The Official Snack of Hip-Hop!



I swear I am not making this up. I picked up a case of "Master P Rap Snacks" yesterday at Harvesters. I got a box of about 150 of them for $1.50. For those of you who are hankering for a snack named after a has-been rapper, try ordering some from Rap Snacks. Master P not your style? Try any of their varities, such as "Paster Troy Hot Cheezie Popcorn", "Pretty Willie Salsa Cheese Chips", "Lil Romeo BAR-B-Quin' with Honey Chips", "Warren G Cheezie Nacho Chips", "BBD Back At the Ranch Chips", and "Magic Honey Dew Cheese Curls". Oh my god. This is too funny. Evidently from the info on the packaging, they sell these at record stores. I guess they don't have much marketing at the record stores I go to. I'm currently hording packages to pass out, so if you want one, drop me an email. They ain't your baby's daddy's rap snacks. Please check out the Snacktrax, too.

Song of the day: "Mo' Money Mo' Problems" - Biggie

"Kill the people to set them free..."

Song of the day: "Worried Man Blues" - Woody Guthrie

Ok...so I saw "Donnie Darko" in the theater a while back. The new additions, especially the further explanation of Roberta Sparrow's Philosophy of Time Travel really clarified things for me. The music changes, however, get me all upset. The opening scene, which originally featured "The Killing Moon" by Echo and the Bunnymen has been replaced with INXS's "Never Tear Us Apart". Now that's a great song, from a great album, and it certainly does evoke 1988 for a lot of us, but it's just not the same. "The Killing Moon" just hits all the right chords. I think it should be the opening song for all movies...perhaps even for every event in life, in a "soundtrack of your life" kinda way. These include:

* Dramatic relationship discussions

* Opening your federal tax refund check

* receiving difficult medical diagnosis ("Oh the humanity!")

* Walking into any club or restaurant at any time where you're trying to locate the friend you were to meet that didn't show

* Any staff meeting where admin pulls some kind of bullshit and you realize your life is a hollow lie (just picture the zoom in on your face as your frustration festers)

* Any time Grandma Death tells you that everyone dies alone (which happens all the time)

In other news, I have strep throat. Whee. I'm always sick. You know why? Because I never get a break from work. My company only has three subs for 25 houses right now, which means no one gets a break. There are people who have children's weddings to attend, other folks who are going into labor soon, and then those of us who have communicable diseases with fever, and we're all being told to just deal, because there's no chance we're getting staff in. We already work an average of eighteen hours a day (but get paid for eleven!), do back breaking work that includes pointless paperwork, cleaning up bodily fluids, getting beat up on a weekly basis, and running "teaching programs" that are entirely out of the scope of ability for our clients and then have to try to explain to people who've never done direct care a day in their lives why it's not working...and now we can't even use our PTO's when we need to. This is not a job you can choose to just not show up to. Social service can be very rewarding, but not when you're practically slave labor. And here's the best part: our director is having a seminar this week entitled "Turning Over Turnover". Pardon me while I laugh myself right off this chair. There's only so much you can ask of employees, and when you're asking triple or quadruple what can be reasonably done, and then treat them like they're expendable on top of that, of course you're going to have turnover. (Editor's note: She's ranting again.)

Ah well. We can get a big phat referral bonus check for getting other people hired...and man, I wouldn't wish this job on my worst enemy. Except possibly the few government officials who cut federal and state funding for this population. And the strangers who have to tell me how "special" I am to work this job when they see me in public with my guys. Or people who think that all MR/DD people are like Corky from "Life Goes On". Oh man, I hate those people. I think they think that every time I work I learn some important life lesson or something. Ha. I'm just trying to duck the chair being thrown at me while making sure someone isn't bolting out the front door while trying to teach someone how to prepare dinner while reminding someone that it's not appropriate to walk around the house without pants on. I'm thankful if at the end of a shift I still have my glasses intact and no one's eaten off the floor or flushed the medication administration records down the toilet. The only life lesson I'm learning here is, and pardon me if this sounds coarse, is the value of birth control.

Song of the day: "Bukowski" - Modest Mouse ("...who would want to be such an asshole...")

I'm going to see "Donnie Darko" in the theater today and you're not (unless you happen to be five of my closest friends)! So ha.

Song of the day: "Touch You Touch You" - Hot Hot Heat (remember them? they were so great for about two weeks...)

I have had a terrible, awful, really bad day, and tonight's RNC pep rally did nothing to improve it. As if any of us need reminding, the Republican Party is dangerous and scary. All of Bush's empty promises mean little when so many of the citizens of this country try to sleep tonight while agonizing over how to pay bills, how to procure health care coverage for their child, or wondering if and when they'll find a job. What makes all of this worse is I know he will win again. I, and roughly half the population, can get as angry as we want. It's not going to change a goddamn thing. I can't wait to see how beaten down we'll be in another four years.

Song of the day: "American Idiot" - Green Day.

You seriously have to see this movie. I'd try to explain it to you, but it defies explanation. And since when is bagpipe music erotic?

Here's what's been bothering me as of late: I used to care about things. Relationships, politics, the future, my bank account, being somewhat successful...all of these used to hold some importance in my life.

I have found over the past year that I have no motivation to move forward. Moving forward is not the same as getting out of a situation, mind you, which I want desperately. But the very adjectives that used to propel me, or at least nudge me, to wake up every morning and "fight the good fight" now seem monumental tasks that I haven't the knowledge or energy to approach effectively. It's all so fucking pointless. I can't change things, and I seriously doubt you can either. People don't change, the world doesn't change, no matter what good intentions or rationales we give. So why bother?

Remember that whole "Gen X" thing that folks got such a hard-on for about ten years ago? Yeah, it's like that. I know the "misanthropic-quasi-liberal-do-gooder" thing gets damn old...I live it after all.

Rawk, y'all...

Song of the day: "A Favor House Atlantic" - Coheed and Cambria.

I have reluctantly contributed growth to this pithy economy by sort of purchasing a car this week. It's a 2001 Honda Accord. It's nice, or so I'm told. I haven't actually seen it, but I'm going to pick it up tomorrow. Now I have mostly reliable transportation, but more importantly, I have to finally let go of my prized Whitey Mazda. Oh, sad day! Whitey and I have been through some times...let me tell you. I guess I'm going to donate it to some charitable organization, because in reality it's a fine automobile, and desperately loyal and all that stuff you look for in a...dog, I guess. But, it's not practical to have an auto on it's last leg rotting in your garage.



On the brighter side of things, I'm going to see Weird Al again next Friday. This will be the second time this year, and I'm muy excited. I have been pre-concerting for the past month by watching videos and celebrating his entire catalogue. If he plays "Living With a Hernia", it should be dedicated to me.

"Too much bad pain
Good gawd, drives me insane
Can't run, barely crawl
Got a bulge in my intestinal wall
Walk real funny, bless my soul
Can't play tennis and it's hard to bowl
You can't even do the splits now...Better call it quits now
I'm sick of all this dancin' anyhow..."

Song of the day: "A Small Victory" - Faith No More.

And that's really when I started to cry...

The saddest thing happened to me yesterday.

I was bumming up and down Mass (it was payday), and I stopped at Brits, a locally run estab that imports your general Guinness/Masterpiece Theater junk that Americans just eat up with a big old soupspoon. Way in the back, there was a selection of perfume. I normally don't wear perfume, but if I find something that smells pretty and doesn't turn me into a walking bright red ball of hives, I pick it up. They had some rose scented perfume, and it was $25, but I figured I would splurge and pick some up. It smelled heavenly on me, and I had no immediate problems when I sprayed some on my wrists.

You have to understand that due to a very psychologically scaring episode of poverty two years ago, I have a hard time justifying purchasing anything that doesn't directly relate to food or shelter. $25, although a drop in the bucket compared to what I make, seems so much to me, and I was really buying this under pressure from my therapist (who feels I do nothing to make myself happy whatsoever). So I did it, and tried not to obsess about how I could have used the money to pay down the principal on my student loans.

I went from Mass down to the movie theater, where I left my perfume in the front seat of the car. As I was going home after the film, about half way down Kasold, I discovered the perfume bottle had shattered from the mix of the alcohol and the heat, and all of the perfume was in the bottom of the plastic bag it was in.

My eyes started to burn, and I felt the tears stinging my eyelids. I started appropriately enough, with a few big fat tears running down my cheeks, but the more I thought about it, the sadder I got. The "ugly cry" started, with actual wailing and sniffling and mascara running. Jason offered me Crazy Bread from Little Caesars to cheer me up, but I refused.

I cried this way over my useless purchase and money wasted for about 45 minutes. It was really horrible. I suppose I was probably crying over a lot of things that this broken perfume bottle symbolized in a Sylvia Plath kind of way (five paragraph theme, anyone?). But I'm not going to go into all that with you. That's what I pay my therapist for every week.

Song of the day: "Precious Things" - Tori Amos.

I have decided it's time for a change.

Song of the day: "A Praise Chorus" - Jimmy Eat World.

Recent Observations - The Annoying Edition

* Tomorrow I have what I'm sure is only number two in a long line of "diagnostic testing", which I wholeheartedly believe is really cruel and unusual punishment. It's some sort of input/output test to see how much substance my stomach is really retaining. Since I'm scheduled for this because of the pictures (in living color) gathered from my endoscopy of retained food, what's the point of this test? There is hard evidence that this is happening, why torture me further? Is this some Big Brother conspiracy to slowly beat me down physically until I'm so weak I can't vote in the upcoming election? Ha. Nice try Right Wing.

* While I have been guilty of being The Man, and am currently technically kind of The (Wo)Man, it's not going to stop me from complaining ceaselessly about administration. It doesn't really matter if it's from my workplace or yours. They're all callous and smug. "Save a buck anyway you can...and smash any inkling of worker's rights...".

* I'm seriously listening to MC Hammer right now. I can't go so far as to disclose which song, but yes, Vanilla Ice is next on the playlist.

* My dear sister, Merideth, broke her leg on Sunday. A month before she leaves for college. Now tell me that doesn't suck.

* The staff member who is covering our hours at work tomorrow called tonight to say that she had to be gone by 5:00pm because she had a tattoo appointment at 5:30. ???? Do you have to schedule a tattoo? I thought that was the kind of thing you did on a drunken whim.

* I had to wear a Pixies shirt today because it was all I had clean. I hate the Pixies. And then when I got to the office for marathon meetings, I had to field questions about not only my disgusting eye, but whether I planned on seeing them in October. Oh, piss off. I don't care if it's camp or not.

* Jay Z said it best..."I got 99 problems, but a bitch ain't one...". Preach on, Brother J.

Song of the day: "Remember Me" - British Sea Power, "Roulette Dares" - Mars Volta, and "Bring the Noise" - Public Enemy and Anthrax (now that's camp).

Put your hands together for Mac Tonnies and the Spiders From Mars!

(Am I the only person who will get that Bowie reference? Probably...)

I attended Mac's discussion/book signing at The Plaza Barnes & Noble Saturday night. I will be the first to admit that I was reluctant to read the book; I have an embarrassingly poor scientific/academic foundation with which to clearly understand such things (yup - I went to public school - thank you tax dollars!). Mac, however, discussed the generalities and specifics in such a user-friendly way, that I went home and started devouring it. The premise of his research is certainly interesting, and I'm currently trying to wrap my head around the social/cultural/theological/scientific consequences of extraterrestrial anthropology, which is a nice break from paperwork.

It's nice to have brilliant friends.

In other news, a precise breakdown of my formative years will begin tonight on VH1 with "I Love the '90's". A good time will be had by all.

Song of the day: "Cock Mobster" - MC Paul Barman.

Life is pain, princess...anyone who says differently is selling something...

I survived my EGD and colonoscopy...barely. It was one of the most difficult things I've ever gone through, and I saw "Robin Hood - Men in Tights" in the theater. I've done all of this before, but it seemed much worse this time. During the EGD, I gagged and wretched so badly that I ruptured some of my capalaries in my face and eyes, which left dermal bruising and sub-conjuctival hemorrhaging in my right eye. I look like someone who has been strangled. It ain't pretty.

My colon looked good, although I'm still waiting for results on the biopsy. The upper half, however, is a mess. I have massive esophogial errosions, a hiatal hernia, and although I fasted for nearly 24 hours, there was still undigested food left in my stomach. Evidently my stomach is not processing food the way it should, probably because the pressure from the hernia is smashing my stomach into a sort of pocket that retains all sorts of fun things, which leads to increased acid production, which aggravates the hernia and causes the errosions. How fun is that? Normally this could be treated by medicine, but I happen to be allergic to the class of medicines that would help, so surgery may be my only option. Do I have time to have surgery? Not if I want to rule the world in a timely fashion.

I'm only 27. I've already been through hell with my damn G.I. system. I'm beginning to wonder what will fix me so I can live a somewhat normal life without pain. Of course my specialists all recommended that I stop smoking and lose weight, which sounds all fine and dandy from their perspective. It was almost as if they were insinuating that all of this could magically be cured if I would just straighten up and fly right. Yes, these circumstances have contributed to these problems, but it doesn't change the fact that there is a problem, and it needs to be fixed. I'm certainly not doubting their advice, but sometimes I get the feeling that I could walk in to the E.R. with a broken arm and I would be told that my weight caused it. So then the guilt begins. I've started having all these knee-jerk reactions...should I have gastric bypass surgery and fix this weight thing forever? Should I find a different line of work that doesn't put me under so much stress so I eat and smoke way too much? I bring these points up to doctors and they rush to say that I don't warrant those kind of extreme solutions. So I wonder what is the solution...because so far an answer has escaped me.

Song of the day: "Professional Widow" - Tori Amos.

Life is pain, princess...anyone who says differently is selling something...

I survived my EGD and colonoscopy...barely. It was one of the most difficult things I've ever gone through, and I saw "Robin Hood - Men in Tights" in the theater. I've done all of this before, but it seemed much worse this time. During the EGD, I gagged and wretched so badly that I ruptured some of my capalaries in my face and eyes, which left dermal bruising and sub-conjuctival hemorrhaging in my right eye. I look like someone who has been strangled. It ain't pretty.

My colon looked good, although I'm still waiting for results on the biopsy. The upper half, however, is a mess. I have massive esophogial errosions, a hiatal hernia, and although I fasted for nearly 24 hours, there was still undigested food left in my stomach. Evidently my stomach is not processing food the way it should, probably because the pressure from the hernia is smashing my stomach into a sort of pocket that retains all sorts of fun things, which leads to increased acid production, which aggravates the hernia and causes the errosions. How fun is that? Normally this could be treated by medicine, but I happen to be allergic to the class of medicines that would help, so surgery may be my only option. Do I have time to have surgery? Not if I want to rule the world in a timely fashion.

I'm only 27. I've already been through hell with my damn G.I. system. I'm beginning to wonder what will fix me so I can live a somewhat normal life without pain. Of course my specialists all recommended that I stop smoking and lose weight, which sounds all fine and dandy from their perspective. It was almost as if they were insinuating that all of this could magically be cured if I would just straighten up and fly right. Yes, these circumstances have contributed to these problems, but it doesn't change the fact that there is a problem, and it needs to be fixed. I'm certainly not doubting their advice, but sometimes I get the feeling that I could walk in to the E.R. with a broken arm and I would be told that my weight caused it. So then the guilt begins. I've started having all these knee-jerk reactions...should I have gastric bypass surgery and fix this weight thing forever? Should I find a different line of work that doesn't put me under so much stress so I eat and smoke way too much? I bring these points up to doctors and they rush to say that I don't warrant those kind of extreme solutions. So I wonder what is the solution...because so far an answer has escaped me.

Song of the day: "Professional Widow" - Tori Amos.

Mac Tonnies...I know him!



For your reading pleasure, Mac's new work is now available where all fine books are sold. While it has been purchased, I haven't yet had time to read it, but I can say with full authority that the back cover is fascinating!

Song of the day: "Paperback Writer" - The Beatles.

I want to write this short story about this late twenty-something woman who has had a string of lame sexual partners and has all but given up on any glimmer of satisfying sex. She's tried it all...vibrators, lesbians, etc., but finally resigns herself to the fact that for her personally, sex is a routine self esteem booster for whoever she's with. She has the script and the blocking memorized...knows when to move and what to say to bring on the much anticipated finale and post-coital cigarette. She is sick of hearing "...sorry I finished so fast, but you're so tight you just get me there so soon...". Then one day she finds this guy who's a perfect mix of John Vanderslice and Jake Gyllenhaal and Paul Rudd (hey - it's my story, ok?), and through much sensitivity and patience and lust, he finds her G spot. Her life becomes one of those female sexual aid commercials. She no longer dreads sex, but actually inks it in to her schedule on a regular basis. The boyfriend, however, becomes insane with the power of his discovery. In typical male manifest destiny fashion, he wants to claim the lower interior wall of her vagina for himself. He want to plant a flag there, claiming it for his crown. He believes his "discovery" makes him the lord and master of that domain. They fight. She screams at him that he didn't discover anything, that it was there all along, he just marched his troops into the right place at the right time. She decides that all men, however misleading they may be, are at their most fundamental just power hungry dictators. I'm not sure how the story will end. Maybe she'll go postal. Maybe she'll be grateful and become a dutiful Suzy Homemaker. It's really hard to find a resolution.

Song of the day: "Glory Box" - Portishead.

Recent Observations...back at ya!

* About two years ago, I had some very serious gastro-intestinal problems that ranged from my mouth to my...well, I'm sure you can guess. After various scopes, medicines, treatments, allergic reactions, surgeries and polyp removals, I finally got better. Or so I thought. My problems have flared up again, with much gusto, and I've been a regular visitor to the Lawrence Memorial Hospital emergency room, Lawrence Family Physicians and Lawrence Internal Medicine as of late. I'm looking forward to an upper GI scope, colonoscopy and colon biopsy next Friday...all in the name of exploration and diagnosis. How are you celebrating our nation's birthday?

* So I hosted a "Revolution CHO" party this weekend. Said Cho special was premiering on the Sundance Channel, and it was horrible. She must be on drugs again. I was really disappointed. We all love Margaret so much, and she's let us down. Although the "...her pussy just fucking exploded..." part was pretty funny.

* Speaking of being let down, the new Cure album hits the pavement next week. I mean literally. From what I've heard of it, anyone who buys it will promptly toss it out the window after the first listen.

* Ok. I'm going to admit it. I actually like the new Morrissey album. Let's just keep that between us, ok?

* Have I mentioned that I am now the proud owner of "Woman and the New Race" by Margaret Sanger? I'll spare you the details, but I found a sixth edition print hiding in the basement of antique store on Mass. I scored it for $1.50, which is really a steal considering the Comstock laws had rendered it all but extinct.

* There's a saying that every working woman needs a wife. I'll have to agree with that.

* I'm so sick of turning on any news program and seeing doe-eyed Bill Clinton whining about his childhood and his $10 million book deal. I don't care about his life. His presidency was marginal at best. He's so '96.

* Have you been catching "The Daily Show" lately? John has been rather bold but cavalier in his interviewing styles. It's rather awkward at times.

Song of the day: "Fly" - Cornelius (who is brilliant).

Song of the day: There are none. Most of my cd collection has been trashed beyond playing ability. Oh, the sadness. Pity me!

Let me take this opportunity to announce the newest blog around town, The Unemployment Pages, written by the man who has a better music collection that I do -- Jason McCann. Read it and weep, kiddos!

Song of the day: "Can't Decide" - Orange 9mm.