Woke up at 11:30 last night. Couldn't fall back to sleep. Watched Pump Up The Volume. Ate a bean and cheese burrito. Drank Mountain Dew. Samantha Mathis, rawr! Gothic pixie of my dreams. Striped leggings. Time to write it up, yo.
I would be the vegetarian patty in a Belinda Carlisle-Samantha Mathis sandwich. Madonna, 80's style, to drink, with a side of Ally Sheedy, served goth. Good times.
It's an idea that's been in my head a bit, but the movie got me thinking again about it: Internet radio station/show. Shit's free, but who would listen? What would I talk about? How well can I describe my bedroom? Pssh...
Fuck it, the blog continues. People have to plan to listen to a radio show, but you can read this at anytime, and you do.
Voting on the Union Contract this week. I hope it passes. I like money, but I like having a guaranteed labor agreement even more. It was insulting to see people from the Union complaining about money, picketing in public. Especially in Western PA, a region that's lost almost three, count 'em, three, million jobs in the last twenty years.
Haven't been on stage in a while. Self-imposed hiatus needs to end. I've got a hankerin' for the funny. It burns like that time I went to Bangkok and couldn't stand up while peeing for three weeks. It's a deep burning, one which no topical salve can adequately treat.
You ever notice how Sesame Street ran through an urban, kind of run down neighborhood? I used to drive through Gary Indiana, just to see if mutants were living in the garbage cans, teaching phonics without regard for the rules of society. Robin stopped in to buy some coke, and got roped into a guest appearance.
A reader in Idaho embedded this in correspondence with me, and it's too outstandingly fantastic to not share with you guys. Talking Lincoln is my favorite part.
I need to socialize with people who are not comedians/alcoholics/sexual deviants more often. I'm thinking of taking up some sort of martial art. Seriously. But not mixed martial arts, because that's a douchebag pastime. Besides, my hair would look horrible frosted, and I hate tribal tattoos.
Shootings in Germany and Alabama. Two dozen people gone forever. The blood of youth shed. Unfulfilled lives snuffed out. Another reason why we're spiraling to into an oblivion we won't recover from. We are surrounded by violence, fictional and real. We strike out person to person, group to group, and country to country, yet we're all "shocked" when things like this happen for some reason. I guess I'm saying it's time to buy more guns than your neighbor, put up cameras, and stay inside, mentally masturbating to Walker, Texas Ranger. I don't allow myself to feel/relate to the sense of loss and general lunacy in the world. If I did, it'd be all I'd ever think about. So I just think about fleeting, superficial things, listen to Henry Rollins, and dance until I sweat.
Speaking of hopelessness, America's favorite teenage mother, Bristol Palin, has ended her engagement with the father of her child. Jesus is SO pissed. Mad enough to shoot wolves from a helicopter.
More Elmo hotness. There are blind people, bilingual blind people, who probably think Elmo's name is "The Moe."
"Broken Wings" is not the best Mr. Mister song! It's "Kyrie!"-BK
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