January 2004 Archives

I have a fifty second speech about sugar-filled juice drinks, according to the script here. I have to turn to a camera, speak directly into it with total conviction. I can't see this happening.

I can see Adam Wekarski laughing. Laughing as I tell him to "try make homemade lemonade with sugar substitute!" Smile. Smile.

There is no way I can pull off sincere here.

Still working on Ryan's song by the way, I need a rest. It's so very hard. But it's sounding great.

And then buy two copies of Interventions and Lullabies by a band called The Format. Two copies, because you will break one trying to have sex with it.

That's something you don't read every day.

It's the sixth known form... "after gases, solids, liquids, plasma and a Bose-Einstein condensate."

I had no idea we even had that fifth one. And also, I don't understand what the Bose-Einstein or this new one are exactly, but they're supposedly similar.

Spent all morning in NYC. Took a few pictures, but my hands were frozen, so I didn't put much effort into photography. I bought a little wicker lizard from a street vendor. All those damn street vendors are exactly the same... selling hats, watches, scarves and 911 "art." But then there's a man selling little braided wicker animals. They were cool as shit. So I bought the lizard... because I have a lot of things with lizards on them. Don't know why, really.

Met with my father's producers so they could go over his wardrobe for the millionth time. Stripes are a sin. Stripes are a sin. No stripes on television. No stripes.

Everything I own is striped.

No motherfucking stripes on television! (Just driving the point home.)

Interesting to note, the wardobe/stylist woman has been Dennis Leary's wardrobe woman for ten years.

Everyone was complimenting me on my new highlights. I'm still trying to get used to them. They're so bright, it almost looks like I've got blond hair with brown highlights and not the other way around.

Interesting to note, the producer has a painting of a woman blowing her nose into a tissue that is morphing into an exotic fish. She is also surrounded by dozens of other exotic fish. He had no idea why the painting was what it was, but said a friend painted it for him.

Galloped around Virgin Megastore for a bit. It's sad that I know where everything in the store is now. Sad that it's now MY Virgin Megastore. I feel like I'm cheating on the one at Downtown Disney, but she is dead to me.

Poor poor Planet Hollywood, signs in their windows "As seen on NBC's hit reality show The Apprentice!" How pathetic of them! They're located on the busiest block on the entire planet, and they still can't get business.

Back at home, Ryan's package arrived. My Christmas gift... January 30th. It makes sense though. He painted me a fucking painting! A painting! Space painting! Which is awesome. And also awesome because I use to get on him about doing something artistic again... because he used to in high school. Let this be an example for YOU Adam Wekarski.

And also, Natasha made me a little space bag and Adam Bolduc gave me a space lamp. The room grows ever increasingly "spaced-out."

I'm starting to believe Ryan is in a conspiracy to fill my walls with nice framed things... the album display he gave me for Too Delicate To Be Thrown and all.

Now I'm gearing up to begin mixing the song he sent along. It's going to prove a challenge and I'm going to have to pull out all the stops... but I shall work my hardest. No doubt. This new stuff is going to leave the last album eating it's words if you ask me. (From a songwriting / elegant execution stance.)

So I leave you with a picture of a poorly disguised cell phone antenna. The poor owls! It's bad enough that the rodents are all hiding away for warmth... but now the owls will go and try to make their home in a "seemingly" ordinary tree, but NO... it's metal. A metal cell phone antenna tree. Try to see if you can pinpoint which tree it is... I've given a hint... because I'm sure you'll need it...

I'm overhearing this as a woman wraps my hair in little tin foil squares. It takes her over an hour, and when she's done, she places me in the hot-air-head-dome to bake.

The whole process took over two hours and it's something I never want to go through again. Two hours with this much attention... two hours with someone's hands in my hair... I feel dirty. Hair-sex.

So anyway... because I love you all, I will give you a fantastic laugh and post a picture of my foilfication...

Your welcome.

Also... I should say that I saw a girl around my age, who hadn't had her hair cut since she was five come in and get a foot and a half of hair cut off in one snip. They made a big deal out of it. Took before pictures. It was the longest ponytail the woman had ever cut off. They had measured it.

I'm not exactly sure about my new highlights, but I thought they looked really good when my hair was a mess... before she broke out the trusty flat iron. Maybe I'm going to have to start going for a more unkept look.

I immediately wonder how lucrative this is for them. They couldn't get more than twenty dollars a driveway and then splitting it five ways. Doesn't seem worth it.

Then again, I'm spoiled.

So the plow comes charging through at a ridiculous speed. There are six foot mountains of snow on either side of road. The plow fills the entire space between the mountains and it's about to hit these five shovelers. Four of the five stand on their tiptoes against the side of the road, letting the plow barely eek by them. The fifth... in a dramatic move of life preservation, takes a running leap. Up and into and completely under the snow.

And then he's stuck, up to his neck in it, as the rest of the kids are dry and laughing.

"sorry to write you again..but how old are you? and do you have a girlfriend?"

I replied the simple, "Nineteen, and no... not currently."

It's her next email that's the interesting one. I'm pretty sure she's young, like fourteen... I feel bad for her.

Another snowstorm... another routine I've slipped into. Lots of working out, reading, tea and bubblegum. I eat the same things at the same time every single day, this way I don't have to put thought into what's for lunch or dinner.

3 pm - All Bran: Extra Fiber with skim milk.
6 pm - pb&j sandwich
workout
8 pm - Chicken and vegetables simmered in tomato sauce
12 am - pb&j sandwich

And there it is, I've had exactly that for about the last two weeks straight. Sometimes dinner is switched to turkey chili, but other than that, no surprises.

And also, I should say that I take these vitamins daily.

One A Day multivitamin
Vitamin E - for beautiful skin.
Alpha-Lipoic Acid - it attacks free radicals in the skin, like vitamin E, and also boosts metabolism in your muscles allowing more energy for workouts.
Creatine - we've talked about this.
Glutamine - I've forgotten what this does at the moment, but I think it had something to do with less depletion of muscle.

So you see, this is what you do when you have a lot of time on your hands. Become crazy.

I think what it is, is I'm trying to bargain with my skin... asking it nicely to firm up in exchange for the vitamins it's supposed to love.

Since when has Christina Aguilera been calling herself Xtina Aguilera and should I laugh hysterically or vomit in disgust at this?

-Xtian Stella

I could see that the question marks were glued or sewn or otherwise applied on to the suit.

This ruined everything.

It was important to me that the suit just existed. Or that this man had put in for a large government grant to get the suit professionally designed and implemented.

But up close, it looked all too crude.

I couldn't shake the image of the man, sans suit, up all night before the commercial shoot... scissors, glue gun and roll of fabric... piecing things together himself.

This was completely dismaying.

I'm trying to figure out how to get Jeremy and Ryan up here for an episode of the show. A low carb party episode. And also Anthony and Kelly will have to fly up. The big FN wants eight people for the party... half young and half adult.

So right now I'm waiting to hear about travel expenses and the like.

I think I'll probably have a nervous breakdown next week. It's now three episodes I'm in. And if it works out that they're here for the main episode I'm featured in, I WILL have a nervous breakdown.

Wrote two horribly autobiographical, horribly snide poems. Good, none the less.

Also plopped out another of my super short stories. An "Emily" short as I hereby dub them... she seems to pop up in them the most. It's the go-to name, I suppose. Maybe it's the pieces slowly morphing into something bigger. My attempt to make enough little somethings into SOMETHING.

into this...

Plastic chairs sound so damn violent as you run over them.

My father just got back from his promotions at the Food Network. Every chef/host of the Food Network was there, save Lisa Loeb. But everyone else, Emiril, Mario Batalli, Bobby Flay, Alton Brown, Marc Summers, Al Roker and twenty others. They lined everyone up and had them scream things in unison for future commercials. Things like "Happy Holidays from The Food Network!" and "Happy New Year!" I guess that's a good sign that they have faith in my father's show... the fact that they have him doing New Years commercials.

Lisa Loeb isn't in these commercials... what does that say?

And not that I want alcohol, but damn the "NO ALCOHOL ON SUNDAY" screens that they pull down over the beer in our grocery stores really, really, really pisses me off.

It's the same with George Bush's state of the union address and his vow to ban gay marriage on a federal level. Once again, doesn't affect me, as I am not gay nor planning to marry someone gay... but why is the fucking president wasting time on this?

I guess it's the same reason he wastes time going to church.

It is impossible to not smile at it. And I will have to watch it, if I am ever feeling down.

I am hereby awarding the video the Christian Stella Award Of Excellence.

And also... I am going to market it as a clinical anti-depressant.

I hereby claim this company, full of shit.

The moon is a source of unending helium 3, a potent and non-polluting fuel source. Compared to the energy of oil, one ton of helium 3 is worth 4 billion dollars.

There are 1 million tons of it on the moon.

A single space shuttle load (pretending that the shuttle would have to capabilities to get to the moon) could power the entire United States for a year.

This is why Bush wants a moon base.... oil. (Or helium in this case.)

This would be why I don't really mention Samantha's flattery and the like. Because even though I get a kick out of it... I know YOU are reading this Samantha.

But back to Meagan for a second... she doesn't read my blog, so I'll say what I want about her. In the five or six months before I left Florida, the months that our friendship all but disintegrated, she pretty much ended all effort to communicate with me. I would call her every month or so and that was that.

The day before I left, I called her and told her I was moving. This shocked her, because although I had warned her I was moving the last time we spoke, more than a month before... things were never finalized. Knowing that she never made the effort to contact any of her friends any more, I knew that that would probably be the last time I talked to her. I mean, I certainly had no plans of wasting long distance time to talk to someone I was distancing myself from anyway.

So I bring all this up because, she's IMed me half a dozen times and sent a few emails since I've moved up here. I guess she's suddenly re-embraced the internet. She starts her conversations like everything is as it was, when I know that... she, who used to sit on my bed to listen to rough cuts of Ryan's songs through the whole damn recording process, hasn't even seen Ryan or I since the album was finished... and hasn't even heard the damn album! I don't think there's anyone even two friends removed from my circle of friends that hasn't heard that album. Yet, I still get the,

"Hey, how's it going?" IMs.

She then proceeds to drop the name of a guy into conversation, to get me going. To make me jealous like she so loved to do.

So, I say all this, because tonight I took to lying to her.

Lying to her was fun. Super duper fun.

She asked me how my writing was going and I told her it was going great. Well into the plot of the novel now... and writing short stories left and right besides it.

I am positive that this bothered her, because I am positive that she wants to be better than me. I, on the other hand have no problem admitting that I most definitely want to be better than her. So don't call me out as a hypocrite.

And to no suprise, THE MOMENT after I've said that I'm making progress on the novel. She says, "Shit, gotta go, my boy's gonna call."

I'm wondering how far I can take this now? Maybe next time she IMs me I've got an advance on the book.

It's great fuel to actually get in there and write the fucking book though... just so I can throw it at her as she's throwing beads from a float at Universal Studios.

So there you are... a rare, introspective post of sorts.

$211 coming back to me.

Fuck yeah!

To make this quick...

Mohegan Sun was terribly boring. Their website claimed so much fun for the whole family... it's really just a casino. Sure, there were a few stores they called a "mall." But they were all boring, overpriced and closing when we got there. Yes, there was an arcade. But the arcade was about ten years out of date, like most arcades are nowadays... and also it was nothing but wholesome shit games.

So I found myself wandering around, taking weird photos and occasionally sitting on a bench to read.

I purchased my usual coffee from the included Starbucks. It seems that Starbucks on Indian reservations like to charge $4.79 for what is usually $3 at all other Starbucks... the $3 is all ready overpriced. I felt raped. I handed a man a five dollar bill, he handed me back two dimes and a cup of coffee. He might as well have stuck those dimes up his own ass, that way we were both violated.

I then found a no name coffee shop an hour later and ordered the exact same thing. It was $1.50 and they give you this crystal wand looking thing to stir the coffee! Now this was more like it! Cheap! And a free crystal wand to place spells on Starbucks and their bullshit prices!

After the wandering grew thin I found my father and asked him to bet $25 on black at the roulette table for me. It came up black.

So I am still up $18 extra dollars, even after the coffees.

I don't remember much of Captain Kangaroo, but I remember I watched him when I was really small. Also, I remember I didn't like him as much as Mr. Rogers.

Now both of them are dead and kids are stuck with Japanese-y cartoons and bullshit like that.

Fucking chain letters! Who the heck does the chain letter thing these days?

I enjoy her flattery, but if this shit keeps up I'll have to block her emails.

I will instead split away from my gambling family on a photography expedition. And also, on a search for fellow youths.

It should prove interesting.

Are there people this stupid? Really? And maybe this person found me highly entertaining and will return again, to find me bashing them, and that would be hilarious.

Because honestly, if you were to find yourself exposed to space, you'd have much worse things to worry about than your eyeballs freezing. Like maybe your eyeballs imploding. Just a thought.

As is the case with this story...

Police believe that Stephen Hawking is being abused by his wife. That he's bruised. That she left him out in the sun for hours on the hottest day of the year. They say she has Munchausen Disorder... where she hurts him to get attention for herself.

Now then... three observations on this.

1. I know Mr. Hawking is paralyzed, but can't he use his mind to pilot his Super-Chair 9000 back into the house? I mean, even if the batteries were dead, I'm sure that puppy is equipped with solar cells and it was a sunny day.
2. Being married to Stephen Hawking isn't attention enough for his wife? I mean, Stephen Hawking is the smartest man alive, and also almost a robot. He is rolling attention.
3. The smartest man alive, IQ 280, has romantic woes. Now I truly know that love is a bastard. I have an IQ of 124, how am I supposed to find a sane girl? If Mr. 280 is being bruised and left in the sun, I'll surely end up stabbed to death.

Let me say that my source of Stephen Hawking's IQ is an episode of The Simpsons.

And let me also take a brief second to mention this teacher... a woman. She was charged with having an affair with an eleven year old student. ELEVEN. This kid, he's the luckiest kid in the world. I mean, it was totally consentual. And think of the bragging rights!

Now, who isn't the luckiest kid? The teacher's own seventeen year old son. Could you imagine it? You're seventeen and it's all over the news that your mother is boning an eleven year old! It's absolute horror. Absolutely. I'd have to change my name, change my face, change planets, and erase my memory. Since a few of those things were purely sci-fi, I'd just have to jump off a bridge.

Bastards.

Twelve of Food Network's chefs will be there! It would have been cool. Oh well, I'll just do what I do every day... read.

Also... we're going to the hair stylist THIS Friday now, because of that. That's good... because my hair is OutTa KonTrol!

And most finally, Johnsonville... the sausage company... they want my father as a spokesman. His agent will be in talks with them now, I suppose.

Please don't believe that I wrote "OutTa KonTrol!" in any seriousness.

My mother says, "How long has the water been brown?" Until I see the coffee caraffe filled with water the color of tea, I don't understand.

So now there are a few questions, obviously.

Why is the water brown?

Was it brown when I drank that gigantic cup, while working out?

Was it brown when I brushed my teeth?

If it eventually clears up in color, will that mean it's clear from harm? When DO I feel safe with the water again?

Anyway, the point of all this was that... the fact that the tap water is coming out brown is just stereotypically New England to me. The same way that pipe burst the other night.

Winston Churchill's pet parrot is still alive at the age of 104. He used to spout obscenities about Hitler, but now he's mellowed out a bit.

He enjoys dancing to music, which keeps him physically fit.

And also in the news... McDonald's will not be renewing it's commercial contract with Kobe Bryant. Whoa now! I'm shocked! You mean McDonald's doesn't want to be associating with rapists? I thought that was the big demographic Mickey D's was looking toward... rapists. I mean, look at the facts... rapists have no patience. If they had patience, they'd attempt a relationship with a girl instead of forceably having sex with her. So what's an impatient rapist to do for dinner in between raping girls in hotel rooms and playing basketball? McDonald's! It's fast, delicious and full of protein to restore all that spent energy so you can shoot those hoops at the top of your game.

A week from Thursday, I'll be getting my hair razor-bladed again... and gasp! Blond highlights.

I am hoping this is not a disaster... seeing as we film a few days later.

Right now, my parents are off wardrobe shopping with the "wardrobe budget." They left half a pot of coffee on the counter... it's going to go sour if I don't drink it.

I will accept this challenge.

We should all fear him. Once he's president, he'll teach all the other dead trees his secret.

I spent the day store hopping with my mother. You know what that means? Robots! Grocery robots!

It snowed and it snowed hard. And it snowed hard for twelve hours straight.

The weather people are disastrously off here... always.

The snow... it's as deep as that nor'easter's aftermath. Hopefully I'll get some good photos tomorrow morning before it starts melting.

"Some doctors say it is possible for people to swap faces."

I am still laughing, folks.

Let me first say that I saw a falcon, just chilling out, on the way there.

So I went to the mall. Let me say that all of the good looking girls in the state of Connecticut must live inside of this mall.

I mean, it's no surprise that attractive girls flock to a mall, but it was definitely disorienting, because it's been a few weeks of keeping to Norwalk's city limits. And the all too sad by-product of keeping to those city limits is never crossing paths with girls of my own age, ever.

And so, I've found, girls are again unknown creatures... that I fear.

This is most likely just the intimidation factor of the packs and herds of wild girls that gallop through the malls. The type of girl that I am, in every way but physical, unattracted to.

Let me say that when Jeremy gets here, we are going to have to find all the hot spots around here. Because, right now I would feel like an idiot galavanting around town alone.

In the meantime I'll just keep on taking my creatine, my glutamine... and keep on lifting weights. Also, this week I have to do Whitestrips and get my hair cut, since we'll be filming in two weeks.

So anyhow, I bought some books and some new clothes at the mall, so I'm a happy camper.

My new clothes...

Then went out to dinner around the house... some girl was staring at me the whole time. So maybe I exaggerate on the no girls in Norwalk thing.

Finally, that fan-girl emailed me again... she wants pictures of me to "show her friend."

Still, I consider that falcon the highlight of my day.

Next week, Emeril's food stylist is coming to the house to give my father tips.

And then filming begins.

Instead of telling me the real number, they showed the video a third time... asking for me to forget about counting this time... to just watch the video without care.

It is halfway through the video that a man in a big monkey suit enters and then spends nine seconds pounding his chest, directly in the middle of these six kids passing basketballs.

I watched this video twice, without ever seeing the monkey man. Nine seconds of a man in a monkey suit, in the center of the screen, actually trying to get your attention!

It was incredible.

Dateline smacked ya in the face for over-analyzing things.

Going to spend the next couple hours drawing a plot map for my novel, I swear.

I realized earlier that I have a lot of tiny subplots and goings ons and I'm losing track of them... so this should help. Also realized that I know just about every damn plot point from beginning to end and that's amazing. There really shouldn't be anything stopping me from writing this book... I'm just in a stubborn slump of sorts. I refuse to call it "writer's block."

Maybe I've just contracted some form of ADD. It would explain my trouble with sitting in one place to read a book. Why I find it necessary to turn on the TV to keep me company as I read that book. Would also explain why I can barely sit through an entire movie anymore.

Why I find it necessary to have at least half a dozen different books around me at all times, yet don't read any of them for any significant amount of time.

Why I sit down to write, but a voice says, "Yeah, but check the internet first."

"Check your email."

"Play a computer game."

"This game isn't fun."

"Download another one."

"This game isn't fun."

"Write in your blog."

Actually, I believe this kind of stuff is more BECAUSE I'm not writing, and not WHY. Some sort of depression by lack of creativity.

One thing is for sure though, I need to turn the television on... it's too quiet in here.

You have a mysterious kiss. Your partner never
knows what you're going to come up with next;
this creates great excitement and arousal never
knowing what to expect. And it's sure to end
in a kiss as great as your mystery.


What kind of kiss are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Yeah... that's right ladies.

Rain: You are the sound of rain. You have two
important sides. There is your strong, powerful
side and your calm, gentle side. Both are very
important. Rain also reflects a bit of darkness
in your personality. It isn't bad, just shows
that along with the good, you also can see bad,
which can come in handy. (please rate my quiz)


What Sound Are You?(now w/ pics)
brought to you by Quizilla

This one is deep. And when it says, "please rate my quiz" ... Wow! It's so right!

As you see, the bar to the right now contains a very hair-obstructed picture of myself. This is to ensure that everyone knows exactly who they are reading about at all times, while still leaving a smidge of mystery... what's under that hair? Why is his hair in his face? Is he hiding a scar? Maybe he gets in bar fights! He's a rebel!

So you see, I'm a rebel... and don't you ever forget that.

Now then... You'll also see that there are links, but who gives a happy crap.

But then, I've also posted some writing... an excerpt from the trusty novel and a few super short stories that I've been writing lately... what I call "freewriting." Writing without expectations. So do me a favor and read without expectations... like, don't expect a beginning, or an ending... or sentence structure. But do enjoy!

That's a hard thing for me to do, show my father which computer to purchase... hard because, with the evolutionary nature of technology, computers are much better than mine nowadays. It's really hard to watch my father purchase a computer that is better than mine.

It is I that would appreciate it's power, but alas... I don't have a show on the Food Network to pay for awesomely fast computers.

Other than that, all is the same. All is quiet. Quiet and cold.

They're coming to watch how my father cooks, so they can plan how to film the show.

New video card, more ram... and I don't even remember installing it all. I had been up for 24 hours and off of caffeine for the day (because it would interfere with the Creatine I am now taking to build muscle.) I've become so dependant on caffeine, it's ridiculous... and I don't give a shit, I'm drinking it again, just hours away from when I take the Creatine.

So anyway, the computer is running brilliantly. Twice as fast. And now, with the 3D card, I can actually play a game published in the last seven years!

Weighed myself this morning... 141... That's 2 pounds less than I've ever been... I've been eating more to build muscle too. Every time I add more food into my diet, I lose more weight. All is good though. But if I get below 135, I'll have to eat a birthday cake or something.

We can now breathe a little easier... it's not carbon-monoxide... just... something entirely different, that smells of battery-acid and could still kill us all.

The heater in the basement is emitting a strong battery-acid like smell and we have no idea what it is... There's a carbon-monoxide alarm practically connected to the heater... and the tester's wires lead right into the alarm system. The tester's wires are cut.

Are the fumes harmless? Are they carbon-monoxide? Find out tomorrow, in the obituaries!

Snow fell, a water pipe in our garage burst and I was nominated for Poet of the Year.

To explain...

It's more bullshit. More scammage. Hogwash. You might want to get comfortable, because the hilarity never ends on this one!

"I would like to inform you of your nomination as Poet of the Year for 2004, and to personally invite you to read your poetry at the single largest gathering of poets in history!"

"Your induction will take place Friday evening, March 5th, at the Walt Disney World Resort in Orlando, Florida"

"First, to honor and commemorate your poetic accomplishments, after you present your poetry in front of fellow poets from around the world, amidst the applause from the audience, you will be presented with your Outstanding Achievement in Poetry Silver Award Cup. The Award is a magnificent work of art in itself ($200.00 value), uniquely engraved and mounted on a cherry-wood base."

This is when you the scam really starts showing through. Like I am reading this and saying, "Wow! I've won the Poetry Silver Award Cup! Wow, fuck whatever I won it for... it's a $200 value!" To put that another way... "Mr. Spielberg, you've been nominated for an Oscar! The Oscar statue is an amazing $30,000 value, made of 24 ct. gold and it comes complete with a certificate of authenticity!" Awards do not have a value. Stupid motherfuckers.

"In recognition of your poetry presentation at this prestigious International Symposium, we will also create and present to you a beautiful and colorful Commemorative Award Medallion to honor your poetic dedication and achievements."

Because the Poetry Silver Award Cup just wasn't enough!

It then goes on for ages and ages about the dozens of cash prizes I could win.

"You will enjoy dazzling entertainment shows created especially for you featuring famous doo-wop girl band, The Shangri-Las!"

The Shangri-Las... especially for me??? Wow... I'm such a good poet!

"will be hosted by Bob Eubanks."

Well, with a name like Bob Eubanks, this thing must be credible!

They then repeat the exact same section about cash prizes for absolutely no reason.

It is when you click on the link to "register for the event." that things really come into focus. Why, it seems anyone can register and everyone that registers is awarded the Poetry Silver Award Cup! You don't even have to have a poem to register and be nominated for Poet of the Year folks!

And registering is a very reasonable $600! Is that all? Why with plane tickets, hotel, food and what not... it'll only be well over $1000 to be a good poet!

For fun... I wrote them this email...

"I plan on attending, but first...

This $600 registration fee... after that is paid, can I read the directions on a box of instant pudding and call that my poem? I mean, you won't care right? Because it's not about artistic merit or anything... as long as I've paid.

How 'bout if I took a dump in my "$200" Silver Cup Award... the one that honors the stupidity of everyone that registers with you... how 'bout I take that dump and call that my poem... will that jive with you?"

Apparently I have a fan.

Same girl as before, in my email box this time...

"hi christian,
this is kinda weird i know. but i saw you and your family on TV. wow, and i just wanted to say that now you look really hott!
-kristin"

One wonders how to reply to such an email.

"ya, i am talking about his son. i saw him on tv and that's really amazing that he lost that much weight, plus i thought he was pretty cute!"

It's hard to believe that $19 could buy such a wonderful piece of machinery. Sure it took a little searching. (It seems that sub-zero temperatures bring about mass-heater-purchasing-hysteria.)

But I found one.

And I am warm.

And I am toasty.

Submissions are next month.

It's moved to bravo, and is now a glee-spreading one hour long!

"Christian, we would love to publish your poem in our new anthology. Congratulations on impressing myself and the other editors. I know your poem will enhance the book and inspire others. - M.W. American Poets Society"

"Being selected by our senior editor is an accomplishment that signifies you are an artist."

"When you see your poem in this beautiful edition, you will feel proud knowing that we have given your poem its rightful place in American literature."

"We make sure that everything about this anthology spells quality. From the radiant gold-embossed cover to the..."

"Christian, we ask that you please review the enclosed proof and approve or indicate any changes. Then fill out the order form and return it to us with your payment."

Bah! Bah to them! Dirty bastards! Think that my art is their profit! I worked hard to switch around a few words of one of my short stories and then call it my first "poem." They think that I want to pay fifty bucks to see my poem in a book, surrounded by a thousand other poems that were chosen for the same fifty rectangular reasons... they can bite me. I'd probably end up on a page next to something like this...

Flowers

Flowers are colors.
Colors of the rainbow.
Mmm... Skittles.

As a matter of fact... I should enter that poem... just to see if it is "selected." And THEN... I would most definitely buy the book. Just to laugh at all the suckers on either side of that jewel.

Underneath my proof copy, they've added a nice touch... a comment... in REAL pen! Wow... a human's touched this form letter! It says, "great poem!"

Now, while it is in human nature to smile and say, "Yeah! They really did like it!" One must again think of just how much of a scam this shit is and then imagine the poor, poor woman, making minimum wage to stuff these envelopes, to write that same thing over and over and over again. To write it so much that when she cashes her miniscule paycheck, she endorses the back with "great poem!" instead of her signature.

And then, of course, the bank teller... having just been accepted for her poem "Wasp Foot" will recognize those two words, see that the check was written out by the "American Poet's Society." and suddenly piece everything together. The bank teller will then spit on the check and tell the woman to go cash it on Mars.

My face is red, red, red. My face is red, save a flesh colored ring around my lips, where my Chap Stick's protection bled over.

The air seeping into the house must have been too much for my face to take. It's dried out and ready to die.

I look ridiculous. Like backwards clown makeup. Red face, white mouth.

And it's burning. It's really, really burning. An arctic sunburn.

I want to die.

Worse yet, I'm definitely stuck inside for a while now... can not go out in public with this face, can not go out in the cold and make it worse.

I must send someone to buy one of those portable heaters from Wal-Mart. That way I won't have another repeat of last night... sitting on the couch, under covers... sweatpants, socks, long-sleeved jersey, jacket, winter hat and gloves... freezing and subsequently burning my face off.

When your face's temperature drops down to a certain point, you don't want to do anything. You lift up that book you want to read, but you've forgotten how to read. You pick up a pen and try writing something, but your hands are shaking. There is no hope of doing anything productive.

Even the open oven, burning full blast couldn't save me last night.

Don't worry though... it's warming up... eleven in the morning, the sun's shining full blast and the temperature has risen to a steamy three degrees.

I'm going to go sleep in the guest room now, where things are slightly warmer than my own room.

Also... Food Network's check came... so shut up. Yeah now you believe it.

But...

It seems the back door is frozen shut. No joke.

And also weather.com has a flashing urgent message for Norwalk... it has this to say...

"THE COMBINATION OF A COLD ARCTIC AIRMASS OVERSPREADING THE AREA... AND NORTH WINDS OF AROUND 15 MPH... WILL RESULT IN WIND CHILL VALUES OF BETWEEN MINUS 15 AND MINUS 24 FOR SEVERAL HOURS OVERNIGHT INTO SATURDAY MORNING. AT THESE VALUES... FROSTBITE CAN OCCUR ON EXPOSED FLESH WITHIN 30 MINUTES."

Rock on!

I decided to see how things were back in Kissimmee... 63... wind chill of... 63. Motherfucker it's cold here! Everyone in Florida... go outside, go swimming... enjoy yourself... Me... I'm going to go see how long it takes to freeze a cup of ice. My hypothesis-- fourteen minutes.

"currently 4 degrees, feels like -9"

Negative nine! It's penetrating the walls... there's not much the heat can do... it's warm in the house, yet there's still a constant chill near any of the windows, doors, walls, floors, roof etc...

Now... the Food Network people are talking to my father about... my hair.

They love me... love my look... don't want me to change anything... even love my hair. But I can't have it in my face on television. This is very important to them. They can't have anyone associating food, with my hair.

And so now... they don't want me to cut my hair... but don't want my hair to be how my hair be's... So I'm going to have to do something crafty.

I just find it funny that there's discussion over this at all.

Except it's something else in the guise of a Christmas card... It's a warning.

DO NOT USE YOUR FIREPLACE.

All right folks... we've been lighting fires every single night since we've been here. We've been here for more than two months now.

DO NOT USE YOUR FIREPLACE.

Apparently, there's all ready been a chimney fire in this house and she "completely forgot." She's been "busy working six nights a week."

There's something wrong with the chimney (what, I have no clue) and it will cost $1400 to fix, and she "doesn't have the money to fix it right now."

But no worries, I'm sure she'll get around to fixing that around Summer.

Rosie O'Donnell is organizing a gay cruise--

Wait, no... whoops... that's the story that has no place right fucking next to this one on Yahoo news... George Bush is about to announce plans for a manned mission to mars, as well as plans for some sort of colony on the moon.

Holy shit!

Hold on... let me illustrate...

Yeah, yep... it's true. It's probably a decade away and the mars mission alone will probably set us back one trillion dollars. (No sarcasm.) But the important thing is... we'll see it. Maybe our dogs won't... but we will, and that's cool.

Now then, I still hate George Bush and I know he's trying to pull a Kennedy on us Americans, just so he can get re-elected... I won't fall for it*... but I'll still reap the space-exploration rewards.

*When I say that I, quote, "Won't fall for it," I say this as only a figure of speech... because all though I know the importance of voting, I will most likely still be dodging the DMV and the magical, one hundred dollar, transformation of my Florida driver's license into a Connecticut driver's license.*

*Please beat the ever-living shit out of me if I really haven't gotten around to doing that by November.

A little reality tv update... The Apprentice is wonderful... finally something good to watch. The Mole, which I've all ready made a big hubbub about was as terrible as I imagined. The "celebrities" are damn near impossible to watch. And that's all I'll say on the matter.

Went out to dinner earlier... went here...

It's this cozy Italian society/restaurant... and it was damn fantastic. We were celebrating the fact that my father has finally signed his contract. It's done... so shut up. There should be a check at the house tomorrow. Also... my father's bio is now listed in the list of Food Network's celebrity chefs on foodnetwork.com... so shut up.

For a second, let me get side-tracked. On the subject of below freezing temperatures... I joke that the cold will freeze my eyeballs... yesterday, I am convinced, this almost became a reality. Walking to the car from Wal-Mart, the cold created a very new sensation in my eyes. This sensation was somewhere between the numbness of submerging your hand in ice water and the pressure of rolling your eyes up as far as possible to scare your friends. My eyeballs were going to freeze solid, this I am sure of.

Anyway, back to this package. (Now that I've built up the suspense.) The package was from a bakery, I could see that. But it was addressed to my mother, and I wasn't so quick to open it when she wasn't here.

Instead, I did a search for the bakery online. It is through this search that I realized exactly what was in the package.

You remember, a few weeks ago... (Yes, another side-track.) A few weeks ago I sat down to a bowl of raisin bran, only to find spider webs... you remember this. Well, my mother wrote the company a letter... in hopes of...

Free cereal. That's what was in the package. Free motherfucking cereal! And you know how much I love cereal, yes? A total lot. That's how much.

So, 'course I tear that package open and read over the letter on top. I was really hoping they would address the spiderweb issue head-on, because that would have made my day... "We apologize for the spiders contained in your cereal." Instead, the spiders were generalized as an "unpleasantness." That's fine... whatever... now let's eat some fucking cereal!

Now I've been really hankering for this cereal... the Grainfield's sugar free raisin bran that sometimes contains spiderwebs... was hankering that day, weeks ago, before I found that little surprise. Since then, I haven't purchased any more, for fear that they're from the same batch. And then they raised the price to five bucks a box, so I've just given up on the raisin bran altogether...

But here it was... two whole boxes... for my enjoyment... two whole boxes...

OF COMPLETELY DIFFERENT FUCKING STUPIDASS CEREAL. Cereal from a whole different brand of the fucking company! Cereal covered in fucking sugar.

Cereal that is now dog food, folks.

Back to my puffed wheat. Boring, cheap, sugarless puffed wheat. Lord knows I can't get enough of it's puffedness.

Let's see... we've got blue laser DVD players rolling out sometime soon... with their larger storage, thus better quality picture.

Right around the time that switch will happen, CDs will switch to regular DVD.

Sony just unveiled a 1 gb mini-disc to fuck over all those people with regular old mini-disc players. Meanwhile, mini-discs are still pretty useless now with Ipods and the like. All though... I do see my 10gb mp3 player's limit creeping up on me... and this scares me. Fifteen or so more albums and I'm going to have to start deleting... that's no fun. There's something comforting about knowing that not one, but two Marcy Playground albums are hidden deep within those folders, just in case.

And now some Japanese people invented a tv with 16 times the resolution of HDTV. People are vomiting looking at this thing, no lie. Watching motion on it, without actually moving fucks up your system and can make you vomit. This is because there's almost no discerning the picture from real life. Something tells me though, that this isn't exactly vieing to be the next standard in television... with all the vomiting and all. Not to mention 18 minutes of programming for the television takes up 3.5 TERRAbytes of space.

Ahem... bytes and then, kb, and then mb... a normal cd holding 650 mb... and then gb... a dvd holding half a dozen gb or whatever. So now then... 1000 gb... that's a terrabyte folks.

Still I want to take this TV for a joyride... it would be my pleasure to vomit.

In the meantime, I've been reading and taking photographs. Seeing as the weatherman said it "feels like" 4 degrees outside, my photographs are restricted within the bounds of the heated house. And so, it would take some creativity to take some good shots.

My first inclination, was to capture the sadness of a pair of stacked lawn chairs in my backyard. (Through a window of course... not by actually stepping out into weather that can freeze your eyeballs.)

I then decided that I would capture the torment of being a mentally challenged cat. Now, when you take a look at this picture, observe how it not only conveys torment beautifully, but also gets across the mentally-challengedness of the cat without argument. The viewer never has any doubt that there is certainly something fucked up about the cat and that is why I should win goodles of awards for my photographs.

There you have it! Amazing!

Who knew that Celebrity Mole 2 starts tomorrow night? And who, I ask, gives a tit?

There is a part of me though... this part is saying, "Maybe they won't fuck it up so bad this time." And all though I can never accept an MIA Anderson Cooper, I will still try to accept this Celebrity Mole: Yucatan... maybe pretending that it is Dog Eat Dog. I'll say, "Wow, Dog Eat Dog isn't nearly as horrible as I remembered it!"

Yes folks, Celebrity Mole: Yucatan may well be so horrible that my eyes fossilize, but you must remember, I watched Dog Eat Dog one time. I watched Dog Eat Dog one time.

I don't think I need to justify my testing of the Celebrity Mole waters any further.

But if by chance I did feel the need for further justification, one could argue that the celebrities upon this Celebrity Mole is built, are so ZJ-list celebrities that it would feel like I was not only watching a non-celebrity reality show, but a reality show wherein the contestants are actually spatulas. And I've never seen anything like that before, so I'm game!

To explain... You've got your A-list celebrities - Tom Cruise, Julia Roberts and what not. Then you've got your B's and C's... C-list equaling Tom Arnold or Tom Green and the like. But then as you go further down the alphabet you get into political figures, business tycoons, normal housewives (R-list) and then eventually you get down to Z-list celebrities, which of course are no longer celebrites at all, but Inuits. This is when you cycle through the alphabet once more AA-AB-AC etc... robots, vacuum cleaners, ice. Eventually, on the 26th cycle through the alphabet you hit the Celebrity Mole contestants ranking... the ZJ-list celebrites... celebrities like Keshia Knight Pulliam... you know... that one person that did that whole... she did celebrity stuff! And of course you've got Tracey Gold... most notable for being a celebrity! Then there's returning players Corbin Bernsen and Stephen Baldwin, best remembered for their work on... Celebrity Mole 1! Then of course the rest of ZJ is filled out with spatulas, hollow acorns and the buttons in your grandmother's button collection tin.

To further prove this system... next time you see your grandmother I want you to purposefully wear a shirt with a missing button. And then before dinner, say "Ah snap grandma, a button fell off my shirt!"

Grandma: "Oh dear! What does it look like, perhaps I can dig one up."

You: "It's kind of green, with auburn swirls, and three button holes."

Grandma: "Ah! I know just the button you speak of! I have several in my button collection tin!"

And then, just before she runs off to fetch it for you, stop her and ask this question... Ask her, "Grandma, do you know who Keshia Knight Pulliam is?"

And when she shakes her head, confused by a name so completely benign of celebrity, you'll laugh and say, "Goddam! Christian was right! The celebrites on Celebrity Mole: Yucatan are no more famous than a common shirt button!"

Yes folks, I downloaded vocabulary building tapes. And yes folks, that is a genuine quote from within one.

My mother found that picture to prove to me that I wasn't always fat. That there were three normal years. Adam says I look like Chucky.

Anyway, so the message board chatter has begun. We've got people on my dad's board calling us gods. They started their own campaign to email the food network to get my father a show, not knowing that it's too late.

A lot of talk on the Food Network board as well... I've never seen our name so much in my life...

" really enjoyed the show and hope they add the Stellas to the regular line-up."

"George Stella would be a wonderful asset to the FN lineup."

"thanks to the stella's for taking the plunge in the right direction and helping others"

"Can't wait to see more of George Stella!"

"This show was my first encounter with the Stella family and I must say: WAY TO GO!"

"Thanks to the Stella family!!!"

This is a very strange and somewhat compelling way to waste valuble writing time... reading low carb message boards to see what people are saying about us. I must stop doing this.

Got a letter back from my fourth grade teacher. She's had some hard times and was in an accident with a semi - breaking 25 bones. It put me in a real retrospective mode, made me really realize how well things are going for me.

She's doing great now... talking about doing low carb actually. Got a hold of my father and ordered a video.

I'm drowning in the low carb. Positively drowning.

The special was good. Real professional stuff. Not sure what else to say on the matter.

They really plucked out the depressing stuff from my interview huh? Left all the uplifting answers for the wind and drove the drama home with sad music. Yeah, well.

I looked really good in the city shots though. I hope old classmates and anyone else that I seek revenge upon caught the show tonight. Also all the girls... I hope they caught it. All-a-them.

Anyway... that's all for now...

Not sure what I'm doing for my birthday, but my great aunt and her daughters want me over there to play cards. Not exactly how I would envision a birthday, playing cards with two seventy year old women and their ninety year old mother... but I have nowhere better to be.

And then we'll probably watch the special over there.

Don't forget to watch it you bastards. It's on at 2am if you miss it at 10.

Also... just saw that it's one of Yahoo's top TV picks now.

Good day!

I don't know what the hell that crap's all about.

Also... foodnetwork.com has a ridiculously erroneous bio of my father now up, and a form to send him questions for a future column on the site.

This week's TV Guide has two blurbs about the special. (Outside of the normal tv listings) It's one of their featured picks or whatever.

And the commercials are playing like twice an hour now. I'm choking on the damn things.

Was certainly a bust for you guys. That's not to say it wasn't awesome for those that were there. (Me. And a dozen or so small children.)

Taking a picture proved to be impossible. Lesson learned: Rockets go faster than you can center a photograph. I did however get this photo when it came down...

That's her. In a tree. It was to be expected in such a woody area. Also... you may be interested in seeing the entire photograph...

There. And that's after zooming in three times, folks. There was no saving her.

The rest of the day was spent playing no limit hold'em and drinking with my cousins. I had no sleep and two rum and cokes, a michelob ultra in my system, yet still managed to win the first game and eight bucks.

Was up all night beating that fucker Zelda by the way... nine months after I bought it... and I've finally gotten around to beating it.

Also, decided to dress up for New Years... which for me is a tucked in dress shirt with blue jeans... so of course I spill coffee all over the white dress shirt on the way there. Stupid fucking coffee lids. Stupid fucking coffee lids. Kept my jacket buttoned and no one knew. Motherfucking coffee lids.

The rocket's in a tree... more on that later.

-An anonymous confession from...

www.grouphug.us

50,000 anonymous confessions and growing... it's fantastic!