A few things to update...
If all goes well, I will be heading up to the Great Green North this Wednesday, April 30th. The plan is to update while I'm away, and to take emails. So keep 'em comin'.
For now, things to amuse yourself with, my column went live at Legion Studios!! Check out the new online in-thing of LIVE NUDE GOTH. Everyone's doing it, you should, too.
Also, be sure to visit your dark buddies of Das Ubergoth! in Episode 2: Fictional Characters in which Blur Boi falls in love... with hilarious results.
Sidenote: I'm going to be updating Ubergoth every Monday. If you like what you see, please contribute to the site and help us stay up and running by buying something from the Merchandise Page.
Monday, April 21, 2003
SGP UPDATE:
It is done... well. Sort of.
At any rate, the site update is going along smoothly, and more creations have leapt straight out of my skull like Athena out of Zeus.
So check out the new comic filled with humor so dark it's worthy of a goth. Hence the name.
Das UberGoth! Episode 1: The Ring is now live. The image quality is sketchy.. heh. I made a pun. But it's the pilot episode, you could say. Next week's episode: Fictional Characters, will be much better image quality and planned to go live Monday, April 28th. So stay tuned.
The trip that was planned for the Great White North has been rescheduled to me departing on April 30th, but I will be checking email while I'm up there, and hopefully updating regularly with pics and road journal entries.
It is done... well. Sort of.
At any rate, the site update is going along smoothly, and more creations have leapt straight out of my skull like Athena out of Zeus.
So check out the new comic filled with humor so dark it's worthy of a goth. Hence the name.
Das UberGoth! Episode 1: The Ring is now live. The image quality is sketchy.. heh. I made a pun. But it's the pilot episode, you could say. Next week's episode: Fictional Characters, will be much better image quality and planned to go live Monday, April 28th. So stay tuned.
The trip that was planned for the Great White North has been rescheduled to me departing on April 30th, but I will be checking email while I'm up there, and hopefully updating regularly with pics and road journal entries.
Saturday, April 12, 2003
4/12/03
1:51pm
Sitting here listening to And One's "Panzer Mensch", and bouncing along to the electronic beat.... industrial pop if ever there was a thing. Oh who am I kidding?? STUPID AMTRAK!!!
Instead of my awesome Orlando to Newark Viewliner seating, stuck in the privacy of my own little closet with bed, they saw fit to make my ticket go *poof* and turn from the handsome prince it was into a small Coach toad. Sitting in the station I already felt like I was watching immigration's worst nightmare. I think the guys at the counter and a grand total of three people besides me and Dante actually spoke English. The rest were twittering and gawking (did they never see a white girl or something?? OK, maybe not one so pale as I, in the middle of Orlando, FL).
All my peachy plans have come to naught. Gone, all gone! No fun journal recounting of the ride, no pictures, no turkey sandwiches, no turkey salad,-- sorry... Christmas Story flashbacks. Hmm... I could go for a roast turkey right about now, and some stuffing....
So anyway, trip is postponed until the end of this month, and then HOPEFULLY they can see it in their hearts to book the RIGHT reservation for me. Grrr....
They don't seem to understand that I like people much better when I don't have to be near them...
The plans I had had to update, etc, are going forward early instead later. There will be some new writing on the site, and due to popular demand, I'm going to be keeping the artsy writing side of the site open, while also highlighting the more professional aspects of the site.
We're open to submissions as well, so get them in ASAP so we can post them.
For now, must... get... coffeee.....
4/12/03
MIDNIGHT
I start my journey by train today, taking off at 12:21pm, arriving tomorrow in NJ around the afternoon. For 24 hours I will have a chance to do a whole lot of things, of which I will most likely do none.
The journey will be documented through pictures and both written and electronic journals. There will be a full report of New York City and if the rumors of army personnel in the streets are true, or just more urban myth.
The return is planned for being back in town on the 21st, so any non-pressing issues can be dealt with at that time. For emergencies, write directly to me at the site, suzi@smilinggoth.com, or contact Dante Caligari. Any web design contracts in the works WILL be updated before I leave.
Keep checking back as I make my way across the country once more, for a lovely return to my old haunting grounds. There will be pics.
That's all for now.
Suzi
http://www.SmilingGoth.com
MIDNIGHT
I start my journey by train today, taking off at 12:21pm, arriving tomorrow in NJ around the afternoon. For 24 hours I will have a chance to do a whole lot of things, of which I will most likely do none.
The journey will be documented through pictures and both written and electronic journals. There will be a full report of New York City and if the rumors of army personnel in the streets are true, or just more urban myth.
The return is planned for being back in town on the 21st, so any non-pressing issues can be dealt with at that time. For emergencies, write directly to me at the site, suzi@smilinggoth.com, or contact Dante Caligari. Any web design contracts in the works WILL be updated before I leave.
Keep checking back as I make my way across the country once more, for a lovely return to my old haunting grounds. There will be pics.
That's all for now.
Suzi
http://www.SmilingGoth.com
Monday, April 07, 2003
FIVE DAYS AND COUNTING....
Just an info note: I will be going on a lil trip to the Great White North, leaving here on the 12th, arriving there on the 13th, and staying with my buddy at Spellbound. Get thee hither and yon and buy mine book!!
Tickets are on their way here, keeping my fingers crossed that the mail system doesn't feel a need to destroy my package in the process.
Hoping to stay at least a week, possibly more. We'll see how things go.
Wish me luck!
If anyone would like to help a sister out with her finances.....
Thank you in advance. I trust you. :)
Just an info note: I will be going on a lil trip to the Great White North, leaving here on the 12th, arriving there on the 13th, and staying with my buddy at Spellbound. Get thee hither and yon and buy mine book!!
Tickets are on their way here, keeping my fingers crossed that the mail system doesn't feel a need to destroy my package in the process.
Hoping to stay at least a week, possibly more. We'll see how things go.
Wish me luck!
If anyone would like to help a sister out with her finances.....
Thank you in advance. I trust you. :)
Saturday, March 29, 2003
BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND
Apparently the post I made about the EVIL Amici Salon and Spa has topped the search engine charts, much to my amazement and, well, let's be honest, GLEE, so back by popular demand, the contact information for Dante (who was a victim of the evil at Amici -- side note, did anyone know that 'amici' means 'friends'? oh, sweet irony...).
Anyone looking for Dante (yes, that wonderfully BRILLIANT colorist and cutter extraordinaire) can now find him at AltaModa Salon & Spa on Central Blvd. in sunny downtown Orlando. Visit the AltaModa website for contact info and driving directions.
And now... without further ado, the story of Dante's not-so-divine Comedy, from Inferno to Limbo, to Paradiso. Who says there is no karma? :)
Originally posted 1/19/03:
Well... Seems Dante is going to be having problems getting money from Amici Salon and Spa owner, Marcus Michels, aka one of the many Senior Vice Presidents of Orlando's Morgan Stanley.
In their conversation tonight, Marcus told Dante "Good luck trying to prove it in court."
But let me start from the beginning. Dante started working at Amici Salon and Spa of Winter Springs last year. He was doing managerial duties, which included inventory, lighting changes, and being the lackey if anyone needed labor done around the salon, along with doing his duties as a hair dresser. He had to sign a No Compete agreement AFTER he was already working there, which would consitute duress, since he was given the paper to sign on a weekend and told that if he didn't sign it, he would lose his job.
So while he was there, he created a training manual for the assistants of the salon. He was assured by the salon manager that he would be compensated for his work, and even the salon manual states that any work above and beyond the call of duty will be rewarded.
Well.... long story short, the salon manager left, and left Dante hanging. The salon owner stepped in and appointed Dante one of the new managers of the salon (in all there were four), and told him he would be compensated for the work he was to do. Needless to say, when things started to look not-so-rosy, Dante covered his ass and looked for a new job, and got one at Alta Moda salon on Central Blvd. He did the polite and professional thing, and gave his two weeks notice, along with an invoice for the work he had done. As soon as the one manager, Rebecca, the harlot ex-Rachel's dancer, found out about the two week's notice, she fired him.
Dante had been assured by Marcus Michels (the salon owner) that his new information would be given out to the clients that asked for him, which it turns out, was one of the many many many lies this Morgan Stanley Senior VP has told. Dante has even had people call the salon and ask for him to see what they were saying, and as it turns out, those chipper front desk assholes have been telling his clients that he left them high and dry, when, in fact, he was fired unceremoniously and with no good reason.
Which brings us to tonight. Dante called up Marcus, and said that it had been two weeks since he had left another copy of the invoice with him, and what was going on. Marcus told Dante that he wasn't going to pay him and hung up.
Dante called back, and kept his cool rather well, considering the rudeness of this so-called "professional". He told Marcus that Marcus owed him that money, and that he still owed him a power strip that the salon managers April and Rebecca, have refused to give him. In fact, they shorted him on his last paycheck, which I thought was pretty gross, since April hit on Dante so much and claimed to be his friend, you would think she would have had some balls to stand up to her skanky partner in crime.
All Dante asked of Marcus was to be paid for the work he had done as a manager and for the training manual, and to have his power strip returned to him. That's when Marcus claimed he didn't owe Dante a damn thing, and that he had no contract with him, so therefore, Dante was S.O.L.
And that's when I come to this forum, and I shout my rage at the injustice of it all. Dante's clients have no idea that he now works at Alta Moda, (phone number to contact him at: 407-481-8883) and that he was dicked over for doing the honorable thing, while this corporate fuck-nut "financial advisor" screws over all the little guys to make a profit. What a great guy. Marcus also told Dante that the clients will have to call his (Marcus's) house, because he is NOT going to hand out Dante's information, no matter what. Kind of funny, since two weeks before he assured Dante that he WOULD be more than happy to hand out Dante's info to anyone who asked for it.
Seems to me at the very least there's a small claims case here. Since we're talking about a bill for over $3,000, along with what Dante is owed for his managerial duties, not to mention this new development of blocking his income by not telling his clients where he is now, when they have the info, -- oh, yeah, and SLANDER when the front desk wenches tell his clients he left them high and dry and what a terrible person he is (after he had been fired by Rebecca and April)-- I'd tack on a nice $10,000 pricetag.
So I ask again.... Anyone know a good lawyer?
* PARADISO *
Dante is beyond happy at where he works now, and the clients who followed him to AltaModa and experienced the new place are even happier. On a sidenote, the owners of AltaModa Salon & Spa have done some famous hair, from Lou Perlman, Christina Aguillera, and O-Town to the Backstreet Boys. And did I mention the salon is having a community-type event this Monday (March 31st, 2003) for the wives of soldiers in the war? Amazing what happens when good people care about the community.
Even more amazing that when you type in Amici Salon and Spa in a search engine... THIS POST comes up on top.... MUHAHAHAHAHA!!!
Apparently the post I made about the EVIL Amici Salon and Spa has topped the search engine charts, much to my amazement and, well, let's be honest, GLEE, so back by popular demand, the contact information for Dante (who was a victim of the evil at Amici -- side note, did anyone know that 'amici' means 'friends'? oh, sweet irony...).
Anyone looking for Dante (yes, that wonderfully BRILLIANT colorist and cutter extraordinaire) can now find him at AltaModa Salon & Spa on Central Blvd. in sunny downtown Orlando. Visit the AltaModa website for contact info and driving directions.
And now... without further ado, the story of Dante's not-so-divine Comedy, from Inferno to Limbo, to Paradiso. Who says there is no karma? :)
Originally posted 1/19/03:
Well... Seems Dante is going to be having problems getting money from Amici Salon and Spa owner, Marcus Michels, aka one of the many Senior Vice Presidents of Orlando's Morgan Stanley.
In their conversation tonight, Marcus told Dante "Good luck trying to prove it in court."
But let me start from the beginning. Dante started working at Amici Salon and Spa of Winter Springs last year. He was doing managerial duties, which included inventory, lighting changes, and being the lackey if anyone needed labor done around the salon, along with doing his duties as a hair dresser. He had to sign a No Compete agreement AFTER he was already working there, which would consitute duress, since he was given the paper to sign on a weekend and told that if he didn't sign it, he would lose his job.
So while he was there, he created a training manual for the assistants of the salon. He was assured by the salon manager that he would be compensated for his work, and even the salon manual states that any work above and beyond the call of duty will be rewarded.
Well.... long story short, the salon manager left, and left Dante hanging. The salon owner stepped in and appointed Dante one of the new managers of the salon (in all there were four), and told him he would be compensated for the work he was to do. Needless to say, when things started to look not-so-rosy, Dante covered his ass and looked for a new job, and got one at Alta Moda salon on Central Blvd. He did the polite and professional thing, and gave his two weeks notice, along with an invoice for the work he had done. As soon as the one manager, Rebecca, the harlot ex-Rachel's dancer, found out about the two week's notice, she fired him.
Dante had been assured by Marcus Michels (the salon owner) that his new information would be given out to the clients that asked for him, which it turns out, was one of the many many many lies this Morgan Stanley Senior VP has told. Dante has even had people call the salon and ask for him to see what they were saying, and as it turns out, those chipper front desk assholes have been telling his clients that he left them high and dry, when, in fact, he was fired unceremoniously and with no good reason.
Which brings us to tonight. Dante called up Marcus, and said that it had been two weeks since he had left another copy of the invoice with him, and what was going on. Marcus told Dante that he wasn't going to pay him and hung up.
Dante called back, and kept his cool rather well, considering the rudeness of this so-called "professional". He told Marcus that Marcus owed him that money, and that he still owed him a power strip that the salon managers April and Rebecca, have refused to give him. In fact, they shorted him on his last paycheck, which I thought was pretty gross, since April hit on Dante so much and claimed to be his friend, you would think she would have had some balls to stand up to her skanky partner in crime.
All Dante asked of Marcus was to be paid for the work he had done as a manager and for the training manual, and to have his power strip returned to him. That's when Marcus claimed he didn't owe Dante a damn thing, and that he had no contract with him, so therefore, Dante was S.O.L.
And that's when I come to this forum, and I shout my rage at the injustice of it all. Dante's clients have no idea that he now works at Alta Moda, (phone number to contact him at: 407-481-8883) and that he was dicked over for doing the honorable thing, while this corporate fuck-nut "financial advisor" screws over all the little guys to make a profit. What a great guy. Marcus also told Dante that the clients will have to call his (Marcus's) house, because he is NOT going to hand out Dante's information, no matter what. Kind of funny, since two weeks before he assured Dante that he WOULD be more than happy to hand out Dante's info to anyone who asked for it.
Seems to me at the very least there's a small claims case here. Since we're talking about a bill for over $3,000, along with what Dante is owed for his managerial duties, not to mention this new development of blocking his income by not telling his clients where he is now, when they have the info, -- oh, yeah, and SLANDER when the front desk wenches tell his clients he left them high and dry and what a terrible person he is (after he had been fired by Rebecca and April)-- I'd tack on a nice $10,000 pricetag.
So I ask again.... Anyone know a good lawyer?
* PARADISO *
Dante is beyond happy at where he works now, and the clients who followed him to AltaModa and experienced the new place are even happier. On a sidenote, the owners of AltaModa Salon & Spa have done some famous hair, from Lou Perlman, Christina Aguillera, and O-Town to the Backstreet Boys. And did I mention the salon is having a community-type event this Monday (March 31st, 2003) for the wives of soldiers in the war? Amazing what happens when good people care about the community.
Even more amazing that when you type in Amici Salon and Spa in a search engine... THIS POST comes up on top.... MUHAHAHAHAHA!!!
Thursday, March 20, 2003
3/20/03
12:43am
So.... format change on my site... I'm going into web design as a fulltime thing. And I have to say, the new front page rocks my face off.
Go here and check it out.
There will be more updates as I have the time, so the site is far from complete (especially since client sites come first!).
I'm debating going the alchemist symbol motif, or Tarot Cards... not sure yet. I'm still washing all those symbols off my hand as it is before my parents think I went totally crazy in FLA-la land.
I will also be planning a two week trip back north sometime in April. More on that as info comes up.
12:43am
So.... format change on my site... I'm going into web design as a fulltime thing. And I have to say, the new front page rocks my face off.
Go here and check it out.
There will be more updates as I have the time, so the site is far from complete (especially since client sites come first!).
I'm debating going the alchemist symbol motif, or Tarot Cards... not sure yet. I'm still washing all those symbols off my hand as it is before my parents think I went totally crazy in FLA-la land.
I will also be planning a two week trip back north sometime in April. More on that as info comes up.
Tuesday, February 18, 2003
2/18/03
11:04pm
PASSING OF THE DINOSAUR, AND OTHER FUN MOODSWINGS OF THE MANIC DEPRESSIVE
God, I love being bi-polar. Manic-depressive... whatever the hell PC term they'll tag on it this week.
Only when you're manic-depressed can you go from being on top of the world in a whirlwind of action one minute to an Eyore-esque cave-dweller the next. Guess who became the donkey from Winnie the Pooh?
I try to laugh it off, but it's times like this that I'm my own worst critic, times like this that countless numbers of stories and pieces of art have been sacrificed to the pent-up frustration inside me. Destruction in hopes of creation and renewal. Prayers for rain in Dali's desert. I feel like a nuisance when I'm in this mood. I feel like the relatively simple questions I ask friends are unwanted and annoying to them, when all I was trying to say was I needed their help. A direction. SOMETHING. I hate feeling like this. I held the mouse over the Empty Trash for too long this time, damn close to deleting my entire life's work and saying 'Fuck it' while signing the resignation letter of Smiling Goth Productions. Commiting a form of creative suicide, I guess. I might have regretted it after the fact. Maybe. I blame it on being tired.
I've been plagued with stranger and stranger dreams lately, not necessarily nightmares by my standards, more like aggravating subconscious sitcoms. Last night featured giant geckos, a poisonous snake, a midget black goat that turned into a small black kitten and then into a silver kitten, and on into a gray and black striped kitten. My little brother was in the dream, and he drove his Mustang through my apartment somehow before morphing into my friend Ann from high school. Needless to say, I didn't feel very rested after a night like that.
Also during the night Pants went on a cabinet-opening rampage, kicking everything in the cabinets out onto the floor. More often than not, I will wake up in the middle of the night with the feeling of someone staring at me, and there will be the Pants, watching me sleep. When I acknowledge that she's there, she attacks me. What restful nights I have.
11:04pm
PASSING OF THE DINOSAUR, AND OTHER FUN MOODSWINGS OF THE MANIC DEPRESSIVE
God, I love being bi-polar. Manic-depressive... whatever the hell PC term they'll tag on it this week.
Only when you're manic-depressed can you go from being on top of the world in a whirlwind of action one minute to an Eyore-esque cave-dweller the next. Guess who became the donkey from Winnie the Pooh?
I try to laugh it off, but it's times like this that I'm my own worst critic, times like this that countless numbers of stories and pieces of art have been sacrificed to the pent-up frustration inside me. Destruction in hopes of creation and renewal. Prayers for rain in Dali's desert. I feel like a nuisance when I'm in this mood. I feel like the relatively simple questions I ask friends are unwanted and annoying to them, when all I was trying to say was I needed their help. A direction. SOMETHING. I hate feeling like this. I held the mouse over the Empty Trash for too long this time, damn close to deleting my entire life's work and saying 'Fuck it' while signing the resignation letter of Smiling Goth Productions. Commiting a form of creative suicide, I guess. I might have regretted it after the fact. Maybe. I blame it on being tired.
I've been plagued with stranger and stranger dreams lately, not necessarily nightmares by my standards, more like aggravating subconscious sitcoms. Last night featured giant geckos, a poisonous snake, a midget black goat that turned into a small black kitten and then into a silver kitten, and on into a gray and black striped kitten. My little brother was in the dream, and he drove his Mustang through my apartment somehow before morphing into my friend Ann from high school. Needless to say, I didn't feel very rested after a night like that.
Also during the night Pants went on a cabinet-opening rampage, kicking everything in the cabinets out onto the floor. More often than not, I will wake up in the middle of the night with the feeling of someone staring at me, and there will be the Pants, watching me sleep. When I acknowledge that she's there, she attacks me. What restful nights I have.
Monday, February 10, 2003
2/10/02
10:59pm
Q'ed UP, FED UP, AND THE WORLD IS DEAD TO ME
Ooooh... I guess I better change that before someone takes it as a threat. Jesus. Have we really become so soft? What happened to the 80's mentality of me-me-me and screw the rest?
But seriously. I caught whatever everyone else down here on the Good Ole Wang of USA has been spreading, like some weird symbolic STD. Some 14 year old kid died of Bacterial Meningitus (did I even spell that right? I can't see straight, forgive spelling errors). So here I am, hopped up on Funky NQ and Quilling. Q'ed up. Praying with the Other Green Fairy. Hanging with Ogre in a headphone.
Tybalt and Dante are jamming in the background, and I can hear the groove like background to the songs in my earphones. My throat wants to shout. My heart wants to shout. I stare at a screen blankly. I wait for the morphing words to tell me what to write. My short moments of sanity spreading into sentences of eavesdropped thoughts.
Scary when I don't even know what's coming out of my own head, and my left brain doesn't know what the right brain is doing. Should they be paranoid? I think so. My thoughts have become a string of obsessed babble, working a message across a hazy medium, until what comes out of me looks almost like an impressionist painting.
Picking daisies, with a mantra of 'she loves me, she loves me not.'
So late, too late, wondering just when the world stuck its head up its own ass, and just how far it did before I realized it had done that. Not some of my better works, but hell, the night is young and I'm not tired.
Send me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning for something better to read than the filth they plague us with in everyday life. Demand more for your almighty dollar.
10:59pm
Q'ed UP, FED UP, AND THE WORLD IS DEAD TO ME
Ooooh... I guess I better change that before someone takes it as a threat. Jesus. Have we really become so soft? What happened to the 80's mentality of me-me-me and screw the rest?
But seriously. I caught whatever everyone else down here on the Good Ole Wang of USA has been spreading, like some weird symbolic STD. Some 14 year old kid died of Bacterial Meningitus (did I even spell that right? I can't see straight, forgive spelling errors). So here I am, hopped up on Funky NQ and Quilling. Q'ed up. Praying with the Other Green Fairy. Hanging with Ogre in a headphone.
Tybalt and Dante are jamming in the background, and I can hear the groove like background to the songs in my earphones. My throat wants to shout. My heart wants to shout. I stare at a screen blankly. I wait for the morphing words to tell me what to write. My short moments of sanity spreading into sentences of eavesdropped thoughts.
Scary when I don't even know what's coming out of my own head, and my left brain doesn't know what the right brain is doing. Should they be paranoid? I think so. My thoughts have become a string of obsessed babble, working a message across a hazy medium, until what comes out of me looks almost like an impressionist painting.
Picking daisies, with a mantra of 'she loves me, she loves me not.'
So late, too late, wondering just when the world stuck its head up its own ass, and just how far it did before I realized it had done that. Not some of my better works, but hell, the night is young and I'm not tired.
Send me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning for something better to read than the filth they plague us with in everyday life. Demand more for your almighty dollar.
Sunday, January 19, 2003
ANYONE KNOW A GOOD LAWYER?
* addition to post: Dante is alive and well, and still doing hair in downtown Orlando, at AltaModa Salon & Spa. For anyone looking for him, click the link for the site. To set the record straight, he was unceremoniously fired from Amici Salon and Spa after he had handed in his two weeks' notice. No good deed goes unpunished. Read on below for the ghastly tale of bad management, bad salon tactics, and an overall bad taste in the mouth. *
Well... Seems Dante is going to be having problems getting money from Amici Salon and Spa owner, Marcus Michels, aka one of the many Senior Vice Presidents of Orlando's Morgan Stanley.
In their conversation tonight, Marcus told Dante "Good luck trying to prove it in court."
But let me start from the beginning. Dante started working at Amici Salon and Spa of Winter Springs last year. He was doing managerial duties, which included inventory, lighting changes, and being the lackey if anyone needed labor done around the salon, along with doing his duties as a hair dresser. He had to sign a No Compete agreement AFTER he was already working there, which would consitute duress, since he was given the paper to sign on a weekend and told that if he didn't sign it, he would lose his job.
So while he was there, he created a training manual for the assistants of the salon. He was assured by the salon manager that he would be compensated for his work, and even the salon manual states that any work above and beyond the call of duty will be rewarded.
Well.... long story short, the salon manager left, and left Dante hanging. The salon owner stepped in and appointed Dante one of the new managers of the salon (in all there were four), and told him he would be compensated for the work he was to do. Needless to say, when things started to look not-so-rosy, Dante covered his ass and looked for a new job, and got one at Alta Moda salon on Central Blvd. He did the polite and professional thing, and gave his two weeks notice, along with an invoice for the work he had done. As soon as the one manager, Rebecca, the harlot ex-Rachel's dancer, found out about the two week's notice, she fired him.
Dante had been assured by Marcus Michels (the salon owner) that his new information would be given out to the clients that asked for him, which it turns out, was one of the many many many lies this Morgan Stanley Senior VP has told. Dante has even had people call the salon and ask for him to see what they were saying, and as it turns out, those chipper front desk assholes have been telling his clients that he left them high and dry, when, in fact, he was fired unceremoniously and with no good reason.
Which brings us to tonight. Dante called up Marcus, and said that it had been two weeks since he had left another copy of the invoice with him, and what was going on. Marcus told Dante that he wasn't going to pay him and hung up.
Dante called back, and kept his cool rather well, considering the rudeness of this so-called "professional". He told Marcus that Marcus owed him that money, and that he still owed him a power strip that the salon managers April and Rebecca, have refused to give him. In fact, they shorted him on his last paycheck, which I thought was pretty gross, since April hit on Dante so much and claimed to be his friend, you would think she would have had some balls to stand up to her skanky partner in crime.
All Dante asked of Marcus was to be paid for the work he had done as a manager and for the training manual, and to have his power strip returned to him. That's when Marcus claimed he didn't owe Chuck a damn thing, and that he had no contract with him, so therefore, Dante was S.O.L.
And that's when I come to this forum, and I shout my rage at the injustice of it all. Dante's clients have no idea that he now works at Alta Moda, (phone number to contact him at: 407-481-8883) and that he was dicked over for doing the honorable thing, while this corporate fuck-nut "financial advisor" screws over all the little guys to make a profit. What a great guy. Marcus also told Dante that the clients will have to call his (Marcus's) house, because he is NOT going to hand out Dante's information, no matter what. Kind of funny, since two weeks ago he assured Dante that he WOULD be more than happy to hand out Dante's info to anyone who asked for it.
Seems to me at the very least there's a small claims case here. Since we're talking about a bill for over $3,000, along with what Dante is owed for his managerial duties, not to mention this new development of blocking his income by not telling his clients where he is now, when they have the info, -- oh, yeah, and SLANDER when the front desk wenches tell his clients he left them high and dry and what a terrible person he is (after he had been fired by Rebecca and April)-- I'd tack on a nice $10,000 pricetag.
So I ask again.... Anyone know a good lawyer?
* addition to post: Dante is alive and well, and still doing hair in downtown Orlando, at AltaModa Salon & Spa. For anyone looking for him, click the link for the site. To set the record straight, he was unceremoniously fired from Amici Salon and Spa after he had handed in his two weeks' notice. No good deed goes unpunished. Read on below for the ghastly tale of bad management, bad salon tactics, and an overall bad taste in the mouth. *
Well... Seems Dante is going to be having problems getting money from Amici Salon and Spa owner, Marcus Michels, aka one of the many Senior Vice Presidents of Orlando's Morgan Stanley.
In their conversation tonight, Marcus told Dante "Good luck trying to prove it in court."
But let me start from the beginning. Dante started working at Amici Salon and Spa of Winter Springs last year. He was doing managerial duties, which included inventory, lighting changes, and being the lackey if anyone needed labor done around the salon, along with doing his duties as a hair dresser. He had to sign a No Compete agreement AFTER he was already working there, which would consitute duress, since he was given the paper to sign on a weekend and told that if he didn't sign it, he would lose his job.
So while he was there, he created a training manual for the assistants of the salon. He was assured by the salon manager that he would be compensated for his work, and even the salon manual states that any work above and beyond the call of duty will be rewarded.
Well.... long story short, the salon manager left, and left Dante hanging. The salon owner stepped in and appointed Dante one of the new managers of the salon (in all there were four), and told him he would be compensated for the work he was to do. Needless to say, when things started to look not-so-rosy, Dante covered his ass and looked for a new job, and got one at Alta Moda salon on Central Blvd. He did the polite and professional thing, and gave his two weeks notice, along with an invoice for the work he had done. As soon as the one manager, Rebecca, the harlot ex-Rachel's dancer, found out about the two week's notice, she fired him.
Dante had been assured by Marcus Michels (the salon owner) that his new information would be given out to the clients that asked for him, which it turns out, was one of the many many many lies this Morgan Stanley Senior VP has told. Dante has even had people call the salon and ask for him to see what they were saying, and as it turns out, those chipper front desk assholes have been telling his clients that he left them high and dry, when, in fact, he was fired unceremoniously and with no good reason.
Which brings us to tonight. Dante called up Marcus, and said that it had been two weeks since he had left another copy of the invoice with him, and what was going on. Marcus told Dante that he wasn't going to pay him and hung up.
Dante called back, and kept his cool rather well, considering the rudeness of this so-called "professional". He told Marcus that Marcus owed him that money, and that he still owed him a power strip that the salon managers April and Rebecca, have refused to give him. In fact, they shorted him on his last paycheck, which I thought was pretty gross, since April hit on Dante so much and claimed to be his friend, you would think she would have had some balls to stand up to her skanky partner in crime.
All Dante asked of Marcus was to be paid for the work he had done as a manager and for the training manual, and to have his power strip returned to him. That's when Marcus claimed he didn't owe Chuck a damn thing, and that he had no contract with him, so therefore, Dante was S.O.L.
And that's when I come to this forum, and I shout my rage at the injustice of it all. Dante's clients have no idea that he now works at Alta Moda, (phone number to contact him at: 407-481-8883) and that he was dicked over for doing the honorable thing, while this corporate fuck-nut "financial advisor" screws over all the little guys to make a profit. What a great guy. Marcus also told Dante that the clients will have to call his (Marcus's) house, because he is NOT going to hand out Dante's information, no matter what. Kind of funny, since two weeks ago he assured Dante that he WOULD be more than happy to hand out Dante's info to anyone who asked for it.
Seems to me at the very least there's a small claims case here. Since we're talking about a bill for over $3,000, along with what Dante is owed for his managerial duties, not to mention this new development of blocking his income by not telling his clients where he is now, when they have the info, -- oh, yeah, and SLANDER when the front desk wenches tell his clients he left them high and dry and what a terrible person he is (after he had been fired by Rebecca and April)-- I'd tack on a nice $10,000 pricetag.
So I ask again.... Anyone know a good lawyer?
Saturday, January 11, 2003
PS
If anyone has ANY love of SmilingGoth.com you might REALLY want to start buying something.
I'm jobless, and it's costing me money I don't have to keep the site up and running. If you've enjoyed the show, then donate or buy something, please.
Click on the donations/tip button on the bottom of any of the site pages, or you can go get something for your money by clicking HERE.
If anyone has ANY love of SmilingGoth.com you might REALLY want to start buying something.
I'm jobless, and it's costing me money I don't have to keep the site up and running. If you've enjoyed the show, then donate or buy something, please.
Click on the donations/tip button on the bottom of any of the site pages, or you can go get something for your money by clicking HERE.
DREAMING FORBIDDEN COLORS...
Woke with the itch of broken crystal in my palms, burning like stigmata. After a few minutes of pushing myself to remember the dream I had had, I saw an image of a woman screaming on a bed. Her legs had been torn off and eaten, and her belly was ripped open and hollowed out, her insides also eaten. And still she screamed.
Another fragment of dream: broken crystal goblets. I was trying to fix them, and the broken crystal stuck into my palms like a partial crucifixion. I heard someone talking behind me, and I turned to see Nemesis lying naked on a huge bed. He was laughing at me for trying to fix everything that was broken, telling me that I was too caring, too forgiving.
"Humans were made for sacrifice," he says. He struggles with the chains that hold him to the bed. I tell him that he's just saying that so I'll release him.
Other people enter the room and stare at Nemesis, applauding me for catching and imprisoning him. I feel protective of him, and I want the people to go away, to stop staring at my creation. I realize that Nemesis is right, I DO try to fix everything, and I AM too caring and too forgiving, because the reason I have him chained to the bed is so I can fix him, heal him, and save the world from him at the same time... and to some extent, save HIM from the world.
The rest of the dream is just broken beyond repair. I remember only that I saw Andrew Eldritch (yes, from the Sisters of Mercy) singing "For Her Light" by the Fields of the Nephilim.
Watch now as I fling poetry at you:
And what becomes of the old factory senses?
Our old factory sense of smell
Mildewed and rotting in the basement of the subconscious
Talking Heads don't make much sense
Words of my thoughts written over my face
Words of feeling scrawling over my breasts and stomach like so many roaches
Once there was an artist
Swallowed by the works they'd created
Hands eaten by the mouths it fed
Swirling thoughts suspended in the smokey haze of Nag Champa and cool night of the air.
Happy Birthday, Tybalt.
Woke with the itch of broken crystal in my palms, burning like stigmata. After a few minutes of pushing myself to remember the dream I had had, I saw an image of a woman screaming on a bed. Her legs had been torn off and eaten, and her belly was ripped open and hollowed out, her insides also eaten. And still she screamed.
Another fragment of dream: broken crystal goblets. I was trying to fix them, and the broken crystal stuck into my palms like a partial crucifixion. I heard someone talking behind me, and I turned to see Nemesis lying naked on a huge bed. He was laughing at me for trying to fix everything that was broken, telling me that I was too caring, too forgiving.
"Humans were made for sacrifice," he says. He struggles with the chains that hold him to the bed. I tell him that he's just saying that so I'll release him.
Other people enter the room and stare at Nemesis, applauding me for catching and imprisoning him. I feel protective of him, and I want the people to go away, to stop staring at my creation. I realize that Nemesis is right, I DO try to fix everything, and I AM too caring and too forgiving, because the reason I have him chained to the bed is so I can fix him, heal him, and save the world from him at the same time... and to some extent, save HIM from the world.
The rest of the dream is just broken beyond repair. I remember only that I saw Andrew Eldritch (yes, from the Sisters of Mercy) singing "For Her Light" by the Fields of the Nephilim.
Watch now as I fling poetry at you:
And what becomes of the old factory senses?
Our old factory sense of smell
Mildewed and rotting in the basement of the subconscious
Talking Heads don't make much sense
Words of my thoughts written over my face
Words of feeling scrawling over my breasts and stomach like so many roaches
Once there was an artist
Swallowed by the works they'd created
Hands eaten by the mouths it fed
Swirling thoughts suspended in the smokey haze of Nag Champa and cool night of the air.
Happy Birthday, Tybalt.
Friday, January 03, 2003
1/03/03
12:16am
GOD'S ON NITROUS
Which explains all my unanswered prayers....
Apparently God likes to attend fetish parties wearing vinyl. Go figure. Vinyl should be worn by all, because God wears vinyl... and makeup. There, I've gone and said another blasphemous thing... but think about it: the only way God could have made us in His image is if He's a transvestite. Think about that one. God's a goth. Wooo-ha!
While basking in The Light of my Shirley McClain plane, I can say such things as: I am the lovechild incarnate of Anais Nin and the Marquis de Sade.
And you know Anais would SO have been all over the Marquis, she was a masochist at heart otherwise she wouldn't have hung out so much with Henry Miller.
So at any rate, new year discoveries: God in an alcove doing nitrous, The Pants is actually an alien hybrid, and not a cat at all, and the final discovery: I like egg nog.
Helping Chuck create his own journal, thanks to Anna for the help. She really loves her hair... :)
Now I'm curious to see what Chuck's writing....
Hope everyone had a happy friggin' new year.
'Til the next God sighting, keep on truckin'.
12:16am
GOD'S ON NITROUS
Which explains all my unanswered prayers....
Apparently God likes to attend fetish parties wearing vinyl. Go figure. Vinyl should be worn by all, because God wears vinyl... and makeup. There, I've gone and said another blasphemous thing... but think about it: the only way God could have made us in His image is if He's a transvestite. Think about that one. God's a goth. Wooo-ha!
While basking in The Light of my Shirley McClain plane, I can say such things as: I am the lovechild incarnate of Anais Nin and the Marquis de Sade.
And you know Anais would SO have been all over the Marquis, she was a masochist at heart otherwise she wouldn't have hung out so much with Henry Miller.
So at any rate, new year discoveries: God in an alcove doing nitrous, The Pants is actually an alien hybrid, and not a cat at all, and the final discovery: I like egg nog.
Helping Chuck create his own journal, thanks to Anna for the help. She really loves her hair... :)
Now I'm curious to see what Chuck's writing....
Hope everyone had a happy friggin' new year.
'Til the next God sighting, keep on truckin'.
Tuesday, December 24, 2002
NOTE TO THE FAITHLESS... I AM NOT A GOTH
It's official. This test told me so. :)
I have to admit that it's hard to type when I'm laughing so hard. A big thanks goes out to Algernon for bringing this test to my attention.
Apparently I'm not a goth, but my "gothic daddy" is, oddly enough, Nick Cave. Just look how horkin' hot he is. I think I have his eyes. :)
who's your gothic daddy?
brought to you by Quizilla
It's official. This test told me so. :)
I have to admit that it's hard to type when I'm laughing so hard. A big thanks goes out to Algernon for bringing this test to my attention.
Apparently I'm not a goth, but my "gothic daddy" is, oddly enough, Nick Cave. Just look how horkin' hot he is. I think I have his eyes. :)
who's your gothic daddy?
brought to you by Quizilla
Monday, December 23, 2002
12/23/02
12:53pm
IN SEARCH OF CARROT TOP AND OTHER AMUSING CHRISTMAS TALES
It's been an eventful past few days... which explains why I haven't written all that much. Somehow things seem to be coming together. Now I have people to hate Florida with, instead of moping at home alone. :)
I can't remember if I mentioned Anna Young before, but I will take the time to do it now. Again, if necessary. Can we say amazing woman? Yes, I knew that we could. :)
Seems life has a funny way of sending us down a path and just when we think we went in a HUGE circle, we find out that the people we were looking for were at the end of that path all along. At the end of this FLA-la land path waited Anna and friends, which seemed to be the most unlikely place I would find people so much like me. I'm glad I found them, though. Anna is one of those people that can bring life to a room and spark everyone up. Gotta love that.
We hung out and went to Independent Bar (formerly Barbarella's, which I think is a LOT cooler name, personally) and she introduced me to some of her friends. Tybalt is an amazing musician (listening to the CD he gave me the other day, and I have to say, HE MUST GET SIGNED!!). He's one of those laid-back sexy goth guys and you can see talent swirling in the air around him. Awesome guy.
Annabelle and --crap.. I can't remember her name, but she was a gorgeous little blonde girl-- they are natural goths. I was amazed. Ended up chatting with Annabelle a little bit at Anna's pre-Christmas Christmas party last night.
And so.... it all leads up to this:
At the party I unfortunately got SUCH a neck ache, and it started travelling up into the base of my skull. Yes, a migraine waiting to happen. I was having such a good time, too. The whole experience was just flowing together, from the images of Baracca on the television, to the black light paintings, and snippets of conversation ranging from meditation and language evolution to metaphysics and time travel. By the time I left my head was swimming with inspiration and disjointed surrealist poetry.
So on the ride home, with my head bursting with words yet to be born, and flinging poetry out the window of the car on the tips of cigarette ashes, watching the cherry of Chuck's cigarette as it dipped and swayed into the ash tray and back to his face, I was watching the night fly past. The wind screamed and tore at the doors of the car as if trying to wrench them from their hinges. And if I looked down, I could pretend I was flying through the night.
"Carrot Top lives around here somewhere," Chuck said and my train of thought was derailed. I swear the caboose hit me on the way off the tracks.
"Mmmm...," I said.
We drove on, and I started to piece back together some of the thoughts and inspirations, wishing I had a notebook and pen. Always the irony of not having pen or paper that I get the urge to write. I think back on one time that I only had a pen, and I ended up writing the entirety of my short story "The Vigilante Psychic" all over my arms, hands and legs. I learned to be ambidexterous again. Friends asked what the hell I had done to myself, and I said it was my grocery list.
"Right in there, I think," Chuck broke in again, and pointed to one of the many developments of the Wang. They all look alike to me. Same cardboard cutout pre-fab houses, same concrete sign at the entrance. I could drive past a hundred and think we had gone in circles a hundred times.
"Mmm....," I said again. It seemed like a good, solid, non-biased answer that could be interpreted any way he saw fit. The underlying truth was hidden: I'm terrified of Carrot Top. I fear him more than clowns. He twists my mellow and makes me fear the very word "Stand-up comedian". What's even more terrifying than seeing Carrot Top on the TV is that he lives so damned close to us that I might see him walking down the highway one of these days. And what do I do if this happens??? There is no duck-and-cover drill for hiding from a stand-up prop comic... is there? Will I be forced to dial down the center if he catches me at a payphone???!!
The inspirations flitted away and into the treetops as I opened the door to get out of the car. I watched my ideas as they soared into the night above me. At least I didn't have to think about the threat of Carrot Top anymore.
12:53pm
IN SEARCH OF CARROT TOP AND OTHER AMUSING CHRISTMAS TALES
It's been an eventful past few days... which explains why I haven't written all that much. Somehow things seem to be coming together. Now I have people to hate Florida with, instead of moping at home alone. :)
I can't remember if I mentioned Anna Young before, but I will take the time to do it now. Again, if necessary. Can we say amazing woman? Yes, I knew that we could. :)
Seems life has a funny way of sending us down a path and just when we think we went in a HUGE circle, we find out that the people we were looking for were at the end of that path all along. At the end of this FLA-la land path waited Anna and friends, which seemed to be the most unlikely place I would find people so much like me. I'm glad I found them, though. Anna is one of those people that can bring life to a room and spark everyone up. Gotta love that.
We hung out and went to Independent Bar (formerly Barbarella's, which I think is a LOT cooler name, personally) and she introduced me to some of her friends. Tybalt is an amazing musician (listening to the CD he gave me the other day, and I have to say, HE MUST GET SIGNED!!). He's one of those laid-back sexy goth guys and you can see talent swirling in the air around him. Awesome guy.
Annabelle and --crap.. I can't remember her name, but she was a gorgeous little blonde girl-- they are natural goths. I was amazed. Ended up chatting with Annabelle a little bit at Anna's pre-Christmas Christmas party last night.
And so.... it all leads up to this:
At the party I unfortunately got SUCH a neck ache, and it started travelling up into the base of my skull. Yes, a migraine waiting to happen. I was having such a good time, too. The whole experience was just flowing together, from the images of Baracca on the television, to the black light paintings, and snippets of conversation ranging from meditation and language evolution to metaphysics and time travel. By the time I left my head was swimming with inspiration and disjointed surrealist poetry.
So on the ride home, with my head bursting with words yet to be born, and flinging poetry out the window of the car on the tips of cigarette ashes, watching the cherry of Chuck's cigarette as it dipped and swayed into the ash tray and back to his face, I was watching the night fly past. The wind screamed and tore at the doors of the car as if trying to wrench them from their hinges. And if I looked down, I could pretend I was flying through the night.
"Carrot Top lives around here somewhere," Chuck said and my train of thought was derailed. I swear the caboose hit me on the way off the tracks.
"Mmmm...," I said.
We drove on, and I started to piece back together some of the thoughts and inspirations, wishing I had a notebook and pen. Always the irony of not having pen or paper that I get the urge to write. I think back on one time that I only had a pen, and I ended up writing the entirety of my short story "The Vigilante Psychic" all over my arms, hands and legs. I learned to be ambidexterous again. Friends asked what the hell I had done to myself, and I said it was my grocery list.
"Right in there, I think," Chuck broke in again, and pointed to one of the many developments of the Wang. They all look alike to me. Same cardboard cutout pre-fab houses, same concrete sign at the entrance. I could drive past a hundred and think we had gone in circles a hundred times.
"Mmm....," I said again. It seemed like a good, solid, non-biased answer that could be interpreted any way he saw fit. The underlying truth was hidden: I'm terrified of Carrot Top. I fear him more than clowns. He twists my mellow and makes me fear the very word "Stand-up comedian". What's even more terrifying than seeing Carrot Top on the TV is that he lives so damned close to us that I might see him walking down the highway one of these days. And what do I do if this happens??? There is no duck-and-cover drill for hiding from a stand-up prop comic... is there? Will I be forced to dial down the center if he catches me at a payphone???!!
The inspirations flitted away and into the treetops as I opened the door to get out of the car. I watched my ideas as they soared into the night above me. At least I didn't have to think about the threat of Carrot Top anymore.
Friday, December 20, 2002
12/20/02
11:34pm
SURROGATE SEX PARTNERS, INC.
So here's my idea... for those who may be lacking something in their love life...
SURROGATE SEX PARTNERS.
not getting enough bang from your buck? Surrogate Sex Partner.
partner too tired, has serial headaches? Surrogate Sex Partner.
partner not quite into the kinkier things that you might be into? Surrogate Sex Partner.
For your every sexual need, without the muss and fuss of an actual relationship. Some people might call these "whores" and "prostitute", but these partners DON'T GET PAID. They're there because they wanna be. And the best part is, after they've done their thing: THEY GO HOME. Say goodbye to fights, say goodbye to disinterest. With Surrogate Sex Partner you can trade in for a newer model and no one's feelings are hurt. It's not cheating if your partner's cool with it.
Surrogate Sex not for you? Need the guilt and blame instead?
SURROGATE SEETHING BITCH
All the hell of a bad relationship ANY time you want it.
partner not placing enough of the blame on you? Surrogate Seething Bitch
partner not fighting enough for your satisfaction? Surrogate Seething Bitch
partner not jealous when you flirt with others? Surrogate Seething Bitch
Surrogate Seething Bitch comes in male and female models and is guranteed to piss you off or your money back!
Still not enough? Need something more?
SURROGATE PSYCHO
All the psychosis and stalking with only half the relationship!
for those nights when your partner just isn't scaring you enough... Surrogate Psycho is the answer!
partner not insanely jealous of your every friend? Surrogate Psycho
partner not crazy enough? Surrogate Psycho
partner not stalking you? Surrogate Psycho
partner not trying to burn down your house? Surrogate Psycho
want a dangerous one-night stand? Surrogate Psycho
Our Surrogate Psychos are raised on the finest drugs and alcohol, then watered with high lead content and mind altering drugs. When they reach early maturity we set them free under high-power lines with no adult surpervision, guidelines of society, or knowledge of right and wrong. Surrogate Psychos come in male and female, and are acquainted with every loophole the law will allow, so that we can guarantee that you will either need a restraining order, be slapped with a restraining order for something you didn't do, or your money back!
Oh yeah.. .and by the way, in case there's any Darwin candidates reading this: it's fake. I made it allllll up. There are no Surrogate People. So there. You'll just have to make due with the singles scene.
11:34pm
SURROGATE SEX PARTNERS, INC.
So here's my idea... for those who may be lacking something in their love life...
SURROGATE SEX PARTNERS.
not getting enough bang from your buck? Surrogate Sex Partner.
partner too tired, has serial headaches? Surrogate Sex Partner.
partner not quite into the kinkier things that you might be into? Surrogate Sex Partner.
For your every sexual need, without the muss and fuss of an actual relationship. Some people might call these "whores" and "prostitute", but these partners DON'T GET PAID. They're there because they wanna be. And the best part is, after they've done their thing: THEY GO HOME. Say goodbye to fights, say goodbye to disinterest. With Surrogate Sex Partner you can trade in for a newer model and no one's feelings are hurt. It's not cheating if your partner's cool with it.
Surrogate Sex not for you? Need the guilt and blame instead?
SURROGATE SEETHING BITCH
All the hell of a bad relationship ANY time you want it.
partner not placing enough of the blame on you? Surrogate Seething Bitch
partner not fighting enough for your satisfaction? Surrogate Seething Bitch
partner not jealous when you flirt with others? Surrogate Seething Bitch
Surrogate Seething Bitch comes in male and female models and is guranteed to piss you off or your money back!
Still not enough? Need something more?
SURROGATE PSYCHO
All the psychosis and stalking with only half the relationship!
for those nights when your partner just isn't scaring you enough... Surrogate Psycho is the answer!
partner not insanely jealous of your every friend? Surrogate Psycho
partner not crazy enough? Surrogate Psycho
partner not stalking you? Surrogate Psycho
partner not trying to burn down your house? Surrogate Psycho
want a dangerous one-night stand? Surrogate Psycho
Our Surrogate Psychos are raised on the finest drugs and alcohol, then watered with high lead content and mind altering drugs. When they reach early maturity we set them free under high-power lines with no adult surpervision, guidelines of society, or knowledge of right and wrong. Surrogate Psychos come in male and female, and are acquainted with every loophole the law will allow, so that we can guarantee that you will either need a restraining order, be slapped with a restraining order for something you didn't do, or your money back!
Oh yeah.. .and by the way, in case there's any Darwin candidates reading this: it's fake. I made it allllll up. There are no Surrogate People. So there. You'll just have to make due with the singles scene.
Tuesday, December 10, 2002
12/10/02
3:50pm
DO GOTHS HAVE TO ALWAYS BE GOTH?
I came across an article, oddly enough, about this very blog that you are reading. From people in the land Down Under (aka Australia, for the geographically impaired). I'm still not sure how to feel about the whole thing. Seemed slightly amused, which is good, since I am all about the humor.
Read the Article and Decide for Yourself
Ms. Sinclair notes that in my picture (the article is dated September 25th, so she's referring to the old version of this blog) I'm not smiling. Heh heh heh..... horrid irony of ironies. At least The Pants got an honorable mention. *GRIN*
To anyone expecting some sort of angst-ridden entries of a teenie bopper goth grrl, afraid you're going to have to look elsewhere, my friends. Note the word Smiling in front of Goth. I am a paradox, and I like it that way. Catch me drunk and you'll get the depressed homesick story, and maybe even my eye-witness account of The Thing That Happened in New York Last Year, or possibly my own rantings about guns, Goth, and government. That's the beauty of being the Smiling Goth, you never know what's gonna come out of my mouth at any given moment.
On a side note, I usually don't go off the deep end unless we're talking metaphysics. Yes, metaphysics. Not Stoner Physics where people stare wide-eyed through a cloud of reeking smoke. Real, hardcore, Einstein-based physics and metaphysics. I WILL give you a headache. I even use visual aides.
I suspect that a lot of people venturing into this blog either assume I'm going to go into suicide ranting, or talk about how bad high school was (it was HORRIBLE), or about the many issues pertaining to goths heard 'round the world. Or maybe they're Christian fundamentalists looking for some bizarre proof that goths are evil, something they can bring back to the congregation as PROOF. What brave soldiers of JC they are. Look at them skulking in the ether-bushes trying to catch me unawares. *Smile*
I'm too damned old to play high school goth, believe it or not (damn the eyes of the walleyed teenager that carded me at the club). I'm oldschool, baby. I'm Generation X, and damned proud of it. Underneath my polished black vinyl exterior and new car industrial scent is a core of oldschool Punk Rock (I still hold the Ramones to be in the punk genre, so myah).
And as for The Pants.... you gotta love The Pants. She's a fuzzy ball of fearsome. *Grin*
But seriously, not all goths are morose and death-obsessed. There's quite a few oldschool goths with a sense of humor (albeit we laugh hysterically when people on crutches or in a wheelchair fall down a flight of stairs, but come on, who DOESN'T? It was in Naked Gun for gawd's sake!). I refuse to live up to my stereotype, goth-dammit!!
Now go to my site and buy something for a christian for christmas.
3:50pm
DO GOTHS HAVE TO ALWAYS BE GOTH?
I came across an article, oddly enough, about this very blog that you are reading. From people in the land Down Under (aka Australia, for the geographically impaired). I'm still not sure how to feel about the whole thing. Seemed slightly amused, which is good, since I am all about the humor.
Read the Article and Decide for Yourself
Ms. Sinclair notes that in my picture (the article is dated September 25th, so she's referring to the old version of this blog) I'm not smiling. Heh heh heh..... horrid irony of ironies. At least The Pants got an honorable mention. *GRIN*
To anyone expecting some sort of angst-ridden entries of a teenie bopper goth grrl, afraid you're going to have to look elsewhere, my friends. Note the word Smiling in front of Goth. I am a paradox, and I like it that way. Catch me drunk and you'll get the depressed homesick story, and maybe even my eye-witness account of The Thing That Happened in New York Last Year, or possibly my own rantings about guns, Goth, and government. That's the beauty of being the Smiling Goth, you never know what's gonna come out of my mouth at any given moment.
On a side note, I usually don't go off the deep end unless we're talking metaphysics. Yes, metaphysics. Not Stoner Physics where people stare wide-eyed through a cloud of reeking smoke. Real, hardcore, Einstein-based physics and metaphysics. I WILL give you a headache. I even use visual aides.
I suspect that a lot of people venturing into this blog either assume I'm going to go into suicide ranting, or talk about how bad high school was (it was HORRIBLE), or about the many issues pertaining to goths heard 'round the world. Or maybe they're Christian fundamentalists looking for some bizarre proof that goths are evil, something they can bring back to the congregation as PROOF. What brave soldiers of JC they are. Look at them skulking in the ether-bushes trying to catch me unawares. *Smile*
I'm too damned old to play high school goth, believe it or not (damn the eyes of the walleyed teenager that carded me at the club). I'm oldschool, baby. I'm Generation X, and damned proud of it. Underneath my polished black vinyl exterior and new car industrial scent is a core of oldschool Punk Rock (I still hold the Ramones to be in the punk genre, so myah).
And as for The Pants.... you gotta love The Pants. She's a fuzzy ball of fearsome. *Grin*
But seriously, not all goths are morose and death-obsessed. There's quite a few oldschool goths with a sense of humor (albeit we laugh hysterically when people on crutches or in a wheelchair fall down a flight of stairs, but come on, who DOESN'T? It was in Naked Gun for gawd's sake!). I refuse to live up to my stereotype, goth-dammit!!
Now go to my site and buy something for a christian for christmas.
Monday, December 09, 2002
12/09/02
5:15pm
THE GOTH THAT STOLE CHRISTMAS
OK... So I spent all day coding up a shopping cart for the site. Now the least you can do IS GO BUY SOMETHING!!!!
The new and improved ONLINE STORE at Smiling Goth Productions. See what all the hype is about!!
Oh yes, and always remember: get a Goth a gift!
5:15pm
THE GOTH THAT STOLE CHRISTMAS
OK... So I spent all day coding up a shopping cart for the site. Now the least you can do IS GO BUY SOMETHING!!!!
The new and improved ONLINE STORE at Smiling Goth Productions. See what all the hype is about!!
Oh yes, and always remember: get a Goth a gift!
Friday, December 06, 2002
12/06/02
12:40pm
COINCIDENCE? I THINK NOT....
So it just hit me that I've been spending more and more of my time doing absolutely nothing. Nothing. Me. Even when I'm sitting around APPEARING to do nothing I have a pen poised in hand and a notebook in front of me waiting for me to channel a story into it from the mysterious ether of my sub-consciousness. Lately, however, I've fired up the computer and chatted with everyone, but done NOTHING. I look for jobs, but no one's hiring. I sit in my pajamas and stare out the window at the wind-ripped surface of the retention pond outside. Maybe all my thoughts are being sucked out into those murky depths, eaten by the turtles and seaplants that lurk under the brackish water.
I'm afraid of dying here, to be honest. Afraid that if I stop being creative I'll lose everything that makes me who I am. I fear the lack of change on the wang. I stare in frustrated disbelief at the content lackies surrounding me, happy in their mundane existence, unknowing and uncaring that there might be more to life than mindless overwork without pay, liquid sunshine, and a choice of clubs that all play the same music and cater to the same crowd. I wonder at how people can honestly go about daily life with no challenge and be happy. Every day I realize more and more why people come to Florida to die. They jump into the safe little box, throw on their blinders, and it's a straight, unquestionable line to the grave. Granted, not EVERYONE on the wang is like that, but a LOT of them are. At least on the shaft of the wang. Dunno about the head and balls of it.
As we were driving through a town I can't even remember the name of, there was a mural on the side of a building-- some bar, I think-- and the mural was a plane crashed into the side of the building, done in Florida pastels. Underneath the plane was written "9-11-01 We will never forget. God Bless America!" Is that all it was to the people living here? A fading memory? Something to fill up their newstime with? Something to gasp about and claim that their distant cousin or friend's cousin worked in the Towers?
Seeing the mural made up my mind. I definitely want to go home. Home to where we're all haunted still, be it by memories or ghosts, but haunted, which proves we're still alive. Home to the REAL. Where the amount of bullshit is a corporate formality and not to be taken seriously, but if you stand by the coffee maker you'll find the truth. Here they spoon-feed bullshit, and power-trips, and expect you to swallow it for less than half the pay with almost the same housing costs. The mantra is "If you don't like it, there's the door."
Sad thing is that that "door" only opens up to an exact replica of the same room you just left. It's a state where the businessman is king, and fuck all the worker people. You don't like it? There's the door. Bully tactics of small businesses that think they're big. Capitalism at it's worst. There's wetlands red tape all over the area, yet there's no requirement on cars to have catalytic converters or to even be inspected. The area is filled with endangered wildlife, you would think they would do more to protect it. There's only so many letters to my congressman I can write.
12:40pm
COINCIDENCE? I THINK NOT....
So it just hit me that I've been spending more and more of my time doing absolutely nothing. Nothing. Me. Even when I'm sitting around APPEARING to do nothing I have a pen poised in hand and a notebook in front of me waiting for me to channel a story into it from the mysterious ether of my sub-consciousness. Lately, however, I've fired up the computer and chatted with everyone, but done NOTHING. I look for jobs, but no one's hiring. I sit in my pajamas and stare out the window at the wind-ripped surface of the retention pond outside. Maybe all my thoughts are being sucked out into those murky depths, eaten by the turtles and seaplants that lurk under the brackish water.
I'm afraid of dying here, to be honest. Afraid that if I stop being creative I'll lose everything that makes me who I am. I fear the lack of change on the wang. I stare in frustrated disbelief at the content lackies surrounding me, happy in their mundane existence, unknowing and uncaring that there might be more to life than mindless overwork without pay, liquid sunshine, and a choice of clubs that all play the same music and cater to the same crowd. I wonder at how people can honestly go about daily life with no challenge and be happy. Every day I realize more and more why people come to Florida to die. They jump into the safe little box, throw on their blinders, and it's a straight, unquestionable line to the grave. Granted, not EVERYONE on the wang is like that, but a LOT of them are. At least on the shaft of the wang. Dunno about the head and balls of it.
As we were driving through a town I can't even remember the name of, there was a mural on the side of a building-- some bar, I think-- and the mural was a plane crashed into the side of the building, done in Florida pastels. Underneath the plane was written "9-11-01 We will never forget. God Bless America!" Is that all it was to the people living here? A fading memory? Something to fill up their newstime with? Something to gasp about and claim that their distant cousin or friend's cousin worked in the Towers?
Seeing the mural made up my mind. I definitely want to go home. Home to where we're all haunted still, be it by memories or ghosts, but haunted, which proves we're still alive. Home to the REAL. Where the amount of bullshit is a corporate formality and not to be taken seriously, but if you stand by the coffee maker you'll find the truth. Here they spoon-feed bullshit, and power-trips, and expect you to swallow it for less than half the pay with almost the same housing costs. The mantra is "If you don't like it, there's the door."
Sad thing is that that "door" only opens up to an exact replica of the same room you just left. It's a state where the businessman is king, and fuck all the worker people. You don't like it? There's the door. Bully tactics of small businesses that think they're big. Capitalism at it's worst. There's wetlands red tape all over the area, yet there's no requirement on cars to have catalytic converters or to even be inspected. The area is filled with endangered wildlife, you would think they would do more to protect it. There's only so many letters to my congressman I can write.
Monday, December 02, 2002
12/02/02
6:12PM
JESUS WALKS INTO A LADY...
OK.. So this one is for Adamantium and his dealings with the public. Stop if you've heard this one before...
Lady walks into Adam's place of work and asks him for a print of Jesus and a lighthouse. He's telling me this story and I'm thinking she wants separate prints, but NO. She wants a print of Jesus AND a lighthouse. She describes this picture to him and apparently it's a stormy sky, saying I suppose that Jesus is NOT a fairweather friend, and he will be your lighthouse on rough seas, and la la la. Yay, JC. Poor guy hasn't suffered enough, now he's gotta be sold in prints of him and a Maine lighthouse??
I told Adamantium to tell the woman that it is historically IMPOSSIBLE for such a picture to exist, that Maine and modern-day lighthouses were nowhere NEAR discovered/invented at the time of Jesus-- not to mention FILM for a print. Adamantium did the more professional thing and sent her on her merry way to the Christian bookstore around the corner instead.
Sooo... the holidays are almost over...I'm still stuck on the wang and can't get home for Christmas since NO ONE IS BUYING MY FUCKING BOOKS OR PRINTS OR DONATING TO MY CAUSE!!!! You think that fucking site is FREE??
Do me a favor, seriously... Go to my site and click that Donation button. Even a dollar will get me one step closer to home for the holidays. If you've enjoyed my writings, donate, dammit. If I made you laugh or feel like part of a crowd, please... help me out. I'm out of a job, I'm out of patience, and I want to GO BACK TO NY!!! :(
OK.. I'm done sounding like a charity case... even though I sort of AM a charity case... but I always did depend on the kindness of strangers. I should get my own TV telethon... Send The Smiling Goth back to Gotham!! I promise not to interfere with regularly scheduled shows unless they're dumb.
6:12PM
JESUS WALKS INTO A LADY...
OK.. So this one is for Adamantium and his dealings with the public. Stop if you've heard this one before...
Lady walks into Adam's place of work and asks him for a print of Jesus and a lighthouse. He's telling me this story and I'm thinking she wants separate prints, but NO. She wants a print of Jesus AND a lighthouse. She describes this picture to him and apparently it's a stormy sky, saying I suppose that Jesus is NOT a fairweather friend, and he will be your lighthouse on rough seas, and la la la. Yay, JC. Poor guy hasn't suffered enough, now he's gotta be sold in prints of him and a Maine lighthouse??
I told Adamantium to tell the woman that it is historically IMPOSSIBLE for such a picture to exist, that Maine and modern-day lighthouses were nowhere NEAR discovered/invented at the time of Jesus-- not to mention FILM for a print. Adamantium did the more professional thing and sent her on her merry way to the Christian bookstore around the corner instead.
Sooo... the holidays are almost over...I'm still stuck on the wang and can't get home for Christmas since NO ONE IS BUYING MY FUCKING BOOKS OR PRINTS OR DONATING TO MY CAUSE!!!! You think that fucking site is FREE??
Do me a favor, seriously... Go to my site and click that Donation button. Even a dollar will get me one step closer to home for the holidays. If you've enjoyed my writings, donate, dammit. If I made you laugh or feel like part of a crowd, please... help me out. I'm out of a job, I'm out of patience, and I want to GO BACK TO NY!!! :(
OK.. I'm done sounding like a charity case... even though I sort of AM a charity case... but I always did depend on the kindness of strangers. I should get my own TV telethon... Send The Smiling Goth back to Gotham!! I promise not to interfere with regularly scheduled shows unless they're dumb.
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