napalm american horror

na·palm
Function: noun
1 : a thickener consisting of a mixture of aluminum soaps used in jelling gasoline (as for incendiary bombs).
2 : fuel jelled with napalm.

january's not even over and people are cashing in sick days, and who's got to pick up the slack? your old friend malice highload.

go leave some comments on nicko's text blog, give him a piece of your mind.

coffin nails

coworker of mine was just telling me about her grandmother who's dying of lung cancer, in her 70s. this coworker has had to change her hours at work so that she can care for her granny, who needs 24 hour care because she can barely move, she's in so much pain. the tips of her fingers don't hurt, but if you move her arm she'll scream in agony.

i don't mind dying in my 70s. i mean, maybe i will, maybe something cool will happen in the next 40 years or within those last 5 and i'll want some extra time, but for now...? i don't think i'd mind it. i just don't want to deal with the agonizing, drawn-out end. maybe if/when i get diagnosed with it, i'll relocate to oregon, or maybe euthanasia will be legal in more states by then, or maybe they'll come up with that pesky cure for cancer by then.

fun little ruminations for a monday mourning. howdy!

Mr. Sycamore

as long as we're skipping down memory lane, a little subplot in tonight's AMERICAN DAD (which I don't usually watch) reminded me of a film I remember watching as a child.

i don't remember much about this film, except that it featured a man who desperately wants to become a tree. plants his feet in soil and everything. at the very end, despite all logic, he becomes a tree. i remember when i was a kid, i always found that ending really strange and kind of sad, for some reason.

via some very clever internet searching, i discovered that this film was called "Mr. Sycamore". it was a 1975 TV movie starring Jason Robards that was based on a play published in 1942.

i don't know how many times i actually saw that movie as a kid, but few enough that the memory of it seems like a dream. yet, the internet tells me that it existed. but it seems obscure enough that i could probably steal the idea without anyone knowing. not that it's an idea worth stealing, per se.

i don't want to go to work tomorrow.

Edwige Fenech

my new favorite 70's european sexploitation actress.

do a search for her and you'll come up with much racier images real easy.

the two films of hers that i've seen have been Your Vice is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key and Strip Nude for Your Killer. part of the giallo tradition (essentially Italian pulp fiction), these films are lousy with sex, misogyny and gore.

haven't been able to find much written about her in english. apparently, she's become a TV producer in europe. and despite the fact that she's two years older than my mother, i'd still eff her blue.

[apologies -- this should really be on my SECRET BLOG.]

there will be blood

a little background on how i usually update this blog.

i get to work. even if i've got nothing to write about, i start an entry. i won't allow myself to check out my regular bookmarked sites until i publish something. sometimes i edit the entry throughout the day to make it perfect for posterity. this is how i kill the hours.

i've got nothing to say today. (nothing publishable.)

clap. clap. clap.

Chris Penn has a posse

June 10, 1962 - January 24?, 2006
This is just like when Kurt Cobain died. Everyone will know where they were when they found out. I'm hoping you'll have been visiting my blog.

On a more serious note, Steve Guttenberg is still alive.

darkest days

been hearing that today's supposed to be the most depressing day of the year. in my life, every day muscles the last for the honor of most depressing day.

actually, my life's been fairly numb and unturbulent since the year began. there are some things i gotta take care of that are going to suck, but i've just got to dive into it.

the air is cold.

cheap, last-minute entry

busy at work, juggling a few different "special projects". that and trying to hammer out some opportunities presented to me by erwin. a lot of work doing things that no one could give two shits about!

can you fly, bobby?

trainwrecker

on the train this mourn, saw this girl who was the spitting image of that girl what i wrote about 2 days ago. i'm officially haunted. now that i think about it, it was probably her. why not. i think there's such a thing as a girl being just too pretty. i would shoot presidents for her. stop me.

[i kid!, i kid!!!]

just for fun, here's one old interview and one old article featuring my old college buddy Ben, who's made a big name for himself in the bluegrass circuit. my favorite quote:

“You tell your family, ‘I’m gonna drop out of school, and I’m going to join a bluegrass band’ – which is what I did. I’d been in college at that point for 6 BD years, and even if I did graduate it would have been with a degree in film, which is about as useful as a degree in bluegrass.”

HA HA -- I look stupid!

i love tripping down memory lane. i used to think i had a good time in college. boy, was that wrong-headed. i've been in one, long nose-dive since 1997. you heard me.

i'd like to tear it all to shreds and start over. in the most violent manner conceivable.

drown-o-rama

saw a news story this mourn about a little girl who was in a sinking car who called 911 to try to get help. they played the actual 911 tape. it went something like this:

"I'm in the Waikiki Yacht Club and I'm in a car and it's sinking."

"What is your problem?"

"I'm in a car and I can't open the door and we're sinking."

"Where are you?"

"The Waikiki Yacht Club! We're in a sinking car! We can't get out!"

"I'm sorry, I don't understand what the problem is..."

"We're in a car that's sinking and I can't open the door! Please help!"

"But what is the problem?"

"WE ARE GOING TO DROWN! I DON'T WANT TO DROWN!!!"

"Where, exactly, are you...? You're going to have to tell me where you are."

"THE WAIKIKI YACHT CLU--" (glug-glug-glug)

"BABABOOEY! BABABOOEY!"

eventually, a passer-by came by and rescued her. her grandfather drowned. ha ha. 911's for suckers. stupid people are legion.

i hate today. i hope today drowns in the waikiki yacht club. you know why.

Chinese Democracy Now

it's going to happen.

root down

wow, being at work sucks.

i had to post another entry today because i'm sick of seeing that girl's picture at the top of my blog. but i don't want to remove it. i want to torture myself. because i deserve to be in pain. somehow, i managed to feel like even more of a loser reading about her on her website. she's about my age but the shit she's done with her life just demolishes my "accomplishments". you'd think i've been asleep for 30 years.

speaking of which, i had a hell of a time getting up this mourning. tonight, i've got to deal with a bunch of shit that i've been putting off. i've just got to dive in and find the monkey.

The Meowking sleeps with the fishes.

malice who?

i was at the movies yesterday with whatsisface and i saw a trailer for the new albert brooks film, "looking for comedy in the muslim world". i've seen this trailer before, but for some reason it clicked that i knew the girl in it! i didn't really know her, but she was in the scholars program with me in college and we went to italy one year, and i had this massive fucking crush on her. of course, i was so chickenshit back then, i didn't say anything to her.

what's worse? i went to get advice from a friend on that trip, and the friend thought i had a crush on HER, and SHE started to "let me down easy" before i clarified that i didn't have a crush on her. the fact remained, i was getting rejected from girls i wasn't even going after...

what's even worse? the girl i did have a crush on has a major role in the new albert brooks movie. eli roth has a hit horror movie out. and i'm struggling to finish writing a play that maybe 10 people will see.

i'd scream, but i don't think anyone would hear me.

(p.s. i think i might have cancer.)

day destroys the night; night divides the day

the worst part of working 16 hours is seeing the shift that went home earlier that mourning come back to work at the end of your day. it's like they had a whole life while you were sitting there, editing tables on a computer.

gentle car ride home, up the upper east side then cut across central park. midnight is where the day begins...

now to assess how best to waste my long weekend...

16 - 15 = 1

burning time. unethically, i'm burning time. i've been doing crap work that nobody would want to touch during regular hours. thank less. i'm on vacation. i've got a four day weekend. a lot of time staring at the ceiling, contemplating the horrorshow state of my life. i cank wait... aren't you glad you read all of this? thanks for keeping me company, bloggy. you're my best friend...!

16 - 9 = 7

TRUE! --nervous --very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses --not destroyed --not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad?

2nd shift officially begins. goodbye, 1st shift. the people on 1st shift, i don't even talk to -- i gotta make nice with the 2nd shift weirdos for the next 7 hours? i am fucking sick with excitement. but it's okay, because these make for scintillating blog entries. i'm certain there's some sort of blogging award i'll be up for before the day is through.

i am sick with excitement. have i used that line already?

i stand alone like Gaspar Noé...

i hope the meowking dies of alcohol poisoning tonight...

16 - 7 = 9

9 hours. less than a regular day for me. it's just like i'm starting a new day. everything is going to be okay. it won't get depressing at all when it gets really quiet tonight...

i'm reading this article on crime library right now. it's dead here. dead like my soul. (dead like Brook Wilberger?)

16 - 4 = 12

twelve more hours. what's twelve hours? nothing. but this is nothing. this is still first shift. 2nd shift is when the freaks come out to play. 8pm is gonna be hard. 9pm is gonna be hard. 10pm, killer. and then i've got two hours to go.

but now it's noon. and i've got till midnight. not that i've got anywhere to be. why me why me why me...

24 (minus 8)

it begins...

got to make it through sixteen hours. for a little more chump change. spanning 2 shifts.

if i call out sick within the next two weeks, the overtime rate gets cancelled out.

if i think bad thoughts within the next two weeks, the overtime rate gets cancelled out.

if i hang out with meowking within the next two weeks, the overtime rate gets cancelled out.

now we play the waiting game...

hour town

tomorrow, i've agreed to do rico hours. 8am to 12am. 16 hour day. 6 hours of time and a half. on paper it sounds like a nice little bump to expect in two weeks, but it's not gonna mean much to me 10:30pm tomorrow... how does rico do it...?

why me why me why me...

eff meowking.

i fell asleep early and woke up late this mourn. got lucky with the train but still clocked in almost 20 minutes late. ha ha, i'm stupid.

my first robot

last night, i was talking to a friend about the play i'm working on. i won't go into it coz i don't like talking about something before it's done, but i was telling him about concerns i had about making an actress... do certain things... or rather, having certain things done to her onstage... but he convinced me to write it the way it needs to be written and deal with the next phase when i get there.

i wasn't going to write about it here but i wanted to put up a picture of a robot in this entry. (it relates to the play.)

i got to work too early today. can a commute be too good?

i had a nightmare about the meowking last night. i think i need to end him.

the loneliness of the long distance walker

monday mourning. the aftermath of 30 misspent years is a sobering affair. writing a blog entry was all he could do to keep his eyes open. the accidental byproduct of his new, shorter commute was that he had less shut-eye on the ride to work. a curtailed difference in time between waking up and sitting at his day job. instead of growing accustomed to it, the effect was increasingly jarring.

in the wake of the 3-day transit strike, he had taken to walking home. when the weather was dry. when he had nothing to do or nowhere to be. a long walk hitting the uneven pavement, passing people, looking forward to the extended stretches where he didn't have to jockey for sidewalk space amidst slower pedestrian traffic. people with shopping bags, people walking their dogs: slow walkers with no reason to move any faster. he had no reason to move faster. but he did so simply because it was something to focus on.

he had turned 30 that weekend, which didn't hit immediately. rather, it rang and echoed and seemed to get louder the day after. a sea change had occurred. and the thought dawned on him that for all his loneliness, he couldn't imagine getting close to anyone. because what would be the point? and that idea stung worse than anything.

best to fly under the radar for a while. getting trashed as often as possible was not granting him the oblivion he wanted. long walks alone. finishing his plays. he needed to realign. he needed to recalibrate. he needed to stop mourning all that was and all that could have been... and assess what would be from this point forth...

i'll be born again

Have you ever heard of "insect politics"...? Neither have I... Insects don't have politics... They don't compromise... They're brutal...

If you stay... I'll hurt you.

David Cronenberg's The Fly


Today, something dies so that something new may claw toward life.

[Thanks to the Son of the Mourning for the Fly DVD. It is awesome.]

mugwump

muuuuuug-wuuuuuump...

i hate fobs

i sit near this korean woman at work, she does what i do. works in MS Word and such. heavy accent. heavy accent.

fob op:
(turning toward some non-operators at a nearby desk)
ennybuddy no how du get de yulo sine...?

non-ops:
the what?

fob op:
YULO SINE... YULO SINE...!

malice:
(busy on the phone with a tech person, covers phone)
try "alt-0128"...

fob op:
da what...?

malice:
"ALT 128"...

[she tries this. creates her "Euro Sign".]

fob op:
(turning back toward non-ops)
guys -- it's art-wuntwennyaye...

non-ops:
what?

fob-op:
ART-WUNTWENNYAYE! FORDA YULO SINE! ART-WUNTWENNYAYE!!

i fucking hate FOBs...

i hate proofers

locked my computer terminal before i went to lunch. i get back and a 2nd shift proofer is in my seat, restarting the computer.

"oh, this is your seat?"

"yeah. you restarted the computer..."

"no -- it was locked..."

i fuccking hayte prooofers.

SIX(teen hundred) Miles from meXico

i've walked past a lot of discarded chrimbo trees lately. folks would save a lot of money if they celebrated christ's birth in january.

[evocative picture: check. social commentary: check.]

newop called out "sick" today coz he's a yellow bastard.

[inside reference: check. link to sin city reference: check.]

in three days, i'll turn 30 years old. if i make it. there's still that chance (hope?) that i'll get snuffed before i reach that landmark. a lot of things can happen in 3 days. bad things. lethal things.

[ominous, crypto-suicidal rumination: check.]

nicko should check out this year's Round-Robin Beard Off and just set aside a moment to really look at himself. i mean, really.

[nicko potshot: check.]

interlude: i'm so sleepy

a bit after 1 p.m. here at the salt mines and i am effing tired. literally bored to tears. eyes stuck open with safety pins. debating wednesday night options. i can't take it. hours to go. i even slept last night. a very fair amount. ten hours in a chair just isn't right. i need to get out...

{[(Happy Birthday, Nick.)]}

i just put all the "company-recognized holidays" into my calendar, and thus contemplated the entirety of this upcoming year as i scrolled through the months. jesus, i hate the holidays.

don't get me wrong, i like vacation days. i like days off. i've just grown to fucking despise the holidays. i fear i've become one of those people. i used to like the holidays. i used to like getting gifts for people. now it's just a series of bad reminders. and i can't help but wonder whether i'm going to live them down by the time the big holidays roll around again this year. or whether i'm going to be scrooged for the rest of my befucked life.

i'm not going to see brokeback mountain.

something funny from MAAKIES.

something funny from the Perry Bible Fellowship.

the end is the end is the end

oh my effing god. being back at work sucks way more than i'd anticipated. not working is sooo much better, dude. i'd like to get a job as an independently wealthy, eccentric recluse.

woke up this mourning to the sound of school closing announcements. i like hearing that my old high school is closed due to inclement weather. my fondest childhood memories are waiting by the radio to hear the announcement that my school was closed that day. snow days were these little deus ex machinas that saved me from tests and unfinished papers. i was a lousy student. i'm an even lousier adult.

i'm sick of this year already. can we DVR it and just skip to the good parts...?

sincerely,
Desperately Seeking Susan