you’ve found yourself
in an arctic battle.
up a frozen creek,
without a paddle.
stab me through the eyes,
with icicle eyes.
look to the skies,
snow fight suprise.
the ice runs red,
like the devil’s snowcone,
your foot kicks teeth.
my fists break face bone.
underneath your parka,
all battered and rare.
i burrow through your guts,
like a polar bear.
and when its all over,
a quivering death.
a puff of steam,
your dying breath.
So i got into an interesting conversation last night about hair. My friend’s friend Carol was talking about these pictures that appeared on the internet exposing a certain celebrities unmentionables. Carol was disgusted by the presence of hair, and that got me kind of angry. When did hair become such a bad thing?
We were all once cavemen, and cave women. Our hair was free flowing and probably very dirty. The first recorded case of the hair cutting act came from the egyptians royalty, who would remove all their hair, adorning their heads with wigs and elaborate makeup. Early societies chose hairlessness to detect leprosy and protect from lice. The Greeks prefered the hairless look, as depicted in most of their art. Manscaping was a common practice amongst Greek homosexuals of the time.
I understand the appeal of a well maintained lawn, but what I’ve always found puzzling, is the inconsistencies within gendered hair identities. Was it a caveman that decided that men can have underarm hair, and females can’t? Why is body hair considered a male attribute, Females go through puberty first. They get it first, they should have dibs.
But what really gets me, is how ugly a hairless body actually is. Almost everything looks better with hair on it. Have you ever seen a hairless cat? They’re frightening! I’ve always wanted a partner with a fine coat; thick, shiny and full of body. I would comb them before they went to work, and flat iron their body when we’d go out. I really don’t see a downside to a hairier existence, besides having to buy a lot of mouse and a gigantic hair dryer. Clothing would be optional, aging would be more graceful, and I’d finally know what its like to be black in America.
I watch a significant amount of television every day. And in a era of constant conflict between producers and writers, I think about reality television quite a bit. Its one of the few genres that was untouched by the writer’s strike, because the shows are seemingly unscripted. But the premises of the shows are proposed and executed, quite strictly, by the producers. Most of these shows are pretty formulaic; ripoffs of other popular reality shows, with some tacked on gimmick to differentiate if from the original. So being a bright, creative person, I figure, How hard can it be?
My first idea is a show called, So You Think You Can Live In Fire. 18 contestants compete for one million dollars by jumping into a pit of fire in hopes that they are impervious to the extreme heat. Most, if not all, contestants will burn to death, so episodes will be filmed in realtime at 1/60 the speed. If any person should pass the first round, their wounds will be treated, and they will be set on fire, chained to a wooden wheelchair, and pushed down a sulfur mine.
Of course, this is just a rough outline, but the idea is there. There is also possiblities to branch out into other markets with So You Think Your Kids Can Live in Fire?, and So You Think You Can Live in Fire: Celebrity Roast.
For the longest time I was strongly against buying Macs. They were expensive, lacked a large third party software library, and I was never that impressed with them. The operating system lacked the customizability of my windows laptop, that cost $500, and ran 90 degrees cooler. So I used my dell for 5 years, and I was happy. Sometime around 2007, I started working at this ad agency. It was very mac-centric. Seeing all that brushed aluminum got my salivary glands moist, and I started to feel ashamed of my plastic laptop. It seemed like a toy compared to the Macbook Pro, Apple’s flagship laptop, forged in molten metal. So when I saw an opportunity, I bought one, and I’ve regretted it ever since.
Have you ever walked into a party and you see someone wearing the same top as you? Thats how I feel anytime I walk into a cafe. Now I can’t pride myself in my recalcitrance towards the fascist regime of Steve Jobs. I’m an Apple person. It doesn’t matter that I have windows installed on it. I am an Apple person. And now I see the irony of buying into a company whose tag line is Think Different, because now I look like everyone else.
When I get an album, I upload it to my itunes library, and wait for the day that I stumble upon it. Some albums naturally become my part of my life. Samamidon sat around in my library for a year before my ipod threw it into a shuffle mix. But a lot of albums get buried, and I never get compelled to give them a chance. As I’m writing this, I’ve deleted I’m from Barcelona and Juan Molina.
So when I acquired Aidan John Moffat’s album, I Can Hear Your Heart, I didn’t go into it with any expectations. But the second I heard it, it instantly became my favorite album. And for however long it lasts, I will cherish the time we spent together. Its everything I want in an album, vulgarity with an accent. His deep scotish accent rolls over some of the most provocative lyrics not found in a 2 Live Crew album. Its definitely not an album to listen to with your mom in the room, but the perfect album to give a really horny girly, to show you really care.
Check it out. Alone.
Love is a funny thing. Scientists say that the intoxicating feeling of love is a primitive reward system. That these crazy mixed up feelings are just triggers releasing dopamines into your system. I remember a science class, where we saw the release of dopamines at the first sip of Coca Cola.
I wonder if you would love someone more if you were drinking a Coke. I don’t know, but i do know I hate everyone while drinking Pepsi.
article in ScienCentral
If you’ve ever met me, I’m sure you would have heard that I was fat once apon a time. When I was seventeen, I lost a hundred pounds in three months, eating nothing but cereal. I preached this diet atop mountains, and I stood as the only example that such results could be attained. Now I’m a little older, and a little fatter, and i’m going to try it again. You should join me.
Stop eating food, and pick up about 140 boxes of special k, 10 pounds of raisins, and 300 boxes of trader joes fat free rice milk. Eat 8 bowls a day, and drink nothing but water. Your heart might start to hurt, but don’t worry, thats just your body saying it hates you. The pounds should start to fall instantly. i lost 25 lbs the first moth, 40 lbs the second, and 35 the third. It is also very important to keep your heart rate up, so drink black coffee all day. You’re going to want to loose about 40 lbs more than your target goal, this weight will trickle back eventually with proper supervision. At the end of this step, your parents might think you’re on drugs, but don’t worry, they love you more when you’re skinny.
Also, this plan works much better if you eat more than 2 cheeseburgers a day, before starting diet. Results may vary, guaranteed to help you loose weight, dead or alive…
I remember the first hair that sprouted where it wasn’t suppose to be. I was twelve years old, and I’d check my armpits every hour. Danny Smalls was the first in our grade to have a full pit full of hair, we were all so jealous. He was short and smelled like cardboard, but he had our respect, because he had entered manhood. It was the easiest verifier of puberty; Some hair under the armpits = your unmentionables were getting huger by the minute.
So when I saw that first hair, I was ecstatic, and my attention shifted from the under arm, to southern regions. I got the pubes, got the happy trail, but when it came time for some chest hair, all I got was 5 nipple hairs, and back acne. Danny Smalls looked like teen wolf by 8th grade, and I was stuck with a baren chest, and man boobies. I would shave them everyday, hoping the hairs would descend, and convince their friends that it was safe to come up. But that has yet to happen.
I’ve come to terms with my barren chest. I know now, that a man is not defined by the hair on his chest. But still, anytime I see some guy with tufts of hair pouring out the top of his tshirt, I think of that boy, who looked out into a night sky, and prayed for a hairier day.
Coming back to Los Angeles, i ate nothing but mexican food for the first 3 monthes. New York knows it’s food, but could never get its head around Mexican. Almost all the East Coast Mexican restaurants were run by Chinese people, and the food made you long for sweet, sweet abortion. Tacos represent more than just a little bite of joy, they incapsulate the spastic energy of the human experience, all for about a buck.
From the first Spanish taco orgies of the late 1500’s, the taco has been a staple of youth culture. decadent and humble, cheap yet powerful, these delectable morsels transcends class, creed, and color. No one knows this better than Paul Bellezza . His taco blog, good going dot com, tracks his taco-centric voyage into wheel’d restaurant heaven. It hasn’t been updated in a while, but its still a good enough read.
shirt by Seibei
So what the fuck happened to Howie Mandel?
When i was a kid, Howie Mandel looked like the non-asshole Billy Crystal. His Jew-Fro was transcendent; big, full of body, yet still able to compact nicely into a latex glove. His Canadian warmth shined through his toothy smile. One tooth more socialist than the next. But sometime, quite suddenly, he became a time traveler.
Now I’m not against progress, but there are three things that are never futuristic. 1. people named Howie 2. Canadians 3. Jew-Fro s. That’s time tested truth. Now he looks like Morphius in a Jewish retelling of the Matrix. I haven’t been this disappointed with a comedian since seeing carrot top’s unfortunate transformation.
I always wondered what would happen to Howie. I don’t blame him for wanting a change. There didn’t seem to be a place for him after Bobby’s World. But sometimes redefining yourself is just stupid, especially when it could rip a hole in the time space continuum. So next time I see you, keep your damn future hand shake away from me.
