Negative Ghostrider

Have you ever been walking to work (not slowly and not staring at your goddamn phone) and had someone come up from behind you while jogging and they just lightly graze you as they pass as if it could possibly be on purpose like some kind of Maverick-buzzing-the-tower kind of move? If that has happened, have you ever started lightly jogging behind them just to kind of freak them out? It's a totally creepy move and highly recommended. Here's how it works:

1. Find an area with a heavy and consistent jogging population.

2. Walk nonchalantly while paying attention to your surroundings and wait for your moment. You get bonus points for finding one of those real serious jogging types. Usually you can tell by the bottoms that they are wearing. You can tell the ballers from the hobbyists.

3. When you find your mark, let them pass you and then BAM! throw a fucking headband on and just start jogging next to them, but don't say anything. Just act like it's totally normal.

Point A to Point Break

We just got a new student intern in our department that I've deemed "Nerdy Betty." I'm not even sure if it is a girl yet. It honestly might take an ultrasound to figure that one out. I'm at a loss at this point.

So, I take mass transit for all of the hot chicks that do it and also because there is no parking at work at 7:15 AM. It's totally convenient for where I live and I actually really enjoy it at this point. I hate driving now. I have a brand new Civic that has 612 miles on it at the moment and it's been three months since i bought it.

There are some drawbacks, though. A rigid schedule and occasional late trains can be a hassle, but it's all part of the deal. I can accept that. Giants trains can also be a little full and you don't really get a seat, but I can deal with that. The shuttle once I get to work can sometimes be crowded and the asshole next to me can sometimes bleed over into my assigned seat space because he thinks he is home on his couch in his underwear with one ball hanging out while he watches "Biggest Loser" while eating a bucket of KFC, but I'll deal with that, as well.

The thing that I can't stand is fucking slow walkers. There are variants of them and I'm convinced that there is a conspiracy of slow walkers conspiring against me in some kind of fucked up cabal dedicated to slowing down my life's progress. There is a simple rule in getting from one point to another and that is a straight line as fast as you can. An object in motion must remain in motion. It's just efficient. Some people, though, aren't of that persuasion. They honestly must have nowhere to go or are just waiting to be stomped on by a predator like a wounded gazelle.

The first slow walker is the "I Don't Where I Am" walker. They will take a few steps forward and then a few diagonal and then back right in front of you and then just stop and look around like they have lost their bearings after 9 steps. They aren't aware of the fact of the surge of people trying to catch the fuckin' train and for all intents and purposes are the only living human being on the face of the Earth. They should probably just sit down and quit trying.

The second slow walker is the "Person With Kids" slow walker. This type is complete chaos and absolutely unpredictable. They could absolutely be existing on two or more separate planes of existence at the same time and their movements can only be described in a fourth dimension of reality. With the child chaos factor, even on a tree diagram of possible outcomes, their movements cannot be predicted. They are the Schroedinger's Cat of the slow walkers. They are in front of you at the same time as not being in front of you. They are all possible outcomes that only exist once you have observed them. There is also a modifier on this slow walker when you add a stroller or a dog. Seriously, it would take a graphing calculator and a Cray supercomputer to evade their walking pattern. You are going to get stuck behind this one.

A third slow walker was discovered yesterday. Sadly, the best name I have for him is "Guy Holding His Polo Shirt Out At 10 and 2 Like He's Driving" slow walker. This one's a trip. I was stuck behind him making a break to Trader Joe's to buy groceries with about 10 minutes of allotted time to spare. I was stuck in a walkway and trying to figure out a way around him without hitting trees that were lining the walkway or cafe tables on the other side of the walkway. His moves were subtle and you could kinda get a cue on where he was going by where he pointed his shirt with his "10" or "2," but he was also throwing some fakes in there. He was crafty for sure. It was like watching for signals from a level boss in a Nintendo game.

A fourth slow walker is the "Lean Back And Walk Like You Are Browsing A Mall" slow walker. These people drive me crazy. It's that slow shuffle from left to right with 60% of your weight located 7 inches behind the balls of your feet. I've totally caught myself doing it. It happens. It's cool, but you don't do it around transit machines that work on a set schedule. I'll admit that I will occasionally mock these motherfuckers when I'm stuck behind them, though. Missed a fucking train once because of one of these. These people are the people that stand on escalators and don't walk up them.

There are definitely more types that I'll find today. You never really know until you are behind them, but trust me, they live among us.

So, I think the whole thing that bugs me is the lollygagging. I'm a man that moves from one point to another with purpose even if there is no real purpose at my destination. I'm a destination lollygagger and not a journey lollygagger. From my desk to the printer at work? Head down and straight at it. To the bathroom? Head down, body leaning slightly forward and right to it. I may not be doing shit, but at least I look like it. I think I may start stepping on the backs of their shoes and yelling "Flat Tire!" at them. It's just hard to figure out what they are going to do even at a low rate of speed. It's the tai-chi of point A to point B and the slow walkers have mastered it.

AC/DC/E/F/G

I don't like meatloaf. Never will. It makes me uncomfortable the way they shape meat into a loaf like bread. Bread and meat are delicious as separate entities, but when mashed together it is not a peanut butter and chocolate moment to me. It's also because as a youth I was forced to eat it by my stepdad one night. It was an epic meeting of two stubborn motherfuckers at the dinner table. He was new and I was adjusting to him as a patriarch. He was doing the same adjusting to me as a sort of son. We sat at that fuckin' table for three hours while I picked at it and choked it down. That is probably the other reason that I won't eat it. This is a metaphor for life. I don't do well when forced to do something and will often throw a wooden shoe in the gears of the mechanism that is forcing me to do something either in the form of self-destruction which diffuses the whole situation a la pushing the big red button and blowing it all to pieces or leaving something in the results to fuck with the forcer later down the road.

This brings me to last weekend. The goal was to find two priest costumes and a Jesus costume for a mini Cannonball Run that I'm participating in at the end of the month. The idea is to pay homage to Cannonball Run while also committing heresy. I was raised religiously as a child or should I say religion was forced on me as a child and now I will occasionally say things that would be viewed as improper in a church setting. Well, not improper, but not popular in that type of setting.

Jesus was easy. Beard, hessian wig and crown of thorns. To match my Jesus keychain, we picked up a Caesar robe. It seemed kind of ironic that a Caesar robe was the robe that matched the keychain model that we were using.

The priest outfits were not so easy. You figure black pants and that priest shirt with a collar would be pretty basic. It wasn't. At the costume store all they had were priest outfits with ten year old boys sewn to the crotch and inflatable boners. Who's the heretic now? We tried a police uniform store and still nothing. We got a referral to a Christian bookstore and I started getting uncomfortable. Like meatloaf uncomfortable. I didn't want to go in one. It felt really wrong.

So, we called it and they closed at 1:00 PM. It was 2:00 PM. I dodged a bullet, but in the voice message at the place they used the term "Church Goods" and it turns out this is the proper term for finding Jesus gear. A Google search later, we end up heading up to South San Francisco to Western Jesus Supply or something like that.

On the way up El Camino Real, past the largest smattering of dive bars I have ever seen in my life, we established our cover story. We were going to say that we were making a student film about religion and needed the priest shirts for that. We weren't the directors and we were just sent out to get the shirts. It was pretty solid.

We got to South San Francisco after passing the See's candy factory (awesome!) and went into the store. My buddy looks at me and goes "Dude, keep it cool. You can do this." I had a smoke and went into the store after him.

He was outed immediately by the saleswoman as not being a priest and she asked him why he needed the shirt. Thank Go...Thankfully, we had the cover story. I browsed the store and couldn't believe all the Jesus gear. Some of it was super cool. There were 50 different sets of rosary beads and a statue of the patron saint of real estate for help in selling your house. I wish I was lying about that last part.

As my buddy is getting rung up, a car pulls up to the stop light outside the store and I hear music blaring through the open door of the Jesus supply store. I recognize it immediately and under my breath say "Listen, dude. Listen to the music from that car."

My buddy was like, "What, Dude?" and started listening.

Out of the car blares "Won't take no prisoners. Won't spare no lives. Nobody's putting up a fight. I got my bell, I'm gonna take you to hell. I'm gonna get you, satan get you."

I'm losing it, doing that breath through your nose, bite your lip thing to stop from laughing and blowing everything as you can hear the chorus of "Hell's Bells" by AC/DC as the car drives away.

It was totally weird, but we got the gear. We went and visited one of the old drummers from my band that worked down the street for a bit and talked about hooking up later.

We did some early evening drinking in Saturday night shirts when we got home and called the old drummer on a lark. He said he was going to an AC/DC cover band that night and would pick us up and we were like "We're in. We kinda have to go." We had come completely full circle.

I'm not really superstitious, but I do have to admit that something extremely coincidental is going down. I'm kinda on the lookout for things now. If the walls of my apartment start bleeding and locusts swarming, I may have to call it off and admit that I was wrong, but for now, I'm just kinda on heightened alert to my surroundings. I'm not ready to eat crow yet.

A House Is Not Home

The living situation has reached a fever pitch. Like a fever pitch that is purely low and outside and just walked in the game winning run of the opposing team, ruining your career and sending you to the minors to rot pitch.

Over the recent holiday my breaker flipped, knocking out everything in my apartment. It wasn't the local breaker. It was the main breaker and my apartment was the only one in the complex that got knocked out. The next day they sent someone out around 5:00 PM to fix it. The dude was a little sketch. I opened the door when he got there and had two thoughts 1) I'm about to get home invaded and 2) Where the fuck did I leave my nunchucks?

So that incident wasn't that bad, however some ice cream was lost as collateral damage.

The next incident was two weeks ago. This one was similar, but it only knocked out the oven and the fridge. It knocked out the oven while baking (half-baking, technically) tiny pizzas from Trader Joe's. I had to push them across the finish line using the microwave and that resulted in ruining them. If you'd like the recipe for making disappointment, however, I've got it.

I called the property managers the next morning and asked them if they could send someone out to fix it and they said they would send someone out to fix it that day. This was after they asked me if I flipped the breaker. Yes, I fuckin' flipped the breaker. You can't just CTRL+ALT+DEL everything as a solution, asstard.

After I hung up the phone I peeked into the freezer at three kinds of ice cream and told them that they were going to be okay, but you could see that they were sweating. God knows what they would say if they could talk back.

Day goes by and no one shows up. Fantastic. Next day at around 6:00 PM the smell let me know it was time to let everything in the fridge go. I pulled the plug on the ice cream and tossed it away as if we had not grown closer than a man and his dog...that he eats over a 2 week period.

Three days and 5 phone calls later, they sent a dude out. It was a real electrician this time. He had tools. He checked out the wiring and did some test scenarios. Diagnosis? The wiring is fucked. The whole thing has to be redone. Headstones and bodies, man. When will people understand that you've got to do things full assed and not half?

So, anyway, I call the property managers about three times a day now trying to get out of my lease and no one answers. This whole electrical issue is just in addition to waking up to "Good Morning" on a Saturday as the neighbor wakes up her kid. There is also a Turkish debate that goes on every night at 11:30 that is followed by a Turkish marathon at about 2:00 AM. I'm sleeping with ear plugs now and feel like a fucking prisoner of my neighbors. I ordered a pizza from Dante's pizza the other night and instead of asking me which floor I lived on, he said "Apartment 20? Which ring is that on?" I know. Really forced and obscure reference. The walls of my apartment are so thin...How thin are they?...they are so thin that if I wiped a piece of fried chicken on them, I 'd be able to see through them.

Anyway, if I can't get out of the lease, I think I'll start growing weed in my apartment until they kick me out. If that doesn't work, I plan on training an illegal pet monkey to do my laundry and taking in a pet raccoon and naming him Gary Bandit. I'll have Gary Bandit drive a tiny Trans-Am up and down the hallway until all the neighbors demand that I be removed. Oh, shit. I think the work ecstasy is kicking in.

Scene From a Laundry Room

The laundry machine in my illustrious apartment complex has been broken since this weekend. It's the machine that soaks and spins and not the unsoak machine. I resorted to going to the floor below mine and using their machine yesterday. It's no problem. A flight of stairs with an elevator option for the weak.

I crammed my way into the tiny room that houses the machines, a wash basin for the Amish and a bookshelf. I don't understand why there is a bookshelf in there, but it does make the surroundings much more intimate for multiplayer washing. I had never been in the room with another person until yesterday. Anyway, I threw my clothes in the machine and went back to my apartment to tidy up a bit.

I returned after 35 minutes and walked into the room to find what would later be identified as a woman staring at the drying machine...intently. I squeezed past her and thought to myself there is no way that I'm getting out of here without some form of physical contact and that contact should be avoided. Maybe I can go over her if I climb up on the machine, but then it will be obvious that I'm avoiding her and I also may wreck my back.

She looked like she had not been out of the apartment for like six weeks and had not seen the sun in seven weeks. She had kind of a pale face with marks of adult acne scattered across it and was grinding her teeth. She looked at me kind of sideways and then left the room immediately.

My first thought was that she was reading my mind. That concerned me. When I started to think rationally in the situation, I decided that she was trippin' balls and hallucinated me as a demon or some type of laundry performing dragon and feared for her safety. That was a way better option than the mind reading, but that option has still not fully been discounted.

I managed to get out of the room without any type of physical contact and took that as a win in addition to getting my laundry dried on my floor which I promptly burned due to concerns of neighborly contamination. I think I'm going to stay off that lower floor, though. It's either that or fully investigate the situation. Sounds dangerous, though. Sounds a lot like Blair Witch Project meets Requiem for a Dream.

You're Doing It TRONg

The other night I was out. Spoiler alert: I fell down stairs and hit my head. That's how it ended. I'll tell this story like that show The Event and just take a timeline, cut it up, throw it in a hat, and then tape it back together. Actually, that was Interzone, by William S. Burroughs. Dude, Robocop was in the movie adaptation of that book. God, Robocop was a good movie. For your information, Robocop and Starship Troopers are unsung cinematic masterpieces.

So, anyway, I'm playing shuffleboard with this dude and his friend and a girl that we'll call "random chick who has no idea what she is doing." I'm talking to dude's friend and he starts talking about his very very detailed camping plans for getting in line for the TRON premiere. Seriously. A month out, this guy is planning his...plan?

So, he had a tent planned, some lawn chairs, games to keep him busy, a bathroom plan and he kept going on and on and I was hanging on every word that came out of his mouth. I would kinda guess what he was going to say next, but think to myself, "No fuckin' way is he really going to say this" and then the words would come out of his mouth. I was floored. I should have started recording it. That's my bad. So, anyway, he goes on about his TRON plan for like 15 minutes and then paused and I pounced. I had to. I looked at him and just said, "Dude. You don't have a girlfriend, do you?" Do I even need to type his reply?

Wait! I don't have a girlfriend either. Fuck, this guy is way ahead of me in his TRON premiere plans. He's probably already in line and I don't even have lawn chairs or a tent or Jesus, I don't even have a bathroom plan. I can hear them already. "Oh, there's Ol' Hughge in the back of the TRON line. What a dork."

Oh, in addition to Robocop and Starship Troopers, Ice Pirates is six degrees of bad ass. The love theme from Ice Pirates would occasionally find its way through my guitar in live situations. Now, that my friend, is a passionate love scene I can get behind.

Don't. I know You.

So, last night I did what any 35 year old man does after work: kicked the ass of Rock Band 3 on Expert guitar. There's a trick. Due to the fact that I play my guitroller with a pick and have a naturally quick hammer-on technique learned on the non-plastic variety of guitars, it takes two beers to slow down to match the computer's "speed." That's the sweet spot when I can just kill it. Seriously, after wiping the floor with Crosstown Traffic by Hendrix, the thought did in fact cross my mind to light the fucker on fire and just go straight Monterey on the lump of plastic's ass, but look at me, I'm not made of money. I believe I'm made of puppy dog tails, snails and something else. Oh, and like 60% water. Or, is that the Earth? Okay, either I or the Earth are made up of hella water...and puppy dog tails.

Anyway, I played Rock Band until my hand-eye went to Hard level. This is how I know that I've had a few too many and need to eat. I put on a t-shirt (this will be important in a second) with work pants, work socks and Adidas shelltoes. Just a fuckin' mess. I went across the street from my apartment and grabbed a Coors Light and chicken strips. This will be my meal right before they walk me to the electric chair. Wait. They don't electrocute people anymore, do they? So, my meal before...how do we kill incarcerated...got it.

Coors Light and Chicken strips will be my meal before they lethally inject me. I love how the state has to kill with kindness. Nice work on the math, lawyers and hippies. Seriously, do the math. Death probably should hurt. It fucking kills you. If you burn your mouth on a piece of too hot pizza it bugs the shit out of you for a week. Why should lethal injection be a peaceful experience if too hot pizza is super annoying for a week? They should get creative with it and air it on Fox. They could make Johnny Knoxville the executive producer and kill murderers with fucking wrecking balls and dynamite. Basically, treat them like army men or GI Joe figures. Throw ethics aside and get higher ratings than Jersey Shore. The American public is ready for it for now. Yeah, as a society we may get smarter than a sixth grader and look at the world differently, but now we just drool in a lean cuisine and watch fucking talent shows and spectacles of social atrocities that we call reality.

So, I eat, whatever and decide that I need social interaction. This is always how it starts. I roll down to the cougar den down the street from my house and there is a table of people out front and one of them calls me by name and tells me to sit down with them. It's four girls and three dudes. I know none of them. One of them knows me. I introduce myself to everyone and I can tell that they are a little tipsy, but I'm a man with no pointed fingers so I grabbed a Coors Light and sat down with them.

One of the girls (women) was kinda fucked up and started talking about driving. I advised her not to with glamorous stories of 9 month programs and cleaning up the city of Cupertino. I raked the shit out of Cupertino, motherfucker. There was not a leaf on the ground for 9 weekends. I talked her out of it and she made the brilliant move of asking her friend to follow her home. I mentioned that that was a great way to have your friend watch you hit a lamp post, but whatevs.

Instead, I suggested that both of them chill for a little bit and not drink and then I would let them make whatever decision that they wanted to. The friend said, "Fuck that. I've gotta go." I told her that I would tell her funny stories for a half hour and she wouldn't even notice that the time went by. She sat down next to me and I told her stories. Her name was Melissa. She was actually really cute and friendly.

So, I made her laugh for a half hour and she grabbed her friend and they walked home. Smart move. Anyway, as they walked away, the Melissa girl yelled over her shoulder, "Hugh, your shirt's on backwards." I looked down and it was. It had been since I left the house. I switched it around and returned to the table where the dude who knew me looked at me and said, "Dude. You fucked up. She totally wanted you, but you made no moves. Why aren't you more aggressive?" This was the point where I looked at him and asked "Where do I know you from again?"

This Is Gonna Hurt On the Count of 1...2...

So, it's been since July. Where do I start? What do I remember? It'll probably help if we just look at it like a TV show. I stopped writing because things became ridiculously unanonymous. Probably my self-promotion gene, but whatever. So, every person that I'm about to write about will probably read this. Some of them will probably tell me to "Fuck off." It's all part of the game, though.

So, if it were a TV show, it's like season 4 or 5. Recently, the show changed settings. I finally moved...impulsively. My neighbors are the loudest and most fucked up derelicts that I have ever been this close to in proximity since I lived at home with my family in high school (kidding guys). There is the Loud Family on Section 8. There is the negligee neighbor with like 42 kids who got arrested the second week I was there. There is my upstairs neighbor family that is extremely active at 1:00 AM. I do, however, love the new town. I lived there with my ex-wife about ten years ago and even put a hole in my leg playing "You Love the Bushes" with her one night right up the street from my current apartment.

Next, we are getting tons of cameos from seasons 1 and 2. Cat Lady is back and going through some personal stuff that we talk about sometimes and has recently been renamed #2 in reference to 3#. #1 is the ex-wife. The numbers are references to the number of times that I have been smittstant (instantly smitten). Shit, #2 hit me from about 30 yards away. Recently, in dealing with #2's problems, I've seen some things come to light that were pushed down deep in the recesses of my traitorous brain that came back to me for processing. These things have led to me trying to quit #3. I tried to have something with her and lost some friends over it. It didn't work. Need to find a #4, but these things only happen, on average, every ten years. Another cameo is a girl that I treated really crappy during my self-medication phase. She really liked me and I probably could have made something out of it, but I was an asshole. She let me know that I broke her heart this weekend over a text message and said that she'd still get drunk and do me, but she doesn't really like me anymore. So, that's your cast. I'll expand on that later.

Now, recent episodes? Hmmm. There is the one where a guy choked me and I got in a fight. Walked away luckily. Still trying to figure that one out. There are some nice episodes, as well. Had a really great time at the Bridge School Benefit with one of the best dinners ever afterwards. It quickly turned to shit, but as far as moments go, that was a nice one. There is the episode of watching the Giants win the World Series while sober with my monkey stepson who also stayed sober. That was a weird episode. I made out at a train station with a girl with a boyfriend one night. She said that I was a good kisser. I got propositioned by two cougars for a threeway at karaoke. That was really really weird. I turned it down. Not quite there yet. Plus, I settle for nothing less than 4. One of the cougars also had these giant fuckin' Elway teeth. I'll be honest, I was a little frightened. She may have been a werewolf.

All right, I'm out of stuff at the moment, but will try to remember something from the last 4 months. Also, probably need to expand on the fucked up relationship dynamics that I'm discovering. I'll be honest. I'm doomed and kind of just accepting it now. It falls somewhere between Jerry Seinfeld and Charlie Brown. You know that Charlie Brown actually never got the girl and then Charles Schulz died therefore making Charlie Brown eternally lonely, right?

Waiting For Sunday by Far

Song of the day:
http://tinysong.com/uMU5

I'm always frightened
I wear my helmet every day
I'm scared the sky might tumble down from heaven
I blame my neighbors
I wish that they'd all move away
They're all on welfare, kill babies, pass bad laws, start all the wars
I wait for a miracle
I go to big building, I pray
I dance with demons, they whisper my fate
Scare me into thinking I'm saved
We're all so tired
We wear our raincoats every day
To keep the wet and wind and world out
Waiting for Sunday

Buy the album here.

People Talk By Talking

Just a smattering of some of the dumb conversations from this weekend.

First one:
I was out with a friend and stepped out of the bar for a smoke. The bouncer asked me to watch the door, so I asked him what the date was and started a short sentry duty. There was a chick, her date and some random dude talking for a bit. It turned into arguing and then the chick and her date went inside. The third wheel turned to me and said "Hey dude. What's like the most superior chord in the United states?"

I thought for a second and replied "A minor seventh."

He looked back quizzically and really confused and I said "Fine. C major then. All white keys on the piano. No sharps or flats."

Still confused, he just stared at me and said "No. Most superior court!"

I just replied "Oh, the Supreme court you retard. Why?"

Then he told me he was trying to impress the girl he was talking to because she was a lawyer and he was a doctor.

I told him to lay off. She was on a date and he was in no condition to impress even if he was a doctor. He then showed me some kind of doctor card and I told him that I had totally lost interest in the conversation even if he had a doctor card.

Second one:
Lawyer chick comes back out and looks at me sitting on the stool next to the door.

"I don't like your shirt."

I replied "Okay. Sorry about that."

She then said "I don't like your glasses."

I said "All right. How about my shoes?"

She looked at my shoes for a bit and said "Your shoes are good. You have good hair, too."

I thanked her and said that I'd take two out of four.

She then asked to try on my glasses and I let her. She said "Last time I tried on someone's glasses I broke them."

I told her that it would be okay as long as I supervised the situation and she told me that I had a good prescription and I marked that down as three out of five. You take what you can get.

She went back inside after a brief introduction between us both and her date.

Third one:
After witnessing a guy with Down's syndrome get into a dance off to "It Takes Two" by Rob Base and DJ EZ Rock, my friend and I left to go wait for our cab. On the way out, I nodded goodbye to the lawyer chick and she grabbed me by the face and kissed me. I apologized to her date and walked the fuck out.

As soon as I got out the door, I turned around and there she was with her date. First impulse was to remove my glasses and get punched in the face, but instead her date started talking to my friend about cars and she started talking to me about whatever. I went along with it and she knew my mom from court and also the judge that my mom works for a lot. Then she looks at me and says "Give me your hands."

I replied, "Why?"

She just replied authoritatively "Give me your fuckin' hands."

I was like whatever and gave her my hands. She took them and rubbed them across her stomach on the way to her hips and placed them firmly there and looked at me and said "Am I fat?"

I started giggling and just said "Seriously, hon? You're not fat and now take your date home and be nice to him."

I jumped in the cab with my friend and he goes "What the fuck was that?"

I just started laughing and told him that apparently I was the go-to guy when lawyer chicks think they're fat and that people are fucking weird.

Get Back, Jo Jo.

"Man, I blew it. I blew it, man"
"Kumar, what were you doing in the freezer?"
"I don't know, man, I lose my touch, man."
"Did you ever have a touch to lose, man?"

So, strange turn of events this morning. I think my dad may be reading my blog. He called this morning and invited me out to my little brother's barbecue this Sunday. Super random. We talked briefly about nothing and then I went back to work. I told him that I would go, but I may flake. It would be pretty tough right now. Nothing to lose, though, I suppose. Plus, who would ever miss a trip to a real life alpaca farm.

This is funny and I am old. About five years ago, I blew out my L5 and the disc back there gets a little bit weird sometimes and will block nerves to my leg or just create havoc across my lumbar making it totally a pain above the ass to bend over or lay down. It's been fine for a while now.

So, on Wednesday, I'm at work and I go to the bathroom and I'm at the urinal and it just goes out. It felt like a strip of barbed wire running from my lower back up to the bottom of my neck and back down. I almost fell down. I got through the rest of the day, but had to leave a little early and go home and try and get it back into alignment. It wasn't happening and the next morning it was worse. I had to work from home and call in for a sub for soccer. That sucked.

I worked from home and it was actually quite brilliant. Ran into work for a sec and grabbed some documents that I needed and got more work done at home than I usually get done at work. Chased that at 3:00 PM with pool, iPod and Pynchon time. I'm determined to finish Against the Day and hit page 800 on Thursday. 300 more to go. Plan on finishing it this weekend. One thing to watch out for when working from home, though, don't go back to work with a sunburn. It shows lack of foresight.

The ironic thing is that I talked to my physical therapist out of the blue this weekend (think she was drunk) and she moved to the city finally. We talked some shit for a bit and then she joked that I should hurt myself and go back to her for physical therapy. I never went back to her after our second round of dates due to a conflict of interest. I told her that getting injured was a bit of a stretch and congratulated her for her move to the city. We don't date anymore or even talk much, but she enjoys telling me her horrible dating stories now and then and they are genuinely funny most of the time. She knows why the caged bird sings and also has a good sense of humor about it. I blame her for the back injury and think she may be a witch. Regardless, giving it two more days before checking back into physical therapy.

HughVoltage Show, Beta Version.

I don't know where this is going, but I don't really have a proper outlet for it at the moment, so with a complete disregard for privacy, here it is.

Recently, I experienced a bit of emotional unsettlement. First reaction to disappointment was my old friend self-medication. The result was like that of being bitten by a dog. It failed miserably. After my medication trials of Memorial Day Weekend behind me, I tried hyper sleeping. I went to bed while it was still light out and woke up to the morning light after a slight 3:00 AM intermission. It was like living in Alaska. It was still a better alternative to self-medicating. Finally, this is a new thing, I reached out to friends and family to talk about things.

Started with a few friends and my sister. They were extremely supportive and helped immensely. They put a lot of things in perspective and expressed enough compassion to kill a small dog. It's just a few paper cuts on a heart. It's totally manageable.

Last night, it resulted in spending some time with my best friend I think I've got in my arsenal and his wife and his cute baby. We just watched a Giants game and ate ice cream and touched on the situation lightly. The situation is complicated and really logically unjustifiable. If you show up to the ice cream parlor and they don't have the flavor that you are looking for, there is no reason to sit and pout. Get a different flavor and fuckin' enjoy your ice cream. You STILL get fuckin' ice cream...unless you are lactose intolerant. If that's the case, you probably shouldn't get ice cream at all.

So, the reaching out project culminated with a just finished two plus hour conversation with my mom. The mom/son relationship is super complex and is really more of an old friends relationship. We fight like kids with each other. We hold grudges against each other and we even hurt each other a lot.

So, we talked about everything and started to get to the question of what prevents me from being happy. My dad and the old times were brought up and we started talking about my childhood. She started talking about how I was the happiest kid in the world and I told her that I didn't really remember a lot. I just remembered painful moments. It made no sense because she said I was the happiest kid in the world and everyone adored me. Based on this, the HughVoltage show may have been going on for longer than I thought. She told me about the time when I was two and a half and ran away. I had no recollection of it and she said, "Let me be your memory." At that point, I felt the bees starting to swarm in my chest and my allergies set in.

It was actually a really funny story. Apparently, we had been driving home from somewhere and I pointed at some girl on a horse and said that I was going to ride it. She gave it a whatever and we kept driving home. An hour later, I was nowhere to be found and was eventually found down the street on the horse with the girl. I had snuck out of the house and gone to ride the horse where the girl just grabbed me and threw me on the horse when I asked for a ride. I got invited back when it was all over.

I told her that she must be wrong because two and half seemed way too young to cross a road and get on a horse, but she swears by it. She said I had to be two and a half because it was before I ran away to Long John Silver's in Manteca when I was three. Her timeline checks out.

She went on to talk about how I would sneak out of the house a lot without telling her to spend breakfast with a neighbor family around that time without her knowing that I was gone. She commented that I was very good at coming and going as I pleased and that I ate two breakfasts a lot.

So, anyway, the question is Why do I remember so much pain as a kid when it seems like I was pretty happy. It really bothers me to talk about it. I thought I was all good, but I guess I've still got some of that crazy pissed off five year old weight buried in my head somewhere.

So, we talked forever and got into some really specific stuff about childhood and it really hit some buttons, but it was good to talk to mom in an unbridled situation. Painful as hell, but no longer an elephant in the room. We can be extremely open with each other and it's almost like my dad left both of us and we helped each other get through the whole thing, but we still share some resentment that is very similar. It was extremely disturbing when she told me that when they got married my dad told her, "Now, we never have to say goodbye again." Yeah, dude. Right. It was really weird to hear her tell me that my dad loved and adored me when I was a baby. I have no memory of a loving father ever, but if he had nearly the gleam in his eye that I saw last night at a friend's house and how much they loved their baby, I find it extremely moving. It's one of the most pure loves that you will ever see in your life.

I can't get into other specifics as they might get read into, but we seem to be very similar in some of our less self-serving traits. Especially the one where we neglect ourselves in lieu of others' needs. We agreed that we do it to ourselves and then we both took the blame for it and then agreed that we were doing it to each other.

She told me that I was one of the best things to happen to her when she was sixteen and that I really helped her get through the pain when she was young. It was really good to clear the air and talk about old times. It hurts, but it's good to talk about. Sometimes it feels like we were both growing up at the same time. So, heads a little fucked up from it all, but pushing along. Never going to stop pushing along.

Industry Rule Number 4080. Record Company People Are Shady.

I'm never going to be the one to say "Yeah, my life is completely normal. It's just like yours." I spend all this time trying to be "normal," but I've even had a therapist tell me that that's just not going to happen. So, here's the newest in a long line of abnormalities.

Last night I was sitting at home watching REC and eating a bowl of kettle corn to my head. It's been a particularly rough week, but it was as expected. I got a knock on the door and it was my neighbor who is a producer. He's legit, I've looked up his credits and he did an album that I talked tons of shit about. He actually got performance and writing credits on the album that I talked shit about. So, we talked about the whole album in meticulous detail from recording process to song structure to completed product one night. I felt bad for talking shit, but he agreed with much of my criticism and actually told me how a lot of it happened and why.

So, he came in and told me that he had a follow up project to that album and thought that I knew enough about the band to help out on the new album due in 4 to 6 months. At this point, they have nothing. It sounded like a daunting task, but I told him I would try and it was a great excuse to get my chops back up to speed. It's also a huge put up or shut up moment. Kind of an "Oh yeah. You think you could write a better album?"

While the whole thing is a little disillusioning that the band no longer writes their own stuff completely, it's also a chance to help make a better album that makes them sound the way I think they should sound. Kind of a "Fuck it. You drive then."

So, the first step was to go back through a song that I really liked by them and dissect the shit out of it to write something similar, but not the same. Every band has a signature writing style. The key is to not just rewrite the same songs (Aerosmith) while not abandoning the signature. It's a thin line to walk and can be abused, but why not take a stab at it? Regardless, I looked at one of their songs that I liked and broke it down to a formula. Sus (jangly) chords on the intro, strong riff in the verse, big and tight chorus, altered intro for the bridge, harmonies in the solo, etc...

I think I totally nailed it in my first try last night. Need to work on the bridge and the chords for the solo, but not bad for an hour worth of work. I'm rusty as fuck and have only really written funk and some pseudo jazz stuff so this is undiscovered country for me, but it's coming together. No block yet and I'm overflowing with shit to write. Database guy writing a progressive metal album in my free time. Weird.

Now, the business is shady and I've been promised publishing if they use anything, but it's really just a reason to play more and get my laptop set up with a recording rig. It's also stressful as hell, but has made me take a bunch of stuff that was stressing me out and throw it to the side. I can immerse myself in the writing process and in the past this has helped me feel purpose and not worry about extraneous crap. Music has always been a valuable tool for me in the past in dealing with a host of internal issues. I don't use it enough anymore. I'm really looking forward to the whole thing and if it turns out to be a bust, I'll at least have a progressive metal album under my belt.

A Brave Man World

This is soooooo good. Felt compelled to post it.

Horsemouth

"I sat around and thought about the things we used to do. It really meant a lot to me."

"I really mean that much to you" - Milli Vanilli, Girl You Know It's True

In the words mouthed by Grammy award winning artists, Milli Vanilli...There's not really anything to say about that. Just wanted to drop the quote.

Been sitting around thinking. Thought is dangerous in both tyrannical societies, modern television viewing habits, popular music, and at my desk.

Here's what I've got on the table. An ex-girlfriend that I've turned from a girlfriend to a person that hates me and is seemingly obsessed, although it has cooled way down since it peaked. Still can't really go to some public places without looking over my shoulder, but there has been no physical altercations or surprise visits as of late. It's been quite nice.

I've got a neighbor who refers to me as "Lonely Guy Neighbor." I give nicknames in the complex, not some newcomer 24 year old from Indiana. You need to know the ways of the world before you can start handing out neighbor nicknames like Rapy, Nudist, and Methzophrenic.

Lastly, I've got the hangup. I've been hung up on the girl with the on/off boyfriend for a while now and every time I get burned and recover, I look down and the thorn's in my foot again. I mean, I put the thorn there, but still. It is what it is.

The three things are: a girl who liked me, a girl who sees me as a lonely person who barely knows me and a girl that I like unrequittingly (unrequittedly?) who means well, but just isn't in to me that way. Or, at least does not have the capacity to deal with a girl manbaby. You just know.

I deal with seemingly solutionless problems for a living that are solved with large doses of logic, but can't for the life of me figure out this puzzle. Being from the Nintendo generation, the first thought is to pull the cartridge out and blow into it and try again. When you do this three times and it doesn't work, you've missed the point and have officially put a toe in the water of the clinically insane. Performing the same process repeatedly and expecting a different result. That's insane.

So, the funny thing is, the three things are girl, girl, girl and I think I'm missing the point. The problem is me, me, me. As Pappy says in his logical wisdom, "You are the least common denominator in all of these situations."

First thing. I didn't like the girl enough to pursue anything long term and I made the decision to leave someone that liked me, but didn't make me tingle right.

Second thing. I'm not lonely. People fuckin' love me (apparently) according to other people. I just don't ever believe it and choose to isolate and wallow and punch myself in the brain. That's my bad. I choose to be lonely I think. It sounds kinda crazy, but I think I do.

Third thing. All me. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. If someone is nice to you, it does not mean that they want more. Even phrases like "I love you" and crap like that should not be read into. People say they fuckin' love candy bars. They say they love Justin Bieber. I've even heard someone say that they love Everybody Loves Raymond. Case in point, nobody really loves Raymond in a way more than one would love a salad or Led Zeppelin. This doesn't necessarily translate into anything, but it's not a total loss. It's a genuine sign of liking something, but it's not good to take it that seriously.

Instead, be happy that someone likes you enough to get mad if you are out with a member of the opposite sex enough to send you an email about it berating you. Be happy that a stranger thinks that you are lonely, but personable and nice enough to make casual conversation with you or drop a bottle of barley wine by occasionally. Be happy that you have someone who cares enough to listen to your meltdowns when they happen even if they don't want to be around you.

So, problem solved. I've just got to be breezy and go about my routine. Just had to air it out a bit on the InterWebs. I can't believe I used to pay so much to a guy for this when I could do it for nothing. I might as well have just wrote it on my wall...over and over and over again like a real crazy.

So, be breezy and never look at anything in the mouth. Problem solved. I'm still not buying that lonely guy thing, though. I don't want to be the lonely guy.

Arsenal just tied up the first round of their Champions League game against Barcelona on a penalty kick. Life's not that bad at all.

Rabbit Seasoning

I figured it out. It's birthday season. For me, that can be translated into feeling like Bugs Bunny holding the Rabbit Season sign while the world is Elmer Fudd with a cartoon shotgun. I deal with it with a series of misdirection and sidestepping while dealing with an internal mental dip. You'll never see it behind a curtain of false bravado and smiles, but I know it's there and if you look close, you'll see the cracks.

The 30th birthday book was the first omen. Then, last night, out of the blue, I got a series of texts from my ex entering me into a business trip bargument about the genuineness of Michael McDonald's voice. In the end, the guy who I was third party text arguing with conceded that I seemed like a good guy after I cited it was blue eyed soul and the Doobs never recorded a Motown cover album. So, I've got that going for me.

So, I'm aware of it and have my head in my lap assuming the crash position. I'll get through it, but it gets me every year. Last year it was easy. A small family dinner chased with some drinks with a red head a la Charlie Brown. I tried to dodge the drinks, but in the end met up with her. She meant well, but I was just going through the motions to feel like I wasn't completely alone. I don't even remember her name at this point.

This year is going to be better. I've got a haircut scheduled and then will jump into the rabbit hole until it passes. There's always music, books and movies to keep me occupied until it's over. The day after is always refreshing while I wear another ring around my trunk the next day and clean the dust off for the next year.

TYRIBFY

There's Your Record That I'm Buying For You.

Dude. Deep Cuts?!?!?!?! All Mr. Big ballads?!?!?!?!? There are 15 fuckin' songs on this. You can't just put out a best of the ballads album. Why not put out one called Bad Jams and just have all of the bad jams on it? Or, if you feel compelled to put out a best of ballads, at least call it "For The Ladies" or "Music To Take Baths To."

Just a couple of ideas there, Mr. Big.

Click on the pic to buy if you plan on taking a bath soon.

Yes, I realize baths are getting namedropped alot.

I Just Know

About a week ago some things transpired that have kinda heated up my mental climate. Some good, some bad and then you throw in what has become normal and you have the little maelstrom I consider my day-to-day.

Honestly, I lead a simple life. It's the surroundings that get complicated. I spent all day yesterday with my escape switch flipped and hung out and watched movies all day. I tried to go to the record store, but ended up turning around and going home. I just didn't have the energy for the outside world.

I tried to figure out why and came up with a few things, but they seemed so trivial. It may have been a triggered event, in hindsight. While I have been accused, mostly in a defensive way from people, of being hung up on my ex-wife still, I'm not. We talk sometimes, but any type of intimacy is gone. The friendship is all that lingers. We spent a lot of time together in the past. She knows me better than most and can be good to lean on sometimes even though she is the one that put the biggest scar on me.

So, the trigger? A good friend made a book for me of pictures from my 30th birthday in Las Vegas. It showed up as I was living with him after my ex and I separated due to the trip. It was accidental salt for a fresh wound. It turns out to be one of the most pivotal moments to date of what I am today. On Saturday, my mom decided to pull the book out of some old stuff that she had removed from our soon to be foreclosed house. She took me on a walk down memory lane and then threw in some pictures of me when I was tiny with my dad and stuff. I can accept my past, but I'm not one to take a bath in it.

I was picking up my sister at my mom's house to go to a barbecue and talked with my mom while I waited for my sister to get ready. My mom was on the defensive a bit, I could tell. It was probably the point where she said, "No. Let me finish." and I told her that I hadn't interrupted her. There is some tension regarding the house, regarding the parents split, regarding family relations in general, etc.

Grabbed my sister and we ran to Wienerschnitzel in Livermore to bring ten chili dogs to the barbecue. It's tradition, right? It was really more for nostalgia. When my sister and I were growing up and lived with my grandparents, they would take us there because a Mormon owned it. I won a free corn dog on this particular visit. It was quite glorious. We passed the comic book store that I went to when I was a kid as we made our way to the barbecue with me freaking out about winning a corn dog and passing a disgusting hole in the wall that my band played a long time ago. We played a country version of Star Wars that night after I heckled some woman that kept asking me to play Seeger (either) or Zeppelin all night.

I wasn't drinking at the barbecue so that I could get back home that night. The man cave magnet was turned on full power and I just wanted to get home even though there is nothing there. I also felt the creeping in of some emotional garbage and didn't want to pour gas on the fire that was building. It's the best group of friends in the world, but sometimes, not even they can make me feel okay. This is probably made worse when I'm dry.

At the barbecue, my sister decided to tell the 30th birthday story to everyone in front of me. I'll wear it, but it's not pleasant. A friend's fiance cried and gave me a hug. It's the second time she's done it with the story. I've recovered from it, but when people look at me sadly because of it, it reminds me that I should be sad about it. I take it for what it is. I see it as part of my make up. I wouldn't be me without it.

This turned to the topic of all of my failed relationships since and the "you are the least common denominator to all of this" talk. Maybe it really is me and my horrible decision making. Every time I think I've got it figured out and I think I'm doing the right thing, rugs get pulled out, I get burned, parades get rained on. If none of that happens then I just jump on my sword and ruin it myself. It's gotten to the point that not only do I not trust myself anymore, but I don't trust anyone.

That's basically what I sat around and thought about all day Sunday while feeling paralyzed on my couch. It wasn't a lot of fun, but was probably necessary to process it rather than try and drown it like I've done in the past.

At therapy, my therapist asked me what I needed to feel safe in a relationship. I thought about it for a bit and said that I need to feel secure. He asked what would make me feel that way and I told him that I would have to feel like someone really cared about me. He asked how I would know that and I told him I wasn't sure anymore, but when I feel it, I just know.

Wow. Somebody's got a case of the Mondays.

ipod Shuffle Challenge: Mr. Big Doubleshot Edition

The HughVoltage iPod shuffle review:

1. "Were You There" - M.Ward
This is pretty typical Americana and pretty typical M. Ward. It's like interesting Jack Johnson. It's what it sounds like when you play an acoustic guitar with shoes on.

2. "Brianstorm" - Arctic Monkeys
This song is the shit on Guitar Hero. This whole album is great. Just love the groove of this song. It's totally Munsters with some Dick Dale sprinkled on top of everything.

3. "We Be Clubbin'" - Ice Cube
Why not bump some Cube at 8:09 AM? This shit should be played on DJ Roomba during a housewarming party in the suburbs. I've got the Eye of the Tiger remix of this song in the iPod somewhere. It's dope. Was this made the same year as Anaconda? Can't hold a candle to King Cobra starring Pat Morita.

4. "Oceans Apart" - The Fire Theft
Hands down the best sounding band I have ever seen live. Got to shake Jeremy Enigk's hand that night and was speechless. This song is good. It's 75% of Sunny Day Real Estate. What could go wrong? It's got that nice slow quiet build up into really big Les Pauls through Marshalls in the middle and then just kinda drives along for about two minutes. If you really wanted to dig in and analyze the lyrics. It's Enigk. It's about a girl or God.

5. "Takin Me Back" - Cheap Trick
Somehow, subtley, these guys mastered the art of writing rock songs about diggin' chicks, losing chicks and wanting chicks and got not nearly enough credit. They fuckin' opened up for Poison and Def Leppard last time I saw them, which was almost heartbreaking in it's unjustness and they played the tightest set of the night. Anyway, this song just sounds like a Cheap Trick song. That still means it's awesome. At least awesomer than your band's songs. Yeah, I wouldn't put this on a mixtape or anything, but would defend it in a bargument.

6. "Flynn" - Ratatat
There are a number of types of instrumental music genres. There is jazz, soundtracks, surf guitar, shred guitar, prog, electronic, etc. These guys fuckin' kill. This one is kinda short and repetitive and not their best. Serves more as an interlude on the album and is being caught out of context. The Mirando video is proof that these dudes are rad. I want these guys to do the soundtrack for my funeral.

7. "Zak and Sara" - Ben Folds
Love the lyric "You'll all die in your cars and why's it gotta be dark?
And you're all working in a submarine." It reminds me of a time in high school that I was all out of it in photography class with Mr. Dreyfuss and stood up and yelled "Nice Bureaucracy" at a TA. No reason at all. Total freak.

8. "Hand of Stone" - Mastodon
The drummer of this band is so sick he should get a flu shot. This is really the best thing to come out of Hotlanta in years. Butch Walker might take offense to that, but these dudes are just so metal. Riffs for days. Beards. One of the most boring live shows ever because they just wanted to rock more and talk less. Magnets must stick to these guys. Super metal

9. "Grace" - Jeff Buckley
Pro tip. Don't take a bath and listen to Jeff Buckley. Actually, don't take a bath. The Jeff Buckley story is one of the most interesting and tragic in music history. I'm not going to do the homework for you. Here it is. Anyway, most well known for his Leonard Cohen cover of "Hallelujah," he also wrote some other jams on Grace. Every song on the album is arranged super interestingly, a bunch of songs involve wine in some way and almost every song on the album is deep and dark. Then one day he walks into a river and poof. Dude's found floating in the river by a tourist like a week later.

10. "Unstitch Your Mouth" - Sparta
This is the half of At The Drive In that didn't keep it weird. It's still good. It's just different. This song is like hyped up U2 with less biblical undertones.

11. "Strip My Mind" - Red Hot Chili Peppers
This band ruled until someone told Kiedis to sing. This song sucks balls. Skipping.

12. "Shores of Sin" (Live) - Death Angel
These dudes are rad. Whammy divebombs. Slow, minor bass lines. Then, boom, ride cymbal and thrash metal. This music makes East bay dudes with sleeveless shirts mosh. Seriously. They still do it. My buddy Dave and I met the drunk Indian and "Fishnets" at this show. She was brilliant. She had this move where she faked a fall and I caught her and then she started up conversation. From chivalry to trickery in 1.7 seconds. If you've ever seen the Cow Palace parking lot before a Tesla show, you know that metal chicks are crafty and will do anything in the back of a pickup truck.

13. "Price You Gotta Pay" - Mr. Big
This isn't even the Mr. Big version. I can't even figure out who is singing it. It's from this album Volume 1: Influences and Connections. Dude, whatever, there's some shredding on this album. The King's X cover is sick. Glenn Hughes sings this version of the song and Steve Lukather takes the solo. You will only know Lukather if you have been reading Guitar Magazines since '88.

14. "Road To Ruin" - Mr Big
SHUT THE FUCK UP! My iPod just threw a Steve Seaweed Double Shot of Mr. Big at me? If this goes into a Threefer Madness weekend or Get's The Led out for an hour, I'm going to have to write a letter to Apple demanding an explanation. Anyway, this song is a Mr. Big song. A difficult riff to play that Billy Sheehan and Paul Gilbert play in unison until they both take solos after the second verse. Paul Gilbert just kills it every time. The dude is so good. Again, this song isn't going to make any mixtapes. Now, "Dady, Brother, Lover and Little Boy" might. They use Makita's with pick attachments on that intro and in the solo.

15. "Southern Fried Intro" - Ludacris
So bummed this wasn't Threefer Madness. Great Isaac Hayes sample on this tune. It's actually a sample from a Burt Bacharach's 'Walk On." The song is whatever, but may Isaac Hayes' Hot Buttered Soul rest in peace.

16. "In The Waiting Line" - Zero 7
This is chill out music. It's a favorite for book and iPod by the pool. The chorus will loop in your head when you are feeling abandoned or lonely and it puts you into a floaty, Zach Braff movie montage feeling. Seriously, this song might make me feel invisible just like walking through a Costco after five people have walked right into me. Thought I was Sixth Sense Dead for like 20 minutes in there one day until someone handed me a gelato sample. Also, pro tip, no more Bagel Dogs at Costco. I'm paying $4 a pop for handmade ones at my local grocery store.

17. "I Summon You (Cool) (alternate version)" - Spoon
This is from the Ga x 5 bonus disc. It's cool, but it just makes you want to listen to the original because it was so dope. How great is their video for Underdog? Real musicians making real music. It shouldn't be a luxury, but it's why the music industry deserves to die.

18. "All Over The World" - The Pixies
This is good personal soundtrack music. You could put it on your Walking Through Airport or Biking Through Town playlists. The Pixies mastered this music and if you listen really close you can actually hear the blueprint for Smells Like Teen Spirit in this tune. I never picked up on that before, but if you listen to the Loud Quiet Louds through the first half, you can totally hear it. Weird.

19. "Prelude" - The Fabulous Hedgehogs
The first song from the Hedgehogs metal concept on their last album. I don't know where the rest of the dudes are, but Mike is here. And he is seriously amazing live. You will question everything you have known to be true in your life after seeing him. It's like looking into the Ark without melting.

20. "Times Like These" - Foo Fighters
This song sounds just like The Cult at the beginning. I think it's She Sells Sanctuary. Now, you can go back to the very beginning with Foo Fighters and it's like Dave Grohl has been writing Jock Jams albums before ESPN even knew what they were. I actually figured it out and 86% of all songs he has ever written could be played into or out of commercial breaks during sporting events and 72% of them could be played underneath commentary. The NFL should just suck it up and have the Foo Fighters play the Super Bowl Halftime show every year. It's going to fucking Bieber this year. Watch.

Okay. Back to work.

Voltie's Choice

Here's the setup. I go into the bathroom and I have my Charlie Brown mug filled with coffee in my hand. The only place to set it is on the pipe attached to the flusher on the urinal. I unzip and proceed to use the urinal when it hits me. If there was a seismological or plumbing event, I would have to make a choice. Urine or coffee.

I went through both scenarios in my head. Scenario 1 is that the coffee falls from the pipe and I catch it. This would result in soiled clothing and shoes.

Scenario 2 is that I proceed with urinaling and just wear the coffee stains.

I'm going coffee stains.

Luckily, there was neither a seismological or plumbing event, but still, it was good to know that I had a plan.

Always have a plan. Now, I will go back to finishing the plan for a Predator attack. Step 1 is to cover myself in mud, making me invisible to infra-red. The nearest available mud is 350 yards from here and would take an estimated seven minutes to reach. Always know where the mud is.