Saturday, December 23, 2006

Something old, something new.

So I'm back from Project H. It's been a while, puppies. I apologize for leaving you hanging.

I'd like to do a year in review. I'd like to but that's so lame. Everybody does a year in review. Boor-ing.

Instead I'll relay the dyanmite day I had this very day. It was explosive. Truly. Fasten your belts.

I kicked it off with my fierce morning karate practice. You didn't know I practiced the art of karate, did you? I do. Let this be a warning to never ever ever fuck with me. (Sidenote: I saw a kid with a t-shirt that read Never Fuck With Me but it was in Italian and therefore not easily understood by the non-paisans.)

Anyway, after my seriously freakalicious practice, I got in touch with my sensitive side and baked a cake. You didn't know I baked, did you? Just goes to show, you don't make the effort to get to know me. For shame. I did bake a delicious cake with fresh ingredients and now it sits like a large loaf, because it is loaf-shaped, on my kitchen table waiting for consumption.

After practicing the high art of karate and baking a cake, I was pretty bored. So I took a long walk. Downtown to Chinatown.

There have been more than one occassion in which I have found myself on these aimless walks deep in the heart of Chinatown. I'm never quite sure what to do once there. I look. I walk fast. I try not to make eye contact.

Quite honestly, I took this long constitution because I was pissed off about something and needed to "walk it off." The rage that is. I am sometimes filled with rage. You didn't know that either, did you?

Luckily the brisk air and a call from a former boyfriend put me back into a non-rage frame of mind. So here I am. The rage is at bay. I am staring at all the presents I've bought and wrapped for my totally awesome family and feeling pretty awesome myself.

So Happy Whatever-You-Celebrate to you and yours. Sorry for the delay in updating you post-vacation. I may have promised a picture but I'm feeling a little stingy after so much giving today.

Until tomorrow, pups.

Saturday, November 18, 2006

Preparation-H

"While hemorrhoids are something you might not want to discuss, they are in fact a very common problem for both men and women."

Unfortunately, puppies, I am not in fact preparing for hemorrhoids. If you are in fact preparing for hemorrhoids or rather for their removal, I suggest you head over to the Preparation H site where you can pick up a handy $1 off coupon.

My subject is Preparation, the H referring to my vacation destination. You can let your mind run wild on all the hot H spots around the world. I think it will be more fun that way.

So I'm preparing. I've moved myself past the mental preparation, as in "I am thinking about packing but I am not mentally ready to pack." I have opened a suitcase and thrown in some random items which will probably not make the trip but as the early explorers would say "Progress!"

Anyway, this may be my last post for some time. Please do not cry. I will be back soon enough and promise to extol all of my H location secrets. Thanks for playing.

Happy bird.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

The High Art of Procrastination

I never used to practice this now-familiar art. But I've embraced it in recent years with nothing short of gusto. I am happy to report I am now quite facile in this the highest of art forms.

I may start showing in galleries in Chelsea. "Come one, come all -- watch me procrastinate." It would be a live action, interactive exhibit. You could assign me simple tasks and then watch as I do not complete them. Of course the admission price would be exorbitant but could you really pass up such an opportunity to watch me not do this or that? I think not.

You should really stop shaking your head dismissively at this point. You should really stop closing your mind to the act of not getting things done. You've never tasted freedom, have you? Pity.

Well, off I go to plan not to plan to do what I most assuredly should be doing.

Ciao for now.

Monday, November 13, 2006

This is what they call a Block Party.

Writer's Block Party to be exact.

[Pause for writer's station break.]

So anyway, as shocking as it may sound, I have nothing to instruct, exaggerate, rant/rave, praise, demoralize, or otherwise jibber jabber about today. I'm quite tired to be exact. I can tell you that soon, very soon, I will be away. Somewhere tropical and warm, working on my serious tan.

I take tanning very seriously as anyone who knows me can attest. I get like dark chocolate. It's a sight to be seen firsthand, not second- or thirdhand. Maybe I'll share some of my awesome vacation photos with you upon my return. That alone should be enough to hold you over until this raging Block Party ends.

'Night.

Sunday, October 29, 2006

Not the same

It's a sad Sunday. No accident either that it's windy as all get out. A true original left yesterday. So we're observing here at Shiny Penny headquarters. Our heads are hung low and our hearts are full. We're trying not to cry.

I will be investing my fortunes in JetBlue starting tomorrow.

Much love to you, Chicago. Now home to Sam and Silas, Lupe Fiasco, and a super super girl.

Thursday, October 26, 2006

Curses!

Why must it be so difficult to shop at places called Circuit City and Best Buy?

Yes, I'm female but I probably know more about technology than you ever will so shut it.

I just can't grasp why these vast spaces that appear to hold so much stuff actually are filled with nothing that I want nor will ever need. I looked on your little website, Circuit City, and yet your store has a whole lot of nothing. I asked your staff, Best Buy, but they were dumbfounded by my recitation of serial numbers. And people wonder why people like me shop online?

I resolve to avoid the human experience from this point forward in regards to any and all matters relating to the purchase of technology. Because no one knows shit. And when I asked for a recommendation, I got bupkiss. (I didn't need your recommendation anyway; I was just being polite.)

Hey, I don't fault the folks who work at Circuit City and Best Buy. I'm sure there are some good eggs in there but they should really reconsider who they put in the direct line of fire. Your frontlines are weak.

You may have guessed I came home empty-handed, which is most unfortunate and highly annoying. I will be shopping online to complete my technology purchase but not from Circuit City nor Best Buy.

This concludes this test of human interaction. Please leave me alone now.

Monday, October 23, 2006

You know what's interesting?

Watching five-hour marathons of "Laguna Beach". Now that's interesting. Awful, but interesting.

Watching someone saw into a meatball the size of a giant baby's head. Now that's interesting.

Ordering coffee in the old-school way and sticking to the lingo:
ME: "I'd like a medium."
NOT ME: "A grande?"
ME: "No, a medium."
NOT ME: "Right, a grande?"
ME: "No, a medium."

Applying hand sanitizer after you've shook a stranger's hand. The look of horror is interesting enough to fill pages.

Arguing about the use of commas, especially when you know you're wrong but you just refuse to give in. Insulting your adversary becomes very necessary in these situations.

Seeing someone else's point of view. Case in point:
NOT ME: "I think your open lip sore is sexy."
ME: "You have drunk too much of the Kool-Aid."
NOT ME: "No really. I think bloody, crusted lesions are attractive."
ME: "I fear for you sometimes."

Picking scabs can be very interesting. Highly unrecommended, but nonetheless interesting. The texture alone is worth the pick.

These are just some of the many many interesting things I can think of off the top of my head. I'm sure your list is as provocative.

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

SICK III: The Anger


I can't seem to shake this sickness. It has taken over not only my body but my personality and replaced my normally sunny disposition with unbridled anger.

In addition to my ill temperment, I've become accident prone. I'm currently nursing Night of the Living Dead finger and some unexplained bruises on the left leg. If something doesn't give soon, I'm going to seriously lose it. I came real close today to screaming. A real scream, coupled with throwing of objects, ripping of cushions, and just generally tearing things up in a wholly uncivilized manner. I envisioned this scenario and it made me smile. I refrained from unleashing the wrath out of some small manner of decency I seem to be holding onto for dear life.

I don't have anything positive or uplifting or engaging to say. I don't care what you have to say either. I'm still sick after two weeks and I'm really fucking pissed off about it.

Sunday, October 15, 2006

SICK II

Yes, I know. You don't want to hear it, but it's true. My insides continue to wage war on my outsides. The insides are winning. I don't appreciate this battling; I'm a pacifist. Just when I started to dive deep down into that dark, dark space where self-pity is as delightful as the Skittles rainbow, I learned this.

Do you know whose apartment that Yankees' pitcher crashed his plane into? The woman who was in a coma for some 20 days after being injured during the Macy's day parade. She was hit by a lightpole or a float or something. Can you imagine that kind of bad luck? Damn, woman. Time to get out of New York.

SICK II isn't so bad in comparison.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

SICK

I think I've mentioned this documentary before called SICK. It's about a performance artist who also happens to have cystic fibrosis. He's also coincidentally into S&M. This guy is for all intents and purposes SICK. His body is ravaged by disease and self-inflicted pain. It's an amazing thing to watch, grotesque and yet entrancing. It's like he's doing this dance with his warped life and forcing the disease to feel the way he wants it to feel, which just happens to be hanging from his nipple rings naked in a gallery in New York.

Kind of puts things into perspective when you're whining about your sinus/chest infection. Boo hoo. I thought about that guy today as I moved into day two of invalidism. I don't have it so bad really. Sure I woke up at 2 a.m. with a splitting pain in my head and had to literally steam my sinuses clear for two hours. But during that time I heard the strangest things outside. One man was talking very loudly and animatedly about something but I couldn't understand him. I thought "there could be a shooting right here right now and I'd be called as a witness and the defense lawyer would get my testimony thrown out on account of my having a towel over my head and breathing in steam from a pot of boiling water." These are the kinds of things you think about at 2 a.m. when your sinuses have lain seige to half your face.

It's a sick, sick world.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

All in the follow-through.

Project management has its pluses. It's all about the details and the pestering and for fuck's sake the follow-through. Yes, it's entirely thankless. No one likes to be bothered, harrassed, or otherwise annoyed. But the lack of follow-through is very telling.

Your mothers probably told you if you don't have something nice to say, shut it. Fine. Great upstanding-citizen advice. However, I doubt there's a caveat in there for 'if you don't know the answer to question posed or you're too much of a sissy to respond honestly, silence is golden.' I'd like to dispel that untruth right here.

Follow-through, people. It's a common courtesy. A basic right as Americans. Do I even have to point to history for the innumerable cases where a lack of follow-through would have avoided disaster, nay peril?

Do it. Say what you mean. Do what you say. Stop willy-nillying around and hoping you can hide in some dark cave until your pursuer loses the scent. Unless of course you are in a cheese cave, then by all means frolic to your heart's content.

This is what I have to tell you. Heed what I say. You'll be better for it in the end 'cause when the end comes. . . well, better left unsaid.

Sunday, October 01, 2006

These boots were made for sex walking.

It's true. I do possess secret stores of knowledge where sex workers are concerned. I know, for instance, that there is a Whores Congress held annually in Amsterdam. I know that sex workers in Amsterdam have to pay taxes but are not entitled to benefits of any kind. (This was the case 8 years ago; things may have since changed.) I did in fact read the book "Sex Workers". I recommend it.

Why, you wonder, do I know all of these fascinating bits about sex workers? That's highly confidential and you can't be trusted.

So I stumbled across this site about sex workers the other day: http://theaphroditeproject.tv/

These Aphrodite folks have designed some zany shoes for sex workers. These platforms have video, GPS, music players, an alarm, one-button access to 911, hidden compartments, and data on the sex worker.

This is like super sex worker gear.

Unfortunately these shoes are not yet for sale because I would have a pair already even though I'm not a sex worker.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Curb your enthusiasm.


Now this is a very funny show. No argument there. But it's also an affliction. I know this.

I am a member and president of too much enthusiasm.

There is no known cure. Only constant reminders to "Curb your enthusiasm," "Calm down," "You are a spaz," "There's no dancing in here." Although I appreciate the constructive criticism, I'd like to point out that enthusiasm is appreciated in other cultures, in faraway places, distant lands, populated by easily excitable folk. I should move there.

In the meantime, I reject this curbature on my enthusiasm. I can't help it. I'm a victim. It's genetics.

Please send your donations to: Shiny Penny, Curb Your Enthusiasm Fight For a Cure.

Thank you.

Monday, September 25, 2006

Kick. Push.

So I'm not blind. In case you were fraught with worry. The UFO is still within sight however. Prognosis not so good for the hypochondriac. But I'm still kicking and pushing on through.

Speaking of which, I'm listening to Lupe Fiasco and I'd like to take a short moment to appreciate.

Did you hear that? It was a pregnant pause.

Awesome. Thanks for listening in and for all your letters of concern, concerning my sight. I was really touched.

Big love,
Shiny Penny

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

I believe, UFO.

This may in fact be my last post. I know. It's upsetting. Think how I feel for a second.

So, I'm seeing things. In the right eye. A "floater". I wasn't initially concerned three weeks ago when said foreign object invaded my vision. True, I did reach for the elusive fuzzy but was unable to capture it within my tiny palm, which is just about the time I started to freak out.

This particular UFO looks like a tiny tiny hairball and it moves like a tiger. Fast. I had sort of resigned myself to this special thing floating around my eye. And then I read up about it on WebMD.

I'd like to warn you about WebMD. If you have even a touch of hypochondria or general paranoia, stay away from the WebMD. This site is like a hungry parasite feeding on all your insecurities. Look up "flu" and you may discover you contracted ebola. I innocently researched my floater and was shocked and dismayed to learn I may have "retinal detachment" which requires SURGERY.

Calm down for a minute. I made an appointment with Dr. Magoo but I can't say the receptionist was all too concerned. I thought about whipping out my secret knowledge of "retinal detachment" but vetoed that decision.

As if all this trauma weren't enough, then I learn a good friend of mine has several floaters. Has had them for years.

Hold the phone, Buck Jones.

You can probably tell that I'm fairly worked up about losing my sight, especially after that other eye doctor compared my eyes to mangoes. So I'm going to stop staring at this screen and researching my fate. Keep your eyes crossed for me, puppies.

Sunday, September 17, 2006

MOVE! Marlboro Man


As some of you may know, I love my laundromat. Many a story has been woven around the happenings at said wash & dry. Yesterday was no exception.

Upon entering, I noticed a funk but couldn't determine the exact funk source. There was a curious man in a high trucker-style cap and flannel shirt but I sniffed around him and gave him the negativo. So I'm washing. I'm washing. I'm washing. And I can't help but watch this man. He's taken his shirt off and put on another flannel shirt.

(Pause for station break. It was 77 degrees yesterday. Not necessarily flannel-wearing weather.)

I watch this man walk outside where he has a large shopping cart parked with all manner of neatly organized bags. I did notice he had nice toenails. No lie. Really. So there he is outside with his carton of whole milk. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that. He had a quart of whole milk with him. That could have been what first attracted my attention. He takes long gulps from his carton. It was a hot day -- I guess milk can be refreshing. He then lights up a cigar. I couldn't even make this up, it's so good. He's smoking his cigar and drinking whole milk.

Let me just repeat that for good measure.

He's smoking his cigar and drinking whole milk. From the carton.

As this whole scene was being played out, I couldn't help but think of the Ludacris song "Move". You know the one. Or the video maybe. Luda has these crazytown big arms and walks down the street, knocking shit over with his posse of beefy ladies.

This man reminded me of that video for whatever reason. And then I thought, this guy could totally take the Marlboro Man in a tussle. He wasn't especially big or tall or sculpted nor was he riding a horse. He was just mas machismo. I'm not advocating an actual throw-down 'cause I think the Marlboro Man is dead and that kind of seems like the odds would naturally be against him. I'm just saying.

It's nice to have heroes.

Saturday, September 16, 2006

There are no dumb questions.

Oh really?

I don’t know who perpetrated this untruth. But I feel it my profound duty to set you straight.

There are in fact dumb questions and dumb answers, and yes, even dumb people. Don't be alarmed.

I am witness to the abundance of dumbnosity. I am not judging, mind you, just laying out the facts as I see them. And I have seen the face of dumb; I’ve heard the voice of dumb. It is all around us.

I thought about making a list of ALL-TIME DUMBEST QUESTIONS EVER. I just couldn't whittle it down to a Top 10. So I'm just putting it out there so you can be armed the next time you encounter a truly dumb question. I challenge you to respond with an equal amount of dumbnosity, just to keep it interesting.

If you'd like to submit your dumb questions, I'll compile them with mine in the aforementioned list. Thank you.

Friday, September 08, 2006

I'll miss you Crocodile Hunter


My heart was broken by the news of Steve Irwin's passing. Broken into tiny little pieces. Damn that sting ray! I did love that Crocodile Hunter. He was so fucking ebullient and enthusiastic about everything. We need more people like that in the universe. Just a little touched by the crazy but so happy, so happy it almost hurts to look at them.

That's it. All I really wanted to say. The softer side of the Shiny Penny. Don't get used to it, puppies.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

The Television

It is a rare evening when I am master and commander of the television. Not much interests me on the television, other than the WB11 Morning News and the occasional video hits classic. And now that Steve Irwin is passed, I don't hold out much hope for the future of the television.

There was a glimmer in that otherwise bleak future this evening. I happened upon two back-to-back episodes of the Scrubs. When I tell you, I laughed out loud several times...well, I've just told you. And there you have it. That shit is funny. All of it. How is it stuck on Wednesday nights? Is Brandon Tartikoff still the head of NBC? Do I need to write a letter to someone? Because I most assuredly will.

Like I said, I don't forsee a bright path ahead for the television unless the Scrubs stays on the air. If it gets cancelled I may cry and that would be unpleasant. For everyone.

Saturday, September 02, 2006

Damn hands

Hands are useful. Except when they're not.

I put my hands to work today in hopes of tricking them out of wanting to do what they surely do want to do very much. My hands have a mind of their own. They are wicked hands. Disobedient. Willful. Reckless hands.

So I kept them busy with various mundane tasks. Washing dishes, throwing shit out, turning pages of magazines and books, clicking endlessly through satellite TV, feeding me, etc. Nothing these hands wanted to do, that I can assure you. And now I've run out of things to occupy these bad hands.

Crap.

Segue. My second-biggest fan remarked the other day that I do not leave the door open for comment on this blog. My immediate reaction was shut up but being open-minded, I decided to give a listen. Perhaps second-biggest fan has something there. Whatever it is, it's a very small nugget, hardly worth this paragraph of mention but my damn hands are enjoying this. So fine. You want to comment. Go ahead. I've left this blog sufficiently vague that I invite your clever conversation. If I strike back viciously, blame my hands.

Thursday, August 31, 2006

You're on notice!


I had some fun with the InterWeb today as pictured. If you go here http://www.shipbrook.com/onnotice/ you can create your very own list of You're On Notice. The above reflect my elections. There should be no explanation necessary but just in case you're feeling a little fuzzy today:

YOU'RE ON NOTICE. BY SHINY PENNY.

1. Mandals. Really, men. Man-dal? No. Wrong. I reject your slender leather straps. There's only one man I know who can pull it off and he's related to me so the rest of you can just quit it right now.

2. Space Invaders. You know who you are. You stand too close. You've obviously never seen "Dirty Dancing" in which Patrick Swayze very carefully explains, "This is my space. This is your space." You are not as cute as Jennifer Grey so get the hell out of my space.

3. The Manatee Loose in NYC. See earlier blog "Have you seen me?"

4. Warren Buffet's Bride. The "man" got hitched today to his longtime companion. Warren love you long time. Now you married. Don't get comfortable, sweetheart; Warren gave all his dough to Bill Gates.

5. Stephen Colbert. He owns the list. He was robbed an Emmy by his friend Jon Stewart of the pretty hair. Keep the eyes open, Colby.

6. Martini Drinkers. Sorry, I know there are many of you who enjoy a stiff one. But, they just bug me.

7. Dell. For making me panic about my face exploding. There's no excuse for you.

8. Cock-a-doodle-doo. This should really be Chock-a-doodle-doo. For more than a week now, I've suffered from extreme bouts of tiredness with no ready explanation. I drink my obligatory cup of java at 5:30 a.m. Followed by another around 9:00 a.m. For some reason that 5:30 cup wasn't pulling its weight. And then the truth was revealed! It was mentioned to me that clever packaging had tricked me into thinking my Columbian Chock Full'O Nuts was caffeinated. It was not. It was decaffeinated. I will now lodge a formal complaint with the Nuts regarding their negligence and fraud. Since when did the color green signify "decaffeinated"? Damn Nuts!

That's it. What the hell are you looking down here for, greedy bastards. Leave me.

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

R.I.F.


Reading is fundamental.

It is. Really. I'm a big supporter. A regular contributor. I've got bookcases to prove it. And books on the floor. You could say I consider myself an excellent reader. When I'm into the action, I tear through it like an animal. Like a tiger. You'd think that talent would translate.

And sadly, no. I am an excellent reader of books and yet a for-shit reader of people. This, this is my Achilles heel. Maybe those book burners had something there when they protested that literature would fill the minds of the impressionable with fanciful thoughts and dangerous deeds.

Okay, fine, I saw "Footloose" this weekend on TBS. I was totally drawn into the action. Surprisingly, I'd never noticed how incredibly gay Kevin Bacon's dance in the warehouse is. And by gay, I mean "happy". Needless to say, those particular teens are the worst dancers in human history but I'd go so far as to say that they are that way because their parents burn books.

I am an excellent dancer.

Back to scholarship. As an avid reader, I'm quite disappointed to realize this failing in myself. I seem to create very elaborate fantasies around people that don't quite come to fruition or anywhere close.

I am an excellent fantasizer.

Don't judge me. All this being said, I'm a touch depressed at present for my lack. Oh, the lack. Sweet, sweet lack. Reading is fundamental, and yet I lack. I lack. I lack. I lack. My rose-colored contacts seem to fill in spaces and create grand illusions in an already-super creative mind. Ah well. My cross to bear.

Speaking of bears, my deepest apologies for the hibernation. Entirely self-imposed. A Shiny Penny needs her repose and reflection. I'm quite done. At least publicly.

Thank you very much.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

The Darkness


A friend snapped this photo for me on her cellphone. I laughed and laughed. Maybe you don't see the humor in lay-a-way. Too bad for you. You should get that checked out.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Ode to an assbrush

This one's for you, assybrushy.

Oh assbrush. How you fill the days with revelry and merriment. Who else would indulge the singing of showtunes? Who else would allow for the re-enactment of "Wild Boys"? Who else would regale me with terms of endearment to make a young girl swoon -- sweet sweet words like "dumbest of the dumb"?

When I think back on the days sans assbrush, I shriek, albeit silently. I shiver. I quake. Yes, even quake. The tremors. The tremors.

Yes, it's all true, assbrush. My confession. An ode to an assbrush. A po-em of sorts. You are an ass and a brush, and an assbrush all at the same time. Stupendous. Magnificent. Sweaty. And of course, dumb.

I bid you goodnight, assbrush, wherever you may be. And with that a word of advice: get a blog, dummy. The world needs more assbrushes of your kind.

Until we sing/dance/imbibe again...

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

You're an original

I was stunned to learn that M&Ms may change its time-tested, classic and delicious recipe. In my book, this is as catastrophic as the recent Dell notebook recall...if I owned a Dell of course.

What up, Mars?

Did the Colonel change the recipe when times got tough? Did the elixir of the Gods, a.k.a. Coca-Cola, mix it up with fruit flavors? No. And no. Well, okay, yes and yes. But candy is something sacred. You don't go all hybrid on the peanut butter cups with, say, marshmallow or grape jelly. That would be disgusting. So why change the M&M?

WHY?

Change is evil. I know what I said before about Sam Cooke and slapping change on the back, but I must have taken too many crazy pills that day. It happens. Don't judge me.

I'm getting really worked up about this. I may start a separate site in defense of the original M&M. I'll keep you posted on that and any other political activity I take on regarding the defilement of the M&M or similar delicious treats.

Saturday, August 12, 2006

Have you seen me?



From the manatee's mouth to your ears:

"I am very cute as you can plainly see from the above photo. I am THE MANATEE on the loose in New York City. If you see me, please do not approach too quickly or point at me or scream and point or laugh. I am very sensitive. True, my baked potato shape makes me appear lovable and friendly. Don't be fooled. I am an animal.

Thank you. I love you very much."

A Meditation on Clutter

Oh zip it, already. You don't even know what I'm going to say. Yes, true enough, I've expounded on the subject of clutter before. This time it will be different. Have I ever steered you wrong?

Good job. You've made it to paragraph two.

So my meditation on clutter goes something like this. Let's say I was homeless. Or rather, forced into homelessness. I was thinking about this for all of five minutes while procrastinating, so you can already tell I've put a lot of mental magic into this subject. Okay then. Assuming that I'm homeless or forced into homelessness, what in fact would I choose to carry on my person on a daily basis? (See how I totally mixed things up there and got you thinking about what I was thinking. I am a pro.)

In the spirit of making lists, here is my list of:

STUFF I'D CARRY ON MY PERSON DAY-IN, DAY-OUT IF I WAS HOMELESS OR FORCED INTO HOMELESSNESS

--Sunscreen: never underestimate the power of some SolBar PF 50. This is also a lightweight item so I'm totally scoring points right now.

--Listerine: okay, not so good on the lightweight, but it's an antiseptic and I heartily embrace anything that admits to its anti-this, anti-that status.

--Pencils and college-ruled, 5-subject notebook, preferably with a green cover: in case I get laryngitis or something, or I just feel like writing down my totally excellent thoughts. Also the pencils can double as a wicked weapon. Nobody wants lead in their eye.

--Twizzlers: no explanation necessary.

--State Driver's License and one of those wicked headsets air controllers wear: I really like those headsets. The license, in case I forget my height because you never know when someone's going to ask you out of the blue how tall you are and maybe you can't remember because numbers aren't your thing. Makes a lot of sense now, doesn't it?

--Tube socks: for warmth and entertainment!

That about does it. I am a master of eradicating clutter. You may think my list a little weak but I am fairly confident I could survive with the above on my person day-in, day-out if I was homeless or forced into homelessness for all of three days. Maybe a couple hours of one day. Maybe an hour. Okay, maybe not at all.

As I conclude my meditation on clutter, I hope you've realized the error of your ways and feel grateful for all the crap you've accumulated and surround yourself with day-in, day-out. Awesome.

Monday, August 07, 2006

Like Sam Cooke said.

"Change is gonna come, nephew, and you better believe it."

Snoop Dogg said that. Well, he said that Sam Cooke said it, and I believe him. I believe S.D. has secret knowledge, and as you know, I'm all over the secret stores of secret knowledge.

But change is my preferred subject, and change it will be. I've been doing a lot of reading about change, change management, change readiness, capacity for change -- mostly in corporations. It's actually more interesting than that last sentence let on. What I'm learning is people are inherently afraid of change. I think some would go so far as to say they loathe it. People are funny like that.

And then I think about the folks who make the biggest change, who seek it out really. Transsexuals. (You didn't see that coming, did you?) Talk about shaking things up! I would venture to say that transsexuals must be the most courageous bunch in the whole world. I did a lot of reading about transsexuals too -- back in my school days. It was required reading for an English Literature class -- please don't ask me to explain that connection because my memory doesn't go back that far.

I'm not sure if Snoop was referencing transsexuals in that quote up there of a quote of Sam Cooke, or if Sam Cooke was referencing transsexuals in his original quote. I just don't know so stop looking all perplexed like I just dropped a big question. It doesn't matter. At the end of the day, change happens whether you want it or not. So why not stop being such a bastard about it and give the change a good slap on the back. You might be better for it. Or not. Change is funny that way.

Sunday, August 06, 2006

Wow, you just stood me up.

A North Wind blew in this weekend, in case you hadn't noticed the marked change in temperature. This North Wind, of which I speak, brought much relief. You could see it on folks' faces yesterday. They were happy, smiling even, frolicking here and there, skipping, laughing, holding hands. A general sense of merriment.

And yet, this particular pleasing North Wind is quite the Janus. While ushering in cool breezes, it can also result in what is commonly called in dating circles "cold shoulder," "blown off," "stood up" and other such fun phrases. And so I was. Unceremoniously blown off by this cruel and yet pleasing North Wind, just in human form. I know -- it's almost impossible to believe that Shiny Penny could be ignored. (See A Tribute to World Domination.) Shit happens.

Let's just say I was a bit peeved yesterday but today is a new day and I got a kick-ass letter from my trusty friend Sam and my laundry is in the dryer and I think I was spared by Mercury and the North Wind.

Thanks! I really mean that. It's heartfelt. From me to you, a big kiss.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Still not writing about the heat wave...

Or Mel Gibson's apology. Or Fidel's intestinal problems. Or anything else inflammatory.

I did, however, count 12 people in jeans on my three-block walk home from the subway. I'm still at a loss with you.

In other news, I think I've stumbled upon the perfect pair of spectacles for my unseeing eyes. I'm not going to tell you where I discovered these incredible goggles because knowing you, you'll go out and steal them right from under me. I understand -- everyone wants a piece of me. Well, I'm not telling you so don't even bother to send me all those sweet, imploring emails.

As you may know, I hate glasses. Not like Mel Gibson hates Jewish people, mind you, but I do hate glasses. And no, not the drinking kind. There's just something about that weight on my face that drives me beyond bonkers. Plus, the periperal vision gets all screwed up and there's the constant pushing up of the glasses and there always dirty and I just don't like them one bit. I like glasses on other people -- don't go reporting me to the anti-spectacles league.

This may not be exciting news to you. But hear me now, a seeing Shiny Penny is a boon to the world. A Shiny Penny in the dark or fog or murky shadows is no friend indeed. Keep all appendages crossed that I score my sweet specs sooner rather than later. We'll all be better for it.

Monday, July 31, 2006

Denim has its place


Contrary to reports, I am not going to blog about the weather because frankly when it comes down to it, the weather is a pretty tired subject. Even though that segment on "60 Minutes" last night with the NASA scientist who reported that if we don't do something pronto about global warming at the melting ice caps in Greenland, we're going to be in deep shit. Yeah, even though there's that to worry about and the impending triple digit heat index in the coming days...I'm not going to write about the heat wave, per se.

Instead, I'd like to tackle a much more pressing topic. That topic is those people who insist on wearing jeans during a heat wave. While I was out and about this weekend, sweating out of every available pore, I couldn't help but notice a plethora of denim-clad men and women. It gave me pause. Actually, it startled me and made my head throb. All those poor legs and midsections and groins and ankles. Good grief.

What are you people thinking? What is wrong with you? I'd like to know because the very notion of sliding a leg inside of my Levi's right now makes me throw up just a little bit. I understand some people like to buck convention and others don't like their legs or knees or ankles but really, this devotion to denim is beyond duty. It's insanity. Free yourself. Cut those jeans at the knee. Get a pair of shorts or some short pants or a kilt or something, anything.

The whole world is going to pot. There's war in more parts of the world than I can fathom; there's Mel Gibson's DUI; there's the fact the "Miami Vice" was the number-one movie this weekend. There's trouble in paradise, puppies. Please do your part by saying NO to the denim. It can make a difference.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Extraordinary Machine

Today was totally above board. Not only did I do my good deed for 2006, but I was rewarded handsomely for it. Keep in mind that this good deed required me to commandeer a machine, and I commandeered like a total fucking pro, save for almost hitting that biker but I didn't see him so it doesn't count, nor does the pigeon who I narrowly missed.

So I performed my good deed totally unselfishly and as a result gained entrance into a before-now elusive gastropub. I know that's an anachronism. This particular pub of sorts has always been so goddamned packed that it's tried my patience in one too many ways. People are crawling all over this city like roaches and I hate roaches.

Anyway, it was off-peak so we infiltrated like two badasses, that being me and my right-hand wing who shall remain nameless because that's the way the wing flows. It was an awesome experience, complete with cheese and beer -- my two favorite combinations in the known universe. We took a long constitution afterwards because it was so beautiful out, and we were just feeling so awesome that we had to spread it around. Not to make you jealous or anything, but I capped off the evening outdoors with dinner with some friends.

Yeah, I guess I'd be jealous if I was you. It's hard work being both extraordinary and a machine. Hard work for you maybe. It's chocolate cake for this shiny penny.

Friday, July 21, 2006

Lights out, Queens!

I thought something should be said about Brownout 2006 in Queens. For you out-of-towners, no, this does not relate in any fashion to the little girl club affectionately known as Brownies, nor The Girl Scouts of America.

For several days now it's been lights out in certain neighborhoods in Queens. Normally I wouldn't pay much mind to the unfortunate circumstances of others. I'm like that. It's a gift to be able to close my mind to misery. Yet in this case I happen to know some of the afflicted and the Brownout 2006 in Queens has affected me personally so I'm riled up enough to take matters into my own capable, but small, hands.

Con Ed, get on it.

That felt really good. So good, I'll say it again.

Con Ed, get on it.

If there is truth in advertising, then I firmly believe that Con Ed will get on it, if in fact they are not ON IT already. (For the ad-averse, Con Ed's new tagline is ON IT.)

True enough there are larger problems in the world that Con Ed's resources may better be applied to but I was unceremoniously cut off from a very important phone call last night and that is just unacceptable, Mr. Con and Mr. Ed. So summon your minions, Con Ed. Send those hard hats out to Queens because those people need some power.

Seeing as I'm always ON IT, this shouldn't be too much to ask.

I'm out.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

A Short Study on Anonymous

The world abounds with anonymouses (the plural, my own spelling) and associations of anonymouses. Here are some exmples of the latter you may or may not be aware of:

Alcoholics Anonymous
Debtors Anonymous
Sexaholics Anonymous
Families Anonymous
Nicotine Anonymous
Gamblers Anonymous
Overeaters Anonymous
Marijuana Anonymous
Cocaine Anonymous
Emotions Anonymous
Recovering Couples Anonymous
Workaholics Anonymous
Parents Anonymous
Depressed Anonymous
Clutterers Anonymous

I could go on and on as far as the ooooooooooo in Google would allow. Of course, there's also that person Anonymous attributed with all those witty sayings, such as:

A person who aims at nothing is sure to hit it.

A magician pulls rabbits out of hats. An experimental psychologist pulls habits out of rats.

Discretion is the better part of valor.

Yeah, they all pretty much suck, which very well could explain why this person did not take any credit for these less than inspired and altogether unwitty witticisms.

In conclusion, what have we learned from anonymous? Pretty much zip. Except for the fact that you can organize some like-minded anonymouses around pretty much anything and say whatever you damn well please because no one will know it's you and I guess that can be appealing at the end of the day if you're into being invisible.

The real question at the bottom of this and which I heard on one of those nerd public radio programs is this:

If you had one super power to choose that you, and you alone, would possess, would it be invisibility or the ability to fly?

Monday, July 17, 2006

Suicide: Don't Do It

I just saw a play about suicide. It didn't end well.

You may remember the slogan in the subject line from that movie "Heathers" which also touched on suicide. In the movie version, suicide is the exact opposite of BIG FUN even though the cool kids are doing it, or so the crafty Christian Slater will have you believe. If you haven't seen "Heathers", go look it up because I'm too depressed to give you my awesome synopsis.

Suicide: Don't do it. This is my public service announcement. Thank you for tuning in. You may resume regular programming.

'Night Mother.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

To hell with mosquitos

I am a juicy piece of succulent mosquito meat. This fact was clearly illustrated a wee two nights' ago when one such creation of God's wrath feasted upon my sleeping flesh. I awoke in a panic feeling the close buzz in my ear. The welts throbbed on my arms, legs, midsection, and back. The beast fed and he fed well. And yet, he was no where to be found. Not even my feverish sprays of Skin So Soft at 3 a.m. could deter him from a second feeding somewhere in and around 5 a.m.

I find this bold act of impudence against one so innocent such as myself to be inexcusable. I summon you, mosquito, to go right to hell and beyond for your gluttony. To hell with you mosquito and your kind. To hell with you bastard child of other such infidels. To hell. To hell. To hell.

Monday, July 10, 2006

Bunching Kills


People should never bunch up close together, no matter who you're waiting to see. Bunching is wrong. People should never be herded like cattle into makeshift lines, a.k.a. death traps, no matter who you're waiting to hear read from his new book. People should never go to Macy's Herald Square because there are no windows above the first floor and what if you get way up on one of those high floors via those wooden escalators and you can't get out? What if? Macy's is akin to bunching, except not really but I could argue it so stop trying to pick a fight.


Dear Super Power Bookstore,

I was disappointed to learn that you promote bunching. Bunching is wrong. I may get Elliot Spitzer on the case because there should be a law outlawing bunching of people real close together, no matter who they're waiting to see. Chuck Schumer is also on my list of high-powered proactive politicians soon to be on the case. Maybe even Help Me Howard. I am not afraid to call in the big guns here. So the next time you organize one of your fancy readings, please instruct your employees that bunching is akin to gauging someone's eyes out with a real pointy fingernail.

Thanks for listening.

Best regards,
Bunching Kills

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

The wonderful world of me and mine


After observing several small people this holiday weekend who adamantly refused to share their super awesome toys, I've come to a great discovery. Every generation is in fact the ME generation. We're all pretty much selfish on a daily basis, whether we choose to recognize the inner brat or not.

But we're not to blame really. It's the advertisers. And the marketers. And the lions, and tigers, and bears. They feed our egos like hungry beasts. Their succulent meats satiate our seemingly insatiable appetites. Case in point: the personalized meat brander. What every grillboy/grillgirl needs. If you didn't put your initials in the countless burgers served up this holiday weekend, then hell, you're just about the lamest of the lame. Put them initials in that thar' processed meat patty.

Personally I think this is one of the most ingenius manipulations of the ego ever invented. How much better do you think a burger would taste with your initials in it? INFINITELY BETTER. Like the best hunka hunk of juicy cow flesh ever. I kid you not. I will be ordering the meat brander. I just wish you could squeeze in more than three letters. Imagine the possiblities of branding your grilled chicken, corn, salmon, hot dogs, etc. Kinda blows your mind, huh?

Everyone knows having your name on something makes you that much cooler. Remember back in the day when you could buy those mini license plates with your name on them? Or the key chains? Or those silly birthday astrology tags? Must have been nice for you: Melissa, Katie, Beth, Mark, Robert, George. My name was never on any of those trinkets. I suffered the cruel stares, the snickering behind my back. Luckily my mother indulged my thirst for personalization with purple belts with my name wrapped around, a mirror in the shape of my name in bubble script, even my initials on the door of my first car. How you like me now, Melissa, Katie, Beth, Mark, Robert, and George?

In sum, the next time you hear someone yell "MINE. MINE. MINE." don't judge because you're probably just as self-centered and egotistical, and we all know your mom still initials your underwear, just 'cause.

Monday, July 03, 2006

On this eve of independence


Independence is a tricky thing. Yeah, we're all free to be you and me but sometimes I think curbing your freedom, not mine, might be best. True you are free to let it all hang out and say whatever you damn well please -- thanks be to America. But I wonder what our forefathers would have thought of this here present day. Mr. ten-dollar bill and his facelift included. Freedom is real nice -- don't get me twisted. But perhaps we've lost the true meaning of Independence Day.

In the spirit of freedom and firecrackers and cold delicious 40s and Mel Gibson as William Wallace in the totally awesome movie Braveheart which is about freedom just not American freedom, I submit the following list of THINGS OUR FOREFATHERS WOULD HAVE FROWNED UPON IN THE FACE OF FREEDOM.

THINGS OUR FOREFATHERS WOULD HAVE FROWNED UPON IN THE FACE OF FREEDOM

-- Journey touring with anyone other than Steve Perry

-- The Cars touring with anyone other than Ric Okacek

-- Queen touring with anyone other than Freddie Mercury, unless of course that someone was Corn Mo 'cause that would be kinda cool

-- The DaVinci Code: book, movie, and website and anyone who quotes any of the aforementioned in any circumstance whatsoever

-- Pickles

-- Ferrets as house pets; pigs as house pets; alligators as house pets and the like

-- Anna Nicole Smith's video blog and anyone who pays $4.99 for Anna Nicole Smith's video blog

-- Bad pickup lines used in public under the guise of being good pickup lines used in public

-- The public

-- The affiliation of "save the penny" and Keven Federline

-- The fact that I know who Keven Federline is

-- The 1"x6" white strip the USPS insists on pasting on top of the front of postcards whereby obscuring the lovely picture on the front of the postcard and just generally annoying me

-- Postal regulations

-- Inflammatory remarks about cheese


These are just some of the things I think our forefathers would seriously frown upon on this eve of independence. It's something worthwhile to think about before you set off your homemade firecrackers and suckle that last drop of Pabst and nod off to sleep to another day of totally awesome freedom that you probably don't deserve because you don't hold doors open for old ladies or give your seat up for pregnant women on the subway or forget to wipe your exercise machine down or cut people off in line at the market or whatever jerk-like thing you will most likely do on July 5.

Saturday, July 01, 2006

Journey to a place far, far away

There exist places far, far away in my mind, and yet only a wee 30 minutes on the F train. One such place is called Brooklyn. They have large, green parks there. People live in this far and away place in big brownstones. They walk down very wide sidewalks in this place. They look just like you and me. I know -- it's alarming.

Anyway, I went to this park way out there to see some TV On The Radio because I liked their photo. I've never heard the TV On The Radio, but like I said, I was visually stimulated by their photo. The people who inhabit this Brooklyn were all out with their blankets and their wine and their funny cigarettes and their burritos. We came ill-prepared to sit on the grassy knoll but we're tough and resourceful. It started to drizzle during the second of two not-so hot bands and thanks to the encouragement of one of our clan, we managed to stay for the main attraction. They did not disappoint. True, I thought the TV On The Radio sound a lot like Fishbone, except not funny.

I love the Fishbone. I saw the Fishbone eons ago when I was young and my buns were hot in a place called Philadelphia. It was summer and there were a lot of sweaty people surrounding me. I do not like to be touched by sweaty people in public, unless I have extended an invitation to do so. Which reminds me of a strange fact that a Cupcake shared with us last night: In any one day you come into indirect contact with 15 penises. I don't have much to say about that particular fact. Facts are facts and it's not within my scope to dispute them. Back to The Fishbone. Angelo climbed one of the spires alongside the stage during the concert. That was pretty awesome. They played all my favorite songs, like "Ma and Pa" and "Sunless Saturday" and "Subliminal Facism." Yeah those were some kick-ass days.

Tonight I'll keep it closer to home for yet another musical extravaganza known as Echo & The Bunnymen. Yes, they're still together, you unbelievers. Please don't show up and try to engage me in conversation because my attention will be elsewhere, namely on stage. But thanks for taking this journey with me. Rock it.

Thursday, June 29, 2006

Don't be such a hater

I was reading some blogs the other day, one on technology, another on media, one on copywriting, yet another on the female perspective on dating. All this reading and blog spying made me think about the big questions in life. For example, why do people blog? What is it that makes these bloggers think they have something interesting, pressing, vital to add to the grander conversation? Yeah, that's a pretty heavy question. And so, I thought about this and I thought to myself "Who cares? I'm going to blog about the really big issues that everyone can relate to."

The Big Cheese.

American, Cheddar. Gouda. Mozzarella. Drunken Goat. Brie. Manchego. Blue. Asiago. Parmesan. These are just some of the many tasty forms of cheese that inhabit my refrigerator at any one time. I love cheese and I'm not ashamed to admit it. It is delicious and nutritious and just plain awesome. Cheese can change the world and in fact it has. I'm not going to tell you how -- you're just going to have to trust me.

But as of late it was pointed out to me that I consume far too much cheese for any one person. Putting aside the fact that this observation was really annoying, I just don't believe it. How can there ever be too much cheese? I wish everyone was lactose intolerant because that would leave more cheese for me.

Maybe you're not so into the cheese -- that situation really sucks for you. Perhaps you like your cheese in small doses or you haven't experienced the unadulterated joy of cheese as a main course. How sad for you. I really mean that. I'm welling up at the very thought.

That's really all I had to say on the subject of cheese. I like it quite a bit and if you don't then we can't keep up these appearances any longer. Maybe if you opened your mind a little then you wouldn't be such a hater.

Monday, June 26, 2006

My Anthem


I was watering my plants this morning as I do every Monday morning -- they like the strict regimen of a routine watering on a pre-determined day, pre-determined by their master, that being me.

Anyway, I had the VH1 Classic on in the background because it generally puts me in one of those glorious nostalgic fogs where I dream of my foregone youth and once hot buns. Well, the most righteous video came on and stopped me in my watering tracks.

You can probably guess that it was Eddie Murphy's "Party All The Time" off of the "How Could It Be" album. Not only is this song too awesome to encapsulate, but the video will literally blow your mind. In case you don't remember, picture this. Rick James, super producer, super freak, and just generally a super dooper human being, is producing Eddie's track in the studio. There are several hangers-on just sorta hanging out in the background, presumably part of Eddie's awesome posse. As soon as Eddie starts whipping out the jam, everyone pretty much freaks out, which is to be expected. There's a lot of grooving and pointing fingers and smiling and unbridled happiness. When Rick joins Eddie on his guitar, things get really crazy. It's a magical duet. Rick's flowing blonde locks, Eddie's mastery of the mic, the hand clapping, the long looks into the camera, the mesmerizing chorus "My girl wants to party all the time, party all the time, party all the time." It's history in the making.

So I've decided to take on "Party All The Time" as my own personal anthem. It really fits my personality and my philosophy on life. I hope no one else has already claimed this video hits classic as their own, allthough I could understand it, what with the freakalicious licks and Eddie's soaring alto. But I'm going to lay claim to it all the same, and all the rest of you girls who like to "party all the time" can just go right to hell.

That was powerful.

Saturday, June 24, 2006

MER-MAGICAL

And so the Mermaid Parade in Coney Island happened yesterday under gray skies and minimal drizzle. The dreary forecast could not dampen the spirits of the many mermaids, mermen, and other indistinguishable but scantily clad costumey-looking folks. Being a first-timer to this particular parade, I thought it appropriate to not only attend but to participate in the parade as a mermaid in the #1 float. This all couldn't have been possible without my super agent S.J. She's highly connected.

What follows is a brief recap of the day's events in case you were fool enough to skip out.

11 a.m. My fellow fishfolk and I arrive bright and early at Coney Island to try on our costumes for the first time, only a wee 2 hours before the parade commences. Thanks to the help of a few safety pins and a rush tank top purchase, we were raring to go. The fruit headpieces proved heavy and painful, much like having brain surgery while fully conscious. The actual mer-gear was not all that flattering as far as flattering mer-gear goes, but I can go with the flow and I flowed and flowed and flowed all over the Coney. By showtime, the mermaids were looking SHARP.

1:30 p.m. On our walk down to the actual float, we were stopped several times for photographs. As a relatively shy public person, this was a very new and strange experience for me. I mean, I know people want to stop me on the street in my non-mermaid gear and ask for a photo but the perma-hard look on my face dissuades them. (Usually this look is due to me concentrating on where I'm going and not getting lost rather than an actual hardness of heart. Usually, not always.)

2:15 p.m. Anyway, we arrive at our float, board, balloon up, and off we go for our three-block titilation of Coney Island. It was the greatest 6 minutes of my life thus far. Hands down. With a live drum band behind us -- literally, right behind us -- we felt the rhythm of the night as Gloria Estefan might say and felt it all over. The rains held off until our #1 float made it safely back to shore near the world-famous Cyclone. We were cheered and waved to and photographed and interviewed, and it was all strange and delicious.

2:24 p.m. Safely out of costume and lobotomy-inducing headpiece, we watched the other parade-goers from a rooftop. I can't even begin to describe the sights and sounds of the parade and later those along the boardwalk. It was all too much for one Shiny Penny to take in. It was beautiful in its oddness and in the amount of flesh (Shylock would have found his "pound of flesh" and then some.) that was exposed and overexposed and generally hanging out all over. Never have I seen so much skin since that one foray to South Beach, which is a very scary place indeed.

6 p.m. 45 minutes later thanks to the trusty D train and I'm back at the headquarters to refuel and unload what I can and cannot remember from a very vigorous day's events. I'm leaving quite a bit out here because I'm still in a bit of shock.

Did I mention we danced on this float? Yes, I danced. I can cut it. I shook my Carmen Miranda-like shoulders like Ricky Ricardo was in town. It was excellent. You should have been there. But maybe you're scared of rain and of having fun and of showing up and showing face. I'm just saying. I'm just slinging some Coney-style trash talk. 'Cause that's how we do it in the parade circuit.

Friday, June 23, 2006

Yes, I am quietly judging you

You know they sell the funniest T-shirts these days. I ran across one with the subject line indicated here and thought to myself, "A mighty truth that one is." Another one of my top favorites is the following, "Meat is murder. Tasty, tasty murder."

The text T-shirt is all the rage these days. I was thinking long and hard about this trend for about the last five minutes. On one side of the debate are the poo-poo'ers who claim advertising is bad and people who wear T-shirts with witty sayings like "What's not to love?" lack originality (the people, that is, not the genius in marketing who came up with that witty saying). On the freedom-of-speech side are the folks wearing these clever T-shirts who feel this is an appropriate form of self-expression.

Let me tell you a story. My very good friend of many years and I were on a constitution one day when we spied in a store window a black T-shirt with large white block lettering that read, "Fuck you, you fucking fuck." We had a good laugh about that. I think it's a quote from the movie Scarface with Al Pacino. Anyway, every time I've seen that T-shirt since I've wanted to purchase this highly provocative garment for my very good friend of many years because she's quite the titilator in both brains and beauty.

Sometimes I visit the T-shirt site threadless.com which specializes in all kinds of generally awesome cotton garb. It's an open-source kind of operation which I endorse whole-heartedly. (If you don't know what that very technical term means, look it up. I'm busy.) I'm unclear on the business model but seeing as these T-shirts are only $10 and generally in short supply as they are almost always "sold out", I don't suspect anyone's being harmed in the making or manufacturing of these T-shirts. But then there's The Kathy Lee Gifford Scandal, and if that didn't throw you for a loop like it did this Shiny Penny, well then there you are.

I say if you've got something to say then say it already and if you are unable to articulate what you need to say then why not use your T-shirt to say that un-sayable something that you feel needs to be said so desperately. Sometimes, I wish my T-shirts were like mood rings that would convey my changing moods toward whomever is staring/ talking/ harrassing/ flirting/ annoying/ or whatever else with me. I have no doubt some evil genius somewhere has this sort of project in the innovation lab as I write.

So let the poo-poo'ers poo poo you and quietly judge you because at the end of the day I am not-so-quietly judging them right back.

In conclusion, I'd like to extend my suggestions for text T-shirts. Feel free to steal or co-opt these as you see fit. We both will know where the big ideas are really coming from.

REALLY GREAT IDEAS FOR TEXT TO PUT ON YOUR T-SHIRT

1. Sometimes I want to smack you. Sometimes I want you to smack yourself.

2. Show me the receipts. (As quoted from the Whitney Houston - Barbara Walters interview when the songstress was asked if she hit the pipe, which she vehemently denied with this very convincing retort.)

3. Stop doing it. Now.

4. I feel pretty.

5. I am hungry.

6. Do you have any cheese?

7. This is not funny anymore.

8. Can I go now?

9. Stop bugging me.

10. It ends here.

If you have any really great ideas for text to put on your T-shirt, send them my way and I'll let you know if you have a really great idea on your hands or you're just wasting everyone's time.

Monday, June 19, 2006

Balls!

I'm not much of a joiner or a follower. Not much of a supporter of causes, organizations, clubs, federations, philosophies, etc. I pretty much consider myself a renegade, unmoved by fancy words or pretty colors or tasty cookies. But this particular cause caught my eye and I spent time on the site getting to know the pain of its victims so I thought I'd share. There is an interactive game, which I'd recommend, as well as an official mourning place. Be sure to click on all the navigable items. It's well worth your time and patience.

www.supportforbullswhohavehadtheirballscutoffandeaten.org

I've done my part to spread the word. I feel really good about myself right now.

Sunday, June 18, 2006

Tribute to World Domination


When people casually mention to me their plans for world domination or how those plans for world domination might get in the way of hanging out with me, I usually shrug it off with my happy-go-lucky laugh and an innocent shrug that says volumes, including: "oh well," "rats!" and "good luck with that." But I digress.

World domination will be my primary topic today. Here goes. Usually when the people above have mentioned their plans for world domination, those plans involved some sort of evil. This may not surprise you. It never surprised me for I know that there is in fact great capacity for evil when it comes to plans for world domination and just plans in general. However, what did surprise me was the connection between world domination and the Guinness Book of World Records. For, to make it into the latter is a sort of world domination. To be the world's fastest cherry stem knotter is pretty dominating and intimidating for that matter. Or take Kevin Cole for example. Kev holds the world record for the longest spaghetti strand blown out of a nostril in a single blow. It's on the books, if you don't believe me. Kevin Cole: evil genius or master of the known universe?

It's simply amazing the breadth and depth of world domination contained in the Guinness Book of World Records site. I highly recommend you take a spin through. One note of caution: when you google for Guinness, beware that the first link is for the delicious Irish beer with the foamy cap and when you click on that link you will find yourself in a very happy place and immediately grow very very thirsty and light headed and then a little bit sad that you do not have directly at your disposal one of those delicious Irish beers with the foamy cap. Depression will follow this last bit but try to snap yourself out of it and remember you're looking for the Guinness Book of World Records site and not the delicious Irish beer with the foamy cap that makes everyone smile and generally feel like a better person.

Okay. Back to world domination. I was listening to the radio today on a long drive to my secret hideaway where I generally go to charge my superpowers and eat until my face hurts. And so, I heard this story about the world's largest pinhole camera which will be photographing the world's largest picture. This is all happening at a naval base somewhere in the US. There are several fascinating bits to this story. The picture will be like 3 stories tall and take 10 days to develop in 200 gallons of chemicals. The pinhole of the camera is about 3/4 of an inch in diameter so I guess that's like the size of a gumball. The specially constructed hangar that houses the world's largest camera will be torn down once this one picture is taken.

Talk about world domination! That's how you do it! You create something so colossal, dare I say Godzilla-like, make it into the Guinness Book of World Records (in your own newly created category, mind you), and then destroy the beast. This story has made me re-evaluate all mentions of plans for world domination. Because really, if you're going to go about town with your big girl and big boy plans for world domination, you better aim for the Guinness (both the World Records and the delicious Irish beer with the foamy cap). All this talk reminds me of the Strongest Man Competition which may be unrelated but is equally fascinating. That's all I'm going to say on that subject.

In conclusion, I'm sure I have insulted many people right now who are wondering if they were in fact the spark to this highly entertaining and just generally awesome blog. I assure you that you can all rest easy tonight because total credit goes to my own inner evil genius and our collective plans for world domination. Further research will be launched into the category of my world domination -- a lot of ground is covered in the Guinness Book of World Records -- but I'm sure I can find something equal to my stature and talent as both an evil genius and a really kick-ass person that you should have hung out with instead of using that lame excuse about world domination. Awesome.

[DISCLAIMER: the "you" in the above is fictional. Should you think that you are in fact the you, you are wrong and probably need to take a long look in the mirror and ask yourself why you think everything is always about you.]

Thursday, June 15, 2006

Can it!


What will those kooky Japanese think of next? First it was oxygen bars where you could sidle up to the pump and inhale to your heart's content. Mmm, air! Now the new craze is oxygen in a can. The launch of this radical product O2 Supli was yesterday in 11,000 7-11s across Japan. (When did 7-11 invade Japan??? Can I get a Big Gulp in Tokyo cause if so I am like totally on the next plane outta here!).

How does 02 Suppli work, you ask? Well, according to my sources, it shoots a big old gulp of air into the user's mouth, nose, throat via a plastic mask attached to the can. How cool is that? It's like whippits but without all the chemical crap and occasional blackouts and general stupidity of partaking in the whippit. So far, it sounds like the USP is an end to yawning, sighing, flatulation, and all the other really fun things that people do. What a buzz kill. Oh yeah, oxygen comes in two flavors: grapefruit and mint.

Similar to paying for water, paying for oxygen sounds a little off the wall to me. I know, "nothing's free in this world." I also know I am highly skeptical about almost everything, a Debbie Downer if you will (I prefer the descriptive "discriminating"), but maybe that's because I yawn and sigh with abandon, whenever and however often I damn well feel like it.

So my message to Japan regarding your oxygenated can of anti-fun is this:

YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF ME.

God, I love saying that.

I don't mind Japan so much really. If not for Japan, Hello Kitty would be homeless and I'm pretty sure she'd get her fat cat ass beat up real good if she had to hoof it on the dark, dirty streets. And thank Japan for sushi, a truly delicious and nutritious treat. And Sofia Coppola should be sending out some big props for winning that Oscar for that movie that had virtually no compelling text but was mesmerizing nonetheless due to the very intriguing backdrop of Japan and also for Bill Murray. Japan is totally the boss of her.

In sum, keep it coming, Japan. That's a big thumbs up from one Shiny Penny. Make that a double.

All of a sudden I'm winded. Can somebody open a window around here?

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

I love science

Check out the crazy scientists at eepybird.com when they take on Diet Coke and Mentos. The video is priceless. Their explanation of the chemical reaction somewhat frightening. Not surprisingly, Mentos thinks the video is awesome (they're European and Europeans are crazy and fun loving). Diet Coke was not amused (they're American and Americans generally stink in the crazy-in-a-good way and fun-loving department). Enjoy.

Sunday, June 11, 2006

Go tell it on the mountain

I cannot sing. This is no secret. I have been justly accused of being "tone deaf". I am not complaining just laying some groundwork.

My fellow "tone deaf" friend and I enjoyed the musical stylings of one kick-ass choir last evening in a lively and bombastic (I love bombast) interpretation of Carmina Burana. You know this music as it's been popularized by Hollywood folk for a very long time. My personal favorite co-opt of the Carmina Burana is from my second most-favorite movie ever "The Mission" starring one hairy and delicious Robert DeNiro and Jeremy Irons. If you have by some freak stroke of un-luck never seen "The Mission", I excuse you from reading the rest of this blog until you have in fact seen "The Mission". It's that good. Anyway, Carmina Burana figures prominently throughout "The Mission". It's also in a whole bunch of other movies but we're getting way off topic here.

So I cannot sing. That was the original thread here. I cannot. I can't. It's not within the wide realm of my talents. It pains me actually. To the very deepest core of my super talented being, I feel this lack. Yes, it's true. My Achilles heel exposed for all to point at and laugh. Go ahead.

Good, now that you're finished with that nonsense, in closing I'd like to wish upon you good tone to make up for my chasm of tone deafness. Wasn't that generous of me? I think so. I can be really nice sometimes. I really do hope you can sing and that you do it in the streets and in the shower and on the subway and at restaurants and movie theaters and bars and pretty much everywhere. But if by chance you are as unlucky as me to be classified as "tone deaf", please do shut up.

Thanks for listening.

Saturday, June 10, 2006

String Theory


I know a seamstress, the old-fashioned kind. She can sew anything. She's made bikinis for models. That's how good she is. I was with her one day in her basement as she was fixing a button for me. I noticed a string on her sleeve so I pulled it off to throw the offending string out. She immediately scolded me. That string was there on purpose. She put it there. It's bad luck to throw away such loose ends because you never know when you'll need that little bit of string. I guess that makes a lot of sense if you're a seamstress or say, MacGyver.

So anyway, I've been taking stock of things, inventory if you will, and observing the myriad loose ends about me.

Yeah, so that's it. I don't have any BIG IDEAS for you to steal. You should be ashamed of yourself that that idea even crossed your mind. Really. This isn't that kind of place.

For the record, I do not understand string theory. I googled it and read about four sentences before my head started to throb. I do like strings though. And theories are pretty neat too. And I think that ball of string up there looks pretty fun. Maybe I'll pick up my own ball of string at the local hardware store -- just for kicks. Sounds like a pretty awesome Saturday afternoon activity if you ask me.

Thursday, June 08, 2006

The shower sessions, by request


My self-proclaimed "second-biggest fan" recently requested "more shower sessions" and "maybe even a photo." Normally I would balk at such requests, because that's what influential people do when they wield their power and frankly it's kind of fun for me to torture my self-proclaimed "second-biggest fan". Today not so. Today I will fulfill my self-proclaimed "second-biggest fan;s" wish for both "more shower sessions" and "maybe even a photo."

I submit this:

THE TITILATING STORY OF THE LOOFAH

From whence did you come hard sponge-like creature? How is it that you can magically transform under water into a soft sponge-like friend sloughing off my dead skin to reveal fresh, new, young skin? You. Unassuming. Stoic. Caretaker.

But you’ve been betrayed, dear sweet loofah, for I know from whence you issued. Prepare yourself for this shocking revelation, ripped right from the headlines inside my mind:

SQUASH DOES NOT EXACTLY DENY MOTHERING LOOFAH

You are not a sea creature. You are a fruit! A fruit! Can you believe the hypocrisy? A fruit! (Yes, puppies, squash is a fruit.)

Again, I did exhaustive research, on the Internet, and saw pictures, and as we all know the Internet never lies, so you can totally trust me when I tell you that our dear sweet friend loofah is in fact a fruit. I can't go into the sordid details of the loofah's birth and transformation because it's too painful and I do respect the loofah's privacy.

Now the Internet also instructed me on how to grow my own loofah. Apparently it’s a total snap. I am so determined to grow my own loofah that I can hardly concentrate. As my self-proclaimed “second-biggest fan” and my “first-biggest fan” both know I have a wicked green thumb. Evidence: the six-foot avocado tree (also a fruit) which thrives in my balmy, jungle-like abode. Granted, I did not plant avocado tree but I do water avocado tree and can therefore take full credit for its proud, tall and strong presence.

I hope you are as excited – and titilated – by the loofah's roots as I am. I’ll never look at my loofah the same way. I can’t hardly wait to jump in the shower tomorrow. If you’d like to educate yourself on the comings and goings of the loofah, I suggest you take a gander at any of the many sites that pop up when you ask.com "from whence did the loofah issue?"

This concludes my contemplation of the shower. See photo above for illustration.

Keeping it clean, your Shiny Penny.

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Horrors and scopic devices


I’m not much of a believer, a believer in much of anything really. Okay, that’s technically untrue but for the sake of argument, stay with me for one short moment. Accepting the proposition that I am an unbeliver, nonbeliever, what have you, I do however read my horoscope. I said "read," not believe. This week foretells:

This week, you'll fear you're not getting the credit you deserve, but that's not necessarily so. Take a note from Dolly Parton's duets — she never gets into a decibel duel with her singing partner. But that doesn't mean you ever forget she's there. And because of how hot you look, no one will forget that you're at least half-responsible for how good sex with you is.

Now that’s interesting. I do like being compared to Dolly Parton on any and all occasions. I may not bear the blonde wig or the buxomness of this worthy comparison nor the tiny Dolly frame nor the ability to wear all white when I damn well feel like it but, putting all that aside – suspension of disbelief, kids – I fancy myself a Dolly Parton of sorts. No, I can’t sing worth a lick. But there is something very interesting there. And no, I haven’t quite figured it out at this particular juncture in the blog, but bear with me.

My interpretation of said scopic segment is thus. I am hot. Undeniable. I am unforgettable. Clearly. I am half-responsible. Excellent news. As for that last juicy nugget, yeah, it’s pretty much a given so why even bother? You know the James Brown song – fine, now you’re privy to the fact that I was the muse. Just don’t tell Jimmy; he gets dodgy about such confessions.

I think the point here is that I am, if anything, non-confrontational. I’m not going to duke it out with you because we both know at the end of the day I am too damn handsome and clever and charming to give a good God damn anyway. This isn’t narcissism; this is my burden to bear through this however-short and painful life.

In sum, I will from this point forward overlook your failure to “excuse me” while cutting into line or jostling me roughly at a street corner or other such lapses in basic human decency. Because I know, as you know, that I am like totally Dolly Parton and you’re just an accompanist who happens to keep good form and good tune when in my presence. Kudos to you!

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

at long last and three-armed babies

i warn you this may be a hodgepodge, a potpourri, a vomitorium of brilliance. you should sit down for this, just in case you were standing up at a computer station or reading over someone's shoulder or something intrusive and rude like that.

at long last i've taken pen to paper. praise be the forefathers. now see, that was a crazy nonsensical statement but maybe not so much as our forefathers oft took pen to paper. consider the constitution for a moment or the declaration of independence. see, not so crazytown now, is it? i digress. so i wrote a small something. it's complete and whole and i actually thought it all through and took crazy notes from my shower sessions. yes, i said shower sessions. i find a great deal of inspiration in the shower. what of it? stop trying to get me off topic. i wrote something, non work related, non freelance related, non pay related. a short performance piece. and i've submitted it so we'll see what happens. keep all appendages crossed. i think it's funny but i think nearly everything is funny so who can tell but seeing as i'm an expert critic of funny, you can pretty much take my word for it that it is indeed very very funny.

thanks to a loyal source, i was apprised of the birth of a three-armed chinese baby. i saw pictures. not the globe or inquirer pictures but real pictures because they were on the internet and the internet never lies. the baby had an arm growing out of its chest. almost fully formed as i recall but non-functioning. so baby's parents had the extra appendage removed even though the baby's other two arms are not as i recall fully workable. how strange and wonderful and unique. i think this baby is just about the coolest baby ever. i think this baby will be endowed with magical powers. i think i love this baby. i think this baby may save us all.

as for the 06/06/06, pish posh. bring it, beastmaster. i still have a little anger left to tussle with you and your minions.

Sunday, June 04, 2006

the storm inside

wow, what a bad idea to go to the beach this weekend. for once the meterologists were correct in their doppler of torrential downpour. but it's hard to keep a shiny penny down for long. it's hard. not impossible. but hard. so whilst under the safe cover of my very floral umbrella or under the cover of a large canopy or under the cover of my beach resort, i had time to reflect and get to know this shiny penny on a very deep level. i learned several things. since i'm really into lists at the moment, here they are, in no particular order:

THINGS I LEARNED WHILST UNDER THE COVER OF MY VERY FLORAL UMBRELLA OR UNDER THE COVER OF A LARGE CANOPY OR UNDER THE COVER OF MY BEACH RESORT

-- life is hard.

-- often when there are raging storms outside, you can sometimes feel the grumblings of the storm inside.

-- i have some anger issues.

-- carl hiassen believes he is funny because he is so angry.

-- i believe carl hiassen is funny and angry, and sometimes at the same time.

-- there are t-shirts, barettes, nail polish, and other items that can change color in the sun, just not the ladies' bathing suits. and for you un-believers, there is a store that sells such items.

-- ripping the 22-year-old hostess a new one for asking for a cover charge is probably not very nice in the big ol' book of nice things to do to be considered a nice person in general.

-- wendy's chicken strips are delicious and deliciously crispy.


i could go on and on. but i have some "stuff" to work out because apparently i am angry about something -- i mean i'm angry about a lot of things but picking just one thing right now is just making me angrier. generally i'm a big fan of storms; don't get me wrong storms. anyway, i'm going to listen to some jesus & mary chain "happy when it rains" and change the lyrics to "angry when it rains" because i feel like doing something crazy like that. and i think i feel like being angry for just a little while longer for no particular reason other than i want to and you can't stop me and if you even try, you will some cold, wet wrath the likes of which have not been documented in history.

sweet dreams, puppies.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

run to the hills

i was sucked into the vortex of one of those "list" shows again, but this time it ended happily. vh1 classic's greatest metal songs with a bunch of metalheads providing irrelevant and inane commentary. although i would dispute chris jericho as a music authority but he is a fine, fine wrestler and most definitely someone i would put on my PEOPLE I'D LIKE TO PUT IN MY POCKET list. anyhow, the reputable host, one sebastian bach (another contender for my pocket) intro'd iron maiden's "run to the hills". the memories came flooding back. i'm not much into metal but i have to say "run to the hills" ranks real high on my not-for-public list of dynamite songs.

i hadn't thought about this song in a long long time. but a couple months ago i heard this girl peel out on it at a heavy metal/punk karaoke night. my jaw dropped as did everyone else's, which can be accounted for by the fact that she had some killer vocals as well as the fact that she jennifer beale'd her bra off whilst singing.

maybe you don't know "run to the hills". shame on you. go buy it from itunes or whatever you kids do these days. steal it from your older brother for all i care. just get yourself informed. i've pasted the lyrics below.

in iron maiden fashion, i will be running to the (proverbial) hills this weekend so don't expect to hear from me, puppies.


Run to the hills
(harris)

White man came across the sea
He brought us pain and misery
He killed our tribes, he killed our creed
He took our game for his own need

We fought him hard we fought him well
Out on the plains we gave him hell
But many came too much for cree
Oh will we ever be set free?

Riding through dustclouds and barren wastes
Galloping hard on the plains
Chasing the redskins back to their holes
Fighting them at their own game
Murder for freedom a stab in the back
Women and children and cowards attack

Run to the hills run for your lives
Run to the hills run for your lives

Soldier blue on the barren wastes
Hunting and killing their game
Raping the women and wasting the men
The only good indians are tame
Selling them whisky and taking their gold
Enslaving the young and destroying the old

Run to the hills run for your lives
(repeat to end)

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

funny bone

the bravo channel, best known for its "queer eye for the straight guy," "inside the actor's studio," and "project runway," along with some other boring crap, recently listed the 100 top funniest movies of all time. i take issue with its list, except with the number one spot as that was "animal house," which is clearly funny for myriad reasons. to be plain, i was not consulted for this list and that's mostly what i take issue with because if anyone is a barometer for funny, it's this anyone right here. i was born funny -- just ask my mother. actually, please don't bother my mother.

to rebut this "list" which is clearly prejudiced and an ill-reflection of funny, i propose the following films in no particular order:

1. "all of me" with the lily tomlin upper cut and the steve martin jab -- absolutely funny
2. "history of the world: part one" since there is no part two, this is clearly ridiculously funny
3. "shucker" a shameless plug and you should feel ashamed for never having seen this ludicrously funny but not-as-yet-made-but-awesomely-funny film

that's about all i'm going to offer those ingrates over at bravo. no bravos for you, bravo. take that! yeah, the truth stings doesn't it? maybe james lipton can rub some salve on your wounds. i doubt it though as he's quite busy composing his ridiculous questions such as "what will you say to god at heaven's gate" and "what's your favorite curse word?" or some crap like that. how uninspired and totally unfunny. i should be hosting that show. but i don't wanna because it's dumb and they don't let those students have at those famous actors like those students really wanna. they should plant me in the audience to ask those actors the provocative questions they never get asked. i'd tell you what those provocative questions are but you'd just end up stealing them because you're so unimaginative and unfunny.

sorry, you're just innocent bystanders. i shouldn't have flown off the handle like that on you, puppies.

i'll be funny tomorrow. i promise. if only to save you from what's dreary and hot and miserably unfunny in this all-too cruel world.

Sunday, May 28, 2006

the method of conversion of optical radiation, and other cool stuff


i was reading about this russian scientist who applied for a patent for his invisibility cloak. no lie. it's made of golden particles and projects what is in front of the wearer on the back of the cloak and vice versa. then i heard "they" believe "they" can make an invisibility cloak within the next 18 months. jinkies!

putting aside the myriad evil ways to use such an invisibility cloak, what's left really? if not for evil doing, what's it for? i mean, i wouldn't mind adding an invisibility cloak to my wardrobe, mainly for fashion's sake. i hope it's pretty. i'd say i'm fairly good at willing myself invisible when i set my mind to it, but having something whimsical to wear while doing so would be pretty dynamite.

in other news, some other wacky buch of scientists from honda created ASIMO, the humanoid robot. that's a picture of ASIMO up there, thanks to AP. (thanks AP!) ASIMO can walk, climb stairs, and dance! ASIMO is intended to be a companion for the elderly and infirm. i could use an ASIMO. there are many an occasion in which i say to myself, "damn! i wish i had me some ASIMO cause i could really break this beat down and a humanoid robot would be the perfect dance partner."

all my dreams are coming true. all of them. really.

Thursday, May 25, 2006

who am i?

jean valjean asked this highly provocative question in the well-known and long-running musical "les miserables." his answer was 24601. he was a prisoner. he stole a loaf of bread. later, he became mayor.

marisa mayer posed this highly provocative question a few days ago. she is the uber smart and uber loaded head of something or other in research and development at google. "are you a starter or a finisher?" "are you a dreamer or an executor?" it made me think.

i don't think i like either of those choices. what's in the center there? middler? meddler? true, in many cases i am an extremist. i tend to the fringes. i like the fringes. fringe was very popular at one time. jon bon jovi liked the fringe when i was small.

so who am i? well i don't know, you jerk. why don't you leave me alone? why don't you probe your own self and stop nosing around in my business? why do i have to be any one thing? why do i have to define myself by your constructs? why must you insist on this either/or situation in which clearly there is a wrong answer and a right answer? i can already see you snickering. you really are a jerk. i'm getting super steamed about this invasion of my privacy.

who am i? i am shiny penny. or am i?

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

meditation on inappropriate touching

spring fever! yeah, dudes. this goes out to all the inappropriate touchers and feelers up of innocent citizens and their innocent parts.

walking home cause i was all cooped up in my cube...walking, walking, walking, minding my business...when an intruder minds his business all up on my innocent arm. felt it up like a cat scratching a post. exsqueeze you. i turn around, thinking innocently enough that only someone well acquainted with my very attractive and appealing arm would dare to touch it in such an inappropriate way. lo and behold, the perpetrator of this injustice is staring, stock still in the middle of the street, at me, through me. i do not know you, inappropriate sir. he continues his visual penetration. i thank you for sunglasses to shield my shock, horror, and general repulsion.

skip to subway. young dude arises (no pun intended as of yet) to exit station when i spy...i spy an open fly. i spy an open fly with a full fist jammed down in there abouts. jammed! down there! in and about! i spy white boxers. i spy white boxers from within open fly wherein and about is jammed said fist. hey! that seems somewhat beyond the bounds of appropriateness.

dudes, keep it together. it's in fact spring and yes, in fact, you may be sprung, but well, i read gloria vanderbilt's guide to etiquette and no where in there and about did it mention the touching of parts belonging to one's person or rather another person, wanted or unwanted. (p.s. learning to dance at a young age is a skill every young lady should acquire.)

this is my brief meditation on inappropriate touching.

Monday, May 22, 2006

hover...hover...hover...then destroy!

there's a certain majesty to the vulture, a much-maligned bird. i witnessed it firsthand and have taken appropriate notes to incorporate into my daily routine.

scene: cocktail party. action: hors d' ouevres. players: birds, nay vultures, of various colors, shapes, and sizes. do not let their majestic costumes deceive you for they are all of the same breed. it's survival of the fittest, nay the hungriest, baby. if you position yourself just right, you are king. one false misstep and you will find yourself picking at the pickings and quite hungry. note to self: strike first and strike hard! HOARD.

champagne is a delicious commodity. sweet sweet elixir. bubbly, cold, and dee-lish-us. but that last syllable is deceptive for it is not for US but for YOU or for ME if i am quick and strike without abandon.

and so i did. and i am fit. and i survive. with nibbles a plenty and many bubbles populating my lower stomach like tiny tickles.

ah, the cocktail party. long live the cocktail party and its cocks and multicolored tails. long may it rein in infinite splendor and free-dom.

cheers.

and nuts to you, ck1. nuts. to. you.

Sunday, May 21, 2006

kentucky fried

i have returned from my trip to save a pony. some sad news. the pony broke his leg and has been flown in the equine airplane to university of pennsylvania to save his life. how can a broken leg equal death? i'm not worldly in horse so maybe this isn't surprising at all.

sorry preakness pony.

in other news, louisville is weird. the city motto is: "keep louisville weird." well, bravo, louisville! you are weird and i like it. a lot. i don't even know where to begin to describe the weirdness that is louisville. it's weirdness is just so refreshing that it really does take your breath away.

first, the lay of the land. flat. lots of sky. a feast for the eye in terms of architecture. beautiful old buildings alongside really odd new buildings, like the home of the symphony which i couldn't stop staring at. and there's art everywhere. every bike rack is a sculpture. no lie. every single one. and 21c -- a new museum-hotel -- blew my mind. we stood in front of one piece called "text rain" for 20 minutes as letters of the alphabet bounced off our heads. this was all projected on the wall in front of us so it was like looking in a mirror as letters danced around you. i held "hi" in my hand for a while. BIG FUN. if i go back to louisville, i will be staying at this museum-hotel with its giant red plastic penguins and animal art. i won't go into the short film with the man and woman eating dinner as mice crawl all over them. i said i won't go into it.

but really louisville just had the weird vibe down pat. i could almost imagine myself living there except the streets are totally deserted and nearly everything is closed on saturday and sunday. still there was something mesmerizing about it. i bought my first piece of art in louisville. it's a wood carving. it arrives this week sometime. it's quite large. i don't know why i bought it exactly but it gave me this funny feeling and i had to have it.

lots of other strange things happened while there in weird louisville but i don't want to ruin it by remembering. you know how your memory distorts everything and creates this new reality that you convince yourself is actual and fact? well, i do know and so i'm keeping the rest to myself.