Nocturnal Emissions

Insomnia sucks for the most part, but what it doesn’t suck at is getting me to gaze into the deep, dark crevasses that make up what’s left of my soul. Some nights I think of fluff — like fuzzy kittens, soap scum and sweaters made out of love, merino wool and sunshine.

Then, there are the nights when I can’t get the frightening images of acid wash jeans, people who insist on wearing PJs out in public, post-WW1 German porn and the Dave Matthews Band out of my noggin.

Tonight is no exception and here’s what’s rattling around in what’s left of my once-semi-brilliant mind.

1) When the first-time writer of a hit movie tells an interviewer that he/she just simply sat down with a “How To Write A Screenplay In One Weekend” book, and wrote that semi-literate–but funny celluloid sensation–they’re lying to you.

Here’s what really happened: The studio wanted to work with this person because they’re popular and funny. So, these clueless execs buttered them up, then asked them for an idea and maybe a rough draft of a script. Upon first the reading, the must-hire D-girl who’s fucking the junior exec, quickly learned that this particular popular person is much better at doing late-night sketch comedy. Ahem–mum’s the word, see. So, the studio then hires a team of script doctors (at about $200k a pop) et voila–hit movie!

2) While I’m on the Hollywood trip, here’s another tidbit: When an actor/actress/singer thanks their assistant in their Oscar/Golden Globes/Emmy/Grammy acceptance speech, they’re really thanking their drug dealer. True story.

3) Bulimia never, ever goes away–it just manifests itself in other forms–like the urge to dye one’s hair purple, or start a blog, or build the original Roman Empire out of unused tampons.

4) Naming your children the correct name is vital to their future. Adorning them with monikers like Brittany, Tiff’ny, Zephyr, Madison, Schylur/Skylar, or Savannah, well, they’re bound to grow up to be total assholes, and will either yank their puds for money or spend a lot of time spinning nekkid around a steel pole at a dank truckstop bar on the interstate. I can’t believe that unimaginative parents in this country feel the need to sully the awesome reputations of two of my favorite cities by naming their sub-mental spawn “Madison/Madysun” or “Savannah” because both names are “unusual.” Get over yourselves because you’re only doing your kids a disservice by bestowing them with awful names. Stick with the classics.

5) If you insist on naming one of your kids Marquis, at least have the fucking sense to pronounce it correctly–it’s “Markee” not “Markwiss.”

6) The more I think about it, the more I believe that Stalin was just misunderstood.

7) Write Yiddish and cast British. Never fails. Ever.

8) Once I deem you to be a douchebag, there’s no way to recover. It’s just best to move on and realize that me calling you a douchebag is actually a gift–a kick in the ass of sorts–to get you to fix your douchebagness. Trust me on this–I’m a damn good judge of character.

9) OJ did it.

10) I’ve said this before, but there is no such thing as a social media/content management guru. If you introduce yourself to me as a social media/content management guru–and say it with a straight face–well, you’re about to be called a word that rhymes with schmoucheschmag. Gurus can only be found in ashrams in India, by the way.

11) My god–I love peonies.

12) You know, that rug really DID pull the room together.

13) I can really see a future with this gentleman. He’s all sorts of secksy in his thong, and not to mention his pathway to adventure, which has me a-quivering by the way.

Picture 3Is that a cat?

14) There’s nothing wrong with nom-nomming on chocolate cake with chocolate buttercream frosting for breakfast, lunch and dindin. But you must realize that stuffing your face with all that chocolate goodness will cause you to resemble a mutant hamhock after about a day of this diet. Never fear monkehs–that’s why god invented eating disorders.

15) Everyone should own this album.


For those of you who have difficulty reading the above image, it’s Ben Harper’s “Fight For Your Mind.” It’s haunting, sensual and beautifully produced.

One of my fave songs ever–

You’re welcome.

16) Elvis is king–Costello, not Presley. Puh-leeze–I’ve never cared for that drug-addled twat.




27 thoughts on “Nocturnal Emissions

  1. Few thoughts… First, I’m afraid to say anything lest I be pegged as a douchebag. I’m going to say a couple more things anyway. I’m so glad my kids’ names were not on your list. I had chocolate cake for lunch, dinner and breakfast this morning. Does my butt look like a mutant hamhock in these pajamas?

  2. The guy on the bed looks exactly like my college boyfriend. I mean, if you did one of those age-adjusted thingies to the photo. And, hey, maybe it IS my college boyfriend. I haven’t seen him in 30 years, but I know how to get in touch with him if you’re actually interested.

  3. First of all I’d like to thank Adam, my drug dealer…
    Shit, my mind doesn’t work as well as yours does when I’m awake, much less pretending to be asleep. Great album, of course OJ did it, Costello yes, and where did you get that picture of me?
    …and of course, I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for my drug dealer, Adam…

  4. Insomnia brings out the best, craziest thoughts. I love it personally. Can I add the actors/actresses/musicians/whatever who thank God when they win? I feel pretty sure that God has bigger things going on than making sure you were honored as best actor on that movie no one watched or for honoring that rapper who used the F-word incessantly a couple of hundred too many times. That dude is sexy though. How can I meet him?

  5. You have insomnia too? You should call me, I’m usually up. Except that your observations are more interesting than mine. I’m so with you on the merits of chocolate cake with chocolate buttercream. It’s not just for breakfast anymore. And fuck yeah, Elvis C is the king.

  6. I’ve forbidden myself to write when insomnia strikes…usually here it is the result of ringing of the ears as a side effect of the stupid albuterol inhaler for my asthma. Yeah, I’m sick of that…reading on my i-phone about non-albuterol solutions to that was MY night. See, wise of me not to write (much) when insomniac.

  7. Sounds like you had a great night’s rest … What does compel people to wear pajamas in public? Not that long ago, I was standing in a checkout line when I noticed a woman somewhere in her twenties wearing a knit cap and a camel hair dress coat over pajamas — dogs on skis. She looked like a total asshole to me, but maybe I’m just showing my age about this.

  8. I don’t know what I ate that caused it, but I’m having some serious nocturnal emissions right now, myself. Totally unrelated.

    Was this inspired by the Golden Globe Awards?

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