Dizzy Vibrations

Let me tell you why I enjoy this blog so much. When I was a little girl growing up in the Amazon, I used to sit for hours and scratch pictures of moon pies and whale sharks into the gathering dust every morning. Of course, I couldn't know it then, but it was in many ways an expression of my inner struggle for expression; that little voice inside of me trying to make itself heard over the lion's roar and the zebra's smacking its lip after a fresh kill. And so when I'd see American tourists I'd run up to them, draped in my nicest loin cloth, and beg them for transportation to the land where dreams come true...America. When the tourist would run away screaming, or throw a handful of change in my face and shout, "You'll never take me alive, demon!" I realized I would never be free of this jungle wasteland unless I tried something drastic. So I found a barge that was bound for the States one day and I attached myself to the side of it with a glue stick. My first experience in my new home was of catching an old episode of Happy Days, and it was at that moment I began a lifelong obsession with Tom Bosley. The emotion, the passion, and above all the expression that literally dripped off the man like blood from a Zebra's fangs was something I had never seen before, and I knew at that moment that I would be an actor. As the years went by I developed an appreciation for many other masters of the craft - Don Knotts, Patrick Swayze, Jaleel White, Abe Bigoda, as well as others. But my dream would never be realized. No, I was shot down, time after time, like a whale shark. And though it hurt me through every fiber of my being, to the point where I had to eat bran muffins just to get more fiber, I gradually came to accept my fate and look for something else. It was, after all, America. The land where dreams come true. And so it was that I started this blog. Finally, that poet in the desert - that screaming, screetching maniac inside me - would be heard. No longer would the bear's growl or the venus fly trap's cackle overwhelm and silence that which must be given voice. And that is why I enjoy this blog so much.

The news sucks. Seriously. For instance, today you will see one of two things: the hurricane and Bill Clinton's heart. And this is because the news operates under the idea that it must always have a BIG STORY!! So things that shouldn't be the BIG STORY!! get forced into one. The hurricane - its a big story, granted, but not a BIG STORY!! It shouldn't be forced. But they spend hours saying "the winds are crazy and there's a lot of damage," and we sit here going, "no shit, I fuckin know that." And Bill Clinton's heart - come the fuck on. They were actually doing a bit where they used diagrams to describe the type of surgery he's gonna have. Bullshit. Nobody wants to turn on the TV and watch hours and hours worth of Bill Clinton being in the hopsital getting heart surgery. Its enough to say, "He's in there, he's getting surgery," and leave it at that. But whatever. Fuck the news.

In other TV news - Seinfeld is a great show, granted, but has anyone else noticed that its on 12 hours a day? In fact, as I'm writing this, the TV is showing an eight episode marathon. And it will be on again at 5:30, 6:00, and I think 7 and 7:30 as well. And then again later at like, I don't know, 10 or 10:30 or some shit. But can you really blame TV for showing it so much? When you have over a hundred stations of astronomical bullshit and pompous buffoonery, it makes sense to play to the handful of good programs that are actually worth watching. Too bad Tom Bosley hasn't done anything new lately. The man is an artist.

Harriet Winslow's voice from Family Matters was so fucking annoying.

Though Hunter S. Thompson is the default icon of "psuedo-artistic" punks everywhere who think they are king shit because they've seen Fear and Loathing, I have temporarily overcome my predjudice to begin reading his very first novel, The Rum Diaries. There were rumors at one point that Johnny Depp was being recruited to turn this book into a film, and though these rumors have completely evaporated, I decided I must engage the book nonetheless in the event that these rumors were to resurface and find their way to fruition. So far, after three pages, I can say it looks pretty good. But...let me clarify...I am no "psuedo-artistic" punk. Though I am king shit.

Speaking of such punks, however, my UB classes are driving me crazy. Remember those smartass kids in your undergraduate classes...the ones who talked constantly, and responded to everything the teacher said? The ones who spoke slowly and added a lot of "aah's, and uum's" because this obviously means they are thinking very hard about how best to put their words? And they used their hands to enunciate everything? Well, my classes are fool of these assholes. They come in, dressed strangely, hair in any manner of bizzare style, ugly ass shoes, and they think they are paragons of intellectual prowess. So...out of sheer spite and hostility...out of sheer fear and loathing, as it were...I've taken great pleasure in rolling into class in jeans and a t-shirt and a pair of shades. And I sit there, chewing on my pen, and when I talk I make sure I say things like "aint" and "nah".

Macy Gray playing twenty-four hours a day, and her ugly mug plastered over walls everywhere - this is my vision of hell.

Too many Sex in the City commercials. And I swear to god, if I hear that old bitch saying "Who we are in bed is who we are in life" one more time, I'm going to track her down and staple her mouth shut. What a fuckin line. Can someone explain that to me? Its pointless. Its bullshit. And she says it as if its the most obvious thing in the world. What if I were to say, "Who we are when we're neck deep in a rice patty is who we are in life"...wouldn't that be equally as legitimate?

Alright, pallies - that's enough of this trash for one day. Leave a message. I'm serious. Take two seconds and write something. And tell your friends about this blog, it can change their lives!! But for now...

A Presto...

Il Pazzo