Poisoned Guacamole

FWDs from Grandma, Part 1

2009-07-17T14:09:00.003-05:00

As fun as it is to see my post threatening to start posting again (from what, last year?) on the blogrolls of my friends, I thought we'd try something different for a while. See, like most modern kids born in The South, I come from a hilariously long line of good ol' fashion Red State stock. Someone, probably some well-meaning, church-going soul decided to teach my paternal grandmother about TEH INTERWEBS. Now, about once a day I get a FWD: FWD: FWD: from Grandma. Some days it's a touching slideshow about friendship, or picture of kittens with inspirational platitudes, but most days it runs along the lines of HALP! OUR PRESIDENT IS A COMMIE NEGRO SOCIALIST LIBERAL AND WE NEED TO PRAY RIL HARD! When the latter happens, I am usually so riled up I fire off a scathing response. In the interest of family peace, like those letters you used to write your crush in junior high, they are never sent. But I do have a blog I'm pretty sure she doesn't know about.
And Away We GO!

On Jul 17, 2009, at 2:35 PM, (GRANDMA REDACTED) wrote:

Going beyond disrespect

The movie "Corpus Christi" is due to be released this June to August. A disgusting film set to appear in America later this year depicts Jesus and his disciples as homosexuals! As a play, this has already been in theatres for a while. It's called "Corpus Christi" which means "The Body of Christ". It's revolting mockery of our Lord. But we can make a difference. That's why I am sending this e-mail to you. If you do send this around, we just might be able to prevent this film from showing in America. Let's stand for what we believe in and stop the mockery of Jesus Christour Savior. Where do we stand as Christians? At the risk of a bit of inconvenience, I'm forwarding this to all I think would appreciate it, too. Please help us prevent such offenses against our Lord. There is no petition to sign, no time limit, or minimum number of people to send this to. It will take you less than 2 minutes! If you are not interested and do not have the 2 minutes it will take to do this, please don't complain when God does not have time for you because He is far busier than we are. Hey, it's worth a shot! Apparently, some regions in Europe have already banned the film. All we need is a lot of prayer and a lot of e-mails.

JUST GET THE WORD OUT

____________________________________________________________

Wanna slim down for summer? Go to America Takes it Off to learn how.

Dear Nana,
I forwarded this to my good friend, Joe. Joe is an atheist homosexual who once directed, and starred in, the stage version of Corpus Christi. I'm sure your loving words will make him see the error in his ways and turn to the loving arms of Christ and His Followers. And thanks for the heads up, I'll be sure to see it an extra time just for you.
I love all people, including homosexuals, and I don't believe in god. If you have any forwards that are suited to these interests, please keep me in mind.
Oh, and check out this awesome website I found. I think you'll really find it useful!
Snopes.com
Love,
(GRANDDAUGHTER REDACTED)

Cue Fanfare.

2009-01-12T22:57:00.003-06:00

Oh noooooo.

I think I'm about to start posting again. I think it's going to be different this time. In the meantime, I made this tea tonight and oh no.

It is good.

1 Tablespoon Grace Rare Teas Egyptian Chamomile
12 Ounces Hot Water
4 cubes of Granny Smith Apple
4 cubes of red asian pear
2 Teaspoons honey

Brew tea in your usual manner. Drop in some cubes of fruit leftover from fondue dipping, the magic kind that is amazingly firm and not too juicy but without any type of bitterness. I just happened to have some on hand. Add two teaspoons honey your father-in-law made last year that you're trying to use so you can break into the new jar you took home at christmas. Drink hot or with bourbon. Or hot with bourbon. I can't vouch for the latter personally, but if I know bourbon, it will put the kids to bed.

I need a new blog name. I no longer feel a throwaway plot from an obscure and unapologetically terrible but compulsively addictive soap opera, that has since been cancelled, defines me appropriately. Close, mind you.

Suggestions welcome.

An Adventurer is Me?!

2008-04-15T11:07:00.003-05:00

Apologies for the previous post of downerness. I remembered there is one thing I've been doing obsessively as of late, and feel compelled to talk about. It goes against everything I've stood for in the past, and yet somehow encompasses all that I am. And it's that kind of dichotomy that really gets my mojo risin'.

It's time I came clean on the MORPG that is near and dear to my heart.

Yes, I have, for years, scoffed at the WoW and Neverwinternights crowd. And by scoffed I mean openly mocked to their faces. Repeatedly and without mercy. Even while dating someone who was instrumental in MELRO, and belonging firmly to the outer circle of persons associated with such nonsense I silently made +12 LOSER jokes to myself about my otherwise dear friends. For that I should probably apologize. I have seen the error of my ways. Sorta.

In the maelstrom of irony here, my only love sprung from my only hate. In the form of Kingdom of Loathing.

I blame Chad. One night we're having drinks and he very casually mentions "this RPG I play." I immediately began firing up the mocking engine, but as Chad is one of my nearest and dearest and I defer to him in most things cultural I left it idling while he explained. The finer points:

Text-based. No wacky graphics or crazy sounds. The only graphics consist of crudely drawn stick figures. Hilarious crudely drawn stick figures.
In-game currency? MEAT.
Character classes: Seal Clubbers, Turtle Tamers, Pastamancers, Saucerors, Disco Bandits, and Accordion Thieves.
Turn-based on the number of adventures you get for the day, augmented by the cocktails and food you consume, but limited by your fullness and inebriety.
More pop culture references than you can believe.

So, graphics-light, content-heavy online activity centered around pop culture, booze, and meat? I had to check it out. Suddenly, four months later I'm a Level 12 Disco Bandit with Advanced Cocktailcrafting Skills and an Overdeveloped Sense of Self-Preservation. Opponents fear my moxie and my Disco Dance of Doom. And it only gets more ridiculous from there.

So here's where it gets strange. I began this thing because it appealed so strongly to my disgust with gamers. Some of the adventures blatantly riff on Final Fantasy, WoW, and other popular games I've come to know and hate. The writing is PRICELESS. But at the same time I'm suddenly concerned with stats, buffs, in-game events, and potions, hilarious though they may be. I'm begging my friends to join, we're sending each other items and discussing strategy at work. I'm burning all my turns trying to LEVEL UP. Now I find myself out in the world, having real human interactions and dying to get home because it's about to be rollover and I have new adventures and a fresh liver to adventure with. HOW IS THIS IS MY LIFE?

The piece de resistance, however, is that now the suggestions I join my work buddies in a rousing marathon of WoW no longer sound as patently ludicrous as they once did. This is deeply disconcerting to me. I'm still nowhere near wanting to pay to do this to my life, nor take something so seriously as to treat it like a second job, but I have to say I'm starting to get. it. You might not find me playing a Alchemist Blood Elf Mage just yet, but chances are you won't find me as intolerant of the idea as I once was.

Somewhere, deep within, my 20 year-old self is screaming.

Come play! I need a sauceror on my side.

Dear Jesse,

2008-03-28T10:52:00.002-05:00

Don't know when it happened, but I walked out of work last night to a warm breeze and the nostalgia-inducing smell of rotting fish. Ah, Bradford Pear, why are you so pleasing to the eye yet so offensive to the olfactory? Also, what's with not actually producing pears?

It's something I didn't realize I was missing in Smithville. There I knew it was spring when I could observe the wild hook-up on its morning walk of shame, and, due to impending finals, the days became waaaay longer.

Now? All I know is whenever I walk out of my apartment I hear Patrick Stewart's voice (from the "The Compleat Four Seasons" album) saying "Shpring! Shpring hash cohmm and joyfully the buhrds welcome it with cheehful shohng!" I'm guessing that's just in my head. Also the aforementioned smelly trees.

I have been terrible about posting, it's true. Here's the thing....work is always interesting, but like others we know, I've signed legally-binding documents wherein I'm ordered not to talk about it. It's not that I have any privileged information (Matt usually alerts me when there's a new product) I'm just not allowed to reprazent. Go figure. The rest of my life is something akin to rotting on the couch. I collapsed there after I got out of school and moved several times and I haven't really gotten up since. I'm fascinated by television again, which is odd because it's quite possibly at an all-time low, but they play a lot of Anthony Bourdain's shows, Alton Brown's Shows, and Gossip Girl. In addition, I'm determined to not turn this into an "OMG wedding wedding wedding" blog, but that is, unfortunately, the other thing that is taking up a significant portion of my time. I have a dress, there is a church. I'm pretty sure I have the groom picked out. Let's leave it at that.

It's becoming apparent I'm entering that phase in my life where future posts, unable to post about work, will involve trying to get, or being pregnant, the wonder that is parenthood that you just won't understand until you have your own, and/or what color poop my amazing child produced today. I can't bear any of those thoughts and am tempted to just call it a day on the blogging thing (and quite possibly the life right along with it). Maybe it's just the post-college depression talking. Maybe it's the idea I've already put myself in the position where I'm responsible for someone else's feelings while my own are such a mess. Maybe it's just that feeling that I'm back in Knoxville, a block from my very first apartment, and the walls are rapidly closing in.

On the plus side, I'm not in fucking Bruges.

So I'm not posting lately, mostly because I'm afraid if I make a habit of it, my reader will follow me into this pit of despair. Also because I might have to face that I'm in a pit of despair.

I'm going back to bed.

Belated Resolution Time

2008-01-21T23:45:00.000-06:00

Goals in the new year include but are not limited to:

Simplify and consolidate the online presence (and thusly perhaps, increase said presence through less hassle)
Move into fancy new building with workout room (check.)
Use workout room in new building
Love going to work
Move wedding planning from perpetually on hold column to get off yer ass and do it column (Sept. 27, yo. Save that date)
Spend more time at the cinema/ballet/symphony/opera/bar/ethnic restaurant and thoroughly put all those years of living in the woods and pining for the city behind me
Walk places (just as soon as it's not January)
Write more letters. On paper. And send them to people.

Pre-Post Mortem

2007-12-18T12:18:00.000-06:00

I'm still in the process of gettingthefuckout, but I'll leave it at "it went incredibly well" until I can compose my thoughts, get the pictures all worked out and start the next chapter. Photo credit, Cofer's iPhone.

Hee.

2007-12-06T00:14:00.000-06:00

Why Didn't I Take The Blue Pill?

2007-12-03T07:16:00.000-06:00

Insomnia is a bitch.
With roughly a week left until this all-important "show" thing I've been having more and more trouble staving off that nervous breakdown I knew was imminent all along. I've been in full avoidance mode, partially because the more effort I put into this thing the less important it seems in the grand scheme, and thus the more I feel as though my time was entirely wasted. I spent the whole weekend with Matt, watching Quantum Leap episodes I already watched years ago, and felt roughly the same sense of accomplishment as if I had spent the whole time in the studio, slaving over my all-important "work."

Isn't there supposed to be something inherently wrong with that picture?

Furthermore, when I take a minute to analyze it the whole reason I'm so into film and other forms of entertainment I realize it must be at least partially because the endeavor to engage with them is designed to feel fruitless, and therefore not disappointing when it does.

So I've been up all night, again, not working. This is an activity that has come to define this semester. I reached the end of the internet hours and hours ago and resorted to watching hilarious old propaganda films from the 50's and 60's, educating myself about the dangers of sex, porn, narcotics, and swimming during the first three days of my period. Did you know you could get chills and a fever and possibly die if you do? Take heed, ladies! Also, reefers apparently make you feel like things are moving at 100 miles an hour, though hours of personal research yield consistent and reproducible results to the contrary, and therefore leave me dubious. This leads me to believe further research may, in fact, be warranted. At some point, even these little propagandtastic nuggets left me needing some other type of entertainment, and that is when I stumbled upon a little film called Zeitgeist. It's not the first time I'd run into it, and in fact several people I like very much had suggested it already. This was, however, the first time I actually made it through the first five minutes without thinking "didn't I already see this a couple of times with a marginally less annoying soundtrack and the suffix -qatsi attached?" and promptly moving on to something shorter and fluffier. Needless to say, once I got through the unnecessarily lengthy opening bit, I was sucked in.

The most troubling part of the whole experience (and it is troubling) is that nothing was presented to me that I hadn't a) already thought or b) seen before and found to be a worthwhile argument, until the third act came in and fucked up my Christmas, and even then the only thing I hadn't even considered was all just economics. I think the image of the nutjob conspiracy theorist has been so widely perpetrated in our society that I find myself, even now feeling as affected as I do, hesitant to just run out and shout HOLY-SHIT-WATCH-THIS-MOVIE-IT-WILL-CHANGE-YOUR-
OUTLOOK-ON-EVERYTHING-EVER-AND/OR-DESTROY-YOUR-
WILL-TO-DO-ANYTHING-FOR-THE-FUTILITY-OF-IT-ALL. And yet, if you have two hours to kill and are not entirely comfortable with things as they are, that is in fact exactly what I am saying. All I know is that I now feel like breaking things. And that can't be good for my show.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

One last thought, does it creep anyone else out that it is called programming? If anyone needs me I'll be outfitting my arsenal and stockpiling canned goods in my bunker under the grassy knoll.

Correction: All This To Work At The Apple Store.

2007-11-27T12:40:00.000-06:00

After what I can only pray will be the roughest interview I'll ever experience, it seems as though I have been deemed cool enough to wear the coveted black t-shirt. Or red, as is the case with the holiday season. It's hard to contain my excitement enough to go back to school and get my shit done. Soon I'll have a new apartment, new job, and I'll lose that nagging feeling I should be in the studio every time I do something that isn't. This is the first time I've felt really good since this semester started. Two weeks from now and I'll be even better. Hope to see everyone over the holidays!

Correction: All This To Work At The Apple Store. Maybe.

2007-11-08T05:21:00.000-06:00

33 days and trying not to count.

Some facts:

After December 11 I will never set foot in a Lowe's again unless bound, gagged and carted in on one of those one-functional-wheel, exhausted excuses for lumber carts they leave lying around in the commercial section. For those who need it spelled out the only sizable source for sculpture materials in a million mile radius is the Lowe's in Cookeville. It has been my second home for over five years, and I'm pretty sure I'm solely responsible for their third quarter earnings this year. After said date, the three-note tone, pause, Special Assistance Needed in the Chain Cutting Area, three-note tone, pause, Chain Cutting Area sequence will be to me what the Fruity Bars ad was to River Tam. It's Alliance, and it's high military. Bullet in the brainpan, squish.
I'm anxiously awaiting word as to whether I will start getting paid to sell Apple products or if it will remain a mere hobby. A sick, sick hobby.
I'm also anxiously awaiting 500 5mm waterclear LEDs from China. Apparently they're on the slow boat. And 500 2032 Lithium-ion batteries from California. Without them, I am nothing but a crazy old lady who has too many wine bottles. And some really expensive (but fantastic, thanks to Matt) postcards. And some bags of sand and concrete.
I netflixed Irreversible because my foolish pride wouldn't allow me to believe reports of "the most hard-to-stomach rape scene in the history of film and quite possibly the world." I stand corrected. I will never walk alone anywhere ever again. Ever. I will also never look at another fire extinguisher without shuddering. In closing, Monica Bellucci is dedicated as hell to her craft. I give this movie 5 stars, I do not recommend it.

All This To Work At Starbucks. Maybe.

2007-10-02T11:20:00.001-05:00

2 months and 9 days. That's all that stands between me and that divine "grace period" I keep hearing so much about from the two thousand or so different loan companies to which I am indebted for this experience.
Remind me, again, why I am doing this?
Seems like an awful lot of work just to be left to whether or not I can talk my clay professor into turning that incomplete into a C. Before he flies back to the West Coast on Thursday.
Speaking of which, anyone have any brilliant ideas on how to convince a clay professor, who is flying back to the West Coast on Thursday, to change an incomplete to a C?
I'd be much obliged.

Hello, Old Friend

2007-09-17T00:27:00.000-05:00

....aaannd we're back.

Miss me?

Funny how being stuck in bed for two days (I should just rename this place Les Invalides and get it over with) and finding the end of the internet will inspire one to finally post again. I'll begin by wrapping up my amazingly brief summer in like fashion (briefly, that is).

Worked a lot. Made some money. Spent it (on what, I couldn't say, I just know it's gone).
Read/finished many books that had been haunting me for a while. That felt good. You want names, fine, I'll give you names: Quicksilver and The Confusion by Neal Stephenson, Valis by Phillip K. Dick, House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski, The Most Beautiful Woman In Town and Other Stories, Factotum, and Tales of Ordinary Madness by Charles Bukowski, a biography on Keith Haring I'm too lazy to look up right now, Choke, Beautiful Monsters, Survivor, and Diary (audiobook) by Chuck Palahniuk, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (of course, and in under a day, natch), and a couple others I'm blanking on at current. Actually, looking over that list I'm starting to understand where my endless summer went. I regret nothing.
Visited Joe and Jodie in the quaint hamlet of Harlem on the remote island of Manhattan and had an absolutely fantastic time, despite illness for most of the week. Could probably do several posts on just this point alone, but will instead hit the higherlights. Avenue Q, fried mac and cheese out of an automat, getting plastered on the stoop, stumbling to the gay bar, Joe doing karaoke at the gay bar, Joe and me doing karaoke at same bar, stumbling back from the gay bar, breakdance battle on the subway, drinks and sushi at Morimoto, two high rise fires in one day, Moroccan and Indian food out, Chinese food and Buffy with Jodie in, and of course beaucoups de crazyass people on public transit. Especially drunk, loud girl on the bus to the airport on our way home. Thank you, loud, drunk girl. I hope that guy you got off with didn't rape/murder you (he seemed nice enough) and you made it to the airport in time to meet your boyfriend who may or may not beat you depending on who asks you about those hideous bruises on your legs. Also, I'm sorry you lost your weed. Bummer.
Took some great workshops from Ross Richmond (hot glass sculpting) and Brent Cole (slumping/fusing). Worked for Curt on his production line and felt reasonably competent about it.

And that about sums it up. Tune in next time for a complete nervous breakdown re: trying to do my thesis/graduate.

Love/Hate

2007-07-03T18:39:00.000-05:00

So my hands have finally found a little time to be the devil's playthings, and I was all set to do a huge catchup/summer-in-pictures type of affair here, but a rude awakening in the middle of the night put the kibosh on. More on that in a moment.
Matt showed up on Friday night with the announcement he had something in his pants I was going to want to play with. Our long-distance status same as it ever was, one would think this was not necessarily newsworthy. Faster than I can say "not tonight dear, I have a headache," out comes the 8GB iPhone. Knowing Matt as I do, I can't say I didn't exactly see it coming, but ever since it was introduced a few months ago the device has taken on such a mythical status I didn't think I'd ever see one in the wild, so to speak. Especially not a mere six hours after they became available in my time zone, and certainly not fully functional (the telecommunications black-hole status of my domicile notwithstanding). After the initial glee wore off...scratch that, it hasn't yet. The thing is way more awesome than I expected it to be, and I expected a lot. Leaps. Bounds. But I'm not here to review the thing. There are thousands for your perusal. I merely want to say, damn, Apple got that shit right. Ladies and Gentlemen, the future has arrived.
Which brings me back to my rude awakening. When I first got my iBook I spent weeks just discovering all the cool little extras and customizations that could be enabled at the mere click of a button. I was in love, and I wanted the world to know it. Soon I pasted the logo on my car, and joined the elitist chorus of Apple fanpersons, loudly decrying the vastly inferior machines and OSes barely tolerated by the huddled masses. I evangelized bathed in the cool glow of the apple logo on the front of my sleek, white, perfectly-functioning machine. I've done everything I can to talk my friends into joining me in this dreamworld of computer bliss and, save for the few who are enslaved by Windows as a means of earning a living (you know who you are), I think I have been largely successful.
Sure, there are the downsides. Google is slow to port the cool apps to us, Netflix shows virtually no interest in letting us in on the "watch now" fun (I know because I recently sent them an angry yet thoughtfully worded letter and the response was eerily similar to the form letters I receive from my conservative political representatives when I share my lefty feelings with them) , and I can't file my damn FAFSA from my own computer. However, I still see these as mere annoyances, not really the fault of Apple, and not really harming my enjoyment of my life in macworld.
Imagine my distress, then, at being jarred awake around three this morning by a polite computerized voice (one of the many awesome features of the Apple OS being the ability to have your alerts read to you in one of a host of voices and with your preferred interupptive phrasing) "Excuse me," a woman's voice states "you are now running on reserve battery power."
Even in my somewhat confused state I thought that odd, given that the computer was plugged in and was emitting the lovely green LED glow that told me the battery was entirely charged when I retired for the evening. Now, however, there was no glow, and my battery was at 5%. Too asleep to care that much, I shut the thing and resumed snoring.
I'll break here to mention I had to beg for a new power adapter for Christmas last, as the damn things are $80, I am a poor student, and my first one was on its last legs. The one I am using currently (or was until three this morning) was the replacement, which had already cracked in several places at the insertion point, and overheated so badly once that the plastic on the brick actually melted. This morning I discovered that sometime during the night the wires connecting the plug to the cord (easily visible due to aforementioned cracking) not only shorted out, but burned and severed themselves completely from the plug.
So here I am, having ordered my third power adapter in as many years using approximately 80% of my current net worth to pay for it. My computer is dead until July 11th or so. While on the page for the shoddy product, I read some of the 100,000 or so reviews, most of which rated the thing at no more than 2 stars and none of which did not contain the word "sucks." How is it that the same company responsible for the iPod, a host of amazing notebooks and personal computers, the most functional and user-friendly OS I've ever had the pleasure to use, and now, the life-altering iPhone continue to make us, its loyal and enthusiastic fans, invest such a hearty sum in such a perpetually pathetic peripheral? The only answer I can come up with is "because they can," which breaks my heart and boils my blood at the same time. I don't even have balls, and yet they've got me by them anyway.
The moral of this overly long missive is that I'm damn impressed by Apple's recent achievement and yet so mad at Apple I'm borderline homicidal.
It's a feeling I've come to know increasingly well in the past three years.

Not That Anyone Reads This Anymore

2007-05-10T19:20:00.000-05:00

I've moved back to the telecommunications blackhole of Smithville proper. I had naively assumed in the several years since I lived there the town might have moved into the 21st century. I am a fool. This is all just to say I have no internets, and my phone doesn't work at my house. Text messages seem to be all I have these days. Also you should know comcast is apparently more than willing to send you a $90 cable modem on the promise they service your area, even when they don't. I'm pretty sure Smithville is the only remaining area they don't service, so you can probably disregard that bit of info. The End.

Checking In

2007-04-22T13:24:00.000-05:00

Leg: Hasn't fallen off yet
School: Winding up to wind down
Work: Insanity
Life: Painful, but I do it to myself

Yet Another Minute Breakdown Of A Day In The Life (alternate title: Yet Another Breakdown)

2007-04-15T16:39:00.000-05:00

Almost a week in bed and I still haven't updated. Pathetic.
I was feeling pretty okay when I woke up yesterday, which was good considering it was Celebration and my schedule for the day was to look something like this:

8:00 a.m. -10 a.m. - Set up Visual Arts Society sale. Heavy lifting, multiple trips, lots of running around. General being in-chargeness.
10 a.m. - 1 p.m. - Greet and entertain Mother and Stepfather. Fully update them on the world of venomous arachnid attacks. Get some lunch.
1 p.m.-3 p.m. - Narrate glass demos in hot shop. Lots of yelling, question answering, traffic directing, heat, and noise. Greet Father, Stepmother, and (not so) little (anymore) sister.
4 p.m.-10 p.m. - Wait tables. Try not to limp too much.

In actuality, it broke down a little more like this:

7:30 a.m. - Arrive in cold shop to discover a friend was taken to the hospital the previous evening for having been beaten by unknown parties for unknown motives at a concert in Nashville. Details are scarce.
8:00 a.m. - Begin setting up VAS sale. Consume too much coffee on a stomach that hasn't eaten much in the last four days. Run circles around campus in the rain, snap at people who don't necessarily deserve it. Ignore giant waves of nausea and dizziness.
10:00 a.m. - Sneak away, run into Randy's parents. Requisite catching up.
10:30 a.m. - Finally get someone on the phone who has information about aforementioned busted-up associate. 8 staples in the head, relieved of $80 by attacker, but awake and returning home. Run to glass studio to update professor and friends. Run into friend who suggests quick trip to my room to put something in the air, which sounds good considering growing nausea and dizziness.
10:45 a.m. - On the way to my room, receive call from mother, who has just arrived. Seriously considering putting her off until after the trip to my room. Decide against it, offer raincheck.
11:00 a.m. - Lead parents to cafe to score food. Despite unbelievable hunger, pick at soup and salad for over an hour. Meet Rachael's entire family, congratulate her on a phenomenal senior thesis show. Feel worse. Limply lead parents to glass shop.
12:45 p.m. - Hug parents goodbye, learn from mother I am most definitely running a fever. I don't run fevers. Ever. Sick as a dog...maybe 99 degrees. It was the bane of my existence in grade school. So I have a fever. Pop a couple of asprin. Return to hotshop.
1:00 p.m. - Begin narrating demos. Almost faint and hit head on the corner of annealer #5. Discreetly request a stool and some water.
1:30 p.m. - Receive phone call from unrecognized number but decide to take it anyway. It's my boss informing me my table waiting services will not be required for the evening. Decide there is a God after all. Repent.
1:31 p.m.-2:45 p.m. - Try very hard to pretend I am in perfect health, yell over noise in studio, greet parents and sister. Try not to cry at the sight of my dad, who does not look good at this point in his battle with lymphoma.
3:00 p.m. - 4:00 p.m. - Hang out with parents, sister. Feel too awful to accompany them to dinner.
4:30 p.m. - Return to room and collapse on bed.
5:15 p.m. - Begin calling people out of boredom. Realize I'm missing Rachael's reception. Limp to gallery. Socialize, nibble on cheese. Answer questions about my health with more whining that is strictly necessary.
5:45 p.m. - Guilt friend into watching some Carnivale with me while I rot in bed.
7:30 p.m. - Y'all? Carnivale is fucked up.
8:00 p.m. - Generalized internetting, music appreciation.
9:30 p.m. - Receive call suggesting Grindhouse in Nashville at 11:30 p.m. with a few of the most fun people I know. Very briefly think it might be a good idea to sit this one out. Search out stashed pain pill instead.
10:00 p.m. - 4:00 a.m. - Hysterical laughter, screaming, near asphyxiation due to hysterical laughter, repeated knee slapping. Forget entirely about feeling so incredibly deathlike for a few blessed hours. Discover new favorite movie ever.
4:15 a.m. - Decide against immediate crashing in favor of toothbrushing. Notice spider bite has changed color and become intensely itchy all of a sudden. Step out of bathroom just in time to see tiny, brown, reclusive arachnid scurrying under a bag on the floor. 1.)Decide I have gained spidey sense 2.)FREAK OUT. 3.)Vow to never sleep again.
4:20 a.m. - Continue freaking out while picking everything up off the floor, shaking out bedsheets, looking for little friend.
4:45 a.m. - Smash little friend with a patent leather peep-toe wedge. Limpy victory dance. Scoop up carcass for later identification/trophy mounting.
5 a.m. - Decide against leaving bed on Sunday.

All in all, a shitty day to cap off a shitty week, almost wholly redeemed by Rose McGowan's machine gun leg, brainless Fergie, and Thanksgiving. And every other minute of Grindhouse. This overly long post is my public service announcement to you. Watch out for spiders, go see Grindhouse.

Regretting I Already Used the Flaming Lips Reference

2007-04-10T17:17:00.000-05:00

Here's a tip from me to you:

Don't ever use the phrase "I don't have much to report" regarding your life, the universe will hear and correct the situation.

I am not into spiders, at all. I can barely look at pictures of them, much less think about them crawling around on me when I'm asleep. Imagine my discomfort, then, with the Brown Recluse bite I received sometime between bedtime and wake time this morning. I've lived in the woods off and on for almost 5 years now, it was bound to happen.

So, I'll keep you posted. Right now I'm staying off my feet and staying on drugs. It hurts. A lot.

Yo Shutthefuckup, Chico man...

2007-04-09T22:01:00.000-05:00

Went to look at our house last week. It's small, but the kitchen is great. I was informed today, however, that we make the neighbors uneasy, which is odd considering three of us were there for about 20 minutes, and really didn't speak to anyone but the guy who yelled at us from across the street that no one lived there. Hmmmmmmm.

I don't have much to report, nor have I formed any new or astounding opinions on current events or life at large. I haven't been to a movie theatre since Xmas (I think). I've been Netflixing hip-hop/graf/breakdance films from the early 80's, and they're fascinating. A repeat viewing of Downtown 81 began the frenzy, and now I just can't get enough of films that are heavily sampled in my favorite modern hip-hop music. In a funny bit of synergy, I discovered (only 13 years late) Nas' Illmatic mere days after watching Wild Style, in an unrelated incident, no less. Furthering the madness, I checked out the Feeze's page and found this, which also references Wild Style. And is sick. If nothing else, I found the opening sample from Professor Booty in its blessed original context. Moving on, Beat Street...more crazy-ass breakdance fights, plot, semi-automatic weapons, tragic electrocutions, and bizarre romance scenes than Wild Style, but very similar overall. Now I think I'll embark on a Japanese ultra-violence kick, complete with second attempt at Ichi the Killer, one of the few films I have ever turned off in disgust/vomitous state.
If you have any ideas for Netflix fests, please feel free to discuss in das comments.
If you're in the southeast region of the country, or would like to be, the millionth annual Fiddler's Jam-bo-reeeeeee is in July and we's throwin' a gourmet-style hoedown to celebrate.

Matt and I are going to New York in May, tell us what to do.

Wait, What's the Catch?

2007-03-24T23:14:00.000-05:00

Well, now that I've sufficiently lost touch with everyone I guess it's time to blog.

This being the crucial time before my thesis show, I'm sticking around here for the summer. Did it my first year, might as well do it for my last, right? I've been fretting about 1) finding a place to live in this area (rural-ass lake town) which is dirt cheap and temporary (not many three-month leases out there), and 2) finding a job which will keep my pockets nicely lined without cutting too much into my rock 'n' roll lifestyle. In the past week both have seemingly fallen into my lap. We'll start with the job.

I haven't flexed my table-waiting skills since early 2002, but it's amazing how much of that shit one retains in muscle memory alone. The gig goes something like this:

Restaurant floats in marina along with large, expensive boats which, on weekends, fill with people who can afford large, expensive boats.
Atmosphere is casual, food is upscale. Best key lime pie in the world. The whole world. Tonight I was forced to eat a filet mignon covered in bleu cheese, last night it was crab cakes and pecan encrusted chicken. Just when I was about to fit into a size 8.
Somehow in a dry county, in a state park no less, they are able to serve beer. I'm guessing it has something to do with the magical effect of being a restaurant that floats on water. This also somehow fails to require an alcohol service permit from the waitstaff, and seemingly transcends the traditional on-premise/off-premise consumption paradigm. Also, the owners like to drink it, and don't like to be alone in that endeavor. The employees are more than happy to accomodate them at all times throughout the shift. Hooray Beer.
Rumors abound the owners also like to have everyone over to their fabulously appointed lakehouse to rage into the night.
Whereas most restaurants refer to the area in back as the "back dock" this place has back docks. Right outside the kitchen door. Cigarette/joint breaks are frequently taken with feet dangling in water. I'm willing to bet that on a hot summer night, after a few on-the-clock beers it's tempting to disrobe and jump right in. I'll keep you posted.
Entire staff (save for co-owners, and a few exceptions) comprised of my school mates, with the majority originating from my 20-person department. Abundant carpool/creative session opportunities.
Open Thursday-Sunday.

Of course, all of this comes with the appropriate downsides (i.e. rich already drunk people who have been on the lake all day coupled with the slowest kitchen I have yet experienced) but I was training last night and still walked out with $140 + bellyfull of wine and beer. I'll take it.
I didn't even interview, the words put in for me apparently sufficed.

With the job situation seeminly under control (I have several, the above is merely the highlight) I was still all set to freak out about housing. Then, today a two-bedroom place right off the square in town appeared, only available for the summer and owned by a fellow (older) student. Then five people dropped out of the sky to share it. Three of them (including myself) will be working at the restaurant. Several of them will only be there for portions of the summer. We've all been living in student housing, so none of us has any furniture. It's going to be one big sleepover. There's a very real chance I'm too old for this, but fuck it.

So, without much effort on my part, it looks like I'm set up for an incredible summer. It's a confusing feeling, standing on the verge of the best days of your life, knowing it will all be over as soon as it begins, fully aware it's all downhill after that. If it's possible to feel nostalgia for things that haven't happened yet, I think that's what I've got.

I can't help but get uneasy when things go this well. Watch this space for homicidal rants about the joys of working for alcoholics and living in chaos when it's hot as fuck outside.

Kudos and Admiration

2007-03-14T09:34:00.000-05:00

Hey, look what Matt did!
How great is that?

Brought To You By The Letter "A"

2007-03-13T22:01:00.000-05:00

Air: Pocket Symphony - This is exactly what I would have expected the next Air album to sound like. Being the satisfied owner of three to date, this marks a fully enjoyable fourth.
Amon Tobin: Foley Room - You managed to sneak the first 9 albums by me, Tobin. Just know those days are over. I'm on to you.
Andrew Bird: Armchair Apocrypha - iTunes, you're killing me. Get it already. I'm thirty miles from the nearest record store. I could buy this album with the money I'd spend on gas trying to get it. Please??
Arcade Fire: Dear Régine Chassagne and Win Butler, Great album, even better than funeral. Can I have my diary back now? I feel a little exposed.

Everybody's Got A Space To Fill

2007-03-01T01:50:00.000-06:00

I'm here to say I have very little to report. I haven't left this hill for any reasonable length of time in weeks and weeks. I intend to hit Atlanta this weekend to rectify that dreadful situation.
Spring Break WOOOOOOOO!!!
Except people with a thesis looming don't really get a spring break. It's coming along. Slowly. There are days when I think I might actually pull it off, which is a nice change from the usual "what the hell am i doing??? This is utter crap!"
My whole studio smells like rancid wine, and when I close my eyes I see an endless parade of wine bottles. They're closing in on me. It's enough to drive one to drink.
It's amazing how much money one can save if one stops driving to the store, and thus eating. I've reclaimed large chunks of my day I used to waste on meals. Bah! Why spend half an hour on lunch when a cigarette only takes five minutes? If that! Genius, I tell you.
Today was that day when I knew I should have been in the studio, but a blanket behind housing, a lakeview, and a setting sun took precedent over the sound of glass on diamonds and water. Sometimes it's not even a question.

Just when I thought I knew everything: Wilco, Queens of the Stone Age, Spoon, The Secret Machines, Daedalus, Amon Tobin

Bukowski Fest 2007: Tales of Ordinary Madness, Factotum, The Most Beautiful Woman In Town

Stop Shivering, Be a Man: Julien Donkey-Boy

Hard Day's Hatin'

2007-02-07T19:32:00.000-06:00

I'd like to think I make myself useful around here. I'm not particularly well versed in anything, save for being insufficiently versed in everything. As such there are days when many people require a few moments of my time. This doesn't leave much room for my own ruminations and reflections. I think this might be the way to go because, if I may say so myself, Bitch crazy.

I hate fucking Valentine's Day. Just wanted to put that out there. I think it has something to do with proximity to my birthday, and also the whole enterprise is pathetic. I'm also pissed it has the gall to appropriate red and then pair it with pink. On stuffed bears. I just threw up a little in my mouth thinking about it. I'm not sure how you get from martyrdom to crotchless panties wrapped in the shape of a rose from the gas station in 1800 years, but given the involvement of Christians I'm surprised it took that long.
How is it in the process of liberation women have managed to narrow the time in which men are somewhat universally expected to treat us with respect to one day out of the year? Furthermore, somehow managing to turn that day into an excuse to be gift-grubbing beast whores, thus failing to inspire any hopes of future respect? I can't respect someone willing to dump their mate because they didn't get chocolate. And not even good chocolate.
Damn, now I feel all itchy.

College is great, but I don't recommend to anyone the process of actual graduation.

Re-reading over this next part, I've decided it should be read with Lewis Black's voice in your head if at all possible.

Today on NPR they likened Apple users having to buy music choked with DRM to a PETA member wearing fur or Greenpeace activist driving an SUV. Aside from being full of exciting acronyms, that sentence is amazing in that it is entirely untrue. Apple users are entirely used to being unportable across platforms and devices. And the kicker: we like it that way. Keeps us superior. The articles I've been reading say DRM is crap because it won't allow users to put itunes music on a Zune or a Rio. Why in the holy jesus fuck would anyone want to do that?
That said, DRM is utter crap. On principle toast. And Steve Jobs almost, almost, got around to saying that that in his memo.
Also, Moo Cow Fuck Milk.
Just wanted to put that in there while I was still channeling Mr. Black.

Okay, I love you, bye bye.

10 for $1

2007-01-06T23:44:00.000-06:00

Momofuku Ando has passed away from a heart attack at the age of 96.
A moment of silence for this visionary with whom I credit a large portion of the past 15 years of my life.

Thank You.

This Chick At The Next Table Is Killing Me

2007-01-03T17:00:00.000-06:00

Well, hi.
Am currently recuperating from the holidays on the lovely island of Hilton Head. If we keep up the rate we're going, I'm going to need a vacation to recuperate from this vacation. In other words, having quite the time. I'm keeping a photo journal of the daily state of our refrigerator, which may now contain more food than booze for the first time since we got here. Hard work. Not much to report, my favorite part of this vacation is the cable tv, dishwasher, and washer and dryer. And, shockingly, the lack of internet access in the condo. I haven't missed it nearly as much as I thought I would. I take this as a good sign, because my unofficial new year's resolution is to spend less time on this series of tubes and more time in the world. Also to blog more.
Typical.

We Only Hurt The Ones We Are

2006-12-10T01:58:00.000-06:00

I found myself reclining against a tree this morning, facing the bridge and the lake, watching the boats and cars speed through the band of sunlight bouncing off the water and etching my retinas when it occurred to me: my blog has sucked (more than ever) this whole year. I can't do anything about it now. I soldier on.

Recently I was presented with one of those days when I knew I was cashing in all that karma I'd been squirreling away, but I was firmly convinced it was worth every instance. I highly recommend this, if you can swing it. I feel Reborn In Our Lord Jesus Christ, minus the
In, Our, Lord, Jesus, and Christ. The emotional hangover is a bitch though.

I'm embarking on a small mental experiment. My task is to identify the one thing I want most in any given week and deny myself that one thing, and nothing else. The objective is not masochism so much as it is to discover if I can be honest enough with myself to identify what I truly want, even if it means being denied it. Just a few psychological biopsies to root out some leftover demons. I suppose it all falls under the umbrella of masochism. If anything, it's preemptive masochism, a fingernail scrape now to ward off the blade later. I haven't firmly committed the term "thing" to the intangible or material yet, though I'm leaning toward the former. The latter just seems shallow.

I really liked The Departed.

Listening To: Cat Power - Lived In Bars

A Bit Of The Old "How's Your Father" On The Side

2006-12-03T02:03:00.000-06:00

Soooo....
It's finals week (for us art fags anyway) and I seem to have destroyed the AC adapter for my computer. As such, I'm coming to you live from the student lounge. I have no good reason to post, other than my whole body hurts and sitting down feels good. I'm rocking three degrees of burns and quite a few miscellaneous insults to the skin on my hands. And some day I'll look back on this time with misty-eyed nostalgia, I'm sure.
My exhaustion and delerium are evident in that I'm seriously looking into doing some pre-MBA modules and credits before I leave school (hopefully) next fall, so as to enroll in the Distance MBA program later on. This is despite the fact I joined a facebook group entitled "Bugger! I've Been In College For Too Long!" not four days ago.
I had a blister on my left thumb that easily doubled the size of said thumb (mapp gas torch) until a few seconds ago when it burst and oozed all over this public keyboard. I'm suddenly acutely aware of the nasty factor of student lounge computers.
All I Want For Christmas Is An AC Adapter.

I Am Jack's Presynaptic Cell.

2006-10-27T05:26:00.000-05:00

I'll start by mentioning it's past 6 am and I've been up for awhile (somewhere between 7:03 am and 12:47 pm yesterday, depending on your definition of "up"). Please don't feel obligated to read this.

A typical day for me has lately gone something like this:

7:03 am - alarm goes off because I can't stand to set the thing for a nice round number, naively hoping I'll be "surprised" by the wacky time into waking up and getting a jump on the day. Whatthefuckever. Thus begins my first ritual of the day, "Snooze Hour-and-a-Half"
8:24 am - some cheery fucker in the Eastern time zone on his/her third cup of coffee IM's me. Lacking the conscious ability to come up with something clever, and slightly pissed at being beaten by three minutes to Snooze #7, I manage something along the lines of "I love you too, mom. Now fuck right off."
8:52 am- 'If I get up right now, I can make it to class on time. Except I'm filthy because I was too lazy to shower last night. I can be a few minutes late for the sake of hygiene.'
8:55 am - Turn on shower. Lean against the wall and watch it run for a few minutes.
8:57 am - 'Oh fuck this.'
8:58 am - Back to bed.
12:47 pm - Awake at the sound of a leaf blower outside bedroom window. "WTF???? @#@!$%^%&&*^#$#! I did it Again? Seriously?" Discover IM on desktop I have no recollection of writing. Send apology to mother. Bound out of bed and simultaneously dress and berate myself for being such a loser.
12:53 pm - eat lunch during three-minute race to work. Berate self for staying up so late.
1:30 pm - complete day's work
1:31 pm - commence desk nap
1:59 pm - chat up people with real jobs, complain about "work"
2:27 pm - eat cookies boss's mom sent, look busy
3:02 pm - log somewhere between four and six hours on time sheet, sneak out
3:08 pm - naptime
5:14 pm - feel guilty for having done NOTHING, resolve to work in the studio all night as punishment
5:42 pm - resolve to go to studio right after dinner
6:29 pm - right after checking e-mail
7:13 pm - right after Myspace time
7:53 pm - right after this article
8:46 pm - H'Caust and Lunchy are putting more thought into Studio 60 than Sorkin, I'm afraid. Like, way more. Also I feel really dumb, because they are, after all, talking about a television show. That I watch. And I'm still struggling to keep up with them.
9:12 pm - who am I kidding? Begin cycle of guilt and self-loathing anew/read some forums
10:30 - Ramen attack!
10:37 - Ooh, chat friends!
11:10 pm - Hey look! Netflix!
1:07 am - What, in dog's name, possessed me to rent that?
1:10 am - let's find out what the internet has to say about anything and everything frivolous and trivial!
5:04 am - reluctantly nod off
7:03 am - Snooze Hour-and-a-half

I'd like to say I jest, but I've been just about that effective lately. I sleep, and I hide in my room unless absolutely forced otherwise. As such, I've turned back to the happy pills. I asked for something that might help me sleep.
It's 6:43 am.
I am Jack's complete lack of surprise.

I May Be Over My Nasty Case of Outrage Fatigue

2006-10-22T11:21:00.000-05:00

Holly sent me this very compelling reason to either get out of bed very early on Monday morning to do some early voting, or mount up and go on a rage-fueled Capitol Hill shooting spree. I'm still on the fence, but given the outcomes of all my previous voting experiences, I may be tempted to go with a more effective method. Tell my mother I love her.

(*Editors note - the author of this blog does not condone violence against anyone, even the most deserving members of the legislative and executive branches, and as such the above statement is for entertainment purposes only.)

A Walk-On Would Be Fine

2006-10-03T19:36:00.000-05:00

Our power is out.
Let me rephrase. One of our three lines of power is out. A brownout, if you will. The few lines that are working keep dimming and surging. Nothing works in my bedroom. It’s 1:30, I have a blowslot at 3, and right about now I should be putting my color in the pickup box. That aspect is not pleasing me.

When I went to maintenance to see WTF, I discovered our physical plant guy sitting on an extra van bench spooning something out of a mason jar and munching contentedly. This is a man who built his house with hand tools and didn’t have power for the first 12 years of living there. I would not be surprised if he threw the switch himself just to get everyone out of the dank holes they call studios and take note of the beautiful day.

You’ll never get me, Zabriskie, I have a laptop battery for at least the next 45 minutes. Possibly longer now that I’m not running the airport. After that, I start texting like a fiend.

I had such a great weekend, with a few bumps of not as great. I’d like to see Bent performed by capable actors and a production budget sometime, but maybe not on someone’s birthday. Whenever I feel down I will go to my new happy place, a cushy boat on Norris Lake in late September with a slight hangover from the night before and a belly full of Steak and Shake.

I spent a lot of time on that boat yesterday. I’ve never heard so many people in so many places around the country talk about how much they hate Mondays as I did yesterday. Yesterday, it seems, was a universally shitty day. As such, I have written it off entirely. Today is actually Monday, in my twisted little reality. And I’m going to miss my blowslot because the power is out.
God I hate Mondays.

It occurs to me, even though my name is “Glasshole” on this here blog, I rarely talk about glass. I think this is maybe because we have such weird and vaguely sexual sounding terminology I would constantly be explaining what the hell I was talking about. Sometimes I’ll say something, and then I’ll have to have a moment to ponder the silliness of the words that just came out of my mouth. For your edification, I present a small glossary.

Blowpipe – This one is pretty obvious. You can’t touch hot glass, so you put it on a long metal rod with a hole in it. And you blow through it. Usage: “Dammit, my blowpipe got bent.”

Blowslot – See also Slot. Three hour chunks of studio access which correspond to how many credit hours one is taking. Usage “You got a slot today? Can I watch?”

Box – see also Annealer. A kiln which keeps finished glass pieces at well over 900 degrees until the studio closes for the night and then brings the pieces down to room temperature over the next 24-48 hours so they don’t ‘splode. Usage:“Let’s put this fucker in the box!” “Box that bitch.”

Hole – see also Glory Hole. A reheating furnace used to keep pieces hot enough to work. Usage: “Hey, if you’re going to the studio, could make sure my hole is turned on?”

Jacks – A very versatile glass shaping tool that looks a little like really long tongs. They are usually coated in beeswax to reduce resistance when they hit the glass. Usage: “Could you wax my jacks?”

Jackline – see “Jack it in” A curve one cuts in to the neck of a piece with the jacks so as to create a weak spot to allow removal from the blowpipe. Usage: “Take this heat, hang down in the hole and turn pole while I jack it in at the bench.”

Marver – A large steel table used for adding resistance (cold glass moves less than hot glass, metal takes away heat) and shape to glass. Also used as a bench for marver muffins.

Marver Muffin – A glass groupie, usually female. Usage:“Did you see the marver muffin party in Bob’s slot today?”

Punti – A solid metal rod with a little blob of glass on the end which is attached to the bottom of a piece so you can take it off the blowpipe and work on the lip. Usage: “Cara, your punti is too hot. Again.”

Consider yourself edumacated.

Update: 8pm and still half-assed power. We must have really fucked something up. My house is one of the few houses with AC and a stove, so we've been popular tonight. I lasted less than an hour in my slot with no exhaust fans or AC, and no running water (thanks, electric water system).
A week until mid-term crits, this makes me nervous.
Fuck you, This Week.

If This Is What 30 Looks Like....

2006-10-01T01:15:00.000-05:00

...sign me up.

The Eclectic Abecedarium

2006-09-27T20:14:00.000-05:00

I will be attending as Natasha Batti-Loupstein from Neglected Murderesseswho "pulverized a paste necklace and sprinkled it over a tray of canapes, Villa Libellule, Nice. 1923."
You should go, especially if you're a bearded or brooding man with a suit who likes theatre and edward gorey. You know who you are.
Wow, my pool of friends makes so much sense right now.

Mom Would Be So Proud

2006-09-21T01:17:00.000-05:00

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Seventh Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Very Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	Very High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Very High
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	High
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Extreme
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Extreme
Level 7 (Violent)	Extreme
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Extreme
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Extreme

Take the Dante's Divine Comedy Inferno Test

I'll see you there.

97% Chum Free

2006-09-19T01:42:00.000-05:00

Ahoy. What I've learned so far this week:

-A brake overhaul be worth precisely t' same amount as a 400 GB hard drive. T' t' cent, tax and/or shippin' included when necessary. (Sources: Midas, Newegg)

-There be no such thin' as a twenty-minute nap, don't kid yourself. Drink a cup o' coffee and suck it up. (Consistent with previous findin's, file under "old habits":crossreference: "die hard")

-Use your parkin' brake. All t' time. Arrrr.

-Me pirate name is "Catherine Hagerty Rough Tougue" and I intend to use it today (after smart five hour nap). I'll be goin' by Caty Rough Tongue for short. My ship be "The Damned Strumpet", just as soon as I get her from t' shipyard. So avast ye lubbers! Strapon the dildos! Batten down the butt plug! You and you grab a cock ring, and meet me on the poop deck!

-Me inner pirate be more Dave Attell than Davy Jones. What's it to ye?

Need A Fix

2006-09-12T12:49:00.000-05:00

Internet Crisis, Day 6

Greetings from the University Center.

The powers what is turned off the internet to our houses because someone has a virus, and won't give it back until every single computer has been scanned. This was painful Thursday night, but I have gone certifiably batshit in the days since. I'm so spoiled, without the internet I have no clue how to do anything. When armageddon comes, I hope I get killed off early because life just won't be worth living once the electric grid goes down.

So, of course, I hauled my computer to main campus today only to discover Gmail is down and Blogger has amnesia.

The weekend, however, didn't give me much of a chance to miss my beloved internet. Visitors are the best, especially ones that make funny noises when they sleep, and crack me up every two seconds when they're awake. The "First Ever Craft Center Shopping Cart Race" and Moustache Party were terribly amusing, and I sold all my pieces at the Cookeville Fun Fest. As much as I love to sleep in, it's nice to have an early riser around every now and then to wake your hungover ass up and drag it to Hardee's at 8 a.m. to fuel up for a canoe trip. It gave us the fortitude to confront the tiny water mocassin that managed to get bigger every time Howie mentioned it, and eventually came to define the lake, and no doubt, bodies of water in general for him. Still, we had a blast, and my guest bed now sits empty and awaits the next victim.

I upgraded my flickr account, and all my old albums and pictures reappeared. Woot. Go now and enjoy updated Shopping Cart Race and Moustache Party coverage.

Reason #45,875 why I love and need the internet: YouTube Responses

TGI Thursday

2006-08-31T21:14:00.000-05:00

It's the Craft Center Friday. First week of classes done. 8 hours in the hot shop so far, and it's more like riding a bicycle than I expected. In that I'm not very good at it, it makes me tired and sweaty, and more often than not I end up in a ditch. You'd never know I'd been doing it with some modicum of regularity for four years. Blowing glass that is, I've barely touched my bike.
So far my directing class is hilarious. 7 people. On the first day we were waiting around for some guy named Lucas, and in walked the notorious Mr. Flatt. Small fuckin' world. We enjoyed one of those strange early morning and out-of-context recognition moments and went on with our lives, and went out for soup after class. Thank You, Five Minutes should be required reading because we have four people from Knoxville of late, and three who don't feel much like sharing. Topics included, but were not limited to: How the Tennessee Stage Company exerts so much effort and remains so lackluster, Is ANYONE reviewing theatre in Knoxville, how awesome was Hedwig, Hedwig was awesome, Urinetown is the best musical ever, and there is no "theatre community" in Knoxville because they all hate each other. This is what I've learned so far. Our first assignment is to write a review of a show, and I just happen to be seeing Unidentified Human Remains And The True Nature Of Love twice this weekend. Coincidence? Or fair warning?
Slate is publishing a new chapter of The 9/11 Report, A Graphic Adaptation every day until 9/7. It's an interesting read, and a good one, if you're into that.
It never ceases to amaze me how quickly I fall back into the old routine. Per usual there is a dance party slated for this evening, and I hear the first rumblings of booty shaking out there. Guess it's time to hit that wonderful shower, pick some mint from the garden, and make my first of several mojitos.
Can't shake the booty proper without mojitos.

B-double E-double R-U-N...

2006-08-27T21:18:00.000-05:00

Aaaaannd....we're back.
On the hill. I'm feeling pretty indifferent on this the night before class starts. I've been puttering around my room trying to figure out what to do next.
I'd forgotten about the showers. Boiling hot pressure washers. Borderline orgasmic. I've slept here one night since Thursday, but I've taken three showers. Even dirty hippies tend to clean up their acts once they try the showers here. This is especially welcome this time around because there's a whole new crop of Patchouli stink I could do without.
Seriously, what the fuck is up with Patchouli? Is it in some trustifarian handbook somewhere that you must, MUST play hacky sack and bathe in nothing but patchouli? Is it somehow intrinsic to the maintainence of caucasian dreadlocks? I've never been able to stand it, I suspect this is due to the unfortunate stench of one director (no need to name names, you know him or you don't) I worked with on several occasions. The first read-through for Picnic at Hanging Rock made me so ill I missed the following two days of school. Since then Patchouli has made me want to regurgitate the contents of my most recent meal onto the offending party.
Even that probably wouldn't kill the god-awful smell.
I'm readjusting to life with spiders and without locks, but for now I feel exposed. I'm settling in slowly, the shock will wear off soon. I hope.

2006-08-24T22:42:00.000-05:00

8 lb 6 oz newborn baby jesus

2006-08-20T16:23:00.000-05:00

Gratuitous is the word (is the word that you heard).

I didn't work this week but somehow I managed. To do nothing constructive. Out of a desire to blog for the sake of it, I shall now regale you with a poorly written recap of my whirlwind week o' slack.

I am now fully addicted to Weeds. If you haven't seen it, get thee to iTunes. It's dirty in all the right places. Which is to say, everywhere. It doesn't set out to move you in the last few minutes of each show, so it has all the more impact when the moment strikes. Plus I get a sick delight out of little kids using the word motherfucker.

Passions was brilliant this week. Ratings must be in the crapper because they have had at least three shirtless men on screen at all times. I really should have started a drinking game based on each instance of shirt removal.

Ssssssssssssnakesssssssssssss on a Plane. Was that and so so much more. Gore, on a plane. Sex, on a plane. PSP addiction, on a plane. Bloated, oozing corpses, on a plane. Adam turned to us when it was all over, and said "well, I don't know what I was expecting..." Of course the snake lover in me had a few asinine moments of turning to Jesse and saying things like "constrictors don't have teeth like that! ARRRRRR!"

Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip may just make up for Sports Night's cancellation. After seeing the pilot, I can honestly forgive Sorkin for leaving the West Wing to suck for several seasons. Who knew I'd ever look forward to Monday nights?

Talladega Nights. Just see it. And take me with you.

Dave Chapelle's Block Party. I have this little problem, which luckily didn't manifest itself during Talladega Nights because his screen time was so short, but I become what can only be described as "Beatles on Ed Sullivan Front Row Bitch Crazy" whenever Mos Def is on screen. Like, want to rip my panties off and throw them at him, squealing and dripping like a honeycomb. No other man has this effect on me, and your guess is as good as mine as to why. So, this film could have been Mos Def brushing his teeth, and I would watch it on a loop. But when you factor in Quest Love from the Roots just grinning and drumming all day, and Dave Chapelle being himself all over the place, this is my new favorite film. Don't even get me started on how much I love Michel Gondry. Just don't. There was not a minute of this film I can complain about.

I befriended and defriended a small child this week. Day one I loaned her my bike. Day two she went through everything I own and made off with a good portion of it. Day three she threw rocks at my house to get my attention. This is why you shouldn't talk to small children.

Went to the Smokies game for Jodie's birthday and implemented the "kid in a candy store" attack on the concession stand. Later, at Sapphire I couldn't even drink my martini (me!) I was so sick from all the hot dogs, popcorn, ice cream, and pretzel I consumed. I came disgustingly close to puking on Joe's shoes. Aren't you glad you read this far?

Tonight, Urinetown.

Work is for suckers.

Forever 23

2006-08-16T23:59:00.000-05:00

You are a constant source of love and joy. Happy Birthday, Jodie.

"Take your time...

2006-08-14T23:40:00.000-05:00

..she's only burning."

Today at Magic Wok as I was cooling the fire of spicy chicken cashew with countless glasses of useless water, Betty imparted tiny asian lady wisdom. You have to have five things lined up, if one falls through, you move to the next one. And you have to have fire inside for each of them. You have to have the fire.

I got home and got an IM from one of my best friends (you may know her as Jen), who just started a new job in Florida. After an exhaustive search she found a house that would be perfect after a complete overhaul. Her mother caught the fever and bought one down the street that needed less rehab. Jen has been staying at her mother's project while renovating her own place.
This morning, a month before it was to be finished, some crackhead burned her house down.

bellepal: http://www.news4jax.com/video/9674907/detail.html
You can see my morning here.

Obviously it could have been worse. She could have been in the house. Everything she owns could have been in the house (with the exception of her computer, stereo equipment and power tools - they were stolen in a break-in two weeks ago). Insurance can put back most of it, but it won't replace the old woodwork and the history of the place. Still, she has a place to stay. She's not physically hurt, but in pain nonetheless.

So tonight I'm occupied with creation and destruction by fire. A better artist would have pencils in hand, but I'm just staring at the wall and constructing fleeting images I hope to recapture later. I need some fire, but I can't bring myself to want it.

OK, Go!

2006-08-12T17:53:00.000-05:00

I feel about this the way a born-again christian must feel about jesus, in awe and compelled to share the good news.

Tempted

2006-08-10T13:03:00.000-05:00

These things never come out right.

"Fate leads him who follows it, and drags him who resist." - Plutarch

It is not news that I don't put a lot of faith in a higher power. At least not one sentient enough to care whether I read its special book, get up early on sundays, or sacrifice a fatted calf in its honor. There are, though, occasions when I have serious trouble denying fate or karma or whatever name you want to attach to it. There are moments when no conscious decision is made but a seemingly insignificant action, word or phrase sets me off on an entirely new trajectory I couldn't have fathomed. Furthermore, evaluating some of the conscious decisions I've made, it seems I'd be better off leaving it for fate to decide.

"One meets his destiny often in the road he takes to avoid it." -French Proverb

Granted, conscious might not be the word for the mindset of a suddenly and severely depressed teenager staring down the barrel of a career. Fresh off a nervous breakdown, I took a long look at the art form which had gotten me out of bed in the morning and kept me out of it at night since before I could remember and responded with clenched eyes and a choice finger. At the time it, and the voices in my head, were all I had to blame for why I felt so strikingly shitty. I thought I was burned out. I didn't just make the decision not to major in theatre in college, I turned my back and nurtured a healthy loathing for the whole enterprise. I remember going to an ACT All-Night Theatre event the following year and being almost physically ill at the hugginess and support those damn theatre people showed for each other. I felt embarrassed that I'd ever been one of them. Because I was so fucking talented in my waitressing job, and an accomplished stoner to boot. Angry, sad, and then pissed off for being sad. These were the sourest of grapes. In the intervening years, I know I can count on one hand the number of times I set foot in a theatre. In the anthology of short stories about stupid decisions I've made, I call this one Tempting Fate...Like a Bitch.

Lacking a better idea I floundered for a bit, and tried my hand at flailing for a while. Dipped up and shaped some semblance of a new identity out in the hills. Suddenly it's Summer 2006.

"Lots of folks confuse bad management with destiny." -Kin Hubbard

I didn't even want to go to the bar that night. I was tired, the headache was in full swing. Well, a small part of me will always want to go to the bar, but that's not the point. The point is that I didn't set out to discover I've been kidding myself for the past eight years on that particular night. I followed some friends in, made a spontaneous noise of approval at the prospect of Hedwig. Joe noticed. Mike was there, leaning against the bar. Sara remembered me. I thought maybe I could score a free show if I handed out programs or slapped around some paint. I still have no idea how I ended up in the program.
I had so much trouble containing my enthusiasm throughout the process. Yes, I loved the show, I believed in the story, I was curious to see how it would play in town. On the whole, though, I was just giddy to be back, even if I was on the bottom rung cleaning tomatoes off the floor. There were a few familiar faces sprinkled in a sea of strangers, but I felt more at home than I had in years.

So I left theatre to find myself, the irony is not lost that I was there all along. Always the last place you look. The real surprise though, was not only finding that, but also a different version. The one that flew instead of flailed. The one that stuck it out and turned the inner voices outward. I don't dare compare the talent, but I recognize the love. It touched me from a distance at first. Then one night it took a truly bizarre turn, ripped out my insides, and refused to put them back in the original order. Inspiring. Painful. Necessary.

The universe provides, I barely had to lift a finger. I'd do well to remember this in the future. I don't know when or what my next show will be, or how I'll contribute, but I can guarantee it won't be another eight years. I just got a big piece of myself back, I'm not about to give it away again.

"What do I know of man's destiny? I could tell you more about radishes." -Samuel Beckett

Tuesday.

2006-08-08T22:36:00.000-05:00

I'm working on the post-mortem. Naming photos isn't my specialty, but there are a few on flickr. Smoking hot.

Southern Comfort

2006-08-02T21:36:00.000-05:00

It's Wednesday night and some lightweights have been steadily leaving 2 oz. of bottom shelf liqueurs at your house. You go to peruse the bar and are nearly buried under mainly empty bottles of boozecandy.

Fuck This Iced Tea

.75 oz. hobo socialite amaretto
.75 oz. teen girl triple sec
1.25 oz serviceable rum
2 tbsp. simple syrup
Unsweetened iced tea left over from your soon-to-be aunt-in-law's 80th birthday party to taste

Pour ingredients over ice and shake like a red-headed stepbaby. Lemon? If you must.
Drinkable!

Sunday! Sunday! Sunday!

2006-07-30T14:40:00.000-05:00

Flying in the face of my earlier post, I have declared today (Sunday) Mojito Madness. If you have a vague idea of where I live, or how to contact me, and it's before midnight, you get mojitos. It's that simple!
If you need me, I'll be squeezing limes.

Edit: We're taking this show on the road. Mid-town Drive-In Ghosts of Pirates and Pirate Ghosts Mojito fest.

Define Pause

2006-07-30T11:04:00.000-05:00

I was all set to recap this past week in all it's glorious excess and discovery, but my horoscope is eerily spot-on and I think my brain ceased normal function somewhere around Friday morning.

Aquarius (January 20-February 19)
This week should be pretty CRUNCHALICIOUS, Aquarius. You know, crisp and delectable, chewy and pleasing to your inner four-year-old--like a breakfast cereal with three different sweet tastes packed into puff balls that softly explode in your mouth. The only potential problem is that you could keep wolfing down the treats without any regard for how the experience might make you feel later. I suggest that you enjoy the feast slowly, pausing every now and then to monitor whether you're close to being excessively stimulated or over-satiated.

I was close to being excessively stimulated by Wednesday. This will teach me to wait until Saturday to pick up the Metropulse.

2006-07-29T09:43:00.000-05:00

Easier to read if you click on it.

Draw Your Own Parallels

2006-07-27T23:42:00.000-05:00

I've tried to avoid linking to Salon since I let my subscription lapse. Whenever I get the nerve to look through the archives on this site, the links are always broken and I have no clue what I was talking about, and that pretty much defeats the purpose of this here blog. Plus there's the "watch this ad" thing, which is annoying to send people to, even if it is worthwhile.
However.
I've been falling steadily in love with Anthony Bourdain. No Reservations on the Travel Channel is just good television. And he just happened to be in Lebanon when the shit began to go down. I remember hearing a quote from him in the first few days, a flip comment about how great the Mojitos at his hotel were.
So while this article doesn't necessarily delve into the depths of the mechanism behind what's happening over there, it does a really good job of making one want to find out. It's a painful reminder of how quickly things can go to hell in a town on it's way back up.
It's worth the ad.

"I'm Too Much With Myself....

2006-07-26T11:10:00.000-05:00

..I wanna be someone else."

11 am. Blew off work spectacularly today. First No Call/No Show. Ever. Sitting on the couch in my kimono, eating crushed pineapple from the can. Still wearing makeup from last night, though definitely not in its original configuration. The television is on, but mostly I'm staring off into space.
Goddamn I love The Lemonheads. I've been playing It's A Shame About Ray in my car for about a week, no end in sight. Evan Dando's vocals fall at the low end of my range, Juliana Hatfield's the high. I can't not sing along.

We have to laugh
To look at each other
We have to laugh
'Cause we're not alone
As the cars fly up King Street
It's enough to startle us
It's enough to startle us
I love
My drug buddy

I've been given an overload of food for thought. Back to that.
Also, Magnum, P.I. is on.

The Company Store For The Modern Age

2006-07-23T21:46:00.000-05:00

This is intriguing to the part of me which has spent a few moments here and there pondering the implications of both artificial intelligence and distributed computing. I'm sure this isn't the first experiment of it's kind, but it's the first I've had any experience with that seeks to actually integrate us into the machine, and compensate for it. Sorta.
The part of me which already feels exploited by the internets is terrified of what this could mean down the road. We already have people in the third world playing World of Warcraft 18 hours a day for pennies. Of course, we have plenty here who do the same for free. I feel compelled to stare at this screen a good portion of the time I spend at home, why shouldn't I be sorting colors for Amazon for a couple of credits? This is where the discussion begins.
Still another part wonders what Neal Stephenson would say, and why he didn't express it clearly in a 1000 page tome ten years ago.

Wisdom On The Bathroom Wall

2006-07-20T16:29:00.000-05:00

Here's my extended take on the situation involving Market Square at the moment. I don't care if you're murdering babies, as long as you are enthusiastically supporting the art and culture in your community. This, from my humble observations is precisely what the Wests are all about. I don't know them, but I know what they've done for this town. I desperately want to believe my edumacated friends when they say there's a snowball's chance in hell the businesses will be dismantled if they're seized. BUT....

Sitting in Preservation Pub last night, my thoughts kept drifting back to the Mercury Theatre, mainly because if you look hard enough with the right kind of eyes, you can still see some of it in the Pub today. I loved "the Merc" when I was a confused high school theatre geek and all the older guys I hung out with went there. I spent almost every Sunday night there, even though most of the time we just sat outside because even though women got in free that night, the guys I was with were too poor to pay the cover. When we did get in, I'd play foosball and steal sips of beer, and dance to Blondie's "Heart of Glass." That was all I needed at the time. I was so sad when it closed down.

Imagine my surprise then, when several years later I went to the still ghost-town like Market Square with some friends to "this great new place" and I was about 3/4 of the way into my beer when I realized where I was. I was at the Mercury. It was all earth toned, and the beer selection way better, and instead of a punk band there was some chick with a guitar and a long flowy skirt. But the bones were there. It was disconcerting how much a place could change, but I loved the new incarnation. It was just what I wanted in a bar at the time.

Now, whenever I go to the Pub (rarely) I'm put off by how loud or crowded it is. I've reached that stodgy age where, while I still love live music, more often I just want to have a few drinks and actually hear what my friends are saying. Lame, I know.

So, maybe it's time for the place to undergo another change. Who knows what it could be next? Maybe I'm destined to hang out in that space for the rest of my life, each new phase I enter concurrent with it's newest incarnation. In an effort to be positive, this is what I've come up with.

But, knowing my luck, Connor Concepts will get it and turn it into yet another damn Aubrey's.

On a related note, I was not in love with the new menu at Oodles. Bruce Bogartz is in the kitchen now, and he seemed nonplussed by all the happenings. He said he's planning to open the place for Brunch in August without so much a hint of reservation.

As for The Grotto. Well. If you can't say anything nice....

Regardless of the outcome, I hope the Wests come out alright. They seem like good people. The only crime I find them guilty of is trying to make this town a better place. I'd hate to see them punished for that.

2006-07-19T23:05:00.000-05:00

Flotsam

2006-07-18T17:51:00.000-05:00

Sunday at the movies. I haven't read A Scanner Darkly, which may have been my first mistake. My interest with Keanu Reeves peaked (not to be confused with piqued) with the line "I know kung-fu." As much as I loved seeing Robert Downey Jr. go after Woody Harrelson with a hammer, I get the feeling they weren't doing much acting. Winona Ryder is merely a no-talent ass clown (I will never be able to thank Office Space enough for that phrase).
As much as it pains me to say it, Rotoscope can't even save this one. The scramble suits were fun, I guess. Maybe I was just f-ing tired from staying out late all night and working all day, but I actually fell asleep at one point. Thom Yorke had his sticky little fingers all over the soundtrack though, so it wasn't a complete wash. In fact, almost worth it just for that.

Wendel offered to play the wedding gratis. I'm thinking of starting a band composed of all my talented friends. So far I've got Wendel in charge and Hanrahan on Ukelele. Auditions will be held. TBA.

I read the News-Sentinel while slapping together sandwiches at work this morning. All I can say is Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn. Anyone want to go to Oodles while we still can? In lieu of burger night? Perhaps?

Readin': Never Mind the Pollacks w/Neal Pollack

Again With The Picking On Preservation

2006-07-16T22:00:00.000-05:00

Well, just as I was falling in love with the city, the Internal Revenue Service's Criminal Investigation division, the U.S. Department of Treasury, and the Drug Enforcement Agency went and raided the hell out of Preservation Pub, Oodles, and Earth to Old City this morning. Would I be surprised if some tiny fraction of the rejuvenation of market square and subsequent neighborhood renewal had benefitted from a little "conspiracy to distribute marijuana" and whatever the hell else the Wests and accomplice have been accused of?
Not really.
Would I be offended?
Of course not.
I'm a big fan of "by all means necessary" when it comes to urban renewal. Now if only we could get the Mafia in on opening that downtown liquor store.
That said, I have no idea if any of the accusations hold any merit, or what is specifically involved. I just know it ain't right.

What I'd like to know is when the design cops are going to raid "the grotto" (sincere apologies to H'caust, O and anyone else who might not find it as hideous as I do).
(Shakes fist at the heavens) When will real justice be served?

At least I have this to keep my spirits aroused. Very, very aroused, owing to Sr. Bernal. Yummmy.

You should definitely spend some quality time with Knoxville520. You know, if you're into that sort of thing.

2006-07-16T01:40:00.000-05:00

You Wicked Little Town

2006-07-14T11:32:00.000-05:00

As I bid adieu to a few Craft Center friends who were kind enough to let me put them on the guest list for the preview of Hedwig and the Angry Inch last night, one who I would not see again this year imparted a few words of wisdom, "I'm sure we'll see each other again. The world is small, and the glass world is even smaller."
I've been in and out of the Knoxville area all my life, and since I've been back in Knoxville this time around I have had the opportunity to refelct on just how small my world can be at times. I've been running into people from my distant and recent past with increasing regularity, and I get the feeling that won't slow down once our show opens tonight. When I was younger, this would have been a major complaint, a railing against this crippling vortex of insularity. I used to be of the mind that staying here was an admission of mediocrity, as good as giving up.
Now, however, in my advanced age I find it comforting and inspiring that the many of the same personalities I looked up to back in the proverbial day are still there, still fighting to make Knoxville the town we all know it can be. And more and more it looks as though they are succeeding. The Knoxville of my youth was not a place where on any given Wednesday night I had to choose between Wendel Werner at a swanky tapas place and Sara Schwabe at a swanky downtown bar with an impressive wine list and a damn fine mojito. When I look at the people who have been here all along I can't help but feel like a quitter for believing I would ever find what I was looking for anywhere without putting a hand or four into making it happen. That's one of those things they don't teach you in school.
As long as I can remember I've wanted out of here, and even as I'm putting into action both short and long-term plans to leave for the umpteenth time, I'm left wondering if that is really the answer. At what point do you take responsiblity? This town has never felt as much like home as it has in these latter days.
I have no creative finish for this one, so I'll just link to the guy who got me on this fucking sentimental tangent.
creative title of blog

Also, if there's any hope for you you'll buy things from Meagan.

Surname in Two Syllables

2006-07-06T00:44:00.000-05:00

I've put this one off long enough, I think. Here it is.

On June 17, 2006 Matt and I headed off to King Tut's to celebrate our one measley year as an official couple. I don't know if it was the animatronic deer on the wall singing "Friends in Low Places", Mo's rubber chicken to-go gag, or the apron with exposed breasts Mo put on Matt, but we looked at each other over "#1 Greek Salad Knoxville, Tennessee" and we knew. We took turns asking the question, we stayed in our chairs. There was champagne. I picked out the ring a week later.
We're getting married in 465 days. Give or take.

I know word travels pretty fast, but there might be someone out there in blogland who hasn't heard just yet. So there you go. If I failed to tell you to your face, or your voice, or at least your personal e-mail, I apologize. Telling three sets of parents individually almost did me in, but now that's done, and no one cried or threatened disownership. I'd say everyone was quite pleased.
So onto the the planning. We're working on some radical ideas so hold onto your asses.

And yes, my feelings on feminism and equal rights aside, I will be dropping my last name like it's hot. Every girl dreams about her wedding day, I dream about the day my last name will no longer evoke male genitalia in the plural. Fo' real.

Also congrats to Tolsun, who bagged himself a real nice girl with excellent taste in blog templates. They will beat us to the aisle by quite a bit.

"Suddenly I'm Miss Midwest Midnight Checkout Queen"

2006-06-09T08:07:00.000-05:00

The summer job - painful reminder of why you're busting your ass through school. I'd forgotten how hard this full-time job business could be on a body. Three days into my gig as a cashier and my legs are officially on strike, so it's nice to have today off.
Overall, things at The Bakery are going well. I'm pretty much awesome, so they have to like me. I singlehandedly saved the ass of the place on my first day, but I think no one noticed because they were too busy freaking out. The food is, unfortunately, fucking delicious. I'm drowning in free bread, and it's preservative and artificialness free, so that's a big plus.
Under the advice of many and the dire warning of one who knows more about it I have also taken another gig, but not unlike crime, it don't pay. I'm doing this one out of a desire to do something constructive with my life this summer, and I'm also doing it out of Love for a little show called Hedwig and the Angry Inch. Clear out a Thursday, Friday, or Saturday night between July 13 and August 5 because I'm pretty sure it will be great.
These last few weeks have been like waking up from an 8-month coma, and I've been wondering WTF happened to my life, but all these goings on almost make me feel as though I have some use in this world. It's been a while since I felt I could say that. I'm not interning or apprenticing or making any real strides toward my impending senior thesis, but I'm keeping busy and that will do for now.

Awareness

2006-06-05T15:37:00.000-05:00

I just found out this in National Headache Awareness Week. I consider myself pretty aware, but I am happy to report since the surgery I have been able to say I have headaches. This is a BIG improvement, before I had A Headache all the time. I now have headaches, implying there are times when I do not have one.

This message brought to you by Headache Awareness Week and my oral surgeon.

My Whole Existence Is Flawed

2006-06-05T00:20:00.000-05:00

File under: Shock

Memorialization

2006-05-28T09:44:00.000-05:00

It's been so long since I socialized properly, I almost thought I'd forgotten how. And I was only partially right. The cookout at Erin's was good times, but I'm sad I got the "you shoulda hung out, maaaan," re: The Cupcake Incident. There's always next time.

Today is Sunday and I'm going to the drive-in. They're doing a triple feature. I had originally planned to go to the one in Mid-Town, but I just realized the one in Maryville is showing "The Sentinel" as the third movie instead of "Larry the Cable Guy." I'm pretty sure there's not contest here, but I've never been to the one in Maryville. Thoughts?

That's It?

2006-05-16T13:19:00.000-05:00

I'm alive, and very much so. If it weren't for the all mashed potato diet and the ice pack strapped to my face, I'd hardly know anything happened yesterday. I don't have a chipmunk face or bruises, and as far as I know I didn't even do anything embarrassing or stupid while I was sedated. Success!
I made a week's worth of mashed potatoes last night, and learned that people on hydrocodone who haven't eaten in 28 hours probably shouldn't be in the kitchen. Though I would kill a cow with my bare hands for a steak right about now. Anyone got any good food ideas? I'm about sick of juice and sweet things.

Put away that crack pipe put some make-up on that bruise....

2006-05-13T21:55:00.000-05:00

School's out. I work three hours a day, four days a week (though am casually on the prowl for something better). I've essentially stopped going out (by my standards), and I've had one beer and three sips of scotch in the past two weeks. I certainly can't claim the lack of time to post these days, but I am starved for material. One reason I don't post much these days is my desire to avoid turning this into The "Headache: Day 220" blog.
For those of you playing along at home it is, indeed, Day 220. I counted. Just now. Whilst waiting for the Darvocet to kick in. My new plan of attack is getting my wisdom teeth removed on Monday morning in the hopes that they will:

get the fuck out of my sinus cavity
get the fuck out of the nerve bundle in my jaw
relieve some of the pressure in my head
give the voodoo priestess (next on the list) something to work with

I have a lot of anxiety about this whole wisdom tooth thing. I've never been put under, but I'm not so much worried about that as I am about waking up in the middle of the carnage, which, from the anecdotes I've been given, happens all the damn time. Seriously, why do they pay the anesthesiologist so much if he/she can't even keep you down? Ripoff. Plus, I'm not encouraged when the doctor hands me the two page list of serious risks, tells me to initial by each one, and then informs me this is usually just a formality, but actually created for cases just like mine. Cases involving nerves and sinus cavities and roots and teeth that have been through the gum for seven years. Sweet.
I used to think I was cool because I still had all my original parts. Tonsils? Check. Appendix? Check. I had a good run.

Oh Bitch, bitch, bitch. After the They Might Be Giants show last Thursday night, I said I wouldn't mind if I died as a result of this operation, because it was all downhill after that show anyway. I heard "Fingertips" performed live, and I don't really need to go on living after that. Anticlimactic. Despite being sick and achey all week, I went and I danced, and sang and jumped around like I was twelve. Where TMBG is concerned, I will always be twelve.
I've been in that mood all week. Netflix brought disc 1, season 1 of The Adventures of Pete and Pete this week, a show I hadn't seen since its original run, but which I watched religiously. I was convinced I was going to marry Big Pete and have awkward red-headed frecklebabies. I knew I was in for a trip down memory lane when I put it in the queue, but I was entirely unprepared for the opening strains of Hey Sandy by Polaris. It unlocked a whole pocket of tweenitude long since quashed by the ripening of adolescence and subsequent rot of adulthood. I had to forcibly hold back the torrent of giddy tears it almost unleashed. I got the uncontrollable urge to experiment with makeup, prank-call boys, and obsess over who to marry in civics class. And those all felt like good things.

So this week I'm going to ride that wave. I'm twelve. I don't drink, I don't go out. It's summer vacation and I babysit a little to keep me in nailpolish. I'm a little freaked out about this surgery thing, but my concepts of pain and mortality aren't fully crystalized yet, so I'm not losing any sleep. All I know is I love They Might Be Giants, Pete and Pete, and I have a huge crush on this guy, Matt.

Meet Me At The Drive-In

2006-05-06T19:54:00.000-05:00

In case you were wondering, the magic car lot DOES exist. Sorta.

'98 Honda CR-V. It has a built-in picnic table. It is immaculate, and I haven't found anything wrong with it yet. I say "yet" because we're just getting to the punchline:

All I ask is that it gets me through next summer. Still....Pretty!

"Box of Wine. Puts Me Right Out."

2006-05-05T03:01:00.000-05:00

I can never seem to sleep on Thursdays. Tonight I don't know if it's the excitement of the 9:30 am Chiropractor visit or the 12:45 Oral Surgeon appointment. The World's Longest Hangover isn't lending a hand either. And my feet are extra tingly today. Thanks, Dopamax!
But school's out for the summer, the drive-in is open and it's all good for now. This is, of course, overlooking the small detail of not actually having anything to drive to the drive-in. Mom and I are going car shopping tomorrow, hopefully at the magic car lot where all the cars cost $2000, aren't white or tan, have manual transmissions, aren't domestic, and run forever. I can be flexible on the definition of "forever" and could be bargained down to "until I graduate." I'm easy.
I trust everyone in their right mind is going to They Might Be Giants, yes? Yessssss.
Oh yeah, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Everything I Need To Know I Learned At The Titty Bar

2006-04-18T00:09:00.000-05:00

So much to cover, and it's so late, but I can't let the non-posting continue a day longer, because the blog gods keep throwing entirely eventful days at me to punish me for my absence, and I'm getting more and more behind. I think I'll just share a few nuggets of wisdom I've picked up in the past few weeks or so.

I'm not sure why there aren't more strip clubs that have naked women on one side and (sorta) naked men on the other, but if you can find one, I highly recommend going with a large group of people, and if you can, be sure to pile in to the bed of a truck for the ride home, right in front of the door man and the valets, because the Easter eve is a slow night for them, and they could use a laugh.

Enter ridiculously low prices for three-star hotels in large cities into Priceline. You may be pleasantly suprised with a two-room suite for $65. Split between four friends.

Allow approximately 8 hours for each trip to IKEA. Take notes. Drink plenty of fluids. Use the yellow bag judiciously.

If you're on a medication that screws with your brain and also at Six Flags, and it is Easter so there are no lines to settle your stomach in between, please don't do Batman, The MindBender and the swings in rapid succession. And definitely don't do it in front of all your friends.

Always have a flashlight in your car. When your car dies and you spend a week trying to figure out how to get a new one and you think you've transferred everything you might need from the old one to the one you bought off your brother that's been sitting in his carport for the last few months, make sure you put the flashlight in the new car. A wrench and a screwdriver wouldn't kill you either.

Never trust the oil-change guy. Check the fluids again. The only thing they check is the box that says they checked the fluids.

If you ever break down in Otto, NC at 4:30 on Friday afternoon of Easter weekend, take it to Chuck Shirley. He's good people.

If you are ever presented the opportunity to see Rump Posse or Contraband in concert, do it.

And one I stole from Adam, if the above opportunity presents itself, the 50 cent earplugs at the bar do not, in fact, make you look like a square. And I apologize.

blip

2006-03-23T22:41:00.000-06:00

Words and phrases I intend to incorporate into my vocabulary post-haste:

And it's off to Charlotte for the weekend to see The Chad, play some croquet, and drink some champagne.

Thanks For Nothing.

2006-03-13T21:18:00.000-06:00

You know what? Screw you guys. I'm done.

Us? We're Light.

2006-03-04T17:46:00.000-06:00

Nochnoi Dozor is good. They worked some trailer magic, but the film in enjoyable. Next on the menu is Dave Chappelle's Block Party, because it would be unamerican not to.

I'm not going to bother re-writing what others have written more brilliantly, but I'm getting back into hyper-pissed off mode right in time for mid-term elections, which I sadly don't know much about yet, but intend to correct asap.

My mother is becoming my new hero for the moment, because she is planning workshop in Nashville in April that will bring together a representatives of Focus on the Family, the ACLU, a host of clergy from all religions and assorted politicians to discuss the complicity of the Christian clergy in the Holocaust. It coincides with a new documentary on the subject, and she's working with the filmmaker on future, larger projects. Yay Mom!

I will now roast pork.

It Snowed For My Birthday!!!

2006-02-18T11:42:00.000-06:00

Eight inches of snow lay on the ground when I was born lo these many years ago. It also snowed in the Sahara desert for the first time in recorded history that day.
Today I woke up to a great birthday present.

Thanks, Mother Nature!

Thanks, Mother Nature!

Silver = Badasssssssssss

2006-02-17T22:54:00.000-06:00

Dear Lindsey Jacobellis,
Gold is tacky and I think you were right to donate it to the less fortunate/talented. I'm not saying that because you're from the U.S. I'm saying it because you dominated, you knew it, you lived in the moment, and you're going home with the prettiest medal.
Also, thank you saying a polite "fuck you" to Bob "King of the Asshats" Costas with your smile. You are a real American hero.

Your new adoring fan,
Me

It's Only Satisfying If You Eat It

2006-02-15T23:54:00.000-06:00

1 am - belly full of taco bell and whiskey. Massive Attack and Ski Jump on the same set of speakers. Laundry in the dryer. Work at 10, class at 3, critique at 6.
Let's break it down.
Every day I try really hard. Oatmeal and fat free yogurt for breakfast. Oat bran pita pocket with hummus, cucumber and turkey for lunch. Baby carrots for a snack. Water. Water. More water. Walk around campus during break explicitly avoiding vending machine areas. Water.
Then I get home, have a little celebratory drink (maybe two) for being so good all day.
Phone rings, caller ID reads "Border." Recorded voice says: "You NEED a burrito." I black out and the next thing I know I'm sitting in my car in the Fellini Kroger parking lot in my pajamas with nacho cheese and fire sauce on my chin.
Tomorrow I'll get up and make oatmeal. Why?

I know I've said it before, but I love Massive Attack. Specifically Mezzanine.

I have mad Olympic fever, and given my general distaste for sports and nationalism it's strange. I'm even keeping a close watch on the medal count (we're in third, but we have the most gold, why do I care???) There's a marked lack of Katie Couric, and they're keeping the Bob Costas to a minimum, and I approve. It seems like they're even doing a little less of the misty-eyed sob stories this year. Oh shit, Duran Duran is performing at the medals pavillion. Hungry Like The Wolf. Rather old men who used to be Duran Duran. At what age does eyeliner on men cease to be effective? My guess is whatever birthday Nick Rhodes celebrated 5 years ago.

And with that, laundry calls.

To All The Guys I've Loved Before.....

2006-02-14T23:22:00.000-06:00

Happy Valentine's Day!

What's This? Another Three Hours...Gone.

2006-02-10T18:29:00.000-06:00

I'm not entirely sure if I found it, or it found me, but I've been playing with it ever since.
Last.fm.
Don't take my word for it.

Party for Chuck

2006-02-08T11:13:00.000-06:00

Chuck says update, and I say "Yes Sir!" Why? Because Chuck is my new best. friend. ever. He is coming to my most awesome party ever and no one else can even be bothered to check the "maybe" radio button, and he even went so far as to emphatically assert he is most definitely coming, which still leaves him ample time to come up with a plausible last minute punk-out.
So here's to you, Chuck. You and me are going to have an awesome time. Matt hasn't even responded, even if he did design the invite, so I guess it will just be you, me, Katamari, sushi, free beer and my black ralph lauren bikini. I'm sure we can find a hot bitch to wear it.
For those of you who are reading this and wondering what the fuck I'm talking about, I'm having a joint birthday party for Matt and Myself, and if you didn't get an invitation it's because you don't live around here, I don't have your e-mail, or you're Adam and you haven't even been bothered to look at the invite I sent to your 2 e-mail addresses.
But that's cool. I like Chuck. We're going to party like rockstars.

Cloud Gate Keepers

2006-02-03T16:07:00.000-06:00

Cloud Gate Keepers
Originally uploaded by glasshole.

When I was moving I came across some rolls of film, and I finally just got them developed. My last rolls of film ever. Kind of a milestone.
One thing I miss about film is getting it developed two years later and finding out what's on it for the first time, like a little surprise.
I took a million pictures in Millenium Park in Chicago. This is about the only one that turned out.
I swear I'm still missing a roll
somewhere....

More on Flickr.

Shh, It's The Deodorant's Turn To Talk

2006-02-02T01:12:00.000-06:00

If someone had let me in on the little secret that organic chemistry would help me understand what was going on with all my toiletries I'd have taken it sooner.
Now I see little 3-D models whenever I wash my face. My shampoo is a veritable plethora of functional groups.
But I still fucked up the test today.

Make Her Laugh At That

2006-01-30T23:02:00.000-06:00

I've never been much of an achiever. I graduated smack in the middle of my class, I dropped out of college after my freshman year, and nine years later I'm still struggling through. Never been published, no special recognitions. My resume is a barren wasteland of "what the hell have I been doing all these years?"

I am, however, pretty good at amazing doctors. My chiropractor slapped my x-rays up on the lightbox today, and looked at me like, "how are you walking upright?"

Looking at the films? I could see why. I'm a mess. No part of my skeleton above my waist is where it should be.

He then presented me with the award for "worst. jaw. ever." Seriously.

I've seen x-rays of my chest and teeth before, but I don't think I've ever had the pleasure of seeing my own skull in its glorious entirety. It's scary. My head has eyes, and hair, and a nose, and skin, and is very much alive.
Up there on the lightbox though, I was dead. Just a skull with a highly dysfuntional jaw, held aloft by Hamlet.

Alas, poor Cara! I knew her, Horatio: a lady
of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: she hath
borne me on her back a thousand times; and now, how
abhorred in my imagination it is!

When I was a kid I had a dream I was standing in front of a mirror and I grew old and my skin slowly split and fell off until I was just a skeleton standing there, gaping. Scared the crap out of me. Seeing the x-ray today brought a little of that feeling back.

I really need to accomplish something.

Ta Da, a Magazine for Gay Magicians

2006-01-29T20:26:00.000-06:00

Back in the day I would occasionally link to things I thought were fun, insightful, or whatever. Let's get back to that. Here is some stuff that has been making me smile on the internets.

"Lazy Sunday" was only the beginning.
I've never actually heard the whole "My Humps" by the Black-Eyed Peas, nor do I want to, nevertheless, it's been stuck in my head for days because of this. WTF happened to The Black-Eyed Peas anyway? Weren't they good at some point? What happened to the guys who did "Joints and Jams?" That was a good song.
Like Flickr but still have some time on your hands? Try Fastr. Warning: Threat of addiction is real.
True story.

Finally, something I didn't find on Waxy.org: Our Matt has finally been bullied into joining the ranks. Let's give him our warmest welcome!

The Lord Told Me To Join The Army. So I Did.

2006-01-27T16:14:00.000-06:00

Well, we're a bunch of posting muthas these days.
Chiropractic care is my new job, except I pay them. Discovered I have not one, but about 9 different reasons to have a headache. My assignment this weekend is to "change the space between my ears." and get my hope back.
I was not given any specific instructions as to changing "the space between my ears." I hope it involves booze.
We're watching Amadeus tonight because it's been a couple of months, and also it's his birthday. NPR hasn't missed a chance to tell us that this week.
I still haven't seen Brokeback Mountain, for which I feel ashamed, but here's the rub: it looks like a chick flick. A chick flick with hott guys who kiss each other, but a chick flick nonetheless. If the story was about a man and a woman it wouldn't even be on my radar, so do I go see it just for the cause? Or because Oprah told me to?
Because she did, earlier today. She looked right at me and said, "Go. See. It."
Fuck it, I loves me some Jake Gyllenhaal. Sprechen ze, sexy?
While we're on the topic of movies (when are we not?) I just saw a preview for The Pink Panther, and, as much as I love Steve Martin, Kevin Kline, and Befuckingyonce, would it have killed them to say Jean Reno's name, seeing as how he is featured in 75% of the ad?
If I were the French, I'd hate us too.

This? Is Sad.

2006-01-19T13:03:00.001-06:00

create your own visited countries map
or vertaling Duits Nederlands

So that's where I've been, in this great wide world. The U.S. and Costa Rica. Woo.
Of course, I'll never get anywhere if I keep moving backward, which is what I feel I've been doing all week. Pellissippi is....different from the other schools. Not sure what I expected.
So not much to report as of late. I saw Jesus is Magic last night with Matt, Mike, and Scott. I did a lot of silent laughing, more just the breathing and moving my shoulders up and down, because it was hard to laugh out loud at some of those jokes. Still, if you like the raunchy and racist stylings of the adorable Sarah Silverman, this one's for you.
I'm still struggling through House of Leaves and wondering exactly why I chose a book where the footnotes' footnotes have footnotes, sometimes in foreign languages and mostly fabricated, sometimes missing letters, whole sentences, or paragraphs. In fact, it leads me to wonder what exactly makes one choose to write such a monstrosity. There are times when I truly believe I am just too stupid to see the larger picture here. I'm not so much scared by the story as I am seriously concerned for Mark Z. Danielewski's mental health. I'm beginning to think Ulysses might provide a nice little break. At least all the words face the same way.
Happy Birthday Adam, Ross, Xian, and Holly this week. I'm ready to boogie on Saturday night.

So True

2006-01-16T11:25:00.000-06:00

Your 2005 Song Is

Beverly Hills by Weezer

"My automobile is a piece of crap
My fashion sense is a little whack
And my friends are just as screwy as me"

You breezed through 2005 in your own funky style!

What Hit Song of 2005 Are You?

But I Had the KITT Big Wheel....

2006-01-09T20:18:00.000-06:00

Cult Icon Hasselhoff

You are Hasselhoff, the Cult Icon. You revel in your enigmatic and confusing popularity – moreso in the positive aspects of it than the confusing or unclear parts. You are the shining star of the world: more specifically, of Germany. Someday, you will be featured in a ticker-tape parade. Someday!

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

D.A.D.A.

2006-01-07T21:26:00.000-06:00

D.A.D.A., originally uploaded by glasshole.

Fun at the beach. I'm back now.

Quickly...

2006-01-05T16:40:00.000-06:00

I'm at the beach and I have 13% battery power left. Just wanted to drop in and say how wonderful it was to see everyone over the holidays, and thank everyone who came out to my myriad of get-togethers and shindigs. As always I wish I could have spent more time with everyone, but it was good nonetheless.
I thought about writing a wrap-up of last year, but the majority was terribly depressing. Not a good year, but when I look back some of the best things that have ever happened to me happened in spite of all the bad stuff. You know who you are.
Here's to a better year. I ate black-eyed peas for the first time in a decade so I've got my hopes up.

Be There.

2005-12-24T10:42:00.000-06:00

newyearseve, originally uploaded by biscuitus.

Edit: I'm drinking champagne naked on the couch with Dick Clark and Regis Philbin. You can't come.

Bring on tha Haters

2005-12-13T14:38:00.000-06:00

Calendars and Pens Out

2005-12-13T01:27:00.000-06:00

I've been spreading the rumor, but in case you haven't heard, we're going to kick it old school on December 27th. My father and step-mother are celebrating the 10th anniversary of their marriage in D.C., so we're going to play like we're in high school and party like the parents are out of town. Because they will be. But we can't get busted, because we already told them about it, and they thought it was a great idea. Which takes a little of the fun out of it, if you ask me.

Extra cool points will be awarded for the following:

St. Ides Special Brew or your favorite 40oz.
Zima (super bonus points for kool-aid powder in your Zima)
Boone's Farm
Goldschlager/Aftershock
Schnapps of any kind, preferably pinched from your mom
Getting someone older to buy you shitty booze
Random hook-up with a friend
Random hook-up with friend of a friend
Random hook-up with the guy no one at the party has ever seen before
Random hook-up with several friends
Nekkidity

I fully appreciate:

it's not actually ten years ago.
getting drunk isn't as shiny and new as it once was.
there's no way in hell any of us would be caught dead with any of the aforementioned "alcoholic" beverages.
we'll probably all drink quite responsibly, won't end up puking or making out with a screen door, and will get to bed early because we have things to do tomorrow.
everyone has already hooked-up with everyone else. (Well, except for the guy no one has ever seen before)

But I am having people over, and we'll have a nice little fire in the place where the fire goes, and Ben will be doing his usual holiday honors for those interested parties. Our Canadian and Yankee expat. friends will be joining us as well.
So, ink it in, BYOSchapps, and get ready to party like it's 1996 all over again. Or bring a fine single-malt whiskey and share with your hostess.
Your choice.

My Nose is a Carrot

2005-12-10T23:55:00.000-06:00

I have boxes. I have packing tape. I have everything I own strewn about my house and am trapped in my bed without an escape route. It must be time for another edition of....

Commercials That Make Me Happy

When I saw the PSP ad with the latino dustballs, I must confess I felt a little bewildered. I realize they're targeting several demographics of which I am not a member, but seriously, "It's like carpet you can watch outside"??? But with each subsequent viewing and now the addition of the new squirrel version, I'm hooked. I think I get it now, and I want more. I still have no desire to be anywhere near a PSP.
Jack-in-the-Box is a very strange establishment. Until a few years ago, all I knew about it was that some kid died after eating there a while back. I've ate there once a couple of years ago, and it was a very surreal experience in which I and my friends Alexis and Jenny found ourselves inexplicably All About Jack-in-the-Box. I had an egg roll, a taco, some chicken nuggets, and pie. We were astounded by the range of menu options, and we were amazed none of us had ever been there. Then we all got Jack antenna balls, and promptly put them on our cars. We never went back, but the ad for the new holiday antenna balls is making me reconsider, if only for the snowman ball opening the scene with "My nose is a carrot," drunkenly burping, and falling over. If you haven't seen it, it probably means you don't live near a Jack-in-the-Box, which is too bad. Not because you should eat at Jack-in-the-Box, but because you really should see this ad. I giggle like a little girl every damn time I see it. I want to tape it, so I can watch it over and over. Don't be surprised if I have a snowman antenna ball the next time you see me.

This has been another edition of...

Commercials That Make Me Happy

Ode to Chuck's Balls

2005-12-09T01:41:00.000-06:00

Well.

After dropping three classes, finals were a non-issue. This will go down in history as the Lost Semester. I still managed to pull two all-nighters, but it just wasn't the same. I'm pretty sure it was more due to a special finals week appearance by Headache than an actual need to stay up all night working. Because, y'all? My head? Is. On. Fire.

Maybe it was because Headache came back, maybe it was because I was sick of trying to make my class schedule work, maybe I just want to be closer to the people I love for awhile, in case my brain really is disentegrating. Who's to say what made me do it?

Today I submitted my application to Pellissippi State University for the Spring semester of 2006.

I took a good hard look at the classes I had managed to cobble together into a semblance of a schedule here at the ol' TTU, and I didn't like what I saw.

-Drawing with an instructor of which I am none too fond.
-Organic and Biochemistry at 8 am in a town 45 minutes from my bed.
-Fucking Western Civilization II for reasons I don't want to go into.
-Looonnnng stretches of time marooned at a campus with no safe harbour for someone like me, for the privilege of a chemistry lab.

Fuck it. The community college offers the classes I need in a broad array of times and locations. Locations near my mother, my father, my stepmother, and best of all, my real family. And my chiropractor. And the Love of My Life.
At half the price, and (hopefully) half the headache.

-Instead of Western Civ, I'm taking theatre.
-Chemistry in the afternoon, when I'm awake and partially functional.
-Color Theory and Design! I go to art school and I have to go to a community college to take a class in Color Theory and Design! I'm not saying it will be any good, but it's something.

By all logic, the Craft Center should not exist. It is an institution whose potential far exceeds its resources. It has the misfortune of being shackled to a university that keeps it like a dirty secret. Artists! In the woods! Not here, in the bible belt, at our fine technological institution! We make engineers and nurses here, you must have us confused with someone else!
They've even placed the Bachelor of Fine Arts in the College of Education, but given us the pleasure of attempting to complete a studio arts degree straddling two campuses a million miles apart, with one course offered, at best in each requirement. In doing so, they have done their best to see few actual graduates from our program (the most successful candidate will have completed his/her gen. ed. requirements before arriving). Well, fuck them. The Craft Center deserves better, and I intend to do it.

I'll simply be doing it somewhere else for a minute. Some people go to Europe, I'll be taking my semester abroad in East Tennessee. Diff'rent Strokes.

Apologies for the rant. I am excited by the prospect, if nothing else, of more time with My Architect. And, you know, liquor stores. Dare I reinstate Wine Club Wednesdays? Is it too much, with Burger Nite? How much excess can one tolerate mid-week?

Before I finish (anyone make it to this point?) I'd like to thank a bitch for thanking me for the link. It was richly deserved (the link, that is). Damn fine operation she's running over there. Frankly, I refuse to trust anyone who isn't angry. Go visit a bitch already.

Yarrrr!

2005-12-07T22:22:00.000-06:00

What kind of pirate am I? You decide!
You can also view a breakdown of results or put one of these on your own page!
Brought to you by Rum and Monkey

Ooh, Baby Do You Know What That's Worth?

2005-12-06T09:00:00.000-06:00

Has anyone else seen, and been entirely disturbed by, this ad for this upcoming Barbara Walters special?
"Heaven, where is it, and how do we get there? The answers may surprise you."

Ummmm...ABC? I'm sorry....WHAT? The answers may surprise me? You think?

To think people have been killing each other over this question for ages, when all it took was a little investigative reporting.

According to ABC Medianet:

"Anchored by Barbara Walters, "Heaven: Where Is It ? How Do We Get There?" explores the meaning of heaven with religious leaders of the major faiths, scientists, people who say they believe in heaven because they have been there, with celebrities who are vocal about their beliefs and even with terrorists."

"even with terrorists"?????

I.....hmmmm....well....no, nothing. I think I'll hold out for "Hell, What Up With That? Only Stone Phillips knows for sure."

Bitchezz.

2005-11-28T08:41:00.000-06:00

Bitches, originally uploaded by glasshole.

The Debut Album

Poseurs

2005-11-28T08:40:00.000-06:00

, originally uploaded by glasshole.

Head Shots

2005-11-28T08:37:00.001-06:00

, originally uploaded by glasshole.

Accurate Depiction

2005-11-28T08:37:00.000-06:00

, originally uploaded by glasshole.

Of how much fun was had.

The Sound Flew in the Bare Room

2005-11-16T21:58:00.000-06:00

In my 26.8 years, I have packed all my worldly possesions and moved them to another place 19 times. I'm about to make that 20.
My roommate is about to graduate, and I've had a few people step up and back out as roommates, and my house is horribly inconvenient to both schools, really. Plus, it's a damn hassle, paying bills and rent all the time. So, I'm doing what any other college student this side of 25 would do, I'm moving back to the dorms. The craft center dorms, which are more like little apartments, but student housing, nonetheless. The idea both excites and terrifies me, but I've learned those emotions frequently come as a package deal. I'm preparing myself for being stuffed into a double room with an 18 year-old (god knows it happened before), so if I get stuffed into a double room with one of my friends, it will be a pleasant surprise.
As such, I've begun the painful process of dorm-sizing my belongings. I was lying in bed earlier, as I've been doing for the majority of the last 7 weeks, and I got really upset at how much stuff I have. No, I rescind that, I got pissed. I'm tired of moving all this junk around. I'm a pack rat of the worst degree, convinced I'll need everything someday if I just hold onto it. No more. I'm showing very little mercy. I find myself in this mood very rarely, so I have to take advantage while I can. I can generate some seroius garbage and recycling in this state. Just a few hours ago, I threw away all my cd jewel cases. Every one I've collected since I got a cd player 9th grade. And I have a sizeable box with "McKay's" all over it. I'm very proud of me.
More importantly, I'm going through some of the boxes I haven't really opened since I moved back from Georgia, and some of what's in those I haven't looked at since I moved out of my mother's house. As such, I've found some hilarious stuff, like my diary from junior year, in which I am ashamed to admit I actually wrote my name with my boyfriend's last name. 9 years ago today, in fact. The same boyfriend I dumped not too long after for being a complete alcoholic.
I know, I know the irony. Hey, I was still a virgin then. Just so you know where my head was, another entry found me waxing poetic about the awesomeness that is ZIMA.
I also found some cds I forgot even existed. Raise your hand if you remember Sunscreem.
Hi Adam.

If you need me, I'll be in 1996, to the sound of '93.

Listening to: Sunscreem - Release Me

PS-I'll be seeing Harry Potter in Knoxville this weekend. Who's in and for when?

Our asylums are full of people who think they're Naploeon. Or God.

2005-11-10T00:24:00.000-06:00

My neurologist's name in Dr. Ngo. The "g" is silent.
I was pretty worried going in this morning. I've never been to a neurologist. My brain feels like it's rotting away, what if my brain is rotting away? And I was pretty sure there would be bloodletting, and I've never been much for that.
Fortunately, I was locked in the examination room full of brain illustrations and informative posters long enough to determine I don't have alzheimer's (yet), epilepsy, Parkinson's, or Multiple Sclerosis. Though I have to admit, the poster for Alzheimer's was a little amusing. It was a series of dramatic-looking illustrations of old people doing silly things, like putting a clock in the refrigerator, or giving a man a present in front of a tree and wishing him "Merry Birthday, Dear." I think my favorite was the old man jogging through a void where a woman was shoveling imaginary void snow. On that one I was a little confused as to who was in the wrong until I noticed another coat-cladded woman further into the void. Joke's on you, running man!
Alzheimer's runs in my family, I have to laugh at it now, because one day, I will be putting clocks in refrigerators. But I digress.
It took me awhile to explain to Dr. N about my situation, I guess that's because I've had plenty of time to rehearse it explaining it to every member of my large family, my work and school associates, my professors, five other doctors, their twelve (and here the number is not the usual arbitrary number of choice) nurses, and their 5 receptionists.

"How old were you when your headaches started?"
"Well, it's just the one headache, see. Started six weeks ago."
"Yes, but how old were you when you started having problems with headaches?"
"Ummm....six weeks younger than I am now?"
"So you've never had problems with headaches before?"
"ummmm, not for six weeks at a time, and usually not without an overindulgence in drink. And it's just the one headache. Six weeks. Today is its birthday. We've become quite close. We're going shopping after this. (psst)Don't tell it, but I'm secretly seeing someone else, and I'd really like to break things off, but it's just not taking the hint. I was hoping you could take it aside and break it gently. Maybe it would understand, coming from you. You've got an honest face."

And here's where I expect to get "well, I'll send the nurse in to suck all your blood, leaving just enough to keep you alive." Instead he suggested a nerve block. Like an epidural for my greater occipital nerve! He dangled the term "almost intantaneous headache relief" and I was on the phone to find someone to pick me up after it was over. Anna Rockanova, who just put up her show and is having a fabulous party, along with Ross, and Breanna this weekend, had nothing better to do (see aforementioned completed senior show) so she was more than happy to do it.

Now, somewhere along the way I missed the part where this involved injecting a very long needle on the end of a very fat syringe into the base of my skull at two points, but I was so hungry for relief I didn't even let that get me down. I hate needles, but I've hated my life for the last six weeks so much I'd have cut off my own head with a ceramic soup spoon if that was what Dr. ordered. I thought I was being a pretty good sport, but my nervous system betrayed me and I hyperventillated after the first injection (which. took. forever.) Intead of breathing fast, I wasn't breathing at all, and I almost passed out.

It's not so much that the needle hurt after the initial poke. It was coated in lidocaine after all. It was just the thought of a fucking huge needle stuck in a bundle of nerves that controls my head. Like when I was a freshman at UT and had zero disposable income and hadn't been on my own more than a month and I got an ingrown toenail. I ignored it until it was all black and filled with green puss and I lost the ability to walk from Presidential court to, well, the Presidential food court. So I called my mom and she took me to a foot surgeon. He was very considerate and put a drape over my foot so I had no idea what he was doing down there, but my mom was sitting on the other end of things, and her face was horrifying at times. Finally he left the room "while it was cauterizing," and my mom looked like she was going to wretch, so I swung my foot out from behind the drape, and there, jammed deep in between my big toe and the skin that housed it was a huge wooden stick. Jammed down in my toe! At that point, no amount of anesthetic could keep me from feeling it. I continue to mark as one of my greatest victories that I didn't run screaming down Kingston Pike in a backless operating gown with a giant stick in my toe. Well, the needle thing was akin to that. A little.

I also got a new prescription, to keep it suppressed. Walgreen's is loving my ass this month. Nortriptyline. Sounds like it should be illegal, if you ask me, but it's apparently just a trycyclic anti-depressant that for some reason is also used to treat chronic pain. Side effects, among others, are listed as increased hostility, mood swings, suicidal thoughts, weight gain, sexual dysfunction, and....wait for it....

headache.

To make a long story short (too late), my neck now feels like there is a hatchet wedged in the right side, and I.....

have a fucking headache.

The Future Will Be Animated

2005-11-08T15:21:00.000-06:00

Way cooler than that time Beavis and Butthead presented an award.
When I am president, all rockstars will be forced to hide behind animated avatars.

How did they do it?