Makin Lists

I'm making a list of shit to do before I leave Philly. Thus far I have:

• Eat at Tacconelli's


• Eastern State Penn Tour


• Masonic Lodge Tour


• Go to the Rosenbach Museum


• Go to the Top of City Hall

More to come.

This Song

Just came on twice in a row on the ole ipod and I let it play through both times because it gives me such a boner:



also, this song:

Fuck Me

It's snowing again. This url transfer is taking forever and, I dunno, insert some other random bitching here.

Here's a picture I took this summer. Remember summer? Me neither.

Friday

I love Juggalos. Twiztid, an artist on Psycopathic Records, is playing the TLA Friday. What does this mean for you and I? Juggalos! It also means that the shitshow of Hot Topic fashions that is South Street is gonna look way worse on Friday. And by worse I mean greasier, portlier, homelier, way more anti-gay, clandestinely christian and altogether just gross.

I've been thinking of taking my camera and some whiskey out there Friday night, to take pictures of the Juggaloes in action. Seemed like a fun way to spend a night. Also, my birthday is Thursday. Getting wolfpacked by a bunch of mouthbreathing ICP fans seems like a fitting post-mortem to a pointless birthday. But, like I said, I was on the fence. Until I read this over at the ticketing site for this event:

Four Stars. Subject: Whoop. Whoop.

i was at the tla for the toxic terror tour in 2008 it was the best show i went to sent i was a juggalo i got there early and saw jamie and madrerox going to get a bite to eat was to fellow them but i thoughtent so i did. this year is going to be wicked i cant waite to chill with family

This was the best show he went to sent he was a juggalo! He saw jame and madrerox getting food and thoughtent to follow them!

I Have a Problem

Every time I see pulpy Vonnegut books with awesome sci-fi covers, I have to buy them. They rule so hard. Came home with these two yesterday:

Still Waiting

I went to the museum today. I think I should be able to take a puppy to the museum. Glad you asked, there are two primary reasons. 1. having a puppy would be a great way to approach the overwhelming number of seemingly single women at the museum. Of course, the second I go to the museum with the express purpose of trying to meet women, the place will no doubt look like a ponytail and goatee convention. It will look nothing like today, when I was trying to get my 14-year-old niece stoked on stuff she couldn't care less about. 2. having a puppy would spruce up the less than exciting moments at the museum. Seriously impressionism, get your shit together.

I also pondered one of life's greatest mysteries whilst traipsing around the city: do you buy the yellow car because you've got the questionable facial hair, or do you grow the questionable facial hair once you purchase the yellow car? Indeed.

While I Wait

for my new url to propagate, here are two pictures of chester, number one cat.


Oh hey creep. I don't want to cuddle right now.


Excercise? Bitch please, I'm fat

also, I flickerated my snowmageddon pics.. Sigh, I need a good camera and a new flickr pro account too, apparently.

I May Have to Give This Some More Thought

Doin Thangs

Ok, so I got bored today and registered myself a proper url. At some point soon this jawn is gonna be moving to ghouser.com

I'm doin this because I'm not really satisfied with the layout options of blogger and I wanna play with css and do some other stuff. If both of you could update your bookmarks, that'd be great.

K, I'm gonna get myself a case of drank get my roll all good and slowed and get started on this shit.

Apropos of nothing, here's a picture of Rick Ross.

The Fuck?

I popped over to the official web site of Tuscaloosa today as part of my obsessive Tuscaloosa/Alabama research. The site leaves a lot to be desired, but frankly so do most official municipality sites. Phila.gov is barely passable, and we're the seventh biggest (I think, suck it I'm too lazy to research) city in the union.

The slideshow in the middle of the page caught my eye before I got to any real digging. As a runner, I'm totally stoked about the many shots of the path along the river. There are some other pictures of pretty stuff, one inexplicable shot of a brick wall that may or may not be the side of a parking garage and this image:


If someone could explain what this image is meant to convey, I'd really appreciate it. To me it looks like the creepy street the meth head's gonna drag you down before he choloroforms you and harvests your organs. sayin.

Work Frustrations

Nobody wants to listen to anyone else whine about work. They certainly don't want to read a blog post about it. But hear me out on this one, it's kinda funny.

So I'm quitting smoking again for the 7,355th time after the Great Annual February Relapse. I also know that I'm finally leaving this wretched job in a few months. This means two things: I'm cranky as hell and I have zero tolerance for the bullshit that goes on here anymore.

Take yesterday for example. My wonderful management team volunteered me to take on some data entry work from one of the secretaries. They did this because this particular secretary is not what we would call "bright". And she was taking forever to process our documentation, thus slowing down payments, thus preventing us from meeting monthly goals and blah blah blah. I didn't really care too much at the time. The work was pretty minimal and anyone who has any Excel proficiency could complete it in about seven minutes.

I finished up the spreadsheets yesterday and left them on a shared network drive. All the secretary had to do was go into the folder and pick up the completed spreadsheets and email them to someone. I thought I would make it really easy for her. I made a folder called 2-17, that being yesterday's date, and put my completed spreadsheets in there. The blank templates were in the folder containing the 2-17 folder.

Imagine if you will. You've got a folder. In that folder are three files Template1.xls, Template2.xls and Template3.xls. There is also a folder called 2-17. Allow one of my patented MsPaint renderings to elucidate the situation for you:
When I'm done, I tell the secretary, we'll call her Sally, that the files are ready.

"Hey Sally, files are in the shared network drive, in the spreadsheets folder. I put a folder called 2-17, for the date, in there. Today's spreadsheets are in that folder. Thanks."

"Oh great Greg that's great. Can you put them on my C drive?"

"No Sally. I can't. The C drive is your har...never mind. I can't. They're on the network drive, in the spreadsheets folder, in the 2-17 folder. Thanks."

"Oh great Greg that's great."

Five minutes later.

She comes over to my desk and starts asking me for the documentation to complete the spreadsheets. She's going to have to do them again because mine are "coming over blank."

"You're sure you're not opening the templates?"

"No, they're coming over blank."

"Files can't come over...never mind. You're definitely opening the files in the 2-17 folder?"

"Yeah they're coming over blank."

At this point I just want to throw my monitor across the room, storm out smoking half a pack of cigarettes while giving everyone the finger. But, I calmly walk over to her computer with her.

"Ok, show me what you're doing."

And the fucking idiot clicks on the template.

Seriously

Call me maudlin, but I've had half a bottle of wine and if you don't love this, you're probably one of those weirdos who doesn't like cats and puppies:



Real post coming soon. I promise.

Holy Shit

I've come across some interesting stuff while doing research to get my dumbass tattoo fixed. This is one of my favorite, awesome tattoos:



Edit. Here's idea number one for my cover up:

me: i am...it's gonna be foghorn leghorn riding a tazmanian devil w/ jesus drinking a 40 in the background and an alien holding a bong with "take me to your dealer" underneath. and a yin yang.

Busy

Ok, I was drunk all weekend. Leave me alone. I've also got to work on real writing now that I've gotten into school. But, there is an epic masturbation story coming. Hold onto your hats kids.

Next Time I'm Just Going to the Bar

So today was supposed to be a pretty productive snow day, with some awesome - read shitty - Sci Fi peppered in for good measure. I was planning on starting off the day geeking out on Flash Gordon, mission accomplished. Then I was gonna get to work on a little reading and some other nagging projects. I thought this would be a much better way to spend the day than going to the bar like any healthy, red-blooded real American.

I got some reading done and got a bit accomplished, but then I figured out how to get my webcam to work on chatroulette.com. Chatroulette being a site that instantly matches you with strangers on web cams around the world. You know, so you can dialogue with someone on the other side of the globe about social issues and the like. I guess that was their intent. Maybe. What you mostly end up seeing is cock. Lots and lots of cock. Sweet mother of christ. Some important lessons were learned, tears were shed and I really need a hug and a shower now.

But, there was learning about the glorious tapestry of humanity to be had. Here's what I learnt:

• A head of lettuce is a perfectly acceptable masturbatory supplement.
  
• Doods love to jerk it. Love. It.
  
• Seriously. I used to think I was into the porn a bit too much, but my god I am a prude.
  
• There are some sad and very lonely men out there.
  
• Goatse. Remember goatse? Got to see that awesomeness again.
  
• Weirdos on the internet don't like me. Sad face. Oh wait this is good.
  

I will most definitely get drunk and go on chatroulette again. And god forbid I ever start dabbling in weed again, I'll be over that shit. But I'll probably avoid it for a while. I mean, it's only gonna be around for another week, max, before someone ends up killing someone on it and it gets shut down.

Sci FI Snow Day Rolls On

Place your hands above the railings, they're magnetized.

And if your hands were made out of metal, that might mean something.

Best MST3K line. Ever.

Sci Fi Doods I Want to Hang With, Vol. 1

Prince Vultan.

Vultan is clearly the coolest guy in Flash Gordon. He's the Han Solo of Flash Gordon, 'cept he's got a sweet beard and wings. He's a lovable rogue who smacks Dale's ass whenever he can while dressed like a leather daddy completely wasted on amyl, and honestly I've mentioned the beard right? You could plop this dood down at Johnny Brenda's and nobody would bat an eye. Ok, the wings might get a few weird looks, but Vultan's totally a guy who knows tons of pussy jokes and racist jokes about Arborians that you don't want to laugh at, but you know you will. This guy will definitely smash a beer stein on his head when he's shitfaced to make you laugh. Oh sweet Vultan, how I wish it were possible to get wasted with you and hammer on some of Ming's henchmen.

More SciFi SnowDay

This is totally my Halloween costume next year:

Sci Fi Snow Day

Running commentary about the shitty Sci Fi movies I'm watching today at twitter:



Full Sci Fi SnowDay tweets are here:
http://twitter.com/abefroman

Oh My

Yeah, so I've been thinking about reviving my OkC profile and was probably gonna do so tonight. But then I came up with a better idea: to make an utterly retarded profile and blog about it. I guess I'll use my own pics, as I would totally do me, but I'll try to make the profile as retarded as possible. Also, I'll probably initiate chats, lots and lots of chats...

Snowmaggedon, Imma Gettin It

So it was snowmageddon, or snowpocalypse, weekend this weekend. I didn't do anything particularly stupid, so there's not much to blog about. I did fall down Dr. Awesome's Webster stairs, though.



Webster stairs being servant's stairs. I can't help but think that this fall would have been a little less painful if there'd been a grandfather clock at the bottom of the stairs, like in the show, to take the brunt of my tumbling body. I mean really. Also, if a large greek man with a sweet 'stache had been there to comfort me after my tumble, I can't help but think that things would have been a bit better. Where is my Mr. Papadopoulos, I ask you?

Other than that, I made it through Snowface Off: Face Your Snow Off weekend relatively unscathed.

Looking for Snowmageddon 2, the Reckoning tomorrow night though. I'll make sure to do something stupid just so I have a decent blog entry.

It'd Be Great

If someone at google could make the ascii wang an animated emoticon in gchat:

W==D~~ ~~~ ~~~

This Pleases Me

Yeah, I've been heavy on youtubes, suck it three people who read this thing. This pleases me:



Not as good as Sigur Ros, but still miles better than most of the drek out there.

Just in Case You Forgot

Flash Gordon is an under-appreciated cinematic masterpiece. It's also got a kickass soundtrack:



I really have to become a supervillian, just so I have an excuse to menacingly say "eearrrrth" the way homeslice does in the beginning of this video. I just may start doing it randomly anyway.

Also, at the end he totally says, "You looney bird, they need you on the ground." The fuck Flash? Seems to me the most effective arena for a beardo bird warrior dood would be in the sky man.

Finally

Proof that The Big Bang Theory is the least funny show. ever.

Someone Honestly Just Asked Me

"Greg, do you file taxes?"

Holy fuck. I gotta get a new job.



Sweet mother of god, this same person just walked into the office with roach coach chinese. It smells like someone dumped ammonia into a bucket, put a gout-ridden foot into the bucket, peed on that and finally dumped some general tso's in. Imma throw up.

Eve

Was here. Suck it nerds.

Walk on the Gay Side

You can trace almost every epically retarded decision I've ever made back to one thing: vagina. If I'm doing something stupid, I can almost guarantee there's a girl involved somehow.

It was a girl's fault that I walked around looking like a gay dood for two weeks. Now, I'm not the most manly of men to begin with. I'm pretty sure I'd fall on the twink side of the spectrum if I were actually gay. A bear I am not. Add to that the fact that I love clothes and can chat about trends and designers, and it's pretty easy to see why I've had my fair share of attention from the boys. I'm comfortable enough in my sexuality to be flattered...hell I even take it as a compliment. I'd rather a gay guy think I'm on his team because I'm dressed well than be some clueless lout stomping around in horrible dad jeans and bad sweaters. But, having said all that, I'm also a proud member of team breeder. Which is why pretty much everyone was confused for the two weeks after I got my eyebrows waxed.

You see, perfectly manicured eyebrows are one of the key indicators that will start firing off blips on the gaydar. I didn't realize it myself until my own brows were trimmed into perfect stripes. Pay attention to it, though. It's one of those things that once you finally see, you can't stop seeing.

Of course, none of this was my idea. The girl I was seeing at the time insisted on the procedure. She dragged me into a nail salon and had a good laugh as I squirmed under the wax, trying not to let on how excruciating it was. She, at least, had the common decency to pay for it. I guess it wouldn't have been so bad, if she didn't live in the gayborhood. Walking back to her place, pretty much every guy we passed gave me the nod and scowled at her.

My eyebrows eventually returned to a hetero-level of bushiness before I started exploring my secret leather daddy fantasies. I'm not gonna lie and say I'll never have another cosmetic procedure (I mean seriously, have you had a chemical peel? They make your skin look like a baby's ass). But, I'm definitely gonna steer clear of eyebrow grooming in the future.

Quickly Now

I just tried to google something, and mis-typed one of the words. I have decided that when I finally sit down to record my low-fi album of songs about my cats that this typo will be my band name. Yes some day, I shall release this on the world:

Calculator Snog

Laws and Such

I'm a big fan of Battlestar Galactica. This makes me an expert on a lot of things. Among them: sexy ladies who are actually evil double-agent robots, archaic future technology as a means of defense against a superior enemy, lazy writing, the concept of deus ex fucking machina and, of course, Science.

Which is why I'm utterly baffled by my house's ability to violate the laws of thermo-dynamics and maybe physics and stuff. You see, my house is three stories stacked right on top of each other. Here is a rendering done in MsPaint:

One would think that the top floor of said house would be the warmest room in the house since heat rises and all that.

False!

After a few ridiculous PGW bills, I started rationing my heat. (Side note, don't bother calling those geniuses to rage about your bill. you will not get a satisfying answer.) It was after turning the old thermostat down that I started to notice a disturbing trend: the room that should have been the warmest was actually the coldest. Clearly my house sits in some weird vortex where up is down and down is up and white is black and conservatism is a rational and reasoned approach to life.

I needed help. I was gonna call this lady:



But she just died. My next thought was to ring up Penn and try to get a thermo dynamic physicist on the horn. But, that would have required picking up the phone and making a call and trying to explain the scientific anomaly of my house. That was way too much work, so I just got a space heater.

Compounding Anxiety

If you've known me for, like, five minutes, you probably know that I'm totally unsatisfied professionally. You probably also know that I recently sent out a shitload of grad school apps. You may further know that I'm now freaking out waiting for those answers to roll in.

I don't know if it's because my fucking head felt like it was going to explode tonight, but I've decided to allay that anxiety by, well, compounding it. I dug out the old Writer's Market and started digging through literary magazines that accept "experimental" work. I'm told this is what my stuff would fall under. Tonight, I submitted online what, I think, is my best work to about five publications. I'll submit to about five more tomorrow night and so on until I'm through every market that might take my work. Then I'll plow through the publications that only take hard copy manuscripts. Then, I'm gonna go through again, submitting my second best work, until I know, one way or another if I'm wasting my time.

Here's to sore throat induced freak outs!

Birthright

If you're born a Kennedy man, you're probably gonna die young and beautiful; unless you get shitfaced, drive off a bridge and let the broad in the car drown. The Johnson men have the wealth of the family business and a life of leisure (seriously, watch that movie "Born Rich"). When you're a man born into my family, you also get a special legacy all your own: the gingerbeard.

All the men in my family have the gingerbeard. Except my father, oddly enough...hmm. My one uncle's gingerbeard is pretty prominent, to the point that my friends referred to him as Redbeard. He also kinda looked like a viking, in that Molly Hatchet sorta way, so I'm sure that didn't help. I remember growing out my first patchy beard and seeing the first strips of red and orange. It was like a Bar Mitzvah, a vision quest and umm, some other coming of age thing all at once.

My hair is pretty dark. I wouldn't call it black, but it's not too far off. Yet, when I let my face get a bit wild and wooly, the hair color runs the gamut from jet black to white. There are shades of orange and yellow in my beard that don't occur in nature. I suppose this would be some sort of benefit should I ever get back to my roots and take up deer huntin'. I wouldn't need to invest in one of the blaze orange vests.

Yes, being the lone male bearer of the family name and all the proud traditions that come along with it - a penchant for Notre Dame football, having thin chicken legs, inexplicable bouts of rage over the most inconsequential things, ball busting that always goes way too far and gets way too personal and hair that shall never be groomed - is a special burden. But, I suppose things could be worse, I did get some sweet chicken legs, after all.

Now, on with the largely inconclusive photographic evidence! (you could see the gingerbeard a lot better in these photos before I started dicking around with the curves, but every shot looked like it was pulled directly off a Meghan's law web site...hence the editing):

Fucking Prom

I'm going to an adult prom Feb. 13. It's based on the Enchantment Under the Sea dance from Back to the Future. Naturally, I've got to find a 50's era suit. I'm using these pics as inspiration. Lookit these little badasses: