Wednesday, January 30, 2008


First, a little genetics. Among her many graces, my mother has lovely feet. She also had the good sense to give those beautiful feet to her two equally beautiful children. My mother, my sister and I all have a very elegant second toe (second most proximal - next to the "Big Toe"). It protrudes tastefully past the Big Toe, making it the longest of our phalanges. It is the foot of aristocracy. My father, on the other hand, has what the ladies and I refer to - rather euphemistically - as the "chopped toe." His Big Toe is the longest, followed by each successively distal digit, giving the overall foot a frankly disgusting linear slope.
Shortly after retiring to my mid-West abode for Winter recess, I made my N-th "Glorious Return to the Gym!" The season being what it was, and the gym being where it is, I thought it best not to assume my daily run to the gym - rather to use the vulgar hamster-wheels there provided. The physics of running a treadmill differ subtly from the those of Actual Running. While I (still) do not fully understand these differences in their entirety, I became aware of their existence when I noted the development of a blister on my right foot, on my second toe - my longest toe. Confident in my body's competence in these matters, I left the vile thing be. It proceeded to grow, enveloping more and more of the end of my toe, until it had nearly commandeered the whole of the tip and was visibly running under the nail. My beautiful second toe grew longer still as the purulent bulb swelled by the day. It was not especially painful or bothersome and I continued to treadmill throughout the outbreak. It was just about deserving of a name when, yesterday, I took off my sock to discover that the abscess was now a withered and deflated husk of white, dead skin. It would seem the blister burst sometime during my day, filling my shoe with a rush of pus. Oh well.

Monday, January 28, 2008

Sleepy Head

I must be really behind on my sleep or something. I got to bed at 10 and I woke up at 9 and I'm still yawning. Poopie.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

The First Law of New York Physics

People who walk more slowly than you are retarded. People who walk more quickly than you are insane. These are the only categories of New York pedestrian; the Retards, the Maniacs, and You.

Monday, January 21, 2008

Ha Ha J.J.

I are back! In New York that is. I really don't feel like telling you anything about it. So there!

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Things I Fucking Love, Vol. 1

Dinosaur Comics

Friday, January 04, 2008

The Wire

Allow me to introduce my friend, the wire. Chances are you've already met. The wire visits all in due time. Or rather, all visit the wire. However thorough one's planing, however precise one's timing, one inevitably, invariably, eventually finds oneself down to the wire. The wire is the asymptote of failure; the event horizon of survival; the third rail of life: go ever so near, but do not touch. With luck, one's wire encounters are few. With luck, one passes with clearance to spare. I, however, enjoy a luck of a different stripe.

My luck - my talent - is in wire riding. I do not go down to the wire. I go on the wire. I tight-rope-walk the wire. I shimmy and skip and flip and grind on the wire. I straddle the wire. I floss my ass cheeks with the wire. I hump the wire and the wire and I make beautiful love and have beautiful children. I read to my wirelings at bedtime. Then I tuck them into their wire-beds, kiss their wire-heads, and go fuck the shit out of their wire-mother's bunghole. That's right, the wire and me have sloppy anal sex. I'm talkin' messy. And sometimes I let it be on top. That's messy too.

Why do I do this, you ask? Am I a wire fetishist? Am I trying to prove a point? Is this an instillation art piece? No, no, and no. Nearest as I can figure it, the wire is just the most interesting place to be. I could steer clear. I could plan ahead. I could undertake to avoid the wire all together. But I find a crackling 10,000 volt wire, a yawning 20,000 foot precipice, an enclosed space filled with flaming tigers and laser-guided bears, is just a more interesting place to be. Wouldn't you say?

"Sleep is the last resort of cowards." - Me