Sports-idiots of the year

Oh, baby, am I gonna squeeze some bloggage out of this pronouncement...

Marquis de Happy

Long day in the city, but it ended on fun note, with Chris, Lisa, Sam and I having drinks in the Marriot Marquis lounge overlooking Times Square. Haven't been there in years and I forgot how cool the view is.

Head

Head On is the coolest song in the world. Pixies did it. Jesus and Mary Chain did it. Nuff said. It makes me want to make out and have massive mutual orgasmic sex.

Homie

This is my new friend, White Face Killarh. He’s keeping me company over the holidaze. Katie is fine, so far. Nancy is cool as ever and totally concerned about me. She told me my breath smelled like jet fuel. OK, I'll slow down on the beers. Sam is acutely aware that I’m in a bad mood. Chris chased me down the hall at work when she found I had no plans for yesterday. Erin is a hottie. And Ann is in my mind. I can’t stop thinking about her. Maybe if I smoke something and listen to the Dead Milkmen, she’ll go away. I still want her to stay. I want to welcome her home.

Liar

I lied and told my family I had Thanksgiving dinner with a friend. But it made mom feel better. Is thad bad? Truthfully, I sat here with Lefty and we gulped down a meatball sub together. I've never seen a cat so happy and content. And I feel pretty good myself. I miss my family. We're good together.

Trouble

This is a terribly troubling night. There is travesty in the turkey. There is suffering in the stuffing. I feel uneven tonight. Something is not right.

See thru me?

OK for once and for all I do not have self-mutilating thoughts. My words just lean to an unbalanced lilt in that direction. I am actually quite happy these days. Think about it. The Sox won the series. I have gifted friends. I'm employed with incredibly talented people. I have food in my fridge. I have you reading this. Any conncection between words and non-thanksgiving are purely coincidental. I see this pic and think leftovers....

I got red ones, too.

Red Converse Rocks. I feel an essay coming on. Give me a minute.

Two birds. One boxcutter.

If you’re gonna cook the turkey, bake some pumpkin pie, OK?

 

Good comes with the bad, kill me so I can rise, blah, blah, blah. Mixed metaphors and cliches be gone. As of thus, my plans for Thanksgiving amount to me coiled in my cocoon, cherishing every second of silence and salivating at the gripping sensation of having two pounds of turkey, gravy, stuffing and potatoes in my mouth at once while a football game drones in the background. I’m thankful that Katie is okay, mom and dad are with her; and that all my friends are okay and nestling, however discordantly, with loved ones. I’d have to say I’m cool right now. I think the diner is okay with pouring shots of turkey gravy. To me, that rocks. That's the way it is this year. I might yelp and mope, but this is how I wish it, this is how I want it. Trust me. I'm grinning. But I've just realized that it's a terrible time to talk to bound friends.

PK’S BRAIN ASTRAY...

...hates closed pistachio nuts.

 

1)      Whatever you think of as objectivity is really just evolved intimidation

2)      The invention of the light bulb is, so far, the most important biological happening since mating. The seizing of light ceased the primordial meaning of night

3)      What are the elements of natural selection that work to your advantage in this competitive environment?

Katie Rocks

Talked to Katie tonight and tried to vibe all of everyone's good wishes toward her and the little to be one. She's resting at home and banished to bed. She has a terribly active and intelligent mind-- she's an English major lawyer with interests in psychology, Victorian literature and alternative rock (circa 1993, LOL). Any suggestions on what I might send her to pass the next few weeks as comfortably as a brother might make possible? Books? Crosswords? Voodoo hexes?

Magnesium sulfate

My how life can turn on a dime. Got a phone call at 7:30 AM from my dad. Bad news. My sister, Katie, she of the previous entry who’s now pregnant with her first child, is going into labor in her 32nd week. She was already in the hospital for dehydration, so I knew she wasn’t well. Her prognosis was good, but they were keeping her overnight just for observation. Good thing they did. Mom and dad jumped in the car and made a beeline for Arlington, VA, a mere 4 hour drive for them. I took a shower and went to work.

 

By the time they got there Katie had been put on a magnesium sulfate drip to stop the contractions. As of now it seems to have worked—Katie and baby are ok—but she’s suffering something awful. I want to help, but there’s not a damn thing I can do. I spoke with Matt, her husband, and he’s as calm and cool as ever and probably holding her hand right now. Mom and dad are there with their usual dollops of care. Even Kerry, my other sister, is there. She flew in from Seattle, a mere 2,500 miles away. Why am I here? Why am I not there? I tell myself that it’s because I have to work, but is it really? Which priorities are trumping which responsibilities?

Bragging

In 1992 my sister went to Korea to teach English to, um, Koreans. I was given the exalted honor of guarding her stereo and CD collection. Actually, I pirated both, for at that time they were a source of envy. To my disappointment, most of her CDs overlapped mine. But one stuck out like a bleedin eyeball: Billy Bragg, Don’t Try This at Home. The guest musicians alone were enough to make an alternadude drool—Michael Stipe, Peter Buck, Johnny Marr….I played it and was hooked. It was Woodie Guthrie with an Irish lilt and an ass-busting attitude. All of this preamble to announce that my fave song and video is online! Billy Bragg, “You Woke Up My Neighborhood”.

 

http://www.rhino.com/retrovid/videoplayer.lasso?VidID=730

 

Fun video, the sort that aren’t really in vogue any more. I cherish it still as a Blarney Stone memory. Michael Stipe, Peter Buck and a motley crew lookin like Dexy’s fuckin midnight runners are partying with Billy. It’s kinda like when my friend Dave shows up out of nowhere with a bottle of tequila. Somehow a parade ends up happening. Then I’m asleep pondering tomorrow. Just watching/listening to it makes golden lasers of happines beam out my eyes.

 

 

This is not a metaphor

My kitchen sink drain is clogged beyond belief. Standing water. Thank God it’s past frost, or else it would be a mosquito orgy tub. So I go to the market, and with a straight face I buy 30 tins of cat food and something called: Foaming Pipe Snake.

 

What a great verb, noun, verb/noun combo. I picture it slinking down the drain and gnawing away at all obstruction. I hear the virtual sound of the air pressure release suction pull of an open drain. I get home. I follow the instructions. Pour. Foam. Wait. Nothing.

 

So I go buy more: Foaming Pipe Snake.

 

Pour. Foam. Wait. Nothing.

 

Now I have a sink full of: Foaming Pipe Snake foam and nowhere to release it. It’s all backed up and waiting to burst and I’m hoping it doesn’t explode, cause then my kitchen would be covered in: Foaming Pipe Snake Foam. Does anyone have any blockage advice?

 

Kurt’s new old song

If only the wounds of shotgun shots and needle holes could be neatly pinned back together like mangled ankles. Then we’d have another Kurt to say hosannas to today.

 

Just heard an acoustic version of the super famous Nirvana song “Lithium” this morning. It was just Kurdt, a geetar and a microphone. No drums, no bass, no shiny happy clapping people. Not even two whole minutes long. It sounds like it was recorded in a shoebox in my living room. It’s perfect.

 

Let’s pretend it’s 1993 and we’re all worry-free. I’ll go back to my bleached-yellow beach shack in Point and tool around in my old cherry red Toyota Celica again. We can drive up gritty Rt. 35 to Asbury, park at the the Pony and see Sponge and Love Spit Love. Suddenly I have an affinity for regression. Where’s my Sub Pop t-shirt?

 

Curt's ankle

55 stitches. Doesn’t look that bad? Are you not smuggling a golfball in the skin around your ankle? And then pitching in the World Series? Like a boyhood dream? Arm of rocket fuel, leg of balsa wood. Sock of Red.

 

Fresh thread in flesh, you take the dirt and palm leather to leather, toe a rubber, look three men in the eye and evade a swinging tree. Times that by 100 and then you scoot by scot free.

 

That’s wicked cool. What would you be doin if comparably incapacitated? I was shootin pooty snot out of my lungs and I was all stay in bed. That’s weak. Me not weak. Ankle bone connected to the brain bone, ankle bone connected to the brain bone…..Curt’s ankle is my new brain.

 

Feeling a bit better, thanks

Lying prone

in wonderbed

180 degrees from chi

Hefty Lefty—my cat—alights most undeftly…

I will announce that his pounce amounts to many times more than an ounce.

I moan a groan.

Still I lie prone

In wonderbed.

 

Lying prone

in wonderbed

Wicked and wasted lexus of something

Nyquil, a pill, against my will a chill,

Watching a diaphanous Charlemagne Charlatan,

whatever not a tan man, a missive.

Under his cold hand a new world,

ruled world where vulnerability invokes invasion,

and threats provoke evasion by equation, rhyme itself provokes persuasion.

Off. Sleep. No new messages. Self-imposed elation…

 

Lying prone

in wonderbed

Soul-moving realization

Body-grooving strangulation

Whip and whirl and forever want

Belie, betroth, between, be one

Slip and slide

Enemy energy ending

 

Lying prone

in wonderbed

A quick burst of cough

Most frightful light

It’s only night

I finally turn the bulb off

Her

Tell me how any human could be more beautiful than her. Impossible.

(Ann said I spelled "could" wrong in the first incarnation of this.)

Dark

Do You Realize That Everyone You Know Someday Will Die?

What will your last thought be?

 

Ooof

 

I’ve always had a problem with break-up lines. Who hasn’t? For me, they’ve ranged from bemused laughter to practically forcing someone onto a plane flying so far west that it's east. I haven’t fared any better on the receiving end, either. I was glad to see that some students from Cornell are associating common break-up lines with different philosophies, as listed here. My personal fave is the Consequentialist, v 2.0.

 

What lines have you used, and are you down with said philosophy? Words for thought.

 

Here’s the list, and a link:

 

The Teleologist: We aren’t meant for each other.
The Deontologist: We aren’t right for each other.
The Consequentialist: We aren’t optimal for each other.
The Solipsist: It’s not you, it’s me.
The Empiricist: I think we should see other people.
The Rationalist: I’m not a priority to you any more.

The Rationalist, v 2.0: I’ve been doing some thinking…
The Rationalist, v. 3.0: If you can’t see your faults, there’s nothing more I can say.
The Content Externalist: Ever since we moved, you’ve changed.
The Continentalist: You’ve lost that love and feeling.
The Egalitarian: This is the best thing for both of us.
The Paternalist: In time you’ll come to see that this is the best thing.
The Humean: Just because we’re always together doesn’t mean we BELONG together.

The Humean, v. 2.0: Relationships need to be about more than just constant conjoining.

The Reliabilist: This just isn’t working anymore.
The Nagelian: You just don’t know what it’s like to be me.
The Functionalist: I don’t care about accommodating your feelings.
The Quinean: I’m sorry, but you don’t mean anything to me anymore.
The Foundationalist:We have nothing left to build upon.
The Foundationalist, v2.0: I need to be able to branch out more.
The Relativist: It’s no one’s fault.
The Atheist: These things just happen.
The Kantian: You lied to me!
The Consequentialist, v 2.0: You should have lied to my mother about her pot roast!
The anti-Fictionalist: I’m sick of faking it.
The Cartesian: I don’t clearly and distinctly perceive a future together.
The Hegelian: Do we have to go through this again?
The Lockean: Our primary qualities simply aren’t compatible.
The Lockean, v. 2.0: Compared to my last partner, I’m not getting nearly enough, nor as good.
The Cornell Realist: You no longer move me.
The Quasi-Realist: Of course we’re going to be together forever…
The Motivational Externalist: Even though I believed it at the time, I know now that I never really loved you.
The Behaviorist: I just can’t keep going through the motions anymore.
The Presentist: There just isn’t any future for us.
The Eternalist: At least we’ll always have that weekend in Paris

The Modal Realist: This will never work—we’re from different worlds.

 

http://tar.weatherson.net/archives/000979.html

Chasm-gasm

I'm watching the election returns. The anchors and correspondents all seem to have this fantasy-driven, wide-eyed look in their eyes. They're approaching something that, one way or the other, is going to be ecstasy. It's like watching someone who's watching porn. Has the term news-gasm been coined yet?

I voted before work, so I guess it’s been counted by now. I don’t feel like I was properly courted for it, though. I should have written in Pedro, or Manny, or Bono, or Bjork. They earned it this year. There are the soccer moms and NASCAR dads—what about iPod dudes? Was there any one gunning for us? Are we merely a disenfranchised chasm? Or did I not hear them because I had my headphones on?

Narco-brigida

Don't even ask me about the previous entry. Was up way to early for my own good, fresh from a really bizarre dream. To say the least. Isn't the "fall back" part of Daylight Savings Time supposed to mean that you get to fall back into bed when you think you're supposed to get up? What is it called again when you get so tired during the day that you kind of just nod off...necro...nympho...narco--that's it, narcolepsy. I think I'm getting that. But only during the day. How come I can't get it at night? Anyway, I'm amazed that I was able to think Lollobrigida, let alone spell it. And I didn't vote for her or Mr. Zappa, I'm happy to report. Whatever.

How 'bout we just pretend that what this arrow is pointing to didn't happen. K?

Vote

                                                                                   

 VS.

So here we are, Election Day. Please everyone, vote. I know it's a tough choice this year, with the country evenly split between Gina Lollobrigida and Frank Zappa. But the important thing, for the best interest of democracy and this great country of ours, is to let your voice be heard.

(What? These aren't the choices? That's not what I heard at yesterday's production meeting.)