Less than a month on eBay and I'm already making friends

Start from the bottom and go up. Sorry.



--- lora@ourhutch.com wrote:

being honest and being mean are two different things. Its not my
fault if you cant handle hearing the truth. I don't need to forgive
myself for any stupidities, because the only stupid thing Ive ever
done was to email you in the first place. Its a stupid auction. Thats
a fact, not meanness. Forgiving is not necessary, because I will have
forgotten you by morning.


On 4 Aug 2003 at 14:20, tom amans wrote:

you might try shifting your focus from other people's stupidities onto your own. i don't mean that in any derogatory sense; in fact i personally wouldn't call any persons' shortcomings "stupidities", but that's a different discussion entirely. i'm guessing of course, but here are few you might try to rid yourself of first:

1. Being mean to strangers, me in particular. I did nothing to deserve your misplaced wrath.
2. Try not to let "stupid" people affect your personality so much. That's giving them control over your life, something I don't feel "stupid" people deserve. Stupidity may be the most plentiful element in the universe, but I don't think that means one has to revel in it.
3. Forgive yourself of your own "stupidities" and the "stupidities" other people have inflicted upon you. Allow yourself and others a few stupidities. I find it makes life a bit more tolerable.

I'm sure I'm telling you things you already know or
have heard before, but whatever.

--- lora@ourhutch.com wrote:

Yep, I agree about the attitude. Its because Ive known too many stupid people.

On 4 Aug 2003 at 13:55, tom amans wrote:

but you do agree with me about the bad attitude? you know, you don't seem very happy OR hippy. that's kinda false advertising.

--- lora@ourhutch.com wrote:
little boys with sideburns and stupid poses arent my thing, but Im sure someone will want you some day.

On 4 Aug 2003 at 13:49, tom amans wrote:

You understand that you are hopelessly attracted to my boyish good looks as well as my awesome sense of humor? Well, you're not the first. How about a picture of you? I like chicks with bad attitudes.

--- lora@ourhutch.com wrote:

Nevermind. I saw your picture in your other auctions, and now I understand.


On 4 Aug 2003 at 13:02, tom amans wrote:

Yet somehow not quite as moronic as one who takes time out of their busy, meaningful life to ask stupid questions. Thank you and please, go to hell.

Sincerely,
Tom Amans

--- lora@ourhutch.com wrote:

Ok, that's what I thought. Only a complete moron would bid. One almost as moronic as the one that paid to list it in the first place. thanks.

On 4 Aug 2003 at 10:05, tom amans wrote:

Of course not. If you bid, the picture you receive also includes my warmest wishes for your good health, long life, and continued virility.

Thank you,
Tom Amans

--- happyhippy@ourhutch.com wrote:
Hi,

I saw your auction for the dead cat and I am confused. If I bid, will I get the same picture I can save from your auction?

Thank you.
--------------------

Question from: happy*hippy
Title of item: Dead cat, pule, detritus, carrion, feline
Seller: crotchetyneville
Starts: Aug-01-03
17:10:13 PDT
Ends: Aug-11-03
17:10:13 PDT
Price: Starts at $0.75
To view the item, go to:
http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=2943875013

Yesterday afternoon I went to see "Lara Croft: Tombraider - Cradle of Life" with my wife and in-laws. I had read on www.mrcranky.com that this movie was truly horrible (it got the nuclear bomb rating: "Proof that Jesus died in vain"). I left the theatre with a depression that was deep and seemingly endless. The movie was pretty bad, but it certainly wasn't what had really upset me.

Before the show, there was "The 20" which comes on in the theatre 20 minutes before the previews and is basically advertisements. The one sanctity of the movie theatre was that it was not TV... it did not advertise for anything except other movies (i.e. previews). This too, I can deal with.

What ruined me was "Lid rock". "Lid rock" is a CD that is included with the purchase of a large beverage that contains "the lastest of up-and-coming pop stars". I came to find out that "Lid rock" has the new music videos of Jessica Simpson and Mandy Moore, the actress. It was then that it hit me... I will never, ever, be a part of popular culture. Not that I don't want to or that I hate it, it's just that I will never be a titless 18 year old hottie singing about love. All of my musical talent and endevours, all lay to waste compared to this young actress. I thought "I would be so lucky if I ever got as far as this chick got without trying... without even being a musician."

"Lid rock" turned out to be a metaphor for the entire movie-going experience. The movie was horrible as expected. It didn't stop it from being a multi-million dollar profit for the movie industry though, just like Star Wars and Die Another Day (Bond). When did popular culture start to embrace crap? Looking back on the 1980's, the musicians were doing quite a bit of interesting things like polyphony, polyrythem, and even mainstreaming rap. What do we have to show for our generation? Limp Bizkit? An American Idol Kelly Clarkson? When did pop culture stop demanding quality talent in exchange for attractive 16 year olds? When will this world ever make any fucking sense to me?

ECO-TERROR AT THE WORKPLACE

I live in a modern society. I face up to that on a day to day basis. I personaly choose to go on living in this world and accept what I must do to survive and try my hardest to not offend people as I live my life. I have to work to pay for food and shelter and to get to and from shelter to work. These are not what I would rather do with my time but they are neccecities for existing in the society presented in front of me so I readilly accept them. Today I arrived at work and was immediately told the news.

A 200 unit appartment building was being built on the property next to my building. For months I have watched the progress as a grading was started, a foundation poured, a crane erected, floor built upon floor and finally last week a roof was semi-completed. Many people built this apartment and someday people were to move into it and call it home. Today at 3 am an eco-terrorist group placed a sign that said IF YOU BUILD IT, WE WILL BURN IT on it and lit it on fire. It sent 100 foot flames in the air and toppled the crane that helped build it.

Ok, I love the environment, I think nature is a really great thing. HOWEVER if you are concerned about the environment why did you burn down a building out of already felled timber and previously mined concrete and steel? This sent thick acrid smoke and fire all over this area. People in the adjacent apartments had their miniblinds MELT. You stupid fucks could have killed normal people who were just trying to exist and sleep in their homes, you put many out of work for who knows how long (lord knows it isn't easy being unemployed in San Diego) and you stupid godamn sonsabitches sent every kind of polution into the air. All this and you didn't stop SHIT, just hurt people. FUCK YOU ECO-TERROR! If you wanted to do good, raise money to buy the land and make a preserve. WOW that could actually DO SOMETHING!!! Lobby for SOLAR power! Work with the system and get people to vote. UNITE US! Use your ideas to positively influence others, that would have done some good. Instead you took the cheap and shocking way out. Now why did you destroy homes? Is San Diego too populated for you? Hell, I can't find a god damn place to live and start a family with the woman I love. I got some news for you IT IS A FUCKING CITY and cities have people. People who need to live and work and make art and love who they love, but apparently you want to destoy that. Well fuck you! You know what you can burn? Yourselves. I just wish to live and love.

TRENDWATCH!

Hello all and wellcome the first installment of trendwatch. Today's focus is on the latest craze called FREE DANCING. Free dance was created over two years ago when an enterprizing young man realized during an erratic body spazam that sometimes your body may prefer a to be in a certain unwarranted position for no reason at all. This led to the concept of free dance. The tenets of the dance are that your body goes to whatever position it wants to be in at that particular moment, your mind is not in charge of the dance (so you don't have to feel self consious as the movements are natural) no one free dances any better than anyone else, you don't have to dance to the rhythm of the music and in fact that you don't have to dance to any music at all. We at the trendwatch department research team have forcasted that THIS is the dance craze to watch for in the new millenium. Next time, APPARELL!

It is noon. I feel that sleep is on the way, again. Chills, occasionaly seeing stars, weak legs, struggling to keep my drooping eyelids from staying shut, it is almost as if just being at work is forcing me into hibernation under my desk. The real problem is my god forsaken insomnia. It has been days since I have just fallen asleep at a normal hour. Just yesterday I left work an hour early because I felt like I could fall asleep driving home in the rush hour gridlock. No coffee today as yesterday it made me jitter and quake with every step. I am permanantly in that haze like when you just wake up when your friend calls you and you realize you have to go to work to make that batch of 400 blintzes when in reallity it is 5pm, you just got home from work, napped for an hour and you have never even eaten a blintz much less made one because you work in a mailroom.

I wanna make a movie about a college music teacher, a full-fledged Ph.D. He doesn't listen to popular music. He composes esoteric, oddly inscrutable pieces that premier in obscure locations throughout the world. He makes his students attend an annual 4-hour festival of music like his. He instills fear into them; fear of pop culture and the "real world". He likes his job. He was a dork in high school and now all the cool kids take his class. One day while walking to the parking lot he hears a song on someone's car stereo. It's pretty. He quickly walks on by. He gets to the faculty parking lot and hears the same song playing in another teacher's car. He rolls up his window and drives home. When he gets there he finds his son, whom he does not get along with, listening to the same song. His blood begins to boil a bit, but he manages to ask his son, "Would you please turn that down? I have papers to grade." All throughout the rest of the evening, the song sticks in his head. He makes up reasons not to like it. He uses his musical knowledge to thoroughly deconstruct the song and scientifically determine why he shouldn't like it.
He wakes up that night a bit hot, sweaty, and sad. Ex-wife. Can't talk to the kid. Other things. Old regrets. The song comes to him. It helps him. He must find it. He hurries into his office/study, turns on his radio, frantically trying to find a pop station. The dial breaks of in his hand. He turns on the computer. They have internet radio nowadays. Nothing. Nothing. MTV at 3:30a.m. is no help either. He suddenly remembers an old transistor radio buried in the closet. Soon the room is covered with debris from the closet. The teacher pulls out a suitcase and a stack of boxes spills onto the floor. The old radio slides across the floor and underneath a desk. His current wife and son, awoken by the noise, find the teacher curled up on the floor of his study, the small transistor radio pressed tightly to his ear, tears streaming down his cheeks.

They oughta make a Grand Theft Auto IV. It'd be a lot like GTA III and Vice City, but the only point of the game would be to run around killing people and blowing things up. That's all I usually do anyways. Fuck the missions, I want bigger and better weapons. Graphic, XXX encounters with prostitutes. And the ability to torture my enemies to a screaming, horrifically painful death.

Ray wanted to continue my piece for me. I already had the next part of it written in my head. The person I see is me. I wanted to explore the experience of being on a deserted island with myself in an Edgar Allen Poe meets the Marquis de Sade short story. Let the ass-fucking begin.

Another restless night. I love/hate it when you're on that edge of sleeping when inspiration hits. Your mind starts racing and each idea comes and goes so quickly you couldn't write it down fast enough. You wake up and turn on the light... the really bright light. You find the pen and paper and write.

Last night I decided to write a 17 minute musical piece. My goal is to destroy modern classical music forever. It's title will be:

Art becomes Science
Something gained yet something lost
Musical Haiku

...He was beautiful. The perfect picture of a noble savage, untouched by civilization.

His dirty blonde, unkempt hair fell to his shoulders in great waves. Almost the color of the sand upon which I stood, it appeared as though his hair was sculpted with it. Beneath the tiny outcropping of hair that would have been his bangs was a high forehead creased with heavy lines, probably from squinting in the bright sunlight and straining to see on moonless nights. His forehead rested upon a heavy brow, thick with bright bushy hair. Set directly beneath were two smoldering eyes, the deepness of their fiery green startled me. As I stared, open-mouthed, I could see the flash of intelligence as he sized me up as clearly as I did him. Below his eyes, the bridge of his nose sloped suddenly revealing a large but elegant snout, the tip of which pointed toward the ground ever so slightly. I noticed his large lips suddenly twitch in what began as a slow smile, revealing his toothy mouth. His dimpled chin sat proudly at the point of which the sides of his faced converged, the perfect exclamation point to the character that stood before me.

He was a tall, lean man. But he was far from skinny. His arms, roped with muscle, swished elegantly by his sides as he began to move toward me. I noticed two large scars on his chiseled legs. He continued walking until he was within arms reach of me. Once satisfied with the distance between us, he slowly raised one of his powerful arms. He extended his hand, palm outward. I marveled at the contrast of the whiteness of his palm compared to the dark brown hue of the rest of his body. He opened his mouth to speak. I held my breath...

[to be continued]

For some reason I woke up on a deserted island. A deserted, tropical island. The sand on the beach was white and there was a rushing stream that ran from the edge of a lush jungle, through palm trees, and on into the ocean. All I had with me were the clothes on my back- a t-shirt, polyester slacks, shoes and socks.

I decided that the first thing to do was to make a trek of the island and assess the situation as best I could. I wanted to know if I would be able to find food, where I would sleep, whether or not the island was inhabited, and whether or not there was any possibility of me swimming to civilization. I would use the stream as a guide, letting it lead me along its winding path through the dense forest.

I had followed the stream for perhaps an hour when I saw him.

[to be continued]

I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this.

Okay, I feel better.

I'm at work and it's getting to me.

I was talking to the receptionist on my way out to lunch. She's pretty cute but she acts young. I think she is. She was telling me how bored she gets up there. I asked her if she emailed her friends or played games on the internet. She said yes and it doesn't help. I was about to suggest she visit Consumption Junction when some mid-level manager rudely interrupted our conversation to ask if the mail had gone out. I left without saying anything. I only wish I could have told him that one day, if I ever become a mid-level manager, I shall have my revenge. Not by doing what he does, but by doing exactly the opposite: showing my "subordinates" respect and what should be common human courtesy.

Experience has shown me that people like him are not born that way. Someone treated him the way he now treats others. When it's my turn, I will eliminate the possibility of inadvertantly creating another one like him by not establishing the conditions in which people like him come into existence.

It's nothing humanitarian on my part. It's not so much that I don't want people to have to suffer poorly house-trained people like him. In a cosmic sense, it's simply the best revenge I can think of, served ice cold. I think of Michael Corleone: "It's nothing personal Sonny. It's strictly business." You make my day unpleasant, I will eliminate you. And others like you. Whenever, wherever I can.

Blip, blip, bloop, bleep...
This can't be music!

Tick, boom, bap, honk, squeal...
Ah, that's more like it.

I am a failure... again.
I failed to do my work
I could not control it
My predecessor did not do his job
The product's company did not do their job
I assumed the parts were good
Why should I think otherwise?
My excuses are worthless
Terrorists can shake our tallest buildings
But I cannot vibrate my unit
Or else it will fail
I will fail

Moral Objections to the Casual Use of Marijuana (Or Lack Thereof)

Exterior:

Fade into shot of mass produced office building. Boxes representing important offices stacked on top of other boxes, bleached white walls, and stupid looking "Southwestern" trim dominate shot.

Interior:

Slowly enter lobby. Typical: fake plants, stupid "Welcome!" rug, smiling plastic receptionist.

Move into hallway past serious looking people moving very quickly.

Round corner. Cut to shot of back of woman's head. Woman typing quickly at a keyboard.

Slowly zoom out until we see the entire cubicle. Man rounds the corner and enters after slightest knock. Women turns around.

Jill:

Hey Steve. What's up?

Steve:

Jill, do you smoke marijuana?

Jill:

[Looks around] Well, yes. Yes I occasionally enjoy a bowl or two. Why do you ask?

Steve:

[Scrunches up face] It seemed like maybe you did, and I was just wondering why you smoke marijuana.

Jill:

Well, Steve. I suppose I smoke weed because it makes me feel good. I think it's fun and interesting. Do you have a problem with that?

Steve:

Well...yeah...I mean, it's bad.

Jill:

It's "bad?"

Steve:

Yeah, it's illegal.


[to be continued...]

I sit here, giddy with excitement, as I have just spent the last hour or so mentally beating the shit out of myself. I managed to convince myself that the person that is me is pathetic and weak. So why am I so happy? Well, after I admitted to myself that the above statement was true, I realized it was true only to an extent.

You see when I first meet someone I am very afraid of hir. I have a problem with shallow social interaction. That is to say that I'm not very good with greetings, pleasantries, salutations, and compliments. But, once I get past that point of an interaction, and I begin to feel more comfortable, there is a part of me that begins to assert itself. I know this has to be true because I have more than a few very close friends, and I have also had girlfriends in the past.

A good example of what I'm trying to say is the gradual progression of my interactions with the people I work with. I work at Starbucks, and when I first started there, I was mortified of everybody and everything. I clung to my friend Mary (the manager). I tried to be polite to my co-workers, but I didn't dare ask them a question or get in their way.

A week after I started working there, Mary was transferred to another store, and I was stuck in a store I wasn't used to, with people I didn't know, and a new manager whom I knew nothing about. For someone like me, that is a fate worse than death.

But after a few weeks I began to get used to the processes, the people, and the customers. It was at this point, that I now notice, that I began to assert myself socially. It was a gradual process, but I eventually came to a point where I could start to fuck with people. I could make fun of them (in jest, of course) when they did something stupid. I could say weird things and see how they reacted. I could touch them casually (not to be confused with sexually). But, most importantly, I got to a point where I could make fun of myself for making stupid mistakes. I could listen to them say weird things and not feel uncomfortable. And, they could touch me casually and I wouldn't freak out.

Now that I have been there for a few months, I notice that I know how to act around each and every person I work with. That's not to say that I'm being fake around anybody, just that, when I'm around Alan, for instance, I know that I can keep him interested in a conversation if I talk about music, weed, or life's annoying little problems. Around Beth I can talk about philosophy, Radiohead, and Lord of the Rings. With Tommy I have to be a practical joker, full of sarcasm, and courageous enough to drink the disgusting concoction that Nancy whipped up for a dare.

This brings me to the point of my essay, and that is, when I meet somebody, I am afraid. I am weak and pathetic in front of them. But once I get to know them, I learn how to cater to them. And after I've known them for quite a long time, I learn to control them. Just like all of my friends. Ha! Ha! Little bitches. I control you all. I am your master. You are my slaves. One day I will rule the world!

Damn, I love apples.

So my cousin sends me this link. I thought it was funny for a few seconds. Then it dawned on me that the article seems to be lementing the recent loss of sodomy laws, albeit in a humorous way. As if getting the government out of our bedrooms is a bad thing.

Then I thought, "What about me?" I don't consider myself homosexual, but I love sodomy. It's one of the coolest things I've ever done in bed. The anal ring is pretty darn tight and it feels different than the vagina, in a most pleasing way. I will always love the vagina; speaking from a strictly physiological standpoint, it feels very good and stimulating it seems far more likely to induce orgasm in a woman than sodomy. But I really don't see anything wrong with buttstuff. If I meet someone I jive with, I wanna do everything with them. If I ever get married, you can damn well bet that any wife of mine is gonna take it up the butt AND on her chin. I would go to any lengths to keep my beloved happy. Am I wrong to hope for the same in return? Stick your fingers up my butt, stick a dildo up there; I'll let you know what feels good. Let's get to know each other, baby.

I think that only when something is put on a shameful, mysterious pedestal, given an old testament label like "sodomy", demanded by callow guys, and denied by frightened, inexperienced women would it become the taboo that sodomy is.

So fuck you, Bob from accounting. Fat guys with tattoos in big trucks spit at me because they think I'm gay anyways; what do I have to hide?

Besides, your daughters got an ass and a cunt too; be nice or I'll fill them both. AT THE SAME TIME.

I have this idea that keeps coming back to me. I wanna make a movie, a good movie, that has sex in it. A lot of sex. Good sex.

Why we no can respond?

T o cause
E nough
R age
R egardless
O f
R eason
I s
S urely the job of the
M edia