Friday, March 31, 2006

Road Runner Named "Person of Interest"

Hal, the Central Park coyote, has died.

*beep beep!*

New meaning of fierce

She's rich, beautiful, and somehow has a devoted following of model-lovers, yet Naomi Campbell can't resist beating her servants. Yes, again. Allegedly. She of course says the woman is framing her by "rehashing old stories" to take her revenge after being accused of stealing stuff from one of the last working Super Models of the World.

What's funny to me is this:


The British citizen was released without bail last night after arraignment on a felony second-degree assault charge in Manhattan Criminal Court. A judge allowed her to keep her passport so she could travel to South Africa today to be the guest of honor of human-rights hero Nelson Mandela at a charity function.


Because she exemplifies dedication to the rights of underpaid, overworked immigrant housekeepers. And, I mean, the fashion industry that sustains her is also dedicated to human rights by employing third world children and allowing them to use their tiny hands to thread those fabulous garments.

Britney, the Bear, and the Fetus


I try not to post old internet rehashes, but let's face the facts: that's mostly what I do. You've probably already seen this sculpture of Britney Spears, ass pointed to the sky, belly filled with the seed of Federline which is some kind of monument to pro-life satire or something. Interestingly, JJK sent me the link to the exhibit and expressed a strange fascination with and interest in seeing it.

Then just now I read this blog post about it and literally laughed out loud.

Thursday, March 30, 2006

Click fast, these won't last.

Chevy Tahoe is having this contest, in connection with The Apprentice apparantly, where you can make your own Tahoe commercial on their website. I wish that these could be preserved forever, but as the title of the post says: click fast, these won't last.

But what does it all MEAN?

I have started to realize -- and perhaps I should not get into the habit of this -- that little daytime errands that must be ran do not require using my bank of "personal time" if Boss Lady is not here. Instead, I can simply go do it and I am pretty much unmissed. Today I had to go to Ye Olde Credit Union to get a withdrawal as my ATM card has not yet arrived since what is to be known as The Violation of March 25, 2006, the day my locker was robbed in the gym! The clear message of that day, I think, is "stop going to the gym and just get fat and nasty." Anyway, the credit union branch is located, interestingly, in a hospital downtown right next to the psychiatric wing. It's been a while since I've seen so much swaying back and forth, heard so much confused moaning, and been subjected to so much screaming. For a minute, I felt like I was home for Christmas.

After the credit union, I went to Verizon to get a new phone. The cheapest of which was $130. What the hell is all this crap on their website about phones for $30 or $40? The salesman told me, "That's if you get a two year contract." I said, "I have a two year contract!" He then tried to convince me that I could wait until June and get a free phone. Apparantly he is unware that I am a very important person who needs to be availabe for contact at all times.

Since I had not taken enough money out to sustain myself and buy a phone until the arrival of some credit card replacements in the mail, I left -- phoneless -- back for work. There was a message that Lito had called, which when he calls me at work my active imagination conjures up an emergency. So I called him back and he told me that my dad had called on his line and left a message for me, which conjured up another emergency. Since I relied on technology to store all my numbers, rather than my memory, I didn't have Dad's number so I called my Mom at work (who I had never heard speaking her work voice and it baffled me a little). Anyway, there was no emergency, but this is what had happened:

An envelope addressed to me arrived at my parents address in North Carolina. Of all the things that were in my wallet (several credit cards, student ID, work ID, NC driver's license, yoga gift certificate, etc), only one credit card and my useless Skymiles card were in the envelope. Now, one might jump to the conclusion that some Good Samaritan found only those two cards, looked me up, and mailed them as a kind gesture. But there is no way anyone could come up with my parents address unless they were going by my driver's lisence. So this must have been the crooks themselves doing the mailing. Why would they bother, especially when there were about seven thousand other things in that wallet that I would have rather them mailed? Why would they bother at all? Are they taunting me? Are they sending me a message that says: I know where you live? WTF?

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Madonna's World Tour

Just as she appropriated vouging from urban black queens, watered it down to "strike a pose" and sang "there's nothing to it", Madonna now desires to "take krumping and make it her own" during her upcoming world tour. (I love how the article says "Madonna started the vouging craze" when I'm not sure there was ever really a vouging craze per se, though the song was a hit.)

At least vouging and the ball scene around it is cool. Krumping just strikes me as spastic and irritating, and no, I havn't seen Rize. Speaking of Rize, rumor has it that Madge and the film's director David LaChapelle (who was supposed to be the director of the "Hung Up" video) fell out over "creative differences" which likely had to do with her siezing his dancers and taking krumping as a trophy for her own shelf of styles-tried and inventions-reinvented.

That said, the fact that Madonna is going on tour fills me with both joy and extreme anxiety. She's supposedly going to be working in "smaller venues" in some cities which means "tickets will be mad hard to get". I have good luck with these kinds of things, but I havn't been feeling so lucky lately. Maybe Madge herself will throw me a bone?

~~
In other news I think I have everything taken care of in regards to the potential identity theft that happened on Sunday. I have no access to my bank accounts or credit lines, so I'm livin' on borrowed dimes (thanks Lito). I remain at this point without a phone, so if you need to call me, you better holler loud. Hopefully I will be functioning at full capacity once again in the coming days. Peace to the mid-east.

Psycho Kitty

You may have heard of the six-toed psycho kitty terrorizing a Connecticut neighborhood. I am tempted to send Meow Kitty's personal ad ("Hot pussy seeks aggressive male for long sessions during heat") to Lewis the Cat.

I am reminded of this:



And this crazy bitch and her dog (quote: "He bite me in my vagina."):

Fish

I have expressed my views on fish and birds previously.

Today there is a story in the NY Post about a man who stomped a goldfish to death and was charged with animal cruelty (among other things like assault, as he attacked the boy and his mother after throwing the fish tank into the television).

His lawyers says that though they are "beloved household pets" they are not "companion animals" because they would swim away giving the opportunity.

Of course most of them swim away to that big toilet bowl in the sky within hours of arriving at their new homes. (I did have a single goldfish (named Moesha) that lived for nearly two years, and survived several moves via subway in paper cups.)

Sunday, March 26, 2006

JUST MY NAME!

The officer who took my report down was very nice, but she resisted putting everything I "lost" on their, though I think I got most of it down before she shut me down. She was even a little bitchy about it frankly. This, after I listened to her tell me all about her Marine boyfriend she just met. At one point I had taken the report form from her and was writing the shit on there myself. Honey, I know to you it may not seem important to have things like my health insurance card on the report but if you knew how obsessed I am with the security of my identity, you would feel lucky that at least I'm not having you put down the H&M Gift Card or BH membership card. Much like Tina Turner in What's Love Got to Do with It? I planned on walking out of there with nothing except my name.

I know there's nothing they can do, but when someone starts wiping my name all over town into credit applications and what not, I want to have the proof that I am the one and only STROLL.

What's really bothering me is the loss of all the info contained in my cell phone. I know no one's phone numbers. (Please email me your phone numbers, those of you Real Life people who are reading this, so I can put them in my new phone when I get it. Also please note that it will be a little while before I have communications up and running again.) Additionally, there were work account numbers for the car service, etc, and people's email addresses even. Jeez.

I feel crippled by this whole thing. I plan on getting a sample of Prime Suspect's sweat from the gym and working a voodoo root on his ass. But first, I must settle everything with the corporate world. I had never gotten a NY license because I was not ready to commit to it, but now it looks like long line city as I try to reclaim documentation of my life here on The Butch Stroll.

Saturday, March 25, 2006

Go on, take everything, take everything, I want you to...

I don’t really want you to, but that’s what they fucking did. I was ROBBED tonight at my gym. When I was all done exercising, I went back to my locker inside of which I had previously shoved my coat and hat. Upon my return, only my hat remained.

Hi. I’m the idiot that forgot his lock and decided to just chance it this time.

Baffled by this, I looked through some other lockers and then went to the front desk to tell the staff. They were also baffled, so I figured no one could have gotten out with my big ass stop sign red coat, and went back to search every locker that was open one by one. Sure enough my coat was in one of them, missing wallet and cell phone of course. At least they left my keys.

After discussing this with the staff, I returned home and called all the credit card companies etc. I called 311 (info line for New York) and the operator promptly transferred me to 911 who then told me the police were on their way. Lito and his guest were home so the apartment of course reeked of marijuana. When they buzzed the door I went down to meet them rather than just buzz them up. They may have thought that was suspicious but I wasn’t expecting them to have to come, for some silly reason I thought you could do that kind of report by phone. The main one who addressed me – their leader if you will – asked me if there was a bathroom “down here” and I said, “Um, sorry, no, there isn’t” and then walked my ass back up to the fourth floor to my apartment where there is a bathroom that is unfortunately not available for the po-po at this exact moment. Lito’s guest reminded me there is no Constitution anymore and I was concerned about what kind of search that could lead to…and I’m the victim here!

Just being dramatic there (but I really didn’t let him use the bathroom). Anyway, they told me to just go to the precinct when I had them all written down so they could put it all on the report. As it turns out I was not entirely prepared for their visit as I didn’t have all the credit card numbers –they’re on the stolen credit cards after all – for their report. Just so you know, some credit card customer services will tell you your credit card numbers when you report a card stolen, and some refuse to do so.

The cops were pretty nice but they did seem a little tough-guy towards my pansy ass. And why do they need to send three motherfuckers to take a dang report?

They told me that it will be a “lost property” report because I didn’t see anyone steal it. What the fuck ever, I would have accepted that nonsense more if they would have said that it was because I was a dumbass who didn’t lock his shit up. Not stolen, as if my coat had opened the door and fallen out of one locker, into another locker, whereupon my wallet and cell phone magically disappeared.

I have a conspiracy theory about the whole incident by the way. It begins when I entered the gym and proceeded to the locker room. There is this guy that I have seen there before on more than one occasion (he was shirtless which was irrelevant to the story) who was standing between the walkway and the bench in there and some old man was on the other side of the bench, so as I charged through with my headphones on I said “excuse me” which could have been loud as I couldn’t hear myself. I get a contemptuous vibe from him already.

He proceeded to go into a stall and take a shit, and I proceeded to put my coat in the locker. Then I went and did my workout.

While I was working out – and remember I do not know at this point that I have been violated – another guy was beside me on a stationary bicycle talking on a cell phone. It made me think, “I should totally start multi-tasking some calls into my workout.” While he was there on the bike, and I was waiting for the last fifteen minutes of torture to end, Suspect Number One came through on the lower level, and stopped to look up at the guy on the bike. They apparently knew each other. So my conspiracy theory is that they were in on it together and the talking on the phone was talking on my phone, to flaunt their crime!

That may seem far fetched but it is very plausible if you witnessed it.

I'll go to the precinct tomorrow.

Lazy Muncie

In the interest of having a thorough chronical of the rap videos inspired by the original Lazy Sunday from SNL and followed by the West Coast response Lazy Monday, here is Lazy Muncie, which his awesome.



My favorite thing about this is Jim Davis, creator of Garfield, doing a sideways gangsta style peace sign, which was my former boss's signature sign off as she departed the office (usually about three hours before the close of the business day).

But to reitterate, none of them top Natalie Portman's gangsta rap.

The Butch Stroll Word of the Day

The Butch Stroll Word of the Day is: metier. As in, "If only I had a metier, I would feel like I'm leading a meaningful life."

Not to be confused with a former Butch Stroll Word of the Day, sinecure. As in, "Sometimes I feel like cubicle-dwelling is a sinecure."

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Dog Blogging: That's our girl.



Oh yeah, you're sooo sweet an innocent with that "Who, me?" look, Miss Girl.

She had three walks within an short period of time yesterday because she kept making the noise that indicates "I am going to release a steaming pile of shit at any moment." For me, twice, she would not go number 2. However she did for her mother (Lito) on her third walk, which was like her fifth walk for the day. Bitch loves to walk!

She interacts with different people in different ways. She's getting bigger and more ferocious day by day, but still overall a sweet girl, and still scared of the cat but not too scared to stick her snout in the cat's face whereupon Kitty makes noises unlike any I've ever heard, and swipes with full claw extension at the dumb wet nose that is in her space bubble. Kitty and I relate on the space-bubble level. Don't come in mine and I won't come in yours.

But I digress. For me, the dog likes to pull against the leash. She wants to run, she wants to hide, she wants to break down these walls that hold her inside. I try to explain to her that this is not "run free in the park time", but rather this is "walking around the block so you can relieve yourself time". She understands, but she doesn't accept. I feel bad for having to restrain her, so I tested her obedience skills upon our re-entry. Going up the stairs I let her off her leash and she was soo good! She went directly to our door thus proving that she knows the answer when I ask her repeatedly "Who lives here?"

Then when her mother Lito went back out she escaped into the hallway after him, causing a small ruccus. No neighbors present, thank goodness.

Anyway, while we were outside the first time, walking away from the front of our building, she stopped and turned in the opposite direction, and doing the pointer-dog thing she does with one leg up and snout strait forward. Then she starts moving back towards the building desperately excited for what was happening there. Yes, Nina totally sniffed out the drug deal happening in front of the building which made for an awkward moment as the dealer was interested in meeting her (they love pit bulls for some reason) yet he was occupied with a "customer" and I am trying to convince Nina to cross the street with me as I play dumb to the goings on. But we all knew what was going on and we all knew we all knew what was going on.

The whole scene took place in a one minute time frame but in Nina's time, that's like seven minutes.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Meow Kitty's Services Required

There's a coyote on the loose in Central Park. The NYPD has called on the services of one Miss Meow Kitty to hunt the beast down and turn it over to the wildlife sanctuary upstate...but she is more likely to just kill it and eat its face. Lord knows Miss Nina has some battle wounds cause that bitch won't learn her lesson.

By the way, that article says a coyote was once captured in Central Park and sent to the Queens Zoo. There's a Queens Zoo? Who knew?

Monday, March 20, 2006

Absolution for Abortion

I have to admit that I am very shakey on the issue of abortion. In high school I wrote a SHOCKING persuasive essay on the pro-choice side! I also wrote some dumb paper arguing that America should become "socialist" in this period of mediocre renegade term papers. I got a C. But I digress.

I come from a place where abortion could conceivably be outlawed, though not with the ease South Dakota did. I also have a philosophical liking for the view that life begins at conception. My view has changed over time. Then I found out that people I have known for a long time had had abortions. I realized that the need for abortion is out there and it is close to home; and that when people talk casually about abortion among friends and make sweeping judgements about its rightness or wrongness or its legality, you never know who present has had one. Who are you proudly shaming for doing something they thought was best, for themselves granted, even if it means some tissue is never going to get to be an adult? Sure we've all seen the photos of heads with their faces sucked out. We've all heard the persuasive line of reasoning suggesting that a woman keep her legs closed so she doesn't have to have an unwanted pregnancy. That something is "icky" or "blood and gutsy", however, doesn't mean that it's an unimportant option through which I woman can access her autonomy. Nor do accidents that result in pregnancy mean a woman should not receive a solution anymore than a careless driver should be taken to the hospital. A bumper-sticker cliche has rang true for me in recent years, "If you don't like abortion then don't have one." And I will never ever be in a situation where I need one.

That said, I do understand the moral repulsion some may feel towards abortion, and I also understand that it's such a controversial subject because it pits the supposed rights of the unborn against the rights of a grown woman. But if we're granting rights to fetuses, then to be consistent one must take an all or nothing position. Pregnant by rape? Well that's not the fetus's fault. Banning abortion with exceptions defeats the supposed point of banning abortions--to protect the rights of the fetus. Sins of the father and all that.

But I digress again.

What KILLS me are women who have had abortions who now take up the anti-abortion cause, like the woman mentioned in this article. She regrets her abortion and I truly feel sorry for her for that. But SHE GOT HERS. She accessed her autonomy and made the decision to have one, and now she has found her absolution from such a grave sin by working to deny the right of OTHER women to have the same thing done. Sure, she may know what it's like to be a post-abortive woman (for herself) and she may indeed feel like shit about having gone through with it. But my point is, she has all this free time to shut down Planned Parenthood clinics and tell women who seek abortions that they are going to be murdering babies BECAUSE she had an abortion. I am not telling her she can't feel how she feels about having had an abortion, and I know that it's not easy to come off the abortion table ready to go have lunch and shop a little. It is a serious thing that some women decide to do. If you've had one and you regret it then suck it up -- YOU made a bad choice. And because YOU made a bad choice, you want to take away the choice altogether for the rest of the world?

I'm reminded of reports of a certain famous blogger cruising sex sites in search of bareback fucking. He publicly admonishes the gay practice of promiscuous, anonymous sex and suggests that that practice is at fault for the AIDS epidemic and his own having HIV. He gets the rewards of participating, while blaming the consequences on others.

Maybe the old saying is true, blood really is thicker than water?

Madonnalicious recently published this little snippet from Contact Music:

Madonna surprised Camilla, Duchess Of Cornwall when she phoned to tell the British royal they are distantly related. The 47-year-old Hung Up hitmaker - who has also discovered blood-links with Canadian singer Celine Dion - is urging her 'relations' to join her and genealogist William Addams Reitwiesner in their quest to trace their entire family tree.

Reitwiesner explains, 'Camilla and Madonna are both descended from Zacharie Cloutier, who lived from 1617 to 1708. And Camilla and Celine descend from Jean Guyon, who lived from 1617 to 1708. 'Both Jean and Zacharie died in Chateau-Richer, Quebec. Because of their unusual French-Canadian ancestry, they are all blood relations. Madonna is absolutely fascinated by this.'


That Madonna and Celine Dion are distant blood relations is old news (note that Madonna and Gwen Stefani are also distantly related). Madonna may be fascinated with her geneology, but I am fascinated by this:


[via Paper Mag]


It's unfortunate that it's only a small clip -- please send me any link to the complete version of this disturbing yet fascinating performance.

Saturday, March 18, 2006

400

This is my four hundredth post! *Applause.* To commemorate this occasion, I am going to share with you Too Much Information. Stop here lest you be emotionally scarred by a mental image.

I'm not a very hair person, but as it has been warming up of late, I recently did a hair removal process--clippers and depilatories were involved--of some delicate areas. Those areas--specifically between the cheeks--are now burning with the fires of a thousand suns. I have applied creams and potions, and it has been reduced somewhat, but the lesson has been learned to let nature take its course in certain regions of the body.

So much for any exposure of the ass this weekend.

Friday, March 17, 2006

Nooooooooooooooooooo!

It's already been a little dry 'round these parts.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

Where the streets have no name...

I was the victim last night of [insert dramatic dun..dun..duh] STREET HARRASSMENT! Three (possibly four) guys in a some dinky little car. I was coming down the street and they were parked on the other side. The one in the passenger's side had his head out the window and was bellowing something, so I looked out of instinct. He started hollering some shit at me, which included, "don't look back bitch" and I of course complied. There was also something about how big and red my coat is. Clearly they were unaware that my coat is died in blood of punks like them and stuffed with their dried organs. Neither their penises or their car were big enough to fill the void in their egos so they decided to take out the frustration on some vulnerable stranger on a desolate street. It's not that words from idiots pierce me, it's that in this day and age you don't know if they have baseball bats, or guns, and are smoking PCP out looking for some fag to murder. These kind of things happen and more than likely I would not be an ongoing feature in the NY Post, complete with idyllic pictures of me in happier times, and S.D.A. quoted as saying "SHE WAS AN ANGEL WALKING AMONGST US, GONE HOME TO THE LORD!" Rather, I'd make the "crime blotter" which is the footnotes of crime-journalism in this city. I said to my friend, "If I am found in a river somewhere with my face wrapped in duct tape, they had Virginia plates." But I digress.

So I continued to walk, briskly as always, and a couple blocks later they pull up alongside me, moving slowly. Talking some shit, and then just driving off. I saw them take a corner while slowing down again, and thought they might be waiting for me up there. They weren't.

Now that they had proven harmless, I went upstairs and got the dog for her walk. I walked her around the block without incident. Then I saw them sitting by in the car at the corner, not noticing me yet. I casually walked up to the car as I pulled the shiny silver, pearl-handled .22 pistol from my under my shirt, and shot them one good time in the head, each. I just left the car their, still running.

Just kidding, I didn't see them.

The whole thing has just worked a nerve though. I truly do not understand assholery.

Our apartment building is located right on border of The Other Side of the Tracks. But usually shady characters and mentally ill people take well to me -- they recognize The Butch Stroll within me and want to be all...friendly. The true hardened crooks, though, just see a "pussy", easy to bully, a target. When these kinds of attempts have been made, though, they have been thwarted because I do in fact know the dark tricks and I also know to go for the eyes and the nuts.

I don't know. I do try to play "tough" but everybody knows I'm a big softy. I guess the truth is being played for a punk on the street wounded my...manhood. For the record I'd like to state that they were in a car, three of them and one of me, and still all they did was talk shit. I don't know what they were capable of but as my cousin once reminded me, "they don't know what I'm capable of either." Holla!

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Images

I have been soo tired all day, so tired in fact that this morning I slept through my alarm for a solid hour which I never do (I at least get up to hit snooze six or seven times). Now I'm a bit overwhelmed by work here at the end of the day, so before I go shove my face full of Popeye's Chicken as a matter of stress relief, and then like DJ Tanner from Full House go "purge" on a treadmill by doing more than my body is able to do out of guilt from all that grease, I wanted to waste a little time as a matter of stress relief:



Monday, March 13, 2006

Showing Your Ass On the College Level

I came across this essay written by a university student entitled Planes, Trains, and Plantains: The Story of Oedipus, and was shocked and appalled at such antics while simultaneously profoundly moved by the show of balls. The professor's comments are equally baffling--as is the grade, D-.

If only I could incorporate "I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU AND YES THIS IS A WRITTEN THREAT!" into my thesis, or turn it in on pink paper, no less.

Sunday, March 12, 2006

"Did the paper do it, or the wire service?"

I never knew that Charlie Chaplin (who, incidentally, had the same birthday as yours truly) was denied a re-entry permit from London for anti-American whateverness. Then I read this story about a doctored photo from the McCarthy era and learned something new. Although it's done for an entirely different reason, it kind of reminds me of the regrettable and now routine removal of the Twin Towers from photographs, movies, etc that were created before their fall.

Saturday, March 11, 2006

There's a new white bitch in town.



The late Lady Miss Girl's sister, Nina aka White Girl, has come to live with us. Long story.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Despite the threat of imprisonment and/or death, you can't keep people from seeking out The Butch Stroll



They let ya'll get on the internets over there? Can ya fill me in on what's going down?

Simpsons Intro in Live Action

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

The World Church of Assimilation: Apologies to Star Trek

Work has been so weird for the past few months. I am completely settled into my new position; however, my boss still puts me slightly on edge because a mood swing is known to kick in. Of course, I am known to have a mood swing here and there myself but thankfully most of the time our swings are swinging parallel rather than perpendicular.

The Big Meeting of the Queen with the Field Generals is coming up so there is mad work to do. For the last couple years the World Church has been going “paperless” for the Big Meeting, but the transition involves paper and electronic documents – so there is double the amount of work. Technology’s promise of the paperless office, I think, is a myth. If anything there is more paper because people want to read that shit in their hands and print it out anyway. Or they at least just want to have it at hand for quick reference.

Boss Lady prints and files (has me file) every last little email. She also takes notes constantly and drops them in the box for me to interpret and enter into the system. I have that shit more or less extremely organized and can retrieve what you said and when you said on any occasion in two seconds. Sometimes I think the filing cabinets are going to some how slam shut just the right little way so that the information on the papers all cracks together at just the right angle so that the energy generated and the information that’s already there join together to create the self-realized CONSCIOUSNESS of the filing system, and it takes control of the entire World Church of Assimilation, slowly crawling through the walls and floors leaving its own circuitry, spreading out through the concrete on the streets and through the soles of the shoes of the people on the streets and takes over everything. Then, after assimilated into its collective consciousness, you slip up and put something away wrong, or fail to make the appropriate note, insert one tiny little peg into the wrong hole—miss one little detail in your duty to the system—and It All feels the fucking jolt of your error. It doesn’t like the jolt at all. You are deemed defective, a liability, not a part that deserves to get greased anymore, but a part that needs to be repaired. Or replaced.

This is the kind of religio-nervous anxiety inducing place where I put in ye olde eight hours per day. This is the kind of place that has made me “like this”. lol



Yesterday, in the interests of my “career” with an organization I greatly admire but can never really be a part of, I lead the “devotions” that we have at the beginning of every meeting. The woman who was signed up to do the devotions was on leave and time got away from me in finding her a replacement. (People hate being put on the spot for that kind of thing.) As assistant to Boss Lady, it’s my assumed responsibility to make sure things like this are covered. So I just did it, as I am prone to say, “I’ll just do it” to make sure that whatever it is that it actually gets done. Because if it doesn’t get done and get done right, it comes back to me. And I’m a firm believer in the cliché, If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.

Now, the thing is I’m not quite sure what it is that I actually believe, so if I read from a Bible and say a Christian themed message about how God wants us to be good to one another then I’m not really being a hypocrite, I’m just taking care of a part of the goings-on that I knew coming in to work for a place called The World Church of Assimilation would entail. You don’t go to work for the Pope for example and expect not to ever see a cross or hear a prayer. There are many people who are part of the collective who are not World Church members. But all the Field Chiefs are members, and there are positions where membership is considered “a bona fide job qualification”. Suffice it to say I’m never going to have one of those jobs.

Anyway. I’m just trying to send Boss Lady on her international gallivant so I can work on my thesis. In regards to my thesis, a little voice in my head says to me, “Just quit.” It would make my life much easier, a monkey off my back. It’s not like the drug monkey who says, “It would be soooo fun if you just gave in and took me for a whirl tonight,” but rather it’s the thesis monkey who says, “I’m here, and you want nothing to do with me, but if you don’t make sweet love to me then all that work conjuring me up was for nothing!”

Monday, March 06, 2006

"I never said I was a role model."

Sadly, "Lazy Sunday", one of the funniest things ever, is no longer available on youtube; however, Natalie Portman's Gangsta Rap replaces everything in the sequence of funniest-thing-evers.

"What you want Natalie?
To drink and fight!
What you need Natalie?
To **** all night!"

pruritic, papular rash with excoriation

While yes, those are in fact the defining symptons of scabies, Mama does not have scabies, just heinous winter skin that requires constant moisturization. And the new Adidas deoderant that I bought has caused my armpits to flare up like the sweat glands of a whore in church. So I'm gonna have to make due with baby powder today, as I have no other alternatives.

I have to get into high gear to get to work on time. I'm up early, and in fact had spent an hour in the gym before 7:00 A.M. to take away some of the guilt of being filthy and debaucherous yesterday. Clearly I have been posessed by some spirit that is making me do things like crave exercise equipment and 30 degree morning wind.

Big week ahead at work. Between that and thesis me no blog much...but I'm addicted to blogging, among other things, so those words are meaningless.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

Post Broadway Social Interaction Disorder

The other night I went to see The Color Purple at The Broadway Theater. Fabulous. K-rock, who got us the tickets through her direct connection with the big O herself, and I met at her workplace which is right across the street. She, and others, are more critical of the play than I, who am pretty easy to please. I even got a little emotional.

Though I've never read the book or seen the movie version, watching the show got me thinking. Brokeback Mountain was not the first mainstream homosexual love story on the big screen...The Color Purple was! That was in the early eighties too -- black lesbiansm was likely harder for The Mainstream to swallow then than white male anal sex is in the present. Discuss.

...with your bitch slap rappin' and your cocaine tongue, you get nothing done...

Maybe it's that Guns N' Roses kicked ass and you're kind of lame, Jon Bon Jovi (although back in the day I did listen to Slippery When Wet on cassette till the dang thing broke).

Ghetto

I link reluctantly to The Ghetto Fab-u-lous Wedding because I do not like their use of "ghetto". That's not what "ghetto" means, and I hate how "ghetto" has become a derogatory adjective, when "ghetto" used to mean something like "an ethnic or cultural center with a flourishing of art and bla bla bla." You know? For example, Langston Hughes was "ghetto" as is jazz, Alvin Ailey and similar schools of dance, and the Harlem Rennaissance in general. Anyway, that wedding dress is hilarious, especially the train with all the children sitting on it.

Also, I do happen to know a few customers of Kolorful U (Hair * Nails * Psychic Readings * BBQ * Check Cashing) and in fact the Bird of Pair of Dice is pretty big in the neighborhood I work in.

For the record, I disagree that the U.S. is the most violent country.

There's this story about a high school teacher making the rounds, where a student taped the teacher's lecture on geopolitical issues. He's being accused of trying to brainwash his students with anti-American propoganda. Here is a transcript of the tape:


Teacher Jay Bennish: If you were Palestinians, who are the real terrorists? The Israelis, who fire missiles that they purchased from the United States government into Palestinian neighborhoods and refugees and maybe kill a terrorist, but also kill innocent women and children. And when you shoot a missile into Pakistan to quote-unquote kill a known terrorist, and we just killed 75 people that have nothing to do with al Qaeda, as far as they're concerned, we're the terrorists. We've attacked them on their soil with the intention of killing their innocent people.

1215

Student Sean Allen: But we did not have the intention of killing innocent people. We had the intention of killing an al Qaeda terrorist.

Bennish: Do you know that?

Allen: So, you're saying the United States has intentions to kill innocent people?

Bennish: I don't know the answer to that question.

Allen: But what gain do we get from killing innocent people in the Middle East? What gain does that pose to us?

Bennish: Let me ask you this. During the 1980s, Iran and Iraq were involved in an 8-year-long war. The United States sold missiles, tanks, guns, planes, to which side?

Unidentified student: Iraq?

Bennish: Both. The answer is both. Why would we send armaments to two sides that are fighting each other. That seems to be self-defeating. Don't we want one side to win? Not always! Sometimes you just want there to be conflict!

The British -- this is one of the grand strategies of the British imperial system--was to play local animosities off each other. To prevent them is to divide and conquer.

Do we really want the Middle East to unite as one cohesive political and cultural body?

No! Because then they could what? Threaten our supremacy.

We want to keep the world divided. Do we really want to kill innocent people? I don't know. I don't know the answer to that.

I know there are some Americans who do. People who work in the CIA. People who have to think like that. Those kind of dirty minds, dirty tricks. That's how the intelligence world works. Sometimes you do want to kill people just for the sake of killing them. Right?


Frankly, I think that (as usual) this kind of thing is being blown out of proportion. If anything, his claims may make the students think about their longheld beliefs, their own indoctrination if you will, about "good guys" and "bad guys". And there's nothing in there where he's defending terrorists. He's just saying. There are perspectives we have to consider about how other nations view the goings on in the world. I think I'd rather have a teacher like him in high school than one that made us copy pages from a remedial text book.

Update: This blog post makes some important points about this teacher's case. It is clear to me that this is not some teacher propagandizing. He's just trying to excite his students to think--and what better way to get students of conservative upbringings to think (criticize, analyze, etc) than to give them a very leftist point of view to deal with!

Thursday, March 02, 2006

Hot Tub = Cess Pool

It's like when all these studies about Ipods causing hearing loss, I'm sure I wasn't the only person who thought: "That's only what every mother in the world has been warning their kids about listening to headphones too loud for decades." Well your mom might not have told you that hot tubs are breeding grounds for bacteria, but isn't that kind of obvious?

Feed Me Seymour

If you are reading this through a feed reader, may I ask which one other than Bloglines?

I have come to realize that sometimes there is a delay in the feed updating, and I'm not even really sure what I'm talking about here, but it may be affecting the right of every American--indeed every Earthling--to have their piping hot serving of The Butch Stroll rather than a two day old luke warm porridge. Holla!

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

I say the kid's a genius.

A twelve year old boy stuck a wad of gum on a painting worth $1.5 million. This raises two questions.

Why is this painting worth $1.5 million?

And if the artist had stuck on the gum, would it have been some kind of statement?