i am writing my blog, even though my blog is broken, that's blog devotion, yeah yeah yeah...

i think those are some lyrics i just wrote...maybe Jonathan Richman will sing them. woohoo!

it is Thursday, i am going to Los Angeles in 18 hours and i have not packed, have no cash, no ticket (well it's an e-ticket), and dinner plans tonight. mmmmmm, Tibetan food. mmmmmm, Aldus. As Big Pun might say, "I don't wanna be a playa no more." Though, he also might say, "I'm not a playa, I just crush a lot." you decide!

i know i've been waxing lyrical a lot lately, but since Marky and I seem to be having a mind-meld over the very appropriate song 'Screenwriter's Blues' by Soul Coughing, i will quote away:

"It is 5am, and you are listening, to Los Angeles . . . you are going to Reseda to make love to a model from Ohio whose real name you don't know . . . and the radio man says it is a beautiful night out there, and the radio man says women were a curse, and so men built Paramount Studios, men built Columbia Studios . . . we are all in some way or another going to Reseda, some day, to die . . and the radio man laughs, because the radio man fucks a model too . . . "

i think that works better if you can hear the 'wee-ee wee-ee wee-ee wee-ee' synth effect that goes with the song in your head. but then again, maybe you can.

more later --- dear god, fix my blog...

wednesday is Return to Hilarity Day around here, thanks to the good people at, uh, Todd. he just sent me a truly odd and excellent link, fresh from the net of his webtrawler and flopping about wildly onthe deck: Men Who Look Like Kenny Rogers.com. can we ask for finer fare these days? oh i don't think so, no.

i'll continue the Todd shout-out by sharing with you some of his original poetry, specifically what i call his 'Sig File Haiku Masterpiece':

Windows NT crashed.
I am the Blue Screen of Death.
No one hears your screams.

(somber pause) he's a poet for the ages, our Toddy. outta my way, biped!

for even greater levity, head over to the back-on-the-street Onion, and go directly to that which will slay you mercilessly as it did me, Jim Anchower's Column, "My Weed Connection Is Dried Up." so...brilliant...losing...ability...to...write...without...ellipses...

and speaking of poetry, transcendental drug use, and meandering punctuation, Jack Kerouac's manuscript to 'On The Road' was sold at auction for $2.4 million, to the guy who owns the Indiana Colts. boing! some kind of karmic rubberband just snapped there, i think. note in the article Lawrence Ferlinghetti carping about how J.K. himself would be horrified at the thing becoming an 'object of consumer culture.' hmmmm...i quote the text directly:

"Whither goest thou, America, in thy shiny car in the night?"

rain shmain.

in iowa, a 9 year old boy was busted for dealing pot. to some 14 year olds. which he stole from his father's stash. comment on this would be redundant, as would ranting and/or shaking fist at sky.

to lighten this 'Traffic'-esque gloom, i propose to deem today Steve Carrell Day, as in Steve Carrell from The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, my separated-at-birth twin brother. last night i experienced some kind of comic nirvana, at approximately 11:07 PM EST, when they launched Steve Carrell's Tribute to Steve Carrell Hosted by Steve Carrell with the story about "curry pushers' in the big city. by the time they showed the 'Slimming Down with Steve' clip where he goes to the nutritionist, makes pasta primavera ("Bam!") and then sings that song from "Godspell" as grace i had fallen off the sofa entirely, wheezing for breath and pissing myself. uh, figuratively speaking, that is. and the Brookhaven National Labs bit...brilliant! as if that show isn't funny enough with just the J-man, Steve Carrell is rising to the esteemed level of, 'I just can't even *look* at that guy without cracking up!," which has heretofore been reserved only for only Chris Cattan and Bill Murray. so kudos to you, Steve, wherever you are...(fade up music)

oh and i can't believe i've been remiss for so long, as to have neglected to share one of the best links there is, to Disturbing Search Requests. i won't even explain it, just click it (warning: mature content! *snort*) and you'll thank me later.

gathering up all shreds of ambient luck for job interview, please place in basket on way out...

Holy alumni, Batman, what a weekend just transpired. I can't decide which was the best moment: realizing that *nobody* has a job that they like (i.e. it's not just me)? heckling the Class of 2001 midnight candlelighting ceremony? finding a taxi and a parent's car smacked up against my poor innocent parked CRV at 8:30 AM Sunday just before graduation whilst i was still very very hungover and clad in my pajamas? my long lost roommate PhaPha disrobing in my kitchen after a long night at The Burren? fleeing the Class of 96 picnic because there were so many strollers and toddlers? eating cold hotdogs in the dark on a South End patio while playing stupid camp games about people we hooked up with in college? discovering that many of the people i always *wanted* to hook up with in college but never actually did are a) still living around here and b) still basically cute and single? what a mishmash...one thing is for sure, i won't be coughing up any big donations to the alma mater any time soon, seing as how the school continues to diss the a cappella group i co-founded when providing entertainment for these dopey events. so there, Jumbo!

but moving on, there can be no news more disturbing than today's announcement by IBM that they have actually fabricated some pixie dust and are using it to dominate the world of stupid computer company TV commercials...'programmers from a parallel universe,' my ass. clearly some R&D guys cloned Tinkerbell and crushed her up into powder for their own nefarious data-compression ends...this is a human rights violation, not a banner day for technology! what next, encryption software written in Harry Potter's blood? where will it end?

like all things, it will end with the tax collector, and if you're lucky you'll just shower him with nuts and keep walking. 'the hell am i on about? yes, my brethren, it's true, a man in Ohio sent 642 peanuts in a box to the tax office to pay his $642 tax bill. the tax office was careful to add that 'Barter is not an acceptable form of payment." i am still chuffing into a paper bag over this. and yes, i pinched this link from darling Jim Romenesko, ObscureStore god. i know he won't mind because i'm funnelling site traffic to him like you wouldn't believe, my new friend Aldus alone will probably generate a slew of bidness for him. hi Aldus - see, i wasn't kidding.

um, by a show of hands, who thinks i need a nap, some more diet coke, and/or some large animal tranquilizer? hmmmm, not a majority, clearly...i can then safely rant on about last night's XFiles season ender. Memo to Chris Carter: GET A LIFE, MAN! who was in the story conference on this one, a Sunday School class of first-graders? chris (guy incognito, not carter) and i were like groaning and beating our heads against the wall as the allegory spun right out of control: the flight from the evil overlord, the humble birthing place, the Star of Alienethlehem, Mulder as Joseph the surrogate father, the freaky baby that will save the planet, the three wise gunmen bearing gifts...uncle! uncle! we get it! even confirmed atheists get it, let it go! i have to say, they missed a real opportunity to have Agent Reyes come on to Scully there...all that time she was skulking around in her little white t-shirt we were waiting for her to say something like, 'Dana, now that we're finally alone...' hee hee hee. i guess there's always next season...though after the tender anticlimactic liplock betwixt Mulder and Scully (or are they Fox and Dana now...bleggggh, that sounds like something out of The Preppy Handbook) looks like they're both off the market. if anyone has alternative theories as to whether or not Mulder did actually get into Scully's pants
last season and the bambino is not in fact an alien-implant insta-pregnancy, dash them off to yourpopqueen@hotmail, i am all ears. i guess time will tell if Erica was right about it being an "Alien Filth Baby" or not...seemed pretty cute so far, but that's no indication, look at E.T. i always hated E.T.