poppa needs a new computer chair...

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

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

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

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

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

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

by odin's raven!

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

gross oversight

I think the first time I heard this album was at the end of 2003, to be honest. I had some super early advance and I don't think the person who sent it to me knew when or if it'd be out. I was convinced that it came out in 2004, and it kinda did, but I guess the official release date was March 2005. I could be wrong about some of that. The memory's fuzzy, but I do know that I've loved Regina Spektor for quite some time now, and since Soviet Kitsch officially came out in 2005, it belongs on my 2005 best of list. Even though I don't have the album anymore. I lost the advance. Anyway, she makes me warm and fuzzy. It's probably the best album that kinda did but kinda didn't come out last year. As if making best of lists wasn't geeky enough, I've had to make up an addendum.

the great thing about dogs is that they don't realize what a loser you are

Today's been good and disconcerting at the same time. That's pretty much the story of my life. I think I had some kind of work-related nightmare last night; either that or it was related to how much money I don't have.

For some reason, I've been feeling the need to be more "active." I made up my mind to get out and "do things." I came to the realization that though it seems really far, the park is really close by (about as close as my job is) and that I had no excuse not to walk to the park on a regular basis other than being a lazy fat ass. Seeing as I have the dog again this weekend, I figured this was the perfect time to institute my "more active" plan and take a walk to the park. Perfect of course, except for the fact that today was the windiest, nastiest, chilliest day of the year. (In case you weren't paying attention, there's that whole good and disconcerting thing in action.)

So this morning, I woke up out of that nightmare thing, and I realized that I never heard my alarm, which I set this morning (even though it's fucking Saturday) so I could get up early and take Dog to the park and then take him, with me, to work. On a fucking Saturday. However, when I put on my glasses so I could check what time it was, my clock read 4:06pm. It was a total WTF. And I was initially pissed at myself, but then I realized there's no way I could have slept 13 or so hours without waking up once. I turned on my TV to check the cable time and, luckily, it said it was only 10:30am. I thought that perhaps in my daze the night before, I'd accidentally set the time instead of the alarm. But really what happened was, we had a power outage.

I took my time getting up and then me and Dog head for the park around noon. It was windy, cold and miserably damp, but it wasn't really raining. Just misting...coldly. Dog was stoked, though, and so was I. We made it to the park, and it was a shorter walk than I had anticipated. We took the trail for a little while until we came to a softball field. He found a grungy-ass stick in the mud that we ended up playing fetch with. I talked to him the whole trip, and I think on the way to the office, he was pretty embarassed to be around me. I think at one point, I was singing popular songs to him, but doing my best to stick his name in there somewhere. He was mortified.

When I got to the office, I found only one person working there. She said "There's good news and bad news. The good news is, I'm here. The bad news is, the server's down." That power outage? Apparently it affected the entire town and it lasted just long enough to outlast our back up battery. All the stuff we needed to edit or save was completely inaccessible. At least the Internet worked so I was able to crack out on Myspace. I spent an hour or so on the phone with our IT guy trying to get the thing up and running. Our dialog was something like this:

Me: "Okay, done."
IT guy: "Good. Now try to restart."
Me: "Okay. Restarted."
IT guy: "Now log on."
Me: "I got that message again."
IT guy: [frantic typing] "Hm...Let me call you back."

Finally, we both got it up and running again. I'm sure I had nothing to do with it, but I'll take partial credit for it anyway. I was able to get a good amount of work done and I split out of there by 7:30pm so I could walk and feed the dog.

I got home and fed the dog, then had to answer the call of my bowels. Unfortunately, I'm a bit of a toilet paper hog, and tonight, our pipes weren't up to the task. Usually, I'm like a fucking Roto Rooter with a plunger, but this time the works were gummed up good, and our toilet had a mini eruption, sending water onto the floor. We don't get a newspaper so I sopped up the water with about a roll and a half of toilet paper. Since I was in there and wet and miserable anyway, I decided to clean up a little. I mopped, washed the towels, cleaned the bowl, sink and shower doors. I couldn't really get the tub though because we don't have Comet, and that's the only stuff I know how to use. Still, I was happy with the results.

I microwaved some leftover pizza and it tasted like ass. Then I went to a local rock show. It was super packed because the kids are back in town, which was cool because it turned out to be a great show. All the bands were good and some of them are my favorites playing around here. I had fun, even though I mostly flew solo--like always--and had a few drinks, but was unable to say much more than hello to someone I've really been wanting to talk to more. That kinda bummed me out.

When I got back from the show, Dog was happy to see me. I threw the ball around with him and felt less emo. To make myself happier, I put on some music on my computer. I remembered that one of the goddesses of rock Annie Hardy did an acoustic medley of Misfits covers for Get the Fuck Up Radio out of Los Angeles. Here's the link. It's worth downloading and listening to over and over again. (It's an MP3.) After that, I put on Pinkerton. So much for feeling less emo.

national treasure

Thanks to pirates, the record industry has been throwing a hissy over the past few years. I'm sure people who are file sharing does make a difference, but I know that's not the only thing causing record industry to lose money. I will say that even at my office, even before we were producing a national publication, we receive a ton of music. Everyday, CDs in giant padded envelopes arrive for the four or five editors, our publisher, and sometimes some of our sales and marketing folks. Sometimes we'll get a copy of a specific CD. Sometimes we'll all get more than one copy of the same CD. These packages cost $3 and up. Sometimes they're sent priority or express or over night. If we're getting that many, you can imagine how many Spin and Rolling Stone are getting, nevermind every indie rag, fanzine, local entertainment weekly, what have you all over the country. Downloading that Kelly Clarkson track off eDonkey seems like a drop in the bucket.

To combat this, the record industry has been putting all sorts of copy protection and things of that nature on their CDs. As for some of the advances we get, some of them are discs created especially for me, bearing a watermark with my name and my company's name on it, and each track is tagged so if any of them are discovered to have been illegally downloaded by someone, it can be traced back to me. And I guess I'd be forced into a labor camp or have to write bios for boy bands or something like that.

Today I got a package for Lacuna Coil containing their upcoming CD Karmacode. I'd interviewed two members of the band over the phone, and I'd been waiting to hear the new album so I could write up the story. Unfortunately, I'd only been able to hear the single when I spoke to them. It's covered with red warning labels and has my name printed all over it. It had also been sealed with a sticker that had another warning on it and a prompt to read the back for terms of use. They are:

• This CD is for your use only. You must not sell or give or lend the CD to anyone else.
• You must not copy the CD by any means or give or lend a copy to anyone else and in particular you must not make it available on the Internet.
• You must keep this CD in a safe place and take care to ensure that it is not taken or copied by anyone else.
• CENTURY MEDIA (that's the record label) reserves the right to require return of this CD if it believes that these terms may have been breached.

As you can see, it's a lot of responsibility, and if you're wondering if I'm allowed to lend or copy the CD, the answer is no, I can't. I'm not going to, of course, but I appreciate paranoia. I haven't used a file sharing program since Napster got Lars Ulrich-ed and I had to escape to WinMX, which I think got the hammer dropped on it. It's been a long time is what I'm saying, and I don't do it now because I have more music than I can possibly ever listen to, especially since I can't get the same albums I listened to in high school out of my regular rotation. This one isn't as harsh as some of the others, though, which is cool. I can actually play it in my computer--there's one type that causes your computer to freeze when you put it in--and it doesn't say I'm not allowed to play it for anyone. I don't know who I'd play it for, though. It's actually better than I thought it'd be, and that's always cool.

Today I switched the house's cable into my name and I got some super big package I can't afford because I get it super cheap for a few months. I'll enjoy it while I can. After going back to work and doing little else but Myspacing, I came home around 11pm and watched National Treasure with my roommates on On-Demand, which is the greatest invention ever. The movie was goofy as fuck, but it kinda ruled, too. I love conspiracy theories, and if I had the time, I'd get into them a lot more, even if it seems like the make a movie about the Freemasons/Knights Templar every week or so.

that's fire

I saw this at The Superficial and it makes my scrotum retract into my body. I think watching it enough will make you go sterile.



You'll thank me later.

no good deed redux

[I was supposed to post this last night, but shit went sour. -ed.]

I've been making it a point not to do too much late night eating. I don't eat much as it is, but I've been doing my best to keep it at just my regular two meals a day. So far, I lost the holiday weight plus another pound. This made me happy.

Tonight, however, after watching 24, and having maybe too many beers, the small meals I had for lunch and dinner just weren't cutting it, and around midnight, I realized that the alcohol in my system would make tomorrow a pretty shitty day if I didn't get something to eat. The queen bee was over, so she drove me in her giant SUV down to the de facto diner so I could grab some ham and eggs. And an English muffin. Outside the diner, I was confronted by a very grizzled old man. I'm not sure how old he was, but he had that worn, mangy look of a man who'd been living outside for quite sometime. His voice was very gruff, and he said, "excuse me, man, but could you..."

My mind filled in the rest. I told him I didn't have any cash on me, which was true. I hardly ever carry cash anymore, because I'll spend it, lose it, or give it away, and unfortunately, every dollar counts. I just use my ATM card, which probably causes my money to dwindle away even faster.

Then he said, "No, man. Could you buy me a bowl of oatmeal?" It bothers me that this country have so much and still people can't afford basic needs like food. I'm not going to get on a pedistal, because I'm sure I'm not doing anything to help matters none, but I'd like to think that on a person-to-person level, I do what I can. He asked me to buy him a bowl of oatmeal, and I wasn't going to say no to that. I told him I would, and he said, "with brown sugar and cream." Beggars have every right to be choosers.

I sat down at the counter and ordered a plate of ham and eggs and asked for a bowl of oatmeal with cream and brown sugar to go. I'd asked him if he wanted it to go, and he said he did. I noticed he had a large bag at his feet, and he didn't look like the type who stayed in one place for too long. I was the only person at the diner and my food came almost instantaneously; in fact, it came out so fast, I wondered how safe it was for eating.

It was fine, especially the ham (the hash browns were disappointing), and towards the end of my meal, the oatmeal was presented to me in a large styrofoam cup. I was at the diner for all of ten minutes. I paid the tab and walked out with my bag of oatmeal, but when I got outside, the grizzled man was nowhere to be seen. I walked around the building once, then stood in front for a minute. There was no bag, no trace of him. I couldn't think of what else to do, so I took the oatmeal home. It's on my kitchen counter. I can't help but wonder, though, what happened to the guy, and if he'd gotten someone else to buy him something to eat, or if I really saw that dude at all. I do know what I'm having for breakfast in the morning, though.

[I didn't eat the oatmeal this morning, in case you were wondering. -ed.]

today's tom sawyer

That's the creek at the end of my block. I just wanted to put it in some kind of perspective. I took the picture with my cell phone at right around sunset. Further in the background of that photo is where homeless people have set up a kind of encampment. There used to be a lot more living along the banks and there's still a lot of clothes, liquor bottles and things of that nature that have been discarded along either side of the creek. I doubt the homeless people left all of it though, as I'm thinking that people who live in the surrounding neighborhood also dump shit there figuring that everyone else will just blame the homeless. There's one tent that has been there for a while, and I know there's two guys who live in it. For living under a tarp on the side of a creek, it looks like a pretty nice set up. It gets cold here and all, but never that bad, and night time in the summer is just about perfect once the humidity burns off by the middle of July. Plus, since this is a college town, this place is prime for dumpster diving. We're talking quality stuff that's barely four years old. I've seen rich people circling dumpsters in the more upscale college apartment complexes. Anyway, I'm not trying to romanticise being homeless. I know it sucks, but what I am saying is that if you are homeless, you could do worse than living here. Unfortunately, the town's not as pleasant for those of us who do have homes, and with the wages you can make here, I'm pretty sure that you can make a better living asking for change downtown.

I did just about as little today as I did yesterday, so I'd rather not bore myself with the details. I decided to keep myself busy, though, in an attempt to fight off the doldrums, and it worked. I cleaned and vacuumed my room, put my clothes away and vacuumed the living room and the area around my computer, also. Riveting, I know. But I am listening to the new Concretes album right now, and it's really good. It's happy and suicidal and happy about being suicidal. It's called In Colour and I think it comes out in the States in March.

Other than football (it was nice to see the Seahawks win their first conference title), I watched a couple of movies: Ocean's Twelve, which I liked better than I thought I would; and Two Days in the Valley, which was pretty uneven, but there were parts I really liked. I think it was Charlize Theron's first major role or something, and they had her all done up like a giant, Swedish Bond girl. It was pretty dope, plus she gets into a nasty catfight with Terry Hatcher (who was all young and stuff). But that's not the only parts I liked. Promise.

not for all the tea in china...

Because I've got nothing better to do than sit in front of the computer tonight (the dog is totally bored with me), I found this link on Neil Gaiman's blog for a live performance by The Magnetic Fields, which is a band I'd like to get a lot more into. Good stuff for a lonely Saturday. Not only is he a wonderful writer, but apparently he's got good taste in music too.

quality time

My friend who's in town still hasn't called, which leads me to believe he won't be calling, which may very well be a good thing because I've been in the same sweatpants all day. The only time I've ventured outside was to go down the block for a burrito and to take the dog for a walk. I'd take him again now, but I don't have a leash for him, and he likes to test my boundaries. Around noon, we walked down to the end of the block and crossed the small foot/bike bridge that crosses the creek (it sounds like I live in a Twain novel). The dog ventured off ahead and started exploring the area along the bank of the creek. He was still in my sights, but I really don't trust the street on the other side of the creek. It's kinda tucked back behind busier streets and seems to have "my dog got hit by a car on that street" written all over it. I called out to him to join me, and my first call went more or less ignored. I knew he heard me, but he preferred to play that whole "garsh, I'm just a dog and can't understand none fancy human speak." But he wasn't fooling me one bit. I marched closer to him and called his name again. This time, he perked up. I'd seen through his elaborate rouse, and now he was playing the loyal card. He jogged closer to me, but he did so while walking in the middle of the street. I hugged close to the bank of the creek and kept calling him to get out of the street, but he just kept jogging--moving with a bouncy gait, his ears pert and his gaze fixed at me, daringly. "Oh look at me. Dog in the street. Hope nothing happens." I know he looks like a saint, but I swear there's malice in those eyes. We also played fetch a few times in the yard. The neighbors were blasting Iron Maiden live. It was pretty awesome. I miss having a dog.

As much as I say I'd like to just do nothing all day, I find I have to force myself to stay inside. Even know, I'm checking my phone to see if it rang without me hearing, as if that was at all possible. Not going out makes me depressed. I've been in sulk mode most of the day. I'm totally uncomfortable when I'm around people and going out, but when I'm staying inside, the fact that there's no people around and there's nothing to do makes me uneasy. It's a mystery.

I did watch a couple movies though: Teaching Mrs. Tingle, a "thriller" with "actress" Katie Holmes (it was actually kinda fun, but I missed the ending because the dog wanted to play fetch--see! Malice); Saved with Mandy Moore (I really liked that one, even though it got kinda sappy and typical towards the end); and With a Friend Like Harry a French movie that was creepy and well acted, but really didn't go anywhere, ever, but made me feel kinda gloomy (it was really very, very French).

saturday night i'm thinking louise

I spent all day listening to Pinkerton at work. Unfortunately, I left it there, but this is why I have to constantly buy my favorite CDs. I leave them places all the time. I'm always carrying them around. As I listened to it, I tried to think of the various places I may have left my original copy. I narrowed it down to my old car or perhaps even in the stack of CDs I'd brought to listen to at my old job at the comic book store. We had a five-disc changer there, and what better place to listen to songs about how you're not getting laid than at a comic book store.

I think we had a meeting at work, but I may very well have zoned my way through it. I'm not really a meetings person. I did do some work, though, and scurried around to make sure my writers got their pay checks and also did some mailings. It felt good, because those things were all tasks that actually required me being at the office.

My phone was off all day, and though I'd been looking forward to it all week, I seemed to forget that I'd be watching my surrogate dog for the weekend. His owner was supposed to call me and let me know when he'd be in town, but I didn't discover that my phone was off until after I left my favorite Chinese restaurant well after 8pm. I saw that I had messages, and when I checked them, I heard the dog owner tell me that he was on his way into town and would be here around 7. I freaked, because it was an hour late, and I was still a good 20 minute walk from home. Oh, and it was raining all over me. Luckily, though, that rain was snow up in the mountains, so it took him a while to drive down, and now I'm happy to say that the big ol' hound is resting happily on my right foot as I type this. He's keeping me warm because, since my roommate is gone--the dog's momma--I haven't turned the heat on, and I think it's in the mid-50s in here. Nice and frosty. The way I like it.

I'm weird that way when it comes to indoor temperatures. I like it kinda chilly in the house, but when it is kinda chilly in the house, I make sure to wrap myself in a blanket or put on a sweater if the cool temperature is getting to me. I'm wearing a hoodie now, with the hood up, but there's no way I'm turning the heat on. I may, though, if I start seeing my breath.

I also saw the second half of the obnoxious four-hour 24 premier tonight, that I had taped, with some people from work. It was pretty awesome. More explosions, more whisper-yelling and the dude who played Rudy and Sam the Hobbit was in it. Fuck yeah. I think what I love about the show is how seriously it takes itself, like because they have presidents and terrorists as characters, it's that much more meaningful or whatever. Afterwards, we all drank some more beers and I think we started philosophizing, but beers make me do that sometimes.

I'd try to make sense of it all, but I'm tired and I'd like to go to bed. My partner in strip clubs is coming into town tomorrow night, so there may be another tale of the tip rail in the queue shortly.

see!

This is how batty Lars von Trier is.

I had no idea going into it. And luckily, the Russian bootleg I watched was without dead donkey. I still think it's an amazing film, though.

life on the farm

I just finished watching Manderlay, which is the sequel to Lars von Trier's Dogville, starring Nicole Kidman in one of her best roles. If you've seen any of von Trier's films, you'd know that they're not easy viewing. Dancer in the Dark starring Bjork, was very, very sad. A great movie, but so very, very sad. I get sad thinking about it. And it was a musical, too, but still. So sad. It's really worth watching if you want to be compelled to drink whisky in bed, curled up in the fetal position and crying your eyes out all night. I didn't do that when I saw it, mind you, but I'm sure the thought crossed my mind.

Dogville wasn't as sad, but it trumped the sadness card by being very, very disturbing. It was very, very disturbing in a kind of matter-of-fact way, which made it even more disturbing. I think I only saw it once, but I can still remember it so vividly. Nicole Kidman's amazing in it portraying the central character, Grace, whose role is reprised by Bryce Dallas Howard in Manderlay. Grace is a helpful kind of character. She means well, or at least that's how it seems, but perhaps she's idealistic to a fault. I don't want to go too much into it, because I still haven't made up my mind about her. It's a fascinating character, though. Anyway, in Dogville, Grace happens onto a small town by the same name in Colorado, I think. She's running from something but no one's sure what. I exchange for hiding her out there, Grace does stuff to help the town's inhabitants, and then shit gets fucked up.

In Manderlay, Grace happens on to a plantation in Alabama, even though it's the 1930s. It's a powerful film with amazing peformances. I was happy to see Danny Glover in a prominent role, because I haven't seen him in a film in a long time, and he was really good in it. Bryce was excellent as Grace also. I wasn't sure how I'd take to her considering Kidman was so good in Dogville, but I thought she did an amazing job, even though the fact that she obviously doesn't carry the same star power diminished her somewhat early on. Usually, I'd rather see an unknown, but there was something about seeing that role played by a big name actress that made it even more effective. That's just my opinion though. I really liked Bryce, and I hope she comes back and does the third part of the trilogy.

That might not happen, though, because I've heard stories about von Trier. The man's an amazing and provocative director, but he doesn't have much of a bedside manner, so to speak. I heard that Kidman really wanted to come back and reprise the role of Grace, but working with von Trier was such a trying experience, she refused to work with him again. I thought maybe this was just an isolated incident, but I also heard that Bjork, after completing Dancer in the Dark, was so distraught from her experience with von Trier that she not only refused to work with him again, but also said she never wanted to do another movie again. Ever. That's crazy. I'm not sure if that's true, but it's fun to spread rumors anyway. I mean, if the guy's so insane that fucking Bjork won't go near him, you know something's up. That bitch communicates with elves!

PS. Since Bjork could probably unleash valkrye-like fury on my ass, I retract the bitch comment. It was used simply in a failed attempt to be colorful.

in which we discuss the king of whisper yelling and another goddess of rock

I watched the premier of 24 last night, which was kind of a mistake. I hadn't watched the last two seasons because I know that it's perfectly geared to gnaw on my obsessive brain. But my Lost buddy asked if I was going to watch 24 this season, and since it's kinda fun not to watch TV alone, I said sure. Predictably, after three major players died in the first 12 minutes of the two-hour first part of the four-hour tw0-night premier (the most obnoxious season debut in television history), I knew that I'd basically just signed away 24 more hours of my life.

Really, though, the show's fucking good. And Jack Bauer is clearly the man. Everything's so intense. There was a scene in which Bauer, living undercover, the world believing he's dead, has breakfast with a family he's kinda glommed onto in his new life as a civilian, and even that was set to pulse-pounding music. Never has drinking OJ from the carton been so suspenseful.

But really, what sets Jack Bauer apart from the rest of his heroic ilk is the yelling. Kiefer Sutherland has the perfect yelling voice. "PUT IT DOWN!" "I NEED TO SPEAK TO THE PRESIDENT!" "I SAID NO FUCKING GUAC!!!" But his yelling really excels when he's whispering. It may be Kiefer Sutherland's greatest contribution to the craft of acting--whisper-yelling. There was this scene between Bauer and this other dude where all they did was whisper-yell, and it was off the chains. I tried to duplicate it at work today, but it was no use. Kiefer has a gift. Luckily, he uses his powers for good. Not evil.

Later this week, I'm supposed to interview Cristina Scabbia of Lacuna Coil. I don't know why I said I'd do it. I don't know much about the band, but I do remember checking out a CD of theirs once and I wasn't crazy about it. I've been researching them for the past couple of days, because I'd like the interview to turn out well, and like I said, I know little about them. That's Cristina right there if you haven't figured. And yeah, I noticed. Where do they grow these women? I mean really. I spent most of the day researching her and the band--sometimes my job's pretty cool--but I kept getting distracted, obviously. Eyeing photo galleries isn't really much for research. What I did find out? Well here it goes:

1. Revolver magazine named her one of the hottest women in metal. No offense, of course, but Revolver probably neglected to mention she's like one of four women in metal, fans included.
2. My initial reaction to their music was probably because it wasn't what I was expecting. I was looking for something more ultra goth vampire metal, but got something very hard rock with a gothic edge (and clothing). Really, their more like a more goth/less Creed rock version of Evanescence (a guilty pleasure), but Lacuna Coil's been at it much longer. It's still not my thing, really, but I'd kinda like to see them live, because I'm sure they'd probably put on a really theatric show, and I think a lot of bands think they're above actual showmanship.
   
3. Cristina used to be a session musician for pop and R&B records, but left all that cash behind to join a rock band, which is admirable.
   
4. She's also all about PETA.
   
5. She's totally Italian, accent and all, but I knew that already.
   

I still don't know what on Earth I'm going to chat with her about, but I guess I'll figure something out. If I was a true gangster, I'd whisper-yell all my questions, though.

why there's an internet part 7,809

Web toys are fun for the whole family. One of the people I don't know on my Myspace buddy list (but I graduated from high school with her) usually leaves me perverted cartoon comments. One of them was kinda raunchy, so I deleted it. I checked to see if she just spams them to everyone on her list, but I couldn't find hard evidence. Anyway, she sent out a bulletin with a random name generator that is meant to determine your "prison bitch" name. I wasn't aware that your...uh...bitch master gave you a name when you became his/her bitch, and frankly, I'm glad I didn't know. but seeing as we're in the information age, there's really no avoiding it. What's your prison bitch name? Mine? It's "Baby Buns." Ms. Jackson if you're nasty.

the professor

It's been my roommate's birthday for the couple days. In this town, birthdays seem to last more than one day. Sometimes they span entire weekends, and other times, as was the case with my most recent birthday, they can last upwards of a week or more.

The last two days, we've been celebrating my roommate's birthday, and it's been a lot of fun. Thankfully, it's been a lot easier on the liver than the 10-day bender I went on for my big two-nine, though yesterday, we did get a good drink on. She played her weekly soccer game at this indoor place over by the neighborhood park, and we sat in the bleachers and drank from thermoses of rum and coke. Afterwards, we went to the punky biker bar for a couple of drinks and some shuffleboard before returning home to after party it up and watch the special edition of Office Space, which is a sadly accurate depiction of modern day America--and also one of my favorite movies.

Tonight was very mellow. One of her friends came in from out of town and they spent most of the day out. I sat in my room and tidied it up. My parents bought me a pillow bed and some kind of memory foam cushion, so I washed my sheets and turned my ratty twin bed into a tiny little piece of heaven for these tired old bones. I also watched some movies and played some video games and washed the dishes, I think, but that was about all the excitement I could really muster. They went out to dinner, and I took a long hot shower while blasting Takk... and, coupled with the smell of fresh Irish Spring soap, was transported to a magical and steamy place. I felt like I might want to go out, but I wasn't entirely sure. I had to return a movie anyway, so I took a walk downtown and figured I'd reach a decision before I got there. I didn't...and then I just ended up walking home. My roommate had returned with a couple more friends, including an older gentleman who I thought must have been a professor at the university or something. He had that kinda look.

And they were all really stoned. They all looked like they were moving in slow motion and their eyes were pink and squinted. Everyone was smiling and holding glasses of wine, and I got a seasonal beer out of the fridge and injected myself into the gathering. I noticed there was a metallic apparatus on my kitchen table.

"Did you see the Volcano?" my roommate's boyfriend asked me.

"I was wondering what that was," I said. "What is it?"

I was told it was a vaporizer. I used to be a pothead myself, and I've lived with potheads ever since I moved out here, so I knew what that was, but I'd never seen such an elaborate one. The Volcano belonged to the professor.

He saw me looking it over, and he said, "here, let me show you." Then, he launched into his dissertation. I don't remember it word for word, but it went something like this:

"You turn it on and then wait for the light to go on. When it does, then you attach this little recepticle with the marijuana inside, screw it on tight and then there's this bag thing attached to the other end of the recepticle that fills up with smoke. When the bag is full, you detatch the bag and recepticle and then attach this valve-like thing that allows you to take hits off the bag of smoke. The Volcano is hot enough to burn up the THC, but not hot enough to burn the leafy material so you get 95 percent of the THC without all the carbon and other stuff, which means you get 50 percnet more of the THC which is the stuff that gets you all high and what not, with out all the lung-blackening other stuff. It's the best way to smoke, man."

He also explained why it's good to have papers to prove you need medical marijuana, but I kinda knew that already. In California, he said, you're allowed to carry up to a pound--a fucking POUND--if you have one of those medical marijuana cards.

I have been getting migranes lately...

Anyway, I enjoyed the informative little lecture. I never did catch what the man did for a living, but I'd still like to think he was the Stone-y Professor. Stoners, I've noticed, always throw percentages around when talking about ways to increase your high. I never had a problem with increasing my high when I smoked weed. That stuff made me batty, and I loved it. We used to have a friend who went up to SUNY Albany, which is a notorious partying school. He was into the percentages, too. He'd say things like, "coughing increases your high by five percent, because it opens up your lungs more," or "smoking cigarettes increases your high by 15 percent." I don't know where he got those figures from; I think they came from ripping too many bong hits with his RA or something. One time, he was going to come down from the dorms to visit, and he told us he'd be able to score us some LSD, which I hadn't done before. I was a little wary about doing it, but I figured, what the fuck. Beforehand he kept trying to give us the rundown of what supplemental materials we should have to help us along on our trip. He said to get extra cigarettes because we'd end up going through a lot of them and that "drinking orange juice would increase our high by 22 percent, because of the vitamin C," or whatever.

I didn't drink any orange juice, but he was right about the cigarettes. I'd light them up, forget about them and then start another without even noticing.

the goddess of rock

At work, with the help of my new headphones, I've fallen in love with my goddess of rock, Pandora. R told me about it recently, but I totally spaced, which happens often. More recently, one of my coworkers told me about it because she was trying to make a contact with the people who started it and suggested that maybe we do a story on it. Since I'm obsessed with work, I tried it out immediately, and immediately, I fell in love.

It allows you to make your own radio stations based on a band or song that you really liked. I was trying to be clever, but not too obscure, so for my first station, I opted for the dearly departed Meat Puppets as a starting point. The first song Pandora played me was a track off of Huevos, and I was impressed. However, during our first meeting, Pandora could only whisper her sweet nothings to me through the rattiest pair of headphones in the known universe. One of the speaker arms was broken and latched precariously to the headset via old electrical tape that had all but lost its tackiness, so that it took on a somewhat slimy and gummy consistency. Also, neither of the speakers had its factory-issued felt covering, so when I wore the headphones, the hard plastic dug into my sensitive ears. They're sensitive, dammit. They didn't sound very good either. But I put up with it, basically because I'm broke and really, really lazy.

For Christmas this year, I asked only for one thing--a nice pair of headphones. Nothing too fancy, just something nice and comfortable with good sound. Santa Parents responded with a pair of Sony MDR-V150 Dynamic Stereo Headphones. Compared to where I've been, these things seem like heaven. I can even hear bass. Bass!!! And the separate channels of the stereo are dynamic (as the name would lead one to believe). The best part is, though that the ear pieces are lined with two ring-shaped cushions. I'm wearing them right now, and I'm not even listening to anything! They can also get pretty loud if I want them to, so I'm able to drown out office noisiness and transport myself into J world, which is where I like to spend most of my time.

Anyway, the Meat Puppets station is working out even better than I thought it would, and today was particularly mindblowing. I heard "Negative Creep" by Nirvana, two songs by Hot Snakes and the most perfect song ever created "My Sharona" by the Knack. I think on a subconscious level, every song I like follows the same structure as "My Sharona," or at least, I process the song in my brain so it sounds like "My Sharona." I don't know what's going on, to be honest. It's just amazing. Anyway, I've also been turned on to a couple new tracks, well, new to me, that I really like. The best one being "Sheila" by the Georgia Satellites, which is the band that did that country-ish song "Keep Your Hands to Yourself." I really liked that song growing up, to be honest, but "Sheila" doesn't sound anything like it. It's more power pop and rocking without the kitschy twang. It's super super good.

While I was at lunch, I got a phone call from my friend back home. He and his wife are having a baby (well, she is, but you know), and today they had the first sonogram. It's going to be a boy. I tried to convince them to name it after me, but I don't think that's going to happen. They're going to go with Lucas instead. The nerve. I'm really excited about tricking this kid into calling me uncle, though. One of the women I work with also had a baby recently. In fact, she had it on New Year's Day, and it was actually the first baby born in the county, which made the TV news and the front page of two papers.

In March I'm going to have two new roommates, but luckily, I won't have to move. If I did, I'd probably just leave the state, because I think it's ridiculous having to move three blocks away from your old place. This will be the first time that new people will be moving into my house. I've only had experience filling spare rooms in other people's homes. I'll try to keep the suspicious glances to a minimum.

pandemonium

For some reason, I get the feeling this year's going to be very unsettling, so I'm trying to make myself as comfortable as possible. For Christmas, I requested a couple pairs of pajama pants and a pair of sweat pants to wear around the house. I'm in pajama pants now. I'm also reclining back in the cozy chair left here by a previous tennant. I hope she doesn't want it back.

I'm also going to eat less red meat. I've been on a big chicken kick lately anyway. I'm not going to cut it out entirely, just not as much as I used to. Ditto for alcohol...well, maybe not. But I have been taking it very slow with that too. I was feeling really crappy by the end of last year, so I'm hoping to turn it around in small doses. How long this keeps up is anyone's guess, really. A lot of times, I forget what I've set my mind to. Of course, I waited till the bird flu thing started moving eastward to go on the chicken kick. Maybe I'll switch to fish.

I've also been trying to keep my spirits up by keeping myself entertained. Other than the Smashing Pumpkins CD, I also picked up a used video game yesterday with that gift certificate. Dej Jam Fight for New York, which is a hip-hop-themed fighting/wrestling game with the likenesses of Ice-T, Method Man, Xzibit, Ludacris and other rappers. It's a lot of fun. I was able to create my own character, who bears my name, and I did my best to make him as cracker-ass honky as possible. I'm proud to report that virtual J is kicking serious ass in the seedy underbelly of New York's illegal fight clubs, and is also fitting in very well, though his voice sounds like that of a wacky brother on a TGIF sitcom. He's even all blinged out, tatted up, dating virtual Lil' Kim and chilling with Method Man. Wu-Tang Clan ain't nothin' to fuck wit. Shaolin represent.

I'm kinda jealous of him.

Today, with a Borders gift card I got for Christmas, I got Weezer's Pinkerton, which I also lost, and two books by Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean: Coraline and There's Wolves in the Walls. The order even qualified for free shipping and came out to a lesser amount than my gift card is worth. Understandably, I'm stoked.

I've also been watching a ton of movies on cable seeing as I haven't really been going out. The other night I watched From Dusk Till Dawn. I forgot how awesome that movie is. It's not high art or anything, but Robert Rodriguez knows how to put a violent exploitation film together, with out it being all pretentious like his buddy Quentin (but I have to say I like Tarantino's films too). The plot's really direct: two criminals (Tarantino and George Clooney) kidnap a minister who has lost his faith (Harvey Keitel) and his two children and force them to drive to Mexico. There, they're supposed to meet up with one of Clooney's associates, but the place turns out to be a strip club of the damned and everyone who works there are vicious, evil vampires including Salma Hayek, who struts her stuff as Santanico Pandemonium in pretty much one of the sexiest scenes without nudity or, y'know, sex, ever put on film.

It's hard to go wrong with Salma Hayek. She's so hot, she has an online gallery dedicated to her feet. She always looks good, and even now, just about 40, she still looks good, which makes me think she'll probably be doing a romantic comedy with The Cusack soon. In From Dusk Till Dawn, she's even more ridiculous, playing an evil, domineering, vampire stripper queen. I mean, that's almost every fetish covered. Pretty impressive considering she's only on screen for about 15 minutes. Throw in the accent and--well--the phenomenal rack, and you've gone one convincing argument for TiVo. Anyway, there's his one part at the end of her burlesque number where she struts out across the stage and walks atop the table that Keitel, Tarantino, Clooney and the kids are sitting at and grabs the bottle of whisky from off the table top and pours it down her body so that it flows down her leg and into Tarantino's mouth. I guess if I'd been downing alcohol like that, I wouldn't have much desire to cut back on my drinking.

sadness makes me happy

Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness is number two, I think, on my list of all time favorite albums, but it's not a very distant second. In Utero's number one, with Incesticide as a close third. (Weezer's Pinkerton and Sonic Youth's Dirty round out the top five, but there are a couple like Murray Street, Who Will Cut Our Hair When We're Gone and In the Aeroplane Over the Sea I know it's cliche to list things in such a manner, but I remember when I was a teenager, I used to make lists of my 40 or 50 favorite songs. I guess I always knew I kinda wanted to do what I'm doing. And I swear I've been doing the list thing before I saw High Fidelity, which is one of my favorite movies, though I'm not sure what rank I'd give it.

Like all my favorite CDs, I lose them constantly. I listen to them a lot and in a lot of different places. They get left in cars, forgotten in CD changers, placed in other cases and so on. Mellon Collie has been out of my possession for a few years now, which really has been far too long. But I haven't been able to find it anywhere at stores, until yesterday when, armed with a $30 gift certificate, I entered a local record store and found it used for $14.99...with the two booklets and everything. I was pleased. As I went to sleep, I popped disc one in my CD player and realized it was one of the first times I'd actually listened to a larger portion of it not under the influence of marijuana. It's still really good, though, and it brings back a lot of memories. I'm glad I got it back.

aught five gone bye bye

I'm back in California and mired in post holiday depression. I have no hopes or aspirations for the new year except I'm looking forward to the rest of the second season of Lost, and I may try to get laid sometime. If I get around to it. My sister got a spanking new Mac Mini for Christmas, so she gave me her old PC, meaning I actually have my own computer again, and I'm totally using it right now. I hope this means I will be going out less. Looking back, 2005 wasn't entirely awful. Things happened, and not all of them sucked. I drank and rocked out and got older. This year I'll turn 30, and though I know 30 is the new 20, I'm still not looking forward to it. I'm feeling really worn out. Anyway, here are the albums I thought were swell from last year--a lot of good music in the '05:

1. ...And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead - Worlds Apart: I got this one in Nov. of 2004 on a really early advance, and I loved it then, but it didn't come out til Jan. '05. It's passionate and violent and subversive and though I think it could be called overwraught, it's heart is everything that's good about rock music. A masterpiece.

2. M.I.A. - Arular: This one seems to be on a lot of lists because everyone is putting it on their list, but fuck it. It's probably the best album of the year. "M.I.A got the beats that make you bang."

3. Giant Drag - Hearts and Unicorns: Familiar, fun, addictive, perfect. "My Dick Sux" makes me wail and sob like a sea creature while pumping my fist in pure rock glory. No one seems to know this album exists but people who write about music for a living. I guess we're the lucky ones. Annie Hardy, will you marry me?

4. Gorillaz - Demon Days: Who knew cartoon characters could be so haunting? It's really bleak, but still a lot of fun. "Feel Good, Inc." is probably the only real single on the album, though I know they released others, and even that one's kinda dreary.

5. Rogue Wave - Descended Like Vultures: Even better than their first. If this keeps up, they're going to become my favorite band. I can't wait to see them live again.

6. Sigur Ros - Takk...: This album makes me want to climb a glacier, raise my arms and shout triumphantly up to the sky, then ride that glacier across the arctic and feel the cold air whip tears of joy from my eyes. Or something like that. I don't know what the fuck they're yammering about, but whatever it is, I feel you man. I feel you.

Honorable mentions: Cat Power - The Greatest (I haven't gotten a chance to listen to it that much yet, but it's a nice turn around. Chan's not so mopey this time around and puts together some really good soul songs); Rasputina - A Radical Recital (It's a live album, but it kicks total ass, I couldn't stop listening to it); Silversun Pickups - Pikul (Just an EP, but if it's any indication, the full-length that's coming out this year's gonna kick serious ass).

Here are my five favorite songs from last year, in ascending order:

5. Giant Drag "My Dick Sux": Wailing and sobbing, I tell you. The opening riff is the sweetest thing I've heard in years.

4. Fall Out Boy "Sugar (We're Going Down)": Fluffy emo pop goodness. Even though I hear it every five minutes, I still kinda rock out to it. Damn you, Fall Out Boy.

3. The Killers "Mr. Brightside": "Jealousy, turning saints into the sea!!! Swimming through sick lullabies!!! Choking on your alibis!!! But it's just the price I pay!!! Destiny is calling me!!! Open up my eager eyes!!! 'Cause I'm Mr Brightside!!! ...you should hear me sing that, or some semblance of it, in the shower.

2. Shakira "La Tortura": My palms are getting a little sweaty just thinking about it... I'd say it's got nothing to do with Shakira covered in grease paint, writhing around like a serpent in the video, but I'd be totally lying. And I love just about any song with the word "Corazon" in it.

1. Kelly Clarkson "Since U Been Gone": So I'm not a 16 year old girl. I don't care. The first time I heard this on the radio, I thought it was Avril Lavigne. When I discovered it was actually a Kelly Clarkson song, for whatever reason, I liked it even more. I guess this one was a guilty pleasure for a lot of music snobs, but I feel no guilt for liking this song. Not one shred of shame or embarassment. It fucking rocks. Okay? It pops like the finale of a fireworks show over the radio. I love it when Kelly screams "again and again and AGAAAAAAIN" and then everything stops for a beat and then that one crunchy guitar comes in by itself for a measure or two. Fucking epic. YEAAAAH YEAHHH!!! Slay it, Kelly.

home for the holidays

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

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

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

paralysis

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

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

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

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

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

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

I told you this Anchor Christmas Ale is good shit.

suspension of disbelief

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

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

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

the season

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

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

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

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

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

yearbook

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

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

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

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

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

rock 'n' roadwarrior

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

tic-tac-global thermonuclear war

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

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

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

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

It's been a long, boring day.

downer

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

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

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

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

christmas wishlist part three

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

48,774.78 Euros

32,906.90 British Pounds

59,158,253.75 South Korean Wan

66,560.44 Canadian Dollars

76,794.45 Australian Dollars

29,448,504.02 Chilean Pesos

6,905,475.72 Japanese Yen

the fellowship disbands

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

in other news

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

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

That is all.

one way ticket

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

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

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

why i'm the way i am

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

VICTORY!!!

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

christmas wishlist part two

Clearly, this is the coolest thing ever.