bleach

The fumes from the Comet cleanser and Tilex I've doused the bathtub in have turned my insides hollow. I can feel my nose hairs bristling against the noxious intrusion. I just put a second layer down on the tub and I'm going to let it simmer for a while before I go back in there and clean it up.

My roommates came back today so we could start cleaning the place up. Even though I'm staying, our landlord wants to do a walkthrough just to check the place out, basically. This is a really nice place in a pretty shitty neighborhood that's walking distance to everything. We've got a big backyard, a nice sized front yard and a white picket fence. The house has been kept in the family, so to speak, over the last three years about. A good number of tennants have come and gone, but the place hasn't been completely turned over in quite some time. The landlord's a cool guy who buys me drinks when he sees me at bars and liked to come over occasionally to smoke weed with my roommate. Tonight, we vacuumed the floors, did about half of the kitchen and I got to work on the tub, which is a pain in the ass because of the hard water in this town. We, of course, drank cocktails as we did so.

The place is really fucking empty though. The futon's gone now so there's just a couch in the living room and a TV stand with no TV on it. When I came back from the most high rocking SWORD show last night--at 3am--I felt a little like I was walking into a squat.

Like three years ago, my grandmother, my father's mother passed away. She'd been bedridden for quite some time, and I think there was some drama between her and my mother that I never really understood. We were close, I guess, for a while until my grandfather (her husband) died from Parkinson's. Towards the end of her life, she sat in bed a lot and had a string of nurses who'd come by the house. It was rough watching my dad watch his parents deteriorate like that.

I got the call that she passed away when I was getting ready to go to a show some local comedians were putting on downtown. I'd interviewed them the week before and they wanted me to come by and say hello after the show. When the girl I went with picked me up, I decided to go anyway. I think I told her in the car. She asked me if I still wanted to go, and I said I did. I figured it couldn't hurt.

The show wasn't very funny, and even if it was, I don't think I was in much of a mood to laugh. The girl wasn't digging it either--I'd warned her that I hadn't heard the troupe before, so I wasn't sure what to expect--and since we were sitting towards the back, we were able to make a quick retreat as tactfully as possible. I'd heard later from a coworker that she'd bumped into the comedians at the bar after the show and they said that they loved the article I wrote and were hoping they could meet me. I felt like a prick after that.

When I got dropped off at home, a shitty little apartment at the time, I went upstairs and drank half a bottle of Jagermeister while listening to Sigur Ros's (). I felt sad that I wasn't that sad and wondered if it was because I was almost 3000 miles away that the news didn't hit me so hard. I was looking for the video for "Glosoli" (from Takk...) when I found the clip above, which triggered that memory. I should probably start listening to happier music.

the ringer

Our Tanith Belbin "touched down during her twizzle" (those aren't my words, but that may be the least masculine thing I've ever typed, but I'm sure I could find worse if I searched this site hard enough, which I won't because my self image is already piss poor as it is. Just as an aside, it feels weird typing about ice dancing while listening to Wu-Tang Clan. Wu-Tang Clan ain't nothing to fuck wit') and her and that super stoked dude she skates with took home the silver for the USofAfuckyeah--not Canada. That's really gotta suck. Not that I'm an expert or anything, but they really did rock their thing that they did, and I'm pretty sure I shouted, "nail it, baby!" in support. I'm not proud of it though. It was the USoffuckingA's first medal in ice dancing in 30 years and that was a bronze. That's like historical and shit. In two days, Sasha Cohen will have done her final sit-spin of the 2006 Winter Olympics and I can pretend this brief daliance with figure skating never happened. Good thing it's not like etched into the Internet or anything.

I didn't go to work today. I didn't call in or anything (though I did call in once to get a phone number) I just didn't go because I didn't want to. I'll use Presidents Day as an excuse. I walked through the creekside jungle and cleaned my room and made the saddest dinner evAr, but it was actually kinda good because I dashed that shit with curry, cumin and black pepper. Sauteed zucchini on a light and fluffy bed of Top Ramen noodles. C'est manifique! Honestly, I might make it again on Wednesday because I got a shitload of Ramen and two more zucchinis that probably feel as if they were dug out of the soil for naught. I realize how pathetic my life is, but if it wasn't, I probably wouldn't be blogging.

Tomorrow night I will reclaim some of my manhood in San Francisco of all places as myself, a van-load of coworkers and a roomful of stinky heshers will watch THE SWORD take the stage and unleash upon us some serious Magic the Gathering metal. Before or afterwards, I will scarf down an epic burrito from El Farrolito, or as I like to call it My Favorite Place in the Universe. If anyone has a goblet or a roasted beast shank they'd like to lend me, please drop me a line.

the golden road ( i spent a lot of time putting these pictures together, so i hope you appreciate the effort)

Inspired, I suppose, by the accomplishments of the world's bestest and brightest, I took the longest walk of my walking career today, and it took me well over two hours. I traveled deep into the park, sticking to the asphalt path on the south side of the creek early on. I went far past the freeway overpass and the picnic areas until I came up to a small building that housed bathrooms. I wanted to get home before dark, since I was far away from the lighted sections of the park, and since there was a bridge to the north side of the creek, I thought it was a good enough place to turn around. I didn't want to pass out either, and I was just starting to feel all exerted. Before I turned around, though, I noticed a fenced in area behind the bathroom building and a couple of parking lots. I did a little bit of exploring and figured the fenced in area to be a dog park; there was a dispenser for dog waste bags at its entrance. Off to the left, I found a dirt path between two perfectly straight rows of poplars. It was something out of a movie, like that scene in Miller's Crossing when they take John Turturro out to the woods to kill him. I didn't go down the path, though. I thought I'd save it for tomorrow.

Across the foot bridge to the north side of the creek, I noticed a dirt path branching off the main, paved road. I took it, and in so doing blazed a path through about as much wilderness as I'm comfortable with. It was a narrow path; to my left, I saw the creek rushing by, and far to my right was the paved throughway, though that would disappear from time to time as road I was on dipped and winded. It was really nice, and I began to sweat and feel lightheaded, but I figured those were endorphins and my brain, having been without them for a while, was a little confused. Before the dirt path linked back up with the paved road, I found a circle of redwoods and a small picnic area. I love redwoods. These weren't as crazy big as the ones on the coast, but they still seemed to cast a shade different from all other trees. Also in the grove was a picnic table that if I wasn't so weirded out about eating outdoors, I'd like to take a bagged lunch to. I still may though, if I can get over it.

Both my roommates have pretty much moved out, so I've got the house to myself, but other than being able to watch porn with the sound on, being home alone is kinda beat. I get freaked out by every sound, and since I didn't go out drinking tonight, I won't be able to just pass out. The TV has been keeping me company today, and other than watching Murder at 1600 on On Demand, I've spent most of the time watching the Olympics. I was stoked to see four dudes from my motherland take the gold in the cross country relay. The race was pretty dope, and the hometown crowd was going apeshit the entire final leg. Italy had such a big lead that the team's anchor, Cristian "Zorro" Zorzi stopped racing, headed over to the frothing crowd, grabbed the Italian flag and marched to the finish line with the flag waving out of his shirt. It was pretty intense and at some point this week, I will have a plate of pasta in his honor.

After that, I watched ice dancing. I know. I'm loathe to call anything with a "twizzle section" a sport, but its easy to get suckered into watching something you normally wouldn't when your bundled up on your couch in your empty house with the heater off and a woman like Tanith Belbin is dangled before you like a shiny lure.

Tanith used to be a Canadian--like just three weeks ago. That's her there showing off her pearly whites and new citizenship. I'm pretty sure that if it were still in the Bronze Age, her defection to another kingdom would lead to troops being deployed and all kinds of bloody conflicts. Sorry, Canada. She's ours now.

I'd seen ice dancing once or twice in the past, and it put me to sleep. It was like regular figure skating without any element of danger. The ice dancers would smile and twizzle and move to some boring song and then take bows and people in the audience would lose their shit. This time around, however, a new scoring system (that hasn't been explained and I wouldn't understand it anyway) is in place. What it meant was the programs had to be more athletic, therefore more risky. And more risky translated into some of the more vicious collisions since the Super Bowl, and I'm totally cool with that. This one chick from Canada (not Tanith, she belongs to US) was dropped to the ice on her hip so hard, she bounced. Everyone there gasped, the commentators gasped, I was all "OOOOOO!"

I'm staying home from work tomorrow. I think it's Presidents Day or something. I don't care what it is, but it's supposed to be pay day, but since it's a holiday, we get paid on Tuesday. Therefore, I don't have to be there. I will be "working from home," but before I go to bed tonight, I'm going to make a bowl of Oriental flavored Top Ramen and watch Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Fun!

real american heroes

I've replaced the Winter Olympics with my own version: the 72-hour drunken marathon. Something like that. I've stuck with Guinness though, because I've come to the decision that the sugary shit just makes me miserable. I reverted to a couple rum and cokes last night, but it's just too cold; I made sure they were Bacardi last night because everything else just bounds me to the toilet bowl for a few hours the next morning. Just because my liver hates me, doesn't mean my colon has to.

There was an old coworker in town. There were a lot of other people in town also, reliving their carefree drunken college days. It was nice to see them, and it's strange that I've become a townie.

After barhopping in the sub-freezing temps (with the wind chill), I wandered into the shittiest pizza place on Earth to grab an over-priced, three-dollar slab of bread with some cheese on it. It's the kind of shit that's good for soaking up alcohol, but not much else. The line, since it was after last call, was out the door.

The people in front of me were wasted. I was hardly drunk enough to be able to put up with them. Some dude in one of the booths tried to leave and that started an altercation between he and one of the women. It never came to blows, but even if it had, no one would have broken it up. I would have had two choices: cover up or start swinging. Another female member of the group mentioned that "I looked grumpy" and that I had a "grumpy vibe." I said I wasn't and that I just wanted a slice of pizza and to go to sleep. "Is that all you want?" she asked. I answered plainly, "yes." She was right. I was pretty grumpy. And it was all their fault, because I was having a great night up until that point.

Finally, the wild bunch in front of me had made it to the front of the line. I noticed that the woman who'd been involved with the altercation was holding a fist full of twenties and babbling in some kind of either accented English or in a frantic drunk speak. Her crew--maybe six or so of them--began to thin out as they grabbed their lousy pizza slices in paper plates. I just wanted to go home. I knew it was going to be a long, cold walk and that I'd shut off the heater before I left, and that no one would be home when I got there because both my roommates have moved out and it'll be at least a week before the two new ones come in. I shimmied my way through the crowd and dropped my forearm on the counter and got the attention of the sympathetic dude who was manning the cash register. I asked him for a slice of pepperoni (because the pepperoni is the only thing that's really edible there), and he nodded at me to hold on a second. That's when I noticed that the woman with the the fistful of Jacksons, in her drunken reverie, was buying slices for everyone. The dude behind the counter tossed a slice of pepperonin on a paper plate and sneakily hid it among the slices the drunk woman was buying. "Do you want one?" she slurred. I said, "sure," pretending to be surprised. "Pepperoni." She handed me the paper plate with the slice of pepperoni on it and returned to doling out the rest of the bounty. I didn't thank her, even though I was, and forever will be, grateful. I grabbed the slice and headed for the door. Patience is a virtue, true, but this was the first time it ever got me a free slice of pizza.

the wild west

My roommate, ex-roommate now, asked me when I showed up to work this morning (and by this morning, I mean noon-30. There was an unexpected amount of post-LOST partying last night that resulted in the draining of a goodly number of pints of Guinness and a deeper understanding of Wednesday's downtown nightlife (which is to say, it's fucking bizarre). I was more than capable of going in early, because I can drink about a keg of Guinness and never feell hungover (just very sleepy), but I've been taking mornings off all week; I just haven't told anyone else that) if I would take a ride with her into the foothills this evening to pick up The Dog from his dad's house. I haven't spent much time up in that neck of the woods, so I said sure.

A simple right turn from the liquor store down the block from my house put us on the long, narrow winding road that led up to the mountains. It's a narrow old state highway, that I discovered today, ends in the middle of nowhere, at a junction for two other state highways near a national park. The path to that terminus in the middle of nowhere took us through a dense, rocky pine forest. We were pretty high in elevation. There was snow on the rocky crags that jutted out onto the road. The turns were tight too, so sometimes you couldn't see what was around the bend till you got there. And it didn't help that we were headed up there in the night.

I was sufficiently creeped out. I believe that human kind and the natural world shook hands a went their separate ways a long time ago. I respect and honor nature by staying as far away from it as possible. There's just so much of it here, that sometimes I'm forced to step into her kindom, and I know she knows I don't belong there, so I try to tread lightly.

We were just outside of one small town when our highbeams shone on something on the side of the road. It was a man in a white winter coat, jumping up and down and waving his arms. We were at least five or so miles away from ...well, anything. He stepped with one foot out into our lane as we sped towards him. She slowed down, I assume just to give her more time to stop in case he jumped out in front of us, but my first reaction was to tell her "Don't stop." She swerved a bit toward the center of the road to steer clear of him, and I noticed in his right hand, he held a bag--clearly to carry the head he'd just severed. As soon as we passed him, she sped up. Part of me thought that maybe he was in trouble, that he had had an accident nearby or something of that nature, but there was no wreck, no sign of distress or danger further down the road. I don't know what he was doing up there, but I'm glad we never found out.

We arrived in a podunk mountain town to meet up with The Dog's father. They were waiting for us at a Chinese restaurant. The owner and staff spoke a charming broken English and seemed very excited to see us, but I think they would have been excited to see anyone. The food was good, especially the broccoli beef and almond chicken. We ate and made the dog exchange and then head back down to the tame valley floor. We listened to blind melon and were happy to see that creepy guy had taken his head in a bag elsewhere.

simply the best

Today was remarkable for being one of the most unremarkable of my life. That is not to say that others had very remarkable days, but I was just not one of them.

My Olympics intake was a bit minimized as it was men's short program figure skating, and I really had my fill of that sport yesterday (at least until it's Sasha time). I did peek in from time to time to see who was leading and I saw that at one point, one of the Americans was in second place, but I think that was really early on. I missed women's speed skating 500m entirely (that must have been on earlier in the coverage), but I did catch men's combined downhill, which was one of the more exciting competitions so far.

Bode Miller must have been seeing double from partying the night before (and hey, I'm not one to talk, obviously) because he crapped out on another event he could have medaled in when he straddled one of the gates in the slalom portion of the combined and got disqualified. I was pretty bummed, because it's cool that there's an olympiad who can drink me under the table and still kick ass, but that opened the door to other lesser-known skiiers and that really made things interesting. The youngest guy on the US ski team Ted Ligety turned in a stellar performance and took gold, thanks to another DQ from frontrunner Austrian Benjamin Raich pulled a Bode. That's five golds for the US, but I was even more happy for Ivica Kostelic from Croatia, who took the silver. The dude broke down when he saw his time and knew he was guaranteed a medal. It was super emo, but not in a fashionably pouty sort of way. Ivica's sister Janica, as it turns out, is a vicious beast in downhill skiing as well and kicks ass on a regular basis, but this was Ivica's first Olympic medal. I'm sure he'll wear it to family dinners. I would.

Tonight's biggest winner, however, wasn't some dude whizzing down the side of a mountain like a crazy person, or some perfectly sequined and coifed figure skater, or a yoked-up woman playing human NASCAR on a skating rink. It was Rufus. And he's a dog.

Rufus, a colored bull terrier, won this year's Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show Best in Show, held at Madison Square Garden in front of a frighteningly enthusiastic live audience.

He decimated the terrier group and found himself some serious competition for the coveted title. There was (my personal favorite) a goofy rottweiler named Shaka Zulu, who was paraded around by his very enthusiastic owner/handler/treats giver; a dalmation; a prissy lil' pug; a foofy-haired English sheep dog; some kind of stock hound; and America's dog, a floppy-eared, shiny coated dog food bag photo-ready golden retriever, who I think was pretty sure he had the whole competition wrapped up.

Then of course, there was friendly Rufus, with his ponderous head, bewildered gaze and stocky appendages. Not only did he have to overcome his own physical shortcomings, but also the image of the bull terrier which has been forever marred by the notorious lech and party animal, Spuds McKenzie. Still, Rufus puffed up his chest and trotted around the green carpet. His eyes set on treats and a better future. Then came the moment of truth. You could see the retriever mouth "sorry losers" to his competitors. Well I could. The judge gave everyone a once over, then a twice over, then a thrice, and then walked over to the table to record his decision. He then stepped forward with his minions. The retriever practiced his acceptance speech. Then the judge said, "the winner is...Rufus!"

The crowd went wild, but not as wild as Rufus who, still holding the same look of bewilderment, now bounced with excitement. I think it was more than the promise of kibble. He knew what he had accomplished. Spuds be damned.

Oh. And Happy Valentine's Day.

the winter games

As my parents were burried under over two feet of snow, I went to a coworker's barbecue. I was kinda jealous, though, becuase my dad said there was thunder and lightning and the snow was falling at three inches an hour. I'm kind of a snow hound, and Nor'Easters were always an event for me. Winter's hurricane, yo.

But it's been nice and warm here, though today the dude on the news said it's not going to last. It's been in the mid-70s almost every day for the last week or two, but Thursday's supposed to bring changes--highs 20-30 degrees lower with rain and the possibility of snow even here on the valley floor. It won't be over two feet, maybe a dusting on grassy surfaces. But I'm sure that if it does happen, everyone will be talking about it.

Despite the nice weather, I've been feeling like total shit. Well, I guess that's not entirely accurate. I think I'm fighting through a mixture of exhaustion and alergies brought on by working way too much, sleeping way too little and the onset of this unseasonably warm weather. There's like mosquitos and bees out and shit, and it's fucking ridiculous. It's February...early February.

Since my workload has decreased over the past few days, I've been taking it upon myself to relax as much as possible and try to get rid of this dry cough that I can't seem to shake. When I cough, or bend down, they whole side of my face throbs with pain and it's not cool. Unfortunately, I still can't sleep and being stuck at work for 20 straight days made me a little antsy so I went out a couple times over the weekend. On Saturday, I ended up at my coworker's apartment and a bunch of us were watching Olympics coverage, which I'm totally addicted to right now. I even watched pairs figureskating today, which was pretty hardcore, but more on that later.

It was like 3am, but we got in just in time to watch Michelle Kwan give her heartfelt withdrawal from the Olympics. I know she's a figure skater and all, but I'm not gonna lie and say I wasn't always happy to hear Michelle won something. She totally rocked and isn't all super bitch like Nancy Kerrigan, or super psycho like Tanya Harding. I thought Michelle handled herself with poise and class, like she always does, which I know is cliche to say, but whatever. You rule, Michelle Kwan, and I full admit that at the peril of my masculinity, I watched a couple events in the past just to see you represent the good ol' stupid US of A. God Bless America.

Michelle handled herself a lot better than former US skate star Scott Hamilton, who was in the studio with Bob Costas to provide valuable insight about the big announcement. Scott was visibly a wreck. Maybe it was just because of the late hour, but as Scott braved his way through his analysis, I swear I could see a trembling chin and a look in his eyes that said, "if Michelle Kwan cries, I'm gonna lose it, man." I was totally right there with him, but I was kinda drunk at the time having soldiered through almost $30 worth of bar trade at a rock/country show. I would've wrote a sorrowful country ballad about Ms. Kwan's injured groin, but people, perhaps, would have taken in the wrong way.

In Michelle's wake, the hope of the States in the Olympics most "fanciful" event rests on the petite shoulders of goobery father's daughter-type and Kwan's replacement Emily Hughes (whose sister Sarah won the event in 2002) and unnervingly flexible Ukranian import Sasha Cohen. I'd rather not say which has earned a special place in my heart and nethers, because I want to make it clear that I support all of the American athletes.

That being said, however, it was an athlete from China who really stole the show today. Lil' Zhang Dan in figure skating pairs was tossed by the Male Zhang and landed something fierce on her delicate knee. I think this girl weighs like 10 pounts in cement slippers, but she got up and nailed her spin-y things and twirly things and her and Male Zhang won the silver. It was pretty dope, but I think I've gone on far too much about figure skating so I'll turn the focus to more gruntingly male things like...well...they really didn't have much of that today at the Olympics, unless you count male speed skating 500m (I was really bummed that Apollo Ohno bit it in the short track last night) and curling, which I fucking love, but either I missed it, or they were too busy showing cute US stoner chicks tear up the halfpipe (Hannah Teter took gold and Gretchen Bleiler took silver). With any luck they won't have to pee in any cups. Because I heard Shaun White's got the chronic.

the winter olympics

It's exciting to me that the Olympics have started. I'm so excited that I almost sat through the entire opening ceremonies. I sat through the fire anvil thing, which was really on some shit. I watched some dudes snowboard and ski even though I don't consider either of those things sports. They're more like activities for rich kids who like to smoke weed. I don't deny that either of those things (including smoking weed) take skill and concentration.

I watched the parade of nations. I watched the large delegations--like the Canadians, who Bob Costas said are very good at the Winter Olympics, and I retorted that it was because it's always winter in Canada (you call it cross country skiing, they call it commuting)--and the small delegations--like the one dude who can cross country ski from Kenya, and the old woman from the US Virgin Islands who they call grandma luge or something to that effect. I think I made it up to Kyrgyzstan before I went out to the bar. I like seeing all the nations great and small. I like seeing the dudes and dudettes who have no chance at taking home a medal waving their country's flag, even though most people in the western world couldn't find it on a map, even if their lives depended on it. I think I know where Kyrgyzstan is though. It's with the rest of the Stans, and it's one of the few we haven't started bombing yet. But give it time.

When the Iranian delegation came out--all five of them--the news anchor who was cohosting with Bob Costas had to go on about how the Iranian leader was very controversial, and how he's said things that are very anti-US; I'd imagine that's because he knows that he's next on the bombing list, and you've got to rally the troops. I thought it was interesting that the anchor brought that up, because previous to that he was talking all this shit about how the Olympics are supposed to bring the whole world together, and whether or not those Iranian curlers or biatheletes or whatever the fuck it was that they were there to compete in were down with the US or wished that Allah would strike us all down was irrelevant. I support their right to believe one way or the other. Because that's what freedom is, isn't it?

one hot bitch

I want a dog real bad. Unfortunately, I hardly have enough money to feed myself and actually, today I was going to call my parents and beg for money. I know they don't have it, but I'm hoping that my begging will loosen the wallets. I'm way too old to have to beg for money from my parents, but things aren't going so well right now. I've been avoiding the phone calls of one credit card company, and my student loan's past due. But I got shares in the company I work for, so I'm a part owner. Which really does me no good as of right now, except maybe I can sell them for some quick cash and get myself out of this hole, which I'm really considering.

But I didn't want to write about that. I wanted to write about Tulip (or Petunia, the writer of her blurb uses both--I prefer Tulip...), a pit bull/labrador mix who's big goofy grin makes me happy. Unfortunately, Tulip and I aren't meant to be. One of us would end up having to eat the other, and I don't think I'd have the heart to sautee her with some onions and garlic, though that pot roast I made last night was pretty damn good. Also, if she ever got sick, I wouldn't be able to take her to the, and the last thing I need in my life is an Ol' Yeller moment. Godspeed to you, Tulip. I hope she finds a good home. Petfinder.com is just about the most heartwrenching Web site ever. I don't recommend it for the weak of wills.

bonfire of the vanities

The cover of the Vanity Fair "Hollywood Issue" was brought to my attention, and I'd say my life is all the better for it. Even though Scarjo comes off as a bit of a skank, I am powerless against her disaffected attitude, husky voice, ginormous lips and lusicously bubbly girly parts. She also seems to work in super cool shit like Lost in Translation and The Perfect Score (I liked it! Okay?!) and her most thrift store indie-jocker film of all Ghost World (based on a COMIC) with fellow my other "cute girl who reads indie zines and maybe I'd see her drinking Pabst at a show" fetish ...hm. I totally forgot her name, but I was up working till 6:30 am and I'm too fucking lazy to look it up. I think it begins with a t...Thora Birch. There.

If you'd like to see the whole cover and marvel in its miraculous milky skinned starlet glory, click here. Just kidding. Here. Also pictured is some lushly chesthaired and thankfully clothed dude and Keira Knightly who would probably be the most beautiful woman in the world if she didn't make that damn face all the time. What's up with that? Personally I think this is a lot better. But I have to give Keira and her fishy face a lot of credit, as they did end up inspiring one of the great heroes of modern times.

and i should really go to bed, but...

I couldn't help it. I just found it. That screaming you hear at the end isn't 16 year old girls losing their shit, it's my excitement somehow transcending the boundary between space and time, man and machine. From the first ever Myspace secret show last week.

and i'm sitting there, like, what the fuck?

Through out time, humanity celebrates its own mediocrity. Those who have nothing to say and stand out in the least are those who are most welcome among the fold. Yes, even among the masses, there are the special few who are elevated into realm of royalty (in the modern age these people are celebrities and politicians and Paris Hilton), but the ones who are different are cast aside. Shunned from the flock no matter their acumen or level of genius. Rarely do we have a person who manages to be wildly bizarre and still easily accessible to the laymen. Luckily, our generation has R. Kelly.

I'm probably the last person to finally see his epic hip-hopera Trapped in the Closet, but I'd still like to chime in with a few thoughts, having just watched the longform video in its entirety and then going back through it with Kells' commentary, and then watching the "behind the scenes" featurette (during which, the actress who plays Bridget tearfully expresses her joy to be a part of the project).

Really, what we have here is a work of a deeply troubled man. Trapped in the Closet is a stunning examination of love and fidelity and how it is viewed in today's society. Yes, there are cliffhangers. Yes, there are lighter moments such as the introduction of Nosey Neighbor Rosie. Yes, there's a midget hiding in the kitchen cabinet. But beneath these entertaining jaunts, there is a darker side, a brooding picture of a man's view on how we--be we homosexual clergymen or a sweet young thang who likes to shake her booty on the dancefloor--treat the people we love most.

I think chapter five was perhaps the most telling. Kells (playing Sylvester) returns home after believing his wife is being unfaithful (nevermind that Sylvester himself woke up in another woman's bed in the film's opening chapter), and finds her in the shower. His jealous mind projects a man who really isn't there in the shower with her. Sylvester relates why he barged in on her like that, unfortunately obscuring our view of her glistening naked body as he did so. She reminds him that her brother Twan, a yoked-out and lovable thug who's just looking to blast a fool, just got out of prison that day and is staying with them. Relieved, they get it on.

Again, Kells body obscures his wife's nubile yummy parts as he lays on top of her, which is troubling, but not as troubling as the fact that even while he is in his bed with his loving (and did i mention naked?) wife, he's still fully dressed. It's as if he's pleading, "can I really trust anyone?"

After that, shit goes down. He finds a ru-UUU-ber under the sheets in his bed, signifying that he has been cuckholded, and when the disrespectin' fool shows up, Kells has to pull his Ber-EH-EH-tta. Still, I think of Kells enraptured in makeup nookie, feeling so insecure that he's still fully dressed, and a tear comes up out my eye.

in a similar vein...

death and rebirth

I was sad to hear yesterday that "Grandpa" Al Lewis passed away. He used to own a comedy club on Staten Island, and from all accounts, I heard he was a really great guy. Some people I knew had met him or seen him around or whatever. That article I linked to is actually really cool, and it told me things about him that I didn't know, like that he was a bit of a rabble-rouser and, at age 90, even ran on the Green Party ticket for governor of New York against Gov. Pataki. He didn't win, obviously, but according to the article, he managed to score over 52,000 votes, which I guess isn't band for someone who used to wear whiteface and play a curmudgeonly old vampire on a '60s sitcom. Godspeed, Mr. Lewis. He was 95 years old, and you can't front on that.

I other news, I heard mumblings around the office about Smashing Pumpkins reuniting for this year's Lollapalooza. So today, I Googled that shit and found this. Obviously, this news excites me to no end. Even though I'm not a big Billy Corgan fan, I do love his music with the Pumpkins (his solo album was not good, but Zwan did put out a good album). Jimmy Chamberlain is already on board to do studio work with Corgan this year, who are pretty much the only two dudes other than the producers who played on the Smashing Pumpkins albums. Still, I hope they bring back D'Arcy Wretzky and James Iha too. I mean, they were kinda just there for looks, but, like, Chamberlain and Corgan aren't exactly purty. And I know Iha can play, because I saw him in concert with A Perfect Circle, and he was uncorking all kinds of crazy shit. D'Arcy, though, well...it's bass so it's not like she has to be super good. But just look at her! She's like one of the coolest chicks ever and even was all addicted to crack at one point. And she has a nice voice for backup vocals. The article alludes to another former Pumpkins bass-playin' hottie Melissa Auf Der Maur as a possible candidate. She's super talented vocally and instrumentally, but more sexy in that "she might want me to do something freaky like ask me to let her kick me in the balls repeatedly" kinda way. But that's cool with me too.

lord, i was born a ramblin' man

It's almost 3am and my house smells like weed. It was the first thing that greeted me when I walked in the door. I went to the park with the dog like I was supposed to. We took a longer path through the park than the last two times, and I think it was a bit too ambitious. We were both way tired when it was all said and down, and now my right calf is sore up near the back of my knee. I went to work soon after, a bit later than I wanted to. I took the chicken out of my freezer with the intention of cooking it, but I didn't get around to that until 2pm...right when I left to take the dog to the park.

It was like a spring day today. Y'know, like the first warm day of the year. Like really warm. When the seasons start changing (and there are really only two here in town), I usually check the weather on the first day I notice, just to see if the change was as drastic as it felt, but I didn't do that this time. I forgot. Since it was so warm, though, the park was bustling with people, and the part of the creek they've sectioned off for swimming was jumping, even though the water was probably about 40 degrees. It's all snow melt and rain water, I think. (It looks like it was about 70 at the warmest time of day, but right around now it's close to 30, which makes figuring out how to dress when you leave the house a real bitch.)

After work, I had plans to go to a friend's house to watch some UFC pay-per-view, play poker and have a few drinks. Turns out that the PPV ended as soon as I got there, they decided not to hold a game of poker and we all ended up watching Starship Troopers in fastforward on OnDemand before spilling out into the bars.

My friend had a few of his friends in town, so there was a big group of us. I rolled over to the house with some people from the video store. We hit the one biker bar near my house, but the natives were getting restless. They wanted to see girls, so my friend asked me where we should go. I'm not an authority, mind you, but my job kinda keeps me in the loop about what's going on where on what night. I like to go out to drink, but I'm not much for the bar scene. I prefer to be some place dark where I can drink in peace. I suppose, in laymen's terms, that makes me an alcoholic.

We were having a great time. Even though I call him my "friend," really, it's just some dude that I know because we all go to this one neighborhood video store. The owner of that store is a good friend of mine, so because of that place, there's a group of us who hang out from time to time. Anyway, the dude who was hosting the UFC event had some friends in town, and I think I may have mentioned it before, but they wanted to see females, the young kind, so we hit up the frat bars.

There was a lot of laughing and yelling, and those are things I've sorely needed lately Over the course of four hours, I had five drinks of varying potency and a burrito that seemed necessary at the time. As I write this, I wonder what chemical reactions are occurring in my stomach and how they will affect my Sunday. But I guess that's part of the fun.

Starship Troopers is fucking awful by the way. But it may be the bestest awful movie of all time.

poppa needs a new computer chair...

One day I'll figure out why, that after spending 14 hours on the computer, I still feel compelled to come home and get back on the computer.

I'm not one of those people who are afraid of the coming age. I want to become the bionic man. Give me a chip and plug me into the grid. It's not that I want The Man to be able to keep tabs on me, I'm just not much for the physical world. And the way I figure it, once we're all wired and we can view the Web on the inside of our eyelids, what are the odds that The Man will have his eyes on me specifically? Sounds like a longshot to me. Kinda like being the victim of a crime in New York City. Sure, there's a lot more murders, rapes and robberies in NYC than there may be in your town, but given the amount of people, what are the odds you'll be a victim?

I don't know where I'm going with all that. Last night I was really depressed and I wrote what I thought was something succinct and to the point about my mindset lately, but Blogger decided to give it the evil eye and swallowed it whole, never to see the light of day. I guess the digital world does have its drawbacks. Mentally, I'm not in any better of a mood right now, but at least my guts aren't revolting against me.

It was a really nice day today, not that I'd know because I spent all of it in the office (at the computer) but the breeze coming from the window was refreshing. I was expecting to work all weekend too, but our printer's busted, so we can't read printouts (there aren't any), so I may not have to go in. I probably will anyway, for a little while, but first me and the dog are going to the park. And I'm going to sing pop songs with his name in it the whole way.

When I got home from wandering the town (I went to a hip-hop show, headed home, got a call from my boss saying the alarm went off, went to the office, saw there was nothing there, figured I was downtown anyway and grabbed one more drink), I came home to find the house empty (except for the dog, who was super stoked to see me) and a new computer chair parked in front of my desk. I'm sitting in it now. I have no idea how it go here. It's not the most comfortable thing in the world, but it's free. And I found out today that I'm broke. Again. I'm sure I'll dream about that in a little while.

Thanks to R for refreshing the colors on my site! I wanted something more spring, but like what spring time would look like through the eyes of a miserable person. I think it's perfect and I love it.

by odin's raven!

The Sword's Age of Winters is 80 tons of rock. It kinda sounds the same way your lungs do after coughing out a major bong rip in you friend's parents' basement. Some song titles are "Barael's Blade," "Freya," "The Horned Goddess" and "Lament of the Aurochs." I'm pretty sure at least one of those (if not all) are also Magic the Gathering cards. It just fucking rocks. And the album cover is sweet! Here's the link to the MP3 for "Winter's Wolves."