Cold as ‘tice
Cold as tice
Modern Technology fucking amazes me. I have this little plastic radio I found in a dumpster. It’s shaped like an iPod, but it has a picture of Disney/Pixar’s “95 Lightning McQueen” on it. Two buttons. Scan, and Reset. Sometimes it works. Usually, whoa. And it never gets the station I want it to. Instead, I always tend to get this preachy channel. On my other radio, I can’t get it (never tried, either), but on this radio, I have a direct line to a preachy retard. He showed up on my Shit trilogy.
Fuck this asshole. Sometimes it puts me on the classical station. I think we may actually have the 90. Good shit.
A’ighty then. We got pictures to discuss.
This is the boss man. I’ve called him “my bf” on multiple occasions, because he’s snuggled with me more than any humans nearby. He’s my roommate’s cat. This morning, through the wall, I heard him purring for like 5 minutes straight. Good for him. He wasn’t too into the shoot this morning, but I nabbed him for a few.
This is Stache out in the hallway.
This is the cover of a book (also on my twitter background, if you’re following along at home. I gave it to my housemate. She had a solstice dinner today, soon. I was invited. I’m not there. I tried to explain to her why I was stressed, and just like always, she started arguing with me in a won’t-let-me-get-a-word-in-edgewise babble-droning that made me kick her out of the room. I love her. I just can’t stand to be around her. When her boyfriend is there, she’s much better. I dunno. The wounds of this whole beating are still too raw. We’ll talk in 2011.
The boss-man. Nabbed again. Hi, cutie!
There are multiple stages of clearing snow when it’s this heavy. We’d recently gotten, over a foot of snow, I think. Last night we got another 3 or 4 inches, it seems. Most of it was fairly clear, though. People were on the ball. Back in the snow-clearing swing of things. Plus, with the dictator breathing down your neck, you know you’ll get compliments for taking pride in…
The radio just fell over and died. LOL! Well, I got to hear a few new songs, and a “Rick Nasty” mic break. I love that kid.
(…continued) your most menial tasks. Look at what we do, for fuck’s sakes. Type. We just bang away on the keyboard all the day and night. That’s a job for secretaries! For slave monkeys! We subbed out the actual data entry and coding years ago. Nobody here knows how that… uhh… works. Oh, except me. Move the fucking snow or I’ll move it for you! There you go. Good job. You do your mayor proud.
Speaking of finger banging, of the keyboard variety, grindcore is a fantastic background music for typing. I don’t know if it’s just that you have to turn it up so loud to hear all of the nuances, but with Napalm Death screaming through your head, it doesn’t really matter if you rip a fart so loud the entire floor of cubicles can hear it. You won’t hear their laughter, and other than the occasional mind-wandering, you’ll stay right on task. My Pandora radio “Fuck The Facts” station should accomplish this task quite nicely.
Neighbor dude with snow sculpture. Fresh.
Right below the Emmy J’s sign (that’s MeatBot HQ1. you know, where I hold office hours?), is where we’re headed. The mall!
Slush! I’ve always thought slush was cool. Consistency, patterns, and splatability. Fun stuff, when used carefully.
Aaand this is the ground after I tried to snap a shot of an oncoming snowplow as I darted across the street. The shutter delay is the only thing I can’t stand about this camera. And the noise. And the on/off delay. And the terrible battery life. And the small screen. Hey, it uses rechargeable AA batteries. If I had to pay for batteries, you wouldn’t be seeing these pics.
This/these is a shot of the eligible-for-historic-building-status building that the mayor just railroaded to destruction right before “the holidays” (there’s history [CDA, p.9] between this dude and my roommate. I’m always in the middle of everything). It’s in the way of the jail, and right across the street from that empty 4-acre plot where he had them hippies arrested in the middle of the night for planting a garden in otherwise useless space. I’d want to tear down the whole neighborhood and put up a nuclear weapons factory if I were him, too. Think of the jobs!!! (I’m not endorsing MM. I consider him a gatekeeper, but he lets some decent information through. Whatever. He’s human.)
A train of kids is walking by. Awesome. Kids make me happy. Some of them were older kids, too, but they were still smiley kids. Best kind.
Ok, now here’s what I’m talking about. Why have regular neighborhoods when you can make downtown look like a highway interchange? This little half-mile-or-so semi-circle loop does a little arc around this church of consumerism. It’s a beautiful intersection of car culture and commerce. Ooh! Maybe we’ll get another McDonalds!
Look at me! Reflected in the door! Yay, me! Yay empty ghost sports’ mecca. Let’s fill all of the land we have control over with inventory we can’t eat, while all the food is locked in other buildings out of which we’re not allowed to take any without exchanging “the cash.” CenterPoint “Market”Place What a joke.
Heh. Reminds me of a Huey Lewis & The News Album. I have it on tape, I can bring it in!
Employee lot, most likely. Oh, hey, they’re “getting better for” me!? Rockin.
This is the shot of the day. The money shot, if you will. Oh yes, we will. On the right you can easily see the ass side of ShopKo (GB, WI based retailer), the wannabe highway bypass thingy, and the lovely parking lot where said retailer’s semi-trailers turn around to inject their plasticified cores of wonderfulness into our eagerly awaiting trash cans. No, wait, gift-wrapping, then momentary usefulness, then the trash can. Whatever. What kind of timeline are you fucking people living on, anyway? Where was I.
Oh yeah. Then, on the middle-leftish of the photograph, you can see the huge empty greenhouses. There are over ten independent, local farmer types who I know would gladly put that space to use growing food that everyone could eat. Does capitalism allow this? No. It sits, losing value and usefulness, falling into a state of disrepair, awaiting the largest bidder? No, eventual destruction. Why? For a less usefully designed, more disposable, more fascist human and resource-handler shall replace it. How do I know this? It’s all you fuckers do! I literally have to do everything, don’t I. If you want a job done right…
Also, your tax dollars at work, with that little pig-tail sprout of a decoration. Makes ya feel all warm and snuggly, don’t it? Then, below that, is snow pile of awesome! Who wants to help me hollow it out and make a fort? You can do this in your own backyard! Just pile up as much snow as you can gather, let it settle for a few hours, or days, and core it out with hands, shovels, spades, metal bowls, saucer sleds, buckets, or whatever else you can find. Go, go, go!
Ghostly self-portrait with yellow caution easel and vending machines. Of course I slept in those clothes last night. It’s fucking freezing. I’m not getting naked in temps like this unless I have help staying warm.
How cool would this mall be if we had free reign in here. Exposed metal beams? You could run cables everywhere. You could lift an entire factory to the ceiling to make room for a show beneath. Yes, we need more shitters in here. Composting toilets. There will be mad gardens on the roof. That’s useful sunlight just going to waste. What part of “Intelligent use of all available resources” did you not understand? BBW changed their picture, too. I’m sure they just got a new one from corporate. I love having fans.
Foodie Court! With a caution cone by my office! Home. Sweet. Home.
Self portrait with post office. Box. There’s a 9:45 in the A.M.?
Gifts for him/her. And, the pyramidical glass I-beam thingy that I like more than any of the people I’ve met before. I told you I went to college for the architecture. Apparently, it’s why I do anything. I’m not so much a porn Mogul as an anthill. Molehill.
Hey. I’m in the library. I found this. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas_worldwide Don’t worry. Yours is the “right” way.
I just searched IMDB for “michael roger and me” and it had one mention of Michael Moore’s name. Check it yourself. That IS censorship.
So the internet’s slow as fuck today. I’m sitting on the south side of the library now. I still have a fantastic view, but now it’s of Club Steel, which used to be the VFW, where I once saw Bill Clinton speak. I know I repeat myself. Who cares.
Whoo! Finally, some twitters up in iss peace!