Archive for November, 2004
It’s been awhile since I had a TV commercial crush.
You may recall the brief time I was tormented by 3 simultaneously…
So you can now add, to my chagrin, the girl from the holiday Old Navy commercials. I hate those commercials, but I have to watch them — because she’s in them. Haha!
We’re all so controlled and engulfed in our daily routines and responsibilities that we have made it tradition to set aside a day to remember to give thanks to that which we are thankful for. Yes, I know that’s not the true meaning of celebrating this day. That’s kind of my point.
Couldn’t we just be thankful when appropriate? Do we have to really require an annual reminder to give thanks and give back and (if possible) smile at this opportunity to be alive?
This is the epitome of cynicism… bashing Thanksgiving.
To those reading: What are you thankful for as you look back on the past 364 days?
Tool — The Patient
A groan of tedium escapes me, startling the fearful.
Is this a test? It has to be, otherwise I can’t go on.
Draining patience, drain vitality.
This paranoid, paralyzed vampire acts a little old.
But I’m still right here giving blood, keeping faith.
And I’m still right here.
Wait it out. Gonna wait it out. Be patient.
If there were no reward to reap, a loving embrace to see me through this tedious path I’ve chosen here, I certainly would’ve walked away by now.
Gonna wait it out. If there were no desire to heal a damaged and broken man
along this tedious path I’ve chosen here. I certainly would’ve walked away by now.
And I still may … [sigh] … I still may. Be patient.
I must keep reminding myself of this.
I must keep reminding myself of this.
I must keep reminding myself of this.
I must keep reminding myself of this.
And if there were no rewards to heal, no loving embrace to see me
through this tedious path I’ve chosen here, I certainly would’ve walked away by now.
And I still may. Gonna wait it out.
So I appear to have a squirrel-free house now. A leak-free one, too. With these improvements I am now able to fix the drop-ceiling tiles in the upstairs bathroom and the laundry room. I’ll be able to finally bring the rooms back to life. I hope to have the ceiling tiles up within 2 weeks.
I also have a call in to have drywall patching done so I can get the dining room re-painted.
Today, I had a helping hand From Debby and her son, Josh. We itemized all the clothing I’m donating so I can claim it as a tax deduction. Then……………… we cataloged all the baseball card sets. I won’t post that list here because I don’t want my house ransacked. BUT, I will tell you that they span 4 decades. I gotta start researching now and find a buyer. I’m told that finding a buyer is already in the works, but I need something to happen sooner than later. I’m glad that I have made as much progress as I have over the past couple weeks and what I will get accomplished in the near future.
It’s a step forward, but it’s not yet a cure.
There’s one thing I will never be able to understand but never cease to love. It’s the uncanny ability for Maynard James Keenan to say the words I can’t come up with. The strangest part of it all is that they approach me at a time I need them most. As if he was stenographing my life out as it happens and then reading it back to me in song simultaneously.
PASSIVE
“Dead as dead can be,” the doctor tells me. But I just can’t believe him.
Ever the optimistic one, I’m sure of your ability to become my perfect enemy.
Wake up and face me.
Don’t play dead cause maybe someday I will walk away and say,
“You disappoint me. Maybe you’re better off this way.”
Leaning over you here, cold and catatonic,
I catch a brief reflection of what you could and might have been.
It’s your right and your ability to become my perfect enemy.
Wake up and face me.
Don’t play dead cause maybe someday I will walk away and say,
“You disappoint me. Maybe you’re better off this way,”
Wake up and face me.
Don’t play dead cause maybe someday I will walk away and say,
“You fucking disappoint me. Maybe you’re better off this way.”
Go ahead and play dead.
I know that you can hear this.
Go ahead and play dead.
Why can’t you turn and face me?
Why can’t you turn and face me?
Why can’t you turn and face me?
Why can’t you turn and face me?
You fucking disappoint me.
Passive aggressive bullshit.
Passive aggressive bullshit.
Passive aggressive bullshit.
Passive aggressive bullshit.
My mother, the tabloid addict, has developed a conspiracy theory; one that I cannot dismiss as anything short of veddy intellestingk.
Foreword: While Fiona Apple was on tour last, I kept an I.M. relationship with Keith Lowe, the bassist of her band. Keith played with Joe, Jebin, Lucky, Matt, and of course, Fiona. (I always wondered if the guitarist, Lucky, really was named Lucky.) While they were in town, I chatted with Keith outside before the show. I gave him a copy of my CD entitled “To whom it may concern…” — As you may know, Lisa Marie Presley released her album in April ‘03 with the same name as my album. Of course, it’s always been a joke that she stole my album name.
Now Hear This: Lisa Marie’s music director and co-writer is a guy named Michael Lockwood. He worked with her during the making of her album. They’re reportedly dating now (it was that bit of information that caught my mom’s eye). The article gave a mini bio on Michael and it turns out he’s played with many other musicians, such as Aimee Mann, Michael Penn, Carly Simon, and Fiona Apple.
I researched…
….Lucky is Michael. Michael is Lucky. Keith had my CD.
Is it possible that my CD, while making it’s rounds around the tour bus, found its way into the hands of Lucky/Michael who remembered the name and possibly suggested it to Lisa Marie? Was it possible that Lucky ended up with the CD at the end of the tour and stuffed in into his CD collection and she came across it one day and found herself with a great idea for the name of her album she was working on?
HMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmm!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Toxicology results finally came back for Sara.
She had 40x the amount of Wellbutrin in her body than she should have. She was given time release which her system just couldn’t handle. The doctors think the dose was too high and her weak liver just couldn’t take it.
Essentially, she was slowly poisoned over 4 months. As her friend Meredith observed and notes: “the muscle pain, the fainting, the hallucinations are all side effects to toxic and overdose levels of wellbutrin. Three doctors and an ER visit and no one took blood.”
This could have been prevented. The question is… SHOULD it have? It depends on how you see things. No one would be wrong, though.
eMOTIVe, the newest album from A Perfect Cirlce, has released and I received my CD and the limited time only T-shirt with it.
Why even bother saying what so many others are saying?
I’m genuinely saddened and depressed by Bush winning. In addition to that, to see other people elected like Senator Brownback, Congresswoman Heather Wilson, and a few other extreme conservatives just rips me apart. To watch our country’s clock be turned back 120 years over night… and I want to tear my eyes out at seeing how many people are letting this happen. Goodbye rights. Goodbye choice. Goodbye freedom. Goodbye America.
Who will come with me to another country? Consider it, will you? Get back to me…
A victim, myself, of my own observation.
We so often forget the reality of here.
When will we wake from our television comas that I’ve been so damaged by? When will I learn to put the torch to rest?
There’s no life out there, I see it now. It’s right here. There’s nothing more beautiful and nothing more disgusting. There is nothing more than here.
And I don’t want to be staring at you through the window when you’ve used up all your tears and all your sighs and all your dreams. The alternative’s quite charming when there’s been millions of suns already shared.
But this bulletproof window with the peek-a-boo blinds are all I have to contend with. The touch of your fingertips through the iron bars; so subtle. My thesaurus tells me it’s calefacient. I’ll stick with that one.
And this is all I can think of tonight.
Even though I’ve received a notice that if I’m late by even 5 minutes any day over the next 60 days, it will be my last day with them. I’m not exactly prepared for that and I won’t apologize for the “inconvenience” I’ve caused them by dealing with my twisted life and having to take days off, or showing up late because my stressed out mind ignored the three alarms that woke up the rest of the block. I will not apologize for those things. Though I’d gladly accept some sort of kickback for the job I do, which is undeniably better than my peers. Maybe some sort of justice. Maybe some sort of x-ray goggles to look through the thin layer of my faults to what should really matter anyway. Oh but that’s right….. the greedy fucks can only afford to have minimum wage workers doing minimum wage work. Anything more would be a pay cut for them.
