Today’s soundtrack: I swear it’s getting warmer
Today at 12:02pm: Doing the same thing everyone in this city is doing. Sweating.



To those of you who read regularly, sorry I’ve been away so long, was in the backyard cutting up bodies.

I am of course lying. I have no backyard and the only thing I’ve been cutting lately is fucking two-by-sixes. When people ask how it’s going and I say “Oh, I’m just busy with the studio renovations” they say “Still?” with an air of slightly disgusted incredulousness. Well it’s a lot of work my friend, and I still have to find a way to make the rent in between.

The good news is I am cutting the two-by-sixes with a miter saw, the kind you plug into the wall, not that shit with the metal guide rails and the wooden handle. Remember those? Those were a bitch. I’m saying “Remember those?” like all of us were carpenters in the 1950s. Well at the (first) art school I went to, the shop guy was old-school and made us develop a proficiency with the old-fashioned joints before we could touch the table saw. The bed in my dorm was filled with sawdust and occasionally, a very tired freshman with a sore shoulder.

I made my own bungie cords yesterday. Thought that I needed some so I took some elastic fabric I stole from a sweatshop (long story) and banged grommets into them. Noisy as shit, grommet-banging. Anyways the homemade bungies worked perfectly, but it turned out for what I was doing, which was trying to induce rigidity through tension in a 4x8 plastic sheet, did not call for bungies after all. This was disappointing, like coming up with a clever answer for a question no one asked.

My parents moved away. Did I tell you? Do you care? I suppose the whereabouts of some conlific* blogger’s family ain’t exactly breaking news. Anyways they’re gone, gone, gone; I am the last Noe left in this state. Before they left I had to go up to their newly-sold house and clean out all my shit. A different version of cleaning out your desk; it was like I’d been fired as their son. “You are no longer our son, now take this box and fill it with your possessions and then security will escort you off the premises.”

Except “this box” was actually a carful and a half. Books mostly, some old records, trinkets and knicknacks. Shit that’s important to you in high school. I found a couple boxes of letters, too. One was from a girl in college. I remember we were just friends but I can’t remember what the hell she looked like. I had a brief temptation to Google her but her last name is Jones.

I’m selling all the books off, and the comic books and all that crap. And the records even though I have a bad feeling they’re not worth a damn. Fire sale, everything must go. I will convert all my worldly possessions into cash which I will then give to Delta. I am going overseas in August because if I sit still for too long, my soul does this thing where it turns black and shrivels up.

Good times around the corner.

I took a box full of my Fantastic Four to the post office today, addressed to some citizen of eBay. Did anyone see that movie? Did it suck as bad as War of the Worlds and everything else that’s come out this summer? Except Rize, that is. Rize was easily the best thing I’ve seen all year. The movie’s not actually about dancing, by the way. I got kinda twisted up when Tommy the Clown discovers what he discovers after the competition.

Hope I didn’t just spoil it for you. While I’m throwing out spoilers, here’s another: At the end of War of the Worlds, all the aliens die of SARS. What the fuck.

Well, I’ve gotta run. Got a shoot tomorrow, and my bed is waiting for me along with a nice, new, crisp edition of The Economist.

Say, if I come up with anything that I think you, random citizen and not just some eBay freak, will actually want to buy, I’ll post it up here.

*I am aware that this is not a word, but it’s late and I’m tired, man.