Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Chain Letter

Late in the morning one weekday in June, on a well traversed street in the city a payphone rings, and I know it is a call for me.

At first I don't answer it. But with each ring it becomes clearer in my mind that this call is not only for me, but that it's the 100% most important call that has ever been made to me. Still, I let it ring.

It happens to everyone. You could be taking your clothes to the laundromat, descending into the subway after work, even taking a different route home to avoid seeing someone you don't want to see, and something will happen. It could be anything. You step in dog poop, or you drop your scarf into the gutter. You find five dollars on the ground, or fifty. You see that person or place that you thought was gone and you'd never see again. Or the phone rings... And you know it was 100% supposed to happen to you. You KNOW it.

But phone calls are a little different than pigeons pooping on you, or running into a long-lost acquaintance at the grocery store. With phone calls, even when you know the call was 100% for you, it's different because you have a choice. Do you accept this call from fate... or do you reject it?

I decided after about the eighth ring, knowing the whole time that the call is 100% for me, to answer it. I told myself I would be stupid not to. When I answered, I heard a woman's voice. She said 'Stay where you are, I've got something for you,' and hung up. Naturally, I was a little spooked, but I knew the call was 100% for me. So I stayed.

After a few minutes I saw a woman, maybe ten or fifteen years my senior, walking intently towards me and I knew it was her who had called. 'Here,' she said, and handed me a white paper bag with white twine arch handles. She left back the way she had come.

Before looking in the bag my mind started to wander. I began to question if this wasn't some kind of advertising scam, or if I didn't accidentally fall into a drug smuggling ring. But I reminded myself, the call was 100% for me. So too, then, the bag and whatever it contains is 100% for me as well.

So I sat down on a bench nearby and opened the bag. Inside was a sheet of printer paper completely filled with words. Here's what it said:

Here today you have received a gift. It is not a gift
you can return. It may seem insignificant, but it
has the power to shape your life from this day on,
if you let it.

There are an infinite number
of reasons why things happen and an infinite number
of reasons for those reasons. This sense of infinity
goes backwards and forwards. Reasons both beget
reasons and are begotten by reasons. It can be enticing,
and often illuminating, to follow chains of reasons. There is
much to be gained from this. But there is also much, no,
all, to be lost as well.

Maybe you believe what you have received here was
truly meant for you. Or maybe you simply stumbled
upon it and decided to look inside. If you believe this
was meant for you, then it was. And if you believe
it was chance which brought it to you, then it was
chance and nothing more.

And now you have an opportunity in the form of
a choice. If you received this randomly, put it down
and walk away. Leave this in the bag for someone
else to come across it by chance. But if you were
meant to receive it, and you certainly know if
you were, then call on fate to guide this onward.
Dial the number of the payphone and fate will
compel the next person who is 100% supposed
to receive this to answer. Become an agent of fate,
acknowledge and validate the existence of fate and
pass this on as it was passed on to you.

I knew what I had to do. I knew my life had meaning and this would only help validate it further. I got the number of that payphone and I called it from my cell. But no one answered.

I tried again... nothing. Again and again I redialed the number but no voice ever came on the other end. Day after day, week after week I held onto the gift, calling constantly, but all I ever got was empty ringing. In order to prove that I wasn't a fool, that this, that I, existed for a reason, I NEEDED someone to answer that phone. But still, no one did. Had fate abandoned me? Was I a fool to believe it ever existed? Was that original call really 100% for me, as I had truly felt it to be on that day? Without a voice on the other end of the line I just didn't know.

For months I kept calling that phone. Even when I knew I wouldn't be able to get there in any realistic amount of time to expect a person to wait. But I got nothing.

Finally, one day, after a half a ring, I heard a voice. I was thrilled at first, until I realized what was being said. '... this number has been disconnected. We're sorry, this number has been disconnected. We're sorry...' My heart started pounding. In the back of my mind I was worried something like this might happen. Quickly I rushed to the site of the phone only to see it had been dismantled and completely removed. It was 100% gone.

There was a sizable hole where the payphone had been. I put the bag into that hole and started to fill it with dirt. When the bag was gone, I took a deep breath and tried to move on with my life.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Off the Deep End in Shallow Water

"Wow, she really does have a big ass." Its unblemished whiteness bouncing up and down on top of what appeared to be a pair of disembodied male legs and genitals filled most of his computer screen. Alan thought about how the video's description; 'white teen with pigtails gets her round ass fucked,' had been quite an apt description. He wondered to himself whether he would have been able to write such satisfyingly apt descriptions for Ebay-sold products at the job he was offered and subsequently declined last spring.

Alan got up and pressed the button to shut off the laptop. He made his way into his bedroom, found the notebook he hadn't written in in months and went upstairs. Outside, he found the hookah right where he had left it. As he picked up the coal with the tongs, part of it broke off and fell onto the big toe of his right foot. "Well, it still hurts way less than my ingrown toenail on my other big toe." Replacing the coal on the foil he sat down. "I'll give this description thing a shot, but instead of products," he thought, "It'll be about my morning."

When I woke up, I still had the aftertaste of the previous night's extended dream sequence embedded in my mind and body. I felt like I had to come, but decided not to, and went upstairs. "There's coffee if you want it," Sean told me. After a cursory walk around the cavernous living/dining room I poured what remained of the contents of the french press into a green mug. After I initially brought the mug to my mouth Sean instructed me to put it in the microwave. "Nuke it," he said ironically, an obvious parody of those domesticated sons-of-bitches who use pet names for appliances and actions in the household.

With my drink sufficiently heated, I stared at it for a few moments ultimately deciding to add milk. I thought of my mother as I poured the coolant into the hot beverage. She always had milk with her coffee, yet for some reason I chose to emulate my middle school trumpet teacher who drank his black. It was only recently that I began putting creamer, and sometimes even sugar into my brew, a direct reaction to the continuously decreasing level of coffee quality at work. The creamer, of course was being used to improve the taste of the drink as opposed to the milk, which was being used to lower the mean liquid temp. Ultimately, however, I concluded that both the creamer and the milk were being utilized so as to make the drink more palatable; improving the speed and decreasing the difficulty with which I was able to ingest liquid drug caffeine.

All this thought given over to liquid stirred something in his bladder. Alan went to the bathroom to relieve himself. Upon entering, he realized he had forgotten to flush from the previous time he had urinated (right before his shower). He felt slightly good about himself for forgetting to flush, since he was saving water and in effect acting 'greenly'. After he finished, he returned to his seat on the deck and picked his notebook back up.

I took a sip of my coffee and sat down at the octagonal table in the living room.
"Do you want to smoke," I heard Don ask me.
"I have to take a dump."
"I have to take a piss"
"I'll go downstairs."

In the bathroom I was reminded of something Bill Mahr had said on the newest broadcast of his political talk show from the night before. It was something about America as a collective country being addicted to drugs. He used Michael Jackson's death as a comment on the fact that it is often the 'legal' drugs which are causing the most damage. However, as he went on to list some of our specific nationwide drug issues, potheads were described with almost the same level of derision as ten-year-olds on Prozac. While I felt a strange twinge of guilt as a result of these comments, I knew, as I had already concluded, perhaps subconsciously, that I would smoke the bowl of middies Don was undoubtedly packing upstairs. "Had I even agreed to smoke?" I wondered that as I flushed. I knew it didn't matter. Of course I would smoke.

I grabbed my laptop from my room and headed upstairs. After perusing the messages from insomniacs who, since I had forgotten to turn off gchat, had seen I was online at 5am and tried to contact me, I clicked a link for General Bullshit on forums.somethingawful.com. After a cursory glance at the list of threads, I clicked on a newer one entitled 'Black People Have Highest Obesity Rate.' The original post began with "July 16 (Bloomberg) -- Blacks were 51 percent more likely and Hispanics were 21 percent more likely to be obese than whites," which did in fact back up the thread title. It went on to explain how the government study came to those conclusions and what they signify to the writers at Bloomberg. The initial responses turned me of with their juvenile racism, however half-way down the first of seven pages I found a comment that reinforced why I read the forums in the first place. "Check out this response," I called to Don. "Have there ever been any other instances in history where the poorer classes suffered from over-nourishment?" We both got a good laugh out of this partly because of its ridiculousness, and partly because of its truth.

I clicked on a thread I had been eyeing for several days. 'My senator told me never to write him again.' I could tell this was a much better thread than the one I had clicked on previously. Unlike that first thread, which simply linked an article and called for discussion, this one offered a personal story complete with digital images of both the author's original letter and its response.

The author had attended a hearing for a Filipino woman who had been living with her American partner for 23 years and who was now up for deportation due to her illegal status. The defense attorney was explaining the woman's situation, why she deserved to be allowed to stay and work on getting her green card. Both the Filipino woman and her US-born child were seen to be shaken up as the attorney explained the woman's legitimate fear of returning to the Philippines where a man who had brutalized her and murdered her mother and sister, (an obvious cause for her originally fleeing the country), was recently freed from jail. As the situation was being explained, the young child had begun to cry. In response to this, the Senator in question stated "Okay, enough with the histrionics." The author of the thread described the Senator in question as being of the type who believes that illegal aliens up for deportation only cry as a way of garnering support for their cause. Here we get to the meat of the post. The author sent a letter to the Senator expressing his disappointment in his representative politician both holding such a sentiment and being willing to express it in the halls of the judiciary system. Below the letter was attached the Senator's response letter claiming he never said such a thing and ordering the author never to contact him again.

As I finished reading, I Googled the Senator's name, Jeff Sessions, as it sounded familiar. I quickly realized that he was, unsurprisingly, one of the same Republican politicians who had been hounding Supreme Court Nominee Sotomayor for supposedly being a reverse racist. I had seen him on the news repeatedly asking her about her temperament, obviously unconvinced as to whether or not she might be the type of non-white female who might utilize 'histrionics' to garner support, or worse, might fall pray to those same 'histrionics' from others while on the bench. These thoughts reverberated in my mind as Don finished packing the bowl. I thought about trying to explain the story to him, as he is someone who would undoubtedly be interested in hearing it, but decided against it, figuring I could just show him the link later, now it was time to numb myself with weed.

While smoking, Don brought out today's Washington Post and alerted me to an image of Presidents Obama and Sarkozy seeming to stare at a woman's big white ass as she walked by. The article featured several responses from 'ordinary readers' including one which Don expressly pointed out for me to read. This response was from a woman who was calling for such images not to be brought to the public's attention as they serve only to debase both those in the picture and those who see it. It's funny," I said to Don, "the image and it's comment seem to negate each other. It's as if in their desire to be objective, the Washington Post becomes both the object of criticism and the criticism itself." Feeling good about my observation, I took a big puff of marijuana.

After Don left for Baltimore, I thought about the stories I had consumed recently and the media sources they had come from. I decided that print, Internet and television media should be able to co-exist. They all have their positives and negatives. My mind started to move towards something about how the future of media involves all players putting themselves on the line, everyone expressing their own point of view rather than the super-scripted heavily partisan yet masked as nonpartisan media of yore.

As he mulled these incomplete thought fragments in his mind, Alan heard his phone beep. He got up to check the text message he had received.

From: Harry
Unflushed shit in the toilet at empire chin buffet looked like a football and guess what no tp
July 18 3:54pm

To: Harry
You should have taken a pic. At least the perp is saving trees by not using tp.

After pressing send, Alan closed the phone and sat back down.

I was having trouble coming to any definite opinion on the subject and decided to take a shower and eat lunch. I thought about masturbating in the shower but decided against it. Something about that whole do onto others bit stuck out in my mind. For lunch I had a banana, a mug of highly caffeinated green tea and a bowl of soup. The soup had been purchased by one of my roommates, I only felt slightly guilty about it since I was pretty sure he was the one who ate most of my granola earlier in the week. Even if I knew for a fact that he was the one who ate it, I still would have felt guilty, seeing as how I was really confusing 'do onto others' with 'eye for an eye,' one of which I agree with, and the other I'm not so sure about.

When I had finished eating, I went outside and began reading the aptly-titled 'After the Banquet' by Yukio Mishima. After working on 'Infinite Jest' for the past few weeks, I decided I wanted something that I hoped would be a bit lighter. Again it struck me that 'After the Banquet' was a strangely apt title. Its sub-250 page large-font text seemed like an afternoon snack compared to the infinite feast that is 'Infinite Jest'. After setting up the hookah, I read about 30 pages of Mishima before deciding that the combination of low-grade marijuana, shisha and caffeine was having a bit of an uncomfortable effect on me. I thought about how nice it would be to have a girl appear, give me a blow job and then disappear, but I realized that was impossible. I couldn't fight it anymore. I went downstairs with my laptop, typed spankwire.com into my browser and clicked on a streaming video featuring a beautiful young girl with nothing less than a presidentially-sanctioned-and-approved big white ass to stare at.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Ambient Light

Did you know the light bulb was actually invented in the mid 1970s?

Here's some more great tattoos:

I haven't felt like blogging much recently. If you're actually reading this post a comment.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Another New Remix: The Honeydrips - (Lack of) Love Will Tear Us Apart (RMX)

Last night I made another new remix. I went out on a limb with this one. I think the original song is really good, but I could see how some people might perceive it to be too poppy or cheesy.
The mp3 audio quality turned out a little lower than usual this time. I'm not sure why. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I was up at 3am working on it last night. I still think it turned out okay though. Anyway, here it is in all its glory:

The Honeydrips - (Lack of) Love Will Tear Us Apart (RMX) from Bong Party on Vimeo.

Sunday, March 8, 2009

Ms. Broadway Remix

Hey all just wanted to bump my new remix of the Glass Candy cover of Ms. Broadway. You can find it on my MySpace. I'm going to put it on youtube as well since I still don't know how to do mp3 hosting. You can find the original Glass Candy version on the Italians Do it Better comp as well as their new odds and ends release Deep Gems.

YouTube really doesn't like me anymore. Here is the song on Vimeo:

Glass Candy - Miss Broadway (ELECTRO RMX) from Bong Party on Vimeo.

Saturday, March 7, 2009


My attention was recently brought to a very prolific youtube poster named Conrad. Conrad has released thousands of videos of himself smoking pipes in different outfits. This may sound stupid, but trust me, Conrad delivers. Here are a few:

As of right now he has 6,310 of these videos, and only one of them features him without a pipe.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009


Hey guys I just made a MySpace. Well, actually I had created the account a while ago but never got around to actually putting anything in it. Well now I have.

You can check it out here: BLUE BLACK THINGS (bong party was taken).

Please be my friend. And if you know how to adjust the layout so it isn't so damn plain please let me know.