Wednesday, January 30, 2002

dang, I've got rheumetism in my condition. i definitely need a sponge bath

i've decided to follow spaghetti.
it is the right way to do things.
not the wrong way.
i am so hungry, i could eat a landscape.
paste my face on the magazine, the silver screen, looking good let's preen, be seen in the scene, so lean and mean, can't you see where i've been?

god, i wish i were a ice capped mountaintop with sugar on it.
my eyebrow rules.
but only the one.

i do not have a monobrow.
however, i do have toes.

quirky letter writing is the best way to suppress jell-o pudding pop mania.
my dog's bigger than your dog.

i used to throw rocks at kids.

i know why the uncaged bird howls.
like ginsberg's howl.
i also know why i don't pay attention to lyrics in songs initially.
but that will have to come when i'm not tuckered out and wanting milk of magnesia next to my bed.

because remember, a doctor's bedside manner is just another form of hypnosis.

i like derrick, not derek, nor the dominoes.
tantric bears are better than spoiled pears. that's what i think.

nobody with a cleft chin ever wins at marbles.

eat blackened chargrilled bean curd,

hatred, glee and potpourri

Denny McClain
cactus sighing

so i've been singing it wrong the whole damn time.
it's "planet earth is bluuuuue and there's nothing i can doooooo."
i stink so much.

on a related note, people often tell me i remind them of maya angelou, which is understandable.

Jay. T. Tempura had a sensational set last night at Club Deluxe. Shame on everyone who didnt' make it. he was on fire, literally.
his ashes are with the Lord now.
his soul is with me.

eat children.

moody love and faithless like,

Bun E. Carlos

Tuesday, January 29, 2002

plunging into the depths of harrison ford's helmet hair

it feels like fucking winter in the midwest here.
san francisco actually got snow yesterday!! how can this happen?? i am dismayed and frightened. literally, i am unraveling. literally, i am lord.

i've got two songs in my head now:
"my vulva is singing" by the sisters of perpetual indulgence

"space oddity" by the langley school project. haven't heard of the langley school project? kids from the 70s in british columbia recorded in a gym by their music teacher singing popular mainstream hits of the day...very bizarre and eerie, yet fun fun fun too.

can you hear me major tom? can you heeeeaaarrr?
planet earth is new and there's nothing i can doooo..

i hate it when there's too much cream cheese caked on my bagel. i'm the type that prefers a more conservative layer.
and that's one of the few times you could use the word "conservative" and "tim pratt" in the same sentence. not that i actually used tim pratt in the sentence but you get the idea.

walking in the mission last night felt like "taxi driver." that's the only thing i kept thinking of as i walked next to the dopers, pushers, hookers, and scum of the streets. that's what i saw.
along with a few street rats and yesterday morning the biggest cockroach i've ever seen. i mean sure, there are bigger cockroaches in south america but i'm not in south america.

planet earth is new and there's nothing i can dooooooo.

hell, one of my fave memories of the 21st to 16th walk at 11:30 p.m. on a cold monday evening was seeing two very nervous yuppies dragging their luggage behind them as fast as they could while nervously glancing behind them...of course, they had reason to glance as there were two shady looking hispanic fellows following close behind them, walking really fast to keep up. they looked like they wanted to rob 'em, though i'm betting they were just trying to scare them. i didn't stop to check.
curiously, i rarely get fucked with by people (knock on proverbial wood). i just look mean and hard and stare straight ahead and don't let anyone catch my eye nor do i get phased by anybody. shady people that want to rob you can sense nervousness, much like a dog can. and i've been bitten by a dog more than once, so i should know (i was a paperboy for christ's sake).

can you hear me major tom? can you hear me major tom?

back to the cream cheese: fuck, it's so hard to do anything when you've got this much cream cheese on your bagel. damn man. gets all over your fingers and stuff. i just was forced to lick off a finger tip due to extraneous cc. such a bummer. i don't think i can make it. i don't think i can go on.

here's something i might do for the next Jay T. Tempura gig (there's one tonight...whoooo, at club deluxe on haight at 8. don't be late! don't praya hate) i thought of having people quoted, talking about how wonderful jay t. is. thing is, all of the people will be named tim pratt...see there's tons of tim pratts out there and i'll use as many as possible with photos, saying things like "i had elephantitus of the liver, bunions, and gangrene, but after going to see jay T. perform, i was cured. god bless jay t. tempura!" or "no words can accurately describe the love i got from jay t. he's so real!" you get the idea. fun and games for pants-wearing folk.

a second thing i'm going to do somewhere..(maybe in my daily updates at my advertising job i'm currently doing) is do a combined horoscope for all signs. make it incredibly vague, something that everyone would do. like "you will read something of importance today. remember that. and write it down." in fact, here is the horoscope i just wrote for today:

CONSOLIDATED HOROSCOPE - All signs included (saving time and space while reading your personal astrology chart)
Tuesday, January 29 - You will likely read something of some importance today that you'll need to either write down or commit to memory. It's best to look your best because looking your worst is worse. You may experience a slight headache for 10 to 20 minutes in the next 24 hours. It might be best to lie down and think about your previous headaches. Also, try to avoid drinking that third cup of coffee like your co-workers want you to do. Instead, reach for Sanka.

i was just recommended to check out a coffeehouse called "oh so little," named after a cat. anybody that names their coffeehouse after a cat named "oh so little" deserves a fighting chance. it's at 233 14th st., at Natoma...not exactly sure where that is. hmmm. 554-0934. see i keep this here because now i won't lose it. i have a tendency to write things down on little pieces of paper and then expect my later self to: a. remember where i put them; b. understand what i was talking about; c. decipher my scribbling; d. eat tuna fish.
and i do none of these things, yet present tense tim can't seem to remember to help out Later Tim or Tomorrow Tim. makes me mad. fucker.

am i sitting in a tin can? faaaarrrrrr above the world....
planet earth is new and there's nothing i can dooooo...

sax solo~~~~~~~

i really cannot stand dick cheney. what an arrogant dick. "i'm not going to turn over my private papers about enron. they didn't have anything to do with the energy policy of this administration." yeah and i'm not a procrastinator. fuck you sidemouth talker. ashcroft, cheney, bush...they should all rot. pigs.

try to use the word "messianic" as much as you can today. sure, it's not as much fun as calling people "chopper," but your coworkers will enjoy making fun of your vocabulary. and at that point, it gives you reason to "accidentally" chop off 1-4 fingers of your arch-enemy at work. you can be like "ooops, how non-messianic of me." see how lovely that word sounds now?

sometimes, dead is bettah.

eat urinal cake juice.

hate, tanks and corporate sponsorships,

Clandestine Cleo

Sunday, January 27, 2002

i sing the bodice electric

i am so down with my new electric toothbrush.
it cleans quite thoroughly.
i must say.
my mouth is thanking me for it, day by day.
a wondrous invention for the people.
and since i am people, it really helps me.

continuation of party search: last you knew, i was getting the scoop as far as where to go find this super secret party in which i had to ask a guy in a wheelchair on the corner of 5th and mission where this event was happening. he tells me to go down a block and ask another guy.
wheelchair guy says that i need a password to talk to the second dude. the password? "froggy."
no joke.
what the hell? and this password only lasts for 10 more minutes, then a new one emerges. so i had to skedaddle to make it. not really, but i felt like i was on some covert operation.
anyway, i walk up the block to market street and there is the dude wearing the black SF giants hat (i said 49ers before...i was wrong).
so i go up to him and say "froggy" while he's being harassed by some homeless dude and he brightens right up and says "ok, cool. you see those bank of america ATMs over there?" he points to the corner of powell and market, where the trolley car turnaround is...tourist central. but this was late at night.
"yeah, i see them."
ok, you're going to have to head toward them and then make a left onto powell.
then, go to the door next to burger king and there should be a guy standing there.

of course, the dude is standing there (wearing one of those hipster cowboy hats, no less) and simply opens the door for me without saying a word. next to burger king...yeah!
up the stairs i go, to the top, where i'm greeted by a bunch of normal looking people crowded around a small bar (this was after 2 am. mind you) waiting for drinks. house music bumped in the background.
the blonde woman wearing black rimmed glasses gives me a smile and says "we're asking for a $20 donation, but it's open bar till 5."
till 5 am? jeez, would i drink $20 worth? and is this crowd worth it? i quickly scanned the room and almost immediately realized this was not my scene.
and you know it was totally illegal.
the whole thing was quite funny.
so i simply shook my head and said "no thanks" and walked back downstairs.
the woman yells down to me "ok, well have a good night then" in a very condescending tone, as if i were a COMPLETE IDIOT for turning down such an awesome good time.

instead, i headed over to dna lounge on 11th street, where i could get in for free with my fancy schmantzy qool qard (usually used for wednesday nights at 111 minna). so i go there and hook up with brien my roomie and that's when i realize what exactly is up on the stage.
on one side is the he-man guy with long hair in two braids on each side of his head, kind of reminding me of an native american do. he's shirtless, playing the electric guitar sometimes, pumping his fist sometimes, and looking like a complete ass. on the other side, was another dork banging on a tiny drum kit along with the thumping house music.
the more they played the more i realized the horror of it all.
calling themselves "memory man," i come to learn that these twerps are essentially billing themselves as a "live act." yeah, real live.
i go up stairs to see the dj spinning records, tweaking the highs and lows like so many djs do, and giving the occasional nod to his cohorts on the stage below.
my god, i couldn't believe the guitarist...thinking he was some uber rock guitarist playing the most extraordinary licks...when he was reminding me of poison's cc deville or kip winger.
what a dolt.
i seriously couldn't believe how awful it was.
not only did the flailing electric guitar solos not gel with the music, the tracks mr dj was throwing down were ultra-old...i heard two from 94 or earlier...and i knew this because i owned the mix cds they were on.
sort of reminds me of the fools that attempt to bring along their wack ass bongos with them to the latest DJ event. come on hippies, give it up. please fuck off.
so after enduring the horror for a good 10 minutes or so, i quickly decided to move on to the stud, where my friend marc works the door.
good dj...yeah this guy lewis was ripping it up. amazingly good dj actually. i was way impressed.
...crowd...well, hmmm, not bad, though the later i was there, the less straight it was. which is no problem to me. if it were a problem, i wouldn't have been there.
unfortunately, peeps started getting a bit too aggressive on my ass (literally) and then when two fellows began pelting me in the back of the head with ice and some sort of wet paper object, i knew it was my time to retreat.

so i finally rolled on home at around 3:30 or so.
oh yeah...forgot to mention the earlier event i went to...the kid606 with gold chains and other kooky idm folk playing tongue-in-cheek hip-hop or something.
of course it was pretentious, but good pretentious fun nonetheless.
the best aspect of the evening was the sloooowwwww as fuck bar keeps.
the ol' peacock is run by this older black couple, along with what i'm guessing are their offspring and/or relatives working the door and such.
the drinks were extremely cheap, though the selection was hilariously limited (three beers).
and the best part of it was how they all moved at snail speed. the woman, especially.
myself and this gentleman next to me decided to consolidate our order because we had already been standing there a good 10 minutes and it wasn't even busy.
they were very thorough, but so much so...they were wiping off drips from the side of the glass, picking just the right napkin for the drink, as well as was quite an ordeal...
i was thinking that next time i go, i'm ordering two drinks at the same time.
other funny part was that the older man decided the evening was over at 1:15...switching all the lights on while people were still playing on stage in the other room.
you could hear the dudes yelling "turn the lights off!" but instead, the old guy brightened them all up.
the second room looked like a cross between a funeral parlor, bill knapps restuarant, and an old community hall in need of some repair.
gaudy it was.
yes, quite the interesting place, the peacock.

this weekend was just as scintillating, veering wildly in crowd.
but that's another story....

eat pasty wedgecream.
intense saturated love and conditional objects without reward.

sweaty tadpin

Thursday, January 24, 2002

pork and ham chowder looks good in the summer

is the word rad out of date? or is it back in, like ghetto blasters are back in?
i wonder...
today i heard a fellow use the word rad in random conversation and i got to thinking, now there's a word that i was recently thinking about and i don't really know if it's a good thing or a bad thing.
as in, is it non-hip to use it?
or is it hip to use it?
i cannot tell. damn you all to hell and then some.

so of late, i have been not feeling so uppity on the writing tip. i've already spoken about it, but i feel the need to express that idea again. but fuckpig banana, i need to do this. i need to keep on keepin on.
shit and fuck and damn and hell and all those other words that bible thumpers tell us are bad bad bad.

yeah yeah yeah. i don't give a damn about vietnam.
people often tell me i am the human personification of booty bass.
but those people could after all be wrong.
damn them.
fuck them
hell, do something.
charlie says "love my good and plenty"

i have money in my wallet. guess how much?
guess! damn you guess guess guess guess.

ok, you don't have to guess.
$120 --- whooooo!
yea, i'm rich. i'm famous.

so the hot new thing in LA these days is free winona shirts. i want one.
even though i already have a "free robert downey jr." t-shirt.
i rule and stuff.

everytime i look at puppets, i start to feel gross. what have those puppets been doing? and why are they doing it?
and who do they think they are, those puppets?
they don't know me? why should they care about what i have to say?
or do? or anything?
it's all a bunch of nonsense and hooeee.
or patchouli. and i probably didn't spell that right.
ok, i just went back and now i think it's right.

stream of consciousness for your oven baked goods.
speaking of ovens, last night i hung for about 7 minutes with Miranda. She has a 3 month old baby named jasper. that baby is damn cute.
and in case you were wondering, jasper is a girl.
a gal.
a lady.
babies are always cute, i realize this. ok, some babies are in fact ugly but nobody ever actually says "damn, that baby is fucking ugly!"
i mean, i'd like to say that many times but i don't.
if i had my druthers....
what the hell does "if i had my druthers" actually mean?
after all, i just used.

i think it means "if i had things my way" or "if i ran the earth" or "god doesn't have shit on me. i'm going to coldcock his ass on a plate of rice and sushi"

one of those things.
actually, i should have referred to god as "His" because jesus stuff should always be capitalized.

i just saw the cover of the new vanity fair magazine.
not that i ever actually read vanity fair.
but bushy and his cronies (colin powell, dick cheney and not from "an undisclosed location" and talking out tha side his mouth and shit).
basically, it's a photo essay on da faux prez and his boobs hanging with him.
best pic of the bunch has to be a super tight shot of bush himself, in black and white.
so bizarre, this photo.
besides seeing all the lines in his face (he looks remarkably well for, shit how old is he...56?), one thing really stood out: his monobrow.
yep, he has a monobrow. not super distinct, but definitely there.
a good makeup job in the chair does wonders for hiding the thing, but it is most certainly there.
seems as though he gets his nose hairs trimmed though, because i didn't see any strays sticking out.
me, i just yank the fuckers out with tweezers (i love the word "twee" - i need to use that more in conversation or something) or even better, with my toes.
but that can be difficult.

the fire engines in san francisco are really loud. like LOUD LOUD LOUD.
and my hearing is not as good as it was yesterday, which is a long time ago in dog years.
much like dog eared books.
but that's another melody.
i actually have to cover my ears when the damn things rol by, which is often downtown. apparently, there are a Hell of a lot of people lighting themselves on fire these days.
or maybe it's spontaneous combustion.
you can never tell.
i knew a man once who spontaneously combusted and then came back.
he reformed his ashes together, unlike arthur ashe, though he looked a little funny second time around.

remember that movie "once around?" i think it starred richard dreyfuss.
you don't? i just remember the title.

as if on cue, the fucking fire engines are rolling by as i type this. yeah yeah yeah!!! whhhhhhhhoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

as i was saying, back to the matter at hand, before i was rudely interrupted, back in the day i used to smoke kind now i rock rhymes go around the globe.
once around...bad film, even though i don't remember a goddamn thing other than the title.

funny thing, for some odd reason (ok, everything happens for an odd reason in the world of tim pratt but shut up)
i always remembered some lame ass movie with meg ryan and fuck, it was some sort of time travel movie or about something hanging with old people and exchanging bodies or something like that...anyway...the old man was asked one thing he would have told his younger self and he said "floss."
ever since i saw that, i've remembered it.
and that's one reason why i've become so obsessive about flossing.

although now i have an electric toothbrush and so it's getting even more teeth gunk off.
i love that shit. easy to brush with an electric kind.
and it cleans my teeth better.
see, isn't dental talk so much fun yo?

ok, now i have to find out the name of the movie.
it's on the tip of my headlamp....

"prelude to a kiss"

thank you All Movie Guide.
you rule the land.
i knew i was right.
1992 film starring gal pal meg ryan and alec baldwin.
according to this, meg was born in November 1961.
in fairfield, Conn.
so, meg is .....41.
for some reason, she seems older than that.
doesn't it seem like she's been around for a super long time?
hmmmm, i'll have to think about this some more.

oh so i gotta run real quicklike but i hope to continue our conversation later frankenfurter.

but i gotta tell you this fuckstains.
so saturday, in a long night of shitty music (wait till you hear about memory man..oh MY GOD! aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggghhhh!)
but that's another story, jesus boy.
as me was sayin'
my pal amy sarver sent me an email about some party in which you go ask this dude on the corner of 5th and mission sitting in a wheel chair where this party is.
i was right by 5th and mission earlier in the evening with mr. rolls, but didn't stop then.
that was before we went to see kid666 and his flunkies at peacock lounge (a real gem of a bar, if you ask small people wearing goggles and shoehorns around their waist).
later on that shit.
so i go back later on and ask the dude on corner in the wheelchair (he wasn't actually disabled...just sitting in a chair that's mobile, see?...well here's the actual conversation.
"where's this party, yo?
"shit man, fuck. how we do. glung. uncle. ok, here's what you go up a block to market and 5th and find the dude wearing the black SF 49ers hat and...

ok pigs, longer letter later.

juice pill

activity, for heaven's sake
part deux
9:27 p.m.

alright, ok, feeling fine, 909.
fudge and stuff.
fudge is a fun word to say, don't you think?
i think so.
say it for me one time "FUDGE!!!!"
alright, alright.

i'm cool. s'all good.
elaine would be upset about my extraordinary overindulgence of the exclamation points.
yes. fortunately, she is a fictional character.
therefore, i'm clean.

so, you want to know what happened?
first, important developments have been made in the field of technological warfare.
but that's not really all that important.
i had a healthy and satisfying walk down Geary street this fine evening.
wasn't so cold as to feel like you want to stay in your nice warm bed all day with the heater blasting in your face and cuddly purring kitties on each side of you.
so i was, pleased.

yes, activity.
quite a thing.
that's what i like.
the constant.
people doing stuff.
all around you.
everybody's got their own agenda.
their own thing.
you may cross paths with that person again.

especially here. as in, here here. where we live.
where i live.

right, or you may not encounter that person, that fellow human being, ever again in your lifetime.
that person you talked to tonight,

awright....enough with the melodramatics.
took the 38 bus up geary to leavenworth, then walked uphill several blocks to california to pick up that one thing that i needed to pick up because i left it there the previous evening.
so i went there.
enjoyable walk.
fine walk.

being disembodied and all makes things a bit interesting, i must admit.
but i get by.
but first,
ignore bums
gorgeousness all around
big big bigger bigger still.

i need some radiohead, kid a. i heard it earlier and now i can't get it out of my head. it's toward the end of the cd.

i just tried to look it up but the damn thing's not responding.

what i was describing was a sort of simplified version of what i encountered on the way to a pal's house who lives on california near leavenworth.
motion motion motion.
i was at the bus stop and overheard this girl, in a super harsh irish accent and fairly young...maybe 22...talking to her just-as-tiny asian girlfriend, first about how she always blew the smoke away from her friend, and then proceeded to show her by blowing outside the little bustop wall.
then she talked about the homeless people and how aggressive a lot of them were.
and that she was eating a burger and fries, i'm assuming right around there (there...meaning powell, stockton, geary...downtown shopping area) at one of the shit fast food joints down there.
anyway, the guy got right in her face and wouldn't go away. kept staring and or bugging her.
of course, i was eavesdropping and found it to be quite humorous, so i spoke up...
because, many people like an audience and/or don't care if someone else listens in (i know i don't and it happens to me fairly regularly so why not return the favor?)
i ask her what she did and she tells me that she bought the guy an entire meal "and i dont' have a fookin' moneyy" with that lovely irish lilt (i love the way they talk)
pretty funny, only because she says she felt like she was forced to do it.
this girl was hilarious.
but then the bus came, they sat in the back of the bus, i sat in front, and that was that.
and there you go.
nothing necessarily noteworthy..just all interesting to me.
fascinating is better word.
thinking about that everything you hear could be interepreted as music in some way.
what is it about sound?
combined with motion?
these are all basic theories, i realize, but well...where to even begin? my god...

so moving, speed, all that is an obsession. nonstop. constant. i'm down.

plus it was nice to notice that planet hollywood has been shut down. next to virgin records.
where i ran into the one guy i kind of liked in the 2-3 days i worked there (i can't specifically remember, only because i had some sort of orientation here and there...i worked there in early september, right after i got back from burning man).
even better, the guy...i don't remember his damn name....yet we're friendly enough acquaintences that we chatted for a good 5 to 6:30 minutes.
yeah yeah., shut the fuck up you say.
i am, and yeah.
so yeah.

alrighty, well i'm going to have to continue this shit elsewhere, because i gots to be getting home homey home.
cause it's late late late.
and things are happening happening happening.

and yes ma'am, i will conclude this wondrous and joyous story.
about the guy in the wheelchair and also...the party.
that really wasn't all that good of a party.

eat elbow hands and gruff sidewinders,

your governing legislative board,

Punky Brewster

so sayeth the shepherd......

so sayeth the flock.......

Wednesday, January 23, 2002

Tuesday, January 22, 2002

give me the drukqs

music on: Aphex Twin, because it fits in nicely with my current hyper-chaotic headspace

don't jab me in the eye just yet, please.
I've decided to bring back the ol' "elbow random people in the face and/or chest" thing. it really works for me. because i am an american.

"The Star Studded Bungler"
by Frankie the Kitty

oh say, can't you see?
by the prawn's early fight
what so loudly we fail
at the headlight's last beaming
who's broad spikes and bright cars
thru the merriless flight
o'er the landmarks we clocked
are so valiantly leaning
and the locket's left there,
the chain's bursting with flair
gave loofa through the fight
that our neckware was still fair.
oh hey does that star-studded flannel yet pave
o'er the hand of me and the comb of the slave

in my ongoing coffee battle, i decided to get off at montgomery today and head up to peets since i was running a bit early.
but once again, i was thwarted by accident...i ran into my friend Brian on the street, so we simply HAD to discuss important matters such as gum affinities and licking issues.
by the time our conversation was completed, i walked up another block and found the longest line ever coming outta Peets, people were fucking standing outside! i was like "damn, this is NOT going to work."
so i took a look at Torrefazione Italia and decided to give them a go.
pretty good. much better than shitty ass StarFucks, though i still don't think they're beating peets. then again, i'd give 'em another chance, so looks like i got me an alternative. too bad it's nearly as far away from my work as peets.
dammit all to HELL!
why can't i just accept some plain-ass coffee? what is wrong with my digestive tract?

on my way back to work after retrieving said coffee, i saw this fellow speedily walking along in a suit and wearing a hat of all things.
it was one of those cool jaunty hats that your grandpa really digs, but more stylish. it reminded me of back in the wayback day when seemingly every man on the street was sporting a hat. i was thinking "man, he's trying to bring back the hat scene."

And the way it was sitting on his head (tilted way forward, covering his forehead) made me wonder what planet this guy was from. almost as bad as those fellows who wear stiff baseball caps sitting on top of their head (like my dad).

finally, i've noticed lots of people spitting on the streets of SF. most people just do the traditional cough up the loogie scene, though this morning i caught a rarer kind: the thin stream of spit through a gap in your teeth.
even the sound of it hitting the concrete is different, a sharper, quicker "split" instead of a "splat" or "blach" or "thwaa."
he seemed very proud that he could do such a thing.
i gave him the crook eye in response, since it nearly hit my shoe.
i can't do the thin spit. i go for the traditional way.
just like some people can whistle extra loud and some cannot whistle beyond the puckered lips meandering whistle favored by octogenarians.

ok, i'm going to go eat some lunch and get to spitting.

eat random juice

love, echinecia and fennel

Marty Splockenfiver
call it mass destruction

Hi yo,
first off, let me begin by saying i've been having some issues of late regarding the inability to actually "write."
i sit in front of my computer screen and just fucking stare. things come, but with great difficulty.
i'm getting better, it would seem, but the last few weeks, i've been on kind of a downswing, despite the fact i have a number of assignments out there, just started a new job, and have been having a generally good time.
as i said, i'm really trying. this is supposed to be my outlet and for some reason, i started thinking of it as a burden.
but fuck that way of thinking.
i just need to stop and get over that shit.
the whole self-obsessive thing rears its ugly head yet again.
i have many things to remark about on this fine day but i figured i needed to get that out of the way first and foremost.

so yeah.
and yeah.

Saturday, January 19, 2002

crash course in zombie action flaxon

new artist to check out that i pretty much guarantee you'll dig and shit:
Chessie - "overnight" - ambient shoegazer ethereal bizarro shit. niiiice.
keep ya head ringin'

bb mcbee

Thursday, January 17, 2002

Pond Lap of Destruction
dateline: Wed., Jan. 16, morning

"Now you can whisper how you really feel to your deaf boyfriend"

That�s a real sign I saw on Bart yesterday.

How to fuck up royally

Go to bar with friends.
Stay much longer than you planned.
Put your bag containing pants under you seat in the bar.
Leave with not a lot of time to spare.
Go all the way to bart station several blocks away, wait 10 minutes, then realize you forgot your bag back in the bar.
Beg Bart attendant to let you go get your bag without having to pay.
Walk back to bar in silence.
Obtain said bag.
Walk back to bart station.
Wait another 10 minutes
Get on Bart.
Relax too much by falling asleep and missing your stop at Fruitvale, instead waking up at the next stop at the Oakland Coliseum.
Wait outside in the cold for another 12 minutes waiting for a train to take you back to your stop.
Take train to Fruitvale.
Get off.
Walk briskly, in silence, the six blocks back home.
Crawl into bed.
The end.

Tuesday, January 15, 2002

No Sympathy for Corporate America

I fucking hate Starbucks.
I hate that I�m forced to go to the stupid corporate bullshit coffee place and purchase my coffee.

They infiltrate like, well, humans, and suck everything good out of things. Sucking the life out of everything.
I can�t believe I was once concerned that people might give me shit because I have a Starbucks cup, laden with multiple logos to ensure people know exactly where I purchased this beverage. People don�t care.

Problem is I do care.

Some might say . . .�Ok, go to another coffeehouse. There�s tons of them in San Francisco.�
And you are right; there are many places that sell coffee, including many locally owned businesses that I should be patronizing instead of a corporate monolith like Starbucks.

Problem is that most mom and pop coffeehouses generally SUCK ASS. I try the off brand places. And they�re rarely good. I�m still searching for a good locally owned coffeehouse that�s also within good walking distance of my work. Obviously that changes depending on where I�m working. But I can�t find anything that will suffice.

"It�s just coffee," one might say. Yeah, well, I worked at a coffeehouse for two years. I�m a coffee snob. It�s got to be more right than it is wrong. And usually, the small places get it wrong. Way wrong.

I�m not just buying a regular ol� coffee. If that were true, I�d hit the fucking gas station down the street or better yet, I�d make my own shitty coffee in the morning. No, I need a triple shot latte every morning, dammit!

If I could go to Peets I would. But fuck, I sure wish Peet's was on every single block like Starfuck's is. But it�s not.

How bad am I? This morning, after getting off the BART at 8:45 a.m., I decided that I would walk to Peets several blocks away rather than submit to the torture that is Starbucks right in front of the BART station at Powell.

My anger quickly subsided after walking all the way down to Montgomery and realizing that I had less than 10 minutes left to walk another three or four blocks, order my coffee, wait for my coffee, then walk back to Market and 4th Street, where I�m now working.

It wouldn�t have worked. So after walking all that way, I did a fast-walk back, passing by potential places like Specialty�s (the barrista was moving extra slow, otherwise I would have given this local pastry franchise a shot), Tully�s (as lame as Starbucks, but more snobby, if that�s possible), Caf� Venue (good sandwich place but I could make a better espresso out of my coffee maker at home) and Oh La La (Ola NO).

Instead, I run back into Starbuck�s, ordered my �venti triple shot� (yeah, fuck those faux names too - venti, grande, and the other one) and face the realization that around here, where the touristy places reign, I have to accept what I can get or get up earlier and go to Peets.
Something�s got to give.

Thankfully, if I�m still at this job in a month, we�re going to be moving to North Beach area, where locally owned coffeehouses are plentiful (with tons of Italian restaurants there, espresso is everywhere and it�s made correctly). I�ve already done some scouting and found this Czech place called Caf� Prague. I�m down. The coffee was blazingly strong, knocking me on my ass.

That�s more like it.

Instead, here at 4th street, I�m forced to look down at the street to make sure I avoid random urine puddles, human feces, and, this morning for example, a shattered jar of pig�s feet.

When I came across the first globby misshapen gray thing, I was thinking �what the fuck is that?� But then I found the broken jar. Nice. Yummy.

That�s especially hard when you�re wearing new shoes like I am today. They�re yet another pair of Fluevogs but hey! They were $49, marked down from $109!! That�s a substantial savings, yo! So shut up!

New shoes always make your feet feel funny. They take a while to break in. And I�m in super-early break-in mode. Plus much of the shoes are white, near the sole at least, and so I�m also attempting to keep them as clean as I can as long as possible. We�ll see how long that lasts.

But you know how it is..when you get new shoes, you try to keep them clean for at least a week or so. Then, when you get those first scuff marks, you�re bummed. I�m already preparing myself for the mental trauma.

So I noticed that while in the elevator this morning, by myself, you can sometimes smell the remains of others. This morning I smelled perfume, a scent that seemed familiar. Of course, much of Macy�s marketing, advertising and other corporate peeps are located in this building, so there are lots of women going in and out wearing a good amount of perfume, makeup and other gobbelygook.

Better to smell that than what I smelled the other day�this man�s breath. So bad, that when he simply opened his mouth and was talking to his pal, I could smell it. And I wasn�t standing super close to him. It was a familiar smell � the same smell when you floss your teeth after you�ve neglected to do it for about a week. Not that that happens very often, but it has. So push me off a cliff. This guy, I don�t think he had flossed since 1987 or some shit.

They call him yuckmouth, because he don�t brush.

Another company,, is in this building. I�ve heard a few people talking about editorial related jargon and such, though I have yet to confront any of these peeps. I�m not ready to get into the reasons I�m working at an ad agency with these snobby folk.
Just the other day, I read an item about the best fibs ever told and then saw the one woman who consented to include her photo. I wanted to say something but didn�t.

And then, after complaining bitterly about shit this morning (see above:::), I just looked out from my 12th floor window and got a gorgeous glimpse of the sun glimmering off the glass-like San Francisco Bay and I realized�gee, things could be a lot worse.

Or I could be like our fake president, hanging tough with a big ass bruise on my face after choking on a fucking pretzel and passing out while watching a football game. How does one FALL off a couch and bruise their face? Strange, this guy. He�s a real gem, our fake president.

Well well, I must be going now. I�m glad I�m back, as I�m sure are my 2-4 faithful readers. Problem I have with this most of the time is that I feel like I should recount all my activities on this thing and when I get behind, it gets harder for me to actually come back and catch up. Better for me not to attempt to catch up and simply move forward, right?

Funny thing too�I�ve got a serious amount of tape that I still have to transcribe that will undoubtedly be funny shit for Paperspray. Or maybe that will go in my book.ha ha.
Back to life, back to reality, back to the here and now�again.

Eat milk of magnesium and cough syrup.

Love and ankle sweat,

Georgina Brown
meatballs are always unsafe in any medium.
modicum is a good word.
dreaming is fun sometimes.
i like my new shoes.
my shoes are better than your shoes.
toadstools make perfect pets.
rummage sales are better than gin rummy
my name is not todd
working at a advertising agency has its benefits.
people are funny.
some people call me blobbo.
i must go out and seek solace.
more lunch meat madam

Monday, January 14, 2002

Orange lavender ice cream tastes especially good if you�re looking for something other than chicken and roast beef.
They didn�t like my poem.
And that pisses me off, so fuck them and they�re chicken ass shit for brains desires.
You know damn well I don�t know what the fuck I�m talking about.
how can it be that i'm obsessed with a song first sung on Lawrence Welk?
how can i purchase this much cool stuff in one day?
how will people resist me tomorrow at work?
how can i continue to procrastinate and expect to succeed and be wealthy?
how can i go to the laughing squid shows and expect to be ignored?
how can i eat at two different locations of cancun two days in a row?
how can i go to see Tino Corp and then be bummed because it wasn't all that good?
how did i guess that Jack turned 37 years old on Friday night?
how do i get back on track, yo?
i seek control.
you will listen.
helen pon wants to know

Sunday, January 06, 2002

from another soul

this here is a recent correspondence from my good pal, mikey. i found it to be perfectly appropriate to the game we got going on here. notice the 'vanilla sky' reference.
love to your mother.
your least favorite Paleontologist

"I am a weird fella with weirder than average taste...except for ice cream...which really is not true because I love vanilla and I get some odd looks when I order it.

"Why would you want vanilla when there are all these other flavors?" the ice-cream daredevil usually asks.

"Because I like vanilla and I don't need to feel wild and outragous when ordering ice cream.
I almost never reply.

These are the same people who drive like assholes in parking lots because they think its freedom.

...although a couple of months ago I was getting said ice cream and another fella was there ordering Vanilla. His gal-pal (or fuck-buddy) gave him lip for it.

I said "Don't give in. Vanilla is a great flavor."

He paused and said "Yeah. Give me vanilla." -- that is a true story of two white boys standing up for their love of Vanilla.

thank you mr. mike.
go back to your business.

Saturday, January 05, 2002

these are a few of my favorite things

Yanking nosehairs out of my nose with tweezers or fingers, without actually picking said nose.

Non-smelly teeth and breath (which go hand in hand).

People that call on time.

Cellphones that actually work.

Jesus Action Figure (miracles sold separately).

People who despise Kool-Aid.

Friends of cheerleaders.


Form-fitting trousers.

People who use the word "abhore" at least once a month.

Petroleum jelly.

My spinal cord.

Gunk between my toes.

Electro-Acoustic music (Tadd Mullinex, Four Tet)

To say "Don Ameche" several times in a row.

Wind tunnels.



Skin, especially the second layer.

Santa Bacon.


more more more!!!! sooooooon.
eat vanilla icecake.
love and onions,
grassy knoll fuck
What would you do for a Klondike bar?

How does one become tired from doing boring office work all day?
I don't actually know or understand, but I, being that one, was indeed tired last evening from doing boring office work all day.

And what sort of boring office work might we be talking about?
Well, son, let me tell you something about life....filing various forms away isn't exactly stimulating. And that's what i did, filed filed filed...stuff. actually, a lot of accounts payable type stuff and expense forms. I was working at a company called Autonomy Inc., this software company that actually makes some pretty interesting stuff.

Basically, the Brit who started it is a billionaire so he must have found something people want. He uses a series of theories first developed by a mathemetician from the 1700s or 1800s (i can't recall) by the name of Bayes. Anyway, much of the company is based on this software that uses probabilities in locating data....or better yet, here's a short bit from their website (

'Autonomy's strength lies in a unique combination of technologies that employs advanced pattern-matching techniques utilizing Bayesian Inference and Claude Shannon's principles of information theory. By automatically forming an understanding of the concepts within the content of a piece of text or voice or by analysing an image or piece of video, Autonomy's software is able to perform a limitless combination of content-to-content, content-to-people or people-to-people interactions and tasks. And because this unique approach to information is a mathematical pattern matching process'....blah blah blah. you get the idea

It's actually pretty cool, the ideas and structure. I know they have a ton of clients, including many colleges and big businesses like GM. I saw tons of A/P slips for more than $200K each..serious money. They definitely had cash, as this office was located on Howard St. near Beale, not far from the Bay. You could see the top of the Bay Bridge from their office, and could pretty much get a gorgeous view of the bay no matter where you stood.

And there i was, working a temp job at the place making an hourly wage.

I didn't find the employees to be particularly friendly. However, I was working with the Financial department, so my personal interests and fun-loving attitude definitely wouldn't be totally fly with these folk anyway.

currently, i'm waiting to hear back from Medusa, an LA rapper with whom i have a scheduled interview with at 10 a.m. being that it's 10:35, something is definitely amiss. i've already talked with her manager, so it looks as though she will call me back. damn. i hope so. i need to do this story today if possible.

I'm not much into going out this weekend. I think i'm a bit wiped out from the last two weeks in michigan, not to mention my insane 3-day stretch of no sleep early this week for new years. not sleeping is not good.
i could have lasted much longer if i could have slept even a little bit. but alas, it was not meant to be.

oh gee. lessee, what else happened yesterday? after my long hard day at work (it seriously took a toll on me...from the non-speaking, boring point of view), i hung at tina's work for a bit to finish up some shit and then hauled my ass down to Pakwan in the Mission for some delicious dinner. I'm a sucker for that place. they have such damn good food. i got me usual: chicken boti, rice, naan (excellent bread), and Mango Lassi (essentially a thick mango milkshake to soothe the hotness of the onion-laden chicken).
the place was packed but being by myself and all, i had the advantage of sitting almost anywhere.

yay for me.

then i just hopped back on the BART and cruised home, getting here by around 10 pm.
though i had big ambitions for last night to do some reading and listen to some tunes, instead i found myself out cold before midnight. in fact, i may have fallen asleep before 11:30 p.m. since i don't remember making it to the end of the newscast.
yessir, i've been tired lately too.
strange isn't it?

i've got other problems right now. i can't find my missing MSU hooded sweatshirt or my super nice olive green shirt that i was going to wear monday to my first day on my new temp job at some advertising agency. i wonder if i either left it at dave pratt's house, tina's place, or my parents' house.. fuckin a, now i have to figure it out.

Second, all the business cards i gave out have the wrong zip code on them, which blows, dammit! now i have to tell everyone. computer keeps fucking up. at the moment, I can't open iTunes or Microsoft Word (i keep getting an error of type 11 showing up) and the computer has been acting funny for awhile. i think i need to do some clean-up on my computer, which i plan to do if this interview ever happens. i have no idea what is going on. luckily i have simpletext on my computer, so i'm able to still use some sort of word processing program to save my notes whenever medusa and i ever hook up. i've got conflict catcher and various software to ensure that things are working smoothly. i needs to do dat, yo. my computer won't shut down properly either. there is definitely something fucked up on this tip. damn.

on the cool interview with India.Arie for the San Jose Mercury News turned out to be more prescient than i would have guessed. she was nominated for a bunch of grammy awards when the announcements were made yesterday.

well, there's fires in australia to be concerned with and the woman's voice on my voicemail has changed, causing me intense grief and sadness. Yet, after seeing a smile on the guy who mans the counter at pakwan, all hope is not lost.

as they say in elementary school, Longer Letter Later (except you only use one "L," impossible here).

eat televised sporting events' snack food

your blanket of doom,

Erackino Eracknid

Thursday, January 03, 2002

Crass banter

that senile old woman across the street rang our incredibly annoying doorbell this morning extra long just to tell me to move my car from the other side of the road because it was Wednesday and i would get a ticket.

problem was, i didn't have to move my car because today is THURSDAY (even though she insisted it wasn't, twice). And secondly, it wasn't my car she was pointing at. Yes, this woman (supposedly a former bit player actress) is completely gone. she has two mercedes benz's that she parks in the street, never in her driveway, which, oddly enough, is her entire yard considering she has no grass whatsoever.

Yes, that's right. Her entire yard is concrete.
lovely woman. just lovely.
i must do work unfortunately.
because tomorrow i have a job at a place called Autonomy.
yay, i have a job for one day. lucky I.
of course, i start another job on monday. at an advertising agency. should be interesting.
but then again, i also need to survive.
so survive is what i shall do. sir.

good day citizens. modern times commences for the time being.

embrace pigs. they deserve it.
And don't forget to remember Santa Bacon in your dreams. I'll tell you all about Santa Bacon, young children.
just as soon as i go wash my foot.

eat every inch of that pig. even that cute little curly-q tail. it's all meat meat meat.

your Spanish pastor,

Bobby B. Bonero
Sex with her could have been better, until the monkey got involved...

Ok, hold it down back there!
Alright now, break it up. Settle down, now, just...settle down.
Let's all get into our seats and be quiet!
Come on, people! I don't have all day here.

Jimmy, put down that cigarette!
And Taooma, you know you're not supposed to be showing that to the boys. Now, get to your seat. And be quick about it.
Jejo, is that something you'd like to share with the rest of the class? i didn't think so.
My god, it's as if you people are mammals! Sheesh.
I am disgusted. But as God says, Thou Shalt be Saved or face the fiery depths of hades.
So fortunately, you kids are all safe.

Good. now let's open our books to page 54 and look down and fold your hands.....

Fortunately, I have no spine. Making it difficult to sit.

Before there were birds, there weren't birds.

Fast Times is always better than Slow Times. Unless of course you're enjoying Good Times.

My elephant sometimes likes to whisper things to my dad.

Enjoy your elbows while you can, for tomorrow you may stumble and force exposure upon yourself.

In case your thickening milkshake decides to splinter, wear an extra pair of galoshes today.

Basic arithmetic solves virtually every bumblebee sting that i know of in this county.

Sometimes I want to throw my butter against the wall really hard. In the store. In front of people. Clothed.

Rabbits want to beat me up. You love America.

Plaster caster faster master haster stat.

I enjoy rhythmic exercises with sound.

Nobody should be allowed to have bongos in a club. Ever. They're never good. Nobody enjoys listening to that dolt stomp on his bongos. Why, just last evening, i was forced to hear offbeat after offbeat, and thankfully I wasn't listening to Little Feat. But that's another grammar lesson.....

Fuck bongo players. In case you didn't understand what i was saying previously. If you bring bongos to a club, just know that many people there want to destroy you. And probably would if i encite a lynch mob, which I've been known to do from time to time in certain parts of this great country of ours. This land, that's made for you and me. And spaghetti growers too.

I need to play this CD now. You look at your screen and then push appropriate buttons until i return with more Zestfully clean ideas about what i think about Japan, stomach gelatins, public urination, snow squalls, and feminine itching.

until then, keep looking to the stars and reaching for the hambone.

eat yak. plenty of yak. raw.

your suckling bat,

Emerson T. Collosalman

Injury guaranteed unless approved before purchase.
or how i became a mint chocolate chip advocate while serving in the US Coast Guard as an adolescent

bloke says one thing to me and means another.

john farnum, a local bloke of about 19 or so, decided to fuck with me one too many times.
but he said it in a nice way.
unfortunately, i didn't believe his genuine tone. so i pushed him.
down two flights of stairs. he wasn't looking good.
but i couldn't help myself.
he was a liar.
and we all know that liars never prosper or win cheerios.
butterfly, for your health and kidsnacks.

did you ever stop and look at the small of your back? you should. it's important.
bankers never take you seriously.
blankfaced cashiers are an important part of my struggle with sanity.
toads make good looking paper clips.
fascinating nipple, sebastian.
good luck, pilgrim. i hope you find your pyramid chocolate bar someday. godspeed.
tantric cocoa isn't as good as malted milk paste with soda cream pie and crank.
you are an important part of your daily vitamin and mineral dosage.
please postman, wait a minute mr. postman.
wait mr. postman.
mr. postman look at me. oh yeah.
in a letter, a letter to me.
mr. powhoawhoawhoaostman.

thank goodness for law-abiding citizens or we'd all be shoveling shit in the greenhouse back at ernie's place.
did you ever stop and think that i might have personal feelings that differ from your blockage?
my condition requires me to stop thinking at this point and go look at myself in the mirror to find the answers the droids were looking for.

eat satisfactory geese droppings in case of head injury or algebra sprain.

your fatback beat,

Sam Sham and the Pharoah
plus stoney clark and meatball beam
Your tangent in time

oh cracker, monsignor
why did thou forsake me?
did you not look at me funny when i ran out slowly clutching the cheese?
did you wont of mine enemies before you hath sought revenge on their fathers?
don't you know why you are not looking at me funny?
because you are something uncontrollable, something not right.

so sayeth the shepherd, so sayeth the flock.
look at yourself before entering that kingdom
play games before supper.

twas a loony evening on the townie town town. splendid in some ways. not so splendid in others.
but what can you do, pray tell? what can you do?
so late, so late, so cometh over the mountain.
play that time before bed.

it is difficult to explain the circumstance from whence i come forth.
but let it be known, i am not who i seem to be.
you are not who you want to be.
and i, oh i, knoweth more than you could possibly understand.
play that funky music caukazoid.

eat important documents containing several shades of pudding

your pear shaped box,

Kurdt Noveselic