Thursday, February 26, 2009

Just send it to Jesus, care of the Pentagon.

Yesterday I did my laundry. This involves me packing up my stuff in a shitty mesh hamper, bringing it down to my car, and driving up the street to Launderland. Launderland is right next to a 7-11, and across the street from a Fresh and Easy. This 7-11 that it shares a stripmall with, I have noticed, seems to be a bit of a magnet for what I typically describe as "weirdos". These dudes aren't always homeless, or drug addicts, but they are usualy homeless, or drug addicts.

Before doing laundry, a task which I find very tedious, I usually tend to intoxicate myself. It makes the task of sitting around and waiting while reading, or listening to podcasts or music so much more enjoyable. Yesterday I loaded my machines, inserted my coinage, and then walked to 7-11 to buy a tall can of Arizona Iced Tea. When I sat down back at the laundromat to enjoy my tea and listen to some tunes, I noticed a rather homeless looking man in a wheel chair pushing his way through the door. For a second I thought perhaps he had come in to ask the patrons of the laundromat for money. As it turned out, he was just doing a load of laundry. I felt a little bit like a jerk, but not really, because it wasn't an unreasonable thing to assume. I have no hang ups about him asking me for money so long as he doesn't harrass me further if I say no to him. He loaded his machine and went outside to watch the traffic go by, or the sun set or something. I continued listening to music until it was time to dry my clothing. After loading my dryers I decided I wanted to look into perhaps a snack food(munchies?) or something along those lines at the 7-11 next door.

I wandered about the isles of 7-11, and decided that instead of a snack, I would satiate the craving I had been having for Dr. Pepper lately. I got a Super Big Gulp, paid, and made my way back, but along the way decided it would be a good opportunity to put my bag that I had been carrying in my car. In my haze I accidently walked toward the car next to mine, which I also did in part because I noticed the wheel chair gentleman attempting to move out of my way on the sidewalk area.

"I see people do that all the time!" Said the wheelchaired man to me.
"What?" I said, as soon as I had realized my error in car spotting.
"Go to the wrong car. They all look so alike!" He clarified.
"Oh, yeah. Heh, I've done it before." I said, not especially interested in talking.

He continued talking to me from the curb, but the traffic started roaring past and I missed most of what he said. I nodded in a friendly manner though, and at the point I had accepted my fate as the guy that this dude was going to talk to for a while. Most of the conversation centered around how he had traveled the world, far and wide for some kind of career based in sports medicine. He also told me that his parents moved him to California when he was little, and then they moved to Ensenada, Mexico. He told me about how he had learned five languages, and how the Soviet Union fell, and how in China they won't let their atheletes ice their injuries because it isn't traditional. He spoke so much and so certainly that I could not get a word in edgewise. Eventually another neighborhood loafer showed up. He was a hispanic gentleman who looked to be in a bit better condition than our mutual friend. They knew each other. The man in the wheelchair eventually introduced himself to me as Bob.

Eventually a cop pulled into the parking lot behind a person he was pulling over, and Bob started talking a mild amount of shit about the officer. Oddly enough it was right at the time that my drying was finished and I had to excuse myself and go fold some clothing.

Something tells me this isn't the last I shall see of Bob.

Playlist: American Nightmare, Piebald, tall cans of Arizona Green Tea

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

She's so important.

I hate disappointing people that I care about. I can always see it coming from a mile away too. It is worse in person, when you can see their face. The earliest instance of this puts me in a car seat in Brooklyn sometime in the mid 80's. My brother and I are in the car waiting for my mother to go buy some cigarettes. It's an old Cadilac, the seats are an off color white leather, I think. I am probably 3, maybe 4 years old. My mother rushed out of the store and held up candy bars, they were twix. She looked so excited to give us this gift, and I remember telling her how I didn't like peanut butter, and for some reason if I think of the look on her face even today it almost brings me to tears. She just looked crushed? It doesn't seem like a big thing to be crushed about, and I highly doubt she has any recollection of this incident today, but I remember it. It almost(apparently?) traumatized me. At the time all she did was go back into the store and exchange it for one I liked better. I don't know why this haunts me like it does, and I may have even written about this here already. If not here, then it was probably in my livejournal.

I am so wracked by the very notion that I could be disappointing people in a way that is so big right now, that I can barely bring myself to do anything except for get caught up in the vices that make me forget about these things temporarily. And on top of that, I'm forming a relationship that is so incredibly important to me, and gives me so much more of a reason to stay here. I want to say I know I'm going to be fine. I feel incredible most of the time lately. However, the anxiety of what is going on aside from these new beginnings is crushing when it hits me.

Playlist: The Killers, Smodcast, Laundry, waiting for Friday night as patiently as I can

Monday, February 23, 2009

Hey! You're part of it.

My memories have been vague and sporadic lately. Things come back in very brief waves that don't even really seem to be connected to anything.

Out of nowhere I remembered lunch my freshman year of high school. Hanging out in the court yard with Stephanie Valenzuela, Mark Siquian, Justin Brink, Jason Buzzbee, Aundreia Gerov, Nadine Rondeau...I don't know any of these people anymore except for Stephanie. I haven't thought about most of them in years. And then that memory reminds me of the fact that almost every day we used to get soft pretzles with nacho cheese for lunch, and we used to get these ridiculously huge sodas called Nehi. That name strikes me as quite Mormon. I also remember the fact that Aundreia Gerov was my first girlfriend, and I didn't even really like her that much. She came over one time during the month our relationship lasted. My mother said she thought that she might be a little bit too "wordly" for me. My mom is awesome.

I keep losing my past and then finding it again. When I was 19 I waxed nastolgic for 16. Now that I'm 25, I'm really just trying to focus on being happy now. I haven't steadily worked in a while, money is tight, yet somehow, I feel pretty good about life. Now if only I could earn a lot of money all at once.

Playlist: Brett and Cynthia's infinite playlist, Bif Naked, Spring Heeled Jack, reefers

Monday, February 16, 2009

Dear self, try to take over the world plz.

I'm left with a terrible dilema lately. What should I be doing with myself? The production career clearly isn't cutting it, and while that leaves me terrified and on the verge of tears sometimes, at other times I handle it well because I think it is just a realization that I really was indeed meant for something more. I almost know it. I'm not here trying to make it. I am going to "make it". How does one "make it" you may ask. I think it involves a goal that is not really grounded in anything concrete.

What do I want? A career in entertainment. I'd like to write comedic routines and deliver them to crowds of people, preferably whilst standing in front of them. A stage is not really needed.

How do I get this? Well, the first step is to write the first routine. It probably won't be that smashing because this kind of thing takes time to get good at. My favorite comedians weren't pros when they started, so why would I be? Man, I wish I would've started earlier.

What do I do after I write that routine? The answer to this is obvious: practice! Deliver it to friends, hit up the open mics, you know, circulate that shit and get some feedback.

What then? I have no fucking clue. I figure if I can fall in with some kind of comedy scene, eventually I'll make contacts and be able to get myself onto shows and whatnot.

What if this doesn't work out? Hopefully the economy will pick up and I can commit myself to sad and pathetic existence of being "meant for more" at a Starbucks or some shit. I guess at that point there's always music. That's two things I could potentially fail at. Awesome.

Playlist: Disconnect, Locust, Combatwoundedveteran

RE: If assholes could fly, this place would be an airport.

In late August of 2005 I went with my girlfriend at the time and her family to visit some of their extended family in Mexico. I wrote a brief account of my trip in an email to my good friend Kevin Bowman, whom I wish I could see more often. Here is most of that email:

"we left the following morning around 6 or so. easy drive, only took five hours. we get to jessica's parents, go eat some sweet food at this place called johnny's burritos(like, whoa this place rules). after that we took off on our way to ensenada, mexico. it's in the mexican state of baja california, home to such wonderful places as tiajuana(i hate it when people call it TJ), and mexicali. that put our drive total at about 11 hours that day. but damn, was it worth it. her dad bought us all dinner at this corner stand that made the best carne asada tacos i've ever had. i was also able to buy the following things that are not available(at least not widely) in these here united states: manzana lift apple soda, fireworks(the real deal but i'll get to that later), mr. big candy bars, and the ever elusive churros filled with caramel and strawberry syrup. afterwards we spent like 2 hours driving around looking for a motel. we found one eventually in a sketchy(aren't they all) area called 'el kuku'. the logo on the sign was a naked baby from behind wearing cowboy boots with a kiss mark on its right buttock. pretty sweet. only one room was left, the suite commonly known to them as 'el presidente'! 2 bedrooms and a jacuzzi and a full kitchen and bathroom. so basically we stayed in a mexican apartment, jessica and i took one creepy bedroom and her sisters took the other with her parents sleeping on the extra matress in the living room. amazingly there were no roaches. one thing to take note of, however, is the incredibly weak water pressure in mexico. the toilets all seemed to flush fine(appropos), but sink and shower pressure were not so great.
the next day we ate carnitas(the real deal) for breakfast at her uncles house and throughout the course of the day i learned that absolutely nobody has central air or heating in their houses in mexico. vents in walls are very odd to them. pretty neat, and hot. after this we made our way to something called la bufadora, which is basically a point where two big cliffs come together on the ocean in a way that the waves shoot water up like 300 feet into the air when they crash there. around this thing they have build a huge touristy mall type thing where people pettle their wares. is that the correct pettle? pedal? petal? who cares. anyway, they had all kinds of rad stuff, lots of churros stands and perscription drugs and food. it ruled. and the la bufadora thing was pretty intense too. there were candy shops that made the candy stuffs right there on the street and around these there were almost swarms of bees. some lady got stung and said "ohmigod, i just got stung by a bee". it was brutal. we made some purchases there, one of which was a big bag of m-80's and some bottle rockets. then we went back to jessicas aunts where we ate more carne asada. my only dissapointment during this whole trip was the lack of sea food, though i'll admit i'm still pretty thankful i didn't end up with tricanosis after eating that carnitas. damn that was some good pig. after we got back we went to the firework shop that is just around the corner from her uncles house, i bought her little cousin some fire crackers(he was thrilled, his father is strict and normally wouldn't allow such tom-foolery), and for myself i bought the ever amazing and awe-inspiring cherry bomb. now i know whatcher thinkin', something that resembles a smoke bomb, but instead of smoking it explodes. no dice. it was like a fucking cartoon bomb, all round with a big ass fuse coming out of the top, it was plastic, and it was red red reddddddddd. a thing of beauty. it was also five bucks a pop, but hey, what's five bucks when they don't exactly sell them around the corner where i'm from?
a word about mexican fireworks...sure those fuses look long, but damn, they burn fast as shit. if you light one of the m-80's, you have less than 5 seconds to throw it. it blows up well before it hits the ground, and it sounds like a fucking gun shot. we went down to the beach to light them shits off, and man, it was the most fun i ever had running from dangerous explosives. the main thing we tried to do was light off multiple fireworks at once. my record stood at 5 bottlerockes from one match. i also managed to light off 4 m-80's all at once. it sounds like a gang war, i tell ya. the grand finale though, was the wonderful and fantastic cherry bomb(or cherry boomba, as the spanish speaking native cousins called it). nobody else had the cajones to light it. to be honest, neither did i, but fuck if i was wasting five bucks. hand or no hand, i wanted to see that thing explode! we were in a kind of spot where the elevation was lower, so i had been lighting things off on the side areas where i wouldn't have to lean face first over the explosive things. we took an empty potato chip bag and filled it with sand, then half burried the c-bomb in it. i placed it on the top of one of the ridges and calmed my nerves. then i wasted about 7 matches trying to light the damn thing in the wind. it did light though, and i ran like hell about 25 solid feet way, plugged my ears, turned and watched. the fuse burned down, and about a full two seconds passed, then...BOOM! it was the loudest explosion i've ever heard up close. i felt a shock wave slam into my shins and whiff past me. it was insane, and everyone was in awe. i couldn't believe people sold those children no less! needless to say, it was the greatest single second of my life. i was still amazed by it on the way home later that night...
it took us 5 hours to get from the valley to ensenada. it took 9 hours to get back the other way. we went through tiajuana because the border we had used the day before closes from midnight to 6am, and by the time we would've gotten there, it would've been closed. it took us 2 hours to get to the border. the whole time i was half asleep with people wheeling their limbless relatives past us and crazy dogs and small children begging and playing drums and things. it was surreal to say the very least. and damn scary. we made our way home eventually and went to sleep. the next day we drove home around 5 or so, made it home around 11, and hit the hay. work yesterday was a blast, obviously.
i even managed to register for one class. english 102, for the 5th time i think. man, i need to study more. and be less dumber. or something. yeah. this was a long reply. way longer than you expected i bet.
at least we didn't go to cabo, because i woulda had made it my mission to find sammy hagar and bitch slap him. i hate that guy."

I came across this looking for something in my old email address. I thought most of the memories shared within it were enjoyable enough to post here. It's weird to think that was over three years ago.