Stuck on the 'Yard

Been A While...

2012-01-31T13:06:00.000-08:00

I don't go on rants as often as I used to. The reasons as to why are many I'm sure (or not...who knows?), but I still do take notice of the occasional annoying/petty/stupid/hypocritical things people and society at large, do. And so, without further adieu, the most recent annoying things I feel are comment worthy.

-There's this radio ad I've heard several times the last few weeks for lasik surgery. As a guy who now wears glasses, I can understand how there might be a market for people who wish to have their vision permanently improved, and remove the need for wearing glasses/contacts. Now, you would think a radio ad for such a surgical procedure would go something like this: "Tired of wearing glasses/contacts? With a short surgical procedure we can restore your vision back to 20/20...permanently." There you go. An ad that tells you what the service is and what it can do for you. Short and to the pont. Clear in its intent and succinct. But that would be too simple and make too much sense, wouldn't it? You see, advertising is all fear based. Rather than show you a useful and life improving service or product, and illustrate how that product can work for you, advertisers like to instill a sense of dread in their target audience that if they don't buy this product, your life will take a turn for the worse. You will smell worse, your penis won't work right, your hair won't grow/lay flat/be wavy/be blond-red-brunette, the hair you DON'T want won't go away and keep growing, you'll get fat, you'll be too skinny and won't gain muscle weight, the car you drive isn't sexy enough, the car you drive isn't practical enough, the car you drive isn't green enough, etc., etc. So, you may or may not be asking yourself, how could you possibly freak somebody out with a lasik commercial? Like this: the commercial starts out with the sounds of what appears to be somebody breaking into a house, presumably late at night. The wife freaks out in a hushed panicky voice, and the husband fumbles around stating "I can't find my glasses!!!" The woman says "Oh my god...they're inside...the children! What about the children???" And the guy states: "I can't see a thing...where'd I leave my glasses????" The wife then states: "What are we gonna do???" Good question lady. Perhaps you could start by calling 911? So, there you go. According to the lasik people, if you don't have their procedure, you will be murdered in your bedroom by a gang of thrill kill psychopaths breaking into your home, and your kids will be either sold off into a Russian white slavery ring, or, dragged down into some sort of torture dungeon. Wow. Pretty grisly stuff, and definitely a good reason to get that lasik surgery! However, what I'm confused about is how this scenario is supposed to play out differently if the man had, in fact, already had the lasik procedure. Would it go something like this: Sound of people breaking in home. Wife to husband: "Well honey, you know what to do." Man calmly, but with a bit of pity in his voice, almost Eastwood-like, "Yep. Be back in a sec", as he knows that the evil doers who just broke into their house have no idea what they're in for...and that is some seriously vision corrected ass kicking. Man goes downstairs and the following is heard: "Oh my god...he's not wearing glasses!!! RUN!!!" Then there's the sound of what appears to be laser beams being fired. "Oh my god! His lasik corrected perfect vision is burning a hole right through my chest! Arrrrrrhhgghgghhg!!!!!" Then there's the sound of hearts exploding and sizzling flesh. "Eat hot lasik death you burglarizing evil doing pieces of filth!!!! Muwahahaha!!!! Get some! Get some!!!!" More laser vision being fired, more hearts exploding with the sound of panicky bad guys meeting a gruesome end as they die horrifying deaths. After the grotesque, but triumphant scene downstairs, the man goes back upstairs, eyeballs his wife, and states: "Poor fucks never knew what hit them...thank you lasik eye surgery center. Now give me some sugar baby..." Aaaaaand scene.

Anyway, this commercial kinda pissed me off because they basically equated wearing glasses to sacrificing the potential well being of your family...which I find reprehensible.

-I woke up this morning at 4am thinking one of a few things had happened, due to the nuclear fusion like illumination burning THROUGH the curtains of my bedroom window. 1) the apocalypse was indeed upon us and all those fundamentalists were right. Oh shit. 2) the last day of Burning Man was being celebrated in my back yard and nobody invited me. The bastards. 3) A small tactical nuke had been set off as Al Queda had determined my neighborhood was a high value target...I'm guessing due to our overly infidel adherence to maintaining our landscaping and pools. 4) The sun had just gone supernova and I had eight minutes to live...which made me contemplate there was no need to get out of my warm bed and take a leak after all. I think I could probably hold out for eight minutes. 5) The mothership had just landed outside my window, the aliens were here, and I was about to get an anal probe. Man...talk about a buzz kill. Hopefully the gray, big eyed bastards would have the decency to buy me a drink first...you now...kinda ease into it. 6) My idiot neighbor had just installed a backyard light that had the equivalent of 14 trillion candlepower. Well, it was #6. Is there any reason to illuminate your backyard with the brilliance of a Class A star? What in the hell are you trying to illuminate back there? You concerned Charlie is hiding in the tree line and are going to need to call in an air strike? Maybe you are anticipating the need to crack a chest and do a little impromptu open heart surgery next to the bbq pit at 3am? "Scalpel. Check. Chest spreader? Check. Clamp? Check? Spatula and tongs? Check. Ok. Lets save a life...and for crying out loud..keep an eye on those burgers...oh, and pass me a cold one...I'm going in." I don't really know how to finish this thought other than saying my neighbor sucks. I think that probably sums it up nicely.

-I would really like to know what goes on in peoples heads as they're driving (actual answer: nothing is going on in their heads other than the sound of waves crashing on the beach, the buzz of a solitary fly, or the sound of an EKG machine when it's flatlining...you know, that "bewwwwwwwwwwwwww" sound). I ask this question because of the following encounter: I was exiting the freeway at an over crossing. The over crossing has an unusually high crown to it, which basically means you can't see oncoming traffic to the left or right until they've crested the rise and are almost right on top of you. So, you have to be careful and really hyper vigilant as you pull into traffic. I look left and right, and left again. No oncoming cars. I start to pull into traffic by making a left turn, and, like a Scud missile screaming across the desert, came a tatted up idiot in a graphics laden Mustang. Because I was actually paying fucking attention to what I was doing, I saw the methed out tweaker maniac coming and promptly stopped my car before entering the lane. This is a crucial point I want to get across here: I stopped before entering the lane, and he was still a good 100 ft. away. So, here now is the scene: the oncoming Mustang's lane is still WIDE OPEN, I'm stopped while he was still 100 ft. away, and there is no traffic obstruction as he approached. So what does this basement dweller of Maslow's Hierarchy do as he drives by completely unencumbered by me or anybody else? Yep. He honks. Apparently this Affliction hat wearing, tattooed neck having, graphics Mustang sporting lunkhead was not the unmitigated asshole I made him out to be, but was, in fact, a theoretical physicist. I say this because the only reason I can imagine that he would have honked when there was absolutely no danger of a collision is because, in that short amount of time, he worked a quick calculation in his head and wanted to let me know that in alternate, parallel universe, we had a collision. In some alternate reality, we were no doubt having a conversation where he was trying to explain to me "Yes, he WOULD have had car insurance had he not spent his last $150 on a new tattoo and would I consider an 1/8oz of weed as fair compensation for my damage" and "Just because he was doing 65mph in a 40mph zone he doesn't see how any of this could be his fault...but he's got the hook up with a bouncer at a local strip club if I'm willing to forget this happened...". Needless to say, I greatly appreciate his desire to expand my physics loving mind into the realm of worlds just beyond the thin membrane that separates them from our own...

Then again, may be it was a congratulatory honk celebrating my professional alertness whilst behind the wheel, and how my vigilant driving posture saved us from having a collision due to his driving with his head up his ass. Maybe his honk said: "Well played my good man! Your strict adherence to actually paying attention to what your doing has paid off handsomely good sir, as your efforts prevented us from having a rather unfortunate collision due to my disgusting, self absorbed carelessness!"

Nah...I seriously doubt it...I think he was most likely just an asshole.

Remixed and Reimagined

2011-12-27T18:40:00.000-08:00

OK. This is a re-imagining of a song I did a while ago. I added a different (live) drum loop, and some keyboards. It now more closely resembles what I had in mind when I first recorded it. I think of it as a modern interpretation of 1982 Blondie meets Duran Duran. I make no apologies for being a teen in the 80's...enjoy.

Johnny Comes Home by JohnJayJay

The Modern Dating World

2011-12-27T12:07:00.000-08:00

OK, so I've recently re-entered the dating world after a two year hiatus. Yea and huzzah. After a conversation at the gym last night with my closest friend, I decided I was going to periodically write about what it's really like to be out there as somebody other than a club hopping, under employed, vacuous 20-something. Should be good for a laugh, and, I figured why not something from a male perspective? After all, we've been bombarded with everything from Sex and the City to Vagina Monologues, so I figured the male perspective was underrepresented. Where to begin...

Well, if you're like me, and almost everybody you know is married, and are folks you've known for years, any new social interaction as a result of their acquaintances is probably going to be nil. Married people tend to hang out with married people, and you probably already know all their friends and acquaintances anyways. Furthermore, if you work in an industry that is 95% men (like I do), meeting people through work is also a non-starter. So, where does that leave us? It leaves us with the tried and true "Just go out and live your life and you never know who you will meet", which is always the first and best ongoing option, and also with the good old digital age internet dating website, which is an easy way to jump start meeting people you may have never otherwise encountered. It's the latter I'm going to talk about today.

Have you ever looked at one of these sites? Not only is it enough to make you want to pretty much adopt a life of solitude and celibacy, but it also pretty much makes you fearful for the future survival of the human race. What you basically do is scan through a ton of photos of people in completely unrealistic daily activities (Look! Here's me white water rafting after I got back from my weekend in Vegas...had to cut the rafting trip short though because I had to be at my winery tour in Napa by 7!). Or there's multiple people with skydiving pictures. Seriously. Take a look. Also, lots of rock climbing, hiking, and boating. You may think this screams "See how interesting an adventurous I am?" , but what it really screams is "See how I constantly need to be entertained? Because if I sit still for one second I may have to have some sort of inner reflection....and that simply cannot happen!" I'm all for weekend getaways and such (I love going to San Francisco and the Central Coast), but if you need to be on the run 24-7, and spend every free second on an adventure, there's a name for that...it's called manic, and it's not appealing. Also, unless you have a helluva job of your own, you're also advertising that you expect somebody to fund this manic lifestyle for you. Unless you just retired at 35 from your lingerie modeling/stand up comedian/nuclear physicist job (i.e. ridiculously hot, funny and smart), I cannot imagine men lining up around the block volunteering to endorse their paychecks over to you.

Know what's even worse? The written profile. You will find a common theme. It will have lots of words such as these: "Not looking for players", "looking for a gentleman", "No liars", "No cheaters", "After a wild life looking to settle down", "Looking for somebody real", "Looking for a serious relationship only", etc. (and a multitude of these will be filled with syntax and spelling errors). Reading this sort of tripe will induce vomiting, so I suggest you keep a bucket nearby if you find yourself reading one some day. When a woman writes something like this, they might as well have just put it all in one encompassing sentence: "Well, I'm a low self esteem, dysfunctional wreck who has dated a non-stop stream of emotionally unavailable assholes who cheated on me like their life depended on it, and I personally have slept around a ton as well. If your somebody who I haven't slept with yet, drop me a line as I'm too worn out to successfully keep up with my trampy ways, and hopefully you'll settle on me." Yeah! I'll be right over sweetheart. Gag.

Then there's the one percent (and even that might be generous) who seem to be reasonably interesting, sane, and attractive (and age appropriate for me, which is 30+). But there's always a catch. Very often a woman in this age group (again, we'll use 35 as an example) who has actually made a successful career for herself will be childless (spent last ten years building up her career...to which I say kudos) and looking to start a family. They will state it in their profile: Want kids? "Definitely!" They need a reality check in that, generally speaking, a 35+ year old guy isn't looking to start a family. Who wants to be pushing 60 by the time your kids are out of the house? A guy in this age group is looking to share a life with somebody, not start a brand new one. If you haven't started a family by now, it probably isn't in the cards for you, you know? You're at an age when if you were to have kids, you'll need to start having them immediately. So, if you haven't already been with somebody for a period of time and are now ready to have kids, trust me, meeting a guy now who is looking to have a six month courtship and then proceed into immediate procreation is not likely, and if you do meet that guy, run. He's a nut job. If a 36 yr old guy is looking for a future potential mother to his children, he'll probably be aiming for a twenty something who is young enough to space out the heirs to the kingdom...not a 35 year old who will have to spend the next four years in a hell of non-stop pregnancy. Sorry. But there 'ya go.

So, as you can see, the pickings are slim for a whole host of reasons. Should be interesting.

OK, so there it is. Installment one of what it's really like to be a 42 year old guy looking to enter the dating pool again. I'll keep you all updated as things progress (or, if they don't progress, i.e., I just go ahead and go all Ted Kaczynski and become a hermit in a shack in the woods writing my manifesto and making pipe bombs). Luckily, I also have my friends to keep me entertained, as well as my guitars and music, the gym, a stack of good books, and a shelf full of high end whiskey (Makers 46, Black Bush, and Johnnie Walker Gold Label. Yum). Either way, my weekends will be filled.

Cheers...

New song...ramp up the Stratocasters baby!

2011-12-23T17:18:00.000-08:00

So, I had fun with this one. Found some new drum loops to manipulate. Went for a more organic sound with bridges ever so slightly altered between parts. Was hoping for a "live" sound. Structurally, it's reminiscent of music I used to play in my band way back in my college days. Enjoy. Called "East of Academy".

I need a public relations spokesperson

2011-11-30T13:31:00.000-08:00

I've decided, like all celebrities and/or famous/rich people, I need a PR person to spin things for me. Example: they can explain to my boss via press release that I wasn't "late for work", I was actually "focusing my energies elsewhere" and being "tangentially productive" (I'm copyrighting "tangentially productive" btw). They'll have a limited budget to work with however, and they'll be paid with canned soup and newspaper coupons. So it's really more of an entry level position*, but you gotta start somewhere.

*Note: I refrained from making a juvenile joke/double entendre about "entry level position." You don't know how hard it was.**

**Note on the note: I again refrained, and refused to run wild with "how hard it was". As you can see, my discipline knows no bounds.

Soundcloud

2011-11-08T17:37:00.000-08:00

So, a fellow blogger who lives in Old Blighty turned me on to Soundcloud. It's essentially a music sharing site where you can upload your tracks and folks can listen to, and download them, for free. So, if you like any of the the music I've recorded in my little studio (ok, it's a Macbook in my den with a Fender P-bass and Stratocaster plugged into it) in the previous post, you can follow this link and download any of the songs that you may find appealing. Ciao!

http://snd.sc/tW9WHo

or

http://soundcloud.com/johnjohnson-8

New Music and the movie Drive

2011-11-08T14:18:00.000-08:00

OK, so I saw the movie "Drive" a few weeks ago and absolutely loved it. It was this beautiful amalgamation of gritty 70's movies, early Michael Mann, early 80's European crime flicks (think Long Good Friday), and maybe even a bit of Sergio Leonne stuff. Anyways, loved it. I also really enjoyed the soundtrack because it had this very cool (again) early 80's Euro/Michael Mann feel to it. Giorgio Moroder-esque in a way. So, I was inspired and came up with V832V. No guitars, just bass, drum, and keyboards. I also, once again, remixed and added to Just Like the Sun. I always liked it, but it felt incomplete. So I went with an assault of guitars for the second half of the song, and now, I think its as it was meant to be. There's nothing layers upon layers of over driven, effects laden guitars can't improve upon!

V832V

Just Like the Sun (remixed again...guitar bombast mix)

The Snake Charmers

Space Monkey

Mercury Tears

Lessons Learned

The Lizard Brain

Sullivan Potter

On the Dole

The Hedonist

Flanger

Razorblade Mirror

Johnny Comes Home

Jumped the Shark

Horizon

Jason James Flint

Lunar Plane

Altar

Wayward Youth

Re-mix and re-edit a song to my satisfaction

2011-10-06T00:52:00.000-07:00

OK. (Slightly) re-named a song, and re-mixed it. Also changed a few leads and amp settings. It was never quite right, and it was bugging me. Now it sounds as it should, and I am happy with it. Now called The Snake Charmers. Here it is with the others. And, as usual, no vocals...but some shoe gaze/alt rock indulgence all the same. Dig you hipsters from the 90's!

The Snake Charmers

Just Like the Sun (Remix)

Space Monkey

Mercury Tears

Lessons Learned

The Lizard Brain

Sullivan Potter

On the Dole

The Hedonist

Flanger

Razorblade Mirror

Johnny Comes Home

Jumped the Shark

Horizon

Jason James Flint

Lunar Plane

Altar

Wayward Youth

The modern press are a bunch of plasticized, failed model, lazy, non-reporting douce bags

2011-09-23T15:03:00.000-07:00

It would be nice if we had a press that actually did its job as the so called "Fourth Estate." The modern press is lazy, and providing a great disservice to the public with its non-reporting techniques, i.e. merely collecting sound bytes without actual questions asked. A rather simple example: Every time a politician spews forth the idea that the path to economic recovery is to reduce spending, lower taxes, and reduce the size of government, nobody has asked the obvious question of "Can you show us a historical example where this approach as worked to end a recession/depression?" or "Didn't the Hoover administration try this with disastrous results seventy years ago?" or how about "If nobody has a job or any money to spend, and therefore cannot buy goods and services from a business, how does lowering the businesses tax rate compel the penniless and unemployed to buy goods...and therefore encourage the business to expand and hire?" Stop with the mindless regurgitation of talking points, and make people defend and explain their ideas and philosophies!

I guess I'm all grown up...

2011-09-08T14:01:00.000-07:00

How I know I've officially become my parent(s): in almost every paparazzi pic of a celebrity I see now, I almost never know who in the hell the so called "celebrity" is or why they're famous enough to have their picture taken as they grab a Starbucks coffee or lay around on a beach. Minka Kelly? Bar Rafeli? No effing clue.

Quick Rant

2011-08-25T17:02:00.000-07:00

Attention Fresnans: the minor kink (like what, about a 4 degree variance???) on freeway 41 between Shields and McKinley does not, I repeat, DOES NOT, require you to slam on your brakes and slow down to 27 mph. Stop treating it like it's blood alley or the chicane of death for Christ's sake, and grow a pair. Thank you for listening.

Also, motorcyclists: wearing a Jesse James style bandana with an open faced helmet does not make you look like a bad ass. It makes you look like an idiot. If you're really concerned about bugs in your face/mouth/etc., it's called a full face helmet. They're not new. Look into it.

Marilyn Monroe and Lance

2011-08-06T15:46:00.000-07:00

So, I’ve seen a lot of women over the years post the following quote on various social media profiles:

"I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best."

Now, I know a lot of you ladies think this says, “Hey, I’m not perfect, and if you cannot accept that, then you have unrealistic expectations and are unworthy of a relationship with me.” But you know what? It doesn’t say that. Know what it does say? It says the following:

“Hi. I’m a seriously unhinged lunatic who will have the occasional lucid moment where I’ll lull you into a false sense of comfort that I’m a rational human being. The reality is, however, you are far more likely to wake up with me straddling you, crying, holding a knife to your throat, and screaming, DO YOU LOVE ME???? DO YOU???????? DADDY….WHY DIDN’T YOU LOVE ME????? WHY??????????”

You see, this quote is from Marilyn Monroe. The same Marilyn Monroe who not only was raised in a physically abusive atmosphere, but married a string of assholes and then fucking KILLED HERSELF. She was also famous for being wildly promiscuous, and not because she had some sort of voracious sexual appetite, but because she felt the need to constantly debase herself because she was filled with an overwhelming sense of self loathing. Now, while we can debate the tragedy of it all, let us not forget the paramount point here…she was a complete train wreck. To identify with her is to identify yourself as a likewise pile of twisted metal and smoke filled destruction, and a pretty good flag for healthy people to view you as a live grenade. It’s also a great way for the kind of narcissistic, self aggrandizing, abusive pricks Marilyn often engaged in relationships with to sniff you out and introduce themselves. Just so you know…

Also, I had the following encounter yesterday. As I was driving down the road after a trip to the grocery store, my trunk warning light came on, and it turned out I hadn’t completely shut my trunk. Not wanting potentially loose plastic grocery bags to fly out of my trunk, I pulled over to the right curbline of Shepherd Avenue, stopped my car, got out, and shut my trunk. Now, in this spot on the road, there is a designated bicycle lane…which I momentarily occupied with my car. Before I pulled over, I made sure there were no cyclists near by. After the fifteen total seconds I occupied the bike lane, and as I was reentering my car, a cyclist, apparently offended he had to make the risky maneuver of moving six feet to his left, felt the need to make the following comment as he rode by, “Really?” Apparently, he was so mortified by my position in the road, he just couldn’t help himself. Now, Lance here (he was dressed up in the latest Tour de France style bicycle racing gear…i.e. spandex head to toe…and speaking of toe, probably a good case of man camel toe as well in those bun huggers he was wearing. C’est chic monsieur!) was no doubt deciding to take up the need all “serious cyclists” feel in educating the general public in traffic etiquette (if you’ve ever seen an episode of Portlandia, you know what I’m talking about). They think they’re being helpfully instructive and are creating greater societal good. But you know what they’re really being? A ginormous asshole. I mean, just like the Grand Canyon, it can be seen from space kind of asshole. And it’s not instructive. It’s just being a dick who is assuming you are the only decent human being in the world and this lunk headed car driver decided to park his car in the middle of a bike lane so he could jack off and smoke a menthol cigarette or something. Whatever. Point is, it never occurred to this living, locomotion capable douche bag, that perhaps there was a REASON why this guy pulled over, legally I might add, into the bike lane. What his comment did inspire , however, was a moment where I considered catching up to him and committing vehicular homicide…just so I could hear his head pop like a grape under my 3,500 lb vehicle, and have the joy of rinsing his blood off of my grill. But no, I didn’t do this and settled for this razor sharp come back statement instead: “Yeah…really!” Yeah, my wit knows no bounds. The kicker is Mr. Law and Order here made a right turn at the next intersection into the far left oncoming lane (illegal), and then proceeded to travel against traffic (also illegal). It would be funny if it wasn’t so tragically retarded. The lack of a sense of hypocrisy and self awareness that seems to be spreading across this country faster than an STD is depressing, and will be the death knell of this country faster than any boneheaded economic policy we adopt. Wow. That was a lot of words to just say “people are dumb.” Thanks for indulging me.

Neocon nut jobs

2011-06-26T18:16:00.000-07:00

The Republicans are holding a loaded gun to their own head and threatening to pull
the trigger if others don't go along with them. Time to draw a line in the sand and
let them pull the trigger. If the debt ceiling isn't raised, and the resulting
chaos results in their Wall St sugar daddies missing a bonus check, they'll be
out of office tout de suite. Time for the Democrats to grow a Clintonesque
sized pair of balls.

Michele Bachmann is a reptile

2011-06-26T18:13:00.000-07:00

Every time I see the cold, unblinking, compassionless eyes of Michele Bachman staring into a camera, I keep expecting her to unhinge her lower jaw and swallow a whole gazelle.

Humanism is too human

2011-06-15T19:52:00.000-07:00

Was hunting and pecking around the blogosphere for thoughts and ideas about Humanism, and ran across this one here:
http://theoreticalhumanism.wordpress.com/

Here was my reply, and although it was spur of the moment and probably doesn't pass the sniff test, it does contain some ideas I actually believe in (for the moment...after all, I am evolving, and so is my point of view on many a thing).

If I had to subscribe to any “ism”, I guess Humanism would be the closest to any life philosophy I adhere to (although to borrow from Ferris Bueller, I tend to think of most “isms” as dangerous belief systems). However, I feel even Humanism is too narrow a philosophy in that it ascribes some sort of meaning to life (contentment to use your supposition). I think the purpose of humanity is no different than the purpose of the universe itself, and that is a vain attempt to stay one step ahead of death (or entropy if you like). It is of course impossible, and yet we have an unyielding and fundamental drive to reproduce prior to our death to give our genes some type of (false) immortality, as even the universe gives life prior to the death of some of its most complex systems (a dying star can supernova and produce complex…more complex than the star itself… life giving elements back to the vacuum). It all seems ultimately pointless, due to diminishing returns, as entropy and the ultimate heat death of all creation seems inevitable. And yet…I don’t think nihilism is the logical conclusion. It would seem to me, on a true macro scale, we are part of an exceedingly complex whole that seems to be evolving to a point, as if the universe is struggling to evolve in order to understand, and give meaning to, its very self, and perhaps even transcend itself into something beyond creation. Simple evolution on an unimaginable scale (actually, I guess not, as I just imagined it). Then again, to use your argument, it’s ultimately beyond the scientific method, and therefore, not worth discussing. Maybe contentment is where it is at after all. Hmmm…I think I’ll have a taco (yum).

(later on I realized my own flaw) ...of course I contradicted myself by giving meaning as well. This is tricky stuff. OK. I'll just say there is only one meaning, and it applies to, quite literally, everything (from things as elemental as hydrogen gas, all the way to complex structures like human beings and whole galaxies). The meaning is the meaning, it is transcendent, and it is simple as it is complex. It's the alpha and the omega, the yin and yang, 42, the sound of one hand clapping , the chicken or the egg, and that whole tree in the forest thing. It also explains why a taco is so perfect.

Juxtaposition

2011-06-05T16:49:00.000-07:00

I enjoy art in all its forms, and yet, I rarely enjoy "artists." Being creative need not equal self involved, self aggrandizing, ego centric, narcissistic douchebag. And yet, every time I hear one speak, be interviewed, or, god forbid, socialize with a (self styled) one, these traits just come roaring through. "Yes, I can see you took a black and white photo of a whales penis, and then Photshopped it with a Warhol print, then covered it in spray painted graffiti...and then titled it 'Afghanistan'. Sorry. I just don't get it. I think a better title would have been 'I'm An Asshole.'" Let it go my man, you're just not that cool. Trust me. There are of course exceptions to this rule, and to those talented few who self deprecate and don't take themselves too seriously, I tend to greatly admire...but they're a small club indeed.

My White Whale

2011-06-02T14:01:00.000-07:00

We all have our hardships and challenges. Right now, mine is trying to figure out what to do with this totally bitchin' chord progression: Cmaj-Csus4/E-Am7-D7...is it a chorus? Verse? And what to follow it with??? Forget the heartbreak of psoriasis, this shit is frustrating. OCD in overdrive...

It keeps me off of the streets...

2011-05-30T23:40:00.000-07:00

I recorded a new song this weekend. Called The Snake Charmer. My basic excuse was to play around with a mix that made my P-bass sound chunky. I think this did it. Simple song, but fun to record. It a major key, so therefore my idea of a happy song...and once again, I abuse a variation of the key of A. Bon apetite. Oh, and if The Catherine Wheel and The Church had a baby...this would be it.

The Snake Charmer

Just Like the Sun (Remix)

Space Monkey

Mercury Tears

Lessons Learned

The Lizard Brain

Sullivan Potter

On the Dole

The Hedonist

Flanger

Razorblade Mirror

Johnny Comes Home

Jumped the Shark

Horizon

Jason James Flint

Lunar Plane

Altar

Wayward Youth

Conundrum

2011-05-23T11:39:00.000-07:00

Early morning exercise sucks ass, but you do feel really good afterward. It's a shame you can't have one (sleep) with the other (fitness/endorphins). Best analogy I can think of is this: it's like if it took getting hit in the head with a ball peen hammer in order to have a spectacularly dynamic orgasm. Sure, the end result is really nice, but is it worth the sacrifice? Life is all about decisions I suppose...

Random Musings.....

2011-05-20T14:01:00.000-07:00

-Apparently 42 is the magical age where I no longer care which celebrity is screwing who. On the other hand, if you want to gossip about which acquaintance/friend is screwing who, I'm all ears. Stories of friends going off of the deep end and inappropriately banging somebody never gets old.

-Trying to talk reason with a teenager is like trying to communicate with a brick wall. Trying to talk reason with a teenaged girl is like trying to communicate with a brick wall...that cries.

-Watching Nova special on the Great Sphinx. A lesser known monument was a giant hole dug in the ground next to it called the Great Sphinx-ter. OK, I don't actually know if that is true, but it SHOULD be.

-It just dawned on me....Life: No one thing is weird, it's ALL weird. Seriously, any human behavior I can think of is really just pure, dysfunctional, fear based hilarity. I guess it's a Darwinistic thing, in that evolution is a process of refinement to better achieve needs, and the end result is a smorgasbord of highly refined, and in a survival context, effective insanity. The human comedy indeed.

All the songs I've done to date...i.e. my alt. rock exploration (update 5-14-11)

2011-04-22T16:58:00.000-07:00

OK, here's everything I've done so far. In no particular order. Old to new all mixed up, as you'll notice recording/mix quality varies from song to song (newer ones better mix as I got better with the process). All instrumentals as I don't sing...but still entertaining if I do say so myself.

Mercury Tears

Lessons Learned

The Lizard Brain

Sullivan Potter

On the Dole

The Hedonist

Flanger

Razorblade Mirror

Johnny Comes Home

Jumped the Shark

Horizon

Jason James Flint

Lunar Plane

Altar

Wayward Youth

Just Like the Sun

Cigars for everyone!

2011-04-21T13:19:00.000-07:00

Pregnancy test commercials violate truth in advertising laws. It's always this blissful, happy, happy, joy, joy event. Anybody who has ever been around a woman who has had to pee on a stick purchased from the local pharmacy knows the actual experience is filled with considerable more dread and nauseating anxiety.

You Decide

2011-04-21T13:16:00.000-07:00

The "Fluffernutter". A sandwich? Or a tawdry sex act? Actually, on a good night....it's both.

Math Never Lies

2011-04-21T13:15:00.001-07:00

60% of adult human body is composed of water. 95% of people are full of shit. Therefore, 57% of water is composed of shit. Statistics are awesome.

Starbucks

2011-04-20T12:08:00.000-07:00

Why the fuck does Starbucks have two registers when it is patently clear, that they never, ever, times infinity, plus one, ever intend on using it? Line longer than King Kong's dick*? No problem, we'll just have four people manning the drive up window and one gay guy with permanently tattooed eyebrows working a single register...next to the one covered in cobwebs and dust from a bygone era of customer efficiency.

‎*Although a theoretical measurement, King Kong's dick is assumed to be quite long.

New Song

2011-04-19T16:34:00.000-07:00

Kind of a melancholy tune. Starts off very mellow, then a little simple fuzzy guitar hero, then a wall of sound meant to build as a bit of emotional crescendo. Mix came out nicely too.....Called 'Lessons Learned'

Another New Song "Inside the Lizard's Brain"

2011-03-23T19:42:00.000-07:00

So, way back in the day I used to plass bass guitar in an alt rock band. Then life took over. I recently discovered Garageband on my Mac, blew the dust off my guitars, and started writing some songs. Here they are. No vocals because my voice sounds like a frog being castrated.
Update: I suppose I should comment on the songs a bit (yes, most lack titles...).

-Inside the Lizard Brain. Just having fun with a wall of guitars...going for a hypnotic, spooky sound. Had fun with it.
-Horizon. Made me think of driving on a desert highway headed towards where the sky meets the earth...
-Lunar Plane. How I spent my last weekend in January and my idea of what an alien lullaby beamed from deep space would sound like. Inspired by The Church's Field of Mars. Worked a little ride cymbal in the chorus...my most favorite of cymbals.
-Flanger. My attempt at guitar rock majesty. Song named 'Flanger' for reasons that are obvious to guitar weenies.
-My Song 4: Was going to record a different song last night and made this up on the spot instead...all built around a simple bass line. You just never know what your Muse is gonna do. Again, influences are obvious. I could tweak this more and polish up transitions, but I'm done with it and going to leave "as is". Thank you short attention span.
-Jason James Flint: Music inspired by spy movies, and about as low-fi as you can get with a shitpile of synths. Thank you Steve Kilbey for chord changes inspiration.
-Just Like the Sun: has lyrics, and as usual...it's about a woman. But they're personal, and I can't really sing anyways, so anyways...obvious Catherine Wheel influence, and first song I did on Garageband.
-My Song 3. No title. No words. Living out late 80's early 90's new wave fantasies. Daughters thought it has a tango vibe.
-My song 5. Maybe my favorite. My idea if The Church and Soundgarden had a baby...and that baby grew up and gave birth to The Smiths (ending guitar part a nod to my love of Johnny Marr).
-My Song 2. More alt. rock, new wavey, late 80's inspired stuff. I like this one too.
-Sullivan/Potter (Redux). My nod to U2 and two guys I know who listened to them waaay back in the day. A remixed version of an earlier attempt.
-This Song Has No Name but it Grooves Baby. If disco and shoegaze combined their DNA it might sound like this.
-Altar. My attempt at a little Church inspired jingle jangle. One of my earlier attempts, hence production not as clean as I would like.
-Jumped the Shark. Not a huge fan or aficionado of club music...but thought it would be fun to try. Plus, I got to attempt a middle eastern "Kashmir" type guitar riff...so I got that out of my system as well. Enjoy. (Title says it all!)

Inside the Lizard Brain

Sullivan Potter

Song 4

My Song 3

Flanger

My Song Groove

My Song 2

Jumped the Shark

Horizon

Jason James Flint

Lunar Plane

Altar

My Song 5

Just Like the Sun

New songs you can actually hear...(had to change mp3 host)

2011-03-09T19:12:00.002-08:00

So, way back in the day I used to plass bass guitar in an alt rock band. Then life took over. I recently discovered Garageband on my Mac, blew the dust off my guitars, and started writing some songs. Here they are. No vocals because my voice sounds like a frog being castrated.
Update: I suppose I should comment on the songs a bit (yes, most lack titles...).

_Horizon. Made me think of driving on a desert highway headed towards where the sky meets the earth...
-Lunar Plane. How I spent my last weekend in January and my idea of what an alien lullaby beamed from deep space would sound like. Inspired by The Church's Field of Mars. Worked a little ride cymbal in the chorus...my most favorite of cymbals.
-Flanger. My attempt at guitar rock majesty. Song named 'Flanger' for reasons that are obvious to guitar weenies.
-My Song 4: Was going to record a different song last night and made this up on the spot instead...all built around a simple bass line. You just never know what your Muse is gonna do. Again, influences are obvious. I could tweak this more and polish up transitions, but I'm done with it and going to leave "as is". Thank you short attention span.
-Jason James Flint: Music inspired by spy movies, and about as low-fi as you can get with a shitpile of synths. Thank you Steve Kilbey for chord changes inspiration.
-Just Like the Sun: has lyrics, and as usual...it's about a woman. But they're personal, and I can't really sing anyways, so anyways...obvious Catherine Wheel influence, and first song I did on Garageband.
-My Song 3. No title. No words. Living out late 80's early 90's new wave fantasies. Daughters thought it has a tango vibe.
-My song 5. Maybe my favorite. My idea if The Church and Soundgarden had a baby...and that baby grew up and gave birth to The Smiths (ending guitar part a nod to my love of Johnny Marr).
-My Song 2. More alt. rock, new wavey, late 80's inspired stuff. I like this one too.
-Sullivan/Potter (Redux). My nod to U2 and two guys I know who listened to them waaay back in the day. A remixed version of an earlier attempt.
-This Song Has No Name but it Grooves Baby. If disco and shoegaze combined their DNA it might sound like this.
-Altar. My attempt at a little Church inspired jingle jangle. One of my earlier attempts, hence production not as clean as I would like.
-Jumped the Shark. Not a huge fan or aficionado of club music...but thought it would be fun to try. Plus, I got to attempt a middle eastern "Kashmir" type guitar riff...so I got that out of my system as well. Enjoy. (Title says it all!)

Sullivan Potter

Song 4

My Song 3

Flanger

My Song Groove

My Song 2

Jumped the Shark

Horizon

Jason James Flint

Lunar Plane

Altar

My Song 5

Just Like the Sun

Random things...

2011-02-27T18:57:00.000-08:00

-I have reached that Zen like point in my life where I can honestly say, I could give a rat fuck about the Oscars.

-Liverpool attempted to play a football game today, and instead confused it with peeing down their leg (today I'll consider walking alone...).

-Just saw a CBS (American television network/corporation) public service thing about checking for testicular cancer. Remember: "CBS cares...about your balls."

-Finally, I'll share this: worked Saturday, and I'll be cleaning my house today. There's my weekend. If any of you would like to tag along and take notes on how to live a rock and roll lifestyle such as this, let me know...and I hope you know how to dust.

Neo-cons and Islamic extremists...can you tell the difference?

2011-02-24T16:55:00.000-08:00

-believes a nation should be ruled by their sole interpretation of God's will
-wants to eliminate any barriers between church and state
-believes in the repression of women and the dominance of men
-is fervently anti birth control and sex is to be heterosexual and for procreation only
-believes homosexuality is an affront to god and and should be repressed by the state
-believes in an "either with us or against us" philosophy
-believes in aggression over diplomacy
-believes in the "God chosen" few ruling over the "forsaken" many
-believes and desires an apocalyptic end of days good vs. evil final show down, and is enthusiastic in ushering in its arrival
-is fervently pro gun
-believes in repressing alternative view points, alternative press, and the right for an alternative minded populace to gather
-uses the government as a tool to enrich the very few with the capital and resources of the populace
-is strongly against alcohol and drugs and other "immoral" activities
-believes public education needs to be intertwined with religious doctrine
-is wary and dismissive of science

This is just off top of my head...but it's obvious to me these two groups only hate each other because they understand, and NEED, each other soooo much.

Garageband

2011-01-05T06:29:00.000-08:00

So, way back in the day I used to plass bass guitar in an alt rock band. Then life took over. I recently discovered Garageband on my Mac, blew the dust off my guitars, and started writing some songs. Here they are. No vocals because my voice sounds like a frog being castrated.
Update: I suppose I should comment on the songs a bit (yes, most lack titles...).

-Lunar Plane. How I spent my last weekend in January and my idea of what an alien lullaby beamed from deep space would sound like. Inspired by The Church's Field of Mars. Worked a little ride cymbal in the chorus...my most favorite of cymbals.
-Flanger. My attempt at guitar rock majesty. Song named 'Flanger' for reasons that are obvious to guitar weenies.
-My Song 4: Was going to record a different song last night and made this up on the spot instead...all built around a simple bass line. You just never know what your Muse is gonna do. Again, influences are obvious. I could tweak this more and polish up transitions, but I'm done with it and going to leave "as is". Thank you short attention span.
-Jason James Flint: Music inspired by spy movies, and about as low-fi as you can get with a shitpile of synths. Thank you Steve Kilbey for chord changes inspiration.
-Just Like the Sun: has lyrics, and as usual...it's about a woman. But they're personal, and I can't really sing anyways, so anyways...obvious Catherine Wheel influence, and first song I did on Garageband.
-My Song 3. No title. No words. Living out late 80's early 90's new wave fantasies. Daughters thought it has a tango vibe.
-My song 5. Maybe my favorite. My idea if The Church and Soundgarden had a baby...and that baby grew up and gave birth to The Smiths (ending guitar part a nod to my love of Johnny Marr).
-My Song 2. More alt. rock, new wavey, late 80's inspired stuff. I like this one too.
-Sullivan/Potter (Redux). My nod to U2 and two guys I know who listened to them waaay back in the day. A remixed version of an earlier attempt.
-This Song Has No Name but it Grooves Baby. If disco and shoegaze combined their DNA it might sound like this.
-Altarius. My attempt at a little Church inspired jingle jangle. One of my earlier attempts, hence production not as clean as I would like.
-Jumped the Shark. Not a huge fan or aficionado of club music...but thought it would be fun to try. Plus, I got to attempt a middle eastern "Kashmir" type guitar riff...so I got that out of my system as well. Enjoy. (Title says it all!)

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A New Blog for 1-1-11

2011-01-01T18:29:00.000-08:00

A new blog (oh, why the hell not?) for a new year. But, I'm going to talk about an age old topic long analyzed by hack stand up comedians and talk show hosts from the 80's. Men and women. Specifically, how we communicate...or more accurately, how we don't, and why there is very little use in trying. Let me proselytize here (as if you could stop me).

Let's use the data set of "X" and "Y" for simplicities sake. It does not matter what "X" and "Y" stand for or what they are (a woman would probably tell you it matters very much what "X" and "Y" is, whereas a guy can live with the fact it "is what it is"). If a conversation were to take place between a man or a woman over "X" and "Y" it might go something like this:

Woman: Is it "X" or "Y"?
Man: It's "Y".

Boom. Done. Information disseminated and conversation moving on to other topics. Well, in the man's world this is what's happening, but the woman's head is racing because the conversation SHOULD have gone something like this if the roles were reversed:

Man: Is it "X" or "Y"?
Woman: (25 minute preamble on why it's important to understand the differences between "X" and "Y"; why you need to "feel" the difference between the wildly divergent properties of "X" and "Y"; why it should be IMPORTANT to YOU the very real upsides and downsides to "X" and "Y"; her personal opinions on the merits of "X" vs. "Y"; why her friend Jennifer is such a bitch; her crazy mother's phone conversation with her earlier that day; don't piss her off because she's having a bad hair day ((you've failed to be able to tell the difference)); how come you're not wearing that shirt she bought you?; she is unhappy with the size of her ass ((somehow that came up...again)); why are you bothering her with "X" and "Y" anyways since you OBVIOUSLY DON"T CARE; and she'd like to know how YOU FEEL about "X" and "Y" before she answers your question because she needs all the pertinent information before she commits to an answer) It's 3 o'clock (that was her answer).

Now, the man has no idea why his question was answered with a completely different topic than the question he asked. Somewhere in minute 17 of her answer he got lost, and started wondering if that movie they're going out to see later has any nudity in it.
He will now get in trouble for not paying attention to her answer, and be accused of not having any feelings. Which is true. We don't. We're men. The only feelings we have are hunger, horniness, occasional fits of rage and anger, and merriment and laughter at the misfortune of others. That's it. And, if the guy is 41 yrs old like me, even the horniness isn't the overriding thing it used to be when he was, say, 21. Generally, a good nights sleep, a really cold beer and his teams game televised in hi-def on the tube has displaced that particular lizard brained urge (which, by the way, has made life immeasurably easier). So, somewhere along the line you will apologize for not listening appropriately, and never really know if it were "X" or "Y", and the woman will have accomplished her goal of keeping you in a constant daze of confusion. But there is hope.

And what is that hope you ask yourself? Age. You see, as a man gets older, we loosen that death grip on the need to be right, and have EVERYBODY know it. You hit your 40's, and are quite comfortable knowing you're right, or, if you're wrong, not really caring. Just smile, nod your head, enjoy your beverage, and be dazzled at the wonderment of your team rendered with such crispness on your widescreen (this can also be substituted or accompanied by really good high fidelity audio equipment...the kind of stuff where you are mesmerized by the clarity of the hi-hat and can hear the 5% delay added to the crash cymbal...and the infinitesimal percussive tick of a finger tip on an open E-string. Some of you will know what I mean).

Um....

2010-05-25T23:54:00.001-07:00

.....uh........welllllll.......hmmmmmmm. Nada.

Personal Growth

2010-03-10T01:01:00.000-08:00

Further evidence of personal growth: a path was navigated today that in the past would have resulted in stepping on a land mine and losing a leg...and possibly a testicle...and the flying shrapnel would have maimed others within the blast radius as well (plus you might have gotten smacked with a bloody, flying testicle. Not pretty*). Cooler heads and maturity prevailed, the ordinance was cleared and defused (I went with my gut and cut the blue wire), and the body (and ball) count was nil. The only person to get fragged in the end was Steve Jobs and the Church of Scientology...and I think they can dry their tears with their billions and the packing materials from an iPad.

*
I think "Bloody Flying Testicle" would be a great name for a punk band.

Stuff

2010-02-22T19:31:00.000-08:00

-Attention old drivers of the world: just because you do 28 mph in a 45 mph zone, does not, by default, make you a SAFE driver, OK? What it does make you is the Typhoid Mary of the transportation world. Perhaps we will call you 'Road Rage Mary'. Like Typhoid Mary, nothing ever happens to YOU as you toodle on down the road. But like Typhoid Mary, you blithely INFECT everybody else. Traffic stacked up and impeded behind you, sending blood pressures skyrocketing as people try and pass you to make their appointment. Otherwise rational people taking radical risks behind the wheel and running over small children and baby ducklings as they swerve wildly out of control to make the green light ahead that you seem oblivious to. In their anger, desperation, and over aggression, they then crash and die a slow, agonizing death in a fiery hell, cocooned in their burning, metal, four wheeled coffin, wondering why the gray hair that held them up and changed lanes every time they did, has a 700 horsepower Cadillac, if said gray hair never drives it any faster than one half whatever the actual speed limit is. And you, dear old person, just cruises down the highway (at 28 mph) blissfully unaware to the carnage that just occurred all around you. You will then mutter under your breath "Damn kids are driving like crazy!" as the cityscape fills with twisted hulks of burning metal and scorched corpses. You go home secure and arrogant in the knowledge that you just had another accident free day behind the wheel...not realizing you're actually a serial killer worse than Ted Bundy.

-Did some ground fighting today as a result of a training day at my job. After rolling around and incurring facial abrasions, bruised knuckles, pulled and strained muscles, a rolled ankle and a kick to the left ear, I realized something: I'm not a kid. Sure, I'm in pretty good shape. I run 5 miles every other day, and go to the gym in between that, about five to six times a week. And I look pretty good...but I'm 40. What the 25 year old jujitsu ninja sadistic instructor doesn't realize is that we have two very different realities. His is he'll jump out of bed fresh as a daisy tomorrow, like yesterday was just a walk in the park. My reality is I'll wake up like I was hit by a train and will be munching on Advil like it was a bowl of M&M's. Good times. What I did take away from the experience was this: apparently I have 'loose shoulders' because they were amazed that a Kimura and another shoulder lock had little effect on me no matter how far they cranked it. I have no idea what good this knowledge will do for me, but there 'ya go. Also, I have no idea how championship fighters do what they do. I'm in pretty good shape like I said, but after a mere 2'30" of boxing and grappling, it felt like my lungs were on fire and puking seemed like a real option for a moment or two. Doing that for up to 25 minutes is insane, and I'm not sure how you get to that level of fitness without steroids, methamphetamine, some cappuccino, a Mountain Dew, and a Red Bull. Oh, and maybe routine hypodermic injections of pulverized walrus testicle. Anyways, it was fun, but I think I prefer hanging out in my jacuzzi with a nice cocktail as a preferable source of entertainment.

-went to Roller Derby Saturday night. Here's a few pics from the match and me with my friend Poppy (derby name Devious Dolly #88) of the V-Town Derby Dames (city of Visalia) "B" team.

They played 'No Town Roller Derby (city of Fresno) and the Visalia "A" team played a team from Santa Maria. It was actually pretty fun (although my friends husband, who is a really cool guy, saw it a little differently and stated he'd be 'camped out at the beer garden...let me know who wins'. Funny guy). It was an interesting combination of 50's Rockabilly culture (there was a Rockabilly band), burlesque, and girl on girl aggression. Like I said...fun:) There was a larger crowd than I was expecting, plus a beer garden, so perfect, right? The crowd was pretty diverse too. Besides all the guys with duck tailed haircuts and girls with the Betty Page thing going on, there was the usual "Bro and Bro-Ho" contingent (vomit), cowboys, Barbie Dolls, skaters, normalish looking housewives and dads, and the very young to very old. Who knew a bunch of women skating around in short shorts and fishnets knocking the crap out of each other could bring such a diverse crowd together? Oh wait a minute...why WOULDN'T a bunch of women skating around in fishnets and short shorts engaging in various forms of violence appeal to the masses? "ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?????" hahaha Anyways, it was cool. So there you go, my one weekend activity. I could regale you with tales of cooking for a couple of demanding teen girls, laundry, and doing the dishes, but somehow I'm not sensing the anticipation for those stories.

Another Trip To LA

2010-02-15T02:03:00.000-08:00

So, I went out of town again this weekend. I had been lamenting the lack of spontaneous fun things going on in my life, so rather that sit around and be all butt hurt about the lack of spontaneous shenanigans going on, I picked up the phone and imposed myself on my friends down south. My agenda was to hang out in West LA Friday night, and get my art on Saturday night in NoHo (North Hollywood). But before I could do all that, I had to a actually get out of town.

I had that crappy FM transmitter I wanted to return prior to leaving town, so I figured I'd do this on my way south. As I waited at a red traffic signal to get into the shopping center where my neighborhood Best Buy is located, I noticed to my right on the sidewalk a portly woman having a VERY LOUD conversation on her cell phone in Spanish. She was quite animated with wild hand gestures and lots of eye rolling. It was street theater at its best. Well, the light turned green and I needed to make a right turn, so I waited for the woman to cross the street on the "walk" signal. She didn't. She was oblivious to her visual prompt and completely engrossed in her conversation. So I waited for her to look up, see the "walk" signal, and go. She didn't. I waited 20 seconds (as timed by my Omega Seamaster Professional Chronograph...so I'm relatively sure it was an accurate count), and, "nada" (to use her language). Needing to get on my way, I pulled forward and made my right turn into the middle lane (which is illegal) just to give her space because I knew as soon as I went she would magically pull her head out of her ass and step into the street. Yep. POP! Head extracted and into the street she stepped as I was turning. Now, keep in mind the standard traffic lane is 12 feet wide. So I'm at least 10 feet away from her. Well, apparently she thought I was some sort of vehicular manslaughter madman who was looking to orphan her 13 children back at home, and launched into a Spanish, profanity filled tirade at my transgression (I made out the word "ESTUPIDO!!!). Really? I'm the stupid one? The one who JUST KNEW you would step out into traffic like a dumbass without looking and I planned accordingly as to not orphan your brood back home, and I'M THE STUPID ONE???? I'm the guy who was actually PAYING ATTENTION and avoided your dumb, non assimilating ass. Whatever. I gave her the international sign for "you're number 1!" (aka The Bird) and continued on my way.

It being a Friday, and early, I figured the line at the return register at Best Buy couldn't be that bad. Everybody should be at work, and I'll just pop in and pop out, right? WRONG. Huge fucking line. Who ARE THESE PEOPLE???? Why aren't they at work? And if you're unemployed, how in the fuck can you afford all this electronic bullshit??? So, I wait in line. And wait. And wait. Why does this shit take so long? Here were the various problems ahead of me. 1) Old couple with competitors coupon and looking for a price match 2) Some dude returning a TV with an apparent 35 foot screen that took like 19 employees to move around and finally, my favorite, the idiot without the receipt looking to complete a return. "Man, I just want my money back!" "Sir, you don't have a receipt." "Shiiiit...I bought it here!" "Yes, sir, seven months ago." "Then give me store credit." "We cannot sir. Sorry." "Why not????" "Because sir, it looks like somebody carved their initials on it and what looks like a Raider Nation symbol." Etc. You get the idea. Know how long my exchange took? 45 seconds (thank you Omega timing). I presented my receipt and BAM...out the door. Why is this soooo fucking hard for some people???

OK, exchange completed, and I'm leaving the parking lot...except I cant, because there is always a pedestrian clusterfuck in the front of Target. Can you explain to me what it is about Target that causes people to step into the street and stop, right in the middle of the street, and either dig through their purse, have a cell phone conversation, or run into their long lost birth mother? And they are completely oblivious to the sixteen cars idling trying to get by. And it happens EVERY TIME. Anyways, make it out of the parking lot and head down to LA. The drive was pleasant and traffic wasn't too bad.

I get to Brentwood and we go to a restaurant on the Santa Monica Promenade. Here's pic:

Like I mentioned in a previous post, LA has a thing about lights in the trees. It's like everyday is Christmas down there. Anyways, dinner at this Italian place was tasty, then we headed over to a pub to have a drink or five. It was a very cool place that had the Smiths, Oasis, and U2 blaring on the juke box, actual Brits tending bar, and banners from all the Premier League Football (Soccer) Teams everywhere. I felt very at happy indeed. Here's a pic of the Kings Head pub where I got "royally trashed" (hahaha....get it????????):

Premier League Scarves (Man U, Man City, Aston Villa, Blackburn Rovers):

The next morning, I needed a hearty breakfast to kill my hangover, so we headed to Swingers in Santa Monica. Had the Huevos Rancheros and a pancake drenched in real butter....and lots of water...and lots of coffee. It did the trick. Here's breakfast:

And just because, you know, I am a swinger (ok, not really...):

And this is just a pic I like because it looks like I can manipulate lightning like I'm Zeus or something:

Headed to NoHo to visit my artsy fartsy friend who was directing an alternative performance at Zombie Joe's Under Ground Theater. Here's the theater exterior and the entrance to the NoHo Arts District:

The performance was very cool. Blood, sex, naked flesh, intestines, axes, zombies, lingerie...basically everything you need on a Saturday night.

So, because I was in LA, I had to make a pilgrimage to...FATBURGER. Oh...my...god...can you say "mouthgasm'? And the skinny fries...mmmmmm.....sorry, went to my happy place. However, look at this picture, and I'll share my frustration with you:

The parking lot at Fatburger has very few spaces. I had to circle the block five times before a space opened up. Oh wait. There WAS AN OPEN SPACE...but some fucktard in a HUMMER took up two spaces...BECAUSE THEY'RE JUST THAT BIG AN ASSHOLE. I was hoping, HOPING, that the driver of this vehicle wouldn't live down to my worst expectation, and that it would be some LA scumbag attorney or something I could hate guilt free. But no. It was a ghetto fabulous large woman in all her gold tooth glory...and her entourage all talking at a volume like they were shouting over a landing 747. I...HATE...PEOPLE.

Also, went for a hike at Runyon Canyon. Here's me with my friends dog (an Aussie/Lab mix...awesome dog!):

Anyways, that was it. Drive home over the Tehachapi's was nice. Very clear, and still a little snow in the distance:

And the lovely San Joaquin Valley and home awaits:

Here's the interesting thing I took away from my trip. The people in LA were all very fit, well dressed, tan, and uber hip. And very fake, and very plastic...in every way possible. But they didn't look happy. Everybody had the look about them like an unhappy model who is bored with the shoot. And that's LA. A bunch of people who I think, deep down, are tired of posing.....and I was actually happy to be back in Fresno.

Cutting Edge Ancient Technology

2010-02-09T22:39:00.000-08:00

Perhaps some of you have seen a theme in some of my postings here, and that theme is I want a new car. The reason why I want a new car is because I drive an eight year old Toyota Tundra pickup. It's a fine truck, paid for, and runs great. But it is eight years old, and has some of the eight year old related minor issues, like this one: the tape player (for those of you over thirty, don't laugh. For those of you under thirty, a "tape player", pronounced TAY-PUH PLAY-ERR, was a neolithic device carved from stone using hand tooled devices. A piece of magnetized tape would run over a piece of smooth metal that read the magnetic impulses and turned these into electrical impulses that recreated sound. It was invented in 1492 AD by Leonardo DaVinci, when his previous invention, the 8-track, didn't take off, and he was struggling to complete the Mona Lisa while listening to Steely Dan albums) doesn't really work anymore. You put in a tape, and it sounds like Lindsay Lohan doing a mountain of crystal while arm wrestling a constipated baboon. In other words, it's noisy...oh, and no music comes out either, which is, of course, a problem as well, and kind of the whole purpose of the TAY-PUH PLAY-ERR. Oh, and as soon as you put a tape in the player, it immediately ejects it anyways (much like if you stuck a donut in Kate Moss' mouth)...making everything kinda moot. But John, doesn't your truck have a CD player? Yes, it does...but it has a few minor issues as well, and a CD player doesn't get me my tunes out of my iPod.

So, as you can see, my cassette tape adapter is a no-go for my iPod in order for me to enjoy all the wonderful tuneage in my car. But John! There's this wonderful device called an "FM transmitter" for your iPod that allows you to listen to your iPod over your vehicles FM radio. Really? Awesome. So I bought one.

First issues first. The instructions stated the following: "Just go ahead and tune your stereo to a frequency that is all static, and preferably an area on the radio that has three static frequencies in a row; then choose the middle frequency in order to avoid bleed over from another frequency." OK! Can do! Turn on car stereo aaaaand, one click at a time up we go up EVERY FREQUENCY on the dial, and trust me, that's a lot of fucking frequencies. Know how many static frequencies I find? Three. Know how many were in a row? None. Know what I did find? About 10 channels for classic rock hits, R and B/hip hop, and hard rock, and about 90 channels of the "good time gospel Christian your going to hell you filthy sinning whore hour' and Spanish language stations. In fact, the Spanish stations may have been preaching the same message because I thought I had heard the words "Diablo", "Christos", "puta" and "Dio" (and the "Dio" I think they were talking about wasn't Ronnie James Dio). Then again, I heard the word "cerveza", giggling women, and polka music too...so perhaps they were just telling off-color jokes at an over the air party. I dunno. Anyways, needless to say there was no "bleed over" safe zones due to California's need to either hear the Eagles YET AGAIN, be shunned and reminded we're going to hell, or get our drink on with Rodrigo and Raul (I think they were the dj's). There were, by the way, two perfectly dead and staticky frequencies at the very beginning of the dial right next to each other...I think it was 87.7 and 87.9 FM. Know what the lowest frequency the FM transmitter would go to? Yep. 88.1 FM. Sigh. Although this wasn't an Apple product, I still think Steve Jobs is somehow responsible.

So I find the best of the "non bleed over-ish" frequencies and give the old FM transmitter a go. And.......hmmmm....is it on? Yep. Ooooohhhhhkaaaaaay...read instructions: "Be sure iPod device is turned up to at LEAST 75% of total volume." Huh. Well, it's over 50%, but ok. Turn it up and I hear something tinny like a small child talking over a soup can tied to a string. Crank it up to 100% and there's good old Rob Dickinson, who normally has a powerhouse of a voice, sounding like....shit. I've had better reception in a tunnel, and better audio quality from a Speak and Spell (for those of you under 30...never mind). So what does the "FM" in the FM transmitter stand for? Faulty Merchandise? Feeble Machine? FUCKING MADDENING? Meh....needless to say, it's going back...and I'll just break the law and wear ear buds in the mean time.

So, there you go...another reason why I need a new luxury car...for the MP3 player connectivity. That alone would be worth the $600 a month car payment.

My second rate supermarket is a first rate radio station

2010-02-08T00:10:00.000-08:00

I have ranted in the past about the dearth of good, hip, cool, tasteful, relevant or progressive music radio stations. It seems as if the only thing you can hear now is talk, sports, news, top 40, r&b, rap/hip hop, and hard rock. That's it. Oh, and Spanish language...which I'm sure is even transmitted to the surface of Mars. Anyways, most radio stations in California (and I have lived and/or worked in every region of the state) suck. Balls. Majorly. It is an endless source of frustration for me, and what eventually drove me to purchase an iPod large enough to put my musical collection on, so I could hear it in my car. I had given up on the idea that a radio station was going to play me good, or introduce me to new, music. But check this out: My local and closest supermarket plays really good alternative/Brit pop ALL THE TIME. You know how most stores have this pumped in muzak stuff? My local Save Mart (which I only go to when I'm too lazy to drive the extra mile to the Vons that has a better selection of foodstuffs) has played the following bands on its store sound system: The Catherine Wheel/Rob Dickinson, The Doves, Supergrass, The Style Council, REM, Ride, The Stone Roses, The Pixies, The Police, Johnny Marr, Crowded House...and those are the ones I can think of off of the top of my head. Are you kidding me? You can't even hear this stuff on the college radio station here! The supermarket? Save Mart? REALLY? That is so sad when a town's food store is its bastion of indie/college/ alt. rock. It has also introduced me to new music as well, something that hasn't happened in FOREVER as a result of over the air radio. Yesterday I was buying some things to make our traditional humongoid family breakfast, and I heard this perfect little pop ditty on the speakers in the produce section (gots to have my Fuji apples). I had never heard it before, and it literally stopped me in my tracks to try and discern its lyrics. I memorized a few lines, went home and Googled it, and through the magic of iTunes, found it. Unbelievable. And by sampling that song, it turned me on to another band I had never heard of whose music resonated with me. Wow. My local grocery store turns me on to music in a way that the actual music industry itself has failed at for the last fifteen years or so. There's just something inherently hysterical about that.

Other things that bounced through my head as I pushed my cart along the grocery aisles:

-I wonder why most of us don't party like we did when we were younger? I mean we can, and sometimes DO (I had an experience at a football game last fall that was reminiscent of my best/worst 19 year old behavior), but something seems to fade that demands we tie one on every weekend, Thursday, every other Tuesday, and dollar beer Mondays at the local dive. I went to a Super Bowl get together tonight and had some beers. Caught a slight buzz and had good conversation and laughs. Good times. But back in the day, that vibe would have been "Time for me to really get my drink on!" Tonight the vibe was "Hmmmm....kinda drowsy...need to think about going home...sleep sounds gooooood right now." Plus, I was feeling kinda inflated by the beer. Why is that? At 20 years old you could drink a 12 pack and still wolf down an entire meal. Now? Four Newcastles and you skip the meal for fear of exploding. And sleep? I can remember partying literally until sunrise, sleeping for an hour, showering, then going to school/work...and then doing it all over again THAT NIGHT. I dunno. I think a certain gene kicks in that regulates these things. I think it's the same one that also makes us file our taxes on time and keep our pool clean.

-I never seem to completely finish a pot of coffee. Ever. And I love coffee like others love soda, Jesus, whiskey, or cocaine and strippers. Seriously. There's always that unconsumed 1/4 of an inch in the pot whenever I go to make a new pot. Why is that? People always finish their soda. God knows a drunk polishes off his whiskey. But never the coffee for me. And it doesn't matter how much I make. Two cups, twelve cups...same result. 1/4 of an inch left over. If you added all those leftover dregs up, its probably about a pot a month. And good coffee is expensive. Not un-prescribed oxycontin or hydrocodone expensive (not that I would, you know...."know" about that), but it ain't cheap. Personally I think it is some sort of subliminal sacrifice to the great coffee goddess Insomnia (who I picture is a goddess dressed in a bathrobe, bags under her eyes, hair frazzled, a little twitchy, and clutching a steaming mug of java. She of course magically transforms into a breathtaking vision of loveliness...but only after that morning cup).

-if you ever lose a grandparent, or other elderly loved one, do not fret. I will find them for you. Just let me know they are missing, and I'll get straight to work. All I have to do is be in a hurry, and at the grocery store. They will immediately magically appear in front of me either pushing a cart slower than a snails pace right down the middle of the aisle with no hope of passing them on either side, or be arguing with the cashier about an expired coupon while writing a check for the wrong amount. I have guaranteed results and charge a reasonable finders fee. Just let me know.

Overly Caffinated on a Friday Night...

2010-02-06T00:39:00.000-08:00

It used to be the dumbest things I could think of were extolling the virtues of Republican politics at a Jesse Jackson rally; using a running microwave as a pool toy; being a Mormon missionary in Las Vegas; trying to train a cat; getting in the grocery store line behind an elderly person clutching a fist full of coupons AND a check book; and of course, expecting your pet to actually walk one more inch before puking as to make it on the tile and not on the carpet. But I have a new one that eclipses all of those: drinking two strong cups of coffee late at night. Dumb, dumb, dumb...

So, as I sit and type this, I am tweeking on caffeine like a....uh....well, tweeker. Since I'm not in the mood to do usual tweeker activities like stealing cars, disassembling 20 year old VCR's, replacing the transmission on a 1983 Harley Davidson, or leaving nude Polaroids of myself in strangers cars, I decided to write a ten item stream of consciousness thingamabob here.

-one CAN completely express anything one feels without fear or reservation of the consequences if it's honest and without agenda. One caveat: this does not apply to having ripped one at a funeral and then giggled about it. That's one you want to keep on the down low.

-getting older isn't fun. Dying before you're really old is less fun. You can decide for yourself which is best for you.

-I can cook better than most non-professionals, even their own dishes/recipes. I love tacos. They are my favorite food EVER. And yet, tacos are the one food a non-professional individual I know, hands down, without argument, makes better than me. This is a paradox I feel. But it's not the ultimate paradox. The ultimate paradox was somebody thinking Keanu Reeves was a good fit for a Shakespearean comedy...or the acting field in general.

-Fresnan's drive 11mph in the rain when you can see a mile down the road, but speed up to 92mph in fog with 10ft of visibility. This is absolutely the definition of suicidal retardation. Oh, wait, it's the second tier definition of suicidal retardation: the first definition is-eating off of the Cherry Auction taco truck before your wedding day, job interview, or meeting the girlfriends family for the first time. That's just not going to end well, ever, for anybody involved.

-Fresno got labeled the 'Drunkest City in America'. Considering so many of our bars in the nicer parts of town closed at midnight, it just goes to show you besides being a town full of lushes, we're MOTIVATED LUSHES. "Barkeep! Bring me three!!!! I need to get my DUI on by 11pm!!!" (This survey was of course a joke, because it labeled Boston as the soberest. Really? BOSTON??? A town full of Irishmen? Obviously the survey didn't take into account the fact all these east coast cities have superior public transportation ((part of the survey was based on DUI arrests)), and so the drunks don't have to drive to get home. They can just hop on a bus, train, subway, etc. Because, let's be honest...saying good old Irish Boston is the soberest city in America due to low DUI arrests when nobody really has to drive, is like saying Salt Lake City has the least sex because they're all virgins when they get married (but they all have 15 kids after they get married...do the math!). Please...there's lies, damn lies, and statistics....

-people love their pets more than they love human beings. How do I know? Well, your pet can keep you up all night making noise, and peeing and puking on everything, and be loved just the same. Last time I kept somebody up by noisily peeing and hurling all over the room, I gotta tell 'ya, I wasn't feeling the love...and I was even dressed as a Jack Russel Terrier when it happened (it's a long story that involves a bottle of brown liquor, a bet, two midgets in plushie costumes, a trampoline, and a drinking game gone horribly awry).

-the most self confident male I have EVER met? A guy called The Gypsie who was wearing black gucci loafers WITH a red Armani tracksuit, and was as relaxed as can be. Wow. That took BALLS. CANNON BALLS.

-I've been known to go to the grocery store in an old school Adidas Firebird tracksuit wearing flip-flops...but that pushes the limits of my self confidence (and laziness). And let's face it...flip flops are to Gucci loafers as a librarian is to a stripper. One is just waaaaaaay more out there (but who doesn't enjoy a stripper dressed AS a librarian, right?).

-I'm ready to buy a new car, but Arnold keeps threatening to try and cut my pay. So, I'm on pause until we see what happens. I think Arnold needs to back the hell off because I would really, really, like to buy a new car. Like, you know, tomorrow. I think my need for a new luxury car is far more important than petty politics, don't you? So, Ah-nold...get a grip and enjoy a bratwurst or something. Daddy needs to bring that new car smell home baby!

-started cleaning my own home again, and have discovered I really enjoy vacuuming and mopping floors. I think it's primarily because I enjoy the feel of a freshly mopped floor/vacuumed carpet on my bare feet. Maybe that's TMI, but to me a clean floor on bare feet is a better feeling than......ok, really struggling for an analogy here, but it's good. Some have accused me of having mild foot issues, and perhaps this is just an extension of that. Fine. Whatever. I'm just saying a clean floor on bare feet is.......dammit!......well, you get the idea....

OK, still wired, but I'm going to go listen to some music and get inside the souuuund maaaaannnn.......

More Mental Meanderings...

2010-01-31T23:42:00.000-08:00

So this Saturday I drove down to LA to see Eddie Izzard at the Nokia Theater. Eddie was his usual funny and philosophical self, and the Nokia Theater, located at LA Live next to the Staples Center (where the Lakers play their home games), was a very impressive and glitzy venue (if a tad bit 'artificial'...but hey, it's LA). But it wasn't the show that made the biggest impression on me. It was LA itself. Let me explain....

As I walked around LA Live (which looks like the Vegas strip was teleported into downtown LA), something didn't seem quite right. It was just a vibe...but I didn't immediately know what it was. Then it hit me: the women were sooooooo skinny...and everybody was WHITE. Now yes, I'm a white guy myself, but I live in a pretty ethnically diverse community, and generally, wherever you go, it's a pretty good cultural and ethnic mix. But the snowstorm around me was WEIRD. And the women were emaciated. I mean, they were scary skinny. And the women were tall as well. I mean...TALL. I'm a fairly slender guy, and taller than average at 6-1. But there were women (no, they weren't trannies...no Adams apples visible) who, heels aside, were taller than me. And more than one. They were EVERYWHERE. And SKINNY. Did I mention that? Like, their calves and thighs were no bigger around than their ankles. Oddly enough, for the most part, the men were pretty average of build and height. It was strange. Like I had arrived in the land of the anorexic Amazons and their shorter, wealthy providers. And everybody was dressed very expensively, and the parking garage was filled with Mercedes, BMW's, Jaguars, Cadillacs, Lexus', Infinitis, Acuras, and a few exotic Italian marques. All of this is of course a weird illusion because a mere three blocks away is a whole DIFFERENT UNIVERSE that exists in the same city.

The only food options at LA Live is a bunch of foo-foo sit down restaurants with 90 minute waiting lists (not that the people were eating, certainly not the bulimic Valkyries, but they were pounding down the cocktails), and I was looking for a quick bite before the show. I walked three blocks down Olympic Boulevard looking for something, and found a Mexican fast food chicken place and had a pretty good grilled chicken burrito and a side of roasted plantains (not bad and only 8 bucks with chips and a drink...about what a bottled water would cost back down the street). The clientele of the chicken place (which was PACKED shoulder to shoulder and filled with small children) was also ethnically uniform: all Latin, and judging by their language, all recent immigrants (and giving me surprised looks as I was the only gringo in the restaurant). They also appeared to be considerably less affluent than the other LA inhabitants just down the street. Furthermore, on the street a little ways down from the restaurant was a homeless individual sleeping in a blanket under a freeway overpass...and the juxtaposition was jarring, and telling. That such wealth, mono-ethnicity, and superficiality coexisted in such close proximity to another mono-ethnicity that was poorer and by empirical observation considerably more reproductive, I think this was a microcosm of modern America. The have and have nots, and the freeway overpass that separated them was the Rubicon. And it's pretty obvious who is who. The clueless and disconnected upper class is oblivious to the brewing shit-storm just down the street and what that may mean to their little, self absorbed world. It's like nobody has read a history book or is familiar with the French Revolution. "Let them eat cake!!!" Or, in this case, roasted plantains.

Anyways, LA is a strange place in that its striated class system and otherworldly body image obsession really let's you know YOU ARE NOT FROM THERE. Which is probably just as well...because I like my Mexican food and my women with a bit of a shape...and generally prefer my Chucks to a pair of Guccis.

-I am in love with two, and tonight I had a threesome. With my Dyson and my Swiffer Wet Jet that is. These things are AWESOME. Tonight I cleaned my house top to bottom, and the pleasure I get from using the Dyson and watching all the crap that thing sucks up is indescribable (to my friends in the UK, if you ever run into Mr. Dyson, tell him THANK YOU for bringing such pleasure into my life). I really thought nothing could touch the Dyson. But tonight, I tried the Swiffer Wet Jet for the first time...and wow. Takes half the time to mop, and my tile floors are sooooo clean. I walked around barefoot on them just for the VISCERAL THRILL of my bare feet walking across such freshly scrubbed cleanliness. I think I started to tingle....just a little. Perhaps it's a sad indictment that I get such immense pleasure from a freshly cleaned home (scrubbed my shower too and now it has the sweet perfume of Tilex in it...heaven), but I really have no plans for the next few days other than just EXISTING in my clean house and reveling in its...cleanliness. As you can see, my needs are simple. My only fear is that the Dyson and Swiffer start getting jealous of the attention I pay the other...and a love triangle develops. Nobody needs that kind of cleaning product drama.

-it's amazing what inspires you when you scour your refrigerator for things. Tonight I made a BLT with cream cheese, wax peppers, avocado, fresh basil, and a drizzle of balsamic. Oh my god...can you still call that a BLT? Or should you call it the BEST BLT EVER? I'm fully convinced avocado and wax peppers can improve any dish...hell, it would probably even fly as a topping for a sundae.

-whats with the new, slick, nylon running shoelaces? What are we trying to achieve here? "Look! They don't accidentally get tied in knots!" Exactly. Know what else they don't do? Stay fucking tied. Went for a run tonight and stopped three times to retie my shoes...which is a buzz kill when you're running. Hey, here's an idea. Why don't we just Teflon coat the frigging things and just never bother tying them at all....that way we can run around and have our shoes go flying off after the first three strides, but say how great it was that we didn't have to worry about our laces getting accidentally knotted. Sure, we got hepatitis from running barefoot through a gutter and stepping on some broken glass and an old bloody band aid, but hey, whats a degenerative liver disease compared to knot free laces? A small fucking price to pay I'd say! Right? Wrong. Attention running shoe manufacturers of the world: if I was so desperate about the shoelace knot situation, I'd pray for something that had the magical, voodoo, space age wizardry, only exists in the dreams of small children, fucking Gandolf and Dumbledore dreamed up after a night of heavy drinking together, mind bending capacity to keep a shoe on without laces altogether...oh wait, we already have it. It's called FUCKING VELCRO. Just leave my laces alone, ok? Cotton or a poly cotton blend is fine. Let's not reinvent the wheel amigo.

OK, that was it. Social revolutions, shoelaces, cleaning product threesomes, skinny Amazons, and BLT's. I think that about covered it.

Need to get this off of my chest...

2010-01-24T16:40:00.000-08:00

OK, I'll say it...The Hangover wasn't as funny as everybody claims it to be. It was mildly amusing at best, and tried too hard to be "quirky". You want "quirky" funny, check out The Big Lebowski, Raising Arizona and Dr. Strangelove. Anyways, I don't understand all the kudos it's garnering...which I suppose is an indictment of the current state of cinematic comedy. Amazing what a marketing campaign can achieve. In fact, I'd say these days it's becoming more and more apparent that it's all about marketing and much less so about actual content. Sad, sad, sad...

Other movies that are actually funny (by no means all inclusive and of course there's more):
-Stripes
-Caddyshack
-Animal House
-There's Something About Mary
-Old School
-Sixteen Candles
-The Pink Panther/A Shot in the Dark/The Return of the Pink Panther/The Pink Panther Strikes Again (love Peter Sellers and Herbert Lom)
-Ghostbusters (the first one)
-Blazing Saddles
-Young Frankenstein
-and of course, lots more...

Truth of the matter is a good comedy is far rarer than a good action, drama, romance, or thriller...and should be appreciated when you're lucky enough to experience one.

Random things bouncing around my head...

2010-01-22T17:11:00.000-08:00

Some various, and ultimately, pointless, things have been occupying my mind lately for reasons that probably aren't completely healthy. Fact is, I'd be better off devoting my cranial wattage towards things like a cure for cancer, an even higher definition television, or perhaps new and improved scrubbing bubbles for getting that toilet surgical ward sterile. But no, I devoted my thoughts to the following:

-what the fuck is with the little clock timer on the Ticketmaster ticket purchasing site? Life is stressful and anxiety laden enough, ok? Do I need a fucking clock telling me I have EXACTLY two minutes and thirty three seconds left to complete my purchase before my tickets, MY FUCKING TICKETS!, are released to the next (scumbag) purchaser? Are you kidding me? Why don't you just have some 300 pound goombah come over to my place, put a gun to my head, and have me crack some encrypted code at the same time as well? Of course, since I hadn't been on Ticketmaster in forever, I had to change my credit card info. This required multiple screens and security questions from the Visa corp....and the entire time the clock is ticking, ticking, ticking. One minute...fifty five seconds...gotta hurry...SHIT!!!!!! I spelled my name wrong and I have to re-do the entire billing info!!!!!! Fuck fuck fuck!!!!!! Thirty seven seconds...twenty nine seconds....SOME OTHER ASSHOLE CANNOT HAVE MY EDDIE IZZARD TICKETS!!!!!! GAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! OK, done......wha.....? Type in the word in the box to complete the purchase?????? I can't fucking read it!!!!!!! Is that a lower case "g" or "q"???? I'll go with "g".....shiiiiiiit!!!!!!! It was a fucking "Q"!!!!!!! Got to retype some OTHER unintelligible word now! Fifteen seconds....eleven seconds....nine seconds....am I sure I wish to complete this purchase? Are you kidding me? And let some other fucktard have my ticket???? You're goddamn right I want to complete my purchase!!!!!! Three seconds....Thank you for your purchase! Sigh...I was spent....exhausted....I needed a drink and a Xanax...all for a ticket to a comedy concert. It seemed overkill. I don't think government code crackers work under that kind of stress....as you can tell, I was scarred by the experience (but I get to see Eddie Izzard in LA! Woot!).

-So I have these various mouthwashes (pre-brush rinse, post brush fluoride, etc) that I try and use on a daily basis, hygienic good boy that I am. Know what they all have in common? A child proof twist off cap that the Incredible Hulk after a pot of black coffee, three rails of crank, and a B12 shot couldn't open on a dare. If you cut off a Kurgen's head, and absorbed his soul energy (There can only be one Highlander!!!!!) you may have a shot of getting these things off. A blow torch, a tactical nuke, and a motivated safe cracker may have a shot at it....I dunno. The point I'm trying to get across here is that the caps are less than easy to remove. So, what are they saying here? The very shit were selling you to swish around IN YOUR MOUTH is so fucking DEADLY, we had to make sure nobody, NOBODY, but a highly motivated adult with the grip strength of an enraged orangutan, could possibly open the cap and get to the highly toxic liquid death inside. I mean, if you need that kind of security to prevent ACCIDENTAL INGESTION of a MOUTH WASH, perhaps we should change the formula? You know...just a wee bit? Or maybe just relabel it 'radiator coolant' or 'transmission fluid' or just plain old 'rat poison'? Just a suggestion...but it does give me pause. But boy, does it make your mouth TINGLE!!!!

-I have determined a cotton swab is worse than heroin, crack, alcohol, and Peanut Butter Cups combined for its addictive qualities. If you ever take a shower and feel the desire to dry out your ears with a Q-tip, just DON'T DO IT. Once you start, there's no going back. Once your on the Q-tip fix, just try, TRY, to take a shower and NOT use one to dry your ears after. You can't. And if you do, it will be HELL. The other day I ran out of swabs, and I didn't realize this until after my shower. I was standing there, naked, and in a near panic. I then thought "Dude, it's just a Q-tip, calm down...and go about your business." So I did. It was awful. All day long it felt like my ear was the Okeechobee Swamp....and I was jonesing for a Q-tip...BAD. I rolled up a Kleenex and tried to get my fix...no good. I think this must be what the DT's feel like. PURE-TORTURE. Anyway, through a Herculean effort of pure willpower, I got through the day by picking at the imaginary spiders crawling all over my skin. Funny thing though...if you go for a swim, no need for Q-tips. It doesn't activate THE NEED. THE HUNGER. But the shower? Another thing all together. "Hi, my name is John, and I'm a cotton swabber.......and today is the first day of the rest of my life" "Welcome John!" What do you think? Surely there must be a 12 step group somewhere for this...

-I experienced true, unadulterated lust for the first time in a long time today. LUST I tell you....CAR LUST. Re-connected with a long time friend of mine who hooked me up with a test drive of the new Acura TL (plus the Snow Leopard OS and MS Office....score!). OH...WOW. It is such a MANLY CAR. Not a chick car....AT ALL. Some people don't like the looks, but to me it's hot hot hot (plus it looks a hundred times better in person). Also, it's an electronic geeks wet dream. I cannot even begin to tell you all the do-dads it has. And the ride? Smooooooth. Anyways, as shallow as all this sounds, I want this car...and I will have it. Personal life a shambles? Maybe....but I know how to buy expensive shit. THAT I can do better than most....

-Finally dumped all my CD's onto my computer and listening on shuffle...its kind of like having your own radio station. Why did it take me so long to do this? (Style Council at the moment...Have You Ever Had It Blue?) However, I do need a much larger capacity iPod now to get these tunes portable....its always something ($). Also watching Casino Royale (Eva Green....YOWZA!) and writing this blog. Who said men cannot multi-task? Ffffft......

-Speaking of Apple (I know..but I needed a transition for my next rant), my ownership of a Mac Book continues to be more frustrating than an eighty year old in the fast lane. My wireless router took a dump and I had to buy a new one. Simple fix, right? Just hook it up and configure it, right? WRONG. The crux of the issue was this: the software that came with the router has this step by step process that requires you to hit "next" at the bottom of the screen like, fifty three times. You cannot accomplish this by simply hitting "enter/return". Guess what? For reasons I'm sure only Steve Fucking Jobs understands, my MacBook screen wouldn't show the bottom of the page with the buttons I need to install the GODDAMN SOFTWARE. I got rid of the dock, fucked with the screen size....NOPE! NO GO MY MAN!!! After a half an hour of profanity, you want to know what did it take to set up the router (you may or may not be asking yourselves)? I had to fire up my rickety assed, eight year old desk top PC with a CD drive that barely functions in order to run the software. And guess what? It magically showed the whole screen and I configured the router lickity split. Wow. Good thing I have this fancy schmancy Mac, isn't it? But my frustrations do not end there. Oh, no no no. I have a new all in one printer, scanner, fax. Guess how it works with my Mac I just found out? It prints (yea)...and thats it. For reasons (Mr. Jobs?) I cannot fathom, they decided to not make the drivers for the scanner and fax compatible, and refuse to write them to this day. What the fuck????? Huh?????? WHY??????? I downloaded third party programs that were supposed to fix this issue, and.....nope. Great. Now I have all that shit cluttering up my computer as well. After two hours of sweat, colorful language, and tears of rage, I went back to the Apple and HP sites just to discover that my model was one of the FEW they arbitrarily decided not to fully configure. Why? Who the fuck knows. But there you go. Thank you Apple Corp (to be fair, Snow Leopard is supposed to help this situation...we shall see). Anyways, my Mac experience continues to be less than advertised. Thank god for that magnetic power plug connection...the one feature I'm down with.

-OK, that will do for now. Went to gym and need to shower. As you can see my Friday night is shaping up to be LEGEND...perhaps I'll hit Facebook next. Whoa...somebody stop me!!!!! :)

Surreality

2010-01-13T01:19:00.000-08:00

You ever see something that appears to be quite real, but your mind just says "No way". Normally I have this reaction when my daughters do a household chore without being told to do so, and I'll stop and stare as they're taking out the garbage...savoring the moment because, God knows, it may never happen again. But what I saw today whilst accessing the freeway was something else altogether.

As I accessed the Shields Avenue on-ramp to northbound SR-41 today around 1:30 pm, I saw two gentlemen hitchhiking with their thumbs out. Full grown, adult men. This in and of itself is not terribly odd I suppose. But here's the kicker: they were dressed as Puritans. You know, those people in the black and white clothing with the buckles on their shoes and the wide brimmed hats that just scream "missionary position only please"? The people from all those Thanksgiving projects you did in elementary school as you glued macaroni to construction paper and ate paste (oh, come on, you at least tasted it on a dare)? Yeah...those people. As I drove buy I gave them a good look thinking "OK, clearly there is a hidden camera here somewhere, and all of this is going to end up on some lame assed reality show, or I am just really, really wasted because somebody slipped a roofie into my venti Starbucks." But they seemed quite earnest in their desire for a ride, I saw no evidence of a camera crew, my Starbucks seemed to be un-tainted, and they had some very non-Puritan looking luggage (when I think Puritan, I usually don't also think "Samsonite") with them that seemed to suggest it was all legit. Thoughts began to circle in my head: are they REALLY, REALLY LATE for a Thanksgiving costume party somewhere? Are they in a hurry and need a ride to oppress some American Indians, steal their land and give them smallpox? Did they just steal a turkey and they're making a break for it? (I saw no signs of any fowl in the area...but still...) Was there a rave in the neighborhood I wasn't invited to??? None of this quite rang true and I was perplexed as to what these two gents were doing on the side of the road. I was almost curious enough to offer them a ride just to hear their story, but then thought the odds of me winding up dead and buried in a shallow grave in an orchard (no doubt with a side of mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce and stuffing) were probably about 50/50, and I didn't like those odds. But still, what the fuck, right?

Actually, it was a little unsettling. You know how some people are creeped out by clowns? I think I have something similar in relation to Puritans. I don't know if its the oppressive religious connotations that surrounded their culture, their lust for roasted turkey, their limited clothing color scheme, or their penchant for burning people at the stake, but they kind of give me the heebie jeebies.

Anyway, it was one of those things you just really can't make up, and your brain just can't accept what you're seeing...and yet, there they were...hitchhiking Puritans.

Quick Thoughts

2010-01-11T00:35:00.000-08:00

-If you've never gone to the grocery store late at night, you really should. Every freak and nutjob is there aimlessly wandering around eyeballing the egg cartons and frozen cookie dough. It's like a scene from a zombie movie, except the people with the blank stares opening up all the egg cartons (true story) are more disturbing than anything Hollywood can conjure up.

-I want a new car. I don't want to PAY for a new car. It is slowly becoming apparent nobody is just going to give me one for free. Therefore, I will have to part with some cash in order to acquire a new car. This is highly disappointing.

-Now that I'm back home for good, it has dawned on me I should try an establish something resembling a social life. This, however, sounds like a lot of work. Besides, giving somebody a shitty look from behind my sunglasses due to their incompetence behind the wheel while driving down the freeway counts as socializing, right? RIGHT?

-People really are as crazy/dysfunctional/stupid/narcissistic as you think they are. They will generally show you this the first time you meet them. Don't give them the chance to show you a second time (I am ashamed to admit I got that last sentence from....Oprah. Gag. I was channel surfing and she uncorked that little nugget...which I have to give her props for).

-Sometime, when I wasn't paying attention (I was probably slowly suffering in the hell of my former marriage at the time), women turned into men. The women I meet now (I'm talking socially) drink more, sleep around more, lie more, chase younger ass more, and cheat more than the men I know (and way more than me). I'm not sure what to make of this, other than it can't be good...and is kind of sad. Ah, equality. You've come a long way sister.

-I went for a jog tonight at about 1030 pm. Working nights, my biorhythms are quite a bit different, and this is not unusual for me to do, no matter how cold, late, etc. However, judging by the looks I received from a few folks from their second story windows, I think the rest of the neighborhood thinks I'm either wildly caffeinated, high on methamphetamine, or have gone off my meds.

-It's amazing what you'll do for love. Intense love. For instance, I intensely love the hummus and roasted garlic aoli at the House of Kebab (I pour the aoli over everything: the chicken, the pilaf, hell, even the tabouleh). However, this roasted garlic aoli will leave me in a state of discomfort for 24 hrs. after consumption (had it Friday night, and was suffering well into Saturday). It's a helluva price to pay. Don't care. It's that good. I'm sure there's a parallel to people here somewhere, exception being the House of Kebab never disappoints.

Good night.

Educate Me You Kool Aid Slurpers

2010-01-10T17:24:00.000-08:00

What in the hell is the colorful spinning pinwheel of death (oh a Mac never locks up, that's why they're soooooo awesome!!!) that causes my Mac to do something VERY SIMILAR to locking up but I know that cant possibly be whats actually happening because after drinking the Jobs flavored Kool Aid one becomes incapable of recognizing a computer that is...um...locking up? I'm guessing this little psychedelic ferris wheel is just another added AWESOME MAC FEATURE that I'm just too dense and technically deficient to use/appreciate/worship and that I'm not fully grasping the over all AWESOMENESS my interactive MAC EXPERIENCE is delivering to me. Look, a locked up computer with a pretty little sparkler is still a LOCKED UP COMPUTER. Just because you put the pig into a dress, doesn't make it...uh....well, not a pig. Anyways, I'm beginning to wonder if maybe the whole thing is just one GIGANTIC stroke of MARKETING GENIUS...and a lot of fluffy hot air. OK, make that I'm not wondering at all...I KNOW.

OK, I do like the magnetic power plug though...that, admittedly, is pretty cool....

My take on that Meatloaf song...

2010-01-07T16:18:00.000-08:00

So, just what is "IT" that he wouldn't do for love? Looked up the lyrics, and the meaning of the song seems to me to be this: he's a hopeless romantic who pledges his undying love and devotion, and promises to never leave or betray ("but I won't do that"), despite the fact he'd "do anything for love". She, realizing he's a hopeless romantic, believes the moment he perceives he loves another (and him being a hopeless romantic, it's inevitable that he will), realizes he will leave and/or betray, due to the bitter irony he WILL in fact "do anything for love". She skewers him with his own logic, a concept he cannot grasp. Then again, maybe that's too complicated. A wise man once said "the simplest answer is often the truest." So by that theorem, maybe it is about butt sex.

Life is like a broken sprinkler

2010-01-04T22:58:00.000-08:00

Tried answering my mobile phone today. Here's an interesting thing about my mobile phone: it takes going through about 26 prompts in order to answer a call, but you can dump a call with just one (usually accidental) push of the button. Isn't that great? If I'm on the phone, and I received another call I'd like to answer, it goes something like this: answer call? Switch to answered call? Talk to person whose call you switched to and/or answered? Are you sure? No, I mean REALLY sure? Like, you know, sure-sure? OK, here they are....ha! Not really, I'm not convinced you really want to have this conversation. You do? Honestly? OK...but I think you're making a mistake...plus, I think you borrowed his leaf blower last fall and never returned it. But go ahead if you like, but you'll be sorry. Plus the guy's kind of a dick. Oh, you'd like too anyways? Still? OK. Answer call? Switch to answered call?

You get the idea. But if you want (or not) to dump a call...one push of the button is all it takes and it's "SAYONARA MOTHER FUCKER! I'll talk to you in Hell!!!!!" Usually, this happens by accident, and as I'm attempting to re-dial the person whose call I just nuked, they're trying to call me back, and I have to go through the 26 prompt torture session to again try and retrieve the call. They then again get dumped and this Danse Macabre continues ad infinitum. This made me ponder just how smart these so called "smart" phones are going to get, since they seem to be able to determine just when somebody is actually worth talking to. Maybe you won't even be using them and they'll start up unexpectedly as they sit in your pocket and start talking to you. For instance you'll be at the store looking at a shirt and your phone will suddenly say "Dude, please tell me you're not considering buying that shirt...I mean, what are you going to match it with? Parachute pants?" Or you'll be at a bar, drunk out of your mind, chatting up somebody and your phone will start up with "Really? Has your life gotten so bad that a sweaty encounter with this troll seems like a good idea? Hey, while your at it, since you seem so Hell bent on demeaning yourself, why don't you go ahead and take a dump in the potted palm in the corner while singing 'Dont Cry for Me Argentina' at the top of your lungs, then walk away with your pants around your ankles and state to the bartender "Keep the change". As you can see, the phones of tomorrow will be smart, as well as sarcastic AND passive-aggressive.

Was watching TV and saw what was the two most perfect, and true to life scenes I have seen in some time. One was this guys little soliloquy about how his friend is always running late because "When you're constantly late, you never have to think. All you can keep in your mind is the aggravation of the traffic and traffic lights that you feel is making you even later for your destination. It keeps your mind occupied. When you're early and relaxed, your mind wanders, and you're forced to look in your rear view mirror and wonder who you really are..." Fuckin A. Not bad. I saw a lot of truth in that. The other scene was this 40 something guy who has this intense and philosophical encounter with his teenage daughter's ex-boyfriend. He feels like he has given this heart broke lad some important life tips, and maybe, just maybe, connected with him in a way that is going to serve the "not yet quite a man" well as he continues with his life. He then walks away and stands in his yard, pondering and savoring the experience...and has a look of a man who may, in fact, be reflecting back on his own bitter sweet youth. Then a sprinkler explodes and a geyser of water erupts into the sky. Reality sets in, and the bullshit necessities of life quickly snuff out his "win". I thought to myself "Holy shit...that was....perfect." Anyways, that was the truest slice of life I have seen on TV in quite some time. Who knows? Maybe next time the show will show somebody taking a dump in a potted palm...and I know I will have found a new show for me.

Not nearly as clever as I think I is...

2010-01-03T14:05:00.000-08:00

So, after a somewhat trying day, I had this little nugget of realization spring into my head: "There is no reward for doing the right thing...doing the right thing IS the reward unto itself" (yes, thoughts worded like this actually do pop into my head ALL THE TIME). This, admittedly, is sometimes less than instantly gratifying, but there you go. Thinking I was now some sort of philosophical giant whose brilliance the world had yet to recognize, I wondered if this idea had been proffered before. Yep. "Virtue is its own reward. There's a pleasure in doing good which sufficiently pays itself." Sir John Vanvbrugh circa 1700. Dammit! Total buzz kill. The bastard...

Also, on an unrelated note, can you explain this to me? I spent THREE HOURS cleaning my house yesterday, and the minute (no joke. Almost instantaneously as I turned off the vacuum, the door bell rang) I finished, my mom and sister showed up with yet another in an endless series of artsy/fartsy/craftsy things to do to decorate my daughters bedroom. In no time at all it was a mountain of packing material from Pottery Barn Teen, saw dust from having to Dremmel Tool out an ill fitting wood piece on an object, and various pens and tools scattered throughout upstairs. Time I got to enjoy a clean and tidy home? 23.9 nanoseconds. Now, the thing is, my family knows that one of the few ways I can truly relax is by having a quiet, calm, CLEAN AND TIDY home. It allows me to unwind without the hum of things that need to be done buzzing within my head. So, I am at a loss as to why they would do this? They had to wait until I cleaned my home? The stuff had been sitting around for days, and they waited until NOW???? If they had chained me to the floor, pried open my eyelids, filled my eye sockets with gasoline and lit them ablaze like I was some sort of hellish Tiki torch, it would have caused me less distress. And the amazing thing is, as well as they know me, they totally DID NOT GET IT. Beginning to wonder if I'm being Gaslighted, or if perhaps when I speak to my family (all women by the way), all they hear is a series of grunts like I am some sort of ill tempered simian.

FUUUUUUUUCKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!

2009-12-31T03:43:00.000-08:00

OK, I JUST SPENT 3 1/2 HOURS TRYING TO UN-FORMAT THE FUCKING POST BELOW "PARKING LOT PHYSICS"!!!!!!! THE FUCKED UP DIAGRAMS YOU NOW SEE (WHICH WEREN'T FUCKED UP WHEN I KEPT DRAWING THEM!!!) I DREW OVER AND OVER TRYING TO SHOW TWO GODDAMNED THINGS: A REPRESENTATION OF A STRAIGHT LINE AND A WANDERING, CROOKED, AIMLESS LINE. I DREW IT OVER AND OVER, FILLED IN GAPS, AND THE GODDAMN FUCKING COMPUTER/BLOGGER/WHATEVER THE FUCK KEEPS FORMATTING IT AND SCREWING UP MY FUNNY LITTLE PICTURE TO ACCOMPANY THE BLOG!!!!!! I CANNOT TURN THE MOTHER FUCKER OFF!!!!! JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY!!!!! YES, I'M YELLING!!!!!!

Sigh...anyway, I painstakingly created this little diagram to show a direct path, and indirect path, but the computer/Blogger thinks I'm too big a 'tard to properly format a paragraph/sentence and keeps trying to format my diagram into a coherent sentence (which it's NOT MEANT TO BE!!!) and thus screwing up my work, and lessening the hysterical impact of my blog. I deactivated the formatting and its supposedly 'wysiwyg' but its NOT. Grrrrrrrrrrrr....trust me, the diagram was amusing. THANK YOU BLOGGER EVIL OVERLORDS OF CONFORMITY!!!!! Bleh...I'm going to bed.....

Parking Lot Physics

2009-12-30T23:17:00.000-08:00

Whilst returning a pair of slippers at my neighborhood shopping complex and driving through the parking lot, I came up with a new theory regarding the laws of physics that dictate movements within the traffic lanes of the parking lot. I know what you are thinking, "But John! The laws of physics are immutable and apply everywhere within the known Universe!" Um, no...they don't. Parking lots are like the interior of a black hole...the laws of physics, and the math that explains physics, break down. Let me explain:

Simple geometry, as well as your basic gravitational pull, dictate that the natural order of things is to move in a direct path, unless that thing is influenced by another thing. To simplify, let's say people walking across a parking lot are attempting to access a building, say, for instance, Macy's. This crude graph will illustrate what the known principles of physics (coupled with the lust for a post-Christmas sale item) say their direction of travel SHOULD look like (the asterisks are the pedestrians in this diagram):

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
X@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@X X@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@X
X@@ TRAFFIC LANE BETWEEN PARKING STALLS AND MACYS @@@@X X@@@@@@@@@@@@ BUILDING @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@X X @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@X
X @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@X
X @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@X
MACYS@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@PARKINGSTALLS X@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@X X***********************************************************************X
X@@@(pedestrians taking logical, direct path, i.e. 'straight line' )@@@@@@X
X@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@X
X@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@X
X@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@X
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

OK, again, that is what it SHOULD have looked like according to the known laws of the Universe. However, since there is a new law of the physical Universe that controls the movements of pedestrians within shopping center parking lots, their actual path of travel looked like this:

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
X @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@X
X@@@ TRAFFIC LANE BETWEEN PARKING STALLS AND MACYS@@ X
X @@@@@@@@@@@ BUILDING @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ X
X @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@X X@@@@@*@@@@@@@@*@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ X
MACYS@*@*@@@@@@*@*@@@@*@@@@@@@@*@@@@@@@@PARKINGSTALLS
X@@@*@@*@@@@@*@@*@@@*@*@@@@@@*@*@@@@@@@*X X@@*@@@@**@@@*@@@*****@@@*@@@@*@@@*@@@@@*@X
X@@*@@@@@@*@@*@@@@@@@@@@*@@*@@@@@*@@@*@X
X@*@@@@@@@@***@@@@@@@@@@@*@*@@@@@@***@*@@X
X*@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@*@@@@@@@@@*@@X
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Through the magical properties of this new law, a walk of about fifty feet can be stretched into a half-mile journey. I'm calling this new law 'Human Universal Ambling' or 'H.U.A.' for short. Another name for this could be 'Active Sauntering Slowly While Involving Product Exchange' or 'A.S.S.W.I.P.E.' for short. We'll call it the Total ASSWIPE effect of parking lots or the HUA parking lot phenomena. And today, I had a magnificent display of it as I sat in my idling vehicle while people, under the direct combined influence of 'HUA' and being an 'ASSWIPE', took 15 minutes to cross the parking lot vehicle lane as I burned precious gasoline and fouled the atmosphere with my non-moving vehicles noxious fumes as I waited for them to pass by (yes, yes, I momentarily fantasized about mashing the gas pedal and wedging their twisted, bleeding bodies under my tires and radiator, but my employer, and society as a whole, frowns on vehicular homicide. There 'ya go...the 'man' sucking the fun out of everything...as usual).

Anyways, I have no idea what can be done about this, as any universal law, like gravity, cannot be overcome...just like death, taxes, and herpes.

Ingrate

2009-12-30T00:38:00.000-08:00

I have come to the conclusion I may be something of an ingrate...at least when it comes to my family. Let me explain...

I went out to dinner with Brian (best friend of about 23 years) tonight, and my sister, who is just about the best sister I could ask for, and certainly the best aunt my two daughters could ever DREAM of, came over and hung out with my girls for the few hours I was out. She does this free of charge, of her own free will, and without complaint. I am a lucky guy. In fact, she even cooked dinner for them (she is now apparently trying to instill an even harder to please palate in them: she made paninis with fresh, locally produced mozzarella, fresh basil, fresh baguette, and drizzled with olive oil...they loved them. Yeah, I can whip that up any old time. Thanks sis!). So, I am the luckiest single dad in the world, right? Right. Buuuuuuuuut.......

I come home, and find the kitchen in...let's just say 'less than my usual standards'. OK, no big deal...I'll just tidy up. Then I glance at the counter, and what do I see? Bread crumbs like a Canadian blizzard just swept through my kitchen. And they are EVERYWHERE. I mean, it's really impressive. I ponder how this baguette was sliced in order to produce such an impressive array of crumbs: did they use a chain saw? Maybe they held the baguette up to the jaws of a rabid wolverine? Or perhaps they created slices through the skillful use of explosives? Or did they simply start punching and kicking it until the desired amount of slices fell off? Truth be told, anything was possible (although I'm thinking rabid wolverine). And that is when it struck me: I was being a total ingrate. I had trustworthy, FREE childcare that even made my kids dinner, and here I was obsessing over the bread crumb situation. I mean, really John? REALLY? Well...........yeah actually. You should have seen it! Had you dumped a three foot French loaf into a wood chipper and aimed it at my kitchen counter, you STILL WOULDN"T have achieved the 'crumb per square inch' (my new kitchen mathematical acronym: CSI) coverage my sister and daughters achieved. And yet, as I sit and type this, it occurs to me I'm a bit of a dick for even caring........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................but you really, really, really, really, REALLY should have seen the crumbs. Really.

Laundry fixes everything

2009-12-27T17:50:00.000-08:00

Wrote a blog, decided it was a fucking downer, and deleted it. Be happy I saved you from reading some self indulgent bullshit.

Wrote a second blog, and deleted that as well. Same reason. You're welcome.

Wrote a third blog and actually laughed (mockingly...at myself no less) at its pseudo hipster proselytizing about the human condition and the darkness that surrounds us. I actually thought to myself "Jesus Christ John...don't be an asshole."

So, with that, I'm giving up on the blog thing, and I think I'll go do some laundry, go to the gym, and make some banana bread (with white chocolate and toasted walnuts...yum!).

Things I've Been Pondering

2009-12-10T22:00:00.000-08:00

-You know that Visa commercial where the couple is talking about all the wonderful things they can do with their rewards points? The man (of the apparently married couple) rhapsodizes poetic about all the cool trips they can take together, the wonderful fancy meals and dancing they can do together, etc. His scenarios are INCLUSIVE. He's thinking of HER as well as himself. At the end of the commercial the woman informs the man that they in fact WILL NOT be doing any of those wonderful couple activities because she, the woman, has already spent the entire sum (which based on the man's apparently ridiculous fantasies of expensive mutual overseas travel and assumption his self centered shrew of a wife wouldn't blow the sum entirely upon herself...which I guess after ten years of marriage it has yet to dawn on this rube what a bitch his wife is), which must have been, at minimum, in the neighborhood of five grand...MINIMUM. And what has this lovely spent the money on? Why a haute couture dress for herself of course. I mean, just because they're married and supposedly partners in this thing we call life, apparently she felt perfectly justified in spending their hard earned cash exclusively on herself because it made her feel "pretty". And isn't that a small price to pay for her happiness? She then shows off the dress to him and does a little pirouette for him. He then gives a little smile like "Awwww...that's my girl!"

My question is this: why aren't more people HORRIBLY OFFENDED by this commercial??? It makes women look like self absorbed, vacuous, narcissistic tramps, and men look like co-dependent, indulging, castrated PUSSIES. I saw that commercial and my first thought was this:"I don't condone domestic violence, but in this scenario....." I mean, really? Were supposed to find this CUTE? Are you shitting me??? This commercial is a microcosm of EVERYTHING THAT IS WRONG WITH RELATIONSHIPS. You ladies should hate this commercial too because it DOES NOT flatter your ability to be feeling, caring, nurturing, empathetic.....well, actual fucking human beings. And guys? You should hate it too because it paints us as willing to tolerate pretty much anything because we lack backbone (i.e. BALLS), self confidence, and a sense of self when dealing with our significant others because we don't know how NOT TO BE dominated by women. I guess the part of the commercial we missed was when after she shows him the dress she informs him shes been fucking the pool boy for the last six months, and if he dares divorce her, she'll take half his shit...so if he knows what's good for him he'll just keep buying her dresses like a good little boy. Sigh...pathetic and offensive.

-Speaking of commercials...what's with the new one for Levi's jeans? There's this weird post apocalyptic feel to it, theres a bunch of shirtless teens doing what looks like outdoor gymnastics under a nuclear holocaust of a sky, and there's some Depression era voice over with a guy droning on about "You sinewy bodied pioneers sharpen your axes and spades for we cannot tarry here...oh you pioneers...you pioneers" WHAT...THE...FUCK? Can somebody explain to me a) what the fuck that was about b) how in the hell it applies to jeans and c) don't these advertisers realize that the typical brain dead, X-Box addled, pot infused, hormonally imbalanced teenager they're marketing their product to has no clue what in the hell a word like "tarry" means? They'd be better off with an advertisement showing a heavily tattooed guy rolling around in their jeans in an MMA ring who after choking out an CGI animated alien lifted from a scene in Halo, runs over to a Japanese sports motorcycle and jumps it over a flaming pit of crocodiles before landing in a swimming pool of Vegas strippers swimming in KY Jelly who then does a shot of Jager and screams "MOTHER FUCKIN' LEVI'S MOTHER FUCKER!!!!!!!!! WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!" He then flashes some sort of white boy wanna be gang sign thing as the heavy metal music is cued up. Now THAT (unfortunately) would make more sense to the youth of America and sell some jeans.

-What in the hell happened to cinnamon gum? I loved cinnamon Trident, Big Red (insert joke here), etc. Now I can't find it anywhere. I'm thinking they're hiding it with the dark chocolate Reeses Peanut Butter Cups (which I STILL have not located...although somebody did finally provide me with some, to which I again say, thank you!). We have 93 different flavors of spearmint/peppermint/wintergreen/winterfresh etc., and exotic flavors like "Mandarin-melon-badger rectum-biscuit and gravy-ice with a juicy fresh burst center", but no cinnamon...and I must ask, is "badger rectum ice" really more popular than cinnamon? Or am I just that out of touch? You're right...don't answer that.

OK, I had other stuff to rant about, but at the moment, I have forgotten them and am solely thinking of having a cup of Mexican hot chocolate...of which, I have decided, I will get up and make right now (I think it fills the cinnamon void I am feeling). Plus its raining right now and I want to just sit and listen to it.

Good night.

All the worlds a douche bag...

2009-12-02T10:59:00.000-08:00

I used to have this idea that douche bags were few and far between, and the ones that existed were easily spotted. For me, the obvious douche bag was that Ivy League educated, east coast, blue blooded investment banker with a squash racquet up his ass. The pin striped dickhead who votes for Jesus with one hand as he steals the coins out of your pocket with the other. You know, THAT GUY. And he (and she) is. A douche bag that is. But while watching TV the other night (not right now mind you, because my TV is in the shop...I had no idea how empty my life was without my 46 inch HDTV until it was gone...kind of like that lover you didn't appreciate until they were no longer around. Then again, we ARE talking about my TV here...and while human interaction is nice, it doesn't bring me 200+ channels of useless entertainment ranging from shows about the wonders of the cosmos to a screen full of full frontal nudity with little or no plot line. In fact, I propose a theory I'll call the "entertainment inverse nudity sqaure law" ((or EINSL)) which goes something like this: the higher the content of nakedness in any form of video entertainment, the logic/reality/probability behind the plot line is reduced by its square root. This explains why nobody you know has ever received a BJ from a nurse while in the hospital, despite what the Playboy Channel would have us believe. But I digress...) I realized that douche bags are everywhere.

I was watching this live music thing with Katy Perry. I know, "Why in the hell were you watching that drivel?" Well, I used to think she was kinda hot. I don't know anything about her music, or her as a person. I had just seen pictures of her, and she had this retro thing going on and I thought "kinda hot". So, whilst channel surfing, I caught her in an "unplugged performance" and watched it for about five minutes. Talk about a buzz kill. Have you ever really looked at artsy fartsy people and thought "you're trying too hard...and coming across as kind of a douche bag." Well, while watching Katy and her band, that was my reaction. Her bassist wore his hair in a manner that stated "I just rolled out of bed and didn't have time to comb it I was in such a hurry", but upon further inspection you could see the gel and styling in it that ACTUALLY stated "It took me three hours with a stylist to get my hair to look like I just rolled out of bed and couldn't bother combing it". Douche bag poseur. Another was tatted up to the point of ridiculousness. Now, tats are fine. I know lots of people with them, and cannot remember the last woman I've met who didn't at least have one (no joke...I can't remember when). But a tattoo, in my opinion, should mean something other that TRYING to look cool. This guy was trying to look all menacing and hard core. Menacing? Hard core? Are you fucking kidding me? You're a musician for KATY PERRY of "I Kissed A Girl" and "You're So Gay" fame for Christs sake!!! The "hardest core" thing you deal with is whether your hotel room stocked your Evian spring water as you requested as opposed to, horror of horrors and god forbid, something non-imported. At the very least, your tattoo should mean something important to you, but when you have thirty-six tattoos, I'm thinking you've exceeded what's considered "special" and are now just a raging douche bag poseur. And Katy herself was trying to come across as funny and deep, but just sounded like yet another self absorbed tart obsessed with her own celebrity....DOUCHE BAG.

So, what did I take away from this? What I took away from it was that douche bags are not limited to our rich and powerful people of influence. That was me being a closed minded....well, douche bag...for being such a class hating dweeb. Douche bags are all over, and are also thick in the so called arts and culture scene (which, had I thought about it for two seconds, is a real "no duh" idea). Point being I guess is rather simple...appreciate the non-douche bags in your life. They are to be cherished, because the douche bags of the world are multiplying across all social strata at an alarming rate, and soon, will completely take over the earth. I fear not the coming Apocalypse, or Muslim/religious fundamentalists, or high fructose corn syrup, trans fats, and carbs. No, none of these keep me up at night. It's the ever increasing prevalence of the raging, narcissistic, self absorbed, douche bag that worries me.

Time Killer

2009-11-25T02:16:00.000-08:00

Well, as usual, it's late, I'm doing laundry, and watching a Nova episode on "dreams". Such is my life. I guess I'm writing this purely as a stream of consciousness thing in order to kill time, so, I can't imagine I'll have much to say. So, I'll just blather along here...
First of all, I'm cold. Hands are freezing! What the hell??? This is odd because I'm usually quite warm. Ask any woman I've ever dated. They may not sing my praises about what a nifty guy I was, but they will all admit I was a great source of prodigious body heat on a cold evening, and most were only too happy to stick cold feet into me, crawl up under my arm and wiggle into the crook of my rib cage, or stick cold arms up my shirt in order to rob me of my thermal goodness. And now, my hands, and feet, are getting cold, and my nose is running. Hmmmm...well, surely erectile dysfunction and prostate issues are just around the corner as well. Time marches on and age descends. Huzzah.
My fancy schmansy wide screen TV has little white spots all over the screen. It has something to do with a faulty chip. The TV is out of warranty, so you'd think I'm screwed, right? Wrong. Samsung, much to my utter AMAZEMENT, is going to pay for the fix. Yeah...exactly, I almost crapped my pants too. Who woulda thunk it? Then again, your TV shouldn't crap out after three years, right? Remember that old 24 inch color set your parents had...for about 500 years?????? I'm on my second hi-def set in last four years that has had issues. I'm getting the impression these new hi-def TV's are really just disposable pieces of crap we're actually renting, rather than buying. Still...thank you Samsung.
Update from "dream" episode I'm watching. They're screwing with the brains of cats and mice. Did you know your muscles freeze when you're dreaming? Its what keeps you still. Well, these scientists shorted out the part of the brain responsible for that in a cat, and when it fell asleep and started dreaming, it started running around and appeared to be stalking imaginary prey, even though it was dead asleep. FREAKY! Can you imagine if they did that to a human? Think of the weird shit you sometimes dream about, and then ACTUALLY acting it out...SCARY.
I decided to do the cooking for Thanksgiving this year. I'm brining a turkey (always wanted too), going to make my kick ass mashed potatoes (gotta mix in lots of butter, sour cream, and some cheese to make it full of artery clogging goodness), a cheesey green bean casserole from scratch (no canned mushroom soup here baby), plus some other things (like stuffing), etc. It's going to be a total food orgy...although there will only be three of us here half the day (me, mom and sis), and then my two daughters later in the evening. Still, I like to cook, and I am pretty good at it. I like to get in the kitchen (stay outta my way!) and just get in the zone and let my mind work out all of life's problems as I slice and dice. It's kind of therapeutic. But, I get frustrated when people invade my space...it distracts me and takes away from any enjoyment I get out of it. I like to cook alone, and this seems to upset people. Why is that? When folks cook for me I don't barge into their kitchen and insist on helping, and then treat them like an asshole if they refuse. I ask if they'd like help, and if they say "no", I'm happy to sit and watch TV (or whatever). But for some reason when I say "No, I've got it...but thanks" people get all pissy. This baffles me...you would think people would be happy having someone shovel food at them as they sit on their ass. I know I am. Hell, I cook and EVEN do the dishes....again, by myself. Bonus, right? So what's the issue?
OK, dream episode scientist guy is hypothesizing that dreams are preparation for real life. His idea is a nightmare is a run-through and practice for a real life crisis you may have to deal with. I dunno...if I dreamed I had sex with a refrigerator (I'm just sayin'), of what value is that? Then again, maybe it just means I am a food lover! hahahaha OK, moving on...
My bed is hellaciously comfortable. Seriously. You should all try it...I'm not joking. This morning, and this is no joke, I was laying in it and all warm with my down comforters and freshly laundered sheets and thinking "I feel sorry for folks not in my bed. They are truly missing out...and I feel sad for them...then again, life's a bitch, and they'll just have to deal." Anyway, I haven't spent much time in it lately as I've been out of town quite a bit, but it was like the embrace of a long lost lover whose touch you've missed, but haven't forgotten, and instantly recognize. This morning was our passionate reunion, and I nearly shed a tear of happiness and joy. OK, I'm joking...but the thing is pretty fucking comfortable.
Jesus Christ, how long does it takes clothes to dry?????? Ugh.....
OK, according to the late night ABC World News, the Brits are building a 1,000 MPH super car powered by the engine of a supersonic fighter jet. Wouldn't that be cool? At that speed I could be to work in about 42 seconds...which would naturally allow me to sleep in later. I want one.
The female newscaster on this show has really white teeth, obviously bleached. Plus, shes Indian, so they jump out even more (due to the duskier complexion). Everybodys teeth are just SO WHITE now its freaky. True, white teeth are nice, and mine could be a little better after a lifetime of coffee, tea, colas, the occasional drunken cigarette...but still. These day-glow chompers people have now as a result of cosmetic bleaching is the equivalent of the boob job...obviously artificial, and just TOO MUCH. I'm sure there are "natural looking" boob jobs and natural "teeth whitening" jobs out there, but as usual, most folks dive right in with the freaky overkill. There's just something weird about a 35 year old smiling and their teeth are snow white and 50 shades lighter than a six year old. Where does the vanity end? Thats right...it doesn't. After all, the world already has gone to anal bleaching. Hmmmm....I guess next is having your blood dyed a prettier shade of crimson and your urine filtered a second time by an implanted artificial third kidney prior to going to the bathroom so it gives society the impression youre properly hydrated at all times, whether you are or not, should somebody see your pee (horror of horrors...its just too yellow!).
Oh, hear that buzzer? My laundrys done!!!!!!!!!! Good night!

A trip to the grocery store

2009-11-15T01:17:00.000-08:00

One would think a quick shopping trip to the grocery store would be a simple enough, and pleasant enough, experience. You pop in, grab what you need, and leave. Bada bing...done. Yet, for cosmic reasons I do not understand, my trips to the grocery store do not EVER go this way. Again, tonight was no exception.

After going to the gym (when in Fresno, the gym and the grocery store seem to be lately about the only two places I leave my home for), I was given a list of items to purchase for the hungry hoard (two daughters, mom, and sis) waiting back at home. One of these items was crackers and garlic and herb cream cheese spread. So I went about collecting my items in about ten minutes, and last on the list was the cream cheese spread. So off to the cheese aisle I go and....hmmmmm. Cream cheese, shredded cheese, blocks of cheese, individually sliced and wrapped cheese...and, um, apparently no cream cheese spread. I look again. And again. And oooooone more time to be sure. Nada. Then it hits me, "OH! It must be with the fancy cheese in the little kiosk near the deli with all the other foo foo stuff." So off to the fancy kiosk I go and......gorgonzola, feta, goat cheese, brie, blue cheese, aaaaand....no cream cheese spread. So I look again. And again. And again. Nada. Obviously I must have over looked it back at the cheese section, so I go back. Nothing.

OK, so this back and forth goes on for about twenty minutes before I finally locate the cream cheese spread in a third location next to the deli counter that contained NO CHEESE AT ALL (well, other than the one I was looking for). What it had was imported pastas, and hummus, and other dips, but no obvious signs of CHEESE. OK, all of this leads me to this question: WHY IN THE HELL DO WE HAVE CHEESE IN THREE DIFFERENT LOCATIONS???????? Here's an idea: you have ONE AISLE, labeled, crazily enough, "cheese". And in this aisle would be "cheese". All of it. You need cheese? You go to the FUCKING CHEESE AISLE. How hard would that be? Just imagine, cheese in the cheese aisle...what a concept. In fact, lets take this idea a step further. There's an aisle labeled "meat" that contains, you guessed it...meat. And one "dairy" that has...yep. The stuff from a cows boobs. The frozen aisle has...you get the idea. Etc. Conversations would go something like this:

"Excuse me sir? Where do I find the queso de la hombre con grande pelotas? If you could just point me to your gourmet..."

"Huh, what the hell is that?"

"Well, its this exquisite goats milk curd from a small region in Jalisco that accompanies a Red Zin like nothing you've..."

"Goats milk curd? You mean like cheese?"

"Well...yes."

"Oh. Well, then it's in the cheese aisle you pretentious dick."

See? Simple, clear, concise. Perfect for you, perfect for me, and perfect for pretentious dicks everywhere. It's a wonder we can find ANYTHING in a grocery store. Need roasted peppers? Are they in the canned vegetable aisle? No. The produce aisle? No. They're in the CONDIMENT aisle with ketchup and mustard. HUH??? Chili con carne is in the canned meat aisle, not the Mexican food aisle, but refried beans is in the Mexican food aisle, and not the canned beans aisle. WTF???? Is there a rule book on grocery store nomenclature I can study?????? Anyway, I found my cream cheese spread as I said, but only after an obsessive search for it that resulted in my forgetting to get lemon juice, which caused a momentary tea crisis when I got back home (luckily, I had just enough left in the fridge...but thanks for your concern). Had my garlic herb cream cheese spread been my only issue, no biggie. But as usual, there's more...

I get to the register to check out so I can just go home and get out of my gym clothes, shower and enjoy a nice dinner. As I stand in line with my stuff dumped onto the food treadmill that leads to the cashier (i.e. I am now committed to this line. Kinda like after you sleep with somebody. Sure, you COULD leave, but it's AWK-WARD) in the misnamed "Express Line", I now realize there's a commotion at the register. There's wild gesturing, the shaking of heads, lots of finger pointing, furrowed foreheads, the shrugging of shoulders, and a general sense of cluelessness...it was almost like I was watching a video of the day I lost my virginity. Anyway, people clearly do not know what to do. Finally, an older guy who obviously had to be brought out in the middle of his lunch break comes over and punches a numerical code into the register that was about as long as as the square root of pi, and apparently, twice as complicated, because he had to do it three times to get it right (again, see losing virginity above). And what was the issue you may or may not be asking yourself? Apparently somebody wrote a (GASP!) check...and royally fucked everything up. Now, I'm guessing this person pulled up in their Model-T and just wanted to buy some sarsaparilla, Epsom salts, and wanted to know if the war was over...the War of 1812 that is. Anyway, yes, they were old. But still, the way everybody was acting, I thought maybe he was attempting to pay with stone coins from ancient Sumeria, as opposed to a check. Luckily, they got it worked out, the old fart got his, well, whatever geezers venture out on a Saturday night for, and I went home to people wondering what the hell took so long. I related my story in a rather animated fashion, got a laugh, and everything was fine. But still...three cheese locations? Really???

About as un-PC as I can be, but dammit...I want my earphones!

2009-11-13T00:42:00.000-08:00

So, while driving to Oakland down I-80 from Sacramento the other day, I was doing what all good people in the friendly climes of Northern California do, and that is I was listening to NPR on the radio. NPR is good because you hear stories there you don't anywhere else, and being a guy who enjoys stuffing my head with obscure, and some would say, useless, facts, I learned something THAT MADE PERFECT SENSE.

You know that plastic packaging things like mobile phone earpieces and other electronics come in? I'm talking about that molded plastic that is hermetically sealed together as if the manufacturer doesn't want you to enjoy the product you actually just paid for? The packaging that requires a plasma torch, 43 lbs. of dynamite, multiple bouts of colorful profanity, a few prayers to a god you really don't believe in, and the ritual sacrifice of a neighborhood stray cat, just to pry open a little corner? The packaging that gets you so pissed off you lose it, grab your razor sharp $200 chefs knife out of the kitchen, and start hacking away at it like a middle aged white male with mother issues on a thrill kill spree? (you know, the guy with 14 bodies buried in his backyard that the neighbors always felt was "a nice guy...kinda quiet though" when interviewed by the press when the story goes national?) And once opened (and by "opened", I mean you managed to tear, not cut, a small hole with your chef's knife ((now in need of professional resharpening)) in conjunction with liberal use of your teeth, somewhere near the vicinity where the product is contained, but not close enough to gain actual easy access to said product, which requires you fishing the product out with your fingers like you were trying to get the last olive out of a jar), the plastic has razor sharp edges that result in a situation that it would be far safer to stick your hand down a running garbage disposal than into your products packaging? Your vain attempt to fish out your Bluetooth from this razor sharp maw results in a cut so deep it requires a trip to the emergency room, partial loss of sensation in your left index finger for the rest of your life, a tetanus shot, and a $50 co-pay? Just because you wanted to actually use your BRAND NEW FUCKING iPod earbuds?????? Yeah...THAT stuff.

Anyway, I used to wonder "Who in the hell is responsible for that shit? What retard thought this was a good idea????" Well, here's where the NPR story comes in. Turns out there's a factory in San Antonio, Texas, (land of funny accents, barbecue and Republicans) that packages things in this material. And this factory is predominantly staffed by...the mentally challenged. Which, when you think about it, makes sense. The whole gist of the story was this positive take on how great it was that there were jobs for the mentally handicapped. And it is. Great, that is. And you should have heard how proud the workers were of their work. "Well, you gotta get it REAL HOT! It won't work if it's not HOT! Gotta keep your hands outta there! HOT! HOT! HOT! Then it works! But only when it's HOT! See? It's HOT!!!" OK Corky, I got it. The plastic has to be hot. But why are we letting those with the sense of a cocker spaniel (sorry, yes, I know, I'm going to hell) package my ear buds? I know Corky needs a job, but what about my chef's knife? My $50 co-pay? My sanity???? Maybe Corky and Rain Man should be employed elsewhere in the manufacturing industry...like making kitchen towels. That would be great. You'd have your kitchen towel with a fucked up and crooked design on it, and when a friend made the wise ass quip, "Hey, nice dish towel. That's quite a design there" you could shame them with the retort "Actually, that towel was made by the mentally handicapped who are finding ways to be productive and reintegrate their way into valued members of society. But thanks for being a dick." Then you could feel all morally superior and everybody wins. You. Corky. Everybody. 'Ya know?

Anyway, I'm all for everybody having a purpose in life. Seriously, I am. I just want my headphones...minus the hospital bill.

I'm just a tugboat captain...

2009-11-06T12:56:00.000-08:00

I don't have anything to share, but I've had a delicious morning of laying around in an empty house in sweats and slippers drinking coffee. May not sound like much to some, but lately I've rarely had the chance to indulge in this, and it's been...heavenly. Anyway, saw this comedian this morning. Now, comedy is a subjective thing, and I can appreciate this. However, people rarely strike me as funny, and it's a rare comedian who does. Louis CK (my fave) and Dave Attell are two I enjoy. This guy is named Lachlan Patterson. He made me laugh. He may make the list. Here's some clips. "Call me Swiffer..." Enjoy.

http://www.hulu.com/watch/72370/stand-up-at-candortv-lachlan-patterson
http://www.rooftopcomedy.com/watch/DeathByStairmaster
http://www.rooftopcomedy.com/watch/StupidQuestions1
http://www.rooftopcomedy.com/watch/TheInternetIsHuge
http://www.comedycentral.com/videos/index.jhtml?videoId=88033&title=lachlan-patterson-tv-warnings

Why????

2009-10-24T00:11:00.000-07:00

OK, I'll be brief. Spending a Friday night at home...mellow...some good music...and after the gym, I purchased some groceries to make myself a nice, homemade meal. So far, so good, right? Wrong. First, some quick background info: I love wax peppers and pepperoncini. LOVE. THEM. A. LOT. Also, I'm mildly OCD. Not out of control, but a little. Without going into gory detail, I have little rituals, things I cannot ignore, minor obsessions that can cause lack of sleep, etc. It doesn't dominate my life...but it is there. Now that you know this, back to the story...

So I'm making my meal, happy as a little clam, when I grab my BRAND NEW NEVER BEEN OPENED JUST PURCHASED 15 MINUTES AGO jar of wax pepper rings. I go to open the jar, all ready and excited to hear the little "burp" of the vacuum seal being broken and...the lid practically falls off as I put very little pressure on it. WTF??? Did somebody already open it? Is it poisoned? Does it contain a rampant botulism infection? WHY DID THE GODDAMN LID FALL OFF?????? I stare at my jar of peppers, their tangy vapors making me drool, and I cannot get over the whole loose lid issue. Why was the lid loose? Why was the lid loose? Why was the lid loose? I run through a thousand different scenarios that WOULD ALLOW ME TO EAT THE PEPPERS. I cannot sell myself on any of them, my OCD wins, and down the drain into the garbage disposal goes the peppers. I almost cried. Now, not getting my peppers is not the thrust of this story. That, in and of itself, is no big deal. The main focus of this story is this: I now have to check every jar of peppers at the grocery store for "lid tightness" prior to purchase. In fact, I may have to even check every jar regardless of product. My OCD demands it. This cannot ever happen again. EVER. And so, as if I didn't have enough shit in my cluttered, occasionally anxiety laden head, I now have to add "loose lid botulism poison" stress. And I have to ask the Universe, "Why?" Why are you doing this to me? Is a tight fucking lid too much to fucking ask????? I have enough things, ENOUGH THINGS, in my life to keep track of and obsess on (when's the last time I changed the baking soda box in the freezer? Whens the last time I checked my vehicles tire pressure? Does my furniture need polishing oil to keep the wood conditioned? What about the leather sofa? I noticed some moss on my roof...hows that affect the wood shingles...cant be good, thats for sure! etc. etc. etc.) and now were adding this. Fucking great and thank you. Oh, wait, see previous post...perhaps it's just a manifestation of Cosmic Piling On.

Anyways, there's your glimpse into the nightmare that is my head and its inner thoughts. Scary isn't it? Just try being me...

Time Suckers and Cosmic Piling On

2009-10-23T19:37:00.000-07:00

OK, so I'm kind of a geek when it comes to all things the Universe, and the physics and physical laws behind what makes the Universe tick. This stuff fascinates me. The fact that it interests NOT A SINGLE OTHER PERSON I KNOW has not cooled my ardor one bit. This knowledge has no practical application to my life, and it is a conversational buzz kill at parties. DOESN'T MATTER. I forge ahead anyway with my thirst for this stuff despite the awkward social encounters it brings into my life, such as this:"So you're in accounting? Really? Aren't numbers interesting? Math doesn't lie, does it? Newton's Inverse Square law applies unwaveringly to gravitation, radiation, electromagnetism..." OK, at about this point what I usually hear is either the thuds of people hitting the ground due to the immediate onset of spontaneous narcolepsy; the sloshing of flammable fluids being poured over their bodies as they beg anybody, please, for the love of god, for a match and/or lighter to put them out of their misery; or the simple blinking of eyes as they stare at me thinking "Who is this guy and what the hell is he talking about? Newton? Isn't that a cookie? Why the fuck is he talking about cookies? Is he fond of cookies? I mean, we all like cookies...but dude, give it a rest....yes I know Newton's are square, but it's not by law....oh please...make him stop!"*** Anywhoo, you get the idea.

Anyway, I had a rather animated conversation the other night with somebody who I seem to usually have animated conversations with, and as we talked about a wide and varied range of subjects, a lot of which was about how people suck and what a complete waste of time most people are, I came up with two new immutable laws of physics as a result of our like minded rehashing of just how lame people, and the world in general, can be:

New Universal Physical Law Number One: "Time Suckers"

A Time Sucker is a terrifying truth of the universe around us. Much like a black hole, if you circulate around long enough, you are bound to fall into the irresistible gravitational pull of a Time Sucker. Although a black hole will do you the favor of stretching you out and spaghettifying you to the mere width of the subatomic particles you are made of before compressing you into a singularity and putting you out of your misery, a Time Sucker will do you no such favors. As a Time Sucker talks to you, you'll find yourself frantically glancing at your watch wondering when will it end, and a fear sets in that it wont. Infinity stretches out before you, and your fear of death disappears because death now seems but a pleasureable dream compared to this person going on about their children or their battles with an intestinal disorder. You now grasp concepts like religious limbo and what it feels like to have a phantom brain aneurysm, and still it goes on. Time is NOT ELAPSING, for if it did, it would eventually end. But its not, its being SUCKED FROM YOU and there is no "time". There is only this, the Time Sucker in front of you and infinity without end, and you begin to lament how you wasted your life and how much you desire just to be back at your desk pounding out TPS reports.

The Time Sucker is not just a talker though. Oh, no no no. They are a listener. The poorest one in the Universe. They are the living proof of the Second Law of Thermodynamics, and their entropic state is proven by their inability to understand jokes, concepts, thoughts, feelings, or pretty much anything. And the more you explain, the LESS THEY UNDERSTAND. As you try to get them to understand your joke, feeling, or thought, you feel the agony of the infinite emptiness enveloping you, and time is being sucked away, there is no end, and you'll never have your life back in the way it was before. Your life is now just a little more sad, empty, frustrating, and filled with ennui due to this encounter. You think perhaps leaping out of the 5th floor window you're on might bring quick relief, but sadly, the fear you may survive and have to endure a visit from a Time Sucker as you lay immobilized in traction with a shattered spine and pelvis with no means of escape keeps you paralyzed in place. And as your head throbs, kidneys ache, and stomach churns, you, ONCE AGAIN try and explain why the Dilbert cartoon was, in fact, funny. "No, you see, the reason why it's funny is because the pointy haired boss ISN'T competent...in fact, he's quite stupid, so the advice he's giving would have the OPPOSITE effect of being useful.....sigh. Hey, what floor we on? Fifth, right? Isn't your office above a hard paved parking lot? Is that window locked? Just curious....what? No, see, the one with the funny tie and short sleeved shirt is the COMPETENT one....that's why its funny, because he's not in charge.....ummmm, got any gasoline? Maybe a match?"

New Universal Law Number Two: "Cosmic Piling On"

Many a philosopher and cosmologist has pondered the nature of the Universe. Is it a random accident? Or is it divinely inspired? You know what? I dunno. But I DO KNOW the Universe is a bitch, and hence the new Universal Law of Cosmic Piling On. Simply put, when shit happens, and it seems like it can't get any worse, it will, to the point of actual comedy as you look at the shit piling up around you. Have you ever noticed this? It's not like life goes this way: "Oh, look at that? A shitty thing just happened to me. That's too bad. Well, good thing everything else is wonderful and this lottery ticket I just scratched is worth 75K." No, life doesn't work like that. It works like this: "Oh, will you look at that? A shitty thing just happened to me. Oh, that's ok because....hey, why won't my car start? And has my fly been open ALL DAY LONG without anybody saying anything? Why is my mom calling me? Why isn't the gas pump taking my card? I don't have enough gas to get home....and not that that matters because I just locked my keys in the car...and I have to REALLY USE THE BATHROOM but the rest room here looks like a bowl of chili exploded in it..." Etc. The Universe gets kicks out of just "piling on" until you give up and laugh in slightly demented hysterics. Then, if you're lucky, maybe it will find somebody else to pick on if it sees you're no longer any fun to "pile on".

Well, there you go. My new Universal Physical Laws. I don't know if they'll make the new physics books, but I'd say they're as constant as gravity and staining the new shirt you just wore for the first time with an overly juicy lunch time food item (tacos are good for this...perhaps I'll form a postulate for a Taco Law).

***The reason why I am not a Time Sucker is I can sense when I have crossed a line, and then I'll switch the conversation to sports (guys) or shoes (women).

Pet Peeves

2009-10-03T11:45:00.000-07:00

Well, I haven't had a blog in a while where I vented a good bitch or two. So, in order to preserve the calm mental state I have been enjoying as of late, I'm going to purge a few things here:

1) Work place refrigerator cola thieves-I about blew a gasket the other day as a result of this. At 6pm I had put not one, but TWO cans of Coke in the office refrigerator. At 10pm, deciding that a frosty, caffeinated beverage would hit the spot, I go to the fridge and....hmmmmmm, where's my soda? Must be behind this guys burrito....no....oh, it's behind the macaroni salad.....no....WTF??? Ordinarily, I would let this go as maybe a one shot mistake. But this is the fourth time this has happened, and it was TWO COKES that were pilfered from the refrigerator. My question is this: WHAT KIND OF SOCIOPATH DOES THIS????? How do you open a refrigerator, see beverages and other food stuffs in there that are CLEARLY NOT YOURS, and take them? Do you have the following conversation in your head:"I know I didn't put those sodas in there, and I didn't pay for them, but since I'm the only person in the universe and my narcissism knows no limits, they were clearly put there for my sole enjoyment." How do you STEAL something and not give it another thought? Or are you still in some sort of childlike state where you think magical office refrigerator gnomes lovingly restock the refrigerator with your favorite food items? Or are you the same type of person who tortures small animals, doesn't give a shit, and is one step away from being a thrill kill serial murderer? Yes, that's right, I just equated a soda snatcher with Jeffrey Dahmer. And yes, I think a person who can continually steal foodstuffs from a community refrigerator is as equally disturbed,and they need to be removed from society...or at least castrated. Want to know what the kicker is? The kicker is this: right next to the refrigerator is a SODA MACHINE. Can of Coke? 65 cents. It would seem a small price to pay for a clean conscience, wouldn't it? Oh, that's right...a sociopath has no conscience, which is precisely my point about these people.

2) Putting me on hold when you're the one who called me in the first place-if you take the time out of your busy day to call me just to say hello, I'm touched and appreciate the gesture. If you take the time out of your busy day to call me just to put me on hold after two seconds because the person you really wanted/needed to talk to called you back, I would feel no guilt if your mobile phone instantly gave you a brain tumor. If you're going to call me, please make sure you can devote at least 3-5 minutes to a conversation. All kind meaning taken from a phone call turns into a steaming pile if you reach out to me just to blow me off. "Hey John, how 'ya doing? Just thought I'd give you a call to let you know you're not worth talking to. Ciao!" What a dick move. My promise to you is if you call me, no matter how busy I am, I will stop what I'm doing and make a few minutes for you. I wasn't always like that, and I used to be kind of an ass if you called me and I was busy, like if I was cleaning my pool I'd act all shitty if I was interrupted. But I have grown and learned I was being a bit of a jerk. If I am legitimately super busy, I will immediately tell you I'll have to call you back, which I will do, usually pretty promptly. It would be nice if others learned that same lesson.

3) SUV's and speed bumps-so you're the type of person who drives a 36,000 pound SUV with an all terrain suspension of an M1A1 Abrahms front line battle tank, and yet, for some reason, you feel the need to slow down to .0000000001 MPH for a six inch speed bump. In fact, if you're this type of person, your favorite move is this one: make a left turn into a parking lot off of a busy street, and I follow right behind you. As you enter the parking lot, you notice there's that deadly speed bump directly ahead, and despite your behemoth of a vehicle being equipped with the "V8 mountain crushing deforestation package with brush guards, winch, and small woodland creature killing studded tires", you immediately slam on your brakes in order to negotiate this Mt. Everest in front of you. Since I'm behind you, this of course hangs me out to dry in the oncoming lane of traffic, so I can take a broadside hit from a distracted, mouth breathing, high speed teenager in a 1983 Corolla who is yakking on their cell phone and looking down trying to find the remnants of the joint they've just dropped. Clearly, if you're this person, you have merely purchased this freighter sized vehicle because you're a douche bag. OK, that wasn't fair...you could just be merely retarded. My apologies.

4) Old people in economy cars-back in the day, old people drove cars like 700 horsepower Cadillacs and Lincolns. Now matter how slow they WANTED to drive, these cars had so much asphalt shredding power that the simple act of just lifting your foot off of the brake pedal resulted in a 0-60 mph time of 3.8 seconds. Now? Now old people drive the 22 horsepower Prius and Yaris. These vehicles, from what I have seen, appear to have a built in safety measure that once you hit the gas pedal, there's a 45 second delay before the car actually accelerates forward. Couple this delay with the typical octogenarians reaction time as a red light turns to green (approximately 25 minutes), and you can now see why our commutes are getting slower and slower. So, because of this, I'm thinking we petition the government to provide senior citizens with 500 horsepower Shelby Mustangs or Chevrolet Corvettes. It will help out the American auto manufacturer, AND shave ten minutes off of my commute. It's a win-win.

OK, thanks for letting me rant a little bit. I now feel centered again, and the universe, once again, makes sense...except for my inability to locate a dark chocolate peanut butter cup in any Fresno area grocery store. That makes no sense at all.

Shoelaces

2009-09-20T01:16:00.000-07:00

Yes. That's right. Shoelaces. Let's talk about them, shall we? I recently went to go buy a new pair of tennis shoes. Walked right into the first store I went to, found the pair I was looking for in the approximate right size and color, and decided to try them on. Sounds like a relatively low stress encounter so far, right? It was...easy. Too easy. Normally, life works in a way that requires you arduously shop to find the one product you want. You know...five hours and twenty dollars worth of gas just buy a forty dollar item. That's just how life...and more specifically shopping...works. So I should have been suspicious, and had my guard up. But I didn't, and I was suckered right in.

So I pop a shoe out of the box and try it on. It seems a little loose, but it's only laced halfway up, so all I have to do is lace it all the way up and see what the true fit is. So here we go and...what the hell? I was now looking at some sort of diabolical lacing method I have never seen. Now, I am a relatively intelligent fellow, so I'll just momentarily study the lacing pattern and...shit. I got it wrong. Somehow I did THE OPPOSITE of the lacing pattern. I study it some more and have the following thought: Why in the hell do we need a creative way to lace our shoes???? We've been lacing shoes perfectly fine for hundreds of years, and then one day some unemployed pot head decided "No way bro....I ain't gonna lace my shoes like the man. I'm going to be DIFFERENT. I'm going to be COOL. Rather than get an actual job, I'm going to make it my life's work to find a way to lace a shoe only a nineteen year old Cheeto, Halo, and Slurpee addict can comprehend." It all started back in the day with Doc Marten's and their "non-crossing tuck the lace in" thing to the current Chuck Taylor "candy stripe one direction voodoo" technique I was struggling with. And my thing is "Why?" Has anybody looked at someones shoes and said, "You know, I was beginning to think you're a total douche bag...but then I noticed your shoelaces. Nice incomprehensible pattern man. You are clearly a man of impeccable taste and high moral fiber. To you sir, I say, huzzah!" I'm thinking this probably hasn't occurred recently. Perhaps it's a calling card to others...you know, like a secret handshake? Two greasy haired weed huffers cross paths in the street and glance at the others shoes, and they JUST KNOW. Halo, Cheetos, Slurpees, weed. They then slyly and knowingly give each other a little nod and utter a "dude" and continue on their way...to 7-11 with $4.87 in their pocket they stole out of their mom's purse.

Needless to say, I yanked the lace out and re-laced it in a manner I understand, which is to say, the way I've been lacing my shoes since I was old enough to wear them. I don't mind not being the cutting edge of cool. I'm OK with it. My laces say something about me too. They say the following: "I have a job. I have responsibilities and obligations. I'm busy. I've got important life shit on my mind. My time is FAR TOO IMPORTANT to spend more than one nanosecond....wait, even one nanosecond would be too much...on thinking about new, exciting, and creative ways to lace my shoes. Oh...and put down the doob and the X-Box controller, and move out of mom's basement, you wanna be pathetic hipster twit."

So, there you go. Proof positive that I can find the absurdity and drama in almost anything...including shoe laces. Perhaps next time I'll share my thoughts on "non-screw top you need a bottle opener" beer bottles that frequently result in bloody finger tips and palms, damaged furniture corners, broken glass, the ingestion of small pieces of said broken glass, and the sudden over popularity of the one alcoholic that showed up with a bottle opener on his key chain.

Why I Hate Cats

2009-09-12T22:58:00.000-07:00

I came home Friday morning to discover that a sprinkler in my back yard had broken and flooded out a small patch of the flower bed next to the pool. This minor flood streamed across the concrete deck to the fence line. As a result of this proof of entropy ruling the Universe, there was a patch of silt deposited on the concrete deck next to the pool pump. This patch of dirt was approximately six inches long and six inches wide, and about one quarter of an inch deep. This small patch of dirt is surrounded by hundreds of square feet of concrete pool decking. It was a small dirt island in the middle of a concrete sea, and it hadn't existed for more than 24 hrs. And guess what? A cat crapped right in the middle of it. Apparently, somehow, the word got out that there was a BRAND SPANKING NEW NEVER BEEN CRAPPED IN PATCH OF DIRT in the neighborhood. Never mind that it wasn't much bigger than a DVD case...it was there, all pristine and un-crapped upon, and well, the neighborhood kitties couldn't have that. In fact, Im sure upon the very creation of this virginal patch of earth, a subatomic particle ray was dispersed causing kitty sphincters all across the neighborhood to spasm. As a result of this call to arms, the hunt for this version of the feline El Dorado was on. Well, one of them found it almost immediately, and before you could say fucking "presto!", took a dump on it. Can somebody again explain to me why we tolerate cats?

Golden Showers, Eyeball Juice, Bathroom Etiquette, and Ticket Prices

2009-08-31T22:05:00.000-07:00

Today I went to the movies and saw Inglorious Basterds. Excellent movie. Some of the violence might turn some people off, but if you like Tarantino like I do, you will love it. Anyway, my trip to the bathroom urinal once again reminded me why I love the summertime. Unlike in the wintertime, when I have to go to Chinatown and pay $20 dollars American to get some street corner walking, desperate, methamphetamine riddled tweeker who has not slept in five days, to pee on me, in the summer, all I have to do is wear a pair of flip flops and visit the bathroom. There, for absolutely free, somebody who has apparently shotgunned a 12 pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon, three Venti lattes, and a 32 ounce Dasani within the last 15 minutes, will happily urinate on my foot for free. Let me tell you, there is no more refreshing feeling than the cool, misty sensation of a a light rain shower coming from your left and descending on the arch of your foot and on your shin. Thank goodness this guy didn't bother taking the other open urinals further to the left and decided to get nice and cozy by choosing the one right next to me. And that's another thing. Who doesn't know bathroom etiquette? You never, EVER, take a urinal right next to somebody unless you have to. It's a universal, fundamental law (in fact, I think Einstein somehow worked this constant into his theory of general relativity). If you're desperate to see my privates, can't you be like everybody else and at least buy me a drink first before you sidle up next to me and dive right into peeing on me? I mean, normally the Golden Shower is something you work up to after your marriage has gotten boring, right? It's a helluva a gutsy move to break the ice with.

On the other hand, there's the other bathroom extreme I encountered as well...and that's the folks with the extreme urinal fear. The type of people require a stall just for the simplest of bathroom needs. Without going into any nasty detail, let's just say I had the misfortune of needing a plumbing fixture other than a urinal. Like, quickly. So I go to the bathroom and every single stall is occupied. But, oddly enough, all the urinals are free. So, being the curious sort, I peek under the doors and see that everybody is standing to take care of business. I need to sit, 'ya know? A urinal is not going to cut it for me. And here is a bunch of "men", and I use that term loosely, too afraid to hang it out at a urinal. Come on people. If you're THAT ASHAMED/EMBARRASSED to use a urinal, you have no business using a public restroom, maybe no business even being in public at all for that matter. I'm having some distress here, and you're in there dealing with some sort of body shame your momma gave you when she caught you with your dads Playboy when your were 11 yrs. old. Anyhow, somebody eventually vacated, and I made it in the nick of time. My advice to the urinal-phobic? Next time you go out, leave the stalls open for those who truly need them, and you can prepare for this in the following manner: avoid all liquids 8 hrs. before going out; eat an entire bag of vinegar and salt potato chips for breakfast; go for a run in the heat of midday; and enjoy some MSG laden take-out Chinese prior to beginning your evening on the town. That should get you so dried out you won't have to urinate for a week. Sure, you may experience renal failure and go blind, but hey, you won't have to deal with the bathroom...and the stalls will be available for emergency use only.

Does anybody know what gnats eat? Me either. Anybody know what sort of pheromones gnats give off in order to attract a mate? Me either. But whatever it is, it must be very similar to the human tears that keep our eyes moist. I went for a jog tonight and I could clearly see little clouds of gnats about 5 to 5 1/2 feet off of the ground. And yet, as I ran by, they would elevate (I'm 6"1") and kamikaze themselves in a death plunge right into my ocular cavity. It is somewhat distracting to be plucking miniature flying creatures from your eyeball as you attempt to stave off death by staying somewhat fit. This happened like 300 times as I ran tonight (ok, it was more like four...but still). I must have looked like the Bi-Polar Express as I ran around the lake because it looked like I was alternately weeping uncontrollably and furiously rubbing my eyes, and then I would look perfectly calm and sedate 5 seconds later. Oh well. I'm the weird neighbor up until 4 or 5 am everyday anyway, so they probably already think I'm unhinged.

Finally, ticket prices. Bought some tickets tonight online. There was a $1.75 per ticket handling fee, and a $2.00 per ticket delivery fee. OK. Handling fee? Delivery fee? The tickets are being held in WILL CALL!!! They're not being delivered anywhere!!!! I have to burn my own gas and get them myself!!!!! WTF???? Handling fee? THEY WERE PURCHASED ONLINE. Nobody handled them! Even better, they were purchased directly from the event box office, where the tickets are kept ANYWAYS. How stupid do they think we are? "Look! The tickets are only $16! They're running a special...let's get some!!!" Well, no. The tickets are actually $19.75. But I'm guessing in this time of economic strife they figure by not advertising the extra $3.75, the folks will come a runnin'. Whatever. Just treat me like an adult and tell me the tickets are basically $20. I'd respect you a helluva lot more if you did. This weak ass attempt at manipulating the consumer with this sort of ham fisted Jedi Mind Trick (These are not the prices you're looking for...) is patently offensive. Can't we just be straight with each other and be honest? I mean, it's not like we're married for crying out loud (bada bing!)

Bastards at the Reeses Corporation

2009-08-28T08:59:00.000-07:00

Have you seen the advertisements for the new Reeses Dark Chocolate Peanut Butter Cups? I don't see how you could have missed them. They are on almost as much as erectile dysfunction drug commercials (it seems as if Viva Viagra is on in the background every 12 seconds). For those of you who may know me (and for those of you who do not, I'm going to fill you in here), you know how I feel about Peanut Butter Cups. They are only second to the taco as the worlds most perfect food. I love them. In fact, love may be an understatement...it doesn't sound intense enough. Insane, "stalker like obsession" may be a better fit. Got a bowl of miniature Peanut Butter Cups laying around on the holidays? I'm the guy who gets stressed out at the thought I can't just have them to myself and may actually have to share some. Anyway, there's this new Peanut Butter Cup out. Needless to say, I'd like to try it. Guess what? I can't. Not because I lack the 75 cents to purchase one for myself. No. The reason is I cannot find them at the store. The Reeses Corp. is putting on this boner drug like televised advertising assault, instilling in me an obsessive need to try this new potentially life altering product, and yet, and here's the really sick and perverse part, apparently refusing to fill my local grocery store with said product. Isn't that the height of cruelty? Never mind my friends have tried the new Peanut Butter Cup and said it was not that great. DOESN'T MATTER. It's my right as a Peanut Butter Cup aficionado to DECIDE FOR MYSELF their new product is crap. Right? So why are they denying me, their biggest fan, access to their peanut buttery goodness while they waste it on other less appreciative consumers (I'm thinking Midwestern white bread types...the kind of people who find ketchup as being "almost too spicy")? Sure, give it up like a drunken prom date to somebody who cannot appreciate the delicate complexity of your unique flavors Reeses people, but extend a giant middle finger to the guy sophisticated enough to appreciate and revel in your subtle nuance! Bastards.

God's Cocktail

2009-08-25T19:34:00.000-07:00

I had a conversation yesterday where somebody told me they had spent a length of time staring at the small lake near our home because at that time they felt like that was all they were capable of doing. This person told me this in a way that seemed to me they wondered if perhaps this was somewhat odd...just staring at the water. My natural reaction was it seemed perfectly normal to me...for instance I have spent hours just watching the waves crash on a beach, deciphering the different patterns of the streaming water and how the creamy foam makes the rocks look like some sort of extra-terrestrial dessert item.

Well, today, as I was in my kitchen making tacos (always a happy time in my home), I found myself staring out the window at my pool. The way the sun shines through the water creates a sort of refracted prism effect, with the light bouncing all along the bottom...sort of like staring at a diamond. It was almost mesmerizing. Also, I spend a lot of time in my car driving back and forth between Sacramento and the SF Bay Area. Every day I drive across the Carquinez Bridge. When I do, I stare at the bay, and the little finger of it the bridge spans. I find my mind wandering and I think about how weird water is. It's this viscous substance made of fused gas. It covers things like a blanket, but can roll off with the minute pull of the moon. It's not solid, but its not ethereal either. It shapes things through erosion, and it dominates the face of the Earth. It is teeming with life. In fact, not only is it where life evolved from, but the very existence of liquid water seems to be the key ingredient to life as we know it...the universal additive. So I started thinking about the fascination with water. It seems pretty universal I think. Look at all the art devoted to seascapes, lakes, streams, rivers, etc. Artists like Turner, Monet, and Degas, just to name a few right off of the top of my head, devoted a significant portion of their portfolios to it. Countless landscapes are decorated by fountains and reflecting pools. Most of the early civilized cities were on the banks of lakes, oceans, and rivers. Most folks dream of a home with a view of some sort of body of water. And to me, it makes perfect sense.

Why wouldn't we be fascinated, wistfully attracted to, and calmed by the elixir of the Universe? It's kind of like God's cocktail. It uplifts and soothes all. Life springs from it, we're cleansed by it, nourished by it, invigorated by it, calmed by it, healed by it, and let's face it...it's gorgeous. The way it flows is almost reminiscent of the curve of a seductive goddess. Even in its most tempestuous state, it still has a dark beauty to it. In fact, I would say a primordial attraction to water is one of the basic tenants of human existence.

Anyway, this is the sort of thing that bounces through my head at the oddest times, like say, when frying tortillas for my tacos. Still, perhaps it explains why Im so convinced I will eventually end up with a small place on the coast somewhere. It's my innate, primordial instinct...well, that and the love of the taco.

Hippie Hypocrisy

2009-08-19T01:04:00.000-07:00

From what I'm guessing is the last hurrah of summer, I-80, upon which I'm forced to commute every weekend, is jam packed every Saturday and Sunday at around 3 pm. Bumper to bumper, and an 80 mile drive can take me over two hours...which means over the total distance I average about 35 mph...on a freeway. Now keep in mind the ONLY reason I'm on the god forsaken 80 freeway at 3:30 pm on a Saturday is BECAUSE I HAVE TO BE. I'm commuting to work, and I have no choice. None. Nada. Zilch. Bupkis. Etc. Want to know who IS on the freeway at this time? A whole bunch of yuppie fucks coming back from the mountains and headed back to the Bay Area. How do I know this you may or may not be asking yourself? Because the freeway is packed with SUV's, Subarus and Priuses loaded with bicycles and kayaks all headed westbound back to the Bay. Huh. What I find interesting is the mindset of these nimrods. Why, for the love of God, would you leave the mountains in the middle of the afternoon when traffic is A) at its most congested, and B) its hotter than hell outside. "You know Skye (a good Bay Area name), we COULD leave early in the morning, have a quick breakfast of rainwater and organic soy infused soy, and head down the mountain and avoid the crush of traffic and enjoy the cooler weather and have a pleasant drive, OR, we could leave late this evening, have a quick dinner of fair trade soy water and gluten free soy, and avoid the crush of traffic and enjoy the cooler weather and have a pleasant drive. But you know what Windwalker (Skye's nickname)? Fuck that. We're going to leave in the middle of the afternoon so we can sit in the middle of a 100 mile long traffic jam in 100 degree weather, and just idle in place belching out large volumes of automobile pollution, and turn our 2-1/2 hour drive into a five hour, agonizing, soul sucking hell. So load up the bikes and the kayak and lets get to it! Um, did you remember to pack the instant soy fairer than fair trade coffee?"

All I wonder is "WHY?????" See what rampant weed abuse does to you? It makes you really stupid. But here's the hysterical thing, at least to me. These granola eating, save the whale, save the planet and stop global warming types are pumping massive amounts of greenhouse gases into the atmosphere just to indulge their desire to kayak and mountain bike in Tahoe. Isn't that the height of vanity, narcissism, and hypocrisy? I mean, if you like to mountain bike, it's not like the San Francisco Bay Area has ANY FUCKING HILLS NEARBY. The whole area is nothing but hills!!! Let me tell 'ya, its one hilly fucking city man! And kayaking? Yeah, I can see why you need to go to Tahoe to do that because it's not like there's AN OCEAN AND A GIANT FUCKING BAY IN THE IMMEDIATE VICINITY! But no, your typical wanna be Bay Area liberal needs to indulge his need to "get one with nature" by driving around and belching unneeded additional pollution into the atmosphere...not to mention all the damage they do to the oxygen giving trees of our forests by driving their Subaru Forrester through them EVERY GODDAMN WEEKEND. So, the very nature they love SO MUCH must be destroyed because the nature in their backyard doesn't meet their aesthetic desires. It's not the scenery they DESERVE. Of course they could just move to the woods and be one with nature every day, but then where would they get their lattes, their Pottery Barn salad bowls, and high colonics?

...the mac and cheese was good...

2009-08-14T00:47:00.000-07:00

-OK, last post was a little indulgent. But sometimes, you've got to bitch a little, 'ya know? The mac and cheese was the bomb by the way (besides cheddar, had Asiago, Romano, and Parmesan in it...plus topped with crunchy Panko...yum). Anyway, life ain't so bad, still got a dollar in my pocket, a decent job, my health, yadda yadda yadda...lots of folks have it worse, so I'll keep the whiny tantrums in check.

-Speaking of whiny tantrums...enough with the town hall health care jackasses screaming about "death panels" and "rationed care" and "socialized medicine". Listen fucktards...your health care is already "rationed." If you have an HMO, PPO, or whatever, they DECIDE what is fully covered, and what you'll pay out of pocket. I have an OUTSTANDING health plan, and it still came with a booklet of the exotic procedures they will not cover. Thats RATIONING dumbasses!!! I don't know a single person, no matter how rich, who has any sort of health coverage where they can walk into a doctors office and demand whatever medical procedure they want without a review from a big business bureaucrat who has the ultimate say over YOU or the DOCTOR. Rationing is already here. Know what else is already here? Socialized medicine. If you're uninsured, and you have a heart attack, you get rushed to an ER and you get treated whether you can pay or not. If you cannot cover the bill, the rest of us do through higher premiums and taxes...i.e. socializing the costs. And as far as the "death panel" goes...if you think assistance with hospice and end of life care decisions if you decide to seek it constitutes a "death panel", well, theres no point in illustrating your fallacious reasoning. I have better and more stimulating things to do...like clip my toenails. Anyway, health care costs are spiraling out of control at an exponential rate, and slowly destroying the nations economy. It is unsustainable in its current form. It needs to be REFORMED. I have no idea what the answers are, and I dont pretend to. However, rather than puke paranoid bile, drivel, and pablum all over the place, how about offering up an idea or two? Then again, that would require actual THOUGHT...which may be asking a bit too much.

Whilst the mac and cheese bakes in the oven...

2009-08-13T15:59:00.000-07:00

I have come to the conclusion I am exhausted. I have no energy for much of anything. I guess nine months of 160 mile commutes (round trip) and 17 1/2 hour days (well, nights) has caught up to me. I feel bad. I haven't been socializing with my friends, or anybody much else in my life outside of my daughters. You ever been so low on energy nothing, NOTHING, has appeal? Food? Eh. Sex? Eh. Booze and or partying? Eh. Golf and other recreational activities? Eh. Exercise? I keep after it but its a struggle. Yoga? Actually, yoga is the one thing I've gone back to in an effort to re-energize myself, spiritually if not physically. I think it's helping...then again its only been about two weeks back, so we'll see. But it feels good. Thing is, it seems as if I've got to a point at the moment where I'm living to service my life, instead of allowing life to service me. Does that make sense? I have a schedule change coming up where I'll get my weekends back, and I'm hoping if nothing else, it will get me somewhat integrated back with mainstream society in that my days off will again be the "societal norm." But I have this weird sense of guilt in that I haven't been the friend or companion to others I should be. Which is weird I guess, because really, who do we owe other than ourselves? But that doesn't seem right either. Too selfish...narcissistic. Life is a complicated thing in that there is no "thing", be it a person, job, hobby, or whatever, that is an ultimate answer. It all lies (boy is that loaded with multiple interpretations) within us, and its a multifaceted balancing act where if any one component out of a hundred is out of balance, the whole thing warps and breaks. Well, I am out of balance at the moment (some would say warped, but thats another story), but I simply move forward as I always do, because what else is there? Well, I feel as if I've vented here...so, with that, I get to go pick up my oldest for dinner before running her back to school, and make sure I don't burn the mac and cheese. OK, you know what? Gooey cheese and carbs? I suppose things just need to be kept in perspective. Gooey cheese and carbs makes everything better...

Sooo....lets type something...

2009-08-06T00:39:00.000-07:00

I watch a lot of late night tv. I am up all night when the world is asleep (example, I went for a jog last night at 230 am. I'm wondering if the neighbors think I have a meth addiction. "Look at that tweeker running around the lake at 230 in the morning...tsk tsk...its sad what drugs can do to a man...why doesn't his family get him into rehab?"), so there isn't much to do other than watch tv (occasionally, when I'm feeling really rambunctious, I'll do a load of laundry). If you haven't watched any late night tv lately, you're missing out. Rather than programming interrupted by commercials, it's actually commercials interrupted by programming. And the commercials are priceless. Its non stop dick remedies, all the time. Just ooooooone penis drug after another. Make it harder, bigger, help you pee, increase your urine flow (REALLY??? I thought that's what beer was for?), get your herpes under control, etc etc. Good lord, when did the nation stop obsessing about tits and ass and start focusing on the dangler? Anywhoo, one of these snake oil (Ha! Get it? "Snake"? Right...moving on...) commercials is for a product called Extenze. To cut to the chase, it's supposed to make your dick bigger. Whatever. But here's the priceless part. It's called "maximum" strength Extenze. Maximum strength? Really? Is there a minimum strength? You know, a pill for the guy who feels "Yeah, I've got a nice trouser snake, but you know, another 1/16 of an inch might be nice. I don't want to go all John Holmes, but a little extra so the pants fit right...and that's why I use minimum strength Extenze. When a little is more than enough." It's as if that "maximum strength" label is there to assure the customer "Sir, you're in good hands now. This pill is the most potent dick enlarger out there. It's MAXIMUM STRENGTH, and normally, we wouldn't allow it on humans, as it's only been tested on orangutans, and the first guy who tried it had his balls blow off, but dammit, we're going to fix-your-dick. You deserve nothing less! Or, in this case...um, you know...more. So say goodbye to that third thumb and hello third leg!!!"

Anyway, enough with the constant barrage of Johnson talk. Can't we go back to the tasteless advertising we're all used to? You know, the good God fearing commercials featuring the feminine hygiene products soaked in some mysterious blue fluid?

I will never use an ARCO gas station again and compost powered cars

2009-07-28T01:01:00.000-07:00

As I finished my week in the Bay Area and was driving back to the Valley early this morning, I did something I haven't done in years...I stopped at an ARCO gas station. Normally, I avoid ARCO because although their gas runs about five cents a gallon cheaper, the methamphetamine addict drama that usually plays itself out there is something I haver little energy for (I'm guessing for every five cents a gallon saved is another five cents towards staying up for five days straight and disassembling a motorcycle transmission at 3 am). Anyway, ARCO seems to have a disproportionate number of questionable characters there, but today I was feeling thrifty so I went. First thing that jumped out at me: they FORCE you to leave the pump and go in the store to see the cashier. I rarely carry cash. Cash is a pain in the ass. I like plastic (debit, credit, whatever). It's convenient. It's great at gas stations because you can just plunk your card in the slot and off you go. Well, the ARCO pump has a card reader, but it serves no purpose. It stated right next to card reader: "For credit or debit transactions, please see the cashier." And by seeing the cashier, it means standing behind three drunk people with B.O. buying SlimJims, pork rinds, condoms, and cigarettes (sounds like a busy weekend, huh?). This is why I use plastic, to AVOID seeing the cashier. So, just on a whim, I tried the card reader anyway. Needless to say, it just flashed a sign that said, yep, "Please see the cashier." One DOES have to wonder, "Just what in the hell is it for then?" Fine. So I go in and hand my card over to the cashier (after trying to decipher the alcohol fumed funk coming off of the people in front of me: construction worker who hasn't bathed in three days? Drug addict who lives behind a dumpster? Jihadist freedom fighter who just came in off of a three month stint in the hills of Afghanistan?). I walk back to the car and start to pump my gas. Know how long it takes to pump 15 gallons of gas from an ARCO gas pump? 43 hours. Seriously, I thought my pump was broken. I raised a family, sent the kids off to college, and had a retirement dinner celebration and I was only on gallon number seven. I looked around and all the other pumps were pumping as slowly (now 'pumping slowly' may have its place, but not here). I'm guessing when you're counting every penny in order to have a little something left for those SlimJims and cigarettes, well, you don't want that pump to fly and accidentally stop twelve cents over your limit. So, after continental drift had changed the face of the Earth by the time the pump finished, I drove off thinking how much happier I would have been had I spent the extra eighty-five cents a tank across the street at Chevron.

I have figured out why nobody in the Bay Area drives faster than 62 MPH. Their cars are incapable of higher speeds due to their vehicle being powered by the 'green technology' of garden compost. Surely a populace fueled on high octane gasoline wouldn't be so incapable of even merely APPROACHING the speed limit.

Doing Laundry at night...again...

2009-07-21T00:11:00.000-07:00

"I think that I shall never see,
a poem as complicated as me"

OK. That is all I have tonight.

Stuff at 3:23 am

2009-07-16T03:23:00.000-07:00

Well, due to the unusual hours I work, my sleep schedule is somewhat contrary to the rest of society and I find myself doing normal things at abnormal hours. In this case, I'm killing time on the 'pooter as I do laundry. Yea. Its always a party at my place. Anyways, a few thoughts:

-what is cool? Are we allowed to decide for ourselves anymore? It seems to me we are not. Example? Levi's vs. Apple products (I just saw one of their incessant commercials so I'm using them as a prime example). One became cool, and one was made to "be" cool...once an incessant marketing campaign beat it into your head. Here's what I mean. Levi's jeans were originally developed as a tough, utilitarian pair of pants for gold miners in 19th century California. The reason why they were blue is because that was the cheapest and most durable dye Mr. Levi's Strauss could get in large quantities for his denim pants. Why denim? Because gold miners work in rough conditions and needed a tough product. Then one day starting in the 50's, kids started wearing these jeans and they started to become associated with rock and roll. They were anti establishment. They weren't polite. They became cool. People took a product designed for something else, and decided it was cool when it wasn't trying to be. In fact, not trying to be cool (and I mean genuinely not trying to be) is the very definition of cool. People were free to decide for themselves what was cool free of a (then) existing marketing campaign telling them how cool they were for wearing these jeans.
Now, contrast that with Apple products (confession: I'm typing this on a MacBook). It is decided they are "cool" before they are even released to the public. We have no choice in the matter. Their products are released at conventions of rabid followers by the company president who struts around in his black mock turtleneck, jeans (ha!), and his ever present bottle of water. And people sit in rapt stillness as he unleashes the next "cool" product. "It's the new iWad toilet paper applicator!" (Had a convo with a person a while back about toilet paper application products, and I know how Apple loves 'applications' *pun intended*, so it seems to me only a matter of time before they develop something along these lines...maybe have U2 star in the commercial. You know, Bono wiping his backside with an iWad while Beautiful Day blares in a multi-colored background. God knows these guys are apparently whoring themselves out for these things now...iPods? Blackberry's? Bono, stop now while I can still think of you as the guy who sang The Electric Co. and New Years Day...not the guy shilling for corporate giants). Bow down to the "coolness" of Apple! Now, to me, that is a company trying too hard. And trying too hard isn't cool. If your products are good and worthy, then people will decide if they are cool or not, you don't need to push so hard (after all, nobody is attracted to somebody demanding "love me", right?).

-women are put off by men with a brain. Here's what I mean. Women may complain about a guy having a single minded focus of thinking with his dick, and they may make a big deal about being treated as an object, etc. But you know what? I think its a front...a lie. I think they PREFER their men this way. Here's why: a guy, say, younger than thirtyish, is pretty preoccupied with getting laid...or at least the almighty beejay. It's kind of what we live for. And guess what? That makes us easy. Predictable. Controllable. MALLEABLE. And a woman loves a malleable guy. And when sex is a guys prime focus, all a woman has to do is play the card she was BORN WITH: her sexuality. How easy is that??? I cannot imagine, as a man, going through life with the idea the world will cater to me just for the sole reason I'm in possession of a functional penis. I mean, it must be awesome, and I can see why so many women obsess over this part of themselves...sometimes to the detriment of other aspects of their being. But then something happens to a guy post thirtyish...we realize how stupid we were, and that we sold ourselves incredibly short. That, and once you've been laid enough, you realize theres a whole helluva lot more to life, and you begin to wonder just how worth the effort it all was in your days of yore. Things like a womans sense of humor, intelligence, hell, A JOB, start to matter. Is the person nice? Yes...nice counts. A LOT. You begin to realize pretty is everywhere. Smart? Funny? Decently employed? Sane???? A fucking RARITY. A young man will sell his soul to the dumbest, nastiest, craziest wench if she's hot enough. A guy who has lived a little will laugh and say "Yeah...nice rack...what else 'ya got?" I think this throws women off their game...maybe even worries them a bit. A guy NOT thinking with his dick is a wild card...unpredictable...and a mystery as to what to do with. Unfortunately, nobody gave me this pep talk at twenty...and truth be told I was so obsessed with T&A I probably wouldn't have listened anyway. But now? I feel liberated.

OK, laundry is done, and time for bed...

Parasites and The Tour de France

2009-07-07T14:37:00.000-07:00

So, as I sit on my sofa in my underwear drinking coffee and watching television (got to LOVE the combination of being on vacation AND having a house to yourself) I see an advertisement for a 'reality medical show' called Monsters Inside Me. Wow. Just when I thought we couldn't get anymore disgusting with our television programming, here comes a show about...human parasites. I know...gag. Who would want to see a show about such a topic? Other than instill a paranoid sense of dread into the psyche of people who already tend to run towards the hypochondriac, what are we to gain from watching in HD detail the horrific possibilities nature can throw at us? If you haven't already grasped the idea of wash your hands, cook your food, practice diligent hygiene, don't go for swims in open sewers and Third World rivers, and question how bad you REALLY want that taco off of that downtown street vendor at 3 am, then I guess go ahead and watch this show in order to encourage you begin TO follow these valuable life skills. It makes me wonder whats next in television programming land? World worst infected open sores? You, me and STD's? World's goriest hemorrhaging arteries? Stay tuned to find out!

Ok, and what was I watching in my underwear this morning? The Tour de France. Here's an interesting thing about the Tour... women don't get it and think its stupid (well, other than my sister who watches every year). Here's a typical conversation I've had with multiple women over the years as I try and watch the Tour:

Female (f): Is that a bicycle race?
Me (m): Yes.
f: Why are they racing in a big pack? How can you win if you're all together?
m: Well, they're not always in a big pack...which is called the Peloton. You see, sometimes, depending on stage and terrain...
f: You've already lost me. This is stupid. I'm going shopping.

That is essentially, with a few variations, just about every conversation I've ever had. Speaking of other things most women find stupid, I think I'll go and hit some golf balls....

VISA thinks I'm a fried chicken eating porn addict

2009-07-02T11:49:00.000-07:00

OK, so I am finally making good on my promise to split my daughters rooms and set them each up with their own bedroom. They've hit the age where they no longer want to share a room, but want their own space. Totally understandable, and, like I said, project underway. As a result of this, i donated to charity 90% of their old bedroom furniture, and am in the middle of purchasing new "teen girl appropriate" bedroom furniture. Nothing too fancy mind you, but still a few bucks out of pocket. So what happens in the middle of my furniture shopping spree? Well, the ever diligent VISA corp. froze my credit card. You see, because I rarely use the stupid thing and keep a near zero balance at all times, apparently the last thing the VISA people want me to do is actually go out and charge things on it. So, once I spent over $1000 dollars on it in one day, they froze the account due to "suspicious activity". Right. Young women's bedroom furniture raises all sorts of red flags. Good thing they're on the ball for that sort of nefarious purchasing. Now, you may be thinking "Hey, you should be happy they're looking out for your best interests." Normally, I would agree with you. However, a few years ago, my credit card number was stolen, and it was used to make long distance calls to Southeast Asia and Northern Europe, purchase online porn and make pornographic calls to "900" numbers, multiple fried chicken and gasoline runs in the greater Los Angeles area, salon treatments in the greater Los Angeles area, and one (ONE!) pizza. Needless to say, the VISA corp. approved all those purchases as "non-suspicious". So if I understand the VISA corp.'s line of reasoning, it is perfectly believable that I'm a pornography addicted, fried chicken eating, self indulgent man-salon going, gas guzzling, solitary pizza eating Los Angeles (note: I do not live in LA...and my billing address on file with the VISA corp. reflects that little factoid) maniac with extended family throughout Asia and Northern Europe, than it is for VISA to believe I'm buying bedroom furniture for 12 and 14 yr. old girls in the town I ACTUALLY FUCKING LIVE IN. Gotta tell 'ya, you just can't sneak anything past those VISA folks...well, other than porn and fried chicken that is.

OK, a confession...

2009-06-30T00:13:00.001-07:00

...I am now mildly annoyed. Who am I annoyed with you may or may not be asking yourself? (I'm going with 'not asking yourself' by the way) I am annoyed with the idiots who monopolize one particular piece of gym equipment at the gym and are oblivious to the fact that others may like to use it as well. Sure, you can ask to 'work in' a set as they do their thing, but the idea that I have to ask permission to use a piece of equipment I am PAYING for is ridiculous. So, generally, what I'll do is go about my business on the other pieces of equipment until Mr. Healthy is done. Well, today, I was nearing the end of my circuit routine (about 35 minutes or so) and this dumb ass is STILL on the apparatus I want to use and finish with (it was a butterfly station). DUDE! It's ok to work more than one muscle group. I suggest you also work the one that allows you to be something other than an oblivious narcissistic asshole. I love these guys that come into the gym to work on particular body parts on particular days. Isnt that amazing? To be that self absorbed? Hell, to be that self conscious? "Well, today is eyelids, tomorrow is nipples, and then I'll be focusing on my pinky toe on Friday. Got to attack all these groups on their own. After all, it's not about being in good health. Oh no, no, no...it's about having sculpted eyelids (and nipples and toes)." What makes it even better is the fact that they're not continually working out. They'll work in a fifteen minute conversation with their gym buddy (who no doubt is in there on his day to work his kneecaps...because tomorrow is all about scrotum work), take about 135 water breaks (you can spot these jackasses as they enter the gym. They'll be carrying their own towel and a water jug the size of a beer keg), entertain one or two mobile phone calls, fiddle with their iPod, and frequently stare off into space apparently doing absolutely nothing at all (perhaps 'visualizing those perfect eyelids and nipples he's working on?). In fact, I think they even occasionally take a nap. Even though they spend 26 hours on one piece of gym equipment, they work in only about 12 minutes of actual exercise.
Obviously these guys love to hang around a bunch of heavily sweating men and dislike going home to their families. While this speaks volumes about them, it brings me no satisfaction knowing theyre a bunch of miserable people with repressed sexual longing they wont deal with. I just want to use the fucking butterfly station, you know?

Uh......

2009-06-29T13:57:00.000-07:00

I have a theory, and it is this: if things are ok, you don't spend too much time on the 'net. I was thinking I needed to blog something, but what? I don't have anything all that interesting to bitch about (a usual fave topic of mine), life, family, and finances are good, friends are, well, they're all over the place, but that's nothing new, and I'm generally in a calm place at the moment. So what to type? Dunno...

Been on vacation for some weeks now. As a result, I have had more beer/cocktails in the past twenty days than in the past year...maybe more. The result? Six pounds of weight gain...so, needless to say, cocktail hour is over. What I don't get are alcoholics who are skinny. Hows does that work? Cocaine binges? A diet of menthol cigarettes and methamphetamine? Or do you just drink to the point of vomiting, thus maintain your svelte figure? Truly, it is a mystery to me.

I'm tempted to go on here, but it would just be a waste of space that was the result of a forced effort. I think most blogging requires a certain amount of energy, usually negative, and is the result of anxiety, anger, the need for validation from others, etc. Occasionally, it it is for no other purpose than to be funny, and those are the blogs I tend to enjoy and attempt to write (when I'm not full of anxiety, anger, or the need of validation from others). So, in order not to violate my own rule, I should stop here.

Ok, ideally I'd be able to end with an amusing anecdote or a fart joke, but sadly, I have neither to share, although I will say this...the phrase "You cause the rain!" makes me laugh every time I think of it, and is one of the truest ideas I can think of.

Science

2009-06-03T18:02:00.000-07:00

I discovered something interesting this weekend when I threw a party at my house. If you pour enough alcohol down peoples throats, as the party roars on past 2 a.m., not only will they seek out tobacco products, they will discover a medical condition that requires they immerse themselves in hot, bubbly water. Apparently, I too suffered from this condition. Here's the photographic evidence (which makes me laugh every time I look at it) Photo number one, people socializing on my back patio and behaving themselves. Photo two...well, it speaks for itself:

You may not know your neighbors, but they sure may know you...

2009-05-21T00:00:00.000-07:00

So tonight I was standing in my driveway when a strange, chain smoking Asian woman, who I have never set eyes on in my life, walked up to me, and said I "needed" to walk her to the corner of the street in order to placate a friend of hers, who was worried about her safety. She proceeded to (accurately) tell me what I did for a living, told me all about a party I had three years ago at my house, about how I had a friend who is a NY trained chef bbq at my place several times, and that over the years she's noticed 'several' different women coming and going from my place. Exactly. Cue theme from Twilight Zone (or maybe Psycho). I mean, you know, wow...how do you respond to that? What do you say? 'Well complete stranger who I have never met who seems to know waaaaay to much about me, although I am about nine inches and 70 pounds larger than you, I must say, you're spooking the ever living shit out of me." But no, I am a polite man, even to the apparently somewhat disturbed, so I made pleasant chit chat through her cloud of cigarette smoke as I walked her to the corner...and looked for a hidden knife or pistol in the waistband of her pants. I then asked her how she knew so much about the neighborhood (didn't want to bring it back to me), and she stated when you knew Spanish, French, and Arabic, you know a lot. Yep. Apparently you do! So, needless to say, tonight I will be sleeping with one eye open and my hands over my testicles, because a) it just seems like a good idea, and b) truth be told they're usually placed there anyway, so, you know...bonus.

Is It Just Me?

2009-05-08T00:48:00.000-07:00

Is it just me or is that singer from Kings of Leon one, whiney, annoying bastard. Attention radio programmers of America: ENOUGH ALREADY! "This sex is onnnn fiiiire." Really? Then go to the doctor and get it checked. That burning sensation is not normal...dumbass.

Tragedy Avoided

2009-05-02T07:44:00.000-07:00

On my long commute home this morning after an even longer graveyard shift, the radio station played back to back John Mayer, Jack Johnson, and Dave Matthews songs. I don't know if the DJ was trying to induce narcolepsy in us early morning drivers, but it was only through quick and decisive action was I able to change the radio channel prior to passing out in a deep coma as a result of this Sleepy Time Herbal Tea radio hour programming. We were THIS CLOSE to having a nasty pile up on I-80 eastbound due to the mellow whitebread sleep inducing music emanating from my speakers. Another interesting thing about these so called "chill' artists is their lyrics, which sound something like this: "Mwah freh traugh sawaho cho mah saw lah owwww". All three songs seemed to follow this unique vocal styling which seemed to take the idea of having a mouth full of marbles to new and exciting heights. It was just simply an awful...I mean awsome...aural experience (not to be confused with an awesome 'oral experience', which, lets face it, beats John Mayer and his ilk all to hell ...). Do people really listen to this stuff? Or is it really meant for the treatment of insomnia? Hmmm...maybe these guys are sponsored by Merck or Eli Lilly? Actually, I can totally see the following: Tonight Only! John Mayer, Jack Johnson, and Dave Matthews brought to you by the makers of Ambien! (and then rather than sell t-shirts at the concert, they sell pilllows and comforters.... You know, I really think I'm on to something here...).

Orange Blossoms

2009-04-23T23:03:00.001-07:00

You know, the Valley and Fresno take a lot of heat (get it? Fresno....heat...yeah, I almost died laughing too. Anywhoo...) from glamorous southern and northern California for a variety of snotty reasons. Whatever. But you know what the Valley has that just can't be beat this time of year? The fragrant smell of orange blossoms in the air on a warm evening. It's sweet smell takes me back to summer drives at night as a teen, when life was still wide open before me, and it is one of the things that reminds me the Valley is, indeed, home.

Compromise vs. Reality

2009-04-23T00:27:00.000-07:00

A thought occurred to me today re: compromise vs. reality. It was a simple thought really, and the thought was this: we stop looking at things as a 'compromise' once we accept 'reality'. I've had many a conversation where folks have said "I refuse to compromise and will hold out until I get exactly what I want." Then they go about living a rather insane life of repeating the same behavior, i.e. chasing perfection and idealizing others to falsely fit into the image of perfection, only to be disappointed over and over again once the 'reality' (nothing is perfect) has set in. Then they repeat the same behavior and expect a different result (the very definition of insanity). I think we've all been guilty of this behavior at various points in our lives, and maybe the only thing that makes any of us different from another is if and when we learn the difference between compromise and reality. Reality IS compromise. Nothing is perfect...everything is flawed. When we learn that to seek perfection (another way of saying 'refuse to compromise') is a fruitless endeavor, and we learn to accept the reality that compromise is what leads to satisfaction, I think we can truly start to learn happiness. There is no way we will ever get everything we want, and no one person can be all things to another. But once we can accept the reality that people have flaws, just as we ourselves do, and we accept those flaws for the trivial things they may be, we can see the value that the truly good people in our lives have to offer, and maybe, for the first time, truly appreciate them for the special people they are...even though we had to 'compromise' to see and finally feel it. What can I say? Reality suddenly seems much more exciting than fantasy, and isn't that as it should be?

Quick Follow-Up

2009-04-21T20:24:00.000-07:00

So I took my daughters to Claim Jumper. For those of you not familiar with Claim Jumper, Claim Jumper is a restaurant chain that serves food in 13lb., 14,000 calorie portions...and I always walk, ok, crawl, out of there in a near food coma swearing I may never eat again. You get the idea. So, anywhoo, tonight I told myself I was going to pare it back and eat a lighter, smaller portion in order to avoid the food hangover that always comes with a Claim Jumper meal. So I had 1) a cup of tortilla soup, and 2) their California citrus salad. Oh, and one, ONE, mozarella cheese stick. Thats it. And you know what? Yep. Total food coma...from a salad. You know, all I can figure is that somehow Claim Jumper infuses their lettuce with heavy cream and bacon bits or something. Or maybe they managed through the miracle of science to deep fry their soup. I dunno. But I've never before had a salad that made me want to lay down until about, oh, the middle of July.

Now What?

2009-04-21T16:29:00.000-07:00

I have come to realize that much of the time the only reason why I post anything at all is an attempt at sharing an amusing thought or two. Normally, I try and avoid 'deep and meaningful' topics because I figure 'who the hell cares whats going on in my noggin'?', but lately I've posted a few...and I've wondered why. Now, I think I know. I'm just not that angry right now. I think anger fuels a lot of humor (they say stand up comedians are generally some of the unhappiest and angriest people you could want to meet), and my lack of it has left me sort of...mellow and reflective. I do have the occasional traffic rant, or I can rhapsodize about the service at Starbucks, but really, those rants are played out and how long can I go on bitching about it (well, forever if I let myself)? Traffic sucks, and Starbucks service is occasionally slow. There. Topic covered...forever. Moving on.

Thing is, I am a funny guy (according to the people I meet), but I find lately that any humor I have to share is in the context of a real time conversation, because that is a real and (generally) positive experience full of good energy. A rant or screed here is, truth be told, carrying around a bucket of bile all day long until I get here and vomit it forth in some sort of passionate invective. What a great way to have a miserable day, you know? To carry that around until I get home to a computer? Feh...I just don't have the energy for that anymore...or the desire, and I feel better for it. However, having said that, the blogs have suffered. What to do....what to do...

Actually, I have no idea, but here's a few thoughts that jumped into my head I'll share here for lack of anything better to write about:
1. Whenever a woman tells me she's going to go get a 'facial', I have an overwhelming urge to laugh maniacally at the sheer joy at her obliviousness to how perverse that sentence sounds.
2. Ditto with every time I go to the supermarket and see the word 'pork-butt'. To me, that sounds like a command given by the director of a pornograhic film to his male star who has limited command of the English language.
3. You can figure out with 90% accuracy if a person is somebody you want to engage in any sort of relationship with just by the contents of their iPod. Multiple Mariah Carey tracks? We will not be hanging out...
4. I have come to realize that women MAY be drinking MORE than men now. Whenever I go out, its the women who are shitfaced hammered and out of control. Congratulations ladies, you have now achieved equality in the ability to make poor drunken decisions too. Enjoy...and please stop spilling your drinks on me.
5. As a man, you have to admit once in a while there are just some guys who are cooler than you'll ever be...Clive Owen is one of those guys...Rob Dickinson too. The bastards.
6. I am sadly lacking an object of lust. As a college aged lad, it was Winona Ryder. Then later Kelly MacDonald (loved the accent too). Then...nothing. Its sad really. Who do I fantasize about now? I now find myself far more interested and turned on by real women...flaws and all. Is that what happens when you're staring at turning 40? You accept reality and....well....embrace it? Wheres the fun in that???????

OK, promised my daughters I'd take them out to dinner, so off I go...but just felt like writing a little something, and this hit the spot almost as good as a small cappuccino.

Progress Not Perfection

2009-04-17T14:56:00.000-07:00

It always seems for me progress is not an even and smooth ascention. It is a bumpy road of fits and starts, two steps back for three steps forward, and the occasional backslide followed by the releasing epiphany. Additionally, one can know, and one can feel, but nothing happens until one gets the head and the heart on the same page. But when things are truly right and proper, its amazing just how RIGHT and anxiety free it feels. Oddly enough, several different people have told me this week I seem different, and am projecting a relaxed and positive energy. Maybe that's what letting go really feels like. Then again, maybe its just getting some exercise, plenty of fiber, and drinking lots of water. Either way....score.

Miracles

2009-04-17T01:11:00.000-07:00

A thought occurred to me as I drove between The Bay Area and Sacramento today. And that thought was this: people are really horrible drivers. I mean, they really, really suck. As in, they suck to the point of it indicating some kind of deficient brain function. So, to sum up: they suck, and they're stupid. Got it? Good. As these thoughts on humanity swirled around my head as I drove and witnessed the act of one high functioning retard after another engage in the poetic dance that is Bay Area traffic, another thought occurred to me: If it is a given fact that people are completely retarded, then it stands to reason that it is an ABSOLUTE MIRACLE they don't immediately crash as soon as they leave their driveway, much less enter the freeway. Think about it. I was surrounded by hundreds of people operating two ton death machines hurtling down the road at 100 ft. per second who possessed no more mental acuity than a simple planarian, and yet, they were managing not coming together in one huge fireball of twisted metal reminescent of the final scenes of The Road Warrior. And then it struck me. Miracles ARE all around us, and I was witnessing an act of a power higher than myself. So there you go. So the next time you start to get pissed off at the dumbass in the car next to you on the road, yet you see that they manage to continue to drive down the road with their head completely up their ass and, amazingly enough, NOT CRASH, just smile, and feel the joy of witnessing a miracle, and feel the wonder of the universe embrace you...and then flip them off.

A Vision of the Apocalypse

2009-04-09T18:40:00.000-07:00

I've seen the end of the world and it goes something like this: narcissism and self absorption has become so epidemic in modern society that I can see a day very soon where the world is crumbling, people will be rioting in the streets for food, all disease has become resistant to all known medicines, corporations will have enslaved the remaining few who have any stamina or health for labor, and as all this rages around, people will still tightly clutch a salvaged piece of razor sharp broken mirrored glass in their bleeding (yet oblivious to their wound) hand and hold it up to their face and ask: How does my hair look?

Rules

2009-04-06T14:57:00.001-07:00

“If the rule you followed brought you to this, of what use was the rule?”-Anton Chigurh from No Country For Old Men

It’s not very often I quote lines from movies or seek truth in fiction, but this one line penned by Cormac McCarthy I found particularly powerful in its truthful simplicity. The majority of my life I held fast to some very rigid ideas, rules, opinions, judgments, and philosophies. I thought of them as gospel. I really couldn’t see life as being any other way, and was steadfast in my belief of my “rightness”. And if life didn’t agree with these ideas of mine? Then I would attempt to bend and subjugate life to fit within these parameters (how’s that for arrogance?). And yet, I felt a significant amount of dissatisfaction in my life, but never thought about it much because I figured that is just how life is…dissatisfying. And then one day recently, it just struck me, almost as if my whole life was leading to this point, that life doesn’t have to be like this. Life is neither good nor bad, it just simply “is”. The “rules” I had so slavishly obeyed were serving no purpose in any kind of spiritual or emotional advancement. I felt very much “stuck”. Now, these rules were not just made up for no purpose at all, as they had more than a tangential* relationship for maintaining my (relative) sanity growing up in a difficult environment. But now, as an adult, they had long since outlived their usefulness, and were now quite a hindrance in my life. So, hence the quote. Funny thing though, once you strip away all that baggage, what do you have left? Especially if you learn to let go of some of the anger? A bit of a blank canvas I think, and one I’m beginning to add some new color to…a color other than blue. Funny thing about a blank canvas, it doesn’t necessarily equate happiness (which truly, only comes from within), but it DOES equate a loss of UN-happiness…which is a start. Plus, with a blank canvas, even known experiences seem new again, and life seems to have a bit more flavor and vibrancy…and perhaps I'm finally ready to experience life for the first time. Call it an acceptance of the "is"...
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Here’s a joke for you nerdy types I made up the other day. “Want to know the problem with Stoics? They can never decide on a restaurant.” Well, it made me laugh…

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*My favorite word for the last 24 hrs. Just popped into my head and I decided it was going to be worked into the blog somehow because it was just too cool

I Have Superpowers

2009-03-29T23:51:00.000-07:00

Today I realized something truly amazing about myself. I have superpowers. And what is this amazing ability of mine, you may or may not be asking yourself? The amazing ability is this: I can make the wind blow. I can do this without fail and whenever I want. Want to know how I manifest this amazing ability? By simply cleaning my pool, spa, and backyard decking. That's right...I came about my superpowers without having to go through the discomfort of being exposed to gamma radiation, toxic waste, or a painful spider bite (from what I can tell these are the preferred methods of developing superpowers).

I exercised this power again this weekend. I had my backyard looking like a photo shoot out of Sunset magazine. The very next day? I woke up to the dynamic sound of wind whistling through the trees...and my pool, spa, and deck looking like the Okechobee swamp. This is, like, the third weekend in a row. Now, granted, this superpower isn't as cool as, say, superhuman strength. Or the ability to turn invisible. Or the ability to fly...or even x-ray vision. And, to be honest, I can't muster the ability to summon a hurricane or tornado that you could really do some serious shit with. No, I can only summon the kind of wind that shakes leaves and branches and dust loose from trees and blows it all into the backyards of others. So I'm not sure what actual hero/villan application this power has. I mean, I could make an outdoor wedding a bit of a pain in the ass....you know, blow over table settings, mess up the brides hair, or maybe blow a bridesmaids skirt up and give everybody a shot of her thong...or maybe even kick up the allergy factor with all the crap blowing around and make everybody sneeze and itch. Yeah. That would suck. Well, kinda suck. Anyways, that would be the extent of the villainy I could wreak upon the land. If I were to use my powers for good, I guess I could make a child's day by mustering up some really cool kite flying conditions, or maybe a good day of sailing on the lake...maybe even windsurfing. But that's about it. Like I said, these (less than) awesome powers have limited applications. So, there it is. All I need now is an appropriate costume. I was thinking maybe a green set of tights covered in dusty pollen with bits of leaves and branches and other debris hanging off of it. The symbol upon my chest would be a sparkling, crystal clear pool inside a red circle with a slash through it. Think there's a spot for me in the next X-Men movie?

In focus

2009-03-22T12:54:00.000-07:00

Funny thing. When reality snaps into focus, you have very little to say. I think all my passionate diatribes over the years were a result of fighting the immutable creeping glacier of reality...of what truly "is". Once accepted and understood, what else is there to talk about? Too many words equals anxiety. The truest thing I can say? I sleep better now...and that DOES speak volumes.