The Farmer in the Deli

Poof

2007-02-16T02:37:00.000-05:00

Gone.

Leave me a message and maybe I'll let you in on where I am.

When She Reaches the Top, Her Dreams Will be There

2007-02-01T03:24:00.000-05:00

I don't fucking understand women. Or karma. Or being good, for that matter. I don't understand why I don't learn when I fuck things up. I can't even make one specific person happy. I can't make them stay happy. I can't keep them happy.

As if they night couldn't get any worse, I took a walk to clear my head. Except for that one summer, I never liked taking walks when things are nice. It has to be raining. It has to be freezing for me to enjoy myself. When I have things on my mind, when it's uncomfortable, this is what I do. I took my dog and he ran away. Again. This is what happens when things can't get any worse.

It took me an hour to track him down and what felt like even longer trying to get him to come near me. I only let him outside so I didn't have to walk him to the leash. Give a person a little slack and they will bolt on you. Don't pet them enough and they don't want to come near you.

If I'm being horrible, I don't know what I'm doing wrong. I don't think I've done anything wrong. Not this time.

My Thoughts Were So Loud I Couldn’t Hear My Mouth

2007-01-23T19:00:00.000-05:00

I could taste the vomit in my mouth when I woke up this morning. It was accumulating in the back of my throat and burned away at my uvula. I've been waking up with stomach pain and chest pain lately but this is the first time I've actually thrown up in my sleep. If my alarm didn't go off, I would have suffocated. No. I don't know that. My stomach might be bleeding. Maybe just an ulcer. Or worse. Who wants to know that? If you could choose between living with a terminal disease or never knowing something was wrong with you, what would you choose? Ignorance is bliss. If someone close to you was dying already, if your family was already grieving, would you put them through the bother of having to deal with another?

If I could do it all over again, I wouldn't have got out of bed this morning. Wouldn't have thrown up again. Wouldn't have seen her screaming from a wheelchair across the room with eyes half shut. Wouldn't have fought with her because that's all I'm capable anymore. You and I are like when fire and the ocean floor collide. We're drifting apart and I know I'm to blame. I am unable to apologize and incapable of doing it enough.

As the lady checked me today, I could feel my pulse racing. It's never done that before. "Are you nervous?" She asked me. I wanted to say yes, but I didn't know how to answer. Nervous about what? Should I stop at one?

Philadelphia isn't going to happen. Paramus isn't going to happen. New York isn't going to happen. Key West was a long shot in the first place. It takes a disaster to get me to leave town, what's it gonna take to get me to drop anchor somewhere else?

I'm tired of arguing but I can't apologize because that only makes things worse. I make things worse. Bigmouth strikes again. And I've got no right to take my place with the human race.

Rocket Brothers

2007-01-18T15:18:00.001-05:00

I Guess We Keep Goin' Through It Because Most of Us Need the Eggs

2007-01-12T22:03:00.000-05:00

"You like the fireworks?" I asked my niece. It was New Year's Eve and we were outside on her porch. I was tipsy from Caramel Vodka and at the beginnings of a headache. She had been awake for all of 3 minutes and had to rub her eyes to see them. The whole time, she squinted and covered her ears. Loud pops were going all around and it was hard to tell the difference between fireworks and gunshots. It was that type of neighborhood. When the sky was dark and I could still hear the pops, it was time to go back inside.

She clutched my chest and started to fall back asleep. "They were okay."

Stick Your Hands Inside My Pockets, Keep Them Warm While I'm Still Here

2007-01-11T17:58:00.000-05:00

Watching her play Guitar Hero has me wishing my PS2 worked. By now, it would probably cost almost as much to fix it was it would for a new one. I'm not a big gamer but I have been known to give in to Smackdown in the past. Guitar Hero is fun and has some nice tunes but I already have three guitars in the closet. Three. All of them need new strings that I've been neglecting for quite some time now. Maybe that's the creative output I need.

Gold Lion's Gonna Tell Me Where the Light Is

2006-12-26T02:00:00.000-05:00

It's 2 AM and I'm so tired I'm delirious, drinking something green out of a plastic bottle shaped like a barrel. I know I'm delirious because I'm reading the blogs and feelings artsy and thinking I'm a writer. To be a writer, I have to stop being afraid to show what I can do and I can't do that. No way, Jose. I joke about being hardcore because I'm everything but.

I have 30 gigs of free space on my 170 gig hard drive because I'm such a fucking pack rat, I never want to get rid of anything. Not even that which is digital. I can't sit through shuffle without wanting to skip every other song because it's some indie crap that I can't stand most of the time except for times like this. You suck, Undertones. Don't try to convince me otherwise.

I want to go back to bathesda's, I thrift store I used to visit all the time with Holly Hox. She had that style, the type of girl who could fashion a dress out of a garbage bag. The girl who never had a bad photograph. I spent my money on useless shit and I want to go back and do that again. Buy another album because Colonel Sanders is on the cover. Find that ghetto blaster. Go back to the comic book store and see what I've missed.

My exgirlfriend would paint or make collages at times like these. I sit and think. I need to stop this. I need to make something productive out of it.

Bless This Highly Nutritious Microwavable Macaroni and Cheese Dinner and the People Who Sold It On Sale. Amen.

2006-12-25T20:01:00.000-05:00

Christmas to me is a lot of things. A warm heater inside as the snow falls outside. The town putting up decorations and tree. It's going to the mall with the intent to buy nothing but stuff for the people in your life to make them happy. But mostly, it's what's on TV. Christmas is Odie making a gift in the shed. It's Ol' Chuck getting the wrong tree. It's George Bailey and Bob Cratchit and Ovaltine. TV is what Christmas is all about, no?

It used to be a big deal for me when I was a kid, naturally. Despite being middle class, it felt like my parents went all out for the holiday. And we do it now for my nieces and nephew. I like getting the cool family member treatment without the parental responsibility.

They say it's the thought that counts and my grandfather puts no thought into his gifts. He's Aunt Bethany, wrapping stuff around the house. He finds items at the gas station on the way over. I got a jacket that didn't fit him. The kids received quarters. My father got a sander. He hasn't sanded anything since wood shop in '72.

But today isn't about presents or television, everybody knows that. It's about just feeling happy. The whole good will towards men thing. And women. Especially your own. So remember to tell everyone you love them. Tell your girl or guy that you're glad to be with them today as you lay in bed watching Ernest.

Also, a blowjob never hurt anyone.

I Hate It That I Got What I Wanted

2006-12-24T15:07:00.000-05:00

21 years and only now have I gotten the hang of wrapping presents.

Is It Still Me That Makes You Sweat?

2006-12-19T03:06:00.001-05:00

I think I would be a horrible parent. My sister had to make a court date on Monday in another state leaving me to babysit her three children. I was not asked, this was forced upon me. Since I love them and it was my neice's birthday, I was rather excited. I planned on making a card and cupcakes and playing with them the whole time but by the second day, I was exhausted once I got out of bed. Laying on the couch and watching the youngest one shout along with Dora doesn't leave me feeling like I'm ready to be a father.

This may all be attributed to the fact that I've been really depressed lately and have had things on my mind. I can't sleep at night and my hands have been breaking out with hives again. Even when I get like this, I think I'm still a mellow guy. I bury it all deep inside and change the subject so I don't have to think about it. I still find myself listening to sad music, though. Why do we do this to ourselves?

It's Time To Stop, Drop, and Rock and Roll

2006-12-07T02:30:00.000-05:00

I started posting a picture everyday to keep the blog going while I did the nanowrimo but I gave up on that a week or two in. I really just have nothing to write about. Even what makes me happy doesn't interest me much anymore (besides Thunder, of course, and the dog) and if I don't want to write about it, why would anyone care to read?

My body is falling apart at the seems. I thought I had an ulcer but maybe it's just the drugs catching up with me. My jaw hurts every other day and I keep getting stabbing pains in my back that make me jump.

My best friend is making plans to move to Philadelphia in June in order to go to wrestling school and he wants me to come along. If not to be a wrestler, than a referee or manager, or just to come live and help pay rent. If so, I will be trained by Mike Quackenbush and Chris Hero, two very big names on the indie scene. I'm young and eager and want to leave this open as a possibility but I also think it's silly going without wanting to do it 100 percent.

I also haven't been in the best of spirits as of late. My sister and her family moved in not too long ago and while I miss them, I don't want them here. Just because you've been fucked is no excuse for being fucked up.

Don't get me wrong, I feel sorry for her. Cancer is a nasty habit. But having it doesn't make her exempt from taking blame for all she does to people. I think I'm a very kind person when it comes to most people. I'll do anything you ask as long as you say thanks afterwards. But am I a bad person for not letting my family walk all over me?

Since it's month 12, I plan on putting together some top ten lists in the upcoming days. Expect those. And bitch me out if they're not up.

My Baby's Pretty As a Car Crash

2006-11-30T12:59:00.000-05:00

She's Out of Luck and Out of Hope and Out of Cigarettes

2006-11-29T23:42:00.000-05:00

Hadouken

2006-11-28T16:07:00.000-05:00

Half of What He Said Meant Something Else and the Other Half Didn't Mean Anything at All

2006-11-27T01:26:00.000-05:00

I'm a Huge Fan of Bad Religion

2006-11-26T03:32:00.000-05:00

Everything Looks Perfect From Far Away

2006-11-25T22:00:00.000-05:00

The Madness Is Running Wild

2006-11-24T20:39:00.000-05:00

The Same Boy You've Always Known

2006-11-23T04:41:00.000-05:00

Who Would Want to Leave Cyberland Anyway?

2006-11-22T21:19:00.000-05:00

Waltz of the Wallflowers

2006-11-21T23:22:00.000-05:00

Drunk On the Lawn In a Nuclear Dawn

2006-11-20T23:16:00.000-05:00

Victim

2006-11-19T23:37:00.000-05:00

A poem by Nicole Blackman.

I feel the motion of the car before I open my eyes.
The air is blue-black, brown-black, black-black.
Smell of gas, oil, animals.
I’m in the trunk.

My wrists and ankles tied.
Tape over my mouth
it almost covers my nose
but I can breathe barely.
I must have been here for hours,
everything’s stiff and my head throbs
like someone’s drumming on china.

The car stops.
He turns off the motor—but there are no traffic sounds.
No people sounds. No wind. What place has no wind?
I turn my head towards the sounds
like people watch radios when something terrible happens.

My palms are sweating. Where am I?
The trunk squeaks as he lifts it up and the sun blinds me.
He almost looks like a faceless Jesus surrounded by light.
He pulls me out of the trunk and bangs my head against the door.
I try to cry out, but it comes like a hum.

He drags me, half-standing, along a dirt road into a house.
I can’t see any other houses and it looks like a farm.
The screen door bangs behind me and I feel a deep, deep pressure inside.
All the rules have changed here.

I’m dragged down a hall like a bag and I look for a phone, other doors.
Nothing but bare floors and brown boxes in small rooms.
He pulls me into the bathroom
and I almost crack my head as he pushes me onto the floor.
Tilts his head to the side and gazes at me
as if I was a pet then walks out.

I’m lying there for a long time, trying to get the tape off of me.
My eyes are tearing. I don’t make a sound.
I can’t get up and I keep rolling from side to side, trying not to make noise.

I’ve got to get him to talk to me.
If I can get this thing off my face I can talk to him.
I’ll tell him my name.
Have you killed other women in here?
I’m thinking you’ve got hundreds of them nailed down,
hung on walls, hanging from ceiling fans
swinging dead in summer wind.

Why did you pick me?
If I had stayed to finish at the library
I would have been there twenty minutes longer
maybe I’d have been OK.
Would have rushed into the house, books piled up in my arms like a baby,
and blurted explanations why I was sorry.
So sorry I’m late everyone.

Would you have waited for me anyway?
Would you have picked another woman?
Would I have read about her in the paper and said
oh my god, I was there that night…
and called all my friends in a panic.
Telling them then how much I loved them
as if I’d never have the chance again.

I wonder what everyone is doing now. Putting up signs.
Showing my picture on the evening news. Calling old friends.
Maybe I’m not even considered missing yet.

The family will fall apart and my parents will go crazy. Slowly.
My brother will be so quiet at the funeral and insist the casket be closed.
(I never even told anyone what kind of funeral I wanted when I died.)

Maybe years from now they’ll find my skeleton
on the floor here and they’ll have to use dental records to identify me.
My family will say “At least we know now.
We always hoped she was alive somewhere.
We just hope she’s in peace.”

When I sleep my dreams are crazy—I’m flying over fields.
I don’t think I sleep for more than twenty minutes and when I wake up,
it feels like I’m under a heavy blanket. I’m still here.

As I wake up I hear a dog barking in the distance
and I think I’m in my parents’ house in South Carolina.
When I open my eyes, there’s a shotgun pressed between them.
I’ll never get married.
I’ll never have kids.
I’ll never go to Europe.
I’ll never learn to play piano.
I’ll never write a book.

The last thing I hear is a click.

Red, White and Brainwashed

2006-11-18T15:52:00.000-05:00

Make Like a Tree and Get the Fuck Out

2006-11-17T23:02:00.000-05:00

Today's Empires Are Tomorrow's Ashes

2006-11-16T23:46:00.000-05:00

Forgot to Carry the Zero

2006-11-15T21:43:00.000-05:00

Are You Ready To Be Liberated?

2006-11-14T21:48:00.000-05:00

The Best Thing About Being Dumb Is It Makes Magic a Lot Better

2006-11-13T20:37:00.000-05:00

In Case You Missed It the First Time

2006-11-12T17:15:00.000-05:00

Chairs Are a Luxury Over There

2006-11-11T20:01:00.000-05:00

After a Meal, There's Nothing Like a Good Cigar

2006-11-10T23:48:00.000-05:00

Don't Call Me White

2006-11-09T23:58:00.000-05:00

Oh Yeah, I Like Lemons. What Else You Got?

2006-11-08T21:10:00.000-05:00

I Always Wear a Curdoroy Suit Because It's Made of a Hundred Gutters That the Rain Can Run Right Through

2006-11-07T23:30:00.000-05:00

I Wish I Could Shift Shapes Into Something New, Something That Would Be Better For You

2006-11-06T23:26:00.000-05:00

Come Back To Texas

2006-11-05T14:46:00.001-05:00

Just a Man With Something To Prove

2006-11-04T16:30:00.000-05:00

You Look As Good As I Feel

2006-11-03T12:12:00.000-05:00

Most of My Heroes Don't Appear On No Stamps

2006-11-02T04:54:00.000-05:00

Seems Every Station On the TV Is Selling Something No One Can Be

2006-11-01T04:42:00.000-05:00

I posted four times in the last month. Four times. This just might be a new low for me. I don't know. And I don't mean for this blog. I mean in my entire blogging existence since 2000. Six years I've been doing this and even when I took hiatuses on other blogs, I still had someplace to write.

This is the first year I signed up for the nanowrimo. I've done the blogathon a couple times but that's child's play in comparison. But how can I do the nanowrimo and keep up this fantastic pace as it is?

So for the whole month of November, I plan on posting a picture. Everyday.

The Kids Are Losing Their Minds

2006-10-31T17:14:00.000-05:00

In addition to it being Halloween, it's also the day CBGB & OMFUG closes its doors. If you like punk music, you wanted to go to CBGB. You wanted to play there. And it wasn't hard to get a gig there, as Jamie writes over at The Known Universe. So many bands played there over the years, many of them horrible, and some significant for all the wrong reasons. But it was the history of the place that made it special. The place where such acts as the Talking Heads, Blondie and, of course, the Ramones got their start. But as well all know, punk is dead and this is yet another nail in the coffin.

The last show was put on by Patti Smith, who ended her encore with a rendition of "Blitzkrieg Bop", a fitting swan song.

You Can Put Your Costume On But I'm Just Gonna Take It Off

2006-10-31T03:19:00.000-05:00

I can't move an inch without wincing. This is what the haunted house has done to me. But I enjoy it. It's the reason why I love autumn. I like scaring people. I like screaming my loudest. I enjoy bashing and breaking walls with an axe and I know I did my job well when I wake the following morning to find bruises and gashes that I don't remember receiving. We were told to be aggressive this year but not to touch people. I'm not sure what they're asking for.

If we're congested, I'm pushing you out of my scene. If you're not walking fast enough, I'll force you to. Yes, if you're scared, I'll separate you from the group and force you to go through the rest of the house alone. If you fall down and cry out of fright, I'm going to make it worse for you. This is what you're paying for. I don't see your money. I don't get paid for this. We're all volunteers and we do it because it's fun. It hurts and it's exhausting and it's "the devil's work" but it's fun.

Another good reason I love autumn is the weather. It's unpredictable. But for a good part of the time, it's cold enough to need a hoodie but warm enough that you can just stand there on the street and let the wind whip against you. I like that feeling. I also like my new hoodie. It smells nice.

Today is Halloween and for a personal reason, it's going to be my worst. The spirit's gone out of me. The Spirit of Halloween. I think his name is Chuck. His name should be Chuck. I picture him wearing a skeleton costume, the kind that's nothing but black sweats and what a skeleton should look like sticking out.

My costume this year? The lead singer of Rammstein in the video for "Du Hast".

I'm Untouchable But I'm Forcing You To Feel Me

2006-10-14T05:20:00.000-04:00

I'm not dead, nor am I doing. That's the good news. I went to my doctor a few days ago and he looked over my blood test results as well as some he had from 2001. Apparently, my white blood cell count is naturally high. Or at least it was back then. In fact, it was higher. Maybe this has something to do with me not having a spleen. I'm guessing it's because I'm a superhero. I'm like Bruce Willis in Unbreakable. Or Bruce Willis in Die Hard. Just name a Bruce Willis movie, actually. Maybe the other superheroes on my blogroll would like to form a party ala the Avengers or JLA. I already formed a gangster rap group, The Racketeers, why not a superhero league?

Thank you to anyone who worried. I'll be fine. I can't be killed.

The haunted house started up again tonight and I'm so very, very sore. My dogs are barking. I have blisters on my hands and feet, what feels like a bruised hip, and I can't speak above a mumble.

Maybe I'm just giving in to all the hype but I'm thinking about buying a Wii. I'm usually years behind when it comes to buying products. I don't like buying something so soon after it came out. There's gotta be a lot of bugs to fix. Maybe some recalls. 'Course, I did get an N64 within the first month of its release, so maybe it's not such a bad idea afterall. Also, Zelda.

My house is infested with bees.

It's Times Like These I Curse We Live in French Polynesia

2006-10-03T23:34:00.000-04:00

One of the indicators for leukemia is a high white blood cell count. Others include fevers, headaches, fatigue, and a loss of appetite. Leukemia requires treatment and will often lead to death.

I couldn't donate platelets because I have a high white blood cell count.

I don't know what's wrong with me but I have a doctor's appointment next week. Afterwards, I likely still won't know. I don't like my doctor. But he's my family doctor and therefore, I don't have to pay for it, and there's still a slight chance he could tell me I'm just coming down with allergies. My body knows I'm getting sick and is creating an abundance of white blood cells to cope for not having a spleen. Years of adaptation for coping with having a sucky immune system.

I'm 21 and might have a serious ailment and may be dying and I'm still using words like "sucky."

So I didn't save any lives today but I did gain a nasty bruise thanks to a couple of cute nurses doing a horrible job at sucking out my blood. But one was cute (albeit in her thirties) and had ringlets so I let her go to town. They dug around for 5 minutes before tapping a vein.

The test results came back negative. Or positive. Whatever's bad in this case. 14.4 value. 519 platelet count. They made some calls to confirm what they should do but they weren't concerned so I'm not worried. I feel fine and I'm going to be okay. But I didn't get to help anyone and that's worse than being sick.

There's No Law Against Putting Pennies In My Ears

2006-09-25T07:41:00.000-04:00

When I was in the hospital, I saw a young lady from my high school. She wasn't young then and she's older now. Obviously. She used to be tall, blonde, and pretty but when I saw her, rubbing her elbows outside the ER, she was hunched over and her eyes were worn from crying. She looked at me and smiled a half. She nodded and I nodded back and faked a smile. I don't even remember her name now.

I wanted to go over to her and give her a hug. Buy her a soda and tell her everything was going to be alright but that's the wrong thing to say in a hospital, a place where anything can and will go wrong. The phrase Murphy's Law was coined here. Instead, I just told her not to worry, you will always bounce back. Every human body has a way of fixing itself and every mind can find solace when you're at your most bleakest. Don't worry, things will get better. Kurt Angle just got signed to TNA. I just finished my first podcast, as horrible as it sounds. And every Simpsons episode can be found online. So don't you worry your pretty, little head about what's bothering you.

I said all this with a smile and a nod. She broke the stare and walked into another room and it was the last I saw of her and probably the last I ever will.

I didn't say any of this to her but I wanted to because I wanted her, someone, anyone to say them to me. Put their hand on my shoulder and tell me my grandfather wasn't going to leave anytime soon. Assure me that my sister isn't in any pain and her weight hasn't dropped to 90 pounds. That she's eating again and will walk in a day's time.

It's funny how fast you can go from hating a person to praying they won't ever leave you.

Baaaaa

2006-09-19T05:07:00.000-04:00

Angry Erotic Sheep in the Woods on Vimeo

I Don't Wanna Be a Pinhead No More

2006-09-19T05:05:00.000-04:00

My sister is back in the hospital tonight. The plan is for her to move back here at the end of October, if she even makes it that long. A few days ago, my grandfather went back to the hospital for the third time this month. I took him to the doctor because he wasn't feeling well and he was told to go to the emergency room. His blood sugar had dropped to 29 and they were surprised he just walked in. This is what I've been doing.

I picked up a microphone over the weekend and have been messing around with Audacity and Skype ever since. The idea has been to take up Ridley and Jess's offer to cohost a music podcast. I have my doubts that anyone would want to listen to it but if all falls through, I'll probably whip up something. The market's satuated and if it fails, it fails, but there's no harm in trying something.

My neighbor from across the street moved out several months ago and has been trying to sell it since. It's a nice house. Big, cheap, large yard, large garage. Why someone never bought it sooner I'll never know. Last week, the family of a guy I went to school with moved in. He's not a bad guy but I dislike him and his family more. There must be 15 people living together and they're never quiet. I have a feeling that before too long, there will be fights on the street and cop cars pulling up. I can't wait for my sister to move back and teach them how to do it right.

The Saddest Day I Came Across Was When I Learned That Life Goes On Without Me

2006-09-10T04:04:00.000-04:00

Over on notmyself.com, Maura brought up the albumness of albums, the feeling that an album plays like a story with a beginning, middle, and end.

I tend to enjoy songs that reference earlier songs or other songs, I don't know why. From Ghost Mice singing "Jack & Diane" to Kimya quipping "How's It Gonna Be?" it makes the song better. Streetlight Manifesto's album "Everything Goes Numb" revisits lyrics and stanzas throughout all the songs and it flows quite nicely.

I also think Rasputina could make the best concept album ever.

Come to Daddy

2006-09-08T20:45:00.000-04:00

I know Elvis used to eat peanut butter and banana sandwiches all the time so when I bought bananas this morning, I had a plan in mind. They're not bad. They're not good either. I thought I would be repulsed by the texture but I'm not. It's just . . . there. If Nickelodeon has taught me anything, it's to stick with what works: dipping bananas in tomato sauce.

Also, it turns out I've been opening bananas from the wrong end all my life.

We're So Broke We Can't Even Pay Attention

2006-09-06T20:35:00.000-04:00

My grandfather is out of the hospital just as I was getting used to the quiet. I don't think I could ever live alone, though. Not without a pet anyway. Now I understand why so many single people live in apartments with cats. At least they have somebody to talk to.

The diagnosis on my grandfather is that this had nothing to do with his heart (thank god) and all to do with his Blood Sugar. They think he's testing himself wrong. His levels were low in the morning and the glucose gave him a strong boost back to normal. When he tried to catch up in the hospital, his body took a dive. As long as he keeps eating right, he should be fine. And considering how he was hitting on the nurses, I can say he's well on his way.

Don't Think Sorry's Easily Said

2006-09-05T12:13:00.000-04:00

"Your grandfather had a stroke."

That's my father said to me sometime yesterday morning.

Again.

It being labor day, we had plans to barbecue and have my father's friends over. Sometime in the morning, after coming back from looking at a house for my sister, my grandfather had trouble breathing and felt chest pains. My father didn't waste any time. Before too long, an ambulance was here yet again to pick him up. He was much better this time. Not slurring his speech, no numbness, just dizziness and chest pains and trouble breathing. We didn't go with because what's the point? He seemed fine and we didn't want to wait while he had tests done.

A few hours later, we drove up there expecting to walk in on him in his room, watching something on Animal Planet like always. Maybe a western. Eating some dinner.

He was still in the ER.

There were no nurses around so I walked in his room to find him disoriented. His eyes were glossed over and he didn't recognize me. He was messing around with a sock. I didn't know what to do. He said he didn't know where he was and wanted to go to the hospital. Nobody was saying anything to him. He said he wanted to go see my grandmother.

My grandmother's been dead for years.

A nurse came in and gave him a shot. His blood sugar was low. He calmed down after that, started speaking clearly, started recognizing people and things. Then he started shaking. First his feet, like he was cold. Then his hands. Then his shoulders. I would watch his shoulders as he laid there, spasming on their own. A nurse said it was his blood sugar catching up with him. She gave him juice and said to wait it out. Like an addict going through withdrawals.

Things are not getting any easier. My sister is not getting better. She's getting worse. She may move here and I have mixed feelings about that. If she's here, it will be easier for her. She won't be in the middle of nowhere with no phone reception, no washer or dryer, living in a hunting cabin, and not knowing how she is getting to the hospital for chemo. On the other hand, if she moves here, chances are the shit will start again. Her and her husband drinking to excess. Fighting. Bursting in the house to break stuff and stab people. It was a year ago that they came in with a shotgun, threatening my father. This stuff is commonplace.

My sister's getting sicker, my grandfather is in the hospital, and I may not be far off. My stomach pain has become more constant lately. Like an organ swelling, it starts in my stomach and gets worse until I'm on my knees dry heaving, sweat dripping from my hair and red marks on my skin from my fingertips digging in to my sides. Within five minutes, it goes away, and I'm back to normal. I am normal. I am fine. I hate my family doctor and I can't afford going to a hospital.

Then there's the girl troubles. I feel helpless. Whatever I do is wrong so let's just stop doing. Stop trying. No more saying sorry and no more.. Actually, I'd rather not talk about that right now.

So sick to my stomach, girl problems, sister with cancer, grandfather in the hospital. Throw it all at me. I'm still standing. Unless I throw up again. Then just give me five minutes.

Are We Wrong For Laughing?

2006-09-04T01:30:00.000-04:00

So Steve Irwin was killed by a stingray this morning. I think we all saw this coming.

Looking Back

2006-09-03T09:48:00.000-04:00

1 year, 8 months, and 19 days ago, I wrote my first post. Back then, I used Google's Hello software (its early gtalk) to upload pictures.

I vented a lot, wrote about exgirlfriends, and divulged secrets of my personal life without letting on too much.

I liked making lists.

I've had some ups and some downs and a whole lot of girl problems.

I used to post a lot of pictures of cute girls.

I talked a lot about (anal) sex.

I've been harassed about my taste in music.

My sister developed cancer.

Bang.

2006-09-03T05:29:00.000-04:00

That hurt.

Maybe I'm Late To the Party

2006-09-03T01:21:00.000-04:00

But Jamie Kennedy ain't funny.

Choking On the Ashes of Our Enemies

2006-09-02T21:15:00.000-04:00

I went back to donate blood again. It's something easy, quick, and painless that saves lives. Everyone should do it. Yesterday marked my eighth time which meant that I've donated a gallon altogether. They gave me a pin, I signed a release form to be in the newspaper, and ate cake. Okay, no cake, but I did get some cookies and juice. I also signed up to donate platelets next month which has me a little nervous. I just don't know if I can sit still for 2 hours while a machine pumps blood in and out of me. If anyone has ever done this, please leave a comment.

I went to Barnes & Noble afterwards and perused the Addictions section with my sleeve rolled up while tugging at the wrap on my arm.

Okay, I'll stop talking about giving blood for a while. I'll file it with wrestling and exgirlfriends.

Get Over It

2006-08-31T02:27:00.000-04:00

Am I the only one not impressed by that Ok Go video? Yeah, it's impressive and it's cheap, but it's just them dancing on treadmills. It's no more impressive than when Jamiroquai did it. Sure, these guys are doing it in unison, but remember when we bashed the Backstreat Boys for doing this? The song's not even that good. Not bad but not great. However, I do like that they used youtube to their advantage. Every band should do that.

It's a Shame That Her Future's a Thing of the Past

2006-08-27T04:47:00.000-04:00

"Your grandfather had a stroke."

That's my father said to me sometime yesterday morning. I wasn't sure of the time, other than I was tired and still half asleep. I was pulling on a shirt and stumbling out my bed, the same bed that bows in the center from taking too many suplexes, when he told me what happened. I snapped and found my way into his room. He was sitting on the bed, trying to feel his leg, trying to move it.

I stood as an observer as the ambulance came and the perimedics asked him questions. Can you lift up your arms? Can you open your eyes? Are you now or have you ever been a communist? And just like that, he was gone.

I didn't go with and maybe I should have but I was told to rest as I may be needed later. How can you rest after that?

When I went later in the afternoon, he was fine. Perfectly normal. Making jokes and flirting with the nurses like he normally would.

The doctor told me it could be his blood sugar but it was most likely a mini stroke. Mini. Still dangerous but not bad. He's talking fine and acting normal but this may lead to another stroke soon. What caused it? He doesn't know.

He gets out on Monday.

Gonna Be a Big Man Someday

2006-08-22T03:35:00.000-04:00

I stole this plot device from Adam Riff.

-----

Ridley talked trash lately about Tony and while I don't agree with everything, it's still nice to see someone pointing out faults other people are afraid to touch. Some people I know that read Tony don't like him anymore and I can understand why. Even I don't check him out as much as I used to. Like some of my favorite authors, his writing has gone downhill. Or rather, my interests have changed and I'm on to greener pastures. I'm fickle.

-----

"Thank God for that rush of hormones or whatever that changed my taste in art and culture, because without it, I would be one of those stupid people who doesn't like Hellboy."

-----

Since getting an ipod, I've been listening to more and more music and more and more podcasts. To the point where I'm tempted to threaten my friend Nick to start doing his podcast again or start my own. This would be a bad idea. My voice is more annoying than Gilbert Gottfried's and I'm prone to randomly singing Queen songs and quoting Dusty Rhodes. You see, I have this nasally voice and had a speech impediment as a child. These two don't mix. Especially when I try to sound like a cool black man by impersonating Freddie "Boom Boom" Washington from "Welcome Back, Kotter."

I have the best taste in music for anyone ever in the history of everything. So a music podcast is not out of the question. Maybe a video podcast where I show clips of me trying new hobbies each week like juggling and playing piano so you can see fast I don't progress each week. That's a good idea. Man, I should be writing these down. I am writing these down. I'm not very bright.

-----

I saw "Johnny Dangerously" and "The Jerk" for the first time this week. Why aren't there more comedies like these coming out? Don't get me wrong, I enjoy stuff like "Old School" but most comedies aren't family friendly and hinder on pop culture knowledge. "Pee Wee's Playhouse" is being shown on Adult Swim right now and do you know what it's still awesome? Because he made sure not to include pop culture references so it stays fresh over the years.

This Just In

2006-08-20T00:22:00.000-04:00

The new Diet Pepsi Jazz is horrible.

Do You Even Know What a Wawa Is?

2006-08-18T02:31:00.000-04:00

I'm back from Jersey now and I already miss it. Actually, I lied. I only went to Pennsylvania this time. Whenever I travel to the east coast (which is usually once a year), I tend to visit a myriad of states and rather than naming them all, I just say Jersey. Jersey is where my grandmother lives and what's a trip to the east coast without visiting her, right? Only she's dead now and I can't visit her.

So I went to Pennsylvania to visit my sister. She has cancer now, which I've written about before, and while I pray for the best, she's still not my favorite person. She's not even on the list. At times, it's hard to consider her a person. But all the drugs in her system now are legal ones and her blood-alcohol levels are at a minimum so she is fairly easy to tolerate. I had a fun time.

What I miss are my nieces and nephew. I only got to see my nieces for a day and they're still cute. This probably won't last long. Seriously, how long do kids stay cute? Six? Seven years? Before long, I won't be able to swing them around and then what am I good for?

My nephew still looks up to me and that means a lot. I want to be a good role model. When I think about my uncles and aunts, I don't think about how they've influenced me in any way so I don't think he will either. But I did make him a ramp for which to jump his bike. I did teach him how to throw firecrackers. I even fixed his gameboy so the sound worked again. What I'm getting at is I don't want to be a role model to him someday but if someone were to ever mention the Dynamite Kid around him and he could say, "Oh yeah, I know him," then my work will be done.

On a Scale of 1 to Awesome, I'm the Shit.

2006-08-11T15:18:00.000-04:00

The Guardian Reviews Paris Hilton's Album:

"She sings like a woman who has heard of something called singing, can't be sure of exactly what it might entail, but is fairly certain you do something a bit like this. She sounds both distracted and bored stiff, as if making an album is keeping her from the more serious business of standing around a nightclub in a pair of really enormous sunglasses."

I'm leaving for Jersey tonight to see some family. I just bought a car adaptor for my iPod and hopefully it won't fry it. I'm hoping a portion of my music catalog will keep me entertained for the 12+ hour trip. Without it, I won't be surprised if I don't come back, having crashed into a brick wall to soothe the pain.

Leave me messages upon my return. Or questions or something and I'll answer them. Those are fun. Also, if you're a lurker, now would be a good time to reveal yourself. People have been visiting a lot from near Court Street (where I live) and somewhere in Malaysia. That's right, Malaysia. I'm going international.

Also: Saturday is Raspberry Sundae's birthday so you should all leave her something nice. Ridley is posting in her absence but he's great anyway so check it out.

Life Fast, Diarrhea

2006-08-08T18:18:00.000-04:00

I'm not dead or anything. My 21st birthday was on the 29th (and thank you to all the well wishers) and I've been drunk since. Okay, that's a lie. I didn't even drink. I did go to Wendy's and a Taco Bell, though. Yes, for my birthday, I treat myself to two fast food places a night. Yes, I know I'm a loser.

I'm shocked to see that old people eat at Taco Bell. Isn't their demographic in the 16 to 30 year-old stoner crowd range? Everybody knows this. What attracts anyone above 60 to the imitation Mexican food? Besides, Taco Bell gives the average person diarrhea. I can't imagine what it would do to anyone with bowels that old.

Mommy Loves You, Daddy Loves You, Atom Loves You Too

2006-07-28T23:26:00.000-04:00

Only a few more minutes left to live as a rebellious punk kid. So I'm drinking a Mike's Hard Lemonade. I abide by no rules.

Mike's Lemonade sucks.

Lance Bass Has Come Out

2006-07-26T16:23:00.000-04:00

And Wikipedia is all over it:

"However, on July 26, 2006 Lance Bass put down suspicions of his love for the cock. He is noted as having a relationship with controversial musican George Michael."

They Never Got You and You Never Got Them

2006-07-21T03:55:00.000-04:00

My elementary school once had this raffle. You enter your name in the corresponding box and you could win either a book about baseball that was the size of your head (and all cool stuff is) or both the Salamander Room and Jabberwocky. As a kid, more meant better. That's the only reasoning I can think of when I look back upon my choice. I was huge into baseball and everybody knew it. If you asked me what I was going to be when I grew up, I would have answered either a baseball player, a magician, or a fire truck. Depends on the day.

Anyway, I won the raffle. That same day, the author of the Salamander Room came to my school and I got to meet her and sign my book. Someday, I'm going to write my first novel and look back on that day and say that's what got me started on the road to being a writer.

Then I'll pour myself a drink and regret not entering the other raffle so I could have been a professional baseball player and be raking in the dollars.

I Feel More Like a Stranger Each Time I Come Home

2006-07-18T01:03:00.000-04:00

Had a dream last night. Decided to write it into a script for fun. It goes nowhere and needs work which I will never do.

INT. BASEMENT - EVENING

From the darkness, everything becomes bright as a manhole opens. A hand reaches in and pulls out pants and sweaters and shirts and socks. Colors mixed with whites. Boxers and panties.

CUT TO:

The outside of the washing machine as a young man in his late twenties or early thirties piles the rest of his clothes on the machine and begins to fold them. CHARLES's hair is short and messy but his beard is full and thick. All of his hair is brown and his clothes to match. To his right, we can see a staircase ascending to a walkway and a door to the outside.

As the doorbell rings, Charles looks up and continues to fold a shirt.

CUT TO:

Charles' POV. We see a pair of nice legs and black shoes open the door. Neatly creased black pants come inside and the door closes behind them.

THOMAS
Linda, it's so nice to see you again.

LINDA
Oh hush, it's only been three hours. My husband is downstairs. Come, come into the dining room. We'll get started there.

The legs walk off together out of sight as they trade pleasantries.

CUT TO:

Charles' face as he makes an expression that matches the feeling in his stomach. He goes back to folding clothes but before long, he picks the pile up in his arms and drops them in the basket and places the folded clothes on top. A bag of laundry detergent and bleach falls down.

INT. DINING ROOM - MOMENTS LATER

Sitting around a big table are Linda and Thomas. Linda is wearing a nice blouse displaying a mile of cleavage. Thomas is wearing a black suit as nice as the creases on his pants. His gaze rarely leaves her chest as he continues to tell a story. An open suitcase lays on the table.

As Charles enters the room, Thomas halts his story and the couple turn their heads to him. Linda's permanent smiles doesn't fade away but the look in her eye is now gone.

CHARLES
Hello Mr. Graham.

THOMAS
Hello Charles.

Linda opens her mouth to say something but turns her head back to Thomas, ignoring Charles.

LINDA
Go on, Tom.

Thomas continues his story as Charles stares at both of them, basket in his hand. He turns and exits the room, walking upstairs.

INT. BEDROOM - MOMENTS LATER

Charles enters the room carrying a basket of clean, folded clothes. Sitting on top is a bag with detergent sticking out of the top. He crosses the room and goes directly to the dresser next to the window, places the basket on top, and begins to sort clothes.

After placing a shirt away, he moves to the window, opening it and looking outside. Some children are heard but not seen. He looks down and spots Thomas's car in the driveway next to his. Charles's car is a nice Hyundai Azera, only a few days old, but it's nothing compared to Thomas's Lotus. He pulls his head back in the window and cringes. He starts to put away the bleach and stops himself to look out the window again. The street is empty. It's nearing dusk and the street lights are now on. He looks around the bedroom and checks the door before unscrewing the cap off the bleach and pouring it into the cup.

Charles leans his entire upper body out of the open window, carefully holding the liquid cup in the air. He looks down and tries to position his aim.

Suddenly, the creaking of the door startles him and he drops the cup. He turns around quickly and hides the bottle of bleach behind his back.

CUT TO:

The door opening. A SIAMESE CAT pokes its head in and pushes it open a foot. It surveys the room and looks up at Charles in question.

Charles stares down at the cat with a mixture of relief and frustration. His attention quickly turns back to the window where he leans over to see the damage. Sighing, he turns back inside and slams the bleach on the dresser.

EXT. HOUSE - MOMENTS LATER

Parked in front of the house is Thomas's sports car, its hood shining in the foreground. Out of the front door comes Charles in a light blue running joke. He zips it up and walks down the sidewalk to the cars. Stopping in front of Thomas's, he looks past it.

PAN TO:

Charles's car. The cap for the bleach rests against his tire, the liquid splattered all over the tire and hubcap.

Give Me Piece of Mind

2006-07-16T01:11:00.000-04:00

Back in elementary school, I knew this kid named David. He was a big dumb ox of a kid but pretty nice. Just slow. My brother knew his sisters so I was well aware of his home situation. I was just a kid back then so things like alcohol and divorce and negligence didn't register to me. All I knew was he came from a bad home and I felt sorry for him because of this.

David was your generic slow kid in class. The one who was behind a few reading levels and had trouble with his homework. I don't remember anyone making fun of him but I do remember the class letting out a collective sigh whenever he was picked to read aloud.

David also had anger problems that he took out on himself. Whenever he got something wrong, he took it like it was the end of the world. He would repeatedly punch himself in the head for not getting things right.

Sometimes I feel like David.

Lately, I've been doing things all wrong, or at least I feel like I have been. I'm not making happy the people that I should be making happy. Maybe I'm wrong and they are happy and I'm just taking things the wrong way. Maybe I'm going about things the wrong way and aren't trying hard enough. Maybe they're just bored of me.

I'm punching myself in the head and it's not making things better.

There Was a Planet. It Blew Up. End of Story.

2006-07-11T07:32:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, when I walked home from school, I would pretend I was Wolverine. I would ball my fists, furrow my brow and ready my self to pounce if there was trouble around the corner. And there was always trouble around the corner. This isn't something I only did as a child. To this day, when I'm walking by myself, I think about what it would be like to have heightened senses. My fingers turn to fists and I can feel the adamantium sheathed under my skin.

When I was little, I would play with my friends, climbing trees with my ring and middle fingers tapping against my open palm. This would press a trigger that shot my webbing that enabled me to swing from tree to tree. But who didn't do this? Who didn't fantasize about being Spider-Man?

Even younger still, I tied a cape and cowl around my neck and would say to complete strangers, "I'm Batman." They didn't believe me but that was fine by me. Batman's better off as an urban legend anyway.

But there was somebody I never pretended to be.

Superman.

I dug comics, I really did, but Superman was too bland for me. Don't get me wrong, I liked the guy. I watched the old Fleischer cartoons on the tapes I had and was thoroughly engrossed with the story when Superman died. I never saw him as the Atticus Finch that everyone else did but he was the all powerful father figure. He loved unconditionally and always tried to do right but he wasn't very smart. Batman was the smart one. Batman's the one who always had the upper hand and managed to sneak out of the room when Superman's back was turned, no matter how well he could hear. Superman was first and powerful and the leader but so is Cyclops and nobody wants to hear about him, do they?

That said, I saw Superman Returns the other day. Some people have already reviewed it and have done a better job that I ever can. I even found myself griping out what I just watched even though I walked out of the theater with a pleasant taste in my mouth. Maybe it's because I had a great night and even drove to Detroit with Beefcake in order to see it, though that wasn't the plan. We had no other plans and figured what the hell, why not drive 2 hours in order to see a movie?

I was not bored by Superman. At no point in the movie did I feel like it was going on too long. My only major gripe being is that Superman is like Jack Bauer in that you know he's not going to croak. Some have complained in the past that Superman is too powerful and then they trimmed his powers down. Gone were his super ventriloquism and now he mostly lifts shit. And that's what this movie was. A lot of scenes of him lifting shit. As far as suspense goes, there was nothing for him to lose, so it really didn't matter. He can't die, he's Superman. He's going to save the day. Obvs.

Bitching aside, I was thoroughly entertained by it all. Superman looked like a hero, despite not really being one, and at worst, looked like an emo kid because of his glasses and haircut rather than the spandex. It was a less than compelling love story with some minimal action thrown in because just saying he's Superman isn't enough, he has to be Superman.

Singer tried hard to make it seem like one of the original Superman movies. Perhaps too hard. A tongue and cheek reference to the original is a fine homage but I don't need to be reminded every five minutes of what I'm watching.

That said, the best part is the opening credits.

Jimmy Jam II

2006-07-06T15:40:00.000-04:00

I may have fallen over in my chair and spilled cider everywhere but the grass is always greener right under your shoe. And if you think you got the timing wrong, stop and just hum along, the song on the radio goes, "Doo do doo doo." You know you heard that melody before but now that you've grown you still laugh for a very different reason. I know I said do not let your life float on by but if you grab it by the pants, you'll float too.

When It Comes Crashing Down and It Hurts Inside

2006-07-04T17:59:00.000-04:00

Most blogs take off for the 4th of July. But we here at the deli go into overtime. Here are some songs to brighten your holiday.

Aimee Mann - 4th of July
Catch 22 - American Pie
Marcy Playground - America
Rick Derringer - Real American

Exchanging Body Heat In the Passenger Seat

2006-07-04T16:54:00.000-04:00

If you had a dog that was bred for hunting, despite never going hunting yourself, would you stop him from chasing down birds? I don't like hurting animals and I don't want Vader doing it. He killed a bird the other day and chased after a rabbit the next. I think letting him continue this will condition him to chase everything in sight. What's your take on this?

You Could Be President If Your Daddy Was First

2006-07-04T06:04:00.000-04:00

I use Soulseek to download music. It can find the stuff I'm looking for most of the time and is good for downloading whole albums at a time. But that's not what I do all the time. Apparently, I've been going about it all wrong.

That's how one person sees it, anyway. According to him, albums are only meant to be listened to in their entirety from start to finish and that listening to songs all by themselves is "rediculous."

Does anybody out there only listen to whole albums at a time?

The conversation came about after I downloaded a Beulah song from him in order to compile a mixtape a friend compiled. He took offense to this either because I only downloaded the one Beulah song or only had one Can song to offer him.

What he sounds like is a teenage girl who plays the same album to all her friends and family and gets upset when they don't like it.

I like that song "Creep."

"No, you idiot, that's just mainstream pop. All there other songs are so much better! Give it a chance you sheep!"

I tried to explain to this guy that not every band puts a lot of effort into the track listing and that sure, it helps the illusion if you listen to a concept album all the way through but it's not needed. Music doesn't have rules and most people like listening to the songs they like and don't bother cluttering up their hard drive with shit they will never listen to.

Archive junkies are fags obssessed with song counts and packing their harddrive full of shit.

But I am unable to be mean. It's a curse. Some people have called me mean in the past and I can't see it because most of the time, when I should be mean, I am kind to a fault. I helped this kid out with his ethernet card and how to download Ares and videos off Youtube.

He mentioned something about skateboarding videos so I know he has to be young. Anyone my age that watches skateboarding videos shouldn't be admitting it. He says he's 18 but I doubt that.

The conversation ended when he told me he had to go ride his bike.

Krinkle + Polite Dissent + Armstrong Circus

The Best There Is, The Best There Was, and You Know the Rest

2006-07-01T21:22:00.000-04:00

Happy Canada Day to any of my readers north of the border. I would send a card and money but I think you currency is still fur trading. I could be wrong though. In honor, I bought a new grill, made some burgers, and watched my Bret Hart DVD. A true Canadian hero. Go get him, champ!

Ground Up

2006-06-30T06:10:00.000-04:00

I talked to the ex today. The Ex. The one only ex that matters, anyway. You can't hide on the Internet but many of us try anyway. I like the concept of the locked posts on livejournal but not enough to seek refuge there. Blogger is what I used from the start and even if I jump from place to place, it's always what I considered home and always what I came back to. I'd rather be considered an indie dork than an emo kid anyway.

Rebecca is a friend of mine but she has this habit of liking the girls I date, I suppose. I'm not surprised she likes the first one. The last one she never said anything nice about. She never said anything bad about her either. Nothing terribly bad anyhow. She just wished me luck.

Now the ex found out about me and my whereabouts here through her site as I thought she might. Too many people know who I am. I think you know where this is going.

The whole reason I started Farmer in the Deli was because of some people including her, the ex. I wanted to start over. Write someplace without their eyes being upon me, be able to vent, and say mean things without the consequences. There are always consequences.

She told me she came here and I knew already. I've been thinking about it for a few days now and talked here about the pros and cons of starting over. I told her my ideas on it and asked her politely not to come back here.

Rule number 5.

She said sure. She said I am an honest person who values your privacy and I understand why you want to keep something close to you that you want other people to enjoy. You started this after I left your life and you want to keep it that way and I agree with your decision.

Only in not so many words.

I've bounced ideas back and forth in my mind. For a while I wanted to stop using Dean Simon as a pseudonym and just go by my real name. Maybe drop it and not go by any name. If I didn't enjoy being called "Dino" I probably would. I'm still on the fence on whether I'm going to stay or not.

Give me a reason to stay.

It Can Be Worse

2006-06-26T01:56:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I feel like a loser because of the things I do and like. I wouldn't say I'm a nerd because I'm not really smart. I try to make myself feel better for doing things like buying comics, going to Chinese buffets, and driving 3 hours to see a wrestling show by saying it could be worse. I could be that guy that buys and reads and masturbates to the adult comics. I could be those overweight guys that sit around a table on a hot summer day playing magic the gathering. Those guys think they're cool because they can say things like, "At least I'm not playing Pokemon."

Sure, I'm going to a Chinese buffet yet again but I don't eat as much as I can if I tried. I don't go that often. At least I only go with my friends or family and I'm not the guy sitting alone in the booth waiting for a waitress because I haven't yet made the connection that I'm supposed to get my own food. I'm not in great shape but I'm not the fat guy that everyone stares at when he walks through the door.

I go to wrestling show because I'm a fan. But not the kind who believes that it's still real to me, damnit. I don't shout lame jokes during matches and make snarky comments about the nature of the business loud enough for the people around me to hear so they know that I'm smarter than they are. You're not smart and you're not funny so just sit down and shut up or else I will I will beat your ass when we get outside. Yes, we made fun of your immature jokes and rude behavior during the show and you can try to make a comeback by saying to your friends, "Shut up guys, the assholes in front of us don't want us to shout anymore." You can say that all you want but if you noticed, you didn't shout anymore after that, did you?

Only two of us and six of you, you say? We know where our priorities lie. We know to go after one of you first, the chick if applicable, and not to stop until we have to. You may kick our asses in the end but one of you will be worse off than we will be.

And nobody wants to be the guy going home with the girl who got her ass handed to her.

At least I'm not that guy.

God of Wine

2006-06-17T05:15:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I wish I knew more dealers. The ones I do know I'm not friends with. Or if I don't hate them, I don't want to be friends with them and call them up and hang out with them just because I want something. Sometimes I want something just because I feel like giving up and giving in. Not with the girl. Not just with the girl. With everything. And I'm not talking about suicide because that would be too easy and that would be doing something. I don't want to wake up and I don't want to sleep. I want to rot.

Let me start over.

My sister has cancer now and I guess I've been in denial about the whole thing, I don't know. She didn't want treatment at first so I just brushed it off. If she doesn't care, why should I? Now she wants it. Now she's taking pills. So many pills. Now she's so far along, they're giving her morphine instead of treatment. They don't expect her to recover. Now I'm officially scared.

I don't write about my sister much. We were never close. To put it bluntly, she ruined my life in more ways than one. I moved here to get away from her. I've called the police on her several times. She's broken so many of my things, given my stuff away to friends of hers, and even stabbed me once. She never forgave me for that and acted like nothing had happened. This is what she does. She can blame it on mental instability all she wants but I've seen her medicine cabinet and most of the drugs in there aren't for her or anyone in her family.

When she moved away, I never spoke to her again. I miss my nieces and nephew and yes, I miss her at times. I love her but she has hurt me and I can't forgive that easily. I understand she doesn't deserve this and I wish she wasn't sick. I know she needs support but now that she's dying, she hasn't changed. She's still the same person. I don't want to reach out to her and then get a drunken phone call next week and listen to her tell me my mother's a whore and that I'm a bastard. I've done this dance more than once.

Then there's the girlie. I don't want to talk about this. I used to before but now it's pointless. If there are any problems with us, we should talk it out, I shouldn't run here to vent. I shouldn't take things to heart anyway.

Maybe too many people are reading this now and I'm afraid to be honest and sincere like I used to. Maybe I should start over.

I'm the Goddamn Batman

2006-06-15T07:14:00.000-04:00

I don't think comic books are something you can read on and off. Oh sure, they're cheap but if one shop is sold out of what you're looking for, are you going to drive over to another shop to pick it up? Yes, you are. Chances are, if you're going to walk into a comic book store to pick up something specific, you're a dork and already know where the other shops are.

Sometimes I'm lazy and cheap, though, and don't bother picking up the new issue of Punisher or whatever. I think when it comes to comics, if you miss a few months, you're not behind, you're officially out. But I've been reading comics my whole life. I don't want to be out. It's times like these when I pick up something new, maybe a limited series that's just out of the gate, and give it a taste. That's how I stumbled upon the new Superman comic.

Now Marvel started something called the Ultimate Universe several years back. It had the Ultimate X-Men, Ultimate Spider-Man, and even a revamped Avengers team called the Ultimates. I thought this was a stupid idea so I never bothered with it. I will projectile vomit if I ever have to sit through yet another Superman or Spider-Man origin story. And the idea of revamping superheroes to make them more hip for the kids (portraying Peter Parker as a high school boy who works for the Daily Bugle's website, for instance) isn't something I'm interested in. It may be something for new readers to get into but it sounds like giving up on their part.

"I don't want to take today's current storylines and get people interested. I want to throw history out the window and start over."

Unfortunately, I should have jumped on the bandwagon because it seems the Ultimates comic was much more mature than I gave it credit for. It portrayed the Hulk as a cannibal, a jingoistic Captain America, and Henry Pym as a wifebeater.

DC's answer to the Ultimates seems to be their All Star line, a separate universe, where continuity won't be the same. So far, Jim Lee and Frank Miller have taken over Batman & Robin and the reviews aren't good. Frank Miller, while not a bad writer in the past, has Batman doing things such as calling children "retarded." Now Frank Quitely and Grant Morrison are at the helm of Superman.

Morrison and Quitely have worked together several times in the past on the Invisibles and JLA and the New X-Men. They're magic. And so far, they haven't disappointed me. Morrison is known for shaking things up and in one issue, he's already done that.

Lex Luthor is now in prison. Superman's powers have increased. Lois Lane knows his secret identity. And, above all else, Superman is dying.

All in one issue.

Mktg

2006-06-11T06:46:00.000-04:00

Something I've been intrigued by since reading Syrup is marketing. Bloggers in Amsterdam seeked to promote tourism by inviting bloggers to visit. The new X-Men movie promoted itself with spots parodying the Adult Swim cards, spliced footage with clips from the Simpsons, and spent 8 percent of its budget to promote the movie on Myspace.

The new Texas Chainsaw Massacre prequel has a trailer that's up for grabs on apple's website but only between 10pm and 4am. When I was in Detroit, I say flyers for Red Hot Chili Pepper's new album that only said "Google Dani California" and beared no mention of the band whatsoever. Does this marketing of making the consumer go out of their way to check out the product really work?

I admit I googled Dani to see what it was and wasn't pleased with the results. I'm not as big of a RHCP fan as some people. But I didn't forget the name of their single. The fact that you can only see the TCM trailer at night makes me want to see it more than any other trailer on the site. It makes it special.

I guess this style of marketing does work.

In case you're wondering about my opinion, the trailer's no better than the previous film and the movie doesn't look to add anything to the story. It's a remake of the remake, essentially. Also, Leatherface looks more like Abyss than his previous incarnations.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

2006-06-06T23:31:00.000-04:00

This is an important day. If you haven't looked at your calendars, you may not have noticed. Today is the day I enter the 21st century. That's right, I now have broadband. Expect music in the future.

I Don't Claim to Be the Show Stopper. I'm the Whole Fucking Show.

2006-06-01T14:51:00.000-04:00

I bought some vegan animal crackers today. Is that ironic?

Someone came to the blog looking for tips on how now to hurt yourself wrestling. Here's a tip. Don't fucking wrestle. If you're looking to wrestle, expect to get hurt. If you haven't been to wrestling school, expect to get seriously injured. I know if I jump off a roof onto thumbtacks that it's going to hurt and if I crack my skull open upon arrival, it's my own damn fault for doing it in the first place. Every young male wrestles sometime. It's just something you do with your friends. Every kid gets body slammed and every kid imitates Snuka's splash just like every kid skins his knee and every kid climbs a tree. I'm not saying don't wrestle. I'm saying expect to get hurt if you do. Also, tuck and roll.

KFC's new item, its Famous Bowls, is a page out of Taco Bell's book. Mashed potatoes, gravy, corn, and chicken together in a bowl and covered with cheese. Who wouldn't want everything at KFC compiled together and mixed in a bowl?

This reminds me of Patton Oswalt's bit on Black Angus Steakhouse.

"At Black Angus, we'll start you off with our appetizer platter featuring five jumbo deep fried gulf shrimp served on a disk of salted butter with fifteen of our potato bacon bombs and a big bowl of pork cracklins with our cheese and butter dipping sauce."

My high school broadcasting teacher gave us credit for the day so long as we filmed something. My friend and I once pooled our money to buy different kinds of food at the cafeteria to mix together in a pot and serve to students while filming their reactions. Most of the girls, usually cheerleaders, ate it up with no questions asked while the jocks passed. I don't blame them. Nachos and peanut butter do not go well together even with chocolate milk applied.

DJ Danger Mouse has never done me wrong in the past. His new collaboration of Gnarls Barkley has only been going uphill and with two great videos for "Crazy", it's obvious. This video for his Danger Doom collaboration with MF Doom is one of my favorites. El Santo should be in every video.

NK is a good writer.

Hey Mama Rock Me

2006-05-28T01:54:00.000-04:00

I'm no good at writing about happy subjects and updating everyone on my life. As much fun as it is getting trashed and talking about it, it's not as much fun hearing about it happening to someone else. So I'll try not to do that. I'll just mention that it was my best friend's birthday party last night and things didn't go as he wanted them to. In fact, it was a horrible birthday party considering a friend of ours got busted open for no reason other than he was one of us trying to stop a fight.

Woke up this morning with what felt like a hangover, despite being sobered up by the time I fell asleep and using the girlie's trick of drinking lots of water before I do. All day long, I felt sick to my stomach so we never got much packing done.

Oh yeah, packing. My friend, Beefcake, is moving. Pretty much the same distance from where I live now but in the other direction. The good news is it will be in a house and the guy he's living with is a great drunk.

That great drunk also owns a boxing ring he is letting us set up in the backyard, in which we will wrestle. Since I'm the only one of us without insurance, I'm sure I will be the first one to get hurt. But that's the price you pay for putting on good matches. I think the first thing we're going to do is get away from garbage wrestling.

Whenever anybody thinks about backyard wrestling, what comes to their minds is two kids hitting each other with chairs as a way to entertain. While I'm not saying chair shots aren't entertaining, there's a difference between using weapons in telling a match and just plain using weapons.

At this point, we've been relying on them so much that we have to do something bigger to top the last match and that's stupid. This is how people get hurt. With an actual ring, we can perform real matches and entertain people without killing ourselves. And if we provide alcohol, they will be entertained no matter what.

But I digress.

Today is Beefcake's birthday and he would still be my friend even without the wrestling ring. We drove around today, singing Against Me's cover of Wagon Wheel and going out to eat buffet. Whatever diet I had going on there is getting the shit kicked out of it by chicken and bread pudding. This isn't my fault. Buffets cure hangovers.

Beefcake said once that somebody we knew called me weird but wouldn't tell me who. This bothered me but he said he agreed with the guy, I am weird, but that doesn't matter. He said he can only count on a few people that will always have his back and I'm one of them and this is true and the feeling is mutual.

He's my friend but he's not without his faults. He takes pleasure in the misery of others and this includes children. If he sees a kid with a balloon, he will pray for the balloon to pop and then joke that it should be filled with candy. Candy filled with razor blades. He's a douche but a funny one and while I used to be a nice boy, I lost my way. But at least I'm funnier now.

At four this morning, six of us sat around watching two kids have sex in the living room and cheered them on. Beefcake sat next to them, eating Chinese food, and saying that the kid should tag him in.

There was another couple upstairs getting it on and some chick sitting next to me remarked that she felt bad she was the only girl in the house not having sex. I looked at her and said, "Well we can always change that...you can leave." Beefcake and I laughed.

He's 21 right now and he just called me from a bar somewhere where a band is playing Wagon Wheel, ironically. He talked for five minutes and the only words I could make out were the title of the song and "shots."

Don't Rock the Boat, Baby

2006-05-25T04:12:00.000-04:00

As I previously mentioned, I took an impromptu trip to New York state and Niagara Falls this past week and took along a camera.

This has been my first time back in about 9 years and it looks the same. Still a really big waterfall. Only this time, I was a douche that kept saying remarks aloud like, "That's not that much, really" whenever the tour guide mentioned how much water went over each day. I'm surprised I wasn't kicked off the bus. Why we spent so much money to travel on a bus in Niagara I don't know when we could have walked it. But that's what you have to do when an old person comes along.

I also went on a boat ride close to the falls, my first time ever. Except for the time I went to the Statue of Liberty and the time I went fishing on a row boat. But those don't count because I was either 5 or it was midnight, raining, and the boat tipped over. So this was special for me. They give you these blue garbage bags to wear because you get really close to the falls. I thought this would only be a drizzle. Turns out you get drenched.

Many of the shops at Niagara Falls (on the Canadian side anyway) are on Clifton Road, a very steep hill. My father checked out things before I went and came back telling me that there was a large building with Spider-Man on the side.

"Well I do like comics," I said. "If there's a wrestling store next to it, I'm sold."

As I went up the hill, I looked past Spider-Man to see the Rock's eyebrow staring back at me. God was listening to me. Too bad he wasn't listening to my wallet. I bought the cheapest thing there, a Ken Kennedy t-shirt, that I will probably never wear. Because come on, while I may be a wrestling fan, I'm not that type of fan. I hope I'm still not going to wrestling shows when I'm 30 unless it's with my kids. Or the girlie.

So that was Niagara.

I'm Your Son From the Future!

2006-05-22T05:51:00.000-04:00

I'm taking a page out of the girlie's book write now and writing as much as I can before I pass out. I'm extremely tired right now and really shouldn't be awake but I am. All the coffee I drank is out of my system and all that's in me is water and pop tarts. I'm cleansing myself. Pop Tarts really aren't healthy and I've been trying to get in better shape lately. I'm not ever going to be a great physical specimen (though I wouldn't mind that) but I would like to get back to the body I had a year ago before I ruined it with booze and fast food. Also, I'm lifting weights and we'll see how far that will take me.

Ben Cohen over there regularly posts music you should check out, especially now that he's doing mashup Fridays. The Blur and Madison Avenue track he has up right now is pretty good.

I went to a wrestling show this weekend that wasn't bad but nothing spectacular. Got to see and meet Colt Cabana. Got to see a title change. Had more fun after the show when my friend I suplexed my other friend into the wall among other things. None of us walked away feeling 100 percent.

I still have a lot of DVDs I have to mail out. ECW is coming back and so I rented Bloodsport to review and get nostalgic. I also rented Caged Heat, thinking it would be better than it was. An exploitation film about women in prison made by the guy who did Silence of the Lambs? Yes please. And as far as exploitation films go, it wasn't bad. It was entertaining. But only a movie to see so I could say I saw it.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will write about my trip to Niagara and how I brought a book about weapons across the border several times. Real smart, Dino.

Sean Nelson + Population Paste + Chloe

Odds and Ends

2006-05-20T17:57:00.000-04:00

If I could be anything in the world it would be avant garde. I see people that I think are that way, like my old friend Holly Hox, and I don't have that energy. She used to design clothing and take lots of pictures. I think I'm creative enough to make things such as cookies decorated with obscenities but I'm too lazy to even make regular cookies. And anything I bake is awesome.

I took an impromptu trip to Niagara Falls earlier this week. There are pictures on my flickr account if you're interested. I'll probably have a write up here soon.

On my way to another wrestling show right now. I'm such a loser. Saying I'm going to a wrestling show is sad enough when you're almost 21 but "another" wrestling show?

Happy Mother's Day

2006-05-14T23:54:00.000-04:00

I have made some posts about my grandmother before but haven't talked much about my mother. There's a good reason for this.

When I was nine years old, my mother and I were in a head-on car collision. I survived and she died. There's still some speculation around her death. Was her car over the line? Was she really reaching over into the passenger seat? Was she going too fast? I don't know and I'll never know and that really doesn't bother me.

For two weeks, I was in the hospital and every night, my father told me she was sleeping. I can understand how much it must have hurt him to hear me ask how she was every night but not be able to tell me because it might halt my recovery.

That first night, I needed an emergency blood transfusion. They called my father to to tell him and he said he would be on his way. They said no. They said I needed it right then.

I died on the operating table. But I came back. With a vengeance.

I saw no light. I saw no pearly gates. I didn't see anything to confirm that there's an afterlife and that I'm going to be okay. The only light I saw was right after the accident, when I woke up and there were tree branches above my head. I thought I was at the playground of my school except there was a man standing above me. He was glowing and white and I said everything was going to be fine. But I didn't believe him because after he said that, he ripped my shirt open. It was my favorite shirt. The next thing I knew, I was being carried into the back of an ambulance on a gurney and after what felt like a few minutes I was being wheeled out into an emergency room. I was placed on a table with a bright light that just got brighter as they put me under. Put me over. Over and out.

My mother died and I lived. This is something I question every day.

I don't remember waking up after that. I only remember bits and pieces. Having a TV placed in front of my face because I didn't have glasses. Having to suck on sponges because I wasn't allowed water. Clinging to my bedsheets as the guy on the other side of the room that seemed like a mile away pulled on my catheter to take it out.

I was moved up several floors and it was a cause for celebration. I was doing alright. I was doing better.

Hey dad, how is mom? You just saw her? She's sleeping.

They took x-rays. Many x-rays. The drinks they gave me to make my bones glow didn't taste anything like vanilla shakes like they said they would. I was given a cat scan but it didn't bother me. I hear people say they're afraid of them because it feels like being in a coffin but I wasn't bothered. It was supposed to rain that night and I had a room to myself and there was a Beavis & Butthead marathon on all night.

I was given presents every day from people I didn't know and never kept in touch with afterwards. Toys and books and comics. My best friend gave me an issue of Sonic the Hedgehog #100. Special gold cover. He knew I liked drawing Sonic so he gave me a pad of paper too.

Do you want to see my scars? They cut open my stomach and took out my spleen and fixed my liver. It's really cool. It doesn't hurt much.

How's my mom? Oh. Still sleeping? She sleeps a lot now.

Something must have gone wrong the day I was meant to leave the hospital because my dad never came to pick me up. He called and said he was coming in the afternoon. I told him to get me a Snickers. He never came. For some reason, I couldn't leave. I was mad at him that night.

The next day, my whole family was there. My father. My sister. My brother. My brother is afraid of elevators but even he rode one up to see me.

But where's mom? Oh.

Oh.

Sometimes it hits me that my mother is gone. I'll be driving or talking to someone or watching TV and it feels like a bucket of water thrown on my face. Bam. Dead. She's dead. I have no problem with this. I feel no sadness or remorse that my mother is gone. That she's gone right now. I can deal with that.

What hurts the most is she's not going to be back tomorrow. She won't be back the next day. She's gone. I can deal with her not being here for me right now because that's just how things are. People aren't always there for you because they can't always be there for you no matter what you promise anybody.

This very second, my brother-in-law is in jail and my sister and her three kids are living in a campgrounds waiting to go to court tomorrow to get their house back. I want to be there for them but I can't. Because I don't want to. Because sometimes you have to go through things on your own or you will always depend on somebody. This is a lesson I'm still learning.

The day I got out of the hospital, my mother was already dead and buried. Her funeral happened and people said goodbye and paid their last respects and I didn't even know she was gone. This is something I still am hurt by. I'm mad at my father for not telling me. I'm mad at myself for watching TV and drawing Sonic when I should have been saying goodbye.

I don't believe in God and I don't believe in Heaven. Not anymore. I don't believe there's an afterlife or reincarnation or anything. When you're dead, you die. That's it. Poof. Like magic. My mother is worm food and that's what's going to happen to me so I should make the most of it while I'm still around. I'm not going to meet up with her in the future and that hurts. I can't take back what happened, I just have to deal with it.

She died so that I could live. Or some other crap like that.

I don't have any grand tradition on this day. I don't visit my mother's grave because it's in another state. I don't talk to my family about her because that's just not something we do. But I'm still thankful. Everyday I'm thankful.

Happy mother's day.

The Robot Sinks

2006-05-10T05:23:00.000-04:00

Get My People On This

2006-05-09T06:34:00.000-04:00

Speaking of Jaromir, he and I came up with an idea for a new cutting edge sitcom. Forget your Arrested Developments and My Name Is Earls, the best show of the season is going to be ours. Imagine it: two serial killers that share an apartment but neither of them know the other is a serial killer. It's comedy at its best.

The best episode would involve Gary going on a bender the same night Steve picks up a drifter, rapes him, and stuffs his body in the closet before drifting off to sleep. When Gary wakes up, he finds the body and thinks the murder was his drunken doing. So he disposes of the body before Steve can find it. When Steve wakes up, he finds the body missing and hilarity ensues.

The show's cuckoo Fonzie character would be the Don Knotts-inspired landlord who lives in a pit in their basement and ends each episode with a post-laugh quip like, "Oh you guys, you kill me." Then they all laugh and the frame freezes and the credits roll.

To the Five Boroughs

2006-05-08T05:49:00.000-04:00

Bikers' convention, Vol. 4
Originally uploaded by hbomb1947.

Today, Jaromir Blagr participated in biking around the five boroughs for 42 miles. He's been getting in shape for this for a long time now and while he didn't take any pictures, you may be able to find some on flickr. The picture to the right is from 2005.

Congratulations to him and everyone involved.

The last time I road a bike was before my mother passed away. There was a large hill in front of my house and my dad taught me how to ride by holding me still while at the top and letting me fall down to the bottom. When you're that young and your legs are pumping and sweat is forming on your brow as you realize you haven't fallen over and you're riding, you're actually riding your bike, it feels like sex.

Then the day came when my friends showed up at my house and asked me to join them in riding around. Up till then, I always rode bikes with my dad. This was new territory. My mother said it was fine as long as I didn't go far. Since we lived in a private community, this wasn't a problem.

Eventually, we wound up at a place I had never been to. They said they went there all the time so I just followed behind them and tried to look cool on a banana seat. Back then, I was cool, no matter what anybody said. Looking back, I know how wrong I was. I may not be a bike aficionado, but no bike can be as cool as a burnt orange stingray.

I should have been paying attention. I should have slowed down, but I was too busy being awesome. You see, where I lived, there were many cul de sacs, some of them being at the bottom of hills. So when I started going down faster and faster with nothing but cars and houses staring me in the face, I freaked out. If I were more experienced, I would have braked.

Instead, I slammed my feet on the cement and pulled back on the handles. My bike went up, slamming against my balls. My children were the least of my concerns. Because then my handles came off my bike. Then the front wheel. Then the back. I fell down in a heap of mangled metal, wondering what in the hell just happened to me. That day, I had to walk home, bleeding, and carrying the four pieces of my bike.

I haven't been on a bike since.

My Shoes Hurt

2006-05-05T23:11:00.000-04:00

The prettiest girl in the world lets me bite her cheeks when she blushes.

That's something I wrote about a girl one year ago and it still holds true to this day. I don't know what it is about a girl with chubby cheeks but it automatically makes them cute. We joke that the first thing I noticed about her were her breasts ("As big as your head.") but what hit me first was her cheeks. Rose-colored and warm.

She's hardcore. Like a chipmunk carrying razorblades instead of nuts.

I don't know much about cinco de mayo. I'm never sure what it's all about. What it means to me is the night I had her head against my chest and smelled her hair. Maybe it was her shampoo or her pheremones but it smelled wonderful. That smell that pretty girls have naturally. I kissed her on the top of her head and she said something about it being 11:10. Neither of us are superstitious but we like to pretend. Don't we all?

The following minute couldn't end fast enough and what happened after that couldn't have been longer.

Look at the clock. Do you see the time? It's 11:11 and that's how I made you mine.

When I think of who she was then, who I thought she was, it's different then how I see her now. I saw her as a fragile little thing. A woman older than me but a girl after my own heart. I wanted to be the man to take care of her and make things right. Now I think of her as something stronger. She can take care of herself. She's been through so much and has survived all that and come out smelling like roses and looking like Thora Birch. But with bigger boobs and a hardon for Morgan Webb.

Is it cool than she owns more videogames than me? She loves Final Fantasy and got her younger brother into Jimi Hendrix. She listens to ska. I've always been a sucker for a brown-eyed punk rock girl, and for her, I'd shoot the world.

She sings when she thinks I'm not listening and makes little noises with her mouth for no reason. These are the same idiosyncrasies everybody has, the same little quirks that makes anyone like anyone. Why I like her's I don't know and I don't want to know.

Believe me, you are cool. You're as cool as black ice. I love you.

Oh, Doug

2006-05-01T05:45:00.000-04:00

Maura made her youngest sister a blog for her birthday. With just one post, I can tell that at age 13, she's a better writer than I was. I wrote something in longhand (or is it shorthand?) the other night that I wanted to write here but I come off sounding like a creep and a bad writer and I don't want that now, do I?

The girlie asked me tonight what celebrity I think I resemble. I'd like to go with Brad Pitt because come on, who wouldn't? But in actuality, I have to go with one girl's suggestion and go with Brian Posehn. I'm not bald and into heavy metal thank god but we have the same tall, fat and pear shaped bodies and that sucks. I don't want to have kids because it might be genetic or something and I wouldn't wish that on my children and I hate kids.

Another wrestling ppv tonight. Review's over there at Body Slammed. I'm beginning to enjoy writing reviews as long as I can get myself to sit down and do them instead of putting them off.

I used to drink so much. Not alcohol, mind you, but anything. I can go through a gallon of milk a day easily. Now whatever milk I drink is warm before it's finished.

I've also been feeling queasy these past few days. I'm not sick to my stomach but it feels like I have a carton of curdled milk in there that rotates throughout the day.

Deftone + You Drunk As Hell + Soviet Panda

It's Really Not So Bad, You Know, Once You Get Past the Taste

2006-04-21T05:01:00.000-04:00

New oven works out fine but I still can't make grilled cheese. This is something a kid can do and I'm a failure. My dad is right.

I'm painting the hallway today. Scrubbed down the fridge yesterday, painting the hallways today, and cleaning out the fridge tomorrow. It's Spring Fucking Cleaning over here.

If I sound upset it's because I'm late on a mix trade I am doing and I'm not going to send out any CDs until this weekend. This is my first time participating and I wanted to be on top of things. I'm a failure. See above. See below. See archives.

Alright, enough surly babble. I should be happy. Sabrina got an audioscrobbler after seeing mine. I saw it on her blog, befriended her, talked to the girlie about it, and then we started chatting it up. Apparently, she reads me. And this whole time I've been too intimidated by her to say anything. Funny how that works. Now I'm sure I'm going to come off as the rambling fan instead of the mysterious lurker.

I once knew a Sabrina. She was the hottest girl in my class and attempted to flirt with me during class so I would do her assignments. It worked, of course, because I am a fool. She had the technique down pat too. Lightly stroking the bicep while staring into my eyes and occasionally glancing down at my crotch while also batting her eyelashes. She gave great head, so I'm told, which makes sense. She was a spinner with a five foot frame and the head the size of a beach ball. What wasn't she good at?

The answer is Journalism. I wrote half her articles for her. The teacher didn't mind. I was her favorite student and she did nothing but blush when I said I wanted to name my band Oedipus Rex and the Motherfuckers.

I imagine Sabrina C is the same girl only older. She traded in her Schnapps for whiskey and forever has sand stuck to her because that's what happens when you live on the west coast and are awesome. You drink like a rockstar, talk honest because you don't give a fuck what people think, and talk so hard you cut your lips on your words.

Okay, fuck the Sabrinas. That's how I imagine me.

Everyone Here Hates Everyone Here For Doing Just Like They Do

2006-04-18T04:16:00.000-04:00

The last time I talked to Rebecca must have been over a year ago. She went to my school, albeit four years earlier, and we would have got along if we weren't so far apart in age. The last time we talked, she was beginning law school and living in Washington D.C., married to a former professor. I was invited to her wedding but was unable to attend due to my own graduation being the same day. We both loved birds.

Flash forward to now and things are quite different. She is still attending law school but is going through a divorce and already has a string of ex-boyfriends that include but are not limited to an abusive cop, a cocaine-addicted pilot, and a sexually-dominating priest. I used to be able to name all of the people she slept with in chronological order and placed my name at the end of the list because, c'mon, we would get around to it eventually. That's how it happens in the movies.

Her birds died and shortly after, so did mine.

She stole her ex-husband out from under the nose of another woman. This should make me hate her but, as it is, I have a hard time hating anyone. From what I remember, the woman was unstable already and when she found out her boyfriend was having an affair with Rebecca, she cracked.

She's responsible for putting someone in an asylum.

She's still friends with her ex-husband, as much as you can be a friend to your ex-husband, which both surprises and delights me. Of all her boyfriends, he was my favorite, and I worry now that he's gone and I hear about who she's been with since, dating or not. I worry not about her well-being but me having to put up with whatever droog she latches onto and I have to pretend to like. I know she can take care of herself, no matter how fucked up she may say she is. She's the personification of the word independent.

I always thought she would become a professor someday (and she was at one point) but I suppose she has her sights set on being a lawyer or working somewhere in the field. I have no doubt in my mind that she won't be successful but she's the type of girl who will go to law school for 6 years and then stop and move to California to learn to surf properly. Even though she can't swim.

She eats so slow she has to reheat her meals before she's finished.

In the realms of my relationship, Rebecca's been there from the start. She was my second and third crush and was the cushion for my heart when I dated my first girlfriend. Now she's better friends with my ex than I am myself and that scares me. My guy friends would never be friends with my ex after we dated because they know better, and I would do the same. It's just a general rule. I suppose girls don't follow the same rules because she sees nothing wrong with it. I, on the other hand, am self-conscious and vain. I imagine all their conversations revolving around the topics of my penis size and all the bad choices I made in my life.

I told Rebecca that my friends and I are considering going to wrestling school. She's in support of it. "That's so random," She said. "Go for it."

My ex-girlfriend is now going to school for Greek and Latin studies with aspirations of being a librarian. She sets her sights high. She and Rebecca would get along more than Rebecca and I, so I don't mind all that much. Before Rebecca and I stopped talking, many of our conversations about her began with Rebecca saying, "Did you do her yet?"

Rebecca once compiled a multi-page list of items she has masturbated with.

Why did we stop talking? I don't know. There was no argument or disagreeance, just mutual goings on. These things happen and need to happen or else you would always stay friends with some people you don't care for. I wish she was around when the last girl and I broke up. I wish I was there for her when her marriage went to shit and she snapped and road a bus all day before deciding on riding it all the way to Key West. Without telling her husband. Without sending me a postcard.

The good news about friends like these is they never have to send you a postcard because you know they'll always call you up one day five years later and say, "I had sex with my priest tonight and it made me think of you."

Innocent Bystander + Edify + Sandra B.

Strange Things Are Afoot At the Circle K.

2006-04-17T17:10:00.000-04:00

So this is the blog of the guy who killed that 10-year-old girl and planned to eat her. Call me morbid but finding things like this (and there are a lot of them) are interesting to me. But it's a bit disturbing to know he was a fan of Toole and Tony. Makes you wonder how many blogs you've come across that are written by murderers. Makes you wonder how much you have in common with those people.

Your Music's Bad and You Should Feel Bad

2006-04-14T04:10:00.000-04:00

Futurama is on right now and it's one of the girlie's favorite shows but she's asleep now and it's a good one, the one where Fry trades hands with the robot devil. Actually, I think she's mad at me right now. Her best friend is upset because she has a different taste in music and is friends with a guy she used to sleep with. Still with me? I may not practice what I preach but I told her to confront her friend about how she doesn't listen to the same Top 40 crap she does. Her friend got upset and said she doesn't want the girlie talking to this guy anymore.

If you don't understand what I just said, I'll sum it up for you. Dean Simon gives suggestion. Suggestion backfires. Dean Simon is an idiot.

I haven't been feeling very well all of today and this made it the perfect ending to a perfect day. I am a fucking idiot.

But I digress. This isn't the first time a guy did something stupid.

There's a tournament going on over here to determine the best film ever. Because I have a love for tournaments, I was thinking of doing the same thing over here but couldn't decide on how to determine the movies included. That and I would get about 5 votes a week at most and the first round alone would take 32 weeks. Still, I may try something similar.

I've been watching some westerns lately since I rented a documentary on the Spaghetti West. A friend called me a fan (or maybe fag) but I wouldn't say that, except when it comes to Sergio Leone. Because of this, I went out and bought A Fistful of Dollars, the only movie in the man with no name trilogy that I don't own, and the second best. Clint Eastwood, in any movie he does, ranges up there as one of the ultimate badasses alongside Jack Bauer and Snake Plisskin.

I want to direct a movie someday, even if it's just one. Roger Ebert said that by directing one movie, you prove you have a story inside you, by directing two, you prove you're a director. I thought I wanted to be a director but in the end, I just want to be a storyteller and get one good story out there. I don't care if I do nothing but wash dishes the rest of my life.

I met with a friend of mine today who has a copy of a music video I did. It's pretty bad but when I get my hands on it, I'll probably put it up on you tube for your enjoyment.

Give a Guy a Gun, He Thinks He's Superman. Give Him Two and He Thinks He's God.

2006-04-11T22:23:00.000-04:00

A friend of mine from online found this blog and now I'm worried about who is reading it. As he put it, you can't hide on the Internet. This is true. Also, if I didn't want people reading this, I wouldn't be putting it all on the web. If I was so scared of someone finding it that I don't want, I would be posting all this on a livejournal. Hopefully, I'm not that pathetic.

What he did was show me the url and said that sometimes, he swears this is me. It's not easy to figure out. Shit, the people I don't want to find this are probably my oldest readers. Talk to me about Sonny Chiba and I'll turn around and post it on the blog. Say something funny your friend told you and I'll write it down and use it here. My name and picture are a lie but I'm more honest here than anywhere else.

I'm still sitting in the back of the classroom, afraid to talk, because the cool kids might scrutinize me. I want to be accepted but I don't want to stop being me so I be me in the corner of the room and hope they don't see.

He said this seemed like a hipster blog ala stereogum. I don't see the connection. Stereogum gets thousands of hits, posts interesting links, and has a point. I ramble on about food network and some dame I had a crush on in junior high. And if you look over yonder at my music, it's apparent I have my head so far up my ass that all I listen to is shit.

I am pretty cool though, I'll give you that.

Hey Mickey + 44 Calibre Love Letters + happy birthday, kiddo

Tell That Bitch Who Sent You How Sorry I Am I Can No Longer Be Her Friend

2006-04-09T03:07:00.000-04:00

Shit it's late. Yeah, I begin sentences with curse words. That's what I do now. I'm watching this Vh1 special called "Can't Get a Date" about a guy with lots of problems. Maybe it's fake, I don't know. It seems like it. I like the way the characters interact with the voice-over voice but because of that, it seems fake to me. In either case, it's pretty interesting and may help you get a date.

A commercial just came on for Pepto Bismal with some breakdancers doing the dance they have for all their commercials, complete with all the gear. I have to say breakdancing is one of the better parts of the bleak decade that was the 80s.

Okay, yeah. This show is fake. Gotta be. But it's good. It reminds me of an after school special or training video for work. This guy, Morgan, would be a great character in a movie. Remember this, Dean. His obnoxious nature. His impulsive attitude. I would be best friends with this guy. But then again, I'm a douche.

I don't know why I'm still up right now. It's late. The girlie's sleeping. I'm still sore from bowling (which I sucked at and haven't done since I was in a league). And thanks to Ice T, I want to pop in The Streetfighter before I go to sleep. Because we all sleep better on a full stomach of Japanese martial arts movies from the 70s. Seriously.

Some DJs On That Show + Tam She Is + Veerle

I Thought I Could Find You If I Never Closed My Eyes

2006-04-09T01:33:00.000-04:00

I'm going through my bloglist and getting rid of links I don't visit that often, links that go nowhere, links that don't update, etc. So if I take you off, I'm sorry, I'll still visit. Love me.

Egg McBongo

2006-04-07T23:43:00.000-04:00

I'm trying to write write write but nothing is coming out. Having the blogger window open the entire time I'm online doesn't help as it is anything I write I just save as a draft and never look at again because it sucks sucks sucks.

I was asked to be the tech guy over at The Making of a Wrestling God but apparently, he wants me to write reviews and such as well. So head on over there and check out my reviews for Wrestlemania and No Way Out because I know you hate me writing about that shit here.

Anti-Flag has a new album out and it's really good. But I hate them because they're sellouts and signed to a major record label and sold out all the tickets to the show I've been planning on going to tomorrow. That doesn't matter, though, because I'm having my own Anti-Flag concert with the best of Anti-Flag mixtape and there won't be any filler. Assholes.

Good Eats is on. I love Alton Brown. And it's the eggs episode, a really good episode. I have a suspicious feeling Alton Brown and Rachael Ray live together with a dog. I want them to adopt me. Or at least live next door to them and come over for dinner every night. But come over an hour early to watch them prepare it. Then duck out early so I don't have to wash any dishes.

Actually, I don't mind washing dishes. The girlie and I have a rule set. I wash dishes and she washes clothes. I like this rule.

In case you don't watch Good Eats, here's a tip. Always put eggs on the plate before it's finished. If it looks done in the pan, it's going to be overcooked by the time it's served. It's simple mathematics, people.

Puma Ads + Charles Valderrama + Yuppie Punk Interviews Fat Mike