jillian, can i smell yo dick?

it should be raining, i type slow...i thought of the word fast before i typed slow like a dyslexic word flip...wrist hurts complaining is easy...rain in this song feels so real im getting wet...scratch scratch...i want to sing...for a living? if i could i would maybe i will maybe i wont julia nunes is more endearing than annoying...floating would- i could cry when my friends are sad i want to cry i wish they could all- but if they were happy would they grow? growth is important im told...dont leave me. i dont want to hangout tomorrow with him were just friends i'll tell myslef...nervous... gym now? too tired? i can do it just do it goddess of luck? or luck right?...oranges... tobias funke is falling off the rails into a turntable in the magazine i read when i should have been doing latin translation...makes me feels cultured or smart... bourbon...clowns...green means- i want to feel intelligent, terry gilliam is like ramin in some way he wouldnt like me as a person...spam!

the mind is bombarded by all kinds of stimuli.

Dr. John, Vincent Needs his Meds

I want to take Mika hostage for a few months.  We could write songs and curl each others hair.  There'd be glitter and  cartoons and  sheet music strewn about our flat.  He'd play the piano while i crooned atop it like a 3o's lounge singer; using my butterfly knife as a microphone (classic hostage tool i.e. the Goonies).  Then we'd stay up late discussing our childhood: the pain, alienation, material for artistic expression, things like that.  He'd slowly grow fond of my manic presence in his otherwise dull life.  I'd fall asleep to his soft, high-pitched breathing and this would be our routine for months on end. Of course he'd have to have developed stockholm syndrome by this point for the relationship to go any further.  Who knows, i might even be the inspiration for his third album or, at least, a character in a song... 

All i wanted to say is i really enjoy Mika's new album.   

I Wanna Watch Right Now

Movie lovers rejoice!

for this fall's harvest is ripe with winners and losers (the lovable kind)

raise your voice!

these films are divinely sent to blow your ass out your mind

make thine choice!

a righteous one: to fill a theatre seat with thine behind

Movie lovers rejoice!

Whip It!

Brief Interviews with Hideous Men

Fantastic Mr. Fox

Zombieland

The Road

Extract

Where The Wild Things Are

Amreeka

Paper Heart

9

An Education

Bart Got a Room

Ponyo

Defendor

Big Fan

Youth in Revolt

Gentleman Broncos

The Invention of Lying

I Love You Phillip Morris

The Nine

And a boatload more...

I'd like to give a special shout out to Paul, the next Simon Pegg/Nick Frost (Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz) film.  You will be a delightfully geeky wet dream and I cannot wait to meet you.

Waterboard This (points to crotch)

So i've been on a torture kick lately.  Case in point reading love/sex advice column Savage Love (written by the incredibly funny, incredibly gay Dan Savage) when i am loveless/sexless.  Also, bingeing on frozen churros after an intense core workout, followed by a cookie dough eating stint topped off with a midnight gym visit has my body in bipolar shock.  I am becoming a masoscizophrienichist.  

But by far the most achingly painful anguish inducer i've practiced of late is reading The A.V. Club's My Year of Flops entries with a day old intense core workout still pulsing through my abs. (Yup, i just used the phrase "intense core workout" again, three more mentions and i get a free bow-flex...and the quoted one counts).  This recycle bin for film failures is written as the final verdict on their controversial floptitude: are these stinkers failures, fiascos, or secret successes?  The secret success feauture of the grading system itself is a real comfort to  frequent flopwatchers because movies like Dirty Work and Be Kind Rewind are overlooked, hit and miss gems.  The whole thing is a well written, reference-a-minute torture chamber complete with gut-busting snippets from the cine-turds in question (its like an intense core workout, except its for your funny bone...and gut.) 

I'd like to share this suffering, anyone up for a Nicolas "barbed-wire laced" Cage of cinematic hell night?  We can make t-shirts...Let me know...

intense core workout.

Amish Controlling Mother Bread

I arose from bed yesterday afternoon to the sweet smell of what i thought was french toast with bacon on the side.  And when i say "arose" picture a vampire cocking his body tick by tick with arms jutting forward at the chest.  I ambled to the kitchen thirsting for syrup and bacon fat...but alas, there were none.

"Where's the french toast?," I wondered.  "The cinnamon? The syrup? The bacon grease?"

Turns out: its amish friendship bread for breakfast, yes, my amish friendship bread, the one i've been massaging for ten days...my own festering, fermenting reeker baby.  And who is baking Christina Reeki ( i named her...they grow up so fast)?  None other than mommy dearest.  I calmly voice my problem: "What the hell are you doing?"  She's shocked by my indignation and slices back with her own complaints: 

"Where's the big thing of Crisco? I had to buy a new one.

I left it at kyle's...dyou know how old that thing was? Two years! (if it were human we'd be potty-training it, teaching it the alphabet, and dissembling its crib to make room for a bigger toy box...)

Doesn't matter.

Wait a minute, why are you making my bread?

It was gonna go bad.  You were supposed to--

No, today is the baking day, it's written on the bag!" 

She unapologetically backs down as if to say what's done is done, that suckers already in the oven, greased, timed, and baking.  I inspect the loaves as they bake, accepting that my mother has once again grabbed my life's steering wheel.   Of course, she means well.  Of course, she grabs with love.  And of course, her amish bread was heavenly (baked with apples no less).  But it wasn't mine...in one simple act of motherly kindness she breadnapped my baby, usurped it of all its friendship qualities, and hijacked my life's course.  Hyperbole aside, all i really want from my mom is a chance to fuck up my amish friendship bread, my own life and someday a kid of my own .  Sounds fair, right?  So i kept a bag of the starter for myself, a do-over for my own piece of mind.  I have a feeling Reekard Gere is gonna enchant a few tongues.

(Remember that bacon smell wafting throughout the house?  Yeah, me too, but where did it come from?  I haven't a clue but I'm still willing to get to the bottom of the mystery of the phantom bacon.  Everybody loves bacon.) 

How Many Sheep am I Holding Up?

I'm going to bed when I'm ready, no Benadryl or advil tonight...well, technically this morning. And just think, soon i won't need a sedative for sleep. Instead I'll conk out from natural exhaustion and wake up ready, maybe even excited, for tomorrow. Yes! A new day is coming...

But not today....today is already over and it's barely 6: 40. It's funny how sedatives which are meant to help us (allergy medicine) can, in many cases, kill us (malt liquor). I'm not being very clear, but if you can wade pass the bullshit (bullshit, bullshit, bullshit) metaphor you may find some truth in these ramblings.

My wake-up call just sounded...ugh, I need a Benadryl...

Goatseed

So i'm chompin' on a strawberry, innocently enough, really enjoying the natural sweetness. I reach the end of this particular strawberry's life and what do i see? Why it's a miniature Goatse staring back at me...plain as the maximized google image. Yeah, it haunts my dreams, everyday life, and has moved on to my produce. Try this at home.