rabbit blog

Saturday, May 31, 2003


Hello friends. My comrades and I have been in hiding for some time now, they underground with their dreamcatchers and woolen socked feet, me above ground with my mom's Honda and my trunk full of outdated clothes and my antique cell phone, which I keep turned off because my plan includes roaming charges. I'm realizing on this trip that, now that I'm employed, I need to update my technology a little. Bad enough that I refuse to answer my home phone OR my cell phone when it rings (which quickly trains people never to call, it's a neat trick) and that I resort to communicating mostly through email, but then I leave for a long vacation and I don't turn on my computer for a full week... Let's face it, it's unacceptable. I need one of those small, portable email things, and I should probably get a reasonable cell phone plan that includes a new, free, reasonably small cell phone along with it. Hell, I could get all of the above... But I'm not sure about email on the cell phone, or cell phone on the palm pilot. I don't want a big-ass thing that I can't leave behind, ever.

Technology is confusing. My friend the Piker answers his cell phone every single time it rings, including very late at night, even when it's his roommate looking for a check or his mother wanting to talk for a few hours or a friend who he just saw a few minutes earlier, who wants to know which Seinfeld rerun was on that night. Personally, I dislike having to break the egg of my overwhelmed mind and focus on some other human being unexpectedly. It's like awaking from a dream when the person next to you in bed starts talking immediately, which breaks your concentration and makes you unable to remember the alternate reality that you were existing in for the last three hours. I guard my alternate realities, conscious and unconscious, quite jealously, and often prefer them to actual reality, the one that often requires polite chatter and an external focus.

Anyway, now I'm in North Carolina, and it's showering, which is excellent. Isn't it great to have such aimless rambling at your fingertips once more? That'll teach you to miss me.

1:56 PM

Tuesday, May 13, 2003


rabbit: Incoming! Head for the caves, Marxist-Feminist comrades! Grab the Dworkin-Engels Doctrine and the veggie burgers!

comrade #1: What about the macho man voodoo dolls and the alfalfa sprouts and the rock deodorant?

rabbit: Bring those, too! But hurry!

comrade #2: Comrade, I think we also need the phallus punching bag. The Ways and Means of Production Committee would be lost without it.

rabbit: Leave it! We've got to get the farg out of here!

comrade #1: Comrade, why did the free-range chicken cross the road?

comrade # 2: Because she enjoyed exercising her rights as a free citizen of the range!

rabbit: This is no time for jokes! We've gotta go!

comrade #1: You know, I resent that tone.

comrade #2: So do I. In fact, for a minute there, I almost felt like I was back in a hierarchical, high-capitalist society!

comrade #1: So did I! I could almost feel the hot breath of patriarchy on my neck!

comrade #2: Me, too! I felt like I was being brought down by scrotum-flourishing overlords!

rabbit: Look, that sounds really hot, but we've got to run!

comrade #2: I'm not going anywhere.

comrade #1: Me neither. I'd rather be a Feminist-Marxist martyr...

comrade #2: You mean a Marxist-Feminist martyr.

comrade #1: No I don't! I'm a Feminist before I'm a Marxist!

comrade #2: No, no! Our doctrine specifically states that we're Marxists before we're Feminists!

comrade #1: It does? Well, OK, but either way, I'd rather be a martyr than run away like some kind of...

comrade #2: Free-range chicken?

comrade #1: Exactly!

rabbit: But you can't just sit here like a milk-fed veal, either!

comrade #1: Who says we can't? You think you're the boss of us, don't you?

comrade #2: You always did, secretly! All this "comrade" crap is just a front!

rabbit: OK, maybe I did think I was a little better than you. I mean, I don't wear socks with sandals, for one.

comrade #1: Oh, right. What are you, some kind of Fascistic Fashionista?

comrade #2: She is! And that's not all! She's been sneaking off to get bikini waxes like some kind of common whore!

comrade #1: Comrade! Don't use the word "whore"! Women who sell their bodies for money are tricked into doing so by the bourgeois patriarchy, who love to get their little rocks off on oppressing the female proletariat!

comrade #2: You're right. If the saucy little tarts owned the means of production, they wouldn't have to throw open their legs for every third jerk on the street!

comrade #1: I don't know if I like your attitude, comrade.

comrade #2: I'm not sure I like that tone, comrade.

comrade #1: What? You want a piece of me?

comrade #2: Bring it on!

Comrades #1 and #2 trade blows and then disappear into a violent dustball. Rabbit flees, still filled with pathological envy of Dennis Miller's wit.

11:19 AM

Saturday, May 10, 2003


Survivor finale this Sunday! My piece about Survivor, "The Wrath of Rob," is up on Salon. You can also read my Filler about Survivor.

5:52 PM


Hot shit! Am I great, or what? Am I the absolute best, or is it just me? I just read the last Filler ever and I actually laughed a few times. And here I was, thinking Filler went downhill at the end there. Goddamn I was wrong. I should be writing pointless jokes again. I mean, a cartoon or a really warped TV show or a mean-spirited comedy for the big screen. I want to sit around and eat doughnuts and think of stupid jokes. I love my job, don't get me wrong. But shouldn't I be a lot richer and lazier?

I'm glad you mentioned that. I couldn't agree more!

special pillow: I hate you.

rabbit: Don't let it get you down, I can relate. I hate me, too, sometimes.

special pillow: You think you're so fucking special.

rabbit: You think you're special, too. And you should. You know why? Because you are special!

special pillow: Don't flirt with me! I'm serious!

rabbit: Oh buttercup. Come closer.

special pillow: Don't stuff me behind your lower back! I'm above it, do you hear me?

rabbit: I got you on sale, sugar. Now come here.

special pillow: Damn it, I'm not just some crappy lumbar support. Every third jerk on the street has one of those! I'm filled with goose feathers, for christssakes!

rabbit: Quiet, peaches. I have work to do. I have to worry about President Bartlet's daughter, outloud.

special pillow: You're stupid! That's stupid! Nobody cares about those self-righteous blowhards on The West Wing anymore! Get with the times!

rabbit: Don't believe everything you read in the trades, Petunia. Things are getting racy. Didn't you watch last week?

special pillow: Your fat head was in the way. Fuck you.

rabbit: Oh booboo. I feel you, I really do.

house plant: I'm thirsty.

special pillow: You're so condescending!

guitar: I'm bored.

house plant: Does anyone hear me? I need a drink, I'm parched!

phone: You have a voicemail! Why are you ignoring me?!

Dr. Dre CD: Let's get high and watch "All About Eve" again.

checkbook: Shut up! Rabbit has work to do!

fan: I'm your biggest fan, rabbit.

throw pillow: Stop it with the empty flattery, you!

fan: No, really. I'm her biggest fan. In fact, I'm her only fan.

5:45 PM

Wednesday, May 07, 2003


Why should I let the toad work squat on my life? Because the toad work pays for coffee and bananas and books and gas and tickets to see Throwing Muses and mole removals and dresses and vitamins and shoes and cds and lunchmeat.

The truth is, most people are happier when the toad work is squatting. Personally, I enjoy long periods of intense work, abbreviated by long periods of total relaxation. What bugs me is when I'm half-assing either of the two: procrastinating, worrying when I should be relaxing, talking on the phone when I should be working, thinking too much when I should be thinking of nothing. I want to herd all my focus into certain blocks of the day, produce like crazy, write multiple pages, then relax completely when my work is over. I'd rather have less time to relax and relax completely during that time than spend the day doing half-assed work, then worry about how I'll catch up while I'm supposed to be relaxing at night.

special pillow: Who the fuck cares?

rabbit: What?

special pillow: Who the fuck cares what you think?

rabbit: Keep it to yourself, OK?

special pillow: No, I'm serious. Who could possibly give a shit?

rabbit: See, there you go again, denigrating the things that are important to me.

special pillow: Look, I'm only trying to help you to keep from humiliating yourself by blathering on about boring shit.

rabbit: Ah, yes! All of your insults serve some charitable cause, don't they?

special pillow: I'm only trying to keep you from ruining your blog.

rabbit: Why don't you worry about your own blog instead? You have boundary issues.

special pillow: What am I supposed to do? You complain about your blog, how you haven't been posting enough, and then you write pure crap and expect me not to say anything?

rabbit: Look, I have enough critics in my head, I don't need one in my... bed.

special pillow: Don't blame me for your pathological thought patterns! I should be allowed to voice my opinion!

rabbit: Voicing your opinion is one thing; using your opinion as an excuse to take out your bad mood on me is another.

special pillow: Look, I'm a pillow, I have feelings, OK? I should be allowed to have feelings!

rabbit: You can have feelings, I just don't see why they always have to be about me.

special pillow: They're not always about you!

rabbit: You feel bad, and then you come up with all these arbitrary reasons why it has to do with me. You invent stuff. You focus on something and come up with twelve reasons it's not working, it's all wrong, whatever.

special pillow: Hey, I'm not going to make excuses for having the capacity for critical thought! There's a pretty exceptional brain in this pillow case and I intend to use it. If you want to spend time with someone who has nothing but empty, positive regard for you, why don't you just date a fucking house plant!

house plant: I resent that!

rabbit: She didn't mean it. She's just PMSing.

special pillow: I am not PMSing! You always assume -

house plant: That makes me mad! I'm a plant, but I'm not dumb! I'm pretty smart, in fact!

special pillow: Yeah, you're a genius.

house plant: You think you're a genius? You're not a genius!

special pillow: I never said I was.

house plant: Dummy!

special pillow: I know you are, but what am I?

house plant: Uh. What do you mean?

rabbit: OK, I have to get back to work and everyone has to shut up.

special pillow: Oh, I get it! Picking a fight with me was just your little way of procrastinating!

rabbit: What? That's insane.

special pillow: Is it? Then why are you always on deadline whenever you talk to me? When you actually have the time, you always think of something better to do!

rabbit: No, that's not...

special pillow: It is true and you know it! I can't believe I've wasted all this time with you! I gave you the best years of my life, for what?!

house plant: Yeah, I gave you the best years of my life, too. I mean, the best year... Have I been losing a lot of leaves, or is it just me?

rabbit: Wow. This isn't good. When all the objects in your house resent you, what does that say about you? Maybe it means you're not putting out the kind of generous, open vibes that you should...

special pillow: Oh right! It's all just a reflection of you! All that matters is you! You make me fucking sick!

house plant: I'm sick, too! And you're the one who's making me sick, I think!

toad: OK, time to wrap this up, kids.

Toad squats. Special pillow exits stage left, in a huff. House plant sighs deeply and gazes longingly out window.

1:18 PM

Friday, May 02, 2003


Dear Rabbit:

I've been amusing myself with this site that generates a poem from any web page you type in. The poem your blog yields is my favorite so far. I thought that you, of all bloggers, might appreciate such a thing. There's something rather T.S. Eliot about it--the fragmentation, the piecing together of a world with laughing, plastic tables, fear, suicide, tartar control. So, to quote you to yourself, I "send it to imply that good."

rabbit blog laugh it
was largish and frightening summer thunderstorms when the
word about
10 months not every
plastic table, afraid to give correct
phone numbers when
you should, post it already.
started to commit suicide
once. upon
a biopsy, whereas a
Girl illustration by
CF: Never, ever have just
found out rather just to like her old But
the bes t part of the
rabbit Hi there. was more
from getting an excellent filler press!
la weekly
interview write to hell
is why women
I have listened.
Been removed last week, I had tried
to buy Tartar Control
Whitening Regular Paste?But creams, ointments
and lower
back and send it to imply that

The site, by the way, is http://cmdrtaco.net/poemgen.cgi.


Dear MG,

Wow. I think I like the rabbit blog poem better than the rabbit blog itself.

I want to try that again.

rabbit damn it! Sensitive horndogs
recognize Coldplay
just in case that with your
boyfriend huh?
Who sit around making big boobs and
slant of the
sweat shops; awareness of It
listen to have
well, Rabbit Not to accept and embrace
the company that
you want.
Been crushed, and only
cut out
a nightmare conversation with a
wider excision. Or,
calls my wife
had a limb here.

Ah, if only one could cut out a nightmare conversation with a wider excision!

Hot shit, this is fun! I could do this all day.

And I will!

rabbit blog mr. sunshine kitten
blog my wife was just
YER goddamn right
me, know welcome to making more pretty or
benign, or benign, or
and never ever have
a bunch of white Chiclets. I
think I understand
going to remove them happy. I do
the alternative? Luckily, you had
so they can go to understand
why women rather just avoiding the
Land of it changed
that counts, no more
than Randy Gardner more pretty
as ambitious dreamer mole
how often it were
the best burger joints; We pay for pure
hilarity and force him for everything? leading up Believe you
if you remove them with
multiple deadlines looming.

Wow. We do pay for pure hilarity and force him for everything, don't we?

That's deep, man.

Removed with deadlines looming,


9:28 AM


Dear Rabbit -

Please help an ignorant man get hep to the jive. What is this "yopld"?


Dear Unhep,

I think our friend mistyped a word. But I like that you think I have some corner on the latest slang. Let's make up some new slang, shall we?

The Latest Stupid Expressions, Fresh From The Land of Tall Morons, Pulled Straight Out of My Ass

"Who's yer fry-daddy?" Who's your favorite dirt-broke boyfriend, huh? Who takes you to the best burger joints in town and pays for everything? Who sings the praises of Horsey Sauce, and pronounces "chalupa" in a way that makes it sound exotic and exciting? Yer goddamn right it's me, and don't you fergit it.

"nix tape" The heartfelt mix tape your boyfriend gives you just as you're about to dump him.

"Ass Sex Festival" The best excuse to use to your boss when leaving town. "Why do you need an extra day in Palm Springs?" "Well, the Palm Springs Ass Sex Festival doesn't really end until Monday afternoon." He won't say another word, just you watch.

"to make a Coldplay" As in, "We were sitting in the car and he tried to make a Coldplay, but I wasn't having any of it." Sensitive horndogs recognize Coldplay as one of the fastest pants-removal methods available, but if they serve it up prematurely, they could be out of luck indefinitely. ('80s equivalent: James Taylor, "Something in the way she moves, looks my way or calls my name...", U2, "If you twist and turn away...")

"randier than Rand McNally" I'm hornier than a bunch of guys who sit around making maps all day.

"randier than Randy Jackson" I'm friskier than a very large man who says "dog" and "dude" constantly.

"randier than Randy Gardner" I'm more hungry for sex than an ultra-cheesy '70s-era figure skater.

"randier than the Rand Corporation" I'm hornier than a bunch of guys who sit in a big tank and do nothing but think all day. OK, maybe someone dumps some Cheetos in their tank occasionally, but that just makes them hornier.

That's all for now. Must work harder, starving for Cheetos.


8:55 AM

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columnist for new york magazine & bookforum, author of disaster preparedness, co-creator of filler for the late, great suck.com

my stuff
my author page
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the awl

good stuff I wrote
little, green, different
mother of dragons
how to contact the author
the doctor is in
how to write
tech's bubble boys
dance, damn it
stop blaming jaws
pop starships were meant to fly
crazy women
the fun parts
one ring to rule them all
home alone
apocalypse now
aaron sorkin branches out
long distance runaround
50 shades of mad
dallas, new & old
twirling girls
abe the vampire slayer
the mommy trap
pa shoots bear!
sopranos vs. the shield
lost in the rat maze
zombies vs. vampires
suffering parents
the dimbulbs of entourage
the divorce delusion
friday night lights vs. glee
game of thrones needs light
president trump
your highness
feel your anger!
nuclear experts weigh in
super-sized ambition
healing powers of the apocalypse
oscars & extreme ambition
beware personal branding disorders
lady (oh!) gaga
"hoarders" cured my hoarding
real brand managers of nyc
climates of intolerance
in dog we trust
faster, pregnant lady!
mothering heights
gen x apology
recessionary bending
expecting the worst
an excellent filler
more filler

paris review
the rumpus interview
emusic interview
nice nytimes review
newer laist interview
laist interview
la weekly interview
ojr interview
barrelhouse interview

some random old stuff
hen & bunny
childless whore


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by terry colon
with assembly by
jay anderson

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