enigk
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hi, strangers. i have come out of my considerable bloging hiatus for purposes twofold. first of all, this is a public service announcement: (unfortunately, sans guitars) ( hidden under this cut )
if the world promises to use literally correctly, i just might capitalize something once in a while.
for more on the use of literally, see David Cross.
Now the second reason for my post and only slightly less important: to fuck-up the margins on your friends page.
Perhaps you're wondering just why i've been watching so much daytime television lately. (just play along.)
well it has a lot to do with this little guy:
i had a baby. his name is Sebastian Soda Rodriguez Elowsky. he's a swell guy. his pastimes include eating, sleeping, and watching the News Hour with Jim Lehrer while playing the market. (give him a break: he's young and has not yet learned to appreachate the finer things in life like Montel.)
if you want more baby, there's this:
and this:
and some pictures here |
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| Missing one vital ingredient |
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| 02:00p|
02 |
Mar |
07 | |
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music: The Clash - Stay Free
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dear spam,
I regret to inform you that I will never
ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever,
be enlarging my penis. This is due largely to fact that it does not, in all fairness, exist. I tell you this so that your endeavors are not wasted and you are not overly disappointed by my lack of response to your painstakingly constructed subject line "Studies show you need 7 inches," scientifically valid though it may be. And so you can direct your efforts towards a more receptive audience. (I hear that penises are all the rage with the 18-34 MALE crowd this year.)
Yours ever true,
- a.
p.s. - please send more info on the discount valium. after all, with the baby on the way in june, one of us is going to need it. |
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| now more than ever |
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| 01:47a|
14 |
Feb |
07 | |
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music: the vogues - five o'clock world
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Dear Hollywood,
Please stop making movies about Eddie Murphy being fat.
L.Y.L.A.S.,
- a. |
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| if you hate sonagraphic images of babies, close your eyes |
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| 01:37p|
13 |
Feb |
07 | |
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music: Bosque Brown - no. 6
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internet, i think its time you met someone.
This is T.B.A.* (*a Rodriguez/Elowsky collaboration) and he will be making his debut appearance this june around the summer solstice. he comes fully loaded: two kidneys, two renal arteries, extremities, eyes: the works! (i believe in quality craftsmanship.)
Of course you know, this makes you all internet aunts and uncles. Unfortunately, this lofty relationship's only real benefit is that you're aloud to buy things for him. but due to the law of inverse proportions (the smallness of an object is inversely proportional to the degree of cuteness), buying baby things will cause you to squeal phrases like "wook at de wittle shoes!" and "its a hat that makes him look like a bunny!."
cause when you get right down to it, the main reason people have kids its to dress them up in silly outfits and coo. T.B.A. will be no exception. We plan on not owning any actual clothes for him, just costumes. so its going to be "sweetie, would you like to be and astronaut today or a ninja?" and, yes, he can wear swimsuits as underwear.
the other reason we decided to have kids is, hey -- i put in a good four or five years to get 'em good and trained, and i never have to do dishes again! |
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| you should know |
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| 11:35a|
14 |
Jan |
07 | |
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today is my birthday. yesterday i met a ninja and parked valet for the first time. |
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| Redish Pagent |
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| 01:33p|
02 |
Jan |
07 | |
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music: Waiting around to die - the be good tanyas
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if i could erase one song off the face of the earth it would be "Love Shack." the world would go on much as before. wedding receptions would still have "Brick House" and "Celebration." i just think that the collective consciousness of mankind would breath a tiny sigh of relief and the world would somehow feel just a fraction of an atom lighter just knowing that no one anywhere would have to hear some drunk girl shout "tin roof rusted!" ever again.
that would be the platform under which i would run if i ever decided to seek the office of "president of da earth." (don't worry. i wouldn't let my P.R. agent bill it under some cheesy sound bite like "erratum for 'Shack Attack'" ) also as another order of business, i would make sure that there would be more clearly posted signs at the edges of the earth. perhaps some fencing of some kind or a few those sassy orange cones that you see so much these days. its surprisingly easy to fall off.
i suppose by now you've noticed that i have been missing for, oh, three-four months or so. in my absence, i have taken up a new hobby: sleeping. it turns out that i am an INCREDIBLE sleeper. really. i hesitate to use the word "genius," or "touched by the very hand of god himself," but i am making some major advances in the world of shut-eye.
now, i'm sure a few of you novices dabble clumsily at what you consider slumber. i think its all very cute. 6-8 hour nap. but i've really decided to throw my all into this and have spent the vast majority of october-december asleep. i am a bit behind on all my basic housekeeping duties. all my plants are dead but its ok because there are new and exciting things growing in the sink.
i'm sure you all wonder how all this is medically possible. fair question. in the interest of raising public health awareness i have prepared a highly advanced and technical chart illustrating the intricacies of my condition. |
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| Review of The Clap your Hands and Say Yeah show as told from my point of view |
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| 02:08a|
16 |
Oct |
06 | |
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music: godspeed you black emperor -- east hastings
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the gentleman standing directly in front of me obscuring my entire field of vision was wearing a faded grey jacket made from some sort of sturdy looking canvas or perhaps even denim of a style which brings to mind the phrase "communist truck-stop". a subtle half-moon crescent of collar just visible at the neck and appeared to be a cotton-poly blend adorned with jaunty blue stripes very much in the fashion of the day. i must say, his hair could stand to be a little better kept. after all, good personal hygiene --and all the appropriate grooming standards contained therein -- is the cornerstone of our fair society and a cultural high-water mark that all our citizens should aspire to though far too few of today's youth practice.
around the fourth or fifth song, johnny can't-find-a-comb moved slightly to his left and i could have sworn there was a band performing on the stage everyone was facing. for six seconds i caught full on torso. shortly thereafter, the sky was again blotted out by a guy with strong shoulders and a stylish green pull-over hoodie.
The End |
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| Fun with camera phones! |
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| 03:33a|
13 |
Oct |
06 | |
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music: rock and roll - the velvet underground
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so i walk out of my house the other day into the hopeful fall sun and i'm met with a letter from the IRS and then immediately accosted by a gang of 12 year olds. which is entirely too embarrassing to blog about. so i'll talk to you about my phone.
a little while back my phone was subjected to an act of god. its has since been replaced with one of them microscopic chrome marvels that tie your shoes for you and translates text from french existentialist novels. ( Seriously, Sartre: learn the fucking language, ok?!) which is great, 'cause i average about 2 phone calls a week and this $70-a-month fashion accessory better pull its weight somehow. so for your viewing pleasure, i bring you: ( FUN WITH CAMERA PHONES: all grain and guts....like a haggis. ) |
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| the truth hurts. (that's why i need someone who can prescribe meds) |
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| 02:35a|
23 |
Sep |
06 | |
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music: which will -- nick drake
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i am on the edge of a dark precipice. the cusp of a strange and terrible decent beyond the scrambled signals of acceptable cathode ray consumption and it scares me. you see tonight i just watched scrubs for the first time.........and i liked it. god help me: i liked it
sure you say so you like some slightly embarrassing sudo-sitcoms: who doesn't?
you don't understand
it always starts innocently enough. a little ER twice a week. just a little "trauma-drama" ® only on the weekends. i could quit anytime i wanted. but its a slippery slope we all tread, my friend. little did i know that i was only a few rounds of eppi and a intubation away from chewing my nails and pacing in front of my mailbox, waiting for "season 2 disk three" to arrive. ( note to people of the future: in 2006 we actually had to wait for movies to be PHYSICALLY DELIVERED to our homes via a now extinct service called "the U.S. Mail." this was also back when we only had FIVE fingers! crazy, huh?)
it all kind of a lab coat blur after that. one day i woke up on the floor -- who knows how long i'd been laying there -- but i was covered in my own drool and i was watching Grey's Anatomy.
fuck, man: sometimes i watch M.A.S.H.
that was one thing, but do i wanna cross that line? another "medical show." really, now it the time for desperate honesty: if i seriously get hooked on one more medical show its suddenly ceases to be a silly way to waste my time and becomes a symptom of something deep-rooted and all together more disturbing.
for instance: the cat rule. i have two cats. that is the maximum number of cats you can have and still be just a person who happens own a couple of cats. anything after that and you're one of those half-crazed "cat-people." stinking of salmon and freshstep, peppering the entire english language with w's and y's that you know damn well don't belong there. ("who's a ittle-wittle fuzzy-wuzzy kitty-witty? )
("trauma-drama" ® is trademark intellectual property of erratum press all rights reserved.) |
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| My favorate things: Part #2 |
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| 04:36a|
14 |
Sep |
06 | |
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music: the vice and virtue ministry - happy bullets
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this is bela gato. i don't know if you can tell by the picture, but bela is a lot of cat. roughly 20+ lbs. of cat. he's all the cat that anyone could conceivably need. ("so why", you ask, "did we you another cat?" well, i'll cover that when i've finished up the "my favorite things" series and start on my "things that wake me up twelve times a night and mutilate my feet" series. Coming soon!) he's great company, well spoken, and only pisses on things if you leave them on the bathroom floor. ( which, unfortunately, includes the bathroom rug. i am in the habit of leaving most forms of carpeting on floor, the bathroom rug especially. but then, i was raised by wolves. )
some people have suggested that bela may be a touch portly.
like any dotting mum, must i vehemently insist that he is merely big boned. and, trust me, this is not easy.
people say things. contrary things.
like when --say -- your landlords come in when they think you're sleeping (maintenance) and shout "OH SWEET JESUS, HAVE YOU EVER SEEN ANYTHING THAT FAT IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE!!!????"
it is even harder to remember when, as you sleep, you are being scaled by felines like you're the sheet-capped Mount "that lady who feeds me."
you know how the principal of the bed of nails works? you know how distributing the weight evenly over all the points decreases the pain felt?
well, imagine the exact OPPOSITE of that. its like being walked on by a watermelon with chopsticks for legs. |
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| A few of my favorite things: part one |
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| 04:46a|
25 |
Aug |
06 | |
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music: Train - martin mcfaul
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i would like to begin the first in a series of posts that i have entitled "A Few of My Favorite Things." Now you may ask why would i devise such a bizarrely complex moniker for this strange and esoteric concept? why, its on par with "Snakes on a Plane" and that "Head on" headache cure they advertise on dr. Phil! (to take your mind off the fact that i just admitted that i watch Dr., Phil EVERY FREAKIN' WAKING DAY OF MY EXISTENCE, i will now recite the "Head On' commercial in its entirety: "Head On -- apply directly to the forehead. Head On -- apply directly to the forehead. Head On -- apply directly to the forehead." see how i did that? made you completely forget about....that.....thing i said.) Don't worry: for those of you who never quite finished up on that quantum physics degree, i'll give you the gist of the concept. so the idea is that i will post a picture of one of my favorite things and then i will tell you about it. yep.
so with out further ado............
this is my bon jovi shirt. i got this shirt at the humane society thrift store in Pensacola, FL back in 199ironic-t-shirt. its has most defiantly seen better days, but what makes this shirt stand out in the ironic t-shirt world, amidst a sea of D.A.R.E. and "if mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy", is the two inch high proclamation boasting in brilliant red and white -- ladies and gentleman i shit you not --
"BON JOVI ROCKS YOUR ASS OFF"
indeed! the very idea! the very idea of bon jovi rocking ANYTHING off! i could set a glass made of cigarette ash on the edge of a coffee table -- an ikea coffee table! -- in a cabin composed of entirely popsicle sticks and held together by human spit, perched on top of an aluminum napkin dispenser and i could take the whole thing and set it on the very tip of a mountain and i defy bon jovi to rock that glass off, much less any securely attached (see above picture) section of my anatomy.
the only t-shirt that could possibly exist that could be any better than this one, would be the "bon jovi-couldn't-rock-a-glass-made-of-cigarette-ash-on-the-edge-of-a-coffee-table-in-a-cabin-composed-of-entirely-popsicle-sticks-and-held-together-by-human-spit-perched-on-top-of-an-aluminum-napkin-dispenser-placed-on-the-very-tip-of-a-mountain" t-shirt. incidentally, if anyone is interested in printing those -- which would, of course, involve printing on billboard-sized t-shirts -- let me know. |
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| preview of plagued |
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| 02:59a|
07 |
Aug |
06 | |
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music: this machine - gary newman
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i thought that maybe you guys would like to see the first three pages of pencils of Plagued, a comic collaboration between me, ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) oaktowncrack
and vhs
( follow me this way.... )
i have three more pages that i'll post as soon as i get them scanned.
you'll love the comic; its got drugs, zombies, aliens, thugs, scientists, and junkies. everything a growing kid needs!
(p.s. -- you'll love the comic was really more of a command than a prediction.) |
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| from the sink to the sickbed |
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| 04:23a|
30 |
Jul |
06 | |
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music: a wish for wings that work - posion the well
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for quite some time now, i have been fantasizing about acquiring sort of illness or injury that would somehow prevent me from having to go to work. but its a tricky situation, finding the perfect affliction. one that would allow freedom of movement, absence of vomiting, and one would cause the bare minimum of "disfigurement for life." (because i don't think i'm really cut out for being maimed. don't really have the disposition.) something that wouldn't involve me ending up in some sort of "colony" or interfere too terribly with my stated lifetime goal of not being dead in any way
ladies and gentlemen: my day has come. 1 pinky finger vs. 2 exploding pint glasses + 4 ugly little stitches = 3 days off and 1 happy girl.
( warning: what follows is semi-gruesome documentation )
anyway, talk about luck: i feel like hemmingway and his well placed little "war ouchie."
so instead of being up to my knees in sweet and sour and Hennessy in back bar purgatory this weekend, i'll be sitting on my couch eating tostitoes (with my good hand, of course) and watching the simpsons while doing shots of soy milk with my newly acquired souvenir wound irrigation gun. (not only did they NOT look at us funny for asking for it, but they even wrapped it in a sterile dressing for easy transport.) if i had a little more dedication to the joke, i would rig up a teeny tiny traction cast to rest my injured finger upon, but i'm lazy.
reason #38 why i'm the worst live journal friend in the world: after weeks of not updating: i offer you nothing but tasteless and gratuitous pinky-mutation shots. |
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| how weird is this |
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| 12:02a|
11 |
Jul |
06 | |
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music: 55566688833 (Mistake, Mistake, Mistake, Mistake) by James Figurine
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i had a dream about one of your blogs. |
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| anyone wanna start a bonfire with broken phones? i've got 3! |
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| 04:04a|
20 |
Jun |
06 | |
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music: todo los dolores - devendra banhart
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first off, you should go and vote on elowsky's shirt over at the threadless because its awesome. apart from being awesome, it kicks ass, as well. in addition, some will also find it to be rad.
speaking of consumerism, there is no joy in the shiny, shrink-wrapped soul of my charge card. (i think i might have caught that holographic visa-eagle ripping out its own feathers in a textbook fictional-pet/holicraphic sticker psychological gesture.)
as you might remember, i'm between phones right now (mine was subjected to a sudden and brutal lesson in scotch and physics.)
Now i'm no electrician or communication expert, but i have found it to be a widely held contention that the two key design features of a functioning telephone is that
a.) you can hear callers speak
b.) you can in turn, reply to the people when they address you
barring either of these things, what you've got essentially is a long-distance microphone depending on who's holding it. right? sure, i felt the same way. that was until i found out that there's this great place on e-bay where you can buy not one but TWO broken phones for only $70! now you may not be aware that you are buying two broken phones. you may naïvely believe that you are purchasing one working phone as defined by the above equation (a+b = fucking telephone) but then you would not fully understand the scam artist exchange rate. i'd like to take a minute to thank the noble e-bay superstar that cared enough to toss in that extra broken phone. as much as i appreciate it, i'm also grateful that they decided against throwing any past-date caned food or items they had swept off their floor since they were cleaning out their house of useless fucking junk via the u.s postal service.
In other completely disappointing consumer news, the local toys r us went out of business several months ago. i mean sold everything. completely empty. and being the drooling consumer-bot that is my duty as a citizen of this great nation of ours, (...who's name i will remember shortly) i danced around like an idiot with fist fulls of money in my hand just waiting to see what new glowing corporate wonderland i could fork it all over to. months went by. finally they unveiled the new strip-mall. finally hoisted the four foot tall letters that would give an answer to this this searing strip-mall secret. the four foot tall letters that read: "babies r us."
i think i can speak for us all, ladies and gentlemen, when i say: wft. *shakes head* wft |
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