Wednesday, June 30, 2004

Liver Sports

as many of the one of you reading this may know, I'm somewhat of a fan of organized sportscrime. I've maintained a lifetime loyalty to the Fredo Corleone of baseball teams, the Boston Red Sox. I tell you this only to introduce you to a little segmentia that will appear here from time to time called... Liver Sports. Though I may refer to sports crap in other blurtations of mine on here, I'll try to keep my pitches exclusively for Liver Sports. I've got shitloads to mention from the last 2 jam-filled days, but as I'm barely able to follow through on a single (let alone double, triple or tater) thought right now due to extreme I'm-so-fucking-tiredness, this seems like an opportune time to talk a little sports, for one doesn't have to necessarily follow though on a damn thing when talkign sports. Ok, first of all, how cool is Johnny Damon's hair man? I mean, have you ever seen a ballplayer (with the possible exception of Oscar gamble circa the late 70's), or anyone in sports for that matter since Bjorn Borg and Vitas Ger..uh..lieyiyightudes (sp?), let his "do" flow like that? Red Sox nation affectionately calls him "centerfield caveman" or more recently, "the passion of Damon", and though hair follicle frenzy has spread to other members of the club (the Pedro fro, Manny mane, Bellhorn hairhat, and even Millar lite), I just gotta give props to the guy. As they get their asses handed to them on a platter at the stadium from A-Rod is for Asshole-Rod, Shutthefuckupyoucantfield, Giambalco, the Posada needsdentures and Jeter etcetera, I can at least look at Johnny on the spot with pride, knowing that the Boss would never allow such a freak in his clubhouse... speaking of Giambi, who obviously drools at Johnnys hair supply, wassup with this parasite thing he's got? Man, he looked like dog dick warmed over when they showed him in the dugout. Is he having withdrawal from roids you think?, or did he just swallow the worm at Jeter's 30th birthday party the other night?... Mike Tyson. Apparently Iron Bar Mike has mellowed out now, taking tons of prozac or something, and some anti-psychotic pills I'm sure, but I just wanted to comment on the report that he'd been staying in a shelter cuz he's flat broke. Please. Give me a break. This mofo is gonna clean-up millions in a month when he fights again, I mean do me right or do me wrong? I'm supposed to give this neanderthal Brian Wilson meets Tweety Bird vs. King Kong hybrid my sympathy vote? Where's James Bonecrusher Smith when you need him fix that freak a can o' whup-ass?... Ok, as I'm about to hit the canvas myself, I'll just leave you this hungry thought: chow on a T-Mac Yao Ming combo tomorrow, and then perhaps you'll Phil up with a Knick Marbury pie and chocolate Shaq for dessert. The LaKOBers may have Pistoned their dynasty away...

*Two non-Liver Sports thoughts:
(1) does anyone really read the NY Press, and if so, why?
(2) how has that store Daphy's lynched mannequins gone unnoticed for so long? (see worst example at the back of their store at Crosby and Grand)

Sunday, June 27, 2004

Monica Rips Bill's Tightywhiteys!... is Bullshit/Chaingang back for Michael Moore?

Ok, first off, you will notice that caps have returned "after a lengthy layoff" (sports writer lingo). I felt like my "maddening inconsistency" (more sports writer lingo) in regard to it was causing me to spend too much time having to go back and correct and shit. Anyway, about todays b(ullshit)log entry, I'm not going to write 4 ever so that i once again miss a nice day. After working 14 hrs yesterday on 3 hrs of sleep and then going out to 2 roof parties (1 with loud bands which unfortunately got broken up by the cops, and the other which should have gotten broken up by the cops b/c it was an actor detractor me me me fest of nostyle blah blah blah thespian crap boring people party that it almost broke my spirit more than it it already is kind of thing). The only redeeming factor of party 2 was this Breugal-esque view of buildings in the city, a view I never see, kinda Parisian, or San Fan perhaps. I just have a few quick comments on a couple of news stories. First of all, bad timeing on the Clinton book it's turned out, as Monica (whom I met at a party once-sweet girl, but fat fat fat-and sorry to say, I had to see her in a sari that night, b/c it was that kind of a party; sari's, strong sangri)as the tabloids have cornered (corn-holed?) Monica for her response (I wonder how many ducket$ she got for 'em)-"he talked about it (their boning eachother like bobcats) as though I had laid it all out there for the taking. I was the buffet (I told you, she's fat, so there's gotta be a food ref., right?) and he just couldn't resist the dessert (yet another)"...

*Side note: as a p/t caterer, who's done many buffets, i couldn't help but wonder how she displayed her privates on the boxed table cloth party rental table-were there flowers? Was the silverware in-house? Did the buffet line start from both sides so as to create an inevitable log-jam?

Speaking of log-jams, Bill never jammed his he had said, right? I happened to be in the minority of those who agreed with him that oral foreplay was/is not sex. I've only counted those who I actually did the ol' in-out with in my chamberlain memoirs... Anyway, what I'm leading to is that Bill has given the Washington Bushmen a gift with this incident. Bad timing man. Yeah, great, so now many people across the US will be saying "oh yeah, Democrats lie and eat-out interns", instead of "Rupublicans lie to, debase and slaughter people". Do you really believe that everybodie's got something to hide except for Dick Cheney and his monkey? (on a good note-as if there's still hope-since I've evoked John Lennon, I overheard someone say at yesterday's catering gig from hell "...I mean there was a picture of Kerry and John Lennon 2gether, how cool is that?")

*Side note: ask me sometime about when I met Clinton. Also, ask me about when I met Kerry (he was actually pretty cool yo, not like Clinton, who appeared in the guise of a clown). I ahven't met Bush, but then again, if I had, I might've had to beat his ass.

...So, Washington is invoking Hitler in some ads against Kerry. Are they for real? They call the Dems A "coalition of the wild-eyed"... ooooooohhhh, scary. Why doesn't Kerry & Co. fire right back and call our fascist government a coalition of near-sighted madcow fuck-heads or something? This IS "a time for pessimism and rage"...

...did you read how Dickface Cheney "felt better afterwards" after he "probably" cursed at a senior Democratic official? How do these master magicians get away w/ this shit? "Off with his head" would be the rallying cry if someone from Kerry & Co. had said somthing to that effect... Bush/Cheney say that the extremely large laid-off/unemployed contigent of our country are merely "looking for the easy way out" in complaining about their predicament instead of going out an getting a a newly created fast-food job that pays most likely way less then any job previously held...

sigh... as inconceivable as it sounds, it is actually possible that we may have to endure 4 more years of Bullshit/Chaingang, and thus the inevitable collapse of civilization as we know it. I for one, cannot tolerate this. Too bad a revolution though, at least now, is impossible. Historically, revolution's need to be led by the rich. Why? Because the working poor are doing just that; working, and working, and working their fucking fingers to the bone. Who really has the time to organize such a revolt (and not over the internet)? Only the idle rich... but they're too busy trying to figure out what the next hit reality show will be... I commend Michael Moore. He's got cash up the fat-ass, and is going around Europe denouncing the US. He couldn't do that here though w/out getting slaughtered gang-style... Hey, where have Al Sharpton, Dean, Kucinitch (sp)been lately? Has the run for the presiDUNCEy beome such an ego trip to the whitehouse that if one's not promised the trone that they can no longer speak out? I guess not having the media outside your bedroom door anymore can make it hard to be heard, and they did spend lots of loot which they may or may not have to pay back themselves, but come on, grow a spine rich (and therefore powerful) people. You have no idea what it's like to never have the opportunities that you take for granted, to worry about rent on an hourly basis, to know that the future only looks good in the movies, to know that if you get sick, you get sick, to never know what other lands look/feel like (and have that not be your choice b/c of ignorance-as was the case w/ our President when he was wearing pampers and waging a snowball fight up in his nose). Fuck the 18 holes of golf and give back a little, huh?

Ok, I know I said that I was gonna be brief, but I thought I'd wear boxers instead. Then I decided just to go cammando.

Friday, June 25, 2004

take one stone tablet by mouth at bedtime

whenever i'm unable to spout out my own nonsense on this thing, like now, i've decided that i'll be giving you little excerpts instead from a book that an ex-girlfriend found on the street and gave me a bunch of years back, it's called:
"so you want to be a rock & roll star" (yes, johnny, just like the song), and it's by some lady named sharon lawrence. it calls itself "the complete insider's handbook for getting it together and getting ahead in rock music"... right, so here goes the first selection.
"chapter 1-your band-building a team
so you've decided to form a band! the first thing to be aware of is how much hard work it will take before you can truly say, 'yes, we are a band, we're good and we're worth listening to'. the #1 rule of the game is communication. in the beginning, this amounts to spreading the word that you are looking for other musicians or would-be players to team up with. Tell your friends, put a notice up at your local record store or musical instrument dealer. check the advertisements in your school paper, in local underground papers and in rolling stone. ask the music teachers at local high schools and colleges. presumably, you've thought out what you have to offer musically-you've sung with the school or church choirs or sung along with records and know you can keep a tune. if you're not interested in singing, then you have at least a rudimentary knowledge of a musical instrument, have possibly taken lessons and you're prepared to reherse and grow. communication has alot to do with musical growth. in the earliest stages of putting a band together, you'll be auditioning or having others audition for you. this means communicating verbally and musically. some of the things you'll want to talk about are:
(1) the musical direction and sound of the proposed band... do you love blues and hate psychedelia or soft rock?"

and this is were i abruptly end my first entry from this pile of shit. there will be more exciting words of wisdom from these pages in the future, i promise, esp. as my brain continues to atrophy and deteriorate at this alarmingly rapid rate.

Thursday, June 24, 2004

blue's not clueless

ok, no witticisms here. went to a "backstage" tour of nickelodeon's blue's clues with my amazing nephew miles through my alma doesn't matter $kidmore today. at least some entity in this city is doing something good. they've taken off where sesseme st. noodled, w/out all the snufuckedupalotiguess overindulgence apparently. well, i'm a believer. seeing miles happy was rewarding. seeing the other lil' tykes there happy was rewarding. learning something positive other than "you cannot make it if you try" (this should be the main song of the new-why the fuck are they remaking it-remake of the harder they come) was rewarding.

we're a couple o' blogs, we stop n' shop at the quabbin truffle snouting hog, and we'll start the bombing in 5 minutes...

below are links to 2 blogs i dig. no, they won't tell you where the killers are having their afterpartys, but so fuckin' what.

(1) spul is a great man, plays in a real ny co-rock band called the darkhorses, and sporadically writes about politics. here are a couple of blurbs from his blog:
"It's just too neat! Reagan dies on the eve of the anniversary of D-Day, right before the G8 meets to discuss, among other things, Iraq and the rest of the Arab world. So in one short week, the great historical struggles of the United States against Fascism, Communism, and Islamic totalitarianism become unified in the public consciousness, with extremely strong symbolic overtones. And Reagan becomes the link between FDR and George W. Bush.
If I were a conspiracy theorist, I would be certain that the spooks had Reagan bumped off. He was on the way out anyway, and at his age who would even suspect? But I don't go in for that kind of garbage."


"Massachusetts is a fucked up place! Gays can marry (good), but liquor stores are still closed on Sunday and last call at a bar is at 12:30 (bad). Liberal or not, the legacy of Puritanism dies very hard."
(2) then there's the blog de beautiful, enigmatic jb. she's all over the place like me, and we really should give another go at a drink sometime:
here's an excerpt from her womanifesto:
"So capitalism is totally getting me down. I've started hunting for jobs again "like a truffle snouting pig." This "truffle snouting pig" bit is not mine -- don't worry. I'm quoting a terrible line here from a cookbook manuscript advising woman on how to get a "Fire Island gay man's bod" that I had to read for one of these lame treat-your-assistant-like- crap-and-pile-their-desk-with-tons-of-work-jobs that paralegals do for double the money. Yep. A job I was incidentally offered, only to, um, not really be offered?
But back to the topic on hand: capitalism. I'm sick of capitalism. I'm sick of negotiating everything from jobs (okay, acceptable) to boyfriends (less acceptable) to whether or not my roommate is going to take out the trash. I mean I get that we just have to accept capitalism -- that life is, at least in the United States, basically business --but come on? When people start scheduling appointments for their friends and start becoming so freakin' selfish and opportunistic that they can't even help a pal move a little crap to their sublet, what's the deal-yo? I suppose the rationale is that we are stuck here so we may as well live it up: keep shopping around for the next best thing, keep up with the bargain-hunting, and live up the fact that the one good thing about America is that, yes, even though we are chained to the making of money, we can ultimately all be "individuals". We can buy our freedom. We have the option of becoming totally self-sufficient. Yep, we can buy our own lifestyles and not be chained to anyone but ourselves. And the man. Oh, but that doesn't count. Oh, and wait, only some of us have that option. Huh? Yeah, so my point is, professionalism is for the office. Leave it at my apartment door please."

caught b/w mooning new york city

did you know that to whang something means to produce a loud, reverberant noise? a wham is more of a thud, forceful and shit, but that's a term that everyone knows, like whack (a sharp blow or slap) whereas whang has plain left the building. so why is a whammy bar, which really kind of reverberates a note or chord, bends it and such, not called a whangy bar? or a whacky bar for that matter? as it certainly doesn't bring the sound anywhere near a swift blow, it also doesn't touch a resounding thud.... this thought is not being brought to you by andrew ridgley, wang chung, hwangpoo or the guy who wanted your sex...

is devandra banhart channeling charles manson, or that spanking the monkey/cq actor dude doing jack black doing frank black doing john belushi doing joe cocker doing richie havens while playing charles manson?

...insomnia is a beautiful word, really. inssssomniaaaa... rolls off the tongue don't it? hard to believe it stands for something so wretched. maybe i can't sleep b/c they canceled lollapaloozzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Wednesday, June 23, 2004

an old hasidic man falls down on an escalator...

no, this isn't a joke. been starting to think the world is really coming to an end, and it has nothing to do with my decision not to use caps in lieu of wearing too many baseball caps (trying to put a cap on my caps?), for i've been chased recently by a string of bad luck like no other i've seen in my... er... 11 years on this planet, why else would i assume that today would be any different? my fortunes started going askew again as i was forced to make my 2nd trip to the farther reaches of queens in a mere matter of days. i suppose i should've known better, but i also thought that the cursed f train went above ground at some point during the hellishly long journey. no such luck, and as i didn't leave an hour to get to this far away place where i was supposed to meet some other cater dwellers and head out to greenwich, ct (yet again) for some rich-ass function w/ donald trump, i missed the ride. i couldn't call them of course b/c i was buried alive with other metropolitan mole people in the burrowing, winding metal slugway train. so, after i finally got there, and am met by no one, i made some calls to see what i should do. the only call that came in while i was in tran-shit was a potential acting gig booking, which i missed out on b/c i was under the fucking earth. i spend an hour waiting to see whether anyone wearing a tux will call me back, or whether i should go underground again (not a bad idea should it really be the end of the world). well, needless to say, i'm f'ing it back to the les after over 2 hours spent paying my respects to queens. shit mood, and then something happens which may or may not change things entirely (who knows, as shortly after the incident i'm about to describe i run into my neighbor who's just been evicted by federal marshals, and he wasn't that much more behind on rent than i am now). i head for the subway exit, defeated from my failed attempt to put myself in the position to potentially, if nothing else, get fired by donald trump for spilling a drink on him, when i find that i've gone up the wrong staircase. i gotta backtrack, which puts me at the foot of the escalator to essex street fortuitously a couple of minutes after i would have been there, and after the rush of other proles from the hole. as soon as i hit the escalator, i hear "help me, can you help me!" i look up, and there's this hispanic women trying in vain to aid an old hasidic guy who'd taken a fall on the moving steps and was about to incure further damage from the sucking in rotation device that is the top of those things. with soiled tux in one hand and vinyl briefcase (my leather one was stolen, remember?-see posting from last week) slung over my shoulder, i run up and I lift the old guy just in the knick of time. he was covered in blood, from 2 massive head wounds and a gash on his hand. i dragged him off the thing, retrieved his cane, hat and yarmulke for him, and went to get some official help-which took a good 20 minutes to arrive. throughout all this, the old guy remained conscious, but didn't utter a single word... it was eerie. the 2 ambulance guys came and they didn't say a word either, not a one, as they bandaged him up like a mummy... as i walked off, trying to straighten out my back, which took a beating from lifting the surprisingly heavy old guy (as i didn't bend my knees you know), i thought "and here i was thinking that i was having a bad day. maybe this is the turnaround event that exists in every good story about people with shit luck". this feeling, however, was fleeting, b/c after i saw my neighbor shoving all his belongings reluctantly in a u-haul, looking like he was about to cry tears of rage, i've been thinking that this event with the old hasidic guy was more of an omen, aplocalyptic-like, you know the kind; straight outa the movies. like here's this moses-esque figure struck down in his ascent, if you will, and maybe he was trying to tell us something but couldn't...? maybe not, i dunno, all i can say is that shit just isn't funny these days. like that film with the 2 wayans bros. posing undercover as white chix in the hamptons? how the hell did that get green-lighted? hell is the word. or that dodgeball film... did i miss something? wasn't dodgeball like given a bad rap just a few years ago b/c of its survival of the fittest exclusionary tendancies? ahhh lil' ben stiller, he can make us all laugh about our troubles, can't he. maybe he'll end up playing this old bloody moses man in a movie, which i'll end up having to rent. i tell you what though, it was like those two silent ambulance jockeys knew this was a bad sign or something. good ol' retired ex-marine dentist lester rosenthal's black humor wouldn't even cut it here. i mention him b/c it just reminded me that i really hope he's not the dad of that (really not worth the trouble of a link) guy larry rosenthal, but now i don't know what to think about that either, cause shit just aint right today. yeah, i know, i suppose i saved this old guys life, but maybe he was tryin' to get sucked under the escalator, and i actually ruined his chances of going to the big barmitzvah in the sky. you know, come to think of it, the hispanic woman who yelled for my help vanished immediately... fuckin' weird. i need a vacation.... but i guess i'll have to settle for the vicarious thrill i'll get from reading an article on the trainwreck olsen twins, mary-ate nothing and ashley. first, however, i'll leave you with a couple of telling quotes to lighten up the mood:

"if you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on the human face... forever"
-george orwell

"eeny, meeny, jelly beanie, the spirits are about to speak" -bullwinkle

"blogs were so last year"

who gives a shit. just write. last year i was a year farther away from my ultimate death anyway, which sure beats rubbing your aging crystal balls. yeah we'd all like to know what's gonna be the "it" shit next year. well, i'll tell you what, but you've gotta keep a secret, it's gonna be _________.

i served a lot of cloned lawyers drinks tonight...

they all looked like a cross b/w craig kilborne and wf buckley. though the head of the firm's daughter was oh so very hot in a young lauren bacall, eliz shue, early debra winger if she were a blond, kyra sedgewick w/out rotten teeth way, it's too bad that she'll most likely soon shrivel up like a twist in a spent cosmo. ahhh... she'll never know what she's missing... (er, poverty?) speaking of prostitutes, in the wild west some people called them "ceiling experts", and women got off with, you guessed it, steam powered vibrators.

Tuesday, June 22, 2004

i fucked up an omelet... "I bet it sucks"

i did. it was good though, magnificent in fact, and so needed to cure the whiskey hang i had from our weird show at the stinger. flop of a night, but i manged to get past all the obvious detrimental elements and throw a little passion into my rant near the end. i love playing my tune "chihuahua" (derived from the former "mango chutney" from the band of assholes/lit house band i used to play in). oddly, when my song lyrix blew accross grand street gig prior and john and i went to haul 'em in, this was the only tune missing. i'll probably hear them in some song by tv on the radio soon or something. below are a few lines from the ditty, this is the first time i'm putting my lyrix on here... a momentous occasion to be sure:

so socratic preacher
ya got everything but
can't digest the hand that's feeding you
little schnozzle rauser
go mango chutzpah remember now who's been leading who

speaking of former bands, i was informed that for the first week of this blahgs existence i spelled suede as swede. guess i'm not totally over the unnerving way my membership in the swedes came to its demise. god, what a moron that drummer they have is... and he certainly doesn't deserve that gorgeous girlfriend he has... man what i could do with her. this leads me to the "I bet it sucks" part in this post's header. which does not refer to beaten eggwhites, but to the posting at see below:
"everyone is now starting blogs. I started mine over a year ago, and since then, a dozen or more of my friends have called me, dropping the exciting news in my lap, "I started a blog!" as if I am going to cheer proudly into the phone and welcome them to the club. Blogs have been around for awhile. It's about time you fag asses are getting with the program. As if there aren't enough sorry assholes out there posting graphic details of their tittilating lives on-line for all the world to read and contemplate over chips or a blow job.

Chelsea Peretti - Chelsea's Blog (I bet it sucks)
Jim Norton - I don't know, google his name or go to Norton's website. (I bet it sucks)
Alex Emanuel (my roommate) - Alex's blog (I bet it sucks)

Don't say you weren't warned. In all reality, Chelsea and Jim are two of the funniest, smartest people I know, so I doubt their blogs suck. I've never read anything Alex has written, but he seems smart as well. I just met him a few months ago when I moved into his apartment after we met on Craigslist. (He's cute and single, so he's probably a killer.) I imagine that Chelsea's blog is full of multiple entries, mostly sarcastic observations about things like pencils and her hair, each wittier and more clever than the next, when she should be doing actual work. And Jim's blog is surely full of mockery and insults about other people's blogs. Alex's blog is called "You Can't Get Snot Out Of A Suede Jacket" or something like that, so I'm gonna guess it's a diary of all the chicks he has banged and murdered. I'll have to actually go to them and read them, and then I'll come back and write some real reviews. But, I bet without even looking I'm right."
well jessica my dear, you're wrong. it's not all about chix i've banged and murdered... yet.

actually, it never will be. as i don't ever plan to murder a chick. hell, they're part of my core readership (or lack thereof). i'm really only intent on offing a head of state, or someone that could garner me some publicity... ok, whoa there a minute, before i lose you entirely, i am not serious about all this murder talk of course. i mean really now, that's all been done anyway. i'll only be killing the english language here... now, as to banging chix, come on! that is a part of life for a straight male, isn't it? whether you agree with me on that one or not, you will not hear me describe any sexual exploits in any amount of detail here, i promise you that, esp. as those tasty tidbits of tantalizing tubuler traversion are only for the ears of my good buddy miguel lyonne (unless of course you ask, but that would mean that someone other than me would have to read this thing, which seems highly doubtful at this rate).

Monday, June 21, 2004

voidoid-era robert quine shoulda clobbered young rich shit bad actor/auteur ethan hawke with his guitar b4 he offed himself

robert quine was obviously zwan slut matt sweeney's inspiration, just look at old pix of him when he was a voidoid... hey guys, apparently creed has broken up.... oh no what am i gonna do? their god fearing guitarist cited that their vedder voiced jesus freak singer didn't "interact" with the band anymore. "nothing was happening" he said. i guess he was waiting for some miraculous conception of talent or something to materialize after 30 million f'ing religious pamphlet cds had been sold... so, the vines canceled their summer us tour. i didn't even know that they were still a band, and who cares for that matter. i guess this'll leave their phony lead singer more time to hone his "i'm crazy, whoo-whoo, look at me overreact like a spoiled a.d.d riddled pseudo-badboy brat" act in front of his gilded 19th c. english mirror... well, i actually listened to that new foo fighters song in a car the other day. man is it bad. mr. foo himself d.grohl (as there are really no other fighters in the foo, unless you count his alter-ego surfer bottle blond ex-alanis younger brother-esque lover (?) dummer drummer) writes by the numbers from the pilot chair of the f'ing stone cobain temple, and his voice is plain awful. he should go back to drumming, seriously. i think there are a couple of queens looking for a new band, cuz the new projects of both of those guys (the dumb bearded bass player weirdo and josh homme) really suck. homme's esp. was horrible when i saw them on tv, like that usa band who did that tune "lump" a bunch a years ago with a talentless hulking jim thome (t-homme) on drums. for such a big slugger-esque guy, he really drums like a queen. the other guys in the band stole our rollo schtik and made it schtik. it was embarrassing, and this opinion is coming from a fan of qotsa... oh oh, so it seems that ethan "white fang" hawke's publicity whore is pushing that ugly motherfucker's mug on us now to try and give him some good press since he fucked his wife. i met him a couple of times years back and he really rubbed me the wrong way then, and still does (obviously). i'm telling you, what a poseur this guy is, seriously, at least christian slater knew enough to stop pumping up his own volume. i've acted with one of the thurman brothers (plus i sorta knew uma, as she and my sister were friends in grammar school, and then i missed an opportunity to ask her out years later when she asked me for directions but my hands were full of groceries... ask me later), who swore that he'd kill hawke if he saw him again. here's a quote from the worst actor to ever play hamlet: "i bump into a lot of young actors who are interested in (independent cinema) as a steppingstone, and it really pisses me off. big movies aren't a steppingstone to another movie. do what you're doing. you are your actions, and thinking motivates your actions. that's why you have to be so careful what you think about"... ??????????????????????????? (by the way: if you want to see a really good actor, one who could give ethan a beating left, right, center, upside, forward, over, under, sideways and down, you can direct directors, casting directors and good agents to ). did you know that the hawkester comes from one of the richest mofo families in all of ny state? so i hear. i also hear that jennifer anniston is carpet munching markey mark's sister.

queen's not a stones throw... there's

no way i'll ever live way out there man (in queens). the f'in' train to the train to the train wasted my precious time today. also seems the mta concession stand people don't think commuters out there can get thirsty/hungry or wanna read the news either, as there aren't any concession stands... i've said it before, you know that a subway system sucks dick when the only way to tell if a train is comin' is by leaning over the tracks.

Sunday, June 20, 2004

Rollo @ the Stinger Club's "Thick and Juicy" premiere party Monday 6/21

free admission, open bar 9-10pm, drink specials all night, Rollo rocks it then, DJs Brand New Cadillac too. the stinger is located 241 grand street (b/w driggs and roebling in williamsburg). the flyer says "because some girls develop more than just their minds"... hmmmm... yeah...

bad hair self-keith relf-art collecting drug dealers-dad's day

sabotage day the unregistered car almost towed bike tired brother blown latino greenwich connecticut mansion wedding beautiful yardbirds displaced giacommetti rodan de kooning matisse degas broken stolen wine bottle ultra hot 15 (?) yr old chiquita... i missed three farms of cat power today, but I guess she didn't play?

happy dad's day dad, you're totally one of a kind, and i love you like a son.

Friday, June 18, 2004


... one last thing. What the peter fuck were the undead members of the MC5 thinking by asking Evan Dando to sing for them? I knew him in college-he was there for one semester-and man, those were probably the only four months of cool in his life. my dad showed me this-totally dif subject:

Thursday, June 17, 2004

zero comments (not referring 2 myself or Z Mostel or that flick from a couple years ago w/ broken-nose Wilson... or Bill Pullman?-perfect comment opp)

...things haven't been going too smoothley of late (besides the glistening mustard that just lent itself to the 2 "organic" hot dogs I just devoured). Journaling is just the sort of stupid theapy I need these days-get it off my chest, for myself to hear... as that's actually better I'm convinced then pouring your heart out to another, where no matter what, you measure your words, hear your voice, form your thoughts, decide what's listenable, try to impress or gain sympathy, let your mind wander, notice the spot on his tie or the thing in-between her teeth (or between her legs). What better word for this shit too than blog... though I'd call it blahg... played last night, and though we're the hottest thing on wheels, there were scant few in attendance... a marked difference to the throngs of hipsters at Max's Lit City. Damn, how can a guy with so little charm, who worships Steve Albini down to the type of tp the "indie rock guru" most likely uses (though Steve-and trust me on this, b/c I've met him-would most likely laugh in his face)create such a fucking popular hang? I dunno... today I spent too much time fixing stupid shit on my car-I did a collage of broken reflector peices to replace a broken reflector (the finished product wouldn't have recieved a D in sculpture class), and I replaced a burnt blinker bulb burnt blinker bulb burnt blinker bulb burnlt blinkre buld butnry blimnetr buslp. I'd previously gone hog wild in Auto Zone. Damn, I guess I'm a guy, cuz you put me in a place like that and saliva starts a tricklin'. "I could use that" "cool" "1/2 inch or 1/4 with a galvanized hub inlay?" (I just made that up)... Afterwards I spent hrs sending out fucking picture/resumes... no wonder I'm losing it, seeing my face repeatedly grinning back at me/stapling my head to a cover letter then inserting it in a 9x12 envelope over and over... what an antiquated system. I can say one thing for the reality show boom, they at least have figured out that sending your 8x10 via email saves a lot of time... so, as no chicks are lined up this fine evening (sob), and I have to get up at 7am and truck out to Newark to shoot some more on this indie trailer, I'm off. Oh, Rollo is gonna play Monday night at the Stinger club in Williamsburg for some new brit shit/indie slop night. you wanna come? hot rocks...

Wednesday, June 16, 2004

"if it takes a bloodbath, let's get it over with. No more appeasement"-Ronald Reagan

he said that before he was a vegetable-no wonder Bush stroked his balls so much, as they think/thought alike. they say "the urge to destroy is really a creative urge" (Bakunin?) yeah, perhaps, creative frustration maybe-but i kinda don't think Bush is even capeable of such an urge, and creation to him only means one thing, which is that which drives his every move apparently; his "higher (coke) calling". Bush otherwise thinks like the gipper during ronald's vegie period-could that be b/c of just plain stupidity though, or all that mad cow that's most likely rampant in the longhorn state? anyway, a bath sounds nice, but with a far clearer, less viscous substance, cuz its hotter'n heat itself today... ok, i know that no one is reading this cept i, which is fine, and it is way too hot to even contemplate suede-perhaps as i journal here -something i used to do on paper in chicago (land of conservative creativity) but stopped years ago... i wish i could doodle around the edges here though- for a while though, someone will take notice. i don't have the energy right now to email all my friends and say "hey, check out my farts yo". i already bug the shit outa the masses with my gorgeous band and acting exploits, rare as they may be these days without quality control of my career... so, there's more storage available on yahoo now-no more WARNING! DANGER MR. ROBINSON! YOU'RE NEIGHBORHOOD IS APPROACHING CAPACITY! YOU MAY NOT BE RECIEVING ALL YOUR GENUINE PEOPLE, ONLY RICH... ok, this has gotten uglier. one last thing; reminder: Rollo is playing tonight "i'm faced with the extinction go-go"

cry me an east river full of white alligator shit grady

so my apt. was broken into yesterday. a slew of stuff was taken. until i found out that my friend ("porno" comedienne singer/songwriter performing artist Jessica- had borrowed a couple of champagne glasses for her hosting extravaganza at ps122, i actually thought that the thieving puss hole that had broken in had some taste to go along with his love of everything easily sellable on the street (my laptop, digital camera, 35 mm camera, polaroid camera, everything that ever had to do with my fucking wanting to use a camera). no such luck. it made off with all that, plus the one "kenneth cole" anything i had-a black leather briefcase my mom had gotten me-and my softball bat. yes, you heard that correctly, my softball bat. i like to think that he at least might have struck out with it a few times, or grounded into a double play or better yet took it to his own head or something. i was in a shit mood all day as i had to work knowing that that had just happened and i hadn't yet been able to call the cops. that surreal moment came later, but i have to say that that's been the highlight of my week thus far-shooting the shit with a couple of coppers who were like the 2 right outa sanford and son ( there was a mute short black woman with nice, warm eyes and cotton in one ear, and a red faced stacey keach looking super-affable guy who gave me lotsa shit in fun for being a red sox fan. he actually looked exactly like that reliever the yanks had with the flat top and mustache, ______ nelson or something-the guy who kicked the shit out of a fan with karim garcia in the fens bullpen after pedro and the gerble went head to head... you know the guy. anyway, talking a little yanks-sox with him broke the ice, and kinda took me away. it's only too bad i didn't have my digital camera anymore, b/c they woulda made my book. he blurted out a nice homer simpson "doat!" when i touched the doorknob accidentally as we waited for the figerprinting duo. in all, there were 6 cops in my pad late last night, including a very barney miller-esqe sarge. I almost offered them a coctail, though wasn't sure whether that would be appropriate. "woja-ho-witz" (just wanted to say that).

Tuesday, June 15, 2004

My band Rollo plays Otto's this Wed 6/16 @ 10pm $5, hot rocks

My great aunt once told me that in the early 1900s,
Wednesday night was "the weekend in the middle of the
week". What better reason to swing by Otto's Shrunken
Head (formerly Barmacy, located @ 538 E.14th St.) this
Wednesday night 6/16 @ 10pm to see your favorite new
New York band Rollo play their first gig outa
Brooklyn. The cover is a paltry $5 and you get to hear
some hot rocks
-Alex, Hubert, John and Sally aka ROLLO


Rollo is:
Hubert Dulay-tweed guitar samurai
Alex Emanuel-joe strummer/vocalic leadoff
John Dillon-smasher of kit and lighter of it
Sally Donovon-blondie tonk vocalista sistah