Recently in home Category

You know I get no end of joy out of watching the prostitutes as I walk home late at night. Flamboyant doesn't even begin to describe them. Is 'miamiviceish' a word?

But last night as I walked back from the metro around 3:00, a big, black SUV pulled up near me, and the two attractive women inside asked me if I was doing okay. To think I look like a male hooker is probably the least likely thing you can imagine.

(The only other possibility I can come up with is that the sexual come-on was just a lure for some less enjoyable event. But we won't think about that.)

random fact...

A few minutes ago, the water running in the gutters jumped the curb and was flowing over the sidewalks. Damn glad I live on the 4th floor. Three major thunderstorms in the last 4 days . In an area where we previously were lucky to get 1 or 2 thunderstorms a year. And at least one major storm earlier in the week.

It's giving my laptop battery a good run for it's memory.

...

Yay... the neighborhood is going up in smoke! A minute ago I was listening to the rain outside, when there was a terrible electrical arcing sound, like something out of a Death Ray in a James Bond film. When I went to the window to look, a large cloud of smoke way rising up through the rain. Given the lack of bodies, (yes, I am paranoid enough to go down and check), I'm guessing the rain just seeped in and blew out a street lamp. Still... you know... smoke and electricity!

Sometime between the raindrops, I got out this weekend. Not much, because I still feel very lazy. But a few things. I checked out two new exhibits at the National Gallery, (Photographic Discoveries and the Renaissance of Venetian Painting). Also finally visited the National Museum of the American Indian. Really... aside from the atrium, not that impressive. Watched three movies, this weekend, (Transamerica, Mrs Henderson Presents, and Memento). All good, though not quite great.

I'm remarkably relaxed, going into this coming work week. I spent all of last week stressing out about work. I had a whole string of projects, while not behind, were taking a noticeable amount of time. And I really believe my clients should be care free. But I finished out last week well, catching up on all my major projects, and having picked up a couple new, small projects. I designed several pieces over the course of the week, which not only my clients liked, but I was impressed with as well, and I didn't have to kill myself on any of them. (*knock wood*).

I was offered a job as an Orgasm Fairy, the other day. Apparently, I am #5 on a google search for the term "Orgasm Fairy".

So I got that going for me.

Then again, every time I check my stats, someone has found this site by searching for the term "fucking little girls".

Ew.

But you know... I’ve still got the hookers for neighbors. Call girls, I guess, since they seem to operate primarily on an in-call basis. I’ve gotten in the habit of looking at the guest sign-in whenever I stop at the front desk, just to see how many visitors they’ve had. Um... so to speak.

But yeah... they apparently tried to lure the Cleaning Lady into working for them. I find it a little funny. She’s not ugly... but I don’t know if I would pay for sex with her. She probably doesn’t have the temperament, anyway. Just being asked was so traumatic that she immediately ran to the assistant manager to report it. It’s the worst kept secret in the building, that they’re working up there. But if they start making life difficult for other people, they may find themselves out on the street. This time, in daylight.

Besides the fact that hookers do laundry all the time, apparently it’s common to order everything C.O.D. Besides being amazed that anyone even offers C.O.D. shipping anymore, I find it interesting. I guess this isn’t a job were you want to leave a huge paper trail. Just the other week, a UPS guy came by with another such package. It was his third and final attempt at delivery. The one girl finally answered the door, stark naked, presumably expecting a customer. She quickly jumped behind the door, though certain body parts kept slipping out. Man... is that the start to every bad porno, or what?

Meant to get this updated look for the website up yesterday. I had the template basically done. But Pixel wanted to play, and I wound up going to Chiaroscuro with Kier again. Kelowna seemed to have a good night. Dancing and spinning. Taking all kinds of pictures, including one she ran over to show me, of all the dancers spinning around me. Finished off the night pretty well, too, from the looks of it.

I didn't see Kris there. Although, I did learn that her name was Kris. So that's something. She was always the-girl-in-the-sports-bra. Until someone pointed out last week that she was also the girl I met at a home farewell party, who gave me a lift home, a couple months back. Weird... never saw the connection. Probably wouldn't have known what to say in the truck home. 'Cause... you know... I got those mad people skills.

But we did have more faux lesbians last night. And we all agreed that beats sitting home on the couch watching TV any night.

I ran into the prostitute in the laundry room today, talking on her phone. Someone mentioned that her and her roommate do laundry every day. That had never really occurred to me, but it makes sense. Especially this time of year, with the sweat and the juices, and the whatnot.

In addition to some johnny cash, marilyn manson, and patsy cline, I picked up Miranda Lambert's album yesterday, on the iTunes music store. (Gift certificates are our friends). My uncle had bought the CD--which is a pretty strong recommendation in its own right, as previously, the last album he'd bought was only available on vinyl and 8-track--and played it repeatedly while I was down there. She's pretty good. Country, but not to the point of parody. She has a little bit of folk singer in her voice. And always a good sign: not all of her songs are about love. Looking over her website, it's some pretty sickeningly blatant marketing by a record label. That journal sounds like it was written by an ad exec trying to sound like a 13 year old girl, not a 22 year old professional musician. But so long as the marketing doesn't affect the music... we're good.

Okay... political question: Do you ever wonder how a US President who lied multiple times to invade 3 countries resulting in over a hundred thousand deaths, can keep a straight face when acting outraged that the Iranian President may have been involved in taking hostages 25 years ago?

Food for argument.

I maybe shoulda gone out tonight. Kier tried to drag me out to Dollhouse, at the Black Cat. At the very least, I would have like a chance to see Kelowna, (smart, interesting, attractive). But after 2 seperate cover charges, the fact I almost never dance, and that it's being held in the dungeon known as Backstage, I decided to stay home. I think God is on my side though. Ju7st as Kier stepped out of the subway, he got nailed by the biggest rainfall we've had in weeks. Told him that a storm which comes on so fast will dissipate just as fast. He didn't believe me, and made a run for it. Within 5 minutes, it had pretty much stopped raining.

I was so veyr tempted to go buy an Airport Express today. So often when I'm working with my laptop on the couch, I want to listen to some music that I have on my machine, but I either don't have it on disk or don't feel like burning one. The Express would let me wirelessly stream the music to my stereo. Not to mention print wirelessly. But after spending 8 bucks at Radio Shack for a couple of AV splitters, I now have what I need to plug in my laptop from anywhere in the apartment. Compared to the $120 Express... not a bad compromise. Not to worried about the printing. If I'm printing, I'm gonna have to get off my ass soon anyway to mail, fax, or assemble something. Oh... the store? Crap. No less than 4 employees sitting around on top of the boxes talking, waiting 10 minutes before asking me if I needed assistance. (I couldn't have cared one way or the other... but, you know... common courtesy...)

Today? Massive laundry day. Tomorrow? Massive kitty litter day. My life is so glamourous.

I can't think of anything to write. I can't think of anything to write. I can't think of anything to write. I can't think of anything to write. I can't think of anything to write. I can't think of anything to write. I can't think of anything to write. I can't think of anything to write. I can't think of anything to write.

I think I mentioned before, I had a english comp professor in college who had us keep daily journals. And if you honestly couldn't think of anything to write... you repeatedly wrote I can't think of anything to write.

Right now... I feel the need to expel some mental miasma. Like a sneeze you can feel coming. You prepare yourself... stop... deep breath... tense your shoulders so as not to blow yourself over... wait... your nose is tingling... here it comes... almost there...

I feel like I need to write to get rid of something. Trouble is... I am kinda tired. This puts me in a very mellow mood. And I can't write worth a shit when I'm mellow.

This whole day has been fucked up. All I've had are snacks all day, and no real meals. It's now almost 11 PM, and I have no desire to eat dinner, which would be my first real meal of the day. Didn't get much work done either. Lots of little prep shit for the coming deluge. But nothing measurable.

Well... I did get stuff back up on my walls, this evening. My apartment was recently gutted for renovations, and I've slowly been getting it back into a livable state. I have two small problems left. Well, two small piles that are problems. Stuff I don't want. There's a stack of comic books and a stack of picture frames. Both still in good condition. Not that they interest me in the least. The comics I've had some recommendations on... donate them to a library or hospital or such. i looked up the donations page at the Children's Hospital, but as expected, they're mostly concerned about money. And I can't bring myself to call someone whose life is dedicated to helping to ease the suffering of children, and asking them if they want the comic books that are too boring even for me. *breath* The picture frames leave me in more of a quandary. Short of a garage sale, how do you get rid of picture frames that you don't want? I won't throw them away. I'd be satisfied giving them away... but how does one advertise picture frames of varying sizes, materials, shapes, and colors? I'm thinking maybe I should come up with an art project utilizing them, and give them to people as presents.

Wait.. I smell girls outside...

I think that's what girls smell like. I don't know. It seems like so long since I've left my apartment.

Is the sky still green out there?

I have too much crap. I could easily have told you that a week or so ago when I moved it all down the hall and back again, so my floors could be replaced. That little exercise in exercise didn't even involve everything.

Procrastinator that I am, at about 11 PM last night, I started moving everything into the center of my apartment. Everything. This is in prelude to haveing the walls repainted. Somehow, when everything was in its previously ordained place, it could almost look sparse in here, at times. But try to pile it up in the center of one room, with at least a 4 foot walkway surrounding it, and you would be surprised how fast it fills up. I have maybe enough room left for a large bulldog. (Pixel has chosen to sleep on top of a perilously piled stack of laundry, which rests on a stack of comic books I'm trying to give away, which rests on some empty boxes, which rests on my couch. Did I mention the beautiful new floor the couch rests on?)

But yes... too much shit.Too many empty boxes for when I move or sell something. Too many clothes, because I feel guilty giving away a gift I never wore. Too many books and paper stacks, whose contents I could no longer describe. An absolutly obscene number of picture frames, some of which are big enough to hold Christo's artwork.

It's a life long habit of collecting crap so I have something of my own. And while it can be meaningful, sometimes crap is just crap.

I had a strong, if not entirely new feeling, when I came home from my most recent trip north. It involved what felt like the blindingly obvious need to eschew mental clutter and useless actions. Instead of obsessing about the appropriateness of inviting Autumn to dinner with Kier and myself, I just call and inform her of the opportunity. Instead of worrying about the fact I am going to call someone I don't know and ask them for work, I make the call. I never cared about the outcome. It was just the fact I had to make the call that hung me up. Every second I worry over inviting Autumn to something is another second I could have been creating a real memory.

It's not so much trying to order my life as trying to cut loose the necrotic memories and processes.

I really do love it on the roof.

Late in the day, when the sun has lost it's ability to burn you, but not to blind you. Or maybe I just spend too much time inside, because it take me forever to adjust my eyes and stop squinting, even in the shade.

Maybe the sunlight doesn't really make it to the street. I seldom need sunglasses, and have never squinted down there.

The sound certainly tries to make it up to the roof. My family who've never been here would recognize the sirens from the firehouse around the corner. But up there, they're just sirens; without the physical force to knock you off your feet, that they have at street-level. Other than them, and an occasional Harley, nothing else makes itself heard on the roof. There is only a steady, low-level hum that is the city. A half million inmates. Another quarter million tourists on an average weekend. Three-hundred-thousand cars. Air-conditioning in every northwest home. Giant city buses dissecting the neighborhoods, disgorging people someplace they obviously didn't come from.

Down here in my apartment, I can hear someone's brakes scraping. I can discern the rhythm of an ancient muffler. Pixel's collar is jingling about 5 feet behind me.

Up on the roof, I just realized, is they only place where there is a big sky. Every time I go to Texas, or I sit on the Seneca Lake shoreline in New York, I marvel at the big sky. I miss it, and haven't seen it regularly since the summer of ’96. But up on the roof, all the building do their best imitation of a photograph of some European city. There's an actual horizon, and not just a rise in the street.

I think if I sat up there too long, they would have to drag me back to my apartment, kicking and biting.

While I sat here looking for bloggers and journalists out of Geneva, Pixel tried out approximately 20 different sleeping positions in the sun. I recieved 7 pieces of Spam. I found out You've Got Mail has nothing to do with email.

I don't believe it. In a one-horse town like Geneva, there must be more people journaling online. Not much else to do.

9 Spams.

The money in this town is amazing. I passed houses today that had no right being anything but museums. And parks that you arne't allowed to walk your dog in.

I wondered... who cleans off the tennis courts? Tennis courts are always surrounded by trees; probably to keep the balls from hitting nearby buildings. Even today, there were piles of leaves surrounding the courts. Does someone actually go out there with a leaf blower or a broom and clear away the organic refuse?

I don't know where Pixel went. I think she's investigating the groceries I haven't put away yet.

I need a new job. We ... well... the design jobs are dead again. Of course we have a few jobs. But they're just the kind that sit around for months with no changes. So I'm idle. I cannot stand being idle. I can't stand the crap work I'll do for a couple weeks. I can't stand the sudden splurge of jobs we'll get. I can't stand the unqualified designer we'll hire. I can't stand...

I need a new job.

Pixel's been quiet for too long.

Divebomber by Pigface
American Hero by Scotland Yard

You know there are some pissed off Christian fanatics in Disneyland this week.

I got my hard drive the day before my trip. With the help of some beautiful shareware (1,2), I had cloned my entire 30 gig internal drive within an hour and a half. And the incremental backups since then have taken only about 5 minutes each.

There's $110 I truly hope I'm wasting.

More and more, I think this city may not be the place for me any longer. I know by now I cannot travel anywhere without some sense of frustration or displacement upon my return.

I sat in the hotel one night in San Angelo flipping channels, and came across a speech from the Senate floor. Considering the hive mentality in DC, you can't help but see that almost every night on the news here. But sitting there, with a little perspective and a lot of relaxation, it struck me hard just how ... anachronistic... it all is. Some truly ancient man in a suit that surely hung in Grover Cleveland's closet, giving a speech that no one with the least interest in reality could possibly care about, in a room that hasn't been remodeled since god knows. The wooden creak of this mans movements and the soma induced expression on his face... you just know he had not had contact with reality in many decades.

And much of this town revolves around these men. No matter how hard I try, I just don't care about them. And they quite obviously don't care about me. I have no vote there anyway. I received a mailer from my only representative there, yesterday. It well communicated the message: "Unless you're black, poor, on drugs, and interested in buying a house in the slums, get the fuck out"

I'm not going into the status of work, since that has been well covered before.

bah... I'll finish this later...