tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75118992024-03-13T17:12:00.829-07:00grepUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger108125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-49760187536081207352016-12-24T23:58:00.002-08:002016-12-24T23:58:44.539-08:00grunchy//-a-r-e-a-s-o-n-a-b-l-e-m-a-n-w-r-o-t-e-<br />
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<i>Man I am just so delighted with Lay's potato chips</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Just the baseline kind in the yellow bag, straight-up an <u>exact-deliverin'</u> product</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>If I was Warren Buffet I would be like, "All companies should basically be as perfect as a Lay's potato chip, time and again, Charlie and I will buy them all and take them to our Valhalla of freedom and catered seminars"</i><br />
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//-a-r-e-a-s-o-n-a-b-l-e-m-a-n-w-r-o-t-e-<br />
<br />
<b>I.</b><br />
<br />
Okay so as you can see that was the type of mind I was in last night, all Cool-Whupped good on some of that Golden Tabloid, my new and only favorite strain of <i>the marihuana</i> that seems to connect all my calls through the operator direct and correct for once.<br />
<br />
To review, mostly weed does some pretty low shenanigans on my woggin, straight-up logging me out of society for a shift. Here are some of the ways it typically gets south on me:<br />
<br />
1. I smoke it with somebody who is way better at smoking it than me and I feel like I have to pull a good rip of it to impress them and as soon as I set the bong down Popeye squeezes a can of roller coasters down my throat (hyuk nyuk nyuk!) and I got to go hurl and entertain the Eternal Screensaver of the Password-Locked Mind until sleep comes.<br />
<br />
2. I smoke it and then every terrible thing I have ever done or been to anybody or probably was or will be to somebody is ready as an instant list, and it auto-plays in my mind as I sit on the couch, from my mama hatin' on being pregnant to the underpaid, hungover guy who has to clean out the old paint cans and jars of unmatched screws of my final carport. <i>Smoke still curling in a slight way off the bottom of my nostrils, moisture visibly at play on the inner surfaces.</i> On this list: (1) A guy I yelled at way too hard while way too juicy on Guinness, for working on his car outside the bedroom window at 2am while Molly was trying to sleep. (2) A really idiotic sexist thing I said about "why Volkswagens are cars for women" once at a nice restaurant years ago, all brassy and Sinatra, and I remember the sophisticated rich lady at the table next to ours saying "Jesus Christ, how much longer do I have to listen to this idiot," but I pretended at the time that she wasn't referring to me. (Now she is referring to me <i>forever </i>in my <i>marijuana memory</i>.)<br />
<br />
3. I get really anxious like the universe is that big stone ball that races after Indiana Jones and I am Indiana Jones, but I never see the ball and I am just standing in whoever's kitchen it is and I'm not allowed to look around for the ball, but I know I am about to die from it. And also I concurrently feel that sensation like when you step off a curb that you didn't see and for five inches you know what it's like to die from the first part of a plane crash.<br />
<br />
4. On a few occasions the high has been a pleasant enough time. About as often as you get the hundo ring at skee-ball.<br />
<br />
So that is regular weed experiences. Golden Tabloid doesn't do that. Golden Tabloid is like the following (which I wrote down in a notebook "while reporting for the Golden Tabloid"):<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I am in a sauna, or a room, and no one has ever made a mistake. I am nothing but the lower part of the eye, where the slight pressure from gravity, eyeball against lid, is the only thing that reminds me that I am physically manifest. I love that I can understand, through Tabloid, how great rich people feel when every detail and tax situation has been calmed to their benefit and satisfaction. My car, should I summon it, is a plush white terrycloth experience, like a moisture-less blintz I have snuck inside, where I receive all the good feelings I would have felt had I gotten all the gifts I'd wanted as a child. We are going Christmas shopping in a place where volunteer minks—tall as a parent, with spicy, musky cologne—give you a loving, selfless, genuine hug every time you enter a new store, and you love hugging them back.</i><br />
<br />
<i>When you leave the store, they are hugging someone else, but they make sure to put a hand on your shoulder, smile, and make eye contact.</i><br />
<br />
That is Golden Tabloid. I can also explain it in a shorter way:<br />
<br />
<i>I am the bone-love daddy of all of this deal </i><br />
<br />
<b>II.</b><br />
<br />
So now, the boys saw that Tabloid was doing some right things with me, which I guess meant making me less of my real-ingredients drag, and they were all for maintaining the drip. Apparently they wetted up some black licorice chews, all muling them with some butter-extracted mg's of GT, thinking I could just pop them like my usual Zauberpunkt tabs. Good dudes. <br />
<br />
Problem with that plan of theirs was, rodents. My boy Todd, specifically. A rodent has a brain and extremities that lust for crumbs, for protein or copper or a pot sticker you put too much fish sauce on as a something that was a mistake in the first place, and Todd is Chief Survival Officer of that clean-up crew. Little dude found that baggie full of spiked licorice about three seconds after Ray and T left the room, and pushed those nubs down the hatch like it was a damn Japanese contest show. I mean who in a mile can't whiff some hand-wringin' bud like smokey starin' down a red-eyed roadie.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
The bag of licorice was the same size as Todd but it was all gone when they found him. Claw marks demonstrate that he didn't even undo the Ziploc, he just tore through the plastic with his face and teeth, getting at the payload fast as he could.<br />
<br />
They say you can't OD from weed and generally speaking that is Garfunkel's Sounds of Science but it's guys like Todd that really change the rules. Todd is the mustard in the math that actuaries know they'll take a bath on. <i> </i><br />
<br />
Of course it is a good thing that Todd was on Golden Tabloid and not some high-creepin Reaver strain like Son Of Saturn or THE OFFICIAL INSTAGRAM OF CHAINSAWS or he might be growin whiskers underground. Because of the nature of this weed though he is currently just floating around all of our houses, no joke, he is prone in a position like how you would be if you were cuddled on your side on the couch, yet he is sort of floating/levitating like a magic dark nugget of tranquility. He floats about six inches above whatever surface is under him, and if he bumps into a couch for example he sort of rises to meet the plateau of the cushions and then floats above those cushions in a direction, until he encounters the next change in elevation. Kind of like a peaceful silent Roomba that wishes you no harm. Like a video game on autopilot until someone puts a quarter in. He floats between our houses and seems to know a safe path. <i>Is this the truest form of high? It is a question.</i><br />
<br />
Anyhow, I got to thank Ray and T on the hands for all the cookin they did up for me. Maybe bring them a tray of my new chorizo and cotija cemita sandwiches. I bought all of the ingredients for these back when I was planning on being high forever but now that I just use the GT here and there to even out the sidewalk I rarely deep dive into Pueblan specialty foods. Yeah, GT shook somethin' a little loose for me, in the brain, like adding a new window to a house, but I ain't obviously ever going to be a central dude of Bob Marley posters and wearing sunglasses indoors. <br />
<br />
Oh and uh Happy Holidays. I ain't quite the joy I want to see in the world, but here and there in spots these days I like when I look down a long street and see the trees all lined up and doing their canopy thing, and in my heart I can know a grain of satisfaction that somewhere over the clouds out there the sun is always bright and waiting for me when I can get myself there. And I think I even found a way to let the universe pull me up when I ain't able to pull myself. Thank you Golden Tabloid, thank you some guys who I know, thank you carbon.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-6742364102792204042016-10-14T00:28:00.004-07:002016-10-14T00:28:50.209-07:00Stranger Danger MangerSo there is this app I got on my phone, and it is basically all-day crowdsourced updates from my neighborhood. Like, all the neighbors from a couple miles square, and I learn about their yard sales and lost chickens and a car alarm they got mad at etc. (In the last five minutes: if Lawn-Gro can poison a dog, from a dude who clearly would prefer a suggestion of "wait it out"; a humble-brag disguised as a "tip" about pressure-canning turkey stock; a request for a good celiac-safe naturopathic remedy for kids whose number two is more like a one-point-three.)<br />
<br />
Of course here and there you hear about a home robbery or a kid who was trailed after school by a van. I used to think that we worried too much in my generation because with the Internet we started getting bad news from all over the world twenty-four hours a day, but it turns out that if you got your ears on hard enough there's bad news all day long well inside the distance between you and the mini-mart.<br />
<br />
Before long this feed started to get me real down, like worried constantly if I had locked the doors, and even turning the car around up to five minutes away to go back and check. I'd lay awake at night knowing that Listeria was growing on the farmer's market potatoes in my refrigerator, and maybe leaping to the soft cheeses. If I drove past a kid in a backpack who was walking to school, I'd fast forward to his parents getting the automated phone call from the Office that he didn't show up for attendance that day, then to the emotionally destroyed dad three days later sliding a pistol into his mouth, etc.<br />
<br />
So on the whole as jazzed as I am that I can borrow a circular saw or other woodworking tools from Harvey Brunettoni at 2198 Camino Rosales, and chat over iced tea and have some of his Italian plums that he can never use all of, I think I am going to drop this app. I don't even care that the NIB Asics I advertised ain't sold yet. Whoever came to get them would probably be casing my house anyway. Lord knows I got no firearms. I am just toast in the bed, stabbed and screamin', any time anybody wants to have at it, and I ain't got no need to advertise that.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-69236525659403324352016-09-01T23:39:00.001-07:002016-09-01T23:39:32.402-07:00I Bothered Pat at the Grocery Store: Awesome Edition<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Well I guess I shouldn't shame down on Pat's game too hard since he's wavin' his shingle pretty steady, always out hawkin' whatever new sublingual amaranth blastocyst paste or bio-available hoombacha he comes up with. It's the basis of Ages that a folk (this is the singular of folks) got to hustle, got to see what bucket of knots or larvae or Irish-flavor coffee creamers the hand will dip into.<br />
<br />
But it is a Moment in the grocery store when you see a fellow don the apron and card table and go against all that is decent and peaceful about tryin' to buy a ham hoagie and personal-size bag of original Lay's, unmolested. It's like, we all came up kids, all the same, and we all came up wary of the salesman and the peddler, but there one of us went and did that thing. We know there's dishonor drippin' from places in his rig, even if the product is fairly decent. We know the hawker passed his greedy mind over the idea of us, and pegged how much markup we could handle before we realized an enemy-type situation, then added ten percent.<br />
<br />
So good for Pat, he's on the hustle, wise black support shoes and doctor gloves and embroidered company logo baseball hat with too high of a crown and all. I ain't havin' none of it of course because this man punches my sass ticket like a conductor with a tic, so I walk all up (I believe I actually sauntered but nobody would probably assess that it looked that way) pretty prepared to get <i>damn</i> enquestionated about what he's slingin'.<br />
<br />
ME: [Walks toward Pat, still maybe ten feet away, he sees me then continues arranging his samples]<br />
<br />
PAT: [Doesn't act at all like I have known him for twenty years and some, and have gotten his ass out of some icky slings, and witnessed him at basically the full low shenanigans of man]<br />
<br />
ME: Oh uh hey Pat how is your demo going<br />
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PAT: [Keeps looking down at samples, spot-polishes a part of the vinyl tablecloth that has nothing on it] Roast Beef.<br />
<br />
ME: So uh Hey Pat what you got out for the public <i>weal</i><br />
<br />
PAT: Bohannon's Macchisandra. [He says this fast and quiet like how a kid vandal caught red-handed might give in and tell his whole name to a cop]<br />
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ME: Well damn! I am highly dissatisfied with my current Bohannon's Macchisandra! Always got that thin milky layer on top.<br />
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PAT: Hush! Hush. Don't make a mockery of this. It's not for people like you.<br />
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ME: You tell me exactly what you got goin' on here or I'm gonna tell the manager you threw a snit about these <i>hell</i> of GMO potato chips! [Holds up Lay's]<br />
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PAT: [Becomes suddenly animated] Alright! Alright. No need to involve the promotions manager. No need. I'll tell you whatever you'd like to know!<br />
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ME: Because some vendors might just be on probation with the various stores where they demo, due to past outbursts.<br />
<br />
[A lady wheels up and stands across the aisle from us, examining a large assortment of canned tomato sauces]<br />
<br />
PAT: [Nervously] Heh! So! Sir! Have you, or anyone you love, ever tried Bohannon's Macchisandra, made from ancient Chinese botanicals, camellia sinensis, and the energy-rich nectar of deep underground aquifers?<br />
<br />
ME: Let me parse that out loud for a moment<br />
<br />
PAT: Let me parse it for you! This elixir is decocted from hand-selected ingredients which are known for their fabled abilities to combat depression, weight gain, and lethargy. Try a sample!<br />
<br />
ME: Fables, huh? That's the main quality?<br />
<br />
PAT: [Drills into me with the defeated but angry eyes of a wolf looking up the hunter's barrel; smoothly and with a practiced hand draws his lips down to re-sheath any exposed fang]<br />
<br />
LADY: [Continues to intently compare labels] <br />
<br />
ME: I mean, so this liquid can basically save America? Can it also make road workers not perform deep sewer replacement at critical intersections until after rush hour? Because tell me that and I am sold! Heh!<br />
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PAT: Ha! Ha! [His mouth laughs but there are not the genuine creases around his eyes that betray happiness]<br />
<br />
ME: [The perfect unblinking look with unbroken eye contact]<br />
<br />
PAT: Heh! Maybe...maybe next time!<br />
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LADY: [Typing on phone, seems to be sending pictures of labels to someone]<br />
<br />
ME: You know what, I'm sold. That's it. I got to have this. You are amazing.<br />
<br />
PAT: Good, good! Here, take our 36-sachet pack. You won't be sorry.<br />
<br />
ME: Oh, I better take two.<br />
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PAT: [Glances over at lady, picking up what I am putting down] [A little louder] Thank you! Thank you, sir! Here, here's a packet of free...macadamia nuts! From the big island! Taste Elvis himself, riding around under the stars! [Mimes giving me macadamia nuts while the lady isn't looking, I mime keeping my hands in my pockets]<br />
<br />
LADY: [Sighs while looking at phone, seems crestfallen, wanders off]<br />
<br />
PAT: God damn it.<br />
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ME: Dude that stuff about Elvis was so awful that you should get jaw-caught in a pitching machine<br />
<br />
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<br />
PAT: Shut up!<br />
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ME: Hey can I uh actually taste this stuff<br />
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PAT: Whatever.<br />
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ME: [Takes sample, it is flat and thin and stale] Ugh dude this is just cheap dried ginger and bulk oolong of a sawdust nature<br />
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PAT: I don't suppose you're actually going to buy those packs, are you.<br />
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ME: I don't suppose a lot of things are gonna happen but for six bucks I'll drop these in other folks' carts and maybe they check out maybe they don't you dig<br />
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PAT: [Sighs, hands me a five and a one]<br />
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ME: Street team, reporting! [Salutes, leaves]<br />
<br />
- - -<br />
<br />
So, that was my deal with Pat today. Not one of his higher-integrity products, so I felt all right to drag it on the chain a bit. End of day, I made six bucks, which I promptly dropped over at Pho Dac Biet for some of that top round pho, and rice noodle for the long life. <br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-35828139885208886982015-11-24T23:27:00.000-08:002015-11-24T23:27:20.027-08:00Yesterday (Tuesday)<br />
Alright like so today wasn't gonna be too great of shakes, it was comin' off dumps since lids-up, maybe 6:00AM, the usual. You know just the general nervous about catchin' some sass at every turn, even if alone, and then pretty regular remembering an old bill you and the bill collector both know you're aware of. Then flashbacks to terrible old European PSA videos of stuff that happens to families that get hit by drunk drivers, thoughts of how I'm just about half-cooked on this earth, etc. It was a normal day and not too high of note. I played a Howard Jones song online but felt kind of lame about it, even though it was a comforting old pop song from the soft days of Vans and Jimmy'z. Made myself eat an apple, mostly cause it helps sewer ball things, but also I considered it a Deed for my gums.<br />
<br />
(Dang but this is sorry now that I put it all on the table and look at it, Jesus)<br />
<br />
Then I drank a pretty large cola (not Coke, but some kind of cola that's not a main brand) because I was thirsty, but also wanted energy. Normally I ain't a main guy of caffeine because the stuff brushes me up the nerves, but I had this strange cocky feeling and thought I could handle it. "I'm gettin old you know, I'll drink a <i>god damned caffeine soda</i> if I so <i>please</i>," you know. I drank that brown old thing then went about my business for an hour (flexing chops with some new web admin toolkits I been hearing of, of late). Soon I felt not at all subject to the worries I got trained into my crannies. Like, I felt like I could walk down the sidewalk and own the moment, not care about the thoughts of suckers comin the other way—to hell with a sucker—kind of "own my destiny" style. It's good to remember that once in the rare while. I got a pretty big head of steam up and ordered a real smoky ham sandwich — I'm talkin' a <i>smoky</i> ham sandwich — straight pickled pepper and mayo. Polished that puppy dogg off with all my momentum, like my brain trained my metabolism to just <i>plow</i> through that sandwich, even catch some speed off it. I felt so blissed havin' that sandwich, like there is a caveman part of my brain that only an inch thickness of ham can summon from the recesses of Time. It was a Survival Five: a high-five from the reptile brain.<br />
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I should have known the good times couldn't last though, zero sum game and all. All those insane sandwich calories basically dragged my cola high down like a relative at the Christmas table who loses their shit completely and just begs everyone for money or some excuse to even stay alive, just hammer-down pathetic, you straight got peas in the mouth, and you know they're tweaked on tire bead fixative or the vanilla or whatever you never considered before. <br />
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After that it got dark pretty early due to Autumn and I got a headache, so I sat on the couch and tried not to take a nap. Zero sum day indeed, with an angel's share of my hours piped up into space once again, not mine any more.<br />
<br />
Man I got to take it easy on sandwiches or that's gonna be all she wrote.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-78907473319179185032013-10-25T03:08:00.001-07:002013-10-25T03:08:43.981-07:00148 173Okay so uh Lyle was pretty in his grips the other day, but he had a neat idea that basically I thought could be a money maker around here. The rule of the land is you can't be a booze company unless you jump through just incredible amounts of hoops, and pay taxes out the nose to help cover all the society disasters your product creates, and have sanitation inspections and all of that crud that doesn't matter if your product is basically sanitizer. So to cut to the quick of it, is, I skipped the rules and I am a booze company now. It is weird how that plays out, as I had maybe at best hoped I would be sort of found half dead but not auto-sullied in my britches some day. At best. But here I am, a booze company. Mama come gander at Timmy B. Silktone. <br />
<br />
The idea of booze is easy. You put sugar in water. Yeast (a fungus) eats the sugar and sheds off alcohol. When the yeast dies from starvation, you have the most possible alcohol your sugar could make. You boil that water and collect the steam at various temperatures: the steam is your product. Don't collect it 'til you get to 173*F, or it's walleyes and buttersharts for you. Stuff that boils below there is basically like the stuff that they use in dry-erase board cleansing spray, or to help write <i>On The Road</i>. There you go, you have some concentrated, less-deathy booze. It will be harsh, but get this: it will also have <i>boutique cachet</i>. Folks are nuts for somethin' local and fresh-made, so that has got to go for booze as well. I mean hell people buy Monarch gin and that's just nail polish they made clear with gas, expired aspirin, and a canary nobody was attached to.<br />
<br />
So I dig this pretty much from the simple science angle, but also I like to finger it up and run this bootleg thing as a kink for the Man. The money won't hurt, even if it's spare, because I don't pay the electric bill around Ray's place, and he ain't the sort to notice a terawatt gone missing.<br />
<br />
I was going to name the booze company Hornswoggle, you know, like to "bam<i>booz</i>le," but decided that was just a horrible, horrid type of cleverness that's actually more stupid than smart (also it sounds like what Harry Potter throws up after the Hufflepuff cocktail progressive). So, I got my midnight lumens out and read up on the true recipe of Achewater. Man that took some page-rubbing, but I pieced together a pretty good bunch of the puzzle. Lots of botanical history, regional Southern foodways, ethnic migration patterns, even some phone calls to families nearing defunction. I am making Achewater. Everybody here basically has to buy at least one bottle...but there won't be enough and the X-Y curve will do a little jig in my favor. <br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-24029851093600866282009-05-24T20:03:00.000-07:002009-05-24T20:17:37.058-07:00Man I ain't too sure what's up with RayDude just came in here all needin' me to do up some computer help, particularly graphics. I ain't too much for Photoshop but after I calmed him down and got his basic wants clarified I was able to teach myself the program fairly quickly as it is pretty intuitive (you have to mentally navigate with the awareness that this is a very old program with a massive feature set yet also has had teams trying to dumb it down for years -- it's like dancing with a beautiful woman, but a church lady is holding a ruler between you the whole time).<br /><br />Anyhow this is what he wanted me to make:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8o-bd_Wib3M/ShoLH7IGnSI/AAAAAAAAAHI/InquAU_bSEY/s1600-h/05242009_NAGEL_SHUTTLE.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8o-bd_Wib3M/ShoLH7IGnSI/AAAAAAAAAHI/InquAU_bSEY/s400/05242009_NAGEL_SHUTTLE.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339592538959813922" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-48757177787702198482009-04-05T18:32:00.000-07:002009-04-05T19:03:48.341-07:00It is Not WinterThere is I guess an apricot tree or something and its branches sort of stick past the window where I sit and type. Today it completely exploded with white little flowers, like every four inches along, looking straight-up like a popcorn tree. A lot of other plants are acting up now too, and it's that time of year where the gray seems to be gone and cool air pushes like star jasmine and lily fragrances all around. In my brain I get kind of a *click* and I turn some sort of corner out of winter. I need to sit down and figure out what the trigger is so I can pull it earlier in the year.<br /><br />Trees are kind of like dinosaurs: ancient as all hell, just way slow to adapt, and tough. You can tell how primitive a thing is by how many children it makes, like how spiders and sea turtles make like a thousand babies just to get one or six to survive. Apricot trees are the same way. They make a thousand apricots a year and if every single one took root where it fell, they would kill the mother tree and each other. However, apricot trees exist because they "know" a raccoon and a badger will see *most* of the fruit on the ground and go all NOM NOM NOM...no, this is bad reasoning. Does an apricot seed need the fruit surrounding it in order to germinate, or does it count on an animal eating the fruit and dispersing the seed somewhere else, like in a pile of fresh nutritious poop? I need to go to college. This is like real basic horticulture or botany or something. I wish I had any kind of education at all.<br /><br />Okay I just got back from lookin' at the course listing catalog for the Community College and I remembered why I never went back to school. If I want to learn about why apricot trees do what they do, I have to pay sixty bucks, sit in a classroom for three months behind some guy who really, really likes the San Francisco Giants, and hope all to hell that the teacher covers that topic. Man that is inefficient. <br /><br />I think the Community College should just be like a hotline where every professor is an operator and your question gets routed to the right one when you call. Each call could be a dollar. Looks like it's time for some school reforms, based on my new idea of cost-effective learning. Look out, world's education system. Everything changes today, with this blog about how I am too boneheaded to just look up apricot trees on Wikipedia.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-27997011631269961762008-12-14T00:43:00.000-08:002008-12-14T01:38:03.847-08:00New Italian Place that Ray made me goDang but they shoehorned this new Martha Stewart-type Italian place into the old Letty's Taqueria space, that old dingy F-minus "what in the hell empty since six years where do they get a dollar" taco shop on the drag on Benson. I never really saw how they stayed in business since if you ordered a chicken burrito you could really tell that the chicken was sittin' around in a cold steel tray for five days developin' grain. I ate there twice and got the read and freaked hard each time on dreams of pump skitters and doin' the fetus pinwheel in sweated-up sheets.<br /><br />Ray totally loves this new place, mainly based on the Italian dude Vito who runs it and is all friends with every customer pretty hard. I don't know. I get that read on Vito like, "The man who is friends with everyone is friends with no one." Ray eats it up like the bread, actin' all "made" when the dude says, "Is a special lasagna today for you Ray, I bring it to you special." He don't give it to Ray for any kind of deal and the only thing special about it is that the word "special" got said twice. I think he's just sellin' it to Ray 'cause he knows Ray would buy anything he talked about and it's one of those casserole-based dishes that you can scrape outta the pan corner and dump some red sauce on. Ray pays twenty-nine dollars for stuff Vito's dishwasher would put his cigarette butt in.<br /><br />Here are the following categories of dude accents that can sell things to dumb American guys, graded by power of accent:<br /><br />1. Italian<br />2. English<br />3. Irish<br />4. Franco-Bedouin (seriously, Youtube this)<br />5. Dennis Leary (eclipsed Bill Cosby in 1993)Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-67010539712885115792008-10-04T00:31:00.000-07:002008-10-04T00:54:43.835-07:00First Rain.Alright so the deal with first rain is that I like to bundle all up in this preposterous old North Face "ski rescue"-type thigh-length jacket that I lifted outta Ray's car one time (it has like seventeen zippers and three drawstrings and a thermal-lined waterproof hood that stuffs down into one of the collars) and put on some shorts and my crispiest Chucks and walk the town for a good half day or so. I smell the creek and look at the gutters run (kind of foamy since it's the first) and listen to the drops fall on my lid when I go under the cedars by the high school. I always make a little pass by a storm drain we used to skate; it's all broken up by time and throbbin' ground now and crammed with roots. I run kind of fast and sideways up where the edge of the bank was and jump over the gap where we would ollie. I doubt I could even ollie any more. I doubt anyone would care if I did. I certainly don't think anyone needs me to. <br /><br />After I did my big long walk today, all miles and miles, I stopped into a calzone place and got a pretty good do-up. Then I hoofed it home and Molly was on the TV and I just read my sites for a good long bit. I hope you had a good first rain too or that you have one soon. I don't realize it but it's probably the center of my year.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-17953261506018412272008-03-27T15:21:00.000-07:002008-03-27T15:40:59.747-07:00Why did I get screamed atMan I was down at Lucky Go getting the wrong printer cable for Molly and when I was out in the parking lot with my cheap little plastic bag this forty five year-old gutty dude with real flat wet combed hair got out of his car (a pretty bad old Nissan that a man his age should be beyond) and started over at me. He kept patting down his hair and running his thumbs around the inside of his waistband, you know, and when he got like ten feet from me he had a pretty good lather on, just screaming that I was a son of a bitch. It gave me the feeling that I hadn't noticed him earlier when he drove by and he thought I had flipped him off (I had not just errantly done any flipping off that morning so that seems unlikely). Maybe he reasoned me for another dude who had done him over with some cash or parts. I just started to back away because I didn't have much anger at the time and when he advanced I actually ran fifteen feet. When I saw that he didn't chase after me I started to walk again. It was a pretty basic "weird scene," like might make sense if you were looking at two fairly sophisticated beetles in a terrarium but man was this guy coming off the whiskey or something. Or is it whisky? No wonder people who drink whiskey are always so mad, they're like WHAT THE HELL AM I DRINKING WHISKY OR WHISKEY and that just makes them drink more. This guy was like that, a man who would drink to excess because his beverage had an outmoded spelling distinction, and then yell at people by the cheap electrical parts store. That is the kind of guy who usually notices me in public.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-30085052814322047342008-02-06T00:21:00.000-08:002008-02-06T01:24:41.800-08:00Ray's Pedicure Routine.So like Ray was all mincin' around dandy on the white carpet in his living room today while I was watching car races on the satellite, and that kind of ate at me after a while, so I was like "what's up with you making tiny little pleased steps and smiling. You look like Liberace doing the Don't Step On The Baby Ants Dance." Then the dude smiled directly at me and the rest went like this.<br /><br />- + -<br /><br />RAY: Dude, I just had the mother of all pedicures. This girl Xa Bi was rubbin’ on my doggies so hard and long, I don't mind tellin' you that I closed my eyes and thought about the <span style="font-style: italic;">act</span> for like half an hour.<br /><br />ME: Well that's fine I mean I hope you did not get a nasty old tumescence though.<br /><br />RAY: Like hell I didn't! Why you think I go there?<br /><br />ME: To have your feet cleaned and your nails trimmed and perhaps some calluses scraped, I don't know.<br /><br />RAY: Don't get me wrong, they do that. But a big part of their service is the whole fantasy angle. It's like, "Wink, nudge, you are making me hot as the devil, and don't you know it, you sweet little mystical peach."<br /><br />ME: I think if the chick knew you were thinking that she would jump back like that part in Back to the Future where Michael J. Fox plays a guitar note through Doc Brown's massive speaker.<br /><br />RAY: Hell no, dogg. Those ladies know what it's all about. They're hella cuttin' it up in Vietnamese, all smilin', and sometimes I catch the other ladies in the shop lookin' over at me and smilin' and gigglin'. They know I know the deal, man of the world, all that. Plus, I ALWAYS tip well.<br /><br />ME: Uh huh and can they actually see your wrong old tumescence.<br /><br />RAY: Damn straight, man. It's cultural — you got to let it show, so they can know you're in on the deal and gettin' the most of it. I always wear these real light, loose linen pants to my pedicure, and I go commando, so they can watch me pitch the tent. Another sign of respect. It's like how a sommelier won't offer you certain bottles if he knows you ain't a real player.<br /><br />ME: Do you always get the same girl.<br /><br />RAY: No, they always give me the youngest one. It's kind of a form of old-school respect, since they know the youngest girl will work the hardest.<br /><br />ME: Oh uh okay I see. And at the end is the girl like all gracious and chatty when you give her the tip.<br /><br />RAY: See, that's another thing you don't understand about the Vietnamese. They are real shy and embarrassed when it comes to money changin' hands — it's almost shameful to them. Every time I hand my girl her tip, she blushes and just kind of looks down and away as she takes it. The older ladies always bust out in this big laugh and she runs back to the towel room. Every time, dude. It's their way.<br /><br />ME: And how do you leave the place.<br /><br />RAY: Oh, I get up and give everybody a big wave goodbye. They all laugh some more, because homeboy is so blissed. After that I strut out and get a taco or two next door.<br /><br />ME: Man where did you even learn how to get a pedicure all in the know like that.<br /><br />RAY: I read so many magazines, dude, it all kind of blends together. I wish I remembered, sorry, or I'd let you borrow it.<br /><br />- + -Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-34893106897672917472008-01-08T00:54:00.000-08:002008-01-08T00:55:14.437-08:00McDonald's vs Starbucks vs Ray vs MeDang it man but Ray just has so much faith in McDonald's it is ridiculous. Today it came out in the news that Mickey D's is gonna try to compete with Starbucks by havin' baristas and fancy coffee drinks and Ray was just all kinds of sure that was gonna put Starbucks outta business. It's lazy to side with the big-ass (well, bigger-ass) ruthless worldwide conglomerate and it shows no bag. Maybe that's how you make it in his investments and finances world but lazy don't fly with me.<br /><br />RAY: Check it out, dude! McDonald’s is gonna wipe Starbucks off the map by havin’ baristas and fancy coffee drinks!<br /><br />ME: Man that is baloney the Venn diagram of their customer bases looks like an eight<br /><br />RAY: Say what you want. McDonald’s plays to win.<br /><br />ME: Tell me what you like most about Starbucks I mean I know you get coffee there<br /><br />RAY: The chicks who work there, dude! All tight black pants, smilin’, hell of took a shower lately...<br /><br />ME: Now tell me what you remember about the McDonald’s worker chicks<br /><br />RAY: They...they get these weird little purple blotches on their faces, but they don’t seem to come to a head. And...and they got those flappy bellies that the company makes them tuck into their pants. Bellies that could hang <span style="font-style: italic;">into </span>a sink, but not stick out above a sink. Wait, hold on a minute, man—<br /><br />ME: Plus think about it Ray if they can’t even repeat NUMBER THREE, DIET COKE how they gonna do with a double venti short tall nonfat mocha no foam cappuccino with two ice cubes and a half shot of sugarfree vanilla for Mackenzie who by the way is a skinny woman in Versace sunglasses and not a fat Irish man in an Aran cable sweater holding a Guinness<br /><br />RAY: Well, they wouldn't offer all those options, first of all. You wouldn't be allowed to customize.<br /><br />ME: In that case they ain't competin' with Starbucks then since Starbucks' whole model is that Starbucks is the ONLY place you can get your exact drink and your exact drink is a sacred event without which your day is ruined<br /><br />RAY: That may be, but there are a lotta fringe people who ain't into complicated coffee drinks yet and Starbucks ain't got their business. McDonald's will get these customers.<br /><br />ME: So my point about the Venn diagram holds up even on your side because McDonald's would not be taking any existing customers from Starbucks and in fact McDonald's will actually serve as a gateway to frou-frou coffee which will then lead frou-frou coffee converts to the greater options and hotter, bathed chicks of Starbucks<br /><br />RAY: Jesus Christ, dude! How much in advance did you think about all this?! Enough, already!<br /><br />ME: I don't have to think about things in advance to know what I think<br /><br />RAY: Alright, alright. Maybe Starbucks will stay in business. You only all on about this 'cause your fiancée works there.<br /><br />- - -<br /><br />We cooled it from there, since I knew I was just gettin' steamed and gonna dis on my fellow, and all in all I knew it wasn't more than just cola wars. Let Starbucks and Mickey D's try to out-sell each other in hot brown narcotics and god but am I ashamed I even let myself get worked up for either side. Jesus Christ do I got to go on that week-long trip to the desert men sometimes need.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-86986996659228720242007-11-05T23:32:00.000-08:002007-11-06T00:08:54.751-08:00Doggs I Bought a BoatAlright so I wasn't really going for this but I was walking along the bay piers this morning (I woke up at four o'clock again and needed to get away from the house before I freaked out) and I bought a boat. I am not a guy who has a boat but I guess we all got to come to terms with my having a boat now.<br /><br />It's not a great boat but it's got a closed cabin and a sail (I think it actually has two sails) and some electronics that help you get saved in a storm. There's this main bed area inside the cabin and dammit I am such an idiot but I think I bought the boat because I imagined Molly and me having sex in the bed. Because no one could bug us way out on the sea. I actually thought that. I think I might have actually bought a boat based on the idea that nobody could interrupt my sex activities. Jesus did my family do a number on me. I have to be honest and say that at least one particular uncle never knocked on the bathroom door when I was doing a deuce at Christmas or Thanksgiving, he just opened it straight up. That guy basically ruined my life and my nervous system.<br /><br />The boat is currently named CHEESEBURGER IN PARADISE but I have begun paperwork to get that changed. I'm hopin' to get it named something cool like DOCK DORK or SLIP TWIT. You can dis on that but in the end I have a boat and you don't, which is true.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-89721154164272499732007-10-21T23:54:00.000-07:002007-10-22T01:02:16.226-07:00Picking Out My DudesMan it is a childish thing but when you go to wear the pants with the stripe that shines you got to name your dudes in order. You got to choose your number one, then a couple to trot behind him. Why do we have to order our friends. I guess it's part of the intelligence of the ceremony design, makes us see where we stand at this juncture, who matters. But damn if it didn't do a raw one on me.<br /><br />First of all, I always knew Ray would be my best man. I also always knew that my brother Michael ("Showbiz") couldn't even be counted on to be alive or paroled, and I never much felt connected with him besides. My mom always made us act like friends but it was a hell of raunch lie.<br /><br />So I went in to ask Ray to be my best man. He had class and didn't act like he expected it, but when I popped the question he had me shut the office door. He busted out a hug on me and then poured us each a healthy blue label. Said he'd be honored, all that. I don't dunk tank much on extreme moments but it was cool and it was a thing. We took an extra one and he even talked for a bit real wise on how a woman can improve a man. I didn't know where he got any of that but it was polished and even sage in places.<br /><br />After Ray I got in place groomsmen like Téodor, Lyle, Todd, Emeril, Spongebath, and Cornelius. I know that's kind of a big party but I been warmin' up to it. I mean how often do you get it on like this in life. How often do you even get to make your dudes support you. This structure seems decent enough as it is.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-31214892595720500322007-09-13T21:54:00.000-07:002007-09-13T21:54:52.511-07:00A crazy nut was out on the sceneMan it ain't like me to dogg up and call the human police on a falterin' human but damn if today didn't make that necessary.<br /><br />So there I was sittin' on the roof with my new situation, which is a tiny deck the size of a picnic table where I can code and cool it on top of the pool house in the full sun. I can see all around, including the street out front. I been down to the street and it's pretty hard to see where I am up top, so it's safe enough. Branches are obscuring it etc.<br /><br />So today I'm up there and alright truth be told I'm lookin' at corsets, kind of might be a thing I'm interested in specifically, and out of the corner of my eye I see this blotto dude wandering down the sidewalk. He's human, maybe three hundred and fifty pounds (hard to tell with them), wearin' jean shorts and a hoody and a big red backpack. He's got socks on, but he's carryin' his shoes, and he ain't too sure about where the sidewalk's gonna be next time he makes a move. He even tries to see if the street is better, but it's rush hour and it's not, so he kind of makes his way down the sidewalk halfway on lawns, halfway on the curb. Rough scene, and even though he has birthday party face it's pretty clear he might do up a box truck on the undersides. He might make an acid glance at the trans-axle, if you get my inexpensive business.<br /><br />Lame as hell and all Pat-style I ring up the badges and they come whisk him off. I don't know why I did it, that was hell of gripe of me. I guess that since now I live on a nice block I got zero patience with fuck ups and streetards, I'm like "well screw him because this real estate is LEET!"<br /><br />Ugh I don't like what I did but also I do. I don't go stumblin' blazed in somebody else's neighborhood, and if I did, you can bet with assurance they'd cool my ass off in a prison room. Fair's fair, and the nice game never got me nowhere. So long, blazed dude, and I totally hated seeing your crevice when your shorts fell to lows.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-85250448218665583502007-06-13T15:36:00.000-07:002007-06-13T22:01:41.575-07:00Hitched up to the Cash I.V.Holy hell and high water does every person in the community come around with their hand out when your time comes to get hitched. On a regular day you might walk down the street and see six hundred normal people and they will not mean much to you; if you are about to get married, however, each of them will open their trench coat or sweater set as you pass by to reveal engraved save-the-date cards or meat upgrades on the catering menu or a non-terrible rental cummerbund that costs ten smacks more than the terrible ones with zebra stripes that come standard. Good God in his mighty chair why would I want to have a permanent engravement made of an invitation which sure as blazes won't ever be used again. Tradition can eat this fat one that I am about to jam out of my ass hole. <font style="font-style: italic;">You're damn right I made that into two words for emphasis. And yes I said that.</font> <br /><br />Alright don't get me wrong I am on a cloud since I shored my muster and made the commitment to Molly. But I been compilin' a list of all the damn stuff that needs to get paid for just to make this whole process be "socially official" or whatever and it is come to summer grapes. Check out all these damn costs and then consider that our wedding doesn't even have a job to pay for itself:<br /><br />1. Engagement ring (yes I got to get a real one), probably like $4k<br /><br />2. Airplane bottle of Jäger to get me dumb enough to "man up" and buy the right one: $3.65<br /><br />3. Nice dinner for the evening when we got engaged: $113.74<br /><br />4. Nice lunch the day after we got engaged: $45.29<br /><br />5. Nice dinner the day after we got engaged (can't just go back to pork and beans so quick): $79.21<br /><br />6. Special massage for her since this should be a happy week of her life: $80<br /><br />7. Pedicure and manicure for same reason: $35<br /><br />8. Meeting with a wedding planner: $0 (if God help me I consult with a motherf$r who tells me how to buy flowers from a flower store then just put the railroad spikes in my feet and do me in with a kickstand welded to a chain, I swear to God I'll tip you as a dying gesture).<br /><br />9. A hat: ($23). I normally don't buy myself a hat but I was feeling kind of up on things and got a cool embroidered cap at the booth of this dude who was playing a Chapman Stick at the farmer's market. I now have a hat that says Troy Koller on the front, in Times New Roman. I will make sure that this is my only hat for at least five years. <br /><br />10. Oh holy Christ and Jesus here we are at number ten and the coffee ain't even come to a boil yet<br /><br />Damn I mean I kicked away a few bucks for this day since normally the bride's family chomps these fees but seein' as they all died four hundred years ago that ain't too likely. Sad to see it go; hope Showbiz can lay off the tweeters and mega-woofers a while. (He can't.)Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-37612491923573264762007-05-10T20:37:00.000-07:002007-05-10T20:48:47.181-07:00Had some poems pilin' up<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Alright so like once in a while I'm like whoah there are all these poems crowdin' my desktop why don't I just move them to the Internet and keep them safe. Okay so here is some stuff from recent times. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >-----------------------<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >Raw Deal </span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >by R. Beef Kazenzakis</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >-----------------------</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Crudités tray sitting there</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">You reach for a bite</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The cauliflower head...</span><i style="font-family: arial;">too perfect</i><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">A movement, the florets fall away</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Tarantula shoots up your sleeve</span><br /><br /><i style="font-family: arial;">Ohhh shiiiiiit<br /><br /><br /></i><span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;">----------------------------<br />Asparagus piece<br />by R. Beef Kazenzakis<br />------------------------------<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></span> <p class="MsoNormal">Asparagus spear is just that<br />The bushman hurls it through the air<br />Wait who invited a -<i style="">GAAAAACK-<o:p></o:p><br /></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">[Ohhh shiiiiiit]<o:p></o:p></i></p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;"><br />-----------------------------------<br />Corned Beef Sandwich<br />by R. Beef Kazenzakis<br />-----------------------------------<br /></span></span> <p class="MsoNormal">Corned beef sandwich?<br />Think again.<br />This is one meal<br />You will not win.<br /><o:p></o:p><br />The beef replaced<br />With pure beef taste<br />Brushed onto<br />A meat-like case</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Close your jaws<br />Depress the plunger<br />Your head explodes<br />Inside-out hunger<i style=""><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">oh shiiiiiiiiiiit!<o:p></o:p></i></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-79563229745009431902007-05-07T23:24:00.000-07:002007-05-07T23:37:04.534-07:00A thing with the gardenersAlright so like it is a thing now—but no one has even said a word—about what is goin' down with the landscaping around the pool shed where Molly and I live on Ray's spread.<br /><br />Up 'til now, since whenever, Ray's yard crew just trimmed it and fixed the drip system and stuff, all about their business. Last two months, on their regular day, they never even came by. I got to know if Ray is sendin' me some kind of signal here. I mean I am down of course to pay for maintenance on this place but damn does the dude got to speak it out this way. It is causin' me hell of smackers (pretend smacks on the forehead with a hand) every time I think about it and plus this morning I woke up from a dream about a foreign kid with huge lice on his head and I think the huge lice were representing my problem with Ray eating at my brain. <span style="font-style: italic;">Needless to say I almost did my britches at this nightmare and I nearly put soup in the sink besides.</span><br /><br />I guess next time I know for sure he is outta the house I am gonna work on the landscaping around the pool shed, and see if he mentions anything. Also I definitely got to do some breathing and stuff and try to not imagine those big fat lice sucking so hard on that screaming kid's head.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-71687811442722499912007-03-19T20:46:00.000-07:002007-03-19T20:50:11.985-07:00I was all hoi polloi and lowI was so hoi polloi at the restaurant, I hell of plebe'd it up in that place. Okay here is the skinny pants on how well that went down.<br /><br />Damn but if Molly wanted to go to a makeup and reservations joint and I had a little scratch so I sort of got out the door with being all large. Once we were there though (this new place called Pazzolo where you can get this one wood oven pizza for a hundred dollars, it is for showoffs or guys who pretend to care about eating unfertilized fish eggs) I got kind of sour on it all and was pretty much a bad sport. Molly had some lemon drops and tried to ignore my antickry as I filled up our water glasses in the bathroom (waiter was hell of ignoring us because I am low) and made my green beans spell D-I-C-K when I was done eating my dish (grilled pork chop, the cheapest but still $18 jesus christ). By the end of the meal she was pretty glassy-eyed and didn't even pay attention to me so I paid up square and left half a pack of smokes in with the tip (found these in my old green flight jacket pocket, I ain't worn it in an age) and kind of guided her out of the restaurant. She goes pretty silent when she's mad and bombed up, it is a nice quality where she withdraws into herself and just accepts that I am a terrible man. Anyhow she's all tucked into bed but I am on the sass horn so I might go over and see the fellows, maybe get it on the legs and have some trouble tomorrow.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-89250174451597111612007-02-23T00:46:00.001-08:002007-02-23T00:55:03.308-08:00Man I had just a horrible dayMan so like at six in the morning I jumped up with a start cause I heard the dang garbage truck all bleepin' and rollin' on by and I was like, "Crap. I did not drag the can to the curb last night on account of the deluge of rain and the fact that I had not put on shoes all day." So almost immediately my biles and tomato gut-sauces shook up a mean reverse-bloody mary and I almost spewed acid and did my britches. Fortunately I took my seven breaths and a swill of nightstand water and that was that, I was able to run out in the rain and see if I could hail the dudes to stop a second and let me drag the can up to where their truck was.<br /><br />I guess since I live in Ray's neighborhood though they let you slide on the trash angle cause they had run up into the area by the garage where the can lives and dragged that can to the truck themselves. I was basically unaware of what to say or think based on this information so I kind of stood there for a second and slowly realized that despite this small victory I had started my day in a horrible and anxious fashion and had almost done my drawers out of fear at a real small issue.<br /><br />Since I was so wet I couldn't climb back in bed, which meant I was Up Early. I hate bein' Up Early cause it usually means I worry about Showbiz and Gramma K and my kidneys and all that stuff. Basically I just sat on the couch and watched TV judges say who could and could not have their kids anymore, and then when Molly got up I asked real nice if I could have a cup of baked beans and since she knew I was in a Place she was real understanding about it. (Baked beans are like my version of Prozac, except they can't be relied on.)<br /><br />Anyhow the rest of the day was not actually much better, with some worries about weird charges on my bank account, and this new bump on my shin, and just getting way too mad at a guy who honked at an innocent car.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-1170292059606829232007-01-31T16:33:00.000-08:002007-01-31T20:22:57.260-08:00got way too nice of a printerMan at the regular people electronics super-place this kid was totally pushing me, going on and on about how great and cheap new printers are, and I was like "I only need it to print black and white and maybe sometimes an extremely reasonable amount of 10% grayscale." But then he's prattlin' about ink catridges versus toner costs and "ppm" and resolution and all this stuff and hup but don't you know I now own a state of the art inkjet photo-quality printer with sixteen ink cartridges and a preview panel and a twenty dollar sampler of different photo papers (half-off with purchase). Not to mention the twenty-five dollar USB cable that does not come with the printer (it should, Jesus already). So here I am, a guy who only wanted to print out live text documents, and I can essentially open a While-U-Wait photo lab.<br /><br />Man why do I always get rushed into a tizzy by salespeople and end up buying stuff I ain't need. Why am I susceptible. It's this dumb thing in my family, we always give even the lowest piece of crap our attention <span style="font-style: italic;">because it would be bad to be rude</span>. Holy mother of clams is worrying about being rude not the right way to step out into the world. The world is rude as <span style="font-style: italic;">shit </span>and if you ain't adoptin' the party line then they are just gonna use every part of you but the squeal.<br /><br />Next time some sales dude tries to upsell me some crap I am going to break his heart with a cold, watery stare. Meanwhile I got to get Molly to read over all these damn receipts and take this thing back.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-1164354243641223792006-11-23T22:54:00.000-08:002006-11-24T09:35:19.663-08:00Kraftwerk ThänksgivingMan it was hard at the place today we did this Kraftwerk Thänksgiving with the boys Téodor and Ray. Ray ain't so much of a Kraftwerk fan but he gets the idea and since he was all beaned up on knock-knock gas he thought it would be fun (of course it would be fun Ray). Anyhow so the theme of a good Kraftwerk Thänksgiving is that it is a regular supper with turkey and carrots and stuff but the mood is very severe and everyone acts like Kraftwerk. Kraftwerk Thänksgivings always end with someone admitting that though they have eaten, they remain unsatisfied. We dogged it up real proper this year and here is some of how we played it.<br /><br />ME: Welcome to zis Kraftwerk Thänksgiving it is not important that you sit down but you may find it <span style="font-style: italic;">konvenient</span><br /><br />MOLLY: Please be seated at my home<br /><br />ME: Woman does not give orders [shoots her a severe glance]<br /><br />TÉODOR: I will sit it is ze korrect form for eating, it is ideally designed<br /><br />RAY: [kind of getting it] Ja, I sit down!<br /><br />ME: Fine then be seated as I mentioned it is not important to me<br /><br />MOLLY: I will check on the potatoes<br /><br />RAY: [slightly incorrect buzzy robot voice] I...WOULD...LIKE...A...MARTINI...<br /><br />ME: Perhaps you cannot have...a martini?<br /><br />RAY: Oh, you playin' with me!<br /><br />ME: [shoots him severe glance]<br /><br />RAY: Oh, right. [Clears throat, points to heart] This...<span style="font-style: italic;">hurts</span>...me<br /><br />ME: [turning quickly to Téodor] Fetch him zis "martini." I do not know what it is. It is some dumb drink a man puts in his face. It makes him sick and he goes to his work the next day with a shit in his body.<br /><br />TÉODOR: [runs off quickly]<br /><br />MOLLY: [from kitchen] THE POTATOES ARE DONE, THEY ARE COOKED COMPLETELY<br /><br />ME: You may bring in the food now and put it at the center of the table<br /><br />RAY: Man, that's really nice how you got it all so she—<br /><br />ME: [severe glance]<br /><br />RAY: Oh hee man sorry uh...<span style="font-style: italic;">the woman she pleases the man</span><br /><br />ME: Indeed for centuries it is the order why do I think I can change this thing it would be the ultimate arrogance<br /><br />TÉODOR: Here is the martini<br /><br />RAY: Dude, you ain't serve a martini in a zip-top sandwich baggie, dogg. Especially not with the olive in another baggie.<br /><br />TÉODOR: [squints hard, stares straight forward, as though experiencing a sharp pain]<br /><br />ME: [sharp glance]<br /><br />RAY: Oh, sorry guys. Thank You For The Martini dogg<br /><br />ME: He thanks you.<br /><br />TÉODOR: He tries<br /><br />MOLLY: [brings in turkey on carving board, sets it before me]<br /><br />ME: The knifes please<br /><br />MOLLY: [produces my carving set from the sideboard] The knifes<br /><br />ME: As you know I say a speech. This is the holiday of Thanksgiving. It is a day of eating food that is baked, and food that is lightly cooked in a sauté or a hot pot of liquid. If you can bear it then announce why you are thankful on this day. Remember that your opinions may seem boorish or those of an ass to every person who is here.<br /><br />RAY: I'm thankful for anyone who can get me a straw<br /><br />ME: There are straws in the cupboard beneath the toaster they are next to the Captain Crunch<br /><br />MOLLY: It is a large box they were on a sale price<br /><br />TÉODOR: They are the kind with the flexible neck you can not miss them<br /><br />ME: Bring the whole box so we may make sculptures after the meal<br /><br />RAY: Oh dope<br /><br />Anyhow the Kraftwerk Thänksgiving went pretty much like that. Ray ended up talking us into going over to his place for some Braveheart and Johnnie Walker Blue Label. Even though we had had a pretty good sized turkey dinner the first thing he did was heat up his fry-o-lator and make a bunch of batches of fries. Dude has technique; we grubbled on those for most of the night and I think they helped me from gettin' too clopsy on the Scotch.<br /><br />Happy ThänksgivingUnknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-1159334117031193772006-09-26T21:16:00.000-07:002006-09-26T22:15:17.136-07:00Man I am over a dog about car thingsSo lately Molly said my Galaxie is hella bad on the emissions front (way more than true) and maybe we should look at gettin' a little Prius or somethin' together. Man tell me that ain't the slippery slope, and plus you know I am a dude of solid cars. I ain't sayin' we ain't got to clean up greenhouse damage and all that, but please can we do it with some cars that do not look like a Reebok. I mean a man cannot drive a Prius, it is like exactly the shape of the mouse that is under your hand, and has about the same horsepower.<br /><br />I will tell you what. If you can put a Prius hybrid engine system in a '71 Eldorado, and get it so that it can at least attain a maximum speed of 25MPH, then I will drive it. No one wants to see an old Eldo go fast. The car was designed to glide real slow, to crawl past the strip, to be seen. I love the Galaxie but at times we got to admit we ain't at ALL addressin' slow car culture.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-1158047513488709702006-09-12T00:45:00.000-07:002006-09-12T09:55:14.710-07:00Man we got to talk about some noodles now.Alright so Cornelius and Téodor and Lyle got back from this hype tri-dude colonoscopy they all had and they were all excited that the news was good. The dudes ordered up much Chinese food, basically every Asian treasure, and called in all the non-colon-aware dudes to come sample the delicious foodstuffs. Man it was so good against all the Italian pasta Molly's been cookin' up lately I hate to say it. An Asian dude can flavor up a noodle ten ways from Sunday in the time it takes an Italian dude to find his pants and wish he had a Lamborghini.<br /><br />Often in the past I may have said bold claims about my favorite food being such as chili or simple steamed potatoes with butter but today it is definitely Chinese food. I mean it is a stone dis not to love Chinese food above all others, think about how many billions of people been perfectin' it for thousands of years, of course it is good. Italian people only been sportin' noodles since Marco Polo in 1300, hence any simple bowl of <span style="font-style: italic;">dan dan mein</span> is gonna go private-school on <span style="font-style: italic;">capellini pomodoro</span>. By the way Molly is probably going to cook capellini pomodoro tonight, she thinks tomatoes and basil are like the new Guess jeans.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511899.post-1156228431165112672006-08-21T23:27:00.000-07:002006-08-21T23:51:31.336-07:00I got to cook up basically some late-night nachosMan it is a tough one when you are hungry for nachos and your lady is asleep and earlier in the week she has made a jab about how maybe you eat way-crazy amounts of sodium even though you constantly worry about sodium. It is like, all I have to do is hammer out a little more code for this client, just real basic stuff, and nothing would be better than DING! a hot-minute plate of nachos. Only I know the microwave DING! would wake her up and she would maybe like a minute later wander sleepily out into the room and rub her eyes and in a real tired dreamy voice mumble soft things about sodium while giving me a hug from behind.<br /><br />So here I am, probably gonna make horrible code because I want nachos so bad. My belly is a grumbly acid place, it is all primed for nachos. I need to eat some nachos or I will get insane and just hold down the "enter" key with one finger until I snap and move to a hotel in the desert where there is a microwave, a silo full of tortilla chips, and a block of cheddar the size of a mobile home. And a nice grater with a little soapy sink where I can wash it off, plus paper towels for dabbing at the grease. Man what if a dude found a place like that. You wouldn't hear from the dude for at least 10.5 years.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com