christmas wishlist part one
Audrey Kawasaki is my new dream woman. Go check out her art because it's pretty. And then go buy me that print.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
the plus one
For some reason, I was reminded of something that happened to me while I was down in San Diego while I was driving back home from my brief Thanksgiving break.
First off, I haven't seen the last three weeks of Lost. I decided to tape tonight's instead of watching it so I can see it all at once, and I plan on doing that early next week, once all this magazine business is once again put to rest. I'm going through serious withdrawals, though. I feel the need to go on excursions.
Anyway, I was in San Diego interviewing Coheed and Cambria, this band that kinda sounds like Rush. I got to talk to the lead singer, and he seemed like a pretty swell guy. I also had two tickets to the show, and since I didn't have anything better to do, I decided to stick around and watch them, even though I'd seen them the night before at this really small bar (and they rocked the place).
That night's show, at Soma, was sold out, but I had an extra ticket, because I had a plus one. I have plus ones a lot. I always ask publicists for plus ones, mostly out of habit, but oddly enough, it's like pulling teeth to get someone to go to a free show. I actually tried to give my extra ticket to this really cute waitress at this Irish pub I had lunch at, but that didn't go so well. While in San Diego, I'd gotten in the habit of asking locals for directions, or where I should go to get something to eat. The Irish pub was one such suggestion. I asked the cute waitress how to get to Soma. She wasn't sure, but she soon returned with detailed instructions and then asked me who I was going to see. When I told her, she said that she was jealous because she really wanted to go to that show. Without thinking about it, I let her know that I had an extra ticket, which I probably shouldn't have done. I think it made her uncomfortable, and I felt like a big jerk. But when she handed me my check, she wrote "Have fun at the show tonight!" on it, and that was pretty cool.
So I was at Soma with an extra ticket. After the long line had filed in, I strolled up to the will call to get my tickets and then turned away from the window and said "Does anyone need a ticket?" I was soon mobbed, but the first person who got to me--I was the oldest person at this concert mind you--was this beautiful girl (it seemed like everyone in that city was beautiful) in a tube top. She was probably 17 or something, but, to put it tactfully, she was very well endowed, and she wasn't shy about it.
"How much?!" she asked quickly. She was with another girl and a guy.
No sooner did she ask than two painfully geeky and awkward young guys came over.
"You have a ticket?!" One of them had one already, but the other kid, this lanky high school kid in an Iron Maiden T-shirt did not. Coheed and Cambria is really kinda geeky, the lead singer does a comic book and shit, and I could see how stoked they both were to get in the show, but the girl asked me first, so I told them, "sorry, but if she doesn't want it, it's yours."
I turned back to the girl and I told her $10. The tickets were $15, I think, but I'd gotten them for free, so I really didn't care. It was an all-ages show, obviously, and in California that means no booze, but they had plenty of candy for sale, and I had a hankering for Twix.
"Do you want it?" I asked her.
She paused and I could tell that she did, but she had to call someone first. I assume, her boyfriend who couldn't be there. She was like, "you only have one?" I said, yeah.
While she was on the phone, the two geeky kids said they'd give me $100 for the ticket, but when I called them on it, they said they couldn't. I have to admit, I was kinda hoping the girl wouldn't take it, even though she really did have a great rack. There. I said it.
I was trying to act like this whole ordeal was cutting into my day, but I was really getting a kick out of it. I remember being a kid and how concerts weren't as easy for me to get into as they are now. The three kids were acting like this was the defining moment of their summer, and I was kinda the gatekeeper to the magical land of rock. Or something like that.
Finally, the girl got off the phone and walked back toward me. The conversation didn't seem to go well. I said, "C'mon, yes or no?" She stomped her foot once, huffed, and then said, "Nevermind, let them take it." I hope she held it over her boyfriend's head that he guilted her into not seeing the concert. Meanwhile, geek camp was stoked. Dude in the Iron Maiden shirt might have peed himself. I sold them the ticket for $10, but I know I could have jacked up the price. They would have paid it, and I saw that they had the money.
The concert was really good, again. I had a great time, and chatted up some cute indie hipster lady working at the candy counter about Bright Eyes, who'd played there a few nights before. Sometimes inane knowledge is a good thing. At one point between bands, I bumped into geek camp again, having the time of their lives--at least for that week. They were like, "hey dude! You rock!"
I know, kids, I know.
First off, I haven't seen the last three weeks of Lost. I decided to tape tonight's instead of watching it so I can see it all at once, and I plan on doing that early next week, once all this magazine business is once again put to rest. I'm going through serious withdrawals, though. I feel the need to go on excursions.
Anyway, I was in San Diego interviewing Coheed and Cambria, this band that kinda sounds like Rush. I got to talk to the lead singer, and he seemed like a pretty swell guy. I also had two tickets to the show, and since I didn't have anything better to do, I decided to stick around and watch them, even though I'd seen them the night before at this really small bar (and they rocked the place).
That night's show, at Soma, was sold out, but I had an extra ticket, because I had a plus one. I have plus ones a lot. I always ask publicists for plus ones, mostly out of habit, but oddly enough, it's like pulling teeth to get someone to go to a free show. I actually tried to give my extra ticket to this really cute waitress at this Irish pub I had lunch at, but that didn't go so well. While in San Diego, I'd gotten in the habit of asking locals for directions, or where I should go to get something to eat. The Irish pub was one such suggestion. I asked the cute waitress how to get to Soma. She wasn't sure, but she soon returned with detailed instructions and then asked me who I was going to see. When I told her, she said that she was jealous because she really wanted to go to that show. Without thinking about it, I let her know that I had an extra ticket, which I probably shouldn't have done. I think it made her uncomfortable, and I felt like a big jerk. But when she handed me my check, she wrote "Have fun at the show tonight!" on it, and that was pretty cool.
So I was at Soma with an extra ticket. After the long line had filed in, I strolled up to the will call to get my tickets and then turned away from the window and said "Does anyone need a ticket?" I was soon mobbed, but the first person who got to me--I was the oldest person at this concert mind you--was this beautiful girl (it seemed like everyone in that city was beautiful) in a tube top. She was probably 17 or something, but, to put it tactfully, she was very well endowed, and she wasn't shy about it.
"How much?!" she asked quickly. She was with another girl and a guy.
No sooner did she ask than two painfully geeky and awkward young guys came over.
"You have a ticket?!" One of them had one already, but the other kid, this lanky high school kid in an Iron Maiden T-shirt did not. Coheed and Cambria is really kinda geeky, the lead singer does a comic book and shit, and I could see how stoked they both were to get in the show, but the girl asked me first, so I told them, "sorry, but if she doesn't want it, it's yours."
I turned back to the girl and I told her $10. The tickets were $15, I think, but I'd gotten them for free, so I really didn't care. It was an all-ages show, obviously, and in California that means no booze, but they had plenty of candy for sale, and I had a hankering for Twix.
"Do you want it?" I asked her.
She paused and I could tell that she did, but she had to call someone first. I assume, her boyfriend who couldn't be there. She was like, "you only have one?" I said, yeah.
While she was on the phone, the two geeky kids said they'd give me $100 for the ticket, but when I called them on it, they said they couldn't. I have to admit, I was kinda hoping the girl wouldn't take it, even though she really did have a great rack. There. I said it.
I was trying to act like this whole ordeal was cutting into my day, but I was really getting a kick out of it. I remember being a kid and how concerts weren't as easy for me to get into as they are now. The three kids were acting like this was the defining moment of their summer, and I was kinda the gatekeeper to the magical land of rock. Or something like that.
Finally, the girl got off the phone and walked back toward me. The conversation didn't seem to go well. I said, "C'mon, yes or no?" She stomped her foot once, huffed, and then said, "Nevermind, let them take it." I hope she held it over her boyfriend's head that he guilted her into not seeing the concert. Meanwhile, geek camp was stoked. Dude in the Iron Maiden shirt might have peed himself. I sold them the ticket for $10, but I know I could have jacked up the price. They would have paid it, and I saw that they had the money.
The concert was really good, again. I had a great time, and chatted up some cute indie hipster lady working at the candy counter about Bright Eyes, who'd played there a few nights before. Sometimes inane knowledge is a good thing. At one point between bands, I bumped into geek camp again, having the time of their lives--at least for that week. They were like, "hey dude! You rock!"
I know, kids, I know.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
the emerald city through the eye of my emerald-ish camera phone
The Seattle trip was great I even smiled sort of...A couple of times. And when I was sober, too. that's some shit right there. That one of the left is over looking the Puget Sound and the Alaskan Highway, Highway 99, which I assume goes to Alaska eventually. You have to cut through Canada, though, but I think they're working on building a bridge over it so Americans won't get freaked out by all the polite people. I think that's just a rumor.I'm writing this on my friends computer, because I'm out of town again. This time for the holiday. And I always feel weird about using other people's things, but I haven't been writing that much lately, and I kinda obsess about stuff like that. I'll clear out the cache if I decide to look up any pornography. That's only common decency, right?
So, yeah, there was a story too. Seattle was great and I got to meet a lot of cool people from all over the place. The last night we were in town, Saturday night, we were left to our own devices. My interviews were done. Photos were taken. The only thing left to do was enjoy the city, more than we already had been.
A couple friends of mine came into town, the married couple whose wedding gave me the name "Charles," and my photographer knew someone who lived in Seattle and another friend was passing through town that same weekend. We all got together on Saturday night and rolled out with a decent-sized crew.The Wife stayed back at the hotel to take a nap, so the rest of us had a couple drinks at the hotel bar and then hit one of those peep show strip club places before grabbing food and more beer at the Brooklyn. By the time we got back to the hotel, where we were planning on doing some drinking before going out, Frances Farmer's Revenge hit my intestines with a fierceness, so while everyone was getting drunk in the room next door, I was sitting in my bathroom, groaning on the bowl.
My stomach settled just when everyone started getting antsy to leave. We shambled down through the lobby and grabbed a cab on the corner. I'm not sure where this guy was from, but he was nice enough to take us all in one cab. We headed over to Charlie's on Capitol Hill, which was a bar/pub/restaurant type place that I'd visited the first time I'd visited Seattle with the married couple. It's a nice place, and it had pretty decent food. I figured we'd just start there and go somewhere else, but things deteriorated pretty fast. My photographer and his friend were wasted, the friend moreso than the photographer. The friend was hitting on the waitress even though he could barely sit up, not that I can blame him (hot), and she did her best to take it with good humor.
A table of old rocker looking dudes started to take notice of our drunken debauchery and I'm not sure when it happened, but my photographer shouted, "hey, everybody. It's the Sex Pistols!" to the shock and confusion of many, myself included. I'm not much for making a scene, or talking to anyone, really, but the old dudes at the other table just laughed it off and after my friend bought them a round (I guess to diffuse any ill will, if there was any, and I don't think there was), our two tables merged into one loud, sloppy mess.
Turns out they weren't the Sex Pistols, but one of the dudes was the drummer from LA Guns, some shlocky cock rock band back in the day whose members actually made up the "Guns" in Guns N' Roses. I think he was the drummer. Anyway, It was really surreal. One of the dudes was a comedian named Edsel and he did this really cool magic trick with a cigarette and then showed us how he did it. In actuality, it may not have been that cool, but the pretty waitress kept asking me if I'd like another rum and coke, and who was I to say no to such a nice, pretty lady? With all the talking and yelling and introducing and basically helping to carry the photographer's friend out of the back of the bar, I started to lose track of how many I'd had. People kept proclaiming they were buying rounds, I think, and when I spied over at the computer cash register, I thought I saw that our tab was well over $100 bucks, which wasn't bad considering how many of us there were and that someone had ordered food.
Another one of the old rock dudes called himself "Southside Johnny." I said that I'd heard the name before, but at the time I couldn't place it. After I'd gotten back home, I did a search for him and remembered...the dude from the Asbury Jukes. The dude who'd played with Springsteen; but the pictures I saw didn't look like the dude we met at the bar. I'm not denying that he was in a Southside Johnny, but he definitely wasn't the one I'd said I'd heard of. I got to thinking that there must be a lot of Southside Johnny's in the US, considering that every town, no matter how small it is, does, in fact, have a south side. And John is a very common name.
We never did go anywhere else. My friend told them that I work for a music magazine and kept talking us up, which was really nice of him, but it kinda caused the old rock dudes to suck up to me a bit. That kinda bummed me out for whatever reason. That's never really happened to me before, and after a couple days of having to talk up the magazine, I was just looking to forget about it and relax. I did end up giving out my card, though, because I'm a fucking whore. Southside actually called me on Monday and said he had a great time hanging out with us, and I told him the same.
I like instances like that, when you meet people you're probably never going to see again. It was kinda like my experience on the train. All your stories are new and fresh, you laugh and drink it up, then say goodnight and that's that. I'm sure there's some kind of insight there, but whatever. Here's some more pictures, and they're really really blurry.
Another one of the old rock dudes called himself "Southside Johnny." I said that I'd heard the name before, but at the time I couldn't place it. After I'd gotten back home, I did a search for him and remembered...the dude from the Asbury Jukes. The dude who'd played with Springsteen; but the pictures I saw didn't look like the dude we met at the bar. I'm not denying that he was in a Southside Johnny, but he definitely wasn't the one I'd said I'd heard of. I got to thinking that there must be a lot of Southside Johnny's in the US, considering that every town, no matter how small it is, does, in fact, have a south side. And John is a very common name.
We never did go anywhere else. My friend told them that I work for a music magazine and kept talking us up, which was really nice of him, but it kinda caused the old rock dudes to suck up to me a bit. That kinda bummed me out for whatever reason. That's never really happened to me before, and after a couple days of having to talk up the magazine, I was just looking to forget about it and relax. I did end up giving out my card, though, because I'm a fucking whore. Southside actually called me on Monday and said he had a great time hanging out with us, and I told him the same.
I like instances like that, when you meet people you're probably never going to see again. It was kinda like my experience on the train. All your stories are new and fresh, you laugh and drink it up, then say goodnight and that's that. I'm sure there's some kind of insight there, but whatever. Here's some more pictures, and they're really really blurry.
- Disco night with bad ass DJ.
- More blurry disco madness.
- DJ spins and sings a great set of soul music.
- Old dude rocking anti-establishment, counter culture folk songs at Pike's Market. He had a great voice and good lyrics. I couldn't afford to by his CD, because the man really does got us down. I listened to his song and shook his hand instead. I guess that gives me another reason to go back.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
frances farmer will have her revenge on my bowels
Seattle is an amazing city. It reminds me a lot of New York, but manages to stay totally different too. It helps if you go there and you're put up in a really nice hotel, though.The trip went really well. I had a great time. I don't feel like going into too much detail, but I'm going to put up shitty pictures that I took with my cell phone camera, and they're all brilliant works of art, but it went a little something like this.
- It only costs us $2.00 to get downtown from Seattle/Tacoma airport taking the regular city bus. The trip took all of 15 minutes--well maybe a bit longer. This was a good thing, because Seattle is pretty expensive. Not San Diego expensive, but I don't think anywhere is. But then again, everything's expensive when you don't have any money
- Hung out at the Sub Pop office. They had a really cool dog, who the publicist I work with said "is a lot like Eeyore." We shared a deep, spiritual bond.
- Had a loose, fun, but still awkward interview with Mark Arm and even got to meet Dan Peters, who in addition to rocking with Mudhoney, also played drums in Nirvana for a bit and was featured in the recording of "Sliver," which is one of my favorite songs. He has a kid now and that rocks too.
- Met people from all over the world, and even "networked" with out feeling like a slimebag about it.
- Received two free lunches and two free dinners, which was good because of the reason stated above.
- Everything in town was in walking distance from our hotel. Well, everything we needed to go to. The weather was nice and cold, but it never rained. I don't think it got out of the 50s. I walked all over town and didn't get lost once.
- Went to a bad ass independent book store on Capitol Hill that sold independent comics pretty exclusively. I picked up the latest issue of Optic Nerve, a book called Hey, Wait... and a couple of books by local artists.
- Thursday night was one of the most fun nights I can remember having. Some old school New York dance music DJ was spinning as well as some kids from the event we were covering. Heard a lot of good dance and soul music and the old school DJ from New York rocked such a killer set that everyone in the room was moving. You couldn't not move. Even I was moving and I can't abide by such things.
- Happened upon this oyster bar called The Brooklyn. I don't like oysters, but the place had killer fried calimari that came with a dipping sauce that was a secret recipe. It was real good. We were dipping bread, french fries and whatever else we could into it. It also had killer strong microbrew like evil Old Rasputin on tap. It was also really cheap.
- I had a real Washington apple for breakfast every morning. They were free at the hotel's front desk. And the bed in the room was so nice that coming home to my bargain basement twin sort of depressing. There was also a really nice bathrobe, that I really should have stolen.
The only thing that sucked was, for whatever reason, as soon as I got off the plane pretty much, I couldn't hold down any food. I spent a good portion of each day on the toilet bowl contributing to the Seattle septic system. I think me and the water up there didn't get along. Luckily, it wasn't too debilitating. I'm still getting readjusted to being back, but tomorrow I'll post some pictures and partying the last night with some old school rock dudes. And anything else I can think of.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
over 12,000 served
I should be asleep, but that's okay. I'm getting pretty tired. I'm supposed to leave here around 9am tomorrow, and it's pissing me off to no end that it'll take us longer to drive to the airport than it will to fly to Seattle, but that's the way things go when you live in cow town.The Mudhoney interview got chopped and screwed. It's still going to happen but we're not going to be able to get the full band together for pictures. I'll be talking to Mark at his job, and I'm pretty excited. I spent all night tonight reading interviews spanning back years. It was funny to read one from 1990 and one from 2004 back to back. All those kids were such immature punks back then. Too cynical and apathetic for their age, maybe. I guess we all were like that. I don't think any of us thought we'd get to be this old.
I think R's right about the 29 thing. It seems like every day I get more depressed, and I don't have anything to be depressed about, except the inert mass of my body type and the impending, crippling doom I feel everytime I go to pay bills. I'm thinking the change of scenery for a few days will do me good, even though anything remotely work-related stresses me out to no end. I pulled a long day today to ensure things got done. I did an interview with a small-time director I really like, transcribed it and finished the feature all in one day. I should have felt more accomplished than I did. Afterwards, I realized that I didn't have a recorder that I could take for my interview tomorrow, and that caused a mini breakdown. It's like I've got PMS.
I have no idea what I'm going to talk to Mark about. I definitely don't want to say, "so you guys are still around and all the other bands you used to play with aren't. What's that like?" because that was in every recent interview I read. I suppose because it's a good question. And the few people who remember they were that band Nirvana liked were probably wondering the same thing.
I went out to Wal-Mart and bought the snazziest (really the cheapest) digital voice recorder I could find. They didn't have any of the regular tape ones. They had one of the small cassette ones, but it was just as much as the digital gizmo and they didn't have any of the cassettes it required. The digital's nice--small and light--and when I tested it out, the sound quality was really good. Afterwards, I went to In-N-Out, because it's right across the street.
So, I guess that's it until Sunday. With any luck, the gloomy cloudiness of Seattle will help me realize how good I have it hear in nauseatingly sunny California.
Saturday, November 12, 2005
hypocrite
Despite my whining to the contrary, I voted on Tuesday like a good American (or bad American, depending on your interpretation). I'm kinda glad I did, too, because there was some really lame anti-abortion proposition on the ballot and it almost passed. Good thing almost doesn't count. The only thing I'm pretty vehement about when it comes to politics is the whole pro-choice thing. In a past life, I was probably burning bras.
I voted. Yay. I walked 14 blocks to get there, and then decided to walk halfway back across town to go to my favorite Chinese place to grab a fat bowl of chicken wonton soup. The place was packed, which made me happy, and if the tranquil movie score music and killer food for low, low prices weren't enough, they now employ a bevy of beautiful young Asian women who barely speak English, replacing the grouchy white dude who used to have the dinner shift. Thusly, the place will heretofore be known as Heaven on Earth, even though the men's room is one of the most frightening and aromatic bathrooms in town.
The rest of the week involved treating occupational stress with a rum 'n' coke a day. Three belated birthday gifts--a bootlegged copy of Sky High from my sister and Sonic Youth's Murray Street on vinyl and a gift certificate to the best Italian restaurant in town from my coworkers--were great pickmeups.
Tonight, I saw that MirrorMask was playing at the local arthouse movie theater, so I busted out of work early to go see it. It was good. The story was kinda shaky at times, and it was kinda obvious that Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean were still feeling out the whole making a movie thing, but considering that they only had $4 million to make an effects-heavy film, I think they did a good job. There were enough moments to make it worth the money, and it was cool to see Dave McKean's artwork come to life. The sphinxes and the Bobs ruled.
And of course, there was Lost, which was really intense this week. It definitely came back with a bang after an aggregious three-week lay off. I mean, seriously, three fucking weeks? And the week after next, the night before the most holy day of Thanksgiving, Lost will be pre-empted again for a fucking Kenny Chesney concert. Are you serious? I mean, I guess that's a big travel day and stuff, and since I'll probably be traveling myself, I can't complain. It's just...ugh.
Speaking of travel, though, I'll have to miss Lost this coming Wednesday, because I'm going to Seattle so that I may, among other things, interview one of my favorite bands in-person. I've been listening to Mudhoney forever, but still, I have no idea what the hell I'm going to talk to them about. I'm hoping divine inspiration takes hold of me in the next couple days. But I really want this one to go well. I'm not going to half-ass it. I even started doing research for it weeks ago. I'm that stoked. Still, I'm going to miss sitting on my couch watching Lost on Wednesday night, nursing a pint of Guinness, for all the obvious reasons.
Happy Thanksgiving, Evie.
I voted. Yay. I walked 14 blocks to get there, and then decided to walk halfway back across town to go to my favorite Chinese place to grab a fat bowl of chicken wonton soup. The place was packed, which made me happy, and if the tranquil movie score music and killer food for low, low prices weren't enough, they now employ a bevy of beautiful young Asian women who barely speak English, replacing the grouchy white dude who used to have the dinner shift. Thusly, the place will heretofore be known as Heaven on Earth, even though the men's room is one of the most frightening and aromatic bathrooms in town.The rest of the week involved treating occupational stress with a rum 'n' coke a day. Three belated birthday gifts--a bootlegged copy of Sky High from my sister and Sonic Youth's Murray Street on vinyl and a gift certificate to the best Italian restaurant in town from my coworkers--were great pickmeups.
Tonight, I saw that MirrorMask was playing at the local arthouse movie theater, so I busted out of work early to go see it. It was good. The story was kinda shaky at times, and it was kinda obvious that Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean were still feeling out the whole making a movie thing, but considering that they only had $4 million to make an effects-heavy film, I think they did a good job. There were enough moments to make it worth the money, and it was cool to see Dave McKean's artwork come to life. The sphinxes and the Bobs ruled.
And of course, there was Lost, which was really intense this week. It definitely came back with a bang after an aggregious three-week lay off. I mean, seriously, three fucking weeks? And the week after next, the night before the most holy day of Thanksgiving, Lost will be pre-empted again for a fucking Kenny Chesney concert. Are you serious? I mean, I guess that's a big travel day and stuff, and since I'll probably be traveling myself, I can't complain. It's just...ugh.
Speaking of travel, though, I'll have to miss Lost this coming Wednesday, because I'm going to Seattle so that I may, among other things, interview one of my favorite bands in-person. I've been listening to Mudhoney forever, but still, I have no idea what the hell I'm going to talk to them about. I'm hoping divine inspiration takes hold of me in the next couple days. But I really want this one to go well. I'm not going to half-ass it. I even started doing research for it weeks ago. I'm that stoked. Still, I'm going to miss sitting on my couch watching Lost on Wednesday night, nursing a pint of Guinness, for all the obvious reasons.Happy Thanksgiving, Evie.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
look, i really hate goodbyes, so...
I'd been putting it off for a while, but tonight I finished the last disc of Season 2 of Dead Like Me. God.
I'm kinda bummed. Season 2 was really good, but nothing really gets wrapped up. I kinda got to know those characters really well. I just hope there's a wrap-up movie or something, because I feel like I'm owed an explanation.
It never ceases to amaze me that shitty shows stay on the air forever, but good stuff usually gets canned after a couple of seasons. And it was on fucking cable, so it's not like they have to worry about advertising dollars. I pay for that shit! I pay for Shotime. I'm writing my damn congressman and getting this stupid show back.
I guess we're supposed to vote tomorrow. I think the Governator called for some ridiculous special election. Honestly, I don't even know what it's all about. I'm living proof that democracy doesn't work. It's a type of government that requires a certain amount of participation by the governed, in this case me. I think politicians nowadays are banking on people like me, to be honest. They don't want me to get involved. In fact, they don't want me to show up to the polls. They want me to sit on my ass and bitch about my favorite shows getting cancelled. They want me to watch Lost and post pictures of women I'm drooling over on my blog. That's fine, I guess, because that's really all I want to do. I don't want to participate in something I don't believe in.
I don't believe government works. Not on a mass scale, anyway. Even if the majority think one way, there's still a good number of folks who get screwed. What everyone wants isn't always what's best. I dont' even know what's best, and I'm sick of the commercials trying to convince what I should and shouldn't vote for. Or even better yet, the commercials about the commercials that tell me what to vote for.
Judge Wapner of the old court show, and I believe one of the first proto-reality shows, the People's Court told me that I should vote no on Prop. 77. There are four propositions in this "special" election. The other side has a commercial that shows clips of the Judge Wapner commerical that says--basically, honestly my brain shuts off--that the Honorable Mr. Wapner is full of horseshit and that he's just talkin' crazy talk. Then John McCain, who seems pretty nice--for a republican--comes on and says we shouldn't let politicians decide what the districts are, but we should let judges draw them up, implying that politicians are not to be trusted. I totally agree, but an interesting conundrum arises from a politician telling me not to trust politicians. Judge Wapner has never steered me wrong before.
It's like that old riddle. It used to bug the shit out of me. I think it was in the movie Labrynth, but I'm sure they didn't make it up: There's two doors, one door leads to all the life and happiness you can handle (in my case, endless strip clubs full of nubile young Asian women and free lap dances--and pizza...and y'know world peace and shit like that) and the other leads to certain painful death (assumably by watching political commercials). There's one guard stationed at each door. One guard always lies, and the other one always tells the truth. Of course, you don't know which one guards which door. You only are allowed to ask one question to one of the guards to determine which door you should choose (assuming of course you'd like to follow the door that leads to endless strip clubs and world peace and not death by political propaganda).
The answer used to boggle my mind. I thought about it long and hard, but I've never been one for being able to solve such things. I love riddles, but more so when I don't know the answer and have to wrack my brain to figure out how to solve it. I always though riddles were kinda creepy and mysterious that way, which I guess they're supposed to be.
The answer to this riddle, my favorite riddle, is pretty simple. You just go to whichever guard, it doesn't matter which, and ask him (or her) which door the other guard would tell me is the door to eternal strip clubs and world peace. You then choose the opposite door. The logic behind that is if you asked that to the guard who always lied, he'd make it seem like the other was the liar, and if you asked the truthful one, he'd tell you truthfully that the other one is trying to condemn you to the tedious chattering of attention-starved politicos. Always choose the opposite door.
I'm sure there's some kind of analogy I can draw from all that, but I'd rather not bother. I'm kinda disenchanted by the whole process. I don't see how the majority of a country could vote for obvious criminals. Putting the power of who gets to make decisions that affect millions of people who al have different wants and needs in the hands of people like this, or me for that matter, seems about as logical as divine providence. At least then you can blame it on God.
I'm kinda bummed. Season 2 was really good, but nothing really gets wrapped up. I kinda got to know those characters really well. I just hope there's a wrap-up movie or something, because I feel like I'm owed an explanation.
It never ceases to amaze me that shitty shows stay on the air forever, but good stuff usually gets canned after a couple of seasons. And it was on fucking cable, so it's not like they have to worry about advertising dollars. I pay for that shit! I pay for Shotime. I'm writing my damn congressman and getting this stupid show back.
I guess we're supposed to vote tomorrow. I think the Governator called for some ridiculous special election. Honestly, I don't even know what it's all about. I'm living proof that democracy doesn't work. It's a type of government that requires a certain amount of participation by the governed, in this case me. I think politicians nowadays are banking on people like me, to be honest. They don't want me to get involved. In fact, they don't want me to show up to the polls. They want me to sit on my ass and bitch about my favorite shows getting cancelled. They want me to watch Lost and post pictures of women I'm drooling over on my blog. That's fine, I guess, because that's really all I want to do. I don't want to participate in something I don't believe in.
I don't believe government works. Not on a mass scale, anyway. Even if the majority think one way, there's still a good number of folks who get screwed. What everyone wants isn't always what's best. I dont' even know what's best, and I'm sick of the commercials trying to convince what I should and shouldn't vote for. Or even better yet, the commercials about the commercials that tell me what to vote for.
Judge Wapner of the old court show, and I believe one of the first proto-reality shows, the People's Court told me that I should vote no on Prop. 77. There are four propositions in this "special" election. The other side has a commercial that shows clips of the Judge Wapner commerical that says--basically, honestly my brain shuts off--that the Honorable Mr. Wapner is full of horseshit and that he's just talkin' crazy talk. Then John McCain, who seems pretty nice--for a republican--comes on and says we shouldn't let politicians decide what the districts are, but we should let judges draw them up, implying that politicians are not to be trusted. I totally agree, but an interesting conundrum arises from a politician telling me not to trust politicians. Judge Wapner has never steered me wrong before.It's like that old riddle. It used to bug the shit out of me. I think it was in the movie Labrynth, but I'm sure they didn't make it up: There's two doors, one door leads to all the life and happiness you can handle (in my case, endless strip clubs full of nubile young Asian women and free lap dances--and pizza...and y'know world peace and shit like that) and the other leads to certain painful death (assumably by watching political commercials). There's one guard stationed at each door. One guard always lies, and the other one always tells the truth. Of course, you don't know which one guards which door. You only are allowed to ask one question to one of the guards to determine which door you should choose (assuming of course you'd like to follow the door that leads to endless strip clubs and world peace and not death by political propaganda).
The answer used to boggle my mind. I thought about it long and hard, but I've never been one for being able to solve such things. I love riddles, but more so when I don't know the answer and have to wrack my brain to figure out how to solve it. I always though riddles were kinda creepy and mysterious that way, which I guess they're supposed to be.
The answer to this riddle, my favorite riddle, is pretty simple. You just go to whichever guard, it doesn't matter which, and ask him (or her) which door the other guard would tell me is the door to eternal strip clubs and world peace. You then choose the opposite door. The logic behind that is if you asked that to the guard who always lied, he'd make it seem like the other was the liar, and if you asked the truthful one, he'd tell you truthfully that the other one is trying to condemn you to the tedious chattering of attention-starved politicos. Always choose the opposite door.
I'm sure there's some kind of analogy I can draw from all that, but I'd rather not bother. I'm kinda disenchanted by the whole process. I don't see how the majority of a country could vote for obvious criminals. Putting the power of who gets to make decisions that affect millions of people who al have different wants and needs in the hands of people like this, or me for that matter, seems about as logical as divine providence. At least then you can blame it on God.
Monday, November 07, 2005
mountains of madness
I took it easy this weekend. I traded bars for movies, and that was a pleasant change of pace from the last couple weeks of debauchery. Y'know, I still had booze and stuff, and I went to the bar for a drink, but that's the be expected. Otherwise, it was really low key.
I started the movie marathon off with Iron Palm, a comedic Korean melodrama pretty par for the course with other comedic Korean melodramas, which seems to make up 80 percent of all movies that come out of South Korea. Iron Palm was good because it made me laugh sometimes and it starred Yunjin Kim from Lost, who, as luck would have it, was just as dreamy off the island as she is on.
It's about this guy who has this hot and heavy and seemingly mostly physical relationship with a woman, who quite suddenly moves to Los Angeles. Five years later, dude's still torn up about it, so he learns English and, when he finally passes the TOEFL exam, gets a visa to come to the States to find her. In so doing, he leaves everything Korean about him behind, even his name, and speaks only broken English throughout the film. He finds her (Ms. Kim, of course, and a good thing he does too 'cause she fine) and hilarity and bittersweet moments ensue. It's pure cheddar, but I was kinda in the mood for that. I like a good love story, and in the absence of a good one, I'll settle for a mediocre one. Yunjin was pretty good in it too. She was raised in my hometown hood (Staten Island, bitches) so she's fluent in the English, but her facial expressions say a lot more, I think. And y'know, she fine.
I followed up this harmless piece of starcrossed fluff with Marebito, which was directed by Takashi Shimizu, the guy who directed Ju-On and its American counterpart, The Grudge.
It wasn't a horror movie in the traditional sense. Instead, I think it was more about the feeling of horror. This cameraman guy is obsessed with fear, but hasn't felt fear himself. Instead, he films people who are afraid of stuff and pines over what they're feeling. So, I guess in Japan there are these urban legends about beings that live deep in underground passages beneath the cities, and this film kinda banked on that. Being unfamiliar with these urban legends, I guess there was a bit of a cultural barrier to cross, but there usually is with Japanese films.
So cameraman guy goes down into the depths and talks to a crazy homeless dude, then has a conversation with some other dude he filmed committing suicide, then happens on to "The Mountains of Madness" where he finds a cute lil' naked woman suspiciously chained to the rocks. He brings her home, because it's only right to bring home a cute lil' naked woman you find chained to the rocks at the Mountains of Madness, and he ends up treating her like a pet. Of course, cute lil' naked women chained to rocks at the Mountain of Madness require blood for sustenance--they'll take animal blood but human blood is prefered. From this situation, absolutely no hilarity ensues, but though it might sound ridiculous, the film was really well-made and worked the whole symbolism angle to a T. It wasn't perfect, but definitely one I'd like to watch again to see if I could pick up on more clues. But it was pretty damn disturbing. The story is that Shimizu made the film in the eight days he had between finishing up Ju-On 2 and starting work on The Grudge. It seemed really personal, like a director hashing out personal demons. Pretty trippy.
I capped off a Sunday of football (and another Giants win) with The Glass House, which I bought from the Wal-Mart clearance bin. It was pretty good--entertaining and vaguely thrilling. I wish it wasn't 3:22 am, or else I'd find something else to watch.
I started the movie marathon off with Iron Palm, a comedic Korean melodrama pretty par for the course with other comedic Korean melodramas, which seems to make up 80 percent of all movies that come out of South Korea. Iron Palm was good because it made me laugh sometimes and it starred Yunjin Kim from Lost, who, as luck would have it, was just as dreamy off the island as she is on.It's about this guy who has this hot and heavy and seemingly mostly physical relationship with a woman, who quite suddenly moves to Los Angeles. Five years later, dude's still torn up about it, so he learns English and, when he finally passes the TOEFL exam, gets a visa to come to the States to find her. In so doing, he leaves everything Korean about him behind, even his name, and speaks only broken English throughout the film. He finds her (Ms. Kim, of course, and a good thing he does too 'cause she fine) and hilarity and bittersweet moments ensue. It's pure cheddar, but I was kinda in the mood for that. I like a good love story, and in the absence of a good one, I'll settle for a mediocre one. Yunjin was pretty good in it too. She was raised in my hometown hood (Staten Island, bitches) so she's fluent in the English, but her facial expressions say a lot more, I think. And y'know, she fine.
I followed up this harmless piece of starcrossed fluff with Marebito, which was directed by Takashi Shimizu, the guy who directed Ju-On and its American counterpart, The Grudge.It wasn't a horror movie in the traditional sense. Instead, I think it was more about the feeling of horror. This cameraman guy is obsessed with fear, but hasn't felt fear himself. Instead, he films people who are afraid of stuff and pines over what they're feeling. So, I guess in Japan there are these urban legends about beings that live deep in underground passages beneath the cities, and this film kinda banked on that. Being unfamiliar with these urban legends, I guess there was a bit of a cultural barrier to cross, but there usually is with Japanese films.
So cameraman guy goes down into the depths and talks to a crazy homeless dude, then has a conversation with some other dude he filmed committing suicide, then happens on to "The Mountains of Madness" where he finds a cute lil' naked woman suspiciously chained to the rocks. He brings her home, because it's only right to bring home a cute lil' naked woman you find chained to the rocks at the Mountains of Madness, and he ends up treating her like a pet. Of course, cute lil' naked women chained to rocks at the Mountain of Madness require blood for sustenance--they'll take animal blood but human blood is prefered. From this situation, absolutely no hilarity ensues, but though it might sound ridiculous, the film was really well-made and worked the whole symbolism angle to a T. It wasn't perfect, but definitely one I'd like to watch again to see if I could pick up on more clues. But it was pretty damn disturbing. The story is that Shimizu made the film in the eight days he had between finishing up Ju-On 2 and starting work on The Grudge. It seemed really personal, like a director hashing out personal demons. Pretty trippy.
I capped off a Sunday of football (and another Giants win) with The Glass House, which I bought from the Wal-Mart clearance bin. It was pretty good--entertaining and vaguely thrilling. I wish it wasn't 3:22 am, or else I'd find something else to watch.
Friday, November 04, 2005
well. at least that's over.
I turned 29 on Tuesday. It was about as unexiting as it sounds, but I tried to spice it up with a variety of events and managed to have a very good time.
I took Sunday off from my epic bender. I didn't leave the house. I had a chicken cutlet parmeggiana hero and a tray of rigatoni and meatballs delivered to my house. I had the sandwich for lunch and half of the pasta for dinner. I moped around the house. It was beautiful.
Halloween was just about the most unproductive day of work I've ever had. And that's saying something. I went to lunch at my favorite breakfast/lunch place and had my first french dip, though. I can't believe I've never had one before. Another thing to check off the list, I guess. That night, though, I went out to the bar down the block to watch a bunch of shitty punk bands and they put on a really good show. The last band that played was a Misfits cover band, and I ended up carrying a coffin with the lead singer inside into the venue. We stood the coffin straight up, he emerged, we set the coffin down and they opened with, of course, "Halloween." It seems like a lot of hoopla for a cover band, but damn they were a good time.
They kinda suck, but the Misfits kinda suck. It's a good thing they wrote such killer songs. Songs so killer, the shittier they sound, the better they are. I sang a lot and pumped my fist and raised my pint glass and howled and, for a change, let myself get really excited.
On my birthday, my desk was covered with sheets of paper wishing me a happy birthday, and my chair was wrapped in a red ribbon. I went in late and left early so I could pick up a keg for a party. I've never really picked up a keg before. I've been to plenty of keggers, but usually, I'd just get a variety of alcohol for a party. The keg was free, though, thanks to my job, so I figured why not?
A keg is an awful lot of beer, but I guess that's a good thing because the people who came ended up drinking an awful lot. So did I. One of my friends DJ'ed, we made a huge ass dinner, and people stayed till about 3am. Given the week of debauchery everyone I know has seemed to be involved in, I was happy that people actually showed up and had a good time on a Tuesday night. For gifts, I received a bottle of Bacardi bowl of bruschetta, three loaves of garlic bread, a refridgerator full of Guinnes and an adult DVD featuring Autumn Austin. Not a bad haul.
Last night was another coworker's birthday, so it was time to go out again. I had a velvet hammer, which is kinda like a black and tan made of Guinness and champagne. The first sip was just about the gnarliest thing I've ever ingested, but it got much better after that. The rest of the night was pleasant and I got home just after midnight.
Today, I'm happy that I don't have anything to do for the rest of the week. Halloween's over. My birthday's finally over. I can just sit in the house and relax. Alias was pre-empted for the Pirates of the Caribbean, but I still haven't watched the one I taped two weeks ago. I'm watching a rerun now. I don't know how old it is. But Sloane's super evil and he's not wearing turtlenecks.
I took Sunday off from my epic bender. I didn't leave the house. I had a chicken cutlet parmeggiana hero and a tray of rigatoni and meatballs delivered to my house. I had the sandwich for lunch and half of the pasta for dinner. I moped around the house. It was beautiful.
Halloween was just about the most unproductive day of work I've ever had. And that's saying something. I went to lunch at my favorite breakfast/lunch place and had my first french dip, though. I can't believe I've never had one before. Another thing to check off the list, I guess. That night, though, I went out to the bar down the block to watch a bunch of shitty punk bands and they put on a really good show. The last band that played was a Misfits cover band, and I ended up carrying a coffin with the lead singer inside into the venue. We stood the coffin straight up, he emerged, we set the coffin down and they opened with, of course, "Halloween." It seems like a lot of hoopla for a cover band, but damn they were a good time.
They kinda suck, but the Misfits kinda suck. It's a good thing they wrote such killer songs. Songs so killer, the shittier they sound, the better they are. I sang a lot and pumped my fist and raised my pint glass and howled and, for a change, let myself get really excited.
On my birthday, my desk was covered with sheets of paper wishing me a happy birthday, and my chair was wrapped in a red ribbon. I went in late and left early so I could pick up a keg for a party. I've never really picked up a keg before. I've been to plenty of keggers, but usually, I'd just get a variety of alcohol for a party. The keg was free, though, thanks to my job, so I figured why not?
A keg is an awful lot of beer, but I guess that's a good thing because the people who came ended up drinking an awful lot. So did I. One of my friends DJ'ed, we made a huge ass dinner, and people stayed till about 3am. Given the week of debauchery everyone I know has seemed to be involved in, I was happy that people actually showed up and had a good time on a Tuesday night. For gifts, I received a bottle of Bacardi bowl of bruschetta, three loaves of garlic bread, a refridgerator full of Guinnes and an adult DVD featuring Autumn Austin. Not a bad haul.
Last night was another coworker's birthday, so it was time to go out again. I had a velvet hammer, which is kinda like a black and tan made of Guinness and champagne. The first sip was just about the gnarliest thing I've ever ingested, but it got much better after that. The rest of the night was pleasant and I got home just after midnight.
Today, I'm happy that I don't have anything to do for the rest of the week. Halloween's over. My birthday's finally over. I can just sit in the house and relax. Alias was pre-empted for the Pirates of the Caribbean, but I still haven't watched the one I taped two weeks ago. I'm watching a rerun now. I don't know how old it is. But Sloane's super evil and he's not wearing turtlenecks.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
a message from our lord
I got this spam e-mail in my work's inbox today. I get about 30 like it a day. It came under the subject line "Fear God and Give Him Glory," and it should be noted that it concluded with a banner for Shaadi.com, an Internet marriage arrangement site. Which sounds like human trafficking to me, I think. Enjoy! [Italicized comments are mine.]
Dearest one in the Lord,
It is my Pleasure to write to you after considering your profile [I am kinda hot from the side]. My name is Elizabeth Bine a nationality of kuwait. I am married to Mr. Lobi Bine who worked with kuwait company in Ivory Coast for nine years before he died in the year 2003. We were married for eleven years without a child [Even Tom Cruise managed to impregnate a woman. And he's totally gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that]. he died after a brief illness that lasted for only four days. Before he death we were both born again Christians. When my late husband was alive we deposited the sum of $8.5Million (Eight Million five hundred thousand U.S. Dollars) [I heard you the first time] with a BANK here in COTE D'IVOIRE.
Presently, this money is still with the bank. Recently, my Doctor told me that I would not last due to cancer problem [That is a problem]. Having known my condition I decided to look for some one who is a man of God, a christian individual that will utilize this money the way I am going to instruct here in. I want a a person that will use this fund to churches, or phanages, Research centers and widows propagating the word of God and to ensure that the house of God is maintained [What about strip clubs and drinking myself into a coma?]. The Bible made us to understand that Blessed is the hand that giveth.
I took this decision because I dont have any child that will inherit this money and my husband's relatives are not Christians and I don't want my family hard earned money to be misused by unbelievers. I dont want a situation where this money will be used in an ungodly manner. Hence the reason for taking this bold decision. I am not afraid of death hence I know where I am going.
I know that I am going to be in the bossom of the Lord [Is it me or is that a bit presumptuous...and kinda kinky?]. Exodus 14 VS 14 says that the lord will fight my case and I shall hold my peace. I don't need any telephone communication in this regard because of my health because of the presence of my family relatives around me always. I don't want them to know about this development.
With God all things are possible [Even spam scams...]. As soon as I receive your reply I shall give you the contact of the bank where the money was deposited for you to contact them and request them to transfer the money to your account.I will also issue you a letter of authority that will empower you as the new beneficiary of this fund. I want you and the church to always pray for me because the lord is my shephard. My happiness is that I lived a life of a worthy Christian. Whoever that wants to serve the Lord must serve him in spirit and truth. Please always be prayerful all through your life [Hey, I try...]. Any delay in your reply will give me room insourcing for christian in dividual for this same purpose. Please assure me that you will act accordingly as I stated here.
Hoping to hearing from you with this email address above.
Remain blessed in the name of the Lord.
Yours in Christ,
Mrs Elizabeth Bine
Sunday, October 30, 2005
the infirmary
Saturday was not the best of days. I didn't get home until a quarter to five in the morning, and though I didn't really have that much to drink, I think the week of celebrating my birthday had finally caught up with me. I'd been blissfully hangover free since the bender started on Tuesday, but whater I had on Friday night into early Saturday morning opened the floodgates of bodily misery.
I forgot to turn off my alarm again. I always do. It has three settings--three types of nature sounds, a buzzer and a radio. I never tuned the radio, so I set the buzzer and nature sounds (in this case, the "sound of the ocean," ten minutes apart. I also set my clock ten minutes ahead. I haven't turned that clock back yet, but I will right before I go to bed. At 8:30am (really 8:20am) the sound of crashing waves knocked me out of bed and into a particularly nasty hangover. Luckily, I fell right back to sleep, figuring I'd be right as rain in a couple more hours.
Sadly, this wasn't the case, and when I woke up around 10:30am, the back of my head felt like it'd been chewed off by a rusty saw. This was a familiar feeling, though I've only really had it once before. I've got a pretty iron stomach when it comes to alcohol; I've only had to throw up once. Saturday morning felt like it would be the second time. I spent a good deal of time in bed, trying to figure out whether it'd be a morning of kneeling before or sitting on top of the toilet bowl. I made it into the bathroom to expell waste products in a conventional manner and took a shower, and that eased my headache somewhat. I got a glass of water and faced my roommates. The living room looked kinda line an infirmary. H was sitting on the futon and P was sunk deep in the couch. H mentioned that we should all go to the medic--the greasy spoon breakfast nook down the block--which usually fixes me right up. I couldn't tell if my stomach was being cranky because it wanted me to add or subtract from its contents, but I had to eat something eventually. We all bundled up, because we all had the shakes, and made our way to breakfast.
We had to sit outside. Some local rag wrote about how cool the place was--more specifically, the writer wrote about how cool one of the waitresses is, word has it, he's crazy in love with her, word gets around fast here--and now it's become more popular, so it's a little bit harder to get a seat. We couldn't get in to the counter, so we grabbed a table outside. And the fucking sun was seriously fucking with me. I kept my beanie cap pulled down low. I squinted my eyes. I sipped my tall glass of water. It was becoming quickly apparent that the last thing my stomach wanted was food, but when the waitress came by to ask us what we wanted, I immediately said, "ham, scrambled eggs, hashbrowns--extra crispy."
From the inside portion of the restaurant, two of the people I'd been drinking with the night before emerged. They hadn't been to sleep. They also hadn't stopped drinking, and were raging drunk and still wearing the same wine-stained clothes. I was kinda jealous, because they were still on the upswing, and I was sadly crashing really hard.
Breakfast came. I took a forkful of hashbrowns, a sliver of ham, a speck of eggs. I stood up from the table and gave H 10 bucks and told her to have them box it up for me, and I walked home. Good thing it was close. I raced straight for the bathroom and stood at the sink. I didn't feel as sick as I did when I was at the restaurant, but I didn't feel good either. I ended up suffering through a pretty bad battle with the shits. I'd won, but I was left in a weakened state. After about a half-hour on the bowl, I made it out on to the futon where I laid motionless for about eight hours.
H and her boyfriend fled town. "We can't go out again tonight," they said. There was a Halloween party at the barn going down, and everyone was going. P was again sunk deep into the couch. After H and her boyfriend left. We both sat in the living room in almost complete silence, laying down under blankets on opposite ends of the room watching television.
We watched the Fat Albert movie. Then college football--USC v. Washington State followed by Hawaii v. Fresno State--after the second thing, P got up off the couch, got dressed and headed out to another party. I was still planted firmly in the futon. H's dog laid down next to me. He didn't get drunk the night before, but I think he was feeling sympathy pains. He knew who would be feeding him dinner.
At about 8pm, the head ache was almost completely gone, but now my stomach was making noises. Different kind of noises. I got up and tested the waters with a couple of tortilla chips. No adverse reaction. I grabbed the styrofoam box of breakfast and heated it up and tore into it. Human again.
I figured I'd just stay in, but I got a call. One of the women I work with said she didn't care about my hangover and that I was to get my ass out of the house and get in my costume and meet them at another coworker's house ASAP. I didn't have a costume. And I couldn't find anything to put together, so I just got in a shirt and tie and some dress pants. I put my nice jacket on, brushed my teeth and left.
The coworker who called me was dressed as a nurse. Now that I think about it, I should have made a crack about her crappy bedside manner, but at the time, I really couldn't think that much. I still felt like roadkill. It was just me and five women at the house and they were all tanked on martinis and putting on makeup.
The party was fun. A band played a nice set. I nursed a Smirnoff Ice and a Keystone Light over the course of four hours. I was able to drive a whole slew of drunk people home safely and without getting pestered by the fun police. I guess I should get a medal.
I forgot to turn off my alarm again. I always do. It has three settings--three types of nature sounds, a buzzer and a radio. I never tuned the radio, so I set the buzzer and nature sounds (in this case, the "sound of the ocean," ten minutes apart. I also set my clock ten minutes ahead. I haven't turned that clock back yet, but I will right before I go to bed. At 8:30am (really 8:20am) the sound of crashing waves knocked me out of bed and into a particularly nasty hangover. Luckily, I fell right back to sleep, figuring I'd be right as rain in a couple more hours.
Sadly, this wasn't the case, and when I woke up around 10:30am, the back of my head felt like it'd been chewed off by a rusty saw. This was a familiar feeling, though I've only really had it once before. I've got a pretty iron stomach when it comes to alcohol; I've only had to throw up once. Saturday morning felt like it would be the second time. I spent a good deal of time in bed, trying to figure out whether it'd be a morning of kneeling before or sitting on top of the toilet bowl. I made it into the bathroom to expell waste products in a conventional manner and took a shower, and that eased my headache somewhat. I got a glass of water and faced my roommates. The living room looked kinda line an infirmary. H was sitting on the futon and P was sunk deep in the couch. H mentioned that we should all go to the medic--the greasy spoon breakfast nook down the block--which usually fixes me right up. I couldn't tell if my stomach was being cranky because it wanted me to add or subtract from its contents, but I had to eat something eventually. We all bundled up, because we all had the shakes, and made our way to breakfast.
We had to sit outside. Some local rag wrote about how cool the place was--more specifically, the writer wrote about how cool one of the waitresses is, word has it, he's crazy in love with her, word gets around fast here--and now it's become more popular, so it's a little bit harder to get a seat. We couldn't get in to the counter, so we grabbed a table outside. And the fucking sun was seriously fucking with me. I kept my beanie cap pulled down low. I squinted my eyes. I sipped my tall glass of water. It was becoming quickly apparent that the last thing my stomach wanted was food, but when the waitress came by to ask us what we wanted, I immediately said, "ham, scrambled eggs, hashbrowns--extra crispy."
From the inside portion of the restaurant, two of the people I'd been drinking with the night before emerged. They hadn't been to sleep. They also hadn't stopped drinking, and were raging drunk and still wearing the same wine-stained clothes. I was kinda jealous, because they were still on the upswing, and I was sadly crashing really hard.
Breakfast came. I took a forkful of hashbrowns, a sliver of ham, a speck of eggs. I stood up from the table and gave H 10 bucks and told her to have them box it up for me, and I walked home. Good thing it was close. I raced straight for the bathroom and stood at the sink. I didn't feel as sick as I did when I was at the restaurant, but I didn't feel good either. I ended up suffering through a pretty bad battle with the shits. I'd won, but I was left in a weakened state. After about a half-hour on the bowl, I made it out on to the futon where I laid motionless for about eight hours.
H and her boyfriend fled town. "We can't go out again tonight," they said. There was a Halloween party at the barn going down, and everyone was going. P was again sunk deep into the couch. After H and her boyfriend left. We both sat in the living room in almost complete silence, laying down under blankets on opposite ends of the room watching television.
We watched the Fat Albert movie. Then college football--USC v. Washington State followed by Hawaii v. Fresno State--after the second thing, P got up off the couch, got dressed and headed out to another party. I was still planted firmly in the futon. H's dog laid down next to me. He didn't get drunk the night before, but I think he was feeling sympathy pains. He knew who would be feeding him dinner.
At about 8pm, the head ache was almost completely gone, but now my stomach was making noises. Different kind of noises. I got up and tested the waters with a couple of tortilla chips. No adverse reaction. I grabbed the styrofoam box of breakfast and heated it up and tore into it. Human again.
I figured I'd just stay in, but I got a call. One of the women I work with said she didn't care about my hangover and that I was to get my ass out of the house and get in my costume and meet them at another coworker's house ASAP. I didn't have a costume. And I couldn't find anything to put together, so I just got in a shirt and tie and some dress pants. I put my nice jacket on, brushed my teeth and left.
The coworker who called me was dressed as a nurse. Now that I think about it, I should have made a crack about her crappy bedside manner, but at the time, I really couldn't think that much. I still felt like roadkill. It was just me and five women at the house and they were all tanked on martinis and putting on makeup.
The party was fun. A band played a nice set. I nursed a Smirnoff Ice and a Keystone Light over the course of four hours. I was able to drive a whole slew of drunk people home safely and without getting pestered by the fun police. I guess I should get a medal.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
fight or die
It was funny to hear the quasi rap group that I saw play tonight utter the phrase "fight or die" when referring to the quiet college town we all call home. Granted, shit does go down here, like it does at any place that a number of people reside at, but this place is far from "hard." I don't care what your definition of the word is. I wouldn't consider the neighborhood I grew up in as "hard" or "tough," but still, it's about three times more rugged than the most gutted out ghetto in this somewhat desert oasis.
I ended up at a hip-hop show for the second night in a row. I have no problem with hip-hop. I recognize that it is now what rock music was when it was potent and revolutionary. I think there are still good, and even great (the latest Rogue Wave album is so good it brings me to tears), rock bands playing today, but that dangerous spirit has been tamed. There's nothing wrong with that. And I think in ten years or so, we'll have another Kurt Cobain, but I'm pretty sure he'll be armed with two turntables and a microphone instead of a beat up Fender Mustang.
Fender Mustangs are gorgeous guitars.
But tonight I saw the same glut and boredom that forced rock music to turn its eyes to dirty, flannel-wearing Pacific Northwesterners for something real and potent in the form of four MCs rapping over their own mixed tracks. Their mics were turned down in the mix, and though they were producing live performances, the recorded material rang out the loudest. They boasted and rapped about their cocks and balls, but never once said anything worth repeating. The only refrain that rang clear was "fight or die," sang by a big busted female vocalist who joined the group for just that one song.
Long after we left that joint, we repeated it constantly. This place is about as street as Branson, Missouri. I don't care how many rails you've snorted in a dorm bathroom or bong loads you've smoked.
[I'm drunk on holiday ale, rum and Jagermeister. All content contained herein should be taken with at least 35 grains of salt.]
I ended up at a hip-hop show for the second night in a row. I have no problem with hip-hop. I recognize that it is now what rock music was when it was potent and revolutionary. I think there are still good, and even great (the latest Rogue Wave album is so good it brings me to tears), rock bands playing today, but that dangerous spirit has been tamed. There's nothing wrong with that. And I think in ten years or so, we'll have another Kurt Cobain, but I'm pretty sure he'll be armed with two turntables and a microphone instead of a beat up Fender Mustang.
Fender Mustangs are gorgeous guitars.
But tonight I saw the same glut and boredom that forced rock music to turn its eyes to dirty, flannel-wearing Pacific Northwesterners for something real and potent in the form of four MCs rapping over their own mixed tracks. Their mics were turned down in the mix, and though they were producing live performances, the recorded material rang out the loudest. They boasted and rapped about their cocks and balls, but never once said anything worth repeating. The only refrain that rang clear was "fight or die," sang by a big busted female vocalist who joined the group for just that one song.
Long after we left that joint, we repeated it constantly. This place is about as street as Branson, Missouri. I don't care how many rails you've snorted in a dorm bathroom or bong loads you've smoked.
[I'm drunk on holiday ale, rum and Jagermeister. All content contained herein should be taken with at least 35 grains of salt.]
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
friends in a bottle
On the way home from work, I stopped at the liquor store. I hadn't been there in quite some time, and I wasn't the only one who noticed.
"Long time no see!" the owner commented instantly in his thick, vaguely Middle Eastern/Eastern European kinda accent. "Have you been on vacation?"
From drinking? Hell no. But now that the magazine has been sent, I can actually drink away from my home and not at the office or before passing out on my couch for a few hours. I forgot about my buddy at the liquor store. He was so happy to see me, he began pointing out some of his latest beers. He even knocked over a bottle of some kind of liquor walking over to the fridge to show me.
I settled on a 22oz. bottle of double IPA from Moylan's. It had 8.5% alcohol content. I asked him if it was good and he boasted that he sold two cases of it already. That was good enough for me. I wasn't super impressed, but it did taste better once it got warm, and it was thick as fuck too, which was good considering I never really got around to deciding what to have for dinner.
"Long time no see!" the owner commented instantly in his thick, vaguely Middle Eastern/Eastern European kinda accent. "Have you been on vacation?"
From drinking? Hell no. But now that the magazine has been sent, I can actually drink away from my home and not at the office or before passing out on my couch for a few hours. I forgot about my buddy at the liquor store. He was so happy to see me, he began pointing out some of his latest beers. He even knocked over a bottle of some kind of liquor walking over to the fridge to show me.
I settled on a 22oz. bottle of double IPA from Moylan's. It had 8.5% alcohol content. I asked him if it was good and he boasted that he sold two cases of it already. That was good enough for me. I wasn't super impressed, but it did taste better once it got warm, and it was thick as fuck too, which was good considering I never really got around to deciding what to have for dinner.
Monday, October 24, 2005
wally world
My roommate said I could use the car this weekend, since she'd be away camping with her boyfriend, so I took the opportunity to head to Wal-Mart to get some much needed supplies. I hate Wal-Mart, but the stuff was cheap, and I tell myself it's okay that I shop there as long as I follow some simple guidelines.
- Spend as little there as possible. They don't need your money as much as you do.
- Only go late, late in the night, because that's when all the carnie-type folk are working there.
I went this evening at 10:30pm, which is actually a lot earlier than I usually go. The last time I'd been there was the Monday night going into Tuesday morning that Lost Season 1 came out on DVD, and they actually had whole displays full of it waiting to be put in their proper place. I wanted one so bad, but I was really broke at the time. I could have been the first person in town to have owned a copy, and I totally would have bragged about that. I got lightbulbs instead, and a honking big package of toilet paper...and laundry detergent. Oh. And four cans of Chunky Soup, because they were on sale.
Tonight, I was in dire need of anti-perspirant, because all I have is the possibly feminine flowery stuff that has been in my bathroom's medicine cabinet for an unknown length of time and is currently giving me a slight aura of potpurri. I couldn't go to work like this again, so I took the car and headed to Wally World, where I bought two sticks of manly Gillette Cool Wave (because that's how I roll) with new Superior Protection. Protection from what, I'm not quite sure.
I try to stay on the beaten path at Wally World, but there's one thing that always leads me astray--the clearance DVD bin. Even though looking through it is just about the most futile exercise you could imagine, I find gems on occasion, like Before Sunrise (shut up!), which is my favorite love story movie (SHUT UP!).
Today, the pickings were slim. There were a few pilates DVDs, a Michelle Rodriguez movie called Girl Fight and Rambo III; but there were some winners as well, like Omen II (creepy!), Lake Placid (I love big killer animal movies, I have a growing collection), and uh...wait. I think that was it. Still, I ended up getting The Glass House with Leelee Sobieski, Diane Lane and Stellan Skarsgard. My expectations are low, though Michael Wilmington of the Chicago Tribune called it a "...a slick movie thriller..." But for $5.5o, I guess I can give it a shot. You've won the battle, Wal-Mart...but not the war.
Friday, October 21, 2005
ready for the oldies station
Last week or so some publicist sent me a copy of Goo: Deluxe Edition, a two disc set that made Sonic Youth's first major label album seem that much more important. For whatever reason, the thing never made it into my hands. I would have remembered getting such a package because Sonic Youth is my favorite band that's still intact. The package was sent and signed for by someone at the office; I asked around, but no one had seen it. I'm not saying it was taken, but with all the shit we get, things have a way of disappearing. Luckily, the publicist is more or less a friend of mine, so she sent me another one. This time, I didn't let the thing out of my sight.
After lugging office furniture up our mountainously steep steps (for some reason, we'd ordered new office furniture from a company whose delivery men were not insured to carry things up steps; I don't think I'm technically insured to carry things up the steps, but luckily for everyone involved, I and the rest of the staff made it through the task unharmed), I settles, panting and sweaty, at my comfy work station and spent a good portion of the day listening to my two-disc, remastered version of Goo.
It's not my favorite Sonic Youth album, but it's got good songs on there. I remember seeing the video for "Dirty Boots" on the old MTV show 120 Minutes, which I still think was the best MTV video show ever. Y'know, when they played videos, but I guess even that sentiment has become a bit trite. 120 Minutes was on weekly for two hours (duh) from Sunday night at midnight into the wee hours of Monday morning. Much of my musical taste of that period of my life--and even now--was dictated by what videos I saw and enjoyed on that program. I never missed one. I remember Lewis Largent (though I liked Dave Kendall better) interviewing Mark Lanegan, then of the Screaming Trees and his own solo stuff (I think he was pushing Whiskey for the Holy Ghost), and talking about how cigarettes actually helped add an earthiness to his vocal tone. I interviewed Mark over the phone a couple years ago. I think he lit two cigarettes and nearly got into an accident. At one point he asked me "y'know what I mean, man?" and instantly I thought I was the coolest guy on Earth.
Right, so I remember seeing "Dirty Boots" on 120 Minutes. This was after I'd bought Dirty and spazzed out as Sonic Youth tore up their guitars playing "100%" on the David Letterman Show. I was kinda late to the game, but I'm either very young Gen X or very old Gen Y depending on how you look at it. The "Dirty Boots" video must have been shot in mid- to late 1990 or early 1991. I was 13 or 14 and probably just becoming disenchanted with hair metal and wondering why I had no friends as a freshman in high school. I probably saw the video a year and a half after that. If I remember correctly (I guess I could look it up, but I'm trying to stay true to my nostalgia no matter how thin it has ben worn down by the sands of time), the video is a pretty basic performance clip at a small club with kids in cut off jean shorts, moppy hair, flannel and some kind of Doc Martins-like boots (presumably dirty). There were no pretty dudes or hairsprayed chicks in tight denim and halter tops. If I were old enough to be there, I might have fit right in. At least I hoped I would. I think there was some love story element to the video as well. Girl meets Boy at the indie rock show and they conquer their teen angst to have a good time and thumb their noses at the man, or something similarly romantic.
After lugging office furniture up our mountainously steep steps (for some reason, we'd ordered new office furniture from a company whose delivery men were not insured to carry things up steps; I don't think I'm technically insured to carry things up the steps, but luckily for everyone involved, I and the rest of the staff made it through the task unharmed), I settles, panting and sweaty, at my comfy work station and spent a good portion of the day listening to my two-disc, remastered version of Goo.
It's not my favorite Sonic Youth album, but it's got good songs on there. I remember seeing the video for "Dirty Boots" on the old MTV show 120 Minutes, which I still think was the best MTV video show ever. Y'know, when they played videos, but I guess even that sentiment has become a bit trite. 120 Minutes was on weekly for two hours (duh) from Sunday night at midnight into the wee hours of Monday morning. Much of my musical taste of that period of my life--and even now--was dictated by what videos I saw and enjoyed on that program. I never missed one. I remember Lewis Largent (though I liked Dave Kendall better) interviewing Mark Lanegan, then of the Screaming Trees and his own solo stuff (I think he was pushing Whiskey for the Holy Ghost), and talking about how cigarettes actually helped add an earthiness to his vocal tone. I interviewed Mark over the phone a couple years ago. I think he lit two cigarettes and nearly got into an accident. At one point he asked me "y'know what I mean, man?" and instantly I thought I was the coolest guy on Earth.
Right, so I remember seeing "Dirty Boots" on 120 Minutes. This was after I'd bought Dirty and spazzed out as Sonic Youth tore up their guitars playing "100%" on the David Letterman Show. I was kinda late to the game, but I'm either very young Gen X or very old Gen Y depending on how you look at it. The "Dirty Boots" video must have been shot in mid- to late 1990 or early 1991. I was 13 or 14 and probably just becoming disenchanted with hair metal and wondering why I had no friends as a freshman in high school. I probably saw the video a year and a half after that. If I remember correctly (I guess I could look it up, but I'm trying to stay true to my nostalgia no matter how thin it has ben worn down by the sands of time), the video is a pretty basic performance clip at a small club with kids in cut off jean shorts, moppy hair, flannel and some kind of Doc Martins-like boots (presumably dirty). There were no pretty dudes or hairsprayed chicks in tight denim and halter tops. If I were old enough to be there, I might have fit right in. At least I hoped I would. I think there was some love story element to the video as well. Girl meets Boy at the indie rock show and they conquer their teen angst to have a good time and thumb their noses at the man, or something similarly romantic.
I like particular sounds I hear in Sonic Youth songs more than whole songs most of the time. Dirty is probably still my favorite, because that's the one that introduced me to the group. Though as I've gotten more familiar with them over the years, I know it's not their best album. I've grown to like their newer, more spacier and mellower stuff and I've gotten older spacier and mellower, but today, for whatever reason, turned out to be a good day to rediscover Goo.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
certainly not a fairytale
There was a bomb threat in downtown tonight. I wasn't there, but my roommate was. She said they closed down a bunch of streets or something. There was a suspicious duffle bag or something and the bomb squad came out and everything. I don't know what the deal was, but they got the thing out of there. It was probably some radical pissed off about all the drunks--or most likely a prank.
The whole time, I was safe and oblivious at home--a belly full of taco salad and a little bit of red wine (I'm still sipping it now). I told a friend I'd edit a manual he'd written for a graduate school project. I like helping people out, but it's been a lot of work. It's 39 pages and I'm a third of the way through it. I'd keep going, but I have to go to bed. While I was working, I kept Scooby Doo 2 on as background noise. I think it was on HBO. I think it was the wine, or my raging hormones (which won't shut the fuck up lately), but my fleeting crush on Linda Cardellini, who plays the ultra nerdy, vaguely lesbian indie scenester Velma.
I think she was also on Freaks and Geeks or something, and she may still be on ER, but I never watch either of those two shows. I do know that she's not as homely as the be-turtlenecked heroine she portrayed (I wouldn't mind if she kept on the Velma glasses though...yum); she stars in this really cool short called Certainly Not a Fairytale (see how this all links together? I'm on some cyclical shit. That's how I roll); and, like Counting Backwards favorite Asia Argento, may very well be Italian.
I'd like to go on, but we're having a local business brouhaha at the office tomorrow. At 7fuckin'30 in the morning. It's one of those things that I don't have to be at, but it would be nice if I did go, which basically means I have to be there. I'm not really looking forward to it, but I'm hoping I can get into the office early and after all the back-slapping, ass-grabbing yokels leave, I'll be able to get a bunch of work done and get the fuck out early. Linda will have to wait another day, I suppose. Don't worry, baby. I'll make you ravioli.
The whole time, I was safe and oblivious at home--a belly full of taco salad and a little bit of red wine (I'm still sipping it now). I told a friend I'd edit a manual he'd written for a graduate school project. I like helping people out, but it's been a lot of work. It's 39 pages and I'm a third of the way through it. I'd keep going, but I have to go to bed. While I was working, I kept Scooby Doo 2 on as background noise. I think it was on HBO. I think it was the wine, or my raging hormones (which won't shut the fuck up lately), but my fleeting crush on Linda Cardellini, who plays the ultra nerdy, vaguely lesbian indie scenester Velma.I think she was also on Freaks and Geeks or something, and she may still be on ER, but I never watch either of those two shows. I do know that she's not as homely as the be-turtlenecked heroine she portrayed (I wouldn't mind if she kept on the Velma glasses though...yum); she stars in this really cool short called Certainly Not a Fairytale (see how this all links together? I'm on some cyclical shit. That's how I roll); and, like Counting Backwards favorite Asia Argento, may very well be Italian.I'd like to go on, but we're having a local business brouhaha at the office tomorrow. At 7fuckin'30 in the morning. It's one of those things that I don't have to be at, but it would be nice if I did go, which basically means I have to be there. I'm not really looking forward to it, but I'm hoping I can get into the office early and after all the back-slapping, ass-grabbing yokels leave, I'll be able to get a bunch of work done and get the fuck out early. Linda will have to wait another day, I suppose. Don't worry, baby. I'll make you ravioli.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
sucking up to the fans
I love my new Stat Counter stat thingy because it makes me feel important. Well, it did before I realized that 95 percent of my blog's traffic is the direct result of Google image searches for Asia Argento. So, thanks to this picture, which I posted a link to in this post, I've received hits from fellow perverts all over the globe. To them, if they got this far past Asia's nubile goodies, I say "Hello" and "enjoy."
That didn't feel as dirty as I thought it would.
That didn't feel as dirty as I thought it would.
Monday, October 17, 2005
the spectre of death
Alias really threw me for a loop on Thursday night. I hadn't watched the episode from the week before--I'd taped it though--so I embarked upon a two-hour mini marathon. JJ Abrams knows how to make good television, or at least knows how to get me to watch television. I'll usually only watch network TV for sports and things of that nature. But I'm a sucker for cliffhangers and beautiful women--and I guess Mr. Abrams is too. Alias is in a weird transition, having killed off one of the show's main characters and writing in the pregnancy of its star. With Nadia out of commission (will someone cure her already, please?!?!) and Jen Garner all with evil spawn child (but still looking good), Alias's hottie quotient looked as if it was going to take a serious hit, which made its grasp on my fickle interests somewhat precarious. Abrams probably had a meeting with his execs on this matter, discussing how to firm their hold on the valuable J demographic. They put their heads together and came up with the answer. Agent Rachel Gibson.
I'm not sure where she came from, but I'm glad she's here. She's got that whole sexy librarian thing going for her, and if Marshall wasn't already married, he'd be all over that in a heartbeat. I'm just saying. There was totally tension when they were talking about hacking and USB ports or whatever. I guess when Jen's gotta go become a baby momma, Rachel's going to take over as queen agent, and that's fine by me. I was kinda hoping it'd be Nadia, but, y'know that's life.
Jen's not the only person in my life (well, she sorta is) who's with child. I just found out that two of my best friends (I was in their wedding party a few years back) are expecting their first child. It's only a month and a half in, but they sounded really excited over the phone. I think they'll make good parents. I know for sure the kid will listen to good music. They're the first two friends of mine from my New York youth to have kids, and I think I sounded more nervous over the phone than they did. I mean, how can they be so fucking calm?! Anyway, I'm going to be its honorary uncle J, and damn it, I've always wanted to be an uncle.
I guess I've hit that stretch in life where everyone I know is going to get married and start families. I'm a little behind the curve in both those respects, but that's probably for the best. I'd make a terrible father and husband at this point in my life. I enjoy being by myself--in most respects--and I kinda like that the deepest I get in conversation with most people is "how was your weekend." It's a lot less taxing. Though I have to admit that I've been having a few scares lately. First it was the death dream--I died in my dream and it felt like I wouldn't be able to pull myself out of it--and this morning, while I was having breakfast at this sports pub, watching the Giants/Cowboys game with a couple friends, I started to feel really bad. I don't know if I can explain it, but I thought I was going to lose consciousness or something. It hit really suddenly and lasted for a few seconds before it went away. I think it was some indigestion that went horribly wrong. This sensation shot from around my chest, up to my head, and really freaked me out.
I dunno, I've been thinking I need to go to the doctor or something. I've been trying to make up for my bad habits. I've become addicted to whole wheat anything, and I drink water constantly. I just want to be able to take it easy and not worry about everything so much. I think if I went to a doctor and he/she said, "chill out you're not dying," I wouldn't feel like shit all the time.
After I settled down, I felt fine again, just uneasy, so I decided to relax the rest of the day. I walked around downtown because it was really nice out, then went home to watch playoff baseball and bits of football games. I also napped. That was my first nap in quite some time, and I have to say I missed them terribly. When I woke up, I g33ked out something fierce and watched the cinematic sequel to Final Fantasy VII, Advent Children.
It was awesome. I think they fit too much stuff into too short a time, and at one point during one of the many fight/action sequences, I thought I thought I was going to be sent into a seizure. Still, it was 90 minutes of dazzling eye candy, and, clearly, Tifa Lockhart set the high water mark for how all subsequent Final Fantasy leading ladies are to be judged by.
I haven't played the game in years, and I didn't really get the whole story then either, so I had to scrape through the resin-encrusted pathways of my late-teen memories to piece things together. But really, I didn't want to look into it too much. When you get right down to it, the storylines for the games are pretty cheesy, ridiculously epic and full of gooey sentimentality and sappiness. But I guess that's what makes them so good.
I'm not sure where she came from, but I'm glad she's here. She's got that whole sexy librarian thing going for her, and if Marshall wasn't already married, he'd be all over that in a heartbeat. I'm just saying. There was totally tension when they were talking about hacking and USB ports or whatever. I guess when Jen's gotta go become a baby momma, Rachel's going to take over as queen agent, and that's fine by me. I was kinda hoping it'd be Nadia, but, y'know that's life.Jen's not the only person in my life (well, she sorta is) who's with child. I just found out that two of my best friends (I was in their wedding party a few years back) are expecting their first child. It's only a month and a half in, but they sounded really excited over the phone. I think they'll make good parents. I know for sure the kid will listen to good music. They're the first two friends of mine from my New York youth to have kids, and I think I sounded more nervous over the phone than they did. I mean, how can they be so fucking calm?! Anyway, I'm going to be its honorary uncle J, and damn it, I've always wanted to be an uncle.
I guess I've hit that stretch in life where everyone I know is going to get married and start families. I'm a little behind the curve in both those respects, but that's probably for the best. I'd make a terrible father and husband at this point in my life. I enjoy being by myself--in most respects--and I kinda like that the deepest I get in conversation with most people is "how was your weekend." It's a lot less taxing. Though I have to admit that I've been having a few scares lately. First it was the death dream--I died in my dream and it felt like I wouldn't be able to pull myself out of it--and this morning, while I was having breakfast at this sports pub, watching the Giants/Cowboys game with a couple friends, I started to feel really bad. I don't know if I can explain it, but I thought I was going to lose consciousness or something. It hit really suddenly and lasted for a few seconds before it went away. I think it was some indigestion that went horribly wrong. This sensation shot from around my chest, up to my head, and really freaked me out.
I dunno, I've been thinking I need to go to the doctor or something. I've been trying to make up for my bad habits. I've become addicted to whole wheat anything, and I drink water constantly. I just want to be able to take it easy and not worry about everything so much. I think if I went to a doctor and he/she said, "chill out you're not dying," I wouldn't feel like shit all the time.
After I settled down, I felt fine again, just uneasy, so I decided to relax the rest of the day. I walked around downtown because it was really nice out, then went home to watch playoff baseball and bits of football games. I also napped. That was my first nap in quite some time, and I have to say I missed them terribly. When I woke up, I g33ked out something fierce and watched the cinematic sequel to Final Fantasy VII, Advent Children.
It was awesome. I think they fit too much stuff into too short a time, and at one point during one of the many fight/action sequences, I thought I thought I was going to be sent into a seizure. Still, it was 90 minutes of dazzling eye candy, and, clearly, Tifa Lockhart set the high water mark for how all subsequent Final Fantasy leading ladies are to be judged by.I haven't played the game in years, and I didn't really get the whole story then either, so I had to scrape through the resin-encrusted pathways of my late-teen memories to piece things together. But really, I didn't want to look into it too much. When you get right down to it, the storylines for the games are pretty cheesy, ridiculously epic and full of gooey sentimentality and sappiness. But I guess that's what makes them so good.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
the craze
Almost everyone at my office has fallen under the spell of this new exercize program called CrossFit. I guess it's new to town or whatever, but they're seriously freaking out over this thing, the women I work with especially. It sounds pretty intense from how they describe it, and I can see that it works because they're all getting seriously buff. Not as buff as Ms. Fitness Canada here, but I think it's just a matter of time.One of my co-workers told me that the last time she went, she was working out so hard, she told the instructor she thought she was going to die. Apparently, he told her that if she wasn't tasting bile, she'd be fine. A picture on their local site showed a man on a weight bench who was working so hard, he puked all over himself. That's pretty hardcore. They even got them doing cartwheels and shit. I can't remember I did one of those, but I'm sure if I tried one now, all the king's horses and all the king's men wouldn't be able to reassemble my fractured spine.
I'd kinda like to be more fit. But the thing is, I know I have to get into better shape just so I'd be fit enough to exercise. I'm pretty active though, at least a lot more active than I was in my early 20s. I walk a lot now and ride a bike. Today I walked my surrogate dog home from work and he pulled me like a tractor but I managed to keep up with him. I figure I'd like to lose 10 or so more pounds, but I'm not all that motivated to get a start on that. I like to eat. I like being lazy. I had a gym membership once and hated it. I think I'm just destined to be doughy.
I've been having weird bouts of synchronicity lately. With this entry mulling around in my mind (sometimes I think about what I'm going to write here; I try not to, but it happens anyway because I'm that narcissistic), and after cackling as Michelle Rodriguez continued to make Sawyer her bitch on Lost, I caught two specials about kick-ass women on PBS. The first was about Helen of Troy, in which a kinda sexy British scholar looked around Greece and Turkey in search of historical evidence about the woman whose face launched a thousand ships (and some really bad movies). She was super stoked on it. She carried around this notebook full of little quotes and sayings that she'd translated from around that time, all of which she was able to link back to Helen and the Trojan war in one way or another. The second was about the Amazons and used DNA evidence to try to prove that this nomadic tribe of warrior women actually existed and whose bloodline is still alive today. By the end of the show, the scholar was able to show that there were in fact a tribe of warrior women, and that members of the nomadic tribes in Western Mongolia are direct descendents of them. I'm not sure what that has to do with Amazons, but it's pretty cool I guess.
I've been having these remarkably vivid dreams lately. Some of them have been so real, I'm not able to separate them from reality. In one, I died and it was really bad. I woke up from the dream still inside the dream and it felt like I had to claw myself out of some kind of hole to wake up for real. I thought I was dead for sure. Last night was a lot less dramatic. For some reason, I was trying to set up an interview with Mariah Carey, and I can't stand her. I wasn't going to do the interview though. Instead, I ended up playing this really nice semi-hollow bodied electric guitar, and I was doing a really good job. My sister was there too, jamming on a Gibson Flying V. I flipped a switch or hit a pedal and got this really spacey feedback/distortion effect and it sounded like something on a Sigur Ros album. I saw a violin on the floor and it was playing itself, jamming along with me. It sounded really good.
Today I booked my flight to Seattle. I'm really excited about it, but the jet I'm on is an Alaskan Airlines MD-80, which seems to be the most dangerous type of passenger jet ever. Good thing I'm not a rock star. I just talk to them sometimes.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
life's a motherfucker
In what had to be the most improbable pool shot of all time, my boss had a sure win at our game of nine-ball, and instead of kissing the nine in the corner pocket, he wedged the two balls together between the rails on the edge of the pocket.Soon after we sent the magazine, and incidentally, were forced to send some more of it that wasn't quite finished today. In between that fateful shot and another 14-hour Monday, I went to a wedding.
This was the second wedding I attended this year. Both brides were sisters and both were my former roommates. This event brought me back together with some of the best friends I've made since moving out here. They live all up and down the West Coast now, so it's hard to see everyone. On Thursday, the one sister's husband picked me up here to take me down to Livermore, CA, the next day. We spent Thursday night bar hopping with my current roommate and a couple of coworkers. The next late morning, it was breakfast and then straight to the road where we spent most of the time talking about cartoons and toys.
On Friday night, there was the rehearsal dinner. I didn't expect to be in attendance, but I was appreciative of the free food. It was held at an Italian restaurant called Bruno's, but it wasn't as hardcore as the name would suggest. The food was good--especially the bread--but there weren't old dudes sitting in the corner, speaking in whispers. I ordered fettucini alfredo. There was ham in it. I was pleased.Unfortunately, I filled up on bread, and I was too busy clowning around to finish my meal, or drink any wine. It was supposed to be girls night out afterwards, for the bachelorette party, so I had to get dropped off at my ex-roommate A's new house, and since everyone else was tied up with family commitments, I spent Friday evening with two bugged out terrier puppies and a giant HDTV. I watched a high-def broadcast of a recent Pixies concert and rocked out in quiet fashion. Black Francis's head has gotten excedingly large over the years, and I was frightened to notice how eerily similar it was to my planet-sized noggin.
The wedding followed on Saturday. The ceremony got under way around 3pm and it was one of those long Catholic affairs. I grew up Catholic, but I haven't been to a mass in ages. I forgot when to sit up and when to kneel, but I did remember almost all of the refrains and speeches, even though the preacher had an indecipherable Indian accent.
Me and A were the first two to get to the reception. The party was held at a Sheraton hotel that had a few weddings going on the same day. Another ceremony occured while our party ate hors d'oeuvres. One night off for my liver was more than enough, so Sparky and I were ready to get a little silly at the reception. But not all sloppy crazy drunk, but a respectable sort of wedding drunk that older people kinda giggle about and the young kids wonder why you're being so goofy. I made friends with the bartender, and I ended up bumping into the people who thought I was Charles at the last wedding. They know that's not my name now, but they still call me Charles anyway, which is fine because I still don't know what their names are. They're a nice couple though.It got later, and the party moved indoors from the patio. The rest of my table decided to start catching up with my drinking, and soon surpassed me. I hadn't eaten, so I got giggly real fast and had to cool my heels before I did something stupid like knock over the cake or make a pass at someone's mother. I devoured some salmon and--well, I'm not sure what else. A salad, I think. All I know is, suddenly our table was covered in empty wine bottles, and I knew that I hadn't touched one of them.
I was one of three or four single guys at the reception who had graduated junior high. Of course, we had to stand on the dance floor to catch the garter. I had a cheering section, but this lightning fast eight-year-old made a dive at the very end to snag it from my grasp. In truth, I had position on him. I coulda had it, but I backed off at the last second. I cracked under the pressure.The groom picked a cool crop of songs that no one really could dance to. The first one that played was "Rock Lobster" by the B-52s and it was funny to watch the older people in the crowd try to decipher it. The DJ also played Beck and Blur's "Girls & Boys," which was perhaps the first time that song has ever been played at a wedding. I doubt many fathers of the bride danced with their newly married daughters over the refrain, "Girls who are boys/Who like boys to be girls/Who do boys like they’re girls/Who do girls like they’re boys/Always should be someone you really love." Good stuff.
After the wedding was the after party at El Balazo in Pleasanton. There the DJ played more the standard hip-hop fair, but once a confluence of older people began to filter over from the wedding, the DJ shifted gears and started playing Queen and The Village People, which got the older folks--who were completely demolished on wine--seriously grooving. We ended up taking over a whole corner of the bar, much to the chagrin of the locals. It was so much fun, but the best part was the joint doubled as a Mexican restaurant that served burritos and tacos til 2am, which caused me to loudly proclaim that I wanted to have sex with the place. I would have too. And made it breakfast in the morning.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
sorry, you texted the wrong guy. i hope
[Editor's note: Caps aren't mine]
HEY GAYBUTT! I MISS U. CLASS OUT. SAME? ABOUT 2GO HOME. U SUCK. I JUST WANT TO HOLD U RIGHT NOW. URG! HAVE FUN WALKING HOME AND GO 2 CLASS THIS TIME.
HEY GAYBUTT! I MISS U. CLASS OUT. SAME? ABOUT 2GO HOME. U SUCK. I JUST WANT TO HOLD U RIGHT NOW. URG! HAVE FUN WALKING HOME AND GO 2 CLASS THIS TIME.
mm...lists...
I guess there are some rules to this thing. I hate these things, but this one looked like fun, and like any good music nerd, I love lists. I guess you're supposed to go to some site, pick the year you graduated high school and bold the songs you liked, italicize the ones you hated, underline the ones you don't remember (I couldn't figure out how to do that, so I just made them red) and leave the rest alone. I graduated high school in 1994, which was fuck long ago. I'm old. Anyway, here it is.
1. The Sign, Ace Of Base
2. I Swear, All-4-One
3. I'll Make Love To You, Boyz II Men
4. The Power Of Love, Celine Dion
5. Hero, Mariah Carey
6. Stay (I Missed You), Lisa Loeb and Nine Stories
[YOOOOUUUUUUU say...you talk so all the time! So. This was totally on the Reality Bites Soundtrack, and that movie was totally supposed to speak to me. I had a big crush on Janine Garofalo...I know.]
7. Breathe Again, Toni Braxton
8. All For Love, Bryan Adams, Rod Stewart and Sting
9. All That She Wants, Ace Of Base
10. Don't Turn Around, Ace Of Base
[seriously. I can't help it. I hate myself for the whole Ace of Base thing. I was a Nirvana-loving, pot-smoking, angst-loving teen, but dammit, I sang "The Sign" in the shower. IN THE SHOWER!!!]
11. Bump N' Grind, R. Kelly
12. Again, Janet Jackson
13. I'll Remember, Madonna
14. Whatta Man, Salt-N-Pepa
15. Wild Night, John Mellencamp and Me'shell Ndegeocello
16. Without You / Never Forget You, Mariah Carey
17. You Mean The World To Me, Toni Braxton
18. Can You Feel The Love Tonight, Elton John
19. The Most Beautiful Girl In The World, Prince Symbol
20. Fantastic Voyage, Coolio
21. Baby I Love Your Way, Big Mountain
22. Regulate, Warren G and Nate Dogg
23. If You Go, Jon Secada
24. Back and Forth, Aaliyah
25. Now And Forever, Richard Marx
26. When Can I See You, Babyface
27. Please Forgive Me, Bryan Adams
28. So Much In Love, All-4-One
29. Shoop, Salt-N-Pepa
30. Any Time, Any Place / And On And On, Janet Jackson
31. Shine, Collective Soul
32. Said I Loved You...But I Lied, Michael Bolton
33. Return To Innocence, Enigma
34. All I Wanna Do, Sheryl Crow
35. Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm, Crash Test Dummies
36. Can We Talk, Tevin Campbell
37. Funkdafied, Da Brat
38. I'd Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That), Meat Loaf
39. Gangsta Lean, Drs
40. Because The Night, 10,000 Maniacs
41. Cantaloop, US3
42. Whoomp! (There It Is), Tag Team
43. Come To My Window, Melissa Etheridge
44. Stroke You Up, Changing Faces
45. I'm Ready, Tevin Campbell
46. 100% Pure Love, Crystal Waters
47. Anytime You Need A Friend, Mariah Carey
48. Because Of Love, Janet Jackson
49. Linger, Cranberries
50. Loser, Beck
51. Found Out About You, Gin Blossoms
52. Gin And Juice, Snoop Doggy Dogg
53. Never Lie, Immature
54. Streets Of Philadelphia, Bruce Springsteen
55. Getto Jam, Domino
56. Endless Love, Luther Vandross and Mariah Carey
57. I Miss You w/ Aaron Hall 58, Understanding, Xscape
59. This D.J., Warren G
60. Cry For You, Jodeci
61. Keep Ya Head Up, 2Pac
62. Who Am I (What's My Name?), Snoop Doggy Dogg
63. Another Night, Real McCoy
64. Your Body's Callin', R. Kelly
65. Tootsee Roll, 69 Boyz
66. I Can See Clearly Now, Jimmy Cliff
67. Never Keeping Secrets, Babyface
68. Crazy, Aerosmith
70. At Your Best (You Are Love), Aaliyah
71. Rock And Roll Dreams Come Through, Meat Loaf
72 Amazing, Aerosmith
73. Always, Erasure
74. Groove Thang, Zhane
75. Dreams, Gabrielle
76. Mr. Vain, Culture Beat
77. Mary Jane's Last Dance, Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers
78. Anything, SWV
79. Beautiful In My Eyes, Joshua Kadison
80. Stay, Eternal
81. Flava In Ya Ear, Craig Mack
82. U.N.I.T.Y., Queen Latifah
83. Prayer For The Dying, Seal
84. Secret, Madonna
85. Here Comes The Hotstepper, Ini Kamoze
86. Everyday, Phil Collins
87. Don't Take The Girl, Tim McGraw
88. Got Me Waiting, Heavy D and The Boyz
89. December 1963 (Oh, What A Night), Four Seasons
90. Indian Outlaw, Tim McGraw
91. Always, Bon Jovi
92. I'm The Only One, Melissa Etheridge
93. Back In The Day, Ahmad
94. Love Sneakin' Up On You, Bonnie Raitt
95. I'll Take You There, General Public
96. Always In My Heart, Tevin Campbell
97. What Is Love, Haddaway
98. And Our Feelings, Babyface
99. Bop Gun (One Nation), Ice Cube
100. I Wanna Be Down, Brandy
Considering three of my favorite songs were from a Swedish pop group, 1994 must have been one totally shitty year for music. Well, it was...Kurt Cobain shot himself that April. I did get to go see Lollapalooza that year, though, and it's still one of the highlights of my life. None of those bands were on the list, like Green Day, Screaming Trees, The Breeders, Smashing Pumpkins, Beastie Boys, etc.
2. I Swear, All-4-One
3. I'll Make Love To You, Boyz II Men
4. The Power Of Love, Celine Dion
5. Hero, Mariah Carey
6. Stay (I Missed You), Lisa Loeb and Nine Stories
[YOOOOUUUUUUU say...you talk so all the time! So. This was totally on the Reality Bites Soundtrack, and that movie was totally supposed to speak to me. I had a big crush on Janine Garofalo...I know.]
7. Breathe Again, Toni Braxton
8. All For Love, Bryan Adams, Rod Stewart and Sting
9. All That She Wants, Ace Of Base
10. Don't Turn Around, Ace Of Base
[seriously. I can't help it. I hate myself for the whole Ace of Base thing. I was a Nirvana-loving, pot-smoking, angst-loving teen, but dammit, I sang "The Sign" in the shower. IN THE SHOWER!!!]
11. Bump N' Grind, R. Kelly
12. Again, Janet Jackson
13. I'll Remember, Madonna
14. Whatta Man, Salt-N-Pepa
15. Wild Night, John Mellencamp and Me'shell Ndegeocello
16. Without You / Never Forget You, Mariah Carey
17. You Mean The World To Me, Toni Braxton
18. Can You Feel The Love Tonight, Elton John
19. The Most Beautiful Girl In The World, Prince Symbol
20. Fantastic Voyage, Coolio
21. Baby I Love Your Way, Big Mountain
22. Regulate, Warren G and Nate Dogg
23. If You Go, Jon Secada
24. Back and Forth, Aaliyah
25. Now And Forever, Richard Marx
26. When Can I See You, Babyface
27. Please Forgive Me, Bryan Adams
28. So Much In Love, All-4-One
29. Shoop, Salt-N-Pepa
30. Any Time, Any Place / And On And On, Janet Jackson
31. Shine, Collective Soul
32. Said I Loved You...But I Lied, Michael Bolton
33. Return To Innocence, Enigma
34. All I Wanna Do, Sheryl Crow
35. Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm, Crash Test Dummies
36. Can We Talk, Tevin Campbell
37. Funkdafied, Da Brat
38. I'd Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That), Meat Loaf
39. Gangsta Lean, Drs
40. Because The Night, 10,000 Maniacs
41. Cantaloop, US3
42. Whoomp! (There It Is), Tag Team
43. Come To My Window, Melissa Etheridge
44. Stroke You Up, Changing Faces
45. I'm Ready, Tevin Campbell
46. 100% Pure Love, Crystal Waters
47. Anytime You Need A Friend, Mariah Carey
48. Because Of Love, Janet Jackson
49. Linger, Cranberries
50. Loser, Beck
51. Found Out About You, Gin Blossoms
52. Gin And Juice, Snoop Doggy Dogg
53. Never Lie, Immature
54. Streets Of Philadelphia, Bruce Springsteen
55. Getto Jam, Domino
56. Endless Love, Luther Vandross and Mariah Carey
57. I Miss You w/ Aaron Hall 58, Understanding, Xscape
59. This D.J., Warren G
60. Cry For You, Jodeci
61. Keep Ya Head Up, 2Pac
62. Who Am I (What's My Name?), Snoop Doggy Dogg
63. Another Night, Real McCoy
64. Your Body's Callin', R. Kelly
65. Tootsee Roll, 69 Boyz
66. I Can See Clearly Now, Jimmy Cliff
67. Never Keeping Secrets, Babyface
68. Crazy, Aerosmith
70. At Your Best (You Are Love), Aaliyah
71. Rock And Roll Dreams Come Through, Meat Loaf
72 Amazing, Aerosmith
73. Always, Erasure
74. Groove Thang, Zhane
75. Dreams, Gabrielle
76. Mr. Vain, Culture Beat
77. Mary Jane's Last Dance, Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers
78. Anything, SWV
79. Beautiful In My Eyes, Joshua Kadison
80. Stay, Eternal
81. Flava In Ya Ear, Craig Mack
82. U.N.I.T.Y., Queen Latifah
83. Prayer For The Dying, Seal
84. Secret, Madonna
85. Here Comes The Hotstepper, Ini Kamoze
86. Everyday, Phil Collins
87. Don't Take The Girl, Tim McGraw
88. Got Me Waiting, Heavy D and The Boyz
89. December 1963 (Oh, What A Night), Four Seasons
90. Indian Outlaw, Tim McGraw
91. Always, Bon Jovi
92. I'm The Only One, Melissa Etheridge
93. Back In The Day, Ahmad
94. Love Sneakin' Up On You, Bonnie Raitt
95. I'll Take You There, General Public
96. Always In My Heart, Tevin Campbell
97. What Is Love, Haddaway
98. And Our Feelings, Babyface
99. Bop Gun (One Nation), Ice Cube
100. I Wanna Be Down, Brandy
Considering three of my favorite songs were from a Swedish pop group, 1994 must have been one totally shitty year for music. Well, it was...Kurt Cobain shot himself that April. I did get to go see Lollapalooza that year, though, and it's still one of the highlights of my life. None of those bands were on the list, like Green Day, Screaming Trees, The Breeders, Smashing Pumpkins, Beastie Boys, etc.
down cycle
Lost was so exciting tonight that my racoon buddy showed up with another racoon. I think they were after kibble, but the look in their eyes told me they were curious as to why I was hollering and carrying on. I was totally bugged out.
Especially during the "orientation video" portion of the show (I won't spoil it for you, Michelle), but it kinda creeped me out. I felt all...creeped. The first two episodes moved really slow, but I thought this one really established the mindfucks they're going to try to throw our way this season. I'm so excited about this show, that nothing else really matters.
The addition of Michelle Rodriguez (pictured above on the left) also thrills me to no end. She already slugged Sawyer something fierce. She's a total fucking bad ass, and I get the feeling that later this season she's going to have to have a showdown with Lost's alpha female Evangeline Lilly for what will be the greatest on-screen catfight of all time. I hope they have to battle in a river or under a waterfall in tight tank tops...and maybe make out a little. Y'know, but in an artistic sort of way.
I almost didn't make it to Lost. I rushed home from dinner to realize I'd locked my house keys in the house. Luckily, my residential forbears were no strangers to forgeting their keys. As my roommate says, they all had a "window of choice" for sneaking back in. Some of them even have chairs hidden by them for ease of breaking in. That kinda freaks me out a bit, but they sure came in handy tonight! I totally disregarded my fear of spiders and other crawlies to sneak behind a bush and scale my way into my home. With eight whole minutes to spare, too.
We sent the magazine yesterday after what felt like 10 years of production. No overnighters this time, but there were a lot of long days. I'm kinda happy with the way it turned out, but it also freaks me out because two of my stories are featured on the cover. I never want to see the thing again, but I'm sure I'll look at it in a couple of months, just to see how it turned out.
I had a great dinner to celebrate--linguini frutti di mare, and a copious amount at that. As I ate it, it looked like there was more on the plate than when I started. The chef is a friend of my roommate's and coincidentally a really cool guy. I guess he was born in Italy, grew up in England and eventually moved to the States. He came back with my roommate and another friend of hers, and after I made them all go outside while Lost was on--I couldn't have them talking during the show--I went outside to hang out and it was all good times. They got stoned and rambled about stuff, and I swilled on some Guinness left over from the show. After they left, my roommate and I did the dishes and I cracked open the bottle of limoncello she brought back for me from the Italian coast. It's awesome. Each sip makes me want to go to Europe more. Next year...I've promised myself.
Especially during the "orientation video" portion of the show (I won't spoil it for you, Michelle), but it kinda creeped me out. I felt all...creeped. The first two episodes moved really slow, but I thought this one really established the mindfucks they're going to try to throw our way this season. I'm so excited about this show, that nothing else really matters.
The addition of Michelle Rodriguez (pictured above on the left) also thrills me to no end. She already slugged Sawyer something fierce. She's a total fucking bad ass, and I get the feeling that later this season she's going to have to have a showdown with Lost's alpha female Evangeline Lilly for what will be the greatest on-screen catfight of all time. I hope they have to battle in a river or under a waterfall in tight tank tops...and maybe make out a little. Y'know, but in an artistic sort of way.
I almost didn't make it to Lost. I rushed home from dinner to realize I'd locked my house keys in the house. Luckily, my residential forbears were no strangers to forgeting their keys. As my roommate says, they all had a "window of choice" for sneaking back in. Some of them even have chairs hidden by them for ease of breaking in. That kinda freaks me out a bit, but they sure came in handy tonight! I totally disregarded my fear of spiders and other crawlies to sneak behind a bush and scale my way into my home. With eight whole minutes to spare, too.
We sent the magazine yesterday after what felt like 10 years of production. No overnighters this time, but there were a lot of long days. I'm kinda happy with the way it turned out, but it also freaks me out because two of my stories are featured on the cover. I never want to see the thing again, but I'm sure I'll look at it in a couple of months, just to see how it turned out.
I had a great dinner to celebrate--linguini frutti di mare, and a copious amount at that. As I ate it, it looked like there was more on the plate than when I started. The chef is a friend of my roommate's and coincidentally a really cool guy. I guess he was born in Italy, grew up in England and eventually moved to the States. He came back with my roommate and another friend of hers, and after I made them all go outside while Lost was on--I couldn't have them talking during the show--I went outside to hang out and it was all good times. They got stoned and rambled about stuff, and I swilled on some Guinness left over from the show. After they left, my roommate and I did the dishes and I cracked open the bottle of limoncello she brought back for me from the Italian coast. It's awesome. Each sip makes me want to go to Europe more. Next year...I've promised myself.
Sunday, October 02, 2005
i have friends in low places: the week in pictures (with some words)
The hoodie returns. As grungy and gross as ever. it's still got the laces that are supposed to sinch up the hood, but I don't think anyone in hoodie history has ever used them. I do chew on the tips sometimes. Because I'm disgusting.
The one thing that came out of my roommate's trip to Italy was that I bonded with her feral cat that wasn't always feral. I'd come home from work or the bars, and I'd simply call his name, and he'd come trotting out of the bushes, mewling like a hungry cat. I'd feed him and stuff, but he was still pretty whatever about me petting him. The bowl was always empty in the morning. One night, I came home, called for the cat, and he appeared on my porch to be fed. I tossed a cup of kibble in his bowl and watched him eat for a bit. After a while, he scurried off, but soon after, I heard a munching noise return to the porch. This time, It was a big ol' racoon. He shoveled food into his mouth with his lil' racoon hands and stared me down as he did so. Very photogenic. We didn't even have to go into makeup.
The one thing that came out of my roommate's trip to Italy was that I bonded with her feral cat that wasn't always feral. I'd come home from work or the bars, and I'd simply call his name, and he'd come trotting out of the bushes, mewling like a hungry cat. I'd feed him and stuff, but he was still pretty whatever about me petting him. The bowl was always empty in the morning. One night, I came home, called for the cat, and he appeared on my porch to be fed. I tossed a cup of kibble in his bowl and watched him eat for a bit. After a while, he scurried off, but soon after, I heard a munching noise return to the porch. This time, It was a big ol' racoon. He shoveled food into his mouth with his lil' racoon hands and stared me down as he did so. Very photogenic. We didn't even have to go into makeup.
Woo!!! Nine Inch Nails. ... Trust me, it looked much cooler in person.
If you squint really hard, you can kinda see Trent Reznor in the center of the stage. Go on. Squint. I'm just shitting you. There's no way you can see him.
I got this in my inbox from a publicist by accident. I think she accidentally clicked on the wrong image. It is reprinted here, because I'm a pervert. I had a dream over the week that I was hanging out with people form work and kept accidentally telling one of our part time writers that i was really horny. I thought I was being funny, of course, so I kept making off-hand comments about how horny I was, thinking that she'd get the joke. By the fourth or fifth reference, I realized that I was even creeping myself out and woke up. That has nothing to do with the Pussy Cat Dolls, but damn. They fine.
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