hey, since I last came back from the dead, I've been periodically checking the blog stats and screwing my eyes up trying to make sense of them. It appears that in fact, this weird blog just surpassed 50k total page views, almost all of them in the last two years or so (when I wasn't even writing in it)

who ARE you people? (*hides bong*) I mean, I just wasn't expecting company. Give me a minute to put on pants

Alright guys, come on in (*kicks vibrator under the couch*). Want some ... juice from the Luxardo cherry jar? Emergen-C & water? (*runs frantically to laundry room and back*) need some zip ties that have been through the wash?

Cool cool, sit down. Make yourselves comfortable. 

Awkward pause.

Are you ... ironic blog readers? You know, like 20 year old models who wear Motörhead shirts or people who watch The Room a lot? What? Nevermind. I'm just glad you're here.

Lemme just peek in your backpack before you leave because I've been having a problem with folks walking out with my glass cat paperweights lately .. no, no worries, nothing personal. I don't mean you have to leave now. Or I mean you could just check it at the door. Cool.

Where do you all come from? 

No, this isn't group therapy. I mean, it could be. Yawwwwnnnn so tired. From work.

Ha ha, no, not a narcoleptics anonymous meeting either. Good one.

Wanna watch something? I rented this documentary about people who collect Tiffany memorabilia

oh, sorry you have to go but you know, listen. Next time you don't have to stop by, you can just read what I post and haha, yeah, we don't need to talk about it or anything. I know you're busy. You can, you know. Just put it aside or whatever, bookmark it and read it when you're super bored and really have nothing to do .. yeah, I'll just leave it here. Alright.

I'll just walk you out cause .. yeah, don't let the cats out. You got it. Thanks

I'm gonna lock this door behind you so you don't pull a Kramer on me haha



Zarvis bum oil redux

I don't like telling anyone what to do .. I mean thanks for being here willingly and reading this weird stuff I write so that it lands in a brain and doesn't just float into the cloud and dissipate like the majority of our ideas, energy, and time; but listen: I would really like you to read the original Zarvis bum oil post (< link) before you go any further. Go ahead – we'll reconvene here in a minute.

Ok, is your mind blown? Put it back together and prepare for it to be blown again.

Last February (2020 BC, "before covid") my last huzzah with the outside world was a trip to London and Paris. You can probably guess where I'm going with this: I paid the Zarvis London storefront a visit .. wait though, BY ACCIDENT. I STUMBLED ACROSS IT.

After laughing like a crazy person and snapping a couple of photos, I excitedly tried to chat up the gal running the store, ready to be embraced (maybe given the deed to my castle in Scotland, an inscribed tin of bum oil, or whatever – at least some fucking tea) and instead she completely went apeshit bananas on me for photographing the Zarvis sign. I explained the situation. I showed her my ID!!! But she wanted nothing to do with me and insisted I was violating her trademark by photographing a sign with my name on it! Come on lady. You can't trademark my name!! I kept trying to reason and she just kept yelling at me to delete my phone photos. No way, psycho. The last she saw of me I was holding my license up to the window desperately, like a fish drowning in oxygen, like Charlie in Lost


It was a total barf-o-rama.

Check this out. Even Mom was mad!!

^ this is Mom mad. She's very nice about it.

That's it, London woman. You're out of my will. You want that dirty hippo mug? Tough crap, jerk. Also, the store was empty. shrug shrug. 



subscribers? this post is for you. It's boring ... but it has a photo of Hoxton Street Monster Supply



so unfortunately this is happening

oh, that's very small. It says EMAIL SUBSCRIPTION SERVICE WILL BE DISCONTINUED JULY 2021. If you're getting emails when I post, you won't be getting them anymore, effective anytime now.

there's a way to download your subscriber list but blogger doesn't adequately tell me where to find it (maybe I'll figure this out but I haven't yet) and I really like just having a widget that does all this for me. I'm no tech wiz. I sometimes think I have brains, but I can't remember anything, can't ever figure out tech issues, have no sense of direction, don't know how to hook up anyone's tv and can't make any sense of human beings so what's the brain for? Maybe it holds my skull in place?

I did promise a photo of Hoxton Street Monster Supply. Here it is. Go pay it a visit if you're ever in London*

"Customers are politely requested to refrain from eating the staff"

 * hint about next post



career options for twitchy people

inaccurate typist

abstract pet groomer

slow florist


bartender for already sopped clientele

soft grocery item restocker


pinball wizard

tap dancer

stand up comic

comic artist that only draws wiggly people

chef who keeps an aloe plant nearby

hot dog salesman



grape stomper

sign spinner

“hand made. Every one’s unique!” t-shirt printer

whatever it is that I do, apparently

speed metal drummer


drill sergeant

fish feeder

taco assembler



Bad Vibes Only

Alright, well ... as I look back on this weird blog of mine it’s easy to see these huge gaps in writing as a reflection of one of two things: I’m too busy; or life is really not funny. (the other stupid truth is that social media has killed my attention span and given me somewhere to yell when I have pent up opinions, and I now just throw them into that sieve. I suck)


But (American) life doesn’t look like it’s ever getting funny again (pandemic, climate change, endless gun violence and stupid politicians) so here I am. What should I talk about? Nothing dense. Remind me that I said that.


I thought about deleting my political posts from the blog, since they’re just a snapshot in time and I prefer to compartmentalize things that shoot steam out of my ears, but on second thought I think they are eerily prescient, and might be worth revisiting now and again. Every time I try to keep my writing / thoughts / self light, some anger seeps through, but it’s better not to be one of those people who just skates past all of life’s madness. If you’re not pissed, obviously you’re not paying attention. I have to scream it all out once in a while, get it out of my system. If you have a “good vibes only” sign in your apartment, I am not coming over (unless you have a ton of animals).


While stuck at home during the pandemic I started looking though a lot of my old junk (50% punk rock postcards, 40% weird art supplies, 10% actually meaningful memorabilia???), and now I’m on a weird mission to revisit myself when I was younger, and the only way I could think of to do this was watch everything I can find that I was an extra in. Gotta say it’s clear fate that I never overcame my stage fright and shit self esteem to become an actor – I look terrible on camera: I hold my head weird, never look anyone in the eyes, don’t know what to do with my arms etc. I guess people do what they were born to do. Hot people who don’t twitch become actors. People with steady hands who aren’t grossed out by blood do open heart surgery (again with the not twitching – what good career options are there for twitchy people? Needs research, obv. Someday I’ll write a post about it). Boring people go into finance.


What’s my point here?


I’m back. Blogging is cheaper than therapy. Imagine me shrugging, awkwardly.

(If you've stumbled here by accident, read this)

And yeah, we're all older, and the print is smaller, but I don't really remember how to use the blogger editing tools so grab a pair of cheaters and just shut up and read it.