Further Evidence that Elijah Wood is my Hero

You think you got dancey dance like Frodo? Think again. Not only can Elijah own you on the dance-floor, but based on his dope-ass-swagger, he could own your ass with his knowledge of crap early 90's horror films. Howzit feel to get played by a hobbit?

Malibu is My Life Role Model

The hair. The "cowabunga", devil-may-care panache. The hair. When I have a son, and I will, I am going to name him Malibu. And from the second his little hands are strong enough to grip, I am going to stick a barbell in them and force him to do reps, holding a printout of this man, this gladiator, aloft. Ben Jr, you have met your template.

Technology At It's Best

Cure for AIDS? Naaah. Motorized limbs for veterans? Fuck THAT. Hand-knife-chop-game
Robot? I think we have our project.

Debuted in Rotterdam we see the knife-hand-chop-game Robot, a little machine that attempts to slice the little webby-skin from between your fingers, a la Bishop from Aliens. It's nice to know with minds like this when the whole world is dying of AIDS and cancer at least we'll have a place to go to have a robot slowly chop between our fingers, at least until they rot off from the plague. I've seen 28 days later...

I GOT GLASS

My car window got smashed when someone smashed it stealing my MP3 player and a bit of pride in the process. I discovered it last week when I went downstairs into the gated garage under my building to find that in the night someone had targeted my purple piece of shit in the maybe 50 down there for some instant ventilation. I was pissed, as if my car wasn’t already enough of a lump this was like adding insult to retardation to deformation to rejection. And then a couple of days later someone stole the registration out of my glove-box. So there you go.

But yesterday I got it replaced and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t driving around with a certain amount of pride in my new window. Now I know having a window doesn’t really constitute pimp, and there’s no real way to show-off a completely translucent pane of glass, but given the slump I’ve been in recently saw being able to role something up and between the world I need a break from as a definite sign that it was ending and well, I got glass. So take that world.

And if anyone reading this is in the market for a purple 95 Nissan 200SX with ALL the windows intact, call or email at your earliest convenience.

I Didn't Kill Travis

Meta dreams are confusing.

Last night I dreamt that in earlier in the year, at my home in Arlington Mass, I accidentally killed and then covered up the killing of my old roommate, Travis “T-Bird” Poston. I dreamt that while taking a Jog down one of the many steep hills in The Heights, the area of Arlington I grew up in, zombie Travis was trying to make me feel better about bringing a rock down on his head in February, and then burying the body in some remote location I couldn’t quite recall in the dream. “Man”, he said to me, in that slow hop-run you do when going down steep-hills, “If anyone was asking to be taken out it was me”, forcing me to recall the whole incident for the first time in a long time.

I remember thinking that maybe his death was the cause of all my bad 2007 karma, which, compared to 2006, has been a shit year. Momentarily shelving the guilt accompanied by this revelation I remember thinking that maybe that’s the reason my luck has been off - It all took a turn for the worse when by some hedges I crushed his skull.

And then I woke up. Feeling guilty as hell about killing my friend at first, but then relieved in the “or COURSE it was a dream” way when after the 48-second haze between sleep and wake, I realized that I hadn’t actually committed murder and had for all intensive purposed saved Travis’s life.

But then realized that very-much-alive Travis still owes me 600 bucks from six years ago, and if I ever want to see it might want begin looking for some large rocks.

Point, Japan.

Cars. DVD Players. And now Gameshows. We are truly in trouble.

In sleep, I am sound.

Sometimes it really is easier just going to sleep. Like a ship crashing on the rocks only to set sail in the morning, it’s not giving up for good, it’s just giving up for now. In sleep I don’t feel a nagging panic about my career, don’t wonder If my ex-girlfriend is in fact a siren (and I think she might be), and most importantly, don’t wish I would go right back to sleep, as I now do.

A slump is a slump is a slump is a slump. I know they’re not supposed to last but hell, what if a short-term slump turns into a long-term problem? While I know sleeping for my entire life isn’t really possible, in fact it sounds like being dead, what other ways would I have of overcoming? Work? Buckling down? If only I could buckle down, work and sleep all at the same time which still sounds like being dead, which, slump or no, I’m not quite ready for just yet.

So awake I plug – popping the balloons of regret in my mind with the unenviable truth that everything that has happened, has happened, and other shit, will continue to happen also. This life isn’t meant to be amazing all the time, if it was we wouldn’t have comedy, the Smiths or Nine Inch Nails albums, all three of which I kinda love.

So I’m awake now. You happy life? I’m awake and my bed is right there and I’m not getting in it… I want to, trust me, those sheets seem like one gigantic cuddly vagina, but I'm still not getting in it...

But this chair is kinda comfy.