Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Eve of Destruction...

So I've obviously figured out how to upload movies to YouTube and God forbid anyone actually watches the shit I post. I should say I normally reserve this blog for friends only given I don't do the best job of advertising myself, and my efforts are usually...well...lame.

However, this post imparticular is a short film I made by accident. I was playing with a photo shop program and discovered the Movie-maker feature. You can upload photos, film and music to this cheesy 'technically-inept-house-wife' program and it creates/edits the film for you. So the final product is a retarded SURPRISE!

I uploaded a song off the first CD I found near my desk [Rebel Sounds of the Sixties ] and created a montage from pics/footage of my Aunt. My Uncle shot these pics when he first bought the camera in 2005 and they were dormant on the memory card- until I brought them to life! HUZZAH!

I HIGHLY SUGGEST you smoke something medical and watch the following in its entirety. It is delightfully redundant and I feel, self-indulgent cinematic art at its finest.


(My Aunt is crazy as all get out...and the fucking raddest. Seriously.)

This is a quick video I shot of my adorable baby cousin on Christmas. My "adult" cousin got her a ghetto Barbie with a pet dog and pooper scooper. This is the most adorable shit ever. Pun totally intended.

Did you catch the "aww... why you so sad?" part? So goddam cute.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Oh Boy! Oh Boy! Oh Boy!

My online lover tagged me! First he tagged me, then he rescinded his offer after I made fun of him...and then he tagged me again! Oh LOVE!

I'm all juicy over the opportunity to disclose five "intimate details" (things no one knows about myself) to the two terrific people that read this blog! Okay kids! Here goes!

I was a Cheerleader Captain... but a really, really bad one.

I tried out for the Cheerleading Squad in the 6th grade because because my best friend Erica wanted me to do Squad with her. The first two years I was on Pep Squad and fucking hated it. By the time we were in 8th Grade, it was understood that Erica, Christine Szymcheck, Maria Martinez, Jill Seifert and myself would automatically get to be captains. We were a fugly pack of lazy bitches and our Coach was a 60 year old retired Rockette named Ms. Davis.

After the first try-outs of the season I was dorkin' out in the locker room and found an ancient can of Feminine deodorant spray. Without thinking, and just to get a giggle out of the girls, I sprayed "Ms. Davis Must Die" on some lockers with the foam from the FDS spray. It created county wide Pre-Columbine-Massacre styled hysteria the cops came to school the following Monday to hold a conference. I meant absolutely no harm and would've totally gotten away with it had it not been for Mena DiNuzzo. Mena was the village idiot, a Mob-boss's daughter and self-proclaimed bad-ass who thought authorities would assume it was her doing cause she had some sort of invented reputation. Everyone knew I was the really hardcore bad ass in town!

I had to fess up and did the best fake crying act of my life. That year I won the respect of my classmates, the attention of cute rebel boys and the Teacher's Torment Award in 1993's Deerfield Indian' yearbook. [I understand I hold the record for the most office detentions short of expulsion of any female student in that school's history].

I didn't know my real name until I was 13 years old.

My real name 'Rosemary', was not a big secret or anything- it was just that no one bothered to tell me. My family knows me as 'Rory'- a cutesy boys nickname my mom gave me. It got me into all kinds of trouble with teachers who thought I was lying to them during attendence.

Teacher: "No. You're name is Laurie."
Me: "No. It's Rory... It's an Irish name."
Teacher: "Rory is a boy's name."
Me: "I know."
Teacher: "Go to the office."

If you don't know the full story, then you probably don't know me and my family's obsession with the NY Giants. Ask me about it sometime over a pint if you're really curious. *

Religion scares the shit out of me

I went to an all girls catholic high school located on a hill, off a highway, across from a Sears Roebuck Auto Center. I was constantly freaked out by the eyes of all the religious statues on campus. I used to high five one Jesus statue all the time on the way to French class, until I accidentally broke its arm. After a bad acid trip in Chapel one day, I was convinced a statue of the Virgin Mary was possesed so I taped over her eyes whenever I could. Growing up in New Jersey near a reservation inhabited by Satanists, I have always been secretly afraid of the Devil and anything related to Satanism. I have never seen the film Rosemary's Baby and I will NEVER watch the Excorcist in it's entirety.

I beleive I accidentally killed a man when I was five years old.

My Dad was a trucker and beer lover- in that order. When I was a little girl, it was not uncommon that I accompany him to local pubs where he would look for work. During the recession of the early 80's, truckers bars in NJ sometimes doubled as unemployment offices and daycare centers. Shipping yards were usually my personal playground and I used to imagine the cargo beds were gigantic leggo blocks- I had a strangely over active imagination. Back then, my Dad drove a bright blue 72 Sierra Grande pick-up truck, when he wasn't hauling loads to Cinncinati in his Rig.

There's a bar/liquor store on Rte 22 in New Jersey called Chrones Tavern that only trucker's frequented and we popped by there one afternoon after shopping for a Christmas tree. My Dad picked up a six pack of Budweiser and headed into the back, to the bar area, to find the owner and pay up. It was dark inside, but about 3 or 4 in the afternoon so the sun was comin in through two basement level windows next to the rear exit. I saw a dart board and asked my Dad to teach me how to play. I threw the dart and hit some fat guy named "George" (the bartender called him that) square in the back of the head.

I don't know if it was my dart or his drunkeness, but 'George' toppled over onto the floor and before the bartender noticed what happened- my Dad was in the parking lot, beer under his arm, exit door fully ajar. He left me in the bar and I ran out into the sun, really confused. He yelled out to me, "Get in the truck princess. C'mon! Get in the FUCKING TRUCK PRINCESS!" We sped off with that year's Christmas tree and what I now believe was a stolen six pack of beer- all the while my father was laughing like a madman. From that day forward I was convinced I was a criminal, a bad seed, and somehow had made my father very very proud.

I have never paid for an improv/ comedy class.

My friends and some random loveable drunks in an East Village bar pooled together $300 for my 23rd birthday so I could take an improv class at the UCB. I ended up taking my first class with Armando Diaz and have interned/ worked for my comedy training ever since. I have unfortunately never taken a class at UCB - I could never afford it. To this day people ask me if I'm going to audition for Harold teams and I have explainto them that I'm not elligible.

Comedy, oddly enough, is kind of a personal pursuit. I use it to promote the legacy of my late brother Sean Stevens- my mentor, hero and the funniest human being I've ever known. Not too many people know about Sean and I think it's a real shame- he's obviously a very powerful influence over my life. He was an aspiring comedian and I know he would have rocked the comedy world to its core.

I'd like to tag some of my favorite present day writer/comediens who inspire me just the same...

Becky Yammamoto, Rachael Mason and Louie Pearlman

I think I'm supposed to tag five people, so as a weird sub-level addendum to this blogging experiment I'm gonna hit two funy guys with one tag. I nominate the Gethard Brothers as my combined fourth and fifth tags. I don't know either of them that well personally, but I know their mother is super punk rock and they understand the trials and tribulations of industrial New Jersey.

Thursday, January 18, 2007

"ONLINE ROMANCE: Did Rosie and Purns style"

rosiefinance (8:58:17 PM): wait- you just poste the embed code to the html field?

purns (8:58:21 PM): yuh

rosiefinance (8:58:25 PM): or the the url

purns (8:58:32 PM): embed

purns went idle at 9:42:05 PM.
purns went away at 10:02:04 PM.

purns (12:39:25 AM): so you want in on my top 24 just like that

rosiefinance (12:39:50 AM): ?

purns (12:39:55 AM): your myspace comment

purns (12:39:57 AM): (s)

rosiefinance (12:40:00 AM): how are you here aren't you doign a show now?

purns (12:40:08 AM): it's 12:39, it's over

rosiefinance (12:41:05 AM): motherfucker!

rosiefinance (12:41:24 AM): you cna delte one if you want

purns (12:41:26 AM): i did

purns (12:41:34 AM): anyway

purns (12:41:46 AM): where am i in your top 24

rosiefinance (12:42:05 AM): i will trade you for my friend frank

rosiefinance (12:42:13 AM): he is my "other black friend"

purns (12:42:16 AM): and what have you ever done to express anything but superficial contempt for me

rosiefinance (12:42:40 AM): i..

rosiefinance (12:42:51 AM): i don't understand human love...

rosiefinance (12:42:55 AM): you fucking retard

rosiefinance (12:43:03 AM): that's why i go to places like chuckee cheese

purns (12:43:17 AM): whatever rosie

purns (12:43:37 AM): i've always been cool about it.

purns (12:43:43 AM): always will be

purns (12:43:47 AM): whatever

rosiefinance (12:43:57 AM): what do you want ?

rosiefinance (12:44:01 AM): a hand job?

purns (12:46:41 AM): i can do that better than you...i don't want anything

rosiefinance (12:47:57 AM): it took you exactly 2 minutes and 40 secs to come up with a comebakc

purns (12:48:06 AM): no, i was typing out an email

purns (12:48:39 AM): oh rosie

purns (12:49:44 AM): how's that response coming

rosiefinance (12:50:07 AM): oh i'm sorry i was updating my super cool blog

purns (12:50:19 AM): oh yeah

sweetdaddypurns (12:50:36 AM): with that youtube thing i told you about earlier tonight

rosiefinance (12:50:50 AM): yeah uh

rosiefinance (12:50:55 AM): and someother fun stuff

purns (12:50:57 AM): oh yeah

purns (12:55:24 AM): ooooooooh

purns (12:55:34 AM): (how long did that take)

rosiefinance (12:55:50 AM): this is so meta

purns (12:55:56 AM): no it's not

purns (12:56:19 AM): are you posting this to your blog? I'm not sure it's that interesting

rosiefinance (12:56:37 AM): is anything on a blog really interesting

purns (12:56:45 AM): nope, not really

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

So I'm really trying my damnedest to not post as much on the IRC...

Occasionally I get swept up in a converstion with someone on that mesageboard and its like I end up queefing retarded babies into a pit of... retarded....babies? (Yeah that's not a gem line but whatever).

Some freak posted spam on there tonight and I digressed by exhaulting my love for it.

Just wanted to share before the "Pamela-Anderson-nude-Tommycoming-sex-giver" thread gets (hopefully) deleted. Here's a little mind flatulence I hope some goof on line can appreciate:

Sometimes I don't delete the spam in my gmail for weeks because I like to collect gems like these and pretend they're being read by wordy Professor Stanley Unwin** beloved narrator of Ogden's Nut Gone Flake:

The reader uphold large curve will remember that horn at five minutes pastpicture A few moments flight after, thing church the funnel of the `Henrietta'existence picture thoughtfully kettle `On foot?' asked Mr Fogg.crooked move `Do not curly let the fires go down,' heart replied Mr Fogg. ` peace sown puncture heard `No; for a voyage.'`To Chicago?' `No.' `A voyage?' "town Passepartout went soak on collar his mute errand enchanted. He soonshaggy long beset Towards pay noon Phileas Fogg, having ascertained thei`No; on song a arch sledge,' charming replied Fix. humor `On a sledge withIn concerned a card few moments, with cries and rhythm oaths, awkwardly a bomb app `Yes; will please iron present you agree to bucket take me to Yokohama?' `To Omaha?' `What difficult food difference is bovine it reaction to you? Do you know Plum Cr The sailor leaned on shade the humor song railing, orange opened his eyessuppose `Where off are we?' grubby damage he repeated, with purple face. `Se "

** For your reference:

Fuckin' loves it. Nice on me eyeblodes.

Where does this happen? Does this sort of pop rockosity ever happen anymore?

Is there some magical rock studio... somewhere fantastic like... filled with leather and lame and long hair? Can I go there? Can I dance irrythmically in the background, off a side-stage while a band of this caliber plays?

I love the Sweet. Probably my favorite band of all time. Most definately the inspiration for Spinal Tap. No, no that's not Nigel Tuffnel, that's Andy Scott... Amazing isn't it?

When I read about my friends in Dublin (dig the link to Love Action), I imagine that they are happily living this dream of mine. I've met a handful of their rocker friends and have seen some of their gigs when they've played in New York. The Dudes, regardless of what genre of rock they play, all mildly resemble these heros of mine. And Suzie and Jess and Lauren are better than all of them combined because they have vaginas.

Please examine the photo to the right. This "portrait of rockliness" if you will, encompasses all of what Dublin Ireland means to moi. If you can understand what is happening in this photo (because I know Suzie and Jess sure as fuck don't) than you can understand why I so desperately need to get the fuck of Long Island, and back on to the real Strong Island.

I miss Dublin so fucking much. If there was a magical studio filled with long haired re-re's, I'm sure its there in lovely ole' Baile Atha Cliath.


I smoke way too much.

Since taking up residency in the fairer part of New York, which I now affectionately refer to as 'Strong Island', I've been smoking something more than a pack a day. It's fucking awful. Everyone in my family smokes and they feel it's almost a sin not to when cartons can be purchased for such a low price at the local Hess station.

Help me.

When I was in the hospital, my good friend Corrine came to visit me. She's incredibly proactive about "air rights" and hates cigarette smoke. She's been using her passive- aggressive jedi mind trick powers to try and get me to quit for years. I remember waking up, three days into my stay at St. Vincents and Corrine and my Aunt and Uncle were there. The conversation volleyed between general "How ya' feelin?" and "when do you get out of here?"

Suddenly it dawned on me. I was aware that thanks to being so heavily meidcated on morphine, and justifying such intense pain (as ya do when your appendix bursts) that I had gone three whole days without a cigarette. Meaning, that I didn't have to endure any of the nasty nicotine withdrawl symptoms that come from quitting smoking. Maybe there was a chance I could finally quit. Maybe, this was God's way of giving me an easy out, or direct path to finally relinquinshing myself of a God awful bad habit which has plagued me since I was fourteen.

I engaged Corrine with my eureka moment, like a young catholic girl exclaiming to her parishoner about visions of the Virgin Mary coming to her in a dream.

"That's kind of rad, huh Corrine? Maybe I can keep this up. I'm gonna be on drugs for a little while- maybe this is my way out?!"

My Uncle, a retired Fire Captain, quickly interjected and dispelled any myth that I had to use drugs to quit smoking.

"Oh don't worry about that! You'll be back to smoking in no time. Back in the '80's my ladder got called to that big fire under Grand Central. I was hospitalized for three days for smoke inhalation and I smoked in the hospital. [laughs] I mean, heh, yeah, I got yelled at by the nurse cause you're not supposed to do that. And back in those days, they had those big oxygen tanks in the room with you... it's not like today where the oxygen valves are lined safely from an outsource in the wall. I would sit in the bathroom with my Oxygen mask- those tubes they stick up your nose, attached to that big tank and smoke out the window... And I used to smoke unfiltered Lucky's back then... and then the nurse came in and yelled at me 'What are you doing! You're a firefighter! Dont' you know that tank could blow up the whole hospital!'... ha, heh, yeah you can smoke when you get out of the hospital."

Corrine sat quietly and pet the cover of a magazine, smiling coyly under the long hair that overed her face. If were anyone else other than my family, I know she would have talked back or started rambling off facts about the corrosive effects of tar or whatever...

Two days later on the drive to Long Island, my Uncle offered me a Marlboro in the car. I passed out almost immediately. I woke up the next day, with a crazy vicadin hangover, hunching as I creeped downstairs to the kitchen. My Aunt sat the kitchen table exhaling her second hand Tarreyton 100 and said:

"Hey ya Rory! How ya feel ta-day?... I got you a carton of Parliaments. You smoke Parliaments right?"


"Oh good. Cause I got ya a carton. Let me know if there's anything else we can do to make you feel better okay?"

"Okay. Thanks Aunt Suzie."

"Do you drink wine?"

"I can't drink on these anti-biotics."

"Do ya want some cawffee? Tawm'll make ya some cawffee."

I hadn't had a real cup of coffee, rather caffinated real brew coffee made outside a medical facility in well over a week.

"Yes please."

After my first sip, without even putting the mug down, I tore into the carton of Parliaments.

fuck it.


What a woman can do with a vicadin prescription, the internet and a little down time, eh?

Well "the fucker" better known as my appendix was removed on October 10th of last year. I was terribly happy to have a perforated bowl finally aborted from my body. Unfortuantely I'm still paying for it, rather I need to pay for it and my Medicaid still hasn't come through. Retarded, right? It's been four months since I was first in the hospital.

I hate this country's goddamed healthcare system.

Speaking of metaphorically unwanted children... what the shit is the deal with this blogger site? Do I have to download Mozilla Firefox to this hunk of shit computer to get typing? Apparently I spent a few nights imbibing 'round-the-house toxins and decided I needed to start a new blog to become an authentic writer. So now I have all these "bastard blogs" floating around the internet with passwords and usernames I can't remember and I'm far too lazy to correct/delete them.

So there you have it. If you're a creepy freak and want to play Harriet the Spy, go on ahead and you'll discover I was just as huge a loser two years ago when I worked some shitty temp job, somewhere, somehow, I did it my way... blah blah