Monday, February 11, 2008


I have a secret sorrow

I have a secret sorrow. (Slight pause.)

What time is it? We really only have until about four a.m. That’s when Rescue the Android opens up downstairs. The after-hours club. And the music starts. Around four. It’s very loud. I really can’t complain. That’s why this place is so cheap. It’s supposed to be a studio. Commercial. I’m not supposed to live here. Well, I don’t exactly live here. I sleep here. I keep my stuff in a box here. All my stuff. I don’t have any stuff anywhere else so I guess this is home. Home is where your stuff is.

The super told me you’re setting up a darkroom. I guess you’re a photographer then. (He doesn’t seem to expect a response.) I guess he’s the super. Or something. We pay the rent to him. Maybe he’s the landlord. Probably he’s nobody and it’s some kind of a racket and we’re all trespassing and could be thrown out anytime right into the street.

I teach English as a Second Language. Does that sound interesting? It’s not. After a day in there, everywhere I go these horrible sentences are running through my mind. Where are you from?

Are you from Russia? Are you in America now? What is your name?

And over and over again I hear “my name Galina.” or “I from Russia.” They don’t have the “to be” verb in Russian. That’s what I’m told. I don’t actually speak Russian. Do you believe that? I don’t understand it.

I guess they’ve got some kind of a way of thinking about it, but no direct equivalent. It drives them nuts. They say, “English stupid language.” Which oddly enough, infuriates me. I mean, it’s kind of ludicrous. What do I care?

So, the secret. I don’t know. Why should I tell you? I don’t really know you. I don’t know you at all. There’s no reason to think you’d be interested. Why should you be interested? Who the hell are you anyway? Some low-life photographer. Renting a darkroom on Avenue B, You’re probably some pornographer or something. Not that I’d object to that. I like the idea of pornography. It means people care about something; somebody cares about something somewhere, even if it’s just sex or money.

Which is pornography? Sex or money? Who knows, right? I think I used to care about sex and money, stuff like that, but now all I care about is getting a bunch of stupid fucking Russians to say I am. You are. He fucking is.

Monday, March 27, 2006


Experiment #2

The Sound of Young America

Wow, I try to do this "blogthis" thingy and I get screwed by the Blogger. thanks, google!


Tuesday, March 21, 2006


Facebook got OWNED! By me!

Spidey is frickin' mad today. Do you want to know why? Because Spidey's Facebook account got deleted yesterday. Well, at some point last week, anyway. I asked them why they deleted my account, and all they can say is this:

Fake names are a violation of our Terms of Use.
Thanks for contacting Facebook.

WTF?!??! Point one: my name is not fake; point two: Terms of Use?!? What the fuck?!? Facebook has terms of use?!??

So I go to the Facebook Terms of Use. I find these telling pearls of wisdom:
&2: [..] Facebook may terminate your Membership and/or prohibit you from using or accessing the Service or the Web site for any reason, at any time.
&3: [..] • impersonate any person or entity, or falsely state or otherwise misrepresent yourself or your affiliation with any person or entity;[..]
• use or attempt to use another's account, service or system without authorization from the Company, or create a false identity on the Service or the Web site.

bastards! they were telling the truth. but i still thought it was so unfair. wouldn't you? it's not my fault i have two identities!! that's just the way life is!!

anyway, i submitted a complaint yesterday and it went to arbitration.* the jury's ruling just came in and is below.

The arbitrating committee ascertains that the actions of Facebook, Inc. in deleting alter ego accounts are unfair, contrary to law, and morally deplorable.

Facebook, Inc. (hereafter "the defendant") has determined in their Terms of Use that accounts whose names do not correspond to their owner's (hereafter "alter ego accounts") are not valid. This contention has several problems with it. Facebook is dependent on a user base that utilises the service primarily for the sake of its enjoyment; that is, the defendant falls under the statutes governing digital "leisure services" as defined by 41 U.S.C.A. 601. That is to say, the defendant is not providing "a tangible or measurable bilateral exchange of products or services" but rather "a service connected to an unilaterally defined profit enterprise". The largely youthful user base (Gutierrez 2005) that endorses the service does so for its own sake, and therefore does not bother with the more technical aspects of the interchange. The digital contract users enter when acquiring a Facebook account is thus considered a mere formality, as the vast majority of users do not read it, and frequently forget they accepted it (Allenberg 2006). Such a contract is legally unenforceable, as provided in 41 U.S.C.A. 604, when the defendant "fails to (a) state the terms of the contract in visible and causal language, (b) provide appropriate warning prior to final action, and (c) enforce provisos uniformly across all users."

The language of the statute governing this type of contract is quite clear. By law, When all three of the above conditions hold, a digital contract such as the one provided by the defendant cannot be enforced. Facebook fails to state the terms of the contract in a visible and causal language, since, as mentioned before, most users do not read the Terms of Use; in fact, 92 percent are unaware they have entered into a contract, and of the 8 percent that are, an astonishing 98 percent do not know that the Terms of Use stipulate that alter ego accounts are disallowed (Allenberg 2006). This is clear evidence that condition (a) holds. Condition (b) holds true without prejudice, as the plaintiff submitted an affidavit confirming that he had received no advance warning that he was in violation of the Terms of Use (Exhibit D), and the defendant has not denied it. Finally, condition (c) also holds without prejudice, since there is ample evidence that to this day, hundreds of alter ego accounts still exist in Facebook (Supreyaporn 2006).

The defendant is thus in clear violation of federal statutes governing online contracts. The arbitration committee rules for the plaintiff.

Works Cited
Allenberg, F. Statistical Analysis of Online Communities. Richmond, 2006.
Gutierrez, C. Online Social Networks User Analysis. Boston, 2005.
Supreyaporn, F. Alter ego: Studies of double identities on the internet. Berkeley, 2006.

LOL! That will show them. After all, am I Peter Parker, or aren't I. just because i have an alter ego, it doesn't mean i can't have a facebook for it too! hahaha!!!

they still haven't given my account back though. =( i might have to goto court.**


* No i didn't!
** No i won't!

Friday, December 02, 2005


On the Acronymisation of Life

Well, I was about to write about the origin and manufacture of paper. But then I remembered this slightly less interesting topic, the acronymisation of life, and decided to write about that instead. You would be amazed at what obscure subjects people are drawn to.

Anyway, I had been thinking of the constant acronymisation of things. It is quite a versatile way of hiding things. If I want to say "the Green Goblin is a big schmuck" without actually saying "the Green Goblin is a big schmuck," I can just say, "the GG is a big schmuck." That way, I get away with it and people know what I'm talking about but I can always just deny what I just said, claiming, "no, no, what I really said was the GIANT GUPPY is a schmig buck!" Ha! Ha!

As you can see, I enjoy acronyms. I like to say them out loud. I like to say each letter instead of the single-syllable word, just to annoy people! Like "BBQ." That's a stupid acronym. The real word, barbecue, has just as many syllables, and everyone knows that the acronym is unnecessary, superfluous, and useless. So, naturally, I say "BEE BEE QUEUE" every chance that I get!

Same goes for "radar," I just say "where is the ARE AYE DEE AYE ARE?" or for "scuba," "where is the submergible... crappy... underwater...... b... bathing? apparatus??!?"

I think I'll change my name to "P.P." so people can call in the streets, "what's up PEE PEE?"

Hmm. On second thought, no. Maybe Spidey can change to "S.M." But the truth is, "Spidey" just sounds so much cooler...

Oh well, time to eat dogs.

Friday, November 25, 2005


On the Nature of Labour

Yesterday I read a quite interesting story by that one-man Acadaemia, Umberto Eco. The story is titled "Industry and Sexual Repression in a Po Valley Society," and it is almost unintelligible. The part that I have been pondering, though, is the brand new, postmodern, intriguing interpretation of the nature of labour. In the essay the islander researchers correctly realise that Milanese society is ruled by two competing forces, Church and Industry. Industry is termed the spiritual force because its adherents are basically living a life of monkship, including ascetic retreats called "board meetings," repetitive activities that can only be compared to prayer, and a life of poverty inside the barren cells they call "offices." Clearly the disciples of Industry lead pious, devout lives dedicated to Industry and its God, Product/Capital/Commerce (a deity expressed in Trinity!)

Damn, it was a mindjob. At first I laughed and put the book down. But I woke up today and the thought popped into my head and it hasn't left. I mean, I feel like crap when I wake up but I do it anyway, because I know it's what I have to do, same as a monk in an abbey would; I voluntarily exchange the most productive hours of my life to aid Industry in its goals. I dress in hideous garments that Industry considers "work attire" but to me is really no better, and certainly not more comfortable, than a monkish robe. At work I live in abject poverty, and the poorer I consider myself, the better. Am I not, then, living as a monk would, hundreds of years ago?

Although, perhaps, you could argue that monks don't have internet. And they probably have to kneel a lot. I guess they also do more manual labour. But you get my drift.

Friday, November 18, 2005


New rule

Avast ye landlubbers. I have duly come up with a list of annoying phrases and words that I consider unbearable to hear, and that therefore you are from now on prohibited from saying. Anyone uttering any of the following will be duly wrapped in Spidey-silk and cast off to the sharks!

D'you know what I mean

This phrase is SO 1997. Get over it. Also not permitted: Do you know what I mean, D'you know, You Know.


If I catch you saying this, I will fill your mouth with Spidey-silk. Trust me, unless you are dating me, it is NOT sexy. Any word that sounds remotely French, or that requires an accent to be spelt "correctly" (with the exception of cliché, as explained below) will earn this honour from yours truly.


This is NOT a word. It is not English. If you say this, I will beat you with a small stick. If you want to say "want" without saying "want," just use the word "pine." Simple, elegant, classic, and oh yeah, ACTUAL ENGLISH. Next.


OMFG. What is this? Israel? Where did you get this horrible, unpronounceable word? Don't ever say it again. Ever. I mean it.

Anything remotely resembling a cliché

Face it, clichés are stupid. Only stupid people use stupid thingies like clichés. Even the word "cliché" is a cliché. This, and the fact that it is French, should make it a double no-no. However, the fact remains that the English language sucks so much, that there is no proper English equivalent. So, until someone comes up with it (not me, that sounds like work), "cliché" will just have to do.



Wednesday, November 09, 2005


No One Comes to See Me

This sucks. The door opens every other minute. It's never to see me.

Actually its not that bad because that would mean more work. And work
is stupid. That's the good news. And in fact there have been a couple
of times that it is for me. So, maybe its a blessing.

I am so fucking resourceful. Fuck, they should give me a raise. Spidey
needs money, damn it. Fuckin cobwebs aren't free you know.

Mary Jane is here. She's talking to my supervisor. Bleh. Even her, she
isn't here to see me.

Traffic is sort of crazy. Gahhh. I wish I could just swing home
instead of pretending to be normal. People are leaving.

Back to work...

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