2001-06-15 12:17:00
2001-06-15 11:08:27
My dog's got no bollocks!
My first entry. I didn't realize that this would be so lonely, trying to find something legitimate to write about.
I've been watching so many movies and television programs now that I have a satellite dish. It's really distorting my perspective but I find it impossible to stop. It's much like owning books, (which I do...lots,) there is always potential to pick something from the shelf and glean some information, be it fluff or more thought provoking. This goddamn dish is like that only worse. There are no spines or dust jackets to tell you what is going on inside, you have to turn it on-and then you're in! I'm not a huge fan of television proper. I only watch a couple of shows and really don't even keep track of what day they come on, so I often miss them.
*aside* my dog is having a dream in the other room, whining and crying and kicking his hind legs as if I had him by the throat making him renounce his fool dog-god. Dumb beast, why can't he have dreams like normal people?*
But what I really like about the dish, is the movies, 20 or 30 channels of them. I can watch them all day long. Doesn't matter if they're good or just OK, I'll sit there like an ape, mouth wide open, watching...dreaming about the good life. It's a horrible affliction. I'm always fighting with myself about getting something accomplished and here I go watching sob* weep* Runaway Bride (thas cuz it's Julia though) or even this decent Ang Lee film Ride with the Devil, and boy do I ever feel rotten about it. Well, it's my own damn fault. I knew it would be trouble bringing that thing into my house, being such an escapist. If it weren't that I'd be on the internet, or reading, or bungee jumping, or working, or thinking...it's all such a colossal waste of time.
The other interesting thing is that since thee dish hath manifested itself upon me my dreams have been very strange. Not strange in the usual run from zombies, fall off of buildings, leave the house naked, master has you by the throat forcing you renounce your pagan god kind of way, but strange in that they are very unremarkable, (except for the pissing blood and chunks of bone dream.) It's getting so that I almost can't discern the dream from real life. I talk to people, we have conversations, we do things. Nothing very dreamlike about it, except that when I wake up I realize that most everything that I've been up to didn't happen. And as my dreams become more real, my real life is becoming more like my dreams. I just float my way through the days, time speeds by, and then it's back to sleep. All in all pretty fucking boring. I attribute all of this to the constant barrage of imagery that I ingest all day long. My brain is attempting to make sense out of and compartmentalize these images and sounds while I sleep, consequently my dreams are no more interesting than Notting Hill 2. Probably due to the lack of alpha wave activity during most of the day.
Well, as some clever people once declared, "our enemy is dreamless sleep."
2001-06-18 16:50:00
2001-06-18 15:33:57
Chicago weather report: Hot as a bitch and her pups rolled in a shag carpet and dumped in a ravine.
Indeed it was 90 degrees of sweltering lung fudge here in Chicago today. I have no AC in my wee purple truck, and consequently inhaling cigarette smoke provided a cool respite from the carcinogenic fog that belched out of the asses of the vans, stretch airport limos, and souped up Japanese street jagsters that congealed on the highway. I have trucker sunburn now as well, one red arm and half a red neck from the sun hammering down on me all afternoon. Why does nature hate me?
Ate a fat bowl of Soba beef soup for lunch at Mitsuwa mall this afternoon (before the lung searing 15 mile ride home at a rush hour regulated 15mph.) Japanese business guys marveled at my chopstick prowess and stole glimpses of my tattoo while I wiped soup base from my chin. I wondered if they were thinking I should be home with my fat bottomed American mother, rather than roving around the mall trying to pick-up young Japanese girls. They'd of course be right, but unfortunately that's not an option, my mother is in California.
That Mitsuwa, formerly Yaohan, is a decent place to go if you fancy things Japanese. Not only do they sport a fine food court, with everything from spicy ramen to hamburgcroquette, but they also have a great little toy store, a nice book and magazine shop, a spotless liquor store, and a grocery store, where you can get fatty tuna for $89 a pound, plastic Pokemon toilets filled with poopshaped candy chunks, hello kitty toaster ovens, Shiseido make-overs, and genuine Pokari-sweat & Calpis soft drinks. You'd be a fool not to blow a night's pay from your job at the gentleman's club at this place.
2001-06-19 15:30:00
2001-06-19 13:53:31
School's in for the summer.
Whoo-fuckin-hoo, can't believe a full month of school vacation time has swept me aside already. What did I do with myself? Besides that, oh and that, and yeah, that. But besides all of those obvious things what did I do? Zer-fuckin'-Oh (can I say that on the internet?)
So, tomorrow starts a nerve cleaving 2 months of speech class. If I were the type of person who really liked people, and felt comfortable in groups it might be a different story. But I'm not and I don't, so there's the freakin' rub right there. I can imagine my first class already. (Benevolent teacher voice) "Go around the room, introduce yourselves, and tell us something about you. Let's start with you, freakshow", "Uh, (eyes scanning the room for compassion) I'm Jack, (eyes now blinking rapidly, attempting to filter out hallucinations) I'm terribly uncomfortable with you all, (breathe damn you) and it's going to be, uh, difficult for me to speak in front of you, uh...and (c'mon, you can do it) I wish you all were never born you fucking underachieving goodie-two-shits. Thank you". Who knows, maybe I'll be a big sidesplitting funnyman class hero, and everyone will love me...yeah, who knows.
I anticipate the internet history course going a lot smoother by-the-way.
2001-06-20 15:06:00
2001-06-20 13:35:52
School Part Too
I am triumphant. Not only did I not make a serious ass of myself by peeing my pants at speech time, (see previous entry for clarification), but I felt on top of the rotten old world as I watched my fellow students annihilate themselves in front of a group of their peers (and a couple of errant old folks). Not that I wish failure or extreme humiliation on anyone, but it is rather nice to not be the only one on the verge of death via hyperventilation.
Proudly I strode to the front of the class, second student to volunteer for duty, positioned myself with my right hand, and let fly. The longer I stood talking, blinking, gesturing wildly the stronger I became. The crowd watched transfixed, as if I were a two-headed sideshow geek, as I told my tale. "This" I told them, and "that." They giggled when I made a joke and had a few questions to pose that I easily whapped from the air. Then an odd thing happened. A few minutes in to my monologue I began to feel pricklypear heat rise up my back, around my neck, and creep up onto my face. The more I thought about it the redder I became. I felt as though I was standing in front of God as he examined me with a magnifying lens under the afternoon sun. Careful God, I thought, you're going to melt my head into a featureless blob and you won't want to play with me any more. I quickly ended my autobiographical ranting and strode once again to the back of the class. God soon lost interest in me, wiped a booger onto his shorts and ran off to pull the wings off of flies.
MUSIC: Public Radio intermingled voice mush
MOOD: fortified
2001-06-22 15:55:00
2001-06-22 14:01:14
Give me free!!!
I need to get out more. I'm tearing at the walls, life's getting a little too close for comfort in this inhospitable place.
On a lighter note...I saw Evolution last night - the film, not unverifiable phenomenon. But wait, before you rush out and see it just because I did, DON'T. Poor David Duchovny looked as though he'd rather be home dry humping his chaise lounge than uttering some of the shite he was obviously forced to say. I did a better job editing that movie by averting my eyes every couple of minutes out of pure dumb embarrassment, than Sheldon Kahn did for his big fat Hollywood paycheck. This fellow edited One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest for christsweetsake! And not the porno version. He's barely local car dealership caliber. Man, put those old boys out to pasture (Ivan Reitman, go back to whatever the hell you WERE doing before Hollywood called) and give me some Guy Fuckin' Ritchie. Pre, post, or smack dab in the middle of the whole Madonna thingy. Anyway, I hated it. Dumb, stupid, lame.
Back to studying, whelp.
Starving for attention, J
2001-06-28 12:00:00
2001-06-28 10:21:57
And he was all...and I was like...and he was like...etc.
I thought I'd tool through the livejournal undergrowth, sans machete, by doing some random investigating of what other people are doing in their daily journals...bad idea. The livejournal world is densely populated with 15 year old girls talking about what they bought this afternoon, who they'd like to cuddle with, and adventures in babysitting. I feel like I've tapped into some sad reality TV show like "Brenda's Room" or something. Nothing against the youngsters, but bygum when I was fifteen, girls sure did have a lot more to talk about than shoe sales and their stupid stepmoms. What the fuck happened to my country? Help. Turn off the Bluebox it's rotting your brains. It's too late for me, I'm already wrecked, but save yourselves!
I'm not trying to say nothin' ok? I'm just sayin'.
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