Dec 28, 2005

Shit, I Don't Like Penmanship Anymore.

I'm only writing in this because I like typing now much better than longhand.

I like typing now much better than longhand.

I didn't say I liked that fact.

So I'm not posting to post, but only to write a private journal entry. I believe those belong in ink in books. Because when am I going to go back and read my blog entries? Well, how often do I go back and read my paper journals? Aside from when I'm reconstructing my life's timeline like it was freaking Ancient Egypt.

What is safer, apocalypse-wise, paper or the Internet? That's silly. If there is an apocalypse, it all goes, but we don't know what will go first. I'm betting on paper lasting longer.* The Internet will be gone before my personal possessions. Unless there is a terrorist attack.

Anyway, I don't care about that. Really, it just bothers my slight OCD that journaling is now bifurcated. It's too messy to have my diary in different places. It also bothers me that I just used "journal" as a verb. Well, a gerund, actually. I had been really against that usage. I'll try to keep up the fight.

Sometimes I start to crack, grammar-wise.

"_______-wise" is a horrible construction, so horrible that it may be used to excess for effect. If you use it unselfconsciously, sorry. No offense. Besides, I just did the same thing.

If all I had was a paper journal, I wouldn't have written this entry.

*I need to follow up on this. There is a market where people make money betting on exactly stuff like this. Betting on future possible events like what will be destroyed first in the apocalypse. It's all legal and stuff, too. I kid you fucking not. Does anyone know what I'm talking about?

Dec 19, 2005

Why I Want To Be A Star, And A Plug For An Expired Event.

Isabelle Huppert, hot French actress of a certain age, was the subject of a photography show. She is a) ravishingly beautiful and b) old enough to be a great-grandmother in Maine. I am sure the purveyors of beauty secrets bury her in an avalanche of freebies to help her preserve her hotness.

This brings us to the reason I want to be a star. I don't have the time or the resources to find the best products. I want to make it in showbiz just enough to help my anti-aging efforts. When you are a celebrity, spa people start coming out of the woodwork.

I'll bet Isabelle Huppert complains about all the free products and spa people that clutter her hot French life.

Dec 18, 2005

Hangin' With The Conspiracy Theorists.

I went to the most incredible party the other night. I hung out with all my new best friends, the conspiracy theorists.

The party was held in a former squat in the East Village, one of the six squats that was squatted so industriously, safely, and passionately that it won special legal squat status and was not senselessly destroyed by Giuliani's wrecking ball.

It was nice to see that squatters can live as well as rich people. The capacious former squat was lovingly appointed with a piano, a giant stained glass disc, an aquarium, pretty cabinetry, and more. The party was appointed with many intelligent, well-dressed, well-spoken apocalypse enthusiasts.

It's kind of racy to be enjoying cocktails and munchies in an attractive, well-lighted environment while catching snippets of possibly foreign-accented conversation, such as:

"Where you gonna be when the shit hits the fan? You got a plan?"

"Well, it's not like they haven't framed me and put me in Rikers before."

"I'm thinking about Canada, or Hungary. How can I get a passport?"

DVDs debunking 9/11 were traded. Emails were collected to facilitate arranging protests at city hall. The powers-that-be will be taken down, or we will exile ourselves somewhere. Heavy-duty.

I'm leery of hanging with conspiracy theorists not because I think they're full of it, but because I think if I learn what they know I will have no choice but to become one of them. And then I would have to commit to the overthrow of the government. And I'm just so busy already. Their parties are great, though. I'll keep going to those.