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March 24th, 2008
03:29 pm
Today I watched bowling on TV. I cannot describe to how hilarious this is. I will however endeavor to express some meager portion of the life-ending comedy that is televised professional bowling.
First of all this "sport" has sponsors like all other sports but they're really trashy sponsors. Throughout the series of matches (oh yeah, you bet your ass I watched more than one!) there would always be, like, the "Denny's Roll of the Night" or the "Motel 6 Frame 6 to remember". I am not making this up. One guy had a big patch on his "shirt" that had a big fucking Dinty Moore logo. Yeah, like the stew.
You may have noticed I put the word shirt in quotes in the previous paragraph. Your observant qualities must have made you well-liked by your teachers in grade school. A pleasure to have in class indeed.
Anyway the rags these people are passing off not only as clothes but as some sort of professional uniforms are ridiculous. If you saw a man on the street wearing a blue and black plaid shirt with white snaps and his name written in lightning bolt letters of the back (Ted Stoltz Jr.! CRACKOW!) you would think that he was a homeless man. You might be slightly more confused after noticing that this particular homeless man is apparently sponsored by fucking Hormel but nothing would lead you to believe that in certain albeit rather smelly circles this piece of work is considered a goddamn professional athlete. AN ATHLETE. Like the kind that used to get all oiled up and run a million fucking miles around the greek peninsula to get a piece of a tree on their head. I bet this fucker lives in a mansion in the hamptons and has several pot belly pigs (named after civil war generals or something) that eat out of crystal trays and are wiped down with coconut scented lather hourly by an underpaid Puerto Rican ex-militant with an eyepatch and a tattoo on his arm that says "Los Locos".
Anyway, I digress. How was your day?
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March 15th, 2008
03:46 pm
For those who still read this journal allow me to tell you several things:
Thing 1: I'm not gay, regardless of what this journal may have said.
Thing 2: Don't make your LJ password the same as your myspace one, I think that's how my shit got hijacked. Although I might have also left myself logged in somewhere...
Thing 3: If I was coming out, allow me to assure you that I would be much more verbose and wouldn't post pictures of anime or something to make my point.
I haven't written here in a while. Life is good. I'm probably almost 100 pounds lighter than the last time most of you saw me. I've been dating this wonderful girl for a year this month. I live in Clintonville and life is good.
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June 16th, 2007
08:24 pm
Here's a mega update:
-I just today moved into a new house in Clintonville (Clinton-villains represent!) on the corner of Arcadia and Indianola. It's nice.
-Moving makes me realize that I have many paintings, many socks, and more pairs of underwear than any human being will ever need. This includes novelty underwear that my mom used to buy me for Christmas with, like, Spongebob Squarepants and Chili Peppers on them.
-I've been dating this girl named Kara for almost 4 months now. We are very much in love. She knows the difference between Marvel and Vertigo Sandman as well as the difference between the Rancor and the Sarlacc. Being with her has and continues to be an amazing adventure.
-I now run professional sound, video, and lighting full-time. What up. They also keep giving me their uber-cool vintage gear they no longer use and I am building a modest recording studio. We're talking 20 channel reel-to-reel all analog.
-I'm actively looking at getting published again. Having just one thing on my resume is infinitely better than nothing. I might try to break into comics soon.
That's all for now, perhaps more later.
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April 1st, 2007
02:46 am
I spent tonight sitting in a park close to a girl I like, basking in the glow of the light pollution above. I thought maybe it'd never be like this again. As I pull the tiny blue fuzz of her sweater off of my shirt sleeve I smile because I'm thinking of her smiling back at me.
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February 12th, 2007
07:09 pm - Something Half-Remembered, As Heard In A Dream:
I feel something
Feels like nothing
Feels like dying
Feels like passing on
yeah yeah
I'm bloodbourne
Like a pathogen
Like a soujourner
Lost in his homeland
yeah yeah
Ask not
What your country can do for you
The question
Is what you can do for it
yeah yeah
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February 9th, 2007
02:39 pm
Allow me to say, for all of us, Holy Fucking Shit.
I mean...it's just...
I have no words to describe it. Neil Gaiman clued me in to it saying "...seems, somehow to miss the point on a scale that's positively awesome." I completely agree. I mean...wow.
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January 25th, 2007
12:10 pm - Portrait of a Defecator (An Office Tale of Woe)
So I'm in a stall at work, doing what I do, minding my own business. I hear the door open and some mountain of man with girth I can hear split the air around it canters past the stall, the floor screaming in agony as he takes one booming step after another into the stall next to mine. The sound of metal on denim screeches from a few feet away as an over-worked zipper is pulled down for what seems like forever. I can hear the dull flop of pants hitting the floor and the sickening crinkle of a positively planetary set of cheeks settling down onto the translucent wax paper of a seat cover.
I look down and see that the pale cerulean accordian once called a pair of jeans has snuck under the divider and into the floor of my stall. Just inches away from my foot is the screaming mouth of the left front pocket, edges frayed to tiny white strips like wispy teeth of some long-dead phantasm, doomed forever to a life of suffering and bondage as it looks out of the tattered denim from dull brass rivets. Hanging from this pocket is the most terrifying thing I've ever seen...his ID badge.
That's right, sitting on the floor staring up at me is a glossy picture of the mammoth in the next stall, blank expression seeming to stare into my very soul as a cacophony of dry, animal, grunts begin to issue from the next stall. The dull eyes of the ID badge taunt me as the bestial roars reach a crescendo and the sound of a splashdown fit for a space capsule fills my ears. The smell hits me then, my eyes transfixed on the half smile that seems to tell the story of this half-yeti's evil plans to subvert the world with the near-toxic levels of olfactory waste spilling into my stall.
To say the smell was swamp-like expresses a fundamental misunderstanding of swamps. This smell is like the great swamps of equatorial Pangeia, a festering hole of mud and rot that bakes in the sun in the fires when the world was young. The proto-swamp, from which all others sprang forth. In this smell I felt much like the dinosaurs, praying for blessed fiery death from the skies to free me from the agony of life. I believe I may have blacked out at this point.
I awake seconds later, the face staring into mine, to a sound I can barely describe. It is like someone has tied a subwoofer to flock of flying newts who flap their moist wings back and forth rapidly, the overarching bass note shattering their ears drums as they fall helplessly into a swimming pool full of tapioca pudding.
At this point I was finally done. I pulled my pants up with defeat in my eyes. Escape meant nothing anymore, my life had flashed before my eyes and some vital part of me had been ripped away in those few moments in the stall. I walked out of the stall, washing my hands while staring at what had once been my face in the mirror, eyes as dull as the brazen rivets of his jeans that told the story of a thousand other souls taken before they were ready. I walked out of the bathroom head down, ready to face this waking life a shattered and broken man.
Even now I stare into the world, unwilling to close my eyes lest the vision of the face flash once more before my eyes before death whispers its secret in my ear, taking my hand and leading me into the grey fields of eternity where I will forever wander, wondering always if life might have been different.
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January 22nd, 2007
10:31 am - Tales From the Cubicle Volume Zeta!
If you have, at any point in your life, used the phrase "Do what now?"...we are no longer friends. I have downgraded your friendship status by one point. Here's a chart of how that breaks down:
BFF >>>> Friend
Friend >>>> Aquaintance
Aquaintance >>>> Stranger
Stranger >>>> Enemy
Enemy >>>> Arch-Enemy
Arch-Enemy >>>> Nemesis
Nemesis >>>> Pork Sausage
Please call me if you have questions. Or better yet, send a letter to make future mail-bombings easier.
...Do what now?
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January 21st, 2007
04:47 pm
And still the Weaver plies his loom, who warp
and woof is wretched Man
Weaving the unpatterned dark design, so dark we
doubt it owns a plan.
-The Kasidah of Haji Abdu al-Yazdi
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January 15th, 2007
05:52 pm
Long day at work and it's moving like a slug. I'm in the last ten or so minutes and it feels like forever.
I just want to go home, wash this day off of me, and sleep forever.
Allow me to assure you that when I awake from my slumber I will devour all that lives much like my main homeboy, Cthulhu, who I would like to give a shout out to.
Lovecraftian apocolypse devolving into TRL reference? THAT IS HOW MY BRAIN WORKS NOW.
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