discovering death--entertaining my brain

I spent a good portion of the day watching the Discovery Channel, and I don't know if it was a special event or something, but all the shows I caught were about cataclysmic death and destruction. First came a show about the dangers of space weather and what a giant solar flare would mean for our planet--namely a dazzling light show that would result in the fiery, radioactive slaying of all life on earth--followed by a show about mega-tsunami (not that they really had to point out the damage one of those could cause, unfortunately) and finally, Pompeii: The Last Day, which basically re-enacted that last moments of the people of Pompeii before Vesuvius smote them all in 79AD and warned that Vesuvius could go at any minute.

It wasn't happiness on the Discovery Channel, but it was all fascinating to watch. I try not to worry about things like deadly space weather and things of that nature, because I worry about everything else--like work and money and getting eaten by a giant squid.

Watching Mother Nature at her worst is kind of reassuring in a way--maybe because it's something completely out of my control. As silly as it sounds--especially to myself--it's comforting to know that some things will happen regardless of my actions. I don't know why that puts me at ease, especially since I know how frightened I'd be if I were ever confronted face to face with Nature's wrath.

I have had dreams--just a couple--about having an effect on weather and natural disasters. They were both rather odd. In the first, I had this one a while ago, I was high above Earth and focused on the Pacific Ocean. Out in the middle of the ocean, I notices this sphere of water just below the surface. I moved my hand over it and discovered I could move it. I realized that the sphere was El Nino and moved it closer to the California coast line. I could see weather patterns changing--the jet stream dipping, storm fronts forming--and then I moved El Nino back out to sea as if I was using a computer's mouse.

This weekend, I had another involving an impending tsunami off the eastern coast of Long Island, NY (I guess hearing about it in the news so much chiseled it into my subconscious). I had to be a giant because I saw both of the far eastern forks of the island at once. As I moved further west along the island, I noticed houses of the rich and smirked and said that when the tsunami came, the people who were able to afford such lavish homes wouldn't have a problem rebuilding and would collect a lot of insurance. I don't know if that's true or not, but it was in my dream world. That was really all that happened with that one, but the image of it is still strong in my mind.

Maybe i'm better off watching sitcoms.

the devil and me and my friend too

My friend Q and I had gotten all into folklore and ghost stories. I'm not really sure why as neither of us really subscribed to such thing; I think we just did so as excuse to take idiotic road trips to backwater towns that were eerily close to our own metropolis. We'd found a site called Weird NJ, which discussed some of New Jersey's spooky history, which is fascinatingly rich. Since all these places were in driving distance, we figured we'd give a coupld of them a shot, but first, I suggested that we try to find the Jersey Devil, the Northeast's favorite demon.

I really wanted to see the thing, even though none of the reports from witnesses were particularly flattering, but it would have been nice to believe in something. The way I see it, though it's pretty farfetched, someone saw something in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey--all stories have some shred of truth to them, or else why would they have been told in the first place? I did some searching around online to find out where the Devil was spotted and the most obvious place to start seemed to be Leeds Point, the critter's supposed birthplace.



We pulled off the Garden State Parkway too soon and ended up taking US Hwy 9 most of the way south. It's a long, meandering road like most US Hwys, going past towns and houses, and strangely enough, a bar called the Sleepy Hollow Inn (I think it was Inn, definitely Sleepy Hollow). Again, strangely enough, the actual Sleepy Hollow, NY, is about 140 miles north of Leeds Point along US Hwy 9. It's strange to see towns that were probably relatively jumping before the introduction of the Interstate system--all these little diners and roadside attractions instead of the Mobil gas stations and chain fast food restaurants that dot the big Interstates. It's kind of like looking at old photographs.

The Pine Barrens are as creepy as the name sounds--like a heavily forested swamp. We finally made it to the turn off for Leeds Point at Smithville, NJ. There was some old church and cemetary on the corner, and it was pushing 2am. Leeds Point was a couple miles down the dark, tree-lined road.

I might as well get to the point. We didn't find him--maybe the Devil didn't feel like coming out that night, or maybe he was out of town. Perhaps he'd moved to Philadelphia or something. Q and I had a lot of fun, laughing and trying to freak ourselves out. The rough, creepy road through Leeds Point led through some kind of animal sanctuary and a host of Barrens dwellers scurried across the street. To my knowledge, none of them were Mr. Devil. At it's terminus, the road came to an end at a harbor, so we turned the car around. That's when Q looked to his left and said. "Wow, look at all those lights."

I looked over and said, "Oh, shit. That must be Atlantic City," which is the East Coast's geriatric version of Las Vegas. It didn't look that far off--turned out to be 12 miles away.

"You want to go?" he asked.

"Sure," I said cracking up.

If there was a devil, he was residing in the slot machines, I guess. It was kind of disappointing not to see the Devil, but I sure as hell wasn't going to get out of the car to go search for him. That shit was creepy, yo. But it'd been nice if he would've come to the side of the road and waved a big hello--with out trying to tear us to shreds or anything.

cryptozookeepmefromworkingology

I stole that from another blog, but it was just so durn kyoot (and the picture's all linkified so you can click it to go there; I'm smart!), I couldn't help myself. Look at the puppy! It also got me on a tangent from being lazy at my job to deligently searching for info on the actual chupacabras. I found this pretty neat site called Skeptic's Dictionary where I read an article that shed some more light on the subject. I followed a link at the bottom of the page to another fascinating may-be-fake critter called the bunyip, who not only likes to ravage the Australian countryside, but also makes itself more interesting than the work I have to do and destroys my productivity.

Chupacabras and bunyips are great and all, but I'm sorry, the best fantastical critter resided in my extended backyard.



The New Jersey Devil kicks so much ass, I don't even know where to begin. I remember the first time I heard the story in grade school and knew I had to meet him. I even went looking for him once. I'll have to write that story sometime.

confessional

Since I'm awake, and I really shouldn't be, I may as well clear my conscience.

I don't like jazz. There. I said it. I respect jazz and all that, and live jazz is fun sometimes as long as I'm really liquored up (like a lot of liquored up), but I'd rather listen to just about anything but. I don't know why I don't like jazz, and I've really tried. But I was living a charade; it doesn't do anything for me.

Once, my oldest friend and I were hanging out and talking about music and stuff. He liked to play albums and say things like "Oh, you've got to check this out." He put on a jazz record--I don't remember who it was. I froze as soon as the trumpet fired up. He was really feeling it. "This is pretty dope, huh?" he said. I said, "Yeah," but I was totally lying.

Another time, I wandered into the local watering hole, but forgot it was jazz night. The place was full of cool smart people. People I thought I had some affinity with. But I thought wrong. The jazz band was tearing it up and one of the trio was soloing--they're always soloing. I bellied up to the bar, butI couldn't drink fast enough. Everyone around me "got it," and I sat by myself at the bar speed sipping Guinness in a failed attempt to make sense of it. It was no use. I don't like jazz.

snoop dogg v. whitey

Watching Jay Leno try to inteview the D-O-double-G was the funniest thing ever. Well, tonight anyway--and it was a rerun, so I guess it was the funniest thing last Thursday night also, unless you count the inauguration.

---

I didn't watch the inauguration. Instead, I was drinking beers and watching the live-action version of Cutie Honey, which was really, really good in the worst way imaginable. As close to a living, breathing anime that I've seen--full of ridiculous action, tongue-in-cheekiness and a bubbly heroine who kicked a lot of ass.

No, I didn't vote for the president, but I wouldn't have watched the inauguration if they other guy had won either. I don't see the point. They always say the same thing--which amounts to a whole lot of nothing, recited in puzzling circles, and all that really matters is how it's spun. I heard he talked about freedom a lot; I bet it was scintilating. I swear politics is the only thing I'm cynical about. People only want to get you to vote for things because it benefits them in some way, but whatever. I'd rather let those who care bicker themselves into pointlessness; I mean, I don't want a guy like me in charge either. I'll busy myself into a stupor with movies and music and television and stuff. That's what it's there for. Considering the two options, I think I made the right choice...

jennifer, deliver me from evil--and bring a pizza...

Alias rocked tonight, which almost made up for the Lost rerun. Almost. I almost didn't get to watch either though because my cable inexplicably exploded last night and was down most of the day. Again.

I guess it's one of the drawbacks of living in cow town.

I called to get a technician to come by, and I wasn't in the best of moods. I pay a lot of money--relatively--for high-speed Internet and basic (local network channels plus Discovery only) cable. At the very least, it can work properly, and it does for the most part, but over the few months I've been a subscriber, I've had to make numerous calls for service interruptions. I'm not a nagging type of person, but it's annoying, especially since all I've got to make my life worth living is my blog and Jen Garner (okay, there's other stuff too--whatever).

My intention was to make an appointment for a service call and let them know I was dissatisfied with the service. The sweet girly voice on the other end of the phone led to my eventual undoing.

"I haven't had cable for very long, but I've had to make a lot of calls. I'd like to make a complaint," I said. Firm, but not scolding. Calm, polite, like and adult or some shit.

"Oh, sir," she said. She sounded like she was new. "I see you have had to make a lot of calls. I'm soooo sorry."

Her tone was upset, troubled. She cared.

"I've given you a credit for not having service today, and if you'd like to make a complaint, the best way is to go to our Web site--but you can't get online, huh?" Nervous giggle. "If you e-mail them, they usually get back to you within 24 hours... I'm sooo sorry."

"Yeah...ah. It's okay," I said.

It's a wonder how I ever quit smoking. The good news is the cable came back, and I was able to watch Alias. Self-respect is overrated.

---

I don't know why I watch the news. I don't understand why when our president is confronted with a tough question, he stammers, flashes that smirk thing he's got going on, then looks really proud of himself when he volleys back a shiny gem of unintelligible bullshit. I wish I could say whether I agree or disagree with what he's saying, but I'm not even sure he knows what he's talking about. I don't have a specific example, but if you want one, just turn on the TV, and you're bound to catch one. Are all politicians this brain dead? I thought they had to go through some book learning or something. If you're not an American, and you're reading this, please make me feel better and tell me your king (queen)/president/dictator/grand poobah/head rich fuck (it's all the same anyway) is just as stupid. Please.

the red carpet

My latest girlfriend-who-doesn't-know-it-yet Catalina Sandino Moreno received an Academy Award nomination for Maria Full of Grace. I'd like to think that my glowing endorsement of her performance played a big part in that. I promise I'll squee like a teenage girl if you take home the Oscar, but in the manliest way possible...

I have to admit I'm a sucker for the Oscars, even if I rarely see the movies that get nominated. I usually see at least one, but I've been slipping--and I think Spider-Man 2 got hosed. Anyone who didn't want to stand up and cheer when Spidey saved that train full of people isn't anyone I'd like to know. Go, Spidey!

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind was also one of the better movies of last year, if not my favorite. I waited a long time to watch it because of all the hype surrounding it, and I just wanted to sit back and enjoy it with out all the noise, but I guess it came out too early in 2004, which is a real shame. That happens all the time, though. They say that the Academy doesn't have a very long memory. Didn't The Aviator come out just last week or something? I'm glad to see that Charlie Kaufman got his props for best screenplay and Kate Winslett got a nod for best actress, both of which are really well-deserved.

I'll watch the Oscars this year, like I do every year, to coo at all the pretty girls, complain about all the damn commercials (it's kinda like the Super Bowl that way) and make up things I'd say if I won an Academy Award like, "Most of all, I'd like to thank myself, because without me, none of this would be possible." I like it when the people for best short subject or best short subject animation win and absolutely freak the fuck out and get cut off by the music because what Tom Hanks has to say is way more important. I'll make sure I have plenty of beer for this one.

penance

So, R reminded me that today was nine months smoke free. I started smoking around 17, but I didn't get into it seriously until 19, I think. I quit when I first moved out to California, because I was really broke and I was up to a pack a day, but it wasn't easy. I was surrounded by non-smokers, and I don't think they really got it (no offence)--I don't think they realized how difficult it was. I did about three months cold turkey, and then I went back to Staten Island for a visit. I think I started smoking as soon as I got off the plane. I was pretty good when I got back to California, but I figured once in a while was okay, just when I was drinking, just on the weekends...just...fuck it.

A little while later, I was a full-blown smoker again. In short order, I was pushing the pack-a-day mark. Then R gets the idea that she's going to quit (some nerve) on April 26th because it's some sort of national quit day or something. She asked me if I wanted to do it, too. I told her I had to think about it. The next day, I agreed and for the next three or so days, I smoked about as many cigarettes as I could. I still remember the last one before I went to bed on the 25th, on the side deck of my house. I smoked it down to my fingers, and once again, said goodbye to one of my closest friends.



I miss you, Joe. Thanks for the memories.

Day two was the worst--one of my coworkers said I was particularly "saucy" that day. But I got through it, and it was a lot easier because R was going through the same shit, which I didn't have the last time I tried to quit.

I haven't smoked a cigarette since--well, not a whole one at least...

The day after Christmas, boozing it up in New York City, I was way tanked on Guinness and whiskey and standing outside of the Ulysses in way downtown Manhattan in the snow and freezing cold (California made me soft) with one of my oldest friends, who was barely coherent. I took two drags off his cigarette, and the first one was really, really good. Luckily, I was so drunk, the second one made me queasy, so I declined his offer to smoke the rest.

So...

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed are you amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our deaths. Amen.

seriously. woe.

The best thing about being the last one in the office is that you can pass gas freely and without regret...

Maybe that would have been better suited for Group Hug.

It's been a long day.

over. it.

It'll be a miracle if I make it through tomorrow. The good news is, I pretty much got what I needed to get done tonight--even if it is 4am.

Today was probably one of the longest days I've had in a long time. Work was full of unpleasant surprises, and I believe I nearly snapped once. I handle pressure okay. A quick pace away from my desk and some sips of water and everything was fine. I'd rather not go into it. I'd rather just go to sleep and be optimistic that tomorrow will be much better--not too optimistic though. I don't want to be really depressed when it turns out worse.

downsizing

Work drove me to Taco Bell. So downtrodden was I today that I had little recourse other than to endulge in a steak Baja Chalupa combo and a Pepsi.



Over the past few months--maybe half year--I've done my best to phase soda out of my regular routine (unless there's rum in it, and in those cases, it's mostly rum, ice and a splash of coke, and that I can handle). I don't live the healthiest lifestyle, nor do I really want to, so the way my digestive system's been acting lately, I figured if the beer and liquor had to stay (and it did), soday had to go.

For the most part, I don't miss it all that much. Every now and then I crave it, and sometimes I'll buy a bottle, but never too often, and I can never drink all that much at once anymore without feeling all sorts of yucky.

I noticed that the Taco Bell combo came with the largest sized Pepsi they have, so I asked the woman behind the counter if I could get the combo with a small or medium Pepsi instead.

"You want to downsize?" she asked in a completely baffled voice, like I was the first to ever make such a request.

I didn't know how to react, but I realized the error of my ways. I mean, this was Taco Bell, where meal choices are really corporate decisions, which is fine if that's what you're looking for. I mean, I can't really expect personal care from a franchise where the nacho cheese comes shipped in large, sealed, clear plastic baggies--kinda like bulbous cheese pillows (freaked me out the first time I saw it).

"It'll cost the same," she reasoned, though still clearly befuddled.

"I'll take the large," I said. I ended up drinking the whole thing anyway. And now I feel like shit.

dude, what time is it?

I'm supposed to be writing a story. I have a deadline.

I actually am writing the story, but I can't work in succession. I have to do a couple paragraphs and stop. It's a process that goes on for hours, and it's annoying, but it works for me, and I'm too nervous to change the system up. The breaks can be short--like a couple of minutes--or they can last for a couple of hours, but the good thing is, no matter how long the break, I return to my work with the same amount of momentum.

I'm on a break now.

The last break lasted about two hours and during which I watched a pretty damn good film called Maria Full of Grace. It's about a 17-year-old girl, Maria, who lives in a town outsided of Bogata, Colombia, and works in a plantation where she pulls thorns off of roses. A lot of her money goes to help her family. But Maria hates working at the plantation and quits her job, and soon later, she finds out that she's pregnant. Trying to make a better life for herself, she hitches a ride to Bogata and ends up being offered a job as a mule, transporting cocaine, which she has to swallow in latex pellets, to the US. The movie's really stark at times, but it can be very uplifting. A nice thing about the film is that many of the actors were first-timers, and the most impressive by far was the Catalina Sandino Moreno, the 23-year-old Colombian-born actress who played Maria.



Clearly, she's stunning, and she did a really good job playing very dramatic scenes in a natural, subtle fashion. I wasn't totally sold on the importance on one of the main characters, and some of the film wraps up a bit too tidy, though after listening to the commentary (I was really procrastinating), I understand why the director chose to do so. In any case, it's a wonderful film if for no other reason, it introduces an actress who's bound to be a big star in the States and abroad.

Break's over.

you are correct, sir

I grew up on Johnny Carson; I used to love staying up late to watch his show. He wasn't even that funny, to be honest (at least not to me), I always liked Letterman's sense of humor better, but Carson just had a knack for hosting, and he always looked like he enjoyed his job. I still think his final show was one of the more tasteful and heartfelt farewells in television, and perhaps the most poignant part was how he gracefully faded from the limelight thereafter. When he was done, he really meant it; it wasn't just a stunt to gain him more recognition, and for that, I think, I admired him the most.

RIP, Johnny.

the power of the ocean, crammed in a clock

[photo from BBC]

I thought it would be best to go into work today, even though it's my day off, so I set my alarm for 10am. I didn't want to wake up too early, and really, wasn't planning to go in till about 1pm.

10am, the alarm goes off. I shoot out of bed and slap the "off" button on the alarm to stop the loud rolling of the ocean sound (my alarm has traditional buzzer and nature sound settings--the forrest setting is absolutely frightening). Good. Mission accomplished. A bit blurry from the night before, I lay back down. I open my eyes again. It's 12:30pm. Perfect. I put on my glasses. My bad. It's 2:30pm.

Oh, well. I have plans tonight--a birthday party that starts at 6pm (I'll show up at 6:30). I still have to shower, shave, procrastinate and rush to do my laundry. No work for me today. Darn. I was really looking forward to that. Definitely have to go in tomorrow though. With any luck, I won't miss too much football.

front yard dance

I don't speak Spanish, unfortunately, but at 3:30am, this red sequine-clad group rocking out on Telefutura is just about the coolest thing ever. I'd like to think music is universal anyway.

Tonight, my ears were battered by some rough and tumble punk bands at the bar outside of downtown. They were relentlessly loud, but one of them was really good and worth the permanent damage. I've done so much to my poor ears at this point, I doubt it matters, though one of the better drummers in town informed me that it's never too late to start wearing ear plugs. I want to take him up on his advice, but I always forget.


[photo by Nathalie Dulex]

Before the show (I'm working backward), I grabbed dinner at my favorite Chinese restaurant. I wanted to try something new, so I took my time perusing the menu. The house special beef had mushrooms, but the iron plate beef did not. I took the latter, even though it had the little pepper insignia informing me it's hot.

"That's hot," remarked the matriarchal, and still oddly attractive woman who I assume owns the place.

"How hot? Like really hot?" I asked. I've started to like hot foods, and my tolerance is pretty high, but I've noticed that Asian foods produce a different kind of heat than most Mexican salsas I've tried. Sometimes, the Asian heat is way too much for me to handle.

The fact that I asked the question seemed to tell the matriarch that it would be too hot for me. "I can make it mild or medium," she said in her thick Cantonese accent.

"Medium," I said, hoping not to be too much of a wimp, but I think it was already too late.

The meal was great, and just spicy enough. I think I could have handled the regular spicy, but any more than that would have been pushing it. As I was eating, the restaurant closed, and the family that runs the place sat around the table across from me with their dinner. The matriarch, son, I presume husband and some other guy I've never seen before ate noodles, steamed vegitables and some kind of meat. The young woman ate nothing but sat with cell phone at the ready. No one seemed to mind.

From there, I went to my friend's store, drank a beer and watched some fucked up movie before heading to the bar out of town--the place where my ears were pummeled. After the bar, I was at a party. The woman who drove Coworker C and I there seemed pissed, but I was too drunk to care. The party was out of beer, but I was done anyway. I stood outside with a couple of coworkers and talked shit about Titan, but it wasn't long before C and I noticed that our ride had left, without a word. I needed to sober up a bit for the long walk home.

We didn't get a block away before we saw a pretty gnarly fight break out on the lawn of this frat house. Pretty gnarly because some dude was knocked down and stomped upon. That's what I heard. I didn't watch, but I heard it, and C confirmed it. When we were around the corner, I called the police. I don't like to do that, I don't trust the cops, especially in this town, but it sounded like someone got really hurt. As much as I don't want to get involved, I don't want that on my conscious. I explained the scene, told the operator where it was and declined to leave my name. A few blocks later, we jaywalked in front of two squad cars racing toward the scene.

work, interrupted

I haven't eaten since noon and these beers went to my head...and I'm still at work. It's good that I'm not really working, but blogging, which is kinda like work. I'm also trying to decide what to get for dinner.

Chinese sounds good.

I don't know why I'm still here. I could be doing this at home--I could be eating--but I'm so used to being here, it's difficult for me to leave.

And my chair's so comfortable. I stole it from my old boss when he left. I told him I was going to do it. He gave me his blessing.

Chinese sounds really good.

on the house

[photo by michelstadt]

I think the bartender was trying to kill me...

I watched her fill the glass with ice, pour a generous amount of rum and then splash a garnish of coke with the nozzle. The color remained transparent--though slightly brownish--as the small glass quickly filled. I sat at the bar and learned how to stop Michael Vick--pressure up the middle, tight man coverage and keeping containment. All of which sounds simple enough, if you don't factor in how fucking fast that guy is.

The sound was off, of course, so I couldn't hear the finer details, but I got the gist of it. I don't understand how bars could have anything but sports shows on their televisions. It's the only thing you can make sense of without the volume. One time I was in a bar and they were showing an episode of The X-Files without the sound on. Good luck on figuring that one out.

Of course, you don't go to bars to watch TV, unless you're there by yourself, which was the case for me this evening. I'd watched a movie with a couple of friends, then decided to hit the bars in lieu of getting a ride and going home early--I still haven't learned yet.

I had the killer rum and coke at the local watering hole, then decided I might as well stay for a chaser. I ordered a pint of Guinness and pulled a five out of the pile of cash I had left on the bartop in front of me--the place was so damn empty tonight, I wonder if it was the fog. But the bartender waved me off. Shook her head. My money was no good there. I was happy at first, but then I wondered if it was because I was drinking alone. Was it a pity pint? Either way, it tasted just as good.

this candy store of ours

Last year was a great year in music and not much else. I thought so, anyway. I was lucky enough to get my hands on a lot of good stuff, but I think the new album by ...And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead might be better than all of them.

It's like symphonic hardcore--like a heavy guitar opera--and while that may sound pretentious, and it really is, it's got pretty much every right to be from what I hear so far. Thanks to my job, I got my hands on it early and today I got the full art copy and had it blaring on my headphones most of the day. The lyrics are rich and moving and a bleak and bitter reaction to the state of the world (talk about sounding pretentious). But better than all that, it's worthy of fist-pumping and head-bobbing to, and if an album or a song can induce a positive physical reaction from me, some kind of fleeting or lasting impression, then I'm grateful. In my opinion, the year in rock will have to work pretty hard to top this one, and it's only January.

like the omen only prettier

All in all, TV night was a rousing success, and the plate of rigatoni and meatballs I ordered from a local pizzeria was the perfect accent. Lost really is the centerpiece of my week, as sad as that is, and the rest of my time just seems to be a countdown till the next episode. Unfortunately, next week is a rerun, so I don't know what I'm going to do--stare at the walls maybe. It's a cruel trick, this rerun, especially since I just got my new ultraswank TV. I blame this, like I do most things, on Disney.

---

As much as I hate Fox, those bastards really know what they're doing. Two of my favorite things are eye candy and Revelations-type stuff, so of course, Point Pleasant was a no-brainer. Especially when they slapped me upside the head with a smoldering Princess of Darnkess. Unfair, Fox, but I suppose I shouldn't expect anything less from the likes of you; you with your shitty sports coverage and your graphics-heavy "news."



And I love Point Pleasant--the town, I mean. My family used to rent a bungalow there. I spent many childhood summers on the pier riding rides and playing in arcades and whatnot. Later in life, I ate shark for the first time at the Shrimp Box restaurant; and later still, late at night on a summer weekend, my friends and I sang "American Pie"--the whole fucking thing--with some random drunk dude on the boardwalk. And the first part of its high and mighty two-hour pilot on against Alias. Alias! That's low, Fox. Even for you.

And then, the show has to go ahead and suck. Maybe suck's too harsh a word. I didn't give it much of a chance, to be honest. I watched about 2o minutes of it, then flipped to Alias and got hooked on that instead. There was this annoying "creepy" music that wasn't creepy and someone from Dawson's Creek, and I was really hopingPoint Pleasant would be more atmospheric or something. I don't get how you have a primetime show about the devil's sexy daughter (who kinda looked better in the pictures) and still make it seem like and episode of The O.C. I mean, who's their target audience with this? People who shop at the Gap to buy a cute top for black mass? I just don't get it. I'll probably watch part two tomorrow night and wonder why I bothered.

so miss under stood

Work was a bugger today (I think I used that term correctly). Lots of ups and downs, but it ended on a pretty big up as I sold two ads for two cool bands, which means more money for me. And I don't even sell stuff!

I brought a handful of CDs I haven't listened to in a long time. One of which was Wilco's Being There, which is clearly rocking, especially thanks to the opening track, which segues from a wall of feedback into quiet guitar and these sweet opening lines. I'm not sure if they're terribly poetic, but they make sense when Jeff Tweedy sings them.



"When you're back in your old neighborhood, the cigarettes taste so good. But you're so misunderstood...you're so misunderstood..."

I'll have to bring this one to work more often, I think.

ol' man scenester

I wonder when it'll no longer be okay for me to go to rock shows at people's houses. How much longer can I drink 32oz bottles of High Life in a stranger's front yard while hardcore bands rage inside? I'm not even that punk anymore; even when I was young and angry, I wasn't that punk--at least not in the uniform sense of the word. I'm all for damning the man and I'd think anarchy would be great if people weren't treacherous sons of bitches. Even when I was young and angry, I couldn't stomach hardcore; I never understood a style of music where what they're saying is so important that they have to scream it till it's unintelligable. But, whatever. I love freedom of expression, and it's nice to know that shows in living rooms of bands you've never heard of still exist.

Tonight was fun, even though the bands didn't exactly rock my world. They had their moments, but the tiny, echoing confines of a residential living room aren't condusive to high volume music, and let's face it, packed hardcore punk shows in cramped corners don't smell too good. I went out to see a friend's band perform. I wasn't really in the mood to stay out all night, and of course, they were set to play last; and of course, there were more bands on the bill than I knew about. But I hung around, talked to people I haven't in a while, or with those I've never really gotten the chance to speak with. It was good times, until the 32 had pushed the pressure in my bladder beyond its bursting point. There was no reclusive foliage in the highly residential area, and I have hang-ups about pissing in the wild, so I had little recourse other than to use the house's facilities.

...I'm not one to talk. I certainly wouldn't eat off the floor, and I only shower there because I don't have a choice, but when I walked into this bathroom, I swear I could hear the germs whispering about how best to attack me. What was worse was that I think I took the second or third longest leak of my life, and it was difficult to hold the door closed and aim at the same time--difficult, but not impossible. I'm a pro.

After the bathroom adventure, I wandered outside for some fresh air and noticed the cops had arrived--no more show. And the band I'd went to see never got the chance to play. In fact, they were the only band who didn't get to play. It figures.

iron & wine

[from Sub Pop]

I guess the name is kind of misleading, but Iron & Wine is really just one guy, the crusty mountain-y lookin' dude pictured above. But their (his) last album, Our Endless Numbered Days, was super good, even if it made me want to drown to death in whiskey. It was about as uplifting as the title would suggest. The new EP is only six songs, but it's full of concentrated goodness. I guess the songs are supposed to focus on strong female characters, and that's all well and good, but I'm not one for concept albums--unless you're talking Iron Maiden or Helloween or something. Regardless, if "My Lady's House" doesn't make you wish you were snuggled up on a porch swing, sipping lemonade with the pastor's daughter on a hot, humid summer evening, then I don't know what to tell you.

art

R spent all day in the matrix and still had time to make this super duper banner, photography by me, taken Dec. 30th at a diner we affectionately refer to as the "Lame Horse" or the "Phony Pony" in Staten Island, NY. The diner used to be a schmalzy '80s style diner-restaurant that is now something of a schmalzy '90s style diner-restaurant. I fancy myself a photographer, but I have no idea what I'm doing and am unfortunately distracted by things like cole slaw and plastic mailboxes (I'll have to post that one sometime). Clearly, the picture is art, dammit, and if you can't comprehend it, I can't explain it to you.

---

I was going to work a half day, but I've already clocked over eight hours, so I guess that plan's shot to shit. I have to wait around for someone until about 7pm, so in the meantime, I'm just wasting time on AIM and searching through people's blogs trying to find (steal) ideas to spruce up my own blog. If I had a nickel for every hour I spent obsessing over this stupid thing, I'd only have a few bucks, but still, I'm sure I can get a 12-pack with that.

buzz

I've heard a lot about 2046, a film from director Kar Wai Wong. Actually, all I heard about the movie was the title. I had no idea what it was about, but I kept hearing the name, and that alone was enough to convince me to see it. I'm really open to suggestions.

It was hard for me to follow, but I wasn't totally disappointed. At one point, I considered turning off the subtitles to just take in the images, because they told enough of a story; the dialog sometimes got in the way--and the copy I'd gotten a hold of had poor subtitles. It was kind of long and slow, and jumped around from reality to fantasy and from past to present to future, but it was worth watching for the visuals and for the themes. It didn't hurt that the principle actresses were as beautiful (and talented) as the cinematography. Gong Li and Zhang Ziyi both starred and were excellent, but I was most impressed by Faye Wong, who I guess is a pop star in China.



She played the daughter of a hotel owner and an android with slow reaction time in the sci-fi fantasy sequences. Her facial expressions were moving; I like it when a movie can express things without language.

The film was about a writer who was a chronic womanizer and the women he had relationships with, whether they were brief or involved. It got me thinking about writing again, and how I'm completely unable to do it lately. I've either lost my taste for it or my confidence to do it. I've even steered away from writing articles for the magazines, because the ones I have to do, I can't bring myself to write. I'm sure I'll get over it. I have to, because I have deadlines to meet.

still rearranging

I fully acknowledge that part of the reason why I don't have money is because I'm a rabid consumer. I like to buy things. I don't buy things often--other than food and alcohol (the essentials), but when I do buy things, I really buy things.

Since I was rearranging my house, and I knew I wanted a TV for the living room, I went to Circuit City, because my roommate was going, and basically impulse bought a new wide-screen television. It helped that I didn't have to put a dime down on it today--and I'm watching it right now! It's all very exciting.

Unfortunately, my idea of turning the old spare bedroom into a den of sorts didn't really pan out. The beds are still in there, though. So I guess that can be the "guest room." Though I still think I'm kind of partial to turning it into an opium den and charging people $50 to come in, get high, and stay the night. I have locks on the doors, so once they're all stoned and pass out, I can just lock them inside and not have to worry about them taking anything. I can use that money to pay off my new TV and whatnot.



Mmm... opium... Fun for the whole family.

spring rearranging

I suppose it's not spring yet, but you can never really tell living in California, but some hardcore band passing through town that ended up crashing at my house has unintentionally sparked the construction of a new phase of my home.

For the past two months, the house has had the look of a squat. There's some boxes next to me here in the corner, and there were two mattresses and boxsprings just kinda hanging out, standing up against the wall in the main room area. We moved the beds into the spare room so the band dudes could crash on them, and now, since I don't really have any furntiure, I've moved them around in such a way that they can be used for couch kinda things and I'm planning on either purchasing a TV for the once-empty room, or moving my TV in there and getting a tiny one for my room--it depends on what I can find at the pawn shop, or what kind of deals are available.

I've also moved the couch and brought in a honkin' big computer desk to go in the corner by the front two windows where I have planned to move the residence of my computer. Of course, I'm not an interior designer, and I'm mentally incapable of planning anything properly. After my roommate and I moved the large desk inside (it was his idea, and I thought it was a good one), I realized that my current desk is the hub for our network thingy and cable modem, and while there's a cable wire at the new desk location, I'd need a bunch more CAT5 cable to or from the router to the corresponding computers. I think I may just leave this desk for the router and modem and just move the computer to the new desk and run a CAT5 from the old desk to the new one so I don't have to move everything and cause a bother.

This is so terribly uninteresting, but I wonder if this is a project I'll ever actually finish. I'll usually start something like this, realize that I acted to hastily because I didn't plan through, get frustrated and stop midway; and then just forget about it, or realize I don't have the money for it. I had so much energy this morning. It was all go, go, go, but now I have to wait to do this or that and see if I can get a ride so I can pick up this or that, and it's driving me crazy. I guess I'm not very patient.

once you get past the delirium, it's really not half bad...

I don't know why or how I'm still awake. I'm not sure why I opened this beer when I had no intentions of finishing the thing. I keep thinking I'll grab it before it gets warm and take a few more sips, but I haven't brought myself to do so yet. It's just kinda sitting on the desk next to my laptop (I don't think I've ever really put it on my lap), staring at me. I went to another local show, then wandered into the local watering hole to use the bathroom before walking home. After using the bathroom and before walking home, I had a rum and coke. I realized how sick I am of seeing the same people I don't know all the time. I had one more tip dollar left and faced a difficult decision: go home then and there and save myself the trouble, or stay for one more drink to see who'd show up. I guess I didn't really want to see anyone, because I put the empty glass on the bar top and left.

Thanks, R, for another killer banner. I'm happy with it, but the big question is, are you?

woe to you, o earth and sea

And Lo, the Angel Fox opened the primetime seal and spaketh unto John, "Beware thee Anti-Christ, for shee is hotte."

From the commercials and promos alone, Point Pleasant looks off the charts, which makes me think it's going to suck. That it also stars this wack ass dude from Melrose Place worries me further, but whatever. Who knows, maybe he'll surprise me like Jason Bateman on Arrested Development It took me two seasons of swooning over Jessica Alba in Dark Angel before I realized how shitty it was.

crock of dawn

When my alarm went off this morning, I thought, wow, I must have set it to the wrong time. It was still dark out. I stumbled out of bed just to slap the alarm clock so I could go back to bed--it's the daily ritual--when I realized that, in fact, the clock did go off at the right time: 6am. There's something weird about getting up when the sun's still down, especially for me. I'm so nocturnal. I ususally don't roll into work until 10:30am or 11. I don't know if I'm supposed to come in earlier--I usually stay pretty late, more than eight hours, so I figure I can show up whenever, and no one's told me otherwise. I wouldn't have a problem coming in earlier, but I know I'd end up staying just as late, because I get a lot more done later in the day. It's just the way I work.

To make things worse, this morning I had to go to and witness a local political back-slapping event that reminded me of what a good ol' town I live in. I'd rather not get into it. I listened to the Rogue Wave CD and got over it. It's over now, and that's a good thing. I can get back into the petty whatnot that usually dominates my time.

primetime incest

Lost. Best show ever.

It breaks down like this: Polar bears on a tropical island; the giant THING; a fashionably scarred man who thinks he's Yoda; some crazy French chick; beautiful, sexy, sweaty women; voices in the woods; "he was in a fucking wheelchair"; a plane crash; one of the hobbits addicted to heroin; a dead dude all walkin' 'round n' shit...

The list goes on! And if that wasn't enough, Lost goes beyond Oedipal when that Rob Lowe-lookin' Blue Eye guy gets it on with Bratty I'd-hate-her-if-she-wasn't-so-damn-fine Girl in an all-revealing flashback (that even featured a cameo from Rebel Dude to pile on the what-the-fuck)--but it's his sister! Sure they're not blood related; they're step-siblings; blah blah blah. Brother and sister did the deed on primetime TV.



[I stole these pictures from ABC's official Lost home page]

I think they make a cute couple...of sinners! I can't say I blame him, though. Thanks ABC! Lost rocks.

---

Finally, I remembered to do laundry tonight (I don't know how after three beers and the Lost / Alias one-two combo), which is definitely a good thing. I'd been forced to wear underwear of questionable origin the past two days--don't act like you haven't been there.

i feel slimy

Seriously. E! Channel. What are you thinking?

Jacko Trial to Be Broadcasted on TV in Re-enactment Form

This might be high creepiest of the creepy. I mean, even creepier than Jackson's mug itself.



The poor bastard. I kind of feel sorry for him. I don't have sympathy for people who molest children, but what if nothing inappropriate happened between Jackson and those boys during these sleepovers? I mean, I'd rather hang out with people my own age, but y'know, whatever's cool. I don't hang out with young kids because they scare the shit out of me, and they can't get into bars.

it's all about marketing...

The Internet is wonderful when you're low on creativity and feel some ridiculous compulsion to post on your blog. From Ananova:

Artist glues 2,000 snails to church

A Chilean artist has glued 2,000 plastic snails to a church to promote her new exhibition.

The snails lead from the Church of Santo Expedito, in Santiago, to the nearby the Codar art gallery.

Paola Podesta hopes curious passers-by will follow the trail of snails to the gallery where her exhibition is on display.

She told Las Ultimas Noticias: "People thought that I was fulfilling a promise to God because they saw me kneeling on the front of the church and didn't know I was gluing snails."

Ms Podesta added that she had been obsessed by snails in her work ever since her garden had been invaded by them.

---

I've been obsessed with snails ever since I had to make one in my ceramics class back in the seventh grade. I made a momma snail and a baby snail and a mushroom, and it came out really fucking good, too (honest...). Snails are the only bug-type things that don't send me screaming like a 10-year-old girl.

I kinda like slugs too, and by far the best slug is the banana slug:

I've heard kissing one makes your lips go numb, but I wouldn't know. I like slugs, not love them, but if there was moonlight and the wind was just right, who knows. UC Santa Cruz likes these critters so much, they're the mascot, which is decidedly cuddlier, but not any more kissable.

don't get your hopes up, kid

So, I've been a New York Mets fan since I was in the womb. Literally, baseball is in my blood, and there are few things in the world that make me as happy as when I'm watching a good baseball game. One of the worst parts of moving to California was losing much of my immediate contact with my Mets--those lovable losers. Over the years, we've had a bunch of ups and downs, but no matter how ridiculous they get with the losing and disappointment, I always come back for more, because I'm a fan, and I'm stubborn, and I really haven't got anything better to do. To be sure, though, being an avid Mets fan has probably shaved a good 10 years off my life--and counting. I'd like to think those were the 10 shitty years, though.

The real reason I keep coming back, though, is because every so often, they'll do something amazing, like the kind of shit that you'll only see in a movie or something--like pulling out the 1986 World Series or Robin Ventura hitting the "grand slam single" to beat the braves in game 5 of the 1999 NLCS in the 15th inning (felt like the 40th inning to be honest).

Today I was sitting in this bar that I'd rather never go to, but went today because I can get free lunch there. It's a total fraternity boy spot, and while I realize not all fraternity boys are assholes, I've had enough run-ins to keep me away. Besides, you can only listen to so much Godsmack blaring over a crowded room before you go crazy. But the place makes a mean cheese steak and when you're poor as I am, you've gotta do what you gotta do. It's pretty empty during lunch time, and since all the students were gone, it was downright desolate. I sat at a booth that was playing Sportscenter, and that's when I read on the tickertape at the bottom of the screen that my stupid Mets had signed five-tool stud Carlos Beltran to a seven year deal. Of course, I phoned my father immediately. I had to leave a message but he called me right back.

"We got Beltran," I said.

"I know," my father answered. "I found out last night. I was going to call and tell you, but it was late."

See? It totally runs in the family. Like snoring.



The hopes and dreams--at least regarding baseball--of my father and I now lay, more or less, on this guy's shoulders. Let's see how many years being a part of the Mets takes off of his life.

Anyway, Carlos, welcome to my blog, and welcome to the Mets! I hope you know what you're getting yourself into. With any luck, you won't be another high-profile bust, because really good players such as yourself like to forgot how to play baseball once they don the orange and blue; and I apologize in advance for all the cursing your name I may be doing in the future. I'll leave the negativity behind for now and just be happy that such a great player will wear my favorite team's uniform. With any luck, your stay will be a pleasant one.

dude. let's jam.

I busted the high E string on my guitar about a month ago (because I rock so fucking hard) and been meaning to replace it, but never got around to it. The strings were old anyway, and I'd been wanting to get new strings in a heavier gauge even before I busted the high E, but I'm forgetful, and since I'm not a virtuoso, I hardly ever miss the high E, because you don't really need it to play power chords, man.



[photo by Robin D]

Music stores (like where you get instruments and supplies) are a lot like comic book stores, but intrinsically cooler because you're business is the rock. However, the similarities are frightening. Both of which deal in mainly in fantasy, be it of the costumed crusader variety or of the changing the world with your music variety. Both are also extremely niche; in my six years of service in the comic book industry, broken up between two different stores, I came to the realization that only hardcore comic book slaves (of which I was one, but have regretfully fallen out of the hobby (habit)) frequent such a location. Most comic book stores are even set up in such a manner, hiring obsessive, misanthropic comic book fans, who only saw the job as a way to get their fix at a discounted rate (mostly guilty), to handle the "customer service" and arranging their products in a labrynthine manner that makes finding anything a dizzying experience unless you frequent the store on a weekly basis.

Music shops are equally as intimidating. I walked into the local shop today to buy strings and saw only one shaggy haired dude at the counter tuning up a Fender Strat and another pierced-lip kid twanging away behind a stack of amplifiers. Neither readily acknowledged my presence, but I wasn't really wanting them to. Immediately, I became confused by the layout and ended up in a section where they sold cables when I was looking for strings, but my disorientation was only temporary. I found the strings, logically enough, next to the guitars.

I'm as obsessive about guitars as some guys are about cars. While I don't consider myself a great player--I play well enough to make it a hobby that I'll stick to the rest of my life--just the sight of guitars excites me. I want all of them. And being in a guitar shop just to get strings may end up with me walking out with new strings and a new guitar that I can't really afford, which is why I go so rarely. However, I can't go into a music store without looking at them. That would be just torture.

Of course, right off the bat, I saw a black and white Fender Telecaster with a maple fretboard that I fell in love with, and an icy metalic blue Strat with maple fretboard that made me drool. Both were Mexican standards (I like the way the cheaper ones sound anyway) and both were in my extended price range--especially if I decided to cut out eating for the next few months. It took some restraint.

While I was looking at the guitars, shaggy dude came in. He said, "What's up, man?" I said, "Not much," and then he plugged in and started jamming on the Strat, like it never even occured to him to try and sell me something. But the sound of the Strat was definitely alluring, like the first time I cranked up Pearl Jam's Ten on my cassette boom box. Still, I was able to get out of there with my bank account unscathed.

I took my two packs of D'Addario strings up to the counter and waited to be rung up. I thought Shaggy was the only employee, but as soon as I got to the counter, Lip Ring put down his guitar and came over.

"I can ring you up over here," he said.

I was taken back at first, since I thought he was just a customer, but, like comic book stores, the clientele at music stores is completely indiscernable from the staff, which makes you wonder how these places make any money...oh yeah, geeks like me.

still tweaking

I can't leave well enough alone, I guess, and neither can my psychotic banner maker R, who came up with another gem. Thanks for making my blog pretty.

---

I've spent more time on the computer today than I usually do at work and I think I'm going batty. I remember when I couldn't type worth shit and now I never have to look at the keyboard. It's kinda funny when I think about it. Well, I think it's funny. Shut up.

---

Thanks also to Rachael Ray for not only being the yummiest cooking show host in the whole wide world, but also for coming up with a recipe to save my ass from starvation and / or eating out. I had defrosted a trio of thin cut porkchops that I'd bought before the holiday with the hopes that I would bread them and bake them. However, upon finding I had no eggs in the house, I was at a loss as to what to do with them. I hit up foodtv.com, but most of the recipes required shit like apricots and thyme and things of that nature and all I had in my cupboards were some cans collard greens, tomato sauce and cream corn. I also had hot sauce and pepper, and that's when Ms. Ray swooped in for the rescue.



I think I put in too much hot sauce though because I thought I was going to pass out at one point. My eyes started tearing when I took the chops out of the oven, but they were so tasty, I fought through the pain. The recipe called for "brushing" the chops with hot sauce, but I don't have a brush, so I just kinda "doused" the chops and figured I'd "eyeball" it like Rachael says to do on her show. I guess I need my eyes checked.

tweaked

I spent all day in the Matrix, toying around with my mp3 player and tinkering with the blog. I think I've exhausted all that I know how to do with the thing. There's all these numbers and tags, and the whole thing is rather intimidating to me. I pressed on, though, like any good soldier would, and now I'm reaping the rewards--a pint of Guinness and a couple slices of leftover pizza.

Cheers!



Frosty, creamy and refreshing--just like the good Lord intended. The NFL playoffs are on, it's soaking rain outside, pork chops are defrosting, the fridge full of Guinness and I got a ton of DVDs for Christmas so, I doubt I'm going anywhere tonight. Consider this my statement of hibernation.

you coulda died...but it's rare!

That's seriously what someone told me today when I said I had sleep apnia last night. I know she didn't mean to freak me out--she's a friend--but it freaked me out, because just about everything does.

I think my freaking-out-thing is warranted here, though, because last night totally sucked. I went to bed early and everything and was all happy with myself for taking the first step toward being more organized and responsible so I could perform better at my job. That was the plan, y'know. And I think it's a nice plan. Normally, I'd say fuck responisibility, because it's lame, and really I have other things to worry about--like everything else.

I fell asleep after watching Godzilla: Tokyo SOS (a masterpiece) promptly at 1:30am, and listening to the soothing, if not frightening, sounds of the BBC World Service, a good three hours earlier than usual. Two hours later, my eyes popped open and I thought "funny, that" and felt like I might have to puke. A second later, I flew out of bed gasping for air and moved in a daze toward my bedroom door and opened, sucking for wind. I think I was instinctively heading toward the hospital which is just three blocks away. A few moments later, all was okay, but those few moments really sucked (literally and figuratively).

It took me a little while to fall asleep afterwards because I didn't want it to happen again, but I was sleepy as fuck, yo. I related my story to my friendly co-worker and she replied. "That's what Reggie White died from...But it's rare!" As if she realized it would freak me out. It did anyway. However, I live.

RIP Reggie White.



This blog is turning into the obits.

stoner

So, somehow, when I listed my favorite albums of last year, I forgot my surprise favorite. I suck, and since I'm obsessive with lists, The Concretes will get their own personal mention. Way to go guys!...

The Concretes - The Concretes

2005 gets the ball rolling

A scant few days into the new year and already cool people are dying. As a die-hard comic book nerd, Will Eisner was kinda like a god. His work really elevated sequential art (geek for "comics") into a true art form. RIP, Will.

Will Eisner passes away after quadruple bypass surgery

it's got something to do with sticks and balls

One thing about taking JetBlue (the only airline I fly) is the DirecTV in every seat. (This isn't a commercial, I swear.)

Normally, I'll read or stare out the window or try to occupy myself in some manner, but I was weaned on television, and it's pacifying glow is always a draw to me, especially since I hardly watch any television at home (I stick to DVDs mostly, does that count?).

The channel choices are limited on the JetBlue flights, so I have to make an effort to find something to watch, attempt to make the most pedestrian programming interesting. Luckily, I crush easily, and JetBlue DirecTV has two wonderful options to inspire mile-high faux romance. For example, the Black Widow, Jeanette Lee.



She may very well be the foxiest pool player of all time. She's also damn good at it, which makes her somehow foxier. (I'll never use the word "foxy" or variant thereof again; however, it applies in this case.)

I'm not a pool aficionado, though I like to think I can play after a few drinks, and I don't actively seek out pool on television. In fact, the only time I've seen pool tournaments (and I'm sure this is a coincidence) is when I'm somehwere over middle America in one of JetBlue's beautiful Airbus A-320s (please give me free miles). Regardless, Jeanette makes my heart race--all that skill, sleek hair and classy / sexy outfits. I get shivery thinking about it. Thank you, Ms. Lee, for keeping me company on those long and lonely red-eye flights.

---

If Ms. Lee's exotic looks and clearly erotic stick handling proves to be too steamy, especially in such close quarters, there's always the Food Network's Rachael Ray, who is airplane-swoonable in her own right.



I don't know if it's the brown eyes, irksome accent or the delectible meals in 30 minutes, but whatever it is, I'm hooked. I love to cook; she loves to cook. I'm a guy on the go; she provides me with the knowledge to feed myself in a hurry and is looking on the yummy side while she does so. Life is good. It's a perfect match. She's even part Sicillian, so I could bring her home to momma.

Food Network (like the Game Show Network) is one of the channels I only watch when I'm flying JetBlue (miles). I'm not sure if I'd have the patience for either at home, but in the air, trapped in that flying cylinder, it all makes sense.

dear, blog-y.

[photo: Angelus49]

Hey, big guy.

How you doin'? Sorry my writing has been erratic, but it couldn't be helped. The holidays are busy times, you know. Well, maybe you don't since you're a blog, but trust me; it's a pain in the ass. It's a headache you probably wouldn't want--if you had a head.

I really do like the holidays, and this year's version was much better than the last. I got to spend plenty of time at home with the family and the friends and the dog, and I'm sorry to see it go. Especially today when I returned to work and spent the large part of the day digging out of e-mails and the rest of the time trying to remember what it was I did for a living and how exactly I went about doing it. I forget so quickly. It's easy to forget when you're on vacation.

Anyway, I'm back now, in my hollowed out house, and I'm doing my best to get back into the swing of things--playing PlayStation 2, eating shitty food, staring off into space, the important things. But most importantly is you, blog-y, who feeds my ego and allows me to pretend I'm still a writer. You rock, dude. Happy New Year.

you're always leaving

Tomorrow's going to be the last full day I spend here at home before going back to my other home. It's been a fun week plus. It's been great to be on vacation, so to speak, though I think I do more running around when I'm here on my time off than I do when I'm supposed to be working. I also haven't stopped eating since I got here, and I'm still hungry. It's driving me crazy. I suppose it's good that I eat up now while I still can.

Being back this time has also been a bit rough--part of me doesn't want to leave. I'm sick of all the goodbyes and whatnot and wish that this two-year experiment hadn't spilled over into three plus.

I wish I could find something else to complain about.

I'm pretty torn, though, and I still need a ride home from the airport.

let's review

Here we go again. I'm not gonna lie, and since it's gone, there's no reason not to talk shit about it; 2004 was a big steaming piece of shit. All things considered, it was pretty good for me personally. Even though I busted my ass and often struggled with why I bothered, I'm happy with my job and where it's headed. I even got to meet Jenny Lewis from Rilo Kiley and sit on a couch and share a beer with her and stuff (scream!). Other than work, however, I didn't really do much but put a hurting on my liver and watch a lot of movies. All things considered, it could have been worse. However, the world outside of my persons was pretty shitty. War, hate, Bush, hurricanes and tsunamis (I knew 2004 wasn't going to go out quietly), it hardly seemed like anything good happened last year.

I don't really want to dwell on the negative, though, considering it's a new year, and I'm supposed to be all hopeful and shit. Because I'm sitting in my parents' dining room and drinking a Bartles and Jaymes "Exotic Berry" wine cooler (don't ask), I'll err on the side of optimism and offer that perhaps 2004 was misunderstood and just needed someone to say "hey, you're special, guy. Don't pout." Just a thought.

---

My favorite albums of 2004 in no particular order:

Rilo Kiley - More Adventurous (duh)

Handsome Boy Modeling School - White People

Sonic Youth - Sonic Nurse

Joseph Arthur - Our Shadows Will Remain

Ghostface - The Pretty Toney Album

Rogue Wave - Out of the Shadow

Rasputina - Frustration Plantation

PJ Harvey - Uh Huh Her

I guess that's one thing 2004 had going for it. I had to struggle to come up with just five favorite albums for 2003. I guess shitty times spawn good music. Didn't I say I was going to be positive?

---

Fuck positive, I guess, because the world lost some pretty cool entertainment people in 2004: Rodney Dangerfield, Dimebag Darrell, Ray Charles, Ol' Dirty Bastard, and even Jerry Orbach. I was really sad to hear about Mr. Orbach's passing. I don't know if I was a super huge fan of his work--I never got to see him on Broadway or anything like that--but I always enjoyed seeing him on TV and the like.

My mom and I used to watch Law & Order all the time, so Mr. Orbach is linked to a lot of good memories. He also provided the voice for Lumiere in Disney's Beauty and the Beast, and you can't front on that.