once i mentioned ai contestant katharine mcphee and already had the
words crotch and other naughtyties on the same page and now i'm the
destination for katharine mcphee [insert body part here] searches. so
what can i do but give in and provide what some dear browsers
desperately want - proof of ways people got here to show you're not
alone followed by proof of crotch to show katharine's crotch is alone,
unless you count the mike stand.
a relatively long time now, verizon has been claiming they are "the
nation's most reliable wireless network" driving that advertising
bullet point home tirelessly. verizon=reliable, the way volkswagon,
which is killing everyone's psyche with these commercials now which
show everyday conversations in cars interrupted by graphic car
accidents and shocked but okay thanks to volkswagon passengers, the way
volkswagon posits that volkswagon=safety. volkswagon=safety. because
their cars (and no other company's) are made of metal.
okay i'm writing this whole post during one playback of gloria and i
seek to live a fully branigan lifestyle except for her being dead.
basically this means singing songs and living a life that later michael
bolton remakes and relives horribly and then i hook back up with that
play slutty blond chick from desperate housewives nicolette sheridan
and cut my hair shorter. michael bolton always got applause at showtime
at the appollo but who wouldn't applaud a knock off righteous brother?
they sprayed horrible anti-gypsy moth chemicals in my
neighborhood today, or should i say a few blocks from my house. many of
those in the kill zone (the humans in the kill zone) had protested
because certainly there was a more green alternative, like gypsy moth
assisted suicide therapy. personally i'm glad my block skirted the
spray because...because...i am a gypsy moth! whoosh. 1:10.
for joanie on top model because she is 24 and an ex-stripper and the
best pure poser. i'm also rooting for twiggy to collapse and for tyra
to eat her alive and nigel barker to be mangina-ly fisted by guest star
bob barker and for and miss jay and mr. jay to trisexually mate like
earthworms and produce mystery jay. and i'm rooting for something else
to do besides top model and laundry tonight. oh yeah, i got homework to
do for my playwriting workshop. 0:05. times up.
to clarify, with this amateurish psychotic mashup i am not saying amanda lepore's hair looks twelve, as in twelve year old hair,
or that it appears, in any of its everchanging incarnations, to be the
hair of a twelve year old girl, unless that girl is drew barrymore
circa coked up tween. what i am saying is that i hope you like the
mashup at least 51% and i sincerely hope you like your hair today. now
enjoy the clanging mysterious amanda lepore vs pointer sisters - my hair looks twelve. but whatever you do, don't tell amanda! while i am 3000 miles from her, them nails is sincerely long and sharp.
here's the review part: who
among us has not had sex with a guy or girl who kinda looked like moby?
i dare say none. while that is enough of a reason to pick up the
recently released moby. live - hotel tour 2005 dvd,
there's also the feast of music and visuals. moby always seemed like a
pure studio musician/computer geek to me, so seeing him "electronic"
out live is a treat. he likes to yell and bounce and sing/mutter and
the audience is enraptured and excited, veritably hypnotized. the crowd
is an object in motion which tends to stay in motion, though there is
not a mosh pit in sight as that would be too violent but in their heads
they are moshing. either that or thinking about tea as moby's other key
venture is teany.
streams of raining again and lift me up
will clue you in on the live feel. the package includes five full
length videos and a cd of remixes. you are guaranteed to at least hum
and tap your foot, or whatever other way you uncontrollably follow
along to music should you be missing a throat and foot, which moby
would be perfectly okay with and understanding of as he is liberal and
polite. or just possibly, you'll pretend you are his sometimes song
partner (when he is in the mood for a hit) gwen stefani and dye your
hair white blond and put on some tight shorts and a tube top and dance
like a maniac, singing into a tube of lipstick.
here's the contest part: comment with a moby inspired/related haiku.
best one over the next couple of days or so wins a free copy direct
from the factory (no pirating here) mailed to your hut, igloo or loft
for your listening and viewing pleasure. the only thing you won't win
and the winner is...the only non-gayhating entry:
mopey moby man hey! Is that my boyfriend there? no...glare off bald head.
is the opposite of what beverly crusher said on star trek when
unbeknownst to her she was caught in a static warp bubble and what she
thought was the universe was collapsing around her and everyone was
disappearing until she was all alone and the universe was smaller than
the enterprise and shrinking to nothing and the hallways were turning
to grayish pink mist so she had to jump into the disturbance of light
and air she thought was what was making people disappear but it was
really her son and the traveler alien trying to rescue her with a
pathway to the correct universe she had come from. so she said to
herself once the last other person was gone "if there's nothing wrong
with me there must be something wrong with the universe" which enabled
her to risk racing from the bridge to engineering and jumping into the
vortex and end up being rescued. the rules of the incorrect universe
had been determined by her thoughts at the exact moment she was trapped
in the static warp bubble which was her reflecting on the statement an
older scientist had made which is everyone leaves and disappears from
your life eventually.
but in my case, there is actually something wrong
with how i'm seeing the universe i'm in, which essentially makes it as
if i'm in a static warp shell of my own negative
mind/experiences/thoughts. and i can escape this flat empty universe by
creating and leaping into the vortex. by making and going into the
rabbit hole. by trusting. by wanting. by testing. by changing my
perception. by seeing and naming realities. by seeing and naming
unrealities. the ways i view and experience and participate in the
world do not need to be static. life does not need to be how it's
always been. it cannot be. it can be new. it can be confusing. it can
be a grayish pink mess. it can be beautiful. it can be ugly. it can be
ecstatic. it can be everything.
i'm digging my new juicer. it's splendiferous which means good in
pretentious vintage gay. the broccoli carrot apple ginger was like
brrrzapzingyum. the beet carrot apple double ginger was like
whoadamnhellbam. so why would i consider chasing that by going to a bar
which for me is generally yawnloudzilchwhy? perhaps i could justify
attending bar services as a sociological experiment / new tv show: what
happens when 1 self-hating, lonely, sad, queer jew who talks and thinks
too much and has let himself go almost to the point of no return more
times than he can count is put in a room with 57 rotating strangers all
of whom are seemingly keeping it real but really are keeping it fake
but they have penises? what will ensue? silence? pointless niceties?
shrugging? in depth conversations about drool and cocktail onions? boot
admiration? toilet stalking? watching drunk pool? exposed nipples? or
simply absolutely utterly zero gravity nothingness emptiness
i'm still not sure if i will bar or not bar
tonight. perhaps i'll do 1500 meters on my concept 2 rower, take a hot
bath, finish off that pint of carob mint soy delicious, and sleep on it