While packing, I found an old article I saved from the USA paper. The advice that was given was so ludicrous, I had to save it.
How kids can "bullyproof" themselves (usa weekend - March 20-22, 1998)
The following is totally true, I kid you not. The clueless creators of the Cherry Creek school bullyproof program advise kids challenged by bullies to use these strategies that make up the acronym HA-HA-SO. (this is actually advice! I did not change anything!)
H: Help. Get it or give it.
A: Assert. "Stop making fun of me. It's mean and unfair. Stop it."
H: Humor. "Yes, this is an ugly shirt. My grandma always does this to me."
A: Avoid. Walk away.
S: Self-talk. "I know I'm not really ugly."
O: Own it. "You're right; I am a Native American. Do you want to know what our culture is really like?"
They go on to say, If you see someone being bullied, intervene using the CARE strategy.
C: Creative problem-solving. "You've been giving Johnny a hard time. Tell me something you actually like about him."
A: Adult help. Find an adult if someone might get hurt. Telling to protect someone is different from tattling to hurt someone.
R: Relate and join. "My clothes never seem to match, either. Some of us just don't have any fashion sense. It's kind of funny. But no matter what, we don't make fun of other people at this school."
E: Empathy. "You shouldn't say that about Jane. I'd be hurt if you said that about me."
If you think about it, these techniques will not only focus, but speed up your child's eminent ass kicking as certain as putting a red X on your butt, bending over and selling tickets!
I especially like the "do you want to know what my culture is really like?" part. Yeah, right after you pony up the lunch money and we run your underwear up the flagpole... I also know of many a bully who's shamed into apology when you point out that what they are doing is "mean and unfair". And you try the always humorous "grandma dresses me" Joke while you're trying to extract yourself from a locker. (and this is from someone who got green and red denim pantsuits for Christmas from grandma! I'm talking vest, jacket and matching pants all in denim!) I see no snappy wit given when you're crawling out of a trash bin or being pelted with rocks and garbage.
Oh and another thing... Don't try showmanship to change bullies attitudes towards you.
In grade school, I once saw a kid bring his ventriloquist dummy to school to win people over with his act his mom taught him. He unfortunately did it in front of the class. Only the dummy fared worst than him at recess...
Whatta load of crap! Who ever thought this junk up never was a bully victim, or is seriously out of touch with real school reality. This isn't Happy Days, and the Fonz isn't gonna save your skin. He can't even jump a chicken stand in Arnolds parking lot without biffing!
who's, being one of those whos life was a living hell in school by bullies, here what I found that works:
If there is a bully always saying hes "gonna kick your ass", Get pissed and annoyed and yell,"Well goddammit! Will you do it already?! Jesus!! I'm Doing something here!!" They never do after that... Bullies crave the fear and are really cowards. Why do you think they always attack the runts and lead mobs? Show them that their intimidation is for naught, and the battle is over for them.
Bullies also always push-fight or get into headlocks, they NEVER throw actually punches. Right hook him in the happy sack, and tell him to quit fighting like a girl. The bloated oaf will go down like a deck of cards, seriously deflated in more ways than one.
Freak them out. Get a blood capsule and some ham. Pretend you're so wound up mad at his threats that you bit off your own tounge. The bully will be shell shocked and may actually vomit.
Dodging. Bullies tend to be fat bastards and it'll be like bullfighting with an old toro. They're done in 2 minutes. Also, don't walk near trashcans, open lockers, and showers. Make friends with guys even bigger than the bully in question.
Remember, bullies are just pathetic asshats that try to make there empty lives feel important by oppressing the smaller people. Remove that, and the walls crumble for the schoolyard dictator.
Now that's real life advice that'll save your bony ass any time of your life! That and get some new "advisors".
You're welcome, Cherry Creek.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Sunday, January 29, 2006
The Other Richard Simmons
Many years ago, in the era historians call the 90's, my life crossed paths with the man-child, fitness guru Richard Simmons. What is a "fitness guru"? I dunno. But I do know you don't have to show any proof that you are one. That's why he isn't "Dr." or "Nutritionist" Richard Simmons.
Anyway, I was, at the time, the assistant manager at a Super Crown bookstore in Whittier, California. Every now and then we had authors signing books, and as it so happened, non-doctor Richard Simmons wrote a cookbook. So, bingo, our store will host a signing from him on Thursday.
Tuesday afternoon, I was manager on duty (I really liked that job, and the employees were as close a friend as anyone could get). I got a page that the phonecall was for a manager. The person on the other end asked for my name and said, "Please hold for Mr. Simmons..."
What the hell was he calling now for? His "people" asked for 6 bottles of water. He's gonna get that. He wanted a "tasteful" plant. Got that ready. A padded chair, red with wrought iron frame. Scrounged that too. Did he want parade? Some fresh goats milk? Some whores?
Then, I hear a high pitched screeching voice that will haunt me forever, even with the filter of the tele-line...
"Hi, Michael! It's Richard! HIII-igh!!!
"...er... hi..." What else do you say to a 40 year old maniac in sparkle shorts and a fro?
"So, is there a HUUUUGE crowd there waiting for me? Is there magic in the air? Are you excited?!"
My pause was probably a lot shorter than it seemed. But, I never want to hear Richard Simmons ask me if I'm excited ever again as long as I live. Or, hear him say "HUUUUGE" like that. Never the less, no, there were no crowds, as it's only Tuesday and not Thursday.
So, I say after an uncomfortable pause, "What are you talking about? You're supposed to be here on Thursday..."
Then after a long long silence, I hear the voice of the devil himself. Almost an octave lower, full of venom, and not a hint of fruityness...
"...........what?......"
"You're supposed the be here Thursday..."
I then hear the sound of a hand rapidly and angrily covering the mouthpiece of a phone, some shuffling of the receiver, and I hear Richard bitching out his people!!!
"What the hell am I calling this place for?! What do I pay you for?!!..." The rest was muted grunted anger and spite. After a short time, I once again hear the rustling of a mouthpiece and a "Richard Handler" comes on and apologizes for the error and hangs up.
Thursday comes and it's a circus. All kinds of overweight people are hanging around the place. One thinish guy is carrying a pair of size 70 Levis and smoking outside. The vernerable picture of health! Inside, Richards people have actually brought in boxes of Kleenex. Boxes. From the back of the store walks a sober dower Mr. Simmons in an overcoat. A handler hands him a magic "protein" shake, downs it and five minutes later, he's like a hyperactive ritalin child. Then in swoops Richard himself, followed by throngs of beefy followers, like Christ reborn. Reborn in satin short shorts and a sequined tank top.
He immediately leaps on top of the table provided for him and sits crossed legged there like he's holding court. What about that damned iron chair ya cheese eatin' bastard! And I saw that book of yours. Three hours to make a tiny portioned rice and egg dinner. We all know you eat a fresh duck every night, made by a squad of personal cooks and chiefs.
I then see him lord over the people for an hour. His people place the most pathetic ones in front, including boat-pants Levi-man. He spends like 10 minutes with each person, gives a benediction, has them cry forever (cue Kleenix prop!), lays hand on them to cure their scurvy of something, then has his mafia escort them out after some pix and a personally signed book. He does this for about eight people for that hour.
Then he has to go! His royalty requests that all subjects open their books to the first page and he goes down the entire slashing an "X" in each book. He could have saved himself the trouble and brought a stamp with his name on it. Then his people surround him like a human shield and shuffle him out, in order to avoid Howard Strern's people awaiting for him outside the store. And back to his limo, Mr. Ordinary Person goes, to his booze and blow I suppose.
So I guess I can say, for once in my life, I was sweatin to his self important BS.
Anyway, I was, at the time, the assistant manager at a Super Crown bookstore in Whittier, California. Every now and then we had authors signing books, and as it so happened, non-doctor Richard Simmons wrote a cookbook. So, bingo, our store will host a signing from him on Thursday.
Tuesday afternoon, I was manager on duty (I really liked that job, and the employees were as close a friend as anyone could get). I got a page that the phonecall was for a manager. The person on the other end asked for my name and said, "Please hold for Mr. Simmons..."
What the hell was he calling now for? His "people" asked for 6 bottles of water. He's gonna get that. He wanted a "tasteful" plant. Got that ready. A padded chair, red with wrought iron frame. Scrounged that too. Did he want parade? Some fresh goats milk? Some whores?
Then, I hear a high pitched screeching voice that will haunt me forever, even with the filter of the tele-line...
"Hi, Michael! It's Richard! HIII-igh!!!
"...er... hi..." What else do you say to a 40 year old maniac in sparkle shorts and a fro?
"So, is there a HUUUUGE crowd there waiting for me? Is there magic in the air? Are you excited?!"
My pause was probably a lot shorter than it seemed. But, I never want to hear Richard Simmons ask me if I'm excited ever again as long as I live. Or, hear him say "HUUUUGE" like that. Never the less, no, there were no crowds, as it's only Tuesday and not Thursday.
So, I say after an uncomfortable pause, "What are you talking about? You're supposed to be here on Thursday..."
Then after a long long silence, I hear the voice of the devil himself. Almost an octave lower, full of venom, and not a hint of fruityness...
"...........what?......"
"You're supposed the be here Thursday..."
I then hear the sound of a hand rapidly and angrily covering the mouthpiece of a phone, some shuffling of the receiver, and I hear Richard bitching out his people!!!
"What the hell am I calling this place for?! What do I pay you for?!!..." The rest was muted grunted anger and spite. After a short time, I once again hear the rustling of a mouthpiece and a "Richard Handler" comes on and apologizes for the error and hangs up.
Thursday comes and it's a circus. All kinds of overweight people are hanging around the place. One thinish guy is carrying a pair of size 70 Levis and smoking outside. The vernerable picture of health! Inside, Richards people have actually brought in boxes of Kleenex. Boxes. From the back of the store walks a sober dower Mr. Simmons in an overcoat. A handler hands him a magic "protein" shake, downs it and five minutes later, he's like a hyperactive ritalin child. Then in swoops Richard himself, followed by throngs of beefy followers, like Christ reborn. Reborn in satin short shorts and a sequined tank top.
He immediately leaps on top of the table provided for him and sits crossed legged there like he's holding court. What about that damned iron chair ya cheese eatin' bastard! And I saw that book of yours. Three hours to make a tiny portioned rice and egg dinner. We all know you eat a fresh duck every night, made by a squad of personal cooks and chiefs.
I then see him lord over the people for an hour. His people place the most pathetic ones in front, including boat-pants Levi-man. He spends like 10 minutes with each person, gives a benediction, has them cry forever (cue Kleenix prop!), lays hand on them to cure their scurvy of something, then has his mafia escort them out after some pix and a personally signed book. He does this for about eight people for that hour.
Then he has to go! His royalty requests that all subjects open their books to the first page and he goes down the entire slashing an "X" in each book. He could have saved himself the trouble and brought a stamp with his name on it. Then his people surround him like a human shield and shuffle him out, in order to avoid Howard Strern's people awaiting for him outside the store. And back to his limo, Mr. Ordinary Person goes, to his booze and blow I suppose.
So I guess I can say, for once in my life, I was sweatin to his self important BS.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Tech Support Gone Bad
At my job, even though I just sell electronic merchandise, people always call me up and want me to "tech support" help them with a computer problem. You dont call an office supply store if your computer doesnt start. I don't go into a McDonalds and ask them how long to bake a twelve pound turkey! You could even ask them if their computer has a burner, and what kind. You'll get one of two answers followed after an awkward blank stare.
1). "um... regular..." Which means they have absolutly no idea what I just said. Or...
2). "ugh..it's a Dell..." Thats like ordering a part for you car, and when the serviceman asks you what kind of car is it to match the part, you say a used one. I usually follow with, "what kind of Dell?" Which goes back to number one.
Could be worse, I tell myself, it could be email technical support. Today, I give you a small sample of the daily hail of stupid people that e-mail technical support.
I know, because I was one of them at Musicmatch, makers of a MP3 player software program, for about a year. You wouldn't believe the anger we've received from this little unobtrusive program! Typical of me, I kept an ongoing collection of the cream of the crop. I put it in a book labeled "dumbass!". And, as usual, spelling mistakes galore and profanity abounds in all these mental giants. Here's a small quick sampling...
(Note: The domain names of the letters have been removed to protect the dumbass. But, the spelling is intact. My comments are in italics. Beware, some salty language is ahead.)
From: babygrrl
ur pc suck i need help on this thing well n-e ways help mei need a new burner kauze urs suck ight help meeh u mothafuqer...
(You really need to try very hard to make this many spelling errors and "babygirl" has quite a mouth on her! Well, then, i guess we need to mail her a new CD burner then...)
From: pinpear
Rip off! I down loaded to get the free up graded version of music Matchbox and it stincks! How get the old vertsion back? PLease don't ask why because you know!!!!!!
(How nice of the man to breakdown all the three syllable words to just two. And I don't know who music Matchbox is, we're MusicMatch... but, according to him, I already know all this...)
From: unknown
There is a hole in my monitor and i am afriad that musicmatchbox has put in a webcamera and you guys are watching me right now. Can you see me waving? Is that why you have a veiwing square? If so how can i see other peoples? and is that where i speak to for my cumpotetr problems??????What time do i staat? I canot find times in help files.
(wow. This person is actually living in a public city without any restrictions. Makes you feel very afraid. Ah, and that magical monitor that sucks up your soul...I swear up and down, this is not a joke.)
From: tyrano
When I try to download free mp3 Musicmast, all i got was a picture inside the screen showing the planet earth and a piece of paper going to my file on the right of the screen. As the piece of paper was going into my file a red spark (like a red astrik) whould show up. Can you help me?
(yes I can. Do you still have the box the computer came in? Great! Then pack it up and give it to someone with a clue cause you're too stupid to own an electronic device. Do you think this is her first download experience ever? Should we tell her about the spying soul-sucking monitor?)
From: unknown:
You know, Musinmatch has got to be the worst f---ing produce I've ever purchased
(y'know, I kind of dig the idea that this guy is eating our software like other fruits and vegatables and buying it at the grocery store.).
And now a collection of the worst of brain cell misfires:
...Please reply soon if i cant get assistance I will have to cancel my order. Which i did today already...
...you prick, save your patronising i'll take it further as i don't have tijme for airheads...
...sorry, but your Musikmatch for Linix is only a wine emulation with shit. Sorry for my bad english...
...I'm musicmatch DISK JORKY downtown. I want to get program but i have no money. I'm very sorry...
...dick full while accessing C:program files_musicmatch. help...
...can u fook off with these billshit e-mails... (BILLshit?)
...I'M SORRY BUT I DO NOT HAVE GIRLFRIENDS OR ANT FRIENDS AT ALL BECAUSE I HAVE C.P. AND NO ONE WANTS TO BE SEEN WITH A HANDICAPPED PERSON OK...
...the icon to go to musicbox is like a blue thingamabob with a yellow dot and he said his is a wheely looking thing...
...FRIENDS MUSICMATCH, I AM FANATIC. SEND FREE CD. I AM VERY REGARDS...
...I spent over $40.00 for a kick to the balls as far as I'm concerned...
...I am called Tomas Coins! and i write so that they say like me! To me more soon possible?...
..."Va te faire enculer salope j'encule ta grand mere" (so thats what it looks like in french! I'll let you all translate that one. But be forwarned.)
...I don't have writable CD drive. Do you offer this service?...
...I need to know how to get songs on a blank CD without a scanner...
...don't send me stuf im done with music i like games more!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!...
...i kan not inglish sorry...
Somehow, I don't feel so bad about my current customers. Lets see how long that lasts.
1). "um... regular..." Which means they have absolutly no idea what I just said. Or...
2). "ugh..it's a Dell..." Thats like ordering a part for you car, and when the serviceman asks you what kind of car is it to match the part, you say a used one. I usually follow with, "what kind of Dell?" Which goes back to number one.
Could be worse, I tell myself, it could be email technical support. Today, I give you a small sample of the daily hail of stupid people that e-mail technical support.
I know, because I was one of them at Musicmatch, makers of a MP3 player software program, for about a year. You wouldn't believe the anger we've received from this little unobtrusive program! Typical of me, I kept an ongoing collection of the cream of the crop. I put it in a book labeled "dumbass!". And, as usual, spelling mistakes galore and profanity abounds in all these mental giants. Here's a small quick sampling...
(Note: The domain names of the letters have been removed to protect the dumbass. But, the spelling is intact. My comments are in italics. Beware, some salty language is ahead.)
From: babygrrl
ur pc suck i need help on this thing well n-e ways help mei need a new burner kauze urs suck ight help meeh u mothafuqer...
(You really need to try very hard to make this many spelling errors and "babygirl" has quite a mouth on her! Well, then, i guess we need to mail her a new CD burner then...)
From: pinpear
Rip off! I down loaded to get the free up graded version of music Matchbox and it stincks! How get the old vertsion back? PLease don't ask why because you know!!!!!!
(How nice of the man to breakdown all the three syllable words to just two. And I don't know who music Matchbox is, we're MusicMatch... but, according to him, I already know all this...)
From: unknown
There is a hole in my monitor and i am afriad that musicmatchbox has put in a webcamera and you guys are watching me right now. Can you see me waving? Is that why you have a veiwing square? If so how can i see other peoples? and is that where i speak to for my cumpotetr problems??????What time do i staat? I canot find times in help files.
(wow. This person is actually living in a public city without any restrictions. Makes you feel very afraid. Ah, and that magical monitor that sucks up your soul...I swear up and down, this is not a joke.)
From: tyrano
When I try to download free mp3 Musicmast, all i got was a picture inside the screen showing the planet earth and a piece of paper going to my file on the right of the screen. As the piece of paper was going into my file a red spark (like a red astrik) whould show up. Can you help me?
(yes I can. Do you still have the box the computer came in? Great! Then pack it up and give it to someone with a clue cause you're too stupid to own an electronic device. Do you think this is her first download experience ever? Should we tell her about the spying soul-sucking monitor?)
From: unknown:
You know, Musinmatch has got to be the worst f---ing produce I've ever purchased
(y'know, I kind of dig the idea that this guy is eating our software like other fruits and vegatables and buying it at the grocery store.).
And now a collection of the worst of brain cell misfires:
...Please reply soon if i cant get assistance I will have to cancel my order. Which i did today already...
...you prick, save your patronising i'll take it further as i don't have tijme for airheads...
...sorry, but your Musikmatch for Linix is only a wine emulation with shit. Sorry for my bad english...
...I'm musicmatch DISK JORKY downtown. I want to get program but i have no money. I'm very sorry...
...dick full while accessing C:program files_musicmatch. help...
...can u fook off with these billshit e-mails... (BILLshit?)
...I'M SORRY BUT I DO NOT HAVE GIRLFRIENDS OR ANT FRIENDS AT ALL BECAUSE I HAVE C.P. AND NO ONE WANTS TO BE SEEN WITH A HANDICAPPED PERSON OK...
...the icon to go to musicbox is like a blue thingamabob with a yellow dot and he said his is a wheely looking thing...
...FRIENDS MUSICMATCH, I AM FANATIC. SEND FREE CD. I AM VERY REGARDS...
...I spent over $40.00 for a kick to the balls as far as I'm concerned...
...I am called Tomas Coins! and i write so that they say like me! To me more soon possible?...
..."Va te faire enculer salope j'encule ta grand mere" (so thats what it looks like in french! I'll let you all translate that one. But be forwarned.)
...I don't have writable CD drive. Do you offer this service?...
...I need to know how to get songs on a blank CD without a scanner...
...don't send me stuf im done with music i like games more!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!...
...i kan not inglish sorry...
Somehow, I don't feel so bad about my current customers. Lets see how long that lasts.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
...As If We Didn't Have Enough Proof Jacko Is Insane
I don't think I need to go through Michael Jackson's insanity. The simple fact that his brain isn't wired quite right. That he's 40 years old, but sees himself as a child still. Nothing wring with keeping yur child-like sensibilities...Heck, I still do. But we're talking "child-like".
Jackson says things like "poo poos" and "doo doo". And, he's very serious...
Anyway, I read about Michael shopping at a mall the other day for shoes. Seems normal enough, but as you see, his normality stops there. Like usual he's in some costume to hide himself from society. This time, he was dressed as a Muslim woman all in black robes and veils. Yes, a woman. With his mans shoes poking out the bottom from behind his posse of guards and handlers.
And yet, this isn't the weird part.
He was shopping for shoes for his kids, three of them now, I believe. They were dressed in jeans and tee-shirts. And to prove Jacko was their father, each wore a black bag on the heads covering their faces.
What the hell is going on in MKs mind?! I know he's said he covers their features to protect them from kidnappings and stuff, but placing bags on their heads?! If I wanted to kidnap Jackson's kids, all you'd have to do is grab any kids with black bags on their heads surrounded by goons and a white man/woman missing a nose! And when kidnappers usually kidnap someone, what's the first thing they do? Toss a bag over their heads! Their job is half done!
And those poor kids will grow up to think that when you go out in public to buy some Cherrios and a soda, you have to throw a sack on your face.
Lets see. Keys? Check! Wallet? Check! Burlap sack for face? Got it!
Nevermind that Michael calls them names like "Blanket", which will mean his kids will be virgins for life, like dad. No girl will want to date a guy named Blanket, no matter how ripped he might be. They would also probably say "doo doo" as well and titter afterwards. He'll never get past 1st base.
And if Jackson wanted to remain incognito, don't dress as a woman. Don't dress as a mummy with Michaels hat and glove, in a wheelchair at Disneyland. Don't dress as a ghost with shades and glitter socks at FAO Schwartz. I wouldn't at all be surprised if we next see the family all shuffling around a mall under appliance boxes with shoes made out of empty Kleenex boxes, and a homemade periscopes out of the top made out of toilet paper tubes and foil.
If I dressed up in a hat made out of meat cutlets, wearing a diaper fashioned out of egg cartons, and marched down to my local Burgerville for a grilled cheese, I'd be tazered by the police in minutes.
Hmm...Maybe I need to get some goons...
Jackson says things like "poo poos" and "doo doo". And, he's very serious...
Anyway, I read about Michael shopping at a mall the other day for shoes. Seems normal enough, but as you see, his normality stops there. Like usual he's in some costume to hide himself from society. This time, he was dressed as a Muslim woman all in black robes and veils. Yes, a woman. With his mans shoes poking out the bottom from behind his posse of guards and handlers.
And yet, this isn't the weird part.
He was shopping for shoes for his kids, three of them now, I believe. They were dressed in jeans and tee-shirts. And to prove Jacko was their father, each wore a black bag on the heads covering their faces.
What the hell is going on in MKs mind?! I know he's said he covers their features to protect them from kidnappings and stuff, but placing bags on their heads?! If I wanted to kidnap Jackson's kids, all you'd have to do is grab any kids with black bags on their heads surrounded by goons and a white man/woman missing a nose! And when kidnappers usually kidnap someone, what's the first thing they do? Toss a bag over their heads! Their job is half done!
And those poor kids will grow up to think that when you go out in public to buy some Cherrios and a soda, you have to throw a sack on your face.
Lets see. Keys? Check! Wallet? Check! Burlap sack for face? Got it!
Nevermind that Michael calls them names like "Blanket", which will mean his kids will be virgins for life, like dad. No girl will want to date a guy named Blanket, no matter how ripped he might be. They would also probably say "doo doo" as well and titter afterwards. He'll never get past 1st base.
And if Jackson wanted to remain incognito, don't dress as a woman. Don't dress as a mummy with Michaels hat and glove, in a wheelchair at Disneyland. Don't dress as a ghost with shades and glitter socks at FAO Schwartz. I wouldn't at all be surprised if we next see the family all shuffling around a mall under appliance boxes with shoes made out of empty Kleenex boxes, and a homemade periscopes out of the top made out of toilet paper tubes and foil.
If I dressed up in a hat made out of meat cutlets, wearing a diaper fashioned out of egg cartons, and marched down to my local Burgerville for a grilled cheese, I'd be tazered by the police in minutes.
Hmm...Maybe I need to get some goons...
Band Journal Entry: 3/23/91
What is with my obsession with Lisa Loeb? I like watching her "#1 Single" show and I think she's really hot. Perhaps because she doesnt seem as vapid as all those Paris Hilton wannabe's. I don't even see what people see in Paris. I would be so annoyied by her in seconds.
Maybe it's because she has real talent, but not a real big head. Maybe because she wears real glasses and doesn't try to hide the fact she needs them (although, I understand she's alergic to contacts, but she shows mucho personality with those frames...). Maybe she doesn't seem like if you'd hand her a water, she wouldn't throw it at your head screaming, "What is this crap?! I asked for chilled desani water!!!". I dunno. But all this remembering my past musical career is bringing this all back. I might even be persuaded to post a few demos here, if i could find some webspace to host it free. This aint to profit making blog, y'know...
Perhaps then, Lisa with see what a catch I really am... If i can just get her to read this blog.
I'd probably blow it though. I remember asking a girl out once in high school. My first time too. And not only did she tell me "no.", she took the time out of her schedual of crushing souls, to tell me why. That was the time I wished I had the power to dissapaite. That "why" lasted forever. I don't even remember most of it. The mind has a strange way of protecting itself from shock by shutting down.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Band Journal Entry: 3/23/91:
Recently, M.I.T. announced they were offering $10,000 for conclusive proof of psychic ability. Upon hearing the news, two things occurred to us: 1) $10,000 is the exact amount of money we need to get on the road, and 2) Our water cooler can tell the future. Granted, in a world of supernatural phenomenon a psychic drink dispenser is perhaps a little unorthodox, but for 10 g's we don't care if our crystal ball says "Sparkletts" across the front.
So we called the boys at M.I.T. and told them we had the Jean Dixon of kitchen appliances right here in our apartment. One hour later, our living room was filled with guys in lab coats scribbling furiously on small note pads while Mark attempted to extract the mysteries of life from a five gallon jug of mountain spring water.
Over the years, the cooler has communicated with us via an intricate code of bubbles and gurgles which have learned to interpet. With the M.I.T. boys in the room, however, the cooler had only one thing to say: "Bill Clinton's Attorney General will be the Michellin Tire Man.". Sensing discontent on the part of our potential benefactors, Mark went for the bluff, saying we sould get $20,000 because the cooler was psychic and had a sense of humor.
Unfortunatly, M.I.T. was totally unimpressed. So we asked them if their scientific minds would be interested in noting the effects of gravity on a water cooler dropped from a 20 story apartment building. They said it would be worth a beer, so as it stands right now, we have no idea what will happen to us in the future - except for the fact that we won't be touring soon - and we're drinking a lot of tap water...
Copywrite 1991 Pseudopod Corp & Michael Avila. No shoes, no shirt, no service...
Maybe it's because she has real talent, but not a real big head. Maybe because she wears real glasses and doesn't try to hide the fact she needs them (although, I understand she's alergic to contacts, but she shows mucho personality with those frames...). Maybe she doesn't seem like if you'd hand her a water, she wouldn't throw it at your head screaming, "What is this crap?! I asked for chilled desani water!!!". I dunno. But all this remembering my past musical career is bringing this all back. I might even be persuaded to post a few demos here, if i could find some webspace to host it free. This aint to profit making blog, y'know...
Perhaps then, Lisa with see what a catch I really am... If i can just get her to read this blog.
I'd probably blow it though. I remember asking a girl out once in high school. My first time too. And not only did she tell me "no.", she took the time out of her schedual of crushing souls, to tell me why. That was the time I wished I had the power to dissapaite. That "why" lasted forever. I don't even remember most of it. The mind has a strange way of protecting itself from shock by shutting down.
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Band Journal Entry: 3/23/91:
Recently, M.I.T. announced they were offering $10,000 for conclusive proof of psychic ability. Upon hearing the news, two things occurred to us: 1) $10,000 is the exact amount of money we need to get on the road, and 2) Our water cooler can tell the future. Granted, in a world of supernatural phenomenon a psychic drink dispenser is perhaps a little unorthodox, but for 10 g's we don't care if our crystal ball says "Sparkletts" across the front.
So we called the boys at M.I.T. and told them we had the Jean Dixon of kitchen appliances right here in our apartment. One hour later, our living room was filled with guys in lab coats scribbling furiously on small note pads while Mark attempted to extract the mysteries of life from a five gallon jug of mountain spring water.
Over the years, the cooler has communicated with us via an intricate code of bubbles and gurgles which have learned to interpet. With the M.I.T. boys in the room, however, the cooler had only one thing to say: "Bill Clinton's Attorney General will be the Michellin Tire Man.". Sensing discontent on the part of our potential benefactors, Mark went for the bluff, saying we sould get $20,000 because the cooler was psychic and had a sense of humor.
Unfortunatly, M.I.T. was totally unimpressed. So we asked them if their scientific minds would be interested in noting the effects of gravity on a water cooler dropped from a 20 story apartment building. They said it would be worth a beer, so as it stands right now, we have no idea what will happen to us in the future - except for the fact that we won't be touring soon - and we're drinking a lot of tap water...
Copywrite 1991 Pseudopod Corp & Michael Avila. No shoes, no shirt, no service...
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