so i bought the new grand theft auto. this isn’t particularly interesting to anyone other than me, but i would like it read into the record that i went to the fictional clothing store, inside the video game, and bought a green hooded sweatshirt, a cross colours style africa pendant, and A R. KELLY MASK. as sam has said, the people responsible for grand theft auto should probably be working on more important problems, like world hunger, but i’m glad that they afforded me a chance to have a small digital black guy wear a mask.
as always i recommend that you get down with the detraktor with myself in a kameo role. apparently there’s some kind of baseball game tonight and (!) it’s being televised.
director of in america signs on to 50 Cent biopic. makes sense.
from “only funny/funnier because i wasnt the white guy(s) in question” file:
two braceswearing nerday white teenagers get on train somewhere in lower mnhttn, wearing soccer gear and clutching spikes and talking excitedly about pokemon or chaste love or something, in a genial if offensively unashamed manner.
dude with orthopedic-style cane, otherwise dressed like member of boyz II men circa 1996: (singing) THE SOCCER KIDS ARE HERE!
long pause
guy with cane: are you guys going to go to college?
soccer nerds: polite smile. return to pokemon.
guy: you have to study hard, get into a good school. (derisively) yaaale. haaarrrvard. those are good schools. GOOD MIDDLE SCHOOLS. I WENT TO IOWA. BIG TEN. STATE SCHOOL. HAAAWKEYEZ. (mumbled obscenities)
soccer kids: obviously considering switching cars. no response.
long pause
guy: UNDER PRESSURE, COMING DOWN ON ME, COMING DOWN ON uh …. ME…. UNDER PRESSURE! (sings bassline)
soccer kids: get off train.
guy: starts rapping about how he can’t be stopped; transcendence of him
http://www.cnn.com/2004/US/10/26/leisure.bed.reut/index.html
reasons you won’t hear much more from me for about a week:
baseball
me buying grand theft auto, if that comes to pass
me being on a bus
yeah. sorry for the ineloquence. i doubt it comes as much of a surprise, at least at this stage of the game. seriously though, read that shit about the new restaurants opening where you can eat on a bed. jesus christ. i half expected one of the restauranteurs to add to their quote “and, uh, off the record, you can diddle the waitstaff for an extra 50 bucks.” how wrong can things go? it’s a great question that i look forward to finding out the answer to. i have to go now, and leave work. does anybody know what the rand corporation actually does? or am i not supposed to know that? more later.
failures, today’s:
1. to not eat at subway
probably not going to kill me. but, what if it did? besides, it tastes like shit. and: the lady behind the counter, who is too old to be working at subway, constantly assures you that it will be just a minute, sir, or as she called me today, gentleman. one, i’m eating at subway, so my time isn’t very valuable. two, i don’t want strained interaction. or class conflict. i want a sandwich. three, fuck off and stop letting thugged out middleaged land’s-end-wearing russians pay with $100s.
2. to not buy Sudafed and NFL-licensed Buffalo Bills-themed bandaids
i can spare .50 for the bandaids, ultimately. i only ate one of the sudafed because i broke the first gelcap and i didn’t feel like standing next to a bunch of construction workers licking orange overthecounter decongestant off my fingers. but the other one had broken too, so i wound up standing in the doorway of a liquor store licking decongestant off my fingers and sweatshirt sleeve. i ought to be writing something else; actually, i should be doing my job. by which i mean i have no intention of doing more than the bare minimum of work that will give the appearance of complying with company policy, that policy being that i ought to do something ever.
more later. she came from new york in the summer, we went to the zoo
I went into the grocery store and stole a toothpick this morning; it was one of those fancier ones. Not with the plastic hair. The kind with the bevelled end. I think an adze is involved. I don’t have anything particularly pungent or fungible or mordant or ad rem (there’s some adjective ending in -nt that i can’t think of — i think it sounds sort of like trungent — never mind. i meant trenchant.) RESUME I don’t have anything trenchant to add as an unpaid biased observer of the Red Sox-Yankees series but feck off then. About the toothpick thing: I was going to think about the various misdemeanors I’ve committed in the past four months (stealing an envelope, stealing that toothpick, stealing six half-copies of the sunday paper to get a crossword puzzle, downloading music illegally, abducting pets, whatever. Instead i bring you half-baked thoughts about baseball.
This morning some woman who seemed awfully drunk to be on the train at 8 am (especially considering she was on her way to work in what looked like nurses clothing) got on my nerves, and i found myself mouthing the words “shut up. shut the fuck up. shut, the, fuck, up” to the pole i was leaning on. this in and of itself is not rare, wishing death on fellow commuters. but i was getting upset because she was crowing about being a Mets fans and that she was glad to see the Yankees receive their comeuppance. mostly because she was obviously about to get run up on by the rest of the occupants of the car, and that meant i might receive an umbrella stab to the back in the bloodbath. and because i don’t give a shit about it anymore. the outcome of game 7 doesn’t fucking matter: it’s already the best fucking series ever. and i think most people have accepted this. Except for yankees fans, who are too busy howling and shitting themselves in protest of fate.
I could really give a shit about Yankees fans’ psychological well-being. I will grant that they are, in theory, human beings, and are in fact emotionally affected by whether or not their team wins or loses. (Don’t make the mistake of overlooking what a large concession we’re making here). That said, you are in the same boat, in fact you built the boat, that Patriots/Angels/Marlins fans are sailing the sea of relative satisfaction. it doesn’t suck as much to have things go wrong, when you’ve won the World Series 4 times in the past decade. i hadn’t ever really considered that they had feelings, until i went outside after the game last night and there was some kid who lives in the front of the building with a bombed-out face who had just thrown a glass into the brick wall and told me that he was normally very social but was not at all interested in talking about the game with me. so, yankees fans, check out your probationary 24 hours of humanity, enjoy game 7, and trynot to destroy anymore stemware. have a coke and a smile and shut the fuck up.
sick day. some things that are helping me through my time of illness: the show on the food network with the cute 33 year old looking lady who cooks extremely basic italian dishes. it took me several viewings to realize that the shit she cooks is deeply unimpressive, and mostly just involves tomato sauce and mozzerella cheese. i don’t care, she’s hot, in a sort of danny darwin i’m-not-that-good-but-i-have-a-mustache-and-pitch-with-both-hands way.
as for the picture of tony womack, i can’t explain that. other than he looks like a klingon with his hat off. and i watched star trek VI yesterday. also, the dad from that 70s show (bitches leave) is in the other picture. believe it. i am going to rest more and think about what i’ve done wrong.
rely on the new yorker to keep things in perspective:
“The Republicans had explained [George] Soros’ involvement with simpleminded shorthand, suggesting that he wanted to buy the White House. But Soros’ buying habits, like nearly everything else about him, were complicated. El Mirador (palatial estate on L.I.), for instance, was large and elegant, but it wasn’t perched on the beach, and it barely had a view of the Atlantic Ocean.
Maybe this is supposed to be a joke; i rooted around for a way that it might be a sly joke on the writer/editor’s part. I don’t think it is. this isn;t exactly a capital offense, but god is in the details nee.
i’m getting tired of waiting to celebrate john kerry’s will to power. the nytimes and ron suskind did their thinwristed best to stab Bush in the back today, basically claiming that republicans, at least the ones who don’t have burning jesus in their head, don’t even like bush anymore. i need to stop reading this crap.
other observations: this ohio state season. Never happened. same goes for the ALCS. I’m freezing and I think i have a head cold. i’m going to go get down tylenol sinus stylee and read.
“I think if you were to talk to Dick Cheney’s daughter, who is a lesbian, she would tell you that she’s being who she was, she’s being who she was born as.”
on the work front: i’ve downloaded somewhere in the vicinity of 600 songs this week at work. strangely, this has not lowered my productivity from its current steady approx 8 mins per hour rate.
picks to click for today:
“tips for teens” by sparks
“gideon’s bible” by john cale
the several hours worth of b-list girl pop groups i downloaded from some dutch guy
picks to not click ever for today:
“frankie teardrop” by suicide. i almost cried out of sheer terror after listening to six minutes of this.
i apologize for the boring post. i can’t really think of anythign to say at work. i don’t really talk at work, so i’m sort of mired in this subverbal fugue state for about an hour after leaving. which being on the subway doesn’t help. incidentally, ask me sometime about how much i enjoy getting on the F train on the first stop in manhattan. thankfully, most days half the train gets off at that stop. i;ve made three subway friends though. (by friends i mean people i have seen twice). one is the guy who wears a star trek communicator badge on his star trek the next generation 10th anniversary leather jacket to go with his klingon baseball hat and cowboy boots (probably not klingon themed). then there is the hispanic lady with psoriasis. then there’s the skinny indian guy with a wispy beard. more later
i saw two little kids on a goddamn leash (a leash. not a harness. a leash) at the post office. in fact, i got to see these two little kids on a leash for approx 20 minutes, because the kensington post office in brooklyn NY is the most efficiently run and well organized place in the universe. by which i actually mean i hope you die. anyway: this poor kid was screaming (probably upset because HE WAS ON A LEASH). then he got tangled up on the little poles of the line divider. then he continued to scream. his mother didn’t really do anything. nor could she because she had two 5 year olds on a leash on one hand and a baby in a papoose on her chest. (potential solution: get less babies?)
then the woman in front of me, who appeared to be mailing some sort of care package to vanaatu or some other fictional guam-like place (speculation: i could only sort of read the address slip), who also had a baby, who also started yelling (sympathy strike), her baby threw its yellow balloon at this first baby. who was quiet for a moment and obviously, the balloon was the one fucking thing that would solve the whole problem. but then it rolled away and i picked it up. i gave it back to vanaatu-package lady whom i hoped might give it to the first screaming kid (his name was mohammed, but his mother spoke and looked west indian. go figure). but instead she gave it back to her baby who didn’t care about the balloon.
the upshot: i don’t know. i started to return the links to their former comprehension but i got distracted. if i forgot you, let me know. if not, don’t.
jay fiedler. a.j. feeley. so, logically, jay feely
there might be something better for me to be doing, really, but i’m not sure what it is! also, late fees are bullshit. if someone didn’t have enough money to pay something on time, why would they have more money to give you afterwards. i complain only because i paid some bills to day, and, frankly, i should have paid more of them on time. not important. be on the lookout for some drastic reorgnization of principles in this bitch. actually, you wouldn’t be able to tell where the blog was geographically located, if that changes. but yeah. maybe i don’t like new york (or 99.4% of new yorkers) very much. what would you do, if that were the case. never mind that crap.
RIP to ken caminiti/jacques derrida/christopher reeve. i’ll have some more thoughts on ken caminiti in a minute. or later.
