I just got finished watching Foreigner on "Behind the Music". I'm now convinced that not all music needs to be gotten behind.

Then again, who knew "Juke Box Hero" was inspired by the writings of T.S. Eliot?

For your edification, I'd like to expose you all to the work of my favorite poet, Pryce Martinez. I think you'll agree that his sophisiticated use of meter and metaphor makes him the seminal versifier of our age. Please, enjoy.



THE WOUNDED
a poem by Pryce Martinez

Oh my god!
I just stabbed myself in the hand!
It hurts so bad! Please, someone call an ambulance!
Forget it, I�ll call myself!

Ow! Oh my god!
I just stabbed myself in the leg!
I was reaching for the phone and I stabbed myself in the leg!
Why didn�t I put the knife down first?!
Oh my god it hurts!

I need to stop the bleeding!
Oh dear god, there�s so much blood!
My belt! Yes, my belt!
I can use it as a torniquet! Oh thank god!
I�ll just go ahead and take off my b�

Ow, my stomach!
I just stabbed myself in the stomach!
What the hell is wrong with me?!!!

Today only: anyone who shows up at my apartment by midnight tonight will be made out with!

(This offer is valid only in the continental United States and excludes Dennis Franz, Anne Murray, Ari Fleischer, Mark Knopfler, the chick who played Kraus on "Benson", and my roommate.)

Dentyne Ice "Arctic Chill" gum: Now with nosebleeds!

So tomorrow's a big day for me: I'm going into the ESPN offices to pitch a new series of sports documentaries*. AGAINST THE GRAIN will focus on athletes trying to push the envelope of professional sports. Profiles will include:


STEFAN JACOBS, INTERPRETIVE SKATEBOARDER
Stefan Jacobs is taking professional skateboarding to the next level. While the Tony Hawks of the world are preoccupied with empty acrobatics and competition, Stefan uses his skateboard as a mode of personal expression. A former modern dancer and performance artist, he uses the �physical language� of skateboarding to explore themes of existential despair, social injustice and spiritual rebirth. Less important to Jacobs are questions like �How high can I jump?� or �Am I able to stand on the skateboard while it�s moving?� The profile centers on Stefan�s struggle for acceptance within the skateboarding community and his �shocking and controversial� performance at the X Games.


ALAIN LeCOMPTE, NHL HAIRSTYLE CZAR
In an effort to boost its popularity, the NHL has named Alain LeCompte �Hairstyle Czar�. His major responsibility will be eliminating the dreaded �mullet� from the ranks of professional hockey. LeCompte was chosen for the position after handling the delicate negotiations that brought Jaromir Jagr to the barber�s chair.


RODNEY �NO FACE PUNCHING� WASHINGTON
In an attempt to bring civility back to professional boxing, former WBC Featherweight champion Rodney Washington has adopted a strict �no face punching� policy, directing all blows to his opponents� torsos. Since then, he�s compiled a record of 0-19, but he believes his message is getting out. Washington believes he�ll return to contender status as soon as the opposing fighters honor his request to please not punch him in the face.


RANDY GEFFLER, NASCAR ENVIRONMENTALIST
The ecological conscience of professional racing, Geffler was the first man to enter an electric car into the Daytona 500. This profile would focus on the challenge of taking on Jeff Gordon and Dale Jarrett in a car that tops out at 48 mph.


JUPITER WILLIAMS, THE �WILLIAMS BROTHER�
This profile highlights the career of budding superstar Jupiter Williams, every bit as dominant in badmitton as sisters Venus and Serena are in tennis. With his eye-catching beads and no-hold-barred enthusiasm, he�s taking badminton out of the country club and into the 21st Century.


Pretty exciting, eh? Hold on to your nards, Sports Journalism--here comes Finnegan!


* denotes 'bullshit'

It's Springtime, and that means it's time to do some tidying up. Now I happen to love being surrounded by chinese food containers, mountain dew cans and unopened credit card statements, so I won't be touching my phsical environment. But I waste a lot of time and energy indulging in some bad habits, and it's high time I did something about them. So for next few weeks, I will be ridding myself of the following bad habits:

- Sleeping (What a waste! I've got places to go, people to see, manifestos to scrawl! Plus, punch drunkenness is cheaper than weed.)

- Dressing up conversations by constantly inserting 'per se' (I will replace it with the far more interesting 'credo quia absurdum est' *.)

- Listening to Journey (It's 2002--I think it's about time I stopped believin'.)

- Phoning my mother immediately after having sex and yelling "Who's the loser NOW?! (At this point, I think she knows I'm The Mack.)

- Stalking

- Flossing (I really need to kick this floss dependency--I'm up to three spools a day. I hear there's a gum you can try.)

- Resisting jingoism (Sometimes I think my built-in cynicism prevents me from enjoying life. So from now on, I vow to go for the gold! To grab that brass ring! To pull myself up by my own bootstraps and take my rightful place in that shining city on the hill! 'Cause that's what this country is about, am I right people? U-S-A! U-S-A! Screw you, Qadhafi!

- Drawing nipples on subway posters (I just feel like I've made my point.)

- Picking my nose (I figure 29 is a good age to go ahead and tackle this one)

- Picking my friends (Henceforward, friendships will be forged based soley on "Hot or Not" ratings)

- Picking my friend's nose (You hear that, Bob Powers? I'm done!)











* I believe it because it's absurd

A message to the band Puddle of Mudd:

That ain't mud, dudes.

Yes, I realize that Tower of Hubris has been dormant since Friday. I apologize to all six of you.

I've been busy working on a new musical based on the writings of Sartre, which I've titled "Existentialicious!" I see Nathan Lane and Craig Bierko as the leads, with Bernadette Peters lighting up the stage as Bad Faith. Bernie's a triple threat, you know. Songs include the rousing production number "Determination as Negation" and the tender ballad "It Doesn't Matter if I Love You (In the Grand Scheme of Things)". You may want to go ahead and get in line at TKTS.

In other news, I stopped dating someone 5 days ago...and boy is my internet search engine tired!

Thank you, thank you.

Hey, anybody want to fight? Seriously dude, let's kick each other's asses! It's totally allowed--Elton John told me so!

Wait...what? It's only Friday?

Oh. Damn, I could've sworn...

Oh well. See you tomorrow night, then!

I buy a lot of music, as some of you may know. The two bands I'm currently enamored with are The Dismemberment Plan and N.E.R.D. This seems to be a trend with the music I buy--great bands, shitty names. So let's play the crappy band name game! Can you pick out the bands whose recordings I actually own from the wacky ones I've made up? Be the first person to get them all right and I'll compose a sonnet in your name! Howz them apples? You can turn in your answers by clicking 'comment', or by Emailing ChristFinnegan@aol.com.

1. Jets to Brazil
2. Death Cab for Cutie
3. Corpus Chrissy
4. Elf Power
5. C'est Bleu
6. The Fertile Crescent
7. Underwater Skeleton
8. Rise Robots Rise
9. Hate Pete, Inc.
10. Super Rock Machine
11. Pigeonhed
12. Druggie
13. The High Llamas
14. Silverwhere
15. Fur Patrol
16. Momma Stud
17. Human Resources
18. Overwhelming Colorfast
19. The Khaki Molestors
20. Baby Spaceman


Good luck!

Have you heard about this whole Middlle East crisis thingy? Wowsers, what a kooky mess!*

*this message has been brought to you by the National Center for Blithe Understatement

Introducing the first in a series of recurring Blog entries I'll be calling "Celebrity Morning Pages".

For those of you unfamiliar with The Artist's Way, 'Morning Pages' are daily stream-of-consciousness journal entries designed to tap into the creative energy within each and every one of us. The Artist's Way has sold millions of copies worldwide and counts celebrities and opinion makers among its most ardent supporters.

As you know, I'm friends with some pretty important people. In an effort to make this site a rousing success, some of my celebrity pals have agreed to publish their innermost thoughts on Tower of Hubris, for your edification and enjoyment.

Today's 'Morning Pages' have been submitted by famed Hollywood screenwriter Joe Eszterhas, the man behind such classics as "Basic Instinct", "Flashdance" and the pinnacle of all celluloid achievement, "Showgirls". I hope you enjoy this peek into the mind of a true artiste.

(WARNING: Joe likes to 'keep it real')

Herewith:

"I�m so tired. What a night last night. I totally could have fucked lots of chicks. Buying this long, flowing hair was the best decision I ever made. I think today�s the day to start my new screenplay. I�m radiating some serious sexual energy right now, which means it�s high time for me to pen my latest controversial psychosexual blockbuster. Question is, is Hollywood ready for it? Those limp�wristed cocksucker executives don�t know how to handle a guy like me. A guy who knows the streets. A guy who knows the way people think��their wants, their needs, their desires. Hollywood is afraid of my potency, just like that fucking cocktease at the hostess stand last night. Everyone in the club could tell she wanted me. She was sending out serious pussy vibes. (Note to self: make sure to use �pussy vibes� in screenplay. Possible title?) So anyway, this hostess chick was definitely looking to get fucked by yours truly and yet, in order to fit in with what �society� says a woman can and can�t be, she tells me to take my hand off her ass. Makes a big show of it, even! Yeah whatever, lesbian! Go back to college with all of your feminazis, bitch! I�ll show those politically correct assfuckers. You can�t handle Showgirls? Too intense for your little robot brains? Fine! I eat your hatred for breakfast, you Puritan fucks! (Note to self: buy bagels) I figure, I whip up one more Basic Instinct and no one in this town will dare question the artistic potency of Joe Eszterhas! Yeah, I know I already said �potency�, but fuck it��that�s the only word for it. I am potent. Filled with hot, throbbing lifejuice and the world fears me for it. But you think Joe Eszterhas is going to change to suit the whims of a repressed, fascist Judeo�Christian culture? Hell no! Last night I masturbated into a jar. Whoa, talk about random! Oh well, I guess that�s what these things are supposed to be about, right? Stream of consciousness, man. I�m tapping into the deep reservoir of my mind. Who knows what�s going to float to the surface next? Like right now, for instance, I�m thinking about this hot Mexican chick that works the counter over at Carl Jr. And I bet that�s not all she works, if you know what I mean. And just in case you don�t: I bet that chick loves to fuck. But she probably keeps it a big secret. She�s probably comes from one of those conservative, hyper�religious family that tries to crush her spirit and stifle her feminine power. And I bet the only way she can get out from under their thumb is to become a high�priced call girl. Oh, she keeps the job at Carl Jr., you know, just to keep up appearances. But by night, she�s exploring her most secret fantasies in a mysterious world she barely understands. But by giving in to her intense desires, I�m sure she�ll learn how to live life on her own terms�and, maybe, even discover the true meaning of love. Holy fuck, that�s it! That�s my new screenplay! It�s got everything! It�s gritty, honest and best of all, it�s a story about female empowerment!! Plus, I can work in that hot three�way scene I thought up in the bathtub last week. Maybe I�ll audition that hostess chick. Okay, enough blabbering��time to earn another $8.7 mil. Read it and weep, bitches!"

Stay tuned for upcoming Celebrity Morning Pages! Future submitters include:

Eric Lindros
Juice Newton
Tony Shaloub
Apache Chief
The girl who played Tapenga on Boy Meets World
and
Garfield!

FINNY'S HELPFUL HINTS FOR WOMEN:

Ladies, don't ever tell a guy he reminds you of your brother. It doesn't matter how damn funny or "handsome" your brother is--it's not a compliment. What you're really saying is "Not only am I not attracted to you, I don't even recognize you as a sexual being". Not even a platonic friend wants to hear that shit, yo.

I just caught a Burger King ad touting their new "Chicken Whopper". Apparently, they'll take fifty cents off the price if you "cluck" when ordering. Has it truly come to this, acting like a chicken just to save fifty cents? As if finding yourself at Burger King isn't humiliating enough. I'm as frugal as the next guy, but I can't picture myself making poultry noises for the amusement of some pimply teenager with a nametag that reads "Ray-Ray".

OK, well maybe I CAN picture it. But it's not pretty.

I wonder if I can get a discount on a regular Whopper by whinnying.

While we're discussing good ol' BK, here's a tidbit for you web-savvy types. If you're ever in midtown Manhattan and need to "surf" the "web", the Burger King on 42nd st and 8th Avenue recently installed a whole row of computers for its customers. Seriously--that's not the joke part. So, you can go and order yourself a delicious Chicken Whopper and then sit down and log on. You think I'd be psyched about this, seeing as I'm CONSTANTLY using the internet. But come on--like I'm going to jerk off at Burger King! I mean, puulleease.

At least give me a curtain, or something.

I wonder if owning a dog would help counterract the feelings of hopelessness I've been enjoying over the last 15 or so years. Dog owners seem to have their emotional ducks in a row slightly better than we non-owners. I imagine all that unmitigated, unyeilding canine affection must help keep you pointed in the right direction, equilibrium-wise. But owning any dog bigger than a breadbox whilst living in NYC is bordering on cruel, no matter how attentive you are. And dogs smaller than breadboxes? They suck shit. Buy a rat, why don't you? I simply can't fathom getting home twice a day to walk the little bastard--that would seriously cut into my drinking/sobbing time.

My aunt breeds dogs--Schnauzers, voted God's Ugliest in a recent poll. I've always found the concept of 'Dog Breeding' kind of odd. Despite the arisocratic reputation, the whole idea is downright creepy. When you get down to brass tacks, dog breeders are just WAY too concerned with trying to make animals have sex with each other. I mean, what IS dog breeding but trying to get convince Dog A to screw Dog B? You're really nothing more than a glorified pimp. I celebrate Thanksgiving at this particular aunt's house, and it's always 'fun' to get updates on which dogs going to get laid. "Well, Cassie is in heat, so she's been flirting with Siegfried all week" she'll mention, with a saucy raise of the eyebrows. "I think tonight could be the night." Wink, wink. I generally respond with "Yeah, those dogs are totally gonna fuck."

And then we make out. Hey, don't judge. You should see what we do on Easter.

But I've noticed over the years that Siegfried is definitely 'the Mack' of that little kennel. There are 15 to 20 schnauzers running around that house at any given time, but it always seems to be Siegfried punching his little ticket. That dog must have some serious Game.

It's sad to know that these social distinctions exist even in the animal world. For example: my old roommate's bassett hound, Woodrow? A total nerd. Seriously, this dog was a major-league dink. He never wanted to mock-wrestle, chase other dogs, or anything of the other things that would make a dog...well, 'cool'. All he did was wander around the neighborhood, smelling things, which I have come to believe is the doggy equivalent of doing homework. Whenever the other dogs would try and play with him at the dog run, he'd yelp derisively and lumber away. This one tme, I watched two beagles and a golden retriever make Woodrow lick his own balls while the rest of the owners pointed and giggled. Then they stole his flea and tick collar. It was pathetic.

So we shot him. It was the humane thing to do, really.

Being a star of my magnitude can be tiresome--sometimes I just want to get out and meet some of you "real" people, unencumbered by my various bodyguards, stylists, ouija consultants, etc. So if you happen to see me walking the streets of New York (Bloomie's bags in hands, 'natch), please follow these simple guidelines to ensure a mutually satisfying chit-chat:

DO: Offer to shake my hand (I may or may not comply)
DON'T: Offer a high-five. I am incapable of a delivering a sincere high-five, so don't even try it. We'll both walk away from the experience feeling awkward and ashamed, much like when you lost your virginity.

DO: Tell me I look good (even if I don't)
DON'T: Compliment my "outfit". I hate that word.

DO: Offer me a cigarette (I don't smoke, but that's no reason to be fucking rude.)
DON'T: Offer me a pull off your hooch. That's just nasty, dude. Get your ass to a meeting.

DO: Hug me.
DON'T: Hug me in a way that our pelvises make contact (unless you are a hot chick, in which case pelvis action is a definite "DO").

DO: Act aloof, in order to conceal your admiration and undying love.
DON'T: Punch me in the face. I cannot stress this one enough, people. I don't know what you're trying to accomplish with this whole punching thing. That's not going to bring us closer. Do you think it makes you look cool? Do you? Well, it doesn't! It makes me feel like maybe you don't deserve what I have to offer. I'll cut you off, people--don't think I won't! So, please: enough with the face-punching.

I hope this has been helpful.


Yes, I have writer's block. So f-ing what?

Hey, it's April 3rd--isn't it about time you called your friend and apologized for that wacky "Hey, I went to Third Base with your wife" April Fools gag?

Unless you actually did, of course. If that's the case, give it until Friday.

Today, April Fool's Day, is my 29th birthday. Having an Apirl Fools birthday can be a bit tedious, as people often try to put a "funny" spin on the traditional "happy birthday". Be warned: if you decide to punctuate your well-wishings with some comment about me being a "fool" (or something equally lame), I will immediately drop my pants and defecate on your shoe. I will then punch you in the throat and shout "APRIL FOOLS!"

I'm feeling a bit ornery about this whole "getting older" thing, if you can't tell.

So how will I spend this most exciting of days? Doing laundry and trying to stave off mortality, of course. I actually had my party a couple nights ago. And by "party" I mean only that my whiskey was purchased for me by various friends, as opposed to having paid for it myself. Ah, my life is a 3rd tier Bukowski story! But I did get a couple of interesting presents, most notably a collection of short stories entitled "Best American Erotica 1999". Despite my general distinterest in highbrow smut ("erotica" is for chicks; dudes prefer "porn"), this little tome became noteworthy by the end of the evening. A hot chick friend of mine got it autographed by Woody Harrelson, who happened to be hanging out at the same bar (stoned out of his gourd, I might add). So I now have a volume of celebrity-approved ribaldry. Jealous much? Michael Stipe was also in attendance, looking arty and detached, but he didn't seem interested in furhter annointing my book of dirty little stories. Snob.

Ok, you--back to work! File something!

Hey, it worked! Now you know about The Hass than you ever thought possible. There is joy in Mudville!

Ok, it's time for me to enter the brave new world of hypertext. Ready to have your life changed? Well, buckle your seatbelt and click away!