I've been called creepy by a lot of people, much more than ever recently. I shrugged it off or downplayed it as some quirk. Some found it dorky and amusing, others found it slightly disturbing and not easy to settle with.
But just now, I have done something that made me realize that I am heading down a creepy road that I have never wanted to travel.
The internet is a wonderful thing that connects people with each other. You can go on websites like MySpace or Facebook, or whatever, with nothing but a first and last name of a person you are looking for and basically find them. Or just plop their name into an internet search engine, sometimes with a little more information such as where they are from, and bingo! you find something on them.
This is very dangerous. Especially if you are slightly obsessed and stalker-ish. I am guilty of doing such things.
There are a couple of people, women, who I have talked to in the past and lost contact with. Well it was more, they stopped popping up online, or mysteriously disappeared.
One example is a lady I met on an internet dating site. We talked and chatted via email, until she trusted me enough to give me her phone number. Things were going well until I said something that....well, creeped her out a bit. Looking back, maybe I was too quick to say what I said, too early for her to realize it was a joke. This happened right before I lost my phone. But I wanted to apologize. I tried sending her an email...invalid address. One would think "hey, might as well leave well enough alone, just move ahead", but sadly, not me. I figured out how to text someone via my email address, so I went into my phone records, looked up her number, and then went ahead and offered an apology. No response. Once again, "let it go" popped into my head, and I listened for a moment. But then saw her pop up on the site again under a new account. Of course, I took advantage of the fact that she did not make her profile private to members, and logged off my profile, so that I wouldn't show up under those who viewed her profile, and viewed the profile to confirm it was her.
Very creepy. Yes. But it does not end there.
Everyone has a facebook or myspace page. Any old Joe on the internet could just visit a site, type in a name and location, and pop up someone's profile. Before, myspace had it so that you needed to log into the site before you could look at a person's pictures, and of course, I knew a way to circumvent that, but recently, they made pictures on all public profiles viewable to everyone. I did not do the myspace thing with this person, but have done it with others. It makes me feel disgusted a bit.
Facebook, on the other hand, is not so lenient when it comes to viewing other folk's pictures, thankfully, to keep creepers like me away, but I am sure there is a way to circumvent that, I haven't found out yet (thankfully). So, although I had only a first name, and location, it wasn't enough to do an internet search on her. But, she made the mistake of sending me a photo of herself from facebook. This was before I had gotten one myself. When I did get a facebook account recently, I learned of a way to find someone's account just by finding that person's profile number in the url of the picture. I did this, and it directed me to a person with a different name.
Didn't look like the chick I was talking to. Maybe she is a friend. So I clicked on friends, sifted through a couple pages and found the person I was looking for.
First and last name. Add that in with where she is from, and Google will sing to me, giving a bit more information about her. I now know where she graduated high school, her whole first name, but stopped myself when I was going to do a background check on her. I would have to pay a couple bucks to do that, but I realized that it was a final boundary that kept me from doing something serious. Almost illegal, if not illegal.
I realized I had a problem. May be nothing serious, but still it could very well lead to something worse. It's absolutely not fair to the people I have done it to. I certainly pass it off under the guise of research.
So if there is anything to come from this in the early stages, I would say that it is not the best idea to put anything out there with a lot of personal information on it. That is why everything about myself on the Internet, which isn't much, is under an alternate name or handle. That is why I do not use my real name on Facebook or any other site. Because if it is easy for me to gather so much, who's to say that other people aren't doing it, and have no qualms about paying a little cash for your personal information. I am marginally better than those folks, but that does not exonerate me from what I have done. It's not creepy for the intent to be funny, it's just plain obsessive.
So, I guess I have a New Year's Resolution now.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Always Keep Clean
Because you never know when some hot chick is gonna roll up to you and be all like "Let's make out!"
If that were me I'd say, "Really? But you are so hot and I'm...I'm not even lukewarm or tepid".
And she'd be all like "Ooh, low self esteem gets me hot!"
And I'd say "Well, if that's the case... by the end of the night, we're gonna have to sandbag the area for that flash flood that'll come from between your legs."
If that were me I'd say, "Really? But you are so hot and I'm...I'm not even lukewarm or tepid".
And she'd be all like "Ooh, low self esteem gets me hot!"
And I'd say "Well, if that's the case... by the end of the night, we're gonna have to sandbag the area for that flash flood that'll come from between your legs."
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Concerts 2008: A Year in Review
I was going to do this thing where I take a look back on what concerts I had seen this year. The only problem is that I can't recall off the top of my head which ones I actually saw.
I remembered the venues I went to see the bulk of my shows, but the only one with an extensive calendar of past shows is the Empty Bottle (Dating back all the way to 1996!). I looked through the calendar, and to my surprise I went to a lot less shows there than I figured. And also, I saw a lot of shows that I would have went to see, if I had heard of the acts that played at that time. I wish this time travel technology gets invented and perfected already so I could hit up on these shows.
I could look at the past shows I bought tickets for via ticket web, but that helps little.
But alas, I guess I will come up with something. Something like the best shows of the year, or the shows that stick out the furthest of the year.
Or maybe nothing at all, how bout that? I'm tired.
Oh, it's Christmas...Happy Holidays, folks!
I remembered the venues I went to see the bulk of my shows, but the only one with an extensive calendar of past shows is the Empty Bottle (Dating back all the way to 1996!). I looked through the calendar, and to my surprise I went to a lot less shows there than I figured. And also, I saw a lot of shows that I would have went to see, if I had heard of the acts that played at that time. I wish this time travel technology gets invented and perfected already so I could hit up on these shows.
I could look at the past shows I bought tickets for via ticket web, but that helps little.
But alas, I guess I will come up with something. Something like the best shows of the year, or the shows that stick out the furthest of the year.
Or maybe nothing at all, how bout that? I'm tired.
Oh, it's Christmas...Happy Holidays, folks!
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Time flies when you're watching porn
A couple days ago, my 6 year old cousin visited my house. I used to help take care of him when his mom would go to work, and he was the sweetest kid ever, a little bit weird, as he had a habit of going over to chairs and sniffing the seats after people had gotten up, but still endearingly weird and smart. I remember running down the halls with him slapping him on his cheeks making "plop, plop, plop" sounds. It was fun. He was the quietest kid.
Zoom a couple years later to now, where I don't hang out with him as much I used to.
I go, "Hey Lemonhead!" I used to call him that because he looked like that face on the box of Lemonhead candies. "How's it goin'?"
"Okay."
He has the cutest smile. You couldn't help but smile with him.
"Well, that's good. I going to the bathroom, stay right there kiddo!"
Okay...fatty.
Now that last part did not come out until I was taking a couple steps away towards the restroom.
"What did you call me?" I thought it was funny.
"I said 'Okay fatty'"
"Why would you call me fat?" I was amused, slowly becoming confused.
"Because you are, fatso." There was that smile again.
"Aww, you're so cute!" I pinched his cheeks, and went to the bathroom.
As soon as I closed the door and went about my business, I hear little footsteps follow me.
"Fatty fat fat fat!" "Fat booty boy!"
I turned on the radio to drown him out. But then as I looked into the bathroom mirror, I was beginning to ask myself "Am I fat? No, no, no..." I sucked in my gut a bit and stood up straight. "I'm fine. What does he know anyways? He probably still eats paste. Can't blame him really, Elmer's paste smelled real delicious and minty. I'm not fat."
I walk out of the bathroom, and he's still there, waiting. "Hey, fat booty booty...fatty fatso."
I stopped and turned to him and said, "Hey, come here. J, what you are saying...your words hurt. They hurt me. Now that you have hurt me, I have to hurt you."
So I picked him up and locked him in our basement.
Not really, I just tickled him until he started drooling on himself.
Zoom a couple years later to now, where I don't hang out with him as much I used to.
I go, "Hey Lemonhead!" I used to call him that because he looked like that face on the box of Lemonhead candies. "How's it goin'?"
"Okay."
He has the cutest smile. You couldn't help but smile with him.
"Well, that's good. I going to the bathroom, stay right there kiddo!"
Okay...fatty.
Now that last part did not come out until I was taking a couple steps away towards the restroom.
"What did you call me?" I thought it was funny.
"I said 'Okay fatty'"
"Why would you call me fat?" I was amused, slowly becoming confused.
"Because you are, fatso." There was that smile again.
"Aww, you're so cute!" I pinched his cheeks, and went to the bathroom.
As soon as I closed the door and went about my business, I hear little footsteps follow me.
"Fatty fat fat fat!" "Fat booty boy!"
I turned on the radio to drown him out. But then as I looked into the bathroom mirror, I was beginning to ask myself "Am I fat? No, no, no..." I sucked in my gut a bit and stood up straight. "I'm fine. What does he know anyways? He probably still eats paste. Can't blame him really, Elmer's paste smelled real delicious and minty. I'm not fat."
I walk out of the bathroom, and he's still there, waiting. "Hey, fat booty booty...fatty fatso."
I stopped and turned to him and said, "Hey, come here. J, what you are saying...your words hurt. They hurt me. Now that you have hurt me, I have to hurt you."
So I picked him up and locked him in our basement.
Not really, I just tickled him until he started drooling on himself.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Better Drink a Lotta Water Cuz There Are a Lotta Salty Crakers
Living life, you tend to encounter new things about yourself, or even things that have been hiding out in the bushes and are exposed. I have a recent example of such a situation.
I do not like being pat on the back.
In fact, every time someone does it, I grit my teeth and freeze up a bit.
I know, a pat on the back for something well done or as a way to show that you are being friendly are good and all, but I just can't stand being pat on the back, or the shoulder.
I thought it was maybe I don't liked being touched or maybe the majority of people who have patted me on the back I did not like much...but no there is not really a connection. I just don't like it.
I have also come to dislike being called "Buddy" or "Pal". Most of the times I have been called "Buddy" are by people who are not anywhere close to being my friend. For example, people I work with call me that. I don't see any of these people outside work, I have no affiliations with them at all outside of work, so therefore, "Buddy" is not a word that should be used to address me. That is unless it is my nickname, which it isn't.
I hope I don't end up liking the word so much that it leads to me disliking Tom Hanks by association. I loved Bosom Buddies.
I do not like being pat on the back.
In fact, every time someone does it, I grit my teeth and freeze up a bit.
I know, a pat on the back for something well done or as a way to show that you are being friendly are good and all, but I just can't stand being pat on the back, or the shoulder.
I thought it was maybe I don't liked being touched or maybe the majority of people who have patted me on the back I did not like much...but no there is not really a connection. I just don't like it.
I have also come to dislike being called "Buddy" or "Pal". Most of the times I have been called "Buddy" are by people who are not anywhere close to being my friend. For example, people I work with call me that. I don't see any of these people outside work, I have no affiliations with them at all outside of work, so therefore, "Buddy" is not a word that should be used to address me. That is unless it is my nickname, which it isn't.
I hope I don't end up liking the word so much that it leads to me disliking Tom Hanks by association. I loved Bosom Buddies.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Always keep clean
Because you never know when some hot chick is gonna roll up to you and be all like "Let's make out!"
If that were me I'd say, "Really? But you are so hot and I'm...I'm not even lukewarm or tepid".
And she'd be all like "Ooh, low self esteem gets me hot!"
And I'd say "Well, if that's the case... by the end of the night, we're gonna have to sandbag the area for that flash flood that'll come from between your legs."
If that were me I'd say, "Really? But you are so hot and I'm...I'm not even lukewarm or tepid".
And she'd be all like "Ooh, low self esteem gets me hot!"
And I'd say "Well, if that's the case... by the end of the night, we're gonna have to sandbag the area for that flash flood that'll come from between your legs."
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Friday, October 3, 2008
An anniversary
This Monday, at 11:47 pm, will be the anniversary of an event that transpired 24 years ago... An event that has threatened to change the world.
How will I be celebrating this? Firstly, by taking a long vacation from work. Secondly by finding things to do during this week. On tap is a show Monday night at the Subterranean and another on the 10 th. Possibly one more on either or both Wednesday or Thursday.
All events will probably involve moderate to heavy drinking. It'll give me a chance to try this stuff out:
http://www.thinkgeek.com/caffeine/candy/ab3f/?cpg=froogle
Making the bitterest beer even more awesome.
It looks to be an eventful week.
How will I be celebrating this? Firstly, by taking a long vacation from work. Secondly by finding things to do during this week. On tap is a show Monday night at the Subterranean and another on the 10 th. Possibly one more on either or both Wednesday or Thursday.
All events will probably involve moderate to heavy drinking. It'll give me a chance to try this stuff out:
http://www.thinkgeek.com/caffeine/candy/ab3f/?cpg=froogle
Making the bitterest beer even more awesome.
It looks to be an eventful week.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
West Side Dump Story
Ahh, nothing like a good dump story, eh? I have plenty to share, but if I had to tell only one story...one story to serve as the flagship to all of my dump stories, it would be this one that I am about to tell right now.
It was a couple years ago. One morning I decided to walk an extra couple blocks to catch the train to get to school. The buses and I were running late, and I decided that walking to the train would save me time. About half way to the train station I felt a churning, a painful bubble pushing down my stomach. It was a feeling I knew all too well; nature was banging at my backdoor.
But this was something that I had never felt before. Usually, I would clench up and let the bubble pass, and ride out the pain that threatened to loosen the flood gates. It bought me time to find the nearest toilet. But it would not work that day. These gas surges brought a pain as if little gremlins were inside me, clawing my stomach walls with their jagged nails. The pressure came in waves that provided me short seconds of relief, but chipped away at the forces that kept my asshole shut.
Two blocks away from the train. Too far away from home. Too little time to waste.
I was duck-walking down the street, trying to think of thoughts that diverted attention away from what was happening downstairs. Sweat beaded on my brow. Tears rolled down my cheeks...and my cheeks. I tried to play it off, and not show pain to anyone nearby. My bottom lip was quivering. Thinking pleasant thoughts became dangerous as it threatened to relax me too much.
And I had on my favorite pants that day.
It was too much. I had to make a decision. I wasn't going to make it to the train cleanly, if I did who knew if I had to wait a long time or if it would be crowded? I couldn't go back home, it was too risky. The flood gates had to open.
There was a vacant lot nearby that had pretty good coverage by bushes and weeds. It still was out in the open, as it was less than 45 feet away from the heavy traffic zooming down the street.
I looked in all directions to see if anyone was near. Nobody around. Briskly, I walked into the lot, got behind the bushes and dropped trou. The adrenaline was pumping, and I almost lost control in anticipation. My body almost involuntarily lost control, but I had to hold the line...hold the line until my clothes were out of the line of fire.
I had no idea whatever was coming was partly liquid or wholly solid.
I squat, and leaned back on a wall and released. And a sweet release it was! It was almost orgasmic. But I couldn't enjoy it much, I was still in public. Anyone could walk by and see me. I pushed out as much as I could, to stave off any potential aftershocks.
I turned around to look at the pile I left. It was interesting to see a full movement of mine outside of its conventional water environment.
Then it hit me. I just took a heaping shit in public. And I did not have anything to wipe with.
"Oh shit!" would have been an applicable and punny response at that moment, as I searched the general area, with my pants still around my knees for something to wipe. It wasn't the best of options, but it was either that or go on with shitty pants. There was a dirty t-shirt a few feet in front of me. The image of me quickly wiping, with specks of dirt and whatever else sticking to my ass made walking with shitty pants a much more viable option. At least I would know that my pasty ass would be a result of something that came out of me.
But I remembered I carried a handkerchief in my bag. It was a nice black one I got from work. It was not the most absorbent, but it was the best choice and had to do. I made several strong wipes, folding the handkerchief but still being careful not to get anything on my hands. I then draped it across the pile, pulled up my pants, and casually walked away.
As soon as I got to a restroom at school, I gave myself the wiping I deserved.
I have since walked by that area numerous times, wondering if anyone was unlucky enough to come across what was left there. I was tempted to revisit, but never acted upon my curiosities.
Taking a shit in broad daylight changed things...forever.
It was a couple years ago. One morning I decided to walk an extra couple blocks to catch the train to get to school. The buses and I were running late, and I decided that walking to the train would save me time. About half way to the train station I felt a churning, a painful bubble pushing down my stomach. It was a feeling I knew all too well; nature was banging at my backdoor.
But this was something that I had never felt before. Usually, I would clench up and let the bubble pass, and ride out the pain that threatened to loosen the flood gates. It bought me time to find the nearest toilet. But it would not work that day. These gas surges brought a pain as if little gremlins were inside me, clawing my stomach walls with their jagged nails. The pressure came in waves that provided me short seconds of relief, but chipped away at the forces that kept my asshole shut.
Two blocks away from the train. Too far away from home. Too little time to waste.
I was duck-walking down the street, trying to think of thoughts that diverted attention away from what was happening downstairs. Sweat beaded on my brow. Tears rolled down my cheeks...and my cheeks. I tried to play it off, and not show pain to anyone nearby. My bottom lip was quivering. Thinking pleasant thoughts became dangerous as it threatened to relax me too much.
And I had on my favorite pants that day.
It was too much. I had to make a decision. I wasn't going to make it to the train cleanly, if I did who knew if I had to wait a long time or if it would be crowded? I couldn't go back home, it was too risky. The flood gates had to open.
There was a vacant lot nearby that had pretty good coverage by bushes and weeds. It still was out in the open, as it was less than 45 feet away from the heavy traffic zooming down the street.
I looked in all directions to see if anyone was near. Nobody around. Briskly, I walked into the lot, got behind the bushes and dropped trou. The adrenaline was pumping, and I almost lost control in anticipation. My body almost involuntarily lost control, but I had to hold the line...hold the line until my clothes were out of the line of fire.
I had no idea whatever was coming was partly liquid or wholly solid.
I squat, and leaned back on a wall and released. And a sweet release it was! It was almost orgasmic. But I couldn't enjoy it much, I was still in public. Anyone could walk by and see me. I pushed out as much as I could, to stave off any potential aftershocks.
I turned around to look at the pile I left. It was interesting to see a full movement of mine outside of its conventional water environment.
Then it hit me. I just took a heaping shit in public. And I did not have anything to wipe with.
"Oh shit!" would have been an applicable and punny response at that moment, as I searched the general area, with my pants still around my knees for something to wipe. It wasn't the best of options, but it was either that or go on with shitty pants. There was a dirty t-shirt a few feet in front of me. The image of me quickly wiping, with specks of dirt and whatever else sticking to my ass made walking with shitty pants a much more viable option. At least I would know that my pasty ass would be a result of something that came out of me.
But I remembered I carried a handkerchief in my bag. It was a nice black one I got from work. It was not the most absorbent, but it was the best choice and had to do. I made several strong wipes, folding the handkerchief but still being careful not to get anything on my hands. I then draped it across the pile, pulled up my pants, and casually walked away.
As soon as I got to a restroom at school, I gave myself the wiping I deserved.
I have since walked by that area numerous times, wondering if anyone was unlucky enough to come across what was left there. I was tempted to revisit, but never acted upon my curiosities.
Taking a shit in broad daylight changed things...forever.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Can a guy insert his balls
into a girl, excluding the mouth?
This question must be answered, in the name of Science!
This question must be answered, in the name of Science!
Monday, September 15, 2008
I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face!
I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face! I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face!
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Thursday, July 31, 2008
We Give All the Time
We give all the time, whether we know it or not. When we are born, we are given life. When we have children, we give them our time, attention, and we love and nurture them. When we speak, we give life to new ideas; we voice our thoughts and affirm our unity. When we give, we show that we care.
Giving can be a simple physical act of taking something tangible and passing it along to someone else. It can be something less solid and it becomes an emotional exposure we reveal to someone else for our own purposes and/or theirs. Sometimes it's letting someone else take what they need and we become more passive and just let it happen. At times it's keeping what we have going on inside and let the other person have the room without our added weight.
Giving can grow from person to person in a forward motion, like a snowball rolling down a hill. Giving can be a one-way stop from point A to point B. It can be both selfish and unselfish. It can mean a small token, to a larger gesture that changes someone’s life.
Giving is one big thing that assures our humanity. It allows us to improve upon ourselves and others. It allows us to realize that there is hope for a better world. Giving empowers the giver and the recipient.
Everyone has something to give – whether you have everything or nothing – anyone has something to pass along and enlighten another.
DAMN YO! THAT SHIT IS DEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!
Friday, July 4, 2008
Even in my dreams, I can't get laid.
Hello friends.
I remember saying that shit was going to change after I got back from vacation. I was even going to do an epic recap of the vacation itself. But I was too lazy, however, a change may be in the works.
Since I got back from vacation, I have been furiously looking for a new job. When the manager makes it a habit to drunk dial work (who the hell drunk dials work on a Monday? In fact, who the hell drunk dials work two hours after clocking out?), it is seriously time to get out.
I have applied for job after job, applying for more than actual responses, which is a bit disheartening, seeing that I feel that most of the jobs I have applied for I am more than qualified. But I lack seriously in experience, which spending years in school has not afforded me. No one wants to take a chance on someone green (actually, the job I have now took me and I was inexperienced), which makes it hard to get experience.
To get a job, you need experience. Having a job yields experience. But if you don't have experience, you don't get the job. It's paradoxes like this that make me not want to work at all.
But I have to.
Luckily, I have an interview. For an investment company. I am going to be an insurance rep, if I get the job. Although I think that I am jumping into another job that will probably be worse than the one I have now, I still need that escape.
I have to dress professional for the interview, which is rare for me. But I have warmed up to the idea of buying shit, shirts and ties, to wear. My wardrobe is becoming more stylish and dressy, and I don't know what to account as the reason for the slow change from hoodie and baseball caps and jeans to dress shirt, old guy driving caps, and jeans.
I even though I probably won't be too heartbroken about not getting this job, I want to still give a good show, and research shit about the company. You know, apply some of the stuff I supposedly learned in college about how to prepare for job interviews. I am bringing a note pad with questions, just to flip the script and become the interviewer for the moment. It might not go well with the person interviewing me, but I have a distant thought that it might make me look impressive.
I brim full of confidence. Optimism makes a strange bedfellow, but I like the company.
I remember saying that shit was going to change after I got back from vacation. I was even going to do an epic recap of the vacation itself. But I was too lazy, however, a change may be in the works.
Since I got back from vacation, I have been furiously looking for a new job. When the manager makes it a habit to drunk dial work (who the hell drunk dials work on a Monday? In fact, who the hell drunk dials work two hours after clocking out?), it is seriously time to get out.
I have applied for job after job, applying for more than actual responses, which is a bit disheartening, seeing that I feel that most of the jobs I have applied for I am more than qualified. But I lack seriously in experience, which spending years in school has not afforded me. No one wants to take a chance on someone green (actually, the job I have now took me and I was inexperienced), which makes it hard to get experience.
To get a job, you need experience. Having a job yields experience. But if you don't have experience, you don't get the job. It's paradoxes like this that make me not want to work at all.
But I have to.
Luckily, I have an interview. For an investment company. I am going to be an insurance rep, if I get the job. Although I think that I am jumping into another job that will probably be worse than the one I have now, I still need that escape.
I have to dress professional for the interview, which is rare for me. But I have warmed up to the idea of buying shit, shirts and ties, to wear. My wardrobe is becoming more stylish and dressy, and I don't know what to account as the reason for the slow change from hoodie and baseball caps and jeans to dress shirt, old guy driving caps, and jeans.
I even though I probably won't be too heartbroken about not getting this job, I want to still give a good show, and research shit about the company. You know, apply some of the stuff I supposedly learned in college about how to prepare for job interviews. I am bringing a note pad with questions, just to flip the script and become the interviewer for the moment. It might not go well with the person interviewing me, but I have a distant thought that it might make me look impressive.
I brim full of confidence. Optimism makes a strange bedfellow, but I like the company.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Long Slow Goodbye
A good friend of mine and her fiancé are moving to South Carolina so that she could work as a teacher, and I went to her farewell party, last night. It was a nice little party with lobster shaped red velvet cake lobsters and chocolate cake shaped as the Twin Towers, complete with toy airplanes implanted into them...really classy. But still fun.
I almost ended up not going because I really knew one person out of the entire group. But in the end, I had a good time. I only remember having three conversations with her the entire night, one when I came in, another when she took my picture, and the last when I left and wished her and her fiance good luck.
There may have been another conversation where she said something about humping my back. I wasn't in the right frame of mind to remember...
And the alcohol...I could handle four beers and still have it all together. But the five or six shots of Jim Beam (three of them group shots), did me in. I was sitting down in a chair near the music system the entire night, because if I got up I would stumble and knock something over. It wouldn't have been an issue if I were at the friend's house, but the party was held at her friend's house, who I met for the first time. I have to be in someone's house three or four times before I knock over shit and break something and not feel entirely guilty about it.
I almost ended up not going because I really knew one person out of the entire group
People were worried about me not having a good time. I was, but after I spilled a drink on myself from my lack of coordination, I had to limit my movements until I sobered up a bit.
I mean, I can understand how people who are drunk piss themselves. It's hard to concentrate holding it in. It was some effort for me to piss without missing the bowl. I had to prop myself on the flush box to do it.
I almost fell coming out of the bathroom.
But everyone ended up tipsy and dancing to Al Green and Sam Cooke mainly. Including myself, and I am a horrible dancer. One chick I "danced" with kept telling me not to get nervous. I wasn't nervous, really. It's just that splitting my already lowered concentration on standing up, keeping up with the music, keeping up with her movements, and not popping a boner is really difficult.
I ended up leaving the place at about 4 am. Good times.
I almost ended up not going because I really knew one person out of the entire group. But in the end, I had a good time. I only remember having three conversations with her the entire night, one when I came in, another when she took my picture, and the last when I left and wished her and her fiance good luck.
There may have been another conversation where she said something about humping my back. I wasn't in the right frame of mind to remember...
And the alcohol...I could handle four beers and still have it all together. But the five or six shots of Jim Beam (three of them group shots), did me in. I was sitting down in a chair near the music system the entire night, because if I got up I would stumble and knock something over. It wouldn't have been an issue if I were at the friend's house, but the party was held at her friend's house, who I met for the first time. I have to be in someone's house three or four times before I knock over shit and break something and not feel entirely guilty about it.
I almost ended up not going because I really knew one person out of the entire group
People were worried about me not having a good time. I was, but after I spilled a drink on myself from my lack of coordination, I had to limit my movements until I sobered up a bit.
I mean, I can understand how people who are drunk piss themselves. It's hard to concentrate holding it in. It was some effort for me to piss without missing the bowl. I had to prop myself on the flush box to do it.
I almost fell coming out of the bathroom.
But everyone ended up tipsy and dancing to Al Green and Sam Cooke mainly. Including myself, and I am a horrible dancer. One chick I "danced" with kept telling me not to get nervous. I wasn't nervous, really. It's just that splitting my already lowered concentration on standing up, keeping up with the music, keeping up with her movements, and not popping a boner is really difficult.
I ended up leaving the place at about 4 am. Good times.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Hardcore Makes A Man, Stillcore Makes A Band.
Vacation time looms.
It's been over four years since I found myself saying those words. And it couldn't come at a better time. I am beginning, no, I have begun to have those feelings that I had when I wanted out of my other job. The shame lies in the fact that I am kinda torn.
Mostly because there are a lot of hot chicks where I work. Hot lawyer chicks.
But I feel that it's not enough to keep me there, I mean, do I want to continue pushing papers and let it grow into a career. Do I want to keep busting my ass doing work that the manager should do? I feel that my time and effort would be better placed somewhere else.
I find myself to be efficient when I work, I keep to myself and do jobs that need to be done, while others, including the manager horsefuck around all day. The more work I get done, the more that gets piled on me. So what do I do? I slack off.
That doesn't work. I still do not like working where I work. So I have begun the search for new employment. Jeez, I didn't think that it would take such a short time to say that. But it is true.
I am definitely going back to school, as being an English major won't get you much except for customer service jobs.
But, I won't worry about it now, since I have a vacation to look forward to.
After that though, a lot of shit is going to change.
The image of me sneaking a side of ribs on a roller coaster and taking a bite as the cameras snap a photo amuses me so much that I actually may consider doing it.
Also, I have begin rigorously playing music again. There was a gap in time where I did not practice because I had either no time or no will to do it. But since I recently invested in a new amp, my baby with tubes, I have that urge again. I devote at least a couple of hours of playing time when I come home from work, in the dead of night. It feels good. I want to get some time of looping device so I can record myself playing one track and then...play with myself (hurr hurr hurr).
But then again, playing music and sex have a lot in common. For one, if you are playing an instrument, you are doing a lot of fingering, blowing, and banging.
It's been over four years since I found myself saying those words. And it couldn't come at a better time. I am beginning, no, I have begun to have those feelings that I had when I wanted out of my other job. The shame lies in the fact that I am kinda torn.
Mostly because there are a lot of hot chicks where I work. Hot lawyer chicks.
But I feel that it's not enough to keep me there, I mean, do I want to continue pushing papers and let it grow into a career. Do I want to keep busting my ass doing work that the manager should do? I feel that my time and effort would be better placed somewhere else.
I find myself to be efficient when I work, I keep to myself and do jobs that need to be done, while others, including the manager horsefuck around all day. The more work I get done, the more that gets piled on me. So what do I do? I slack off.
That doesn't work. I still do not like working where I work. So I have begun the search for new employment. Jeez, I didn't think that it would take such a short time to say that. But it is true.
I am definitely going back to school, as being an English major won't get you much except for customer service jobs.
But, I won't worry about it now, since I have a vacation to look forward to.
After that though, a lot of shit is going to change.
The image of me sneaking a side of ribs on a roller coaster and taking a bite as the cameras snap a photo amuses me so much that I actually may consider doing it.
Also, I have begin rigorously playing music again. There was a gap in time where I did not practice because I had either no time or no will to do it. But since I recently invested in a new amp, my baby with tubes, I have that urge again. I devote at least a couple of hours of playing time when I come home from work, in the dead of night. It feels good. I want to get some time of looping device so I can record myself playing one track and then...play with myself (hurr hurr hurr).
But then again, playing music and sex have a lot in common. For one, if you are playing an instrument, you are doing a lot of fingering, blowing, and banging.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
"You Want Me to Get Someone to Stomp A Mudhole In His Ass?"
Was what my mom said after I told her what went down between me and my asshole manager at work. Interesting story, but this isn't about what happened.
Not sure why I brought it up anyways.
The real focus is that I recently invested in a new 500gb external hard drive. I was thinking about getting one for a very long time, but was leery about getting one because of the chance that I could lose some stuff that I put on there. But as the drive space on my computer became too low for my comforts, and I was tired of making data discs to save my files, it was time to buy one, and I got one relatively cheap (50 bucks in coupons helped out nicely).
Buying the new hard drive made me go into my computer and look through the old folders and files I haven't looked in for ages. Lots of older music I downloaded off Napster, a lot of Godsmack, my god! There was a lot of papers I had written over the years, going way back to the pro wrestling research paper I wrote back in sophomore year in high school. Reading through a bunch of those papers made me cringe. It got pretty bad at times, and to the point where I wondered how I got the grades I did on them. And there were the movies I collected from over the years...yeah those type of movies. I couldn't stand seeing myself get rid of those.
Then, 15 GB later, I found this one folder that I haven't bothered looking in for about a year or so. It contained all the music I recorded through my computer. I was in a band once, and recorded a CD, where I thought I did pretty sub-par work on, maybe because when time came to record my parts I had little time to do so because of work. Or maybe I sucked. But after that, I decided to start recording myself more, to get used to the process.
So I dusted off a guitar I had lying around my house, fixed up the wiring in it, and hooked it up to my computer's microphone (with a couple pedals along the way), and played some little things I toyed around with whenever I practiced.
None of these are great, but still have some significance to me.
Here is the first file, made around June 2004. Listening to it now, I feel that if the distortion was a little less muddy, I would love it more. But I noticed that I must have a lot of energy pumping through there, with the thumping of each chord. Overall, I think that it's not that bad.
http://www.tindeck.com/audio/my/ncfs/1st-try
The next series of files is a progression of the same idea of riffs and such. This file is one of the first files that I did dual tracks with, playing with myself (hurr hurr). I found it hard to do so, as you may hear in some of the little mistakes here and there, as matching up with the first recorded track in timing was really an issue for me, I had to delete a bit of stuff to make things match up. This one was recorded in January 2005.
http://www.tindeck.com/audio/my/pety/songptA
The next file was recorded three months later, I changed the main riff a bit, and added two accompanying riffs as well. The chords are gone and were replaced with a "bass line" (it's actually just a guitar with a cheap octave pedal). I was using a distortion pedal used mostly for metal, and it sounds alright here, but I struggled finding good uses for that pedal, and decided to dump it (about two years later, I learn lessons slowly). This came out sounding more metal, I guess.
http://www.tindeck.com/audio/my/vpsm/cracked-feet
This last file, which I recorded about five months later, I used all of the same riffs except one, used another distortion pedal, added a little delay in the audio recording program I used, and it came out a little different. There are some mistakes in here because of that issue of me keeping up with each track, and because I was switching from one note to another in a certain place in the main riff.
http://www.tindeck.com/audio/my/wfdo/Cracked-Delay
This last one was recorded in late 2006, and I used the reverse effect in my recording program by mistake/as a goof. Originally, the little arpeggio sounded like something from a Megadeath album, nothing too original there. But in reverse, it sounded a bit different, and better than what I had before. I left the second audio track un-reversed, because the little random notes seemed to make the entire thing seem more off, but in a good way.
http://www.tindeck.com/audio/my/nuoz/good-stuff-in-back
I guess, in the end, me going back into stuff from my past allowed me to see how much I have changed, exactly the same way when you go back and look at pictures of yourself 10 or 15 years ago. It brings back massive floods of memories.
Not sure why I brought it up anyways.
The real focus is that I recently invested in a new 500gb external hard drive. I was thinking about getting one for a very long time, but was leery about getting one because of the chance that I could lose some stuff that I put on there. But as the drive space on my computer became too low for my comforts, and I was tired of making data discs to save my files, it was time to buy one, and I got one relatively cheap (50 bucks in coupons helped out nicely).
Buying the new hard drive made me go into my computer and look through the old folders and files I haven't looked in for ages. Lots of older music I downloaded off Napster, a lot of Godsmack, my god! There was a lot of papers I had written over the years, going way back to the pro wrestling research paper I wrote back in sophomore year in high school. Reading through a bunch of those papers made me cringe. It got pretty bad at times, and to the point where I wondered how I got the grades I did on them. And there were the movies I collected from over the years...yeah those type of movies. I couldn't stand seeing myself get rid of those.
Then, 15 GB later, I found this one folder that I haven't bothered looking in for about a year or so. It contained all the music I recorded through my computer. I was in a band once, and recorded a CD, where I thought I did pretty sub-par work on, maybe because when time came to record my parts I had little time to do so because of work. Or maybe I sucked. But after that, I decided to start recording myself more, to get used to the process.
So I dusted off a guitar I had lying around my house, fixed up the wiring in it, and hooked it up to my computer's microphone (with a couple pedals along the way), and played some little things I toyed around with whenever I practiced.
None of these are great, but still have some significance to me.
Here is the first file, made around June 2004. Listening to it now, I feel that if the distortion was a little less muddy, I would love it more. But I noticed that I must have a lot of energy pumping through there, with the thumping of each chord. Overall, I think that it's not that bad.
http://www.tindeck.com/audio/my/ncfs/1st-try
The next series of files is a progression of the same idea of riffs and such. This file is one of the first files that I did dual tracks with, playing with myself (hurr hurr). I found it hard to do so, as you may hear in some of the little mistakes here and there, as matching up with the first recorded track in timing was really an issue for me, I had to delete a bit of stuff to make things match up. This one was recorded in January 2005.
http://www.tindeck.com/audio/my/pety/songptA
The next file was recorded three months later, I changed the main riff a bit, and added two accompanying riffs as well. The chords are gone and were replaced with a "bass line" (it's actually just a guitar with a cheap octave pedal). I was using a distortion pedal used mostly for metal, and it sounds alright here, but I struggled finding good uses for that pedal, and decided to dump it (about two years later, I learn lessons slowly). This came out sounding more metal, I guess.
http://www.tindeck.com/audio/my/vpsm/cracked-feet
This last file, which I recorded about five months later, I used all of the same riffs except one, used another distortion pedal, added a little delay in the audio recording program I used, and it came out a little different. There are some mistakes in here because of that issue of me keeping up with each track, and because I was switching from one note to another in a certain place in the main riff.
http://www.tindeck.com/audio/my/wfdo/Cracked-Delay
This last one was recorded in late 2006, and I used the reverse effect in my recording program by mistake/as a goof. Originally, the little arpeggio sounded like something from a Megadeath album, nothing too original there. But in reverse, it sounded a bit different, and better than what I had before. I left the second audio track un-reversed, because the little random notes seemed to make the entire thing seem more off, but in a good way.
http://www.tindeck.com/audio/my/nuoz/good-stuff-in-back
I guess, in the end, me going back into stuff from my past allowed me to see how much I have changed, exactly the same way when you go back and look at pictures of yourself 10 or 15 years ago. It brings back massive floods of memories.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
I've Grown Old and Mad Staring Into the Heart of a Dark Star
Since last year, I made a few goals for myself. They came at a time where I felt that I as a person could be something more. I wanted change, I knew that this time here and now is the best time for me do things differently. It's one of those life crossroads where I was staring at the beginning of a post school, adult life, and looking back at the young adult school life.
One of those things I had decided to do was ride a bike. Everywhere.
Before that time, last April, I think, I hadn't
hopped on a bike for years. The last time I had rode one was when I picked it up from the repair shop my freshman year in college, after one of the pedals fell off while I was in the middle 55th street. Which sucked because I missed out on going to Manny's Deli with my class at the end of the trip. I know, I could go to Manny's Deli and get sandwiches anytime, but it wouldn't be the same.
I wanted a new bike, so on impulse I decided to go and buy one, and it cost me damn near 300 bu
cks. But it was an awesome ride. Until it got stolen while I was shopping in a Jewel grocery store. I walked around the block many times, hoping that I would 
find it hidden in some corner, behind some garbage can, or see the guy who stole it riding it. But I was out of luck.
So a good friend of mine told me of a bike place, and I went up there and got a decent (rusty) bike for half the price I spent on my previous. It was also nice I got it during the middle of Pride Weekend. Very interesting, I wasn't feeling uneasy about the flamboyance, I think I am too creepy looking for gay guys to hit on me, don't know if that is a good thing or bad thing.
Nevertheless...
I got my bike and it began a great experience, where I got really good at riding long distances. Up to 30 miles three times a week was my peak performance. I strongly endorse everyone getting a bike, it's like the world opens up to you, until you hit a pothole, or run into a car, or have neighborhood kids throw things at you, or you freeze half to death like I did today riding.
But seriously, bikes are fun.
One of those things I had decided to do was ride a bike. Everywhere.
Before that time, last April, I think, I hadn't
hopped on a bike for years. The last time I had rode one was when I picked it up from the repair shop my freshman year in college, after one of the pedals fell off while I was in the middle 55th street. Which sucked because I missed out on going to Manny's Deli with my class at the end of the trip. I know, I could go to Manny's Deli and get sandwiches anytime, but it wouldn't be the same.I wanted a new bike, so on impulse I decided to go and buy one, and it cost me damn near 300 bu
cks. But it was an awesome ride. Until it got stolen while I was shopping in a Jewel grocery store. I walked around the block many times, hoping that I would find it hidden in some corner, behind some garbage can, or see the guy who stole it riding it. But I was out of luck.So a good friend of mine told me of a bike place, and I went up there and got a decent (rusty) bike for half the price I spent on my previous. It was also nice I got it during the middle of Pride Weekend. Very interesting, I wasn't feeling uneasy about the flamboyance, I think I am too creepy looking for gay guys to hit on me, don't know if that is a good thing or bad thing.
Nevertheless...
I got my bike and it began a great experience, where I got really good at riding long distances. Up to 30 miles three times a week was my peak performance. I strongly endorse everyone getting a bike, it's like the world opens up to you, until you hit a pothole, or run into a car, or have neighborhood kids throw things at you, or you freeze half to death like I did today riding.
But seriously, bikes are fun.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Stare into the face of sadistic evil.
To humiliate...
To enslave...
To inflict moral insanity on the innocent....
That is her objective...
Her twisted pleasure.
To enslave...
To inflict moral insanity on the innocent....
That is her objective...
Her twisted pleasure.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Jamesy and Shayna
Jamesy: Your days of playing the waiting game are over! Or is it? How’s things? I’m glad we can finally meet face to face.
Shayna: I’m exited too, I usually don’t meet guys off the Internet so soon.
Jamesy: I'll have to admit, reading your ad at 9 in the morning is probably not the safest thing to do. It's trippy. It's confusing. In my book, I consider that fun and exciting.
Shayna: Well, I did post it in the middle of the night, so I was kinda out of it.
Jamesy: You said that you like "you" in your ad. That translates into multiple meanings. If you read your ad, you could be referring to yourself. Self confidence, and it shows. "You" could translate into "me", which is great considering I am a complete stranger on the Internets. Safe to say that you are approachable, am I right? And finally "you" could be plural as in everything and everyone. Extraverted? I can assume so. Being an English major is worth something other than a step towards teaching.
Shayna: Really? Did you really just call a librarian extroverted?
Jamesy: Well, I realize I missed on the mismatched pair of "librarian" and “extroverted" about a half hour after I sent that email. But I don't see the "extroverted librarian" as too much an anomaly.
Shayna: Well I hope you are not looking for someone who is extroverted and the life of the party.
Jamesy: No I am not.
Shayna: I listened to an interview between Terry Gross and Jason and Wes and Jason said he was always the best friend and never the boyfriend, but Wes said that in actuality he was very charming and extroverted. Ho hum.
Jamesy: Uh-huh… who’s “Wes” by the way?
Shayna: Wes Anderson, of course. You know who he is, right?
Jamesy: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I do.
Shayna: Well, there is nothing worse than that in my opinion. Oh and Terry kept pressing about Owen Wilson even though they were both obviously uncomfortable. I wish I was Wes Anderson's friend, you automatically get to become a movie star. I want to see the Darjeeling Limited. But it really is limited, I mean release wise.
Jamesy: I’m sure there are some theaters in the city that carry it.
Shayna: I know…
Jamesy: To follow up, I can't see myself being with someone who is extroverted and the life of the party, because after a while that personality becomes grating. I am a "sit back and watch" kind of guy. I think that these lines from Pulp Fiction sum how I feel up nicely: "Why do we feel it's necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable? That's when you know you've found somebody special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence."
Shayna: Do you often express your feelings in movie quotes?
Jamesy: Only when they can say what I feel better than I can.
Shayna: Uh-huh.
Jamesy: …
Shayna: …
Jamesy: Well, you said you were looking for someone you can serve lemonade and rice crispies treats to. Now, I like lemonade, but I have a love-hate relationship with rice crispie treats. I used to eat them a lot in high school, buy them in boxes and cook them myself, and used to smell the wrappers when I was done with them (yes very wierd) but then one day I gave up on them. I guess I got burned out on them. But hey, one of us would be eating them.
Shayna: Hehe.
Jamesy: So, uh, what do you like to read? I don’t read much, don’t have the time, but when I do, it’s usually crime and mystery novels. I got into them after I took a course in film noir. I used to watch a lot of film noir movies but after I took the class, I got into reading the books that most films noirs are adapted from, like Double Indemnity or The Postman Always Rings Twice. At least we read literature written within the same time period.
Shayna: I hate crime and/or mystery. I watched "Breathless" which I guess is supposed to be a parody of noir films, but I think Goddard was just saying that after he realized how silly it was. I hate the word "silly". I really like to read, but only trendy post ww2 novels like "franny and Zooey". Noam Chomsky said that using the atomic bomb on Japan was the worst thing we ever did.
Jamesy: Yeah…but “silly” is an awesome word to use, it’s one of those words you can’t say seriously and without sounding silly. It’s the exact opposite of the word “moss”. You can’t say “moss” and not sound too happy or less serious.
Shayna: Well, I never thought of it that way, it’s true. But I still hate “silly”
Jamesy: Fair enough.
Shayna: Is that examining of words something you learn as an English major?
Jamesy: No. Well, yeah, I had to take a couple poetry classes, so I had to learn about all the connotations and images words create with their vowel and consonant sounds. Your writing, from what I saw, is is good, as long as you don't write abundantly in numbers or use "lolz" or "omgwtfbbq", or in all caps, you know, ways that don't make you seem like an ass. As long as I can understand what you are saying it's fine. I mean, so what if you don't like to capitalize the singular personal pronoun "I"? e.e. cummings made a career out of not capitalizing letters, why shouldn't that be your style?
Shayna: I used to like e.e. cummings a lot and then I realized I hate poetry, so so much. Even Bukowski who is my favorite writer, I hate his poetry. You say you hate trendy internet speech, but I am quite partial to "roflcopter".
Jamesy: “lollersk8s” too?
Shayna: Hahaha, yeah that one too. Lemme ask you three questions, you have to answer them honestly. What kind of food do you like? What kind of things do you like? And, what kind of people do you like?
Jamesy: Hot Pockets Italian Chicken Style, screw Jim Gaffigan…
Shayna: Hot Pockets really gross me out, I’m sorry. I do enjoy a nice Hungry Man TV dinner though. I even eat the corn.
Jamesy: People always laugh at me when I say I like Hot Pockets. They aren’t that bad. Well, more for me then. What kind of things do I like? I like anythings, nothings, and somethings...I hate everythings though.
Shayna: Cute. Good answer.
Jamesy: As for people… Well, as a person who deals with people on a daily basis, I can cop out and say people who are cool and fun and like the same things I do, tra-la-la la-la. But while that is nice, I necessarily like people who give a crap about something. Not necessarily those who are goal oriented, but those who have a passion for something. An individual, if there is such a thing anymore. Someone who can make the time go by fast, while sometimes on occasion slows it down. Basically, if I can see myself associating myself with a person for a long time, then I like them. It's also something when interacting with a person that I can't put into words quite eloquently. How do you feel about people?
Shayna: How do I feel about people? Well everyday I find myself turning more and more into Holden Caulfield.
Jamesy: You and I have something in common. I do find myself becoming increasingly annoyed with people. I don’t know what it is, I can’t put a finger on it, but it is like a cavalcade of reasons that blanket my mind in a white noise, and I feel that it will take little before I just go off. It has become a fascination with me, especially since most of my English papers where I have to create a topic of my own ended up with me spouting off about how much I hate people.
Shayna: Heh, well Jamesy, it was nice to meet you, nice conversation.
Jamesy: But you just got here…
Shayna: I know, it’s time for me to go…I got some errands to run, bye.
Jamesy: We’ll talk again soon, right? I like talking to you. You have a number I can call you?
Shayna: My phone’s disconnected, see ya.
Jamesy: Ok, we’ll talk online then, I guess.
Shayna: I’m exited too, I usually don’t meet guys off the Internet so soon.
Jamesy: I'll have to admit, reading your ad at 9 in the morning is probably not the safest thing to do. It's trippy. It's confusing. In my book, I consider that fun and exciting.
Shayna: Well, I did post it in the middle of the night, so I was kinda out of it.
Jamesy: You said that you like "you" in your ad. That translates into multiple meanings. If you read your ad, you could be referring to yourself. Self confidence, and it shows. "You" could translate into "me", which is great considering I am a complete stranger on the Internets. Safe to say that you are approachable, am I right? And finally "you" could be plural as in everything and everyone. Extraverted? I can assume so. Being an English major is worth something other than a step towards teaching.
Shayna: Really? Did you really just call a librarian extroverted?
Jamesy: Well, I realize I missed on the mismatched pair of "librarian" and “extroverted" about a half hour after I sent that email. But I don't see the "extroverted librarian" as too much an anomaly.
Shayna: Well I hope you are not looking for someone who is extroverted and the life of the party.
Jamesy: No I am not.
Shayna: I listened to an interview between Terry Gross and Jason and Wes and Jason said he was always the best friend and never the boyfriend, but Wes said that in actuality he was very charming and extroverted. Ho hum.
Jamesy: Uh-huh… who’s “Wes” by the way?
Shayna: Wes Anderson, of course. You know who he is, right?
Jamesy: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I do.
Shayna: Well, there is nothing worse than that in my opinion. Oh and Terry kept pressing about Owen Wilson even though they were both obviously uncomfortable. I wish I was Wes Anderson's friend, you automatically get to become a movie star. I want to see the Darjeeling Limited. But it really is limited, I mean release wise.
Jamesy: I’m sure there are some theaters in the city that carry it.
Shayna: I know…
Jamesy: To follow up, I can't see myself being with someone who is extroverted and the life of the party, because after a while that personality becomes grating. I am a "sit back and watch" kind of guy. I think that these lines from Pulp Fiction sum how I feel up nicely: "Why do we feel it's necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable? That's when you know you've found somebody special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence."
Shayna: Do you often express your feelings in movie quotes?
Jamesy: Only when they can say what I feel better than I can.
Shayna: Uh-huh.
Jamesy: …
Shayna: …
Jamesy: Well, you said you were looking for someone you can serve lemonade and rice crispies treats to. Now, I like lemonade, but I have a love-hate relationship with rice crispie treats. I used to eat them a lot in high school, buy them in boxes and cook them myself, and used to smell the wrappers when I was done with them (yes very wierd) but then one day I gave up on them. I guess I got burned out on them. But hey, one of us would be eating them.
Shayna: Hehe.
Jamesy: So, uh, what do you like to read? I don’t read much, don’t have the time, but when I do, it’s usually crime and mystery novels. I got into them after I took a course in film noir. I used to watch a lot of film noir movies but after I took the class, I got into reading the books that most films noirs are adapted from, like Double Indemnity or The Postman Always Rings Twice. At least we read literature written within the same time period.
Shayna: I hate crime and/or mystery. I watched "Breathless" which I guess is supposed to be a parody of noir films, but I think Goddard was just saying that after he realized how silly it was. I hate the word "silly". I really like to read, but only trendy post ww2 novels like "franny and Zooey". Noam Chomsky said that using the atomic bomb on Japan was the worst thing we ever did.
Jamesy: Yeah…but “silly” is an awesome word to use, it’s one of those words you can’t say seriously and without sounding silly. It’s the exact opposite of the word “moss”. You can’t say “moss” and not sound too happy or less serious.
Shayna: Well, I never thought of it that way, it’s true. But I still hate “silly”
Jamesy: Fair enough.
Shayna: Is that examining of words something you learn as an English major?
Jamesy: No. Well, yeah, I had to take a couple poetry classes, so I had to learn about all the connotations and images words create with their vowel and consonant sounds. Your writing, from what I saw, is is good, as long as you don't write abundantly in numbers or use "lolz" or "omgwtfbbq", or in all caps, you know, ways that don't make you seem like an ass. As long as I can understand what you are saying it's fine. I mean, so what if you don't like to capitalize the singular personal pronoun "I"? e.e. cummings made a career out of not capitalizing letters, why shouldn't that be your style?
Shayna: I used to like e.e. cummings a lot and then I realized I hate poetry, so so much. Even Bukowski who is my favorite writer, I hate his poetry. You say you hate trendy internet speech, but I am quite partial to "roflcopter".
Jamesy: “lollersk8s” too?
Shayna: Hahaha, yeah that one too. Lemme ask you three questions, you have to answer them honestly. What kind of food do you like? What kind of things do you like? And, what kind of people do you like?
Jamesy: Hot Pockets Italian Chicken Style, screw Jim Gaffigan…
Shayna: Hot Pockets really gross me out, I’m sorry. I do enjoy a nice Hungry Man TV dinner though. I even eat the corn.
Jamesy: People always laugh at me when I say I like Hot Pockets. They aren’t that bad. Well, more for me then. What kind of things do I like? I like anythings, nothings, and somethings...I hate everythings though.
Shayna: Cute. Good answer.
Jamesy: As for people… Well, as a person who deals with people on a daily basis, I can cop out and say people who are cool and fun and like the same things I do, tra-la-la la-la. But while that is nice, I necessarily like people who give a crap about something. Not necessarily those who are goal oriented, but those who have a passion for something. An individual, if there is such a thing anymore. Someone who can make the time go by fast, while sometimes on occasion slows it down. Basically, if I can see myself associating myself with a person for a long time, then I like them. It's also something when interacting with a person that I can't put into words quite eloquently. How do you feel about people?
Shayna: How do I feel about people? Well everyday I find myself turning more and more into Holden Caulfield.
Jamesy: You and I have something in common. I do find myself becoming increasingly annoyed with people. I don’t know what it is, I can’t put a finger on it, but it is like a cavalcade of reasons that blanket my mind in a white noise, and I feel that it will take little before I just go off. It has become a fascination with me, especially since most of my English papers where I have to create a topic of my own ended up with me spouting off about how much I hate people.
Shayna: Heh, well Jamesy, it was nice to meet you, nice conversation.
Jamesy: But you just got here…
Shayna: I know, it’s time for me to go…I got some errands to run, bye.
Jamesy: We’ll talk again soon, right? I like talking to you. You have a number I can call you?
Shayna: My phone’s disconnected, see ya.
Jamesy: Ok, we’ll talk online then, I guess.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
The Pillow Fight
A couple years ago, I was at Depaul and I saw a flier advertising camel rides in the Quad. It was a random opportunity that was too good to pass up, and it led to my and my self-proclaimed famous photo of me riding a camel. Free shirts, free cake, good times.
This was at the same time when the world's largest rubber band ball came to my school. Again, another random opportunity. I took pictures, I got some rubber balls, good times.
Fast forward to last Wednesday. I learned of World Pillow Fight Day, and that a pillow fight would take place downtown near the Art Institute. I've seen videos of past pillow fights in Los Angeles and thought they were crazy as hell. This was another moment where a random opportunity that was too good to pass up landed in my lap.
I almost missed it, though. I woke up Saturday afternoon at 1:15 pm when the fight started at 2:00. Luckily, I lived close enough to downtown to reach the fight in less than a half hour, that is if the Public Transportation Gods were smiling upon me.
I had planned to bring a video camera to record the show, but in the hustle and bustle I could only gather my camera.
I got off the elevated train at around 2:05, and from the platform I could see the fight was well underway. I wanted to bring a nice pillow with me, but alas, the rush kept me from bringing or buying a cheap one.
As soon as I walked up the stairs of the Art Institute, there was this security guard for the museum trying to move the onlookers off the stairs. I kinda felt bad because it wasn't too long ago when I did crowd controlling. And being the only person trying to move 30 to 40 people.
But it didn't stop me from taking these pictures.
After a while, the fracas moved down the street.
To be honest, as a person looking in from above, the fights did not look as wild as I expected. Maybe because it was contained too much. I was expecting to see one on one battles...Maybe I was expecting to see something similar to a wrestling battle royale where you could see all the action. But still the energy was still powerful.
I couldn't help but get involved. Someone abandoned their pillow in the fight, so I saw it as my opportunity to join in the madness. At first, I had planned to do my attacks drive-by style, randomly clocking people as I ran through the crowd. It did not go as planned. The crowd was too centralized. The next thing I knew I was locked in a duel with this guy about 5 inches taller than me. There was no way I could go toe-to-toe with him, so I decided to aim low. Unfortunately, my friends, I lost the battle. I got my ass whooped to put it simply. He knocked the hat off my head. It also didn't help that some kid who couldn't be older than 14 got the jump on me too.
Where lost that big battle, I won many small ones, maintaining my aim low offense. Although, in retrospect, constantly aiming low on the girls there and eventually hitting them on the ass may have communicated the wrong type of message. But who cares!
I only regret that I wore mostly black that day, because when a down pillow exploded in front of me, it all got in my hat and on my coat. And I'm still picking them out now as I speak. I should take the advice from a couple people nearby and invest in a lint remover.
There were contests, best dressed and best decorated pillow. All I can remember from that is a battle for the prize between a girl in a Rey Mysterio mask and a dude in an afro. The little kid who got the jump on me won the prize of best fighter, so I can feel better because I evidently wasn't the only one who got creamed by some 14 year old. But, the joke was on him, since his title made him a target. I never exacted revenge. Well, maybe I did and didn't realize it. The fighting afterwards became so random and partners switched quickly, I couldn't keep track of who I battled with.
I did notice this guy substituting his orange fleece sweater for a pillow though.
As I had expected, with the new snow that had fallen the night before, the pillow fight soon evolved into a snowball fight. I realized that I had forgotten how great an aim I had, surprisingly without my glasses.
The cleanup had resulted in garbage bags filled with feathers mixed with sleet.
It was fun.
But it all seemed to end as soon as it began, and when it was over, people dispersed rather quickly. Some people shook hands with each other and exchanged compliments for their valor in the battle.
For what it was, the idea of randomly hitting strangers with pillows brought people together for the moment. Everyone in this mob of "pillowers" were conformed in the agenda to beat the crap out of each other with pillows, and to have fun.
I certainly look forward to the next pillow fight. And hopefully, it will be in the summer, which would present a more interesting and sweaty experience.
Here are videos:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rT5-zXO9WDE
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oghR4AzZlC4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2VF14Rfbruc
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nAaQhuHQoBc
If I had done a video, I probably would have dubbed in the Amok Time music from the Cable Guy/Star Trek, but feel free to hum along when watching these videos.
This was at the same time when the world's largest rubber band ball came to my school. Again, another random opportunity. I took pictures, I got some rubber balls, good times.
Fast forward to last Wednesday. I learned of World Pillow Fight Day, and that a pillow fight would take place downtown near the Art Institute. I've seen videos of past pillow fights in Los Angeles and thought they were crazy as hell. This was another moment where a random opportunity that was too good to pass up landed in my lap.
I almost missed it, though. I woke up Saturday afternoon at 1:15 pm when the fight started at 2:00. Luckily, I lived close enough to downtown to reach the fight in less than a half hour, that is if the Public Transportation Gods were smiling upon me.
I had planned to bring a video camera to record the show, but in the hustle and bustle I could only gather my camera.
I got off the elevated train at around 2:05, and from the platform I could see the fight was well underway. I wanted to bring a nice pillow with me, but alas, the rush kept me from bringing or buying a cheap one.
As soon as I walked up the stairs of the Art Institute, there was this security guard for the museum trying to move the onlookers off the stairs. I kinda felt bad because it wasn't too long ago when I did crowd controlling. And being the only person trying to move 30 to 40 people.But it didn't stop me from taking these pictures.
After a while, the fracas moved down the street.
To be honest, as a person looking in from above, the fights did not look as wild as I expected. Maybe because it was contained too much. I was expecting to see one on one battles...Maybe I was expecting to see something similar to a wrestling battle royale where you could see all the action. But still the energy was still powerful.
I couldn't help but get involved. Someone abandoned their pillow in the fight, so I saw it as my opportunity to join in the madness. At first, I had planned to do my attacks drive-by style, randomly clocking people as I ran through the crowd. It did not go as planned. The crowd was too centralized. The next thing I knew I was locked in a duel with this guy about 5 inches taller than me. There was no way I could go toe-to-toe with him, so I decided to aim low. Unfortunately, my friends, I lost the battle. I got my ass whooped to put it simply. He knocked the hat off my head. It also didn't help that some kid who couldn't be older than 14 got the jump on me too.
Where lost that big battle, I won many small ones, maintaining my aim low offense. Although, in retrospect, constantly aiming low on the girls there and eventually hitting them on the ass may have communicated the wrong type of message. But who cares!
I only regret that I wore mostly black that day, because when a down pillow exploded in front of me, it all got in my hat and on my coat. And I'm still picking them out now as I speak. I should take the advice from a couple people nearby and invest in a lint remover.
There were contests, best dressed and best decorated pillow. All I can remember from that is a battle for the prize between a girl in a Rey Mysterio mask and a dude in an afro. The little kid who got the jump on me won the prize of best fighter, so I can feel better because I evidently wasn't the only one who got creamed by some 14 year old. But, the joke was on him, since his title made him a target. I never exacted revenge. Well, maybe I did and didn't realize it. The fighting afterwards became so random and partners switched quickly, I couldn't keep track of who I battled with.
I did notice this guy substituting his orange fleece sweater for a pillow though.
As I had expected, with the new snow that had fallen the night before, the pillow fight soon evolved into a snowball fight. I realized that I had forgotten how great an aim I had, surprisingly without my glasses.
The cleanup had resulted in garbage bags filled with feathers mixed with sleet.
It was fun.
But it all seemed to end as soon as it began, and when it was over, people dispersed rather quickly. Some people shook hands with each other and exchanged compliments for their valor in the battle.
For what it was, the idea of randomly hitting strangers with pillows brought people together for the moment. Everyone in this mob of "pillowers" were conformed in the agenda to beat the crap out of each other with pillows, and to have fun.
I certainly look forward to the next pillow fight. And hopefully, it will be in the summer, which would present a more interesting and sweaty experience.
Here are videos:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rT5-zXO9WDE
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oghR4AzZlC4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2VF14Rfbruc
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nAaQhuHQoBc
If I had done a video, I probably would have dubbed in the Amok Time music from the Cable Guy/Star Trek, but feel free to hum along when watching these videos.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
That Damn Cat
One night, I was coming home from work. As I walked up the stairs fumbling through my pockets for the keys, there was this cat sitting in front of my door. As soon as it saw me, it ran past me and down the stairs. I must have scared the hell out of it as much as it startled the hell out of me. It looked hungry so I pulled a slice of meat from a sandwich I hadn't finished for lunch at work, placed it on a napkin, and set it near the top of the stairs. I beckoned for the cat to come and get the food, until I realized that it was no use getting a cat to understand what I was saying, and in a high pitched voice to boot. I felt silly and went into the house. I went and looked out the window to see that the cat had come and picked up the meat and dragged it away to some secluded place.
I felt good. Feeding a hungry cat is a bit of a boost.
That was two years ago. Now that cat, she, has become a well known hobocat around my neighborhood, making my front lawn and stairs her top squatting place. I am not generally a cat person, I never owned one, but they can stink up a place. Cat funk permeates the halls leading to my front door.
I tried to get rid of her. I stopped feeding her. I shooed her away, a lot. But she keeps coming back.
I called my grandmother and told her about the cat. My grandma, being an old country gal, told me about how cats that hang around your house are bad luck. They are harbingers of death, to put it simply. Awesome, I have a brown and white little death magnet at my doorstep.
My grandma told me to put cayenne pepper around where the cat usually sleeps, that'll get rid of her. So I buy some pepper, sprinkle it around where I know the cat sleeps. And it worked.
But the cat found a new spot. The process repeated every time I sprinkled places with pepper. All it got me was watery eyes and sneezing fits.
I recall many times at night during the summer where I was awakened by the The yowling...the yowling when she was in heat, only to go outside with a bucket of water to find that my porch is littered with 3 or 4 more cats.
Every time, I come home she follows me to the door looking for handouts. Actually, it's more like she ambushes me from different angles depending on the night. She can hop down from the tree in front of my house. From behind the banister. From my neighbor's lawn. From the window sill to the right of my door. I live with two other people, so one or both of them had to be feeding her. I shoo her away, she doesn't go very far. She sits in front of the door, for a half hour at least, waiting for someone to come back. It's creepy dedication.
When I leave for work in the morning, she's the first thing I see outside. I always brush past her. But she stares at me as I walk down the street. Staring at me as I wait at the corner to cross the street. Little white and brown ball staring at me. I thought it was kinda funny for a moment.
But it still continued.
Just a blank stare.
I guess it's a step down from when she used to follow me to the bus stop.
However, lately it has gotten better, though I still look over my shoulders every time I open my gate. I have to sneak up the stairs. Make no sounds as I close the gate and search for keys, I usually have them out when I get off my bus.
The other night, I came home from work and she was sitting in the middle of the sidewalk cleaning herself. As soon as she saw me coming out from the corner of her eye, she stops what she was doing, and stares blankly at me.
I walk past it trying not to make eye contact with it, just like what people do when they try to ignore people they want to avoid. I was hoping that she would scamper off somewhere else upon the realization that I wasn't who she thought I was. I got a half a block away from my house, looked over my shoulder to find that blank stare was still aimed at me.
"Shit, shit, she knows it's me!"
Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk and looking back probably gave me away.
But she eventually turned around and continued what she was doing.
While her back was turned, I felt it was an opportunity to sneak in my house. Any noise I had to make, I had to cover up with the sounds of the passing cars down my street. I felt so stupid.
However, as I walked up the stairs, keys out, I was feeling victorious. I felt a rush, as silly and overblown the situation was, it was a rush.
I was home free...
Until I kicked over an empty tray on my stairs.
I winced.
A car passed by as it happened, so maybe the sound was covered up.
I looked over my shoulder and saw her coming from the sidewalk, through my gate, and up the stairs. That cat could probably hear the sun come up.
A situation similar to that of a horror movie as the potential victim rushes to her apartment door and fumbles for her keys, racing against time and the killer's advancing footsteps.
Except the woman was replaced by a 6-foot 200+ Lb. black guy, and the killer, a 3 lb. cat.
I made it inside my house just in time, as that damn cat waited outside in normal fashion.
Cats are a lot smarter than I thought. And more than capable to fuck with you with their mind games.
I felt good. Feeding a hungry cat is a bit of a boost.
That was two years ago. Now that cat, she, has become a well known hobocat around my neighborhood, making my front lawn and stairs her top squatting place. I am not generally a cat person, I never owned one, but they can stink up a place. Cat funk permeates the halls leading to my front door.
I tried to get rid of her. I stopped feeding her. I shooed her away, a lot. But she keeps coming back.
I called my grandmother and told her about the cat. My grandma, being an old country gal, told me about how cats that hang around your house are bad luck. They are harbingers of death, to put it simply. Awesome, I have a brown and white little death magnet at my doorstep.
My grandma told me to put cayenne pepper around where the cat usually sleeps, that'll get rid of her. So I buy some pepper, sprinkle it around where I know the cat sleeps. And it worked.
But the cat found a new spot. The process repeated every time I sprinkled places with pepper. All it got me was watery eyes and sneezing fits.
I recall many times at night during the summer where I was awakened by the The yowling...the yowling when she was in heat, only to go outside with a bucket of water to find that my porch is littered with 3 or 4 more cats.
Every time, I come home she follows me to the door looking for handouts. Actually, it's more like she ambushes me from different angles depending on the night. She can hop down from the tree in front of my house. From behind the banister. From my neighbor's lawn. From the window sill to the right of my door. I live with two other people, so one or both of them had to be feeding her. I shoo her away, she doesn't go very far. She sits in front of the door, for a half hour at least, waiting for someone to come back. It's creepy dedication.
When I leave for work in the morning, she's the first thing I see outside. I always brush past her. But she stares at me as I walk down the street. Staring at me as I wait at the corner to cross the street. Little white and brown ball staring at me. I thought it was kinda funny for a moment.
But it still continued.
Just a blank stare.
I guess it's a step down from when she used to follow me to the bus stop.
However, lately it has gotten better, though I still look over my shoulders every time I open my gate. I have to sneak up the stairs. Make no sounds as I close the gate and search for keys, I usually have them out when I get off my bus.
The other night, I came home from work and she was sitting in the middle of the sidewalk cleaning herself. As soon as she saw me coming out from the corner of her eye, she stops what she was doing, and stares blankly at me.
I walk past it trying not to make eye contact with it, just like what people do when they try to ignore people they want to avoid. I was hoping that she would scamper off somewhere else upon the realization that I wasn't who she thought I was. I got a half a block away from my house, looked over my shoulder to find that blank stare was still aimed at me.
"Shit, shit, she knows it's me!"
Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk and looking back probably gave me away.
But she eventually turned around and continued what she was doing.
While her back was turned, I felt it was an opportunity to sneak in my house. Any noise I had to make, I had to cover up with the sounds of the passing cars down my street. I felt so stupid.
However, as I walked up the stairs, keys out, I was feeling victorious. I felt a rush, as silly and overblown the situation was, it was a rush.
I was home free...
Until I kicked over an empty tray on my stairs.
I winced.
A car passed by as it happened, so maybe the sound was covered up.
I looked over my shoulder and saw her coming from the sidewalk, through my gate, and up the stairs. That cat could probably hear the sun come up.
A situation similar to that of a horror movie as the potential victim rushes to her apartment door and fumbles for her keys, racing against time and the killer's advancing footsteps.
Except the woman was replaced by a 6-foot 200+ Lb. black guy, and the killer, a 3 lb. cat.
I made it inside my house just in time, as that damn cat waited outside in normal fashion.
Cats are a lot smarter than I thought. And more than capable to fuck with you with their mind games.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
I know, I know
It's been a long time since I added something here. It's not because I had nothing to add, I had stuff. It's not because I didn't love you anymore, because I do. It's because I'm lazy. Yep, too lazy to get the stuff I had written down to put on here. But do not lose your interest just yet because I have come with new gifts.
I got a new job, you know the particulars of that already so I'll spare you. But with that new job my income has increased considerably. So to celebrate I decided to treat myself with a little something. For the past year or so I've been meaning to get a new guitar. My old epiphone hasn't been cutting it, it fizzes, cracks, and I am too lazy to go take it to get repaired. Maybe someday I will, but not now. I was set on getting a new guitar.
As I had learned when searching for my now old guitar, left-handed guitars are limited in variety. There are some really good ones, but they are so good that they are out of my price range at the moment. Maybe someday I will break down and get that Gibson Custom Shop SG Custom Reissue (Huge maybe).
I could have gotten a Fender. Could have gotten a cheaper SG, and I was about to until I saw the guitar I eventually bought. I've read reviews about this company, and they are all good, great considering who they tend to market their gear towards. I thought most of their guitars looked pretty nice, even better considering the price. I mean, so what if these guitars are supposed to be for girls?
Yes, I ended up purchasing a Daisy Rock, go look it up if you want, but I've heard good things about their products, and I can say after a few weeks of playing that I enjoy what this guitar has to offer so far.
At first I started to pick up this one:
The Daisy Rock Stardust Venus...
I thought that it was a very pretty guitar, despite the fact it has flowers and stuff on it. The thing about Daisy Rock guitars is that most of them guys can play too, cosmetically speaking. Yeah they have flowery and pink guitars, but there are some that any guy could buy and not look fruity playing it.
Although, I ended up getting this one:
Daisy Rock Tom Boy
But the pictures do not do the guitar's blingee-ness any justice, so I took some pictures.
My uncle's first response when I unveiled it to him: "Why did you go and do that for, are you gonna play it in June [at the Pride Parade]?
As fruity and blingee it looks, this guitar is very nice for what it's worth. Nay, much more nice.
Supposedly Daisy Rock's answer to the Telecaster, this guitar has produced a lot better range of tone than my Epiphone has ever had. With the amp I use I can get that crisp and clean sound, some crunchy sounds, and some warm and fuzzy sounds. I'd figure if I get a better amp and replace the stock pickups, I'd be on to something.
Of course there was the issue of the neck being too thin for me, but it is no different from the width of my old guitar, and it's a lot lighter.
Overall, I am pretty satisfied with my purchase, despite the fact it looks girly.
Edit: Blogger pisses me off when it comes to uploading pics.
I got a new job, you know the particulars of that already so I'll spare you. But with that new job my income has increased considerably. So to celebrate I decided to treat myself with a little something. For the past year or so I've been meaning to get a new guitar. My old epiphone hasn't been cutting it, it fizzes, cracks, and I am too lazy to go take it to get repaired. Maybe someday I will, but not now. I was set on getting a new guitar.
As I had learned when searching for my now old guitar, left-handed guitars are limited in variety. There are some really good ones, but they are so good that they are out of my price range at the moment. Maybe someday I will break down and get that Gibson Custom Shop SG Custom Reissue (Huge maybe).
I could have gotten a Fender. Could have gotten a cheaper SG, and I was about to until I saw the guitar I eventually bought. I've read reviews about this company, and they are all good, great considering who they tend to market their gear towards. I thought most of their guitars looked pretty nice, even better considering the price. I mean, so what if these guitars are supposed to be for girls?
Yes, I ended up purchasing a Daisy Rock, go look it up if you want, but I've heard good things about their products, and I can say after a few weeks of playing that I enjoy what this guitar has to offer so far.
At first I started to pick up this one:
The Daisy Rock Stardust Venus...
I thought that it was a very pretty guitar, despite the fact it has flowers and stuff on it. The thing about Daisy Rock guitars is that most of them guys can play too, cosmetically speaking. Yeah they have flowery and pink guitars, but there are some that any guy could buy and not look fruity playing it.
Although, I ended up getting this one:
Daisy Rock Tom Boy
But the pictures do not do the guitar's blingee-ness any justice, so I took some pictures.
My uncle's first response when I unveiled it to him: "Why did you go and do that for, are you gonna play it in June [at the Pride Parade]?
As fruity and blingee it looks, this guitar is very nice for what it's worth. Nay, much more nice.
Supposedly Daisy Rock's answer to the Telecaster, this guitar has produced a lot better range of tone than my Epiphone has ever had. With the amp I use I can get that crisp and clean sound, some crunchy sounds, and some warm and fuzzy sounds. I'd figure if I get a better amp and replace the stock pickups, I'd be on to something.
Of course there was the issue of the neck being too thin for me, but it is no different from the width of my old guitar, and it's a lot lighter.
Overall, I am pretty satisfied with my purchase, despite the fact it looks girly.
Edit: Blogger pisses me off when it comes to uploading pics.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
This is a shoot, brother.
This blog is intended not only to convey information about myself, but also to keep my writing and typing skills somewhat sharp.
I've been out of school for over half a year now, and to go from constantly typing papers and writing notes to doing neither is a radical change. Sometimes change is good, but I feel that I am losing something that I identified with.
I like to write, I like physically writing words out. It is my main mode of communicating my thoughts purely. That is why I don't talk much, it involves too much tinkering and formatting what I think is clear and sharp in my head, and dispensing them out as words. It takes too much time, and things usually get lost in the translation from cognitive to verbal. Making sounds with your mouth is harder to do. That is why I am not as quick witted as I think I could be.
With writing and typing, you don't worry about pitch modulation and shaping your mouth and moving your tongue. It takes less of an effort for me to get my thoughts out there the way that I visualize them.
Some may say that when you write you lose a lot too, and it is harder to convey things such as sarcasm, or that you are fucking around with your reader since everything can seem straightforward and truthful.
If there is one person you can't trust, it is a writer.
But everything I write here is a shoot, brother.
For those unfamiliar with the wrestling term "shoot", mainly because you think wrestling is fake, riddled with homosexual overtones, immature, or just plain dumb, I'll get the meaning out there.
A "shoot" in wrestling is something that is unexpected, unstaged and unchoreographed---something that is not in the script. You'd be breaking "kayfabe" or your character if you shoot.
You shoot, you battle nature, and you break down that precious fourth wall.
But the funny thing about "shoots" is that they can be "worked". It may seem that I am talking to you truthfully, as myself and not behind a persona, but I am still bullshitting you and putting up an act.
Some of the stuff I write in here from here on out can be either real or modified with bullshit---a "shoot" or "worked shoot". I think the fun is in having people figure out what is real. Then again, I risk the stigma of being labeled a liar. But I'm not worried about that.
You really can't trust a writer, but this is a shoot.
Brother.
On another note, here is a video.
I've been out of school for over half a year now, and to go from constantly typing papers and writing notes to doing neither is a radical change. Sometimes change is good, but I feel that I am losing something that I identified with.
I like to write, I like physically writing words out. It is my main mode of communicating my thoughts purely. That is why I don't talk much, it involves too much tinkering and formatting what I think is clear and sharp in my head, and dispensing them out as words. It takes too much time, and things usually get lost in the translation from cognitive to verbal. Making sounds with your mouth is harder to do. That is why I am not as quick witted as I think I could be.
With writing and typing, you don't worry about pitch modulation and shaping your mouth and moving your tongue. It takes less of an effort for me to get my thoughts out there the way that I visualize them.
Some may say that when you write you lose a lot too, and it is harder to convey things such as sarcasm, or that you are fucking around with your reader since everything can seem straightforward and truthful.
If there is one person you can't trust, it is a writer.
But everything I write here is a shoot, brother.
For those unfamiliar with the wrestling term "shoot", mainly because you think wrestling is fake, riddled with homosexual overtones, immature, or just plain dumb, I'll get the meaning out there.
A "shoot" in wrestling is something that is unexpected, unstaged and unchoreographed---something that is not in the script. You'd be breaking "kayfabe" or your character if you shoot.
You shoot, you battle nature, and you break down that precious fourth wall.
But the funny thing about "shoots" is that they can be "worked". It may seem that I am talking to you truthfully, as myself and not behind a persona, but I am still bullshitting you and putting up an act.
Some of the stuff I write in here from here on out can be either real or modified with bullshit---a "shoot" or "worked shoot". I think the fun is in having people figure out what is real. Then again, I risk the stigma of being labeled a liar. But I'm not worried about that.
You really can't trust a writer, but this is a shoot.
Brother.
On another note, here is a video.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
It's the smiles that keep us going somtimes, the little giggles and bits of good cheer
Less than two weeks ago I quit my job.
This past Monday I got a new one.
I now work downtown in an office, doing copy work/document preparation for one of the top ten law firms in the country. I don't know a thing about copying, but I got hired anyways. It isn't that hard to tell the truth, but I am saying that because the people I work with are pretty nice and willing to help me out. However, I still feel that I am set up to fail. I did not get an ID card to enter the building until my third day there, while everyone else got one on their first day. If I had been running late on those first two days, who knows what would have happened to me? I don't need people thinking that I am a tardy person, especially during my first week there. Also, my supervisor, who was supposed to show me how to navigate the website where I would find out my schedule, and most importantly show me how to set up my direct deposit, has not done so yet. Luckily, one of my co-workers showed me what website to go to in order to get that done. It was rather easy after browsing for a couple minutes.
It also doesn't help that the person who was also recently hired quit after two days.
But all in all, I like it better than the United Center, because it is a completely different scene. It's less stressful, even though the consequences of screwing up some big lawyer's documents are dire. It's a complete balance between busy work and down time, as bigger jobs have me sitting down waiting for papers to copy and call for me to focus more to keep things in order and print things correctly. I am the youngest person working there, in contrast to being one of the oldest at the United Center. And I don't have to deal with customers face to face anymore either. And I don't have to shave or worry about being completely in uniform. Sure there are uniforms, I get a couple shirts for FREE, but the code is mildly enforced. I just wear my United Center uniform and it's o.k. There are more differences I'm sure, but I don't want to list them all.
I also get paid substantially more.
Finally I have a real job with benefits and insurance (after the probation period).
While I have my weekends back, the 3/3:30 - midnight hours I am not really thrilled with. Actually, it's 3/3:30 to 11pm, as there is usually nothing left for me to do at that time, but I still have to stay until midnight. I'm used to being out and at work during those hours, but I wouldn't mind a 1st shift job. It cuts into my social life (which is non-existent to begin with).
Who knows how long I'm gonna work at this job, I expect that it won't be long.
But I thought that I wouldn't work at the United Center for more than two years, but I ended up working there for nearly six years.
This past Monday I got a new one.
I now work downtown in an office, doing copy work/document preparation for one of the top ten law firms in the country. I don't know a thing about copying, but I got hired anyways. It isn't that hard to tell the truth, but I am saying that because the people I work with are pretty nice and willing to help me out. However, I still feel that I am set up to fail. I did not get an ID card to enter the building until my third day there, while everyone else got one on their first day. If I had been running late on those first two days, who knows what would have happened to me? I don't need people thinking that I am a tardy person, especially during my first week there. Also, my supervisor, who was supposed to show me how to navigate the website where I would find out my schedule, and most importantly show me how to set up my direct deposit, has not done so yet. Luckily, one of my co-workers showed me what website to go to in order to get that done. It was rather easy after browsing for a couple minutes.
It also doesn't help that the person who was also recently hired quit after two days.
But all in all, I like it better than the United Center, because it is a completely different scene. It's less stressful, even though the consequences of screwing up some big lawyer's documents are dire. It's a complete balance between busy work and down time, as bigger jobs have me sitting down waiting for papers to copy and call for me to focus more to keep things in order and print things correctly. I am the youngest person working there, in contrast to being one of the oldest at the United Center. And I don't have to deal with customers face to face anymore either. And I don't have to shave or worry about being completely in uniform. Sure there are uniforms, I get a couple shirts for FREE, but the code is mildly enforced. I just wear my United Center uniform and it's o.k. There are more differences I'm sure, but I don't want to list them all.
I also get paid substantially more.
Finally I have a real job with benefits and insurance (after the probation period).
While I have my weekends back, the 3/3:30 - midnight hours I am not really thrilled with. Actually, it's 3/3:30 to 11pm, as there is usually nothing left for me to do at that time, but I still have to stay until midnight. I'm used to being out and at work during those hours, but I wouldn't mind a 1st shift job. It cuts into my social life (which is non-existent to begin with).
Who knows how long I'm gonna work at this job, I expect that it won't be long.
But I thought that I wouldn't work at the United Center for more than two years, but I ended up working there for nearly six years.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
This is the biggest guy from Taiwan I've ever seen. I hope he doesn't kick the crap out of me.
As of now, I am without a job.
I quit.
Almost six years working at the United Center, at the same position, for less than 8.50 an hour, and a year of sitting in a chair for five hours in the bowels of the building only to point people in the direction of the restroom took its toll. And I chose to be there. The United Center and Sox Park has allowed me to realize that there are really nice people out there. It also showed that people can be cunts. Yeah, I know...big deal, tell you something you don't know, that's life, blah, blah, blah.
But during the last two years or so, I felt more and more easily annoyed with the people I see there in general. I was annoyed with the whole sports arena atmosphere. At Sox, I basically worked as a doorman, sealed off in the corner of the building, only coming in contact with a few people, most of them I have come to known over the past couple of years, and they were really nice folk...especially at the end of the season when they gave me tips, which sometimes totaled twice I made in a month. I used to look forward to working at Sox every summer...that is until they started winning. Long story short: more assholes, patience tested, stress rising, almost punched out an undercover cop. I was miserable there, and knew that last year was the last year I would work at Sox.
So when my supervisor at the United Center asked me to go and watch the new restrooms built for the classy restaurant in virtually the basement of the building, I jumped at the chance. I got to sit down, read books (something I hadn't done in a while recreationally), and interact with few people. Not only that, they put in my own flat screen television. I made a lot of acquaintances with the people who work in the area. Things were easy. And I got bored easily. I felt that I should be spending my time better doing something else. But I did not want to work in the crowds again. So I stayed at my spot for about a year.
By the end of last year, with both teams being sorta successful, the same thing happened to me that happened over at Sox, the difference being the autograph whores and their knowledge that the players and coaches of the teams left the building in full view and in shouting distance from the restrooms. I grew annoyed with any person who came looking for the restrooms, and took satisfaction out of sitting and watching people with confused looks struggling to figure out which way to go.
I thought to myself, "I went to college, I should be doing something better than this!"
I then accepted this fact: I'm letting this job turn me into a miserable asshole, and I should quit before I come close to punching anyone else.
Last Saturday, I asked for my resignation. That is, after I worked up the urge to not put it off by telling everyone I knew there I was quitting.
After doing that, the last three days I worked were the best in a long time, because I knew the end was coming.
My last night working was this past Wednesday. I handed my ID and the lanyard that took me three months of asking to get, and went to the uniform room to hang up my work vest, fighting off the urge to loot the place and get a couple of shirts (worth 25 dollars each).
I went to the Dominick's near by, bought a pint of chocolate milk and some cookies, ate them as I walked towards Downtown with no nostalgic sentiments at all.
I also found an 20gb iPod that some guy named Mike used to own. With lots of indie pop for me to delete.
I'll be able to grow a beard at my new job now.
I quit.
Almost six years working at the United Center, at the same position, for less than 8.50 an hour, and a year of sitting in a chair for five hours in the bowels of the building only to point people in the direction of the restroom took its toll. And I chose to be there. The United Center and Sox Park has allowed me to realize that there are really nice people out there. It also showed that people can be cunts. Yeah, I know...big deal, tell you something you don't know, that's life, blah, blah, blah.
But during the last two years or so, I felt more and more easily annoyed with the people I see there in general. I was annoyed with the whole sports arena atmosphere. At Sox, I basically worked as a doorman, sealed off in the corner of the building, only coming in contact with a few people, most of them I have come to known over the past couple of years, and they were really nice folk...especially at the end of the season when they gave me tips, which sometimes totaled twice I made in a month. I used to look forward to working at Sox every summer...that is until they started winning. Long story short: more assholes, patience tested, stress rising, almost punched out an undercover cop. I was miserable there, and knew that last year was the last year I would work at Sox.
So when my supervisor at the United Center asked me to go and watch the new restrooms built for the classy restaurant in virtually the basement of the building, I jumped at the chance. I got to sit down, read books (something I hadn't done in a while recreationally), and interact with few people. Not only that, they put in my own flat screen television. I made a lot of acquaintances with the people who work in the area. Things were easy. And I got bored easily. I felt that I should be spending my time better doing something else. But I did not want to work in the crowds again. So I stayed at my spot for about a year.
By the end of last year, with both teams being sorta successful, the same thing happened to me that happened over at Sox, the difference being the autograph whores and their knowledge that the players and coaches of the teams left the building in full view and in shouting distance from the restrooms. I grew annoyed with any person who came looking for the restrooms, and took satisfaction out of sitting and watching people with confused looks struggling to figure out which way to go.
I thought to myself, "I went to college, I should be doing something better than this!"
I then accepted this fact: I'm letting this job turn me into a miserable asshole, and I should quit before I come close to punching anyone else.
Last Saturday, I asked for my resignation. That is, after I worked up the urge to not put it off by telling everyone I knew there I was quitting.
After doing that, the last three days I worked were the best in a long time, because I knew the end was coming.
My last night working was this past Wednesday. I handed my ID and the lanyard that took me three months of asking to get, and went to the uniform room to hang up my work vest, fighting off the urge to loot the place and get a couple of shirts (worth 25 dollars each).
I went to the Dominick's near by, bought a pint of chocolate milk and some cookies, ate them as I walked towards Downtown with no nostalgic sentiments at all.
I also found an 20gb iPod that some guy named Mike used to own. With lots of indie pop for me to delete.
I'll be able to grow a beard at my new job now.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
New Beginnings (or some other witty less cliche title)
So here I am, back again typing away in another one of these blogs. I get bored easily when talking about myself, which is a reason why I ended adding posts in my livejournal, and just went on posting youtube links.
So I come back, hopefully with words and not links...well, maybe some links.
So, I will come and put down to paper the changes that has happened to me over the last couple months, including my self-imposed isolation of sorts and quest to grow an epic neckbeard.
Yeah, that'll put asses in the seats.
So I come back, hopefully with words and not links...well, maybe some links.
So, I will come and put down to paper the changes that has happened to me over the last couple months, including my self-imposed isolation of sorts and quest to grow an epic neckbeard.
Yeah, that'll put asses in the seats.
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