Silly Plasticine American Animals

I will never wear a toupee. Brilliant.

This Is Real

I missed this video and the chain of events that followed it in January of 2008. Nod to draculaman.com for recently posting this video and the link to the full article. Otherwise, it probably would have slipped under my radar altogether. I have had my run-ins with Scientologists and am elated to think that the Church of Scientology is going to be systematically dismantled by a "prophesied" enemy. I believe in freedom of religion. I believe in freedom of expression. I believe that each individual on this planet should have the right to take a free personality test. I also believe that the Church of Scientology should be exposed, held accountable for it's actions and ultimately, destroyed.

The Final Countdown Is More Than A Kick-Ass 80's Rock Anthem - or - Holy Crap, We're Screwed

Proof that the apocalypse is here.

Revelation 6:2, "I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on conquest."

An ill-fated YouTube search ended with me becoming fascinated with the 80’s movie MegaForce. Then, over the course of two days I received two e-mails from two long lost friends that both, independently mentioned MegaForce. Now all I can think about is exploding balls, popping wheelies and flying a motorcycle into a B-52 to the cheers of an overexcited, flexing crowd of multi-cultural bad actors.


Revelation 6:4, "Then another horse came out, a fiery red one. Its rider was given power to take peace from the earth and to make men slay each other. To him was given a large sword."

To secure the Olympic Torch while it was being run through France, the French Police mobilized 3,000 units to protect the flaming icon from protesters that want to extinguish the flame in hopes of bringing attention to China’s hostile occupation Tibet. The Olympic Flame was, in fact extinguished at points on its route through Paris from the Eiffel Tower, but was relit in the official Olympic Torch Minivan once all the flaming riots were dispersed. More than 40 arrests were made, bringing further worldwide attention to the Free Tibet movement. What was the most valuable lesson that I learned from these acts of civil disobedience? The French have Police on Rollerblades.



Revelation 6:5-6, “...and there before me was a black horse! Its rider was holding a pair of scales in his hand. Then I heard what sounded like a voice among the four living creatures, saying, ‘A quart of wheat for a day's wages, and three quarts of barley for a day's wages, and do not damage the oil and the wine!’”

Straight from the pages of National Geographic. “According to Cobb's calculations extrapolated from data released by the United States Environmental Protection Agency in 2001 on U.S. plastic bag, sack, and wrap consumption, somewhere between 500 billion and a trillion plastic bags are consumed worldwide each year… As a result, the totes are everywhere. They sit balled up and stuffed into the one that hangs from the pantry door. They line bathroom trash bins. They carry clothes to the gym. They clutter landfills. They flap from trees. They float in the breeze. They clog roadside drains. They drift on the high seas. They fill sea turtle bellies.”



Revelation 6:8, "I looked, and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him. They were given power over a fourth of the earth to kill by sword, famine and plague, and by the wild beasts of the earth."

MSN Music made this press release. They may be pushing 40, but the New Kids are returning to the block. The Boston boy band New Kids on the Block, which sold 70 million albums in the 1980s and early 1990s, has reunited and plans to release a new album and go on tour. The reunion comes 20 years after the release of the group’s multi-platinum album, “Hanging Tough.””

Speeding Ticket, Schmeeding Ticket - or - The Way To A Man's Heart Is Through His Ribcage

I got out of the speeding ticket that I got last month. I contested it and the cop didn't show up to traffic court, so I walked out with $200 extra dollars in my pocket, a shit eating grin smeared across my face and that invincible feeling you only get when you know you have broken the law and gotten away with it. I drove 20mph over the speed limit all the way home. This might lead to a life of crime. Muhahaha!

What Is That Huge Glowing Ball Rising Out Of The Horizon - OR - Ouch, My Life Style Hurts

I’m up at 6:30 am, again. I know why. It’s because my lifestyle is changing. I’m about to head out for a 3-mile morning run to watch the sun rise over the lake. Then, I’m going to the bank to deposit money into my savings account. I’ll probably stop by a coffee shop that supports 3rd world coffee farmers. After that, I’ll head to work and sell some $500 indoor plants to people with 41st floor condos with UV treated windows who will end up killing the plant in a matter of months but will be back to buy another couple of $500 plants to also slowly torture to death. I can hear those plants crying from here. Whoops, I better hurry if I want to make the sunrise. Who the fuck do I think I am?

How To Lose A Job In One Stupid Question - OR - I Know Why The Caged Housewife Sings

The things that have happened to me that I like out way the needs of the many. My life continues to be good while your life only gets worse and worse.

I started my new job at Gethsemane Garden Center on the north side of Chicago a few weeks ago. Today, they gave me a Gethsemane T-shirt, which means that I was worth hiring. They also gave me a book about plants and a little bag full of plant clippings that I have planted and will have to keep alive in order to become a full time employee. I honestly live about 100 feet away from this place yet it is a whole different world within its walls. I wear an apron (which I fold in half to make it seem more like a utility belt; complete with bat-pruning-sheers, bat-sharpie-pen, bat-price-tags, and exploding-shark-repellent-bat-spray), and I answer questions about plants, sunlight and dirt.

I now have more houseplants than you can shake a goat at. The newest ones include, but are not limited to: Silver dollar Jade (carjacking, crack head, deadbeat-dad asshole), Purple Passion (total slut with endearing eyes and a taste for the tasteless), White Ice Begonia (investment banker that has missed out on his youth and is making up for it by wearing punk band T-shirts to the office), goldfish plant (Miss misunderstood, prom queen, republican, close talker, scary driver, jaded single mother of a seven year old rubix cube champion), Mass Cane (Siberian taxi driver with no eyebrows, a fake leg and a two hour story about the invention of shoelaces), and Jasmine Belle-of-India (cross-eyed and single-toothed harbinger of the apocalypse, drives a '72 Brat and plays harmonica at other peoples concerts between yelling requests for more pickles), just to name a few. They waste away all day and keep me up at night. While I toil and work my fingers to the bone to keep their little plant stomachs full and their little plant attentions occupied with soccer games, ballet class and piano lessons, their voices in my head get louder and louder. It’s enough for me to want to go crazy, give them all away, buy a mini-van, a leather studded thong, earphones with radio antenna on each side and walk around town with a goldfish in a huge martini glass, reciting Mother Goose and Kafka while eating raw hot dogs and drinking mayonnaise and prune juice. I’m not sure if you want to hear more about these guys or not, but don’t worry, there will be a lot more talk about plants in my future.

I, surprisingly, was offered three other jobs this week, all of which would have paid more money than the garden center. The most interesting of which was an interview for a $48K + benefits position doing tech support for a company that designed user-unfriendly bankruptcy assistance software for bankruptcy lawyers (Grace, wanna team up and make the world dept free and full of bad credit?). I asked if I could bring my flamethrower to work. They asked me how I got the interview in the first place. I shrugged, said I wasn’t sure, stood up and walked out. I’ll never get a good paying job with benefits, and I just don’t know why.

My Buddy The House Plant; The Voices In My Head

I’ve posted a few notes about my plants and how they take on a bit of personality once I get them into my apartment. Either they wanna wrap you up side the head with a tire iron or sacrifice you to the Fire God, Zamphinod, my plants seem to have developed rather strong opinions and almost dangerous behavior quirks. Let me introduce you to a one more member of my secret society of the plantish.


This on is my favorite

Latin Name: Haworthia Attenuata
Common Name: “Zebra Plant”
Star Wars Name: Hawat Sucafri - Atascion of Fariptu

Oh, Haworthia. You are the one that started this crazy love affair. The madness of falling in love with lower life forms started with you, ya little spiky bastard. I saw you in a succulent wreath over a year ago and made the people at the store remove you from your cacti brothers and sisters and put you in a tiny plastic pot so I could take you home with me. I made the people mix you some soil and sand and I got instructions on how to take care of you, even though the instructions were to “basically leave it alone.” I took you home, put you in a bigger pot against the instructions that were given to me and put you in my window. There you sat, in my bedroom window, for weeks and weeks while I pretended to ignore you. I was only pretending, though. I couldn’t stop thinking about you; how tough you are, how bumpy your little white ridges feel, how cool your leaf spikes grow in circular patterns. I would come home from work and pick you up and play with you, feel your texture and give you succulent food. And how you grew! No one loves you as much as I do. Just stay with me tonight, just be near me while I dream, just make me smile that crazy smile and you and I can trip the life fantastic together! What? Don’t talk to me like that? Stop yelling at me! Why do I always have to be the bad guy? Can’t, for just once in my life, I come home from a long day of work and have dinner waiting for me? Yeah, well, your mother is a complete idiot, and I never liked her. That planter makes your butt look big. What a nightmare you turned out to be. I want my Jefferson Starship collection back.

One of the Girls Invades The Northside - OR - Terror Level Green, With A Chance Of Song, Dance And Vomit

As the storms of fortune shower each of us with a deluge of riches, power, women and small porcelain clown dolls, One of the Girls wants to share our copious success with you. As Chicago’s only Blue-Irish-Folk-Grass band and the owners of a vastly successful men’s lingerie chain, One of the Girls invite you to join us in celebration of St Patrick’s Day with a weeklong series of shows, smattered across the north side of Chicago. The "Girls" have been working out and doing Pilates to strengthen our core and to finally get that hourglass figure we’ve been dreaming of. We are primed and ready to conquer even the most sober St. Patties Day non-enthusiast, and dare I say, even the most English. I recommend starting the celebration early and joining us and our toned, sexy bodies at the RedlineTap on Tuesday, tomorrow. We will be performing with Sexfist (Chicago’s premier Bluegrass authority), and might possibly even do a tune or two with them, starting at 9pm. Bring a friend, bring a lover, bring a goat, but leave your morals at home because when “One of the Girls is opening for Sexfist at the Redline,” you don’t want your morals to get in the way of having a good time.

Here is a list of all of our up coming shows this week. We demand that you attend all of them.

Cheers!

When A 5 Year Relationship Go Down In Flames, Every One Is A Winner

Dr. Potty Mouth – or – A Funny Thing Happened To Me At My Prostate Examination.

Due to an $800 health insurance billing screw up, I needed to find a new doctor. After almost four hours of searching the web, flipping through packets, calling Blue Cross, calling doctors, becoming depressed and giving up, eating a sandwich, reading some Kafka, becoming confused, cleaning my room, becoming motivated, resuming my search, adjusting my benefits, increasing my deductible, joining the Blue Choice Select Health Care Network, then disowning the Blue Choice Select Health Care Network, finding Jesus (he was wedged under my couch next to some old socks and a neck tie I’ve been looking for for months), and contemplating the “oxford comma” argument, it turns out that I live across the street from a doctor who is part of my network. You’d think that pissing in the alley behind your house is not a good way to find a health care provider, but in my case the relief was doubled.

The Rev. Tripp Hudgins has a blog. He recently posted a video about taking part in a panel discussion about communication. He touches upon the fact that there is a lack of a sign language “word” for poverty. During this panel discussion, the Rev admits to tossing F-bombs around with reckless abandon. As I have pointed out in previous posts, a dirty mouth usually deteriorates the validity of a point, but when it’s a Southern Baptist minister on a panel of def lesbians telling a room full of college students that there is a community of people based around the use of cuss words, then the point is happily taken. Preachers can say “Mother Fucker” in public without consequence; in fact people will take them more seriously in some contexts. “The rewards of the collar,” as Tripp would say.

I started working out a lot this year, not quite a New Year’s resolution but close enough so that I feel like I’m letting myself down if I don’t go do something active at least twice a week. I run along the lake, do push-ups before bed, I’ve joined a gym, I lift weights and I even can touch my toes for the first time since high school since I’ve started doing Yoga on Wednesdays. I’ve started eating better also; less pasta, more veggies and things that need peeling rather than icing. Regardless, I regularly slip up and get some White Castle at 3am after a long night working for rich douche bags at the Ritz Carlton Hotel. But, honestly, who cares; I can enjoy a slider or 6 now and again. I also have a soft spot for breakfast burritos. Either way, early in the morning or late at night, these fast food binges take a toll on my innards. I get heart burn from Coke, the farts from White Castle and the runs from anything made at McD’s.

I have recently wanted to get my cholesterol checked as part of my “I’m Too Lazy To Think Up A Better Slogan For Losing The Weight I Gained After Quitting Smoking” campaign, so I scheduled an appointment at the doctors office that I had recently pee-ed on. He asked about my health. I told him I was healthy. He seemed up tight. He asked about my job. I told him I was a musician and a sound engineer. He seemed to relax and told me he was a singer. I was on my best behavior. He asked about my eating habits. I told him about my inner turmoil after fast food. He asked about my asshole, more specifically if I have ever had someone jam anything up there to check on my prostate. I said “no.” I seemed up tight. He suggested I think about getting an exam. He started freely swearing shortly after that in very odd places. “Holy shit, your heart is in great health. It is pumping twice as much fucking blood as a normal person’s heart with each fucking pump,” and “You mother fucking badass, your blood pressure is low as shit, bitch,” and “fuck yeah, player, you are a healthy-ass mother fucker.” Ok, maybe it wasn’t quite like that, but the f-bomb made it’s way into conversation a few times shortly after he recommended that I get my asshole invaded. I guess if it’s your job to tell people that you need to stick your finger in their butt, then you’d better be able to say “shit” and “fuck” to the people who own those butts. I don’t think anyone would say that examining prostates is one of the “rewards of ten years of medical school.” Turn your head to the left, and fucking cough.

monday videoblog: talking about talking

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How To Turn A Crappy Song Into A Smash Hit

Just add Manic Depressive Muppets.

Luck of the Blogish

A Post With Very Little Thought Put Into It - Or - I Like Hubcaps And Corn

I hate Donald Trump. I think that he should be kicked in the teeth. He has his own bottled water that should also be kicked in the teeth. If you drink this water, you should be kicked in the teeth as well.



I like granola. Clumps of oats, almonds, brown sugar and sunflower seeds in milk make for a good morning. I keep my granola in a tin cylinder.



I hate hearing people’s drug stories. They are almost always pointless; and if there is a point to the story, it’s that they got really fucked up once. That’s not a good story no matter how cool you think talking to a clump of hair on the carpet for hours is. Chainsaw art, now that is cool.



I like making mix Cds. I like trying to figure out what song will blend into the next. If you ask me nicely, I’ll make you a mix Cd that you might like. You should do the same for me.



I hate going to big concerts. I recently went to Wilco and was less impressed with the band than I was depressed by the people surrounding me. I ending up leaving early with Tripp and catching the equally, if not more so, talented band Sexfist. I recommend that you see Sexfist as a first date, without telling your date what Sexfist is.



I like publicly making a fool of myself in Target. I recently got into a throw-pillow fight with a cute girl in the bedding isle. I bought a large Tupperware container for audio cables. She bought a trashcan. People were amused by our antics. So was I.



I hate parking tickets. I have somehow become a prime target for the bright orange envelope ammo of the meter-people’s wrath, I swear they have it out for me and my zippy black Scion. Since Jan 1st, 2008, I’ve been ticketed seven times for everything from with 20 feet of a crosswalk to obstruction of traffic. If I hadn’t contested these tickets, I would currently owe the city around $500. I’ve gotten out of four of them so far, but I’ve also been pulled over for speeding. I wonder what would happen if I was as good at quantum mechanics as I am at getting parking tickets.



I like having a hard drive on my keychain. It’s not a big one, just a 512mb flash drive keychain, but it makes my pocket feel like it is from the future.



I hate Telemarketers.



I love bourbon. I always will. Cheers.

I Am America's Next Top Modle – OR – How Getting Fired Was My First Step Towards Being In The Band Of My Dreams

Here is a short list of facts:

1) Goner is a band of badasses.
2) I got fired from bong.
3) I’ve gotten more sympathy from strangers and strange friends for losing a crappy bartending job then I did when my grandmother died.
4) Everyone’s grandmother dies.
5) My life has gotten noticeably better since my Wednesday nights have been spent doing yoga rather than bar tending at a dive bar.
6) I do yoga and I make fun of people who do yoga.
7) I make fun of myself for many reasons.
8) My friend Swampthing and I had a great conversation about music. It was such a good conversation that (now) we both have written about it. He wrote a lot more about it than I did.
9) I got a ticket after blowing donuts in a Home Depot parking lot, during a snow storm, after going bowling with Bearhead. I won at bowling.
10) Proof was playing in my CD player when I got pulled over, which is probably why I was speeding in the first place. I didn’t turn it down when the cop asked for my ID and insurance.
11) I’ve been told if I contest the ticket and then plead guilty to the judge, it will only cost me $45 and it won’t go down on my permanent record.
12) I’ve got a great collection of records but I don’t have a record player.
13) Swampthing and I did a photo shoot in Café Bong the day after I was fired. He is a great photographer. Esther, who is my good good friend, set it up since I couldn’t go in due to the fact that I was fired.
14) Esther is awesome. In fact, she is probably the most awesome person on the face of the planet, you just don’t know it because you haven’t met Esther.
15) You should meet Esther
16) The photo shoot was for the cover of the new Goner album, Rock and Roll Always Forgets.
17) Goner loved the shoot and is putting me, my fedora and my white sneakers on the cover. I look like Run DMC.
18) I have to go to the DMV to keep this ticket off my record.
19) I will be in the studio tomorrow morning at 9am to record some college kids singing Abba. That song always gets stuck in my head and I need to play Proof loudly to get it out.
20) I’m famous, or at least my back, my hat and my shoes will be famous.
21) It’s been a great week.



Photo and Design by Ian Merritt. See more of his photograpy at www.idmphotography.com

The Barsky's Hit The Road A While Ago - OR - What I Wish I Did Over My Summer Vacation Rather Than Play POGs With My Ugly, Stupid Neighbors

The Barsky Family, Nina, Howard, Michael, Benjamin and Daniel Barsky, took a road trip in 1969. They traveled across the U.S. in a TravelAll and an Airstream trailer, from L.A. to Maine and back through Canada. I don’t know them, but I am jealous. I stumbled across this journal of the trip, mostly written by Nina, the wife and mother of the clan. It has been a source of inspiration to me; to drive to the horizon, to see the wonders of the road, to meet new people and amaze the ones I already know, to fall back in love with the world and to have… dare I say it… a family to do crazy things with. I hope you enjoy this as much as I have.



http://bigtrip69.blogspot.com/