Saturday, June 30, 2007

SUMMER IS HERE: Latest round of updates

I have been out of the blogging loop for about a month now. This means that I have been busy. I started a blog a few weeks ago about the IPHONE, but it just didn't feel good. I did wait in line with Matt for several hours so he could be the first person in the entire city of Marina to have one of those things...and other than that, it has been GO GO GO. Enclosed are pics and comments. Lots of both.

Danger, one in the chamber! When I get a minute, I will post about all of the lousy movies I have seen this summer and how I am holding out for the BOURNE ULTIMATUM to save us all.


Big smile and a beautiful girl in the line for the BIG DIPPER. She still gets on there about once a week. Who wouldn't? I sat beside my father last week and told him how I am trying to imprint something into these kids by having these Boardwalk excursions on the regular. He told me that he had implants in his brain from when his father used to take him to the LONG BEACH PIKE as a kid. He said that there were tattooed sailors and grubby folk all around. Well, it is the same at the Boardwalk. I was walking Ivan to the bathroom a little over a week ago at about 10 PM. There was a total melee going on in front of us. Cops had people pinned to the ground and there was a lot of screaming and profanity. When we got into the bathroom and were doing our urinal business, I asked him what he thought of the mayhem out front. He had no idea what I was talking about. He was just content to go and take a piss with his father. I'll never forget that one.



There is the boy in question, in his own little world, through the screen door in the driveway sucking on a juice bar. It is summertime, and he is living it up.


Here is the same boy in question, next to me on the Giant Dipper. He has a vicious scream that shreds your eardrums and he lets it loose when we ride this ride. He hardly even opens his mouth to let it go. We were in the front a week or so ago and Ivan started to scream like this when we were in the beginning tunnel. Some loudmouthed grouch way back (possibly 5 seats or so) started yelling that the screaming needed to stop or he was going to blankety blank someone's blankety blank. I asked Ivan to stop. Ivan threw out one more ear-ripping scream before stopping it for the guy in the back.

He and I both knew we were dealing with a serious asshole.


I saw this Morgan on the side of the road a few weeks ago and snapped its pick. I was helping the SS load up the back of her car with an art table. I mentioned the Morgan. I told the story about how my father had taken one apart and put it back together again, and how he had always wondered when the thing would fly apart on him as a result of his tinkering. I also told her about the wreck we had been in, and how the truck had driven over my mother's back when she was pregnant with Casson. I made mention of the fact that if I had been in a standard car seat rather than playing at my mother's feet I would have been killed.

All of these adventures happened in my father's Morgan. I know he loved that car. But as I look at this pic and I think about it, I am beginning to wonder if maybe that car in the pic isn't a Morgan, and all of this nostalgia is ill-placed.

WTVR. I shot the pic with my heart in the right place...



This is the interior of the Maya theatre in Downtown Salinas. It looks like a convention center. Matt, Gabby, Brian (of Bromwyn fame), Luther and I were there for the Transformers. It was July the 4th. We had a little wait. Luther went and WRECKED SHOP on the DDR. He practices at home nonstop, then he goes to the arcade and slays them all. The movie was alright. I will post on it later.



This is what I have been up to at night. A big piece of meat and some veggies. I'm cooking chickens and roasts and pork chops. I have some sossies too, so I have been cooking them in red wine and tossing linguine with them as well. Lotsa salad. The thing though, the thing that I have been doing a lot of is carrots. I have a mini-carrot addiction. I eat them by the fistful. I can't help myself. I go through a 5lb bag in a few days.

The other day I ate 2 pounds of mini-carrots in one sitting. I need to get over this.



Check this fool out. He is always parked in downtown Santa Cruz in the same lot. On the side it says "No Queers Inside." He has since painted over this. Notice all of the padlocks. The engine compartment, the back lift. Those are the ones you can see in the pic, but combo locks are all over this thing. It makes me sorta miss Ferdie. But then again, I don't. Ferdie was great, but as I told Luther the other night, the only way I would get back into another VW Westfalia is if it was my second vehicle and I didn't have to be worried about being stranded for no apparent reason at any given time.

I miss her, but damn, Hector Savvy is nice. It is refreshing to have strangers tell me that I have a cool car on a daily basis. I have been getting dirty looks for my vehicle for too long...it is time for some respect, yo.




At the Boardwalk, there are these gondolas that go across the strip. I take it whenever possible. Some day I am going across with a fistful of rings from the merry-go-round so that I can drop them on the rooftops below. People have been doing that for what looks like years. There are rings all over the rooftops underneath you. I need to make my mark on the deep-fried Twinkie stand, methinks.



The Ferris Wheel. I try to ride this thing once every few weeks. It is faced wrong. It should be looking out over the water. Upshot? I always look to see where I am parked from the tippy-top. Furthermore, Yz always tells me not to rock the thing. "Like this?" I always ask.



This sign pisses me off. It is at work in the kitchenette. I was telling Luther about this thing yesterday. All paper products go in the recycling bin. Because some asshat wants to tell me no, and call me "dude" at the same time really frosts me. Next time I am at work, i am putting this sign in the recycling bin. That'll show 'em.


Here is a reflection of me with Fontina on my shoulder during her nightly interaction time. She is pretty tame these days. I let her out in the morning to free-run around the house. I let her out for about 30 minutes. I leave her cage open and sometimes she goes back in to see what she has been missing (usually a chocolate chip). I can call to her with my call that sounds like this: Fssssss-Fssst! And she comes bounding over. Sometimes she doubles back, but more often than naught, she wants to know what kind of mystery cheese I have to proffer.




So the night before IPHONE RELEASE NIGHT Matt called me with an urgency in his voice. He needed a warm body. My body was warm, and usable for his purposes. I agreed.


On IPHONE RELEASE NIGHT DAY, he swooped up the hill to my office and picked me up in the pimp mobile. We drove to Del Monte Shopping Center. We got to the back of the line at the Cingular Store and proceeded to wait for four hours for Matt to get his hands on two new Iphones.

The line was 46 people deep when we got there.

What the hell is up with America and this event shopping that we do? The only lines I do are movie lines. That is the only way I am going to wait for multiple hours for something that is a blip on the pop culture map. I put in 8 hours in front of the Egyptian in LA when I was a kid to see THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK. I have since waited in line and cut work on all the recent Star Wars movies. Furthermore, I have pulled Luther out of school on those days as well (die in a fire, Mr. Schipper).



But I found myself backing Matt up in an event shopping line on IPHONE RELEASE EVENING in order to get his GF her phone.


Cingular was handing out the phones to warm bodies. It didn't matter if you had eight people on your phonebill; all eight had to suffer through the line.

Back when I was a kid and waiting in that line for the EMPIRE STRIKES BACK, I was a dork. I had press release pictures of Star Wars info with me. I had the EMPIRE STRIKES BACK paperback novel with me and I am sure I had some Topp's Star Wars cards on my person as well. I wanted that Star Wars thing to be my identity in some way. I wanted people to look at me and know that I was down for the Wars, man.

That same sort of lame, childish energy was in the air on IPHONE RELEASE NIGHT. There were all of these people in the line-up who wanted all around them to know that they were into technology. That they were cutting edge. That they were the people who were the chosen by some higher force to be the first round of IPHONE owners. It was laptop central. Blackberries were being used and held in ways that made them visible and presentable. Cellphones that I have never seen before were wired into headphones, people had those bluetooth jobs in their ears and digital pictures were being taken by electronic gizmos of all sorts.


I was totally rogue in their little cult however. I am a Verizon customer. I have also bucked the Ipod trend by going through about five flash-drive Mp3 players. I am typing this blog on a PC. I don't buy into Apple period. The only Apple association that I have to suffer is the fact that the movies I make on my phone are Quicktime. Apple isn't the future for me, unless my hand is forced. The only forcing of my hand that I see is more corporations getting into bed with them. The kind of bed-hopping that we see with Disney, naked and willing pulling up the sheets with Sony's Blu-Ray.

These people were dorks. Here is the thing though: I am a dork. I am a total dork and I know this. You should see my new Star Wars t-shirt with the Japanese (?) script all over it. DORKY AS FOK. So if I am in a line-up with a bunch of people that I can cite as dorks, then I hope that the image is clear for you. Matt and I were the coolest people in the line-up. Matt was wearing a beanie and his standard lip piercing which looks sort of like a piece of barbed wire that has been sharpened at two ends. I was sporting my typical week-old beard and a freshly shaven head. I do this, "beard, shaved head" thing because someday when I am really bored, I am going to take a picture of my head upside-down and figure out how to make my facial features respond and look like one of those upside-down faces that you used to see in coloring books and the like when you were a kid.









"Is that a '65 or '66?" - Some kid in the parking garage the other day.

"That's a nice ride." - Some kid at the Mystery Spot today.

*Thumbs up* - From another classic Mustang driver today.

My conclusion? Hector is teh SEX.





Boardwalk at night.

IJ rolling solo on the Dipper.

OMG. Why the hell have I posted this pic? My daughter is the rocker, and that is another view of IJ rolling solo.

Luther and I have been playing a lot of Bloody Roar 3/X-men Mutant Academy and Soul Calibur 3. I have QCF the blister to prove it. I took this pic in DC, but the thumb is still hella sore. Taki and Cervantes are neck in neck right now. Last night, Luther started up with a few new moves that had me scratching my head. My dread pirate needs to be more agressive and I need to find some frame data so that I can at least keep up with his slutty ninja he keeps on bringing to the table.

L-Dogg, mean-mugging it with the old man. Notice the +1 :mad: shirt courtesy of Andrew. I have taken the +1 :mad: thing to the next level at TZ (a video game site that I am notorious for posting at), and Andrew hooked up the shirt as soon as it was made available.
The Mystery Spot today with the L-Dogg. The bald man in front has a long-assed goatee that is dyed blonde in the center. Both he and I were picked on regularly by our host at the 3:06 tour.
We had to wait around for an hour and a half before we could go on our tour. I showed Luther a buncha movies and clips I have ripped to my cellphone. He in turn told me more crazy details about the World of Warcraft, which is where he has spent the bulk of his summer.
Shortest on the left, tallest on the right. Look at the jacked up building behind them. No wonder this whole Mystery Spot place makes no sense.
Now, tallest on the left and shortest on the right. The fact that they are standing on a sloped board and that there is a crooked building behind them is supposed to make us all wonder how the tall guy on the left now looks short. There is that goatee I was telling you about.
"When I highlight my hair, it is because I like some strands more than others." - Mitch Hedberg.

I still have no idea what Shannon, our guide was trying to prove here and I am still befuddled.


Matt, Gabby, Luther and I went to see Harry Potter at the drive-in. Fok Harry Potter. I will get into that more in my next post.
Me outside getting ready for a conference call. Notice home-phone in left hand. Cellie in the right. I was trying to be all artistic and chit taking this pic, but it just wound out making me look like a fat bastard.


Luther and I on a different Dipper run. The boy had fun, and what boy shouldn't? I am glad I was able to bring it to him. I got the lady directly in front of me laughing hysterically with my screaming antics. One can never ride the Giant Dipper too many times.

Monday, June 25, 2007

DO THA FOKKIN MATH


Let me preface this by saying that years ago (about 6) I was on a junket in San Diego with a bunch of fellow educators. We were playing this game where you had to tell the truth when it was requested. It eventually turned out that most of the questions were sexual. They all had to do with whether you'd had a venereal disease before or whether you had achieved some sort of sexual something or other. I lost respect for all of the people who I wound out playing this game with. My self-loathing at that time was at an all-time high, and the trip culminated with a fistfight between me and another male teacher (whose ass I kicked in front of his girlfriend).
We left this junket and went back to teaching at the high school that we all worked at. To date, I have constantly wrestled internally based on the knowledge wrought on that trip. If we want our kids to behave, yet we ourselves are pigs and humans of the lowest degree possible, how can we expect them to rise above our shortcomings? How could I trust these male teachers that I know were saddled with serious misogyny issues to give their girls in their classes a fair shake? How could I trust the male teachers who had spoken of the students that they would "do" not to actually pursue the "doing" and keep it all within some alcohol laden context within the hotel next to the airfield where they filmed HEAT?
How could I trust the female teachers not to "put it out there" for their male students over 18 as they had promised? I learned later than the female teachers had less inhibitions than the male teachers. One in particular chose her 18 year old yearly (probably still does), and helped the liaison to happen as a graduation gift.
What kind of man would I be if Ms. Merrill, my English teacher that I was madly in love with had actually seduced me?
It is with these types of thoughts that I present this questionnaire to you. Read on. This is the painful stuff. I have been posting it at my various haunts and run across people who have hit the 800+ dollar range. I, however did my math and got to $395.60

Good memories, and some that I wish weren't memories. The bottom line is that we as Americans are obsessed with our sex. That is the basis for this questionnaire following. We are obsessed, and we are sort of proud of it. We also need that realm of mystery...so we don't have to admit to anything. Take the poll below, please. Someone please score higher than I did, thankyou:


You don't have to confess your answers, just the amount of your fine. And no, no one is going to pay you. This is between you, your brains and your loins.


Smoked pot -- $10

Did acid -- $5

Ever had sex at church -- $25

Woke up in the morning and did not know the person who was next to you -- $40

Had sex with someone on MySpace -- $25

Had sex for money -- $100

Ever had sex with a Puerto Rican -- $20

Vandalized something -- $20

Had sex on your parents' bed -- $10

Beat up someone -- $20

Been jumped -- $10

Crossed dressed $10

Given money to stripper -- $25

Been in love with a stripper -- $20

Kissed some one who's name you didn't know -- $0.10

Hit on some one of the same sex while at work -- $15

Ever drive drunk -- $20

Ever got drunk at work, or went to work while still drunk -- $50

Used toys while having sex -- $30

Got drunk, passed out and don' t remember the night before $20

Gone skinny dipping -- $5

Had sex in a pool -- $20

Kissed someone of the same sex -- $10

Had sex with someone of the same sex -- $20

Cheated on your significant other -- $10

Masturbated -- $10

Cheated on your significant other with their relative or close friend -- $20

Done oral -- $5

Got oral $5

Got oral in a car while it was moving $25

Stole something -- $10

Had sex with someone in jail -- $25

Made a nasty home video -- $15

Had a threesome -- $50

Had sex in the wild -- $20

Been in the same room while someone was having sex $25

Stole something worth over more than a hundred dollars $20

Had sex with someone 10 years older -- $20

Had sex with someone under 21 and you are over 27 -- $25

Been in love with two people or more at the same time -- $50

Said you love someone but didn' t mean it -- $25

Went streaking -- $5

Went streaking in broad daylight -- $15

Had sex with two people of the opposite sex at the same time --$60.30

Been arrested -- $5

Spent time in jail -- $15

Peed in the pool -- $0.50

Played spin the bottle -- $5

Done something you regret -- $20

Had sex with your best friend $20

Had sex with someone you work with at work -- $25

Had anal sex -- $80

Lied to your mate -- $5

Lied to your mate about the sex being good - $25

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Media Drenched: A Day off in DC Stream of Consciousness Rant

I have a bag of Sheckawan at my feet. I know is is pronounced differently, but that is what I call it. Sheckawan. Someone please save me from my ignorance and tell me how to pronounce Szechuan. I was at dinner with the team the other night, and Christine was talking about ordering oysters. I don't understand oysters. I told her so. I asked her how someone would ever consider eating an oyster. She replied that people get hungry and try different things. I countered with the fact that I would rather eat a human than an oyster (if I was trying to figure food out and the comestability of oysters hadn't been discovered yet). I couched it with my observation that there have been times when I have seen joggers running by and thought that their biceps or their calves would be delicious with the proper tenderizing and spices. The people at the table thought I was nuts, but I don't really think much of it. If I was stranded on a mountaintop with a bunch of starving rugby players, I would bust out with the fork and knife POINT BLANK. Can you call the consumption of raw human sushi? Probably not. What would the proper term be?

I have to be honest though...the notion to talk about eating people came from my Szechuan menu that Nicole gave me on Sunday night. I swear that it reads "Human Twins" in the enclosed shot of the menu.





This hotel does some weird stuff. They say that there is free bottled water in the hallways. So I go to get the water, and it is empty water bottles and a dispenser to fill them up. Because of their mis-advertisement and refusal to present me with a real actual "bottled water" situation, I am drinking water with a vengeance. Perhaps I will die in their room of water poisoning. Wouldn't that be grand. This crime scene would be foul. Housekeeping hasn't been here all week and the towels are starting to smell funny. I plan on doubling that stack of empties in the picture before I leave this beast.

I finished my job yesterday and had the rest of the evening to do whatever. I was so exhausted that I napped. I went to sleep watching the fat guy on MYTHBUSTERS shatter a 10 foot tall tube with a shotgun. There is more, but the information is completely useless. Then I woke up, watched Fox News and napped some more. Today is a day when I have hardly stepped out of the hotel. I didn't have to work today, and I don't have to work tomorrow. I am amazed at how little I have drank (drunk?) this trip. Nothing, really, just a few glasses of wine and a scotch and soda. Perhaps I should get bonus points because all of that alcohol was packed into a 3 hour session. Whatever. I am too tired or something...perhaps too preoccupied to go down to the bar and belt a few down. I am happy drinking water up here in this tossed environment.

Television options here are just about nil. No Disney, no MTV, no VH1, only HBO and a bunch of local stuff. Oh yeah, there is the CBSABCNBC mix, but I know and you know that they suck. I watch TV on these little road trips because I haven't got the time for it when I am at home. Last night STRIPTEASE was on HBO. I honestly have always wanted to watch it to see Burt Reynolds. I am a Burt fan. I have my own copy SHARKEY'S MACHINE. I saw SMOKEY and the BANDIT when I was a kid and I have always wanted to see it again. I know long portions of DELIVERANCE by heart. But last night as I started to watch STRIPTEASE and I saw Burt in action, I realized that this film is not going to be Burt in a polished pornographic role like his role in BOOGIE NIGHTS. This was some bad comedy. I stuck around until Burt took a bottle to some guy's head as he attacked Mrs. Willis on the stage and then I parked it. Late night TV in hotel rooms is bad luck and oversexed. The night before, I turned on the TV and HBO's CATHOUSE was on. This is a reality show or some such trash inside of a working whorehouse. It is like watching a fleshy train wreck. HBO must know that there is a statistical amount of underage kids watching this stuff. They have to know. And with the statistics that they have, they must just feel that it is collateral damage...or something. Cathouse doesn't hold back. In the 10 minutes of that trash that I saw, I saw it all. Then I went back to Fox News.



I woke up this morning with a mission. That mission was to go to the Starbucks a solid block and a half away from here. Wouldn't you know that I had to lie in bed and watch DUPREE AND ME before I got up and did it though. I am a Matt Dillon fan. I love his work. He is still the same punk he was when I was a kid. He is like the popular kid in the school of cinema. He is the popular kid that everyone knows and no one gets to party with, because he runs in an elite crowd. Unlike Paris Hilton, the school slut. I think I will get into that gay Pareee mess in a little bit. I then proceeded to watch an episode of COPS before I finally dragged my caffeine deprived self into the shower. COPS is as low as you can go on the TV scale. If you are watching COPS...well, if I am watching COPS, then I have officially hit rock bottom. It is the worst kind of television. But it is insightful. These cops are total jerks, and they are on their best behavior in front of the camera. It makes me wonder how much worse they can be. In today's episode, this one cop screamed at this guy to get on the ground. The guy was complying, but not quick enough to the cop grabbed him by the back of the neck and shoved his face in the dirt. Then the cop cuffed the suspect. The cop mused that the cuffs were probably on too tight and they should be loosened. If there had been no camera there, I am sure that the cop wouldn't have even thought of loosening anything. I think that the show should be called PRICKS.



My room is completely tossed. The feng shway (whatever the hell you call it) is completely balanced. I need no housekeeping in here. I need no imperial entanglements. I have it locked down. I have a bag of Szechuan at my feet. I am totally rested so I am typing like a madman. Internal clock still says no. The problem with getting your sleep balanced is that you tend to stay up late. Well, I stayed in bed until 1 o'clock DC time. This means that I can still jump back to CA time and be properly functioning. It all has to do with how I get out of here tomorrow morning. I have had no interaction with anyone. Well, I have interacted with a few. I can count who I have talked to today. I said "hi" to Nicole downstairs at the desk. That is all I said, even though she gave me a nectarine my first night here. I explained my order to the girl at Starbucks this afternoon. I was soft-spoken, because the caffeine was completely out of my system and the monkey on my back had gone haywire. I talked to the dude down in the gym about sports injuries and high school sports and kids for about a half an hour while my armpits frothed lime flavored cappuccino foam. Oh yeah, and I said thanks to the man down in the lobby who delivered the Scechuan at my feet. I really should eat this stuff, but I am feeling like Kerouac, and I don't have a ream of paper that will ultimately stop me.





So I went down to the gym today. I have been plagued with getting down there, but hotel gyms tend to suck. So I didn't go until today. I should have gone sooner, they have 50lb dumbbells up in this piece. You know I had to throw 'em. I did mad sets. I am serious, this place can't contain me. I did the 50s, the 45s, the 40s, the 35s and the 30s. 25s are for wimps, yo, and that isn't how I was getting down today.



I got on the elliptical thing. What the hell does elliptical mean? I got on that thing for a solid 45 minutes. I burned 400 calories. All the while I was talking to this dude about sports and teenagers. He is here on business. The conversation started when I noticed that he was walking backwards on the treadmill. Then he told me about his knee surgery. I was reminded of the Fox News special I watched last night about baby boomers having mad sports injuries. Something about being a boomer right now means that you are prone to a big accident. They were saying that Gen Xers are going to have it worse. They are right, because those 50lb dumbbells were not slowing me down today. I am in my late thirties, and do you think for a second that I am going to stop throwing the free weights around like that when I am in my 50s?





So I am talking to this guy, and I am aware of my new deodorant. And I steal a glance at myself while working that elliptical contraption and I see that my armpits are foaming. They are bubbling up like heads on beer. But I am in this conversation with this guy, and I don't want to stop all of a sudden and draw attention to the whipped cream action in my armpits. This guy and I talked for about 30 minutes. Then he left. I finished my cardio and went back to the free weights. That place can't contain me. The only reason why I stopped doing anything is because the pads of my hands were getting torn as I threw those 50s around. All I have to say to that is that my training at Gold's in downtown Santa Cruz set me up to own the hell out of this little DC gym.



On TV there is this missing pregnant woman. That is all that I hear about. They are looking for this woman and they are interviewing everyone in sight on the subject. But while I was in the gym, a new story popped. The story about NBC paying Paris Hilton a million dollars to give the first interview after she gets out of jail. Freakin' Fox News. What a joke. So they are worried that this isn't ethical to pay for such an interview. Is this bad journalism? Immediately, I began to realize that if Fox news didn't draw my attention to the million dollar interview, I wouldn't know about it. Isn't that what this is all about? The million dollars has bought slavery from Fox news and now that is all that they are reporting. Is this ethical? If it is something that isn't cool, then don't report the shit. And by all means, don't bring Geraldo Rivera in as a consultant. Who is Geraldo? I hadn't heard that name in 20 years. Last time I considered Geraldo was a simpler time. That was when the skinhead broke his nose on his show. That was back when the world was a better place. Black, white, Puerto Rican or polka-dotted, all races were able to stand side by side and agree that Geraldo's nose needed to be broken. What happened to those simpler times?



And so I got back up to my room. I felt the hunger, because I had been working out for over two hours and the only thing that stopped me was the pads of my hands and not physical fatigue. I would still be down there, tossing mad iron if my hands didn't hurt. The notion came to me to wrap paper towels around the dumbbell handles and continue my destruction of that little weight room, but what would the point be? I had already done more damage in there than it has probably seen since the Reagan years. That place couldn't contain me. I would love to take any fool who has been there lately and show them the monstrosities that I see at my Gold's. I would love to have them see that.



I would love to take Geraldo there.


I have to eat my Szechuan now. I am hungry and all typed out.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

INTERNAL CLOCK SAYS, "NO."

As per previous post, I am in DC on business.

As per the title, I am still on California time.

I busted my ass today and my boss let me take the afternoon off. This is good, because I am completely wasted tired. No alcohol, just no sleep. Last night I lay in bed for about 6 hours not quite able to escape consciousness. I watched a reality tv show called HELL'S KITCHEN. It is about all of these up and coming cooks who have to survive underneath this drill sergeant asshole until there is only one standing. That last cook gets a restaurant to run and keep if they make it. The bleeping of profanity and the nonstop verbal abuse that this guy hurls at his victims was really over the top. These guys must really want the prize. I would think that if one of them broke rank and broke that fool's nose with the handle of a knife or grabbed him by the testicles and poured hot grease all over his genitalia, that the signing bonus for the tell-all novel could set them up with an even better restaurant at the end. I was reminded of my struggles in any given kitchen I have slaved in (the man owned them ALL).
I ironed my stuff, made my phonecalls, brushed the choppers and laid down. Nothing. I clicked the tv back on. I watched John Tucker Must Die through my ears and the odd open eye. That PG-13 teen sex comedy was the worst. I hate it in movies when someone says "It was just like in a movie, but real." It makes me want to jump into their real life and beat the hell out of them. I would explain to them with every cheap shot to the nose that their life is a movie and that this *crunch* is a special effect. I would like those two hours back please. I would like to simply exchange them for sleep.

I have been following the rules of travel. Well, the main rule of travel which is to KHTFO. Keep housekeeping the fok out. The second they come in here, they are going to ruin the atmosphere, the vibe, the ill-constructed zen balance of the place. I don't care if I am almost out of toilet tissue.

I am tired because my flight got in at about 11PM on Sunday night. A three hour difference from CA means that it was actually 9. So when I got to my hotel by midnight local time, I was really ready to eat dinner. I made the call and got my Szechuan on. I didn't crash until about two and had to be up by six and on the job for seven. That was yesterday. Completely wasted.

Today I took the subway back by myself (we roll as a team of ripe tourists, waiting for someone to please mug us in the AM). The ride back was really a lot of fun. I was alone with all of these people with all of their problems all within arms length. Breathing, perfuming and swaying bodies, forced together in a metal tube that moves at about 60 mph. All there because we chose to be. All waiting to get away from each other. It was poetry.

I saw a lot of really interesting graffiti. I will film some of it tomorrow on my way in and out. I am impressed by the DC hip-hop heads, they are keeping it real on the walls here.

All of the wires in the air around the metro stations; the cluster of lines and transformers and couplings. It is a spastic grid. I'll capture it tomorrow and post it here, because that too was poetry.

Enclosed are some pics. I'll break them down for you. This cellphone rules the wasteland. There are a lot more, and I will keep them coming.




Bachelor central. This is the bed. I don't make it. Housekeeping better not either. That is the suitcase on the floor. It is sort of a way station for clothes I haven't bothered to put away yet.


This is a shot over the bed at the desk. The desk is where it all goes down. I am there right now, typing this missive. Notice the cute flatscreen tv. I miss the PS2, but it wouldn't work on that thing.

Here is the bathroom sink. You probably can't see the peppering of shaved hairs covering the basin. They will stay, thankyouverymuch, until I leave.


Here is a closer shot of the desk. I am drinking water like a madman. Why? It is record breaking in the heat department this week. The sweltering heat and humidity leaves the edges of all that I see in the distance blurry. It is really quite beautiful It is something that all should see. The visual properties of things change when it gets this hot and humid. The pain that you feel on your head and in your armpits as they weep and mourn the loss of a manageable climate is a necessary evil. A rite of passage. A thing we should all experience, like having your heart broken.


I needed some toothpaste. Homeboy at the desk gave me a grab bag of all sorts of goodies. He then asked me if I needed razors. I declined, happy with the toothpaste. However, I started using this Speed Stick. It is weird, changing deodorants. Every time I lift my arm, I have a strange sensation that someone else is in the room. It is not my smell AT ALL. I wonder how often smell has dictated that sensation for me in the past?



Out my window. It was locked shut, but I popped it open with the quickness. The drop you see from my hand is about 12-15 feet.

Across the way out of my window. There is an Asian guy in that room and he paces back and forth late at night. I know this because he is essentially at the foot of my bed and I am having a hard time sleeping. I am sure he is blogging somewhere about the black guy who stares at him from his bed as he gets his pace on.


This is up above the Asian guy's room. It goes up 12 floors I think.



This is directly above my room. Surreal, que no? Totally boxed in.



I shot this on the floor of the Metro yesterday. Who is this Abbas guy? Why is he cursing in his furniture? Couldn't they have found something more interesting to talk about?

Friday, June 15, 2007

WHO YOU DON'T SEE IN THE NEW FANTASTIC FOUR MOVIE



Apparently, Stan Lee went to Jack Kirby eons ago and told him that the Fantastic Four need to fight God.

Kirby came up with Galactus.

Galactus is represented as a cloud in the current movie.

How they could bust him out any other way is beyond me...because the fool in the pic above ain't really cutting it.

When you think of how Galactus looks in the comics...that ain't cutting it either.

Which goes to tell me one simple thing: Why did they even attempt to do such a thing?

I have no idea.

Saturday, June 09, 2007

He's No John Carpenter

But Rob Zombie is onto something.

House of 1000 Corpses was amusing. The story behind it was better than the actual movie. You know, the one where Rob Zombie is Universal's posterboy. The one where he actually got to make scary rides for Universal Studios during the Halloween season. You know, the one where he lost his distribution with Universal for the CORPSES movie because it was deemed too rough.

House of 1000 Corpses. Did it ever make it to the theatres? I have no idea. The rip for that thing was online way beforehand, and one of my students hooked it up. I was hungry for it, because I had heard so much hype. I was mildly disappointed. I blame my disappointment on the hype machine. HO1KC was basically a broken down Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I haven't seen the new one, but I sure do remember the classic.

DEVIL'S REJECTS. I stayed away from this one. I stayed far away. the trailer just looked too sadistic for me. It looked sadistic in the way that the Hostel franchise looks sadistic. I haven't seen those either. But along comes my good pal Matt that tells me that DEVIL'S REJECTS is genius, and I should see it just for the showdown with the police at the end. I watched it a few weeks ago (on the laptop) and I was mildly impressed. Then FREE BIRD kicked in and the showdown was on and I was literally glued to my office chair. Devil's Rejects is the conclusion to the mess that began in HOUSE. It is good. It is rough. Everyone gets paid.

Sid Haig as Captain Spaulding was one of the best movie treats I have had in awhile. Captain Spaulding is the most perverse clown I have ever dealt with on film. So perverse in fact, that you are forced to scrutinize him in order to determine how deep the depravity goes. When I fell asleep watching SHAKES THE CLOWN last year, that wasn't the issue. I knew that Shakes had a level of depravity, and it didn't go much deeper. Tim Curry's Pennywise in that stupid STEPHEN KING tv-movie IT, was definitely damaging. I think that is the clown that most kids (including my own) are currently afraid of. However, I will posit to you that Pennywise has NOTHING on Captain Spaulding. DEVIL'S REJECTS also does you the favor of telling you that Captain Spaulding's name comes from a Marx Brother's skit. I am not going to link it up, and it isn't really much, but it is all over youtube if you want to do the research. It is one of those crass Groucho bits where he is on the line and this time the humor is bordering statutory rape.

William Forsythe's sheriff in Devil's Rejects PUTS IT DOWN. I have always loved that guy...ever since he was the white-guy in the barrio back in AMERICAN ME. Then, he next stuck out to me as a misfit in THINGS TO DO IN DENVER WHEN YOU ARE DEAD. I have seen him here and there, but his performance in DEVIL'S REJECTS literally woke me back up to decent horror. He is a sheriff with a vendetta against the killers on the loose. His vendetta is mirrored with his own prey's bloodlust and the obvious message is that he is no better than those he needs to put behind bars. Forsythe is sadistic, foul-mouthed and understandable. The part of him that is understandable (a gnarly revenge complex) is basic scripting, but this actor brings it home.

William Forsythe is in Zombie's remake of Halloween. I have been fighting it, but I am feeling a gut-level excitement for this. Michael Myers is the baddest of badasses. I just watched Freddy VS Jason a bit ago and I realized then and there that the killing machine that actually gets to me is neither of those asshats. It is all about Michael Myers. It is all about that William Shatner mask. I have watched all of the incarnations of Halloween. I will admit that towards the end they get pretty shoddy. I mean, LL Cool J in a Halloween movie? I forgive the Busta Rhymes episode for the scene that I have bookmarked to your right...but really. Halloween has gone downhill.

Here is the new poster.

Here's to hoping for new, fresh breath in the franchise.

The original version isn't really the best of horror films anyway. It seems to me that there is no way but up here.


Wednesday, June 06, 2007

SPOILERIFFIC

Transformers drops on July 4.

Ivan already has gone through some of these toys.

Cut and paste the link!

http://www.tfw2005.com/boards/showthread.php?t=115458

Scroll down!





GRILLTYME


I learned something funny from one of my students years ago. That kid's name was Michael Montegue. I remember the name because I was teaching Romeo and Juliet at the time. Mike was a slacker. He did nothing but talk. In fact, he never shut up. I failed him hardcore. I also confiscated a video from him while he was in my class called, "Anal Plumbers." The video confiscation story is a good one. Maybe I will tell it someday.

One day, Mike came into class with his front teeth all silvered out. He had taken a gum wrapper and made himself a grill. I thought it was hilarious. I wonder how I went through my life and never came across this until I was over 30.

So whenever I work with tinfoil, I make a grill. The kids do too. Sometimes, the tinfoil cuts the gums and leaves sore in the mouth for the next day. It is a price to pay I guess, to flash teeth this dope.

We were rocking them last night. Check it:







Good times for all. Maybe I will have them done for real someday.