This blog is temporarily closed.
I'm a bit busy looking for someone to marry...immigration reasons.
Take care y'all,
Spook E.
BTW if you want to help a brother out with finding a "green card suitor", I'll kiss your ass for life.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Saturday, March 8, 2008
I don't mean to offend anyone and I hope this post will be taken with a grain of salt or something smaller and saltier.
This is a yarmulke.
and these are a couple of things about the yarmulke I want addressed:
1)There was a Jewish kid on the bus today wearing one with which he needed a little paper clip to secure. If I bought a hat and needed a paper clip to keep it on, there better be a healthy breeze blowing my way or I want my money back. But in the event there is a slight draught a-strirring, can yarmulk-ites do no better than paper clips? I mean come on, no one uses paper clips anymore, not even for paper. Here's my humble suggestion. Yarmulkes should be modified to have a larger circumfrence that grip the head better and maybe for extra security, a one-size-fits-all velcro strap that loops under the chin. Is that so far fetched? Is that such a revolutionary idea?
2)You see the guy in the picture? You see where he has his little hat centered, on that little cranial bulge we all have? (unless you have a flat head and then you know the almighty has truly fucked you over) Thats where all yarmulkes are worn, in that exact spot on the head. Long ago, some poor balding Jewish dude probably thought he'd escape a toupee that way and the trend caught on. Soon wearing small hats in the middle of your head became hip and fashionable and even little Jewish kids began capping their heads like this. I say it's time for a fashion makeover. It took us a while but we eventually turned the baseball cap backwards, remember? I say it's time to turn the yarmulke backwards. It would be hard to notice, but it'll look awesome.
In reference to #1, On further consideration, making the yarmulke larger would just make it a skull cap like us heathens wear, but still there is no argument against a one-size-fits-all velcro chin strap.
This is a yarmulke.
and these are a couple of things about the yarmulke I want addressed:
1)There was a Jewish kid on the bus today wearing one with which he needed a little paper clip to secure. If I bought a hat and needed a paper clip to keep it on, there better be a healthy breeze blowing my way or I want my money back. But in the event there is a slight draught a-strirring, can yarmulk-ites do no better than paper clips? I mean come on, no one uses paper clips anymore, not even for paper. Here's my humble suggestion. Yarmulkes should be modified to have a larger circumfrence that grip the head better and maybe for extra security, a one-size-fits-all velcro strap that loops under the chin. Is that so far fetched? Is that such a revolutionary idea?
2)You see the guy in the picture? You see where he has his little hat centered, on that little cranial bulge we all have? (unless you have a flat head and then you know the almighty has truly fucked you over) Thats where all yarmulkes are worn, in that exact spot on the head. Long ago, some poor balding Jewish dude probably thought he'd escape a toupee that way and the trend caught on. Soon wearing small hats in the middle of your head became hip and fashionable and even little Jewish kids began capping their heads like this. I say it's time for a fashion makeover. It took us a while but we eventually turned the baseball cap backwards, remember? I say it's time to turn the yarmulke backwards. It would be hard to notice, but it'll look awesome.
In reference to #1, On further consideration, making the yarmulke larger would just make it a skull cap like us heathens wear, but still there is no argument against a one-size-fits-all velcro chin strap.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
I pilfer from my Ma
Be patient. Wait for the sound of the shower to die off. If you feel motivated, heave your bony ass out of bed and try to drop for 10. You will get to 7 before your arms give out but that’s OK. Last time it only took 6. If it's piety moving you today, dust of your old King James and read a psalm. Before you, the bible was your sister's and before her, your dad's. Now it looks like it survived a civil war. Last Christmas Ma gave you money for a new one but that morning, Mike and Kathy invited you over for breakfast at the IHOP and you didn't want to look like a chump for not ponying up your share. Ma thinks you bought the bible.
But if things are as they usually are these days, you're feeling neither motivated nor spiritual and you haven't felt either way since that long sleep between high school and college freshman year so stay in bed. If necessary, pull the pillow over your head and try to mellow your matricidal thoughts into something less violent and more non specific. You do not want a fight with her over her morning routines. You did that once, went off on her because she kept flushing the toilet – once, twice, three times, four times – It’s 5AM goddamit. How about you drain the Pacific too.
That day, you discovered Ma had skills, a backhand – a swift back-swing pausing delicately over her left shoulder, and then a reckless decent landing and exploding on your stupefied face. To think you believed backhands were only myth, the kinds of theatric rhetoric people added to threats more as garnish than actual bite. Remember years ago when she told you she played tennis in her high school days? You'd laughed and for good reason - the woman, who took a full minute to ease her considerable mass out of her one-storey SUV, scampering after a rubber ball on a tennis court, was enough to short circuit your imaginative faculties. She made you a believer.
If she’s been in there 20 minutes, she’s probably washing her hair today and will be at it for another 20. Go to the kitchen, to the cupboard where she leaves the garri and her Nigerian spices. Look behind the jumbo plastic bucket of "I Can't Believe it's not Butter" she now uses to store dried pepper. You’ll find that pot you discovered last night on your way to the cereal box. The one with the warped lid charred so badly the metal was flaking. The one she always says she’s thrown out but which just happens to find its way buried under the living room sofa or wedged behind the refrigerator or the oven or haunting every last crook you'd never think of looking in, bearing a tight roll of $20 bills.
As you wet your lips and grin, remember:
one bill and she blames her carelessness
two, she blames the cashier's
three and you're a thief.
Choose wisely
But if things are as they usually are these days, you're feeling neither motivated nor spiritual and you haven't felt either way since that long sleep between high school and college freshman year so stay in bed. If necessary, pull the pillow over your head and try to mellow your matricidal thoughts into something less violent and more non specific. You do not want a fight with her over her morning routines. You did that once, went off on her because she kept flushing the toilet – once, twice, three times, four times – It’s 5AM goddamit. How about you drain the Pacific too.
That day, you discovered Ma had skills, a backhand – a swift back-swing pausing delicately over her left shoulder, and then a reckless decent landing and exploding on your stupefied face. To think you believed backhands were only myth, the kinds of theatric rhetoric people added to threats more as garnish than actual bite. Remember years ago when she told you she played tennis in her high school days? You'd laughed and for good reason - the woman, who took a full minute to ease her considerable mass out of her one-storey SUV, scampering after a rubber ball on a tennis court, was enough to short circuit your imaginative faculties. She made you a believer.
If she’s been in there 20 minutes, she’s probably washing her hair today and will be at it for another 20. Go to the kitchen, to the cupboard where she leaves the garri and her Nigerian spices. Look behind the jumbo plastic bucket of "I Can't Believe it's not Butter" she now uses to store dried pepper. You’ll find that pot you discovered last night on your way to the cereal box. The one with the warped lid charred so badly the metal was flaking. The one she always says she’s thrown out but which just happens to find its way buried under the living room sofa or wedged behind the refrigerator or the oven or haunting every last crook you'd never think of looking in, bearing a tight roll of $20 bills.
As you wet your lips and grin, remember:
one bill and she blames her carelessness
two, she blames the cashier's
three and you're a thief.
Choose wisely
Monday, February 25, 2008
Random Quote
Quote from Edmund White's book
"...but you, I don't think you'd know what to do with a truly big dick except throw it over your shoulder, burp it, and weep. Are you Irish?"
I've been laughing for hours.
"...but you, I don't think you'd know what to do with a truly big dick except throw it over your shoulder, burp it, and weep. Are you Irish?"
I've been laughing for hours.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Elective: Stupidity 101
Uncle G looks through his rear-view mirror
The weather is so bad. I can't see anything.
I'll go out and look for you
No, no, its ok, I'll manage
I look back and it's practically opaque with fog
are you sure?
yes, yes, it's ok
He's still trying to coerce his eyes into seeing, he cocks his head about looking through the rear-view mirrow
It's just terrible...I can't see anything
Let me go out and look
He ignores me, puts the car in reverse and begins backing out slowly
I hope there's nothing behind me...
He cocks his head about some more still trying to see
Oh God, I hope I don't hit anything
Maybe I should look
No.
I roll my eyes, look out the passenger window and there is a lady, running at us, hysterically waving her arms and mouthing something I couldn't quite hear
What the hell is she doing, he says, still backing up
Then it all makes sense, but it's too late. Fender meets bumper and they kiss...the police arrive, take statements...insurance companies are called and briefed...Uncle G mumbles something about his premiums getting hiked and sulks all the way home. I on the other hand, find the entire thing rather amusing, even hillarious.
The weather is so bad. I can't see anything.
I'll go out and look for you
No, no, its ok, I'll manage
I look back and it's practically opaque with fog
are you sure?
yes, yes, it's ok
He's still trying to coerce his eyes into seeing, he cocks his head about looking through the rear-view mirrow
It's just terrible...I can't see anything
Let me go out and look
He ignores me, puts the car in reverse and begins backing out slowly
I hope there's nothing behind me...
He cocks his head about some more still trying to see
Oh God, I hope I don't hit anything
Maybe I should look
No.
I roll my eyes, look out the passenger window and there is a lady, running at us, hysterically waving her arms and mouthing something I couldn't quite hear
What the hell is she doing, he says, still backing up
Then it all makes sense, but it's too late. Fender meets bumper and they kiss...the police arrive, take statements...insurance companies are called and briefed...Uncle G mumbles something about his premiums getting hiked and sulks all the way home. I on the other hand, find the entire thing rather amusing, even hillarious.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
A breath of stale hair
I used to wonder why women took so much pains
in trying to be as hairless as possible.
I really did.
Facial hair:
Removing those I understand.
Facial hair is manly,
the human equivalent of a lions mane.
But I thought -
Why do they have a problem with body hair?
the one's on thier legs, forearms, even armpits.
It's hardly anything
or barely something-
which really,
is just splitting hairs.
Well...
Last night at the book store, I saw a 6'3 man in a -
blond wig and high-heeled shoes
and a
poofy-sleeved blouse and knee-lenght skirt
and a
pearl necklace and red clutch purse.
Besides the broad, meaty, quarter-back shoulders,
the one-to-one, waist-to-hip ratio,
his shoebox jaw and side-burns,
he looked decent, even chic - a handsome girl waiting for a date.
Truly a vision
as they say,
to haunt, to startle and waylay.
That was all before I saw his forearms
looked like a furry animal crawled under his sleeves
and was holding on for dear life.
Now, I'm no male-chauvinist.
I'm all for feminists and their cause
and I don't think anyone should be obligated
to look a certain way to be validated as what they are.
But to those women who choose
to shave
and wax
and pluck,
I get it, I sincerly do.
in trying to be as hairless as possible.
I really did.
Facial hair:
Removing those I understand.
Facial hair is manly,
the human equivalent of a lions mane.
But I thought -
Why do they have a problem with body hair?
the one's on thier legs, forearms, even armpits.
It's hardly anything
or barely something-
which really,
is just splitting hairs.
Well...
Last night at the book store, I saw a 6'3 man in a -
blond wig and high-heeled shoes
and a
poofy-sleeved blouse and knee-lenght skirt
and a
pearl necklace and red clutch purse.
Besides the broad, meaty, quarter-back shoulders,
the one-to-one, waist-to-hip ratio,
his shoebox jaw and side-burns,
he looked decent, even chic - a handsome girl waiting for a date.
Truly a vision
as they say,
to haunt, to startle and waylay.
That was all before I saw his forearms
looked like a furry animal crawled under his sleeves
and was holding on for dear life.
Now, I'm no male-chauvinist.
I'm all for feminists and their cause
and I don't think anyone should be obligated
to look a certain way to be validated as what they are.
But to those women who choose
to shave
and wax
and pluck,
I get it, I sincerly do.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Is it rain or is it snow? I wish the skies would just decide - and when it does I hope it settles for rain.
I though of writing a poem today inspired by the gray skies outside my window.
Something melancholic and nostalgic, something that makes you want to press your nose against the window and wish for summer and sun
or run outside and bathe in the rain like you did when you were little.
So I sat beside my window and leaned in to watch the puddles form in hollows beside the curb and snow flakes melting softly on my windowsill.
It all looked so ripe for a poem
But all I could think of were of idle dreamers just like me looking through glass, waiting to find poetic grace in dim, dull, indecisive weather.
I wonder how many poems have been inspired by rain.
PS: I think I'm going to stop using "lol". I use it way too much. lol FUCK!...starting now...
I though of writing a poem today inspired by the gray skies outside my window.
Something melancholic and nostalgic, something that makes you want to press your nose against the window and wish for summer and sun
or run outside and bathe in the rain like you did when you were little.
So I sat beside my window and leaned in to watch the puddles form in hollows beside the curb and snow flakes melting softly on my windowsill.
It all looked so ripe for a poem
But all I could think of were of idle dreamers just like me looking through glass, waiting to find poetic grace in dim, dull, indecisive weather.
I wonder how many poems have been inspired by rain.
PS: I think I'm going to stop using "lol". I use it way too much. lol FUCK!...starting now...
Monday, February 4, 2008
Thank heavens for little girls. (Long)
My 12 year old cousin came to me yesterday with a sullen almost mournful expression on her face. I was certain something serious was up because she usually greets me like she expects Beyonce to come in right after me, all shrieks and giggles and little in the way of coherent speech and absolutely no self-restraint. One time I got a shoe to my face because on seeing me, she did a high kick that sent her shoe flying across the room, zinging my poor little head, knocking the structure right out of my legs. She's tempered her enthusiasm since then but that only means she's bouncing off the walls now and not the ceiling too. So I took my dearly down-trodden over to the kitchen counter, poured her a glass of ginger ale and asked her to come out with it.
I think my mom watches pornos
What?
I found some porno tapes in my moms drawer
Now, I like to play the big brother. I like to think I can play him well because I've managed to condense all the rules to being a capable adult into one easy-to-master maxim: "above all else, keep your cool" but it only takes a problem, so at peace with its own absurdity to make keeping one's head seem as ridiculous as sipping nails through a straw. I wanted to burst out laughing and I would have if she wasn't taking it so hard. Instead, after silently counting to ten just to keep a straight face, I came up with this deeply discerning jewel of a question:
OK. When did you find it?
Yesterday. I was just looking for where she hid my candy canes - the ones I got for Christmas. I was just looking for them in the drawer because she always hides stuff in there. Can you believe my mom watches them?
I couldn't. I didn't want to. I pictured my aunt inclined in her lazy-boy at night - her blinds drawn, the door, bolted, watching a dirty blond get gang-banged by yards and yards of the hard stuff; the volume turned down to a low whisper and her thighs viced on each other, squeezing out pure ecstasy. It was all too much for me and apparently, for my little cousin too. But even as I found this picture of my aunt somewhat disturbing, the novelty of having a porn-watching (maybe even addicted?) aunt gave the whole affair a tang of coolness. What other secrets lurked behind her closed doors and hidden in her drawers? Whips and chains and leather masks? Blow-up dolls and chain-metal sex slings? The possibilities were endless...but explorable and I figured I'd take my sweet time going over every one of them, but now was for my cousin. What to say?... What to say? ...
Did you watch them?
umm...maybe
She drew out the 'maybe' like a question and I just about saw her innocence buy a one-way ticket back to the pearly gates on the heavenly express, never to return. I felt as though she'd been despoiled, her starry-eyes, dimmed, by her mother no less and yet my emotions -vague but hot, were for the moment directed at her
WHY DID YOU WATCH IT?
curiosity... maybe (again, sounding like a question) I didn't see the whole thing though
Yea, but you saw enough to know it was porn and you kept on watching?
An assumption I'd made up completely out of the blue.
What is it with you kids and your curious eyes? Don't you know enough to leave your mothers things alone?
My voice beginning to rise...
Look, I don't know why that tape was there, maybe it belonged to someone else but it's HER business, it's her goddamn business and I'm pretty sure she'll appreciate you staying out of it. You understand me?
Why are you yelling? She screamed back at me in the audacity only kids born and raised in America can conjure.
Because you should know better.
And with that said, she got up, walked out of the apartment and slammed the door shut behind her. I was dumb struck - what the fuck did she do that for?
It was only this morning after I'd slept off the shock and anger of the night before did I begin to feel the guilt that I had coming to me. Why did I blow up like that? Why was it directed at her instead of her careless mother? I also kept wandering what the right response would've been had I acted rationally. I discovered porn at about the same age so maybe I was overreacting. Maybe we should have laughed it off over Ginger Ale and some cookies but it's so hard to picture talking to her about sex or pornography, icky stuff. It was all too confusing.
I prayed this morning...
Thank heavens for little girls...not so much the bigger ones.
I like being big brother but I'm really making things up as I go along. The more she grows, the more she catches up to me and it takes me - old man that I am , a little while to notice this and adjust accordingly.
We spoke on the phone this afternoon and I apologized for last night. I think she loves me again. The porno talk, that's hopefully on the back burner...for now.
I think my mom watches pornos
What?
I found some porno tapes in my moms drawer
Now, I like to play the big brother. I like to think I can play him well because I've managed to condense all the rules to being a capable adult into one easy-to-master maxim: "above all else, keep your cool" but it only takes a problem, so at peace with its own absurdity to make keeping one's head seem as ridiculous as sipping nails through a straw. I wanted to burst out laughing and I would have if she wasn't taking it so hard. Instead, after silently counting to ten just to keep a straight face, I came up with this deeply discerning jewel of a question:
OK. When did you find it?
Yesterday. I was just looking for where she hid my candy canes - the ones I got for Christmas. I was just looking for them in the drawer because she always hides stuff in there. Can you believe my mom watches them?
I couldn't. I didn't want to. I pictured my aunt inclined in her lazy-boy at night - her blinds drawn, the door, bolted, watching a dirty blond get gang-banged by yards and yards of the hard stuff; the volume turned down to a low whisper and her thighs viced on each other, squeezing out pure ecstasy. It was all too much for me and apparently, for my little cousin too. But even as I found this picture of my aunt somewhat disturbing, the novelty of having a porn-watching (maybe even addicted?) aunt gave the whole affair a tang of coolness. What other secrets lurked behind her closed doors and hidden in her drawers? Whips and chains and leather masks? Blow-up dolls and chain-metal sex slings? The possibilities were endless...but explorable and I figured I'd take my sweet time going over every one of them, but now was for my cousin. What to say?... What to say? ...
Did you watch them?
umm...maybe
She drew out the 'maybe' like a question and I just about saw her innocence buy a one-way ticket back to the pearly gates on the heavenly express, never to return. I felt as though she'd been despoiled, her starry-eyes, dimmed, by her mother no less and yet my emotions -vague but hot, were for the moment directed at her
WHY DID YOU WATCH IT?
curiosity... maybe (again, sounding like a question) I didn't see the whole thing though
Yea, but you saw enough to know it was porn and you kept on watching?
An assumption I'd made up completely out of the blue.
What is it with you kids and your curious eyes? Don't you know enough to leave your mothers things alone?
My voice beginning to rise...
Look, I don't know why that tape was there, maybe it belonged to someone else but it's HER business, it's her goddamn business and I'm pretty sure she'll appreciate you staying out of it. You understand me?
Why are you yelling? She screamed back at me in the audacity only kids born and raised in America can conjure.
Because you should know better.
And with that said, she got up, walked out of the apartment and slammed the door shut behind her. I was dumb struck - what the fuck did she do that for?
It was only this morning after I'd slept off the shock and anger of the night before did I begin to feel the guilt that I had coming to me. Why did I blow up like that? Why was it directed at her instead of her careless mother? I also kept wandering what the right response would've been had I acted rationally. I discovered porn at about the same age so maybe I was overreacting. Maybe we should have laughed it off over Ginger Ale and some cookies but it's so hard to picture talking to her about sex or pornography, icky stuff. It was all too confusing.
I prayed this morning...
Thank heavens for little girls...not so much the bigger ones.
I like being big brother but I'm really making things up as I go along. The more she grows, the more she catches up to me and it takes me - old man that I am , a little while to notice this and adjust accordingly.
We spoke on the phone this afternoon and I apologized for last night. I think she loves me again. The porno talk, that's hopefully on the back burner...for now.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Things that bug me 2
1) Automatic doors that open slowly.
2) News reporters who refer to 9/11 as the day "America lost her innocence".
I say: You've got to be kidding me. America...innocent? Puhleez.
3) Guys who wear suspenders.
Pants should be secured to your waist not left floating halfway up your torso.
4) People who use "like" to punctuate their sentences.
It's like so like annoying I want to like put a bullet through like your fucking head. You like-y?
5) People who stand on escalators.
I know it moves but it's still a staircase you know.
6) Green M&Ms.
Just ridiculous.
7) Inconsiderate ATM users.
They try a couple of pin numbers before deciding to give theirs a go.
Print out bank statements and deposit some 5 or 6 checks separately.
Eject their card and begin to walk off.
Then...
You're interrupted. They "forgot to withdraw"
You let them get their money
and wait for the lazy printer to spit out their receipt
1 minute and 30 seconds:
Time spent waiting for Asshole-icus maximus to finish examining it's receipt.
The receipt is folded. Once. Then twice.
30 seconds:
Time this species requires to locate it's smaller pouch within it's larger one and deposit the receipt
1:
Number of people in line when Asshole-icus maximus began using ATM
6:
Number of victims left in it's wake.
2) News reporters who refer to 9/11 as the day "America lost her innocence".
I say: You've got to be kidding me. America...innocent? Puhleez.
3) Guys who wear suspenders.
Pants should be secured to your waist not left floating halfway up your torso.
4) People who use "like" to punctuate their sentences.
It's like so like annoying I want to like put a bullet through like your fucking head. You like-y?
5) People who stand on escalators.
I know it moves but it's still a staircase you know.
6) Green M&Ms.
Just ridiculous.
7) Inconsiderate ATM users.
They try a couple of pin numbers before deciding to give theirs a go.
Print out bank statements and deposit some 5 or 6 checks separately.
Eject their card and begin to walk off.
Then...
You're interrupted. They "forgot to withdraw"
You let them get their money
and wait for the lazy printer to spit out their receipt
1 minute and 30 seconds:
Time spent waiting for Asshole-icus maximus to finish examining it's receipt.
The receipt is folded. Once. Then twice.
30 seconds:
Time this species requires to locate it's smaller pouch within it's larger one and deposit the receipt
1:
Number of people in line when Asshole-icus maximus began using ATM
6:
Number of victims left in it's wake.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
The dude made me cry in Brokeback
And so it came to me last night
a bullet through my heart
unfair the hand that tips the scales
of karma and of fate
that the best ones leave before their time
is hard enough to bear
that the worst of them keep rolling on
stay hope: an endless prayer
Heath, we'll always have Brokeback
a bullet through my heart
unfair the hand that tips the scales
of karma and of fate
that the best ones leave before their time
is hard enough to bear
that the worst of them keep rolling on
stay hope: an endless prayer
Heath, we'll always have Brokeback
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Let them entertain us
I'd spend a bit more time on this particular blog entry but I've got a few minutes before the start of class and I want to get this out there or I'll probably get lazy and not do it.
Did anyone watch the South Carolina debates last night between Clinton and Obama? If you didn't, you missed a helluva show. I thought they were going to fight - and I don't mean the usual battle of wits like we're used to from these uppity aristocratic types, I mean a full-out I'ma-kick-your-ass-with-this-shoe-on-my-foot, mano-a-womano smack-down. I really did. I thought at some point, Obama was going to step off his podium, walk over to Hillary and fire a fat loogie in her general direction and Clinton would reply with a deft left hook to the right jaw and the rest would be pay-per-view history.
I used to say to myself - Obama and Clinton seem to have risen above the fray, they have transcended the usual dirty politics... no mis-characterizing ads yet and they've been relatively respectful of each other and the positions they each represent. Maybe they do genuinely represent this so-called "change" they've been hawking for about a year now. Then last night happened. Now I say to myself, FUCK the "woe is me, I'm a woman, how can you not see how awesome I am" campaign Hillary is running and FUCK the "I'm for change, change is me, me is change, change I am, change. change. change." campaign Obama is sticking to, they are politicians and inherently evil, insufferably despicable, and alas, tragically necessary. I would just appreciate a little more honesty from both of them. More of this savagery and less of the other, more demure, "classy" politicking. This kind is by far more entertaining and at the end of the day, isn't it all for and about our entertainment?
PS
The other dude...
PSS
Whats his name?...
PSSS
ah yes, Edwards.
PSSSS
whats his deal anyway?
Did anyone watch the South Carolina debates last night between Clinton and Obama? If you didn't, you missed a helluva show. I thought they were going to fight - and I don't mean the usual battle of wits like we're used to from these uppity aristocratic types, I mean a full-out I'ma-kick-your-ass-with-this-shoe-on-my-foot, mano-a-womano smack-down. I really did. I thought at some point, Obama was going to step off his podium, walk over to Hillary and fire a fat loogie in her general direction and Clinton would reply with a deft left hook to the right jaw and the rest would be pay-per-view history.
I used to say to myself - Obama and Clinton seem to have risen above the fray, they have transcended the usual dirty politics... no mis-characterizing ads yet and they've been relatively respectful of each other and the positions they each represent. Maybe they do genuinely represent this so-called "change" they've been hawking for about a year now. Then last night happened. Now I say to myself, FUCK the "woe is me, I'm a woman, how can you not see how awesome I am" campaign Hillary is running and FUCK the "I'm for change, change is me, me is change, change I am, change. change. change." campaign Obama is sticking to, they are politicians and inherently evil, insufferably despicable, and alas, tragically necessary. I would just appreciate a little more honesty from both of them. More of this savagery and less of the other, more demure, "classy" politicking. This kind is by far more entertaining and at the end of the day, isn't it all for and about our entertainment?
PS
The other dude...
PSS
Whats his name?...
PSSS
ah yes, Edwards.
PSSSS
whats his deal anyway?
Friday, January 18, 2008
Spoken word
Hey everyone.
So a couple of posts ago I recounted my adventures at a certain gay meeting and posted a couple of videos from a spoken word artist who perform at that meeting. Since that time, I've been searching and listening to all kinds of videos and audio clips of spoken word poetry and I've got to tell you all, this art form, this medium of activism and story telling with words and rhythm is spell binding. I wish I could do it. Everytime I listen to a clip of something powerful or clever I wish I could've done it first. I say to myself: "that's so true" or "I was just thinking the same thing a week...or a month...or year ago" only I didn't string my thoughts together in such an inspired way. It's got to be some kind of talent, it's just got to be.
Here are a few of my favorites...it's so hard to narrow them down.
BASSEY IKPI..."Homeword" ...for a little nostalgia. I also like from her "Apology To My Unborn"
"Yellow Rage"...They're so angry, it's funny. Don't listen if you don't like cursing (but if you've read this blog, I know you don't mind).
SUHEIR HAMMAD...Well, she's just brilliant isn't she.
So a couple of posts ago I recounted my adventures at a certain gay meeting and posted a couple of videos from a spoken word artist who perform at that meeting. Since that time, I've been searching and listening to all kinds of videos and audio clips of spoken word poetry and I've got to tell you all, this art form, this medium of activism and story telling with words and rhythm is spell binding. I wish I could do it. Everytime I listen to a clip of something powerful or clever I wish I could've done it first. I say to myself: "that's so true" or "I was just thinking the same thing a week...or a month...or year ago" only I didn't string my thoughts together in such an inspired way. It's got to be some kind of talent, it's just got to be.
Here are a few of my favorites...it's so hard to narrow them down.
BASSEY IKPI..."Homeword" ...for a little nostalgia. I also like from her "Apology To My Unborn"
"Yellow Rage"...They're so angry, it's funny. Don't listen if you don't like cursing (but if you've read this blog, I know you don't mind).
SUHEIR HAMMAD...Well, she's just brilliant isn't she.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Of the under-learned
"we were in this garden and we were so inspired by these wonderful botanicals ...."
Heard that gem on TV and had to write it down for...for...umm...well, for future reference. Think of it, how many times have you ever heard the word "botanical" used outside of a science classroom or a shampoo ad? My guess is never. Except if you're like me, then you've heard it used by your 11 year old cousin who you babysit a couple of times a week and who manages to make you feel slightly dumber than the last time you were with him because he "expectorates" when you ask him not to spit in the kitchen sink and promptly sets you straight for thinking "niggardly" was a "bawdy" word when it simply means "frugal" or "penurious". But even he, in all his nerdidom, has never seen "botanicals" where there was a beautiful garden to be admired.
Now one might think the person I'm refering to was trying a bit too hard to show off a little more of their scholarship than they possessed, but I disagree. I like people like this; people who can razzle dazzle with words and phrases and stop you dead in your tracks with their constructions. They remind me to look at the English language with renewed respect and awe because try as I may to master proper English from the so called masters of the language, it is always those who dare to tresspass beyond the forgivable that keep me interested.
Word of the day: Toothsome, only because I thought it had something to do with teeth. It means delicious or luscious like a tasty meal or a sexy, handsome, adonis of a man or woman like me.
PS: I've been around, just uninspired that's all.
Heard that gem on TV and had to write it down for...for...umm...well, for future reference. Think of it, how many times have you ever heard the word "botanical" used outside of a science classroom or a shampoo ad? My guess is never. Except if you're like me, then you've heard it used by your 11 year old cousin who you babysit a couple of times a week and who manages to make you feel slightly dumber than the last time you were with him because he "expectorates" when you ask him not to spit in the kitchen sink and promptly sets you straight for thinking "niggardly" was a "bawdy" word when it simply means "frugal" or "penurious". But even he, in all his nerdidom, has never seen "botanicals" where there was a beautiful garden to be admired.
Now one might think the person I'm refering to was trying a bit too hard to show off a little more of their scholarship than they possessed, but I disagree. I like people like this; people who can razzle dazzle with words and phrases and stop you dead in your tracks with their constructions. They remind me to look at the English language with renewed respect and awe because try as I may to master proper English from the so called masters of the language, it is always those who dare to tresspass beyond the forgivable that keep me interested.
Word of the day: Toothsome, only because I thought it had something to do with teeth. It means delicious or luscious like a tasty meal or a sexy, handsome, adonis of a man or woman like me.
PS: I've been around, just uninspired that's all.
2008
My first post of the New year is going to be short and sweet. All I have to say to the people that have left comments on or visited this blog in the past year is: you're sexy! Yes. You're very sexy and I hope you have a very sexy 2008...well...realistically, it's not going to be sexy for all of you because some of you guys will fatten up this year or go on a hardcore diet and get all auschwitz skinny and umm...some others will, at various points in the year, break out in a rash or catch a bad cold and those can make for very un-sexy people. So I'll say, have a mostly sexy 2008. How's that?
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Man vs Woman
I think God prefers men to women. What I mean is he loves men more than he does women. If you look at it from all points of view, I'm right, partly because it's just so gosh darn obvious but mostly because I'm a man. I mean just look at all this evidence...
Men / Women
Men have penises / Women don't.
Men were created first / Women weren't
Men can be messiahs / Women can't.
Men can join all-mens clubs / Women can pout....outside!
Men can be Kings / Women can't (They have to settle for "queen" LMFAO)
Men can be tall / Women shouldn't
A man should be "a man" / A woman should know better
"All men are created equal." / *Not Applicable*
I really could go on but I think my point is well made.
BTW, for all you feminist pursuing "a womans right to choose", you've got it all wrong. What you should be advocating is "a man's right to choose for his woman". Now if you adopt that as a platform, I guarantee you, you'll all be taken a lot more seriously.
PS: Yes, this is how I spend Sunday evenings.
Men / Women
Men have penises / Women don't.
Men were created first / Women weren't
Men can be messiahs / Women can't.
Men can join all-mens clubs / Women can pout....outside!
Men can be Kings / Women can't (They have to settle for "queen" LMFAO)
Men can be tall / Women shouldn't
A man should be "a man" / A woman should know better
"All men are created equal." / *Not Applicable*
I really could go on but I think my point is well made.
BTW, for all you feminist pursuing "a womans right to choose", you've got it all wrong. What you should be advocating is "a man's right to choose for his woman". Now if you adopt that as a platform, I guarantee you, you'll all be taken a lot more seriously.
PS: Yes, this is how I spend Sunday evenings.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
My American Family
Aunty Reggie
My Aunt Reggie can't stand Africans...you know, "those Africans". It has to be "those Africans" because...well...she's African and I suppose she can stand herself.
Uncle G
My Uncle G. will pass off anyones story as his own, even yours, and he'll tell it right back to you:
Spook E: Hey Uncle G. Did you hear about the fire at my school?
Uncle G: No I didn't.
Spook E: It burned down our cafeteria. Turned out the fire was started by disgruntled students. They said they had had just about enough of the under cooked beef patties.
Uncle G: That's why they burned the place down?
Spook E: Yep.
Uncle G: What a bunch of idiots.
...3 days later...
Uncle G: Hey Spook E. Did you hear about the fire at your school?
Spook E: umm... I think I told...
Uncle G: Can you believe these students burnt down their own cafeteria?
Spooke E: Well...yes and I think I told...
Uncle G: These idiots complained about under cooked beef patties and guess what they do?
Spooke E: They burn the cafete....
Uncle G: They burn the cafeteria down. What a bunch of fools you call classmates. I'm surprised you didn't hear about it.
Spook E: Yea, me too.
My Aunt Reggie can't stand Africans...you know, "those Africans". It has to be "those Africans" because...well...she's African and I suppose she can stand herself.
Uncle G
My Uncle G. will pass off anyones story as his own, even yours, and he'll tell it right back to you:
Spook E: Hey Uncle G. Did you hear about the fire at my school?
Uncle G: No I didn't.
Spook E: It burned down our cafeteria. Turned out the fire was started by disgruntled students. They said they had had just about enough of the under cooked beef patties.
Uncle G: That's why they burned the place down?
Spook E: Yep.
Uncle G: What a bunch of idiots.
...3 days later...
Uncle G: Hey Spook E. Did you hear about the fire at your school?
Spook E: umm... I think I told...
Uncle G: Can you believe these students burnt down their own cafeteria?
Spooke E: Well...yes and I think I told...
Uncle G: These idiots complained about under cooked beef patties and guess what they do?
Spooke E: They burn the cafete....
Uncle G: They burn the cafeteria down. What a bunch of fools you call classmates. I'm surprised you didn't hear about it.
Spook E: Yea, me too.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Things That Bug Me: Post 1
I'm starting a new series of posts called "Things That Bug Me". Everyday when I walk out of the door of my living quarters, I find a host of little thing that just irk me. An example is Mr. K who lives right accross the street from me.
Mr. K is a good neighbor; He's friendly, helpful, considerate (a rarity where I live) and really an all-around good guy. But what gets me, what really bites about Mr. K is this: every morning, right when I'm in my PJ's eating my bowl of Honey-nut Cheerios, Mr. K is out in his little garden of eden, doing garden work. It's like a morning ritual. Today he's mulching, tomorrow he's got new shrubs linning his drive-way, the next day he's got a cute little hand-shovel digging away at roots and picking at dead leaves.
It's not the niose that annoys me, truth is, he hardly makes any. What really gets around to my scrotum and plucks the hairs off it is just the predictability of it. Every morning it's the same thing over and over and over. He's got the best front yard on the block, worthy of the gardens of Versailles... Heck forget the block, I'll bet my beat-up '96 Saturn that he's got the best looking yard in the entire community....and just so you know I'm not fucking around, I'll throw in 6 months insurance for that Saturn and this new squeegee-bucket combo I got at Home Depot the other day. Walmart had the same thing for twice the price but I'm smart, I shop around so you'll be getting good bang for your bet.
I know it's such a small thing to get pissed about and I know you probably think I'm jealous or something and maybe I am just a little bit jealous, but I mean come on. He's even got small twinkling lights all around the perfectly sculpted evergreen midget tree on his lawn. That's just the ultimate in douche-baggery. WTF! You know what I really think it is? He's just trying to make the rest of us look bad. The rest of block may not know what his plans are but I bet they're diabolical. He's like Martha Stewart, you just know she's a bitch behind the scenes, you just know it. It's a gut feeling and I'm all about gut feelings. I know one day he's going to call up some T.V. show that awards America's most perfect front yard and they're going to turn up with cameras and everything to show America our shoddy street. They'll say goddamit, this is a shit-hole but wait, over there, number 23, now that's a diamond amongst the fucking rough and he'll win a million dollars to buy more cute little shrubs and perfect gardenia's and snapdragons and fucking delphimiums. Ugh, I hate him.
Anyways, that's what I'm starting, a new series of posts about things like: Mr. K's perfect garden and his garden habits, that really sting my balls. If you have little things that annoy you, I'd like to know about them in the comments. You don't have to have a completely rational reason to explain why they annoy you, just the plain fact that such and such pisses you off, is good enough. If you want to blog about it instead, put a link to your blog in the comments. Could be fun ya know.
Word Of the Day: Misandrist (miss AND rist)
You've heard of mysogynist, well, here's the other side of the coin. A misandrist is a man-hater.
I know I'm not a misandrist because I love men in everyway love can be manifested. Yup!
Friday, December 21, 2007
My Uncle, the immigrant
Uncle G: Pulls up a chair and sits at the head of his dinning table, sets his old leather attache case down on the table and unlocks it, his face contorted in the kind of severe seriousness I notice only on immigrants. The folds I see now on his face, I see only when he reads the electric bill or the phone bill or any kind of bill as though the demand for immediate payment were something grave and tragic. He digs in that box for something important, dutifully setting aside documents and files, parting old pay-stubs from dated certificates; sometimes discovering, on his way down, lost nuggets of important or nostalgic things: an old picture of a deceased relative loosens his brow and he calls me over for show and tell. "Oh I am so happy I found this" he proclaims like he had never stopped looking for it. And after he has sworn to never lose it again, he nestles it right back in the spot from which he had just salvaged it.
On he goes, digging deeper, through old receipts from purchases long forgotten that have grown and settled in the shadows of that box like dust; and yet this man, who has never found a scrap of paper too small to be trashed, or a stain of something white, too faint, to be rubbed off, will inter these scraps of useless miscellanea right back in that box, after his search is complete. Some dirt are just worth saving.
He finds it, his phone-book. Tonight, like every other night, he will unwind from an honest-immigrants days struggle by enjoying the only work of literature he will ever write. Bound in weathered brown leather, this book no bigger than the span of his hands comforts him in ways his Americanized kids were doomed to fail from the start. Once upon a time my uncle tells me, "just after I came to this country at 23, I had my first son. My mother told me he'd be like a brother to me since I was such a young father. Now look at him, doo-rag and braided hair, hip-hop music and over-sized pants. This is not my brother; He is nothing like me."
He identifies with every immigrants struggle as though they were those of his own family; "look at what they do to my brother," he says of the Malaysian security guard at work, who is too sick to work but too poor to quit. "If they fire him, I will leave" he says, more a curse than a threat. For over 20 years he has worked for the state government as an accountant, and aquired for himself what many consider emblems of the American dream: A car, a house, health insurance, a retirement plan; and yet his alliance lies more with an immigrant stuck in the ghettos of Newark, New Jersey than with his suburbian middle class American neighbor.
The foundations of that alliance lie in the pages of that book and with each new name entered, it confirms for my uncle that the alliance is growing. Every call made, strenghtens it and comforts him.
He hits the speaker button on the phone and dials...
Uncle G: Hello
Ms. Ama: Hi, who is this?
Uncle G: Ama, it's me, G.
Ms. Ama: Oh hey, how are you doing.
Unce G: I'm ok. How are you?
Ms. Ama: could be better
Uncle G: How are the kids
Ms. Ama: Fine. Just fine.
Uncle G: Well just called to see how you were doing
Ms. Ama: Ok
Uncle G: Ok then, Bye.
He hangs up. Waits a minute and dials another number
Uncle G: Hey OC, its G
OC: Oh hey! How are you.
Uncle G: Staying strong man. You?
OC: I'm well, just the weather. Hows the weather there?
Uncle G: 35 and overcast... oh well I'll survive. Just called to say hello
OC: Thanks man.
Uncle G: Speak to you soon ok?
OC: Ok
Uncle G: Bye
He gets up to drink some water and settles right back in his chair. Flips the pages of the phone book and dials again
Uncle G: Hey Judith, its G
Judith: How are you, it's been so long
Uncle G: I know how are you doing?
Judith: Good. Good. What about you?
Uncle G: I'm ok, just called to see how you're hanging?
Judith: I'm ok, healthy thank God
Uncle G: That's good. That's Good to hear. Well thats really all I called about
Judith: Oh thank you. Talk to you soon
Uncle G: Bye
He flips some more pages when the phone rings. This time he opts for the reciever.
Uncle G: Hello?
Friend: ......
Uncle G: Oh KC. Whats up man? Its been so long
Friend: ......
Uncle G: I know, I know, its 35 and cloudy here. Thats America and their winter.
Friend: .....
Uncle G: Yeah, well its good to hear from you
Friend: ......
Uncle G: Thanks for calling
Friend: .......
Uncle G: Bye
He hangs up, smiles and declares more to himself than me, "thank God he called. Saves me the trouble of calling him" and continues to flip his book. He will call 7 more and recieve several calls before reading his bible and turning in for night.
Word of the day: Quotidian (kwo TID ee en)
This one means "occurring everyday" or something "commonly occurring" or "commonplace". I say: I wish this was a quotidian blog but I get so lazy about writing everytime I think of it. And even worse I have "completion-anxiety" which means, before I get started, I fear I won't finish so I opt out of starting altogether. Kinda kooky, I know but, thats me.
On he goes, digging deeper, through old receipts from purchases long forgotten that have grown and settled in the shadows of that box like dust; and yet this man, who has never found a scrap of paper too small to be trashed, or a stain of something white, too faint, to be rubbed off, will inter these scraps of useless miscellanea right back in that box, after his search is complete. Some dirt are just worth saving.
He finds it, his phone-book. Tonight, like every other night, he will unwind from an honest-immigrants days struggle by enjoying the only work of literature he will ever write. Bound in weathered brown leather, this book no bigger than the span of his hands comforts him in ways his Americanized kids were doomed to fail from the start. Once upon a time my uncle tells me, "just after I came to this country at 23, I had my first son. My mother told me he'd be like a brother to me since I was such a young father. Now look at him, doo-rag and braided hair, hip-hop music and over-sized pants. This is not my brother; He is nothing like me."
He identifies with every immigrants struggle as though they were those of his own family; "look at what they do to my brother," he says of the Malaysian security guard at work, who is too sick to work but too poor to quit. "If they fire him, I will leave" he says, more a curse than a threat. For over 20 years he has worked for the state government as an accountant, and aquired for himself what many consider emblems of the American dream: A car, a house, health insurance, a retirement plan; and yet his alliance lies more with an immigrant stuck in the ghettos of Newark, New Jersey than with his suburbian middle class American neighbor.
The foundations of that alliance lie in the pages of that book and with each new name entered, it confirms for my uncle that the alliance is growing. Every call made, strenghtens it and comforts him.
He hits the speaker button on the phone and dials...
Uncle G: Hello
Ms. Ama: Hi, who is this?
Uncle G: Ama, it's me, G.
Ms. Ama: Oh hey, how are you doing.
Unce G: I'm ok. How are you?
Ms. Ama: could be better
Uncle G: How are the kids
Ms. Ama: Fine. Just fine.
Uncle G: Well just called to see how you were doing
Ms. Ama: Ok
Uncle G: Ok then, Bye.
He hangs up. Waits a minute and dials another number
Uncle G: Hey OC, its G
OC: Oh hey! How are you.
Uncle G: Staying strong man. You?
OC: I'm well, just the weather. Hows the weather there?
Uncle G: 35 and overcast... oh well I'll survive. Just called to say hello
OC: Thanks man.
Uncle G: Speak to you soon ok?
OC: Ok
Uncle G: Bye
He gets up to drink some water and settles right back in his chair. Flips the pages of the phone book and dials again
Uncle G: Hey Judith, its G
Judith: How are you, it's been so long
Uncle G: I know how are you doing?
Judith: Good. Good. What about you?
Uncle G: I'm ok, just called to see how you're hanging?
Judith: I'm ok, healthy thank God
Uncle G: That's good. That's Good to hear. Well thats really all I called about
Judith: Oh thank you. Talk to you soon
Uncle G: Bye
He flips some more pages when the phone rings. This time he opts for the reciever.
Uncle G: Hello?
Friend: ......
Uncle G: Oh KC. Whats up man? Its been so long
Friend: ......
Uncle G: I know, I know, its 35 and cloudy here. Thats America and their winter.
Friend: .....
Uncle G: Yeah, well its good to hear from you
Friend: ......
Uncle G: Thanks for calling
Friend: .......
Uncle G: Bye
He hangs up, smiles and declares more to himself than me, "thank God he called. Saves me the trouble of calling him" and continues to flip his book. He will call 7 more and recieve several calls before reading his bible and turning in for night.
Word of the day: Quotidian (kwo TID ee en)
This one means "occurring everyday" or something "commonly occurring" or "commonplace". I say: I wish this was a quotidian blog but I get so lazy about writing everytime I think of it. And even worse I have "completion-anxiety" which means, before I get started, I fear I won't finish so I opt out of starting altogether. Kinda kooky, I know but, thats me.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
It's been 2, maybe 3 days since the last post and I'm still in a mad rage. Well maybe it's a little less than a rage, maybe I'm a little bugged, and I'm probably not mad at all. But before you go on thinking I'm a nut and all for still bitching about $54, some spittle and a courtdate...and restroom users, let me just say I'm well aware of the kids in Somalia with no water to drink, sipping thier own piss to soothe their parched throats and I remember this guy who had this (click after lunch, not before) happen to him. Poor thing. But you see, I can't suffer less because of them...it's like this:
Lets say you're walking to work, on payday, on a bright summer morning, just after you found out you won the lottery and after you've just had the best sex ever. You had stepped out of your million dollar metropolitan home that morning, kissed your "prefect 10" goodbye and seen your 2.3 kids off to school - everyone healthy, everyone happy. Yeah, you're having a really great all-american life when you turn the corner into the new street that was named after you, because you're such a great dude, stubbing your toe on the monument erected in your honor. You don't think of all those poor souls jumping off the 105th floor of the World Trade Center, and say to yourself, "life could be worse". NO! You say "FUCK fuckity fucking fuck" all the way to work and when you get there, the first thing you do before examining the old cancer-ridden hag who just suffered her 3rd coronary in a week is put your foot up, take your shoes off and examine that toe closely. And lets just say it's a little blue, whaddaya do? You curse some more and ask Mindy, your supermodel personal assistant to get some ice for your stubbed toe, thats what you do. Then you have Moe (PhD, Yale), your other personal assistant call up Dr. Diablo, averaging 6.9 botched operations since he started 6 weeks ago to look into the old cancer-ridden hag with the coronary streak. Maybe he'll have better luck ending her streak, maybe not, but "maybe" is a good enough chance for you because fuck it, you're taking the day off. Your toe hurts like crazy.
So yeah, I can't suffer less because of anyones tragedies, I can only suffer more.
Word of the day: Before I give the word of the day, a little on the last "word of the day" -soingee. Can you believe I heard someone use that word? I was watching a reality t.v. cooking show called "Top Chef" and one of the chefs used it. I was stunned at first and a little proud of myself for understanding what the **magniloquent** fucker was going on about. Then I wanted to head-butt his mouth. That is one annoying word. So, because I love you all so much and wouldn't want anyone to enter into any harm, wear a mouth-piece before using that word please.
OK, so todays word is: Pastiche (pah STEESH). (1) the word descibes an artistic work that openly imitates, often satirically, the works of other artists. (2) can also mean a hodgepodge or a collection of mismatched parts.
PS: **magniloquent**...found this one when I was looking for a word to replace 'pretentious'. It made more sense in the context in which I was speaking.
Lets say you're walking to work, on payday, on a bright summer morning, just after you found out you won the lottery and after you've just had the best sex ever. You had stepped out of your million dollar metropolitan home that morning, kissed your "prefect 10" goodbye and seen your 2.3 kids off to school - everyone healthy, everyone happy. Yeah, you're having a really great all-american life when you turn the corner into the new street that was named after you, because you're such a great dude, stubbing your toe on the monument erected in your honor. You don't think of all those poor souls jumping off the 105th floor of the World Trade Center, and say to yourself, "life could be worse". NO! You say "FUCK fuckity fucking fuck" all the way to work and when you get there, the first thing you do before examining the old cancer-ridden hag who just suffered her 3rd coronary in a week is put your foot up, take your shoes off and examine that toe closely. And lets just say it's a little blue, whaddaya do? You curse some more and ask Mindy, your supermodel personal assistant to get some ice for your stubbed toe, thats what you do. Then you have Moe (PhD, Yale), your other personal assistant call up Dr. Diablo, averaging 6.9 botched operations since he started 6 weeks ago to look into the old cancer-ridden hag with the coronary streak. Maybe he'll have better luck ending her streak, maybe not, but "maybe" is a good enough chance for you because fuck it, you're taking the day off. Your toe hurts like crazy.
So yeah, I can't suffer less because of anyones tragedies, I can only suffer more.
Word of the day: Before I give the word of the day, a little on the last "word of the day" -soingee. Can you believe I heard someone use that word? I was watching a reality t.v. cooking show called "Top Chef" and one of the chefs used it. I was stunned at first and a little proud of myself for understanding what the **magniloquent** fucker was going on about. Then I wanted to head-butt his mouth. That is one annoying word. So, because I love you all so much and wouldn't want anyone to enter into any harm, wear a mouth-piece before using that word please.
OK, so todays word is: Pastiche (pah STEESH). (1) the word descibes an artistic work that openly imitates, often satirically, the works of other artists. (2) can also mean a hodgepodge or a collection of mismatched parts.
PS: **magniloquent**...found this one when I was looking for a word to replace 'pretentious'. It made more sense in the context in which I was speaking.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
I'm in an irritable mood.
Reason?
A) 2 traffic tickets: one for a dead head-light ($54.00), the other for not having a valid insurance card (court appearance required).
B) The cop who stopped me showered my face in spit. It came like a fucking deluge with every sentence. I hate him. I hope he dies...in great pain...with green pus oozing out of his urethra...and I hope vultures pluck his testicles out...and feed it to their young...and I also wish him many other horrid things which I cannot name right now but will dream about, in glorious gory detail, tonight.
C) I'm coming down with a sore throat. I get these every year, always at the start of winter. Sore throats suck. They really suck...a lot.
D) Some woman just asked me for directions to the restroom. I knew where it was but I said I didn't.
Why?
Because I'm in an irritable mood and when I'm in an irritable mood, I hate giving out directions to people who want to take a leak in a "restroom".
What the fuck is it with people asking to use the "restroom" like they're going to take a nap in there. NO! You, my dear lady, will not be resting in the restroom. You will be using a toilet. So why don't you ask for the fucking TOILETS! And that goes for all you "bathroom" users too. There are no bathrooms in public places. You're not going in there to take a bath, you're going in to use the fucking TOILET. Ugh, I'm so irritated.
I know you'll say there's nothing wrong with using the word "restroom" because in so and so dictionary, "restrooms" are well defined, perfectly usable modern words. And you'll say, "well, even Noah fucking Webster said so". To bloody hell with Noah fucking Webster. I'm sick of people saying they're going to use the "restroom" or "bathrooms" as though if they said toilet, I may think they're going to take a shit and pass out in a laughing fit. What the fuck. We all shit. We piss first and then settle in for a nice shit. Thats what humans do; we fuck, eat and shit. Damn I'm SO IRRITATED.
And get this, the other day, some girl at work was telling me about some party she'd attended over the weekend. She got to the interesting part and this is how it began: "... and I walked into the bedroom and omigosh, there was a...oh dear, I don't know how to say this,...it was...you know...a... oh dear...how do I say this...ok, I'm going to spell it out for you...OK? OK, here it is...I walked into the bedroom and there was a....D-I-L-D-O".
What the hell! She spelled it out and turned pink afterwards. I wished I could've pulled out a giant phallus and smacked her silly with it for wasting my life like that. With all that build up, I thought there was something even grander in the damn bedroom, like a midget getting beat down by another midget with a gigantic dildo. Now that's a fitting crescendo.
I'm stopping. I'm damn irritated and I think it's starting to show.
PS: Today's word is "soignee" pronounced (swan YAY). It's ESOTERIC and sounds pretentious so I guess I'll have to use it. It means fashionable or elegantly sophisticated and well-groomed. I'm certainly not soignee, I need a haircut badly and Britney Spears is not soignee either, she needs hair badly. Hmm...Is Paris Hilton soignee? What about Hillary? She's got the "elegantly sophisticated" down but I'm not so sure about the "fashionable" bit.
PSS: see how I worked in "esoteric" in that last graph. Ain't I smart?
Reason?
A) 2 traffic tickets: one for a dead head-light ($54.00), the other for not having a valid insurance card (court appearance required).
B) The cop who stopped me showered my face in spit. It came like a fucking deluge with every sentence. I hate him. I hope he dies...in great pain...with green pus oozing out of his urethra...and I hope vultures pluck his testicles out...and feed it to their young...and I also wish him many other horrid things which I cannot name right now but will dream about, in glorious gory detail, tonight.
C) I'm coming down with a sore throat. I get these every year, always at the start of winter. Sore throats suck. They really suck...a lot.
D) Some woman just asked me for directions to the restroom. I knew where it was but I said I didn't.
Why?
Because I'm in an irritable mood and when I'm in an irritable mood, I hate giving out directions to people who want to take a leak in a "restroom".
What the fuck is it with people asking to use the "restroom" like they're going to take a nap in there. NO! You, my dear lady, will not be resting in the restroom. You will be using a toilet. So why don't you ask for the fucking TOILETS! And that goes for all you "bathroom" users too. There are no bathrooms in public places. You're not going in there to take a bath, you're going in to use the fucking TOILET. Ugh, I'm so irritated.
I know you'll say there's nothing wrong with using the word "restroom" because in so and so dictionary, "restrooms" are well defined, perfectly usable modern words. And you'll say, "well, even Noah fucking Webster said so". To bloody hell with Noah fucking Webster. I'm sick of people saying they're going to use the "restroom" or "bathrooms" as though if they said toilet, I may think they're going to take a shit and pass out in a laughing fit. What the fuck. We all shit. We piss first and then settle in for a nice shit. Thats what humans do; we fuck, eat and shit. Damn I'm SO IRRITATED.
And get this, the other day, some girl at work was telling me about some party she'd attended over the weekend. She got to the interesting part and this is how it began: "... and I walked into the bedroom and omigosh, there was a...oh dear, I don't know how to say this,...it was...you know...a... oh dear...how do I say this...ok, I'm going to spell it out for you...OK? OK, here it is...I walked into the bedroom and there was a....D-I-L-D-O".
What the hell! She spelled it out and turned pink afterwards. I wished I could've pulled out a giant phallus and smacked her silly with it for wasting my life like that. With all that build up, I thought there was something even grander in the damn bedroom, like a midget getting beat down by another midget with a gigantic dildo. Now that's a fitting crescendo.
I'm stopping. I'm damn irritated and I think it's starting to show.
PS: Today's word is "soignee" pronounced (swan YAY). It's ESOTERIC and sounds pretentious so I guess I'll have to use it. It means fashionable or elegantly sophisticated and well-groomed. I'm certainly not soignee, I need a haircut badly and Britney Spears is not soignee either, she needs hair badly. Hmm...Is Paris Hilton soignee? What about Hillary? She's got the "elegantly sophisticated" down but I'm not so sure about the "fashionable" bit.
PSS: see how I worked in "esoteric" in that last graph. Ain't I smart?
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