best.show.ever.

I'm a bit pissed off I missed the first episode, but even from hour two of the pilot, it became quickly apparent that Lost is the best show ever--on network television, in America, on Wednesday nights.

It's like where to begin on the awesomeness of this program? I'm going to be blunt; I usually won't get hooked on a television program unless I'm crushing on one of the female cast members. The makers of Lost, obviously looking for a way to best gain my viewership, loaded their program with two women to garner my affection for at least the next week--Kim Yun-jin from Korea and Evangeline Lilly, who's apparently from the island of sculpted hotties (southeast from the island of misfit toys). There's so much action in this show and so many 'woah! what the fuck did that mean?!' moments and tons of characters that you too get lost in what's going on.

I am a sucker for a good spectacle, which leads me to The Day After Tomorrow, which I watched directly afterward. That was the movie about the global warming ice age fiasco by the guy who did Independence Day and that movie I refuse to call Godzilla. The Day After Tomorrow was so ridiculous, it was absolutely mesmerizing. As a full-fledged weather geek (Weather Underground fucking rules!), all the talk of low pressure systems, climatological shifts and golf ball sized hail made my nipples hard. I think a new ice age would be pretty cool--y'know, loss of life not withstanding.

I also watched Nova today on the local public broadcasting channel. Nova is a serious mind fuck. They're running this program called Origins that talks about how the universe started, and as opposed to the normal numbers and scientific hoo-hah, which it provided, but it focused more on a passionate view of science. I guess since they're dealing with shit you can't really explain, it'd be hard to pull out the abacus and throw down.

Usually, I think science is boring; it's the ultimate wonder killer, but I do find it fascinating, even if I think they're only able to answer the easy questions. I'm more concerned with why things happen than how, if that makes any sense. This Nova program was really cool though, especially a section where they talked about the evolution of intelligence and pointed to cephalopods like octopuses, squids and cuttlefish and how they're able to change their colors and even the texture of their skin to camoflauge themselves. There was one scene where they showed this rock covered with algae and as the camera got closer, this octopus just appeared out of nowhere and scooted off all pissed off.

I watched so much TV today because this cold finally kicked in--at least all the snotty headache-y stuff. I'm not sick, mind you, but my nose has been a fucking river of mucus. Tomorrow's going to be a long day, so it's a super shot of NyQuill and then I'm off to sleep.

It's just the wine talking

I'm fried and sipping warm red wine from a coffee mug. I heard red wine is good for you as long as you don't overdo it. I've only had one mug-full and I've been toting it around all night. I'm hoping to get that warm wine feeling, but I think I'll have to drink it faster for that to happen. Right now, I've just been this acid-y feeling in my throat and stomach. I saw another infomercial last night with Kevin Trudeau, who is rather shady, but apparently has all the right answers--FDA be damned!--when it comes to being healthy and curing diabetes and cancer and stuff. He says that the FDA is trying to shut him up, but their efforts are obviously not thorough enough to keep him from writing books and appearing on talkshow infomercials. He's even had his infomercials banned for making outrageous claims (or maybe that's just what they want us to think!). He said something like it's impossible to get cancer if your body is alkaline (as opposed to acidic), but we'd have to buy the book to find out how to make that happen. He also mentioned that foods in America are allowed to have chemicals in them that make us addicted, that make us hungry, and make us fat, and drug and food companies are reaping all the benefits. He probably is telling the truth, and all this negative press has been drummed up to discredit him, but infomercial conspiracy theories are a bit suspect to me.

the cold that never was

I guess it's never going to happen. The cold that threatened to make this week even more of a bother has passed, as if I put lamb's blood on my throat and nasal passages. I heard it, shrieking like the angel of death, but it moved on to safer passage. I suppose I should be grateful. I'd like to thank the fine makers of Airborne for saving me the bother. I wonder if the makers of this fine product know that the beneficial effects of their effervescent tablets seem to be improved when combined with a single beer (drank separately, of course).

So right now, I'm managing only a slightly runny nose and eating taffy (thanks, R.), and the aches pains and general ickiness is over. That ends the infomercial portion of this evening's entry.

Unfortunately, I don't know if there's anything else for me to say. I went to a show tonight--comedy this time, though a hip-hop group opened--and it was pretty intersting. There was this group called Canned Hamm from Canada; they kinda followed a Tenacious D formula of jerky little band with big ambitions without the musical talent. They were super funny though and very energetic. They performed rythmless dance numbers, sang curious harmonies and during one song called "Burlesque," they stripped down to animal print boxers, which was hilarious and vile at the same time. They were definitely a lot of fun.

Afterwards, America's Funnyman Neil Hamburger took the stage. It's hard to explain him, I guess, to someone who hasn't heard of him. I think it's more performance art than standup comedy, kinda like Andy Kaufman but really, nothing like Andy Kaufman. That got real press kit bio--my apologies.

Hamburger actually has a comedy routine, and not an assortment of mind-boggling stunts. Hamburger poses himself as one of those old comedians who you might see playing casinos in shitty Nevada towns or during lunch in the Catskills or something like that. Now that I think about it, he makes himself looks kind of sad--like this is someone wh onever had a chance at fame, but keeps plugging away anyway, desperately trying to get laughs. Hamburger's routine is a collection of zingers--jokes like "What do you get when you cross Michael Jackson with the Empire State Building? A building that's structurally unsound." In between his jokes are coughs, uncomfortable silences, pauses as he tries to remember his next joke. It's really funny, but not for the right reasons, and I think that's what he's playing on. He's like a walking parody, which makes you feel bad for laughing when you think about it--and that's probably what he's after. I think I'm looking into it too much. Anyway, I had a really good time.

I've become tragically addicted to The Surreal Life on VH1--even VH1 stopped showing videos. I used to hope I would catch music videos, but now I change the channel when they come on. Anyway, The Surreal Life rock the proverbial socks with a fierceness. What amazes me most, and I think this goes without saying for anyone who's seen the show, is the burgeoning romance between ex-Red Sonja Brigitte Nielsen and the best hype man in the business, Flava Flav. I'm not sure why, but if this union was to produce an offspring, I think it would be the Anti-Christ.

sunday funk

Traditonally, Sunday is my least favorite day of the week. It gets a little better during football season but not much. Sundays like this one don't do much for my dislike for the day; I've been feeling overall ickiness, because I'm a little under the weather. My throat was sore (it still is), so I didn't really feel like talking much, and this is the day I usually call people I know out of town to say 'hi' and let them know I still remember them. My dad called and we talked about sports for a bit and then his cell battery started to cut out, so we had to cut it short. I really didn't feel like speaking, though. Later on, I talked to my aunt and uncle, which was nice, because they would always watch me and my sister when my parents went out for the night. My uncle seemed to really want me to get a job back East, and I'm really torn on that subject.

I laid in bed almost all day, and then laid on the couch for the remainder and tried to rest up for the week ahead. I even got some work done for tomorrow so my bosses will think that I know what I'm doing.

I think what I hate most about Sundays is the resignment of it all--the weekend is over, and that's just the way it is. You have this whole day off to do what you want with, but you can't do too much because you have to be in work or school in the morning. Granted, this is the first time in my life that I've had weekends off. For the longest time, I was either in school, at work, or both seven days a week.

It's hard not to get distracted by my roommate fighting with his (not his) girlfriend. It's a long story that I won't get in to.

Yeah, so Sundays suck la de da.

It's hard not to eavesdrop for me. I'm really far too interested in other people's lives. It's what makes my life interesting. I may be boring, but I can say that I've always managed to surround myself with fascinating people. It must be the voyeur in me or something. Someone told me once that I fade too easily into the background. I think that's what he said; maybe I just made that up, but he said something to that effect, and I guess it's true. I do my best not to be noticed. I won't approach people I know sometimes unless they see me and call me over. For the longest time, I thought i had the supernatural ability to go unnoticed as long as I didn't want anyone to see or hear me--not so much invisiblie, but unnoticeable. The same friend who may have said that to me stood behind me on line at a restaurant once. I saw him and looked at him for a while, and he didn't even notice until I said hello, and it still took him a minute.

Last night at the bar, a few women from the office were out on the town, and I was sitting alone at a table. I watched them come in a little while before last call, but they didn't see me. I thought about going up to say hi, but I didn't. I ended up seeing them later and hung out with them for a bit until the bar shut down. It's not that I don't like them or think that they don't like me; I've hung out with them both on many different occasions, and they're both a lot of fun. And they've always been nice to me and have invited me to tag along, so I assume that the friendly feelings are mutual. I'm just like that sometimes. It bothers me when people are over anxious socially, though I admit that I'm far too lethargic.

The cold that was threatening to make my today a living hell never actually hit. I can feel it kinda camping out in my throat, though, waiting. The supplements I took last night and this morning have kept it at bay so far. I plan to take down another glass of the fizzy, vaguely citrus concoction--along with a refreshing NyQuil cocktail--before I go to bed. There's nothing like the warm, soothing high of a good cough syrup.

It's still in the 90s here, but at night especially, it feels like fall is right around the corner, not that this place really has a proper fall. There are some color in the leaves, but it's nothing compared to the colors back east. Yesterday, I watched this brilliant crime drama from Korea called Memories of Murder, and a lot of the movie took place in the rain. The camera work was really nice, and for some reason, it made me want to run out in a rainstorm, even if the movie was about a serial rapist / murderer. It just looked so refreshing, though really, rain water is anything but. It's kinda sticky and gross. It's been so long, I forgot what it sounded like. It's weird to think that Florida gets pounded by hurricane after hurricane lately, and here we don't see a drop for almost two full seasons. Makes you wonder what marketing genius thought it would be a good idea to call Florida "The Sunshine State."

social sickness

Around dinner time today, I realized that there was the possibility that I may be coming down with a cold. I was hoping I'd hop in the shower, brush my teeth, get dressed, and vanquish any doubts of illness, but as I walked downtown to go to the bars, my fears seemed to be coming true. I don't feel bad right now mind you--probably because I'm drunk--but I feel that vague out-of-body-ness that could be attributed to being sick.

I really don't have the time to be sick. Luckily, all I have to do tomorrow is lay in bed and watch football, but I know I'll still feel like shit on Monday. I'm already taking precautions--there's this herbal immune system booster I take when I start to feel shitty, and while that doesn't really make me feel any better, it helps me burn through whatever nastiness is residing in my body ASAP. I'm not one of those herbal people, mind you, I'll take a good drug like codeine any day over some wimpy herbal supplement, but for the longest time, I didn't have health insurance, and since I couldn't afford prescription drugs or doctor visits, I had to do whatever necessary not to get really sick, which, given my poor financial standing, would lead to certain death. I'm being overdramatic, but it was kinda scary knowing that if ever I had to have something medically treated, I would simply have to just suck it up and die. I have insurance now, which is nice, but paying for it makes me too broke to be afford to go to the doctor. It's funny how life works out like that.

To compensate for possible illness, I decided to double up on the liquor tonight in hopes that the alcohol would kill anything that might be trying to set up shop inside me. I don't think it worked. The light headed sick-i-ness combined with the liquid succor left me rather woozy for my walk home, and in all honestly, I don't know how I made it back here. I sang "Better Son/Daughter" almost the whole way and whistled during the parts I didn't know the words to, and quickly quieted whenever someone on a bike passed by, because I'm not a good singer.

The bar was fun. I saw one of my favorite local bands, and they rocked the place right. I know I'm going to feel like shit in the morning, but my head feels like it's 200 pounds, so I should probably go to bed. I probably should have stayed in, but I know it wouldn't have made much of a difference anyway. Sometimes, you're just going to get sick, I guess, and perhaps I spread whatever bug I had to a packed bar full of unsuspecting patrons. Sorry, everyone.

party critter

I've just been cranky all day. I'm not sure why, because everything basically turned out for the best. I'm going to San Francisco to see Rilo Kiley on Thursday--I've got a ride and everything--I remembered to call my uncle for his birthday--he wasn't there, but I left a message, he called back but my phone was off--and I even got an unexpected ride to work when a friend spotted me walking this morning. All in all, you can't really ask for a better not so eventful day. Still, I've been having a terrible time with taking things for granted lately. I think I'm becoming a grade A grouch to be honest. I hardly ever want to go out anymore. Being around people, in general, just seems tedious.

And all that's been going into this stupid blog lately (that I love) is whining and complaining. I guess that's what blogs are for, right? It's kinda like the scapegoat. I can just load it up with all my bullshit and send it packing out into the world like a happy so and so.

(Skirting around the issue alert): There was an important event that was supposed to happen today, but it turned out to be just an elaborate ruse to mask an informal get together. Part of me was hoping that it would be the serious happening that was advertised and not the light hearted fun it turned out to be. I felt the overwhelming need for structure today, I felt like I needed to know the course, which is something I could usually give two shits about, but lately I feel like that stupid plastic bag in American Beauty, but no one's filming me and talking about how beautiful I am so they can get Thora Birch in the sack. (I thought American Beauty was brilliant, by the way.)

[gotta check on my laundry]

So yeah, I got all "what does it all mean?" with myself and drank light beer and stared off into spaces. I felt all pointless. Then someone came over and started chatting, and I could see in her face how happy she was with what was going on, maybe how this was something she had been working toward for a while, and she was finally seeing it fall into place. Like this good time we were having was well-deserved. She's probably right; I'm excited too. I felt like an idiot for thinking this was a wasted opportunity. Obviously, I'm not the only person who wants to do something with his life. I think I'm just really stressed out; I have been for a while, and I don't know how to make it better. I miss the cigarettes and the alcohol isn't working. I've got to stop worrying so much.

the ultimate in narcissism

I'm developing a crush on my blog. I'm not sure if it's healthy, but after fussing around with it till the wee hours last night, and even in between working today, I think there's a mutual attraction there. I don't expect you to understand.

I actually did write today. Not much, but I guess you've got to take it as it comes. I put on headphones and listened to music and pounded out a good paragraph or so. I also went back over some of the stuff I'd done and became well aware of why I didn't make it in to that master of fine arts program. I really should have sent in a better sample. I know I'm capable of better than that, at least I hope so. I guess I'm just in a weird place right now...This two year experiment (me moving out here) is in its third year, and it doesn't look like I'm leaving any time soon; I'm getting too comfortable, and I was never able to work once I got comfortable. Once I slip into a regular pattern my creativity takes a walk. I can work pretty fast once I have the drive to do so. I think in my first three months here, I wrote something like 60 plus pages. I think 65 percent of it was probably crap, but still. I was really driven at the time, and that was all I had.

Not much has changed since then, really, except now all I have is my job. I do write everyday--even if it's just a silly news blurb or a silly exposition of myself here, but it has kind of taken my head out of fiction, which isn't necessarily bad. I live mostly in a fantasy world as it is, and when I'm on a writing tear, it gets worse.

Blahblahblah...

I've always been a fan of infomercials, but the golden age of the Flowbee and Mike Levy and Amazing Discoveries has long past. You still got the infomercial king, Ron Popeil and he's cool enough. He kind of resurrected the genre of television programming he helped create with his rotisserie cooking thing and that "set it, and forget it" line. (This is the man who invented the Pocket Fisherman, after all, and he also brought us the spray hair in a can stuff--pure genius.) Over the past week or so, I've found my new favorite infomercial, which is for the latest Girls Gone Wild videos. Wait. Hear me out.

The latest infomercial is for two new videos titled Girl Power and American Uncovered with Doug Stanhope. Doug is actually a pretty funny comedian, but is kinda awful on The Man Show. This infomercial is kind of a throw back to the mock television program approach of the golden infomercial age. It actually has a plot; you see, Girls Gone Wild founder Joe Francis, quite possibly the world's sleeziest dude, has just about had enough of "real college girls" taking their tops and bottoms off for him. I mean, really. All these tequilla-ed up co-eds wanting to show him their goodies so he can peddle it on late night TV to perverted insomniacs in their boxer shorts (like me) makes for a lot of stress. Joe just needs to get away from the girls and the going wild and go on vacation. So he hires grubby ol' Doug to take over for a few days. Doug gets free reign of Joe's private jet and his Ferrari convertable and is charged with the mission to find "real college girls" who are willing to give their rich daddies more gray hairs. But Doug, lovable doofus that he is, just can't get it right, and Joe's not too happy about all the "skanks" Doug keeps getting.

In between censored promo shots (it's just too HOT for TV!) of girls flashing their stuff and going wild, we, the viewers, are treated to witty one-liners and Emmy quality acting that actually builds up to an ending. The only things that may be more disturbing are how many of these videos Joe had to sell to get the Ferrari and the private jet, and why my copies are taking so damn long to get here!

bump in the night

I think I slept all day; even when I was awake. I didn't do much but call home, call an out of town friend and move from tv to tv. Most of the football games were only so-so. I was glad to see that the NY Giants had won.

I've been really thinking about writing again. I haven't, of course, but I've really been considering it. I almost did it today, but decided to get something to eat instead. I keep telling myself that it's ok if I finish the book by the time I'm 35. I'll still be young at 35, even if it does sound really old. I should start pacing myself with the partying now, so I can really live like a rock star when I get my big book deal with a film option. It's not the money I want so much; I'll just spend it all as soon as I get it, but it's the accomplishment that matters. I don't know what I'm going on about. It's more of those delusions of grandeur, I think--they used to be a lot worse.

I had fun watching Ju-On: The Grudge again. It's one of the scariest movies that I'm able to sit through. It must be the gnarliest haunted house movie of all time. My roommate really wanted to see it because they're doing an American remake of it starring Sarah Michelle Gellar (Buffy!) called The Grudge. (Even the Web site's kinda spooky.) The Japanese version's really frightening, though. I think I ran out of breath from all the screaming. The American one is directed by the same guy who did the original Japanese version, so it can't be all that bad.

I don't know why I get off on scary movies so much. Some of them I'm usually hiding my eyes from most of the time. I think it's because it's the only kind of movie that really gets a physical reaction out of me. It's kinda fun to jump and yelp like a great big wuss sometimes.

Today during my slovenly stupor, I heard chiming music outside and realized it was the ice cream man. I hadn't bought ice cream from the ice cream man in years, so I rushed to get my mug o' coins and hustle out to find him. Luckily, his truck was parked right outside my house, and I caught him just on time. I bought a chocolate covered crunch bar on a stick for 75 cents, and it was awesome--kinda gooey and flimsy, but still ice cream of sorts. The ice cream truck was kinda ghetto fabulous--like an old converted mail truck or something, and I had my suspicions, but I figured to give it a whirl anyway, and I'm glad I did. I remember when I used to chase those things down when I was a kid. There was one ice cream man who'd always be parked right outside of my grade school around 3pm when we got out--a genius no doubt, and I'm sure all the parents hated him. The truck was like a mob scene--kids and parents screaming, sugar, sticky fingers and crazed eyes. Kinda scary. One time me and my sister begged my mom for ice cream, and she gave in, but all she had was a 20 dollar bill; this was in the 80s so that was actually a good deal of money...I was only in third grade at the time. It was like i had just won the lottery. 20 bucks?! for the two of us?! that's like...a billion dollars a piece! So me and sis ran over and spent the whole thing. My mom asked us for change, but we didn't have any. We thought we could spend the whole thing. I think she returned our Razzles or something. I think we knew what we were doing, but mom wasn't having it. Can't blame us for trying.

new body on the black market?

Lately, my eyes haven't been so good. I don't think all the screen watching I do is helping matters much, but it's part of my job. The last time I went to the optometrist, he told me that my eyes had gotten much worse since the time before; my eyesight was degenerating faster than it should be. Or at least, he said, that's how it seemed. He couldn't be sure since that was the first visit I had to him. He said there's the possibility that I have something congenital. If that was the case, he said, there wasn't anything they could do. This wasn't the best news, of course. I went to the eye doctor two years ago, which is about how often you're supposed to go, I think. I probably just need new glasses, but times like now I start to worry.

I've had to wear glasses since the third grade. When I first started wearing them, I don't think there was such a thing as contacts. Once the lenses became more accessible, I still couldn't wear them because they didn't make them for people with astigmatism. Now they do, I guess, but I'm so squeamish and protective of my eyes, I don't think I'd be able to bring myself to shove lenses in them. The last time I was at the eye doctor, he couldn't even get drops in there. At one point, I grabbed his wrist like it was a reflex to keep him from putting the drops in there. I felt bad about it. He stopped after that. I don't know why I get so protective; it's not like they work very well or anything. I take my glasses off and everything's a big blur. Sometimes, I can't even make out faces. It's very frustrating for me, because I hate having to depend on anything. At least I finally have health insurance, so I can go to the optometrist. I should probably make an appointment. The last time I went cost me well over 400 bucks, with any luck, this time will be much more affordable.

I had two really weird dreams last night: one involved Kate Beckinsale in an over-sized silk bathrobe, which, now that i think about it, really wasn't all that weird, but the other involved my boss and I playing guitar in my parent's backyard. He was playing chords and I was trying to riff off of him, and it sounded fine to me--nothing spectacular--but one of my female co-workers was there, and she said that she thought it wasn't very good. My boss then replied that what we were playing kinda sucked. After that, I kept trying to play the jangly intro to "Today" by Smashing Pumpkins, which is really easy and in real life (not nutso dream world) I play all the time to warm up my fingers, or if I'm bored, even though I don't know the rest of the song. However, I couldn't do it. I tried changing picks--the one I was using was thin, and I'm usually more comfortable with a medium--but no matter how I struck the strings, I couldn't get it to sound right. I couldn't understand why it sounded fine when no one was around.

I guess that's a pretty easy dream to look into, but it's all the little details thatI think are really batty.

Today was a boring day, and I really didn't do much of anything, though I did take a walk downtown to hang out at the video store. I had a couple of beers with the owner and watched an Italian horror movie as people on their way to the bars stumbled in. There was a concert at a local independent record store, and I thought about stopping in, but I didn't feel like being a part of 'the scene' tonight. It was remarkably cool weather wise today, and it seems like summer really is on its way out. There was a autumn kind of bite to the breeze, and yesterday, I even saw clouds. I almost can't wait till it starts raining. It's been about five months. Of course, after the second straight month, I'll be pretty fucking sick of it.

list

I'm procrastinating right now.

I hate the sound of my voice on tape.

The air conditioner cools the house down fast, but the house heats up just as quick once it turns off.

I spent almost the entire evening watching Pimp My Ride, Real World Philadelphia, Punk'd and Cribs on MTV.

Fast food doesn't taste as good as it used to.

Hot and spicy foods taste better than they used to.

I smell kinda sweaty.

I'm not very graceful at juggling (in the figurative sense). I feel like I catch the ball right before it hits the ground--like a miracle. Sometimes, I catch it on the hop, but no one notices.

I'm bad at metaphors.

Sometimes it drives me crazy that I make sentences for a living...especially at 1:44am.

I wonder if it's the fear of success of the fear of failure that temporarily paralyzes me.

I slayed two mosquitoes...like just now.

I discussed Jim Jarmusch films with a soothsayer today.

I should definitely go to bed.

drama

I can't stand the sound of other people crying. It always makes me feel uncomfortable. If I keep going down this train of thought, I'm going to have to get real cryptic. I could go into hypothetical, but really, the situation is none of my business. It was a scene that occured between my roommate S and two women, and I was just a witless bystander; kind of like that gunshot thing that happened on Friday, I think it was. I found out today that the guy who got shot was a friend of my neighbor's. This town is so small.

It amazes me sometimes how shitty people are to those they're supposed to like. I don't give people much rope--well, sometimes I do--but I do my best to distance myself from people I think have wronged me. It could have been something big or small, it could have been something that had nothing to do with me, but I can get real cold real fast. It takes me forever to warm up and feel comfortable. I don't know where I'm going with this, but it amazes me how dependent some people are on others and how attached they get. I guess I'm kind of jealous of that sometimes.

life on tape

I've become increasingly fascinated with documentaries. I like the way they make their subject seem like the most important thing in the world, and for the hour and a half or whatever it takes to watch the thing, it is--if it's a good documentary anyway.

Tonight, I watched Live Forever, which is a film about the Cool Britania Britpop movement in the '90s. It was very well put together, and it was about music, so I was pretty stoked. I had the DVD lying around my room for a while, and always forgot to watch it, but after reading a review, I decided to give it a looksee. What's the Story Morning Glory?, in my opinion anyway, might be one of the top five albums of my lifetime--no matter what Noel Gallagher says--and if nothing else, I figured I'd be able to bask in good songs and Gallagher brothers drunken squabbling for the course of the film. But the filmmakers tied in all this social / political stuff that was going on in the UK at the time, which, being American, I had absolutely no idea about. Anyway, it's highly recommended.

I decided to do as little as possible this evening, because today was very taxing. Three meetings, discussing a new project, more work, more money, more stress. It's nothing I can't handle, I guess, but trying to make myself look like a presentable, capable adult is probably the most difficult thing. I guess that's a bad thing considering my age. I have to grow up sometime, right? It just seems like a postive way of saying "giving up." Still, I am a little excited of being given the chance to head up a project again, especially since the last one was doomed.

I really don't like to write about work, but that's really all I have going on right now. I come home, watch cable, maybe use the computer, or go out drinking if I have the money, and then try to sleep in as much as possible. I don't think it's really as bad as it all sounds. With all the stuff going on at work, I think I'm going to have to make a decision soon whether or not this is a place I want to spend a good portion of my life, and right now, I'm not sure that it is. There's something about this place that I don't trust--it's like Fool's gold or something. I feel like it was too easy to make it to where I am now, and it shouldn't have been. It wouldn't have been in a big city. I wouldn't have gotten this opportunity anywhere else. I'm grateful for that. I'm just not sure what I want to do.

Maybe I shouldn't have read that Dr. Suess book (props, S.).

I definitely don't want to do anything that has to do with spiders. I found one in my room last night, on my wall kind of staring at me. I'm really not sure if it was or not, but...anyway, I don't know why I'm so scared of the things. Many of them are harmless enough, but I guess that's why they call it a phobia. It's an irrational fear. Normally, I don't let my fear of spiders turn me into a murderer. Just because I'm scared of something, that doesn't mean it doesn't have the right to live. When I see a spider in the wild, or even outside my house, I give it plenty of distance and respect and hope it goes away as fast as possible. The only time I get medieval on spiders are when I'm driving--I've nearly gotten into an accident with one in the car before, so I see it as either it or me--and when they're in my room. The only problem is, I'm too scared to get too close to the fucking things so it's usually an arduous and embarassing process of either trying to shoe it away or destroy it--I opt for shoeing whenever possible. Luckily for me, I'm usually the only one present, besides the spider.

I couldn't tell how big last night's spider was, hanging out on the wall next to my bed (like right next to it), because I had my glasses off, but I'm convinced that they're all huge. It was stationary and I stared at it. It was too far from my door, so there was no possible way I could successfully herd this thing outside without making a whole lot of embarassing noises, so I eyed it firmly and strengthened my resolve. I grabbed and old pillow. It moved. It knew what was coming, and I felt terrible, but I had to get to sleep if I was going to make it through the work day, and that wouldn't happen if Mr. Eight-Legs was lurking about. I smooshed it to death with the pillow before It got away, and nearly freaked out in the process. I'm a bad person.

new york state of mind

Last night, downtown was a total scene, and not a good one. It made me happy that I was hanging out at a friend's house on the other side of town. We watched Wild Zero, and I think Guitar Wolf are my new heroes. Wild Zero is a jerky zombie movie with tons of explosions, fire, rock 'n' roll and cool hairdos. I hung out with a bunch of punk rockers, which is usually fine by me, but some of the people were getting on my nerves. They would talk shit to people walking by and get all pissy for being "conformists"; meanwhile, everyone at the house looked like they were wearing the same uniform. These weren't the studded belt fashion punks you'd see at the mall, mind you. The people I were hanging out with would probably fall more into the crusty vegan category, which I guess has more merit behind it, but still. That just infuriates me sometimes. People like that just come off like they're trying to fit in, and since they don't fit in with what's widely accepted, they niche themselves into a whole group of people who don't fit in, but fit in with each other. I don't know if that makes any sense. And this isn't to say that everyone at the house were like that, and even the ones who were were friendly to me, but it still got on my nerves.

We were playing the Wild Zero drinking game which comes with the DVD, but my stomach was kinda bothering me--I get nervous in new environments--so I kinda just sipped the beers so I wouldn't drink too much. I was more interested in hanging out and watching the movie anyway.

Still, I left the house about 1am with a nice buzz and ventured on the long walk home. I had to pass through downtown, and I figured I'd swing by the local watering hole on the way--by the time I got there the bars would be closing anyway--just to see if my roommate was there, so I'd have someone to walk home with. I was about a block away when I noticed a commotion on the corner near the bar. It caused me to slow down, because I've seen that shit before. I heard three or four pops...They were probably gunshots. I heard sirens immediately after, so I altered my course.

I figured there would be a gun by the way the idiots were posturing themselves, and I wanted to swing by the bar to see what happened--only because I have friends who usually end up there late at night--but there was such a scene down there, I just went on my way. That's probably the New Yorker in me. If it doesn't concern you, keep walking. You can only make things worse. In this case, the cops were already there, and whoever fired the gun was long gone. Even if someone I knew was hurt, there was really nothing I could do about it.

It kinda weirded me out that I didn't even bat an eyelash, just changed my course and calmly went a different way. Later along the walk, I walked past a group of local assholes picking a fight with this one guy who was alone with his girlfriend. I didn't know what led up to the incident, but the one guy was standing in front of his girlfriend on his cellphone while this group of testosterone mongers circled around him. There were more cops in the area than usual--the cops in this town usually have nothing better to do than make downtown look like it's under marshall law (99.9 percent of the time, no matter how rowdy it gets, people usually are just having a good time)--so the testosterone mongers backed off. I kept walking. Didn't even give them a second look.

People usually freak out around here when I tell them I walk home alone all the time. Sure I take precautions, but I'm never scared, and that's not to say I'm a tough guy, because I'm really not. Maybe it's because I come from a place that's far rougher than this, or maybe it's because I'm an idiot, but this is my home, and a few morons aren't going to keep me from doing what I want to do.

Last night really pissed me off. I hate watching people act that way. On the way home, I watched an ambulance speed by, heading from downtown to the hospital, which is about two blocks from my house. There was someone on a stretcher in the back, and a paramedic looking over him/her. I'll still walk home alone whenever I want.

it's not even rocktober yet...

I've seen concerts three consecutive nights, and I really couldn't be happier about it.

Tuesday wasn't on purpose. Roommate J told me he was going to the bar just outside of downtown that serves the .75 cent cans of trashy beer. I gathered up some quarters to go, though I wasn't really sure if I wanted to, but he said an all-girl rock band was supposed to play, and that's always a big draw for me. There should be more women in rock 'n' roll, and honestly, there's something just irresistably sexy about a woman with a guitar.

We rolled down to the bar, which was more or less hopping for a Tuesday night in this burgh. The group was from Seattle, and as promised, they were an all-girl rock band. The lead singer was a deceptively stunning tall dark haired woman with smoky eyes, steep high heels and killer legs. I don't mean to just mention her looks, but maybe I do. I am pretty shallow. When she was at the mic, she carried herself with such confidence--perhaps it was overconfidence, because they weren't that good. They kept having equipment problems and sound problems. The singer didn't seem to know how to handle the mic, but I'm sure she did. I looked them up online, and they have played on some pretty high-profile shows. It really looked like an off night for them--they weren't even supposed to play the bar we were at. The venue they were supposed to play at had to bow out because the A/C was busted or something like that, but the band didn't overcome these difficulties with any poise, and came off kinda bratty sometimes.

Whatever. When they were on, they were a lot of fun; I just didn't like all the fuss in between. I would like to check out some of their recorded stuff, because it's probably pretty tight. This live show left a lot to be desired, though.

Unbeknownst to me, there was a second band--featuring the leggy lead singer from the first band as well as a host of others--and they were pretty fucking good, or I was pretty fucking drunk. They had this disco vibe going, a smoke machine and crazy energy. I guess they were trying to be ironic or something, but they definitely put on a show.

Tonight I went to see my coworker's band. They were pretty good, even if the crowd was pretty beat. Everyone was there to see this brobrah not-quite-punk band that looked ready for MTV at the drop of a hat. They had the wacky bass player, the angsty-but-good-looking singer / guitarist guy, the second guitarist guy who could actually play, and the that-guy-playing-drums playing drums--pretty much all the pieces for a successful group. They got booties shaking and dudes pumping their fist because they sounded like...you know, that band? You wouldn't be able to pick it out either, but you'd know what I'm talking about. They're a surefire bet to pack bars around here, which I guess means I'm going to have to put up with them for a while.

Of course there was the beer--roommate J and I ended up at the local watering hole afterwards for the night cap. Some dude there was talking to us about what a disaster his trip to Burning Man was, and this other dude, who I only see at bars and always talks about the Universal Life Church (of which I'm a proud minister) and how they have a survival camp and how it's the church that has the most Satanists, ended up talking to us too. He's one of those random bar characters that you talk to once, and you're kinda paying attention to what he's saying, because you're drunk and it's kinda interesting, and then you realize that he hasn't stopped talking once since he started and all you've done is stand there and nod your head and wish that he'd get bored of you and go away. Today he was talking about some girlfriend of his or whatever; I was barely able to escape. This town is too small to have so many characters; they're impossible to avoid.

Hopefully, I'll be able to write an entry in the next few days that doesn't involve me at a bar.

photogs have all the fun

Today I got the rare chance to take pictures at a concert with a photo pass and everything. The whole experience was very eye-opening.

I requested to cover the Thin Lizzy / Joe Satriani / Deep Purple show at the Sleep Train. I still don't know why, really. I'm not a big fan of that sort of music, but I used to listen to classic rock radio all the time, and Deep Purple and Thin Lizzy are both names that are synonymous with that format, and as much as I think big solos are silly, Satriani really can play. Maybe I figured I'd be able to sing along with some songs that I knew and watch a genuine guitar god in action. Whatever reason, a free concert is a free concert, and the Sleep Train is still one of my favorite places to see a show, despite it's woeful name. Why you name a music venue after a mattress company is beyond me. I don't care how much money they're giving you.

The show was horribly expensive. I got two tickets for free, but it was still 10 bucks to park, 7 bucks for a beer, and the merch was horribly over priced--moreso than usual. Maybe that's why the concert was so poorly attended. The audience was also unbelievably old. Me and my copilot were among the youngest people in attendence who actually came on their own accord--some parents brought their children along. In total, there must have been 1 million plus years of rock'n'roll history in the venue, and I was happy to be a part of that.

Thin Lizzy looked kinda like a band you'd see playing a county fair, but they sounded really good. For some reason, I thought I'd be more familiar with their songs, but I think I only really knew the one everyone knows--"The Boys Are Back In Town." To no surprise, they ended with that one; sadly, they prefaced their big hit by asking the audience, "ok, are you ready?" I knew what they meant. Regardless, they were pretty damn good and their hair was exquisitely farmed and fluffed. The two guitarists played nice harmonic riffs and they didn't dawdle around much.

I got to take pictures of Satriani, which was kind of a thrill. I had to meet some guy by the admin building who would guide me to where I needed to go. I turned out that my guide to music photo journalism was a sly, shifty looking dude with long black hair and a slick goatee. He had that road worn look about him and he wore thick black shades. He looked like the kind of guy you wouldn't want to play poker against. I talked to him a bit, but he mostly seemed preoccupied with show business, whatever that is. He did tell me that he tours with bands all over the place, and that his next gig was in four days with Dave Matthews. I'm not sure what this guy actually did, but he seemed to be good at it. Eventually, he asked me if I was ready, and we moved on. He was one of those guys who walked with purpose; even as he stopped to say hi to someone he knew, he still moved forward. Even though the guy was on the weasley side, I still felt extremely important walking with him. We moved up to the ushers, obviously beneath this dude on the concert food chain, and before they could even ask me for my ticket, my guide said "He's ok. He's got a photo."

He explained to me the rules, which I knew already for the most part--I get to take pictures through the first two songs, no flash. There was a bit of confusion as to which side of the barracade I could stand on, but it turned out that I could be inside the barracade right at the foot of the stage, which was quite cool. Guide man even ran off to get me a pair of earplugs when I asked him if he had an extra pair.

It was obvious that my guide dealt with people of my ilk all the time, and I knew he could tell by looking at me that I wasn't a photographer. All I had was a little digital camera--not the big pro rigs with all the lenses and flashes. He asked me how I got the photo pass, if I had gotten it through the fan club or something. I told him that I was reviewing the show, and that a regular photographer couldn't make it. He said, "right on," and nodded his head. I felt like I had won his acceptance, and in so doing, had entered the fraternity of rock'n'roll.

Joe Satriani came out and started to do his shredding, and I was taking about as many pictures as I could; most of them came out like shit because rock stars never stop moving, but I got three that may be usable and that's all that I need. After my two songs, my guide was waiting for me just like he said he'd be, and I left the barracade area. He asked me if I had a ticket, and I said that I did, and I had pretty good seats, too. He said "right on" again, and we went our separate ways. Writing shows, you never get to talk to anyone. You get in for free, but you just kinda hang back and make mental notes of things. You don't get passes--unless you're doing an in-person interview or something like that--and there's no preferential placement. I guess it's because the less people who know you, the better, but, from my experience anyway, it's hardly like Almost Famous. No one invites you on the tour bus or lets you make out with their groupies. They just get pissed at you if you don't perform textual felatio with your review. Sometimes their fans write you angry letters--even if you liked the band! Maybe it's different for the people who work for the big mags.

Other than my guide, I got to shoot the shit with one of the event staff who told me how much he loved his job, but said that he didn't get to watch the shows like people thought. His job was to watch the crowd. He also told me that he always had to deal with people who were trying to get entrance to the back stage area. I wanted to hear some stories, but Satriani started up and I had to get to work.

Joe put on a pretty damn good show. You've got to hand it to the guy; he's a virtuoso. He also gives the best guitar face in the business, hands down. He even would act like he was lip synching his note bending. That's dedication.

Deep Purple was hardly as impressive. I knew a good number of their songs, and their guitarist was really good--he played an instrumental tribute to the victims of the last space shuttle disaster that was jaw-dropping--but the lead singer didn't age very gracefully, and his voice was very inconsistent. He was really pushing himself though, so I admire the effort. Rock'n'roll may keep you young, but it certainly can't turn back the clock.

the great opiate

I finally have television again, and I'd forgotten what a marvelously charming time sucker it is. Over the weekend, they cable guy came to hook up our television, which was more of an ordeal than it probably should have been.

I feel for the guy. He had to come out here on a Saturday for one. It was also 108 degrees (or some similarly ridiculous temperature). If that wasn't enough, it's Labor Day weekend, and I'm sure the last thing the cable guy wanted to do was come to my house and fuck around with wires for almost 3 hours, which is what he ended up doing. He was a big tall mountainous man who spoke in a very even voice. I don't know anything about the house I live in--where the wiring is and all that. When he asked me questions, I did my best to answer. I even helped him position some of the cable, but really, I did what I do best...stayed out of his way.

After the saga of setting up the cable, including our swanky cable modem, the 36 or so hours since have been an exercise in dawdling. I've watched about 7 hours of MTV and 8 hours of sports programming on ESPN. I woke up around noon today to hobble out to my couch so I could lay down some more and watch TV. It's just so mystifying. I found myself watching these plastic surgery shows on MTV last night at around 2 in the morning and they were just about the most fascinating things I've ever seen.

Ever.

When I haven't been watching TV this weekend, I've been drinking, which is nothing new, I guess. Friday was a fun night of bar-hopping with friends / coworkers / roommates. I began the evening drinking a 32oz of High Life in someone's front yard and ended the evening drinking cans of Miller Light on someone's porch. On the way home, I hobbled into 7-Eleven to buy a microwave hamburger, which is one of the nastiest things I've ever ingested, but I can't seem to get enough of them. I had another one tonight. I hate myself for it.

On Saturday I kinda took it easy. I went up to this little redneck town north of here (as opposed to the redneck town I live in) and watched roommate D perform with his improv group, which was much better than I thought it was. Much fun was had. Before the show, since we had an hour to kill before he venue opened up, three of us found this bar called Tip's--D had to stay at the venue to prepare for the show--and we saddled up there before the show started. The bartender was an oddly attractive hippie chick, and the place served the most killer Jell-O shots for a dollar. It was the first time I'd ever been to a bar that served Jell-O shots.

Tonight, my TV watching kept me from getting ready to do anything, but I had planned--loosely in my own mind--to hit the town tonight seeing as Labor Day weekend is such a big deal up here. Thousands of young men and women get in their skivvies and float down the river on Labor Day, and people come in from all over the surrounding areas, so downtown is a mob scene. I love spectacles, so I had to go out. Everyone had left with out me because I was a great big slack--or didn't return my phone calls--but I hate relying on others anyway, so I just went out by myself. I wandered over to the local watering hole, where I knew I'd bump into people I'd know, but forgot that it was jazz night.

I'm a big music fan, but jazz usually escapes me...I admire the musicianship but, well, it always sounds too much like jazz. Accordingly, the bar was filled with jazz-minded folk, and I'm a total stranger to this town's jazz scene. I'm more familiar with the whiny indie rock scene, where as a self-centered, vaguely sensitive, disaffected manboy, I feel very much at home.

I sat up at the bar and figured I'd have just one drink and go...it was after midnight when I got there, anyway. Three drinks later, my roommate O showed up drunk as hell...Patience is a virtue.

There was this one oddly cinematic moment, though. I was bellied up to the bar and looking to buy my first drink, but the bar was very busy, so I was expecting to wait. The jazz group had switched from a rollicking jazz to a sadder more pensive jazz, which is what jazz groups do. I jockeyed the barstool and tried to get the bartender's attention--usually I just look at them; they get the hint. The bartender took care of everyone but me. In fact, once as she went down the line of people, she completely skipped over me like I was invisible. The jazz got sadder and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the bar, and I felt like I was in some old movie where I had gone from likeable average Joe, to down on his luck lonely alcoholic. She passed me over three times, like I didn't exist, and eventually, I called her to get her attention, but refrained from quoting Jimmy Stewart from It's a Wonderful Life.