Sometimes, a man simply doesn’t have the most eloquent words at his disposal when trying to make a sincere and haphazard point. This might be especially true when a man attempts to talk about the opposite sex and their hasty oversight of him. Let’s face it. Sometimes you just gotta stop yapping and grab the gusto when the situation calls for it. Or you can just be a passive aggressive slob and throw it on Craigslist in hopes that at least one beer-drenched yahoo will nod his head furiously in agreement — and then do an equal amount of nothing. There’s brotherhood in that… I suppose. And maybe there’s an impulse to point out to these emotional 12-year-olds where their logic flaws lay — to save the drowning puppy — but they won’t listen and it would take away from audience spectacle enjoyment. And who doesn’t love a spectacle? – MGP

you were walking – m4w – 29 (burlington)

you were walking
our eyes meet
i made a u turn
i pulled up by you
i asked for directions to break the ice
then i made a move
i asked were you were going so late
i asked did you have a man
ummm theres the problem
oh well
at least i talked to a sexy women on the street of burlington
long hair and pretty eyes with a sexy body
hope he treats you better than what you said
maybe you didnt loose my number and ill cook for you
or go out and wine and dine

to all the other sexy women in burlington
stop being so stuck up
some of men talk a differ why
stop thinking its going to happen like it does on tv
lets be real
dont look into my brown eyes if you donnt want me to talk to you
most men look at your chest first eyes second
i want to look at your pretty eyes first
then explore your mind
first
bye

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(Backstory is here.)

Forever gone is the achievement of Joan. No one really knew what “mo” was or why selling it in presumedly great amounts merited a mention on this sign, but now the sign is blank. No more Joan. No more “mo.” A sad day for the entire real estate community, I’m sure.

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Very. Very. Creepy.

i thought
Date: 2010-06-03, 6:27AM EDT

i loved u but realy found out i didnt like you but i am willing to get along if u are whos the adult here i dont need any more headcases messing with me i am the smartest person i know not saying thoes who surround me are stupid but realy when i get my man hood back no one will run over me again!!!

Greers laundry . Black ford f 150 – m4w (Dorset st)
Date: 2010-05-30, 10:56PM EDT

Short cute brown hair red sweatshirt jean shorts greenish shirt under sweatshirt and tiny and driving a black ford f150 extended cab with carseat with pink around the outside of it. Here’s lookin to talk to u” I was outside when u were smoking a cigerette ‘ what was I wearing or driving so I know it’s u. I’ll be waiting

walking your feline at the C Jam! Wow – m4w – 36 (Burlington)
Date: 2010-04-24, 6:22PM EDT

WOW! I saw you in the parking lot of the “Clam Jam” bar and grill…From the moment I saw you strutting around the clam jam with your beautiful cat in leash I was taken off my feet. Oh lady from N.J. with two husbands that walks her cat on a leash…I saw the pain from the tears from “Boots” getting his little outfit in a ruckus…Oh lady it made little “streaks” thru the mascara you dawned that evening…oh the white spandex and poufy fur collared coat…but you looked so good too (I was talking about your cat) but…if your the one…if you use the word “feclemfpt’ed” when “booties” got his mane wet then your her! If your reading this…know this. I can take care of you and Boots better than your other husbands…I may not be just like TJ Ramrod or Biff Gristle,(not to name names, uggghmm) nor do I have the money to bath in Drakaar (yet)…but my flat is your flat…and some day…with a little faith (and some sort of scheme) I too can become as bottomless and empty as you…someday we can strut around…The clam jam our palace, boots in hand, together…as one we walk with no feclemfpting just you, me & boots…!

Ps:You were waiting on your husbands to pay the bill so you went to take your cat for a walk on his leash! You were traveling in a Lexus or a Prius or one of those “us’s” cars…with NJ plates…BTW, if you are reading this and you think this is you…please respond…lol…seriously! Oh lady of the white spandex driving with Biff Gristle and T.J. Ramrod in one of those “us’es” cars with N.J. plates that wears cloths that accentuate your unparalleled quest for money! Write me…

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Sometimes, Burlington is funny…

you pissed in my parking lot – m4w (j-town)
Date: 2010-05-16, 2:00PM EDT

You were drunk and crying with a bunch of friends in my parking lot late at night a few months ago. I was drunk and smoking a cigarette on my balcony. You noticed me and then proceeded to drop your pants and piss in my parking lot while looking at me and screaming about your coochy and asking if i wanted it. I asked if you wanted some toilet paper or maybe some wine. Your friends laughed at me but I decided it was a good idea to give you both wine and toilet paper. I than gave you a hug and you and your wasted ass friends went off on your way. Your urine stain was in my parking lot until the ice melted last month.

You are a keeper.

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I love my sweet, lovely, knee-jerk, over-reactive, begging-for-attention little city of Burlington. It’s like a screaming toddler who imagines it’s had its pacifier yanked out of its adorable mouth over and over and over and over and…

“Camel Toe” on Pearl St.
(Parking lot of Spectrum)
Date: 2010-03-09, 1:57PM EST

To the dude that thought it would be funny, helpful, or just mean to let me know how my crotch happened to look at that moment:

Those aren’t the only three motives, but nice guesses. Though, even sticking with those above, which one is which would probably depend a great deal upon how attractive (or, conversely, unattractive) this gal is. All of Nature operates on a hierarchy dictated primarily by physical (and, secondarily, non-physical) appearance — that is, sex, sentiment, success, etc. — and so do “dude”s who yell things while passing in public. She’s overthinking this one by not thinking at all. Sounds like a contradiction, I know. Much like the remainder of this whinefest. The difference is that I’m right. Let’s move on…

Yes, I know what “camel toe” means… do you know what “misogyny” means??

Any woman who makes this statement really has no clue as to the nature of men. At all. Hasn’t even tried, even for an outsider. But, there certainly is a whole lot of anger here. A suspicious amount of it. And to equate a pretty innocuous nickname for a lady’s privates to the complete hatred of an entire gender is, shall we say, a bit silly. And revealing. If that revelation is a mystery to this woman, then you can add stupid to the list as well.

Its a little like racism (which you surely know what that feels like) but more subtle, and with more cultural permission.

So, let’s follow. We start with camel toe, then we take a massive leap to misogyny, and then take a friggin’ rocket ship to Planet Racism? Really? Who knew that a simple vagina could stir up such vitriol and spite? To wit: there was slavery, there was the Holocaust, and then there was this woman’s pussy of great cultural and historic importance. Once again, the “dude” in question is not thinking of ANY of this, disappointing and ego-shattering as that might seem to some.

So, as a parting question to you: any idea how often I have to witness a man’s junk outlined in HIS pants?????? (hint: the number encompasses MY ENTIRE LIFE: DAILY).

And no doubt looking for it? I’m thinking that this posting is my very first instance in my 41 years of life that I’ve ever thought about my or someone else’s cock outline being visible. Funny, but it just doesn’t come up, either on my own or at any of the women-hating organizational meetings that we ALL attend. (Insert sarcasm emoticon here.) And SIX question marks? They speak volumes, believe me. Each is a signpost leading to this nitwit’s astounding lack of even a basic insight into those possessing the dreaded XY chromo-combo.

So, if I’m to understand your not-so-subtle-subtlety, its perfectly OK for a sack to be visible, but my/a woman’s junk: “eeek, unacceptable!!”

Anyway, thanks for the extra humiliation this morning.

News flash: Men couldn’t care less if you notice their “junk” or make references to it… unless it’s an invitation to sex. If it isn’t, it is of no concern, including an in-depth compare/contrast between genitalia and its deeper implications of social acceptability. Safe to say that they don’t teach that painful fact in community college-level “women’s studies” courses. But, if you’re in the mood for learning, grab a dictionary and look up the word, “pragmatism.” It’s a good starting point.

And thanks for your special interest in my lady-parts… I’m flattered.

No, sweetie. You’re just wanting attention in a way that is the furthest thing from hearing the same comment and not reacting as if insecure and obsessed. You want to wave a ludicrously giant flag for all to see, one that clearly intends to impress and inform but inadvertently screams defeat. People say lewd or unflattering things to total and near-strangers every day, and what’s between your legs does not entitle you to exemption. You get to join the rest of us on Earth who know that controlling other people’s language and expression through same not only isn’t acceptable but isn’t even achievable in any realistic sense. I can only imagine how powerless you must feel in the face of that bothersome fact. And that everyone’s looking at your vag. Okay, everything but that last part.

Oh, and the release of the iPad today has absolutely nothing to do with your naughty bits.

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That $3,500 beauty above is not it. Don’t be dumb.

But, for regular visitors to my abode, I am getting a new one. Newer, better, softer, same size, and it’s a sleeper sofa, too. Would order it tomorrow, but I’m currently plotting on the best way to cat-proof my $1,100 investment. Choices are faux-leather or upholstery. And, yes, I’ve measured the space. It’s been weeks now. Still thinking. Thinking. Thinking.

I will take any suggestion that isn’t A) get a (new) scratching post, B) put a slipcover on it (it’s a sleeper sofa, remember), C) have my cat de-clawed, D) clip my cat’s claws (which she won’t allow for a second), and E) get rid of my cat. It’s not scratching post replacement fears, it’s deep paw-kneading-with-claws issues. I’m looking for a good idea that has a minimum of compromises, is comfortable, isn’t crazy-priced, and will withstand the inadvertent attention of my feline’s main weapons of attack.

Suggest away…

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So, about once a week, my co-worker and I go out to Essex and grab some lunch at a sub shop there. And each time we pull out of the parking lot, we notice this lone sign. It looks to be a relic, whether or not it is (and I’m not really sure), but perhaps long ago, there was a realtor named Joan — except that she sold a lot of “mo.” Would that be modular housing? Moldy basements? Dwellings on the moor? Certainly she didn’t sell money. That would definitely not go anywhere and would certainly not earn her such a high distinction as mention on a roadside marquee. Looking at the centering of the text, it appears intentional. Like it’s supposed to read as it is now. Fuck! It’s like an ancient mystery, left near the sandwich eatery to pester the minds of those on their lunch break. Oh, Miss Cross, tell us about your mo. Your sweet, secretive mo. Unlock this maddening riddle for us all.

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And then my whole office got into it…

Copier: Shiiiiit, maaaaan. That honky muf’ be messin’ mah old lady… got to be runnin’ cold upside down his head, you know?

Telephone: Hey home’, I can dig it. Know ain’t gonna lay no mo’ big rap up on you, man!

Copier: I say hey, sky… subba say I wan’ see…

Stapler: Uh-huh.

Copier: …pray to J I did the same ol’ same ol’!

Telephone: Hey… knock a self a pro, Slick! That gray matter backlot perform us DOWN, I take TCB-in’, man!

Copier: Hey, you know what they say: see a broad to get dat booty yak ‘em…

Copier, Telephone, Stapler: …leg ‘er down a smack ‘em yak ‘em!

Copier: COL’ got to be! Y’know? Shiiiiit.

(Yes, this is the actual display panel on the copier in my office at work. Blame the Dutch, they made the damn machine!)

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Some people just don’t know when to hop off the heartbreak train. And it’s this sad and masochistic insistence that drags these poor souls down a path of desperate grasping to belief, faith, promises, vows, what could have been, what was had, etc, ad infinitum. For the truly clueless, It’s as if they set their own house on fire, remain inside, and then complain about the heat. I couldn’t possibly relate. And the bizarre practice of revolving your entire life around another human, unconditionally, is beyond alien to me. It’s true that, sometimes, bad things happen to undeserving people. Sometimes. To the rest, their complicity earns them little more than turned backs. Reap, sow, rinse, repeat.

Love may never be certain, but one fact is: no one on the face of this planet is worth ending your life over…

missing peggy – m4w – 50

Well, its been some time now, since 2000, and before that was 1986 still think of you alot. But, there’s been alot of time gone by to ease the guilt. I’ve been watching the posts from time to time, just to see if I reckonize your writing. Last phone call I had with you was……you said grow up, and move on.. and again you’re right.

Talk to a few milk tankers with vermont plates and I ask if they know you, most say no, dont know you, you’ve disappeared good this time. At this stage in life, I dont blame you, doesn’t mean I dont think of you. I certainly wished I’d handled your heart with care, well, that no excuse. Hope you and your mom, and family is ok, and doing well, and I hope you’ve married and are in a happy marriage, take care.

whatever – w4m – 35

I miss you sometimes so much it’s crazy….I don’t even like you anymore. It’s like we had this whole other life that no longer exists. For whatever it is worth I still think of you every single day, you will always be the love of my life. But you know why we got divorced…..lies will kill a relationship.

missed connection with life (lost in Vermont)

I have been a family man for years now. I am a Veteran, hard worker, always try to do the right thing. I am at the end of my rope. I want to erase myself from the planet. Can’t explain all the details or you will know. I can’t talk to anyone about how I really feel or I would suffer the consequences. I have tried everything to make my family happy. It does not help that I married a total freak from hell who has destroyed me in every way possible. She has taken everything from me, not just stuff, she has taken my whole life from me. Everything I have been working for for years. I feel so crushed and lonely, more than I have ever felt in my life. People keep saying it will pass. They don’t know how committed I have been to my family. How can you give so much and then have your life taken away from you in a flash. I so wish I would have died in Iraq. I am tired of faking it. Faking being happy around people. Faking that I am ok. I am not ok. I don’t want to be here anymore.

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After a year and a half of being away from video production, I’ve decided to take up the reins once again. Part of my hiatus came with the changing out of one machine for another — namely, my old G4 mirrored-door for my Intel Mac. Seemed the version of Final Cut Pro I had didn’t want to play with an Intel processor or the too-futuristic video card inside. So, through a combination of FCP not being sold as a stand-alone app any longer, not wanting to regularly work on my old machine in light of my shiny new one, no longer doing public access TV, and the whirling dervish of my work/school/podcast life, video slipped into the background and more or less took a long nap.

Then, I woke up one day and realized just how much I missed video work. I mean, really missed it. Not producing SubSIN on a regular (or any) basis not only took me out of that loop but kept me unpracticed and, ultimately, lagging behind with the growing tech advancements. Yes, even a few years can matter. So, I tightened my belt a bit and bought the obscenely expensive Final Cut Studio. Standing at the counter of Small Dog while it was being rung up, I joked to the clerk about how $1000 gets you such a small box. Well, $1069.99 with tax, to be precise.

For those video geeks in the audience, Final Cut Studio used to come in a box the size of a large toaster. Now, it’s the size of five CDs stacked. Whether it’s Apple once more appeasing the “go green” crowd or the recession hit them a little harder than expected, or both, the manuals are not the nice hefty tomes they used to be. That’s sad because I like nice hefty tomes. Oh, sure, all the manuals to all of the Apple software are on their site in downloadable PDF format, but I’m still an old fashioned computer nerd at heart (despite my strikingly good looks). Gimme books, damnit!

And I definitely knew I was getting a bit of bang for my buck when I experienced the mind-numbing installation time: 6 and 1/2 hours over the changing of seven DVDs. Total hard drive space claimed: 48.7 GB! If I was Jewish, I would say, “Oy Vey!”

Dividing up the suite to my needs, I’d say it’s (initially) going to be Final Cut Pro for video work, Soundtrack Pro for podcasting, Compressor for YouTube prep, and the other three apps for wherever they apply. I’m looking to pick up a Kodak Zi8 for on-the-go video shooting (fun stuff, not the high-end vid work I’d otherwise do). Anyone have any input on those? Would love to hear it.

Conclusion? Well worth the purchase on so many levels. Least of all, my returned enthusiasm for the video medium. Feels good to be back home.

School is going well. Grades are up and participation is high. My one online class, however, is a bit of a thorn in my side. Seems my idea to take it in expectation of it being easier or at least less time consuming fell completely flat. It’s actually far more time draining and easily three or four times harder than a classroom-based equivalent. The Web-based structure of the learning environment is, at best, counter intuitive and, at worst, confusing and inept. And, that’s coming from someone who’s been a computer user for almost 30 years. At the risk of my GPA, I might barely squeak by with a minimal grade if I’m lucky. In short, no more online classes. I don’t work well with them, it appears.

As far as Terror Transmission goes, all is well on that front. Jason and I will be adding some interesting content to the show over time, contributing self-produced video to the YouTube page, and doing some horror convention stuff in the summer. Naturally, we’d like you all to take a minute of your time and vote for us at Podcast Alley. It doesn’t hurt. Really, it doesn’t. It only takes a minute and you’ll feel oh-so-good about helping us out. Thanks.

That is all. End of line.

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