I was talking with Fox Sports West Dodgers reporter Courtney Jones on Monday about her piece on Primanti Brothers when the Dodgers were in Pittsburgh. I wondered about travelling over to the Steel City just to try it out.
Fortunately for me, and my wallet, there was a Pittsburgh food truck where I got an imitation Primantis with capicola. I understood the appeal of it, but I still wonder how the real one tastes.
By the way, Courtney had to take a bite of the sandwich on camera for the segment. She told me she ate the whole thing. She had a huge grin as she told me that.
Of course I’m writing this in the middle of a game I don’t really want to write about since it’s P-U! But whatever. Maybe another player will apologize for calling me stupid.
Sitting in the bathroom stall at work doing my business, I suddenly realized that they don’t have flushable baby wipes to make sure your bum is shiny clean. Because, as a gay man, you never know when you’ll need a clean bum.
My face is shoved in pillows that are ripe
The scent of him so drives my ass up higher
To meet the thrusts he shoves me on his pipe
And sweat that drops, unable to quench the fire.
He grunts and moans the expletives flowing
I scream and growl — oh so degenerate
And feel the heat the sets me a-glowing
With no care of how tomorrow I’ll sit.
We climb we climb up higher to the edge
He claws and growls — what is it blood or sweat?
No care is places as we jump over the ledge
Ending so sticky, exhausted and wet.
He collapses atop what’s left of me
To think that at last I’m finally free.
— a first attempt at a dirty Shakespearean sonnet.
When the constructed status of gender is theorized as radically independent of sex, gender itself becomes a free-floating artifice, with the consequence that man and masculine might just as easily signify a female body as a male one, and woman and feminine a male body as easily as a female one.
— Judith Butler, Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (New York: Routledge, 2007), Kindle edition.
I forget how fucking aggravating corporate life is. My family begged me to have a steady job in Corporate America that will be comfortable, have a 401-k and all of that bullshit.
In other words, they actively wanted me to have this life filled with passive-aggressive torture that crumbles the toughest of people. Only the weak and ignorant are rewarded in an environment like this.
Fuck my family. What kind of sadistic motherfucks are they that they wish this upon their kin?
I have learned that being open about my disdain for marriage and coupling and the sorts is offensive. But when I get offended hearing about people’s boyfriends, girlfriends, spouses and what not, it doesn’t matter.
Corporate America is about fitting in, being mainstream, boring and devoid of personality.
No matter what you try to do, you cannot change it. You can either drown yourself in booze and heroin, or you can drop out.
Today I found a gothic donut. It reminded me of the gothic bagels I would get during high school when I went to Yesterday’s, a coffeeshop in Redondo Beach. They were these blueberry bagels that came out purple.
Anyhow being an old fart, I get on this nostalgia kicks. So I had this gothic donut on my desk all morning long. Finally I realized the ridiculousness of it all and just ate it.
Tragedy.
Speaking of tragedy, I can’t believe I’m doing this since I can’t stand him, but here it goes.
Dane Cook caused a stir about his joke about the Aurora shooting at the Dark Knight screening.
So I heard that the guy came into the theater about 25 minutes into the movie. And I don’t know if you’ve seen the movie, but the movie is pretty much a piece of crap. Yea, spoiler alert.
I know that if none of that would have happened, pretty sure that somebody in that theater, about 25 minutes in, realizing it was a piece of crap, was probably like “ugh fucking shoot me.”
Okay, it’s not a complete knee-slapper, but it actually did elicit a chortle from me which is surprising since it was a Dane Cook joke.
It seems this little joke got people’s panties all twisted.
People need to realize the job of a comedian is to make jokes, to comment on what’s going on in the world. Sure it might be tasteless. Sure it might be too soon, whatever that means.
When my dad died, I cracked jokes all the way to his funeral. When my mom was lost in the Sierra Nevadas, I was making fun of her. I was making 9/11 jokes that afternoon. The way I deal with tragedy is cracking jokes.
Life sucks. Life isn’t fair. Everyone should know this. Rather than cry, I’d rather laugh. If you don’t want to laugh, fine. But don’t tell me how I should handle tragedy.
Now here is where the repugnance of Dane Cook reared its ugly head. The motherfucker apologized. For making a joke.
I am devastated by the recent tragedy in Colorado & did not mean to make light of what happened. I made a bad (cont) tl.gd/ii4ltt
I’m in the kitchen popping a couple of Aleve for a headache when Lovely Young Lady asks me…
LYL: A cure for your pain?
Me: Not a cure, but it’ll do. I’m not ready for the real cure though.
LYL: What is that?
Me: Death.
Yeah things have taken a very morbid turn over here, but we do live in morbid times. The end of the world is months away, and I’m just counting down every second. 12,722,160 seconds. 12,722,159 seconds. 12,722,158 seconds. Etc.
Maybe the end of the world will happen by a cataclysmic weather event like this derecho that’s aiming for the Eastern Seaboard. By the way, why does every horrible weather event come from Spanish. Hurricane? El Nino? La Nina? Derecho? Why haven’t I ever heard of derecho before?
Can you imagine the pictures I don’t publish here?
Work is the source of nearly all the misery in the world. Almost any evil you’d care to name comes from working or from living in a world designed for work. In order to stop suffering, we have to stop working.
I decided to wear my hippo ring because it was Monday, and I hadn’t done anything all weekend. While I usually complain that my weekends are busy busy busy with the Dodgers, the fact that I only did laundry and read a lot left me feeling a bit empty this morning. It felt like I had wasted the 48 hours.
So I got into the office this morning and decided to change things up. I put my hippo ring on, helped lift the mood of a coworker with the hippo ring and just watched all the fireworks explode around me.
Can you guess which one of these troublemakers actually did the most damage? She also punched me really hard in the arm because I was making faces at someone she was having a business discussion with.
“Contemporary feminist debates over the meaning of gender lead time and again to a certain sense of trouble, as if the indeterminacy of gender might eventually culminate in the failure of feminism.” — Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity by Judith Butler, Preface (1990).
Here’s an email exchange this morning:
