open the pod bay doors, HAL

I'd like to thank Ms. Lilly for her time as banner woman for Counting Backwards, but I figured since I'd renewed my license today, I might as well slap together a new look in honor of my impending birthday. Nothing will stand in its way now. Cosmic forces have conspired against me to lead me to this moment, and I'm powerless against them.

I made really good pasta today, though. Some basil, garlic, butter sauce thing and I threw zucchini in there for good measure. The chicken came out okay...I should have put it in the oven.

After dinner, I went over to my friend's store to watch Frankenhooker, which was pretty awesome. Really what made it was the actress who played the mismatched monster, Patty Mullen. She was sexy for sure, even with multi-toned skin, sutures and unfortunate late '80s style (I guess she also posed for Penthouse at some point), but more than that, her facial expressions were completely bad ass and she could shamble like nobody's business. I mean, sure, it's a movie about a girl who dies and is resurrected by her crazy-ass boyfriend using the parts of New York City crack whores, but it was really cool to see someone throw herself into a role, no matter how ridiculous it was. Is that admirable? I'd like to think so anyway. I'm sure Mary Shelley was only rolled over once in her grave over this one, which is a lot more than could be said for that Kenneth Branagh/Robert DeNiro fiasco.

are you a girl? is it halloween? part 2

I'm totally going through the motions. I'm sure anyone paying attention would be able to figure that out. I've shaved my head, but left the beard, and i don't care how bad it looks. Slap a hat on it and pull the hoodie up and I'm like the thief from the Dungeons and Dragons cartoons--I can more or less disappear. I got a text message at 11:30AM--I'd been up for a little bit--that informed me some people were down at this sports bar for champagne brunch. I hate champagne, but I was sorta hungry and I figured I could catch the last quarter of the Giants game. The waitresses at the bar all called me by name, but I don't know they are. I'm there enough though. I just don't know their names, and most of them are really cute. I sat with my coworker and her friends (I thought there'd be more people there I'd know), and they were a few bottles of champagne deep. The group was loud and never let anyone's glass go empty. One dude dressed as a pimp kept ordering shots of tequila. I drank water and ate and watched the game. I was having a good time, and they were getting really drunk. Eventually, I broke down and got a can of Pabst. They all invited me to go to see Saw 3 with them, and I would've gone, but I really didn't like the first two. My old roommate called and asked me if I wanted to go see The Departed (apparently everyone I knew wanted to go to the movies today), and I really wanted to see that, so I went. It was pretty damn good, really tense, but the ending, I thought, came up really flat. It's a good movie if you want to see people get shot in the head, though. After the movie, I tagged along to an organic food market and bought London broil, catfish, a boneless chicken breast, a ham sandwich, two zucchini and two ears of corn. I decided to cook half the London broil and save the sandwich for lunch tomorrow. I needed to do something productive. I ate the steak really rare and it gave me kind of a rush--I'm guessing it was E. coli or a tapeworm. Either way, I'll lose a couple pounds.

But really this was all foreplay. The main event was later in the evening at the meathead bar, a costume party/contest. I didn't want to wear a costume, but I went, because I must now embrace my new role in life: dirty old man.



I'm turning 30 and it sucks. I don't care what anyone says. Everyone's telling me it's going to be great, but I know it's not going to be. Maybe it will be come December, or maybe it's because other things aren't going as well as I'd hoped, and I don't know what to do next. Even when I drink, I hardly can get drunk anymore, and I can't afford to step up the dosage, so I just get a slight buzz and then a grumbly stomach, and then a head ache, and probably the shits in the morning. In this town, 30 isn't over the hill, but it's definitely approaching the top of it, and people start to wonder why you haven't left yet and what you're still doing here. Luckily, Guinness still tastes really good, and I have enough drink coupons at enough bars that I hardly have to pay for it (other than tips) and I can still find some small amount of joy in our female population's willingness to don sexy costumes for no apparent reason.



The costume contest was pretty typical. But there's a part of my catholic brain that kicks into overdrive when it's confronted with a fetishistic version of a nun's habit--especially when the woman wearing it is able to fill it out so well. Or maybe she didn't. Maybe all those catechism classes with stern, shapeless nuns just projected a nubile young woman into that costume. Not like it matters to me one way or the other.



My other two favorites were Sexy Alice and Sexy Lil' Bo Peep, and this Amazonian-sized beauty wearing a shaggy Sexy Barbarian costume. I think she was six feet tall. And it was awesome.

Of course there were guys, too. But Sexy Dude costumes don't ever go over well with the crowd. Unless of course the dude wearing it is a large man. A large drunk man, who's not afraid to show a little cheek and shake dat ass. This dude won best male costume, and probably by a landslide.


Work it, Girl.

are you a girl? is it halloween?

I was sitting in this local shitty diner at 2:20AM, which really turned out to be 1:20AM (because of that darn time change thing...still didn't mean the bars stayed open an extra hour), when I realized that Halloween is a good holiday because it's one of the few that gets better when you get older. When you're a kid, it rocks because you can knock on people's doors and they give you Snickers bars. When you're an adult, it means that other adults will have loosened morals and wear skimpy costumes.



There's also a lot of alcohol too, presumably, which is probably why the two dudes down the block are screaming "FUCK YOU!" at each other right now. "It was a fucking joke man! Fuck you! I came here to apologize to you? Fuck you!"

They finally shut up.

I went to some party tonight and there were lots of sexy so and sos, and I was amazed at how there seems that any kind of costume has some kind of sexy version. My favorite this year was sexy Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I chuckled at the first one, but I was amazed to see near a dozen sexy Ninja Turtles strewn about town. One was at the diner, standing in front of me at the cashier, and she was having a problem keeping her tiny shorts in place on her shapely ass. Earlier, when she staggered by us on her way to the bathroom, I assume to puke, someone at another table shouted, "Donatello!" and she snapped back, "Raphael, asshole!" I thought that was awesome.

Some big black dude dressed as a preacher kept falling asleep at the counter, and this other dude dressed as Homer Simpson was having the same problem. He looked like he could puke at any minute. I kept hoping he would until my food came out. I was stone sober most of the night, and being at the shitty diner was even more sobering.

My neighbors are arguing again. Halloween definitely gets better with age.

girls and corpses

Why didn't I think of this first? I figured with Halloween looming its debaucherous head, I'd post up a treat. This is probably the best magazine ever of all time. Ever.

in the time of chimpanzees i was a monkey

Baseball has always done its best to teach me lessons in humility. When I was a kid--and I've probably written about this before--I played little league for a couple seasons. I was terrible, obviously, because I grew up to be a writer/editor and not the second baseman for the New York Mets, but it really wasn't for lack of trying. I really wanted to be a good baseball player, but, damn it if that ball didn't come at you awfully fast. And it hurt like a motherfucker too. I know, because one time when I was battling bronchitis, I ended up playing because the team was shorthandeded, and, since I could barely hold the bat upright, I figured the best way I could help the team was pray for a walk, or, if the pitch came a bit inside, just not get out of the way. I crowded home plate and got drilled twice in my right arm. I'm pretty sure we won that game.

One time, I actually made good contact, twice in the same game, in fact. My first at bat, I hit a screaming line drive toward the short stop, but he jumped in the air--swear to God--and caught it over his head. No biggie, I figured, I'd hit that pitcher next time up. And I did. I was seeing the ball really well that game for some reason and as soon as it left his hand, I knew I could clobber it. I drilled it to dead center, high and deep, but it was the kid in centerfield's time for little league greatness, not mine. I was busy running the ball out--like a good lil' soldier--and didn't realize that the fielder made some improbable catch to ruin my only bid for a home run (I did hit an inside the park job once, but that's because I slapped a line drive the other way in the corner, and I think the kid had trouble fielding it).

The year before, my team advanced to the finals of the East Shore Little League playoffs (not that I had much to do with it). We lost the first game of the best-of-three series, but in game two, down in the final inning, we won under some kind of dramatic circumstances. I don't remember how, but I remember being on base and running toward our dugout where we all jumped on the kid who drove in the winning run. He was this kid named Shawn, a big strapping youngster who played catcher for us, and he could hit the ball a ton. Taking the momentum of coming from behind, we rode the wave of momentum up until the final inning of game three. In fact, we rode that wave pretty fucking hard. I think we were up by 12 runs. I remember feeling confident, not cocky, but figuring that it would take a miracle for us to lose. I mean, come on...we were up by 12 runs.

The team scored a couple, then a couple more. I was playing left field, and Tony, I think that was his name, was pitching. Only one ball came anywhere near me, an errant throw to the second baseman, and I watched helplessly from left as I watched the team we had beat badly going into the final inning score the winning run. It was one of the most humbling experiences of my life.

Baseball dealt me another dose of humility this past Thursday as the Mets were defeated by the Cardinals in game 7 of the NLCS. I was not pleased. Even though Endy Chavez made just about the best catch I've ever seen in the playoffs, the Mets still couldn't muster any offence, and with the bases loaded, Carlos Beltran, arguably our best player, struck out looking to end the game and the Mets season. I told my game-watching companion--she'd watched most of the series with me at this local sports bar--the inning before Yadier Molina hit his game-winning two-run homer that "games like this usually come down to one play, you just hope your team comes up with it." They didn't. It was a great game, tied at 1 going into the 9th inning. My stomach was fucked for two days because off all the stress I put myself through.

I didn't watch a lick of sports this weekend. No World Series, no football (well just a little, and I watched the Giants beat the Cowboys tonight...woo!), I just rested and played video games and sulked around somewhat happy that I had my life back, until I realized how fucking boring it was. I did almost drive two women on mushrooms to Reno at 4 in the morning on Friday. Almost. I guess it's not that boring.

This definitely wasn't boring. I nearly shit my pants.

in the pit of my stomach

I've got my game face on, and a beard to match. The beard has become somewhat crucial, I think, to the success of the team. It's, at least, gotten them this far. I haven't shaved since the playoffs started, and I'm not going to until the Mets get knocked out, which very well could be tomorrow night. Either way, it's been such an exciting ride, and I'll never forget actually being able to see one of the games--the clinching game of the NLDS--live in front of a hostile crowd that wanted to kill me.

This series against the Cardinals has had so many ups and downs, I feel like I've been on a eight day rollercoaster; between all the rain outs and momentum swings, I may very well be nauseous, and I'm sure tomorrow will have all those things rolled into a single nine-inning game. Between the Stupid Mets (as my mom likes to call them when they're giving us "agita") and work, I've had about enough excitement for the rest of the year.

We're still sitting on the mag, and I'm not sure when it's going out. The past two days have been this sort of weird limbo, which I should be used to by now. I guess I'm too hopeful that things will be better this time around. I've been wanting to write more, but the thought of getting on the computer outside of work hours for anything other than mindless MySpace surfing is extremely unpleasant.

But today was a good day: my parents celebrated their 31st wedding anniversary; I busted out of work at 4pm; I got to watch TV with my roommates, who I miss and haven't seen in about a month; and LOST and the Project Runway season finale (not that I watch that show) were both pretty awesome. Afterward, me and my roomie watched the last half of 2001: A Space Odyssey, which is my all-time favorite, because she hadn't seen the ending. Everytime I see it, I have a different interpretation, but this time I saw a microcosm and a macrocosm, how infinite questions are impossible to answer by finite beings and how we'll all probably die alone in a room somewhere and never really know the answer to anything, and maybe not even the question. As if I didn't have enough on my mind.

I'm hoping for an early start tomorrow and a productive day, and with any luck, the mag will be done and around 8:30pm Pacific time, I'll get a call from father, giggling like a kid, about how the Mets are going to the Series. Until then, I better get some rest.

PS. If I did watch Project Runway, and I don't, it would probably be for moments like this:

do you ever think about butterflies?

I saw this comedian at Bumbershoot in Seattle. It's a really funny short, and I'm sure someone who reads this will get a big kick out of it, if not some awkward flashbacks. Happy Belated Birthday!!!

harvest moon

It's that time of year again. At least it must be, because the neighborhood be stank. I got back from drinking and Jackass Number Two and emerged from my friends car to be confronted by the overpowering skunk of ripening marijuana inundating my street. I guess it ripens. I don't know if that's the right word. It's not really a fruit I guess. At least not in the traditional sense of the word.

Whatever. My street smells like weed.

I could've sworn that the dudes got busted at some point earlier this year, but you can't keep a good dog down, so they say. I'm happy the wheels of free enterprise keep rolling ever forward, no matter what the oppressive regime tries to do to stop it. All Hail America. It sure makes me want to light up a doobie though. It's been so long since the last time I smoked, I still use the word "doobie."

Jackass Number Two was pretty much the most vile film I've ever seen. It was full of vomit, man ass, pubic hair, ball sacks and dudes getting smashed in the nuts. I couldn't stop laughing. I almost puked once. It was really good, but if I ever see another dude's ass again, it'll be way too soon.

i heard it through the grapevine

So. The Mets clinched the NLDS in Los Angeles, and I was there. It's something I'll never forget. I was sitting in the left field pavillion, and if you were watching the game, you may have seen me, bravely wearing my Mets jersey in the bleachers, when the Dodgers Jeff Kent hit a two-run homer to tie the game at four. Some guy two seats away from me jumped over an old woman and a newborn baby to catch the ball. I was the only one not celebrating.

Never in my life had I been called so many variations of the word "faggot." In fact, I had no idea there were so many variations of the word "faggot." However, no one seriously threated or tried to kick my ass and all the things that were thrown at me ended up hitting the Dodgers fans I was sitting with. I felt bad. Kinda.

The game was really exciting--too exciting--up until the 7th inning when the Mets pretty much iced it. They jumped out to a 4-0 lead and I was feeling pretty good about that. But then the Dodgers scored two in the fourth and three in the fifth to take the lead. This was the pinnacle of the shit talking being thrown my way, and now that my team was losing, I fired back like a wounded animal. I was hit in the face with beach ball, and told one drunk dude yelling, "New York sucks" at me to keep his fucking eyes on the game because it wasn't over yet. Shawn Green led off the top of the sixth with a double and was driven in by Jose Reyes to tie the game up at five. The Mets tacked on two more in that inning and took a lead that they wouldn't relinquish. They won 9-5. I decided it best not to rub it in people's faces, but I was really excited. After the game, most people were very congratulatory. They said things like "good luck!" and "the Mets deserved it," and I was happy to see that people weren't holding a grudge. Even the guy sitting behind me who kept screaming at me that he'd heard "Mets fans give good head," and "Why don't you come up here and tickle my balls, faggot?!" gave me a congrats when I bumped into him outside the stadium.

Good times.

I just got back from LA, the drive was long and boring, until we got to the Grapevine, which is the mountain range that separates the LA basin from the long, lonely, boring valley. The change in altitude is pretty dramatic. Approaching the Grapevine on I-5 from the north, there's no subtle change in gradient. It's just flat, flat, flat, BOOM big fucking mountain range. Between driving and sleeping, I figured out I'd spent all of 5 minutes in the LA area. At least it was a good five minutes. One day I'll have to go to So Cal and give it a proper visit.

PS: Making the trip even better was that the Yankees were eliminated from the playoffs by the Detroit Tigers on the same day the Mets advanced. Oh, to be in New York and listening to WFAN when that happened. I'm sure it was wonderful.

PPS: The first episode of LOST was fucking UNREAL! Could this be the best season yet? Can't wait til Wednesday.

i think i'm gonna be sick

Tomorrow the Mets embark upon their first playoff campaign in 6 years, and I don't think I've ever been this nervous about a sporting endevor. The last thing I need right now is to become super cranky because my baseball team isn't winning, because I totally will if they don't. Also, We've lost Pedro for the playoffs, now El Duque comes up a big gimpy...it just doesn't look good. I'm trying to keep the faith, though. I'm taking a three-hour lunch to watch the game tomorrow. They can fire me if they need to. And Saturday. ... I make a trip down to LA to see my first Mets playoffs game EVER. Since I'm going, I'll be totally responsible if they don't win. It's a lot of pressure. Wish me luck.