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PanteraRosa's Journal

Below are the 6 most recent journal entries.

 

 
  2004.06.29  10.39
Hazardous Waste

Back in the fucking office this morning, of course. Most of my work is done for the day. Stupid job. Waste of life. Just gotta make a stupid spreadsheet. But now I have something to look forward to in the day, because I'm taking this evening conservatory. Yes, and now I'll tell you about it.

It goes from 6 PM to 11 PM, and there are two classes a day. Yesterday we had movement and Shakespeare. It was nice. In movement we learned about the 7 Chakras of the body, which are like energy centers with different purposes. In Shakespeare we learned a lot of technique dealing with language. And we got homework for both classes. Today we have clowning and improvisation; it'll be awesome. The other students are really diverse in background and experience. But not diverse enough. I came out wishing they were all a lot better than me so I could learn from them, but unfortunately this is not the case.

The filming of that little independent movie finished up on Saturday. I took Friday off, after leaving a message on my supervisor's voicemail saying that I had food poisoning, because that was the first day of filming. It went pretty well. I met this incredibly beautiful girl. She's genuinely beautiful and has the best hair ever. Amazing creature.

Things really change when you have something to look forward to.

  
 


 
  2004.06.24  11.41
Today

There really is no fantastic way to describe the wait. It was long. It was uneventful. And frustrating. But nothing can be done. If you think while you wait you go crazy, so you try not to. You're just leaning on a column, eyes fixed on the dark tunnel, waiting for that little bobbing bubble of yellow light that might be your ride home. But it's not there, so you whisper obscenities and smack the column with your hand. You're probably restless and so your leg is tapping a fast rhythm, and you sing your curses. Maybe it goes 'fuck tap fuck tap fuck fuck.' It's been how long? Twenty somewhat minutes, at least. The things you could be doing now...

So if the subway were a child, I would steal its candy. Then, I'd shove his head down, bumping him to the pavement and eat his tootsie roll in front of him, just half, and then fling the other half at his head, dripping with saliva. It would smack him on the forehead and leave a dark stain of half digested tootsie. Then he would frown and then break into sobs. I would cackle with demonic delight (gaggagaga!!) and then bash him good with a steel toe. Bam bam bam! Oh yea!
I'd probably be more sadistic, and do things before even winding up the kicks. But Comeherechild is a children's publication and so my infantile readership might report me to homeland security. In any case, my anger is not against children, but the New York subway, the MTA. When it takes you four hours to get home on a Wednesday evening, and arrive Thursday morning, it brings out the worst in you. If this happened in rush hour, people would start rioting and then turn on themselves; imagine the carnage in a subway car packed tight with humans after they all went insane with rage. Only the strongest would be alive after a half hour of waiting, which is what it took the train to get from Stop 1 to Stop 2. Broken limbs, shattered faces, torn scalps, shrapnel of teeth, and primal screams would greet the boarding passengers at the next station. "This kind of service for a fare hike to $2 a ride?" The conductor would then be charged with fifty counts of murder. That's the way a responsible society would work!

But there comes a point when you can't get any more angry than you already are, or you do start becoming hostile. Don't get violent on a train ride; get a livejournal.

Note: You'll find unexpected things in your ears, and they don't all taste good, but they're probably all good for you. And now for today's commentary, brought to me courtesy of ABCNEWS.com and then I twisted it for. Your enjoyment.

Commentary

The New York Supreme Court ruled the death penalty unconstitutional in this state, based on a problem with fair sentencing. Those on death row were gladdened to hear the news. The dead wept in their graves.



A senior CIA official has written a book critizing Bush, his war on terror, and his war on Iraq. He was allowed to write the book on the condition that he remain anonymous. They've given him a number and taken away his name. He's been dubbed 'anonymous' by the press, and many Americans admire his courage in writing a report that could probably get his whole family killed by government ninjas. Anonymous exclusively spoke to Comeherechild Publications. We met with him at an undisclosed motel 6 in southern Bergen County. He was wearing a paper bag over his head:

Comeherechild Publications: Thank you, mysterious phantom, for meeting with us.
Anonymous: Yes. Yes. Anything for Comeherechild Publications.
C.P: Thank you. Tell us about your book deal.
A: Well, I've published a book, entitled something, that criticizes Bush.
C.P: Now tell us, do you wear a paper bag everywhere you go?
A: Yes, it is necessary now that I'm a rogue writer. If people knew what I looked like, I would likely be assassinated.
C.P: But won't people recognize you by the paper bag?
A: No. I cut out different patterns every week. I learned to be constantly changing.
C.P: So now you're wearing a Hello Kitty pattern.
A: Well now I have to change it. Thanks. (laughs)
C.P: So what's next for the masked crusader?
A: I plan on doing a book tour to secret undisclosed locations all around the country, and there's of course the necessary movie deal.
(Simultaneous)
C.P: Movie deal!
A: Movie deal! That's right. We're working with New Line.
C.P: What will the movie be about? What will it cover?
A: It will be about my trying to write the book while under constant surveilance.
C.P: How did you do it?
A: I would sneak off to the bathroom, and write on the tissue paper with invisible ink.
C.P: Intriguing.
A: We're considering Pierce Brosnan to play me on screen.
C.P: This interview is over.

Now, in this office, how many fucking times do we have to verify the same fucking bullshit? Five? Six? How many will it be, Ms. Supervisor bitch?

  
 


 
  2004.06.21  13.42
New Day

I kept postponing this phone call because it was to cancel something. And this Sometihng was sort of already in the works, so people's time and effort had been invested in it. I couldn't figure out an easy way so I just made the phone call, and although it wasn't so horrible, it wasn't pretty at all.

But who gives a shit? Some things can never be easy and pretty. But they need to get done because otherwise I get fucked, and not in the sexy pleasure way, but in the shot in the back of the head found two weeks later in the gutter way. So you have to swallow things and bite the bullet and take the dive and just do it Nike style.

Somehow things turn out for the best. Wow.

I forgot what I was gonna say. But completely. How embarrassing.

  
 


 
  2004.06.18  09.38
Good Morning

Today was one of those mornings when you wake up more exhausted than you've felt since you can remember and definitely more than when you went to sleep.

Nonetheless here I am in my luxury cubicle, promptly on time. I will sit here and there for the next seven hours, and do about as much as I would do in bed, except sleep. That's the run of the mill around here. I have a few things to take care of, nothing that would keep me busy for longer than twenty minutes. But no matter. I plan on taking an extended lunch break today.

At any moment I expect my enemies to find this website and email all my entries to my supervisor, to get me fired. I'm surprised it hasn't happened yet. And if I get fired I'll probably be upset, but I've already made some cash so to hell with it and I'll just do what I want.

Some good news is that I got a role in a little film. It's nothing big, and kinda silly, but it's sure better than nothing.

  
 


 
  2004.06.17  11.11
The Stories of an American Youth

Death. I mean, death.

That's what this job is. I had to make two phone calls today; that's pretty much my workload for the day. I'll probably also make an excel spreadsheet and burn my eyes out looking at this screen.

I just think how I could be back home, sleeping in bed, and waking up two hours from now. I sure could use more sleep. I'm starting to slip into it just sitting here and doing nothing.

But I can't ask my supervisor if she needs help because she'll think it's her responsibility to keep me busy, so she'll make me organize her files again like yesterday. I don't want to go through that punishment again.

And my luxury cubicle is right by the door to the hallway, so everyone who walks by sees me. I can't even put my head down. It's a luxury cubicle, by the way, because the walls don't go too high and the desk sort of curves around me. It's a big desk. And the next cubicle is separated by a dark paned glass wall; it just gives it a touch of elegance. I would enjoy napping here and then working quickly and efficiently for the twenty minutes it takes for me to do my day's work.

But the hags here won't let me sleep of course. They're enamored by this ideal of the New York Times, and they feel that the atmosphere should be as professional as possible, and I agree, but there is no reason that it shouldn't be relaxed. And I'm a fucking intern.

I should be more careful when I'm talking on the phone. After making one of my business phone calls, in which the person told me to call back again tomorrow, which is at once ridiculous and useful because now I have work for tomorrow, I made a personal call to a friend. It went like this:

Me: Hey. It's Arthur. What's going on
X: Sup kid, I'm skydiving in Peru
Me: I hate this fucking job.

I mean, one needs to be careful when he is bashing his job on an office phone. I don't know. Let's proceed to some cheap commentaries, news brought to me courtesy of the New York Times and regurgitated to you by me:

Rumsfeld Absconds with Arab Men

According to the Times, Rumsfeld issued an order to his underlings to hide an Iraqi prisoner from the Red Cross and other nosy humanitarian pests by not entering him into the prison's database where he was being held. According to sources, during the November and December increase in prison unhappiness, he was lost and no one knew where he was. Some suggest this may've had something to do with military officials trying to hide him. In all the commotion, he was forgotten for a while and kept in solitary confinement, far away from the sun, which gives him strength. He is one of many "ghost prisoners" who are being held in various prisons but aren't on the databases. According to someone related to these events, officials just "lost track of him." They forgot where he was, and they forgot not to torture him, and they forgot not to put his penis in other prisoners' butts. That's how it goes in Iraq.

Meanwhile, at the office...

I took a little nap in the empty cubicle two cubicles down. It's right by the corner so I didn't think I'd be bothered, but a silly office dullard ambles right past me to some other room. I couldn't go back to sleep after that incident.

I've been thinking of ways to stay awake and I think the best one would be to start an indecent trashy sex relationship with one of my adult colleagues. I don't know who yet; the cutest is this girl who is in her late twenties, and she's not bad looking at all. Being involved with someone and rushing off with them to the bathroom to do the deed would add much needed excitement and danger. It would be so scandalous! Oh my!

  
 


 
  2004.06.10  16.56
I don't know

No one really reads this anyway. I think I like the xanga format better.