Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Monday, February 2, 2009
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Writing Prompt
I was told to write a story between myself and a friend, where I was to be a puffer fish and she was an albatross. Here's the first installment I jotted down last night:
The door chime TINK-TINGED, waking up the Filipino store clerk of Beach Pets Emporium. The tabby cat, lying in a sliver of sunlight, lazily raised her head towards the door, unimpressed, she return to her sun-soaked slumber.
The visitor was hardly anything to behold; a middle-aged fisherman, tan sun-hat adorning his head, rod in his right hand, bucket in his left. The ocean had seen a billion of similar sportsmen, and before it was all said and done, that number would just be the proverbial drop in the ocean.
The Filipino store owner, still half-asleep, reverted to his instincts. “Can I help you, sir?” he buzzed, his brain on autopilot.
The fisherman looked at the hand-drawn sign above the cash register, which read “We Buy And Sell Fish”. “Why I believe you can,” the fisherman replied as he put the white five-gallon paint bucket on the counter. “I’m in the fish selling market and a little birdie told me you were in the fish buying market”.
“Fish buying market, fish buying market”. A parakeet was more than happy to play along.
“Why, I believe it was that very one who told me,” the fisherman stood tall, pleased with his wit.
“What have you got for me?” the clerk queried.
“Only the finest in tropical fish; exotic, interesting, colorful,” the fisherman leaned in. “Some would go as far as to say sexy.” He winked at the clerk and continued on, unconcerned by the lack of response. “Put up one hell of a fight. For a minute I thought I was going to have to cut my line, on account of I figured I snagged my rig on one of them Jap sea scooters you see zipping around out there”.
The clerk had heard enough sales-pitch. He reached for the bucket’s lid but was thwarted as the fisherman slapped his hands away. The fisherman reached into his back pocket and pulled out a screw-driver. “That lid’s on too tight for any man to just reach at and open, I made sure of it.” The fisherman wedged the screwdriver in between the bucket and the lid. “When you run across something this special, you don’t take risks”. He popped the lid off. The clerk looked in.
The Filipino’s face turned into a toothy grin. He exhaled a chuckle. “That’s it?” he prodded, “that’s your sexy fish?”
Inside the bucket was a tiny gray fish, long and slender, several orange markings on his back were the only things that would have made it stand out from the endless monochrome of the bland ocean floor.
“You haven’t seen what it can do yet,” the fisherman recovered, desperately trying to maintain the upper-hand.
He gripped the screwdriver tight and dipped it slowly into the water, moving it closer and closer to the tiny gray fish until the metal tip tapped the sea-creature on the head. Instantly, the tiny fish ballooned to 5 times its original size, revealing its true beauty. Oranges, reds, blues and greens, hidden in the folds of the mutable fish became a visual feast of colors. The fisherman was right; to most, this was no ordinary fish.
To the shopkeeper, born and raised on a tropical island, however, it was, “Just another puffer fish.”
The fisherman’s jaw dropped. The Clerk picked up the bucket and put it behind the counter, “I’ll pay you five dollars, take it or leave it”.
The fisherman, still reeling, slammed his hand against the counter. “Now wait just a minute,” he started up. The shopkeeper knew where this was going.
“I said take it or leave it”. The Filipino knew he had won.
“Fine”. Now was the time to save face. “But I want my bucket back”. The clerk shrugged, poured the bucket into a temporary bowl and handed the fisherman a crumpled five dollar bill.
The fisherman left with more than a simple door-chime. Even the unflappable cat covered her orange triangle ears with the pads of her paws.
The store owner decided to get a closer look at his new investment.. The water and the glass of the fish bowl distorted the puffer’s visage, wrapping the fish into a fun house mirror. “I know just where to put you,” the store owner said with a smile, as he picked up the fish bowl, sending a small splash of water to jettison out of the glass container.
The shop keeper maneuvered through the cluttered store, managing only to nip the tip of the tabby cat’s pipe-cleaner tail. A soft meow was the only protest.
Past rows of fish, the store owner paraded his new ware. There was no time for formal introductions, nor should there be; in a place like this, a fish never knew how long he’d last before he was sold to the glass-tapping brat, who was a little too trigger happy on the toilet bowl flusher. The groupers scowled at the puffer as the seahorses giggled, maintaining an heir of supremacy with their inside jokes, while the industrious goldfish population w busy plotting their bourgeoisie revolt, unbeknownst to the regal lobsters and well-to-do, oyster-bearing clams.
Finally, the shop keeper dusted off the end of the aisle and placed the fish bowl between the bait tank and start of the bird cages. The store owner grabbed a water filter and plopped it in the bowl. “That should do for now,” he convinced himself, admiring his less-than-handy work.
The puffer watched as the shop owner disappeared out of view. The lights flicked off and the door chime was heard once more. The puffer was the last transaction of the day, but hardly the end of the excitement.
“Get a load of the new guy” a voice broke the hum of the aquarium aerators.
“I say he lasts a day before we find him upside down,” a female voice accompanies the first heckler.
“A day?! Try an hour. I’ve seen his type, their used to the ocean, with their fancy corral, and their fancy sea-shells,” a third voice chided.
“How’s it feel to be behind glass? Could be worse, tomorrow we could find you under porcelain.” Laughter erupts.
The puffer realizes he’s the butt of the jokes, but it’s too dark.
“Who’s there?” the puffer timidly probes.
“Aww, ocean boy is afraid of the dark,” is the only response he got. Then, appears a spark in the distance. And then another one, followed by a blinding light.
“Not again! Turn that thing down,” another voice pleads.
Three electric eels, wrapped around each other are using their power to light up an aquarium bulb lodged in the mouth of one of the eels. The row of fish tanks is illuminated. One of the eels breaks from the electric chain. The light goes from blinding to reasonable. “Sorry about that,” the eel politely apologized.
The puffer saw his audience for the first time. Rows of tanks contained fish poking their head out of the water, eying their new target. “I don’t want any trouble,” the puffer tried. Laughter erupted again.
“Did you hear that? The new guy doesn’t want trouble. He wouldn’t know trouble if it was a three ton shark swimming next to him,” a fat goldfish jeers, followed by a fit of hacking laughter, which then transformed into a crescendo of cat-calls and heckles.
The puffer cowered against the back of his tank, the eels’ make-shift spotlight still directly in his eyes. He put up a fin to try to lessen the glare, but it’s still uncomfortably bright.
“I say we fry him!” a voice cried out. “Fried shrimp is on the menu tonight!” another fish chimed in. This was all the crowd needed. Chants of “FRY HIM! FRY HIM! FRY HIM!” quickly became thunderous. The puffer’s bowl shook, as the other fish worked together, banging the sides of their tanks, the vibrations rattling the puffer’s smaller fish bowl sending it towards the edge.
The puffer saw his own death, four feet below in the form of black and white linoleum, and the eager eyes of a hungry, orange, tabby cat. The fish bowl teetered on the edge, a feather’s weight away from falling. And then, a loud crash interrupted the chants as the light quickly disappeared.
“That’s enough!” a strong female voice boomed. A soft light clicked on, revealing an albatross, clutching a broken bulb in its talons, the eel still holding on with his mouth. Another eel illuminates the scene with a smaller bulb. “I won’t drop him on the ground if you promise to stop the fighting and let the rest of us get some sleep. The albatross stood perched over the eels’ tank. “And stop pointing that light…” she lets the light bulb-clutching eel fall into is tank, bonking his comrade on the head, “… in everyone's faces.
The albatross returned to her perch, in the shadows, next to the puffer’s tank.
“Thanks, for your help, I thought I was cat food for a minute,” the puffer addressed his hero.
“Mhmm,” the albatross is not interested in glory, just sleep.
“My name’s Jim, what’s yours?” the puffer inquired.
“It’s not important,” the albatross quickly replied.
“Sure it is, I’d like to know the person who saved my life.”
“Trust me, kid, I haven’t saved anyone, you still got a long way to go before you’re safe.”
Jim, the puffer, realized he’s still all alone, even his guardian had nothing nice to say to him. He laid flat on the bowl’s floor and started to sob.
“My name’s Sarah, now would you please stop crying,” the albatross said, with great agitation in her voice.
Jim perked up. “Thank you, Sarah.”
TO BE CONTINUED.
The door chime TINK-TINGED, waking up the Filipino store clerk of Beach Pets Emporium. The tabby cat, lying in a sliver of sunlight, lazily raised her head towards the door, unimpressed, she return to her sun-soaked slumber.
The visitor was hardly anything to behold; a middle-aged fisherman, tan sun-hat adorning his head, rod in his right hand, bucket in his left. The ocean had seen a billion of similar sportsmen, and before it was all said and done, that number would just be the proverbial drop in the ocean.
The Filipino store owner, still half-asleep, reverted to his instincts. “Can I help you, sir?” he buzzed, his brain on autopilot.
The fisherman looked at the hand-drawn sign above the cash register, which read “We Buy And Sell Fish”. “Why I believe you can,” the fisherman replied as he put the white five-gallon paint bucket on the counter. “I’m in the fish selling market and a little birdie told me you were in the fish buying market”.
“Fish buying market, fish buying market”. A parakeet was more than happy to play along.
“Why, I believe it was that very one who told me,” the fisherman stood tall, pleased with his wit.
“What have you got for me?” the clerk queried.
“Only the finest in tropical fish; exotic, interesting, colorful,” the fisherman leaned in. “Some would go as far as to say sexy.” He winked at the clerk and continued on, unconcerned by the lack of response. “Put up one hell of a fight. For a minute I thought I was going to have to cut my line, on account of I figured I snagged my rig on one of them Jap sea scooters you see zipping around out there”.
The clerk had heard enough sales-pitch. He reached for the bucket’s lid but was thwarted as the fisherman slapped his hands away. The fisherman reached into his back pocket and pulled out a screw-driver. “That lid’s on too tight for any man to just reach at and open, I made sure of it.” The fisherman wedged the screwdriver in between the bucket and the lid. “When you run across something this special, you don’t take risks”. He popped the lid off. The clerk looked in.
The Filipino’s face turned into a toothy grin. He exhaled a chuckle. “That’s it?” he prodded, “that’s your sexy fish?”
Inside the bucket was a tiny gray fish, long and slender, several orange markings on his back were the only things that would have made it stand out from the endless monochrome of the bland ocean floor.
“You haven’t seen what it can do yet,” the fisherman recovered, desperately trying to maintain the upper-hand.
He gripped the screwdriver tight and dipped it slowly into the water, moving it closer and closer to the tiny gray fish until the metal tip tapped the sea-creature on the head. Instantly, the tiny fish ballooned to 5 times its original size, revealing its true beauty. Oranges, reds, blues and greens, hidden in the folds of the mutable fish became a visual feast of colors. The fisherman was right; to most, this was no ordinary fish.
To the shopkeeper, born and raised on a tropical island, however, it was, “Just another puffer fish.”
The fisherman’s jaw dropped. The Clerk picked up the bucket and put it behind the counter, “I’ll pay you five dollars, take it or leave it”.
The fisherman, still reeling, slammed his hand against the counter. “Now wait just a minute,” he started up. The shopkeeper knew where this was going.
“I said take it or leave it”. The Filipino knew he had won.
“Fine”. Now was the time to save face. “But I want my bucket back”. The clerk shrugged, poured the bucket into a temporary bowl and handed the fisherman a crumpled five dollar bill.
The fisherman left with more than a simple door-chime. Even the unflappable cat covered her orange triangle ears with the pads of her paws.
The store owner decided to get a closer look at his new investment.. The water and the glass of the fish bowl distorted the puffer’s visage, wrapping the fish into a fun house mirror. “I know just where to put you,” the store owner said with a smile, as he picked up the fish bowl, sending a small splash of water to jettison out of the glass container.
The shop keeper maneuvered through the cluttered store, managing only to nip the tip of the tabby cat’s pipe-cleaner tail. A soft meow was the only protest.
Past rows of fish, the store owner paraded his new ware. There was no time for formal introductions, nor should there be; in a place like this, a fish never knew how long he’d last before he was sold to the glass-tapping brat, who was a little too trigger happy on the toilet bowl flusher. The groupers scowled at the puffer as the seahorses giggled, maintaining an heir of supremacy with their inside jokes, while the industrious goldfish population w busy plotting their bourgeoisie revolt, unbeknownst to the regal lobsters and well-to-do, oyster-bearing clams.
Finally, the shop keeper dusted off the end of the aisle and placed the fish bowl between the bait tank and start of the bird cages. The store owner grabbed a water filter and plopped it in the bowl. “That should do for now,” he convinced himself, admiring his less-than-handy work.
The puffer watched as the shop owner disappeared out of view. The lights flicked off and the door chime was heard once more. The puffer was the last transaction of the day, but hardly the end of the excitement.
“Get a load of the new guy” a voice broke the hum of the aquarium aerators.
“I say he lasts a day before we find him upside down,” a female voice accompanies the first heckler.
“A day?! Try an hour. I’ve seen his type, their used to the ocean, with their fancy corral, and their fancy sea-shells,” a third voice chided.
“How’s it feel to be behind glass? Could be worse, tomorrow we could find you under porcelain.” Laughter erupts.
The puffer realizes he’s the butt of the jokes, but it’s too dark.
“Who’s there?” the puffer timidly probes.
“Aww, ocean boy is afraid of the dark,” is the only response he got. Then, appears a spark in the distance. And then another one, followed by a blinding light.
“Not again! Turn that thing down,” another voice pleads.
Three electric eels, wrapped around each other are using their power to light up an aquarium bulb lodged in the mouth of one of the eels. The row of fish tanks is illuminated. One of the eels breaks from the electric chain. The light goes from blinding to reasonable. “Sorry about that,” the eel politely apologized.
The puffer saw his audience for the first time. Rows of tanks contained fish poking their head out of the water, eying their new target. “I don’t want any trouble,” the puffer tried. Laughter erupted again.
“Did you hear that? The new guy doesn’t want trouble. He wouldn’t know trouble if it was a three ton shark swimming next to him,” a fat goldfish jeers, followed by a fit of hacking laughter, which then transformed into a crescendo of cat-calls and heckles.
The puffer cowered against the back of his tank, the eels’ make-shift spotlight still directly in his eyes. He put up a fin to try to lessen the glare, but it’s still uncomfortably bright.
“I say we fry him!” a voice cried out. “Fried shrimp is on the menu tonight!” another fish chimed in. This was all the crowd needed. Chants of “FRY HIM! FRY HIM! FRY HIM!” quickly became thunderous. The puffer’s bowl shook, as the other fish worked together, banging the sides of their tanks, the vibrations rattling the puffer’s smaller fish bowl sending it towards the edge.
The puffer saw his own death, four feet below in the form of black and white linoleum, and the eager eyes of a hungry, orange, tabby cat. The fish bowl teetered on the edge, a feather’s weight away from falling. And then, a loud crash interrupted the chants as the light quickly disappeared.
“That’s enough!” a strong female voice boomed. A soft light clicked on, revealing an albatross, clutching a broken bulb in its talons, the eel still holding on with his mouth. Another eel illuminates the scene with a smaller bulb. “I won’t drop him on the ground if you promise to stop the fighting and let the rest of us get some sleep. The albatross stood perched over the eels’ tank. “And stop pointing that light…” she lets the light bulb-clutching eel fall into is tank, bonking his comrade on the head, “… in everyone's faces.
The albatross returned to her perch, in the shadows, next to the puffer’s tank.
“Thanks, for your help, I thought I was cat food for a minute,” the puffer addressed his hero.
“Mhmm,” the albatross is not interested in glory, just sleep.
“My name’s Jim, what’s yours?” the puffer inquired.
“It’s not important,” the albatross quickly replied.
“Sure it is, I’d like to know the person who saved my life.”
“Trust me, kid, I haven’t saved anyone, you still got a long way to go before you’re safe.”
Jim, the puffer, realized he’s still all alone, even his guardian had nothing nice to say to him. He laid flat on the bowl’s floor and started to sob.
“My name’s Sarah, now would you please stop crying,” the albatross said, with great agitation in her voice.
Jim perked up. “Thank you, Sarah.”
TO BE CONTINUED.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Hand Made Jewelry!
My friend, Kyle Neidig, is a craftsman of fine jewelry. Everything is hand-made and a steal at the low prices he's offering. He's been trained by Native Americans in the art of jewelry making, check out his stuff here:
http://www.etsy.com/shop.php?user_id=6816650
http://www.etsy.com/shop.php?user_id=6816650
Burger King
I worked on a movie set this weekend, it was so fucking wild I am going to need a week to reflect on it.
Today, I went to Burger King to take advantage of a special they are having; $1 double cheeseburgers. I waited in line for what seemed like forever, as everyone else also decided they wanted flame-broiled, shit-infested hamburgers. There was only one person at the cash register, her name was Zayda, some hot piece of latina ass. Lol. Behind me was an old man wearing a suit. I looked at his hands and saw he had a gold pinky ring, adorned with a gold eagle clutching several diamonds in its claw. He also had a red lapel, he was a real trip.
So we're waiting in line and finally I turn to him and say, "Well, we're really going to earn this one" and he shook his head and said, "I've never seen it like this before". Then he continued bloviating about the economy. The whole time I'm wondering why such a snazzy-dressed guy is ordering diarrhea in a bag, at Burger King.
I finally get up to the counter, Zayda is struggling with the orders. I'm freaking out, man, but I find some composure and ask, "How are you doing today?". She was completely thrown off guard, as I'm sure she was used to pissed-off, impatient people gruffly barking things like, "Give me a fucking Whopper, none of that pickle bullshit, some of those bitch-ass fries you motherfuckers like to cook so much and large-ass cup of Doctah fuckin' Peppah, you two-cent burger bitch". So, I catch her off guard, and Zayda is all smiling and like, "I'm good, thanks for asking". I could have bagged her like she bags fries all day long, right there, but, like I said, there was a long line behind me. And if I go into the backroom with this broad who is going to serve the hungry masses?
I am waiting for my food and I see some woman, 40s, in a velour track suit, beat-red pumpkin face, yapping on her cell phone. Her son, in complimenting beige track suit, 24, is following her around. I finally hone in to what she's saying. She's going to sue Burger King and some towing company. She then gets off the phone, harasses Zayda, flips over a sign they had displayed next to the cash register, which was advertising apple fries, because they didn't have any more apple fries in the store and then starts banging on the door that separates the employees from the public. I pop up from my booth, and approach her and ask her if there is a problem. She is completely taken aback, but then tells me how her son's car was towed from Burger King parking lot. And she wants blood.
So, I tell her my concern is she's taking out her frustration on the employees, who get paid shit to wear humiliating outfits, get to deal with insensitive bastards all day long and then get fired in a heartbeat when the company's profits turn south because the boss is involved in a grizzly porn scandal. The woman put up some resistance, and I just reminded her that she didn't know who called the tow company for sure, so it wasn't fair to treat everyone like they were lower than her. She agreed, walked over to an empty spot on the counter and politely asked for the manager's name and number.
I got my food and as I left I told her to hang in there. She smiled and said thank you and I ate two disgusting double cheeseburgers. Moral of the story: Fuck Burger King.
Today, I went to Burger King to take advantage of a special they are having; $1 double cheeseburgers. I waited in line for what seemed like forever, as everyone else also decided they wanted flame-broiled, shit-infested hamburgers. There was only one person at the cash register, her name was Zayda, some hot piece of latina ass. Lol. Behind me was an old man wearing a suit. I looked at his hands and saw he had a gold pinky ring, adorned with a gold eagle clutching several diamonds in its claw. He also had a red lapel, he was a real trip.
So we're waiting in line and finally I turn to him and say, "Well, we're really going to earn this one" and he shook his head and said, "I've never seen it like this before". Then he continued bloviating about the economy. The whole time I'm wondering why such a snazzy-dressed guy is ordering diarrhea in a bag, at Burger King.
I finally get up to the counter, Zayda is struggling with the orders. I'm freaking out, man, but I find some composure and ask, "How are you doing today?". She was completely thrown off guard, as I'm sure she was used to pissed-off, impatient people gruffly barking things like, "Give me a fucking Whopper, none of that pickle bullshit, some of those bitch-ass fries you motherfuckers like to cook so much and large-ass cup of Doctah fuckin' Peppah, you two-cent burger bitch". So, I catch her off guard, and Zayda is all smiling and like, "I'm good, thanks for asking". I could have bagged her like she bags fries all day long, right there, but, like I said, there was a long line behind me. And if I go into the backroom with this broad who is going to serve the hungry masses?
I am waiting for my food and I see some woman, 40s, in a velour track suit, beat-red pumpkin face, yapping on her cell phone. Her son, in complimenting beige track suit, 24, is following her around. I finally hone in to what she's saying. She's going to sue Burger King and some towing company. She then gets off the phone, harasses Zayda, flips over a sign they had displayed next to the cash register, which was advertising apple fries, because they didn't have any more apple fries in the store and then starts banging on the door that separates the employees from the public. I pop up from my booth, and approach her and ask her if there is a problem. She is completely taken aback, but then tells me how her son's car was towed from Burger King parking lot. And she wants blood.
So, I tell her my concern is she's taking out her frustration on the employees, who get paid shit to wear humiliating outfits, get to deal with insensitive bastards all day long and then get fired in a heartbeat when the company's profits turn south because the boss is involved in a grizzly porn scandal. The woman put up some resistance, and I just reminded her that she didn't know who called the tow company for sure, so it wasn't fair to treat everyone like they were lower than her. She agreed, walked over to an empty spot on the counter and politely asked for the manager's name and number.
I got my food and as I left I told her to hang in there. She smiled and said thank you and I ate two disgusting double cheeseburgers. Moral of the story: Fuck Burger King.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
The Fisher King
Went for a jog with Nikkita banana. Lifted some heavy weights, grocery shopping, hit up a few bars. Played fooseball wit Davis. Then watched the Fisher King, it's amazing movie, everyone should see it.
Here's a clip from it.
Here's a clip from it.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Goth Club Egyptian Sailing
Friday night I went to a Goth Club, dressed as a Goth. It was magnificent. We walked in to a smoked out dance floor with lazers and a bunch of creatures, including a fat black lady wearing a maid outfit, goth dancing to bizarre techno remixes. The dancing was insane. Everyone slithered, crawled, gyrated and scratched at the night. It was unlike anything I've ever seen.
I literally would burst out laughing at times. Needless to say, I hit the dance floor pretty hard and let 'er rip.
Also, there was a nice flagellation room attached to the dance floor, where a bunch of half naked chicks wearing only nipple pasties and under wear were getting beat up by dudes with whips. There were chained to cages and the such, and there was shocking demonstrations, a general freak show basically.
Today, I went sailing with an Egyptian man named Yasir. He was an effin trip. Saw a bunch of dolphins rocking out in the water, buncha seals, buncha stuff. Then Yasir started talking about how he wanted to kill himself if he lived past the age of seventy. And then things got weird. He was talking about how he had planned out drowning himself with an anchor, and he wanted to wear scuba gear ot the bottom so he could see what was up as he sank into oblivion. Guy put a little too much thought into his own death for my comfort level. Should have gone to the Goth club with us.
Tonight, I went hog wild at a pool hall. Saw an awesome band perform, played pool, beat some dude bro. Then got embarassed by this fat dude with a bald head and ultra styled goatee. His name was Santo. He owned a billiards hall, and would just run the table, if you were lucky enough to have him miss once you better finish your rack or he'd take it to the house on his next turn. He'd embarrass his opponent then look at the chalk board that had the next opponent's name and yell it out, challenging his next unlucky couterpart to get a piece.
This weekend was RIDICULOUS.
Holler back at me.
I literally would burst out laughing at times. Needless to say, I hit the dance floor pretty hard and let 'er rip.
Also, there was a nice flagellation room attached to the dance floor, where a bunch of half naked chicks wearing only nipple pasties and under wear were getting beat up by dudes with whips. There were chained to cages and the such, and there was shocking demonstrations, a general freak show basically.
Today, I went sailing with an Egyptian man named Yasir. He was an effin trip. Saw a bunch of dolphins rocking out in the water, buncha seals, buncha stuff. Then Yasir started talking about how he wanted to kill himself if he lived past the age of seventy. And then things got weird. He was talking about how he had planned out drowning himself with an anchor, and he wanted to wear scuba gear ot the bottom so he could see what was up as he sank into oblivion. Guy put a little too much thought into his own death for my comfort level. Should have gone to the Goth club with us.
Tonight, I went hog wild at a pool hall. Saw an awesome band perform, played pool, beat some dude bro. Then got embarassed by this fat dude with a bald head and ultra styled goatee. His name was Santo. He owned a billiards hall, and would just run the table, if you were lucky enough to have him miss once you better finish your rack or he'd take it to the house on his next turn. He'd embarrass his opponent then look at the chalk board that had the next opponent's name and yell it out, challenging his next unlucky couterpart to get a piece.
This weekend was RIDICULOUS.
Holler back at me.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Since We Last left off.
A ton of stuff has happened.
Davis and I have been doing all sorts of tit things. Today we bought a bunch of food, see: ribs, onions, bell peppers (Red), carrots (pronounce KUH-rhuts) and CORN. We fucking prepped that sit with butter and cayenne pepper and salt and f'in cooked that muffa. Then we's ate its.
Now, like I'm trying to get a job as something better than where I'm at. Feel me? Thanks.
Also, here's a picture of the view from my friend, T.K.'s house. I put a bunch of pictures in a panorama then p. shop'd the shit out of it.
Enjoy.
Davis and I have been doing all sorts of tit things. Today we bought a bunch of food, see: ribs, onions, bell peppers (Red), carrots (pronounce KUH-rhuts) and CORN. We fucking prepped that sit with butter and cayenne pepper and salt and f'in cooked that muffa. Then we's ate its.
Now, like I'm trying to get a job as something better than where I'm at. Feel me? Thanks.
Also, here's a picture of the view from my friend, T.K.'s house. I put a bunch of pictures in a panorama then p. shop'd the shit out of it.
Enjoy.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
I'm Feeling it
Ah yes, where we last left off I was busy losing my job. And I successfully did.
Davis has been chillin at my place. We went ot a couple of apartments, broke in in n out burger, got a couch, rearranged a couch, said FUCK YO couch.
Went to a concert last night. Saw the Franks, the Pacifics and Pop Noir.
I think I was wearing a sign because I was approached by two females. One was a 30 year old spiritual healer, who loved me. Another was a 19 year old who wanted me to buy her alcohol.
Then I talked to this hot chick from a rich part of brooklyn. She was real hot. We hit it off and then I realized she was a stripper and realized we probably wouldn't have too much in common in terms of lifestyle.
I took a bunch of pictures of the bands. Some are alright.
I'm watching Gangs of New York right now.
Davis has been chillin at my place. We went ot a couple of apartments, broke in in n out burger, got a couch, rearranged a couch, said FUCK YO couch.
Went to a concert last night. Saw the Franks, the Pacifics and Pop Noir.
I think I was wearing a sign because I was approached by two females. One was a 30 year old spiritual healer, who loved me. Another was a 19 year old who wanted me to buy her alcohol.
Then I talked to this hot chick from a rich part of brooklyn. She was real hot. We hit it off and then I realized she was a stripper and realized we probably wouldn't have too much in common in terms of lifestyle.
I took a bunch of pictures of the bands. Some are alright.
I'm watching Gangs of New York right now.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Last Day at Brookstone
I worked my last day at Brookstone today. I was Seasonal help, now I am yesterday's news.
Hmm... bought a remote control helicopter for 20 bucks. Photoshop'd a picture from the Adirondacs. Listned to Ian Anderson. He has a song called photo shop, but it refers to a mortar and brick store, a literal photo shop. Technology...
Here's the pic.
Hours last forever in the Calliandra shade.
Also, watched an awesome documentary called "Yellowstone in Winter" on PBS. It makes me realize more than anything that I want to work as a nature documentarist. Holla @ ya boi.
Hmm... bought a remote control helicopter for 20 bucks. Photoshop'd a picture from the Adirondacs. Listned to Ian Anderson. He has a song called photo shop, but it refers to a mortar and brick store, a literal photo shop. Technology...
Here's the pic.
Hours last forever in the Calliandra shade.
Also, watched an awesome documentary called "Yellowstone in Winter" on PBS. It makes me realize more than anything that I want to work as a nature documentarist. Holla @ ya boi.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Picture from Griffith Park
A picture I took on my hike in Griffith Park. I found the juxtaposition of nature and civilization very interesting.
Fear me,
Your lives are fodder
for the looking glass,
Recorded
Captured
Altered
Turned into a commodity.
Fear me,
Your lives are fodder
for the looking glass,
Recorded
Captured
Altered
Turned into a commodity.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
I'm Back! IKEA!
Last time I was updating my blog, I was living in Los Angeles. Which is fitting, as I'm once again living in Los Angeles. So by request of Jessica, my blog is BACK!
It's the first day of the new year. This of course means one thing, great deals on craigslist.org. MOVING DAY.
Purchased a rolling desk for 10 bucks from some hippie dude in Glendale. We both discussed our sober New Years Eve.
Then went to Ikea and bought a rolling desk chair, which was on sale for 15 bucks. And an Elephant's Foot Plant, which I named Gorgonzola, three cacti and a hanging closet organizer for clothes.
I'm also going to do laundry and write some more of my screenplay.
My New Year's Resolutions:
Get on a nature documentary by the end of this year.
Direct a short film/video.
Finish my screenplay
Start a band
Get a girlfriend
Have coitus with my girlfriend
Don't get depressed when my girlfriend breaks up with me.
Stop drinking.
Speaking of stopping drinking, I had a breakthrough today. An expensive bottle of liquor almost destroyed me today when I opened my freezer door. It was teetering on the edge above the fridge. It came crashing down, spilling everywhere. It was a clear omen, death from above: Alcohol. Dude, I'm sober for good now. From 2009 onward alcohol will not enter my system.
Coitus on the other hand... Bring it!
Pictures coming soon of a bunch of hikes I've gone on.
It's the first day of the new year. This of course means one thing, great deals on craigslist.org. MOVING DAY.
Purchased a rolling desk for 10 bucks from some hippie dude in Glendale. We both discussed our sober New Years Eve.
Then went to Ikea and bought a rolling desk chair, which was on sale for 15 bucks. And an Elephant's Foot Plant, which I named Gorgonzola, three cacti and a hanging closet organizer for clothes.
I'm also going to do laundry and write some more of my screenplay.
My New Year's Resolutions:
Get on a nature documentary by the end of this year.
Direct a short film/video.
Finish my screenplay
Start a band
Get a girlfriend
Have coitus with my girlfriend
Don't get depressed when my girlfriend breaks up with me.
Stop drinking.
Speaking of stopping drinking, I had a breakthrough today. An expensive bottle of liquor almost destroyed me today when I opened my freezer door. It was teetering on the edge above the fridge. It came crashing down, spilling everywhere. It was a clear omen, death from above: Alcohol. Dude, I'm sober for good now. From 2009 onward alcohol will not enter my system.
Coitus on the other hand... Bring it!
Pictures coming soon of a bunch of hikes I've gone on.
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