Rich people stuff.

Is it cool, a day after Christmas, to post about all the stuff you got for Christmas? I'm gonna do it anyway.

Mostly, I got some socks and undershirts, an pretty awesome green sweater, various gift cards and the like. But I also came away with some cool, rich-people stuff.

The highlights:

* A Swiss Army knife. I'm not sure the exact model, but it has a large blade, a small blade, a can opener, bottle opener, a phillip's head screwdriver and a leather punch/sewing deal.

Oddly enough, I've never had a Swiss Army knife before. And I have a few knives, yes. Maybe this isn't rich people stuff, but it's totally nice because cutting loose strings my co-workers' sleeves was getting scary with this.

* A Nixon Private. If you know me, you know I like watches. This one is huge and all black and super SEXY! Congratulations me.

* A fancy-ass Chrome riding jacket. Aside from being made for bike riders (and I ride, some), this jacket just looks cool.

I know Christmas is not about getting stuff (or even giving stuff, really), but I do(seriously and truly) appreciate everything I got. No joke.

So, thanks and love to you.

Of broken toes

I broke my toe.

First: No, I didn't stub it on the couch. I kicked a guy's foot. OK, it wasn't an actual kick, it was more like his foot and my foot crunching up against each other accidentally. Actually, it was more my toes (toe, singular, rather, the fourth one on the left foot, that little piggy, there), crunching up against his foot. Or something like that, I wasn't really watching. Not the point.

Point is: It hurts. It hurts more now than it did when it happened. Which is why I walked around on it for a full week before deciding to see the doctor. It didn't turn black and blue, really, which I was waiting for. And there was no crazy swelling (at least not at first). So, as a man (male of the species) I figured it was fine. Maybe I jammed it hard, which though painful, isn't a medical condition worthy of a doctor's visit. Then, round 'bout yesterday morning, when I woke up at 5 a.m. with a dull sort of foot ache, I decided I should probably at least get it checked out. What if it was dislocated? A $20 copay is worth some piece of mind, right?

So, this morning: I go to the doctor, to the X-Ray tech, then back to the doctor who says "yep, there you are," then shows me on the X-ray a nice little zig-zag crack across the fourth toe, left foot. Actually, thinking about it now makes me a bit queasy. It hurts.

And what does he do?: What everyone knows they do with broken toes. He tapes it up. He straps it to the next functioning toe and sends me on my merry way, which is apprapo, I guess, this being Christmas eve and all. There was no setting it back in place. No tiny toe cast. No pain meds. Just some clear tape and a "take it easy on that foot for awhile."

This is the first bone I've broken since the seventh grade and truthfully, I feel a bit gypped.

For the first time in my life

So, there is this video of a performance I did on Friday night as part of the Beehive's Four Year Anniversary. It went terribly awry. I haven't watched the video, so I'm not sure how it looks from an outside perspective, but it felt pretty f'in crappy. I don't play electic guitar as a rule, so when the guitar wasn't making any noise, I should have taken it for a sign. When the it finally kicked on and was terribly out of tune, I should have run for the hills. But, like a true performer, I trudged through it, only to be heckled by rabid Patrick Contreras fans. Ouch! Not that I blame them. And in truth, there is something to be learned from an event like this. It's called humility. It's good to get knocked down a peg or two every now and again, to realize you are not as funny or talented, or prepared, as you thought you were. What's the old saying ... what doesn't kill you? I'm stronger now. So, there.

My winter cough

It's funny how short my memory can be. Like, I forgot that just last year I had a hacking cough that wouldn't go away and spent the better part of January eating Fisherman's Friends like candy. Or, that the same cough has been with me since highschool. It's how my friends knew I was in the room.

"AhHack!"

"Hey Josh."

When I started coughing last week, it was like it was happening for the first time ever.

From class reunions

The thing you learn from going to your 10-year (or 11-year) class reunion is:

* People get old, quick. I don't mean in that I-used-to-play-football-but-now-I-have-a-desk-job-so-all-that-muscle-turned-to-fat-and-gave-me-a-big-ole-fat-face way. This is more a matter of spirit. These people have resigned to act their age. Whatever that means. Marriage and kids and soccer, from the looks of it. Terrible haircuts and too much makeup for the ladies. Button down shirts (top three buttons open and roll up to the elbow) and expensive jeans for the dudes. Joining the Lions Clubs or some shit. Maybe it's just a matter of perspective, but if that's how old I'm supposed to be, I don't feel my age.

* We're all the same. All that crap that separted us in highschool doesn't really matter at a certain point. All the cliques and ego, it all sort of goes away. We all get humbled, I think, and can finally relate to each other on an even level. Now, that doesn't mean some people aren't idiots still. It just means they're idiocy doesn't have the power it used to. Realizing that can be a liberating thing.

I want to be a vampire.

So, today my boss told me to look at this. It's the cafepress search for "Twilight." I was shocked. Almost 10,000 pages! WTF??!! Seriously. Some of the stuff was pretty funny (Forget princess, I want to be a vampire). Some of it is creepy (I like my men cold, dead and sparkly). Some some of it is ... I don't know (Edward is a VILF).

If vampires were real, wouldn't this be the perfect way to take over the world (or at least America)? Make teens (and their parents) fall in love the idea of being a vampire, so when they show up it's not all scary like. By the time we realize they want to A.) turn us, or B.) eat us, it will be too late. I'll tell you what, "vegetarian" or no, I see a vampire, I'm staking its heart. Unless it's a sexy female vampire who can keep me in her trance. Then all bets are off.

What I want: Vol. 6

This makes me kinda wish I cared about cars.

As it is, I'd rather have one of these.

On Prop 8

I'm making an offical endoursement for a "no" vote on Prop 8. But before I do, I'd like to open the floor to anyone who has a good reason that I should vote yes. Notice the emphasis on good. Because I've read/heard lots of reasons why people are voting yes, but they're all lame. Seriously.

* The bible says.
Yes, I suppose it does. Only, the bible isn't our law. If it was we'd live in a theocracy, and maybe you want that. I don't.
* They'll teach gay marriage in schools.
This is a lie and dumb and a lie and a scare tactic. Next!
* It hurts marriages.
You know what hurts marriages? Divorce. Las Vegas hurts marriages. Brittney Spears hurts marriages. Teens getting married just so they can have sex, that hurts marriage.
* It validates the "gay" adgenda.
What that? For people to be free from persecution and discrimination? You're right, that's downright evil.
* Three judges overruled the will of the people in the first place.
Good point. But isn't that's their job? To rule on cases where maybe the majority of people are full of shit? Because we still have a constitution, even if the majority of people wish it weren't so.
* Gays can already get similar rights in civil unions.
First off, similar isn't the same. Second, quit parsing fucking words. It either is or it isn't marriage. And if it is not marriage, then someone is being denied a right.

So, the only argument I'll except from any of you from this point forward is this: You don't want gays to marry cause it's icky.

An update: Politiking

I stumbled back here after being gone for a good while. Found a comment waiting: "You need to update your blog." She called my boyfriend. So there you go.

On Politics: I am so done with politics. I told myself after 2000, I wouldn't get invested, because I felt like I had something to lose then, and I did. And it hurt. Forget the eight years that followed. So, 2004 was an "eh" year for me, and here we are in 2008 and I'm trying to feel like I don't give a shit about any of it, and truthfully, I don't. OK, I wish I didn't. The thing is: Everyone is so fucking angry. About everything. It's not enough to say you disagree on Barak Obama on the economy or foreign policy. You've got to call him an anti-American, or a Marxist. Or a socialist, at least. Forgetting that fact you probably don't know what the fuck that really means. And it's not just the Republicans. I'm sick of people saying Sara Palin is dumb, that's she doesn't have the experience to be president. Who does? Seriously. What experience is there that can possibly prepare you to be president of the United States? Don't say being a Senator, or whatever quick comeback you're thinking. It was sort of fuckin' retorical. And it would be one thing if it was just us throwing this shit out at the candidates. But we're fucking attacking each other over this stuff. Read some blogs, it's everywhere. There is no debate happening. It's just all hate, all the time. It's US versus THEM, forgetting, of course, that WE are THEM, in the end anyway.

Now I've gone and got my blood pressure up.

What I want: Vol. 5

Today's wants:

* Limited-edition Casio G-Shock. It's not really my style, but it's BRIGHT F'IN RED. I like. Yes, I do.

* Vintage Straight Corduroy Pant by Ralph Lauren Rugby. Again, not really my style, but I could learn, right? It's the models that sold me. They look cool. Like J. Crew models, only tough.

What I want: Vol. 4

Today's wants:

* A new pair of Linds bowling shoes. I may have lost mine this weekend. Which means, I forgot them at one of the bowling alleys. It had been a long day.

* A Tenticle Tie. I like octopi (not as much as giant skid). They are scary. And yummi.

What I want: Vol. 3

Today's wants:

* Anything from JewelsofLuxury. Specifically, this necklace. I know I'm a guy and I probably can't pull this off, but I'd maybe like to try.

* Anything from Steel Toe Studios. Specially, the Cock and Bull bottlecap buckle and recycled rubber belt. I've came across this site a while ago, but haven't been willing to plunk down $90 on a belt and buckle. But give me a few more months.

What I want: Vol. 2

Today's want:

*Converse Force 5. These totally aren't my style, and they look like a pair of running shoes I already own, but something about the color scheme makes me happy, so I want 'em. Who knew?

*Alice Copper's "Along Came a Spider." Here's hoping it's more "I Love the Dead and less "Feed My Frankenstein.

What I want: Vol. 1

Spurred on by a fellow blogger, I've decided to blog about the stuff I want. The crap that I see on the Internet, or in stores, but mostly on the Internet, and fall in love with. And sometimes buy. Sometimes the stuff is even usefull. Like, this. The hope is, people will start reading this and then the people who make the stuff I want will send me said stuff for free. Yes.

Today's wants:

* Sit n' Spin pants, from Under the Weather. They're for bike riding, which I do.

* Twelve 5-9 C version Gunmetal. "In the cities of the future, even your wrist wear is robotic." I love watches and this one is awesome.

Bugs. Or, why I hate the creepy crawlies.

Let's just put it out there because anyone who's met me probably knows it already: I hate bugs. And spiders. And some birds. Anything that flies at my face. But mostly bugs. It's to the point I almost stopped reading "The Metamorphosis." Serious. I can't say exactly what about bugs is so freaky. The rational part of my brain knows full well there's no way a bug could hurt me. Even if they wanted to (and there have been times when they've wanted to I'm sure of it). I could easily crush a bug (or a spider) with my shoe with zero chance of harm befalling me. Yet, when coworkers screamed there was cockroach (a two-incher at that) chilling out by the door to my office this morning I got weak kneed. OK, that's an exaggeration. But it did freak me out. Yet, I still felt compelled to go see it. To get as close as possible. But not too close, in case it tried to scurry my way. I think it's because the fuckers are so damn tough. I've seen a cockroach get stepped on, and, guts oozing all over the floor, still try to craw it's ass away. I've personally kicked a cockroach across a room, full on punted the thing, just to see it flip itself over and charge head on at me.

More fun on the road

Riding down Foutain Way. Two kids on BMXs are trolling up and down the street, being kids. I ride by. About a block down I hear one the kids behind me peddling his ass off. We're racing, I guess.

"I'll beat you to the corner."

And he huffs some and peddles faster and beats me to the stop sign, which he coasts through with his hands in the air like a true racer.

"How fast do you ride?" he asks.

We're having a conversation now. Cool.

I don't know. Fast.

"My cousin works at Stevens and he has a bike like that and he put a spedometer on it."

Oh yeah?

"He goes 40,000 ... I mean 40. 45."

Miles and hour?

"Yeah."

That's fast. I don't go that fast.

"He peddles as fast as me, but he can go faster because he's got a gear bike."

Then his friend joins the ride and we're all racing. They're peddling, peddling and breathing hard and then they coast for a while, then peddling hard again. We come up on Palm and I get ready to turn and they start lagging behind.

OK, guys, be safe.

"You too."

In quarantine Pt. 2

Nothing too good in today's batch.

This one did make me chuckle: From, nootsam@calvinolaw.com. Subject, Where Do Homosexuals Get All Their Energy

Fun on the road.

Riding my bike down Palm Avenue and somewhere north of Clinton this truck pulls over on the side of the road. He's sort of stopping of haphazardly, and I see this and before the car is even stopped the driver cranks it into park, flings open the door and starts yelling.

At me.

"Did you flip me off? What's wrong with you dude? You're gonna flip me off? Why'd you flip me off? What's your problem man?"

Picture him red-faced and panting.

As I ride by: "Um. I didn't flip you off."

I ride a few blocks more and realize that this guy is following me, which must look weird to everyone else cause even if I'm riding fast, he's driving slow. Eventually he gives a little honk and I look over my shoulder and he motions for me to pull over.

So I do.

And so does he.

He rolls down the passenger window and starts in again with how I flipped him off and what was I thinking and what was my problem.

And I say: "I don't know what you're talking about."

Which was the truth. Because before he pulled over, I hadn't seen the guy on the road at all. I don't remember passing him, or waiting with him at a light. Or FLIPPING HIM OFF.

So I say, "Sorry, I don't know."

Then he says, "My mistake then. My mistake," then stares at me for a bit, then drives off. I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. The look on his face said, "Still fuckin pissed," but the tone in his voice suggested he was kind of confused about the whole ordeal.

I'm left with so many questions. Like, what did he expect was going to happen, even if I had flipped him off? Was he looking for a fight? Because if so, he gave up pretty easily. And again, if I had flipped him off, what had happened during his day to make him chase down a complete stranger, on a bike, just to confront them about it. Really dude, is it worth all that?

In quarantine

My work e-mail is set up to quaratine incoming mail that might cause security risks. Then, it gives me a list in case a message was quarantined by mistake, like maybe one of my sources has an e-mail address in India or likes to use the word penis at lot.

From today's quaratine list:

From, cyclopho_1988@eti21.com. Subject, Britney Spears Stashed Guns In Her Vagina - Papparazzi Duck For Cover.

That one came over at 2:57 p.m.

At 12:21 p.m. methcilh_1965@willett.com sent a message with this subject: James Bond To Have Gay Lover In New Film

Someone gets paid for this crap.

Hercules

I feel for Chris Hein's cat Hercules.

Apparently some scoundrel cat from the neighborhood has been coming over every night for the past week or so to fight. They scratch and claw at each other all night until Chris or Clay goes out and chases the other cat away and then Hercules slinks off into some corner somewhere to lick his wounds and rest up for the next night's match, because the fucker keeps coming back.

Can you imagine? Some dude comes to your house EVERY night and says, "Let's fight," and you have to fight or he just moves in. And you never really beat him, but he never really beats you, so it just goes on and on like that forever.

No. 9

Octopi mate face-to-face.
Bears do it from behind.
We, as humans, sometimes get to choose.

The demon sun pt. II: The demon heat

Because everyone else is doing it and because it's Fresno and July and there's pretty much no escaping it, I need to write about the heat.

Truth is: I don't really mind it. This is not to say I don't/won't complain about it. So, don't worry, you'll hear me bitching as much as the next guy. About how hellishly hot it is. "Hotter than shit," I like to say. But when it comes right down to it, when you're out in the thick of it at 6:30 p.m. doing Aikido in Chris Hein's back yard, it ain't that bad.

"That" being a very subjective word, I know.
I guess the "bad" is pretty subjective too.

Would I rather it be 75 degrees with a breeze? Of course.

But there is something kind of awesome in the oppresivness of it, the way it weighs you down, wears you down, tires you out. There's something romantic about it too, says Chris Hein. In that down-south sitting-on-the-porch-drinking-mint-julep kinda way. I sort of agree.

Plus, I kinda love the feeling when you first get in your car and you're burning, literally burning. It's like how some people like the smell of gasoline. And there's that moment when you think you can't take any more. But then you do, right? There's the rub. The human body has an awesome cooling system. It's called sweat. And yes, it is gross. But if you get over that it totally works and makes things liveable. Just keep hydrated.

Like water in the ear.

It's not affecting my hearing or anything like that. No loss of brain fuction or balance. But I can feel it. My ear needs to pop. Just the one. Annoying as all hell. But no pain. No infection. That comes later, I guess, once the water has time to rot a bit. Or mold up. Or whatever happens down there. I'm hoping my body is good at fighting off such infections, because I'm young-ish and healthy, and this will all just go away. I'll wake up one morning and won't even think about it anymore. Poof. The magic of the human body.

I tried one of those ear candles, supposed to suck all the grossness out of the ear using flame and heat and ... suction. Somehow. There was a giant flame, which I couldn't see because I was on the floor on my side with the thing in my ear. There was heat, but not enough that I ever felt in danger. There was some noise, probably the sound of the air and the flame and whatnot. It felt like maybe it helped. Maybe. It was a cool experiment, at the very least.

Faux beard

There is this thing that happens every few months now, where I get lazy and stop shaving and I end up with this really scraggly looking faux beard. It's sad really, that I can't grow a real beard. I can grow long stubble, but it's just not the same.

So today, just now, in the bathroom mirror I realized I have grey in my faux beard. Not a lot, but enough to notice for sure. Could be, I'm getting old.

The demon sun

The thing about sunscreen is: It doesn't always work. As proven by the giant swaths of burnt skin on my body after several hours of a Saturday in the sun. Now, it may be that I'm not smart enough to apply said sunscreen properly (that's proably the best guess). Or, that after a couple of turns swimming in the lake, the sunscreen washed off and I didn't think to reapply. Whatever the reason, I now have a giant red blotch (that totally describes it best) on the left side of my stomach, the outside of both shoulders and the middle of both thighs. It don't hurt exactly (although now it is starting to itch) but I feel like my body temperature is a good 10 degrees more than usual. Which is fine, until I get a breeze coming toward me and then suddenly I've got goosebumps everywhere. This is all so confusing for someone who doesn't get much sun and who hasn't had a sunburn since he was 14.

No. 8

Take notes, she said.
Which he did, mostly because he was sure it was in his job description somewhere, but also because she was woman of notoriously few words and if she was talking, there was something to be learned. He didn't want to miss a thing.
She used to take her own notes, thousands of pages worth, scribbled down in a never ending series of black moleskin books that she kept in a sloppy pile by her bed. On her worst days she would lock herself in her room and sit cross-legged on the floor reading through each book, trying to connect the dots of her life. Now, she had him do it for her.

Get in the car!

I gave a ride to a stranger.

He's at the pay phone outside the liquor store and I am waiting to pull into traffic and it's late and hot, Fresno hot, and the windows are down and he's walking, somewhat limping, toward me and he says: "Hey, I'm not a bum of nothing, but can you give me a ride. My ankle is busted and I can't really walk." And at the same moment I'm thinking how this might be a bad idea, I'm throwing my crap in the backseat and unlocking the door and letting the guy slide right in.

We drive a total of three blocks, less than a five-minute drive and the whole while I'm trying to evaluate what's the worst that can happen. If he had a gun. If he had a knife. If he decided to just start punching at me. Forget that the guy was being all chatty and seemed perfectly like-able and nice, save for the fact he asked me for a ride and it was late and hot and who does that in this day and age.

What I decided this: A gun would be bad. Big boom. A knife, less bad just because the car is smallish and he was a big guy and sort of crammed in and trying to stab me would be totally awkward from the sitting position. Same with punches. Plus, I'm driving, which gives me the advantage of slamming on the brakes, swearving, etc.

Which brings me to my second thought: Whatever risk I'm taking, he's taking the bigger one. Because I am in control of the car and I could just drive where ever, and who knows what kind of craziness (knife, gun, mace, duct tape, quick ties) I have stashed away under my seat. Or in my pockets. Plus, it was late and hot and I said get in, like it was no deal, and who does that in this day and age?

So, what happend?

Nothing, really. We turn down his street he leans a bit out the window and yells at some lady standing on the corner. "Hey, you can't be out here, it's dark. Get on home, now." Then, he laughs some and says, "It's OK, walks down this street all the time. She lives right there." When we get to his house, he thanks me for the ride. "It's just my ankle, you know. There's nothing left to it. I got no walkabilities."

I drive away laughing.

No. 7

It's 6:54 a.m. and he's in the kitchen sitting indian style on the counter, drinking coffee in long hot sips and staring, just staring out the window. He feels movement in his guts. A shit's coming on, but he'll sit here while longer. No sense in rushing things. The girl from 120 leaves her apartment, hair still wet. The guy next door sneezes in three loud bursts. The train's rolling by. The day is on and there's nothing much he can do.

Like/no like/want Vol. 1.

Sorry no links. I am lazy like that.

Like:

* Old 97s 'Blame it on Gravity.' Best band ever? Maybe.
* The Olympic trials. Watched two nights worth of women's gynmasts. If this is what the real deal will be like sign me up. Also: Chris reminded me they also have Aikido/Judo/Kendo/wrestling in the Olympics. I may have to stay up until 3 a.m. to watch, but ... Hold all calls through August.
* Somewhat related: Baseball's College World Series. Caught game one last night on KMJ and I'm kinda hooked. Interested at least. This is new for me.
* Public House. Been there twice. Would go again. Plusses for feeling I'm not settling for crappy beer. I can drink what I would want to drink at home. Like porter. Tasty, tasty black and sweet porter.
* My tabi shoes. It's like being barefoot, only with shoes. With them, I can climb walls. I've been assured of this. Plus, I look like a ninja. An American ninja, perhaps.

No like:

* Gas. Or, more acuratley gas prices. The math is this: Gas=$5 a gallon. My car=20 mpg. Riverpark=20 miles away (round trip). Trip to riverpark=$5. FUCK that. I'll stick to downtown or ride my bike.
* My truck. The one whose transmission just went to shit and cost me $1,400 to repair.
* The heat. It's mostly gone just now, but it will be back. There's no doubt about that. It. Will. Be. Back.

Need:
* A stick bag. For aikido. Because I'd like to ride my bike to and from class, but I haven't figured out how to carry my sticks yet. A stick bag would be the logical solution.
* A new car. Something cheap(ish) and good (good, good) on gas. I will heed my uncle's advice on this one: "Anything more than a Geo Metro is luxury."

When we become product.

Stumbled across this post, which got me thinking about consumerism (which I've been doing a lot lately) and how I hate that I love to buy things.
No, that's not quite right.
I hate that I feel like I need to buy things.
That's not quite right either.
I hate that I feel like I need things. And that sometimes (not all the time) I cave to those feelings and buy things. And then after, I mostly feel good about it.
Are we following?
It's not that I feel like I should feel bad after. I mean, it's my money and I should be able to do with it whatever I want. It's more that I don't like that I feel the need in the first place. I don't like that things appeal to me on a anything more than a practical level.
Are we following now?
These days it's mostly crap stuff I buy. Clothes. Recently, a pair of tabi (look it up) shoes that I convinced myself I needed for Aikido. Before that was pair of jeans, which I probably did need, but still ... I bought a terribly expensive watch once.
I've gotten rid of a lot of my "consumer baggage," I think. I don't feel compelled to see EVERY SINGLE MOVIE that comes out opening night. And I used to, seriously. I don't buy music as much as I used to either. Even if it is the new album from my favorite band. I never really got into video games, so ...
I'm still putting these thoughts together in my head and trying to be honest in how they figure in to the way I lead my life.
It's just sometimes it feels like all I do is spend money. All I do is buy stuff.
On a related note, if you're interested, there is this book, which talks about some of this stuff.

Spoiler alert: I am gross

There is something about the smell of stale urine you can only get in a men's restroom. OK, I haven't been in too many women's bathrooms (public), but I'm assuming it's a male thing, that terrible fuckin' smell. So, in the restroom just now, looking over at the urinal next to mine (it was empty, you perverts) there was, what appeared to be, dried (or drying) piss. Like, on the top of the urinal. Like, whoever used it last decided to forgo the bowl entirely and just pee where he may. Now, it could have been something else, I suppose. Something that leaves a nice straw yellow residue. But coupled with the smell, I can't really figure what that might be.

***

Speaking of work-related stank: My job just laid off a bunch o' people yesterday. Just like that. Friday, job. Monday, no job. I'm not making any judgment calls, because this is a company and things are bad for the entire industry and you've got to do what you've got to do. But it just sucks, you know. I'm still here and I feel lucky. So... Onward and upward.

***

Noticed I've been looking a lot at people's teeth lately. Well, I'm not sue what would constitute a lot, but I've caught myself doing in more than once. Like totally examining someone's teeth, taking mental notes on color, size, relative straightness and whatnot. I fgure it's because I haven't been to the dentist in awhile and my teeth are not as bright white as they could be. More of a muted yellow (not quite piss-yellow) from all the coffee (and cigar smoke maybe?). Also, they're moving, and I'm totally afraid I'm going to have to get braces again. Not that I would. But when I look at other's people teeth, I find myself wondering how important they are to the overall appearance of that person.
So, if you find me staring at your mouth, now you know.

The things I know could fill a book. Or a magazine at least.

One of the perks of my job is I get to learn new stuff all the time. Fresno's co-housing project, for example. Or Good Compay Players (a whole history) or why a store like Coach (or Flemmings) would want to open up shop in Fresno.

Things I'm learning about just now:

BBQ. From competive BBQers. These aren't your backyard grillers. These are "slow-and-low" smoker types, who think nothing of putting a beef brisket in for 14 hours, getting up in the middle of the night to check the temperature (of both the smoker and the meat) every hour. Pretty hard core. But the result is ... wonderful. A quick factoid: rib meat is not supposed to fall off the bone. That just means it's over cooked.

Gary Selzi. Dude is a drag-racing legend. Apparently, he won the World Championships his first year as a pro and was the first to reach a top speed of 300 miles per hour. He has his own show on ESPN2. It's called "Selzi Says." And he's from Fresno. A quick factoid: A funny car produces 8,000 horses, can reach top speeds of 330 miles per hour and do a quarter-mile in 4.5 seconds. There's 5 Gs on acceleration, 6 Gs when the chute open at the end.

Automobiles. Like the new Jaguar XF, which is supposed to be the I-phone of cars, whatever that means. It's all the rage, for those techno-philes, with i-pod connectivity, blue tooth, a rear-screen something or other. The damn thing great you when you get inside. Seriously. It says hello.

Things I've recently: Vol. 2

* Made 300 mini-crepes for The Fresno Art Museum's Men Who Cook fundraiser. In truth, I only essembled the crepes, and not all of them at that, and we only got to 250 or so before we had to rush off to the event. So, to summarize: Shannon made the crepes and I had help with the essemblage (smearing on Nutella, putting in a couple beeries and fold, fold, folding) from Brianna and Tory, who were lifesavers, quite literally. If they hadn't been there Shannon and I would have killed each other. Or her me. Or vice-versa. There would have been a news story and everything. As it was, we were a resounding success. You can read all about it if you'd like. There's even a picture.

* Got the band back together. Yes, after a year off or so out of the limelight, It'll Grow Back played a show Tuesday night at the Starline. (I'd include a link, but I figger you can find it). I'd say it was success, though I never really know with these things. I can't see crap witout my glasses and I have to take my glasses off so as to properly "rock out," so I can't see if people are enjoying themselves. They were screaming quite a bit. But it was late and mostly people were drunk. But we got some kind words after the show. I had fun and that's all that matters.

* Left my credit card at the Starline and felt like an idiot. To set the scene: Arrive at the bar/club at nine or so. Get a drink. Hand bartender my credit card. She says, 'Want to keep this open?' My thought: Don't do it. It's early in the night and you're totally not going to remember to pick this thing up in three hours. No. No. No. So, I said yes. Didn't get a second drink. Didn't realize I'd left it until I was in the shower the next morning. Had to go down to the Starline twice to pick the thing up. The first time the manager wasn't there. To their credit, they were very nice and helpful with the whole thing. They probably see it often.

* Drank a black and tan at the Public House. For anyone who hasn't been there, it's totally not as lame as it could be. Actually, it's pretty cozy and the patio is nice and they have ALL SORTS of good alocholic beverages for those who like that sort of thing. Beers and Whiskeys and whatnot. I hear the food is good, but can't vouch for it. Yes, the place is made of plastered fake rocks. No, it's probably nothing like an "actual" publik house. But it has Murphys and Fullers on tap, so...

Updating with the updates.

Things I've done recently:

* Turned 30. With very little fanfare. Spent the evening in the Bay with people who like me. My take on aging: 30 seem about the same as 29.

* Ran the Bay to Breakers. OK, we jogged, but we jogged the whole way and finished in about an hour and a half. We were 1,000 people shy of making the paper. Next year, next year.

* Saw Iron Maiden. With Anthrax opening. It is amazing how many people still love metal. LOVE! METAL! It just makes me want to thrash my head around and growl like a tiger. Highlight of the night: "Run to the Hills." Ironic moment of the night: A crowd full of metalheads chanting along to "Anti-social."

* Wii bowled for the first time. I was competing in the blogger Olympics, which I lost, but not for lack of trying. Let me say this: Wii bowling in easier, and therefore way more fun than real bowling. But not when you do it all lazy sitting-on-the-couch like. Plus, being in someone's living room is less fun that being in a bowling alley.

* Came across this great diagram that really shored up some of the questions I had about beer. Interesting, no?

* Bought Roky Erikson's "Halloween (Live 1979-1981)." My quick review: Proto-punk goodness from a guy who was from Austin before Austin was cool. This wasn't the album I wanted (that would be "The Evil One") but it was the one I found. Love it. I'm a big fan of live albums when they're done right and for the most part this one is. The recording quality gets a little sloppy toward the end, but the rest of the album more than makes up for it. My fave: "Two Headed Dog." "Bloody Hammer," is a close second.

Excuse me. I am disgusting.

Just about everything seems better than doing what I should be doing right now. Part of that, is my stomach, which is playing shit-fits with me (I'm mostly speaking metaphorically) and leaving me just sort of uncomfortable and ansy.

Wondering: Why this appeals to me so much. Would eveyone hate me if I wore a $3,000 watch? Because I could maybe probably it to myself.

Hightlight of the day: Riding my bike down G St. to Cafe Carazon. At the corner of G and Tulare (?) I'm stopped waiting for the light and there's this gentleman standing there, doing no much of anything, and he looks my way and says, 'You better not come down here without a car, boy.' He wasn't menacing about it really. Just matter-of-fact. I think I knew what he meant. I rode on.

Realization of the day: My Fuji (which was officially my other bike until last Friday) is teeny-tiny small. Much too small for even me, which is strange, right?, because I am a small man. But yeah, it was weird to ride, elbow and knees banging together and all that.

Last night of league. The big money night. If I was a bad guy I'd totally hit up the last night of a bowling league. There's thousands of dollars just floating around in people's pockets. I'll be getting my share.

By way of comparison

So, I wrote this, while Fresno Bee columnist Bill McEwen wrote this.

Why mommy hates the world.

Stumbled upon this today, which made me laugh, laugh. Partly because what it says it so fuckin' stupid and partly because of what it's not saying, which is essentially, Republicans hate the world (I'll make no claim to the validity of that argument).

Republicans should have their own book, dontcha think?

Why mommy is a Republican:

Republicans are better than poor people just like mommy.

Republicans get kids addicted to crack, then gives them guns.

Sometimes the World feels a little sick. It's the Republican's fault.

The week(end) in review.

Friday: Watched '27 Dresses.' Exercised. Ate Helen's Gourmet Chinese food. Drank beer. Slept. Started reading, 'Check the Technique.' Not in that order at all, but ... Food was awesome. Exercise was fun (yes, that's the word I'll use). Beer was ... beer. Movie was ... totally predictable and utterly endearing in that way these movies are. Book is interesting. Sleep was ... restfull?

Oh, I went work before all that.

Saturday: Aikido-ed. Exercised. Podcasted. Ate left over Helen's Gourmet Chinese food. Drank beer. Tried to watch TV. Turned off TV. Continued reading 'Check the Technique.' Tried to play 'Armored Core,' on PlayStation2. Turned of 'Armored Core' and PlayStation2. Slept. Kind of in that order. Aikido was fun/informational/all-around good times. Exercise was ... exercise. Podcast was me and the Fresnan and we talked about all sorts of crap and mostly laughed and had a good time. Left overs were better, maybe, than the night before. Maybe. Beer was ... beer. TV sucked. Book is still holding my interest. PlayStation2 is pretty much how I remember it. Sleep was ... forgetable.

Sunday: Made/drank morning coffee. Made/ate breakfast quesadilla with no real breakfast ingredients. Exercised some. Continued reading 'Check the Technique.' Exercised some in front of the big window in my apartment with my shirt off. Waited some for Biz. Went to the Grizzlies game at the Chuck. Drank beer. Watched baseball. Cheered some. Ate some popcorn. Treked down the Fulton Mall, through horrendous crowds of people to drink beer at Milano. Listend to a band at Milano. Watched the owner of Milano almost fight a drunk man. Watched said drunk man leave Milano with no fight taking place. Eat spincy tuna rolls/tufu salad at Terriaki Don. Paid $12.50 to see 'Iron Man.' Watched 'Dexter,' on CBS. Slept some on the couch. Crawled into bed. Woke up to roommate screaming about giant bugs. Stumbled out of bed down the hallway and into roomamates room. Stubbed toe. Missed giant bug, which scurried away. Realized stubbed toe was bleeding. Was amazed by amount of blood. Did triage on toe. Went back to bed. Slept.

Realization No. 1

I am no blogger. I could go into an in-depth analysis of how I came to this realization ... but I am no blogger.

I should have kept my livejournal.

Monday's favorite expressions.

Roger dodger.
Bob is your uncle.

Can't say I know what either of them really mean, but...
Not the point is it?

The internets are trying to tell me something

The ad at the top of my g-mail page says: "10 reasons you shouldn't sleep with him." I did send an e-mail with a link to this, which could be reason number one. I didn't click to find out.
***
The wind was spooky last night, no? Like howling-at-the-door spooky. Those sounds they do in horror movies, those sounds are real and they were all over my apartment last night. Boo!
***
The wind also makes it hard to ride your bike. Or really easy. I get both on my way two block ride to and from work.
***
Reading, "Have a Nice Doomsday," this great little piece of non-fiction about evangelical Christians and how they love Isreal because it means Jesus can come back any time now. So, don't be fooled Jews of the world, America doesn't care about you, we just want to make sure we get a good seat for the Rapture.

***

BEST. WRITING. EVER.

I recieved this e-mail from my boss as a forward. It is hillarious. I so wish I'd come up with at least five these.

Every year, English teachers from across the USA can submit their collections of actual analogies and metaphors found in high school essays in order to have them published and sent out for the amusement of other teachers across the country. Recent winners:
1. Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.

2. His thoughts tumbled around inside his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.

3. He spoke with the kind of wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who goes blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.

4. She grew on him like she was a colony of E. Coli, and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.

5. She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like the sound a dog makes just before it throws up.

6. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.

7. He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree.

8. The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM machine.

9. The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.

10. From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.

11. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.

12. Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling west at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at4:19 p.m. traveling east at a speed of 35 mph.

13. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth.

14. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.

15. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was the East River.

16. Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.

17. The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.

18. The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.

19. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.

20. He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.

Blogging

Do you remember when you realized you really don't have anything interesting to say?

I do.

It was yesterday.

Journalisms

Yes, I pluralized it. It's what I do. I'm like 'Lil Kims that way.

So, I haven't thought much about journalism, or the institution of such, since I was in college, even though the word around the water cooler is that we're in some kind of "transitional" phase. Us newspaper types. Of course, I've never really thought of myself as a journalist. I'm definitely not a reporter. I am a writer. A staff writer. I work for a media company. Newspaper is an old term, it seems.

Anyway, me and a buddy are at lunch today and we start talking about journalism and how the role of the newspaper has changed, not changing, but changed. And that being said, how do we move forward. What is the "new" newspaper, and what will it look like. What will its business model be. That's assuming of course that people still want to receive information from a "qualified" news source, which could be questionable.

And suddenly I realized how "in the box" I am. I couldn't even image what this possible "new" media might look, or feel, or read. What I think about is the Internets and social-networking sites and the like. But that's all established stuff. This "new" thing is for sure going to come out of left field. And then I realized that there are people who really do think "outside the box." There are probably a whole crew of guys and gals mulling this problem over in all sorts of ways I can't even imagine. For instance: If 10 years ago someone said MySpace was going to revolutionize the way people communicated, would anyone thought anything of it? Because someone was probably saying it and a bunch of other people probably weren't listening.

I'm not sure there is a point here other than to question my deficency as a unique and independent thinking human. And my awe at those who are can through current issues toward the possibilites of the future. Like the science-fiction guys writing about 2012. Those dudes were smart.

Listings.

Books: Something called Bad Monkeys. Sort of silly, but not bad. Before that The End of California. Before that Adverbs, by Lemony Snicket, or the guy who writes as Lemony Snicket.
Music: Cherry Red Records punk-rock-something-or-other. It's a collection of punk stuff from the late seventies, early 80s. After Blondie and the Ramones, but before the huge 80s hard-core punk-rock explosion. There a bunch of Dead Kennedys songs.
Movies: None. Last movie I saw was ... No Country For Old Men. It was good.
Television: New Adventures of Old Christine, Oprah's Big Give, Top Chef, America's Next Top Model.
Food: Mr. Mr. Sushi. The sport burrito from Robertito's. If I'm eating at home it's pasta or eggs. There's some flax-and-pumpkin granola cereal from Trader Joes that I'm loving these days.
Drink: Red beer (any Mexican beer mixed with hot sause), porter (any brewing co).
Work: Green Living, the Grizzlies section, Imagine Fresno, Fig Garden Villager, Fresno Famous
Off time: Bowling, Aikido, band practice, Creative Fresno, Biz, Shannon, badminton, Matt and Lauren, Smog City Roller Grrls

The sun

I got some sun yesterday, which seems fitting, it being Easter and all, and Easter being associated with spring, and spring with the sun. So: Easter=sun. Only, me and the sun don't agree so much, so I spent the first part of the day out in the world, playing badmiton in the front yard, doing some Aikido stuff in the back, and the later part of the day wishing I could take back former. It's funny how the sun, for all its vitamin D goodness, can make you feel so tired. Zapped, is the word I'd use. It's the cancer rays I think. Though, to be fair, wasn't wearing any protection.

No.6

There is this story he tells and the way it comes across, the delivery of the thing, you're pretty sure it's true. He tells it with his head tilted just so, eyes squinted closed, like he's reaching for a memory and for some reason that hurts. He stutter-steps most of it, giving plenty of ... pregnant ... pause, and it isn't for effect. He just can't wrap his mouth around the words fast enough. Twelve minutes for a three-minute story and by the end you're pretty sure it's true. But you just don't care.

No. 5

"Define your life," she says.

"I do the crossword."

It was his resolution for the new year. He doesn't ever finish, but then, he only resolved to try. By Saturday it's too, too hard, and he just phones it in.

His favorite things: French-pressed coffee, the daily crossword and seven-minute naps.

Eh.

Just dipped my tie in my coffee cup. It was a nice tie too. Yves Saint Laurent, blue with light brown stripes and a nice YSL logo. The coffee was, "eh."

An update, if only for the sake of updating.

Ok.

So, the Rogue Festival is done. Four sold-out (or near sell-out) shows and one so-so show at a bigger venue that happened last minute that I don't really count for much other than fun, fun. We made some hard-core money (not that I was in it for the money) and were generally applauded for the work.

YAY!

Now, I haven't acted since high school, so this was a re-debut of sorts. I'd never planned on doing theater again, and probably wouldn't have if not for the Rogue and the context in which the project was presented to me. I don't have the urge to deal with auditions and directors and all that. It's just not my scene.

It was odd being back on stage. Not at all how I imagined it. It was actually quite comfortable, maybe even more so than when I was in high school. I don't know if it was the venue or the context or the cast I was working with (it was probably all of the above) but I never felt nervous during the whole run. Not even opening night.

Performing theater vs. performing music:

But I'm not sure I enjoy "acting" as much as I like performing as a musician. The two are not mutually exclusive, I know, but because the bulk of my performances (and I think of them as such) since high school have been musical, and because I haven't been playing music as of late, I found myself comparing the two. Music seems more immediate, which I like. I enjoy that you can learn a song, or write a song even, and perform it sort of ASAP, instead of having to spend months coming up with an idea, writing a script, memorizing, blocking scenes, blah-blah-blah. Music also seems more visceral, more physical (but that's probably just the kind of music I like to perform).

But the idea of theater, especially in the "Rogue" context (READ: Do-It-Youself), interests me and I am working on something with Will for next year.

Food review: Pierre Buffalo Style Wings Hot & Spicy Seasoned Chicken Wing Sections

First off: I got these from the vending machine that replaced actual food here at work. I got them mostly on a dare, but the packaging gave me hope they could be good.

That said: You know how people say everything tastes like chicken. This was the opposite of that. The four "sections" in the box sort of didn't taste like chicken. And there wasn't enough Buffalo style sauce to hide it.

And I know you should never trust a picture, especially on plastic bag of frozen food, but what come out of the microwave was scary. Anyone who has "meat" issues would have stopped on site alone. You know how raw chicken, especially the legs and thighs, has that pimply skin that kinda looks like a scrotum? Well, this was that, only partially dyed orange. Me, I'm dumb like that and tasted them anyway.

The plusses: Zero grams of trans fat.
Only one minute in the microwave.
It's been inspected by the U.S.D.A.

Minusses: Everything else.

Overall grade: F if you actually like food. If you eat from a vending machine, it's probably a C.

Home is where your heart is. So what if I'm a heartless bastard?

So, it must be house buying season, because three sets of people I know (two couples and a dude) have bought houses (OK, one was a condo) in the past month. I suppose it's shouldn't be shocking. I'm an old man, yes, and this is what people my age do. They start nesting. Settling down. Also, this is like, an amazing time to buy because there are literally (no, not literally, silly) a shit ton of houses on the market.

The thing is: I feel this odd pull to maybe start looking for a house myself. Even though the better part of my knows I don't need a house. I'm an apartment person. I like small spaces. In fact, there are times when I think the 900 or whatever feet I share with my roommate is too much. What the hell would I do with three bedrooms? Two bedrooms even? And a front yard? That's why I have friends with houses.

You could argue that I'm throwing my money away on rent each month, when I could be building my finacial future with the added bonus of one day owning a piece of property. After all, that is the American dream, right? 401 K and a house?

There's no point to all this, really. I'm just saying.

Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder.

That's the headline I would have written for an article, had I written an article on absinthe, which I have not.

I did however drink some last night. I went through the whole "theater of it." Those are Marcel's words and he's a theater type, so I figure I better keep them.

So, you start with absinthe (duh) and a glass and an absinthe spoon and a cube of sugar. The cube goes on the spoon which lays on top of the glass. It's not an actual spoon, in the way we know spoons. It's flat and there are holes in it, so when you pour the absinthe on the cube it drains into the glass, which is then filled with water. This turns the absinthe a milky white. OK, it's still green, but a milky kind of green. Then, the sugar cube is set on fire. It bubbles and carmelizes. When the flames dies, the cube goes into the glass. Then you stir. Then you drink.

According to Marcel, who seems to be up on such things, this is the Chetch way of drinking absinthe. There is also a French way, but it wasn't really explained to me.

All in all it was not a bad experience. I did not drink enough to get me drunk. Or high. No Ozzy-Osbourne-voiced green faries for me. It's not my idea of the ideal alcoholic drink. I like beer, or save that, whiskey, or scotch, or good vodka, cold. But I can see the allure of it. The "theater" of it all.

Rhett and the city

Going to SF tonight to see Rhett Miller. Hes's totally one of my favorites, who I have not seen since I saw the Old 97s play in Davis in ... 2002? Anyway, totally excited, minus the fact there will be a late-night drive home and I may want to roll over and die tomorrow morning. But I am tough and these are the sacrifices we make, yes?

Slip slidin' away

Paul Simon's 'Slip Sliding Away,' is playing in my head just now. Well, it's my internal-monologued version of the song, I guess.

'You know the nearer your destination, the more you're slip sliding away.'

***

Beer Pong is some crazy shit, no joke. It's more than a frat-boy drinking game, you know. Well, not much more. But the world series (who knew?) is worth $50,000 for the winners. It's also harder than you would think. I played a few round yesterday (sans the beer) and I looked like a fool.

***

Had some nice dreams last night that I don't quite remember, which are sometimes my favorite. I like the vaugery of it (lookit me using words that might not be words), waking up with a feeling of recollection. That's how I would describe it anyway.

***

Twittering along ... and a bathroom story.

So, I tweet (I'm too lazy to put in a link. It's www.twitter.com). OK, not really. But Fresno Famous tweets (tweet) and that's me by extension, I suppose. Anyway, I'm looking at Kristenn, who is one of 13 FF followers (it's like a cult). She's got some brilliant updates, such as: Will is kissing dirty socks to prove a point... :( I Figure Will is the boyfriend. Not that it matters.

***

In other news: Bathrooms are scary. It's true. Think about it. I'm not sure what it is exactly, but I think it's something to do with running water and mirrors. And bad lighting. The light is always terrible.

Case in point: The men's room here at work, which has a faucet that drips and a flouresent light that flickers. Total slasher film stuff. I'm peeing this morning and the place is silent execept for my pee and the d r i p, d r i p, d r i p of the faucet and the buzzing of the light and zip up and wash up and walk out into a long, empty hallway. It's a wonder people don't go crazy around this place.

Death and the new year.

It's been a big month for death.
Can I say that? "Big month for death?"
It doesn't sound right, but I can't figure another way of saying it.

Oh, how about, "Lots of people are dying."

Some of them (like Heath Ledger and all them famous-types we hear about) I don't know. Others, I do.

Like my old bowling coach who died yesterday. I got this from a MySpace post so I still don't have all the details, but I know he had been sick for awhile (a year or more) and had to have oxygen with him all the time and couldn't really get around.

Now, I don't really get that shaken by death. I think it's because I haven't had anyone really close to me die. My grandparents died when I was young, before I got to know them. But I knew Glenn. He was my coach when I bowled at Fresno State. That was at least four years (and two steady years) that I saw him for at least three hours pretty much every day and more maybe on weekends when we travelled. I road to Las Vegas with him in the back of a vert swanky rented Caddy. I bowled on his team on a league every Tuesday for ... gosh, had to be four years or so before he couldn't do it anymore. Dude was a PBA champion (this was back in the '60s, I think) and coached the Fresno State teams (especially the women) to several top 10 finished. The women's team ranked in the top five nationally for the better part of the 90s. He was collegiate coach of the year in ... 2006 (I could have my years wrong). I'd like to think he thought I was funny. I can't imagine why else he'd want to bowl with me. Him being good and me being ... me. I'm not being humble, I just know where I'm at talent wise.

So the funeral should be soon. I'll probably go. It'll probably be sad.

No. 4 (a poem)

In the bathroom just now
I was forced to smell someone's ass
Proximity wise
It wasn't the worst thing I've ever done

30 minutes or less ... or, How to get a BJ on work time

Let me try to relate this story mostly how I heard it:

"So, I order a pizza last night. I order it on-line from Pizza Hut, because that way I don't have to talk to a real person. And it tells you exactly when your pizza is supposed to arrive.

6:37 p.m.

6:37 came and went. Seven comes and goes. Finally, at 7:30, I call Pizza Hut and ask, 'Where's my pizza? It was supposed to be here at 6:30.'

The guy on the phone yells to the back: 'Hey, when did Mike leave?'

Answer: 'Awhile ago.'

Guy on the phone says, 'He should be there any minute.'

Of course, because he left 'awhile ago.'

So, fifteen minutes later the pizza guy knocks on the door. He's got lipstick smeared all over his mouth and his girlfriend is sitting in the car."

Why I love my job no. 1

So, I'm complaining to my boss, sort of passively, about how I'm pretty much broke until payday (which is in two days) and how I had $26 in the bank and just wrote a $22 check so I could bowl last night. And when she comes back from a meeting just now, she says she has something for me and hands me a $20 bill. "It's so you can get through until payday."

Can we all say "awww"? I am loved.

No. 3

In the dream last night I'm flying, or floating. My watch speaks to me in Japanese, in a girl's voice, teasing. She curls up beside me like it's something familiar, her head tucked on my shoulder, my fingers playing spider games on her stomach. In the the morning, in the bath, I shave but it doesn't take. There's still traces of a moustache, the kind a pedophile might wear. My fleece is covered in cat hair. My shoes are low top, and it's raining.

Mad Libs

Via break time at work.

Why you should go to college

Our American universities offer students many (simple) courses that will them to become proffessional (baloons). You can get a bachelor of (fools) degree or take a regular liberal (blondes) course of study.

Q: What are you studying in college?

A: Liberal blondes.