Yup, Emmett Grogan.

More and more I have become a disinterested observer of the phenomenom known as me.

thanks to Dan Savage for the subject word which I love immensely, and which so succinctly explains so much of so much ( Read more... )

i met a man tonight who defended art from the tangible. i bet him $100 dollars that bing crosby did not write, or perform, the song Can You Spare A Dime, and i lost. i went to give him $100 when it turned out, although i'm not sure how, he was right. he wouldn't accept the money, and instead simply thanked me for the beer i'd already bought him for ( Read more... )

It's a sure sign of a lazy and unremarkable mind when a person derives their sense of self worth or individuality from something as effortless as flouting their sexual proclivities, drug habits, a hole in some part of their anatomy, or an ink design on their skin ( Read more... )

The first game of the year is the most painful game - after twenty minutes I was gasping for air and looking up at the clock convinced it must've stopped thirty minutes before the time on it. Ridiculously attempted passes, collisions at mid-ice, timing so off we could've passed for a comical antithesis of the Harlem Globetrotters on ice. And I say ( Read more... )

I think I had my mid-life crises in my late twenties, when I arrived emotionally (as opposed to intellectually) at the following inter-related conclusions: that when the sun goes super-nova the earth will be burnt to a crisp, and that the most important moment in my life - and the only one I have - is now; that the most important accomplishment is ( Read more... )

You've got to wonder how many of these ridiculous caricatures of humanity, these mama's and papa's boys and girls, so avariciously enveloped with laying up for themselves "treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal" have actually read the text they say they believe in ( Read more... )

My ears are echoing with the grandiose plans of every writer/musician who occasionally writes or plays, and who has sensed the tremors emanating from every school yard on the planet, and has vowed - ambitions suddenly revived - that their long delayed plans to rock the esthetics of humanity with an album or novel has finally arrived. I find myself ( Read more... )

So I turned 40 four days ago. The day before my birthday an artist friend of mine calls me up - he collects photographs related to death: victorian era photos of dressed up dead babies perched up beside living loving families as though the babies were still breathing; old photographs of long dead coroners holding up lungs, livers, hearts, etc, for ( Read more... )