Both feet in the bucket

I'm definitely chugging some really potent hateraid today. Longing for the baseball bat to be delivered into my hands so that I can run maniacally through the streets, tears streaming down my face. The tears? Not sadness. Relief. Tears filled with cells of noxious injustices my firing neutrons were begrudgingly forced to fire for.

As I get older I become more and more aware of the lunacy and the stress, the defeat. I can't sleep at night. I can't walk down the street. All of these faces that meet me I know far removed and deep down within there somewhere lies a few sparks that haven't made their way up to the heart yet. Either life or death emanates from people's eyes. You can grasp for it and play with it if it's not there, the sparks are lacking and a drab and lifeless expression bounces back at you. I wish that I could reach down there and pluck it out and set it in their wet eyeballs.

Perhaps I am naive but I thought that the mystery would have been solved by now. Is it wrong of me to assume that one day I'd wake up and discover that I was just as excited as other people are about everything? But I'm still excited about not being excited, I'm still thinking that my greatest feat yet will be in striving to be a passionate individual.

I remember when I was a little girl, I lived in a dream world. I believed in ghosts and fairies. I believed that Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa were up there somewhere in the stars. I believed that the universe owed us all something. That the wind and the sky and the trees in all of their beauty would steadfastly deliver the dream to my waiting arms.

The dazzle has fizzled, and I don't believe in magic either. But I don't want to be inspired anymore, nor ride the coat tails of the muses, I want to inspire. Perhaps for a moment I'd accepted the task of arranging pillows as a suitable excuse to exist, but I'm tired of being the chick under the heat lamp. I want to know the reason why things sparkle.

I gave up because nobody ran with me. I guess I have to run alone if I want to refuse the mundane in passion. If for a second you had said, yes, this is it, and this is magical. Then, there'd be no excuse for me.

Serhorn, you are a piece of shit

DOPE

I must admit that it's been quite some time since I've written. I noticed that in the last few posts my capacity for angst and saucy wit was dwindling so I needed to take a break and get fired up. And today is that special day.

We're going to take some time to discuss the onslaught of vapid bloggings, with attached example. I have to thank the following blog though, for inspiring me to want to offer some alternative to the universe.

This blog that has inspired my eyes to roll back into my head several times:

http://serhorn.blogspot.com/

Actually, I think that the eye rolling goes way beyond my conscious desire to express annoyment. I think that my eyes, of their own free will, are trying to roll back as far as possible into my skull, either for fear of burning out of my sockets from viewing the trite bull crap that is this blog, or in hopes that by rolling back it will trick my body into thinking that I'm dying.

We're going to discuss this blog at length. I'm assuming first and foremost, that this blog, being written by a collective of insipid wenches, cleverly melded their names together to form the "serhorn" nomenclature. Contrary to my initial musings that perhaps these colorless jezebels named it after their favorite dungeons and dragons character, or shall I say "fave?"

Hand gesture courtesy gentleman pictured at right is the easiest route towards douchebag designation.

Reasons why we hate serhorn:

When I dip, You dip, We dip
Coffee makes your teeth yellow, so I just stay away from it. If I am drinking coffee, it's cold and through a straw. So, since i try not to do coffee, i still need my morning caffeine fix...Enter: McDonalds Large Diet Coke. I love diet coke. Like with my whole heart and soul I love it. So, don't judge, but every morning, I stop at McDonalds and get a diet coke. There is no better diet coke than a McDonalds Diet Coke. The big straw and the big cup make all the difference. While I am there, I get a nice little snack to compliment my boring (Whole Wheat toast with Jelly) breakfast...McDonalds Apple Dippers!!! Yay!

"I love diet coke. Like with my whole heart and soul I love it."

Next up:

Vocabulary. It's the most foul aspect of this shitty blog. Somewhere and at some time some stupid asshole decided to start creating slang for otherwise perfect words in the English Language. As a disclaimer, slang is necessary for the evolution of any language. But in this case it's as though the idiotic trendy clubs these floozies go to took a drunken shit on their brains and the words that came out became code for another coked up reason to be trendy.

Serhorns guide to words and phrases bought at http://www.shopbop.com/

delish = delicious

dope = that's cool

totes = totally

hamps = the hamptons

dude the fromage sitch was ridic = anna nicole smith? paris hilton? what?

nuf = enough minus four letters plus one it makes no sense, but then again, nothing does

tho = just an excuse to type less letters, but we're skeptical that we just don't know how to spell the word "though"

it's also customary to add a z to the end of practically everythingz

sick = akin to dope but emphasis on SO cool it's almost making me sick.

yes, it's making me sick:

Packing for the Wknd
Ahhh Summer. iFeelin skinny today so I am gonna pack assuming i will be skinny all weekend, which means white wine instead of champs and diet coke instead of mixers and dancing instead of eating. Ugh I'm already hungry. Anyways, iTried to pick out shizzz that looks hot with the new tan...

This may be too obvious to mention how fucking stupid that post is, which is followed by some delightfully informative images of what this bitch will be wearing all weekend.

Need I go into this blog at depth? Does it speak for itself? What is my point exactly? Perhaps these ladies in person, when you get to know them, beyond the facade of cliches that they've painted themselves with are wonderful human beings. But for the time being, why must they perpetuate that which is so easily accesible and fall prey to ready trends? This including fashion, food, hot places to see and be seen, and as minutely down to their choice in verbal or written expression. Can't we be more creative, and unique?

Gonna go to our beach house in the south shore this wknd and throw Blakey a dope ass birthday party. Following wknd is the hamps again. Need new camera. Love u all. xo.

making it all right

RE-INVENT

hello bitches. today is glorious. last day of the exhibit. though i will not say where, how or when, because i've got enough stalkers. everyone is coming in today. moms with their brothers, little kids and babies, aunts and uncles and dogs. tulips and shenanigans. i gave a tour to the co-curator's (aka, man with a lot of money) children this morning, i even gave them cupcakes. "here, i understand that you never see your daddy, here's his name in the catalogue, and here's a cupcake." i am FULL of love. i have opened my arms, put all of my well sharpened knives in drawers and smiled, giggled and danced for your idiosyncracies. DEAR HUMANITY, i love you.

i also love the fact that i have given up on capitalization. it's such a drag. a momentary observation would include recognizing individual's physical "faults" as they were. ie; BUGGY eyes. capitalize THAT for effect. big blue buggy eyes begging to release themselves from the skull that holds them back from their hopes and dreams.

anyways.....i've been keeping a tally of how many times the "gorgeous" flower arrangment is mentioned. we're up to 10 times. but i think that i've lost track somehow. wait, we're up to 11, 12, 13. we had a triple hit.

i'm going to harness something or other in just a moment. LACK OF INSPIRATION. the one and only solution to this has been coffee and love. and gorgeous flowers. i have the coffee, but where is the love? oh yes, it is within me. and flowing out of my eyes and fingernails like lo pan.

LOVE....and lots of it.

it began with pierre robert and ended with cool ranch doritos

a co-worker and i went out for after work drinks. or, after work at work drinks complete with an impressive spread of cheese, fruit, bread, olives and champagne. we then went upper east side bar hopping, thinking that drink after drink we'd eventually bring ourselves to a more glamorous part of town. not that i'm about glamour (because i'm not), but, i'm saying it sort of feciciously.

ANYWAYS. sports bar, sports bar, sports bar. there's really not much to do on the upper east side, other than loathe humanity and drink free drinks and eat free food at a sotheby's auction preview party.

so, the bread and cheese not really providing any foundation for this, and still challenging myself with the four inch heels i thought were a good idea, post 3 rum and cokes the previous evening (note: do not buy shoes while tipsy), i was successfully stumbling around like a drunken fool, and it was only 8pm.

but this isn't really when all of the interesting stuff happened. i grabbed a cab to go back home, to my beloved greenpoint (halleluiah), and steadfastly passed out. i woke up, thinking immediately that it was 1am, and i was correct.

verdict: STARVING. i walked to the local pizza counter. unfortunately it was closed. then i saw the b61 bus careen past me. of course. because it's 1:30 am now, and obviously this is prime commute time, versus 9:30 on a monday morning.

my point is that the out of doors greenpoint at 1am without intoxication, or at least a tiny twinge of intoxication but not skewing my perception is quite entertaining. first of all, it's creeptastic. if you want someone to stare into your soul with a piercing black gaze as though they want to completely bypass divine grace and commit a mortal sin in your honor, now is the time.

also, i witnessed something akin to 8 mile. to refresh you memory:

it was just like that, only no white people were invited. 40's were.

So, then three guys asked me where they could buy booze. after thirty serious seconds of answering their question politely, i realized that one of them looked like this:

i got the feeling however that this was not a kiss tribute, or consequence a kiss theme party, but rather that they had just been burning bibles and sacrificing neighborhood strays (children included) around the corner and now needed a six pack. but hey, who am i to judge?

my goal of attaning the perfect slice of pizza was not realized. i did get a ginger ale and a bag of cool ranch doritos. are cool ranch doritos simultaneously the most digusting and gratifying thing ever invented? that and anything colored blue that is for consumption.

i also got a can of mac and cheese. yes, a can. why are canned noodles like eating wax, and why are they a concerning shade of marigold? because they're canned.

just when you thought i couldn't get classier this evening, i turned on the television. utter disappointment. here's a listing of quality viewing that i found:

1. some unidentifiable crappy law show that has that almost film noir-esque lighting but not as stark a contrast.

2. an infomercial on a portable clothing steamer.

3. another unidentifiable crappy law show.

4. a Z-list movie

Then, enter the amazement zone. I forgot about soul train. Yes, soul train. I was so excited that i took a bunch of videos using my camera to record this. (spare me the commentary of apparent boredom that would illicit this response, besides, i AM meanwhile eating marigold hued wax consistency noodles, you should be over this by now).

This man officiates soul train, and i'm now sort of in love with him. he's really calm and cool, but says the most amazing things like, "alright, now we're gonna warm it up and bring it on in" sort of bordering on sexual innuendo to blantantly sextastic, but in the same cool as a cucumber, i could seduce you if i were locked in another room type way. That guy for president.

you can read about soul train here: (if you don't, you're a racist)

Soul Train, the first black-oriented music variety show ever offered on American television, is one of the most successful weekly programs marketed in first run syndication and one of the longest running syndicated programs in American television history. The program first aired in syndication on 2 October 1971 and was an immediate success in a limited market of seven cities: Atlanta, Cleveland, Detroit, Houston, Los Angeles, Philadelphia and San Francisco. Initially, syndicators had difficulty achieving their 25 city goal. However, Soul Train's reputation as a "well produced" and "very entertaining" program gradually captured station directors' attention. By May of 1972, the show was aired in 25 markets, many of them major cities.
The show's emergence and long standing popularity marks a crucial moment in the history of African-American television production. Don Cornelius, the show's creator, began his career in radio broadcasting in Chicago in November of 1966. At a time when African Americans were systematically denied media careers, Cornelius' left his $250-a-week job selling insurance for Golden State Mutual Life to work in the news department at WVON radio for $50.00 a week. It was a bold move, and clearly marked his committed optimism. By seizing a small opportunity to work in radio broadcasting, Cornelius was able to study broadcasting first hand. His career advancement in radio included employment as a substitute disc jockey and host of talk shows. Radio broadcasting techniques informed Cornelius' vision of the television program Soul Train.
By February 1968, Cornelius was a sports anchorman on the Black oriented news program, "A Black's View of the News" on WCIU-TV, Channel 26, a Chicago UHF TV station specializing in ethnic programming. Cornelius pitched his idea for a black-oriented dance show to the management of WCIU-TV the following year. The station agreed to Cornelius' offer to produce the pilot at his own expense in exchange for studio space. The name Soul Train was taken from a local promotion Cornelius produced in 1969. To create publicity he hired several Chicago entertainers to perform live shows at up to four high schools on the same day. The caravan performances from school to school reminded the producer of a train.
Cornelius screened his pilot to several sponsors. Initially, no advertising representatives were impressed by his idea for black-oriented television. The first support came from Sears, Roebuck & Company, which used Soul Train to advertise phonographs. This small agreement provided only a fraction of the actual cost of producing and airing the program. Yet, with this commitment, Cornelius persuaded WCIU-TV to allow the one-hour program to air five afternoons weekly on a trial basis. The program premiered on WCIU-TV on 17 August 1970 and within a few days youth and young adult populations of Chicago were talking about this new local television breakthrough. The show also had the support of a plethora of Chicago-based entertainers. As an independent producer of the program, Cornelius acted as host, producer and salesman five days a week. He worked without a salary until the local advertising community began to recognize the program as a legitimate advertising vehicle, and Soul Train began to pay for itself.
The Soul Train format includes guest musical performers, hosts, and performances by The Soul Train dancers. Set in a dance club environment, the show's hosts are black entertainers from music, television and the film industries. The dancers are young women and men, fashionably dressed, who dance to the most popular songs on the Rhythm and Blues, Soul, and Rap charts. The show includes a game called "The Soul Train Scramble" in which the dancers compete for prizes. The program's focus on individual performers, in contrast to the ensemble dancing more common in televisual presentation, has been passed down to many music variety shows such as American Bandstand, Club MTV, and Solid Gold.

Dear soul train, i'm going to set my alarm for you.

Anyways, that's really all that i've got tonight. robert pierre, cool ranch, marigold noodles, and soul train.

habitual excellence

'when virtue has slept, it will arise all the more vigorous'.

"Genuine honesty, assuming that this is our virtue and we cannot get rid of it, we free spirits – well then, we will want to work on it with all the love and malice at our disposal, and not get tired of ‘perfecting’ ourselves in our virtue, the only one we have left: may its glory come to rest like a gilded, blue evening glow of mockery over this aging culture and its dull and dismal seriousness!" Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil

That's all the heady material I have at my disposal today. It started off right, with an extremely strong cappuccino complete with a beautiful ratio of espresso to milk to froth. I outdid myself really. Yes, this trip to a Parisian cafe, courtesy yours truly. Okay, I can't take complete credit, Capresso was my crutch towards caffeinated divinity.

What am I reading right now? Apocalypse 2012. I went to the book store, in search of the perfect book. I've tired of the late 19th century classics. I'm not sure how this happened. I did a binge and purge? I am no longer interested in subtlety? All of those books say that society was SHOCKED by the lascivious nature of the book.....and I enjoy that. There's really no mention of sex, or seduction in them. But somehow these people smarter than me, even without the perfect cappuccino were able to pick up on these innuendos and emerge from it with mouth agape. "My! I do say." Maybe I just spent too many days in college picking my clothes off the floor of various gentleman's bedrooms. Just kidding dad.

Anyways, back to the imminent doom of if not 90% of the world's population, at least the Northern Hemisphere. I don't know. This book written by someone I've never heard of before, who has a myspace profile, and all of his "friends" are skanky, scantily clad females, (but I don't know, maybe they're selling cell phones or something), is pretty good. The scientific research is pretty thorough, and he does touch base on many factors that could lead to a rebirth of our civilization, including what is considered scientific fact as well as questionable prophecies and what have you.

I say bring it on. I'm kind of bored. Emerson said that all we need lies within us. I mean, sure. Yes, I believe that. But I also think that maybe our souls or the fibers of our beings and the cells as parts of this universe also react to fluctuating natural changes. It's sort of like how a woman's special time is in sync with the phases of the moon. Maybe our bodies CRAVE change and readjustment towards harmony with nature.

But I really don't care about all of that. I think it's time for the world to see some change. Mother Nature should kick some ass. Time for the Northern Hemisphere to be shrouded in a volcanic winter that results in the next ice age. I'm frightened and curious to see the reaction of humans during the inevitable crisis. I might start placing bets. GW is in a rocket in about 30 seconds. To wherever. Whatever strong hold they reserve for idiots.

In short...this is FASCINATING to me. And we have greatly underestimated our connection to the universe. I think that the flux between the sun and ourselves and the earth's naturally occurring processes are all interrelated, as perhaps scientists have known all a long. A sun storm encourages storms on earth, fluctuations in temperatures and radiation from the sun affects the earth as though it were a living being.

But anyways, I'm starting to sound like I'm on an acid trip, so I'm going to drop it. The high point of all of this of course is the fact that everything that seems petty or annoying is diminished somewhat. As I deal with people at work, and clients that come in with various "problems." They always have a problem, because they can afford to have problems. I just think to myself, It's okay, because the super volcano is going to erupt, or we are going to be pelted by waves of radiation from the sun, consequence an X45 sun storm. Which by the way, has only happened once in history, and if it had been directly aimed at us, there would have been some sizzling and frying.

At which point...those living off of the land will probably survive. And the rest of us, distracted and misguided by all the extra shit will be useless.

You may want to rethink how you treat hispanic delivery men, because there's a good chance you'll be asking Juan if you can stay at his grandparent's house in South America.

Speaking of hispanic men. This morning I was waiting for the bus and I saw the old man I see every day. He's always whistling some creepy little tune, and he always stops in front of me to say hello. So this morning, he walks past again, says hello, and then comes back for another round to which it proceeds as follows:

Old man: "I sorry to interrupt your reading."

Me: "That's okay."

Old man: "But I love you."

Me: "uhhhh. Thank you" (Which is my usual reply to that statement).

Old man: "Maybe you love me too?"

Me: "Um, Maybe" (Trying to be polite).

Old man: "I come to see you every morning. I come back tomorrow morning to see you."

Me: (Thinking to myself), Time to rearrange my schedule.

I can't WAIT to be dismembered in his basement. Hopefully, the sun's velocity increases before 2012, before he finds out where I live.

That's all for today.

Much love and apocalypse.

hatin in 08

In lieu of a promised dedication to a very special friend, I'm going to be writing in observance of the holiday season, before the New Years tidings have long expired and it gets weird.

This post also in observance of my totally self-pitying, shitty mood tonight. It all began with getting out of bed. Rain was falling outside, you could hear it on the window sill, and the bedroom was shrouded in that perfect light that encourages sleep, or at least a lazy day in bed.

I contemplated "taking a personal day," but alas, I am up to my shit in shitty shit momentarily, not to be alleviated for several days.

Not even Hillary Clinton can solve this. It takes more than a village to raise my spirits Hill. By the way...her "choke up?" I can't even come to terms with it. Cannot. Were we all duped New Hampshire? What we need is a, "Political Campaign Tactics for Idiots" book to be published.

But I digress. What I really want to talk about is my hates for 2008, reflecting on 2007. Well, I will throw in some loves, but my sour mood won't allow for the happiness quota this evening.

Here we go:

1. Dear hipster girl that waits for the bus with me every morning. Stop staring at the rest of us in condescension and pity for our mediocre, conformist lifestyles. I get it. You listen to a band with the word dinosaur in its title, and the bassist dresses up like a robot! You still shop at Urban Outfitters, now go make me a latte.

2. People that melodramatically express their distaste with smokers. The hand wave in front of the face, the scrunched up expression of disgust, the pathetic "cough, cough." You're cramping my style.

3. Academics that over use the word "convoluted." Your use of the word convoluted is making me want to convolute you and shit.

4. Girls. Ladies. Bitches. Stop taking that girl group picture that you all take that looks exactly the same, consists of the same people, in which you all have the same expressions. We get it. You're wild and wacky! A quirky crazy bunch that lives for crazy girl power awesomeness and pictures where you're doing crazy wacky stuff that only you would do!! Can you at least be entertaining and wear shirts that detail the stds that each of you has?

5. Vampires. I still like them. Where are they?

6. Dear B61 bus. It is obviously VERY over between us.

7. John Mayer. I don't understand you. Perhaps I never will.

8. Harry Schwartz. I think that's your name. You're the president, director, master henchman, owner, general or whatever it is they call you of Starbucks. You made your employees work on Christmas Eve...and Christmas. My barista crush and I discussed this at length, for several days. He's the only reason I go to Starbucks. He says that it's 21st century slavery. And he's black, so he knows what he's talking about. Dear Mr. Schwartz. You're kind of an asshole to me now, while previously I had at least respected the fact that you provided good health insurance to your employees. I can't even imagine the type of person that goes to Starbucks on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I bet they are all douchebags, dipshits, and assholes.

9. SIGH. Why do you go to a bookstore to talk on your damn cell phone? I am not in the poetry section to listen to your conversation to your friend about the date you went on, and how you're going to go to dinner again, and how he was gently chiding you in a flirtatious way about you were in his neighborhood and didn't even call him. First of all....maybe you didn't call him because he's a douchebag, but probably not because you just said you were going on another date with him...which is a big mistake. His oh so coy! tactic of making you feel like you were missed is boring to me. I'm done with him. You should find someone new.

10. Dear champion coffee. I love you. Your baristas are nice and slightly hipster but not in that obnoxious way. Also, one of you is from Wisconsin, and I can respect that. Your coffee really makes me feel better. The only person I don't like that works there is the curly haired guy that I heard arguing with the owner of the liquor store about wanting to return his already opened and half consumed bottle of wine. You are either exceptionally rude and deceitful, or just really dumb.

11. I love my bitches. Dear bitches near and far, you make my life complete. You are not feminine to a degree that makes me want to slice and dice you. If you are feminine, you are still reasonable. Despite your tendency towards appreciating blood, gore, death, hatred (that means you nichole), and general distaste for humanity, I know that you are good people that have my back no matter what.

12. Crap television, smut internet "research." I'm lumping this into one lovable category. I love crap TV, kitschy websites and really hilarious websites that don't mean to be. I love you. You are like a circle to me, no beginning and no end. I want people to stop saying, "kill your tv." There is a lot to learn. I promise. As long as you know that it's this crazy fun fantasy land of bull shit that brain washes people. Kudos to you Fox News. You make me laugh.

13. godhatesfags.com I hate you. I loathe you. I am sort of ashamed that you make me hate. But at the same time, it feels kind of funny to me. The antithesis of what any sort of higher power would teach is exactly what you are. Congrats. Thumbs up. Keep on a keepin.

14. This is sort of an ongoing pet peeve. Grammar nazis. Okay, if you're working on your thesis or dissertation....yes, it's time to call it out. Don't get me wrong, I'm just as off put when someone mistakes your for you're or its for it's or whatever. But give me a fucking break. You're not a Pulitzer prize winner. Get over yourself.

15. Swearing. I love it. Fill that swear jar up with quarters and dollars please. There is nothing like a swear word to really add a period to the end of a sentence or just...well, extend a lovely fuck you and fuck yourself and fuck it and .... It's almost as good as Vampires.

16. Dearest darling jobby job. You put wrinkles on my face this year. You've probably grayed my hairs, but I wouldn't know it, because it's been too many shades of pink to black to purple since 1999. I owe a premature death to you and the landmark.

17. Home sweet home. I don't want to leave your confines. Why would I go out there?

18. Karma. I believe in you. I can't wait for you to deliver the bitch slap x10 to those that need it.

19. Champagne. I love you. I want you now.

That's all I have for now. I may need to continue later. I have cocktails to concoct and voo doo dolls to stab.