What you know won’t affect what you know

Last night I witnessed my fist hate crime. That’s right, a hate crime right here in Cleveland! That starts with C and that rhymes with pee which is a gross sexual fetish that I don’t want to get into right now. So anyway, it amazed me that while hate crimes continue to occur through out the United States and the world, politicians endlessly promote legislation that I know they know causes more hate crimes. For instance, the marriage protection act, or whatever it’s called, is just bigotry tied up in fear and presented with a scratch and sniff sticker on it. The scratch and sniff sticker? It smells like roses. It has to, to cover up the rotting sink of hate underneath. This amendment only provides more fodder for the evil people all across the country; now they have something new to be mad about. I really don’t know what exactly needs protecting anyway. Half of all marriages end in divorce, and a lot of people don’t even get married anymore. While they weren’t looking, the traditional family packed up and moved to Finland. (or wherever-its not like I have gps tracking ability) This whole country sometimes seems to feed on hate. Like we need to feel gross and degraded in order to feel anything at all (oh wait….I think I’m beginning to understand the whole pee thing. Still gross though.)
Siiighhh. Sorry. It’s hard for me to talk about today’s political climate without going totally bitchcakes. In short, republicans = evil, cognitive dissonance causing freakazoids.
And really that’s all anyone needs to know.

Liberally yours,
Anthony g. s.


Oh, and I don’t really live in Cleveland, or witnessed a hate crime. But you already knew that.

You're The Sound and the Fury!

by William Faulkner

Strong-willed but deeply confused, you are trying to come to grips
with a major crisis in your life. You can see many different perspectives on the issue,
but you're mostly overwhelmed with despair at what you've lost. People often have a hard
time understanding you, but they have some vague sense that you must be brilliant
anyway. Ultimately, you signify nothing.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Chaka Khan and Other Non-Edible Celebrities


I've mentioned this to a few other people, but I wonder if chaka khan ever wonders if her name, when said repeatedly, elicits laughter from many people. (really...my chaka khan bit kills in Toronto and up and down the east coast.) But I guess celebrities, or in Chaka's case not-really-celebrities, have better things to do then wonder how many in-jokes they are a part of. And speaking of not-really-celebrities (or NRC as I call them), am I the only one who thinks Crispin Glover is Danerously underrated? I mean dangerously. I get the feeling that if that poor man doesn't get a good part soon; someone's gonna pay and it will probably involve all kinds of evicerated animals. Again, speaking of celebrities, as I still am, the whole TomKat thing is getting out of hand. Tom Cruise is already creepy-what with all his shortness, scientoloculty, and uneasy homosexual vibes- but now there is this added factor of his crazy obsession with pure, virginal, cloistered Katie Holmes. Katie, best know as the 25 year old teenager from Dawson's Creek, says she's in love too, only sans the couch jumping and fist pumping (it seems that her diet doesn't completely consist of crazy crackers). In any case, I think if they don't "simmadawnnow" the public will turn against then and they will head to NRC-ville on a bullet train made by underpaid and overworked Americans. And we all know where that can lead.

Well, I'm sorry for lowering the lever of this blog by talking about common celebrities, but I do feel better now...ahhhhhh.....
I leave you with some advice: Beware the traveler that wakes the sleeping whore.

Fromage!

I finally updated my webshots album. I put up some photos of Christine when she came to visit me in Arcata as well as some of the Redwood National Park. I might put up some pics from my going away party, but I'm not sure-seeing as most of them consist of me looking like an ass with beer all over my clothes (i had an accident or two...) anywhatsitz, check out my photo album by clicking on the "pictures" link on the right.


Here's just a small taste:


Christine at Trinidad beach

Living Dead


It was announced today (via email of course) that the husband of a woman who works in my office died the other day. Now I don’t know this woman or her husband (our office is in two different locations on campus) and I know it’s tragic and such, but as I was reading the obituary I couldn’t help but think “this is a terribly written obituary” it was all I could think about. I mean, the thing was horrible! It had sentences like “He was such a great provider.” That’s it. End of sentence, on to another topic. There was a bunch of “He was such a….” sentences. It was obviously written by 6th grade AP English student. If youre gonna go through the trouble of printing an obituary in the paper (which seems kinda weird to me cause everyone who cares about that person has their own memories and feelings about the deceased but whatever) you should at least write something of quality. (blogs don’t count-no angry letters). Also, I don’t like the fact that obituaries gloss over the bad parts in a persons life, because more often than not those difficult times had more of an influence on how that person turned out than anything else. But I digress….

The digression:

So heres my obituary, written by me. Feel free to use it as a model for when I “move on,” “pass,” or “bite the big one”

Anthony G. Saldana was great man. And also kind of an ass sometimes. He owned an imaginary sanatorium in Texas, which he ran to the best of his ability. (he was also a little looney.) When he was young, he did a lot of stupid shit, but got away with most of it, ‘cause cops are idiots and really more open to bribery than you think. During his teenage years he lived at an artist commune and spent his time creating great works of art about the immigrant experience in America. When he was 21, Anthony invented the hydro-copter, a helicopter that worked underwater. Since there was really no demand for an underwater helicopter, the plans for a large manufacturing plant in Bakersfield never really took off, and Anthony was left impoverished and alone. At the age of 32, he adopted 16 Nicaraguan babies but they were taken away from him soon after and he was arrested for abuse of the welfare system. After his release from jail he had a hard time, never really adjusting to “life on the outside.” His life was tragically cut short during a trip to New Jersey where he was devoured by a large robot shark. He is survived by practically everyone he knew ‘cause no one else was stupid enough to taunt an angry robot shark. Funeral services will be held on the large empty plot of land where his “sanatorium” is located.


See, that’s what I want. The good stuff, the bad stuff, and full of lies. Malicious, hurtful lies.

Rest- in-peace out!

God Coughed and Called It Billy


Okay. It's gotten to the point to where I either need to shit or get off the pot, and well, I've decided to shit. I'll shit at least once a week. Even if its just a little shit, or kinda runny and sad. It might be a big meaty shit with bits of corn too, you never know.

In case you haven't figured it out by now I'm talking about my blog, and how often I update it.

Speaking of corn; I miss corn. Now that I'm doing the low carb thing, I can't have yummy things like corn and lolipops anymore (and you know me and lolipops-I'm like some deranged club kid with those things) I can't even tell if I've lost weight, seeing as I don't have a scale anywhere in the house. My pants are a little loser, so I guess that's something. I grasping at burning hay here people.

I imagine that somewhere in the world there's a man named Billy wandering the streets. He's kinda smelly, and has a scraggly face with a smile that has forty some odd years of sitting on the porch on Sundays sipping mint juleps discussing "the negro problem" behind it. You know, just damn creepy. Anyway, I'm guessing that a man like that would feel kinda like god's cough.


I've decided that barring some crazy miracle, I'm probably going to move back up to Arcata In late July or August. It can't be any worse than here, that's for sure.

that's all for now. Stay tunes, same sanatorium channel, same sanatorium time. Well, don't worry about that so much cause I control all the TV's in the place anyway and it's not like you can change the channel cause you're wearing a straightjacket. ha

TRY NOT TO GET WORRIED, TRY NOT TO TURN ON TO PROBLEMS THAT UPSET YOU, OOOOO………..



Writing utensils simply disappear when I’m around. They jump into any hidden crevasse, any dark corner, or any opportunistically placed stacks of paper, absolutely determined not to be used. “I will not be drained and discarded!!!” they shout, while scrambling to the nearest hidey-hole. I suppose they do have cause for fear, for I am inclined to chew on the unused end of the cap while using a pen. But it’s still annoying. If the pencils and pens do not fall in line soon, I shall be forced to impose stricter rules regarding their anthromorphic activities. In other news, I have been busy at work scanning master protocols into the database. (Master protocols are basically descriptions of the study to be performed) one of the more interesting protocols to cross my desk was one entitled “A mulit-center, randomized, double blind, sham controlled trial investigating sub mucosal delivery of radiofrequency energy to the anal canal.” And right beneath this title were three square, small drawings of an anus into one of which had been inserted what can only be described as “Mr. Good Time Johnson” or perhaps “Good Times Jones and the Vibrations” or maybe “The Big Anus Penetrator.” (that last one may be a bit vulgar and crass but it gets the point across to anyone dumb enough not to understand the pervious two). I can only imagine that this instrument is the vehicle that they plan to use to deliver the “radiofrequency energy.” I wonder about the side effects to such a procedure. I would hate to have Star 98.7 or even 89.9 to emit from my ass at the most inopportune time (a society luncheon or while having tea with the duchess of Canterbury). Could one pass it off as indigestion? I think not (although there is a certain pleasure and logic in imagining hearing Britney Spears or any of today’s pop coming out of someone’s rear). In any case, I fear for the participants.
Well I’m afraid that’s all for now, I hope you didn’t read this while eating, or while in the bathroom. Everything else is going fine, same as always.

SLEEP AND I SHALL SOOTHE YOU, CALM YOU AND ANOINT YOU, MYRHH FOR YOUR HOT FORHEAD, OOOOO……….

Work, Work, Work, Grendel, Grendel, Grendel. Thats me these days. "being Grendel in the basement" (TM: sean). Not doing great, not doing bad, gettin' by, wish i could fly, etc....
nothing much new otherwise. I need to get more sleep though, been having a hard time waking up in the morning and ive decided that it's because i dont go to bed till 12. (i'm smart!) and by the way, have any of you read rosie o'donnell's blog? its kinda cryptic and creepy. she writes in what is supposed to be stream of conciousness prose (im guessing) but it reads like the last words of a dying developmentaly disabled child. if that makes any sense. i would link to it, but i already did a link in this post and im too damn lazy. you'll just have to google it yourself. ungrateful bitches!!!.

j/k

p.s. i don't like the cut of your jibb

--TAGSMS

I "heart" Tilda Swinton

APRIL 26, 2005

Blinking Lights and other Revelations