Saturday, August 16, 2003
Naw, naw, this is a THROWIN’ towel
Well, so that’s it. It’s been nice. All my spoons are burnt and all my mental veins are sclerosed. Press kits should read: “after careful consideration, and after watching Gray Davis mismanage the state of California so appallingly, I’ve come to the decision—a decision drawing on both the mutual perception of my abilities and the nebulousness of my "ambitions"—that graduate school is probably not for me, and that the reapplication process would likely be a waste of time and money.”
Feels to good to write it down—squeezing the my thoughts into words serves a number of purposes. Sounded better on the Tonight Show, though.
Feels to good to write it down—squeezing the my thoughts into words serves a number of purposes. Sounded better on the Tonight Show, though.
Monday, August 11, 2003
Welcome back, fodder
No apologies this time. I’ve done nothing wrong. So if you sit around waiting for me to write, playing internet canasta and checking this filthy fruit cart every hour, I suggest you get a cat. You know, something to keep you company while you wait.
Since my last dispatch, I’ve been fairly busy. Health concerns, mostly, with some emotional and social reevaluation on the side. Don’t act so surprised. You know who you are, so stop being so self-righteously self-centered and boastful and try being nice to me. Who knows. I might just bake you a DVD or something.
No more for now. A few weeks ago, I promised myself I’d stop making specific references to my ailments. And several friends have asked that I stop referring to them and any activities I might have enjoyed in their company. What the hell do I have left?
Since my last dispatch, I’ve been fairly busy. Health concerns, mostly, with some emotional and social reevaluation on the side. Don’t act so surprised. You know who you are, so stop being so self-righteously self-centered and boastful and try being nice to me. Who knows. I might just bake you a DVD or something.
No more for now. A few weeks ago, I promised myself I’d stop making specific references to my ailments. And several friends have asked that I stop referring to them and any activities I might have enjoyed in their company. What the hell do I have left?
Friday, August 01, 2003
The Price You Pay
Last summer, whilst traipsing lightly through the Providence Place Mall, Arthur and I found a coin-operated scale. According to the scale, neither of us were at our ideal weight. Holy fcuk! Alert the media!
Last night, the tarnish-your-self-esteem-for-a-dollar-o-tron and I had another encounter. However, in addition to telling me that I should reduce, the scale had a few suggestions on how I should do it. A dollar’s worth of wisdom, verbatim-ish:
Dear Millard Fatmore,
Decrease calorie intake by 750 calories a day to 2066 calories
a day. It will take approx. ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY
SIX DAYS to reach your ideal weight.
Your biorhythms—
Physical: low
Emotional: high
Intellectual: moderate
Not that it’s inaccurate. But what the fuck: why does every vending machine and fag hag feel the sudden need to judge me? Who cares if they’re only doing their “job”—I want a career-oriented source of torment.
Last night, the tarnish-your-self-esteem-for-a-dollar-o-tron and I had another encounter. However, in addition to telling me that I should reduce, the scale had a few suggestions on how I should do it. A dollar’s worth of wisdom, verbatim-ish:
Dear Millard Fatmore,
Decrease calorie intake by 750 calories a day to 2066 calories
a day. It will take approx. ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY
SIX DAYS to reach your ideal weight.
Your biorhythms—
Physical: low
Emotional: high
Intellectual: moderate
Not that it’s inaccurate. But what the fuck: why does every vending machine and fag hag feel the sudden need to judge me? Who cares if they’re only doing their “job”—I want a career-oriented source of torment.
