This Is My Life

Couldn't sleep for shit last night.

Was obviously delirious, and purchased/watched a digital copy of Mission Impossible II. For a sad, shameful reason. Because I am benighted and twisted soul. Srsly.

I awoke this morning to two texts from separate people. It doesn't get much more random than this.

Text One: Data just used a contraction in 'The Naked Now.'

Text Two: Every time I see that I'm getting a picture message I cross my fingers and hope that it's you sending noods :D

That's my life, folks. Full of geekery and perversity. Really quite accurate description, really.

More Horror Awaits Ye

I came across this today, and I really could not tell you how. I sent it off in an email to some mates, and started a bit of an emailavalanche.

At any rate, the point of this clip is that 1) it made me laugh and 2) it seemed very familiar.

It didn't take me long to realize what it reminded me of was myself.

So here you go, folks. Another terrifying peek into what hanging out with me is like. Love the Reaction Shots.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VmG3GlXnirk&feature=related

I'd like to note that I love Ricky Gervais' laugh. It's actually the reason I stopped to watch the animated HBO series.

His laugh is so lunatic and genuine, so natural. It makes me smile, or even laugh along with him just to hear it. It's a moment of explosive joy that can't be faked. Insane, maniacal, demented joy--but hey, I can relate to that. Take it any way you can get it, baby.

I Actually Had Something To Say

About a film that might have been interesting or even perceptive. 

But I think we all know that's not going to happen. Instead it's......

>STALKER PICSPAM TIME!!111!!!

WOOT WOOT WOOT!<

This comes directly from a PICSPAM I unleashed on my coworker, So Wrong. It was an allcaps kind of day. Apologies in advance. 

Me: DID I MENTION THAT JEFFREY DEAN MORGAN IS HAWT?????

Brutally.

He's so making my Top Five Freebies List this year.

So Wrong: Yeah he is dirty hot too 

Me: 

*i'd like to take this moment to apologize for this uneccessary email. i've heard you can get fired for sending emails of hot mens. but i love you, and want you to be happy, soooooo...........*

SCRUFFY HOT BEARDY EYEBROW FO'HEAD WRINKLY PUPPY DAWG EYED GOODNESS. VAPORS! VAPORS! 

NOT GONNA LIE. I CRIED WHEN DENNY DIED ON GREY'S ANATOMY. NOOOOO!

LOOKS GOOD IN A SUIT. . .

IS KIND TO ANIMALS. . . 

IS UNREPENTANTLY EVIL (REMEMBER, "EVIL" BACKWARDS IS "OMFGSOHAWT"

AND HE'S A GEEK. LUUUUUURVE!!!

And so ends another disturbing glimpse into what passes for my mind, and what I spend my time at work doing these days. 

Okay, so we all know he's awesome

but were you aware that The Hamm was *this* awesome?

http://www.hulu.com/watch/241605/saturday-night-live-ambiguously-gay-duo#s-p3-sr-i1

Srsly.

ETA: Is that Stephen Colbert? Because if that is, this clip just went from awesome to FARGIN SUM OF BASTIGIN CRAZY EFFIN EPIC.

When the Rapture Comes

...can I have your movie collection?

If anybody out there gets Raptured, please try to find some way to communicate back to us here on Earth.

Considering where I am, the Rapture could happen and I don't think anybody would notice. The population would remain relatively intact.

And considering the caliber of my family and associates, I don't think there's much chance that I'll be standing next to somebody and BLAMMO, they'll get Raptured and I'll look over and see a puddle of clothes or something.

(No offense to the people I know. If you read this, and feel like you will be/have been Rapturized, please leave me a comment. They have Interwebz in Heaven, right?)

All this End of Days talk can get confusing. I tend to think the Vikings were the most realistic in their expectations. Ragnarok pretty much has things ending the way the Norse saw life in general: bloody as hell and shit flying everywhere. I appreciate their consistency of approach. Though the link above has a nice little coda about repopulating the earth, the myths I remember reading pretty much ended with the world sinking into nothingness.

As far as Rapturization, these nice folks have some information to help you sort it out:

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/43100302

As long as we are talking about things to worry about, the CDC wants you to be prepared for possible Zombie attacks:


http://emergency.cdc.gov/socialmedia/zombies_blog.asp

I would like to note that the CDC leaves out two vital survival requirements for a Zombie Apocalypse:

1. A sword (does not require reloading)
2. Bruce Campbell

Let's face it, without #2, you are pretty much toast.


Now, there IS something that is much more likely to happen around me. That is for someone to get Raptored. I don't think enough people are aware of the inherent dangers out there.

But you know, if you gotta go, gettting Raptored is a pretty cool way to do it.

Is it wrong of me to hope my pizza delivery boy is a sinner? I just really need some soda pop and cheesesticks right now. If he doesn't deliver on time, I might just have to rush down to the local church, get saved real quick, and then Rapture-beam into heaven to beat his ass for not bringing me my food.

And let me close with a video compilation of epic proportions. Henry H. does these amazing video edits, and I strongly recommend you check out anything he does on the YouTubez. I know the subject of this one is under a lot of public scrutiny right now, but let's not forget all the joy he has broughten unto us:

Southeastern Mad Dash, Pt. 3

Well, the penultimate leg of the trip found me back in the humid environs of the Emerald Coast. You’d think after 15+ years of the town that I’d be inured to the sub tropical climate. I certainly did. But it seems that a half a year in normal, sane, logical weather has completely deprogrammed my inner climate control.

It was actually quite lovely while I was there, and it was still Hot as Fuck All. I walked out one morning in jeans, turned right around and walked back in and put on a dress. I had to be as nekkid as possible to deal with that turrible humidity, hurney.  

A dress. My tolerance is shit. The West Coast has ruint me. Over three decades of 150% summertime humidity, and all for naught.

Anyhoodle, my trip was a brief three days. Day One found me driving out to my place of former employ, where a very dear friend and ex-coworker had thrown together a lunch for me. Schneids, you da man! I also got to visit with a special friend of mine, Joni. Joni is the office paper shredder, and got placed in the position through Schneids and the company’s work with the local special needs school. I had the challenging, sometimes cringe inducing, task of managing Joni over the years. I love that girl, but she def gave me and Schneids a few extra grey hairs.

After lunch I ended up wandering the halls of my old office for quite a while. It’s amazing how many people you know when you’ve worked there for almost six years. Everyone seemed to be in the middle of proposal work (my old schtick), and I got asked several times if I was planning to come back anytime soon. Sweet. But no dice.

After being craftily tricked into making bar plans for Friday night, I jumped back in the loaner car and raced to pick up the mom for a family dinner out.

Let me take a moment to say that I hadn’t realized how spoiled my new car has made me. (2008, but new as in “not used”). Driving around that beater, futzing with the a/c, having to carefully judge the distances required to pull out into traffic, reaching the “Shimmy Speed” and having to let off the gas. Damn. I love you, my precious Meowzda. I love you so much.

Dinner with the fam was all that it could be and more. Much to my mother’s mortification, we managed to bring bodily functions into the conversation. It rounded itself out with us deciding that certain events would be categorized by numbers 1-9 on the “Rectum Scale.” Oh yeah. We rock the intellectual discourse.

I pause again to say that throughout this whole trip, I was plagued by a lack of appetite and a general feeling of malaise and exhaustion. I think I have malaria.

The next day was running around with my leetle seester, having lunch with the Bef, and looking at the makes-ups. We made back to town just in time to hit the bar.

Friends trickled in. Animals perched on heads. The Group W bench was reclaimed. Pretty normal stuff.

While I was being very good (and feeling very bad) nursing my drink, I thought I had a short, but pleasant night ahead of me. Well, turns out some folks couldn’t make it out till later, and it would be rude to have them drive all that way and then not hang for a bit, and one drink leads to eleven or whatever. So, you know.

Useless censor bars added to protect the very guilty. You probably can't make it out, but that gentleman's shirt reads "Cool Place, Shady People." And how. 

Yeah, we are so cool the waitresses like to hang out with us.  That’s her on the left, foreground, sitting on the bench. We’re that table.

Well, brilliant ideas started sprining up all over, and so we naturally ended up at the skeeziest sailor bar by the bay, spending a small fortune on the jukebox and playing pool. Badly. Among other things.

But we never worry about our environs. Cuz we are shady, sharky people ourselves.

The next day say the arrival of Tim-Tim and My Hangover. Tim-Tim awoke me at 6 am with a text. I am just now beginning to forgive him for that.

I staggered out to a bbq some pals had orchestrated, and it was grand. The weather was amazing, a ton of people I love showed up, and I got to chill for the first time the entire trip.

Though, I must say, there was a preponderance of shifty looking, short people there. Check it.

I don’t trust those little suckers. They are beginning to outnumber the big ones.

Failing miserably at bean bag toss, but really enjoying the lamb burger my sister made for me, I retreated back to my apartment (now my sister and brother’s apartment) to sleep on my couch (still technically my couch I guess). I wanted to hang with my bro, since I hadn’t seen him much. We shot the shit for a while, and I finally got to see what all the hubbub is about HD television. Holy shitballs, that stuff is insane! We were watching a Sidney Lumet film from the 60s or 70s and there were moments when it was like watching someone move through the actual room we were in.

I awoke the next morning and the lovely and perennial Bef chauffeured my sorry ass out to the incredible (and now very far away) Bay County Airport. Which is just as big as the old airport. Just an hour north now. Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant.

My first time flying Southwest, which has an interesting first come, first serve policy on seating. And I ended up having to pay for one of my suitcases b/c of weight restriction. Damnit. The counter lady is all like, “Would you like to transfer some items from one case to the other?” And I’m thinking, “How many pieces of lingerie did I use to wrap the breakables in this case?”

So, yeah. Those suitcases stayed shut.

There’s a final, small part to this tale, but I’m just about typed out. I’m sure, gentle readers, that you can wait a little longer. I imagine it’s of no signifigance to anyone but me. 

Aww Shitballs Y'All

I just channel surfed into the last few minutes of Wrath of Khan.

We used to make fun of a certain family member for crying at the closing scenes. But damnit all, that's is some sad ass shit.

Now that makes me a

To Properly Express How I Feel About Being Laid Off

http://www.playlist.com/playlist/additem/363891985

Delivered from the dungeons of banality into a world of possibilities. The people I really care about got to keep their jobs. And because my boss (one of the laid off) is a bad motherfucker, he negotiated an excellent exit for those of us getting fired.

I'm not truly free until July 15th. And who knows what will happen. I've got my eye on a particularly promising job, but I don't know if it will pan out. Won't know for a few weeks.

Should I get a part time job? Start sending out resumes now? Should I say sod it all and plan to take a month or two off? Should I visit an ashram?

I don't know. It's too soon to tell and yet I know that the time will pass too quickly to make proper plans.

But I am relieved. I was relieved when I first suspected this to be a possibility. My heart was never in this job, lucky as I have been to have it. I truly feel better. I couldn't bring myself to quit, so a little deus ex machina was the kick in the pants to get things rolling in a new direction. And ANY direction is better than the one I've been on.

I might not be so optimistic in 5 months, if I find myself jobless and homeless. But then again, if you gotta be homeless, this is the place to do it. Weather is fantastic.

They sent us home today so we could process and grieve. I believe I shall eat chocolates and watch bad television.

I may be the only person who's ever been so happy to get shitcanned.

Por Moo

Found objects on my walk today. A world of purple.

Love ya, Moo.

Remember kids. . .

Just because you can, doesn't mean you should.

Despite my age and my ashamedly high number of experiences, I still manage to make some of the same mistakes repeatedly.

Last night I showed my ass and committed various acts of buffoonery. There may have been some chemical alteration involved. Those who've had the misfortune to hang with me for any length of time will know what kind of night it was when I say: hit the point of skipping glasses and swigging straight from the bottle. Classy, that's me.

Details are hazy, and I was having a pretty bad day behind it. But miraculously, all the involved parties have been more than gracious. And a really good friend gave me some great advice: I can torture myself about my behavior, but I should really put a little faith in my friends and worry a lot less about the world at large. Everybody screws up. And she reminded me of something a bunch of folks have mentioned to me over the years: nobody thinks I'm a bigger asshole than I do.

So I'm allowed to screw up. Though I really should try harder not to--or at least to screw up in new and interesting ways instead of the same ol' shit.

The really nice thing that happened today was that I got to have a few conversations with some folks, and got to experience their niceness, and got to hear how one friend is really doing a lot better. I think that bit of news did more to raise my spirits than the very kind words specifically for me. It is so heartening to hear hat someone is having some success,

A strange day. A sort of feeling that I have gotten off the hook unfairly. And the realization that this place is different--at least the crowd I'm running with. Everybody sort of lets you do your thing, and doesn't bat an eye.

The 2011 Southeastern Mad Dash, Pt. 2

Well, after such an exciting first day, one can only pray that it will settle down a little. And, gentle readers, it did. To the best of my knowledge, no other relations were jailed during that leg of the trip.

That in no way implies that everything done was legal. Just that nobody got caught. And really, that's all you can hope for.

As I mentioned before, we were staying with my Great Aunt and Uncle, whose bucolic surroundings (I like to fancy) are the American equivalent of all those gorgeous countryside landscapes Jane Austen used to write about. They live in sort of the backwoods Darbyshire, as it were.

But please don't be misled. They have worked hard to foster these pastoral scenes. Trust me when I say the rest of the town falls a little flat.

We visited at a good time--it was actually spring. For those in SoCal who don't know this, Spring is the season that is sort of like what your weather is All The Freaking Time. For the rest of the world, it's a rare and brief treat.

Mountains out of mole-flowers:

Besides Merchant-Ivory landscapes, what does the visiting the relatives entail?

Food. All the time food. Endless meals. There are two things you are talking about in these circumstances: food or grass/yard. We will discuss what we just ate. We will discuss what we will be eating at the very next meal, even as we finish the current meal. We will discuss what other relatives will be serving us. We will shut our mouths while one relatives reveals they purposely cooked the same dish as another, so we would get the "good" version. We will pause and discuss what kind of grass grows best in point XYZ. 

Then we will talk about food some more.

Food is notoriously hard to photograph, and I've no talent in that department anyways. You are just going to have to trust me that the below were the best goddamn pancakes I've had since. . . well, since the last time my Great Uncle cooked me pancakes. 

Crispy edges and all. Standard serving of five. And they wonder why I didn't eat for the rest of the day.

In between eating and talking about grass, you make the rounds to other people's houses. I got to surprise a cousin I hadn't seen in over 20 years.

You probably can't tell, but he's hauling trees. To clear out space to grow muscadine, which are apparently one of the new cash crops in the Carolinas. It would seem that wine produced from muscadine has somewhere around 300% more resveratrol than European grape wines. When my cos' got done tractoring, he stopped and we sat down for a visit. In which he tried to feed us. (And he knows better too, so he settled for wonderful strawberries). And we talked about grass. But there was a perk--this part of the family drinks, so I got to enjoy some hooch with my irony before we returned to the dry relatives. 

In a strange twist of fate, a large swath of the area near us was part of the country that was hit by freak tornadoes. Very, very unusual for that part of the country. One touched down only a few miles from us. Part of a high school we use to compete against got demolished. 

I move the West Coast and they have more rain over the holidays than they've had in years. It never rains here. They frigging sing about it. Then a tsunami hits Japan. Then the day I arrive back on the East Coast tornadoes rip up the countryside.

If I were a betting man, I'd say the Almighty's aim is improving. I'd probably also advise against standing close to me in the near future. He's bound to nail the bullseye sooner or later. 

More visits and more food (I mean, really Aunt R., TWO entrees for one lunch? Chicken and dumplings AND a roast pork loin?) and then it was out to the acreage where I lived for the duration of my time in that part of the country. 

These are bittersweet trips. They've sold the forest a few times over, so the trees get stripped and replanted. There's nothing left of the old homestead but a couple pieces of decking.

I tried my best to get my bearing and find some old trails we used to frequent. Tromping through the woods, I had my Frostian moment, and I too chose the path less travelled. It was still wrong, but fate was kind and by accident I stumbled into one of the grottos we used to race our bikes up and down. Then, just like in days gone by, I heard my mother calling to me through the woods. We were late to dinner down the road at my other Great Uncles. I hollered (because there's no other word for it) "I'm coming!"

Then I scrambled over a forest floor covered in felled trees. I don't know if you ever seen the remains of deforestation, but there's a post apocalyptic air about it. Huge cords of unusable wood stand 12 to 18 feet high and 3 times as wide. The ground is carpeted in debris, and it feels as if you are walking on the bones of the trees, grey skeletal remains. Unsure footing, as well, with dry rot and a sensation of walking on rebar. 

Back at the Great Uncle D. we had more food and more family. He fried up a mess of fresh catfish (I will only eat Uncle D's catfish from his his farm on the property) and showed me his "outdoor kitchen."

I'm pretty sure my old man would sell me into white slavery for a kitchen like that. It amuses me to no end that so many of my relatives have become what I like to call "gentleman farmers" in their later years. Yes, there's a double meaning there. Let's just say that by hook or by crook, people seem almost destined to mimic the actions of their forefathers. I never really considered this part of my family to be country, but on this trip, I reconsidered that notion. Let's have a closer look at that kitchen.

I'm not saying anything. I don't know nothing about nothing. But I do know it's only illegal if you sell it. And I have suspicions about those muscadine vines my other cousin is growing.

My only interaction with the techno world during this excursion was my mad dash to the public library to take care of some work documents that were due on Tuesday. 

Wednesday saw us loading up the Space Van and making the ten hour drive to the Gulf Coast. I arrived there and promptly fell backward off the front steps trying to haul my luggage up. And so began my adventures on the Emerald Coast. But that is a tale for another day. 

This Morning I Awoke and Thought:

Jesus Christ, it's May already. 

I don't watch the news. I don't even listen to NPR anymore. So it was completely by chance, while checking out an entertainment blog, that I heard about the successful search and destroy of Osama bin Laden.

You'd think the office would be buzzing with such news, but only one person has mentioned it. She commented on its relation to the upcoming presidential elections, and how she felt this affected the GOP.

I've spent the morning trawling through the few news sites I halfway trust, looking for details. I picked the wrong day to leave my headphones at home--I can't listen to any streaming news or the president's speech.

Apparently, there was much rejoicing. Celebrating in the streets. I'm glad I can't hear any of that.

Many times throughout my life, and with increasing frequency as I get older, I feel very separated from the world. Like an automaton that passes through the carefully ignored cogs of society, fulfilling my role in the assembly line of culture. Or like a ghost, becoming more transparent with each passing day. In certain lights, you can see right through me, if you see me at all.

For some reason this news today makes that emotion more keenly felt. It's as if I've been playing a game all this time, but at some point the game changed and everybody else got the memo but me.

Is it true that Islamic faith has a tradition of burial in water? That seems awfully strange for a desert people.

Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting

There's a certain kind of person who goes out carousing past midnight and then awakens at 4 a.m. Some people call that kind of person cursed.

I call it just another Sunday morning.

At any rate, last night was spent in the lovely company of Gunkle Blip, his Special Lady Friend, and the erstwhile Jones--my current favorite adolescent. Jones is the shit!

After a day spent wallowing around my house, getting jack-all done, I joined my companions for some delicious sushi, replete with sake, natch. The drive over to Hollywood can be a little arduous, and it really does take at least 30 minutes to go 8 miles. But the scenery is usually interesting. And it's good for my cowardly disposition to go out and about. Besides---I always love the drive home. By then it's late and I can open the windows and let my hair whip itself into horrific proportions and blast the music. 

Anyhoo, GP and SLF were in good spirits and ready to throw down. I had to catch GP up on all the doings back east with our family. You know, there really isn't enough time in one visit to do it all justice. After dinner we went to Universal City Walk. For those not familiar with these type of establishments, they are sort of an attempt to have a sanitized Bourbon Street. Bars, eateries, stores, and the occasional lame stab at some "family" entertainment. I went in my first Hard Rock cafe. The upstairs was deserted, and they had some truly memorable items, including the double body Gibson Jimmy Page used, and a signed Johnny Cash guitar. 

We left Universal, and this is where the whole night coalesced into something to write home about. SLF has done some work as a chauffer, and wanted to take us to "the point." 

Now, everybody who's done time in Hollywood has a Sooper Sekrit Spot that is the Best Evah. And I'm always game for any drive up in the Hills and whipping through Mullholand. Last time had been in my pal Blau's SuperSonic Audi of Screaming Death over a year prior, so I was def game. 

Well, as many of might guess, since I was the car, this whole trip rapidly turned into a musical. And though I'm oftentimes (one might say mostly) wrong about things and scientifically proven to be 89% full of bullshit, I stand by the following statement: if he people you are with don't like the song "Rocky Raccoon," there is something seriously wrong with them as human beings. In fact, they may not be human at all. 

Turns out this spot really was something to write home about. I have only a poor quality pic to share, and it's always hard to catch the scope of that kind of panorama, but this was awesome. The angle was really nice, I think we were actually looking more west, than anything else.

I know, I know. Guess you had to be there. But it really was something. The whole city laid out before you, like the buffet table to the cosmos, dotted with stars, waiting to swept in on. Planes from LAX launching in the distance. The cessation of all light that indicate the waterfront. 

Among the other amusements of the night, SLF decided early on that I needed to be fixed up with one of the bajillion people she knew. She locked on to some poor fellow I hope to never meet: a part time model, musician, in his twenties. But he's different because he's "not hung up on beauty and stuff" like other guys. I noted that would make it much easier for the dumpy folks like me to have a shot. She didn't quite catch that one, but Gunkle Blip had a muffled snort over that one.

But seriously, her choice---could it have been more designed to be exactly WRONG? Lookout for people in love, they are dangerous. They want everyone else to be in the muck and mire with them, regardless of your personal thoughts on the matter. 

I also got to speak briefly on the phone with a first cos' I hadn't seen since she was about 8 or so. 

And the drive home. California nights were made to mischief and smell of freedom. When Harry Connick's "When or When" came on, followed by Clapton's "Promises," I suddenly felt a great longing for my friend Sveltlana. And the old familiar tug to just get in the car and keep driving. 

Despite my early morning awakening, I've gotten nothing done this day. Don't think that's going to change in the next few hours. Oh well. Hope everybody's having an okay, if not excellent Sunday.