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Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Reach for the Starz!
Remember, kids, you can be anything you want, if you set your mind to it. From prom king to millionaire blogger, it’s all up to you.
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moar funny pictures
low standards
A few years ago I had a blog called Nothing Productive. One day, sick of it, I just deleted the whole thing. At the time, I hated it. I was reading all these minor DIY blogs that circle-jerked around the Gawker Media empire (I used to read those blogs, too). It made me hate both reading and writing. So, I quit writing my blog and quit reading blogs, and just read what I wanted to and wrote things I felt compelled to write, instead of getting up ass early to read the Sun and Page Six and try to be the first to write the obvious joke about whatever celebrity bullshit I didn’t even care about.
Now, I read blogs again, thanks to finding Brendan Donnelly’s blog, which seemed fresh, funny, and most of all uncalculated. It lead me to a lot of other great daily reads, and here I am with my bullshit, again, but in a form I find okay.
I still have a lot of problems with blogs. First of all, too many blogs all link to and write about the same shit and the whole thing gets pretty boring, although I understand and accept that it’s part of the nature of the beast.
It’s no surprise that some of the worst content anyone can read anywhere can be found in the comments section of a lot of blogs. There’s weird stupid shit like the comments section of Fail Blog, which has developed into its own sort of retarded thing with its own jargon, rituals, inside shit, etc. On a lot of other blogs that get a lot of comments, things generally skew two ways, either very negative or overly positive. I don’t think I need to explain the negative thing. As for the overly positive, it just comes down to my opinions on some things. I’m not a big fan of community, which sounds like a stupid thing to say. The point is I don’t think individuals need to brand themselves with something like a blog or web site or individual author. The idea of describing one’s self in terms of what one reads is a little too simplistic for me.
Now, let’s talk standards. Everyday on too many blog comments sections, I read things like, “this is the funniest thing I’ve ever read,” “Best post ever,” etc. Again, I won’t go into the pointless negative comments. Really, though? Have people just quit reading or are people just not that funny? Well, most people aren’t funny. Still, I think what people are really saying is, “You’ve articulately and/or wittily written something with which I personally identify,” which is quite a bit different form being the best in its class. It’s still an admirable thing.
These quality blogs find literary equivalents in Chuck Klosterman’s nonfiction and Douglas Coupland’s fiction (just two, of many, examples), decent stuff that seems to resonate more on a personal level, instead of resting on deserved critical acclaim, granted the writing is polished and professional.
This is getting way to longwinded for my mostly unread blog. I’ll end with this: if you’re going to comment on a blog, maybe you should think about whether you’re adding anything valid. And, if you’re trying to be funny, whether you’re making a valid funny point, or think you have an awesome burn directed at either the blog or some other commenter, you should think extra hard.
Since this was retarded, check out some good comedy instead. Here’s Ira Proctor doing a set at the Just for Laughs Festival. Shit’s funny. See, I can appreciate it, and don't have to say, "Holy shit, that's the funniest thing EVER." It's good, though.
Ira Proctor - New Faces 2008
Check out this Hal Sparks set. He has long hair now. He does a bit about how people freak out about his long hair. Hey, Hal, there’s nothing wrong with long hair, per se, it’s more about the fact that you look like Janeane Garofalo used to.
Hal Sparks - Masters 2008
Now, I read blogs again, thanks to finding Brendan Donnelly’s blog, which seemed fresh, funny, and most of all uncalculated. It lead me to a lot of other great daily reads, and here I am with my bullshit, again, but in a form I find okay.
I still have a lot of problems with blogs. First of all, too many blogs all link to and write about the same shit and the whole thing gets pretty boring, although I understand and accept that it’s part of the nature of the beast.
It’s no surprise that some of the worst content anyone can read anywhere can be found in the comments section of a lot of blogs. There’s weird stupid shit like the comments section of Fail Blog, which has developed into its own sort of retarded thing with its own jargon, rituals, inside shit, etc. On a lot of other blogs that get a lot of comments, things generally skew two ways, either very negative or overly positive. I don’t think I need to explain the negative thing. As for the overly positive, it just comes down to my opinions on some things. I’m not a big fan of community, which sounds like a stupid thing to say. The point is I don’t think individuals need to brand themselves with something like a blog or web site or individual author. The idea of describing one’s self in terms of what one reads is a little too simplistic for me.
Now, let’s talk standards. Everyday on too many blog comments sections, I read things like, “this is the funniest thing I’ve ever read,” “Best post ever,” etc. Again, I won’t go into the pointless negative comments. Really, though? Have people just quit reading or are people just not that funny? Well, most people aren’t funny. Still, I think what people are really saying is, “You’ve articulately and/or wittily written something with which I personally identify,” which is quite a bit different form being the best in its class. It’s still an admirable thing.
These quality blogs find literary equivalents in Chuck Klosterman’s nonfiction and Douglas Coupland’s fiction (just two, of many, examples), decent stuff that seems to resonate more on a personal level, instead of resting on deserved critical acclaim, granted the writing is polished and professional.
This is getting way to longwinded for my mostly unread blog. I’ll end with this: if you’re going to comment on a blog, maybe you should think about whether you’re adding anything valid. And, if you’re trying to be funny, whether you’re making a valid funny point, or think you have an awesome burn directed at either the blog or some other commenter, you should think extra hard.
Since this was retarded, check out some good comedy instead. Here’s Ira Proctor doing a set at the Just for Laughs Festival. Shit’s funny. See, I can appreciate it, and don't have to say, "Holy shit, that's the funniest thing EVER." It's good, though.
Ira Proctor - New Faces 2008
Check out this Hal Sparks set. He has long hair now. He does a bit about how people freak out about his long hair. Hey, Hal, there’s nothing wrong with long hair, per se, it’s more about the fact that you look like Janeane Garofalo used to.
Hal Sparks - Masters 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Sarah
Here’s some footage of Sarah Palin in the Christian voodoo ritual that earned her the VP nod.
Then Bishop Thomas Muthee dons a Carmen Sandiego costume and uses identity modification technology to hide his Africaness and teach Americans why hybrid cars are the tools of Satan.
Remember, America, Sarah Palin is like most celebrities you think you want to bone. Listen to them enough and those feelings go away.
Then Bishop Thomas Muthee dons a Carmen Sandiego costume and uses identity modification technology to hide his Africaness and teach Americans why hybrid cars are the tools of Satan.
Remember, America, Sarah Palin is like most celebrities you think you want to bone. Listen to them enough and those feelings go away.
Magazine Filler Ain't Shit
A friend of mine sent me this data visual (below) that breaks down the samples in a Girl Talk song. I don’t think he expected my venomous screed against magazine filler pieces in reply. I don’t mind fan art. Some dude takes the time to make these videos, so an infographic isn’t outlandish. I have a problem with intent. See, the graphic below comes from Wired magazine, and earlier this week the Vice Blog had a link to this piece of navel-gazing bullshit reportage, which is probably the worst thing I’ve read on the internet in a long time, which is saying a lot. Just read it and try not to get angry and see if you can keep yourself from immediately hating the author. If you’re successful in your attempt I probably don’t like you. I don’t read magazines often, mostly because the majority of their content doesn’t interest me and much of it annoys me. Filler exists for a couple reasons. Obviously, they need to fill pages so they can have more ads and, secondly, filler is used as a way of branding their magazine. Any magazine using filler does so with a particular style, and it’s usually bullshit. Now, there are innumerable things to write about for money, and people have to sit around trying to think of what they consider fresh ideas, but if in losing some bowl-cutted hipster’s solipsistic musing, we also lost the occasional vaguely interesting infographic, I’d gladly sign on to eradicate the whole mess.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
About the Blog
Tanya and I started this blog because we’re old and need stuff to do. We can’t really go out during the week without suffering the next day. I mean, we went to bed around 8:30 last night. We just hang out and make things up about the cat, and that’s why we started the blog.
Ideally, Skaht and Tanya’s Rice Pilaf would be a variety show on local cable access, CCTV, but Tanya and I are too old to get that kind of shit together. Secondly, we would shoot little narrative films involving the cat, but we don’t have a camera. When we get one, we’ll do that. Thirdly, we would write comics and children’s books about the cat, but so far, we haven’t done it. Lastly, we will probably at some point post some pics and give them some Photoshop or, at least, MS Paint treatment. Look forward to that.
If anyone wants to help us out with any shit, let us know.
I’m going to start posting some of our ideas, just to get them out there.
We have an idea for a black and white, old-school, laugh track-heavy sitcom where Monkey comes home from working all day, Tanya is the perfect housewife, and I’m their incorrigible adopted son. It's called Monkey the Cat!
An opening scene would go something like this:
INT. HOUSE - EVENING
MONKEY enters the house, wearing a fedora and cat trench coat, sporting a briefcase. He throws the hat at a full-size coat rack, but it falls short and lands on the floor (cue LAUGH TRACK).
TANYA, in apron and 50's style house dress, pulls a tray from the oven.
TANYA
I hope my sweet man is hungry!
Monkey walks by her, getting a full view up her dress.
MONKEY
Looks good from here. Smells great, too.
LAUGH TRACK!
Camera pans to reveal SKAHT seated at the table.
SKAHT
But, dad, you eat garbage.
TANYA
Skaht!
MONKEY
We never should've adopted him from that barn in Vermont.
Monkey shrugs. LAUGH TRACK!
ETC...
Sorry, I couldn’t figure out how to get Final Draft formatting up in this piece. Remember, I’m an old idiot, and give me a break. I think you get the gist.
We even have a theme song. The lyrics:
Monkey the Cat
Monkey the Cat
His name is Monkey, but he's a cat
He's a cat, whose name is Monkey.
Hey, who is that?
It's Monkey the Cat!
Obviously, I can't write music and only know how it sounds in my head. So, uh, enjoy this video.
Ideally, Skaht and Tanya’s Rice Pilaf would be a variety show on local cable access, CCTV, but Tanya and I are too old to get that kind of shit together. Secondly, we would shoot little narrative films involving the cat, but we don’t have a camera. When we get one, we’ll do that. Thirdly, we would write comics and children’s books about the cat, but so far, we haven’t done it. Lastly, we will probably at some point post some pics and give them some Photoshop or, at least, MS Paint treatment. Look forward to that.
If anyone wants to help us out with any shit, let us know.
I’m going to start posting some of our ideas, just to get them out there.
We have an idea for a black and white, old-school, laugh track-heavy sitcom where Monkey comes home from working all day, Tanya is the perfect housewife, and I’m their incorrigible adopted son. It's called Monkey the Cat!
An opening scene would go something like this:
INT. HOUSE - EVENING
MONKEY enters the house, wearing a fedora and cat trench coat, sporting a briefcase. He throws the hat at a full-size coat rack, but it falls short and lands on the floor (cue LAUGH TRACK).
TANYA, in apron and 50's style house dress, pulls a tray from the oven.
TANYA
I hope my sweet man is hungry!
Monkey walks by her, getting a full view up her dress.
MONKEY
Looks good from here. Smells great, too.
LAUGH TRACK!
Camera pans to reveal SKAHT seated at the table.
SKAHT
But, dad, you eat garbage.
TANYA
Skaht!
MONKEY
We never should've adopted him from that barn in Vermont.
Monkey shrugs. LAUGH TRACK!
ETC...
Sorry, I couldn’t figure out how to get Final Draft formatting up in this piece. Remember, I’m an old idiot, and give me a break. I think you get the gist.
We even have a theme song. The lyrics:
Monkey the Cat
Monkey the Cat
His name is Monkey, but he's a cat
He's a cat, whose name is Monkey.
Hey, who is that?
It's Monkey the Cat!
Obviously, I can't write music and only know how it sounds in my head. So, uh, enjoy this video.
Je suis malade
Today is a useless day at work since I have a cold. At the turn of every season throughout the year, I get sick. It has been this way since I was little. It sucks.
I can’t wait to go home, get under the covers and go to bed. Monkey better leave me alone come 5am tomorrow morning. That jerk can get his own food.
I can’t wait to go home, get under the covers and go to bed. Monkey better leave me alone come 5am tomorrow morning. That jerk can get his own food.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Calm
Man, I’ve been watching some ill shit. My last Netflix rentals go: Street Kings, Postal, that last Rambo flick, Redbelt, and Withnail and I. Prior to that, I was on something of a horror kick, using the term very loosely, since I watched that Lost Boys sequel.
Tanya and I have been watching a little TV here and there, too, usually stuff like Antiques Road Show, although we caught an episode of Cheaters the other week.
I got the 20th Anniversary DVD of Dead Calm. Shit has a crazy alternate ending where Billy Zane is like, “What I do with my life is my business.”
Dead Calm trailer:
Alternate ending:
Tanya and I have been watching a little TV here and there, too, usually stuff like Antiques Road Show, although we caught an episode of Cheaters the other week.
I got the 20th Anniversary DVD of Dead Calm. Shit has a crazy alternate ending where Billy Zane is like, “What I do with my life is my business.”
Dead Calm trailer:
Alternate ending:
Monday, September 22, 2008
Get the F up
Its 5am. Anything seem a little bit ‘off’? Anything need to be done? Hello?
*tap tap*
Yo! Wake up!
Wah. This is the dance I have to perform every morning so that someone will get up and feed my starving ass. Yeah Tanya, I’m sure that it’s a real pain and everything, but I’m a growing cat and I need to be fed. Not when it’s convenient for you, okay? I need to be fed when I am HUNGRY.
I have perfected a new kind of purr that really seems to freak Tanya out (not sure about Skaht though.) It is also effective because Tanya got out of bed shortly after I unleashed my new evil power this morning.
What I do is this: I sit on Tanya or Skaht’s chest, get real close to their faces and then purr in a really low yet creepy way. Oh yeah, and I purr really loud too. That way, Tanya and Skaht will be roused from their deep stupid sleep quickly since it sounds like I am going to tear their faces off with my sharp teeth.
It totally works and I think that I might employ it at other times when I need them to stop being so self-absorbed. Like when they lock me out of the bathroom or when they make me wear the crab hat. Wah.
*tap tap*
Yo! Wake up!
Wah. This is the dance I have to perform every morning so that someone will get up and feed my starving ass. Yeah Tanya, I’m sure that it’s a real pain and everything, but I’m a growing cat and I need to be fed. Not when it’s convenient for you, okay? I need to be fed when I am HUNGRY.
I have perfected a new kind of purr that really seems to freak Tanya out (not sure about Skaht though.) It is also effective because Tanya got out of bed shortly after I unleashed my new evil power this morning.
What I do is this: I sit on Tanya or Skaht’s chest, get real close to their faces and then purr in a really low yet creepy way. Oh yeah, and I purr really loud too. That way, Tanya and Skaht will be roused from their deep stupid sleep quickly since it sounds like I am going to tear their faces off with my sharp teeth.
It totally works and I think that I might employ it at other times when I need them to stop being so self-absorbed. Like when they lock me out of the bathroom or when they make me wear the crab hat. Wah.
So Sahl-y
Political comedy legend Mort Sahl spoke at Emerson. In case you missed it, his heart grew three sizes.
moar funny pictures
moar funny pictures
Friday, September 19, 2008
Work
I put two days together without touching a drink or a cigarette, not so much of an accomplishment, more of a rarity, and I’ve liked it. I got up early today and came into work at 7:30, and I’ve been working, instead of looking at blogs and vaguely wondering if I’ll ever get bounced out of this job.
The economy sucks and I’m happy I have a pretty secure gig that doesn’t pay a ton of money but lets me get by. The good thing about my situation is the economy doesn’t really affect me much. I don’t own a house (admittedly that would be solid, obviously); don’t drive a car; don’t plan on having kids anytime soon, if ever (time’s running out for the old man). I don’t burn through too much cash, a little food and entertainment here and there. Essentially, it’s always business as usual for the kid. The downside is I work some extra jobs, but the upside of that is they’re okay, some are even fun, and creative. The other downside: high school kids who sell weed probably take home more per year than I do, but that’s life, and I don’t have to get nervous in front of burnouts in the upper parking lot to clock my ducats. Obviously, the economy does affect me, as it affects everyone, but I guess I don’t fret too much about money because I play the lottery a handful of times a month and that shit’s got to hit some time. To paraphrase Chris Tucker, you rob me and all you’ll get is practice (look how much whiter it is when I say it).
Improv show at All Asia in Central Square, Cambridge, tonight, 6:30-7:30 early style, $5, and the drinking is back on.
The economy sucks and I’m happy I have a pretty secure gig that doesn’t pay a ton of money but lets me get by. The good thing about my situation is the economy doesn’t really affect me much. I don’t own a house (admittedly that would be solid, obviously); don’t drive a car; don’t plan on having kids anytime soon, if ever (time’s running out for the old man). I don’t burn through too much cash, a little food and entertainment here and there. Essentially, it’s always business as usual for the kid. The downside is I work some extra jobs, but the upside of that is they’re okay, some are even fun, and creative. The other downside: high school kids who sell weed probably take home more per year than I do, but that’s life, and I don’t have to get nervous in front of burnouts in the upper parking lot to clock my ducats. Obviously, the economy does affect me, as it affects everyone, but I guess I don’t fret too much about money because I play the lottery a handful of times a month and that shit’s got to hit some time. To paraphrase Chris Tucker, you rob me and all you’ll get is practice (look how much whiter it is when I say it).
Improv show at All Asia in Central Square, Cambridge, tonight, 6:30-7:30 early style, $5, and the drinking is back on.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Respect
Wow, Skaht's post was pretty:
Or maybe a little more:
You know the suits were like, “When in Rome, if we’re doing this video, we’re putting a goddamned model in there, a girl one!” and When in Rome balked, then slammed the glossy tabletop and were like, “Fine. We don’t like it, but fine. But, we’re not interacting with her.” Whereas, Erasure Burger Kinged the whole thing and had it their way.
Or maybe a little more:
You know the suits were like, “When in Rome, if we’re doing this video, we’re putting a goddamned model in there, a girl one!” and When in Rome balked, then slammed the glossy tabletop and were like, “Fine. We don’t like it, but fine. But, we’re not interacting with her.” Whereas, Erasure Burger Kinged the whole thing and had it their way.
A Problem with Kindness
A post in which I come off as a crazy whiny asshole in need of a good dressing-down.
I really didn’t want to comment on any of the memories about David Foster Wallace currently on McSweeney’s. I think it’s a great idea and all the posts further demonstrate DFW’s great character and what the loss means to us.
However, one post irked me and now I’m going to write about it, because, if I’m going to write about bullshit most of the time, I should probably write about something that produces a strong reaction in me. I would have written to Amy Bergen, but Google didn’t give me an e-mail address right off the bat, so here.
Here’s the post in its entirety:
“I too am bewildered. Not least by the fact that the wonderful DFW told me two and a half years ago to hold on, keep going, accept the ebb and flow and mystery of life and wait till things got better. In 2005, I heard DFW speak at Kenyon (my alma mater). He gave a speech that encouraged graduates to see the extraordinary and the miraculous in the onerous workaday world they were about to enter. He urged us, especially, to have compassion.
Six months after I heard him speak, I was at my parents' house doing nothing. Not a willing, restful nothing, but a hopeless sort of nothing. I had tried and failed to get a permanent job in D.C., had returned to the Midwestern city where my family lived, had tried and failed to get a job there, had grown less and less inclined to live, had gone to Chicago, had prayed for a miracle in Millennium Park, and had come home feeling like a triple failure. In this spirit, I remembered that David Foster Wallace had spoken to my exact situation.
So I got his address off the Pomona website and wrote to him. I don't remember what I said—I whined, I wondered, I worried. I might have asked for answers. I didn't expect a response; I rarely write to people I admire; I just admire them from afar. But in this case I felt the need to reach out. This was in February.
In March I had moved into an apartment and started a temp job. Leaving the house felt like redemption, and I slowly began to build the sort of simple, happy life I wanted. Then I got a letter with a California "Very Hungry Caterpillar" stamp on it (I still have the envelope). Do you mind if I don't tell you what it said? Its contents have become far more personal and hard-hitting and apropos in the last few days. I can tell you that it showed immense humility on the part of Mr. Wallace, a lot of kindness toward a girl he didn't even know, and solid advice for the trouble he knew I'd encounter in life even though I admitted to him that I was well-off, I had many options, and I was overwhelmed with guilt for being a white middle-class college graduate and still so sad. It was some of the wisest advice I've ever received from anyone.
Now I'm in New York (I just got here) and I could use some wisdom, again. The recent news breaks my heart. I will admit freely that I don't know what to do. I want to help someone, somewhere, the way he helped me, but I can't even make it myself.
—Amy Bergen”
Now, here’s my problem with the post. Amy’s situation isn’t so uncommon among us. Many of us are sad middle-class college grads having trouble getting a handle on life, who question its meaning. At the Kenyon address Wallace spoke to her, and our situation, and she later wrote to him and received a response she calls the “wisest advice I've ever received from anyone.” Wallace, who didn’t know her, gave her advice on how to deal with the trouble she would encounter in life, advice that sounds more of the universal, rather than personal sort. Amy closes, saying she wants to help someone, somewhere. To me, the obvious help she could provide to many would be sharing the letter she received from DFW. It’s life advice that helped her, right? So, why couldn’t it help others? We will never get any more words from David Foster Wallace. So, if you have some, especially when you consider it “the wisest advice I've ever received from anyone,” why wouldn’t you want to share it? Because “Its contents have become far more personal and hard-hitting and apropos in the last few days?” How? Why are they more personal now? I can understand how special it must feel to have personal correspondence from David Foster Wallace. It would never not be yours. But, that’s the problem with kindness. We can see it in David Foster Wallace. Read all those posts. Read anything he has written. But, we have trouble learning from its example. We still all want to be special and to have things that our just ours that make us feel better than other people.
I hate this post. It’s petty. It’s me whining, “You have something and I want it!” It’s kind of crazy and childish. It too goes against the kindness I wish I could learn. However, I think the point is valid. Amy, you’re not doing anything you shouldn’t do. But, if you really want to help people the way David Foster Wallace helped you, isn’t the answer right there? I understand how personal the letter is to you, but isn’t there something nobler in setting aside that feeling? Also, sorry about addressing you via blog. If it’s any consolation, no one reads this, and you’re most likely included in that group. Sorry, we couldn’t hash this out over e-mail. Also, if it’s any consolation, I kind of feel like kicking my own ass for writing this, but it was written in the spirit of the DFW quote Zadie Smith mentioned.
I really didn’t want to comment on any of the memories about David Foster Wallace currently on McSweeney’s. I think it’s a great idea and all the posts further demonstrate DFW’s great character and what the loss means to us.
However, one post irked me and now I’m going to write about it, because, if I’m going to write about bullshit most of the time, I should probably write about something that produces a strong reaction in me. I would have written to Amy Bergen, but Google didn’t give me an e-mail address right off the bat, so here.
Here’s the post in its entirety:
“I too am bewildered. Not least by the fact that the wonderful DFW told me two and a half years ago to hold on, keep going, accept the ebb and flow and mystery of life and wait till things got better. In 2005, I heard DFW speak at Kenyon (my alma mater). He gave a speech that encouraged graduates to see the extraordinary and the miraculous in the onerous workaday world they were about to enter. He urged us, especially, to have compassion.
Six months after I heard him speak, I was at my parents' house doing nothing. Not a willing, restful nothing, but a hopeless sort of nothing. I had tried and failed to get a permanent job in D.C., had returned to the Midwestern city where my family lived, had tried and failed to get a job there, had grown less and less inclined to live, had gone to Chicago, had prayed for a miracle in Millennium Park, and had come home feeling like a triple failure. In this spirit, I remembered that David Foster Wallace had spoken to my exact situation.
So I got his address off the Pomona website and wrote to him. I don't remember what I said—I whined, I wondered, I worried. I might have asked for answers. I didn't expect a response; I rarely write to people I admire; I just admire them from afar. But in this case I felt the need to reach out. This was in February.
In March I had moved into an apartment and started a temp job. Leaving the house felt like redemption, and I slowly began to build the sort of simple, happy life I wanted. Then I got a letter with a California "Very Hungry Caterpillar" stamp on it (I still have the envelope). Do you mind if I don't tell you what it said? Its contents have become far more personal and hard-hitting and apropos in the last few days. I can tell you that it showed immense humility on the part of Mr. Wallace, a lot of kindness toward a girl he didn't even know, and solid advice for the trouble he knew I'd encounter in life even though I admitted to him that I was well-off, I had many options, and I was overwhelmed with guilt for being a white middle-class college graduate and still so sad. It was some of the wisest advice I've ever received from anyone.
Now I'm in New York (I just got here) and I could use some wisdom, again. The recent news breaks my heart. I will admit freely that I don't know what to do. I want to help someone, somewhere, the way he helped me, but I can't even make it myself.
—Amy Bergen”
Now, here’s my problem with the post. Amy’s situation isn’t so uncommon among us. Many of us are sad middle-class college grads having trouble getting a handle on life, who question its meaning. At the Kenyon address Wallace spoke to her, and our situation, and she later wrote to him and received a response she calls the “wisest advice I've ever received from anyone.” Wallace, who didn’t know her, gave her advice on how to deal with the trouble she would encounter in life, advice that sounds more of the universal, rather than personal sort. Amy closes, saying she wants to help someone, somewhere. To me, the obvious help she could provide to many would be sharing the letter she received from DFW. It’s life advice that helped her, right? So, why couldn’t it help others? We will never get any more words from David Foster Wallace. So, if you have some, especially when you consider it “the wisest advice I've ever received from anyone,” why wouldn’t you want to share it? Because “Its contents have become far more personal and hard-hitting and apropos in the last few days?” How? Why are they more personal now? I can understand how special it must feel to have personal correspondence from David Foster Wallace. It would never not be yours. But, that’s the problem with kindness. We can see it in David Foster Wallace. Read all those posts. Read anything he has written. But, we have trouble learning from its example. We still all want to be special and to have things that our just ours that make us feel better than other people.
I hate this post. It’s petty. It’s me whining, “You have something and I want it!” It’s kind of crazy and childish. It too goes against the kindness I wish I could learn. However, I think the point is valid. Amy, you’re not doing anything you shouldn’t do. But, if you really want to help people the way David Foster Wallace helped you, isn’t the answer right there? I understand how personal the letter is to you, but isn’t there something nobler in setting aside that feeling? Also, sorry about addressing you via blog. If it’s any consolation, no one reads this, and you’re most likely included in that group. Sorry, we couldn’t hash this out over e-mail. Also, if it’s any consolation, I kind of feel like kicking my own ass for writing this, but it was written in the spirit of the DFW quote Zadie Smith mentioned.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Rowlf
I just came back from a dinner with Sara. I love hanging out with her - we always end up watching The Muppets.
Rowlf was my favorite muppet when I was little. I was so obsessed with him. My parents found a Rowlf puppet and bought him for me for Christmas when I was 3. It was one of the best things ever. I still think so.
I should thank them for that.
Rowlf was my favorite muppet when I was little. I was so obsessed with him. My parents found a Rowlf puppet and bought him for me for Christmas when I was 3. It was one of the best things ever. I still think so.
I should thank them for that.
White Shoelace
This post is probably going to be crappy. I’m working on like 8 hours of cumulative sleep over a 2 day period. So, you’ll have to cut me some slack.
A Place to Bury Strangers was such a kick ass show. It’s too bad that my ass was already kicked from the previous night’s drunken escapades with Skaht – but isn’t that always the case anyway. I definitely got into it shortly after we arrived at the Paradise and I’m really happy that we ended up going. Of course, today sucks because of it, but it’s an Accomplished Suck kind of feeling. That’s a good thing, I guess.
Yeah, so I debuted my new American Apparel hoody. I was pretty nervous about getting one, to be honest. I mean, there are all these dumb hipster associations with AA and while I find that really retarded; I don’t want to be looked at as one of those old people who can’t seem to leave the so-called youth counter culture behind. Sad really, since there isn’t such a thing anymore – for the most part. So, why do I care?
I have to say though, I do like the AA hoody a lot. It fits great, was cheap and is really comfortable. I knew that AA would have the fit that I want, so that’s pretty much why I went with it. Most hoodies either have graphics all over them that look lame on me because I’m old. Either that, or, they are really baggy and I’m not into the “I’m going to the gym” look unless I am going to the gym. However, I don’t wear hoodies to the gym.
I figured that I would see a lot of AA garb at last nights show and I was right. I counted maybe 4 AA hoodies and 2 pairs of probable AA leggings. The problem with AA is that all of the hoodies have that really white shoestring tie thing that hangs from the hood. It’s pretty noticeable and right away everyone is all like, AMERICAN APPAREL HOODY. I’m toying with the idea of replacing the shoestring with a black one. Maybe. Especially since I might be buying another hoody soon because I like this one so much.
Maybe buying 1 AA hoody is kind of like getting your first tattoo. You can't stop after just 1. I hope that Skaht is ready for the acid washed jeans, big early 80's mom sunglasses and crocheted, oversized beret that I'll be buying evenutally since I'm such a hipster now.
A Place to Bury Strangers was such a kick ass show. It’s too bad that my ass was already kicked from the previous night’s drunken escapades with Skaht – but isn’t that always the case anyway. I definitely got into it shortly after we arrived at the Paradise and I’m really happy that we ended up going. Of course, today sucks because of it, but it’s an Accomplished Suck kind of feeling. That’s a good thing, I guess.
Yeah, so I debuted my new American Apparel hoody. I was pretty nervous about getting one, to be honest. I mean, there are all these dumb hipster associations with AA and while I find that really retarded; I don’t want to be looked at as one of those old people who can’t seem to leave the so-called youth counter culture behind. Sad really, since there isn’t such a thing anymore – for the most part. So, why do I care?
I have to say though, I do like the AA hoody a lot. It fits great, was cheap and is really comfortable. I knew that AA would have the fit that I want, so that’s pretty much why I went with it. Most hoodies either have graphics all over them that look lame on me because I’m old. Either that, or, they are really baggy and I’m not into the “I’m going to the gym” look unless I am going to the gym. However, I don’t wear hoodies to the gym.
I figured that I would see a lot of AA garb at last nights show and I was right. I counted maybe 4 AA hoodies and 2 pairs of probable AA leggings. The problem with AA is that all of the hoodies have that really white shoestring tie thing that hangs from the hood. It’s pretty noticeable and right away everyone is all like, AMERICAN APPAREL HOODY. I’m toying with the idea of replacing the shoestring with a black one. Maybe. Especially since I might be buying another hoody soon because I like this one so much.
Maybe buying 1 AA hoody is kind of like getting your first tattoo. You can't stop after just 1. I hope that Skaht is ready for the acid washed jeans, big early 80's mom sunglasses and crocheted, oversized beret that I'll be buying evenutally since I'm such a hipster now.
Thanks
Aw man. Let me tell you, both of those jerks came home last night after some “show” and proceeded to smoke cigarettes as they sat around the computer in the kitchen. Now the whole place smells like one big ashtray. Thanks Skaht and Tanya.
Seriously, aren’t they even concerned about what all that smoke must be doing to me? I mean, it’s obvious that they don’t care about their own health, but Jesus. You’d think that they would have some inkling in their booze pickled brains that I might not be cool with it. It’s bad enough that they already tried to put me in a harness and bring me outside where there are CARS. Yeah!!! Cars!! Thanks but no thanks. Being outside sucks and I want no part of it. I don’t need the added worry of dodging cars tacked onto my busy lifestyle; even if Tanya promised that nothing would happen because I’m on a leash. Whatever.
Thank God that Skaht and Tanya are actively trying to quit now. Or so they say, anyway. You never know what you are going to get with those two – life being like a box of chocolates and everything.
Wah. Time to head under the bed.
Seriously, aren’t they even concerned about what all that smoke must be doing to me? I mean, it’s obvious that they don’t care about their own health, but Jesus. You’d think that they would have some inkling in their booze pickled brains that I might not be cool with it. It’s bad enough that they already tried to put me in a harness and bring me outside where there are CARS. Yeah!!! Cars!! Thanks but no thanks. Being outside sucks and I want no part of it. I don’t need the added worry of dodging cars tacked onto my busy lifestyle; even if Tanya promised that nothing would happen because I’m on a leash. Whatever.
Thank God that Skaht and Tanya are actively trying to quit now. Or so they say, anyway. You never know what you are going to get with those two – life being like a box of chocolates and everything.
Wah. Time to head under the bed.
Help the Aged
Last night, Tanya and I went to see A Place to Bury Strangers at the Paradise. We almost didn’t go. We were having dinner and a couple drinks and Tanya was tired from a boozy Monday night. I feel for her. She has to wake up at 6:00 and get ready to go to her serious job, while I get up between 7:30 and 8:00 to get to my job, and I can handle 5-7 drinks better than she can. Anyway, she started balking at going, even after we got on the train. I’m sure if we didn’t already have tickets, we would have begged off and gone back to her place to watch Noah’s Arc, which, I guess, is the black Queer as Folk. As psyched as I am to watch that, I missed the last two times A Place to Bury Stranger came to town, and since we already had tickets, I was determined to get there. Ah, the perils of getting old, when it feels like an accomplishment to get to a show.
We watched the opener, Neptune, and Tanya cheered up a little. The band was pretty tight, a percussion-driven noise outfit. One dude played a guitar that looked like it was made out of a suitcase, and the band looked like they made several of their percussion instruments. They toed the line right and kept it from going Stomp! meets the Duran Duran “Wild Boys” video. I wasn’t feeling the Sian Alice group, just not really in the mood. A Place to Bury Strangers, as expected, delivered their huge sound, and we left happy. The whole thing was over a little after 11:30, which makes us old folks smile.
Tanya broke out her new American Apparel black hoody. She’d been having trouble finding a decent black hoody, and finally gave up and gave in to AA. At least they’re not using those plastic zippers anymore. Still, they need to lose the white string and white tape.
On a fashion side note, the crowd at the show was pretty much what one would expect (although I thought there would be more people, shit probably wasn’t even half full), mostly dudes in dark clothes. However, there was a group of girls that looked straight out of a Rock of Love casting: those jeans that look like you pissed yourself, cheesy white tank tops, and the main offender kicking the corny white bandana, Brett Michaels-style, over her lame porny schoolgirl braids.
We watched the opener, Neptune, and Tanya cheered up a little. The band was pretty tight, a percussion-driven noise outfit. One dude played a guitar that looked like it was made out of a suitcase, and the band looked like they made several of their percussion instruments. They toed the line right and kept it from going Stomp! meets the Duran Duran “Wild Boys” video. I wasn’t feeling the Sian Alice group, just not really in the mood. A Place to Bury Strangers, as expected, delivered their huge sound, and we left happy. The whole thing was over a little after 11:30, which makes us old folks smile.
Tanya broke out her new American Apparel black hoody. She’d been having trouble finding a decent black hoody, and finally gave up and gave in to AA. At least they’re not using those plastic zippers anymore. Still, they need to lose the white string and white tape.
On a fashion side note, the crowd at the show was pretty much what one would expect (although I thought there would be more people, shit probably wasn’t even half full), mostly dudes in dark clothes. However, there was a group of girls that looked straight out of a Rock of Love casting: those jeans that look like you pissed yourself, cheesy white tank tops, and the main offender kicking the corny white bandana, Brett Michaels-style, over her lame porny schoolgirl braids.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Everything There Is
Man, like many people, I’m deeply saddened by David Foster Wallace’s death.
I checked Infinite Jest out of the library in 2001 and couldn’t put it down. I even stuffed the 1000+ page hardcover into my backpack for a trip to Italy because I couldn’t stop reading it. After that, I checked out everything else he’d written, and anxiously awaited any new release, except for that book about infinity, which I have at home and should get down to reading, but just couldn’t get into upon its publication.. I would say he isn’t just my favorite author, but he’s my favorite artist across all mediums. I feel that the overall quality of life is diminished by the fact that there will never be another new David Foster Wallace release. Of course, there will be the posthumous release or releases. I’m sure he’ll get nice treatment by Library of America, too, and I’ll have to track down whatever journalistic pieces I can find that I haven’t read.
Like many, I was shocked by the news of his death. Wallace, along with his intelligence, insight and humor, always displayed a great store of humanity and compassion. The story, “Good Old Neon,” is expressly about suicide, among other things, but it portrayed suicide as a choice one needn’t make. Wallace’s writings were always imbued with hope. When he made the commencement address at Kenyon in 2005, he gave the students an outline on how to live life in a meaningful way, discussing what he considered some of his flaws, along the way. I don’t want to speculate on what drove him to his death at 46.
I work at a college library. I assumed when I searched for our David Foster Wallace titles, I’d find they were all checked out. That’s not the case now, although a couple titles have been charged. I imagine they’ll soon all go off the shelves as people revisit Wallace or check him out for the first time.
I’m not the kind of person who wants first editions or autographs or who wants to get pictures with celebrities. A friend once asked me if, given the chance, I’d like to have a conversation with David Foster Wallace. I told that friend I’d probably be too intimidated. I’m rambling a little now. Back to the first editions thing, I always figured one day I’d get a nice collection of David Foster Wallace titles, maybe subsequent editions, too. Now, I think I just want to get a copy of each title, whatever is available at a book store, just so I have them, so I know they are there.
McSweeney’s is running a tribute to Wallace now, which is well worth checking out.
I checked Infinite Jest out of the library in 2001 and couldn’t put it down. I even stuffed the 1000+ page hardcover into my backpack for a trip to Italy because I couldn’t stop reading it. After that, I checked out everything else he’d written, and anxiously awaited any new release, except for that book about infinity, which I have at home and should get down to reading, but just couldn’t get into upon its publication.. I would say he isn’t just my favorite author, but he’s my favorite artist across all mediums. I feel that the overall quality of life is diminished by the fact that there will never be another new David Foster Wallace release. Of course, there will be the posthumous release or releases. I’m sure he’ll get nice treatment by Library of America, too, and I’ll have to track down whatever journalistic pieces I can find that I haven’t read.
Like many, I was shocked by the news of his death. Wallace, along with his intelligence, insight and humor, always displayed a great store of humanity and compassion. The story, “Good Old Neon,” is expressly about suicide, among other things, but it portrayed suicide as a choice one needn’t make. Wallace’s writings were always imbued with hope. When he made the commencement address at Kenyon in 2005, he gave the students an outline on how to live life in a meaningful way, discussing what he considered some of his flaws, along the way. I don’t want to speculate on what drove him to his death at 46.
I work at a college library. I assumed when I searched for our David Foster Wallace titles, I’d find they were all checked out. That’s not the case now, although a couple titles have been charged. I imagine they’ll soon all go off the shelves as people revisit Wallace or check him out for the first time.
I’m not the kind of person who wants first editions or autographs or who wants to get pictures with celebrities. A friend once asked me if, given the chance, I’d like to have a conversation with David Foster Wallace. I told that friend I’d probably be too intimidated. I’m rambling a little now. Back to the first editions thing, I always figured one day I’d get a nice collection of David Foster Wallace titles, maybe subsequent editions, too. Now, I think I just want to get a copy of each title, whatever is available at a book store, just so I have them, so I know they are there.
McSweeney’s is running a tribute to Wallace now, which is well worth checking out.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Muzak
Hey, I didn't know that Skaht was in a music video!!
Well, I thought it was him, but Tanya told me that it's actually Conor Oberst of Bright Eyes. Could have fooled me. Tanya says that Skaht is way hotter, though.
Wah. Its okay. But, I'd rather chill with some Styx or something. They just don't make music like that any more.
Well, I thought it was him, but Tanya told me that it's actually Conor Oberst of Bright Eyes. Could have fooled me. Tanya says that Skaht is way hotter, though.
Wah. Its okay. But, I'd rather chill with some Styx or something. They just don't make music like that any more.
*Gurble*
I didn't go to work today. Last night, Skaht met me after rehearsal for a drink. That one drink turned into a few Ruby Red Gimlets and then before you know it, we were back at my place, drinking whiskey and making sexy time all night long (alcohol tends to lengthen the process.) It was a nice night, but as usual, I'm hung over.
I figured out that I should never go shopping after a whiskey sex night. When I'm hung over, I tend to make a quick shopping trip into a long shopping spree. I got some cute things though and didn't blow my budget, but I really don't need any more clothes.
Monkey just jumped on top of the door. He looks crazy.
Supposedly, Tatiana and I are going out to the Pill tonight, which will include more drinking and staying out late. I hope that my liver holds up. Its time for a detox week with Skaht - I'll have to ask him if he'd be into that.
I figured out that I should never go shopping after a whiskey sex night. When I'm hung over, I tend to make a quick shopping trip into a long shopping spree. I got some cute things though and didn't blow my budget, but I really don't need any more clothes.
Monkey just jumped on top of the door. He looks crazy.
Supposedly, Tatiana and I are going out to the Pill tonight, which will include more drinking and staying out late. I hope that my liver holds up. Its time for a detox week with Skaht - I'll have to ask him if he'd be into that.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Big Deal
Wah. Who cares about Surprise Day?
These mofos are cooking some Weight Watchers thai dinner, drinking whiskey and smoking cigarettes.You think they could break me off some catnip so I could wile out and listen to some DM.
These mofos are cooking some Weight Watchers thai dinner, drinking whiskey and smoking cigarettes.You think they could break me off some catnip so I could wile out and listen to some DM.
Surprise Day!
Today is Surprise Day. Tanya and I started Surprise Day back in May. A little background: Tanya and I met on August 10th, 2007. So, back in May we decided that on the 10th of every month we’d buy each other a gift under $10.
In May, I got Tanya the Morrissey book (remaindered at the Barnes & Noble near where I work) and she got me a book about folding dollar bills into airplanes (and the USS Enterprise). The airplane book is at my apartment.
We were both a little late in the getting in June, which is obviously kind of retarded since they’re only $10 gifts, so we decided to hold off until July and present each other with gifts in the $10-$20 range. I got Tanya the Wizard Finger Puppet (shipping pushed it over $10) and she made me the Cod Pharmacy thing (supplies put it up around $20). She also ordered me a little green monster from Etsy and threw it in as a bonus. It’s on my desk at work.
In August, I got her the black cat candle from some store in Allston, and she got me the key-shaped bottle opener.
Today I presented her with the two wine glasses I got from Pier One on my way over, because my other idea didn’t work out. We’ve broken a lot of wine glasses, so it’s still an okay gift. She gave me the fish bookmark, made out of fish skin.
In May, I got Tanya the Morrissey book (remaindered at the Barnes & Noble near where I work) and she got me a book about folding dollar bills into airplanes (and the USS Enterprise). The airplane book is at my apartment.
We were both a little late in the getting in June, which is obviously kind of retarded since they’re only $10 gifts, so we decided to hold off until July and present each other with gifts in the $10-$20 range. I got Tanya the Wizard Finger Puppet (shipping pushed it over $10) and she made me the Cod Pharmacy thing (supplies put it up around $20). She also ordered me a little green monster from Etsy and threw it in as a bonus. It’s on my desk at work.
In August, I got her the black cat candle from some store in Allston, and she got me the key-shaped bottle opener.
Today I presented her with the two wine glasses I got from Pier One on my way over, because my other idea didn’t work out. We’ve broken a lot of wine glasses, so it’s still an okay gift. She gave me the fish bookmark, made out of fish skin.
Ouch
I just came back from a lunch with the executives at my consulting company. It went well I guess, but it’s something I hate having to do. You sit around a table and everyone forces themselves to talk. Conversational topics mostly revolve around the Patriots, the Red Sox and what someone’s kid said in the car the other day. These are topics that I have no knowledge of and don’t find particularly interesting – so all I can do is sit there and nod my head, feigning interest. It is torture.
I did, however, try to get in on the conversation today. One of the annoying guys who works in the World Trade Center with me was going on and on about some stupid car that he wants to sell. He asked me if I was interested in buying it. I said no and that I was getting along fine without a car. The big shot VP (who seems like a misogynist prick) was all like “No cah?! How can you have no cah!” After taking a big sip of my iced tea, I suppressed any thought of stabbing this guy with my butter knife and forged ahead, trying to appear calm and sophisticated so I could speak to this retard in a clear manner.
“Well, I live in the city, so there really isn’t a need for the expense. I like to walk a lot and I use public transportation. Not only that, I’m a member of this car share service called ZipCar.”
“Zipcah?! Oh yeah, I’ve seen some of does around town. Pretty nifty.” He said this as he elbowed his partner in the ribs in a joking fashion. This is the second time that he has done such a thing (and I’ve had lunch with him twice.) Every time I open my mouth to say something, it’s just so damn funny. It’s annoying and very unprofessional and Jesus, wouldn’t I love to beat him over the head with my handbag. If it wasn’t for the fact that I need this job, I would have done it by now.
What made the lunch even worse is the fact that I am completely hung-over today. This is the result of yet another evening of magnum-wine-bottle-drinking with Skaht. We did our usual thing of YouTube watching, although this time I ended up in a sailor themed bra and hat, not sure why…I just did.
As a general rule, I think that I need to cut off the alcohol when I start feeling the need to raid my burlesque costume stash on a weeknight. Weekends are okay. Weeknights are not.
I did, however, try to get in on the conversation today. One of the annoying guys who works in the World Trade Center with me was going on and on about some stupid car that he wants to sell. He asked me if I was interested in buying it. I said no and that I was getting along fine without a car. The big shot VP (who seems like a misogynist prick) was all like “No cah?! How can you have no cah!” After taking a big sip of my iced tea, I suppressed any thought of stabbing this guy with my butter knife and forged ahead, trying to appear calm and sophisticated so I could speak to this retard in a clear manner.
“Well, I live in the city, so there really isn’t a need for the expense. I like to walk a lot and I use public transportation. Not only that, I’m a member of this car share service called ZipCar.”
“Zipcah?! Oh yeah, I’ve seen some of does around town. Pretty nifty.” He said this as he elbowed his partner in the ribs in a joking fashion. This is the second time that he has done such a thing (and I’ve had lunch with him twice.) Every time I open my mouth to say something, it’s just so damn funny. It’s annoying and very unprofessional and Jesus, wouldn’t I love to beat him over the head with my handbag. If it wasn’t for the fact that I need this job, I would have done it by now.
What made the lunch even worse is the fact that I am completely hung-over today. This is the result of yet another evening of magnum-wine-bottle-drinking with Skaht. We did our usual thing of YouTube watching, although this time I ended up in a sailor themed bra and hat, not sure why…I just did.
As a general rule, I think that I need to cut off the alcohol when I start feeling the need to raid my burlesque costume stash on a weeknight. Weekends are okay. Weeknights are not.
It's just too bad you don't know what it is
As usual, as Tanya and I wrapped up last night’s YouTube session, she started getting ready for bed and I still had some wine and was determined to smoke another cigarette. There are certain songs I play that Tanya isn’t usually interested in hearing. I’d already managed to sneak in the Commodores’ “Night Shift” and settled into a live version of Fleetwood Mac’s “Silver Springs.”
Then it was time to get into some late 80s/early 90s rap. I’ve been doing an improv show on a boat all summer and I’ve frequently referenced Geto Boys’ “Mind Playin Tricks.” Sadly, almost no one gets the reference. I’m glad to see it has a solid presence on YouTube.
I’ve definitely been excited for many an album release, but, growing up, I can think of two that really got me psyched. One was Beastie Boys’ “License to Ill,” which I ended up getting on vinyl at K-Mart because they were sold out of tapes (I was in third grade). I hope that shit is still somewhere in my parents house. The second is PE’s Fear of a Black Planet (probably fifth or sixth grade). I amassed many an hour listening to that while doing stuff like mowing the lawn or playing NES or Sega Genesis. I also bumped the shit out of the soundtracks to both Boyz N the Hood and Colors. My dad, surprisingly, honored my brother’s wish one Christmas and got him NWA’s Straight Outta Compton, which became the soundtrack to that Christmas day, much to our parents chagrin, as me and my bro played Double Dragon for something like 8 hours straight.
Then it was time to get into some late 80s/early 90s rap. I’ve been doing an improv show on a boat all summer and I’ve frequently referenced Geto Boys’ “Mind Playin Tricks.” Sadly, almost no one gets the reference. I’m glad to see it has a solid presence on YouTube.
I’ve definitely been excited for many an album release, but, growing up, I can think of two that really got me psyched. One was Beastie Boys’ “License to Ill,” which I ended up getting on vinyl at K-Mart because they were sold out of tapes (I was in third grade). I hope that shit is still somewhere in my parents house. The second is PE’s Fear of a Black Planet (probably fifth or sixth grade). I amassed many an hour listening to that while doing stuff like mowing the lawn or playing NES or Sega Genesis. I also bumped the shit out of the soundtracks to both Boyz N the Hood and Colors. My dad, surprisingly, honored my brother’s wish one Christmas and got him NWA’s Straight Outta Compton, which became the soundtrack to that Christmas day, much to our parents chagrin, as me and my bro played Double Dragon for something like 8 hours straight.
Wah!
Monkey here. I figured that I’d take some time to blog a bit before I head under the bed to sleep all day. Yeah, that’s pretty much all I do during the week with Tanya and Skaht gone. Sure, it sounds like a nice life, but let me tell you – it ain’t all sunshine and roses.
Take, for example, my hairball problem. I was coughing that shit up for at least three days this week. Seriously, there were these nasty, gray hair ‘cigars’ all over the floor and Tanya freaked out because of it. I guess that she got online and found a ton of articles about cats getting ‘impacted’ from hairballs. Now, let me tell you…I normally don’t have an issue in the litter box department, but it did get me a bit riled up.
As a consequence of all this good advice she found, she ended up getting some Vaseline at the store and smearing it all over my front paws. Bitch, please! That shit is nasty. The only way to get it off is to lick it off, and let me tell you, its as bad as it sounds. It did seem to help me out with the hairballs, though. But, gross. Gross!!
Anyway, I’m getting tired from typing. Not having fingers (or even hands) makes typing a bit of a pain. Plus, I need to get my beauty sleep in now before Tanya and Skaht come back tonight. You can’t get any peace with those two around.
God help me if they make me wear the crab hat again. I look just as stupid as this cat looks here:
Take, for example, my hairball problem. I was coughing that shit up for at least three days this week. Seriously, there were these nasty, gray hair ‘cigars’ all over the floor and Tanya freaked out because of it. I guess that she got online and found a ton of articles about cats getting ‘impacted’ from hairballs. Now, let me tell you…I normally don’t have an issue in the litter box department, but it did get me a bit riled up.
As a consequence of all this good advice she found, she ended up getting some Vaseline at the store and smearing it all over my front paws. Bitch, please! That shit is nasty. The only way to get it off is to lick it off, and let me tell you, its as bad as it sounds. It did seem to help me out with the hairballs, though. But, gross. Gross!!
Anyway, I’m getting tired from typing. Not having fingers (or even hands) makes typing a bit of a pain. Plus, I need to get my beauty sleep in now before Tanya and Skaht come back tonight. You can’t get any peace with those two around.
God help me if they make me wear the crab hat again. I look just as stupid as this cat looks here:
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Hi
Hey, this is our new blog. I’m Skaht . Tanya and I just ate at Mike’s in Davis Square, a cheap place to get drinks and food.
The other day, Tanya’s mom was talking about how crazy Sarah Palin is, and we couldn’t agree more. Of course, Tanya’s mom put her spin on it and when she talks about that crazy religious nut flapping around her retarded baby for all the world to see, well, what more is there to say? Tanya was looking into emigrating to Canada today. I think it’s still a little soon for that, since as a household we believe in hope and change.
If you ask me, the Republicans went way overboard, throwing a reformed Pentecostal gun freak on the bill, just because she’s a woman, to counterbalance Barak Obama’s unstoppable blackness. I mean, he’s only half black. The Republicans clearly should have rolled with a tranny who’s had the implants but not gender reidentification surgery. Then, I remembered, there aren’t any pre-operative tranny Republicans. Too bad for them.
Tanya’s cat Monkey is going to be posting, too.
Tanya and I spend a lot of time drinking wine and screwing around on the internet and trying to quit smoking, so we figured we should start a blog, because we can only look at so many YouTube videos, like Bronksi Beat’s “Smalltown Boy.”
The other day, Tanya’s mom was talking about how crazy Sarah Palin is, and we couldn’t agree more. Of course, Tanya’s mom put her spin on it and when she talks about that crazy religious nut flapping around her retarded baby for all the world to see, well, what more is there to say? Tanya was looking into emigrating to Canada today. I think it’s still a little soon for that, since as a household we believe in hope and change.
If you ask me, the Republicans went way overboard, throwing a reformed Pentecostal gun freak on the bill, just because she’s a woman, to counterbalance Barak Obama’s unstoppable blackness. I mean, he’s only half black. The Republicans clearly should have rolled with a tranny who’s had the implants but not gender reidentification surgery. Then, I remembered, there aren’t any pre-operative tranny Republicans. Too bad for them.
Tanya’s cat Monkey is going to be posting, too.
Tanya and I spend a lot of time drinking wine and screwing around on the internet and trying to quit smoking, so we figured we should start a blog, because we can only look at so many YouTube videos, like Bronksi Beat’s “Smalltown Boy.”
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