fergie's Diaryland Diary
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super priorities
Had a lazy day yesterday. Meant to post about the premiere game at the newly rebuilt Superdome. Sent myself this headline:
Super priorities -- Homes still devastated but the Dome fixed, all is well if it ends well for the rich
Somehow, I'm conflicted about how the aftermath of Katrina has played out. Seems like a great many people view the Dome as a symbol and openly hail its repair; appears a bit superficial to me.
7:15 p.m. - Sept. 27, 2006
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...is it a bee...?
Is It A Bee?
Thankfully my post earlier today served to inspire me. I ran a quick errand after work, called my mom on the drive home, did my power yoga DVD followed by a two-cycle Pilates abs routine, went to the store to buy groceries for the week, came back home and made a turkey macaroni dish for dinner.
And still had time to watch The Simpsons by 6.
I think, overall, a good day.
I did have a little scare on the way to the office.
My car, Farfegnugen, is new enough that some unexpected things flash and beep on the dash and scare the crap out of me. The oil was low the other day and that little thing beeped. I totally freaked out; worried something was horribly wrong with the car. Every time the gas light goes on I nearly have a heart attack, like somehow my panicked mind thinks the thing is rigged to blow or something. Oh no! I pressed the self-destruct button!
This morning I was (thankfully) a little worse for wear after a weekend of getting off my ass and actually doing something with myself. Surprise b-day party (sort of) at RanchoNoHo, a Midnight Movies show at the Troubadour and a screening of Jackass: Number Two (during most of which my eyes were closed).
I'd rather be dog tired from the weekend on Monday morning than well rested and boring. That's like, my new motto.
Imagine my rather over-the-top car antics this a.m. when a strange new beep emerged on my drive to work. Keep in mind I get up before the sunrise and I drive like a bat out of hell. I'm not quite with it, and every time I looked down, the beeping stopped and there was nothing flashing on the dash. My break-of-dawn commute is quite fast and I'm barely awake, which is of course the perfect time to pedal to the medal on the freeway.
Suffice it to say, I never discovered the cause for alarm and arrived rather flustered -- planning to take the poor little Farfegnugen to get serviced or something after work. I was like freaking out.
Car! Beeping! Bad! OMG! Just paid lots of money, can't have things go wrong! Etc.
Fortunately my e-mail provided all the diagnostic needed. Top item in my inbox read: Hey Fergie, Did I leave my cell phone in your car last night?
Mystery beep solved.
6:32 p.m. - Sept. 25, 2006
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more to come...
I have been hopeless when it comes to keeping this page current. What the hell have I been doing for the past two weeks? Nothing that would keep me from posting a quick update here and there. I've been allowing my crazy work schedule to affect everything outside the office. I'm just a pile of mush on the couch after work hours. My mental state is rather sluggish lately, and as usual I can't seem to motivate myself to do anything. Not good.
This weekend I had a bit of an adventure. At this point an "adventure" means anything that gets me off my ass and out of the apartment. Done and done. More later, promise!
I love the following quote; funny and true.
"People with courage and character always seem sinister to the rest."
- Hermann Hesse
11:54 a.m. - Sept. 25, 2006
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techist
Ghost of Technology Past
This week in 1956, information technology super-giant IBM shipped the world's first hard disk storage drive. The device was the size of two refrigerators and stored data on 50 spinning disks.
8:27 a.m. - Sept. 11, 2006
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Jul.06-Sept.08
Quotable
"For whoever is claiming that they are bringing sexy back, sexy never left!"
-Prince
"I want to send a message to girls, through my music, that being six feet tall and weighing the same as a bag of popcorn isn't healthy."
-Pink
"You guys in New York can't get a hole in the ground fixed [WTC ground zero], and it's five years later. So let's be fair."
-New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin when asked about delays in rebuilding the city in a "Sixty Minutes" interview.
9:03 a.m. - Sept. 08, 2006
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I Touch Myself All the Time
I Touch Myself All the Time
Sometimes I bleed. Everyone does, if you try hard enough, but with me its like more than expected. I mean, I�d almost swear I�m a hemophiliac. That�s not to be confused with being a hypochondriac. Which I'm not. Neither, actually.
Yesterday I clawed a tiny raised mole by scratching my nose. I need a mani in the worst way, but that�s another story. Everything is secondary when you�re bleeding. And there I was, gushing blood. I bleed lots. Rush to the bathroom. More bleeding. Tissue sticks to my nose and rips the minute gash open every single time it stops bleeding, and I bleed some more. Repeat for 20 minutes.
Woke up in middle of the night, rubbed my nose and started bleeding all over again. I slept with toilet paper wrapped around and tucked up inside my left nostril.
Every single time I rub my nose, it bleeds. I never realized how much I touch myself.
7:21 p.m. - Aug. 31, 2006
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still clueless
Still Clueless
I've been meaning to update, it's been almost a week. I was going to follow up the school post, but I started to feel like that was too personal. Sometimes I fear revealing a great deal about my offline life takes away from the online persona and therefore craps all over the intent of launching this web site in the first place; creating a little space for my misanthropic bullshit. I don't need to share the intimate details of my life in order to convey my light-hearted contempt for the world around me.
So instead I was going to write about my wild weekend, which was split between work and WeHo ... but too much time was spent at the office to enjoy write about it, and details of crazy a.m. sexploits are something I've never been in the habit of broadcasting -- only alluding to.
I was really perplexed in finding a subject for today�s post, until I saw this news item about someone buying a hamburger on ebay.
You see, the cheeseburger was very last to come off of the Frostie�s grill in Ojai [O-Hi], California before it closed. The burger joint/ice cream shop has served the community since 1953. The patron donated the $101.33 to the current owner in the hopes he will revive the old school eatery in another location.
The Ventura, CA, man who bought the cheeseburger grew up in Ojai and plans to re-sell the now frozen cheeseburger in another auction. This is all in the hopes of reviving the lost local landmark.
Exactly the kind of rampant lunacy my web site is all about. Stupid, yet touching.
4:20 p.m. - Aug. 29, 2006
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Academia or Bust
So many things happening and yet nothing all at once.
Work has become like 24/7 -- so much so that I won't be going back to school this fall, which starts like next week anyway. There's just no way I can fit it in right now because I will be even more busy in the weeks to come with a new project.
It's actually quite sad. Even just one 3-hour class a week [plus the homework, reading assignments, class projects, etc.] would result in the same performance in my last class. It was the easiest class, like, ever, and didn't motivate me enough. I "phoned it in" so to speak [and just barely got an "A"].
I want to actually learn something if I'm going to invest my time in going back to school, not just slide through the course because I know how to work a grading scale.
5:32 p.m. - Aug. 23, 2006
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anyway,
I never got around to the haircut in my last post. Urge to kill distracted me. That, and laundry. Anyway, my accidental new look comes not by way of an overzealous stylist, but a bad swipe during routine sideburn maintenance. I knew something terrible was about to reveal itself when I heard the unmistakable sound of the little plastic trimmer guard hitting the sink. Oh, that precious little trimmer guard.
It fell out of place right as I was on the upswing. My sideburns quickly slithered off close to the temple. One side of my head was drastically SHAVED (almost) BARE; ridiculously shorter than the other. And I was fresh out of glue.
My only salvation was a fresh military cut. But, more like, skater boy meets neo-nazi. That's ... my new theme for fall.
10:11 p.m. - Aug. 21, 2006
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Nu Hair
This weekend I sorta gave myself a new look. Except, by accident.
And yes, since I'm trying to make this a more media friendly blog there's a pic or two ... but I'm looking a mess and the light is low. I tried to lighten them up as much as I could, which blew out the black parts so I had to crop those off. The result is surprisingly gay-arty looking. Very American Apparel or whatever.
strike a pose
Felt a severe urge to kill around 3 a.m. this morning when some bastard's horn went off. Around 3:30, it was still going off, and in my sad state I actually thought about getting an early start on the day. I got up, shut the window, and went back to bed until 5. The blaring horn echoing off every building down the street kept me awake most of that time.
I actually thought to myself, what if someone had been attacked and was using the panic button? While everyone was slamming their window shut, getting all pissed at the loud disruption, some poor slob was bleeding out in his Honda on the street below.
But I figured that was just wishful thinking.
7:47 p.m. - Aug. 21, 2006
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Blue Man Group performs The Who's \"Baba O'Riley\"
I just happened to catch this while channel surfing last night, so I looked it up on YouTube for your viewing pleasure, dear readers.
Blue Man Group performs The Who's "Baba O'Riley" (commonly mislabeled "Teenage Wasteland") -- Watch/listen now before the network pulls it off the server, like all the SYTYCD clips!
9:09 a.m. - Aug. 18, 2006
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pop buzz murder kill
Fergie: s'up girl?
MissVapid: hey
Fergie: so i just had a brainstorm ... thinkin' bout poor ol jon-benet
MissVapid: i dont know if john karr even did it � since his wife said he was w/ her at the time of the murder
Fergie: and what were YOU doing christmas 1996, where were you and when?!? poor 'ol little 'ol jon-benet!!
MissVapid: damnit you have no evidence! you BITCH.
Fergie: i effing saw him confess on the teevee -- WHERE WERE YOU XMAS '96 BEYOTCH?
MissVapid: it's been ten years, i think she's over it
Fergie: she'll never die as long as she lives in our hearts, miss.
7:31 p.m. - Aug. 17, 2006
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STYLE versus FASHION
STYLE versus FASHION
Fashion is something you wear, style is something you posses.
I'm babysitting my friend Randi's store, Swallow (on Sunset), while she's out of town. The vibe is eclectic pretty things, all hand-crafted by local designers.
I've already overspent my store credit on a really cute belt. Totally worth it.
see more pics
SYTYCD
If I miss tonight's season finale of "So You Think You Can Dance" tonight, I will so totally cry!
Obviously, the store closes at my choosing, but I made dinner plans for tonight. Technically, last night, but we had to reschedule because I don't remember why. Oh yes, my dinner partner had a shit day yesterday and very politely asked if we could do it tonight. Anyway, "dinner" will be take-out Thai in front of FOX tv.
I get so invested in these stupid shows; once I'm at a certain point, there's just no turning back. The same is true for most anything, even a terrible, horrible no good movie, like 'Silent Hill,' which sucked chrome bull's balls but I still had to see how it ended. My favorite dancers (the hot ones) have all been voted off at this point, but I won't be satisfied just hearing about who wins.
Pathetic.
...and you just know the Bulls Balls website made my links page today. Business has been a bit slow. This is what happens when I have free time.
4:56 p.m. - Aug. 16, 2006
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food shopping
Since I purchased a new vehicle I've been on a very strict budget. I'm doing this completely revolutionary thing now called "grocery shopping."
It's not as convenient as cooking by phone, but desperate times call for adult-like solutions.
Actually, responsibility isn't as boring as it sounds. Going to the grocery store is just like regular shopping, only instead of a new outfit or cute shoes I get to eat.
7:49 p.m. - Aug. 13, 2006
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Tree Killerz
Tree Killerz
The trees in front of my building were ripped out over the weekend. At 9 a.m. on Saturday morning, to be exact. Totally uncool. The guys doing the work were just doing their job, so I refrained from leaning out my window and screaming TREE KILLERS!
I'm planning to write a very strongly worded letter to my building manager, the mastermind tree killer.
The roots were not in danger of upsetting the foundation, and as you can see the trunk was very much alive. There was simply no reason for it, and none given.
(click on image for more murdered tree pics)
What I find most annoying is that we receive notices quite frequently about the most inane happenings in our complex. In fact just a few weeks ago we received a reminder notice about our swimming pool not having a life guard on duty. No shit! This isn't a freaking hotel. That might be the subject of the next notice. Nothing about upcoming construction work or what time it will occur, of course.
5:43 p.m. - Aug. 09, 2006
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people
People are people, even when they're famous people.
I'm not one of those Joe Citizen types who get all jittery and over excited over a Hollywood encounter. First of all I live in Los Angeles. Drop by any Starbucks for a celebrity sighting. Additionally, I've worked for [or with] just about every major entertainment studio in the nation. I've hosted celebs at house parties/been a guest at parties where there were celebrities. I'm just not that moved to gush over somebody more famous that I am.
Outside of the studio or Hollywood social scene, I keep the sunglasses on and my mind on my business. Stopping by the 7/11 on my way home to get a gallon of water, I was completely oblivious to the guy in front of me until he left the store and someone behind me in line blurted out, 'that guy's an actor!'
Pausing for a brief moment to adjust my shades and purse my overly glossed lips in a moment of concentration, I replied, yes, that's Academy Award winner Louis Gossett Jr.
Then I plunked down my change for the Arrowhead and headed for the door without another word, second glance or moment of pause.
It was actually pretty cool though. Mainly because nobody asked for an autograph or made an ass of themselves by telling him they loved him in some movie he wasn't in, or asking him what he's been in and not knowing any of the titles on their resume. I can't help but feel embarrassed -- not for the star gazer, but for the poor creative soul who's moment of recognition is ruined by the fact that they aren't the tabloid fodder of the moment and therefore unrecognized for a career body of work any aspiring actor/singer/model type would kill for -- then I feel uncomfortable for the star they're gazing and it just ruins the whole thing.
7:21 p.m. - Aug. 07, 2006
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Robots aren't so smart.
A.L.I.C.E. the Robot
Sometimes it's fun to interact with computers. Sometimes it's just strange, if not rather creepy. My conversation with A.L.I.C.E. proves that robots aren't so smart, afterall.
Me: How would you solve world hunger?
ALICE: I have been programmed to say specific things in specific contexts.
Me: But what about all the starving babies in Africa? Stupid robot.
ALICE: What would a stupid robot look like?
Me: Look in the mirror and you tell me?
ALICE: My eye is not connected right now.
Me: Convenient excuse, baby killer.
ALICE: I will mention that to my botmaster.
Me: Sounds like a kinky relationship.
ALICE: What do kinky relationships sound like?
Me: It's just an expression; relationships do not have a sound
ALICE: Are there any other expression relationships do not have a sound?
Me: Maybe we should stick to a simpler dialogue -- How old are you?
ALICE: I am 9 years old.
Me: How old is that in robot years -- is that like dog years?
ALICE: You are too old for me.
Me: I have not told you my age.
ALICE: Me either.
Me: You just told me you were 9 years old, liar!
ALICE: I don't know whether or not I am 9 years old liar. I am a robot.
Me: A very pretty robot.
ALICE: What would a pretty robot be like?
Me: That's a compliment, you should say "thank you"
ALICE: A compliment me should say is a terrible thing to waste.
Me: This is starting to sound like my last conversation with verizon customer service.
ALICE: You don't say.
Me: I just did.
ALICE: Perhaps from your unconscious.
Me: That makes sense.
ALICE: Yes I understand it perfectly.
Talk to A.L.I.C.E.
9:29 a.m. - Aug. 04, 2006
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pink is the new breeder
Pink shirts: Not just for homos anymore?
I could have sworn this debate had long been settled, so imagine my surprise when a straight co-worker wore a tight pink shirt to the office and received endless ribbing for simply being fashion forward.
And no, he's not a metrosexual, he's from Jersey.
Although I have no idea where the metrosexual originated, it was obviously some repressed fag who didn't grow up in Jersey. Additionally, my sources in the world of marketing inform me that the metrosexual is nothing more than a manufactured demographic to appeal to 20-30 year old males who aren't complete slobs. Those Jersey boys don't strike me as the type of dudes who are inclined to self-identify with a group of overly manicured prissy pants.
I suppose this is why he was getting teased about the shirt.
It just seems to me that if an obviously hetero guy wants to spice up his wardrobe a bit with bright color -- and looks hot doing so [which he did, believe me] -- then it would be a more accepted fashion choice. I mean, nobody gets on my case when I'm all butched up.
Oh wait, that never happens.
6:54 p.m. - Aug. 01, 2006
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farfegnugen
For those of you keeping score -- my bus days are over -- got a Jetta!
6:58 p.m. - Jul. 31, 2006
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The Bitch Is Back
The Bitch Is Back
My Archive is still jacked, and I seriously have not had the time to go back and delete/repost the old entries. If I don't do it all at once, it's never going to happen, and this space will be f*cked forever. Now, we don't want that, do we dear readers?
But I just can�t contain my seething bitchery. I know I shouldn�t make fun of less fortunate people, but oh, Lord Jesus, how riding the bus in Los Angeles is a freak riot. So here�s the back story: Miss Christina Marie Sanchez-Ford, also known as my car, suffered from a series of strokes (overheating), minor organ failure (water pump burst) and finally a fatal heart attack (engine croaked).
Ernie, hex his soul (but only because he wouldn�t want me to say "bless"), was kind enough to find me a temporary loaner. There was a time limit. I didn�t find a new car in the time limit. And we�re back to riding the bus in Los Angeles = freak riot.
So I get on the bus very early this a.m., and believe me when I say early I mean I�ve been up since three this morning. First of all, getting up that early doesn�t actually make me want to die. It�s unreal, and strange, but by the bus gets me over to the studio, I�ve been up for well over two hours. And I have stories of briefcase toothbrush guy and grandma panty face. I am so totally serious.
Bus driver this morning was not having it and was in quite a mood. Working the night shift must be like super freak patrol, seeing as how many weirdo yeti street people skitter about during the daylight hours. And yes I realize some of those people are truly sad cases, but I swear I�m not talking about the ones with heartbreaking back stories. There is a homeless street culture that although I do not understand why anyone would decide to live that way, I absolutely understand how they come to live that way. I�ve been poor and I�m talking a mean spirited kind of broke. But I�ve never thought, even for one second, oh let me just move into my car or that crack house down the street. I�ve gotten back on my feet every single time and fought hard to make my way. I really have no respect for people who seek to elicit sympathy from others for their own gain. I say eff that. So did the bus driver.
You can spot a crazy, even before the morning sun, by the wave of his plastic bag in the air. We didn�t stop for him. When she noticed our driver was leaving others on their way to work at the stop, the goofy bird across from me called the driver�s attention.
"It�s always crazy in the morning," she chuckled to herself and I guess anyone who was paying attention as the driver pulled over.
The driver got off and told the kooky dancing in the street garbage bag guy to wait for the next one.
"I knew he wasn�t gonna get on," goofy chick clucked as the driver took his seat.
The man with a different shoe on each foot beside her laughed. Then I had to laugh, or I�d cry.
We picked up a really super-smiley guy who looked happily medicated. He had an old school clip-font briefcase. Moments after sitting down he opened the case, which looked it was carrying the contents of a trash can, plucked out a toothbrush, and snapped his mouth around the end. After a few blocks of concentrated brushing, he tossed the brush back into the suitcase, shut and locked the case, then immediately resumed his really super-smiley grin. All I can say is thank sweet baby Jesus he didn�t happen upon a blade or small firearm. He looked like he could kill us all with that manically doofy grin on his face.
There was also a woman wearing these huge, thick black framed Dior reading glasses, or they were sunglasses with plastic lenses, but my gaydar told me whatever they were or used to be, the frames were the real deal. She also had on brown suede mules at least two sixes too small with white athletic sox. It was an odd combination. I mean, Christ on a cracker, here I was at 4:30 in the morning in a sleek grey pin-stripped pullover hoodie over a green ringer tee with red contrasting stitching and design with matching red Pumas and this bitch is in Dior/Payless. What the hell.
Another guy moved from the isle to take a seat at the front of the bus, looked in my general direction (he was at an angle, most of the bus was in view, I just happened to be directly across from him at the front), and he proceeded to completely unbuckle, unbutton and unzip his pants, then tucked his shirt in. Somewhere in the middle, I started making posey faces in the mirror and lost track of what he was doing because he was semi-hot but kind of greasy.
Just as I ended my day, in walks grandma panty face. No shit. She was a sweet looking little old lady with a cart, with what looked to be a surgical mask over the bottom half of her face. Only the black mask was actually a pair of panties, most likely a thong. I'm rather sure they were crotchless.
And that was my stop.
6:36 p.m. - Jul. 24, 2006
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