ck on the radio

my first radio show of the ought years is archived here.

7:59 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

tings haiku

upon finishing a bag of tings

tings are nearly done
i drank the crumbs like a kid
i'm such a fat fuck


tracie wrote one, too:

attach the tings like
a feed bag to my face please
fat fucks rule the school

4:31 PM - 3 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

it's official

i hate the word "snarky." it is now my number two most hated word, behind all-time loser "funky." (whenever funky is used to not describe funk music but rather some kind of wacky wacky accessory/style of dress/etc.) please don't use these words around me or i will punch you in the larynx really hard.
just kidding, i'll only do it mentally.

7:06 AM - 3 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

it's all right 'cause i'm saved by the...what?

OK so you know how on Saved by the Bell, let's say that rascally Zach destroyed Mr. Belding's new red sportscar and all of a sudden the gang has to raise a loooot of money really fast so they can get it fixed before he finds out? Then Zach comes up with some kooky scheme and they are able to raise the money just in time? (But then they are found out and learn a proper lesson about telling the truth and what not.) I always wondered, why didn't they just ALWAYS do these kooky schemes so they'd become totally rich?

I thought of this today because right now every rock show, sports event, store, etc. is doing hurricane relief-benefits or donating part or all of their profits to hurricane relief. It's going to result in a huge effing windfall of cash! So I was thinking, why don't these groups just ALWAYS set aside part of their profits to fight poverty and cancer and so on...I guess the feeling is a little sharing is OK sometimes, but let's not go crazy when there are profits to rake in.

8:02 AM - 5 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

it's 8000 degrees and you're wearing cowboy boots

inspired by a topic brought up by therese, as well as the current fashion of every woman in nyc.

dear faux-hemians:
you might not be bohemian if you paid $800 for that dumpy gigantic bag, $500 for the peasant skirt, and $650 for that belt with all the spangles and doodads on it. but congratulations, you just paid a zillion dollars to look like everyone else.

and wearing cowboy boots in the dog days of summer? this must bring on a new level of heat exhaustion that causes all of this seem to make sense.

and also, why are you trying to emulate the olsen twins?! don't you remember that not so long ago they were those little trained monkeys on full house? are you also going around saying "yooou got it duuuude" while giving a thumbs-up with a trance-like stare and your mouth hanging open?

like a bunch of cows being led into the slaughterhouse...and maybe you'll get turned into boots! wait, is this too harsh? i think i need to get out of the city for a little vacay. sorry everybody.

6:49 AM - 4 Comments - 1 Kudos - Add Comment

the downside of googling oneself

While conducting a routine vanity search (like you haven't done it, or googled your friends and enemies!), I learned that there are at least two or three other writers with my name. I also learned that there are bloggers out there who take pleasure in criticizing the magazine my friends and I bust our asses making. One girl took the Amy Sedaris issue, one of our best ever, and went through it almost page by page, offering what she thought was a clever critique but which basically amounted to, "Makeup? That's not feminist! Crafts? That's not feminist! I'm so unimpressed (yet I keep reading it)! Bahhh!" So of course I morbidly could not look away. But this one really bakes the cake (try to read it all, it gets virulent):

 "I read a lot of Bust while in WV; Julie and Catharine are such badass hostesses, there are a couple dozen mystery novels in the headboard of the guest-bedroom bed just in case a visitor should be felled by three-and-two insomnia. I read the Michael Connelly and Minette Walters and out of spite declined to get so much as my fingerprints on the Jonathan Kellerman and the bathroom is as good as a reference library for back issues of the feminist rag in question.

“Thing One I do not dig about Bust: OK, in the Spring 2003 issue, page 38, here is interview subject and Steve's girlfriend Frances McDormand: "And it's a question of practice, of learning what works for you and what doesn't. Like, I do not wear high heels, I can't. There's not even any point in my choosing something where I'm supposed to wear high heels, because it's not gonna happen." Same issue, page 37: here is an accompanying photo of F. McD, lying on a sofa smoking a cigarette (cool) and wearing what, class? That's right, high heels. [CK says: Good eye! We hadn't noticed! Possible explanations, for someone who obviously doesn't work in publishing: the photo shoot took place before the interview, or the interviewer/ee did not communicate this preference to the photographer.] Thing Two I do not dig: Sometime over the past few years Bust has become Kantorized, the contributors are less established and more web-based and uhh no offense ladies but this has substantially brought down the overall quality of the writing; I wish to god some enterprising grad student in English would write a dissertation on the fallacy that having a web site necessarily equals the ability to think critically and write well. Thing Three: Holy balls are the typos egregious, holy fucking balls. Barka lounger. It's perverse, the way these are most often manifested in the names of women the magazine ostensibly seeks to uphold and honor: Betsy Johnson, Angie Dickenson. And the same person has been on the masthead as a "Proofreader" for at least the past few years. If I were the editor I would have fired the stupid crackhead after the issue (sorry, I forgot to write down which one) that contained all of these: Helen Gurly Brown, Anne Richards, Pat Benetar, Katherine Hepburn, Vivian Gornik. And I would have put a curse on her and her descendants after the Fall 2002 extravaganza that in the course of two lousy pages allowed to pass all of the following: Dermot Mulrooney, Ron Leibman, ad nauseum, Lion's Gate Films, and the assertion that the film "Secretary" is based on the Gaitskill novella (!) "Bad Behavior" (!!). It doesn't make me a jack feminist to give a damn about quality and accuracy, and if you don't agree with me no offense ladies but I'll take you out back and shove a super-plus tampon down your bleeding-heart throat. Yeah, there's probably some partial truth to the old saw that women have to try twice as hard as men to be taken half as seriously-- so how goddamn taxing is it, Colleen Kane, to make the effort to spell people's names correctly? You, personally, make it easier for those who are looking for an excuse to dismiss Bust to do just that, to write it off as an amateur-hour production that doesn't have the same level of gravitas as the institutions it would critique. [And a blog is different from an amateur-hour production how? I know, let me ask the dust mites in my bed that have blogs.] You are part of the problem. And you, you make people ask why someone so incompetent has not been fired, and since there is no conventionally credible explanation you make them hatch dark and hostile, not-seriously-taking [ummmm, sic] theories about the publication you represent. Stand up for your sisters, do your part for feminism, and resign. Also of note from the past few years' issues, here is some exceptionally risible writing I copied out, from a review of "Personal Velocity": [Rebecca Miller’s] arresting, broody camerawork [sic] [the last two words are correct, what are you sic-ing about?] caresses the eye, but the original fiction's wry scrutiny comes off glib on screen [sic] [this is also acceptable]. Perhaps that's because Miller depends on a (male) voice-over to articulate what these clammed-up women do not say or know about themselves, which, disconcertingly, strips them of their subjectivity; and, bonus!, here is our old grandstanding pal Dan Savage, turning the opportunity to comment on the success of "Sex and the City" into an occasion for narcissism and self-congratulation: When I started writing "Savage Love" nine years ago, I wanted to write a column about sex that reflected how people actually talk about it. This series is successful because it allows this kind of blunt talk [sic]

"But, and I have to say this, in the Summer 2002 issue there is a review of Guided By Voices' "Isolation Drills" that makes me willing to take back everything I have just said. I don't remember what the overall tone of the review was-- frankly my response to Bust's music and film reviews tends to be along the lines of either it's-so-horrible-I-can't-look or, opposite-ly [try "conversely"], that of a slavering, jonesing rubbernecker-- but the point is that the review made reference to GBV live and "Robert Pollard's beer-soaked, shamanic presence." And holy fucking balls is that perfect, that "beer-soaked, shamanic," it is so accurate and so correct, it is criticism and reportage rolled into one with guacamole on top, it takes Thomson's "rare, fragrant" out back and, well, shoves a tampon down its throat. I'd cut off a finger right now, my middle finger, if I knew that in my life I would ever write something so pithy and poetic and true. And isn't that what it's all about?" [Uhhh, not really sure what you're all about, whether that last part was even sarcastic or not, and what Dan Savage has to do with anything.]

CK replies:

Dear Negative Nellie,

Oh my goodness--somebody really has a bug up their bum! I don't know who, because you only use a pseudonym. Good job fighting the real enemy, though; it must be difficult to read issue after issue of a mag you dislike so much.

As for my work, I happen to think that starting out with hundreds of thousands of words of material that had around 18,000 errors and catching all but about 8 of them without the aid of a computer is pretty good.

But how about if I go through your previous several years of work, see what mistakes I can come up with, and then post them here, calling for your resignation from XYZ Widget Company? Oh wait a minute. I just tried to read something you wrote that wasn't about me and how I am single-handedly destroying feminism because I didn't notice that Angie Dickinson's name was misspelled, but I instantly got bored. I nodded off and dreamed that the Internet was clogged with crap blogs that no one reads except possibly other bloggers. I guess that's what happens when you're reading something by a web-based writer, huh? Whoops!

P.S. You know what does harm feminism? Perpetuating that second-wave stereotype of feminists as humorless, bitter, unpleasant women. It's just like the joke: How many feminists does it take to screw in a light bulb? It doesn't matter, it's not funny.

6:14 PM - 2 Comments - 1 Kudos - Add Comment

screwed, and not in a good way

ok, so the other night myself and two of my pals went to a party for screw magazine. why, you may ask, would a BUSTy gal like you want to go to that? well, one, it was at the tainted lady, and i'd been meaning to check that place out since it opened (it's rad, as expected), and two, we were under the mistaken impression that the party included free drinks, we were broke and our production time had just ended so drinks were in order, and, well, three, for some reason we all thought there would be hot tattooed guys there. we were highly mistaken on that count--almost every guy there looked like bettie page's photographer irving klaw, i.e., round, balding, and seedy. we ended up being mistaken for "the talent" by the bar owner and others there, and we were cornered the whole time by these two michaels next to the highly-trafficked bathroom which emitted all sorts of odors as background to the affair. one michael could've been attractive compared to the rest of the crowd but had absolutely nothing to offer for himself, not personality, conversation, or even a drink (he seemed even more broke than our asses). the only time he became animated was when two of the screw girls put on their touching-each-other's-boobies show where they pretended to be lesbians and most of the dudes there became living tex avery cartoons, eyes bugging out and toungues unrolling down to the floor. not the other michael, though! he was an older little guy in a black trench coat and combat boots who turned out to be an outright pedophile, as in, he blogs about his buggery of little boys in southeast asia! (i didn't learn this until the next day, or i would've left even sooner.) one of my pals was propositioned to participate in a three-way, then she left for her boyfriend's place. i escaped to the nearby haven foodswings, where i added my delicious snack to ye olde credit card debt. then boring zone guy showed up and had nothing to say and couldn't afford anything there. anyway i ended up heading home not long after and my remaining pal stayed out, and boring zone would not leave her side. he ended up walking her home, then came inside to "use the bathroom" and then didn't even use the bathroom, he just wouldn't leave. she finally had to push him out of there as he tried to nuzzle her and cop a feel, then he demanded her number and she meant to give him a fakey but was so rattled she gave him the real one. he has called her at least five times that i know of since then, including twice the very next day, demanding to go out and just not getting the message that she has no interest in him.
so, today i had a message from a friend of a friend to tell me that there was a missed connections posting for me on craigslist. i was thrilled! my first missed connection! was this actually something somewhat romantic in my life?! i eagerly scrolled down the list, and found this: [cue wah-wah, disappointed horn sound]

colleen from Bust, i met you at Scew Mag "party" last thurs. - m4w

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reply to: anon-XXX@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-02-20, 2:29PM EST


i'm one of the michaels, but.......... which one? contact to find out!


this is in or around Tainted Lady lounge


***sigh*** well, since i'm not an underage southeast asian boy, i think i can guess which one. that's the last "Scew" magazine party i ever go to.

10:55 AM - 3 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

you've come a long way, captain kirk.

the other night i once again forgot what time desperate housewives was on so i caught the last five minutes or so. but then because i was so tired i couldn't move, i ended up watching a bit of that show that's on after it. boston legal or boston public or some shit. and i marveled once again at how obscenely distorted william shatner's face is by his weight; his face is so full it's threatening to burst, and his eyes look like he's turning japanese. i wondered why this is acceptable for a TV star now, but more specifically, for a male TV star. you see candace bergen there, who is supposed to be his comic foil/lust interest, looking like a million bucks! she looks exactly the same as she has for years. you would never see this situation reversed. if an actress is overweight, she's in acting exile or it becomes a HILARIOUS reality show called overweight actress. and then there's james spader, who i used to think was kind of bad-guy hot back in the day (though now he seems quite harmless and wimpy), but now he's gotten wide, too, and looks rather doughy. i demand equality of hotness! if women actors have to remain all skinny till they die, men do too! i know this isn't exactly a revolutionary thought, but i'm just sayin' that wm. shatner is hard on the eyes, he is in a profession where appearance is highly important, and he should lay off the chunky chews.
ps, if shatner has some kind of disease that's causing him to look that way, i take all of this back.

12:22 PM - 2 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

best crazy guy on the subway evs

on the F train after work this week, this guy almost cracked my "i'm not listening" new yorker subway mask, but he was only on for a few highly entertaining stops.

highlights:

"Never met a woman who was not a government agent."

"Secret AAAAAAAAAgent Maaaaaaan!"

"The cellular phone gives off your exact location at all times. Destroy it."

"The government knows everything you have on your computer. Destroy every bit of it."

"Secret AAAAAAAAAgent Maaaaaaan!"

"You will also have to kill your wife. She has the recognition factor. Kill her."

"da-da-da-da-DOW-da-da-DOW-da-da" (some ominous tv/movie theme--darth vader?)

"Surveillance equipment only functions at 85 percent at night. It functions at 100 percent during the day. You must travel at night."

"Secret AAAAAAAAAgent Maaaaaaan!"

"Never met a woman who was not a government agent."

2:23 PM - 4 Comments - 1 Kudos - Add Comment

I Love Colleen

I Love Colleen is taped before a live myspace audience.
Starring colleen kane as lucy mcgillicuddy-ricardo and gypsy the cat as ricky ricardo

OK so before today, “shingles” was a repulsive-sounding condition that I didn’t concern myself with because I’ll never be old and sickly, the very name sounding gross, only rivaled by “scabies” which has the word “scab” right there in it.

So today I went to the ER to find out why the eff I had all this sore blistery crap marring my Silk-brand-vanilla-soymilk-white skin. My dad says that even if you don’t have health insurance (which i don't), you can always go to the ER and they have to treat you even if you can’t pay. Well it turns out that just to walk in the door it’s $300 and whether you can pay it or not this number will follow you like a slow zombie until you one day pay it all off or else it will eat your brains. That’s what you get for not being indestructible and for being an economic girlie woman. Don’t even think about socialized health care! What are you, a commie? You commie pinko commie?! don’t you know Arnold crushed all the commies in the terminator? Oh wait.

After unfortunately viewing ellen degeneres sing along to “hot in herre” with nelly on the waiting room tv and wondering who in the world actually enjoyed watching that and what their lives must be like, I went in and got the shingles diagnosis. On the plus side, I got some vicodin, which I considered selling to pay for my hospital visit. See dubya? You are turning me to a life of crime.

Only I’m totally not selling them because they’re awesome. Now finally home, it said to take one but I took two just to mix it up a little. Feeling fine, I noticed a GIGANTIC water bug on the wall in the hall. The ones that look like monster cockroaches, but they’re not, because they fly. Knowing this probably wouldn’t end well, I got a takeout food plastic container, (the kind I use to catch those poor bastard baby mice my cat caught and maimed before I had to chuck them out the window), intending to trap it and set it free into the wilds of Brooklyn and sing “born free” to it.

This also required a stepladder. Of course as I zeroed in the creature took flight right towards me and set me a-screamin something fierce, as I thought it had flown up my pant leg. Then I jerked and flailed all around screaming into the living room, terrifying gypsy ("Ai-yi-yiii!"), and dropped trou to make sure the bug wasn’t roosting in there. It wasn’t. I don’t know where it is now.

Waaaaahhhhhhhhh!


PS, i'm a little more clear-headed now (the next morning) as i'm using asprin so as to conserve the Good Stuff. so later last night in the dark i fixed me a glass of Vitasoy brand choco soymilk, stepped on a cat toy and not knowing what sort of critter it might be, i again flailed about and sprayed the soymilk everyhwere. aren't those pills supposed to calm me and not make me a total slapstick spazzmo?

addendum.
so shingles are the return of chicken pox. if you've ever had chicken pox, and something very stressful happens to you, and the stress reaches the your nerve cells where the chicken pox virus was dormant for decades, it triggers the outbreak. like, oh, say, thinking you were watching your out-of-shape, overweight, high-blood-pressure and high-cholesterol-havin' father die before your eyes last saturday, although it turns out that it was only heat exhaustion. and he's fine now. thank goddess.

speaking of thanking goddess and sounding like a big hippie, the thought occurred that maybe there's some kind of cosmic bargaining table, like maybe somehow it was proposed to me, hey, would you take a hit of shingles and pay hundreds of dollars if it means your dad will live longer? sure! and the dose broke out on the nerve branch right over my heart. awwwwww! or maybe events really are just totally scientific and unconnected. i dont' know.

and also: i'm going to have a baby niece any day now but i can't hold her or go near her until this clears up because i'm Auntie Disease Bearer and it would give her chicken pox. it's only for a few weeks though, and it's not like she'll know what's going on for months anyway.

one last thing: the name comes from cingulum, the latin word for girdle. like, i'm wearing a girdle o' pox. does that make it less gross? i think if you were picturing anything that looked like biological roofing shingles, then, yes.

7:14 PM - 4 Comments - 1 Kudos - Add Comment