Tag Archives: missing picture

Guten Tag, Berlin

For your viewing pleasure here in the Vomitorium, treat this is one of my newer paintings. I have sold it to the Ladengalerie in Berlin for the next exhibition in 2005. So if you want to see it, tadalafil get on a plane to Tegel. I promised the Kids in Germany that I would report to them once a week-ish in a language they can understand. Humorless and efficient? No, German!

Ich bit seit einer Woche wieder hier in Boston und wollte sagen das es richtig schön war, wieder bei Euch zu sein, auch wenn nur kurz. Es läuft prima bei dem neuen Job- das Büro is wahnsinnig cool, viel feiner und hübscher als das alte (Ich habe einen neuen windows xp mit einem flachem LCD Bildschirm- geil, wahr?). Ich habe auch schon angefangen einen Galerie hier zu suchen für die Ausstellung 2005 und werde berichten wenn was davon geworden ist. Mein Zimmer ensteht noch eine Explosion aus dem Gepäck. Ich habe zu viel zu tun gehabt, um mich darum kümmern zu können. Zwei Wörter: David Bowie.

Unter dieser Meldung kann man auf Comments klicken und nachrichten lassen. Also, ihr könnten meine viele Fehler beim schreiben merken oder mir einfach sagen wie toll ich bin!

Bis Bald!

Ad infinitum PANTS

This is the picture of Mr. Bowie, view Emperor of the Pants, ed that hangs right next to my computer. He is my maestro. The concert was wonderful, apart from the fact that the bulk of the crowd justify the use of the word “bulk”. Oh what an unfashionable lot! There was not an avant-garde brow on display, no Edie Sedgewicks or Candy Darlings. Even a Mandy Moore would have been nice. Well, no.

But the music is of course what transports us, what drives us screaming to our feet, arms flailing, and tears in our eyes when he plays Quicksand or Five Years. Hell, he could play the Alley Cat and with a wave of the hand, I am finished.

We are still sifting through Volumes of entries for the lucky person who gets to come along and see Lambchop have a seizure.

-xo

The Man Without A Past

I finally got to see Aki Kaurismäki’s last film, and it was just as weird and gripping and lacking in emotional display as you expect from a Finn.

I, too, am erasing my past. Bringing some more of my things back to America. It’s all crap anyway. Closing the door on old relationships. Buying new shoes and planning for an exhibiton in 2005.

Everything is changing and crazy, but it’s ok. It’s about what you expect from your lambchop. Tomorrow I will take some photos of my new work in the gallery. It’s already been purchased, expressly for the 2005 exhibition, Kampf Bilder.

Bachelor Number One

Vomitola is very pleased to present you with Steele, today’s contestant for Win A Date with Lambchop.

He is tall, golden, and silken haired. His favorite things about Lambchop include “her dark-chocolate eyes, her brazen wit, her chicken pot pie, her impish smile, and her butt”. His own self-described good qualities include “a perfect physique…kindness to animals…strength and calm…incredibly rich”. He votes Andy Gibb. Steele is perfect, with taut abs, a firm handshake, and a yacht. However, he is disqualified by virtue of being Lambchop’s former beaux.

And so the search continues!

Hello, Ian Curtis

I saw him again this morning. It has been a while (because I am late to work every day). But there he was this morning on my train, cialis The Ian Curtis Guy. He looks like him, purchase stands like him, moves like him, and most importantly he never looks happy. Of course, he also never looks at me. I have smiled and gazed in his direction (he is not good looking , he looks like Ian Curtis!) but he is far too focused on looking like Ian Curtis to pay any mind to yours truly. He stood 2 feet from me (I want to make him a sandwich and sing him “Heart and Soul” in a goofy falsetto) but then we reached our stop and he disappeared, as always, onto the harbor, leaving me once again powerless to declare “I have this friend- he looks just like Ian Curtis!”

-xo

Rock in Pictures

This is my roomie S. at our impromptu karaoke party on Saturday. I tear up when he sings I’m Not in Love. Even with the pornorific pencil moustache.

Last night one of the greatest rock bands ever was in our neighborhood. The first time I ever had a psychedelic snack, I was watching the video for Under the Milky way when they kicked in. I have not been the same ever since. Which is why I had to do a urine test when I applied for a job at a movie theater. Don’t worry, I always carry a spare. Oh but they still got it. Marty informed us that he has so much talent and charisma, it was bound to ooze onto the first two rows and coagulate there. At one point he needed a stool to support the weight of his genius. WE LOVE MARTY!

I quit my job. But I got another. I am going home to watch Bartleby.

Here are some more things that ROCK:

1. Leaving for sunny Berlin in a week-ish.

2. Orange Julius

3. Going to the roller rink this weekend.

4. Starsky and Hutch!!!

-xo

Eighteen Things to Feel Good About That Have Nothing to do With It Being A Friday

18. If you can read this, you aren’t dead.

17. Batman!

16. Venti Latte

15. Doin’ the Butt

14. Finding out that someone else who isn’t you just got fired/demoted/a bad perm.

13. The number 13

12. Swivel chairs

11. STIFF, A book on the interesting lives of cadavers.

10. Cardigans with “Lambchop” stitched to the shoulder (you should all feel good about this)

9. Anticipation of Starsky and Hutch, the Movie.

8. The Miss Gothic Massachusetts competition

7. Andy Gibb’s smile

6. Someone probably admires you.

5. Lunch dates with ex-Mormons

4. Electric pencil sharpener

3. The Microscopic Robots of the Future

2. Sun rises

1. A new little sister!

(for those of you keeping score at home, I have a potential little sister through the Big Sister program. I am going to meet her soon! Until then, I am obligated to keep her identity confidential. Stay tuned!)

Grouch the Oscars

Oh, No one needs a re-cap on how lame it was that Bill Murray didn’t win, or how much Annie Lennox resembles a papery Nosferatu. Never mind that orange effigy passing itself off as Charlize. I am primarily disappointed that there was no Nipple Spill.

At my house there was couture, pink champagne, and a small army of hecklers.

P.S. Did you see that Hansel??? He is so Hott right now.

-xo

[Co-clam’s note, since I did not want to push down that loverly shot of the true Oscar: my term for Annie Lennox was ‘gratitude leafblower.’ And Marcia Gay Harden neatly supplanted Catherine Zeta Jones as this year’s Official Flotation Device. Peter Jackson, oh jeez. He needs to be Queer Eyed, stat! That is all – CS]

Fashion Police Update

I have been encouraging the receptionist on my floor to not only Inform on those who violate the dress code, but to prepare a full Joan Rivers style report every day, on everyone’s dress. Why stop at simply policing open-toed shoes and corduroy pants (strictly VERBOTEN)? We should report the magenta blazers, the bulky shoulderpads, the cheap perfume, and the continued presence of holiday sweaters. Just this morning I saw some cellulite hugging oatmeal pants in the copy room! We should also give commendations for snazzy eyewear and slimming pencil skirts. I shall be preparing a full review for HQ!

I have not seen that old plastic faced gorgon, Ms. Rivers, do her thing at the Oscars. I have not seen an award show, or a star-studded tribute of any kind while I was in Berlin. So I actually plan to have a Grouch the Oscars night at my house. Which will involve champagne, tiaras, and lots of jeering. I suppose it will also involve watching the oscars.

-xo