One of the few people there without visible tattoos
a 2 hour video filmed in the 80s, painfully relaying information that could’ve been put on a single sheet of paper, bad actors answering obvious questions: what is mediation, what if i cant get along with my ex-wife? The most heartbreaking nugget of advice to not strike or scream at the other parent during your mediation.
A ten minute break to go feed the (2 hr max) meters outside the courthouse.
The goth chick in the front row with sleeve tattoos from wrist to shoulder, still wearing both rings. Looking more sad than goth, despite her elaborate makeup.
The black grandmother in the back with her (18? 20?yo son) asking lots of questions while her son remained silent
The perverse combination of drivers ed/jury duty, with your marriage being ripped to shreds
The guy who was clearly in a multi-year saga who called the second mediator to talk to us “a cunt” under his breath.
Three fanny packs???
The guy who alternated between snoring asleep on the table and reading his bible.
The final 45 minute video – talking head interviews with children of divorced parents, narrated by an adult female talking in persona child of divorce. “Don’t use us as spies.”
She was skinny, quick-witted, disarmingly unprofessional, alternating between stand-up patter, bardic intonations, and the hypnotic emotional sway of a chanteuse, and she was sexy in an androgynous way I hadn’t encountered before. The elements cohered convincingly; she seemed both entirely new and somehow long-anticipated. For me at nineteen, the show was an epiphany.
Springtime 1976, I was living in the cinderblock building on the glorified median strip there where they split Highway 13, and one day I went over to this one girl’s apartment, she lived right by the guy who dealt me speed, and she said, “Hey, you know who you remind me of? You remind me of Patti Smith!”
Gave her a possum grin I’m still grinning.
but I am thinking that somebody should assume the mantle of The Sanitizer.
4. Walk with the devil
Old Delta blues players referred to guitar amplifiers as the “devil box.” And they were right. You have to be an equal opportunity employer in terms of who you’re bringing over from the other side. Electricity attracts devils and demons. Other instruments attract other spirits. An acoustic guitar attracts Casper. A mandolin attracts Wendy. But an electric guitar attracts Beelzebub.
(From WFMU’s Beware of the Blog. Via Brian Beatty.)
because to now I have posted 1964 posts. So this will be 1965. And that was a beautiful year. I was just old enough to know that I wanted to be a grown-up woman. In 1965.
At least one of those grown-up women in the movies. Or to have a hit record.
In case you missed it in yesterday’s quotes out of context, I can’t stop listening.
Well, Fuck me… your still as stupid as before.
I had to look some of these up.
don’t turn aside take a look even if no hablas español (not even dumbass texan spanish).
¡Las Reinas Chulas reglan!
Dozens of plastic foam heads rain onto the stage. Four drug traffickers in fringed jackets and sparkly pink cowboy hats bat them into the audience with toy AK-47s. All the while, the cast croons, “Let them slit our throats, let them pack us up . . . let them not ask any questions, let them not investigate.”
This is cabaret, Mexico style. Las Reinas Chulas, or the Beautiful Queens, parody drug violence in a show the women first produced in 2005 and that still fills nightclubs around Mexico, including a performance in the tourist town of Taxco this weekend.
That such brutal language as “You cock-sucking son of a bitch!” “You prick-eating bastard!” “You cunt-lapping dog!” “Kiss my ass, you son of a bitch!” “A dog must have fucked your mother when she made you!” “I fucked your mother, you sister, your wife!” “I’ll make you suck my ass!” “You cock-sucker!” and many other revolting terms are used by a limited number of players to intimidate umpires and opposing players, and are promiscuously used upon the ball field, is vouched for by the almost unanimous assertion of those invited to speak, and who are competent to speak from personal knowledge. Whether it be the language quoted above, or some other indecent and infamous invention of depravity, the League is pledged to remove it from the ball field, whether it necessitates the removal of the offender for a day or for all time. Any indecent or obscene word, sentence, or expression, unfit for print or the human ear, whether mentioned in these instructions or not, is contemplated under the law and within its intent and meaning, and will be dealt with without fear or favor when the fact is established by conclusive proof.
This may or may not be an actual memo sent to Major League Baseball players in 1898 as part of a campaign to eradicate foul language from the game, but who gives a fuck, you worthless ball licker?
(via the browser)
…you might become a believer. So certainly NSFW.
Fuck it I’ve heard enough, I’m going to make some killer android app that listens to every word you hear and uses Google’s voice recognition shit and some semantic networks and logistic regression crap and fucking starts chirping at you whenever it detects someone is hitting on you, make it look like an incoming call from captain obvious or something. It make take a while to accumulate enough training data to detect every subtle hint but it should pick this one up pretty easily. #
Throughout the lecture, the women gave lap dances to Rappaport and willing students – who had each paid $150 to attend the class on “the application of Platonic and Hegelian ethics to business,” the paper reported.
So I think it’s really cool that I am connecting with other chicks who scorn chick flicks. Chicks into “explosions and naked people.” And chicks into Robert Aldrich and Lee Marvin and Ernest Borgnine and Keith Carradine. And hobo flicks.
He, “Tighter Vagina.”
She, “Dick Thicker.”
Specifically, he’s been tweeting gorgeous photos from this collection all afternoon.