BOO! afwaid yet?

O, HAI! dis mask frum Mehico in Death Shop rite heer in town, a place in front of which i spend hours fogging up their windows wif mai breaf: 'The only 'Design your Life and Death' shop in the UK, Heaven on Earth is an internationally famous, award-winning celebration shop, watched over by Paula Rainey Crofts and Simon Dorgan.



'Heaven on Earth, bespoke funeral arrangers and gift shop, was born in 1995 as a result of a misheard wish. Simon thought he heard me (Paula) say: "I want to open a 'coffee' shop", but I had actually said "a 'coffin' shop"...'

yup. i'ze'd be weering red skully mask tonight but i gotz someone to akshually (and hopefully) shock & awe the Uni students who'll be out and all dressed up. as every year, my fave theme comes to mind (going as meh but only moar so) but if all goes well, tonight shall be different cause i've finally found some sucker to pick up the s- i mean, i found some very nice, agreeable dude whose sensa yooma's kinda similar to mine (i.e., 'sick') so here's hoping we can pull it off successfully (i'll get into that later). fun fact: up until i came up with my brilliant costume idea, if my Halloween attire could be summed up in a catchy phrase, it would've been called Recently Raped (think beyond holey fishnets and black eyes). nb: no offence intended towards anyone since i have the right to dress like that, having been raped myself, but i digress

moving right along, why am i still stuck in semi-LOL Cat speek? apart from my main purpose – annoying people – it's for teh same reazin i sed teh other day – the less ppl reedn' meenz the moar i can haz kon- err, kann... fukkit: KAHN-FIH-DINZ to truly open up and spill all the disgusting shit in my lief (that which's happening and that which was told meh) and the best part is, others' reputations just might be ruined (she said with something approaching glee). i envision my Schadenfreude Quotient soaring as the hordes run me outta town for busting their balloons, their ideals and their previous illusions of some of their heroes but hey, someone's gotta do it and i choo choo choose meh. and don't forget: y'all kin thank me later. :-)

oh wait: need i say i'm only kidding? let's pretend i'm not though (moar fun) cause anyway, dere's stil an uncomfortably large number of ppl readin here for me to really open up with impunity and i'ze waitin for teh man as well as the day when i can do that very thing. WHOA, NELLIE! heds are so gonna roll (and mine'll be teh first but by that point, i won't give a damn). shit... where was i? right, Halloween. i think. maybe. anyway. *cough* i know! i'll blame it all on my senility complete with my now very old chorus of 'i don't remember' (she offered not unwisely).



OK, since it's obvious i haven't the slightest idea of WTF i'm on about, the following is a small shitload of space-takers, time-wasters and other assorted stuff i feel like posting in order to avoid the point and keep excelling at my fave thing: wasting tiem. BTW, dunno how it happeneded but somehow i got my work maileded in a few minutes before my 09,00 deadline today (yay!) but for the first time EVar, i faileded to proofread mai proofreading (boo!) so by the tiem i'ze dun futzing about here, i just mite bee outta a job. i shall ignore that eventuality for now (cuz iz too laet to fret) so without further ado, on with the show (tentatively titled): I'll See Youse in Mai Dreemz cause sure as shit, i ain't gonna be seeing any of the below in meatspace, no matter how much i wanna.











and finally, pitteh teh poor kitteh (oy fuckin' vey; 100 points off any street cred i've got left, just for saying plus extra points off for all those Summers spent reading my parents' old Reader's Digests, especially the articles on 'How To Increase Your Wordpower'):


naturally, as is my wont, i saved my faves for last.



Chris contributed this next. *snigger*



and the scenario for which i've been waiting my entire fuckin' life. in all actuallity, i don't think it'll happen tonight but hey, y'never noes. (me: 'pleeh, dammit, pleeh, Pleeh, PLEEEEEH!!! taek meh awaaaaay!)



scanning up and down the page, it's obvious i have no idea what i'm talking about (more of an obviousity than any other 'normal' day) and like the proverbial kitchen sink, i threw in random LOLCats wherever in a futile effort to be witty and simultaneously take up moar space and moar of yer tiem, but guess whut? i FAILz. wait; as punishment i get 1,000 lashes and an endless reading of Scripture from the Book of Larry? kewl! errr... (third tiem i've seddit this week): me go now.

wait, i ain't leaving yet; not before i tell tonight's Halloween costume scenario. i've told it many times before (most recently on Twitter some weeks back) but never got any reaction so i figure people are either bored or hopefully so shocked, they're tongue-tied (i'm betting on 'bored'). OK, diddit once in NYC and it was a rousing success, judging by the looks of disgust and contempt on people's faces. and the things they threw at us but that's a tale in itself.

here's the backstory (leaving out the bit that when JFK got shot, it was a pivotal point in my young life and opened the floodgates to mountains of trouble). anyway, ages back i walked by an East Village thriftshop and snagged a knockoff of that now infamous pink Chanel suit with pillbox hat, exactly like the one Jackie O was wearing 22. november 1963. i had to have it cause i knew that owning it would give me 'ideas' (always a dangerous enterprise).



cutting to the chase, for the Best Costume EVar, one artfully paints the lap of the skirt with phoney blood (not ketchup or you'll stink of tomatoes all night) and after finding a willing partner whose hair is combed somewhat like JFK's used to be, you force him into a suit and tie after devising phoney brains (mayonnaise and half-cooked or soaked pasta's excellent, mixed with a small amount of grey clay or Play-Doh so the entire thing adheres to the back of his head and ideally drips down his shoulders). if one's really lucky, there's enough money left over to rent a 1964 black Lincoln Continental and if you happen to have yet another friend whose sense of humor's just as sick in the head as yours, he acts the chauffeur, driving your asses around with the Lincoln's top down.

we did this on 5th Avenue one Halloween way ages back, cause they have this huge costume party and parade in Washington Square Park every year. (nb: WSP's at the very bottom, where 5th begins.) as we slowly drove down the Avenue, the onlookers' shocked gasps were more than audible whilst we preened our heads off. but pretty soon, the gasps turned to horrified shouting (like 'GET OFF THE STREET!' as well as 'WE'RE CALLING THE COPS!') and some of the crowd threw things at us, things like half-empty Gatorade bottles, orange juice containers, full cans of Diet Coke and one idiot upended an entire trashcan in front of our rented Lincoln, in a futile effort to stop us. when the police arrived they were inclined to write us a citation, something along the lines of inciting a riot, but legally speaking, they couldn't. so we were only ordered to drive to the nearest garage and remove our costumes. and we did and stuck em in the trunk. the funniest thing about it was, the stupid cops were so outraged they failed to search us – whew! if they had, they'd have been able to arrest us for possession cause we'd brought refreshments to keep on refuelling all night long.

but who knew that New Yorkers had absolutely no sense of humor? i mean, we were only mocking like the biggest thing that'd happened in recent history (if 'recent' means within the twenty years prior to that Halloween cause we did it in the early 80s). looking back on it now, i'm proud and pleased we pulled it off to the extent we did and i'm so hoping Brits get it cause if they don't, it'll be yet another FAIL. but that's cool, i'ze used to FAIL. in fact, my entire lief can be summed up by FAIL, but hey, yet again, i digress. *sneery smirk*

anyway, back to that glorious night (that is, before the NYPD showed up), to say heads turned and groans were audible would be the understatement of understatements. anyway, believe me when i tell you that never have i seen so many people disgusted and offended in so short a period of time. my fave bit of our liddle show was renacting this brief scene, straight outta Zapruder, something i got to do like five or six times before we were stopped. at the time, Lenny Bruce had a shtik about that day in Dallas in which he'd go 'You couldn't hear her, but Jackie was screaming "Get me the fuck outta here!"...'



'Back and to the left... back and to the left...' LOL, mission accomplished! yes, i already know i have the poorest of taste and judgment so please, if you wanna dis meh, think of sump'n original cause i've been hearing the 'poor taste' moan for most of my life and it's always bored meh, beginning when my mother seddit the first time. BTW, if it makes any difference to anyone, this event (the JFK cover-up) was pretty much crucial AFAIC, that which impacted on me most during my formative years and helped make me the disconsulate, disgrunted and depressed person i am today, but that's a whole 'nother story. *sigh*

LOL, happy Halloween! *evil*

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i can haz moar LOL Cats? pleeh?

woke up this morning dreading my day: apart from getting down to business with my next deadline due tomorrow at 09,00 (means another all-nighter but i don't care), i must yet again, venture into meatspace and commune with humans. this is sump'n to which i'll never be accustomed and so always puts me in a foul mood. and so, being the man i am, i shall wallow in my usual behavior when confronted with something distasteful to me.

so i'm doing what i usually do when i'm feeling crap: taking it out on others (hey! works for meh). first thing that springs to mind are all those who've threatened to quit reading here, thanks to hating teh kitteh and practically begged me 'Enough with the damn LOLCats'. it's so obvious, these (let's be nice and call em) 'people' don't know me very well cause i don't take too kindly to threats. in fact, whenever i'm threatened i pour whatever on even more so, ad nauseum. so grin and bear it or quit reading here cause it matters not (see two posts back, Don't Leaf Me This Way *cringe* and find out why i couldn't care less if nobody reads me. in brief, the less number of people i know're here, the more i'm apt to spill personal stuff).



moving right along, in a hopefully successful effort to chase off anyone who hasn't yet left (cause i'm so dying to tell all), i shall repost that which i hope's coming outta alla your ears and eyes, having seen them all so many times before. ready? here goes. *snigger* BTW, any complaints shall be immediately trashed so don't even bother.

wait, just found this on the site of my newest addition to my lit-tle list of Reservoir Dogs (David Niall Wilson's Macabre Ink). IMO it's brilliant, so spread it around (with proper attribution, if you please): Becuz It Must Be Passed On ... LOL Catz Prayerz ... fer U. thank you, David dude, what a dynamite way to wake up.

OK, back to my promise of reposting the same old shit in a hopefully successful effort to chase people off, thus giving me the confidence to tell all. *smirk* and boy, do i have 'all' to tell. :-) lemme see... uh, in all truth (and this is about the first time i'm saying this honestly): LOL, where to begin? i noes! y'can't go wrong with a film quote (unless it's been used to death, as i've done over the last few years).



gah, the Coen Brothers or at least those who put on Lebowski fest should be paying me for all the free publicity i've given to TBL over the years. as well as thanks for all those i've turned on to the flick. anyway, here's a variation of the above.



as usual, you'll find these reruns to be of a theme.



y'know, if teh drugz weren't illegal, i'd be left quite short of subject matter. nb: no 'short' jokes please; i've hearded em all and youse don't wanna bore me. or do you? no matter cuz I. Don't. Care. anyway, this next is the eternal question, sump'n of which i haven't yet gotten to the bottom (nor am i trying).



but very unlike the meh of meh, i offer you a helpful hint in answer to the above (really! for once, i'm not kidding):



truer words and all and y'all better believe it. as i've said so many times, it's best for me never to experience any 'happy' since when it's over, i'ze plunged back down to the darkest pit of depression EVar, a place in which those weaker than i would've immediately ended it all. but wait, what do i find here before me? iz sump'n i never seeded before, so all's well (if 'well' means suicidal ideation's temporarily forgotten).



and now back to the reruns. *sigh* hey, let's see YOU come up with something new and original on a daily basis, especially if your focus ain't on politics. believe you me, when i was reading pols 24/7, not only was i never in need of posting material but i had a brazillyun ideas for posts, all still filed away in my dot org folder. but now? when i only have my life with which to work? welp, whatcha see iz whatcha get and today yer gittin these retreads or whatever. reruns... triples or quadruples, akshually (in all honesty, i've posted some of these more than three, four times over the years but shhhh, don't rat me out).

in closing, i shall leave y'all with the following message which still stands true since the day i first made it.



hmmmm... *thinking* in all actuallity, please do mess with me cause i've got a shitload of trouble i'm eager to bestow on whichever deserving person. i've actually gotta lit-tle list of those who merit the honor, beginning with the liars (so stupid a thing to do cause they diddit in such a way it was easy-peasey to catch em out). to those in question, all i can say is, you made the typical mistake; the one those who don't know me in meatspace always make: you've underestimated me by totally believing my online persona. 'silly' isn't a sufficient descriptor. teh stupid's more like it. even dumber than dumb, they actually thought i'd not notice (meenz they thot they'd escape with impunity, thus lowering my prior estimation of their *cough* let's call it 'intelligence').

moving right along, it's time for me to tip but i'll leave y'all with yet another boring LOL.


WAIT! not teh one i meant. i meanded more meh of course, so here's Hunter as a cute liddle kitteh, taken when he was about 8 weeks old.



iz not dis next either but knowing it's coming outta everyone's ears, no way can i resist (yes twice in this post alone). y'all still here? WHAT SHALL IT TAKE TO CHASE Y'ALL OFF MY VIRTUAL LAWN, DAMMIT? anyway, if you don't dig it, sue my fat ass.



*sigh* what i really meant to say is only this, and yes again, iz meh stating the obvious, as is my wont.



yup, KTHXBAI... that is – for now. *threat mode* if all goes well (and it never does) i shall be back sometime before midnight, with sump'n resembling a real post. but for the good of meh, alla youse and ebrybody else, don'tcha hold me to it. in fact, take everything you might read here with a tonne of salt. i know it's out of character but that was actually just a helpful hint (she wheedled, hoping to be believed).

as they say in the States (and as i hear more and more frequently here, to my ever-increasing distress), 'Have a nice day!' – the thing of it is, they don't mean it but i certainly do. and if your nice day involves fucking those over who've fucked you up first, more power to you and that's from the bottom of my cold dead heart. LOL, i rilly rilly mean it but it's up to youse to ascertain whether or not i'm playing with you. and do keep in mind: i love to play. :-)

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non gratum anus rodentum

*snigger* FFS, it's a damn joke! moving right along, i used to really dig Twitter and the entire idea behind it. that is, until Twitter Grader came along, thus turning the entire thing into a sort of popularity contest, something against which i've always been, be it in meatspace or online. here's their website into which one can insert one's own user-name (or anyone else's) and voila! there's yer twitter grade.

wait – 'grade'. the very word reminds me of school and as i've said too many times, 'school' is the only area of life in which i excelled without ever trying. in fact, i became an alcoholic my first time round at Uni and still managed to be on the Dean's list each and every time. but yet again, i digress.

OK, the following are screenshots i've taken of my twitter grades. please pay close attention to the date (up top of my Dashboard) and nunber of users and my rank (in the 2nd orange bar). now i sorely regret i wasn't doing this on a daily basis since the beginning but still, better than nothing. ready? here goes. right, i'd suggest youse to click on each screenshot; doing so will open in another tab and all the liddle details will be easily read, plain as day. but up to y'all. far be it for me to force your hand or eye.



as can be clearly seen, on 2. october, my score was a lowly 44 and my rank was no. 19,417 out of 37,926. then, twitter's popularity began to grow and grow and grow, much to my dismay. two days later, i found that not only did my score go up a point but dig:



my ranking was 20,023 out of 39,353 others. OK, within a period of about 48 hours, like 2,000 more joined up. so far so good, i think. but seven hours later, lo and behold:



my grade was upped by a not-so-hugeass one point but dig: i was 19,805 out of 39,593. i sensed critical mass but for now, let's ignore that. OK, i waited three days only to find that once again, my grade was up to a still lowly 48.



at that point in time i was neither flattered nor pleased cause it seemed the buzz about twitter, just like that which happened to blogger was reoccurring again. 'the occasional acid flashback' totally doesn't explain this. dig the fine print: i was no. 19,646 out of 40,624. my heart sank as the above gave me proof positive that every asshole and his mother was jumping on the Twitter bandwagon. oh, joy. NOT.

but wait! on 9. october, i actually lost a point.



no weeping of copious tears or anything, just disgust as i read my stats: no. x2,571 (can't read the first figure due to the skull i failed to move outta the way) out of 43,061. and a few days later, on 13. october, i lost another:



OK, that's more like it: back on my usual downward spiral and landing at 46 which made me 29,878 out of 56,104. but what got me was that within four days, more than 13,000 joined up and got twit-graded. depressing.

15. october found me wiling away my time, still stuck at 46.



but once again, when reading the fine print, one finds i'm 30,878th out of an overall 56,907. judging by that which i've been told, most recently that i'm an 'acquired taste', all's well and good. having a bit of time to fritter away instead of doing the work for which i'm paid, i checked twit-grader again literally like a coupla hours later and was shocked to find this:



how the hell did that happen? up a point within two fucking hours? obviously someone's slipping and it ain't me. shit shit shit... my Filmic Tourette's rising to the occasion and for once, i don't wannit to nor do i think it amusing. *deep breaths* OK, here goes: 'Someone's playing with my dick and it ain't me'. *in a John Goodman voice* and with that shit outta the way, now i shall continue. whew!

i graded myself yet again the following evening and was amazed to see my twit-power up another two points.



i mean, WTF? 49? surely these people are joking with us (or at least, their algorithm's wrong). then, having deadlines up the wazoo and things in my calendar approaching a social life, i totally dint bother with twit-grader for nearly a week, especially cause i wanted to pay full attention to Chris whilst he visited me here. and i did (she said nearly happily).

the next time i checked was like six days later (22. october). here's the result:



yup, yet another rise to an unprecedented 63. and once again, i shall repeat: this means nothing cause if you dig the fine print, you'll see i'm 36,653th out of – hold onto yer hats – 104,917. i mean, big fuckin' whoop (yeah, i know i said that already but having a shite vocabulary and being senile, i tend to repeat myself muchly). hours later, i went up a point:



i'm no. 39,332 out of *sigh* 114,405. i attribute all these rising scores to the latecomers who drag the entire thing down and no, i'm still not impressed cause 5,5 hours later, another 100,000 or so joined up. morons (apart from my followers and those whom i follow in return).

26. october found me at my highest yet: 68.



by this time i'm sure y'all know the drill: click for details cause i'm sick and tired of doing it for you and laboriously copying it all down here.

and here we go: my penultimate screenshot:


73 ?!? big fuckin' whoop; this's beginning to bore me (always a sign of trouble to come). lemme clarify: by no means do i mean Twitter's boring me; far from it. i mean, where else can i basically and virtually show my ass and get away with it? nope, Twitter's not boring me but the damn grader is. just for shits and grins and since i haven't done it since yesterday, i shall now see what i'm up (or down) to.

whoa, whaddaya know? i'm at like 74.



*yawn* Twitter, if i were you, i'd so get rid of the grader app ASAP cause as i said somewhere above, i'm totally against anything which in any way smacks of a popularity contest, being more of a cooperation kinda kitteh than the other, competitive kind. but hey, to each its own.

i shall leave y'all with the hope that the grader doesn't frighten anyone away. as for me, i've met a shitload of dynamite people and that's all that matters. *cough* here y'go, twit-grader, this one's for you:



*snigger* and *snarf* and a snort for good measure. whoa, speaking of snorts, i just remembered i have a shitload of stuff left over, all thanks to the generousity of my guests here the other night. but thanks to my failed peripheral vision, i somehow dint look upon the coffeetable at all today. now if i can only hold the thought in my head as i prepare my dinner... (knowing me, i wouldn't bet on it but there's an upside to my crap memory: whatever it is i've forgotten will be waiting for me tomorrow).

edit on thursday @9,06: LOL, after typing last 'graph above, i had my dinner and watched Angel Heart, a film whose content varies wildly with that of the same name, shown Stateside. i mean, i brought the American vid over here but seeing AH on British TV totally freaked me out cause it was like seeing a completely different flick with so many scenes left on the US Standards & Practices cutting room floor or wherever. wait... this is not what i meant to say. uh... *thinks* *wood burning* *thinks harder*

right, goddit (now the problem concerns whether or not i can hold it). OK, directly after typing last 'graph last night (now two 'graphs above), i brought in my dinner, smoked a bowl and verily enjoyed every crumb on my plate as well as every second of the real version of Angel Heart. the best bit? senility served me well cause i totally forgot about the coke on the table, although it was on the tray like six inches from my right shoulder. actually, i'm turning round and leering at it now: leer leer leer. but i don't hold any hope the thought'll stick. naturally, that meenz moar for meh later on. IIR (which i prolly won't).

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don't leaf me this way...

title with huge apologies to Thelma Houston. anyway, this's yet another meander down the old ADD road: if someone – anyone – had told me i'd actually be punning (told me over 8 years back, that is), i'd have demolished whomever for lying to me. but here things are rather different (thank &deity for that). moving right along, Thelma has my apologies but i offer up none whatsoever for teh LOL Cats, even if it means people quit reading here, mostly cause the less people read, the more i can spew my own personal info and rest assured only a small handful would wonder if i'm for real or not. y'all have no idea of the disgusting stuff i've been up to lately and the depths to which i've sunk. why? you've got one guess so use it wisely. hint: until my stats gimme a reasonably low number, i shall note this stuff in my iTouch only and leave it off here. tough.

*cough* having absolutely nothing i can share with impunity (no gossip, no personal admissions nor true confessions), i shall forget about making up the usual shite and post some of these lovely photos, recently sent me by Christine.






there's more where they came from but i'm waiting for the next time i'ze tongue-tied. anyway, thanks Christine, dunno what i'd do without you (in more ways than one, as you so unfortunately know). *snigger* back to my above, i've got plenty to say...



but for once it ain't gonna come from me. hmmmm... but, but, butt – soz, i meant BUT:



NO! never in a brazillyun years whut ah meant t'say. to everyone who's mailed – to ask 'What's up?' – regarding certain people, dis whut ah meanded:



yet again, i'm not too anxious for the hordes to descend upon my poor ass so i shall keep quiet about all the gossip to which i'm (unfortunately) privy. believe me, i'm so dying to spill but i won't cause apart from my ass i value my access in future as well as my rep. and very unlike me, i won't post my usual 'SUF-FERrrr'. why? cause i'm feeling somewhat un-SG at the moment (meenz: not enough of teh drugs) and anyway, youse won't. suffer, that is. hmmmm *wood burning* i know just the thing to take away teh agony of existence for, at the very least, a small while.



warning: if anyone dares ring me later, don't say i dint warn you due to glugging as much of the above as i possibly can in a not-so-futile attempt to ward off any desire to enhance my mind via the wonderful world of chemistry. anyway, scanning up and down this post, i believe a bit of levity is called for, so here goes.



akshually, iz not teh funny, not at all. serendipitously (as always) the phone just rang and it was Iron Mommy, someone who i can't hustle off the phone before i hear the latest details of her various (and ever-growing list of) ailments. whilst i held the phone nearly a foot from my ear, i made this next, totally dedicated to her.



but will she get it? and if she does, despite text above, will she know it's for her? Iron Mommy, i'll have you know you force me to repeat myself: the above's totally dedicated to you with all the errr... um, 'love' i can muster and with big thanks for making me what i am today. OMG, unbelievable; this must be the quickest phonecall she's ever inflicted upon me, but she reminded me of something kinda crucial (in a fambly way – my fambly) cause it seems she's taken 'feminism' to new heights (or depths, depends on your POV) as she proudly announced she's re-reading Camille Paglia's Sexual Personae. this new info forced me to find my own copy just so i can refute her on every point she might bring up in future. fun fact: this is yet another continuation of our battle of wills, now going on for decades and decades. yay! goddit! directly under the Wittgenstein (click to enlarge):



editor's note: if you've forgotten, i'm still strolling down the ADD trail: hmmpf... i haven't rearranged my books lately. i mean, amongst everything else i've got OCD but i'm not one of those who alphabetises stuff; i keep em in my own kinda order: like books of Films and Films Theory together, books on the English language together, art tomes together but in my own kind of size order; DVDs sorted by color – apart from the Film Noir, the Hitchcock, the horror, the criminal, the films about Hollywood – like that).

but checking above pic, and looking at the pile on the coffeetable, the one on the other bookshelf as well as the growing pile in the bedroom, i foresee yet another hours-long bout of regrouping my books – always a top way of frittering away time. helpful hint: works better after smoking reefer cause it makes you think and question yourself ad infinitum as well as ad nauseum. result? hours fly by in a very pleasant way. :-)

right, thanks again, Christine, for the lovely photos (and mostly for doing my work for me). *cough* i can haz moar pleeh? *love*

whoa, almost forgot this pic of the Natural History Museum, taken out the window of the Shame Train last friday.



the lady sitting next to me was very cool after i first asked her permission to lean over to snap the pic and then suddenly found myself sitting in her lap after an unanticipated bump in the road. our eyes locked as i desperately tried to think of a decent way to excuse myself.



but those particular thoughts went flying out the holes in my head when i saw this playful grin on her face, a look which quickly changed to (what i read as) 'Come hither', which, AFAIC, signalled (wildly and loudly) that, not only did she not mind me in her lap but, she liked it. pity, cause she was so totally not my type. i mean, even i have a modicum of principles and one of them is, if i'm going for same-sex sex, my partner has got to have a teeny tiny number of the elements which make up the me of me, and i'm not meaning the outer fleshy envelope, not by a longshot. BTW, this has nothing to do with Teh Shallow, it's just that i've always found that, what's in someone's head is far more sexy than their meatspace appearance.

anyway, back to the me of me, the Punk thing's not necessary but where one's head's at certainly is. note to all chick wannabe comers (and i do mean comers): if y'all want me, at least pretend to have a little me, if not in attitude than in inner boynessity (or 'Bartness'). barring that, be intellectually brilliant and totally honest. back to my poor seatmate (and she was passing cute), given the passage of a few days, with The Incident stewing inside, all i can say is, 'dude, why were you wearing what you had on? i mean, it wasn't even Halloween. if only you'd worn blue jeans (at the very least), i mean, who knows?

*sigh* ideally we'd be all cosy in bed right now, basking in the afterglow of our lovely union – have i ever told you how i used to be called 'The Fastest Tongue in NYC'? and 'The Slowest' as well – anyway, we'd be together, all luxuriating and shit and prolly arguing over who brought tea and bisquits to whom. until i fucked you up with this (botha us loving every minute of it):



but c'mon! you shocked the shit outta me cause until you opened your mouth, i took you for an American tourist! i mean, a pink polyestre trouser suit on a British woman?




CAN YOU HEAR ME SCREAMING?

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your prosaic = my sublime

this is just gonna go on and on with pics i took walking home friday night so y'all might as well skip it. i mean, 'Keep walkin', folks... nothin' tuh see heeyuh' *in any Brooklyn cop's voice* wait, i lied cause there's nothing new apart from the tat design above, found on the wall at Pierced Up, after i got Pam's present and kinda sauntered by on my way home saturday. i'm thinking of having it done under the SG anchor on my right shoulder and gonna consult with Eve, my tat artist, next time i see her (hopefully on wednesday).

the thing of it is, it wasn't planned or anything, but the second i passed the piercing parlour it struck me that it was the perfect time to have my nose pierced again so now i've got a second silver stud, about a quarter of an inch or less from the first. i've not yet seen anyone with this kinda thing before and i'm hoping it'll stay that way. in all actuallity, i wanted two but they told me it would be impossible cause my nose was too small or something. this was certainly not a topic on which i wanted to argue so i just let it go cause they were so pleasantly apologetic.

back to me walking home the other night: i used to take taxis but a few weeks back it occurred that not only was i wasting money but i was nothing but a lazy slob so now i walk so i can smoke and gawk to my heart's content. speaking of gawking, here we go again, and keep in mind, i'm a damn tourist. or don't, think me an asshole. wait, i've got it: i'm an asshole tourist. *preens* but remember, anyway you cut it: it's all relative and what y'all find mundane and boring, i find exotic and (dare i say it?) quaint. and i ain't gonna apologise cause that's the way it is.







my fave manmade structure on Queens Road is that tower (over to the left above), part of the University of Bristol. these next were taken as i approached and then stood there, across the street and gawked my head off. this went on whilst the usual mobs of friday night binge-drinkers (none of them looking older than 16) pushed past me whilst i stood there immobile, just staring upwards. at one point, some really big dude pushed into me and almost knocked me off my feet as he slobbered by and then, had the moronacy to come back and ask 'What's wrong with you? Why the fuck don't you watch where you're going?' good questions, dude but to answer your first, we'd need a coupla hours so let's skip it.








i could've stood there all night long but the crowds were getting more and more rowdy so i said 'fuck it' and wandered on home where i had Sweet Loving Purry Boy all over me for almost five minutes until he turned back into Haughty Hunter and against my wishes, began his nightly tribal dance on top of my desk. it's always when i'm busy somewhere else and then hear that *thonk* sound Macs are fond of making if you do something wrong,

but Hunter has his routine down pat: he's got it so he can make my Mac thonk really quickly, repeated over and over and over again. this happens as he paws his way back and forth over the keyboard. if i dint know better, i'd swear he did it on purpose, not only to piss me off but to hear the *thonks* coming thick and fast. anyway, speaking of keyboards, i'd been using a flat one for weeks now, and whinging my ass off about it, every chance i got.



yes, it was pretty; i mean, it was silver and black so what else could i have wanted? (hint: an ergonomic 'board.) anyway, thanks to Chris, now i'm using this and loving every minute of it, mainly cause my typing speed's back to normal again, giving me plenty of time to mess about on the Internetz as i 'work'.



and there's my new black mouse as well, same as the silver one but this one actually does what it's told, prolly cause i haven't yet spilt shit on it. all i can say is 'just gimme time and i'll fuck these up as well'. one thing that really slowed me down was my beloved old silver mouse (yet another hand-me-down from Chris) wouldn't highlight properly and i'd have to like, do it manually, using both hands: one to highlight on the mouse and the other to make sure my finger was on e.g., the backspace key. right, if you look carefully, you'll see they're both from m$. sue me.



lest we forget, i took these around the corner on my way home friday night. it just struck me that anyone who's been reading here is prolly sick to death of seeing what seem to be the same photos over and over but AFAIC, they're just more proof of how rarely i get bored. and no, they're not the same damn photos; it's just that i can't pass the place (the epitome of 'Gothic' AFAIC) without stopping dead in my tracks and pulling out my phone to photograph whatever.




BTW, i learnt the place is called Stoneleigh House and it's a residence for those with mental or emotional problems. i'm hoping they take Hunter cause i'm actually planning to move in there ASAP. OK, before i hustle my ass to make my deadline, here's one more, just for the occasion (it's the front window of that shop, Heaven on Earth): happy birthday, Pam in Brixton.



BTW, i see Pam's birthday present in the pic above. unhelpful hint: it hasn't any skulls on, so your mission is to find it. um... rotsa ruck, Pam (as they say in the States when they're trying to be sarcastic). anyway, checking the time i see i have less than three hours to type my head off to make this morning's deadline. and as usual, my coffee's ready but i'm not. hmm... (here we go again): iz stawree of mai lief, akshually. ;-)

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friday in London (and not)

above pics were taken here yesterday but i'm too ripped to think of a better title. however, please dig my warning: apart from the bits about Pam, this is one of the most idiotic, meaningless and disparately topic'd posts i've ever churned out but i needed a reason to put up the photos i've taken over the last few days. according to my Dashboard, friday's Sunrise was at 06,52 and just about then, i was writing my last post, proofreading my head off and watching Raising Arizona (which i finally snagged for only 3,97£ in order to fulfill my Compulsively Compleat Coen Brothers Collection).

anyway, i'd just gotten outta the bath and as i stood on the balcony wrapped in a towel, clutching my phone (and freezing my ass off), i felt a warm little furry body rub up against my ankles. i tried my best to ignore but heard a tiny mrrrrr! which forced me to look down, and then against my better judgment, i heard myself going 'awwwww...' whilst Hunter was prolly thinking 'Score!'



i was all 'he wants something...' but i chose to ignore him cause the skies were putting on their usual morning show and i didn't wanna miss anything. you have no idea how many times i'm tempted to post what, at first glance, seems to be the same photo but on closer scrutiny, is a minute by minute series recording the subtle changes of color in the skies outside. back to Hunter, he was determined to capture my attention again and so much so, he actually deigned to purr so i could feel his vibrations against my legs.

i pretended nothing was happening and tried to concentrate on taking photos, then before my eyes (actually right under my line of sight but within my peripheral vision), i covertly watched Cunter (Kitty from Hell) miraculously morph into Hunter (Docile Sweet Purry Boy). i was just about to stoop down to pick him up but thanks to a sudden gust of wind, my attention was drawn to a quick glimpse of Cabot Tower, something i haven't seen since Springtime brought the leaves back on the trees. i held up my phone to snap the pic and that's when i heard this tiny little whimper.



who could resist that plaintive yearning? i was all 'hang on, dammit, i'll be with you in a second'. when i was done, i searched high and low but there was no Hunter to be found. then i saw the pile of floor pillows and blankets i dragged out a few nights back so my friends could sit on the floor with me whilst watching films, making it much easier to pass the pipe around.



i went 'whoa, there you are...' no acknowledgement whatsoever. but dig Le Crappe Covert: if you look very closely below, what appears to be the same photo above reveals he'd opened his beady little eyes to stare me down. nb: we have these staring contests like ten, twenty times a day and he always wins apart from when he wants something.



moving right along, nothing above has anything to do with whatever below (i just dig posting pics of Hunter and what's going on outside the windows). back to friday in London, after leaving the British Embassy i somehow got the wack idea that, with the help of the A To Zed, i could walk from Victoria Station all the way down to Brixton. after many hits and misses, i actually got as far as Pimlico but that's another story cause of the ways and means by which i was diverted, a story into which i'm not inclined to go at the moment.

but fortified by the kindness of strangers (means some suckers got me drunk) and hoping i was headed South, i walked down Buckingham Palace Road with a spring in my step, filled with good intentions (and if you believe that 'spring in my step' stuff, it's obvious you don't know me well and that goes double for the 'good intentions'). BTW, the idea to walk from Victoria to Brixton occurred after a group of American tourists bought me my 3rd Jack Daniels whilst i mapped out my route in a nearby pub. to say i couldn't quite see straight after the first (on an empty stomach) is totally understating the condition of my head. i took this next whilst wobbling along after i first set out.



then i decided to take a breather and stuck my phone in my pocket, pulled out my iTouch and tried to connect, stealing whomever's WiFi. i latched onto someone's connection whilst standing on Ebury Street, and checked the maps app to guide me in the right direction (much easier than squinting at the teeny tiny text in the A to Z). then i continued wobbling, rather, walking along. about an hour later, i found myself in Pimlico just about Sunset.






pic directly above could easily be mistaken for buildings in the States but the chimneys on top are a dead giveaway. in all truth, after i took the next, i decided to give up my asinine idea and ran down the steps to the Tube with my Oyster card in hand (dropped it twice whilst running like a moron). after i photographed the sign it was almost as if i'd heard a voice in my head shouting 'hey, you! stoopit! HINT!'



not fifteen minutes later i emerged in Brixton, pretty near to 'happy', mainly cause seeing the Town Hall tower or whatever it is, always pounds it home that i'm here, exactly where i belong.



not for nothing, i've got six or seven quite similar to the above but decided not to post em cause the colors in the darkening sky are just too subtle to be perceived. then, after being pushed back and forth by the rush-hour crowds, i gave up and turned down Coldharbour Lane and took the next, something i've wanted to do for ages but for whatever reason, never did.



by then it was about 18,00 so i headed for the Albert to meet up with Pam. tomorrow's her birthday and we planned to have dinner since i wasn't gonna stick around for the weekend. naturally, whilst waiting for her to show, i got loaded in the Garden and met up with a shitload of people whose numbers are all in my cellphone but i'll be damned if i could tell you anyone's name. by the time she showed, i was drunk on my ass and already had spilt my next: an entire tall glass of orange juice and vodka (i've learnt not to call em 'screwdrivers' here after getting too many blank looks from bartenders).

then we chatted with the others for awhile and an hour later, moved up the street to Gyoza for dinner. as usual, time flew by way too quickly and before i knew it, it was like 20,00. i think i was rude (but too drunk to remember) cause when i realised i had less than 30 minutes to get my ass back to Victoria to catch the Shame Train home, i hurried everyone up (waitress, cashier, poor Pammie herself) and flew outta there and onto the Tube. then i ran like an asylum escapee, all the way from Victoria Station proper to Victoria Coach Departures, with only seconds to spare before my coach took off.

BTW, i hadn't noticed the clocks were turned back until someone pointed it out today on Twitter. silly me, cause usually i'm on top of things like that but what with all the new ways i've devised to blow my time and all, i'd totally forgotten about DST (which gives me an extra hour to fritter away and helps my reverse SAD by causing darkness to descend much earlier than normal).

moving right along, i'm here to say 'happy birthday, Pam' (cause i might not have time enough to say tomorrow). and before i forget, i just wanna tell you i stopped off at Heaven On Earth, that wild liddle shop here in Bristol and i got something that you're bound to dig but it'll have to wait until 1. november, when i'm in London next, seeing Underworld. oh wow --> it's less than a week away, so i'll see you then, sweet grrl. :-)



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the purity of one's heart...

whoa, is that the time? that is, if you scroll to the end and note the timestamp. nah, skip it; it's 06,09. i can offer no excuse for this crazy behavior apart from the fact the British Embassy invited me into its hallowed halls today, thus forcing me to wake up at fuck o'clock in the morning in order to materialise in London's meatspace with passport and papers to expedite my application for legal independent residency here.

by this time, we know the underlying theme (filed under 'horror'): means i'm forced to leave the security of my liddle nest, hence my avoision gland's working overtime, virtually screaming 'go back to bed!' but this is something i won't put off, no matter how hateful i find the hour (cause the promised reward over-rides everything). *yawn* my spirits couldn't be darker or more dreary, kinda matching the fleeting clouds skidding across the dark skies outside and i'm trying (and failing) to ignore it all. yes, i know i'm spoilt. and i also know that people do this... this waking-up-early thing; somehow the entire world does it on a daily basis with neither a bang nor a whimper, at least not one audible to me.

i mean, i have the brains and the cogniscence to recognise i'm not anymore special than the next victim but AFAIC, only the threat of Something Terrible happening is impetus enough to move my ass outta bed before... oh, let's say 09,00 (and that's really pushing it). i never understood how people just do what they're supposed to do and i've concluded they do it unthinkingly cause if they paused to ponder, they might begin doubting themselves and then, if they're susceptible (or fucked up) enough, they begin to doubt The Way Things Are (she said grimly). from personal experience, i'm here to say that's neither a good nor productive way to live one's life. even when i had a job which forced me awake before 07,00 every day, i knew it was simply a psychological hurdle over which i had to jump. in truth, it was way easier to wake up and go to work in the States cause it's light out that early whilst here, it stays dark until like 07,30 or later, depending on the time of year.

but it's much worse in Germany (a bit farther North than Bristol). when we first got to Bonn, what bugged me most was waking up and leaving whilst it was still dark outside. we'd split at like 08,30 each morning and by the time i left Chris at the luxurious hellhole disguised as his office, it'd be just about 09,00 and the sun would've begun to brighten up the skies as i continued over to Uni Bonn (trying to ignore the Rhein and the sight of the first rays of Dawn reflecting off the river).

more often than not, i'd be drawn to the banks, attracted by the glimpse of whatever colorful pebble which, without fail, would start me off on yet another treasure hunt. once or twice a week, my books and bag were thrown aside as i trawled the banks, always on the lookout for collectable stones, pebbles, tiny driftwoods and other natural gifts the gently lapping water would wash to the shore. most days found me going over my homework whilst sitting on a huge rock, gazing off into the waters, totally spaced out and writing. LOL, i'm such a tourist: the first entry, dated 1. october 2001, began 'OMG! i'm sitting on the banks of the Rhein!'

*rolls eyes* please note this Rhein-gazing was always sans any chemical intake or enhancement. right, have i mentioned i was forced to repeat Grundstufe Einz for three consecutive semesters? i actually blame it on Living in Germany, cause if i dint deem the scene so aesthetically pleasing, i'd have been in school every damn day for the entire duration of the lesson. remember: not my fault. EVar.

moving right along and having nothing to do with the above, regardless of the reason i posted em here, i'm hoping you find some lightness of spirit in these photos Christine sent the other day. dunno if one must be an animal lover to appreciate but whatever, here they be. and as frequently as i dare, my post title's a bit of an anonymous quote reading 'The purity of a person's heart can be quickly measured by how they regard animals'.








'We can judge the heart of a man by his treatment of animals'. ~ Immanual Kant

'The question is not, "Can they reason?" nor "Can they talk?" but rather, "Can they suffer?"...' ~ Jeremy Bentham

'Ever occur to you why some of us can be this much concerned with animals suffering? Because government is not. Why not? Animals don't vote'. ~ Paul Harvey

'The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated'. ~ Mahatma Gandhi

i shall end with the seriousity for which i'm not known and from which i duck out at every available chance (barring this):

'As often as Herman had witnessed the slaughter of animals and fish, he always had the same thought: in their behaviour toward creatures, all men were Nazis. The smugness with which man could do with other species as he pleased exemplified the most extreme racist theories, the principle that might is right'. ~ Isaac Bashevis Singer

any Anthroprocentric Dominionists here? no? GOOD. anyway thanks, Christine and please keep em coming. as well, i WUTM to find yet another mail from Christine, a mail to which she attached the most beautiful collection of Autumn Rainbows au natural or whatever (here's a quick taste; as usual, R-click and open in a new tab in order for the hugeness factor to display each and every fabaroo detail):



back to today, if all goes well, i shall be having an early dinner with Chris tonight (and possibly Pam) since i booked my coach back home at 20,30. i mean, there's a limit to how much time i wanna be away from home and Hunter and i get all antsy when that limit's overdue. as well, in case that old bastard Reality steps up to finagle circumstances that prohibit me from getting home tonight, i can only wish y'all a happy weekend. but please keep in mind / rest assured if i ever find out anyone i know has mistreated an animal in any which way, i'll be on your ass till the day i die (and not in the way one might wish).

OK, i'm gonna cave in the hopes that if the photos above haven't lightened you up to give a much-needed boost to start your weekend, here's another Autumn Rainbow scene to brighten your day, so thanks yet again and very muchly so, Christine. :-)



unfortunately Reality just reared its ugly head to make me wonder WHY again: taking into account amerika's anti-ecological bent, i'm thinking of how these scenes might appear in twenty, thirty years' time. in my mind's eye there's a vasty desert piled high with the detritus of early 21st century life: mountains of fixable (though thoroughly trashed) computers, fucked cellphones, smashed Palm Pilots, iPods, circuit-boards and kicked-in obsolete TVs as well as the usual normal garbage. envision it as a tremendous tower of electronic shit with a banana peel on top. but in my imaginary dystopia, the electrics've been forced redundant by one of my pet peeves: planned obsolescence. and as usual when i've got the desire to duck outta sum'pn which touches a nerve, that's a post for another time, that is, if i ever rev up the necessary anger to put my feelings into words at which my own mother won't cringe whilst reading. note to all: don't hold yer breaths for that particular post, cause as usual, the only words that come to mind are those beginning with 'f' and my usual fave coverall descriptor as well as noun: 12-letters; starts with 'm' and ends with 'r'.

oh wow, i can use it in a sentence, even: AFAIC, anyone not moved by photos of animals or pics taken in Nature (especially those including the fleeting rainbow) is a Philistine motherfucker (and i'll leave you all with that charming image to remember me by). but in all honesty, as Bast is my witness, i'll be back and that ain't a threat; it's a promise. then again, if things don't go the way i hope later on, i might be continuing the tradition Oscar Wilde left off (minus the 'Ballad' and the bit about Reading). but at least i'll be spelling jail in the proper fashion as well as using it in the parlance of our times. shit... lost my train of thought there. right, i'm tawkin jail. sorry, 'gaol'.

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defiance in Sainsburys

whoa, totally forgot about this. as anyone knows by reading here or at my real site, i've been seeing a Stress Counsellor for just over three years. this is a very good thing cause he came in quite handy when i was freaking out over Katrina and other US news and especially after Chris moved out.

bear with me please cause there is some pertinence here: last year, during one of our sessions, i suddenly realised that thanks to Iron Mommy, i'll prolly be rebelling against authority for the rest of my life. this doesn't sit too well with me cause rebellion's good but the older i get, the less seemly and becoming i feel it is as a reflection of me. anyway, that particular in-session Eureka moment seems to be coming true, unfortunately for me and whomever gets in my way. but enough with setting the stage; this is exactly how last week's scene went down whilst shopping at Sainsburys. actually, you can skip the rest of the post cause in the proverbial nutshell, this totally covers it:



if you're still with me, here're the details: i was doing some last minute grocery shopping and since it was almost 22,00, the public address system had just broadcast that all customers had 5 minutes to get their asses to the cashers' since they were about to shut down for the night. all fine and good as i was on the last item of my list: food for Hunter. i was near the back of the store, in front of the pet foods, and had just chosen like nine or ten assorted tins and pouches and was about to head to the nearest cashier to check out my stuff when i heard the announcement. and that's when Pompous Uniformed Security Guard approached and in a rather snide manner, told me to 'Get a move on'.



i'm thinking WTF? and thanks to my filmic Tourette's rising to the occasion, i quoted from Pulp Fiction, 'A please would be nice'.

all to no avail. that one sentence began a battle of wills as we both stood our ground and as if reading from a script, this absolute dumbass kept on repeating his bullshit order sans the one word which'd make me obey but no...



at one point i asked him something like 'dude, what is it? are you like this with every other customer or you don't dig my face or my accent or you hate your job and you're taking it out on me or what?' all he said (and by that time he was getting louder and louder) was to order me to 'Move on up to the front. NOW'.



little did he know i have a lifelong aversion to authoritarian types who bark orders at me (thanks, mom!). as well, i was verily infuriated but didn't bother to show it. LOL, like i'm gonna take that kind of treatment from anyone, especially after i practically put the damn word ('please') in his mouth. but nuh-uh; he wasn't having any so i stood my ground. we were like eyeball to eyeball (he was short, for a man) and each and every time, he totally ignored my request for common courtesy. i kept on repeating '..."A please would be nice" or didn't they teach you that in Security Guard Training School?' but he kept on keeping on with his stated desire, now with the infrequent variation: 'Move it. Now.'



naturally i didn't acquiesce to his demand but did quote above kitteh. i even showed him my shopping list (with special emphasis on the last items: kitty food) noting that if it weren't for him, i'd have checked out and been on my way home ages ago and alla this could've been avoided, but (as i told him) since i had plenty of time, i'd prefer to stand there facing him down and waiting for the please that never came. he was adamant and so was i (we must've stood there for nigh on 5 minutes). i gazed at his increasingly reddening face, gleefully noting he was getting more and more pissed off.

at one point i commended him on his tenacity to keep to the script and got the satisfaction of seeing he didn't know what the hell i was on about. as an afterthought i added the belief he quit reading the rule book before he got to the bit about courtesy towards shoppers but all i got was a blank face in return. so we stood there, horns locked, with me not budging one iota. that is, we stood there until the manager showed up, wanting to know what the deal was. Security dude quickly shoved me aside (verbally) and whined 'She won't move even after i ordered her to'.

i was so tempted to break in and add 'boo fuckin' hoo'. anyway, thank &deity the manager was a bit more tolerant and ignoring Security Dude's moaning, asked me:



i smiled and told my story walking with him accompanying me to the cashier. i actually felt sorry for the manager cause he was apologising so profusely i had to take him out of his misery by convincing him all was cool apart from i expected better from Sainsburys. Security dude was ordered to wait in the back, i imagine for an impromptu Come To Jebus meeting.

surprise, surprise! to make amends, the manager fucked with my Nectar card and added an extra 1,000 points (which subtracted like 10, 15 quid from my final total cause i always cash my Nectar points in as soon as i can). um... the moral of this story? i honestly dunno apart from the obvious: i'm not swayed by authority whether in uniform or not. as a matter of fact it brings out the very worst in me especially when swaggered about by any wannabe cop having the temerity to treat me without the common courtesy due, not only to me, but to anyone.



yup, really. no wait; the moral of this story is 'don't fuck with me, especially if you're not gonna even attempt to be polite'.



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i can haz wasted tiem?

apart from me and the later it gets, the nearer my deadline (09,00 tomorrow) but i so not care, it's pathetic. yup, it's that bad attitude again always lurking beneath my outward 'helpful' demeanor. anyway, in my endless pursuit to misuse as well as abuse my time MY WAY, i decided to download teh cute so now my Firefox Browser has an adorable liddle theme: teh Kitteh! (click to engorge for details of kute kittehs klowsups).



i actually dunno how long i can bear all this cuteness cause past a certain point, they do make me ill, especially envisioning seeing them 24/7 unless i use another browser. but still, i'm amused for the nonce and that's all that matters.

in other news, i'm amazed to find my twitter grade has reached an unprecedented 63.



the thing of it is, i was perfectly happy with Twitter being as it was before Twitter-grader went live and now it's akin to turning Twitter into a popularity contest and everyone who knows me is aware of how against those kinda things i am. then again, i'm sure their algorithm's fucked cause up till recently, my grade never reached above the high 40s.

too bad that due to work and my deadline, this'll be short and sweet cause i've got plenty to say, mostly on my last spectacle of Public Defiance (and i do mean 'public' since it happened in Sainsburys and not only were there an ever-growing audience but the manager dude apologised his ass off to me, drawing not only latecomer shoppers but attracting the majority of cashiers and stock people). i shall relate this liddle anecdote in a near-future post in my own inimitable fashion. right, before i forget there's one more little thing:

rather serendipitously, i found my info and password for Facebook, a site which i joined lo these many years ago but never did very much with it. all i shall say for now is, some people should be afraid... be vewy vewy afwaid since i joined on, neither as Slum Goddess nor any derivative and not with my own name (or any variation of same) but with an untraceable, un ID'able user-name. and so, this one's for YOU, d00d (you know exactly who you are so no need to name and shame you here). *snigger and a smirk for good measure*



helpful hint: i din't do nothing and anyway, he started it (and i shall be there to finish it). :-)

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Cheeze Toasteys!

AFAIC, nothing shall sway my lifelong proclivity for preferring the indoors and being all autodidactic thanks to books, films and (for over ten years) the 'Net as well as whatever else strikes my fancy so long as it adds to the me of me. i think of these as tiny oases in the morass of needless meatspace events taking up too vasty a sum of the time of my life. hmm... let's see: right, there were the glorious 100 mph drives to school, flying over the Brooklyn Bridge every morning on Donnie's Harley; there was skydiving with Chris and dancing my ass off with him et al., at too many '(Who Knows? They All Look Alike)' afterhours clubs in NYC to count. and a few other things, mostly hilarious e.g., what became an exciting habit: the public sex, which AFAIC was no biggie.

however, the Asperger's is like tapping me on the shoulder now, virtually begging for me to counterbalance the above infrequent happys with the usual majority of IRL Failz. *sigh* OK, in a manner designed to be fair and balanced (kinda like Fox News but blatantly Faux), i remember the horrendous ski trips to Vail; Whatever, Vermont; What'$-Its-Name, NY and Fambly-Friendly Ski Resort$ in Colorado and their twin double$ in Utah and Nevada, in a feeble attempt to pacify stockbroker dude in order to placate his ceaseless whining, once he told me our plans for the hols after which i immediately announced my intentions to stay, ending with a sincere smile and the total honesty of 'Have fun, dude!'

but he wanted me along; i must admit i caved each and every time, mostly cause we were engaged. yeah, and it was a farce from the word 'go' and i'd rather not talk about it apart from the one good bit: i wore a huge rock on my finger, at least 200 years old, but it was only there cause the setting was perfect and reflected the historic period in which it was made. oh, wow, y'all dint know i was engaged to a Wall Street dude like 16, 17 years ago? oh well, yet another story for another time (hopefully never; the emotional hoops through which i hadda jump were totally uncool, and i diddit all to placate my mother which meant Daddy had one less thing on which to be bitched). two things that kinda made it worthwhile: Wall Street Dude had a huge Yamaha (riceburner!) and was a tremendous coke freak and thank &deity for small miracles. anyway, the engaged bit had only a teeny tenuous hold on my giving in. pity did the rest.



back to me, being an inside kitteh is not only continuing a lifelong tradition but in this case, if i weren't one, no way would i'd have had the time or brilliance to invent Cheeze Toasteys. as the select few already know, this is one of the staples — apart from massive quantities of fruits — in my very limited nomz intake at Chez Hunter but once again, one may chalk that up to Stuff I Don't Wanna Expand Upon or Revisit (neither here nor in TRW).

moving right along and quicky fleeing the danger zones, i'm assuming that apart from the engagement thing, this next question is foremost on people's minds: wossa Cheeze Toastey?



i dint know either until i asked around and learnt here in England, Toasted Cheese is what we call a grilled cheese sammich in the States, but they only use ONE slice of bread! i'm shocked, i tell you, shocked. i learnt this from one of the replies these oh-so-laid-back Brits took their time to type out after i asked on a public forum. i stared at his comment in wonderment and quickly decided WTF and WHY? so then, as is my wont, i decided to do it all My Way (IMO the best and only way to get things done on Planet Earth). um, if &deity permits, of course.

hoorah! it totally paid off cause after five or six weeks of experimentation, i've come up with a winner (just ask setmajer and Delta Slide Dude). fun fact: keep in mind this is the closest i've come to actually cooking here and that's the way i like it and would do nearly anything for it to stay that way. OK, enough about me and my blether (for the nonce); here're the ingredients and directions for making one Cheeze Toastey:

two slices of bread (i prefer white. sorry — not really — to anyone actually believing the store-bought brown bread hype)
3 slabs of Extra Mature Cheddar Cheese (or Scottish Bute, my fave)
2 slabs of Red Leicester and/or
1 slab of Double Gloucester and/or
1 slab of Wensleydale (my newest addition, thanks to Chris)
Grated Mature Cheddar Cheese

nb: if one desires to be adventurous, i'd suggest building Cheeze Toasteys using ALL the above, although the twice i made em, i needed a knife and fork to cut the sammich into itty-bitty pieces? why? to fit in my shouty wordhole, of course. but knife/fork or just cramming it into your mouths whilst imitating a squirrel or chipmunk, the taste sensation's totally worth it.

wait... i myself do a totally on-the-money chipmunk or squirrel impression whenever i eat Red Twizzlers (unfortunately not available here). *off down Memory Lane* hmmm, this was one of the more trivial things Chris and i had in common as we bonded in mails before meeting in meatspace. wait; my SG-SP (Sanity Preservation) Gland is radiating warning sirens which can only mean 'Get a move on, fatass'.

speaking of moving on, fun fact: in the States, we don't term any cheese 'Extra Mature' or 'Mature' (cause let's fact it: being old's a drag and the last thing anyone wants to do is remind others of their mortality. or worse yet, their haggard, worn appearances). anyways, back to *singing* 'Cheese! Cheese! Glorious Cheese!'. hey wait; is that still a TVadvert back there? anyway, in the States, all Cheeses with any sorta tang are called ... ... (wait for it) ... ... 'Sharp'. or 'Extra Sharp'. naturally, that all depends upon the IQ level of shoppers who might be put off by that 'mature' stuff, possibly assuming it's past the due date (to which they all adrere religiously). good; let em assume, means more excellent cheese for me and mine. :-)

i could go off, right now, listing my personal experiences with due dates and why i think they're all bullshit but i won't. for your own goods, keep in mind to never trash the pharmaceuticals. NEVER.

back to my Cheeze Toasteys (and it's about damn time), here's an important addendum (this is crucial): one whiff of these totally demolishes any habit of whetting one's appetite i.e., extra-legal inhalations are completely unnecessary. please take my word for it: no ganja needed to amplify the taste and AFAIC, that says a lot. *preens*

ummm... where was i? right, the recipe or whatever. BTW, i've tried to dumb it down as much as possible. when all else fails (e.g., using dictionary.com won't do the trick): i guess you can mail me but i'm hoping i've been verily clear enough so that even my own mother can follow me.

turn your oven up to 150C and then toast the two slices of bread. over at mine, when the toast pops up, that's usually (but not always) to signal the oven's got about 5 minutes to go, before it reaches critical mass. this is a good thing cause whilst you're waiting, put one of the toasts on a plate as a base.



then cut off three 1/8" to 1/4" slabs (very important: not one or two but THREE) of Extra Mature Cheddar (or Bute, which i prefer). here's the first cut:



as y'all can plainly see i was so wasted i couldn't see straight so figured 'what the hey?' and slabbed off one which equalled the usual two. anyway, however you slice them, place the Cheddar on the toast. then cut 2 slabs of Red Leicester, 1 of Double Gloucester and/or Wensleydale (preferably all three) and pile em on top of the Cheddar, making sure each succeeding slab's a bit smaller in length and width than the Cheddar. nb: by this time, the drugs had taken hold and way too muchly as i could barely see to camera-pic. this was not necessarily a bad thing as i know anyone reading here will have at least a modicum of imagination thus stretching their mind's eye.

moving right along, after all your chosen Cheeses are slabbed and piled on, sprinkle very liberally with the Grated Mature Cheddar. that's VERY liberally. in fact, forget about any 'sprinkling' and dump a shitload of grated Mature Cheddar on top.



if one looks closely above, the Red Leicester and Double Gloucester will be self-evident though the rest are hidden by the grated Cheddar. pity, as the extra cheeses i slabbed and piled on are totally invisible. anyway, you should end up with something resembling a breast (sans nipple) upon which one might stick a tiny tropical drinks umbrella or the flag of the nation of your choice, or anything, really. i prefer pinning the US flag placed upside-down, the international symbol for 'HELLLLP SAVE USSSsssss!'). but yet again, i digress.

another fun fact, disguised as an ADD warning with Asperger's for explanatory detail: 'In the wake of the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks in New York and Washington, D.C., Vietnam veteran Dana Rickard began flying his flag upside down, a move which he said caused him to be harassed by some people. Rickard said flying the flag upside down is a standard military distress signal and was never intended to be disrepectful. "It means we need some help here. That's American heritage, it has nothing to do with saying anything bad about the flag,"...

'The United States Flag Code supports Richard's statement'.

back to the Cheeze Toasteys recipe, the entire result shall, if done according to my above, measure between two and three inches high with grated cheddar all around it. take the remaining toast and place it on top, then press down hard and no more will any cheesey little ingrates dare to leave your sammich. by this time, your oven will be hot enough, so just slip it in (and if you're senile like me, set a little alarm in your cellphone, Palm Pilot or iPod (or all three if you're hard of hearing). these alarms should be enabled to go off in ten to 15 minutes (since i dig my CTs not only 'done' but melted through and through). *muses* would be nice to have a progress bar. *snaps to TRW* anyway, keep checking and whatever time later, voila! there's your Cheeze Toastey.

happy chomping. *smirk* no, really! then again, if you're intelligent enough to share your abode with a furry being of the mute variety, you might consider placing finished product in a very low oven. from personal experience, i can truly say that, even leaving the main rooms to visit the loo have resulted in (more than once) entire CT gone missing. once i found its poor cold remains hidden back of the kitchen table, and once i caught the culprit red-handed. rather, 'orange-pawed' with gooey strands of cheese dripping from his mouth.



flattery shall get you nowhere, Hunter, as i take it from whom it comes. Punkt, Ende.

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writerz blox (but not mine)

and i lie – since i don't dig disappointing, i'm continuing my tradition of spewing bullshit wherever i go, kinda akin to leaving virtual turds in my quest to sully whatever site i visit on the lovely series of tubes which we call teh Internetz. but let's get down to cases: i shall sum up most of what happened here over the weekend as best as i can remember (don't expect much). after reaching Paddington during friday's rush hour, Chris gave up after almost two hours and split, with my blessing. knowing how tiring as well as tiresome this last week was for him, i was amazed and flattered he stayed there as long as he did. anyway, he showed up yesterday (YAY!) and last night, we had dinner over at John and Megan's; they're two of the four here in Bristol we haven't yet alienated in any way, shape or form. emphasis on 'yet'.

after we arrived, we met like six (or maybe it was eight) of their very cool friends amongst whom were Amanda and Sean (?), a couple i'd met way back when, i think a bit over two years ago when Chris was moving to London and we had a g'bye party thing going on. that was the night John and Megan came up here and John showed me how to lock and load my cobalt glass mini-bong. anyway, i was delighted to see them, meet their lovely friends and then run up to the loo, only to return to find this teeny tiny turtle had materialised on the table.

naturally, i had to capture it as evidence: that it's not only me who, on the spur of the moment, decides whatever piece of perceived-by-others to be trash headed for the bin shall be salvaged and transformed into Found Objet d' Arte.



then we stuffed ourselves on John's delicious cous-cous, i got drunk and for once, didn't make a fool of myself, not even when i wobbled, dropped and smashed a gorgeous crystal goblet and then fell over, like. having had it happen so many times before, now i'm always on the alert for stuff like this as i've got my kitty imitation down perfectly just for the occasion, i.e., after whatever stupidity i've committed, i declare 'i diddit on purpose' and nary an eyebrow's raised. *to self* and the idiots believe me! ooops, quiet stuff out loud again... i know it's hard to believe but i'm still working on that, so please bear with me as i attempt, once and for all, to get that shit under control, mostly cause one o' these days, it's gonna bite me on the ass when it leads to big trouble. well, in truth, 'bigger trouble' would be more accurate.

so can we hear an 'oy fuckin' vey' from the Congregation? sure we can. *bows* *face in fettucine* hey, keep on laughing cause AFAIC, it's totally worth it. helpful hint: a large portion of being a good attention whore (as opposed to a bad one) is not only tenacity but having the guts to show off what EVar meatspace moronacy which includes demonstrating not only the good bits but the asinine things one's done. reading back, i'm currently stuck on that phrase 'having the guts'. i mean, let's face it: is it guts or is it teh stupid? you be the judge, cause it matters not to me at all.

moving right along, surprise, surprise: during the vasty array of desserts, all of us chomping whilst thwooping away, what d'ya know? Boudicca finally rang bearing great news. naturally she chose the ONE fucking night i wasn't at home to speak freely to her, but still. it's always so good hearing her skanky Mank-y accent and it gave me a valid excuse to leave the table cause i'm still not comfortable meeting more than one or two people at a time (no need to get into that further now). oh wow! look over there! it's actually good news!

and not only good news but totally WONDERFUL: Mrs Larry Love is pregnant, woo-hooo! here she is in working mode ('Brilliant Burlesque' as i said over to the R on the link to her site under Reservoir Dogs). damn, i think i remember the last time i spoke with Sam was on the tourbus way too long a time ago. wait... nah, it was more recently when she'd cut her hair into a fringe and as usual, looked totally fantastic.



Boudicca's on Twitter and early this AM, her twit read: 'Samantha told me it's out now so we can congratulate etc... left thread at Freea3... that secret has been killing me for weeks. Haha x

LOL, Sister Bo, tell me about it (i too was told this awhile ago and as usual, sworn to secrecy, always something that makes me itchier than ever to run out and say). but now we can be all shouty from the rooftops: CONGRATULATIONS, SAMANTHA AND LARRY LOVE! :-)

and big thanks to Boudicca, you sweet grrl, you. BTW, i haven't forgotten not one iota: i'm still waiting for the ultimate Attention Whore Showdown starring Manc v. Yank, the one in which we beat the shit outta each other on the streets of Brixton after selling tickets, then donating all proceeds to PDSA (where i volunteer) or MOJO. which IMO are two of the most worthy causes here. back to Manc v. Yank, as usual, i'm always up for a good knock-down, drag-out fight but it wouldn't be fair with Bo/Jo confined to that wheelchair thanks to the NHS' cheapnessity. but then again, when have i ever fought in a fair fashion? i mean, one must consider my height-impairment as well as my lackwit gland which seems to like, kinda take over, making me an ever bigger laughingstock (not to mention my constant fuckwittery) but hey, works for me. ;-)

OK, due to chronic crippling depression, my new keyboard and mouse have been getting to know each other (in an intimate fashion) on the kitchen table for over a month, but now they're hooked up here (thanks, Babe). pics to follow cause they look so cool but i dunno when, cause apart from my next two deadlined editing gigs, i'm learning the 32GB iTouch Chris gave me.



it's on my WiFi here and it's totally perfect for lazy bums like me e.g., was just sprawled out on the big floor pillows watching the beginnings of a film whilst checking mai mailz, surfing round and basically, doing whatever the hell it is i do (nah, i dunno either) sitting at my desk here (apart from any paid work) but more conveniently from down on the rugs. this is so gonna come in handy when i'm too fucked up to drag my ass outta bed cause i can do mostly everything from wherever in the flat or anywhere else outside in TRW where i can hook up to a hotspot.

this is the same 'Pod over which i flipped out last winter (middle of post here) when Chris first got it. don't bother clicking and seeing the pics i took or anything y'all wouldn't find intristin' cause, no doubt it'll bore you to pieces. this's what i wrote: 'he waited till we were on the Tube going down to the venue when he decided it was the perfect time to show me his newest toy. he got the desired reaction: i was so stunned, i totally freaked out in raucous (even for me) very shouty envy. this went on for a good ten minutes whilst Chris did some very unusual – for him – preening cause he couldn't keep his Schadenfreude to himself'.

and as per usual with Chris, apart from what's now MY i-Touch (she almost happily typed), *giggle* he came bearing other gifts:



pic's total shite cause it doesn't reveal how highly lacquered and well made the box is. this one's more reflective and shows off the gloss more better.



he got it for me a few weeks ago whilst in Poland in order to encourage, i mean 'feed' my endlessly ravenous lifelong anal compulsion: this particularity having to do with the desire to collect each and every box that strikes my fancy. uh-oh... here it comes (everybody duck!):



i'm sure the Freudians amongst us (i'm one) are having a field day, working out the symbolism of this particular collection. i mean, they're boxes, FFS! what ELSE could they symbolise? for now, we'll ignore the fact i began collecting – um... 'containers' (let's be safe and call em) since i was seven or eight, cause i shudder to think what that might mean, especially 'deep, deep, deeper down to the comfort of the old narcolepsy'.

BTW, a small number of people have mailed to ask what the WOOP WOOP's all about. um... i really felt like replying, 'Obviously, you're not a golfer' but i ended up ignoring em cause if they dint unnerstand the WOOP WOOP bit, they had no idea of the Alabama 3 or any of its derivatives. i actually tried splaining to the first, but when i got up to the bit about leaving the States, i totally lost him or so he said. no biggie, me thinks. :-)

but wait, there's another from the same deity from whom came my iTouch and lacquered box: after spending most of last week in Muenchen, then landing at Heathrow thursday night, my cellphone rang and i read 'I brought you a dead cat'. after i expressed concern the NSA was, right then and there, all busy tracking him down on the pretence of inspecting his importation of deceased animal matter, all was resolved and i felt a bit better, after, he replied: 'Only the severed head'.



*sigh* well in that case, dude, 's OK then. bah, i miss that Midwestern headbanger blast-tyrant Chris and his morbid sensa yoomah. the thing of it is, i certainly wasn't expecting anything so it's always a lovely surprise whenever i'm gifted especially by him.

anyway, he took off about an hour ago; got to Bristol Temple Meads in the nick of time, barely making sure his very fine ass was on the 18,00 train headed for London. he txtd me to say and from then on, we're thinking 'fuck the txtua£s' cause thanks to his new 3G iPhone and my iTouch (whoa, i sure love saying those words: MY iTOUCH), why pay for txts when we can send free mails to each other?

what else happened this weekend? shit... i mean, even last night's dinner seems like two or three weeks ago already. right, till about 04,00 this AM we watched the totally epic Once Upon A Time in America, though we'd both seen it ages ago and after disc 2 was done today, he cooked the most delicious Chicken Fajitas for lunch (or Quesa-somethings, forgot the rest of their name,,, um, Quesadildos? sump'n like that). anyway, they're Fajitas but with way more cheese and whilst we ate, we watched John Cusack and Ray Liotta in Identity (a truly twisted film, just the way we like em). then he 'helped' me sync ALL my info from my now-dying Palm ('helped' = 'he did all the work') cuz i'ze too stoopit to do it without popping a few V.s to calm my inexplicably technically averse mind. and then after they take effect i'm all 'why bother?' which's why i don't do em so much anymore.

anyway, thank you most bigly, Babe. and not only for the lovely presents but for doing the most difficult technical bits and showing me the rest and especially for being patient with my constant stupidity whilst taking notes and asking my usually inane questions (that's where the Asperger's steps up to snag ne, by the very exactitude of the answers i think i need to write down so i won't forget em). right, for ease of WiFi finding and filing and shit, i named my iTouch my real first name: Nova, and Techie-boy convinced me to use one of the photos he took (of me leaving the Hatchet a few weeks back) as wallpaper:



if youse remember, i ri-moaned about how heavy i looked from the waist down. it's that shadow that dunnit, right between my upper legs, directly under the crotchtal area. welp, he made me feel better cause he totally agreed (it doesn't happen often and i basked whilst he reaffirmed my moaning). then he suggested i sync it to my new toy as a hat-tip to the band, on my unlock screen and cropped in the proper place. shite pic follows but you get the idea. the best bit is now it actually appears exactly as above but looking i'm way taller than i am in meatspace, since the bottoms of my legs were cut off right under the knee:



wheeee! above pic's meeee totally re-enacting Alabama 3's Bulletproof. *singing* 'There's a psychopath in...' nah, that bit's way too close for comfort. *snigger* it's the chorus he meant: 'Up against the wall... snipers on the roof, thought i was a goner baby, i'm bulletproof...' yup, the cry that resounded all through 1960s America-land, relentlessly squealed by fat lit-tle piggies when they had freaks on the other end of their guns: 'up against the wall, motherfucker'

OK, now i shall retire, rather: now it's back to luxuriating on the floor pillows to mess about with my iTouch. the thing of it is, it didn't come with a manual and since i'm one o' those – 'I still jerk off manually' – types, i'm gonna smoke and read my head off from the iTouch manual downloaded from Apple straight to my desktop, certain pages of which have been printed out to save me unnecessary jumping up to my desk here then back. knowing me, i'm gonna read and reread ALL NIGHT LONG and love every minute of it. my first Palm's manual was over 100 pages long but the one dying on me now came with only a glossy large fold-out. i remember thinking WTF? and hoping i was wrong, immediately assumed they'd dumbed down the entire thing.

guess what? i was right. it was dumbed down, to an incredibly barely literate level and so turned me off, i wondered what else they'd done. no time or inclination to get into it here but let's just say my old black and white screen'd Palm (well, actually, it was a very pleasant light green on black) lasted over six years. anyway, AFAIC, i consider the act of reading the manual in order to get to know your new device as FUN. right, please join the queue of those who think me weird for stating that and don't forget to bring a book; there are thousands in front of you and you'll be waiting a very long time. *grins*

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RIP Rusty :-(

Christine: 'Hi Rimone, Had to put my beloved orange cat Rusty to sleep today. Had been putting it off for awhile ... he had a hard time eating, I was even feeding him canned tuna all the time and he only ate a few bites. Well this morning he was waiting to sit on my lap while I drank my coffee at the computer...'

'...so decided to have him euthanised. Felt bad about it but after he was dead the vet brought him out and said that he had a large tumour in his mouth and had spread all the way into his jaw... so he was in a lot of pain and that made me feel better...

'...Anyway we buried him in the forest where we go every day...'

OH, NO. i've been eagerly hearing about Rusty and his little adventures and how much Christine loved him for almost six years now. i'm so sorry... and as usual at times like this, words fail me. we all know the day's gonna come when something happens to the animals with whom we share our lives but when that day comes, we're still unprepared. we're ALWAYS unprepared. Rest In Peace, Rusty.

'He was a great cat'.



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agog for 13 minutes

i took these walking about 100 metres, back and forth, up and down the street, coming home tonight with the usual on my mind: I LOVE IT HERE. and not only cause some woman was standing in one of the windows with her bare ass hanging out. your mission is to FIND HER.

in other news, my last twit before i took off about noon was: '*singing* 'mao tse tsung said "change must come through the barrel of a gun". now milly?...' (it'll be pounding in my head all day)'. when i came back i found this lovely surprise, made by Crowjake (click or better yet, download it cause it's huge):



thanks, Sheriff Crowjake, dude. yup, there's only one way to change a revolution, do you know, Milly? "Alabama 3". :-)

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reverse SAD / i haz it too :-(

Sun And Seasonal Depression: 'No one looks forward to spring more than people with seasonal affective disorder, who grow depressed in the waning light of winter. A smaller group of people, however, suffer on the opposite side of the calendar...'

'...summer SAD, also known as reverse seasonal affective disorder. About 5 percent of adult Americans are thought to have winter seasonal affective disorder; researchers estimate that fewer than 1 percent have its summer variant...'

LOL, where to begin? first the ri-moan: a-GAIN with the 'fewer than 1 percent' shit... why the fuck do i have all these things that only a tiny percentage of others have? can we say 'alienation'? of course we can (she said, grimly). i first noticed this when i was a kid, reading abnormal psychiatry books (with emphasis on the criminal mind, of course) and verily relating to the subjects' histories a bit too closely for comfort. this was before i turned nine and – literally thanks to the kindness of strangers – travelled 3,000 miles to get away from my mother. i never bothered to look it up, mostly cause i don't care but i'd bet anything only a very low percentage of runaways split from their families before they're 10.

that was a glorious time which lasted almost a year until some diligent cop recognised me from my photograph and bingo, i got busted and driven back home to the hell of middle class Brooklyn. when they opened the door, i ran straight to Daddy, hugged him hard and he began to cry whilst i ignored her as she thanked the cops. when they were leaving, i shouted 'fuck you for bringing me back!' and they gave my mother a look. the second they were gone, she tried to smack me but i ducked and she missed. as i ran upstairs, i shouted 'this is why i left!' and got the satisfaction of hearing Daddy say, 'I told you so'.

anyway, relating to all these criminals as i read about their childhoods and that which led them to where they were – be it prisons or asylums for the criminally insane – didn't do anything to help me; if anything, it depressed me even more and led to the beginnings of self-medication, something which sprang into full bloom when i was about 15. back to my return, apart from being virtually friendless (cause everyone else was so damn boring), i noticed it again, a year or so after i was dumped back in Brooklyn, when my public school administered the mandatory IQ tests. i scored in the top half percentile, or so they told my parents. Daddy and Iron Mommy were pleased. i shuddered, wondering if more would be expected of me.

'Fear and Loathing', anyone? all this stuff (off the top of my head: the ADD, the Asperger's, the Tourette's, the chronic depression, the reverse SAD, the shite job of raising me –LOL, FAIL!) not only made me the rebellious baby i am today but puts 'paid' to that which i told Jake, after he asked 'What's wrong with you, Rimone?'

i've written on this before but anyway, i went (in toto but paraphrased): 'super LSE mixed with super huge NYC ego, tempered with a horrific childhood, made more so by being too fuckin' smart and over-educated for my own good all gave me a lifelong disdain for the masses and their values whilst constantly being a cunthair away from suicide, all of which leaves me on an invisible little island of my own making. shall i go on?'

dead silence for a few seconds and then Chris, Jake, Fran and i all cracked up and kept on smoking. i kinda preened, inside, knowing how accurately i nailed myself. BTW, Christine sent me this article cause she's affected exactly like i am and we've been talking about it for years. this is prolly why Segs wasn't too happy when i told him she and i'd hooked up and talked every day. now, whenever i see him, i'm just extra careful not to mention her cause i never wanna see that pained look on his face again.



the article goes on: 'Because it is a fairly esoteric condition whose origins are unknown, many people who become depressed in the summer may not realize they have SAD. They may simply think of their bouts of depression as new events rather than parts of a pattern...

'...As with depression generally, more women than men appear to suffer from this condition, at a ratio some estimates put as high as two to one. It is most common among women in their reproductive years, but its onset sometimes comes as early as childhood. Researchers think it may also have a genetic component; more than two-thirds of patients with SAD have a relative with a major mood disorder...'

no shit! and an LOL, where to begin?

'...The symptoms of the two forms of the disorder often vary, heightening the confusion. People with the more common variety typically feel lethargic in the colder months, crave carbohydrates, gain weight and sleep excessively. Those afflicted during the summer often experience agitation, loss of appetite, insomnia and, in extreme cases, increased suicidal fantasies'.

yup, yup, yup and yup. :-( then comes a history of SAD (first identified in 1984) and then, after some individual ways to fight it off (all totally not me), the moment i was waiting for:

'For many, the only reliable defense against summer is pharmacological'.



big duh, dude. but all kidding aside, i think everyone should read the piece cause it explains a lot, and big thanks, Christine – very well-spotted. moving right along, i WUTM to find three new people following me on Twitter. it's nice to know my audience is widening (heh – more people to disgust, shock, bore or whatever). there's a dude called DataDirt in Austria, KellyShibari (check her out, dudes, and try to keep your eyeballs in their sockets) and TheRealMcCain who cracked me up with his: 'McCain 4 Obama! Cuz ignorance isn't bliss.'

speaking of Twitter, Dave wrote a dynamite description *admiring* over at his place: 'Imagine if the Beach Boys had a group orgy with CSNY in Manchester and their bastard offspring formed a group, then you are coming close to the sound of The Travelling Band'.

and Crowjake (whom we all know and love over at FreeA3 under another name) spent last night exploring derelict houses and such and sent me the coolest sentence i've read in ages:

'I felt like Herzog walking from Munich to Paris 1974, or some grand pilgrimage'.

fuckin-A, dudes and thank youse both muchly. now that i'm done with one of the most boring proofreading jobs i've yet had given me, i've drawn the vertical blinds, it's pissing down rain outside and i'm momentarily happy cause the atmosphere is perfect: i shall watch Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?, a film i've loved for ages and which came in this morning's post. there's a bit in it to which i totally relate: when Bette Davis catches an unexpected glimpse of herself in the mirror and shrieks in horror at her reflection. yup, that's me every morning, wondering who in hell that old hag is (before i remember it's me).

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*singing* you're so vain...

*still singing* you prolly think this LOL Cat's about you, you're so vain... you prolly think this LOL– oh, wait. you're right. my bad. *smirk*

in other news, i'm taking requests for the next poll. some have already offered up a coupla very nasty but amusing questions they'd like answered by whomever might drop by here but even i'm not that mean, though i am very tempted by one in particular. *cough* Christine, i'm talking to YOU about yours, the one involving the ah... the item of attire. there were a few other gems, all of which had me in stitches. who knew so many could be so mean? *grins*

moving right along, big thanks to everyone who mailed about my collages (cut-ups, CD covers or whatever) since the other day. most of it was favorable and as with the writty here – especially the nonfiction – i'm interested in criticism as well. my fave mail from Anonymous Coward (as they say on Slashdot):

'You think your an artist? You're stuff is shit!'

well, no, i certainly don't think i'm an artist but i do get a strange kind of satisfaction by sticking bits of paper together. and at least i know basic spelling, grammar and punctuation roolz. soz, 'rules'. FYI, if read literally, your opinion of my work is: 'You are stuff is shit!' i especially dig that surprise mark at the end but i'm sorry s/he didn't add more !!! for mocking purposes.

anyway, i mean, WTF? that totally makes not a whit of sense. notice me not touching that 'your an artist' stuff cause i can make neither heads nor tails of it apart from thinking s/he meant the 'an artist' belonging to me. yup, i've got him in my dungeon. soz, my bedroom. i've got my 'an artist' chained to the bed post making real art which i immediately trash, just out of spite and jealousy.

*shakes head sadly* dude, please get off my page; your lack of basic writing skilz totally puts me off and IMO you don't deserve to read me here or anywhere, actually. as well, in an effort to make me feel that all the dummies are gone i'm hoping your idiotic grammatical errors were caused by your haste to condemn my work, and you got so excited, you forgot to proofread. believe me, i'm being very kind with the foregoing. anyway, i also have the stones to, not only put up my work, be it writing or 'art' (let's call it) but to actually sign my name, which reminds me: in the entire 11, 12 yars i've been online, i've never sent an anonymous mail to anyone. anyway, i'd much rather my work be 'shit' than be chickenshit, if you get my drift. but thanks for bothering to mail, i really mean it, cause i feel even MORE special now. *preens*

in other other news, Chris is in Muenchen for the week. he txtd – 'The leaves just turned here. Everything's all red, orange and gold' – which forced me onto the balcony to photograph Robert Johnson, my lovely tree, as well as a few scans down the back of Bellevue Pleasure Gardens East. *smirk* sorry, but that name just kills me cause it conjures up ridiculous sexual images in my filthy AND peurile mind. anyway, out of yesterday afternoon's dozen or so, these are my faves.




BTW, i'm following John Cleese on Twitter. dig what he has to say about Sarah Palin, one of the dimmer lights in the bright shining vastyness of our beloved amerika: Monte Python Could've Written This, LOL – you go, John. :-)

ps, i'll be back later on, to edit in an appropriate WTF LOL Cat just for Mr, Ms, Mrs or Miss Anonymous Coward. and if i'm not too wasted by then, i'll be deleting this bit, IIR. in fact, anything i might promise to do, whether here or IRL should be understood with my usual caveat: 'if i remember'.

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sticky connectors

reason for title and above LOLCat will become apparent later on, IIR. moving right along, let's face it: the main complaints i receive all have to do with me promising to say or show something and then, i won't follow up on whatever. this is due, not only to my shite memory but, cause on second thought, i decide whatever's not a nice thing to do, usually cause it'll hurt someone in some way. and with all i've been told, i have an awful lot of ammo, if i so chose to use any of it. *evil* but apart from the occasional attack, i've kept quiet so far and i intend to keep on doing so.

anyway, returning to my habit of not following stuff up, let's take my last mention of Henry Rollins as an example. a few days back, near the end of Pam's Pics from Sicily, i said 'as promised yesterday, i shall get into details of the upcoming meeting with Segs' sister Christine, her husband Michael and Henry Rollins but not today' and i never went back there. then i got a shitload of mail (well, about 19 or 20 virtually howling for the promised details), all of which i ignored.

this was right after he sent a very brief mail in response to mine. my first mail included links to my posts here, posts which mentioned him in complimentary ways including the one copying his very first twit, which i thought was wonderful: 'I hate everybody'.

then, in the same post, i went on to say 'dude, i saw you ages ago when Black Flag played on Avenue A on the Lower East Side. but i'll be damned before i become one of your 13,103 followers. i mean, fuck that and i say that with the utmost respect'. why? cause it's true; not only am i not into watching celebs but when i do i'm very picky: i'm following John Cleese and Stephen Fry on Twitter and that's about it.

please note i didn't write that in my mail to Henry; it was only something which occured and then, i added it as an afterthought, like. i sent him links to those posts in an attention-whoring kinda way; who knows if he even read the damn things? i also told him how good he was standing in for poor, deadly overdosed Malcolm, playing with Segs and the Ruts at Paul Fox's Death Benefit and how sorry i was that i missed the first, the other Cancer Benefit gig when Foxy was still alive.

but lo and behold, next morning i got mail from Christine telling me Henry pulled down his Twitter account. coincidence? who knows? she's convinced that it was due to me but i sure hope she's wrong. however, i told the entire story to someone else i follow on Twitter (who follows me as well); he's with Christine, totally convinced Henry pulled down his Twits due to me.



i mean, if true, is that idiotic or what? the dude also went on to tell me it was a really good punkrock thing to have done. uhhh... duh? i don't geddit, told him so but he never replied to my mail though we still mess about, twitting away to each other on a daily basis.

before i forget: nicest mail i got all week came in this morning, well actually, when i woke up about 18,00 last night (totally forgot when i woke up – no biggie). then again, i think i remember i crashed about noon sunday cause i wanted to be able to not feel so pressured when meeting my deadline later on, at 09,00 today.



back to the mail, it wasn't anonymous – amazing! i won't ID the person who sent it; it was a one-liner which came before lotsa x.x.x.x.x and simply read 'I love you'.

2nd nicest thing that happened: after i began to follow Stephen Fry on Twitter last night, lo and behold, he's following me back. now i'm not special; he's also following a few thousand others but this made me really pleased and caused me to forget my anhedonia for a brief bit of time.



i don't hold any hope that we'll ever have a decent conversation or anything like that but after checking out his website and twits, i'm sure it's the real Stephen Fry. i DM'd him of course, thanking him and after saying i'd been a huge fan since i saw Wilde in NYC and bought the vid and then the DVD and everything else he was ever in, i sent him links to my non-fiction also mentioning that publishing thingy and that's all i'm gonna say about that.

right, the publishing deal. i won't get into details (i was actually asked not to) but at the moment, i'm thinking of some dude with whom i recently had a conversation (before i got the offer) in which i tried to explain the difs between what i'm writing here, how i'm writing it and the traditional way of writing a book. since it was so obvious he didn't geddit, i generalised and showed him other people's personal sites. dude laughed at me. *snigger* *cough* heh. whoa, maybe i should toss off a quickie, sump'n like 'Attention-Whoring For Dummies'. :-)



ok, back to sticky connectors. i shall upload my little collages, and i do mean little; not the stick-ons i mentioned yesterday but the CD covers i made for the music Chris burnt for me whilst we were living in Bonn. but i've been having trouble with my Mac; it went into sleep mode by itself, three times and very synchronistically, just after i realised Mercury's in Retrograde and had the audacity to Twit on it without invoking Sod. so right about now, i'm hoping i'm not offline for any serious amount of time or for any time at all, actually. wait, before the CD covers i've one more thing to say and it's to Techie-boy:

hey Babe, have a tremendously successful time in Muenchen this week. i'm so proud of you, i don't have the words, actually. and safe flights both ways, Babe. all my love. x

moving right along, Sticky Connectors was the first CD Chris made for me. what does it mean? none of your business. in all truth, i'm sure he prolly forgot by now but i haven't and that's all that matters.



background's a photo i took on a real camera of these wild staircases in the Bonner Zentrum. then i painstakingly cut out these teeny tiny people and put a mask on the officey dude. unfortunately, these are all shite camera pics and you won't see what i can see by just reaching over and admiring my own work. anyway, i won't bother listing the music on any of them apart from saying, this one has Ministry's cover of Dylan's Lay Lady Lay leading into Alabama 3's Sad Eyed Lady and the seque's not only superb but... bah, if i go any further down this road, i'll be weeping so i won't.

2nd's called Pet Man Sounds. again, the ground's a photo i took of the Bonn Zentrum. in fact, all backgrounds were shot by me on real cameras either in Bonn or Linz-am-Rhein.



3rd's called Swashed Away; this is only a detail and yes, i made it look as if the letters were shadowed on purpose. up close and personal it's all totally smooth:



it's a fountain in Linz; too bad phonepics are such crap cause these covers are really beautiful in meatspace and yes, i do say so myself. i believe i took this right before we went into the Torture Museum where i saw my first real Iron Maiden. of course, i immediately thought of Iron Mommy and how aptly i'd named her so long ago... but i digress. here's the entire cover:



4th's called Phosphor Glow and the cover won't be shown, again for reasons i ain't saying. anyway, it would take ages to explain the back story but for now, i'll say it's a phrase i lifted from one of Chris' mails to me when we were falling in love before we met.

OK, full-sized collages, two of them 8" x 11,5" and one 14" x 18". i think i posted these already somewhere either here or at my real site but these are still my three faves. my total fave's called The Three Graces Lost In The Catacombs.



the title's all teenytiny on that strip of red to the right of the dude's hand holding the old camera. there are lots of details but this's my fave (and yes, that's Death at the top):



i called the next The Visit and the chaos totally reflects my parents' household whenever i was summoned to any part of Downstairs as a child and each time i go back to NYC now. to get the full flavor, R-click and open in another tab. yup, that's Daddy sitting on the sofa. in fact, my entire fam including Iron Mommy, my perfectly well-behaved career-chick younger sister, my cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents are all in there. and so am i, being all shouty. :-)



finally here's Dirty Little Secret with my fave detail below it. and yeah, that's how i saw myself at the time (with the neighbors peering in) and when i was finally finished and showed it to Chris, oh how we laughed. :-)




anyway, i've got shitloads more, some works in progress and some totally done but i haven't yet found good enough frames for them and i'll only share when they're either on the mantelpiece or up on the walls. moving right along, i just heard from Chris who's through Security at Stansted. his aeroplane leaves a bit after 08,00 and as i told him, i miss him already. or maybe i just thought it; don't remember. *sigh* oh lovely, he just rang to say his flight's delayed... typical. and now i must go back to work cause i've got like less than half an hour to edit the last damn page of the most boring nonsense i've ever been forced to read. but hey, it could be worse – if i hadn't lucked out, i might be putting on a business suit right now, LOLOLOL!

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afraid to think? if only!

i found the above this afternoon whilst searching my desk for something else. i dig when that happens: serendipity or sump'n. anyway, it's the back of a flyer sent me like ten years ago or maybe more, asking me to renew my subscription to the NY Review of Books, which, at the time (as well as now), i found kinda funny since they'd fucked up along the line and for years and years, i'd receive these magazines gratis. actually, the flyer might be even older than i think cause there's no mention of a URL in the text on the flipside.

check the lower R-hand corner (it's truly a shame it won't photograph clearly). when scanning the opposite side for their (then) nonexistent website, the fingers on my left hand felt it wasn't totally smooth and i realised i must've stuck whatever on myself though i don't remember doing it. it's gotta be a bit snipped off one of those paper inserts that're packed inside all prescription med boxes (here) and given out with the vials (there), the ones with the Contraindications or whatever. in all truth, i won't read em anymore cause Denial stepped up and for the good of my mental health, quickly convinced me 'Nevermore'. |-(

this was due to a tremendously fucked up reaction to something called Paroxetine, liquid Luvox or Paxil or sump'n that sounds similar. happened like 2,5 years ago... hang on. where i am going with this? right – thinking and shit... i really can't right now cause in all truth, i'm too drunk to get up and walk into the kitchen, even. anyway, i won't read inserts anymore. fuck those warnings, they almost killed me. because i read em and i fucking listened to them – that's how desperate i was.

and although even i'm getting bored of typing it, prolly almost as much as you are reading it, the aforesaid iz stawree of mai lief, akshually – and not just then but each and every time i did the supposedly right thing, i got fucked in the ass for it. in that particular event, i listened to my doctor but whoa, do i digress cause i'm so not going there.

right, i'm going to the message on the micro-collage – and i know i'm insulting collages by calling it that but i dunno what else to call it. hmmpf... when a collage has like two pieces only, what is it? a stick-on? sounds too American deodoranty or bandaidish. but intristin': that makes it the 2nd stick-on i made, actually. two i know of cause there's that Norman Rockwell from here.

wait, there's six cause i made one for each of the four CDs Chris made for me in Bonn. shit, too drunk to photograph them well enough now. *makes note in Palm* those four covers took me hours each whilst these two were easy-peasey: sticking a caption onto a background: 2 seconds, big whoop. well, actually about 30 seconds in order to do it right: as invisibly stuck as possible.

*sigh* no way can i simply give what Chris – in exasperation – calls 'the headline', i can't go from point A to point B in writing or speech, no way, never could. Asperger's. minute mind-numbing very detailed tangential thinking and the ADD makes it endless. anyway, when examining the paper insert under bright light and my trusty magnifying glass, the entire thing reads:

'Are you afraid to think? May Cause Drowsiness Or Dizziness'.

well, i STILL think it's funny. scroll up and check the lead image, lower R-hand corner. no, i'll wait. anyway, Hunter's not a-skeered to think.



as we all so unfortunately know, i do as well. which all brings to mind:

♫ 'if my thought dreams... could be seen... they'd probably put my head... in a guillotine...' ♫



yes, lit-tle Hunter: truer words and alla that. about the guillotine? that'd be the last stop on the Torture Express after they pulled what's left of my scalded torn body from the boiling oil in which it was repeatedly dunked. why repeatedly? knowing me as well as i do, i'd be shrieking 'THAT DIN'T HURT!' each and every time i surfaced (comes from personal experience; my mother would smack me as hard as she could and even through the tears, i'd be all shouty – 'that din't hurt!' – knowing i was virtually asking for more).

if anyone's still with me, i can kinda see you, shaking yer head, thinking 'She's gone'. anyway, if someone could really get into my head, not only would s/he quickly get totally lost in the labyrinth of useless facts, horrific childhood memories, dystopic visions (personal, environmental, global) and other shite within but in the case they discerned any semblance of coherent linear thought, it'd immediately result in a one-way trip to prison. gaol – like Oscar Wilde said and now that i'm here i can spell it that way. :-)



moving right along, thank you Bob Dylan for the quote way above and now STFU, please. unfortunately, going by prior experience, that Dylan line'll be in my mind's ears for the next few hours and worse yet, the entire tune'll be playing over and over until something else comes along to usurp it. it's really sad cause Radio Rimone is always on, whether i wannit or not, playing in the background of whatever i'm doing.

back to the thinking, pondering, mulling or whatever's the best descriptor, that might be cause a) i smoke weed (even a toke or two will set off a longass train of thought frequently leading nowhere); b) i've got too much time on my hands; c) i'm extremely opinionated; d) as well as quite self-absorbed; e) the Asperger's is always finding new details of details, which makes it almost endless or f) all the aforementioned. and when the ADD kicks in, the (let's be nice and call it) 'thinking' really revs up a notch or ten. even work gives me no reprieve cause whilst typing away on whatever topic, my internal monologue's constantly wittering. BTW, some of that will end up on Twitter. witter ––> Twitter / funny ––> not.

subject's been hijacked: i began this ages ago but was forced to start over due to unexpected guests cause it's not hard for me to pass up social interaction but when i don't have to move an inch from my flat, things are very different. i inveigled em up here, actually (sorry, Kate). *smirk*



anyway, as i typed, going back and forth between here, Twitter and my next deadlined gig, they passed around my silver platter with a huge pile of some powdery substance they brought (i actually passed this up – a first). here's the platter after the pile was gone and i put the usual implements and stuff back on. yes, that's a hemostat, OK? i've got a larger one in the cedar box.



no, you have no use for them here. you don't have roaches cause you mix it with tobacco. that's one of the few things i can't stand about living here – nobody smokes it straight, but hey, y'can't have everything. i'm here and if this is the way things're done here, all i can really do is moan about it forever, right? :-)

going back to my guests, there was method to my madness: they got high and i got drunk whilst making sure the pungence of Skunk wafted through the living room and they're all smoking. well, all apart from me (by that point, i was hungry enough). then, i like 'realised' i'm totally outta Cheddar and what's a Cheeze Toastey without Cheddar cheese, hmmmm?



it din't exactly go down like that but i'll put it this way: no one was the wiser and IMO there was no harm done and we all stuffed ourselves on this delicious spinach pasta (heavily laced with garlic) once a certain grrl quit grumbling and got her ass into the kitchen along with dudes to help her clean up and serve. and i sat here, busy at work. or 'work', whatever – i was working or, at the very least, giving the impression of doing so and almost constantly talking to whomever, of course.

this was a coupla hours ago and i can truthfully say, this post was supposed to be about thinking, and why but i blame my unexpected guests, actually. they turned my attention onto the here and now, thus hijacking my thinking. anyway, we all pigged out, they tried to force me into meatspace (some afterhours club), we play-argued a bit until Kate stamped her foot. then i glared when she told me how impossible i was (me: 'yeah, yeah, tell me something i haven't heard my entire life'). we stared at each other for a few seconds, cracked up, kissed and made up and then they all trooped out, looking for adventure or something.

now i'm blissfully stuffed and (not quite but nearly) happy cause things are back to normal again; i'm alone with Hunter and about to take my first toke of the evening before i watch some more Film Noir. tonight it's a toss-up between Out Of The Past, Kiss Me Deadly or Hitchcock's Rebecca. fun fact: Mrs Danvers was one of my earliest role models on how to get back at my mother by being a suppressive bitch. she made my mother look like Shirley Temple in comparison, actually. and emulating her at such an early age helped me more than i can say, but that's a whole 'nother story. :-)

and at this very moment i can honestly say 'life is good' but i won't cause it never lasts. but what makes it so much better is that Dylan was pre-empted about 5 minutes ago by something a bit M.O.R my style:



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a FAQ or two & then some

i'm hoping this post'll answer the most frequently asked question mailed me lately. if not? hey, i tried. OK, not only did i post the above here the other day but i also uploaded it to Twitpics and called it '1 of setmajer's 1st from new iPhone; he was shocked by the new grey areas in my formerly B&W POV'.

then i commented 'was taken at Eritrean restaurant; Chris was shocked by me saying i was up for nomming new fuds'. which brings me to the mailz received (all of which i ignored) after posting this LOL Cat i made some time ago:



one would almost think the pan holding the obviously GREY paint went totally unseen in the mailers' haste to ask – nope, more precisely, 'to demand' – what the hell i was on about. 'one would almost think...' being the pertinent phrase there. i've seddit before and i'll say it again, though i despise repeating myself (apart from when i don't): if you're too stupid to dig whatever i might write, i certainly don't want you reading here, mostly cause it pains me to know there're adults who cannot understand the English language, all of whom are in the States. how do i know this? ever hear of 'headers'? anyway and even worse, they somehow come home with six figures per annum, or so they say.

two things, d00dz, and i shall permit teh kittehs to speak for me since they do it with more eloquence than i'll ever be able to muster.




BTW, i know that of which i speak cause whenever i receive mail containing any asinine question, some think i'll be all impressed when they feel the need to include unwanted personal info including their supposed salaries. no, i do NOT wanna get to know you; if i did you would've received my almost instantaneous reply. the inclusion of this undesired info is always amazing to me; like i'm gonna give a rat's ass about your supposed financial status. plus it's obvious these people or whatever they are (all having penises, of that i'm positive) gawk away, seeking out my own personal info. and that's the point at which i'm gonna stop my very vivid imagination from working overtime... too late! ugh.

anyway, i'd rather know that only one person was reading me (or none at all) than to have hordes of dumbasses – let's call em 'mouthbreathers' – trying to unnerstand, sounding out the hard words under their breaths. just like reading a meatspace book, i do hope their index fingers are on their screens in their efforts to stay on the proper line. dudes, if this describes any a-youse, my kindest thought is: i hope you totally fuck up your screens with your moisty fingers, leaving permanent streaky trails.

the good bit? after first posting my grey paint LOLCat, i got like 20 or so mails, basically saying they were laughing their asses off. :-) and most of them arrived within the first coupla days, so thank you muchly, people! *preens* *bows* *trips* *falls on face*

moving right along, i was gonna get to more FAQs but i just received a very politely worded request for an editing job (wheee! more £ than proofing!) deadlined for monday. dude, that's so much more like it and i thank you, although i know you have no idea about this site and that's the way it's gonna stay – for the nonce. heh.

hang on; almost forgot. Hunter has something to say on the second most frequently asked question mailed me lately:



thanks a lot, Cunter. actually, it's the most FAQ of all time (well, since over 4 years back gave birth to Dateline : Bristol). again and all from the States, people think nothing of asking me variations of 'How old are you, anyway?' – i mean, WTF and WHY? i always wonder (but never reply) 'does it really matter? would it make any difference?' anyway, i have absolutely no problem responding to those British, whether i know em or not and whether it's in meatspace or mailz. same as i have no problem telling those i've met via Twitter with whom i've had whatever sort of emails exchange.

but i'll be damned if i'm gonna advertise here though in all truth, i'm quite proud of my looks for my age. and again, in all honesty, i do believe i owe it all to my lifelong drugs intake. the pity of that is, since i was a liddle kid and smoked my first joint – nah, shite example. OK, the sad bit is, despite my being height-impaired (almost 5'2") and weight-impaired (85 lbs), i've always had a huge tolerance for whatever puts out people much larger than i. oh boo fuckin'-hoo! i need more than you do. :-( no... wait: *snarf* and big thanks to Marianne for the snarf. :-)




and finally, one of my fave lines from Lebowski. :-)



now, where was i? right – whoa, almost forgot: Euripidean's in Florence and sent me this photo yesterday.



i might be mistaken (it happens occasionally) but i think she thinks i have 'a thing' for lampposts since i go wild over those on the Thames. now the reason for that is, i've been in love with those (and their fishies) for ages, having seen them so many times in old B&W British made films and such. still looking for the illo in the Mary Poppins books, when i remember, but i haven't found it yet. but thank you, Jane, for thinking of me, and very much so.

i'm still flattered whenever i remember not only was she the youngest person at my birthday thingy in London, but i believe she travelled the furthest, all the way down from York. then again, Darren and Tina (Mr and Mrs Lazy) drove all the way from um... shit! Poole? Bournemouth? damn, my memory's such shite these days, just like a sieve.

anyway, i shall leave y'all with some photos Chris sent me this morning. being so in love with the outward evidence of history here and stone walls in general, here's me making love to a wall. wait... why does it look like i have a fat ass? shadows? i really do? no matter, proof positive i make love to stone walls.

OK, here's me getting up my nerve and strength for the proper approach.




and then came the foreplay.



at this point in time, Techie-boy quit taking photos and informed me the police were on their way. they were very cool, even friendly, once i explained what seeing real stone walls did to me, and i think my accent helped as well. bail was set at a measley 500 quid and i spent no more than ten minutes at the station.

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how i got my proofreading gig

no shit. i mean, really, no shit. dude sent me a short half-page 'try-out' and along with my corrections, i sent him back this plus the LOLCat URL. he had no idea of either, not being on the 'Net for any decent amount of time and knew nothing of memes but said he laughed his ass off and gave me the gig. now i'm beginning to rue the day cause i was awake and working for over 48 hours straight this week although about halfway through, i rang him about 03,00 the other morning and we Had Words. then i bopped out, rather, then by the time we hung up, i managed to force him into paying me a higher rate for both proofing and editing. methinks i scared him, but still.

moving right along, last night i had people over, some of whom were cooking for me. one of my last twits of the evening was: *CRASH!* me: 'what was that?' them: 'oh, nothing. carry on typing'. me: 'ok. whoa, is that my Absinthe? whew! only the vodka'. then i remembered posting the below.



naturally, i decided to do it my way, a bit more accurately reflecting their tone.



moving right along, i think i shall spend the rest of today dicking about with my iTouch and praying to my godz i don't fuck anything up (cause as we all know, i'm best at that). then, last night's visitors are supposed to stop by to inveigle me to come out with them. after the delicious dinner they cooked for me, i told em 'i'll think about it' cause they were already making plans for the weekend and though i have no idea why, they want me tagging along with them.

the thing of it is, i already know what i'm gonna be doing tonight and it doesn't involve anything having to do with them or TRW. as i told Stress Counsellor Dude during our last session, 'it's a good thing i don't easily get bored as long as i have books to read or films to watch. but the bad thing is, that's more proof i haven't grown up cause i've been doing the same thing (same as it always was) since i learnt to read. the only thing that's changed is my location. oh, and the decrepit bag of skin i sometimes term "my outer envelope". inside? i'm still the social failure i always was as well as never having advanced beyond the maturity level of an eight-year old boy'.

the thing of it is, i don't really care, especially after getting online. not that i cared before cause though i didn't think of it in that way, practically my entire life has been spent avoiding reality using books and films as my drugs. in times of need, i'll resort to real extra-legals but gimme most any book (or film) and i'll be entranced for the duration.

stray thought: it's a wonder i ever managed to get my Special Ed. teaching licence and even more of a wonder i was entrusted, not only with others' children, but to counsel their parents as well as the kids themselves. another stray thought that somehow managed to emerge through the haze of the hashish i'm smoking: it's a damn good thing the NYC Board of Education didn't measure one's maturity level. then again, i believe it's my inclination to treat kids as adults that made me such a good teacher. but like most things in my life, that's a whole 'nother chapter from my past, so distant in time as well as space that one could think of it as being part of someone else's life.

Q: am i the only person who, after smoking whatever extra-legal, is flooded with thoughts and self-revelations?



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coming home like a dream

AFAIC, the best part of going out ANYwhere is coming home but before i get to that, in a reverse turnaround from the negativity below as well as having nothing to do with coming home, these were the first photos i took at some loo at some pub yesterday in London. i was totally fascinated by the tiles in my liddle stall and was dying to know how old they were but nobody who worked there knew. this is in a pub next to Victoria Station's Shame Train Arrivals.

after i did my bidness, i was in there for like ten minutes, freaking over the tiles. yup, 'it doesn't take much. still'.




OK, when buying my tickets to London the other night, i couldn't help but see National Express totally changed their website and when i clicked on 'Departing From' i got three places in Bristol, none of them being the Marlborough Street Coach Station, so i chose Queens Road, only a mere five minutes from my place. apart from saving me about 4 quid in taxis each way, this turned out to be a very good thing and i'm never going to the coach station again.

BTW, i forgot to say before but now i'm the proud owner of an i-Touch but that's a story for another time. the thing of it is, like all things Apple, i can't help but fondle it every chance i get. anyway, last night the Shame Train pulled onto Queens Road just about 02,00 and as i walked home (yup, you guessed it), i couldn't help but take some pics. i dunno how long this feeling will last but if i had my way, i'd NEVER get used to living here cause the nearer i approach my place, the more excited i become. OK, here's my adopted house. yes, again.






then i'm walking and i get a bit cheerier cause we're right around the corner but kinda on a cul-de-sac called Bellevue Terrace, a stone's throw away from my, i mean, The House, pictured above.



and then i see this, which for some strange reason, brings me a lot of joy.



then, about 30 seconds up the steep hill, i turn the corner and i'm about to scream my head off. in all actuallity, anytime i'm depressed (e.g., always) if i can make it dressed and out and up the street, all i have to do is gaze at this sign and somehow, i'm calmed almost instantly.



i'd have taken phonepics of the entire length of Bellevue but there are too many streetlights in the way. for some indescribable and paranoid reason, i keep thinking i'm gonna wake up and realise i'm still in the States and the past few years have only been a lovely dream. anyway, about 90 seconds after passing sign above, we're home.



hours later, i went out on the balcony.



according to the widget on my Dashboard, Dawn's at 06,51 and Sunrise is 07,25. i missed Dawn, but here's Sunrise yesterday morning.





*sigh* anyway, thanks to being given a slew of deadlines at the very last minute, forcing me to Have Words with bossman, i was still awake hours later, typing my ass off. at about 16,00, it occurred to me to check out the windows and see how Robert Johnson was doing. here he is in all his magnificent October glory.



then i think i passed out for a while cause i found myself an hour or so later slumped over the keyboard and the doc i was working on last, had a cute little longass paragraph of Es. i'm looking at it in wonder and thinking 'more coke please' and just like magic, the phone rang – but that's another story. :-)

right, funniest thing i read all day. background: at Chris' suggestion, i'm a member of a techie group cause lord knows, i really don't belong there but occasionally i'll actually understand what they're talking about and learn something useful. these messages (offa topic called Usability Niggles) came in within half an hour of each other and had me ROTFLMAO.

17,12: Q: 'Would anyone know of, or care to invent, a good phrase to describe the way a large number of small, inconsequential imperfections add up to create a bad overall impression? What I'm thinking of is a bit like broken windows [1] and a bit like the reservoir of goodwill [2], but not exactly either of those'.

[1] fixing broken windows
[2] usability (nb: foregoing article is by one of my Usability Heroes, author of one of my Usability bibles, 'Don't Make Me Think'.

17,41: A: 'The Real World'.

*snigger* moving right along and just for teh kitteh haters out there, here're my two faves of today.



oh wow... it's like after 7 and the sunrise is gorgeous but i'm too tired to take any pics and anyway, i've got last night's dinner to cook and eat and a coupla films to watch, so see ya when i see ya. KTHXBAI!

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scene in the 'hood

above pics were taken on Queens Road about a week ago and are only one of the reasons i despise going outside. there's a disco *puke* or whatever in the building next to Sainsburys and every night, you can see the hordes queueing up behind the glitzy velvet ropes (LOL!) waiting to be chosen to enter. sometimes it's almost painful to see their faces, especially when they're like this



one time last year, hoping to avoid the crowds, i found myself around the corner taking the long way home. i was fascinated with the scene that unfolded before me: there was a very pretty girl, down on her knees, giving one of the bouncers a blowjob. at least he had the brains to look ashamed when he caught my eye (i smirked at him and gave him the old 'thumb's up'). BTW, all the bouncers greet me by name and when they do, i can almost feel the daggers shooting from the eyes of the way dressed-up chicks at the head of the queue. and me in my crappy old jeans, Cons and leather jacket and them forcing me to keep my shades on at night in a futile effort to ward off the sparkles and sequins. ugh.



sorry to say but some of these chicks dance their asses off whilst on the queue and it takes all i have not to crack up laughing. they all do variations of something i call 'little old ladies skipping through mud puddles'. you get the idea (and if you don't, consider yourselves lucky).

the funny thing is, even when it's like 8 or 9C or colder, most of the chicks are like half undressed. now i dig checking out chicks as much as the next dude but please, girls: buy yerselves full-length mirrors and really inspect yourselves before heading out (especially the rear). i freaked in shame when i saw this one girl in a gold lame' dress just about covering her ass but with treetrunk legs teetering on the highest of glittery golden heels. if that weren't bad enough, she didn't only have a muffin-top, she had the entire Pillsbury Doughboy Factory fighting it out, under the dress. i wanted to take a pic but felt bad for her so didn't.



i wouldn't waste my time writing on this but lately when i fly by, i get to hear shit like 'Punkass' and 'There she goes again...' this is totally amazing to me cause it's the closest experiences to mine in NYC that've ever happened since i got here. anyway, enough about them. in fact, fuck this negativity; i'm about to write a post on the good stuff happening from a website fuckup i made the other night.

but first, 'I need a hit, D Wayne, I need a motherfuckin' hit!'

*thwoooooop!* ah, that's soooo much better. BRB sometime before Dawn (06,51 – Sunrise is 07,25) cause i'm on yet another all-nighter after forcing a raise. two raises, actually; one for proofing and one for editing. wait, don't they call a 'raise' a 'rise' here? whatever, i'm earning more £ – why? cause i'm worth it – and it's about damn time. :-)

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i'm not antisocial; i'm just not very user-friendly

nope, the title's not mine but i sure wish it were. anyway, the above was taken last night in some Eritrean (sp?) restaurant on Coldharbour Lane. kinda funny story demonstrating my black & white POV: a bit before, whilst sitting in the Garden of Albert with Mr Pixie, Pam and the usual regulars of the Brixton Posse – 'the pill-poppin' hollerin' deviants' (as i dig quoting Larry when describing them) – we were deciding at which place to have dinner. Techie-boy almost had a stroke when i told him i didn't much care cause i'm up for trying something new. the look on his face was priceless and he managed to sputter, 'Where's rimone and what did you do with her?!!???!!!'

here's Pam's typically reserved British reaction to alla this. BTW, i forgot to tell her i really dug the new labrette or whatever it's called. i remember it was very shiney and i sat there admiring it but too fucked up to tell her, thanks to the mixture of drugs and booze.



then, after i took the above, i think she remembered her dignity and stuff. i wouldn't exactly say she gave me 'a look', but very close to it. hmmpf, Pammie, very nice. ;-)



ooh, just realised that last night was the first time in ages Chris and i performed one of our impromptu episodes of the Chris & Rimone Show (the Rock & Rimone Show having displaced the prior over the last two years*). anyway, here's to many, many more C&R Shows *clink!* moving right along i told him 'sorry, Babe, you've been outta the loop for so long, it's pathetic. i try new stuff now; that's my newest way of learning and it only took me decades to figure that shit out'. he was speechless whilst i sat there, grinning my head off, cause i totally meant every word and he knew it though, at first, didn't believe it.

*i shall say no more about Rock & Rimone Shows apart from my fervent desire and belief that they're over and done with. on the other hand, Chris & Rimone Shows, whether we're apart like now, or when we were together, were always much funnier, judging by audience reaction.

BTW, my photo above was taken by a very shocked, shaken and stirred Blast Tyrant on his sparkley new iPhone. and yup, i'm still glorying in this cause there's not much i can do which'll move him into surprise mode. it was so funny cause AFA he's concerned, i'm as predictable (boring!) as the day is long and it was fun watching him freak cause over the last eight years, he's known me to be just like a kitty – flipping out at the very idea of change, clinging to the tried and true (safe for a control freak such as i) and not wanting to try any new stuff (apart from extra-legals and weirdass combinations of same). but most of all, i'd cringe at the very thought of eating or doing anything new. well, all apart from skydiving but i mean, who in their right minds wouldn't wanna do that?

moving right along – rather, moving a bit backwards in time, i still get what can only be described as a thrill as i exit the Tube at Brixton and turn down Coldharbour Lane. yup, after all these years i'm still all spoingy at the thought of being, not only in London but at The Prince Albert, THE favored pub of the Alabama 3, a place Chris and i read about whilst living in the States, never dreaming we'd actually end up here. here's old Prince Albert himself, hung over the smoking area up front.



as i approached, my heart beating faster and faster with the usual excitement and spoing, i took a photo of the facade, not noticing Steve the Engineer on the phone.



he's the dude who's – for whatever reason i still can't fathom – playing guitar on MY tune on M.O.R:

they rarely do covers but it's Alabama 3's iteration of Gil Scott-Heron's The Klan (hear me here). and yup, i'm still milking this for all it's worth, every damn chance i get. *preens* um... y'all can quit with your sighing now; i promise i won't mention it again. *whispers* well, not in this post anyway. :-)

dammit to hell, my Palm just went off which means i've gotta get outta my nightgown and venture outside before Sainsburys shuts down cause i'm almost outta cigs. to be continued with more pics and stuff as soon as i get back, so stay tuned. *snigger*

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Pam's pics from Sicily

Pam in Brixton is one of those people of whom whose qualities i wish i had more. i mean, she'll take off to places unknown without knowing the language whereas i'll be hiding under the bed, just thinking about doing same. she took these photos on her recent trip to Palermo and dig it: she went by herself without knowing Italian. i'm totally in awe of her and her – to me – courage.







plus, she's one o' those who take delight when we're in London and against my wishes, begging her, literally begging her 'PLEASE! QUITTIT! no more architectural details – you're making me seethe with envy that y'all take this for granted whilst i truly freak out at stuff like this!' anyway, she pretends she doesn't hear me and proceeds to point out various things that cause me to get extremely shouty e.g., 'OMFG!'

y'all can find the rest of her Palermo Sicily photos over here. i viewed em all, yes, whilst raging within; just dying of jealousy actually. BTW, whenever people ask to see my passport, first checking to see whether or not rimone's my real name (of course it is; Daddy wanted a boy but caved to my mother who called me Nova and rimone's my middle name) and then checking to see my real birthdate, i can happily state that Pam's not been one of them, so thank you sweet grrl.

nb: as promised yesterday, i shall get into details of the upcoming meeting with Segs' sister Christine, her husband Michael and Henry Rollins but not today. i've got shitloads of work to do but as usual, don't feel like it.

first i tried this:


then senility stepped aside and my right mind stepped up, reminding me i work from home. thank fuckity fuck i hesitated before ringing him. why did i hesitate? i badly needed to refuel – thank &deity that i did. then i tried:


it didn't work. nor did i until quite recently.


when i finally rang him, i hinted around rather vaguely. he got the message loud and clear. BUT after a bit of hemming and hawing on both our parts...


meh: O yes, kind sir (sans the 'kind' and the 'sir') *whilst thinking* y'all don't pay me for teh work i've done? den you iz in trubble deeper den i kin say. ended phonecall with 'KTHXBAI!' knowing he had no idea what i was on about (his loss). as well, i've been very careful to delete the tawdry URL from my sig on every mail i've ever sent him. he has no idea about Twitter nor does he care and i thank my lucky stars for that, the dumb twat.

i'd like to end on a happy note but can find no happy at the moment, so i shall end with this bit reflecting the meh of meh:


and, rather, but but but for the puerile amongst us, i hope this satisfies your immaturity quotient for the day.



yup, i sure did and i'll do it again and again and again – whatever it takes. :-)

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att'n whorin = FAIL (thanks to Henry Rollins)

all shall be revealed but for right now, all my attention-whoring's been put on hold (poor me) by some intristin news sent me by Christine regarding her forthcoming meeting with Henry Rollins in Seattle.

by the way, i love his first twit: 'I hate everybody'. whoa, we have something in common apart from my 'everybody' is only the unthinking LCD of amerika. shit, Henry might change his tune if he's so inclined to move outta the States and to the UK.

dude, i saw you ages ago when Black Flag played on Avenue A on the Lower East Side. but i'll be damned before i become one of your 13,103 followers. i mean, fuck that and i say that with the utmost respect.

moving right along, i totally love this and wish i'd made it:



as for me? next LOL Cat just about sums me up:



*sigh* if only i could stay there but that would mean i'd have to believe in hell, heaven, god and the rest of all that nonsense when the Flying Spaghetti Monster makes more sense to me (more info here).



actually, at this very moment as well as since i was like three, the only hell i can think of is this one here, on Planet Earth. but i've grown wiser over the years; now when i think of hell, i visualise it with Ground Zero being both the DC shitehouse as well as the former pigfarm they now call the western white – errr, shitehouse.

anyway, stay tuned for Christine and Henry Rollins, KTHXBAI!

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1,000 twits and then some

the title's to fool youse as i was originally gonna call it 'attention-whoring MY WAY'. and as y'all know it's either gimme attention or don't let the door hit you on yer asses on yer ways out. and beware the hordes fleeing before you; no elbow digging, face smacking or kicking please – there's plenty of time to get the hell out before you read further.



helpful hint: shut down this tab before my writty starts to piss you off (can we all say 'self-absorbed'? sure we can). as well, you can thank me later for the 'shutting down the tab' idea. nb: all donations happily received, whether they be £, $, services traded for services (?) rendered or the like.

now this next truly stings – it's Hunter in one of his futile attempts to be invisible and unseen by me.



soz Hunter dude. your disguise isn't foolproof from ol' eagle-eyed me. at least yer not trying to hide with your head under my – your – MY fave blanket and yer furry little butt stuck waving in the air. it's so funny when he does that cause when i call his name, he can't help but flinch, thus drawing my attention to the now-twitching blanket. back to the above, i have no idea from where he dug up the monocle but at least his latest attempt reveals him to be more clever than i originally assumed.



OK, 'Let's get down to cases'. gonna do the ol' copy and paste dance directly from Twitter since i so sorely hate to be ignored. i shall chalk it up to the fact that today's the weekend and so, just like any other weekend, people are out in TRW doin stuff so as usual, i'm thanking the deity of my choice, thanking her i had the foresight to stock up on staples such as Cheeze Toastey ingredients, ciggies, cat litter and catfood for the weekend's successful attempt to remain indoors.



so here i sit basking in the glorious warmth of my flat, kinda dressed as you see me in following photo taken last year in Whitstable.



about the above, there're many more and most quite revealing (not all taken by me) but i'll leave them to your imaginations. helpful hint: imagine an 8 years-old liddle boy's bod sans penis but with tits (of a sort).

back to Twitter, my grade ranking went up like 5 points since the other day but i'm neither flattered nor amused. as i said somewhere, the more Twitter gets to be known, just like i predicted with Blogger back in 2K, the more assholes, always last to jump on the bandwagon, will join in. and i'm there for one reason only: to learn techie things from those much wiser and more experienced than i. these are subjects that Chris used to feed me along with recommended meatspace books, all of which i devoured. but without Chris here? i'm totally on my own. oh, boo-fuckin hoo! *snigger* now on to the twits on which i'll choose one word to link to the timestamp.

right, in all actuallity, it's not exactly a timestamp but if one decides to click whatever link, you'll see how long ago these were posted (e.g., the first one below reads 'about 9 hours ago' – these keep changing in order to stay pretty much current). OK, let's begin with one of my first of now-yesterday. BTW, let it be known, i noticed how near i was to Twit 1,000 so i hastened my updates in order to reach that magically mysterious number:

thinkin i've committed every ASBO crime here possible and done some more than once. still committing them akshually.

however, my American accent has unwittingly come to the rescue each and every time. USA! USA! wait – never mind. hahahaha.

which reminds me of the assholes who applaud the pilot when he touches down at JFK. i mean, are secretaries applauded when doing their jobs?

convincing my Brit GF in Seattle 2C Henry Rollins; he invited her personally after learning she's Segs's sister (The Ruts & Alabama3's bass).



nb: ok, lemme take this opportunity to say i shall post on this sometime tomorrow, post about the Great Meeting of Henry, Christine and Michael coming up in Seattle pretty soon. now back to the Twits.

wondering why we're all in on saturday. i've got my own reasons starting w/being a recluse + social anxiety disorder apart fr when in London.

just popped three xanax. let the high commence. that, or i'll go back to the hard stuff.

coined 'egotwitting' here: http://tinyurl.com/3qgvtg and google proves it: http://tinyurl.com/4aw7pb.

reconsidering makng £ off one Brit freak in particular. y'wanna clean my house? you bring the French maid uniform and the heels & we'll see.

watching 'once upon a time in america'. paucity of those here 2nite-tho reflecting they prolly have real lives to pursue-is totally boring.

ah...sec after i posted my last 2, phone rings. will have the usual flatful of ppl who bend to my will, whether or not they know it.

as per usual whenever i remember, thanking my godz i'm living in England, land of my dreams since a child. *all shouty* I LOVE IT HERE! xxx

gearing up to post some really personal admissions as well as stuff at which others would cringe/die b4 revealing. am ready for (2B cont'd)

am ready for the hordes to drop me; as one who stayed recently commented 'i'm an acquired taste needing a strong stomach' causing LOL here.

shit! meant to clarify 2 twits back: 'post' meaning not on twitter but on tawdry site. c'mon ppl, surely yer all holding back as well.

btw, was incredulous when asked for my site's URL. and this from a supposed techie-geek type person. i mean, WTF is wrong w/some? (cont'd)

cont'd-amazed when realising anyone can see the URL of tawdry site in my profile and for a geek-type not to know where to look is amazing.

'phone's ringing, dude' (TY Lebowski). seems ppl r having trouble figuring out which house i'm in. i should rly give IQ tests b4 admittance.

lol when some1 new follows me & i DM: 'why? i'm rly interested to know this'. so far 1 dropped me after that DM. boofuckin hoo. *smirk*

*note to self* but i'll betcha ANYthing he follows me on my own page. ANYthing. :-)

opened hard carrier for Hunter to escape jail/timeout for biting me an hr ago; thinking SRSLY of buying nother pheromone diffuser to calm him.

back to my guests and film mentioned below*. oooh, they brought refreshments. singing A3's Monday Don't Mean Anything to me which's blasting now.

*nb: 'below' meaning 'above' since i'm copying according to Twitter which, just like any blog software, sticks newest post at the top.

writing tawdry post in which i shall hold nothing back. i've had quite a varied career wh. brings to mind: Better Living Through Chemicals. (nb: this isn't the post of which i was thinking. just sayin'.)

hmmm wasn't 'better living through chemicals' a slogan of Dow way back when?

i meant to say 'better living through chemistry' in last twit & yup, believe it was Dow's. if only they'd known how it'd be misused LOL

but hey, works for me.

how can anyone expect one to follow them when any info is either behind locked doors or total bullshit? or person's unreachable w/no DMs?

directed 2 last follower: love r***ts but if u don't want me blasting info here, suggest you enable ur DMs. wd dig f'ing-need mor info 1st.

yes i'm picky and w/good reason-rly don't give a damn abt popularity-as i've sed here b4 my main thing is to learn fr others' sites/posts.

so xcited: 18 twits from 1K. rather, so xcited-not. now pouring White Rs US style 4 guests-made w/milk, not lemonade/cola.*pukes at thought*

plsd 2 hear many going OMG-so THIS is wot Lebowski liked so much. me: yup. can't unnerstand substitution of cola/l'ade 4 milk. tasted 1 once

cont'd fr last: tasted 1 at pub once and almost spewed it out onto other pubgoers. was in total shock till asked bartender ingredients.

neglecting my guests whom i'm forcing to listen to me on Klan b4 film begins again. 'hey, u'all know where the door is'. nobody's left, YET.

watching em slurping real WRs. 'i can haz mor pls?' me: no prob. care 2 play lebowski drinking game w/me? bah, no takers. lightweights! hah!

Q to general public: what's the most interesting/fun/best gig you ever had? me? a tossup between being star of knifethrowing act in carnival

& dealing pot wh.included free trips to MiamiBeach. best/most fun straight gig? another tie between ass't to VP at High Times & (to be c'd)

con'td-& assistant to original partner of rock & roll attorneys at massive lawfirm. the perks of each were worth the waking up early bit.

still ignoring guests but they're too shitfaced to realise it. i shall rejoin them shortly after i roll another j.

4get last-won't rejoin em; liteweights r mostly passed out thanx 2 real WRs whilst i'm enjoying my 2nd & one-hit ganja. i can haz mor plz?

whoa, got a reply & 8 twits to go; know this means nothing but a thou's a decent number. so-called timewasting's never been this much fun.

obvous someone's watching me v.closely. whilst i don't mind being watched, his reply was incredibly fast. wonder if Yank-winding's going on.

now it's 5 more to go, 4 including this, to get to that unmagic 1,000 twit mark. & yup, i'm grumbling, so loud that i awakened drunken chick

SG fangrrl: wha' happened? me: 'you drank a REAL White Russian after i warned you'. she: 'oh' *yawn* hey, i missed half the 1st bit of film!

me: let's roll it back 2 the start-nobody else'll notice. want more MD&c to keep you awake? she: y'hafta ask? me: just checkin-u lightweight.

#999 'sittin', thinkin', drinkin'...' whilst quoting from old Stones tune which i thought i forgot ages ago. /she/ recognised it immediately.

#1000, weird. LOL i don't feel any different. in all truth i shall quit messing about cos my orig reason for joining still stands true (TBC)

cont'd: reason being i'm always on the lookout for any/all techies from whom to learn, whether fr their twits or their sites.

just remembered: Usability review for Bristol Intl Airport wh was implemented then trashed due to new management's been offered 2 me again.

is it v.bad form to charge em WAY more than i did 3 years ago? v.tempted to do this; site's a disaster at least it was last time i looked.

& i don't get any Schadenfreude when reading complaints telling them how easy it was to navigate after ALL my sugg'ns were implemented.

musing on my lifelong autodidactism (word?). hey, anyone want a v.low slashdot member acc't? i believe i'm like no. 150,000+ from back in 98.

and that's all i wrote just to hit the 1,000 level, don't actually know why.



BTW, this is me whenever i see Chris and at this point in time, y'all know the drill: one, two, three (alle Zusammen): 'Poor Chris!'



last but not least, i shall reiterate that which i mentioned above; retell the story of how Christine got a personal invite from Henry Rollins just this mornng (her time). that's most prolly gonna be my next post cause i find some of her figures of speech and descriptions totally hilarious, as i do find Henry (but not for reasons one might first think).

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last post &deity willing it won't be

having nothing to do with forthcoming content, i've used above photo to make one of my half-assed points. pic was taken by Ian Britton and tagged Ypres / Ieper, Belgium and refers to The Menin Gate:

'...In Flanders stands the ancient town of Ypres. Once a centre of the Flanders wool trade, it became one of the most important European city-states of the 13th century ... The area has been fought over, through the centuries by the Dutch, the French, the Spanish – no wonder that the area was called "The Cockpit of Europe". But it was the Great War which resulted in the destruction of the town, and the loss of its priceless medieval architecture.

'The Menin Gate Memorial is perhaps the most visited Great War Memorial on the Western Front ... The Menin Gate marked the start of one of the many roads out of Ypres towards the front line and tens of thousands of men must have passed through it and onwards along the infamous Menin Road, so many of them never to return...'

soz if above makes anyone think too darkly but thought it only fair to splain why i posted photo at top. and sorry to depress but hey, life is depressing, dark and grim for all but the lucky few whom either get paid for doing what they love, are in love reciprocated and/or just don't give a shit. which reminds me of a quote i posted some time back and which still stands true:

'the only love that lasts is that of the unrequited kind. or love of dope – same dif, actually.'

once again, big thanks for all your mails especially those who stepped up to encourage me; so i'm here to say there's a good possibility this'll be my last post here, at least for the foreseeable future. right now i'm singing along with The 5 Blind Boys Of Alabama (of all places), so, 'This may be the last time, this may be the last time, children, this may be the last time... may be the last time, i don't know...'

when i mentioned reason for this to Techie-boy, he sent me over to the FAIL blog, where i found this:


jeez, i might as well wear knickers for a month or so and attach them to a fan in order for any odor to be wafted through the room. *to self* i disgust myself and especially now, just thinking of the aforesaid. then again, in order for pussy to be filling whatever room, i'd have to go without bathing for quite a while, total anathema to me. i mean, my 8 year old boy's sensa yooma is best when told of the most disgusting and peurile (ideally the both simultaneously) but i won't do that, no not even for the cheap laughs sure to be garnered from the doing. as well, let us not forget to imagine the photos.

anyway, why might this be my last post? i'm talking about things electronic which, if they go the way they usually do whenever i try anything technical especially installing peripherals like i should be doing now, instead of procrastinating by posting, i'll totally mess things up. that is, till Techie-boy gets over here with his usual look of disgust. there's a reason for that – he's got PFM (Pure Fuckin Magic) and even when standing behind me, that which i failed to do minutes before will end up successfully working.

pre- and hopefully needless apology to all who check here whenever i'm absent from FreeA3 and people get worried thinking i've offed myself: nah, not yet. if i fail and miserably so (i.e., i just don't fail; i fail to the lowest degree. as well, 'failing miserably' is tantamount to a euphemism), i shall be catching up on my offline reading and trying to divert myself by watching films. one good thing might come of this: it'll possibly cure my Internetz addiction. then again, i'm thinking 'nah, the second i'm back – and i shall be back – my addicton to the 'Net will be even stronger than before' *trying to not think of the hurry-uppity that always comes along with any catching up i must do*

here's Hunter a few minutes ago.



i know, i know... i bore EVERYbody. i torry, liddle kitteh-dude.

what's blasting: The Last Time by The (Five) Blind Boys Of Alabama – buy on Spirit of the Century. surprised? don't be – i totally LOVE gospel music, always have and always shall. in fact, my most fave Alabama 3 tunes are those heavily laced with Gospel, something i haven't heard out of them since...

what's blasting even louder: Holy Blood (recorded live last April at The Plug in Sheffield). i miss the presence of the Street Angels, actually. *sigh* but check out Devlin at the end whose powerful voice totally makes up for the lack of the Street Angels. moving right along, i love when Larry adds his impromptu thoughts to the lyrics so listen for his:

'What the FUCK are we supposed to do now? Alabama 3! with this unholy row? it's YOU, ME, ALABAMA 3 – it 'tis this Holy Blood... WE'VE GOT IT, PEOPLE!'

as per usual, R-click and Save before listening and TIA. however, bad news: i checked my stats and must say i'm thoroughly disappointed with that which i saw. so i'm pulling down the Skip James and Crystal Method i posted for Lower East Side Story II (28. september). i don't wanna but hey; i don't want my real site's bandwidth to fuck things up even more and take my beautiful BRB message offline.

and sorry to say but it's your loss: i've warned and warned and toldja when i commenced testing cause i've got a veritable treasure trove of Alabama 3 rarities but y'all won't be hearing them here. and with that, i bid y'all a fond farewell. or maybe not. we'll see an' all. ;-)

right, almost forgot to say i'm gonna cheat to post yet another before i try once more with the electronics. i'm messing with the dates, y'all, so consider yourselves warned.

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be still my cheating heart

rather, photos of the day and all dedicated to Christine. the 'cheating' refers to something i've never done before – messed with the dates and times on posts. but in the case i end up offline, i just wanna get these down, photos that'll serve as signs when i get back online and help me to remember whatever it is i don't feel the need to bother explaining now. BTW, all pics taken over the last day or two apart from those marked otherwise. let's begin with early yesterday morning.




just about a year ago and i remember it well. click for full flavor; it's totally worth it:




these last were taken on wednesday, i think i remember.





ahhhh... i saved my fave for last only to say, can'tcha just smell the doom and gloom and foreboding hanging in the miasma above? (click on that as well for full sized depression.) yup, i LOVE the smell of 'disillusion' in the morning, mostly cause i'm used to it, along with failed hopes and shattered dreams. anyway, in an effort to be fair and balanced, next up's a coupla semi-happy photos: two doggies taken at Sainsburys the week before last.




at one point, i was practically lying on the floor, aiming my phone at the puppydogs, whilst Mark growled 'Get ON with it!'



i chose to ignore him – pretended i didn't hear him – and took, not just the two above, but three or four more and not out of spite, but cause i wanted to make sure there was at least one doggies photo that came out alright.

moving right along, here's Franz Kafka on cheating as well as a few of my favorite, most cherished things:

'My peers, lately, have found companionship through means of intoxication – it makes them sociable. I, however, cannot force myself to use drugs to cheat on my loneliness – it is all that I have – and when the drugs and alcohol dissipate, will be all that my peers have as well.'

poor Franz. such a brilliant dude and it appears he hadn't yet figured out how to prevent whatever from dissipating. 2 words, Franz: 'plan ahead'. *whispers* and cheat and lie if yer sure you'll be able to pull it off properly. :-)

at this point in time, it should be blatantly obvious to even the dumbest i have no idea what i'm on about and neither do i care. just noticed the (real) time – whoa... since my tummy quit working a few months back and fails to signal when i'm hungry, i guess i should at try to at least force something down. and so, as is my wont, i'm getting someone else to do my work for me: here's Hunter with the last word.



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things that make me go OOH!

or 'what the natives take for granted'. those in the States don't geddit when i say Bristol, like Bonn, has got really fast weather, so believe it or leave it: the above were taken within a span of like almost 20 minutes this afternoon (R-click and 'Save Image As' and you'll see the timestamp). i took the first in the pouring rain, then the sun came out, then it rained again – lather, rinse and repeat. :-)



State of the Slum: please notice the lack of the usual (p). that's cause – at this very moment – i'm the farthest away from my typical anhedonica in what seems like ages and ages. OT: watch Sod step up now, just to get me for having the hubris for saying something as rash as that. then again, i'm used to it, or at least, by this time, i should be. anyway, there're many reasons for this, most of which i won't get into here and now, apart from mentioning a personal win and some liddle nothings in general.

innocuous stuff like my Twitter grade which went up from a lowly 41 early this morning to a still-lowly but higher 43, all within about ten hours. holy shit, i just checked and now it's 44. WTF? as usual, click to enlarge.



anyway, i think it's great that twittergrader is there, well, apart from their bottom line, subtly hiding in the subtext; which's basically all about marketing. i'm wondering how many others caught that when egotwitting ⓒ (TM) (Reg. US Pat. Pend. Off.)... at the bottom of the page?:



in all truth, i thank the Asperger's, actually. :-) um... what did Bill Hicks say again?



'By the way if anyone here is in advertising or marketing... kill yourself. No, no, no it's just a little thought. I'm just trying to plant seeds. Maybe one day, they'll take root - I don't know. You try, you do what you can. Kill yourself.

'Seriously though, if you are, do. ... You are the ruiner of all things good, seriously. No, this is not a joke Aaah, no really, there's no rationalisation for what you do and you are Satan's little helpers. Okay - kill yourselves. No this is not a joke, you're going, "there's going to be a joke coming," there's no fucking joke coming. You are Satan's spawn filling the world with bile and garbage. You are fucked and you are fucking us. Kill yourself. It's the only way to save your fucking soul, kill yourself.

'Planting seeds. I know all the marketing people are going, "he's doing a joke..." there's no joke here whatsoever. Suck a tail-pipe, fucking hang yourself, borrow a gun from a Yank friend - I don't care how you do it. Rid the world of your evil fucking makinations. Machi... Whatever, you know what I mean.

'...I know what all the marketing people are thinking right now too, "Oh, you know what Bill's doing, he's going for that anti-marketing dollar. That's a good market, he's very smart." ... "Ooh, you know what Bill's doing now, he's going for the righteous indignation dollar. That's a big dollar. A lot of people are feeling that indignation. We've done research - huge market. He's doing a good thing."

'Godammit, I'm not doing that, you scum-bags! Quit putting a goddamn dollar sign on every fucking thing on this planet!...'



back to me, the only thing i have against Twittergrader is, i'm against popularity contests, being a cooperation not competition kinda kitteh. believe me, when FreeA3 was redesigned, i almost had a heart attack when i saw the Friends feature. so i sent invites to EVERYone, not wanting anyone to feel left out and believe me, it was a major PITA. unfortunately, at that point, i had no idea that the software kicked some longtime members off and along with new people, i'm trying to do the best i can and invite em all.

i mean, it's scarey enough to join a forum, especially one where most of the members (present company excluded) hardly ever open up their fucking mouths but whenever whatever wild's happening with the band or someone fucks up, whether onstage or off, or i post something particularly crude & lewd or controversial, the barrage of mail i get is unreal. to each and everyone of these, i beg 'PLEASE POST THIS!' but no. :-(

BTW, my results tell me i'm no. 19,747 out of 37,257 (when i got 43). now that i'm movin on up, i'm no. 19,417 out of 37,926.



nope, i ain't flattered; i believe it's due to so many people joining up lately and i'm totally sure more will be on tomorrow. anyway, let's move on: i once again changed my profile at the right ('about the godless') explaining in detail why i called this site what i did cause i'm sick and tired of explaining in meatspace. for those to lazy to either click or check it out, i detailed that comment from the dude in Cardiff who mailed me a few years back when i still had my real site. he ended with 'I don't ordinarily read tawdry autobiographies written by nobodies but in your case i happily make an exception'.



hang on, i'm busy preening here. right, i must say that apart from Bill and the above, all pics in this post were taken today by me cause 'Mr. Soon To Be Living The Rest of His Short Ass Life In Agonizing Pain' refuses to feed my ego (and up my terribly LSE) and was standing in the bedroom doorway, watching and laughing at me after refusing to take my photo. no, he's not the one you're thinking but pretty close to him in more ways than one. um... hey you! am i allowed to say that? whaaaat? fuck it – couldn't hear his answer. anyway about shite photos, what y'all see is what y'all get. and don't blame me – blame HIM.



moving right along, it seems people are actually listening to me raving my head off on Klan (check link at right under Reservoir Dogs, *shameless self-promo*). please remember the Very Reverend Larry Love fooled me into doing this when in the studio and out of nowhere (or so i thought), he turned and asked about the KKK. i had no idea why and no idea his damn mic was on. anyway, after a night with anyone of the Alabama 3, one can bet you'll be all hyper and after the first hour or so, my voice was totally hoarse so i'm here to say that's not how i normally sound in my raging on the track (i blame the C, actually). oh, and i was totally encouraged by Larry's expectant and then, very satisfied grin, the second after i told him what i was taught in school, as a child.

anyhoo, for the thousandth time, remember to turn it up after my outrage is over and hear me singing in two voices (both offkey) at the end; one's my liddle grrl voice ('Won'tcha stand by me?') and one's my husky voice ('Easy to be free'). for some strange reason, i've received (and i hesitate to call it but have no word good enough to substitute) 'fanmail' on this, at least 20 within the last two weeks, ever since i changed the link at right. as usual, it's mostly anonymous and it could be total bullshit = the usual Yank-Winding my friends so dearly love to do but hey, a compliment's a compliment and at this stage in my life, i'll take anything that's thrown at me.

State of the Slum(p): my liddle bear lost one of his legs so i finally took him off my bag.


no, i'm not embarrassed to have worn him with the UK flag on his chest, since being American, i'm permitted to do such that any real British person would rather die of shame before doing. at least i'm permitted in my head and AFAIC, that's all that matters. :-)


right, yes i'm totally aware that the poll's closed and the results are exactly what i assumed at first. i'll go over them soon but in all truth i think it unnecessary as well as obvious. and so it goes. and goes and goes and it's gone, whacked straight outta the ballpark. tee-hee. :-)

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Hunter on Tweet4Children

Hunter was a lucky kitty-kid, although he'll never understand it. anyway, he was born healthy and happy and although he can't stand me for forcing him into the shoulderbag carrier every Summer to go to his vet, his yearly check-ups reflect same: he's still healthy but not that happy when we finally get back home here (and i have the scars to prove it) but i'm already drifting away from the point.



if y'all care to glance over to the right in the Reservoir Dogs section (under my shameless self-promo attention whoring links), first up's Tweet4Children. this was founded by a Swiss dude called Christian Nussbaumer, one i follow and who follows me on Twitter but that's not important. what i do believe is important (and for once, Hunter agrees with me) is their mission:

'...We believe that Twitter is not “just” a micro-blogging service that is funny and may be good for business. Tweet4Children would like to show the world that Twitter can make a difference, tweet by tweet, spreading the social media love. Tweet4Children does not accept money directly but we ask all good souls to support our charity partner Angelwish.

'Tweet4Children’s main events will be so called Tweetathons where a number of Twitter users will try to make as many Tweets within 24 hours as possible. Donors can choose to support one or more of these Tweeters and spend between $0.1 to $10 or even more per Tweet for their desired Tweetathon participant’s posts...'

lemme break in here and define Tweetathon for those too damn lazy to click above:

'A Tweetathon is a 24 hour period where several Tweeters (Participants) will post as many Tweets (small 140 character maximum status messages) answering the famous question: 'What are you doing?' as frequently as possible on Twitter. Donors can then put money on the Participants (between $0.1 to $10 or even more?) and bound themselves therefore to donate money to our partnership charity Angelwish.

'The donations sum is based on the performance of the Tweeters you have bet on: For example, Joe Goodsoul decides to put 10 cents a Tweet on nussbi. nussbi then makes 500 Tweets during the first Tweetathon (within these 24 hours). Joe is then asked to pay 500 multiplied by $0.1 = $50 to Angelwish. The more nussbi tweets, the more Joe is asked to donate.

'All Participants are asked to livecast the entire 24 hours and have fun while doing it'.

the participants are listed on this page. in all truth, i'd be one, but i've held myself back from twitting away on exactly what i'm doing at any given moment cause not only do i not wanna be deported, but i'm afraid i'd scare off those who're already following me.

from the Press Section: 'Tweet4Children announces that the charity organization Angelwish.org, whose mission it is to help grant wishes to children living with HIV/AIDS, will be the inaugural partner organization for the Premier Tweetathon to be held on Saturday, November 1st 2008.

'Angelwish was created in 1999 by Shimmy Mehta with the mission to provide the public with an easy way to grant wishes to the millions of children that are living with HIV/AIDS around the world. Infected or affected by the disease, their opportunities for a “normal” childhood are virtually impossible. By harnessing the power of the Internet, Angelwish helps donors add a ray of hope to their lives.

'Angelwish achieves its mission by ensuring that 100% of individual donations are used for program services and that those funds are extended, where possible, to incorporate an educational component giving young people a hands on lesson in philanthropy'.



Christian Nussbaumer: 'Let's do some good!'

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