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.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?"
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