We mortals enjoy making a wish and blowing out the candles on our birthday cakes when it's our special day.
I guess the Devil makes a curse and blows the candles on? That would make the most sense.
I'm working at Numbtindoughland now. I could sell the upcoming system to Sadaam. Seriously. If he walked in--no--if OSAMA walked in, I could sell him a Numbtindough Gii. I'm that good. Then again, the Gii isn't OUT yet, but if it was I'm sure he'd buy one at my urging. He might call off project Doomsday because he'd have so much fun with his Gii. I'd save the world. And all because I managed to convince him that he couldn't possibly live without it.
That's one of the fun things about retail--trying to manipulate the customers who wander into my path. I'm like a black cat in that regard. That's why theycall me the Black Forkat. Of course, I've never worked retail a day in my life, but my pregnant twin sister Forkette worked at a gas station one summer and I learned a lot from just observing her there. I also learned a lot from working at Sux Flags. And from listening to Bibb leo File's horror stories.
So, in many ways, Numbtindoughland is a homecoming of sorts.
I'm almost afraid I'm going to never want to play video games again since I'm around them all the time.
Wait.
I don't know what I'm saying. That's got to be the dumbest thing I've ever said.
Oh! And in case you missed it, it's Halloween today! Well, it was. Unfortunately, I missed it. I had to work all day. No trick or treat for me. Unless you count the spiked protein smoothee I made for dinner. That's kind of a trick AND a treat, if you know what I mean.
Happy 'ween, folks. Don't forget to wish the Devil a happy b-day!
BOO!
By the way, today some French woman tried to buy her two sons a Numbtindough BS and two BS games with--wait for it--a fake credit card. She might as well have paid with Monopoly money. I knew the French were stinky, but they're thieves too? I just wasn't prepared for that. With their high and mighty attitudes about barbaric Americans, I thought they'd at least have SOME kind of class--something to make me feel bad about being an uncultured, boorish American swine.
Nope. I'm glad to report that I'm still happy not to be French.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Flabby
Unless my pedometer is incorrectly calibrated, these were my walking stats for last week.
86845 steps
39.749 miles
2306.8 cals
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get to the gym.
86845 steps
39.749 miles
2306.8 cals
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get to the gym.
Monday, October 23, 2006
A Shutterbug Foiled
What a day for me to leave my camera at home.
I was on my way to the gym when I usual route was interrupted by a procession of purple-robed Latinos processing with a giant, incense burning float dedicated to the worship of Blessed Mary the Eternal Virgin, Queen of Heaven, Allelu, Allelu. Lots of coupleaños were blaring away on their horns. It felt like Fiesta. It was really something.
I got to the gym and began my workout. I looked up and saw a massive figure with a bleached-blonde mullet, handlebar moustache, and bandana. It was Bulk Bogan, the WWF wrestling star from the 80s! Queen III had seen him at the airport in Vegas about a year or so ago and said he had an old man paunch. Let the record also show that Bulk Bogan now has scrawny legs and no rear end. Just like every other man approaching his golden years. I guess it's true what they say about the ravages of time. That...uh...they're ravaging.
Then me and Ronald, one of my new buddies who is Episcopalian by day and Presbyterian by night (literally), and I hopped the train to Harlem to rehearse our music for the worship service of our upcoming church retreat this weekend (Gerrick, the worship leader, lives in Harlem so we had to take our cracker selves uptown to meet him).
Our conversation about why Bulk Bogan would want to work out in, as Ronald put it, a dirty old gym like mine and not a fancy new gym like his was interrupted by--wait for it--a trio of Cirque du Subway performers. One manned the boombox and kept rhythm while the tall one threw his kid sister over our heads, who flipped and flopped on and over the hand bars before finishing with a triple soumersault and landing in the legs of her handstanding, breakdancing older brother.
And me without my camera!
I was on my way to the gym when I usual route was interrupted by a procession of purple-robed Latinos processing with a giant, incense burning float dedicated to the worship of Blessed Mary the Eternal Virgin, Queen of Heaven, Allelu, Allelu. Lots of coupleaños were blaring away on their horns. It felt like Fiesta. It was really something.
I got to the gym and began my workout. I looked up and saw a massive figure with a bleached-blonde mullet, handlebar moustache, and bandana. It was Bulk Bogan, the WWF wrestling star from the 80s! Queen III had seen him at the airport in Vegas about a year or so ago and said he had an old man paunch. Let the record also show that Bulk Bogan now has scrawny legs and no rear end. Just like every other man approaching his golden years. I guess it's true what they say about the ravages of time. That...uh...they're ravaging.
Then me and Ronald, one of my new buddies who is Episcopalian by day and Presbyterian by night (literally), and I hopped the train to Harlem to rehearse our music for the worship service of our upcoming church retreat this weekend (Gerrick, the worship leader, lives in Harlem so we had to take our cracker selves uptown to meet him).
Our conversation about why Bulk Bogan would want to work out in, as Ronald put it, a dirty old gym like mine and not a fancy new gym like his was interrupted by--wait for it--a trio of Cirque du Subway performers. One manned the boombox and kept rhythm while the tall one threw his kid sister over our heads, who flipped and flopped on and over the hand bars before finishing with a triple soumersault and landing in the legs of her handstanding, breakdancing older brother.
And me without my camera!
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Hopping M@D!!1!
I did some "temp work" at Edward Hopper's childhood home last week.
The whole thing was a little adventurous. The model coordinator for this group saw me at Venus DeMilo's "temp work" try outs several weeks ago and called me up about posing for an afternoon and evening class. I agreed and waited for him to give me the address.
He replied by saying I needed to take the A train all the way up to a hundred and zillionth street and he'd be waiting for me in his beat-up blue Chevy to transport me out of Supercity and to a secluded little forest town twenty minutes away.
I know what you're thinking.
Hell no.
Oh, HELL no.
I will admit that the same thought DID cross my mind. But remember, when I was a kid living in Alaska, I once prayed to God to make my life a big adventure. An AWFULLY big adventure. And so far He hasn't let me down. I've toured the country in holocaust dramas for children, worked on the 42nd Floor, rode the skycoaster at Six Flags, and moved to Supercity X. If that's not high adventure, I don't know what is.
So seeing as how God has decided to let adventure come a-banging on my door whenever I least expect it, I figure, if God is spending all this time cooking up wild and wooly things for me to experience, who am I to say no to them?
After all, the guy sounded legit. He had a website, an answering machine set up specifically for the group... I knew what I would do. I'd be smart. I'd flash my Blockberry whenever I got a chance. That way he'd know he was dealing with a person WHO WOULD BE MISSED.
I emerged from underground on one hundred and zillionth street, fully prepared to suddenly catch a cold or develop a migraine should my Jeffrey Dahmer appear and give me the creeps.
While the guy DID have a moustache, I reasoned very quickly that lots of nice people have creepy moustaches. Just because he had one didn't mean he was a psycho rapist. What kind of society do we live in if we can't accept rides from moustachioed strangers without worrying that they're going to gut us and stick our body parts in refrigerators?? I ask you! What kind of society??
We crossed the bridge and left Supercity X. I made polite conversation. I told him about how my mom bought me a Blockberry so she'd always know where I was. Just in case I ever ran into any trouble.
We hit the woods.
"Hey," he said suddenly, "we have a few minutes before we need to be at the class. Let me show you something."
Before I could say, "I'd rather not," he steered the quivering car off the road and onto a dirt path leading straight into a secluded thicket of trees and brambles.
"Well," I thought, "I guess this is it. What a way to go. Dear God, please give me peace as my captor plunges his knife into my naiive bosom and eats my foot."
"Look over there," said my psycho killer. I obeyed, knowing my obedience might soften his heart or at least cause him to let his guard down.
"Gee...it looks like an abandoned barn or factory," I said, heart palpitating.
"That's the world's first diet pill factory. They were little sponges that expanded in your stomach when you swallowed them."
"Oh," I said.
And that's the end of the story.
Well, there's the whole doing temp work in Edward Hopper's childhood home thing, but that's not nearly as interesting as almost being killed by a psycho art teacher...who was neither a psycho nor a killer.
Yes, my life has been one long adventure.
The whole thing was a little adventurous. The model coordinator for this group saw me at Venus DeMilo's "temp work" try outs several weeks ago and called me up about posing for an afternoon and evening class. I agreed and waited for him to give me the address.
He replied by saying I needed to take the A train all the way up to a hundred and zillionth street and he'd be waiting for me in his beat-up blue Chevy to transport me out of Supercity and to a secluded little forest town twenty minutes away.
I know what you're thinking.
Hell no.
Oh, HELL no.
I will admit that the same thought DID cross my mind. But remember, when I was a kid living in Alaska, I once prayed to God to make my life a big adventure. An AWFULLY big adventure. And so far He hasn't let me down. I've toured the country in holocaust dramas for children, worked on the 42nd Floor, rode the skycoaster at Six Flags, and moved to Supercity X. If that's not high adventure, I don't know what is.
So seeing as how God has decided to let adventure come a-banging on my door whenever I least expect it, I figure, if God is spending all this time cooking up wild and wooly things for me to experience, who am I to say no to them?
After all, the guy sounded legit. He had a website, an answering machine set up specifically for the group... I knew what I would do. I'd be smart. I'd flash my Blockberry whenever I got a chance. That way he'd know he was dealing with a person WHO WOULD BE MISSED.
I emerged from underground on one hundred and zillionth street, fully prepared to suddenly catch a cold or develop a migraine should my Jeffrey Dahmer appear and give me the creeps.
While the guy DID have a moustache, I reasoned very quickly that lots of nice people have creepy moustaches. Just because he had one didn't mean he was a psycho rapist. What kind of society do we live in if we can't accept rides from moustachioed strangers without worrying that they're going to gut us and stick our body parts in refrigerators?? I ask you! What kind of society??
We crossed the bridge and left Supercity X. I made polite conversation. I told him about how my mom bought me a Blockberry so she'd always know where I was. Just in case I ever ran into any trouble.
We hit the woods.
"Hey," he said suddenly, "we have a few minutes before we need to be at the class. Let me show you something."
Before I could say, "I'd rather not," he steered the quivering car off the road and onto a dirt path leading straight into a secluded thicket of trees and brambles.
"Well," I thought, "I guess this is it. What a way to go. Dear God, please give me peace as my captor plunges his knife into my naiive bosom and eats my foot."
"Look over there," said my psycho killer. I obeyed, knowing my obedience might soften his heart or at least cause him to let his guard down.
"Gee...it looks like an abandoned barn or factory," I said, heart palpitating.
"That's the world's first diet pill factory. They were little sponges that expanded in your stomach when you swallowed them."
"Oh," I said.
And that's the end of the story.
Well, there's the whole doing temp work in Edward Hopper's childhood home thing, but that's not nearly as interesting as almost being killed by a psycho art teacher...who was neither a psycho nor a killer.
Yes, my life has been one long adventure.
Friday, October 13, 2006
The Blacker the Berry...
I just found out my new BlackBerry (the one that replaced Blackwell who was sick and died two weeks ago--send me your addresses so I can add them to my new one! Oh...that was a long parenthetical. Now you don't remember what I was saying. Let me start over)...
*ahem*
I just found out my new BlackBerry is a black woman!
Don't ask me how I know this. I just do. Maybe its because she's got this maternal quality about her. Maybe it's because she's well-built and sturdy. Maybe its because she's knocked up and we don't know who the baby daddy is.
Whatever the reason, irreverent or otherwise, she needs a proper name. So far we've got:
Shantiqua
Lemonjello
Mochalatte
Clairneesha
Tanaynay
Write-ins eagerly accepted. And if you're with the NAACP, chill out. As you can see by my profile picture, I'm black.
Happy weekend! See you Monday!
*ahem*
I just found out my new BlackBerry is a black woman!
Don't ask me how I know this. I just do. Maybe its because she's got this maternal quality about her. Maybe it's because she's well-built and sturdy. Maybe its because she's knocked up and we don't know who the baby daddy is.
Whatever the reason, irreverent or otherwise, she needs a proper name. So far we've got:
Shantiqua
Lemonjello
Mochalatte
Clairneesha
Tanaynay
Write-ins eagerly accepted. And if you're with the NAACP, chill out. As you can see by my profile picture, I'm black.
Happy weekend! See you Monday!
Lucky!
There's so much to tell, I don't really know where to start.
Head over to Bibb leo File's blog and read his latest Halloween entry. It's supurb. It made me seriously long for that one Halloween in Wackytown--October was particularly chilly that year and the sequel to the Blair Witch Project had just come out. Ever since then, he and I have always shared a special bond when it comes to Halloween.
I don't know that we'll ever top our Hippiecity Halloween though--watching Nosferatu, Bela Lugosi's Dracula, then Bram Stoker's Dracula, then reading Poe's "the Raven", then dressing in our costumes and going on a ghost tour of downtown Hippiecity. Good times.
A conversation overheard here at "the office":
(opera music plays in the background)
Girl 1: Hey, this sounds just like Miss Piggy.
Girl 2: I guess Miss Piggy was a mezzo soprano.
1: Do you think a man did her voice?
2: I doubt it. It's possible though.
1: Man, I always hated Miss Piggy.
2: Yeah, I know! She was so annoying. And she was, like, the only woman Muppet.
1: Have you SEEN her eyeshadow? She looks like a prostitute.
2: Kermit would irritate me too. He was such a wimp.
1: Miss Piggy walked ALL over him.
2: Yeah.
We had our first snap of cold weather today. I woke up in my bunk bed almost unable to breathe thanks to the heating pipes that run through my room. So don't worry. I'm not going to freeze. In fact, I had to open a window.
Aunt Ellope is visiting Supercity X this weekend! My first visitor! Now I have to play the difficult role of tour guide in the City that Ever Sleeps. Hopefully I'll get a cup of porridge out of it.
Oh, and I can't forget to mention...
It's Friday the 13th, considered by many to be the luckiest day of the year! That's because, as legend has it, this was the day the black cat walked under a ladder and saw its reflection in a broken mirror. If the cat sees its reflection, experts say, rabbits feet will be rendered useless. However, if the cat turns up its nose and walks away from the mirror, flicking its tail wildly, that means two more weeks of winter.
In honor of this day of days, if anything lucky happens to you, be sure to post about it!
Something lucky (?) happened to me. I got hired at Numbtindoughland! Turns out, the pay IS peanuts! Am I going to work there anyway? Uhh...I...guess.
Hope you all have the luckiest weekend in town! Cheers!
Head over to Bibb leo File's blog and read his latest Halloween entry. It's supurb. It made me seriously long for that one Halloween in Wackytown--October was particularly chilly that year and the sequel to the Blair Witch Project had just come out. Ever since then, he and I have always shared a special bond when it comes to Halloween.
I don't know that we'll ever top our Hippiecity Halloween though--watching Nosferatu, Bela Lugosi's Dracula, then Bram Stoker's Dracula, then reading Poe's "the Raven", then dressing in our costumes and going on a ghost tour of downtown Hippiecity. Good times.
A conversation overheard here at "the office":
(opera music plays in the background)
Girl 1: Hey, this sounds just like Miss Piggy.
Girl 2: I guess Miss Piggy was a mezzo soprano.
1: Do you think a man did her voice?
2: I doubt it. It's possible though.
1: Man, I always hated Miss Piggy.
2: Yeah, I know! She was so annoying. And she was, like, the only woman Muppet.
1: Have you SEEN her eyeshadow? She looks like a prostitute.
2: Kermit would irritate me too. He was such a wimp.
1: Miss Piggy walked ALL over him.
2: Yeah.
We had our first snap of cold weather today. I woke up in my bunk bed almost unable to breathe thanks to the heating pipes that run through my room. So don't worry. I'm not going to freeze. In fact, I had to open a window.
Aunt Ellope is visiting Supercity X this weekend! My first visitor! Now I have to play the difficult role of tour guide in the City that Ever Sleeps. Hopefully I'll get a cup of porridge out of it.
Oh, and I can't forget to mention...
It's Friday the 13th, considered by many to be the luckiest day of the year! That's because, as legend has it, this was the day the black cat walked under a ladder and saw its reflection in a broken mirror. If the cat sees its reflection, experts say, rabbits feet will be rendered useless. However, if the cat turns up its nose and walks away from the mirror, flicking its tail wildly, that means two more weeks of winter.
In honor of this day of days, if anything lucky happens to you, be sure to post about it!
Something lucky (?) happened to me. I got hired at Numbtindoughland! Turns out, the pay IS peanuts! Am I going to work there anyway? Uhh...I...guess.
Hope you all have the luckiest weekend in town! Cheers!
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
October 11th
I survived October 11th.
I know some of you have been hitting the refresh button on this blog for several hours, hoping--just hoping--that I'd post some kind of update, some kind of insight into this crazy Nude Fork City day.
Yuh want insight? Here 'tis:
Another plane crashed into another NY building on the 11th day of a month ending in "ber".
Only this time it wasn't kooky Arabs done did it. It was a Yankee. One of our own. My neighbor. My brother.
Now, I don't know the first thing about flying planes. All I know is I scoff at people who don't like to fly because they use the excuse, "I'm not in control of the plane."
Okay, for those of you control freaks out there, answer me this question:
What is the correct procedure for lowering the landing gear?
There. The pilot already knows more about flying this B4-87 than you do. Maybe you should take a swing of grape-flavored Dimatapp and wake up once you're safely on the ground.
Sheesh. People and their logic.
Still...can't help feeling sorry for the Yankee pitcher. The coneys at Shea stadium won't taste quite the same.
In other news, I feel it worthy of note that, while Texans may not know how to drive in the rain, New Yorkers don't know how to WALK. It's disgraceful is what it is. I mean, it's rain. Quit walking s'dang slow!! What? Are you afraid you're gonna spin out and hit a tree? Maybe you should get those rain-proof treads for you sneakers.
Okay. Time for bed.
I know some of you have been hitting the refresh button on this blog for several hours, hoping--just hoping--that I'd post some kind of update, some kind of insight into this crazy Nude Fork City day.
Yuh want insight? Here 'tis:
Another plane crashed into another NY building on the 11th day of a month ending in "ber".
Only this time it wasn't kooky Arabs done did it. It was a Yankee. One of our own. My neighbor. My brother.
Now, I don't know the first thing about flying planes. All I know is I scoff at people who don't like to fly because they use the excuse, "I'm not in control of the plane."
Okay, for those of you control freaks out there, answer me this question:
What is the correct procedure for lowering the landing gear?
There. The pilot already knows more about flying this B4-87 than you do. Maybe you should take a swing of grape-flavored Dimatapp and wake up once you're safely on the ground.
Sheesh. People and their logic.
Still...can't help feeling sorry for the Yankee pitcher. The coneys at Shea stadium won't taste quite the same.
In other news, I feel it worthy of note that, while Texans may not know how to drive in the rain, New Yorkers don't know how to WALK. It's disgraceful is what it is. I mean, it's rain. Quit walking s'dang slow!! What? Are you afraid you're gonna spin out and hit a tree? Maybe you should get those rain-proof treads for you sneakers.
Okay. Time for bed.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Numbtindoughland
I forgot to tell you the Numbtindoughland story.
So Numbtindoughland is about a fifteen minute walk due east of my apartment. I mean DUE east. It's on the same street.
I love Numbtindoughland. I've been several times already, just browsing, enjoying all the different things there are to see in the store. It probably doesn't hurt that I've been playing Numbtindough video games since I was still in short pants. It's marvelous.
I got to thinking, "Hmm. I wonder if they're hiring for seasonal part-time help any time soon. The pay is probably peanuts but it might be really fun to work in one of the most impressive video game stores in America."
I asked one of the clerks about possible part-time work.
"You have to apply through the Numbtindough corporate website," came the reply.
I decided I didn't like his response. I went upstairs and asked another clerk.
"You have to apply through the Numbtindough corporate website," came the reply.
I called my parents that night. They asked what I had been up to and if I was enjoying myself. I mentioned the whole Numbtindoughland thing--you had to apply online, but I only had limited access with my Blockberry so I'd probably have to forget the whole thing.
The End
Actually, that's where it WOULD have ended if not for my mother's efforts.
In our next phone call, she gave me the news.
"I submitted an online application for you to work at Numbtindoughland!"
"What? You did? That's great!"
"Yes! I couldn't find your business resume though, so I sent them your acting resume instead."
"Wait...what?"
"I think it makes you seem very interesting. I'd call you in for an interview if I were hiring."
I felt like I was in one of those sitcoms where the well-intentioned parents meddle in their grown children's lives and hilarity ensues. You know. Like accidentally replacing the main character's important business presentation CD with baby pictures of him in the bathtub.
I was about to sarcastically ask if she included a headshot, but I left it alone. There was no way Numbtindoughland would ever take me seriously now. I'd just have to be happy with model--er--temp work.
Last week, however...
BEEP BEEP BEEP
Me: (answering the phone) Hello?
Woman: Hello, may I speak with Forky please?
Me: Speaking.
Woman: My name is Henrietta Hammersmith and I'm calling from the Numbtindough corporate offices about your resume posting for seasonal part-time work. You sound very interesting. We'd like you to come in for an interview.
After a phone interview with Ms. Hammersmith and an interview at the actual store (which I blazed through with flying colors, I might add), I have one final interview to go this Thursday afternoon.
Maybe next time I'll think twice before getting frustrated with my mother. Thanks, Mom! You're the best!
I'll keep you guys posted. I expect I'll be hopping on turtles and shooting fireballs before long.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some...*ahem* temp work I need to get back to. And I don't have to worry about Mom sending them naked baby pictures of me because...well...
You know.
So Numbtindoughland is about a fifteen minute walk due east of my apartment. I mean DUE east. It's on the same street.
I love Numbtindoughland. I've been several times already, just browsing, enjoying all the different things there are to see in the store. It probably doesn't hurt that I've been playing Numbtindough video games since I was still in short pants. It's marvelous.
I got to thinking, "Hmm. I wonder if they're hiring for seasonal part-time help any time soon. The pay is probably peanuts but it might be really fun to work in one of the most impressive video game stores in America."
I asked one of the clerks about possible part-time work.
"You have to apply through the Numbtindough corporate website," came the reply.
I decided I didn't like his response. I went upstairs and asked another clerk.
"You have to apply through the Numbtindough corporate website," came the reply.
I called my parents that night. They asked what I had been up to and if I was enjoying myself. I mentioned the whole Numbtindoughland thing--you had to apply online, but I only had limited access with my Blockberry so I'd probably have to forget the whole thing.
The End
Actually, that's where it WOULD have ended if not for my mother's efforts.
In our next phone call, she gave me the news.
"I submitted an online application for you to work at Numbtindoughland!"
"What? You did? That's great!"
"Yes! I couldn't find your business resume though, so I sent them your acting resume instead."
"Wait...what?"
"I think it makes you seem very interesting. I'd call you in for an interview if I were hiring."
I felt like I was in one of those sitcoms where the well-intentioned parents meddle in their grown children's lives and hilarity ensues. You know. Like accidentally replacing the main character's important business presentation CD with baby pictures of him in the bathtub.
I was about to sarcastically ask if she included a headshot, but I left it alone. There was no way Numbtindoughland would ever take me seriously now. I'd just have to be happy with model--er--temp work.
Last week, however...
BEEP BEEP BEEP
Me: (answering the phone) Hello?
Woman: Hello, may I speak with Forky please?
Me: Speaking.
Woman: My name is Henrietta Hammersmith and I'm calling from the Numbtindough corporate offices about your resume posting for seasonal part-time work. You sound very interesting. We'd like you to come in for an interview.
After a phone interview with Ms. Hammersmith and an interview at the actual store (which I blazed through with flying colors, I might add), I have one final interview to go this Thursday afternoon.
Maybe next time I'll think twice before getting frustrated with my mother. Thanks, Mom! You're the best!
I'll keep you guys posted. I expect I'll be hopping on turtles and shooting fireballs before long.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some...*ahem* temp work I need to get back to. And I don't have to worry about Mom sending them naked baby pictures of me because...well...
You know.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Mr. Squeakers
When you move to Supercity X, make sure you don't leave any food out on your kitchen counter.
My roommate did.
Yesterday morning I woke up to go to church and I noticed two more poison granola cubes on the kitchen counter.
"Uh oh," I thought. "The roommate must've met Mr. Squeakers last night."
A small, adorable shape skittered across the kitchen counter. I stepped back in alarm and hit the light switch. the little critter hopped up on the toaster, winked at me, and scurried into a nearby burner on the stove, his furry tail disappearing last of all, like a stubborn spaghetti noodle being sucked up.
After I got past the initial cuteness of the whole thing (his widdle mousie tushie disappearing into the oven..."Uh oh! Thur's no cheez here! I's bettur hide!"...so pwecious!), I examined the loaf of bread that had been carelessly left out. Mr. Squeakers had gotten in. I shook my head and uttered,
"We're getting a cat."
Mr. Squeakers is adorable. And Mr. Squeakers must die.
* * * *
In less adorable, unrelated news, it's Columbus Day in Supercity X and that can only mean one thing: fewer people on the subways this morning! Thanks, C-Co, for proving just how much like an egg the world really is!
Hopefully there will also be fewer people at the audition later this afternoon but somehow I doubt it.
My roommate did.
Yesterday morning I woke up to go to church and I noticed two more poison granola cubes on the kitchen counter.
"Uh oh," I thought. "The roommate must've met Mr. Squeakers last night."
A small, adorable shape skittered across the kitchen counter. I stepped back in alarm and hit the light switch. the little critter hopped up on the toaster, winked at me, and scurried into a nearby burner on the stove, his furry tail disappearing last of all, like a stubborn spaghetti noodle being sucked up.
After I got past the initial cuteness of the whole thing (his widdle mousie tushie disappearing into the oven..."Uh oh! Thur's no cheez here! I's bettur hide!"...so pwecious!), I examined the loaf of bread that had been carelessly left out. Mr. Squeakers had gotten in. I shook my head and uttered,
"We're getting a cat."
Mr. Squeakers is adorable. And Mr. Squeakers must die.
* * * *
In less adorable, unrelated news, it's Columbus Day in Supercity X and that can only mean one thing: fewer people on the subways this morning! Thanks, C-Co, for proving just how much like an egg the world really is!
Hopefully there will also be fewer people at the audition later this afternoon but somehow I doubt it.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Word to Your (Conservative) Mother
Hey gang.
I have great parents. They're decent folks who've worked hard to raise me right, to make good choices, and not whore around.
I think this whole modeling thing has shocked them a little.
So even though I've named my current painful pose "Samuel's Calling" in honor of the Old Testament prophet who inspired it (it's quite good, this one--I could make a killing doing the saints. They say I have very "soulful" eyes that look best when turned Heavenward), I feel that in this instance, instead of fighting my family, I need to honor their request.
That is, any mention of modeling is heretofore referred to simply as "temp work".
Okay, so it's kinda lame. I'm posing in the classical tradition of the Renaissence, not "Loverbois 4". But when you consider we're related to what can be best likened to the Kennedys of the South (the Republican ones, natch), I can certainly see how exposing myself could cause an uncomfortable scandal at this year's Thanksgiving dinner table.
So, as Mary Poppins would say, in every lie that must be told, there's a hint of comic gold.
This is where you come in. I need help cooking up different code words for this modeling thing--words commonly used by office temps. That way, when people ask me what I'm doing, I can tell them without fear of divine retribution (Rev 21:8). In other words, I'm not lying. They're just not up on the latest art model slang.
I need office-friendly alternatives for words such as:
Art studio
Art students
Drawing/painting
Pose
Modeling
Nude
Bathrobe
and Labrador.
I'll check back Monday morning to see what you've come up with! Happy weekend!
I have great parents. They're decent folks who've worked hard to raise me right, to make good choices, and not whore around.
I think this whole modeling thing has shocked them a little.
So even though I've named my current painful pose "Samuel's Calling" in honor of the Old Testament prophet who inspired it (it's quite good, this one--I could make a killing doing the saints. They say I have very "soulful" eyes that look best when turned Heavenward), I feel that in this instance, instead of fighting my family, I need to honor their request.
That is, any mention of modeling is heretofore referred to simply as "temp work".
Okay, so it's kinda lame. I'm posing in the classical tradition of the Renaissence, not "Loverbois 4". But when you consider we're related to what can be best likened to the Kennedys of the South (the Republican ones, natch), I can certainly see how exposing myself could cause an uncomfortable scandal at this year's Thanksgiving dinner table.
So, as Mary Poppins would say, in every lie that must be told, there's a hint of comic gold.
This is where you come in. I need help cooking up different code words for this modeling thing--words commonly used by office temps. That way, when people ask me what I'm doing, I can tell them without fear of divine retribution (Rev 21:8). In other words, I'm not lying. They're just not up on the latest art model slang.
I need office-friendly alternatives for words such as:
Art studio
Art students
Drawing/painting
Pose
Modeling
Nude
Bathrobe
and Labrador.
I'll check back Monday morning to see what you've come up with! Happy weekend!
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
What Price Art?
I've made a huge mistake.
I'm currently in my first week under the employ of a fantastic drawing group. The students are all exceptionally talented. They wanted to get some good paintings and portraits out of my month with them. As a result, I am sitting in one pose every morning for four hours for the next two and a half weeks.
And once a pose is set, there can be no changing, no tweaking, no bellyaching, and absolutely no utterance of, "Umm...this feels a little bit like Chinese water torture."
That tiny tilt of the head...
That slight twist of the spine...
That bend in the knee...
(Sorry...some man just came into our subway car saying, "I'm a Philly chicken head. Like em spicy. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, all for you." (plays harmonica, then returns to chorus). Felt like I should share that with you.)
As I was saying, all those little things you do, they're all "marked". You hold the pose for 20 minutes, then break for 5.
My body can now tell me when 18 minutes have passed. Because my muscles begin quivering and I bite my tongue to try and take the focus off the PAIN.
Here's a fun thing to try. Where you're sitting, right now, sit up so your back is off the chair. Now twist your torso so your chest is facing to the right. Now turn your head so you're looking off to the left. Prop yourself up slightly with your hands on the seat behind you and make your shoulders uneven.
There--perfect. A lovely, dramatic pose with a nice torque and twist (artists LOVE that).
Now hold still. I'm going to paint you.
Mmm hmm dee hmm...
Excuse me, but you shifted your right shoulder. Could you put it back the way it was?
Yes, just like that.
Daa dee mmm bum dum...
No, your head moved. Bring it back to the left. The lighting hits your face differently when it's over there.
Paint, paint, la la la...
I'm sorry, but you keep fidgeting. You need to hold as still as possible for the next 18 minutes. Ah, I know. I'll put this soothing CD of classical music on. That will help you stay focused.
Draw, sketch, draw...
Is something the matter? Your eyes seem to have trouble staying open. And speaking of your eyes, could you now look to the extreme right? No, don't move your head, just the eyes. Thanks.
.....
.....
.....
Well? How's the pose holding up? Has it been ten minutes yet?
The point of all this falderal is to help you see that, while your career as an artist's model may bring shame to your family and loved ones, it also requires an enormous amount of focus, concentration, and, most of all, endurance.
The latter of which I'm already running dangerously low on. For real.
In my desire to give the art students something really nice to draw, I added a few liiiiiiitle twists and tilts when we set the pose.
Remember how I mentioned Chinese water torture earlier?
Yeah. It's kinda like that.
I'm paying for my artistic generosity. And there's no turning back.
I'm currently in my first week under the employ of a fantastic drawing group. The students are all exceptionally talented. They wanted to get some good paintings and portraits out of my month with them. As a result, I am sitting in one pose every morning for four hours for the next two and a half weeks.
And once a pose is set, there can be no changing, no tweaking, no bellyaching, and absolutely no utterance of, "Umm...this feels a little bit like Chinese water torture."
That tiny tilt of the head...
That slight twist of the spine...
That bend in the knee...
(Sorry...some man just came into our subway car saying, "I'm a Philly chicken head. Like em spicy. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, all for you." (plays harmonica, then returns to chorus). Felt like I should share that with you.)
As I was saying, all those little things you do, they're all "marked". You hold the pose for 20 minutes, then break for 5.
My body can now tell me when 18 minutes have passed. Because my muscles begin quivering and I bite my tongue to try and take the focus off the PAIN.
Here's a fun thing to try. Where you're sitting, right now, sit up so your back is off the chair. Now twist your torso so your chest is facing to the right. Now turn your head so you're looking off to the left. Prop yourself up slightly with your hands on the seat behind you and make your shoulders uneven.
There--perfect. A lovely, dramatic pose with a nice torque and twist (artists LOVE that).
Now hold still. I'm going to paint you.
Mmm hmm dee hmm...
Excuse me, but you shifted your right shoulder. Could you put it back the way it was?
Yes, just like that.
Daa dee mmm bum dum...
No, your head moved. Bring it back to the left. The lighting hits your face differently when it's over there.
Paint, paint, la la la...
I'm sorry, but you keep fidgeting. You need to hold as still as possible for the next 18 minutes. Ah, I know. I'll put this soothing CD of classical music on. That will help you stay focused.
Draw, sketch, draw...
Is something the matter? Your eyes seem to have trouble staying open. And speaking of your eyes, could you now look to the extreme right? No, don't move your head, just the eyes. Thanks.
.....
.....
.....
Well? How's the pose holding up? Has it been ten minutes yet?
The point of all this falderal is to help you see that, while your career as an artist's model may bring shame to your family and loved ones, it also requires an enormous amount of focus, concentration, and, most of all, endurance.
The latter of which I'm already running dangerously low on. For real.
In my desire to give the art students something really nice to draw, I added a few liiiiiiitle twists and tilts when we set the pose.
Remember how I mentioned Chinese water torture earlier?
Yeah. It's kinda like that.
I'm paying for my artistic generosity. And there's no turning back.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
The Naked Truth
Someone recently asked me what I "do" here in Supercity X.
That's a common question, usually met with an equally common response.
"Oh, I work as a file clerk to pay the rent."
"Oh, I'm a waiter."
"Oh, I train seals."
When the question was posed to me by one of my new Supercity buddies, I told him simply, "Oh, I do temp stuff."
I'm here to tell you that, while that is partially true, it's not entirely true.
You see, this last summer, after getting tanned and toned for Midsummer, I discovered a way to make money that's really easy--and you don't really have to do anything but lie there!
If they ask for a reclining pose, naturally.
No, I'm not a male prostitute. But I'm not much better. Yes, boring, conservative, religious, nothing-going-on-upstairs Forky has, up until now, made the bulk of his living in Supercity X (or is it Nude Fork City?) as an artist's model.
"Now do you mean you're COMPLETELY naked?" my mother asked when I told my mother and father.
And I tell you now what I told them: Yes.
I'm not exposing myself to you all just to get a rise out of you. It's just difficult to accurately chronicle my many misadventures here while leaving out stories like "In the Garden of Earthly Delights" or "the Graphic Design Students Who Just Didn't Care".
But I think what really makes this kinda funny is that if you had told me six months ago that I was #1, going to move to Nude Fork City and #2, make my living as an artists model, I would have called you a liar. I mean...THINK about it.
Desperate times...
I know what you’re thinking. “That’s kind of like prostitution! You’re a whore!”
To which I must reply: whores are not paid to sit perfectly still for hours on end. They’re paid to…y’know. Move.
It’s perfectly educational! These are classical poses in the tradition of the Greeks and Romans! The Renaissance! Michelangelo! Leonardo da Vinci Code! It’s not like I’m walking into some kind of red plush painters bordello, the smell of opium heavy in the halls, where I dine on succulent fruits from the garden of earthly delights and swill wine from the goblet of lust and temptation before reenacting the famous scene from Rosemary’s Baby where she gets gang-raped by Lucifer and a mob of clutching demons.
Well—actually, that did happen. Once. But that’s a whole ‘nuther post. Maybe we’ll save that one for Halloween.
I can tell what you’re doing this very minute. You’re judging me. You’re thinking, “Dear gawd. Forky gets naked in front of complete strangers! Disgusting! Shameful!”
I suppose it would be…if I wasn’t making anywhere from $15-$20 an hour!
Gosh, somehow that makes it sound like prostitution all over again.
Okay. At this point, if you’re still shocked, just think about the natural progression of things. The original ‘Saved by the Bell’ was a wholesome romp for the after-school crowd that originally premiered on the Disney channel as a vehicle for an aging Haley Mills. Then came ‘Saved by the Bell: the College Years’ and everything changed. Risks were taken. New characters were introduced. The show was cancelled.
Consider this MY ‘Saved by the Bell: the College Years’. Riskier. Newer. Changier. And if you don’t like it, well, just…tune out! That’s what they did to ‘Saved by the Bell’ and look what happened! Now they’re a limited edition DVD!
Venus DeMilo's school for artists is a well-respected--uh--school for artists and once every few months or so, they have tryouts for new models. I showed up and did my stuff and suddenly my schedule went from doin’ nuthin’ to being being jam-packed as overnight I became the darling of the Supercity art circles.
Well, maybe not darling, but dang.
“Honey, do you want to do this full time?” Ms. DeMilo asked, an imaginary cigarette dangling from her lip.
“I dunno,” I said stupidly. “I just think it’s fun.”
“You do know you could do this full time, don’t you?”
“I…I could?”
I’m booked for the entire month of October and into November.
I guess it’s kind of like…Christian porn?
To be continued…
VERY continued...
That's a common question, usually met with an equally common response.
"Oh, I work as a file clerk to pay the rent."
"Oh, I'm a waiter."
"Oh, I train seals."
When the question was posed to me by one of my new Supercity buddies, I told him simply, "Oh, I do temp stuff."
I'm here to tell you that, while that is partially true, it's not entirely true.
You see, this last summer, after getting tanned and toned for Midsummer, I discovered a way to make money that's really easy--and you don't really have to do anything but lie there!
If they ask for a reclining pose, naturally.
No, I'm not a male prostitute. But I'm not much better. Yes, boring, conservative, religious, nothing-going-on-upstairs Forky has, up until now, made the bulk of his living in Supercity X (or is it Nude Fork City?) as an artist's model.
"Now do you mean you're COMPLETELY naked?" my mother asked when I told my mother and father.
And I tell you now what I told them: Yes.
I'm not exposing myself to you all just to get a rise out of you. It's just difficult to accurately chronicle my many misadventures here while leaving out stories like "In the Garden of Earthly Delights" or "the Graphic Design Students Who Just Didn't Care".
But I think what really makes this kinda funny is that if you had told me six months ago that I was #1, going to move to Nude Fork City and #2, make my living as an artists model, I would have called you a liar. I mean...THINK about it.
Desperate times...
I know what you’re thinking. “That’s kind of like prostitution! You’re a whore!”
To which I must reply: whores are not paid to sit perfectly still for hours on end. They’re paid to…y’know. Move.
It’s perfectly educational! These are classical poses in the tradition of the Greeks and Romans! The Renaissance! Michelangelo! Leonardo da Vinci Code! It’s not like I’m walking into some kind of red plush painters bordello, the smell of opium heavy in the halls, where I dine on succulent fruits from the garden of earthly delights and swill wine from the goblet of lust and temptation before reenacting the famous scene from Rosemary’s Baby where she gets gang-raped by Lucifer and a mob of clutching demons.
Well—actually, that did happen. Once. But that’s a whole ‘nuther post. Maybe we’ll save that one for Halloween.
I can tell what you’re doing this very minute. You’re judging me. You’re thinking, “Dear gawd. Forky gets naked in front of complete strangers! Disgusting! Shameful!”
I suppose it would be…if I wasn’t making anywhere from $15-$20 an hour!
Gosh, somehow that makes it sound like prostitution all over again.
Okay. At this point, if you’re still shocked, just think about the natural progression of things. The original ‘Saved by the Bell’ was a wholesome romp for the after-school crowd that originally premiered on the Disney channel as a vehicle for an aging Haley Mills. Then came ‘Saved by the Bell: the College Years’ and everything changed. Risks were taken. New characters were introduced. The show was cancelled.
Consider this MY ‘Saved by the Bell: the College Years’. Riskier. Newer. Changier. And if you don’t like it, well, just…tune out! That’s what they did to ‘Saved by the Bell’ and look what happened! Now they’re a limited edition DVD!
Venus DeMilo's school for artists is a well-respected--uh--school for artists and once every few months or so, they have tryouts for new models. I showed up and did my stuff and suddenly my schedule went from doin’ nuthin’ to being being jam-packed as overnight I became the darling of the Supercity art circles.
Well, maybe not darling, but dang.
“Honey, do you want to do this full time?” Ms. DeMilo asked, an imaginary cigarette dangling from her lip.
“I dunno,” I said stupidly. “I just think it’s fun.”
“You do know you could do this full time, don’t you?”
“I…I could?”
I’m booked for the entire month of October and into November.
I guess it’s kind of like…Christian porn?
To be continued…
VERY continued...
Monday, October 02, 2006
Waiting for the E Train
I met some actual starving artists this morning at the modeling sesh. One of them lives in Boroughcity (south of Supercity X) and shares an efficiency with two other guys. You can't beat the rent though...he only pays $300 a month. Not bad for one room and a toilet! Still, in a town like this, you get what you pay for. Most of the time, anyway. He's hopeful to begin work at a nearby bookstore for $9 an hour. Gads! Makes you kind of glad to have the work you do!
The V train just pulled up. Who takes the V train??
And some guy in front of me is practicing his golf swing. He almost clocked somebody.
Just standing in this subway station makes this keypad feel...sticky.
It's Supercity X!
I met the newest member of our apartment family this weekend. His name is Mr. Squeakers. He's a mouse. He's adorable. And he'll be dead soon.
The V train just pulled up. Who takes the V train??
And some guy in front of me is practicing his golf swing. He almost clocked somebody.
Just standing in this subway station makes this keypad feel...sticky.
It's Supercity X!
I met the newest member of our apartment family this weekend. His name is Mr. Squeakers. He's a mouse. He's adorable. And he'll be dead soon.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Sunday Night Musings
I walked seven miles today. That's 15679 steps. Unfortunately, walking that far does not burn as many calories as you would think. You'd imagine that burning, like, a thousand or two. Nope. Try a paltry 636.9 cals. You'd think it would be more, wouldn't you? But it's not. Not by a longshot.
Yes, I bought a pedometer. I expect I'll get pretty obnoxious with it.
Sorry for the lapse in posting. Blackwell the Blackberry went to technology heaven. He had been sickly for a while and finally busted this morning. I have a new Blackberry. I think this one might be a girl, but it's difficult to say. if she is, her name might be Maria Sophia. Don't axe me why. In fact, if you can come up with something better, feel free to suggest it.
Just bear in mind that Babette is already taken. That's my PC.
I begin my big-time modeling gig tomorrow morning. Oh, for those of you I haven't told for fear of...oh, what's the word? I can't think of it. But, I'm modeling. I actually have been for some time. I don't know why I neglected to share that. It just never made its way into any of these posts. I'll get around to posting the full story sometime this week. That is, if Cecile doesn't die on me like Blackwell did.
I also have a phone interview with Numbtindough Planet tomorrow! They're hiring "greeters" for the Christmas rush! I'll be sure to let you know how it goes!
It feels like there's so much to tell...I lost a week of updates. Oh well. I guess I'll just fill you in starting tomorrow...
Unless, of course, Pansy quits working.
Yes, I bought a pedometer. I expect I'll get pretty obnoxious with it.
Sorry for the lapse in posting. Blackwell the Blackberry went to technology heaven. He had been sickly for a while and finally busted this morning. I have a new Blackberry. I think this one might be a girl, but it's difficult to say. if she is, her name might be Maria Sophia. Don't axe me why. In fact, if you can come up with something better, feel free to suggest it.
Just bear in mind that Babette is already taken. That's my PC.
I begin my big-time modeling gig tomorrow morning. Oh, for those of you I haven't told for fear of...oh, what's the word? I can't think of it. But, I'm modeling. I actually have been for some time. I don't know why I neglected to share that. It just never made its way into any of these posts. I'll get around to posting the full story sometime this week. That is, if Cecile doesn't die on me like Blackwell did.
I also have a phone interview with Numbtindough Planet tomorrow! They're hiring "greeters" for the Christmas rush! I'll be sure to let you know how it goes!
It feels like there's so much to tell...I lost a week of updates. Oh well. I guess I'll just fill you in starting tomorrow...
Unless, of course, Pansy quits working.
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