RESURRECT DEAD ON PLANET JUPiTER

I had a friend (I’ll call him Luke) who was circumcised at age 17. Why he did it, I have no idea. I think his mom scheduled the appointment for him and he didn’t really think about it until the day of, and by then it was too late. He resents his mother to this day.

Whatever the reasons behind it, the fact remains that he had it done.

Getting circumcised later in life is no easy thing. Unlike a baby, the adult foreskin has had time to accustom itself to life and love. Like getting your tonsils removed, the longer you wait, the worse the procedure is. While he never showed it to me, there were stitches and drainage tubes involved. For a while, he called it “Frankenpenis.”

Under strict doctor’s orders Luke was instructed not to get an erection for 6 weeks. This was a 17-year-old boy. Even still, it was easier than it sounded. For all you men out there, imagine the physical manifestations of arousal stretching and tearing a set of stitches holding together a scab encrusted wound on your most sensitive of parts. For all you women, I don’t know… imagine secreting hydrochloric acid during the equivalent state.

Basically, arousal equaled excruciating pain. If the Catholic Church knew about this, the Pope would immediately require circumcision in all boys… at age 14. I don’t think the Vatican reads this site though.

But anyway – in closing – Luke had the rare privilege of living both with and without foreskin. He tried both versions out on a full range of popular penis-related activities and stated unequivocally that the natural, uncut form was far superior. I guess you just can’t mess with nature.

Since many of my friends and acquaintances are of childbearing age, I hope that this post is of service to you. Do you want your son to get the most out of his penis? Ask yourself that before making that tough decision. That’s all for now.

Every time I upgrade the memory of a computer at work, I’m left holding essentially useless RAM chips. For a while I just stuck them in a drawer… but one day in a flash of inspiration, I started clipping them to a bizarre multi-pronged, telescoping antennae thing that I found in the basement.

Last week, one last upgrade completed my creation. I call it my no hassle plant. After proudly propping it on the ledge of my open-air cube-like desk space, the compliments started rolling in. Everyone who passed by admired my plant. It got so much praise that I took some cell phone photos and decided to share it with the world. Unfortunately, the photos aren’t great, but you get the idea:

I’d like to take this opportunity to (not quite) shamelessly promote myself. First off, my place of employment, the Mur@l @rts Progr@m is holding a staff and instructor exhibition in their awkwardly named gallery: The Commonwe@lth Gallery in the Lincoln Financial Mur@l @rts Center at the Thom@s Eakins House (or CGLFMACTEH for short) With the expectation that 1 piece would be chosen for the 35 or so person show, staff and art instructors were invited to submit 3 pieces for consideration. In total there are 46 items in the show.

I made the cut and 2 photographs were chosen. I pained for a couple weeks trying to figure out which singular pieces I wanted to submit. Without the ability to put together a theme, how do you pick? In the end, what was chosen was a personal favorite of mine and a personal favorite of a friend. It’s not that I don’t like the second image, but its ascension to the wall was sort of improbable. Sort of like Michael Nutter’s mayoral run, it hung in there on the second or third tier, then somehow beat out everything else in the end. The 2 chosen photos are actually complementary. They’re both from Philly. They’re both street shots. They’re both flighty.

If you can’t make it in, here are the 2, 12×18 prints hanging from now through August 24th at the CGLFMACTEH.

In other news, check out my visual influence over at Swarthmore College’s Theater Department website. Their printed, promotional material is also heavy on my images. I’ve been working with Swarthmore for about a year and have started to build a nice catalog with them.

That’s all for now.

Last week talk at work turned to Steven Seagal. The conversation made me wonder what he’s been up to since “Under Siege,” so I hopped on over to StevenSegal.com for an update. It turns out he’s doing pretty well for himself. Did you know that he’s been in 4 movies this year?

He also has 2 CD’s, with classics like, My Time is Numbered, (?) Alligator Ass (Someone took me to a restaurant / and I had to eat something fast / I ordered me some chicken / They gave me alligator ass / Now you see why / I have a suspicious mind) and my personal favorite, Talk To My Ass (I went back home last night / I told my baby to get on up the road / Well she looked at me kinda surprised / Suddenly she not so cold / I told her I can’t no more sass / And from now on she can talk to my ass)

Aside from his film and music careers, he also teaches Martial Arts and is set to release his own line of energy drinks. But best of all are his philanthropic endeavors. Why? Because the philanthropy section of his website has this picture on it:

A little research revealed that the Panda shot is from a trip that Mr. Seagal took to Tibet. For a more complete and totally awesome slideshow of the trip, visit HimalayanExpeditions.com. I highly recommend that site.

I can’t get enough of these:

Since it’s too hot to think of anything interesting, I’ll post a list of raw data. Below is the ever-expanding list of 2008 Toynbee Tiles.

What the tiler may have lacked in quality, he more than made up for in quantity. The current list stands at 40, with most recent sightings on Girard, Allegheny and Passyunk Avenues. That means that neighborhoods in deep north, deep south and everything in-between here in Philly has been tiled.

Except for a couple thinner strips on Girard and the one on the north end of City Hall all the ‘08 tiles look like this:

Here’s the list:

Broad and Allegheny
Broad and JFK (north side of City Hall)
Broad and Market (east side of City Hall)
Broad and Passyunk
Broad and Vine
Front and Girard
Girard and Frankford
Girard and Franklin
Girard and Lethigow
Girard and Marlborough
Girard and Palmer
5th and Market
5th and Walnut
6th and Market (2 tiles)
6th and South (3 tiles)
9th and Girard
10th and Girard
11th and Girard
17th and Chestnut
18th and Rittenhouse
18th and Spruce
18th and Walnut
19th and Arch
19th and Ben Franklin Parkway
19th and Chestnut
19th and JFK (north side of Logan Circle)
19th and Vine
20th and Chestnut
20th and Sansom
31nd and Market
32st and Market
33rd and Chestnut
33rd and Market
36th and Chestnut
36th and Walnut
37th and Walnut
38th and Chestnut

The buzz around crack has been around since the mid-80’s, but missed opportunities and bad timing have kept me from reviewing this popular drug. I know that I’m late to the party, but I thought it was still worth a try.

Unlike its big brother cocaine, crack is an equal opportunity high: cheap, common and accessible. On most of my crack runs, I was able to purchase a couple of small rocks for anywhere from $5-15. Crack is easy to find in most major cities. A good rule of thumb is to look for raggedy, jittery men pushing shopping carts down the street a little too fast.

I bought my crack right on the street from a high school kid. I thought of smoking my “blue tops” in an abandoned house, but the gentleman out front told me that the cover was $8. And that $8 was just the door fee. Once you’re actually inside, house crack-whores engage you in high pressure sales tactics, pawing at you with bony hands and licking their lips like desperate crack addled drug addicts. Also dissuading me was the lack of basic amenities like electricity, plumbing, air conditioning and valet parking. Authentic experience aside, I decided to take my crack home.

Not eschewing authenticity entirely, I stole a car antennae/pipe from an old Toyota Corolla and decided to smoke my crack in the small alley behind my house. On first impression, I thought it was fucking awesome. What a rush! Like the fast food version of cocaine, crack hits you fast and hard.

Each step becomes determined. Everything is forward and everything has purpose. No one can stop you. Then like 15 minutes later that shit wears off and you’re looking around your house for shit you can sell. How much can I get for that air conditioner? That TV? The bedding on my mattress? And where can I find a shopping cart to haul this around in? Damn, my lips are dry.

As you soon learn, everything in crack culture is about earning crack money. In the end, I found crack culture unappealing. While the pursuit of crack gave purpose to my increasingly pathetic life, I was left unfulfilled. I missed my job and a steady paycheck. I missed not having intestinal parasites and foot rot. Most of all I missed not coughing up blood.

My stint with crack may have been short lived, but I understand its appeal. While it wasn’t for me, crack dovetails nicely with the lifestyle of many Americans. And while I haven’t smoked rock for more than a year, I’ll always have a soft spot in my heart for that harsh chemical taste and crazy bug eyed rush.

The following is an excerpt from my yet-to-be-finished Romance Novel: Atlantic City Sunrise. Actually… no. I was down the shore this weekend and picked up a romance novel from a free book table. It was really, really bad, but I thought it might be fun to write. Enjoy:

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Atlantic City Sunrise: selections from Chapter 62, pgs 111-112

“Where are you going?” Cherry pleaded.

“You know where.” Said Ricardo. “To be with your sister.” He said with a sinister smile.

“But why?” She cried. “What does Linetta have that I don’t?” Cherry asked seductively as she began untying her Wal Mart smock. One breast fell gracefully from the side of her partially unfurled employee apron. It hung in the air like a small bag of water, inviting Ricardo’s icy blue stare.

Using his hand as a comb, Ricardo rubbed Vaseline Cocoa Butter through the hair on his chest, but the sight of Cherry’s long and supple breast made him pause, if only for a moment. The coldness again overtook his tan, chiseled face. Placing the Vaseline on the motel nightstand, he picked up a bottle of Axe Body Spray with one hand and a pack of Kool cigarettes with the other.

“Because she knows how to treat a man.” Said Ricardo as he lit a Kool. Smoke curled through the 3-day stubble on his face.

In disgust and sorrow, Cherry let out a sob and spit her Dentene Ice in Ricardo’s face. “Go then!” She shouted unconvincingly.

The gum bounced off Ricardo’s forehead like a .22 caliber bullet bouncing off a tank. But Ricardo wasn’t a tank, he was a human being. The gum packed an emotional sting, piercing the wall that he built between himself and Cherry. Confused and angered by the sudden loss of control, he lashed out, flinging his bottle of Axe Body spray at Cherry’s now naked body.

Catching the Axe like a cat catching a fly, Cherry lay back, her artificially tanned body reflecting an orange light in the afternoon sun. Behind her, the sounds of ocean and of the Atlantic City boardwalk whispered through the room. Now with Ricardo’s full animal attention, she inserted the bottle of Axe into her turgid vagina.

Like a stallion, he was on her…

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OK, I have to stop writing this. It’s starting to disturb me. More tomorrow?

You read that right Philadelphia. Your beloved mayor is jihadist scum. Last Wednesday, I captured these images of Mayor Nutter doling out terrorist fist jabs at a public event. As a further insult, this was a Sunoco sponsored fun day commemorating our nation’s birth. Why is he corrupting our youth with this kind of behavior? I can only assume that his red shirt covered in “targets” is some kind of Blood gang symbol/uniform. I demand immediate impeachment.

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Go America! Have a great 4th of July.

Here we go again. It’s time for the June Search Awards. These 25 strings of text are the most bizarre search terms that led people to this site in last month. I hope nobody found what they were looking for…. Except for number 17.

25. riot threads duffle bag
24. sexual predator in strawberry mansion area
23. www.aghfanistan sex.com
22. vagina creempie eater
21. mastrubating kangaroo
20. claws ripping
19. air rifle target practice in bars of soap
18. cruising spots and berks county and blow job
17. urinals peep holes
16. diane keller nude
15. what does michael jackson look like
14. pussy birthing
13. hot rectum
12. demonic love
11. lude gestures
10. today i spent 2 hours caught in a fuckin’ traffic jam coming back from work as i sat in the fuckin’ snarl watchin’ the faces of other drivers who looked like they were ready to break stuff i realised that how every single fuckin’ thing
9. humourus garden statues drunken clown
8. doily meaning origin and the person behind and place where it originated
7. finger method for peeing
6. motel strap on
5. she takes a fever thermometer into my rectum
4. white vinegar and valium withdrawal
3. attacks while i am sleeping can’t move demon intercourse chills up spine
2. dovate on genitals
1. tits they’re fucking awesome

About a year ago I borrowed my ex-girlfriend’s car and went on vacation by myself. Actually I split the time half and half, first with a friend in Portland Maine and then alone in Acadia… sort of. My parents were in Acadia and I met up with them a couple times in my few days there, but other than that I was on vacation alone. Either way, saying I went on vacation alone sounds much more dramatic and serves the purpose of this story better.

But anyway, I wanted to be alone so I rented out 3 beds in the Bar Harbor Hostel. I had the whole room to myself. Some people love traveling by hostel, but fuck that. I enjoy the communal common space, but I can’t stand the dorm style sleeping arrangements. People stumble in and out at all hours. They’re loud. German couples start whining in German about stupid shit at 4:30 in the morning. Your bag is never safe. People smell bad and they snore.

I like having my own room where I can make my mess and not think about it. I like reading until I want to turn my light out. I like writing or going through photos or leaving my camera on my bed without worrying about it being there when I get out of the shower. I like going to bed and waking up on my own schedule.

Also it was in the center of town and 3 beds there were still cheaper than a Motel in Ellsworth.

But none of this is the point of the story. My inspiration for this post is a conversation I had with another traveler. Both of us were waiting to check in. The hostel wasn’t open yet and we met each other while waiting for the owner to get there. She was in her 40’s, reading a book alone on the front stoop.

We exchanged hellos and talked for a minute. I remember she said something about visiting Philadelphia once. I think she said she was from the northwest. She wore thin-rimmed glasses, khaki shorts and carried a well-worn backpack. She’d gotten to town on a bus. She seemed low on energy, like she was running on fumes. She wanted to talk to me, but her words took effort. She craved interaction but could hardly muster the energy it needed.

I asked how long she’d been traveling and she said “years.”

I asked what made her start. She told me that her job was killing her. It was too much work for too little appreciation. When she had a job, she worked in advertising. A relationship ended at the same time she came into a little bit of money. She’d been traveling ever since. I asked if she regretted her decision.

She brushed her hair away from her face and stared off into space. After a moment she said:

“I wish I’d taken a long vacation instead.”

She was in the hostel as long as I was. I didn’t talk to her again.