I've been looking for a job for a while now, and have been turning to the internet mostly. So far I've come up with nothing, so yesterday I decided to get the Sunday paper. I figured there HAD to be more jobs listed in there right? Well, after scouring through not only the Art/Design section, but EVERY section, I came up with a grand total of exactly two (2) jobs to apply for! WTF? One of them I'm pretty sure I'm in no way qualified for, but I still faxed over my resume this morning, maybe I could slip through the cracks and get hired anyway, b/c Fender would be a cool place to work. The other one is an assistant to a graphic designer, and I think that one might be cool.
But the job market here in Arizona is so competitive. Most of the graphic design jobs are only part-time or temp work, and I really need to work full time if I ever want to make it out of this shithole city. I guess I can go for 2 different part-time jobs, but even those are very hard to come by, and they only pay between $10-$12 an hour. Woo-hoo! Look out, here comes Miss Moneybags!
So that's my dilemma. I know I shouldn't do this to myself, but every once in a while I check the job listings for my line of work in NJ, and there's usually about 4 or 5 that sound totally perfect for me. And that's just in Jersey, I haven't even glanced at NY yet. *sigh*
Oh well, I'll just keep looking and eventually something will come up, blah blah blah.
In other news, I think that the Runaway Bride needs to get her head checked, and she also needs to have some kind of charges pressed against her. Or maybe she should at least pay for all of the time and effort that the local police and volunteers and friends and family spent looking for her crazy bug-eyed lying ass.

(And by the way, nice neck.)
I also think the whole situation is sort of funny. It just goes to show the lengths some women will go to just to NOT be honest with their boyfriends/husbands. Just tell the guy you don't want to marry him. I bet you this guy was like, "Honey, is everything okay? What's wrong?" all the way up to the day she took off, and her answer the whole time was,"Nothing!". Good work, lady. Faking your own kidnapping was so much smarter, now he gets to be completely humiliated not only in your inner circle, but all over the nation. Very smart.
Well, that is all. Have a good night readers, and if you see me at the grocery store, try not to stand too close to me in line, because I like my personal space, and I don't want to have to give you a dirty look.
Thanks.

Last night I went to the mall and bought myself a new pair of maryjanes. I love them so much, I had to post about them. Some lady stopped me in the parking lot after Lisa dropped me off after lunch, and said she loved them and asked where I got them. I thought that was nice, no one seems to compliment anymore very much anymore, so it was cool of her. YaY new shoes!

While I'm on the subject, here's some more stuff I bought recently, and don't know how I ever lived without.
graphic t-shirt:


another graphic t-shirt:

Today Taryn gave me a catalog called "Toscano", which contains some of the ugliest shit you've ever seen in your life. Here is "The Goddess Laurel" wall sculpture, which has got to be the ugliest piece of wall art this side of my grandma's house. I never knew that trees had crotches, and rather ample bosoms. You can put this in your son's room to scare him into submission, and you can leave it there straight on through puberty so mother nature can be responsible for your son's sexual awakening. Just don't be surprised if you get a call from his school that your kid has been humping trees during recess.

Two words: Timeless, and Classy. I'd be proud to display this fabulous depiction of wet, sweaty man-love in my personal art collection. And it's mine for only $45! Score!

Where was this catalog when I was looking for a life-size casting of Abe Lincoln's face---sans eyes---for Mom's b-day? Do you think it'll make it here in time for Mothers day?

One Halloween when I was about 7 or 8, my mom made me the coolest princess costume. It was a long pink, green and white dress with lots of lace, and a pointy hat with a veil hanging down from the top. I loved it so much. I was the envy of every girl in my class that Halloween, and I swear I got more candy than any other year trick or treating. I felt like a real princess.
Anyway, after Halloween, my mom packed it away in a box in our attic, and I forgot all about it. One summer afternoon a year or two later, I was up in the attic fooling around and going through other people's shit, when I found the dress. Man was I excited! I pulled it out of the box, and threw it on over my fluorescent t-shirt and shorts. It still fit! YES!
I excitedly began dancing around the attic (which was quite a feat since the ceiling was very low and there was shit wall-to-wall). I had to carefully maneuver around boxes and old furniture and assorted other crap. Everything was going great, and I was a princess once more, until I felt a sharp yank on the back of the dress. I froze. What the hell was that?? Did Lisa catch me and was she gonna make fun of me? Was it a ghost? The Devil?
Slowly, I turned around to see that the bottom hem of the back of my beautiful princess gown was caught in the blades of our huge attic fan. This fan was set into the wall of the attic, about 4 feet tall with no protective cover, and helped to circulate air through our very old house in the summertime. And right then it had my gorgeous dress in it's grasp.
I didn't know what to do. I tried to yank the dress out of the blades, but that was a bad idea. Now I had somehow gotten the dress out of the blades and into the center of the fan, and it was now slowly pulling me towards it, and eating the shit out of my dress. I started panicking and pulling harder, but my puny muscles were no match for this giant steel monster. I was being sucked into the fan, and was too scared or stunned to think about calling for help. I think a decent amount of embarrassment might have played into it too. I frantically looked around for some way to turn the fan off, but there was nothing. Luckily because of the fabric stuck in the gears, the fan was moving much slower than usual, or I would've been dead. I kept pulling and yelling and cursing, all the while inching closer to certain death for both me and my dress. Finally with one enourmous YANK! the dress pulled free.
I fell back onto the old wooden floor, exhausted and wide eyed. I got up and pulled the dress off, which was now just a shirt with a bunch of dirty pink, green and white shreds in place of the once-majestic skirt. Quickly I shoved it back into the box, and ran down the attic steps, slamming the door shut behind me.
When we were selling that house about 5 years later, we went through everything, looking for stuff to throw out or put in our yard sale. When my mom pulled that dress out of the box, she was like,"My god, what happened to this???". I tried to sound totally casual, like I didn't almost die in that dress, and said,"I don't know. I haven't touched it since that Halloween.".
The whole point is, as a kid, I was a fucking liar.

Last night I learned how to crochet a purse by following instructions to make an iPod cover, then just making it bigger. So far it looks really good, much better than I expected! Now I just wish I was home, camped out on the couch in my pajamas, working on my purse and listening to some good music. Instead I'm at work, fighting hunger pains since it's only 9:56AM, and that's too goddamn early to eat lunch. But right now I'd kill someone for a big bowl of Olive Garden's salad. If anyone wants to be my new favorite person, you can bring one to my office. Just ring the bell out front. I'll come out and meet you and we can share it. I'll even let you eat the pepperoncini's. Especially since I hate those.

My office is on the second floor of a building, and you have two options to get up here. One is you can take the stairs, and the other is you can take the elevator. This elevator's only purpose is so that the elderly and disabled can get up to see their doctor or dentist, who are also on the second floor. It is also good for the UPS or FedEx guys, if they have large packages to deliver. It is NOT for people who are too fucking lazy to walk up one goddamn flight of steps when they are clearly in good enough health to walk. Or for fat people who don't want to lose any of their precious "fat collection". I see this kind of crap more times a day than I can count, and it just gets under my skin and pisses me off.
What's even dumber, I think, is that it takes 3 times as long to take the elevator than it does just to go up the stairs. You have to push the button, and wait for the thing to come down to get your lazy ass, then get in and wait for the super-slow doors to close, then ride up, then wait for the super-slow doors to open, and by this time I could have walked up and down the steps several times.
Come on people. A little tiny bit of exercise won't kill you. Unless that super-sized Big Mac value meal and X-Large soda is just waaaay too heavy for you to carry upstairs, in which case, take the elevator! My god, how did you even get here from the car?? Did someone push you in a wheelchair? You must be tired. Have some more fries.

I just want to say my boyfriend is hot.

There, I said it.

Saturday night we went to an 80's party, and it was fun to get all decked out in our best bright blue eyeshadow and upturned collars and side-ponytails. I decided to take some "Glamour Shots", but there was something missing when I looked at the pictures this morning. Perhaps a unicorn? Here's Kane and I, posing with our favorite mythical beast. I think I'll print this one out and frame it to hang over the kitchen stove. It's just that classy.

Uh-huh. Jen does her best Madonna impression from the Desperately Seeking Susan-era. I thought putting her picture on a nice brandy snifter would be just the thing to class this picture up. The tiny bottle of brandy is just a bonus.

As I look at this picture, I hear the beat to "She-Bop".

Ahh, Love. 80's style!

If you've been reading Lisa's blog, you've heard the endless speculation about the Pope.
But here's a little Pope trivia for y'all:
He co-wrote the lyrics for Elton John's 1970's hit "Crocodile Rock". Check it out:

I remember when rock was young
Me and Suzie had so much fun
holding hands and skimming stones
Had an old gold Chevy and a place of my own
But the biggest kick I ever got
was doing a thing called the Crocodile Rock
While the other kids were Rocking Round the Clock
we were hopping and bopping to the Crocodile Rock
Well!
Crocodile Rocking is something shocking
when your feet just can't keep still
I never knew me a better time and I guess I never will
Oh Lawdy mama those Friday nights
when Suzie wore her dresses tight
and the Crocodile Rocking was out of sight
But the years went by and the rock just died
Suzie went and left us for some foreign guy
Long nights crying by the record machine
dreaming of my Chevy and my old blue jeans
But they'll never kill the thrills we've got
burning up to the Crocodile Rock

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH WAH-WAH-WAH-WAH-WAAAAH!
WAH-WAH-WAH-WAH-WAAAAH
WAH-WAH-WAH-WAH-WAHHHHH!
In Jesus's Name, Amen.

I think one of the funniest movie scenes ever is when Macaulay Culkin's character gets killed by bees in "My Girl. Just hearing his lazy, disinterested voice limply calling out,"No. Get away! Get away bees!" is enough to make me crack up. Hell, I'm smiling as I type this! From the looks of this picture, the bees stung his lips first. "My Girl" sucks.

If anyone reading this has any connection to Russell Crowe, like maybe working on a movie with him or something, please tell him to shut his mouth. Seriously, this guy sounds like the biggest piece of shit full-of-himself prick in the world. Not even J.Lo makes self-centered comments about herself like he does.
I was just reading an article about his band's new album, and here's a nice quote from Ole' Russ: "It is without doubt the most satisfying record I've ever made, and I know when you hear it you will be seduced by its beauty," he says humbly of the album, tentatively titled "My Hand, My Heart.".
Then he made this awesome comment about one of his songs, called "Raewyn":
"It is the only song I've ever written that has made both men and women cry, think, and call their parents, usually in that order. I have emails from Sting and Billy Bragg, two of my songwriting heroes that give testament to the quiet power of the song."
Give me a fucking break! Is this guy actually going to include said emails in the liner notes of his album, like, "Look you bastards, here's the black and white evidence that this song is AMAZING. Now like it!, you fucking yankees arsholes, or I'll beat yer face in!".
I can't stand Russell Crowe. I'm so sick of looking at his stupid, unshaven, bloated face. Why do directors cast him in stuff if he's so widely known for being such an asshole and has a reputation for being so hard to work with? Is he the only actor in Hollywood? I've seen some of his movies, and he's not bad, but he's no better anybody else.
Someone pop his big fat inflated head with a safety pin before he tries to run for King of Planet Fucking Earth, cuz he's so great.

Dang it!

This past Saturday Lisa, Brianna, Kane and I went to the Arizona Renaissance Festival. It was pretty cool, we mostly just wandered around and took in the many sights and smells of the peoples. I think Ren-fest geeks are the new Carnies. Anyhow, here's a happy lookin' guy wearing python-print tights, selling Mead or something. Good decision to wear an open jerkin, pal, because man are the ladies flocking towards you! And by ladies, I mean big fat guys in polo shirts and baseball hats, wondering what the hell this mead shit he's drinking IS, anyway.

Here's Brianna, pondering just what in the hell a '77 Mustang Fastback with teeth being driven by a chinese dragon has anything to do with the Renaissance.

Here's a lady we were stuck behind for a while, who was wearing a backless shirt, had a pregnant belly and walked with a bad limp while wildy flailing her arms around. She was really stomping through there like she was going to beat somebody down or something. She was so pretty I had to take a picture.

We went to see the "Birds of Prey" show, but overall it sucked. The birds seemed disinterested and tired. Probably tired of this big fat bitch telling them what to do. Also, why is it that really fat people (especially really fat women) are drawn to Renaissance festivals and the like? Brianna brought up this question and after she did, I couldn't help but notice the large population of severely overweight women dressed in 16th century costumes. Lesson to all you dudes out there: Renaissance festivals are not the place to cruise for hot chicks I guess.

Anyway, the Bird show was pretty boring.

Watching this man sleep during the bird show was waaaay more interesting.

Here's a little shot of the "magic show". I used quotes because there was nothing magical about it. Except for maybe that rainbow hat the lady in row 2 was wearing. Outta SIGHT!

Here's Lisa making fun of the magic show. Her shirt says,"I'm blogging this.", but you can't see it in the picture. I hope she does blog about this though, because otherwise the shirt doesn't really apply.

Yesterday we went to our friends Matt & Diana's wedding. I was her makeup artist/floral decorator(outside, anyway, and with the help of Brianna and Robert) and Kane is doing their wedding video so he was filming all night. Here are Matt and Diana leaving the reception to go bone......ummmm, I mean to......well, ummm nevermind! Sorry Diana!

It was a beautiful wedding, with the exception of when the photographer asked me if she could take a picture of my cleavage. I said,"Nooo, I don't think so..." and she was like,"Well, I won't get your face in it, but it'd be a great shot for the bride and groom!". What?? Excuse me, but if it was my wedding I wouldn't want a boobie shot in the final pictures, call me crazy. But she took the damn picture anyway, so I hope it enhances the couple's enjoyment of their wedding. Because I know when she looks back, all Diana will remember about her wedding day is my rack.

Me and Kane, after too much Champagne punch. Mmmmm, champagne+punch=gooood.

Robert and Brianna, looking adorable at the wedding.

This girl is my new idol. Go to: http://jennyharada.com/

I'd like to take a moment to talk about one of the greatest films of our time, Son in Law, starring Pauly Shore. There is only one way to describe this film: fantastic. Mr. Shore weaves an intricate plot like no other can, and the language he speaks is as rich with culture and imagery as the Bard.
Here's the plot summary from IMDb:
"Country girl Rebecca begins college in Los Angeles. There she meets Crawl [Pauly Shore], a student who is crazy, unpredictable and wild. During the holidays she brings him with her home. Her parents have never seen anything like him and are shocked when Rebecca tells them that they are engaged to be married. Two different worlds collide..."
I like how they leave it open-ended. Like, "You'll have to see the movie, bro! Just wait, it's so awesome I don't wanna ruin anything for you!"
There are almost too many poignant scenes to mention here, like the scene where Crawl gives Rebecca's mother a funky makeover and alludes to Rebecca's father having a boner for his newly hot wife, or when he heroically rescues Grandpa from the clammy hands of death by performing CPR during the fishing trip scene.
But the one moment that stands out, that is sure to stay with you and haunt you, is the final climatic scene which takes place during Thanksgiving dinner. After Rebecca's ex-boyfriend Travis sets in motion a plot which echoes Shakespeare's "Much Ado About Nothing" to frame Crawl, the truth is revealed. Much to everyone's surprise (and delight!) Grandpa (who has spent the entire film rolling his eyes at Crawl's non-traditional ways) suddenly rises out of his seat and, adopting Crawl's colorful and beautiful language, expresses his anger at seeing a cool dude like Crawl "get wheezed on by a greasy scumbaaaaaag like you! It really tweaks my melon!". Well said, Grandfather. Well said.
Sadly, Mr. Shore has been painfully overlooked by the Academy during his long and distinguished career. Unfortunately for him, much like Picasso, this is one artist who may only truly be appreciated posthumously.
Pauly Shore, you have the soul of a poet, the mind of a clown and the spirit of an Eagle. (Insert eagle sreech here.)

Disclaimer: you should be totally drunk when you watch this movie.

Here's a picture I made for a movie me and Lisa are writing. We call it "Slapping Julia Roberts". We haven't written anything down on paper as of yet, but trust me, this film will shake Hollywood to it's very core.
I think this picture will be the poster.

The tagline will be "She needs another Oscar like she needs a slap in the mouth!", or maybe, "Stop smiling for two fucking seconds!". Another great line would be,"Man dressed as Shirley Temple goes on crazy slapping spree!!! Julia Roberts is his only victim!"
When I see Julia Roberts, she reminds me of those old commercials for Reach toothbrushes. You know the ones with the poorly drawn cartoon guy with the flip-top head? I think Julia Roberts has a flip-top head.
Sorry Julia Roberts. You might be a nice person. You and your stupid husband Danny Moder and your new twins and your big teeth. But someone needs to wipe that smile off your face, it's very annoying.

Son of a bitch. My stupid Yahoo account still won't let me send email! I don't know if it's just my computer or what, but every time I write a nice long email and hit 'send', I get a message saying there's an error on the page. This friggin sucks, because I've had a lot to say. Maybe I'll try again later.
I realized today that something really bothers me. It's really stupid, but I realized I hate hearing someone eating something really crunchy, like potato chips, especially if it's really quiet in the room so that's all I can hear. It's no fault of the chew-er, but it's like nails on a blackboard to me. I try to put on my headphones, but I can still hear it. I guess it's a dumb thing to let get to me, maybe I'm just being overly critical, or maybe I've just been in a bad mood all week.
So someone asked me whatever happened to the Shitting Bandit. I can only say I wish I knew, my friend. I haven't seen hide nor ass of her for many months. Maybe someone caught her, or maybe she just fulfilled her duties (or doodies). Either way, I'm still on the lookout for her, and I promise the first thing I'll do is write about it. After I call everyone into my office so we can point and laugh, of course.
I guess a lot of stuff has been going on lately, so here's something else that's new: as of last Saturday, Kane officially moved in with me. I have to say that so far it's been great (and I promise I'm not just saying that because you read my blog, Punkin.)! I was kind of nervous to live with a boy, me being a girl and all. I'm also pretty sure I can be an annoying roommate, and I was a little worried I'd freak him out or be a bitch to him or something. But so far it's smooooooth sailing. Especially since I talked to him about how I felt, and he basically felt the same way. I'm guessing that's the key to keeping everything cool with us. Last night I cooked us our first dinner as roommates (I made spaghetti with garlic bread) and it came out very yummy indeed. Now it's his turn to cook, and that shit better be good or it's Bye Bye Birdie.
Another thing that's been happening is one of my toes is all fucked up. The toe next to my big toe on my left foot started hurting on Sunday, and it just kept getting worse and more swollen until I couldn't really walk on it, and I couldn't even sleep with the sheets on because it hurt too much to have a sheet touch it. I went to see my doctor on Tuesday, and she told me I have a very bad infection in the tip of my toe. It starts at the very top and goes deep under my nail. She said it's a really unusual place for an infection, and she can't imagine how I might have gotten it. (I thought it best not to tell her about stabbing my toe with H.P. MacRudenthicket's Old-Timey Infects-a-Lot a few days back.) I was a little worried she was gonna pull out the clippers and just lop my poor little toe off, but she didn't. I'll spare you any more gross details about my toe, but she helped make it feel better, and gave me some antibiotics to help with the infection(although sadly no pain killers. I guess a toe is too minor for that.), so now my toe is feeling much better. At least I'm not limping around like a gimp anymore. So to celebrate my toe feeling better, last night I bought myself a brand new pair of girlie shoes to celebrate. I can't wear them yet, but maybe over the weekend.
My point is, you don't think about something as unimportant as one of your toes, but when one gets infected, it's like the end of the world. Either that or maybe I'm just a pussy.

Today I've been thinking about one of my old favorite shows, The Adventures of Pete & Pete. This show was so random and so wierd, but it also had some of the best guest stars ever. Steve Buscemi, Debbie Harry, Iggy Pop, Hunter S. Thompson, Janeane Garafolo, Chris Elliott, the list goes on and on. I wonder why great shows like this haven't been released on DVD yet, but you can purchase the first season of Full House any time you want. Doesn't seem fair.

Here's an interesting t-shirt I found today. It boasts a "realistic silk-screened pistol and waistband, perfect for wearing with your Bonnie & Clyde hat.". I don't have one of those, so I guess I'm not a candidate for purchasing this shirt. I like this shirt though, because it's the ultimate white-trash look. And being white and trashy, I am once again a candidate for purchasing this shirt. The problem is I don't know how comfortable I'd be with a gun pointed at my 'gyna all day. Fake gun or not, my 'gyna scares easily.

If there was one this I'd change about this shirt though, I would have to add a pocket to hold my beer like the guy Mike saw on the subway. Too cool.

I can't think of anything to write about today, so instead of a thought provoking bit of social commentary (yeah right), here's 10 thoughts about butter:
1. it is salty and creamy
2. you can use it in recipes instead of Crisco and that shit is pretty much guaranteed to taste better.
3. In the past 2 months, I have acidentally completely melted 2 sticks in my microwave when I was just trying to soften it a little.
4. butter is very hard to clean off of the bottom of your microwave.
5. it has the word "butt" in it.
6. it also has the word "ter" in it, if that means something to somebody.
7. Keep your cat off of your kitchen counter. Cats will lick the butter.
8. If you put some butter on your ass, I bet your pants will just slip right on. Fatty.
9. I like just a little butter on my popcorn at the movies, cuz it may taste like fake crappy butter, but it keeps my popcorn from being too dry.
10. One time when I was about 11 or 12, I ate a big chunk of butter on a dare. I felt very sick afterwards.

Today I made a cartoon for my friend Jenny. I hope she likes it! Rod SUCKS!!!!!

Hey Lisa,
Did you hear 'bout tha big Arizona EARFquake last night? It happened around 4:15 in the morning, and no one on the news could shut up about it today. I was pissed because on Fox 10 they were like, "And coming up after the break, we'll be talking to The Phantom's Gerard Butler!". Cool. They're actually going to interview someone I'd like to hear from, NOT some tool from American Idol or The O.C. Then they get back from the break and they're like,"We'll be delaying our interview so that we may bring you more reports that are pouring in about the earthquake!" Then they read emails from idiots all over arizona, like, "Yeah, I was sleepin', and then my house shook and I woke up!" Wow. Thanks Mary from Casa Grande. Or "Yeah, I heard a sort of rumbling sound and then it felt like someone dropped something really heavy on the floor, cuz it started shaking.". Riveting. And then some other guy was like, "Yeah, I have a parrot and in the middle of the night he began squawking and then he sort of fell off his perch. I think he detected the earthquake!". That guy was my favorite, because he called in and said that, he didn't just email it. I wish they asked him if his parrot did that at 4:15AM, and then he could've said,"No, it was like 8:30PM.". Who cares about Gerard Butler at a time like this!!?!?! Arizona's EXTREME weather at work!! Mother Nature is really GIVING IT TO US NOW! SHIT!
I just turned off the TV and finished getting ready for work. I didn't really care that much to watch the interview if I had to listen to that crap all day. Hey I should've written this as a blog, huh? Maybe I'll just copy and paste this.
Love, Moe
P.s. Is grandma still farting?

Lisa, as she was as in her younger days, competing in The Great Tortilla Throwing Competition, 1932.


Photo courtesy of the Arnseth Archives, TM.

"And then my action ran out."-Tick Tock
"Be sure you don't pick a green one!"-Belina
"Um, whoa, whoops!! My wing fell off or something."-Gump
"Mom!"-Jack
"Dor-o-thy!!!"-Scarecrow
"Why the hell was I alright as a kid but now I'm completely heinous?"-Fairuza Balk

Last night I had an Oscar party, which was fun even though the Oscars weren't. I made baked ziti and garlic bread, and Brianna and Robert brought a bunch of cookies and candy and beer. They also printed up some oscar ballots for us so we could predict who was going to win, and we had a 25 cent pool going to see who guessed the most winners. We're all really broke, but even so I probably wouldn't throw in more than a quarter over the stupid oscars anyway.
After watching this long, very boring show I just have one thing to say, and that is Chris Rock set black people back about 60 years. Now Mr. Rock, I am aware that your whole carreer is based on the differences between blacks and whites, and that's fine if it works for you, but the Oscars should merit just a little bit of class, don't you think? (Also, just for the record Chris, you're holding a microphone. You don't need to shout everything, asshole.) Chris Rock is not alone in unravelling racial equality though, whoever directed the Oscars also has to share the blame. Why was it that the only reaction shots they cut to while Chris Rock was stumbling over his lame jokes were of P. Diddy, Oprah, Spike Lee, Morgan Freeman, and Samuel L. Jackson? We were all joking that you could actually see Oprah shaking her head, thinking that she really had her work cut out for her this week to make up for this shit. And if that weren't bad enough, every time a hispanic person was on stage, they cut to Antonio Banderas, Salma Hayek, Penelope Cruz or Speedy Gonzalez. OK, maybe not the last one, but you know they really wanted to! Where is George Lopez when you need him?!
I'm just glad that Sideways didn't win anything. I don't know why but I have a personal problem with Paul Giamatti. I think he looks like he'd be a huge dick in real life. He kind of carries himself like he should be rewarded for just being his awesome independent-film self. But aside from that guy, it's a movie about drinking wine and golfing. Two things that pretty much guarantee that I won't like that movie. Yeah, I'm judging that book by it's cover, but ask me if I care. Answer: nope!
Oh, by the way, me and Jen tied for most correct guesses, and we split the pot, so that was, drumroll please.........$2.00 for each of us! Woo-hoo!! I am a high-roller. That's right, today I had chips AND a drink with my sub! Didn't even blink once when I ordered it. Well, maybe a little, but that was only to keep airborn dust out of my precious, lucky eyes.

Kane emailed me the other day about JAWSFEST 2005, and I really wish I could go! Jaws is one of my all-time favorite movies, and Jawsfest sounds like so much fun. I remember a really long time ago, we took a family vacation to Martha's Vineyard, which just happened to be the same time that a shark hunt was going on. It was so creepy, dead sharks hanging everywhere, upside down, with all of their guts falling out of their mouths. Needless to say, I didn't have much of an appetite during that trip. Poor sharks, just swimming along doing what instinct tells them to do, then WHAMMO! some guy yanks their ass out of the water and hangs 'em upside down so they can take a picture next to it. I'm glad there's no TRISH hunts in Martha's Vineyard, because I do not want to be caught and become dead. I just want to walk along, doing what instinct tells me to do, such as eat ice cream and argue with my family! Hopefully wearing a suit as cool as the mayor's in this picture. Very nautical.


Everybody's lining up to be a hot lunch! Close the beaches! Don't be hatin'!

My assistant is making a sign for our trade show booth that says,"PEARL NECKLACES, $100 each". I walked past her computer and just burst out laughing. I think maybe I should send a picture of it to Maxim's "Found Porn" column.

Last night my mom called me and told me to turn on the news. They were doing a story about this fly that lays eggs under your skin and you don't know it until the larvae pops out of your skin. It was so gross, it looked like the turkey was done! POP. But the funniest part was when the reporter was talking about other parasites you can pick up in other countries, and one of them was a kind of parasite you can get from swimming in South America, which the reporter said gives you,"The unpleasant-sounding DIARRHEA FOR LIFE.". I swear I heard the guy take a quick pause after saying that, as if to gain his composure to keep from laughing. That was probably the first time the phrase DIARRHEA FOR LIFE was ever spoken during the prime time news. I witnessed a milestone.
My mother was still on the phone with me throughout the story, and all I could hear was her laughing so hard she was couldn't catch her breath.
DIARRHEA FOR LIFE. Think about that.
DIARRHEA..........FOR..............LIFE.

Today being Valentine's Day, I decided to get into the spirit a bit by looking at some old, romantic valentines from yesteryear. The art is just so beautiful, and the messages right just as true today as they did long, long ago. Happy Valentine's Day, dear readers.

That Queen sure does look familiar....

Shockingly inappropriate.

Does anyone remember Picture Pages? Anyone? Here's the esteemed Mr. Bill Cosby holding up a large, crudely made model of Mortimer, his magical pen that he used to draw picture pages. Bill looks kind of sad here. Or maybe he was just preoccupied thinking about drugging women and fondling them. Can you draw THAT, Mortimer?

p.s. If you click on the Picture Pages link above, make sure you check out the picture gallery. These pictures are so awesome, you're not even gonna belive it. Awesome.

"Those are some magical guys..."

Kat put a joke on her blog that I think deserves repeating:
"What's the opposite of Christopher Reeve?"
"Christopher Walken.".
I know this joke is in poor taste, but so is my sense of humor.
Thanks Kat!

Here's the picture I was working on for Lisa's christmas card back in December. I never did finish it, because I just kind of looked at it one day and said,"What the hell is this?". So here you go Lisa, Merry Christmas.

Last night I went to a small film festival with Kane, Lisa & Allison, called No Festival Required. Let me just say this before I even get started: I am embrassed to tell people I am an artist for fear of being grouped together with the "non-conformist" assholes who make stupid pretentious arthouse films like the ones I saw last night.
There were only two (maybe 3) movies that I liked, and they were the last two. I liked them because neither was filmed in black and white, and neither was narrated by some tripped-out "enlightened" tragic artist who recites poems about how love is an illusion, and how society needs an enema. Neither one was saturated with thinly(or in some cases-thickly) veiled political commentary. The two that I liked actually told stories, and had real people, instead of endless crudely filmed shots of windy roads and naked tree branches against a barren grey sky. I say that I maybe liked 3 of them, because the third was an obvious rip-off of SNL's Fun With Real Audio sketch. It still made me giggle though, so I forgive it.
Now I understand that not every movie has to tell a story, and that film itself is a blank canvas with which we can express anything we want. I appeciate that these people are at least trying to think creatively. So all of the movies at least get a C for effort. But my god, stop working so hard to get your message across until you are sure of what that message is! You're not fooling us by using big words that you just looked up in your thesaurus. Every art student film is exactly the same, with the same 3 things to say:
1. Love sucks. Whoever makes these movies has been scorned by someone they felt they had an eternal connection with. They probably believe they met this someone long before this life, but luckily they ran into them at Starbucks. There's nothing much to say about love sucking, except that it's a lie and it brings nothing but pain and makes you listen to your stupid wimpy whiney music and cry alone in your room in your parent's basement. Get over yourself.
2.The world is toxic, and the government wants us all to be miserable. The movies about this stuff are always, ALWAYS black and white, and are so deep that it hurts. These are the musings of a 19 year old kid who sees the world clearly since experimenting with drugs, and now has EVERYTHING figured out, and knows everything there is to know about the world.
3. No message...or is there? These movies are just random, unrelated shots (probably just stuff that the filmmaker thinks look cool), with some distorted voices or just a bunch of mechanical beeps and blips over it. Don't get the message?? Don't worry, the guy who made the movie doesn't either, but he's gonna play it off like you're just not smart or lucky enough to understand. You're probably too jaded by society and conformity. Poor little sad you. Example: one of the films last night was just a shot of a car's turn signal arrows, blinking left for a minute, then a shot of a blank blue screen, then the right turn arrow, blinking for another minute, then a shot of a blank yellow screen, etc. This went on for about 5 minutes. Over these images, we hear what sounded like a heavily distorted police radio. Oooooo. Lisa said she thinks it was supposed to be something about 9-11. But what?, she was not enlightened enough to figure out.
Like I said, at least these people are trying to be creative, and that's more than I'm doing at the moment. But overall, the films were pretentious crap, and had us laughing all the way home.
So I am an artist. Just please don't call me one!

Yay! I just took the "Which The State Character are you?" quiz and I'm Captain Monterey Jack!!!! Fuckin Sweeet!


You are Captain Monterey Jack. You spend your time in the noble pursuit of improving young minds with the wisdom you've collected throughout your life. Your feet may sometimes betray you, and you oftentimes receive strange looks for your advice, but you rest well with the surety that Thomas Edison was a bastard to his wife and kids.

Still, I was kinda hoping I'd be Barry or Lavonne, or maybe their $240 worth of pudding. I guess that'd be a lot to ask for though.
Everyone take the quiz and tell me who you are! First one to be Doug wins my respect forever.
I'm outta here.

So Saturday Lisa and I graduated from Arizona Traffic School. Yipee!!!!!!!! You can read all about it on her blog, but let me just say that 98% of the class was really old people, and I think they need to have their licenses taken away from them, and they should also be beaten with a shoe for being so fucking dumb and driving on the same roads that I am driving on. It's so retarded that Arizona driver's Licenses don't expire for 40 years, so we have all these crazy old people who can't see an inch in front of their faces driving around with valid licenses. Re-test! What the shit is wrong with you, Arizona? Anyway, Lisa and I are now kick-ass defensive drivers, so back off.
I also have to say that I love blogging. Love it, love it, love it. Today I got an email from someone I haven't seen or heard from in 8 years, because she did a Google search on my name and found my blog. Fucking awesome! I'm so excited to be back in touch with her, she totally made my day! We have much catching up to do, Jenny Lundgren. Very much indeed.
Here's a picture of me and Jenny waiting for the bus, reading "Modern Hermaphrodite". We've both changed a lot since then.

I got an email from Lisa today that said:
"MINCHIES! What is a minchie? Ten dollars off your cable/phone bill payment for this month if you can make a photoshop picture of something that could be a "minchie." I'm serious!"
So here's a Minchie.
Whatdoyathink???? Can you picture this thing traipsin' through your garden?

I can almost feel that $10 in my pocket already! Pay up, Schwester.

This morning I woke up and started thinking about all of the people I've lost contact with over the years. I hate not knowing where people are and what they're up to, you know? All these people that used to be so important to me probably think that I've forgotten all about them(or they're thinking nothing, because they've forgotten about me!). I know it's part of growing up, but I don't like it. I always want to know how everyone's doing.
About a year ago I went crazy trying to track down one of my all-time favorite people, Tracy Hoerning. Treye is one of those rare people who are just completely nice. The girl just didn't have a mean bone in her body, despite all of the hard stuff she went through and the people that were assholes to her. She just always had a smile on her face and most of the time, a paper crown on her head. We took art together and our teacher Mr Johnston totally loved us. When he made the rest of the class do some boring assignment, he let me and Treye do whatever we wanted(which usually involved making paper hats that looked like trout, with the fins and gills and everything), and sat with us and played spanish guitar. One time we hid from the police bomb squad in the auditorium, and escaped in the crawl space under the stage. We also spent many Saturdays going garage sale-ing for the wierdest stuff we could find, and I taught her how to grill and we even planned to have a white-trash barbeque. She was a very good friend, and I don't think I'll ever meet a person like her again. And oh yeah, one time she and her friend played pool with Robert Smith. As in Robert Smith of The Cure.
So last year I decided I was going to find her. I tried searching the internet and calling people. I finally got a hold of her mother (Trollwoman, as Treye called her), and got a few numbers from her. After many failed attempts, I finally got the answering machine of some guy in Seattle(I think?), and I left a message but never heard back. I decided to give up my search, and just leave it up to life to reunite me and my friend. But I hate that though.
This morning I decided I wanted to send an email to Shecky. Shecky (real name Dan Farber) is an ex of mine. We dated all through my freshman and sophmore year in high school, and we broke up when he went away to NYU. That's about where I lost touch with him, except for briefly meeting him for coffee at Marina Diner right before I moved to Arizona. Since then, I found out he moved to LA and has been in some movies and on "Malcolm in the Middle" and "ER" and stuff. It was so weird how I found out, Kane and I were looking for people on IMDB, and just for the hell of it, I told him to type in Daniel Farber, see if Shecky actually made it. And he did! If you look at his bio on IMDB, he says his nicknames are Dan and Danny, no mention of the Shecky moniker that all of us knew him by. Jen introduced us backstage at the Count Basie Theater in Red Bank, when he was working as a stagehand on some musical there. We hung out together all the time, despite the fact that he lived out in Rumson and I was in Belford. During our last few months together he was in Improv Jam( a late-night improv show) at Meadow theater and I used to go watch. Treye was always there too, actually! He was good in the show, but I hated the end when the cast would hang out in the lobby and talk to the audience, because girls would always come up to him and flirt or give him their phone number. Nice, especially since I was standing right there. There was a rumor going around that he cheated on me, but I heard it after we broke up so who knows. Anyway, I realized that I talked to this guy every day for two years, and now I don't know shit about what he's up to. (Other than what I can read on the movie database.) It's kind of depressing, losing touch with people. So I did a google search to try to find an email address, and I found some but I don't know if they're really for him or some other Dan Farbers out there so I'm not gonna send anything. I did find a message board on some movie website where someone named catherine shores wrote:"i think DANIEL FARBER IS THE CUSTEST GUY IN THE WORLD". If I still know Shecky, he would get a kick out of that, some girl thinking he's the custest guy in the world. Mis-spelled stuff always cracked him up.
So anyway, hello to everyone I haven't talked to in a while. I hope life is treating you good, and that you are happy wherever you are. I figure it's much easier to post a message up here than to try and find everybody. I'm a lot lazier than I was a year ago.

Wow, I have nothing to write about. I've been sitting here staring at a blank screen for the past 5 minutes, waiting for a topic to come to me. Nothing.
It's very cold in my office right now. No wonder why I keep getting sick.
I wish Arrested Development was on tonight, and that they were going to have a marathon of all-new episodes so I could watch it. I'd also like the episodes to focus mainly on Gob, Buster and George Michael.
Last night I looked through an old photo album and got all teary for my New Jersey friends. I miss them. *shniff*
I'll probably walk over to Blimpie and buy a sub for lunch.
I should walk to places more. I wish shit wasn't so spread out in Arizona so I could walk more.


This is the lamest post ever.

So this is new for me: I started a painting about a year ago and didn't finish it (like usual), but recently I actually went back to it and finished it. I have the problem where if I don't finish a painting all at once, I never go back to it, like I can't get into the right mindset to do it. But not this time, buddy. Uh-uh. I'm proud to say that the painting is now on display in my bathroom. Tickets are $5, but it's an extra $3 to take a pee. I think I should credit my renaissance to listening to the soundtrack of "The Phantom Of The Opera" almost non-stop. Back when I used to paint all the time (and had no bills and no job and was in high school...) I used to listen to the soundtrack to the Broadway show all the time, and it inspired me. The music is just so beautiful and lush. The movie soundtrack is even better, because there's no Michael Crawford. I just can't take that guy's voice seriously. So thanks, new Phantom, for inspiring me. And also, thanks for having a nice area where your neck meets your chest. Does that spot have a name? I like it.

Hello, everyone. I am feeling rather blah today. Not much going on upstairs. Instead of a blog, here's a picture of Willy Wonka. Hurrah!

This morning my alarm went off and the radio came on. And I don't know if I made this up since I was half-asleep, but I could've sworn I heard a song by John Mayer (it had to be John Mayer, it was all breathy and shitty and said something about "Fathers.......take care of your daaaaaauuuuuuughters..." in it) but then clips from news stories about the tsunami were added every few seconds. Someone please tell me that I dreamed this.
If by some chance I didn't dream it, then I hate John Fucking Mayer even more than I already did. (Here comes a rant, people.) I'm definitely all for helping out the tsunami victims, and raising money for them, but I think a song like that is completely inappropriate. I think there are 3 different categories that people fall into when some huge tragedy happens. There's the people who are very concerned and who anonymously donate whatever and whenever they can. These people generally want to help. Then there's people who only help out when people are there to actually see it, and want tons of credit for it. You can recognize these types of people because A., they're a celebrity or B., they're the guy in line in front of you at Blimpie who make a big show of putting 50 cents into the tip jar, and do it slowly, looking around to see if people are watching. Wow man, that's REAL big of you! And the last group is made up of the people who secretly get off on tragedy. They'd never admit it in a billion years, but they get kind of excited when something horrible happens. They can't wait to hear all the gory details and see pictures of people whose lives are destroyed, and put all the "UNITED WE STAND" and "9-11: WE WILL NEVER FORGET" bumper stickers on their cars. These are the people for whom stupid shallow rock stars prey upon to sell their gimmicky music in times of trouble. In fact, you're NOT a good american if you didn't buy Springsteen's album dedicated to the victims of 9-11. And wasn't it wonderful how 9-11 united everyone? So maybe the unthinkable happened and all these people suffered horrible painful deaths (did you see all those photos printed in Newsweek? I have my copy saved in a special dust-free jacket!), it was GREAT how everyone had flags on their cars and sent those poems and stories to everyone on email. In fact, I'm still sending them!
I'm not saying we should forget about what happened, but do you think after December 7, 1941, there was a merchandising blitz, people selling anything that said "Pearl Harbor" on it? Probably not. It's just our society today and the way the media and entertainment feeds it, and it's sad.
Thankfully, I've yet to see any "Tsunami 2004!" t-shirts or bumber stickers yet, and George W. Bush hasn't yet declared a war on underwater earthquakes, but I'm thinking it's just a matter of time.
Whew, end of rant.
Or maybe I did just dream up that John Mayer song. If so, my bad.

Today I started writing a book. This is the first time I've ever done this so it's weird. Lisa's the writer in the family. I'm the artist. Really I'm just writing to copy Lisa! Little sisters always copy what their big sisters do. There you go Lisa, now run to mom and tell her I'm copying you. I promise I'll scream, "I AM NOT!!" and slam my bedroom door. No, I kid, I kid.
I don't think I'll ever do anything with this book, should I ever actually finish it. I don't think I'll ever even let anyone read it. But still, I wants to tell a story.
Goodnight, Blog.

Here's another classic scene from "Better Off Dead":
After being insulted by Roy Stalin and not realizing it, Charles De Mar and Mike Toole break up Roy and Beth's intimate slow dance to congratulate him on a joke well-done!

"You better shave her a little closer before you kiss her goodnight."-Roy
"You better shhhhh......ha HA HAha ha....you better......HA HAHAHAHA!!!!!"-Charles
"HA! Good one Roy! Thumbs up!"-Mike

We went to a New Year's Eve party at my friend Jen's house in Avondale. It was fun, even though it wasn't really our crowd of people. Jen gave us a tour of her brother's house, and along the way we found a disturbingly life-like stuffed dog. It looked more like taxidermy than loveable plaything, and when you push a button, it's belly moves up and down like it's breathing. Ewww. Jen and Kane were brave enough to touch it.

Jen and I model a platter of delicious chicken wings in the kitchen. Shortly after, Kane, Brianna, Robert and I were cornered by a girl who repeatedly told us she was "too old" to go out to da clubs and have fun anymore. She was 27. Robert is 30. Thanks for making Robert feel old, drunk girl.

After soaking up some alcohol, I challenged Robert to a game of Ping Pong in the garage. I don't know who won, but I think we both kinda did. I do know that the guy who threw the party lost, because we must have whipped the ball at his car about 20 times. After a while we started getting really violent. "Extreme Ping Pong". A new olympic sport.

Kane thoroughly enjoyed the game, with a little help from his friend Rum. He got hit with the ball a few times, but he didn't feel it.

After we got tired of Ping Pong, Robert and I took turns beating the hell out of Brianna. That was way more fun than hitting some crappy little ball around.