Fah who for-aze! Dah who dor-aze!

A summary of the past few days:


*Obtained a pair of stripey neutral toned fingerless gloves/arm warmers. I have seen the path to wrist warmth and I will never, ever take these things off. They are set to become my thing....like the way my friend Mike only wears jeans and a black t-shirt. I hope their organic wool and Nepalese construction holds up.


*Books I am having the library put on hold for me: the ethical slut, everything Marc Acito has ever written, and some Proust that I will never read.


*Have developed a quick and loving parasitic relationship with the space heater gifted to me by my hero and coworker.


*Thinking about doing a master cleanse detox with Klee. The idea of chuggin some organic-mrs-butterworths-and-water-concoction and nothing else for ten days terrifies me, but I do feel rather.....clogged. Considering going the more reasonable route and cutting out smoking and drinking and only eating fruits and veggies for a week. I don't feel like my daily cup of coffee is a problem. Maybe for that week I'll replace it with tea, although caffeine just doesn't affect me that much, whether I'm drinking it or not. And apparently, it shrinks breast size.


*Saw the consumeriffic sights of El Cerrito and even popped a ill-fitting red ked into Richmond with a fantabulous new friend. Also went to Albany Bowl and had a few childhood flashbacks due to the fact that, 1) they have a bar that looks just like the bar my dad worked at and 2) We were surrounded by children. Most days in SF, you're (un)lucky if you see more than five of the little bastards.


*Got back into the L Word. This past season is still ridiculous, but at least it's more upbeat and enjoyable than the bizarro downer of a previous season.


*I need a new calendar. Hopefully there will be a 2009 version:


http://www.menofmortuaries.com/

*Am still writing holiday cards, which are actually post cards that mention nothing about the holidays.

*I am embarassed to say that a juvenile game like Mario Galaxy on wii is starting to become too hard for me to complete without the assistance of Ned and Jake.

*Had the most bizarro dreams about murder and high school for three nights in a row. It was an ongoing plot! All without the side-effect assistance of a nicotine patch!

*PS- I can't believe I get to use the tag "radioactive detox goo" in two posts!

CONCISE LANGUAGE.....pass it on!

Ladies and gentleman,

I am a travel expert. I have not travelled extensively myself, but I happen to know alot of bullshit information about geography and business names. So maybe I find it more annoying than others when dealing with people who take COMMON KNOWLEDGE for granted.

I honest to goodness just got off the phone with a guy who said the following, (he was not the first person who has spewed a toiletbowl fulla redundancies and he wont be the last):

"We, my wife Shirley and myself, Larry Jones. That's J-O-N-E-S, social security number 111-11-1111 would like to go to Dallas, Texas tomorrow, Tuesday, the 23rd of December, two thousand and eight. In Dallas Texas we already have a hotel. The Hotel Dallas, in Dallas Texas, on 110 Cowboy Boulevard, Dallas Texas, 33433. The day we check out, Friday, the 26th of December, two thousand and eight, we have a flight, number 123, at seven am on Continental airlines, departing from the Dallas International Airport. Anyways, I'll get to the point. We will be awfully tired on our way back to Charlotte, North Carolina and we were hoping that there was a Starbucks, the coffee company, near the The Hotel Dallas...."


Folks, I shit thee not....

The more time I spend with scientists....

The more I'm letting my dork flag fly these days.

From: http://www.eatliver.com/i.php?n=3723

Nisi Drew and the puffy throat

Last spring, when I was having my "holy shit, i've been unemployed for a month and rent is due" garage sale, I parted with my little space heater for $4. It was a powerful little mofo, and very safe. I think it was meant to heat garages and warehouses. In the drafty polar shelf that is my edwardian apartment in the wintertime, that little space heater got me through tough times.

Well, the times they are a tough. My ass is freezing. I honestly considered the pros and cons of adding a pot to piss in to my room so I can avoid the arctic blast of our hallway at night.

I woke up today and suddenly the act of swallowing was difficult. My voice is doing that sexy delta blues thing. I do believe that I have caught something.

The moral of the story is that I could have caught this throat thingie from SO MANY SOURCES and I wish I could pinpoint what it was so I don't feel like such a party hearty hooligan.

Could it have been the four different people I've made out with over the past week?

Or perhaps bacteria/germs/nastiness from the table and cups that held vast amounts of beer and debris from our flippy cup game.

Or could it be something as innocent and simple as an office bug?

While we're at it, is this my body's way of telling me that I work too much?

Is implimenting the five second rule on muni a bad call? What about eating on muni? Or, for that matter, going on muni without latex gloves?

Should I not talk so incessantly?

Or is it some kind of combo of going home only to shower and thus running all over the goddamn freezing bay area with wet hair and flip flops?

Picture o' the day:

Economics, Nisi style

Hmmm, the $12 I forked over on a cab to haul my hungover ass to work could have bought another $12 bottle of Jim Beam.

protein power plate!

IM with my coworker-

Me: i'm making a *$ run, want anything? i'll buy you some coffee or a pastry like substance
dude at office: pastry like substance, wow, you would make a great waitress
dude at office: I'll have a slack-roissant!
Me: chocolate or apathy flavored?
dude at office: emo please? can I have a buttered rickroll?

The day I've always waited for....

Since I was a child, I was never fixated on my wedding day, or the day I'd get my first period, or lose my virginity, or the day of my death. While I suspected that all of those things were inevitible, I knew something else was- the odds of being crapped on by a bird.

I am oddly giddy to announce that today, Tuesday, November 18th, I noticed a dollop of hunter green bird shit on the shoulder of my black shirt. I was walking to work, a mere two blocks from my door, when I noticed it. Luckily I had tissues in my bag, so I was able to get rid of most of it. Alas, reminants are there, and I can't stop staring at my shoulder.

Mazeltov!

schmoozing...

I think I've perfected my method of making things happen for my clients-

1. call the restaurant/hotel/spa, etc

2. act as if i've already been confirmed/told something

3. mention that my client is a major VIP for a huge company

4. get panicky because I am sooooo about to lose my job.

5. wait for hostess to take sympathy on me and transfer me to a manager.

6. Flirt with reckless abandon with a male manager, upping the damsel in distress routine to epic proportions. "Oh my god, you are such a sweetheart! You just saved me my job!" is quite effective. Kiss the ass of a female manager, thanking her profusely for taking time out of her busy day.

7. call my client, unleash my magic on their asses. Attribute it to my powers of persuasion when it comes to such an important client.

8. go home, take an extra long shower to clean off the deceit.

Get thee to the suburbs...or the nunnery

So word on the street is that the back patio at Lucky 13 is closing at 11pm nowadays because the neighbors are having a shitfit about the noise. Mind you, Lucky 13 is located right off of Church and Market, a buzzing area sandwiched between the castro and mission. My favorite bar, the Gold Cane, is getting more and more adament about shutting down their famous, smoker-friendly back patio around 11pm on weekends because a lawyer neighbor is threatening legal action.

Where are we, Palo Alto?

Uptight people.....you've always been on my shit list. I have no problem with those of you who reside in your compulsively clean gated communities, going weeks without seeing a lick of graffiti, or a bum, or anything that may slightly inconvenience your robotic life. But what the fuck was going through your head when you decided on your apartment in a notoriously hectic San Francisco neighborhood?

There is a certain checklist that even the most irresponsible and oblivious of potential tenant would go through- they scan their neighborhood. Are you trying to say that you didn't do recon work and notice- hmmmm, I love those granite countertops but that bar next door may disrupt my beauty sleep.

If you're old enough to live on your own, you should be self aware enough to know what does and doesn't work for you and your precious need for quiet. I personally would LOVE to live next to a bar in an area like Duboce Triangle or Haight....but I have a very high threshold for noise. My close friends live immediately above (like floor vibrating above) a bar on Haight Street and they simply adapted because they knew what they were getting themselves into. It also doesn't hurt that they think the idea is kind of fun- the view from their window provides hours of entertainment.

Once upon a time people came to this city because of its reputation, not for 5am yoga and haute brunches. SF was and should still be a place that caters to the alkies, the insomniacs, the social butterflies, the adventurers. That San Francisco has the catalyst for such perfect bouts of euphoria experienced by yours truly, don't ruin this for us.

NaNoWriMo and the death of coincidences

It seems like National Novel Writing Month rears its ugly peer-pressurey head into my orbit with increasing force every year. I recieved three emails from friends to the tune of "dude, you have got to get on this shit!"

I did it about three years ago. It is a consuming, horrid, addictive affair. I ended up with 70,000 words but I did so via willing alienation from my friends and complete rejection of my school work. And the novel? A piece of shit whose only value would be to expedite the workings of a compost bin. Don't really remember what it was about- I lost the thing in the great Chicken Soup Computer Takedown of 2005 (never forget!).

Alot of people say that the time constraints help with writers block and get the ideas flowing- after all, they are not being held to any kind of standard for a good story because they only had a month to write it.

Cracker, please.

You're writing a novel, not raising funds for a goodamn cancer research 10k. Time is not money. To me, rushing a novel is like aiming for a quickie on the first date with your soulmate. There is nothing more exciting than letting plot points just come to you- while commuting, as you get your groove on, in the shower, in the frozen foods section of trader joes- on their terms, when they're damn well ready.

There's a dualism to all of this- every writer is influenced by the shit around them. This is a fact. Some writers are better at tweaking/ignoring this than others, but I cannot tell you how much badassery I have come up with because of what I have witnessed on the streets of San Francisco. And then somewhow the imaginary voice/world in my head decides on how this can be used to continue the plot. Sometimes its the actual occurence (ie- a tap dancing nun) and other times its the mystery of this occurence (perhaps this nun had an offer at juilliard....I wonder why she didn't take it. Hmmm, maybe she's masochistic. Hmmm, maybe my villian is as well.....) And what is the plot but a series of happy accidents? That's life, isn't it? Nobody can plan their futures and therefore, how are we to fully plan our novels?

If I'm right about this.....what is your atmosphere going to be like in this hurried novel? A sea of black turtlenecks chugging espressos in a cafe-meetup scenario. Sounds self indulgent to me. You may as well write a book about writing a book. Unless you're Charlie Kaufman, I think you should take your time and take the party outside.

don't mean to sound like a bitch....

Buuuut, if you're trying to come off as a high roller and, for some ungodly reason, impress a person who makes travel/dinner/entertainment/party plans for the general population for a living, please consider the following:

1. If your US weekly or daily E! fix has informed you that some starlette puked on her assistant at some up and coming club, please assume that very few celebrities will show their face in this joint again and have already moved onto another spot. This will not stop the venue from attracting the models-and-bottles douche set. While your friends may ooooh and aaah with your tales of $350 bottles of goose, please be aware that your attempt at joining the name dropping world garnered you a b (maybe b+ if you're from a small town) in the grand scheme of things.

p.s., while constantly mentioning on the phone to me that you are a doctor will not hurt your chances with the club, they will most certainly not inspire me to beg and plead with the club/restaurant/hotel. Do you really think you'll be the only doctor in the joint? Are you willing to offer your medical expertise should someone overdose? That is the only scenario where I can imagine your oh so exclusive title giving you an advantage over all the other hard working folk.


2. Learn how to pronounce things in foreign languages....particularly food. A basic grasp of the general sound of the assorted romance languages should do you right. You don't need to use a phony accent, but be sure to articulate the proper sound and structure. You can spend all the money in the world on some foie gras for your table and still manage to look like a peasant if you botch the pronounciation. Now, attempting to appear civilized by gobbling the liver of a forcefed creature is another lecture, meant for another time.


le disclaimer- I should mention that I personally do not advocate all of this fancy hoity toity shit. I much prefer dive bars to lounges. With that said, I can understand why some embark on the hobby of flashiness and I make a living from coordnating this kind of thing......so keep on being fabulous. And I like doing what I do, it's a blast to live vicariously through other's travel/leisure plans! I just feel like unleashing a rant directed at those who have gotten a little out of touch with reality. And obviously, anybody who would even bother to read my ponderings is obviously of the joe 40oz mentality anyways. (fuck six packs!)


3. You cant have it both ways. I understand why you don't want to spend $1,000 on a chanel clutch. But I do not understand why you expect to be treated as if you are at the chanel store as you browse canal street.


4. You want front row or other primo seating for concerts at face value? Just think about the logistics of that. Think about capitalism. Yeah, very unlikely. And if you're not a huge fan, don't just go for front row tickets because you think it will impress your date and secure some kinda post encore performance of your own. There's nothing worse than being at a concert of a band that you adore and watching some douchnozzles in the front row texting and nodding off mid-performance.


5. If you want the best room or the best table in the house, you have to give me a reason. We need to know what makes you sooooo special. If you can assure me (and the restaurant) that you are willing to try two bottles of whatever they're trying to move from their shelves......I've got something to bargain with. And if you want to bullshit an anniversary or birthday, fine. But please consider the fact that maybe, just maybe, you are grabbing a spot that could be used by somebody who *is* indeed celebrating something.

Because....really....what the hell makes you think you're so goddamned special? You are not the only paying customer....often times, you're the dude or lady who is arguing about the bill and shorting the staff on tips. And yet, somehow you insist on having the best of everything. Did your parents give you too much positive reinforcement, or teach you that you never have to wait your turn? What is there to look forward to if you insist on always going for the best?

6. Put things into perspective. Be grateful that you are doing what you're doing and consider how many people in this world will never get the chance to eat such an establishment, or go on such a trip. Learn to roll with the punches. And don't you fucking dare call me to say that your wife is crying hysterically because the host just informed you that it will be an additional 15 minute wait for your table. Need I remind you that we're at war?

I've had a half a dozen people call to inform me that their trip is ruined because they only have a partial ocean view instead of a full on view- mind you, most of them booked their rooms at heavily discounted rates, which means that they are to recieve whatever room is available. Don't get me wrong, if you get screwed over while paying top price, I will do everything in my power to ensure that you get what you were promised. But with a good rate comes a few concessions, please understand that.

Ahem, to conclude this know-it-all rant-

You want to be classy? Be humble. Treat your fellow patrons and the staff with respect and appreciation. Have fun. Pick things that are based off of your needs, your preferences, your taste. Learn to name drop with some subtlety. Keep your bearings in any situation. And PLEASE avoid cliches!

I see how it is, David Plouffe....

Would it kill him to write me an email that simply asks me how I'm doing? I get the feeling him and his friend Barack are only after my $10 a month gift.

For instance, last night I woke to the sounds of pebbles hitting my window. I trudged out of bed to look outside, only to see David looking haggard and stressed.

Nisi, He said, I am so happy to see you. I'm here, at three a.m., to share with you an alarming situation in our country today. You see, in July a focus group made of bookies released a statement that encouraged the American People (tm) to place bets on a young stallion named Dolemite for this years Breeder's Cup. Ordinary Americans like you and me took this as encouragement to place their hard earned dollars on Dolemite-

David, I interrupted, I'm not a gambler.

Which is good! He affirmed. You are correct to not want to gamble away your right to health care, a college education, and a decent wage for eight more years of the same corrupt bookie administration. I'd like to tell you about a man named Dave- he is a hard working grassroots organizer who took for granted what the powers that be told him was a sure bet. Little did Dave know that these "powers that be" were not out to serve his best interests. No no, they were Las Vegas fatcats who took advantage of Dave's yearning for a 16-1 odds payoff. Dave now feels betrayed...he's turning into a cynic- he is also rather concerned with the Bookie's policy of leg separation should he not come through with their "loser tax".

Can you take a stand against these pork barrell methods and help restore Dave's sense of hope by donating $25 today to Barack Obama's campaign? Might I also mention that checks are environmentally wasteful, but cash would suffice as it is a renewable resource.

All aboard the pixie express....

Yet again, I have chopped off a sizeable chunk of my hair and am quite satisfied with the results. I have enough length to pull off a haphazardly chaotic fro and enough different layers to comb it all forward for a very short pageboy.

And sure enough, I have recieved the following gendered reactions-

Ladies-
Omigosh, it's so CUTE (key-ooo-te)!
I wish I could go that short!
It suits you so well!
Good for you!

Gentlemen-
Oh, wow, you chopped off your hair.
That's nice....good for the summertime, I guess.
Nice do. (from gay men)
I'm not saying I don't like it, I'm just saying that I need to get used to it... (one person in particular)


Someone, either a comedian or somebody I actually know, once went on a diatribe about men's and women's attitudes towards boyishly short hair on women. It's common knowledge that most men prefer long hair. That's fine. I happen to think that most people look better with hair above their shoulders- there's such little versatility in having a bunch of strait pieces of hair taper to one's mid-back.

With that said, apparently women take a passive aggressive, sneaky bitch approach when it comes to the art of the coif compliment. Where, as is so often the case with the fairer sex, what they say and what they mean are two very different things...

what they say-
It's so cute! It really brings out your face, so daring!

what they mean-
BWAHAHAHAHAHA, you dumb bitch! No man will want your lesbo ass now, more for meeee! Why on earth would you want to draw attention to your face???

Now is this really the case? I can't say for sure. Somehow I'm going to give the gals the benefit of the doubt here and maybe just assume that many of them have been tempted to go short at one time or another and just haven't been able to do it for whatever reason- insecurity, culture, massochistic pleasure in spending 30 minutes a day with a blowdryer and curling iron.... therefore when one of us goes into don't-give-a-flying-fuck mode, we are genuinely happy for one another.

Women taking pleasure in each other's successes? I've gone mad with optimism. But I do know that I really do look better, as I always do when I lose the battle against growing out my hair.

BTW-

I wanted to take a picture but apparently my camera decided to travel to the big e-waste dump in the sky. Here's my cut on Winona, who can do a much better job convincing the masses that short = sexy -

"In Summer, the Song Sings Itself" William Carlos Williams

I’m not really a fan of randomly inserting quotes into life but I am a fan of simultaneous multiple coincidences. For instance- as I waited in the elevator during my lunch break, a lovely song popped into my iPod called “It’s Summertime” and I thought about putting together a blog about the epic summer I’ve been having. I then thought about comparing my summer to the assorted verses of Whitman, particularly of course, how I’ve seemed to have established my own “Song of Self” and it was during this train of thought when the little elevator television (which I will admit to being quite a fan of) generated the above quote.

There will be no school to return to this fall, all I have to look forward to a lightened work load as a result of the seasonal (as well as economic) decline in Travel and that’s just dandy with me. I’m just now starting to comprehend my life without schooling and I must say that the freedom of not belonging to an educational and social institution suits me.

Come to think of it- I’m not even going to bother with some grand ponderings. Allow me to just say that this has been a crazy fucking summer. Non-stop events, interesting friendships budding, a near-complete overhaul of most of the things I’ve been used to.

About fucking time.

slap my ass and send me to shawshank

I had a subscription to Mother Jones for a while, but issues upon issues would go into exile in the 1287 bathroom. It's an okay mag- a bit too fussy and touchy for my tastes sometimes, but meant to be browsed online when I'm in a give-a-shit mood.

Lo and behold, they have a handy dandy guide to the latest prison slang...

Dude, prisoners are witty!

bo-bos: prison-issued tennis shoes
bone yard: trailers used for conjugal visits
brake fluid: psychiatric meds such as liquid Thorazine
Buck Rogers time: a sentence with parole unimaginably far in the future
chalk: prison moonshine
chin check: to punch an inmate in the jaw to see if he'll fight back
clavo: (Spanish for "nail") dangerous contraband
diaper sniper: child molester
diesel therapy: a lengthy bus trip, used as a punishment
ding wing: mental health ward
erasers: chunks of processed chicken
high class: hepatitis C
iron pile: weightlifting equipment
jack book: any magazine with pictures of women
the monster: hiv
ninja turtles: guards dressed in riot gear
robocop: guard who writes up every infraction, no matter how small
six-five: warning that a guard is approaching
stainless-steel ride: lethal injection
13 1/2: 12 jurors, 1 judge, and 1/2 a chance; seen in prison tattoos

Anyone fresh from the joint that can verify any of these?

http://www.motherjones.com/news/feature/2008/07/slammed-block-talk.html

Quitting.....take four

This attempt at quitting seems right simply because I've never been so repulsed by my smoking. Plus Ned quit and Jake is quitting with me.

I'm going for a distraction approach, which includes:

*Twelve packs of gum, stashed in various purses, cubicle drawers, and all throughout 1287.

*A scheduled cleaning, purging, and febreezing of 1287.

*A stack of trashy novels to read while waiting for the bus and drinking my morning coffee (my most difficult triggers)

*Various plans made with non-smoking friends to ensure distraction and support.

*Boisterous claims of quitting and willpower that may damage my fragile ego should I be caught with a cigarette

*A bottle of radioactive detox goo.

*A box o' nicotine patches.

And now comes the grand experiment. I've heard rumors of crazed, vivid, hallucogenic dreams and nightmares experienced by some folks who wear the patch as they sleep. I'm hoping this will happen to me. I suppose if I will myself to have an extra-surreal dream, it probably wont happen but I'll try my best to keep a blank mind before I go to bed and a pice of paper at the ready to record everything I remember as soon as I wake up.

When the Levee Breaks

What the hell is happening to my inbox these days? Recently I recieved four different July 4th emails from my friends that bash Muslims, one of which suggesting that it is our patriotic duty to run around naked to force potential terrorists to commit suicide (God Bless America!) and three emails that compare the post-flood behavior of Iowa residents to New Orleans residents.


You guys know I love offensive humor, but there is a snarkiness to these emails that suggests that they are not just in good fun.


Is there some post-post-9/11 pro-america resurgence that I haven't been clued in on? When have I, at any point in my life, given the impression that I am unsympathetic to the effects of systemic poverty? Or, similairly, when have I ever claimed to be threatened by sharing a country with people who believe different things than I do? I celebrated my Independence Day for what it was- a well earned day off in a country that wants its people to feel guilty for taking one.


And despite what the July 4th emails suggested- I'm pretty sure Muslim families did the same exact thing. While, yes, most Muslim adults were not cracking open budweisers and gobbling down sausages, they were definitely not emailing or approaching me with judgement concerning my decision to do so.


And now we come to New Orleans Vs. Iowa.


Here's part of the email:

"... As you watch the flooding in the Midwest , have you noticed that there are no farmers running around with stolen plasma TVs or holding stolen liquor over their heads. There's no looting or yelling "Where's Bush?", "Where's FEMA?, Where's my check?", or "Why isn't the Gov't out here saving me and my farm?"


Likewise, I've also noticed there are no reports of any other country coming to help or sending aid.

Where are all of the Hollywood celebrities holding telethons asking for help in restoring Iowa and helping the folks affected by the floods?

Where is all the media asking the tough questions about why the federal government hasn't solved the problem? Asking where the FEMA trucks (and trailers) are?"


I've actually gotta give it to this email, it is one of the most flawless displays of passive-aggressive white frustration that I have ever seen outside of a Ron Paul fundraiser. Such a beautiful cock-tease of an email.....coming so close, but never quite saying those magic words.......

BLACK PEOPLE

Ah. That felt good. Now, I could do the whiny internet thing and start whimpering about the following:

Iowa residents have had nothing but praise for the work done by FEMA. Apparently they have gotten their shit together and developed a winning system after the trial run in New Orleans. Kinda like the Tuskegee experiments!

New Orleans and Louisana have the highest national rate of resident retention. This has alot to do with their dismal national educational rankings. Meaning- when all you know is your multi-generational home, and when that home fails to provide you with an education and when that lack of education does not allow you to get a decent job in a tourism-based economy because you're considered too threatening to mix margaritas in the open mouths of 20 year old girls....you're going to be a little bit upset when that home becomes obliterated and the very goverment that has been begrudgingly giving you scraps to make up for their past and present slights decides that it has more important bureaucratic concerns than preventing people from starvation, disease, and death.....this anger understandably increases. It's kind of like living in the suburbs without a car and your parents are forcing you to take online classes at the University of Phoenix.

Alas, I digress. What I really want to discuss is again this passive aggressive attempt at displaying white pride by contrasting it with the behavior of the non-white community. That's all these emails are saying- look at how they behave when the shit hits the fan and look at our reaction. Go us! We don't need handouts.....unless, of course, they come in the form of tax breaks or a tank of gas. Is it really necessary to turn a natural disaster into a pissing contest? Are we really so insecure that we need to validate our superiority at the expense of others? (the 4th of July emails are a prime example of this as well). Taking a look at slavery, our treatment of migrant and factory workers, Vietnam, and just about every other international conflict we've gotten ourselves into.....yes, yes we are!

Now a worthwhile counter argument is to go on about the double standard that some white folks looooove to point out. How can there be a black history month and not a white history month? What if there was a straight pride parade? Why are Latino's allowed to be proud of their culture but we aren't? To these questions, I really don't have an answer. They're valid in argument but they, and the concepts they mention, are all distracting bullshit. It's petty token-ism in an era of big fucking problems. I do not believe in race-based affirmative action- after all, the fact that I claimed to be Mexican on my college applications is laughable! But the arguments against it are just so fucking whiny that I just can't stand the issue. The only elloquent argument against race-based affirmative action that I've heard comes from Obama in Audacity of Hope in which he argues that it should be income-based.

Anyways, I've ranted for far too long and I hope the friends who sent me these emails are not offended by this rebuttal. But that's the spirit of argument, isn't it? I just can't understand why we just can't be decent to one another and feel empathy without exception or qualification.

Would a fly without wings be called a walk?

Now believe me when I say that I'm not the type to publicly obit the death of somebody I've never met....that's what the press and CONSTANT fucking news coverage is for. But I've been fixated on George Carlin's death all morning.

The thought isn't sadness because let's face it, the man lived hard. I dig that. You can't exactly go on about how this was unexpected or sudden or tragic. Men like him should die in their fifties, maybe sixties tops. Old age generally doesn't suit them, although in Carlin's case it merely turned him into the image that has stuck with me throughout my life on account of my younge age. He seemed like the dirty old uncle figure who would call everyone out on their bullshit at family get togethers. He seemed to be the guy who could argue his way out of anything. He seemed like a cool ass motherfucker.

Again, because of my age, my seemingly life-long admiration of Carlin had nothing to do with how raunchy or controversial he was- I'd been exposed to his seven dirty words during most of the everyday interactions of my childhood! What caught my attention was the effortless command he had over the English language. When you strip the content out of his material and just look at the puns and word choices, you see that the man's humor was simply the ponderings of a cunning linguist.When I'm not bullshitting around and trying to impress folk, I will say that the two interests that drive most of my reactions, interactions, wants, needs, attractions, leisure, etc etc revolve around language and humor, most particularly the humor of language. The things we say, and especially the things we feel we cannot say, are so fucking absurd and perfect. And it amazes me that we spend so much of our time talking about other crap when we could mull over communication, something we all have in common.

Anywho, here are my favorite quotes of his:

"Atheism is a non-prophet organization."

"Don't sweat the petty things and don't pet the sweaty things."

"When you step on the brakes your life is in your foot's hands."

"If a parsley farmer is sued, can they garnish his wages?"

gonna warm my bones

I dream of things like this but never actually expect to find them:



The Flaming Lips doing my favorite Stones song, Moonlight Mile.