Muy In Telly Hentai

I had to train a new employee on our application this morning. She cut me off constantly and breathed real heavy. That's no big deal. I can handle that. She then took the documentation that I gave her and started fanning herself. My office is freezing all the time; it couldn't possibly have been the office climate. It's seriously cryogenically cold. I thought she might have farted and was trying to fan the smell away or something. Then I saw them.

She had banana hands. I have them, so I shouldn't hate too much, but they were bigger than mine. I've never met a woman who had bigger hands than me. From the point of visual contact, I was unable to make eye contact for the rest of the training. It was extremely uncomfortable. She is also the person who called my office phone and asked "Is this your phone number?" I replied, "Yes. That's why I answer it." It made me really confused.

So, after that, I get a little bit of work done and she sends out a weird e-mail regarding the meeting out of a form letter template. I read some of it, but it got me thinking about our recruiting process in my department and I actually Googled "Socially Retarded Affirmative Action." I didn't see any pertinent results in the InterWeb, so we must have it in a low key capacity at this point; it can't just be a coincidence.

On that note, here is my latest conversation with OfficeDwight. It took place while I was getting a soda from the fridge in the break room.

"Hey, man. I saw the dumbest martial arts movie last night" he said.

I replied "Dude, there really is no such thing as a shitty martial arts movie. Where'd you see it? Local Access or something?"

"No. I got it from Netflix. I've been checking out some martial arts and Japanese Anime." He made a hip pump gesture thing at this point and I immediately felt like I walked in on my parents doing it as I realized he meant soft core Hentai. He continued "I only get the rated R ones, but I rent them for the funny translations from Japanese. I wonder if they are that funny in Japanese."

I just walked away at this point, however, I love the Netflixian/anime usage of I read Playboy for the articles. That actually was truly awesome. It's like saying that you watch porn for the cheesy music. I've actually done that, but I actually recorded the music onto an audio tape while my parents were at work and then would listen to it when I delivered pizza in high school. I wouldn't sit there and watch a porn and be like "Oh, I'm just listening to it. I'm not really watching it." Dur, dude.

Link Smatters

This is a bunch of crap that I bookmarked last week, but was too lazy/busy to post.

Philosophy of Taoism - I actually found this off of Jeff Bridges' blog and have recently been reading up on it again. It's one of the better religions in my opinion, but that's a pissing match that I will abstain from.

Karate Depot - With Christmas around the corner, it's important that you take a look at Karate Depot. Everyone is getting fuckin' nunchucks for Christmas this year. Oh, pardon me. I meant Nunchaku. If I know one thing, it's that Nunchaku is a dish best served cold.

Andy McKee - Wunderkind. This guy plays nutty guitar and rocks the shit out of Toto. This is one of the best lyrics ever written "Sure as kilimanjaro rises like olympus above the serengeti." that's seriously in the song. Seriously.

Jeff Bridges - He was in TRON, Lebowski and he is also one of the best bloggers ever. It's mostly handwritten and it features some of his photography. The guy is out there, but super refreshing. He seems like someone who would be awesome to have a taco with. I spent a lot of time on his blog last Friday. It's great. There are links to stuff that your grandparents would forward you over e-mail.

Cardboard Tube Fighting League - This will catch on much quicker than soccer ever had a chance to. There are leagues in both San Francisco and Seattle. Check the FLICKR pools and buy a shirt or something. Or, better yet, find out when the next event is in your area and start practicing.

Hudsonia - Ray Hudson is a sportscaster for GOL TV. He is like the soccer equivalent of Harry Caray. Check out this gem "Zigic barely touches him and Palop goes down like a bunch of broccoli."

The Interrobang - Simply fascinating. I would get a tattoo of this. It was my gateway to fringe punctuation. Also see the acclamation mark, the irony mark, and the sarcasm mark. These would come in handy on text messages and e-mail.

To Each His pwn3d

Okay, picked up mom's at the doctor and talked to "Paul's Homie." If you drink enough, you will know everyone everywhere. Or, at least they will know you. I'll be mayor someday.

So, here's some random stuff. I had this epiphanical Sunday where I accepted happiness into my life as my personal savior. I was sitting in a a pair of sweats, watching soccer, waiting for a pizza and it happened. It felt like 1000 pounds of weight lifted off my shoulders. It was just in time, too. The previous Friday, I spent a half day with my sister and she explained that she had never seen me truly happy since we were kids and said that she worries about me constantly. She asked me very nicely to go on meds and I was pretty much ready to. It's really a last ditch effort for me because I'm not a huge fan of medicated happiness. See Brave New World by Aldous Huxley and you will understand. It doesn't end well.

The truth is that she is right. I've lived through other's happiness most of my life and find satisfaction in making others happy, but have never truly understood how to be happy personally based on my own personal merits. I'm aware of it and it's scary as hell. I do feel, however, that it's getting seriously better. I've road tested the new happiness and thrown it up against family, booze, and whatever else I could find that might ruin it and it's been bulletproof so far. Of course, dating is out of the question and should not be approached under any circumstance. The last girl that I "dated" (it's in quotes because the term "dated" is a real loose use of the word) indirectly caused me to start smoking again and really left a mark. She was pretty cool and pretty cute, but it wasn't in the cards. Hung me up for a little bit, though. I didn't care for it.

So, no dating and spending Fridays that aren't on a soccer field at home watching this piece of shit. The Next Great American Band is one of the most dog shitty shows I have ever seen. An analogy would be if you were playing Trivial Pursuit with someone and every question that they answered, they got wrong and the person reading the card encouraged them by telling them that they got it right and you are stuck there never hearing the right answer to any of the questions. It's horrible. The glimmer of great was the little kids playing Iron Maiden, but the novelty wears off too quickly. Plus, thirteen year old boys with their shirts off feels weird. The dog shit supremacy award goes to the douche lead singer of The Hatch. I really hope they didn't take their name from Lost because that would be super gay. They are horrible, though. They are the chick at your party singing Bonnie Raitt with her finger in her ear as if her monitor went out and she was on stage. Like they look like they are doing it for real, but they sound like grilled ass.

On paper, I'm currently reading A Long Way Down. I got it at the Salvation Army for a dollar. I try to go once amonth and buy all the decent books that they have for a dollar. It brings used book shopping to the next level. Plus, you get to see all the freaks at the Salvation Army which is like taking the freaks at Walgreen's to the next level which is just the freaks from Long's at the next level. Anyway, it's an easy read and Nick Hornby is always enjoyable. I wasn't really into it at first, but there were some really weird coincidences in the book that kind of hit home, so I kept going. I'm almost done. It's good. I'm also reading Oracle Database 10g SQL. Not real interesting, but reinforcing my Structured Query language skills. I need structure in my life.

I'm currently listening to, of course, the new Ween. Pulling out old DJ Shadow and Cut Chemist stuff. Recently discovered Mac Lethal and I think I like him, but I'm wary of his Slim Shadiness. Calm Down Baby is one of my favorite jams right now, though. I found it extremely inspiring. He seems legit. The new Aesop Rock never gets old. I've also been getting melancholy to Feist and Cat Power when I'm hiding from the world. Tons of Elliot Smith which is very dangerous sometimes, but he was so fucking good. Also sneaking in old Stevie Wonder and some Coltrane. I like to throw my iPod on shuffle every once in a while to see what it shakes out. It loves the Karate Kid soundtrack very much. Also, digging Veto and KEXP live performance podcasts. Currently, listening to one by Magnet from April '06. It's pretty good.

So, funny story. I was on my way to my soccer game last Friday and discussing relationships and the caveats of dating married women to my neighbor. Then we discussed the importance of finding individual happiness and being okay with yourself and being okay alone. I looked at him and said "Dude, I'm happy with myself right now and even if a cute girl walked up to me and asked to exchange numbers, I would tell her 'no'."

So, after soccer, some of us went for beers at the bar near the field and it was full of Halloweeners. The one night of the year that I didn't stick out for having a soccer jersey on. It was kind of cool. I had taken a pretty bad shot to the neck from someone's cleat (you can still see it on my chest) and was out front squatting down because everything ached.

This red headed girl dressed as something Bavarian squatted down to talk to me. I just assumed she needed a cigarette. So we talked for a little bit and then I stood up and she started getting really close talkey. So, whatevs, I told her my name after she gave me a fake name and went inside. She was cute and I was in danger of being a hypocrite. The worst of all the crites combined.

I went out for a smoke and bumped into her again. I ended up buying her a drink while she started getting touchy and telling me how cute I was. I won't lie. I appreciate being told that I'm cute. Her friend ran in and told her that their friend was sick and that they had to go. This is the part where I got pwn3d. She asked to exchange numbers. Pure pwnag3.

She ended up coming back and we hung out for a bit. It was nice. She said "really" a lot and also tried to make out with me in the bar, but I'm not real down with that. It tends to send a mixed message to the bar patrons and I find it a disrespectful gesture to the public. And the crowning achievement of the night for me was waking up alone with my credit card and no hangover. I cared for it.

La Cucaracha

So, it's been ten days since I last posted anything. The reason? I've been happy as fuck. Like on drugs happy. I have no reason for it, but it's been...uncomfortable? It's nice, though. It's been a nice exploration of self enjoyment through solidarity.

A new Ween album came out last week. It's called La Cucaracha and is pretty good. They get back to the Pure Guava days on a couple of the tunes and "Your Party" is arguably one of the best songs ever written. Dave "Quiet Storm" Koz plays saxophone on it and the lyric "Cream Puffs and bourbon and the music was louder/My wife was competing in a game of chance/The party raged and the guests were screaming/I could've danced all night."

Crap. Gotta run and pick up my moms. She got an epidural. Gross. I just looked at what it is. Also, totally yelled at her last night like she was a kid. It's an uncomfortable role reversal.

Seriously

This is one of the best written songs in like ten years. The lyrics are so...penetrating? The Dance Dance Revolution line is awesome and the "The second plane hit at 9:02" brings it home more than a Giuliani $9.11 dinner. That second verse is absolutely chilling. Thank you John Vanderslice. You make the Bay Area proud.

I Bet You've Done This

Have you ever woke up an hour late for a meeting at work and then walked to your car 10 blocks away in the rain while texting your ex-wife and then realized that you gave your key and your credit card to the bartender the night before so you wouldn't drive because you were wasted and singing Van Halen at karaoke and then walked back home and got yelled at by an ex-girlfriend in a crosswalk who then gave you a ride to your apartment to get your spare car key and gave you a ride back to your car which you then drove to work to the meeting that you were late for and just killed it?

Responsibility is hard at 32, but I'm pretty sure I've nailed it.

Chest hair. Not just for breakfast anymore.

More Shredding

Steve Sanders on Dancing with the Stars. I don't know what star he is with, though. Image borrowed from Yahoo!

I found a direct link to all of StSanders youtubes. They are awesome and endlessly entertaining. The Santana one is so awesome. Also, Steve Vai Shreds in Denver is great with the tri-neck guitbox. Also, if his user name was short for Steve Sanders it would be even better, but he's Finnish, so I do't think so.

Link of the Month

This is from Wired. It's an article titled "Hilarious YouTube Parodies 'Shred' Guitar Gods." It's a brilliant premise. A Finnish guy came up with the idea while watching Steve Vai with no sound and playing along I guess. It's really funny. The clapping on the Ozzy/Jake E. Lee clip is so funny. Check it out.

Now, You Really Can't Go Home Again

So, last night, I was putting the final touches on the resolution of The Girl thing. It took a text from her that said calling late at night drunk was not cool. She was right. It's not and I did. I felt horrible and just apologized and took her number out of my phone so that it would never happen again. I followed it up with a nice e-mail letting her know that I would put her belongings that she left at my house in the closet in the event that she ever wanted them. It wouldn't be that big of a deal, but she left a laptop that I put back together like the king's men couldn't do for Humpty Dumpty.

I basically took the text as a "Please don't call me again, freak." Oh and there was a weird myspace friend drop that is so stupid for a man of 32 to experience and then even feel bad about. The weird part was that she even dropped my friends to sever any type of six degrees of Kevin Bacon connection. I felt a little vilified. I lightly self-medicated on Tuesday under close self-supervision and then just tried to take it easy and watch a movie last night. things were recalibrating back to manageable. I want happiness, but I need content. It's a matter of wants vs. needs.

I'm at home watching Knocked Up which was not living up to its word of mouth status at all. Paul Rudd is a genius and the dick and fart humor was funny at times, but it was no cult classic or anything. The movie was in Act II where the heroes experience something bad which they will always resolve in Act III in these type of movies and my phone rings. I look down and see that it's my mom. My first thought was to finish watching the movie and call her when I was done, but then decided I would answer it because maybe I could talk to her about feeling down lately. I know better than this, but I was planning on doing some mom and step-dad time this weekend in hopes of stabilizing my personal world. It turned out to be one of those calls. Apparently, I was going to add more complexity to what has got to be my Act II in life. I just wish it would only last 20 - 30 minutes like in the movies. It would also be nice to have some good one-liners in there. Actually, I do have a lot of funny moments in my Act II. I'll admit that.

I picked up the phone and my mom said "Are you home alone?" and I replied "Of course." She then says I moved out of the house and your step-dad and I are separated. My chest cinched up like a knot and I could almost physically feel the couch ripped from beneath me followed by the carpet, by the foundation of my apartment, by the dirt beneath it, all the way down to the immensely heated liquid core of the earth. The first urge was to throw my phone into the wall and find some satisfaction at the pieces flying all over my living room, but stuck it out because that would be selfish.

The back story, at this point, is that I've been through this before when I was 5 and had recently put it to bed with my dad. Like in the last six months. That was a cool silver lining of The Girl. She gave me some good perspective and great energy to go visit him and let all the bad stuff go because I was pretty much belligerently beside myself with happiness. Euphoria is dangerous. Pro tip. So, to go through this at 32 makes you feel like an asshole. Life is supposed to be like this: High School, College, Meet someone, Get married, Have babies, Grow old together. It's not for me. The last three years have felt like I'm walking through a stumbling block factory during an earthquake in a rain storm while wearing roller skates and sponge pants. My dysfunctional family was the last thing holding it together. There was always some solace when I was around them in almost any situation. They were my rock.

So, I paused the movie and did the phone call. Breaking down a couple of times. There is nothing masculine about a 32 year old man breaking down, but you know what, people do it. It's real life. Halfway through the phone call I was severely disappointed that I didn't have a cigarette and self-medicating was out of the question as I had cleared my apartment of any type of booze this last weekend. That's the point where you realize there is nothing you can do and every mental direction that you turn in your head has a locked door in front of it. In fact, on the locked door is a picture of you in a precarious position to just add a little guilt to the situation. It's so you can turn it around on yourself and kick your ass while you're at it.

She said that it's nothing permanent and they had talked about it for a while now and she was just unhappy. I feel horrible for both of them and just want them to be happy, but it's a situation that is so incredibly out of your control that it's a little ridiculous. On top of that, how the fuck can you help someone else when you are having a hard time helping yourself?

We finished the phone call after about an hour and I hung up the phone and just kind of stared at the wall for a while hoping that my Saturn would somehow rise before everything became too much. I think that's astrological or at least lifted from Tool lyrics. I wanted really bad to talk to someone about it and realized that I had no one. It was as alone as I have felt in a long time. I texted the oldest friend that I have and he stepped up and called me to talk about it, which was very nice. The coolest thing through the whole situation is that my kill switch engaged. No bar. No booze. No running from the problem at hand. It was just a mental list of bulletpoints of the reasons that were causing me to think that a drink might make things better. It doesn't. Then, going beyond the bulletpoints and realizing the real reasons and fears that were buried underneath them.

At this point, however, I just want to let it all go. I never want to go home again. No Thanksgiving. No birthdays. No Christmas. No anything. I don't want to go there anymore. I want to withdraw into my own deal and just not deal with chasing the ideals that are absolutely impossible for me to attain. Nothing is "normal" and there are others that have it much worse than I. That doesn't make it better, but it rains on my pity parade. The world waits for no one and I've already been sandbagging for long enough now.

Had to get that off my chest. I apologize completely and everything is what it is. That's all it can ever be. May have to browse some therapists today. It all just feels very overwhelming. That's a big deal. I hate therapy. Duh!

You Can't Ever Go Home.

Friday, I went to the East Bay to visit Pappy. It's approximately 40 miles and it took me an hour and forty minutes to get there from the Peninsula. By the time I got to his house, I was ready to kill something. I really cannot understand how people can do that everyday. It's, perhaps, the number one reason that I'm never going to move back to the city again.

So, we go to San Ramon to The Hopyard and meet a friend from LA. It was actually really good to see her. It had been a while. She drank root beer while Pappy and I drank a pitcher of bad ideas. She bailed and Pappy and I decided to go visit Pleasanton again. That's the bad idea part. It's true that you can't ever go home. It felt like Fresno. We went to a bar in a strip mall where I guess people hang out now. After forcing down the worst Ketel & Soda that I've ever drank in my life and listening to some song that went like "Save a horse. Ride a cowboy..." we left and went to another bar in Pleasanton. It actually worked out because the bartender that Pappy had an attitude crush on was pregnant. At the second bar, we were actually there for even less time. We didn't even order a drink.

We decided to head back to Livermore to get closer to Pappy's place. We also called my little sister and asked her if she wanted to get a drink or two. She met us at the ghettoest bar ever where I tried to teach the bartender to make a lemon drop. They were horrible. He didn't understand the sugar concept of it. So, when life gives you lemons, sometimes you are just stuck with them, apparently.

We got out of there and went to AM/PM where Pappy and Ashleigh bought $40 worth of candy. Got home and slept.

I woke up the next morning and was still a little dizzy from the night before because I hadn't eaten in a while. I grabbed my sister and got coffee and took her home. Hit a gang of traffic on a Saturday trying to get home and still wasn't feeling right, but thought if I laid down that I would feel better. After an hour nap, I still felt weird, but went and got my hair did in Los Gatos.

This is where stuff gets weird. After my haircut, I went and visited my ex-in laws. Why? I have no idea. It wasn't so bad, though. I haven't seen them in a little over two years and I really liked them, so it felt all right. One of their dogs had gone blind and I found it immensely entertaining. So, I got to visit with my ex-in laws and their pets for a bit. It was nice, but I still wasn't feeling right.

From there I ran home and fell asleep during a baseball game for an hour and went to a work party at my former boss' house. It was for Oktoberfest and all of the guest's had gardeners that made more money than I do. I think some people owned their own planes. Whatever, though, there was free beer and good food. This is where it got real weird.

My boss' sister was kind of talking me up a bit and I thought it was just to get smokes from me. She's a single mom and my boss had kind of warned me about her. Plus, this lawyer was all over her. As the families started to disappear and the party started to get a little more adult, she ends up in a bikini trying to get me to go hot tubbing with her. I think she was implying suit optional, too. I let her know that that wasn't a real good idea.

An hour goes by and she returns from the hot tub and incites some other women to douse my shirt with white wine. That got my shirt off and I realized it was a full on cougar attack. I grabbed my pullover and put that on while my shirt dried. The crowd was severely thinning out at that point and I was just trying to get my stuff dry so I could get out of there in one piece when I got referred to as a "Hot, Young Stud" for the first time in my life. It was crazy and so cliched that it was ridiculous.

Anyway, I'm appealing to a new market now. I guess it's always good to broaden your demographic. Now, if I could just get the one I want to work out to work out, that would be truly awesome. For now, I guess I've got this.

Pro Tip #480

Married girls should not send e-mails like this:

You seemed busy and I am not one to bother.
So I think your hot and besides that you are interesting, and interesting is good.

Enjoy your Tuesday. Email me when you get a chance.


However, hot and interesting? I'll take that. One day it will come from a single person. The "your hot" typo is kind of a turn off, though. It's not recent, but I just found it in my inbox when I was looking for an e-mail address. Needed the ego boost today. She also signed her name very cutely.

Living Las Vegas

It should be stopped before it spreads. They should build a fucking wall around Las Vegas and fill it with water. It would be painless to all the jaded fucks that inhabit its boundaries. There would be minimal losses, but we would all be saved from the virus of gaud that threatens to spread from its horrible horrible bowels. The popped collars, Friday night shirts and stunna shades that would float to the top of the Vegas ruins cesspool would be somehow satisfying. Oh, and all of those fucking giant, whalebone drink containers would all float to the top, too. I'd take them and tie them all together and make a giant raft to do tours for young children so that they could learn from our mistakes.

So, went to Vegas last weekend. Didn't really want to, but went for my sister's 21st. Any excuse for a family trainwreck and I'm pretty much in. Went past the Super 8 that I was staying at during my last major life changing event and the 7-11 where I had a taco roll of some sort right before it happened and was cool with it. I've recovered from all that finally, but have managed to find a host of new problems to deal with. It keeps one busy, I guess. Without problems life would be a conglomeration of Entertainment Tonight, Extra! and Wheel of Fortune with an occasional wordsearch on Sundays. New problems make it possible to look at your bed and fear it because you aren't going to get any sleep and will feel your chest tighten immediately when you lay down and close your eyes and your mind spins off into a loop about all of life's problems. You hear of the footloose and Fancy Feast set (intentional cat joke), but I find it hard to believe that they are truly evolved to the point that there isn't something dragging them down late at night in a dark room.

So, flew in Friday around 4:00 PM and went straight to a blackjack table and lit up a smoke. After an hour and $100 I was reprimanded for dropping too many F bombs on grounds of creating a hostile work environment for the dealer. I acknowledged the problem and recommended going to community college and getting out of working in a casino as a good idea to dehostilize the dealer's work environment. I was lucky to not get cattle prodded, but I was kinda punchy and uncomfortable in my surroundings.

So dudes next to me are straight from the OC and none of them look like Seth or Ryan at all. They looked more like the dudes in the episode where Ryan goes back to Chino and starts stealing cars, but that's revealing a little too much about my TV viewing habits, doesn't it? So, OC dudes are smoking Newports and talk me into putting Binaca on the filter of a Newport and smoking it. When was the last time any motherfucker even saw Binaca?

So, we're playing and having a nice time and the dude right next to me looks at me and goes "Shit, dude. My friend just came out today." The way the sentence was accented on the "today" made it sound like his friend had just arrived in Vegas. No. That was not the case. His friend had just come out of the closet. This was fine, but I didn't know which friend it was until a little later when I said "Sorry, your friend ended up gay, dude, but don't be bothered by it. He's still your friend." Then he replied "Shut up, dude. It's the guy right behind me." I looked at the guy behind him and just said "Duh. That dude's gay."

So, after that I met my family for drinks in the bar and we started getting wasted. I told some waitress that she had shelf titties. That was kind of mean, but she was pushing up these A or B cups and creating no cleavage and her boobs just turned into something that was reminiscent of flan.

We then went to the dueling piano bar thing at New York New York so that my family could spend $400 to stop anyone who requested the Eagles. It's become a tradition. I even got to sing some Van Halen Jump when they played it. Killed it, by the way. Holy shit, I just remembered that I sang Time of My Life from Dirty Dancing with some chick at karaoke last night. Nice.

After the piano thing, the rest of the night was spent herding cats as my sister's started to fall apart. One of them even called The Girl and told her it would be smart if she stopped texting me for her protection because I was going to get real wasted. I've got to shake The Girl, by the way. I don't care if it takes blunt cranial trauma. I want this to end. I've managed to stop myself from calling her for the last three nights and I've wanted to call her real bad, but I don't even know what I'd say. I used to be so much cooler than this until she got in and scrambled my eggs. Whatevs. She's just not that into Ol' Jauge and that's fine. what was I talking about? Oh, So I spend the rest of the night until 6:30 AM the next morning at a blackjack table. Basically, this is what happened between Midnight and 6:30. I spilled a drink on the table about every 20 minutes, was reprimanded for dropping F bombs and zatted Blackjacks like nobody's business. Zatting is when you've drank enough Red Bull and vodkas to kill a young cow and can see through the cards. When a face card is dealt and the unseen card comes around, you point at it and yell "Zat!" as it hits the table. When this completes a blackjack, you have zatted correctly. I even zatted a drink into a dude's lap and he thanked me for it because I zatted him a blackjack. Only in Vegas.

More later. I'm going to go solve the world's pressing problems now.

I'm So Getting One

Hasbro is putting out the Power Tour Electric Guitar next month. I need one to go with my One Man Jam. Go to that link to see this horrendous tool give lessons on using one. He talks about two-handed hammer-ons in the Advanced Techniques section.

Tiny Horses

So, in the last 72 years while you were a gleam in your father's pants, maybe born, got housebroken, learned to throw a ball, and grew up into the wonderful person that I assure you you are; in that 72 years there have been seeing eye horses. WTF?!?!?! you say? Yes. So did I, but it's real. I saw a picture of one in action and sent it to a friend who then sent me back a link to the Guide Horse Foundation's website and I stared at my monitor like I was seeing a UFO land in my backyard (if I had one). The term used was "bedazzled."

I've seen miniature horses before and I'm a big fan. I mean there are cat people, dog people, and even bird people. Then you get to the less common, fringe animal owners. These are your reptile and ferret people. Cat people are usually weird. Dog people are usually trying to fill a gap in their lives. Bird people...Weren't there bird people in Flash Gordon? God, Queen is awesome.

I don't know what to say about bird people. I had one and it died after it ate guacamole. Guacamole doesn't kill birds, people who give guacamole to birds kill birds. Anyway, he was named Tweety and after he died he lived in our freezer for months or maybe a year. The go-to joke was to pull him out of the freezer in his freezer bag home that had expanded with air death particles and throw him in someone's lap during a family party. As a family, I'll admit that we are twisted and dysfunctional, but it's kinda like when you are walking around in the Winter time and you just plant one shoe about 4 inches deep into a puddle. At first, you're all pissed off and your foot is cold and your sock is wet while your other foot is completely dry and normal. After about 17 steps you come to grips with the fact that that's your shoe now and that's just kinda how it is. Once you accept that you have a fucked up shoe, it's usually not as bad as it was initially.

So, bird people are like that. Whatever that means. The fringe animal arena is filled with people that are craving attention. That's why they are on the fringe and own illegal animals like ferrets. One popular ferret owner is none other than Perres Helton (that's misspelled on purpose to avoid getting picked up in search results of people looking for that name. I learned an important lesson when I namedropped Sisqo). So, yes, ferret people and reptile people are weird, attention cravers.

Now, I will fully admit that I'm making broad accusations almost to the point of being specist, but using the broad generalizations depicted above have got me this far and been in the area of 97% accurate. Broad generalizations rarely fail in the realm of Tommy Bahama shirts, tribal armband tattoos, guys that wear visors and are not golfing, people that drive large trucks, hippies, uber-recyclers, Prius drivers, gingers, people who wear eye patches, people who wear stunna shades in a club at night, croc wearers, people in sandals and socks, guys in moustaches who are not cops or firefighters, cops or firefighters without moustaches, guys in fanny packs, anyone from Orlando, anyone in Orlando, office talkers, etc...Broad generalization is a proven system that works.

So, anyway, what I was trying to say and totally getting sidetracked, was that out of all of those animal people it would be cool to be a mini horse owner. I'll acknowledge that it's totally in the fringe subset of animal owners and probably has elements of all of them wrapped into one. It would be weird, attention craving and filling a hole in my life that a human has been unable to do. So, I guess now is the point where I let everyone reading this know that I'm a huge hypocrite and have no right to judge weird cat people...and did "Don't Stop Believin'" really just come up on my iPod while I was shuffling? All of a sudden I feel like I'm in the work montage from a romantic comedy that has some guy writing on his computer as seen through the window by the camera. At the end of the montage it has him running through the rain while he's holding his trench coat in his hand. He turns the corner and goes to the spot where he met the girl interest in the movie because they had a fight over a misunderstanding and he chose his job over her. He sits there for a minute and looks down as the montage turns into the real scene and the girl gets out of a cab and runs to him. Pro tip: This does not happen in real life. Second Pro Tip: It would be The Shins or anything with Ben Gibbard in it instead of Journey.

So, I'll sum it up by saying that miniature horses are awesome.

Is This Really Necessary?

So, there is a Grease 2 fan site. Technically, the ultimate Grease 2 fan site. Granted, Michelle Pfeiffer helped me discover my special purpose during the ladder riding, cool rider scene and Adrian Zmed was brilliant, as usual, but does it warrant a fan site. Could/Did the Internet go to that place that TV did? I'm not one of those Kill Your TV shirt wearing hippy elitists, but I will admit that it is just fucking cluttered with crap. Somebody needs to clean the cat box that Comcast calls digital cable. It's not that TV sucks, but so much sucks on TV. Hate the playa, not the medium that it's transmitted on. Guns don't kill people, etc...So, when there are fan fiction sites for Good Times and extreme erotic guilds in web based RPGs, it may be time to build an app that will sift through the crap. I know there are some things out there that can help, but that's the Google killer, it's the application that cleans up your path down the WorldWebSuperHighway. Not censorship or rating systems of any kind, but simply streamlining. Now, here is Michelle Pfeiffer on the ladder. Thank you YouTube. At 1:32, you get jazz hands and the ladder. That's so rad.

HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is going to be cooler than being born:

I'm Really Glad That I Read This Today

Not only will you die alone, but more quickly than non-alone people. That's great. At least the doctors figured out why. Might as well keep up the smoking.

Also, for the ladies that have participated in the sanctity of life: TrueMomConfessions.
And for those about to rip their office phones out of the wall and throw them down the stairs at work: TrueOfficeConfessions.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Drinks

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What is a Pinback?

Pinback is releasing Autumn of the Seraphs next week. I've been listening the shit out of the album and just have to say that these guys are such a breathe of fresh air and are truly unique when compared to emo, indie, or whatever term the rack at Target that houses their album calls their music.

Basically, there is tons of interplay between the bass and guitar utilizing a gang of syncopation, dissonance and resolution. Lyrically, they are extremely interesting and the delivery is usually subdued and mellow even when they are yelling.

So, here's the tracks:
1. From Nothing To Nowhere - The introduction almost sounds like it could be a Police song. It's got a driving guitar line that pushes the song through while the bass line just wrecks it through the verse and then players reverse positions while the bass plays it straight through the chorus while the guitar just riffs. Also, if you've got heeadphones listen for the organ low in the mix.

2. Barnes - Quintessential Pinback. It sounds like the bass and guitar are fighting playfully in this song. They really push that syncopation thing. It's almost like a King Crimson song or something. Totally prog-rock.

3. Good To Sea - The drumbeat on this song sound like it's coming off an old organ's presets, in a good way. It's just chill. "It's really not that kind/To terrorize one in one's sleep/And if you really tried/You'd probably cut the chase to deep." I care for that line. There is something truly nautical about this keyboard line, too. It sounds like it's being played on a submarine barely submerged. Don't ask me why.

4. How We Breathe - Dude. Rob Crow and Zach Smith are so better than you. I love the way this song starts. Again, the drum line is so subdued, but perfect for the song. Do they seriously say "Overneath" in this song? This song is about having anxiety I think. Not much to say about this song except the guitar tone sounds a bit like a grandfather clock at the end.

5. Walters - This song has a verse about a guy who tied balloons to a lawn chair until he floated away. The balloons pop and he comes back to the ground. It's a tribute to him. His name is Larry. One of the simpler Pinback songs I've ever heard. Then, it gets all hard in the last minute or so. It's kinda cool.

6. Subbing For Eden - Spoken verse. Has a line "Folder reference cache/zeroes, ones and tildes." Pinback uses words in songs that Bad Religion couldn't even use. Kinda short.

7. Devil You Know - This has a cool rolling guitar line. Riffs. The verse has that in the round thing that Pinback do where they sing syncopated verses. It's really cool, but I don't know how these dudes can do that and still play at the same time. That's really hard to do. The first verse, I believe, is referring to leaves as the tears of trees. That's good writing. a piano line follows the verse really effectively on the chorus in this one.

8. Blue Harvest - Wasn't this the code name for Return of the Jedi while it was in production? You can totally hear the Police influence in this song. The guitar line evokes "Message in a Bottle" a lot. I'm not calling biters or anything. I'm just sayin'. Plus, if you are biting a little bit of The Police, you are paying homage.

9. Torch - This is probably my favorite song on the album. It's totally a sci-fi nerd song. Check this line "You're close to me/I push you away." Speaks volumes in the middle of a sci-fi nerd song. I think there might be something else going on in this song under the surface.

10. Bouquet - The keyboard intro on this song made me think that my computer was scanning me and importing me into a world run by an entity called CPU and I would have to fight other programs for users in the real world and perhaps fight Sark and play electric jai-alai and light cycles...Oh shit. I thought I was in TRON again. My bad. Pinback is Nautical. That's all I'm going to say.

11. Off By 50 - What's up King Crimson? Cool guitar line at the beginning. "Mindless Hateful/There's no such thing as a free lunch/No such thing at all." Syllabically, this line is delivered brilliantly. These guys are good. Everyone should buy this album. I really care for it.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Popcorn will kill you. I knew it.

Official Laugh At The World Day Is Today

Because of a three day weekend and a brain damaging Sunday bout of day drinking, today is official laugh at the world day. Yes, I just invented it.

First, Friday night? I don't remember what I did. Oh, wait. It was beer Friday at work and then I showed up on my bike drunk at my team's soccer game that I took the night off from to actually do something, but it just turned into a Plan B night. Plans have been very difficult to make as of late, however, there has been an increase of spontaneity and mostly pleasant surprises.

Saturday? Pappy came over and watched me play Guitar Hero until he got bored (2 songs). Pappy does not like video games, so we drank vodka and tequila drinks while we waited for a couple of friends. A trainwreck developed while we discussed how much of a pussy Ozzy Osbourne was and how we were dumbfounded that anyone thought that he was a satan worshipper and instead it was because of his album covers. Then, we decided the same thing happened to Maiden, but they rocked a little harder and never recorded a song called "Mama, I'm Coming Home."

Woke up Sunday morning to find that a piece of my dash had been forcefully dislodged from my car. Drunk strength can be compared to adrenaline. How come you hear stories about women lifting cars off their kids in emergency situations, but never a drunk picking up a houseboat to get a horseshoe? That's a really good question I could sit on for like an hour. Sunday afternoon was a pretty intense situation of day drinking. A lot of it will remain untalked about. A lot of blurred faces like on Cheaters or cops due to incriminating actions. We drank dollar beers out of styrofoam cups, saw a Bay Bridge half-dollar from 1936, met Dennis and his wife, met Gabe and Devon, I got invited to a fight club this weekend in Oakland, lost my sunglasses, and managed to find transport to a friend's house to have a barbeque with her mom and sister while we were mostly drunk and some slept.

So, by Monday evening, my brain was suffering in like a manic way. You get all wasted for 48 hours and then your brain starts putting the pieces back together and none of them fit and you get all bummed because the euphoria can not be maintained of being wasted and not really thinking about all the stuff that you are doing wrong or at least not right in your life. This version was especially bad for some reason and still was lingering Monday morning. Nothing going to bed at 8:00 pm Monday night couldn't fix, though. Binge drinking is not what it used to be, but I still think that the press is unfair to it. It's not as bad as binge eating.

So, what am I saying? I know there are things going on right now that are not what they should be for a young, "marketable" (my old doctor called me that), 32 year old male like myself. I can do way better than putting up binge tabs every weekend because I don't want to put the effort into anything else productive outside of laundry and vaccuming. It just makes my head cloudy and prevents me from getting smarter and moving a step closer to world domination. Seriously, if you are reading this, I am like -(negative)685 beers away from running your life. If I quit drinking, I will eventually become the equivalent of a Bond villian or a superawesome ninja. You've been warned.

So, instead of sitting there thinking about how bad stuff is and taking it personal, I'm just laughing about it and it makes it feel so much better. Try it next time you walk by your couch and catch the corner of it between your big toe and index toe. Instead of yelling "Shit!" because it hurts hecka bad, just start laughing. Or, when someone comes up to you at work and asks you the stupidest fucking thing that you have heard that would sound cute coming out a five year old, but when it comes out of an adult you want to punch them in the fucking face, just laugh. You'll start to build a weird association between anger, pain and funny. Do it enough and it sticks. Yeah, it sucks to be the guy laughing at a funeral, but it's the price you pay. It's really a better alternative to feeling any type of pain, trust me. It's worth the price of everyone thinking that you are absolutely shithouse rat crazy.

The Real Air Guitar Champeen

Will Arnett is brilliant and should be the real US Air Guitar Champion. Cue the youtube to 5:32 if it's counting forward and 2:10 if you're counting backward and watch the magic happen.

This Will Get Taken Down (Feist 1-2-3-4 on Letterman last night)

This is like the Indie Rock We Are the World. Watch it quick before they take it down. Everyone Indie rock guy and gal seem to be singing backup on this.

Sweet Dreams are Not Made of These

First off, my iPod is totally gay for Cheap Trick and That1Guy on Shuffle. It's not so bad, I think both bands are awesome.

Second, went to bed at 8:30 PM again last night. That makes two nights in a row. It is what it is. Last night, however, I kept waking up and then had a weird dream within a dream experience where I woke up and it was 5:16 Am in the dream and I was just going to get up and get ready for work, but then realized that it was only 11:30 PM. It was super disorienting.

So, I wake up again at 1:00 AM with one of those jerk outs that happens in dreams sometimes and I try and remember what I was dreaming about and it was super weird. I was saving the world from an alien guy whose power was in a tube that resembled those Rain-blo gum tubes that we used to get as kids. So, after doing some ninja shit, I managed to get the tube and eat the gum and killed him. I distinctly remember that the last gumball thing had Nerds inside. So, then I woke up.

I fell back asleep and woke up at 4:00 AM in a cold sweat. I was dreaming that I woke up with Nicole Richie in bed and she was giving me shit about getting too drunk the night before and not being able to get it up and passing out on her. That one sucked.

I think these are three examples of why I sometimes become an Insomniac. My sub-conscious must just fucking hate me. Where are the dreams of a land of chocolate or jet packs and lightsabers or a house made of cake? Why don't I ever get good ones.

By the way, Black Eyed Peas suck Black Eyed Ass.

So This is What it's Like...

To lay on a bed of nails with a giant rock on your chest. I had to cancel a day drinking seminar that I was giving today because I'm in no shape. First, I've got this super deep leg bruise that is making it very difficult to get around and also to sleep. It sucks. I hate being tired. Second, I have no idea what's going on with the girl.

I'm a cool guy. I can go with the flow in most situations, however, there is some unprecedentation going on and I feel absolutely in the dark on everything on top of the fact that everything was so confusing anyway. I've seen glimpses of what must be the emotional equivalent of the visual representation of puppies and unicorns and I've seen other glimpses of candy being taken away from a baby. All I want in life at this point is simplicity and peace of mind. It seems that the only way to have those risk free, however, is to rid yourself of everything that you hold dear. Basically, if you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. This became apparent in a conversation I was having recently when I explained that when you are alone, being alone feels fine. When you have had a taste of what it feels like to not be alone, alone hurts again. Call it numbness or ignorance or simply shutting off some feelings, but it was working.

So, tidied up the apartment and made a grocery list and then realized the leg wasn't going to work and I was too tired and I was just supertense about the girl situation. It shouldn't be this tense and everything would be fine if she were just another girl, but we're not even technically dating and she is scared because she likes me...that's like hating a food because it's too good. Actually, isn't that how a lot of people feel about certain cakes and drugs. They're like "Oh, get that away from me. It's too good." Then, they eat it anyway in most situations.

She is not returning my calls after a bunch of texts last night and I'm just absolutely confused. A voicemail that said "Fuck you. I hate you. Don't call me" would be better than the current situation because when you don't know anything and your brain spins like mine does you start to get creative. I start asking myself things like "Did she realize she can't live with that small tuft of hair that I have on my lower back? Are my ears too big? Does she know about that calcium deposit on my skull from when I cracked it open? Is she going back to her secret French husband? Space monkeys? German transients? Clown gangs?" So, my move is to try and sleep it off so I'm not thinking about it. That's my healthy alternative to self-medicating, but then when I close my eyes I just think about her and I'm too tired to fight it and then can't sleep. So, I think the term right now is either bedogged or frazzled or just bummed.

Then, in the middle of this my stepdad drunk dials me and tells me that I should come out and visit him while my mom's at Michael Buble. A) I tell him that I really shouldn't be drinking when I feel like this. I've learned the hard way B) He just wants me to come out and fix his computer and C) Why the fuck is my mom going to Michael Buble? I thought he was a Target brand.

So, after splattering this crap into the InterSphere, I realize there are three possible outcomes to this. The first is that it finally built up to the point that the girl really doesn't want to pursue anything and doesn't want to communicate at all. That's fine. The second is that she is just having a freakout and does want to pursue something, but just can't deal with me right now. That's fine, but it's killing me. The third is, regardless of the previous two options I can cut bait and concentrate on work and laundry and getting stuff done because when my head is cloudy like this I can't do anything. Oh my god, am I pining? That is so weak. The third option is the nuclear bomb option and is definitely the one that I want to avoid and would be the hardest to do because she is in the top 5 awesome things that have happened to me in twenty years, but I just don't know what's going on? On top of that, she reads this blog and I just flipped all of my cards over for the world to see. It's like charades where instead of acting out the parts of the word like a mime, you just say what it is and your team has to guess or just repeat what you just said. It's the world's easiest version of charades, so shouldn't it make this a little easier. Fuck Me.

Ocho Cinco

This article, T-rex versus Beckham? Sorry, David, you're lunch states and I quote that "The smallest dinosaur could reach speeds of nearly 40 mph (64 kph) and even the lumbering Tyrannosaurus rex would have been able to outrun most modern-day sportsmen, according to research published on Wednesday."

That's fine, but notice that it says "most." This is because Ocho Cinco could beat the T-rex in a race. Why the fuck would the article compare it to Becks? He's not known for his speed. I mean if anything compare it to those two olympic busts from like 8 years ago. I can't even remember their names.

Beyond that, if Ocho Cinco was involved in Michael Vick's dog fighting ring, his dog would whip all the other dog's asses. In fact, if there was a T-rex there that had a dog, Ocho Cinco's dog would whip the T-rex's dog ass. It's hypothetical, but scientifically provable.

Just a Reminder

Ween is better than you. Way better.

Manstrual Cycle

I'm a firm believer in a male's manstrual cycle. The Urban Dictionary definition is close, but I think it goes much further than what Mr. Lewis Wandon submitted.

So, first let's look at the menstrual cycle. Wikipedia's definition gets a little too detailed, but I'll work with it. Basically, it is a set of physiological changes that occur in female human beings and great apes. Oh my god, I wish I hadn't read ahead like that. The follicular phase gets quite involved. So, maybe the manstrual cycle is making light of something that is a little bit more involved than it would seem on the surface or as it's referred to with its set of nicknames.

Okay, I'm way out of my element at this point. This is what I do know. A female's organs look like a cow's head. Please see Exhibit A. That's what I got out of Human Sexuality at Diablo Valley College, but the A only cost me $25. That's a local joke. If you watch the news, you'll get it.

Exhibit A

So, the manstrual cycle that I'm experiencing is similar to the first phase of the traditional menstrual cycle as experienced by women and ape women. It lasts about 2 to 7 days. It occurs about every 60 to 90 days. That's my personal cycle, but other males and ape men may differ. I get extremely irritable and almost want people to pick a fight with me even to the point of baiting them. I give shiteye to people. I get real quiet and introverted. I listen to sad emo music. I think a lot. I cramp up and retain water. I also develop adult acne in the form of breaking out.

Every couple to few months, I'll be in the bathroom getting ready for work and I'll look in the mirror and see a tiny blemish and I'll be like "Oh, fuck. Looks like it's my time of the year again." That's when my man-period starts.

Last night, I was totally on my guyrag. I was cranky and pissed off at someone over the phone because I wasn't getting what I wanted. It's crazy, though. I have no control over the way I'm feeling. I mean I'm not the chick crying in Bed, Bath and Beyond because her boyfriend can't remember her birthday or doesn't want the homo bedspread that she picked out, but I'll act out. I'll say things that I wish I didn't say that open up a can of worms that I can't recan, EVER.

So, I guess this is an apology to the world for the way I've been behaving and also a plea for patience at the same time. I don't want to demean you (the collective you), I don't want to stomp on your foot "accidentally" in a soccer game and then help you up and say "You all right, man?" when both of us know that I just stomped the fuck out of your foot because I'm getting a visit from Uncle Flow, and finally I just want to be good and feel good. Fuck this Charlie Brown bullshit. Whatever happened to Charlie Brown? Did he finally hang himself and leave some tragic love/suicide letter addressed to Lucy professing his unspoken love and also asking her to take care of his dog?

So, anyway, please be patient with me (the collective me) and if you see me on my period, just get in your car and leave me alone and we'll all be fine. It goes away.

FOTC - Business Time

Currently, this is making me laugh almost as much as the punch dancing scene in Hot Rod.

"Team building exercise '99"

Van Halen Reunion

And the new album cover is already done. I like the way they have modernized their 1984 philosophy. I'm assuming the album will be called 2008.

Douchefest '07

I found the funniest clip from The 2 Coreys. I was watching it last weekend and this was the part that made me lose it. It's so funny. Scripted or not scripted, who cares? Enjoy.

Corey Haim Cries Like a Little Girl

Posted Jul 23, 2007

Corey Haim breaks down in tears after learning from Corey Feldman that he's not being asked to do The Lost Boys sequel.

In Case You Were Wondering...

...this is how you play guitar like Joe Satriani.

Play Guitar Like Joe Satriani

It's that easy, dude. Now let's hear a little Satch Boogie outta ya. The live version.

That's not even his right gear. I guarantee you he's got an Ibanez Tube Screamer in his live rig. Everyone has the Tube Screamer except for me. Actually, my bad, he uses a Boss DS-1. Here's a link to his rig. Satriani's Rig.

I'm so outed by this.

Michael Cera Has More Funny Than You Do

Michael Cera, who played George Michael on Arrested Development (RIP) is eelarious. His dry delivery is unstoppable and after SuperBad he is going to blow up. Check out him and his buddy's web site where they post eelarity. And, god, I miss Arrested Development. Nothing since could even hold a candle to it.

Clark and Michael

Ms. New Booty

Here is a bitchslap of youtube goodness that a friend and I were passing back and forth over e-mail. I think we found it on digg.

When We Escape by Minus the Bear

Most of the people hitting this blog are coming from searches on Sisqo. You got me on that one. Apparently, the Thong song still kindles a flame in the soul of some people. Other people have been searching on Minus the Bear lyrics. So, I'm throwing a bone today and posting lyrics from an unreleased song from Planet of Ice. Here's where you preorder it. By the way, I'm a gaybird for doing this.

When We Escape

Someone's turning the lights down low
And the music up. Do you feel the beat?
I see you do by the way you move
I need to feel your body moving on me

You must be an illusion
Can I see through you?

Someone's pulling me out the house
Cars are parked up and down the street
Her dress is begging to come off
A quiet dark place is all we need.

You must be an illusion
Can I see through you?
You must be an illusion
You must be an illusion

When we escape
It's with a white lie
We're both alive
And now we lay this close
Catching measures of the pulse

You must be an illusion x like 25

Notice that the song title is actually in the lyrics. MTB is evolving. They are also superawesome. Buy the album. It's real good. Also, go to their shows. They are real good. Some would say amazing. I'm totally gay for Minus the Bear.

The Condition My Condition Is In

This guy fell asleep and had sex with a minor. He called his condition "sexsomnia." I need to hang out with this guy. I'll look him up on MegansList. He must have a personal ad on there or at least a Missed Connection.

I'd call bullshit on him, but I've totally done the same thing except it was with a consenting adult. I'm not gross.

Man cleared of sleepwalk sex with 15-year-old (The Daily Telegraph)

Finally, the Future is Here

Private jet packs, bitch.

I have a theory that the reason there is even a right wing of the population that has chosen Jesus over science is due to the disillusionment with the scientific community because of its failure to provide us with a jet pack by 2000. Well, now that we have personal jetpacks available, they can put down the Jesus juice and come back to us from all their abracadabra bullshit. Logic vs. magic. Come on people.

There are a some drawbacks to jetpacks, however. For now, the price of $155,000 is a slight hurdle and that's for the cheap one. Currently, there is only 30 seconds of hangtime on available jetpacks. That is not near enough time to jetpack to work. Lastly, the idea of strapping a tank of jet fuel or propane to one's back evokes the phrase "What could go wrong?" in bright neon letters in my head.

Other good news is that this is the first step towards getting me a fully functioning lightsaber. If we are tinkering with jet packs, someone is working on a lightsaber, or laser sword for N00bs, in their garage.

Basically, if I had a jetpack and a lightsaber, I would have no more excuses for not completing any goal I have ever set for myself. Wait, I need a jetpack, a lightsaber, a bear cub, and a subscription to Cat Fancy. That would do it.

Let's Make a Dealbreaker

Dealbreakers are mysterious and can happen as two people interact with each other in the early stages of building any type of relationship whether it be a new friendship, business associate, teammate, whatever. As the relationship building blocks lay a foundation, they become less of a problem, but there are still isolated instances where they occur late in a relationship and sometimes even too late. For instance, when you catch your husband in the bathroom with a jumbo tube of toothpaste, a strap-on, a penguin and the world's largest ketchup packet. If that happens to you, just grab a suitcase and leave immediately.

Now, let me clarify that a dissimilarity or disagreement on an issue, flavor, book, movie, musician, etc. just shows that the other individual has free thought and to roll over and agree just to avoid confrontation or because of a fear of dealbreaking is a weakness and unattractive. I have some really good relationships with some really good debaters and you would think that we hate each other, but I think we enjoy the way we challenge each other and there is definitely shared respect between us. On the other hand, I cannot even justify any type of conversation with the unintelligent. It pisses me off. Also, stay way from politics and god in any type of drinking establishment or drinking situation. Pro tip.

How can one expect someone to like ALL of the same things and agree on everything without the dispensing of some sort of paycheck or without being fucking Elvis? Everyone agreed with Elvis. So without further ado, here are some personal dealbreakers.

-Bad Hair
-Pot Smoker
-Butterfaiths (She's cute, but her faith)
-Non-Independent people
-Weak willed (Must fight back)
-Silver Dollar Nipples
-Wears overalls and baseball cap a lot
-Anything taller than me makes me feel like they should hold me
-Lack of wit or intelligence
-There's others, but I can't think of them

To be fair, here's my dealbreakers
-I watch Battlestar Galactica and spend my Saturday mornings drinking coffee and watching soccer
-I hate Jack Johnson
-I'm obesist
-I'm stubborn and opinionated
-Sometimes I need a tug on my choke chain or I will run with it
-I don't vacuum enough
-I have an unhealthy addiction to doing laundry (because I watch porn when I fold)
-I like some really horrible and inaccessible music
-I say some things without thinking about how they will affect the listener
-I play soccer a lot
-I don't like the movie Gladiator because of a lack of story and gay overtones (hoping that's not really significant)
-I've got a checkered past, however I'm currently running from it as much as possible

The whole idea behind this is that some stuff is ingrained and a part of a person's personality and also represents something much deeper. That is a lot different than a person's interests and opinions. Yeah, if I hung out with someone who thought Dick Cheney was awesome and Burt Reynolds wasn't, we might have a problem, but that's a pretty extreme example. So, you like Dave Matthews Band, James Blunt and A Date with Tad Hamilton. No problem. I like Gummo, Ween and Iron Maiden. It's called peanut butter and chocolate. Peanut butter and peanut butter just isn't as interesting.

Here We Go Again

Imagine it like this. You get fake like you know stuff about fine wines and good food. You manage to stay sober enough to get the girl home. You get her in your room, she disrobes. You put on Reanimator's Music To Slit Wrists By...And then fucking Eddie Van Halen goes to rehab. That means no reunion. No Diamond Dave. No soup for you. This is never going to happen, but what if it did?

If this works out great, but if it all falls apart again. That's fine, too. Why does Van Halen keep doing this to me?

Van Halen and Roth to Announce Tour Next Week (Yahoo! News)

Queen of Cats

In case you were wondering, Freddie Mercury loved cats.

Freddie Mercury and his Cats.

Don't Want to be a Hobo No More.

So, Myspace is officially done. Why? Hobos have fucking myspace pages. If you have an account go to the myspace page and look at the road pictures. I ain't a hobo, I just crush a lot.

Hobo Myspace page

Also, to learn other hobo stuff go here. Apparently, some people are really into hobos. There are a lot of hobo resources for hobo enthusiasts at that link.

Just a Quick Question

Why don't they do Circus of the Stars or Battle of the Network Stars anymore? I'm assuming because waitresses from Bennigans' and "dancers" are cheaper for reality shows, but wouldn't it be nice to see Emmanuel Lewis on a trapeze. Also, please note that in this link I am about to give you, if you look real closely, you will see that Abe Vigoda was in one of the first Circus of the Stars episodes. Yes, cat lady, this is one of those moments when I show my age. Also, please note, that I can't vouch for the quality of this product if you are ordering any of them, but I assume they are on VHS tapes.

70s TV Specials
Youtube results for Battle of the Network Stars
Youtube results for Circus of the Stars

Apparently,...

I'm the second biggest asshole in the world. I use netvibes to organize feeds and there is this Flickr widget that you can set the search to find pictures based on that criteria every time you open netvibes. I've set it to my name, Billie Piper, and now Muffin top. So, I felt kinda bad that I was searching on that, but couldn't help but click on one of the images and saw this person's Flickr account. It looks like they go to art & wine festivals and take pictures of people that are skinnily challenged or have gunts. The mean part of it is that they take pictures of their faces, too. Man, this makes me feel horrible.

I had been reading about this phenomenon called Public Shaming and is essentially what everyone does anyway when people watching, which is bag on people to make them feel better about themselves. Get on a soap box and tell me that you are evolved enough to not do it and you are fucking lying. You are doing it in your head and just not saying it out loud like I do. I straddle honesty and assholery on that one and really am trying to cool it a bit and have mercy on strangers who deserve every right that I have to a content, pleasing public outing without some person ruining it for them without them knowing. I know I'm obesist, though. I'm a total fucking obesist. It's horrible.

Anyway, that Flickr account is a great example of public shaming and this is probably the most famous one right now. It's the Malingering Flickr account. They actually shut it down for a bit. Also, she is actually a really good photographer. I have a problem with her love of the Dodgers, though.

The Randy Raft?!

This can't be serious. Summer Sex Positions. I think they are considered Summer because a bunch involve a pool. I suppose the Winter positions would utilize a menorah, Christmas tree and a ski pole somehow. The Sexy Sprinkler is Eelarious. And what about the fuckin' Randy Raft? The names are great, but the jury is out on the positions.

Oh my god. Every time I look at the Randy Raft, I burst out laughing. It looks like the dude has her wrapped around him like a gattling gun. Like he is going to start twisting his hips and shooting projectiles out of her mouth. So funny.

Oh and it's via The Bachelor Guy. I've never seen the site before today. I was just doing some sexual position research because I like to stay on top of my game. Sure.

Circus Sized Peanuts

First out, whoever found the blog by searching "and then we all bought yachts"; I have a soft spot in my heart for you. That's awesome.

So, last night I rode my bike down to get some tacos for dinner. The idea was to have a couple of beers and eat three tacos al pastor. I care for them mucho. I watched a rerun of Man U v. Watford from last year that they had on and ate my tacos. Man U spanked them 4 - 1. Soccer talk. Then, the guy who took over keeper for me for one of my teams so that I wasn't constantly turf burned and limping showed up. It's part of breaking my soccer cycle. We talked about the game that I have tonight and two beers turned into four. Then, one of the bartenders was talking to me about how he was going to Vegas this weekend for his bachelor party. He was sure that he was lucky because he had just been let go on a 75 in a 55 by a CHP. I told him he was let off because it's the second of the month and ticket quotas aren't kicking yet. He got a little irritated with me, so instead of a tip I gave him a buck and a lottery ticket. I was like "Prove it, dude." He scratched his winning number that he had to match to win as I watched intently over his shoulder. That grey crap was shooshed away with a dime in time to reveal ol' lucky number thirteen. I fucking lost it and started cracking up. Then, to recover, I told him that he was just bleeding out all his bad luck before he went. Went home and got ready for bed before it got dark...like I'm 8 years old.

Got to bed later than I would've liked, but got lazy and rolled into work an hour late today so that kind of made up for it. As it turns out, today is work picnic day. It's a three ring circus of awesome people watching.

I work in a pretty blue collar work place. At least, most of the people have their names on their shirts. When I first started, I had to prove myself or I was going to get shivved. At the first work Christmas party I was nearly killed next to the Sheraton pool. This big dude fuckin' came at me and started talking all this shit about all the time he had done in prison and got up in my shit for some reason. I'm blaming handsome and a shit eating grin. To be honest, if I was drinking, I may have been baiting, but I may have been innocent on this one. So, anyway, my female boss jumped between us and kept us separated for the night. If I had a male boss, someone would've went in the pool and I probably would have lost my job and maybe a fuckin' tooth.

For the next two years, I worked to bridge the gap between myself and some of the people that I worked with. They thought that since I wore a button up shirt to work and had an office upstairs that I was a rich asshole. I proved to them that I was Palo Alto poor and not that much different than them after about four years. It's quite an accomplishment, now that I look back on it.

Anyway, the picnic is today and features catering provided by the Grill Sergeant (sounds like something from The Simpsons) and a cover band. Last year, I got drunk and sat in for Little Wing and some other song. Jack-Fucking-Ass. Pulled it off, though. I just need a key signature and I can fake my way through anything. There is also a horseshoe tournament, a hat contest sometimes, and a giveaway item. My kitchen is composed of work logo emblazened glassware because of these giveaways. SPOILER ALERT: This year's giveaway is a beach mat. I'm really going to need to find a girl to give these beachmats, visors and canvas bags that I get at some of the events that I go to. The girl in charge of it always asks me what I think we should get because I used to deal in the tradeshow tchotke circuit. This year I suggested a rape whistle or flask. She wasn't a huge fan of either of those.

So, where was I. Oh, I was sandbagging the reader because the whole reason I am writing this is because there is a fucking cake walk at the picnic. And, it is walked to the live band. If you have never seen adults cakewalking to a live band, you have either never hallucinated on some good shit or have never lived. The first time I saw it, I could not move. I was absolutely frozen like a lean cuisine in the cat lady's groceries in front of me in line at Safeway. It's been five years and I'm getting used to it now. Or, at least I'm able to move when I watch it, but every year I can feel the energy in the air leading up to the event. Fuck the food, fuck the beer and fuck the beachmat. I'm at the picnic to see the Cakewalk...and to figure out their beer regulation method and break it.

That's the other thing I like about the picnic. Being the resident Chico Alumnus, I am consulted on all things to do with kegs. These topics include tapping them in a fashion to limit foam, pouring them in a fashion to limit foam and exactly how many red cups can be filled from one keg. I then put the number of cups to a keg in a spreadsheet and ran it against the number of expected employees and have seriously come within four cups of perfect for a couple of years. I have since passed the formula on and am no longer involved with the kegs. I've moved onto beer consumption regulation cracking.

The idea is that each employee is limited to a maximum of two beers each. That way we can have booze at the event and no one gets all shithoused and wrecks their car on the way home. We'd be responsible and have to cancel the booze at the picnic. Nobody wants that to happen, so we create methods to monitor what everyone has had to drink. The first year that I was here they did tickets. The work around was to find non-drinkers and get their tickets. That was a 10 (+8) beer day and absolutely no challenge.

So, the next year, maybe allegedly because of my gross abuse of their system, they brought in the stamp system. One stamp per beer. People with two stamps cannot get any more beer. Whatevs, dude. I went to the soda bin and put my hand in the water and ice and rubbed my stamp off. That was a 12 beer day (+10). I may have been self-medicating at that one.

Since then, I've figured out that if I just pour and hang around my old boss we'll just get wasted at the picnic. Last year, he took me on a quick tour of benchmarks around my work. That sounds like Dudley in the kiddie pool with the dude from WKRP. Gross. So, I guess the best method to crack the beer regulation system is just diplomacy and charm.

This year, I'm retiring from fucking with the system because I have a soccer game tonight and I'm a lot better not hungover and not under the influence. I will drink about a hundred Diet Cokes, though, and if I'm lucky, eat a fucking cake.

Oh My God This Is Fun

Let Them Sing It For You.

Text to speech program using pop songs. You can make it say "Give Me Back Mah Bucket" or "I'm Not Touching You" or whatever you want it to say.

My Office

Ozzfest Jauge Simpsonized

This conversation really just happened. I was working between three spreadsheets. It's like juggling with copy and paste and concatenation formulas and is kinda awesome. That data is then dropped into a script and magic happens. It's pretty easy, but you can't be distracted while you do it or you should just start all ever again. So, Office Dwight walks into my office and and I remove my iPod because I'm assuming he is having a problem. People only talk to me when they need help. That's one of my functions and callings in life. I'm a helper, if you are helpable. If you're helpless, I'm out. We'll start at the point that I press pause on my iPod and remove my headphones. By the way, I'm listening to The Fire Theft.

Me: "What's up?"

Office Dwight: "Hey. Have you ever seen Charlie's Angels? You know the new ones?"

Me: "No. Why?"

OD: "Damn." pumps fist downward

Me: "That it? Everything else is cool?"

OD: "You know, I went across the street yesterday and checked out their laptops. I tried to play a CD and the laptop ran out of batteries."

Me: "Yeah, you told me that yesterday. If you plug in a power supply, that shouldn't happen or you can just make sure that it's ch.."

OD: "The help desk showed me that there's a pinhole that if you push it, you can get the CD out when the power is off"

Me: "Yep. You sure can. Seriously, do you need help with anything?"

OD: "Oh no, there was just something really funny in Charlie's Angels that I wanted to talk to you about."

Me: "Dude, maybe a little later, I gotta get some stuff done."


Cranky. Don't need this shit. This guy is like ten years older than me and finds me as some kind of funny aficianado. He also references Beavis and Butthead and Monty Python a lot. Does he not know that the funny is all just a small part of brooding sub-genius? I'm an incredible brooder when I'm not being funny. It's what I do. I help. I brood. I make funny. It reminds me of back in the day and dealing with drunks in the bar. I like people. It's just that I only like attractive, witty and intelligent people. Is that bad?

So...

Last Friday I was hitting nothing but home runs and throwing nothing but no hitters at work. It kinda carried over into the weekend and I spent hours knocking on wood hoping that a gray cloud would not form above my head and another boot would not drop. It was a dumb move. A smarter move would have been to find an umbrella or to go limp like a drunk in a car accident. They never seem to get injured. That might explain why astronauts do it. The drinking, not the going limp part. Not even Burt Reynolds drives something as badass as an astronaut so maybe they know something that we don't. Back to me. To sum it up, your instinct is smarter than your gut. Buh-Lee-Dat!

So cloud formed and boot dropped, whatevs. I really did know it was coming and it's all part of the process and some things are just out of your control and they just get worse the more you try and control them, so you just gotta sit and watch and keep your nose clean and hope for the best. It's just like the eighth inning of a Giant's game. It's hard to watch, but occasionally(sometimes) the good guys win or things work out. Life can be really strange.

The bad news is that I started smoking for twelve hours again. Why? Because I'm a big fuckin' baby. Then, after smoking I beat up on myself for about an ever. Nobody can kick my ass verbally (not out loud, innervoice) like I can. I know all the weakspots like R2-D2 knew about the Death Star. Plus, you pick your battles. A few smokes is nothing compared to what I'm capable of when it comes to acting out. I'm trying to avoid that to the severe disappointment of the "Jauge Show" fans. There are some people who just really love the asshole in me. I don't get it. Some would call them enablers. On the other hand, everytime my family sees it, they want to take turns strangling me. It's really a waste. I will admit, however, that it can be entertaining to third parties, but I will not do the monkey dance for anyone...there are a few exceptions.

After work, I rode my bike home and had a nice tall glass of ice water and not a beer. I then laid down on the couch and processed everything and filed it away neatly. Skipped beer league softball because I thought better of drinking more beers than innings played and made myself dinner. Quit smoking again and watched the Giants game. It was a nice relaxing night. The smartest moves of the night and my own personal highlight reel consists of making dinner rather than going out for a couple of beers on a Wednesday and not picking up the phone when my mom called right when I was about to go to bed. I'm getting smarter. Watch your ass.

Only problems are that I keep waking up at 5:00 AM and then toss and turn until about 5:45. I get to work real fuckin' early right now. I do more before 9:00 AM than the Army does all day and they do more before 9:00 AM than most people do all day. So, I'm doing a lot before 9:00 AM when compared to the Army and most people. Also, I'm trying to pull off Nike Dunks with Kenneth Cole slacks and a polo shirt. I'm fuckin' high, but if I can pull this off I might be trying my white loafers with jeans pretty soon. It's like lying in that if you use the right tone and accents, no one will ever know that you are full of shit. I think my high school girlfriend probably still thinks that Titanic was a true story because of that. So, if you have clown shoes and Cavaricci's on, just carry yourself well and no one will bat an eyelash.