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For those of you who know him, this’ll be funny: a snap of Eric Pelito in the NY Times. No, he’s not the focus of the story–in fact, he rarely is. But he always seems to be loitering convienently nearby….

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As a child, I thought the worst possible career anyone could have was that of garbageman.

Then I grew older and I attended a liberal arts college, where it became apparent that garbagemen are doing really honest work, and that the worst possible career anyone could have is actually that of accountant.

But now I know several accountants–in fact, my fraternity big brother turned out to be a very good one–and I kinda like them. So I was left without a career to demonize.

Until today.

Today I decided that the worst possible career anyone can have is that of Halloween costume model. Don’t believe me? Next time you go to Wal-Mart or the seasonal Halloween superstore, take a good look at that Rocky and Bullwinkle Natasha dress and matching wig. Look closely at the woman modeling the costume on front of the $40 package. Look deep into her eyes. See what I mean?

I’ll bet if you held it to your ear, you could almost hear her whining in a thick, fresh-off-the-plane-from-Tennessee accent: “I thought this was supposed to be an A&F ad, y’all. They said I’d be working with the Brewer twins. Isn’t that Bryce Webber guy supposed to be taking the pictures? Hell, y’all–now I ain’t never gonna be famous like mama promised….”

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Woo-hoooooo! Check the time stamp on this one, kids!

It’s not insomnia this time–I’ve actually got a load of stuff to do this morning. But the scary thing isn’t really the time of day; it’s that even though I went to sleep around midnight, I didn’t need an alarm clock to wake up at 5:30. It just happened. I guess it’s a genetic defect. I may not be responsible to a fault, but my body is.

Fuck Bubbles: I’m hardcore.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz………

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To all the exceptionally kind, concerned individuals who’ve written me in the past few days (and even those who haven’t):

Yes, I’m alright (said in the voice of that old woman at the end of “I Before E Except After C”). No, I’m not considering suicide.

I have, however, considered contracticide, adrepicide, and a general spree of idioticide (i.e. killing contractors, advertising reps, and idiots, respectively). I’ve also weighed the pros and cons of carrying out a city-wide water poisoning campaign specifically targeted at artists, including any graphic designer so completely consumed by the art/design of his work that he can’t even consider the practical concerns of printing and mailing the damn thing. Of course, such folks might be covered under idioticide.

Basically, work’s been hairier than usual these past couple of weeks, meaning my eyebags are a little more noticeable and my beard’s a bit greyer. And my computer at home is still modem-less ’cause I haven’t been able to get to CompUSA to score a new one yet (I hope to do so today). And to top it off, day before yesterday our server at work crashed big time; they estimate we’ll probably be down for another week while they replace it.

However, there are quite a few bright spots in my life….

1. We’re hiring a new person at work, and she’ll be taking loads of work off my shoulders. Whew.

2. Jonno and I are working with some friends to produce a kick-ass show this October It’s called Texas Chainsaw 90210, and it’ll be playing through the end of the month at the glamorously tragic Audubon Hotel. The premise is pretty simple: take the cast of Beverly Hills 90210 and set them smack-dab in the middle of Texas Chainsaw Massacre–lots of camp, blood, and gore (viscera, not the Vice President). Locals and Halloween queens, join us if you can. We’ll even supply you with garbage bags with which you can cover yourself, since things are gonna get messy….

3. The house, while not finished, is finally coming along at a reasonable pace. The plaster that needs to be replaced has been pulled down, and the sheetrocking process should begin late next week–as soon as we haul off the mounds and mounds of garbage that currently occupy most of the downstairs.

4. Most importantly, I have a loving and supportive boyfriend who’ll entertain even my strangest whim–including a sudden hunger for bacon and bivalves….

–xo Richard

P.S. Happy birthday Sparky, Dante, and Matthew. Sorry I can’t be there to hug and kiss each of you, but I’m sure there’s someone up there who’ll take on the extra responsibilities….

P.P.S. Don’t look at the time stamp on this post. It’s far too scary.

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My modem’s not the only thing I’m whining about today…

Ten Random Kicks in the Rubber Parts

10. I’m hopped up on caffieine, ready to go, but my boyfriend’s probably in bed for another six hours.

9. Anna Kournikova: can she even play tennis?

8. Anne Carlisle never amounted to much.

7. Kim Deal sold out. Watch a certain car commercial and you’ll know what I’m talking about.

6. Needy artists. Wait, that’s redundant….

5. I haven’t been on a vacation in over a year.

4. There’s no “graphic sex” option on The Sims.

3. Will Survivor just die? Please?

2. The seventh Spice Girl of the Apocalypse, Neve Campbell.

1. The term “club anthem.”

On the other hand…

Ten Reasons for Living on Sunday, September 10, 2000

10. This coffee’s fucking good, Mary!

9. Venus Williams and her family: an island of fierceness in the pale, pasty Meadowlands.

8. Liquid Sky has finally been released on DVD.

7. Haysi Fantayzee remains unexploited and fabulous.

6. Yoko Ono slouches closer toward death every day.

5. I’m going to two conventions in the coming months: Atlanta and New York. And I’m racking up vacation days for that trip to Istanbul with which I’ve been planning to surprise my boyfriend…. Surprise, boyfriend!

4. My severely short attention span has resulted in my gradual disinterest in video games (at least the ones I currently own).

3. One of the guys on Big Brother is a total hottie. A “hey-bro,” but a hottie nonetheless….

2. The sixth Spice Girl of the Apocalypse, Billy Corgan, finally seems to have shut up.

1. New music rocks!

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Crap.

I think my modem’s fried.

I’m not surprised, given the inordinate number of electrical storms we’ve been having lately–seriously, it’s been like Cookie Monster at the Count’s castle for the past week.

And I guess it’s about time I replaced it. The poor things been kicking for at least two years, and it’s taken one hell of a beating. (It’s an external; I like to watch the lights.)

But still. Crap.

P.S. Today’s English-is-orthographically-odd moment: when typing the word “lightning” above, it suddenly looked so strange to me, I had to look it up. It’s fine now, but five seconds ago it was all jabberwocky and shit.

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Well, thanks, Toby. You burst my bubble:

SuperGreg is nothing more than a publicity stunt by Lee jeans. They pushed

the site out about 4 months ago (email lists, search engine queeries), and

then they ran a commercial with SuperGreg on it racing Buddy Lee. You’ve

been had.

Indeed I have. (Take that any way you like.)