three day binge

After we did some shooting for the movie, I came home to check on my part time canine roommate. He was fine, though his momma is out of town, and instantly wanted to play ball. He's a terrible catcher, but he's tenacious, and even though his paws are poorly suited for the tile in the kitchen, he surely gives it his all when tracking down a thrown tennis ball.

I watched some Skinemax softcore porn in the living room--a luxury when home alone--and debated whether I wanted to go out or not. I decided that there was no reason to stay home. I hadn't been to the local watering hole in almost a month, and though past midnight, the temperature here was still warmer than most places get in the middle of the day. It's not great for sleeping, but it's fine if you want to wear shorts and a T-shirt into the wee hours of the morning.

the local watering hole was something of a ghost town. There's just nobody around here on Fourth of July weekend, except for the handful of local dignitaries who never, ever leave. I played catch up with the people at the bar, who'd no doubt been bar hopping a good portion of the night, and started off with a pint of rum and coke. After that was polished off, I followed with a second, more portable version of the same drink, and exited as the lights came on. Since I'd decided to drink my dinner tonight, I ventured next door to the worst pizza place in the universe to grab a bland, bready pepperoni slice to sponge up some of the excess alcohol and fuel my journey home.

It would have been an uneventful one, but, since I live in one of the de facto ghettos of town, I must pass two liquor stores on the way. One, I believe, functions on California bar time, which means that it closes before 2am. All sale of alcohol ceases at 2am in the state of California, but since bars operate some 15 to 30 minutes ahead of real time, they stop serving you well before the 2am cut off. Depending on where you are, this doesn't leave you much time to find a store to purchase a night cap to drink in the comfort of your own home. The local watering hole has staked its reputation on being one of the last bars to close downtown--no earlier than a quarter to 2am.

I hadn't planned on buying another drink, but when I saw the liquor mecca on the corner of the state highway and Main Street, I just couldn't resist, which is why I type this now with a brown-bagged bottle of Stone Ruination beside me. I'm sure this stuff can make me go blind.

But my liver has had plenty of rest lately. I'm not as squirrely in my older age. I don't have the desire to go out every night any more. Maybe a beer before bed, basking in the glow of the television--that's enough to do the trick. But I still have two years of my 20s to burn off, so I might as well make the most of them, and I don't have to think of being responisble again until Tuesday.

last days

Normally, I'd be skeptical about such a thing, but Gus Van Sant is a very compelling director. If the picture wasn't clue enough, the main character is based on Kurt Cobain, though it is not a bio picture. The trailer looks very good.

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misery. loves company.

After being prominently displayed on this very space, tennis dream queen Maria Sharapova met her unfortunate end in this year's Wimbledon tournament, losing to Venus Williams in straight sets. We here at Counting Backwards hope that Ms. Sharapova doesn't feel as if she was in some way "jinxed" by her appearance on this very site. But even if she does, we here at Counting Backwards would like to bravely step forward and volunteer our services in consoling Ms. Sharapova in this difficult and frustrating time. Counting Backwards knows plenty of difficult frustrating times. Why just the other day, Counting Backwards had to go online to find an infallable strategy to defeat the vicious Chac, the monster that appears on level 80 of Via Infinito in Bevelle in Final Fantasy X-2. As it turned out, the Cat Nip method did work, and Counting Backwards was very pleased...

...

What we mean is, we know what it's like, and with any luck, that uncalled-for outburst of supreme geekdom won't render our consoling services completely undesirable.

We can make a mean pot roast. Just so you know.

We now return to our regular programming.

out to lunch

I ventured out to the Philadelphia cheese steak place for an unfortunate, but nonetheless delicious (the cheese steak anyway), mixture of greasy meat sandwich and obnoxious right-wing talk radio.

The heat outside was insufferable, pushing 110 degrees. I hate the summers here.

On the walk back, I noticed two middle-aged women about half a block ahead of me carrying a table out of this antique store (there's forty in the six-block radius of downtown) and to their car. Right in front of them, was a young man on a bike. I approached just in time to see the young man get off his bike to help them load the table into the car. I thought that it was nice to see such unsolicited kindness. Unfortunately for the young man, his unsolicited kidness was repaid by stepping in just about the biggest pile of dog shit I'd ever seen.

land of the dead

So, I went to see Romero's Land of the Dead tonight, and I'd rather not go into much of it in case any four of you want to go see it. I did enjoy it, but my opinion was in the minority, I think. Zombies creep me out. I don't much like people invading my personal space and zombies get all up in it with the swarming and the biting.

We did some test location shooting for the movie today. It wasn't much, but it was nice to get things started. I get myself so worked up and nervous about this stuff. I don't know how my sister does it. She does stage acting, though not much professionally yet, and I don't understand how she's able to get up in front of all those people.

Luckily, I didn't have to get up in front of anyone. I sat the whole time.

I got into way too many deep, thoughtful conversations with people today. For some reason, I just couldn't shut up. I got into a discussion about not wanting to spend the rest of my life in this town at a Jack in the Box. Oddly enough, I did so while another equally deep, thoughtful conversation on the nature of god was occuring between someone at my table with a bible group--having a jam session--at a series of tables adjacent to us. It just further proved my theory that for whatever reason, that Jack in the Box is the most fascinating place in town.

Then, in the movie theater parking lot, I had a way too esoteric conversation discussing the deeper meanings of Land of the Dead. Neither of these two conversations I'm particularly proud of, but they happened, and there's no point in me denying them.

Now, I'm just sitting here watching Sportscenter and hoping I don't fall asleep on the couch for the third or maybe it'd be the fourth night in a row. Last night, I got back from dinner at Red Lobster with my roommate--we both had the dish dubbed "The Ultimate Feast," which consisted of more shellfish than I've ever seen on one plate ever--and since I hadn't slept the night before, save for the two hours I'd spent on the couch, I collapsed once again on my surrogate bed. We were watching Bram Stoker's Dracula, and I remember a heavily made up Gary Oldman say something to Keanu Reeves, but that was all. Then some shrieking evil banshee woman lunged at me and I woke up (that dream sucked by the way) with no idea of where I was or how I got there. It was 4:30am. I was delirious, but I got my bearings enough to make my way to my room. But my part-time doggy roommate was startled by my staggering. I'd forgotten he was there, but he reminded me he was spending the night by delivering a few good woofs, which only added to the disorientation.

I tried to reassure him with jibberish, and I think he realized his error. I mean, even if I was an intruder, he probably figured that he could make quick work of me.

Anyway, since I'm watching Sportscenter and since I'm bored and since I'm a pervert, I've decided to post a picture of Maria Sharapova, (you can clicky the picture) who hasn't lost a set in her latest Wimbledon campaign and is also the richest female athlete in the world, and one hell of an athlete at that and not just a sex symbol (I'm not naming names). Kudos to you. And big ups to the Mets for taking two of three from the goddamn Yankees in Yankee Stadium over the weekend.



Rock. And as a PS, I hope the Astros pen blows more games for Clemens. I hate that dumb Texan fucker.

sleepy couch

Rushmore is on in about 10 minutes, and I've never seen it before. I just hope I'm able to stay up through a good portion of it. I'm not sure if I want to be awake for the whole thing though. I already hear the couch singing its siren's song, and I'm not sure if I'll make it all the way into my room.

It's not like I didn't spend enough time in there today. I fell back into the trap of Final Fantasy X-2 again, and the sweet company of my virtual girls Paine, Rikku and, of course, Yuna.

...

That being said, I'm sure Rushmore is a lovely movie. I'll have to continue taking other people's words for it because I fell asleep on the couch again. I prefer couches to my own bed, though I never can stay asleep for a full night.

These mosquito bites are killing me.

After my friend's kid's birthday party, I got to play with his birthday gifts. We put together a Hot Wheels car track that was like some engineering marvel. It had a motorized car propulsion system and numerous two options for which way the cars could go. If you held down one lever, the car would go up to the top of a tall track piece, which then detached from the rest of the track and lowered to another part of the track and deposited the car there. It was sick. I think the adults were digging it more than the kids.

zombies are people too

Today got off to a inauspicious but familar start. I awoke on the couch with a half-finished bottle of beer on the cushion next to me, but I didn't spill a drop. I don't remember falling asleep, but I do remember trying to drink myself awake--for whatever reason--but clearly, that plan didn't work out.

I made it to bed with the sun just up and had a dream about a zombie invasion. I had a safe house, somewhere, that was taken over by someone else. I was able to find another place, though, for me and my family (I think it was my family) and we got to the familiar task of zombie proofing the house. I guess we'd been through it a couple of times. It turned out that the new place was easier to defend than the place we'd been nudged out of, so we weren't too upset about it.

Despite the rocky start, Saturday gained momentum as the day went on:

I listenened to the Mets defeat the Yankees for the second game in a row at Yankee Stadium, clinching a series win and no worse than a tie in the season series. It's the Mets first series win at Yankee Stadium. These things make me happy.

So happy, I decided it was time for a nap--once again on the couch.

I woke up in time to shower and get dressed for a party thrown by one of my coworkers. On the way there, I got invited to my friend's son's birthday party tomorrow where there will be carnitas.

Tonight's party was a small and cozy affair that had chicken cooked on a Texas barbecue, roasted vegitables, a really good band, a really lazy but photogenic kitty cat, a great mix of music and a keg that refused to become empty. I stayed for a good six and a half hours before navigating through the dark streets and more boisterous, youthful gatherings that were just winding down themselves. I still have a taste for beer, but all that's in the fridge is Michelob Ultra, which seems like more of a tease than anything else.

On an unrelated note (I'm watching MTV2), I don't understand why The Mars Volta make themselves out to be 20-times weirder than they need to be. I saw them live once and I think they played two songs in an hour. I was bored to tears, but the people smoking weed next to me were stoked. Maybe it's just more proof that I need to get back on drugs. My ears have been ringing with "B.Y.O.B." by System of a Down, though. Mainly because of that "Lala lala LALALALA...wooo oooo" part. Boy that's fun to say. I'm kinda feeling it though because I like their carnival metal with political/spiritual significance thing they got going on. Plus the bass player dude was the guy who inspired me to shave my head. Not on purpose though. We're not like bros or anything.

par for the course

First, I'd like to thank Edana at Skin Mama for making me just about the most perfect template ever. Now I'm actually going to have to write well enough to match up to the super keen look. Sadly, that's not going to happen tonight.

I went to a minor league baseball game here in town, and that was all well and good. The home team lost, but it was a close game, albeit sloppily played. The weather was nice and warm, and I had money for a hot dog, a bag of peanuts and a few beers. I got the tickets from work (comps), though, which meant I was grouped together in a section with local businessmen, as many of them also have tickets behind home plate.

This town operates on the good ol' boy network, as I guess many small towns do. And behind me sat a row of men who reminded me why--at times--I hate it here. Speaking in demeaning words and vaguely racist sentinments, the respected local business folk behind me drank and loudly proclaimed how they were going to tell everyone at the golf course about whatever it was they were talking about. They even pulled a prank on one of their friends by getting one of their good ol' boy police officer buddies to come up and threaten one of their group to stop throwing things or else he would get kicked out of the park.

The jovial cop returned moments later to ask, "Did you believe me? Did I sound convincing?" because, really, the cops in this town don't have anything better to do.

The businessmen got increasingly drunker (I did, too, I'm no better) and made underhanded passes (I'm sure they were all married) at the pretty young waitress who brought our section drinks. They scoffed at the baseball players when they made mistakes and talked about golf as if it were an actual sport (it's not).

But beer and baseball conquer all, and I was able to tune out the shaved monkeys sitting behind me to enjoy the game. I left the stadium with a head full of pale ale and set out for my local bar for a concert performed by assorted local dignitaries. Living here isn't so bad after all. I listened to a wide variety of music and watched a beautiful young woman with gorgeous legs dance the robot as I talked to some dude about California's bogus crackdown on cannabis clubs. He even showed me his card which allows him to grow and possess marijuana. If only I had one of those cards. Just for a conversation starter, of course.

when moths attack

As insects go, moths are good people. I sort of feel an affinity toward the tiny beast. You see, they start as ugly and malformed and then they go through an awkard phase and blossom into something similarly ugly and malformed, but this time with wings. Much like a moth, I began as a malformed infant (but a chubby cute lil thing), went into my awkward teen years, which spilled well into my 20s, and now, nearing 30, I'm clearly far from a butterfly.

That being said, though I consider moths my brothers from another mother, I wish they wouldn't flutter like spazzes around my face. The light on my porch is kinda like the Club 54 of moths from my neighborhood. It's the place to be if you didn't emerge from the chrysalis as a beautiful butterfly. Only the biggest and most important moths can hang--and I mean big.

This evening, I returned from a couple of beers and a meeting for the movie and ended up on the porch and the biggest flailing moth dance party of the week. Thursday must be Ladies Night. My roommate was gone and the front door was locked, but I was determined to get inside without an incident. The moths were not following the same game plan. Apparently, Moth Club 54 has a strict no human policy, and the natives were ruffled by my presence. Countless flailing moths boinked off my shorn scalp as I scrambled for my keys. I handled it well at first, but quickly resorted to pleading.

"Please," I said. "I just want to get into my house."

But they didn't listen. The scalp boinking continued at a feverish pace. I finally burst into my house after yanking my key out of the deadbolt lock, leaving what was left of my dignity outside with the moths.

office (boring) party

My two bosses are gone today. I don't feel like doing any work. I just thought I'd let everyone know.

This new Billy Corgan album is decidedly eh so far, but I was happy to read this. I don't know why you take out an ad in the Chicago Tribune to tell people that you want to bring back your rock band from the 1990s, but whatever's cool. I love the Pumpkins, and I can't wait to geek out like a big fat old loser at the reunion shows.

underneath the bridge

There's a foot bridge/bike path at the end of my block, which, for automobiles, is a dead end. The street ends in a bulbous little cul de sac, beyond that is the foot/bicycle bridge, which spans over a creek. We get a lot of foot traffic, but not a lot of cars. At all hours of the night, people walk by, I assume from downtown, and disperse through out the neighborhood. It's kind of the back door to the area. The people who are in the know, know.

As a result, there are no shortage of sounds, mostly human, that occur through out the night. There is also no shortage of transient folks, as they live under the bridge adn make their way over to the church around the corner that has a soup kitchen or food line or something.

It keeps things interesting, or at least it should. Not much interesting has happened since I've moved here, and right now, it's very quiet. A couple weeks ago, I thought I heard gun shots. Then, I was sure I heard gunshots because they were followed by an army of sirens. It sounded like it was all coming from the other side of the creek, though. Still, to be on the safe side, I locked all the doors and pulled down the shades. I won't be anyone's hostage.

Tonight I made my famous pot roast and was again pleased with the results. My roommate was able to fashion the juice left in the pot into gravy, which I think will be poured over mashed potatos tomorrow. I'm happy that I finally have my appetite back after my recent stomach malfunction, but all the fasting did cause me to drop five pounds. I'd really like to keep it off and lose more, mostly because it'd be something to do. I'm kind of bored with myself. The only problem is eating is one of the great joys of my daily life. I don't need to be more miserable.

this rum is cold

I sit with my midnight cocktail an hour-and-a-half late. My roommate put my bottle of Bacardi in the freezer, which was fine by me, she asked first, but now this drink is giving me frostbite as well as the usual brain, heart and liver damage.

I went out tonight. It felt weird. I went to a show and I wasn't sure if I wanted to be there. The bands were pretty good, especially the first one, but I kinda had to force myself to leave the house. I stayed in later than planned so I could watch the rest of the Giants/Diamondbacks game. I'm not a fan of either team, but one of my relief pitchers on my fantasy team happens to be the interim closer for the D-Backs, so when he came in in the ninth with a save opportunity, I had to cheer him on. He pitched a 1-2-3 inning to get the save--a sweet nine points for my team.

My new place is situated much closer to the bars than my previous living arrangement, but in the three weeks I've been here, I've only been out to the bars once. Now I just sip a drink on the couch until I fall asleep. I rarely get through a full one. I've been so damned tired.

The full tumbler beside me is a daunting task. I've had three at the bar, though. That should act as a primer.

the name's charles

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it wasn't much of either, but this is how my vacation went:

The Good:

1. Finally seeing the Mets win. My first game in four plus years, and the Mets beat Oakland 9-6. Coincidentally, it was the only game the Mets won of the three-game set. I was pleased that McAfee Coliseum was very easy to get in and out of and the tickets were reasonably priced. For $35, I was able to sit field level, just a few rows back from the visitor's dugout. I got to see Mike Piazza and Carlos Beltran go yard, and I spent the last three innings talking baseball with some old dude who was visiting California from Upstate New York. Good times.
2. My spunky lil Hyundai was sweet on gas. I got well over 350 miles to a tank and filling it up cost less than $20, which in California, is a damn miracle. This was a good thing, seeing as I did a whole lot of driving.
3. Seeing old friends and family that I hadn't seen in a while. This is always good.
4. Witnessing one of the most emotionally rousing wedding ceremonies I'd ever seen. The officiant was the groom's boss in the US Navy, and he performed a short, sweet service and followed it up with a slow-clap worthy speech at the reception that got a standing ovation and sent half the room into water works. The father of the bride followed with "I hope you love her half as much as I love your mother," which turned the groom into a bawling mess. One of the women at my table couldn't even finish what she had to say because she was crying so much. There must have been ecstacy in the champagne, because you could really feel the love. My table was the rockin'-est table in the joint, and even though most of us barely knew each other, we got looks from other tables because we were cackling so much. At one point, I was reading over the track listing of a CD that the bride and groom made for all the guests, which I thought was a really neat idea, and I heard someone shouting "Charles. Charles! CHARLES!" I looked up to notice it was the bride's uncle who was seated across from me. He was leaning across the table trying to get my attention, but got my name really, really wrong. I became Charles for the rest of the reception. We also stole all the disposable cameras off all the other tables and took pictures of ourselves exclusively.
5. I didn't once think about work.
6. I returned home to find a copy of the first issue of our national magazine in my bedroom and was relieved to see that it didn't turn out horribly wrong.

Best CDs of the trip: Blind Melon - Soup; M.I.A. - Arular; Neutral Milk Hotel - Aeroplane Over the Sea; Unicorns - Who Will Cut Our Hair When We're Gone?; Gorillaz - Demon Dayz

The Bad:

1. A freakish (it's California) rainstorm fell during the entire Mets/Oakland game. It never rained particularly hard, but it was rather steady for the entire contest. There was no delay. I sat outside the entire time to show my support for my team and got soaked.
2. Exited the Mets game to sit in the longest traffic jam I'd ever seen. Not the worst, just the longest. It stretched from Oakland to Hercules, which is just under 20 miles. According to Google maps, I should be able to make such a trip in 23 minutes. It took me two-and-a-half hours. Stop and go. I exited the freeway at the first opportunity and got really lost on my way to Napa and made myself sick.
3. Ended up really getting sick. Either bad Denny's or a random stomach flu hit me with malicious force and I had to spend the whole of Friday in bed. When I wasn't throwing up, that is. My friend and her family were nice enough to nurse me back to health, but I couldn't eat all day, nor could I go out and get riotously wasted with the wedding party, which they did. I didn't. I had some ginger ale though. Luckily, I recovered enough to go to the wedding the next day.
4. My spunky lil Hyundai was unfortunately spunkless when it came to going up hills or trying to pass someone. I still love her, though.

More good than bad is good, I guess, so I can't complain. Next time I won't eat at Denny's.

on vacation

I don't know for sure what I'm going to do over the next couple of days, but I know I won't be going into the office.

I rented a car--a spunky lil Hyundai Accent--packed a bag and bolted out of town. Unfortunately, it's not as spontaneous as it sounds. I have a wedding to attend on Saturday, but when I saw the Mets were playing in Oakland the same week as the wedding, I took it as an opportunity to get out of town and away from my job for a couple days. The Mets better win tomorrow. I got my jersey and everything.

I love how they still show the LiveLinks dating line commercials with Evangeline Lilly from Lost. I wonder if she even knows; it just serves as proof at how unknown that cast was before the show--except for the hobbit and the dude from Party of Five. Does anyone remember that show?

I took a different way out of town this time--another combination of farm roads and state highways. On the way, I stopped off at an Indian casino to partake in the buffet. It wasn't a large buffet, which kind of negated the all-you-can-eat aspect of the thing. My first time up, I took a slab of some nondescript beef kind of thing and some wild rice with shrimp in it. The second go 'round, I went for some green salad and the tilapia filet. That was about it for choices, but I was glad that the food was palatable. The tilapia was actually really good. Oh, and I had some hush puppies. I still don't know what those are, really. It was better than fast food, in any case, and that's pretty much it when it comes to road food.

It was just about the smallest casino I'd seen, even small for the ones up here, but it looked like they were trying to expand it. The doors were held open for me as I entered and exited, and some dude in a cart gave me a ride all of 20 feet from where I was parked to the front door. I'll have to save some money for the trip back. There's a seat at the Pai Gow Poker table just wating for me.

celluloid slut

The best part of 8,000 channels of cable is [adult swim]. Trying not to wake my roommate laughing at Aqua Teen Hunger Force is a difficult task. I don't believe in the theory that there are a million channels and still nothing to watch. I can always find something--be it something I actually enjoy or crappy Skinemax softcore pornography to ease the pain of lonliness.

Still, I feel the need to rent movies, and tonight I got one called Soft for Digging, which was creepy as fuck. It's about some old dude who lives in the woods and runs off chasing his cat and ends up witnessing a murder that no one believes he saw. There's all of five lines of dialog in the movie, which is about an hour-and-a-half. It's mesmerizing though, and really well-shot and dreary, even though all of it was shot in the daylight.

I love horror movies, even though they usually scare the shit out of me. The good ones anyway, and I'm super stoked that Land of the Dead is coming out soon.



This will be the first time I'll get to see one of George Romero's zombie movies in the theater--not counting the remakes. The '90s version of Night of the Living Dead was feh, and the recent Dawn of the Dead remake was really good, but it was a totally different movie, which I was kind of thankful for. I didn't get a chance to really compare it to the original so I was able to enjoy it on its own merits. But Romero is the master; he totally created modern zombie mythology and you can't front on that...especially if you're a geek.

I hope Land of the Dead is good, because I'm going to get into a geek hissy if it's not--like totally spouting scene for scene analysis to anyone who'll listen, even if they're not listening, compare shots from the previous films to shots of the new ones, bitch about things like continuity from movie to movie and say shit like "that couldn't happen because in Dawn of the Dead it was established that zombies could only cross still water. Not moving water!" I hope Mr. Romero saves me the embarassment.



He did provide delight for the perverted Italian in me, because he cast Asia Argento, daughter of Italian horror master Dario Argento, who edited the European version of Dawn of the Dead (the original theatrical release is still the best version, though). Though she's no Monica Bellucci (Italian), Asia clearly rocks because she's on some serious Euro art trash shit and directs really bizarre and arty movies in which she has no problem with taking off her clothes and making out with other women--all of which is cool with me. Plus she has a sexy tattoo. It's almost enough to forgive her for being the thing that Vin Diesel was going to do for his country. Regardless, she's kinda horror royalty, and though she'd probably get all fucked up on drugs and blow smoke in my uncle's face over Christmas dinner, she's Italian, so I could bring her home to momma.

cats, orphans and pointless frustration

We kinda have a cat, meaning that the cat doesn't live in the house. I've seen him once or twice, and he seems nice enough, but I believe the poor fluffy thing has gone somewhat feral. He's got a little food bowl outside and since my roommate has been out of town this weekend, it was my job to feed the cat.

We had a nasty thunderstorm on Friday night, a rarity for up around here, though I think the brunt of it was felt in the foothills. It was pouring buckets, these big fat drops of water and the trees were bending under the force of the winds. I stood out on the porch and called out to the cat, but I wasn't about to go out looking for him. I hoped he was somewhere warm and dry and returned back to the comforts of my couch and my tiny tumbler of Bacardi and RC cola, because I'm a total class act.

The food was gone Saturday morning, so I took that as a good sign. I went out, got drunk, saw a horror movie from Thailand and returned back to my house to watch a couple of truncated episodes of Trailer Park Boys, because the show's really funny and Julian is my new idol.

I spent most of today in my room. I sat on the floor in my underwear and played video games. I only put a pair of pants on because I thought I heard someone coming into the house. No one was there, though. I kept the pants on. I was playing MLB 2003, and I just couldn't beat this one team. I played them like four times, and it was driving me crazy. My palms kept sweating on the controller and my eyes hurt from concentrating so hard. I get stubborn like that somtimes. I didn't even hear the pizza delivery person when she came by. She had to call me on my cell phone. I must have been in there for a while. I finally beat them, though, by one run and I promptly saved the season and turned off my PlayStation 2.

I did muster enough energy to feed myself, do a load of laundry and feed the cat. I relocated to the couch to watch Clerks, which wasn't as funny as I remembered, and Wag the Dog, which was every bit as funny as I remembered. I heard nibbling outside ont he porch and snuck over to the screen door to see if I could catch a glance of the cat. When I got to the door, the food dish had been vacated, so I turned on the porch light and saw a decidely not cat looking face peering back at me. It was a racoon. It was still chewing whatever kibble was left in its mouth and looking at me with these doe-y brown eyes, like out of a Dickens novel. I told it not to worry, turned off the light and sat back down on the couch to watch the rest of my movie. As soon as I sat down, I heard it go right back to the kibble. I hope the cat's okay, but I'm glad the food didn't go to waste.

death metal chicks

I had to celebrate. I had to blow off steam. The last two weeks have been driving me crazy, so I went to the strip club just outside of town. The town elders won't let one exist in town, because of some irrational fear of vaginas. But everyone's got their own hang ups, I guess. I have about 34,024 of them.

One thing I'm rather shameless about is my enjoyment of throwing money at women who display their naked goodies to me in a very wholesale and impersonal manner. I worried that since this was my first trip solol to such an establishment that I wouldn't have a good time. I shouldn't have been concerned. I had a great fucking time--I almost always do when I venture out by myself--until it was time for me to leave.

I took a grip out of the ATM to fund the trip. I'd have to pay for cab fare there and back, which wasn't cheap, but the cab driver turned out to be really cool. He gave me his number to call him up for the ride back.

Everything was going so well.

I paid the ridiculously high cover charge and parked myself instantly at the tip rail. This is important. I have to survey and scrutinize. I can rarely afford more than one lap dance and I have to pick the right one. Plus, I'm picky. Even when it comes to five minutes of paid affection. I mean, I'm not just gonna let anyone bounce on this lap.

Luckily, I had seated myself, quite by coincidence, next to some tip rail high rollers. They were tossing bank down for each girl, which turned our corner of the stage into quite a hotspot. I tried to keep up with them through the first couple girls, but really, it was impossible. They were hig stakes, all-in types. I'm far too concerned with not going too overboard.

I saw a nice sampling of dancers and decided it was time to get a drink of water and chill in the back for a moment, just so I wouldn't spend all my money, but then I heard the familiar intro of Iron Maiden's "Hallowed Be thy Name," and I couldn't resist.

It turned out to be a cover of the song by freaky vampire black metal artists Cradle of Filth, but still...I banged my head and sang along as a school-girl-suited little demon served our souls up on a fleshy, gyrating platter to the dark lord Satan.

I then retired to the back to send my old strip club/gambling partner a text message.

"You want a dance?" the Death Metal Chick with the pierced nipples (who actually looks nothing like the woman pictured above--I was trying to set the mood) asked as I was hunched over my cell phone.

"You've been here before, haven't you?" she asked. And then I remembered that she'd given me a dance before. It was the kinder gentler sister of the littler girl who beat the shit out of me.

We went to the back and I geeked out over the choice of music, because I'm a geek, and we had a few minutes before a new song was cued up. She did her thing, I did mine (try not to blush and giggle) and I paid her for her time and left a pretty good tip on the seat next to me.

I decided I'd take a few more bucks out at the club's ATM for a ridiculous processing charge so I could chill at the rail a bit more while I called and waited for my cabby to come back. Unfortunately, to have done so, I would have needed my ATM card, which was totally not in my wallet. So there I was, 10 miles north of town, with five singles in my wallet and a really, really empty feeling in my stomach. I called the cabby and embarked on what will go down in history as the most pathetic and whiney phone call of all time.

He said he'd be right out. I hung up the phone and convinced myself he was lying and considered swallowing my pride and trying to call my roommate or making the longest walk of guilt ridden shame. Ever.

Ten minutes later he rolled into the parking lot and drove me home to see if I could find my card. I didn't, but my roommate was home and she had cash. I wrote her a check. I paid the cabby and he told me to give him a ring if I needed a ride again. Score.

God really does love us sinners.

workerton

rocking out to pinkerton

I believe five days has been the longest lapse I've had since I started this thing, so I'll try not to make a regular habit of it. Over the last two weeks, I've moved, even though I haven't spent more than a full day in my new home yet, and went through the most arduous and somewhat rewarding work experience I've ever had. I also got a raise, which I haven't had time to enjoy, because I've been working so much; however, it's strange to be able to pay my bills and not wince after. I've never actually had this much money before. It's not a lot of money, but it still makes me want to run out to the store and buy things.

Just two weeks ago, I was rocking out to Weezer's Pinkerton with a room full of drunks. They all know each other better than I know them, but they're all pretty fun to hang out with. Even the dog was having a good time. On the walk home that night, I dry heaved over a chain link fence into an elementary school play yard. It was the Budweiser that did it. That was the last time I went out.

Yesterday, after pulling a 23 hour shift at the office and sending off the national magazine, I collapsed in my bed and passed out until 1:30pm. When I woke up, I began settling in to my new room, which is kinda small. Luckily, I hardly have any stuff. I unpacked a bit, and layed down in bed a lot. Around 7pm, I got a call from my roommate and she said she wanted to go to dinner. We went to one of the more schma restaurants in town. We both work at the same place, so we figured we should celebrate. We ordered a bottle of wine with dinner. The chef bought us a second--on the house.

Wine goes straight to my dome and makes me all wonky. Especially a good red wine. Both of these bottles were good red wine, and between the three of us (my other roommate, who's temporary, came along too), we drank a lot of wine. Then the chef bought us dessert and three glasses of port--because it goes well with chocolate cake--and then I was really drunk and chocolate buzzed.

baller

I was giggling like a mad old woman, which would have been embarassing if everyone wasn't smashed. And if my other roommate didn't take such a nasty spill on the sidewalk. She didn't get hurt, so it was okay to laugh. We had some extra wine, so the let us take home the bottle, which the three of us drank on the walk. It was a nice cabernet sauvignon, which is my favorite kind of wine, because it gets me the drunkest. And it sounds like it's really expensive.

Today, I didn't roll into work until lunchtime and before I even sat down to my desk, I went out to luch with a group of coworkers. I figured it was going to be a cake day, which I shouldn't have, because I knew we were on another deadline. Still, I figured, for whatever reason, I'd be out early enough to go get my perv on at the strip club to treat myself for all my hard work and celebrate my raise. My roommate gave me the number of a cabby who drives her around, and purportedly, he'd give me a cheaper rate to get out there. Apparently, he was down to go to the club and hang out himself, which would have been weird, but hey, company's company.

When the clock on my desktop read 12:30am, I knew that I wasn't going to be able to go, and even though I got in at noon, I still pulled a 14 hour day. I think I'm at about sixty for the week, and I took a day off. Mo' money, mo' problems. Lap dance tomorrow night, though. Work be damned.

i'm ecstatic

I walked to work today with a golden labrador who's my part-time roommate. He had to stop and pee on everything, which held things up some, but not by much.

At the office, I plugged myself back into the matrix and slapped on my headphones to listen to Everything Ecstatic by Four Tet (which is just one guy, Kieran Hebden, and his computer). It's the only electronica artist I've been able to get into, really. I'm not sure why I like it, but his last album (Rounds) is still a staple of my regular listening rotation.

I wasn't sure if I was getting into this album, and was ready to chalk up Rounds as an anomalie in my listening patterns until I realized that I was the only one left in the office and that the world around me had ceased to exist. The only thing that pulled me out of my hypnosis was an offending odor that had been wafting around my desk since I'd arrived. I couldn't place it, and thought that I just might have been smelling imaginary things. My sense of smell is quite wonky from years of smoking, but occasionally, my olfactory system will kick into high gear.

The random beeps and swirls from my headphones fended it off for so long, but out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the styrofoam smiley face staring back at me. It was dinner from a few nights ago. The chow mein had gone bad.

this isn't pretty

I think I've officially gone crazy again. I've been at work almost 30 hours in the past two days, and I've written so many words. I'm beginning to hate all of them. Fuck you words. I'm trying to keep these posts brief so I'll continue writing them.

Today, I was able to take a break for the office so I could go to a restaurant and go over the first act of the movie I'll be working on. The script looks really good so far, especially for a first draft, and today was kinda exciting. I wish I could have been more excited about it, though, but my workload right now is really more than I can handle.

My new neighborhood is full of insects and my house is kinda like their hotel. They come and go as they please and I'm doing my best not to be too rattled by them. There's a moth the size of a fruit bat roaming around in here somewhere, and I already evicted a daddy long legs from my room with the vacuum cleaner, which my roommate calls the spider sucker. I get the feeling me and that contraption will become good friends over the coming months. My laptop still doesn't want to find its operating system, so I'm writing this on my roommate's. I want to tell my laptop to look somewhere else for it, but she won't listen. She never listens.

Otherwise, this place is great. My room is small and my swanky television and surround sound system make watching movies in there something of a religious experience. Too bad I've only been here all of six waking hours since I moved in.

This will all change soon, of course. I'm counting the moments until things settle down and I can enjoy my full digital cable and entertainment system. All the new bills are going to make me too broke to go out anyway. Good thing there's a liquor store just down the block.

that was my fault

I made a post about mosquitos and how they phase through walls like Kitty Pryde, but I unfortunately wrote it in a Blogger window that I'd had open since 12 hours ago. Because that's how long I've been at work. I'm just about done with this Pacifico, and I don't want to have to rehash that old post. Instead, just look at Ms. Pryde and know that I've had a very very long past week or so. And I have to buy a new computer I think, so I can post properly. Until then, these will have to be short and snuck in when I get the chance here at the office. Since I'll be living here. More than I normally do.

say hello to my glands

Moving sucks. Moving in the summer sucks more. Just summer in general sucks. Fuck you, summer. At one point, I squeegied about a half-gallon of sweat from my eyebrows. It was gross. I sweat a lot, I always have. But during the move, my head stubble bristled with moisture. rubbing my hand across it sent sweat spritzing in every direction, droplets fell on my glasses and beaded off my nose and earlobes. I replaced the lost gallons of sweat with beer, whiskey and fast food, but somehow, my body kept going, and when I was done, it felt good. I'm in my new place now, and I'm actually really excited about it. As excited as I can be, I guess, considering I won't be spending any time there for the next six days. I'll be here at the office. We go to print on Monday, all 116 glossy pages, and I can already feel my stomach eating away at itself.

living la vida nomad

Yeah. Moving sucks. What's worse is that my laptop decided it wanted to go all wonky. I'm typing this up on my roommate's computer. Will be back soon (Tuesday at the latest). Sorry to all three of you.

eavesdropping

I know this is supposed to be wrong, but I'm kinda drunk and they're yelling so loud, they're basically asking me to listen, right?

We had some shots of tequilla and they have a really volatile relationship. It's one of those relationships that seemingly never ends but is seemingly always turbulent. They were just yelling at each other really loud, so loud that I heard it even though they were in the side house and over the Japanese zombie movie I'm watching. It's called Stacy and it makes absolutely no sense. I don't think it's because it's Japanese and I'm not. I don't think anyone could possibly in their wildest mushroom binge make any sense of this movie. It's about teenage girls who become zombies because they're really happy or something (no really). It's exploitative, packed with nasty gore and is full of scantily clad Japanese school girls of questionable legality, but it's all tied together with some oddly philosophical spin. It's totally hypnotic if for no other reason that you figure there just has to be a point to it...there just has to be. I think I've watched it three or four times now and haven't found one yet. I'm still searching. I heard the movie was spawned out of the director's obsession with a teenage girl, who appears in the film. The Japanese truly are an interesting people.

Anyway, they really got at each other tonight--probably because of jealousy and perceived infidelity, which is really more than just perceived. I'm the roommate so I'm friendly with everyone and do my best to avoid the fall out, which isn't very easy.

After some blood curdling screams, I heard her car door slam furiously, the engine race and the gravel loosed from our driveway as she pulled away. A few moments later, I heard pebbles pop under tires as she returned. There was some more yelling, but then they went back inside. Everything's quiet now. At least I get to hang out with her dog tomorrow.

now what the fuck am i supposed to do

Hi.

So I've been thinking. Now that the season's over, I'm hoping we don't lose touch. I've enjoyed our Wednesdays together thus far. Y'know, with you running around an island and all, helping the bratty girl out when she went all wonky from her asthma, making teas for people and being all esoteric, buddying up to Kate, trying to poison your husband (I totally don't blame you for that. I know you didn't mean it); and me sitting on my couch in front of my televsion eating pizza or pork chops. The last two weeks, it was pork chops.

There was a real connection there, I think. Seeing as we have so much in common and all. I mean we're both from Staten Island.

... That's a lot.

Anyway. I guess this is good bye for a little while. See you in September when the DVD comes out.

Thanks for the Wednesdays.

Sincerely,

j.

the edge of reason

Work was such that I almost snapped. I blacked out. I went into a cave. I didn't want to talk to anyone. Those who did speak to me weren't given the courtesy of looking away from my computer screen. I feel bad, now, but at the time...

I don't know what was wrong. I just wanted to scream or walk out the window--but we're only on the second floor. I don't handle frustration well, it makes me completely useless and crabby. I felt it squirming beneath my skin like one of those chest-bursting aliens. The worst part was that I couldn't just go off and say go fuck yourself to whoever spoke to me, even though I wouldn't have meant it. No one should have to be around me. I ducked behind the wall of crap on my desk and prepared for an interview, but the questions just weren't coming. I had no idea what I was going to talk to this person about, and all I could think about was how terribly I was going to embarass myself, how I'd just reveal myself as a no-talent hack. I was in a bad place, and I'm not sure how I got there.

I retired to an unused room of the office that's become a recepticle for whatever we don't want visiting business associates to see--namely stacks of magazines and dusty tables. We've set up a phone line in there where we can conduct interviews. The air conditioning didn't quite worm its way into the room, so it was real stuffy, and I couldn't find the light, so it was dark and stuffy. I guess it suited my mood perfectly. I felt terrible as I dialed the number, because I felt I'd done the subject a disservice for not being prepared enough and for writing up lame questions just so i would have something to ask. But it felt much better when she picked up the phone. It went really well. I didn't even ask any of my lame questions.

My mood greatly improved, and after I got home and made a slew of pork chops, had three beers and had did some packing, I felt much better. Look at me--getting stuff done. Then, watching late night talk shows, I realized that I'm happy I didn't walk out that window.

Lost. The season finale. Terry O'Quinn was on Jimmy Kimmel Live, Dominic Monaghan was pretty damn funny on The Tonight Show and Evangeline Lilly (pictured in her chiseled glory) was charming and Canadian on Late Night with Conan O'Brien. I whooped and hollered for all of them, and talked back to the screen even though I'm the only one home. It's been weird the past few days, having the whole house to myself, and all the alone time is driving me crazy; but tomorrow, it will be driving me crazy as I geek out to the television event of the season. I've already got a second six pack cooling off in the fridge, more pork chops from the value pack I bought ready to be wrapped up and reheated prior to the show and no one to embarass myself in front of as I shout at a group of fictional characters. Sad? Maybe. But at this point, I can't think of a better way to blow off stress on a Wednesday night.

filler

It's scary how accurately a couple of circles and squares can so accurately represent my person. Here's me as a South Park character.

What a handsome fellow! Let's review.

• Shorn Scalp: my fuck you to Mother Nature for slowly rendering my follicles useless starting at age 19.
• Glasses: since third grade, and getting stronger all the time.
• Bloodshot Eyes: because I'll sleep when I'm dead. Also, see "Beer" below.
• Portable MP3 Player: transforming the walk home from the bars into a one man musical. Source of endless entertainment and embarassment.
• Woeful Countenance: the world is a strange and frightening place, a potentially damaging experience is probably right around the corner, so I usually hover in a state of permanent discomfort.
• Black Music-related T-shirt: thanks to my job and my flimsy financial stature, I can't afford luxuries such as new clothing. Luckily, I have access to an endless supply of promo shirts from bands and movies so I don't have to walk around naked. The world rejoices. By coincidence alone, these T-shirts are black nine times out of ten.
• Beer: where to begin? At work, at home, at play, there is usually a beer around. Sure, you cause me to look like a red-eyed zombie, but thank you for making the rest of the bullshit that much more bearable.

Thanks to R for the swanky cartoonification of my humble person.

we'll remember this summer until at least the next one, maybe...

It's the time of year when everyone leaves Collegeville, just in time before the weather gets stuffy. Today was hot, sunny, but not muggy. It was a good day to sit outside and go for a walk. I did both. I walked to a graduation party and spent much of it outside.

The party was in a part of town I rarely go to, but reasonably close to my house. I found a AAA battery in a remote control and loaded it into my MP3 player so I could tune everything out and keep my steps bouncy. It was enjoyable, though my Vans aren't much for walking extended distances. The air was dank with jasmine. The weekend's worth of end of school and graduation celebrations left the streets even more bare than they usually are on a Sunday. It was just me and the sun and the Pixies. "Gigantic" is becoming my walking theme song. It seems to match the rhythm of my steps--a perfect fit, for some reason.

The party was a multi-staged affair consisting of the family portion, followed by the friends portion. Alcohol was involved as a part of both, but it wasn't until stage two that the Puerto Rican rum arrived.

We watched the neighbors across the way deal cocaine (presumably), I related my traumatic tale of Cookie Puss and was rescued from what I was told was a rather large "jumper" spider crawling on my chair. I didn't see it, luckily, and saved some measure of embarassment.

Honestly, I'm not much for the summers here. They're long and hot and there's entirely too much moving around and you see the same people even more so than you usually do. The last part's not so bad for the most part, but there's not much relief from the monotony. But today was a nice kick off to my least favorite season.

Fuck the sun.

it's kinda like an adventure

So.

I think everyone went to see the new Star Wars today. In the first seven hours it was out, just about everyone I knew was streaming in with reports. The overwhelming feedback I got was positive, but no one seem overly stoked. It was clear they thought it was better than the Episode I and II, but then again, so was about 80 percent of the movies produced in Hollywood in the same time frame.

Face it, they just weren't that good. And I hate to break it to you, but neither were the first three that we all (including myself) hold near and dear to our hearts. We just can't look at them objectively. When I watch New Hope now, I see it with the same wide-eyed enthusiasm that I did when I was a child, and that will never go away. Phantom Menace and The Clone Wars will never be so lucky. Even though, I'll be the first to admit that I nearly jumped out of my seat when Yoda unleashed the lightsaber fury and finally showed the world that he was a Muppet to be reckoned with.

I didn't see Episode III today. I would have, though, if I wasn't working or the opportunity presented itself. People complain about packed theaters and the semi-organized chaos that insues at cinemas when a big event movie like Star Wars opens up, and these complaints are understandable, but the way I see it, with my pretty kick ass Sony Surround Sound system and a wide-screen HDTV, I've got a perfectly small and cozy mini theater to watch movies by myself in. A frothing crowd of premier-night Star Wars fans, however, are priceless, and no matter how flashy my home entertainment package gets, I still can't replicate the uncomfortable perfection of a packed and rowdy house.

Instead, I worked a 10 hour shift and then sauntered down to my friend's store to hang out and watch a woefully disturbing movie from South Korea. A few of us decided to go out afterwards, but since it's graduation weekend in Collegeville, we decided to try to hit up bars that we normally wouldn't go to. The first stop was the bar at the Holiday Inn, but that was closed--much to our disappointment, we'd planned to steal towels and toiletries--so we hit up a place far from downtown that, as it turned out, mixed the most potent and tasty rum and cokes I've had in quite some time. I'd switched almost entirely to beer in recent weeks, and the reintroduction of mixed drinks to my system came as quite a shock. Especially in such frequency and volume.

Afterwards, we thought I led us on a wild goose chase for another place I'd thought existed and failed to convince my party to head for the strip club, which was probably for the best. Instead, we head to a frightening townie bar out by the movie theater in hopes of seeing Jedis. We didn't, but instead gazed upon another fascinating sect of the population: country karaoke singers. The rum and cokes were just as potent, but I forgot to order Bacardi and had to suffer through the well toxin instead, which I'm sure will be felt in the morning.

I got spilled out into my front lawn and waddled inside to reheat some pizza. My roommate came home from the theater, dressed as a Jedi, living the most high dream of geekdom. We celebrated his impending graduation with shots of whiskey. I spit out almost half of one. The force was strong with that one.

more lunch for one

My life, as I guess many others, is an exercize in repetition. Most of the time, it's pretty boring and tedious. I do the same things all the time. I am happy, however, that I'm not incapable of breaking my usual mold. I do enjoy doing new things and going new places, though I haven't had much opportunity to do either of late.

Luckily, things have been moving too quickly for me to notice that I've been basically running around in circles, and also that I've realized that I occasionally enjoy the patterns of locked myself into. One such pattern is the Chinese restaurant that I visit weekly.

Last time, I became an official regular. And this time around, I became a trusted customer. I felt very honored. I ordered the broccoli chicken lunch special and a side order of cream cheese filled fried wantons (really good and really really bad for you). After eating my meal, I realized that I left both my credit card and my debit card in my other pants and I had no cash on me. I did, however, have my check book. I explained the situation to the owner and asked her if she took checks. She said normally they don't, but since I come in so much, she wasn't worried about it and let me pay with a check.

I felt warm and fuzzy and happy. People trust me. I'm a good person.

My fortune: "Remember this, you will find great happiness three months from now."

Even fate thinks I'm aces.

the matrix

I'm writing this entry on a Linux Web browser. Everything looks and feels the same, but there a lot of little things that are different. Like font size and style. All the icons are bright colorful and happy. It's like the OSs and browsers you see in the movies that aren't really real, but kinda look real, but really don't. I just wanted to share.

state of love and laziness

The plan was to go home and get some work done, but the reality turned into watching A Day Without a Mexican and Garden State, both of which I'd seen already. Then was a long hard look at my fantasy baseball team, which is on a modest hot streak at the moment, and I'd really like to keep it going. I tweaked, eyed stats, wasted time. Now it's almost 4am and I'm putting off going to bed by writing up this thing.

I'll work tomorrow. I will. I've been on a bit of a roll at the office, which isn't easy. It takes a lot of concentration to get work done there with all the distractions and the phone calls and the e-mails and the "oh yeah, I'll get to that right away"s.

I went to an In-N-Out, which is the most unoffensive fast food restaurant imaginable, and realized that I have a growing love affair with onions. They've replaced garlic as my bulbous food accent of choice. The burger I bought was covered in crisp, crunchy onions, and it was very, very good. I was able to relate stories from my train ride across country with a couple of friends. I'll probably type those up soon. I just have to remember. There was a swanky ATM by the door that I had to use because In-N-Out didn't take plastic. Buttons lit up and it made bleeping and booping noises and basically reminded me of a slot machine that always paid out. I'd never seen an ATM like this before, and I figured this must be the new generation of such devices. I thought I'd seen a glimpse of the future, so I had to ask, "Is that ATM new?" when I got back to the register. The somewhat over-it-but-trying-to-be-a-good-employee employee said simply, "no. We've had it for a few months." Totally ruined it, dude. Thanks for nothing.

Krisily Kennedy helped make Tuesday bearable by entrenching herself as my obligatory fantasy woman of the day. Carrying over my beer-soaked emotional attachment from the previous night's episode of The Bachelor, I took breaks from my busy work to find out that Ms. Kennedy, in addition to holding a firm grasp on my fickle affections, used to work for a New England sports channel and was Miss Rhode Island in 2003. If she turns out to be next season's Bachelorette, I'll probably watch and pine and pick apart the losers vying for her tulips, because I'm sad like that and I really don't have anything better to do. Unless of course I forget or have moved on to the next empty, hapless crush that sustains me enough so I don't have to put in the work to find a real relationship. I mean, those suck anyway.

I did do something for work this evening, though. It wasn't difficult, but no less painful. I watched a city council meeting, because I'd sent a writer to it so we can publish a story on it. I sent him because I'm the editor and I can send writers to do things that I don't want to do; but when I saw that it was televised, I decided that it was only fair to share some of his pain as I flipped back and forth between that and the Oakland A's game. City council meetings in this city is like well, watching a small city's city council meeting. They discuss things like parking meters, whether they should be a quarter or not and whether they should now charge for Saturdays. But they don't just discuss these things and move on. No. They argue and ask the same questions and reiterate the same answers over and over again. The parking debate was especially scintilating and lasted well over an hour.

There's this one city councilman who I particularly hate. I don't like most of them, because they're all a bunch of redneck good ol' boys (the fucking mayor once referred to the rise of the Latino population as "the browning" of the region (I have it on tape.) at a public address), but there's one in particular that I actually have a seething dislike for. I know he had to push kids around on the school playground, had sex with seriously drunk girls after they were passed out and without their knowledge or something equally vile and other things that are not-quite-but-probably-should-be criminal. He's a douche bag, simply put. He snapped at some old woman today, who's probably someone's great grandma, like she was an ignorant child just because she disagreed with him. It's what I would expect from him, and granted, the poem she read to illustrate her point (seriously, a poem...who does that?) at the fucking city council meeting was really lame, but the elderly should be allowed to be lame. She should also be allowed to kick that useless, no good, miserable fuckwad in the balls for being treated like that, by a public official no less. If he had any balls, of course.

with meetings like these

To prepare ourselves for the inevitability of a national publications, we've been meeting every Monday at the college meat market to hash out ideas and drink ourselves into oblivion. The meetings have been very helpful because after cycling through a few pitchers of Guinness, no task seems too daunting. This afternoon, we got especially shitty because we received good news. I'm not sure that's the reason why, but it seems as good a reason as any. The Guinness tap wasn't working properly so we were forced to drink lesser brews. I lost track of pitchers. We were there for well over four hours on the outside patio. Day became night and many drinks were spilled. All I've consumed today was beer and fried foods (fries, zucchinis, fish and chicken strips), and about half a bottle of water.

I was given a ride home and retired to the living room love seat (on which no love occurs) and got all sappy during the finale of The Bachelor (but that was the beer talking), wondered why I'm so addicted to reruns of Fear Factor and then watched a low budget movie during which I quickly fell asleep. I awoke to find my roommate entering with two pint glasses and two cans of Guinness Draught. We watched that reality show about the Orange County Choppers guys, who are even bigger whiney drama queens than I am.

But the nagging pain in my left eyebrow is telling me that I should cut my losses and get back to bed before I have to endure a waking hangover. The only remedy: late night informercials and sleep.

i made a good pot roast and my life is a mess

I just left the house for the first time all day, and that was just to take out the trash. I kept myself busy with movies and cooking; I was unable to throw more stuff out from my room because our dumpster's full, and I'm trying to be sneaky. The sanitation workers won't just take whatever you leave out there, unless it all fits in the bin. When moving out of other apartments, I would keep a close eye on when the dumpster was empty if I had to get rid of a couch. When you don't have a car or money to take something to the dump, you have to be crafty.

I've been doing my best not to worry about all the shit I'm going to have to do over the next 15 days--moving, putting out a new magazine, working on the ones I'm already working on, trying to figure out how I'm going to pay my bills. I probably shouldn't have typed that out. It's not bad during the day, but when it comes time to wind down and get ready for bed, it all comes rushing at me at once, and I feel like I'm paralyzed. My eyes go wide, and all I can do is stare off.

That's why I like watching movies, especially ones I don't have to think about. I can stare off at them and become distracted. I like the deep, think-y kind of movies, too, but that's only for when I'm relaxed and looking for something to stress me out. Clearly, I can't function any other way.


"Bring it, bitches."

Blade Trinity was one such no-brainer that got me this far, at least, without driving myself crazy. It seemed that the only things needed to be a member of the cast was to be amazingly ripped and the ability to deliver schmaltzy dialog with a straight face. I wasn't really crazy about the first two Blade movies, mostly because I can't stand Wesley Snipes. I'm not really sure why he bothers me so much, but he does. Screw you, Snipes. He works as Blade, though, and as dumb as Trinity was, it was still pretty entertaining, mostly because of the abundant explosions slick vampire tomfoolery and Parker Posey being as sexy, funny and show-stealing as she always is.

As I slurped down my delicious pork roast--that I slaved over, by the way--macaroni & cheese, cream corn, carrots and garlic bread (I think it was the biggest meal I'd ever made), I couldn't help but feel like a saggy bag of lard compared to the parade of hard bodied ass-kickers and their penchant for parading around either topless or in skin tight clothing. Even the naughty daughter from 7th Heaven looked like she could bench press me. Not that I'd mind if she did. I don't have a lot of hang ups when it comes to that sort of thing. I don't mind if the woman wears the pants as long as she doesn't expect me to wear a skirt. I'd have to shave my legs and, I must say, I'd miss my leg hair terribly. Jessica Biel could rescue my flabby ass from a burning building and I'd get all gooey-eyed and say, "my hero"and then I'd make her a pot roast. I'm sure my testicles will remain intact.

don't forget to write

[photo: Rachel Spaulding]

One of my roommates left for Arizona. She's not coming back; that's where she's going to live now. She was one of the first people I met out here, and the last of that group to move on to somewhere else. My other roommate graduates next weekend, then he'll go to hang out with his family for a week befor returning here to pack up and head down to Arizona himself. I still have a couple weeks before I move out, but it already feels like I'm just keeping the place warm for the next group of kids who are going to move in.

I still have a ton of packing to do. I started today by throwing out two boxes that I'd never unpacked that where taking up a corner of my room. I wasn't going to go through them, but I'm glad I did, because one of them contained all my Neil Gaiman books and my favorite porno mag.

Today was the first hot day. It almost hit 90 and the air was thick and soupy. I spent most of the daylight hours sitting on my porch and nursing two draught bottles of Guinness waiting for my laundry to wash and dry. I overheard conversations about graduation, about walking in the ceremony. People came over to play Halo 2 on a local area network, and my living room was transformed into a geek paradise, complete with pizza boxes and two liter bottles of soft drinks. The sounds of shit-talking wafted through the screen door. I can't play those games, because they make me nauseous after a while. I think I concentrate too hard or something.

Before she left, my roommate took me to the supermarket so I could do a little shopping. Pork must be in season, or something, because they had tons of it and were offering chops and roasts at buy one get one free. I picked up two roasts that I won't have time to cook and two value packs of chops, even though I don't have anyone to cook for but myself. After food shopping, she dropped me off downtown so I could hang out with a friend and his family for his birthday. His mom made pork ribs coated in salsa, and they were really good. It's a good thing I don't get tired of eating the same thing night after night. Thank you noble pigs for giving your lives so that I may keep my belly full.

Thank you fantasy baseball team for winning this week.

On the ride home from downtown, the streets were crawling with young people. Friday was the last day of class. At 10:30pm, it was still well into the 70s, clothing and inhibitions were scarse, but I had to get back to the house to say goodbye to my roommate, and I had no desire to be out on the town.

"There's women everywhere," the driver said.

"It's the first hot night," I answered, looking at the groups of co-eds from the passenger window.

"You can kinda feel it in the air."

"It's mating season," I said.

At home, I boiled some chicken franks (buy one get one free) and me and my roomies watched a really bad/funny Japanese horror movie. I said goodbye, safe drive and see you soon like it was my yearly mantra.

playa lane

I went to a house on Player Lane (strangely enough, it didn't intersect with Baller Boulevard); it had the look of the home of a late-'80s coke dealer to the stars with high ceilings, colorful artwork from unknown indigenous peoples and a pure bred show dog pacing out back.

It was a business meeting and I think I probably still stunk of bar from night before. I had a dream about missing the meeting and woke up just in time to put on mostly new clothes, brush my teeth, scrub off the black ink hand stamp and call a cab. I still got to the office before anyone else, even before my boss, who was supposed to go with me to the meeting and was also out partying--harder than I was.

The couple we had to speak to was nice enough. I'm not entirely sure they were a couple, really. The man was more-or-less the typical business man who made his wealth around the dot-com boom--white, approaching middle age, still vaguely hip. He said he listened to the local hard rock station. He spoke of money only in large sums--thousands, millions--I'm not sure if tens and twenties were in his vocabulary. He also gave us an impromptu seminar about business practices and how he's applied these things to his own success.

The woman was mature and not afraid to show it. She didn't try to look younger, but she did look younger than she probably was. She was fit and well-dressed. She didn't say much, but did her best to reel in the man when he went off on a tangent, which was often, reminding him of what we were looking to know for the story we were planning on writing about him. She was the VP of his company and added insight on occasion, when she was quiet, she toyed with her sandy blonde hair or smoothed her thin skirt over her thighs. I kept drifting off and thinking she was shooting me flirtatious glances; I was tired, hung over, and none of these people were speaking my language. I had nothing better to do.

It was interesting to hear the man talk about business models, plans and strategies. He used terms like product, venture capital and branding. I'm not the most organized person, so it was kinda like peeking into what amounts to an alien culture for me.

After about an hour and a half, the woman got up and began conducting business. A host of random people began wandering in and out of the house, pulling up to the driveway, lingering in front of the house but never coming in. I wondered how many people actually lived there. I wondered how long we'd be there. The meeting ran two hours and the man and my boss were chopping it up about something. When the man was speaking to me, I nodded, looked attentive, when he turned, my eyes would wander to the high vaulted ceiling, the backyard that led to the creek, the abundance of windows, the empty dining room, the loft that was turned into an office.

We were there two and a half hours. Afterwards, I got to go back to work.

not a creature was stirring

It's been quiet at the old ranch lately. I'm getting set to move at the end of the month--and by getting set, I mean I haven't done a thing--one of my roommates has already split, and the woman who took his place spends most of the time in the side house shacking up with my other roommate. Basically, I've had the whole house to myself, and I'm not quite sure if I like it or not. I don't mind the quiet or the extended alone time. I don't have to mute the television when I watch pornography, which adds a new element to the whole experience.

If anything, though, the relative isolation has made me more surly. I'm short with people who break the silence. I'm not as receptive to conversation. I don't like the sound of my voice when I talk to other people; it sounds a lot different when I talk to myself. I'm still not crazy about it, but it's much more tolerable.

I still find it hard to believe I have to leave here. I keep hoping something will happen that will make it so I don't have to move. I'm worried sick about how I'm going to afford the extra rent, how I'm going to adapt to the new living conditions, how I'm going to pay for all the extra bills the new place is going to mean--I'll have to pay water, garbage, and I think my roommate likes to use the central heating and air conditioning. Usually, I just sweat or freeze.

Work took a long time. Whe people ask me questions, I have a hard time thinking up an answer. I used to be a lot quicker making stuff up.

This is probably going to sound a lot more pretentious than it actually is, but I'm making a movie. I think I may have mentioned it before (to the five or so of you who read this, one of whom being me). The meetings went really well, and we're all pretty excited to do it. We've all been working together to develop it so it's not really just any one person, which is nice. Tomorrow I'm supposed to get in front of the camera to test for the character I created...basically because the character is painfully autobiographical, but I'm hoping personal tragedy makes for good comedy. I really don't want to get in front of the camera. The thought has been turning my stomach in knots, and no one's going to see the screen test but the two or so people who are organizing things. Still, I've blown the whole ordeal up to agonizing proportions, and I'm already wondering if there's a way I can weasel out of it. I want it to be good, obviously, even though we're just doing it to do something fun, but I only like attention until I get it, and then I want it to go away as soon as possible. Once it's gone, I wonder why it went away so fast.

I find it impossible to live with myself.

The Corporation was a pretty crazy documentary. I'd never been so captivated by two and a half hours of talking heads interviews.

lunch for one

Today was a monumental one at my favorite Chinese restaurant--I became a regular. The place isn't particularly nice, but it's kind of cool in the ghetto fabulous sort of way. There's duct tape on some of the seat cushions and the bathroom's a bit scary, but the food is very good, and it looks like the place would be decked out if it were still 1974. They play relaxing music--like shit from film scores--and it's a great place to chill out and have a meal. It's very cozy. The proprietor greeted me at the door, as she always does, and asked, "will you be eating here today?" And followed with, "will it be the number two special plate?"

I laughed and said, "no," but thanked her for remembering. In returned, I ordered a gang of food, way too much to eat in one sitting, but I wanted to have plenty of leftovers so I could eat for the next couple of days. I got a sizzling iron plate of mixed seafood, pork fried rice and broccoli chicken. I also got a plate of veggie potstickers. I barely ate a quarter of it, but I ate all the potstickers because they're that good.

When I left with boxes of leftovers in tow, the proprietor said, "see you next week," and I felt like part of the family.

My fortune cookie read: "Ignorance has no light, but error follows a false one." Gnarly.

My lucky numbers are 9, 19, 22, 31, 41 and the supplementary lucky number is 26. Just in case any of the others are unable to fulfill their lucky number duties.

our friend, swoopers redux

Swoopers, or one of his brethren, decided to pay the office a visit again. This time, he'd decided to fly as low as possible so I ducked under my desk and shielded myself with my swanky chair. I think I injured myself diving for cover, but a few scrapes and a slightly wounded pride are far better than a case of the rabies. No, I'm not proud of my cowardice, but it as kept me alive this long, so I see no reason to change my behavior. I guess what I'm saying is, if you're looking for a hero, look elsewhere. Luckily, his visit was brief this time around. He figured out the nuances of exiting through the window with only a little coaxing. Fare thee well, Swoopers. Thank you for teaching me more about myself than I ever cared to know.

in which i become a simpering fanboy

I yelped with pathetic glee when I saw a zip file of new photos from Underworld 2. I didn't particularly like Underworld (I didn't dislike it either), but I went to see it in the theater simply for Kate Beckinsale, who's pretty much my Goddess of Love. Kate can do no wrong, not even in that peculiar movie in which Gary Oldman played a dwarf. Plus, she was wrapped in skin-tight vinyl, which was just about the best and worst thing Hollywood has ever done for me. Damn you, Hollywood...damn you.

Underworld 2 looks as if it's pretty much targeted at my demographic--being lonely, aging young men who used to read too many comic books. Ms. Beckinsale is once again vacuum sealed in the vinyl cat suit, weilding a variety of weapons, generally looking like a sexy bad ass, but still able to show her soft and gushy and yummy feminine side [editor's note: hunky male lead cut from picture, because I'm that sad and jealous]. I can already feel my palms getting sweaty.

why work when you can get paid for slacking?

A coworker sent me here because she thought I'd get a kick out of it. And I did.

Toothpaste for Dinner

cinco de mayo

If California was sold back to Mexico, I'd be okay with it. I've always wanted to learn Spanish anyway. Unfortunately, these things aren't up to me, and I'm still an American citizen. Still, I find no reason for me not to take full advantage of the Golden State's, which is now my home's, cultural cross-pollenizing.

I got a call at work. My roommate said she'd be making enchiladas for Cinco de Mayo, and that she'd like me to be there for dinner. I'd never even been to Taco Bell before I moved out to California, and the first thing I do when I return after visiting my family back east is hit up a taqueria and devour a pound and a half of carne asada burrito bliss. Clearly, there would be nothing keeping me from making dinner. Free home made Mexican food? Did you have to ask? It's like my reason for being. My roommate is not of Mexican descent, however. In fact, she's one of the palest people I know (and I say that out of love), but she said she had a good recipe. And she certainly wasn't lying. My other roommate had a bunch of his actor friends over, and I knocked back shots of Sauza while they passed around a blunt wrapped in watermelon-flavored paper.

It'd been a long day. I'd almost gotten caught up from the time I missed as a result of the trip to San Francisco. Most of my catching up involved checking in on my fantasy baseball team, which is doing extremely poorly, by the way, and drooling over the picture R sent me--when no one else was looking of course--because she likes to torture me at work. But I did get plenty of stuff done, including setting up an interview I'm supposed to conduct tomorrow at 1pm. An interview I should have been preparing for instead of fraternizing with tequila. But I have all morning for that. And I have all weekend to write the article I should be writing right now. All weekend at the office, because that's where I'll be so we can make another deadline (I'm pretty good at procrastination myself, Bookfraud).

But I can write articles I couldn't care less about all the time. How often can I celebrate the independence of a country I have absolutely no ties to? Just once a year. Do the math.

---

Special thanks to Arular by M.I.A. for injecting a good deal of audible lust into an otherwise boring day.

the ancient art of sleeping in your clothes

I woke up this morning on a small rectangle of egg foam on the floor of a tiny studio apartment in Oakland. The night before, we had to work in San Francisco, interviewing a band that, luckily, wasn't flaky. They were very polite. I spoke with them in the upstairs area of the record store where they were playing an in-store performance before a proper set at a venue later in the evening. They weren't overly friendly, but they were very accomodating and pleasant, dressed in all black and wearing giant sunglasses. No doubt they'd had to deal with many of my type over the past few years, and I did my best not to ask them the same questions they would have had to answer over and over again. Afterwards, we took pictures of them in the alley beside the store; they were total pros. They knew how to pose, and we got a bunch of great shots in the matter of 10 minutes, right before they took the stage at the record store.

We stayed for a couple of songs, and then decided to grab dinner, because we had tickets and a photo pass to the real show later that night. About a block down we found a Thai restaurant. We had to climb narrow stairs to get there. The restaurant was beautiful--decked out with gilded ornaments, masks and statues that I assume are Thai in origin. Honestly, I don't know much about Thailand. I figure it must be pretty hot and muggy in the summer time and that it gets a lot of rain. I assume there are plenty of large bugs. I've heard plenty of things about Bangkok--things that are much more interesting than Bangkok having the world's longest place name--I've become hip to their growing film industry and I knew a guy from Thailand once, but that's about it really. I've only recently started trying Thai cuisine, which I think is a pretty good way of learning about a region and its people.

My brain doesn't know how to process Thai food. It's so flavorful and fragrant, and I haven't had all that much exposure to it. The combination of ingredients such as cocunut milk, lime, chicken and cilantro confuse me, but it's so good, I don't stop eating. I try not to look too much into what I'm ordering when I'm at a Thai restaurant. I don't try to pronounce the names if they're too exotic. I just point and say "I'll have this," and chow down. That system has worked thus far, but the only problem is, I never know what it was that I ordered, so I've never had the same dish twice, no matter how much I enjoyed it. This time I ordered chicken with silver noodles. I didn't have to point.

There were three waitresses, two of the, including ours, were gorgeous and attentive. They wore ankle-length silk-looking skirts and spoke in soft voices. One scooped bowls of soup and steamed rice with care. The other cleared off empty plates, refilled my glass of water constantly and said "sir" a lot. It's nice to be doted over sometimes.

We hit up the show and sold the six extra tickets we had for $10 a piece. We were going to try to let them go at full price, but the venue wasn't sold out--simple supply and demand. Still, we made enough money to go to this crusty bar in Oakland with a friend who lives down the block from it. He let us crash at his place, which was nice seeing as we didn't have to make the long drive twice in one day.

Got into the office after 1pm. Drove straight there from the city. No toothbrush, no change of clothes, only about three hours sleep. Work was pretty much a wasted effort, but I think I made a decent trade in my fantasy baseball league.

feeling it

Hey, guy.

You rule.

No, seriously. I've never seen anyone party like that before. Seeing you wearing your microphone headset and mouthing words to "Tainted Love," "I Think We're Alone Now," that song from The Breakfast Club and other hits from the '80s was inspiring.

Even when that fly-ass honey with buoyant cleavage was thrusting her firm, plump posterior into your nether regions, you didn't miss a beat. It was like you didn't even notice. You were there for the music and lip syncing and getting your groove on. Bitches be damned.

My night didn't end until early in the morning. I ended up talking movies and comedians in the back of my friend's store with my old boss and an Irish dude who'd come to America because he won a green card and now works in the entertainment industry while they ripped three-foot bong hits. It was 4am, and all I had for dinner was Guinness, so I had to inhale a 7-Eleven microwave cheeseburger to power the long walk home.

the world wide web is a strange and wonderful place

Group Hug was one of the craziest sites I'd ever seen, but this one comes close. It's the same kind of idea but it has more of a personal feel because they're scans of actual postcards sent in to the site's author. The combination of words and art makes it more fascinating somehow. This one made my jaw drop. Check out others here: PostSecret.