Mankind is with but five senses. Sight, smell, touch, taste and sound. No doubt, one cannot help but remember the joy involved with the flooding of memories coming back the moment that sense is triggered in the right way. In my life, I never noticed how prevalent that was until these past two months of the single life.
I was moping as usual, I stared on my shelf and picked up the little vaporizer bottle of Bath and Body works Pink Grapefruit. Unfortunate that they dont make it anymore, but I was afraid to spray it, for fear of wasting it all. I popped off the cap, took a little breather and it took me back. It brought back so many happy thoughts and memories. Helping Bri pack, nuzzling Moosie in my arms for the first time, coming home from work, exhausted and hopeless. The lobby smelled so familiar. It just hit me that moment and I couldn't place it. I opened my mail box to find a perfumed letter just for me! That is one my favorite moments in the past two years here at Cal.
I was enjoying my April 18th by taking in a flick dedicated to the 103rd anniversary of the 1906 earthquake. But after the banjo minstrel band left the stage, I sat, sunk into my seat moping. Again. But all of a sudden, the Castro theater was filled with the most extraordinary sound. The sound of the mighty Wurlitzer is a sound I could never forget. Especially played in an old jazzy way. The organ rose with a bald man at the console. The hall filled with sound and my head was abuzz with memories of ice skating in Paramount. I thought instantly of the Wurlitzer organ at that ice rink and memories of just trying to get around the rink just once. Warren as his name was played beautifully, his ability to control so many sounds at once as well as play with his feet was simply a gift. I sunk deep into the velvet chair, in a trance as it were, thinking of a simpler time. When I was ice skating, not looking at my feet, but into someone's eyes.
April 19, 2009
Castro Theatre
On Cal Day, I found myself wanting to get away from it all. What better than to enjoy a nice day in San Francisco. In an hour, I was pushing my way through throngs of tourists as a local. I knew what I wanted to do and I did it. I walked through the Castro, enjoying lunch at a local establishment, went to fisherman's wharf and bought cheap stuff. Granted, what I did was the pinnacle of what every tourist did but that was for that brief moment.
It was getting late and I had to be back in the Castro for a performance by the Peninsula Banjo Band. This, I could not miss. The band played, the organ played then I watched the film. It felt amazing to be in a motion picture palace once again. You dont know the thrill when you see the MGM lion roar on a screen the size of your house, or the fact that of all places, this movie theater had a balcony, and corinthian columns and murals on the walls.
So I say, enjoy a film, support your local motion picture palace. Not cineplex. Palace.
It was getting late and I had to be back in the Castro for a performance by the Peninsula Banjo Band. This, I could not miss. The band played, the organ played then I watched the film. It felt amazing to be in a motion picture palace once again. You dont know the thrill when you see the MGM lion roar on a screen the size of your house, or the fact that of all places, this movie theater had a balcony, and corinthian columns and murals on the walls.
So I say, enjoy a film, support your local motion picture palace. Not cineplex. Palace.
Heat
I sat in the shade of the bus kiosk. I stood, leaning against the frame of a wall and enjoying the muted light that penetrated through the scratched and opaque ceiling. There was a hot gust of wind, the street rippled for a second under the monotony of the weather. You could feel it, the moment you stepped out from under the shade, you felt like melting, you felt like dying.
The infernal bus never came. I started to walk. I cursed myself silently for choosing to walk on the sunny side but with that, came a reprieve when I walked changed directions and found myself on the shady side. I leaned my back against the cool granite walls of the city college. Now, I arrived again at another bus kiosk. Serviced by more reliable buses but I had not escaped that dratted weather. I looked across the street, staring calmly at the walgreens across the way. I thought for a moment, ran across, made a purchase and again found myself on the shade of the kiosk. When I had came back, there seemed to be thirty more people than when I had left. That's the bus for you.
The bus came, I walked to studio, and secluded myself in a bathroom stall. Whipped out my purchase, gave myself a good dusting and I was free of wet and heat. Thank you Goldbond Medicated Body Powder
The infernal bus never came. I started to walk. I cursed myself silently for choosing to walk on the sunny side but with that, came a reprieve when I walked changed directions and found myself on the shady side. I leaned my back against the cool granite walls of the city college. Now, I arrived again at another bus kiosk. Serviced by more reliable buses but I had not escaped that dratted weather. I looked across the street, staring calmly at the walgreens across the way. I thought for a moment, ran across, made a purchase and again found myself on the shade of the kiosk. When I had came back, there seemed to be thirty more people than when I had left. That's the bus for you.
The bus came, I walked to studio, and secluded myself in a bathroom stall. Whipped out my purchase, gave myself a good dusting and I was free of wet and heat. Thank you Goldbond Medicated Body Powder
Used to
There are alot of things I used to do. Things I did that made my regular life, well, my regular life. Little things you'd never notice yourself doing when you were happy, say for instance, tying your shoes on one foot then the other, the exact same way over and over. But once there is that impact, that event that changes your life, changes the way you live, you notice everything you've lost.
Change happens both ways. For good and for bad, and some people can never let go of their habits but at some point change has got to give. Man and woman are not made from granite, we are not made from iron and we are not made from wood. If we were made from granite, we would be hard and stern. Changing only to the elements and to human force. If we were made of iron, we would be cast and be brittle, and the only change we would see is the corrosion from neglect. If we were wood, we would be flexible yet rigid, many yet easily destroyed and changing to any means possible. I think we are clay. Soft, malleable to any form, possible to make rigid permanently but still, with time to mold and work and play with. If you look at people around the world if they were clay, the only ones who have been fired in the kilns are those who are six feet under.
My head used to be filled with music. Operas, librettos, scores, orchestras, symphonies, songs, melodies, jazz bands. Nary was there a night I could fall asleep without difficulty as my own head sang me to sleep. Then what happened? Where has the music gone? I lay in bed, gaping at the ceiling in a fish sort of way, trying to breathe, thinking of all my bodily functions trying to shut down. No more jazz, no more Shostakovich, no more Gilbert & Sullivan, just silence. Plain as day silence. Even throughout my daily life, the music isn't there or isn't as strong as it used to be. I wonder where the pit has gone?
Mold a statue's arm of clay over another statue, then remove the other statue, the arm begins to sag under its own weight. It cannot support its own. Unless you fired it or made it rigid. But where is this rigidity? Where is this "backbone" so to speak? She tells me it comes from touching your bases. Finding that root element that can define all. That's all fine and dandy but how on earth do you stick a skeleton into a clay statue that's already made? It's impossible unless you start from scratch. As a student, there is no time. If I were an artist, I would have plenty time to do whatever I felt like. Quite.
But even now, I feel the pressure, I feel the problems bearing an ungodly weight upon me. The pains in my lame arm start to become apparent and I suffocate. Where is air? Where is feeling? Where is my skeleton, on which I can build my life on?
I dont know.
April 09, 2009
Out of the Dust
Move it Buddy!
The soldier turned, he looked back into the eyes of a stumpy, irate Manhattan cabbie. His tweed cap sat squashed like a flat persimmon on his head and his mustashe twitched from side to side. The soldier stepped back in between the safety of the parked cars and the driver returned to his cab. He sighed watching the cab just inch past him at a crawling pace. He returned to the sidewalk with his bag and and swung it over his shoulder.
Watch it you jerk!
He turned once more this time, facing a woman in her mid twenties wearing dark sunglasses, holding a coffee and the leash of a small dog in one hand and in the other pressing the phone up to her head.
You almost made me spill my triple mocha frappacino!
He stood aside, apologized and walked.
He served in Iraq, that damn war. All guts, no glory, it's all for this? To be disrespected in your own home? He came back from a place where people shot at him, to defend the so-called rights of the people there. The same people who are like our people. The same jerks and shits. Here, he felt alienated. Here, it was no better than in Iraq.
April 07, 2009
Zen Biking
A Zen Teacher saw five of his students return from the market, riding their bicycles. When they had dismounted, the teacher asked the students, "Why are you riding your bicycles?" The first student replied, "The bicycle is carrying this sack of potatoes. I am glad that I do not have to carry them on my back!" The teacher praised the student, saying, "You are a smart boy. When you grow old, you will not walk hunched over, as I do." The second student replied, "I love to watch the trees and fields pass by as I roll down the path." The teacher commended the student, "Your eyes are open and you see the world." The third student replied, "When I ride my bicycle, I am content to chant, nam myoho renge kyo." The teacher gave praise to the third student, "Your mind will roll with the ease of a newly trued wheel." The fourth student answered, "Riding my bicycle, I live in harmony with all beings." The teacher was pleased and said, "You are riding on the golden path of non-harming." The fifth student replied, "I ride my bicycle to ride my bicycle." The teacher went and sat at the feet of the fifth student, and said, "I am your disciple."
April 04, 2009
Moped Diaries: Day Three
A familiar feeling stirred me awake this morning. I sat up again, this time, I felt unaware of what was going on. I stared around, taking in the green nylon walls, the large purple mass besides me. The walls of the tent were pushing and pulling, the wind battling against the human element. Every of often, it sounded as if the tent was being pummeled with peppercorns and I realized it was rain. I nudged Ashton to stir him and he turned over and sniffed. I nudged him again but this time, he farted in retaliation. Giving up, I tried to cozy myself back into the position I was sleeping in. My eyes couldn't put the darkness before them again, the flashing green nylon kept my eyes open. Suddenly, I hear a buzz. It sounds like a small gong going off. I realize Ashton brought an alarm clock. He sits up instantly, clicks it off and runs out the tent.
"ASHTON! IT'S RAINING!"
He doesn't hear me. He's too busy frolicking in the tempest. The rain is coming down hard and fast, Ashton starts to disappear into the rain and through the thick of it and the fog, you cant see him. I pull out the church key and open a tin of milk. I sit watching the grey figure shuffle through the rain jumping over logs and running through the grass. A few minutes later, he reappears in the tent sopping wet. I hold out the can for him to have a sip of milk. He takes it and finishes it. I pull on compression leggings for warmth, and a pair of waterproof pants. Heavy woolen socks and I replace the boots on my feet. I pull on the heavy pea coat and the rain slicker.
We climb onto our bikes and start to ride. The world immersed in rain is different, gray figures muscle around us as we continue riding. We are soaked, the headlights barely cast into the gray fog. We ride, our cyclometers read 130 miles. My tank is running a little dry and Ashton switches his motor off. We pedal, we keep moving. We are in Oregon.
There are hardly changes in scenery from when we left California to when we arrived in Oregon, the trees are just as majestic as ever and the only noticeable difference was the lack of sales tax when we filled up our tanks at a small roadside gas station. This was truly a paradise as we kept riding up the coast.
Evening seems to come faster when you are in Oregon, no sooner had we crossed the border did the sun begin to set and run. We pitched our tent in a dry spot under a fallen tree in a gully, parked and set up the stove and a small fire. The orange sky turned to a madder lake deep red into a convulsing purple then into the cold, clear darkness of the heavens. The clouds had parted, the rain stopped and the stars vivid. I felt as if we were camping beneath the tip of the world. I pulled a small square frying pan, placed two sausages in it, and let it roast over the campfire. Ashton on the other hand was trying to cook a small pot of rice over the campstove and it had a little trouble, but in the end, with some ketchup, we were fine. We washed the dishes, placed them aside, away from the tents and we pulled out our instruments again. I started strumming out, picking "Little Brown Church in the Vale and Ashton took up the harmony. We sat and sang until our little fire went out. Into the tent, into our sleeping bags and lights out.
"ASHTON! IT'S RAINING!"
He doesn't hear me. He's too busy frolicking in the tempest. The rain is coming down hard and fast, Ashton starts to disappear into the rain and through the thick of it and the fog, you cant see him. I pull out the church key and open a tin of milk. I sit watching the grey figure shuffle through the rain jumping over logs and running through the grass. A few minutes later, he reappears in the tent sopping wet. I hold out the can for him to have a sip of milk. He takes it and finishes it. I pull on compression leggings for warmth, and a pair of waterproof pants. Heavy woolen socks and I replace the boots on my feet. I pull on the heavy pea coat and the rain slicker.
We climb onto our bikes and start to ride. The world immersed in rain is different, gray figures muscle around us as we continue riding. We are soaked, the headlights barely cast into the gray fog. We ride, our cyclometers read 130 miles. My tank is running a little dry and Ashton switches his motor off. We pedal, we keep moving. We are in Oregon.
There are hardly changes in scenery from when we left California to when we arrived in Oregon, the trees are just as majestic as ever and the only noticeable difference was the lack of sales tax when we filled up our tanks at a small roadside gas station. This was truly a paradise as we kept riding up the coast.
Evening seems to come faster when you are in Oregon, no sooner had we crossed the border did the sun begin to set and run. We pitched our tent in a dry spot under a fallen tree in a gully, parked and set up the stove and a small fire. The orange sky turned to a madder lake deep red into a convulsing purple then into the cold, clear darkness of the heavens. The clouds had parted, the rain stopped and the stars vivid. I felt as if we were camping beneath the tip of the world. I pulled a small square frying pan, placed two sausages in it, and let it roast over the campfire. Ashton on the other hand was trying to cook a small pot of rice over the campstove and it had a little trouble, but in the end, with some ketchup, we were fine. We washed the dishes, placed them aside, away from the tents and we pulled out our instruments again. I started strumming out, picking "Little Brown Church in the Vale and Ashton took up the harmony. We sat and sang until our little fire went out. Into the tent, into our sleeping bags and lights out.
April 02, 2009
Moped Diaries: Day Two
A low moan rattled my sleep. I shuddered waking up and sitting up in my sleeping bag. I rubbed my arms in the heavy woolen sweater, blinking without my glasses and taking in my surroundings. The light green nylon fabric of the tent walls glowed eerily as I sat. Ashton still was rumbling with sleep in his sleeping bag and I gently rocked him to stir.
"Wha? Huh?"
"Morning sleeping beauty."
"Oh. Hello."
"Is that all you have to say to me?"
"Yep"
"Come on. Lets get washed up."
I drew the narrow silver canteen from the front pannier and poured it into a small wash pan and set it on top of the propane burner. I set up a mirror on a fence post and set up my shaving kit, carefully setting the badger brush on the post by the mirror and setting up the razor. The water began to steam and I poured half into the mug and set the rest aside for Ashton to wash his face. Slowly stirring the cream into a foam, I wrestled it onto my face and carefully shaved off the growth from the last two nights.
"Dude, this water is hot."
"What? You dont wash up with hot water?"
"No. Duh."
"Just do it. It'll feel better."
"You ought to keep your beard. It might keep you warm on the road."
Suddenly, that thought hit me. Warm face. I wiped off the cream and packed up the shaving things. We sat on our camp stools and as breakfast was cooking over the stove, we talked about where we were. While I was shaving, Ashton had taken a location with the lensatic compass and plotted our position on the map. Thirty miles out of Fort Bragg. We decided to fill up on gas there and one of us would move one of our panniers to the other person's bike and would hold a jerry can instead. I volunteered my front canvas pannier. Ashton stared at it, and clipped it behind my rear pannier.
"Hey!"
"Problem solved!"
"Fine. But you're carrying your own gasoline too."
"Fine!"
We pedaled to Fort Bragg and made it there by lunch time. We bought and filled to jerry cans and hooked them to our panniers. We stopped in town for an hour or two, to replace the things we had used up last night. A new tin of beans, a tin of beef, a loaf of sourdough bread and a pack of extra socks. I stopped outside the hardware store to pick up a small hatchet. We might need firewood at some point I thought. My moped was staring to look like a carry-all on wheels. The nice thing about it all was it looked rugged. The classic looks and lines of the derringer bike, the old school seat and panniers, it was meant for this. Ashton rolled by, his panniers and carriers filled with sketchbook paper, pencils, cans of lighter fluid, some old newspapers and a small bag of charcoals. We pulled out of Fort Bragg at three and continued up old highway one.
We rode, the wind pushing against our helmets and faces. It made me wish I had bought pilots goggles from the surplus store. As we rode, the flat rolling landscape soon became a harsh, rough, terrifying yet subtle landscape. It undulated but it fought back sometimes. Highway one was truly a road built to the world. It didn't plow through the landscape like most interstates did. This truly was second to god. We rode and rode. Our tanks not seeming to grow empty. Every so often, we'd stop and stretch, enjoy the land. Ashton would pull the sketchbook out and draw. I realized then, I forgot to use the camcorder. I quickly pulled out the small powershot and set up a rig on the handlebar to record us as we went.
Winding through steep and curving road, we rode over gigantic, beautiful concrete arch bridges, walked through forests now and then and stopped for a hot dog for dinner. This time, night caught up before our tanks were empty. This time, we settled camp away from road. We drove down a small path and parked in a clearing. We pitched the tent up, locked the bikes together and started a small fire. The darkness seemed like a cold blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I missed that feeling of someone wrapped up besides you. Ashton and I certainly were missing our better halves. The girls were going on a trip with each other to Florida. Ashton had scoffed at the idea and said it was only helping the industry. He could be like that sometimes, but it was fine. We balanced each other out. I had managed to strap my mandolin to the front pannier and I pulled it out. Ashton pulled his uke out and we started to jam into the night. Our two bodies, illuminated by the slowly dying fire, our fingers jangling around, pulling out a tune as best as possible. We laughed, shared a can of beer and turned in.
Yet more to come!
"Wha? Huh?"
"Morning sleeping beauty."
"Oh. Hello."
"Is that all you have to say to me?"
"Yep"
"Come on. Lets get washed up."
I drew the narrow silver canteen from the front pannier and poured it into a small wash pan and set it on top of the propane burner. I set up a mirror on a fence post and set up my shaving kit, carefully setting the badger brush on the post by the mirror and setting up the razor. The water began to steam and I poured half into the mug and set the rest aside for Ashton to wash his face. Slowly stirring the cream into a foam, I wrestled it onto my face and carefully shaved off the growth from the last two nights.
"Dude, this water is hot."
"What? You dont wash up with hot water?"
"No. Duh."
"Just do it. It'll feel better."
"You ought to keep your beard. It might keep you warm on the road."
Suddenly, that thought hit me. Warm face. I wiped off the cream and packed up the shaving things. We sat on our camp stools and as breakfast was cooking over the stove, we talked about where we were. While I was shaving, Ashton had taken a location with the lensatic compass and plotted our position on the map. Thirty miles out of Fort Bragg. We decided to fill up on gas there and one of us would move one of our panniers to the other person's bike and would hold a jerry can instead. I volunteered my front canvas pannier. Ashton stared at it, and clipped it behind my rear pannier.
"Hey!"
"Problem solved!"
"Fine. But you're carrying your own gasoline too."
"Fine!"
We pedaled to Fort Bragg and made it there by lunch time. We bought and filled to jerry cans and hooked them to our panniers. We stopped in town for an hour or two, to replace the things we had used up last night. A new tin of beans, a tin of beef, a loaf of sourdough bread and a pack of extra socks. I stopped outside the hardware store to pick up a small hatchet. We might need firewood at some point I thought. My moped was staring to look like a carry-all on wheels. The nice thing about it all was it looked rugged. The classic looks and lines of the derringer bike, the old school seat and panniers, it was meant for this. Ashton rolled by, his panniers and carriers filled with sketchbook paper, pencils, cans of lighter fluid, some old newspapers and a small bag of charcoals. We pulled out of Fort Bragg at three and continued up old highway one.
We rode, the wind pushing against our helmets and faces. It made me wish I had bought pilots goggles from the surplus store. As we rode, the flat rolling landscape soon became a harsh, rough, terrifying yet subtle landscape. It undulated but it fought back sometimes. Highway one was truly a road built to the world. It didn't plow through the landscape like most interstates did. This truly was second to god. We rode and rode. Our tanks not seeming to grow empty. Every so often, we'd stop and stretch, enjoy the land. Ashton would pull the sketchbook out and draw. I realized then, I forgot to use the camcorder. I quickly pulled out the small powershot and set up a rig on the handlebar to record us as we went.
Winding through steep and curving road, we rode over gigantic, beautiful concrete arch bridges, walked through forests now and then and stopped for a hot dog for dinner. This time, night caught up before our tanks were empty. This time, we settled camp away from road. We drove down a small path and parked in a clearing. We pitched the tent up, locked the bikes together and started a small fire. The darkness seemed like a cold blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I missed that feeling of someone wrapped up besides you. Ashton and I certainly were missing our better halves. The girls were going on a trip with each other to Florida. Ashton had scoffed at the idea and said it was only helping the industry. He could be like that sometimes, but it was fine. We balanced each other out. I had managed to strap my mandolin to the front pannier and I pulled it out. Ashton pulled his uke out and we started to jam into the night. Our two bodies, illuminated by the slowly dying fire, our fingers jangling around, pulling out a tune as best as possible. We laughed, shared a can of beer and turned in.
Yet more to come!
April 01, 2009
Moped Diaries: Day One
The start of a new series
http://www.derringercycles.com/slideshow/gallery.htm
That site should give you an idea of what I want to ride.
The cold gray fog still shrouded San Francisco, wrapping its misty arms around the towers and pooling in between the buildings. In the narrow back alleyways of the Western Addition, I woke up, I looked at the big ben clock on the nightstand. Six thirty four. The slow whirring ticking sound resonated on the table. I sat up in bed, rubbing my thighs briskly through a pair of old basketball shorts, blinking in the cold sunlight streaming through the shutters.
The hot tap rumbled as the steaming water emerged out of the tap into the dirty porcelain basin. I washed my rough face and brushed my teeth and packed my toothbrush. The canvas leather saddle bags sit by the door, ready and waiting to be mounted. One final check around the apartment, it will be a long time before I see this place. I grab the pairs of saddle bags and sling them over my shoulders. With my free hand, I grab the square leather case with smaller things, and the small camera case. The door behind me clicked, I locked the deadbolt and walked downstairs, nearly stumbling down the narrow flight of stairs.
Outside, the cars rush by on Hayes street, not noticing me or even giving a second thought as I begin to strap the saddles onto the pannier carriers on my new Derringer moped. I stand back and admire the handiwork, the craft of how everything just fell into place with each other. The drop head handle bars, the chrome plated twin vee engine, the heavy sprung Brooks saddle, I was ready to go. Ashton is supposed to meet me at the corner of California and Arguello and I take off, setting the chronometer as I go to keep track of how much time I would spend on the road. The pedaling part would come later as I speed up hills, through Golden gate park and arriving at California and Arguello.
Around ten minutes later, I hear the whinny of a 1972 Pierce engine with Ashton in the seat. We shake hands, we grab a coffee in the gas station, and stop one last time at the bicycle shop. We wait outside for a few minutes until a skinny girl in flannel and tight jeans opens up the shop. We wander in, pick up a set of ten extra tubes, several extra tires and an extra pannier basket. This one is going on Ashton's moped since one fell off on the way over. We fill up the last time before we leave San Francisco for our journey north. I pulled the heavy pea coat up close, tightening the crash helmet and adjusted my mirrors. It's time to go and make the pilgrimage.
Sailing down Park Presidio with the traffic is exhilirating, coasting down the road through tunnels and up slopes, we find ourselves crossing the golden gate bridge, north into Sausalito and the rest of Marin county. Our engines pumping warmly between our legs, we cruise at a comfortable 30mph through on side roads, winding up on narrow coastal roads, finding log cabin like buildings nestled into the network of trees. Minutes turn into hours and there never seems to be an end to the ceaseless forests and windswept beaches. Here and there, our bikes emerge from the woods in a road cut into a mound, the sand blowing from dunes over our heads. Crooked slat fences undulate into the landscape. Falling and rising and collapsing and in some places gone. Cattle here and there dot the cold fields. Grey clouds moving only so still as if a statue in a museum were moving in the corners of your eyes. We run out of juice 8 hours into the trip. We are now halfway between the border of California and San Francisco.
We pedaled for another few hours, until the weaning hours of darkness began to settle. We pulled off into the side of the road, locking the bicycles to a fallen tree and to each other in opposite directions. I pull out the old pup tent my father gave me as well as a tin of beef and a tin of mixed vegetables. For the longest time, I knew Ashton to be vegetarian. I knew for this trip, he would have to at least eat some meat and he obliged. The tins sit under the burning propane flame. He lights his hurricane lamp and darkness begins to envelope us all around. We pitched along a fence along highway one. The only people who would bother us were the CHP and I doubted that they would really bother with a lonely stretch of road alongside the ocean.
We shared stories, dreams, hopes and what we were expecting. our sleeping bags unravelled into the tent and the light out, we began to fall asleep. We lay there for a little while before we broke into conversation again. We just couldn't believe what we were doing was actually, finally happening. We had been planning this trip since the second year in college when I was at Berkeley and he was at SF state. He had an obsession with the moped since high school and I was and still am into fixing up my 1970 Raleigh Imperial road bicycle. He would laugh, I would too. Sleep caught our better sides and we were out for the night.
more later! Stay tuned.
http://www.derringercycles.com/slideshow/gallery.htm
That site should give you an idea of what I want to ride.
The cold gray fog still shrouded San Francisco, wrapping its misty arms around the towers and pooling in between the buildings. In the narrow back alleyways of the Western Addition, I woke up, I looked at the big ben clock on the nightstand. Six thirty four. The slow whirring ticking sound resonated on the table. I sat up in bed, rubbing my thighs briskly through a pair of old basketball shorts, blinking in the cold sunlight streaming through the shutters.
The hot tap rumbled as the steaming water emerged out of the tap into the dirty porcelain basin. I washed my rough face and brushed my teeth and packed my toothbrush. The canvas leather saddle bags sit by the door, ready and waiting to be mounted. One final check around the apartment, it will be a long time before I see this place. I grab the pairs of saddle bags and sling them over my shoulders. With my free hand, I grab the square leather case with smaller things, and the small camera case. The door behind me clicked, I locked the deadbolt and walked downstairs, nearly stumbling down the narrow flight of stairs.
Outside, the cars rush by on Hayes street, not noticing me or even giving a second thought as I begin to strap the saddles onto the pannier carriers on my new Derringer moped. I stand back and admire the handiwork, the craft of how everything just fell into place with each other. The drop head handle bars, the chrome plated twin vee engine, the heavy sprung Brooks saddle, I was ready to go. Ashton is supposed to meet me at the corner of California and Arguello and I take off, setting the chronometer as I go to keep track of how much time I would spend on the road. The pedaling part would come later as I speed up hills, through Golden gate park and arriving at California and Arguello.
Around ten minutes later, I hear the whinny of a 1972 Pierce engine with Ashton in the seat. We shake hands, we grab a coffee in the gas station, and stop one last time at the bicycle shop. We wait outside for a few minutes until a skinny girl in flannel and tight jeans opens up the shop. We wander in, pick up a set of ten extra tubes, several extra tires and an extra pannier basket. This one is going on Ashton's moped since one fell off on the way over. We fill up the last time before we leave San Francisco for our journey north. I pulled the heavy pea coat up close, tightening the crash helmet and adjusted my mirrors. It's time to go and make the pilgrimage.
Sailing down Park Presidio with the traffic is exhilirating, coasting down the road through tunnels and up slopes, we find ourselves crossing the golden gate bridge, north into Sausalito and the rest of Marin county. Our engines pumping warmly between our legs, we cruise at a comfortable 30mph through on side roads, winding up on narrow coastal roads, finding log cabin like buildings nestled into the network of trees. Minutes turn into hours and there never seems to be an end to the ceaseless forests and windswept beaches. Here and there, our bikes emerge from the woods in a road cut into a mound, the sand blowing from dunes over our heads. Crooked slat fences undulate into the landscape. Falling and rising and collapsing and in some places gone. Cattle here and there dot the cold fields. Grey clouds moving only so still as if a statue in a museum were moving in the corners of your eyes. We run out of juice 8 hours into the trip. We are now halfway between the border of California and San Francisco.
We pedaled for another few hours, until the weaning hours of darkness began to settle. We pulled off into the side of the road, locking the bicycles to a fallen tree and to each other in opposite directions. I pull out the old pup tent my father gave me as well as a tin of beef and a tin of mixed vegetables. For the longest time, I knew Ashton to be vegetarian. I knew for this trip, he would have to at least eat some meat and he obliged. The tins sit under the burning propane flame. He lights his hurricane lamp and darkness begins to envelope us all around. We pitched along a fence along highway one. The only people who would bother us were the CHP and I doubted that they would really bother with a lonely stretch of road alongside the ocean.
We shared stories, dreams, hopes and what we were expecting. our sleeping bags unravelled into the tent and the light out, we began to fall asleep. We lay there for a little while before we broke into conversation again. We just couldn't believe what we were doing was actually, finally happening. We had been planning this trip since the second year in college when I was at Berkeley and he was at SF state. He had an obsession with the moped since high school and I was and still am into fixing up my 1970 Raleigh Imperial road bicycle. He would laugh, I would too. Sleep caught our better sides and we were out for the night.
more later! Stay tuned.
March 26, 2009
Cenotaph
"A small paddock-like enclosure surrounded the large gray rectangle that used to sit right here," the man would point out, "it was a popular place to meet back in my day."
Before you, sits a large wet rectangle, seemingly forever etched into the hewn granite blocks beneath your feet. As the man walks off, you follow the line of the rectangle with your feet. Delicately balancing between light gray and dark, as if you stood upon a wire. You start to search the area for evidence of what was once here, but no more.
1919-Harvey Kulloum dedicates memorial cenotaph to the fallen soldiers of the great war.
1921-The cenotaph is rotated 23 degrees as a prank by members of chi phi
1929-The university lovingly calls it the coffin's turnpoint.
1941-War breaks out over campus
1945-Second cenotaph erected adjacent to turned cenotaph
1955-The first cenotaph is replaced with a new marble one
1968-Both cenotaphs are destroyed in a Vietnam war protest
1970-University officially decides to not to replace the two damaged cenotaphs
1972-All remains of the cenotaphs have been removed and placed in storage
1979-dark spot appears on quad where the cenotaph once stood. Exactly 60 years to date.
1980-University powerwashes quad in an attempt to clean the square off
1981-Rectangle re-appears
1982-Paranormal researchers appear on campus, then leave when nothing interesting happens
But all this still is oblivious to you, as you stand on that dark graying rectangle. As you stand in the center, you stare at all four sides around you. There's only one phrase that comes to mind, as the hands and the faces of the fallen grab at your legs. "The Glorious Dead"
Before you, sits a large wet rectangle, seemingly forever etched into the hewn granite blocks beneath your feet. As the man walks off, you follow the line of the rectangle with your feet. Delicately balancing between light gray and dark, as if you stood upon a wire. You start to search the area for evidence of what was once here, but no more.
1919-Harvey Kulloum dedicates memorial cenotaph to the fallen soldiers of the great war.
1921-The cenotaph is rotated 23 degrees as a prank by members of chi phi
1929-The university lovingly calls it the coffin's turnpoint.
1941-War breaks out over campus
1945-Second cenotaph erected adjacent to turned cenotaph
1955-The first cenotaph is replaced with a new marble one
1968-Both cenotaphs are destroyed in a Vietnam war protest
1970-University officially decides to not to replace the two damaged cenotaphs
1972-All remains of the cenotaphs have been removed and placed in storage
1979-dark spot appears on quad where the cenotaph once stood. Exactly 60 years to date.
1980-University powerwashes quad in an attempt to clean the square off
1981-Rectangle re-appears
1982-Paranormal researchers appear on campus, then leave when nothing interesting happens
But all this still is oblivious to you, as you stand on that dark graying rectangle. As you stand in the center, you stare at all four sides around you. There's only one phrase that comes to mind, as the hands and the faces of the fallen grab at your legs. "The Glorious Dead"
March 25, 2009
alone in place
Glenn knew it would happen. He just longed for it not to happen, and every time, it would get him. His alarm clock would ring signaling the start of another day. The little metal wire holding back the plastic number would let go and the number would come down with a crash and the alarm would blast a scratched, fadey kind of radio sound. He cracked open one eye over his pillow to peek at the clock. The old plastic faux-wood machine stood on the end table a few feet from the bed. Its leering stare indicated 7:39am. One more minute until that damn sound...
The plastic plate came crashing down and it now read 7:40 and the noise began. Like a bad techno song, it came thumping out a steady rhythm and Glenn turned over sinking his into the overstuffed down pillow. "You know... it does sound a bit like a techno club in here". A banging on the wall behind his bed meant that Mr. Himiachi would like to sleep. He slapped the relentless machine and pulled himself out. The bright sun leaked through the white shutters and pooled onto the floor covered in the bedsheets, magazines and several dirty plates with forks still on them. He lumbered over to the bathroom, his feet leaving a heavy thump over the hardwood floors.
The bathroom mirror was no better than that alarm radio he though. He looked like he rolled out of bed. Hah, what's new. He combed his hair, ran his face once over with the electric razor and he looked in the cluttered medicine cabinet for his tooth brush. He brushed, and replaced the things and stared again into the mirror. He used to share this mirror. Just like he shared that giant Ikea bed with all the big pillows and fluffy comforter. He slammed it shut and turned out the light and went back into the bedroom. He pulled open the wardrobe and threw on a striped shirt that seemed to fit a bit too tight and a pair of skinny jeans. Picking from a pile of dress shoes, boots and sneakers, he grabbed a pair of Converse chucks.
Glenn went through the hall, kicking the door of his roommates, his roommate's way of being signaled to wake up. He picked up the arm on the record player and switched on the machine and the sound began to fill the kitchen and breakfast room with a quiet sort of vanity. Seth emerged from his room, looking groggy half shaven with his hair every which direction. He dragged his sock covered feet to the table where Glenn placed a bowl of dry cereal in front of him.
"No milk?"
"We're all out dude. Its your turn to buy groceries. I wrote what we need on this list. Go pick it up when you got time ok?"
"yeah yeah yeah"
Glenn didn't feel comfortable with that response. He knew Seth. He knew Seth since their undergrad days at Tulane. School at Armaugh University certainly was different. They always seemed to be stuck to research of some sort. Massachusetts was a strange sort of place. Much more different than what life was like back home in St. Louis or growing up as a kid in West Germany with a father in the military. Seth was the one thing Glenn could count on always being the same or at least bring some sort of "comfort" into knowing what the day was like or at least going to be like.
Glenn closed the door behind him and walked down the hall. He used to do this with someone he recalled. He remembered holding someone's hand when he did this. He retracted his hand from his side and massaged it with the other. It felt weird, like it was going to fall asleep or something. He locked the front door of the building and began to walk to the trolley stop. His routine was regimented every day, Get up, get out, get food, get to class. The trolley arrived with a hiss and he stepped on and it trudged forward under its heavy load of undergrads living off campus for the first time as well as disturbed looking locals finding that their once empty tram car now would be filled with stinking students on a daily basis.
He got off at Battery St. walking over to the fogged up windows of the coffee hut and he entered. The hustle and bustle of graduate students laid itself before him, pimply looking high schoolers working behind the counter trying to earn a bit of cash while they were on their spring break. He plunked down three quarters and a dime. Enough for a small black coffee and a meager looking croissant filled with cheese.
"My Usual please." He loved to say during this time.
A panicked look washed over the high schooler's face. "Uh... what would that be sir?"
"What seems to be the problem?"
"Nothing nothing! So that's one uh. Espresso and a raspberry toa..."
"Small black and a cheese croissant."
Reddened but wiser, he lurched into the back and brought his things. When he turned his back to the cashier to walk out, he grinned. At least one thing still made him smile.
He plunked into the lab, sat at his office space and stared. Papers were needing to be graded, he did that. The professor needed someone to fill in, he lectured. 5pm. Time to go. The tramcar slid through Cavanaugh street filled with students on their way home. Glenn sat at the station stop, just missing the car by that much. He recalled sitting at this stop with someone. He would play games with that someone, fool around whenever they had missed the packed cars. But he sat there quietly thinking about work. The MBTA car rumbled into the stop and he boarded and stood the entire ride back home to his apartment.
The apartment was dark and he switched on the lamp on the table by the door. Seth was passed out on the couch, a bag of groceries sitting on the table and a bottle of vodka sitting with a few shot glasses on the table besides Seth. Glenn looked in puzzlement at the glasses, knowing Seth never pulls out glasses for himself unless he had someone over. He ignored it, walking down the hall to his room. He began to undress, tossing his clothes over towards the closet, throwing his shoes back into the pile from where it had come from and crawled under the heavy comforter.
His figure lay with his arms outstretched to one side, as if he still were holding someone. He imagined days from when he was very happy, from when he still had her. He felt someone slide into the bed and take up his arm and place it over their midsection. He felt that someone crouch into position to fit in as the little spoon and Glenn felt whole again. He moved his hand up the torso and began to squeeze the breasts of the unknown person. He began to realize how lifelike it strangely felt. He sat up instantly in darkness. Only the moonlight was visible, casting an eerie shadow on the pile of dirty shirts on the chair bathed in light. He looked to his side where he was spooning. He stared at the dark massy looking lump and wondered who it was. He poked whoever it was.
"Hey babe... I know you're drunk, but lets do it."
"Seth! Get out of here."
Seth wheeled around, parts of his beard bathed in light from the window.
"Shit dude, my bad. Just give my boxers tomorrow."
Glenn wiped his knees with his gym towel and threw it into the laundry pile. He climbed back into bed this time, unable to sleep. He stared at the ceiling. The lamp seemed like the moon floating, half of its body in the light, the other half shadowed by darkness. He only could think of her, it didn't help. He thought she was happy. Apparently not.
Clack. The alarm clock passed another minute.
Glenn rolled over onto his side, this time, spooning the pillow to make sure Seth didn't come back. He breathed in the pillow's aroma. It still sort of smelled like her, but really faintly. He fell asleep. The battle would begin again at 7:39am.
The plastic plate came crashing down and it now read 7:40 and the noise began. Like a bad techno song, it came thumping out a steady rhythm and Glenn turned over sinking his into the overstuffed down pillow. "You know... it does sound a bit like a techno club in here". A banging on the wall behind his bed meant that Mr. Himiachi would like to sleep. He slapped the relentless machine and pulled himself out. The bright sun leaked through the white shutters and pooled onto the floor covered in the bedsheets, magazines and several dirty plates with forks still on them. He lumbered over to the bathroom, his feet leaving a heavy thump over the hardwood floors.
The bathroom mirror was no better than that alarm radio he though. He looked like he rolled out of bed. Hah, what's new. He combed his hair, ran his face once over with the electric razor and he looked in the cluttered medicine cabinet for his tooth brush. He brushed, and replaced the things and stared again into the mirror. He used to share this mirror. Just like he shared that giant Ikea bed with all the big pillows and fluffy comforter. He slammed it shut and turned out the light and went back into the bedroom. He pulled open the wardrobe and threw on a striped shirt that seemed to fit a bit too tight and a pair of skinny jeans. Picking from a pile of dress shoes, boots and sneakers, he grabbed a pair of Converse chucks.
Glenn went through the hall, kicking the door of his roommates, his roommate's way of being signaled to wake up. He picked up the arm on the record player and switched on the machine and the sound began to fill the kitchen and breakfast room with a quiet sort of vanity. Seth emerged from his room, looking groggy half shaven with his hair every which direction. He dragged his sock covered feet to the table where Glenn placed a bowl of dry cereal in front of him.
"No milk?"
"We're all out dude. Its your turn to buy groceries. I wrote what we need on this list. Go pick it up when you got time ok?"
"yeah yeah yeah"
Glenn didn't feel comfortable with that response. He knew Seth. He knew Seth since their undergrad days at Tulane. School at Armaugh University certainly was different. They always seemed to be stuck to research of some sort. Massachusetts was a strange sort of place. Much more different than what life was like back home in St. Louis or growing up as a kid in West Germany with a father in the military. Seth was the one thing Glenn could count on always being the same or at least bring some sort of "comfort" into knowing what the day was like or at least going to be like.
Glenn closed the door behind him and walked down the hall. He used to do this with someone he recalled. He remembered holding someone's hand when he did this. He retracted his hand from his side and massaged it with the other. It felt weird, like it was going to fall asleep or something. He locked the front door of the building and began to walk to the trolley stop. His routine was regimented every day, Get up, get out, get food, get to class. The trolley arrived with a hiss and he stepped on and it trudged forward under its heavy load of undergrads living off campus for the first time as well as disturbed looking locals finding that their once empty tram car now would be filled with stinking students on a daily basis.
He got off at Battery St. walking over to the fogged up windows of the coffee hut and he entered. The hustle and bustle of graduate students laid itself before him, pimply looking high schoolers working behind the counter trying to earn a bit of cash while they were on their spring break. He plunked down three quarters and a dime. Enough for a small black coffee and a meager looking croissant filled with cheese.
"My Usual please." He loved to say during this time.
A panicked look washed over the high schooler's face. "Uh... what would that be sir?"
"What seems to be the problem?"
"Nothing nothing! So that's one uh. Espresso and a raspberry toa..."
"Small black and a cheese croissant."
Reddened but wiser, he lurched into the back and brought his things. When he turned his back to the cashier to walk out, he grinned. At least one thing still made him smile.
He plunked into the lab, sat at his office space and stared. Papers were needing to be graded, he did that. The professor needed someone to fill in, he lectured. 5pm. Time to go. The tramcar slid through Cavanaugh street filled with students on their way home. Glenn sat at the station stop, just missing the car by that much. He recalled sitting at this stop with someone. He would play games with that someone, fool around whenever they had missed the packed cars. But he sat there quietly thinking about work. The MBTA car rumbled into the stop and he boarded and stood the entire ride back home to his apartment.
The apartment was dark and he switched on the lamp on the table by the door. Seth was passed out on the couch, a bag of groceries sitting on the table and a bottle of vodka sitting with a few shot glasses on the table besides Seth. Glenn looked in puzzlement at the glasses, knowing Seth never pulls out glasses for himself unless he had someone over. He ignored it, walking down the hall to his room. He began to undress, tossing his clothes over towards the closet, throwing his shoes back into the pile from where it had come from and crawled under the heavy comforter.
His figure lay with his arms outstretched to one side, as if he still were holding someone. He imagined days from when he was very happy, from when he still had her. He felt someone slide into the bed and take up his arm and place it over their midsection. He felt that someone crouch into position to fit in as the little spoon and Glenn felt whole again. He moved his hand up the torso and began to squeeze the breasts of the unknown person. He began to realize how lifelike it strangely felt. He sat up instantly in darkness. Only the moonlight was visible, casting an eerie shadow on the pile of dirty shirts on the chair bathed in light. He looked to his side where he was spooning. He stared at the dark massy looking lump and wondered who it was. He poked whoever it was.
"Hey babe... I know you're drunk, but lets do it."
"Seth! Get out of here."
Seth wheeled around, parts of his beard bathed in light from the window.
"Shit dude, my bad. Just give my boxers tomorrow."
Glenn wiped his knees with his gym towel and threw it into the laundry pile. He climbed back into bed this time, unable to sleep. He stared at the ceiling. The lamp seemed like the moon floating, half of its body in the light, the other half shadowed by darkness. He only could think of her, it didn't help. He thought she was happy. Apparently not.
Clack. The alarm clock passed another minute.
Glenn rolled over onto his side, this time, spooning the pillow to make sure Seth didn't come back. He breathed in the pillow's aroma. It still sort of smelled like her, but really faintly. He fell asleep. The battle would begin again at 7:39am.
March 22, 2009
Suspension of Darkness
Darkness enveloped my surroundings as I sat motionless, staring out of the window, my forehead pressed against the rear pillar of the car. My eyes did not wander, nor were they transfixed upon one thing, but instead, as we sped down the San Mateo bridge, my eyes only could look out one direction and wander around watching the horizon burn with a dark tinge as the lights of the city created the glow behind the mountains. I breathed a heavy sigh realizing my own heavy life.
Wires came into view. I passed them watching them grow with life and then sink back into depression, grow again, and die. The darkness made the wires seem almost suspended in midair, the only parts visible are the reflection of the silver in the faint, unearthly glow of the bay and the headlamps rushing by. A think like this, you hardly ever seem to notice if you've ever made this crossing as many times as I have at this time of night I so know and am so acquainted with. The moon is about. It hides from the world tonight making everything seem more eerie.
Just then, a 170 foot pylon swishes by marking the end of the steeplechase and now began the footrace. The steady rumbling and shluck of the tires underfoot begin their monotonous song as I began to drift somewhere else. My eyes now turned forward to watch the carbon arc lamps rush by and yet still race to the horizon and into the darkness. The thumping continues. The wires alongside the bridge still grow and die, the lights briefly giving life to the interior of the car every few seconds, illuminating every hair in the back of the driver's head, or the meshy fabric of the coat of the person next to me. The thumping stops.
We are on land.
Wires came into view. I passed them watching them grow with life and then sink back into depression, grow again, and die. The darkness made the wires seem almost suspended in midair, the only parts visible are the reflection of the silver in the faint, unearthly glow of the bay and the headlamps rushing by. A think like this, you hardly ever seem to notice if you've ever made this crossing as many times as I have at this time of night I so know and am so acquainted with. The moon is about. It hides from the world tonight making everything seem more eerie.
Just then, a 170 foot pylon swishes by marking the end of the steeplechase and now began the footrace. The steady rumbling and shluck of the tires underfoot begin their monotonous song as I began to drift somewhere else. My eyes now turned forward to watch the carbon arc lamps rush by and yet still race to the horizon and into the darkness. The thumping continues. The wires alongside the bridge still grow and die, the lights briefly giving life to the interior of the car every few seconds, illuminating every hair in the back of the driver's head, or the meshy fabric of the coat of the person next to me. The thumping stops.
We are on land.
March 20, 2009
Berkeley Resturant Review: Norikino
Hello Readers! I'm starting today, a new series. I'm going to be, a restaurant review. A food critic. So here's my first review:
Category: Japanese
Address: Telegraph Ave. Between Parker Ave. and Blake Ave. Berkeley, CA
Date: 3/20/09
Ordered: Daikon Salad, Norikino's Special Curry
When entering through an authentic feeling sliding door, the resturant presented itself as quaint and slightly tacky with its little japanese toy things placed here and there. The entire staff was friendly, greeting you upon entry and it was fairly pleasant. I had noted outside, taped to their front window, a copy of their Zagat's review. Looking at the menu and prices, I realized then the review got to their heads and caused prices to inflate pretty high.
The Daikon salad arrived by hand from the elderly looking chef behind the counter where I sat. At first, its puzzling look mystefied me. It was shredded daikon radishes with a tart japanese type sauce and garnished with butter fried baby fish. The cool, crisp, salty yet tart Daikon made this a really appetizing and refreshing appetizer course.
The standard staple at most Japanese resturants came next, a warm bowl of Miso soup. Its really nothing special to write home about, but it has a warm, more traditional taste. Its cooked very homey. Although the meal was a bit on the pricey side for its location, the meal was very complete in that it almost felt like I was eating in Japan. Before me sat a plate of picklings, soup, rice and curry.
The "special" pork curry was subtle in hinting at its spicy nature. At first, I did not believe at all that the curry was spicy until the end where the undertones of the chili powder began to show themselves to my taste buds. This truly is a house special as they call it.
A plate of pickling, a wedge of orange carefully cut, and a sip of green tea sum up a very delicious meal.
decor: 20 food: 23 service: 22
Category: Japanese
Address: Telegraph Ave. Between Parker Ave. and Blake Ave. Berkeley, CA
Date: 3/20/09
Ordered: Daikon Salad, Norikino's Special Curry
When entering through an authentic feeling sliding door, the resturant presented itself as quaint and slightly tacky with its little japanese toy things placed here and there. The entire staff was friendly, greeting you upon entry and it was fairly pleasant. I had noted outside, taped to their front window, a copy of their Zagat's review. Looking at the menu and prices, I realized then the review got to their heads and caused prices to inflate pretty high.
The Daikon salad arrived by hand from the elderly looking chef behind the counter where I sat. At first, its puzzling look mystefied me. It was shredded daikon radishes with a tart japanese type sauce and garnished with butter fried baby fish. The cool, crisp, salty yet tart Daikon made this a really appetizing and refreshing appetizer course.
The standard staple at most Japanese resturants came next, a warm bowl of Miso soup. Its really nothing special to write home about, but it has a warm, more traditional taste. Its cooked very homey. Although the meal was a bit on the pricey side for its location, the meal was very complete in that it almost felt like I was eating in Japan. Before me sat a plate of picklings, soup, rice and curry.
The "special" pork curry was subtle in hinting at its spicy nature. At first, I did not believe at all that the curry was spicy until the end where the undertones of the chili powder began to show themselves to my taste buds. This truly is a house special as they call it.
A plate of pickling, a wedge of orange carefully cut, and a sip of green tea sum up a very delicious meal.
decor: 20 food: 23 service: 22
March 10, 2009
If ever there was
You've probably always assumed that everything that happens in the world is for the "greater good". I feel like the old circle of elders from Hot Fuzz. But everything that happens, happens for a reason, its not that I think it is the ways and the prophecy. I couldn't believe or swallow anything like that. I'm led to believe that actions happen with consequences. Never without. The dynamics and the though behind quantum physics always seem to affect me the most dramatically.
We say we do things for the best but sometimes our actions hurt others and sometimes, there just is no avoiding hurt, harm and the like. Like any wise decision, pick wisely, think long, think hard.
That's what she said.
We say we do things for the best but sometimes our actions hurt others and sometimes, there just is no avoiding hurt, harm and the like. Like any wise decision, pick wisely, think long, think hard.
That's what she said.
March 06, 2009
Why it is so
You ever wonder why of all people in the world to be born without hair until age 4 or why of all people do you get partnered up with the idiot jock in science lab or why you never can find socks that match? Karma. It could be as simple as that or maybe i'm overlooking something I never saw before.
Just recently, everything in my world came crashing down upon me. All sorts of drama and missing bodyparts. Ok, maybe i'm not missing big body parts, but i'm missing some none the less. Each day, it gets harder and harder to motivate yourself. It gets harder to push, to go for the gold as they say.
What drags me down like that? Sanders. Fucking sanders. I'm missing two fingernails because of those damn things. I mean, I've had no big trouble with before, but the past three days, i've sanded off an eighth of a fingernail and finger as well as ripped off a chunk on the same hand about a quarter of my fingernail.
Go on, come and complain to me about your little problems. Bitch and moan to me. Midterms dont seem so hard anymore when you're missing little parts of you.
Karma. Wow. Just wow.
Hey, Revival World, I wanna go there. Oh, it's just furniture.
-Greg Weldon
Just recently, everything in my world came crashing down upon me. All sorts of drama and missing bodyparts. Ok, maybe i'm not missing big body parts, but i'm missing some none the less. Each day, it gets harder and harder to motivate yourself. It gets harder to push, to go for the gold as they say.
What drags me down like that? Sanders. Fucking sanders. I'm missing two fingernails because of those damn things. I mean, I've had no big trouble with before, but the past three days, i've sanded off an eighth of a fingernail and finger as well as ripped off a chunk on the same hand about a quarter of my fingernail.
Go on, come and complain to me about your little problems. Bitch and moan to me. Midterms dont seem so hard anymore when you're missing little parts of you.
Karma. Wow. Just wow.
Hey, Revival World, I wanna go there. Oh, it's just furniture.
-Greg Weldon
March 03, 2009
Album Art
1 - Go to "wikipedia." Hit “random”
or click http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random
The first random wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.
2 - Go to "Random quotations"
or click http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
The last four or five words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your first album.
3 - Go to flickr and click on “explore the last seven days”
or click http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days
Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.
4 - Use Photoshop to put it all together. (yay practice! :) )
5 - Post it to Facebook as a note and tag the friends you want to join in - be sure to include me so I can see your work!
5a - Put the person who tagged you at the top of the list.
(Albanian National Army is an ethnic terrorist group in Albania, "See Inside of you" is from a Famous Amos quote)
or click http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random
The first random wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.
2 - Go to "Random quotations"
or click http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
The last four or five words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your first album.
3 - Go to flickr and click on “explore the last seven days”
or click http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days
Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.
4 - Use Photoshop to put it all together. (yay practice! :) )
5 - Post it to Facebook as a note and tag the friends you want to join in - be sure to include me so I can see your work!
5a - Put the person who tagged you at the top of the list.
(Albanian National Army is an ethnic terrorist group in Albania, "See Inside of you" is from a Famous Amos quote)
February 17, 2009
How I learned to Shave
It is an apparent tradition that from father to son, that the father would pass on some sort of tradition. Something that the son can do as part of his daily, manly ritual. I never went through such a thing. My father refused to teach me how to shave and the only things he handed me was a Mach 3 disposable safety razor and a can of colgate aresol shaving cream. I gave myself my first shave under no supervision and as luck would have it, I didn't cut myself. But still, I feel at a loss, deprived of this time honored ritual. In college, I allowed myself to begin to get into the traditions, the lore of true wet shaving.
Lets back up for a moment. My first year in college, I had received an electric dry shaver for christmas from my aunt and uncle. Not from my own dad as you would expect. My dad even went as far to comment: Oh! Now I dont even have to buy you one.
That's something I dont want to pass onto my boy if and when I have a child. If its a girl, completely different story.
I started with the mach 4 still. I had received one on my birthday from Gillette. Nice of them. But one thing I did do differently was drop the aerosol. I went to my local chemist's and purchased soap, a mug and a brush. Now, its just an ordinary drinking mug, but it suffices. I still use it to this day. I swirled my cheap boar brush in the ceramic mug against the soap. But nothing really came up other than a pathetic looking pile of bubbles. I tried again, this time, really getting into it. That didn't work. So I proceeded to shave with this sloppy wet concoction. It felt nice, it was a lot closer than I had expected, but it was nice.
My friend Robin told me of the land of badger brushes and I was enthralled. Completely taken in by the idea of luxury shaving, I proceeded to amazon.com and found myself a cheap, low grade badger brush. It really was low grade, when It came in the mail, it had a split handle. But I figured it wouldn't be too much of a problem so I proceeded to use it. Besides, I had waited all that time for it, and I certainly did not want to waste it waiting for the brush all over again. The lather was richer, the aroma of the soap stronger and shave cleaner.
My razor by now was no longer suffeicient for my everyday burden so I turned to an antique store in Alameda for the solution. I had seen the cabinet many times before on my once a month junking adventures. Here, there was a cabinet. One that was completely filled with everything essentially "MAN" Safety razors, old razor blades, pocket knives, pocket watches, fishing lures and fly wheels, hat pins and feathers, cuff links, old fashioned pocket cameras, you name it. I picked out a small travel razor set. Later I would learn it is a Gillette 1960s traveler. It doesn't have much weight, but it still does a dandy shave. Someday, I may find a new razor.
I hope to pass on my tradition. I guess they have started started somewhere when man learned to shave. But when man first learned, he learned well. Soaps, creams and brushes galore!
Lets back up for a moment. My first year in college, I had received an electric dry shaver for christmas from my aunt and uncle. Not from my own dad as you would expect. My dad even went as far to comment: Oh! Now I dont even have to buy you one.
That's something I dont want to pass onto my boy if and when I have a child. If its a girl, completely different story.
I started with the mach 4 still. I had received one on my birthday from Gillette. Nice of them. But one thing I did do differently was drop the aerosol. I went to my local chemist's and purchased soap, a mug and a brush. Now, its just an ordinary drinking mug, but it suffices. I still use it to this day. I swirled my cheap boar brush in the ceramic mug against the soap. But nothing really came up other than a pathetic looking pile of bubbles. I tried again, this time, really getting into it. That didn't work. So I proceeded to shave with this sloppy wet concoction. It felt nice, it was a lot closer than I had expected, but it was nice.
My friend Robin told me of the land of badger brushes and I was enthralled. Completely taken in by the idea of luxury shaving, I proceeded to amazon.com and found myself a cheap, low grade badger brush. It really was low grade, when It came in the mail, it had a split handle. But I figured it wouldn't be too much of a problem so I proceeded to use it. Besides, I had waited all that time for it, and I certainly did not want to waste it waiting for the brush all over again. The lather was richer, the aroma of the soap stronger and shave cleaner.
My razor by now was no longer suffeicient for my everyday burden so I turned to an antique store in Alameda for the solution. I had seen the cabinet many times before on my once a month junking adventures. Here, there was a cabinet. One that was completely filled with everything essentially "MAN" Safety razors, old razor blades, pocket knives, pocket watches, fishing lures and fly wheels, hat pins and feathers, cuff links, old fashioned pocket cameras, you name it. I picked out a small travel razor set. Later I would learn it is a Gillette 1960s traveler. It doesn't have much weight, but it still does a dandy shave. Someday, I may find a new razor.
I hope to pass on my tradition. I guess they have started started somewhere when man learned to shave. But when man first learned, he learned well. Soaps, creams and brushes galore!
February 16, 2009
Acetone
A familiar gurgle could be heard from behind the cork and steel frame wall. The sound of a thinner can being tipped over onto a rag. You hear a fervor of rubbing, more tipping sounds an a cough from the other side. The can's dull aluminum thunk as it hits the table. A smell of nail polish attacks your nostrils. You cant bear the smell as your head begins to reel backwards trying to regain your balance. You peer between the cracks in the wall and watch the person rub a piece of paper with the soaked rag on a plate of plexiglass. Dull isn't it?
You sidle away and return a half hour later to find the plexiglass covered in beautiful markings. Plans from a McKim, Mead and White book. Wow you think.
You sidle away and return a half hour later to find the plexiglass covered in beautiful markings. Plans from a McKim, Mead and White book. Wow you think.
February 15, 2009
Did I miss something?
I do believe I did miss something. Apparently, as I rode metro back to embarcadero, everyone had a pillow. I mean, every other person was holding a pillow. Little did it take me to realize that I had missed that impromptu pillowfight night in the middle of the ferry plaza again. Two years in a row. At that moment in time when I saw everyone walking out to the pillow fight, I was in no place for it. I wanted to go home.
But then again, how often do you go to a pillow fight against some random folk?
But then again, again... I did see some people getting off the bus with pillows. Where they sat, littered with empty liquor bottles, cigarette butts and sunflower seeds. The driver must have been pretty fucking afraid of those guys not to tell them stop smoking on the bus.
But then again, how often do you go to a pillow fight against some random folk?
But then again, again... I did see some people getting off the bus with pillows. Where they sat, littered with empty liquor bottles, cigarette butts and sunflower seeds. The driver must have been pretty fucking afraid of those guys not to tell them stop smoking on the bus.
February 07, 2009
'Tis a Sad Day
This morning, I walked up to studio, cheery as ever (I wish) and stopped by the post office to mail the bills in, and things of the like. But what crossed my mind was Patton Oswalt's latest album, the name of which escapes me at the moment. But anyhow, I had downloaded that file on ruckus and I had it until the 10th of February which is when the license needed to be renewed.
Last night, sitting at my little desk area, I contemplated whether or not to renew all the licenses at the same time and decided not to do so. I regret that. As I pulled out my laptop this morning to listen to that chuckles album, to my distress, Ruckus stopped working this morning. Now, I dont know how many of you use Ruckus in the first place, but that college free player has brought me numerous amounts of joy listening to jim gaffigan's albums or listening to the red army choir. Now what do I do?
No more ruckus, licenses expire soon and all files are DRM protected. Two options, let the files go or find a way to remove a DRM from an audio file. That second option is illegal I think.
Gaah. Well, I'm glad I have my regular music files to go off of, but they're at home and i'm here in studio. Oh the irony.
Last night, sitting at my little desk area, I contemplated whether or not to renew all the licenses at the same time and decided not to do so. I regret that. As I pulled out my laptop this morning to listen to that chuckles album, to my distress, Ruckus stopped working this morning. Now, I dont know how many of you use Ruckus in the first place, but that college free player has brought me numerous amounts of joy listening to jim gaffigan's albums or listening to the red army choir. Now what do I do?
No more ruckus, licenses expire soon and all files are DRM protected. Two options, let the files go or find a way to remove a DRM from an audio file. That second option is illegal I think.
Gaah. Well, I'm glad I have my regular music files to go off of, but they're at home and i'm here in studio. Oh the irony.
February 06, 2009
Resistance is Futile
No matter how hard I try to keep updating this damn thing, I will always end up fourth or fifth in terms of last update on Mirzada's profile. If there's anything I am itched by, its that and I have an urge to keep with the times.
Lately i've rediscovered some of my old favorite bands and musicians. Scissor Sisters, The Cardigans, Les Paul...
Its like senior year of high school all over again. But thanks to Ruckus, I have way more :D
Lately i've rediscovered some of my old favorite bands and musicians. Scissor Sisters, The Cardigans, Les Paul...
Its like senior year of high school all over again. But thanks to Ruckus, I have way more :D
February 05, 2009
Nyah Nyah Nyah
I throughly cartoons. Maybe too much. Tuesdays and thursdays, I like to wake up, watch flinstones, atom ant, the jetsons, Yogi Bear and Popeye.
People had some pretty funny language back in those days...
the idacity!
People had some pretty funny language back in those days...
the idacity!
February 04, 2009
Today
I woke this morning, a daze in my head. I sat up casually, stared off into the darkness of the clock. 8:55am. Holy shit! Thank god I had stayed at Bri's last night. I'd be in deep shit if I was at my apartment still. Quick bathroom run, pants on, shirt on, out the door. I make it to class on time with time to spare. Something doesn't feel right though. I realize it after ten minutes. I wasn't wearing underpants.
True to the nature of where I lived last year, today was going to be a commando wednesday. Not that I haven't gone commando before, but since it has been such a long while since the last time I did it, there was a certain weird feeling to it. Then again, I usually go commando in basketball shorts. There's a certain amount of legitness to going such way in comfortable shorts. Not jeans, a heavy belt and my tape measure like I was right now. Well, still am.
I contemplated the many different options on what I could do to alleviate the problem, when the call of nature heh, called right in the middle of studio section. Running out the door, into the first stall, lock the door, go. Easy right? Wrong. The toilet paper thing has been ripped out of the stall. Damn, they always did say look before you leap didn't they? Serves me right.
Wipe with other toilet seat covers. Then find a stall with the appropriate stuff.
Sorry this post was kinda PG13. But I just had to write on an interesting experience as such :)
True to the nature of where I lived last year, today was going to be a commando wednesday. Not that I haven't gone commando before, but since it has been such a long while since the last time I did it, there was a certain weird feeling to it. Then again, I usually go commando in basketball shorts. There's a certain amount of legitness to going such way in comfortable shorts. Not jeans, a heavy belt and my tape measure like I was right now. Well, still am.
I contemplated the many different options on what I could do to alleviate the problem, when the call of nature heh, called right in the middle of studio section. Running out the door, into the first stall, lock the door, go. Easy right? Wrong. The toilet paper thing has been ripped out of the stall. Damn, they always did say look before you leap didn't they? Serves me right.
Wipe with other toilet seat covers. Then find a stall with the appropriate stuff.
Sorry this post was kinda PG13. But I just had to write on an interesting experience as such :)
December 18, 2008
Survey
Put an X in what you've done...
Info
[ ] 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.
School/Work
[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.
Embarrassment
[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.
Health
[ ] 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.
Traveling
[ ] 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.
Experiences
[ ] 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.
Relationships
[ ] 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.
Sexuality
[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
Honesty/Crime
[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.
Drugs/Alcohol
[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.
Materialism
[ ] 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.
Info
[ ] 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.
School/Work
[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.
Embarrassment
[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.
Health
[ ] 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.
Traveling
[ ] 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.
Experiences
[ ] 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.
Relationships
[ ] 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.
Sexuality
[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
Honesty/Crime
[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.
Drugs/Alcohol
[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.
Materialism
[ ] 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
Numbers
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.
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!
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!
25
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.
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.
MOVE IT! DO YOU WANT TO GIVE UP THE AXE LIKE THIS?
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: http://www.mbinde.com/games/duck/
Any how, I should be off. Have a good day, Go Bears!
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.
MOVE IT! DO YOU WANT TO GIVE UP THE AXE LIKE THIS?
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: http://www.mbinde.com/games/duck/
Any how, I should be off. Have a good day, Go Bears!
November 08, 2008
Cough
Let me get rid of these cobwebs for a second...
http://www.neatorama.com/2008/11/06/a-lilliputian-world/
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?
http://www.neatorama.com/2008/11/06/a-lilliputian-world/
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
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
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.
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...
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.
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
Enclosure
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!
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.
"Well
She stared down at her ankle. It was swelling to the size of a navel orange.
"Ok.
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.
"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.
"Idiot!
"Dummy!
"Palooka!
"Whore!
"Jackass!
"Tramp!
"Dick!
"Bit...
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.
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.
"Well
She stared down at her ankle. It was swelling to the size of a navel orange.
"Ok.
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.
"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.
"Idiot!
"Dummy!
"Palooka!
"Whore!
"Jackass!
"Tramp!
"Dick!
"Bit...
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
Hamburg
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.
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 www.mononthefly.blogspot.com 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:
This
Is
SPARTA!
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.
And the rest of you readers.
I apologize for my lack of updating. I'm worse than www.mononthefly.blogspot.com 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:
This
Is
SPARTA!
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.
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.
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