I was sitting here sending an email off to a friend (a friend who should consider cutting her hair back to shoulder length like in college, but that's neither here nor there). It was then that I came up with a brilliant idea.
I first thought, "Why not set up a fan club devoted to one of my friends--just to piss them off?!" Such as the Megan the Vegan Fan Club (though she's not vegan, 'Megan' and 'Vegan' do not rhyme, and I am protecting Megann's identity by intentionally mispelling her first name by leaving off one of the 'n's). But then I thought of something even MORE thrilling (sorry Megann).
What would happen if I picked a random person--perhaps even out of the phone book--and set up a fan club? It'd be a fan club devoted to a complete and utter stranger. Not only that, but I could contact their family members and friends, and pay them to get me pictures of the subject to put on the new web page.
Can you imagine a web page for...Ed Fox in Murfreesboro, Tennessee? It is a name I picked at random in a random city in the United States. Pictures, history, and a list of property owned; fun facts; likes; dislikes; favorite color...Maybe we can find public records available from whatever county Murfreesboro is in and put that up. We could put those up, as well as a list of favorite foods. But my favorite part will be the membership fees.
This is where he'll say, "What the fuck?!" He'll look online to find...VOILA! A slick web page devoted to him. After a while, a certain mystique will surround Ed Fox. He'll be a celebrity without doing anything.
Who wants to do the web page?
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
The Quakers told me so it MUST be true...
My blog postings have become more and more bland.
No, no--it's true. Don't argue. You're not arguing? You agree with this, you say? Well aren't you a shithole...
A friend of mine recommended medication to help me relax and concentrate. Medication? For what? He said I could expand my mind and I should just learn a little bit more about it before I say it's a bunch of crap. I think I know what kind of "hippy medication" he's talking about, and I'm just not into it. Eh, it's a bunch of crap.
Medication? Maybe it was meditation. I wasn't really listening. Either way, let's get focused, people. Meditation's a bunch of crap.
The problem is not me. The problem is you. Yes, you, with your high expectations. You expect me to please you. You expect me to make you laugh. You expect to be entertained like I'm some fuckin' clown here to amuse you.
It's True...
Island Fever is an actual thing. People go crazy from it. I thought I was, but realized I was plain wrong. Me and the Quaker family living in my living room. No, they weren't here before, but now they are and they're just another thing I have to live with. They came because of the oatmeal. Anyway, they told me I was wrong; I'm not cracking up, it's something else.
They said that Island Fever is an illusion--something "of the devil." Of course, the Quaker family is pretty strict. They don't let me stay up past ten at night. And of course, they make me eat my oatmeal. On the plus side, the womenfolk are finally cleaning my apartment. That's good, though it is quite cramped. They set up a butter churn in the middle of the carpet. I tried buying a tub of store-bought butter from Safeway, but they insisted the fresh stuff is better.
No, no--it's true. Don't argue. You're not arguing? You agree with this, you say? Well aren't you a shithole...
A friend of mine recommended medication to help me relax and concentrate. Medication? For what? He said I could expand my mind and I should just learn a little bit more about it before I say it's a bunch of crap. I think I know what kind of "hippy medication" he's talking about, and I'm just not into it. Eh, it's a bunch of crap.
Medication? Maybe it was meditation. I wasn't really listening. Either way, let's get focused, people. Meditation's a bunch of crap.
The problem is not me. The problem is you. Yes, you, with your high expectations. You expect me to please you. You expect me to make you laugh. You expect to be entertained like I'm some fuckin' clown here to amuse you.
It's True...
Island Fever is an actual thing. People go crazy from it. I thought I was, but realized I was plain wrong. Me and the Quaker family living in my living room. No, they weren't here before, but now they are and they're just another thing I have to live with. They came because of the oatmeal. Anyway, they told me I was wrong; I'm not cracking up, it's something else.
They said that Island Fever is an illusion--something "of the devil." Of course, the Quaker family is pretty strict. They don't let me stay up past ten at night. And of course, they make me eat my oatmeal. On the plus side, the womenfolk are finally cleaning my apartment. That's good, though it is quite cramped. They set up a butter churn in the middle of the carpet. I tried buying a tub of store-bought butter from Safeway, but they insisted the fresh stuff is better.
Friday, December 23, 2005
Moving to Myspace
If there are no objections, I will continue doing the blog purely on Myspace. Unless you read this.
If your name is not Adam, let me know if you read this. If your name is Adam, tell me if you want me to keep posting here for you, or if you don't mind checking out the same blog at Myspace.
If your name is not Adam, let me know if you read this. If your name is Adam, tell me if you want me to keep posting here for you, or if you don't mind checking out the same blog at Myspace.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Stuck
Today, I decided to get out of my apartment. Yesterday I didn't go anywhere. I said, "I need to get out of this apartment. It's too depressing to stay in the same place all the time." So I packed my backback with my iPod and other stuff, and drove out to the Place of Refuge. It's one of the most sacred places to the native Hawaiians. It's only a 20 minute drive, and though there's no good places to swim, it offers excellent views of water crashing into the shore. Why not?
Anyway, when I got down there and got out of the car, I saw a puddle of anti-freeze forming under the car. A nice big smelly puddle. I opened the hood and saw the busted hose running from the engine to the radio. I found some duct tape in the trunk of the car, and taped up the hole really nice. Then, I refilled the radiator with water (since there were water fountains and I had several empty water bottles in the car). After I was done with looking at waves crash on the beach (and I was sure the car had cooled), I got in and started driving.
The problem with the Place of Refuge is it's at the bottom of a looooong hill. No surprise, then, that the car made it about a half mile out of the entrance before it overheated. I pulled over, added more tape to the hole, and saw that the hose had sprung a new leak. I taped that, got in the car, and drove another mile and a half or so. Again it overheated. There was another leak.
I called uncle Collector. He had to take his wife to the airport, still, and that was way far in the opposite direction. I told him which hose it was, and he said he'd stop at an autoparts store on the way back. I planned on a wait of two to three hours. I called Triple-A and reactivated my membership just in case I would need a tow (and everyone should have Triple-A; I was stupid to have not renewed my membership). But AAA said I'd get the first 5 miles of towing free, and then each mile after that would be $5 per mile--and we were a shade more than 5 miles from any mechanic.
I walked back to Place of Refuge, watched more waves crashing on the shore, and then walked back to the car to meet him. We installed the new hose, but it appeared too big. All well--maybe it'll work. Half a mile later, I pulled over and we cut the hose down half an inch (which took awhile since we used wire cutters to do this). Another half mile, and the car overheated again. We cut it down another inch.
This time, the car was almost to the top of the hill (and the highway that would take us back home) when it overheated again. I barely had enough time to pull over as the needle raced towards the red. I shut off the car and we ditched it for the night. I rode back with him. Who knows how major the problem is.
Now, I've got two completely nonfunctioning cars. I'm bummed, because living in Hawaii is a bit like Southern California in one major respect: You can't get anywhere without a car. I'm thinking about getting a bicycle. The gym is an easy 12 mile bike ride away downhill. The problem? Coming home UPhill.
I can't see much of a solution except to come home. My vacation is over. Without a car, I'm completely stranded. I have no money to buy a new car, or pay for major repairs. I'm so sick of dealing with old shitty cars that break down all the time.
Anyway, when I got down there and got out of the car, I saw a puddle of anti-freeze forming under the car. A nice big smelly puddle. I opened the hood and saw the busted hose running from the engine to the radio. I found some duct tape in the trunk of the car, and taped up the hole really nice. Then, I refilled the radiator with water (since there were water fountains and I had several empty water bottles in the car). After I was done with looking at waves crash on the beach (and I was sure the car had cooled), I got in and started driving.
The problem with the Place of Refuge is it's at the bottom of a looooong hill. No surprise, then, that the car made it about a half mile out of the entrance before it overheated. I pulled over, added more tape to the hole, and saw that the hose had sprung a new leak. I taped that, got in the car, and drove another mile and a half or so. Again it overheated. There was another leak.
I called uncle Collector. He had to take his wife to the airport, still, and that was way far in the opposite direction. I told him which hose it was, and he said he'd stop at an autoparts store on the way back. I planned on a wait of two to three hours. I called Triple-A and reactivated my membership just in case I would need a tow (and everyone should have Triple-A; I was stupid to have not renewed my membership). But AAA said I'd get the first 5 miles of towing free, and then each mile after that would be $5 per mile--and we were a shade more than 5 miles from any mechanic.
I walked back to Place of Refuge, watched more waves crashing on the shore, and then walked back to the car to meet him. We installed the new hose, but it appeared too big. All well--maybe it'll work. Half a mile later, I pulled over and we cut the hose down half an inch (which took awhile since we used wire cutters to do this). Another half mile, and the car overheated again. We cut it down another inch.
This time, the car was almost to the top of the hill (and the highway that would take us back home) when it overheated again. I barely had enough time to pull over as the needle raced towards the red. I shut off the car and we ditched it for the night. I rode back with him. Who knows how major the problem is.
Now, I've got two completely nonfunctioning cars. I'm bummed, because living in Hawaii is a bit like Southern California in one major respect: You can't get anywhere without a car. I'm thinking about getting a bicycle. The gym is an easy 12 mile bike ride away downhill. The problem? Coming home UPhill.
I can't see much of a solution except to come home. My vacation is over. Without a car, I'm completely stranded. I have no money to buy a new car, or pay for major repairs. I'm so sick of dealing with old shitty cars that break down all the time.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
LA-LA-Land Bound (and gagged?)
I'll be returning for a visit from January 13th to the 23rd. I'm pretty excited. Maybe you are too (though probably about something else, and not my return; perhaps it's just a coincidence we're excited at the same time). Perhaps you can hang out with me when I come back. Unless you're in Albuquerque or elsewhere...Then I guess we'll have to videoconference or something.
There's a few places I want to go when I'm in town:
1) Cantor's Deli--I need a decent deli sandwich (Hollywood)
2) Some place that serves a decent pizza (there ain't nothing here)
3) Wheatberry--I need a decent breakfast, and some decent bread (Pasadena)
4) Pho Super Bowl--I need a decent bowl of pho (though there's okay pho here in Kona) (Alhambra/San Gabriel)
5) Decent Dim Sum--I hear the neighborhood Chinese place (and by this, I mean the ONLY Chinese place within 75 miles; it just so happens to be half a mile from my place) has pretty decent dim sum on weekend mornings, but how could it compare to something in Monterey Park?
Le and I are already discussing a quick trip to Las Vegas. I'll say I've never been there before. They say that whatever happens there stays there. That's a somewhat dangerous attitude. After all, I'm the reason there's so many kids in Las Vegas public schools wondering who Daddy is just because I threw caution to the wind a few times and said, "Whatever happens here stays here."
I'll see how much I miss the mainland when I'm there. Maybe I'll go and say, "Jesus, I want to come back here?!"
And Jesus will say, "I don't know, my son."
"Jesus," I'll say. "I'm sorry to tell you, but I'm Jewish."
"Me too. I guess we'll both be going to hell." That Jesus. He is one fucked-up dude, dude.
STIR-CRAZY UPDATE
I need off this motha fucka ('motha fucka' in this case is the Island of Hawaii). Just for a little. I need to see wide-open spaces again, and the availability of cultural activities and museums and bookstores and food and the beach. The beach? Yes. I always loved going for a walk on the beach in California no matter what time of year it was. Why not here? It's definitely not the same.
I've become white-boy pale, again. I have no tan, and am actually a light white--probably whiter than I've ever been. I just don't enjoy going out anymore. The beach is super boring and a long drive.
So I'm stir crazy. I don't go out much. I spend the bulk of my time working with macadamia nuts, coffee, chocolate, reading, writing, and watching movies. I'm the most anti-social I've ever been. But look at the latest book I'm reading. It's excellent; Kiss Me Like a Stranger. That's an amazing book.
Weeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!
There's a few places I want to go when I'm in town:
1) Cantor's Deli--I need a decent deli sandwich (Hollywood)
2) Some place that serves a decent pizza (there ain't nothing here)
3) Wheatberry--I need a decent breakfast, and some decent bread (Pasadena)
4) Pho Super Bowl--I need a decent bowl of pho (though there's okay pho here in Kona) (Alhambra/San Gabriel)
5) Decent Dim Sum--I hear the neighborhood Chinese place (and by this, I mean the ONLY Chinese place within 75 miles; it just so happens to be half a mile from my place) has pretty decent dim sum on weekend mornings, but how could it compare to something in Monterey Park?
Le and I are already discussing a quick trip to Las Vegas. I'll say I've never been there before. They say that whatever happens there stays there. That's a somewhat dangerous attitude. After all, I'm the reason there's so many kids in Las Vegas public schools wondering who Daddy is just because I threw caution to the wind a few times and said, "Whatever happens here stays here."
I'll see how much I miss the mainland when I'm there. Maybe I'll go and say, "Jesus, I want to come back here?!"
And Jesus will say, "I don't know, my son."
"Jesus," I'll say. "I'm sorry to tell you, but I'm Jewish."
"Me too. I guess we'll both be going to hell." That Jesus. He is one fucked-up dude, dude.
STIR-CRAZY UPDATE
I need off this motha fucka ('motha fucka' in this case is the Island of Hawaii). Just for a little. I need to see wide-open spaces again, and the availability of cultural activities and museums and bookstores and food and the beach. The beach? Yes. I always loved going for a walk on the beach in California no matter what time of year it was. Why not here? It's definitely not the same.
I've become white-boy pale, again. I have no tan, and am actually a light white--probably whiter than I've ever been. I just don't enjoy going out anymore. The beach is super boring and a long drive.
So I'm stir crazy. I don't go out much. I spend the bulk of my time working with macadamia nuts, coffee, chocolate, reading, writing, and watching movies. I'm the most anti-social I've ever been. But look at the latest book I'm reading. It's excellent; Kiss Me Like a Stranger. That's an amazing book.
Weeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Sense
A federal judge has ruled the teaching of Intelligent Design unconstitutional! It is a major victory for reason in a conservative christian controlled nation!
I'm thrilled, actually. The tides are turning. People are starting to remember what the United States Constitution is there for--that it is not a doormat to be changed at the whim of a relgious zealot.
Of course, this ruling goes against the president's beliefs. The sweet, sweet irony is that the federal judge who made the ruling was appointed by George W. Bush.
Read the article here from the L.A. Times.
I'm thrilled, actually. The tides are turning. People are starting to remember what the United States Constitution is there for--that it is not a doormat to be changed at the whim of a relgious zealot.
Of course, this ruling goes against the president's beliefs. The sweet, sweet irony is that the federal judge who made the ruling was appointed by George W. Bush.
Read the article here from the L.A. Times.
Friday, December 16, 2005
Porn and Religion: Together Like PB&J
All right, you want to talk about a brilliant idea? I just thought this one up.
Let's look at fundamentalist Christians in this country. They want to bring Jesus into everything. Jesus is a major reason we invaded Iraq (because they have Allah, and we can't have the towel heads going around yelling, "Praise be Allah!" in whatever weird language they speak). Jesus is why they want to teach creationism in the South. Jesus is why they want prayer back in school. Jesus is why the president won't be impeached (but he's a Christian; why impeach a devout Christian?). Jesus has a stranglehold on the country.
And then there's porn. A lot of people in this country like porn. Porn is already a multi-billion dollar industry. The Christians don't like it, though. They're dead set against it. And I think I figured out why. It takes a Jew to see that you need to combine the two.
"Christian porn?!" you say. "Why that's sick!" I say you're jealous, because YOU didn't think of it. "Yeah," you're saying, "You're right actually. I wish I'd thought of it first."
Examples
"Jesus, I'll Do Anything to Pass This Exam" -- In this scenario, a young, buxom woman sits over her ethics exam. Next to the exam is a large bible. She wears a cross around her neck, and is in fact a nun. She prays out loud. Enter Jesus. He is resplendent in his glowing white robe and Jesus-like beard.
"Jesus? Is that you? You've come to help me pass this exam?"
"Of course."
They read a few bible versus out loud to each other, and things start to get hot.
"I heard you say you'll do anything to pass this exam," he says fingering the exam on her desk.
She smiles lasciviously. "Anything, Jesus."
"I'm going to help open you up to the word of Me."
And then it goes from there into some hardcore. Meanwhile, of course, they still read bible verses out loud, and Jesus (between humps) yells that he endorses the war on the Arabs in Iraq.
Preaching to the Choir Boys -- I'm not going to go into too much detail on this one. Of course, they'll probably end up legalizing kiddy porn, so this one may not work now, but it will soon.
Jesus and the Mistletoe -- A really buxom, hot woman is by herself for Christmas. Watch how religiously hot this gets when the woman prays under the mistletoe for someone to spend Christmas with...and then Jesus, in all his glory, arrives. She'll be saying, "Sweet Jesus," in no time! And he's brought a few of his friends: the three wise men, and EVERYONE wants a piece of the action. It's piece on earth--a piece of action!
The Cable Repair Man -- A woman want her cable repaired. She is dressed in nothing but a see-through nighty. The cable repair guy comes, and then fixes her cable. As soon as he leaves, there's another knock on the door. Apparently, the cable repair guy has left something. He leaves. Then there's another knock on the door. It's Jesus, and he explains to her that everything on the TV is very dirty and will rot her mind. She is turned on by him telling her all this, and it leads into the hot and heavy sex scene.
It brings a new meaning to "Holy Entertainment," if you catch my drift.
Someone send me a script. Let's get this in motion.
Let's look at fundamentalist Christians in this country. They want to bring Jesus into everything. Jesus is a major reason we invaded Iraq (because they have Allah, and we can't have the towel heads going around yelling, "Praise be Allah!" in whatever weird language they speak). Jesus is why they want to teach creationism in the South. Jesus is why they want prayer back in school. Jesus is why the president won't be impeached (but he's a Christian; why impeach a devout Christian?). Jesus has a stranglehold on the country.
And then there's porn. A lot of people in this country like porn. Porn is already a multi-billion dollar industry. The Christians don't like it, though. They're dead set against it. And I think I figured out why. It takes a Jew to see that you need to combine the two.
"Christian porn?!" you say. "Why that's sick!" I say you're jealous, because YOU didn't think of it. "Yeah," you're saying, "You're right actually. I wish I'd thought of it first."
Examples
"Jesus, I'll Do Anything to Pass This Exam" -- In this scenario, a young, buxom woman sits over her ethics exam. Next to the exam is a large bible. She wears a cross around her neck, and is in fact a nun. She prays out loud. Enter Jesus. He is resplendent in his glowing white robe and Jesus-like beard.
"Jesus? Is that you? You've come to help me pass this exam?"
"Of course."
They read a few bible versus out loud to each other, and things start to get hot.
"I heard you say you'll do anything to pass this exam," he says fingering the exam on her desk.
She smiles lasciviously. "Anything, Jesus."
"I'm going to help open you up to the word of Me."
And then it goes from there into some hardcore. Meanwhile, of course, they still read bible verses out loud, and Jesus (between humps) yells that he endorses the war on the Arabs in Iraq.
Preaching to the Choir Boys -- I'm not going to go into too much detail on this one. Of course, they'll probably end up legalizing kiddy porn, so this one may not work now, but it will soon.
Jesus and the Mistletoe -- A really buxom, hot woman is by herself for Christmas. Watch how religiously hot this gets when the woman prays under the mistletoe for someone to spend Christmas with...and then Jesus, in all his glory, arrives. She'll be saying, "Sweet Jesus," in no time! And he's brought a few of his friends: the three wise men, and EVERYONE wants a piece of the action. It's piece on earth--a piece of action!
The Cable Repair Man -- A woman want her cable repaired. She is dressed in nothing but a see-through nighty. The cable repair guy comes, and then fixes her cable. As soon as he leaves, there's another knock on the door. Apparently, the cable repair guy has left something. He leaves. Then there's another knock on the door. It's Jesus, and he explains to her that everything on the TV is very dirty and will rot her mind. She is turned on by him telling her all this, and it leads into the hot and heavy sex scene.
It brings a new meaning to "Holy Entertainment," if you catch my drift.
Someone send me a script. Let's get this in motion.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
A letter to a medical school friend
"Dr. Tina,
"They call me Dr. Worm. Good morning how are you, I'm Dr. Worm. I'm interested in things. I'm not a real doctor, but I am a real confectioner.
"I'm sick. I have a sore throat, runny nose, coughing, sneezing, and I think one of my limbs is about to fall off. Now riddle me this: Why should I send YOU candy when I'm currently sick? As a doctor, you're supposed to prevent this (from 4,000 miles away).
"I'm sending in the Oompa Loompas to attack you.
Sincerely,
Willy Wonka"
It's true. I'm sick. Miserable. I took two long naps today (though I still managed to make 133 pounds of delicious semi-sweet chocolate candy).
Here's an interesting factoid: I'm sick of semi-sweet chocolate. This is the good shit. The highest quality chocolate on the market. The very thought of eating semi-sweet chocolate makes me want to vomit, now. When I first got here, I ate that stuff all the time.
"Oh, it's so good." And they said to watch how much I eat or I'll get sick of it really fast. But that didn't matter, because they said that I WOULD get sick of it. It wasn't a matter of 'if.'
So here it is. I'm actually sick of semi-sweet and dark chocolate. I used to love the stuff. I used to want to bathe in it. I used to want to turn on the machines, open my mouth, and stick my head in.
All well.
"They call me Dr. Worm. Good morning how are you, I'm Dr. Worm. I'm interested in things. I'm not a real doctor, but I am a real confectioner.
"I'm sick. I have a sore throat, runny nose, coughing, sneezing, and I think one of my limbs is about to fall off. Now riddle me this: Why should I send YOU candy when I'm currently sick? As a doctor, you're supposed to prevent this (from 4,000 miles away).
"I'm sending in the Oompa Loompas to attack you.
Sincerely,
Willy Wonka"
It's true. I'm sick. Miserable. I took two long naps today (though I still managed to make 133 pounds of delicious semi-sweet chocolate candy).
Here's an interesting factoid: I'm sick of semi-sweet chocolate. This is the good shit. The highest quality chocolate on the market. The very thought of eating semi-sweet chocolate makes me want to vomit, now. When I first got here, I ate that stuff all the time.
"Oh, it's so good." And they said to watch how much I eat or I'll get sick of it really fast. But that didn't matter, because they said that I WOULD get sick of it. It wasn't a matter of 'if.'
So here it is. I'm actually sick of semi-sweet and dark chocolate. I used to love the stuff. I used to want to bathe in it. I used to want to turn on the machines, open my mouth, and stick my head in.
All well.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Another One Defects to the Single Side
For those of you who know her, you may have already heard the news, but here it is again in case you haven't: Kathryn Allen is getting married. Yes, strike another one off the population sign for Single City. She's engaged to her boyfriend (does this make him an ex-boyfriend, and now just fiance?), Jake. Now normally I bitch and complain when a friend announces their engagement, but in this case I actually care. I'm actually happy for someone. This isn't like most other times when friends announce their engagement and I pretend I'm happy for them.
Kathryn was the first person I met when I moved to New Mexico. I was a sophomore; she was a freshman. We met in Mr. Mulholland's drama class. It was there she tried selling me a Sig Sauer 9 mil. I was shocked, of course. She was trying to sell a gun at school?! Well, of course I reacted the way anybody would. I laughed. After all, that's not a gun. The HK Mark 23 .45 caliber pistol I carried around was a real gun. What she had was a toy in comparison. She sold me half a kilo of pure heroin, though.
I've really got to give it to Kathryn; she always had a seemingly endless supply of heroin. Where did it all come from? She always kept at least three half-kilo blocks in her locker, and then sold at lunch or between classes.
On another note, this is my first holiday season in a candy factory. It's pretty wild. Wake up, make candy and sort mac nuts. Then it's off to the gym before it closes because I've lost track of time and it's already getting late. Get back, load 100 or so pounds of chocolate into the melter in anticipation of making chocolate covered something in the morning. It all becomes a blur.
Here's something new: I no longer like semi-sweet chocolate. It's now on the same level as Ritz crackers. Ritz crackers are okay. I'll eat a Ritz cracker if I'm really hungry and that's all there is, but I won't actively seek them out. I don't say, "Oh, a Ritz cracker. What a treat!" No, it's just a Ritz cracker. Who cares? And that's how I feel about semi-sweet chocolate.
Kathryn was the first person I met when I moved to New Mexico. I was a sophomore; she was a freshman. We met in Mr. Mulholland's drama class. It was there she tried selling me a Sig Sauer 9 mil. I was shocked, of course. She was trying to sell a gun at school?! Well, of course I reacted the way anybody would. I laughed. After all, that's not a gun. The HK Mark 23 .45 caliber pistol I carried around was a real gun. What she had was a toy in comparison. She sold me half a kilo of pure heroin, though.
I've really got to give it to Kathryn; she always had a seemingly endless supply of heroin. Where did it all come from? She always kept at least three half-kilo blocks in her locker, and then sold at lunch or between classes.
On another note, this is my first holiday season in a candy factory. It's pretty wild. Wake up, make candy and sort mac nuts. Then it's off to the gym before it closes because I've lost track of time and it's already getting late. Get back, load 100 or so pounds of chocolate into the melter in anticipation of making chocolate covered something in the morning. It all becomes a blur.
Here's something new: I no longer like semi-sweet chocolate. It's now on the same level as Ritz crackers. Ritz crackers are okay. I'll eat a Ritz cracker if I'm really hungry and that's all there is, but I won't actively seek them out. I don't say, "Oh, a Ritz cracker. What a treat!" No, it's just a Ritz cracker. Who cares? And that's how I feel about semi-sweet chocolate.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
EXTREME IMPORTANCE
I just watched the movie Bladerunner last night, and it definitely was a wake-up call.
The movie takes place in 2019, which is only FOURTEEN years away! We have a long way to go in fourteen years. Here is a list of recommendations I will be forwarding along to President George W. Bush, who I'm 100% sure will take these recommendations and turn into concrete guidelines to take your mind off the war (WHAT WAR?!). The movie takes place in Los Angeles, so it gave a good way to compare the present to the future by comparing the Los Angeles of 2005 and the LA of 2019.
1) Institute a Flying Car Requirement: At least all police officers and private detectives should have flying cars. Granted, there'll still be a lot of traffic on the ground, but that's okay. They'll fly around and land on things. Perhaps 25% of all traffic by 2019 should be flying cars and trucks. This can be done, and is a realistic guideline.
2) Make Robots That Resemble Humans: The military may already be doing this. However, six of them should be out-of-whack killer robots. And you need bounty hunters whose profession it is to find these androids and kill them. I recommend me as the secretary general of the Department of Android Bounty Hunting. Make at least three of those androids really sexy.
3) Tear down downtown LA and replace it with a series of huge superstructures: The terrorists will naturally be intimidated of humongous buildings with lots of lights--too intimidated to blow it up. In fact, make some of them empty decoys so that the terrorists blow THOSE up so that the REAL ones will be safe. Make the decoys look like the real ones so that the terrorists THINK they're blowing up the real ones, when they're REALLY blowing up the fake ones. See Blazing Saddles for more illustration of this point.
4) Populate Other Planets: Real estate here in the U.S. has gotten far too expensive (minus practically everything between the east and west coasts). It's time to settle Mars, Mercury, the moon, and Jupiter (Gaseous cloud? Nonsense! That's the kind of nay-saying that said there were no WMDs in Iraq, you towel head). Send U.S. residents. Australia, after all, was first populated by convicts. Send the Blacks, Latinos, and Jews. Then, when the atmosphere is stabilized and people don't die immediately, start sending everyone else.
5) Robotic Snakes: We need to do research into robotic snakes that look JUST like real snakes, but take batteries. This is important for national security, because that android did some pretty raunchy, lewd things in the movie with that snake. And that would be so cool.
6) Guns With Cool Sound Effects: Guns that simply go BANG-BANG and POP-POP need to start going KRACKALACKA with a cool laser sound effect. These guns will be immeasurably important for national security.
7) Institute Origami Requirements: One of the cops in the film did some great origami swans and shit. If the LAPD could do origami, maybe everyone would forget about them shooting and beating black people.
2005:
"You killed my son!"
"Awww, shit."
2019:
"You killed my son!"
"Awww, shit. Here's a swan."
"Wow! Thanks!"
8) Research Anti-Tobacco Smoking: In the movie, EVERYONE smoked. Cops, citizens, restaurant owners, children, the elderly, hookers. Everyone. Even inside! The only way this can happen is if a tobacco-free alternative is found. Luckily, this already exists: crack. Everyone needs to be smoking crack by 2019 and it has to be socially acceptable. A campaign showing the cons of smoking and the pros of crack needs to be initiated. I'd like to nominate myself as the Commissioner of the Anti-Tobacco Pro-Crack Agency (ATPCA).
The movie takes place in 2019, which is only FOURTEEN years away! We have a long way to go in fourteen years. Here is a list of recommendations I will be forwarding along to President George W. Bush, who I'm 100% sure will take these recommendations and turn into concrete guidelines to take your mind off the war (WHAT WAR?!). The movie takes place in Los Angeles, so it gave a good way to compare the present to the future by comparing the Los Angeles of 2005 and the LA of 2019.
1) Institute a Flying Car Requirement: At least all police officers and private detectives should have flying cars. Granted, there'll still be a lot of traffic on the ground, but that's okay. They'll fly around and land on things. Perhaps 25% of all traffic by 2019 should be flying cars and trucks. This can be done, and is a realistic guideline.
2) Make Robots That Resemble Humans: The military may already be doing this. However, six of them should be out-of-whack killer robots. And you need bounty hunters whose profession it is to find these androids and kill them. I recommend me as the secretary general of the Department of Android Bounty Hunting. Make at least three of those androids really sexy.
3) Tear down downtown LA and replace it with a series of huge superstructures: The terrorists will naturally be intimidated of humongous buildings with lots of lights--too intimidated to blow it up. In fact, make some of them empty decoys so that the terrorists blow THOSE up so that the REAL ones will be safe. Make the decoys look like the real ones so that the terrorists THINK they're blowing up the real ones, when they're REALLY blowing up the fake ones. See Blazing Saddles for more illustration of this point.
4) Populate Other Planets: Real estate here in the U.S. has gotten far too expensive (minus practically everything between the east and west coasts). It's time to settle Mars, Mercury, the moon, and Jupiter (Gaseous cloud? Nonsense! That's the kind of nay-saying that said there were no WMDs in Iraq, you towel head). Send U.S. residents. Australia, after all, was first populated by convicts. Send the Blacks, Latinos, and Jews. Then, when the atmosphere is stabilized and people don't die immediately, start sending everyone else.
5) Robotic Snakes: We need to do research into robotic snakes that look JUST like real snakes, but take batteries. This is important for national security, because that android did some pretty raunchy, lewd things in the movie with that snake. And that would be so cool.
6) Guns With Cool Sound Effects: Guns that simply go BANG-BANG and POP-POP need to start going KRACKALACKA with a cool laser sound effect. These guns will be immeasurably important for national security.
7) Institute Origami Requirements: One of the cops in the film did some great origami swans and shit. If the LAPD could do origami, maybe everyone would forget about them shooting and beating black people.
2005:
"You killed my son!"
"Awww, shit."
2019:
"You killed my son!"
"Awww, shit. Here's a swan."
"Wow! Thanks!"
8) Research Anti-Tobacco Smoking: In the movie, EVERYONE smoked. Cops, citizens, restaurant owners, children, the elderly, hookers. Everyone. Even inside! The only way this can happen is if a tobacco-free alternative is found. Luckily, this already exists: crack. Everyone needs to be smoking crack by 2019 and it has to be socially acceptable. A campaign showing the cons of smoking and the pros of crack needs to be initiated. I'd like to nominate myself as the Commissioner of the Anti-Tobacco Pro-Crack Agency (ATPCA).
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Richard Pryor's Dead and All Hope's Lost
Richard Pryor died this morning. That's a phenomenal loss. I bet Billy Graham and the entire white conservative Christian establishment is thrilled. It's a big loss, even though he was so self-destructive. It's almost surprising that he lived as long as he did. Anyone that deliberately sets themselves on fire doesn't seem to have the strong desire to see that many more birthday cakes put in front of them.
I finished my screenplay the other night. Oh, you didn't know I was writing one? And you don't care. But then your next thing might be, "Let me read it, Ryan!" No. You don't get to read it. You don't get to touch it.
You know who you are. I let you read my shit in the past and nobody ever does. For some people who say they want to read something I write, I might actually put the copy in their hands. More often than not, that person (and it's not just one; this is a typical reaction) will flip through it really quick and say, "Wow...This is kind of thick." Yeah. "Hmm...That's a lot to read." And then they turn on the TV.
You'll say, "I won't do that." But then you will, and when I ask you in two months if you've read it, you'll say, "Not yet. I've been really busy. But I'm going to this weekend."
I'm being a bit self-centered to think that anyone will want to read it, of course.
I just got sweet potato ice cream and lychee flavored sorbet last night. Isn't that odd? Both are surprisingly good, but that sweet potato ice cream is something odd. It's sweet, and creamy, and yummy, but I feel a bit like I'm eating a meal when I eat it. However, last night I found out it's actually taro, because taro is a kind of sweet potato. The ice cream is purple (like taro), and tastes like taro. Why they didn't just call it taro ice cream is beyond me.
Anybody know anything about poi? Everyone says I need to try poi. They sell at at KTA in big bags, but I don't know how to prepare it. Do you just take it out of the bag and eat it?
I finished my screenplay the other night. Oh, you didn't know I was writing one? And you don't care. But then your next thing might be, "Let me read it, Ryan!" No. You don't get to read it. You don't get to touch it.
You know who you are. I let you read my shit in the past and nobody ever does. For some people who say they want to read something I write, I might actually put the copy in their hands. More often than not, that person (and it's not just one; this is a typical reaction) will flip through it really quick and say, "Wow...This is kind of thick." Yeah. "Hmm...That's a lot to read." And then they turn on the TV.
You'll say, "I won't do that." But then you will, and when I ask you in two months if you've read it, you'll say, "Not yet. I've been really busy. But I'm going to this weekend."
I'm being a bit self-centered to think that anyone will want to read it, of course.
I just got sweet potato ice cream and lychee flavored sorbet last night. Isn't that odd? Both are surprisingly good, but that sweet potato ice cream is something odd. It's sweet, and creamy, and yummy, but I feel a bit like I'm eating a meal when I eat it. However, last night I found out it's actually taro, because taro is a kind of sweet potato. The ice cream is purple (like taro), and tastes like taro. Why they didn't just call it taro ice cream is beyond me.
Anybody know anything about poi? Everyone says I need to try poi. They sell at at KTA in big bags, but I don't know how to prepare it. Do you just take it out of the bag and eat it?
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
My word on SPAM
I'm of course talking about Hormel's tasty ultra-processed meat product. I eat the turkey Spam. The regular Spam is too high in fat (though quite tasty).
Something interesting I noticed today is that on the label for Turkey Spam, they show sliced turkey--as if you're going to open the can and pull out fresh, lean sliced turkey. In fact, sliced turkey has nothing to do with the Spam philosophy. The label says, "Oven Roasted Turkey." What kind of oven is this that you put sliced turkey in and it spits out a block of Turkey Spam? Also pictured with the sliced turkey on the label is a piece of tomato, some lettuce, and even some onion. Perhaps this is a picture of you what you should probably be eating, rather than a can of ultra-processed, high-sodium meat product. I don't know...I just remember that the last time I made a turkey sandwich, I don't remember it involving scooping it from a can or cutting it off a rectangular block.
Believe it or not, there's even a "Proper Spam User Guide" on the back. Is this what this nation has come to? Perhaps it's just the Hawaiians; them I understand needing pictures telling them how to get the meat product out of the can. Evidently, though, it's a scientific four step process (it HAS to be scientific because there's a cartoon drawing of a guy in a lab coat pointing to each of the steps on the label).
STEP ONE: Lift and pull.
STEP TWO: Squeeze until it POPS.<--Something about this just makes my mouth water. Loud pops (gunshots, zits, broken condoms) make me hungry.
STEP THREE: Squeeze and Tap (can on plate)<--It seriously has this in parentheses, in case you're about to squeeze it onto the floor
STEP FOUR: Slice and Fry (or grill, broil, microwave, eat cold)
Thank you, Hormel Foods. You make me secure not only in my new-found knowledge of Spam preparation, but also my sexuality.
Meanwhile, I actually got the green eyesore* running today. I had to drive it (with no functioning brakelights, hardly any gas, old ratty tires, numerous other unseen problems, no headlights, no state safety inspection sticker, expired registration, smokey exhaust) to the mechanic. I hope that they lose the thing, or just forget to work on it for ever. Or maybe we'll be lucky and it'll burst into flames or will fall into the fucking ocean.
*My 1984 Bronco II--the ugliest, rustiest, shittiest car ever. It has a Weber 4 barrel racing carb, though. The carburator is worth more than the car.
Something interesting I noticed today is that on the label for Turkey Spam, they show sliced turkey--as if you're going to open the can and pull out fresh, lean sliced turkey. In fact, sliced turkey has nothing to do with the Spam philosophy. The label says, "Oven Roasted Turkey." What kind of oven is this that you put sliced turkey in and it spits out a block of Turkey Spam? Also pictured with the sliced turkey on the label is a piece of tomato, some lettuce, and even some onion. Perhaps this is a picture of you what you should probably be eating, rather than a can of ultra-processed, high-sodium meat product. I don't know...I just remember that the last time I made a turkey sandwich, I don't remember it involving scooping it from a can or cutting it off a rectangular block.
Believe it or not, there's even a "Proper Spam User Guide" on the back. Is this what this nation has come to? Perhaps it's just the Hawaiians; them I understand needing pictures telling them how to get the meat product out of the can. Evidently, though, it's a scientific four step process (it HAS to be scientific because there's a cartoon drawing of a guy in a lab coat pointing to each of the steps on the label).
STEP ONE: Lift and pull.
STEP TWO: Squeeze until it POPS.<--Something about this just makes my mouth water. Loud pops (gunshots, zits, broken condoms) make me hungry.
STEP THREE: Squeeze and Tap (can on plate)<--It seriously has this in parentheses, in case you're about to squeeze it onto the floor
STEP FOUR: Slice and Fry (or grill, broil, microwave, eat cold)
Thank you, Hormel Foods. You make me secure not only in my new-found knowledge of Spam preparation, but also my sexuality.
Meanwhile, I actually got the green eyesore* running today. I had to drive it (with no functioning brakelights, hardly any gas, old ratty tires, numerous other unseen problems, no headlights, no state safety inspection sticker, expired registration, smokey exhaust) to the mechanic. I hope that they lose the thing, or just forget to work on it for ever. Or maybe we'll be lucky and it'll burst into flames or will fall into the fucking ocean.
*My 1984 Bronco II--the ugliest, rustiest, shittiest car ever. It has a Weber 4 barrel racing carb, though. The carburator is worth more than the car.
Maggie's phone number
Anybody know Maggie's phone number? Adam, you know it, right? I lost it when I got my new phone. Could you email it to me? Thanks!
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Development. Awwww.
Fuck the traffic. Fuck the white man.
Today was nothing special. A typical Hawaiian day. Beautiful sunset, perfect weather.
I wouldn't say that that gets old, but...you start craving variation.
I've decided (and it's a preliminary decision) to return to Cali in about 6 months. I was talking to my brother about this today. It starts to get pretty old when a whole lot of people (the natives) hate you because you're white and/or grew up in actual civilization. But that's not it.
Don't get me wrong: I like natural beauty. I enjoy the volcanoes, the gorgeous weather, the sun setting over the water and making everything glow orange, the flowers, the multi-colored coral, the bright fish, etc.
But damnit, I miss people. I miss IKEA, a great selection of restaurants, theaters, bookstores, malls, suitable educational and medical facilities, public transportation systems, large electronics stores, nice public libraries. Development. Why is it that I crave to see evidence of humanity's destruction of everything in nature? And would I feel this way if I didn't live on an island?
Of course, my whole view may change when I go visit Honolulu (not officially planned yet, but I do want to go check it out). There, the weather is the same, but it has a lot of development. It's often compared to LA. They say it has bad traffic, but now there's actually pretty bad traffic in little old Kona. It's true. Heading from Captain Cook through Kealakekua all the way past Keauhou into Kailua-Kona in the morning is bumper-to-bumper traffic. And between three-thirty and 7-thirty is traffic heading in the opposite direction.
Besides, I miss the hot topic of conversation in LA: How you got to where you are today. These conversations were entirely composed of numbers (representing freeways). Everyone did this. Debates and arguments over the many ways to get where you are now, and then the topic will temporarily change to something else before everyone discusses how they're going to get to the next place. "Take the 10 to the 605 to the 134 to the 101 and exit at Reyes Adobe." And then someone could say, "No, don't do that. Take the 10 to the 5 straight up to the 101, and then take that out to Reyes Adobe." Blah blah blah.
I don't miss the traffic, though. FUCK the traffic.
Today was nothing special. A typical Hawaiian day. Beautiful sunset, perfect weather.
I wouldn't say that that gets old, but...you start craving variation.
I've decided (and it's a preliminary decision) to return to Cali in about 6 months. I was talking to my brother about this today. It starts to get pretty old when a whole lot of people (the natives) hate you because you're white and/or grew up in actual civilization. But that's not it.
Don't get me wrong: I like natural beauty. I enjoy the volcanoes, the gorgeous weather, the sun setting over the water and making everything glow orange, the flowers, the multi-colored coral, the bright fish, etc.
But damnit, I miss people. I miss IKEA, a great selection of restaurants, theaters, bookstores, malls, suitable educational and medical facilities, public transportation systems, large electronics stores, nice public libraries. Development. Why is it that I crave to see evidence of humanity's destruction of everything in nature? And would I feel this way if I didn't live on an island?
Of course, my whole view may change when I go visit Honolulu (not officially planned yet, but I do want to go check it out). There, the weather is the same, but it has a lot of development. It's often compared to LA. They say it has bad traffic, but now there's actually pretty bad traffic in little old Kona. It's true. Heading from Captain Cook through Kealakekua all the way past Keauhou into Kailua-Kona in the morning is bumper-to-bumper traffic. And between three-thirty and 7-thirty is traffic heading in the opposite direction.
Besides, I miss the hot topic of conversation in LA: How you got to where you are today. These conversations were entirely composed of numbers (representing freeways). Everyone did this. Debates and arguments over the many ways to get where you are now, and then the topic will temporarily change to something else before everyone discusses how they're going to get to the next place. "Take the 10 to the 605 to the 134 to the 101 and exit at Reyes Adobe." And then someone could say, "No, don't do that. Take the 10 to the 5 straight up to the 101, and then take that out to Reyes Adobe." Blah blah blah.
I don't miss the traffic, though. FUCK the traffic.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
The man of her dreams...
Now this is cool, since Jen--a person who has never actually met me--said she dreamed she visited me in Hawaii, and wanted to congratulate me on the big move and my current relationship. Well this is very exciting. I'm curious at what Kona looks like to someone who hasn't visited it. Of course, there's two Hawaiis: the one the tourists see (which is really nice and fun), and the one for the people that live here.
I've been learning about the two Hawaiis. I got to revisit tourist Hawaii when Le came to town. That was fun. But Hawaii for those that live here--it's just another small town. Of course the closest city doesn't have a respectable mall or even an Ikea, but it's rural. Get past the pretty sunsets, the ocean, the fresh air, nice weather, good food, and what is it? Raton, New Mexico, or mayhaps Prescott, Arizona.
The Hawaii for those that live here has native Hawaiians who hate white people. And if you're not white, they hate you almost as much because you're from the mainland. Why do they hate you because you're from the mainland? Because you're from the mainland, you piece of shit.
More later.
I've been learning about the two Hawaiis. I got to revisit tourist Hawaii when Le came to town. That was fun. But Hawaii for those that live here--it's just another small town. Of course the closest city doesn't have a respectable mall or even an Ikea, but it's rural. Get past the pretty sunsets, the ocean, the fresh air, nice weather, good food, and what is it? Raton, New Mexico, or mayhaps Prescott, Arizona.
The Hawaii for those that live here has native Hawaiians who hate white people. And if you're not white, they hate you almost as much because you're from the mainland. Why do they hate you because you're from the mainland? Because you're from the mainland, you piece of shit.
More later.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Spider Attack: How I Lost my Sunglasses, and Almost my Life
Le just left Kona today. She came in for a lovely visit. We went around the island--from here to Volcanoes National Park, to Hilo, then Wimea, Hapuna Beach, and then back home. We did a lot. But lets skip forward to our horseback ride to Kealakekua Bay.
We went on a fantastic trailride with a dude named Bones. Awesome views of the water, nice horses, etc.
But lets go to the point where I lost my sunglasses. It was about halfway down a long path overlooking the bay and some ancient Hawaiian foot path/highway, when I rode through a spider web. In fact, the spider web landed all over my face, and as it did I saw a huge spider coming down out of the tree. This was the largest spider I'd ever seen outside of a zoo--perhaps about four inches across, yellow and black, huge body, skinny legs.
It landed on my shoulder and started crawling around. It was about this time that I--a rather large, somewhat burly, typically unflappable man--started screaming. No, it wasn't a loud, long, feminine shriek. It was more me yelling in a panicked, high-pitched voice, "Get it off me! Get it off me! There's a fuckin spider on me! Fuck! Fuck! Oh Fuck! Get it off!" I let go of the reins and started flapping my arms around, and tried hitting the spider off me. I succeeded in knocking my sunglasses off. I thought the spider was gone, but there he was on my leg. He'd crawled down my torso to my legs and seemed to be crawling back up. I kept hitting at him, and he finally fell to the saddle, and then jumped off the horse. I figured I'd saved myself from certain death. I could only imagine the humongous fangs that thing had and he was so close to planting them in my flesh.
I took the reins back, and noticed my sunglasses were gone. I told Bones about the huge spider.
"Oh that? That's a good spider. They won't hurt ya'. They just crawl around on ya'. 'Bout only thing on this island that'll hurt ya' is a brown recluse. That'll kill ya'."
And that was that. Bones is a man's man--the type of guy that makes the Marlboro Man look like a devotee of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy (coincidentally, my brother is one, but that's just a side note). I feel like such a schmuck.
Not only that, but I need new sunglasses. Goddamnit.
We went on a fantastic trailride with a dude named Bones. Awesome views of the water, nice horses, etc.
But lets go to the point where I lost my sunglasses. It was about halfway down a long path overlooking the bay and some ancient Hawaiian foot path/highway, when I rode through a spider web. In fact, the spider web landed all over my face, and as it did I saw a huge spider coming down out of the tree. This was the largest spider I'd ever seen outside of a zoo--perhaps about four inches across, yellow and black, huge body, skinny legs.
It landed on my shoulder and started crawling around. It was about this time that I--a rather large, somewhat burly, typically unflappable man--started screaming. No, it wasn't a loud, long, feminine shriek. It was more me yelling in a panicked, high-pitched voice, "Get it off me! Get it off me! There's a fuckin spider on me! Fuck! Fuck! Oh Fuck! Get it off!" I let go of the reins and started flapping my arms around, and tried hitting the spider off me. I succeeded in knocking my sunglasses off. I thought the spider was gone, but there he was on my leg. He'd crawled down my torso to my legs and seemed to be crawling back up. I kept hitting at him, and he finally fell to the saddle, and then jumped off the horse. I figured I'd saved myself from certain death. I could only imagine the humongous fangs that thing had and he was so close to planting them in my flesh.
I took the reins back, and noticed my sunglasses were gone. I told Bones about the huge spider.
"Oh that? That's a good spider. They won't hurt ya'. They just crawl around on ya'. 'Bout only thing on this island that'll hurt ya' is a brown recluse. That'll kill ya'."
And that was that. Bones is a man's man--the type of guy that makes the Marlboro Man look like a devotee of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy (coincidentally, my brother is one, but that's just a side note). I feel like such a schmuck.
Not only that, but I need new sunglasses. Goddamnit.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
The 'Three' Key
Okay, today the keyboard works a little better. Now, only the 'three' key doesn't work. I guess I can live without the 'three' key. Maybe I'll get a new keyboard at some point, but $65 for the 'three' key? And that's the price of a used one on eBay. Granted, it's also the 'pound' key, but when do you really need that? For tic-tac-toe? That's it, right?
Check this out: 1. That's right, the 1 key works. And I can also put in a tilde. Watch this: ~. That's right. A fucking tilde. Thank the Lord! I've got tilde access!
Black Friday is coming up. I plan on buying a DVD Recorder from Costco for about $85. If I can find a DVD burner for cheap (external), I'll buy that too.
Last night I went to the beach (before I fucked up my keyboard). It was the Old Airport State Park. Guess what it used to be...Give up? It was the old airport. The parking lot is the old landing strip, and coincidentally one of the longest parking lots I've ever seen. It's a mile long and about an eighth of a mile wide. That'd make a good drag strip.
I was discriminated against today. Hawaiians. Many are ignorant, racist motherfuckers. I went to pay for an oil change at the Midas. A native woman walked in. The guy behind the counter (the manager of all people) was native. I'd been standing there at the counter for 10 minutes waiting to pay. I had my credit card out and was obviously THERE to pay. The woman walked up to the counter and pulled out HER credit card. After about another 5 minutes, the manager walked over and let HER pay first, completely ignoring me. He then went back to his little desk, dicked around a couple of minutes, then came back and treated me like I had JUST walked in--like he hadn't even seen me standing there. "Oh, are you here to pick up the BMW?" BMW? What? Are you on crack? There wasn't even a BMW in the goddamn parking lot. I understand that Hawaii has a huge ice problem. Case in point.
Check this out: 1. That's right, the 1 key works. And I can also put in a tilde. Watch this: ~. That's right. A fucking tilde. Thank the Lord! I've got tilde access!
Black Friday is coming up. I plan on buying a DVD Recorder from Costco for about $85. If I can find a DVD burner for cheap (external), I'll buy that too.
Last night I went to the beach (before I fucked up my keyboard). It was the Old Airport State Park. Guess what it used to be...Give up? It was the old airport. The parking lot is the old landing strip, and coincidentally one of the longest parking lots I've ever seen. It's a mile long and about an eighth of a mile wide. That'd make a good drag strip.
I was discriminated against today. Hawaiians. Many are ignorant, racist motherfuckers. I went to pay for an oil change at the Midas. A native woman walked in. The guy behind the counter (the manager of all people) was native. I'd been standing there at the counter for 10 minutes waiting to pay. I had my credit card out and was obviously THERE to pay. The woman walked up to the counter and pulled out HER credit card. After about another 5 minutes, the manager walked over and let HER pay first, completely ignoring me. He then went back to his little desk, dicked around a couple of minutes, then came back and treated me like I had JUST walked in--like he hadn't even seen me standing there. "Oh, are you here to pick up the BMW?" BMW? What? Are you on crack? There wasn't even a BMW in the goddamn parking lot. I understand that Hawaii has a huge ice problem. Case in point.
Fixed keyboard? Not quite.
This is curious. This morning, my keyboard appears to work. Only two keys this morning aren't working: the one and the three key. It's strange, because the ` and the 2 keys work.
Should I still buy a new keyboard? Nah. Although, every so often, when I start typing real1ly fas1t, a 'one' is inserted in a weird plac1e (see?). Still, no exclamation points, by the way. But if I real1ly need access to these two numbers, I COULD just turn on the num luck key and do it that way.
Damn. Maybe I still do need a new keyboard. Though I COULD just hook up an external USB keyboard, right? That might be an idea. And a monitor with DV input, and then just use the iBook like a Mac Mini while I'm at home. But then I have to buy a monitor and another keyboard.
Shit. I hate spilling coffee on expensi1ve things. I'm such a moron.
Should I still buy a new keyboard? Nah. Although, every so often, when I start typing real1ly fas1t, a 'one' is inserted in a weird plac1e (see?). Still, no exclamation points, by the way. But if I real1ly need access to these two numbers, I COULD just turn on the num luck key and do it that way.
Damn. Maybe I still do need a new keyboard. Though I COULD just hook up an external USB keyboard, right? That might be an idea. And a monitor with DV input, and then just use the iBook like a Mac Mini while I'm at home. But then I have to buy a monitor and another keyboard.
Shit. I hate spilling coffee on expensi1ve things. I'm such a moron.
Fucking broken keybord.
Tip: Don't pour coffee on your keybord. You'll notice I don't utilice lot of letter. No backspace. No 's' or 'a' or numbers or the firt letter of cunt (tht time it orked). I did by accident. No double-u. I knock coffee off counter onto keybord. Only couple drop. Big-time fucked. Fuck me...No ekclemition point. No eks key.
God dmmit Thi fucking piece of hit ht the fuck cn I do ith lptop ith no Goddmn keybord?
Not kidding nd fuck you for thinking I m.
God dmmit Thi fucking piece of hit ht the fuck cn I do ith lptop ith no Goddmn keybord?
Not kidding nd fuck you for thinking I m.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Hello, I'm Johnny Cash.
Man, wouldn't it be great if I were able to say that and mean it?
I went to the Club and worked out a bit this evening. Usually, on Sundays, I go across the street and get some Vietnamese takeout from Ba'Le. Today, I went and got some Jamba juice and walked around a bit. And then a funny thought struck me: "This isn't so different from Old Pasadena." Old Pasadena is a really nice shopping area with an okay night life and fair amounts of culture. There's at least one theatre, movie theaters, restaurants. But the Kona Coast Shopping Center had all of this (minus the theaters, night life, and culture).
There was the requisite Starbucks. Also, there was the Vietnamese place (and what's any place without a Vietnamese place?), Blockbuster Video (which really fulfills the function a movie theater does), Ross (a poor excuse for a department store, but STILL a department store), KTA (it's not Gelson's, but it's a pretty nice grocery store), Jamba Juice, and a couple of other places. Tourists are wondering about intermingled with the people that live here. Come on. Did I not just describe Old Pasadena? You may have to use your imagination a little, and perhaps even a little stoned, but it'll all start to make sense.
I've decided to write a proposal to present to the city council about changing the name from Kona Coast Shopping Center to Old Pasadena II. I think it's pretty promising, and should give me the exposure I need to enter local politics. For the large number of Southern Californians that live here, I imagine it will make them all feel more at home. All it needs is at least one super-trendy bar and a sushi place close by that's open until 4:30 AM, and we're set. I'll never have to move back to Pasadena.
Le is coming out to visit on Thursday. Yes, Thanksgiving. It's my favorite holiday. I hate Christmas, because I dislike Christianity, Christians, Christmas trees, Christmas music, and Kenny G (who seems to always have some sort of shitty Christmas CD out). Easter? It's okay because there's a lot of candy, but then what? Eggs? Come on. Passover? No. It's kind of like Chanukah for me, except it's only one day. And what's my deal with Chanukah? For me, it's an eight day reminder of how Jewish I'm not, and how I've never been Bar Mitzvahed and I'll resent my parents forever for not preparing me for it like every other Jew on Earth. Also, my apartment always stinks after I make latkes. That pretty much leaves Thanksgiving and the 4th of July. I used to like the 4th of July, too, but the Republicans have turned it into American Ultra-Patriatism Day.
So Thanksgiving. Turkey lurkey doo and a turkey lurkey dap. I eat that turkey then I take a nap.
I'm going to see Good Night, and Good Luck at the Aloha Theatre on Wednesday. I'm pretty psyched. It looks like a cool movie, and it's only $6. If I could convince them I'm 60 or above, the movie's ony $5. Any ideas?
I just watched Matrix Revolutions today...Yeah...The first movie was fine. I don't think they had to ruin it with sequals. Actually, the second movie was ultra-bizarre. The third one wasn't too bad.
Yeah...so that's that.
I went to the Club and worked out a bit this evening. Usually, on Sundays, I go across the street and get some Vietnamese takeout from Ba'Le. Today, I went and got some Jamba juice and walked around a bit. And then a funny thought struck me: "This isn't so different from Old Pasadena." Old Pasadena is a really nice shopping area with an okay night life and fair amounts of culture. There's at least one theatre, movie theaters, restaurants. But the Kona Coast Shopping Center had all of this (minus the theaters, night life, and culture).
There was the requisite Starbucks. Also, there was the Vietnamese place (and what's any place without a Vietnamese place?), Blockbuster Video (which really fulfills the function a movie theater does), Ross (a poor excuse for a department store, but STILL a department store), KTA (it's not Gelson's, but it's a pretty nice grocery store), Jamba Juice, and a couple of other places. Tourists are wondering about intermingled with the people that live here. Come on. Did I not just describe Old Pasadena? You may have to use your imagination a little, and perhaps even a little stoned, but it'll all start to make sense.
I've decided to write a proposal to present to the city council about changing the name from Kona Coast Shopping Center to Old Pasadena II. I think it's pretty promising, and should give me the exposure I need to enter local politics. For the large number of Southern Californians that live here, I imagine it will make them all feel more at home. All it needs is at least one super-trendy bar and a sushi place close by that's open until 4:30 AM, and we're set. I'll never have to move back to Pasadena.
Le is coming out to visit on Thursday. Yes, Thanksgiving. It's my favorite holiday. I hate Christmas, because I dislike Christianity, Christians, Christmas trees, Christmas music, and Kenny G (who seems to always have some sort of shitty Christmas CD out). Easter? It's okay because there's a lot of candy, but then what? Eggs? Come on. Passover? No. It's kind of like Chanukah for me, except it's only one day. And what's my deal with Chanukah? For me, it's an eight day reminder of how Jewish I'm not, and how I've never been Bar Mitzvahed and I'll resent my parents forever for not preparing me for it like every other Jew on Earth. Also, my apartment always stinks after I make latkes. That pretty much leaves Thanksgiving and the 4th of July. I used to like the 4th of July, too, but the Republicans have turned it into American Ultra-Patriatism Day.
So Thanksgiving. Turkey lurkey doo and a turkey lurkey dap. I eat that turkey then I take a nap.
I'm going to see Good Night, and Good Luck at the Aloha Theatre on Wednesday. I'm pretty psyched. It looks like a cool movie, and it's only $6. If I could convince them I'm 60 or above, the movie's ony $5. Any ideas?
I just watched Matrix Revolutions today...Yeah...The first movie was fine. I don't think they had to ruin it with sequals. Actually, the second movie was ultra-bizarre. The third one wasn't too bad.
Yeah...so that's that.
Saturday, November 19, 2005
I've done nothing worthwhile over the last week. Nothing. At. All.
I made chocolate covered macadamia nuts today. I accidentally spilled about five pounds of melted chocolate on the floor, and then accidentally stepped in it; that's the only almost worth mentioning. Don't worry, though--I didn't eat it.
I made chocolate covered macadamia nuts today. I accidentally spilled about five pounds of melted chocolate on the floor, and then accidentally stepped in it; that's the only almost worth mentioning. Don't worry, though--I didn't eat it.
Monday, November 14, 2005
The Green Eyesore
The Green Eyesore still sits outside. The Green Eyesore is my 1984 Ford Bronco II 4X4. It's the V-6 with a weber racing carb. And it doesn't run. The car has now been parked in its place long enough for some intrepid spider to build a respectable web. Rather large and scary looking, actually.
I told my brother about the Green Eyesore. He asked what it needs to get it running. I told him a miracle. He said, "What does it need most to make it better?" I told him it needs to be rolled down a hill. It's true. I could just push the sumbitch across the highway and through the brush. It might even fall in the ocean. How lucky would that be?
I don't have a bicycle out here. My bicycle is sitting in my friend's garage in Arcadia. Technically, she lives in San Gabriel, but she literally lives right next to the "Welcome to Arcadia" sign. It's odd. I think that when I go back to visit or move, I'm going to take that sign and move it to the other side of her house. I'll increase the value of her home for her, because I'm a good friend.
So I need a job. It's coming to the point where I've got to stop dilly-dallying. I stopped at Starbucks about a week ago to get an application. As I walked across the parking lot, I stopped. I thought, "Goddamnit, I spent six years in school. I may be broke, and I may NEED a part time job, but I went to school just so I wouldn't HAVE to get a part time job at the Starbucks." I turned around and left without getting the app. It's weird. I feel I'm going back in time a bit. While friends move further into their careers, and get close to graduating from their graduate programs, I can't see myself looking for a part-time job. Not at Starbucks, at least. My mother says, "You need a job. You need the benefits, and you get free coffee, and they have good stock options." That's true. I need the benefits, and they do have good stock options. But I drink fresh Kona or Kauai coffee every day. Starbucks is lousy. Their lattes are okay, but that's about it. Their coffee tastes burnt, and I don't like those sugary crappacino bullshit iced drinks.
My dislike of their product, though, doesn't mean I don't need a job, unfortunately. Damn.
Not that I'm living TOO lavishly. I go out for a meal perhaps once or twice a week. I get a tank of gas about once every week and a half. My big expense is insurance. And since I quit my job, I have to pay my full premium--a whopping $330 per month. In about two months, I'll be eligible for a conversion so it'll go down to hopefully closer to $100 per month. There's my cell phone, too, but that's not too bad. And I prepaid my entire gym membership for the next year. Also my old car insurance. I haven't even switched it over to the Bronco yet, which is stupid. Even though the Bronco isn't running, I still am paying insurance on the Saab that I no longer even own (so as not to have a gap in coverage). All well. I guess I'll do that tomorrow. Maybe I can afford to be the poor unemployed writer for another month.
I told my brother about the Green Eyesore. He asked what it needs to get it running. I told him a miracle. He said, "What does it need most to make it better?" I told him it needs to be rolled down a hill. It's true. I could just push the sumbitch across the highway and through the brush. It might even fall in the ocean. How lucky would that be?
I don't have a bicycle out here. My bicycle is sitting in my friend's garage in Arcadia. Technically, she lives in San Gabriel, but she literally lives right next to the "Welcome to Arcadia" sign. It's odd. I think that when I go back to visit or move, I'm going to take that sign and move it to the other side of her house. I'll increase the value of her home for her, because I'm a good friend.
So I need a job. It's coming to the point where I've got to stop dilly-dallying. I stopped at Starbucks about a week ago to get an application. As I walked across the parking lot, I stopped. I thought, "Goddamnit, I spent six years in school. I may be broke, and I may NEED a part time job, but I went to school just so I wouldn't HAVE to get a part time job at the Starbucks." I turned around and left without getting the app. It's weird. I feel I'm going back in time a bit. While friends move further into their careers, and get close to graduating from their graduate programs, I can't see myself looking for a part-time job. Not at Starbucks, at least. My mother says, "You need a job. You need the benefits, and you get free coffee, and they have good stock options." That's true. I need the benefits, and they do have good stock options. But I drink fresh Kona or Kauai coffee every day. Starbucks is lousy. Their lattes are okay, but that's about it. Their coffee tastes burnt, and I don't like those sugary crappacino bullshit iced drinks.
My dislike of their product, though, doesn't mean I don't need a job, unfortunately. Damn.
Not that I'm living TOO lavishly. I go out for a meal perhaps once or twice a week. I get a tank of gas about once every week and a half. My big expense is insurance. And since I quit my job, I have to pay my full premium--a whopping $330 per month. In about two months, I'll be eligible for a conversion so it'll go down to hopefully closer to $100 per month. There's my cell phone, too, but that's not too bad. And I prepaid my entire gym membership for the next year. Also my old car insurance. I haven't even switched it over to the Bronco yet, which is stupid. Even though the Bronco isn't running, I still am paying insurance on the Saab that I no longer even own (so as not to have a gap in coverage). All well. I guess I'll do that tomorrow. Maybe I can afford to be the poor unemployed writer for another month.
I want chicken. I want liver. Meow mix, meow mix, please deliver.
Today I was somewhat upset with myself. I went to bed really early last night--around 10:30 PM. I was so tired, I couldn't think straight. I set my alarm for 5:30 AM (yes, I set my alarm every single day). Not only did I wake up at 5:30 AM, but I felt refreshed and mostly rested when I woke up. I lay there thinking, "I'll think about what I'm going to do today. I've got so much time--the WHOLE day ahead of me! The sun's not even up yet! I can close my eyes for another couple of minutes first..." And then it was 10:00 AM. I ended up sleeping almost 12 hours. Christ on a crutch.
It was a somewhat eventful night, though. It was a few of the "things that go bump in the night." Around 2 AM, I heard what sounded like an animal on the roof loose its footing, and then roll down, fall through the air, and hit the ground. It was a cat, because I heard it give a surprised, "MRrrrrreeerrr!!" It would have been funnier, but the crash was loud enough for me to be afraid that it had fallen through the ceiling. So I was up and around my apartment looking for any holes in the ceiling. My bedroom has an area that's open to the outside, but separated by reinforced screens. There's also an area like this in the kitchen. I was afraid that the cat had fallen through that.
And then, around 4, I heard some animal get caught on my front porch. My front porch is protected by a screen door. I have no idea how it got in there, but whatever it is sound like it was lost. I suddenly heard a bunch of thumping and banging. Perhaps there were two of them, and whatever they were (cats, rats, dogs, supernatural beasts) were fighting, and then it stopped. Goddamn it, it was right outside the front door. I was glad I locked the door (you know, in case they were supernatural beasts with the capability of opening doors).
I was excited today because I found brownies. I was told, "Ryan, there might be some frozen Digiorno pizzas in the upright freezer in your pantry." Yay! I never really looked in that freezer. Why not? It's there. I could use it. It is, after all, in my apartment. But I looked, and there's like four Digiorno pizzas. FOUR! And...what's this? Oh my...Today must be my lucky day...FREAKIN' BROWNIES STILL IN THE PAN IN A ZIPLOCK BAG!!. I yanked them out and went trallopping around. "Look," I exclaimed. "Brownies!"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where'd you find that?"
"In the freezer. Why?"
"Uh...You might not want to eat that..."
"Why? Are they old? Oh wait..." I could tell from the look on her face as she quickly grabbed them and looked at them. "They're pot brownies, huh?"
"Uh...Maybe. Might want to go ahead and put these back in the fridge at the very bottom where you found them."
Now I want brownies, goddamnit. Not pot brownies. I want regular brownies! I love brownies. My stomach growls for brownies. I want to get high off the chocolatey goodness, and not anything else. Why do I want brownies so bad? I live in a goddamn chocolate factory. I can eat as much chocolate as I want. But brownies...brownies are different.
I went to the beach today. Hopuna. It was nice. Relaxing. Kind of boring. All well. Lazy Sunday.
I've reached a time in my life where chocolate doesn't have the same effect on me as it used to. I have a ten pound bar of chocolate not five feet from where I sit, and i don't know what to do with it. The idea of eating it is laughable. I don't even want it. I was going to send it to my mother, but you can buy the broken chunks of the ten pound Ghiradelli chocolate bars (just like this one) at Trader Joe's in the bins near the front. Why not send her something a bit more exotic. My bills are pretty exotic.
It was a somewhat eventful night, though. It was a few of the "things that go bump in the night." Around 2 AM, I heard what sounded like an animal on the roof loose its footing, and then roll down, fall through the air, and hit the ground. It was a cat, because I heard it give a surprised, "MRrrrrreeerrr!!" It would have been funnier, but the crash was loud enough for me to be afraid that it had fallen through the ceiling. So I was up and around my apartment looking for any holes in the ceiling. My bedroom has an area that's open to the outside, but separated by reinforced screens. There's also an area like this in the kitchen. I was afraid that the cat had fallen through that.
And then, around 4, I heard some animal get caught on my front porch. My front porch is protected by a screen door. I have no idea how it got in there, but whatever it is sound like it was lost. I suddenly heard a bunch of thumping and banging. Perhaps there were two of them, and whatever they were (cats, rats, dogs, supernatural beasts) were fighting, and then it stopped. Goddamn it, it was right outside the front door. I was glad I locked the door (you know, in case they were supernatural beasts with the capability of opening doors).
I was excited today because I found brownies. I was told, "Ryan, there might be some frozen Digiorno pizzas in the upright freezer in your pantry." Yay! I never really looked in that freezer. Why not? It's there. I could use it. It is, after all, in my apartment. But I looked, and there's like four Digiorno pizzas. FOUR! And...what's this? Oh my...Today must be my lucky day...FREAKIN' BROWNIES STILL IN THE PAN IN A ZIPLOCK BAG!!. I yanked them out and went trallopping around. "Look," I exclaimed. "Brownies!"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where'd you find that?"
"In the freezer. Why?"
"Uh...You might not want to eat that..."
"Why? Are they old? Oh wait..." I could tell from the look on her face as she quickly grabbed them and looked at them. "They're pot brownies, huh?"
"Uh...Maybe. Might want to go ahead and put these back in the fridge at the very bottom where you found them."
Now I want brownies, goddamnit. Not pot brownies. I want regular brownies! I love brownies. My stomach growls for brownies. I want to get high off the chocolatey goodness, and not anything else. Why do I want brownies so bad? I live in a goddamn chocolate factory. I can eat as much chocolate as I want. But brownies...brownies are different.
I went to the beach today. Hopuna. It was nice. Relaxing. Kind of boring. All well. Lazy Sunday.
I've reached a time in my life where chocolate doesn't have the same effect on me as it used to. I have a ten pound bar of chocolate not five feet from where I sit, and i don't know what to do with it. The idea of eating it is laughable. I don't even want it. I was going to send it to my mother, but you can buy the broken chunks of the ten pound Ghiradelli chocolate bars (just like this one) at Trader Joe's in the bins near the front. Why not send her something a bit more exotic. My bills are pretty exotic.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Props to voting against the Props
Schwarzenegger lost on all of his ballot initiatives, thank God. When first elected, I was still in New Mexico and considered him a novelty. I didn't give a damn. Then I moved to California, and still didn't give a damn. I though it was odd to pull up a page like the California Office of Real Estate Appraiser's web page, and there's his picture at the top. Also, when I worked for the IRS and we'd receive a state document, it'd have a copy of his name and sigature in the header. I found it odd.
But then I started paying some attention to the idiotic things he said and did. I'll start with the latest action: The special election cost California taxpayers $250,000,000. Look at all those zeroes. It's funny that one of the ballot initiatives was supposed to restrain spending. I wonder what we could have done with an extra $250,000,000 sitting around? And Schwarzenegger really wanted this election to happy. Thanks, Arnie! Wish I could have been there to vote against you, but you know how it is...
What else? I believe he said some xenophobic things about our Mexican brothers who came in the country via illegal means. He basically said the borders needed to be sealed, and there's no room in California for immigrants. Yeah, this is what the Austrian-born, talking-with-an-accent motherfucker said. What a dumbfuck. I believe someone in his cabinet pointed out that he also is an immigrant, so he later apologized. He mispoke, and meant something totally different.
He fucked around with the nurse's union. It's just not wise to piss off a nurse. My sister-in-law is a nurse, and I pissed her off once; she tried to beat the shit out of me and will never allow me in their house as long as I live (well, the last part of that is a stretch of the truth, but not much). That was just ONE nurse--my brother's wife (the poor guy--HE has to live with that thing and SLEEP next to it; I'd prefer slashing my wrists with a cheese grater). I imagine that the nurse's union is like my sister-in-law times 5,000 or so. I hate her, and I'm sure I'd especially hate to deal with 5,000 of her. Blah.
And did you see Terminator 3? What the fuck was that? It was terrible compared to the first two.
I don't even know who the governor of Hawaii is. Some republican, I think. Doesn't matter, though. This state is so backwards, I can't even begin to care. It's my year-long vacation. Why should I worry about politics (unless Hawaii secedes from the union like Canada tried to)?
But then I started paying some attention to the idiotic things he said and did. I'll start with the latest action: The special election cost California taxpayers $250,000,000. Look at all those zeroes. It's funny that one of the ballot initiatives was supposed to restrain spending. I wonder what we could have done with an extra $250,000,000 sitting around? And Schwarzenegger really wanted this election to happy. Thanks, Arnie! Wish I could have been there to vote against you, but you know how it is...
What else? I believe he said some xenophobic things about our Mexican brothers who came in the country via illegal means. He basically said the borders needed to be sealed, and there's no room in California for immigrants. Yeah, this is what the Austrian-born, talking-with-an-accent motherfucker said. What a dumbfuck. I believe someone in his cabinet pointed out that he also is an immigrant, so he later apologized. He mispoke, and meant something totally different.
He fucked around with the nurse's union. It's just not wise to piss off a nurse. My sister-in-law is a nurse, and I pissed her off once; she tried to beat the shit out of me and will never allow me in their house as long as I live (well, the last part of that is a stretch of the truth, but not much). That was just ONE nurse--my brother's wife (the poor guy--HE has to live with that thing and SLEEP next to it; I'd prefer slashing my wrists with a cheese grater). I imagine that the nurse's union is like my sister-in-law times 5,000 or so. I hate her, and I'm sure I'd especially hate to deal with 5,000 of her. Blah.
And did you see Terminator 3? What the fuck was that? It was terrible compared to the first two.
I don't even know who the governor of Hawaii is. Some republican, I think. Doesn't matter, though. This state is so backwards, I can't even begin to care. It's my year-long vacation. Why should I worry about politics (unless Hawaii secedes from the union like Canada tried to)?
Saturday, November 05, 2005
What island you from? 'What' ain't no island I ever heard of. Do they speak English on 'what'?
I went snorkeling today at the Place of Refuge, which is about 20 or so minutes south of here. I've been snorkeling a few times now, and I notice a huge problem with touristos is that they can't LOOK at something. They have to touch it. And not fish, or coral, or anything that banal. They have to touch and fuck with the endangered turtles. Signs everywhere proclaim that this is a federal offense, and you risk a huge fine, jail, and chemical castration for fucking with the turtles.
Today, I saw a family snorkeling around. This little turtle floats gracefully to the surface to get some air, and the family starts chasing it because they want to touch it. I yelled at them, "Hey!" The mom stuck her head out of the water and gave me the same wierd look that all tourists do--the "Why are you interrupting our vacation?" look--and I told her, "It's a federal offense to touch the turtles." She looked at me skeptically (always the skeptical look), and said, "Yeah? I didn't know that." I told her it was indeed highly illegal and she and her family face a huge fine if they're caught. "Really?" Now it seemed to sort of sink in--like maybe I'm not kidding, and maybe they should interrupt their vacation to heed this advice. I told her to open her eyes and look at the signs plastered everywhere, and then I swam away because I don't think I'd be able to handle it if I watched them continue to fuck with the endangered turtle.
I can see the turtles just fine with they're swimming fifteen to twenty feet away from me. Why do people have to touch them? So they can go home and beat off to the fact that they have fucked with something that's actually endangered? Won't their Republican friends be so happy for them?
My friend, we'll say her name is Lamb Tabernacle, told me my kickboxing instructor from Pasadena and his girlfriend were in town this weekend. Lamb told them I lived here, too, so we should meet up. She emailed me their phone numbers. I called them and they told me the hotel they were at. They said it'd be cool to meet for dinner, and I agreed. So I called back yesterday evening and my kickboxing instructor, who we'll call The Hun, said, "Swing by the hotel and we'll go in the Jacuzzi, and then out to dinner." Sweet deal. Okay. Where is your hotel? "Hold on." And he passed the phone to his girlfriend. I asked where their resort was, and she said that from the airport, it's two minutes away to the north. Hmm. Two minutes. Ain't nothin' that's two minutes to the north. The closest resort north of the airport is about 30 minutes. Maybe ten minutes SOUTH of the airport? No, definitely north. Okay. Then she said it was on the 58. Hmm. I don't recall driving on a highway 58. Suspicious, I finally asked, "WHICH airport are you near?"
She said, "The Lihue Airport. We're right here."
"What island are you on?"
"Kauai."
"Shit. I'm on Big Island. You're nowhere NEAR here!"
And so I didn't get to go out to dinner tonight with the Hun and his girl. I thank Lamb for this.
Today, I saw a family snorkeling around. This little turtle floats gracefully to the surface to get some air, and the family starts chasing it because they want to touch it. I yelled at them, "Hey!" The mom stuck her head out of the water and gave me the same wierd look that all tourists do--the "Why are you interrupting our vacation?" look--and I told her, "It's a federal offense to touch the turtles." She looked at me skeptically (always the skeptical look), and said, "Yeah? I didn't know that." I told her it was indeed highly illegal and she and her family face a huge fine if they're caught. "Really?" Now it seemed to sort of sink in--like maybe I'm not kidding, and maybe they should interrupt their vacation to heed this advice. I told her to open her eyes and look at the signs plastered everywhere, and then I swam away because I don't think I'd be able to handle it if I watched them continue to fuck with the endangered turtle.
I can see the turtles just fine with they're swimming fifteen to twenty feet away from me. Why do people have to touch them? So they can go home and beat off to the fact that they have fucked with something that's actually endangered? Won't their Republican friends be so happy for them?
My friend, we'll say her name is Lamb Tabernacle, told me my kickboxing instructor from Pasadena and his girlfriend were in town this weekend. Lamb told them I lived here, too, so we should meet up. She emailed me their phone numbers. I called them and they told me the hotel they were at. They said it'd be cool to meet for dinner, and I agreed. So I called back yesterday evening and my kickboxing instructor, who we'll call The Hun, said, "Swing by the hotel and we'll go in the Jacuzzi, and then out to dinner." Sweet deal. Okay. Where is your hotel? "Hold on." And he passed the phone to his girlfriend. I asked where their resort was, and she said that from the airport, it's two minutes away to the north. Hmm. Two minutes. Ain't nothin' that's two minutes to the north. The closest resort north of the airport is about 30 minutes. Maybe ten minutes SOUTH of the airport? No, definitely north. Okay. Then she said it was on the 58. Hmm. I don't recall driving on a highway 58. Suspicious, I finally asked, "WHICH airport are you near?"
She said, "The Lihue Airport. We're right here."
"What island are you on?"
"Kauai."
"Shit. I'm on Big Island. You're nowhere NEAR here!"
And so I didn't get to go out to dinner tonight with the Hun and his girl. I thank Lamb for this.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Nothing Like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
I've been called Willy Wonka (as well as asshole, fuckhead, shitface, and dumbfuck). I was recently asked if the chocolate factory that I work and live at is anything like from the movie Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. The answer is a huge, "No." It is nothing like Willy Wonka's factory.
In real life, the Oompa Loompas are extraordinarily hostile. Some have drug problems. Some are alcoholics. Few even show up to work on time. And if you ask them to do something, they get all bent out of shape. And their songs suck.
For instance, I played my little flute (the one that summons the Oompa Loompas), and asked, "Oompa Loompas, I accidentally spilled some chocolate on the floor. Will you clean it up please?" They sang me a song about how white people think they run the world, and how the Oompa Loompas will rise up and save the earth from the white people by savagely killing them all. Sure, they cleaned up the chocolate, but it took them a long time to do it. And I really could have done without the song.
And sometimes, when they're not being very original, they'll sing some song they think I haven't heard, and then claim it's their own--an original Oompa Loompa creation. I asked them to make a batch of chocolate, and they started singing a Beach Boys song. They thought they were being wise, but I said, "Uh...You're singing about California girls, and we're in Hawaii. And it's not even like I'm going to the beach today." So to make up for it, they sang me the theme song to Family Ties (the 80s television show). This did not make up for it, and I got a little upset. I called them all dumbass Oompa Loompa motherfuckers. That may not have been wise. All day today they made rude gestures, and I found obvious clues that they were planning to harm me (such as the shards of glass on top of my sandwich at lunch time, the stick of dynamite in the toilet, and the propane tanks they'd emptied into my apartment in the hopes that I'd light something). I'm afraid to go to sleep tonight.
We keep them on, though, because they're cheap labor and we can take the Oompa Loompa exemption on the 1120 Corporate Income Tax Return.
It's somewhat tough living in such a small town. I don't even live in the small town. I live in a suburb of Kailua-Kona, which in itself qualifies as a village in any other state. I'm amazed that they have their own radio stations, but you can hear radio stations in Maui. It doesn't matter, though, because they're all shit. They all play shitty music--either Hawaiian, commercial-laden mainstream alternative, or country. Some Hawaiian music is okay (not good, just barely tolerable). All the announcers are even bouncier and more annoying than on the mainland. And country--well, country just sucks no matter where you are. 88.1 apparently is Honolulu's NPR station. You can hear through the static just enough to know that it's an NPR station that you won't ever be able to listen to unless you fly to another fucking island.
I made macadamia nut butter today. I don't have a blender, and I really wanted to grind up some mac nuts so I could coat a fish fillet in it (rather than breading the fillet) and saute. I used my coffee grinder. And after a few seconds, I had slightly-coffee tasting macadamia nut butter. I'm kind of proud of myself, actually.
I have access to so many mac nuts. I must have eaten a pound of mac nuts today--just because I could. On the mainland, that's unheard of. It's so expensive to do that, but here, we use it in the candies and I end up eating them all the godamn time. I mean, I had enough to make mac nut butter and still have at least two pounds left laying around my kitchen. And if I finish the 2 pounds? I go get more. It's almost sickening.
In real life, the Oompa Loompas are extraordinarily hostile. Some have drug problems. Some are alcoholics. Few even show up to work on time. And if you ask them to do something, they get all bent out of shape. And their songs suck.
For instance, I played my little flute (the one that summons the Oompa Loompas), and asked, "Oompa Loompas, I accidentally spilled some chocolate on the floor. Will you clean it up please?" They sang me a song about how white people think they run the world, and how the Oompa Loompas will rise up and save the earth from the white people by savagely killing them all. Sure, they cleaned up the chocolate, but it took them a long time to do it. And I really could have done without the song.
And sometimes, when they're not being very original, they'll sing some song they think I haven't heard, and then claim it's their own--an original Oompa Loompa creation. I asked them to make a batch of chocolate, and they started singing a Beach Boys song. They thought they were being wise, but I said, "Uh...You're singing about California girls, and we're in Hawaii. And it's not even like I'm going to the beach today." So to make up for it, they sang me the theme song to Family Ties (the 80s television show). This did not make up for it, and I got a little upset. I called them all dumbass Oompa Loompa motherfuckers. That may not have been wise. All day today they made rude gestures, and I found obvious clues that they were planning to harm me (such as the shards of glass on top of my sandwich at lunch time, the stick of dynamite in the toilet, and the propane tanks they'd emptied into my apartment in the hopes that I'd light something). I'm afraid to go to sleep tonight.
We keep them on, though, because they're cheap labor and we can take the Oompa Loompa exemption on the 1120 Corporate Income Tax Return.
It's somewhat tough living in such a small town. I don't even live in the small town. I live in a suburb of Kailua-Kona, which in itself qualifies as a village in any other state. I'm amazed that they have their own radio stations, but you can hear radio stations in Maui. It doesn't matter, though, because they're all shit. They all play shitty music--either Hawaiian, commercial-laden mainstream alternative, or country. Some Hawaiian music is okay (not good, just barely tolerable). All the announcers are even bouncier and more annoying than on the mainland. And country--well, country just sucks no matter where you are. 88.1 apparently is Honolulu's NPR station. You can hear through the static just enough to know that it's an NPR station that you won't ever be able to listen to unless you fly to another fucking island.
I made macadamia nut butter today. I don't have a blender, and I really wanted to grind up some mac nuts so I could coat a fish fillet in it (rather than breading the fillet) and saute. I used my coffee grinder. And after a few seconds, I had slightly-coffee tasting macadamia nut butter. I'm kind of proud of myself, actually.
I have access to so many mac nuts. I must have eaten a pound of mac nuts today--just because I could. On the mainland, that's unheard of. It's so expensive to do that, but here, we use it in the candies and I end up eating them all the godamn time. I mean, I had enough to make mac nut butter and still have at least two pounds left laying around my kitchen. And if I finish the 2 pounds? I go get more. It's almost sickening.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
UPDATE: Retirement in Hawaii
It's wierd. As things happen to me, I think, "Hey, this would be great to write on my blog." And then I don't, and I write about mundane things. It's strange, actually. I see gorgeous things, and fill my time with interesting activities. Then I end up writing blogs about a piece of fruit I ate, or going to Safeway, or the wierd police cars.
But damn. I really can't get over the police cars. Hawaii County really seems to be nothing more than a corrupt Eastern European post-Communist country when you get down to it. Here, the cops are paid a hefty driving allowance to drive their own personal cars. There's some Mustangs (including a Saleen S281), Xterras, 4Runners, a fuckin' Toyota Sequoya, and even a Honda Accord. These aren't police cars. And then yesterday, I saw a shiny newish black C5 corvette idle by the restaurant I was eating at--top off, clean, polished, chrome aftermarket exhaust pipes. It was pointed out as an undercover cop; my lunch companion saw the driver was wearing a cop uniform. My point is that in these smaller, poor Eastern European countries, I imagine these ex-KGB and state security officials driving around in whatever car they want. The State pays for it, and they get to keep it. How is this different? And so few cops in so much space probably with little or no oversight, it's ripe for payoffs and paying for protection.
It sure gets dark here at night. There's no streetlights where I am. If I open my front door during a new moon and look out the front door, I cannot see a thing. Nothing. It's silent. And it's the same whether I close my eyes or keep them open. It's so trippy.
I've been making candy. Today, I made 250 pounds of chocolate covered coffee. I've just been learning. Those who I promised candy, you'll be getting it soon. It's a somewhat arduous task. They're made in 125 pound batches, and take two to two and a half hours. It's loud, and I wear a lab coat and gloves. By the end of the day, my lab coat was covered in crusted chocolate.
A strange problem is that this chocolate is all around me. The thrill has drained out of me in terms of eating this chocolate. It's always there. But yesterday was Halloween. I was reveling over eating a fun-size Twix bar. "Mmmm! Twix! I love Twix!" It's odd that 50 cents worth of candy provides more enjoyment to me now than candy that is $20 or $30 a pound.
My phone is still broken, and the new one hasn't arrived. I've been too lazy to check the messages (nobody usually calls anyway, so what's the point?). So why am I telling you this? You probably had no intention of calling me anyway, prick.
But damn. I really can't get over the police cars. Hawaii County really seems to be nothing more than a corrupt Eastern European post-Communist country when you get down to it. Here, the cops are paid a hefty driving allowance to drive their own personal cars. There's some Mustangs (including a Saleen S281), Xterras, 4Runners, a fuckin' Toyota Sequoya, and even a Honda Accord. These aren't police cars. And then yesterday, I saw a shiny newish black C5 corvette idle by the restaurant I was eating at--top off, clean, polished, chrome aftermarket exhaust pipes. It was pointed out as an undercover cop; my lunch companion saw the driver was wearing a cop uniform. My point is that in these smaller, poor Eastern European countries, I imagine these ex-KGB and state security officials driving around in whatever car they want. The State pays for it, and they get to keep it. How is this different? And so few cops in so much space probably with little or no oversight, it's ripe for payoffs and paying for protection.
It sure gets dark here at night. There's no streetlights where I am. If I open my front door during a new moon and look out the front door, I cannot see a thing. Nothing. It's silent. And it's the same whether I close my eyes or keep them open. It's so trippy.
I've been making candy. Today, I made 250 pounds of chocolate covered coffee. I've just been learning. Those who I promised candy, you'll be getting it soon. It's a somewhat arduous task. They're made in 125 pound batches, and take two to two and a half hours. It's loud, and I wear a lab coat and gloves. By the end of the day, my lab coat was covered in crusted chocolate.
A strange problem is that this chocolate is all around me. The thrill has drained out of me in terms of eating this chocolate. It's always there. But yesterday was Halloween. I was reveling over eating a fun-size Twix bar. "Mmmm! Twix! I love Twix!" It's odd that 50 cents worth of candy provides more enjoyment to me now than candy that is $20 or $30 a pound.
My phone is still broken, and the new one hasn't arrived. I've been too lazy to check the messages (nobody usually calls anyway, so what's the point?). So why am I telling you this? You probably had no intention of calling me anyway, prick.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Yo
I went and saw Ozomatli tonight at the Kona Brewing Company. It was fun, the beer was good, and the music was fantastic. I saw a couple of Ozomatli shows in Albuquerque, but it's been a few years. It's somewhat odd that the band is from LA, and they had a few shows while I lived there, but not once did I go to see them in their native habitat.
I only went to a couple of concerts in LA. They were usually expensive, and traffic going anywhere was so bad, I knew a concert would be worse. And yeah, one of the times I went to a concert, I said, "I'm never going to the House of Blues ever again." I got a parking ticket, and the line to get in was about an hour and a half and about a couple blocks long. What a waste. It was a band I USED to like--before the concert. Then their concert pissed me off. They announced, "We're shooting this for a DirectTV special." They actually stopped and redid songs a couple of times. And they made everyone wait for them for a long long time. And Andy Richter opened for them. Sellouts. I guess that's what happens when you get too successful. Too bad it had to happen to They Might Be Giants.
The concert tonight was cool. It was probably the least expensive concert I've ever been to. $20. That's it. No Ticketmaster convenience/sodomy fees. No extra taxes. That was it--$20. And it was open-air, and gorgeous. No clouds, perfect weather. For $12, I got two beers and a slice of pretty decent pizza. No complaints.
I've decided to try learning Java. Why not? Mac already comes with a compiler. Why not use it, right?
I only went to a couple of concerts in LA. They were usually expensive, and traffic going anywhere was so bad, I knew a concert would be worse. And yeah, one of the times I went to a concert, I said, "I'm never going to the House of Blues ever again." I got a parking ticket, and the line to get in was about an hour and a half and about a couple blocks long. What a waste. It was a band I USED to like--before the concert. Then their concert pissed me off. They announced, "We're shooting this for a DirectTV special." They actually stopped and redid songs a couple of times. And they made everyone wait for them for a long long time. And Andy Richter opened for them. Sellouts. I guess that's what happens when you get too successful. Too bad it had to happen to They Might Be Giants.
The concert tonight was cool. It was probably the least expensive concert I've ever been to. $20. That's it. No Ticketmaster convenience/sodomy fees. No extra taxes. That was it--$20. And it was open-air, and gorgeous. No clouds, perfect weather. For $12, I got two beers and a slice of pretty decent pizza. No complaints.
I've decided to try learning Java. Why not? Mac already comes with a compiler. Why not use it, right?
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
BRILLIANT IDEA ALERT
I'm sure some of you (ie. Le) won't like this idea. However, I think it's great. It's an idea in two parts.
Part 1
You see, porn is big business in the United States. It's a $450 trillion industry, and directly and indirectly accounts for 74% of the GDP (source: 2005 Medinski American Almanac). Don't argue with those numbers. They're rock solid, completely accurate estimates based on random guesses.
Part B
And here I am in Hawaii, living next to lots of chocolate. When I'm at home, I'm literally no more than 15 feet from 500 pounds of melted chocolate. You are correct; that IS a lot of chocolate.
Okay, and everyone likes chocolate.
My idea: CHOCOLATE PORN! This is where I find a couple of Hawaiian bimbos (or fly in a couple of starving 'actresses' from the Valley), cover the floor with garbage bags, pour melted chocolate on the floor (which comes out at body temperature, so it's not like anybody will be walking out of here with 3rd degree burns), turn on the cameras, and prepare to make jillions of dollars.
The plan is that the girls will wrestle and do naughty things in the chocolate. It's better than mud wrestling, because it's CHOCOLATE! I'm a genius.
It's a rock solid plan, because there's no competition. There's no porn monopoly here. Distribution might be difficult, but we'll figure it out. I'll be the founder of the Hawaiian Chocolate Porn industry.
Who's in?
Part 1
You see, porn is big business in the United States. It's a $450 trillion industry, and directly and indirectly accounts for 74% of the GDP (source: 2005 Medinski American Almanac). Don't argue with those numbers. They're rock solid, completely accurate estimates based on random guesses.
Part B
And here I am in Hawaii, living next to lots of chocolate. When I'm at home, I'm literally no more than 15 feet from 500 pounds of melted chocolate. You are correct; that IS a lot of chocolate.
Okay, and everyone likes chocolate.
My idea: CHOCOLATE PORN! This is where I find a couple of Hawaiian bimbos (or fly in a couple of starving 'actresses' from the Valley), cover the floor with garbage bags, pour melted chocolate on the floor (which comes out at body temperature, so it's not like anybody will be walking out of here with 3rd degree burns), turn on the cameras, and prepare to make jillions of dollars.
The plan is that the girls will wrestle and do naughty things in the chocolate. It's better than mud wrestling, because it's CHOCOLATE! I'm a genius.
It's a rock solid plan, because there's no competition. There's no porn monopoly here. Distribution might be difficult, but we'll figure it out. I'll be the founder of the Hawaiian Chocolate Porn industry.
Who's in?
Bugs 'n Shit
I noticed something about this place. It's hard not to notice, actually. It's like noticing the sky is black at night and blue during the day, or noticing that the ocean is visible from probably about 90% of the habitable parts of this island: bugs. There are bugs everywhere. Big motherfuckers.
I hate bugs.
What do I hate more than just bugs? Let's get away from the umbrella of bugs and focus on a couple things. We'll start with roaches. They're huge here. It's like some asshole's science project that went out of control. They're abnormally huge. Here, they're referred to as B-52s. I was looking in an old box of stuff that hadn't been touched in about 9 months. It had been in storage. I saw a motherfucking cockroach, running around. I could have puked.
Then I saw a centipede. Then it met the bottom of my sandal--about ten or so times until I was completely sure it was dead. Big motherfucker. I'm sure it could have killed me, but I snuck up on it. I had the element of surprise. You should read Sun Tzu's The Art of War to learn how to successfully fight the bugs.
I saw a ghastly terrible movie the other day called Code 46. It was bizarro speculative science fiction. It was odd, because it was so unbelievably bad, it was like I wasn't really watching this. Was the man in Shawshank Redemption and Mystic River in a movie so bad, I would have expected it as a vehicle from a porn actor trying to make it in legitimate films?
Something that always boggled my mind up until a week and a half ago was that no matter where I was (for the most part), I could drive almost anywhere. My driveway led to the president's driveway, the road in front of my favorite Albuquerque barbeque place (Quarter's) meandered its way to the Canadian prime minister's house, and the street in front of my apartment could lead straight into Daryl or Bill Gates's driveways (even though they're not related). It was something almost cosmic, communal--something that made our huge, unfriendly nation somehow close. But here, I'm on an island, separated by thousands of miles of water. It makes me feel kind of small.
Nobody cares. Perhaps I've bored you tonight. Perhaps you can go fuck a duck.
I hate bugs.
What do I hate more than just bugs? Let's get away from the umbrella of bugs and focus on a couple things. We'll start with roaches. They're huge here. It's like some asshole's science project that went out of control. They're abnormally huge. Here, they're referred to as B-52s. I was looking in an old box of stuff that hadn't been touched in about 9 months. It had been in storage. I saw a motherfucking cockroach, running around. I could have puked.
Then I saw a centipede. Then it met the bottom of my sandal--about ten or so times until I was completely sure it was dead. Big motherfucker. I'm sure it could have killed me, but I snuck up on it. I had the element of surprise. You should read Sun Tzu's The Art of War to learn how to successfully fight the bugs.
I saw a ghastly terrible movie the other day called Code 46. It was bizarro speculative science fiction. It was odd, because it was so unbelievably bad, it was like I wasn't really watching this. Was the man in Shawshank Redemption and Mystic River in a movie so bad, I would have expected it as a vehicle from a porn actor trying to make it in legitimate films?
Something that always boggled my mind up until a week and a half ago was that no matter where I was (for the most part), I could drive almost anywhere. My driveway led to the president's driveway, the road in front of my favorite Albuquerque barbeque place (Quarter's) meandered its way to the Canadian prime minister's house, and the street in front of my apartment could lead straight into Daryl or Bill Gates's driveways (even though they're not related). It was something almost cosmic, communal--something that made our huge, unfriendly nation somehow close. But here, I'm on an island, separated by thousands of miles of water. It makes me feel kind of small.
Nobody cares. Perhaps I've bored you tonight. Perhaps you can go fuck a duck.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
UPDATE ON THE SENATE INQUIRY
In the last couple of days, my credibility has been challenged. Due to the recent Senate inquiry, the truth has come out: I'm on the payrolls of the Hawaii Tourism Board, as well as the Hawaiian Coffee Commission. This is how I've been able to afford living on this island with no "job."
Meanwhile, people think my writing will suffer because now I'm "at peace" and have nothing to complain about. Are you kidding? Now I worry almost constantly about what the fuck I'm going to do in 9 or 12 months when I get back to the mainland. Where am I going to go? What am I going to do? How am I going to explain away taking a year to fuck around in Hawaii. That sounds like the pinnacle of irresponsibility. "Do we really want you working for us? You graduated college, worked for a year, and then spent a year fucking around in Hawaii? Does it say here that you spent SIX YEARS at the same college?"
I think I'd like to be rich, but how one goes about doing that is beyond me. Supposedly, Paul Allen has a house here on the big island (actually not far from here). I hear he has at least two jets--one of them a Boeing 757. I can't even afford an interisland plane ticket. What do I have to do to become rich? And yeah, yeah--everyone says you do what you enjoy and the money will follow. Hell, I said that, too, but I think enjoyment would definitely board with you every time you stepped onto that 757.
I have to care, anymore, too. My father sold it after I left Phoenix, so it's not like I'll be able to drive around that easily without a car. And since I plan on spending every cent I have while I'm here, I'm more likely to come back and be homeless and carless.
Fuck it. I'm going to the beach.
Meanwhile, people think my writing will suffer because now I'm "at peace" and have nothing to complain about. Are you kidding? Now I worry almost constantly about what the fuck I'm going to do in 9 or 12 months when I get back to the mainland. Where am I going to go? What am I going to do? How am I going to explain away taking a year to fuck around in Hawaii. That sounds like the pinnacle of irresponsibility. "Do we really want you working for us? You graduated college, worked for a year, and then spent a year fucking around in Hawaii? Does it say here that you spent SIX YEARS at the same college?"
I think I'd like to be rich, but how one goes about doing that is beyond me. Supposedly, Paul Allen has a house here on the big island (actually not far from here). I hear he has at least two jets--one of them a Boeing 757. I can't even afford an interisland plane ticket. What do I have to do to become rich? And yeah, yeah--everyone says you do what you enjoy and the money will follow. Hell, I said that, too, but I think enjoyment would definitely board with you every time you stepped onto that 757.
I have to care, anymore, too. My father sold it after I left Phoenix, so it's not like I'll be able to drive around that easily without a car. And since I plan on spending every cent I have while I'm here, I'm more likely to come back and be homeless and carless.
Fuck it. I'm going to the beach.
UPDATE ON THE SENATE INQUIRY
In the last couple of days, my credibility has been challenged. Due to the recent Senate inquiry, the truth has come out: I'm on the payrolls of the Hawaii Tourism Board, as well as the Hawaiian Coffee Commission. This is how I've been able to afford living on this island with no "job."
Meanwhile, people think my writing will suffer because now I'm "at peace" and have nothing to complain about. Are you kidding? Now I worry almost constantly about what the fuck I'm going to do in 9 or 12 months when I get back to the mainland. Where am I going to go? What am I going to do? How am I going to explain away taking a year to fuck around in Hawaii. That sounds like the pinnacle of irresponsibility. "Do we really want you working for us? You graduated college, worked for a year, and then spent a year fucking around in Hawaii? Does it say here that you spent SIX YEARS at the same college?"
I think I'd like to be rich, but how one goes about doing that is beyond me. Supposedly, Paul Allen has a house here on the big island (actually not far from here). I hear he has at least two jets--one of them a Boeing 757. I can't even afford an interisland plane ticket. What do I have to do to become rich? And yeah, yeah--everyone says you do what you enjoy and the money will follow. Hell, I said that, too, but I think enjoyment would definitely board with you every time you stepped onto that 757.
I have to care, anymore, too. My father sold it after I left Phoenix, so it's not like I'll be able to drive around that easily without a car. And since I plan on spending every cent I have while I'm here, I'm more likely to come back and be homeless and carless.
Fuck it. I'm going to the beach.
Meanwhile, people think my writing will suffer because now I'm "at peace" and have nothing to complain about. Are you kidding? Now I worry almost constantly about what the fuck I'm going to do in 9 or 12 months when I get back to the mainland. Where am I going to go? What am I going to do? How am I going to explain away taking a year to fuck around in Hawaii. That sounds like the pinnacle of irresponsibility. "Do we really want you working for us? You graduated college, worked for a year, and then spent a year fucking around in Hawaii? Does it say here that you spent SIX YEARS at the same college?"
I think I'd like to be rich, but how one goes about doing that is beyond me. Supposedly, Paul Allen has a house here on the big island (actually not far from here). I hear he has at least two jets--one of them a Boeing 757. I can't even afford an interisland plane ticket. What do I have to do to become rich? And yeah, yeah--everyone says you do what you enjoy and the money will follow. Hell, I said that, too, but I think enjoyment would definitely board with you every time you stepped onto that 757.
I have to care, anymore, too. My father sold it after I left Phoenix, so it's not like I'll be able to drive around that easily without a car. And since I plan on spending every cent I have while I'm here, I'm more likely to come back and be homeless and carless.
Fuck it. I'm going to the beach.
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Island Life
I ate fresh bananas yesterday. I eat them when I can. You see, bananas grow on trees. I'd always thought they were made in a factory and dumped at the grocery store. Somehow, Ralph's had one of these banana factories.
But no! You can pick them off trees and eat them. They're quite tasty.
I had a delicious latte yesterday. It was up at my uncle's friend's house at an elevation of 2000 feet. It's not connected to municipal water supplies, and he's "off the grid"--as in the electrical grid. It's powered by solar panels and gas generators. Amazing. More amazing was that the latte machine was fully powered by one of these generators. I guess it's not so different from cranking up your Honda and driving to the Starbucks, except he's cranking up a generator and the lattes this man made made Starbucks taste like horse urine. Not that I drink horse urine. Not on a regular basis, at least.
Island life is a bit slower than LA life, so I'll probably post a bit less often. What choice do I have? I could discuss the fuckin' asshole drivers who drive WAY too slow or those who drive way too fast. I could talk about the shithead local boys that tailgate. But come on--those aren't exciting.
Tomorrow, I plan on going to the beach, and then the gym. That was the plan for today, but I got lazy.
Those of you expecting more pictures, you'll have to wait a little longer. I'm lazy.
But no! You can pick them off trees and eat them. They're quite tasty.
I had a delicious latte yesterday. It was up at my uncle's friend's house at an elevation of 2000 feet. It's not connected to municipal water supplies, and he's "off the grid"--as in the electrical grid. It's powered by solar panels and gas generators. Amazing. More amazing was that the latte machine was fully powered by one of these generators. I guess it's not so different from cranking up your Honda and driving to the Starbucks, except he's cranking up a generator and the lattes this man made made Starbucks taste like horse urine. Not that I drink horse urine. Not on a regular basis, at least.
Island life is a bit slower than LA life, so I'll probably post a bit less often. What choice do I have? I could discuss the fuckin' asshole drivers who drive WAY too slow or those who drive way too fast. I could talk about the shithead local boys that tailgate. But come on--those aren't exciting.
Tomorrow, I plan on going to the beach, and then the gym. That was the plan for today, but I got lazy.
Those of you expecting more pictures, you'll have to wait a little longer. I'm lazy.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Good Night, Rooster.
So I've been here a few days now. I'm still not settled in, yet. Living in Kona after LA is about as close as you can get to living in a different country without whipping out the old passport (which I need to renew anyway).
I live right in the middle of the only area in the United States where coffee is grown. It's somewhat remote. The closest town is Kailua-Kona--with a population so small, I don't know if anybody ever cared to count it. There's a Walmart, K-mart, Macy's, Safeway, Borders, and a couple of movie theaters, as well as a plethora of resorts and the international airport. The town I'm in is Kealakekua. It's not so much a town as an area with a name. And that name again (in case you weren't paying attention) is Kealakekua. Say out loud. You can't, can you? You think you can, but you can't. I can't. People here can pronounce it, which is good. It's pronounced kay-al-uck-cake-OO-a.
The coffee has been phenomenal. The coffee I drink in the morning is like nothing I could ever afford at home. It's fresh. The coffee farmers and processors actually bring it over here to the business for it to be chocolate covered, and there's enough extra to make some pots of really amazing coffee.
The biggest road here is smaller than the smallest roads in Pasadena. It's one highway that circles the island. Everything is off the highway. The airport is a direct shot from where I am right now. It's about eight traffic lights away down the highway--about a 25 to 30 minute drive. The most amazing beach I've ever seen in my entire life is only about 45 minutes away.
I'm Mr. Touristo, here. I don't look local, and I definitely don't talk like a local. A) I talk in complete sentences, B) I'm not covered in tattoos (a Hawaiian custom), and C) I'm not extraordinarily hostile for no reason. Yes, the natives seem a tad hostile sometimes--usually on the road. But maybe it's just me.
Being here, I've started really looking at my trips to the supermarket and chain stores in a different light. Granted, I prefer to give my money to the local business rather than an internationally powerful corporation based in the Bermuda (an oft used tax shelter). But here, I walk into the Safeway, and suddenly I'm thousands of miles away on the mainland. It's comfortable because I'm used to it. I also went to Borders yesterday; as I walked around, I felt I could have been at the Border's in Pasadena on Lake Avenue. I'm not saying I don't like being here. I'm saying that sometimes it makes me feel normal to walk into a familiar place.
Ahhh, I hear a rooster. Cockfighting is big here. The thing keeps cock-a-doodling over and over. This must mean it's getting late, or something, since it is past 11 (or almost 2 on the West Coast). It also means I'm out in the middle of nowhere.
Meanwhile, if you want to see some pics, check out the photos at www.myspace.com/medinski.
I live right in the middle of the only area in the United States where coffee is grown. It's somewhat remote. The closest town is Kailua-Kona--with a population so small, I don't know if anybody ever cared to count it. There's a Walmart, K-mart, Macy's, Safeway, Borders, and a couple of movie theaters, as well as a plethora of resorts and the international airport. The town I'm in is Kealakekua. It's not so much a town as an area with a name. And that name again (in case you weren't paying attention) is Kealakekua. Say out loud. You can't, can you? You think you can, but you can't. I can't. People here can pronounce it, which is good. It's pronounced kay-al-uck-cake-OO-a.
The coffee has been phenomenal. The coffee I drink in the morning is like nothing I could ever afford at home. It's fresh. The coffee farmers and processors actually bring it over here to the business for it to be chocolate covered, and there's enough extra to make some pots of really amazing coffee.
The biggest road here is smaller than the smallest roads in Pasadena. It's one highway that circles the island. Everything is off the highway. The airport is a direct shot from where I am right now. It's about eight traffic lights away down the highway--about a 25 to 30 minute drive. The most amazing beach I've ever seen in my entire life is only about 45 minutes away.
I'm Mr. Touristo, here. I don't look local, and I definitely don't talk like a local. A) I talk in complete sentences, B) I'm not covered in tattoos (a Hawaiian custom), and C) I'm not extraordinarily hostile for no reason. Yes, the natives seem a tad hostile sometimes--usually on the road. But maybe it's just me.
Being here, I've started really looking at my trips to the supermarket and chain stores in a different light. Granted, I prefer to give my money to the local business rather than an internationally powerful corporation based in the Bermuda (an oft used tax shelter). But here, I walk into the Safeway, and suddenly I'm thousands of miles away on the mainland. It's comfortable because I'm used to it. I also went to Borders yesterday; as I walked around, I felt I could have been at the Border's in Pasadena on Lake Avenue. I'm not saying I don't like being here. I'm saying that sometimes it makes me feel normal to walk into a familiar place.
Ahhh, I hear a rooster. Cockfighting is big here. The thing keeps cock-a-doodling over and over. This must mean it's getting late, or something, since it is past 11 (or almost 2 on the West Coast). It also means I'm out in the middle of nowhere.
Meanwhile, if you want to see some pics, check out the photos at www.myspace.com/medinski.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Aloha
I flew into Kona yesterday after about 14 hours of travelling. I got to Phoenix International Sky Harbour around 8 PM on 10/14/2005. I checked in two heavy, unwieldy suitcases completely jam-packed with all of my stuff. On top of those, I carried my laptop and a large carry-on packed with more stuff, and I wore my jacket. I wore the jacket so I wouldn't have to pack it, but it doesn't count as a carry-on.
My first flight left at about 9:30 PM and got to Las Vegas around 10:30 PM. I claimed my baggage (huge suitcases) and pushed them around, until I found out that I had to go to Terminal Two to get to my Hawaiian Airlines flight. I got on the Terminal Shuttle and was bussed over to another terminal--which was far enough to seem like I was actually going to a different airport. There, I checked in at the Hawaiian counter for my 2 AM flight to Honolulu. I rechecked my baggage. In Honolulu, I changed planes and waited about an hour for my flight to Kona International Airport. I arrived at 8:15 in the morning--still towards the start of the Ironman competition.
On the way from the airport, we saw bicyclists hurtling along in the opposite direction. Huge chunks of the highway were closed for the competition. I snapped a few pictures that I'll post later.
So, here I am. Hawaii. The air is so clean, and it just smells fresh.
To those who I promised chocolate, it shouldn't be too much longer.
My first flight left at about 9:30 PM and got to Las Vegas around 10:30 PM. I claimed my baggage (huge suitcases) and pushed them around, until I found out that I had to go to Terminal Two to get to my Hawaiian Airlines flight. I got on the Terminal Shuttle and was bussed over to another terminal--which was far enough to seem like I was actually going to a different airport. There, I checked in at the Hawaiian counter for my 2 AM flight to Honolulu. I rechecked my baggage. In Honolulu, I changed planes and waited about an hour for my flight to Kona International Airport. I arrived at 8:15 in the morning--still towards the start of the Ironman competition.
On the way from the airport, we saw bicyclists hurtling along in the opposite direction. Huge chunks of the highway were closed for the competition. I snapped a few pictures that I'll post later.
So, here I am. Hawaii. The air is so clean, and it just smells fresh.
To those who I promised chocolate, it shouldn't be too much longer.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Fucked in the ass by Apple
Tomorrow I leave for Hawaii. How bizarre.
Tonight, I went to a place called VooDoo Daddy's Magic Grill here in Phoenix. Cajun food--freakin' awesome. I got these sweet potato fries that tasted like cinammon cookies. Each fry tasted like I was biting into a big, tasty cinammon cookie--I shit you not. Then the waiter offered up that they taste better when dipped in the bourbon chocolate sauce generally used on top of their pecan pie. So I dipped those fries in the sauce, and I'll be damned if I didn't almost shit my pants in shock. Dessert fries.
And for Christ's sake, the Goddamn new iMac G5 came out yesterday. My dad just got his about ten days ago. So here they are, stuck with the old model. At first, I was concerned that they could have a better iMac G5 with even more features. My mom then told me that they're not going to figure everything out anyway, so it doesn't quite matter if they have the old one or new one. This iMac is supposed to be my dad's, after all, and he treats it more like a $2,000 novelty item. I came in the other day, and he was checking his email--on my mom's Windows PC. Jesus.
I feel Apple fucked us a bit. My dad bought this Goddamn iMac G5--supposed to be the latest and greatest. Then what happens? They bring out a new one, and retire the old one. Refurbished G5's equipped like my dad's are about $600 less than what he paid. Fucking assholes.
Today I should have packed, but I played a computer game. It's very hard to find computer games for Mac. Most stores don't have them. I found Max Payne at Half Price Books for only $8, so I bought it. And today, I should have packed, but instead played that fucking game all afternoon. I didn't even swim in the pool.
Fuuuuck. Tomorrow, I leave. I feel quite unprepared. Goodbye, mainland America.
I talked to my uncle in Hawaii. I told him I felt odd about moving to an island. It's a big move. He said that every continent is an island, so that should make me feel better. True. Australia is an island, but I think it's different. I mean, a rowboat and the QE2 are both sea-going vessels, after all.
Tonight, I went to a place called VooDoo Daddy's Magic Grill here in Phoenix. Cajun food--freakin' awesome. I got these sweet potato fries that tasted like cinammon cookies. Each fry tasted like I was biting into a big, tasty cinammon cookie--I shit you not. Then the waiter offered up that they taste better when dipped in the bourbon chocolate sauce generally used on top of their pecan pie. So I dipped those fries in the sauce, and I'll be damned if I didn't almost shit my pants in shock. Dessert fries.
And for Christ's sake, the Goddamn new iMac G5 came out yesterday. My dad just got his about ten days ago. So here they are, stuck with the old model. At first, I was concerned that they could have a better iMac G5 with even more features. My mom then told me that they're not going to figure everything out anyway, so it doesn't quite matter if they have the old one or new one. This iMac is supposed to be my dad's, after all, and he treats it more like a $2,000 novelty item. I came in the other day, and he was checking his email--on my mom's Windows PC. Jesus.
I feel Apple fucked us a bit. My dad bought this Goddamn iMac G5--supposed to be the latest and greatest. Then what happens? They bring out a new one, and retire the old one. Refurbished G5's equipped like my dad's are about $600 less than what he paid. Fucking assholes.
Today I should have packed, but I played a computer game. It's very hard to find computer games for Mac. Most stores don't have them. I found Max Payne at Half Price Books for only $8, so I bought it. And today, I should have packed, but instead played that fucking game all afternoon. I didn't even swim in the pool.
Fuuuuck. Tomorrow, I leave. I feel quite unprepared. Goodbye, mainland America.
I talked to my uncle in Hawaii. I told him I felt odd about moving to an island. It's a big move. He said that every continent is an island, so that should make me feel better. True. Australia is an island, but I think it's different. I mean, a rowboat and the QE2 are both sea-going vessels, after all.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Good New Mexican Food
I returned from St. Louis on Saturday. My friend came to visit me in Phoenix. What a lovely week.
We ate at a few different places, and took in the sights and sounds that Arizona had to offer. I miss New Mexico--my home. This is where I lived for a long time, went to school, etc. I am finding Arizona to be a cross between New Mexico and Southern California. New Mexico doesn't have palm trees or In 'n Out Burger, but Arizona and LA do. However, Arizona and New Mexico have Walmart Supercenters and Sonic Drive-Ins; LA does not.
I really needed some New Mexican food, so we ate at a place called Richardson's here in Phoenix near my parent's. Pitiful. It is supposed to be this really great New Mexican food, but I found it bland and the service was fucking terrible. Had I set to work making my own meal (including killing and preparing the chicken for my burrito), I'd have done it faster than these fuckers had served us. It wasn't anything at all like real New Mexican food. It was a sham. It was terrible. Even the decor was shitty. I figured I'd see at LEAST a New Mexico flag somewhere, but--alas!--no.
The next day (yesterday), we went to Jerome, AZ about two hours north. It's a ghost town--a former copper mining community. It's extremely beautiful. Once there, we ate at Mile High Cafe. The food there, though not advertised as New Mexican, was more New Mexican than Richardson's. I got a big-ass quesadilla with green chile in it that was just out of this world. I love Jerome, though--and not just for the food. It's an old, beautiful town at the top of a mountain. Many of the buildings up there stretch back in time to when Arizona was a territory, and nobody knew that the copper mine would one day be depleted.
After Jerome, we went to Sedona to see the Wallace and Gromit movie. I loved it. Go see this movie, and do so in Sedona. Sedona's an extremely lovely town with a lot of charm as long as you stay away from the very touristy parts (East Sedona).
On the drive back from Sedona, we saw a Mexican place I remember from Albuquerque called Los Betos. It was behind some gas station somewhere in the middle of nowhere between Sedona and I-17. The one in Albuquerque was at a prominent intersection and was busy 24 hours a day. Here it was the opposite. How strange.
Meanwhile, I leave for the island on Friday and I'll arrive Sunday morning. Oh dear.
We ate at a few different places, and took in the sights and sounds that Arizona had to offer. I miss New Mexico--my home. This is where I lived for a long time, went to school, etc. I am finding Arizona to be a cross between New Mexico and Southern California. New Mexico doesn't have palm trees or In 'n Out Burger, but Arizona and LA do. However, Arizona and New Mexico have Walmart Supercenters and Sonic Drive-Ins; LA does not.
I really needed some New Mexican food, so we ate at a place called Richardson's here in Phoenix near my parent's. Pitiful. It is supposed to be this really great New Mexican food, but I found it bland and the service was fucking terrible. Had I set to work making my own meal (including killing and preparing the chicken for my burrito), I'd have done it faster than these fuckers had served us. It wasn't anything at all like real New Mexican food. It was a sham. It was terrible. Even the decor was shitty. I figured I'd see at LEAST a New Mexico flag somewhere, but--alas!--no.
The next day (yesterday), we went to Jerome, AZ about two hours north. It's a ghost town--a former copper mining community. It's extremely beautiful. Once there, we ate at Mile High Cafe. The food there, though not advertised as New Mexican, was more New Mexican than Richardson's. I got a big-ass quesadilla with green chile in it that was just out of this world. I love Jerome, though--and not just for the food. It's an old, beautiful town at the top of a mountain. Many of the buildings up there stretch back in time to when Arizona was a territory, and nobody knew that the copper mine would one day be depleted.
After Jerome, we went to Sedona to see the Wallace and Gromit movie. I loved it. Go see this movie, and do so in Sedona. Sedona's an extremely lovely town with a lot of charm as long as you stay away from the very touristy parts (East Sedona).
On the drive back from Sedona, we saw a Mexican place I remember from Albuquerque called Los Betos. It was behind some gas station somewhere in the middle of nowhere between Sedona and I-17. The one in Albuquerque was at a prominent intersection and was busy 24 hours a day. Here it was the opposite. How strange.
Meanwhile, I leave for the island on Friday and I'll arrive Sunday morning. Oh dear.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Sometimes pronounced "mysery"
I'm in St. Louis, Missouri. Missouri. Where they still ask, "Smoking or non?" It's a wierd question. You see, in civilized states such as New Mexico and California, there is no choice because smoking inside a public place is against the law. In butt-fucked-in-the-head heavily Republican states, they still ask that question because it's legal to give yourself and those around you lung cancer. Not that I dislike Missouri. Which I do. I do like St. Louis, though. It's a very nice city that I wouldn't mind living in. Very historic. But the rest of Missouri--you can have it. The Ozarks? No thanks.
I'm here for my grandmother's funeral. She was a very cool woman, but a horrible driver. The funeral is on Friday. She had cancer. Light a Yahrzeit candle for her. It's especially strange, also, in that her death happened on Rosh Hashnnah--the holiest of holy days. Score one for grandma's timing. She would have been proud.
I'll have to update my blog later. There's not much time right now. Patience is a virtue, asshole.
I'm here for my grandmother's funeral. She was a very cool woman, but a horrible driver. The funeral is on Friday. She had cancer. Light a Yahrzeit candle for her. It's especially strange, also, in that her death happened on Rosh Hashnnah--the holiest of holy days. Score one for grandma's timing. She would have been proud.
I'll have to update my blog later. There's not much time right now. Patience is a virtue, asshole.
Monday, October 03, 2005
Can I borrow at least $100,000 (but less than $200,000)?
My stay in Phoenix so far has been pretty good. I have to do chores, again, like when I was in high school. 4 AM. Feed the cattle. There aren't many--just ten. Ten small cows.
These are Siberian Minor Cows. My father purchased these things to graze the family compound more as a novelty. My parents don't need the milk. Both my mom and dad are lactose intolerant. The cows don't seem to know that, though. They sure do shit a lot. Each cow is only about two to three feet tall, and my dad put these stupid cowbells on each of them.
"Cows," my dad said, lovingly staring at each one. "They just make this place feel like home. Now go get a bucket and a shovel so you can scoop their shit."
"Dad, come on. Isn't it time to get rid of the cows?"
But he already walked away. At half past four, he goes and practices his hand-to-hand combat in the north wing of the house. At seven, he leaves for work. He's a pharmacist.
It's wierd being in Arizona after LA. LA is like no other place on earth. The streets are congested with too many people and too much traffic. The air has a slight brown tinge at best, and is opaque white at its worst. But the LA weather--nothing beats the LA weather.
Funny, though, that the home prices in Southern Cali are so expensive. Driving east on the 10 out of LA, there's more and more billboards advertising new housing developments with strange, generic names. "HOUSES FROM THE $600k's! Come see the CLEMSON RANCH LAKE HOUSING COMMUNITY!" and "LAKESIDE TOWNHOMES FROM THE LOW-400k's, ONLY AT TREBEDOUR MEADOWS HOUSING COMMUNITY!" and more. The billboards get closer and closer together, and more and more housing developments appear out in the middle of nowhere until you hit desert. Blythe. There's some housing developments, but not many. I mean, it's Blythe for Christ's sake. Then you get about 70 miles out of Phoenix, and there's the same types of billboards, but there's a huge pricing disparity. "NEW SUN LAKE HOMES FROM THE 100k's!" Housing for under $200,000? I thought it didn't exist anymore.
Granted, no matter where you are in Southern California, you're closer to a beach than in Arizona. But how much is the beach worth, even if you're on the edge (or in) the desert?
The pool on the south lawn is calling me. I may go riding on one of my dad's Clydesdales later, but he's grown really suspicious of these horses. He claims they're walking advertisements for a certain beer. Whatever.
These are Siberian Minor Cows. My father purchased these things to graze the family compound more as a novelty. My parents don't need the milk. Both my mom and dad are lactose intolerant. The cows don't seem to know that, though. They sure do shit a lot. Each cow is only about two to three feet tall, and my dad put these stupid cowbells on each of them.
"Cows," my dad said, lovingly staring at each one. "They just make this place feel like home. Now go get a bucket and a shovel so you can scoop their shit."
"Dad, come on. Isn't it time to get rid of the cows?"
But he already walked away. At half past four, he goes and practices his hand-to-hand combat in the north wing of the house. At seven, he leaves for work. He's a pharmacist.
It's wierd being in Arizona after LA. LA is like no other place on earth. The streets are congested with too many people and too much traffic. The air has a slight brown tinge at best, and is opaque white at its worst. But the LA weather--nothing beats the LA weather.
Funny, though, that the home prices in Southern Cali are so expensive. Driving east on the 10 out of LA, there's more and more billboards advertising new housing developments with strange, generic names. "HOUSES FROM THE $600k's! Come see the CLEMSON RANCH LAKE HOUSING COMMUNITY!" and "LAKESIDE TOWNHOMES FROM THE LOW-400k's, ONLY AT TREBEDOUR MEADOWS HOUSING COMMUNITY!" and more. The billboards get closer and closer together, and more and more housing developments appear out in the middle of nowhere until you hit desert. Blythe. There's some housing developments, but not many. I mean, it's Blythe for Christ's sake. Then you get about 70 miles out of Phoenix, and there's the same types of billboards, but there's a huge pricing disparity. "NEW SUN LAKE HOMES FROM THE 100k's!" Housing for under $200,000? I thought it didn't exist anymore.
Granted, no matter where you are in Southern California, you're closer to a beach than in Arizona. But how much is the beach worth, even if you're on the edge (or in) the desert?
The pool on the south lawn is calling me. I may go riding on one of my dad's Clydesdales later, but he's grown really suspicious of these horses. He claims they're walking advertisements for a certain beer. Whatever.
Sunday, October 02, 2005
No orange trees
Five hours later, I'm sitting in my parent's Phoenix residential compound (main house). They've removed the orange trees since my last visit.
"Orange trees are unAmerican," my father said. These days, he is rarely without a Cold War-era AK-47 or his 9-mil Sig. Even the orange juice in the fridge is a strange non-juice--a low-carb version of orange juice.
Traffic getting here was better than I could hope for. The highways were almost unpopulated, and my speed rarely dropped below 80. I only got 28 miles per gallon this trip, but I figure the added weight of all of my personal possessions crammed into the back couldn't have helped. All well, it took less than a tank of gas to get from LA to Phoenix (more about 2/3s of a tank), so that's not too bad.
My apartment is a thing of the past. Technically, I'm homeless. My possessions are scattered among my friend's garage, another friend's apartment, and the trunk of my car. I will likely end up taking perhaps five to ten percent of my possessions with me to Kona.
Hey, guess what. The Ironman competition is on October 15th. The one day I choose to fly into Kona is October 15th--purely a freak accident. They close the freeway for the Ironman, so I imagine I'll be waiting at the airport for many hours before I'll be able to get to my new home.
I'll post pictures when the time is right (that's when I find the Godddamn USB cord to hook my computer to the camera).
"Orange trees are unAmerican," my father said. These days, he is rarely without a Cold War-era AK-47 or his 9-mil Sig. Even the orange juice in the fridge is a strange non-juice--a low-carb version of orange juice.
Traffic getting here was better than I could hope for. The highways were almost unpopulated, and my speed rarely dropped below 80. I only got 28 miles per gallon this trip, but I figure the added weight of all of my personal possessions crammed into the back couldn't have helped. All well, it took less than a tank of gas to get from LA to Phoenix (more about 2/3s of a tank), so that's not too bad.
My apartment is a thing of the past. Technically, I'm homeless. My possessions are scattered among my friend's garage, another friend's apartment, and the trunk of my car. I will likely end up taking perhaps five to ten percent of my possessions with me to Kona.
Hey, guess what. The Ironman competition is on October 15th. The one day I choose to fly into Kona is October 15th--purely a freak accident. They close the freeway for the Ironman, so I imagine I'll be waiting at the airport for many hours before I'll be able to get to my new home.
I'll post pictures when the time is right (that's when I find the Godddamn USB cord to hook my computer to the camera).
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
People v. Michael Chia
So as previously mentioned, jury duty ended in the case of the People of the State of California v. Michael Chia. It was rough. I think that the most tense moments of my life were during the reading of the verdict: guilty on two counts of first degree murder, attempted murder, robbery, and conspiracy. The defendant, Michael Chia, was involved in a plan to rob a couple of drug dealers, and then kill them. Turns out the drug dealers were undercover DEA agents. Out of three DEA agents, only one survived. He even testified at the trial.
It was amazing to see so many people in a court room--silent, except for the crying as the verdicts were read. I was expecting more sound--more noise. Perhaps celebration on the part of the prosecution, the amassed DEA agents, everyone? No.
Obviously, Chia's family was upset. The defense attorney was, as well. The jury requested both attorneys meet with us afterwords, and the defense attorney looked like he was waking up to a nightmare. We asked if he was satisfied with the decision, and he said he wasn't at all. He said he was devastated.
It was rough because the defendant didn't pull the trigger. He wasn't even at the shooting. By the time of the shooting, he was probably a few miles away. But he was part of a semi-organized rip-off plan. The guy was only 20 years old when he did it. It was a retrial, too. The events (and the original trial) happened in 1988 here in Pasadena. Even though he didn't pull the trigger, and it's been 17 years, it was established he had an active role in the plan. He had, at the very least, a minor part. Defense tried establishing that he was only there to protect his friend, William Wang. Wang actually was one of the two people to shoot the DEA agents. However, Chia knew he was providing protection for Wang, and he knew the plan. Chia had several roles in the plan (including countersurveillance).
RYAN'S CRIME TIP:
If you plan on taking part in a robbery--perhaps providing a getaway car, or providing countersurveillance--DON'T use a flashy car. Mike Chia (defendant) used a little, shiny black sports car. It stood out, and was entirely easy to spot.
Read about the case here from the LA Times.
It was amazing to see so many people in a court room--silent, except for the crying as the verdicts were read. I was expecting more sound--more noise. Perhaps celebration on the part of the prosecution, the amassed DEA agents, everyone? No.
Obviously, Chia's family was upset. The defense attorney was, as well. The jury requested both attorneys meet with us afterwords, and the defense attorney looked like he was waking up to a nightmare. We asked if he was satisfied with the decision, and he said he wasn't at all. He said he was devastated.
It was rough because the defendant didn't pull the trigger. He wasn't even at the shooting. By the time of the shooting, he was probably a few miles away. But he was part of a semi-organized rip-off plan. The guy was only 20 years old when he did it. It was a retrial, too. The events (and the original trial) happened in 1988 here in Pasadena. Even though he didn't pull the trigger, and it's been 17 years, it was established he had an active role in the plan. He had, at the very least, a minor part. Defense tried establishing that he was only there to protect his friend, William Wang. Wang actually was one of the two people to shoot the DEA agents. However, Chia knew he was providing protection for Wang, and he knew the plan. Chia had several roles in the plan (including countersurveillance).
RYAN'S CRIME TIP:
If you plan on taking part in a robbery--perhaps providing a getaway car, or providing countersurveillance--DON'T use a flashy car. Mike Chia (defendant) used a little, shiny black sports car. It stood out, and was entirely easy to spot.
Read about the case here from the LA Times.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Jury Duty is OVER
Jury duty is over, and I'm now allowed to talk about the case. We came up with the verdict this afternoon.
It was a pretty rough murder trial involving drugs, conspiracy, robbery. I'm exhausted. I'll write more about it later.
It was a pretty rough murder trial involving drugs, conspiracy, robbery. I'm exhausted. I'll write more about it later.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
One Week
I've got one week left here. Bizarre. Am I packed? Not quite. Even somewhat? No. Shit.
Tonight I went and saw Constant Gardener with my friend. The preview for this was far better than the actual film. Hell, the previews before THIS movie were better than the movie itself. It was full of cliches. I could almost guess what the characters were going to say next, just because of the extensive use of cliches and unoriginal characters. It ended up being a propaganda film with the obvious message, "Big pharmacy companies are ruining the world and will kill everyone to make a cent!" Yes, the exclamation point is a part of that. It was really overcooked Hollywood buffoonery (though it was British).
I felt tremors today. I was sitting in the courtroom (jury duty) listening to one of the lawyers. I was fading off in the direction of sleepiness...eyes falling shut, difficult to pay attention, warm...And then I felt something. It felt like someone tapped the floor beneath my chair. It was a small jolt, and I felt it a few more times. I sat bolt-upright in my chair and I bugged my eyes out. I looked around the room to see if anyone was about to panic. No, not quite. But the lawyer who was talking looked at me with a strange look--one that said, "Yeah, of course I just said something important, but it's not THAT crazy." It kept happening throughout the day.
I asked the other jurors about earthquakes. You see, I think it would be reasonable that there'd be sirens--Earthquake Alarms, if you will. I figured that someone would ring these alarms--think air-raid sirens--during an earthquake. However, they said usually the point of alarms is to WARN people of an impending disaster. Earthquakes last 10 to 15 seconds, so there's really no way to warn anybody--so they say.
My brother has it worse. He's in Houston with his wife. He boarded up the windows today on their house. 70 miles inland, and we were getting nervous. However, the hurricane turned east, so it'll probably hit the Louisiana-Texas border. Galveston may be hit, and actually stands a good chance. Odd, because I wanted to move there before moving to California. I was living in Houston, and was trying to find a job that would take me close enough to be able to buy a house in Galveston. In Galveston, you can still buy a waterfront house for less than $200,000--try that in California.
Anyway, we're pretty worried about Houston. Most businesses have closed, and there's sooo many people on the road that evacuation is no longer a choice. My sister-in-law said it took their friends that drove from Pearland to downtown Houston seven hours. That's seven hours for 30 miles. And From Houston to Austin? 128 miles. 10 hours. Yowsah!
I feel pretty bad for the Katrina victims. I can't see Houston flooding as bad as New Orleans, but many are already traumatized--already getting over the biggest disaster of their lives, and now this.
Tonight I went and saw Constant Gardener with my friend. The preview for this was far better than the actual film. Hell, the previews before THIS movie were better than the movie itself. It was full of cliches. I could almost guess what the characters were going to say next, just because of the extensive use of cliches and unoriginal characters. It ended up being a propaganda film with the obvious message, "Big pharmacy companies are ruining the world and will kill everyone to make a cent!" Yes, the exclamation point is a part of that. It was really overcooked Hollywood buffoonery (though it was British).
I felt tremors today. I was sitting in the courtroom (jury duty) listening to one of the lawyers. I was fading off in the direction of sleepiness...eyes falling shut, difficult to pay attention, warm...And then I felt something. It felt like someone tapped the floor beneath my chair. It was a small jolt, and I felt it a few more times. I sat bolt-upright in my chair and I bugged my eyes out. I looked around the room to see if anyone was about to panic. No, not quite. But the lawyer who was talking looked at me with a strange look--one that said, "Yeah, of course I just said something important, but it's not THAT crazy." It kept happening throughout the day.
I asked the other jurors about earthquakes. You see, I think it would be reasonable that there'd be sirens--Earthquake Alarms, if you will. I figured that someone would ring these alarms--think air-raid sirens--during an earthquake. However, they said usually the point of alarms is to WARN people of an impending disaster. Earthquakes last 10 to 15 seconds, so there's really no way to warn anybody--so they say.
My brother has it worse. He's in Houston with his wife. He boarded up the windows today on their house. 70 miles inland, and we were getting nervous. However, the hurricane turned east, so it'll probably hit the Louisiana-Texas border. Galveston may be hit, and actually stands a good chance. Odd, because I wanted to move there before moving to California. I was living in Houston, and was trying to find a job that would take me close enough to be able to buy a house in Galveston. In Galveston, you can still buy a waterfront house for less than $200,000--try that in California.
Anyway, we're pretty worried about Houston. Most businesses have closed, and there's sooo many people on the road that evacuation is no longer a choice. My sister-in-law said it took their friends that drove from Pearland to downtown Houston seven hours. That's seven hours for 30 miles. And From Houston to Austin? 128 miles. 10 hours. Yowsah!
I feel pretty bad for the Katrina victims. I can't see Houston flooding as bad as New Orleans, but many are already traumatized--already getting over the biggest disaster of their lives, and now this.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Too Tired
I've gotten shittier and shittier at posting to my blog. I have no excuse.
I got the sweetest laptop bag mailed to me way from Fluffy in Australia. It's super sweet. I'm loving it. It's blue with orange accent. I've seriously never seen a laptop bag like this before. Check out the web page: www.crumpler.com.au. I'm loving it. It's padded and fits my 12" iBook perfectly. Fuck the laptop bags from the Apple Store. They're overpriced and they all look the same. This is sweet. I'll put a picture up if I get my camera working again.
Jury duty continues. I can't talk about the case, though. The judge bought the jury cake today, though. That was really nice of her.
As the case continues, it appears more and more like a long, drawn out play involving all elements of theater (or theatre): there's comedy, drama, highs, lows. There's several players and the complexity of a serious plot. The judge is the director of the show and the court clerk is like the stage manager. There's an audience, but the jury is a box of critics. The players all play towards the jury. The attorneys are the stars of the shows, with supporting actors propping up their performance (the witnesses). There's many breaks, and a long intermission for lunch. And the jurors, I've noticed, have started treating it like a long drawn out story--a mini-series.
The other day, one of the attorneys made an objection to a point brought up by the other attorney. He called an objection, and fired off his reason for the objection (ie. "Objection. Vague as to time."). And then, before the judge could answer, he yelled out, "Sustained." And then, as if reaching for another reason to call an objection, yelled out another, different reason for the objection, "Uh...Facts not in evidence." There was a long silence. The judge looked at him, and we all looked around at each other confused at why the attorney had sustained his own objection. Then we laughed at him, and I kept laughing throughout the day.
Tuesday. It's already Tuesday. It feels like I JUST posted my last post yesterday. Time flies, and it needs to stop. I need to pack my apartment! Oh my God!!!
My friend, Kathryn Allen, just got published. Check out her bitchin' poem at www.thefurnacereview.com. Don't be a fuckin' asshole. Check out the poem. She's working on her MFA in creative writing in Washington. I want an MFA in creative writing...
I'm so tired. I'm always tired. That's partially why I don't post so much anymore. I'm soooo tired most of the time.
Hey, check out this sweet video. This guy is dared to drink a bottle of Ipecac (an emitic) for $500 and then puke on the ground. My brother called me and told me to watch it. I was sickened not by the video so much as the fact that my brother thought it was hilarious. He's one sick fuck. Of course, I proceeded to show the video to my parents when they came to town, my special friend, my cousin, a couple friends, and my uncle. I even told all the jurors about the video. Is HE still the sick fuck?
I got the sweetest laptop bag mailed to me way from Fluffy in Australia. It's super sweet. I'm loving it. It's blue with orange accent. I've seriously never seen a laptop bag like this before. Check out the web page: www.crumpler.com.au. I'm loving it. It's padded and fits my 12" iBook perfectly. Fuck the laptop bags from the Apple Store. They're overpriced and they all look the same. This is sweet. I'll put a picture up if I get my camera working again.
Jury duty continues. I can't talk about the case, though. The judge bought the jury cake today, though. That was really nice of her.
As the case continues, it appears more and more like a long, drawn out play involving all elements of theater (or theatre): there's comedy, drama, highs, lows. There's several players and the complexity of a serious plot. The judge is the director of the show and the court clerk is like the stage manager. There's an audience, but the jury is a box of critics. The players all play towards the jury. The attorneys are the stars of the shows, with supporting actors propping up their performance (the witnesses). There's many breaks, and a long intermission for lunch. And the jurors, I've noticed, have started treating it like a long drawn out story--a mini-series.
The other day, one of the attorneys made an objection to a point brought up by the other attorney. He called an objection, and fired off his reason for the objection (ie. "Objection. Vague as to time."). And then, before the judge could answer, he yelled out, "Sustained." And then, as if reaching for another reason to call an objection, yelled out another, different reason for the objection, "Uh...Facts not in evidence." There was a long silence. The judge looked at him, and we all looked around at each other confused at why the attorney had sustained his own objection. Then we laughed at him, and I kept laughing throughout the day.
Tuesday. It's already Tuesday. It feels like I JUST posted my last post yesterday. Time flies, and it needs to stop. I need to pack my apartment! Oh my God!!!
My friend, Kathryn Allen, just got published. Check out her bitchin' poem at www.thefurnacereview.com. Don't be a fuckin' asshole. Check out the poem. She's working on her MFA in creative writing in Washington. I want an MFA in creative writing...
I'm so tired. I'm always tired. That's partially why I don't post so much anymore. I'm soooo tired most of the time.
Hey, check out this sweet video. This guy is dared to drink a bottle of Ipecac (an emitic) for $500 and then puke on the ground. My brother called me and told me to watch it. I was sickened not by the video so much as the fact that my brother thought it was hilarious. He's one sick fuck. Of course, I proceeded to show the video to my parents when they came to town, my special friend, my cousin, a couple friends, and my uncle. I even told all the jurors about the video. Is HE still the sick fuck?
Friday, September 16, 2005
At the laundromat...
I don't know if I told you that I broke the washer at my complex the other day. There's one washer and one dryer for the complex, and apparently I broke it. That was about Wednesday or so. So I kept my soggy, unwashed laundry in my apartment until today. I wanted to culture some bacteria, and that accompanying smell was fantastic--like something clawing its way through my nostrils.
So I'm doing the laundry today at the laundromat. I brought my laptop. I'm easily amazed by Technology (that's with a capital 'T'). I'm sitting here, the thing's not plugged in, and I'm using a wireless connection. The Laundromat actually has a wireless connection, but the guy didn't know how to make it work with my laptop. However, that didn't matter because the Christian Center across the street has a strong enough signal to work on this thing. So the Christians are giving me free wireless internet. I should stop saying the Christians have contributed nothing to society, and have given me nothing. See? Wireless internet.
Court was pretty bad today. At lunch, I rubbed my eye and my contact fell out; it's gone forever, because I lost it. The lawyers and the judge--even the other jurors--thought I was tired and about to fall asleep. I guess me experiencing severe eye pain looks like I'm about to fall asleep.
I booked my plane ticket to Hawaii yesterday. I'll be flying out later than I wanted, but all well. I saved about $170 by flying out a few days later. I figured it was worth it. Who knows, though?
Hey, you ever eat Bimbo bread? It's an actual brand of bread and bread products. Bimbo. I think it's more of a Mexican thing (as in, they seem to be bigger fans). Perhaps in Spanish, Bimbo doesn't mean floozy. In fact, that should be their ad campaign targeted to the non Spanish-speaking crowd: "Bimbo. It's not just a cheap floozy who'll give you a hand job for $5. It's good bread." Or perhaps, "Bimbo Bread. So good, yet we won't leave a rash in your nether-regions."
I remember growing up in rural Mexico. Those were happier times...I'd ride the family's donkey to school. And then I'd stop by my friend Paco's and we'd play our favorite game, Rob the American Tourist...
Soon I'll be in Hawaii. Oh my God. And then what?
Ping--my outsourced blog-writer--has been hired away from me to write copy for the Republican Party. That's a recipe for disaster. Once they introduce a shred of competence, this country will go down the toilet--haven't they LEARNED?! He offered a no-bid contract, and they immediately accepted.
So I'm doing the laundry today at the laundromat. I brought my laptop. I'm easily amazed by Technology (that's with a capital 'T'). I'm sitting here, the thing's not plugged in, and I'm using a wireless connection. The Laundromat actually has a wireless connection, but the guy didn't know how to make it work with my laptop. However, that didn't matter because the Christian Center across the street has a strong enough signal to work on this thing. So the Christians are giving me free wireless internet. I should stop saying the Christians have contributed nothing to society, and have given me nothing. See? Wireless internet.
Court was pretty bad today. At lunch, I rubbed my eye and my contact fell out; it's gone forever, because I lost it. The lawyers and the judge--even the other jurors--thought I was tired and about to fall asleep. I guess me experiencing severe eye pain looks like I'm about to fall asleep.
I booked my plane ticket to Hawaii yesterday. I'll be flying out later than I wanted, but all well. I saved about $170 by flying out a few days later. I figured it was worth it. Who knows, though?
Hey, you ever eat Bimbo bread? It's an actual brand of bread and bread products. Bimbo. I think it's more of a Mexican thing (as in, they seem to be bigger fans). Perhaps in Spanish, Bimbo doesn't mean floozy. In fact, that should be their ad campaign targeted to the non Spanish-speaking crowd: "Bimbo. It's not just a cheap floozy who'll give you a hand job for $5. It's good bread." Or perhaps, "Bimbo Bread. So good, yet we won't leave a rash in your nether-regions."
I remember growing up in rural Mexico. Those were happier times...I'd ride the family's donkey to school. And then I'd stop by my friend Paco's and we'd play our favorite game, Rob the American Tourist...
Soon I'll be in Hawaii. Oh my God. And then what?
Ping--my outsourced blog-writer--has been hired away from me to write copy for the Republican Party. That's a recipe for disaster. Once they introduce a shred of competence, this country will go down the toilet--haven't they LEARNED?! He offered a no-bid contract, and they immediately accepted.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
More of Ping's Piece
I just booked my tickets for my Big Move to Hawaii. I plan on heading out to Phoenix around the 1st or 2nd of October. My original plan was to fly to Hawaii around the 9th or so (perhaps earlier, but no later than the 11th). However, the ticket turned out to be cheapest if I fly out the night of the 14th. I'll arrive in Kona on the morning of the 15th.
I quit my job. My manager asked if I wanted to take my same job in Hawaii. After a few days of thinking about it, I decided that this was a horrible idea. Odd, isn't it? One of the biggest reasons for moving to Hawaii was to escape my job. It sucks. It's boring. I'd rather stick my nuts in a vice and crank until I pass out than to spend any more time than I have to on my job. I aspire to get a job at Home Depot.
What happened to my drive and ambition? Home Depot? Do you realize there was a time in my life (early college) when I wanted to be a nuclear engineer. There was another time I wanted to be a lawyer. And now, I'm aiming for a part time job at a large home improvement chain. What happened? Let's review:
* I've always been drug-free
* I drink infrequently
* I'm educated, and enjoy learning
* Never ate paint chips
Well? I don't know.
The court case is going alright. It's possibly almost over, but I'm not holding my breath. When I get bored, I play Hangman with the juror next to me. I guessed 'California' with just seeing the I's and the A's, but couldn't figure November. She couldn't guess three of my words: Panama Canal, tuberculosis, and jury duty. I figured she'd be able to get 'jury duty.'
Meanwhile, I'm working on a CD with my neighbor. I did vocals, he did guitar. I won't go into too much detail, but it took like an hour just to do two songs. What the heck? All well, you've got to spend time to make platinum, right?
Right.
PING'S PIECE
I like computer when allowing to use by me. Other times not write blog make shoe. Shoe I make for American devils. Kill the devils of America. Fear of swimming pool orange juice. But I love swim of pool. When allow to eat of food horse and styrofoam. I use foot of dead horse pillow sleeping on. Smell of nose is not of nice good smell. But pillow. Chain to wall computer next to me I blog write. Food if do good. King Devil of world Ryan he is. Ask by village idiot stupid why I do blog. I NEW idiot of village. He laugh. Kick to testacles of idiot of village. I kick.
I quit my job. My manager asked if I wanted to take my same job in Hawaii. After a few days of thinking about it, I decided that this was a horrible idea. Odd, isn't it? One of the biggest reasons for moving to Hawaii was to escape my job. It sucks. It's boring. I'd rather stick my nuts in a vice and crank until I pass out than to spend any more time than I have to on my job. I aspire to get a job at Home Depot.
What happened to my drive and ambition? Home Depot? Do you realize there was a time in my life (early college) when I wanted to be a nuclear engineer. There was another time I wanted to be a lawyer. And now, I'm aiming for a part time job at a large home improvement chain. What happened? Let's review:
* I've always been drug-free
* I drink infrequently
* I'm educated, and enjoy learning
* Never ate paint chips
Well? I don't know.
The court case is going alright. It's possibly almost over, but I'm not holding my breath. When I get bored, I play Hangman with the juror next to me. I guessed 'California' with just seeing the I's and the A's, but couldn't figure November. She couldn't guess three of my words: Panama Canal, tuberculosis, and jury duty. I figured she'd be able to get 'jury duty.'
Meanwhile, I'm working on a CD with my neighbor. I did vocals, he did guitar. I won't go into too much detail, but it took like an hour just to do two songs. What the heck? All well, you've got to spend time to make platinum, right?
Right.
PING'S PIECE
I like computer when allowing to use by me. Other times not write blog make shoe. Shoe I make for American devils. Kill the devils of America. Fear of swimming pool orange juice. But I love swim of pool. When allow to eat of food horse and styrofoam. I use foot of dead horse pillow sleeping on. Smell of nose is not of nice good smell. But pillow. Chain to wall computer next to me I blog write. Food if do good. King Devil of world Ryan he is. Ask by village idiot stupid why I do blog. I NEW idiot of village. He laugh. Kick to testacles of idiot of village. I kick.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
I'm a shithead.
Yeah, I don't post so often anymore. I'm considering outsourcing my blog production. I'm going to get a kid in a Third World country to write the bulk of my posts. I'll write SOME of each blog post from now on.
First, I'll tell you I quit my job. I put in my two week's notice. My manager cried because she's sad to see me go. Many of my coworkers were aware of my sentiments, so it wasn't too much of a shock to most of them. Some of them it was.
My brother just sold his lawnmower and weed trimmer on eBay. USED. Not new. And in the pictures, they didn't even look that nice. He told me he listed them, and I howled with laughter. I told him he was too fucking lazy to push them out to the garbage can, so he took pictures and put them on eBay. On each post, he put, "For local pick-up ONLY." So what I did, I went on and started bidding on the mower and the weed trimmer. I wanted to bid like five bucks, win the auction, and then NOT pick them up. THEN, he'd have to repost the items. On top of that, I wouldn't pay him. Because I'm a dick. My mother would tell me to, and maybe I would end up paying him, but it'd be worth it. I mean, Maternal Payment Enforcement. That'd be funny. That, of course, was my plan when the bidding was still below ten bucks. I thought I'd win with my $6 bid on each. The mower ended up selling for $60. The fucking USED weed trimmer? $97. He sold these used lawn items--obviously not new, and the mower in need of repair (plain to see in the pictures) for a combined $157. What is wrong with this world?
All right, as promised I'll now turn it over to Ping. He lives in the small country of Xiejgihlkdkjgeristan. Their main industry is seeking out foreign aid from other wealtheir Third World countries. Their biggest export is hunger. He just learned English a few days ago, so it's a bit rough.
PING'S PIECE
I Ping am boy small. 12 years old. Dad caught riding bull king Onion Man. Now sell sex self to man until blog write today. This is happy fun! When began write food chained to waste excrement not fun. America people evil demon people Ray Romano. When girl pregnant I sell to market large pig abortion trade. This is happy fun! In factory people whipping cream. Naughty! Not happy fun. Coldness showers until wake up. In my country the fondness of horse pie yell sleeping orange. You feel too? American you create evil of world? We trade kidney and lung and three fingers foot right for clean water gallon to drink of. This is happy fun! We run to water swim. Swim! I love!
First, I'll tell you I quit my job. I put in my two week's notice. My manager cried because she's sad to see me go. Many of my coworkers were aware of my sentiments, so it wasn't too much of a shock to most of them. Some of them it was.
My brother just sold his lawnmower and weed trimmer on eBay. USED. Not new. And in the pictures, they didn't even look that nice. He told me he listed them, and I howled with laughter. I told him he was too fucking lazy to push them out to the garbage can, so he took pictures and put them on eBay. On each post, he put, "For local pick-up ONLY." So what I did, I went on and started bidding on the mower and the weed trimmer. I wanted to bid like five bucks, win the auction, and then NOT pick them up. THEN, he'd have to repost the items. On top of that, I wouldn't pay him. Because I'm a dick. My mother would tell me to, and maybe I would end up paying him, but it'd be worth it. I mean, Maternal Payment Enforcement. That'd be funny. That, of course, was my plan when the bidding was still below ten bucks. I thought I'd win with my $6 bid on each. The mower ended up selling for $60. The fucking USED weed trimmer? $97. He sold these used lawn items--obviously not new, and the mower in need of repair (plain to see in the pictures) for a combined $157. What is wrong with this world?
All right, as promised I'll now turn it over to Ping. He lives in the small country of Xiejgihlkdkjgeristan. Their main industry is seeking out foreign aid from other wealtheir Third World countries. Their biggest export is hunger. He just learned English a few days ago, so it's a bit rough.
PING'S PIECE
I Ping am boy small. 12 years old. Dad caught riding bull king Onion Man. Now sell sex self to man until blog write today. This is happy fun! When began write food chained to waste excrement not fun. America people evil demon people Ray Romano. When girl pregnant I sell to market large pig abortion trade. This is happy fun! In factory people whipping cream. Naughty! Not happy fun. Coldness showers until wake up. In my country the fondness of horse pie yell sleeping orange. You feel too? American you create evil of world? We trade kidney and lung and three fingers foot right for clean water gallon to drink of. This is happy fun! We run to water swim. Swim! I love!
Thursday, September 08, 2005
The Wheels are in Motion...
Tomorrow is a big day at work: I put in my two weeks notice. Today I was "sick" so I could go get my car looked at in Santa Monica.
It was such a beautiful day. I mean, don't think I don't feel guilty when I call in "sick." So I went to the doctor's office and asked for something--some sort of unnecessary treatment so I could at least have done SOMETHING involving medicine. I paid the woman behind the counter ten bucks to do something, so she drew some blood for me. She insisted she had no medical training, and was simply the receptionist. Blood is blood, though. She got it out, so that's what matters. I suppose it serves no medical purpose for it to have dripped all over the floor, but so what? I can honestly tell my boss that I did something medical-related.
Not that it matters. As I said, tomorrow I put in my two weeks notice. I spent today in Santa Monica. Saab of Santa Monica says my car needs a new turbocharger. "Wait, wait. You're saying my car needs a NEW turbocharger? WHY?!"
"Wear and tear," the guy said. "They sometimes just wear out. It's covered under warranty (and California emissions laws)."
"How could it wear out? Did I drive it wrong?"
"No," he said. "I mean, it DOES have 61,000 miles (almost 100,000 km). Sometimes, the turbo lasts forever. Sometimes they wear out."
Well shit. This is news to me. I thought a car with 61,000 miles was just getting broken in. Hell's bells, I didn't think something like this was supposed to go until about 150,000 miles. But I don't have to pay for it, so they can twin turbocharge it for all I car.
Meanwhile, on a car related note, I saw a Bugatti Veyrton as I left Trader Joe's today. That's an insane car. As far as I know, it's the most expensive production car on the market. That's right, somewhere in the neighborhood of $1,300,000 (about a million euros). That's a house in Pasadena, or a small subdivision in Katy, Texas. As it drove by me, it had a sound like nothing I'd ever heard before. I believe it was the aural equivalent of mixing a fleet of Kawasaki Ninjas, a high-speed blender, a Lear jet, and elephant testacles. Wow. It was something that has to be heard.
How Do I Quit?
I'm trying to figure out how to write my two week's notice letter. I'm trying to choose from among the following:
Option 1
"Dear Ms. Penderginski,
Went out. I'll be back in five minutes. If not five minutes, then probably never.
Sincerely,
Ryan Medinski"
Option 2
"Dear Ms. Penderginski,
Two weeks sure may seem like a long time, unless you pay me two weeks wages and let me leave right now.
Sincerely,
The Noisiest Asshole in Existence"
Option 3
"Dear Ms. Penderginski,
I haven't done any work in three and a half months. I spend my days playing with myself and stealing office supplies. I am giving you this--my two weeks fucking notice--before you fire me."
Sincerely,
Ryan Medinski"
Option 4
"Dear Ms. Penderpoophead,
I'm going to take this chance to not only give you my two weeks notice, but to tell you I plan on using your office as my own personal bathroom.
Sincerely,
Ryan Medinski"
Option 5
(On corporate letterhead of some other company)
"Dear Ms. Penderginski,
I got another job. I've been working there for four months. I'm surprised you didn't notice the change in my job performance. I thought I already quit, but I kept getting paychecks. Please continue sending the paychecks, but don't keep asking me about my progress on various cases.
Sincerely,
Ryan Medinski"
It was such a beautiful day. I mean, don't think I don't feel guilty when I call in "sick." So I went to the doctor's office and asked for something--some sort of unnecessary treatment so I could at least have done SOMETHING involving medicine. I paid the woman behind the counter ten bucks to do something, so she drew some blood for me. She insisted she had no medical training, and was simply the receptionist. Blood is blood, though. She got it out, so that's what matters. I suppose it serves no medical purpose for it to have dripped all over the floor, but so what? I can honestly tell my boss that I did something medical-related.
Not that it matters. As I said, tomorrow I put in my two weeks notice. I spent today in Santa Monica. Saab of Santa Monica says my car needs a new turbocharger. "Wait, wait. You're saying my car needs a NEW turbocharger? WHY?!"
"Wear and tear," the guy said. "They sometimes just wear out. It's covered under warranty (and California emissions laws)."
"How could it wear out? Did I drive it wrong?"
"No," he said. "I mean, it DOES have 61,000 miles (almost 100,000 km). Sometimes, the turbo lasts forever. Sometimes they wear out."
Well shit. This is news to me. I thought a car with 61,000 miles was just getting broken in. Hell's bells, I didn't think something like this was supposed to go until about 150,000 miles. But I don't have to pay for it, so they can twin turbocharge it for all I car.
Meanwhile, on a car related note, I saw a Bugatti Veyrton as I left Trader Joe's today. That's an insane car. As far as I know, it's the most expensive production car on the market. That's right, somewhere in the neighborhood of $1,300,000 (about a million euros). That's a house in Pasadena, or a small subdivision in Katy, Texas. As it drove by me, it had a sound like nothing I'd ever heard before. I believe it was the aural equivalent of mixing a fleet of Kawasaki Ninjas, a high-speed blender, a Lear jet, and elephant testacles. Wow. It was something that has to be heard.
How Do I Quit?
I'm trying to figure out how to write my two week's notice letter. I'm trying to choose from among the following:
Option 1
"Dear Ms. Penderginski,
Went out. I'll be back in five minutes. If not five minutes, then probably never.
Sincerely,
Ryan Medinski"
Option 2
"Dear Ms. Penderginski,
Two weeks sure may seem like a long time, unless you pay me two weeks wages and let me leave right now.
Sincerely,
The Noisiest Asshole in Existence"
Option 3
"Dear Ms. Penderginski,
I haven't done any work in three and a half months. I spend my days playing with myself and stealing office supplies. I am giving you this--my two weeks fucking notice--before you fire me."
Sincerely,
Ryan Medinski"
Option 4
"Dear Ms. Penderpoophead,
I'm going to take this chance to not only give you my two weeks notice, but to tell you I plan on using your office as my own personal bathroom.
Sincerely,
Ryan Medinski"
Option 5
(On corporate letterhead of some other company)
"Dear Ms. Penderginski,
I got another job. I've been working there for four months. I'm surprised you didn't notice the change in my job performance. I thought I already quit, but I kept getting paychecks. Please continue sending the paychecks, but don't keep asking me about my progress on various cases.
Sincerely,
Ryan Medinski"
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