Monday, February 28, 2005

Sick Furious Halo

This morning I slept in, it was hard to get up, but somehow I did, and bumped from wall to wall like I was in a big pinball machine. I bounced into the bathroom, yanked the taps and landed beneath the water jet. In a little while, I got out and put my clothes on, I wear the same clothes every day. Not the exact same clothes, I have identical sets, not a work uniform, my uniform. I wear the same outfit every day.
Since I slept in, I could only ride my bike to work. If I walked, I would be too late. I pushed my bike out the door. I locked the door. Was Thelma there? I always check. She's my old neighbour and I go past her apartment to get out. If she is there, I will get a weather report, and do my best to make some conversation. Sometimes if I have a good line about the weather, she will use it back at me a week later. I always laugh, like she came up with it.
As I move past her door I see her bent over in the bathroom, her big hump making her into a triangle, I got past without discussing the weather, and pushed my bike onto the footpath and strapped my silver stormtrooper robot helmet to my head.
Peddling up the street I watch the front wheel wobbling. It looks crazy. One of the spokes is broken and the wobble gets crazier every day. On the downhill main street I go fast and watch the front wheel wobble faster. Will it collapse today? Will today be the day? I imagine it happening, I see it clearly, the wheel flies off and the bike stops dead but I continue, in the air, but at an angle, coming down beneath the careless wheels of a bus, or a big truck. Too bad. I'll get the day off work. My boss will look at the clock, vibrating with rage and impatience. I'll never arrive, she will get angrier, but too bad, my body will be broken up on a busy road, my eternal soul flying up high above the insane traffic.
Today is not the day, my wheel stays connected, still wobbling in desperation to be free, but connected.
On the way I stop at the IGA to get more cereal. I get those variety eight packs, with tiny boxes of Corn Flakes, Nutri Grain, Special K, Just Right, Sultana Bran, and Cocoa Pops, and some other HEALTHY grain type I forget. I walk up the aisle with the breakfast cereal and, I look and see empty space. They're all out of the Eight Packs. There's nothing there, I can see nothing there but space, empty space where the EightPacks should be. A small rage takes hold of me, some ridiculous despair. I keep looking but they are still not there. I walk around to the bakery cabinet and take an apple muffin. That will have to do, I guess. It's not so bad, really. Not so bad. Really.
Outside, I get back on my bike and race off, trying not to hit or get hit by anything. The traffic swarms around me and these people are dangerous, I've seen their eyes. They mean it. They will get to work at lightning speed, and fuck whoever they happen to run over on the way.
I get to work, jam my deadly bicycle under the spiral stairs and walk up and unlock the office. I walk through the office, turn on the postmeter, turn on the printer, unlock the other door, talk to myself LOUDLY, nobody is there, I am the KING of the office now. I make loud statements to nobody and wave my arms around, striding. I stomp over to my desk and turn my stupid computer on, it pretends to wake up like a real human, but I know better, it's just a stupid machine.
I get the muffin out of my bag and start eating it, then put it down and go downstairs to the loading dock for the mailbag. I haul it upstairs and empty it onto the bench. I eat some more muffin. I go and sort some of the mail. The things in plastic can go straight into the pigeonholes, I don't need to stamp them, I don't need anybody around for that. The boss will be here any minute. It's Monday. She's never in a good mood on Monday. She will be here pretty soon. My COLLEAGUE has the day off. Normally she helps me with the mail. Boss hates opening the mail, it must make her feel low. But she has tiny dogs and when she walks them outside, doesn't she have to scoop up their poop? She goes behind the dogs, those tiny dogs, and they squat suddenly, and she is there, ready with a plastic bag inside out over her hand, waiting for the poop to finish coming out of the little dog's anus, steaming and hot. She scoops it up right away! People walk by watching her, people see my boss scooping up the little fresh hot turds in her hand...
Boss, she arrives, grunts something about morning, turns her computer on, comes around to help me with the piles of mail. She says nothing, she slams the date stamp down on a letter. It rings in my ear. I turn my head and look at her, slamming everything.
Her rage vibrates around her, like a sick furious halo.

Sunday, February 27, 2005

Collateral - A Fine Movie

Tonight I got around to watching the movie Collateral. I wanted to see it when it came out, but back then I wasn't going to the cinema, so it was impossible. But I finally saw it tonight and can report that it was not only as good as I thought it would be, it was even better. Michael Mann is a moviemaking wizard. (I still recall the MAGNIFICENCE of his movie Heat.) And with his movie Collateral, he did not let me down.

In the movie, Max (Jamie Foxx) is a taxi driver who has a dream of a better life for himself but doesn't seem to be capable of doing anything about it. He's treading water, and he's getting older, he keeps going like this and his life will pass him by. He will be an old man, looking back on his life and his dream that he did nothing about.

It doesn't matter if a man is going through his life, not taking any chances, dreaming but doing nothing about it, because sometimes life throws something big in his path, something he can't go round - it is going to FORCE him to get out of his sleepwalking, routine life and it will change him dramatically and FOREVER. It is like this: If you were to go outside and find a tiny ant on the ground, and pick it up and then walk ten blocks with it, and put it back down again, what you have done is take this little ant away from his world, and an ant cannot be an individual, an ant by its nature is part of a group, the same way a soldier in the army is. You take the soldier out of the army and he is no longer a soldier. So let's try to imagine what you would be doing to this ant by removing him from his regular life and community, and putting him down on the ground ten blocks away, which for a human would be akin to taking that human, picking him up and putting him back down again on the opposite side of the world, let's say Iceland. And the human would have to have amnesia, to make it closer to the ant's situation.

Anyway, this is only to give an example of the situation Max is put in after he picks up Vincent (Tom Cruise), who he figures is just another fare, another Johnny, he's gonna take from one place to another, but when he gets to the destination, Vincent offers him $700 if he will drive him around all night to six different locations, to see some friends. Max usually makes around $300 for a night shift so this offer, see, he can't refuse it. While he's waiting in his taxi a body flies out of a building and lands on his cab. Vincent arrives a minute later and Max soon realises that Vincent killed the guy. Vincent is a professional hitman. Max now has to drive Vincent around to five other places to kill five other people, and if he refuses, Vincent will kill him and find somebody else. What happens next? Can you stand it?

This was a great movie. The acting was good, the dialogue was never phony, it looked great, the music was good and never sucked, I was on the edge of my damn seat the whole way through and even watched a few scenes again and again, it didn't go on for too long, and there was an excellent nightclub scene where everybody was wearing cowboy hats.

Is it possible to make a movie about a taxi driver and it not be good? No sir, I don't think so.

Collateral is a fine movie you should watch if you have not seen it.

Asian Man Blog That Doesn't Suck

I was just doing an off-the-record Blog Patrol and God Almighty I think I found another Asian person's blog that doesn't suckity suck. (Gordon and your Bringing the Hate, you do not hardly ever update the damn thing. Gordon, get your goddam shit together or by Christ on a bun I am gonna delete your blog ass from my blog list!) This one was funny! I laughed reading it! Rare for me in Blog World! Male Noodle make funny, readable blog! Feed the Asian!

Saturday, February 26, 2005

Stabbing Hatred

Mikel and I killed somebody but it was justifiable. It wasn't murder, but something that had to be done, sooner or later. If we didn't do it, somebody else would have. The whole town hated us though and would not talk to us. When we passed, every pair of eyes followed us, black with stabbing hatred. I went to a supermarket to buy some things. We needed some things. The checkout guy pointed out I had some things I had picked up at another place. He didn't like it that I had things from another place mixing in the same air of his place of things. I saw condolence cards on a high counter, something to do with the murder. Did those people know that if we hadn't done it, somebody else would have? I guessed not. Later, Mikel showed me how he had made some special engraving on a large glass. The engraving had some significance but I couldn't figure out what it was, but I made my face express awe and gratitude and that was enough. We stuck together and made the other laugh. We had to, everybody else hated us.

Friday, February 25, 2005

Bikini Girl

Tonight Andre and his girlfriend came over, and we took some beers
out to the beach. We were sitting on the rocks and waves were
crashing nearby, I felt pretty good. I went over to piss on the rocks
and saw crabs running away. Then we were sitting around, talking
about stars and the holes in the rocks. Then a girl came up. It's
night time. She was very pale, white, just wearing a bikini. She
wanted to know what we were doing. I had been asking Andre and
Cheryl what made the little holes in the rocks. It couldn't just be
the sea. So I told the girl, I want to know what makes the holes in
these rocks. But I saw her, and she was close, and I was instantly
captivated by her. God, I looked at her body, all that flesh. She was
just wearing a little colourful bikini and my eyes were just about
popping out. What made these little holes here in the rocks? She
walked away, back to her boyfriend, who was splashing around in the sea.

Thursday, February 24, 2005

A Survey of Some Recent Blogs II

Last Friday I posted A Survey of Some Recent Blogs. I enjoyed writing it, and had a good time making fun of some lame blogs, and best of all I discovered a GOOD one! Hey Tom! You can check out Tom's excellent movie-themed blog If Charlie Parker Was a Gunslinger... in my links section. If you like good movies it's well worth a look, and he updates it every day.

Anyway, I figured why not do this once a week? Yeah I know it's Thursday, but tomorrow night I won't be here, or may not get to post something by midnight - IF I CAN'T POST BY MIDNIGHT, IT'S NO GOOD! NO GOOD I TELLS YA!

So let's get to it. Shall we see what the Blog World has in store for us? Can we find another good one? Let's not hold our breath...

1. 19 year old Chinese girl and her tales of exams and shopping malls and seeing a strange man in the street but doesn't write anything more than "saw a strange man in the street." My dear, I am interested in either hearing more about the strange man in the street or seeing a picture of you naked. You can't give me these things. We have no future together.
2. A Spanish poetry blog. The first poem has an English title: Give Me a Time Machine. Yes, that's what I need, a time machine, to transport me into a future where I can understand Spanish. But poetry? A poetry BLOG? Perhaps it's for the best.
3. Another goddam fucking piece of shit AD BLOG. bockwurst presents...bockwurst filesthe #1 bockwurst files resource.eudora anti-spam :: bockwurst filesbockwurst files resources and articles If our paths ever cross, sir, I will remove your head and go tenpin bowling with the damn thing. I will then get a Nobel Prize for this service to the world and its grateful blog community.
4. Hey, a blog from Iceland! First one I've ever seen. But I can't understand Icelandic either, more's the pity, because I'd like to read this one. (I want to visit Iceland one day.) There aren't any pictures either, so I don't know what the fuck is going on. Let's have some Icelandic blogs written in English, I say! Speak English or die!
5. A blog from yet another cute little Asian pork chop. With pictures of her and her friends. God Almighty she's only 14. Furthermore, she writes like this: "HahAz.. dIdnT REaLLy CaRE aBt VaLeNtInE dAy.. i hAd aLsO 4gOtTen tiL KeLvIn rEminD mE yTd nItE.. Lolz.. bOuGhT a KeY ChaIn 4 TiAn.. dEn nTh Le.. HehEz.. wEnT tO ScH dAmn EarLy sIa.. ThE eArLiEsT i hAd eVEr cAmE tO sCh in tIs yR.. 7.10aM ReaCh scH Le.. HahAz.. A MaThs LesSon, i m aT a LOsE.. i dunO wAts gOinG oN.. Lolz.. JiA LaT sIa.. mUz BucK uP Le La..~ bUt i cAnT La.. dunO y dUn hAV tHe MoOd oF sTudyinG.. :X HecK cAre La.. gEt CheM ResULt.. gOt 14/30.. dEn TEaChEr sAy tHosE gOt 14, wiL pUsH uP tiL 15.. WaHahAz.. sO gD.. HehEz.. dEn SudDenLy, mR GarLic,(hIs nIck nAme) cAmE & aSk 4 mE.. dEn i wAs sHocK.. i tOt hE cOmE fINd mE cUz i nEv gO nPcC.. dEn i gO oUt.. hE sAy, mY PoEm hAs bEeN choOsEn aS tHE beSt aMounG aLL tHe sEc 3s.." What? Has the world just gone upside down? It sure seems like it. WaHahAz!!
6. Oh. Another Spanish (or Mexican) blog. MADRE DE DIOS! THE FOREIGNERS ARE STORMING THE CASTLE!
7. A poker player's blog, from Ireland. A blog, with a poker theme. And pictures of old arcade game cabinets. ... Somehow, I am not surprised it took an Irish blog to neutralise any potential smartass thing I might come up with. I have nothing. Next! Quickly!
8. An ambitious young papadum from India and his blog. He attended an MSDN session on Building Secure Web Applications. Bravo! Next!
9. LiteraryMom? I have my doubts. Let's examine, shall we? Most recent post she asks us how do we like her SPIFFY new green colour scheme. We don't care. What else you got? Second most recent post she whines about vacations because hubby is home so she can't lounge around like a fat slob gobbling chocolates. Then she mentions that hubby cooked dinner. That must please her, right? Wrong. She goes on to say that cats are better than dogs because a cat wouldn't eat the steak hubby tried to cook but fucked up. She passed the steak under the table to the dog, you see. Goddam ingrate bitch. You make me SICK. Literary mom? You might get one of your mean, whining letters printed in That's Life! (Note: That's Life! = Dumb two-bit fucking worthless whining housewife magazine available in every goddam Australian supermarket fucking checkout rack.)
10. A political blog = goddam boring as hell. *ZZZZZZZZZZ*
11. Oh please God no. Another schoolkid writing BORINGLY about his or her BORING exams. I see, so you passed. Or you didn't passed. It was hard. Or easy. The questions were hard. Or easy. I see. I see. Yes. Yes. *ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ*

Well, it is getting late now, quite late, and I can see that I am not going to find a GOOD, INTERESTING, NOT BORING blog tonight. I have accepted that. But I will not give up so easily. This experiment will continue in one week! I know there are some good blogs out there, and I will find them! I will report to you these RARE, QUALITY blogs, these diamonds buried in this mile-long stretch of Blog Beach. Thank you for your patience!

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

Confidence, A Dumb Movie I Saw Tonight

Tonight I watched Confidence, a movie about some con men. Dustin Hoffman was in it, he played a crime boss, a very strange guy who has ADHD and is liable to get violent at the drop of a hat. Paul Giamatti played one of the con men. He is one hell of an actor, and a likeable guy too. Those two were enjoyable to watch, aside from that the movie was a bore. The music was terrible and it farted loudly over all the dialogue, or more accurately, it FUNKED loudly all over the dialogue, because it was some kind of annoying FUNK music. Who chose that person to write the music? An idiot. Do not hire him again! And these con men, they are very greedy people, they want things the easy way, and they love money so much they rub their dicks on it until the sun comes up, and they believe they are so smart and can fool people, and out-think people to trick them into doing things in order to help them get a big bag of money. This kind of stuff is not very interesting to watch. They tried to make the movie look good, and very stylish, and had some clever dialogue, but you know, this kind of *clever dialogue* can be written by anybody. It's not much. You could walk outside your house, close your eyes, throw a rock in any direction and you would probably hit one. You would hit somebody who could write this kind of clever, forgettable dialogue. Writing copy for tampon ads demands greater skill, and is worthy of more respect, the way I see it.

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

No Aviator Review Here

Today after work I went and saw The Aviator.

I have tried to write about it but I can't. It was too great. It's too much for me. The movie was so damn great I just can't think of where to begin. I can't do it justice. I'm sorry.

God Almighty, what a fine movie.

Monday, February 21, 2005


Today I rode my bike to work and stopped at the corner fruit stand to get some fruit from Mario. Mario was serving a young Asian woman and it looked like she was trying to juggle peaches. I saw one slip out of her hands and bounce on the ground. Mario looked confused and impatient. What's this all about?, I thought. I had the feeling she had been there for a while.

At last, she left. I said to Mario, 'What was she doing, practicing her juggling?' 'Look at her', he said. He kept looking after her, he didn't look mad, but hurt and disappointed. She was standing waiting for the lights to change. 'She's mad. One rolled off down the street.' He pointed in the opposite direction, down the street. I didn't know what to say. I felt bad for him. It looked like she really upset the poor guy.

Anyway, I bought some of his grapes, and peddled off, trying not to hit anybody or anything. Then I saw a peach in the gutter, one of the peaches she had unsuccessfully tried to juggle. I turned back and reached down to pick it up. A delivery van zoomed up, slamming the damn brakes dramatically, and I saw the driver give me a dirty look. Hey fuck you, I thought, I'm getting this damn peach out of the gutter. I got the peach and rode off.

I decided that tomorrow I will pay him for it, but not full price, because it was in the gutter.

Let's Fiddle With Our Blog Design And Write About It

Does anybody else find it ridiculous when some blog CREATOR only writes about all the things he or she has done that day, fiddling around with the appearance of the damn thing? Every post is "How I Fucked Around With My Blog Appearance Today, In Great Detail" type shit. Do these people call this *content*? More importantly, what do these posts tell us, the readers, about you? They tell us you are one of those robots in a production line in a big noisy factory, you're the robot who moves left and right bolting one piece of metal to another, a thousand times a day.

Why can't you just fiddle around with your damn blog and let people notice for themselves what AMAZING things you have done with it?

This will free you up to write, God forbid, something INTERESTING.

Cinema of Flying Daggers, Thrown By Me

After work today I went to see House of Flying Daggers. The movie was pretty good, I guess. Pretty good? I guess? OK, the movie was spectacular, it was eye candy. And those big battle ballet scenes? My eyeballs popped out a few times, and they really flew a long way during the bamboo forest battle. But some other shit happened that interfered with my enjoyment of the movie. You wanna hear about it? Yes, you do, so I will tell you.

The seats at this theatre are goddam uncomfortable and I couldn't find a good position to last any more than maybe ten minutes, then I'd have to jerk around again, put my legs up, legs down, arms sideways, or bent a little... and my shoulders hurt. And my ass hurt, those damn seats. ("My ass has really taken a pounding over the years!" Who said this and in what movie?) Maybe because of this, the movie felt like it went on forever. I just checked the running time and it says 1 hour, 59 minutes. It felt like two and a half hours, at least.

But that's not all. Those two whispering, commentating bitches were back. You remember? I wrote about them recently (Jan 31 - Sideways.) They weren't right behind me this time, they were over to the side and behind a little, but I could still hear 'em, loud and clear. What the fuck is it with them? I'll bet they talk in their sleep too, all night long. All day and all night, talking, and whispering, and commentating on every damn thing imaginable, without pause, superhuman and tireless. Born to annoy the fuck out of people like me, and you. Yes, you. You won't escape! You think you will? They will come to YOUR cinema, if you like watching movies, that is. If you like watching them without non-stop whispering commentary going on in your fucking ear.

They will come, don't worry.

Sunday, February 20, 2005

Once Upon a Time in America

Just finished watching Sergio Leone's Once Upon a Time in America, the LONGEST movie (220 mins) I've ever seen, and one of the finest. It might have been long, but I didn't jerk about in my seat or look at the clock once. Every scene seemed to glow, just about every image from the movie could be blown up to wall size and you would be happy to look at it for the rest of your life. Above all, what was apparent to me was that here was a movie put together with enormous love and care by a master of his craft.

The story is epic, covering a 50-year period in the lives of some kids from the Lower East Side of NYC who grow up to be gangsters. It flips between three time periods - the first, when they are kids, set in the 1900s; the second when the kids have progressed to the fullblown gangster life during the Prohibition era (1930s) and the third, when the characters (the ones who are still alive, that is) are near the end part of their lives (late 1960s.)

The two main charcters are played by Robert De Niro (Noodles) and James Woods (Max) who are both excellent, and their performances are surely among the finest of their respective careers. De Niro has always been a favourite of mine (I seem to watch Taxi Driver once a year) while with James Woods, I find it hard to remember what I have seen him in (apart from his brilliant, seedy performance in Casino), but whenever I think of him these days, the first thing I think of is his cameo in The Simpsons working at the Kwik-e-Mart as research for some upcoming movie role. Goes to show what a massive cultural footprint The Simpsons has left, either that or how many times I have seen that particular episode of The Simpsons (it is one of my favourites)...

The only problem I had with the movie was that I got kinda confused toward the end, but maybe that's just me, a guy who can be a little slow sometimes, although I read that Leone originally had 10 hours of film that he edited down to 6 hours, and this was what he was satisfied with, so maybe it was that. Or maybe I just need to watch the movie again... I'll do that anyway, sooner or later, it was pretty damn great.

[I also learned that there was a 139-minute version released. I can only imagine how confusing/frustrating that one must have been.]

Schooled on Duck Soup

It seems I was blinkered with my review of Duck Soup, as I found out when I noticed I had a comment from Anonymous, who I want to thank for his well written reply, and for pointing out I mixed up Chico and Harpo, and that he didn't get mean about my ignorance:

"I think you missed the point with Duck Soup. It was a classic in irreverence. Chaos of thought as a a way to criticize and minimize over-blown self importance.

Groucho said what we would have liked to have said. Harpo (the mute, not Chico) pulled the straw out of the stuff shirts.
The stunts were over long and childish. The process behind them was a tribute to to those that couldn't do what they wanted to anyone. It was a time of worldwide depression. The haves and have nots were miles apart and the Marx Brothers were great levellers.

The movie had relevance within the context of the times and it was a stinging condemnation of the mistreatment of those that suffered most.

Try to watch it without looking for the humour by 21st century definition. Try to understand millions out of work and soup kitchens and death by starvation in a land of plenty. Poverty, homelessness, abuse of systems and so on.

A 1933 version of today without the jaundiced eye with which we spear everything.

I hated the Marx Brothers but I loved what the movie had to say.
I didn't laugh either."

Saturday, February 19, 2005

Duck Soup Torture Session

This afternoon I watched the Marx Brothers movie Duck Soup. I knew it was considered a classic, I'd seen it name-dropped a thousand times. It was time to find out what all the fuss was about.

Now the truth can be revealed.

The movie was made in 1933 and what was considered funny then is clearly not funny today. Example: On the back of the box cover, there is mention of the "famous sequences", like the lemonade stand. In this damn near interminable scene, two of the Brothers (Harpo and idiot Chico) torment a lemonade stand guy by taking his hat and switching it back and forth using some yawn-inducing sleight of hand. During these hat-swapping shenanigans, idiot Chico keeps lifting his leg so that the lemonade guy would unintentionally grab it. Funny? Sure, if you still think somebody making like they're gonna pass you something, only to snatch it away at the last moment, and repeating this 20 times, is funny.

Another "famous scene" was the mirror scene, where Groucho thinks he is looking in a mirror but really it is just another guy in the next room dressed the same and imitating his movements. I probably would have found this pure comedic genius when I was five years old, but watching it today, I groaned and checked the dvd display to see how much of this torture remained.

And idiot Chico, the mute Brother with the constant idiot grin and the bicycle horns jammed in his pants? Don't get me started. Too late. When the man was eating popcorn - are you ready for the comedic genius? - Chico slaps it out of his hands! And he sneakily cuts everything, like a guy is smoking a cigar and when he's not looking Chico snips half of it off. That's funny! No, it's not. But the guy turns around and Chico whips out his scissors and snips off the bottom of the guy's coat. That's gotta be funny! No, it's not, really, not if you watch it yourself and after it happens you find yourself not laughing. That must mean it was not funny. See, if something is funny, you laugh at it. But if it's not, you don't. You know how it works.

Maybe Duck Soup was funny in 1933. Maybe it was funny in 1953. Maybe some people still find it funny today. I scratch my head at that possibilty, and it is completely beyond my comprehension.

Duck Soup is the unfunniest comedy I have ever seen. A 66-minute torture session.

Friday, February 18, 2005

A Survey of Some Recent Blogs

For this experiment, I am going randomly from blog to blog and reporting briefly on the contents:

1. A girl just got back her exam results and she passed. *zzz*
2. A guy from Singapore and his blog looks spectacular but contains no writing. No writing whatsoever. Thank you, come back when you think of something...
3. A girl writes about travelling around Europe. But wait, isn't travelling interesting? Sure, it can be, but this blog is not.
4. God Almighty, here is one of those *ad blogs* I've recently noticed. At first, these things look like a regular blog, but you quickly realise it is only stupid, insidious advertising, with paragraphs like this one: "onitsuka tiger shoes; Read onitsuka tiger shoes product reviews, or select the onitsuka tiger shoes size, width, and color of the onitsuka tiger shoes of your choice." Perpetrators of these ad blogs must be siezed and thrown into the lion pit at your nearest zoo.
5. A guy who keeps saying how much he likes coffee. Thank you, now get back to managing your goddam Starbucks store, your behaviour is unprofessional and your customers are waiting.
6. ... There is almost nothing on this one, just some words that appear to be Danish, scattered across the top of an appalling pastel colour scheme.
7. ... How about I simply quote a line from his blog description: "This blog is also being selectively posted to my portfolio group on Yahoo, where my work in fiction, poetry/lyrics, art and other media is also showcased for member feedback and private/professional networking" PLEASE TAKE YOUR HAND OFF IT, SIR, AND STEP AWAY FROM THE COMPUTER.
8. A blog with Arabic writing and pictures of young middle-eastern men drinking alcohol together. Listen, we don't want pictures of you, we want pictures of your girlfriends, and sisters, naked.
9. Some young dude whining about how he sprained his ankle in a cross country race. Aw. Want a tissue? Mummy be here soon and kiss the boo-boo.
10. God Almighty, a YOUNG CHRISTIAN's blog, writes like his spine has been removed and has the nerve to ask people to click on his ads. I feel sick. NEXT!
11. I don't believe it. A quality blog. There is yet hope for this blog world: If Charlie Parker Was a Gunslinger, There'd Be a Whole Lot of Dead Copycats

Thursday, February 17, 2005

Chucky Was Fucky

Today was a black day, friends, for today I saw a movie so bad I ground my teeth through the whole damn thing. And I felt disgust with myself for coming up with my *you buy your ticket, you stay for the entire movie no matter how bad* theory that I wrote about in a recent post (Elektra 8 Feb 2005).

You want to know what the movie was, and I'll tell you - it was Seed of Chucky.

Understand that I LOVE horror movies. The very first movie on videotape I ever saw was The Evil Dead and that experience was such a high point in my life, I have considered Sam Raimi a GENIUS ever since. Another example of a good horror movie? 28 Days Later (2003) I believe I know a good horror movie when I see one. Seed of Chucky was not a good horror movie. It was an abomination, a cinematic abortion, inexplicably displayed on a large screen for people to see.

Let's take a look at what was wrong with it, shall we?

The son of Chucky and Tiffany had a ridiculous face and an annoying accent. The dialogue was dumb and not funny. The story was idiotic, at no point was it compelling. The rare gore scenes were unimaginitive and boring. Every few minutes I felt like throwing a rotten tomato at the screen. Nobody laughed, not even once. My teeth hurt from grinding them. I couldn't get up and leave because of my idiotic rule. The projector did not break down like I was praying for it to do. The movie went for 80 minutes - 70 minutes too long.

If you have seen this movie, I would be very interested to know if you found it as objectionable as I did. Did you grind your teeth? Click on *Comments* below. Thank you.

Wednesday, February 16, 2005

A Writer!

Last night went to bed having written in here. I really felt like I was on a roll. Lights off, thinking, I have missed this, this electric restlessness before sleep comes. Lying awake twitching with big plans, feeling strong, vibrating with enormous potential. A writer! Yes, sir, no doubt about it, I can write all right! I assemble my words with supreme care and deliberation, and they have power to devastate, and move, and break hearts. There seems to be no doubt that those words will outlive me, and continue to be read hundreds, even thousands of years into the future. Not by multitudes, no, maybe not. By a small, discerning few. Yes, I can hope for that! Why not? Naturally, it's not purely out of love for the other humans, those present and future men and women who will gain immeasurably from those words. There is some consideration of self there, yes, I'll admit it. A man needs some validation for his life, to know he is giving, and not simply taking. And maybe he can't get it solely from working in a mailroom.

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

Half Day

I had a half day off work today. Let me explain these half days. At my work we are on Flexitime. We have to rack up 140 hours every four weeks. It's called Flexitime because it's flexible - you can come in earlier or later in the morning, and likewise you can stay later or leave earlier in the afternoon, so long as you rack up those 140 hours every four weeks. These are called Flex periods. Every Flex period you get a Flexi day, which means you can take a day off. You don't get paid for it, but you make it up in time. Most people take whole days, but I like to take two half days. It feels like I'm getting two for one. You see, when I have a whole day off, like on the weekend, I sleep in until midday anyway. I can't get out of bed early if I don't have to. So with two half days, twice a month I haul myself out of bed, go to work, spend the morning doing the mail (which goes by fast since it is pretty much non-stop action) then I'm outta there at lunch time, and have the rest of the day to myself.

So, today I had one of those half days, and what I've been doing lately is taking 'em on Tuesdays because Tuesdays are BUDGET TUESDAY! at the cinema, and since I quit the videogames, and naturally had to replace this habit with another one, and since my last cinema-going phase was about a year ago, I have replaced the games with movies (and books, but for now I'm talking about movies.)

And so, once I'd tied up the bulging mailbags and hauled 'em downstairs for my comrades at Australia Post to collect, I went back up to the office and bid a hearty farewell to the boss and my COLLEAGUE. My COLLEAGUE wished me an enjoyable afternoon while my boss made some grunting sound. She always seems to make a point of it to make sure you understand that she is not pleased about it, you going home so early in the day, even if it's your goddam right and hard worked for privelege. But what the fuck, I don't care, I walk out of the office grinning my damn head off. I walk into the sunshine, spread my arms, the sky is bluer than I can remember. There's a bird up there, flying through that blue sky, and it's free, and so am I!

Oh yeah, I started off aiming to write about the movie I saw on my half day off. Well, I saw Hide and Seek, a thriller starring Robert De Niro and Dakota Fanning. They are father and daughter, the mother kills herself by slicing her wrists in the bath, then father takes daughter to live somewhere else, because the little girl, you see, she didn't handle her mother's death very well, and maybe a new location will help. In the big new house in the woods, the girl gets an imaginary friend called Charlie, and Charlie has got it in for her father, wants to make his life hell, because Charlie believes the father was responsible for mother's death. I'm not giving anything away, if you're worried, and haven't seen it yet. What I will say was that for most of it, I was into it, wondering what the hell was going on, what the hell is Charlie, real or fantasy? Then it got near the end, and you found something out, and it felt disappointing. It could have been more.

But hell, I was in a cinema, early on a workaday afternoon! I'd see the movie again tomorrow if I could leave, to see it, halfway through the day.

Monday, February 14, 2005

Mercy Hug

This morning I walked to work, and on the way I passed a group of people, in their twenties I'd guess, looked like they just come out of some nightclub. I got past them and I hear a girl's voice, "Hey! Excuse me!' I thought it might be aimed at me, but I pretended not to hear and kept on. Then it came again, 'Hello! Excuse me!' Well sir, I had to turn around this time, I was caught you see. It was a girl all right, no doubt about it. Blond hair, big smile, big in other places, the right ones. She said, 'They told me to give you a Valentine's Day hug!' What did I say? I don't know, something like, "Oh!' Pretty smooth, huh? I went to hug her, to get it over and done with. It felt like a trap. Then she just had her arms out, like she was gonna start flapping them. Maybe she changed her mind. No, here she comes. We hug, a pretty clumsy one, and then it doesn't matter what she looks like. I could be hugging a cousin.

That's it. Show's over. She goes back to her laughing friends and I continue on my way to work.

Actually, it's not over, because I immediately start to go over it in my head. You see, I know there is always an angle to these things...

I must look miserable. I must look pretty damn miserable, and they saw it, and told the girl to give me a Valentine's Day hug. That would be it. It would be a laugh, and pretty amusing, and might cheer the miserable bastard up a little. And what about what the girl said? 'THEY told me to give you a hug' They did it. They told you. You didn't think of it. You wouldn't have thought of it. You just would have watched me walk by, or maybe not even seen me. I didn't come out of a nightclub. I'm walking to work. I was just trying to walk to work in peace, with my obvious misery, and what do I get? A mercy hug. I think of Jacob in A Simple Plan - the girl's friends dare the girl to go out with Jacob for the summer. It's not the same, but is kind of the same. It's condensed into a minute. But Jacob only got to hold hands, at least I got a hug. Maybe it's not so terribly depressing after all!

Saturday, February 12, 2005

Guy and His Girlfriend

There was a guy and I would go over to his house. Every time I was there, his girlfriend was always fooling around with him, right in front of me. He tried to hide it, but I could see it made him a little uncomfortable. Sometimes he would look over and smile at me helplessly, as if to say, 'She's very affectionate, you see? That's all.'

She was incredibly hot. Time seemed to stand still when I watched the bones jump around under the skin of her shoulder blades. And her eyes were enormous, and the whites of them were pure and white.

One day when I was there, she started doing it to me. She jumped on my legs and put her arms around my neck. She looked at me for a long time, and I saw her mouth open very slowly. She was breathing and I heard it, and then I could feel it on my face. She started kissing me, then pulled away and asked if I wanted to come into the toilet and watch her pee.

He got mad, and jumped up and said, 'These are all code words for things!'

I felt bad then, and sick, but couldn't help myself. I was under her spell.

Friday, February 11, 2005

At Andre's, Then Home

9:00pm. At Andre's place in Alexandria. Friday night. End of working week. Finished bottles of cider. Now onto beer. Playing drums. Listening to loud, hammering insane drum 'n' bass. Some melody in there, manages somehow to crawl out of the maelstrom, the assault.

Try to write something else. Can't do it. Frozen like a damn glacier, massive, moving an inch a year. I can see you through a mile of ice. Vague and blurry. Disappearing. Can't hear, fuck, can't think. Hear atoms buzzing in my ear. See white. Nothing. i'M FROZEN.

11:42pm. I'm home, back in my small room, my cell, my shoebox, my home. Everything is familiar, my piles of stuff, my books, my shelves overloaded, everything I see I know, and I'm starting to relax. Alone, I control everything here. The king of my tiny castle. Only bugs and insects move around, and I nod at them, Yes yes, you may pass unmolested. You are free, tonight, as I am.

Thursday, February 10, 2005

Sky Captain

I pulled a fast one at work, it was pretty funny. I say to the boss, 'Look here boss, I gotta leave at 3:30 today, OK?' She says 'Oh you got an appointment?' What the fuck business is it of hers anyway? Some nerve, bitch. 'Yeah, I got an appointment.' Later, boss walked out of the office and my COLLEAGUE she laugh and say, "You don't have an appointment really, do you?' I laugh and say, "Sure man, I got an appointment to see me a movie! Can't see that four o'clock movie if I don't get outta here at 3:30, can I?" We both roll on the damn floor laughing our asses off.

I get to the movie, walk a mile since they knocked down walls and joined three cinemas together, finally get to the cinema and the screen is the size of my TV at home. What the fuck? I get mad, I'm gonna do something about it, somebody gotta pay. I fantasise about doing different things, but really at the end of my insane fantasy I don't do anything, can't do anything but sit there, boiling at that little screen. My eyes roll around in their sockets and I twitch and jerk around in my seat, sweating. Phew! 'TURN ON THE FUCKIN' MOVIE ALREADY! I'M WAITING! SKIP THE ADS PLEASE!'

Finally the movie starts, they didn't skip the ads for me like I asked, those bastards. There's hardly anybody in the theatre, but two idiots sit right in front of me, some idiot guy and his dumb girlfriend. I pull a hair out of his head and he jumps like he been stung in the ass by an ant. His head spins around like Linda Blair. I didn't do it, why you lookin' at me? He scratches his head and looks back at that tiny screen. I pull a hair out of his girlfriend's head and she goes a bit wacky, her head starts spinning and she hops up and down in her seat. I change seats, loudly complaining that somebody is pulling hairs around here.

The movie - Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow - was pretty good, it looked great, retro-futuristic style, and there were giant robots. I sat right up the front to make the screen seem bigger, it worked, it seemed a lot bigger.

The movie ended and I walked home.

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

Didn't Get Blown Up Today

Today I went over to my usual place for lunch - Mr Kebabs in Market City. I found a table and there was a woman sitting nearby. She was in black from head to toe, and I mean literally from head to damn toe because she was wearing a BURQA. I could see nothing but her eyes. You telling me that kinda shit don't give you the creeps? I hesitated before sitting down. You would, too. Pictures started flashing in my head, pictures of explosions, and ripped up, roasted bodies. What if she has bombs strapped to her body, under all that black cloth? At the same time, it felt stupid to think like this. Why am I thinking like this? It must be the TV news. Watch enough of that shit and you're suspicious of every damn thing. I sat down. What would it feel like, if she had bombs and she let 'em off? Would it hurt a lot? Would my ass bleed? Would I die quickly? I looked at other people. They were all doing their own thing. Playing it cool. Oh well, I guess it's OK. She's probably not a terrorist, after all. I guess...

I ate my lunch and didn't get blown the fuck up.

Three hours later, back at work, I was in the museum, descending in the glass elevator and looked out, and there she was. All this black with eyes in there somewhere. Right there, looking at the big old steam train. The elevator kept going and I dropped down two more floors. I couldn't see her anymore.

My ass didn't get blown up today.

Tuesday, February 08, 2005


It's 10:00pm and still 29 degrees (84 degrees Fahrenheit.) That's funny! I'm sitting here, sweating like crazy in my boxer shorts and I can see how funny it is, that it is still so damned hot, at this late hour.

Today I saw another movie after work. I finally saw a dud. Yessir, I finally saw me a dud, Dudley. It was Elektra. Got Daredevil out a few days ago, and thought it was gonna suck, but I was surprised, it was actually pretty good, and Ben Affleck did a good job. The only way I can see somebody not liking Daredevil would be if they were a fan of the comics, so were precious about it, which I'm not, so I ain't. I wouldn't know if they were faithful to the comics, and don't much care, either.

Anyway, since Elektra is at the cinemas now, and sort of follows on from Daredevil, I thought I'd check it out. (The alternative was Alexander, which I want to see, but at three hours, after a long day stuffing mailbags and flipping files, that running time was too intimidating.)

Fifteen minutes into the movie I was jerking around in my seat figuring an exit strategy. Maybe I could go next door. Maybe Alexander is playing in there. No, I paid to see the damn thing and by God I'll sit here and watch it, no matter how terrible it is. But it started off boring as hell. This is a superhero movie, superhero movies aren't supposed to be this boring. Then something happened. Elektra fought some bad guys. She whacked one of 'em with her knives, and he fell against a wall, then he exploded and disappeared in a green cloud. What the fuck? Yep, that's exactly what happened. It felt like watching some lame soap opera, with two warring, rich as fuck families, and all of a sudden Ridge (or Blaine, or some character with a ridiculous name like that) blasts a hole in a wall using some kind of heat vision.

There was a group of supervillains, one could move around real fast, he was pretty boring, another had animal tattoos and they came to life, that was lame. The only one I liked was the woman who poisoned everything. She walked through a forest with her hands stetched out, in slow motion, and around her leaves and branches withered and turned black. That scene was pretty good, along with the one where she gives Elektra a long deathkiss, and black leaves are falling in slowmo around them. But a few kind of cool scenes can not save a movie, they never could and they never will.

Oh yeah, and about halfway through the movie, a guy in front of me and to the right got up and walked out, and he didn't come back. There were only maybe a dozen people in the audience, and that guy was the only one in front of me, so I wouldn't be surprised if others walked out, too. And I wouldn't blame them, really, but the way I see it, you pay for a ticket and you stay there, right through until the end, for better or worse. You made your choice and you oughtta live with it. Don't pike out, like a goddamn wuss. What? Can't you handle responsibility for your actions? Do some research then, next time, before you buy a fuckin movie ticket. You know what? You make me sick.

Monday, February 07, 2005

Boxing Night

I went out tonight and saw a movie, Million Dollar Baby. I read somewhere a few days ago that Clint Eastwood is seventy something. He sure is in damn good shape for seventy something, and here he is still making movies, but not only acts in 'em, but writes 'em, directs 'em, and this one he wrote the music for, too. The man is an inspiration.

You may know that this is a movie that deals with boxing. Well, in one of the boxing scenes, Maggie (the Hilary Swank character) gets punched in the face so hard her nose breaks. Her manager Frankie (Clint Eastwood) rushes over to inspect the damage, he tells her that her nose is broken. She wants to keep fighting, so Frankie re-sets her nose right there. This scene really got to some of the folks in the cinema I was at, you should have heard them gasping and groaning, but I'll admit it, I even jerked around in my seat. It wasn't an easy scene to watch, that's for sure.

The movie also included one of the most repulsive characters I've ever seen in a movie - Maggie's mother. Pure ugly, in shape and spirit. Hell, she's a monster. It's horrible and depressing to imagine, the woman is Maggie's own mother, and the feeling we have for Maggie is almost too much to bear.

I can't write anymore about it. I have to think more on it.

Rave Party With Glo-stix (see previous post) Posted by Hello

Sunday, February 06, 2005

Professional Glo-stix Salesmen

Professional Glo-stix Salesman Andre Posted by Hello
Every two or three months my brother puts on a *party* somewhere in Sydney, and me and my pal Andre are just the kind of honest and hard-working fellas he needs to man his glo-stix stand.

Last night's party (Hyperspeed) was out in Penrith, a 45-minute drive west of the city, in a skate centre. The sign above the front door reads: SKATE AT OWN RISK. Last night they should have replaced it with one that read: RAVE AT OWN RISK, because at least two kids threw up on the dancefloor/skating rink. But that happened later on.

Andre and his girlfriend Cheryl and her daughter Sierra rolled up at my place at 8:00pm. They were early, so I gulped down a beer I had just cracked, got my stuff together and we were off. On the way we stopped at a service station for chewing gum, chocolate bars, soft drinks and cigarettes.

We arrived at the venue a little after 9:00 so we had almost an hour to set up. This is a critical moment because we get to check out the venue, where the toilets are and what they are like (this venue sucks on this count - a short pisstrough and one cubicle), is there an outdoor area, a coat check, a DJ setlist, does the shop sell Chup-a-Chups... things that the kids are gonna be asking us all night. It's also when we find out what we have to sell besides regular glo-stix. Last night we also had some more fancy sticks that you take out of the packet, unscrew the tube, put three little batteries in, and when you press the button the thing sort of glows, looks kinda purple with glitter in there, but when you wave it back and forth you see red green and blue bars in the air. There was also a small spiky rubber ball and when you squeezed it, it started flashing green and red. And we had some t-shirts to sell. "HYPERSPEED - WE TAKE SPEEDING VERY SERIOUSLY" We also get our money, our float, set up. This is where Andre's Mr Fix-it skills come in handy, because we don't get anything to keep the money in, so Andre's job is to make one out of cardboard boxes, and you can see his fine work in the photo.

So we're all set, ten o'clock rolls around and the kids start bouncing in. The music is already booming out of gigantic speakers, those kids want to jerk their bodies, but they need glowing neon tubes to wave around at the same time, and we have them. Step right up! Step right up!

Kids come and buy our glowing crap, mostly they are cool. 'I'll have a blue one, and a red one... no, make that a blue and a green.' 'That's ten bucks.' 'Cool.' Then you get your hustler kids, who try to haggle the price down. The guys will do it, and if they seem OK, we'll cut 'em a deal, but some of these little fuckers... Like this one little bastard, he was with a group, a couple other guys, a couple girls, and they bought a bunch of stuff, so we cut the price. He came back, I'll have another one of these, five bucks right? I look at Andre, he says 'Yeah, they bought all that stuff before' OK, five bucks. But he came on back again and again. The little bastard aims to take advantage of the two dumb glo-stick-selling suckers. I watch him. He's chewing fast, his face twitching, he's like a rat about to run back to a hole with his prize. Our faces are frozen, watching him. We cut him off. He realises the game is up. Unbelievably, he comes back moments later, jamming his battery operated glo-stick in our faces, one of those fancy ones, Can you give me a spare battery? He must have opened the damn thing up and fiddled with it, dropping one of the three little batteries out of it. He's gotta be kidding. You gotta be kidding. We don't have any spare batteries. My face must tell him I mean it, and he walks away, dramatically miserable, the poor little guy.

On the other hand, these girls come and ask us for some favour and we can't do it fast enough. We are at their mercy, completely and utterly. We're gonna say no to these angels? Hardly.

It doesn't take long for the first cute girl to come up to our table, wanting glo-stix. God Almighty, she's only wearing a bikini top. I look down and she's got these tiny shorts, there's barely anything to 'em. She's bending forward, getting the money out of her purse, I'm trying not to look for more than a second or two at a time. I feel ridiculous. I'm twenty years older than her. When she sees me, she sees some *old* guy, and if she caught me staring, she would be disgusted. What an old pervert, no wonder he works here, selling glo-stix. The sleazy old fucker. I smile like an idiot, take her money and hand her the glo-stix. She bounces off. I turn and look at Andre, he's looking at me, and he knows, I don't have to say anything. Hell, he's four years older than me.

But she's just the first one. There's more to come. At every one of these things there are three or four of those girls. A large part of our night is spent comparing notes, and we usually agree on them, those three or four girls. We know it's sad, it's torture, and torments us, but we laugh about it. What else can you do?

Saturday, February 05, 2005

Off to Work at Rave Party

No time to write nothin' tonight, I'm off to work at another of my brother's rave parties. Gotta sell those damn glo-stix! I'll write about it tomorrow.

Friday, February 04, 2005

Crispin Glover Mask

I woke up this morning, and remembered a fragment from a dream. I had a mask that transformed my face into the face of Crispin Glover. It wasn't a Crispin Glover mask, but some blank kind of thing I put on my face, and it stuck there, and my face turned into Crispin Glover's face.

Why Crispin Glover? I know why. Here's why...

Andre's girlfriend Cheryl loaned me a movie recently, It was called Willard. She said, "You'll like it, Crispin Glover is in it." I asked her, "Is that Danny Glover's brother?" She said, "No, he's a white guy." But as soon as I saw him in the movie, I knew him, how could I ask if he was Danny Glover's brother? I'd seen him in movies, and I knew I liked him, but couldn't remember what I'd seen him in.

Anyway, Willard is about a strange guy who lives in a mansion with his sick mother. He has a job and is regularly tormented and humiliated by his boss. He doesn't stand up for himself, he takes the abuse and walks back to his desk. We instantly have sympathy for him, we're on his side and all we want is for him to take a stand against his rotten boss. One day his mother tells him she heard rats in the basement and he's gotta get rid of 'em. When he puts sticky paper all over the basement floor, in the middle of the night he hears a commotion, so he goes down there and sees a white rat with half its body stuck to the sticky paper, so its front legs are trying to run, but the back half is stuck on the paper. But he can't bear to kill the rat, so he gets some kind of liquid chemical and uses it to melt the glue and set the rat free. The rat becomes his only friend. But the rat has a family, so he feeds them. Before long he's got dozens of rats and he starts training them.

Well, that's all I'm gonna write about it, so I'll just say that Crispin Glover's performance was so goddam awesome and intense, I couldn't stop thinking about it for days. And the fact that my boss is some kind of female version of Willard's boss made me think about it all the more.

So here's to Crispin Glover, and to my Crispin Glover dream mask, and to tracking down every movie he's ever appeared in!

Thursday, February 03, 2005

Closed Circuit

I was in the security gatehouse at work, had to ask the security guys about some couriered parcel. They were preoccupied, staring in the direction of the little blue screens that showed various locations around the building, grainy images from the closed circuit cameras. The one they were most interested in was aimed at a space between two buildings, and there were two figures in there, hunched over, fiddling with something. I forgot about the parcel for a minute and joined them, watching.

"Check this shit out," said one of them, not bothering to turn around. Mark.

"Fuckin' junkies," said the other. Ron.

Two junkies in a crack between some buildings, fiddling with their needles and spoon and water and powder. They thought they had some privacy. Six eyes drilled into their backs.

"They're gonna whack some smack into their skinny arms," I said, my eyes intently focussed on the small screen.

"Huh," grunted Mark.

This was a highlight of their day. Some action.

The two figures fumbled around a bit more, then we saw one of them move around, the head went down and a hand made a movement in the middle of a stretched arm.

"Oh yeah, that feels good doesn't it, mate? Huh huh huh..." laughed Ron, and turned around to look at me and Mark. He made his eyeballs roll up into his head.

We looked back at the screen and watched the other junkie hit it. Pretty entertaining. Real reality TV.

The junkies got up then, kind of in slow motion, and stumbled out of view of the camera.

I remembered something.

"Hey, did either of you guys sign for a courier about an hour ago?"

Ron and Mark turned around and looked at me, their eyes glazed and blank.

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

Mosquito Bites

It's summer here, which means mosquito season. Those bastards are out in force. Usually I don't light a mosquito coil until ten o'clock, so that it will burn through the whole night. Well, I learned my lesson on this score about two weeks ago, when one or more of the little fuckers staged a successful early evening attack around my ankles. All the flesh between my ankles and knees was covered in bites, and mosquito bites itch the fuck out of me, and I don't leave them alone, I scratch the hell out of them. So a few days after that, my legs are a mess. It looked real bad, real ugly. I had to go somewhere with people, an Australia Day BBQ, and it was hot, so I wanted to wear my long shorts and thongs, but those ugly bites were still visible, even though the shorts cover half of them. But there are so many. So I put band-aids over the worst ones, I had to use quite a few band-aids, and it looked pretty strange - what the hell has he got all those band-aids there for? - but I figured it was better than the BBQ people seeing those ugly red bites, and it was hot. I'll be damned if they was gonna stop me from wearing my long shorts.

Tuesday, February 01, 2005

My Boss is Insane

Walking to work this morning, near Chinatown, I saw a tiny, middle-aged Asian woman with a t-shirt that read 'Kiss me before my boyfriend comes back.' I felt like saying how about I fuck you in the ass before your stupid boyfriend comes back, how would you like that? But I'll bet if I tried that, she'd have the law after me, bitch. These novelty t-shirts are gonna get somebody in trouble.

Later at work, I was feeding letters into the postmeter. That thing really sends those letters zipping through, it's hypnotic. One of these days I'm gonna get my finger caught in there and it will rip my hand off and send it through, to come out the other end postmarked, ready to be shipped off someplace far away from my wrist.

I went back to my desk to flip some files, and the next thing I know my boss is squawking about something. What the fuck? What is it this time? Next minute she's zooming around the office, demanding to know what our TNT account number is. She was hysterical. It was pretty amusing. Does she know what she looks like? How ridiculous? Probably not. Anyway, I said 'hey, hey, look, I'll get it, it's right here'... Her face was all screwed up like a small, insane child, mid-tantrum. I pointed to the account number, 'there it is, right there.'
She said (get this) 'You don't have to be like that...', like she was hurt.

I didn't have to be like that. Why did I be like that?

Insane fucking bitch.