Friday, May 14

Everything Is A-OK.

Nah, I'm not stressed out.

I should be happy. After a 2 year unemployment stint, I'm finally going back to work on Monday. Starting May 17, I'll be a Program Assistant at the Department of Regulation and Licensing here in Madison. This is just a fancy-pants way to say I'll be answering phones and opening mail, but I can handle that. I get to leave the house, push aside insanity, and make more money than I ever have before. I really should be happy.

But, you know me. I'm chewing my nails down to the skin with anxiety. Any big change in someone's life is greeted with this sort of response, regardless of if it's a good change or not. It's not so much the change in scenery I fear (I really need that), it's just my fear of failure.

My track record with sweet lady "F" is long and dark. From Kindergarten, when I was the last person to learn to tie my shoes; to 6th grade, when I threw a broken whiskey bottle at a cop while swallowing a condom full of heroin. Some things never leave you, and they haunt every new opportunity, lurking for a chance to emerge.

My 4 year term at the Larsen Cooperative wasn't so much a success, but more me just getting paid to be nice to people. Some day I'll write a book about that place. You'd think for a gas station in Larsen, there wouldn't be so much underage intimacy with paraplegics, but there was, and I'm serious.

Apart from all the worry, I really am looking forward to seeing if I can hack the busy nature of a State Department Job, or get fired 4 hours in. My Mother was ever so gracious to purchase me a brand new wardrobe, complete with dress shirts, ties and Docker slacks to stay in agreement with the strict dress code. In this compromise for money, I've become a sad shell of what I used to be. The blue-haired teenager with an infected piercing has become a tie-wearing corporate whore in his early twenties. Normally this would sadden me, but I look super hot in these clothes. More women will notice me now than when I thought bowling shirts were cool. Celia will attest to this. It's a fair compromise.

This is another issue. I'm the only male working at this place, and I'm completely serious. It's been really hard for me to get a job that's usually dominated by women. However, I don't feel like working in construction, pro sports or anything outside, so office work is where it's at for me! Bring on the cubicles and stone age computers! Bring on the water cooler and the office gossip! I'm a big boy, I'm ready for it!

I'm going to go and puke now. Then I'm going to enjoy my last Friday of unemployment in front of the television.

Wednesday, May 12

New Wave Jacket!

Hello there, we're the Polysics! We're just taking a break from being the coolest band in the world to stop by our favorite American site, Communist Dance Party!

We really hope that you can see the above picture of us. Ryan really wants you to be able to see it too. In fact, if you can't see our picture, Ryan might hang himself. So unless you want Ryan to end his life tonight, leave a comment as to if you can see our picture or not. It will mean a lot to us and Ryan.

Have a great day!

(EDIT: The image worked, so my new image host works! Expect new images up and working from now on. As for the old archive stuff, well you're just going to have to imagine how funny they were with pictures. Be creative! Pretend the red X's and Angelfire logos are point of view pictures of me or some stationary object. You didn't miss much.)

Monday, May 10


Welcome to the all new Communist Dance Party! I tried my best to make sure that this page had everything that the last page did, and make it prettier to boot. I changed the comments engine, but I'm sure you can all handle it. I'm still working on the image problem, so the archives might be a tad messy, but what can you expect?

Drop me a line and tell me what you think.


If you haven't done so yet, head on over to the "72 Hours" page to see not only up-to-the-second updates on my no-budget movie, but to see it's brand new look! It's sexy, yet sensitive. Due to images problems on this site, expect a COMPLETE overhaul of the Communist Dance Party in upcoming weeks. You should be excited.

Me and Celia enjoy watching rodeos on television. Not the steer rasslin' and the calf lassoo-in', but the bull ridin'. Even though we are animal-loving vegetarians, I do enjoy a good hour or 2 of bull riding every week.

Why? We cheer for the bulls, and they usually win.

It's way too easy to bicker about bull riding not being a real sport, just as people from the south need mock sports like this and stock-car racing to feel adequate with the rest of the nation. I'm not going to rip on those sweaty, racist bastards any more than I have to. Screw the south, they don't deserve the time it takes for me to insult them. So I'm not going to.

So anyways, we cheer for the bulls. I like how they give the bulls scary names like "Big Daddy" and "McNasty". (Although I personally don't find these names particularly frightening, I guess people from the south do. They think lots of things are scary when they really aren't. Like snow and empowered women.) I think if they want to give the "cowboys" some incentive to win, they should give the bulls wimpy names like "Kitten Rainbow", or "Lollipop Pillow Basket". If I got my ribs kicked in my "McNasty", I'd still be respected. But if a bucking steed named "Pink Triangle" caused me to lose a testicle, I'd never hear the end of it. That's a bull I'm going to want to stay on.

Even if you have to watch 20 guys in a row last 8 seconds with the bull, it's all worth it for the inevitable goring that takes place at every rodeo since the beginning of time. I know you think that seems grim, but I never told them to hop on a bull and sinch a thick length of sandpaper on their weens. That's their fault, and they deserve it. We get to see 20 different slow-mo replays of the bull swinging his head back to not only knock out the man trying to dominate him, but taking out 3 or 4 clowns in the process. But that's not even the best part.

The best part is when they are trying to get this guy on the stretcher for 10 minutes, and the commentators have to go on about how big of a tragedy this is, and how it's always unexpected. Are you kidding me? You go to rodeos for the same reason you go to a NASCAR race or a cockfight, you want to see things get hurt! Did you honestly think that riding this bull was a good idea? Did you think you'd be respected as a hero and a big man? Well, it was worth a shot, but now your ribs have been cracked like uncooked spaghetti, and your redneck kids are crying in the bleachers. But never fear, imbred youth! For all your Daddy's trouble, he's bringing home about $100,000 for being a loser. Aren't you proud?

I know I am. Never stop riding bulls, guys.