Midnight Cowboying – How to be a paparazzi in London (¡Open Thread!)

online pharmacy canada viagra without a doctor How to be a paparazzi in London

I have had many jobs in many lands, some more honorable than others. But at the end of the day, they were all amusing. And one of the most amusing ones was my time as a paparazzi. And as with most of my dealings with the world, I had to do it in style. I worked for the most notorious paparazzi in the world, Big Pictures. Some might wonder how does one become a paparazzi, since you can’t exactly put your resume in somewhere. Well, here is how to be one in London, England.

http://maientertainmentlaw.com/?search=buy-propecia-online 1) You need an in.

My in of course was the logical one most people have, a Malaysian independent filmmaker. He got me in the door and the next thing I knew I was giving a camera, a map and list of who was considered A List in the British Isles.

follow link 2) Rig the game.

I am lazy, some might say bone lazy. I have no desire to chase people around the city on a motorbike. Or to stake them out for hours on end. So I rigged the system. Realizing I would get 150 pounds a pop per photo of A listers doing such mundane shit as leaving Nobo or China Whites, I went and bribed the hosts. After laying a 50 pound note on them, with a promise of 50 pounds more if the photo I get runs, I was soon receiving calls about countless celebs dining at hot spots all over the city. But they can spot a paparazzi a mile away.

http://maientertainmentlaw.com/?search=does-propecia-really-work-for-women 3) You have to develop an act.

While those who have met me say I don’t have an accent, that’s because I play an American in New York City. When back home, or aboard, I mosey back on into to my true Texas state. This worked like a champ in London, as I became the yokel Texas tourist who just happened upon English celebs. When they would walk out while I was casually taking pictures of the restaurant, my eyes would become as big as saucers and I would run over Texasing it up saying something along the lines of:

“Oh mah gawd, a celebritiy! I know you get this all the time, but can I get a picture of you? I have seen all your movie/plays/music video/television shows, and nobody back home will believe me unless I get a picture. Please, for the love of Texas, just 15 seconds of your time!”

I had this act down worthy of an Oscar. I would come back not only with perfect picture of celebs in perfect poses, a rarity in the paparazzi world, I would come back with pictures of me dancing with Hugh Grant, smoking cigs with Oasis, or being kissed on the cheek by Liz Hurley. The paparazzi firm was impressed.

They were so impressed they made me production manager and I left the field. And it was then, when I processed the photos from the paparazzis to the magazines, seeing every set, that I got to hold the lowest common denominator of culture in my hand.

http://maientertainmentlaw.com/?search=uses-for-300mg-prednisone 4) Post-Game Wrap-up

When you leave, tell everyone what you have done, and become a legend in the industry. You might just be known as The Hillbilly, The Texan Who Outsmarted us All. As my boss put it, “Thank god all Texans aren’t paparazzis, you are more clever than the English.”

And for an Englishman to pay you that compliment makes it all worth while. That and the countless publicity stills I took with me for one of the most dense private pop culture archives on the planet.

And oh, for the love of God, don’t do the same celebrity twice, unless they are notorious drunks. Which, truth be told, is almost all of them anyway.

True story.


But I did learn something.


source url Impressions on Imperialism During My Time in London

When I was an internationalist punk rock kid, I had the chance to visit some rather swank places. Near the top of this list was London, where I was briefly employed as a paparazzi. Since I didn’t take my job very seriously, I was able to see the cultural treasures of the English people. When I visited the stone monument of the Queen of the Empire, I swear she spoke to me. Here is my reflections on that event.

  Standing at the gates of empire, the revelation of what truly was happening in the world became both joyously and painfully clear to me. Though I am sure there isn’t word for it in the English language, I am equally as certain the Germans have one for such an event. Watching the toy soldiers in their boxes on such the picturesque London day, dark and grey as an Earl tea, I could hear the little fate on old Queen Victoria started speaking to me.

  “Behold,” he whispered in a voice that even his own retainer of stone could not hear. “Here lies the monument of the last great empire before parity.”

  “Whisper softly,” giggled the fate as he kissed the cheek of his once and always queen. “Please, good sir, whisper ever so softly when you mention the wonders of the Internet. For my dear old ruler of the empire of the never-setting sun, she cannot take it, for it makes even her granite brows furrow.”

  Luckily for the English, they, and their dear old friends across the channel, got their empires on well before the advancement of the thundering herd of humanity made such enterprises not only laughable, but extremely adverse and absurd.

  “With such folly,” the Queen finally sighed, “did we grant the masses communication instead of cake. If only my colonies had followed my advise of suppressions of the proletariat through opulence, surely they would not be getting my dear subjects in the line of fire in this movement of ages.”

  She was surely right, in death as in life, in all things political. Surely, political historians will write volumes of the downfall of the American empire will be the releasing of Apranet into hands of the common man in the form of the Internet. With this most seemingly harmless of tools, we clever monkeys gained the advantage of instantanous communications across all parts of our fine little green marble in space and time.

  Now when we act like the imperalistic empires before us, the peoples whose backyard we are throwing our own private party in are able to call their neighbors over for a good old fashion woodshed session. When the French stole the resources of Africa from the Africans, it took a couple of generations for the continent as whole to realize what happened.

  “Pity for the Americans,” sneaked the Fate, “For this happens today with the click of a button.”


My Top 5 Favorite Things Today

1) Apocalypse Ponys!

2) This is so cute it makes my heart explode into candy.

2) Charlie Goes To Candy Mountain

4) b3ta challenge: monkey movies

5) NSFW Unicorn Adventure

Have you digested Bush tonight?

Have you had a chance to fully digest the insanity of the man that is leading the nation?

There is only one solution to this. Mike Malloy on his show was right on tonight.

You don’t negotiate with terrorists.
You don’t negotiate with psychopaths.

This unchecked rule, usurped from the Balance of Power envisioned by our founders and obtained illegally by the Executive must be fought. Our Constitution is at stake here.

The upper part of this graphic is the original from Ben Franklin’s treatise as it addressed the very future of the nation. Humbly, I have added today’s version to Franklin’s original.

The threat to our nation’s future is real. The imperative of making this action is no less stark.

Votes or not, we – Americans of conscience must try. Democrats, Republicans, Independents all.

While I appreciate the good intentions of Senator Reid, it’s just not good enough to say “The President offers nothing new” in response.

Not good enough, when at every turn there’s another Presidential signing statement to water down or fly in the face of Congress, another refusal to adhere to rules and regulations and simply basic decency in the way our nation is being administered, and yet another dismissal of a subpoena from Congress.

Not good enough, dammit.

Impeachment is back on the table, Nancy Pelosi,
because We The People in the United States go here DEMAND IT.


It took some 4 months to bring the charges against Nixon. But most of the groundwork has already been done. There are Resolutions that are being held back by the Speaker. It is time to let these resolutions go forward.

Cheney first, by all means.


19% is what Congress has for an approval rating. There’s a reason for that. I have to think engaging a course of action to indict, convict and remove these criminals from Office would only help Congress’s miserable ratings.

{also available in Great Satan Orange)

Pooties and Critters

We’ve got ponies….lots of ponies and none of that stuff that comes with them so far. Someone had to start the pootie and other critter presence. We’ve got puppies, aka bitches, so the cats are fighting back! But in the interest of mellow moods of zen….I give you mellow pooties!

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This one’s for Buhdy!

Thanks for the new playground Buhdy and CE’s! This is great and making me think of all kinds of good stuff to write!

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Lord Have Mercy, Feel My Temperature Rising …

Ok, so the top recommended diary at Daily Kos is the hard hitting speech by John Edwards immediately following Mister Bush’s address to the nation (which I did not watch — will never watch that man if I can help it).

So now I know that America has officially gone nuts.  The video of Edwards looks as though he is President, he’s sitting in a nice chair, an American flag behind him.  Except … except … HE IS NOT EVEN A SENATOR!  He is not in any position to make any decision in Congress right now!  Aaarrrrggggh!

All right, all right, I’ll calm down.  It’s just that this reminds me of the really creepy phenomenon of so many folks watching “West Wing” after Mister Bush was selected — this kind of fantasy-land where you could at least watch on the teevee what a President was supposed to act like, look like, talk like.  Not having a teevee (I stopped watching after 9/11), I was never gripped by this fantasy.

Look, it’s fine and dandy that Edwards gave a speech right after Mister Bush’s speech — maybe some folks out in teevee land will wake up and realize Mister Bush is a nutjob idiot fool after hearing Edwards.  I’m not against the notion of debunking the speech after it’s given.

But … but … but … isn’t that supposed to be the job of the PRESS?  I mean, how have we become reduced to this — a Presidential candidate for 2008 giving a speech right after the Leader and Decider of the Free World, a Presidential candidate airing a campaign ad?  An ad?  Showing this speech by Mister Bush to be vewwy vewwy wrong?  It is to laugh.

I am competely uninterested in the 2008 Presidential election at this time.  There’s a little thing called the Iraq War that I feel is a wee bit more important to deal with, not to mention a lunatic misAdministration that will continue to perform crimes against America and the world unless they are stopped.

And who will stop them?  Well, I would imagine it would be someone who is ALREADY IN CONGRESS!  AS OF NOW!  Which would kind of leave Edwards out of that equation.

Why wasn’t there an ad by Harry Reid?  By Nancy Pelosi?  Hell, by the entire Democratic caucus?  Now that would have been interesting, wouldn’t it?

Welcome to America, the land of the looney.

Tilling new ground

(Ideas are good in the middle of the night. What’s in your wallet? – promoted by exmearden)

I’ll jump in here, full tilt boogie, with a peek into my non-pragmatic mind…

Only, it’s fallow ground, not new, because I and some of my cohort of that era was asking the question forty years ago.  Back then it was extreme visionary territory, but nowadays, the question just screams for an answer, but nobody is even asking the question.

So when do we come to the realization that there are NEVER going to be enough jobs, either here in America, the USA, or anywhere on the planet, for that matter, and when do we start to talk about the paradigm shift it is going to take to come to accommodation with that fact?  Jobs, in the sense of wage earning, support-your-family-security, steady meaningful employment.  Remember that?

Here’s the simplistic viewpoint I was holding back then, distilled down to a few essentials:
The drudgery of mindless, repetitive work is about to  end, because the cybernetic revolution is on the way towards creating robots that will do all that mindless dumb dull soul-killing work.  Humans, having collectively moved civilization forward to this point where we can create machines to do the slave-type labor, will now collectively benefit from the creative outpouring that will occur as people are  freed from the prison of “have to have a job”  and set free to find for themselves what work they would choose to do based on what they would like to do.

There  dared to be uttered such radical concepts as “guaranteed annual wage”, or “living stipend”.  Heady times, indeed, at the dawn of the cyber revolution.  We  spoke slogans such as “if it is not worth doing for love, it is not worth doing”, the point being that one’s work ought to be that which one is consumed by, driven to do, the free action of a creative being, doing for the love of doing.

So it is forty years later and much of what was predicted came to pass; the machines have indeed liberated vast numbers of humans from certain kinds of work, however these humans have not shared in the benefits, being instead cast adrift to fend for themselves finding what they can to survive.
The benefits have come to accrue to the owners of the robots, the corporate owner class and its pilot fish, the shareholders.  According to the present operating paradigm, it’s OK for them to have seized all these benefits for themselves; they are the self made, the captains of industry.
Unmentioned, and damn near unmentionable in most polite quarters is the fact of centuries of civilization culminating in an operating industrial society that takes the leap into the future. The Captains merely capitalize upon the work of countless others.

Some of those others pushed a wheelbarrow, a few of the others postulated Great Theories and all worked towards some vision of a future that would be better.  It was all of us, the humans, doing our thing.
But meanwhile we get back to the niggling question, how do we devise a society in which it is OK to not have a job, because there sure as shit will NOT be enough jobs to take care of everybody, at least not in the traditional sense.

So are all these people who have become surplus to the needs of the owners of the machinery simply to be cast adrift?  How do we devise a culture that can value those who do not work,  but merely be?  How do we harness the creative drives of the capitalists so that we all can ride?  How can there be dignity for those who have been idled, unneeded by the machinery of profit, but still our human brothers and sisters?

So, obviously, I’m not going to be asking any of the candidates their opinions on this topic, although I do wonder if ANYBODY is trying to grapple with  these sorts of issues.  These are the questions that need to be asked, and we need to dare to define the world we would like to see.
It’s like, long term, where do we want to go, and how do we get there?

I am a child of the New Deal, FDR’s distillation of yeasty brew of socialism, a lite variant that he was able, in the extremis of the Great Depression, to put forth and enforce.  Subsequent policies for the next two decades augmented this vast leveling of the playing field which created the mighty economic engine of the American Middle Class ™. That middle class of which we are, mostly, descendents and beneficiaries.

So, we know for an indisputable fact, that social engineering experiment worked, spectacularly, within its context.  Worked great for the Americans, anyway, especially if they were white Europeans, and to our credit, has continued to evolve towards more inclusiveness, the largely accepted vision that we are ALL Americans, in all our riotous diversity.

The unfortunate events of the past decades, politically, has been the counter revolution to FDR’s vision, a counter revolution now finally gasping to its ultimate failure thanks to George W. Bush. What then?

Do we recreate FDR’s vision, knowing that the planet cannot support that orgy of mass consumption, or do we revise it appropriately? If so, what can we agree on as to what that new vision must contain?

If there is a tectonic shift in American politics and the Dems (supposedly US) take over with a huge majority, there will ensue a cacophony of expectations and proposals, all in need of vision for the future.  Who wants to take a shot at formulating a vision?

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Short Diaries are mine!!!!!!!!!!!!!!



writing in the raw: the touch

(too used to unchecking FP box, so have to promote my own damned FP piece… – promoted by pfiore8)

I’m listening to a musician, new to me. Sam Prekop… heard his music playing as i passed by a small shop. i walked in and asked… who is that. Sam Prekop. Oh.

So now i’m listening to Who’s Your New Professor. I love it. I love the acoustic guitar. And the acoustic piano. The tone… the depth of the music. And listening, i hear the electric elements there too. but it is the acoustic parts that are warmest, most intimate.

Can writing be acoustic? … a writer so intimate with a pen or keyboard… wanting nothing more than to touch a conversation…

Writing like this is the closest thing to reading for me. There is nothing hard or fast about the images, yet I know it… the room, the people in the room, the sound of voices, the lights, the smell of evening, and the crickets, like generators, humming, vibrating in the background

I wonder about you, though. You could be living on the Baja Peninsula for all i know. Maybe you’re playing it down low… down under. Ha! you could be right next store. Maybe it’s slipping into spring where you are. Or dipping into evening. my dutchman is more than 3,500 miles from here.

where’s the touch then? being able to get up and walk over to you. rub your arm. hug you. kiss you. pull your hair. pinch you. bite you. where are you????

i’d love to see how you smile. or hear your laugh… do you snort or make funny contorted faces? i want to touch your laughter with my ears and my eyes… take it with me into my mind.

wait. there’s more to it than that, isn’t there. i want more than just your body. i want your mind. to touch THAT.

so while your steeping that tea for our tete-a-tete, i need to warn you: i have eXpectations. about talk, ideas, challenges, being eXposed, being heard, hearing. no!… listening to you.

think about it for a minute. i am… i’ve been given a forum. a platform. hoLY shit. it’s HERE I AM and then some. because you should know what you’re getting into, here. you have eXpectations. so do i.

read me… love it or pull me apart. make me better. don’t come here for personality (i lie)… i want to get somewhere… i have eXpectations. i don’t want to be a shell. i want to get to you. i want you to grab me, astound me. take the damned thread over, if it’s meant to be… argue… be maudlin… but be something… feel something… be aroused and want something… we deserve to have some… eXpectations

touch you… touch me…. no smells and nothing to quell the need to touch. it’s raw… it’s writing in the raw… here, it is allowed to be. here, it is just us and there are no mirrors, just perception and our minds creating at the speed of sound who we are… who we want to be… getting closer in every keystroke…

there’s cold comfort in the electric warm touch of my laptop. the keys, the touch pad. the screen… and this wormhole mess of wires and cables, the only portal i have to you out there…somewhere.

buhdydharma, he always says here i am… well, buhdy, HERE I AM. the question is, where are all of you?

tell me a little something about yourself on this first of what i hope will be many Thursday nights… of writing in the raw.

welcome to docuDharma.

Candidate Poll! Who’s your choice as of today?

I’ve not seen one yet, so I’m going to run one! 🙂

Here are your choices:

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Buhdy said I could



I find myself growing more and more impatient. Like a child waiting for the magic of Christmas morning, only to find those toys were not quite what they seemed, and may have been, in fact, argyle socks and tighty whitey underwear.

In November 2006, we all went to the polls to cast our vote. And the vast majority of our nation voted for change. Or so they thought.

The vast majority voted to bring an end to the insanity of an illegal war.

The vast majority voted to bring an end to the corruption run rampant in our halls of Congress, in the western wing of our White House.

The vast majority gave power to their voices in the strongest way provided by our constitution, they voted, for new leadership.

And yet, ten months later, I find myself growing more and more impatient.

Our leaders, those we look to for change, seem weak in the face of a minority power. The tough words heard last summer are all but gone. Except in the voices of a few, including the man who should be leading this nation, instead of trying in vain to rally his own side.

Other leaders, who should be standing up in our congress, insisting an end to the war, insisting a protection of our failing economy, instead make meaningless safe speeches to protect their chance at the powers that the idiot would be king has created.

And still our constitutional rights have not yet been restored, our government listens in on our private lives, more young soldiers are sent off to die.

I find myself growing more and more impatient.

I know I am not alone.

Go in peace,

Little Grey Orb

On Monday morning a little grey orb was floating three feet off the ground in the living-room of Judd Frimp’s apartment.  Judd was late for work at the supermarket and didn’t notice. 

When he got back that evening, sweaty and swearing, it was still there.

“Don’t put bags of groceries on top of watermellons, Judd,” Judd fumed as he came in the door.  “Don’t smash carts into curbs to make a train, Judd.  It knocks the wheels out of alignment, Judd.”  He threw his green “Food Gnome” apron onto the 70’s-plaid couch and stormed to the shower, stripping clothes as he went.  “I’ll knock you out of alignment you fat pig,” he said to his boss, who wasn’t there.

A moment later Judd reappeared from the bathroom, naked, gawking at the orb.  One of his socks had landed on it. 

“Flubuck?” he said.  “Huh?”

The orb was about a half-a-foot in diameter and unblemished . . . aside from the gym sock.  It hovered motionless above the coffee table in the living room.  Judd had bought the coffee table at a Target Superstore and put it together using the stupid little hexagonal tool that came in the box.  He’d hurt three of his fingers in the process.  Stupid hexagonal tool.  Stupid hexagonal Chink tool.

More importantly, though, nothing was holding the orb up.  It hung in mid-air, next to the lamp on the table.

Judd shuffled toward it warily, squinting.  He expected lighting bolts or maybe laser beams to shoot out of the orb and fry him.  He reached and grabbed his sock.  The orb was unperturbed. 

Judd tapped it with his finger.  Tap tap tap.  Nothing.  He tapped harder.  Tap tap tap.  The orb didn’t move at all.  It was as though it were lodged in the oxygen.  Fixed.  Fast.  Frozen.

It was reflective.  Judd saw himself in the orb — a funhouse-mirror skinny self.  Looking at his own eyes, Judd imagined the orb or the Smurfs inside it could see him.  He covered his privates with the sock. 

“Devil’s own business,” he mused.

Phone in kitchen.  Back up slow.  Dial.  Bart. 


“Hey Bart.”

“Yeah?”  Bart sounded groggy.

“You ever see a little grey orb?”


“A orb.”

Waking up some: “The fuck are you talking about?  Is this Frimp?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, fucker,” Judd said.  “Like a ball.”

“Have I ever seen a ball?”


“Well lemme think on that, Frimp.  Yeah, yeah.  I believe so.”

“No shit?  Floating?”

The orb sat in the air, silent, reflecting a Dokken poster on a wood-panel wall.

“You high, Judd?  Get ya some bad shit?”

“No, man, I was gonna ask if you had it in –“

“Yeah, I had it in,” Bart said, mimicking him.  “I been holding it for you all weekend.  You didn’t go buying that shit Harriet sells, did you?”

“Naw, no, Bart.”

“That shit’ll make you see things.”

“No Bart, I’m straight at this exact moment.  Look I’ll be right over.”  Judd hung up.  He got dressed and went over to Bart’s.  He didn’t want to piss off Bart; Bart sold the California shit.


Suzie at work agreed to a date for Friday.  Judd invited her over to his place at nine.  At eight, he sat on the couch, watching television on his thirty-inch flat screen, changing channels.  The orb was still there.

Judd had heaved on the orb, tried to shove it, beat it with a tennis racket, all week long.  The orb never budged.  It was a rock.  A rock floating three-feet off the ground in the living-room of his apartment with wood-paneled walls.  It was a true-to-life bitch, is what it was.

But Suzie was pretty, so Judd sat there and contemplated the matter.  He had to hide the orb from her view, so that when she came over in an hour, she wouldn’t see it.  It was some embarrassing shit, having an orb in your place.

Judd took the lamp on the table and tried to arrange it so that the lamp shade covered the orb.  The lampshade was puke-orange and fairly translucent, but Judd figure it would do if he could arrange it correctly. 

He’d left the TV absently on channel 43, the science Discovery channel.  A guy was speculating on higher-dimensional objects, and what would happen if they protruded into the known universe.  Only three of their many dimensions would be apparent, of course.

Judd messed with the lampshade and the lamp and got it about right — the shade was a bit askew but it covered the orb.  He looked down into the shade from above and he could see the orb there.  Good enough.  He changed the channel to a Friends rerun and drank a beer and smoked some weed.

Suzie came over looking nice in a jean-skirt and sweater and they made out.  But Judd made the mistake of trying to turn on the lamp at one point to help her look for an earring.  This sent the lamp twirling about and cast a weird dancing shadow of the orb onto the walls.

Suzie freaked out and left.  Judd kicked the orb a karate kick and hurt all five of his toes.  He drank himself into a daze and then crashed on his bed at two o’clock in the morning.


When Judd woke up, the little grey orb was gone.  He thanked God loudly and took a numb, hung-over shower.  He went to work at Food Gnome where the boss yelled at him again.

The most amazing thing that ever happened in the history of the world happened in Judd Frimp’s apartment, but he was stupid and so nothing ever came of it.

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