half a bottle of beringer white zinfandel (gag) later...

My perception of time is off right now. It feels far later than it actually is, and something tells me that it can't just be because I woke up around five this morning. And drank that wine. There's something else that must have interfered with my circadian rhythms to cause such a difference, but what could it be? Perhaps it was working the half day--waiting (in vain), the final hour, for Jay-Z to come out of the Mandarin Continental Hotel and photograph with out Knicks gear--an anticlimactic ending to a super-amazing-really-freaking-cool-experience-not-to-be-missed-or-something-I-am-a-liar three days of "Promo" work for the New York Knicks. Home opener tonight against the Wizards!! Limited tickets still available!!! Whaaaa!!!

Perhaps, however, it has to do with watching commercials I have never seen before, on channels I've never tuned in to. Or not watching television as I read (rhyme with dead to match tense) mindless ultra-crap from the Pahrump Valley Times newspaper. Or that I read yesterday's USA Today today. That's pretty creepy.

So yeah. Little crazy fucked up now bo peep.

Tomorrow night, I hang out with Mo.

Next week, I work two 4-9 shifts at Coach, and a scary 6pm - 3am Friday shift to help get the new store (Coach's biggest worldwide) ready for its grand opening the following week. Insanity. Just the thought of trying to get back to my apartment at 4am on a Saturday troubles me. Not to mention (but, to mention it) what it will take for me to prepare myself sleep-schedule-wise for that kind of shift. Sure, I normally don't have trouble being up that late on weekend days (or at least, I didn't in the past--working at 5:30 every morning this summer somewhat modified my insomnia schedule), but it just seems potentially problematic. Oh bother.

I also might get to put in an extra day of "Promo" for the Knicks on Tuesday (before my Coach shift), which just sounds oh-so-fun. This sweet "Promo" stuff sounds like it would be a great partner to a full-time job at Coach--getting called every now and again to put on some sweet costume and make a fool out of myself in public to serve some capitalist vehicle. It's right up my alley. Particularly my insane outgoing personality and enthusiasm and love of acting. But especially (and legitimately), my love of thrill, of putting myself in situations for which I feel extreme discomfort, anxiety, and trepidation--like talking to strangers on the streets of New York City--and managing to tap into my well of desensitization to suitably distance myself from the perils and emotional struggle of the task at hand. Translation: I am able to make myself not care.

It's beautiful. And it's good money. And I get to keep the clothes. And you know (or will find out, dear readers) how much I love love love love love the kitsch of pop-cultural/commercial/marketing/promotional paraphernalia. I am, you may recall, the greatest word-of-mouth-promoter of Holiday Spice Pepsi AND Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr Pepper (note the lack of period in the abbreviation of doctor--very key), among others.

Anne Rice's newest novel is about the young years of Jesus. Amazing. I always felt there was something that eerily connected Him in my mind to Vampires and Zombies and other Un-Dead. And now, the connection being realized by a vampire-author-turned-hardcore-jfreak, I can finally see what I have always felt. Jesus--upon being raised from the dead--was not Alive alive (human), and not Dead dead (ghost/spirit), but rather Alive dead, or Dead alive -- or, more commonly Un-Dead, as in Zombie...His wounds were still visible, and could be physically felt. It was Thomas, if I remember correctly, who touched His holes (see--more connections to the eroticism of Vampirism)....Further: during the events surrounding his death we have--eating of His flesh, drinking of His blood, ritual, cleansing, mass paranoia, mysticism, deification, apocalyptic talk, royalty, betrayal, mind-control, hysteria, belief, faith, crosses, gold, suicide, visions, masturbation, religious/political unrest, class division, special numbers (33 is, after all, closely related to 666--especially when you add a final 3 for the number of those crucified--or the number of days before He rose, or Peter's denials, etc...), etc...

And, naturally, here follows a proposal for a feature film: "My Dinner with JesusZombie"



Time is slowly beginning to right itself. Whatever that means.







Cause I seriously have no fucking clue.