February 2005 Archives

chelsea 3-2 liverpool

fuck.

q: what do you call liverpool when they score more goals than their opponents?
a: losers.

after seeing the carling cup semi-final match where chelsea crushed man u, i figured that when liverpool faced them today, we'd be nothing but meat for the beast. riise made such an amazing goal at 45 seconds, tho, right out of nowhere, that i couldn't help but hope. victory seemed in the realm of the possible, and for the next 79 minutes, hope remained. chelsea seemed to always be in possession, constantly hammering us, but we stood firm.

then gerard knocked one in for chelsea. god damn! is there anything more humiliating, more demoralizing, than an own goal? we were 1-1 at the end of regular time. 17 minutes into extended time, chelsea scored again. and again five minutes later. we managed one more goal, but couldn't equalize.

it was an amazing game to watch, especially as the bar was absolutely packed (at 10:00 in the morning) with rowdy, vocal fans (i screamed myself hoarse). i can only imagine the insanity of a bar full of chelsea supporters...

in soviet america, flashing a tit might be worse than killing old people. and you'd better watch your language: If the bill passes the Senate, Bono saying "fucking brilliant" on the air would carry the exact same penalty as illegally testing pesticides on human subjects.

in oregon, setting fire to an suv (or three) is more heinous than rape, attacking people with an axe, kidnapping, robbery, or cutting off someone's fingers. then again, this is the same state that wanted to make life imprisonment the punishment for the crime of blocking traffic.

too many cats are illegal. so are vibrators, driving around nude covered in corn oil, and having sex with cows. (ok; those last two do make sense...)

at least you can still play tag in mehrrica.

i've been enjoying the automatic complaint letter-generator.

sample: I am really at a loss for what to say in this letter, other than to convey my shock. Here's the story: M. Fletcher insists that the sun rises just for him. This fraud, this lie, is just one among the thousands he perpetrates. He believes that arriving at a true state of comprehension is too difficult and/or time-consuming. Sorry, but I have to call foul on that one. Something recently occurred to me that might occur to Fletcher, as well, if he would just turn down the volume of his voice for a moment: Fletcher acts as if he were King of the World. This hauteur is astonishing, staggering, and mind-boggling. Still, the issue of what to do about M. Fletcher's lame-brained vaporings is far from settled. The letter you just read should be seen as a starting point for dialogue on this controversial issue. (emphasis added.)

its output is often political, but i figure it'll be useful for trolling slashdot.

here's the LIVE GIRLS!!!

tonight at sin-é
150 attorney at stanton
10:00 pm

we love the live girls!!!

"Art is long and life is short,
and success is very far off."
—J. Conrad

HST #I, R.I.P.
12/23/77

my inner ayn rand is squeamish about collaborations, but this flash piece is pretty solid. while on the subject, looters beware! ayn rand knows kung fu!

finished the fountainhead. i'm on atlas shrugged now. i love long books. so much goodness.

it's about four hours before kickstart plays death disco. god, i hate waiting.

hello, argentina! ¡hola guillermo!

last night: i was on my way to flea market to meet helen and some friends. i got a phone call with the news that an old friend had been killed. katie was hit from behind on a southern california freeway.

i haven't been in close contact with her for a while, but katie and marisa put me up, both on my first visit to the city with the intent of living here, and the for the first six weeks until i found my own place to live. i owe a little piece of my life to her.

maybe a sinister memory, but i like it: after a long night of drinking, about four in the morning, katie decided we needed something more. so we went off to avenue d. on the way, at an atm, we sort of collided with a group of four hipsters. excited about our adventure to the former alphabet city, she invited them all along, and they came. we were such a crowd, tho, that when we got to the dealer's place, he got really agitated about all the people, and wouldn't serve us.

she's really only the second person i know who's died. yesterday it went from person to people.

also: my father, who i never knew, was killed on a southern california freeway. he was hit head on, tho.

happy valentine's day!

Bender, bender,
never-ender!
Won't be sober
'til November!
—traditional

Einmal ist keinmal.
—kundera, the unbearable lightness of being

i'm back into the fountainhead again. god, i love that book. it's like the bible for grown-ups. there's everything you need: the ideal, the avatar, determinedly setting the unreachable example, the virgin/whore, even the friggin' devil. is roark a religious man? obviously; look at his buildings.

That’s a pie-crust promise: easily made and easily broken!
—m. poppins

my favorite ayn rand quote:  When a man thinks, there is a spot of fire alive in his mind—and it is proper that he should have the burning point of a cigarette as his one expression.

damn. when i first came across that line in atlas shrugged, i nearly peed. i was on the subway going to a freelance job at some ad agency. i typed it out and hung it above my desk as soon as i got to work.

Not a million miles could keep us apart...
—the hissyfits

Everybody wants to know the rumors!
Everybody wants to know the scandal!
Idle idle idle idle idle idle idle idle
Idle idle idle idle idle idle idle idle
Idle idle idle idle idle idle idle idle
Idle idle idle idle idle idle idle
Idle gossip
—the toy dolls

one week from wednesday: DEATH DISCO! kickstart's playing with the anabolics. it's been too long! and all your favorites will be there: irish icon b.p. fallon, restauranteur d.j. mojo, and independent film-maker jolly joli! don't miss it! remember: wednesday, february 16th: kickstart at death disco!

i'm not one hundred percent on this, but i'm betting he wouldn't spam my ass...