ouch.
ouch.
ouch.
2.29.2008
2.28.2008
i believe the judges won't accept that answer
quietly saying "oh fuck" to yourself on national tv. perfection.
2.27.2008
2.26.2008
2.20.2008
why can't this happen to me
seriously, watch this.
and then listen to everyone's names.
you got guys like "Gabaldon" - pronounced Gah Bahl Dohn
(there's definitely a pun in here some where)
and "Knuckles" - pronounced "Knuckles"
great stuff.
and then listen to everyone's names.
you got guys like "Gabaldon" - pronounced Gah Bahl Dohn
(there's definitely a pun in here some where)
and "Knuckles" - pronounced "Knuckles"
great stuff.
punch it. punch it real good.
you think if they don't have balls it still hurts?
after a while it's got to, right?
after a while it's got to, right?
2.14.2008
2.13.2008
2.11.2008
2.06.2008
straight awesome, no chaser
lo di dah blah di da licky dicky tick tick rrrrickity tick tickticktick
chop-a-broccoleeee-heeee
chop-a-broccoleeee-heeee
2.05.2008
the national football league is proud to present...
...a giant penis
and in case this isn't enough, just take a look at the first 30 or seconds of this clip:
gotta love it.
and in case this isn't enough, just take a look at the first 30 or seconds of this clip:
gotta love it.
2.04.2008
how i do
other than work all weekend, i spent the rest of my time on the street corner doing this to earn some extra cash.
2.01.2008
darwin awards, stripper style
it gets great at about 1 min into the clip.
damn, guhl. careful what you workin wit.
damn, guhl. careful what you workin wit.
1.31.2008
damn, grandma
i know i said that nobody fucks with the jesus, but shit, grandma be clappin' folks. straight ghostin' them fuckers ...in their toodles.
wrekanize.
wrekanize.
wiener poopy
Jesus Quintana: Let me tell you something, pendejo. You pull any of your crazy shit with us, you flash a piece out on the lanes, I'll take it away from you, stick it up your ass and pull the fucking trigger 'til it goes "click."
The Dude: Jesus.
Jesus Quintana: You said it, man. Nobody fucks with the Jesus.
nobody fucks with the jesus... except these mutherfuckrs
The Dude: Jesus.
Jesus Quintana: You said it, man. Nobody fucks with the Jesus.
nobody fucks with the jesus... except these mutherfuckrs
more feline fun
i just think this is a funny idea.
every day, this woman lets her cat go and wander around the neighborhood while wearing a camera that takes shots every 15 seconds.
here's the gallery...
every day, this woman lets her cat go and wander around the neighborhood while wearing a camera that takes shots every 15 seconds.
here's the gallery...
1.30.2008
say wurd
thank god i caught this one on my way to work.
pulled my pants up just in time. i don't think anyone else would've played me straight.
1.29.2008
fully flaired
it's getting a lot of play.
and, it's just a ton of fun to watch.
wonder if it's real. can't tell yet.
and, it's just a ton of fun to watch.
wonder if it's real. can't tell yet.
1.28.2008
1.24.2008
crazy cat lady
remember that crazy cat lady chick from the simpsons?
well this one puts her to shame.
don't forget to eat your cat food.
well this one puts her to shame.
don't forget to eat your cat food.
play with your food. PLAY WITH IT!
makes you think twice about playing with some melons... doesn't it?
verbotten.
nice cigar, fella.
like they say, it ain't the size of the boat; it's the motion of the ocean.
in this guy's case... he moves around A LOT.
like they say, it ain't the size of the boat; it's the motion of the ocean.
in this guy's case... he moves around A LOT.
1.23.2008
1.22.2008
owned
some of cheapest, easiest fun on the interwebs:
1. go to youtube.com
2. search 'owned'
alternatively
1. go to youtube.com
2. search 'get owned'
or C
1. go to youtube.com
2. search 'gets owned'
i swear it's comedy every single time.
1. go to youtube.com
2. search 'owned'
alternatively
1. go to youtube.com
2. search 'get owned'
or C
1. go to youtube.com
2. search 'gets owned'
i swear it's comedy every single time.
my new best friend
this thing--the "hip office"--is meant to make you more productive in the workplace. it holds your laptop, your clipboard. whatever.
they forgot one use though: tray holder at mickey D's.
muthafucka, i roll up and order like three value meals, and i don't even have to sit down. just put that shit on my productivity device and i'm walking AND eating.
"hip office"? more like "hip-py meal". yeah, i said it.
fat kids, start getting jealous.
i'm creeping up on you.... all heavy-breathing-like.
they forgot one use though: tray holder at mickey D's.
muthafucka, i roll up and order like three value meals, and i don't even have to sit down. just put that shit on my productivity device and i'm walking AND eating.
"hip office"? more like "hip-py meal". yeah, i said it.
fat kids, start getting jealous.
i'm creeping up on you.... all heavy-breathing-like.
maybe this kid should go to a dutch university
i bet the girls go crazy when he pulls out his radio controlled flying device.
this dude gets ALL the bitzes.
this dude gets ALL the bitzes.
take back everything i said about robots
this guy got a PhD from a Dutch university for studying sex.... with robots.
i'm in the wrong field.
i'm in the wrong field.
1.18.2008
that's right, play with your food
so it's a day late, but i couldn't resist.
this dude wails on some broccoli.
chop-a-broc-a-leeee-heeee!!!!
this dude wails on some broccoli.
chop-a-broc-a-leeee-heeee!!!!
1.17.2008
today is music day
that's all there is to it.
all the crap you see here today is an inspirational scrape of the beautiful music of the interwebs.
these are the songs that sing "Thursday" quietly in my ear, like a little retarded baby.
all the crap you see here today is an inspirational scrape of the beautiful music of the interwebs.
these are the songs that sing "Thursday" quietly in my ear, like a little retarded baby.
1.16.2008
my wife's gonna kick your ass
this guy is a champ. can't you just let him take a leak?
also, great form on the can-toss.
kudos. all around.
also, great form on the can-toss.
kudos. all around.
i wear my sunglasses at night
where's my fuckin protein mom!
it's an oldie but a goodie folks. thanks for the tip, 'anonymous'.
it's an oldie but a goodie folks. thanks for the tip, 'anonymous'.
1.14.2008
1.13.2008
1.12.2008
1.11.2008
my new bluetooth headset
headset. so pumped to use this thing while walking down the street.
power-brokers: go fuck yourself.
1.09.2008
1.08.2008
1.06.2008
one month later
skulking about streets in a dark, wet, and sloppy new york, i've begun to think that the romance of things is only an illusion. the happy folks drunk off of wunderlust and cab rides are merely that: drunk. when the daylight breaks, they're forced to look at things for what they are. the gasoline puddle ceases to glisten and simply smells. heel clicks on the pavement lose their echo, and the rhythm gets mottled. it's all timed out to something less complicated and more deterministic than any of us would like to admit. like it or not, there is a science to this. love and hope... they're hiding somewhere else, maybe under a rock or beneath the caving sidewalks.
this is a machine. let's not kid ourselves. everything is manufactured.
this is a machine. let's not kid ourselves. everything is manufactured.
12.09.2007
We live in an age where music no longer moves people. It just talks to them.
Saw a band play recently. Took a look away from the stage and observed
the crowd: just a ton of people standing there. It inspired me to
write this--
the crowd: just a ton of people standing there. It inspired me to
write this--
We live in an age where music no longer moves people. It just talks to
them.
• sent from my iphone •
10.24.2007
Seasons Change
on the cusp of another break in seasons, i feel a tension everywhere. it's like electricity, sizzling all around as currents fork and shoot to make an infinity of connections with all of the other charged objects that surge and whir in this seasonal transience. it's the energy that comes from forcing opposing poles into close proximity and then keeping them there. the power in a Contradiction's stubbornness to avoid looking at itself in the mirror, i guess. it comes with every footfall on the concrete sidewalk, baked warm by the daylight and cooked cool in the evenings. your body starts to sweat at illogical moments because the hot and cold air mixes together to create a burning sensation that can't be justified. it's in the flowers and the trees and the vines whose blossoms are coaxed outside by a mischievous and deceitful sun only to be stung by nightfall and rendered cowering and frightened beneath the moonlight.
this pushing and pulling so close to one another infuses the air with such a reaction potential that it seeps out, supersaturates. it touches us all. the effect isn't immediately palpable, no. but, it's there. it's there in the smiles and the laughter and the hellos that come calling through the breezes. you hear it between all the honking and over the sewer steam, hissing from the manhole covers. it's the time of year when you start to notice people living. and that seems to drown everything else out.
this is the last gasp of a season that doesn't want to die.
and, perhaps it is that our very living eggs it on. so, we walk livelier and farther in the face of the long frost, in spite of it, in the hopes that we may in fact scare it away with laughter--with life.
...or, maybe it's just Denial, manifesting itself because everyone knows that we can't stop the seasons from changing. we can only hope to.
you be the judge.
10.19.2007
Woof Woof
i think it's funny to see owners who look just like their dogs. i think they take cues from one another, and their behaviors become amalgums of each others', whether they know it or not. ultimately, i can't separate dog from master or vice versa. i end up seeing them as one and the same.
10.16.2007
In One Place
i've bought things. i've worked at stuff.
i own a television. i have a modest dvd collection. i like my stereo. my bike is nice. i've filled my time and my life with small goals and seemingly smaller, emptier possessions. i went to college. that was indulgent. i have a job. i've had two. and a few internships at cool places. the cumulative effect of all of those things has led me to fill my relatively small apartment with a relatively unnecessary amount of useless things, the worth of which i find hard to pinpoint. better yet, the worth of which i find it impossible to derive satisfaction from. sure, they might satisfy an urge or an impulse. a wish to be instantly distracted. a need to be immediately pleased. but the half-lives of these things are uncannily volatile; their purpose expires quickly, and their existence is soul-less.
nonetheless i trudge forward. although, i'll stop myself and admit that 'forward' might be an audacious claim. there isn't a direction to the movement. no momentum, no intertia. let's say that i'm walking in place rather well, at a hearty pace ...knees high, good form. it's curious that only rarely do i take the care to notice where i've gone. and even then the observations are superficial at best. their notation in the great Book of my self-logging is simply an act. as if my remarking of them would be anything more than just that.
well, secretly i hope they are more, but i know better. what's the harm in a little self-deceit?
normally, during a journey, one would expect the scenery to whisk by. maybe a bug might hit the windshield or something. a speeding ticket perhaps. yet not only have i managed to neglect these passings (or rather a lack thereof), i've downright ignored their absence. and, instead of leaving things behind, i've collected things, piled them high to fill the void. and, among them i continue marching in place. maybe it's because of them that i can't go forward.
i wonder if i'll actually ever take the odd step out and look at the heap i've created: the mausoleum to a lack of achievement. maybe that will scare the shit out of me enough to make me get going somehwere.
because really, what prompted all of this was the simple, self-posed question of "what have i done?"
all i could come up with was that i haven't done a whole lot, but i've got a ton of stuff.
i own a television. i have a modest dvd collection. i like my stereo. my bike is nice. i've filled my time and my life with small goals and seemingly smaller, emptier possessions. i went to college. that was indulgent. i have a job. i've had two. and a few internships at cool places. the cumulative effect of all of those things has led me to fill my relatively small apartment with a relatively unnecessary amount of useless things, the worth of which i find hard to pinpoint. better yet, the worth of which i find it impossible to derive satisfaction from. sure, they might satisfy an urge or an impulse. a wish to be instantly distracted. a need to be immediately pleased. but the half-lives of these things are uncannily volatile; their purpose expires quickly, and their existence is soul-less.
nonetheless i trudge forward. although, i'll stop myself and admit that 'forward' might be an audacious claim. there isn't a direction to the movement. no momentum, no intertia. let's say that i'm walking in place rather well, at a hearty pace ...knees high, good form. it's curious that only rarely do i take the care to notice where i've gone. and even then the observations are superficial at best. their notation in the great Book of my self-logging is simply an act. as if my remarking of them would be anything more than just that.
well, secretly i hope they are more, but i know better. what's the harm in a little self-deceit?
normally, during a journey, one would expect the scenery to whisk by. maybe a bug might hit the windshield or something. a speeding ticket perhaps. yet not only have i managed to neglect these passings (or rather a lack thereof), i've downright ignored their absence. and, instead of leaving things behind, i've collected things, piled them high to fill the void. and, among them i continue marching in place. maybe it's because of them that i can't go forward.
i wonder if i'll actually ever take the odd step out and look at the heap i've created: the mausoleum to a lack of achievement. maybe that will scare the shit out of me enough to make me get going somehwere.
because really, what prompted all of this was the simple, self-posed question of "what have i done?"
all i could come up with was that i haven't done a whole lot, but i've got a ton of stuff.
10.14.2007
Industry
i've long had a bit of an obsession with the products of industry that sit as skeletons across our countrysides and cityscapes. something about these rotting places with iron and glass and stone all withering slowly make for a beautiful sight ...oddly.anyway, i'd been thinking about it a lot. and then i went to the MET today to see a presentation of modernists and abstract expressionists. that's when i read this:
every age manifests itself by some external evidence. in a period such as ours when only a comparatively few individuals seem to be given to religion, some form other than the Gothic cathedral must be found. industry concerns the greatest numbers--it may be true, as has been said, that our factories are our substitute for religious expression.it's from an artist, charles sheeler, who's passion was precionist paintings of factories and the like.
now he may have painted them in their glory, but i still find something epic in their abandonment and degredation. that's just my way of saying that i think even in the death of these factories, his statement still holds true.
some of his paintings are on the left.
9.25.2007
oh happy flashback (part II)
in the gentle drizzle, i wandered and soaked. i had never really dried off from the shower, so the rain just extended my sogginess. i rather liked it though; it kept me cool in the dusk on the roof. the pitter patter of the rain on the tar-top sounded like soft fingertips gently worrying themselves across the kitchen table. it was a comforting din that worked its way through the thick july air. it acted like insulation for the rest of the rooftop goings-on. for a while, that tap-tap-tapping was all i heard. but then, subtle sounds started to sneak their way in.
the clicks and snaps of a loosely rigged tarp in the wind poked through like thumbtacks; shelter from the raindrops. i was near the makeshift stairway when i became aware of these new sounds. hearing them, my ears perked up a bit. i was curious to see what or who else might be up here with me. and, as i listened harder, i crept up closer--through the awkward passageway between exhaust vents and steampipes, over the moldy planks. i heard the baritone of a man's voice, the soft soprano of his companion, and then suddenly the sharp alto of Elayna.
her voice was familiar to me for, as is usually the case, the walls of our stacked apartments are quite thin. and, in the mornings as i worked through my *régime*, i would wind up moving to the soundtrack of Elayna's laughter ...or her tears. brushing my teeth, i was privvy to her good days and her bad ones. and, a parent's frustration of not being able to predict which day it would be this morning or the next. it's a difficult way to become acquainted since you never really meet but nevertheless remain an observer to what are thought to be intimate moments.
it's like sound or light. humans are limited in their ability to appreciate the full spectrum of things that exist in the world. to wit: a dog can hear more frequencies of sound than both you or i. still other animals are able to register frequencies of light that are elseways imperceptible to us. normally, we operate within the most basic range of frequencies. and these are the parts of ourselves we put forth: the average of all frequencies, satisfactorily harmonious. however, in private, we can become beasts of lust or anger or sorrow. in these throes, we become something else. and so, we employ frequencies otherwise reserved for more primal creatures. these are sides of ourselves we never intend to let out of their cages; we keep them locked up for good reason. when they do escape, it's not for others' enjoyment. to witness these moments--be it first hand or through a paper thin wall--is an uncomfortable experience. you'd simply rather not have been around for it.
however it is the silent witness who is burdened most. for not only must he know the beast, he must also come to know the imposter, the deceiver, the Charlatan. this character is ignorant to another's knowledge of his darker side and so behaves as if there was no awareness to begin with. meeting on the street, the Charlatan greets you warmly, with a kind voice and a generous smile. but, as you become familiar with his more sinister side--creeping through the walls during countless evenings and quiet, early dawns--you begin to notice the canines in his grin, the shrill tone in his,"hello." you come to understand that the average of all frequencies is nothing more than a façade. a harmony whose parts are rough and mottled, designed with the intent to cover up the most unpleasant tones rather than reveal a beautifully complex agreement. no matter. in the end, the worst notes ring truest, and you get a glimpse of the full spectrum whether you wanted it or not.
and then, you start to think about yourself.
the clicks and snaps of a loosely rigged tarp in the wind poked through like thumbtacks; shelter from the raindrops. i was near the makeshift stairway when i became aware of these new sounds. hearing them, my ears perked up a bit. i was curious to see what or who else might be up here with me. and, as i listened harder, i crept up closer--through the awkward passageway between exhaust vents and steampipes, over the moldy planks. i heard the baritone of a man's voice, the soft soprano of his companion, and then suddenly the sharp alto of Elayna.
her voice was familiar to me for, as is usually the case, the walls of our stacked apartments are quite thin. and, in the mornings as i worked through my *régime*, i would wind up moving to the soundtrack of Elayna's laughter ...or her tears. brushing my teeth, i was privvy to her good days and her bad ones. and, a parent's frustration of not being able to predict which day it would be this morning or the next. it's a difficult way to become acquainted since you never really meet but nevertheless remain an observer to what are thought to be intimate moments.
it's like sound or light. humans are limited in their ability to appreciate the full spectrum of things that exist in the world. to wit: a dog can hear more frequencies of sound than both you or i. still other animals are able to register frequencies of light that are elseways imperceptible to us. normally, we operate within the most basic range of frequencies. and these are the parts of ourselves we put forth: the average of all frequencies, satisfactorily harmonious. however, in private, we can become beasts of lust or anger or sorrow. in these throes, we become something else. and so, we employ frequencies otherwise reserved for more primal creatures. these are sides of ourselves we never intend to let out of their cages; we keep them locked up for good reason. when they do escape, it's not for others' enjoyment. to witness these moments--be it first hand or through a paper thin wall--is an uncomfortable experience. you'd simply rather not have been around for it.
however it is the silent witness who is burdened most. for not only must he know the beast, he must also come to know the imposter, the deceiver, the Charlatan. this character is ignorant to another's knowledge of his darker side and so behaves as if there was no awareness to begin with. meeting on the street, the Charlatan greets you warmly, with a kind voice and a generous smile. but, as you become familiar with his more sinister side--creeping through the walls during countless evenings and quiet, early dawns--you begin to notice the canines in his grin, the shrill tone in his,"hello." you come to understand that the average of all frequencies is nothing more than a façade. a harmony whose parts are rough and mottled, designed with the intent to cover up the most unpleasant tones rather than reveal a beautifully complex agreement. no matter. in the end, the worst notes ring truest, and you get a glimpse of the full spectrum whether you wanted it or not.
and then, you start to think about yourself.
9.13.2007
oh happy flashback (Part I)
for the most part, it wasn't much different than any other hot, muggy day in new york. the trash on the sidewalk wasn't any less putrid. my clothes still greedily lapped up the sweat that made me sticky all over. and, everyone was still moving slowly through the air's thickness. always in the summer you begin to get a great appreciation for the physical fluidity of air. it seems ridiculous, i understand. however, air is technically a fluid. and in the summer, you learn it.
the *météo* is certainly comparable in other parts of this country, i understand that too. washington d.c. is particularly painful in the summer months. it used to be a swamp with water in it. then it got drained. now it's a swamp with hot air floating about. frankly, i find this situation to be worse than if the swamp water was still around. where one could have pointed at the object of his ire, now the soppiness taunts him as the invisible, yet somehow ever-palpable Spectre. st. louis is pretty damp as well. and let's not forget new orleans.
well, to make matters worse on this particular day, i hadn't showered ...yet. it all really started the night before. impromptu plans led to new introductions, which led to new friends, which led to new adventures. it was one of those nights where everything just kept falling into place. i met a dog named Tiger. I saw stag-horn ferns. I played on a playground at four in the morning (highly recommended). next thing i know, i'm emerging from the murky L-train stairway on 14th street at around 3pm, a bit beaten down from a long night.
dressed in yesterday's clothes, i'm having trouble climbing the stairs because my jeans are clinging so tightly to my sweaty legs that mobility is becoming an issue. my t-shirt isn't doing me any favors either. i run my fingers through my hair at the end of a half-hearted "everything-still-there?" full-body pat-down. my coif remains standing. it would be kind to say that i was mildly disheveled. but then to say that, you'd have to be blind. and even then, you'd be a pretty dumb blind person because i smelled like shit.
these details all augmented awkwardly when met with the saturated air. it was like one of those little sponge dinosaurs that they cram into a plastic pill case. and, when you see it, you're thinking to yourself, "There can't be a dinosaur in there! Nuh uh!" but, then, you drop it into the bathroom sink after you plugged the drain; and, low-and-behold, five minutes later: a proper sponge dinosaur. and, he's purple no less! ...of course, you're six years old at this point.
at any rate, i was a mess. time to stumble home. and stumble i did, through the heat and steam of the new york city summer. and now, thunder clouds began to mingle and gather like lumpish lambs in the skies overhead. this was july fourth, 2007.
i emerged from the shower... cleaner ...but, still sweating. the heat and the humidity were pretty much inescapable. however, those storm clouds promised to bring some release to our supersaturated situation. in the grey duldrums that were forming, i managed to climb the stairs of my new apartment in my new neighborhood to the roof. i was told the fireworks would begin soon and that i was in a prime spot to see them. i'd been living in new york for four years, and, to be honest, had never actually seen those bright lights in the sky.
there is, however, the great sensation of hearing the ballistics. the city's so incredibly dense and built-up that it has the tendency to act as an echo chamber. and, as the ordnances blast and bellow, they send waves of cacauphony rumbling through the streets, down the avenues, bouncing off glass and steel and stone as if they were trampolines. this, i've heard ...but never seen.
so, i had climbed to the roof. and sat--waiting. apparently i had arrived a bit early. no matter. this afforded me some time to observe my new surroundings from a heightened vantage point. i started to wander somewhat scatterbraindedly about my roof, examing the intricacies and odd craftsmanship that, over the decades, had amassed in the form of mismatched brick, tar-to-mortar-and-back-again patches, jury-rigged butresses, the odd seedling, and all the countless abandoned buckets and lumber left rotting and withering in far corners and nooks. there were passageways and walkthroughs. steam pipes and sky lights. and, there were makeshift stairs to the adjacent roof. all of these details were eerily exagerated by the dim grey smoke-light slowly pouring through the clouds this particular evening. everything was made darker.
and then all was made wetter. the clouds gently gave way, breaking under the weight of their burden, and sprinkling a cool, consistent haze upon us all that night.
the *météo* is certainly comparable in other parts of this country, i understand that too. washington d.c. is particularly painful in the summer months. it used to be a swamp with water in it. then it got drained. now it's a swamp with hot air floating about. frankly, i find this situation to be worse than if the swamp water was still around. where one could have pointed at the object of his ire, now the soppiness taunts him as the invisible, yet somehow ever-palpable Spectre. st. louis is pretty damp as well. and let's not forget new orleans.
well, to make matters worse on this particular day, i hadn't showered ...yet. it all really started the night before. impromptu plans led to new introductions, which led to new friends, which led to new adventures. it was one of those nights where everything just kept falling into place. i met a dog named Tiger. I saw stag-horn ferns. I played on a playground at four in the morning (highly recommended). next thing i know, i'm emerging from the murky L-train stairway on 14th street at around 3pm, a bit beaten down from a long night.
dressed in yesterday's clothes, i'm having trouble climbing the stairs because my jeans are clinging so tightly to my sweaty legs that mobility is becoming an issue. my t-shirt isn't doing me any favors either. i run my fingers through my hair at the end of a half-hearted "everything-still-there?" full-body pat-down. my coif remains standing. it would be kind to say that i was mildly disheveled. but then to say that, you'd have to be blind. and even then, you'd be a pretty dumb blind person because i smelled like shit.
these details all augmented awkwardly when met with the saturated air. it was like one of those little sponge dinosaurs that they cram into a plastic pill case. and, when you see it, you're thinking to yourself, "There can't be a dinosaur in there! Nuh uh!" but, then, you drop it into the bathroom sink after you plugged the drain; and, low-and-behold, five minutes later: a proper sponge dinosaur. and, he's purple no less! ...of course, you're six years old at this point.
at any rate, i was a mess. time to stumble home. and stumble i did, through the heat and steam of the new york city summer. and now, thunder clouds began to mingle and gather like lumpish lambs in the skies overhead. this was july fourth, 2007.
i emerged from the shower... cleaner ...but, still sweating. the heat and the humidity were pretty much inescapable. however, those storm clouds promised to bring some release to our supersaturated situation. in the grey duldrums that were forming, i managed to climb the stairs of my new apartment in my new neighborhood to the roof. i was told the fireworks would begin soon and that i was in a prime spot to see them. i'd been living in new york for four years, and, to be honest, had never actually seen those bright lights in the sky.
there is, however, the great sensation of hearing the ballistics. the city's so incredibly dense and built-up that it has the tendency to act as an echo chamber. and, as the ordnances blast and bellow, they send waves of cacauphony rumbling through the streets, down the avenues, bouncing off glass and steel and stone as if they were trampolines. this, i've heard ...but never seen.
so, i had climbed to the roof. and sat--waiting. apparently i had arrived a bit early. no matter. this afforded me some time to observe my new surroundings from a heightened vantage point. i started to wander somewhat scatterbraindedly about my roof, examing the intricacies and odd craftsmanship that, over the decades, had amassed in the form of mismatched brick, tar-to-mortar-and-back-again patches, jury-rigged butresses, the odd seedling, and all the countless abandoned buckets and lumber left rotting and withering in far corners and nooks. there were passageways and walkthroughs. steam pipes and sky lights. and, there were makeshift stairs to the adjacent roof. all of these details were eerily exagerated by the dim grey smoke-light slowly pouring through the clouds this particular evening. everything was made darker.
and then all was made wetter. the clouds gently gave way, breaking under the weight of their burden, and sprinkling a cool, consistent haze upon us all that night.
8.22.2007
hmmmm
with some sort of predictability, i get touched by a distant anxiousness that rises and bubbles until, with the inevitable passage of time, it manifests itself as a bilious dyspepsia that causes me numerous palpitations and a general feeling of physical uneasiness. it happens as words and pictures and anecdotes pile upon one another so carelessly that, in their self-involved, wonderfully oblivious way, they manage to form the foci of profound events in the imaginary life i would like to lead.
this happens every so often, after an in-law climbs mt. everest and dines with sherpas, after a sister's friend single-handedly saves an indonesian village from illogically carnivorous gerbils (said village is now named after said friend), and after i manage to drop my toothbrush in the toilet, left with a measly digit to scrape and scrub my maw.
it is while manually retrieving (tried: flushing, baiting, hooking) aforementioned toothbrush from its infamously unhygienic reflecting pool that i realize i would rather not be elbow deep in toilet water for the lottery of the remainder of my years there is to be. rather, i would most undoubtedly be desiring to rescue a small bolivian town from a plague of bole weevils, while aiding the president (post 2008; this, after all, occurs in the future) in his quest to transplant mt. rushmore onto the moon, an admittedly larger canvas.
and, although rants and mental meanderings such as these really provide no solace or catharsis, they at least allow me to punctuate what would otherwise be a rather moribund habitation of this planet with the musings of the happenings of a life i may one day lead. Now, after that toothbrush once more.....
this happens every so often, after an in-law climbs mt. everest and dines with sherpas, after a sister's friend single-handedly saves an indonesian village from illogically carnivorous gerbils (said village is now named after said friend), and after i manage to drop my toothbrush in the toilet, left with a measly digit to scrape and scrub my maw.
it is while manually retrieving (tried: flushing, baiting, hooking) aforementioned toothbrush from its infamously unhygienic reflecting pool that i realize i would rather not be elbow deep in toilet water for the lottery of the remainder of my years there is to be. rather, i would most undoubtedly be desiring to rescue a small bolivian town from a plague of bole weevils, while aiding the president (post 2008; this, after all, occurs in the future) in his quest to transplant mt. rushmore onto the moon, an admittedly larger canvas.
and, although rants and mental meanderings such as these really provide no solace or catharsis, they at least allow me to punctuate what would otherwise be a rather moribund habitation of this planet with the musings of the happenings of a life i may one day lead. Now, after that toothbrush once more.....
8.14.2007
what the fuck?!
yup, i'm a dirtling.
but i'm not from san fran.
my pic popped up on valleywag.com the other day after my arrival from Virgin America flight VX001; the very first flight flown by the airline.
this is my arrival in the blogosphere. mark it. learn it. forget it just as quickly.
sincerely,
"the dirty hippie"
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