and don't forget her uncle, uncle thomas payne.

he was a man of great common sense. but, alas, i am not, or i wouldn't be sitting in a library typing this after a 10 hour day.

the women of jet aren't bad, but you ought to see the ladies in helicopter. they are plane out of sight.

just realized that it is jordin sparks, not jordan sparks. thought you should know. sadly, that change in spelling will not improve the music.

next topic on american idol? great themes from the world of pornography, featuring such classics as "love for sale," "i've got you under my skin," "too close," and "i want to get freaky with you." guest appearances by r. kelly and michael jackson, who will perform "beat it" and then beat it live before a studio audience.

randy will say "yo, listen dog, you are a dog! once again, you have shown you are the king of pop, now pop that sucker back into your pants. i liked it dude, but i thought that last scream was a little pitchy. you didn't need that. just end it with class, you know? plus, i thought it dragged a little toward the middle. you could have had a little more energy, but i liked it man, i liked it. good job."

paula: "michael, first of all you look great, just like a ghost, dog, like a dead man. michael jack off, you are the king. james only wishes he had a brown thing like yours. you are a star. this will go down as the show where you really bared your soul to america, and showed what you are about. and you can hear the girls, they love you, because it came from your heart. keep stroking from your heart, stay pure. beautiful job."

simon : "i must say, i thought it was a small performance. i am not in paradise right now. michael, you are a stranger to me. each week, you come up with something different. you just don't have enough juice for me. that, in short, was pure dread, and i can not critique it enough. it was like dancing with the devil in church while the pastor leads the congregation in a version of amazing grace. it was as if one were reading war and peace in german while going through a heroin withdrawal. in bobby short, it was akin to being raped by a gang of wolves while neil sedaka plays in the background. you must do better, or you will be off this show for good."

and so, it has come to this; an idle american blogging about american idol. and the sparks have not flown. i am merely aiken for attention as i stand before you on feet of clay and contemplate a jump into the hudson river. in the end, i will likely dolittle to change my situation, but i refuse to locke up my imagination. hence, fantasia's persist, as i rue through the bin that is my mind, and carrie on amongst the hicks who will never be taylor made for my sanity.

yo, listen up dogg,

i'm done.

i'm coming on a jet magazine, while ebony and ivory plays in the background

it's a stevie wonder i haven't been arrested on a morals charge. as i sit blogging, a man sits next to me wearing a clash t-shirt, and i think to myself...what the fuck am i doing here? are the bad puns really worth 1/16th of my waking existence? and are they james worthy of your time. you could be listening to the drifters sing this magic johnson moment, or you could shoot a jay with some americans at the park. anything but this.

we really are fucked, aren't we?

thanks to dancing with the stars, the revolution will be delayed for at least another year. i heard the average guy in the army (i get my facts from the simpsons, but this sounds about right) makes about 14,000 a year. hey, that's less than me! i feel better already.

where have the male vocalists gone? when your favorite singer since 1970 is alvie singer, you know things are messed up.

started orwell's "down and out with paris hilton and jack london." good so far, although i thought it was wrong of him when he said "hit the road, jack london, and don't you come back no more." at that, jack got down, and went to the hilton in paris, where he listened to jazz with rebecca.

we are trapped in mental prisons of our own production. age, race, gender, class, sexual orientation, nationality. we can't escape these artificial constructs. they are now the only real things in our lives.

we don't need to be raped.

we are too busy fucking ourselves.

we are trapped. the henry louis gates will not open. someone told me to go cornel west, but that won't help either. you can try to keep that tavis smiley on your baby face and that bebe shirt on your chest, but nothing can protect you, for a charlie rose by any other name is still a rose. i am not trying to be stern, i only want to tell you the truth, williams.

each day seems to decrease in value.

i wan once excited by it all.

now, i settle for tolerable.

ah, the wonder of maturity.

i feel your freda payne

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on things that used to be there

got on the train today, and saw a girl i went to high school with. she graduated a year before me. she wasn't a great looker, but she had enormous breasts. today, she is still not a great looker, and she no longer has enormous breasts. it's like it wasn't really her. strange. i know they can put a strain on the back, and of course, she has every right to alter her body in any manner she desires. but, i couldn't help but feel a vague sense of loss.

there is another girl. this one i remember from college. her thing was she had a huge ass, sort of an r. crumb comic book ass. needless to say, she no longer has it. in fact, the ass seems to shrink a bit each time i see her. now, while i am aware of the medical reasons for a breast reduction, the ass reduction is not known for its medicinal purposes. perhaps the attention to her ass was a pain in the ass, and she was tired of her ass being the butt of many a joke. well, i suppose all of that is behind her now, but only for those who didn't know her the other way. for those who knew her before, it's almost funnier this way. in any case, this decision also filled me with a mild regret.

where do i go from here? the job still sucks. sadly, the one thing i would like to see reduced is the one thing i will have to keep on doing. while they may not be murdering my years, they are certainly wounding them. and the thousands of stolen hours will never be returned. ah, to be ira gitler.

where have all the asses gone, long time passing. steve nash has been a long time passing, while for the lucky old suns strolling down the frankie laine, it's been a long time coming. well, i don't want to blazing saddle you with guilt, for you may peggy sue for mel practice. in that case, i would brooks no anger toward you and i would pray for missile toe and buddy holly, but you would drop the bomb on me and say that i have no sole, and while i could tell you to walk a mile with gene shue, this would not solve the problem.

we are coming to the rear end of this blog, and i know that you would like to see me reduce my entries in the future. well, all i can say is get thee behind me, satan doll, for every time it rains, it rains pennies from heaven. and while i don't want to fight you, i will duke ellington it out with you if i must.

for now fats, read my off the waller remarks, and learn.

on shit

completely forgot about the parent open house from my gig this saturday. i think it was my buried true self, blasting my body with the feeling that "it's all bullshit." of course, there were parents waiting to talk to me. what is there to say? i feel like saying "get your fuckin kids out of this program. let them enjoy the wonder of leisure. if you want to, talk to them, go out there and throw it and catch it with them. let them be themselves. realize before it is too late that school is just another form of senseless structure." none of this came out. instead, i repeated the tired lies.

n told me he would like to "rock my world" today in school. later, out of the corner of my eye, i saw him dancing in my direction, shaking his hips in a shakira like manner. later still, he pounded his fists against the desk and shouted that "he was fucking moving!" at this point, i suggested that he go speak to a social worker. i, of course, will not be able to verbally harrass anyone anytime soon. ah, the injustice of it all.

later still in the day i learned that a student tried to commit suicide today. perhaps it was a racist who just found out that the lead singer for hootie and the blowfish is black. the surprise to me is that more people don't try to kill themselves. out of uniform, that is.

five years and counting on the war in iraq. i repeat that the american soldier is not a hero but rather, a misguided fool, a criminal, a murderer. fuck him. alot of them feel bad? well, no one forced them to sign up either. unlike the average german, they had a choice. of course, the big criminals are the corporate fucks and the politicians, but all who have contributed to this conquest deserve blame. it is nothing less than a crime committed against innocents by the most powerful society on the face of the earth. think about that the next time someone belts out a 10 minute version of the star spangled banner, bruce, and you are debating whether you should stand or not.

it is coming. that feeling of dread, that sense of detachment. you can't deny it, you can't fight it. it is what it is. it envelops you, owns you. yes, it is that feeling that we are swimming, no drowning, in a sea of bullshit. and yet, we are too busy paying the gas bill to change our direction. and this one gets free weekend minutes, and this one emails on the train and that one takes a trip to the west indies. all the while, the bullshit piles up thousands of feet into the air, and we hold our noses, grit our teeth, try to catch our breath and we pretend that this is how it should be. the dumber among us think it smells good. they don't even notice anything is wrong. they debate who should win american idol and bitch about oil prices and plan yet another vacation and go to the mall and eat at tgif's. the ignorant, and the indifferent, the cynical and the defeated, all march together, an army of accomplices, alienated assholes. and we reap the results. bad culture, worse wars, poisoned food, contaminated water, poverty, music fit for the mentally depraved and deprived.

hope was the thing with feathers.

and it flew away a long time ago.

they call it good friday,

but easter is just as bad. you know, life is no judy holiday. judy judy judy said dean martin. i got the day off for good friday. i know jesus did something on this day, but i can't remember what. jesus died so that we could live. if he knew what we would make of the planet, he may have charted another course. of course he planned each charted course, like sinatra, but unlike sinatra, he had no nelson riddle to back him up. never mind the lp. yes, there was nothing back then. and we are back to it. we have taken up residence deep in the toilet known as america. just remember that a flush is a good hand, as long as you don't play the race card. i'm tellin you straight that gaye could sing. he could james taylor his version of how sweet it is so that even jackie would have to gleason. sally would have a fields day listening to his voice, which was the voice of reason. freud wanted her to have children, but i convinced her they would be too jung. then i left her malone and hung out with carl. we went out to eat, and moses picked up the tablets. it came to 74:75. he became angry at the ray price, and reminded the cashier that "thou shalt not steal" we did our part to remind him that the year was 2008, and that we all had gotten used to being fucked on a chuck daly basis.

and the whispers began...

the rape goes on.

back in the blazing saddle again

i'm back. been sick. it's funny, but when your head is hot and your feet are cold, blogging just doesn't have the same meaning.

remember "white hunter, black heart?" what the fuck does that mean?

work really seems stupid. the only thing dumber is looking for another job. work is the four letter word that none of us should ever say. or do.

sonny criss had a beautiful tone. and don't forget his great line..."the only thing real in america is ugliness." that, and his version of black coffee. tris speaking of which, this may be out of this world (good evening) but i remember that pinko liked his coffee black. when he told a waitress at a diner in southie that he liked his coffee black, she reminded him "that slavery happened a long time ago."

it's always about race in this country. don't let them tell you different.

you won't die, but dye your hair green, grant, if you muste, aj. aj, you muste remember this, kiss was a great rock group, that you can't deny, no matter what the future brings, as time goes by.

beatles on idol again. worse than before. someone actually sang back in the ussr. back in the ussr? fuck you, beatles. i believe your shit doesn't fly.

my only wish is that r kelly will test that theory about being able to fly. i would go to his grave just to make sure it turns out right.

i believe i can fly? you know what i say? i believe i can shit. if i stick to the right diet.

a humble blog, but i'm back.