Posts
On days scheduled to open Starbucks (5:30 AM), DON'T drive out with freinds to Long Beach that same evening, especially if you don't know how to navigate through Long Island.
Addendum: Go back to Long Beach when better rested.
Also, I hate the beach, but love the ocean. Someone should develop a snow shoe but for sand to keep ones feet (and shoes) from being drenched in sand.
So Very Tired.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Monday, May 22, 2006
Not quite duck soup
It's important to have a destination. Even if the journey is where the fun is found, without a destination one won't know when to stop, or how far to go before turning around.
I am an idiot.
Case in point:
Last Thursday I went for a walk with J_ after work. We had tried to originize a group outing to the local pond for a late afternoon picnic and to feed the ducks. All our freinds were otherwise occupied, and as we had already eaten we scrapped the picnic and just went to feed the ducks ourselves.
I'm not sure exactly what a group of ducks are called (flock? gaggle? something else?) but ducks - as I understand nature (and I am an accredited naturologist) - usually travel together. That is why, upon arriving at the pond I was confused to find a lone black duck on the water. All by itself, no other duck in sight. Had I considered this more carefully perhaps I would have thought this to be an omen, a sign of things to come.
But I didn't, and things did come. Discouredged that there weren't ducks (plural) to feed, and that the lone duck had no interest in our company or our bread (definately an omen), we kept on walking past the pond through the small park.
After coming upon the other half of the park, not yet renovated, the asphalt gave way to a very narrow dirt path walled by talk stalks of something, (reeds? straw? something along those lines anyway.
I don't live in Manhattan. Hell I barely even live in Queens, but I do in fact live in Queens and Queens is part of New York City, and one wouldn't suspect any bit of nature to go on too far. When one thinks of NYC one isn't thinking nature. Given that, I thought to myself how far can this dirt path really go? (Please see statement above) and with J_ a bit reluctant in tow, walked into the reeds.
It started off as a nice walk. We talked about mostly inconsequintial things and didn't quite realize the ground slowly shifting from dirt to mud beneath our feet.
After about forty minutes, our sneakers were covered in mud. The path split into two, on direction petering off into the underbrush, the other appeared to open up further down (what would Robert Frost do?).
It was at this point, when we thought our feet couldn't get any muddier that J_ said we should probably turn around and go back the way we came. I stood opposed to that, rationalizing that we were probably more than halfway down the path (and on that account I was correct) thus there would be less mud to walk through by trecking forward than by turning back. "We've come this far." I said, "We migth as well continue to the bitter end."
I took the lead, confident in my manliness guiding us through nature. I would conquor the terrain. Mud doesn't bother man. Man revels in mud, dirt and nature are his home. Water on the other hand...
Sploosh! Two steps forward and we were both ankle deep in water. Forget the mud, the mud was pleasant in comparison. The water was cold and grimy, and all together unpleasant.
The reeds receded behind us and a marsh like area, the size of a football feild loomed in front of us. And of course, there were the ducks. Away from the larger body of water we spotted Northern Blvd. and decided to make our way back towards civilization, the ducks be damned.
Sloshing through the ankle deep water, stepping on dry and dead reeds to keep our pants as dry as possible we waded towards our salvation.
J_ lost her balance at a few points, dropping to her knees, and of course I teased her mercilessly for lacking my natural grace in the water. Fed up with wading (wet up to her knees) J_ pointed straight forward, suggesting we just cut through it all, we were already as wet as can be. I, on the other hand, wanted to continue working the circumfrance of the marsh, it just seemed safer.
I was the man, and as the man I should have stood ground. But just like many other men before, I did something stupid because a girl asked.
So we took J_'s path, which really wasn't a path, until, halfway across, we were stopped by a stream leading down into the main pond behind us. The stream was about five feet across, and I thought to myself I could easily jump this. Then I turned to J_ and said, "I can easily jump this."
The few things I didn't consider at the time: I was already standing ankle deep in water and my shoes were wet and heavy. Though I could have jumped five feet across easy in high school, I am about ten years older and very out of shape. That the stream could concievably be deeper than the water in which I then stood. (Once again see the beginning)
So I jumped.
So I landed.
But not on the other side.
And the water was far deeper in the stream than on either side of it.
And I fell waist deep into the dirty, salty, cold, disgusting water.
J_ wisely took the path I suggested.
We splashed through the rest of the marsh and finally (with a mild scare of poison ivy) made it to Northern Blvd.
The walk back home, though the company was pleasant, was the opposite of comfortable.
Stupid, stupid ducks.
I am an idiot.
Case in point:
Last Thursday I went for a walk with J_ after work. We had tried to originize a group outing to the local pond for a late afternoon picnic and to feed the ducks. All our freinds were otherwise occupied, and as we had already eaten we scrapped the picnic and just went to feed the ducks ourselves.
I'm not sure exactly what a group of ducks are called (flock? gaggle? something else?) but ducks - as I understand nature (and I am an accredited naturologist) - usually travel together. That is why, upon arriving at the pond I was confused to find a lone black duck on the water. All by itself, no other duck in sight. Had I considered this more carefully perhaps I would have thought this to be an omen, a sign of things to come.
But I didn't, and things did come. Discouredged that there weren't ducks (plural) to feed, and that the lone duck had no interest in our company or our bread (definately an omen), we kept on walking past the pond through the small park.
After coming upon the other half of the park, not yet renovated, the asphalt gave way to a very narrow dirt path walled by talk stalks of something, (reeds? straw? something along those lines anyway.
I don't live in Manhattan. Hell I barely even live in Queens, but I do in fact live in Queens and Queens is part of New York City, and one wouldn't suspect any bit of nature to go on too far. When one thinks of NYC one isn't thinking nature. Given that, I thought to myself how far can this dirt path really go? (Please see statement above) and with J_ a bit reluctant in tow, walked into the reeds.
It started off as a nice walk. We talked about mostly inconsequintial things and didn't quite realize the ground slowly shifting from dirt to mud beneath our feet.
After about forty minutes, our sneakers were covered in mud. The path split into two, on direction petering off into the underbrush, the other appeared to open up further down (what would Robert Frost do?).
It was at this point, when we thought our feet couldn't get any muddier that J_ said we should probably turn around and go back the way we came. I stood opposed to that, rationalizing that we were probably more than halfway down the path (and on that account I was correct) thus there would be less mud to walk through by trecking forward than by turning back. "We've come this far." I said, "We migth as well continue to the bitter end."
I took the lead, confident in my manliness guiding us through nature. I would conquor the terrain. Mud doesn't bother man. Man revels in mud, dirt and nature are his home. Water on the other hand...
Sploosh! Two steps forward and we were both ankle deep in water. Forget the mud, the mud was pleasant in comparison. The water was cold and grimy, and all together unpleasant.
The reeds receded behind us and a marsh like area, the size of a football feild loomed in front of us. And of course, there were the ducks. Away from the larger body of water we spotted Northern Blvd. and decided to make our way back towards civilization, the ducks be damned.
Sloshing through the ankle deep water, stepping on dry and dead reeds to keep our pants as dry as possible we waded towards our salvation.
J_ lost her balance at a few points, dropping to her knees, and of course I teased her mercilessly for lacking my natural grace in the water. Fed up with wading (wet up to her knees) J_ pointed straight forward, suggesting we just cut through it all, we were already as wet as can be. I, on the other hand, wanted to continue working the circumfrance of the marsh, it just seemed safer.
I was the man, and as the man I should have stood ground. But just like many other men before, I did something stupid because a girl asked.
So we took J_'s path, which really wasn't a path, until, halfway across, we were stopped by a stream leading down into the main pond behind us. The stream was about five feet across, and I thought to myself I could easily jump this. Then I turned to J_ and said, "I can easily jump this."
The few things I didn't consider at the time: I was already standing ankle deep in water and my shoes were wet and heavy. Though I could have jumped five feet across easy in high school, I am about ten years older and very out of shape. That the stream could concievably be deeper than the water in which I then stood. (Once again see the beginning)
So I jumped.
So I landed.
But not on the other side.
And the water was far deeper in the stream than on either side of it.
And I fell waist deep into the dirty, salty, cold, disgusting water.
J_ wisely took the path I suggested.
We splashed through the rest of the marsh and finally (with a mild scare of poison ivy) made it to Northern Blvd.
The walk back home, though the company was pleasant, was the opposite of comfortable.
Stupid, stupid ducks.
Monday, May 15, 2006
In honor of a tepid final episode
I was hoping for Josh, but I'm pretty happy with my results.
I'm:
The idealistic speechwriter is well-liked by just about everyone. He's known for his excellent writing, sense of humor, and tendency to be clutzy. Although being younger than the rest of the staff, he's often treated as so, much to his dismay.
So, which one are you?
I'm:
The idealistic speechwriter is well-liked by just about everyone. He's known for his excellent writing, sense of humor, and tendency to be clutzy. Although being younger than the rest of the staff, he's often treated as so, much to his dismay.
So, which one are you?
Friday, April 28, 2006
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Open mouth insert food (blogger edition)
So I take back everything I wrote in my previous blog (save the bit about my passover post, it's still coming, very late, I just gotta make it sound right).
Today at work (internship) I was given a free pass to see Akeela and the Bee at the Tribeca Film Festival tonight (it officially opens in two days). I can't go (gonna get a few drinks with some pals instead), but I'm sure I can find someone to give the ticket too.
In addition, tommorrow night I am going to see a short film program for free to cover it for my boss (as in write an analysis of the shorts and report back the filmmakers and shorts worth following up on).
I've gotta admit, that's pretty cool.
Now if only I could find a job that would pay me for this kinda stuff I'd be set.
Today at work (internship) I was given a free pass to see Akeela and the Bee at the Tribeca Film Festival tonight (it officially opens in two days). I can't go (gonna get a few drinks with some pals instead), but I'm sure I can find someone to give the ticket too.
In addition, tommorrow night I am going to see a short film program for free to cover it for my boss (as in write an analysis of the shorts and report back the filmmakers and shorts worth following up on).
I've gotta admit, that's pretty cool.
Now if only I could find a job that would pay me for this kinda stuff I'd be set.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Being too good at the mundane
At my internship there are the cool jobs I have to do, and the much less cool jobs.
The cool jobs aren't really that cool, just by comparison they are cool. For instasnce, calling up agents to see which famous actor, actress, director, or writer is available for a certian project and when they are available. Or reading a book, comic book, screenplay, or what have you and writing up some coverage for the boss. And even compiling lists of older movies with similar themes and plots as ones currently in development.
Jobs that aren't so cool involve the making of the coffee, compiling master lists of actors, writers, and directors, photocopying screenplays, and especially photocopying novels.
The problem being, I'm pretty good at the not so cool stuff. I know how to use excell pretty well, I actually make coffee professionally (well if you consider starbucks professional), and for some reason, I am the fastest photocopier - especially when it comes to novels. You see, when copying screenplays, plays, teleplays, or manuscripts, those just get fed quickly into the machine. Novels, published novels to be precise, come bound so one can't just feed it into the machine, one must go page by page, flipping through the book, to make a copy. I seem to be able to do this faster than my fellow interns. Not that much faster, but enough that I wind up the one doing it to save time.
The down side, not only do I hate the monotony of the photocopy machine, but when I'm out making copies, my fellow interns get to do the cool stuff (comparitivly anyway). Thus, I am penalized (of sorts) for being good at my job.
It's a really lame thing to complain about, especially as I like my fellow interns and wouldn't want them labouring away in the dark recess where the copy machine lies. But it's a pain and I'm in a complaining mood. So there.
My passover post (which I have been working on, put far more time and effort into a blog post than probably healthy) will drop sometime early next week, after the craziness that is passover has, er.. passed.
The cool jobs aren't really that cool, just by comparison they are cool. For instasnce, calling up agents to see which famous actor, actress, director, or writer is available for a certian project and when they are available. Or reading a book, comic book, screenplay, or what have you and writing up some coverage for the boss. And even compiling lists of older movies with similar themes and plots as ones currently in development.
Jobs that aren't so cool involve the making of the coffee, compiling master lists of actors, writers, and directors, photocopying screenplays, and especially photocopying novels.
The problem being, I'm pretty good at the not so cool stuff. I know how to use excell pretty well, I actually make coffee professionally (well if you consider starbucks professional), and for some reason, I am the fastest photocopier - especially when it comes to novels. You see, when copying screenplays, plays, teleplays, or manuscripts, those just get fed quickly into the machine. Novels, published novels to be precise, come bound so one can't just feed it into the machine, one must go page by page, flipping through the book, to make a copy. I seem to be able to do this faster than my fellow interns. Not that much faster, but enough that I wind up the one doing it to save time.
The down side, not only do I hate the monotony of the photocopy machine, but when I'm out making copies, my fellow interns get to do the cool stuff (comparitivly anyway). Thus, I am penalized (of sorts) for being good at my job.
It's a really lame thing to complain about, especially as I like my fellow interns and wouldn't want them labouring away in the dark recess where the copy machine lies. But it's a pain and I'm in a complaining mood. So there.
My passover post (which I have been working on, put far more time and effort into a blog post than probably healthy) will drop sometime early next week, after the craziness that is passover has, er.. passed.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
The wrong side of the poverty line
Not to make thousands of unemployed and homeless peoples problems seem insignifigant but there is something depressing when doing ones taxes and realizing how little money one (me) actually made last year.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
I have no desire to be a pedophile
I'm not sick and twisted, it isn't that at all.
There are some strange thoughts that pass through one's head. For instance, I like cheese. It isn't so strange but it is true. I am lactose intolerant but I adore cheese. Not all cheese mind you, the gooier stinkier cheeses I tend to stay away from; and though I do like the ease of American cheese, I prefer my cheeses to be far less chemically processed and treated. Give me a really bold sharp Cheddar, or some fresh Mozzarella, or maybe some Havarti with dill, Munster, or a good smoked cheese and you'll see me happy. I can't ever eat too much of it lest I spend the rest of my day in the WC (as the British say, or at least that's what I've been led to believe); so just like everything else that's good in life I must take it in moderation.
Moderation I've been told is the best philosophy (Epicurus, what a sage you were). Unfortunately moderation is a difficult when discussing infatuation. In fact, moderation only makes things that much worse.
Once again, I am no pedophile. I do not lust after prepubescent girls. I don't in fact lust (a term I'm not so much a fan of to begin with as it makes the forgone conclusion that I am lusting after someone, and it really isn't lust, but I'll get to that in a moment) after some post-pubescent girls - the "girls" part being the operative word, not the "post-pubescent". I don't tend to imply I lust after boys only because I don't. I tend to go for females my own age, and if I think I'm too old to be called a "boy" then those my age shouldn't be called girls anymore. But as you are about to read, this is all irrelevant (quite unfortunately).
I have found myself more and more infatuated (not lusting or lustful, it really isn't a sex thing) with an 18 year old girl (see told you I'm not a pedophile, at least not technically - that is I'm not opposed to it, but the infatuation is not wholly based on aesthetics). It's getting quite bad really. Just her presence in the same room as me actually brightens my mood significantly. She is a friend, and though I am not a huggy person by nature, (I'm just not) holding her in my arms - in a hug as friends do (my New York friends are all huggy people - her included) - I realize I would follow her to the ends of the earth if she just happened to be going in that direction.
But I refuse to be that skeezy older guy who dates girls too young for him. Instead I'm going to keep on pretending I don't feel the way I do, because as I understand it, not having too much knowledge in the field of psychology, denial is a perfectly healthy way to deal with any situation.
There are some strange thoughts that pass through one's head. For instance, I like cheese. It isn't so strange but it is true. I am lactose intolerant but I adore cheese. Not all cheese mind you, the gooier stinkier cheeses I tend to stay away from; and though I do like the ease of American cheese, I prefer my cheeses to be far less chemically processed and treated. Give me a really bold sharp Cheddar, or some fresh Mozzarella, or maybe some Havarti with dill, Munster, or a good smoked cheese and you'll see me happy. I can't ever eat too much of it lest I spend the rest of my day in the WC (as the British say, or at least that's what I've been led to believe); so just like everything else that's good in life I must take it in moderation.
Moderation I've been told is the best philosophy (Epicurus, what a sage you were). Unfortunately moderation is a difficult when discussing infatuation. In fact, moderation only makes things that much worse.
Once again, I am no pedophile. I do not lust after prepubescent girls. I don't in fact lust (a term I'm not so much a fan of to begin with as it makes the forgone conclusion that I am lusting after someone, and it really isn't lust, but I'll get to that in a moment) after some post-pubescent girls - the "girls" part being the operative word, not the "post-pubescent". I don't tend to imply I lust after boys only because I don't. I tend to go for females my own age, and if I think I'm too old to be called a "boy" then those my age shouldn't be called girls anymore. But as you are about to read, this is all irrelevant (quite unfortunately).
I have found myself more and more infatuated (not lusting or lustful, it really isn't a sex thing) with an 18 year old girl (see told you I'm not a pedophile, at least not technically - that is I'm not opposed to it, but the infatuation is not wholly based on aesthetics). It's getting quite bad really. Just her presence in the same room as me actually brightens my mood significantly. She is a friend, and though I am not a huggy person by nature, (I'm just not) holding her in my arms - in a hug as friends do (my New York friends are all huggy people - her included) - I realize I would follow her to the ends of the earth if she just happened to be going in that direction.
But I refuse to be that skeezy older guy who dates girls too young for him. Instead I'm going to keep on pretending I don't feel the way I do, because as I understand it, not having too much knowledge in the field of psychology, denial is a perfectly healthy way to deal with any situation.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
nothing special: a recap
Why do I even bother?
Got to my brother's birthday dinner, Yay!
Started to get sick on Monday, Boo!
Really got sick on Tuesday, Boo!
Best friend Jason flew up from Atlanta to visit, Yay!
Fought cold as we walked around Greenwich village, meh.
Had Etheiopian food for dinner, Yay!
Skipped work on Wenesday to go to the MoMA with Jason, Yay!
Was really sick the entire time, Boo!
Saw Famke Janssen at the MoMA, Wow!
Went to Dinner at Mendy's with Jason and two siblings (Mendy's Jerry, Mendy's!), Meh.
Had drinks in Hell's Kitchen with Jason, sibling, sibling's girlfreind, and girlfriend's roommate, Yay!
Pretended I wasn't feeling ill, though I was horribly sick, Boo!
Opened Starbucks (5:30 AM) nearly dead to the world, Boo!
Went bowling with Jason and a Sibling, Yay!
My highest score: 83, Boo!
Still tried to hide my horrible sickness, drank too much espresso to cover my deadness, Boo!
Ate at a Bolivian Restaraunt with Jason and his freinds, Meh.
Shot pool with Sibling and Jason, Yay!
Wanted to curl up and die the entire time (sickness yuck!), Boo!
Drove Jason to the airport, Boo.
Slept for the rest of Friday and Saturday, Yay!
Went out to get drinks with Starbucks Friends, Yay!
Came home early because was still getting over the cold, Boo!
Bonded with E and J from work on the ride home, Yay!
Woke up feeling better but still a little stuffed up, Meh.
Wrote my first post in a week, Yay!
And now you know, and knowing is half the battle.
Got to my brother's birthday dinner, Yay!
Started to get sick on Monday, Boo!
Really got sick on Tuesday, Boo!
Best friend Jason flew up from Atlanta to visit, Yay!
Fought cold as we walked around Greenwich village, meh.
Had Etheiopian food for dinner, Yay!
Skipped work on Wenesday to go to the MoMA with Jason, Yay!
Was really sick the entire time, Boo!
Saw Famke Janssen at the MoMA, Wow!
Went to Dinner at Mendy's with Jason and two siblings (Mendy's Jerry, Mendy's!), Meh.
Had drinks in Hell's Kitchen with Jason, sibling, sibling's girlfreind, and girlfriend's roommate, Yay!
Pretended I wasn't feeling ill, though I was horribly sick, Boo!
Opened Starbucks (5:30 AM) nearly dead to the world, Boo!
Went bowling with Jason and a Sibling, Yay!
My highest score: 83, Boo!
Still tried to hide my horrible sickness, drank too much espresso to cover my deadness, Boo!
Ate at a Bolivian Restaraunt with Jason and his freinds, Meh.
Shot pool with Sibling and Jason, Yay!
Wanted to curl up and die the entire time (sickness yuck!), Boo!
Drove Jason to the airport, Boo.
Slept for the rest of Friday and Saturday, Yay!
Went out to get drinks with Starbucks Friends, Yay!
Came home early because was still getting over the cold, Boo!
Bonded with E and J from work on the ride home, Yay!
Woke up feeling better but still a little stuffed up, Meh.
Wrote my first post in a week, Yay!
And now you know, and knowing is half the battle.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
dumb
I'm up at this ungodly hour on a Sunday because I'm the idiot who read the schedule wrong and thought I was working from five-thiry to ten forty-five in the AM when it is in fact in the PM. Tonight my brother (the second of three) is having a birthday dinner (21st birthday in fact) in the city tonight and I already said I could attend.
The only reason I'm still up is so I can call the person working the eight AM shift and switch hours. I hope he can switch (not calling him to the slightly more reasonable hour of seven fifteen) otherwise I have to bail on my brother, which is completely uncool.
The only reason I'm still up is so I can call the person working the eight AM shift and switch hours. I hope he can switch (not calling him to the slightly more reasonable hour of seven fifteen) otherwise I have to bail on my brother, which is completely uncool.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Because Rawbean did it first
When I have no ideas of my own I steal from where ever I can find. But as I learned in school if you call the rip off a homage, then everything's copacetic. Thus in order for people to learn more about me (though I can't imagine why anyone would want to), this is my homage to Rawbean's rant. Judge away.
DVD's I own:
Jurassic Park
The Cat's Meow
No Man's Land
Oscar
Gun Shy
Grosse Pointe Blank
Cowboy Bebop (the series and the movie)
Dark City
LA Story
His Girl Friday
Pirates of the Carribean
It's a very sad collection but one day, when I have more money it will grow. Nothing to really brag about, and a little to be embaressed of, those are my owned DVDs (there might be one or two more that I have forgot about - I'm at work right now and I'll double check when I get home tonight).
Because I feel a little silly with such a short list, here is another short one of DVD's I plan to own.
Run Lola Run
Amelie
All of Wes Anderson's Films
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
As many Marx Brother films as I can find
Man on Fire
Harold and Kumar go to White Castle
Fight Club
The Indiana Jones Trilogy
DVD's I own:
Jurassic Park
The Cat's Meow
No Man's Land
Oscar
Gun Shy
Grosse Pointe Blank
Cowboy Bebop (the series and the movie)
Dark City
LA Story
His Girl Friday
Pirates of the Carribean
It's a very sad collection but one day, when I have more money it will grow. Nothing to really brag about, and a little to be embaressed of, those are my owned DVDs (there might be one or two more that I have forgot about - I'm at work right now and I'll double check when I get home tonight).
Because I feel a little silly with such a short list, here is another short one of DVD's I plan to own.
Run Lola Run
Amelie
All of Wes Anderson's Films
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
As many Marx Brother films as I can find
Man on Fire
Harold and Kumar go to White Castle
Fight Club
The Indiana Jones Trilogy
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
All ideas sound stupid when written out
As if hit by an epiphany, or if nothing else, the big fat stupid-stick, the workings of a new story are bubbling in the back of my mind. It's not a particularly good story, and it is by no means a complete story. In fact, I would classify it more along the lines of an idea for a story. I don't think I particularly enjoy this idea; but like the spinach I still have stuck between my teeth from my salad last night, I can't disloge it. Hence, for your reading pleasure and in the hopes that once it's written down I can forget it, I give you the idea.
In the future, when mankind is no longer tethered to Earth, in the furthest reaches of the known galaxies - the last outposts of the human empire reside. In these outposts both Justice and Injustice are found through the barrel of a gun. A place that's short on law and long on vice. Just like the cliched old westerns, all arguements are settled through a duel. This brings us to the as of yet (because I haven't come up with one) named MAIN CHARACTER, the quickest gunman in all the outposts. He's only 32 but that's old as most gunmen die young. For years he's been challenged by younger gunslingers hoping to claim his title as their own and for years he always won. During breakfast right before his most recent duel, after taking his thrid bite of bacon, he begins to have a nervous breakdown, which only grows even greater after barely surving the duel. Throughout the as of yet undecided plot he grows more and more insane believing his now erratic inner monologue to be a seperate voice than his (it isn't) that helps him predict the future (which it doesn't).
I don't have any more than that, but now that it's out, hopefully I can put it to rest.
On a side note I'm off to some book store at Columbus circle. Sarah Vowell will be either 1) signing or 2) reading from her book, or maybe both, or perhaps 3) something else all together. I'm not entirly sure, but I was told she'd be there so that's where I shall be as well.
In the future, when mankind is no longer tethered to Earth, in the furthest reaches of the known galaxies - the last outposts of the human empire reside. In these outposts both Justice and Injustice are found through the barrel of a gun. A place that's short on law and long on vice. Just like the cliched old westerns, all arguements are settled through a duel. This brings us to the as of yet (because I haven't come up with one) named MAIN CHARACTER, the quickest gunman in all the outposts. He's only 32 but that's old as most gunmen die young. For years he's been challenged by younger gunslingers hoping to claim his title as their own and for years he always won. During breakfast right before his most recent duel, after taking his thrid bite of bacon, he begins to have a nervous breakdown, which only grows even greater after barely surving the duel. Throughout the as of yet undecided plot he grows more and more insane believing his now erratic inner monologue to be a seperate voice than his (it isn't) that helps him predict the future (which it doesn't).
I don't have any more than that, but now that it's out, hopefully I can put it to rest.
On a side note I'm off to some book store at Columbus circle. Sarah Vowell will be either 1) signing or 2) reading from her book, or maybe both, or perhaps 3) something else all together. I'm not entirly sure, but I was told she'd be there so that's where I shall be as well.
Monday, February 27, 2006
it's the little things
I went to the New York Comic con yesterday and I will probably write about that when I have more time (I'm at work in Manhattan at the moment).
This is just a brief admonishment to those of you out there who aren't reading Questionable Content. It's quite possibly the best web comic (save Cat and Girl - though that's a different sort of web comic) out there. The newest storyline, well specifically Friday's and Today's strips just made me very happy. It's a tiny thing, but the good warm fuzzies are hard to come by so I cherish them when they do.
To really get the full impact of the story you should go back through the archive and read from the beginning. Sure it's about three hundred something odd strips but it's totally worth it (EDIT, Tuesday 12:22pm - so I checked and it's actually 544 strips, which doesn't negate anything I've already written and I'm totally standing by this post). It's an hour of your day (depending on how fast you read and how fast your internet connection is) and I know most of you spend your days in front of your computer. Why not spend it reading something fun instead of all that porn I know you're all hooked on.
(no I'm not saying porn isn't fun, just that sometimes mental stimulation is just as fun as physical. Yes I've been single for about two years now, why do you ask?)
This is just a brief admonishment to those of you out there who aren't reading Questionable Content. It's quite possibly the best web comic (save Cat and Girl - though that's a different sort of web comic) out there. The newest storyline, well specifically Friday's and Today's strips just made me very happy. It's a tiny thing, but the good warm fuzzies are hard to come by so I cherish them when they do.
To really get the full impact of the story you should go back through the archive and read from the beginning. Sure it's about three hundred something odd strips but it's totally worth it (EDIT, Tuesday 12:22pm - so I checked and it's actually 544 strips, which doesn't negate anything I've already written and I'm totally standing by this post). It's an hour of your day (depending on how fast you read and how fast your internet connection is) and I know most of you spend your days in front of your computer. Why not spend it reading something fun instead of all that porn I know you're all hooked on.
(no I'm not saying porn isn't fun, just that sometimes mental stimulation is just as fun as physical. Yes I've been single for about two years now, why do you ask?)
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Momentary bliss
The bad news: The Stars concert I was planning on going too (on Rawbean's recommendation) is sold out, thus I shall not be attending.
The worse news: I am scheduled to be the opener at Starbucks tomorrow and Sunday, which means I get to wake up at the devil hour known as Five AM. The last time I was up at Five AM was due to the fact I hadn't gone to sleep yet the night before.
Changing the subject dramatically, I ride the LIRR four times a week. Twice to Manhattan and twice back. While I generally sleep during the morning ride, because even eight o'clock is too early for me, I am awake during the ride home - not because I'm not tired; rather I don't want to miss my stop, sleeping my way towards Long Island (and yes, this has happened, but I prefer not talking about it).
The ride is generally bumpy, loud, and bright. It's bumpy as most public rail systems are in some way bumpy (what the reason is I have no idea, I am not the engineer I make myself out to be). It's loud because the air conditioning units that circulate air in the cars are loud, letting you know how hard they are working to afford you "clean" air to breath. Not only is the free flowing air loud, but the motor that circulates said air grumbles something akin to a troll. And of course there are the florescent lights that keep the cars safe and full of horrid florescent light. Though the majority of all my rides home the train is filled with this, what I've deemed, "Florescent noise" (not the cleverest of names, but it suits the atmosphere nicely) every so often there are gaps; perhaps in the electric currents, perhaps in the circuitry, perhaps somewhere else entirely. All I know is during these gaps, when the lights suddenly go off, and the numbing drone of the recycled air dissipates, the train sails along near silently, the beats of our hearts pumping in rhythm with the soft palpitations of the wheels on the tracks, and we can see out into through darkness the isle of Manhattan growing distant and (what I think is, though am not sure) the Queensborough Bridge lit up off across the water.
For those few moments, before the electricity kicks back in, with Manhattan shrinking behind me, and Queens slowly expanding before my eyes, in the dark, the city actually looks peaceful and calm.
Then the lights come back and the air pumps loudly through the car, and I am reminded that New York city is by far and large a bright and noisy place.
But for those few seconds as the train treks on in quiet, I almost think that all is right with the world.
Almost.
The worse news: I am scheduled to be the opener at Starbucks tomorrow and Sunday, which means I get to wake up at the devil hour known as Five AM. The last time I was up at Five AM was due to the fact I hadn't gone to sleep yet the night before.
Changing the subject dramatically, I ride the LIRR four times a week. Twice to Manhattan and twice back. While I generally sleep during the morning ride, because even eight o'clock is too early for me, I am awake during the ride home - not because I'm not tired; rather I don't want to miss my stop, sleeping my way towards Long Island (and yes, this has happened, but I prefer not talking about it).
The ride is generally bumpy, loud, and bright. It's bumpy as most public rail systems are in some way bumpy (what the reason is I have no idea, I am not the engineer I make myself out to be). It's loud because the air conditioning units that circulate air in the cars are loud, letting you know how hard they are working to afford you "clean" air to breath. Not only is the free flowing air loud, but the motor that circulates said air grumbles something akin to a troll. And of course there are the florescent lights that keep the cars safe and full of horrid florescent light. Though the majority of all my rides home the train is filled with this, what I've deemed, "Florescent noise" (not the cleverest of names, but it suits the atmosphere nicely) every so often there are gaps; perhaps in the electric currents, perhaps in the circuitry, perhaps somewhere else entirely. All I know is during these gaps, when the lights suddenly go off, and the numbing drone of the recycled air dissipates, the train sails along near silently, the beats of our hearts pumping in rhythm with the soft palpitations of the wheels on the tracks, and we can see out into through darkness the isle of Manhattan growing distant and (what I think is, though am not sure) the Queensborough Bridge lit up off across the water.
For those few moments, before the electricity kicks back in, with Manhattan shrinking behind me, and Queens slowly expanding before my eyes, in the dark, the city actually looks peaceful and calm.
Then the lights come back and the air pumps loudly through the car, and I am reminded that New York city is by far and large a bright and noisy place.
But for those few seconds as the train treks on in quiet, I almost think that all is right with the world.
Almost.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Things that shouldn't be funny but are anyway
My list of ten in no particular order:
1. The planet Uranus
2. Syphilis of the eye
3. An elderly man being shot in the face by the Vice-President
4. William Shatner's music (save his most recent album I guess)
5. Falling out of bed
6. Unrequited love
7. Erectile Dysfunction
8. Crackwhores
9. Performance artists
10. Any injury involving a bowling ball, a waffle iron, and untied shoelaces.
1. The planet Uranus
2. Syphilis of the eye
3. An elderly man being shot in the face by the Vice-President
4. William Shatner's music (save his most recent album I guess)
5. Falling out of bed
6. Unrequited love
7. Erectile Dysfunction
8. Crackwhores
9. Performance artists
10. Any injury involving a bowling ball, a waffle iron, and untied shoelaces.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Valentines day not just for Werewolves anymore
Just remember, if someone offers you a VD gift, make sure they mean Valentines Day, otherwise you're in a world of trouble.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
stuck in Funke
Arrested Development is over. Done. Kaput. Finito. And so forth.
For those of you who watched what was one of the smartest and funniest show on TV, a moment of silence.
For those of you who didn't watch it, what's wrong with you people?
Since I'm basically snowed in (the weatherman predicted 10-16 inches, and as it's been coming down since yesterday, we are well on our way) I shall console myself with the previous two seasons I have on DVD and the third season I still have on the DVR. I'll probably follow that with a chaser of Scrubs Season 2 also owned on DVD. Scrubs by the way, another hilarious show that will probably be cancelled at the end of this season.
I know it's only television, and no my life doesn't revolve around it, but still... What kind of backwards country do I live in that funny shows like those are being cancelled, but Freddie Prince Junior's show keeps on going?
Don't mind me though, I was up late, and was woken up with a call letting me know work might be cancelled due to snow. That's a positive "Yay! I don't have to work today!" And a negative "Ahh! I need that money to pay off loans and to buy stuff." Still waiting for a call back with the final info.
Uhh... carry on then.
For those of you who watched what was one of the smartest and funniest show on TV, a moment of silence.
For those of you who didn't watch it, what's wrong with you people?
Since I'm basically snowed in (the weatherman predicted 10-16 inches, and as it's been coming down since yesterday, we are well on our way) I shall console myself with the previous two seasons I have on DVD and the third season I still have on the DVR. I'll probably follow that with a chaser of Scrubs Season 2 also owned on DVD. Scrubs by the way, another hilarious show that will probably be cancelled at the end of this season.
I know it's only television, and no my life doesn't revolve around it, but still... What kind of backwards country do I live in that funny shows like those are being cancelled, but Freddie Prince Junior's show keeps on going?
Don't mind me though, I was up late, and was woken up with a call letting me know work might be cancelled due to snow. That's a positive "Yay! I don't have to work today!" And a negative "Ahh! I need that money to pay off loans and to buy stuff." Still waiting for a call back with the final info.
Uhh... carry on then.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Why Europeans are Stupid
I don't know if you've been following the news but apparently, last September a Dutch Newspaper printed a series of twelve political cartoons satirizing the prophet Mohamed and the nations of Islam (by which I mean the real Muslims, not the American organization that gave Malcolm X the boot). The cartoons show Mohammed in various poses, the one that the New York Times keeps referencing is of Mohamed with a bomb shaped turban about to go off. It is against Islamic religious law to create an image of their holy prophet Mohammed. Muslims world-wide (at least Muslims in the Middle East) are up in arms, demanding, well demanding something anyway. They always are demanding something. Just once I would like to see them in ask politely in some sort of calm diplomatic context. That being said, this is not a diatribe against various Islamic countries.
Since the Newspaper doesn't follow an Islamic doctrine they shouldn't be penalized for drawing an image of the Prophet. That being said, what the fuck did they think would happen by publishing demeaning images of a important religious icon? It's like publishing an image of a bunch of crooked nose Jews counting their money while drinking christian or muslim blood, or those really bad Japanese caricatures that were so prevalent in the US around World War Two. People will get very angry. I know all that blood libel crap gets my blood boiling.
According to the New York Times (Sunday, February 5, 2006 page A10) the Danish paper (Jyllands-Posten) claimed it had asked cartoonists to draw the pictures because the media was practicing self-censorship when it came to Muslim issues. Now this is a load of grade A bullshit. The difficulty to assimilate and be accepted in European culture (there was just a big write up about this about Muslims and other ethnic immigrants to Sweden and the racism they face in many aspects of Swedish culture in the most recent New York Times Magazine), or perhaps an article about the strife between the secularists and the religious Muslims in Muslim countries, or even the various political conditions that led the Palestinians to vote to power a terrorist organization; those are Muslim issues. Publishing racist cartoons of the prophet Mohammed is not a Muslim issue, it is a perception of the "Muslim issue", which is nothing other than inherent racism in occidental culture, and says much more about the publication and perhaps Denmark than it does about Islam.
Denmark, like most free countries believe in the Freedom of the Press. I believe firmly in this freedom. The Jylands-Posten should have and has the right to publish anything they desire, and I support their right to do so, even if they are publishing garbage. That being said, just because you can print something doesn't necessarily mean you have to print that thing. We pick and choose all the time what we feel is worth while to print or write about. If all the images do is create hate and animosity (and maybe reinforce ethnic stereotypes) what is their worth for publication? Freedom of the press is not a mandate to the press, you needn't publish everything that comes across your desk. Choosing such obvious inflamitory images reflects poorly on the publication itself, and as I understand it, newspapers live and die based on their reputation.
When you boil everything down, this would be a non-story; in September a single newspaper printed something stupid, it happens all the time (Fox News ring a bell to you Americans out there?). The fact that due to the controversy other Newspapers around Europe picked up the cartoons and ran them in their newspapers in some sort of feeble minded attempt at solidarity. As if having the right to publish also gives you the right not to have people get angry at what you publish. Again, just because something can be published does not mean it should be published. And if what was published was crude and racist it might be smarter not to publish it. This is a very much "What the Fuck?" moment. What the fuck where they thinking? It's February, September was five months ago. FIVE FUCKING MONTHS AGO. Only now are the riots starting. If the rest of fucking Europe wasn't so goddamn uppity and would let a really stupid decision fade into the background, there wouldn't have been a riot in Lebanon and Syria, and who knows where else, in front of the various Danish Embassies.
Freedom of the Press only means that you can publish what you will, it does not mean you can be exempt from the consequences. (And cheers to England, because I'm pretty sure they haven't run the cartoons in questions).
The Arab nations are not blameless, and I don't mean to intimate that they are. But my rant about the Arab nations is, well, it's a completely different sort of rant. I find they don't really have a leg to stand on as in Syria, Egypt, and others, they have a television adaptation of the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, a proven forgery many times over, and quite possibly the most anti-Semitic book ever written which has also done tremendous harm to the Jews over the course of the last century and even still today. There is a word called hypocrisy and another called over reaction and lastly an exacerbated motivation towards violence, but I'll let those lie - for this post anyway.
I'll end with my sincere plea to Europeans, stop being idiots. It's not doing anyone any good, and publishing hate and claiming freedom of the press only makes you guys look like douche bags. As far as foriegn relations go, America has been getting shit for years, and most of it deserved. It's Europe with it's hollier than thou attidute, that really gets my goat. As if they haven't made and are still making the same fucking mistakes we make over here. Publish whatever the hell you please, just don't expect your shit to come out smelling like roses. Next time if you use a little common sense and actually stop being so freaking racist (recent riots in France anyone?) this won't happen in the future, and then you can go back to blame America for all your problems.
Jackasses.
Since the Newspaper doesn't follow an Islamic doctrine they shouldn't be penalized for drawing an image of the Prophet. That being said, what the fuck did they think would happen by publishing demeaning images of a important religious icon? It's like publishing an image of a bunch of crooked nose Jews counting their money while drinking christian or muslim blood, or those really bad Japanese caricatures that were so prevalent in the US around World War Two. People will get very angry. I know all that blood libel crap gets my blood boiling.
According to the New York Times (Sunday, February 5, 2006 page A10) the Danish paper (Jyllands-Posten) claimed it had asked cartoonists to draw the pictures because the media was practicing self-censorship when it came to Muslim issues. Now this is a load of grade A bullshit. The difficulty to assimilate and be accepted in European culture (there was just a big write up about this about Muslims and other ethnic immigrants to Sweden and the racism they face in many aspects of Swedish culture in the most recent New York Times Magazine), or perhaps an article about the strife between the secularists and the religious Muslims in Muslim countries, or even the various political conditions that led the Palestinians to vote to power a terrorist organization; those are Muslim issues. Publishing racist cartoons of the prophet Mohammed is not a Muslim issue, it is a perception of the "Muslim issue", which is nothing other than inherent racism in occidental culture, and says much more about the publication and perhaps Denmark than it does about Islam.
Denmark, like most free countries believe in the Freedom of the Press. I believe firmly in this freedom. The Jylands-Posten should have and has the right to publish anything they desire, and I support their right to do so, even if they are publishing garbage. That being said, just because you can print something doesn't necessarily mean you have to print that thing. We pick and choose all the time what we feel is worth while to print or write about. If all the images do is create hate and animosity (and maybe reinforce ethnic stereotypes) what is their worth for publication? Freedom of the press is not a mandate to the press, you needn't publish everything that comes across your desk. Choosing such obvious inflamitory images reflects poorly on the publication itself, and as I understand it, newspapers live and die based on their reputation.
When you boil everything down, this would be a non-story; in September a single newspaper printed something stupid, it happens all the time (Fox News ring a bell to you Americans out there?). The fact that due to the controversy other Newspapers around Europe picked up the cartoons and ran them in their newspapers in some sort of feeble minded attempt at solidarity. As if having the right to publish also gives you the right not to have people get angry at what you publish. Again, just because something can be published does not mean it should be published. And if what was published was crude and racist it might be smarter not to publish it. This is a very much "What the Fuck?" moment. What the fuck where they thinking? It's February, September was five months ago. FIVE FUCKING MONTHS AGO. Only now are the riots starting. If the rest of fucking Europe wasn't so goddamn uppity and would let a really stupid decision fade into the background, there wouldn't have been a riot in Lebanon and Syria, and who knows where else, in front of the various Danish Embassies.
Freedom of the Press only means that you can publish what you will, it does not mean you can be exempt from the consequences. (And cheers to England, because I'm pretty sure they haven't run the cartoons in questions).
The Arab nations are not blameless, and I don't mean to intimate that they are. But my rant about the Arab nations is, well, it's a completely different sort of rant. I find they don't really have a leg to stand on as in Syria, Egypt, and others, they have a television adaptation of the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, a proven forgery many times over, and quite possibly the most anti-Semitic book ever written which has also done tremendous harm to the Jews over the course of the last century and even still today. There is a word called hypocrisy and another called over reaction and lastly an exacerbated motivation towards violence, but I'll let those lie - for this post anyway.
I'll end with my sincere plea to Europeans, stop being idiots. It's not doing anyone any good, and publishing hate and claiming freedom of the press only makes you guys look like douche bags. As far as foriegn relations go, America has been getting shit for years, and most of it deserved. It's Europe with it's hollier than thou attidute, that really gets my goat. As if they haven't made and are still making the same fucking mistakes we make over here. Publish whatever the hell you please, just don't expect your shit to come out smelling like roses. Next time if you use a little common sense and actually stop being so freaking racist (recent riots in France anyone?) this won't happen in the future, and then you can go back to blame America for all your problems.
Jackasses.
Friday, February 03, 2006
How do you spell Alma Matta?
Because you probably don't read Stellito's blog, even though you should, you probably haven't seen this post. Thus, I give you one of the funniest links I've ever seen, a video made by Chocolate Cake City - an Emerson College sketch comedy troupe.
The trailer for Brokeback to the Future.
The reason I mention Emerson College is I graduated with my B.F.A there in 2002.
Enjoy the hilarity. (and yes, I got a hair cut)
The trailer for Brokeback to the Future.
The reason I mention Emerson College is I graduated with my B.F.A there in 2002.
Enjoy the hilarity. (and yes, I got a hair cut)
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
working my way down
Still not used to waking up early. What is early you ask? Around 7:30 in the AM to get to Starbucks on time. Yes I know, most people in this world actually wake up early (even earlier than me) and such, but I'm still not used to it.
So boo to you, I'm taking a nap.
So boo to you, I'm taking a nap.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)