Wednesday, June 29, 2005

(oh) make me over

This is a picture of my good friend Ms. Bees Knees, at a party in which she came dressed as Courtney Love. OMG! Doesn't she look so much like her? She sports the dangling cigarette, deflated pasty boobs, and even the smeared clown-whore lipstick...the resemblance is uncanny.
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Ok, so I'll cut the shit and stop pretending to not be a nerd. What you say? You are already thought I was a total dork? Well fuck you too Amanda Gulley! (I swear, always nay-saying)

Using my nerdy computer skills, I have basically been spying on you for the last week. Yep spying. Thanks to I can access what page referred you to my blog, how long you spent looking, your ISP, how many pages loads you have...blah, blah. It is so creepy.

Perhaps even more disturbing is the fact that even though there has been 998 views of my blog in the last week. I don't get no comments. What's that all about? Where is the love...

(I am sure Alan will post something decrying Stat counter's method of statistical analysis, but you can't please everyone eh?)
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Yeah you ma-a-a-de me feel (shiny and new)

Not much is happening in my life is really bloggworthy. And since I am an unimaginative and banal 20 year old…I am not going to go and make some entertaining shit up. This is all you’re gonna get people.

Last night after visiting with Rachel, Rachel, Jessie and I decided to check out the trash piles on Anthony. Now, you may be asking yourself, “Ed, have you hit rock bottom?”

And my answer would be, “No?!?”

So we engaged in some frenetic dumpster diving (actually there wasn’t any dumpster, it was just in piles on the curb) and I slowly, but surely, enjoyed myself. When Rachel and I were dating, it really grossed me out when she would dig through other people’s trash—I most objected to her wearing unwashed clothes she got from “Pier 1” (as she nicknamed her scavenging habits) and picking up food items. Even though they were in unopened cans or unopened plastic bags, I thought this was hella gross. But slowly, my inhibitions to dumpster diving were worn away last night.

So basically I find myself wearing an elephant print sarong (Bitch please, I would not wear that on my own accord, Jessie put it on me), and holding a table lamp with the cord twisted around my waist, some CD jewel cases, and some thank you notes that I thought I could use. The thank you notes ended up having a graduation theme print embossed on them, so it looks like I will have to wait 3 years to be able to use those.

But I was totally enjoying this very liberating experience until Natalie drives by (she was visiting her man, who also lives on Anthony) and I felt totally embarrassed. Here I was bedecked with a stranger’s garbage and fraternizing with gypsies. (Jessie and Rachel were both wearing dresses and colorful bandanas). But what is there really to be embarrassed about? Rachel and Jessie kick ass—even if they are too Bohemian for me sometimes.

So the moral of this story is: I need to care less about what others think. And I want to become a hippy. Yes, that is right. I want to use other people’s discarded consumer items.

Give me your kitsch.

Monday, June 27, 2005

CBS=tool of Satan

Fueled by my insane need to find some closure to my paper-writing marathon, I drove to the grocery store for some impulse buying at 1:30AM.

And as I pulled through the check-out lane, I realized that I had not even checked the country of origin for my produce. Which is something I always do. But tonight, I didn’t care if my grapes where grown in Chile as a front business for cocaine drug lords, or that my strawberries were grown in Mexico by some mongoloid peasant that used human excrement to fertilize his crops.

Fuck you Dan Rather and your “Harvest of Shame.” Your uppity investigative journalism makes me want to exploit immigrant seasonal labor even more. Yes. I buy produce picked by disenfranchised migrants. So fucking what? I am basically thrusting my enlarged, elongated, American, Imperialistic phallus into the gaping vagina that is the exploited 3rd world labor source. I don’t care.

Fiscal liberals still haven’t found out that the free market is too powerful a tool for them to harness. The only thing that drives an economy is money. Yes. That’s right. Nobody gives a flying fuck about principles. To the lowest bidder goes the patronage. Why else would Wal-Mart exist? Jeez, do I have hold your hand?

As Conan O'Brien once wrote to his mother in a Valentine's Day card, I have the same timeless message for my country. America: I reject your bourgeoisie values, the wheels of my revolution will crush you.

Sunday, June 26, 2005

Or my name isn't...*Robert Gulay*

So it is a bad idea to get a 64 oz soda just because it is several cents cheaper per volume than the 32 or 44 oz sizes. It came in a cup the size of Star Jones (no, that is an over exaggeration—it was the size of a football field, roughly the size of one of Catherine Manheim’s boobs), and I have been tied to the bathroom by my toilet umbilical cord, AKA, my small bladder.

In other unrelated news: While in NY my roommate saw Robert Gulay! How exciting is that? Unfortunately, he didn’t see Will Ferrell—although Aaron did says that Gulay is very short in real life.

Being the nerd that I am, tonight I am finishing my distance learning courses. I will cut myself with plastic spoons, burn my eyebrows off with Everclear, or otherwise mutilate myself to stay awake. I mean, they are due on Wednesday, but I am such a procrastinator—if I don’t finish tonight, I never will. Balls!

When I was growing up, my parents had this enormous oversized Norman Rockwell coffee table book. I spent countless hours on my living room carpet looking at all those paintings. Norman Rockwell is probably my favorite graphic artist-I never liked paintings or the like very much; I spose I always just liked music better. (Funny side note: my Dad, the mathematician, or 'mathmagician' as Mands calls him, has a poster that says, "A graph is worth 1,000 sets of data." Jeez, those math nerds.)

I realize that Rockwell wasn't a fabulous artist (insert Bette Davis saying choppily, "I deplore cheap sentiment"), but his combination depiction of pop-culture and human nature is so uniquely American. And endearing. How unfortunate that I am forced to use the word 'endearing'. Next thing you know, I will be a middle aged woman that wears sweatshirts with house cats on them, and evaluate everything on a gradation of 'cuteness'.

And just like I could live the rest of my life solely speaking in Will Ferrel SNL skits, I could live the rest of my life living out Rockwell's paintings. The one for this week is Homecoming. Guess which character I am.

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Saturday, June 25, 2005

Gonna give you all my [love]

Ok. Guilty confession time.

Guilty confession #1: Although I some day dream of living in a big city, right now, I want to move to the suburbs when I am thirty (you know, after the whole gay-death thing)—thank god that won’t be for another 10 years. I will take pictures of my furniture, my dog wearing silly hats, bike races, my lawn, and family get-togethers. Is that so wrong? For an example of my unbridled life ambitions do the the clickity-clack here.

Guilty confession #2: I think Madonna wrote the song Like a Virgin expressly for me. Just you take a look:

I made it through the wilderness
Somehow I made it through
Didn't know how lost I was
Until I found you

Like a virgin, ooh, ooh
Like a virgin
Feels so good inside
When you hold me,
and your heart beats, and you love me

I know, I know. Now tell me that song is not personally tailored to my unique life experiences. (And I’m drunk)

Friday, June 24, 2005

Healthy man love

Have you ever fallen asleep on your computer desk on top of 6+ inches of paper, books, and WBS? Or gotten up at 3AM only to cry yourself to sleep by listening to Thomas Quasthoff singing Brahms’ lieder? Because if you have…you could sympathize with me.

In other news: my birthday was fucking awesome! Very relaxed, exactly what I wanted. Robyn even made me a cake encrusted with WBS. Croquet was had by all. Thank you and goodnight.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Tonight Robyn, Lane, Kristin, Eryn, Jenn, Howard and I went to go get some Thai food from Cooper’s Landing, which for those of you not familiar with it, is like 10 miles outside of town, in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere. (Which sounds much more exciting than it really is)

I got to talk some with my good friend Robyn, and she will be leaving for 6 months for England. Which is exciting and all, but I am going to miss her with a fierceness. She is so good to me.

Anyway, the food was great, the lady that runs it is some little old Thai woman (what the hell is she doing in the middle of Missouri?) and even “through we ah clozed,” she served us anyway. It makes me miss my Mom…I haven’t lived at home for 2 years. I was telling Craig, God bless women and their domesticism...Lord knows what would happen to all of us without some maternal figures to feed us and light citronella candles around us occasionally.

After said Thai, we walked around the River some and watched the fireflies. Ah, summer, transient and fragile. Coincidentally, it was the summer solstice today, and also a full moon. This should mean something to me, but me not being a fucking Wicca freak, it doesn’t. Except that the days are going to get shorter and autumn—the harbinger of a slow and cold death—will be at our doorstep any day now.

Ok, so maybe I am being a little dramatic, seeing that summer has just begun, but today was my last day of being a teenager. Please, I need some reassurance. Is it all downhill from here?

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

A cry for help

Due to my recent exercise kick (and the bitches at the rec center—those enablers!) I have done enough lat pulls that I am currently unable to lift my arms above my shoulders.

I am like John McCain. Who will comb my hair? Who will put silly and demeaning birthday hats on my head? Most importantly, who will pick out the wild-berry skittles that have become stuck in my hair after taking a nap on my WBS covered bed?

Sunday, June 19, 2005


I went riding/running on the MKT trail tonight at dusk, and as usual found myself doing about 7 min/mile pace as I realized I was 4+ miles from where I started. Ug. I totally need to pace myself.

Anyway, on the way back, I kept noticing that all these fireflies had landed on my shorts and chest, and were just sitting there glowing.

I then noticed the trees were alive with the neon demon glow of millions of fireflies. But they weren’t flying around, and they weren’t blinking either. I guess it was too cold? Anyway, they were just ‘on’. As if to say:

“Yes, Ed. We share your apathy and despondency. We are pathetic like you, and since our boyfriend is in Vienna too, we have lost the impetus to exist.”

Chided by insects, how sad.

the new critical idiom

OMG. Ok read this, and tell me what you think. Haha! Fuck the Christian right. It goes beyond the fallacy of believing sexual orientation is something you can fix—and into the credo that homosexuality is a disease that needs to be cured. Don’t get me wrong, I am not going to sport my personal rainbow flag (like many of the bitchy politico-queens) but this is just ri-goddamn-diculous. I mean, seriously, WWJD?

It makes me so appreciative of all the support and acceptance I have gotten from my friends. To Rachel, Robyn, Alan, Lane, Matt, Aaron, Eryn, Rick, Natalie, Nick, Stephanie, Laura, Anson, Manda, and Caren: thanks.

Friday, June 17, 2005

Cacophony of exercise-induced ramblings

OMG. This was like the busiest Friday ever. I had to be at work at 8:00 to pour a gel, and then to the field at 9:00. I rushed back for (yet another) job interview, and then went back the the lab until 4, when I left to go work out. I am planning to go to Sapphire and maybe (?) the Blue Note tonight. Tomorrow holds some retro Shattered? Only, time will tell.

I have been working out again—and I am going to be frickin’ ripped by the end of the summer—pics to follow. And ripped as in lightweight boxer—wiry—ripped (or svelte porn star ripped). Not big and gross ripped.

I just got back, and my vision is scotoma-ed-up and I feel like I am going to pass out. Someone call an ambulance, I feel like a frickin’ druggie. I have replaced my usual choice of Jesus (or oral sex?) with exercise as my new high.

It reminds me of a scene from FALILV:

Narrator: We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a saltshaker half-full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of uppers, downers, laughers, screamers... Also, a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of beer, a pint of raw ether, and two dozen amyls. Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can. The only thing that really worried me was the ether. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of an ether binge, and I knew we'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon.

Wednesday, June 15, 2005


I spent most of the morning bending over and punching leaf samples from 2,000 baby corn plants to do small scale DNA preps on them. I am sun-addled and dirty. And totally mind-fried. In addition to this, I ran a gel (which was fantabulous---if one can apply that word to science), had a voice lesson, practiced with Rachel, texted Craig about 4 times, and picked out the rest of my literature.

I am getting ready to have some much needed chicken sustenance and play some croquet with the girls. And by the girls, I mean, Trevor, Fallon, Robyn, Kristin, and Lane.

I dread the first day of summer. June 21. It will be my last day of being a teenager. Single tear.

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

Why did they decide to edge the lawn outside my apartment just as I was getting in bed to take a nap this afternoon? What is lawn edging, and why the fuck is it a nessesary process? Anyway, mommy was going to be pissed, but she found out that the yard worker was a shirtless and sweaty 6'3'' Mipam Thurman, who had just returned from his photo shoot this morning. So I, I mean mommy, endured.
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Hoo! (Like a virgin)

Recently reading certain NY porn stars blogs has made me reevaluate my life. In comparison, my existence is pretty mundane. I mean, they have sex for a living?! I spose so do prostitutes, and stay-at-home mothers, but porn is so much more glamorous. (wild cackling). I have grown restless with my life, especially as the dreaded birthday approaches. 20 years old in 2 weeks. Good gawd. Go ahead, put me in the rest home and feed me applesauce now.

Bottom line: I have talked to some people and there might be some renegotiating. And by some people, I mean the devil. Mwahahaha!

Monday, June 13, 2005

I confess

I have already introduced you all to Ms. Bees, and I think “the” Mrs. needs no introduction. So all that is left is Hunter and Damon, two NY porn stars, who are ridiculously enough, dating each other. How decadent is that? I mean, bitch, please. They are pretty and entertaining, enjoy them. They are my gift to you. (Sorry I didn't post any you know, it is difficult to catch clothed porn stars.)


Saturday, June 11, 2005

Last night Eryn came over and we watched The Pretender (squeals!!) and ate cake frosting out of the can, and drank some LIIT. Eryn's Rick was out of town, and as I keep reminding all of you, my Craig is in Vienna. (Later I went to Jeff Co and saw the resident-drunks.)

Eryn and I share an abnormal fascination with Michael T Weiss. I have given you all some candy. Shirley, tell mommy thank you. (Now close the blinds. Mommy has a hangover.)
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Friday, June 10, 2005

I would like to introduce the rest of the world to my good friend, Ms. Bees Knees. If anyone needs a good hag, she is available. (She is the one in the middle wearing the pink thong. Modesty was never her strong suit.) This tube of wonderful has a name!
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Wednesday, June 08, 2005

Je n'ai pas de principe, et je m'en vante

Work sucks. I hate feeling incompetent.

My first voice lesson is today, and I have picked out no literature.

I fucking miss Craig. Is it wrong to desire comfort in someone besides myself?

And nature sympathized. So I rode my bike home in the rain. And found consolation in the fact that while rain-soaked, I look hot in my underwear. To quote the Mrs. Astor: I lead a shallow, tawdry life.

Good God! Angry-Ed is back bitches!

I am a curmudgeon. If you are offended by political ramblings of an Ayn-worshipping, intellectual-meritocracy loving, cold-hearted conservative objectivist, read no further.

So I have to read this book Amazing Grace for my peace studies class. It is about ghetto children in Mott Haven, an extremely poor area of New York. Although this is a prime subject for some muckraker, the author squanders his opportunity by writing an incredibly biased, transparent, flaming piece of shit. Although I am not sure whether it is journalistic or not—one thing is for sure. He doesn’t show the whole picture. He goes out of his way to depict only AIDS victims who received the disease from cheating or drug-using husbands. Forget the fact that AIDS is almost an entirely preventable death sentence. After reading this book, no one would agree that the children of urban NY deserve the horrible treatment they endure—but no one in their right mind would also come to the same conclusion as the author. Namely that all urban America’s problems can be solved by forcing the smart children to stay in school with the retards. Public education is a problem, not a solution. It is a huge fucking joke, and anyone who won’t admit it is lying to themselves.

Every time I have to read this book, it makes me want to vomit. The author constantly gets in his jabs against 'conservatives', and constantly cites how society isn’t “fair” to the children. Oh what is fair? Is it stealing from your wealthy neighbor to pay for your child’s education because you are a contraceptive-illiterate single parent who can’t hold down a job due to your inability to finish your methadone sequence? Is ‘fair’ demanding free medical treatment for the sole reason you can’t pay for it?

I am sorry I am white. I acknowledge that my people have destroyed entire ethnicities through slavery, economic discrimination, and single-handedly dismantling the 2 parent home (via welfare).

I want to take all the entitlement-mongers, all the socialists, and most of all, the parasitic professor hiding in the warm-and-cozy world of academia that has made me endure this shit and put them in a huge hole in the ground. And burn the fuck out of them.

I know, I know, I am out of control. (Shuffles feet)

Monday, June 06, 2005

I am a baby raccoon killer.

Last night was pretty fucking fun. I will never tire of giving sex advice to inexperienced straight girls.

Yes. Guys like blows jobs more than cuddling.”
No. Most straight guys do not like a finger up the ass.”
Yes. The worst thing you could do is cry after sex.”

It amuses me to no end.

This evening I went running on the bike trail. I was on my 2nd 2-mile repeat when I see this little brown thing scurrying around right in front of me. It was getting kind of dark, so I picked up a stick and threw it at what turned out to be a baby raccoon. Needless to say: I was mortified. To make things worse, around comes Mike (from work) and his wife Jennifer on their evening bike ride. Perfect timing.

So basically Mike thinks that I am a baby raccoon killer. And I will probably never live this down at work.

The truth of the story is: My mom has taught me to always assume that all approaching wildlife is rabid. This might seem ridiculous to you, but this is a very deeply ingrained psychosis. She instilled in us the fear of germs. My mother also refused us children food on vacations if we washed our hands in the public bathrooms. She would force a wet-wipe on us and then admonish us for touching “what most probably were shit, semen, and HIV encrusted bathroom fixtures.”

Ok. So I made that quote up.

Saturday, June 04, 2005

Suicide hotline...please hold.

I just have one thing to say: reality shows on Lifetime are the ugly lesbian sisters of C-grade reality shows on other channels.

No one wants to hear about your vagina. We don’t care about your hormones, body image, or your feelings. You are a disgrace to women everywhere.

Christ, no wonder why so many guys are gay.

Thursday, June 02, 2005

fired my pistols (and I shot him with both barrels)

Due to a very fine bottle of lime gin and some club soda, I have numbed my current feeling of loss.

Go ahead: ask me anything about the verisimilitude of cyberspace and other gothic themes in William Gibson’s Neuromancer. I am a god. I can answer all your questions.

your sweat is salty (I am why)...

I drove Craig to the airport today. He will be in Vienna until June 29. This saddens me.

On my way back, the blinding reflection of the red setting sun on the metallic gray of pavement reminded me. A part of me has died.