Thursday, December 25, 2008

Favorite holiday songs

I'm not partial to day-specific songs, because they tend to lose relevancy as time progresses. But the holidays seem to give the musicality they create a staying power, to let them be enjoyable over & over again. Here's my top five holiday songs:

1. John Lennon's Merry Christmas (War is Over)

2. All I Want for Christmas (Love Actually version)

3. The Hanukkah Song, by Adam Sandler

4. Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree, by Brenda Lee

5. Little Saint Nick, by The Beach Boys

If you're ever feeling the holiday spirit, crank up your iPods to these mad-lam-jammers.



Merry Christmahanukwanzika everyone... and a happy new year.

Woo. Hoo.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

The pictures, they move? Moving pictures? Whaaa!?

Welcome to a first from the cultural zeitgeist I call Saboteur Academia.


Yes, I will now be sifting through the internet's webjunk for amazing pieces o' cinematic glory. "Informatative entertainment" is the buzzphrase for what I will be posting. As I acclimate myself to the business of trolling the world wide web there should be a definite rise in the originality of the things I post. In other words - expect some good shit.

For starter's I give you a classic video favorite of mine: Battle at the Kruger. A lion pride attacks a poor baby buffalo, which is then nearly stolen by a crocodile before the rest of the buffalo herd comes to the rescue. Big cats are flipped. Claws and jaws and horns go toe to toe in the African wilderness. At the end, you'll be surprised to see that lil' baby buffalo is still alive! This video has always been one of my favorites.

Enjoy the flicks, kids. And I'll see you soon with more from my lil' zeitgeisty hidey-hole of saboteur academics.


Monday, December 22, 2008

Projects of the, from the, underground

1. Distorted Orange and the Hidden County

A poetic manifesto of my experiences in Southern California, from women to nature to materialism. It is above all a reaction against the media's (MTV and VH1 especially) depictions of Orange County as some sort of super-rich, super-suburban playground for spoiled teenagers and desperate housewives. This book shows a different perspective, that is perhaps nearer the truth for the flaws and undiscovered aspects it holds.

2. Cityscape

The compilation of all my experiences in major cities across the world, told through the eyes of a cast of characters - bums, social workers, valets, gas station attendants, and other random people - that will illuminate the various ways of seeing a city. There's more than just buildings and bodies; there's a connection created through being forced so close together. Each piece in the book will give a different mood, or scene, or subject, until, taken holistically, you feel like you have actually visited the city yourself.

3. HK series

An experiment in form on the same subject, but with different emotions. Each essay will shift the presentation so that the main character's "love" can be seen for the complex situation that it is. There will be lots of anecdotes and break-ups. My goal is to describe a relationship that is more beautiful for its unconventional foundation.

4. Horror stories from the Outlands

An homage to classic pulp fiction stories. It will be a collection of short stories featuring the superstitions of a myriad of things: batmen, highway spectres, lost camel herds, forgotten cities, squatter-villes, melon-heads, conclaves of albinos & midgets. Think R.L. Stein meets H.P. Lovecraft at a bar where Nathaniel Hawthorne hangs out and then they get drunk with Robert Aickman before the after-party at Alvin Schwartz's house.

5. One-liners of the city

A short collection of one-liners that captures the essence of major cities around the world, from New York to Baghdad to Prague. The goal is to distill each city down to that single line which really portrays the place, while still being faithful to its other nuances.

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Another traveler, troubadour I am

Going home is always an experience. Maybe it's just the awkwardness of reunions, or my own feelings of being suddenly a stranger in a strange land. There was a time when I could claim a native's arrogance as my own. It was nice, in a way, to be so well-connected. But home isn't home anymore - it's just the place I grew up. And I'm not trying to be glib or dismissive; I'm just honestly realizing. I'm a year+ past and this distance has become more than just time. This distance has formed a part of the shape of my self... and I kind of like who I am.

The drive is going to be very interesting. Being alone in the car has a way of bringing out the madness inside. You've got miles & miles of road with no one but yourself. I've had some REALLY intense conversations with me; and I've come to notice that you're never lonely with a split-personality. Also, the music, listening to my ENTIRE playlists, instead of just the songs I really like. In a way, having nothing to do but drive makes you really listen to the music. You hear songs you've listened to a thousand times in totally new ways. And artists who I always felt were lackluster suddenly come off fantastic. It's the strangest thing. Sometimes it makes me wonder if I'd understand things better if I only took more time to reflect... but I'm no good at that. I've gotta be forced to pause, because when people call me "impulsive" it's just a nice way of saying I don't think much before I speak or act. Other suitable synonyms would be: rash, reckless, thoughtless, and impetuous.

As for me, I've always liked adventurous.

Anyhoo, I'll enjoy the drive, because I enjoy driving. I get caught up in it. Something to do with headlights, brakelights, regular intervals and roadside diners. Give me music and gas and some X on the map and I'll get there or die trying. (No jynx please!) The best part of going from one place to another is to see what's in-between. Forget the old adage that Life is about the journey, not the destination blah-blah-blah... Life is about the things that happen while we're busy making other plans. And there's nothing more true about that than when you're trying to get somewhere, and find yourself someplace else. We can arrive where we started, where we couldn't get to before, and sometimes, even where we never expected to find ourselves. Long drives have a way of proving this. Long drives have a way of taking you out like the waves of the ocean. You start perfectly secure in your position, and before you know it, you're drifting in some stretch of space that you don't recognize and can't figure out how you even ended up there in the first place. Traveling has a way of kidnapping us - but that's a good thing.

Okay... right now it's late. I have to get up early so I can beat traffic. I'll enjoy this last sleep in my adopted city, fogged-up and silly as she is. And here's looking at you Orange County. I'll be seeing ya soon.

(But only for a little while.)

Thursday, December 18, 2008

Random things I overhear

I am a devoted follower of humanity's eccentricities, namely: subcultural studies, people-watching, fast-food philosophy, and suburban/ubran exploration. I like to think of it as a modern-day form of aesthetic entertainment.

Anyhoo, so I was in McDonald's today and while I'm waiting in line there was this black woman who was having some trouble with her order. I guess the cashier (who was Asian) and her weren't communicating very well. She wanted a refund and the lady was trying to explain to her why she couldn't do that. Here's how the exchange went down:

"So please sign here for your refund."
"Write there for the reason."
"For what?"
"Write there. The reason you want the refund."
"Write right there."
"I am."
"No, no, no. This line for the reason. The reason."
"Yeah, yeah I am."
"No, you must sign this line and then THIS line for the reason."
"YES, I understand you. I speak english; it is my FIRST language." [said with all the attitude and uneducated drawl that she could muster.]

Everybody in the place just stood shocked. I myself let out a big "Ooooooh!" (it was by accident though). I mean, shit, she just called that woman out. Obviously the cashier didn't say or do anything, since she was working, but whooo, it was one of those moments where you got to be thinking to yourself: "I don't get paid enough for this shit."

Oh well... way to be McEeedees, way to be.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Things to shout out during sex if you live in a red state


YEAH, OH YEAH, FUCK ME LIKE AL QAEDA!!!!111!111!!1!!!!!"

- courtesy of Californication, season 2, episode 5.

Monday, December 15, 2008

An old classic makes a comeback

I was walking around the Westfield mall today, people-watching, and there's this store called West Coast Leather. Well, as I passed by there was this STUNNINGLY beautiful woman dressed in a slutty dress with hooker heels beckoning me over. Naturally, I stop out of sheer disbelief. This gorgeous creature is calling to me? "Hey..." Why yes, yes she is! I head over, jaw still dropped and she hands me a card. "Please enjoy our holiday sale. All items 10-80% off."

Great...I just fell for the classic honey trap. People still do this nowadays? Really? And that I totally got caught is even sadder. But I should've known - when do hot chicks smile and call out to guys like me?

Still, it was a nice half-second to think that someone desireable was desiring me.


Yes, I am giving you two posts for the price of one.

Maybe it's because of my job at the music studio, but recently I've found a sudden resurgence in my passion for R&B/Soul/Funk music. Honestly, today's music depresses me because it is SO overproduced. Not only that but the melodies are stupidly simple, made so that even (or especially) tone-deaf unrhythmic idiots will buy it.

Anyhoo, I'm getting off point. Here's a list of my favorite all-time tracks for this R&B style, soul infused, funkadelic music that EVERYONE should check out. Sure, they're oldies, but they're also fucking amazing.

1. In the Stone, by Earth, Wind & Fire
2. At Last, by Etta James
3. I Want You Back, by the Jackson 5
4. Sound Your Funky Horn, by KC & The Sunshine Band
5. Ain't No Mountain High Enough, by Marvin Gaye (and Tammi Terrell)
6. Feeling Good, by Nina Simone
7. Be My Baby, by The Ronettes
8. Hold On! I'm Comin', by Sam & Dave
9. Superstition, by Stevie Wonder
10. My Girl, by The Temptations

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Something that wasn't begun on a digital page

I keep a blackbook. It's standard for us writer-types. The point is to have a blank page to fill with your ideas... a completely free space. For creativity this is great. For organization this is not. I have trouble keeping track of my blackbooks - and sometimes the shit I write in them is really good! But because you can't itemize those sorts of things, they tend to become disheveled and forgotten.

However, in honor of my recently rediscovered blackbooks (and all the great stuff that was in them) I shall post up a few short bits that reminds me of all the great ideas I had/used to have.

"massive gathering of derelicts, rejects, and the morbidly fascinated audience who laughs and agrees but doesn't know what's actually happening. someone blares on a mic, ambiguous lyrics or a message? and someone tells us, 'fuck conformity!' -- artists like this give art no name."

"juxtaposition: everything next to each other. call it closeness."

"sexual needs deep hot too heat flows bones made soft and sinew cartilidge hard everything in-going makes it. now i need to too."

"what was the point? to be alive. what was the point? to be free. what was the point? to say i love you. what was the point? to hold someone close. what was the point? to kiss. what was the point? to tell you. what was the point? to feel less alone. what was the point? something intangible. what was the point? something unexpected. what was the point? i don't know."

"teach kicks licks to make lessons. nobody won't laugh."

"from the highest hilltop to the deepest pits, God hasn't cursed me, but i certainly don't feel blessed. this is more like posthumous purgatory."

"not the living but the wasted, the left behind, the bereft think of all the days unlived - tomorrow & tomorrow."

"the connection is implied between you & me."

"hello! welcome to this draft. i'm auditioning characters for my story."

"mad scientist smiles because of all this progress. but is it? or is it one-step forward to go two back?"

"torn = texture."

"where does a story end and a lie begin? is it the start or at the finish? because the middle's all the same...except for which direction you're going in. the middle is where everything comes together, then seperate so you can understand it."

"writing about writing is like...redundant."

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

The Happysad Archives

I am in LOVE with this webcomic. I started reading it a few days ago while randomly looking for stuff on the web. Normally, I don't really get into webjunk so much anymore, now that I'm not into the gaming scene like I used to be. But, on occasion I like to browse the net and see if what's changed, what's stayed the same, and what's come out of the gaps that used to be there.

This comic is basically awesome. Amazing. Every "nice guy" should read it; study the teachings contained within its ironic melancholy. I've never seen anything so true, so generic, and so artistic while being two lines shy of stick-figures.

Give it a look-thru. Browse around.

Monday, December 1, 2008

Choose your disability

Classic example of moral-physical dilemma: would you rather be blind or deaf?

To answer this question fully, I must first describe the types people who exist based on their response to this. First, we have the visual-types who can't help but need to see EVERYTHING. Then, we've got your audible-peeps, who're listening so hard it's a surprise they didn't go deaf already, but gawdforbid because they've GOT to have background soundtrack sound. There are the overly confused people who can't decide one way or the other - because they're fucking indecisive. And don't forget the ever-independent, "I'll take E) none of the above" who miss the question entirely.

Those are your basic caricatures. Now, here's my overly-complex answer...

*I says* I am a writer, a musician, an explorer, philosopher, and general rennaisance man. To see is to experience for me. Without sight, I cannot people-watch, or observe the great events of my time. But, to hear is to breath for me. Without sound, I couldn't feed my soul to grow, never building past my foundation. You get it? I'm indecisive because either choice leaves me stifled as half the person I am.

*Devil's Advocate says* I know, I know - no fucking shit Sherlock! Of course losing one of your primary senses will take something off of you.

*I says* And thank-you captain obvious...but for me it's a bit different. (And I'm not just saying that.) See, I'm dependent on being able to experience and grow. It's part of my daily routine, and how I do my work. Without sight or sound I'm basically broken - because I'd be broke. My existence is precariously balanced on maximizing my eyes&ears capabilities.

*Devil's Advocate says* But seriously! How do you choose between two bad choices? Lots of people try to make a third one, only to completely fuck-up the equation. Most people simply can't decide, and will forever be too busy wondering what they'd do if such&such happened.

How do you choose between two bad choices? You don't. If something terrible has to happen, then you let it happen, and accept the random outcome. Choosing to kill or be killed, to lie or cheat, to be blind or be deaf; it's all shitty no matter how you slice it. So why pick one? When you can let circumstances thrust their will upon you.

*I says* Well, I'll tell you why! "Fate must be defied many times in order for a person to actually be called alive. This is because only a fool clings to Fate instead of living their own lives." — Tsunami Silver Dragon.

*Devil's Advocate says* Too easy using a quote. Fate isn't any different than if you just called it something else, like saying, "shit happens."

*I says* No. Fate is purposeful. Shit happening is random. Me falling into an open sewer and dying right before I meet the love of my life is shit happens. You getting hit by a toilet seat jettisoned off an old Russian space-station is Fate. ...If I absolutely had to choose between being blind or deaf, then I'd choose to be deaf. I already know what the woman I love sounds like, but never seeing her would be pretty much hell.

So, I guess, if pressed, we can all come up with something.


My new favorite webcomic.

I really like webcomics.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

Something random

It's been a while since my last post, and usually when I come back from a little hiatus, I always seem to make a superserious post that rants & rambles for pages upon pages.

I'm not going to do that this time.

There's plenty of time to write about the sad things that have happened/are happening recently in my life. But for now, I don't want to talk to you about that. Let's be like levity - light and care-free.

I went to see that new Transporter movie on Wednesday. (And if you know me, you know I usually go to movies by myself because I'm the WORST guy to sit next to in the theatre.) Overall, it was...okay. I mean, it was action-packed, and easy to watch, but obviously you don't go to a movie like that expecting to see something that makes you think. Mostly I saw it because I like Jason Statham. If only he'd go back to playing random english-people in Guy Ritchie films...*sigh*

But forget about the movie. That wasn't the random thing that happened.

So, to watch the movie I bought a large popcorn, large soda, and a box of those lil' buncha-crunchas. (SO delicious to mix chocolate with buttery, supersalty popcorn.) And there I am, silent as a baby-angel - for once - just eating my popcorn and watching the movie. The thing is, the popcorn they gave me was some bottom of the barrel bullshit that had more kernals than corn. I had to shake the bag a bit to get the good pieces to come up to the top.

Now, there was this hipster-looking guy sitting in front of me to the left. And I have NO IDEA how he could hear me eating my popcorn because the movie is so loud I couldn't feel my phone-vibrating in my back-pocket. But he does.

And he's pissed. He turns back twice to yell at me. (Yeah, he yells and says I'm making too much noise.) I tell him sorry, I'm just trying to eat my popcorn and watch the movie. The second time I tell him to leave me alone and let me watch the movie. The third time...he gets up out of his seat and snatches my popcorn from my lap and flings it out towards the front row.

Whoa. What is this guy's problem? A succession of thoughts/scenarios go through my head: 1) did he just fucking take my shit? 2) that popcorn costs like ten bucks! 3) I should beat the ever-loving shit out of his fixed-gear riding, chestless-shirt wearing, electro music listening pampered ass 4) wait, wait, wait - what are we, in elementary school? i'm gonna fight someone because he took my bag of popcorn? 5) does this make me a wuss? 6) I wonder what everyone else is thinking...

ANYWAYS, then he sits back down, and everyone just kinda edges around in their seats before going back to watching the movie. I do the same. (Though I keep a close eye on the guy in case he decides I'm DRINKING too loudly.) Before the movie ends he leaves and I just shake my head. After the movie I get to talking with this couple who're joking about, "some violent dude at Transporter 3." We laugh for a bit and then I head home.

What kind of a douchebag goes to a movie and gets violently mad to hear popcorn and eating sounds? IT'S A FUCKING MOVIE. Did you expect to hear crickets playing you a serenade of Harlem Noctourne? Sometimes people just suck.

I was a little proud that I didn't do anything. (Though I wanted to.) I'm a pretty controlled and easy-going guy. I get upset, pissed off, and so on, but I don't go around taking it out on complete strangers. Maybe the guy was having a bad day? Maybe he got dumped? Maybe there was something else going on with him that you just wouldn't know to look at him in his Pumas and dinner-jacket. You really can't tell with people, I guess.

After thinking about it for a little while though, I had this devilish idea that I should've taken my drink cup and poured the whole thing over his motherfucking head and then walk out. Would that've been a bitch move? Maybe. But the bastard did ruin my movie a little, and my movie-snack.

Meh! I just take it as one of the million other random things that happend to me everyday. Welcome to the monkey-house. Please sign your name next to the shit & banana peels.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Sometimes I wish I was an artist

So I could draw stuff like this that says more words than I could write in a lifetime and still say it better.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

Okay, am I taking this too seriously?

I know I'm not a "professional" writer. Hell, I'm not even a very good writer. The closest I've ever come is ghost-writing cheap childhood memoirs for rich/bored/egotistical Newport Beach suburbanites. My own college's undergraduate journal wouldn't print my stuff if I covered it in gold and chocolates. (Which would actually make sense, since I don't think they'd go very well together...messy, y'know.)

I work at a music studio. I go to school. I play waaay too many video games. But I don't call myself any of those things - at least, not seriously. I'm a writer. It's how I define myself. I am the subject-verb-agreement. I enact the action. I fucking write!

Question: do I take it all too seriously? I mean, people call me and say, "what are you doing?" And I say, "working." What I mean there is that I'm writing. I am trying to turn a piece of crap rough draft into something moderately tolerable, or possibly decent & publishable. But I'm not really working. I definitely don't get paid for this. In fact, half the time when I'm "writing" I'm staring at the pages on the screen wondering, "is this shit?"

The other half I'm fucking around on the internet.

So, should I stop pretending that this something serious? It really isn't. Don't get me wrong, I love writing. But I don't honestly think my writing will ever get anywhere or do anything, for anyone...least of all me.

Still, I'm a writer! Every day since I was fourteen I have written SOMETHING. Maybe it was just a sentence, or half a line. Maybe it was ten pages or a bunch of poems. Maybe it was the outline for a novel-idea. Maybe it was the next great piece of American literature! Or maybe not.

So when I say I'm working, or writing or whatever! Don't scoff at me. Don't snort. Don't act like somehow I'm not actually BUSY. Fuck off with you! I'll talk, chat, gossip, shoot the shit, or just enjoy some silence. But if you're going to act like I'm not doing something that's important to me, well...I dunno. But I'll think of something!

I really am trying to do this. It's my honest-to-gawd dream. What I've wanted to be since I learned how to read. (Minus a short stint at thirteen when I wanted to be an astronaut.) It's the only thing I can do when I can't do anything. And maybe it's stupid, and I'm not very good at it, or likely to make a living with it, but to me, this is all of me.

Oh fuck it. Make fun of me. Go ahead. Scoff, snort, mock and interrupt. It's all a big whatever anyways.

***Bonus Material***

Best writing advice I've ever gotten: "apply ass to chair."

Thank you, Conrad Knickerbocker.

Missed me?

Sorry it's been awhile since my last post. (But I did tell you to expect a slowdown for this month.) What with the moving, and the working, and the adventures, and the reaaally emotional phone conversations, my life has been more than a little bit hectic.

Sometimes I wish things had a basic routine, or a pattern. Sure, it would get boring after awhile, but when your life doesn't give you time to get comfortable, you start to appreciate a little stability every now and then. It's that whole "the grass is greener on the other side of the fence" thing.

My new apartment is AMAZING. My roommates are pretty cool chicks, and their cat is too adorable for me to hate - most of the time. I've got a bigger space, my own bathroom, carpet-floors so my feet don't get cold when I get out of bed in the morning, AND we have cable. (Only five channels though.)

Downsides: no wireless internet yet, and I'm starting to find cat hair in places I didn't think the cat could get to, let alone shed! Also, I'm a bit awkward about walking around shirtless - as is my wont to do - since I don't want to violate that whole "decency" thing guys are supposed to practice around girls so they don't get grossed out at our secret slobiness.

What else is going on? Well, I've prepared a slew of new blog-ideas for winter break. So you can expect a plethora of posts to make up for this mid-semester lag. Call it your Chanukkah gifts, my loyal & silent readers. (Seriously, why don't you people post more comments? Sometimes I forget people actually read this thing and I end up acting like it's my journal - which can be bad.) Also, the book IS still coming along, like "the little engine that could", and you can definitely expect it by the end of this year. I hope.

Status updates aside, there's not much to write about... It's funny, I've been so focused on only two things this semester that I've almost forgotten about all the other stuff I like to do. I've been so busy trying to hold onto them that I got a version of tunnel-vision - we'll call it tunnel-clutch-vision. To the exclusion of all else, y'know? Is it possible to forget how to live sometimes? Can we lose ourselves in something, and when we come back out be someone else that we're really not?

It seems these past couple weeks I've remembered things I thought I lost, forgot a long time ago. Okay, let me be embarrassingly honest: I've laughed harder than I have for a long time, I said & did the right thing, then I said & did the wrong thing, I made new friends (finally!), and I finally cried again, for the second time in YEARS. (There was this one other time, but I was reaaally drunk so I don't think it count.)

I'm not really sure what's going to happen next. I've got a hundred different plans, back-up plans, emergency procedures, and last resorts. There are ten thousand ideas in my head but I'm here I am actually, completely making this up as I go along. It's like running flat out in the dark, exhilarating to stop seeing and just feel for once, carried by air & instinct - until you crash into a tree, crack your skull and bleed to death.

Gawd, I'm fucking morbid, huh?

Saturday, November 1, 2008

It's raining

Why does everyone like the rain? I've heard things from "the smell" to "the sound" to "the somber, downplayed beauty of it". I don't like the rain. Most people I know have lived their whole lives in one big sunny day. They've never had reason to appreciate how beautiful it is to see a big blue sky, white clouds, yellow light bright, and all that other shit.

The rain makes me sad. Whenever it rains everything gets all grey, so dark & drab. The buildings now look like they're standing sadly, and everyone dresses up in muted colors. Rampant we are not in the rain.

When it rains it's like the sky is crying. How is such an all encompassing sadness something to look forward to? "Oh, it's raining? You're so lucky!" Yeah, right. I'm SO lucky to be stuck inside, watching the world drown in a downpour that reminds me of my own inner-sadness.

And it's not that people even really like the rain itself. People like the rain because of things they associate with it: putting on nice coats, watching from the window while reading, the next day when suddenly the sky seems cleaned out, how the colors come back all vibrant, as if making up for lost time, and then you go outside to a seemingly brighter life and jump around in a puddle.

But the rain itself! Soaked to the bone, riding your bike back from another lonely school day. Stepping through newly created rivers in the street so that you fall on your ass in front of busy, apathetic commuters. Running from awning to blessed awning so that your manuscript doesn't get damp and the ink runs everywhere. Being stuck in the same place, unable to even go for a walk the one time you really need to get out. That's what I'm reminded of when it rains.

So, yeah... I don't like the rain. I'd rather ten thousand sunny days all the same than one single dampened, overwhelming sadness. Is that too naive? Too simplistic? I guess right now I'm just so very much in the mood to protect myself from whatever might remind of anything and everything. But that won't work. So I guess I am naive.

Dry eyes, wet sky, snuggled up in my parka all I really want is hundreds of hundreds of miles away and there's nothing I can do and she doesn't know what or whatever. What was a fucked-up pathetic idiot loser like myself thinking there was ever a chance it could work out? Girls like that don't love guys like me. Guys like me are always side-lined, always a fond memory, and meanwhile, the women we love, loved, move on, crying like they think they should, but never sad enough to realize what they're doing. (Because if they really loved you, how could they ever, ever do anything else but be with you.)

But who's to blame them? They're so much better than we deserve. I wonder if in the years to come I'll look back and think I was lucky to get heartbroken by such a woman. I wonder if I'll really start to subscribe to such bullshit rationality, pretending this pain is a good thing.

Right now, I'd still do it all over again. So, I guess I just might.

That's another reason I don't like the rain. Stuck inside my room all I can do is think too much. Sometimes you need someone to save you from yourself. And that's when you know life really is as cruel as people say, because you realize you have no one to talk to. Or not even that, but no one you want to talk to, because the only person you want to talk to isn't ever going to talk to you again.

"Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. . . . It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk everything, you risk even more." - Erica Jong, How to Save Your Own Life (1977)

Gawd... give me back the sun so I can at least pretend everything isn't really so terrible.

Saturday, October 25, 2008

This is kind of egotistical...

...but I'm posting up a poem of mine. Normally, I try NOT to be so obviously lame/phony, except... I found this poem in my plastic hardcopy bin that I keep near my door so I can grab it in case of a fire/earthquake/armageddon/rampaging hordes of mutant zombies. The thing is, I wrote half of it in high school and the other half after I got dumped by this girl I had been dating for a few weeks after I first moved up here to SF.

Anyways, I really like it since it's not as "wordy" as most of my other poetry, and I just thought that's reason enough to share it. Enjoy!

Never thought that was a farewell mimed

what's the reason for regret?
do i want what i had, want what
had me tight-gripped, choking for it?
missing the past, missing the person
missed, mist, misty, teary-eyed         sentimentality
            i've gotten too cold for that

safer on the memories splashed around like paint
inside my head there's lots of confused images:
dark hair strands poking my mouth, sticky split-ends
chest breathing         heaving air packets out-n-out
too-baggy jeans covering small feet         wiggled within patched sandals
roommate, dormmate making smoke or sex
sounds crawled under the door to intrude on the last
two seconds before


Friday, October 24, 2008

Just a quick one

(That's what she said.)

I know all you blogheads and casual readers and random passers-by will be saddened to hear that I'm going to be reducing the amount of posts I make next month, due to recently developing circumstances. Let me cut the ambiguity and just tell you what's going on: I have to move out of my place by December 1st because my roommates have broken-up.

This is the downside of rooming with a couple, I guess. But so it goes, y'know? It's more of an inconvience than anything else really. It's just coming at a reaaally awkward time...whatever though.

I'm still going to be posting things up here, they'll just be cut back because I need to spend my time finding a new place, packing up my things, and getting settled in all over again. After I'm all moved-n-stuff you'll see a resurgence of my usual zaniness.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Favorite answers to classic tongue-twister riddles

Question: Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked. If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, Where's the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked?

Answer: he eated them.

Question: Sally sells sea shells by the sea shore. But if Sally sells sea shells by the sea shore then where are the sea shells Sally sells?

Answer: under her dress, because Sally's a slutty little hustler.

Question: If a Hottentot taught a Hottentot tot To talk ere the tot could totter, Ought the Hottenton tot Be taught to say aught, or naught, Or what ought to be taught her? If to hoot and to toot a Hottentot tot Be taught by her Hottentot tutor, Ought the tutor get hot If the Hottentot tot Hoot and toot at her Hottentot tutor?

Answer: not without the viagra.

Question: Three Swedish switched witches watch three Swiss Swatch watch switches. Which Swedish switched witch watched which Swiss Swatch watch switch?

Answer: witches are bitches who can't tell time.

Question: Betty Botter had some butter, "But," she said, "this butter's bitter. If I bake this bitter butter, it would make my batter bitter. But a bit of better butter--that would make my batter better." So she bought a bit of butter, better than her bitter butter, and she baked it in her batter, and the batter was not bitter. So 'twas better Betty Botter bought a bit of better butter.

Answer: I like margarine.

Question: how much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

Answer: Using the formula: (W + I) * C where W = the constant of wood, which is well known to be 61, as agreed in many scientific circles. I = the variable in this equation, and stands for the word "if" from the original problem. As there are three circumstances, with 0 equaling the chance that the woodchuck cannot chuck wood, 1 being the theory that the woodchuck can chuck wood but chooses not to, and 2 standing for the probability that the woodchuck can and will chuck wood, we clearly must choose 2 for use in this equation. C = the constant of Chuck Norris, whose presence in any problem involving the word chuck must there, is well known to equal 1.1 of any known being, therefore the final part of this calculation is 1.1. As is clear, this appears to give the answer of (61 + 2) * 1.1 = (63) * 1.1 = 69.3. However, Chuck Norris' awesome roundhouse kick declares that all decimal points cannot be used in formulas such as this, and so it must be rounded to the final solution of 69 units of wood.

Sunday, October 19, 2008


It seems like I'm a magnet for random people who want to make random proposals to me for their random interests.

Actually, I think both of these messages are just plain scamtactics. But hey, could be fun to fuck around with them a little bit. Here's a copy of the messages:


My name is Annie Cruz . I was looking at your profile, and you seem like a very open minded person!
Im extremely confident that you're doing well right now, but I'm working with a communications and technology company endorsed by DONALD TRUMP. Our company is expanding in your area and were looking to fill a few positions. I was curious If I could put you in a position earning 2k-3k a month, part time, would that be an offer you would want to take avantage of? (this is not advertising, its real)

here is a little bit more info on what we are offering. we have just expanded from the east coast into the area, we are looking for a few sharp people willing to help us out partime in a position called team trainer. you will be working 10-12 hours a week. all you have to do is make sure everyone is doing their job. well if you are interested, just leave me your name and a number in which my executive can reach you at ok."

"No Subject

hey me and my partner just moved to the sunset, can u sell us some weed?"

Apparently, I'm highly sought after for my "open mind" and "drug peddling" skills. Better watch out - this lil' Jew is moving on up...

Saturday, October 18, 2008

Some Random Somethings

"She sounds like Patsy Cline, but in a bad way."

"Sorry man, I drank your beer. I was thirsty. I hope that's okay?"

"That girl is sooo drunk." "Yeah...where'd she get those beads?" "Probably the same place she got her camel-toe."

"Y'know, my girlfriend is reaaally smart. Thank gawd I'm not an idiot otherwise we'd never talk."

"Is that cardboard you're wearing?" "No, it's body-armor."

"I'm voting for McCain because of Palin." "You know she's not who's going to be president, right?" "Yeah, I know. I just think she's hott."

"My stomach doesn't feel good." "Must be the beer you're drinking." "Why do you say that?" "Because it's called Prohibition - can't be good to drink self-hating alcohol." "Oh. I don't mind if my beverage has emotional issues."


"She can't sing." "She can't dance either." "I hope she can fuck." "I dunno... She can't move her body, can't make a pleasant sound. That'd make for awkward sex, wouldn't it?" "No. I just need her to lie there."

"Can you play something that doesn't suck?" "Nope, sorry. Everything I've got is horrible. Now shut the fuck up and listen."

"I thought you quit drinking?" "That was only till I wasn't on parole anymore."

"Your mom is a red-haired, freckled woman from Russia?" "Yep." "But then how are you Jewish? I've never heard of many red-haired Russian Jews." "In Russia, there's all kinds of white people."

"I only had six dollars and forty-one cents left for this month. I bought a fourth of whiskey and this cup of tea."

"Can I bask in your glory?" "Sure...but not so close." "Thanks, man."

Life really is fucking weird sometimes.

Friday, October 17, 2008

This is serious business

I have something very important to talk about. This is an issue that continues to mystify and baffle the world's foremost scientists, engineers, psychoanalysts...and other smart people. What is this great conundrum you ask?

It's people who take pictures with their cats.

Actually, it's even more specific than that - people who take MYSPACE PICTURES with their cat! Top researchers at many qualified intitutions have determined that this is a new mutant variation of the prototypical "Myspace pic". Instead of showing internet savvy via cell-phones and mirrors, the subject inserts their domesticated animal into the picture in order to get people to "leav me sum cmmnts, guys!"

My theory is that douchebag status goes up exponentially based on how much cat you use to cover yourself. Most examples of mycat pics (trademarked) make use of lifting the cat onto the shoulder and tilting slightly in order to give the head a quirky angle in relation to the uninterested cat. Is there a secret mathematical truth hidden amongst these mycat pic formulae? Does showing two eyes and an ear as opposed to an ear and cheek reveal how baby sea turtles always find their way back to the same beach of their birth?

This frightening phenomenon has only recently come to light when, looking through my friends list, instead of thumbnail pictures of my friends...I noticed a large amount of cats. A quick calculation revealed that the ratio of regular profile pictures to profile pictures with AT LEAST 50% cat was a startling 10 to 1. That means, out of my eighty (80) friends, a full eight of them, or so, have become afflicted with this embarrassing condition! (Second-hand symptoms include pointing & laughing at them for extended periods of time.) It is noteworthy to mention that while international statistics show that this affects both genders equally, my personal experience shows a higher amount of women - between the ages of six & post-menopausal - who exhibit classic symptoms of "mycatpicanosis syndrome".

Being the compassionate individual that I am I feel that it is my duty, nay mission! To save people from this fate by educating people and "getting the word out there" about mycatpicanosis syndrome. Look at these sad, afflicted individuals. See their pain, deep down, beneath the stupid expressions and angry cats. There is a person in need of your help.

Okay...seriously...WHY are you people taking pictures with your cats? Look at the above photographs. Look! Does the cat seem even remotely interested in this pathetic attempt at posterity? No! The cat is looking off camera at the mouse/bird/shoelace crawling across the floor, as if put there by the Almighty Cat God's of stalking & pouncing. Or they're just plotting your imminent death.

I don't want to see pictures of your cats. Sorry, but I'm just not interested. Hell, I barely care enough to want to see REGULAR pictures of you. But forcing me to have to optically navigate around the apathetic mug of your cat just to see half of the right-side of your face??? I mean, c'mon! Don't use your animals as a living, breathing alternative accessory to give your picture that "clickable zest".

If not for American libel laws I would show you the pictures of my friends who have shamed themselves and I with their pedantic attempts to get me to leave them a comment. Unfortunately, all I can do is show you these freely-distributable pictures.

Take a good look at the future...hairballs and all.

Remember kids, cats might be evil, manipulative animals that would watch you die while wondering if you could feed them first - but that doesn't mean they don't have feelings! Don't succumb to mycatpicanosis syndrome. If not for yourself, then do it for your cat...lest one day during a fury to get the next-best mycat pic and poor lil' mousecatcher isn't cooperating so that you end up like this: