bye bye blogger and hello typepad

okay, it was either this bastardized album cover or a pic of snoopy and woodstock with their hobochic kerchief bag tied to end of stick look. bottom line, i'm outie. you can find me where the wind whistles maria and the sun shines on vintage cockmeat, aka ultranow.typepad.com. rest assured i took all my past posts and all my delicious reader comments with me. So jump right in, the water's warm...and so is hell i guess. thank goodness jews don't believe in hell.

buses are awesome

got on the bus this morning so it could pull me down the hill to work. sat down on one of the elevated seats right over the tires because it reminded me of that same kind of special seat on the schoolbus, especially special to me as a kid because i thought that curve was an exciting bonus footrest. it took me years to realize it was like that because of the tires. so i sit down and immediately regret that i haven't updated the songs on my mp3 player in a awhile. do i really want to hear that same brini maxwell podcast again? do i really want to hear the pipettes again? my regret did not last because the woman sitting in the seat in front of me whipped her head around and screamed at me "why are you sitting there! nobody can sit behind me! why do you want to sit behind me! move now!"

so i attitude bob my head back at her and firmly belt "i don't want to sit behind you!" then i move to the opposite side of the aisle. the guy in front of me is laughing, meaning he's seen her do this before to other people. i notice that she's tearing a newspaper into thin strips and sliding the strips under the seat in front of her. i say to the guy in front of me (any excuse to lean in semi-close to a guy) i say "i'll give you a dollar to beat the crap out of her." fortunately he understands it's a joke, which for a half second it wasn't. unfortunately he doesn't fall in love with me. fortunately there's a haystack for the skydiver whose parachute won't open to fall on. unfortunately there's a pin in the haystack. wait that's another story. so he soon gets off the bus and someone gets on who goes to sit where i had. i tap his shoulder bag and told him he didn't want to sit there because she's (make cuckoo swirl finger around ear gesture) and she'll yell at him. he says thank you and moves to the back.

then i realize i'm going to have to say the same thing to everyone who goes to sit there otherwise the guy now in the back will think i'm letting people sit there for my own amusement, or worse the assumedly crazy lady might not yell at someone then it will look like i made the whole thing up. so this woman gets on in a couple of stops and goes to sit behind miss c-r-a-z-e-e-e-e but she's so quick i don't really have time to warn her and i don't feel as comfortable tapping a woman as i do a man because maybe she'd get more creeped out by me than a guy would. but i get her attention just as the crazy lady is slowly turning to the woman and gearing up to confront her, but now crazy lady can see what i say so i have to be more delicate so i say "she doesn't want you to sit there. she yelled at me when i did." but the woman is sitting there and the crazy lady isn't yelling yet so the new woman is confused and looks at me like i'm crazy but moves to the back anyway - to get away from me.

meanwhile the lady is pushing newspaper strips under the seat in front of her and the woman in front of her is smart enough to not turn around, even though i can tell the paper is pushing against her dyke boots. she does give a huge dyke sneeze and the man in front of the dyke is so scared he moves his seat, then covers up that he did that by stretching and putting on his jacket like he needed the extra space of his new seat even though it's totally hot out and and he didn't need a jacket in my opinion and who can't put on a jacket while sitting on the bus wherever you are, especially when nobody is sitting next to you anyway. straight men afraid of lesbian sneezes - next on maury. nobody else tries to sit behind the crazy lady and it's finally her stop so she gets off the bus but not before saying to the busdriver in a kindly, gentle voice "thank you busdriver." the bus is at the stop for a bit because the light is red. she gets back on with a new newspaper, sits in the same seat and tears a new newspaper into linguini.

so buses are awesome, as in terrible and great. still this isn't as good as the massively drunk fucker who sat next to the yuppie and rambled conspiracy theories for twenty blocks, until he spouted the gem "i'm going to the airport tomorrow morning and i'm bringing the piano."

he's grrrreat!

instant gratification always never

home shopping network is now live on the world wide internets, which it was before but now it's mac compatible. won't you watch hsntv live with me? requirements include "a high-bandwidth connection" and a love for adjectives and action verbs. suzanne somers is all about hsn and hsn is all about suzanne somers. book my skybox now. the bangs aren't fooling anyone, suzanne. your forehead is courdoroy.

instant gratification is important although i don't know what it is. perhaps it involves the genre-mixing dirty construction worker with the skateboard chowing down on his snickers bar who i saw today on the bus. perhaps it involves the insistent stranger who was angered by my not immediately letting go of one of one of my handholds as i stood in the aisle, all seats taken - since i wanted the bus to stop before i risked it all, let go, and let him pass. i've been wrenched around on a bus before by stop short drivers and even one who started the bus as i was getting on. should have filed a claim on that one because my shoulder hurt for a week. the cranky instant gratification seeker crowed that it's a public bus and that i have issues. and i said it's a public bus that i'm holding on to. if i had my way, he would still be on that bus. i think a part of him always will be. i made sure of it.

instant denial, which consists of lusting after products and people and change on the sidewalk but not picking any up, is a lifestyle i know. but what is instant gratification? not steel cut oatmeal which takes longer but is better for you. not not writing a play because poetry is shorter. not tyra because she stands up a lot more and seems closer to my face than oprah if i had two tvs and were watching both shows at the same time like talk show roller derby. instant gratification is not a boyfriend. instant gratification is not a pornographic imagination. instant gratification is not saying hello and that's it.

there is instead build. there is instead an occurence. and additional occurences. which are mathematically life and know each other. first play i'm going to write now that i'm starting up playwriting again is rescripting my life. first background is hsntv live. because i love craving. because i love wanting and not having. because i secretly hate craving. because i secretly hate needing and not having. hsntv live is in the background. even though i don't have cable i get it. i receive it. it broadcasts perpetually. instant gratification is background. foreground is us. is people. is looking into eyes and touching backs and seeing necks as brain and expression holding up devices, not as whirlygigs that go which way the wind blows. not as those faces in american eagle outfitters ads that are so happy to do nothing in a field for 70 frames. that are so happy to bounce in a field for 70 moments. i do need the moments after each present. i do need life to appear and reveal slowly and then disappear and dissolve slower yet. all overlapping life.

le bark

katharine mcphee crotch

so once i mentioned ai contestant katharine mcphee and already had the words crotch and other naughtyties on the same page and now i'm the destination for katharine mcphee [insert body part here] searches. so what can i do but give in and provide what some dear browsers desperately want - proof of ways people got here to show you're not alone followed by proof of crotch to show katharine's crotch is alone, unless you count the mike stand.

black holes are cute as hell

for a relatively long time now, verizon has been claiming they are "the nation's most reliable wireless network" driving that advertising bullet point home tirelessly. verizon=reliable, the way volkswagon, which is killing everyone's psyche with these commercials now which show everyday conversations in cars interrupted by graphic car accidents and shocked but okay thanks to volkswagon passengers, the way volkswagon posits that volkswagon=safety. volkswagon=safety. because their cars (and no other company's) are made of metal.

well now cingular says independent tests show they have "the least number of dropped calls" which feels like a direct challenge to verizon's tagline, which i realized is partially working on me because as i walked past that smirky verizon guy on a billboard i thought of cingular. but then i thought well a call can only be a dropped call if it connects in the first place. so perhaps cingular has a smaller coverage area to begin with and few calls go through at all. then i thought maybe there are totally majorly less people with cingular so lots less calls being made overall so they might actually have a higher percentage of dropped calls than verizon or some other company but you'd never know it unless you pick apart their ad, which i love doing. it's way better than yelling at the evening news. so less calls to begin with equals less dropped calls. hell my personal very own ultranow brand wireless network has zero dropped calls. won't you join?

so i smugly won't get cingular. which doesn't particularly matter because i don't own a cellphone, which because i'm sleepy right now i want to spell selphone as in selfone. but if i did have one i'd call my best girlfriend to gab about who got eliminated from idol tonight. let me check online because i didn't watch the results show. i'm hoping it wasn't elliot. thank goodness it was kellie hide the pickle pickler. who will votefortheworst.com pick now to try to keep in the show longer than they deserve? now that everyone left is basically good. i know. how about black holes. they are the worst. they steal all the light and cellphone signals. but wait then they turn it back into energy. that's not so bad. i love you black holes! forget i ever said anything bad about you. coochie coo.

i measure my life by glorias

okay i'm writing this whole post during one playback of gloria and i seek to live a fully branigan lifestyle except for her being dead. basically this means singing songs and living a life that later michael bolton remakes and relives horribly and then i hook back up with that play slutty blond chick from desperate housewives nicolette sheridan and cut my hair shorter. michael bolton always got applause at showtime at the appollo but who wouldn't applaud a knock off righteous brother? 2:35 left.

they sprayed horrible anti-gypsy moth chemicals in my neighborhood today, or should i say a few blocks from my house. many of those in the kill zone (the humans in the kill zone) had protested because certainly there was a more green alternative, like gypsy moth assisted suicide therapy. personally i'm glad my block skirted the spray because...because...i am a gypsy moth! whoosh. 1:10.

rooting for joanie on top model because she is 24 and an ex-stripper and the best pure poser. i'm also rooting for twiggy to collapse and for tyra to eat her alive and nigel barker to be mangina-ly fisted by guest star bob barker and for and miss jay and mr. jay to trisexually mate like earthworms and produce mystery jay. and i'm rooting for something else to do besides top model and laundry tonight. oh yeah, i got homework to do for my playwriting workshop. 0:05. times up.

the world's smallest milking machine

moby dvd contest winner wanted (and other stuff)

so far just one entry in my win the new moby dvd contest (and by the way if you are that person e-mail me so i can get you your prize if you end up being the ultimate supreme champion). there's still time to enter people. it does require a tad of creativity, or more specifically 17 syllables worth. give it a shot. p-r-e-t-t-y p-u-h-l-e-a-se?

on a side note, i hate puns, but not this one.

and my early pick for winner, the beauteous yet gawkward and dullardly brooke "wax lips" brookerson is out of the antm gene pool. tears. severe tears.