Ultramundane.com -- It's Just Not Natural.

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United States, California, San Francisco, The Mission, English, Spanish, Casey, Male, 31-35.

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Thursday, March 21, 2002

Stuff!

I swear, I'm not a computer size queen, but I think I want one.

(Then again, maybe I'm just predisposed to that sort of conspicuous consumption because of consumer trends in my neighborhood. If my zip code is to believed, I'm probably a Young Literati or a Bohemian Mix. I feel so dirty now.)

(Links via Chris and Kris.)

01:44 AM PST (link)

Tuesday, March 19, 2002

Never Break A Leg In Milano.

Just finished up an exquisite corpse and found this exquisite corpse. Why bother making your corpses out of plastic (or into plastic) when you could use bread? I love their descriptions of the process of casting a female nude in plaster and then bread:

"Everybody in the village was highly interested
about what we were doing
particularly the casting of the torso."

(Link inspired by a post by Jonno.)

01:38 AM PST (link)

Ground History.

Still sick, but I figure I might as well make this time as productive as I can while feeling this miserable. So I'm now onto the annual chore of filing all the paperwork from 2001 into the tin box (and auxillary shoe box) where it will spend the next seven years. Maybe it's overkill—the IRS only requires four years of records—but the papers just fit in the box; why disturb them?

The fun part is watching 1995 disintegrate before my eyes. I put on an appropriate soundtrack, cup of Theraflu at my side, and start the shredder.

There go all my pay stubs from Pasqua, the coffee chain I worked for that has since been acquired. There goes a check to City Clinic; a man I was seeing gave me a humongous bouquet of exotic flowers, and told me in the same breath that he might have given me Chlamydia. There goes the Back Door BBS and Five Star BBS, where I started out playing around online. There go rent checks at approximately half of what I pay now. A lot of ATM receipts. Those aren't so interesting.

Note: Operating the shredder while it isn't attached to the bucket is only potentially dangerous, but is assuredly messy. I think the antihistamine has kicked in.

There's the phone number of the woman who lived under our stairs for a while. The receipt for my black mesh shirt. A lot of receipts from Tower Records. All into my increasingly decrepit shredder. A check to Good Vibrations from when I talked a roommate into buying herself a toy. Yet more receipts from Tower Records. I assume there's more Tower receipts than grocery receipts because I usually paid cash for food. Right? Right. Into the shredder.

On the upside, I could probably keep your hampster happy for weeks with all this stuff. Call me if you need any.

01:38 AM PST (link)

Monday, March 18, 2002

Mocos? They're fresh...

"Oi! What about me? I'm sick too, ya know..."

Please pardon me while I go lie down and die. But at least I wrote a diary entry yesterday in my delerium.

12:25 AM PST (link)