Thursday, November 30, 2006

Reflections on Turkey Day

Last year, on Thanksgiving, I wrote the following post:

So here we are again. Thanksgiving. A day to give thanks. The day to give thanks, as if we shouldn't give thanks every other day ... but yes, today's the day to give thanks.

A particularly weird one for me, first time I'm not spending it with my family or future family. Future family? What the hell does that mean? Well. I'll say it like this, at this time last year, on Thanksgiving, my stomach was in knots as I asked my girlfriend's father for his blessing, for permission to propose. No, not to him, to his daughter, my girlfriend. Permission was granted, though he likely regrets that now ... see, because the next day I followed through with my stated intentions - I proposed, and she said yes. We were in her home town, it was the day after thanksgiving, it was our 3 year anniversary, it was perfect.

Here I am, a year later, she's moved away, I now have roommates -- roommates that aren't her -- the engagement broken, the wedding cancelled, the only anniversary to be celebrated merely the calendar passing of a former anniversary. And to top it all off, I can't go home to see my family because of work. I know, I know boo freakin hoo for me, I'm just saying. And I don't know who the hell I'm justifying this too, since I'm pretty sure I'm the only guy reading this.

I'm still thankfull, for everything, for life, for love, for love lost, for family, friends, health etc.. I'm just saying ... This is the first time in a long time, perhaps ever, that thanksgiving is just another day. Albeit a day where I can eat and drink as much as I want and watch football with out feeling too bad about it. I'm willing to bet, however, i will feel bad.

here's to you, here's to turkey day, here's to next year's celebration being a bit better.

Yeah, I know, boo freakin hoo.
__________________________________


As I posted "here's to next year's celebration being a bit better," I’m back to evaluate whether it was. Or wasn't. Cause I'm sure you are dying to know. And by YOU I mean Me cause I'm the only person reading this trash. And yes, yes, I can insult my own ranting.

I visited my family for thanksgiving. Not my entire family - not the uncles, the aunts, the cousins whom you claim you want to see more of but really don’t. The people to whom you have spent countless hours with throughout your lifetime just because you sprouted from a singular family tree. (this is not to say I don't like my relatives, I like many of them, there are some, however, I would prefer not to spend time with, and still others I will, to this day, deny I have any relation too) Not even my entire nuclear family (I like referring to them in terms of WMD's because sometimes, shit blows up) because while I went to Connecticut to see most of my siblings some did not join us in the joyous celebration of the day in which the Pilgrims began infecting the Native Americans with their English viruses.

My Dad did not join us - he was spending the holiday with his new wife. In North Carolina. Because he loves her more than us. NO that's not true, or maybe it is, but the man wanted to stay home and, more than likely, have sex with his new wife (and when I say new wife I mean new to him, not necessarily new, he didn't go out and marry some young bimbo which is to his credit, according to some schools of thought), but methinks he wanted to avoid the other WMD's all gathered together. My one sister, who lives down south, thought it was TOO MUCH to travel all the way from NC (do I complain that I traveled from Los Angeles? But she has 3 kids. Is that really my fault? Is it my fault I'm single with no kids and only half a life on a good day?). So she had a relaxing turkey day. And good for her. And my brother. No he didn't come. He's a Jehovah’s Witness and while I'm unsure of the tenants of that religion, I'm gonna assume that one of them outlaws the eating of turkey, or stuffing, or pie. So its only natural that he would not join us for the pagan holiday of Thanksgiving. But, I'm the youngest of 6 so even though the non-pagan, the newlywed and the stress queen couldn't make it, the rest did. But was it fun? Was it better than last year?

It was. It was different. But good. When you’re young, holidays are a blast. The family gets together and if the family is as much fun as mine CAN be, its great. But when your older, holidays act like a magnifying glass on your life. That's not quite right, they don't just magnify, they intensify everything. Your relationships. Your lot in life. Your view of others' lives. Relationships, etc...

My nieces and nephews are all getting bigger and smarter than me. I can see that in their eyes I am transforming from the cool, fun uncle to the sad, dorky, lonely, old guy who can still make them laugh while he cries on the inside.

My sisters still tend to treat me like the baby of the family. And no, its not because I'm wearing diapers, but because I am the youngest. Along with that, I consistently get the "oh yes, Thomas was mom's favorite," jokes and jabs. And you know what, if my siblings do feel that I was "the favorite" I'm sure that must feel awful, but here's a news flash - its not my fucking fault so back the fuck off. (thank you, I feel better)

But I love them all and, while I wonder why they should, think they feel the same about me - how could they not - I'm the favorite.

But it does intensify your look on life. I have no problem being single - I'm in my 30's, never married, obviously I'm quite good at being single. What I mean to say is, I don't need to be married to be complete. But during the holidays, when I look around and see everyone's families, there is a part of me that thinks ... I'm not part of the club and I never will be. I'm not too sure how I feel about that. It does remind me of what mom used to say, "I fear you'll never be married, but you'll never be lonely," and while I could offer up a couple married people who are in fact lonely - thanks to a bad marriage, it makes me wonder if she was right about me. Is that so bad?

Who knows people? Who knows?

All in all it was a good thanksgiving. But do you wanna know what was best about it? The love? No. The food? No. The laughter? Nope. The memories? Nope. ER. Yep. ER. We all gathered round the television to watch the VERY SPECIAL ER, where a bus crashes and Dr.Abby saves people and John Stamos doesn't shave. And the reason why it made the holiday best, cause there was this new character on it ... I think his name was "DANNY," a new helicopter EMT, and I don't know, there was something about that guy that made me happy. Made us all happy. Made us thankful for stuff and hopeful for the future.

Thank you Danny.

Thanks for everything.

Monday, November 13, 2006

The Frat of Borat

I finally saw "Borat" and yes its funny. Its real freakin funny and smart and I laughed harder than I have in a movie in a long, long time. Its also a movie that made me physically uncomfortable ... I mean, I always knew there were a lot of idiots in our country - racist, discriminatory, homophobic, sexist idiots - out there in our country but I'm always amazed at those who unabashedly show their true colors on camera. And when they do, it makes me uncomfortable. My body tenses and tightens and contorts into positions I am not quite accustomed to as I watch these people do and say these awful and yet hilarious things on camera. It's bad enough that certain people have the capacity to think and feel so outrageously, but to give words and actions to those thoughts, those feelings ... ON CAMERA. HOLY CRAP. HOLY CRAP. It’s amazing. It blows my mind.

What’s even better? Some of these people (and by "these people" I'm not being discriminatory, I'm referring to those people portrayed in "BORAT") have come forward claiming the film "shows them in an unflattering light." Specifically, two gentlemen (and I'm using the term "gentlemen" with distinct sarcasm) have filed suit against the makers of the film claiming that they were tricked into participating in the movie, and that the movie made them “the object of ridicule, humiliation, mental anguish and emotional and physical distress...” These two GENTLEMEN, fraternity boys, are in the film getting drunk, riding in an RV with Borat, and spewing idiotic drunken jerk statements. it just so happens that the statements are overwhelmingly racist and sexist.

How dare these idiots bring this lawsuit? How dare their attorney(s) represent them in this case? I understand waivers and consent and all that crap. I may even go with you when you argue that a person cannot be held to a contract executed while they are drunk. But these guys, these GENTLEMEN, they didn't sign a contract for the purchase of a home - they agreed to go on film. And drink. And talk. And make asses out of themselves. By the looks of the movie, they were having a good ole time ... getting loaded, mugging for the camera, spewing drunken idiotic philosophies on women and minorities that, I'm fairly certain, these guys spew on a regular basis either under the influence or not. They were clearly putting on a show, trying to be funny and clever (which is scary as they were neither). They wanted their shot in the spotlight, and they got it, and the light was NOT flattering. Now they claim they are "the object of ridicule, humiliation, mental anguish and emotional and physical distress ..." good, they should be. Maybe they shouldn't have agreed to go on film. Maybe they should have stopped drinking. Maybe they shouldn't be ignorant college fraternity house stereotypes.

Who knows what will happen. Hopefully the million dollar 20th Century Fox attorneys will sink this loser of a lawsuit before it picks up any steam. Maybe they'll take it to trial and spend weeks showing a jury that the guys who were portrayed as idiots in BORAT are actually idiots in real life. Maybe they'll want to avoid trouble and settle, paying these guys a little something to make them go away, buy more liquor, and reward themselves for being on the bottom of the food chain. Shit people, maybe these guys will get their own tv show. Wouldn't that be funny?

Sunday, November 05, 2006

23 Flavors !?!?!?!? I MUST HAVE IT


Have you seen the new Dr. Pepper commercials?? The ones touting the fact that it has 23 flavors. YES, 23 flavors. And, apparently, because it has 23 FLAVORS, you should drink it. It'll make you happy. It'll make life better. In fact, if we are to believe the commercials, just drinking it is liable to make you obsessed with a certain number - yup, you guessed it 23.

Is anyone else confused by this campaign? They don't tell us WHAT the flavors are, just that there are 23 of them. In fact, you can't know what those flavors are ... it’s a freakin secret. On the Dr Pepper website (yes, I have no life), in response to the question ... "what is the flavor of Dr Pepper supposed to be" the response is "Dr Pepper is a unique blend of 23 flavors. The formula for Dr Pepper is proprietary information," which means, in layman's terms, "mind your own freakin business." But, for some reason, the ad campaign gods decided that the public will buy this product, simply by knowing it has 23 flavors. Despite the fact that we don't know what the hell those flavors are.

I've had Dr Pepper, even had it when it still contained punctuation, and it’s a lovely drink. Not quite cola, not quite the un-cola, but something different. I might even venture to say it’s unique. I enjoy its overall flavor. I'm not much of a soda drinker - unless it’s accompanied by a fair dose of bourbon - but if I had to drink soda, I could do worse then the good Doctor. I certainly don't enjoy it because its distinct flavor is created by some alleged cornucopia of flavors to be named later. Truth be told, the fact that it took 23 mysterious flavors to create Dr Pepper is a little disconcerting. 23 is a big number. That's a lot of flavors. Don't you think there is a great possibility of some questionable flavors being a part of that mix?

I have no information to support this, I'm just guessing, I'm pontificating perhaps, this has no basis in fact (so don't sue me), but don't you wonder if maybe, in addition to some commonish soda type ingredients like cherry, vanilla, apple, chocolate, lemon, and lime, there may be some unwelcome flavors such as: liver; potting soil; snozzberries; jimmy's dirty socks; sour grapes; raw squid; the taste of regret? And do you wanna drink that? I don't. But if putting some traditionally nasty flavors together with "more traditional" flavors creates something good .. maybe that's ok. I don't know about that.

But I do know that more is not necessarily better. Not all the time. I'm a big fan of lots of mores ... more money, more power, more sex, more of anything? More of everything. And in the right circumstance Michael Moore and in the proper vehicle, Mandy Moore. But in this case I find it puzzling. Its like they are saying ... "Why by Coke or Pepsi with their handful of flavors when you can have Dr. Pepper ... we have 23 FLAVORS, 23." Can't they just say "hey man, our shit tastes good, its different, its original, drink it, or don't, go screw yourself." But no, they are trying to appeal to the "it has more, it must be better" school of thought. That doesn't always work.

I was gonna conclude this rant by discussing how going the "bigger is better" route usually ends with something largely unsatisfying .... the cinematic fiasco CLEOPATRA is an example, Walter Hudson another, the HUMMER. I would consider that sometimes "less is more" but we all know that, and then someone would likely respond, "well of course you'd say that, your IRISH." And then I would wrap the whole thing up with a witty and clever sentence that leaves the reader totally satisfied. But I'm tired. If you want satisfaction, buy a Snickers. And while your eating it, enjoying its chewy, peanuty, caramel, chocolate experience, you can read about the flavors your pallet is not yet sophisticated enough to identify, by reading the ingredients on the wrapper. There may not be 23, but damn it, you'll know what they freakin are.

Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Driving to Tahoe Stinks


I'm back.
It's been awhile.
I'm sure your all very upset. Those of you dying to find out what I have to say have been without my ramblings for nearly two months, or more than two months, or at least a period of time that would normally be inexcusable. But, since this is a blog, and everyone and their mother has one, and no one particularly seems to care, I think I can cut myself some slack about slacking off on my blogging duties.

But I'm back. For now. Just wanted to ramble on about .. well, you can read the title "DRIVING TO TAHOE STINKS." I mean, it really does.

A week and a half ago I had the opportunity to go to Lake Tahoe, to stay at a lovely home with some friends. I decided to drive, from Los Angeles. 6.5-7 hours .. no big deal it'd be worth it. On top of it all, I wouldn't be driving alone, I'd be accompanied by a very lovely, intelligent, charming, funny, and let's just say it --- hot woman who for some reason seems to like me quite a bit. That being said, there are worse things one can be doing for 7 hours.

So we drove. And drove. And drove. We made the requisite stops for gasoline, thankfull that I can only afford to drive a Honda Civic, because it only takes 9 gallons of gas to fill it up, and runs about as far on a gallon of gas as any non hybriddy type car can run. We made a brief stop for some bad fast food, no time to sit and eat, have to get to Tahoe, HAVE TO GET TO TAHOE.

Traffic - none.
Police incidents - none.
Fights with the girlfriend - none.
Time - ok, more than 7 hours there, but barely, not enough to bitch about it.

But it stank. OHHH IT REALLY STANK. Literally people. LITERALLY.
No, the fast food stop did not make me gassy.
No, we are not in the stage of our relationship where I feel we can comfortably pass gas in front of eachother without embarrassment - and the truth is, I don't think I ever want to be that comfortable with a woman where I will just let it rip with out being self conscious. Nor do I think I want to evaluate her gas passing abilities with a smile on my face.

No, the trip to Tahoe stinks because when you take the 5 (for those non Californians, we like to refer to our highways as "The 5" "the 405" "the 135" - now I grew up in Long Island, we didn't refer to our highways like that, we'd tell people to take a "route" or "highway something or other" or "interstate whatsitsnumber" but in California, everything is more important and special than the rest of the country and the world, so there you go) you pass through cattle ranches. Not dairy cattle ranches. Cattle ranches for cattle to be slaughtered. And let me tell you something, they stink. There's nothing to do about it, windows sealed shut, ventilation shut down, it smells like your swimming in shit, and piss, and blood, and guts and something fishy. OK, I'm not very good at describing the details of the aromatic assault, but its awful. Bloody, freakin, awful.

It's nothing like those California Cheese commercials with the Happy Cows. These cows aint happy. They are packed together like sardines, wallowing in their own filth, just lining up to be turned into hamburger.

Its a disgrace.

Won't keep me from eating meat. I'm just saying.

Perhaps I should be moved by this. Perhaps my displeasure at the treatment of these animals should make me do something, something more than rant about it. Something more than discuss merely the smell. Something like taking a stand. Like joining PETA. Like becoming a vegetarian. Like wearing only natural fibers, throwing away my leather panties. Truth is, only thing it makes me wanna do is NOT drive to Tahoe. Shit, I can fly to Reno and rent a car. Sure you have to go through Reno, but its not as bad as driving through cow shit ... or is it?


But the views, oh, the views are perfect. Look at the picture. BEAUTIFULL. And no, it didn't smell there at all. Though, I'm fairly certain, in some areas, I could catch the strong wiff of money, and distinct self satisfaction.

Monday, August 28, 2006

LYING PEDOPHILES AND DRIVING DOGS

I was planning on bitching and moaning about the JonBenet case today. More specifically, I wanted to write on the SHOCKING news that creepy bastard John Mark Karr will not be charged with her murder - simply because HE DIDN'T DO IT. I wanted to bitch about how the media gave this sick freak exactly what he wanted ... attention, spotlight, without one ounce of evidence except for this freak's word.

I'm all worked up about it. But I'm not gonna talk on it any further.

Nope, cause I found this story. And, well, frankly, its just wonderfull.


DOG'S DRIVING LESSON ENDS IN CRASH (from CNN online)

BEIJING, China (AP) -- You can teach a dog new tricks -- but driving isn't one of them.

A woman in Hohhot, the capital of north China's Inner Mongolia region, crashed her car while giving her dog a driving lesson, the official Xinhua News Agency reported Monday.

No injuries were reported although the vehicles involved were slightly damaged, Xinhua said.

The woman, identified only by her surname, Li, said her dog "was fond of crouching on the steering wheel and often watched her drive."

"She thought she would let the dog 'have a try' while she operated the accelerator and brake," the report said. "They did not make it far before crashing into an oncoming car."

Xinhua did not say what kind of dog or vehicles were involved but Li paid for repairs.




She thought she'd let the dog "have a try." Isn't that fantastic!?!?!?!?!?

Sunday, August 27, 2006

A MYSPACE SURVEY, 30 THINGS YOU'LL WISH YOU NEVER KNEW ABOUT ME

FROM A MYSPACE SURVEY:
(yes, I'm on myspace. no, I don't use it to stalk minors)


30 unknown facts/secrets about yourself:

1. What does your MySpace headline mean?
"Learn to swim" .. do I really need to explain what it means? Do I? Really? Really? Isn't it obvious? Fine, it means Mel Gibson is an anti-semite.

2. Elaborate on your default photo: (FYI its a mugshot)
Bad night. Bad choices. I swore she was 18.

3. What's your middle name[s]?:
Danger. Matthew. Guess which one I like best.

4. Hey where is number 4?
Right between three and five, tryin to be all cool because its an even number, realizing its easily divisible but, in all honesty, feeling a little insecure because its surrounded by prime numbers and hey, even numbers may be easy to divide, but primes, man primes can only be divided by themselves. Tough bastards.

5. What are you wearing right now?
A self confident smirk on my face, kind of diggin the whole prime number thing I just wrote. Besides that, underwear. A tshirt.

6. What is your current problem?
You. You are my current problem. You with your questions with no answers. Your look of disdain. Your self important swagger. Your judging. Your "yoga body" that you show off in tight revealing clothes while making jokes about my physique. Your ability to spell without a spell check. Your ability to make everything you touch into gold. Except my heart. My heart, the one thing you've touched and turned to stone. You. Your my problem.

7. What do you love most?
Scarecrow. Oh no, I'll miss him most. What do I love most. I don't know. I don't know. I wish I did. Then I'd love that knowing. Perhaps I'd love knowing what I love the most, the most.

8. Who makes you most happy?
Sometimes people I don't even pay to make me happy make me happy. Otherwise, its usually people I pay to make me happy. Sometimes, I make myself happy but that's never cheap.

9. Are you musically talented?:
Yes. Yes I am. I can rap like K-Fed, sing like that asian kid from American Idol, and bang out a piano tune like a spider monkey on crack.

10. If you could go back in time, and change one thing, what would it be?
Anything? LIke in the history of the world? I don't know, maybe what I'd do is go back to the beginning of it all, sneak up to Adam and say ... "hey man, listen, I know she's hot an all, but don't eat the apple. I can't really tell you what's gonna happen, but shits gonna go bad." Then, when he's off doing stuff, I might hook up with Eve. Cause then I could come back to this world and say, "I HAD SEX WITH EVE" that's pretty cool. I might also go back further, to right before the big bang and say "HEY GOD, MAYBE YOU SHOULD RECONSIDER, WE'RE JUST GONNA PISS YOU OFF."

11. If you MUST be an animal for ONE day-what would you be?
Just one day? My girlfriend tells me I'm an animal every damn night. That's not true. I don't have a girlfriend. I'd be a kitten. A real cute one so that a real pretty girl would take me home and cuddle me and lay me down in bed with her, and then, in the morning, when she wakes FABLAM!!! I turn back to me, but I have no clothes on and she's still cuddling me and I show her what a real animal I am. MEOWWRWRWRW. OK, fine, I'd be an eagle. But not one that hangs in Philly, I hate those fuckers.

12. Ever have a near death experience?
Yeah, I almost got married.

13. Can you sing?
Can Keanu act? Can Haley Joel Osmet drink under the influence? Can M. Knight Shamalamadingdong make a movie that even comes close to the 6th sense? I'll leave that to you my brutha.

14. What's the name of the song that's stuck in your head right now?
King without a Crown. I mean its amazing, I can't get it out of my head. Its so freakin loud its almost like there are speakers surrounding me playing ... oh, yeah, its playing on my ITUNES. That's right. That's how I roll. Multifreakinmedia.

15. Who did you cut and paste this from?
Edith.

16. Name someone with the same b-day as you.
You. No. I don't know. I know that Julius Ceasar was killed on my birthday. Not because it was my birthday. But sometimes, when I'm feeling lonely, I like to think that he was killed for my birthday. Like there was this grand conspiracy to appease me. So when Julius turned to his boy Brutus and said "Et tu Brute?? Et tu?" Brutus responds with "Well, its Tom O'Keefe's birthday man, we thought this would be nice" and Julius could say "maybe you should just get him a cd or an xbox game or something" then Brutus says "yeah, well we thought about that but the senators were all fighting about which one to get him, we didn't know what he had, so we thought this would just work out best" and then Julius would say .. "yeah, ok, well, I have to go die now, just wish him a happy birthday for me" and then he dies.

17. Have you ever destroyed someone's property?
Does their heart count? Their self confidence? Their belief in the kindness of human kind? No, then the answer is no. I did destroy my own property .. had an IKEA dresser that I hacked up with an axe and burned in a fireplace because it reminded me of an exgirlfriend. No, that's not true, at least the dresser held my clothes ... what did she ever do for me???

18. Have you ever been in a physical fight?
No, but I'm arranging a mental showdown with Mike Tyson, I hope he doesn't over intellectualize my ear.

19. Have you ever sang in front of a big audience?
I don't know if I'd call them "big," sure some of them could stand to lose some weight, but who couldn't. I'd say they were "average" but all real good people deep down inside, you know, past where all the pizza and ho-ho's go to rest in their big fat people bellies.

20. What's the first thing you notice about the OPPOSITE sex?
The fact that they are of the opposite sex. That's really cool. Then the fact that they have nothing but total disdain for me and want to stomp on my heart .. that gets me going. Then, honestly, the face, and I picture what it will look like when it stares at me real hard and says "I NEVER LOVED YOU." That gets me going.

21. What do you usually order from Starbucks?
Overpriced Coffee. Half assed service.

22. Do you have a crush on one of your myspace friends?
You. Will you be my friend? Will you hold my hand and say everything will be alright? Will you take that hand and place it on your bosom and say "I'm here for you"? Will you say "I'd do anything to be in your top 8 you strapping sexy hunk of a man?"

23. Ever had a drunken night in another country?
Yes. Does New Jersey count?

24. Has anyone ever said you looked like a celebrity?
If one more person says "man you look JUST LIKE Brad Pitt" I'm gonna go nuts, especially that Angelina Jolie chick, she just can't get off my jock. That's a lie. She gets off it every once in a while to go take a nap or sumpin or go to Africa to feed hungry kids or sumpin, than she's right back on there like my own personal human fruit of the looms ... FABLAM!!!!

25. Do you still watch kiddy movies or TV shows?
I never watched "kiddy movies", my friend sent me those mpeg files and told me it was the paris hilton video. I had no idea.

26. Did you have braces?
Yes. And I was fat. And I had zits. And I was lonely. And people made fun of me. Nothing has changed. Except I don't have braces and they didn't fucking work.

27. Are you comfortable with your height?
I'm thinking of changing it.

28. What is the sweetest thing someone's ever done for you?
One time this beautifull woman said "put your money away, that one's on the house, now put your pants on and leave." That's not true, I still had to pay and I didn't have any pants.

29. Do you speak any other languages?
Love.

30. Whats your fav scent?
That's you, when your sleeping and you don't know I'm there. Except your breath, maybe you could pop a breath mint or something before you nod off, cause it really distracts from the whole me stalking you in your sleep thing.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Check your baggage?

"I've got baggage."
Not nearly as cute or corny a statement as "I've got mail" or "I got rhythm" or "I got music" or "I got the whole world in my hands" or anything like that. And while it’s neither a cute nor a corny statement it is true. Baggage. Never really thought I had baggage. Other people had baggage - women I dated, women I wanted to date, women who blew me off .. "she's got baggage man." Friends' girlfriends, ex girlfriends, friends' ex-boyfriends, parents, teachers, criminals. OTHER people. They all have baggage. I thought I didn't.

Mind you, I never denied the fact that I have "issues." We all have "issues." Some of us have "MAJOR ISSUES" some of us "minor issues" and some enlightened folks have only minor issues that are so benign they don't require being contained within quotation marks. But we all have issues and I am no different.

But when you realize you have a lot of issues, issues that have accumulated over the years, issues that you carry on from year to year, from relationship to relationship, issues that you can't deal with, won't deal with or just choose to ignore ... well, you need something to carry those issues around. That, my friends, is your baggage. And I just realized, I have baggage.

I'm not just talking one carry on either. I have a whole set - though it is not a matching set. A couple pieces are new, couple old. A few are hand me downs from my parents, some of which are likely hand me downs from their parents, etc. There's at least one great piece that I got with my former fiancé, she let me keep it thankfully. A couple I thought I'd stop using after college and, I fear, a couple I've forgotten about but are still lying around here somewhere. Baggage.

Something you may not realize about baggage, sure makes it a bitch to move around and do shit. For example, just started dating a couple months ago. Met a fantastic woman. Fantastic, no lie. Smart, beautiful, funny, sexy all that stuff. On top of it, she liked me (evidence, perhaps, of her own baggage? or is this self-deprecating jibe just further evidence of mine own baggage .. yes, looks like a nice garment bag to add to my collection). We started dating, all was well, and all was great. But the more and more we went out, the more difficult it was for me to go out, my baggage was weighing me down. Was I reliving past relationships, making the same mistakes, making new mistakes, was I ready to make new mistakes, was I moving to fast, was I in the right "space" for this, could I give her what the relationship "required"???? Had to stop seeing her. Guess I needed to deal with my baggage.

And I have been, I live in LA and as a condition of residency you must be in some kind of therapy or counseling or whatever, and I do that dance, been doing it ever since the big break up. It’s been good, real good. But I realized something --- you might think, "go to therapy, learn how to deal with your baggage, deal with your issues, lighten your load,” and you might be right. You also might be full of shit. Cause what I'm realizing is, therapy is not quite yet helping me get rid of my baggage, as much as showing me that I have a whole lot more baggage than I ever thought I did: I got a bag full of confidence issues; Couple pieces for relationship issues - got the commitment issue satchel, the trying to hard to please duffle bag, the boundary issues garment bag, a little toiletry kit full of jealousy issues; there's a nice Italian leather body issues carry on; the backpack full of parent issues; and random other pieces packed to the hilt with success/failure issues, youngest child syndrome issues, living in LA issues, being a whiny bastard issues and writing a blog about your issues issues.

But maybe that's all right. If we all have baggage, maybe it’s not that big of a deal. Course some people need a whole hell of a lot of help dealing with their luggage. But maybe that's what we're all looking for, someone to help carry that load. That's bullshit, what I'd like is someone to say, "That bag, that one right there you don't need that one anymore, never really did, but get rid of it." And maybe, with some of those pieces that you just fear you can't live without, maybe that person can just accept it, you know, check it at the door, say "hey leave it here, its not going anywhere, when you need it its cool. I'm cool with it, cool with you, you crazy needy bastard."

So maybe that's what will happen. Would be a whole lot easier though if I could just check it on an outbound international flight and let those airline pricks lose it like they've lost my real baggage before. Of course, even when you loose baggage, you just have to go out and buy replacements. At least with my baggage, I know what I get when I open it up.

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Whatever Happened to the Avian Flu?????

Not that I'm particularly proud to be a part of public pandemonium about potential pandemics (yeah, I'm pretty proud of that phrase myself), but weren't we all worked up a couple months ago about the dreaded AVIAN FLU? Weren't news reports on our television airwaves, our am/fm and cable radio waves, our pod casts and internet blogspots flooding us with warnings of the upcoming epidemic? How it may happen - what could result - how many of us will die? Everyone was a little nervous about it. People were changing their behavior … “maybe I should get the beef, NOT the chicken.” My roommate reevaluated his desire to purchase a chicken, a live chicken, "what do you want, I'm Mexican" (no, really, that's what he said). In lieu of the inevitable outbreak he decided poultry would not make the best pet. I, for one, am grateful.

You couldn't open a newspaper without a full color map of the United States and/or the World showing the potential pattern of the flu, the speed at which it would spread, predictions on how many would suffer, who would die. Democrats blared that the Republican government was ill prepared for such an event. Republicans claimed that the Democrats would surely fail to correct the problem, likely opting to “sit down and talk with the avian flu” as opposed to eradicating it. Democrats fired back claiming the Republicans would likely welcome the pandemic, giving them the opportunity to order martial law. The green party advocated giving chickens free health care in an effort to cure the bird flu before it mutated. (They also continued to encourage people to drive bio-fueled cars and wear hemp clothing without explaining the benefits such actions would have on the flu situation.)

Our entertainment was becoming FLUCENTRIC. Movies of the Week were hurried into production, one entitled "PANDEMIC" is just waiting to be released, to prey on our frayed nerves and supply us with 2-4 hours of riveting entertainment.

Everywhere you went people were talking about the avian flu. And then, poof, it just disappeared. One-minute water cooler conversants are hypothesizing how a human infected with a normal strain of flu could become infected with a bird flu (smart money is on poultry to person fornication) the next minute nothing. No talk of bird flu. No talk of human flu. No talk of aviary bestiality. What happened? Did we somehow manage to avert the disaster? Did the brain trust in Washington figure out a way to cure such a disease if it so happens to make an appearance on our shores? I don’t think so. I think we just decided to focus on more tangible methods of our future destruction. I mean, why concern yourself with the biological fallout from one farmer’s evening tryst with a flu-infected rooster, when the world around us is blowing the crap out of itself.

There is always Iraq. Who knows what can happen there? My guess .. more people will die. Oil will flow. Democrats will complain. Republicans will justify. Life will, or will not, go on. Then, as if the Middle East wasn’t exiting enough, there’s Israel and Lebanon “Because there’s just too much sand for only one war.”

Oh, and the dangers are not just abroad. Look at the USA, we have huge problems to deal with. Have you heard? Mel Gibson is an anti-Semite. I know, shocker. Guess what else, he has a drinking problem and gets preferential treatment from law enforcement authorities. Shocked! Shocked! And I don’t know about you, but I haven’t even seen one picture of Tom Cruise’s baby. What the hell do you think that means? The implications are frightening.

All of these topics are justifiably taking our collective attentions away from the little bird flu that could. They are enough to keep us worried. To keep us questioning. To keep us speculating. But there’s a new one, and it’s a doozy. I know you know what it is … that’s right - someone is fucking with our god damned constitutional right to bring Gatorade on an airplane. Those mother fuckers!!!

Yeah, those wacky terrorists are at it again. Planning, plotting, lining up to get killed all in the name of Allah or Mohammed or someone else I’m sure I’m not allowed to draw a cartoon of. Did we think they’d go away? Say to themselves “9/11 was good, we did good, they made a movie about it, 2 movies actually, one starring Nicholas Cage .. I think we made our point .. lets retire”? Not so much. They are back and this time they’re fucking with our right to drink bottled water on the plane that we didn’t spend $5 on in the airport convenience store.

Of course the “exploding Gatorade” plot will now require us to spend more time in airport security. Prevent us from bringing liquid or gel like products in our carry on luggage. It will cause, no doubt, further inconvenience. Can we handle it? A very helpful news report (aren’t they all) the other night, showed a brief interview with a very tired airline passenger dealing with the new security measures. What did she have to say? “I hate to say it, but it looks like the terrorists won.” Yes maam, they won. They are prohibiting you from drinking your 12 oz can of diet soda whenever you damn well feel like it and, to add insult to injury, delaying you another whole hour to make sure that your not smuggling KY JELLY laced with explosives in your purse. That is what they were fighting for. And they won. Thank you, oh representative of the American public, for putting such a fine point on how we are all feeling. Shmuck.

Where am I going with this? Not a freakin clue. I rant, that’s what I do. The fact is, we aren’t happy unless we are fretting about something. The avian flu became a topic of discussion because we had become bored with Iraq and it looked liked the terrorists had gone on sabbatical. There was nothing to make us fear the end of the world. So our media and our government gave us what we wanted - Fear and worry and we ate that shit up like a bowl of non-poison laced ice cream. So who knows what’s next? One thing that really makes me think .. if we are so convinced that the end of the world is coming, either by terrorists or flu epidemics or global warming or Tom Cruise – shouldn’t we just try and have a good time?

Maybe not. Cause if we do, if we just stop worrying, start living life, start enjoying ourselves some drunk country boy with a bad cough and high grade fever will be getting it on in the back room with the prettiest hen at the country fair who happens to be in dire need of some Nyquil. Then we will all be sorry.

Friday, August 04, 2006

OK, you play poker, do you HAVE to be an asshole and a slob?

Before I ever stepped one foot in Las Vegas, I remember having a vision of gambling and casinos straight from the movies. I know, I know, its ridiculous, men in dinner jackets, women in gowns, smoking drinking, smiling politely as they gamble their money and cares away. This vision was quickly shattered, or more appropriately to borrow a line from TRIUMPH THE INSULT COMIC DOG "pooped on" when I first walked into Ceasar's Palace a few years back. Now, as far as casinos go, its not bad. Gaudy, loud, bright - huge statues of Roman Emperor's - the hint of Caligula esque activities brewing in the rooms above. But whatever idea(l) of vegas I had in my mind, it was washed away when I saw "toothless joe." I don't think that's really his name, his name may not even be Joe, but toothless he was. Shirtless he was. Shoeless he was (didn't feel it appropriate to name him shoeless joe, that man had enough problems). But he had a smoke in his mouth. And a big plastic cup full of quarters. And he was happy as a clam. The scary thing about Toothless Joe, the real scary thing ... noone else seemed to notice him. No one else seemed to care. As I looked around I realized that there were a lot of people dressed in the same "spirit" as toothless joe and I thought to myself, for the one millionth time, DAMN YOU HOLLYWOOD, DAMN YOU FOR YOUR LIES.

So I no longer have this idea that people in casinos should dress a certain way, or infact wear any clothes at all. But aren't we all getting a little sick of the poker players who dress like complete slobs? I went to the Commerce Casino the other night to check out some poker and I was the best dressed guy in the room. Hey that's saying something, that's completely fucking sad. Listen, if some fat bastard wants to sit around all day wearing his sweat shorts and an athletic team t-shirt (as if to say, "no I don't play on the team, but I may have eaten a couple of the players") that's fine. DO IT AT HOME. PLAY ON LINE POKER. But if your gonna go out in public have a little class please. I know, some people think its great to dress like a compete pig and make a lot of money at the poker table, its like the ultimate casual friday, every freaking day, but have a little self respect. But on some pants. For the love of GOD, PUT ON SOME FREAKIN PANTS.

The clothing is not even the worse part. Most of these bastards are rude. Not just to other players - that's fine, that could be a strategy, you could be trying to put someone on tilt, or, more likely, you could be an asshole. That's fine. But they are rude to the staff. The wait staff. The people who bring them food and drink so they can gorge themselves at the table - often without the use of rudimentary utensils, or napkins even. I watched this guy stand up and eat half a watermellon, cut up into five slices, as the seeds jumped out of his mouth, landing on his shirt, the floor, the chairs, and he didn't even care. I wanted to take that guy out back and introduce him to the business end of a louiseville slugger. It was gross. And it was the norm. In the majority of people (and many of these are professional poker players, playing big tables, every damn night) This other jack off was yelling at the waitress "bring me more nuts, hurry up, two bags, now." No "thank you." No "please." What balls on this guy. What nuts. Didn't his momma treat him right? "WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!????"

I guess when you think about it, poker is a game that was played by drunk, smelly, cowboy types who often shot eachother over a bad hand. So class and manners never figured in to the equation. But does it have to be that way? Can't it be a little bit more like CASINO ROYALE? We don't have to dress up, but clothes shouldn't be optional. Sweatpants should be reserved for people who sweat, via physical activity, not simply because they are morbidly obese. OK, OK, maybe hot little tarts that have words like JUICY and DELICIOUS on their sweatpants asses may be permitted to wear them, but that should be it. And as far as manners go ... somebody should slap these bastards around. Taking my money is one thing, but being rude to people ... I think its time to bring back Miss Manners, and I think this time Miss Manners should be packin heat.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

I know, I know, its freakin hot

It's hot. Hot here in LA. Hot in New York. And while many of the super liberals out her in Los Angeles seem to believe that NY and LA make up the entire USA, I understand that is not true. Despite that, however, I believe its safe to say, its pretty hot everywhere in the good ole USofA these days. Except maybe Alaska. But that's not important - not to disrespect Alaska, beautifull state, spent a good many year staring down the evil red threat, did us proud, home of polar bears and oil lines and snow and ice etc .. the fact is, I'm bitching - sorry writing about the heat here, where I live, in good old SoCal.

And by heat, I mean "welcome to hell" heat. I mean, "so this is what it must be like to live on the surface of the sun" heat. Cause that's what we got folks. And if you haven't noticed the actual change in temperature, your sure to have learned of the oppressive heat from the majority of people you may speak with on a daily basis. "Hot enough for you?" "Damn, I don't remember it being this hot last year." "Holy shit its fucking hot." Yeah, heard em all. Said a lot of em too. And its hard not to complain when your underwear is sticking to your ass for reasons that have nothing to do with sexual pleasure. I understand that. I live that. Hey, what are we if we're not complaining? It's fun, its social, its something we can all relate to.

That's exactly what I was doing last weekend at some Hollywood type party. I don't mean to say "Hollywood type party" in an effort to insult the integrity of the party or the party goers. Conversely, I don't intend to label myself as some kind of "insider" or "player" by defining the party as such. I'm just saying, it was a party, in Hollywood, in a beautifull house, with some beautifull people. And at this house, with such people, we were sitting around talking about how hot it had been the past few weeks. "It's insane," "its never been like this," "see, Al Gore was right." All that stuff. We were all enjoying our complaints of and to mother nature, the ozone, the sun and regardless of how you envision him/her, if you do at all .. God, for the hell on earth that has been created. Enjoying it, that is, until we were introduced to one of the guests - a nice quiet guy named Chris. See, Chris was in town visiting a friend because he was shipping out in two days to Iraq. For his second tour. You wanna talk about hot?

Chris is an Army Medic. He had been home for about a year and a half, spending time with his wife and new son (born while he was away on his first tour) when he was called back to duty for one year. Mind you, I may be wrong about this, but I think he had some choice in the matter - he was happy he could go and earn a decent living so he could come back and support his family. Interesting no? Going to Iraq to earn a decent LIVING (note the use of subtlety in my writing). So he was going back to a place where the temperatures ran about 110 degrees in the shade, where he had to wear his full on Army fatigues, a 10-15 pound flack jacket and a kevlar helmet. That's hot. That's real freaking hot. On top of it, he's getting shot at. Shit's exploding all around him. He's trying to save people who are getting blown to bits. And its worse than Africa hot, its "holy shit people are trying to kill me and shouldn't we all calm the f*ck down because its really f'in hot?"

I can only imagine what he was thinking, sitting there, watching us all bitch about how hot it was while sipping cocktails and talking about life "in the biz." Laughing to himself at how "difficult" our lives may be. And yet he's going. In fact, he's there now. Probably really hot. Really freaking hot. Shots being fired. Morters going off. People getting killed. Compared to that, my whole underwear sticking to my ass complaints seem trivial at best.

Oh I'll still complain. But I'll appreciate the fact that no one's shooting at me. At least not yet. And I'll appreciate the airconditioning in my car, in my room. And I'll think good thoughts for Chris and the men and women over there and hope that the heat is the only problem they face.

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

SPEED EATING

had a revelation the other day, at least I think it was. I eat very fast. That’s not my revelation, its a fact, most anyone who’s ever sat down with me to eat knows this, I’m fast. not gross, not piggish, actually kind of gracefull -- according to my ex girlfriend, but then again, that was when she loved me, before I cancelled the wedding, before she cursed my soul to hell - but that's another story. But the other day I was eating something ... forget what it was, and I was eating it quickly, and I realized why I ate quickly. SHAME. EMBARRASSMENT. I was a fat kid, chubby, chunky, I wore HUSKY sized jeans. HUSKY. Huskys are large, intimidating, strong animals. I was not. I was chunky, fat, pasty, but no mother is going to buy “FAT SIZED PANTS” for her kids, so I had HUSKY. Now I’m not sure if my speed eating helped cause my HUSKY ness or was a side effect - I tend to think a little of both - my revelation wasn’t all that revealing I guess.

I can remember, however, sneaking off in the kitchen to grab a couple extra spoonfulls of ice cream, when no one was looking, or scoffing down extra chicken cutlets when no one could see me, like a spy .. 00fatkid.

I was so freakin sensitive about being fat, still am I guess, though while I’m a little soft in the mid section I’m not fat. I remember one dinner, must have been no more than 12 years old, I was eating in side in the living room because all the adults were in the kitchen eating (the dining room was converted into a bedroom for my brother and myself - is there any wonder I had eating issues ... I was sleeping in the DINING room for pete’s sake). But after dinner I was taking my plate and my silverware and my cup back into the kitchen and was holding my napkin in my mouth. Seemed the thing to do, don’t know why I didn’t just leave it on my plate -- did I mention I was a weird child??? As I walked into the kitchen my dad cracked a joke at the expense of my napkin holding technique “didn’t you get enough to eat?” Funny. Cute. Not insulting - yet I took it that way. I took it like “Hey son, your a fat bastard, stop eating everything” And so, like the little tiny (HUSKY) baby I was, I ran into my bedroom crying. My poor dad, he must have thought “I didn’t mean anything, I was only kidding” and he must have thought “my son, the pussy” the fat pussy.

To this day I refuse to eat a napkin.

My Dad


This is a picture of me.
Kissing my dad.
Making him blush.
He is likely thinking "what the hell is wrong with this kid?"

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Have Wedding Gown, Will Travel


Picked up my wedding gown today, that was an interesting experience. Now you might be saying asking "Why do YOU have a wedding gown?" Valid question. Quick answer - I was engaged to be married to a lovely woman, in reliance upon our planned nuptuals she ordered a wedding gown as brides to be tend to do, we broke up - hence no need for a dress, bridal shops, however, aren't big fans of cancelling orders for wedding gowns despite break ups, as such the dress had to be paid for, as I am the one who cancelled the wedding, I paid for the gown. I wasn't expecting to pay for the gown, in fact, in the grand scheme of cancelling the wedding, ending the relationship, moving out of the shared apartment, dividing our belongings, dealing with the expected and unexpected emotional issues, the family issues, the guilt issues, etc ... I had not even thought of the wedding gown. Until, that is, a few months after the break up. A few months after the planned nuptuals were to take place. A few months after I had last scene and spoken to her.

She called - no, that's not right, she emailed. Oh email, praise be to god for your existance, allowing someone to communicate without vocalization, allowing someone to contact an ex-fiance and ask them to pay for the rest of the wedding gown they ordered and forgot to finish paying for but would rather not pay for now since the wedding is cancelled and it hurts to much to deal with. Thank you email. Thank you for that. So she emailed her request and I, wanting to be the "good guy" despite the whole "we should'nt get married thing" agreed to pay for it.

And I did, eventually. I had every intention of taking care of it right away, even called the bridal shop to tell them, in a nice way, to stop pestering the former bride to be because the wedding was over and I was assuming any and all responsibility for the wedding gown. I had planned to stop by the shop and take care of all business, but kept putting it off. Understandable I guess, I was looking for a place to live, re-evaluating my lot in life, explaining to people over and over again why the wedding was cancelled, why we broke up, why "yes we did try, we were in counseling for over a year," explaining why we were in couples counseling for over a year BEFORE we were married, and answering lots of well meaning "are you ok"? questions. So I put it off. And, I'll admit, in the back of my mind was hoping that the lady's who run the bridal shop would forget about me. Forget about the dress. Forget about the aborted wedding. "Keep the money that's already been paid for it" I thought, in that magnanimous way I have at times like these. Let's just forget the whole thing. And for a while everyone did. Until Christmas.

Yeah. As if the Christmas holiday wasn't interesting enough - first Christmas in years that she wasn't a part of my life, first Christmas that we were supposed to be celebrating as a married couple, first Christmas I was the only single person in my family (dad recently got engaged AND married ... funny). OK, so boo freakin hoo for me, I'm just setting the scene. Setting the scene for when the bridal shop called me to inform that I had to pay the balance of the dress ... half of its value .. or the matter would be referred to a collections agency. That would be great, have a collection agency hunt me down to pay for a wedding dress. Have my credit report reflect that despite my otherwise fantastic credit history, my overall credit was fucked for life because I didn't pay for a wedding dress that I did not want for a wedding I did not have. So I paid. Over the phone. With my debit card - using my debit card, I guess, to pay off not only a debt to the shop, but maybe, just maybe a bit of debt I had to her. So that's what I gave myself for christmas boys and girls, a wedding gown. A wedding gown that I was fairly certain at the time would never fit me.

So, flash forward to 6 months later. This month. June. Suffice it to say, I've gone through the "healing process." I'm "over it" so to speak. Even decided it was time to date, put myself out there, doing all right in that department. But I realized ... I own a gown, a wedding gown that I haven't picked up yet. Now I was aware this entire time that I needed to pick it up, even had a number of ideas of what to do with it ... burn it; wear it and go sky diving; frame it to display on my wall with a sign "never, never fucking again" (that was a suggestion from a friend of mine - divorced). I also thought, pick it up, sell it on ebay, use the money for something fun. I just never got around to it. But this month I thought, I'm gonna do it. Part of it was the lawyer in me .. it had been a year since the initial transaction - the ordering of the gown - and I thought that perhaps they could get rid of the dress after holding it for a certain amount of time. The other part was timing ... we were supposed to get married on June 19, 2005. So our upcoming non-anniversary was upon me and I thought ... time to close that door don't you think. Funny enough, right around the 19th she emailed me. She, the one who last spoke to me on Christmas eve and had to terminate the phone call after 5 minutes because she couldn't stop crying. She, who texted me (thank god for text messages just like emails, so easy to transmit information without actually transmitting intention or feeling no?) shortly thereafter to tell me that "its too hard" to speak with me, "it hurts to much." Despite countless offers to "talk" from my side of the vacant battlefield, she never took me up on it. Until last week. Until she emailed and asked if we could "meet for coffee," to "discuss things" to "get some closure." We didn't meet, by the way. The closure she was looking for, not yet available. My schedule didn't allow it. Could I have made my schedule bend to my will? Perhaps. But did I want to? Did I want to sit in a public coffee house with a woman who couldn't bare to speak with me on the phone for A YEAR so that we could discuss SOME THINGS and get CLOSURE? Not really. Will I? Sure, some day, not this month. I have my closure. Had my closure. Closed that shit up months ago with the help of some therapy of my own. And if she needs to meet for her closure, I'm happy to help, but when I WANT TO. The dress was the last act of reparations I was going to make. The last punishment gladly accepted for a crime of which I don't feel I was guilty of. I may have cancelled the wedding, but I had to, we had to, I was sick of being punished for it. And I get punished enough every time I go into Starbucks and pay for overpriced coffee I don't yet need to up the ante and feel awful all over again as I sip from my 5$ latte.

But the dress. It reminded me ... get the dress, get the gown, take the step. So I did. Today I drove to Tarzana - which, by the way, they should rename HELL as it was about 1 million degrees - and picked up my wedding gown. MINE. And it was a unique experience. The women at the bridal shop were very nice, but treated me as if my family just died and they didn't know how to speak with me. They were gentle, I could almost hear their forced whispers in the back room as they likely discussed "Oh, this is from that cancelled wedding .. he's here to pick up HER dress ... I wonder what happened?" When they brought the gown out, all zipped up in a lovely white garment bag bearing the former brides name and the former brides planned wedding date, they did so in a solemn like procession that reminded me a little of a funeral. It became much more funereal when they asked "would you like to see it?" Shall we open the casket and give you a glance? "No, thanks, I'm sure it looks like whatever its supposed to look like, thanks." I responded and tried to sound ok with that, and I was ok with it, wasn't I? The woman asked "should I take the name tag off of it?" Which was sweet, fairly unnecessary though, its not as if I forgot who it was for. Not like I was gonna give it to someone as a gift only to realize "shit, HER name is still on it." But the woman thought it would help, so I let her. She removed the tag from the dress. Whatever the desired effect of that gesture, however, it was muted, considerably, but the fact that the former brides name was still boldy emblazoned upon the garment bag - I removed that myself, later, for good measure. Finally, whe asked "so, is there any chance that the wedding will happen?" Which was a nice question to ask, I mean, here it was over a year from the scheduled date and I, the alleged groom, was picking up the gown ... but I answered her, honestly "Oh, no, I haven't seen her in a year." "I am so sorry" she quietly replied as she and her employee, shared a look of "poor guy" then looked to me with eyes saying "I hope your gonna be ok fella". "These things happen," I said, trying to sound sincere and "well-adjusted" at the same time. I think it worked, but who knows. Then I left. With my wedding gown, that will never fit me, that I just took an awful picture of, that I guess I'll sell. Eventually. Unless I can get myself down to a size 1. If I can, at least I know what I'm wearing for Halloween.