Friday, September 28, 2007

new place to Grand Central...

feed to another site...

I'm just checking to see if a feed is working or not.

poem for guy at the gym...

I am sure Lee will be all giddy because I am now writing poetry to guys, but what the hell...

Poem For Guy On The Precor Next To Me
By Swarvey

I am sure you are a germaphobe
You clean your Precor before you ride it
You spray it down quite thoroughly
Meticulously scrub it and then dry it
To me, though, you are a paradox
Because, while you seem so clean
You smell like a metric ton of bananas that has been allowed to rot and ferment in a hot box full of dead, heavily-perfumed goats and homeless people.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

speaking of zombies...

When I was in St. Maaarrttenn, I met a guy named Mark. I believe Mark lived at the resort where Jenn and I stayed.
I have a t-shirt of which I am very fond. It says, on the front, in plain white letters, ZOMBIE.
I have another shirt which says in plain letters across the front POLICE and people always ask if I am a cop when I wear it. So far, no one has asked if I am dead when I wear ZOMBIE. Don't tell me people aren't smart.
Mark sees me in this shirt and asks the other question you might ask seeing such a shirt. "Is that because you like Rob Zombie or is it just for ZOMBIE?"
I tell him it is just for ZOMBIE, but that Rob is fine, too.
Later that night, he finds me again. Apparently he had been thinking of our exchange all that day. He says, "You know. The reason why I asked about Rob Zombie was because I read something wonderful on the internet about him. He has a whole biography out there."
"Oh, really? Huh." I say.
"Yeah. At the bottom of it there were, and I'll never forget this, Rob Zombie's Five Rules to Having a Good Life. I can't remember four of them, but I remember this one. It's nice to be important, but it's more important to be nice. Isn't that great? I use that all the time now. I work in a casino and if I see someone yelling at a lower employee, I ask them why they did that. And they'll have some reason and I'll tell them, you know, it's nice to be important........ but it's more important to be nice. And they look at me, like, wow. So I use that all the time now."

So remember. Rob Zombie said that. It's hasn't been around for decades.
I wonder what the other four rules he couldn't recall were...
Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.
A stitch in time saves nine.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

another acting class...

I am in another scene study class trying to stave off the immense frustration of attempting to put some kind of voice-over gig together. Working toward that goal is walking down a brick road built out of brick walls with brick walls on either side that ends in a brick wall.

This is a quick entry about one of the guys in my new scene study class. This guy is something. I can only describe him as frantic. He is like 100 superballs in a blender.
He is nervous and stammers and makes odd, eyeballs-bulging-out faces. He kind of reminds me, appearance wise, of Anthony Michael Hall, after the Breakfast Club, but before Johnny Be Good. Out of Bounds, maybe.
He was wearing an all black suit, and by suit I mean black pants and a black suit jacket. Under the black suit jacket, he had one of those T-shirts where the entire front of the shirt is a characters face. The character he chose was Elmo from the Muppets. (My sister decided to be a Critical Cathy about this sentence, so I must now edit. Elmo is a Muppet, yes, but is not from The Muppets. He is from Sesame Street. I feel so much better having cleared that all up.)
This makes two classes in a row where there was some reference to The Muppets in one way or another on the first night. I wonder if that is a trend.
Adults who are enamored of Elmo from the Muppets should have to put their name on a list so parents can look up where they live and keep their children away from there.
This guy works with children. I actually believe he is harmless, unless causing extreme annoyance is considered harmful. In that case he should carry a license, because he's got some deadly annoyance mojo working.
He makes little popping sounds with his mouth, on purpose. Like it's not that his lips smack together and he can't help it. He accentuates points with a little mouth-pop, eye-roll to the sky, finger pointing maneuver.
He also does the two handed quotes in the sky thing. People tell him he is "too crazy". He needs to "tone it down". He should "jump off a building".
I am sure there will be more about this guy. He is one of the many people I have come across lately who fascinate me.
I have an idea that everything he is doing is part of an elaborate performance art piece.
We are all tasked on the first night to present some monologue to give the teacher a sense of who we are, what level we are working at and how we might respond to direction. His monologue was about a person who has been tasked with selling tofu brains to an auditorium full of zombies.
Now, I am all about zombies. I love them. Love zombie artwork and movies and music and literature. I like zombies.
Zombies have rules. Although those rules are becoming more and more liquid, they are still there. This guy's scene and the way he was presenting it defied all the rules and basically made no sense whatsoever. The sales person is supposed to convince the zombies that tofu brains are every bit as good as real brains.
The dude cannot get the motivation down to make this make sense.
There is only one way this scene makes any sense, but I didn't want to pull out the massive I AM A ZOMBIE GEEK card on the first night of meeting these people.
Here's the only reality you can put behind the scene for it to jive.
Zombies are taking over society. You are a salesman. You have to convince the zombies to like the tofu brains. The government has assigned this job to you.
Your motivation is, the government will probably kill you if you don't do a good job, or, more likely, the zombies will kill you and eat you if you don't do a good job.
Coming at it from this direction puts all kinds of tension and tense humor on the lines and actions of the actor.
Elmo-shirt-ed annoying person decided the best way to present it would be to do an impression of Sandy Duncan on QVC selling Salad Spinners and nervously tap-dance at the same time.
Perhaps a zombie punched him on the way home, but in disdain didn't eat him. That would teach him.

mullet sighting...

There was a time when you didn't have to go far to find a mullet, though it was still a treat when you did. Now, they are so rare, it's like a rainbow when I see one.
I present to you chubby, bushy-mullet man on vacation.

This chappy looks like Captain Lou Albano accidentally stepped into one of Seth Brundle's teleportation pods with the lead singer of Toto.
He was later seen singing Tow the Line and sticking rubber bands through his cheeks.

I have faux pas-ed all over the place and have been duly chastised. The song is not TOW the Line, it is HOLD the Line.

Damn it.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007


Here is some video of a creepy guy in the airport in Puerto Rico. He had been displaying this behavior for some time, and I figured he'd stop before I had a chance to get my camera out, but he favored me with one final display.
There was a girl sitting across the corridor from him, reading a book. He was surreptitiously taking pictures of her. He wins Creep of the Day.

The paradox here was that I was surreptitiously taking pictures of him. This isn't lost on me, thank you. Somewhere, you will find a video of me taking surreptitious video of the guy taking surreptitious video of the girl reading her book and I will have won Creep of the Day.
I embrace it and look forward to my award. It will look nice on the mantle next to my Ass of the Decade trophy.

By the way, that's Jenn's voice you hear. She is referring to my run in with Tranzilla.

Monday, September 24, 2007

for your pleasure...

Swarvey Meets Tranzilla
I have been to some drag shows in my day and was once apparently hitting on a person of transexual nature, although I still do not have a clear story about that. The person you see next to me here is the WORST drag/transexual/transender/man-in-dress I have ever seen. It's not just that he/she was frightening, though shim was. Person weighed maybe 100lbs and was roughly 14 feet tall. Had arms that could wrap around itself several times and toes like other peoples fingers. Combine all this with a face that Dennis Rodman would find familiar and yet STILL could not love, and you do not have an attractive... er... anything.
But, that was not the problem with this person. They were there to be a performer and they really sucked at it. Didn't even know the words to the song they were supposed to be lip-synching. That's just unprofessional.
I'm making an informed complaint to the Giant Scary Cross-Dressers Union.

Sunday, September 23, 2007

on the flight home yesterday...

I was pretty psyched that the airline was showing SpiderMan 3 on our return flight from Sint Martin. It's a long enough flight and I welcomed the diversion.
At about the 1/2 point in the movie, MaryJane visits Harry at his swank residence and together they make egg-white omelets and sing cheesy Motown. Only in the American Airlines version, they didn't. They skipped right over that part, which felt both bloating and forced. I was pleased.
I assume it was edited in the interest of time and was not an editorial call, though it was warranted.
I wish American Airlines would come to my house and work on my copy of Matrix:Reloaded.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

report from the honeymoon...

Thanks to everyone who came to the ceremony out at the old Blake place. It was a wonderful day for us and in general, everyone seemed to have a good time, which only made it better for Jenn and I.
I am now in a 3rd world country and I didn't know I was going to one. It's okay. We spend a lot of time at the resort. This place has been somewhat north American-ized, so I can deal, but the rest of the island looks like a major storm just came through all the time.
And it is hot. I thought I had been hot before, but I was mistaken. When we paintballed a couple of weekends ago, we were all hot from running around with helmets on in the sun shine. Right now, sitting here typing, I feel exactly the same, just without the fake machismo of a paint gun in my hand. Now I have the fake machismo of a significant tan and a pair of giant, Euro-styled sunglasses. Not the same.
There has been quite a lot of nothing going on. We are taking it easy and that's okay. It's like taking a deep breath when you're used to panting all the time. I'm generally pretty anxious to get on to whatever the next thing I need or want to do is, but as there isn't a lot to need to do or want to do, this anxiety has departed. I generally cannot sit still for any length of time, but I'm doing okay with it.

Here are a couple of interesting quotes so far.
The night we got here, there was a dance demonstration going on in the lobby. Everybody was dressed like for Carnivale and moving pretty good.
We were sitting by the pool when a largish lady came out from watching the demonstration. She said, "Wow. They really teach them eighteen year old girls how to move their pelvis. If I had a camera, and I remembered to bring it, I might have thought about taking a picture of them."
I don't think I've ever heard a less enthusiastic statement of kind of regret.
We met up with an elderly couple at the car rental place who happen to be staying at the same resort. They have been coming to the island for a long, long time and offered to show us around. It was appreciated.
Ray, the husband, offered this piece of advice concerning driving on the island.
"The thing about driving around here is this, you just need to stay on the road and remember where to turn."
This is good advice.

Monday, September 17, 2007


It was a beautiful ceremony. I finally met Jen. Well done cuzz.

Friday, September 14, 2007

limo drivers...

I will eventually write something about the limited time in which I was a limousine driver. There is a lot to tell and I don't have time right now, but I just saw something that reminded me of the kinds of people I was dealing with.
Coming down RT.4 I saw a limo lose it's right back tire. The tire blew up just as the limo was taking the exit. Rubber shrapnel was flying everywhere. The tire was shredded. The limo got to the end of the exit where there was a red light. The astute driver, who clearly felt something was wrong with the vehicle, leapt out to take a look at the tires, on his side of the car only.
Seeing nothing wrong with any of the tires on his side, he leapt back into the car and drove on when the light turned green. My path of driving lead me away from him soon after, but already the sparks were beginning to fly from the rim he was driving on at full speed.
Limo drivers are a rare breed.

activities from the archives...

I was having a conversation with someone the other day on a topic very similar to the below. The below is one of the very many things I have forgotten writing. I guess it's maybe five years old.

If you try any new activity, you’ll quickly discover that your new hobby is someone else’s entire life.
Don’t believe me? Go buy a kite. I don’t mean a cheap-o kite. Don’t go into a convenience store and buy a three-dollar job made out of an old dry cleaning bag, supported with taped together toothpicks and decorated with a picture of a 1970’s cartoon character no one knows. Someone like Godzooki Doo.
Go into a hobby store or an actual kite store and buy a decent one. Something made out of nylar or something. Some indestructible mad-made fabric. It should have two control handles and a collapsible support structure. Go crazy. Spend fifty bucks. This is a valuable learning experience I’m offering you. You have to expect to make some kind of investment.
Then take your new kite out to a park where other people are flying comparable kites and have yourself a ball. Say to yourself, “Hey. I’m glad I read that article about kites! This kite flying thing is okay!”
If you’re anything like me, and how could you not be, you’ll get some real enjoyment out of the kite. You’ll learn some loopy-loop things and might even invest in a neato tail deal.
But then, at about the thirty-day point in the relationship with your kite, one of two things will happen. You might find yourself out at the park or the field or wherever saying, “Hey. Here I am. Flying my kite again. Huh. I wonder if there’s anything else I could be doing right now. Like eating a pickle. I can always go fly my kite another day.” Then you’ll put the kite away for a while. Just long enough to move through two apartments until you get sick of packing it and huck it out a window.
Or, you’ll slip into the entry stages of the kite lifestyle.
Now, while I’m sure you’ve seen other people flying their kites, I bet you didn’t know there was a kite lifestyle. Trust me, there is. There’s a kite lifestyle, a mountain bike lifestyle, a road bike lifestyle (Never make the mistake of confusing a mountain biker with a road biker. They hate each other and will hate you as well.), a pottery lifestyle, 3D rendering, soccer, volleyball, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, popsicle stick house building, log cabin building, model car racing, matzo ball preparing, running, jogging, WALKING… There’s a magazine called Walking. I’m waiting for the one about respiring. “Breathing. Everybody’s doing it!”
The point is, if you’ve done it, odds are there’s someone else, very likely a large group of someones else, who only get out of bed every day so they can do that thing. Or they only get out of bed to go to work so they can afford the various stuffs they need to do that thing. Or think about how they’d like to be doing that thing. Or talk to their friends about the last time they did it and when they might do it again.
But let’s get back to the kite. You have a kite and you really enjoy it and you’re wondering about the kite lifestyle. How can I, you ask yourself, be a kite enthusiast? What you need is a kite buddy. A kite adviser. Someone to take you under his wing and teach you about two-leg brindles, angles of attack and spars and spines and stuff. Someone who can tell you what to do when your kite luffs at the zenith. Which of us can truly say they’ve never pondered that dilemma?
Go to a place where lots of people are loopy-looping fluorescent kites with absurdly long tails. Ideally, this place will kind of smell like patchouli. Look for an overweight man with a long white beard wearing rainbow stretch pants. Or, alternatively, look for a skinny man with a handlebar mustache twice as big as his head, wearing rainbow stretch pants. Odds are, the thin guy got to the park riding a recumbent bicycle. Because he’s eccentric. The overweight guy took the minivan he’s decorated with glued on macaroni. Because he’s, you know, eccentric.
Whichever guy it is, here are some other ways to identify him. He’ll be the guy who has tethered himself to the ground with what looks like a stake from a circus tent. His arms will be crisscrossed with straps. These straps will help him keep hold of the massive control handles, which will be connected, via a cable that you won’t even be able to see, to a scale model DC10.
He’ll be sweating and grunting and there will be, in the ground below his feet, a crescent shaped groove dug because the kite keeps pulling him to the end of his circus stake tether and slewing him back and forth. If this tether were to let go, he’d either be dragged across the field cutting a channel out of the earth with his face, or he’d be lifted into the stratosphere.
Which one of these things would happen depends on whether you found the overweight bearded man or the skinny giant handlebar mustache man. I leave it to you to figure out which would happen to whom.
This is the man you want to talk to.
Presupposing the tether does not come loose, wait for the man to tire or for the wind to die or for four o’clock when Guess My Palindrome comes on NPR. He’ll land the kite then. Do not attempt to talk to him before he lands the kite. If you do so, you will be shunned as a doltish kite newbie, and who wants that?
Watch as he skillfully lands what you had thought of as a scale model DC10. What you didn’t guess was that it was a FULL-scale model DC10.
Get comfortable. It’s going to take a while for him to disassemble the fuselage and the cockpit and what have you. He’ll have to reel his arms back up into their sockets so his fingers stop dragging on the ground and re-spool the invisible cable. You could pay for the fuel a DC10 needs in a year of service with what this cable costs, by the way.
When this is all done, gawk in awe at the small package he manages to fit everything into. While he’ll have enough material to tarp the QE2, his resulting parcel of put away kite will be the same size as yours. This is a good trick. As an aside, you may want to practice gawking in awe at home as it’s very tricky.
If, after witnessing all this, you find yourself wondering if you really want to be part of a lifestyle that involves bizarre facial hair, rainbow stretch pants and what has to be degenerative stretching of the arms, not to mention the recumbent bikes, run. Run away and never look back. This is not the new lifestyle for you as all of the above are required by law. Skip the packing stages and just huck your kite out the window
If, however, you are not scared, but enthralled, go up and talk to the man. If it’s the skinny man, go to him bearing mustache wax. If it’s the overweight man, some Little Debbie’s will do. Maybe a couple of boxes of pasta and some Elmer’s.
Go to him, acknowledging your doltish, kite newbie standing. He’ll respect you more for knowing your place. Go to him and learn the way of the Lark’s head.
That tingling you feel is your bizarre facial hair coming in.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

poor britney...

I finally did my civic duty and found the video of Brit on the VMAs. People have said she looked like she was "on something".
That is innacurate. She did not look like she was "on something". She looked like she would have been quite comfortable sitting next to Ray Liotta at the table while Hannibal Lecter served them both the lightly pan-fried remains of their recent lobotomies.

fake video titles...

I don't watch nearly enough television, apparently. I keep missing important pop-culture-y events when they are actually happening. Then I have to look up the stuff that I missed on the YouTube.
This has become a frustrating endeavor.
Current case.
Everyone is talking about how bad Britney looked and performed and generally came across as a human being on the VMAs the other night. Now, I'm not going to WATCH the VMAs, for christsess sake, especially because I know if something interesting happens, it will be almost immediately available on the global MegaNet.
As I have some time on my hands at the moment, I thought I would take a peeky at what the Brit did now.
However, the YouTube is overrun with people who have titled their stupid videos misleadingly. And fine, I get that this happens and that this is not a new phenomenon. I know. I just don't get it. What, you trick people into looking at your crap for 5 seconds until they realize that your crappy NuMetal band isn't really Britney Spears? Why? What could that possibly get you?
An increase of one in your video veiwership? Okay. And that is worth... what?
It's like cheating in an online first person shooter. So you kill a bunch of guys and your score is very high but you didn't really do much of anything.
Mostly I am lost on the concept. I guess, if you look at the less beautiful side of humans, you could say pleasure of some kind could be derived from the knowledge that you're tricking people, I guess. It's just not that clever a trick and you're not really TRICKING anyone. It's like walking around to everyone in your office and doing the "I got your nose!" gag on them. I would wager, depending on where you work, that you would not get anyone with that joke. They would immediatly know that you did not, in fact, have their nose, and the most you would accomplish is annoying everyone and possibly getting a pop to the chops.
Playing Devil's advocate for a second, the annoyance alone might be the thing.
And also, what if, bear with me now and open your mind, what if you were able to actually GET an adult with the "I got your nose!" gag. How satisfying would that be?
But now I have to get back on the other side of the argument. There are so many people using fake video titles to trick people into looking at their slop... Imagine if everyone in your place of work decided to pull the "I got your nose!" gag on each other all day.
It would be boring, you would get no work done, and everyone would have a Karl Malden nose.

That's what your bringing us to, people who use fake video titles on YouTube. Karl Malden nose.
Think about it.


Jealousy is a horrible thing. It is a waste of energy and time and gets you nothing at all.
I wish, somehow, I could explain this to the inanimate objects in my life.
I bought a PS3 recently. My DELL PC blew it's power supply in frustration.
I took my Saturn in to be evaluated for trade in value at the local Mini dealership and, when I drove it off the Mini lot, it sliced it's own front driver-side wheel bearing. It also boiled my bunny.
But, I got NO action in the elevator.
There is a deficiency in the equation of my life.

Monday, September 10, 2007

bachelor party...

With the Swarvey/Jenn wedding imminent, a bachelor party had to be thrown. As I was married once before, I'm not sure I am entitled to a bachelor party, I think the most I should have gotten was a please-don't-screw-this-one-up party, but I was very grateful my friends took the time and effort.
The day started out with some outdoor paint-ball. I had paint balled before, but only indoors. I have to say I prefer outdoors as you tend to not be quite as close to the person shooting at you as you are forced to be indoors. So, the sport tends to hurt less. This is a positive.
The other side of the equation was that, as we were outdoors, we were open to the atmosphere and the sun. A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about the work we did to the outside of the building where I live. I wrote that the air that day was warm and humid and that it felt like we were working within a nice, right out of the oven brownie.
Well the air from that day called us on Saturday morning and said that it would not be able to join us for paint ball because it was too hot out.
We are old, too. Not old to the point of pathetic yet, as most of us are in reasonable shape, but some of us are looking at 50 around the corner! Yeesus. I'm concerned with the onset of 40. I gotta stop hanging with geezers.
We did okay. The reality was that there were so many people in the games we were playing, it would be impossible to tell if someone was honestly sucking the big suck, but I don't think any of us were. I wanted to be honest with myself and I killed more people than killed me.
My crowning achievement was being able to sneak up on a kid behind an embankment and have the ref tell him he should surrender because he didn't notice I was on top of him. Ha, ha. Stupid kid.
I should have shot him right in the neck. I missed an opportunity there.
Later, I shot a little girl in the neck so I felt better.
Speaking of little girls, or, well, girls anyway... kinda. This largish girl who was bussed to the paint ball fields directly from the set of Jerry Springer's show My Big Fat Daughter Is Out Of Control, got in trouble. There are rules on the paint ball fields. One of the rules is, you need to keep your face mask on in the area where there might be paint balls flying. This means you end up with your face mask on for a while after you are done playing your game in your specific area. This means a walk in the heat after running in the heat in your heated face mask.
This chick decided she didn't want to wear her hot face mask anymore and took it off well before the area she should have. When the referee or coach or whatever the paint ball guy is called, asked her to please put her mask back on, she responded, "F**K off! Don't tell me what to do! Who the F**K are you? You suck your mother you F**K! I'll kill you and your whole F**KING family!"
Or something to that effect. They went back and forth a little until the paint ball guy almost called 911. Now, 911 might not be the exact right number to call when a fat girl is yelling at you, but he was pretty worked up.
Later, Steve overheard in the parking lot the girl's mother telling her she was right and the paint ball guy was a F**King C*** A** M***********, so we knew she would get the appropriate guidance and that the rest of her life would go along okay.
Apparently, the place had once been called Paint Ball Heaven, but then a kid fell on a gun and it went off inside him or something and he died. Now it's called P&L Paintball and they are very serious about safety rules. I think the name change was a good idea. P&L probably stands for Payment and Liabilities.
Later there were burgers and I got to kick most everyone's ass at Tekken. They may have been letting me win as it was my bachelor party, but I care not even a little.
Seriously, I have mad skills at the Tekken. Unless I play online on the PS3. Apparently, the people playing online on the PS3 are taking it WAY serious. I get my ass handed to me a lot. I like to think it's because I have a life and not so much time to devote to online PS3 Tekken, but look what I'm doing right now.
We then went out for a lovely dinner and I ate some charred animal flesh.
It was decided we needed to get some Goldshlager, and they didn't have any at the resteraunt, so we went on kind of a bar crawl. Ooh. I love a bar crawl.
I was happy because the bars we went into had karaoke, which I enjoy. Steve sang White Wedding, which was apropos. Cindy sang Baby Got Back, which, since we were in Providence, was also.
I almost blew my voice out singing Asshole by Dennis Leary. This is not an easy song to sing as it involves screaming a lot and saying a bunch of Dennis Leary words really fast.
Here it is:
You try karaoke-ing THAT!

We were the fun people there. Everyone else who was singing in this bar, with a few exceptions, seemed to be very few steps away from suicide. Especially Norm. Norm, as Steve pointed out, was bummed out about touring, missed his dead father who he used to dance with(I swear this is what one song was about) and was in the midst of a bad breakup. He was one of the guys who takes the karaoke too seriously. Like, if he could channel the seriousness he put into karaoke into online PS3 Tekken, he would kill everyone all the time.
Unless, that is, he was only able to channel his seriousness AND his talent at the same time. Because, even though he held the microphone like he was headlining on the Vegas strip, and stood with one hand half way in a tight black jeans pocket, and used a lot of inflections, he was sadly awful.
Everyone once in a while he'd hit a couple of notes that went together nicely and it wasn't that he was tone-deaf or anything, it was just that his voice was not pleasant to the listening person and he clearly felt that it was AWESOMELY so.
When he sang "Turn the Page" he sang it like both Seger AND James Hetfield at the same time, so he ended up sounding more like Fat Albert than anything else.
There were a lot of sad songs sung. It really bums me out to think of people who's lives are in a place where they probably look forward to Saturday nights to go alone to a bar and sing sad song karaoke.
Gah. It was time to go.
We went to my favorite alternative club (alternative music, not lifestyle, although it has an aspect of that to it) Club Hell. There was hip-hop music coming out of the doors. What the hell??
The club was rented out to a sorority party. Bad taste/timing.
We went to another bar where there was more karaoke. I did Summerwind. If you listened to Asshole, you might understand why my voice was a bit blown out, as it still is. I'm just not used to singing/screaming like that.
My friends paid a randomish chick who they say me looking at to come over and give me a hug and a kiss. She had a killer, stupid-hot body. Later, we were talking about her and her face was refered to as her "grill". This is never good. Facially, she looked like Angelica Houston, right now, but one who has led a much rougher life.
She had a big tattoo up the side of her body and giant gazooms, so I could have over looked her "grill" if I were in other circumstances.
Apparently there was more payment made to have her give me a lapdance, but I didn't know this and suggested we bail on the establishment before it could transpire.
Oh well.
The evening ended at the Cadillac Lounge gentleman's club. Why the car maker Cadillac has not contacted this place and asked them to please stop using their name is beyond me. There were no Cadillacs in this place. It maybe, MAYBE, could have been called the Hyundai Lounge, but even that would have been a stretch as Hyundai is a fine car maker now. Also, there didn't seem to be a lot of gentlemen, either.
Just, just not good. Nothing good in there at all.
I thought, I really did think, that you had to be in SOME kind of shape to be a stripper. I guess, as there are so many clubs like that in the Rhode Island area now, that talent is at a premium. There can only be so much.
There were a couple of okay looking women. One of whom had really nice gazooms on display. She berated my friend Lee out of two dollars. Like, she yelled at him until he gave her money. I haven't been to a club like this in a long time. I didn't know this was now a tactic.
Mark paid for a lapdance with this blonde chick with a big tattoo, so I got some tattoo'ed lapdance action after all. While it was going on, all I could think of was how silly it was. Goddamn maturity. I appreciated it anyway.

In all, it was one of the best days I had ever had. I had a great time from beginning to end.
My friends are okay.

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

being a good guy...

Sometimes, being a good guy and doing the right thing SUCKS.
I ran out to get a burger this afternoon. When I got back, there was a white van parked in front of my building, and a guy waiting at the door.
I was enjoying what I was listening to on the radio, so I wasn't in a hurry to get out of the car.
The guy looks at me and makes a motion like, "Hey. Come on. You gonna unlock the door?"
I don't know this guy, and I was listening to the radio. So I stared at him a little, the put up a finger saying, "Oh. Hold on random stranger, I'll let you in my building in a moment. I'm busy right now."
What? What, what, what are you kidding me!?
He's pacing back and forth on the porch and keeps looking at me.
Now I'm pissed off and any desire I had to help this guy has departed me. I keep listening to the radio. And keep listening...
And keep listening...
I'm not even interested in what's going on on the radio anymore, but I am not going to hurry for this prink.
I slowly gather my crap and get out of the car and stare at the dude while I'm walking to the house.
He launches into a whole story about how he doesn't have anyone at the store and that's why he's in such a hurry and how he paid the cell phone bill for the guy he has working for him but do I think he has any minutes left on his phone?
He is obviously a guy from a store as he has two band new mattresses waiting to be moved into the building.
I open the door for him and say, "Huh. That's great."
He says, "What? Are you not happy today?"
Here's where I decided to be a decent guy and not launch into a diatribe about how it's not my goddamn responsibility to open the goddamn door for him or his goddamn mattresses. Because there would be no point. To the diatribe, not to opening the door.
But man... MAN. It would have felt good. Now I feel all bound up and I need to kick something.
I'd kick my dog but that would negate the whole trying to be a good guy deal.
Damn it.

please, please, please...

Please, big fat lady who works in the Dunkin' Donuts, please do not talk about the various lumps you have found about your person, while I am waiting to receive my iced coffee.
Because now all I can picture is you fondling your lumps then sticking your lump-fingering fingers into my coffee.
It's making my drinking the coffee a less pleasurable experience.

You understand.

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

why Robin Quivers is not that smart...

I listen to the Stern show quite a bit. I was listening the other day when they played a recording of a live commercial. It was Howard and Jimmy Kimmel talking about this online backup service called Carbonite. Sounds like a good deal. You can back up all the contents of your PC for 50 dollars a year. They were talking about how much that could possibly be, all the contents of your PC, and how the company didn't care. You could back it ALL up for 50 bucks.
Robin perks up and says, "So, you could store War and Peace, and it wouldn't cost any more..."
War and Peace. That's a big book. But how much storage would it take to back up your digital copy of War and Peace? lists the hardcover of War and Peace as having 1424 pages. Let's round that up to 1500. A page pulled at random from the book has 588 words on it. Let's round that up to 600. 600x1500 is 900,000. Let's round that up to 1 million.
1 MILLION words. Wow. That's a lot.
Here's it gets a little tricky. There is no way to know how big the words being used in the book are, we can only estimate. But we can estimate generously and say that, on average, the words in the book are all ten characters long. A ten character word is worth 10 bytes. 10x1,000,000=10,000,000.
Or, just about 10MB.
My daughter's dinky MP3 player could hold War and Peace 50 times over.

Say my math is wrong and it's actually 10 times that. 100MB. Say my math is REALLY wrong and it's 100 times that. 1 gig. I have 4 gig on my stupid phone.
Or, maybe Robin is much smarter than I give her credit for and is talking about the digitized reality of an actual physical book. I would need Data to help me figure out the math, then.

Make it so.
Number 1.
Earl Grey, hot.
You suck!

there is something wrong with me...

As an enlightened, civilized, middle-aged American man, I know I should not, yet I do.
I find the women on Rock of Love massively attractive.

Monday, September 3, 2007

later, i went for a walk...

the post where i make fun of cool cuz...

He is being far too serious. An end it has to be put to that seriousness.

First off, he speaks of attempting to gain the wisdom of the collective. I think it is pertinent to point out to him that the swarveyland collective consists of MAYBE twelve people, on most days. I have had as many as 26 visitors in one day, but I was doing stuff on different computers so I was about five of those visitors and Jenn came in from 4 different computers, so really maybe 17 or so. We are a sad collective.

He was watching Video Soul while writing. Er... He is unique. God bless him and his uniqueness. There can be only one cuz.
Speaking of watching Video Soul, allow me to translate some of the things he said for the whitey-white-white people who read this once in a while. And y'all are just about the whitest people on the planet. You know that, right?

"likes to vibe to what I like to vibe to" This means they both like to play the same tunes on the xylophone. A good start to any relationship.
"to hit those skins" This means to play the drums. Xylophone and drums go together. Everyone knows that.
"wigger" One who likes to dress like this:
"Malcom X" What this guy is now:

Seriously though, I know what all those things mean. How well do you think the brotha's and sista's would respond to using a Malcolm X quote in a joke about getting sex with an African American woman? I'm sure it would be fine.

I don't think wanting to be in love puts you in any position where you should feel the need to get over yourself. Love is a basic need in most humans. As long as he feels the need to love and to be loved, we won't have to worry about digging human heads out of his freezer.

He is not totally gross. I agree with that.

"We can still "do that thang"; trust." Stop it now. You really must.

"a dis to all the peeps out there" Now I'm serious. Stop it.

"Can anyone feel me?" Goddamn it.

What the F##K is an "orah"? You simply cannot claim to be able to see and feel something you cannot spell. I mean, that's a rule. Right? We all know that. Look it up.

"dag" Oh that's it. Everyone OUT of the pool!

Saturday, September 1, 2007

Lifes Changes Continued

I had a hard time finding this blog link because Swarvey changed the Icon to an "S" from the orange "B" for this blog thing.
So....were was I? I know what I feel is inconvienient but I can sum it all up into one statement. LISTEN REAL GOOD; if you have ever been here you will get it. That place where you've come to the harsh realization that THIS IS NOT the life you are supposed to be living. I had a choice once this hit me, ignor it, recognize it but hope it goes away or take action. I took action. This step was brought about by many things. I am sorry but I must go off on a tangent about what I am feeling right now. I am watching Video Soul and Jill Scott is on; MAN is she a powerfull woman; I feel her pain and joy so strong. So you must know, I am very much into the black culture and black woman. Go ahead... I have heard it all. Wann-a-be. Wigger. You have "Jungle Fever" Sisters need to stick with the brothers; the black man needs them more than
"the man". Blue eyed devel want to take the one thing the black man has in this white man's world. That is what the HATERS say. The lovers have no problem with me loving black women. What nobody seems to believe or understand about me is that I DO NOT discriminate. I love women with great souls and personality. It is true that I am in a position to be around 99% black but if a different "race" girl likes to vibe to what I like to vibe to and she got a good head on her shoulders, she's got just as much chance as the next sister. I doNOT have the "by any means necessary" mentality to hit those skins. How many caught the Malcom X quote? I digress. I want to talk about what I am going through with my marraige. I made my decision; to move out to leave her. It is SO real and serious. I do not do this lightly but I feel like if I do not do this my life is over. I said I did not want to make this a confession but I must say, in my 38 years I have never been in LOVE I have always, (in some way), settled for each and every....or did I convince myself that I was in love because I was lonely and didn't want to be alone? I ....I don't know. Either way it was not the real thing. At this point I feel like this. I have hurt my current wife and I have put my first wife through some stuff. I think it is my turn to get my heart stepped on. I am over due to be heart broken. I hope when it happens I live through it. I really did not mean to do these things but that does not change anything. I just want to be HAPPY. I want to be in LOVE. I want to meet "the one". At 38 you would think I would be much more realistic. There are people suffering unspeakable pain and anguish all around the world and I am worried about wanting to be in love. I think someone needs to get over himself. I will take a break from that and tell you, [the collective, (I have named y'all the collective), I do not mean any disrespect], a little about myself. As my cousin Swarvey so eloquently put it I am an old jock who let himself go. I am not totally gross though, and any athlete will understand that me in my worst shape can still kick most of y'all's asses in any sport you can choose. We old "out of shape athletes still have a muscle memory, stamina, and high tolerance for pain that most do not take into consideration when they look upon our Homer Simpson bodies. We can still "do that thang"; trust. I do not know where that came from. Maybe me speaking to myself. I think it was like an indirect pep-talk to myself more than a dis to all the peeps out there. I am a little narcissistic but look where it has gotten me. Can anyone feel me? My cousin makes people laugh I make people feel. I feel people too. It is weird. If I meet someone I can see and feel their orah or their spirit. Say what you want; it is real. God, (I know this makes some of you uncomfortable), gives different gifts to different people. Some are really smart and can memorize everything they see. Some are great mathematicians, scientists, or physically strong and some feel and see people's spirits. Why can't I see my own???? OK, I am done, dag, I hope I did not get my posting rights revoked with all this real pain. I just want to say one more thing. It takes a lot of strength and courage to pursue happiness. Why didn't anyone tell me this? Peace.

Lifes Changes

I don't want to make this a confessional but I thought it could be interesting or therapeutic or .... I need to talk to someone so why not the collective. A multitude of strange heads are, (after all), better than one. Hopefully. If you think you have something insightful to share with me after reading this abridged version of the changes that I am going through please feel free. You reserve the right to comment in any way you wish so long as you respect swarveyland's blog rules. I reserve the right to take your comments to heart or disregard them.

I am currently married to a beautiful person who is kind and generous and loving. We thought we had the perfect everything. We started as friends and talked for hours and laughed together all the time; at the beginning. I will not get into the details but the honeymoon was over after a while and we began to not see eye to eye. I fell in and out of depression but thought I was better than that so I did not recognize that I was depressed. Instead I decided to occupy my time by being extremely self destructive. This went on for a couple of years and then it all came to a head and I nearly destroyed my life beyond repair.... To be continued...

voice over demos...

Here are some of the demos I had made when I was working towards getting a voice over career going.

Eric Fox - Compilation.mp3

Eric Fox - Commercial.mp3

Eric Fox - Character.mp3