Saturday, April 10, 2010

Being There

Before the Daily Show ever existed, before comedy-for-the-sake-of-being-subversive-without-penalties, within the safety net of "just kiddings," mixed into mainstream tv, Being There came to the party bringing with it an Autistic Gardener with a television addiction--to serve along side an American President's top Advisor, to become the newest, sexiest pop sensation, since soda.

An idiot garner with a heart of gold and the top people in politics will take him for a genius. Does this ring an ominous foreshadowing somehow, or amplify a political past where people were even more afraid than they are now to question authority? Both. Both seems right. And it's unfortunate.

On the other hand, what was with that walking on water bit? That was just wild. A Jesus reference? An invisible pier? I think Peter Sellers' shoes were carved out of pool noodles. They must've had little propellers in them, too, or perhaps it was just a mirage.

everyone is a creep

a Mexican kitchen worker at my job walked in on me hovering above the toilet peeing today and then just stared, down there, without leaving immediately.

It felt like I was in a terrible nightmare.

He just stared down there. I don't know what he saw, exactly.

I could swear I locked the door. I think he followed me back there.




what do ya say in that situation

this chat made my tabs crash

im a killah

facebook chat always crasheds mine

I said, oh excuse me.

And then he stared, at, it.



He stared at _____.

ur wang

I feel violated is the thing.

Tell me it's just a place; that he's not masturbating to that for months

yeah but everyone is a creep your lucky that doesnt happen more often

hahahaha no

im sure he was just in shock


Monday, April 5, 2010

Easter egging

The shock waves of an earthquake hit LA today, but I didn't feel a thing. This makes my life tonight feel extra dull, somehow. But I guess I still sat through an earthquake, whether I felt it or not.

Ned called to ask if I was okay. I told him the ground had opened up beneath me, the house was covered in dirt, and to mail me a shovel; he laughed. It was his birthday today and also Easter.

We spoke on the phone about fertility and the desire expressed by our mothers for me to get pregnant. I said: You know for nine months I won't be able to smoke or drink and I'll get fat, right? Ned said: Oh, I didn't think about that.

But these are all hypotheticals we're dealing with here, and pressure, wrapped up with everyone's quest to own the perfect living doll. I told him I'm going back to school for a Master's. You won't mind being pregnant in Graduate School?

What am I here, some sort of incubation tank? Within six months he says he plans to knock me up. And no, we're not married, and have only been dating since November 09.

My mom won't let up either. A child will be your companion, and if the marriage doesn't work out, there's always child support.

Thanks mom. Thanks for the lesson in relationship protocol. Your eggs are drying out, she says, and sometimes women experience early menopause...even though you're pretty healthy.

So on Easter Sunday, while kids comb through grass for strategically placed hard-boiled eggs, my mother's giving me a lecture on optimum egg moisture age-ranges. Is this nature? Is this obsession healthy? Selfish? What's everybody's problem? Babies are a big responsibility!

I wonder how of this is conditioning, and how much is nature. There's probably a healthy dose of boredom on top of that, too.

There should be a word coined for these factors contributing to the overall urge to plant seeds of progeny. The word should be something like "gravity" or "love" but not gravity or love. The word should be about bullying and badgering with good intent. A concept, much like death, but the opposite.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

Easter Sunday

My mother called today, as I thought
about her, in the kitchen making ham
sandwiches, on white with Swiss and
mayonnaise and chips. The phone rang
to a stop. She didn't leave a message.

Later in the day, I thought about
calling my mother back, she called
again; and this used to be strange,
but, slowly, I've gotten used to it.

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