Back in the day, waaay back in the day (seriously, I'm talking extreme far back to the actual day when Monday showed up as a real day.) Monday had happy feet. The kind of feet that would pick themselves up with glee - and carry him with springy muscles towards his doom. But after the centuries passed, and it became obvious that not many people ever looked forward to his arrival, those feet began to plod.
He began to take on, instead of a bright outlook on life - (as he truly believed the world was going to give him what he wanted) he took on a grim delight at people's dread of his arrival. Sometimes, Monday would even postpone his arrival by a few hours...just to make people squirm. Who was going to complain? Tuesday? Wednesday? Hell, just the threat of, "Well, you can always switch places if you don't like the job I'm doing." Was enough to get anyone off his back.
But today, today was his day, and he heard it everywhere. It was whispered through the matter of the universe, and it said, "Badass."
He heard it when his feet hit the sidewalk. "Badass."
He heard it from the thumping beats of passing cars. "Badass."
He heard it echo from his reflection in storefront windows. "Badass."
There was no denying it today, "Badass," a tree whispered through it's leaves as he passed. He was going to take the cruel joke the fates had played upon him, and use it to the best advantage.
He passed blocks, and apartment buildings, and strip-malls and parks. Each step the ground trembled with dread. Then a pack of trick-or-treater's dressed up as princesses and ghouls and cowboy's walked into his space.
"Hey Mister!" They said, "What are you supposed to be?"
"I'm from the dark place that you fear." He spoke quietly, "The place you never want to go, but you will..."
"No you're not!" Said a cowboy.
"You don't look like my basement!" Said a ghoul.
"Yer not that scary." Said a princess.
He adopted the most fearsome look on his face, and shoved it at them. "OH NO!? FOOLISH CHILDREN, LOOK UPON THE FACE OF MONDAY!" All screamed and then took to their heels, except for the princess. She looked at him like she understood a magic-trick, but couldn't quite see how it was done.
"You're not that bad." She said quietly.
"Hm, no little girl?" Then he reached out a hand, and placed it on her shoulder. Then through the touch, he imparted all the knowledge upon her short years, of what Monday would mean to her in the future. Her face grew older, her eyes saw terror, and her body knew suffering. She screamed, "I was wrong! I was wrong!" Then she pulled away and ran after the others.
"Well," Monday said to himself, "I guess she learned her lesson." And continued to walk. He passed a bus stop, it said to him, "Badass..."
Happy Halloween.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Friday, October 28, 2005
Friday Emerged From the Haze
like the Isle of Avalon. (small side note here...I was just looking thru the history of one itty-bitty-city called London...did you know it was once completely taken over and run by the Vikings (much like a good chunk of England all together) the proud peoples who called the original land of Fjords, their home? Well, if you didn't, or you did and you forgot, now you do.(um, again))
Let's continue this fjord-dweller thread for a sec. Thanks to a quick google search and a handy Viking God website, I knocked into this...
Freya, or Freyja, was the goddess of beauty and love. A beautiful, blonde, blue-eyed young woman, she was the sister of Frey and in later traditions the wife of Odin.
Freya claimed half of the heroes slain in battle, carrying them to her realm of Folkvang in Asgard. Most of her myths concern attempts by the giants to abduct her. In Teutonic mythology, she was named Frigg. Friday is named after her, Freitag in German and vrijdag in Dutch.
Shit.
It's a known human characteristic to give human traits to animals and objects, it's called anthropomorphism. When I started all this "weekday persona" crap back in the day, I just figgered, "why not make them all dudes, then if you have to bash-em, you won't get the feminists all up-in-arms over some slight, which was really a response to how a particular weekday treated me...after all most women, like weekdays, are pretty touchy. However, with the weight of an entire website against me, I will change the King of All Weekdays, to the Queen of All weekdays. Here we go!
The Queen of All Weekdays lay in a bed surrounded by sheer silken sheets. She stretched her arms above her head, and then ran her fingers through her long blond hair. A pillow had somehow slipped under the small of her back, and the illusion was one of a perfect pin-up model pose. Her nipples stuck out through...
Fuck. This is never going to work. It's always going to degenerate into porn. And without pictures, porn just don't have the plot maluability that you (Fjord Readers) are going to demand. Viking God Website...Fuck ya'. In my world Friday's King!
(Let's start this again...)
Friday sits up from his throne. (it's a massively cushioned lay-z-boy implanted in which are the latest techno-gadgets (and some that haven't yet been invented.)) He's just awoken from having dozed off while Thursday was mumbling some kind of story.
"I just had the most wonderful dream." The Big Daddy of Weekdays mutters. Then he realizes where he is. "Whaaa?"
"As I was saying," Thursday looks a little perturbed, "I was looking for something to puke in...it wasn't a Roman Villa with a built-in vomitorium, it was a one bedroom apartment, and all the woman had were some of those Chinese food to-go boxes. So I figgured..."
"No!" Says Friday, getting his bearings. "I mean, Whaaaat are we going to do today?"
Wednesday chimes in, "Same thing we do every Friday, Friday. Try and take over the world!"
For some reason this cracks the whole room up, except Friday.
"That's not what I ment." He speaks softly.
"Well it is kinda' spooky this week-end." Tuesday begins, "Perhaps we should find someone to...ahem...spook."
"That's not bad. But that honor actually belongs to Monday." Friday finishes with a declaration.
"About time I get some frikken honor around here..." Monday speaks softly. The others are a tad confused.
"I think what we're going to need..." Friday pulls the lever, lowering the foor-rest back into the Lay-Z-Boy and sitting up, "Is a whole new construct."
"Whaddaya mean?" Asks Tuesday.
Cut To:
The Digital Wall (remember? it ended with something like this...What will happen to D.Tsunami? What's at the top of the mysterious digital wall, and why is he climbing it!!? Who would really win in a mano-y-mano object battle to the death, Crampon? Sink? Or does Computer have an Ace of Snakes up it's sleeve? And do the writers even have an inkling of an idea of where this is going? Riiiight...of course you do.)
Tsunami climbs to the top of the wall, and, and well...lets slow this up just a touch, and talk about something that I've been thinking about. Suppose you find a cave, and want to climb down into it. Now, suppose this cave is like, well, a cave that leads through the center of the earth and (if yer from the U.S. of A.) it leads straight thru the planet and ends up in China. There's going to be a strange moment (if you were committed to such a trip) where you stop climbing, and start falling. It only makes gravitational sense, no?
Well, in this particular narrative, one D.Tsunami doesn't find out about this clever (cleaver?) little gravitational trick until he's exactly one handhold away from the top of the wall. He begins to fall.
"Fucking shit!" He shouts. (to no one...as the cameraman has been killed by a random falling porcelain sink, however, (for some reason) we're still there...cool huh?) The edge of the wall shoots past him, and a split-second before the wall passes his waist, he launches his ice-axe in a motion that would make an old looting, raping, pillaging Viking very proud...crams it into the world before he falls off.
Tsunami hangs from the edge of the world for a moment, only by a straining right hand. Legs, gear, scarf...hang downwards, pulled by a strange gravity into the void. Then he grabs onto the axe with his left. Then he lifts himself up. Using the axe handle as a lever, he puts his left leg onto the ceiling (roof? top?) As soon as he does, gravity (that tricky bastard) reverses itself, and he falls in a heap back to the ground. He repeats hjimself.
"Fucking shit!"
Pulling the axe out of the ground, he takes stock. Trees, grass, and a couple of beach chairs, lie between him and a huge temple. They're all made out of the same crazy matter...black with a bunch of yellow (or is it off-white?) zero's and one's. It's like at the end of the Matrix, when Neo figgers out what the hell is going on. He heads past the beach chairs and approaches the temple.
Cut To: Friday's Throne Room
Tuesday repeats himself.
"Whaddaya mean?"
With a crash, the doors of the room are thrown open. Standing there is Tsunami, clad in a parka, knit-cap, with snowpants, crampons, ice-axe and sunglasses.
Friday stands.
"If it isn't my favorite oddball digital construct...Dario Tsunami!" He moves forward across the room. "Man is it good to see you!" He gives Tsunami a big hug.
"Hey King of All Weekdays." Tsunami says, patting Friday on the back. "Whaddaya mean," He disengages himself from the hug and makes "quotation marks" with his fingers, "Construct?"
"Well, I was just saying we needed a whole new construct, and what are you? Something made to represent something that doesn't exist."
"Wait..." Says Tsunami...
"No," Continues Friday, "yer like a cartoon tidal-wave, a Leggo Bhudda, a chicken McNugget in a magazine! You should exist, but you don't. That's why I..." He turns to the other weekdays, who stand there agape, "That's why I love this guy!"
A moment of silence passes before the Hunchback speaks.
"Ahem..." Wednesday clears his throat, "I, umm, well the thing is..." And then, as what usually happens to Wednesday, his moment is broken by a tremendous shout. More of a battle cry. And then the Vikings show up.
They got axes. They got moustaches. They got shields and horned helmets and breastplates. They're thick in the waist, and they got belts with big buckles to hold up their breeches. They got spears, and they got daggers, and they got swords and they got axes. It's a fucking army of looting, raping and pillaging Vikings, and they're led by a beautiful blond blue-eyed maiden.
Monday shouts - "Quick, to the armory!"
Friday's bodyguards (burly, in dark suits and sunglasses, pull out their pistols, and gun down a few unsuspecting Vikings, before they are overwhelmed and, umm, hacked apart in various ways) hold them off for long enough for the weekdays to make their escape. Friday grabs Tusnami, and hustles him towards the armory. As they disappear between the last two bodyguards, firing madly into the Viking swarm, the woman's voice is heard.
"I want what you took from me! You can't be Friday! I'm Friday!" Man, even her voice is hot.
The door is shut behind them. The rest of the weekdays are already looking like someone from a late 80's action movie, clad with bandoleers of ammo, huge machine-guns, and the occasional headband. Friday and Tsunami begin arming themselves when the sound of axes begin to strike upon the door.
"Okay," Says, Friday, "Mon, and Tues, you take the left. Wed. and Thurs. you take the right. Tsunami and me will go right up the middle. And remember," He smiles just a little bit, "The woman's mine!"
(Crap, I really didn't want this to end up a porno. Well...maybe, is there a chance that they'd all git killed by the Vikes...who'm I kidding, like we'd be that lucky? Eternal Saturday starting from 10-28-05?)
Happy Friday.
Let's continue this fjord-dweller thread for a sec. Thanks to a quick google search and a handy Viking God website, I knocked into this...
Freya, or Freyja, was the goddess of beauty and love. A beautiful, blonde, blue-eyed young woman, she was the sister of Frey and in later traditions the wife of Odin.
Freya claimed half of the heroes slain in battle, carrying them to her realm of Folkvang in Asgard. Most of her myths concern attempts by the giants to abduct her. In Teutonic mythology, she was named Frigg. Friday is named after her, Freitag in German and vrijdag in Dutch.
Shit.
It's a known human characteristic to give human traits to animals and objects, it's called anthropomorphism. When I started all this "weekday persona" crap back in the day, I just figgered, "why not make them all dudes, then if you have to bash-em, you won't get the feminists all up-in-arms over some slight, which was really a response to how a particular weekday treated me...after all most women, like weekdays, are pretty touchy. However, with the weight of an entire website against me, I will change the King of All Weekdays, to the Queen of All weekdays. Here we go!
The Queen of All Weekdays lay in a bed surrounded by sheer silken sheets. She stretched her arms above her head, and then ran her fingers through her long blond hair. A pillow had somehow slipped under the small of her back, and the illusion was one of a perfect pin-up model pose. Her nipples stuck out through...
Fuck. This is never going to work. It's always going to degenerate into porn. And without pictures, porn just don't have the plot maluability that you (Fjord Readers) are going to demand. Viking God Website...Fuck ya'. In my world Friday's King!
(Let's start this again...)
Friday sits up from his throne. (it's a massively cushioned lay-z-boy implanted in which are the latest techno-gadgets (and some that haven't yet been invented.)) He's just awoken from having dozed off while Thursday was mumbling some kind of story.
"I just had the most wonderful dream." The Big Daddy of Weekdays mutters. Then he realizes where he is. "Whaaa?"
"As I was saying," Thursday looks a little perturbed, "I was looking for something to puke in...it wasn't a Roman Villa with a built-in vomitorium, it was a one bedroom apartment, and all the woman had were some of those Chinese food to-go boxes. So I figgured..."
"No!" Says Friday, getting his bearings. "I mean, Whaaaat are we going to do today?"
Wednesday chimes in, "Same thing we do every Friday, Friday. Try and take over the world!"
For some reason this cracks the whole room up, except Friday.
"That's not what I ment." He speaks softly.
"Well it is kinda' spooky this week-end." Tuesday begins, "Perhaps we should find someone to...ahem...spook."
"That's not bad. But that honor actually belongs to Monday." Friday finishes with a declaration.
"About time I get some frikken honor around here..." Monday speaks softly. The others are a tad confused.
"I think what we're going to need..." Friday pulls the lever, lowering the foor-rest back into the Lay-Z-Boy and sitting up, "Is a whole new construct."
"Whaddaya mean?" Asks Tuesday.
Cut To:
The Digital Wall (remember? it ended with something like this...What will happen to D.Tsunami? What's at the top of the mysterious digital wall, and why is he climbing it!!? Who would really win in a mano-y-mano object battle to the death, Crampon? Sink? Or does Computer have an Ace of Snakes up it's sleeve? And do the writers even have an inkling of an idea of where this is going? Riiiight...of course you do.)
Tsunami climbs to the top of the wall, and, and well...lets slow this up just a touch, and talk about something that I've been thinking about. Suppose you find a cave, and want to climb down into it. Now, suppose this cave is like, well, a cave that leads through the center of the earth and (if yer from the U.S. of A.) it leads straight thru the planet and ends up in China. There's going to be a strange moment (if you were committed to such a trip) where you stop climbing, and start falling. It only makes gravitational sense, no?
Well, in this particular narrative, one D.Tsunami doesn't find out about this clever (cleaver?) little gravitational trick until he's exactly one handhold away from the top of the wall. He begins to fall.
"Fucking shit!" He shouts. (to no one...as the cameraman has been killed by a random falling porcelain sink, however, (for some reason) we're still there...cool huh?) The edge of the wall shoots past him, and a split-second before the wall passes his waist, he launches his ice-axe in a motion that would make an old looting, raping, pillaging Viking very proud...crams it into the world before he falls off.
Tsunami hangs from the edge of the world for a moment, only by a straining right hand. Legs, gear, scarf...hang downwards, pulled by a strange gravity into the void. Then he grabs onto the axe with his left. Then he lifts himself up. Using the axe handle as a lever, he puts his left leg onto the ceiling (roof? top?) As soon as he does, gravity (that tricky bastard) reverses itself, and he falls in a heap back to the ground. He repeats hjimself.
"Fucking shit!"
Pulling the axe out of the ground, he takes stock. Trees, grass, and a couple of beach chairs, lie between him and a huge temple. They're all made out of the same crazy matter...black with a bunch of yellow (or is it off-white?) zero's and one's. It's like at the end of the Matrix, when Neo figgers out what the hell is going on. He heads past the beach chairs and approaches the temple.
Cut To: Friday's Throne Room
Tuesday repeats himself.
"Whaddaya mean?"
With a crash, the doors of the room are thrown open. Standing there is Tsunami, clad in a parka, knit-cap, with snowpants, crampons, ice-axe and sunglasses.
Friday stands.
"If it isn't my favorite oddball digital construct...Dario Tsunami!" He moves forward across the room. "Man is it good to see you!" He gives Tsunami a big hug.
"Hey King of All Weekdays." Tsunami says, patting Friday on the back. "Whaddaya mean," He disengages himself from the hug and makes "quotation marks" with his fingers, "Construct?"
"Well, I was just saying we needed a whole new construct, and what are you? Something made to represent something that doesn't exist."
"Wait..." Says Tsunami...
"No," Continues Friday, "yer like a cartoon tidal-wave, a Leggo Bhudda, a chicken McNugget in a magazine! You should exist, but you don't. That's why I..." He turns to the other weekdays, who stand there agape, "That's why I love this guy!"
A moment of silence passes before the Hunchback speaks.
"Ahem..." Wednesday clears his throat, "I, umm, well the thing is..." And then, as what usually happens to Wednesday, his moment is broken by a tremendous shout. More of a battle cry. And then the Vikings show up.
They got axes. They got moustaches. They got shields and horned helmets and breastplates. They're thick in the waist, and they got belts with big buckles to hold up their breeches. They got spears, and they got daggers, and they got swords and they got axes. It's a fucking army of looting, raping and pillaging Vikings, and they're led by a beautiful blond blue-eyed maiden.
Monday shouts - "Quick, to the armory!"
Friday's bodyguards (burly, in dark suits and sunglasses, pull out their pistols, and gun down a few unsuspecting Vikings, before they are overwhelmed and, umm, hacked apart in various ways) hold them off for long enough for the weekdays to make their escape. Friday grabs Tusnami, and hustles him towards the armory. As they disappear between the last two bodyguards, firing madly into the Viking swarm, the woman's voice is heard.
"I want what you took from me! You can't be Friday! I'm Friday!" Man, even her voice is hot.
The door is shut behind them. The rest of the weekdays are already looking like someone from a late 80's action movie, clad with bandoleers of ammo, huge machine-guns, and the occasional headband. Friday and Tsunami begin arming themselves when the sound of axes begin to strike upon the door.
"Okay," Says, Friday, "Mon, and Tues, you take the left. Wed. and Thurs. you take the right. Tsunami and me will go right up the middle. And remember," He smiles just a little bit, "The woman's mine!"
(Crap, I really didn't want this to end up a porno. Well...maybe, is there a chance that they'd all git killed by the Vikes...who'm I kidding, like we'd be that lucky? Eternal Saturday starting from 10-28-05?)
Happy Friday.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
NOW WIGGLE!
Different channel. A British Spitfire races past the camera - it's the Battle of Britain!
Only so much information (or anything, for that matter) can travel down any one conduit.
Different channel. Boston Pops!
The rate of transfer at the end of the conduit depends on processing capability.
Different channel. A man stands in a file room. Stacks and stacks of paper, files...it's the dead letter office of every corporation. It's where signals and communications are printed out in hard-copy, and left to rot, in the obscure chance that they're needed again. They rarely are. "I found it!" He says.
Different channel. It's a hamburger commercial.
No matter how information is transmitted...print, voice, picture, music, video, movie, blog, comedy, drama, thought, liquid, vegetable, mineral. (I am the model of a modern major general) While things originate somewhere, where someone has a (the) message, it ends up at the other end, at the pure discression of the receiver. (binary...again...but this time it's not a static structure...the receiver can throw away junk mail without ever reading it...)
Different channel. Friends - ugg!
Different channel. A cowboy is tied up back-to-back with a woman in a bonnet and a prairie dress, and both are bound to the rails of train-track. He speaks over his shoulder to the damsel. "It might be exactly what I have to do...but I sure as shit ain't gonna say, I have to wiggle."
Altho no self-respecting cowboy would be caught dead wiggling...there's really nothing wrong with it. I mean, worms do it, snakes do it (altho you can gussy-it-up by saying wordssss like slither, glide, ooze, or slide) dancers do it too. But even though it's an unseemly activity for any Lady or Gentleman, everyone needs a little wiggle-room. It's the ultimate expression of having, at least a little-itty-bitty amount of space.
The problem with space, is, (besides the vast distances between, er, everything) gravity.
Int. Elevator - day
A man stands with a large envelope. The door opens and a businesswoman walks on. She's very thin, pretty, but obviously very pregnant.
Woman: Hi!
Man: Good afternoon.
They stand for a moment, the man looks at the floor numbers passing by.
Woman: Quite the weather we're having.
Man: Yes. Very, um, unseasonal.
Then the man begins to bend slightly from the waist. He fights with all his back muscles, but his head is drawn towards the pregnant woman's belly.
Man: I hope you don't mind my asking (he's practically being sucked right towards her) but...
Too late. His head's stuck to her stomach. He looks up at her.
Man: What do you have in this thing?
Woman: A baby!
Man: Really? Made of what, magnets?
Woman" Why, do you have a metal plate in your skull?
Man: Actually I do.
A Fed Ex guy walks onto the elevator, pulling an empty two-wheeled dolly. He looks perturbed at the scene.
Woman: Oh, I'm sorry.
She strokes the man's head (stuck to her belly) soothingly.
Woman: Perhaps we can find someone who can help us, umm, apart. Excuse me. (she asks to the Fed Ex guy) Could you help pull us apart?
Fed Ex Guy: I don't know...
suddenly the two wheeled dolly takes on a life of it's own and is sucked towards the woman's belly! The Fed Ex Guy grapples with it for a moment, then it flies across the evelvator, and lands across the man's back- stuck there with a powerful attraction.
Fed Ex Guy: Wow! Sorry about that.
Man: No Prob.
Fed Ex Guy: Yeah, um, let me help.
He begins prying on the man's head, it doesn't budge. He grabs the dolly, and yanks back. The three of them lurch across the elevator, and end up on the other side, in a tangled mess. The Fed Ex Guy pulls crazily on the dolly. The doors open and two well-dressed businessmen stand outside the door.
Businessman 1: We'll take the next one.
The doors close, and the elevator continues. The man looks up from the jostling of the Fed Ex Guy trying to get his dolly off his back and into the eyes of the woman.
Man: Would you like to go out sometime?
Woman: What?
Man: Well, in your current state, you probably don't have a lot of offers.
Woman: What!?!?
Man: I'm just saying, if the father's not around - and these are modern times we're living in - I'd like to take you to dinner.
Woman: Oh. Well, okay.
Fed Ex Guy: This is some fucked up shit.
HOLY MOLY! Can we leave it at any more of a cliffhanger?!!? Who's the father of the buisnesswoman's daughter (oop, slipped up and gave away summore of the plot! Crap!) Who wins the Battle of Britan?!? Will the Boston Pop's play "Cats" or Motzart!? Was the Document found in the file-room really that important!? Who eats the Gjoddamn hamburger - cause I'm hungry! Will the Cowboy actually wiggle and make himself a laughingstock of the entire cowboy world?!! (And is, "The Wiggling Kid" a good gunfighter name?)
The only way to find out is to stay tuned to channel fjord.
Only so much information (or anything, for that matter) can travel down any one conduit.
Different channel. Boston Pops!
The rate of transfer at the end of the conduit depends on processing capability.
Different channel. A man stands in a file room. Stacks and stacks of paper, files...it's the dead letter office of every corporation. It's where signals and communications are printed out in hard-copy, and left to rot, in the obscure chance that they're needed again. They rarely are. "I found it!" He says.
Different channel. It's a hamburger commercial.
No matter how information is transmitted...print, voice, picture, music, video, movie, blog, comedy, drama, thought, liquid, vegetable, mineral. (I am the model of a modern major general) While things originate somewhere, where someone has a (the) message, it ends up at the other end, at the pure discression of the receiver. (binary...again...but this time it's not a static structure...the receiver can throw away junk mail without ever reading it...)
Different channel. Friends - ugg!
Different channel. A cowboy is tied up back-to-back with a woman in a bonnet and a prairie dress, and both are bound to the rails of train-track. He speaks over his shoulder to the damsel. "It might be exactly what I have to do...but I sure as shit ain't gonna say, I have to wiggle."
Altho no self-respecting cowboy would be caught dead wiggling...there's really nothing wrong with it. I mean, worms do it, snakes do it (altho you can gussy-it-up by saying wordssss like slither, glide, ooze, or slide) dancers do it too. But even though it's an unseemly activity for any Lady or Gentleman, everyone needs a little wiggle-room. It's the ultimate expression of having, at least a little-itty-bitty amount of space.
The problem with space, is, (besides the vast distances between, er, everything) gravity.
Int. Elevator - day
A man stands with a large envelope. The door opens and a businesswoman walks on. She's very thin, pretty, but obviously very pregnant.
Woman: Hi!
Man: Good afternoon.
They stand for a moment, the man looks at the floor numbers passing by.
Woman: Quite the weather we're having.
Man: Yes. Very, um, unseasonal.
Then the man begins to bend slightly from the waist. He fights with all his back muscles, but his head is drawn towards the pregnant woman's belly.
Man: I hope you don't mind my asking (he's practically being sucked right towards her) but...
Too late. His head's stuck to her stomach. He looks up at her.
Man: What do you have in this thing?
Woman: A baby!
Man: Really? Made of what, magnets?
Woman" Why, do you have a metal plate in your skull?
Man: Actually I do.
A Fed Ex guy walks onto the elevator, pulling an empty two-wheeled dolly. He looks perturbed at the scene.
Woman: Oh, I'm sorry.
She strokes the man's head (stuck to her belly) soothingly.
Woman: Perhaps we can find someone who can help us, umm, apart. Excuse me. (she asks to the Fed Ex guy) Could you help pull us apart?
Fed Ex Guy: I don't know...
suddenly the two wheeled dolly takes on a life of it's own and is sucked towards the woman's belly! The Fed Ex Guy grapples with it for a moment, then it flies across the evelvator, and lands across the man's back- stuck there with a powerful attraction.
Fed Ex Guy: Wow! Sorry about that.
Man: No Prob.
Fed Ex Guy: Yeah, um, let me help.
He begins prying on the man's head, it doesn't budge. He grabs the dolly, and yanks back. The three of them lurch across the elevator, and end up on the other side, in a tangled mess. The Fed Ex Guy pulls crazily on the dolly. The doors open and two well-dressed businessmen stand outside the door.
Businessman 1: We'll take the next one.
The doors close, and the elevator continues. The man looks up from the jostling of the Fed Ex Guy trying to get his dolly off his back and into the eyes of the woman.
Man: Would you like to go out sometime?
Woman: What?
Man: Well, in your current state, you probably don't have a lot of offers.
Woman: What!?!?
Man: I'm just saying, if the father's not around - and these are modern times we're living in - I'd like to take you to dinner.
Woman: Oh. Well, okay.
Fed Ex Guy: This is some fucked up shit.
HOLY MOLY! Can we leave it at any more of a cliffhanger?!!? Who's the father of the buisnesswoman's daughter (oop, slipped up and gave away summore of the plot! Crap!) Who wins the Battle of Britan?!? Will the Boston Pop's play "Cats" or Motzart!? Was the Document found in the file-room really that important!? Who eats the Gjoddamn hamburger - cause I'm hungry! Will the Cowboy actually wiggle and make himself a laughingstock of the entire cowboy world?!! (And is, "The Wiggling Kid" a good gunfighter name?)
The only way to find out is to stay tuned to channel fjord.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
In the process of ripping my mind
apart from it's old pathways, (partly for research, partly thru personal circumstance (btw an excellent porn name that, "Sir Cum-Stance," but I digress on my original thought)) this post will be a bit more jumbled with non-sequitors and lacking in transitions.
1) Is a computer more powerful than a mountain climbing crampon?
Well, I guess it all depends on the situation. A computer, thru the proper linkage to the Webmonster, is both a super-quick (so quick as to be nearly instantaneous) and effective communications tool, and with access to the global database, provides near (tho by no means infallible - much like human intelligence) omniscience. A mountain climbing crampon is pretty much just good for providing a good foothold on rock, glacier or ice-wall. So, in the normal context of your home, a crampon is useless. It is impotent. It is a very pointy (dangerous) paperweight at best. However, if you are suddenly struck by an urge to destroy your computer, a set of crampons might be just the thing. Triple-forged carbon-alloy foor spikes are more than a match for a plastic/glass Compaq 14" monitor. The idea of those spikes crushing down, piercing plastic, shattering glass...it's almost sexual. And for the tower? You think a 100-gig hard-drive could stand up to the weight of a normal humanid, compressed to the point of two foor-spikes? Um, nah.
All-in-all, crampon wins. Like I said earlier, however, circumstance.
If all you want to do is get off sexually, well, unless yer into some really kinky stuff, the compooter is probably a better bet. ("Wait," Susan Insatiable says, "No...tie me to the bedposts, and put on your robe and crampons! It's the only thing that works for me anymore...")
Considering all the ways you could physically destroy a computer, perhaps the best way would be to use an actual discarded kitchen sink. It would be metaphorically harmonious. Since the only thing a well-endowed computer is inhibited by, is it's own user's imagination, and rhetorically speaking, "the kitchen sink" is a catch-all phrase for "everything else," the physical object embodying that would be the perfect death-tool.
I'm no engineer, therefore I'm going to have to guess the ratio of sink/computer ratio...if say, a large Norse-like (hey-we are Fjord after all) giant was responsible for crushing every discarded computer with a sink. Sooner or later the sink (if made of porcelain-would crack and break, or if made of some kind of metal-would deform to a completely flat, or at least useless for the purpose of crushing computers, shape) would come up against it's last computer. In which case, the giant would take a break, have a sandwich and a smoke, and call for another sink. I'm suspecting, averaging both metal and porcelain sinks together, would be on a ratio of 1 sink to every 14 computer's destroyed.
Yes, all that's well and good, but if we're in the process of pitting object-Vs-object, would you rather have a sink, a crampon, or a computer? I mean, who's really going to do the study on the odds in Vegas, of who's going to win the ultimate battle, Crampon-Vs-Sink? Now THERE'S A FIGHT!
(The aluminum sink--pierced twelve or fourteen times, (some are true gashes across the length of it's bowl) a small hunk of pipe, hangs - about to fall, from around it's drain-section, moving in a counter-clockwise direction, looking for an opening. Across from it, a left-footed crampon. Black nylon attatchment-straps dragging sadly, three of it's spikes are at odd angles, and the frame is so bent now that it would never again fit another foor. It senses Sink about to jump, and strikes first!)
Well mighty Fjordlings...just speaking for myself, I'd prefer to destroy my computer with metal-alloy feer-spikes, I just think it would be a tad more visceral, than say a 2x4" - but that's just me.
(Tho a sink wouldn't be turned down at the right moment...just sayin')
And now a brief commercial interlude:
5 Seconds of Postal-Service-esque electro-pop...
The announcer speaks over the continuing music.
"This metaphorical adventure has been brought to you by Wednesday, the often overlooked and deformed hunchback of a weekday...underwritten in part by Blogger, Google's own on-line journal of dominion, and Miller Lite - "Tastes Great, Less Filling, Miller-Lite."
Cut to:
D.Tsunami, climbing up a practically sheer wall, it is black, but made up of 0's and 1's. Occasionally binary digital outcroppings jut out. He approaches one (er, it's not made of 1's, it's "one" as in outcropping, singular.)
He jabs in his ice-axe, and moves up a crampon. A mist of scattered 1's and 0's fall past and bounce off the lens of the camera below him. He pulls himself up to the ledge, and drops his ass onto it, crampons dangling over the side. The camera rises to his level.
Tsunami - You're probably wondering what all this has to do with Fjord.
(The camera shakes as if it's agreeing with the question)
Tsunami - Well, I'm as much in the dark about it as you are.
(The cameraman breaks the third wall...or silence...or whatever)
Cameraman - Dude, you can't say that, that's stupid. It doesn't advance the narrative at all.
Tsunami - If I don't fall off this precipice, then we'll know.
Cameraman - That's better, but it doesn't help much.
Tsunami - I digit, (that's pronounced "dig-it" spoken quickly, not "digit" like-binary) There's a lot of wall left to climb, and things have a way of happening when you're climbing.
The camera pans upwards, at the sheer digital wall. Then an object falls from above, it grows larger, and at the exact moment it's strikjing the cameraman we make out, it's a white porcelain sink. The camera goes to snow, then fuzz then clear as we watch it fall past the digital wall. For some reason it picks up the sound of Tsunami musing. (must be a really long lavalear cord)
Tsunami - Huh, porcelain. I woulda' thought aluminum.
Then the transmission ends.
Hoooo Boy! How's this show gonna end? Well, tune in next time for the thrilling conclusion of "Fjord!" What will happen to D.Tsunami? What's at the top of the mysterious digital wall, and why is he climbing it!!? Who would really win in a mano-y-mano object battle to the death, Crampon? Sink? Or does Computer have an Ace of Snakes up it's sleeve? And do the writers even have an inkling of an idea of where this is going?
1) Is a computer more powerful than a mountain climbing crampon?
Well, I guess it all depends on the situation. A computer, thru the proper linkage to the Webmonster, is both a super-quick (so quick as to be nearly instantaneous) and effective communications tool, and with access to the global database, provides near (tho by no means infallible - much like human intelligence) omniscience. A mountain climbing crampon is pretty much just good for providing a good foothold on rock, glacier or ice-wall. So, in the normal context of your home, a crampon is useless. It is impotent. It is a very pointy (dangerous) paperweight at best. However, if you are suddenly struck by an urge to destroy your computer, a set of crampons might be just the thing. Triple-forged carbon-alloy foor spikes are more than a match for a plastic/glass Compaq 14" monitor. The idea of those spikes crushing down, piercing plastic, shattering glass...it's almost sexual. And for the tower? You think a 100-gig hard-drive could stand up to the weight of a normal humanid, compressed to the point of two foor-spikes? Um, nah.
All-in-all, crampon wins. Like I said earlier, however, circumstance.
If all you want to do is get off sexually, well, unless yer into some really kinky stuff, the compooter is probably a better bet. ("Wait," Susan Insatiable says, "No...tie me to the bedposts, and put on your robe and crampons! It's the only thing that works for me anymore...")
Considering all the ways you could physically destroy a computer, perhaps the best way would be to use an actual discarded kitchen sink. It would be metaphorically harmonious. Since the only thing a well-endowed computer is inhibited by, is it's own user's imagination, and rhetorically speaking, "the kitchen sink" is a catch-all phrase for "everything else," the physical object embodying that would be the perfect death-tool.
I'm no engineer, therefore I'm going to have to guess the ratio of sink/computer ratio...if say, a large Norse-like (hey-we are Fjord after all) giant was responsible for crushing every discarded computer with a sink. Sooner or later the sink (if made of porcelain-would crack and break, or if made of some kind of metal-would deform to a completely flat, or at least useless for the purpose of crushing computers, shape) would come up against it's last computer. In which case, the giant would take a break, have a sandwich and a smoke, and call for another sink. I'm suspecting, averaging both metal and porcelain sinks together, would be on a ratio of 1 sink to every 14 computer's destroyed.
Yes, all that's well and good, but if we're in the process of pitting object-Vs-object, would you rather have a sink, a crampon, or a computer? I mean, who's really going to do the study on the odds in Vegas, of who's going to win the ultimate battle, Crampon-Vs-Sink? Now THERE'S A FIGHT!
(The aluminum sink--pierced twelve or fourteen times, (some are true gashes across the length of it's bowl) a small hunk of pipe, hangs - about to fall, from around it's drain-section, moving in a counter-clockwise direction, looking for an opening. Across from it, a left-footed crampon. Black nylon attatchment-straps dragging sadly, three of it's spikes are at odd angles, and the frame is so bent now that it would never again fit another foor. It senses Sink about to jump, and strikes first!)
Well mighty Fjordlings...just speaking for myself, I'd prefer to destroy my computer with metal-alloy feer-spikes, I just think it would be a tad more visceral, than say a 2x4" - but that's just me.
(Tho a sink wouldn't be turned down at the right moment...just sayin')
And now a brief commercial interlude:
5 Seconds of Postal-Service-esque electro-pop...
The announcer speaks over the continuing music.
"This metaphorical adventure has been brought to you by Wednesday, the often overlooked and deformed hunchback of a weekday...underwritten in part by Blogger, Google's own on-line journal of dominion, and Miller Lite - "Tastes Great, Less Filling, Miller-Lite."
Cut to:
D.Tsunami, climbing up a practically sheer wall, it is black, but made up of 0's and 1's. Occasionally binary digital outcroppings jut out. He approaches one (er, it's not made of 1's, it's "one" as in outcropping, singular.)
He jabs in his ice-axe, and moves up a crampon. A mist of scattered 1's and 0's fall past and bounce off the lens of the camera below him. He pulls himself up to the ledge, and drops his ass onto it, crampons dangling over the side. The camera rises to his level.
Tsunami - You're probably wondering what all this has to do with Fjord.
(The camera shakes as if it's agreeing with the question)
Tsunami - Well, I'm as much in the dark about it as you are.
(The cameraman breaks the third wall...or silence...or whatever)
Cameraman - Dude, you can't say that, that's stupid. It doesn't advance the narrative at all.
Tsunami - If I don't fall off this precipice, then we'll know.
Cameraman - That's better, but it doesn't help much.
Tsunami - I digit, (that's pronounced "dig-it" spoken quickly, not "digit" like-binary) There's a lot of wall left to climb, and things have a way of happening when you're climbing.
The camera pans upwards, at the sheer digital wall. Then an object falls from above, it grows larger, and at the exact moment it's strikjing the cameraman we make out, it's a white porcelain sink. The camera goes to snow, then fuzz then clear as we watch it fall past the digital wall. For some reason it picks up the sound of Tsunami musing. (must be a really long lavalear cord)
Tsunami - Huh, porcelain. I woulda' thought aluminum.
Then the transmission ends.
Hoooo Boy! How's this show gonna end? Well, tune in next time for the thrilling conclusion of "Fjord!" What will happen to D.Tsunami? What's at the top of the mysterious digital wall, and why is he climbing it!!? Who would really win in a mano-y-mano object battle to the death, Crampon? Sink? Or does Computer have an Ace of Snakes up it's sleeve? And do the writers even have an inkling of an idea of where this is going?
I dunno...I just found out Fjord is worth (calculated, I have no idea how...)
Your blog, fjordsurfing.blogspot.com, is worth $564.54
Doesn't that seem a bit low to you? Anyways, if the writers appear to not have an inkling, (good word, no?) you can understand that they're way undervalued, and probably underappreciated.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Incase some of you
Are into the whole RSS junk (which I'm still trying to get my head around...seriously) we've got a feed.
Ya can subscribe to it here.
Make sure you never miss a minute of up-to-date Fjordian insight!
You can also find our XML graphic at the bottom of the screen!
Ya can subscribe to it here.
Make sure you never miss a minute of up-to-date Fjordian insight!
You can also find our XML graphic at the bottom of the screen!
Fjord is a nerve ending
If you were inclined, such as I am, you might view the world wide web as a living entity...or to be more precise, a society of Large Server-Monsters.
These Large Server-Monsters (henceforth called LS-M's)are part of the nerve-structure that makes up the global-sized enormous creature called "The Internets" Or possibly, if you prefer,
"Webmonster." Considering there are 7 primary servers which control all of the traffic on the internet, it's sort of like Voltron, or the Voltron-inspired Power Rangers. The server-monsters combine to form the "Webmonster" and from there...well, they either go on to defeat the
evil, er, hideous, umm, yaknow, bad thing that wants to usurp the way things is, or loose to said diabolical monstrosity, and have to come back next time to defeat it. Or, something like that.
Since I'm not really on a kick here to describe the higher (and for most of us) unfathomable battles the internets-webmonster has to battle to keep the world in it's current order-structure, I just want to tell you about where I think our little place in the world is.
See, if the LS-M's are the equivalent of a sentient being, then the nexus of other smaller
servers (which in their own right are pretty massive) that are attached to the LS-M's (such as corporate servers, yahoo, google, espn...you get my drift) would be very close to having the makeup of a very dispersed brain. Which was the reason the internet came into existence, as a redundant non-centralized military communications network, able to function after a significant atomic attack.
And if, as in the body of a mammal, every nerve is connected (at least by another nerve)
directly to the brain...it's as if each computer functions as if it actually is a nerve.
So, these nerves, er, computers, transmit messages to the smaller servers, sending directions and stimuli, in order to produce an action from the brain. (such as publishing this post, or requesting pornography...both worthy requests)
So, in this round about way, I've just described the Internets in order to lead you back to THE PLACE OF FJORD in this whole grand scheme of things. I'd say we're a nerve ending, located somewhere near the skin of the right bicept of the LS-M. There, we're busy pushing the undeniable signal of annoying pain. (it's not like we want too, it's just that a nerve can only fire, or not fire (sort of a binary thing...as I've been trying to get across...)) Anyways, a bit less pain than being hit on the thumb with a hammer, and a bit more pain than the dull ache you get from a toothache. Still, it's the kind of sensation, that keeps a few neighboring neurons looking over and going, "What the hell's happening over there?"
Hopefully after doing this long enough, the LS-M will reach over and rub a hand, or some fingernails across it's small and annoying pain, on it's upper right bicept, and we'll make contact with some nerves over there. Hopefully, you can see where this is going. Electronic Murmurs heading straight into the brain of the Large Server-Monster.
My philosophy is, if you take over a Large Server-Monster, the Webmonster is next.
These Large Server-Monsters (henceforth called LS-M's)are part of the nerve-structure that makes up the global-sized enormous creature called "The Internets" Or possibly, if you prefer,
"Webmonster." Considering there are 7 primary servers which control all of the traffic on the internet, it's sort of like Voltron, or the Voltron-inspired Power Rangers. The server-monsters combine to form the "Webmonster" and from there...well, they either go on to defeat the
evil, er, hideous, umm, yaknow, bad thing that wants to usurp the way things is, or loose to said diabolical monstrosity, and have to come back next time to defeat it. Or, something like that.
Since I'm not really on a kick here to describe the higher (and for most of us) unfathomable battles the internets-webmonster has to battle to keep the world in it's current order-structure, I just want to tell you about where I think our little place in the world is.
See, if the LS-M's are the equivalent of a sentient being, then the nexus of other smaller
servers (which in their own right are pretty massive) that are attached to the LS-M's (such as corporate servers, yahoo, google, espn...you get my drift) would be very close to having the makeup of a very dispersed brain. Which was the reason the internet came into existence, as a redundant non-centralized military communications network, able to function after a significant atomic attack.
And if, as in the body of a mammal, every nerve is connected (at least by another nerve)
directly to the brain...it's as if each computer functions as if it actually is a nerve.
So, these nerves, er, computers, transmit messages to the smaller servers, sending directions and stimuli, in order to produce an action from the brain. (such as publishing this post, or requesting pornography...both worthy requests)
So, in this round about way, I've just described the Internets in order to lead you back to THE PLACE OF FJORD in this whole grand scheme of things. I'd say we're a nerve ending, located somewhere near the skin of the right bicept of the LS-M. There, we're busy pushing the undeniable signal of annoying pain. (it's not like we want too, it's just that a nerve can only fire, or not fire (sort of a binary thing...as I've been trying to get across...)) Anyways, a bit less pain than being hit on the thumb with a hammer, and a bit more pain than the dull ache you get from a toothache. Still, it's the kind of sensation, that keeps a few neighboring neurons looking over and going, "What the hell's happening over there?"
Hopefully after doing this long enough, the LS-M will reach over and rub a hand, or some fingernails across it's small and annoying pain, on it's upper right bicept, and we'll make contact with some nerves over there. Hopefully, you can see where this is going. Electronic Murmurs heading straight into the brain of the Large Server-Monster.
My philosophy is, if you take over a Large Server-Monster, the Webmonster is next.
Monday, October 24, 2005
BONEHOUSE
I was just noticing the ad-bombardment during the World Series for the crime-detective story of "Bones" a forensic investigator with a specialty in skeletons (also featuring the hunky "Angel" from teevee's "Angel" previously a recurring character on "Buffy the vampire slayer") And also the show "House" about a doctor, (called, er, House") who's quite a card, but also the best doctor around. Now, I've seen both these shows, but seeing ads for them back-to-back, I realized they could just merge, drop out a couple of secondary characters, and become a supershow, called BONEHOUSE!
It'd save us all a lot of time, if we could just get one-stop shopping these days.
Could someone let Fox know?
It'd save us all a lot of time, if we could just get one-stop shopping these days.
Could someone let Fox know?
Hello My Friendly Fjordian
gangsta's and gangsta'-ettes.
Sorry it's been a while, but, there's been some shit going on.
Some seriously heavy shit.
What kind of shit Mr. Tsunami - yer all askin'...
Wellllllllll...
It's in the data-stream right now, and that's what I've been dealing with. Seriously...some heavy binary shit. On-off, transmitting-receiving, positive-negative, Monday-Saturday, rich-poor, healthy-sick, clean-dirty, yin-yang, one-zero. You get that right...binary.
Now I understand you all might think I'm being a bit obtuse, snickering behind your hands, whispering to each other, "We figured that all out, like, in the third grade."
But it isn't like that. Not even close to like that. In fact, answer this question:
Am I the 1 that's filling up your 0
Or are you the 1 devouring me?
Of course, I realize this is just another in the long string of assaults that Fjord has had to deal with over the short (altho long in internet time) lifespan. But it's been pretty pressing, and taken up much of my time. (the rest filled with football, baseball and reading copious numbers of Romance Novels.)
Now, today was a (I don't know if the word "great" should be added here, but,) milestone in the internet, as it marked the creation of the blog that broke the 20-million number. That's a hella' lotta blogs. However, I was also made aware that it was started by some skool-children's to talk about a fucking race they just had.
I've seen what even a few months of blogging can do to grown men (such as my counterparts here at Fjord) and don't think I'm not suffering from having my life broken by the massive binary torture-rack...because, like I said, there's some heavy shit going on right now. Anyways, I'd like to see those piss-ant kids write 400 posts, then we'll find out what kind of slobbering retards they've become.
Sorry it's been a while, but, there's been some shit going on.
Some seriously heavy shit.
What kind of shit Mr. Tsunami - yer all askin'...
Wellllllllll...
It's in the data-stream right now, and that's what I've been dealing with. Seriously...some heavy binary shit. On-off, transmitting-receiving, positive-negative, Monday-Saturday, rich-poor, healthy-sick, clean-dirty, yin-yang, one-zero. You get that right...binary.
Now I understand you all might think I'm being a bit obtuse, snickering behind your hands, whispering to each other, "We figured that all out, like, in the third grade."
But it isn't like that. Not even close to like that. In fact, answer this question:
Am I the 1 that's filling up your 0
Or are you the 1 devouring me?
Of course, I realize this is just another in the long string of assaults that Fjord has had to deal with over the short (altho long in internet time) lifespan. But it's been pretty pressing, and taken up much of my time. (the rest filled with football, baseball and reading copious numbers of Romance Novels.)
Now, today was a (I don't know if the word "great" should be added here, but,) milestone in the internet, as it marked the creation of the blog that broke the 20-million number. That's a hella' lotta blogs. However, I was also made aware that it was started by some skool-children's to talk about a fucking race they just had.
I've seen what even a few months of blogging can do to grown men (such as my counterparts here at Fjord) and don't think I'm not suffering from having my life broken by the massive binary torture-rack...because, like I said, there's some heavy shit going on right now. Anyways, I'd like to see those piss-ant kids write 400 posts, then we'll find out what kind of slobbering retards they've become.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Dario "Gjoddamn" Tsunami
here to plant a big 'ole digital kiss on your big 'ole bright eyes. 01010011010100100101011011000000HHHHHHHoooooh!
That was me trying to be nice. Hope it was as good for you...
So there's only a week before we've got the Halloween weekend upon us, and I've done zero work on the costume roundup. Haven't even gone out looking for something that might be suitable. Anyone got any suggestions?
That was me trying to be nice. Hope it was as good for you...
So there's only a week before we've got the Halloween weekend upon us, and I've done zero work on the costume roundup. Haven't even gone out looking for something that might be suitable. Anyone got any suggestions?
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Further Mishaps...
I'm getting to the point where much like a boxer who's taken too many blows, I've just become goofy...and the next big haymaker that's heading my way (starting from my fately-appointed opponent's shoestrings) I'm gonna take right on the chin. And if it doesn't drop me to the canvass in a pile of gooey manflesh, I'm going to laugh.
There's nothing more to explain about my philosophy on this. I hope I conveyed it reasonably well.
Now then...
Last night I went out and saw my pals in the band 3D Arson. They hit really hard, and are entertaining as fuck. They also have a stage gravity that's damn impressive. If you wanna check 'em out, they've got a pretty kick-ass site. There's ton's of free downloadable goodies there, if you like that kind of thing.
While I was out, I bumped into a couple of the guys from Soho Vamp, who after damn near five years, are finally getting their rock opera off the ground. It's going to be performed Halloween weekend (Oct. 29th) at the Taix bar in Echo Park. If you're in L.A. and haven't seen these guys, you should go. They're bad-assed glam vampire rock, and perfect for a Halloween go-out. Should be good, as the man says.
Speaking of good...I wanted to thank the young lady in the pink sweater and huge sunglasses for shoving her breasts into my face for the majority of my train ride today. Not only did I enjoy it, but it was exactly what I needed. Whoever was responsible for this, please continue sending this kind of thing my way.
There's nothing more to explain about my philosophy on this. I hope I conveyed it reasonably well.
Now then...
Last night I went out and saw my pals in the band 3D Arson. They hit really hard, and are entertaining as fuck. They also have a stage gravity that's damn impressive. If you wanna check 'em out, they've got a pretty kick-ass site. There's ton's of free downloadable goodies there, if you like that kind of thing.
While I was out, I bumped into a couple of the guys from Soho Vamp, who after damn near five years, are finally getting their rock opera off the ground. It's going to be performed Halloween weekend (Oct. 29th) at the Taix bar in Echo Park. If you're in L.A. and haven't seen these guys, you should go. They're bad-assed glam vampire rock, and perfect for a Halloween go-out. Should be good, as the man says.
Speaking of good...I wanted to thank the young lady in the pink sweater and huge sunglasses for shoving her breasts into my face for the majority of my train ride today. Not only did I enjoy it, but it was exactly what I needed. Whoever was responsible for this, please continue sending this kind of thing my way.
Where we at?
I just sacrificed myself (and most likely the most hunchbacked of all weekdays (Wednesday) at the alter of the Drawring (yeah, that's right, I said, Drawring) Room. If you'd look into my brain right now thru a cat-scan or perhaps a psychic taro card reader, you'd see a three ring circus with jugglers (kill 'em all) acrobats (also to be killed) and a couple of sandwich artists without any medium to work with. (certainly, also deserving of death...)
Fortunately the knife thrower was well aware of what was going down, and refrained from the previously mentioned chaos, and well, lets just say some financial inducement...decided all the aforementioned motha-fuckas, were indeed worthy of their fates - sent them well upon the way towards meeting them.
Perhaps later, we'll be able to talk to said knife thrower, but tonight, the knife-thrower is being strangely tight-lipped. Which, as I recall, has never actually happened to anyone who wants to be interviewed here at Fjord. I'd guess it's just that he doesn't want to be I.D.'d to any crimes that have recently occurred.
However, I'm curious as to why the knife thrower (notice I'm leaving the knife thrower's gender well out of this post- - to protect the innocent...and guilty) doesn't want the publicity? I'm of the mind...that this is the kind of thing you'd want to advertise. I suppose that's because I don't have the power to kill people with throwing knives.
And that's all I'm going to say on the matter.
(However, if you need to avail yourself of the knife-thrower's services...please feel free to leave a comment...)
Fortunately the knife thrower was well aware of what was going down, and refrained from the previously mentioned chaos, and well, lets just say some financial inducement...decided all the aforementioned motha-fuckas, were indeed worthy of their fates - sent them well upon the way towards meeting them.
Perhaps later, we'll be able to talk to said knife thrower, but tonight, the knife-thrower is being strangely tight-lipped. Which, as I recall, has never actually happened to anyone who wants to be interviewed here at Fjord. I'd guess it's just that he doesn't want to be I.D.'d to any crimes that have recently occurred.
However, I'm curious as to why the knife thrower (notice I'm leaving the knife thrower's gender well out of this post- - to protect the innocent...and guilty) doesn't want the publicity? I'm of the mind...that this is the kind of thing you'd want to advertise. I suppose that's because I don't have the power to kill people with throwing knives.
And that's all I'm going to say on the matter.
(However, if you need to avail yourself of the knife-thrower's services...please feel free to leave a comment...)
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Update!!!!
Howdy!
I'm not sure if it's because there's things happening, the kinds and qualities of things happening, my slightly changing evening habits, or just that it's been raining and whatnot for the last couple of days...but I'm feeling a 75% chance of light posting in the next couple of days.
Even the always reliable links to news have seemed a bit dull...so I've declined to make any.
I'll make sure to update you to any changes, promise.
I'm not sure if it's because there's things happening, the kinds and qualities of things happening, my slightly changing evening habits, or just that it's been raining and whatnot for the last couple of days...but I'm feeling a 75% chance of light posting in the next couple of days.
Even the always reliable links to news have seemed a bit dull...so I've declined to make any.
I'll make sure to update you to any changes, promise.
Friday, October 14, 2005
Well my sweet minions
Friday's giving me the 'ole, "I dunno pal, I'm just as baffled as you," shrug. It could be one of those nights where an intergalactic king or queen, sucks you off on a space cruiser to sample his/her harem planet, or it could be the kind of night where you're surrounded by evil reconnaissance monkeys from the 5th dimension. I'm usually able to channel these kinds of things about this time of night, around this day...and let you know what my impressions are, but tonight I'm pretty much thrown off.
I will say, I do believe this will be one of those odd-card weekends. Like getting delt a 19 of diamonds, or the Snake of spades. All I can tell you is, at least there's a chance at getting the inside straight. I don't need to remind you that you've got to know when to hold 'em, and know when to fold 'em, right?
Right.
Happy Gjoddamn
I will say, I do believe this will be one of those odd-card weekends. Like getting delt a 19 of diamonds, or the Snake of spades. All I can tell you is, at least there's a chance at getting the inside straight. I don't need to remind you that you've got to know when to hold 'em, and know when to fold 'em, right?
Right.
Happy Gjoddamn
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Having a heat-wave da..de..da..da..heat-wave...
That's right! Middle of Gjoddamn Oktober, and it's 90!
There was a reason I moved to L.A. and this wasn't it. However, it turned out to be a great benefit. Sort of a 401K for the soul. However, it could also be what the natives here call "Earthquake Weather." There isn't really a standard "Earthquake Weather" system, it's more along the lines of something unusual in the stratos--or troposphere...then the natives start getting restless.
I've taken a liking to the phrase "Earthquake Weather" and am more than happy when it appears, as if by magic, in actual word form. However, starting with the Tsunami, then Katrina, then Rita, then Stan (which strangely received practically no media coverage in the U.S.of A.)jacked up Central America somethin' fierce, and the ginormous quake in Pakistan, I'm starting to get a little, umm...concerned.
For those of you who are new here, we did, once upon a time, have a lot more fjord (the geological formation) related content. Such as this little nugget. Since then, well, I'm not going to say we've slipped, so much as the world took on a lot more interesting developments, that has sort of pushed our attention away from promoting our favorite landmass. However, barring a governmental program to construct senic fjords, about the only way we're gonna get anything close to a fjord in L.A. is if we...yaknow, get a really big one!
Now I'm not going to say that's what I want, because my little Casa is woefully uninsured. And even though my worldly possessions are inadequate and truthfully would reveal my existence as a dweller in the lower, lower, lower middle class...or if you prefer, the upper, upper, lower class, I still like my stuff, and would prefer it not being buried under tons of rubble, brought down by a massive earthquake, which in common parlance of the area would be called, "The Big One."
Still, if the Gjods, fate, or mama Earth wants to bring it on, and spare me the cost of replacing my goods by sparing the noble Casa Aloha, and open a rift through Santa Monica, Beverly Hills, West Hollywood, Hancock Park (that's right you little sickos, I wrote Hancock)...and have the "Hollywood Sound" end at Hollywood Boulevard, a mere block away, I wouldn't complain. Infact, it'd be pretty fucking sweet.
Well, that's me, always trying to look on the bright side. In the mean while, I got 4 fans, a pair of cargo-shorts, and just finished a very refreshing rum-n-coke sno-cone. Hope you're doing well too. Happy Thursday.
There was a reason I moved to L.A. and this wasn't it. However, it turned out to be a great benefit. Sort of a 401K for the soul. However, it could also be what the natives here call "Earthquake Weather." There isn't really a standard "Earthquake Weather" system, it's more along the lines of something unusual in the stratos--or troposphere...then the natives start getting restless.
I've taken a liking to the phrase "Earthquake Weather" and am more than happy when it appears, as if by magic, in actual word form. However, starting with the Tsunami, then Katrina, then Rita, then Stan (which strangely received practically no media coverage in the U.S.of A.)jacked up Central America somethin' fierce, and the ginormous quake in Pakistan, I'm starting to get a little, umm...concerned.
For those of you who are new here, we did, once upon a time, have a lot more fjord (the geological formation) related content. Such as this little nugget. Since then, well, I'm not going to say we've slipped, so much as the world took on a lot more interesting developments, that has sort of pushed our attention away from promoting our favorite landmass. However, barring a governmental program to construct senic fjords, about the only way we're gonna get anything close to a fjord in L.A. is if we...yaknow, get a really big one!
Now I'm not going to say that's what I want, because my little Casa is woefully uninsured. And even though my worldly possessions are inadequate and truthfully would reveal my existence as a dweller in the lower, lower, lower middle class...or if you prefer, the upper, upper, lower class, I still like my stuff, and would prefer it not being buried under tons of rubble, brought down by a massive earthquake, which in common parlance of the area would be called, "The Big One."
Still, if the Gjods, fate, or mama Earth wants to bring it on, and spare me the cost of replacing my goods by sparing the noble Casa Aloha, and open a rift through Santa Monica, Beverly Hills, West Hollywood, Hancock Park (that's right you little sickos, I wrote Hancock)...and have the "Hollywood Sound" end at Hollywood Boulevard, a mere block away, I wouldn't complain. Infact, it'd be pretty fucking sweet.
Well, that's me, always trying to look on the bright side. In the mean while, I got 4 fans, a pair of cargo-shorts, and just finished a very refreshing rum-n-coke sno-cone. Hope you're doing well too. Happy Thursday.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
So yeah...
NYC was a week ago, and there's been quite a lot happening, apart from the fact that I got pretty much the cold from hell, and really lost a bit of focus. Still, I'm now looking at only 2 more laundry loads to finish, a couple a bills to pay, and some vitamins to take, a few hundreds of phone messages to listen too, and I might be close to getting back on track!
Since it seriously might take a while to actually find that track, I've culled a few web-based resources to find some interesting tales that are out on the interweb. I hope you enjoy.
1) Here's one about ancient man-beast lovin'!
2) For you Simpsons fans, here's a great lexicon of made up words from the show. Very Funny...you should read the whole thing.
3) And finally - Boy George - yeah, that Boy George, was caught with a lot of cocaine in his apartment. I'm not happy about it, I'm just sort of amused that his lawyer tried the "It's not his, and he doesn't know how it got there, officer," defense.
And now, I remove myself from the compooter here at Casa Aloha, and will attempt to grab the rest of Hunchback-day by the tail, and try and accomplish something.
Since it seriously might take a while to actually find that track, I've culled a few web-based resources to find some interesting tales that are out on the interweb. I hope you enjoy.
1) Here's one about ancient man-beast lovin'!
2) For you Simpsons fans, here's a great lexicon of made up words from the show. Very Funny...you should read the whole thing.
3) And finally - Boy George - yeah, that Boy George, was caught with a lot of cocaine in his apartment. I'm not happy about it, I'm just sort of amused that his lawyer tried the "It's not his, and he doesn't know how it got there, officer," defense.
And now, I remove myself from the compooter here at Casa Aloha, and will attempt to grab the rest of Hunchback-day by the tail, and try and accomplish something.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
It's nap time...
Now napping is all well and good, unless you have a recurring dream (such as myself) being on the debate team, making a wonderful - and debate winning argument, when a pack of weasels arrives to carry off your shoes.
"Sure," you say, "it doesn't sound that scary."
Of course, in that case, you've never found yourself in a vicious pack of weasels who want your shoes. They have very sharp teeth and claws, and move very very fast. On top of that, they really don't know where your shoes stop, and where your feet begin. This leads to a lot of stomping, kicking, and yelling - both in terror and agony.
Needless to say, this is not the way to win a debate, altho it does instill in the minds of the nerds yer debating (and who are watching said debate) a great deal of fear in your psychosis. The kind of fear that leads them to quickly move away from you when you say,
"Where the fuck did all those weasels come from?! DID YOU SEE THE WEASELS?!? Well fuck - they just ran off with my shoes- I suppose you didn't see that!?!"
Anyways, that's why I don't like talking naps.
"Sure," you say, "it doesn't sound that scary."
Of course, in that case, you've never found yourself in a vicious pack of weasels who want your shoes. They have very sharp teeth and claws, and move very very fast. On top of that, they really don't know where your shoes stop, and where your feet begin. This leads to a lot of stomping, kicking, and yelling - both in terror and agony.
Needless to say, this is not the way to win a debate, altho it does instill in the minds of the nerds yer debating (and who are watching said debate) a great deal of fear in your psychosis. The kind of fear that leads them to quickly move away from you when you say,
"Where the fuck did all those weasels come from?! DID YOU SEE THE WEASELS?!? Well fuck - they just ran off with my shoes- I suppose you didn't see that!?!"
Anyways, that's why I don't like talking naps.
Monday, October 10, 2005
Sunday, October 09, 2005
Highlander...
When I was a young fresh-faced geek, I loved the movie Highlander. I thought it was sooo cool that guys would walk around in stylin' trench-coats and fight with swords. Of course now I know better...you've got to keep your sword in a cane. However, if you want to see the movie re-enacted in 30 seconds with bunnies, you'd best go here.
Friday, October 07, 2005
Friday Was Not Feeling Content
"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempesttossedt to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
This was Lady Liberty's line,
this was not what Friday was used to.
Friday doesn't want the tired. Friday doesn't want the poor. Friday doesn't want huddled masses, or cast-off garbage. Friday wants glory-seekers. Friday wants exuberance. Friday wants successful glory-seekers to rise up and embrace the possibilities that he offers. Friday, much like fate, favors the bold. Unfortunately for him, it was the latter that he looked over.
Friday sighs as he looks out over the downtrodden that have shuffled up to fill his mighty throne-room, and looks to the assembled four weekdays, that stand two on either side of the red-carpeted stairs that lead up to his jewel-encrusted chair.
"I can't let you out of my sight for one Gjoddamn minute!" He says to the previous weekdays.
They all lower their heads, not wanting to accept responsibility.
"How long am I going to have to wait before you fuckers let my people through to me without having suffered some trial, some tribulation, some catastrophe that doesn't drain the life out of them?!?"
"It was ordained by..." Begins Tuesday, who is brutally cut off.
"It was ordained THAT I AM THE KING OF ALL WEEKDAYS!" Friday's voice echoes off of the impossibly high ceiling, so loud that the huddled and devastated, and rag-clad masses, cover their ears, and cower to the ground.
The weekdays cringe. Then the phone rings, cutting through the tension like a knife. Friday looks over and picks it up*.
"Hello, this is Friday."
An operator's voice speaks. "Mr. Friday, this is New York calling, I have a person to person call from Lady Liberty."
"Well, put her on the line!"
"Hello? Friday?" A very sexy voice speaks across a great distance.
"Liberty! I haven't heard from you since the 4th of July! How've you been?!"
"Oh, okay I guess. Look, we should talk about the last time we, umm, saw each other, but not now. Right now, I kind of know about your problems."
"Really?" Friday says "How?"
"It's not important. I just want you to know, that I'll take over for you."
"What do you mean?" Friday asks.
"All those beaten down folk that have arrived at your door. Every single one of them, the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free...yadda-yadda, and all that."
"Okay, but...I don't quite..."
"I know." Says Liberty. "It's like this...can't you just show them a good time at the beginning of the weekend? They've been through a lot, I mean, it'd take a lot to reduce them to this, and still be happy to arrive at your feet. I know it's a lot to ask..."
"There's no more to say." Friday speaks into the phone. "I'll do it. Everyone, especially the cast-off, no-good, beat-up, and completely unsuccessful deserve a good time every now and again. And today, shall be their day!"
"Thank you so much Friday." Liberty's voice catches in kind of a real sexy way. Then she says "Okay, well, call me sometime..." Liberty trails off.
"I will. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a horde of poor souls I have to turn into party-fiends."
"Good! Well, goodbye."
Friday hangs up the phone with a slam.
"Monday!" He commands. "Bring forth ambiance!"
"Tuesday!" He continues, "Assemble festive garb!"
Wednesdayay!" He shouts, "Entertainment so great that the stricken will forget their sorrows, and feel rested in their hearts, muscles, minds and bodies!"
"Thursday!" He finishes, "Food and libations- in quantity to make every soul be content!"
Tuesday begins to speak. "But Friday, I can't assemble that much..." Tuesday is struck by a gigantic lightning bold that reduces him to ashes!
"Monday!" Friday commands, "Bring forth ambiance and festive garb!"
"Awww," Monday speaks, "Now I've got to do two?!"
"Yeah, but remember, you're the one who started all this." Friday smacks the edges of his throne. "We don't have much time here, get cracking! There's a huge crowd that needs us!"
Somewhere Lady Liberty was happy.
Happy Friday
*this part of the post was inspired by a very intrepid and witty NY-Times telemarketer that should, judging from our conversation, be doing other things. She also cheered me up. Happy Friday Fjordlings. -Tsunami-
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempesttossedt to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
This was Lady Liberty's line,
this was not what Friday was used to.
Friday doesn't want the tired. Friday doesn't want the poor. Friday doesn't want huddled masses, or cast-off garbage. Friday wants glory-seekers. Friday wants exuberance. Friday wants successful glory-seekers to rise up and embrace the possibilities that he offers. Friday, much like fate, favors the bold. Unfortunately for him, it was the latter that he looked over.
Friday sighs as he looks out over the downtrodden that have shuffled up to fill his mighty throne-room, and looks to the assembled four weekdays, that stand two on either side of the red-carpeted stairs that lead up to his jewel-encrusted chair.
"I can't let you out of my sight for one Gjoddamn minute!" He says to the previous weekdays.
They all lower their heads, not wanting to accept responsibility.
"How long am I going to have to wait before you fuckers let my people through to me without having suffered some trial, some tribulation, some catastrophe that doesn't drain the life out of them?!?"
"It was ordained by..." Begins Tuesday, who is brutally cut off.
"It was ordained THAT I AM THE KING OF ALL WEEKDAYS!" Friday's voice echoes off of the impossibly high ceiling, so loud that the huddled and devastated, and rag-clad masses, cover their ears, and cower to the ground.
The weekdays cringe. Then the phone rings, cutting through the tension like a knife. Friday looks over and picks it up*.
"Hello, this is Friday."
An operator's voice speaks. "Mr. Friday, this is New York calling, I have a person to person call from Lady Liberty."
"Well, put her on the line!"
"Hello? Friday?" A very sexy voice speaks across a great distance.
"Liberty! I haven't heard from you since the 4th of July! How've you been?!"
"Oh, okay I guess. Look, we should talk about the last time we, umm, saw each other, but not now. Right now, I kind of know about your problems."
"Really?" Friday says "How?"
"It's not important. I just want you to know, that I'll take over for you."
"What do you mean?" Friday asks.
"All those beaten down folk that have arrived at your door. Every single one of them, the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free...yadda-yadda, and all that."
"Okay, but...I don't quite..."
"I know." Says Liberty. "It's like this...can't you just show them a good time at the beginning of the weekend? They've been through a lot, I mean, it'd take a lot to reduce them to this, and still be happy to arrive at your feet. I know it's a lot to ask..."
"There's no more to say." Friday speaks into the phone. "I'll do it. Everyone, especially the cast-off, no-good, beat-up, and completely unsuccessful deserve a good time every now and again. And today, shall be their day!"
"Thank you so much Friday." Liberty's voice catches in kind of a real sexy way. Then she says "Okay, well, call me sometime..." Liberty trails off.
"I will. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a horde of poor souls I have to turn into party-fiends."
"Good! Well, goodbye."
Friday hangs up the phone with a slam.
"Monday!" He commands. "Bring forth ambiance!"
"Tuesday!" He continues, "Assemble festive garb!"
Wednesdayay!" He shouts, "Entertainment so great that the stricken will forget their sorrows, and feel rested in their hearts, muscles, minds and bodies!"
"Thursday!" He finishes, "Food and libations- in quantity to make every soul be content!"
Tuesday begins to speak. "But Friday, I can't assemble that much..." Tuesday is struck by a gigantic lightning bold that reduces him to ashes!
"Monday!" Friday commands, "Bring forth ambiance and festive garb!"
"Awww," Monday speaks, "Now I've got to do two?!"
"Yeah, but remember, you're the one who started all this." Friday smacks the edges of his throne. "We don't have much time here, get cracking! There's a huge crowd that needs us!"
Somewhere Lady Liberty was happy.
Happy Friday
*this part of the post was inspired by a very intrepid and witty NY-Times telemarketer that should, judging from our conversation, be doing other things. She also cheered me up. Happy Friday Fjordlings. -Tsunami-
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Hello...
Gjoddamn I'm tired.
I'm not up for full-bore blogging at the moment, and there's about 8-billion things I've got to do. Seems the casa fell apart a LOT more than I thought it would in the passing of five days. And while I'm actually doing 3 of those things at the moment, I'll have to up my multi-tasking to about a billion things an hour if I want to get them all done tonight.
Needless to say, I had a mind-blowingly great trip, and will certainly give up my impressions.
Just not now.
Oh, and I did discover where Q-Dog's been lurking...
It's not exactly like Brando in Apocalypse Now...but kinda'.
I'm not up for full-bore blogging at the moment, and there's about 8-billion things I've got to do. Seems the casa fell apart a LOT more than I thought it would in the passing of five days. And while I'm actually doing 3 of those things at the moment, I'll have to up my multi-tasking to about a billion things an hour if I want to get them all done tonight.
Needless to say, I had a mind-blowingly great trip, and will certainly give up my impressions.
Just not now.
Oh, and I did discover where Q-Dog's been lurking...
It's not exactly like Brando in Apocalypse Now...but kinda'.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
