Tag Archives: missing picture

All Tomorrow’s Pants

Fall In Love with Someone

David Bowie, the Man of the Pants, gave a stunning performance. This is the creature who invented or renewed everything I like about life in this century. He played Station to Station!!! He wryly requested that the audience not sing along to the chorus of “All the Young Dudes”. The power of that voice, that presence…it’s twitterpating, it’s Pantastic!

In addition, Clammy and I, social scientists that we are, have discovered the secret to a successful date. Only go on a Date with an attractive someone you really like, who also likes you. Thank you Mr. Drinkwater, for being a most charming escort. We scheduled all the major Date Highlights implicit in the Win a Date with Lambchop, from a nervous phone call to an awkward pause beneath the porch light.

As if it could have been any better, Helen did an excellent job of Parking and not killing anyone. Every day should be arranged to be that good!


Smashy Go Lucky

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I am fond of pointing out the beauties that I encounter in my daily bicycle ride to work. Birds nesting on tree-lined Comm. Ave., pretty girls in summery skirts, a tiny man pouring a bucket of greasy entrails into a gutter in chinatown, with a brown handrolled cigarette dangling wetly from his lips. It’s poetry! Today because of the warmth, all kinds of people are out and about town! i saw a prostitute staggering down the street wearing only a denim jacket and a large pair of underpants. She was lurching sideways, leaning heavily on some bloke, waving a smoke and grinning blearily as if life could furnish nothing greater.

It can’t!

Then I get to work and I am treated to overheard principals of office chippie dating. Hey fellas, if you are single, here is what women apparently want:

“…a man who can take me to a Mozart concert and still shake his butt around at 50 cent.”

There you have it!

PS I will be in the STUDIO tonight. Hurrah!


Drinky Song

Smashy da co-co-nut, hit it with a Mallett!

Crack it open and suck out da JOOOCE!

Lick the milk up you dirty little monkey,

wipe it off your chin, don’t be so OBTOOOOOSE!

Ok, ok, so I had some drinks the other night. Ok, i dove into a Scorpion Bowl. Nobody’s perfect. Luckily, it’s all part of the Liquid Diet. Nothing but soup broth and gin and tonics, at regular intervals. So tonight we turn up the swedish pop music and pour out the Ancient Situation and its all To Your Health!


Love Letter

My Dear Alcohol

We have been together for so long, buy you and I. When I was just a frail teen, sales you were there to soothe my broken heart. I made such a fool of myself over you. Because of you, recipe I have vomited in potted palms, but you have also made me tender and affectionate, though usually inappropriately. You left me weeping in the store-room at McDonalds, with the Cars “Drive” playing in the background.

You have never deserted me, alcohol, even when we did not speak to each other for a year after that time I slammed a car door on the arm of a girl whose boyfriend I was shagging and ended up face down in a graveyard. Our relationship has had so many varieties!

As much as I want to be with you, and have you inside me, I think we had best take a break from each other, see other people. We will always have our memories, or some hazy variation thereof.


More Meds, Please

Oh, I have been gritting my teeth all week against the pain of a gland problem that has landed me screaming on a table in the ER many times over the years. For this round, I had to wait several days from the onset of PAIN to have a second try at the surgery that is supposed to correct the problem permanently. Luckily, while I waited I received a prescription of Codeine from Dr. Roommate. Isn’t that where everyone gets their painkillers these days?

The surgery went just fine, for at the helm was a brisk German with a heavy accent and a Van Dyke. Helen was there, to talk trash with me and squeeze my paw while i felt small and tired in a blue gown. But finally the sweet sweet drugs came, and I couldn’t stop laughing and reaching for the lights over the operating table and calling for the Mother Ship. Apparently, the nurses had never heard that one before.

Afterwards, I lay in white hot pain with Helen at my side until they brought me some Percocet. She said my eyes went Anime-wide as soon as it kicked in, and I was able to enjoy the sunny afternoon ride home and sushi on the porch with her and Stu and Mr. H.

On this perky fog, I can enjoy just about anything, like getting stuck in Red Sox traffic on the way home from the hospital or being here at work the next day. To say nothing of the two yards of bloody gauze I had to extract from the surgical incision this morning. It was like that magic trick where you pull scarves out of your pocket in an endless rainbow. Only more disgusting. I bet I could even eat a lima bean or be sympathetic to the ugly and downtrodden today, without feeling put out in the least.

I wish life came with painkillers for every day.


Diese Woche habe ich unter ein sehr schmerzhaftes Druese problem gelitten. Ich wurde gestern operiert und heute geht es mir schon viel besser, besonders wegen dieses tolles Schmerzmittel!

Ich fing letze woche mit einem neuen Bild an, und ich glaube meiner kurze Aufenthalt im Krankenhaus das beeinflussen wird. Das sieht Ihr selber wenn es fertig ist.

Tick Tock Goes the Clock

I am mooning over this typewriter. It’s only 11:04 (I know, shop because I am playing “Shout out the time!”) and I am soulless and sullen already.

I ran into a former professor on the train today and had to feel automatically sheepish for having a job. Because I want to be Somebody. I feel like I should go win a Guggenheim or something. There are even some of you out there reading this that surely find it amusing that I have a job at all, sovaldi never mind one that does not involve me being spanked. In the art game being unemployed is called ambition.

I did finish a painting last night and it wants to kick your a$$.

In today’s afterschool special, I am finally meeting my Little Sister. I hope I can impress an eight year old- she might actually be bigger than me!



The vomitorium is simply not the same while Clammy is traipsing about Tokyo, ampoule offending other cultures, there eating fish that are still twitching, try and leering at strange men while her husband rattles in the grip of SARS. Oh how we kid- he just has a cold, and Clammy is not so much of a leerer as a sneerer.

I am sure every last one of you have seen this by now. I have always wanted a chicken of my very own to order around! Some friends of mine created this, and its wild success has been such that we had a chicken themed party last week, including exploding peeps in the microwave and cockspur rum. I highly recommend the Cock ´n´ Coke. Make it a stiff one!


Here Come Cowboys

Me and my pal Violet went to see the Psychedelic Furs last night. And what else can I say but it was Captain Awesome. We were right up front, kissing distance from the legendary band, and they sounded great!

The assembled fans, on the other hand, were a hideous nightmare of wattles and male pattern baldness, and lousy haircuts. People just don’t take a cue from their idols anymore. They are content to shuffle about, mouth-breathing and unkempt, watching Richard Butler slink around in slim trousers. You can’t help it if you are old and decrepit. But you can help looking it. Surely there is something better than an old man sweater lurking in your closet. I consider it an affront to show up to a rock show looking like a substitute teacher, and a poor way of paying tribute to a band that you love.

Where, oh where have all the Beautiful People gone? These halls always used to be filled with such sullen and pretty faces. Tonight I am going to stay in with Jarvis Cocker and Kitty Dukakis.