Tuesday, August 30, 2016

Bruised World

This past Saturday, I decided to treat myself to a massage at a spa I've been to before.

A few years ago, my sister bought me a gift certificate for a massage at this place.

I wasn't really accustomed to massages, but I remember when I walked out of there after that massage, it felt like I had a whole new body. I felt rejuvenated.

So I proceeded to treat myself to massages whenever I could afford them, which admittedly was very sporadic.

This is the robe and locker key I got upon checking in for my appointment.

My massage therapist was named Vera. This wizened old woman with a deceptively limp/passive handshake.

She proceeded to give me arguably the most painful massage of my goddamn life...

Here's a wall ornament in my personal torture chamber.

I can take a certain amount of pain but she really pushed it. This was NOT some relaxing massage. It was excruciating. Far worse than any tattoo I've gotten. Maybe I've been reading too much true crime but I thought about how vulnerable I was on that table and imagined how easy it would be for her to kill me. My luck, I'd made an appointment with the person the media would dub "The Murder Masseuse". My family would show up at the trial for this woman holding a picture of me, weeping for justice.

About 15 minutes into the hour-long massage, Vera asked if I wanted to try "cupping". She warned it would be very painful but it would help. I agreed to it because I'd never tried it and I had to try it once.

This ended up being the single worst torture device I've ever felt.

I didn't see them. I just felt them. Little cups that she would pump to create a vacuum that would suck up the flesh on my back. Then she would RUB THE CUP AROUND, which felt like she was skinning me alive (or the closest I'd ever want to come to finding out what that felt like).

She cautioned several times that there would be bruises on my back for several days afterwards.

This is a picture I took of my back (from above), two days later:

Unlike the other times I'd visited the spa, I did NOT leave feeling rejuvenated. I left feeling like I'd gotten my ass kicked. I've done some reading up on it and apparently this is a thing with some deep tissue massages: they release "toxins" and you can end up feeling a little sick for a few days afterwards until you feel a lot better. I've also read that massages like this can actually create toxins and there's such a thing as being too hard on the muscle tissue.

I'll give it a few more days to see how I feel but I'm probably going to steer clear of booking another session with "Vera".

Monday, August 29, 2016

Gene Wilder Has a Posse

Jerome Silberman
June 11, 1933 – August 28, 2016

Gene Wilder has a posse.

"Featherlike" (ANIMATED) by Gregor Czaykowski

I posted this comic OVER TWO YEARS AGO.

This is an animated version I just created to save folks some scrolling.

Monday, August 22, 2016

Gawker Has a Posse

January 2003 - August 2016

Don't know if this will become a dead link soon but this is the final post on Gawker:


I was a fan of Gawker. It was one of my daily websites. Refresh-multiple-times-a-day websites.

Back in their old commenting system, I was even a starred commenter, which was something that meant something for a time.

It's kind of amazing and horrifying that they pissed off a billionaire who actually managed to get them shuttered.

I'm glad that some key Gawker Media sites like i09 will remain in operation. Gawker was a fucking institution. And then Hulk Hogan had sex with Bubba the Love Sponge's wife... and Gawker took the bait of that video footage...

Who would have thought that HULK HOGAN and BUBBA THE FUCKING LOVE SPONGE would have become the demise of Gawker?

It's just sort of crazy to think this website's gone. Gawker's been around since around when I started this blog!

(I know I don't update too regularly but this blog has been around for a FUCKING LONG TIME!)

Saturday, August 13, 2016

The Aborted Rage-Quit

This is a picture I took on my way home from work last night. It's our production, shooting in Brooklyn.

Going into work Friday morning, I was convinced I might have to rage-quit my job.

It's weird when you find yourself braced for an argument that never materializes.

There's this one dysfunctional core in the team I've been working with...

(Oh!, Malice!, but what if she READS this??)

[She's NOT going to read this. NOBODY reads this. YOU'RE not even reading this right now!]

... and for whatever reason, I was convinced she was going to lay out some unreasonable demands on Friday, and I found myself readying for an argument. I even found myself playing out this imaginary argument in the shower that morning. Preparing to QUIT if I had to, figuring out how I was going to make it through the rest of the year without a job.

I was heading into the Thunderdome that day.

And nothing happened.

She was on good behavior. Everyone was.

There were no blow-ups. No incidents. Even at the very end of the day: nothing.

I had this odd sensation of dazed relief as I wished everyone a good weekend and walked away from the department last night, job intact. Because of the shooting schedule, everyone else in the department had opted to get a free meal at craft services, and they were all eating at their desks. ON A FUCKING FRIDAY NIGHT. What was wrong with these people...?

I walked to the subway, stunned that I had a job to go to at the end of the weekend.

August. Can I see this through to November?