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?
Monday, October 31, 2005
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).
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