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!
20030730
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.
20030729
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.
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.
20030728
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
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
20030723
...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]
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 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.
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.
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
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...]
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.
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.
20030722
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.
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.
20030721
THANKS FOR PLAYING!
you need cash for wheels,
and your microwave meals.
you're dressed up like a tool,
like your parents want you to.
you don't like the game,
but you play it everyday.
your hair is short and straight,
to help you get a date.
but they never seem to work,
you've got to many quirks.
you don't feel you can win,
too late to start again.
and if you do not place
at least you get a taste.
try being a part of a team
and take comfort in routine.
at least you get some pay,
at the end of the business day.
and doctor says
"cut back on fats,
or the next one that hits
will be your last!"
and you'll loose the game.
(but you will anyway)
so thanks for playing our game,
that you can't win at all,
so you might as well stall,
but don't look down
if you fall.
when you fail.
you need cash for wheels,
and your microwave meals.
you're dressed up like a tool,
like your parents want you to.
you don't like the game,
but you play it everyday.
your hair is short and straight,
to help you get a date.
but they never seem to work,
you've got to many quirks.
you don't feel you can win,
too late to start again.
and if you do not place
at least you get a taste.
try being a part of a team
and take comfort in routine.
at least you get some pay,
at the end of the business day.
and doctor says
"cut back on fats,
or the next one that hits
will be your last!"
and you'll loose the game.
(but you will anyway)
so thanks for playing our game,
that you can't win at all,
so you might as well stall,
but don't look down
if you fall.
when you fail.
Virds
Words, words, words
Just like little turds
Floating through my head.
Do I have the time
To attempt a stupid rhyme?
Poetry has long since been dead.
Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts
Thinking that they ought
To afford my daily bread.
But life is very fun.
Just look at everyone
Waiting to be told what to dread.
Words, words, words
Just like little turds
Floating through my head.
Do I have the time
To attempt a stupid rhyme?
Poetry has long since been dead.
Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts
Thinking that they ought
To afford my daily bread.
But life is very fun.
Just look at everyone
Waiting to be told what to dread.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)