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personal hygiene
Aug. 4th, 2000 01:05 pm[frankie] ok why don't girls get skidmarks, please tell me
[frankie] do guys not know how to wipe?
[rrruffian] cos you dont have hairy assholes
[MudBoy] do you have a hairy ass?
[frankie] well I personally do
[MudBoy] exactly
[rrruffian] do you know how hard it is to wipe shit out of a hairy asshole?
[MudBoy] it's not that hard actually
[frankie] hahaha
[MudBoy] but I tend to shower after each shit
[rrruffian] try smearing a handful of shit in yer cunt and see how easy it is to keep that fresh feeling
[frankie] well I'm glad someone here knows how to clean their ass properly
[frankie] too bad it's me
[rrruffian] hahahaha
[rrruffian] i didnt say i was unclean i just said that it is quite often a project
[frankie] do guys not know how to wipe?
[rrruffian] cos you dont have hairy assholes
[MudBoy] do you have a hairy ass?
[frankie] well I personally do
[MudBoy] exactly
[rrruffian] do you know how hard it is to wipe shit out of a hairy asshole?
[MudBoy] it's not that hard actually
[frankie] hahaha
[MudBoy] but I tend to shower after each shit
[rrruffian] try smearing a handful of shit in yer cunt and see how easy it is to keep that fresh feeling
[frankie] well I'm glad someone here knows how to clean their ass properly
[frankie] too bad it's me
[rrruffian] hahahaha
[rrruffian] i didnt say i was unclean i just said that it is quite often a project
Vreeland, Chanel, and Mrs. G.
Aug. 4th, 2000 12:09 pmOn my short list of people I actually admire is a woman I work with. She's a 74 year old attorney, well-respected in her field, and extremely resilient. She fled Nazi Germany with her family, graduated from London School of Economics in 1947 and then Yale Law in 1952. She's also authored several books on the legal rights of children and the mother of four children.
But that's just her resume. I know her personally as a highly principled and caring individual, a classy dresser with a sharp mind, a gentle yet solid negotiator. In the ten-plus years I've known her, I have always wanted to incorporate her self-knowing and poised style.
After her husband died recently, her niece stopped by the office to chat. On her way out, she turned to Mrs. G. in an apparent gesture of sympathy and asked," So, do you think you'd like to come over sometime?"
Mrs. G. gave a short laugh, smiled and said simply, "No, I don't think so." The niece was a little stunned, but hugged her and then left.
Doesn't that fucking rock? Obviously Mrs. G. knows life is too short for bullshit, and actually demonstrates it, elegantly and effectively.
Diana Vreeland once said "elegance is refusal." You have to know where to edit your life, in order to get the most out of it. Why put up with a mediocre situation if you're not getting any benefit from it?
Chanel once said, "People think the opposite of luxury is poverty. It is not. It is vulgarity."
What does that mean? Well, I think luxury in life comes from simply bearing witness to yourself, acknowledging what you find, owning it, working with it, enhancing it, changing it.
But what did she mean by vulgarity? I think she was saying that poverty of the spirit lies in excess without connoisseurship, information without working wisdom, stimulation without sensuality.
So Chanel rocks. She was a fucking zen master. She was a jet black iron cannonball speeding through the night. (According to her biography, she was also a raving bitch.)
Hey, just because I admire people doesn't necessarily mean I want to eat lunch with them...
But that's just her resume. I know her personally as a highly principled and caring individual, a classy dresser with a sharp mind, a gentle yet solid negotiator. In the ten-plus years I've known her, I have always wanted to incorporate her self-knowing and poised style.
After her husband died recently, her niece stopped by the office to chat. On her way out, she turned to Mrs. G. in an apparent gesture of sympathy and asked," So, do you think you'd like to come over sometime?"
Mrs. G. gave a short laugh, smiled and said simply, "No, I don't think so." The niece was a little stunned, but hugged her and then left.
Doesn't that fucking rock? Obviously Mrs. G. knows life is too short for bullshit, and actually demonstrates it, elegantly and effectively.
Diana Vreeland once said "elegance is refusal." You have to know where to edit your life, in order to get the most out of it. Why put up with a mediocre situation if you're not getting any benefit from it?
Chanel once said, "People think the opposite of luxury is poverty. It is not. It is vulgarity."
What does that mean? Well, I think luxury in life comes from simply bearing witness to yourself, acknowledging what you find, owning it, working with it, enhancing it, changing it.
But what did she mean by vulgarity? I think she was saying that poverty of the spirit lies in excess without connoisseurship, information without working wisdom, stimulation without sensuality.
So Chanel rocks. She was a fucking zen master. She was a jet black iron cannonball speeding through the night. (According to her biography, she was also a raving bitch.)
Hey, just because I admire people doesn't necessarily mean I want to eat lunch with them...
misdirected wrecked resurrected
Aug. 4th, 2000 12:04 amWithout going into the specifics, let's just say I've been working for the same attorney for over ten years and this is clearly not what I consider my life's work. That was pretty much established last summer when I had my mini-meltdown and let on that he was anal retentive. Which he admitted. And which I conceded is almost necessary in the legal profession. But communicating via Post-Its is getting pretty close to hell.
Which is why I'm back in school for a two-year program, not so much because I don't think I could hack graphic production on my own, but really to get my confidence back that i can actually make a living with original ideas. Despite being the product of a family that didn't exactly value them.
I'm running into a lot of people these days who don't seem interested in paying their dues to get to where they want to be. Sure, I've had jobs consisting of meaningless tasks, jobs where I was not respected, even jobs that had no reasonable expectation of a future. But you keep your eyes and ears open and leave those jobs after six months or a year until you find a place where your skills are valued, your dignity is respected and your work is rewarded.
Why suffer in a crappy job? Because it's temporary and you need to eat and pay rent, buy clothes, go out. Because enduring a difficult situation builds patience and character. Because not getting what you want forces you to clarify in your own mind exactly what you DO want, so that when an opportunity comes along you recognize it as the ticket to that place you think about all the time.
Even as I write these thoughts I realize I've been a hypocrite and lazy about following my own ideals. I also know how I've suffered by not having the backbone to walk the walk. But I've also had a lot of fun.
Which is why I'm back in school for a two-year program, not so much because I don't think I could hack graphic production on my own, but really to get my confidence back that i can actually make a living with original ideas. Despite being the product of a family that didn't exactly value them.
I'm running into a lot of people these days who don't seem interested in paying their dues to get to where they want to be. Sure, I've had jobs consisting of meaningless tasks, jobs where I was not respected, even jobs that had no reasonable expectation of a future. But you keep your eyes and ears open and leave those jobs after six months or a year until you find a place where your skills are valued, your dignity is respected and your work is rewarded.
Why suffer in a crappy job? Because it's temporary and you need to eat and pay rent, buy clothes, go out. Because enduring a difficult situation builds patience and character. Because not getting what you want forces you to clarify in your own mind exactly what you DO want, so that when an opportunity comes along you recognize it as the ticket to that place you think about all the time.
Even as I write these thoughts I realize I've been a hypocrite and lazy about following my own ideals. I also know how I've suffered by not having the backbone to walk the walk. But I've also had a lot of fun.
plus ca change, blah blah.
Aug. 3rd, 2000 12:13 pmI was rather impressed overall with the debut of "American High." My favorite part was, of course, the apparent friendship between the "sensitive jock" football player and the "gay guy." They seem to genuinely like each other, having been childhood buddies and it reminded me of a friendship I had in high school with a football player I had come out to during my sophomore year, when we were in the same school play together. He was pretty cool about it and even told me to let him know if anyone bothered me about being gay, because he would kick their ass.
Carl used to be really shy and scrawny back in the day and after he had bulked up and joined the football, wrestling and track teams, I guess that gave him a lot of self-confidence and it made him a lot more willing to hang out with different people. I never saw him again after high school but I kind of miss his friendship, even though I had a crush on him for a while but realized that hitting on him could have possibly screwed things up. I'll never know now, but I wasn't willing to risk a friendship for that. Straight guys who are totally comfortable with themselves make the best friends sometimes, especially if you're slightly attracted to them but know that actually doing it would be a big mistake. It changes things.
Carl used to be really shy and scrawny back in the day and after he had bulked up and joined the football, wrestling and track teams, I guess that gave him a lot of self-confidence and it made him a lot more willing to hang out with different people. I never saw him again after high school but I kind of miss his friendship, even though I had a crush on him for a while but realized that hitting on him could have possibly screwed things up. I'll never know now, but I wasn't willing to risk a friendship for that. Straight guys who are totally comfortable with themselves make the best friends sometimes, especially if you're slightly attracted to them but know that actually doing it would be a big mistake. It changes things.
If I Had A Hammer. Oh Wait, I Do.
Aug. 2nd, 2000 11:58 pmI don't get bored so much as realize that I have a lot of stuff to do and I get paralyzed by the admittedly self-imposed urgency of it all.
It's hard to muster up the energy sometimes to come home from a full day of work, eat dinner, watch the news, then stand around in the basement and whack away at a chunk of alabaster with a 2-pound hammer and chisels for an hour or two. But sculpting is one of the few things I've found satisfying both in the short term and in the long run, and feelings as rare as that need to be held onto.
It's hard to muster up the energy sometimes to come home from a full day of work, eat dinner, watch the news, then stand around in the basement and whack away at a chunk of alabaster with a 2-pound hammer and chisels for an hour or two. But sculpting is one of the few things I've found satisfying both in the short term and in the long run, and feelings as rare as that need to be held onto.
Mocha JaVoodoo
Aug. 2nd, 2000 11:39 pmJust when you think you're fuckin cool and all and would NEVER spill coffee on a keyboard, IT HAPPENS. You wipe it up very carefully, making sure to tuck thin slices of paper towel into every crevice between each key, even though you're pretty sure there were only three little drips. Then you try to do work and forget about it.
After about ten minutes, you notice that you're mysteriously putting in extra keystrokes when you really hadn't intended to an3d e#ve#rything@ geeets all scre#wy. You stop and take a deep breath.
You retype everything and focus your mental powers into somehow sucking up all the extra moisture somewhere on the other side of that molded plastic thinking please, no, please no be okay baby, ok muthafucka don't play me I will do you! oh I'm sorry please forgive me my sweet keyboard.
Finally it just starts beeping out a continuous rhythm like a heart monitor about to pack it in and you cross that river in your head that leads to Staples and imagine yourself forking over that devil's toenail called a credit card and purchasing a brand spanking new ergonomic keyboard for $49 with a $10 rebate and realize it wasn't that bad after all. Except it's like buying underwear and socks.
After about ten minutes, you notice that you're mysteriously putting in extra keystrokes when you really hadn't intended to an3d e#ve#rything@ geeets all scre#wy. You stop and take a deep breath.
You retype everything and focus your mental powers into somehow sucking up all the extra moisture somewhere on the other side of that molded plastic thinking please, no, please no be okay baby, ok muthafucka don't play me I will do you! oh I'm sorry please forgive me my sweet keyboard.
Finally it just starts beeping out a continuous rhythm like a heart monitor about to pack it in and you cross that river in your head that leads to Staples and imagine yourself forking over that devil's toenail called a credit card and purchasing a brand spanking new ergonomic keyboard for $49 with a $10 rebate and realize it wasn't that bad after all. Except it's like buying underwear and socks.
So Joe Kolbe (R-AZ) (that unrepentant flamer) addressed the Republican Convention. Big Fucking Deal. His 3-minute speech was Fucking Boring. Apparently being Fucking Boring is not a Special Right.
Planet Out: "The big moment came for Congress' only "out" Republican, and though there was no sex in his trade speech, some convention delegates protested in prayer."
Well, that's not completely true. He did say "fruit," "partners" and "a[head]." PERVERT!!! I too, shall pray for him and his predictably banal gray-suit-with-red-tie-ensemble.
Query: If homosexuality is "learned behavior," and inherently "unnatural," what does that make religion? I have yet to see any animal pray. Except for a praying mantis. They also eat their mates.
PlanetOut: "Gary Bauer, the anti-gay former Family Research Council head who had at the time just ended his own Presidential campaign, called it "bizarre to pick somebody to speak at the convention based on their sexual preference, because once you go down that road, why don't you pick a transvestite?"
Well, Bay Buchanan wasn't available. She and her brother were busy ripping apart a small ghetto child with their carefully filed teeth.
And Now, A Rebuttal:
(Cougar) i wanna hear..BOXERS....NUDE....MUSCLE.....MAN 2 MAN SEX....NOT POLOTICS....IF I WANTED SO....I'll GO TO CONGRESS!!!!!
(Cougar) strip IT BOYZ!!!!!!
(Cougar) and some music plz
(Nolo contendre)
Planet Out: "The big moment came for Congress' only "out" Republican, and though there was no sex in his trade speech, some convention delegates protested in prayer."
Well, that's not completely true. He did say "fruit," "partners" and "a[head]." PERVERT!!! I too, shall pray for him and his predictably banal gray-suit-with-red-tie-ensemble.
Query: If homosexuality is "learned behavior," and inherently "unnatural," what does that make religion? I have yet to see any animal pray. Except for a praying mantis. They also eat their mates.
PlanetOut: "Gary Bauer, the anti-gay former Family Research Council head who had at the time just ended his own Presidential campaign, called it "bizarre to pick somebody to speak at the convention based on their sexual preference, because once you go down that road, why don't you pick a transvestite?"
Well, Bay Buchanan wasn't available. She and her brother were busy ripping apart a small ghetto child with their carefully filed teeth.
And Now, A Rebuttal:
(Cougar) i wanna hear..BOXERS....NUDE....MUSCLE.....MAN 2 MAN SEX....NOT POLOTICS....IF I WANTED SO....I'll GO TO CONGRESS!!!!!
(Cougar) strip IT BOYZ!!!!!!
(Cougar) and some music plz
(Nolo contendre)
Limited Therapeutic Use of the Medium
Aug. 1st, 2000 01:35 pm<[wasabi]> it's every American's right to inflict their neuroses on others. oh, and to be on television.
<[SkateRat]> the right to free speech equals the right to an audience, right? =D
<[SkateRat]> like the internet phone commercials that try to assert a constitutional right to free long distance
<[wasabi]> throw in a personal stylist and a book deal and you're all set
<[SkateRat]> huzzah =D
<[wasabi]> i may just be uber-lazy and pass these conversations off as journal entries...
<[SkateRat]> bah, slackard
<[SkateRat]> that sort of attitude is why america is losing its edge in the world market mister!
<[wasabi]> *cut* *paste*
<[SkateRat]> the right to free speech equals the right to an audience, right? =D
<[SkateRat]> like the internet phone commercials that try to assert a constitutional right to free long distance
<[wasabi]> throw in a personal stylist and a book deal and you're all set
<[SkateRat]> huzzah =D
<[wasabi]> i may just be uber-lazy and pass these conversations off as journal entries...
<[SkateRat]> bah, slackard
<[SkateRat]> that sort of attitude is why america is losing its edge in the world market mister!
<[wasabi]> *cut* *paste*
Jump Down Turn Around
Aug. 1st, 2000 12:52 pmMy mother always asks me to pray for her, and I always think of contracting out to someone else.
My neighbor likes my garden. He always jokes ("hur hur hur") about when I'm going to come over and plan HIS garden. As if (a) I don't have a full time job and go to school, and (b) I would do it for free. Um, yeah. Maybe there's something about an Asian person with gardening tools that gets him excited.
My neighbor likes my garden. He always jokes ("hur hur hur") about when I'm going to come over and plan HIS garden. As if (a) I don't have a full time job and go to school, and (b) I would do it for free. Um, yeah. Maybe there's something about an Asian person with gardening tools that gets him excited.
Creepy Pre-Bonding
Aug. 1st, 2000 09:44 amA lawyer in this building consistently commits several unpardonable sins.
The most recent is attempting to engage me in pointless conversation when I don't wish to be so engaged, particularly at 8:25 AM when I am officially NOT yet at work and there is clearly hot coffee and an unconsumed roll on my desk. I suppose it's inevitable that I will need to set aside my good graces for this one to clearly and decisively eradicate the virus of corporate pseudo-camaraderie from which I was so fortunate to escape five years ago.
Sample inoculants:
"S, I don't start working until 8:30. Please come back in five minutes."
"S, I'd like to finish my coffee and pastry before I even want to LOOK at you, much less acknowledge anything that comes out of your mouth."
"S, if you can't stay on the other side of my desk, two staplers and a knowledge of nerve points will ensure that you do."
Although he admires my equanimity ("Wow, nothing gets your blood pressure up, huh?!") it's really more of a sang-froid laced with equal parts personalized zen ("worm, you are irrelevant") and general misanthropic disdain ("you are the latest avatar of my daily torment. I am chained to a rock and I refuse you my liver"). I regard him as I would regard a fellow worker in hell suggesting I use a larger shovel.
Dorothy Parker was right. Hell really IS other people.
His second sin is attempting to assess my mood when I reject any such assessment, particularly from a stranger. I despise people who extol me to "cheer up" when uh, I'm not unhappy? Maybe I need a sign around my neck that says, "Please do not be offended by my lack of response to your hackneyed inquiries about my weekend. I am like this all the time and I enjoy it. Thank you."
I wish Wednesday Addams worked here. I would so adore her. We would have lunch, and she would kick my ass when necessary.
To be fair, I don't think S is evil, just annoying. I also get these weird pre-bonding vibes from him, like he's waiting for me to invite him for coffee and listen intently about his struggles with [fill-in-the-blank].
Or, he's a closeted gay and wants some. There's no other plausible explanation. Little would he realize that that in itself no longer assures automatic bonding in my book, since I have learned -- much to my chagrin -- that gay people can be as unimaginative as everyone else. Torpidity is not a special right, after all. My carefully crafted ennui-laced exterior is not having any effect, though, damn it. Shoo!!!
The most recent is attempting to engage me in pointless conversation when I don't wish to be so engaged, particularly at 8:25 AM when I am officially NOT yet at work and there is clearly hot coffee and an unconsumed roll on my desk. I suppose it's inevitable that I will need to set aside my good graces for this one to clearly and decisively eradicate the virus of corporate pseudo-camaraderie from which I was so fortunate to escape five years ago.
Sample inoculants:
"S, I don't start working until 8:30. Please come back in five minutes."
"S, I'd like to finish my coffee and pastry before I even want to LOOK at you, much less acknowledge anything that comes out of your mouth."
"S, if you can't stay on the other side of my desk, two staplers and a knowledge of nerve points will ensure that you do."
Although he admires my equanimity ("Wow, nothing gets your blood pressure up, huh?!") it's really more of a sang-froid laced with equal parts personalized zen ("worm, you are irrelevant") and general misanthropic disdain ("you are the latest avatar of my daily torment. I am chained to a rock and I refuse you my liver"). I regard him as I would regard a fellow worker in hell suggesting I use a larger shovel.
Dorothy Parker was right. Hell really IS other people.
His second sin is attempting to assess my mood when I reject any such assessment, particularly from a stranger. I despise people who extol me to "cheer up" when uh, I'm not unhappy? Maybe I need a sign around my neck that says, "Please do not be offended by my lack of response to your hackneyed inquiries about my weekend. I am like this all the time and I enjoy it. Thank you."
I wish Wednesday Addams worked here. I would so adore her. We would have lunch, and she would kick my ass when necessary.
To be fair, I don't think S is evil, just annoying. I also get these weird pre-bonding vibes from him, like he's waiting for me to invite him for coffee and listen intently about his struggles with [fill-in-the-blank].
Or, he's a closeted gay and wants some. There's no other plausible explanation. Little would he realize that that in itself no longer assures automatic bonding in my book, since I have learned -- much to my chagrin -- that gay people can be as unimaginative as everyone else. Torpidity is not a special right, after all. My carefully crafted ennui-laced exterior is not having any effect, though, damn it. Shoo!!!
Scary Monster Brush Strokes
Jul. 31st, 2000 01:56 amI came across a description of Gerhard Richter's (b. 1932, Dresden) painting as a kind of "controlled frenzy," and of course I was immediately intrigued. After some online research, I've decided I rather like him. He started as a Pop surrealist from the 1960s onward, painting from photographs and then altering or blurring them slightly as he moved them onto the canvas. I think a clue to his mental process is here:
"I cannot describe anything more clearly about reality than my own relation to reality, and this has always to do with haziness, insecurity, inconsistency, fragmentary performance."
I can dig it...
I like his current work, too. He appears to literally drag the paint across the canvas. David Frankel, writing in the February 1999 issue of ArtForum, says:
"The palette can be violent, as when high-pitched reds, greens, and blues jump and jangle; or it can be delicate, where, say, a sheet of smoky purple mantles veil-like complementaries. Sometimes a hard outline shows where the oil pulled apart as it was spread, baring the coat underneath. More often colors mingle and fuse, striated drifts scraped too thin to hide their neighbors."
His skills as a colorist appeal to me. Nobody takes colorists seriously these days, and that's too bad.
The overall effect is kind of disturbing, but also thrilling, like a splash of ice water in one's face.
If I had to choose one (or two) pieces for myself today, they would be:
Seascape (852-2), 1998. Evidently copied from a photograph, then altered to his surealist mode. You get this funny feeling something is going to rise out of the water and it probably won't be very nice.
Abstraktes Bild, (rot) 743-4, 1991. This is primarily red and black, simultaneously chilling and seductive.
i found both of these at:
http://www.artnet.com/GalHome/FineArtThumbnails.asp?AID=454&AILETTER=R&FromLoc=ArtHome
"I cannot describe anything more clearly about reality than my own relation to reality, and this has always to do with haziness, insecurity, inconsistency, fragmentary performance."
I can dig it...
I like his current work, too. He appears to literally drag the paint across the canvas. David Frankel, writing in the February 1999 issue of ArtForum, says:
"The palette can be violent, as when high-pitched reds, greens, and blues jump and jangle; or it can be delicate, where, say, a sheet of smoky purple mantles veil-like complementaries. Sometimes a hard outline shows where the oil pulled apart as it was spread, baring the coat underneath. More often colors mingle and fuse, striated drifts scraped too thin to hide their neighbors."
His skills as a colorist appeal to me. Nobody takes colorists seriously these days, and that's too bad.
The overall effect is kind of disturbing, but also thrilling, like a splash of ice water in one's face.
If I had to choose one (or two) pieces for myself today, they would be:
Seascape (852-2), 1998. Evidently copied from a photograph, then altered to his surealist mode. You get this funny feeling something is going to rise out of the water and it probably won't be very nice.
Abstraktes Bild, (rot) 743-4, 1991. This is primarily red and black, simultaneously chilling and seductive.
i found both of these at:
http://www.artnet.com/GalHome/FineArtThumbnails.asp?AID=454&AILETTER=R&FromLoc=ArtHome
