...On Deja Vu

Ok so I've asked this one before I think to my friends. Deja vu, how many times a year would you say you get it? I mean I don't want to make it like I have some sort of supernatural ability, but It's weird I get deja vu pretty often. I get deja vu pretty often. I don't know if it's because there are certain activites that are so repetitive in my life that it's only a matter of time before I start the cycle all over again and repeat an activity. Repeat an activity. Ok so I'll be on the train and I'll be listening to an album, and say to myself "wow I saw myself in my minds eye listening to this song while going over the manhattan bridge." Pretty normal stuff right, because lets face it songs are bound to repeat on my walkman and I do go over the bridge everyday twice a day. But what's strange is sometimes I'll be thinking about something, sometimes things so weird that I've definately never thought before while listening to that song while going over the manhattan bridge that's it's eerie, because this is the first time it's happening yet I knew it's so familiar like it's happened before. So I get deja vu so often that I'm thinking maybe there's something to it. Is there a way to test this? Someone come up with a way and let me know.

Monty Strikes Back.

Remember this guy? So I was wondering what Monterey Jack was up to these days. I tried to contact him through his now defunct booking agency. After a month long search and countless hours I tracked him down to a small town in Arizona about 30 miles north of Phoenix. After making several attempts at his residence to speak with him I finally engaged him at a local bar, "The Drum and Barrel." He refused to come on camera, but did however, allow me to conduct a brief interview with him. When questions moved from the short lived series "Rescue Rangers" to more serious matters such as his alleged affair with Gadget Hackwrench he became irate and visibly upset. When asked about his first wife Brie, and his estranged daughter Mozzarella he calmly pulled me to side, produced a switch blade, and asked me to "Kindly get the fuck out his life."

...On Weird Moments

Just one nugget for today. At work I was chatting with my boss. I made a comment to the tune of "you know, I do exist outside of this place" and right there I knew it was official, I had become the weird guy in the office. I mean come on who blurts out something like that? So anyway in an attempt to make that comment look less weird I wound up babbling on and realized that in trying to look less weird I looked weirder than anyone could have possibly imagined. Are you following all of this.
Also heard some people today talking about "hoggin" or "piggin" apparently that's what you call it when you hook up with nasty/fat girls. This is big in colleges where it's actually encouraged by say a frat one week out of the year. The best part is all these guys hook up with beasts and because it's sanctioned no one can give you shit for it. They even throw these parties where they just invite these hideous women. Of course this is also used on a nightly basis where Todd may say to Brad, "Hey let's go hoggin tonight."
Humorous as 'Hoggin' may be, that gooey intangible mass inside of me that is responsible for intelligence and self dignity and maybe even a little bit of sympathy for those less fortunate thanks me everyday for not missing much by doing that shit in college. Oh how I value the little things about myself.

Degrees of Gray

That's how it is life on the gray scale. Everything is measured in degrees, tones, half tones. It's like you wait your whole life for colour and then when it does come you're so taken back by its effulgence you miss it. Like a fast passing weekend. Something ephemeral in an otherwise calm existence. There's reflection, but then there is a return. To be a war correspondent on one's own life is a scary thought, then again I guess so is all self reflection, maybe I should stop thinking so much. Some days you wake up and everything is gray and you hate everyone, then other days....Well, I wouldn't say you love everyone, but rather you don't care enough to notice. Don't fret, I'm not returning to my old self, this whole melancholy prose is how I deal with a shitty fuck day on the train.

Postin'

Here's a little pre lunch update. It's raining. Again. It's been raining since Friday. It feels like a month ago that I swam to The Met, but it was really only Saturday. It feels like a fortnight ago that I smoked a blizzy in the pouring rain as it disintegrate in Jibbas hand, but it was only a few days ago. Although it's been raining I think today may be a good day. Do you know why? Because I got a seat on the train. It's sad when we measure success by little things like that. Don't forget to click on my new link on the side for my picture gallery at photopic.net, leave some feedback tell me what you think. Anyway, let me go take the hammer from my desk draw and try to beat myself conscious...

Working on Leaving The Living

As my title suggests although I"m here at work I'm slowly transforming, or rather, embarking on a journey that will take me away from all this crap. They can tell me what to do around here, but they can't tell me what to think. And I'm thinking right now that Monday's suck. Who's not here, who's leaving early, who's got two kids running around, who's on the internet in the empty office when they're not supposed to be. It's a circus, and no I'm not the ringleader, I'm the dwarf behind the curtain going "gabba gabba hey, something's not right here."
So this past weekend went to the Met. Checked out the exhibit on Occult Photography. It wasn't that good. Some of the pictures were spooky, but it was mainly parlor tricks. Double exposures, trick photography, purposeful under and over exposures to make things like cloth seem like mysterious ectoplasm emanating from some woman's gash.
However, I then walked over to an exhibit on Prague. Excellent, awesome, why are you reading this go check it out. Over 200 pieces, a lot of which have never been exhibited before. Lots of Bibles, paintings, carvings. Apparently in Bohemia they were into religious icons and the such, one such highlight was the piece of the table cloth from the last supper given to Charles IV by Pope Urban.
Well that was pretty much, just glade we're getting a break from the rain, but then again it's supposed to rain all this week.

Remember....
"A good friend will come and bail you out of jail...but a TRUE friend will be sitting next to you saying, 'Damn...that was fun.' "

It is Tuesday, It is Night / Worst Purchase Ever.

Ok It's Tuesday. Here's some shit. Tomorrow night going to see the Decemberists, I may have an extra ticket, if anyone wants to meet up get in touch with me. At work it was pretty dead, lots of Jewish (Princess Vespa...) people in the T.V. business I guess. However got to hear the gutter girls (that's my new name for the foul mouthed princesses I work with) to have a whole discussion about schlongs. As they repeatedly called my boss "Pickle Pants" they went into a rather vulgar discourse about "Girk" a variation on girth. Of course this led to which type of package is preferable to woman, and finally like all discussions that change the course of history, they wound up talking about how midgets with 12 inch cocks walk around.
Another thing I've been feeling vehemently about lately are they bogus hip hop t-shirts. You the ones I'm talking about the ones you see people wearing on the trains. The black shirts with the black and white photos of Biggie Smalls in heaven wearing a crown or carrying a scepter or face to face with Tupac. Oh then there's the even worse ones that are airbrushed those are ridiculous, I mean there's ghetto, then there is ghetto squared. I would be embarrassed to even take that up to a counter to pay for it (more on this later). How about the bum ass shirts that you can tell are made up at the mall. You know the t shirt with the square box in the middle, only instead of saying "worlds greatest grandpa" people are inserting pictures of Tupac. Nah I'm sorry I'm not feeling it. Say what you will about me, but it's just stupid. This is right up there with that now almost extinct fad of wearing those racing jackets with sponsors all over them. Yeah cool man, Cheerios and Valvoline all over your torso. You're a fucking walking ad. Oh what's that you say? Can't pick a favorite NBA team? Why not where a pair of jeans with every fucking team logo in the league on it?
Whew ok, that should just about do it. But going back to the money catching fire in your hand at the store counter as you pull it out of your pocket to pay for that Biggie Vs. Naz T shirt, I've been polling people at work and around town what your worst purchase is -- Ever. So leave a comment for the world to see, let us know what your stupidest purchase ever is.

Fly Catchin'

Here's one. You are on the subway, and across from you is the most beautiful woman you've ever seen. She's got her Louis Vuitton bag, her Gucci sunglasses, shopping bags from Bloomingdale. Nice right. Only thing is she's passed out with her mouth wide open catching flies. Thanks for ruining my fantasy of perfection. It's earth shattering to everything you know. Kind of like the first time you hear a girl fart. Or maybe it just proves the cynics point, that despite all the trappings that come with civilized society, and superficial artifacts like designer names, we're all just slobs with our mouths wide open.

Ultimate Warrior / Roid Rage

The Ultimate Warrior has responded to WWE’s recent invitation for the former WWE Champion to appear on ByteThis! If you think his previous commentaries were controversial, you will not believe his recent comments. He lashes out against Vince, calls Droz a “cripple”, accuses Triple H of abusing muscle-enhancing substances, says Bobby Heenan deserves the battle with cancer he is currently going through, implies Jim Ross has had a romantic relationship wtih Vince McMahon and more.
Warrior’s commentary was, as always, long and rambling. Below are the “highlights”. WARNING: It gets pretty crude.
In response to the ByteThis! Invitation:
As for my own response to the invitation — I’d say the boil that I am on your ass, Vince McMahon, is causing you even more pain right now than you expected, considering that you believed the DVD would lance it once and for all. Once again, Vince, in a furious, visionless moment, you loaded, locked and fired all at once instead of considering what would be the consequences of shooting off so recklessly. I tried to tell you, Ultimate Warrior is bigger than our dislike for one another. You should have just let Him be what He was. Oh, He still will be — His fans won’t have it any other way. You are, of course, finding this out for yourself right now. But you, look what you’ve done to yourself. Similar to an exhibitionist sick to show the world their tiny, shriveled private parts, you’ve done nothing but unclothe the canker sores of your wicked personality.
Of course, I do NOT accept this brainless, disgraceful invitation. F*CK NO, I do not. You can rescue yourself, Vince. Do your own damage control. I’ve no ear for your begging anymore. Only if you were on fire would I help you — it’d just be too hard to resist pissing on you. Open mic? Then let it truly be open. Let your audience have some fresh air. Flush the toilet bowl once. Let them hear something intelligent, decent and truthful for once. Give them, Vince, what they want — just like you are always bragging the WWE does. Let them be proud for just a few moments that the energetic, intense and colorful Ultimate Warrior persona they loved when they were little kids didn’t become a self-pitying, disappointing, broken-down has-been like all the other brittle-minded skeletons traipsing around your locker rooms or now buried in forgotten about graves. Order the queer and the cripple who host the show to read what I have written here and here, and while they do that have them hold up mirrors looking at themselves so they can know exactly the kind of people in your organization I’m writing about. No apologies — I don’t discriminate for the handicapped who sign on to behave degenerately.
About Triple H:
Hell, Paul, own up little, puffy man. You tried to replicate everything about me. So what you used a few more wrestling moves. Nobody cares and even fewer will remember. It was the Ultimate Warrior intensity and look you strove for ….. It’s a good thing Vince backed off the drug testing as he did because without them you wouldn’t have made muscle grade enough for the real freaks to even let you be one of their friends. BTW, to get rid of the puffy look, get off the GH and train hard. Yeah, that’s right — train hard. Your body tells us all that you train like a tw*t and rely most on your “sports supplements.”
About Bobby Heenan:
As for you, Booby Heenan, it’s just too difficult to keep a straight face talking about the pure two-faced bag of shit you are (and have always been), what, with you also actually wearing one as a piece of body jewelry. You are dying, dis-eased on the inside, and no more time is left to get back any of the integrity that matters the most on death’s bed. Imagine what it will be like, lying there taking in your last breaths, knowing you whored yourself out your whole life, and had to, in your final years, be faced with emptying your own personal shit bag affirming to you the true value of what you achieved in your life. Not even Vince could come up with a better finish than this. Karma is just a beautiful thing to behold.
About Jim Ross:
Jimmie Ross. For the life of me, I don’t get what your beef (should I say pork?), Jimmie, is with the sane and happy ole’ Warriorman. Of course, I can only imagine that a whole hell of a lot of anal pressure must come with being one of Vince’s top *ss-wipes. Yet, still, can I ask — just when did you get to know me well enough to go on and on about me as you seem so fit to do? Can we substantiate some time period, here? Discussions or meetings that were held? Or is this too much to ask? I’m not the only one who’d like to know. Everyone is asking the same question: “Just when did Jim Ross get to know Warrior so well to have these endless opinions about him that he does?” All anyone can think of, largely because it is so apparent across the board throughout the entire DVD, is that, again, envy alone provides you (and everyone else for that matter) with the enlightenment and answers. You are obviously jealous of both the fact that I never let Vince have his way with me as he has with you and everyone else and, also, that you never had the chance to bend me over either since becoming the Mother Hen over the talent around about ‘96 when I was last there.

**This text taken from Mike Shalik @ 3:37 pm EDT**