Going out of town tomorrow. Taking the train to the mountains. The continental divide.
24 hours on a steel rail oughtta be enough of a spiritual massage to work out the knots of tension in my soul. Maybe.
I'll go to the top of the mountain, read some poems, and then come back to Hollywood to start working for about half of what I'm worth (as far as a reg'ler paycheck is concerned). Upward mobility not withstanding.
Mystery train. Take me away.
Hopefully I'll come back with a good story and some decent footage. We'll see.
Until then, Walk the Beauty Way.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Master Gardener, Master Geek.
Back in the day, Riz and I used to watch "Jerry Baker, America's Master Gardener" on PBS. Now, you may be wondering what a couple of high school kids were doing watching a show about gardening while taking bong rips from a home made 6 foot bong, but what you fail to realize is just how hilarious this guy actually is. One need only browse through an article like this, to get a chuckle at how serious people are taking gardening geek.
For those of you who find that article too boring to endure (it is), let me just point out a few highlights. It starts off with this: "Baker, the star of gardening videos and the Public Broadcasting System, advises people to douse their yards with special 'tonics' made from chewing tobacco, human urine, birth control pills, mouthwash, molasses, detergent and beer. 'Everything you need is in your kitchen and medicine cabinet,' declares Baker, who calls himself 'America's Master Gardener.'"
Ha ha! Really? Everybody keeps human urine in their medicine cabinet? When you watch the show though, it gets even weirder. Seriously. At one point, Riz and I called our local PBS affiliate while watching Jerry Baker and threatened to sue them, because he was stealing and broadcasting our secret recipe for LSD; as evidenced by his professional history. Even this article tells us, "Jerry Baker, 68, began his career in the late 1950s as a Detroit undercover cop, investigating heroin and marijuana rings." Wow... so that's where he's getting these recipes!
The other hilarious thing is that there are geeks who are not only upset about Jerry's ridiculous concoctions, but they're upset about the name he trademarked, "America's Master Gardener". The above referenced article says, "In addition, state and federal agricultural agents are angry that he trademarked the term "America's Master Gardener" in 1994, causing widespread confusion with the U.S. Agriculture Department's own master gardener program, which has provided rigorous scientific training to more than 100,000 lay people since 1971."
What? First of all, this has the makings of one sweet ass "Nerd-Fight"! Secondly, just how in the hell could Jerry Baker, the douche cause "widespread confusion" amongst the more legitimate "Master Gardeners" of the world? That's like saying, "Dr. Dre is causing widespread confusion amongst the country's legitimate medical professionals". Jeeze.
Ah... the joys of watching nerds. It is programs like this, along side of truly excellent and prestigious scientific programming which PBS is known for that make it irresistible. It truly is the best in television, as far as I'm concerned. You can learn something and laugh at the same time. Who'd a thunk?
Anyway, sorry I couldn't find any videos of him. I couldn't find any good ones of Huell Howser either. He's another one of my favorite PBS personalities, and he's too fucking hysterical to pass up. I gotta learn how to snag clips from TV and upload them to youtube. Word.
For those of you who find that article too boring to endure (it is), let me just point out a few highlights. It starts off with this: "Baker, the star of gardening videos and the Public Broadcasting System, advises people to douse their yards with special 'tonics' made from chewing tobacco, human urine, birth control pills, mouthwash, molasses, detergent and beer. 'Everything you need is in your kitchen and medicine cabinet,' declares Baker, who calls himself 'America's Master Gardener.'"
Ha ha! Really? Everybody keeps human urine in their medicine cabinet? When you watch the show though, it gets even weirder. Seriously. At one point, Riz and I called our local PBS affiliate while watching Jerry Baker and threatened to sue them, because he was stealing and broadcasting our secret recipe for LSD; as evidenced by his professional history. Even this article tells us, "Jerry Baker, 68, began his career in the late 1950s as a Detroit undercover cop, investigating heroin and marijuana rings." Wow... so that's where he's getting these recipes!
The other hilarious thing is that there are geeks who are not only upset about Jerry's ridiculous concoctions, but they're upset about the name he trademarked, "America's Master Gardener". The above referenced article says, "In addition, state and federal agricultural agents are angry that he trademarked the term "America's Master Gardener" in 1994, causing widespread confusion with the U.S. Agriculture Department's own master gardener program, which has provided rigorous scientific training to more than 100,000 lay people since 1971."
What? First of all, this has the makings of one sweet ass "Nerd-Fight"! Secondly, just how in the hell could Jerry Baker, the douche cause "widespread confusion" amongst the more legitimate "Master Gardeners" of the world? That's like saying, "Dr. Dre is causing widespread confusion amongst the country's legitimate medical professionals". Jeeze.
Ah... the joys of watching nerds. It is programs like this, along side of truly excellent and prestigious scientific programming which PBS is known for that make it irresistible. It truly is the best in television, as far as I'm concerned. You can learn something and laugh at the same time. Who'd a thunk?
Anyway, sorry I couldn't find any videos of him. I couldn't find any good ones of Huell Howser either. He's another one of my favorite PBS personalities, and he's too fucking hysterical to pass up. I gotta learn how to snag clips from TV and upload them to youtube. Word.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Good Ship Hollywood
Sometimes, when you're with someone for a long time, the relationship starts to feel boring. That first couple of months is fun. You get to know the person more and more. They are still all shiny and new. But after a while, both parties become complacent. If nothing interesting happens in a day, you'll not have much to talk about beyond what to eat for dinner or what's on tv. It becomes the responsibility of both people in the relationship to do something interesting together. Ya know, these things aren't going to happen on their own, you have to seek them out.
That being said, Lexi and I take on lots of creative projects together. We've built furniture, painted things, we do writing exercises, occasionally work out together etc. One of the things we did a little more than a year ago was to go out waliking with the ol' video camera and stick it in the faces of the people we met. When we started this project, there was no clear objective. We were just collecting footage. There wasn't even a general idea of what we wanted to do besides point and shoot and have a good time. Anyway, when we got done I edited some of the crap together and tried to give the project some direction.
I know this isn't great. The sound is off, the pictures aren't the best, and every time I open my mouth, I sound like a jackass. Besides that though, there are some funny bum comments, one famous rapper who decides I needed to hear his dissertation on poverty in America (while he wears $28,000 worth of bling around his neck), and Lexi talks about balls.
So here it is... a video only a select few have seen, and I'm a little embarrassed to put up, but I think (my fragile ego aside) it's entertaining enough to post. Enjoy.
The basic idea is this: Everyone in Hollywood is waiting for their ship to come in. Even the bums have dreams of the silver screen, but this ain't no playground. No sir.
That being said, Lexi and I take on lots of creative projects together. We've built furniture, painted things, we do writing exercises, occasionally work out together etc. One of the things we did a little more than a year ago was to go out waliking with the ol' video camera and stick it in the faces of the people we met. When we started this project, there was no clear objective. We were just collecting footage. There wasn't even a general idea of what we wanted to do besides point and shoot and have a good time. Anyway, when we got done I edited some of the crap together and tried to give the project some direction.
I know this isn't great. The sound is off, the pictures aren't the best, and every time I open my mouth, I sound like a jackass. Besides that though, there are some funny bum comments, one famous rapper who decides I needed to hear his dissertation on poverty in America (while he wears $28,000 worth of bling around his neck), and Lexi talks about balls.
So here it is... a video only a select few have seen, and I'm a little embarrassed to put up, but I think (my fragile ego aside) it's entertaining enough to post. Enjoy.
The basic idea is this: Everyone in Hollywood is waiting for their ship to come in. Even the bums have dreams of the silver screen, but this ain't no playground. No sir.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Party like a President. Buy a mattress.
Happy President's Day, everyone! Woo-hoo! The holiday to beat all holidays!
Yeah, we, like most Americans will be celebrating big today. We've got a party planned, and everyone going will be dressed like a president or a First Lady. I'm gonna be Grant so I can drink a fifth of whiskey by noon and people will just think I'm getting into character, though usually I'm Ford because of my namesake. The coke dealer will be George W. Bush, of course, while the reefer man/pimp will be Clinton.
Although the Superbowl is said to have the most commercials, we that celebrate President's Day as it should be celebrated know that the best commercials are this week. I mean, what other time of year can you see ads for these prices on mattresses, cars, home appliances or satellite TV? Wow... I'm getting worked up just thinking about it! We will be playing "Blow-out Bingo". The bingo cards have different products on them, and whenever a commercial selling one of the products refers to their sale as a "Blow Out", you get that square. The prize is the money you'll save if you go to the store and buy one of the products at the blow out sale. And you can have an extra can of red, white or blue silly string from left over gift baskets at the end of the night.
Anyway, too bad it's raining. Here in sunny Los Angeles, we usually hold a "First Lady Wet T-shirt Contest"... weather permitting. Oh well. I think Nixon has rented the mud wrestling pit, so Jackie O and Hillary can get it on any way. Judging the event will be Honest Abe, Reagan and Jefferson. Jefferson is of course partial to black chicks, but since everyone has to dress up like a different President or First Lady, none of my black friends ever show up, so I don't wanna hear anything about his unfair judging. Goddamn honkeys.
Come to think of it, This year, we're letting the "'08 hopefuls" in. That way Gun can be Giuliani and Riz can be Kucinich. If any of my black friends do want to come, you can all be Obama. Oh.. there's just one catch, opposing hopefuls have to mud wrestle in their speedos when the First Ladies are finished. That being said, yes, J-Bo, you can be McCain. And yes, that means you get to mud wrestle everyone. No post-match spooning though.
The last thing to mention about the President's Day party is that we are reserving a spot for two foreign presidents this year. Those are Putin and Ahmadinijad. Yeah!
So come on over this evening. Monday night is the best night to party like a President! There will be lemonade and Chex mix. BYOB.
Yeah, we, like most Americans will be celebrating big today. We've got a party planned, and everyone going will be dressed like a president or a First Lady. I'm gonna be Grant so I can drink a fifth of whiskey by noon and people will just think I'm getting into character, though usually I'm Ford because of my namesake. The coke dealer will be George W. Bush, of course, while the reefer man/pimp will be Clinton.
Although the Superbowl is said to have the most commercials, we that celebrate President's Day as it should be celebrated know that the best commercials are this week. I mean, what other time of year can you see ads for these prices on mattresses, cars, home appliances or satellite TV? Wow... I'm getting worked up just thinking about it! We will be playing "Blow-out Bingo". The bingo cards have different products on them, and whenever a commercial selling one of the products refers to their sale as a "Blow Out", you get that square. The prize is the money you'll save if you go to the store and buy one of the products at the blow out sale. And you can have an extra can of red, white or blue silly string from left over gift baskets at the end of the night.
Anyway, too bad it's raining. Here in sunny Los Angeles, we usually hold a "First Lady Wet T-shirt Contest"... weather permitting. Oh well. I think Nixon has rented the mud wrestling pit, so Jackie O and Hillary can get it on any way. Judging the event will be Honest Abe, Reagan and Jefferson. Jefferson is of course partial to black chicks, but since everyone has to dress up like a different President or First Lady, none of my black friends ever show up, so I don't wanna hear anything about his unfair judging. Goddamn honkeys.
Come to think of it, This year, we're letting the "'08 hopefuls" in. That way Gun can be Giuliani and Riz can be Kucinich. If any of my black friends do want to come, you can all be Obama. Oh.. there's just one catch, opposing hopefuls have to mud wrestle in their speedos when the First Ladies are finished. That being said, yes, J-Bo, you can be McCain. And yes, that means you get to mud wrestle everyone. No post-match spooning though.
The last thing to mention about the President's Day party is that we are reserving a spot for two foreign presidents this year. Those are Putin and Ahmadinijad. Yeah!
So come on over this evening. Monday night is the best night to party like a President! There will be lemonade and Chex mix. BYOB.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Really dude... Video games in the break room!
What's been going on in my personal life? I'm glad you asked - wait... no I'm not. Stay out of my business, asswipe. No... that's wrong. I'm in my own business, right? Hello? Just where in the hell am I anyway? (do-de-doo-doo, do-de-doo-doo).
Today I had another job interview. It was the first interview I've ever been to in which I was at least 5 years older than the guy interviewing me. He was a cool kid though, and probably made twice the money I make now.
The interview was held in a break room which consisted of three odd, circular chairs that looked like mini trampolines, two bright orange inflatable chairs, a Foosball table, at least three different video game systems (including a Wii) and 4 or 5 remote control cars. The decorations on the wall were a giant rhinoceros head with 2 hoola-hoops around it's neck and a silly hat on it's front horn, a "Back to the Future" poster, and a "Dirty Dancing" poster (both unframed). Needless to say, I think this is the place for me. I didn't get to look around the office much after that, but my guess is that the cubicles resemble the loft apartment of Tom Hanks' character in that movie "Big". "...I read it, I said it, I stole my mama's credit!"
Anyway, I do believe I'll be in the runnings for this entry level position, which is essentially errand boy, but hell, who cares? Dude... there's a fake rhino head on the wall wearing hoola-hoop necklaces. What more can a guy ask for in a corporate office?
Today I had another job interview. It was the first interview I've ever been to in which I was at least 5 years older than the guy interviewing me. He was a cool kid though, and probably made twice the money I make now.
The interview was held in a break room which consisted of three odd, circular chairs that looked like mini trampolines, two bright orange inflatable chairs, a Foosball table, at least three different video game systems (including a Wii) and 4 or 5 remote control cars. The decorations on the wall were a giant rhinoceros head with 2 hoola-hoops around it's neck and a silly hat on it's front horn, a "Back to the Future" poster, and a "Dirty Dancing" poster (both unframed). Needless to say, I think this is the place for me. I didn't get to look around the office much after that, but my guess is that the cubicles resemble the loft apartment of Tom Hanks' character in that movie "Big". "...I read it, I said it, I stole my mama's credit!"
Anyway, I do believe I'll be in the runnings for this entry level position, which is essentially errand boy, but hell, who cares? Dude... there's a fake rhino head on the wall wearing hoola-hoop necklaces. What more can a guy ask for in a corporate office?
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Valentine Schmalentine?
Should I say something about Valentine's Day? OK, but I warn you... it may not be all kisses and roses.
The History of this Holiday has something in common with Halloween and Christmas in that it was a pagan Holiday that the Christian Church decided was too decadent, but couldn't be prevented, so they did what they'd always done before; paint it with a sloppy coat of Christianity and pretend they invented it.
The month of February was always a sexy month. Roman Pagans had a ritual during this time in which they'd place the names of all the eligible young ladies into a giant bowl. Their eligible young male counterparts would then draw a name from the dish, and that young lady would be assigned as his "plaything" of sorts for the rest of the year. Freaky naughty.
As the Christian church came into power, they obviously wanted to put the kibosh on this celebration (I know, using a Yiddish word to describe Christian actions... what's next?!) as it was much too sexy to be allowed. So they came up with a story that is probably only partially true, and substituted that as the reason for a celebration. One that was much more wholesome.
As the Church's story goes, Emperor Claudius II, a Roman douche bag of the third century decided that unmarried men made for better soldiers. He then literally outlawed marriage in his Kingdom. Valentine, a Catholic Priest, defied Claudius and performed marriages for young lovers in secret. Then some other douche bag told on him. He was locked up and sentenced to death. During his time in prison, he was tended to by the jailer's blind daughter, who Valentine is said to have fallen in love with. On the morning of his death, he wrote her a letter (I know, how can a blind person read a letter, right?), and signed it, "Your Valentine".
It wasn't until 300 years after Valentine's death that he was sainted and martyred. They sainted him so that the Holiday would seem like a good ol' Jesus lovin', God fearin', sex free ho-down of mushy emotions. This went on for quite a while.
Then along came a capitalist swine who turned the holiday into the same old free-for-all of blind consumerism that it is today with the inception of sending cards and candy. Yay for capitalism! See? It's true we'll buy anything for a couple of bucks, even shitty poetry and pictures of strangers on greeting cards.
That's not to say that I hate the idea of Valentine's Day. It is, at it's source, quite romantic. I just get my panties in a bunch over it because a) it's cheap and b) I don't need society reminding me that I should love my girlfriend, and certainly not by giving her food that will make her fat, corny ass cards, or flowers that will die in a week and then be thrown out. I'm all for celebrating love, but I don't need to be reminded every five seconds, everywhere I look. I also don't like advertisers trying to make me feel guilty, or insinuating that girls only love you if you give them diamonds or other lavish gifts that represent a made up story of wholesome love. Besides that, we should be doing special things for the people we love all the time. Who needs a holiday reminding them to do it only once a year?
Say what you may about my being a cynic, but I'll tell you this much, if we celebrated differently, Valentines Day would be among my favorite Holidays. If it was more about love and sex than about diamonds and chocolate, I'd be all over it. If we could celebrate love and affection, guilt free in all it's confusing forms, I'd be in hog heaven. Instead it's just another day in which people feel bad about being broke, single, or married and not getting laid.
Love is the greatest and most powerful of all emotions, but that doesn't mean it makes sense. It can't be confined to one day in February, and there is absolutely nothing Hallmark can do to help anyone understand it. It should be celebrated in it's purest form. So I say to you, if you want to do something special for your lover today, look deep within yourself, allow yourself to be creative and free, and then let your lover know how you love them and why. By yourself. It's not that hard. Just do it. Other than that, I hope you all get lucky today. And by that I mean, I hope you all have sweet, rowdy, uninhibited sex with the person you love and lust after.
High Five!
The History of this Holiday has something in common with Halloween and Christmas in that it was a pagan Holiday that the Christian Church decided was too decadent, but couldn't be prevented, so they did what they'd always done before; paint it with a sloppy coat of Christianity and pretend they invented it.
The month of February was always a sexy month. Roman Pagans had a ritual during this time in which they'd place the names of all the eligible young ladies into a giant bowl. Their eligible young male counterparts would then draw a name from the dish, and that young lady would be assigned as his "plaything" of sorts for the rest of the year. Freaky naughty.
As the Christian church came into power, they obviously wanted to put the kibosh on this celebration (I know, using a Yiddish word to describe Christian actions... what's next?!) as it was much too sexy to be allowed. So they came up with a story that is probably only partially true, and substituted that as the reason for a celebration. One that was much more wholesome.
As the Church's story goes, Emperor Claudius II, a Roman douche bag of the third century decided that unmarried men made for better soldiers. He then literally outlawed marriage in his Kingdom. Valentine, a Catholic Priest, defied Claudius and performed marriages for young lovers in secret. Then some other douche bag told on him. He was locked up and sentenced to death. During his time in prison, he was tended to by the jailer's blind daughter, who Valentine is said to have fallen in love with. On the morning of his death, he wrote her a letter (I know, how can a blind person read a letter, right?), and signed it, "Your Valentine".
It wasn't until 300 years after Valentine's death that he was sainted and martyred. They sainted him so that the Holiday would seem like a good ol' Jesus lovin', God fearin', sex free ho-down of mushy emotions. This went on for quite a while.
Then along came a capitalist swine who turned the holiday into the same old free-for-all of blind consumerism that it is today with the inception of sending cards and candy. Yay for capitalism! See? It's true we'll buy anything for a couple of bucks, even shitty poetry and pictures of strangers on greeting cards.
That's not to say that I hate the idea of Valentine's Day. It is, at it's source, quite romantic. I just get my panties in a bunch over it because a) it's cheap and b) I don't need society reminding me that I should love my girlfriend, and certainly not by giving her food that will make her fat, corny ass cards, or flowers that will die in a week and then be thrown out. I'm all for celebrating love, but I don't need to be reminded every five seconds, everywhere I look. I also don't like advertisers trying to make me feel guilty, or insinuating that girls only love you if you give them diamonds or other lavish gifts that represent a made up story of wholesome love. Besides that, we should be doing special things for the people we love all the time. Who needs a holiday reminding them to do it only once a year?
Say what you may about my being a cynic, but I'll tell you this much, if we celebrated differently, Valentines Day would be among my favorite Holidays. If it was more about love and sex than about diamonds and chocolate, I'd be all over it. If we could celebrate love and affection, guilt free in all it's confusing forms, I'd be in hog heaven. Instead it's just another day in which people feel bad about being broke, single, or married and not getting laid.
Love is the greatest and most powerful of all emotions, but that doesn't mean it makes sense. It can't be confined to one day in February, and there is absolutely nothing Hallmark can do to help anyone understand it. It should be celebrated in it's purest form. So I say to you, if you want to do something special for your lover today, look deep within yourself, allow yourself to be creative and free, and then let your lover know how you love them and why. By yourself. It's not that hard. Just do it. Other than that, I hope you all get lucky today. And by that I mean, I hope you all have sweet, rowdy, uninhibited sex with the person you love and lust after.
High Five!
There are a lot of people who wake up each morning with a mind to make every single person they come in contact with as miserable as they are. These are the worst kind of people that exist on Earth. They seek out and exploit easy targets, and dedicate entire weeks, sometimes months to reigning misery on the life of another. These are the type of worthless scum who try to get the coffee guy fired when he makes a mistake on their drink. They constantly threaten to (and sometimes do) sue their coworkers, neighbors and bosses. They create drama and try to suck everyone into it like an idiotic tornado of self loathing and anguish. You know the type. There are probably one or two of them within eye shot of you at this very moment. Take them DOWN!
There are times when I still have to take deep breaths and remind myself that sinking a bare knuckled lead right hand into their soft, over privileged and empty noodle heads is not the answer. While there are few things in the realm of the limitless human imagination that would feel better, breaking both of my fists on their faces will only be self indulgent and self destructive. In fact, they want the abuse. They invite it, both physically and emotionally, but if one were to go down the seemingly blissful road of pummeling them into ground beef, one would drop a level below said assholes. What's worse is that they'd also use that abuse against you later, and the last thing people like that need is legitimate ammunition.
So although it sounds nice, violence is not the answer. What then? Must we constantly point out these people's misery when they are forcing it upon innocent bystanders? Point out the glaring insecurities that are often the motive for such jackassery? When they begin to ruin the day of a grocery bagger, gas station attendant, coffee pourer, waiter, or calm pedestrian, must we butt in and loudly call out their folly; and ridicule them for their words and actions? Should we stand tall and get others to join in, making an example of them, by using the same words or phrases they used on their innocent victim? Then laugh? Laugh and laugh and don't stop laughing at them? Will this help all the people enjoy the moral victory of preventing some socially undeveloped, aggressive waste of oxygen from taking another undeserving person down with them?
Nope... that's not the answer either. The only answer is to not be that way yourself. The only answer is to monitor - if not your internal thought - at least your behaviour. You cannot force another person into NOT being an asshole or useless pile of donkey shit, but you can prevent yourself from being that. Then when someone who (consciously or unconsciously) devotes all their days and ways to spreading hate and unhappiness to everyone around them, you can duck those blows like Ali done Sonny Liston when he was still Cassius Clay. Let them swing as hard as they want, but keeping your own thoughts and subsequent actions in check, they find nothing to hit. It a sort of mental bobbing and weaving we must learn, and just like real boxers, it'll take heart, determination and lots of time in the gym to get to that level, but it'll be worth it.
In the mean time I guess it's OK to spit in their food when they aren't looking, or release and angry hornet in their car, or write obscenities on their yard and/or front door with something either permanently damaging or otherwise disgusting. I don't know. Get creative.
There are times when I still have to take deep breaths and remind myself that sinking a bare knuckled lead right hand into their soft, over privileged and empty noodle heads is not the answer. While there are few things in the realm of the limitless human imagination that would feel better, breaking both of my fists on their faces will only be self indulgent and self destructive. In fact, they want the abuse. They invite it, both physically and emotionally, but if one were to go down the seemingly blissful road of pummeling them into ground beef, one would drop a level below said assholes. What's worse is that they'd also use that abuse against you later, and the last thing people like that need is legitimate ammunition.
So although it sounds nice, violence is not the answer. What then? Must we constantly point out these people's misery when they are forcing it upon innocent bystanders? Point out the glaring insecurities that are often the motive for such jackassery? When they begin to ruin the day of a grocery bagger, gas station attendant, coffee pourer, waiter, or calm pedestrian, must we butt in and loudly call out their folly; and ridicule them for their words and actions? Should we stand tall and get others to join in, making an example of them, by using the same words or phrases they used on their innocent victim? Then laugh? Laugh and laugh and don't stop laughing at them? Will this help all the people enjoy the moral victory of preventing some socially undeveloped, aggressive waste of oxygen from taking another undeserving person down with them?
Nope... that's not the answer either. The only answer is to not be that way yourself. The only answer is to monitor - if not your internal thought - at least your behaviour. You cannot force another person into NOT being an asshole or useless pile of donkey shit, but you can prevent yourself from being that. Then when someone who (consciously or unconsciously) devotes all their days and ways to spreading hate and unhappiness to everyone around them, you can duck those blows like Ali done Sonny Liston when he was still Cassius Clay. Let them swing as hard as they want, but keeping your own thoughts and subsequent actions in check, they find nothing to hit. It a sort of mental bobbing and weaving we must learn, and just like real boxers, it'll take heart, determination and lots of time in the gym to get to that level, but it'll be worth it.
In the mean time I guess it's OK to spit in their food when they aren't looking, or release and angry hornet in their car, or write obscenities on their yard and/or front door with something either permanently damaging or otherwise disgusting. I don't know. Get creative.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
"It's been a long time, I shouldn't have left you without a dope rhyme to step to..."
It's just that I've been looking for a new job while still trying to do both of the jobs I currently have. Time management is not one of my strong points, I'm afraid, but job interviews are. I'd be rich if I were a professional interviewee. Is that a word? It is now.
So far I've been offered the position of errand boy for a advertising exec, a personal/admin assistant for a production company and it's owner, a jack of all trades for a design firm and a door-to-door solicitor, selling framed art at wholesale from the back of my car. Hmmm... I couldn't stop thinking about "Death of a Salesman" that day.
The problem is that none of these jobs offer the compensation necessary for acquiring worldly riches. Not that worldly riches are my main objective, but I'd like to step up the ol' salary, if ya know what I mean. Of course, if I do well at any of the above mentioned opportunities, the door to financial success may open just enough for me to wedge my foot into it. Who knows?
Ch-ch-changes. I'm not sure I like the process... or rather, the anticipation of the event. That's the worst part of everything. Waiting for it to happen. Once the rising waves of change crest and crash, one usually finds themselves all wet and thinking, "Is this it? This is what I was so afraid of?"
Oh well. Guess I'm off to the races. I'm not a gamblin' man though. I don't haven't even looked at the odds. Fuck it. I can take a punch.
It's just that I've been looking for a new job while still trying to do both of the jobs I currently have. Time management is not one of my strong points, I'm afraid, but job interviews are. I'd be rich if I were a professional interviewee. Is that a word? It is now.
So far I've been offered the position of errand boy for a advertising exec, a personal/admin assistant for a production company and it's owner, a jack of all trades for a design firm and a door-to-door solicitor, selling framed art at wholesale from the back of my car. Hmmm... I couldn't stop thinking about "Death of a Salesman" that day.
The problem is that none of these jobs offer the compensation necessary for acquiring worldly riches. Not that worldly riches are my main objective, but I'd like to step up the ol' salary, if ya know what I mean. Of course, if I do well at any of the above mentioned opportunities, the door to financial success may open just enough for me to wedge my foot into it. Who knows?
Ch-ch-changes. I'm not sure I like the process... or rather, the anticipation of the event. That's the worst part of everything. Waiting for it to happen. Once the rising waves of change crest and crash, one usually finds themselves all wet and thinking, "Is this it? This is what I was so afraid of?"
Oh well. Guess I'm off to the races. I'm not a gamblin' man though. I don't haven't even looked at the odds. Fuck it. I can take a punch.
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
Thumb Sucker
I recently realized that I'm still a thumb sucker. I know, what the fuck, right? It's not that I still actually suck my thumb, but I often have a subconscious impulse that positions my hand in a relaxed fist, the curled fingers resting beneath my nose. My thumb extended and resting either beneath the embedded golf ball on the bottom of my face that I like to call my chin, or sometimes on the jaw line. I do this with both hands, but more often with the left. It's not an awkward position, necessarily. I just look like a guy resting his face on his hand, but I'm sure it comes from a subconscious compulsion to suck my thumb. It looks like this:
Why am I telling you this? Because I'm a douche. A douche who has realized that a large part of our behavioural traits are in tact from the moment we are born. Mannerisms are hard wired into our human brain, and will probably never go away - so don't feel bad about them. Sure, people change. They learn. They grow. But really, you've been the same person from day one, and so has everyone else.
My suggestion is to run with it. I mean, there's little to nothing you can do to change it. Your efforts will be in vain. Not only that, but trying to change your subtle mannerisms might actually make you more of an asshole. For some reason, my mind comforts and calms itself through thumb sucking (or thumb sucking like gestures). If I take that away, there'll be one less way for me to comfort myself, and I'll be a dick about it. If you tried to change your subconscious methods of relaxation or peace of mind, you'd be a dick too, so don't. You're probably already enough of an ass face for our liking anyway. No need to amplify it. Besides, someone, somewhere likes you for it. You're a better person when you're just being yourself, so get comfortable in your own skin. You owe it to the world. Douche.
Why am I telling you this? Because I'm a douche. A douche who has realized that a large part of our behavioural traits are in tact from the moment we are born. Mannerisms are hard wired into our human brain, and will probably never go away - so don't feel bad about them. Sure, people change. They learn. They grow. But really, you've been the same person from day one, and so has everyone else.
My suggestion is to run with it. I mean, there's little to nothing you can do to change it. Your efforts will be in vain. Not only that, but trying to change your subtle mannerisms might actually make you more of an asshole. For some reason, my mind comforts and calms itself through thumb sucking (or thumb sucking like gestures). If I take that away, there'll be one less way for me to comfort myself, and I'll be a dick about it. If you tried to change your subconscious methods of relaxation or peace of mind, you'd be a dick too, so don't. You're probably already enough of an ass face for our liking anyway. No need to amplify it. Besides, someone, somewhere likes you for it. You're a better person when you're just being yourself, so get comfortable in your own skin. You owe it to the world. Douche.
Wheatgrass and 151
The other day I told my friend J-Bo that a shot of wheat grass was a good hangover cure. Then we got to talkin' about wheat grass and it's health properties. He was saying that at first, he didn't like it, then he was like, "Hell man, I'll do shots of 151 all night long and that shit tastes vile. But I do it because it makes me feel good. I just apply the same principle to wheat grass, and it's not bad at all, in fact, it's kinda good."
More people should apply the 151/wheat grass principle to their daily lives. You all know sex feels good, but so does love. We know naps feel good, but a little elbow grease makes for a clean house, and clean houses also feel good. TV can be cool, but books also rule.
I suppose it's about balance and moderation. It's fine to indulge yourself from time to time, but one should also make the effort to clean up afterwards. It makes life easier, and it's really no different. Just gotta change your point of view.
Now, who wants to come over and vacuum my house? Yeah! It'll be fun, and you'll feel good about being so nice and unselfish. Oh, and don't worry, if someones already vacuuming for me when you come over, you can do my dishes. Or laundry. Oh, and feel free to dust the ceiling fan in the computer room too. In fact, go ahead and fix that fan. Some shit hit it, and now it doesn't work.
More people should apply the 151/wheat grass principle to their daily lives. You all know sex feels good, but so does love. We know naps feel good, but a little elbow grease makes for a clean house, and clean houses also feel good. TV can be cool, but books also rule.
I suppose it's about balance and moderation. It's fine to indulge yourself from time to time, but one should also make the effort to clean up afterwards. It makes life easier, and it's really no different. Just gotta change your point of view.
Now, who wants to come over and vacuum my house? Yeah! It'll be fun, and you'll feel good about being so nice and unselfish. Oh, and don't worry, if someones already vacuuming for me when you come over, you can do my dishes. Or laundry. Oh, and feel free to dust the ceiling fan in the computer room too. In fact, go ahead and fix that fan. Some shit hit it, and now it doesn't work.
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
I want to post an email I sent to one of my best friends, and then her response. She is an awesome person, and her writing is both smart and funny. Besides, there's a little boob-talk in it, and as we know, boobs do rule, even if their place in pop culture is a little exaggerated (as you'll see from the emails).
Here's part of what I wrote to her, in reference to this poem:
It's rather cynical, but I think someone oughtta say it. It is the fact that so many young women (especially here in LA) base their entire existence on being "hot". Their whole sense of self worth and personal identity revolves around their youthful sexuality, and when that begins to fade (usually in their 30's), their whole world subsequently falls to pieces. It's tragic. Now, don't get me wrong, I appreciate a nice rack as much as the next imbecile, and am therefore probably the last person in the world who should be saying anything about it, but I think the young women of today need to understand that there is more to life than a running tally of how much attention one can generate through cleavage and coin slots. I also know that (at least in this country) a sexy woman can build an entire empire for herself on the merits of her face and tits alone, so this frame of mind is not the fault of the individual woman. I just feel bad for the ones who obviously thought their physical beauty would never fade. I don't know that I've ever seen anything sadder than the look of despair on a woman's face when she discovers grey hairs, wrinkles and the newly acquired necessity of a bra to keep her boobs out of her food while she eats.
Oops. I've probably said too much. I thought you might understand my sympathetic feelings though, as you're one of the few women I know who have found a balance between being young and sexy as well as a well rounded and spiritually refined individual. Too many women fall victim to the American ideal, which doesn't extend far from plump lips and stiff nipples. It's too bad... especially since Sean Connery can get laid while his adult diapers are still full.
And here's her delightful, insightful response:
Speakin' of American...women...ah women. It's true that any identity crushing crisis is tragic, especially since it's so hard to find that identity in the first place. I guess I'm coming from a biased position as I've never been able to go bra-less ( I hate it when my boobs touch that little mini-roll that forms right below them when I sit down). Nor have I ever been able to construct an empire with only the use of my lips and tits (no-hands---HEY I SAID NO HANDS!!!) Nor have i ever seen the queen in her damned undies, as the say.
No but seriously, I do empathize with anyone who suddenly finds themselves no longer able to depend on those parts of them which make them who they are--whether it's their beauty, their job, their family, or their health... whatever. The tragedy where beauty is concerned, I think lies in the the cultural construct, as you pointed out, that being beautiful is absolutely the most important measurement of worth for women in this country. The more tragic thing is that convincing women and then re-enforcing it by convincing the rest of the american society of this fact translates into something like a 38 billion dollar profit each year for corporations associated with it. Speaking of American...capitalism..ah capitalism.
Now beauty itself as a measurement of worth is no new thing. Beautiful women have been honored for centuries---I mean wasn't it Helen and her eyes that started all the ruckus with those Greek dudes. And it makes sense that no matter how your culture defines beauty, the closer you are to meeting that standard, male or female, the better chances you have of pro-creating, thus proliferating the species..blah blah bla.
The problem I think lies in the sort of Pop-culturalization (and peoples addiction to it) of beauty in America (and yes other places too) which stream-lines the multifarious concept of beauty into a one-size-fits all abstraction which is then unleashed upon the public in a sort of invisible demon snake monster that creeps into the bedrooms of little children every where and gobbles them up before they can barely walk. Did we mention capitalism. You're right though, you can't blame the individual woman or women as a whole for that matter for being a product of their environment.
So I say, the next time you see Babylon crumbling to the ground in the newly wrinkled face of a bombshell-has-been tell her that fat chicks in cultures in africa get the super-schwing from gawking males passing by in the markets; the ankles are the sexiest part of a women to Hopi males...sagging boobs for god's sake are sexy somewhere I promise. If she can't let go of sexy, she can move there.
The point is just this, the definition of beauty as they believe it to be is illusory. It is as impermanent as their taut young skin and stiff nipples ( they don't always stay that way do they? or do they? are they implants...mine don't do that). I just think that the sooner one can convince oneself to accept things as they are the sooner they will be able to see and accept the rest of the life that exists around them. As you said there is more to life...there is more to life...
.... plus I don't need any corporate suit fucks telling me how to feel about myself anyway. I won't lie I go through all this shit just the same as the next lady...how can I not for fuck's sake. I'd have to gouge out my eyes, pour cement in my ear drums and lock myself in a quadruple paneled steel box placed at the core of the earth to escape all the dogma about "How to be Beautiful" in this damn place. I mean when self-esteem is found on the same isle as diet pills and electric ab-shockers (spill on isle 9 we've got some liposuctioned fat on the floor, careful shoppers fat is really slippery) one has got to come up with some alternative methods. Will you be defined or will you do the defining. It's a mind set. You can go on bitchin' and moanin' about what was or you can get on with what is.
Now keep in mind, I'm not in my thrities yet, so all this rant will probably seem like utter horse shit to me in the next 7 or 8 years. However, I try to prepare myself for what will come as best I can...and then I can only hope for the best.
Rawk rawk rawk!
PS: She also taught me about "zogging" and orange, but that's a conversation for a different day.
Here's part of what I wrote to her, in reference to this poem:
It's rather cynical, but I think someone oughtta say it. It is the fact that so many young women (especially here in LA) base their entire existence on being "hot". Their whole sense of self worth and personal identity revolves around their youthful sexuality, and when that begins to fade (usually in their 30's), their whole world subsequently falls to pieces. It's tragic. Now, don't get me wrong, I appreciate a nice rack as much as the next imbecile, and am therefore probably the last person in the world who should be saying anything about it, but I think the young women of today need to understand that there is more to life than a running tally of how much attention one can generate through cleavage and coin slots. I also know that (at least in this country) a sexy woman can build an entire empire for herself on the merits of her face and tits alone, so this frame of mind is not the fault of the individual woman. I just feel bad for the ones who obviously thought their physical beauty would never fade. I don't know that I've ever seen anything sadder than the look of despair on a woman's face when she discovers grey hairs, wrinkles and the newly acquired necessity of a bra to keep her boobs out of her food while she eats.
Oops. I've probably said too much. I thought you might understand my sympathetic feelings though, as you're one of the few women I know who have found a balance between being young and sexy as well as a well rounded and spiritually refined individual. Too many women fall victim to the American ideal, which doesn't extend far from plump lips and stiff nipples. It's too bad... especially since Sean Connery can get laid while his adult diapers are still full.
And here's her delightful, insightful response:
Speakin' of American...women...ah women. It's true that any identity crushing crisis is tragic, especially since it's so hard to find that identity in the first place. I guess I'm coming from a biased position as I've never been able to go bra-less ( I hate it when my boobs touch that little mini-roll that forms right below them when I sit down). Nor have I ever been able to construct an empire with only the use of my lips and tits (no-hands---HEY I SAID NO HANDS!!!) Nor have i ever seen the queen in her damned undies, as the say.
No but seriously, I do empathize with anyone who suddenly finds themselves no longer able to depend on those parts of them which make them who they are--whether it's their beauty, their job, their family, or their health... whatever. The tragedy where beauty is concerned, I think lies in the the cultural construct, as you pointed out, that being beautiful is absolutely the most important measurement of worth for women in this country. The more tragic thing is that convincing women and then re-enforcing it by convincing the rest of the american society of this fact translates into something like a 38 billion dollar profit each year for corporations associated with it. Speaking of American...capitalism..ah capitalism.
Now beauty itself as a measurement of worth is no new thing. Beautiful women have been honored for centuries---I mean wasn't it Helen and her eyes that started all the ruckus with those Greek dudes. And it makes sense that no matter how your culture defines beauty, the closer you are to meeting that standard, male or female, the better chances you have of pro-creating, thus proliferating the species..blah blah bla.
The problem I think lies in the sort of Pop-culturalization (and peoples addiction to it) of beauty in America (and yes other places too) which stream-lines the multifarious concept of beauty into a one-size-fits all abstraction which is then unleashed upon the public in a sort of invisible demon snake monster that creeps into the bedrooms of little children every where and gobbles them up before they can barely walk. Did we mention capitalism. You're right though, you can't blame the individual woman or women as a whole for that matter for being a product of their environment.
So I say, the next time you see Babylon crumbling to the ground in the newly wrinkled face of a bombshell-has-been tell her that fat chicks in cultures in africa get the super-schwing from gawking males passing by in the markets; the ankles are the sexiest part of a women to Hopi males...sagging boobs for god's sake are sexy somewhere I promise. If she can't let go of sexy, she can move there.
The point is just this, the definition of beauty as they believe it to be is illusory. It is as impermanent as their taut young skin and stiff nipples ( they don't always stay that way do they? or do they? are they implants...mine don't do that). I just think that the sooner one can convince oneself to accept things as they are the sooner they will be able to see and accept the rest of the life that exists around them. As you said there is more to life...there is more to life...
.... plus I don't need any corporate suit fucks telling me how to feel about myself anyway. I won't lie I go through all this shit just the same as the next lady...how can I not for fuck's sake. I'd have to gouge out my eyes, pour cement in my ear drums and lock myself in a quadruple paneled steel box placed at the core of the earth to escape all the dogma about "How to be Beautiful" in this damn place. I mean when self-esteem is found on the same isle as diet pills and electric ab-shockers (spill on isle 9 we've got some liposuctioned fat on the floor, careful shoppers fat is really slippery) one has got to come up with some alternative methods. Will you be defined or will you do the defining. It's a mind set. You can go on bitchin' and moanin' about what was or you can get on with what is.
Now keep in mind, I'm not in my thrities yet, so all this rant will probably seem like utter horse shit to me in the next 7 or 8 years. However, I try to prepare myself for what will come as best I can...and then I can only hope for the best.
Rawk rawk rawk!
PS: She also taught me about "zogging" and orange, but that's a conversation for a different day.
Monday, February 5, 2007
Aparently there was a football game on yesterday afternoon... did you hear about this? I guess it was between some bears and some baby horses... and the baby horses won! They must have had one heck of a trainer, because I've never seen a baby horse that could take out a bear... unless it was a tiny Koala bear or something.
Well, good for Peyton Manning and Tony Dungee.
So I got stuck in a pretty bad traffic jam on Friday. My timing couldn't have been worse; curising Northbound on the 405 just minuets before a giant crane fell on the highway. I was stuck on the freeway for more than 3 hours. What a treat! Here is a picture I took of myself standing in the midde of the 405 around 4pm on Friday afternoon. I thought the occasion warranted a photo, because a regular person's chance of doing just that in this lifetime are pretty slim.
Booyakashot.
I know you can't really tell I'm in the middle of one of LA's busiest highways, and about one mile from one of the country's busiest intersections (the 405 and the 101), but oh well. This is about the only evidence I have of it, so it'll have to do.
Carry on.
Well, good for Peyton Manning and Tony Dungee.
So I got stuck in a pretty bad traffic jam on Friday. My timing couldn't have been worse; curising Northbound on the 405 just minuets before a giant crane fell on the highway. I was stuck on the freeway for more than 3 hours. What a treat! Here is a picture I took of myself standing in the midde of the 405 around 4pm on Friday afternoon. I thought the occasion warranted a photo, because a regular person's chance of doing just that in this lifetime are pretty slim.
Booyakashot.
I know you can't really tell I'm in the middle of one of LA's busiest highways, and about one mile from one of the country's busiest intersections (the 405 and the 101), but oh well. This is about the only evidence I have of it, so it'll have to do.
Carry on.
Thursday, February 1, 2007
Enrich your professional life through YouTube
If any of you have an office job which occasionally affords you the luxuory of surfing the net, there is no reason you should NOT be on youtube, treating yourself to such cultural hilarities as this:
Those were some sweet moves. You can always count on Baliwood for an appropriately over the top show-stopping dance number.
Here's another youtube clip I found hysterical. It's a Japanese show that teaches English phrases. I don't know about you, but every time I'm doing a silly aerobic workout in a hilarious loetard, I wish I could be learning the key phrases of a ridiculously jevenile argument in a foreign language. I'm glad to know someone has filled that undoubtedly lucrative market niche in television programming.
All I'm saying is that if you're not surfing youtube for the unintentionally hilarious videos of the world, then you're not being a good American. That being said, I leave you with this stunning performance, which upon seeing, I was moved to tears (of laughter):
Those were some sweet moves. You can always count on Baliwood for an appropriately over the top show-stopping dance number.
Here's another youtube clip I found hysterical. It's a Japanese show that teaches English phrases. I don't know about you, but every time I'm doing a silly aerobic workout in a hilarious loetard, I wish I could be learning the key phrases of a ridiculously jevenile argument in a foreign language. I'm glad to know someone has filled that undoubtedly lucrative market niche in television programming.
All I'm saying is that if you're not surfing youtube for the unintentionally hilarious videos of the world, then you're not being a good American. That being said, I leave you with this stunning performance, which upon seeing, I was moved to tears (of laughter):
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