still lost

This is becoming an obsession. I mean, really--can this show get any more addictive. We've been on this island for five fucking weeks (or eight days plus in show time), and I have less of an idea what's going on now than I did when this whole business started. All I know is that Yunjin Kim gets dreamier every week. Kate's got some catching up to do--but not much.

Save Kate, I still don't know any of the characters' names. Honestly, I don't even know why I remember Kate. The names aren't important. This week's Lost was on some other level of what-the-fuck. It all starts with a close up Yunjin Kim's eye. Her character Dreamy Asian Woman (DAW) is smelling flowers. Flashback! We're in Korea, we assume, and DAW is speaking with her friends and wearing a stunning backless dress. She gets champagne. It's served to her by the man who's now her husband, Angry Asian Dude (AAD).

Ok, so we get a brief glimpse into their relationship. At one time, it was very romantic, and not the scarily possessive drama-fest that it has become. Meanwhile, another journey into the dangerous woods is being conducted, and of course, Kate, the Twin Peaks Guy (TPG) and Dr. Party of Five (Dr. PoF) have to go. Because they need a fourth, Hobbit Heroin Addict (HHA) tags along. They end up finding this cave where there's a ton of fresh water, a hive of killer bees, plane wreckage and two dead bodies. Shit's fucked up.

...But not as fucked up back at the beach where AAD has decided that Guy with the Kid (Gw/K) needs a beat down. AAD nearly drowns Gw/K and causes a big fuss in the process. Iraqi Soldier Guy (ISG) once again proves that he's not someone to fuck with and slaps AAD in some handcuffs and lets him think about what a prick he's being for a while. Order is restored, but we still don't know why AAD went all ballistic other than he's always fucking angry.

Dr. PoF decides that it's a pain in the ass lugging a scant bit of water back the beach, that it's probably useless waiting for a rescue and that they should bring the people to the water instead of vice versa. He comes to this decision by ignoring the staggering hotness of Kate. Lost's viewership mutters a collective "Moron." HHA and TPG stay back at the cave with the water, and again, we collectively mutter.

Meanwhile, DAW is having all sorts of flashbacks as she dutifully tends to her bound husband. It turns out that DAW had longer hair back in the day and she wanted to elope with AAD well before he was angry. But AAD is an honorable chap and he wont' have it. DAW, being from a rich family, says it's the only way they can be together. AAD is still not having it, so he goes to DAW's daddy to ask for her hand in marriage. It turns out that DAW's dad will grant permission for the marriage, but AAD has to work for DAW's poppa for some time. DAW is apprehensive, but seemingly happy that she can have her songpyon and eat it too. Other flashbacks show the couple's relationship going from warm and loving to cold and heartless...

...And then one day, AAD comes home from work covered in blood. Woah! DAW asks AAD what happened. He won't say. She asks what he does for her father. He answers, "Whatever he tells me to." Oh snap!

Gw/K is all butt hurt that AAD whooped his ass in front of his son. ISG is still trying to figure out what's up. Gw/K swears that he doesn't know why AAD went crazy and pleads innocense. DAW seems to know what the deal is, but is flustered about what to do about it.

Back in the cave, TPG and HHA are becoming best friends. TPG knows all about HHA rock'n'roll previous life before the island, and also his rock'n'roll drug habit. TPG gets all Dungeon Master on HHA, telling him that the island will return his guitar, like that's supposed to make any sense, and HHA is doing his darndest to get away from the old crack pot so he can get his fix on whatever heroin remains.

On the beach, shit still sucks. AAD is still tied up and Gw/K is even more butt hurt. Gw/K wanders off into the jungle to chop some wood and take out some aggression, and DAW dreamily follows--being all sneaky and dreamy. Gw/K sees her and lashes out, then DAW totally speaks English. Fucking wheelchair, dude.

Turns out, DAW learned English, unbeknownst to AAD, because she was going to make it look like she got kidnapped so she could escape her father and AAD, but when AAD shows her a pretty flower right before the time she was supposed to escape, she begins to sob dreamily and goes back to his side. And for her loyalty, she's rewarded by getting stranded on this fucked up island. There's a moral in that somewhere.

Bringing the episode to a close, Dr. PoF tries to convince people that waiting on the beach is shite, and they all have to move to the cave, even though it's further inland and no planes or ships will ever find them there. People aren't sure about this, especially ISG, who says he's not giving up on being rescued. Kate is still torn. To aid her decision, she sits on the beach and gets all emo, staring out at the ocean. Rebel Dude comes over and talks some shit about how she's being all flirty with Dr. PoF and ISG. Rebel Dude is totally useless.

As the episode draws to a close, Dr. PoF leads a group of people to the cave, but Kate's not one of them. She's not giving up. She's not digging in. She's gonna wait it out on the beach with Rebel Dude, ISG and some other folks...probably nameless extras. Clearly, she misses Dr. PoF, and he misses her two, but they both say "You know where to find me."

Wonder if they'll ever see each other again.

...And HHA had to give up his drugs to TPG to get his guitar back. Almost forgot.

---

After Lost, I ended up going to a hip-hop concert at a bar. I thought I'd only be there for a little while, but the performer I wanted to see didn't go on till a quarter to one. So much for getting home early. I had enough drinks to get me buzzed and make me have to pee a lot, but not enough to be able to deal with drunk people.

look. it's raining. isn't that precious?

Over the past few days, my climatologically challenged area of California has been doing its best to try to have some actual weather. The usual, drab drizzle we usually get has suddenly been replaced by torrential downpours, crazy ass winds, wild drops and climbs in temperature. You know, weather.

When I first moved here, people told me that there's seasons in this part of California, and that they do get some pretty nasty storms. I've lived here for three years, and I suppose I've seen maybe one or two--but I'm using nasty in context of the 200-plus weatherless days that take up the rest of the year. My first winter here brought a sad little snow shower, on my way to work at a previous job, I pedaled my bike as fast as I could to avoid what turned into a violent thunderstorm (hail and all), and again on my bike, through horizontal rain, I nearly crashed into a fallen tree that I was unable to see given the conditions. To be sure, two of those three were pretty severe, but neither stack up in comparison to the ice storms, severe thunderstorms, blizzards, crippling summer humidity or Nor'Easters of my homeland. More than rare occurences, these things were just ways of life. Sometimes, you even had to plan around them. Imagine that.

Now, I have to hand it to California. I've been here for over three years, and now I think this wonderful country has realized that I'm not just a resident in name only. I'm here now, and I think it will be for some time longer. Accordingly, California has finally decided it time to make me feel more at home. Fresh off last night's rain debacle, I found myself at work--at a new computer now, because I think my regular one has the virtual clap; far away from my desk, my chair and my piles of CDs--and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash.

Lightning! I thought.

Then reality set in. Ho ho, thought I. Why there hasn't been lightning in these parts since Mary Sue ran off with Billy Joe and moved themselves to Hollywood.

Ahem...

Time went by and nothing. I was definitely seeing things. Later, I saw it again, but this time there was no mistaking. Weather was happening--lightning, thunder, sheets of rain! I was flabbergasted. I thought it was the cutest thing ever. This wasn't the most menacing lightning storm I'd seen, but it sure lasted for a while. Long enough that it was still tearing it up when it came time to leave work. My roommate/coworker and I locked up the office, stepped outside and that's when I noticed the hail; instantaneously the novelty wore off.

---

I watched the rest of the first season of Arrested Development finally, and I'm glad I don't have long to wait until the next one starts up. The season finale nearly killed me--especially GOB's "big bear" scene toward the end. Brilliant! I loved that you could see David Cross doing his best not to crack up. I usually steer away from taking advantage of a DVD's commentary function, but I ended up re-watching the final episode with the play by play from all the actors and it was just as funny the second time around, if not more so. Great cast with great chemistry. It's good to see that the cast seems to be intact for season two, and also that some of the smaller characters like Annyong will be back. I just hope it doesn't disappoint.

More hilarity ensued when I finally caught the "Charlie Murphy / Prince" sketch fromChappelle's Show. It's the lesser known cousin to the "Rick James" bit, but just as funny. Oh, and The Daily Show was pretty damn good too.

---

Unfortunately, I read that John Peel had passed away on Monday. I never did get a chance to hear his program, but I certainly knew his name, and I know all the great things he's done for popular music. I wish there were more people like him on radio. He just seemed to know talent, and I must say, I'm as jealous as I am appreciative. The BBC put up a few interesting articles about him that are all worth checking out.

Legendary radio DJ John Peel dies
Peel's huge impact on music
Obituary

bonus question

I like answering the random questions generated by Blogger when I edit my profile, even though I don't think my profile's been viewed in quite some time. I guess it's just one of the many things I do for me.

I got this question this evening, and the answer was too long, so i figured I'd post it here instead. See? I'm not entirely selfish.

Random Question:
Why don't you ever wear a scarf? It doesn't need to be cold outside for your neck to feel naked.

The only scarf I own is made of cashmere. I'm not into clothes, I haven't really bought clothes in over a year, but it's gray, fuzzy, warm and beautiful, and it feels like a little piece of heaven. I bought it to match a pair of cashmere gloves I bought that same day, which are just as wonderful. They were purchased at Saks Fifth Avenue in New York City last Christmas when I was home visiting my family and cost me $260--90 for the gloves and like 150 for the scarf, plus tax. I think they charged me for the shopping bag too, but whatever.

I don't wear any of them because they're the most precious things I own, and I'm afraid I'll ruin them. I also don't wear them because I live in a part of California where it's over 70 degrees 10 months out of the year. The rest of the time it's raining, and I'm afraid they'll get wet. I don't know what rain does to cashmere, but I assume it's not good. I also don't have anything remotely nice enough to wear them with, except my suit, which cost me less than half (half) the price. To this day, I have no idea why I bought the scarf or the gloves (the saleswoman was sooooo gorgeous), but they look aces on the goddamn hanger in my goddamn closet. I hope that answers your question.

worst day ever.

It's a cliche, but I hate Mondays. Seriously. Unless you're a rock star or a worthless politician who doesn't really have to work anyway, there's no reason to like a Monday. Granted, my job is pretty cake, but still. I have to think, answer questions and make deadlines--none of which I'm good at-- instead of snorting blow off of a groupie's backside or pretend to look concerned when all I really care about is setting myself up for life and backslapping the good ol' boys who got me into office.

Sorry. I really shouldn't have gotten out of bed....

...And I almost didn't! My alarm didn't go off, which is to say it did go off, but only woke me up enough to shamble across my room and shut it off before going back to sleep. Normally, I would have an excuse for this, like I got sooo wasted bro, or I did soooo much work, but there really is none. All I did was spend all day online, checking out the football games, laying in bed and watching the first season of Nip/Tuck. I ended up sleeping straight through my usual Monday meeting, and then barely made it to the office in time to go to a noon (NOON!) lunch meeting, during which i did nothing but nod my head and try my hardest to pay attention (since I'd just got out of bed) and not watch ESPN on the television in the far corner of the restaurant. At least I got a free lunch out of it.

I returned to the office to briefly slog through my usualy Monday busy work, which is tedious, but admittedly rewarding, befor moving on to a press conference, where I was provided pretzels and a bottle of water.

Things started to pick up when I got a call from my out of town friend who said we were going to the strip club. This wasn't a request, but just a statement of fact. When he says we're going, we're going, and there's nothing I can really do about it, not that I'd put up much of an argument. It was slow, but there was a fleet of women working, for whatever reason, even the tiny wrecking ball of a woman who kicked my wimpy ass the last time I went. I wasn't sure whether that was good or bad, but I put aside extra money...just in case.

I made a mistake, I think, because I got a lap dance from the first stripper I saw, which is kinda like buying the first puppy you see at the kennel--or maybe not.

Anyway, I'd barely sat down before I was caught up in the lapdance special. Her bedside manner wasn't the greatest, and I soon became more interested in the TV on the far wall than in the dance. I felt bad, but I made sure I gave her a tip anyway. It turned out that the boring lapdance girl was something else on the stage and well worth the price of admission. It wasn't long before I was in the full swing of things, though,a nd just flashing the rock sign to girls who came danced to good songs and having fun--even if my two other friends were being kinda boring. Dollar bills became distant memories as I slapped them on the tip rail, and all the frivolous spending, with out fear of whether or not I'd be able to eat next week, felt really nice. I was still going to be able to stash some cash away.

The two friends who were being all boring wanted to leave and go drink, and that's when shit really got shitty. I got a call from my roommate reminding me of a housing issue that was going to cost me considerably--as poor as I am--so instead of going to the bar, I had them drop me home so I could get some thing straight. Everything worked out ok, but I'm going to be seriously broke with Halloween and my birthday coming up, and I'm not looking forward to it.

I ended up heading out to the bar to meet up with my friends, had a couple of drinks, or more...and got stuck in California's only torrential downpour on my way home. I decided to stop at the 7-Eleven to grab a quick snack--I only had Top Ramen for dinner--but the friendly clerk guy told me that the store was closed while the floors and windows were being cleaned. Not even he could get in there, he said. Wonderful. Hiding underneath the awning, the rain got even worse. I was soaking wet already and still had a mile-plus to go to get home, so I called a cab.

Here's to Tuesday.

the grudge

Tonight I went to the theater to see The Grudge, an American remake of a Japanese horror film, and one of the scariest movies I can actually sit through. I get scared by horror movies, but I still love to watch them.

Basically, the American version of The Grudge is the same as the Japanese version except that the American one has Buffy in it instead of a host of pretty Japanese starlets. The American version also had Bill Pullman in a small, but important role. I've always liked Bill Pullman, and I think he's really overlooked as an actor. In any case, he was excellent when he was on screen. Buffy did a good job, too, but really, all the actors must play second fiddle to the excrutiating terror that pervades the film.

Tonight, the theater was absolutely packed. Those in our large group--all customers of a local video store, it was kind of a field trip / party--who did not buy tickets in advance were turned away. Literally every seat in the theater was taken. The two people who were kind enough to give me a ride to the cinema and I arrived with about five minutes to spare, and the only place where there were three seats together were down in front. We sat in the third row. I hate being that close to the screen, and I've never been able to figure out why they even bother putting seats so damn close instead of adding extra rows to the back, but whatever. The closeness to the screen, however, was made worse by the fact that now all these horrific images would be fuckin' huge and right in my face.

My pulse was really pounding. I've seen the Japanese version, so I kinda knew what to expect, but even still, the shit's fucking scary. At one point, I think, I had to leave the theater cuz I was afraid I was going to freak out. I also had to take a leak, but that's besides the point. Things got better once I started cuddling my hoody. I know I should be ashamed, but I'm not.

After the movie, chaos took over. It seemed like every loony in the world was out tonight, and all of them were fucking wasted. I went to get a slice of pizza and one guy was so drunk that he could barely stand. He stumbled past everyone, bought a slice, then stumbled back outside, banging into the front window along the way, and once he was outside, he collapsed like a sack of bricks, which looked kinda funny from inside the pizza place.

We were all supposed to rendezvous back at the video store for a night cap, but after grabbing the slice of pizza, no one was there, so I stopped at the local watering hole figuring I'd probably bump into someone. On the way home, I said hi to the guitar playing homeless guy and stopped in to 7-Eleven just in time to pick up a six pack. Outside the store, some random old dude asked me if I needed a ride (I'm pretty sure he was just looking to make a couple bucks, or rob me; not the creepy kidnapper type). I said no. He asked if he could borrow some money. I said no. He asked me if he could have a beer at least. I gave him one and told him not to drink and drive as he got into his mini van.

neighbors

Tonight was a co-worker's birthday. There were cupcakes at the office, a night of bowling and beer, of course. It was a lot of fun, and I even got to play Dance Dance Revolution for the first time, which is probably the most strenuous video game in existence.

After a couple of post-bowling drinks at the bar, I made the usual walk home from downtown and ran into a familiar face. I'm not sure what his name is, but he's a homeless guy who hangs out in front of the music store with his guitar. When I saw him, I realized I hadn't seen him in months. I don't know if he remembers me, he doesn't seem to, but I do talk to him from time to time, because he seems like a pretty cool guy. He has never asked me for money, but I have thrown a few bucks his way; he usually only asks me if I want to hear a jam. He's not the best guitar player, but I watch him anyway; he sings too, more or less.

Tonight he played a twangy, bluesy number that sounded like it was born out of an empty freight car. I kinda liked the lyrics. I'm not sure if he wrote it himself or if it was someone else's, but I listened to the whole song--his songs have a tendency to wander on for extended periods of time. This one was roughly a radio friendly length. After the song was over, he shook my hand and started talking. He said he'd been traveling around, cooking ribs, which struck me as odd. I guess he had been working cookouts or fairs or something to that effect. "I ate like a king," he said, and I must admit the conversation gave me a hankering for ribs. I asked him when he got back into town and he told me just four days ago, which oddly enough, was right when the season of Hot turned to Rain.

I joked about his bad timing and said he should move south. He laughed too and said he was thinking about it. I could make plenty assumptions of how the guy got to where he was now, but I still wonder how people fall through the cracks like that.

There was one guy who used to lurk around town who called himself Johnny Spaceship. This was probably one of the most fascinating people I've ever met. I remember seeing this guy at this rock show downtown, and he ended up at this after party I was at later in the evening. I don't know how he got there. He started talking all this crazy shit to us, but he didn't sound crazy while he said it. He said he was from the future and that the people from his planet were going to pick him up. He claimed to have powers, too, I think. The thing was, he looked kind of off. He wasn't grimy looking, but there was something about his face; it was almost as if he could have been an alien or something. He looked human enough...I'm starting to sound as crazy as he did. He had a bunch of people crowded around him listening to him at one point--truly bizarre.

I saw him around town a lot over the next few weeks, then nothing until one night when I was having dinner in my favorite Chinese restaurant, Johnny stumbled in and talked to the proprietor. She gave him a little carton of rice, and he stumbled out. After I finished my meal, I bumped into him on the street. He was huddled behind a mailbox and eating the rice with his hands. He looked really out of sorts, the poor guy, and started talking to me about dragons or something. It was really hard to make out what he was saying; hardly the articulate yarn-spinner who was at the party. That was the last time I saw him.

Maybe he's in the basement of a mental hospital somewhere, but I hope his people did show up and take him back to the future, because this place really ate the poor guy up.

it very well may be the end of the world

So the Red Sox beat the Yankees; 10 - 3; at Yankee Stadium; in game 7 of the ALCS; the first time in baseball history a team has come back from 3-0 series deficit to come back and win the whole thing. Even after three pints of Guinness, it still seemed pretty amazing. The sadistic part of me smiled as the Yankees piled it on, but as a long-time baseball fan, it was definitely an amazing moment--and what better way for it to happen than against the Evil Empire?

I finally got to see the clip of Jon Stewart on Crossfire. I'm sure naysayers will say that he's just trying to drum up publicity for his new book America, but at least he did so by saying shit that needed to be said. I'm sick of pundits and politicians who can only see things their way. I hope Stewart's "lecture" lit a fire under someone's ass.

Today was a day full of pleasant moments, though nothing too earth-shaking. There was a long drawn out section of fuss regarding my computer situation at work (read: shit's fucked up), and I had to miss Lost to watch the baseball game, but I'm sure I can get a recap from someone. Otherwise, things went really well. I interviewed Hook Mitchell, met a friendly dog who had to spend some time at the office, sighed and ahhed at Kate Beckinsale and her fake Eastern European accent in Van Helsing, and I even was witness to the Great Squirrel Conference of 2004.

Let me explain...just four days ago, it was still summer here in the country of California. I remember it real well. It was Saturday, it was relatively hot; suddenly, late Saturday night, it began raining, the temperature dropped some 20 degrees and shit hasn't been the same since. Now we're in Rain, officially, and the past season, Hot, will become a fast-fading memory. The sudden change in weather has caused the various nature dwelling critters to start preparing for the long haul ahead (this is all assumption on my part, put no stock in it), and the most visible critters here in town are the squirrels. They're everywhere, pretty much. I was walking to work and marveling at the sight of my breath, all wrapped up in a hoody and a beany because I just shaved my head, when I passed a house with a white picket fence. I saw a squirrel perched on the fence, like something out of a home and garden magazine, but too my surprise, there were four others all in the vicinity. I'm not sure what was going on, but the squirrels seemed to be in concert with one another.

They ignored my presence for the longest time, which is not what squirrels often do, as they all stood or squatted in that little squirrel pose, facing each other. I knew they were conversing because I heard their little bleating noises. Eventually, I got too close, and the four squirrels smoothly dashed out of my way. No big deal, just sauntered out of my path.

I was curious, so as I passed, I turned around to see if they had gotten back together. They hadn't, but I could've sworn that little bugger on the picket fence was watching me.

Maybe this is how revolutions start. Perhaps the squirrels have finally gotten their act together, and our planning how to wrest planetary dominance from our bald-palmed grasp. I guess only time will tell. I the meantime, I'm going to leave plenty of walnuts out on the porch--maybe a few almonds--just in case.

insomniac/narcoleptic

It seems that lately, I can't sit down for a couple of minutes with out starting to doze off. This is happening to me everywhere, including work. Of course, when I go to bed in a proper fashion, I can't get to sleep.

Tonight, I retired to my room early, by my standards, to watch a film called Frankenfish, which is probably as good as it looks. I can't help it. I'm a sucker for big dumb animal movies. Frankenfish looked to be on par with classics like Komodo and Lake Placid, which is clearly the cream of the genre over the last few years. Any big dumb animal movie that tries to tie in Egyptian mysticism and features Betty White in a prominent role is just heads above the rest.

Soon into Frankenfish, my lids got heavy, and I even heard myself snore, which is a very, very disheartening thing. The good thing about snoring is that you do it in your sleep, so you never really have to know how gross you are. People may say that you were snoring something awful last night, but you can only take their word for it. Hearing yourself snore is just a slap in the face, especially when your own snoring wakes you up. I did my best to stay awake and follow the plot, but it was no use. I kept drifting off, but unfortunately, I couldn't muster enough sleep fortitude to make it through the night. I awoke in the middle of Frankenfish, quite lost as to what was going on, though I'm sure it wouldn't take me too long to figure out, and with my head full of that not so sleepy / not quite wakey malaise.

Today was blissfully uneventful. I watched the Red Sox and Astros pull out dramatic wins in the baseball playoff games and did as little work as possible and still consider myself productive. All in all, not bad.

hate the player, hate the game

As a fan of the game of baseball, it's hard not to respect Yankees. It's the first team you associate with the game, and for a reason. They have the most championships and more than twice as many as the team that's second on the list. As a fan of the New York Mets, the other New York team, I find it easy to hate the Yankees. I think it's genetic. My dad was a New York Giants fan before the team moved to San Francisco and a die-hard National League supporter. When I asked my father what team he pulled for during the time there was no National League team in New York--when both the Giants and the Dodgers fled to the west--he answered, "Whatever team was playing the Yankees."

People out here don't understand. I guess I don't really understand either. It's either one or the other; if you say you like both, you're not really a fan. It's crazy, yeah, but that's really how it is. Growing up as a Mets fan, I learned to hate the Yankees in the cafeterias and playgrounds at school. Obviously, the Yankees have many more fans--and they're all loud and obnoxious, at any age. If they're not loud and obnoxious, they're not really fans. I've been in many an immature screaming match--never a fight--and I've been called, and have called others, many things that I probably shouldn't repeat. I don't take any of it back either.

Baseball is one of the few things I'm really passionate about, the Mets specifically. I don't really know why, but I am, and it's nice to be really passionate about something, especially considering I'm so detached normally. I remember watching the ball roll through Buckner's legs in my parents' living room. I remember my dad calling after Jesse Orosco tallied the final strike out in game 7. I remember Robin Ventura's grand slam single to stave off elimination against the Braves in the longest playoff game of all time. These were all great memories that rank up there with my first kiss (mostly better than my first kiss, too). I also remember all the heartache and disappointment. The Dodgers upset win in the 1988 NLCS and the Yankees clinching the 2000 World Series in the Mets home stadium.

In a way, being a Mets fan has taught me humility. It's taught me how to take the good with the bad, and all those other cliche lessons. And it could be worse. I could be a Red Sox fan.

I watched most of the playoff game between the Red Sox and the Yanks today (the Red Sox one game away from being swept in the best of seven series). I decided to watch something else because Joe Buck and Tim McCarver might be the worst commentating duo in sports. Their flair for pointing out the obvious and their propensity for self-felatio make for a nauseating broadcast. Often, especially in the case of McCarver, I wonder if they're even watching the same game as I am. But that's Fox for you. How that network has been able to produce The Simpsons and Arrested Development is beyond me (though I have to give them props for signing up my boy, Al Leiter, who does a fairly decent job). Unfortunately, I turned it off before the Red Sox made their dramatic comeback in extra innings; I would have liked to see that. The Yankees have become a metaphor for everything I don't like about the world. They've made the rest of Major League Baseball their farm team, culling all the best players from other teams, because the Yankees are the only ones who can afford any price. They force everyone else out of competition, and for these flimsy morals, they're rewarded by winning all the time.

In other news, my plan for only leaving bed to lay down on the couch worked perfectly, though I left on my cell phone so I could talk to my mom and dad. I watched Clash of the Titans today for the first time in forever, which renewed my love for Ray Harryhausen's work as well as my desire to have a real live Bubo of my very own.

it's the little things

I went into work on Thursday at 9am, and I didn't leave till Friday at 1:45am. I think that's the longest day I've ever worked. Of course, I had to go in at 9am the next day also.

I've been meaning to write about all the shit that's been going on, but I was too tired, and frankly, I was sick at looking at the computer screen.

Part of my job the last couple of weeks was getting in touch with candidates for a local election, and try to ask them questions for profiles. This was a truly taxing manner. In the first place, I don't like politics, nor do I like politicians, all that much. I don't like paying people to make decisions about what I should or should not have access to, what I can't or can't do, and things of that nature. Nine times out of ten, anyone who's trying to get you to vote on something is doing it for shady reasons, i.e., their own interests. I boycotted voting after the last US presidential election, because it seemed like a scam to me; for a while, it seemed that participating in something I thought was a lie was just validating it. I guess in my own private way, I actually protested something...if you want to get all dramatic about it. I will vote this coming November, but I can't say I'm entirely convinced that I can "make a difference."

Anyway, I'll get off the soapbox.

I called up candidates, because that's what I was paid to do. I had a list of questions that I would ask all of them--pretty standard really. Some of them were pretty nice, some of them I agreed with, and some of them were total pricks, and I mean that in the most offensive way possible. But I did my job. One of the pricks I'd mentioned deemed it unnecessary to speak to me. He actually called me on my cell phone at 8 in the morning to tell me that he was so busy and that, for my alleged political affiliations (probably not so alleged, really) and that I would not get his answers on time for publication. This caused me some grief, because I dont' like being scolded on my cell phone, especially if said person is a dumb ass good ol' boy who wants to call me in the early (by my standards) morning.

I expressed my displeasure to my higher ups...they passed on my feelings to a local big shot, who's in our corner, I guess. The next day I got a phone call from the political jack ass who now had a decidedly different tone. Now he said he could get me the answers I required. I left him on hold for a few minutes to make him sweat...to ask if I could extend his deadline.

I guess it felt good, like I was vindicated in some small way, but really that good feeling didn't last long. I don't usually forgive or forget.

Despite all the pitfalls and long hours, I think the last few days at work were pretty exciting. It felt good to make something new, and now a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I think the mag came out pretty good too.

To forget about a nightmare week, I stayed true to my week-long assertions and got really drunk on Friday night. About as drunk as I got last Friday night, but on less alcohol because I didn't eat dinner. All I ate was well into my debauchery when my friend bought me the most infernal, spicy hot dog ever brought into being from a local hot dog cart. It hurt like hell, but I was hungry so I devoured the thing.

I quickly stumbled home after a few pints of Guinness with every intention to write about my shitty / exciting week, but upon hearing the sex happening in my roommate's bedroom, I decided to steal a beer from the fridge and slumped on to one of the patio chairs on the side deck. I never really got to open the beer; my lids got heavy. Wrapped up in my hoodie, I quickly started dozing off. With the breeze and the stars and the no sex-sounds and stuff, it just seemed like the best place to fall asleep, and I think I did for a little while. Eventually, I made it up from the patio chair and made it back inside and placed the unopened beer back in the fridge. It was still pretty cold.

Tonight, I went to a play and then hit the bars. I had a good time, but tomorrow, I'm sleeping in till whenever, I'm shutting off my cell phone, and if I get out of bed for anything, it'll only be to lay down on the couch.

what are you doing still awake?

Oh, you know. The same old, same old, really. I just finished my last story for the new magazine. It's alright I guess. I'm worried as hell about what this thing's going to look like when it's done, and I'm sure I've given myself an ulcer over it. But I don't think we'll have a problem finishing it up tomorrow. I've done 12 hour days the past two days in a row. I'm not the only one I'm sure, but it's still not easy.

I should be asleep, but no. I couldn't let another day go by without typing at you--even if I'm barely coherent.

Tomorrow's the last day, then I can take a breath. Just gotta make it through tomorrow.

Then I can get caught up on all the other work I have to do.

a grasshopper walks into a bar...

I just ate some Triscuits that were sitting in my kitchen cabinet. I'm not sure how long they've been there, but they tasted fine. There wasn't any hair growing on them or anything, though, it would be hard to tell if there was on a Triscuit. I have medical coverage, so I'm not so worried.

Work is still crazy, but the end is in sight. It just seems so far away. I know there are going to be a couple more long nights before I can finally relax--until shit goes bonkers again.

I've been such a giant ball of stress. I feel like I'm quoting myself.

I think I have a sign on my head that only other people can see that reads, "psst, this guy's cool to fuck with." I don't mean that in an entirely bad sense. Even upon first meeting--it's even happened with a few people who, as of yet, I've only worked with over the phone--people start ragging on me. Granted, I'm something of a walking Muppet, but I grew up on that show. I guess it's only natural. I could analyze it, but the one thing I've always had going for me, that I've been proud of, is that I've never had a problem having a laugh at my own expense. This could be because others rarely have a problem doing likewise, but whatever. Oddly enough, it usually makes me more comfortable, because I only raz the people I really like anyway...and there aren't too many.

Today, I did an in-person interview with a fascinating business man--an older gentleman with crazy hair and shabbily dressed, which was contrary to the loads of money and land he has. My two bosses and I went to meet with him so I could do the interview and they could talk business. He was a little bonkers, to be sure, and started messing with me right off the bat. I caught him, though, and I could tell he thought that was cool.

Sometimes it can get a little frustrating. I don't take myself all that seriously (well, I do really, but don't tell anyone), but I really hope others do. It's just hard to tell what they think when we're all having a chuckle at my expense.

leave your dramas and five dollars at the door

Admittedly, the whole Guy fiasco was kind of embarassing because I have a low embarassment threshold, so I recounted the story to B's girlfriend. At this point, I'm pretty hammered, but not nearly as hammered as (we'll call him) Dude in my living room. At this moment he's reciting poetry as roommate B is playing guitar. I chuckle cuz Dude's pretty fucked up, and I can tell because I am too. I'm just a lot more quiet about it.

Soon after, I see that Dude is a lot more fucked up than I am. That scary kind where you wonder about prescription drugs and things of that nature. Now he's reciting poetry, but this time he's yelling it to these girls sitting on the couch. Mind you, now I really don't know anyone in my house, though I have met Dude on a couple of occasions through B.

I ask B how the party's been. He says pretty good, but now he's on Dude watch because he's really fucked up. He assures me not to worry, because he's got it. Dude's still yelling; I look at B; Dude's still ranting. Next thing I know, my front door slams really loud. Dude has escaped.

Dude's now yelling at the girls who were on the couch, but now outside on the corner, and D's chasing him around. The girls call me over by name. I think I'd met one of them before, but I don't remember what her name is.

I'm still stupid drunk, but now I'm in elder statesman mode where suddenly I can take care of everything. I really am an idiot.

I do my best to calm their fears like a good elder statesman (read: moron), and one of the girls takes me by the hand. Again with the physical contact from people I don't know; then I realize who it is. I don't know her name, but earlier B pointed her out to me and said, "That one? She's a freak. She comes in from out of town just to get laid." I go from elder statesman to suave suitor (read: slurring, horny, jackass) in a blink. All I really did was introduce myself, but I know what I was thinking. I'm so typical.

Driving a wedge in my impromptu courtship--and most probably for the best--was another volcanic eruption of anger from Dude. He and B were getting into some shit and I thought we might have to call the cops. I really, really don't want to, but I don't want things to get worse. The girls run back inside and me and B try to get Dude under wraps. There's some screaming and yelling; Dude collapes in the middle of the street and lays there. We consider calling cops again. I go inside to dial, but stop. Cops usually just cause more problems, anyway. B and I go outside again, stand over Dude determined to get him back in the house.

I don't remember what I said to him, but he finally kinda responded coherently, and not just in the poor poetry he'd been shouting since I'd gotten home. We get him on my porch. I just let him talk, and he keeps going and going and going, and I'm sure he's going to pass out. He just has to. He's so fucked up, and I'm so tired of listening to him.

Twenty minutes later, he's still going, even after falling out of his chair and tumbling off the deck. He seems to be calming down, sitting on a new chair now. I think, great, it's finally over. And then he shoots up with a start and falls, again, off the deck, but this time on to the lawn and not the driveway. He's lying there face down, kinda flailing. I think, great, it's finally over. And then he shoots up again and takes off.

I'm at a loss, so I go inside and grab a beer (such an idiot) and then B comes in and informs me he doesn't know where Dude went--he just took off.

The girls and some emo guy get rides home. I sit on the couch with my beer. After a while, I get worried about Dude, who's still MIA. He could have been anywhere. He wass super beligerent, and I was worried about what he might do to himself or someone else. I guess it's the catholic guilt. I convinced B that we should go find him. B's flashlight picks up something in the road about two blocks from our house. It's Dude, passed out face down in the street. We call him, shake him; he's breathing, but he's not really responding. Ambulance, fire truck, police. Drama. Dude got arrested, but at least he didn't get run over by a car.

you're not as cool as i thought you were

I really should have just stayed in my room and locked the door on Saturday night, but no. I'm a moron.

I've come to realize that drinking's fine, but drinking around other people is usually a bad idea. That may be the rantings and ravings of an alcoholic, but so be it. All I'm saying is when I have a few beers on my own, watching a movie or something, I don't have to worry about morons who can't handle their shit getting all batty on me. Even when I go out, I don't go all out. This probably makes me rather boring, but I have more of a good time being on the outskirts of the action rather than being a part of the action.

Saturday night was shaping up to be a big fucking booze-fest, and the night lived up to its billing. There was to be a party at my home--thrown by my roommate--and I also learned that some of the people I partied with in San Francisco during the Rilo Kiley show were coming into town. Good times were a given, and after pulling almost a full day at the office on Saturday--my 13th day of work in a row--even my beleaguered liver acknowledged that we could use another night out.

I took my sweet ass time getting ready. I don't rush for anyone anymore. I also have stopped making plans because I'm bound to bump into you eventually. If people want to call me up and set up a time and a place to meet, I'm fine with that, but no one ever does, so fuck it. I've come to enjoy having no responsibilities when I go out to have a good time, anyway. Around 11pm, my roommate got back and asked me to hang for a bit while he went and bought beer; people were on the way.

I ended up waiting around, and only one dude showed up, but he told me about this guitar maker who makes real quality knockoffs for way cheap. I had a beer and played solitare, which has become my new favorite pastime. Shortly thereafter, my roommate D returned with beer and people began streaming in. Nothing too off the hook, and I didn't really know anyone, so I decided to trek back downtown. I knew my friends would be at one of two places, and I found half of them at the first place I checked. There, I met a new buddy. I'll call him Guy, because I never got his name.

Guy was loud and faded. Until this evening, Guy and I had never met; and he was in no way affiliated with the group I was with. He was over at the bar while I was talking to one of the girls I was at the RK show with. She likes to talk, which is good because I'm terrible at starting conversations with people I don't really know, and she's usually pretty funny (in a good way). I heard Guy shout at one of his buddies at the bar, and I turned to the loud noise, which was a big mistake. I knew it was as soon as I turned around. Now Guy wanted my opinion on something, but I had no idea what he was talking about. I just agreed and turned back to my conversation.

Then Guy started shouting at me. I never like that sort of thing. The conversation went like this:

G: Are you from New York?
me: (startled by his astute observation and always happy to bump into a fellow countryman so far away from home, unless, of course, he/she is a Yankees fan) Yeah!
G: Tell me you're a Jets fan...
me: (knowing I'm in trouble) Sorry, dude. I'm a Giants fan.
G: (not pleased he grumbles some shit I don't remember, tosses a crumpled up napkin at me, which misses, and retreats back to the bar)

At this point, I go back to my conversation, thinking that Guy's and my time together is over. But I'm sadly mistaken.

G: I thought you were cool. (He shouts, seemingly jokingly, but still perturbed. Enough that I'm a little worried)
me: Aw c'mon, man. I'm a Mets fan too.
G: (Now approaching me) Aw shit! Mets fan!

Now Guy and I are locked in a man hug. I don't like hugging anyone, especially dudes I don't know, but I guess the man hug is better than getting my ass kicked. Guy remains in my physical space patting me on the back and such, and I'm able to look over his shoulder to see the woman I was speaking to completely confused. Guy tries talking to her, then moves on to other people in our group, the goes away.

Later, at the local watering hole, I'm finally as fucked up as everyone else I was with. I use the word with loosely because everyone's all over the place and I'm just kinda hanging with whoever's around. I'm sitting in a booth in a corner, some coworkers saunter over, and that's when I spot Guy.

I thought it was impossible, but he's even more fucked up now than he was when I saw him last. I figured someone would have cut him off by now, but in this town, they feed you liquor until you vomit on the bartop. I hope Guy doesn't spot me, but he does, of course; he probably doesn't remember his own name at this point, but he's able to spot me in a dark and crowded bar. He starts yelling at me, and my coworkers look at me like who's this? I try to explain, but it's too late; Guy's already at our table asking one of the women I work with if she's with me, and that she shouldn't be because I'm a Giants fan. I would have been pissed if i didn't think it was so damn funny. I think he took one of her beers and drank some of it, and he took a shot with one of my male coworkers and kept yelling at me. Wonderful.

It was last call, so everyone scampered out. I may have said goodbye to some of them, but I really wanted to get home. Halfway through the two mile walk, my bladder decided it was time to be emptied and let me know by wracking my body with a paralyzing pain. I was torn between my need to urinate and my hangup about pissing in public, so I kept moving and talking to myself. I made it home, pants not ruined and busted through the somewhat subdued party in my living room and take a very satisfying piss. It would be the last satisfying moment of that evening. ...

simmer down, now

Since I've couped myself up for the better part of two weeks, and since I'm relatively sure I'll be working the entire weekend, I decided it would be best to go out tonight and blow off some steam. I mean, I've worked something like 50 hours this week, and counting; I deserve a little fun, right?

I had forgotten how much my brand of fun hurts. Tonight was so eventful in its uneventfulness, I don't know where to begin. I should start with this evening's unlikely precursor, which, funny enough, was my supper--an ice cream sundae. Unlikely, because it wasn't my intention. It just kind of happened that way. There is an ice cream parlor here in town that makes the yummiest of sundaes. I go rarely so as to preserve the specialness of their tasty treats. I ended up tagging along with two coworkers who were headed to the parlor late in a long day of work--just one in a string of many long days. The sundae was yummy and very filling.

A couple hours later, it was finally time to leave for the day, and I was nowhere near hungry. I decided to go see the band of another coworker perform at the bar outside of downtown, but since I had some time to kill, I hung out with a friend at his store. I ended up pounding a beer there and heading off to the concert with him and his sister.

Two more drinks--a High Life and a rum and Coke that the bartender forgot to put the Coke in. We caught two songs of my coworker's band. The following act was rather pisspoor, so I left--more or less with the intention of going home. And then it happened...

It started raining. Mind you, this is the first time I've seen rain since April. The first couple of drops were startling--what is this, I thought--but soon there was no mistaking it. Precipitation to be sure. Granted, the intensity of the rain never rose above a steady drizzle, but still, I was becoming rather wet, and I really had to pee, so I stopped at the local watering hole, which was on my direct path home, and about halfway between the bar outside of downtown and home.

I took a leak and ordered another beer to wait out the rain. It would be my last beer, of course, since I was there by myself. Eventually I found a table that left me pretty much hidden from the rest of the room.

But almost everyone I know in town eventually filters into the local watering hole. And tonight was no exception. Before I finished my beer, I was joined at the table by a coworker, one of the same I went to the ice cream parlor with (see how it comes full circle?). She offered to buy me a drink. Of course, I accepted.

The lights came on; she stumbled out, and I stumbled out soon after. It became very clear to me that I would never make the two-mile walk home without something to eat. Luckily, there was a pizza cart.

The walk home was pretty much instinctual. One moment I was downtown, the next, I was eating chicken chow mein. I blasted the stereo; I fell asleep on the couch. Pretty standard, really. I woke up when one of my roommates came home. I'm still so tired. This is why people don't work on Saturdays unless they have to.

something's gotta give

No one tells you that life means you're going to have to pay for toilet paper. I'm not complaining, mind you. It's just an observation. That's one thing no one prepares you for. When you're a kid, there's always toilet paper in the house. Mom? Dad? Paper elves? It really doesn't matter. Whenever you need it, it's there. sometimes you have to scoot from the toilet bowl to the closet underneath the sink with your pants around your ankles, but toilet paper is always waiting for you when you open the door.

Of course, as you get older and you move out, you become you're own paper elf. It doesn't magically appear any more. Again, I'm not complaining, but it's just an observation. Maybe it should be a part of the curriculum in schools. I think that would better prepare students for life in the real world than algebra, but that's just my opinion. Honestly, since I've been living on my own, I haven't found myself in a situation where I needed toilet paper, but didn't have any--well, just once, but I was able to creatively handle the situation.

I'll get off this subject. I don't know why that sounded like a good place to start, but that's just what's been going on in my head. We got the Internet back in the office today, and the mood lightened almost instantaneously. It was a rough haul there for a while, since we've got three publications that are supposed to go to print in the next four days (that looks even worse when I read it), but at least things feel like they're back to normal at work, even if the next few days are going to be even rougher.

Today there were some bright spots (besides the return of the Internet). I had a really good cup of Chai tea at a coffee shop. I hardly ever go to coffee shops for philosophical reasons (I don't drink coffee), but I have a quiet obsession with Chai tea. I think it's the nutmeg. It's kinda like egg nog that you can drink year-round, and I love egg nog. I also had the gnarliest burrito ever, and I mean that in a good way. This thing was humongous and spicey and packed with meat. It had to be at least, like, seven pounds or something. The carne asada was mouthwatering. I got so stuffed halfway through the thing that I thought I was going to die, but I kept going anyway, as if each bite would bring me closer to discovering a universal truth, but all it did was make me feel like I'd just devoured an entire cow dipped in salsa. It was wonderful. Tonight, as I sat and listened to CDs and played game after game of solitare (with actual cards! not on the computer), I achieved a personal triumph when I actually won a game. It wasn't the first time, but satisfying nonetheless. I left the four stacks of each suit in neat trim piles and gloated about my victory silently to myself.

I'm becoming more and more boring by the day.

the joys of working at home

We're still with out the Internet, and I think it's starting to weigh heavily on all of us. It's like being stranded on an island (Lost rocks!) with out the cool volleyball smiley face guy to keep you company.

Today, I couldn't help it. I had to be online. All the waiting around wasn't getting me anywhere. I woke up early this morning and got to work here at home; I was happy at how much I got done. Then, I wisked off to the office and took care of a few things there and was told that the Internet was coming...soon.

It never came, and also, the phone lines aren't quite up to where they need to be yet, so I took some notes and some equipment and left around 3pm and tried to get some things done at home; and it was glorious! I got so much shit done, and I got to sit on my couch and eat and nap and shit in between. I don't think I'll ever go to the office again. I mean, why bother? What with cell phones and laptops and the Internet and all?

I felt all liberated and happy, and I think the Chinese food and the televised poker tournaments played a big part in that.

I'll have to admit that Lost was a bit of a letdown tonight, but it'd be hard to live up to the pomp and circumstance of the previous episode. It was cool, because they really dug into the story of Kate, and any and all screen time they give her is highly appreciated, and they also reunited that little kid and his dog, and as cynical as I am, I still get all melt-y over cute lil' puppies, but there was definitely a lull in the 'omigod!' momments. Next week is shaping up to be bad ass, though. I'm still trying to figure out what's up with the rebel dude who I thought was supposed to be all dangerous and mysterious, but was unable to fatally wound a dying man on his deathbed at point-blank range. Dangerous and mysterious, but a lousy shot? I don't think so.

if you truly love something, set it free, unless you are completely feeble without it

Today, the office is still in chaos, which is to be expected considering the move. The phone company has been taking their time putting in the Internet, so we're all pretty much fucked. I had no idea how much I really relied on the Net until today. There was a word I thought may have been mispelled in a story I was editing and immediately thought to check it out at Merriam-Webster Online, but quickly remembered that wasn't an option. I was stunned and felt powerless. It took me a few moments to recall that Merriam-Webster dates back pre-World Wide Web and that its dictionary has, and continues to, exist in book form. I found one such hard copy dictionary and solved the problem (the word was "styptic" and was spelled and used in the correct manner if you're keeping score).

Other than the dictionary, I noticed that the ever growing monster that is my inbox acts much like my day planner, as well as my link to the outside world. My day usually goes according to messages that arrive via e-mail. Also, since I'm always on my computer, I never have to write anything down. Any appointments or matters that need my attention eagerly await me in my inbox. Without it, I am unreachable, isolated and lost.

Needless to say, today wasn't very productive. I ended up calling people on my contact list to see if there was anything in my inbox that I needed to know about. I felt like a doting parent checking up on his child when he/she was away at camp. "Make sure he doesn't get too much sun; he'll burn to a crisp!" Everyone I spoke with was very sympathetic, which helped me realize that I'm not the only one completely dependent on the World Wide Web. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that it will be back up tomorrow.

The rest of the day was about as uneventful as work. The highlight? The two left over pork chops from last night tasted even better today than they did yesterday.

it's a good thing i'm secure in my masculinity

...but apparently, I look hot in a skirt.


You are Alice


The heroine of the Wonderland tales, you are filled
with curiosity and random inquiry.


What Alice in Wonderland Character Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

the high cost of living totally got me through high school.

I knew we were meant to be. Biggest fictional character crush ever.


Death, the second of The Endless, you are
responsible for ending all lives and taking
them to your realm, from which no one ever
returns. You are bright, positive, happy,
optimistic and enjoy everything about life, but
that does not mean your silly or stupid. You
can lay the smack down when you have to!
Everyone loves you, and they don't know why.


Which Endless are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

one more thing

I added a site meter last night, mostly for window dressing, but I've become practically obsessed with the thing. I thought that maybe I'd check it once in a while, or that just having it there would give the random people who may accidentally show up the false impression that this is a well-travelled Internet hotspot. I thought maybe I'd check it once in a while--maybe once a week. But in the 20 or so hours it's been featured on the site, I've checked it seventeen times (give or take). From the information gathered, I've discovered that I make up for most of the blog's traffic, which proves my firmly held belief that I am my biggest fan.

animal house

I drank three whole glasses of Pepsi today, which sort of violates my Soda Reduction Act, but sometimes you have to live a little. I've been doing pretty good overall, though; I've limited my soda intake to once a week, and I've more or less have been keeping up with that trend. Other than my Pepsi binge today, I usually can't even take more than two sips of the stuff. Mostly now, I'll just drink water, but since my home's Brita water pitcher followed my past roommate off to another location, I've substituted beer for soda.

Our refrigerator is quite the peculiar beast. It's hardly ever home to food, though there will always be assorted blocks of cheese, bags of taco shells and burrito-sized tortillas, but mostly, it's filled with beer and condiments. As one extraordinarily sexy and intoxicated houseguest said this past weekend, "If you want to drink a bottle of ketchup, you've come to the right place." She said so devouring a tasty looking berry pie, which now also resides in the fridge.

Currently, the fridge houses a staggering array of salad dressings, the aforementioned ketchup, cinnamon apple sauce, an every growing number of jars of jelly, three tubs and four sticks of butter and/or margerine, a few cans of salsa, chocolate syrup and four nearly full jars of mayonaise (I fully take the blame for this one. The only time I use mayo is to make tuna salad; however, my tuna eating is sporadic. For some reason, I fear the ephemeral nature of mayo freshness, and think that I have to buy a new jar every time, thinking that the last jar must have spoiled in the interim. I always get the same jar of Smart Balance Lite mayo because Safeway sells it for way cheap with my club card). Right now, there are a few pork chops that I cooked up for dinner this evening (they came out really good. I breaded them in Italian bread crumbs and added this Monterrey spice blend--red peppers and roasted garlic--to the mixture and baked them in the oven), but the remaining space in the refrigerator is filled with beer--Miller High Life, High Life Light, Bud Light, Natural Ice and Bacardi Silver O3.

I wonder if I'll ever move on from this college cliche lifestyle. I'm not even that big a fan of it; but it is affordable. Maybe when I'm rich and famous, I can buy the Top Ramen instead of the Maruchan.

I suppose I could fork over the few bucks to buy a new Brita pitcher, but between the mayo and the booze, there's hardly any room for it.

the cable guy

Today, I learned a new skill. I'm now able to put those little plastic dealy bobs on the end of CAT5 cable. It was an arduos task to be sure, but after messing up twice, I finally got it right. I was so proud of myself, I shouted with mild glee, which startled one of my coworkers.

I also set up my desk at the new place. That was also a very arduous task. It went through a few reconfigurations, but I was able to settle on a nice spot, and I even kinda sorta have a window. Of course, I'm going back tomorrow, because I'm a sucker.

All the activity has sent me into hibernation. I think I went out Monday for an hour or so, but that's been it all week. I stayed in last night, and tonight as well. This time, however, I got to watch a whole slew of episodes of Arrested Development. I never would have guessed that a show starring this guy could be so funny. I nearly choked to death as I ate my chicken and rice dinner. I was just laughing so hard, and it was really nice. I actually got home from the office to find my roommate sitting in the living room watching it. He'd just exhaled a healty cloud of reefer smoke and told me he'd been watching it all day. I got in on the story in the middle unfortunatley, but it didn't really matter. I'm probably going to go back and watch the first disc after I finish writing this.

After watching about eight episodes, both my roommates vacated the premises, and off to celebratory functions. I had no plans tonight, and I didn't really feel like making them, so instead, I stayed home and made some noise. I turned up the amplifier and played my guitar pretty loud. The solitude was nice, but it got old real fast, so I turned to the television for company. I put on 100 Greatest Hotties on VH1, which placated my obsession with beautiful people, but I got tired of the show quickly; when it ranked plastic-y bimbo Denise Richards (no offence to plastic-y bimbos) higher than Nicole Kidman, it lost all credibility.

There was really nothing worth watching on television, so I spent the remainder of my vacation from the world playing solitare, which looks a lot worse now that I read it than it felt at the time, and listening to sad songs; sad, of course, because I didn't win a single game.

secret agent man

Eavesdropping is kind of a talent of mine, as well as a hobby; I think because of that whole invisible thing I mentioned. It's really fun, though I don't usually set out to eavesdrop. I often have to fight the urge to do so. But most of the time, opportunities present themselves eagerly. People will talk about anything around me and that's fine. I love to hear it. I don't know if it's because I'm pretty easygoing, or that I make it look like I'm a good listener, or perhaps that I have little to no personality. Honestly, I really don't care.

Today was pretty eventful. The move was on and we were off to another office. The new place is amazing, and I'm actually looking forward to work on Monday (I'm going in tomorrow, too, to set shit up). I thought it was going to be supreme fuss. There was just so much shit to move--computers, condiments, CDs. It was insane, but even though we worked on our many projects all week and only really packed one day, everything went super smooth and, actually, it was almost enjoyable. I did a lot more sitting around than I thought I would. There wasn't even any screaming, yelling, stress or over exertion. I spied in on some office gossip--I try not to chime in too much, but it's fun to listen to. I make my non-comment comments.

The only semi-lame part was when we were told that we could go, and those who gathered in the office talked with wide eyes about what they'd do with their Friday off. I was going to get a pint at the local watering hole, rent a movie, and then walk home and take a nap. I thought it was an excellent plan; but we got the call that there was still stuff we could do, and the nap was dashed. I did, however, have some beer and rent a movie anyway.

I think I've been drinking all day--one here, one there, but never a lot at once. My constitution isn't what it used to be.

I had dinner afterwards with a co-worker and her boyfriend and stuffed myself silly. I even got to eat for free. During dinner, I caught Ichiro score his record breaking 258th hit of the season (this Seattle Times article is great by the way), which was a bit of a thrill; I'm a big baseball fan, and Ichiro plays the game they way I like to see it played--infield singles, great defense, great speed and he doesn't swing for the fences everytime up. The old record (257) held up for 84 years and was set by George Sisler, a member of the Hall of Fame. Ichiro later scored another infield single later in the game to bring his total up to 259 with two games to play. Not to take anything away from Ichiro's great accomplishment, but Sisler did set his mark back when seasons ran eight fewer games than they do today.

Just before I had to over hear two dudes grill this girl on how to pick up women. It was kind of an annoying conversation to have to be privy to. I was chilling with my roommate watching season one of Arrested Development, sitting in my shitty sweatpants, drinking Bud Light, laughing myself silly and basking in the splendor that is Portia de Rossi when my other roommate bursted in with a bunch of drunk theater people. I was all whatever about it. I really didn't mind, but it meant I had to put on pants because we had guests, and because we needed more beer. Really, I needed the beer to be nice.

After everyone tried to take center stage (not exactly everyone) during a drinking game called California Kings (everyone plays it different, so I'm told, but though each card sometimes stands for a different thing, the basic premise is the same), they all tried to outsass and out flirt one another, which I have found is the mating ritual of the typical theater person. After a brief period of that, a round of obligatory good bye hugs ensued, followed by another brief period of mating rituals, followed by the 'deep conversation' that I had mentioned earlier in this entry. Though it could be argued that the 'deep conversation' is a slightly creepier offshoot of the mating ritual--a device that, admittedly, I had employed in my younger angst-y days--this particular incident seemed to be more for conversing purposes as opposed to a precursor to copulation. Flirtatious undertones did exist, however.

I don't know much about women (except, perhaps, that they usually smell nice), but I can say with some level of certainty that one way not to pick up women is to ask them how to pick up women. I may be wrong.