Monday, November 29, 2004


I...can't...go on any longer. It has me and it won't let go. Two and a half hours today. Over six hours yesterday, at least three the day before. My health is failing, my hands are shaking and I feel as if the slightest incident may bring me to tears. When I close my eyes, I can see apparitions calling me, taunting me. Cruelty, thy name is "Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas".

Why oh why did I allow this beast into my life? I feel like Frodo, doomed to shoulder an unholy force (in this case, a Playstation controller) that is slowly driving me insane. Yes, just in case my admitting to being completely obsessed with a video game wasn't dorky enough, I just threw in a "Lord of the Rings" reference to boot.

Anyway, it's been a banner weekend in the life of Christian Finnegan. Over the course of the last 48 hours, I've left my home for a grand total of 40 minutes. The only people I've spoken to are Kambri, the dude who makes my deli sandwiches and a couple of delivery men. What HAVE I done? Well, a lot. First of all, I rooted out the traitors in the Grove Street Family street gang (I never did trust Ryder and "Big Smoke"). Then I did a bit of dirty work for corrupt police officers Tenpenny and Pulaski--they've framed me for a muder, you see. Earlier today, I took a flamethrower to Mr. Truth's marijuana fields and shot down a police copter with a rocket launcher. I'm currently working as a freelance "soldier" for a pimp named Jizzy B, but that's just a ruse so I can get to the REAL players and make some serious shit go down. Silly you, you probably thought I hadn't posted because I'd gone away for the holiday weekend! Get your head out of your ass!

I am a sad, sad man.

Speaking of the holiday, I trust you all had a pleasant Thanksgiving? Or, if not "pleasant", I trust that none of you said anything to a family member that can't be taken back? No? Ugh. Well, don't feel too bad about it--we all kind of already knew that Aunt Karen was a "Donut Bumper" (nice wording, btw). As for me, I stayed in town, primarily because visiting my family would entail dealing with Penn Station. And on the day before Thanksgiving, Penn Station takes on a distinct "Pacers vs. Pistons" vibe. Seriously, people gather around the big board waiting for their track number to come up and once it does, all holy fucking hell breaks loose--punching, screaming, babies getting trampled, teenagers looting Hudson News and Bennigan's. F that.

Instead, Kambri and I inaugurated what we both hope will become a holiday tradition: Thanksgiving dinner at The Rainbow Room. It was pretty sweet--great food, unbelievable views and the rare opportunity to feel like I have something resembling "class". If you are so inclined, you can see a picture of us dressed up all fancy-like on Kambri's site. She looks ungodly beautiful, I look like a pasty, heavyset member of the Putterman family.

Okay, I suppose that's all for now. In case you're racking your brain, I give you this photographic reminder of the erstwhile Duracell pitchmen known as "The Puttermans". Enjoy:

Friday, November 19, 2004


Coyote With Adult Acne

Chief Buffalo Who Mounts Other Male Buffalo

50 Wampum

She Who Will Not Trim Pubes

Runs for Comptroller

Fights Bravely With Spear...IN BED!

Fisted Owl

Princess Ticking Biological Clock

Wears Sacred Goggles While Drinking

Hates Puerto Ricans

Chief Embarassing Puka Shell Necklace

Hangs Nagel Painting in Teepee

Thunder Thighs

Little Sparrow Who Calls Big Sparrow Fifteen Times A Day Even When She Knows He's Busy (What Does She Think, Big Sparrow Has Nothing Better To Do With Afternoon Than Listen To Little Sparrow Babble On About How Copy Machine in Office Have Paper Jam? Give Big Sparrow Break!)

Toilet Paper Stuck To Moccasin

Crazier Horse

Monday, November 15, 2004


I'm going to get back to posting shit on a regular basis, I swear. Today marks the very last day in my much whined-about "busy period". And what am I going to be so busy doing today? Sleeping. For you see, it is currently 8:03am and I have pulled what the young folks like to call an "all-nighter" to finish up some work for that 1-800-FLOWERS project I mentioned on this site a few weeks ago.

It's strange, I used to pull two or three all-nighters a week, but now that I'm older my body is starting to fail me. My hands have begun to shake my head feels as if, were I to tilt my head to one side, brain-matter would drip out of my ear. Back in my youth, I would never get this feeling until mid-afternoon. Part of me digs it, as it's as close as I'll ever get to knowing what it feels like to do hard drugs.

To give you an idea of how tired I am, I just spent a solid eight minutes staring at the screen after typing that last sentence. I'm not even sure what I was thinking about.

Okay, time for beddie-bye. Like I said, as of tomorrow, my schedule is looking pretty relaxed until Christmas, so that means I'll be beck to writing on a regular basis--maybe not EVERY day, but enough to make it worth wasting a few moments of your workday every now and then. Have a nice day, winners!

Wednesday, November 03, 2004


(sigh) I just wanted to see how it felt to type that. Ugh. I need to put my head in between my knees for a moment.

I don't even know what to say about this fucking situation. It's down to Kerry's lawyers trying to wring 125,000 provisonal ballots out of Ohio, and you know what? It ain't gonna happen. Me, I'd rather swallow the bitter pill and just sulk in private. I'm sure there are a few million people who are currently pounding the shit out of their keyboards, decrying the state of our nation, planning their exoduses (exodi?) to Canada, so I think I'll just sit this tragic moment in history out. Suffice to say, fuck this noise.

This week has already been a real doozy for me and it's about to get moreso. First (and most importantly), this election nonsense. In a few hours, I get on a plane to Sonoma, California for a college show. Sixteen hours later, I'll be flying back to NYC for the very last episode of "Tough Crowd" and the accompanying sure-to-be-melancholy wrap party. The next morning I go into my office to clear out my shit, and then get into a car to drive to Malborough, Massachusetts for a "NACA" conference. This is where you mill around a suburban Best Western for a couple of days, trying to impress nineteen year-old college students, so that they'll offer you work. Three cheers for whoring!! Yippee!!

Fuck it. I'm going to sleep. Goodnight, America.