i need a guinness fix....

and i need to use up my vacay from last year, so i'm flying to dublin tonight, for a week.


catch yiz'all next week.

[adam beware; you're probably next.]

new telly

what it is:

• - a 40-inch XBR Sony with 1080 resolution

what it isn't:

• - capable of displaying HD channels because we cannot get HD channels (i've since learned) because the fucking forest i live in obstructs access to the extra satellites required for HD transmission.

does this matter?

• - to me? not really. it's still twice the size of the old TV.
  

i broke it in this weekend watching Boondock Saints for the 9th time, and then i pulled the Closure VHS from the dusty archives. i'd forgotten about this gem: "something i can never have," circa '94, with danny lohner loosing a tear in the intro. is that terribly perfect, or am i just premenstrooally-moony? the first 40sec are the highlight; i don't expect you not to get bored after that.



oh my, yes. VERY moony.

MINE.

my FunnyBike has arrived. i took it for a test ride yesterday before the snow, sleet and "unknown precipitation" dropped. if you look closely at the top tube you can probably see where my drippy dnose baptised it.

what it is:

• - light, for a time-trial bike
• - a lot smoother on the road than my road bike (difference between carbon and aluminum)
• - surprisingly comfortable, even when you're not aero
• - 10-speed, running off a 12-25 cassette. a 25!! (read: total grannie gear for someone used to a 21)
• - full Dura-Ace. none of this campy eurodog snobbery
• - fucking sweet, and a lot of bike for the money, especially when your team sponsorship gets you half MSRP.

what it isn't:

• - an excuse.

i can't use the rationale of running a jacked road bike as justification for a shitty performance against pros with their lightspeed Blades. no more. i'll have to come up with more creative excuses.

i had some experience with this yesterday as i dragged my sorry ass up another chester county climb, falling off D's wheel halfway up, tormented by ouroboros loops of the "another train" song keith brand played during Sleepy Hollow:
there's another train
there always is
maybe the next one is yours
get up and climb aboard
[repeat eleventy billion times]

if you want to torment yourself likewise, you can click here, but i really don't advise it. i'll give you some better stuff in a minute.

anyway, i arrived at the top of the hill, bedraggled and broken but at least not crying like i've been known to do trying to stick to D's wheel and he says he says to me
- it's a good thing we didn't pass any other cyclists, me with my commuter bike with my fender and bento bag, dropping the world-class duathlete with the four-thousand dollar FunnyBike. you'd never live that down.

lots of retorts sprung to mind, like
- fuck you.
- fuck you, i ran 14 miles yesterday. on the road, which beats you up a lot more than trail.
- you're a DUDE. [i hate this excuse, but as FMC has observed it's depressingly accurate sometimes, unless we're talking about a marathon.]
- i fear i've got some stenosis issues in my left iliac now, but the idea of another bypass is a serious bummer.
- i'm 10lbs overweight and it's your fault for romancing me with pints of Ben & Jerry's Karamel Sutra.
- no wait just fuck you.

all this i thought but what i said was
- thank god for that 25.

it sucks to be overweight and mortal, and it sucks to get old.

but here's new nails (this Me one and this Twilight one), and this is some good stuff -- or MinimalTrent is finally growing on me.

the dead zone

every once in a while, i think it would be nice to have net access at home. if my house were wired i could download the bit-torrent of the Closure DVD, pump my post rate on the MZD and spiral forums, skype with adam, and surf all the nasty porn i wanted without worrying about Inscrutable Chinese Man discovering my secrets. worthwhile stuff, see.

but i'm not wired. DSL and FiOS aren't available, phone lines from the 30's make dial-up even more impractical, and the installation and monthly costs of satellite are outrageous.

get cable, said quasar. even if the installation is expensive, comcast will probably eat the cost to get you as a customer. NOBODY can't get cable, he professed.

so a call to comcast cable triggered an "evaluation," which generated this welcome letter from Paul DaBaldo, Construction Supervisor:

Dear Mr. Finn,
We want to extend a warm welcome to you as a possible new member of the Comcast family. Your request for cable service has been evaluated and our Construction Department determined that your service location falls outside of the company's standard installation guidelines. The non-standard installation cost would be $16487.17. Due to the rise in equipment costs, this price is valid for ninety (90) days from the above-mentioned rate. This cost does not include the standard installation charge to activate your service at a later date.

To initiate construction, please forward payment to the attention of Tiffany Stinson at Comcast, 5 Bellecor Drive, New Castle, DE 19720.

riiiiiight okay, i'll just go on and forward that $16K to tiffany. what else was i going to do with my life-savings, anyway? but i better hurry before the price goes up!!

jesus christ comcast, the least you could do is offer to comp me the standard installation charge.

it seems wireless is my one remaining hope...

callipygian

though i’ve yet to lose the 6 pounds i acquired during my month of excess in december, happily my ass no longer pulls me to the water’s surface during fly kick drillz. i like to think i’m trading flab for muscle. i also like to think that someday i will write a ground-shattering novel like House of Leaves, set a world record in a sporting event and grow up to be a red station wagon, so you can see i’m prone to wallowing in self-delu… er, “extreme rationalisation.”

toned ass or no, i felt like crap in the water AGAIN this morning. my coach quit because she wanted to sleep in 2 mornings a week, the selfish bitch, and god knows i need external motivation and scolding to inspire me at 5am.

but that’s not the point either.

the point is that while i was taking a shower after my shitty workout of broken 400s, into the shower room sashayed a woman with the most amazing ass i’ve ever seen. JLo and beyonce move aside, cos you the katest moss compared to this chick. words can’t describe – at least in the time i’ve got before a client meeting at 2 – so i present you this artist’s rendering:


this woman was not large, yet you could fit 4 of my asses in hers, and then you could have a nice spot of tea on the shelf it offers. i mean, shit like that is an example of the wonders of nature. what, exactly, comprises that bulk? it is muscle? is there a supporting skeletal structure? because you put an ass like that on a white woman and it dissolves into cellulite and lumpiness and drops straight down and you have your tea elsewhere. how does this happen? can string theory reconcile this, too?

never, never gonna give you up

Year Zero

2 new nails tracks.

have to say i'm not a fan.
yet.

performing monkey experience management

one presentation-from-hell down; one to go.

two highlights from yesterday's:

question from IT guy: so, what process do you use to come up with these personas you're saying are so crucial for customer-centered design?

my straight-faced answer: magic.

i think he was looking for something more empirical. which might explain this:

question from He Who Makes the Decision: should it come down to it, would your company be flexible enough to do only the design work if we select another vendor to develop our Customer Experience Strategy?

answer from me, the Customer Experience Strategist: um, yes?

piss fuck shit cunt.
(powerpoint gives me tourettes, as does Word.)

V-day

here's a happy valentine's day story for ya:
Stewardess faces sack after amorous in-flight encounter with Ralph Fiennes

awwwww.

i'm fucked, so it's only fitting that a stewardess is too.

my sentiments exactly

world press photo contest winners

kind of a suck week, so don't expect to do much posting. major performing monkey pitches thurs & friday, and a member of the Mr. Lonelyhearts club is occupying my office @ home indefinitely, so there's little opportunity for writing. does love fucking suck, or what.

did want to get this out there, though, esp for adam the photog: the finalists of the 2007 World Press Photo Contest. it's all there: dancing, disfigurement, death & sports. no anna nicole smith; this is the real stuff.

soldier on, champs.

mars and venus

i just bought a new sofa, and a new tv, replacing hand-me-downs from college days. real adults might consider this long-overdue, but i really don’t care much about how i live, as long as there are nearby trails to run on and uncongested roads to ride.

so i just bought a new 40” LCD. why? my mom asked the same thing. cos it’ll make Gears of War even more immersive and there’s a live nails DVD coming out in HD at the end of the month, i explained. oh finn, she sighed, are you ever going to grow up? i just bought a freaking leather sofa. can you get any more grown-up?

besides, everyone around me has a new tv. denise’s parents just got an HD tv to replace the one they probably bought back in the depression. her husband duly interrogated her when she returned from the first visit.

- so, is it nice? the tv?
- sure. the remote is way too complicated for my dad though.
- what kind is it?
- it’s a flat-screen.
- but what kind? LCD or plasma?
- um, i don’t know. it’s flat, and it’s up on the wall.
- well, what brand is it? sony? sharp? mitzi? what’s the resolution? is it 42-inch? 46? 50?
- i don’t know.
- you don’t know?? how could you not know?!?
- bill, remember when your sister had her baby? and i asked how much he weighed and how long he was? and you didn’t have a clue?
- yeah.
- same thing.

mars and venus.
and... something. because i couldn't tell you the contrast rate of my tv and i've no clue how long the average newborn is, but what i do know is that my new bike's 18.5 pounds with a 74-degree seat tube angle, and a 12-25 cassette (i'm going from 9- to 10-speed too).

and it's on its way to me.
oh frabjous day.

no excuses

it is a known fact that, compared to regular bike racers, the bike handling skills of multisport athletes (like triathletes and duathletes) are abysmal. when i went over to the dark side a couple years ago i tried to keep my defection a secret because i knew i'd become the new object of derision of all my elitist roadie teammates who delight in making sport of the clewless legions i'd now joined. and indeed, while warming up for my first triathlon i watched a woman topple off her bike right in front of the first aid tent.

but i gave multisport athletes the benefit of the doubt. i always figured their phred-ness derived from the bikes they feel compelled to ride: time-trial frames with whacked geometry designed to go in a straight line for 'taint-deadening hours in the aero-position. those bikes are probably as responsive as dick cheney, so when you get bumped in a county-line sprint on a group ride what recourse do you have but to crash in the privet hedge at the side of the road? ride a shitty bike; ride like a penis, i figured.

boy was i WRONG. slick rik let me test-ride his fuji aloha this weekend and that thing is sweeeeeeeet. nevermind that i looked like a total tool riding a disk in february, months before the racing season takes off; i felt like a fucking BAD.ASS. no complaints about responsiveness, turning radius or stiffness climbing out of the saddle. the steeper geometry felt great: with more of the bike in front of me it felt like it was almost powering itself. this is what it must feel like to have a cock, i thought. it was that good. the only thing that took some getting used to was shifting when you're not aero. taking a hand off the bars to shift recalled the prehistoric days of downtube friction shifting, when you couldn't shift sprinting or climbing out of the saddle unless you're like my college boyfriend who could shift with his knee. but unless you're climbing (or descending) alpe d'huez, this is a minor issue.

conclusion? there are no excuses: if you're a triathlete who can't ride in a group without a 5-foot safety zone it's because you suck, not your bike.

so i am sold -- or a 2007 fuji CF2 is sold to ME.

i cannot wait.

Dead Boyz Don't Scream...

...because male models should be seen, not heard.

Dead Boyz Don't Scream is a funny, sexy thrill ride through the dark side of male modeling filled with gratuitous nudity, politically incorrect violence and lesbians with guns!

ImpossiblyCuteStr8Boy and GayArtDirector weigh in:

[12:28] ICSB: when does it come out
[12:28] ICSB: we'll go see it together
[12:28] GAD: you wouldn't even see brokeback
[12:29] GAD: and that had no nudity in it at all
[12:29] ICSB: brokeback mountain was fake
[12:29] ICSB: this seems real
[12:29] GAD: ah, ok

i keeps you in the l00p.

the backyard

it's winter. finally.

pre-bowl hype

- so, are you ready for a big sit?

- i don't think i'm good for much else. - my head's still pounding from the excesses of my company's holiday party the night before, and i'm working off 4 hours of sleep. it took me 20min to make coffee and the caffeine's so far failed to revive me.

- kickoff's at 6:30. pre-game starts at noon.

- SIX HOURS of pre-game?!? - this never fails to amaze me.

- there's a lot to go over. finn, it's the SUPERBOWL. it's the WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP of football! - he laughs - that always cracks me up. it's like the WORLD SERIES in baseball, that's only the US. or the WORLD poker championships.

- or the WORLD cup!! - i pipe up. he stares at me.

- the world cup IS the world.

- right. make us a bloody mary wouldya.

music: balm for the soul

i know i'm like 4 years late, but all this week i've been groovin' on a perfect circle's thirteenth step, where billy, maynard & co rail against suicide, religion and general ignorance in a voice a touch more refined than the "fuck your god" cry of mer de noms.

check out this track, the noose, which features some writhing, atmospheric guitar from danny lohner. good stuff. did i mention the need for more lohner in the world? i think i did.

you saw the 300 movie trailer to the tune of NIN's "just like you imagined"? well, here's the Fragile-era band rehearsing it. highlights are reznor breaking down the opening chords and stage-directing ("don't try to make it a real attackful enter"), lohner's blazin' distortion and jerome dillon killin it on the drums even though he looks like he just walked out of a methadone clinic.



speaking of meth clinics, you've probably seen the latest pete doherty vid? i don't see the "horror" of the "graphic images of drug injection" but i do think it's damn funny to watch doherty shoot up while singing along with the gorillaz: "i'm useless, but not for long - the future is coming on." LOLZ.

have a weekend all.

tales from the ICU

F went down to Hopkins last night to see his uncle, who should have been out of the hospital a week ago. he’s got fluid in his heart and his pressure’s low, which may indicate a leak somewhere. he’s now back in ICU, which sucks because if you’re in ICU, you’re pretty fucked up, and you’ve got a 30% chance of leaving the hospital via the morgue.

i know this because when i was in ICU three years ago it was like Night of the Living Dead. i was there only because i was on superduper clot-busting drugs that necessitated a close watch should i start embolising and throwing clots into my brain & lungs. it wasn’t too bad: i got sponge baths and one of those high-tech beds that ripple and change pressure around your body’s weight so you don’t end up with weeping bedsores. everyone else in that unit was coming off serious surgeries or harrowing auto accidents.

after four days i was judged healthy enough for transfer to a regular room. before i moved, though, i really wanted to wash my hair. my scalp was itchy and oily and driving me mad, and who knows… the male nurses on the 3rd floor might be really hot. you gots to Contingency-Plan, brah.

so i dragged myself from my ripply bed and slowly trucked myself and my IV pole over to my sink. no bottles of Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific next to the faucet so i began rummaging through sink drawers and happened upon the mother lode. people in ICU generally don’t clamber out of their beds, so all the good stuff – the mini bottles and ampules of your narcotic of choice – is conveniently stored within easy reach.

no shampoo, though.

so i tightened my fashionable hospital kaftan, grabbed my pole and pushed aside my room’s curtain. a spectral, gliding presence, i shuffled slowly down the hall toward the three women clustered at the nurse’s station.

- excuse me - i croaked, and three heads swiveled around and stared at me. if there were any karmic justice in the world, all the hours i’ve spent blowing away zombies and other semblances of the creeping dead certainly justified one of those bitches coming up with a gatling gun and painting the walls with me, but i guess you don’t fuck with lady lazarus.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

- sorry, but do you have any shampoo? - a blank frozen silence, then one of them moved.
– um, I think I have some – and she ducked into the room behind the desk while i continued a staring standoff with the other two.
- here you go – she said when she emerged, holding a full-size bottle of pantene. SCORE. i thanked her, turned smartly on my heel (okay, maybe not so smartly, maybe glacially) and returned to my room with the queen’s pomp & circumstance.

blessed, blessed relief to dissolve the itch out of my hair – sooo worth it. pantene-lady thoughtfully dropped off a towel while i was in mid-wash, and only after i’d finished and was toweling off did i realise that i’d forgotten to shut the drawers i rifled and that this was probably not lost upon my nurse. she said nothing, though, and i wasn’t searched when i departed so she either trusted or pitied me enough to let me go without incident.

poor nizar.
i don’t miss the hospital experience at all. there were no hot male nurses on the 3rd floor.