December 18, 2008


Put an X in what you've done...


[ ] I am shorter than 5'4.
[ ] I think I'm ugly sometimes.
[ ] have many scars.
[x] I tan easily.
[ ] I wish my hair was a different color.
[ ] I have friends who have never seen my natural hair color.
[ ] I have a tattoo.
[x] I am self-conscious about my appearance.
[x] I wear glasses.
[ ] I would get plastic surgery if it were 100% safe, free of cost, and scar-free.
[ ] I've been told I'm attractive by a complete stranger.
[ ] I have more than 2 piercings.
[ ] I have piercing in places besides my ears.
[ ] I have freckles.

Family/Home Life

[x] I've sworn at my parents.
[ ] I've run away from home.
[ ] I've been kicked out of the house.
[x] My biological parents are together.
[ ] I have a sibling less than one year old.
[x] I want to have kids someday.
[ ] I've lost a child.


[x] I'm in school.
[ ] I have a job.
[x] I've fallen asleep at work/school.
[ ] I almost always do my homework.
[x] I've missed a week or more of school.
[x] I've been on the Honor Roll within the last 2 years.
[ ] I failed more than 1 class last year.
[x] I've stolen something from my job.
[ ] I've been fired.


[x] I've slipped out an "lol" in a spoken conversation.
[ ] Disney movies still make me cry.
[ ] I've peed from laughing.
[x] I've snorted while laughing.
[x] I've laughed so hard I've cried.
[x] I've glued my hand to something. Three words, zap-a-gap
[x] I've had my pants rip in public.


[ ] I was born with a disease/impairment.
[ ] I've gotten stitches/staples.
[ ] I've broken a bone.
[ ] I've had my tonsils removed.
[ ] I've sat in a doctor’s office/emergency room with a friend.
[ ] I've had my wisdom teeth removed.
[ ] I had a serious surgery.
[x] I've had chicken pox
[ ] I've had measles.


[ ] I've driven over 200 miles in one day.
[x] I've been on a plane.
[x] I've been to Canada.
[x] I've been to Mexico
[ ] I've been to Niagara Falls.
[ ] I've been to Japan.
[ ] I've celebrated Mardi Gras in New Orleans.
[ ] I've been to Europe.
[ ] I've been to Africa.


[ ] I've gotten lost in my city.
[x] I've seen a shooting star.
[x] I've wished on a shooting star.
[x] I've seen a meteor shower.
[ ] I've gone out in public in my pajamas.
[x] I've pushed all the buttons on an elevator.
[x] I've kicked a guy where it hurts.
[x] I've been to a casino.
[ ] I've been skydiving.
[x] I've gone skinny dipping.
[x] I've played spin the bottle.
[x] I've drank a whole gallon of milk in one hour.
[ ] I've crashed a car.
[x] I've been skiing.
[x] I've been in a play.
[x] I've met someone in person from MySpace.
[x] I've caught a snowflake on my tongue.
[ ] I've seen the Northern lights.
[x] I've sat on a roof top at night
[ ] I've played chicken.
[x] I've played a prank on someone.
[x] I've ridden in a taxi.
[ ] I've seen the Rocky Horror Picture Show
[x] I've eaten sushi.
[ ] I've been snowboarding.


[ ] I'm single.
[x] I'm in a relationship.
[ ] I'm engaged.
[ ] I'm married.
[ ] I've gone on a blind date.
[ ] I've been the dumped more than the dumper.
[ ] I miss someone right now.
[ ] I have a fear of abandonment.
[ ] I've gotten divorced.
[ ] I've had feelings for someone who didn't have them back.
[x] I've told someone I loved them when I didn't.
[x] I've told someone I didn't love them when I did.
[x] I've kept something from a past relationship.


[x] I've had a crush on someone of the same sex.
[x] I've had a crush on a teacher.
[x] I am a cuddler.
[ ] I've been kissed in the rain.
[x] I've hugged a stranger.
[ ] I have kissed a stranger


[x] I've done something I promised someone else I wouldn't.
[x] I've done something I promised myself I wouldn't.
[ ] I've snuck out of my house.
[x] I have lied to my parents about where I am.
[ ] I am keeping a secret from the world.
[x] I've cheated while playing a game.
[ ] I've cheated on a test.
[ ] I've run a red light.
[ ] I've been suspended from school.
[x] I've witnessed a crime.
[x] I've been in a fist fight.
[ ] I've been arrested.


[x] I've consumed alcohol.
[ ] I regularly drink.
[x] I've passed out from drinking.
[x] I have passed out drunk at least once in the past 6 months.
[x] I've smoked weed.
[ ] I've taken painkillers when I didn't need them.
[ ] I've eaten shrooms.
[ ] I've popped E.
[ ] I've inhaled Nitrous.
[ ] I've done hard drugs.
[x] I have cough drops when I'm not sick.
[ ] I can't swallow pills.
[ ] I can swallow about 5 pills at a time no problem.
[ ] I have been diagnosed with clinical depression.
[ ] I have been diagnosed with one or more anxiety disorder.
[ ] I shut others out when I'm depressed.
[ ] I take anti-depressants.
[ ] I'm anorexic or bulimic.
[x] I've slept an entire day when I didn't need it.
[ ] I've hurt myself on purpose.
[x] I've woken up crying. Death and Suicide
[ ] I'm afraid of dying.
[ ] I hate funerals.
[x] I've seen someone dying.
[x] Someone close to me has attempted suicide.
[x] Someone close to me has committed suicide.
[x] I've planned my own suicide.
[ ] I've attempted suicide.
[ ] I've written a eulogy for myself.


[ ] I own over 5 rap CDs.
[x] I own an iPod or MP3 player.
[ ] I have an unhealthy obsession with anime/manga.
[ ] I own multiple designer purses, costing over $100 a piece.
[ ] I own something from Hot Topic.
[x] I own something from Pac Sun.
[ ] I collect comic books.
[x] I own something from The Gap.
[x] I own something I got on e-bay.
[x] I own something from Abercrombie
[ ] I can sing well.
[ ] I've stolen a tray from a fast food restaurant.
[x] I open up to others easily.
[x] I watch the news.
[ ] I don't kill bugs.
[x] I hate hearing songs that sacrifice meaning for the sake of being able to rhyme.
[x] I curse regularly.
[x] I sing in the shower.
[x] I am a morning person.
[ ] I paid for my cell phone ring tone.
[ ] I'm a snob about grammar.
[ ] I am a sports fanatic.
[ ] I twirl my hair.
[ ] I have "x"s in my screen name.
[x] I love being neat.
[x] I love Spam.
[x] I've copied more than 30 CD's in a day
[ ] I bake well.
[x] My favorite color is either white, yellow, pink, red or blue
[ ] I've worn pajamas to school.
[ ] I like Martha Stewart.
[x] I know how to shoot a gun.
[ ] I am in love with love.
[ ] I am guilty of tYpInG lIkE tHiS.
[x] I laugh at my own jokes.
[x] I eat fast food weekly.
[x] I believe in ghosts.
[ ] I am online 24/7, even as an away message.
[x] I've not turned anything in and still got an A in a certain class.
[x] I can't sleep if there is a spider in the room.
[ ] I am really ticklish.
[x] I love white chocolate.
[ ] I bite my nails.
[x] I play video games.
[x] I'm good at remembering faces.
[x] I'm good at remembering names.
[ ] I'm good at remembering dates.
[x] I have no idea what I want to do for the rest of my life.

December 09, 2008


I've taken a look at the past few numbers and statistics from my years here. I've been on this domain name for the past three years (2006 and rolling strong!) and this year, unfortunately has seen its lowest numbers in years. The monthly average was certainly stronger than fall of 2007, but if you could look at numbers, they certainly could tell a story.

When the numbers were its highest (31 posts in Feburary of 2007), that was my birthday my senior year of high school. But when I look back to those articles I posted, It turns out that they were nothing more than reposts from other sites at times. I believe at least five of them were reposts from craigslist. Some were smaller than others, but that's not the point. Back then, I made an effort to keep you readers aware.

I know I dont write as well, but dammit, I'm not going out this year until I have at least 50 posts. Even if I have to tweak dates or something. Which would be rather unscruplous of me. (evil grin) Well, Lets see how it plays out first. So if you notice the rather sharp spike in the past year, that's where my first year of college began. Interests varied and so on and so on.

Above is a graph compiling all the different years and each month's respective amounts of posts. The 2008 line is identified in yellow, and is lower significantly than 2007. In 2006, things were getting started so we can assume it is equivalent to a control of sorts. But notice the trend. The 2008 line follows very closely to the 2007 line. The spike in July or june happens in both. That's the month my attention is least taken away. That makes it easy for me does it not?

So judging from current trends and past trends, I may just poop out at the end of the year, or I may do an opposite thing and just have my numbers spike up instead of down. Fingers crossed for the second trend. So after this, 8 more posts and Hopefully, I can reverse the damages i've done. Plus, it will be the first time this year i've made over ten posts if I do.

December 03, 2008

Lady Luck

She is with me sometimes, she is not other times. there are moments when I feel as if she is vomiting on my shirt.

December 01, 2008

How to Survive 10 minutes into the future! Libraries

Lets take a metaphorical example, take you and time and tweak it. You have now been thrown forward, into the future... TEN WHOLE MINUTES.

Studious as you are, you may have found a seat in the Engineering or Architecture library at your school and discovered it to be a wormhole. Scientists argue that Worm holes are gaps between two spaces in the time fabric that link two periods together. Fact of the matter is, that once it enters, we never hear of it again. Probably because they've entered one that sends then back to when time was just beginning. Now who ever imagined that radio waves could travel through worm holes. It cant. I digress. Your library seat is a worm hole. You travel into the future and you look about. No degrees of destruction, apocalyptic fear or mass amounts of republicans surround you. You wonder what has happened. The display on your computer indicates its 10 minutes past since you've sat down. You realize what just happened. You have traveled into the future. TEN WHOLE MINUTES.

1. Chances are, when you traveled or existed outside of the current time fabric, you thought it funny to make a lot of noise. Fart sounds, armpit gasps, real farts, belches, alphabelching, and lots of other annoying things. But what you dont realize, your body is existing in the same place, but outside of its physical realm. So all that noise you're making in space. Yeah, everyone heard it. So your best bet, when you go through and return, apologize. And another thing, cosmic farts stink really badly, so dont.

2. In the ten minutes you didn't exist. Someone may have stolen your computer. So be sure that before you sit down, lock your computer and hide your mouse. You cant trust them shifty engineers.

3. Do not panic. Sure someone else has taken the journal you were using, but for good reason. You weren't there to use it so I needed it and took it. Plain as plain cheese.

4. If you've ever dealt with cosmic particles, they may have screwed around with your hairdo. But that's ok, you're in a library. Extra points if you're in the engineering one. For that matter, everyone looks bad there.

So if you hadn't figured it out, I am sitting in the Engineering library as I write this. So anyways, be careful, what you do to the future... will affect uh.. the future. So there we have it. And happy time travelling!


There sits in between me, and the day of presents twenty five days. Alot can happen in twenty five days. Hitler conquered france in about thirty, A voyage by sail took about two months one way and three the other. Reduce that to about three weeks by paddle steamer, or even one week by Steam Liner. Everything in the past sixty years have been reduced to hours. The computing time for a calculator no longer took a second, but a mere one one thousandths of a second. Even faster now with faster processors. So lets say we can do three computations every ten seconds, for twenty five days. So if we did that many computations, constantly, for twenty five days, at three per ten seconds. That's seventy two total seconds of computation. We've done 72000 computations, in 720000 increments of 10 seconds. Hold on. I'm getting my calculations mixed up. Ok, now i'm right mixed up. Anyways, back to big things. You never realize how much better we have it now. I found my old computer sitting in the garage and I thought i'd show it a little love. Instead, I found myself banging on the screen, hitting the tower just in a primitive attempt to get it to run faster. That computer is a mere 8 years old. 8 years ago, I could hardly imagine it. 8 years ago, I was just finishing up grammar school, no thoughts about secondary school quite yet. I thought once you finished sixth grade, that was it. Apparently not.

I do believe that at one point, all of us believed in that. The whole up to six, we're done. Heh, its a sad realization that there's six more years to go after that. Growing up, I recall enjoying grammar school, hating math and being embarrassed alot. One time, I "hans"-ed in class and I saw no end of it. If you wonder what Hans means, you'll know if we're on a personal basis.

Anyways, back to Christmas. The fact that the days are more palpable now, drives me bananas. Four finals coming up, two i'm right up nervous about, one i'm worried about and another I have a bit of trouble for. They say your first year is your worst year in college. But I'd have to say that this year, academically speaking, sucks worse than a hoover (I mean president!).

Its funny, as you grow older, the less you know what you want for the holiday season. It was so much easier as a kid. "What do you want?" *turns on television set* THAT AND THAT AND THAT!!! Now that i'm a bit older, its harder to choose things. Shit, I forgot I was even planning a holiday party.

Ok, things to do. Pick a damn date for holiday party, figure out when Anna's holiday party is, other things, other things, find a gift for Bri and so on and so forth.

November 30, 2008

Bragging Rights

I stood on the field. Watching Stanford score two touchdowns. What was going on? Cal.. dont let them score again. Wait... two minutes. Shit. Freshmen! OFF THE FIELD!

I found myself running, holding Bri's camera to my body to keep it from bouncing around. Ushering the freshmen off the field. Trying as fast as possible to get them out and away. Two were slow and stupid to respond. I had to push them harder.


I know they couldn't lose the axe, but apparently, we couldn't be on the field otherwise we wouldn't be given the axe. I rushed them off, away from the doors and into the stands. Very douchebaggy of me. But that was policy. We needed to be in the stands and linked up. I later found out there were more gripes about that one girl. Misbehaving in basketball, etc.

We got it back. Bragging rights. For a year, I could not stand Stanfordonts rubbing the axe thing in my face. Lets be honest for a second. I had dinner with the Stanford ax committee. They're awfully nice folks. But awkward. We showed them our drinking song, they showed us a strange drinking game. I'll go over it a little.

2 people
Do you want to buy a duck?
A what?
A duck
Does it quack?
Of course it quacks

3 people

2nd person: Do you want to buy a duck?
A what?
A what?
A duck
A duck
Does it quack?
Does it quack?
Of course it quacks
Of course it quacks

4 people

and so on and so on. A more detailed explanation:

Any how, I should be off. Have a good day, Go Bears!

November 08, 2008


Let me get rid of these cobwebs for a second...

Enjoy that. I thought that was pretty cool. It truly is amazing what we can do to the world, by manipulating what we see by use of optics.

Update: Obama Won

Downdate: I'm sick

Another thing: Bri's in Oregon for the weekend. What am I going to do?

September 22, 2008

Last days of summer

Personally, I dont know what I was thinking when I decided to consider the catholic church as a viable option to missing the regular service at the congregationalist church I usually go to. I really think its been about a month since i've even been there. Shucks on lazy.

Posting has lately, become too much of a chore. Shucks on me. It isn't that I've got nothing to say to you lovely people. Honest to Betsy, I could discuss the world and then some with you. But what couldn't fly was the necessity of signing on and writing. The thought was there, but the effort wasn't.

Just kinda like how this post may end arbitrarily in the middle of

August 04, 2008

Bill Waterson's Rare Art

Bill Waterson in college drew amazing comics for his school's paper. I wonder if I could someday draw for the daily cal

August 02, 2008

My Wandering Moleskine

The call came earlier today. I was buying leather for my belt when I got the news. My moleskine. One of my most treasured items was lost and left behind in Denmark. Good grief. Along side with it, a faithful little cuddly moose friend. You may wonder at first, what the significance of this may be, I'll tell you. This little moose was the first moose I gave my beloved. On the day we started dating. Or was it the day before? I can never remember the details.

July 27, 2008

What makes me think of you

I first got the inspiration to write this while I was brushing my teeth. You see, when I brush my teeth, I start thinking, and sometimes, I get into deep thought so I thought i'd come up with a list of things that remind me of people I know.

Ben M. - Wherever and whenever i'm in the back seat of a car wandering through the great wilderness, I can still remember the feeling of being in the back seat of your Subaru on its way up to Nevada. That sort of comfort one gets sitting in the back seat watching the driver and passenger in front. That reminds me of you.

Kevin P. - Broccoli. You'll find that cure for cancer in no time flat.

Filip N. - Lifeguarding and poles. For one, your dedication to the job is truly amazing. As a lifeguard myself, I am standing in the shadow of one of the best lifeguards I know. That means alot. The other lifeguards at work aren't exactly much to look up to.

Anna C. - Every time I look for inspiration to write, I always think of you. What superhuman powers and strengths you must create to produce works of art that come from deep within that amazing soul of yours. To spend a few moments with a miner's hat, a powerful flash light and a magnifying glass in a brain would be worth the treasure in the world. Getting to know and meet you over the past year has truly been a rewarding experience in itself. Whenever I cook, I also imagine: What would Anna Callahan do?

Anna H. - Every time I walk by the knife shop, go into the wilderness with only a roll of duct tape and a pair of scissors, I imagine I'm roughin' it with her. In the purest sense, she is more than capable of defending anything you put her in front of. So tough things in essential. The bull dog, the gun, etc. You all know it. She's the kind of person who'd rip a mountain lion in half, rip the pelt off and make it into a cape.

Mel A. - She truly epitomizes big things come in small packages. Not that i'm making any sort of jab at her, but I'm merely remarking, her big, monumentus attitude, the big changes and steps she has in mind, she really is someone who stands 19 feet tall and yet physically is nowhere near that mark. Another thing. All you can eat Buffets. No offense, but I would never be able to win at a eating contest against her.

Monica P. - The old, fashioned, hard working spirit of America makes me think of her. Whenever I see people churn butter or sew a quilt, I think of her. Why? Its the sort of thing that I would say (in my opinion) that the out and over spirit that America had exploring its country is the same thing about her. She's always one to encourage us to go out and beyond the reaches of comfort and make us realize, what we're really capable of.

Josh L. - Jews, Klezmer, Pastrami, Delis. Honestly, if I had never met this fellow Jew, I would have had to put myself in the loony bin. He's always been there for me, sometimes with a hug, sometimes with a middle finger.

Daniel C. - My former roommate, only did the few activities everyone saw. Eat, sleep, and play video games. Sometimes, he only did the last two. So whenever I see sleeping people or gamers, my mind kinda wanders over to an image of him doing those activities. Coming home to Unit 3 after a long day of classes and meetings, finding him there in front of the computer on DoTA.

Sara B. - Whenever I drive down International/E14th, I always can picture Sara. There's the guy pushing the little trolley with helado inside with the little bells and all. The gigantic store with the dead animals behind the glass, the blankets with images of tigers or the Raiders Logo imprinted on it. Basically the mexican part of Los Angeles.

Leighna B. - What comes to mind at first? The Cannon for one. But the Campanile also makes me think of her. She really did an amazing job on a gingerbread Campanile at the last christmas party I went to. I believe it was around until march or so.

Lindsay K. - Again, the Cannon. Runners, and the dedicated to the max. Every so often, you run into a person who has a hobby that isn't collecting or building with the hands. Its that hobby that keeps them fit and healthy. Like swimming or rowing. But she takes it to the max. She's taken running to the point where I would never in my life be able to catch up. Mad props for that, her dedication to the sport and her never wavering enthusiasm.

Ashley W. - Children. Whenever I see children, I think of Rally Comm's special Mommy. Energetic kids, smiling ones, happy ones, loud ones, ones that seem to flail alot. That's what make me think of her.

Nathan M. - Maps, Google maps, mapquest, yahoo maps, subway maps, urban planning in the quintessential form. I'm glad we shared the hobby and activity of building a city block by block. Even if it meant ripping out each other's work one block at a time. Although we may have gotten to each other's throats during our "Wurster Snaps", we really worked well together.

Cyrus H. - Domo kun, really random stuff, [insert really random stuff here]. Yes, we've had our moments. Bugging Sara with our fingers, doing other sorts of Schennanigans, yes, we had it all for fun.

Brian M. - LEDs. Need I say more?

Nic W. - Alcohol

Matt L. - Alcohol & Beer & Throwing Up

David L. - Whenever I see a hamster, I always can relate to David's little hamster Djokovo. And how at one point, his other hamster also gave birth to little hamsters as well.

Conor H. - Beards. Lumberjacks. Computers. Not three things you usually associate all together, but none the less, epitomized you in three words.

of course, last but not least

BriAnna W. - Everything that reminds me of you. What can I really put down? Literally, the world is convinced to constantly bombard me with thoughts of you and references to you. The Swedish lifeguard named Breeanna, moose, chocolate mousse, hair mousse, actual moose at the zoo, little stuffed moose, neo pets, stuffed animals, kids toys, hippos, sports, fair play, hockey, Canada. Sometimes, not all these things come up, but when they do, my face kinda melts and turns to thoughts of you. Every moment i've spent without you, i've never been free of reminders of you. Not that I ever want to be free. I'm glad they remind me that I have someone sweeter than cider waiting for me with outstretched arms.

So that's it. If you didn't make the list, i'm sorry D:

But those were the ones I thought of while brushing my teeth.

Life from couch to couch

I'm not the kind of guy, you usually see couch surfing. But when it comes to relations coming to visit, I'm always the one ending up to couch surf in my own house. My only satisfaction is that my room is still in one piece and not converted into some sort of lounge or library. Although, I would much rather see my room converted into a library more than anything.

Day one. Not that its a couch, my future mattress, destined for Berkeley is laid onto the floor of my brother's room where I first share my bindle. My brother makes way too much noise through his nose and mouth. Gah. But in the solace I found early in the morning, I could cuddle with my body pillow and only imagine who I wanted it to really be.

Day two. The mattress is moved out to berkeley where its sitting rather lopsided against my bed. So now, i'm without a home. I could have stayed in berkeley, but I guess I couldn't be bothered to then. I was rather impartial to having a really good fill for my tucker for the weekend. And I have to say, really good dinner.

But now, i'm without a home for real. I dont want to bunk up with my brother again. One thing, I couldn't stand the noise. So couches are the only option I have left. I've got the downstairs couch. Too small. The upstairs couch, too hard, or the family room couch. Ah, the house whore. I kid you not, everyone has had a chance to sit on that big comfy couch. Everyone i'm related to, everyone i've dated, and everyone I've been friends with and had been over. So around 40 asses in total or so.

It seems the best option. I might just have to take up on that offer...

July 25, 2008

Confessions of a Child Criminal

before you get the wrong idea about the title, its a story about me I remember that kinda just had a flash back on. So here goes:

When I was younger, my family loved exploring the natural beauty of the great state of California. Every summer, we loaded up the family car for a trip. I cant remember which trip specifically it happened on, but I'm going to say it was the trip to Utah. Yes, the great salt shaker state of Utah. Our journey first brought us south to Sequoia national park, then through Las Vegas, Hoover Dam, Zion and Bryce canyons in Utah, Las Vegas and back through Redwood state forest.

But our story starts on the last night of the trip. We were staying at gosh, what was it? A radisson inn or something. Really swanky. Each floor had a large lounge with cushy couches and fancy looking furniture. Even the TV entertainment center had the mini bar built into it rather than being separate from the TV. But since the bar was in it, they had to put a special child lock on it. While dad was showering, I thought I show how I, young little 6 year old Zach was capable of getting past the child lock.

A few words about the lock. It was a little plastic tab about an 1/8th inch in thickness and it was pushed down to release the catches on the door to reveal the tv. In my defense, it was flimsy. And the print was too small to read. Even though I could just barely read. It was simple instructions ok?!

Unsure whether to push or pull, I pulled and broke off the tab. I almost shit my pants at the moment. I started to get scared. My mother even joked, even though I didn't realize it at the moment, that the police would come arrest me if I didn't stop fooling around. You're 6. The police are coming for you. Holy shit.

When I got home safe and sound in Alameda, every time I heard police sirens, I always thought they were coming for me for being a bad boy.

Now all grown up, I respect the brave men in black and blue.

On a side note, on that trip at the supermarket, I had gotten one of those magic fish you put in your palm, and it curls and tells you your emotions. Back in the day when machines still gave out cool toys and not pieces of shit made in china.

July 22, 2008


Bars are no place for a minor. Especially one that's 12 years old. But that's the way kids are growing up nowadays. When I was a kid, that age, western civilization was just entering the year 2000. I was fucking scared of the apocalypse if Y2K was actually real. The only thing I was worried about was having to learn how to play guitar by candlelight. But the more I think about it, the more there needs to be a recession back into the dark, pitch black world of 150 years ago. There was a boom in industry, civilizations and countries could literally stand on their own. The threat of war always teetered, and there were big binds in social strata.

We call this a better time. For one thing, it is, but there's only so much now. Chemical warfare, genocide, automatic weapons, terrorism and political ideology. I think about it and I just go sick in the stomach. You may say: hey, there's really good things about life. Like Penicillin, civil rights, really really cheap charles Shaw wine. Yes, those are good things, but at what cost? There's now an even more resilliant bacteria that penicillin is ineffective to, there are dirty, old washed out hippies still fighting for civil rights, even though it was administered nearly forty years ago and the whole of Napa valley has in effect, been turned into a grape growing region, rather than the fertile fruit orchards and plantations it used to be.

When we get an idea, as Americans, we just capitalize on it. This hamburger is delicious. I will open another store, and another and another that sells it. Wow, we can grow grapes in Napa. Lets get rid of fruit and everything else. The diesel goes faster than the steam train. Lets scrap all steam trains and focus on the future. At what point does the future happen? It never can. We progress into the future, but we can never get there. Because once we reach that age where we're in shiny pants and floating cars, that would be the present and there would be yet another future to try and get to.

So I digress. Kids are growing up way too fast. They're looking forward to too many of the things you could do as adults. I for one am looking forward to the day I turn 21. But thats cause I'm 19. There's no reason for me not to yearn for a year to pass. But have you seen kids these days? They dress like 22 year old rappers. They much rather have sex than just hang out and ride bikes. I walked by my old middle school alma mata. I heard more cuss words than a rap album has. Fuck, there's not avoiding it now is there? I can sit on the local bus at closing hours of school and I hear talk of parties, potheads, beer and shit. That's stuff you dont want to hear coming out of some snot faced, brattish 16 year old.

Have you seen some of the girls around high schools? Yikes. I swear, the material from their clothes is being put into the clothing for boys. The baggier boys get, the skankier girls will get. A parka is a coat designed to keep your upper chest, and thighs warm. Not just your breasts. Then again, why would you wear a full length parka in the middle of summer? I get it, you're dysfunctional. Spending your year's coat money on something that's only ideal for summer. Fucking genius.

Kids dont dress the way they used to. People for one dont dress the way they used to. There's a slight trend going back to the way we used to live, but I can only assume when we'll be at the fullest point. There in essential are the three branches of the way we dress nowadays. Hipster, Hip Hopster, and everything else. A fourth branch exists called: Absurd. I hate trends.

Hipster: You can easily recgonize one. Do they wear clothes that are ill fitting? Do their clothes look like they were made back in the 70s but in reality were made two weeks ago by a chinese girl? Do they seem to wear really tight jeans, wear large framed sunglasses with bright plastic frames? Are they riding on a fixed gear bicycle with a narrow handle bar? Are they wearing a keffiyeh? if you answered yes to this, then you've got a hipster. Well educated, upper middle class kids with nothing better to do than to spend time away from their boring parents. They're seen with large shaggy haircuts and usually sport a beard (both sexes) and females are usually spotted in bland looking single colored clothes and bright leg spandex.

Hip Hopster: Found usually wearing street clothes like baggy jeans large enough for John Goodman's entire person to fit into just one leg, a tshirt so large, it could cover a car, a new-era hat that has been kept in pristine condition, shoes that are large for their unwieldy feet and a poor grasp of the english language. Yes, they multiplied after the big hip hop movement in the 90s and in the 2000s, their clothing style advanced with even baggier pants and baggier tshirts and baggier hoodies and baggier bags. They're usually spotted smoking a gross swisher, have an inability to grow a full face of hair and have close cropped haircuts.

Everyone Else: You wear a collared shirt, jeans and you're good to go. You might occasionally dabble in the other two, but this is basically how you dress. You wear a tshirt on lazy days and a shirt with stripes for formal occasions. That's the jist of it.

Absurd: You wear a purple thong and white botty shorts. You wear shoes that a clown would wear and have just really rancid looking stains on your jacket. You dont even try to make yourself look presentable.

Personal Notices:

Bri: I miss you. I'm still counting down the days. I've counted myself out and I wish I could use just my fingers to do so. I want to imagine and then live out the day you're back here (on the right side of California)

Sally: You still have yet to call again. You're getting lax about coming in earlier.

Sara: Yay!

July 21, 2008

Street signs

Another spontaneous story. Here goes :)

Dwight and I had and have been best buddies for the past three years. When we started college together, we chose each other as roommates. We got along, we didn't do stupid things and we always corrected each other's mistakes. We both were so alike in every way, people didn't understand that we were from different families, let alone different countries of heritage. He was Belgian-French, my background traced to Hungarian-Czech. The way we dressed, what programs we would watch on television, what to eat, was all alike in very similar ways. The only thing that we disagreed over was our taste in women. He preferred the seductive, mysterious mistress, whereas I wanted that long term, committed relationship. Long nights would be spent before he would re-appear with a new black haired woman with silly looking bangs and dark ruby red lipstick, and the next day, he would be with another new one.

He never complained that I was still with Denise. I never complained he went through women faster than cartons of milk. It worked out that way between us. Until the day Denise left me for another man. It left me absolutely devastated beyond anything and Dwight did his best to comfort me. Once, he even brought over another dark haired woman, who I had promptly turned down because for one thing, her ears were gauged. I never understood that. The necessity to make your ear lobes large enough to stick a carrot through.

I tried all my stomping grounds, The Graduate, Harmon's Pub, The Cave, Rawlie's, Kidd's, none of them were any good. They were usually populated by underage drinkers sneaking a few in, stupid looking frat guys with their even stupider looking sorority girlfriends. Every so often, there would be a really cute girl, but then she'd throw up and I'd walk away. I tried the cafes as well, but that did little. Everyone was nose deep in whatever texts they had lugged along with them by pack mule. The park was terrible, I had a can thrust into my face every time asking for spare change. I hated giving Alms.

Mason st. & Dentworth st.

It happened that day. It was inevitable. She was riding a bicycle and I knew, she would hit that pothole. You couldn't miss it, even if you tried. So I yelled to warn her, but the front wheel caught, and she flipped over the handlebars and landed on her back. I ran over to help.

"Are you all right?
"No. That fucking hurt.
"I'm really sorry that happened. I tried to warn you.
"Its all right, there's no way you could have prevented anyways.
"Do you need some ice or anything? I live just a block down.

She stared down at her ankle. It was swelling to the size of a navel orange.


Getting her up was no problem, getting her off that leg was no problem. Getting her and her bicycle to my apartment was. I trust, it must have been an awkward sight to behold. About half a block down, it dawned on me to have her sit on the bicycle as I guided it along the sidewalk to my place. I took her in, put the bicycle in the hall and turned back into the scout, bandaged her leg and elevated it.

"You took a really nasty spill back there you know.
"Yeah, I know it.
"Is there anything I can do to help you?
"Well, there is one thing, but I dont think you can.
"Try me then.
"Heh. OK. Kill my boyfriend.

I was momentarily taken aback by the crudeness of the command. I only returned her a blank stare and gave her a look that kinda passed the message "really? You want me to do that?"

"I'm dead serious.
"You are?
"Look, that motherfucker, jerkwad of a boyfriend banged my best friend, took her to Mexico, abandoned her there, came back, punched my father and ran over my cat.
"That's alot to swallow. Look we just met. I cant take out a contract like this.
"Look, i'm sorry. This... its been a really hard time ok? I mean, I dont know what to do. My life is going down the hole and I really cant just...

She broke into tears. The bag of ice slid off her leg and crashed to the floor with a brattle. She didn't seem like the kind of girl to get involved with at the moment. After that 'fiasco' I dropped her off at the University Health Center, and put her out of mind.

Harmon St. & Boles Ave.

I do my shopping at a little grocery store on Boles Ave. It's run by the guy who the street is named after. Mr. Frederick John Boles. He apparently is one of the cornerstones of my university's city. And I suppose, a few years ago, the city council with nothing better to do, and with a burning pocket of money, renamed the street from Hassock to Boles. Whatever or whoever was Hassock, I may never know. But it was at the little grocery store that I met the next girl.

She had a cart full of groceries, like most pretty girls, she was wearing a sorority sweatshirt with the letters, Alpha Nu. I figured since she was in sweat pants, it would say the same thing on her ass as well. As she passed by, I took a quick glance to confirm my hypothesis. It did. Except it said PINK on her ass. I snickered at the thought of anything written on anyone's asses. Especially the Dean's.

What happened next, I will never know. As soon as I snickered, she appeared in front of me, hands on hips with an angry look in her eyes.

"What's funny?
"Nothing is not funny. What were you looking at?
"Your ass.

A Slap to the face set me right.

"Serves you right pervert!
"No. It made me think of other asses.

Another slap.

"Look, let me rephrase that. I saw your ass and thought of Dean Hustlinger's Ass.

Another glancing blow to my face.

"No, I was thinking about words on his ass

I think that slap was a little softer than the previous one.

"Ok look. Looook. I was thinking about how it looks funny to have letters on the seat of your pants, then I thought of letters on the seat of Dean Hustlinger's pants and tried to imagine what it would say.
"Well, I would imagine DEAN

I was taken aback by this much more humane response. I tried to give a little chuckle, but failed even at that.

"You know, I'm really sorry about the way I behaved earlier. Forgive me?

She stuck out her hand. Was I supposed to kiss it or shake it? I kinda held it for a second and let go of it. That seemed the right thing to do.

"What's your name? You're kinda cute you know that?
"Well, I dont give my name and number out willy nilly. I'm not that kinda guy.
"Well, i'm that kinda girl what wants it.
"I'm not convinced after all those slaps earlier.
"You want me to slap you again? I'll do it. I'm so into that kinky shit.

I only stared blankly at her then turned away leaving her to her shopping.

Huron St. & Atlas St.

My last class of the day is just off a building hidden on the block of Huron and Atlas. Inside Chesapeake Hall, I sit and listen to my economics lecture, slide off to sleep then wake up in a Farsi lecture. Three hours after my lecture ended. I really ought to figure out what lectures are in between Econ and Farsi. I've picked up on some new vocabulary dealing with acreages, land grants and dry weights.

But one econ class was different. I usually sat in the back row, but today, it was populated by all the hipsters who sat asleep already behind their large plastic sunglasses. Very clever douche bags. So I had to find a seat up front and lo and behold, I had to sit next to the one kid in class who cannot, for the life of her, stop asking the professor in depth questions (the kind of question reserved for discussion). As soon as I sat down and put my head behind the binder, she raised her hand. Her loud nasal voice was earshattering. It was like listening to a Tom Carvel ice cream ad played at high speed.

"Professor! Why would we need to measure ekonomical resource strata in modern situations as opposed to a few years back when they can reflect more on the trend?

I wanted to duct tape her mouth shut.

"Professor! The national trend rests at 4.3% But we as Americans, we live above that trend and at least try to double it. Why as a collective group do we even bother?

Now I wanted to punch her. I shut my eyes harder and put my pencil's erasers into my ears. The questions seemed to be less and less relevant as the hour chugged along.

"Professor! Professor! Lets say for example, if you buy stocks of hello kitty and my friend buys stocks in Badtz-Maru, What would be the direct resultant of Hello Kitty to that?

Oh my god. I wanted to kill her now. Only this stupid looking asian girl ever bring up shitty toy references. I grinned as the professor shrugged off the question and resumed lecturing.

"You're a jackass you know. You dont know shit!

came a whisper.

"Yea? You're a loud mouth who cant keep her mouth shut.

At this point, the professor threw the chalk duster at her. I smiled in accomplishment as I stared back into the white stripe looking at me.

"I'll get my boyfriend to kick your ass!
"In what? DDR?
"Oooh you get it now!

She stood and started hitting me with her handbag. A hello kitty mirror fell out along with some other girly things. The head GSI obviously annoyed by the new disturbance threw her out. As he did, the entire auditorium burst into applause.

Mason st. & Delaware ave.

Home. I live on 2282 Mason street in a little two bedroom apartment with Dwight. The past few days have been hectic and I had been just coming home, sleeping, then leaving. The apartment was dark when I entered. I was fooled for a second. A glance of light snuck in between the blinds as I walked by. On the couch was Denise. She was wearing a red nightie. I nearly fell back in shock.

"Aren't you with someone else?
"I never was. I didn't want to tell you I had to go to New York on an emergency. I knew you always tried to tag along when I had to go, so I made that story up.
"But... Why? I was actually searching for another person to date.
"I know. But I also know your methods and it takes you way too long to find someone else.
"But that was a dirty trick to do!
"I had to do it somehow.

I only gave her a blank stare, and sat next to her. I guess I preferred it this way over heh... bicycle girl, sorority girl or asian loudmouth. I'm done searching. Denise is just right.

July 20, 2008


Hello! When I want to post, I post, so I feel a post coming on.

I started wearing a neckerchief. Why?

I have no damn clue.

July 04, 2008

300: Bri

Hullo Bri!

And the rest of you readers.

I apologize for my lack of updating. I'm worse than nowadays. I can look back at my archives and note, the amount of posts I have made this year is equivalent to one month last year. So here goes.

For all of you who are either totally clueless, blind (no offense) or deaf, I am in a relationship with a really beautiful, smart, funny and one of a kind girl. When I'm around her, my body takes a beating. But for me, every scratch, burn and cut is well worth it. She's made her mark upon me. I swear.

Real quick. I really wanted to do this:


I know you're reading this. It may take awhile for you to notice, but we'll see. Anyways. I am up here in Clearlake, California. For some of you, that's above Calistoga. For those of you who have no idea where Calistoga is, its above Yountville. Yountville is above Napa, and so on and so on and so on. There's not much to do, I left my laptop in Berkeley. I really wished I had brought it with me, but there was no way in hell, I was going to leave it on the pool deck or in the locker room. Even if it was locked up.

Personal Messages:

Anna Harvey & Lindsay King: Have fun up in Yountville. The show that was supposed to happen here at Clearlake was cancelled. I wish I could be down there to see your show, but bleh.

Bmoun: come back soon.

My Bri: I await your return. Every day I look at the calendar I know it edges and counts down closer As of this upcoming sunday, it will be exactly one month until you return! As cheesy as that may seem, I really miss you. Every day is a day of torture, until you return. I long for your arms. My bed is small, and the best sized bed is one the same size of your arms. I love you for who you are. I cannot contain all my passions for you. Return soon, and safely.

June 21, 2008

299 Zach's Lost Moose

The morning always brought an eerie stillness to the room. Whenever and wherever he stayed, the morning always made the room still and the only thing heard was the clock ticking away. Something was different this morning. He rolled over, his hands fumbling for something in the bed. But he couldn't seem to find whatever this lost article was. Gasping up, he sat upright and scanned the bed and the area. It was nowhere to be found. A moose plush toy was missing, and his girlfriend had entrusted him with it. Nowhere at all... He searched behind the bed, under the bed and even in the closet. He found the moose pulling open a drawer. He was nestled in his boxers drawer.

June 02, 2008

298 Train

The train sighed as it rounded a corner on the steep grade. The daylight shone through the clear observation car window and the snow still came. You and I, we sat in a small but private booth, our legs underneath a fur throw. The Canadian rockies passed the window, countless on end. Cliffs, ledges and outcrops all seemed to howl with a majesty only the Canadians could create. The beauty of nature, the beauty of your face. The porter came by and refilled the pot of coffee. He also placed a small stove on the table to keep our upper halves warm.

Night fell, the coal stove had burned out and the car was filled with card sharks and gossip hogs. After eleven, the car cleared out, except for the two of us. As if we had never moved. Our arms still about each other and our feet warm from the cold. You sighed as the lights were extinguished and the moon streaked and lit up the car with a cold eerie light. You looked at me and you laid your head back down onto my chest. The night went on until three when we both were tired. We retired back to the cabin carriage, you climbed into the top bunk, and I into the lower one. Five minutes later, we both were in the top bunk.

297 Moose

I wasn't the kind of guy who would instantly reveal his feelings to most girls... let alone girls I fancied. I always found myself with a mental wall, too high to scale and too wide to run around. And always on the other side, was the girl I wanted to talk to, the girl I liked secretly, the girl I wanted to take out on a date. Maybe it was a good thing this wall kept popping up every now and then. Come to think of it, It was.

Go back about a month and a half ago to when we first met. A busy, bustling day in music lecture brought me to Cafe Ramona's about a building away. There, I was greeted by a good friend of mine. We talked for awhile before he introduced me to his table companion. Her name was, well, I'll leave to your imagination. At first, she didn't strike me but she was (and is. From now on, everything will be in past tense. If you're reading this sweetie, dont get mad from my use of "was") pretty and very keen. She seemed to have panic attacks on several (what I thought were petty) things such as her pen. Then I thought of my own carelessness and imagined the tens of dollars I've wasted on buying pens constantly.

We didn't see each other for awhile. On an occasion, I thought I may have run into her outside the bank, but that was about it. The last two weeks of school were hectic. Finals, and moving into my new apartment. The first day my lease had started, I had tripped carelessly handling some signs and twisted my ankle. Incidentally, I had seen her earlier in the day, walking fine. Returning to my dormitory, I was in an aircast and crutches. But my roommate and I continued to move into the apartment. I was off the crutches within three days and I'd say at this point, I'm 90% healed. The penultimate day of dorm life, we moved major things and we took care of whatever business was left. The only thing to bring to the apartment was the California flag and some other hats. So the trip was fairly epic the next morning.

But that Thursday, I volunteered my body to the rigors of ice skating. You see it on the television, looks easy as one two and three. When I took to the ice, it was easy as one, two all the way up to ninety seven, and then some. She was there. She was a nymph, a swan taking to water, upon the ice. Certainly, there were some fairy hoppers there, but for the most part, I could just imagine me, and her. She told me not to stare at my feet. I looked into her eyes. Could there be? Is it possible? I fell the second time, pulling her down onto me. It's happened twice. First time, her fault. Second time, mine. I didn't mind. My coccyx paid the price after, but it was worth it.

Friday, I thought we had such a connection, I just had to give her something before she left for her home. I had purchased a small little moose just for her and I gave it to her outside her building. We spent the rest of the hour together, postponing any work she was supposed to do. Her mother grew mad, but I volunteered my help to them, moving furniture and things like that. She kissed me! My heart raced, the adrenaline rush!

Dinner time only meant confusion to my friends as my gigantic smile only perplexed them further. Strawberries. I knew she loved them. I ordered a gigantic strawberry tart for her and an extra set of cutlery to see if we could share. I returned with the goody and it was one long hug after that. I didn't get to taste the tart. Just her mouth. Her boss, who had introduced us in the first place walked by with his family and we quickly well... separated, except at the hands :) I found out later that it resulted in a series of funny texts to my other friend who was her boss' former roommate. Confusing isn't it?

Saturday morning, I had promised to give her help moving things around. But before moving... well I wont go there for the sake of younger readers. The morning move didn't last as long and she was out by noon. She gave me her moose to take care of, a bottle of syrup and a kiss. She drove away, and I haven't seen her since. Every night since then, we've called each other, exchanged about 500 texts in ten days several pictures of our little moose friends. Only two and a half days before she would be in my arms once again.

May 15, 2008


I got them. I didn't really ever expect them. I cant believe it.

May 10, 2008

Stanford Pollutant

I grew up in the shadows of two great universities. Living in the Bay Area, they both certainly made their presence and they certainly were not something you wouldn't notice at all. In the fall, their games would be broadcast on television and towards Christmas, the Big Game would just spread over the Bay Area. But until three years ago, I hardly even knew the definition of "Big Game". In fact, College football wasn't a priority. Not at all. I would work as an ordinary student at an ordinary high school in an ordinary town. Not to say in the least that Alameda was ordinary all the time. I bode my time well, making friends and having as much fun as possible, but when it came time to choose colleges, there were too many options ahead of me.

Another thing, let me tell you. I grew up knowing where UC Berkeley was, but not Stanford. I always thought it was somewhere north of Berkeley, but then, I think it was senior year of High School when I bothered to look up where it was. Apparently, its in a place called Palo Alto.

But a big decision in shaping me was football. I didn't like it at first, but when on the local level you could relate, then it became personal. My first memory of Memorial Stadium was around early October of 2006 when my friend's family offered to take me along. It was amazing. The first thing you could do was the march to victory, the parade route Cal Band always took from Sproul up to Memorial. Its changed now, since all that construction on the Bancroft has stepped up. You'd enter this gigantic archway and find your seats, watch the band just burst out of the tunnel to two "bombs" as they're called and watch pregame. The cannon on the hill would fire and the general atmosphere would be amazing. For me, my first time was absolutely breath taking. People were cheering, students were standing, I was sitting, etc. And at that point, I fell in love with Cal. I never knew this sort of thing existed. I mean, sure, i've heard of the play and stuff, but not in this context. This brought it upon a whole new level. I always assumed that Cal was the place where smart people go. I never realized that there would be this informal, football loving side to the university.

From that point on, I always saw Stanford as the enemy. I stopped wearing my stanford sweatshirt permanently, and I gave away my Stanford Tshirt. The only reason I had those was because I just wanted college gear back in high school. Stanford, Cal, University of Virginia, it didn't mean much other than you got cool shit from one of those places. I had a really small sweatshirt I loved from University of Washington and I believe there's a Buckeyes sweatshirt somewhere that was a handmedown from my cousins. I still wear stuff from other places, all but Stanford.

But mind you, I've never been to Stanford. The occasion never called for me to go that far south on the peninsula. So my only impressions of it is, well, a school. For those of you who dont know what Berkeley is like, imagine this: A school was founded, but towards the early 20th century, a plan was envisioned. By one of the wealthiest women in the country. Willing to back up and finance this, the goal was to turn this school into the Athens of the West. Massive greek style buildings, amazing libraries, a Campinile, in other words, a model of the great learning civilizations of years past.

So what did I think of Stanford? My only images were those conjured from what I've heard. Flat, boring buildings and a stubby penis looking tower. Fair enough I suppose. But I'd never set foot onto the campus until December 1, 2007. When the majority of all these ideas were reinforced. Never had I seen such a flat spread out campus. Apart from Davis and Santa Barbara. But those were understandable. They had the space to spread out and merit Bike lanes and signals. There, it was just plain confusion. Trees and random ugly bits of land. Such a strange site to behold.

My view on Stanfordites weren't any better. We learned to watch our things, to be vigilant and to notice every single attack they may make. The day of bonfire, they tried to hang a banner. It fell, ripping the sheet. Epic Fail. That's all I need to say. Epic FAIL.

So with Rally Comm, my friends, and a few others, I visited Stanford with the notion that they were mean, cruel, evil and awkwardly weird. Seriously, I couldn't imagine a nice person from Stanford. Well, I suppose I could, but they'd be just normal students. A high school professor/colleague of mine was a Stanford Alum and decided to put a beat Cal sign on the wall. But it soon changed to read GO CAL. Lol. So my first visit to the farm, I couldn't find a single nice Stanford person. So at this point, I do my best to stay away from there.

Go Bears

- A Stanford student and a Cal Student were using the urinals in the bathroom of Memorial Stadium. They both finish up and the Stanford student walks to the sinks and starts washing up whereas the Cal student finishes and goes for the door. The Stanford student nonchalantly calls out: "At Stanford, they teach us to wash our hands after we pee. Without missing a beat, the Cal Student replies: "At Cal, they dont teach us to pee on our hands."

May 09, 2008


Let me give you some background. I kinda was an unofficial adopted buddy of this girl I knew in the University of California Rally Committee. We became fast friends and we'd do some things together. Somewhere in the middle of the year, my pink slip somehow had been transferred to her roommate. Then her roommate and I spent more time together. It didn't eliminate me from my first friend, but it did mean I saw less of her. Her roommate worked at my residence hall cluster so it was much easier to see her than my friend.

But now we're getting into complicated relationship stuff of which I still am confused about.

It was around Christmas time when I received the invitation. It sounded like fun, It'd be my second party of the year. Sure we had done some illegal things in the dorms, but there's only so many people you can meet over and over again. So I arrive, dressed up a little. Shirt, tie. that's about it. But if you knew me, you'd know that I'm an awkward wall flower. For the most part. I actually find it difficult to mingle with groups where everyone knows everyone else, but I only know a third of the people. I actually tend to follow a person for the evening, but that gets kidna creepy. But the party's over, i'm leaving, good bye then.

In the middle of winter, there's this thing called Men's Basketball and there's barely enough people to constitute a rooting section, but locals were usually there, and I had no way of getting home until 12 midnight. So I decided to crash my friend's place for the night. My first friend, the one I mentioned first, was away. Wait... no she wasn't. She was getting ready for a date with some boy she had met on New Year's. I had a thing for her. She was pretty and smart. Well, is, to be correct. But I had no chance at this point. She's still dating him. But that's beside the point. I was thrown two blankets when sleepy time came. I put the Oleg blanket on first, then their new fuzzy, totally awesome blanket. That was warm. The lights went out, everyone retired to their rooms, leaving me in the common area. They forgot to put out the Christmas lights on the wall. No matter, it was like a night light. I rocked to sleep with the patter of gale force rain on the window panes, the word CALIFORNIA was lit up, enblazed in my mind. My eyes drooped, weighted with lead. They were mere slits now, the only thing I could see in my mind was the California Banner.

I woke up, the morning was groggy certainly. I could hear the vehicles in the street leave lines of water in the slick street. A bus would rumble by and you could recgonize its characteristic low rumble from the massive engine. But I stared at the brown couch and to my surprise, there was an unfamiliar shape. It wasn't their cat. It was long and it had long hair. One of my blankets had moved in the night too. Must be Oleg. I put on my glasses, and certainly enough, it was Oleg. I called his name softly. His only response was a soft "phut" from under the blanket. It took me awhile to realize that it was him farting.

I put my jacket on, threw the rugby in my bag, and looked around. No one was awake. Not my friend, or her roommate. I figured i'd see them soon anyways. So I left. I stared up at the windows from the outside and the only thing I could see was CALIFORNIA.

May 08, 2008

Oh the things the internet will say...

Everyone's done. Once, or twice, or daily. They've Googled themselves, or someone else, or someone of a particular interest. Not just the popular celebrities, but the common man, the guy who works at a job and doesn't appear on TV. We're that person. We google ourselves for the hell of it, to see what we'd look like, or just plain see if we even make internet recognition. Let me tell you, you wont really find me by my name, but now if you were to use my screen name or gamertag, then yes, its much more likely. If you ever urban dictionary search your name, you'll certainly get blown away by the much more interesting *ahem* definitions:

my name: Zach

so here's some favorite definitions

1. A name of a person who is often smart, cunning, dresses well and likes to have fun. A party goer that attracts many people with his intellect, jokes, and good smile.

2. Zach- N. literally translated to... the great women seducer.. in ancient the Greek language. Usually having an urge to have sex for more then 7 hours.

Ok, well those are my only favorite definitions. The rest get kinda weird and kinky, sadistic and insulting.

April 17, 2008


I never let it get me down before.
It was bound to happen. She came in through those doors. That wooden door with the frosted glass. She opened the door, the way it looked.

She's the reason you lose sleep at night. Not really, you're actually tired from long nights in Wurster. But then again, she does like to pop into your head.

You think about it, you consider it and you ponder it. You're too damn methodical. If you think about it too hard, you're just never going to get there man.

You know it, her friends know it. Even friends of her friends know it. But she doesn't. She just doesn't seem to notice you.

The moment you get to talk to her, you just cant entertain her. You've tried. She's gone away.

Just be natural dude. Natural. What the fuck is that? "Natural". I have no idea how to act then. Nerdy? Smothery? Handsy? God. When I have it in my brain, it gets in there. Normal goes away. Shit.

What happened last time with what's her name? Oh. Her? Yeah. I guess I let my mind get in the way. I never asked her or anything. Typical dude. Well, we're friends. I think. You think? Well, shes there sort of... Its hard to explain. You're always hard to explain.

And what about the one after that. You liked her. But I never talked to her. Oh. Yeah. Loser.

And what's her name. The cute one. I tried. No you didnt. Yeah.

And look at you now. You've got another one don't you? Another infatuation. Its infectious on you isn't it? I suppose. Well, from what i've heard, she's really nice and likes alot of things you might like. Yeah? Go for it. Ask her. nooooo. C'mon. Just try. Noooooooo. Fail... just fail.

Do I? But it might affect our friendship if she says no. That's true. Well... Looks like you're screwed my friend. Crumbs.

April 16, 2008

Sesh sion

So Professor Sullivan, Christy and I finally decided today was going to be our pipe day. We packed and we enjoyed ourselves outside wurster today. We drew a comic together and it was quite nice. I ended up getting myself a decent fountain pen for use. since at this point, I think I have replaced all pens with the fountain and dip pen. Dip's a little harder to carry to class and such.

April 15, 2008


You know that feeling. That one called fear? Some of you claim no familiarity with it, others of you may say he has never left your side for a moment. I dont blame you. I've had that moment too when it would stalk me for hours on end. But the moment daylight came up, all was resolved. But night would come soon and you'd go back into it.

As a college student, you realize how much fear has transformed. As a child, your fears were the opposite sex, no recess, the boogie man who lived under your bed and in your closet at night. All sorts of wild and fantastic things and beasts that never existed. As you grew older, I'm sure the opposite sex became less of a beast and recess was nothing more than a mere period for teachers to relax and catch a smoking break. Then the boogie man. He never quite left now did he? I still know people. At my age. Get freaked out by scary movies, then can sleep at all at night. I know. I'm like that. That's why I abstain from it.

But the fear I want to talk about is that fear of the opposite sex. Sure, it has gone away for the most part, but still. It exists. In the virgin, the one bereft of confidance, the one who thinks about it, but never acts on it. To let you know, i'm one of those.

To be honest and frank with you all, I haven't been on a real date since august of 2006. That's an approximate time. I'm sore some of you could consider when I took a friend out for dinner, the two of us, a few months back as one, but it was more of a quasi dinner get together. With the two of us. In Jupiter. At its loudest. Ok, for certain, I probably wouldn't go back to Jupiter for a date, but the food's amazing.

But still friends, I live in that fear of rejection. Its why I cant flyer on sproul sometimes. I cant bear to be one of the annoying broods attempting to stick you with a flyer that you're not even interested in. Which is why, thankfully, my group has decided to abstain from hand to hand flyering and stick with stapling and stalling. But back to rejection. I'm guessing from the most of you, you all have that confidence to do it, right up, no worries there. But I still live day by day, one step at a time, plotting and calculating every outcome and every downfall that may happen if action is taken place. Where some of us rely on quantum physics too much and less on the initiative. We are pathetic sometimes. In the presence of that special someone, our legs turn to jelly and we talk about the weather instead.

Dont get me wrong, the weather is interesting sometimes, and in normal conversation, it has come up actually. I kid you not. But back to jelly. I know a girl, shes beautiful, funny and interesting. But I had not the courage to ask her. Even when drunk, I could not ask her. That fear held me back.

What I hate most in relation to this topic is when your friends catch on. When you're more transparent than see through lingerie. When they can read you easier than an alphabet book. Blast, damn, bother and curse. Then there was the other girl, much older, but I never bothered.

What also was quite annoying was my inability to tell if someone was interested. It always happens to the person of another person's affection. It just seems like that. The person is completely oblivious except for his or her friends. Its annoying.

Then came at last, someone new. Someone I can relate to (I think) and someone who was pretty and funny and oh so sweet. What am I doing here just writing about it? Fear. That's what. That little four letter word we mingle with every so often.

For me, I wish I could have the courage to ask her out. I've had the made up scenarios in my head that it works, then the onset of failure plagues me. Then I forget and fade back into a wall flower.

I need courage. She'll never say yes.
You just gotta try
No, I cant. I dont want to hear say no.
Just do it stupid.
No no no!
You like her. What's the fear in asking?
Rejection. That's what.
Fine. Be a dick. No, a pussy. That's all you'll ever amount to.

April 12, 2008

Rosie Teagarden's bar and grill was a regular for the beatniks and whodads back in its day, but today, it was only a mere shell of what it was before. Rosie Teagarden died of cancer in 1984 and her two boys sold the store to a restaurant enthauist who apparently adored the place, but the next thing you know, walls are knocked out, new chairs, replacement of all the historical photos on the walls with what looked like rejects from an art academy. The place was popular but the patrons obviously knew nothing of the heritage that Rosie's had. Last time I had gone, I stood dismayed in the door frame of the restaurant for about a minute before someone had pushed me in and out of the way. I woke up. This was a world rotted out underneath the gilt paint.

Jackson Thorre had bought Rosie's after a dinner he had there in 1983 which he claimed was magnificent. I knew Rosie was an amazing cook, but I had very little faith in this reclaimed place. Rosie's special was fish and chips. It was quick, cheap and easy to make. She would fry them in a pot of oil on the stove, then throw it into newsprint and serve it in a basket. Here, everything came on an oversized plate with cutlery that seem to fight the contour of your hand. I couldn't stand it.

I met with Thorre after an unpleasant evening to talk with him about the horrendous changes he had made. He was impenetrable in getting ideas and a single word in. He butted in when he liked and he most certainly had the look of death in his eyes more than one occasion. He left and so did I. I looked around the place, there was nothing I could discern except for an imaginary footprint of the past. The stage was over there, my buddies and I always sat at that table where that coat rack is and there was a column in the middle that supported all the weight that was covered in carvings. Wait, it still was though. But most had been filled in when they were plastered with paint. I could still see the rifts and cuts where names of numerous poets had been carved in, sometimes by the muse himself. In the day, there wern't as many female poets who like the Atmosphere of Rosie's. Wait, I know I had carved something. Where was it? It was above the queen frame.

The only scratch marks that wern't painted where the ones above the queen frame. Apparently, Thorre wanted some weird pub look. But I could clearly see what I carved. But as clear as it looked, it was illegible. For certain reasons, I would not ask that monkey of an owner to bring a ladder so I could examine his king post, nor was climbing around on the frame while other diners were still eating would be in good taste. I wanted to know what I carved.

I came back to Bastard Rosie's later in the week, but with a digital camera this time. I took 10 photos of it to make sure I didn't end with a bad image, but none worked. I attempted with mirrors, also did not work. Pretending to be scared by something then jumping onto the lower half of the king post didn't either. I gave up. I started coming almost religiously. Much better than their regular patrons. Only now did I start to spend my entire lunch just staring at the cryptic self-inflicted message.

Wednesday, the place was repainted, and the column filled in. It was gone. For good.

April 09, 2008

A letter from Police Chief of UCPD to all Students

As a student, my emails are private unless I put them onto this domain. So at this point, i'm all for the UCPD's actions and course of direction they took during the events of late March

During our recent efforts to end the occupation of a tree outside Wheeler Hall,
I was surprised and deeply moved by the number of students who went out of
their way to express support for the University and its police force. Later
that day I received an email from an undergraduate urging me to give you,
Berkeley's students, a better sense of the principles behind our approach to
the tree-sitters on campus and in the oak grove next to Memorial Stadium. It
was a suggestion that made a lot of sense.

First, a confession: I have been the chief of the campus police force for more
than 18 years, but in all that time my officers and I have never confronted an
ongoing challenge quite like this one. I thought I had seen it all; I was wrong.
Yet, even though the situation is unique, the values guiding our response are
firmly rooted in the longstanding traditions of our university.

The very existence of an independent university police force is predicated on
the fact that this campus, our home, is a unique environment. Ensuring the
safety and security of the campus community is our mission, but everyone who
wears the UCPD uniform understands that policing here requires understanding,
sensitivity and tolerance if this campus is to remain a hospitable host for the
free exchange of ideas and opinions.

It may seem counter-intuitive, but the guidelines that govern the "where,"
"when" and "how" of on-campus protest are there to make sure everyone's rights
are protected, everywhere, all the time. They help guarantee we can accommodate
interest groups regardless of their cause or the size of their support. The
fact is that, over the years, thousands of organizations and individuals have
found these rules of the road compatible with the desire to have their voices

Unfortunately, we are now contending with a few non-students who have placed
themselves above the law; people who seem to find our relatively permissive
environment and traditions too restrictive. While as a police force we are
neutral when it comes to causes espoused by campus protesters, we cannot
condone tactics that infringe on the rights of others while seeking to change
policy through a kind of extortion.

I ask you to imagine a different, but parallel scenario: a group opposed to our
study and teaching of evolutionary biology occupies a laboratory and refuses to
leave until we agree to their demands. Would you suggest that we change our
curriculum? Would you support closing the lab? Would you want to reward the

From my perspective it's pretty clear: the tree-sitters have willfully chosen
illegal occupation of University property - which is not public property - over
the sort of permissible and potentially persuasive engagement that goes on
every single day out on Sproul Plaza.

While there should be consequences for these actions, our response needs to be
commensurate with the crime and consistent with our values. I understand that
many of you are frustrated by an approach that seems overly tolerant, while
others believe we should just let it all be. However, I am convinced there is a
middle ground where we can and will maintain that delicate balance between
tolerance and law enforcement. We do believe that some of the sitters want
confrontation, but we are doing our best not to give them what they want. We
also know how difficult it is to safely remove people from perches that are as
much as six stories above the ground. One slip, one misstep and we run the risk
of causing serious injury to an officer or a protestor.

So far, UCPD has managed to contain and, to a certain extent, cordon off the
affected trees so that the protestors pose little immediate danger to members
of the campus community. That, in turn, is allowing us to make life in the
trees more difficult and less comfortable while minimizing the chances anyone
will be hurt. Already the number of people in the stadium oak grove has
dwindled to a hard-core few. They may continue to complain about conditions,
but the fact remains that they are free to come down any time they want.

There have also been complaints that we are trampling on their right to free
speech. Last October the campus went before an impartial judge and asked for a
temporary restraining order against the tree-sitters. We wanted to be certain
the protest was not, in some way, "protected speech." The protestors were
represented by their own legal counsel and had ample opportunity to make their
case. The results were clear; the court ruled that the tree-sitters are engaged
in an illegal occupation well beyond the scope of constitutional protection. If
the ruling had not gone our way we would have no choice but to abide by the
judge's decision. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the other side.

I also know there are concerns about the cost of our operations, and the extent
to which our officers have been pulled away from other duties. First, you
should know that additional expenses generated by the protest are financed from
a contingency fund that supports police response to unexpected events. In other
words, funds for policing the grove are not being redirected from teaching,
research or student services. At the same time, I cannot pretend that managing
this situation is not impacting other enforcement and safety operations. We
have tried to minimize costs by utilizing an outside security firm and,
whenever possible, redeploying our staff. There's no doubt that there are other
law enforcement strategies that might be quicker and less expensive but, again,
our response must be consistent with the principles that guide this
universitys police force.

At this point we are all waiting for the court's ruling on the lawsuits filed
against the plans to build a new Student Athlete High Performance Center, a
decision that is now expected no later than June. Until then the trees, by
court order, cannot be touched. It's also worth mentioning that if, at the end
of the legal process, we are not cleared to begin construction, the University
will have to live with the final ruling. Meanwhile, the tree-sitters vow to
abide by only those court decisions they agree with.

When that ruling comes, everyone will have had their day in court, and it will
be time to end the occupation of trees. While we still hope for a voluntary
climb-down, we are not naive and planning continues for a peaceful but certain
conclusion to this protest.

While some of you may not agree with parts of our mission or some of our
methods, I hope that after reading this letter you can, at the very least,
appreciate the complexity of the situation. I also hope that you can appreciate
the extent to which our UCPD officers have done an unbelievable job in their
professional, tolerant, and sensitive response to a really challenging
situation. We take seriously our sworn duty to uphold the law in a manner
consistent with our culture and consistent with our primary concern for the
safety of every member of our community.


Victoria Harrison
Chief, UC Police Department

April 03, 2008

It's Just That!

Finding this old entry, I couldn't remember what I was writing about. But let's make the entry one that is the openings to very Zachesque pieces of writing.

Growing tired and weary, I sat on the on the stoop. It was still wet from the morning dew, but I didn't mind. I could feel the seat of my overalls growing cold from the dampness and I shifted over in discomfort. My wrist watch said it was almost half past nine. The truck was late. As usual. I couldn't help but scoff and spit in disgust at the driver's tardiness. I suppose he couldn't help it.

The room was dark and quiet. The dust moaned softly underfoot as I walked along the edge of the enormous carpet. Professor Van De Glehn would have wanted it this way. I just couldn't let three years of research mold away in his abandoned office. I knew they would be somewhere, but it most certainly would be hard find thanks to vandals. The office remained relatively untouched apart from a few books lying on the floor here and there.

Rejection finally hit him. Roger had tried everything from speed dating to online services. The only thing left was to walk through those doors. The swinging french doors squealed with a piggy-like giddy and no one took notice of the new entrant. He sidled to the bar and ordered a scotch on rocks. Looked around and left.

March 14, 2008


As a columnist, I received hundreds of letters daily. Some of which were junk, others not junk. Half of them (the non junk ones) were all business, a third would be utilities for my house and the last sixth would be a few rare letters of admiration of my writing.

I loved working as a journalist in Plainview. It was plenty of time to work and play. I would write a paper, catch a train into Hillsborrough and watch a little league game, then write about it. Quite literallly, I was the only journalist in town, but that would have been a lie. Now if you had said I was the only hard working journalist in town, that would be much more accurate. My boss was a tall, lanky, wispy haired old man. He was the kind of boss who would go out fishing during the day sometimes. Those days, the office would just shut down completely. The other journalist who worked at the paper, or supposedly worked there was my senior, One E.V. DeMartin. In the 12 years I have worked at the paper, never once did I see him. So I only could assume that he was either dead or just a figment of the boss' imagination. Somehow, he managed to get three columns in every sunday paper. Other than that, it was only me writing and the boss making a few contributions to the fishing page.

But fan mail was a rarity. Not a necessity or a commodity, but it certainly was a treat. DeMartin's desk would be piled in perfume stinky envelopes of admiring ladies, but never were they collected. I did note that one day after I had filled his last box with them, the boxes were empty the next morning.

It looked like every other envelope in my box that morning. I milled through the other things, browsing through the catalog for fishing tackle to buy the boss for chirstmas, then at possible useless things to buy for DeMartin. I thought he supposedly could have used a two speed shoe cleaner and buffer. But then I contemplated if he had feet or not. I had gotten from my uncle several years earlier what he called a Dynamus Speed Letter opener. It was an amazing little piece of machinery. Slip in a stack, turn it on, the letters zip through with the their tips shaved off and the letter ready to be read. I brought the stack to my desk, and carefully, I pieced out which was which, one by one. At the very bottom of the stack, a neatly hand addressed envelope caught my eye. You could tell it was a lady's handwriting. I had a knack for handwriting, I could tell which hand you were, what size your hand was and how you held the tool. Also, I could tell your sex. Sometimes, it gets ambigious, but for the most part, I could tell.

The letter was a fan letter, but it seemed strange. It made comments about how "dashing" I looked in my photograph in the paper. Funny, I had a photo in the paper? My arm shot out for the last issue of the paper. Sure enough, on the second page, There was a photograph of me dressed as superman. God, Boss must have thought ruin your worker's lives photo edition must have been very beneficial. I tried to find a picture of DeMartin, but only a big "Photo Missing" was in its place. I tried to look the other things that she mentioned. My "elusive" use of contractions, etc. Crazy weird grammar related things.

What made me post the letter in the paper, I dont know. But I guess it was now for all of Plainview to see. At least at this point, whoever read the Plainview gazette would see it. The next day, another letter arrived, this time, it was a bit angry at me. I could understand that. I decided to post a response to the letter when I published the paper tomorrow. It went on and on for several weeks. It seemed more of a conversation now than an admiration. I kept the letters carefully documented and filed in a cabinet. This was actually turning fun for once. At one point, I couldn't anticipate the moment for when the letter would arrive and I could start writing a response.

The last letter came in the middle of August. The weather was hot, the fans were all on. To leave the room with moving air was like stepping out into suicide. The humidity and heat hit you like a train. But anyhow, the last letter came that day. It said, lets meet. I was certainly speculative about meeting a stranger. But then again, were we strangers? We had been on a very civilized conversation for the past three months and now all of a sudden, there was a chance to meet the mysterious person. The person who had always signed her letters with a large A in red ink. I examined the A closer. It wasn't a ball point or a gel pen. It was one of the dip pens and the A was written with a scarlet ink. It still would glisten in the light if I moved the angle about. The thought nearly dazzled me, of printing lest writing all my letters in dip pen with shimmering ink.

My last response came without hesitation. I published my response.

I'll meet you in the Okeh Diner on Seventh street at ten tomorrow night.

I hoped she would read the paper religiously.

The Okeh wasn't anything fancy at all. It was your plain old ordinary kind of diner. One side sectioned off for passing truckers and the other side for the regular patrons. To have a seat at the counter was like being on the council of elders. Custom would dictate to never sit in any of the seats. Heaven help us if one day, a new comer would just walk in and sit at the first counter seat. I've seen it happen once. Judith behind the counter set down the scalding coffee pot on the patron's hands. He winced, and she directed him at a booth. Luckily, there were a few seats without names at the other end, all the way to the rear of the counter. I took my spot in one of these pleather chairs and ordered a cup of coffee. It came, in a still slightly wet mug. The blip stains now just leaving their trails down from the lip to the saucer. I heaved my shoulders up and leaned onto the counter and unfolded my paper. Stanford beat Washington in sports. Nothing new. There was hardly anyone in the diner. Just the fat waitress behind the counter, a shady looking teenager "enjoying" coffee while grinding something, then dumping it into the coffee. A few truckers could be heard snorting in the background and making farting sounds. A chortle of laughter from fellow brothers.

The neon clock on the wall indicated now it was half past six. I had sat in the booth for nearly three hours waiting. I had work to do, lots of it. I had a choice, I could stay and wait, stood up by a sap of sorts, or just leave.

It was now quarter til nine. The diner would close soon. The waitress stared at me with the intent of getting me to leave. I rolled up the bundled newspaper file, and I left for the door. My reflection did not greet me at the door, but a young beautiful face stared back at me. It blushed bright red and retreated back to a car and drove off. I stepped outside for a moment, tossed the file into the trash and went home.

March 13, 2008

Anvil of the Majesties

There was only so much work one could do these days. Weeks upon weeks of built up stress just suddenly came loose one day. I was working in lab when I decided to walk out, right in the middle. Professor Hartmann stopped me at the door.

"Where are you going? You have to finish your problem set."
"Out. I dont care."
"Then I wont hold you back."

He moved aside and I strode out. The let the wood door close itself and I went down the clean hall. It was one of those sorts of days. Where you'd much rather just sit about and do nothing. It was 11:43 in the morning. Fuck. It was too early to feel like this. I knew there were two more classes that I had work to turn in. I figured, I might as well just hand them to my buddy Sherman who would go to class and turn it in for me. He was really diligent about working through hours and hours without stirring or turning towards facebook.

I caught Sherman sitting in the north reading room. On both sides sat his usual piles of reference books. One lay sprawled in front of him. I caught a glance at it. It was the US Census of Okanawah County, OK in 1912. Seriously...

"hey Sherm."
"Oh hey there Adam. What can I do for you?"
"D'you mind if you turn in these for me? I dont feel like going to class."
"One of those days hm?"
"No... yes."
"Sure. You know the price."
"It'll be on your Bureau in the morning."

Sherman was 20. I was 21. We were roommates since freshman year. I just guess it worked out. Sherman, Earl and I moved into a place sophomore year and we've been there since. But Sherman, as brilliant as he was, was a heavy drinker and smoker. He went through a pack of camels a day. It was gross. But, his usual cost was a third of a fifth of whatever. Usually, I just poured tequila into a large flask and left it for him. He didn't give a care what I put in there. Just as long as it was drinkable and he would be asleep by the time he finished it. So I was free now. What do I do? I could have gone bar hopping. But no respectable place serves anything hard before six, let alone noon time. The park was out of the question. At all hours of the day, I couldn't find myself not being at the other end of a cup being shaken at me. So the park was out. I suppose I could find some solace in the library. Nah, Sherm was there. I guess to the bar it is.

The Charleston Pub is my usual watering hole, its decent, not the best. It wasn't one of those nasty grimy places you see in the tenderloin with men in studded leather standing at the door, nor was it a place where the bouncer a 5 foot 3 inch man wearing a turtleneck. It was the kinda bar where you'd sidle in, find a table, and drink and chat. I suppose you could call it the coffee house of pubs. It certainly felt like one for sure. They know me by now. Since my twenty first birthday, I was becoming a regular down at Charleston. But it seemed empty to me. Devoid of its usual cheeriness. The dining hall was dim and there were only a few couples scattered here and there. Lunch wasn't the same anymore. The pork chop looked less appealing, the beer tasted flat, the potato a mere pebble of starch. The world was certainly a much blander place now. I suppose going home would help. Then again, it would always be the same drab old place you went home to and ate dinner at and etc. Ah what the hell. Why not?

I had the waiter put the rest of my stake cube and marble sized ball of starch in a to go box and I left for home. For some reason, I only was ever comfortable sitting in my easy chair, by my favorite window, with my little table by the side and the smell my cigar humidor nearby. I found myself at a friend's place once. It was filthy and there certainly were fantastical things about the place. One of which was mold growing on ever flat face in the bathroom. To that, I gave my applause by running out of the apartment and never going back. But back to my place. Sherm, Earl and I had turned it into our own little club. The walls were white, we covered them with prints of famous photographs and paintings. There used to be a big stain in the middle of the lounge, we covered it with an navajo rug. The kitchen wall has a hole in it, well, its still there. But we covered it up with a decorative object none the less. That just goes to show how much we cared about house beautiful. Each of our rooms had a special quality to it. They were intended as our special private kingdoms. Sherman decked his out with a small laboratory, with a cabinet of all the safer elements and all sorts of cool things. Earl was the big sports fan of us three. He had pennants from every college covering every square inch of wall. In the corner sat the ColorKing television set. He had been watching football in front of that since he was born. Heck, his father was watching the same sport on it since he bought the television in '69. Of course, there was no color left and the image came out blurry, but the sound was amazing. Watching a UCLA game, we could hear individual hate calls from the USC side. Or when we would watch a Cal game, we could tell when the announcer was sick or had a frog in his throat. My room, I didn't go all out like the other two guys had. I only went as far as to have a few bookshelves put in, and several of my rare books brought out from home. I was the only lucky one to have a window that faced the street. Nay, it overlooked the street, the rooftops and the shops, plazas, markets, trees, parks and the bay. The bay. I had a view of the beautiful San Francisco bay. At least here, in my room, there had better be some feeling of solace and calm. Otherwise, it wouldn't be my room. I bought the most monumental looking chair to have by the window. I didn't go with the e-z boy recliner, those were tacky and Earl had two in his room. Nor did I go with the standard leather arm chair that typically found its way into every man office. No, I had been down to Urban or Ore and picked up this beauty of a chair. It had the curved legs of an egyptianesque chair, the hand sewn leather sling between the legs, the way I draped a sheep skin over the back. This was truly a chair for Zeus. Or Mars at least.

I eased my way into the chair, taking note of the crunching sounds, each sigh of stress as it sagged under my weight. Everything the chair did, it was both physically and psychologically. At least now, the world seemed to mean more than the small chop and tiny red potato. The weight of the world seemed to swell up into the cloud in the distance. I sat for several hours, just staring at the sky. Everything else moved, except for that one cloud. It only got larger and larger and at one point, it looked like an anvil.

It bore the brunt of the world's misery and boredom. It contained all our problems and gripes. Every gripe, every remorse, every to-do we had. Collected into a single mass of droplets and feelings. It consolidated over the other apartments, it stayed in place. Hours passed, the light went from bright to orange, orange to red, red to purple, then the light went out. The anvil was gone. The stars began to shine through the anvil cloud. Then it was totally gone.