Sinister: Very, very little B&S content

[Derek Porter]

Hmmm. Ok, first off, Lola the Embryonic Crusadah's post made me laugh. I
think that, for the time being, I love her. There is nothing in the world
funnier than people who fall down. Especially unwittingly, due to poorly
arranged skateboards.

Also, I too have always wondered what's up with the "what's up" greeting.
The recipient either says nothing, or gives some smart ass answer.
Me: Hey pal, what's up?
Them: Nothin'
or
Me: Hey pal, what's up?
Them: The stock market!! (followed by a chuckle and a snort)
And more often than not, I don't really give a dry fart.

My life today feels very much as if it were being written by someone with a
complex. Or maybe a simplex. An example:
Me: (on the telephone) I'd like to schedule a UPS pick up this afternoon
please.
Them: What are you shipping today?
Me: A stuffed animal.
Them: Have you been made aware of UPS's guidelines regarding the shipping of
stuffed animals?
Me: (long pause), huh?
Them: (repeats question)
Me: (another long pause) You have guidelines for shipping stuffed animals?
Them: (reads guidelines for shipping stuffed animals) do you have any other
questions?
Me: (short pause) Um..., no. Can I have someone pick up my shipment today?
Them: No sir. We cannot schedule pickups here.
Me: (starting to get dizzy) What?
Them: You'd have to call 800-blah,blah,blah to schedule a pick-up today. But
now it's too late, because that office closed five minutes ago. You'll have
to call them tomorrow. (I suppose this would be more pertinent if it were a
dog on wheels, but it was only a stuffed deer.)

That's mostly how my day has gone so far. I put at least some of the blame
on the Sundance Channel for showing Meeting People Is Easy last night. I
watched in awe as Radiohead suffered through an oppressive schedule of
flashbulbs and microphones and hotel rooms. I remembered seeing their
concert in New York City, sitting a stones throw away from Marilyn Manson
who, inexplicably, was up in the balcony with the rest of us. The movie was
very
unsettling, and I spent a good deal of time afterwards sitting on my comfy
chair putting on, then removing, a stocking cap that I bought in Wyoming.
Then I sat in my bed and learned the chords to Fake Plastic Trees, and then
to Judy and the Dream of Horses, and finally to Get Me Away From Here I'm
Dying. I should have gone to sleep at that point, but I didn't, and ended up
writing in my journal until daybreak, when I sat on my front porch and
watched the sunrise and wished that I still smoked cigarettes. Now, sleep
deprived and malnourished, my day is resembling a weeklong Mekong Whiskey
binge, where I can't quite grasp my fingers around what is transpiring, but
it all transpires nonetheless.

Since everyone seems to be knitting scarves and mittens now, I thought it
might be relevant that I went to see the Knitters last Saturday at the
Crocodile. My girlfriend didn't want to go, as she considers the Knitters
record to be "hick shit". I've explained it the best I could, but she held
her ground, as did the other "friends"  I invited, all citing lame excuses
as reasons not to go. I think that they mock me when I'm not around. Fuck
them. I went and had a great time all by my lonesome.

Now I've just read Brad's note, and I don't feel so bad. I'm not bleeding
and I'm entirely unconcerned about my wang being unsuitable company for my
testicles or my butthole. I think that the amusing anecdotes of my inner
thighs keep them all at peace. Which suddenly reminds me of a quote, "Don't
be the kind of person who sits around talking about their genitalia." - Hank
Hill. I'll not do that anymore.

I'm beginning to wonder if I should move to France? Maybe I should just get
a dog. The only thing I'm sure of at the moment, is that I ought to avoid
crowds. I don't think I could handle a crowd today.

My lord. I've re-read this note, and it reads a bit disjointed don't it? If
anyone want's to criticize or "sass" me, please do it privately, or behind
my
back like the rest. I'm off to buy a taco.

Derek


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