Somebody's Got a Case of the Mondays!

I've never had anyone say that to me. Although, at this point, thanks to Office Space, I would probably just laugh and beat up a fax machine. That's me, though; I'm a rebel, Dottie. I think the fact that I've been able to avoid office work for all my life MAY have something to do with it. Although, while working all of my other shiite jobs, I've heard many people say TGIF and variations on that. Which is okay by me as it conjures up images of Sasha Mitchell pining for "Danaburger". And of course, the Urkelbot. Ah, capricious youth...

So I'll put up another entry soon, but in the meantime -- Take this quiz!

Do it. What are you, scared, nancy boy? Just take the quiz! If you don't take the quiz, they'll have my legs broke. In all seriousness, Glamazon Shoe Diaries hipped me to this quiz, I took it and I must say that the results were rather interesting. Besides, it's just another tool of procrastination that helps you ease back into the shitstorm cubicle jungle, yes?

So take the quiz, holla back, and I'll write something much more interesting later.


"I don't know what I am. I don't know if I am or not." -- William Faulkner

Talkin Trash to the Garbage Around You

Just some quick lil tidbits for y'all today. And by y'all I mean myself. It's like having a conversation with my echo.

• Good News, Everybody! Cartoon Network has renewed The Venture Bros. for another season. See what happens, nerds, when we all rally together? We're unstoppable! Check out the full story here, as well as see what new shows are on the way for Adult Swim. Also, according to Jackson Publick on his blog, Season 1 DVDs may be coming out as well. The downside is that both the new season and the DVDs wouldn't be until early 2006. C'est la my vie.
• Thanks to the crackerjack investigative reporting of Garflog, I have stumbled upon Fiona Apple's new album -- the one Sony refuses to release because it's "not economically viable" (I just watched Falling Down again, so you may see some other random quotes from one of Joel Schumacher's few good movies). Y'all can head on over to this site in order to download the mp3s, and check it out. Are there any hits? Any singles? Does she still need a sandwich and a hug? Did having a magician boyfriend dump her for her stand-in screw her up more than before? Is that possible? When will the questions stop? Now. Once again, big shout out to Garflog for directing me to that, and expect a review of the album in a couple o' days.
• My new favorite sayings that I'm dropping like sprinkles on the ice cream cones of my conversation: "You wouldn't give a crippled crab a crutch!", "Do me a solid...", and "Big Time." Now practice them at home and try a few out for yourselves; see your popularity plummet like Ben Affleck's career. Poor Affleck.
• Swiffer products. Holy Carp. I love ANYTHING Swiffer makes. If they came out with a brand of condom, I'd use it (well...I would want to use it--I can't expect Swiffer to solve ALL my problems). I've been using the duster, the mop, the toilet bowl cleaner -- and they all work like freakin magic. What's next for Swiffer? What household staple will they reinvent with vigor and charm? How about the toothbrush, with disposable heads and all that? Actually, that's not that bad of an idea. Patent Pending, bitches! Seriously, I love Swiffer products. The only other time I've felt this sense of brand loyalty was when I used to smoke, and even then I would cheat on American Spirits with the occasional Camel Light. If I have a child, I'm naming it Swiffer. Swiffer Monkey. Sounds good. Actually sounds like the mascot for the product. A tiny little rhesus monkey pushing the Swiffer mop around to pick up the feces it threw just moments ago, then stops, looks at the camera and chirps out, "WORKS GREAT!" Bam. Pure gold.
• Normally I put down what I'm listening to and all of that other shiite, but instead I'm just going to write down my current playlist -- and y'all can copy and assemble it yourselves. It's like I made a mixtape for all of you, because I love you that much. Except that guy. You, sir, are an asshole. The rest of you can enjoy!
  
  
  
  1. "My Home is the Sea" by Bonnie Prince Billy & Matt Sweeney
  2. "Existentialism on Prom Night" by Straylight Run
  3. "For the Widows in Paradise, For the Fatherless in Ypsilanti" by Sufjan Stevens
  4. "Anthems for a Seventeen Year Old Girl" by Broken Social Scene
  5. "Blood Red Summer" by Coheed & Cambria
  6. "Scared Straight with the Monarch" -- soundclip from The Venture Bros. Found here.
  7. "E-Pro" by Beck
  8. "King Eternal" by TV on the Radio
  9. "Sea Lion" by Sage Francis (feat. Will Oldham)
  10. "boysdontcry" by mc chris.
  11. "Get It Together" by The Go! Team
  12. "Seventeen Years" by Ratatat
  13. "Brock Promises Hank" -- soundclip from The Venture Bros. Also found here.
  14. "Bachelor Pad" by Fantastic Plastic Machine
  15. "Aguas de Marco" by Antonio Carlos Jobim
  16. "Panis Et Circenses" by Os Mutantes
  17. "Scarecrow" by Beck
  18. "She Drives Me Crazy" by Fine Young Cannibals
  19. "Hot Child in the City" by Nick Glider
  20. "Dressed Up" by Totally Radd!!
  21. "She's An Angel" by They Might Be Giants
  22. "Rock Opera of Franz Kafka" -- taken from Home Movies
  
  
  
• Just finished reading Augusten Burroughs's Magical Thinking. It's great, funny, and works well even if you haven't read Running with Scissors or Dry (I've read the former but not the latter). Currently I'm reading Haruki Murakami's Kafka on the Shore and Frank Miller's Sin City comic books.
• Speaking of which -- HOLY CARP! I'm trying to keep expectations low for this movie, so I don't suffer the slings & arrows of geek disappointment that came with the first X-Men and Spiderman. But that trailer just looks sick. Plus you throw in a pinch of quality Quentin Tarantino action, a dash of trying to revive Mickey Rourke's career (Barfly is a great movie, written by Bukowski no less), and top it all off by making it look so damn cool. There doesn't seem to be that much good stuff coming in the way of cool genre flicks. So this one will have to hold us over for awhile, nerdflock. Just a couple of months until Batman Begins. And then we can watch our DVD sets of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Firefly until Serenity comes out in September.
• But what about Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith? I hear the nonexistent majority cry out. It's going to suck. You know it is. And the worse case scenario of me saying it sucks and being proven wrong is that I get to keep the sliver of myself that still loves those movies alive for a while longer. George Lucas is one of the people who, if I met in real life, I would honestly have a long internal debate about whether or not I should punch him in the face. He would stand there, his ginormous extra chin poking me in the eye, daring me to make him pay for all of the injustices he's visited upon my dorky brethren. I probably wouldn't cuz I'm a polite fella, but I would most certainly give him the stink eye. So, Revenge of the Sith, eh? Let's see what you got. Bring on the tears, fanboys!

So that's about it from the Bunker. Hope y'all have a good weekend. Keep it real, real safe. And remember: no one has freckles on the ass, use a condom!

Thanks, Parrot!

postscript: if anyone sees Oldboy this weekend, let a brotha know what they think of it. It's supposed to be pretty good and grisly, and of course it's not playing anywhere near the butthole of the universe in which I live. *Sigh*

A-WHAT? OoooKAY!

This is Lil Jon in High School. Now he walks around with a pimp cup banging underage Cuban girls in Miami. The point is: There's Hope for All of Us.

Special thanks to Panthro aka Agent Ichi (see, now you sound like a rapper!)

News Flash: Bush Unveils New Pact with Mexico and Canada

Waco, Texas--
As reported here, President Bush has made a new pact with leaders from our two neighboring countries, Mexico and Canada. And while people may think that this "new pact" with President Vicente Fox and Prime Minister Paul Martin has something to do with immigration and economic issues, the true pact that was made is far more serious, sinister, and hilarious.

"Today, I, along with Presidente Fox and Prime Minister Martin, have made a pact to get laid before Prom!" President Bush told an expectant crowd in Waco, Texas this morning. After hours spent deliberating, and years being the laughing stock of United Nations High School, Bush and his two friends have decided to something about it. "We're all sick of being the virgins that everyone laughs at; I mean, I know I'm a Christian, but even I've got to have a little fun every now and then, right, Slim?"

President Vicente "Slim" Fox laughed and nodded in agreement. Speaking via translator, Fox described how the trio had planned a cross-continent road trip in Martin's mom's station wagon.

"We originally came together to talk about immigration and border patrolling," Fox recounts, "but then The Bushwhacker here was all 'Who's sick of being made fun of for being a virgin?' Well, Pauly sheepishly raised his hand, and I followed suit. Sure enough, here we are planning this giant trip."

"We're going to see the Grand Canyon!" PM Martin exclaimed. Clearly the over prepared, anal nerd of the group, Martin can't wait to make the trip to learn some very interesting, historical facts. "I didn't hear about this whole 'intercourse' part until now. I'm still more interested in the educational aspect of the trip. Plus I'll have a chance to look at some colleges, which is why my Mom is letting us use the Vista Cruiser."

"Ah, don't be so stiff, Pauly," President Bush declared. "WE'RE ALL GONNA GET LAID!"

The trip will start out in Montreal, ("Where the drinking age is totally lowered," Bush added) before snaking throughout the US, before ending up at Senor Frogs in Cancun, Mexico.

"We plan on having the best spring break ever: suds, sex, and of course it all culminates in a kickass concert by Good Charlotte. Omigod, do those guys rock!" Slim enthusiastically screamed like a little girl at the mention of the Maryland pop punk rockers.

"I believe in the transformational power of getting some trim on the side," The President said when asked about whether or not he will be successful in his mission to "get some" before prom. "Plus I own a timber company, so that invites a whole bunch of wood jokes. Wanna buy some wood? It's right here in my pants." The President then high-fived "Slim" Fox while Martin shook his head in disgust.

meanwhile, Vice President Dick Cheney has vowed to bring an end to this trip.

"It's time this President hunkered done and got to work," Cheney reported from one of his many secret bunkers. "The party is officially over. And it is my solemn vow that the President, currently on Triple Super Secret Probation, will be impeached before the end of this trip."

"I've heard Dick's...hehehehe, it never gets old...I've heard Dick's threats to stop my fun," Bush stated. "Well, let me say now: Bring it On. I'm going to get my nut, and if the Vice President or any other evildoers get in the way, they will get pranked! You have my promise on that."

While Bush, Fox, and Martin have promised a lot of madcap hilarity and even the occasional glimpse of teeter, nothing too crazy will occur.

"I did suggest that we go to one of the many fine underground whorehouses in lovely Tijuana," Fox admitted. "But the President wouldn't hear of it."

"I told him, 'No thanks, amigo.' I just want American tail -- no Latino vagino, por favor. Hehehe," Bush joked.

The trip plans on starting next week, and will hopefully provide everyone with some laughs, some shocking moments, and, as President Bush says, "maybe even a boner or two."

Just Like the Prodigal Son, I Returned

Anyone Steppin to Me, you'll get burned!

That's by House of Pain. They were a popular rap group. Meanwhile, back in the House of Pain that I call life, here's somethin fer youse guys:

Leading a sad, lonely, pathetic life as I do, I've managed to watch most Celebrity Porn tapes out there. I won't say all, cuz frankly, who has the time or resources? Besides, I'm sure as soon as I print this blog entry some crazy Wilmer Valderrama & Tootie from Facts of Life porn will surface. And it will be hot. A fiery hot potato of naughty sex. But, seeing as how I've viewed & reviewed so many infamous porns, allow me to drop some knowledge on all y'all celebrities what be wanting to make some drrty videos. Besides, maybe this will stop Jonathan Taylor Thomas from constantly emailing me for tips on his own home movies. For crying out loud, Jon, the last time we talked it was the 90s and you were somebody, okay? Don't talk to me until you come back into nostalgic vogue. Or at least pop up on one of those VH1 shows.

TIPS ON MAKING A GOOD CELEBRITY PORN

1) Be pretty.

No one wants to see Nell Carter doin it. Especially since she's dead. Is she dead? I think she is. Yeah, she died in 2003 (thanks IMDB, you've made me look less incompetent!). Anywhoski, the point is, do a couple of sit ups before the taping, maybe a nice yoga regiment, perhaps a pilates class or two. Get your hair done -- sure it will be all messed and gooey by the end of the taping, but let's put our best foot forward. And don't be afraid to use some pimple cream. No one wants to be distracted from your gaping cooter by a couple of wayward blackheads on your thigh. Clean it up, people. You're celebrities, for chrissakes! Put down the blow, pick up the Proactiv.

(Random sidenote: People have seen the Proactiv infomercial, right? Cuz if you haven't, you're lame! Holy Carp is this thing funny. First off, you have Jessica Simpson taking time off from her crumbling sham of a marriage and crappy dayjob music career to talk about her zits, and then you have Alicia Keys talking about fighting acne like it's the end of Apartheid. And finally--the piece de resistance--is P. Puffy Diddy Daddy Combs himself. With these IMMORTAL words of wisdom that not only shill some zit cream, but also solidifies his street cred: "I'm just letting all the brothas out there know, of all nationalities, that you've got to keep your skin game on point. The bumps just aren't makin it." Do you hear that? That's the sound of a nation dropping to its knees to thank God On High for such hilarious unintentional comedy. Gracias, Zeus! All right, back to the sleaze.)

2) You're a Big Star, right?

There's pumps, pills, potions, and people who can help you grow big before the shoot ("fluffers"). Once again, this is a matter of you having the means to improve, so why not go the extra effort? And don't give me the whole "it was for a private collection" bullshit. You and I both know that just means until your weekly syndicated series about crimesolving longshoremen (Dock Detectives) gets canceled and E! refuses to do your life story. Then it's time to open the vault and leak out a little bit of you doin some other relative unknown. So since we all know this is gonna happen, let's put our best face, er, HEAD forward, okay gents? I know, everyone is in the shadow of Tommy Lee. Literally. But that doesn't mean you can't try and compete. When Shaq rolls up for a basketball game, the other players don't just go home; they find a way to shine on their own. On the other hand, I'm sure Shaq has a huge wang.


3.) TURN OFF THE MUTHAFUCKIN TV!

Yeah, it's kinda funny that Chris Rock and Pat Sajak get to be sidenotes to all of these little celebrity carnal romps. But really it's annoying. Just turn it down. It's not that hard. Obviously you already know you're going to do it, that's why you have the camera with the special lens on you. You don't need background noise. Unless you're asthmatic or make weird queefing sounds. Cuz that's just not appetizing for anyone. Seriously, it's gross. Get help now.


4) Location, Location, Location!

In the land of Celebornography, the camera man is king. Obviously, it's going to be a small crew type situation; "intimate", I believe, is the term. But still, we've all seen America's Home Videos and many of you involved have jobs where "Cameraman" isn't the name of some pathetic superhero, but actually a succinct description of a person's job. So you know and understand the basic principles of cinematography: If you point the camera at something and record it, that's what you're going to see on TV. So if you noticed that during the throes of passion you found yourself staring at the small of your partner's back for a good 8 minutes, maybe you need to do another take. Remember people, you need TOTAL coverage! I know what some of you are thinking: Tripod. Yeah, a camera stand can work well...if you and your partner remember the blocking. It's hard to cheat towards the camera when you have someone stuck on your dong like barnacle on a oceanliner. Just keep the audience in mind, that's all I'm asking. And even if you want to cling to that "private library" smokescreen, just think of it this way--is it really hot to watch 7 minutes of the back of your head bobbing up and down like a speed metal fan on cocaine? No? Well, we're not diggin it either. Oh, and seeing flabby guy asses isn't the biggest turn on, either. Give us the teeters, give us the bugged out eyes of a starlet, and will someone give us a moneyshot? It's a porno, for god's sake, not a Lifetime Original Movie starring Meredith Baxter-Birney!


5) Make Your Porno Work For You

Why have no celebrities used product placement in their pornos? You can always use another source of income, if only to finance another shoddily made skinflick. So next time you're videotaping you and your love "bumpin uglies" why not do it on a nice comforter from Ikea? Or how about using Trojan brand condoms? Where are you hiding the salami, at the Marriott or the Hilton? What type of alcohol got you so drunk that you actually let the homely guy videotape this? Skyy? Grey Goose? Jose Cuervo? Jagermeister? There's an untapped market out there for Porno Advertising. Don't be left behind. And, on the flip side, for all of you anti-captalist millionaires out there, the Susan Sarandon/Tim Robbins antiestablishment clique: use your gross naked flesh to your advantage -- Do it on Wal-Mart sheets, or talk about Bush's new Energy Bill while you're thumping the hedges. Suddenly everyone will associate these conglomerates and conservative agenda items with the sight of your doodle smacking the face of your "longtime companion" and won't be nearly as supportive as before.


6) Lastly, Have Fun With It.

At the end of the day, it's your porno -- so make it your own. If it feels like a chore, it's gonna look like a chore. We watch your tapes to be entertained and to fill in for our own pathetic love lives. Make it worth it. How about some dialogue? We all enjoyed the endearing romanticism of the "Do you love loving me, lover?" talk of Pammy and Tommy. And of course there's the hilarious banter like "Fuck Your Phone!" and "Show'em your pretty face" of the Paris Hilton tapes. That's what made those tapes so incredible and memorable: they had personality. Everyone's seen tits, asses, and dicks before. People want to believe that somehow the naughty bits and sweaty practices of Hollywood types are a little more fantastic than regular fluid swappin'. Make them believe again; they want to, and they're looking to you for help. And we've all seen missionary and doggy style done to death. Don't you have anything else to bring to the party? How about Reverse Cowgirl? A little Dirty Sanchez? Maybe a Donkey Punch* or two? Stand out. Define yourself apart from the rest of the drugged out, braindead young Hollywood crew. How about a soundtrack that's not a laughtrack on a rerun of "Cheers"? Show your sensitive side with a little James Taylor or Al Green; maybe seem hip and cool with a little Christina Aguilera or The Zutons; creep people out by blaring Raffi or Gwar. Mix up the narrative of your homegrown porn; maybe throw in some drama: "You didn't want me to stick that in there? What are we gonna do about it?" The point is that your porno reflects who you are as a person and as a sexual deviant -- it's your time to shine. Seize it.

Well, I hope these tips help all of you out there. Remember, unless you're a dimwitted college student living in the San Fernando Valley, a confused immigrant with big teeters, or a person with a modicum of celebrity, no one wants to see your porno. So get out there, American Celebrities, and make your parents wish they were dead!



*For more information on Donkey Punching, please go here or consult your local librarian.

Stow the 'tude, queenie!

Hey y'all.

Here, for no one's enjoyment, is my review of Beck's latest album, Guero. It comes out March 29, 2005 from Geffen records. Y'all should pick it up, if you're into that kind of thing. Anywhoski, hope all is well with you. You look nice. Is that a new shirt? No? Well, you look good in it. Have a good day!

Looking back on the work of musical chameleon Beck, it’s easy to classify and define his albums by the alcohol that accompanies listening to them. Odelay can chronicle a night of barhopping binge-drinking madness, avoiding the darkened dive bars for the frantic energy of the discotheque, all while jumping with wild abandon from drink to drink with no thought about tomorrow morning. Mutations—a subdued album tinged with Brasilica arrangements—is enjoyed through refreshing margaritas and some reflective conversation with close friends. Midnite Vultures is the soundtrack to the grinding bodies and drowned out conversations of a keg party, plastic cups filling over with innuendos and hedonism. Sea Change, Beck’s somber album detailing his recent heartbreak, plays in the background as one drowns his sorrows inside of a lonely glass of scotch. And now comes Guero, his latest, that easily doubles as mood music for the next cocktail party at any self-respecting hipster’s apartment, complete with ironically placed tchotchkes and winking references.

Guero finds Beck re-teaming with the Dust Brothers, the production team behind the scatterbrained brilliance of Beck’s Odelay. And while his last album may have been a meditation on lost love, Beck’s newest evokes the everything-but-the-kitchen-sink genre-bending attitude of Odelay and Midnite Vultures while keeping some echoes of the maturity and world-weariness displayed on Sea Change.

The opening song “E-Pro” kicks off with driving, raucous beats and a gritty guitar that is reminiscent of The Go! Team, but is wholly Beck’s own invention complete with his postmodern spin on anything familiar. Like the rest Guero, “E-Pro” is infused with pop sensibilities; it was born a Pop song, but once Beck gets a hold of it he turns it into something different, unique, and incredibly entertaining. Scattered throughout this song is the taunting cry of “Na Na Na”, almost a lighthearted teasing amongst the bombastic percussion and strutting lyrics. Beck has sprinkled similar monosyllabic refrains throughout these songs, utilizing the “Na Na Na”s, “Doo Doo Doo”s, and “La La La”s, that familiar nonsensical vocabulary of Pop, to represent a happily indifferent attitude to the insanity around him.

The familiar thumping beat of techno and hip-hop is present once more in Beck’s music—pushing the song and listener to some unknown destination. Laid over these drums is either a few raw and gritty chords or else a twangy guitar that evokes an early recording session at Sun Records. It’s clearly not dance music, but don’t tell that to Beck. Nowhere is this more evident than in the song “Scarecrow” which starts off sounding like Thriller-era Michael Jackson before slipping into that Southern fried guitar. The whole song resembles a honky tonk “Jumpin Jack Flash” by way of Berry Gordy’s Hitsville, USA.

It’s not just the eclectic arrangements that work so well, but also Beck’s famously and oddly woven lyrics. His lyrical abilities took on absurdist proportions in the ironical rap-speak of Midnite Vultures. Those tendencies return in some songs, like the amusing posturing found in “E-Pro” (“talking trash to the garbage around you”) and “Hell Yes” (“looking for shelter through juxtaposition”). But mostly it appears as if Beck has something other than frivolity on his mind. He mentions souls, devils, and angels, almost in passing, in most of his songs, collapsing the mundane with the profound in one easy couplet. Many of Guero’s songs also detail some form of journey, either an existential one or simply just going to the local fair. These recurring themes paint a surreal picture of an every man on an incidental quest to find and preserve his immortal soul.

Guero is an odd album, in that it is at once an overview of Beck’s previous work while simultaneously forging a new sound and face for the talented performer. His ealier albums are found within the tracks on Guero—the rump shaking beats of Midnite Vultures, the breakneck energy of Odelay, the melancholic latin influence of Mutations, and the introspective musings of Sea Change are all present and often combined with one another. But they are much more than the simple sum of their parts. It appears like Beck attempted to write the score for a postmodern Spaghetti western that will never be made, and succeeded in creating the lackadaisical soundtrack of the summer for all hipsters, seekers, and fellow wanderers for years to come.

4.5 out of 5

Because He's MY Butler!

Ahoy-hoy.

Haven't written for a while. Been busy ruminating on the various mini-tragedies of my tiny life. I love that word "ruminating" it sounds so gothic and epic, although whenever it pertains to me, it tends to just be sad and nerdy. Alack alas. Anywhoski, there's a bunch of new stuff I want to post and discuss and all that. But first, mustn't be rude. Inland, Dreaming asked me a bunch o' questions, and I'd be remiss if I didn't answer them. So here we go.

What kind of person would make you want to live past 33?

The type of person that accepts that I want to die at age 33? Just kidding -- kinda. I'm trying to repress the instinct to just give Snappy Answers and glib remarks. Um, as for the type of person, I assume you mean a romantic partner. Because if a Costumed Superhero enlisted me in his neverending crusade against crime, I'd sign up even if the tour of duty was longer than eleven years. Ditto a real Messiah (or at the very least a cool one that does party tricks and has hot groupies). So what's the ideal girl that would keep me teeming with joie de vivre? She would be smart; and not just book smarts but also pop culture savvy. There's nothing worse than constantly bombing when making references, especially if you're spending a lot of time with this unresponsive audience. I want to make a quick "Calvin & Hobbes" or Velvet Underground joke and not worry about getting a swirly from my girlfriend. But I don't want/need her to be a total PopCult Dork like myself; as a vehement self-loather, I'm not looking to date me. There's a great excitement to exposing secret loves to people you know; letting them hear that new song that you can't wait to blast on your stereo, or watching as they get engrossed in the film you love so dearly.

What else? Honest but not blunt. Respectable but not prudish or square-ish. Nonjudgmental but also not afraid to offer her opinion. Someone that needs to hear and say "I love you" to me before we get off the phone. A girl not afraid to give a private lapdance, but not a total freakadeak that intimidates me in the bedroom. She needs to be able to take a joke and make good ones, too. We don't have to be Lucy & Desi, but still there should be something in our repartee. Someone I can sit in a room with, both of us reading or doing our own thing, and not feel the need to talk to her or for her to talk to me. Just be comfortable. A woman I can wake up to, look at her face, and feel reassured about my day, instead of the cold recollection of all that's going wrong that usually greets me in the morning. Beautiful eyes that seduce me every time she looks at me "that way". Plus Agent X: that unnamed variable, that cliched spark that just makes smiling easier, has to be there. Money and a hoverbike never hurt, either.

What nervous habits do you hate in other people? What does your hatred say about them and you?

I don't know if it counts as nervous habit, but I hate when people take forever to say something. Be it they are longwinded or are easily distracted, I need you to Get to the Damned Point Already. So much of my life is spent meandering, just wandering around and not really having any grounded goal or direction. But you put me in front of these people, and all of sudden it's like I'm a Man About Town who has got things to do and people to see (usually I don't have either). I become impatient and just need their words to spring forth from their mouths less like molasses from a jar and more like beer at a High School Kegger. It says I'm partially impatient with people; that I like to think that I'm succinct -- which, given the length of most of my posts, it's quite obvious I'm not.

Other nervous habits that I can't stand is whenever people repeat certain phrases at the end of sentences over and over. For example: "Y'know?" or its petulant cousin, "Y'know what I mean?" If you add any illegal substances to energetic talkers, you tend to have to endure this experience a lot. I guess it means I don't like repetition? But that's not really what it's about. I just don't like fillers. You don't have to stall for time, and it's not an essay with a minimum word count -- you can say whatever you want. It's more like my version of Chinese Water Torture, only coked-up and wearing a lot of cover up, and never blinking.

You spot your perfect lover across and room and walk over. What does PL say?

"Wow, you look hot in that Venture Bros. shirt."
(No sarcasm. And yes, it's gotten to the point where I reference my own sad blog. Woe unto this land.)

OR

"Um, just another Cosmo for me. What do you want, Cheryl?"
(Cuz I'm the waiter in this scenario. C'est la my vie.)

It really depends on the room. What's going on? Is it a bar? Is music playing? Is she alone? Am I? So many unanswered questions. Mainly I would just want an invite to talk to her, and also a sign that she smokes cigarettes. Maybe a joke. A quip that's clever, but not hurtful. I'm sensitive.

What's the best thing anyone has ever said to you and why?

This is actually the question I wrestled with the most.

Do I go with something funny someone once said to me that has stuck with me through the years? Like the unintentional hilarity of my Junior High Science Teacher telling me all about his vasectomy? I decided against it. And you should all be thanking me.

Do I go with something that has always stayed with me and spin it like it's funny or profound? For example, when I was in 7th grade and about to buy some new Ski equipment, my friend informed me that "You need to try on boots. Because sometimes, boots don't fit." I've always looked at that line like a personal Zen Koan from my life, a "Gumpism" that I was lucky enough to witness. Or talk about the "innocent-to-her-but-actually-really-mean-and-inappropriate" words that my mother told me after I got dumped by an ex girlfriend. Or how I was called "Jewbag" at Catholic school, while I'm not actually Jewish.

But in the end, and this may be seen as a cop out by my invisible audience of cynics, the answer was pretty clear.

Any time anyone said that they loved me, and meant it, was the best.

We all throw around the nonromantic "I love you" a lot, sometimes out of forced etiquette and/or relations. It's such a jaded and dark world we live in where really, more often than not, people are just abandoned and left to vanish into their own obscurity and depression whilst life continues unabaded and uncaring. What connections we make are frayed and weak, often destroyed by simple geography or phone bills. Suddenly, that kid who was your best friend when you were growing up has become a complete stranger that you think about only on those rare, random occasions when all of your other anxieties have fled your brain. But every time that you hear those simple words, "I Love You" and know that the person means it, it's extraordinary.

And I don't mean you know it because it's said at the proper time or elicited during a recognized moment when love should be expressed. Lots of time people will just say "I Love You" to fill that awkward chasm that only a close relationship can create between two people. But when you hear those words, and you feel the concern, the caring, the sense that they support you and their lives are totally entwined with yours, for good or ill, it's just the best. It's corny. It's cliched, and it's expressed in a thousand bad pop songs and even in a couple of good ones, but Love is such a great thing. It's really the only reason to continue, the form of salvation readily available to an atheistic people numbed from the abuse that daily life heaps upon them. Those words act like glimpses into an impossible, but somehow very probable, future where everything is all right because you're not alone. Which I like.

Still, it was a very close race with the Boots line.

If you had a spirit guide, what would it be?

Probably a drunken homeless man with a Masters degree in English, constantly screaming "I'M YOUR FUTURE! I'M YOUR FUTURE!" And then starts to cry himself to sleep in my dreams while I'm trying to mack it with Kelly Kapowski.

Or maybe a suicidal Squirrel that prays for the sweet relief only Michellin can bring to its tiny cabeza.

All kidding aside, I used to be really into New Age-y stuff. One time, I had these Medicine Cards. Do any of y'all know what I'm talking about? So they had this thing where you figured out what your spirit guide animal was. I think mine was either a Bear or a Frog or something. Clearly it wasn't anything cool like the Snake, Eagle, or Coyote.But if I had to guess what my spirit guide would be, it would probably be Spiderman. Yeah, I'm that much of a nerd, and the irony is that I'm not even that big of a Spiderman fan. But here's a guy who always has to make difficult choices, and sometimes he screws up and makes a bad decision. Not only that, but he has to deal with an assload of annoying mundane bullshit -- all without using his superstrength to kill someone because they won't shut up about the missing toner in the copy machine. And above it all, he tolerates all of these hardships, all of the annoyances and tragedies that afflict his life, because he has ideals -- antiquated notions of Justice, and Duty, and Responsibility are what guide him through his life. And he does it all while saying funny little quips and wearing really sad tights, without even a suggestion of shame. Gotta respect that.

So either him or William S. Burroughs -- cuz it might as well be some batshit crazy dude giving me advice. Plus he lived enough lives for all of us in just one lifetime.


So there ya go. Hope this helps flesh me out. I'm an insecure, lonely, impatient, sentimental, romantic nerd that wishes he could do "whatever a spider can." Hope y'all are having a good day!

It's the Final Countdown...for me, at least.

I'm dying. Wow, I feel very "Raymond Chandler chainsmoking Pall Malls at a speakeasy while a platinum blonde winks at me from the corner stool" typing those two words. But it's true. I will be dead.

Unfortunately, the gusto is taken away from that statement when I tell you how much time I've got on this dingy rock. I've got approximately 10 years and 11.9 months before I shuffle off this mortal coil.

Allow me to explain...

Today is my 23rd birthday. I ask that no one mention this if you do comment on this post. I didn't always hate birthdays, but like most "special days" (Holidays, vacations, snow days) I've come to hate it over the years as it has yielded nothing but bitter fruit. I mean, there are exceptions -- there always are -- but by and large my birthday tends to be a giant disappointment. This one looks to blend in with the rest of its ilk, forgotten and passed over like so much Fredo Corleone.

But why would an insignificant day that I hate spell doom for me? Why are the shadows that the birthday candles cast actually funeral shrouds? This story begins about 8 years ago, on an innocent phone conversation. We were talking vaguely about the future, college, where people are going to end up: who's gonna sell out and become neutered domestics, who's gonna die of a drug overdose, who's gonna get pregnant, and who's disappear forever from our little social circle, etc.

And then the topic swung around to me. A charming little fact about all of my friends is that they all believe in me. I think it's because they're drunk and/or high most of the time, so to them anything's possible -- I'll be successful, The Hamburglar will be brought to justice, Jake Gyllenhaal wil come out of the closet; it's all within reach of actuality. Unfortunately for them, I wander this earth like a man cursed by karmic justice from a previous life I don't even remember (and if I'm this cursed, don't I deserve to remember the fun my Evil Self had? Don't I?). This dark view of myself and my life keep me rather grounded and pragmatic, with only occasional dips in the pools of cynicism. So that being the general state of my mind, my friend tells me all about how I'll be really successful and rich, and finally happy. I countered by saying that I'll probably be dead by age 33. Now I should point out that I just randomly picked that age: I really didn't know that was the death age of Christ or John Belushi, and it was before Chris Farley died. So by random osmosis I chose this age that meant doom for 3 of my ideological idols. I always assumed it was because the only number I knew (and pretty much still know) in sports was Larry Bird's. I mean, I knew Cam Neely was 08, but that would've have been impossible at that point. Unless I died in some bizarre time traveling incident, but let's not go off on a tangent. So back to the sitination at hand, I proclaimed my death to happen when I was 33.

Why? Do I have a Death Wish? Yes, slightly, but no more than your average, bored honky that tends to be somewhat morbid and depressed. If anything it's because I didn't want to get any older, I didn't want to settle into life. "Live fast, die young, and leave a good looking corpse." Well, I wanted to achieve one of those things: it's hard for an asthmatic nerd to live fast. And I can only leave the mortician with what I've got; can't blame the sculpter for being given bad clay. But I wanted to die young. I knew the respectable, suit and tie in a cubicle life wasn't for me. I just don't have the stamina for such a life, not nearly responsible or intelligent enough for it. Plus, if I ever had to go a place where people stockpiled "Kathy" or "Ziggy" cartoons, or Troll Dolls, or clever little mousepads....well, let's just say a lot of other people would be dying young.

I don't think getting older is a big deal if you're the type of person who is generally happy, or at the very least getting laid on a regular basis. But, for the most part, I'm a rather solitary fellow. Latchkey kid whose older sisters were too old and girlie to hang out with their nerdy younger brother, who also never really got a group of friends in high school until it was time to leave (due to moving or graduation), mine has been usually a lonely life. And I gotta say, after spending 23 years with myself, there's no way I can spend 23 more years with just me. It ain't gonna happen. I hate me. I try and avoid myself all the time, like an annoying cousin that I have to entertain. It's horrible. I turn around, BAM!, there I am.

Also, there should be incentives to getting older. Of course, some people will say that you gain wisdom, experiences, you learn how to do things better and to see the world more clearly. That's all nice in theory, but it's like when parents tell you that your Christmas present is "unconditional love": sure, it's a nice thing, but you can't tie a bow around it or show it off until you break it. As you grow older, there are special birthdays -- 13th, when you first become a teenager (or in some religions, a man); 16th, when you are on the road to getting your license and tasting freedom; 18th, when you can vote, smoke, look at some porn, and (probably) graduate from high school; 21st, when you can pass out in the comfort of a public restroom, and urinate on the tires of cop car. and then after that...it starts to get kind of lame.

At age 25 you're allowed to rent a car.

At 30, um...it's a milestone. Nothing changes, it's just seen as being older. Same with 40. At 45 you start to qualify for AARP benefits. 50's one of those amazing milestone birthdays that people marvel at. And it's at those later years that we realize that all birthdays are just a celebration of cheating death.

"Happy Birthday, Joey; once again, you were able to elude a vicious Bear Mauling for an entire year! Congrats!"

But like I said, there should be incentives. At random ages. So people look forward to getting older. Just like with drinking and driving and porn, there should be something allowed to people as they age. For example, at age 37, you are allowed to tell people their kid is ugly. It's understood and accepted. Let a 28 year old try to get away with it, and they are bastards. But if you do it, it's OK. Or, at age 44, a person is given a federally funded gorilla, lion, shark, falcon, or bear (depending on their geographical location). How great would that be?

"Happy 43rd, Bob! Just one more year till you get the lethal animal companion of your choice!"
"Do you think I've forgotten? Oh my god I can't wait for my Lion. I'm going to name him Lioncles the Mighty. He's totally going to eat my neighbor's dogs. But that's okay, cuz that douchebag told me my kid was ugly."

That's something to live for. Plus, such an abundance of deadly animals would also greatly increase how impressed people would be on your birthday. "With all of these Gorillas and Sharks around, Nancy, we're really impressed you made it to 58. Here's your brick of hash!"

I'm just saying, let's put some more expectation and excitement back into life. Let's stop seeing birthdays as relative to our deaths, let's stop ticking down the moments to when we're going to die, and start anticipating when we're going to get a laser cannon, or an army of zombies. Wonder is in such depressing shortage in this world that sometimes we have to manufacture our own. As much as I'm all about the whole "recognize the beauty and amazement around us", sometimes we need to inject some absurdity and craziness into our lives. And maybe that's what I'll do with my remaining 4,007 days try and restore some of that wonder back into our lives. Or at least bitch about it enough until someone else does.

So please people, no mention of my birthday -- unless it is accompanied by nude photographs.

Can you answer? Yes, I can. But what will be the answer to the Answer Man?

The gauntlet has been thrown. A challenge has been given, and I intend to answer it -- with vigor. Over at Sex Scenes at Starbucks, Sex has issued mulitple questions to a bunch of us, myself included. Well, here are the questions and the answers, enjoy!

1. Want to write a book? If so, fiction or non? Story-based or theme-based?

If that's an offer I completely and totally accept. Yes, I would love to write a book. I once wrote about 58 pages of one when I was a senior in high school before it was wiped out completely due to a mismanagement of back up copies and Computer Virus. But yeah, as probably can be gleamed by my verbose style and tendency to take shiite on me blog a lil too seriously, I want to be a writer. Besides all of the fantastic jobs of Superhero, Time Traveler, and Spy, writer was one of the earliest jobs I always wanted. Well, first was Marine Biologist, but that's just cuz I was fascinated by whales and sharks. And then I realized me noggin's not made for the sciences, so I drifted towards writing. Now I want to be more of a screenwriter with some dabbling in print. I know at this point I need to excise the phrase "When I grow up..." from my daily usage, and I'm working on it. I lean more towards fiction, but I do enjoy the non-fictional personal essay (found in the work of Vowell, Sedaris, Rakoff, and Augusten Burroughs). When writing fiction, I tend to concentrate more on narrative, and then I decide on what the overall theme will be. Or I first depict a scene or a character in my head and go from there. Riveting stuff, this writer talk. As of now, I'm mainly concentrating on short films and also on small personal essays, and I'm trying to get funding to start a nonfiction book about the American Nerd experience and how it's slowly hijacking pop culture. Glayven!


2. How much money would it take for you to not work, and how would you fill your time?

Is that a question about my daily budget or something? Um...do you mean "if you won the lottery" type situation? It wouldn't be much. I just need a place to stay, food, and enough to support my addiction to music, movies, and books. I would fill my time by traveling and writing. I guess in my head, I never consider writing as work. My philosophy says that if I can do it in my boxers while smoking a cigarette or enjoy a drink, then it's not really work.

3. Or, could you not work? What would you do instead?

I would roam the earth, solving problems for folk. I really would love to travel. Or get a job working on a trawler for a few weeks. Something like that. I need something to occupy my time.

4. What is your most compulsive habit?

Aside from masturbation and cigarettes (both of which I've pretty much kicked by now...or at least are so infrequently done that it's not a habit anymore), I would say either rolling my eyes or swearing.

I tend to roll my eyes when I talk, especially when I'm answering a question. It's an odd compulsive tic that I don't even know is happening. It usually means people think I'm being dismissive and pretentious -- which I am anyways, but still they don't have to think that. But yeah, I do it all the time. It kinda looks like I'm about to enter into a seizure, but only once I'm done proving my point. A conscientious seizure.

And I cuss like it's going out of style. Seriously, I sound like a kid with tourrettes. I just love the way swears sound. FUCK. CUNT. COCK. DOUCHEBAG. Well the last two aren't swears, but you get the idea. I try and curb it as much as possible, but I love the swearin'!

5. What is your most facinating pastime and how much do you partake?

I really don't even know what a pasttime is. I assume it's a conlfation of the phrase "Pass the Time", and then it was coopted by baseball so people wouldn't notice all of the racism and whoremongering that was going on. My most interesting ones are kayaking and frisbee golf ("frolf" to the uninitiated). Not that interesting. I tried thinking of others, but I'm not sure exactly what constitutes a "pasttime". That's kinda where being slightly schizophrenic comes in -- you make your own fun. The world is boring, but my head there's always something goin on. I usually only do the first two when it's warm outside, and even then not terribly frequently.

So there. Any other bloggers out there want some questions? Then just post a comment and I shall ask away. Keep it real, G.

Accidental Haiku

While describing my current situation in an email to mi amigo Ichi-san, I accidentally realized I was writing something that rhymed. Even weirder was that I had the first two lines of a haiku. So only the last line was changed to feet the scansion and the rhyme. It's crap, but I just think the randomness is funny. Enjoy, muthafuckers!


You see Life for me
is as it always should be:
going horribly.

"We're Off on the Road to Jerusalem!"

When I first entered college, I had four majors I was very much interested in: philosophy, English, film, and Religion. I eventually went with English because I figured that was a vague enough degree to ensure me a job at any type of institution after graduation. Throw that assumption into the pile of "Wrong Fucking Answers". You'll notice that next to it stands another pile that is also very tall; this is the pile of theological questions, and it was the impetus for my interest in Religion as a major and a subject matter.

I was raised in the (Protestant) Church; as a child I went to Sunday School and Church; did bible readings; I went to Vacation Bible School (VBS represent!) during the summer, and later Christian Camp when I was a preteen. Around age 15 I went to the Covenant High in Christ (CHiC) youth gathering in Fort Collins, CO; surrounded by the teeming masses of hormonal teenagers with giant hard-ons for God, I gave myself over to Christ. Turns out I just loaned my soul to him for a weekend. To be fair, he didn't fuck it up or anything, and it came back in relatively the same fashion as before. It wasn't a bitter divorce betwixt Jehovah and myself, but instead an amicable separation: I still believe in (lower case "h") him, just not as the son of god; I believe that his message (Love thy neighbor) is pure and true -- I believe that the majority of his messengers, however, are judgmental pricks who wouldn't know the gospel if they were beating a black gay man with it. In exchange, Jesus gets to smite and curse me occasionally. We laugh and enjoy a few beers, a sort of love/hate relationship built on mistrust and anxiety. Good times all around.

The reason why I bring this all up is because it's important to not only show my background in Christianity, but that I'm also not about bashing people's religions. Whatever you believe in is fine by me, Kool Breeze -- just don't force it on me, and don't hurt other people. (Simple as that, really.) And all of this background, studying and digesting Christianity and its texts, always lead to so many questions. As long as you're nominally intelligent, not easily placated, and unsatisfied with the life around you, organized religion acts as one of the greatest springboards for Existential Questions. That's one of the great things about other religions, like Judaism where Rabbis are encouraged (sometimes forced) to ask questions about the Talmud and the Torah. Or the meditative koans of Zen Buddhism that are meant to exercise the mind and soul like a spiritual Thighmaster. Even Jesus, in the Gospels, fielded a few questions in his day, and asked a bunch of his own to the Pharisees and the Romans. So questioning is good, without it we'd never know how to get someplace, or what the other person is having for lunch, or new and fun ways to better please our sexual partners.
Well, one of my many questions has really come back to me in recent days. Can't think of any good reason for its return, but it just keeps repeating, like a loop of a 5 year old on a cross country car ride that demands to know "are we there yet?" So I thought to myself, "why not fill up precious finite cyberspace with this query?"

How come Jesus never laughs?

He smiles at people. He (famously) weeps. He curses God, Pharisees, money changers, Wealthy people, sinners, demons, and the Romans. He screams. He sings. He preaches. He lectures. He tells stories and performs miracles. He saves lives and shows the power of God. He resurrects a dead man and rescues the souls of countless sinners about him. He even goes batshit on the moneylenders. But not once does he laugh. What up wit dat?

So God becomes flesh. Okay. He wants to experience life as a person; all of the ups and downs, he needs to feel pain, and love, and see the misery, and feel the nails in his wrists, and the blood from his crown of thorns. I get it. But isn't part of the human experience laughter? Was Jerusalem and Bethlehem and everything else on the "Jesus & The Disciples 0000 A.D. Tour" really so depressing that no one ever makes a joke? Was he just that lame?

I'd like to think my God has a funnybone; at least, that's really the only justification for most of the absurdity and cruelty of this world. The church calls it "mysterious ways," but I call it a dark sense of humor. And even if he doesn't, even if all of the universe and existence does follow a plan and it's all superserious and important -- still, you gotta laugh every once in a while. Then again, this was the God that was really jealous about other idols and had a whole thing against pork. Maybe he is that cold and anal. I guess when you have to decide the fate of every soul, whether or not it's pure or damned, a few giggles every now and then might seem like a big deal. After all, most of the funny people I know tend to be really big sinners -- that's why they always have the good stories. You sin, you fuck up, you laugh about it and tell an interesting story over some runny eggs. It's hard for an infallible God to sin and/or fuck up, so really there's no jokes coming there.

But what about the Disciples? Could you follow and constantly hang out with someone that didn't laugh? "He can raise the dead but he can't ask for directions? Oh lighten UP, Christ!" That's probably why when we're fed up with bullshit we scream out "JESUS CHRIST!" Because that's exactly what the apostles did: "Yo, son of god -- howzaboot you miracle us up some women? Hahahaha...It was a joke, Jesus. Yes, I know sex before marriage is a sin. It was a joke! Jesus Christ!" Maybe the Crucifixion wasn't a party that got out of hand, as Lenny Bruce asserts, but instead a practical joke that went BOINK! Judas was trying to teach his mentor a lesson about letting his messianic hair down and having a good time, and then oops! "Hey, Jesus -- you just got Punk'd! Jesus? Jesus? Oh crap. Someone jab him with that spear, see if he wakes up. Not good."

Fine, he never laughs in the Bible. There's a lot of miniscule action that Jesus probably did that never got recorded. There's no writing of his developing hay fever, or a bunyon from all the walking, or burping after The Last Supper, or farting and blaming it on Peter. But how about tell a joke. How come Jesus never tells a funny anecdote or an amusing analogy to his followers? Mustard seed this, shepherd that, it's all very Martha Stewart Living. Almost every great speaker knows that you need to use humor now and then; all the great leaders show softer sides of their personas, especially if they're trying to humanize yourself (which I'm pretty sure that's what the immaculate conception was all about...or it was a football thang, I always forget). I mean, I don't expect the Sermon on the Mount or that time in Gethsemane to be a barrel of laughs, you got a T shaped noose hanging around your head. Stress like that tends to kill any party. But how great would it have been to see Jesus in front of a huge people, proclaiming to them all:

"I am the way, the truth, and the light. He who believeth in me shall live eternally in the kingdom of Heaven....And what's the deal with airline food? Am I right people? It makes Communion wafers look like Girl Scout Cookies! Hi-yooooo! I tell ya, Galilee crowds are the best in the world!"

Even though I'm a sworn agnostic, who reaches more often for Sartre & Camus than for the New Testament, I tend to be the one that defends Christianity to my friends. Whenever a new Church scandal breaks out, or some Konservative Kristian Koalition gets together to boycott some trivial bullshit, I chirp up and say "Well, that's not really 'what Jesus would do'. That's the church, not Christianity." He would spread love, tolerance, and understanding. My take on Jesus is always summed up by his own eleventh commandment, the one commandment he wanted his disciples to follow:
I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know you are my disciples, if you have love for one another. (John 13:34-5)
And love is harder than laughter. To inspire people is more important than to get a chuckle at a poop joke. To change the world is probably a more pressing matter than to finely hone your "You might be leper..." routine. And I know there's a lot of inconsistencies and falsehoods in the Bible, and maybe this is just some ecumenical proofreading or something. But still, it would have been nice if the writers of the Bible had given Jesus a couple of zingers. Or at least a giggle or two. I tend to think that Humanity is more exemplified when we're doubled over in laughter than when we're doubled over in pain.

But then again, I drink a lot. So there's that...

Fuck Aspirations.

I'm not a goal-oriented person. That is to say, there are things that I want, achievements I aspire for, but really I'm more about the here and now (and how much the here and now blows) than I am about my future. Truth be told, I plan to be dead within 7-10 years -- and with your support, I'll reach that goal! But before I do leave this prolonged pratfall I call life, there are some things I would like to do (and if anyone reading this has the ability to help a brotha out, it would be much appreciated):

1) Have sex to Ravel's "Bolero".

Yes, I know sex has been a recurring theme, lately, in my (and, evidently, others') blog. But this is totally different from those whiny laments of mine. In this, there's the presupposition that I'm going to have sex, and on that occasion I would like to be listening to Ravel's "Bolero". I think we all have those songs that we either a) want to bone to, or 2) love sexing to. For me, one of my proudest sexual achievements is enjoying sex whilst listening to "Let's Get it On" performed by -- here's the twist -- Jack Black off the High Fidelity soundtrack. It was a good moment to be a nerd like meself. Also, having sex with the Lovage CD as the accompaniment was pretty geektastic. You take a group and album that was created for nerds to have sex to, and then a nerd gets to have sex to it...well that's just a tiny slice o' Elysium. There's been some missed opportunities, of course. I never got to have sex to any of the songs off of NIN's Downward Spiral, except for "Hurt", which is another music/sex team-up that I long for. Does anyone remember the song "Never Gonna Get It (My Love)" by En Vogue? I would like to bump uglies with that in the background, if only because I feel the antagonistic lyrics would make pull out all the stops. If there's one thing I enjoy, it's proving Funky Divas wrong. Other Songs to make sweet love to? "Pistolero" by Juno Reactor, "Playground Love" by Air (that's only on the condition that I'm on Acid...cuz how fucked up would that be? Very. And cool.) Ummm....the entire album Thunder, Lightning, Strike by The Go! Team; "East Hastings" by Godspeed You! Black Emperor; "Sinfonia" from The Barber of Seville; and "Change (House of Flies)" by The Deftones, cuz that song would be SO hot. Especially with a cute goth chick. (Down, boy!)

2) Get in a Physical Fight over Honor.

I don't think my honor's been impugned. I mean, I don't know how much honor I have; I believe I try and hang on to my dignity as best as I can with everything else pretty much going to shite. But the point is that not once have I ever felt my honor, nor the honor of my friends or just a random Hot Chick, was ever insulted enough to warrant a fight. Preferably a Duel. How great would that be? I mean, we all get in fights over stupid shit, spilled drinks and misheard gossip, but never over ideals such as honor. And not the fake honor of "he called my girl a 'ho'" or "he stepped on my kicks!" or even, "That white boy just said, 'kicks'!" But real, Bruce Lee, quixotic, shiny, idealistic, capital "H", Honor. And also, to have the fight occur at Dawn -- might as well go all the way dramatic. For my second I would choose the biggest, meanest, motherfucker I knew/saw; just for the worst case scenario. Cuz if I'm going down, I'm taking you to Hell with me. I'm petty, what can I say?

3) Be able to detail my daring escape to a group of amazed people.

Of course, in order to have this goal fulfilled I need to somehow be imprisoned, or at least inconvenienced, enough to warrant an escape. Let's say some torture chamber, detainee camp, or terrifyingly numbing cocktail party. I would discuss how I methodically waited for my opportunity to arise, and how risking death was better than rotting in whatever horrible predicament I was in prior to my flight for freedom. Hopefully air vents, crooked guards, and holding my breath underwater would be involved. Also, best case scenario, when I first show up in front of these "amazed people" they would gasp and one of them, probably my greatest detractor, would mumble "Impossible...We all thought you were dead". To which I would laugh and then regale them with my exploits. While enjoying a smooth beer and a cigarette. Cuz it's my fantasy and I'm that fucking debonair.

4) Piss on a National Landmark or Institution.

I'm not particularly picky. Although the National Shoreline doesn't count. I mean like the Alamo (a la Ozzy), or Statue of Liberty, or Jefferson Memorial. Something. Preferably while drunk, or after returning from a war in which my government, my own government!, left me to die. Otherwise, I'm just some fuckwit who took a whiz on Lincoln's marble shoes.

5) Complain about how my black sweater ALWAYS tracks tiger hair.

And be telling the truh....for once.

6) Learn how to play the banjo.

I know I could get started on this one now, but that would just be weird. I'd prefer for some life changing event (Apocalypse, Cancer Diagnosis, get a girlfriend) to prompt this goal into reality. At least in the parts where I have lived, you don't see too many people picking up the banjo as youngins. And rare are those moments in college where everyone in the dorm begs you to break out the banjo and sing "Plush" by Stone Temple Pilots. Also, while it would be tempting, I would vow never to learn how to play "dueling banjos". I would feel that it belittles the instrument and those artists who have perfected the craft. Instead, my goal would be to learn how to play covers (I would call them "interpretations") of Phil Collins's songs on the banjo.

7) Go around to different Churches, challenging Priests to arm wrestle to prove the existence of God.

I think that one's self explanatory.

8) Be able to prove to a High School Freshman that geometry is useful in the real world.

And no, computers/future careers in the sciences do not count. I mean an instance where I describe to them how writing a proof for a geometric quandary would actually be practical. I can't even conceive of a scenario; I'm sure some are thinking of finding the hypotenuse of a triangle in order to get to a destination quicker, but even then I don't know. All I know is I hated Geometry, and no one could or can show me how it has any relevance to reality. That would be my gift to the world, an occasion that would be used in classrooms across the globe and referred to as "Dean's Example". I can dream, can't I?

9) climb a tree.

Honestly, I've never climbed a tree. Weird, ennit? I've been in trees, been in tree houses, and shimmied up a few feet on a tree trunk or two. But I've never gone all Tom Sawyer/Calvin & Hobbes and just wrangled my body up a tree, branch by branch, like the simian fellow I truly am. I would really love to climb one of those massive prehistoric trees, like a Redwood, or a Sequoia, or something like those hippy chicks do that live in trees to protest land developers. I think it would just be cool, also I get to see how the squirrels live; you know, when all the cameras and bullshit aren't around.

10) Learn and Recite a poem by Thomas Gray -- in Esperanto.

I like Thomas Gray. I like obscurity and absurdity. So that's the rationale there. Once, while I was working in Borders, a woman came in trying to find an Esperanto-English dictionary. We didn't have any, and none were in print (that the chain carried, at least). She was completely shocked, and kept telling me that she couldn't believe that a big chain like Borders didn't have any books on, about, or containing words in Esperanto. I only know a few things about the proposed Universal language, Esperanto (William Shatner starred in a movie called The Incubus, completely in Esperanto; and the phrase "Feriji! Feriji!" means "Do it! Do it!") and I just thought it was odd a woman would become so indignant over something so ludicrous. But then, I suppose that's the definition of working retail.

11) Enjoy dancing.

I hate to dance. I'm a huge WASP, so unfortunately dancing just ain't in my soul, veins, and, especially, corresponding body parts. Although, I have won my share of dance-offs in my day (Thank Christ for Ironic Hipsters!), the seductive and timeless art of dancing is unknown to me. The main problem, besides my racial handicap, is that I hate dancing. I dread it. I feel like a marionette filled with termites and being pulled in all different directions by a classroom of kids with ADHD. It's horrible. I mean, slow dancing and all that is fine; but dancing dancing, whoa doggie does that suck. It's dark narcissism, but I'm positive everyone is staring at me, begging me to leave the dance floor because I'm just RUINING the sweet Britney Spears remix that's playing overhead. I would like to just dance and have fun and actually enjoy it without falling to self conscious pieces. I assume alcohol and/or more potent drugs would be a necessary in this goal.

12) Stop a woman I love from getting on a plane.

Or a train. Or a boat. Or even a car pool. Just stop her. Appeal to that side of her that believes in all of that mushy, candle lit, idealistic, powerful, romantic crap like me. And all I have is my words. My feeble, lame, barely cohesive words that are sputtering out of me like exhaust out of a Yugo before it explodes. But she listens. She tears up. And she stays. What I said meant something. I actually reached out and connected into something deeper within her. She decides to change her plans for me, and who knows what the future will hold? but for that one moment...it's bliss. I guess I just want the occasion for greatness. The possibility to be bold, and risky, and stupidly romantic. I just want that one moment that I can make such an ass out of myself, and not regret it.

So there's my goals. Like I said, I figure I've got about 7-10 years at the most to start checking them off the list. It's only 12 items, that's about 2 a year or so. Do-able. Hell, some of them I could probably do in the next week.

Notice I didn't include anything in here about my family, my career, or any real long term relationships. Lots of sex and flashy romance, but no "learn to communicate better while living with long term girlfriend". All that stuff I already have set in my head, and it wouldn't be entertaining to set down in a blog. I mean, maybe in a tragic "Well, that sure as shit is never gonna happen" kinda way. But then that wouldn't really be me or this blog, right?

The point is, I think it's important to create lists like these, if only in your head. As long as we all compile these lists, this collection of fantastic and sophomoric deeds, then we'll never truly die or get old or succumb to the gentrification of modern society. Because while at some high class shin dig, somewhere in your mind will be that list, telling you that now is the PERFECT opportunity to completely act the fool, just so you can cross off #17.