http://www.ryanholiday.net/archives/thinking_strategically.phtml#comments
Spooky-relevant post to my college talk the other day, and perhaps the answer that I was looking for. Quitting school would make me like Sparta, basically. It is not strategic thinking.
As for Eric, I think the most important thing I noticed was that you mentioned all these things you were scared of. What was especially telling to me, is that you are afraid that if you drop out and fail at music, you'll be fucked. This is valid. But what about the flip side? What if you fail at "regular life" and you leave the music route unfulfilled? You end up with a job that you hate or that you suck at, a degree you don't need, and a sacrificed music career always sitting on your shoulder going "what if?"
We're young, and I think it's fantastic that we're thinking about these things now. We have to be careful, though. Talking about things, I believe, is your mind's way of relieving itself of the responsibility of doing them.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
live from the plantation
I'm sipping dark beer. The box had Hunter Thomspon on it. Good marketing. Some of the money goes to build the Gonzo Monument, that two-thumbed fist. I'm for it. I'm on the fence about the beer, though. Dark beer is foreign to me. I fear it. I'm intrigued by it. I make faces when I drink it.
Speaking of foreign, I had my Spanish final today. I passed it. I may even get a B in the class. I'm a horrible student. With my student loan count tipping the scales at about $8,000, I'm thinking it might be time to cut my losses.
My boss, Regina, is a woman who at times is hard to understand. The other day, however, she imparted advice to me that rang crystal clear: "Unless you need the degree for a specific job, college is mostly pointless."
She's right. My mother went to college and got a degree so that she could become a teacher. My dad completed college to be an officer, but when he got out of the military, what good was a Bachelor's in English?
My uncle has a degree in History. He works for BMW.
At Kirkland's, I work with two ladies that have their Bachelor's. At one time, I worked with a woman who had her Master's. These people make the same money I do, give or take a few bucks an hour. None of them make what Regina makes, and she has no college education.
What good is my Communication bachelor's going to be if I want to write for a living? What good, for that matter, would a Creative Writing degree be? Rob Vollmar, a gentleman I greatly respect and a writer himself, told me that "No one ever became a better writer by going to college."
Unless, I suppose, you want to write about colleges.
Now, don't get me wrong. College was fun. Anyone who says, "It's not about the destination, it's about the journey" with regards to higher education has a point. That is, if you don't have to pay for it. The first few years of my matriculation in El Paso were paid for by my grandparents, and they were awesome. I'm already nostalgic for them, and they only ended a year ago.
But the fun ends where the bill begins. And I have quite a bill.
I wonder how long it would take to pay $8,000 off? With my earnings, probably five years.
Is anybody else having similar crises? Anyone feeling crippled by the cost of college? Anyone picking up their diploma and finding that they have nowhere to go with it?
I've been finding a lot of comfort and understanding in Mr. Lif's "I, Phantom". That album has been spinning in my car consistently. Specifically number 4, "Live From the Plantation." I can relate.
Speaking of foreign, I had my Spanish final today. I passed it. I may even get a B in the class. I'm a horrible student. With my student loan count tipping the scales at about $8,000, I'm thinking it might be time to cut my losses.
My boss, Regina, is a woman who at times is hard to understand. The other day, however, she imparted advice to me that rang crystal clear: "Unless you need the degree for a specific job, college is mostly pointless."
She's right. My mother went to college and got a degree so that she could become a teacher. My dad completed college to be an officer, but when he got out of the military, what good was a Bachelor's in English?
My uncle has a degree in History. He works for BMW.
At Kirkland's, I work with two ladies that have their Bachelor's. At one time, I worked with a woman who had her Master's. These people make the same money I do, give or take a few bucks an hour. None of them make what Regina makes, and she has no college education.
What good is my Communication bachelor's going to be if I want to write for a living? What good, for that matter, would a Creative Writing degree be? Rob Vollmar, a gentleman I greatly respect and a writer himself, told me that "No one ever became a better writer by going to college."
Unless, I suppose, you want to write about colleges.
Now, don't get me wrong. College was fun. Anyone who says, "It's not about the destination, it's about the journey" with regards to higher education has a point. That is, if you don't have to pay for it. The first few years of my matriculation in El Paso were paid for by my grandparents, and they were awesome. I'm already nostalgic for them, and they only ended a year ago.
But the fun ends where the bill begins. And I have quite a bill.
I wonder how long it would take to pay $8,000 off? With my earnings, probably five years.
Is anybody else having similar crises? Anyone feeling crippled by the cost of college? Anyone picking up their diploma and finding that they have nowhere to go with it?
I've been finding a lot of comfort and understanding in Mr. Lif's "I, Phantom". That album has been spinning in my car consistently. Specifically number 4, "Live From the Plantation." I can relate.
Monday, May 5, 2008
5/6/08 1:57 AM
On my desk there's a remote control to a TV with no cable. Glade air freshener. Two bottles of water.
Rios cleaned the house today. It looks fantastic.
She got a feminist book. I read a few pages and liked them.
I got the urge to listen to Between the Buried and Me's "Mordecai". But just the good part. I've listened to it four times now.
Rios cleaned the house today. It looks fantastic.
She got a feminist book. I read a few pages and liked them.
I got the urge to listen to Between the Buried and Me's "Mordecai". But just the good part. I've listened to it four times now.
creative scrreenwriting's indy jones article
The latest issue of Creative Screenwriting has an interview with David Koepp, the guy who finally did the new Indiana Jones script up right.
I liked a lot of what this gentleman said. At one point he mentions that there aren't any specific one-liners that relate back to the other films, because who remembers something glib they said 25 years ago? He also said that the references to the other films will be played down, because they have to be taken as three in a lifetime of probably hundreds of adventures.
In another rag I read that a mid-30s draft of an Indy script was called "Indiana Jones and the Monkey King" and had our hero riding rhinos to battle a Chinese deity in the search for a magical peach tree. Other rejects include "Indiana Jones and the Saucer Men from Mars" and "Sons of Darkness," about a search for Noah's Ark (which, if my nerdiness serves me correctly, was the plotline of an Indy book [yep, it was: "Indiana Jones and the Genesis Deluge" by Rob MacGregor"]).
I liked a lot of what this gentleman said. At one point he mentions that there aren't any specific one-liners that relate back to the other films, because who remembers something glib they said 25 years ago? He also said that the references to the other films will be played down, because they have to be taken as three in a lifetime of probably hundreds of adventures.
In another rag I read that a mid-30s draft of an Indy script was called "Indiana Jones and the Monkey King" and had our hero riding rhinos to battle a Chinese deity in the search for a magical peach tree. Other rejects include "Indiana Jones and the Saucer Men from Mars" and "Sons of Darkness," about a search for Noah's Ark (which, if my nerdiness serves me correctly, was the plotline of an Indy book [yep, it was: "Indiana Jones and the Genesis Deluge" by Rob MacGregor"]).
Sunday, May 4, 2008
movies
A few movies that I've seen recently that I really, really liked:
Before the Devil Knows You're Dead - Two brothers decide to knock off their parent's jewelry store, and their mom gets killed in the process. The whole "start the movie in the middle then go back to the beginning then go forward then back again" thing is starting to seem tired to me, but I don't see any other way this movie could have worked. I've only seen one other movie by Lumet, "Dog Day Afternoon," but I'm now definitely a fan. Watch how Ethan Hawke's character's life is presented: short and utilitarian. We are introduced immediately to his problems. Juxtapose this with his brother's scenes: Quiet, mysterious, and procedural. The writing in this movie is great, but I was truly amazed at how the director was able to add characterization through simple aesthetic choices, rather than strict dialogue. The violence is handled well, though I wish the movie didn't devolve into rampage-mode. What's up with Ethan Hawke growling and grunting like a cat when he's scared? You'll see what I mean.
The Orphanage - Scary and sad. Extremely tense scene in the middle involving a medium and night vision cameras. Good ending with two extra scenes tacked on that reek of studio tampering and audience pandering. People would have gotten it without being beaten over the head! Too bad. Self-congratulatory side note: I understood about 37% of this movie without having to glance at the subtitles. Go me.
Iron Man - This movie rules. Special effects are phenomenal. A long while back I remember reading an article about how Frank Miller was writing a Batman story in which Bruce Wayne goes to Afghanistan and lays pipe to terrorist anus. I never saw these books, and there seems to be a general fear about sending Superhero-types into real world situations. I can't quite remember who said it, but I seem to recall a director of a recent superhero flick saying that it would be unfair to our soldiers to show his hero going in and cleaning up a mess that they couldn't. Iron Man says fuck that. He fucks up Afghan terrorists. There is a clever way that John Favreau gets around the whole "one-upping the military beef": Tony Stark is a narcissist. He's obsessed with how he's affected the world. He doesn't build the Iron Man suit so he can combat AIDS in Africa. He goes to Afghanistan to destroy his legacy of enabling murderers. It all goes back to cleaning up his own mess. Not the military's. Robert Downey Jr. : fucking great. Gwenyth Paltrow: America-hating, Coldplay fucking, self-serious cow. But she's okay in this. Go see it at Warren! All digital! All THX!
Indiana Jones trailer - Tears of joy, a little bit? Yeah. I choked up when I saw this. There was no boner of joy, because this movie will transcend boners. This is deeper than sex. It moved me.
Before the Devil Knows You're Dead - Two brothers decide to knock off their parent's jewelry store, and their mom gets killed in the process. The whole "start the movie in the middle then go back to the beginning then go forward then back again" thing is starting to seem tired to me, but I don't see any other way this movie could have worked. I've only seen one other movie by Lumet, "Dog Day Afternoon," but I'm now definitely a fan. Watch how Ethan Hawke's character's life is presented: short and utilitarian. We are introduced immediately to his problems. Juxtapose this with his brother's scenes: Quiet, mysterious, and procedural. The writing in this movie is great, but I was truly amazed at how the director was able to add characterization through simple aesthetic choices, rather than strict dialogue. The violence is handled well, though I wish the movie didn't devolve into rampage-mode. What's up with Ethan Hawke growling and grunting like a cat when he's scared? You'll see what I mean.
The Orphanage - Scary and sad. Extremely tense scene in the middle involving a medium and night vision cameras. Good ending with two extra scenes tacked on that reek of studio tampering and audience pandering. People would have gotten it without being beaten over the head! Too bad. Self-congratulatory side note: I understood about 37% of this movie without having to glance at the subtitles. Go me.
Iron Man - This movie rules. Special effects are phenomenal. A long while back I remember reading an article about how Frank Miller was writing a Batman story in which Bruce Wayne goes to Afghanistan and lays pipe to terrorist anus. I never saw these books, and there seems to be a general fear about sending Superhero-types into real world situations. I can't quite remember who said it, but I seem to recall a director of a recent superhero flick saying that it would be unfair to our soldiers to show his hero going in and cleaning up a mess that they couldn't. Iron Man says fuck that. He fucks up Afghan terrorists. There is a clever way that John Favreau gets around the whole "one-upping the military beef": Tony Stark is a narcissist. He's obsessed with how he's affected the world. He doesn't build the Iron Man suit so he can combat AIDS in Africa. He goes to Afghanistan to destroy his legacy of enabling murderers. It all goes back to cleaning up his own mess. Not the military's. Robert Downey Jr. : fucking great. Gwenyth Paltrow: America-hating, Coldplay fucking, self-serious cow. But she's okay in this. Go see it at Warren! All digital! All THX!
Indiana Jones trailer - Tears of joy, a little bit? Yeah. I choked up when I saw this. There was no boner of joy, because this movie will transcend boners. This is deeper than sex. It moved me.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
street kings was fucking awesome
Warren Theaters in Moore, Oklahoma, is the single best theater I've ever been to in my life. All-digital. All-THX. $7 for the poor seating, $12 for the balcony. I paid the $12. You walk in and it's like a fucking Joel Schumacher version of a '50s movie theater. Batman Forever and shit. Neon lights and a million-dollar marble floor. Nice attendants in monkey suits tore our tickets.
Jimmy and I ascended the stairs to the balcony area. A life size Yoda sat on the bar. I got a 32 oz. mug of Bud Light. I was set. The walls have classic movie shit all over them: King Kong, Star Wars, etc. Between the bathrooms there's a huge signed Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade poster.
The place cost $32 million, and it looks it.
The balcony area in the actual auditorium is fucking class. Eight pairs of seats across and four rows deep, with enough room between rows so the motherfuckers behind you can stretch out without kicking the back of your chair. You can order off the menu sitting at the table in front of you. All you have to do is press the red call button. If you're cold, by the way, this other little button will warm your chair up. The padding is straight NASA. Plush as fuck.
It's about a ten-minute drive from my house. I'm going to see everything there.
The picture is fucking gorgeous. The sound is immense. And it helps that the movie we saw was tits, also.
"Street Kings" is the fucking shit. It's directed by David Ayer, who wrote "Training Day" and "Harsh Times". This flick almost pulls him out of the shit for co-writing "The Fast and the Furious" and "touching up" "SWAT". I understand, dude, you had to get paid. But I still have a chip on my shoulder about "Dark Blue". Because that was Ellroy, and your screenplay fucked it up, bad. But it was Kurt Russell and that guy who gets butcher knifed in Gangs of New York's fault, too. Goddamn they were bad in that movie. So basically at this point I'm willing to say that you're cool. You're on shaky ground, though.
The original screenplay for "Street Kings" is by James Ellroy, whose nuts most of you know I will ride, much like a cowboy, into the sunset. It was "touched up" by a couple Hollywood monkeys, but the Ellroy comes through, cheese and all.
The action is well shot in a kind of Hype Williams, "Belly" kind of way. I dug it. Lots of blood.
Keanu Reeves does alright. He's a "racist" cop who dresses kind of like an anime nerd. It's bizarre, him being part Chinese and whatnot, spitting the vile, racist, extremely Ellroy dialogue at the beginning, and then having some Koreans kick his ass and call him "white-boy". Then after the first fifteen minutes, he doesn't say or do anything racist at all. Weird.
The rest of the actors are fucking top notch. Common is great, Hugh Laurie is great, and Forest Whitaker is great. I feel like a scene between those last two can perfectly sum up the tone of the movie. Laurie and Whitaker hate each other. Laurie's trying to get dirt on Reeves cause he doesn't play by the rules, and Reeves is on Whitaker's Vice squad. It's kind of like a kid lighting a school on fire, and the kid's mom comes and yells at the principal for punishing her baby.
Anyway, here's how the scene goes:
Forest Whitaker: (walks into Laurie's office) Hey, motherfucker.
Hugh Laurie: Fuck you.
FW: (close up) I got somethin' for you.
HL: Fuuuck you.
FW: (takes his balls out and slaps them on Laurie's desk) What do you think of that, motherfucker?
HL: Eat shit. (takes his balls out and palms them and kind of shrugs. his balls are massive)
FW: Those are some pretty big balls, motherfucker.
HL: Go to hell.
FW: Oh, yeah? Go to hell? (FW begins pissing all over Laurie's office) I'm gonna piss on your blinds, bitch. I'm pissing in your fern right now. Cheap fake shit. Watering your plants, bitch.
HL: (begins pissing on Keanu Reeves) I'm pissing on your butt-boy. Your left ear looks like a Dorito that got left out in the rain.
(Keanu Reeves begins drinking heavily)
KR: We are all so hard-boiled.
(they stop pissing)
FW: I'll see you in hell.
HL: I'll fuck your mother in hell.
Whitaker and Reeves leave. Laurie straightens his tie and calls for a hooker, preferably one who's addicted to crack.
If that doesn't get you hard, I don't know what will. Go see it.
Jimmy and I ascended the stairs to the balcony area. A life size Yoda sat on the bar. I got a 32 oz. mug of Bud Light. I was set. The walls have classic movie shit all over them: King Kong, Star Wars, etc. Between the bathrooms there's a huge signed Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade poster.
The place cost $32 million, and it looks it.
The balcony area in the actual auditorium is fucking class. Eight pairs of seats across and four rows deep, with enough room between rows so the motherfuckers behind you can stretch out without kicking the back of your chair. You can order off the menu sitting at the table in front of you. All you have to do is press the red call button. If you're cold, by the way, this other little button will warm your chair up. The padding is straight NASA. Plush as fuck.
It's about a ten-minute drive from my house. I'm going to see everything there.
The picture is fucking gorgeous. The sound is immense. And it helps that the movie we saw was tits, also.
"Street Kings" is the fucking shit. It's directed by David Ayer, who wrote "Training Day" and "Harsh Times". This flick almost pulls him out of the shit for co-writing "The Fast and the Furious" and "touching up" "SWAT". I understand, dude, you had to get paid. But I still have a chip on my shoulder about "Dark Blue". Because that was Ellroy, and your screenplay fucked it up, bad. But it was Kurt Russell and that guy who gets butcher knifed in Gangs of New York's fault, too. Goddamn they were bad in that movie. So basically at this point I'm willing to say that you're cool. You're on shaky ground, though.
The original screenplay for "Street Kings" is by James Ellroy, whose nuts most of you know I will ride, much like a cowboy, into the sunset. It was "touched up" by a couple Hollywood monkeys, but the Ellroy comes through, cheese and all.
The action is well shot in a kind of Hype Williams, "Belly" kind of way. I dug it. Lots of blood.
Keanu Reeves does alright. He's a "racist" cop who dresses kind of like an anime nerd. It's bizarre, him being part Chinese and whatnot, spitting the vile, racist, extremely Ellroy dialogue at the beginning, and then having some Koreans kick his ass and call him "white-boy". Then after the first fifteen minutes, he doesn't say or do anything racist at all. Weird.
The rest of the actors are fucking top notch. Common is great, Hugh Laurie is great, and Forest Whitaker is great. I feel like a scene between those last two can perfectly sum up the tone of the movie. Laurie and Whitaker hate each other. Laurie's trying to get dirt on Reeves cause he doesn't play by the rules, and Reeves is on Whitaker's Vice squad. It's kind of like a kid lighting a school on fire, and the kid's mom comes and yells at the principal for punishing her baby.
Anyway, here's how the scene goes:
Forest Whitaker: (walks into Laurie's office) Hey, motherfucker.
Hugh Laurie: Fuck you.
FW: (close up) I got somethin' for you.
HL: Fuuuck you.
FW: (takes his balls out and slaps them on Laurie's desk) What do you think of that, motherfucker?
HL: Eat shit. (takes his balls out and palms them and kind of shrugs. his balls are massive)
FW: Those are some pretty big balls, motherfucker.
HL: Go to hell.
FW: Oh, yeah? Go to hell? (FW begins pissing all over Laurie's office) I'm gonna piss on your blinds, bitch. I'm pissing in your fern right now. Cheap fake shit. Watering your plants, bitch.
HL: (begins pissing on Keanu Reeves) I'm pissing on your butt-boy. Your left ear looks like a Dorito that got left out in the rain.
(Keanu Reeves begins drinking heavily)
KR: We are all so hard-boiled.
(they stop pissing)
FW: I'll see you in hell.
HL: I'll fuck your mother in hell.
Whitaker and Reeves leave. Laurie straightens his tie and calls for a hooker, preferably one who's addicted to crack.
If that doesn't get you hard, I don't know what will. Go see it.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
drunk ramble
Today Rios left for an adventure in New Orleans. I'm missing out on V-day, and all the things that go along with it: fierceness, rampant militant lesbianism, Salma Hayek, pregnant Jessica Alba (she's SPAWNING), and Common.
Leaving me at home. With pooch.
I dropped Rios off at her friend's house in Elgin. Went to visit Mom then realized I'd left the door locked at home, meaning Jimmy couldn't get in because he lost his key. This meant a drive back to Norman. So now I'm here, and lonely.
Lonely?
Yes, lonely. For the first time in a long time, I feel lonely.
Perhaps you'd like a beer?
No, I couldn't.
C'mon. It's Bud Light. It'll love you. You don't even have to deal with excess calories.
Okay, fine.
Loneliness = taken care of.
Kahlua is in love with her Kong. It's a rubber toy in which I squeeze peanut butter paste. Special Kong-brand peanut butter, of course, to promote a healthy coat and teeth. She chews on it even when there's nothing in it. She wakes me up by dropping it on my face. It smells like a horny peanut's used condom.
I also bought her grown up dog food for the first time. She's growing up. Soon she'll be going to soccer practice and loading up my computer with porn and beating someone nearly to death and videotaping it and putting on Youtube.
Y'all hear about that? Google: 6 on 1, bitches, beating, teenager, youtube, crime.
You might find what I'm talking about.
It's stormy outside. Storms equal tornadoes, but you just learn to ignore it. It was raining this morning. I was sweeping in the back at Kirkland's where the rain hits the tin of our roof and gets loud. I'd pop the back door to check it out every once in a while. I like sweeping.
So I was back there and Bill O'Reilly is on. I like Bill O'Reilly, I think I've explained this before. I haven't seen his TV show in a long while, but on the radio O'Reilly is articulate and analytical, and doing his best to be unbiased (though he is).
His callers, however, are butt-fucking retarded.
"I heard that in college Michelle Obama wrote socialist papers."
"I heard that Barack Obama refuses to pledge allegiance to the United States of America."
"I saw Barack Obama on Oprah and he said he had Parkinson's."
And on and on. And O'Reilly debunks them and degrades all of them, all the time championing not necessarily Obama, but his own fairness.
Some of you may think that O'Reilly is using these callers to show his "true point of view." Or to just get these rumors radio play so that they disseminate regardless of fact. And there may be truth to that. O'Reilly knows that people will only hear what they want to, and many people will take this woman's statement, "Barack Obama will not pledge allegiance to the flag", and run with it. But at the same time there's that Dennett quote: "There's nothing I hate more than a poor argument for a stance I hold dear" or something. A part of me thinks O'Reilly is not only trying to quell some of the more ridiculous rumors, he's also sending a subliminal message: I'm a conservative, but I'm not one of these people.
Or he's doing a little bit of all of that. That's probably it.
Hola, senor. Somos los cervezas de Easter que tu se olvido. Tome una bebida. Permaneceremos contigo y te haremos no solo.
Oh, Coronas. How could I forget you? Donde estan mis limons?
Is there a better Spanish word for lonely?
A lady came into Kirkland's the other day. Didn't speak ANY English. So I was going to tell her about our backdoor pickup, because she had a lot of bags.
And I choked. No words came out. I just started signing like an idiot. She said, "Sorry, my ingles is no good." And Tiffany was like, "Choke."
As soon as she left I thought of a million things I could have said. I said them over and over in my head, burning them into my memory. I won't choke next time.
I need some real world Spanish. Entiendo mas que yo hablo.
I did the same shit when I lived in Germany. Three years I lived there. Picked up a lot of German. NEVER SPOKE IT. Too scared. Cold feet. Erschrocken.
Fuck.
Maybe I should move to Mexico City. Force myself to speak the shit.
Tapout clothes are gay. If you don't fight, don't wear Tapout. Don't put the decal on your car. Don't get your Tapout hoodie. You're sending a message with that shit. You know it, and I know it, so let's cut the "I'm just a UFC fan" horse shit. Same with the Fox racing gear, people. All of you don't own bikes, or race. So quit frontin'. If you are fat as fuck or skinny and weak, you are not using Tapout gear except in this one occasion.
If you're a badass, however, you can wear whateverthefuck.
Has anyone made a Tappedthat hoodie yet? In the Tapout letters? You know that shit's coming. Or the Jesus version? Like how they took the Orange County choppers logo and put Jesus shit on it? It doesn't have to make sense. It can just say "Prayer" in the Tapout letters and people will buy it.
There's something about driving in the rain with the wipers going and your lights reflecting off the puddles and the frame of your car rattling at 90 mph that makes you want to listen to an angry Evangelical preacher on the radio. When the light glows under a storm cloud and illuminates the sky and there's a pissed-off white man screaming about hell-fire in radio-voice over the sound of the storm, it just gives you this fear. This awesome apocalyptic fear that makes you feel badass just being there to feel it.
I heard this chick preacher on the radio. I was scanning and I stopped because you don't hear it every day. She was preaching about shopping. She said something like, "I was shopping with this lady friend of mine, and we were in a mall, and we passed a store, and she said, 'I could never shop there.' Ladies, am I right? Have you been there? I couldn't help but think, why couldn't this woman turn this into something faith-positive? Why couldn't she say, "I could shop in that store any day I wanted to, but I choose not to today.'"
I laughed until I cried. Kahlua sat dutifully next to me and stared out the window and I scanned until I found a preacher screaming about dying women in Africa and Bertrand Russell.
It's really getting going out there. Goodnight.
Leaving me at home. With pooch.
I dropped Rios off at her friend's house in Elgin. Went to visit Mom then realized I'd left the door locked at home, meaning Jimmy couldn't get in because he lost his key. This meant a drive back to Norman. So now I'm here, and lonely.
Lonely?
Yes, lonely. For the first time in a long time, I feel lonely.
Perhaps you'd like a beer?
No, I couldn't.
C'mon. It's Bud Light. It'll love you. You don't even have to deal with excess calories.
Okay, fine.
Loneliness = taken care of.
Kahlua is in love with her Kong. It's a rubber toy in which I squeeze peanut butter paste. Special Kong-brand peanut butter, of course, to promote a healthy coat and teeth. She chews on it even when there's nothing in it. She wakes me up by dropping it on my face. It smells like a horny peanut's used condom.
I also bought her grown up dog food for the first time. She's growing up. Soon she'll be going to soccer practice and loading up my computer with porn and beating someone nearly to death and videotaping it and putting on Youtube.
Y'all hear about that? Google: 6 on 1, bitches, beating, teenager, youtube, crime.
You might find what I'm talking about.
It's stormy outside. Storms equal tornadoes, but you just learn to ignore it. It was raining this morning. I was sweeping in the back at Kirkland's where the rain hits the tin of our roof and gets loud. I'd pop the back door to check it out every once in a while. I like sweeping.
So I was back there and Bill O'Reilly is on. I like Bill O'Reilly, I think I've explained this before. I haven't seen his TV show in a long while, but on the radio O'Reilly is articulate and analytical, and doing his best to be unbiased (though he is).
His callers, however, are butt-fucking retarded.
"I heard that in college Michelle Obama wrote socialist papers."
"I heard that Barack Obama refuses to pledge allegiance to the United States of America."
"I saw Barack Obama on Oprah and he said he had Parkinson's."
And on and on. And O'Reilly debunks them and degrades all of them, all the time championing not necessarily Obama, but his own fairness.
Some of you may think that O'Reilly is using these callers to show his "true point of view." Or to just get these rumors radio play so that they disseminate regardless of fact. And there may be truth to that. O'Reilly knows that people will only hear what they want to, and many people will take this woman's statement, "Barack Obama will not pledge allegiance to the flag", and run with it. But at the same time there's that Dennett quote: "There's nothing I hate more than a poor argument for a stance I hold dear" or something. A part of me thinks O'Reilly is not only trying to quell some of the more ridiculous rumors, he's also sending a subliminal message: I'm a conservative, but I'm not one of these people.
Or he's doing a little bit of all of that. That's probably it.
Hola, senor. Somos los cervezas de Easter que tu se olvido. Tome una bebida. Permaneceremos contigo y te haremos no solo.
Oh, Coronas. How could I forget you? Donde estan mis limons?
Is there a better Spanish word for lonely?
A lady came into Kirkland's the other day. Didn't speak ANY English. So I was going to tell her about our backdoor pickup, because she had a lot of bags.
And I choked. No words came out. I just started signing like an idiot. She said, "Sorry, my ingles is no good." And Tiffany was like, "Choke."
As soon as she left I thought of a million things I could have said. I said them over and over in my head, burning them into my memory. I won't choke next time.
I need some real world Spanish. Entiendo mas que yo hablo.
I did the same shit when I lived in Germany. Three years I lived there. Picked up a lot of German. NEVER SPOKE IT. Too scared. Cold feet. Erschrocken.
Fuck.
Maybe I should move to Mexico City. Force myself to speak the shit.
Tapout clothes are gay. If you don't fight, don't wear Tapout. Don't put the decal on your car. Don't get your Tapout hoodie. You're sending a message with that shit. You know it, and I know it, so let's cut the "I'm just a UFC fan" horse shit. Same with the Fox racing gear, people. All of you don't own bikes, or race. So quit frontin'. If you are fat as fuck or skinny and weak, you are not using Tapout gear except in this one occasion.
If you're a badass, however, you can wear whateverthefuck.
Has anyone made a Tappedthat hoodie yet? In the Tapout letters? You know that shit's coming. Or the Jesus version? Like how they took the Orange County choppers logo and put Jesus shit on it? It doesn't have to make sense. It can just say "Prayer" in the Tapout letters and people will buy it.
There's something about driving in the rain with the wipers going and your lights reflecting off the puddles and the frame of your car rattling at 90 mph that makes you want to listen to an angry Evangelical preacher on the radio. When the light glows under a storm cloud and illuminates the sky and there's a pissed-off white man screaming about hell-fire in radio-voice over the sound of the storm, it just gives you this fear. This awesome apocalyptic fear that makes you feel badass just being there to feel it.
I heard this chick preacher on the radio. I was scanning and I stopped because you don't hear it every day. She was preaching about shopping. She said something like, "I was shopping with this lady friend of mine, and we were in a mall, and we passed a store, and she said, 'I could never shop there.' Ladies, am I right? Have you been there? I couldn't help but think, why couldn't this woman turn this into something faith-positive? Why couldn't she say, "I could shop in that store any day I wanted to, but I choose not to today.'"
I laughed until I cried. Kahlua sat dutifully next to me and stared out the window and I scanned until I found a preacher screaming about dying women in Africa and Bertrand Russell.
It's really getting going out there. Goodnight.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
