home for the holidays

Being home for the holidays rocks. The only thing that sucks is trying not to eat too much. My favorite Christmas gift was a portable DVD player, which pretty much ensures that I'll never ever read again.

Last night, I went to see King Kong, and it was pretty fucking awesome. I really think that Naomi Watts deserves a look for an Oscar nod. If not her, then definitely the cgi Kong ape creature. Me and my sister left the theater with nary a dry eye between us. It was really emo. I have a lot of thoughts about the film, but I'd rather not write them now, because I'm lazy, and I just want to finish this Corona and hang out with my dog (he's sleeping on the chair). Next time, though. In the theater with us was an old friend who I haven't seen in ages and John Franco, former closer for the New York Mets, and one of the greatest left-handed relievers of all time. He's a Staten Island resident, too. We didn't say hi to him considering he was there with his kid to enjoy the film, but me and my sister were really stoked and are telling everyone about it. Everyone.

The night before, I boozed it up hard in the city for the Annual, a yearly thing that my oldest friend and I do. We see each other about once a year. When we do, we go to the city, take a picture at the Rockerfeller tree and then drink a lot of booze. We didn't get home until after 7am. The best thing about New York City is that the Irish pubs, the good ones anyway, serve Guinness in the imperial pints, which are bigger, and I swear the drafts have higher alcohol content too, because we were sauced. At least this year, we remember getting home. The last place we went was this place called McCormack's Public House, and the bartender was way Irish. He told us, "you can get a good pint here, lads." And he wasn't kidding. He also directed us to a deli next door that was open 24 hours. At 3am, I went inside and had a sandwich made fresh right in front of me. I really miss New York sometimes. Oh, and I bumped into comedian Dave Attel at the Playwright pub. People say I look a lot like him. One time, some dude at the bar was convinced I was him, and I told him I wasn't, but that I was his brother. He totally bought it. He was totally drunk.

paralysis

Christmas shopping this evening was rather overwhelming, mostly because I was gunshy about my finances. I think I'm going to be alright though. I'm going to regroup and try again tomorrow. Me and my roommate H. went to Mervyn's because they were having some ridiculous sale. I hate buying clothes for people, because everyone's rather particular about what they wear, and I'm always worried I'll get the wrong size, so I ended up buying myself jeans--a nice pair of Levis--and a couple pairs of tacky Christmas boxers for my friend D. to go along with the tacky Christmas tie my sister bought him. It's got blinking lights and musical sounds and everything. That's dope. Almost as dope as this Nine Black Alps album I'm listening to over these crappy laptop speakers. Everything Is...in stores February 28th...here in the States.

...Almost as dope as this Anchor Christmas Ale. Seriously, you've got until mid-January to find this stuff. It's bringing a tear to my eye.

I know that it's way doper than fucking Lost being a rerun AGAIN. Two episodes tonight, both reruns. I'm missing my little Lost parties--Guinness, pizza and good times.

My roommate H. bought me a Guinness hoodie for Christmas. I was going to buy it for myself but she snatched it from me, after we both agreed to do Christmas in January. I was a little irked, but not really. It's a damn nice hoodie. It's chocolate brown and has a really nice Guinness graphic on it.

We took a break from shopping to go to one of H.'s friends house for cocktails and ended up staying a lot longer than planned. Her friend brought out a tray of prosciutto and goat cheese and a bowl of warm Italian bread. They smoked pot, and he played reggae music on the stereo and a six hour VHS cassette of sattelite images of the Earth in orbit on the television screen. It was strangely engrossing. After that, we got Europe travel tips from Rick Steves, who may be the dorkiest man alive with the best job in the fucking world.

This entry's really pointless. I can't focus on anything right now. I just want to enjoy the company of the people I enjoy being in the company of, and I'm happy that there's a good number of people I like to be with. I may not post again until after Christmas, and I know there's not a lot of you, but for anyone who does read this, happy holidays.

I told you this Anchor Christmas Ale is good shit.

suspension of disbelief

Yesterday I cashed in my gift certificate at my favorite restaurant in town. I had wine, dinner an appetizer and dessert. All of it was good, though one or two pieces of calamari was a bit too chewy. Nothing major, though. It's been a good week: the Giants beat the Kansas City Chiefs in a really important game (an exciting one too), Anchor Christmas Ale turned out to be the bomb this year (I have two more in the fridge that I can't wait to crack open), my sister's going to be performing in a play in the big city, I'm going home at the end of the week and I got to touch a pregnant belly for the first time (super spooky). I'm sure this is all just leading up to something bad--because I'm Eeyore--but I'll ride it out anyway. I'm happy to be distracted by the distractions. Recently, I've gotten to watch a few pretty good movies. The first one being Ab-normal Beauty by the Pang Brothers, who do slick as fuck horror movies out of China via Thailand.

The Pang Brothers' movies are always at least something to look at, even if the stories are a bit on the janky side. The first time I saw their work was The Eye, which even though it was kind of a Sixth Sense copy, was still really good (and scary). Ab-Normal Beauty wasn't the typical Asian horror ghost story, but a kinda Se7en-like movie about people with weird obsessions. It was breathtaking to watch. Some of the shots made me gasp. And the story was pretty good, too, mostly because actress Race Wong did a pretty damn good job carrying the plot. I guess she's part of some two-woman pop group in China or something. It seems like every actor in Asia also has a hit record. But I think it's cool that pop stars in the Far East do movies like this--something really raw and pretty disturbing--instead of fluff like Crossroads. I dunno. I had some problems with how the story progressed, but I thought it was a really good movie overall. It's definitely worth checking out. I think it gets released in the States at the end of the month.

On Sunday, I watched Romasanta with Julian Sands (The Warlock!) and Elsa Pataky (seriously), which was about a serial killer who'd hack up bodies so it looked like a wolf attack and use their fat to make soap out of. Pretty gnarly. I think it's based on a true story; he was the first serial killer caught in Europe. I liked the movie, even if it was kinda basic, but it made me think about how society has progressed over the last hundred years or so. I wasn't thrust into some serious pondering, but there was some thought there. There was one scene where the detective is trying to get some information on Romasanta from a merchant who bought soap from him, but the merchant isn't very forthcoming at first, so the detective says "Lock him up," which causes the merchant to change his tune. Justice was swift back then. The movie was set in the 19th century, and there were other scenes of people walking around or getting from point A to point B via horse-drawn carriage, and I just couldn't imagine what that must have been like. Going on a journey was a real commitment. Also, there was a scene in the courtroom where the townsfolk were crying for the blood of Romasanta, and I said "people got really worked up about shit back then." When people were pissed about something, they rioted or lynched or burned people or threw you in a sack and dumped you in the river to see if you floated or sacked the castle because the king taxed their rhubarbs or something. And everyone did it together so it was kind of social. Sick and twisted, but social. Not like today, when people kinda get irked but then don't hardly ever do anything about it. Apathy. Of course, my only knowledge of those times are from movies like Romasanta.

the season

I can't wait to get home. I want to be in my city for the holidays. I'm not in the music industry, but I work with it--actually, I kinda suck off it like a leach, but still--and their whims and cycles directly affect my regular work day. Things start slowing down around mid-November, and after we all get back from Thanksgiving, the music industry almost completely shuts down. Now, just a week before Christmas, my usual flow of e-mails has all but ceased. No one's ever at their desk. I get no phone calls. My mail consists of greatest hits compilations and holiday greetings cards. I like working. I like to be busy--though not overworked--and as it stands now, I find it difficult to find a reason why I'm at the office for as long as I am. And now that my roommate brought home a beautiful Noble fir Christmas tree, I'm pretty dead-set against working for the remainder of the year.

The holiday parties aren't helping matters. Last night we were at an epic bash thrown by the same people who hosted the July Less than Zero party. This time, we were at an empty office downtown, but other than that, there wasn't much difference. The party was populated by the same local bigwigs and us scenesters who were happy to soak up the free food and drink. A cranking soundsystem blared Blues Traveler and other such things I find distasteful, but I was happy to hear REM's "What's the Frequency Kenneth?" sneak through there. Monster's one of the best albums ever. I spent the majority of the party in the parking lot behind the building and the animated Aeon Flux was projected on one of the adjacent building's brick walls. I have to admit, that was pretty hot.

Nothing really of note happened. After the party, we ended up going to a bar, because it was one of my coworkers' birthday. We were all really sauced and, really, getting more drinks wasn't necessary. But we soldiered on. One of us went running out of the bar; two stayed behind; and I finished my pint of Guinness and staggered toward a slice of lifesaving pizza that turned out to be not so lifesaving. I passed out on the futon in the livingroom until my roommate came home, which scared me awake.

I ended up not going into work until afternoon. The office was like a triage for the hungover. I went to lunch at one and went home right after. I went back to work at 3:30pm feeling a bit more human, but not much. Even through that, I've been in really good spirits lately. I'll ride that wave while it lasts.

Tonight at dinner, I discovered the wonderful world of yellow curry, and after that, saw a great local rock show at the bar down the block from my house. One band from out of town handed out matchbooks with their name and logo on it. Nice merch. Fun night. And I even gave my liver the night off--well, more like half the night off.

yearbook

I hate to admit it, but I'm on Myspace. I think it's kinda stupid--not in general, but just for me to be on Myspace--but I don things I think are stupid all the time. I've actually been able to reconnect with one friend since I got on it, so I guess it's worth it for that alone. I can also check in and see how my friends back home and out of town are doing, and that's cool too. It's got a feature where you can list what schools you graduated from and what year you graduated. On your profile page, that year turns into a link to a directory of everyone else who uses the site that graduated that same year from the same school you did, assuming of course they made note of it on their profile. When I first joined the site, I marked down my college and class year; even though I'm all butt hurt about the financial hole the place threw me into, I was still pleased with the school overall, mostly because all my professors, save one or two, were wonderful, and one of whom was the most intelligent, thoughtful person I've ever met.

Over the weekend, though, it occured to me that I could also enter in my high school and graduating class. I don't know why I bothered; I think it was the same sick fascination with sorta spying on people that drew me to the site in the first place. I'm such a voyeur.

I didn't have many friends in high school. Every semester, I'd end up shuffling in with one group or another, quite by accident, but I honestly don't remember any of their names. I don't think I told any of them mine. At one time, I was hanging out with a whole bunch of people from Trinidad, because I used to save them a table in the lunch room. In my junior year, my sister entered the school, and so did D., who's now one of my oldest friends, but since I was an upper classmen, I never really saw them. I knew people I graduated with, and if any of them knew me, they'd probably remember me as the creepy quiet nerdy kid with the really bad hair.

Regardless, I entered my high school, and there they were, 16 of the class of '94--and I remembered all of them. It freaked me out to no end. Most of my friends didn't go to college, and none of them were in my school, and I believe the only person I knew in my graduating class was my sister, who sat next to me at the ceremony (that was a great day), so perusing my fellow college classmen wasn't much of a jaunt down memory lane. Checking out my high school graduating class--11 years later--opened up the floodgates of shame and resentment. I never want to go back to those days, but I read carefully through all of their profiles. I narrowed my eyes at the evil snobby bitch who was my classmate from fourth grade through high school. She even went to the same church as us. When God didn't strike her down upon entry, I began to lose my faith.

All of them except myself and two others still live on Staten Island and all of them except one is still unmarried--and I'd totally do the married chick. I keep checking back to see if anyone else has resurfaced; it's odd to me that these people still exist.

rock 'n' roadwarrior

One of my favorite concert spots is this place in San Francisco called Cafe Du Nord. It's very small and it's kinda classy looking, but not overtly so. I think it's in the Castro district, which I guess is a predominantly gay area of town, and that's fine. The streets are clean, the people are friendly, and you can walk around at night without worrying about anything, because the criminal element is generally homophobic.

I love cities, but I've become less of a fan of San Francisco. It's situated on what is probably the most beautiful piece of real estate in the United States. The tiny peninsula is perfect for viewing the bay, it's hilly land enclosures and the Pacific Ocean. It's also a very liberal city, which I love, but for a place so liberal, you'd figure it'd take care of its people more. It reminds me of New York City when I was growing up--dirty, angry, poor and full of homeless. I realize you can't help anyone, but the place is also kinda rude in a really snobbish way, which it really shouldn't be because they all just wish they lived in Brooklyn anyway.

I think I'm just hating because once I was at some wannabe schma bar off Van Ness and the people who worked there were real dicks and told us all to go back to New York under their breaths--instead of saying it to our faces like they would in New York. Meanwhile, everyone at our table was California born and bred; I was the only one from New York City, and I'd already been living in California for 3 or more years. Honestly, other than that one incident, I always have a great time in San Francisco. It was the first place I saw when I came out here the first time and it's a part of the reason why I moved out here in the first place. It also has the best taquerias ever, and El Farolito on Mission is one of my favorite places in the universe.

I also always get lost there. It's not really gridded out like other cities. Streets cut and slash all over the place. There's some numbered streets but they always seem to be interrupted by some named streets, and it always throws me off.

I'm just rambling. I went down to San Francisco on Sunday to see Giant Drag at Cafe Du Nord. I was supposed to see them in Orangevale, which is much closer to where I'm at (though still really far away), but that show was cancelled for some reason. I was bummed, figuring I'd missed another chance to see them, but on Friday, I got an e-mail from someone at Interscope telling me that I had tickets to the show in SF, and she was working on getting the photo. I asked around, but no one could go, or no one wanted to. We'd all just gotten through a rough stretch at work and everyone was really beat. Plus, who wants to do six hours worth of driving on a Sunday?

I tried my best to get a photographer in the city to shoot the show, but no dice, and by 4:30pm on Sunday, I thought that it'd be pretty pointless to go down. I mulled it over for a while--I mull everything over for a while--and I had such an itch to go see them, I couldn't sit still. Their album was just so good. So, at literally the last minute, I left--at 5pm. I picked up a camera from one of my bosses and just went, and it felt good. I used to do that kind of shit all the time in New York--just go somewhere for a few hours and come back.

I made great time to the city and I didn't even get lost this time. Even though I really didn't take directions on how to get there. I showed up with 10 minutes to spare before Giant Drag came on; they were playing second, opening for a band called The Like.

Giant Drag was so good. It's a really cozy performance area, and I was standing right up front to take pictures. They all came out sucky, as evident in these cell phone pictures, but I really didn't care. They wore cheesy drugstore antler hats they bought at Walgreens. Micah played drums and synthesizer at the same time, and Annie belted her heart out, played sweet grungy riffs and babbled vulgar stories about semen drinking contests in between songs. I just wanted them to keep playing, but I think they only did about half an hour. It was still worth the long, lonely drive (and the miles worth of fog I had to negotiate once I got into the valley).

I stuck around for The Like, and they were good too--a lot more polished, but a lot less gutsy. I ended up talking to Annie at the merch table after the show. I said they were really good, and I really liked the album like a big dumb fanboy (I am), and she gave me a sticker, even though I didn't buy anything. I thought that talking to these kinda people all the time would stop me from getting starstruck, but I still do every time, for the ones I really like.

tic-tac-global thermonuclear war

The '80s were obsessed with nuclear warfare. I think we were pretty much all convinced that it was going to happen. Even the dumbest song of all time "Everybody Have Fun Tonight" by Wang Chung dedicated a whole bridge to the fact that we were "on the edge of oblivion." And I guess we were. I guess everyone believed that some crazy power monger was going to push a button and we're all going to be gone in the blink of an eye, so we'd may as well "Wang Chung"--whatever that means.

Of course, no one pushed the button. We're all still here, and I think we're all a little bit bummed about it. No boom. All that fear and fuss and money spent for no reason. Kind of sounds familiar. I watched War Games today for the first time in what has to be over a decade. It looks super janky now, but I remember the first time I saw it, I was like, damn. This could totally happen. Watching it now, I picked up on a marijuana reference early on in the film that completely escaped me back then. One of my favorite things about watching '80s movies now that I'm older and...older...is finding all the pot references.

Other than that, though. I'm not sure if War Games stands the harsh test of time. Obviously, all the equipment is way outdated, and that's fine, but I'm not sure if the film's writers had any grasp of the capabilities of computers. I mean, I don't either, and I guess back when the movie came out no one really did, so just about anything was plausible, but now that the human race and the PC have come a long way together, cracking NORAD with an eight baud modem makes it difficult to suspend disbelief. I mean, was it really like that? Before Windows, could you just type something into a prompt and the machine would basically do whatever you asked? If so, I think the technology has taken a step back. I used to have a Commodore 128k and I remember typing in the "Load "*", 8,1" code to get a crappy game to load up from a floppy disc, but that's about it.

I didn't realize how blatantly message-heavy War Games is. It basically boils down to the only way to win a nuclear war is not to enter into one, which seems like pretty sound advice, but they went ahead and drove that point home about 800 times toward the end. My favorite character is the crazy programmer guy who created the war computer, Stephen Falken. He talks about the dinosaurs a lot, and how the bees will take over after we're gone, and how extinction is inevitable. He seemed comforted by that. He must have remembered to Wang Chung. Other things I picked up on, that I hadn't before, was that Ally Sheedy was kind of a babe back then and--this might be hard to explain--but when Matthew Broderick first breaks into the government system (unbeknownst to him of course), he asks Ally Sheedy, hoping to impress her, if she'd like to hear the computer talk. She does, of course, and he switches on some speaker box thing that creates a garbled digital voice that "interprets signals from the computer and turns them into sound." Great. But through out the movie after that point, every time the confront the maniacal program Joshua, it speaks in that voice, even when they're not at Matthew Broderick's computer. It made me wonder: Is this speaker box standard government issue, or is Matthew Broderick just hearing this voice in his head, because he feels guilty about causing this extinction-threatening scenario?

It's been a long, boring day.

downer

Now that the magazine's gone (GONE! DAMN IT!), the last two days, I've gone about reclaiming my life. I took the whole day off yesterday, and it was just about the best thing ever. I sat on the couch in the company of my foster dog and watched shitty shows on MTV like Next and Making the Band 3, the latter had way too many golden moments for me to mention. All I know is, I'm making a point of seeing the finale tomorrow night, because, as Pahdiddy-widdy said in the commercials, "Y'all wanna see who's in the band?! I wanna see who's in the muthafuckin band!!1@!!@" I played a few hours worth of video games, and then went to Red Lobster with my roommate and had the "broiled seafood feast." The cool thing about Red Lobster is that every meal is dubbed a "feast." And "feast" is a fun word to say. We returned home after stopping at the liquor store where I purchased a bottle of Bacardi and a two-liter of Royal Crown cola for mixing purposes. We settled in and I introduced her to the wonders of On-Demand cable from Comcast. Since we have all the movie channels, we have a wide selection of free movies to choose from. We watched The Life Aquatic, which neither of us had seen, and though I heard a lot of people didn't like it, I really enjoyed it, especially the soundtrack, and I think Cate Blanchett might be the best actress working in Hollywood right now.

Today, I didn't go in till noon. I took lunch at 2pm, got back at 3, then diddled around on Myspace for a couple hours and went home at 5. I put all my clothes away and tidied up my room. It turns out that I do have a carpet. I was shocked and amazed. I still need to dust and vacuum, but I didn't want to overdo anything. I poured myself a rum and coke and relaxed in my clutter-free room. The plan was to watch the three episodes of Lost I had on tape, leading into tonight's new episode, but shit didn't go down like it was supposed to.

First of all, Lost wasn't new tonight. I was really pissed at first, but it gave me time to go out to dinner and watch my taped episodes at a leisurely pace. The first taped episode (to avoid spoilers or anything like that, I'll just call it the Michelle Rodriguez episode), which originally aired while I was in Seattle, was pretty damn dope, though the big "fucking wheelchair" moment happened in the middle, and it kinda went flat from there. Still, a very good episode. The second I thought I had on tape turned out to be an hour of Fit TV. I'm not at all a fitness person, but I watch Fit TV sometimes at night, because, for whatever reason, watching people work out puts my mind at ease and allows me to sleep. It's odd, because when I had a gym membership, and actually went, working out only made me more aware of how out of shape I was and how I was probably gonna die soon. Not exactly relaxing. I guess when I rushed home to tape the pre-Thanksgiving episode, I forgot to change the channel. I was bummed.

Luckily, last week's episode, the Kate episode, which originally aired while I was slaving away in the editorial gulag, was really fucking good. I like watching Kate get all emo, because she's cuddly in that "life is totally overwhelming me sort of way." I think she's still the person I'd most like to have save me from drowning. I've put a lot of thought into it. Is that weird? Anyway, the Kate episode was super dope, and I'd like to go into why it was so dope, but I don't want to ruin anything for anyone. The only thing that bothered me was that the scenes for the next episodes started off with the vague "coming next on Lost" anouncement, which means it's anyone's guess as to when the next new episode will be. I don't know why they have to dick us around like this. Just put on the damn episodes, because I really want to know what's going to happen next. And I totally get freaked out everytime they watch that damn instructional movie.

christmas wishlist part three

Money. I wouldn't need much. Just $57, 376.53 so I can pay off my student loans. In case you are from a country outside the United States, here is a list of currency exchanges so you could see how much that would be in whatever denomination you may use. Thank you for your time, and don't go to college, because it's like a pyramid scheme, and they don't teach you anything. Amen.

48,774.78 Euros

32,906.90 British Pounds

59,158,253.75 South Korean Wan

66,560.44 Canadian Dollars

76,794.45 Australian Dollars

29,448,504.02 Chilean Pesos

6,905,475.72 Japanese Yen

the fellowship disbands

It's 10 to 2am, and I've played my part in this drama--this magazine production. I'm sticking around, though. It's out of my hands and I'm tearing myself apart that something's wrong, that there's a mistake I didn't catch, that my career is over. Really, I shouldn't be too pissed off about the latter, but still. It's definitely this weird love hate thing. There's a couple other people here at the office, but still I feel detached. I have a paper cup of red wine. I have Annie Hardy's gutsy vocals in my headphones. I have a paycheck I haven't deposited. And I'm taking the day off tomorrow.

in other news

I was finally able to do laundry so I no longer have to wear underpants of questionable cleanliness, like I have been for an undisclosed amount of days. I am happy to be, once again, well stocked in boxers that smell like fabric softner and don't cling to my nether regions.

I also returned home to find that my roommate returned home from a good ol' drunken hootenanny with his friends and, after he watched his buds kegstand beer from the month-old keg in my backyard, ran into the bathroom--our bathroom--and hurled. There is now something that resembles a salad plastered on my bathroom wall. Right next to the sink.

That is all.

one way ticket

I just bought my ticket home on JetBlue for Christmas Eve. It's the red-eye, so I'll get in at 8am on the 24th. I haven't bought the ticket back yet, because, honestly, I'm not sure when I want to come back. I know I will, but...well, I prefer to leave that open-ended right now.

I got the ticket real cheap, which is good, and I haven't been spending that much money either, which is better. Hopefully I'll have some money for some Christmas gifts. I can't believe it's December already...Ugh. I say that every year.

We're almost done with the magazine. Just one and a half more days. Then I'll start worrying about everything else.

why i'm the way i am

I've really been feeling the spirit lately. For some reason, I'm really looking forward to this Christmas--maybe because I can't wait for this year to be over.

One Christmas, I was determined to stay up all night until Santa Claus came. I totally believed that he existed, but I guess I wanted to meet him and holla at my boy. Santa hooked me up with plenty of cool shit in the past, and I wanted to show him my appreciation.

Usually, on Christmas Eve, we were at my relative's house in New Jersey. Christmas Eve was for my father's side of the family. I don't remember why, but we were hosting Christmas Eve at our house that year. I'm not sure how old I was, but I couldn't have been older than the third grade, because we were still in the old duplex in the shitty suburban part of Staten Island (which I suppose is a label you could give to 89% of the borough).

Gifts were opened from all the relatives, and all the dinner and cake had given way to coffee. Most everyone had gone, my sister was put to bed, and I was still awake, anxiously waiting to meet Mr. Claus. I could be mixing up Christmases, but I think it was unseasonably hot that year, like in the 70s or something, which is so not the norm for New York in late December.

The adults were trying to get me to bed, but I was stubborn. I wasn't like my sister, I was always a night owl anyway, and though I did go to bed at a normal time for a child my age, I usually laid awake in bed much of the night before I finally drifted off. Not much has changed in that respect. Sometime after midnight, the adults, especially my parents, started to get antsy, and encouraged me to go to sleep. They told me things like, "Santa won't come if you're awake," but I figured that was total horseshit. I mean, he just had to show up eventually, and why would someone who was so down with kids not want to meet one? I wasn't a perfect angel, but I knew I wasn't on the Naughty list.

At about 2am, I still held fast to my decree that I would not go to bed until Santa showed up. I was deliriously tired, and my parents became more adamant that Santa would not show up until I went to sleep. I think they gave me some scientific reason why that was so, but I don't remember. As a side note, that old duplex had a bathroom connected to my parent's bedroom, the master bedroom. Every year around Christmas time, that bathroom would go out of order. We never questioned it, basically because we never noticed, I guess. That's where my parents kept the gifts.

I was yawning and getting cranky from lack of sleep and my mom and dad just wanted me to go to bed so they could put out the gifts and go to sleep themselves. I think I was half unconscious when I was brought into my room. I remember laying in bed pleading with my mom to let me stay awake so I could see Santa and she kept with the whole "you won't be able to see him and he won't come unless you sleep" line. But I pleaded...and pleaded...and pleaded...and....

"James. There's no Santa Claus," my mom said. "Go to sleep."

And I did. To this day she laughingly denies that ever happened. But I know it did. One day I'll get her to fess up.

VICTORY!!!

Sure. It's sad and shallow, but I will reap my .1 victory over I'm-not-mentioning-names without guilt.

christmas wishlist part two

Clearly, this is the coolest thing ever.

christmas wishlist part one

Audrey Kawasaki is my new dream woman. Go check out her art because it's pretty. And then go buy me that print.

the plus one

For some reason, I was reminded of something that happened to me while I was down in San Diego while I was driving back home from my brief Thanksgiving break.

First off, I haven't seen the last three weeks of Lost. I decided to tape tonight's instead of watching it so I can see it all at once, and I plan on doing that early next week, once all this magazine business is once again put to rest. I'm going through serious withdrawals, though. I feel the need to go on excursions.

Anyway, I was in San Diego interviewing Coheed and Cambria, this band that kinda sounds like Rush. I got to talk to the lead singer, and he seemed like a pretty swell guy. I also had two tickets to the show, and since I didn't have anything better to do, I decided to stick around and watch them, even though I'd seen them the night before at this really small bar (and they rocked the place).

That night's show, at Soma, was sold out, but I had an extra ticket, because I had a plus one. I have plus ones a lot. I always ask publicists for plus ones, mostly out of habit, but oddly enough, it's like pulling teeth to get someone to go to a free show. I actually tried to give my extra ticket to this really cute waitress at this Irish pub I had lunch at, but that didn't go so well. While in San Diego, I'd gotten in the habit of asking locals for directions, or where I should go to get something to eat. The Irish pub was one such suggestion. I asked the cute waitress how to get to Soma. She wasn't sure, but she soon returned with detailed instructions and then asked me who I was going to see. When I told her, she said that she was jealous because she really wanted to go to that show. Without thinking about it, I let her know that I had an extra ticket, which I probably shouldn't have done. I think it made her uncomfortable, and I felt like a big jerk. But when she handed me my check, she wrote "Have fun at the show tonight!" on it, and that was pretty cool.

So I was at Soma with an extra ticket. After the long line had filed in, I strolled up to the will call to get my tickets and then turned away from the window and said "Does anyone need a ticket?" I was soon mobbed, but the first person who got to me--I was the oldest person at this concert mind you--was this beautiful girl (it seemed like everyone in that city was beautiful) in a tube top. She was probably 17 or something, but, to put it tactfully, she was very well endowed, and she wasn't shy about it.

"How much?!" she asked quickly. She was with another girl and a guy.

No sooner did she ask than two painfully geeky and awkward young guys came over.

"You have a ticket?!" One of them had one already, but the other kid, this lanky high school kid in an Iron Maiden T-shirt did not. Coheed and Cambria is really kinda geeky, the lead singer does a comic book and shit, and I could see how stoked they both were to get in the show, but the girl asked me first, so I told them, "sorry, but if she doesn't want it, it's yours."

I turned back to the girl and I told her $10. The tickets were $15, I think, but I'd gotten them for free, so I really didn't care. It was an all-ages show, obviously, and in California that means no booze, but they had plenty of candy for sale, and I had a hankering for Twix.

"Do you want it?" I asked her.

She paused and I could tell that she did, but she had to call someone first. I assume, her boyfriend who couldn't be there. She was like, "you only have one?" I said, yeah.

While she was on the phone, the two geeky kids said they'd give me $100 for the ticket, but when I called them on it, they said they couldn't. I have to admit, I was kinda hoping the girl wouldn't take it, even though she really did have a great rack. There. I said it.

I was trying to act like this whole ordeal was cutting into my day, but I was really getting a kick out of it. I remember being a kid and how concerts weren't as easy for me to get into as they are now. The three kids were acting like this was the defining moment of their summer, and I was kinda the gatekeeper to the magical land of rock. Or something like that.

Finally, the girl got off the phone and walked back toward me. The conversation didn't seem to go well. I said, "C'mon, yes or no?" She stomped her foot once, huffed, and then said, "Nevermind, let them take it." I hope she held it over her boyfriend's head that he guilted her into not seeing the concert. Meanwhile, geek camp was stoked. Dude in the Iron Maiden shirt might have peed himself. I sold them the ticket for $10, but I know I could have jacked up the price. They would have paid it, and I saw that they had the money.

The concert was really good, again. I had a great time, and chatted up some cute indie hipster lady working at the candy counter about Bright Eyes, who'd played there a few nights before. Sometimes inane knowledge is a good thing. At one point between bands, I bumped into geek camp again, having the time of their lives--at least for that week. They were like, "hey dude! You rock!"

I know, kids, I know.

the emerald city through the eye of my emerald-ish camera phone

The Seattle trip was great I even smiled sort of...A couple of times. And when I was sober, too. that's some shit right there. That one of the left is over looking the Puget Sound and the Alaskan Highway, Highway 99, which I assume goes to Alaska eventually. You have to cut through Canada, though, but I think they're working on building a bridge over it so Americans won't get freaked out by all the polite people. I think that's just a rumor.

I'm writing this on my friends computer, because I'm out of town again. This time for the holiday. And I always feel weird about using other people's things, but I haven't been writing that much lately, and I kinda obsess about stuff like that. I'll clear out the cache if I decide to look up any pornography. That's only common decency, right?

So, yeah, there was a story too. Seattle was great and I got to meet a lot of cool people from all over the place. The last night we were in town, Saturday night, we were left to our own devices. My interviews were done. Photos were taken. The only thing left to do was enjoy the city, more than we already had been.

A couple friends of mine came into town, the married couple whose wedding gave me the name "Charles," and my photographer knew someone who lived in Seattle and another friend was passing through town that same weekend. We all got together on Saturday night and rolled out with a decent-sized crew.

The Wife stayed back at the hotel to take a nap, so the rest of us had a couple drinks at the hotel bar and then hit one of those peep show strip club places before grabbing food and more beer at the Brooklyn. By the time we got back to the hotel, where we were planning on doing some drinking before going out, Frances Farmer's Revenge hit my intestines with a fierceness, so while everyone was getting drunk in the room next door, I was sitting in my bathroom, groaning on the bowl.

My stomach settled just when everyone started getting antsy to leave. We shambled down through the lobby and grabbed a cab on the corner. I'm not sure where this guy was from, but he was nice enough to take us all in one cab. We headed over to Charlie's on Capitol Hill, which was a bar/pub/restaurant type place that I'd visited the first time I'd visited Seattle with the married couple. It's a nice place, and it had pretty decent food. I figured we'd just start there and go somewhere else, but things deteriorated pretty fast. My photographer and his friend were wasted, the friend moreso than the photographer. The friend was hitting on the waitress even though he could barely sit up, not that I can blame him (hot), and she did her best to take it with good humor.

A table of old rocker looking dudes started to take notice of our drunken debauchery and I'm not sure when it happened, but my photographer shouted, "hey, everybody. It's the Sex Pistols!" to the shock and confusion of many, myself included. I'm not much for making a scene, or talking to anyone, really, but the old dudes at the other table just laughed it off and after my friend bought them a round (I guess to diffuse any ill will, if there was any, and I don't think there was), our two tables merged into one loud, sloppy mess.

Turns out they weren't the Sex Pistols, but one of the dudes was the drummer from LA Guns, some shlocky cock rock band back in the day whose members actually made up the "Guns" in Guns N' Roses. I think he was the drummer. Anyway, It was really surreal. One of the dudes was a comedian named Edsel and he did this really cool magic trick with a cigarette and then showed us how he did it. In actuality, it may not have been that cool, but the pretty waitress kept asking me if I'd like another rum and coke, and who was I to say no to such a nice, pretty lady? With all the talking and yelling and introducing and basically helping to carry the photographer's friend out of the back of the bar, I started to lose track of how many I'd had. People kept proclaiming they were buying rounds, I think, and when I spied over at the computer cash register, I thought I saw that our tab was well over $100 bucks, which wasn't bad considering how many of us there were and that someone had ordered food.

Another one of the old rock dudes called himself "Southside Johnny." I said that I'd heard the name before, but at the time I couldn't place it. After I'd gotten back home, I did a search for him and remembered...the dude from the Asbury Jukes. The dude who'd played with Springsteen; but the pictures I saw didn't look like the dude we met at the bar. I'm not denying that he was in a Southside Johnny, but he definitely wasn't the one I'd said I'd heard of. I got to thinking that there must be a lot of Southside Johnny's in the US, considering that every town, no matter how small it is, does, in fact, have a south side. And John is a very common name.

We never did go anywhere else. My friend told them that I work for a music magazine and kept talking us up, which was really nice of him, but it kinda caused the old rock dudes to suck up to me a bit. That kinda bummed me out for whatever reason. That's never really happened to me before, and after a couple days of having to talk up the magazine, I was just looking to forget about it and relax. I did end up giving out my card, though, because I'm a fucking whore. Southside actually called me on Monday and said he had a great time hanging out with us, and I told him the same.

I like instances like that, when you meet people you're probably never going to see again. It was kinda like my experience on the train. All your stories are new and fresh, you laugh and drink it up, then say goodnight and that's that. I'm sure there's some kind of insight there, but whatever. Here's some more pictures, and they're really really blurry.

• Disco night with bad ass DJ.
• More blurry disco madness.
• DJ spins and sings a great set of soul music.
• Old dude rocking anti-establishment, counter culture folk songs at Pike's Market. He had a great voice and good lyrics. I couldn't afford to by his CD, because the man really does got us down. I listened to his song and shook his hand instead. I guess that gives me another reason to go back.
  

frances farmer will have her revenge on my bowels

Seattle is an amazing city. It reminds me a lot of New York, but manages to stay totally different too. It helps if you go there and you're put up in a really nice hotel, though.

The trip went really well. I had a great time. I don't feel like going into too much detail, but I'm going to put up shitty pictures that I took with my cell phone camera, and they're all brilliant works of art, but it went a little something like this.

1. It only costs us $2.00 to get downtown from Seattle/Tacoma airport taking the regular city bus. The trip took all of 15 minutes--well maybe a bit longer. This was a good thing, because Seattle is pretty expensive. Not San Diego expensive, but I don't think anywhere is. But then again, everything's expensive when you don't have any money
2. Hung out at the Sub Pop office. They had a really cool dog, who the publicist I work with said "is a lot like Eeyore." We shared a deep, spiritual bond.
3. Had a loose, fun, but still awkward interview with Mark Arm and even got to meet Dan Peters, who in addition to rocking with Mudhoney, also played drums in Nirvana for a bit and was featured in the recording of "Sliver," which is one of my favorite songs. He has a kid now and that rocks too.
4. Met people from all over the world, and even "networked" with out feeling like a slimebag about it.
5. Received two free lunches and two free dinners, which was good because of the reason stated above.
6. Everything in town was in walking distance from our hotel. Well, everything we needed to go to. The weather was nice and cold, but it never rained. I don't think it got out of the 50s. I walked all over town and didn't get lost once.
7. Went to a bad ass independent book store on Capitol Hill that sold independent comics pretty exclusively. I picked up the latest issue of Optic Nerve, a book called Hey, Wait... and a couple of books by local artists.
8. Thursday night was one of the most fun nights I can remember having. Some old school New York dance music DJ was spinning as well as some kids from the event we were covering. Heard a lot of good dance and soul music and the old school DJ from New York rocked such a killer set that everyone in the room was moving. You couldn't not move. Even I was moving and I can't abide by such things.
9. Happened upon this oyster bar called The Brooklyn. I don't like oysters, but the place had killer fried calimari that came with a dipping sauce that was a secret recipe. It was real good. We were dipping bread, french fries and whatever else we could into it. It also had killer strong microbrew like evil Old Rasputin on tap. It was also really cheap.
10. I had a real Washington apple for breakfast every morning. They were free at the hotel's front desk. And the bed in the room was so nice that coming home to my bargain basement twin sort of depressing. There was also a really nice bathrobe, that I really should have stolen.

The only thing that sucked was, for whatever reason, as soon as I got off the plane pretty much, I couldn't hold down any food. I spent a good portion of each day on the toilet bowl contributing to the Seattle septic system. I think me and the water up there didn't get along. Luckily, it wasn't too debilitating. I'm still getting readjusted to being back, but tomorrow I'll post some pictures and partying the last night with some old school rock dudes. And anything else I can think of.

over 12,000 served

I should be asleep, but that's okay. I'm getting pretty tired. I'm supposed to leave here around 9am tomorrow, and it's pissing me off to no end that it'll take us longer to drive to the airport than it will to fly to Seattle, but that's the way things go when you live in cow town.

The Mudhoney interview got chopped and screwed. It's still going to happen but we're not going to be able to get the full band together for pictures. I'll be talking to Mark at his job, and I'm pretty excited. I spent all night tonight reading interviews spanning back years. It was funny to read one from 1990 and one from 2004 back to back. All those kids were such immature punks back then. Too cynical and apathetic for their age, maybe. I guess we all were like that. I don't think any of us thought we'd get to be this old.

I think R's right about the 29 thing. It seems like every day I get more depressed, and I don't have anything to be depressed about, except the inert mass of my body type and the impending, crippling doom I feel everytime I go to pay bills. I'm thinking the change of scenery for a few days will do me good, even though anything remotely work-related stresses me out to no end. I pulled a long day today to ensure things got done. I did an interview with a small-time director I really like, transcribed it and finished the feature all in one day. I should have felt more accomplished than I did. Afterwards, I realized that I didn't have a recorder that I could take for my interview tomorrow, and that caused a mini breakdown. It's like I've got PMS.

I have no idea what I'm going to talk to Mark about. I definitely don't want to say, "so you guys are still around and all the other bands you used to play with aren't. What's that like?" because that was in every recent interview I read. I suppose because it's a good question. And the few people who remember they were that band Nirvana liked were probably wondering the same thing.

I went out to Wal-Mart and bought the snazziest (really the cheapest) digital voice recorder I could find. They didn't have any of the regular tape ones. They had one of the small cassette ones, but it was just as much as the digital gizmo and they didn't have any of the cassettes it required. The digital's nice--small and light--and when I tested it out, the sound quality was really good. Afterwards, I went to In-N-Out, because it's right across the street.

So, I guess that's it until Sunday. With any luck, the gloomy cloudiness of Seattle will help me realize how good I have it hear in nauseatingly sunny California.

hypocrite

Despite my whining to the contrary, I voted on Tuesday like a good American (or bad American, depending on your interpretation). I'm kinda glad I did, too, because there was some really lame anti-abortion proposition on the ballot and it almost passed. Good thing almost doesn't count. The only thing I'm pretty vehement about when it comes to politics is the whole pro-choice thing. In a past life, I was probably burning bras.

I voted. Yay. I walked 14 blocks to get there, and then decided to walk halfway back across town to go to my favorite Chinese place to grab a fat bowl of chicken wonton soup. The place was packed, which made me happy, and if the tranquil movie score music and killer food for low, low prices weren't enough, they now employ a bevy of beautiful young Asian women who barely speak English, replacing the grouchy white dude who used to have the dinner shift. Thusly, the place will heretofore be known as Heaven on Earth, even though the men's room is one of the most frightening and aromatic bathrooms in town.

The rest of the week involved treating occupational stress with a rum 'n' coke a day. Three belated birthday gifts--a bootlegged copy of Sky High from my sister and Sonic Youth's Murray Street on vinyl and a gift certificate to the best Italian restaurant in town from my coworkers--were great pickmeups.

Tonight, I saw that MirrorMask was playing at the local arthouse movie theater, so I busted out of work early to go see it. It was good. The story was kinda shaky at times, and it was kinda obvious that Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean were still feeling out the whole making a movie thing, but considering that they only had $4 million to make an effects-heavy film, I think they did a good job. There were enough moments to make it worth the money, and it was cool to see Dave McKean's artwork come to life. The sphinxes and the Bobs ruled.

And of course, there was Lost, which was really intense this week. It definitely came back with a bang after an aggregious three-week lay off. I mean, seriously, three fucking weeks? And the week after next, the night before the most holy day of Thanksgiving, Lost will be pre-empted again for a fucking Kenny Chesney concert. Are you serious? I mean, I guess that's a big travel day and stuff, and since I'll probably be traveling myself, I can't complain. It's just...ugh.

Speaking of travel, though, I'll have to miss Lost this coming Wednesday, because I'm going to Seattle so that I may, among other things, interview one of my favorite bands in-person. I've been listening to Mudhoney forever, but still, I have no idea what the hell I'm going to talk to them about. I'm hoping divine inspiration takes hold of me in the next couple days. But I really want this one to go well. I'm not going to half-ass it. I even started doing research for it weeks ago. I'm that stoked. Still, I'm going to miss sitting on my couch watching Lost on Wednesday night, nursing a pint of Guinness, for all the obvious reasons.


Happy Thanksgiving, Evie.

look, i really hate goodbyes, so...

I'd been putting it off for a while, but tonight I finished the last disc of Season 2 of Dead Like Me. God.

I'm kinda bummed. Season 2 was really good, but nothing really gets wrapped up. I kinda got to know those characters really well. I just hope there's a wrap-up movie or something, because I feel like I'm owed an explanation.

It never ceases to amaze me that shitty shows stay on the air forever, but good stuff usually gets canned after a couple of seasons. And it was on fucking cable, so it's not like they have to worry about advertising dollars. I pay for that shit! I pay for Shotime. I'm writing my damn congressman and getting this stupid show back.

I guess we're supposed to vote tomorrow. I think the Governator called for some ridiculous special election. Honestly, I don't even know what it's all about. I'm living proof that democracy doesn't work. It's a type of government that requires a certain amount of participation by the governed, in this case me. I think politicians nowadays are banking on people like me, to be honest. They don't want me to get involved. In fact, they don't want me to show up to the polls. They want me to sit on my ass and bitch about my favorite shows getting cancelled. They want me to watch Lost and post pictures of women I'm drooling over on my blog. That's fine, I guess, because that's really all I want to do. I don't want to participate in something I don't believe in.

I don't believe government works. Not on a mass scale, anyway. Even if the majority think one way, there's still a good number of folks who get screwed. What everyone wants isn't always what's best. I dont' even know what's best, and I'm sick of the commercials trying to convince what I should and shouldn't vote for. Or even better yet, the commercials about the commercials that tell me what to vote for.

Judge Wapner of the old court show, and I believe one of the first proto-reality shows, the People's Court told me that I should vote no on Prop. 77. There are four propositions in this "special" election. The other side has a commercial that shows clips of the Judge Wapner commerical that says--basically, honestly my brain shuts off--that the Honorable Mr. Wapner is full of horseshit and that he's just talkin' crazy talk. Then John McCain, who seems pretty nice--for a republican--comes on and says we shouldn't let politicians decide what the districts are, but we should let judges draw them up, implying that politicians are not to be trusted. I totally agree, but an interesting conundrum arises from a politician telling me not to trust politicians. Judge Wapner has never steered me wrong before.

It's like that old riddle. It used to bug the shit out of me. I think it was in the movie Labrynth, but I'm sure they didn't make it up: There's two doors, one door leads to all the life and happiness you can handle (in my case, endless strip clubs full of nubile young Asian women and free lap dances--and pizza...and y'know world peace and shit like that) and the other leads to certain painful death (assumably by watching political commercials). There's one guard stationed at each door. One guard always lies, and the other one always tells the truth. Of course, you don't know which one guards which door. You only are allowed to ask one question to one of the guards to determine which door you should choose (assuming of course you'd like to follow the door that leads to endless strip clubs and world peace and not death by political propaganda).

The answer used to boggle my mind. I thought about it long and hard, but I've never been one for being able to solve such things. I love riddles, but more so when I don't know the answer and have to wrack my brain to figure out how to solve it. I always though riddles were kinda creepy and mysterious that way, which I guess they're supposed to be.

The answer to this riddle, my favorite riddle, is pretty simple. You just go to whichever guard, it doesn't matter which, and ask him (or her) which door the other guard would tell me is the door to eternal strip clubs and world peace. You then choose the opposite door. The logic behind that is if you asked that to the guard who always lied, he'd make it seem like the other was the liar, and if you asked the truthful one, he'd tell you truthfully that the other one is trying to condemn you to the tedious chattering of attention-starved politicos. Always choose the opposite door.

I'm sure there's some kind of analogy I can draw from all that, but I'd rather not bother. I'm kinda disenchanted by the whole process. I don't see how the majority of a country could vote for obvious criminals. Putting the power of who gets to make decisions that affect millions of people who al have different wants and needs in the hands of people like this, or me for that matter, seems about as logical as divine providence. At least then you can blame it on God.

mountains of madness

I took it easy this weekend. I traded bars for movies, and that was a pleasant change of pace from the last couple weeks of debauchery. Y'know, I still had booze and stuff, and I went to the bar for a drink, but that's the be expected. Otherwise, it was really low key.

I started the movie marathon off with Iron Palm, a comedic Korean melodrama pretty par for the course with other comedic Korean melodramas, which seems to make up 80 percent of all movies that come out of South Korea. Iron Palm was good because it made me laugh sometimes and it starred Yunjin Kim from Lost, who, as luck would have it, was just as dreamy off the island as she is on.

It's about this guy who has this hot and heavy and seemingly mostly physical relationship with a woman, who quite suddenly moves to Los Angeles. Five years later, dude's still torn up about it, so he learns English and, when he finally passes the TOEFL exam, gets a visa to come to the States to find her. In so doing, he leaves everything Korean about him behind, even his name, and speaks only broken English throughout the film. He finds her (Ms. Kim, of course, and a good thing he does too 'cause she fine) and hilarity and bittersweet moments ensue. It's pure cheddar, but I was kinda in the mood for that. I like a good love story, and in the absence of a good one, I'll settle for a mediocre one. Yunjin was pretty good in it too. She was raised in my hometown hood (Staten Island, bitches) so she's fluent in the English, but her facial expressions say a lot more, I think. And y'know, she fine.

I followed up this harmless piece of starcrossed fluff with Marebito, which was directed by Takashi Shimizu, the guy who directed Ju-On and its American counterpart, The Grudge.

It wasn't a horror movie in the traditional sense. Instead, I think it was more about the feeling of horror. This cameraman guy is obsessed with fear, but hasn't felt fear himself. Instead, he films people who are afraid of stuff and pines over what they're feeling. So, I guess in Japan there are these urban legends about beings that live deep in underground passages beneath the cities, and this film kinda banked on that. Being unfamiliar with these urban legends, I guess there was a bit of a cultural barrier to cross, but there usually is with Japanese films.

So cameraman guy goes down into the depths and talks to a crazy homeless dude, then has a conversation with some other dude he filmed committing suicide, then happens on to "The Mountains of Madness" where he finds a cute lil' naked woman suspiciously chained to the rocks. He brings her home, because it's only right to bring home a cute lil' naked woman you find chained to the rocks at the Mountains of Madness, and he ends up treating her like a pet. Of course, cute lil' naked women chained to rocks at the Mountain of Madness require blood for sustenance--they'll take animal blood but human blood is prefered. From this situation, absolutely no hilarity ensues, but though it might sound ridiculous, the film was really well-made and worked the whole symbolism angle to a T. It wasn't perfect, but definitely one I'd like to watch again to see if I could pick up on more clues. But it was pretty damn disturbing. The story is that Shimizu made the film in the eight days he had between finishing up Ju-On 2 and starting work on The Grudge. It seemed really personal, like a director hashing out personal demons. Pretty trippy.

I capped off a Sunday of football (and another Giants win) with The Glass House, which I bought from the Wal-Mart clearance bin. It was pretty good--entertaining and vaguely thrilling. I wish it wasn't 3:22 am, or else I'd find something else to watch.

well. at least that's over.

I turned 29 on Tuesday. It was about as unexiting as it sounds, but I tried to spice it up with a variety of events and managed to have a very good time.

I took Sunday off from my epic bender. I didn't leave the house. I had a chicken cutlet parmeggiana hero and a tray of rigatoni and meatballs delivered to my house. I had the sandwich for lunch and half of the pasta for dinner. I moped around the house. It was beautiful.

Halloween was just about the most unproductive day of work I've ever had. And that's saying something. I went to lunch at my favorite breakfast/lunch place and had my first french dip, though. I can't believe I've never had one before. Another thing to check off the list, I guess. That night, though, I went out to the bar down the block to watch a bunch of shitty punk bands and they put on a really good show. The last band that played was a Misfits cover band, and I ended up carrying a coffin with the lead singer inside into the venue. We stood the coffin straight up, he emerged, we set the coffin down and they opened with, of course, "Halloween." It seems like a lot of hoopla for a cover band, but damn they were a good time.

They kinda suck, but the Misfits kinda suck. It's a good thing they wrote such killer songs. Songs so killer, the shittier they sound, the better they are. I sang a lot and pumped my fist and raised my pint glass and howled and, for a change, let myself get really excited.

On my birthday, my desk was covered with sheets of paper wishing me a happy birthday, and my chair was wrapped in a red ribbon. I went in late and left early so I could pick up a keg for a party. I've never really picked up a keg before. I've been to plenty of keggers, but usually, I'd just get a variety of alcohol for a party. The keg was free, though, thanks to my job, so I figured why not?

A keg is an awful lot of beer, but I guess that's a good thing because the people who came ended up drinking an awful lot. So did I. One of my friends DJ'ed, we made a huge ass dinner, and people stayed till about 3am. Given the week of debauchery everyone I know has seemed to be involved in, I was happy that people actually showed up and had a good time on a Tuesday night. For gifts, I received a bottle of Bacardi bowl of bruschetta, three loaves of garlic bread, a refridgerator full of Guinnes and an adult DVD featuring Autumn Austin. Not a bad haul.

Last night was another coworker's birthday, so it was time to go out again. I had a velvet hammer, which is kinda like a black and tan made of Guinness and champagne. The first sip was just about the gnarliest thing I've ever ingested, but it got much better after that. The rest of the night was pleasant and I got home just after midnight.

Today, I'm happy that I don't have anything to do for the rest of the week. Halloween's over. My birthday's finally over. I can just sit in the house and relax. Alias was pre-empted for the Pirates of the Caribbean, but I still haven't watched the one I taped two weeks ago. I'm watching a rerun now. I don't know how old it is. But Sloane's super evil and he's not wearing turtlenecks.

a message from our lord

I got this spam e-mail in my work's inbox today. I get about 30 like it a day. It came under the subject line "Fear God and Give Him Glory," and it should be noted that it concluded with a banner for Shaadi.com, an Internet marriage arrangement site. Which sounds like human trafficking to me, I think. Enjoy! [Italicized comments are mine.]

Dearest one in the Lord,


It is my Pleasure to write to you after considering your profile [I am kinda hot from the side]. My name is Elizabeth Bine a nationality of kuwait. I am married to Mr. Lobi Bine who worked with kuwait company in Ivory Coast for nine years before he died in the year 2003. We were married for eleven years without a child [Even Tom Cruise managed to impregnate a woman. And he's totally gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that]. he died after a brief illness that lasted for only four days. Before he death we were both born again Christians. When my late husband was alive we deposited the sum of $8.5Million (Eight Million five hundred thousand U.S. Dollars) [I heard you the first time] with a BANK here in COTE D'IVOIRE.

Presently, this money is still with the bank. Recently, my Doctor told me that I would not last due to cancer problem [That is a problem]. Having known my condition I decided to look for some one who is a man of God, a christian individual that will utilize this money the way I am going to instruct here in. I want a a person that will use this fund to churches, or phanages, Research centers and widows propagating the word of God and to ensure that the house of God is maintained [What about strip clubs and drinking myself into a coma?]. The Bible made us to understand that Blessed is the hand that giveth.

I took this decision because I dont have any child that will inherit this money and my husband's relatives are not Christians and I don't want my family hard earned money to be misused by unbelievers. I dont want a situation where this money will be used in an ungodly manner. Hence the reason for taking this bold decision. I am not afraid of death hence I know where I am going.

I know that I am going to be in the bossom of the Lord [Is it me or is that a bit presumptuous...and kinda kinky?]. Exodus 14 VS 14 says that the lord will fight my case and I shall hold my peace. I don't need any telephone communication in this regard because of my health because of the presence of my family relatives around me always. I don't want them to know about this development.

With God all things are possible [Even spam scams...]. As soon as I receive your reply I shall give you the contact of the bank where the money was deposited for you to contact them and request them to transfer the money to your account.I will also issue you a letter of authority that will empower you as the new beneficiary of this fund. I want you and the church to always pray for me because the lord is my shephard. My happiness is that I lived a life of a worthy Christian. Whoever that wants to serve the Lord must serve him in spirit and truth. Please always be prayerful all through your life [Hey, I try...]. Any delay in your reply will give me room insourcing for christian in dividual for this same purpose. Please assure me that you will act accordingly as I stated here.

Hoping to hearing from you with this email address above.

Remain blessed in the name of the Lord.

Yours in Christ,
Mrs Elizabeth Bine

the infirmary

Saturday was not the best of days. I didn't get home until a quarter to five in the morning, and though I didn't really have that much to drink, I think the week of celebrating my birthday had finally caught up with me. I'd been blissfully hangover free since the bender started on Tuesday, but whater I had on Friday night into early Saturday morning opened the floodgates of bodily misery.

I forgot to turn off my alarm again. I always do. It has three settings--three types of nature sounds, a buzzer and a radio. I never tuned the radio, so I set the buzzer and nature sounds (in this case, the "sound of the ocean," ten minutes apart. I also set my clock ten minutes ahead. I haven't turned that clock back yet, but I will right before I go to bed. At 8:30am (really 8:20am) the sound of crashing waves knocked me out of bed and into a particularly nasty hangover. Luckily, I fell right back to sleep, figuring I'd be right as rain in a couple more hours.

Sadly, this wasn't the case, and when I woke up around 10:30am, the back of my head felt like it'd been chewed off by a rusty saw. This was a familiar feeling, though I've only really had it once before. I've got a pretty iron stomach when it comes to alcohol; I've only had to throw up once. Saturday morning felt like it would be the second time. I spent a good deal of time in bed, trying to figure out whether it'd be a morning of kneeling before or sitting on top of the toilet bowl. I made it into the bathroom to expell waste products in a conventional manner and took a shower, and that eased my headache somewhat. I got a glass of water and faced my roommates. The living room looked kinda line an infirmary. H was sitting on the futon and P was sunk deep in the couch. H mentioned that we should all go to the medic--the greasy spoon breakfast nook down the block--which usually fixes me right up. I couldn't tell if my stomach was being cranky because it wanted me to add or subtract from its contents, but I had to eat something eventually. We all bundled up, because we all had the shakes, and made our way to breakfast.

We had to sit outside. Some local rag wrote about how cool the place was--more specifically, the writer wrote about how cool one of the waitresses is, word has it, he's crazy in love with her, word gets around fast here--and now it's become more popular, so it's a little bit harder to get a seat. We couldn't get in to the counter, so we grabbed a table outside. And the fucking sun was seriously fucking with me. I kept my beanie cap pulled down low. I squinted my eyes. I sipped my tall glass of water. It was becoming quickly apparent that the last thing my stomach wanted was food, but when the waitress came by to ask us what we wanted, I immediately said, "ham, scrambled eggs, hashbrowns--extra crispy."

From the inside portion of the restaurant, two of the people I'd been drinking with the night before emerged. They hadn't been to sleep. They also hadn't stopped drinking, and were raging drunk and still wearing the same wine-stained clothes. I was kinda jealous, because they were still on the upswing, and I was sadly crashing really hard.

Breakfast came. I took a forkful of hashbrowns, a sliver of ham, a speck of eggs. I stood up from the table and gave H 10 bucks and told her to have them box it up for me, and I walked home. Good thing it was close. I raced straight for the bathroom and stood at the sink. I didn't feel as sick as I did when I was at the restaurant, but I didn't feel good either. I ended up suffering through a pretty bad battle with the shits. I'd won, but I was left in a weakened state. After about a half-hour on the bowl, I made it out on to the futon where I laid motionless for about eight hours.

H and her boyfriend fled town. "We can't go out again tonight," they said. There was a Halloween party at the barn going down, and everyone was going. P was again sunk deep into the couch. After H and her boyfriend left. We both sat in the living room in almost complete silence, laying down under blankets on opposite ends of the room watching television.

We watched the Fat Albert movie. Then college football--USC v. Washington State followed by Hawaii v. Fresno State--after the second thing, P got up off the couch, got dressed and headed out to another party. I was still planted firmly in the futon. H's dog laid down next to me. He didn't get drunk the night before, but I think he was feeling sympathy pains. He knew who would be feeding him dinner.

At about 8pm, the head ache was almost completely gone, but now my stomach was making noises. Different kind of noises. I got up and tested the waters with a couple of tortilla chips. No adverse reaction. I grabbed the styrofoam box of breakfast and heated it up and tore into it. Human again.

I figured I'd just stay in, but I got a call. One of the women I work with said she didn't care about my hangover and that I was to get my ass out of the house and get in my costume and meet them at another coworker's house ASAP. I didn't have a costume. And I couldn't find anything to put together, so I just got in a shirt and tie and some dress pants. I put my nice jacket on, brushed my teeth and left.

The coworker who called me was dressed as a nurse. Now that I think about it, I should have made a crack about her crappy bedside manner, but at the time, I really couldn't think that much. I still felt like roadkill. It was just me and five women at the house and they were all tanked on martinis and putting on makeup.

The party was fun. A band played a nice set. I nursed a Smirnoff Ice and a Keystone Light over the course of four hours. I was able to drive a whole slew of drunk people home safely and without getting pestered by the fun police. I guess I should get a medal.

fight or die

It was funny to hear the quasi rap group that I saw play tonight utter the phrase "fight or die" when referring to the quiet college town we all call home. Granted, shit does go down here, like it does at any place that a number of people reside at, but this place is far from "hard." I don't care what your definition of the word is. I wouldn't consider the neighborhood I grew up in as "hard" or "tough," but still, it's about three times more rugged than the most gutted out ghetto in this somewhat desert oasis.

I ended up at a hip-hop show for the second night in a row. I have no problem with hip-hop. I recognize that it is now what rock music was when it was potent and revolutionary. I think there are still good, and even great (the latest Rogue Wave album is so good it brings me to tears), rock bands playing today, but that dangerous spirit has been tamed. There's nothing wrong with that. And I think in ten years or so, we'll have another Kurt Cobain, but I'm pretty sure he'll be armed with two turntables and a microphone instead of a beat up Fender Mustang.

Fender Mustangs are gorgeous guitars.

But tonight I saw the same glut and boredom that forced rock music to turn its eyes to dirty, flannel-wearing Pacific Northwesterners for something real and potent in the form of four MCs rapping over their own mixed tracks. Their mics were turned down in the mix, and though they were producing live performances, the recorded material rang out the loudest. They boasted and rapped about their cocks and balls, but never once said anything worth repeating. The only refrain that rang clear was "fight or die," sang by a big busted female vocalist who joined the group for just that one song.

Long after we left that joint, we repeated it constantly. This place is about as street as Branson, Missouri. I don't care how many rails you've snorted in a dorm bathroom or bong loads you've smoked.

[I'm drunk on holiday ale, rum and Jagermeister. All content contained herein should be taken with at least 35 grains of salt.]

friends in a bottle

On the way home from work, I stopped at the liquor store. I hadn't been there in quite some time, and I wasn't the only one who noticed.

"Long time no see!" the owner commented instantly in his thick, vaguely Middle Eastern/Eastern European kinda accent. "Have you been on vacation?"

From drinking? Hell no. But now that the magazine has been sent, I can actually drink away from my home and not at the office or before passing out on my couch for a few hours. I forgot about my buddy at the liquor store. He was so happy to see me, he began pointing out some of his latest beers. He even knocked over a bottle of some kind of liquor walking over to the fridge to show me.

I settled on a 22oz. bottle of double IPA from Moylan's. It had 8.5% alcohol content. I asked him if it was good and he boasted that he sold two cases of it already. That was good enough for me. I wasn't super impressed, but it did taste better once it got warm, and it was thick as fuck too, which was good considering I never really got around to deciding what to have for dinner.

wally world

My roommate said I could use the car this weekend, since she'd be away camping with her boyfriend, so I took the opportunity to head to Wal-Mart to get some much needed supplies. I hate Wal-Mart, but the stuff was cheap, and I tell myself it's okay that I shop there as long as I follow some simple guidelines.

1. Spend as little there as possible. They don't need your money as much as you do.
2. Only go late, late in the night, because that's when all the carnie-type folk are working there.

I went this evening at 10:30pm, which is actually a lot earlier than I usually go. The last time I'd been there was the Monday night going into Tuesday morning that Lost Season 1 came out on DVD, and they actually had whole displays full of it waiting to be put in their proper place. I wanted one so bad, but I was really broke at the time. I could have been the first person in town to have owned a copy, and I totally would have bragged about that. I got lightbulbs instead, and a honking big package of toilet paper...and laundry detergent. Oh. And four cans of Chunky Soup, because they were on sale.

Tonight, I was in dire need of anti-perspirant, because all I have is the possibly feminine flowery stuff that has been in my bathroom's medicine cabinet for an unknown length of time and is currently giving me a slight aura of potpurri. I couldn't go to work like this again, so I took the car and headed to Wally World, where I bought two sticks of manly Gillette Cool Wave (because that's how I roll) with new Superior Protection. Protection from what, I'm not quite sure.

I try to stay on the beaten path at Wally World, but there's one thing that always leads me astray--the clearance DVD bin. Even though looking through it is just about the most futile exercise you could imagine, I find gems on occasion, like Before Sunrise (shut up!), which is my favorite love story movie (SHUT UP!).

Today, the pickings were slim. There were a few pilates DVDs, a Michelle Rodriguez movie called Girl Fight and Rambo III; but there were some winners as well, like Omen II (creepy!), Lake Placid (I love big killer animal movies, I have a growing collection), and uh...wait. I think that was it. Still, I ended up getting The Glass House with Leelee Sobieski, Diane Lane and Stellan Skarsgard. My expectations are low, though Michael Wilmington of the Chicago Tribune called it a "...a slick movie thriller..." But for $5.5o, I guess I can give it a shot. You've won the battle, Wal-Mart...but not the war.

ready for the oldies station

Last week or so some publicist sent me a copy of Goo: Deluxe Edition, a two disc set that made Sonic Youth's first major label album seem that much more important. For whatever reason, the thing never made it into my hands. I would have remembered getting such a package because Sonic Youth is my favorite band that's still intact. The package was sent and signed for by someone at the office; I asked around, but no one had seen it. I'm not saying it was taken, but with all the shit we get, things have a way of disappearing. Luckily, the publicist is more or less a friend of mine, so she sent me another one. This time, I didn't let the thing out of my sight.

After lugging office furniture up our mountainously steep steps (for some reason, we'd ordered new office furniture from a company whose delivery men were not insured to carry things up steps; I don't think I'm technically insured to carry things up the steps, but luckily for everyone involved, I and the rest of the staff made it through the task unharmed), I settles, panting and sweaty, at my comfy work station and spent a good portion of the day listening to my two-disc, remastered version of Goo.

It's not my favorite Sonic Youth album, but it's got good songs on there. I remember seeing the video for "Dirty Boots" on the old MTV show 120 Minutes, which I still think was the best MTV video show ever. Y'know, when they played videos, but I guess even that sentiment has become a bit trite. 120 Minutes was on weekly for two hours (duh) from Sunday night at midnight into the wee hours of Monday morning. Much of my musical taste of that period of my life--and even now--was dictated by what videos I saw and enjoyed on that program. I never missed one. I remember Lewis Largent (though I liked Dave Kendall better) interviewing Mark Lanegan, then of the Screaming Trees and his own solo stuff (I think he was pushing Whiskey for the Holy Ghost), and talking about how cigarettes actually helped add an earthiness to his vocal tone. I interviewed Mark over the phone a couple years ago. I think he lit two cigarettes and nearly got into an accident. At one point he asked me "y'know what I mean, man?" and instantly I thought I was the coolest guy on Earth.

Right, so I remember seeing "Dirty Boots" on 120 Minutes. This was after I'd bought Dirty and spazzed out as Sonic Youth tore up their guitars playing "100%" on the David Letterman Show. I was kinda late to the game, but I'm either very young Gen X or very old Gen Y depending on how you look at it. The "Dirty Boots" video must have been shot in mid- to late 1990 or early 1991. I was 13 or 14 and probably just becoming disenchanted with hair metal and wondering why I had no friends as a freshman in high school. I probably saw the video a year and a half after that. If I remember correctly (I guess I could look it up, but I'm trying to stay true to my nostalgia no matter how thin it has ben worn down by the sands of time), the video is a pretty basic performance clip at a small club with kids in cut off jean shorts, moppy hair, flannel and some kind of Doc Martins-like boots (presumably dirty). There were no pretty dudes or hairsprayed chicks in tight denim and halter tops. If I were old enough to be there, I might have fit right in. At least I hoped I would. I think there was some love story element to the video as well. Girl meets Boy at the indie rock show and they conquer their teen angst to have a good time and thumb their noses at the man, or something similarly romantic.

I like particular sounds I hear in Sonic Youth songs more than whole songs most of the time. Dirty is probably still my favorite, because that's the one that introduced me to the group. Though as I've gotten more familiar with them over the years, I know it's not their best album. I've grown to like their newer, more spacier and mellower stuff and I've gotten older spacier and mellower, but today, for whatever reason, turned out to be a good day to rediscover Goo.