Cleaning the apartment, I stumbled on a Brookings Institute article on nuclear war in South Asia that I'd forgotten about. I carried it out to the living room and put it on the coffee table so I can read it later. My roommate noticed this and told me to stop being so fucking pretentious. No one that comes here seems to read anything but the Playboy or Barely Legal anyway.

God, Clerks is on IFC again. I think I've seen this more than Breakfast Club by now.

I really love the rain. It just sucks when I have to travel to work in it.

This is some odd spam:

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The public demanded sharply that the seas should at any price be relieved from this formidable cetacean. The narwhal seemed motionless; perhaps, tired with its day's work, it slept, letting itself float with the undulation of the waves. had been violently agitated? "The great depths of the ocean are entirely unknown to us!!!

You will swallow some tacks. You are a little
weird, maybe not so much in a good way. Buy a
yellow tie and wear it on your head.


What horrible Edward Gorey Death will you die?
brought to you by Quizilla

That quake in the Indian Ocean was so strong it disturbed the earth's rotation.

Sometimes people really surprise me. I thought I was totally jaded.

California is more populous than Canada.

"What kind of peace do I mean? What kind of peace do we seek? Not a Pax Americana enforced on the world by American weapons of war. Not the peace of the grave or the security of the slave. I am talking about genuine peace, the kind of peace that makes life on earth worth living, the kind that enables men and nations to grow and to hope and to build a better life for their children -- not merely peace for Americans but peace for all men and women -- not merely peace in our time but peace for all time. I speak of peace because of the new face of war. Total war makes no sense in an age when great powers can maintain large and relatively invulnerable nuclear forces and refuse to surrender without resort to those forces. It makes no sense in an age when a single nuclear weapon contains almost ten times the explosive force delivered by 11 of the Allied air forces in the Second World War. It makes no sense in an age when the deadly poisons produced by a nuclear exchange would be carried by wind and water and soil and seed to the far corners of the globe and to generations yet unborn."

-JFK 6/10/63

I should have stopped for a bagel and coffee on my way in to work; if I'd been able to find someplace open that is.

My friend Chuck loaned me a soup cookbook that really rocks. It's called Twelve Months of Monastery Soups and it's written by a monk. The recipes are almost all vegetarian, and those that aren't can be changed to be vegetarian. I just made some kale, bean, tomato soup and a mushroom, potato, garlic one. Both are really grub and I have enough to last all week. The piggies get no kale, unfortunately, since I used it all for the soup.

Happy solstice. Or Yule if you swing that way.

The Mercury article I bitched about

My rant

"Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consetetur sadipscing elitr, sed diam nonumy eirmod tempor invidunt ut labore et dolore magna aliquyam erat, sed diam voluptua. At vero eos et accusam et justo duo dolores et ea rebum. Stet clita kasd gubergren, no sea takimata sanctus est Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consetetur sadipscing elitr, sed diam nonumy eirmod tempor invidunt ut labore et dolore magna aliquyam erat, sed diam voluptua. At vero eos et accusam et justo duo dolores et ea rebum. Stet clita kasd gubergren, no sea takimata sanctus est Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consetetur sadipscing elitr, sed diam nonumy eirmod tempor invidunt ut labore et dolore magna aliquyam erat, sed diam voluptua. At vero eos et accusam et justo duo dolores et ea rebum. Stet clita kasd gubergren, no sea takimata sanctus est Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet."

Or something.

So France launches the Helios II A and 6 smaller satellites and China helps track them across the sky. Ever get the feeling you’re out of the loop? France and China as allies would leave us in one fucked position if anything really bad happened.

menja bé, caga fort!

I'm published. Page 14 of this week's Mercury.

From Wikipedia:

"In 2004, the EPA rated the San Bernardino-Riverside area as having the worst particulate air pollution in the United States (although the San Joaquin Valley in central California had the worst overall air pollution)."

No wonder I'm so fucked up (Bakersfield is in the San Joaquin Valley, if you didn't know.)

I’ve had Three Lortabs, some Pringles, and a Pepsi and I’m still not quite ready for the day. What the hell happened this week? My last post was last Sunday so either I haven’t done anything or I was too fucking busy to write about it. I don’t remember doing much on Monday or Tuesday, but I had to work those days so what could I have done? Wednesday, I got a ride to Pet Smart and Lee’s. We got a huge back of guinea pig litter and about $80 worth of booze. I thought Pet Smart was closing at 9pm, but my ride didn’t IM me till about 9:10. She’d found out it was open late for the holidays so we were lucky. Why would a pet store be open late for the holidays? Buying a pet for Christmas seems really lame to me. I think buying a pet should be a more deliberate act rather than some spurious “I want a pony” thing. Buy a pet only after talking about it and making sure your kid can take care of it. (That reminds me, I still have to change my pigs’ litter!) We made it to Lee’s (which also closes at 10) just before closing. I usually just stock up on Newcastle since it’s so cheap there. If I were to grab too much else I’d be broke quick. I did get some wine (two bottles of Australian Shiraz and one merlot,) a bottle of Framboise, a bottle of Old Growler, and a 12 pack of Honey Brown for Ian. My ride picked up a tiny bottle of Belvedere vodka for some strange reason. I guess it’s intended for decoration. Paying $4 for a shot of vodka seems harsh to me, even if it’s good vodka and only intended for decoration. I guess it’ll look good in the Barbie mansion or something. Back home, we split the Framboise and she took out my piggies. I don’t know what it is about women and pets. They start making high pitched squeals and speaking in baby-talk while they cuddle small mammals. Perhaps it’s the mother instinct or something; but my roommate does it too. I threw on the television for some background noise. I didn’t feel like putting on a film, even though we need to finish watching Say Anything. AbFab came on BBC America. I’ve seen every episode so many times, even if I lost the box set in the separation agreement; I’ve still got them memorized. Surprisingly, my company had never seen it before. I wonder how much of my media saturation is due to my age. She isn’t that much younger than I am, but still. The next day, Danielle came over and we shared some of the Shiraz. I wonder about women again; this time not about squealing over small furry animals but about wine. Why do women prefer wine, cider, etc. over simple beer or liquor? I know, beer is fattening and liquor can be difficult to drink. Whatever, we drink Shiraz. She leaves with Ian for some Thai food. I decline their invitation. Kathy was coming over and I didn’t feel like trying Thai food anyway. Kathy and I have some more of the wine then head to the Dispensary on Tropicana and Eastern for a customer appreciation holiday celebration. Open bar and a buffet for two hours. We stay for a cocktail and I have some mashed potatoes and a roll. It was a simple buffet so that was the only vegetarian stuff that I felt like eating. The whiskey sour I got was as strong as I’d make it at home. I’d never been in there before, but I think I’ll go back at some point. Kathy says she goes for chicken wings on occasion. It seems like an older crowd, but who knows what it’s like on the weekends. I’m so lazy I normally just wind up at Cheers since it’s the closest. I forget that Favorites, the Dispensary, Play of the Day, Moose’s, and the rest are even around. Although, apart from the Frog I don’t think I’d like the other bars. After that, Ian and I went to Sacrilege. I wound up getting drugged out of my head and making a fool out of myself yet again, but my friends took care of me. Sometimes I wish they’d tell me I’m being an ass or that I look ridiculous rather than just take care of me. It might make me stop being so out of it. Somehow I managed to make it to work the next day, I don’t know how I’m still able to function after all I put my body through. Of course the bus was late. I think that happens just to spite me; on the days that it takes the most strength to not call in sick or late, the bus doesn’t show up. To make up for the abuse a bit, I only had two beers last night. I wound up crashing on the couch under a sleeping bag with the television on. Ian came stumbling in at around 3:30 or 4. Relationship problems drove him from Cheers to a titty bar. His voice was too loud for me (as it often is, I don’t think he hears himself) so I grabbed the sleeping bag and went to bed. Since I’d fallen asleep sometime between 1 and 2, I had a rather leisurely sleep. I sort of woke up at around 6 or 7, sweating under the sleeping bag. I really need to buy one, they’re so warm. It reminded me of being under Melissa’s blankets in Santa Cruz. The morning light diffused by coastal fog and clouds, the huge pile of soft, warm blankets over two nude bodies and the improvised huge bed (two twin extra-longs pushed together after she got a free upgrade to a “super single” when her roommate went psycho.) She asked me how I didn’t suffocate when I pulled all the blankets over me to blot out the light. I don’t quite understand it myself; I just don’t like the sunlight, especially when I’m in bed. I think when I get a few extra dollars I’m going to buy some better bedding.

I really want to go home.

Last night as I was walking home from Cheers, some gutless turd threw an almost full beer out of a car and nailed me in the chest. Fucking savages.

A really gay quote from All That Heaven Allows:

Cary [Jane Wyman]: "That's what Mick learned from you, isn't it?"

Ron[Rock Hudson]: "No. You can't learn that from anybody. Mick discovered for himself that he had to make his own decisions—that he had to be a man."

Cary: "And you want me to be a man."

Ron: "Only in that one way."

Now which way is that, Mr. Hudson?

I just wrote my first letter to the editor. I sent it to the Mercury about an article in this week's edition, "87 Days on the Bus". Go read it then read my response. I haven't written much in quite some time, so please excuse the shitty style.

Only 87 days on the bus? I’ve been riding the bus in
Las Vegas since I moved here from California in July
2000 and I’ve got some comments about Mr. Biggs’
article.

Taking the bus everyday, you get a better feel for
traffic and the city itself, I think. You notice the
movement of police and emergency vehicles as you’re
waiting for your transfer. When your bus is late due
to an accident you usually find out why. You see
those old guys in yellow vests soliciting for
donations to some “charity” when you’re in a car, but
do you see their bags stashed behind some bushes on
the corner? (What a great scam.) The only positive
thing Mr. Biggs has to note isn’t positive at all!
You aren’t always the best looking person on the bus.
Not all of the “transportation dependant” are
toothless and smelly. I’m 29 and have been riding the
bus my entire life. I have all my teeth, have to dress
business casual for work, and I have a degree in
Literature. While riding the bus was easier when I
was going to UCSC, Vegas’ system is better than most
other places I’ve lived. Here, some lines are 24
hours, and all of them run on Sunday. Try finding
that in California (outside of the Bay Area, of
course.) Waiting for the bus is worth it not to have
to worry about maintenance, insurance, registration,
gas, trying not to get into accidents, etc. Plus you
don’t pollute as much riding the bus. This “act of
submission” is no larger an act than crawling into
that cage Mr. Biggs misses so much. How much do you
plunk down in insurance every month? How much is your
car payment? Gas? Maintenance? It will only be when
people no longer consider the bus the “ride of last
resort” that cities like Las Vegas and the other huge
western sprawls will start to become real
cosmopolitan, international places where everyone can
live and work instead of redneck podunks like Barstow
where one needs a car in order to do anything. Who
knows, you might even get to meet you neighbors and
cut down on smog!

The bus isn’t all peaches and cream, of course. There
will always be pungent bums and loud, uncared for
children; that’s a microcosm of any city, anywhere.
Getting to Trader Joe’s and the Regal Sunset Station
Theater takes me over 2 hours sometimes. I’m late to
work from time to time. If I need to buy a large
amount of groceries it’s a bit of a drag (but now I
just have them delivered, anyway. Gotta love the
Internet.) In the time I’ve been riding the bus here,
I’ve seen two dead pedestrians (run over while jay
walking across Flamingo between Maryland and Spencer,
I assume) and one guy that got shot by LVPD on
Flamingo and the Strip. Well, you'd probably have
seen them if you were driving so I don't think that
counts. Once, a woman started yelling at me, “What
are you some kinda faggot?” and, noticing that I had a
bag of chips began demanding “Give some of your chips,
faggot!” I moved to the front of the bus and hoped
she’d exit before I did. She didn’t but I still
managed to slip away. Here I thought fag bashing was
passé. But that could have happened in San Jose (just
look at what happened to Gwen Araujo) or any other
metropolis, on or off the bus, so blame human nature
and not our bus system.

To sum up, your cages own you as much as you own them.
Your commute time might be shorter but what you trade
it for isn’t worth it to me. I’m glad someone turned
to the bus in a time of need, but don’t think that
that is all the bus is good for.
Only 87 days on the bus? I’ve been riding the bus in
Las Vegas since I moved here from California in July
2000 and I’ve got some comments about Mr. Biggs’
article.

Taking the bus everyday, you get a better feel for
traffic and the city itself, I think. You notice the
movement of police and emergency vehicles as you’re
waiting for your transfer. When your bus is late due
to an accident you usually find out why. You see
those old guys in yellow vests soliciting for
donations to some “charity” when you’re in a car, but
do you see their bags stashed behind some bushes on
the corner? (What a great scam.) The only positive
thing Mr. Biggs has to note isn’t positive at all!
You aren’t always the best looking person on the bus.
Not all of the “transportation dependant” are
toothless and smelly. I’m 29 and have been riding the
bus my entire life. I have all my teeth, have to dress
business casual for work, and I have a degree in
Literature. While riding the bus was easier when I
was going to UCSC, Vegas’ system is better than most
other places I’ve lived. Here, some lines are 24
hours, and all of them run on Sunday. Try finding
that in California (outside of the Bay Area, of
course.) Waiting for the bus is worth it not to have
to worry about maintenance, insurance, registration,
gas, trying not to get into accidents, etc. Plus you
don’t pollute as much riding the bus. This “act of
submission” is no larger an act than crawling into
that cage Mr. Biggs misses so much. How much do you
plunk down in insurance every month? How much is your
car payment? Gas? Maintenance? It will only be when
people no longer consider the bus the “ride of last
resort” that cities like Las Vegas and the other huge
western sprawls will start to become real
cosmopolitan, international places where everyone can
live and work instead of redneck podunks like Barstow
where one needs a car in order to do anything. Who
knows, you might even get to meet you neighbors and
cut down on smog!

The bus isn’t all peaches and cream, of course. There
will always be pungent bums and loud, uncared for
children; that’s a microcosm of any city, anywhere.
Getting to Trader Joe’s and the Regal Sunset Station
Theater takes me over 2 hours sometimes. I’m late to
work from time to time. If I need to buy a large
amount of groceries it’s a bit of a drag (but now I
just have them delivered, anyway. Gotta love the
Internet.) In the time I’ve been riding the bus here,
I’ve seen two dead pedestrians (run over while jay
walking across Flamingo between Maryland and Spencer,
I assume) and one guy that got shot by LVPD on
Flamingo and the Strip. Well, you'd probably have
seen them if you were driving so I don't think that
counts. Once, a woman started yelling at me, “What
are you some kinda faggot?” and, noticing that I had a
bag of chips began demanding “Give some of your chips,
faggot!” I moved to the front of the bus and hoped
she’d exit before I did. She didn’t but I still
managed to slip away. Here I thought fag bashing was
passé. But that could have happened in San Jose (just
look at what happened to Gwen Araujo) or any other
metropolis, on or off the bus, so blame human nature
and not our bus system.

To sum up, your cages own you as much as you own them.
Your commute time might be shorter but what you trade
it for isn’t worth it to me. I’m glad someone turned
to the bus in a time of need, but don’t think that
that is all the bus is good for.

I really should get to the Guggenheim soon. There's a Kandinsky gallery and a Keith Haring exhibit. It's not much of a museum but I should catch what little I can.

All That Heaven Allows is on. Normally I wouldn't sit through some mid-50s Jane Wyman/Rock Hudson crap but Fassbinder based Angst essen Seele auf on it. It's fun to queer anything with Rock in it. The acting is more solid than I thought it would be. One funny line, as the mother comes from changing into a cute red cocktail dress, her daughter exclaims, "Oh, it's so about time you dropped that depressing black velvet!" I've been told that once or twice (thankyouverymuch Mel).

What the hell is wrong with Ohio? I mean really, who would want to shoot someone as useless as Dimebag Darrell?!?

Sundance is playing a Fassbinder film and I'm too brain dead to watch it. I feel like a failure somehow.

The apartment complex sent some people out to replace the carpet padding today. They're ripping everything apart and putting it back together again. I'm glad I didn't see this crap while there was still standing water. This sucks, all I want to do is lay down and relax.

I am not having a good day. The apartment flooded. I'm so lucky, my vinyl was in the path of destruction but thanks to my careful packing and the plastic covers they came out unscathed.

From Catcher in the Rye

"That's the whole trouble. You can't ever find a place that's nice and peaceful, because there isn't any. You may think there is, but once you get there, when you're not looking, somebody'll sneak up and write "Fuck you" right under your nose."

I'm a dork. I bought some Mountain Dew Code Black and some Blackjack gum at the gas station on Pecos and Flamingo while waiting for the Pecos bus. Once on board, I started finishing Ghost World. I was so distracted that I got off the bus at the wrong stop. At least it was still close enough to work that I wasn't late.

God, my gmail account is already getting spam. I've only given it to two people who sent me some pictures.

I'm rereading Daniel Clowes' Ghost World graphic novel. It's so much better than the film. I feel like I’m 14 or something, using kitsch and thrift-store to disguise a lack of money and imagination. Clowes points the finger at scenesters and says, “you’re just as shallow as everyone you make fun of.”

Went out last night. Some of my friends were spinning at the Boston. Someone managed to get an alternative night going there. 80s/goth/ebm/industrial/synthpop/whatever playing on one side and 60s/indie/emo/garage/whatever on the other. I didn’t want to leave the apartment when I got home from work, but my roommate was already dressed and about to leave. I initially said I wouldn’t go but I guess I started to get a little lonely. Another night of drinking beer and playing Knights of the Old Republic didn’t seem too exciting. I was chatting with a friend on AIM and she said she’d go too. Grr. Of course we wound up going. It was a bit of a reunion. The usuals from Sanctuary’s long ago past were there. Jenny, the friend that came with, didn’t dance at all since she didn’t wear the right shoes. I’m sure she’ll wear boots next time. At least she didn’t mind holding my coat while I danced my silly little ass off.

It seemed that there were more bums sleeping on the ground than usual today. I wonder what drives that cycle. The full moon was over a week ago so it's not that. Perhaps they were kicked out of jail due to overcrowding? Psych wards? Shelters? Who knows.

Reading some stuff about Sid Vicious, I came across a poem he wrote for Nancy. It's so pathetic and honest it's making me cry.

"You were my little baby girl,
I knew all your fears.
Such joy to hold you in my arms
and kiss away your tears.
But now you're gone, there's only pain
and nothing I can do.
And I don't want to live this life,
If I can't live for you."

In an interesting turn of events, the new crown prince of Jordan is half American. Not that “American” is an ethnic category, but his mother was born here. I wonder what consequences this has for our fragile empire.

Spike Lee is doing a film with Keanu Reeves. I don't know if I should laugh or cry.

Okay, maybe one update, but just some lyrics:

"Once I had my heroes
Once I had my dreams
But all of that is changed now
The truth begins again
The truth is not that comfortable, no"

No updates for today, my head hurts too much.

I bought some black and white stripped toe socks today. I wonder if I'll ever grow up. I hope not.

This is one of the few times I wish I drove. Laibach is playing in LA and I have no way to get there without paying a lot for a flight or spending an ungodly chunk of time on a bus.

Ug. I can't get my sound card installed and I'm bored as fuck. All my stored music and even Knights of the Old Republic are laying dormant.

Kim Jong Il may be dead. Not very good timing since we'll be busy dealing with Arafat's bloated corpse. Each instability makes the world a more dangerous place; also more exciting. The torch passes to fresh blood [meat] and we have a chance to begin healing old wounds and uniting humanity. Israel, Korea, Cuba, and the rest have been on the edge for longer than I’ve been alive. It’s time to reach out in their times of transition (well, Castro isn’t dead yet, but how much longer does he have?) to kiss and make up.

It’s cold and raining. I don’t think it’ll get over 50 degrees today. I want some hot chocolate, or maybe a hot toddy.

I'm beat. The Dinah Cancer show was great, a lot of fun. Butt Trumpet was surprisingly good. They’ve got a totally new lineup, but whatever.

Hung out with a cool woman for a few hours tonight. She said "Oh, gosh!" a lot. How cute is that?

Sid and Nancy is on the tele. It was a Valentine's Day present.

"You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house."

Matthew 5:14-15

So in playing around with Blogger I found out about the Atom feed and how to change that into a RSS feed. Nifty. Friendster will let you add that to your profile, but Livejournal and Myspace don't. Lame.

When I woke up, I noticed some water on the carpet in the hall. My roommate's girlfriend told me water was leaking from the ceiling. I hope the place doesn't fall apart while I'm at work.

The Greeks never fully agreed who the first god was. Some claim it was Oceanus and Tethys. Even then, many believed that life began in the sea. Hesiod wrote that in the beginning there was Chaos who brought forth Gaia (Earth), Tartarus (Underworld), Eros (Desire), Nyx (Night), and Erebus (Darkness of the Underworld). Still others thought it was Night or Time that came first. Then some schmuck said that it was the four elements woven with the powers of Love and Strife. I kinda like that one.

Fight the good fight, Yasser. I'm sure you have a seat waiting at the table in Valhalla.

Too much Lou Reed makes Jim cry.

One day mom was cleaning Junior's room, and in the closet she found an S&M magazine. This was very upsetting for her.

She hid the magazine until his father got home and showed it to him. He looked at it and handed it back to her with out a word.

She finally asked him, "Well, what should we do about this?"

Dad looked at her and said, "Well I don't think you should spank him."

I just found out a friend of mine has to go into the hospital. That sucks so hard. Makes me feel my mortality and wonder why my liver hasn't exploded yet.

Hoards of people are shelling out $50 a pop to Microsoft for a copy of Halo 2 while the company just shelled out $536 million for an antitrust settlement. If we keep buying stuff from them nothing will change, no fine is big enough to stop this monster.

Ear infections suck. Antibiotics suck too. Instead of having an earache and being dizzy, now I have an earache, I'm dizzy, and I have an upset tummy.

Leaving my apartment at the usual time, the weather looks fine. It isn’t until I approach Flamingo that I notice the swath of black sky somewhere past Eastern. There is no weather in central Las Vegas; the HVAC systems that insulate the Strip casinos from real life have this odd side effect of negating the weather patterns that affect the rest of Clark County. Perhaps it’s just the golf course.

I’m tired. I got a ride home last night, but didn’t ask to be dropped off at the store, so I had to walk back and didn’t start drinking until about an hour later than I normally do. I got a 12 pack of some beer from New Zealand last night and drank 8 of them. My roommate had one. He still doesn’t have a job or money so he’s taking it easy on the beer. I think he’d gotten hammered at the Crown and Anchor the night before anyway. He kept wanting to talk. Maybe it was “relationship building” time. Necessary, I suppose, since we’re stuck with each other and I’m footing the bill for the moment. He might be nervous; I know I would be. We watched some short films on IFC. It seemed angry uterus night but the films were enjoyable. I lived with a Woman’s Study major for a few years so I can handle anything. I didn’t feel sleepy or even that drunk (never getting that beer again) but climbed into bed about 04:30, which meant only six-and-a-half hours of sleep. I skipped my normal long bath for some extra sleep.

The Flamingo bus was exactly on schedule for the first time in recent memory. It was also rather full. The two don’t normally coincide. I think the Pecos bus was also on time, but as it pulled up to the light I got an unexpected ride from a former coworker who also happens to be a somewhat famous musician. She’s finished recording her new album and is shopping it around to different labels. She hopes to tour in March. I think I’d like to get to know her better, but I don’t know if that’s ever possible. Just read her biography and you might understand. Plus she has a young child. Doesn’t leave much time for a social life. I found out that she was at the Ministry show and I didn’t see her. Then again, I was very drunk that evening.

Inside, reading the news, I wonder what the hell France is thinking. I don’t know if sending troops into Cote d’Ivoire is such a bright idea. With problems in Colombia, Somalia, Afghanistan, Sudan, Nepal, Congo, Iraq, China, India and the rest opening up another quagmire seems hasty. Still, at least they realize that sometimes events demand direct intervention by world powers. It might help them (and everyone else) that we have to work together as a world to keep our shit together.

As JFK put it: “And if a beachhead of cooperation may push back the jungle of suspicion, let both sides join in creating a new endeavor, not a new balance of power, but a new world of law, where the strong are just and the weak secure and the peace preserved.”

Eva O just gave me a ride to work.

And now that last post, translated from English to French to German and back via Babelfish:

Like calm I my apartment j'ai was stated that the concrete was damp and the sky, grey. The m'a, which was taken some times, around that report with "pluie" to make; puisqu'aucune water did not fall at this time. Because approximately the flamingo it began j'ai to begiessen of it. There were more clochards around d'autobusl'arrêt Marylands qu'habituel. The rain seems to bring it as waterlogged the worms outside which soil the sidewalk. Three rested themselves between l'échange von Buffalo and that one, who are this Pikeestange in the back the bank d'Etat Nevadas. They had a certain odd bicycle with a side soil, which is connected with it. Causerie and nicotinism it n'ont not, which seemed is to have a care in the world. Ten d'eux of feet, another man put blotti in its lean Denimjacke. I could not say s'il breathed, but to s'inquiétait not enough, in order to disturb its Linderung. L'autobus was natural in delay, but like that my connection was so he set up good. L'autobus received from central and Eastern European countries coming out j'ai fucktard in a tail of fish of the truck of mustard-yellow during the qu'il to see turned left from the RD mast in central and Eastern European countries and nearly from l'visage factory in a beginning regular bus. To laugh and forget to be late at least the m'a, which is forced. The rain gave a fair blow of foot inside, how I went through the door.

As I left my apartment, I noticed the concrete was wet and the sky was grey. It took me a few moments to make the connection with “rain” since no water was falling at that moment. As I approached Flamingo, it began to sprinkle some. There were more bums around the Maryland bus stop than usual. The rain seems to bring them out like the waterlogged worms that stain the sidewalk. Three were sitting between Buffalo Exchange and whatever that dive bar is behind the Nevada State Bank. They had some odd bicycle with a trailer attached to it. Chatting and smoking, they didn’t seem to have a care in the world. Ten feet from them, another man was lying down, huddled in his meager denim jacket. I couldn’t tell if he was breathing but didn’t care enough to disturb his slumber. Of course the bus was late, but so was my connection so it worked out okay. Exiting the Pecos bus, I got to see a fucktard in a mustard yellow truck fishtail as he turned left from Post Rd to Pecos and almost face-plant into an oncoming bus. At least that got me to laugh and forget about being late. The rain kicked in just as I walked through the door.

I've decided I want to move someplace where it rains more than twice a year.

I have an ear infection and it's really pissing me off. I mean at least it could have waited a week when I'd have enough cash to see a doctor.

My deadpool picks.


-
-
tenebras
10/25/2004 02:56
1

-
-
Yasser Arafat
1929
alive

-
Arthur C. Clarke
1917
alive

-
Alan Alda
1936
alive

-
Spalding Gray
1941
died 11-Jan-2004

-
Ron Jeremy
1953
alive

-
Prince Philip
1921
alive

-
Ronald Reagan
1911
died 05-Jun-2004

-
Fidel Castro
1926
alive

-
Queen Elizabeth II
1926
alive

-
Pope John Paul II
1920
alive

mal·aise
n.
1. A vague feeling of bodily discomfort, as at the beginning of an illness.
2. A general sense of depression or unease: “One year after the crash, the markets remain mired in a deep malaise” (New York Times)

Yikes, Arafat is almost dead. I'm not sure how I feel about that. On the one hand, he's a pigfucker, but on the other he's about the only leader the Palestinians have. Shit's gonna get uglier over there.

You're standing on my neck

Money sucks. I thought I'd have plenty this week, but overspent on Halloween so I'm down to like $10 in my bank account. I have to cancel my Netflix subscription.

So I had yesterday off. We didn’t do much, just lounged around the house and drank until it was time to head over to our friends’ house for drinks and handing out candy. They blew like $300 on candy or something obscene like that. It was a lot of fun.

Happy Halloween!

In the year 2000, there were about 796,518 full time, sworn police officers scattered across 17,784 agencies. The US Census estimates that the US population was 281,421,906 at that point. That's 0.28% I wonder how that stacks up against other nations.

I went to see the Cramps. Greatest thing of my life, but Spuds was there. When I got home, I just cried for an hour.

"Of all things living, a man's the worst!"

I slept 12 hours last night. I feel better.

Wow, John Peel died. He introduced a lot of rad British bands in the 80s. Many of his shows featuring live performances are on CD. Good stuff.

God, Clerks is on IFC again. I think I've seen this more than Blade Runner now.

Someone bring me a #2 from Roberto's. Don't forget the salsa verde and the horchata.

During the rains, I found a microwave in the dumpster. I was taking the trash out and noticed several couches and a futon frame. I thought of grabbing the futon frame but I wasn't wearing shoes and it had already been buried a little. Next to that was the microwave. It wasn't that dirty, just a little cooking mess that came off easily. Some mail had been shoved inside, like a hurried packing job. I wonder if the person that left it just didn't have time to grab it or forgot it or what. I found the exact model on Walmart's site for $30.

It’s been such a strange week. I keep having sharp depressive attacks that morph into maudlin moods. At least the weather has finally turned. The first day of the rain, as I was waiting on Pecos and Flamingo for the bus, I heard the PA at the gas station/car wash across the street playing “About the Weather”. The gray clouds and strong wind made me ache for redwoods and deer, or maybe a raccoon or squirrel as well.

Viva Larry's Villa.

I am Indie Girl Click on the picture below to read more: Take the 'What Kind of Girl Are You?' quiz at CookingToHookup.com

Useless fact of the day: I10 streches 2,460.34 miles from Los Angeles, CA to Jacksonville, FL.

Skinny Puppy fucking ruled. I'm so lucky to have seen these shows this year.

Oh, and is there a movie made in the last 15 years that Steve Buscemi is *not* in?

Ghost World is on IFC. It reminds me of Spuds for some reason.

Banks suck. My debit card got locked for fraud investigation somehow (like there are tons of random purchases or something, all I have are withdrawals from Cheers!) My roommate got a phone message but forgot to tell me so when I tried to get money when I was out drinking the atm machine barfed my card up. So I called the bank and got it taken care of, or so I thought. The next day it happened again! Only this time, I was hanging out with a women I met on myspace.com. Fucknuggets.

Just got copies of Lucio Fulci's Zombie, the Hills Have Eyes, and Roger Corman's the Little Shop of Horrors. It's gonna be a horror night!

Just got digital cable, Mel Gibson's Hamlet is on!

Sorry, no updates. I haven't been doing that much. I did get my tickets to Skinny Puppy (the two-for-one thing at House of Blues again) so time to find a date.

I don't like mondays.

Ugh.

I just beat Knights of the Old Republic. I'm such a nerd.

Muammar Gaddafi's son's name is Hannibal. I don't know why I find that funny.

Wow, Jewish settlers are abandoning the Gaza Strip. I never thought I'd see that happen.

*AND* Pinochet lost his immunity, opening the gates for that fucktard to fry.

I just read that California accounts for one fifth of the nation's auto sales.

Road Trip [revised]

I’d heard that Siouxsie was playing Hollywood soon, but somehow my brain dumped it near the bottom of conscious thought. The week before the show I saw the listing on Ticketmaster and flipped. I didn’t know if we’d be able to make it on such short notice. Good thing the show was on a Wednesday so I didn’t have to worry about calling in sick or just quitting. Siouxsie is worth more than a job. She’s about 46 years old now (not really older than my dad, actually two years younger) and I don’t know how much longer she’ll be touring. She certainly doesn’t scream and yell like she did in 1976. She billed the event “an Evening with Siouxsie”, mixing Banshees and Creatures songs in the setlist. I emailed Dani the show information and mostly gave up hope that I’d be able to make it on such short notice. She’s seen Siouxsie before, but being an Art-School-Girl-of-Doom a pack of wild capibara couldn’t keep her away from such an event. We’d rent a car Wednesday morning, get a hotel, go to the show, go to a club, sleep, and then hit LACMA on Thursday. Sounds simple, no? Well, Dani is always late, my roommate becomes a total ‘tard when facing even simple traffic, and I can’t stand to be in a fucking car. Oh, and we always get lost.

Math problem: “You want to go to a concert. The doors open at 7:30, the show starts at 8:30. You know that it’s a 5-hour drive and you have to get a hotel before the show. What time do you leave?” The answer? “An hour before we did.” Just kidding. We’d agreed I’d be picked up between 11:30 and noon, but she got there at about one. Not critical, but cutting it closer than I’d have preferred. Whatever, I was so tired and delirious that I just wanted to hit the road (and I didn’t want to stress myself out or have a panic attack or anything.) I should have started pounding beers the moment I got up, but I was in such a haze that I didn’t think about it until 12:30 or so. Still, I had time for two or three before the load-out. I put the rest in an ice chest as we started west.

I’m so glad Dani was driving. She’s not the best driver in the world, but still confidant and in control. My roommate’s driving makes me want to kill something then puke. We started on I15, a meandering diagonal that stretches from Sweetgrass, MT on the Canadian boarder down to San Diego, CA. Of course the only part of it I’ve ever seen is from Las Vegas towards the Pacific. After about an hour and a half, we exited the interstate in Baker, CA. The town is so small that I couldn’t fine census data on it. The school district has about 200 children enrolled. I’ve had classes with more people than that. I didn’t understand the need for this rest, but whatever. I was told I’d be able to have a beer or two so what the hell. Along the side of the road, we saw a man in a black suit followed by a woman in a long black dress. Goths, of course. They must have broke down on the way to the show. We made some “beached-up Goth corpse” jokes (just because it would be funny to see Goths wash ashore like whales or sea lions or something) and drove on to the Mad Greek, some insane restaurant in the middle of nothing, a stone’s throw from the world’s tallest (and most useless) thermometer.

The Mad Greek menu is a diptych; Greek food on one side, Mexican on the other. Have a Horchata with your falafel. Of course I had a Mythos with my falafel. My roommate tried a different Greek beer; I think it was called Marathon or something. I didn’t really like it. I keep reaching for my cloves, momentarily forgetting I’m over the state line. Tossing some Kraftwerk in the stereo, we speed off again (most people take this leg of the interstate at 80+.)

I15 meets I10 in San Bernardino, a city that owes its existence to being a crossroads of sorts. The major freight rail lines, two interstates, and several highways all converge on that pile of dirt and desperation. This is the outer ring in what can be considered Los Angeles’ sprawl. Of course that means it gets the table scraps after the dogs have had their share. I’m glad we can’t see much of it. This intersection means two things: first, we only have about sixty miles left and second, the real traffic is about to start. I’m amazed at how it’s changed since I that area for Santa Cruz in 1995. We could always make it to Santa Monica in under an hour. One would be lucky to make this drag in an hour today. Somewhere around West Covina we slowed to a standstill. Dani isn’t used to this kind of driving. There are a few places that gridlock in Vegas, but that’s usually only rush hour. She wouldn’t be driving in those places in Vegas, anyway; they’re all in the suburbs or on the strip. I’m starting to stress the time issue a little, but at least we know we won’t be late for the show.

From I10, we catch US-101 - eyes on the prize. We pass under downtown LA, whizzing past the murals and concert halls. I thought we’d be leaving earlier so we didn’t book a hotel room the night before. That was a mistake. I thought we’d have an hour or so to drive around and find a cool place, but whatever. We found the Day’s Inn that we’d thought about booking the night before and settled in there. Well, by “settled in” I mean frantic dash to get the fuck ready. As I was down at the car, my roommate called from the door of the room, “You have the key, right?” just as the door was closing. I’d set the key on one of the beds. It was almost 8 when we left. I worried slightly, about getting in, about parking, about not missing any of the show, but it turned out okay.

I worried about time for nothing since Siouxsie didn’t go on until rather late. I got to hang out with some cool, chatty people in the smoking section (a.k.a. out back by the dumpster.) I thought I saw Rodney Bingenheimer, but I could be wrong. I stayed inside for the beginning of the set, but a few songs in I went outside to smoke some more. Two attractive women were allured by the rather aromatic odor of my cloves and asked for one. I wound up bumming out several more, but that’s okay. They all offered me a buck each, but I only took one. I pay a bit less than they do for smokes. After the band cranked out some Creatures, I retreated back inside. I don’t listen to the Creatures much (I don’t even have any mp3’s) so I wanted to hear more Banshees songs. I was looking forward to something a little more punk. Somehow, I wound up right behind the two women I was chatting with outside. They must have thought I was stalking them. If I lived near by or was by myself, I would have tried to hang out with them after the show. I didn’t think it a good idea with my small entourage.

After the show ended, we left for a small club called Ghoul School. I didn’t know anything about it. It was in a smallish bar and only had maybe two-dozen people, most of them outside smoking. The music was more low-key than usual, all DR and no EBM. I danced some and played a game of pool (very poorly at that.) Overall it was enjoyable. We passed out quickly when we returned to the hotel.

Of course check out time was 11a.m, about 10 minutes before we woke up. I didn’t get to shower or brush my teeth, but I wasn’t out to get laid so who cares. It would have been nice to scrape a layer of crap off before starting my day, but that’s what I get for not bringing an alarm (or asking one of my companions to set their phone to alarm.) Our load out was quick enough; we headed for LACMA.

I’m amazed that my loose itinerary went so smoothly. When discussing what to do on Thursday, my companions deferred to my experience with this sprawl. We didn’t want to just window shop on Melrose or something like that. We’ve all done that enough, and besides we’d wind up spending the rent on rare records at Vinyl Fetish or Amoeba. I recommended LACMA, MOCA, the Getty, the Huntington, or even the Norton Simon in Pasadena. We agreed on LACMA, mostly due to my raving about Jean-Jacques Feuchère’s Satan and Georges de la Tour’s Magdalen with the Smoking Flame. Plus it’s in West Hollywood. It was good that we had some direction and didn’t just spin our wheels in awful traffic.

I haven’t been to this museum since 1995 or so. I went several times with my girlfriend at the time. We managed to catch a Bill Burroughs and a Pop-Art exhibit. They’ve added a lot since then. I wish I’d brought a notepad; there was so much I wanted to write down. It’s a good thing that their website has so much to look through. We took metered parking over the $5 garage. I think it cost about the same, but we would have to pay twice if we left to get something to eat. I should have stopped to get something to put in my flask, or at least pounded a few beers but I wasn’t really thinking. Plus I was exhausted from the night before, it was better to wait some before getting liquored up.

We started with the Japanese collection. There were two rooms open. We started in one room that had quite a variety of pieces. 5000-year-old pottery doesn’t do much for me I have to say. Seeing a samurai suit of armor was a treat. The woodblock prints were amazing. I don’t know much about the genre, but I can really see how this stuff affected Patrick Nagel’s work, at least the prints involving geisha. There were some other odds and ends- textiles, lacquer boxes, and the like- but not much else that caught my eye. Oh, except this little fox sculpture. He had the wickedest smile and a poofy tail. My companions like this room more than I did, I think. That’s okay since we still had hours to roam around.

We left that room into a smaller gallery filled with netsuke (buttons used to secure a small carry-all box to a kimono.) Some of my favorites: the skeletons, the “no evil” monkey, a stylized bat, the octopus, all the foxes (I didn’t realize the Japanese have such a thing for foxes,) and the caricatures of foreigners. There are hundreds of these little things on display. I can’t wait to see what they put in the other galleries.

The next building was all western art. We started on the second floor so I could see Magdalen and Satan. There are tons of antiquities on this floor. German glasses, Roman statues, Persian stuff, even a mummy! In the same room as Satan, Ian found one piece called la Liberté that Dani recognized from a book she has. Unfortunately that one isn’t on LACMA’s website yet and I can’t find a picture of it. Hidden in an alcove in front of the [by-appointment-only] photography archive, Dani found small Polaroids- Andy Warhol’s snapshots of Halston and Farrah Fawcett.

We grew hungry. We went by the restaurant to look at the menu. Bad idea, it's nothing but overpriced garbage. We’d passed a vegan restaurant at some point, but I couldn’t remember it’s exact location. We drove down Fairfax towards Sunset just looking around. I spotted a place called Eat-A-Pita that looked decent. Every other restaurant in this area is kosher, I think. Or Russian. The pita place has a good-sized patio and a walk up window to order, but no beer. Trees surround the patio, the canopy completely covering it. A water fountain full of fish sits in the center, providing quite an attraction for a group of small birds darting to and fro. We have to swat away the flies every few minutes. A school lets out and we become surrounded by young brown-skinned students. I don’t look closely enough to tell if they are Hispanic or Middle-Eastern or whatever. A few of them order sodas, the rest just make noise and annoy me. Some black girls arrive just after the first group. They’re louder and more bothersome. Fortunately, most of them leave when a bus arrives. I order falafel again. For some reason I never get tired of that stuff. I really hate it when the pita splits open and you have to eat it with a fork.

[more later]

Dude, Asia Argento is playing Courtney Love in Gus Van Sant's new film Last Days. Fucking whack.

My work advice for the day:

"Rome did not create a great empire by having meetings, they did it by killing all those who opposed them."

Looking at my Netflix queue, I realized that the next few films in line I first (and last) saw about 10 years ago. They're all subtitled as well: Babette's Feast, Belle de Jour, Il Postino, and Belle Epoque.

[I didn't write this, it's just funny]


A Day in the Life of Joe Republican

Joe gets up at 6:00 a.m. to prepare his morning coffee. He fills his pot full of good clean drinking water because some liberal fought for minimum water quality standards. He takes his daily medication with his first swallow of coffee. His medications are safe to take because some liberal fought to insure their safety and work as advertised. All but $10.00 of his medications are paid for by his employers medical plan because some liberal union member fought his/her employers for paid medical insurance, now Joe gets it too because his employer needs to offer competitive benefits to hire the best people.
Joe prepares his morning breakfast, bacon and eggs this day. Joe's bacon is safe to eat because some liberal fought for laws to regulate the meat packing industry. Joe takes his morning shower reaching for his shampoo. His bottle is properly labeled with every ingredient and the amount of its contents because some liberal fought for his right to know what he was putting on his body and how much it contained.
Joe dresses, walks outside and takes a deep breath. The air he breathes is clean because some tree hugging liberal fought for laws to stop industries from polluting our air.
Joe drives to work in one of the safest cars in the world because some liberal fought to raise safety standards and emission controls.
Joe begins his work day; he has a good job with good pay, medical benefits, retirement, paid holidays and vacation because some liberal union members fought and died for these working standards. Joe's employer pays these standards because Joe's employer doesn't want his employees to call the union. If Joe is hurt on the job or becomes unemployed he'll get a worker compensation or unemployment check because some liberal didn't think he should lose his home because of his temporary misfortune.
Its noon time, Joe needs to make a Bank Deposit so he can pay some bills. Joe's deposit is federally insured by the FSLIC up to $100,000 because some liberal wanted to protect Joe's money from greedy, unscrupulous bankers like the ones who ruined the banking system before the depression.
Joe needs to pay his Fannie Mae underwritten Mortgage and his below market federal student loan because some liberal decided that Joe and the government would be better off if he was educated and earned more money over his life-time.
Joe is home from work. He plans to visit his father this evening at his farm home in the country. He arrives at his boyhood home. He was the third generation to live in the house financed by Farmers Home Administration because bankers didn't want to make rural loans. The house didn't have electricity until some liberal stuck his nose where it didn't belong and demanded rural electrification. (Those rural Republican's might still be sitting in the dark!)
He is happy to see his dad who is now retired. His dad lives on Social Security and his union pension because some liberal made sure he could take care of himself so Joe wouldn't have to. After his visit with dad he gets back in his car for the ride home.
He turns on a radio talk show, the host keeps saying that liberals are bad and conservatives are good. (He doesn't tell Joe that Republicans have fought against every protection and benefit Joe enjoys throughout his day.)
Joe agrees, "We don't need those big government liberals ruining our lives; after all, I'm a self made man who believes everyone should take care of themselves, just like I have."
--- From the people who brought you the the eight-hour day, the five-day work week, vacation time, and much more. Don't take any of it for granted.

I'm so tired. A friend of mine got her own apartment after a few months and my roommate and I went over to help break the place in. There were also a few other women around. We helped unpack a little, had some pizza, and then drank ourselves into oblivion. I got up at about noon and walked home to take a quick shower and bus to work. The Flamingo bus was late as fuck (fucktards) so I wound up being late for work. Oh well. I think I might go back over to her place tonight and see what's up. Oh, and she doesn't have a computer or a TV! Imagine me going that prehistoric.

FOUND Magazine

FOUND Magazine

Quick poll: Bewitched or I Dream of Jeannie?

I can't believe I've spent almost 20 hours playing Knights of the Old Republic. My friends keep laughing at me since I'm nowhere near being a gamer geek. Oh well.

Johnny Ramone just passed away. We so recently lost his brothers Joey and DeeDee. I feel sad even though these men are older than my father.

Now in news of the odd, I share my birthday with David Faustino (well he was born a year before me but still on March 3rd.)

Every now and then a really good pool player comes into Cheers. Last night there was a guy who apparently learned how to hustle from Fast Eddy Felson, a guy that is famous enough to have two films made about him (the Hustler and the Color of Money.) The guy I was hanging out with is named Vinnie, oddly enough one of the characters in the Color of Money is named Vincent.

Last night, I hung out with someone I haven't seen in two years. It was very odd.

Hell, out of all the great upcoming shows I totally blanked on Siousxie in LA next week. I hope we make that.

Got the time off for the Skinny Puppy and Cramps shows, plus Halloween! This is such a great year for concerts.

Various news agencies are reporting that a 4km mushroom cloud was seen near the Yongjori missile base in North Korea. The first thing on my mind was that one of the flare-ups had finally started. Russia and the US always had too much to lose to start a nuclear war, but the smaller flash points like Korea and Kashmir were always considered dangerous enough to draw those superpowers into face-to-face conflict. We’d never go at it on our own, but if we were drug into protecting an ally then we couldn’t back down (and the same goes for Russia.) Adding India and Pakistan’s nuclear capabilities is frightening enough, but for the Koreans to possess such technology would make life very uncomfortable for this nation (and I don’t even want to consider how nervous Japan, China, and Russia would get.) Colin Powell stated on ABC’s “This Week” that there was “no indication that this was a nuclear event of any kind. Exactly what it was, we’re not sure.” If it were nuclear, then Japan would already be screaming. They’re rather twitchy about air quality there and monitor the winds coming from Asia onto their fragile island. We’re safe for now, but I hope North Korea (and the South, for that matter) just chills the fuck out. India and Pakistan are at the peace table; it’ll take them a generation to come to some terms, but at least they’re talking and not nuking each other. The Koreans could learn a lesson.

I know, I'm posting too much but one news story caught my eye. Richard Butler died. Of course not the Richard Butler I know and love (the singer for the Psychedelic Furs) but some neo-Nazi POS. Let’s hear it for common names.

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."
-- Oscar Wilde

Talking to a friend last night, she was surprised to hear how many schools I've attended. I said 13 schools in 12 years but I miscounted. From first to twelfth grade, I attended ten schools. The other three schools were colleges, making 13 schools in total. I have no idea about kindergarten or preschool; I don’t remember it so I guess it didn’t happen.

Yesterday I had about 4 beers and 6 cloves from about 6pm to 1am. I was a little shaky, but I managed to distract myself by playing Knights of the Old Republic, this silly Star Wars computer game. Those games are so involving, you almost forget about everything else and smoking requires a hand that should be on the keyboard.

My roommate picked up some frames for various art prints he has laying around, but one didn't fit. He asked if I have any use for it. I put a copy of Munch's Puberty in it. It goes well in the hall.

It was raining. Of course it only rained long enough to make me late for work, then stopped. Maybe it will start again before I go home.

The Ministry show was cool. My Life With the Thrill Kill Kilt was kinda boring, but whatever. I just went with a friend (the promoter for the one goth club left in town.) She picked me up so I wouldn't have to take the Strip bus down to the House of Blues. I've done that plenty of times, but it's still kindof a pain. There weren't any people waiting in line, but it got crowded as the show went on. I've seen more shows this year than just about any other year, I think.

A friend got me a rubber duckie dressed like Dracula! It's the coolest thing ever.

I'm so bored I'm reading about first-order Peano axioms.

Las Vegas Indymedia Center

Las Vegas Indymedia Center

One of the local political candidates has signs around town that proclaim "Protect Marriage, Borders, Social Security". I wonder if he realizes how those things don’t go together. Tight borders and a rigid definition of marriage are conservative ideas; Social Security (beyond being an unsustainable pyramid scheme) is pure socialism. At least try for some sort of consistency, people!

How many people jump off the Golden Gate Bridge every year? More than 1,000 people have jumped to their death from that bridge since it opened. What is it about San Francisco?

Some of the news reports of the storm in Florida are funny. Is it really a good idea to send a bunch of reporters into a fucking hurricane? It’s amusing to watch them getting blown around by 100mph winds, but I don’t think it’s all that smart to have them out there.

Leave it to the Russians. Just when you thought school violence couldn’t get any worse, a couple hundred kids got blown away after a 3-day standoff with some “terrorists”. Makes those pussies at Columbine look like they were shooting Nerf guns.

"i think your style is fighting with comprehension here"

Sianews/Friends of Liberty - FEMA CONCENTRATION CAMPS: Locations and Executive Orders

Sianews/Friends of Liberty - FEMA CONCENTRATION CAMPS: Locations and Executive Orders

This is just scary.

We watched all six episodes of Tales of the City last night. It's amazing how many people really love that series (both the books and the mini-series.)

I've been listening to too much English Beat. I should pick up some british ska records.

Part One.

I’m asking her to come visit me for a few days. I was just there; in the City (San Francisco for the not as familiar with California’s unique dialect,) just to hang out and have some fun. I wound up doing much more; I was so confused most of that journey, just arriving from the Coachella festival and exhausted from the desert heat. She agrees to come down. Some of our college friends living in the City (much stronger and luckier people than Your Friend and Humble Narrator) want to come with her, which means she’ll most likely drive rather than fly. Of course I’d rather have Alice’s attention all to myself, but I haven’t seen our other friends for several years. Our hopes get too high and we don’t have all the company we’d expected. At least Alice is bringing Nikki with her. Nikki had just moved away from the City towards California’s Central Valley (somewhere near Sacramento) for family reasons, but she still remains the closest of friends. The ladies leave Sacramento at roughly 6:30 Monday evening; I’m still at work. I have the next five days off, so we have plenty of time. They arrive at roughly four in the morning.

The two came to visit me three years ago, just after Spuds and I broke up. We had a nice apartment; two bedrooms, washer and dryer, and a massive roman tub. She left most of the furniture but much of the décor left with her. At its peak, the apartment looked like a 12-year-old girl ransacked a few thrift stores and blew a few hundred bucks on after-Halloween sales. I carried much of what was left with me when I moved, but it wasn’t on display when Alice came to visit me by herself later. All my posters and ephemera were packed away and after my breakup and move I didn’t have the energy to make my modest apartment into a home. I had no one to impress and Alice was visiting to help me recover during a bad time. When I moved a second time (in with a friend) the posters and chatchkes came to life out of their boxes. Something about living with someone else gave me the energy and desire to lay out all my votive candles, Pez heads, and Halloween pumpkin lights. I still have more lights in boxes in my bedroom, but they’ll come out whenever I need to use my bedroom for anything other that someplace to pass out in.

The girls have a few plans for Vegas; hitting a casino, getting a lap dance, etc., so we have a loose itinerary. I would have liked to hit Lake Mead or Hoover Dam, but whatever. Our first goal was getting unpacked and ready for bed. Nikki brought an air mattress (she’d acquired many things she’d never buy herself when her mother passed away recently) but forgot the pump so she was relegated to the couch. Alice and I had my rather poor mattress in my unadorned (read: slobby) bedroom. Sleeping can be difficult in this loud environment. My poor, uneducated neighbors blast music from their cars as they drive into the parking lot and the garbage collectors have insanely loud equipment. Being on the ground floor doesn’t help any. We won’t sleep much anyway.

For some reason my visitors like to eat breakfast. My roommate ate all the hummus and pita so we opt to go to Einstein’s a few blocks away. They want bagels and espresso. Fortunately I live just near UNLV so we can walk to just about anything. In this harsh environment, it’s easier to drive anywhere, even just a block away, but the girls are used to the car-unfriendly environment of the City so we walk it anyway. It becomes daily ritual. I don't think I've eaten breakfast that many times in years. I shied away from the coffee and just had a bagel and either juice or a soda.

We don’t do much during their visit, only a few activities outside of hanging out in my apartment. Of course I’d rather just sit, drink, and watch WWII documentaries but my guests were somewhat restless.

We hit Cheers. It's only a few blocks away and I like dive bars. I think the girls had some fun, but I know how bad the place probably smells to a non-smoker. Plus all the men fawning over Nikki probably annoyed the girls at some point.

At some point, we make our way to Freemont Street with my roommate. The driving here is bad, the worst in Las Vegas. You actually have to pay for parking in some parts. It’s just as crowded as the Strip is, which is something I was trying to avoid. We make our way past Binion’s and the 4 Queens to Fitzgerald’s. The rainbow signage [with its queer overtones] amuses my guests. They play some jingoist segment on the overhead screen; something about the USAF saving the world from alien invaders. So bad it’s not even campy. Alice places $5 bets on number 23. I don’t think I’ve really explained the significance of the number, but she’s seen me hit on it so she forgoes her normal 11, 7, and 13. Of course she doesn’t hit. She becomes cranky as she grows hungry. I don’t understand, I can go two days without eating before the dizziness reminds me to force something down. We look for something near, but all the buffets and fast food places are closed. She can’t decide what she wants to eat so things are getting difficult. We wind up at a greasy spoon a few blocks from my apartment.

More later.

I think I've been to Cheers every night this week. At least there's a new jukebox to keep us company.

Just got my tickets for the Ministry/TKK show. Two for one on the House of Blues website! Now I just need to find a date...

My little vacation is over and my friends have returned to California. I'll tell you a little bit about it later.

Jesus, someone stole "the Scream" by Edvard Munch again. Well, it's a different copy (he made several) but still, twice in ten years?!?

I love the rain. I wish I didn't have to work today so I could go out and play.

Another pic

I went shopping a few days ago. I got a pair of Dickies, a computer chair, some socks, and some undies. I’ve been using a fold-up auditorium-style chair forever. I can’t remember the last time I bought a new pair of pants. New as in new, not from a thrift store or surplus store. I don’t know what the life expectancy of underwear is, but I think 4 years might be it. Next, I’ll work on getting a new bed or futon. I’ll actually have a full apartment then. Maybe I’ll be close to human.

A pic of me. 84k.

Ministry and My Life With the Thrill Kill Kult, September 7 at the House of Blues. Be there or be square.

I just found out a long-time coworker died.

Poop. The Pixies cancelled their Vegas show and REM isn't coming around this tour.

Fay Wray just passed away. Have you seen her in anything other than King Kong?

I just saw Dinah Cancer. And you didn't.

Stuck on the corner of Pecos and Flamingo, I ask a man sharing the bench with me for the time. He obliges and then asks, "Do you have any spiritual thoughts?" I quickly and firmly said "No". You think he'd get the hint that not only do I know more about his religion than he does but I want nothing else to do with it. Fucking Evangelicals haven’t even read the books that are supposed to drive their faith. “Do you believe that Jesus died on the cross for our sins?” Wow, this guy really doesn’t get it. “I don’t believe that there is sufficient non-biblical references to show that this Jesus ever lived.” “You have to prove that!” Ha! I have to prove a negative, whatever. Burdon of proof, dipshit, lays on you. Oh, and omniscience, omnipresence, and omnibenevolence are mutually exclusive. “You have to let Jesus into your heart!” Whatever the hell that means. I’d rather let a tapeworm into my gut.

Poop.

Wow, a real life Ilsa, She Wolf of the SS. Look up Lynndie England on Google News

Walking home from work sucks. I got stuck late and missed the 11:33 Pecos bus. The next one isn't until 12:33. I chose to walk home. It's about 6 miles, but it would take just as long to walk as to wait for the next bus. Pecos is different from the streets you might know. It's too wide for the traffic. In some parts, the sidewalks seem to have been put for decoration rather than for the convenience of pedestrians. One half-mile stretch nearest my work doesn’t have a sidewalk at all. Being on street level dramatically changes one’s perspective of a city. I’m inundated; lost dog and missing children posters taped to utility poles cry out at me. One wonders if they were driven mad by the recent blasts of celebratory fireworks or just from the non-stop desert kiln-like heat. Abandoned yard sale signs litter the road’s shoulder; their companions broken beer bottles and cigarette butts. How much garbage is out here, I wonder. There must be just tons of cigarette butts alone. Do they eventually make their way to Lake Mead or just fade into the desert? I think their half-life is something like 10,000 years. They’ll keep those scary things in the test range company. Somewhere near Tropicana Blvd it starts looking like a real street. The traffic picks up; there are stores, and even an independent theater (an orphan in Las Vegas.) I see a car going my direction in the far lane. It’s lights flicker off then the car dies. A man approaches and tries to help. I’m still a half-mile away. The lights keep turning off and on; I think that they will be hit. They are still in the road when I make it closer so I help push the car across the street. I leave before checking if the driver is all right. There is a pay phone right there and two other men to help. I continue down the street. I’ve only traveled two miles. It’s at least another half hour until the next bus. It’s not worth the wait. I need a battery for my watch. Well, one of my three watches. I could have made the Harmon bus if I’d waited at Pecos. It passed me just before Eastern. Just after Eastern, one of the men who was pushing the car with me passed by in his car. I’d assumed he was a pedestrian that was waiting for the Tropicana bus. He offered to give me a ride, saving me the last mile or so. I got in just before one A.M. exhausted. There was some scotch on the counter and beer in the refrigerator so I managed to forget my problems for one more night.

Die Like a Dog : sf-imc

Die Like a Dog : sf-imc

Stories like this fuck me up. My mother is homeless. Last time I heard from her (on my birthday back in March) she was squatting on some railroad land.

Peace Bakersfield and The United Farm Workers rally at Cheney/ Ashburn fundraiser : SF Bay Area Indymedia

Peace Bakersfield and The United Farm Workers rally at Cheney/ Ashburn fundraiser : SF Bay Area Indymedia

It's funny. Bakersfield doesn't have many protests. It takes a union to get anyone out in the streets.

My schedule is changing. I hate that, it's like moving a cat's food bowl.

We made dinner tonight. I don't think she was feeling so well. She called just after I got home, my roommate wasn't around. She said he'd just left her place; he said he'd left something on the stove here. There was an dirty pan, but the heat was off. There was also a casserole dish she'd brought over. She sounded sad. I didn't know what to say. She offered to come over if I was going to cook a recipe I'd found the previous night; a baked mushroom dish (the reason for the casserole dish. Her mother moved to California a while ago and left her with tons of kitchen stuff.) I had planned on it but I was tired and had almost forgotten. I agreed since it might put her in a better mood and I haven't eaten much this week. He made it back here just after, then walked back to retrieve her after I said she wanted to eat. Living a block away can be nice. The dish was supposed to have mushrooms, butter, parsley, bell pepper, onion, and spices. I substituted cilantro for the parsley, green onion for the white onion (a mistake I think), and vegan butter-type stuff for the real kind. In a feeble attempt to make a real dinner I made some rice and heated up canned corn. Very filling and tasty, even if canned corn isn't as good as a real side dish. Rice is always welcome. There was more than enough for the three of us. Imagine me with leftovers! There's enough for five there. I feel so domestic. I wish I'd had some wine to go with it. Newcastle had to make due. I've found that I like to cook; I like to eat. With my ersatz family these few times we cook at home bring us closer together. Here's to many more.

I have Iggy Pop's "Candy" stuck in my head.

Das Glück ist nicht immer lustig

Last night we watched Angst essen Seele auf AKA Ali: Fear Eats the Soul.  It's directed by this German named Reiner Fassbinder.  Complete nutbag, but a compelling director.  He doesn't want to fight the revolution for you, only present the compelling reasons to revolt.  In Fear Eats the Soul, he presents the difficulty of an interracial marriage between an older German woman and a young Moroccan.  [Of course the man who was playing the Moroccan was Fassbinder's lover.]  In most films, this would either end with one of them dying or else the people around them learning to accept them.  Fassbinder, not wanting to give you the catharsis of a fight won or lost only shows the struggle and won't pander to our desire to show how the fight is resolved.  If he shows the resolution then you won't want to fight yourself.  I guess.  What an artfag.

"Acts of creation are ordinarily reserved for gods and poets, but humbler folk may circumvent this restriction if they know how. To plant a pine, for example, one need be neither god nor poet; one need only own a good shovel. By virtue of this curious loophole in the rules, any clodhopper may say: Let there be a tree--and there will be one." - Aldo Leopold.

“House of Fun” by Madness. 

Walking to Cheers; left one block, right, two blocks forward.  Just on the left, behind the 7-11.  Two A.M.?  It’s difficult to tell in Las Vegas.  “If you serve, I’ll be on my way.”  The bars never close; the ambient heat presses down on you heavier than a Sumo wrestler.  I just got off the phone with a girlfriend in San Francisco.  We’re worse than Freda Kahlo and Diego Rivera; nothing but boozing and whoring.  She’s sprung on some rocker and can’t stop talking about him.  Born in Bakersfield, about my age, in a cow-punk band, and drives dead people around for a living.  Sounds hot to me.  She can’t stop talking about him, but I still listen anyway.  I’m jealous.  I should be living in San Francisco and dating hot punk boys.  I should be able to pick up random tattooed and pierced chicks on Craigslist.  Instead, I’m listening to dramas from a million miles away and contemplating stumbling over to the local dive for some brew. The Newcastle there is cheap as hell at night and the bartenders have a generous pour.  I usually know at least 6 people by name and more by face every time I walk in.  “Where everybody knows your name” I guess.

“Party Girl” by U2

A Latina I know from the Goth club is inside.  She’s been all over the world in the past year.  At least to Mexico and the Far East; far enough for me to say “all over the world.”  A slightly round face, palest olive skin, and jet-black hair frame the brightest smile.  She just put two deep green streaks in her hair; on each side of her face.  She comments that it’s the same color as her apron at work.  She’s a barista at the Evil Café ©.  I guess she only wants a part time gig and at $7 and hour plus tips she’s making enough to pay the rent.  I buy her a beer since I think the rent is about all she can pay.  We go outside to see her scooter.  It’s smaller than the ones I’ve owned.  She’s spray-painted it metallic silver.  The rear brake is on the handlebar instead of the floorboard like most scooters I’ve seen.

“Go Your Own Way” by Fleetwood Mac.

 People fade in and out as the night goes on.  Three becomes four becomes dawn.  I catch a ride from this chick with a Mohawk and lots of facial piercings.  I almost want to go home with her, but I need more sleep than I’ll be getting before I have to leave for work.  I fall asleep quickly, thankfully. 

Shit, I accidentally set my alarm clock an hour ahead.  So now I’m at work an hour early and I just want to curl up and die.

Sherman Austin was just released from prison into a halfway house.  He was arrested for thought crimes.  He spent a year in federal prison.  The charge?  A teen posted bomb making information on Austin's web site.  Sherman didn't write it, approve it, or anything like that.  It was just in a comments section of his web site.  Feh.

Never make the mistake of calling an angry latina an angry chicana.

Bobby Fischer is a pisces.

Christ, people are dropping like lemmings!

I'm actually *playing* a wrechord I paid $100 for. It's a crime.

We went out to the pool today; roommate and his girlfriend wanted to hang out for a bit. We took some pinot noir for her and I; roommate took a Guinness. The hot tub wasn't heated, so we spent most of the time swimming in the main pool. She wore a two piece bathing suit. I'm accustomed to the women I’m closest to wearing one piece suits. Spuds even wore a t-shirt over her one piece. It takes some confidence to show off one’s belly. I wore some faded denim shorts and took my shirt off. Our compatriot left his grey wife beater on over long cargo shorts. I’m not sure what he’s afraid of; we don’t judge each other here; well at least we won’t admit to it. It made me miss naked hot tub time in Santa Cruz in 1995. Godzilla bootlegs on the big screen drinking champagne with strawberries, laying back in the hot tub with 5 friends talking about everyone's body art. After we'd tired of the pool, we sat near the edge and read. I had Love in the Time of Cholera; she had One Hundred Years of Solitude. Almost a bus stop moment; two people realize that they're reading (college level) books by the same author. Ian was reading something like looked like those awful teenage (and arm chair soldier) spy novels. On closer inspection it was something by Philip K. Dick, so it was okay. Just poor cover design. I've never read by the pool before. I so rarely even consider going outside unless it's to go someplace else. I can't even remember the last time I went swimming. I think it was when 3 friends came to visit from Santa Cruz in 2002 or thereabouts. After we came inside, I really wanted to hear Perfect Day by Lou Reed but I couldn't find the CD; I settled on the Pixies. It rounds things off nicely. I think it might be time for some Italian splatter horror soon.

25 foot Blue Click for larger photo

Inflatable gorillas.

A federal appeals court has rejected Nevada’s plea to block the federal government’s plans to turn Yucca Mountain into a nuclear waste dump. I’m ambivalent about this. Of course I don’t want a metric fuckload of the most dangerous shit in the universe within pissing distance of my favorite bars, but where the hell else would they stow this shit? The NIMBY syndrome is bullshit. If not in our backyard, then where? Shoot it off into the sun? Of course I’m always in favor of sending it to Utah. Nothing worth saving there.

Just finished watching Trois couleurs: Rouge I haven't seen it in 10 years. It's such a beautiful film. I didn't remember anything about it, but once it started memories started flooding in. I remember the woman I was living with at the time; the fun we had watching this on the television in our bedroom. We only had a television in the bedroom and a stereo in the livingroom. We didn't have a computer. Fond memories.

SmartKlamp: the fine art of male circumcision.

SmartKlamp: the fine art of male circumcision.

Don't look at this at work.

Wednesday afternoon and I'm bored shitless.

"Rydhsys rag Kernow lemmyn"

Happy X-Day.

The History Channel is playing a program about sex in the 20th century. I find it so difficult to understand how people can't be forward and honest about their bodies and desires. Maybe I was just brought up strange.

Grr, Blogger is making me mad.

I really, really, really need a toothpick.

Schedule changes suck. I feel like somebody moved my food bowl.

"You be me for awhile, and I'll be you"

¿cuánto para tu hermana?

Somedays you just want to make yourself puke so you'll get sent home from work.

"Sooner or later, your legs give way, you hit the ground"

Okay, so Fahrenheit 9/11. Moore didn't grandstand as much as he usually does. That bit with Heston in his last film just bothers me. This time around he isn't nearly as confrontational, then again he doesn't have nearly as many interviews so there isn't as much of a chance to be. The film didn’t present any information that I’m not at least casually familiar with, so it wasn’t an educational experience, more of a propaganda rally. Still, it’s amusing. 8/10.

Fahrenheit 9/11 opens today. I'm hoping to make it to a later showing (already got permission to leave work early) and see this. Liberals represent. Or something.

Went to the new goth club last night. I greased my hair down with Royal Crown for the first time in a long time. This stuff is icky feeling but I got a few compliments.

Hit my first royal flush last night. Of course I was only playing nickels. Still $200 is $200.

Hell. The trial of three men accused of murdering Gwen Araujo has ended in a mistrial. The jurors can’t agree. The three are going down for at least manslaughter but they’re facing first degree with a hate crime enhancement. Justice (and the jury system) is too fickle.

The Supreme Court just ruled that you can be arrested for not providing your name to the police. Fuck that shit. Privacy has no meaning in the US.

I am so bored with everything. Maybe I should dye my hair again or something.

A vocational school in Thailand built a separate restroom for 15 transvestite students. It’s wonderful that the school is concerned about the safety of these students, but it shouldn’t have to. Segregation has always proved to be fucked up. Why is it the only places the genders share a restroom are at home and in dorms?

For some reason I think that Kate Bush's song "Running Up That Hill" is about her wanting her partner to give her a climax but it doesn't happen.

Slept 10 hours last night. I should do that more often.

Went over to a friend's house for his birthday. He just wanted to get drunk and watch movies, which is always fun. I wound up giving him my Invader Zim DVD. I'm sure I'll get another one soon.

So the Supreme Court threw out the challenge to the Pledge of Allegiance on a technicality. It turns out that the lawyer that brought the challenge is her father but doesn’t have full custody so can’t represent her. Lame.

So I got a new alarm clock. It was $5 at WalMart. For $15 I could have gotten one that set itself. I was tempted but just went for the cheapest one.

On another note, I sit next to the spanish speakers at work. Today I wore a Zapata shirt that I got on Olvera St in LA a few years ago. With the way I eat (mostly mexican) and drink (a lot), I've been dubbed an honorary mexican.

Finally got the Invader Zim DVD. Watched it with some friends last night. I can't wait to watch the commentary.

CSPAN rules. Right now they have live, unedited footage of Ray-gun's coffin, just sitting there in a room. Rock on.

I don't like to talk about work here, of course. This is a journal of the mundane thoughts. My desk is in the spanish-speaking section; we must have bilingual speakers with such a large market. One of the native mexicans (we have all sorts of hispanics there) has taken to calling me "Jimmy". He at least pronounces the hard j right. It's not "hee-may" but "gee-mee". I want to correct him and tell him to call me "hi-may" like the spanish speakers might, but instead I go through an identity crisis. "Jim", "Jimmy", "James", "Jen", "Jenny", "Jennifer".

Remember boys and girls, only 146 days until Halloween!

It's too fucking hot. The Pecos bus was a half hour late (which means one just didn't show up) so I got to bake on the concrete huffing car exhaust for a little bit. So much fun.

The king is dead.
Long live the king.

(Ronald Ray-gun just kicked it.)

I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but in addition to all the nazi porn, MASH, and other war shit I watch on TV, sometimes I tune into less morbid shows. Right now I'm watching a cooking show featuring Dweezil Zappa and Lisa Loeb. They're married. They have a cooking show. I would have guessed that they were both vegan, but Lisa is a vegetarian and Dweezil is an omnivore. I guess I should have known about Dweezil since his dad was such a freak he's considered freaky by the freaks, but I thought "art fag brought up in LA...." Just me hoping. The snacks they had at the theater thing I went to in SF were almost all meat with some cheese things. My first time in that kind of environment; the same type of place Dweezil probably grew up. I can still smell the crab cakes. Ick. This TV show is kinda cool, still. Two big-name but small-money artists doing an under-the-radar side project. They seem very happy together.

Internet Archive: Prelinger Archives

Internet Archive: Prelinger Archives

Wow. Just wow.

My fucking alarm clock is broke. I must have stepped on it or something; the front display is showing garbage and the radio won't turn off. The thing must be 10 years old. Sigh, I didn't want to buy anything like that right now. Then again, when does one ever want to buy an alarm clock?

I found this 3' long Sponge Bob Square Pants doll in the dumpster. It's no wonder they threw this thing away; it's gotta scare the fuck out of any kid anywhere.

Oh, forgot to mention that I'm now blonde.

Went out to Lake Mead to see the sunrise again. Same story as last time except there were all these damn bugs flying in my face for hours. I think I inhaled one. There goes the vegetarian diet. My companion took her shirt off for a while, ignoring the wasteoids sharing the beach with us. They were far away enough to not see her, even under the light of the full moon. I'm not sure if being so jaded (or whatever) that I can sit next to a semi-nude friend so comfortably is a good thing or not. I mean boobies rule, but just seeing a pair isn't going to cause me any distress. Maybe it's a good thing.

Wow. I just woke up. It's 5pm. I don't remember what time I left the bar or even walking home. Oh yeah.

I can already tell today is going to suck.

Last night I went to a bar. It's nice to get out for a beer and hang out with a few people you know. Just before I left, this guy with a scab on his forehead was wandering around with a crack pipe asking people if they knew who's it was. I probably should have told the bartender, but it was past my bedtime so I just went home.

The fucking vending machine is out of Pepsi. Fucktards.

How to get a news story ignored...
Put it out the Friday before a holiday.

Former NFL star Pat Tillman, who quit playing ball to join the military, was killed by friendly fire. Oops.

Back on the beating a dead horse category...

Two Watergate lawyers died last Saturday. Two men whose names are not familiar to me but apparently had large roles in the investigations. Sam Dash and Archibald Cox. It’s been a long time since I’ve read All the President’s Men, which is where most of what I know about the scandal comes from. I wonder if the Elder Ones realize exactly how irrelevant Watergate is to anyone born after 1970 or so.

tor·por (tôrpr) n.
1. A state of mental or physical inactivity or insensibility.
2. Lethargy; apathy. See Synonyms at lethargy.
3. The dormant, inactive state of a hibernating or estivating animal.

Went to Club Monaco with my roommate last night. That place is out of this world. Paintings of Stevie Nicks and other such kitsch line the walls; a lounge act belting out moldy oldies on the dance floor. Scary. It was Friday night and almost no one was there. We need to invade this place.

When working on a 4 year old pc running Windows 95, never ever ever remove the drivers for ANYTHING unless you have the disk containing those drivers in the a drive.

Life's not fair. I should be living in San Francisco. I'd even settle for a cold water 5th floor walkup in the Tenderloin.

Damn I am so fucking tired. I went to Cheers last night for a few beers. I got home early enough for 8 hours' sleep, I don't know why I'm exhausted.

Lugging home groceries sucks ass. I wish I planned far enough in advance to get the stuff delivered more often.

Went to Lake Mead this morning. It's only about a half hour drive. I don't get out much so it was a refreshing change of pace. It was just me and one friend; I brought the CDs and some beer. We just talked and watched the sun come up then came home. I should do that more often.

Wow, got 3 loads of laundry done and hung up, and two more in the washer. I feel good about myself, I don't usually have that kind of energy.

Grr, there's a kitty making really pathetic meows outside my window. I'm not sure if she needs food or if she's in heat. I want to help, but that's a big can of worms right there.

Damn, there are way too many summer festivals. Lollapalooza in Ventura is going to have the Pixies, Sonic Youth, and the Flaming Lips. After all the fun of Coachella, I think I’m going to sit this one out.

Watching the Breakfast Club. I thought it would be bad for the depressive angst I've had the past few days, but it's actually cheering me up.

What the hell is wrong with me? Lack of B12? Alcohol-soaked brain? Malnutrition? Generalized anxiety? Depression? Gender dysphoria? Just a normal reaction to being in a fucked up world? I don’t know, but I’m miserable and I want it to stop. Then again, I’ve always been rather miserable so why do I think I can stop it? With my luck I’d wind up forced into inpatient hell for two weeks if I went in to a doctor. Bleh, “I’m tense and nervous and I can’t relax.”

I think it's retarded, people are auctioning Gmail accounts while they're still beta. People try to make a buck off anything.

Smiles of a Summer Night was on last night. It's a wonderful film that I first saw in Riverside about 10 years ago. Just after it ended, I put on some Wild Police Chases show. I think I lost 30 IQ points in about 2 minutes.

Alright, who's idea was it to put Will Smith in the film version of I, Robot?!? That's some jacked up shit right there.

In other news, Crown Prince Felipe recently married a woman who is not only a commoner, but also a divorcee. Letizia Ortiz will most likely become queen of Spain someday, breaking a bloodline that has to go back centuries. Good riddance and god save the queen.

Wow, Fahrenheit 911 won the Palme d'Or at Cannes. I can't wait for some domestic showings.

I spend way too much time on Friendster, Tribe.Net, Orkut, MySpace, and the rest. It's no wonder I don't have many friends, I spend too much time looking at people's pictures and not enough time actually talking to them.

Today is not my day. First off, I woke up due to a piece of shit blasting new country music from his car right outside my window and then my Dali print ("Dream Caused by The Flight of a Bumble Bee Around a Pomegranate One Second Before Waking Up") decided to take a nose dive off the wall and the frame bent. Grr.

Okay, San Francisco.

“Monkey’s Gone to Heaven”

I left off getting dropped off Monday morning and Ian leaving to return the rental car. I just ran for my bedroom and passed out. I was flying out on Wednesday and wanted to be tanned, rested, and ready so to speak, San Francisco, although fun, can be exhausting; especially with who I was going to be with. I rested on Monday and did some laundry on Tuesday. Something about having clean underwear and socks when your pants come off is very important when getting laid, and given the results of our last visit getting laid was a distinct possibility; in fact I was quite looking forward to it. Plus Mel gives some damn good head. My flight out wasn’t too early, but I still woke up earlier than I needed to. My sleep schedule is still fucked after this vacation; I think Coachella was the main cause. Sleeping in a car sucks ass. I walked up to Maryland Parkway and stopped in at Cheers for a beer on the way out. The tall Newcastles are like twice as much during the day! Fascist pigs. Still, I don’t like flying so I tend to get hammered before leaving town. Plus I get bored easily and find that drinking solves that. I had one beer and caught route 109 to the airport. Getting to McCarran Airport is a breeze, there are two different busses going over there and a cab would be about $10. I got in a few hours early, checked my bags and headed for the bar, Cheers again. Strange that there’s a Cheers not in an airport and one in. I think before moving to Vegas I only knew of Cheers in airports. My previous flights, I only had carry on luggage, but I wanted to bring two pairs of shoes and enough clothing to not be a slob. I used the luggage I bought before leaving for Toronto. The three or four times I’ve flown out, I’ve talked to some strange people sitting at this bar. This time it was a couple about my age from Arizona and then some old fat guy. I had a few beers here and headed for the plane. I only had my satchel with me, so boarding was easy. I think I’ll have to remember to just check my gear so I can relax more when I travel. [“Neon on my naked skin / Passing silhouettes of strange illuminated mannequins / Shall I stay here at the zoo / Or shall I go and change my point of view for other ugly scenes.”] The flight from LAS to SFO is short, usually just over an hour. Enough time for a beer and a whiskey. I’d hate to be stuck on a long ass flight and get drunk and not be able to smoke. It was like that going to Toronto. I can handle it, though. I had my friend’s cell phone number, she was supposed to meet me at the airport. She didn’t want to drive there and since BART has expanded all the way down I wasn’t worried. I just had to track her down. It’s a good thing she had her phone with her, we just missed each other as I walked out the gate. She’d been running late so she wound up driving anyway. It was good to see her; it’d been a year and a half since she came down to visit me in Vegas. The arid climate proved too much for her and this time she wanted me to come to her. Fair enough. She spent so much time slathering on lotion and petroleum jelly her first visit I think she might crack in half if she comes again. We make it out to her car, the “turbo tomato” as she calls it. An older Volvo that has faded into 5 different shades of red. Thing still runs okay, so whatever. Beats hoofing it everywhere. I started kissing her as we approached, but she became embarrassed. [“I had no illusions / That I'd ever find a glimpse of summer's heat waves in your eyes.”] I was surprised, I didn’t think that was possible. We headed back to her place, a quaint two bedroom built over its garage in the outer Sunset district, somewhere around the Zoo and the preternatural waters of the Pacific. I don’t mind the drive, even if being in the car for so long with Ian driving almost put me out of my fucking mind. She knows how to drive well. Even an old manual transmission tank like this is no trouble for her to handle. She blasts some 80s compilation that she made, skipping the Madonna and other things I find grating. She thinks it odd I like the Bangles but not Madonna. The house must be worth a half-million; her grandparents abandoned it when they fled for convalescence in an assisted-living facility. Her grandfather has since passed away and her and her sister live rent free in the City. She says she’s not rich, but I don’t buy it. Her family might be cash poor, but they’re sitting on more than I’ll ever see in my life. Two houses, cars, and some nice electronics. The downside is that she actually has to talk to her family, which I couldn’t handle. Well maybe for a pad like this I’d make an exception. We have to be quiet during the night since her sister is easily wakened; spoiled by living in calm houses instead of having neighbors wake her with music so loud that it knocks pictures off your walls. Not rich, my ass. Our first night, we don’t do much, just head out for a few to get some food and hit up some bars. We went to the Pancho Villa Taqueria somewhere in the Mission (I think.) My food tastes are extremely predictable so a taqueria is always a good bet. Plus the Mission-style places here have such huge, cheap burritos. The place is packed; almost no seats. She sits as soon as a table comes up and I continue to wait in the line that stretches the length of the restaurant. There’s a large food line (like when I worked at Taco Bell) behind glass along the right hand side, with a half dozen wets taking people’s orders. It moves quickly enough. I could have eaten a whole burrito, I think, but we share one and drink Negro Modelo. It was $15 for all of it, cheap enough. I haven’t had Mexican beer in a while, but it’s not bad. It’s no Arrogant Bastard, but what is? After, we head to a bar. Now, you can’t smoke in bars in San Francisco. None of them. Bakersfield, San Bernardino, and Santa Cruz all have [at least] some bars that ignore the law, but I guess the City has to be a shining light of morality in the hell pit of California. Or something like that, anyway. We find a place that has a smoking patio, at least. She bores of the place and it’s getting late so we head home. Again, I fall asleep early. So much walking, my calves are killing me. Never before would I think a backrub and a blow job to be so important in the lives of man. Not to mention a few other perversions we indulged in as quietly as possible so as to not disturb her sister. We put M*A*S*H* on in the background. It seems the only thing that’s changed since we left Porter is the color of her comforter and the quality of her television (daddy got her a nice flat screen.) I’m so exhausted from my trip through the desert that I sleep early. I wanted to stay up till 4 or 5 but I think I was out by 2. It’s strange to sleep next to someone again. I’ve spent most of my adult life sleeping next to someone. I must smell awful to her now; like old man smell but with cloves instead of cigars or pipes. In the dorms, everyone drank and smoked way too much so we all smelled bad. A few years later, I’m sure I’m the only one left that’s still beating my body this hard. She smells like normal girl smell, heavily perfumed shampoo and lotion. I think she may have lost weight, at least in her belly. My memory is faded; I could be wrong. We don’t fuck much on this trip, instead we spend most of our time like lesbians (as she says) and take turns getting each other off. Mouths and hands can be just as sensuous and erotic as being “in the middle of her favours” as Hamlet calls it. She's already sung my praises elsewhere, so maybe I should pause to say something about her skills in bed. Some women think that oral sex is only foreplay. I think that sex can be too narrowly defined. As long as both people are getting off then it’s sex, right? After a long dry spell, a good blow job can solve all of life’s problems. Apparently, I made chewing sounds as I slept. I’m not sure if I was grinding my teeth or what, but it seemed slightly creepy to my companion. When we woke, it was time to decide what we were going to do. We snacked on bread and humus and watched the first Daria movie. The last time she came to visit me, we watched Daria for hours. Almost two full seasons worth. This time, we finish two episodes and “Is it Fall Yet” before inviting over a friend we knew from Porter (now relocated to the City) to watch the second DVD, “Is it College Yet”. I haven’t seen much of my college friends since leaving, so it’s a surprise to see her. She’s lost a lot of weight. All the walking and not eating well that comes with just moving to San Francisco has done wonders for her figure, at least. She’s grateful for the bread and humus. I give her a few bottles of the Spaten we’d procured earlier in the afternoon; we’d taken the “turbo tomato” down to Daly City to a supermarket that looks like it should be nestled in the suburbia of Aptos or something. Our friend leaves after the DVD finishes, she has stuff to do (this being such a busy city and all.) It was good to see her and we promised to meet before the Neubauten show. With social obligations out of the way, she wanted to show me a view of the City. I’ve been to San Francisco dozens of times, but really know very little of it’s neighborhoods. Of course I know Haight, Mission, and Hayes Valley (where a friend used to live) and I’ve seen the Presidio, and North Beach. There’s a lot more going on here. We took MUNI toward Twin Peaks. We got off the train and asked a hippie which bus we could take to the top of the hill; the stupid flea bait said no bus went up there. Of course we were passed by that non-existent bus halfway to our destination. I think we were on Portola or something like that. When we got to the top, it seemed like the world was underneath us. Looking out north-east you can see everything that’s good about San Francisco. We stood and admired it for a time, then took the street down to Market so we could have some drinks. Exhausting. Friday, she had to practice for a show; a benefit for gay marriage. Before she left for that, we went to Golden Gate Park. I wanted to see the carousel, but we didn’t look at a map until we’d already used most of our time there. There are trees and stuff there. Strange to see after so long in the desert. After getting back, we played some chess. Of course I brought my clock and board, but she took out a much nicer set for us to play on. I have one of the standard tournament sets with the nylon placemat style board and cheap, unweighted plastic pieces. Her set is real wood, with weighted pieces. Cost over $100. I’m sure she’s told me where she got it, but I don’t remember now. I prefer portability in my sets, but hers is pretty. I set the clock 30 to 60 (that means she got 60 minutes for every 30 that I got) and we played a few games. Of course I win. I don’t know why she wins so often when we play online but not face to face. It’s time for her to leave for rehearsal. I wished she hadn’t taken on this damn benefit (not like she was getting paid for it) but she wants to make as many connections in the theater scene as she can. I can understand that. I don’t know when the next time we’ll see each other will be and want as much time as possible together. I understand she’s nervous about us getting along; about maybe getting sick of each other or something. Neither happened. I was going to go to the Neubauten show with another friend anyway. I wish we could have gone together, but she would have probably hated me for dragging her to something like that. I was supposed to meet another friend at 9, but I got lost. I was supposed to take the L train to route 22 or something, but couldn’t find the transfer point. I wandered around for a bit, then just got a cab. The cabby heard where I was headed and punched the gas. I thought we were going to fly off like when the valet gets Cameron’s fathers car [cue the Main Title theme from Star Wars.] I was still late getting to the show. I thought the doors opened at 9, but the show started at 9. I didn’t see my friend waiting anywhere. She’ll forever think I’d flaked on her. Oh well, I went inside anyway. I wouldn’t miss a chance to see this show for much of anything. I first saw Neubauten way back in 1998 during the Ende Neu tour. I saw them at the Hollywood Palace, if I recall correctly. People go to the Palace every week, no matter who’s playing. It’s just a club. The hipsters are mostly indifferent to what they see there. I was with my girlfriend (at the time) and the singer of the band I was in. In fact, the first time I rode in Eric’s truck I was surprised to find a copy of Ende Neu (before I knew it’d even come out) sitting on his seat. Did I mention we were a rockabilly band? Seeing them this second time is priceless. They played more visceral stuff. I was confused as to why they got a synth and a real drum kit after so many years, but whatever. We all grow and learn. The Fillmore is a great old venue, but I think attracts a somewhat different crowd than the Palace. I think the San Francisco equivalent might be the Warfield (where I saw Ministry, back in the day) but I don’t even know enough to speculate. The crowd is different here; still hipsters but I think more in tune to what Neubauten has to say. As the show lets out, I call to try to get a ride home. I’d gotten so lost trying to get here I didn’t know what the hell to do. She wasn’t quite home from rehearsal yet but said she’d come get me. I said to let me call back in a few minutes so I could try to find route 22 going in the right direction. Well I found that but got lost again trying to transfer back to the L train. I tried calling her cell, but her service is just spotty for some reason. I wasted like $5 on payphones. I stopped into a store for some more beer to at least save her a little more frustration when she found me. I finally got through on her phone and she was mad as hell. She has a bit of media induced paranoia about some neighborhoods (although she's not worried about this neighborhood, it's harmless. Nothing like the piss stained ghettos.) She’d been in front of the Fillmore for about 20 minutes before I got through to her. She came and got me, angry and raising her voice at me. 10 years ago, I might have started crying or yelling, but I just tried to explain my side of the story and saying I understood why she was mad. I think I matured some that night. It takes a lot of strength to not blame someone for being mad, to realize that sometimes people blow off steam. Even if it’s the last way I’d ever deal with a situation, I’m not everyone. It makes no sense to escalate the situation with more anger, just hear her out and state your peace. She had to work hard that night, staying up hours past me trying to get the show organized. She’s a hard worker. She apologized the next morning, before leaving for rehearsal. She had to leave early on Saturday so I’d be alone for a few hours. I slept late, then had a few beers, played solitaire on her laptop, and watched M*A*S*H*. [It’s okay to ask yourself, “God, doesn’t this deadbeat do anything else?” right now.] Her sister came home early with a cold. She normally volunteers at the hospital on Saturdays. Jesus, a 9-5 Monday through Friday, dance lessons in Oakland, and a candy striper. No way I could pull that off. She came in the room and asked if I was a vegetarian. Of course I am and she knows it; it was just her way of telling me that she’s cooking food and she can make it vegetarian if I want some. I think it nice of her, and since I haven’t eaten much the past week, think that food might be a good idea. I sit in the kitchen with her as she cooks. She spent a lot longer at this than I would for most dishes; just beans and rice but she did so much to the beans. It provided an excuse for friendly conversation. I wasn’t sure she’d like me, since she was her sister’s main confidant about how heart broken she was when I left Santa Cruz for Las Vegas. The situation could have been tense, but thanks to some small talk we got through it just fine. We were supposed to meet after Mel’s rehearsal and before the show, so I hopped back on the L train and out towards the venue. We wisely agreed to meet at the transfer point so I wouldn’t get fucking lost again. She wanted to stop for a coffee and I wanted to stop for a beer (well mostly I just needed to piss since I’d drank like 6 beers and some Jager that afternoon.) We managed to find both near the theater, despite it being in some weird district that doesn’t have much in the way of bars and all the cafes seem to be closed on the weekend. We come up on the theater, which apparently is a converted Masonic Lodge. Mel goes in and I stand in the stairwell smoking and passing my flask between some of the actors. It’s fitting, Mel gave me that flask for graduation. I can’t believe how well I fit in with them, like they can smell their own or something. Maybe it was just the Jager and the cloves. Or the beret and trench coat. One of the actors looked at my flask and said “Oh, a 7, I have an 8 but my 6 is much nicer.” I giggled for a second till I realized he was talking about the volume of each flask. Mine is plain, unadorned, but still precious to me. A graduation present. My only graduation present, in fact. I headed in to the VIP reception (I got VIP comp tickets) and expected the worst. Rich fags can be annoying. I managed to find some not so annoying people, the wife of one of the band members even invited me to sit at their table so I wouldn’t feel so alone with a random group. We sat right next to Jason West, the Green Party mayor of New Paltz, NY who’s facing criminal charges for performing gay marriages, and two or three of the California Green Party’s big wigs. Talk about me being out of place. I just worked on my beer and let it go. At least they weren’t Democrats; or even worse Libertarians. The show wasn’t really my thing, a couple of transgender singers doing jazz and blues numbers with a few drag bits thrown in here and there. Given the amount of preparation the show had, it came off well enough. I spent more time watching the bass player than I did the singers, but that’s normal for me. Not a total waste, I got to see how the other half lives. I’ve spent more on concerts than my VIP ticket was worth, but not much more. And certainly not one with seats. We headed home after everything was tended to. We had to kiss our good-byes that night since the sisters were compelled to attended a family diner in honor of Mother’s Day (imagine, living your life around Hallmark holidays. Fuck that shit, if you love your mother then tell her. If you don’t love the stupid cunt, then let her rot living out by the railroad tracks. You don’t need someone else to tell you how to live your life.) I was sad that this would be our last night together, but I managed to not tear up as I have in the past. The next morning, we went to the beach. It’s about 10 blocks away, so we walked. The ocean sounds are always soothing like a mother’s heart beat.

we drove to the N line and parked near the bus stop. We took that to the Civic Center terminal and I had to transfer to BART. I was somewhat worried that I’d get lost again, but it was easier than I thought it would be. I got to SFO early enough, but I’d about run out of cash so I couldn’t start drinking. I was a little angsty about that, but I made it through. Getting back on the Maryland Parkway bus in Las Vegas, I didn’t realize that they had expanded the route. It used to end at the airport, but now goes to the new transfer center out on Sunset and Las Vegas Blvd. So I got lost again! In Las Vegas! I made it back home eventually, and thankfully there was booze in the refrigerator. I passed out before 2am. So that’s it, my big vacation. If I think of anything else, I make some revisions.