found_drama

A. sent this to me a while ago…  Long overdue: The Cold War Museum.  I love this idea.  I can’t think of a better way to honor this twisted historical period (and ethos!) but housing its relics in an indestructible ICBM silo.  Spy planes, listening devices, satellites, nuclear warheads, the Berlin Wall, Kruschev’s hat…!

I love my “Services” menu…  Can I get that in a right-click contextual menu, please?  Anyone know a good plug-in/micro-app for that?

I think today’s “Dinosaur Comics” is my new favorite.

Breakfast pleasure! Finally, I have words for the most sublime of satisfactions!! BREAKFAST PLEASURE. I love breakfast pleasure.

Me too. It’s definitely in the upper tier of my spectrum of emotions.

Via Stupid.com: set of 2 Meat Air Fresheners…

Now my car can smell like bacon all the time… I just a need hamburger steering wheel cover and a drumstick shifter and I’ll be set…

Early Saturday a.m. post…  Trimming down the links in the sidebar; feels too much like clutter.  Instead, thinking of just dumping links into del.icio.us and then install one of the myriad plug-ins for WordPress to add support for them.  *shrug*  A. has released my inner-chucker – - especially considering the up-coming move.

ALSO: Realized last night that after years of avoiding it, I’m going to need to break down and read T.S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land”.

LASTLY: Is Bruce Sterling the Ezra Pound to William Gibson’s T.S. Eliot?

We call this big brick building home. Situated near the train tracks (the ones near where I grew up), the building is an old warehouse converted to a loft space where we execute our art projects and make our communal home. Living here seems to give us all the right kind of energy; it’s like having the constantly-overflowing-with-ideas excitement of being high school age, the energy and apparently unfettered freedom of being college age, and the wisdom of being an adult. Our work will be utterly brilliant.

Of all the folks living here lately, it’s J.O. that has been the most productive and I’ve latched on to her as a source of personal inspiration. In my own funk, I’ve given myself over to her as an assistant or lackey or minion. I’ll run odd jobs for her, run cable, set up stages, that sort of thing. Once in a while, I have a contribution as well. Her (our?) work is based around some of Vito Acconci’s video pieces from the mid-1970s. In particular, we’re patterning the work as conceptual follow-ups to his series that could basically have predicted modern email spam: machines that desire nothing more than to fulfill all your wildest dreams, insistent machines that will stop at nothing to ensure that you look younger, have the best drugs, can retire earlier and more fabulously, and have the largest cock on the block. She watches the “penis expander tube” sequence over and over again, trying to get her version of it just right: the angle of the tube, the smoky resin that obscures the otherwise clear plexiglass, the Baroque tubes and cables and wires.

The building has been having some problems recently though. A co-worker of mine (J.H.?) shows up (I don’t think that he lives here) and gives me a long litany about steam heating systems and how to fix the one in our old brick monstrosity. Foolishly, he puts me in charge of retrieving the materials from town and getting back in time to fix it. But a pipe bursts (explodes!) and sends us all fleeing in terror before I can get my first foot out the door even.

My boss and I are making a presentation to a high school principal.  We’re here to recruit interns for some tedious project work.  We have two hours worth of work per day for each intern; the principal will only allow them to go on internships that are three or more hours.  We need to regroup on this issue; we can probably accommodate the request (we will need to, we need these interns) but it will require some re-organization of some of our various assets.  We pack up out things and leave the office, making a calm orderly retreat from the building.  But then the bell rings and the students emerge and rush all around.  Turn after turn through these halls, trying to remain calm.  I start to feel suffocated and claustrophobic as (at every turn) I’m inundated more and more with students on cell phones, all wearing the same uniform (white shirt, dark pants, forest green ties with gold stripes).  I look at my boss as my calm turns to panic and I run screaming through the last few lengths of hallway out the front door and into the sunlight.

“Dangerous Liaisons”

Sexual trysts
of Aristocratic French
Beyond my control

*****

“E.T.”

Brown alien stuck
on Earth with stupid white kids.
I would phone home, too.

*****

“Waterworld”

It is like Mad Max
But in the ocean’s future.
Fucking terrible.

Damn but Flickr is fast…

Caught a plug on B^2 yesterday for a Flickr pool called “Stick Figures In Peril” and decided to add my shot (above) of the sledders’ warning sign at Hubbard Park.  A few hours later, it became my second most viewed photo.  Neat.

currently playing: Liz Phair “Divorce Song”

A random IM from a friend that shall remain nameless:

I have a morning ritual that I need to share. I call it ‘the terminator’. First I crouch down in the shower in the classic ‘naked terminator traveling through time’ pose. With my eyes closed I crouch there for a minute, visualizing either Arnold or the guy from the second movie (not the chick in the third one because that one sucked) and I start to hum the terminator theme. Then I slowly rise to a standing position and open my eyes. It helps me to proceed through my day as an emotionless, cyborg badass. The only problem is if the shower curtain sticks to my terminator leg. It ruins the fantasy.

!?!?!?

I must admit that I was certainly not expecting that this morning…