Goddamned motherfucking beautiful in Jet City today, all sunny and bright and warm. Went for a ride down in the park, dodging dogs and young parents with babies and cars driven by sullen little teenagers. Y'know, I know I was a sullen little teenager once, and I know I skulked around trying to look cool, but goddamn I still wanna kick these sloping little shits right in the back of the head.
Lighten up, kids. There's just this one life, y'know?
Yeah, so I've been a bit away. Sick for a bit and then real writing for the last few days. Y'know, writing kinda kills me, 'cause when I start writing I start thinking about what it is to write the shit down and then get lost in this little head-essay about what defines a writer from everybody else and blah, blah, blah and then just when I'm starting to feel all kinda snide about being BIG DEEP WRITER-MAN my bullshit detector starts jingling and points out that not only have I never been published, I've never written anything longer than like 20 pages and I haven't actually finished anything in months.
Swear to God, I'm not whining. It's just late and it's always a little bit of a kick in the soul when you manage to set off your own bullshit detector.
So, yeah, Jet City and the gorgeous February day. Drove all over town doing bullshit stuff for my boss, but it's okay doing bullshit stuff for your boss when it's pretty out and doing the bullshit means you get to get outta the fucking shop for most of the day. So, yeah, got everything done and now I've got a POS Toyota 4Runner stuffed into my shipping area. Sheer silliness, but, hey, sheer silliness keeps the shit fresh, no?
I dunno if I'm too bushed to talk about what's going on these days or if there's simply too much of it. The campaign silliness is gearing up (What ho; appears J. Kerry has a mistress who just skipped the country), Jr. is presenting old pay stubs as proof that he was showing up for work in the National Guard days and Colin Powell is losing his shit on congressmen (article here that tells it pretty well) and the universe is still talking about JJ's tit-flash. Silliness and silliness. Errol Morris has a new documentary out, The Fog of War, that's playing local and which I might attempt to persuade Buttons to go see this weekend (Happy Valentine's day, honey! Let's go see a documentary about Robert McNamara!). Of course, Starsky & Hutch is opening, too, and that might fit the bill a tad better. We'll see.
Couple things I found today. Dunno if I'd call 'em good:
Strange bowler folk in Mexican wrestling masks, etc: Los Diablos Guapos
How Much Is Inside? An interesting guide to how much of something fits in or can be taken out of...whatever. Never mind, go look. You'll laugh.
And a short but not particularly graphic essay on shiteaters.
That's about it. Futurama's on and I've got an empty head. You're done now. Go outside and look at the sky.
G'night, children.
Lighten up, kids. There's just this one life, y'know?
Yeah, so I've been a bit away. Sick for a bit and then real writing for the last few days. Y'know, writing kinda kills me, 'cause when I start writing I start thinking about what it is to write the shit down and then get lost in this little head-essay about what defines a writer from everybody else and blah, blah, blah and then just when I'm starting to feel all kinda snide about being BIG DEEP WRITER-MAN my bullshit detector starts jingling and points out that not only have I never been published, I've never written anything longer than like 20 pages and I haven't actually finished anything in months.
Swear to God, I'm not whining. It's just late and it's always a little bit of a kick in the soul when you manage to set off your own bullshit detector.
So, yeah, Jet City and the gorgeous February day. Drove all over town doing bullshit stuff for my boss, but it's okay doing bullshit stuff for your boss when it's pretty out and doing the bullshit means you get to get outta the fucking shop for most of the day. So, yeah, got everything done and now I've got a POS Toyota 4Runner stuffed into my shipping area. Sheer silliness, but, hey, sheer silliness keeps the shit fresh, no?
I dunno if I'm too bushed to talk about what's going on these days or if there's simply too much of it. The campaign silliness is gearing up (What ho; appears J. Kerry has a mistress who just skipped the country), Jr. is presenting old pay stubs as proof that he was showing up for work in the National Guard days and Colin Powell is losing his shit on congressmen (article here that tells it pretty well) and the universe is still talking about JJ's tit-flash. Silliness and silliness. Errol Morris has a new documentary out, The Fog of War, that's playing local and which I might attempt to persuade Buttons to go see this weekend (Happy Valentine's day, honey! Let's go see a documentary about Robert McNamara!). Of course, Starsky & Hutch is opening, too, and that might fit the bill a tad better. We'll see.
Couple things I found today. Dunno if I'd call 'em good:
Strange bowler folk in Mexican wrestling masks, etc: Los Diablos Guapos
How Much Is Inside? An interesting guide to how much of something fits in or can be taken out of...whatever. Never mind, go look. You'll laugh.
And a short but not particularly graphic essay on shiteaters.
That's about it. Futurama's on and I've got an empty head. You're done now. Go outside and look at the sky.
G'night, children.
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