on the house

[photo by michelstadt]

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

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

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

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

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

this candy store of ours

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

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

like the omen only prettier

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

---

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



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

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

so miss under stood

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

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



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

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

ol' man scenester

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

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

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

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

iron & wine

[from Sub Pop]

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

art

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

---

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

buzz

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

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



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

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

still rearranging

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

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

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



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

spring rearranging

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

woe to you, o earth and sea

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

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

crock of dawn

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

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

primetime incest

Lost. Best show ever.

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

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



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

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

---

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

i feel slimy

Seriously. E! Channel. What are you thinking?

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

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



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

it's all about marketing...

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

Artist glues 2,000 snails to church

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

don't get your hopes up, kid

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

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

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

"We got Beltran," I said.

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

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



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

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

dude. let's jam.

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



[photo by Robin D]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

still tweaking

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

---

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

---

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



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

tweaked

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

Cheers!



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

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

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

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

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

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

RIP Reggie White.



This blog is turning into the obits.

stoner

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

The Concretes - The Concretes

2005 gets the ball rolling

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

Will Eisner passes away after quadruple bypass surgery

it's got something to do with sticks and balls

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

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

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



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

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

---

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



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

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

dear, blog-y.

[photo: Angelus49]

Hey, big guy.

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

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

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

you're always leaving

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

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

I wish I could find something else to complain about.

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

let's review

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

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

---

My favorite albums of 2004 in no particular order:

Rilo Kiley - More Adventurous (duh)

Handsome Boy Modeling School - White People

Sonic Youth - Sonic Nurse

Joseph Arthur - Our Shadows Will Remain

Ghostface - The Pretty Toney Album

Rogue Wave - Out of the Shadow

Rasputina - Frustration Plantation

PJ Harvey - Uh Huh Her

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

---

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

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

through the years

It’s hard for me to remember what day it is. Being home is reminding me of the person I used to be, who, to be honest, wasn’t all that different than the person I am now. I spent one afternoon reading through my old journal, and late last night / early this morning going through my high school yearbook and remembering all the girls I had crushes on. I didn’t miss a single one. I even remember what classes I had with most of them. I don’t know if that’s sad or just thorough.

a handful of miles high to be exact...

36,131 feet over Nebraska

Al Franken’s book is turning out to be a real page turner. I don’t care if what he’s saying is true or not; it’s getting my ire up and making me laugh, so that’s all that really matters. I’m significantly entertained. It’s 2:15am according to my computer’s clock, so I’m guessing there’s another two-plus hours to go. I’d read some more but, I was the only person on the plane with the reading light on, and I felt really guilty about it.

I just can’t sleep on planes. It’s not the most comfortable environment to begin with; I’m amazed I’m able to type. The reclining action on these seats isn’t anything to write about (ho ho), and there’s not that much room to spread out. But more importantly, I’m under the unfounded belief that somehow, it is by my will alone that keeps the plane from crashing. Sleeping would only let my guard down and lead not only to my death, but the death of these fine people who are flying with me. And I can’t let them down, now can I? I’d be a murderer seeing as I have the ultimate power over whether we all arrive at our destination safely. It’s a big burden to bear, but I guess I’m up to the task. Really, I have to be.

There was one exception, however [this addendum written at my parents' home]. I had the whole row to myself on one flight, the smoothest flight I could remember. It was a red eye, and I think I'd missed the plane I was supposed to take. I was heading back to New York from California, it must have been off season. I watched some DirecTV and eventually became rather sleepy. If I did miss my first flight, I must have spent most of the day at the airport and was pretty damn tired as a result. I propped up a couple of flimsy plane pillows and shrouded myself in a flimsy plane blanket and stretched out across all three seats. No seat belt, no turbulence. I think I slept the majority of the flight. I believe the flight attendant woke me up. I buckled up and prepared for landing.

The landing was perfect, not even a bounce, like we had found purchase on a feathered bed. Maybe I should pass out on the plane more often.

airport

9:25pm Pacific; 12/24/04

Got to the airport just in time to see the fog roll in, thick like a few nights ago. Fog is fine for walking, but I’d rather not have so much of it on a night I’m supposed to fly cross-country. I’ve already been here for four hours (roughly), though the time’s gone by pretty quick. I’ve been finding ways to occupy myself, such as typing this thing up even though I can’t get on the Internet; hopefully it makes me look more interesting, because there seems to be a lot of single women around, and most of them aren’t half bad looking; though I doubt my ratty Iron Maiden T-shirt and old-ass jeans are doing me any good in that department.

I used to scoff at people on their laptops in the airport—or any public place for that matter. I just always figured it was their feeble attempt to look more interesting, but here I am—being that guy. I hate that guy.

I ended up at the airport bar—had to take the terminal shuttle to get there, since I arrived at 5:30pm and couldn’t check my bags till 9. The terminal my plane’s leaving from has restaurants and shops and the like, but they’re only accessible after you’ve passed through security, and you can’t get through security without a boarding pass, which left me shit out of luck. Well, not entirely, the other terminal was right around the corner.

At the bar, I sat down at a table by the television and ordered a rum and coke. I was asked if I wanted to make it a double. I thought that went without saying.

Sitting at the table adjacent to mine was an older woman, probably in her late 40s or early 50s. She had the bartender put on A Christmas Story, which I still haven’t seen all the way through. Most people scold me when I tell them that. During commercial breaks, she’d turn around and speak to me. She asked me where I was headed, and I told her New York City, and when I asked her the same question, she said she wasn’t going anywhere. I was suspicious at first, but she said she was waiting for her husband.

She told me the past few months hadn’t been the greatest. Her husband was attending a funeral in Iowa, and her mother or his mother had been diagnosed with cancer. Some kind of plane malfunction had delayed her husband’s flight; he was supposed to get in around 1pm, but he wasn’t going to land till 10pm. She’d driven all the way up from Phoenix, AZ, and had to get a room at the hotel here at the airport. She told me she was going to grab a pizza and head back there. I felt bad to hear that she was having such hardships this close to the holidays—she seemed like a nice woman—but I felt even worse because I was kinda hoping she was hitting on me.

I can hear two novices talking about NYC, my ugly, pretty, wonderful, shitty hometown; debating where 46^th Street is. Part of me wants to turn around and say “between 45^th and 47^th,” but I’m going to be nice and keep my mouth shut.

keeping in the spirit

After a plate of chicken cutlet parmeggiana and broccoli, a High Life, four shots of Crown Royal and Napolean Dynomite, my Christmas woes didn't seem so bad. Y'know, everytime a bell rings, and angel gets its wings and all that. At the very least, I was able to spend the big end-of-year blow out with my family and most of my friends (the East coast ones, anyway).

For a while there, though, I was feeling like ol' George Bailey in a Capra nightmare. What difference do I make. The world would be better off without me, or maybe I'd be better off with out the world. But like George, I suppose, Clarence came 'round in the form of Canadian whiskey and showed me the true meaning of Christmas. All you need is love, man, and when love's on the scarce side, a couple of shots will clear that right up.

Ol' Crown must have been watching over me this morning, too, as upon my arrival at the office, I found a small tupperware container filled with candied nuts made by office mom, a wedge of cheese that I'd ordered as part of my mom's Christmas gift and my boss gave me my Christmas bonus in the form of a brand new Benjamin. I could hear the chorus of angels sing and saw Ol' Crown wink at me from on high. Yeah, it's all about the love, but being able to buy stuff is pretty fucking cool, too.

can i take one christmas off?

I'm cynical about a lot of things, but not Christmas. I like to go big for Christmas and buy for as many people as possible (I usually go overboard). I actually like the hoiliday and even all the consumer bullshit that goes with it. I like the crowds; I like the stress; I like the traveling and running around; and I even like some Christmas songs (the traditional ones). But this has been a long hard year at work and just mentally I feel drained from everything. Not to mention I'm broke. I have enough for gifts, I think, but that's about it. I don't know what to get anyone...and I'm broke. I think that really needs to be emphasized. That I'm broke.

post script

Thinking about the elderly reminds me. Today while I was having lunch at the super burrito place with a couple of my coworkers, there was this old couple--the real cute and quiet time--sitting in the booth next to us. The waiter served them two glasses of red wine in really tall glasses with green-blue stems. They both sat together on the same bench of the large boot.

We didn't really pay them much mind; we spoke about how funny goths are, and I told a story about a dominatrix my friend hit on in a goth club in Long Island a while back. I noticed then that the couple was occasionally looking at us, but their expressions never changed--just plain and cold. After I had told my dominatrix story, the coworker sitting across the booth from me was talking about some news item he'd heard--an educational channel that's broadcasted in school and is sponsored by Pepsi or Coca-Cola or something--and how they're brainwashing children at a young age. He sat with his back to a large window that gives a view of the sidewalk and street outside. Over his left shoulder, I noticed the old man of the couple sitting next to us vomitting on the sidewalk. He was out there for a while, but eventually returned with the aid of his cane.

The couple watched us on and off the entire length of our meal and barely touched their wine. As we were leaving, I noticed the woman's eyes were still pointed at our booth.

when i was their age

I said, perhaps foolishly, "If you end up going to that party tonight, give me a call."

My house has become sort of a refuge for all the angsty kids who don't like their parents. That's fine. I was angsty when I was their age, but I always have gotten along with my folks. I had to be angsty about other things.

It feels strange for me, being close to 3o, and having my house full of kids--they're not my friends, but a roommate's; he's 22--and for the most part they're pretty nice. They tend to leave their empty beer bottles everywhere, but I was the same way when I was their age, and I can still be pretty messy if I don't check myself. This evening, I did a bunch of dishes before I had left over pasta and sausage for dinner. The kitchen's a mess again, but I'm not tripping. Half-hearted cleaning gives me something to do when I come home from work.

I was sitting in my room, logging quality time with my PlayStation 2 when the kids showed up. There might have been 20 of them, but really it was probably only six. I thought they might be moving on as quickly as they arrived, but they ended up staying, which was fine by me, but Mondays make me old and grumpy so I closed my door and watched disc four, season one of Carnivale. Halfway through the second episode, at 11pm, I got a phone call.

"Me and so-and-so are going to so-and-so's party. You want to go?"

"Yeah, sure."

"We'll be there in five minutes, is that cool?"

"Yeah, I'll be ready when you get here."

Five minutes was more like 20 really, but I wasn't really counting. There were discarded bowls of pudding everywhere and empty bottles of beer and kids ripping bong hits in my kitchen, but whatever. They were being pretty laid-back about it. But since I felt like a guest in my own home, I figured it'd be best just to check out for a little while. That was the plan--just for a little while. An aquaintence of mine was having a birthday today, so I at least wanted to wish her a happy birthday, and I already had to bottles of beer in me anyways...

It seems that my way to wish someone a happy birthday is to drink myself sleepy on a Monday night. I guess it wasn't entirely my fault (really, it was), but I didn't have to pay for a single drink, seeing as the birthday girl was a bar employee.

There was Guinness, fun and a cozy small turn out. I got a ride home--the bar is way across town--so I'm happy, and not only because I'm a bit buzzed.

I don't care that there's empty beer bottles (none of which are mine) strewn across my house, and it doesn't bother me that work is just a scant few hours away (but it probably will bother me when my alarms go off). For now, I'm going to pour myself a tall glass of water, maybe pay the bathroom a visit, and thank my liver for yet another proud night of service.

I owe you, buddy.

isss purty

Thanks, R for the banner!

Fittingly enough, I watched most of the movie Diner this evening, but I couldn't make it through. It's really good, but I think I'm just mentally exhausted right now.

I cooked a big dinner and made a killer pot of sauce. I was really proud of it, and it was spicy enough to make my brow sweat, so I think I did something right. It's a shame I can't get really good Italian sausage here in WASP wonderland, but I make do with what we got. Besides, when you're usually cooking for stoners, you don't really need the good, good stuff. They'll eat just about anything.

happy sunday!!!

[photo by Tom Andersson]

When my eyes opened, I felt like I was in a state of suspended animation. I had made it into my bed last night, that was obvious, and the television was on. The Eagles were playing the Cowboys. I couldn't tell what the score was. I couldn't reallyu move, to be honest, but I was more or less aware of what was going on around me. I wondered if that was what death was like; my breathing and my heart were moving slow, at least it felt slow. Maybe I was just more aware of it. I felt calm, warm and comfortable. It was nice, really.

No hangover (I think the one the day before prepped me sufficiently), just cozy, groggy and sleepy. I didn't move for another two hours until my dad called me up, and he apologized for waking me up. I said it was okay since, I'd been awake, more or less, for a while already.

After the phone call, I thought it would be a good idea to make some breakfast. It may have been just about 1pm. I boiled some eggs when I heard my name shouted from my front door; it was a woman from work and her roommate. Everyone was going to champagne Sunday brunch--everyone!--so I was pretty much was obliged to go, and I wanted to, also.

Pretty much everyone from the night before was at Sunday brunch. I ate steak and eggs and tried to figure out what the hell the gymnastics program that was on the television above the bar was all about.

Brunch was eh, but it was nice to hang out with everyone before they headed back out of town. I didn't have any champagne, though, because the cheap stuff makes me sick. Not to sound like a snob, but if I'm going to drink champagne, it's got to be good, otherwise I'll just stick to beer and such. No one really wanted to split up so champagne brunch turned into the after after after party over at my house where some people ripped bong hits and I ended up downing two pints of Guinness. I took pictures, there were more hugs, and again, a great time was had. I head there's a birthday party tomorrow or Tuesday, then another function on Thursday, and I'll be leaving for New York to visit the family on Friday night. All this fun is really starting to wear me down.

take two of these and call me in the morning

[from stock.xchng]

Ugh.

Some saint of a woman picked me up at 4 in the morning, otherwise, I'd be freezing my ass off in the streets somewhere right now.

Tonight was more fun than I could have hoped. I got to the party fashionably late (like an hour) but the room was still pretty dead when I got there. I decided not to pre-party, but I also decided not to eat before I left the house. I figured it would help me along, and give my body one less thing to have to process. After my first stiff Bacardi and Coke, I realized that not eating was a grave mistake. Luckily, deli trays were provided, and these super cool chicken club wraps that were very, very yummy. I downed about four or five plates of food as I sipped rum 'n' coke number two.

My suit was a hit. I never look good, mainly because I don't know how to dress myself without female supervision, but when I have to get all swanked up, I make looking good my mission. I mean, if I'm going to have to be uncomfortable for a few hours, I better damn well look good doing it. Also, because I'm usually the supreme visage of frumpy, when I do look good, it's like a fucking event and everyone comments on how good I look, which boosts my ego for a full year. It's the little things, I guess, that keep me going. Thanks to the sleazy sales dude who hooked me up with the killer shirt and tie combo.

After the party was the after party at the local watering hole, and after the after party was an after after party at a house on the other side of town. I attended both and wandered around town in a drunken stupor in full suit. I was going to walk home, but it would have taken me forever, and I couldn't afford an overcoat for my suit. I'll probably try to pick one up when I'm in the city over Christmas, and the temperature was in the 30s, so I called a friend who'd said (to my roommate) that we could call at any time for a ride if we needed one. He'd ditched the party at some point. I really don't know when, but I didn't think I was going to make it. She picked me up outside a diner. I bought her chicken strips and fries, and I was whisked back to my house.

The Little Space Heater that Could is doing its best to warm up my room, and I suppose I'll slip under the covers and not get out from under them until sometime tomorrow afternoon, but I busted my ass all year to enjoy this party, and at least it was worth it.

yeah, yeah. i'm moving...

I should be getting ready for the party, but I'm sitting around instead. Last night was long, but not half as arduous as I thought it'd be. I got home around a quarter to four and there were people in my house. I don't know who, but I introduced myself to all of them anyway, and then went to sleep.

I woke up an hour later on my floor. I knew I didn't make it to my bed. Sometimes the floor is more comfortable anyway. Apparently, at the time of my voyage into sleepy land, I had enough sense to prop a pillow under my head. I woke up reasonably refreshed--or as refreshed as possible. I didn't black out, mind you. I wasn't that drunk. I've never been that drunk, but still, sometimes I have to remind myself why or how a certain thing happened. It only takes a minute or so to remember.

What did take forever, though, was trying to figure out where I put my glasses before I fell asleep for the second time. I tore apart my room trying to find them, and finding them wouldn't be easy since upon waking up, and without my glasses, the entire world is an amorphous blob. I turned on the clinical fluorescent ceiling light to help, but really, all it did was give the blob an unnatural glow.

I did find them though, and just in time to make it down to the dry cleaners to pick up my suit. Afterwards, a late, free breakfast at Denny's followed (like 2:30pm) and then back home for two episodes of Carnivale and a nap.

Over the course of the day, I discovered that I have no money. Like really no money. It's almost all gone, and I don't think I have enough to pull a 20 out of the ATM. Good thing drinks are free tonight. I love the idea of the formal party, but really, I can't afford it, especially this time of year. Next year I should just show up in a jeans and a T-shirt.

bringing the noise (bells)

Old acquaintences have already begun to stream into town. There's a reunion concert of sorts taking place this evening, and my office's holiday party is tomorrow. I'm equally as excites as I am nervous of the debauchery that will ensue.

I guess this is the one time of year that it's okay to make yourself into a drunken lout--not that that stops me the rest of the year--and I'm planning to take full advantage. It's been a long year, but I'm not going to get all teary eyed and look-back-y for 2004 just yet. There are still two weeks to go, and this year's been such a foul and unruly beast, I'm sure it has got a few more nasty tricks before the calendar resets and ushers in a fresh set of 12 months that will finally take on its own personality by Dec. 31st, 2005.

Was that look-back-y? It wasn't intentional, I swear.

obscurity

[from Wikipedia]

That early morning fog that lingered around the valley yesterday was a memory by the afternoon, but I guess it took a liking to us, because it came back in force today around 5pm. The temperature dropped, the air got super damp, and the fog was super thick--all in time for me to make my walk home. It got worse as the night went along, and when I headed downtown at around 9pm, it was so bad, I could barely see across the street. I was kinda worried that I'd get hit by a car or something, but the world looked all warm and fuzzy, especially mixed with the glow of the orange street lights. I make the same walk maybe one to three times a day--sometimes more, sometimes less. I like walking because of the exercize, but it's also a good time to think and talk to myself (not like that). With the heavy fog settled in, it was like a whole new walk, which made it so much more interesting. ...Well, to me it was, anyway.

---

I finally caught the wrap-up special for The Office, and I couldn't have been happier with it. I only just caught wind of the series this year, and gobbled up the first two seasons. They made me laugh so hard; at least most of the first and second season did. By the end of the second season the show got frighteningly serious, and was still just as compelling.

[Ricky Gervais (writer / director / actor) performing the most ridiculous dance number ever as David Brent]

The finale was along the same lines--toeing a delicate line between uncomfortably absurd and hilarious to just plain uncomfortable. The series is wildly clever, but the most amazing part was how they were able to create such memorable characters in such a short stretch of time. It's a shame that the series is done, but I've got to admire them for going out on top and really allowing their work to mean something, instead of just dragging it out and running it into the ground.

thanks for asking

I had this dream that involved me running around the town that I live in--though the layout was much different--in the early morning hours, like 4 to 5am, and some kind of haze had settled in. It was thick enough, I guess, that I couldn't find my way back home. I was moving pretty fast because I wanted to get home and go to sleep. I had to be awake at 7am for work, and I'm not sure what I was out doing. I was so worried about not getting home and not being able to wake up for work that I pondered just staying awake, since I would only get about two hours sleep anyway, but I didn't know where I was. I ran down a main road and made a turn on a street that I thought would bring me back to my house, but it turned out that I was in unfamiliar territory. The houses looked strange and were close together, but I thought I saw a shortcut (to where I don't know). I slipped into this one alley and on the other side, it started to look more like my neighborhood, but really, it kind of looked like the street my grandmother lives on back in New York. It felt like I was on the right track, but it wasn't what I was looking for. The shortcut left me in someone's backyard, so I quickly made my way through to the front gate so no one would think I was tresspassing. I kept thinking that I wouldn't make it to work on time at this rate.

That anxiety led me to open my eyes. It was still dark outside, and I took a deep breath because I was relieved that I was in my own house, in my bed, and had gotten to sleep after all. I closed my eyes, ready to go back to sleep, but as soon as I did, the alarm went off--6am sharp. I'm not a morning person. Sometimes, I'm not asleep when 6am rolls around; I usually wake up when the sun's up. I really thought it would be.

Of course, I got out of bed, smacked the alarm, went back to bed, heard the second alarm (my stereo), lowered the volume with my remote, laid back down, heard the third alarm (the clock again, but a beeping sound this time), got out of bed, smacked the alarm, went back to bed...

It's the same routine every morning, but this time i was doing it two-and-a-half hours earlier. I never like getting out of bed, but it's even worse now that it's winter time, and we don't use the heat in the house, because we're broke. I have a little space heater that keeps my room pretty toasty, and about seven blankets, but outside my door, it's about 50 degrees F. I pulled it together, though. I called the cab, and the driver turned out to be the guy who gave me a free ride (not that he wanted to). Turned out that it really wasn't a free ride, because I had to pay double this time.

Got to the office on time to let a writer in for an early interview, but, after said interview was 15 minutes late, I made a phone call to find out what was going on. Oh. Didn't I get the message? The schedule's been pushed back. It's at 9 now...Oh. No. I didn't get that message. Thanks.

I'm not mad at them. That's the way things work sometimes, but the couch in the reception area's looking mighty comfortable right about now.

up the road a piece

I saw a proof of the magazine today, and this time I didn't feel like vomiting, which I think is a step in the right direction.

I'm not entirely proud of this project I'm in charge of--it's really not the kind of publication I want to be doing--but still, when I see it printed up, even just in its proof form, I can't help but get all excited about it. I mean, I made that. It's kind of hard to explain.

That being said, it's not exactly what I want to be remembered for. For now, it pays the bills, which are mounting, so I guess I can't really complain. At least I'm not working retail. I know what that's like this time of year.

---

To look at the proofs, we had to drive up to this mountain town. It was foggy as fuck down here in the valley, but as we went up in elevation, the fog broke, and up in the mountain town it was a beautiful sunny day, and pretty warm too.

I've only been up to this place a few times, and it looks pretty dead. It's got that old, worn down look and seems to have one of those local hardware stores on every corner. It's the kind of place that looks like you can walk into a store and buy a glass bottle of Coke for a nickel or something. You can picture the paper boy riding his old bike down the streets and tossing rolled up newspapers on doorsteps, which is both serene and slightly disturbing. After the printing press, we ate at this cafe / deli kinda place that served big sandwiches and salads for cheap and was nestled in among tall evergreen trees. Sometimes I wonder what'd be like to live in a place like that. I think the quiet would kill me.

On the way back down the windy highway, you could actually still see the fog settling in the valley and trying to work its way into the canyon on my right. California can really be like a postcard sometimes. Sometimes, I just want to say, "enough, you're gorgeous, I get it. Just put the sun down for a minute. Please."

i got out of bed. for this.

I should have known right off the bat that today would be filled with mixed blessings and mental lapses of staggering proportions.

I woke up with barely enough time to get dressed and call a cab for work. I had no cash, so I had the driver bring me to the ATM right down the block from my office. When I reached into my walled, I found that it was missing my ATM card. Wonderful. I limped back to the cab and told him my sob story. I offered to pay him with a check or my credit card, but he refused both and said 'no problem.' He didn't even look the least bit upset or worried. It was like he was just driving around for the heck of it. I reached into my wallet and pulled out the lonely dollar amidst the wad of ATM receipts and thanked him profusely.

A free ride caused by my own carelessness. Where was this headed?

Today was deadline day and just the thought of it kept me awake all night last night even though I was pretty beat and even exercized beforehand. Still, I tossed and turned and couldn't even doze off until past 6am. However, I was surprisingly calm until the work started rolling in hardcore. There was a 5pm deadline, and there was no chance we were going to make it, but we kept plugging away anyway. Around 8pm, I got a hankering for burrito...super burrito, and told the lone coworker remaing that I was going down the street to get a burrito and asked him if he wanted anything. He handed me a $20 bill and gave me his order and I threw on my jacket and left. I got about a block and a half away before I noticed that the place was closed. I didn't want to believe it, so I walked about half a block closer before I gave up all hope. I thought maybe they were just working with the lights off, but then I saw the Volkswagen-sized closed sign in the window and cut my losses. I called the office and told my coworker that we were shit out of luck, but he seemed to be hardly surprised about it. Apparently he was having one of those days too. We opted for fast food crap, and as I approached the office to meet up with him, I noticed that the money he had given me was nowhere on my person. Maybe I left it in the office, I told him, if not I'll write you a check. See, I would have pulled a 20 out of the bank machine myself...if I had my ATM card.

I had to get Jack in the Box...again...because it's the only fast food place in walking distance that takes credit card. I got the ULTIMATE cheesburger, which is actually a damn fine hangover cure.

Back to the office; sure enough, I left his 20 on my desk. Dodged another one there. More work, but luckily it didn't take us till the wee hours of the morning this time. We were done by about 11pm, which left time to grab a couple of drinks at this bar I can't stand and go on my way.

Unfortunately, I forgot the second disc of Carnivale that I rented and was stoked about watching tonight at the office. I watched the first two episodes last night and am crazy hooked. They seem to make TV shows with the DVD format in mind lately. They're like really long movies that you can watch in small installments. Carnivale combines a lot of my favorite visuals: carnivals, old Americana, dust and sepia tones. It's pretty crazy. It's some wacked out battle of good and evil that revolves around this dude who was picked up by a carnival. It takes place during the Great Depression in the Dustbowl of America, and the moments are pretty fuckin' wheelchair.

this machine's broke

I got the deluxe edition of The Downward Spiral by Nine Inch Nails recently, which was a good thing because I think I lost my original copy. The deluxe edition doesn't seem all that special. The second disc has selections of B-sides and remixes that were released on the CD singles from that era. I haven't really checked to see if there were any videos or anything like that, but I wouldn't be surprised if there were.

This is the first time I've listened to it in a long time, and it's still pretty savage. This was one of my favorite albums growing up, which probably explains why I was such a miserable teenager.

When I used to work in the mall, there was one dude who was a friend of one of my coworkers, and the three of us used to get together for cigarette breaks in the mall tunnels sometimes (employee passages that are kinda like the backstage of full throttle capitalism). I think the other dude worked at the B. Dalton Booksellers or something simlarly mall-y. Bookseller was a pretty cool guy. I think he was into D&D and Magic the Gathering and Vampire the Masquerade and shit like that--a total Food Court Druid, though he didn't look the part. He looked more like one of the dudes from Bare Naked Ladies, or like a guy who could hang with those guys. You know what I mean.

Anyway, he was always telling these weird stories--I guess he was into real magic and was part of a coven or whatever. Hey, to each his own. I'm superstitious enough not to fuck with that shit. He went on once about protection spells and getting magically attacked by some black magic coven and I guess some shit went down, but he pulled through okay. Once he told me this story about how he met Trent Reznor in Manhattan by chance and ended up going to lunch or dinner with him. Apparently he saw Trent on the street walking around and probably being all Trent-like but trying to be low key about it. The Food Court Druid approached him and Trent was all "you know who I am?" and Druid was all, "yeah." Then Trent said "don't say anything," and then they got something to eat and had this deep conversation.

I'm pretty sure that's how the story went. Personally, I'm more apt to believe all that shit about magic than Trent Reznor taking random people who recognize him out to lunch then spilling his soul, but who knows. The Downward Spiral is pretty fucked up, and I mean, just look at the guy...

[from sickamongthepure.com]

That's someone who could use a hug. We all could, really.

taking breakfast TO THE EXTREME!

I stopped by a local Jack in the Box on the way to see some bands last night. I needed something to eat fast, which is usually the case given my schedule, but overall I've been pretty good about avoiding fast food restaurants. Every so often, though, I like me some fast food.

Everyone who worked there, except the manager, was in high school, or could have passed for high school. Two of the girls behind the counter were talking to a customer who was their friend, I'd assume, because they knew him by name. I waited patiently, because I know what it's like to work a shitty job.

[this post was interupted by my friend. we went to some kegger and i spilled jaegermeister on a kitchen floor when i tried to take a shot through a red vine licorice straw. i'm sure other stuff happened too, but i'm just glad i made it home in one piece, though i'm not entirely sure how. -the editor]

Eventually, I got to make my order--some stuff off the dollar menu. Though I love the Jack in the Box commercials, the sad fact remains that most of their burgers make me ill. I got a chicken sandwich, a hamburger deluxe (which is smaller than most of their other burgers mind you) and some fries. I stood off to the side and awaited my meal when I noticed their breakfast menu. Jack in the Box, unlike other fast food restaurants, serves breakfast all day. I think they serve their burgers all day too, which is pretty fucking scary if you ask me. They have about six or seven options on their menu, but my favorite one was the, I swear this is what it's called, the EXTREME (caps mine) Sausage Sandwich. No, really. It's two pieces of sausage, with eggs, I think, and cheese, pressed between an english muffin or biscuit or something. According to the Jack in the Box Web site, it weighs some 217 grams, contains 690 calories and boasts 50 total grams of fat, which even makes McDonald's freakishly gluttonous McGriddle breakfast sandwich light fare by comparison. Now that's extreme.

I'm not pointing this out because I think fast food companies are evil (I mean clearly, they are), I'm just saying, maybe if you're crazy enough to eat anything titled "extreme" on a regular basis, you probably have a death wish. Especially when you consider "extreme" sports usually involve jumping off of bridges with a rubber band strapped to your ankles.

I'm just sayin'.

It seems that in America everything caries supreme, spectacular, or some such hyperbolic adjective. You'd never see tne subdued breakfast sandwich at one of these places. Though honestly, I doubt I'd eat that either.

sloth

I haven't done shit at work today. I'm not going to lie. About all I've done is AIM people, eavesdrop on office conversations and read slowly through e-mail. Oh, I did a little bit of work setting up an interview, but that's it.

It's nice not to be busy after the last few days, and I know I'll be busy again on Monday, but right now, I just don't give a fuck to be honest. I've also done a lot of time surfing the Internet looking for stupid tidbits of news; it's one of my favorite pastimes and it makes it look like I'm doing something when I'm really not. I found this little piece of news. I'd really like to buy my own island, too, but I don't think I have enough room left on my credit card.

left left...left right left

I made up my mind yesterday that I would start exercizing about three days a week. I didn't want to wait for New Year's to make a resolution, because I usually make said resolutions in the throes of some depraved alcohol binge, and they're never anything practical--things like "I resolve to get drunker tonight," and shit like that. Plus, I think I've lost a little bit of weight from stress, so I figured why not keep it going?

I'm really self conscious about these things. I have no idea why. I can't exercize in the morning because I barely wake up with enough time to take a shower and walk to work let alone run around the block a few times, plus, I don't want anyone to know I'm exercizing, so I decided I'd do it at night--after 11pm. I'm tired of feeling old when I'm still sorta young, and I just can't do anything like I used to, so I guess I'll try to be more health conscious. Even typing that irks me. I had a membership at the gym a little while back, but I hated going there--all those people and lights. Gyms are loud too, and I never knew if I was working the equipment right. I suppose I could have asked someone, but the less people who realized I was there, the better.

However, my mind has been made up. I'm an exerciser now. I figured I'd do the walking thing, since I walk to and from work most of the time, and I like walking, so now I'm just speeding it up and exploring my neighborhood, which I haven't really gotten a chance to do. Not much to see at night, though, to be honest.

Tonight was the first night because the planned innaugural faster-walk-one-day-maybe-a-jog night, last night, had to be postponed due to me being at work till 3:15am. This evening, I really had no excuses, but I really really tried to find some. I warmed up a bit first and did like...stretching and situps and pushups and stuff...(this is so embarassing) which I know how to do more or less from watching fitness shows and the like, but I'm so damn unco-ordinated I feel like a dolt. Anyway, it got the job done, and after ten or so minutes (I was hoping it would take longer), I felt my heart beating a bit faster and blood flowing to places it really didn't like going. I figured I was ready, so I...y'know...wandered around at a brisk pace. I even broke out into a ...jog... in spurts, but quickly stopped if I saw a car coming, even if it was a few blocks away. I think I'd rather get caught masturbating than caught jogging... ...or maybe not. Is that weird?

I have no idea why I'm so embarassed about exercising, but I always have been. Anything that has to do with my physical self kinda irks me. I really wish I was just a brain in a box. Regardless, afterwards, I felt pretty good. I didn't go out for that long a time, and I didn't go too far, but I figured I was just getting started and all that. Let's see how long I keep this up.

i should have savored those m&ms

I stayed real late; till it was technically early. I've been up almost 24 hours and I've spent a good deal of that time at the office. Walked home at 3:15am, soaking rain, no one in this town cleans up their dead leaves. There were these deep puddles everywhere. My pants look like I played a game of football in them; they were shot to shit anyway. My jacket's soaked. I'm going in really late tomorrow.

machine o' plenty

I had to go pay the gas and electric bill, and since it was due today, I took it over to the office since I work only a couple blocks from it. The gas and electric office is kinda enigmatic. It's just a plain brick store front with a single door and some non-descript windows. There's only a bland sign that lets you know what the thing is. The glass door is tinted and all the blinds are closed on the windows so you can't even see into the place.

There's a line, of course. Everytime I go to one of these places there's a line, which I guess is common. The woman in front of me wasn't all too happy about it either. She wasn't making a big fuss about it, but she was doing the deep audible breath thing and the kind of arm cross shifting thing. I can't say I blame her. Inside was even more bland than the outside. Gray carpet, gray blinds, gray walls and the only thing to look at was the line of windows in front of us where the employees were seated at desks.

The line moved pretty fast--so hooray. After I was done, I turned back toward the door and noticed there was a bank of those quarter candy vending machines, and just my luck, there was one of the machines was serving up Peanut M&Ms. I popped in a quarter and turned the dial and was happy to see my palm fill up with the most Peanut M&Ms ever to pour out of these usually frugal machines. Perfect dessert for that noxious Taco Bell I ate.

ugh

As a sports fan, I remember hearing all about this story. I don't think his death is any more tragic than the thousands of others, but all of them are equally unfortunate, sad and perhaps could have been prevented. I guess this piece of info makes it even worse.

RIP Pat Tillman

dude...you're totally that guy

I ended up going out this weekend--finally--and saw a couple bands play at the local watering hole. They really need to have more shows there. I dug the first band and was kinda eh about the second band. I think they were too talented or something.

During the second band, there was this dude in a buttoned up flannel dancing with this bar chick (aka girl you'd find at a bar) being all dance-y with one another and the like. I enjoy watching men and women locked in the mating ritual because I'm too much of a wuss to get involved in it myself. I watched them witn one of the women from work and we kept making comments. She asked me if I thought they were going to go home together tonight, and I answered, "The real question is which one of them is going to regret it."

Her opinion was that the woman would, and after some deliberation, I had to agree. Dude was clearly not drunk, at least nowhere near as drunk as the woman was, and he was totally doing the "I'm only grooving like this to make her think I'm interested in something other than jumping her bones" dance. It was so funny. I need a camera phone so I can take pictures of these things.

It was nice to get out and not feel like such a hermit. I tried to play it low-key tonight; for some reason, I just haven't felt confident enough to leave the house in social situations lately. I guzzled three pints of Guinness before I felt at ease, but I stopped at the third. Tomorrow's going to be a long day at work.

the lion sleeps

I don't know why I'm at the office. I thought other people would be here, because there was a lot of stuff to do, but now I'm sitting here by myself. On a Sunday.

I suppose I had to leave the house eventually. I didn't step foot outside all day yesterday. I barely left my room, though I did make one trip to the side house to have some dinner with my roommate. I don't think that counts though. So now I'm here using the company's electricity and drinking the company's fine bottled water. I think we have the best water cooler in the Western US. I mean, seriously. This stuff is that good.

---

Luckily Google Entertainment News is keeping my wandering mind occupied. That and girlie pictures. I found this article on the Peter Sellers biopic, which makes me really want to see it. I was a big fan of the Pink Panther movies when I was a kid.

maybe i should put myself on ebay

I doubt I'd get this much, though...


I'm worth $1,523,560.74! How much are you worth?

it's like woah

I just couldn't stay in. I really wanted to, but the house is too cold, empty and quiet. I had to go out, but I didn't much feel like going to the local watering hole and wait around until I bumped into someone I knew. I decided to go to a downtown movie theater that plays a midnight movie. It's only about three bucks, and they show some flick from ages ago that people really seem to enjoy--Goonies, Raiders of the Lost Ark, shit like that. I decided to brave the cold (record breaking lows for California) and walk downtown. It's about a mile and a half, and I made two round trips, so I feel all healthy today.

I figured I'd at least check out what was playing, and if it was something I had completely no interest in, I'd just go grab a drink. I got to the theater and saw that they were playing Animal House. I've never actually seen that movie before, so after some internal debate, I decided to give it a shot.

The theater was filled with a bunch of chowder-headed douche bags, which is to be expected for such a movie, but all in all, it wasn't that bad. Unfortunately, I was kind of disappointed in the flick. I figured it'd be good for me to see it, seeing as I've been all mopey lately, but I only really laughed at John Belushi, and I could have done without the rest of them. It's not even that the movie was too low-brow. I loved Old School, but Animal House just didnt' do it for me. Maybe it was residual mopiness...or that the theater didn't have Red Vines. Could you imagine such a thing?!

i dream of blog-y

I had the weirdest dream last night:

Apparently my old editing for publications professor and I were on a road trip down to Los Angeles. I'm not sure why we were going, but he and his family (wife and daughter) were going to show me around the city because I've never been before. I remember being on one of the California state highways, which down toward the city had turned into a major freeway and commenting on how long the road was when I saw one of the mile marker exits numbered over 1000--exit number 1076 or something, which I'm sure does not exist.

We arrived at his place more or less instantaneously after in dream time, and he lived in this posh LA mansion on a hill right next to a lake. The whole hill had been developed and though all the houses were large, they had little property and were all built pretty close together, but not Brooklyn brownstone close.

We walked up to the marble entry way and his wife and daughter greeted us. His wife was of Asian descent (he's a professerly looking white guy; heavy set with curly hair and glasses, probably in his 50s) and their daughter was simply beautiful. My old professor and his wife were talking about something, but the daughter and I were like in our own world just chatting about whatever. I couldn't tell how old she was. She looked young, but she spoke much more mature. I was trying to find out her age without asking so I didn't feel like a dirty old man.

The daughter was soon joined by a friend of hers. Another girl, but I couldn't take my attention off the daughter. Apparently, we were all going to go to the mall, but the daughter couldn't go just yet; she had to visit with her friend, but it wouldn't take that long because the friend had to go to work soon. The daughter said she'd meet us at the mall. The daugher and I kept looking at each other, and I couldn't wait till she met up with us.

The professor, his wife and I head over to their car and we were off. Again, instantaneously in dream time, we were down the hill and in a much poorer region of the city. I saw cops marching down the street and drug abusers and people driving busted ass cars. I wasn't traveling in the car with the prof and his wife, but sitting on a wheeled platform, kinda like a skateboard but much wider, alongside their car. I had to push myself along using my arms and hands and pushing off on the pavement, but it the platform really got moving and kept up with the car more or less.

The car turned a corner and parked. The prof and his wife exited the car and told me they had to talk to a friend before heading to the mall. The wife went to the house on my right side of the street and the prof. went to an exactly identical house on the left side of the street. Both entered the houses at the same time. I don't remember which house I ended up going in (could have been the one the prof went in or the one the wife went in), but it didn't seem to matter because whichever house it was, both the prof. and his wife were in there, along with their friend who was an older lady of seemingly little consequence. The house was large enough, but with smallish rooms and passage ways. The three of them talked about something and I wandered around a bit. I heard the friend say that so and so had gotten out of his cage. Apparently the critter they spoke of was a tiny little bat. I found this out when I turned a corner and saw the thing flying toward me. I turned to run, but the bat caught up to me and latched on to my left index finger. It stung, but he wasnt' a very big bat so it didn't hurt that much, and I didn' t want to hurt someone's pet, so I walked back into the kitchen to the friend and said that I'd found so and so.

The bat was still latched on, biting my finger. It hurt, but it wasn't crazy painful. However, the bite had caused quite a bit of blood. The friend and I pried the bat off of my finger and I asked her if I should be worried about rabies. She said I migt have gotten it, but so and so was clean so I probably wouldn't have to worry. We got the bat off my finger, and i was holding him in my right hand. His jaws were still open like he was looking to bite into somethign again, or just pissed that he was behing held up. The friend, prof. and wife went into another room or something and I called out "What am I supposed to do with this bat?" and woke up.

I never did get to go to the mall...stupid alarm clock. If anyone has a dream about a pretty half japanese girl sitting in the mall waiting for me, please tell her I'll be there as soon as I can.

in brief

Got the Nirvana box set today. I didn't really get it so much as it was presented to me. I think I totally geeked out when I saw it. I gave a quiet "oh my god" as if I had just been caught in some kind of reality TV reveal; like I had just been reunited with a long lost relative.

I don't know why a scrawny heroin addict from one of the shittiest parts of Washington has had such an effect on my life. I've seen the fall of the Berlin wall, the dismantling of the Soviet Union, the Twin Towers attacked twice, two wars in Iraq and god knows what else, but none of it came close to the moment when "Lithium" made sense. The box set is pretty rough, but it's really well put together, and not in some glossy way. The sound quality is inconsistant (as well as the video quality on the DVD), but even with all the loud music, it's kinda quiet. It's about as subdued as such a thing could be, I guess. I dunno. Watching some of the clips on the DVD and listening to some of the home demos made me feel like I was intruding on something I wasn't meant to see. I'm selfish though. I wanted it anyway.