I'm having a terrible time figuring out how to write an opening for this one. Part of me wants to be poetic and poignant, another part would like to write something hilarious and wacky, this is all a reflection of my real-life disposition. Pierre, our family dog, was put down on Saturday. So I am dedicating this entry to his memory.
My Mother reminded me a few weeks ago of how Pierre first became a part of our family. Somehow, my brother and I had managed to get him to our house from a family friends house who lived in the country. We had apparently secreted him away in our room, hoping to hide him from Mom. How we ever thought that we would get away with hiding a puppy from her is still a mystery to me. Upon her discovery of the dog, that at the time we were calling "Gak", she told us that we could not keep him, but after much begging, she eventually, albeit begrudgingly, gave in.
I am not sure who came up with the name Pierre, but I always thought that it fit him perfectly. Perhaps we named him that because he was small and had a tail that curled to his lower back completing an almost perfect circle. Which in my mind is a distinctly French dog trait. The best we could figure is that he was some kind of terrier, or a mix of that sort. I guess if I really had to describe him, I would say he looked a lot like Benjy, only 27 times cuter. This is pretty close.
In the beginning he ran away alot, and would more than often be picked up by the pound before we could find him. Where my Mom would have to post bail for him, which increased every time he was captured by them. This really pissed my Mother off, who would after springing him, threaten to leave him there next time. It was an empty threat, we knew it, and even though she wouldn't have admitted it, in those early days Mom loved that dog just as much as she loved my brother, sister and I.
"He's just like a person!" Everybody says this about their dog, but no one ever says it about other peoples dogs. We heard this exclamation quite often, because up until about a year ago he would greet anyone who set foot through our front door with a toothy smile and a fit of sneezing, tail wagging, and a myriad of bodily gyrations. He was smart in a very stupid dog kind of way. If you left anything edible on a table that was less than 3 feet high and then left the room only to return and find it missing, he would be sitting there smugly licking his chops, staring at you with a look that said; "Dude, you didn't call 'dibs'."
After my brother, sister and I moved out of the house you could tell who Pierre really loved. It was Mom. This became evident after she sold the restaurant and decided to take him with her on an extended vacation to California and Spain. Unfortunately she couldn't take him to Spain, where my sister was living at the time, so he had to stay with my Grandma in Laguna. My Mother was gone for a month, and when she returned that dog would not leave her side for a second. From then on, he wouldn't let that woman be alone unless she was going to work, but when she returned he was always beside her. At dinner, on the couch watching 60 Minutes, or just reading a good book, he would hang within her proximity just so that he could be near the person he loved so dearly. His utter devotion to her was concreted by the fact that when he was diagnosed with chronic renal failure a year ago and he could barely move. She rushed him to the vet and they helped him the best they could but told my Mom that he only had a little more to live. After that visit he wouldn't eat his dog food, so my Mom decided to cook for him. Mashed potatoes and ground beef, that is all he would eat!
The most endearing quality of this dog was his undying devotion to Mom. I can remember nights sitting on the couch with her and Pierre and looking down at that dog only to see him gazing up at her. To him, she wasn't just the Alpha-dog, she was his Mother, his savior, and his best friend. To be honest I was a little bit jealous, Pierre and I had many a good time. We spent many late nights hanging out, eating leftovers, and watching the Cartoon Network. Whenever I would come back home for a weekend, he would join me in the basement and sit beside me where we would enjoy the quiet solitude of Mom's house together.
He was quite possibly the most excellent domesticated animal to have ever existed. I really hate it when people personify their pets, but it is hard not to do it with him. He lived 15 years, which I am told is a very long time for a dog to live. That's a little over half of my life time. He lived a charmed life, and considering his penchant for running around in traffic, a lucky one too. We all miss him very much, I'm sure the next time I return home I'll really understand what it's like. So I dedicate this blarg in loving memory, of a brother, I sincerely hope that there is a heaven, because if there is, he's there, running around with a turkey carcass in his mouth, playing in traffic that will never hit him.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Sunday, June 10, 2007
The Night of 1000 Michael Jackson Dances
I can call some of my birthday celebrations, "birthday celebrations", others I can call "epic", but only one (so far) can I and will call, legendary. I recently hit the quarter of a century mark, and while I've considered posting a very self-indulgent blarg involving stories from my formative years, I decided that writing a blog, in and of itself, is enough. Consider this one an ego hand-job, instead of the usual BJ.
Mr. Proper/Voltron's gift to me was admission to the CSS show at Neumos. Unfortunately, after two buses and a very underwhelming improv bus performance (my first) put on by three hackneyed teenagers, we arrived only to find out that the show was sold out. Upon which Mr. Proper(MP) and I decided that it was going to be "one of those nights." We'd be got-damned if it didn't too, and got-damned we weren't!
After a delicious G&T at Moe (the bar connected to Neumos), MP led the way to another bar down the block that he was familiar with. After showing our ID's to the bouncer we entered, and found our ears being assaulted by Janet Jackson. Red flag from the get go, but we had already walked through the doors and something curious was going on. Placed along the bar were 40 or so designer Fedora hats. People were trying them on so we decided to do the same. After finding one I liked I told MP that I might buy it if it was reasonably priced, but I would definitely need another drink before I made that kind of commitment, so we ordered a couple of beers and MP asked the bartender what the deal was with the hats. "They're fuckin' free dude, it's a promotion." He turns to me and says. Without hesitation I run over and grab the one I was admiring and we set to finding one for him. At this point I figured that after the free hats anything else would be a bonus and we probably could have called it a night. That is, if we were major pussies.
With both hats and buzzez on we triumphantly strode up the street to the Satellite, to look in a Stranger and find out if there were anymore shows we could go to. There really wasn't anything going on and we both knew where we really wanted to be at that moment. Neumos, watching this waifish minx rock out. After yet another beer we made our way back to Neumos to see if we couldn't find a way in. Obviously it was still sold out and Busdriver was already playing who we could actually see from the street. He's kind of a nerd-core rapper, he was wearing one of those cone shaped birthday hats, which I thought was very apropos.
MP seemed shut down, we were just standing outside the main entrance between CSS's tour bus and some groupies. No words were exchanged for about 5 minutes, but I was cool with that because I was being entertained by these two sorority girls attempting to get on the tour bus, the look of desperation on their faces was priceless. But after they left I began to worried MP, was standing there seemingly staring in to blank space, little did I know the gears were turning in his and a plan was being hatched. "Let's go dude, I've got an idea." And like that we were off down the street at a good clip.
It wasn't until we arrived at the grocery store that MP would unfold his plan to me, and it was either the dumbest plan ever concocted or the most genius. I settled on the latter, due to the fact that the risk to reward was something like 0 to 100, and if anything I would have something to write about later, MP agreed.
The plan was remarkably, we were going to make our own VIP bracelets. All we needed was a green band, which we got off of a kite, a sharpie , a whiteout pen and some tape. Total cost: 11 and some change. We set to work right there in the QFC on some tables next to the coffee stand in front of some windows facing the sidewalk. People could easily see us from the street as they walked by and we must of looked totally retarded because as we were drawing on the green ribbon we were smiling and laughing like a couple of drunk idiots. Our faux bracelets attached to the appropriate wrist, we made our way back to the club, all the while discussing our plan of attack. We decided to try the side entrances first, since security seemed to be the most lax there. But we were immediately turned away saying that we had to go through the main entrance. Fuck.
Things happened very quickly from this point on. MP led the charge, his technique was flawless. Stealthily covering up his wrist band just enough so that it looked like the real thing, so that they could give him a stamp. He was in, right there on the fucking stairs leading up to the VIP section. His insane plan had worked, I followed his lead, mimicking almost every one of his movements, almost. Something gave me away, we're not sure what it was, but we were pulled to the side as security was called. Checking MP's wrist, a security guard discovered that they were fakes and said to Mr. Proper as tape broke "That's not going to work." You could tell the security guy was mildly entertained by our little ruse, and for a second it looked like he was going to let us in. Until he put a giant red X on our wrists, and told us to leave. What was surprising is how little we were hassled, usually when assholes try and pull a fast one like that, they get a lot of shit, but nothing happened. They handed me my ID no questions asked, 86'd us, and let us leave under our own power.
We ended the night at Linda's replaying the whole thing over in our heads. What if we had...etc. It didn't dawn on me until the next morning how much fun I'd had. We had done something completely stupid, something I probably would have done as a teenager. Here we were two full grown adults attempting to trick an establishment in to letting us in with VIP bracelets that we had fashioned from a kite streamer. For me it was all about proving to myself that I still had it, that wild spontaneity of youth. You sometimes forget that you are still young in the midst of the 9 to 5, student loan payment, bill world that you live in everyday. It felt really good to do something crazy, and it truly ended up being one of the best birthday's I've had in years.
A special thanks goes to Voltron as a whole, for making this happen. Now go and check out Mr. Proper's account of this tale.
Mr. Proper/Voltron's gift to me was admission to the CSS show at Neumos. Unfortunately, after two buses and a very underwhelming improv bus performance (my first) put on by three hackneyed teenagers, we arrived only to find out that the show was sold out. Upon which Mr. Proper(MP) and I decided that it was going to be "one of those nights." We'd be got-damned if it didn't too, and got-damned we weren't!
After a delicious G&T at Moe (the bar connected to Neumos), MP led the way to another bar down the block that he was familiar with. After showing our ID's to the bouncer we entered, and found our ears being assaulted by Janet Jackson. Red flag from the get go, but we had already walked through the doors and something curious was going on. Placed along the bar were 40 or so designer Fedora hats. People were trying them on so we decided to do the same. After finding one I liked I told MP that I might buy it if it was reasonably priced, but I would definitely need another drink before I made that kind of commitment, so we ordered a couple of beers and MP asked the bartender what the deal was with the hats. "They're fuckin' free dude, it's a promotion." He turns to me and says. Without hesitation I run over and grab the one I was admiring and we set to finding one for him. At this point I figured that after the free hats anything else would be a bonus and we probably could have called it a night. That is, if we were major pussies.
With both hats and buzzez on we triumphantly strode up the street to the Satellite, to look in a Stranger and find out if there were anymore shows we could go to. There really wasn't anything going on and we both knew where we really wanted to be at that moment. Neumos, watching this waifish minx rock out. After yet another beer we made our way back to Neumos to see if we couldn't find a way in. Obviously it was still sold out and Busdriver was already playing who we could actually see from the street. He's kind of a nerd-core rapper, he was wearing one of those cone shaped birthday hats, which I thought was very apropos.
MP seemed shut down, we were just standing outside the main entrance between CSS's tour bus and some groupies. No words were exchanged for about 5 minutes, but I was cool with that because I was being entertained by these two sorority girls attempting to get on the tour bus, the look of desperation on their faces was priceless. But after they left I began to worried MP, was standing there seemingly staring in to blank space, little did I know the gears were turning in his and a plan was being hatched. "Let's go dude, I've got an idea." And like that we were off down the street at a good clip.
It wasn't until we arrived at the grocery store that MP would unfold his plan to me, and it was either the dumbest plan ever concocted or the most genius. I settled on the latter, due to the fact that the risk to reward was something like 0 to 100, and if anything I would have something to write about later, MP agreed.
The plan was remarkably, we were going to make our own VIP bracelets. All we needed was a green band, which we got off of a kite, a sharpie , a whiteout pen and some tape. Total cost: 11 and some change. We set to work right there in the QFC on some tables next to the coffee stand in front of some windows facing the sidewalk. People could easily see us from the street as they walked by and we must of looked totally retarded because as we were drawing on the green ribbon we were smiling and laughing like a couple of drunk idiots. Our faux bracelets attached to the appropriate wrist, we made our way back to the club, all the while discussing our plan of attack. We decided to try the side entrances first, since security seemed to be the most lax there. But we were immediately turned away saying that we had to go through the main entrance. Fuck.
Things happened very quickly from this point on. MP led the charge, his technique was flawless. Stealthily covering up his wrist band just enough so that it looked like the real thing, so that they could give him a stamp. He was in, right there on the fucking stairs leading up to the VIP section. His insane plan had worked, I followed his lead, mimicking almost every one of his movements, almost. Something gave me away, we're not sure what it was, but we were pulled to the side as security was called. Checking MP's wrist, a security guard discovered that they were fakes and said to Mr. Proper as tape broke "That's not going to work." You could tell the security guy was mildly entertained by our little ruse, and for a second it looked like he was going to let us in. Until he put a giant red X on our wrists, and told us to leave. What was surprising is how little we were hassled, usually when assholes try and pull a fast one like that, they get a lot of shit, but nothing happened. They handed me my ID no questions asked, 86'd us, and let us leave under our own power.
We ended the night at Linda's replaying the whole thing over in our heads. What if we had...etc. It didn't dawn on me until the next morning how much fun I'd had. We had done something completely stupid, something I probably would have done as a teenager. Here we were two full grown adults attempting to trick an establishment in to letting us in with VIP bracelets that we had fashioned from a kite streamer. For me it was all about proving to myself that I still had it, that wild spontaneity of youth. You sometimes forget that you are still young in the midst of the 9 to 5, student loan payment, bill world that you live in everyday. It felt really good to do something crazy, and it truly ended up being one of the best birthday's I've had in years.
A special thanks goes to Voltron as a whole, for making this happen. Now go and check out Mr. Proper's account of this tale.
Monday, May 21, 2007
zoom control
My job can be one of two things on any given day. It can be pretty fun or it can be really funny, and not in the funny "ha-ha" sense, but in the "What the fuck am I doing here?" sense. That's the one where you are secretly laughing to yourself, or in my case out loud, while shaking your head fighting back the tears wondering where it all went wrong. What causes me to feel this way? Well, I deal with a lot of underage children, strike that, I deal with a lot of over protective adults who have to deal with children. Let me explain.
Besides covering high school sporting events, my company also deals with an ailing local school district who have hired a third party company to come in and help teach the teacher to teach more gooder. How does that saying go? "Those who can't do, teach." Then what is the one for the teachers who teach teachers? So, that third party company then hires my company to send a videographer to these teaching sessions so that they can be documented, put on a DVD, and then distributed to other teachers to watch later. These things typically go like this; the consultant (usually a former teacher) meets with four or five 'real' teachers, they plan a lesson and then they implement that lesson in one of the teacher's classrooms that same day. This usually happens within a 3 hour span and all in front of the camera. The problem begins the minute I set foot in to the school. Why? I am an unmarried twenty-something with a beard.
Run for the fucking hills.
I used to dress up for these things, nice shirt, slacks, and a sharp-ass tie. I would shave the morning of, using an actual razor, and I would arrive a half-hour early. I'd go directly to the office to check in and find out what classroom the consulting was going down in, and every time without fail, I would get the third degree. So I stopped dressing up and have since started going as my normally moderately handsome disheveled self, because what difference would it make? A huge one. I often can't use the restroom without being escorted there first, my id is checked when I enter a school, and parents will stare me down eying my tripod as though it was some kind of three stage pipe bomb. It's become kind of routine, which is sad for me as an American.
What really gets me is who the crap do these people think I am? Why am I treated like a level three sex offender when I get within 100 yards of a fucking elementary school? What makes them think I want anything to do with their ugly children? Do they really think I am their under my own volition? Who in their right mind would actually want be near a smelly kid, who has yet to discover that simple human hygiene is an integral part of a functioning society? In other words, I hate kids more than I hate dolphins, and man do I hate dolphins. Those things are assholes.
I will relay one more short tale for you my dear internets. About five months ago I was at a high school to film a basketball game. I was the director so I headed in first to meet with the AD and figure out where we could set up. I find the AD quickly and introduce myself, here is the conversation that ensued.
EA: Howdy, I'm Elliot. We're here to shoot the game.
AD: Whoa! We don't say that around here!
EA: (Half-smile/WTF? look) Ahhhhh....excuse me?
AD: (Serious whisper)We don't say that word around here.
It turns out that I had made a huge mistake by using some common terminology, even more, I had used a regularly spoken word which because of an event that had transpired two weeks prior, was no longer allowed to be used on campus. That's right, two weeks earlier, there had been a shooting outside of the school involving students, where two students were injured but not killed. So, The Ministry of Truth, or the Ministry of Funny Walks, I forget which, had decided to ban a word because if someone were to use it, a firefight might break out.
I realize that these people are just trying to do their jobs, and if that somehow puts parents minds at ease then more power to them. I just wish that I didn't have to do a constant dance so that these people could feel a little (fake) safer. The thing is I am about the last thing they need to be watching out for these days, perhaps they should look a little closer to home. Though, if any of my teachers had looked like that...
Besides covering high school sporting events, my company also deals with an ailing local school district who have hired a third party company to come in and help teach the teacher to teach more gooder. How does that saying go? "Those who can't do, teach." Then what is the one for the teachers who teach teachers? So, that third party company then hires my company to send a videographer to these teaching sessions so that they can be documented, put on a DVD, and then distributed to other teachers to watch later. These things typically go like this; the consultant (usually a former teacher) meets with four or five 'real' teachers, they plan a lesson and then they implement that lesson in one of the teacher's classrooms that same day. This usually happens within a 3 hour span and all in front of the camera. The problem begins the minute I set foot in to the school. Why? I am an unmarried twenty-something with a beard.
Run for the fucking hills.
I used to dress up for these things, nice shirt, slacks, and a sharp-ass tie. I would shave the morning of, using an actual razor, and I would arrive a half-hour early. I'd go directly to the office to check in and find out what classroom the consulting was going down in, and every time without fail, I would get the third degree. So I stopped dressing up and have since started going as my normally moderately handsome disheveled self, because what difference would it make? A huge one. I often can't use the restroom without being escorted there first, my id is checked when I enter a school, and parents will stare me down eying my tripod as though it was some kind of three stage pipe bomb. It's become kind of routine, which is sad for me as an American.
What really gets me is who the crap do these people think I am? Why am I treated like a level three sex offender when I get within 100 yards of a fucking elementary school? What makes them think I want anything to do with their ugly children? Do they really think I am their under my own volition? Who in their right mind would actually want be near a smelly kid, who has yet to discover that simple human hygiene is an integral part of a functioning society? In other words, I hate kids more than I hate dolphins, and man do I hate dolphins. Those things are assholes.
I will relay one more short tale for you my dear internets. About five months ago I was at a high school to film a basketball game. I was the director so I headed in first to meet with the AD and figure out where we could set up. I find the AD quickly and introduce myself, here is the conversation that ensued.
EA: Howdy, I'm Elliot. We're here to shoot the game.
AD: Whoa! We don't say that around here!
EA: (Half-smile/WTF? look) Ahhhhh....excuse me?
AD: (Serious whisper)We don't say that word around here.
It turns out that I had made a huge mistake by using some common terminology, even more, I had used a regularly spoken word which because of an event that had transpired two weeks prior, was no longer allowed to be used on campus. That's right, two weeks earlier, there had been a shooting outside of the school involving students, where two students were injured but not killed. So, The Ministry of Truth, or the Ministry of Funny Walks, I forget which, had decided to ban a word because if someone were to use it, a firefight might break out.
I realize that these people are just trying to do their jobs, and if that somehow puts parents minds at ease then more power to them. I just wish that I didn't have to do a constant dance so that these people could feel a little (fake) safer. The thing is I am about the last thing they need to be watching out for these days, perhaps they should look a little closer to home. Though, if any of my teachers had looked like that...
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
facconble
Every year around this time I get little excited about the weather, because it mostly means the end of the craptacular weather that seems to be indicative to this city. But I also like it because you get to see the latest trends that women will be wearing all summer long. Some trends are better than others of course. Tennis skirts were all the rage two summers ago, which were pretty alright, not that I would ever a date a girl who would wear one. Then there was that time about five years ago, I like to refer to it as the "Capri-pocalypse", in which every female on the planet seemed to be rocking capri pants, which are universally hated by men. Okay, so I don't know that for a fact, since I haven't met every man in the universe, but every dood I know hate them with a burning passion. Ladies take note, not of the fact that I am an asshole, but of the fact that capri pants suck ace. Which brings me to the theme of tonights blahg; this summers latest and terrible female fashion trend...the sun dress with leggings.
Oh man, fuck this trend, seriously. It seems that lately everything from the 80's is making a comeback in every form. From music to food. But some things are better left behind and leggings underneath nicely fitting dresses are one of those things, those and "Tab" cola. Today I saw 3 really attractive women at three seperate locations all wearing this ensemble. I am a huge fan of the summerdress, I will even go as far as to say that if I had a girlfriend who only wore a summer dress for the rest of her life I would not complain. Okay, summer dresses. So why do they have to go and ruin a completely sexy outfit by tardin' it out with some shitty leggings? Is it because Avril Lavigne wore something similar in her latest video with an ill concieved title? Something like "Dirtbykn' dyud" or "I'm Canadian, therfore I am punk!". I liked the first one more too.
Listen, ladies if you are going to do something like this, try it on at home first and really think about it. I mean really think. That sundress looks really good on you, and summer means that you no longer have to cover up your legs because, gasp!, the sun is shining. Also, what the f is the point in wearing a dress that shows some leg if you are going to wear dark stockings underneath?
As a closer, I fell in love with a girl on the bus today, which happens on a daily basis but most of the time they get off before I can decide whether or not I am going to marry them, which leaves everything very open ended. Today was different however, I actually got to sit next to my future wife and was able to divorce her two stops before she got off which was great cause I only had to drop a small amount of mental skrill, and not the physical kind.
I got on the bus this afternoon and was lucky to find myself a seat next to a very pretty girl. I had been pissed because I didn't bring my iPod with me so I was pretty sure I was going to have to sit next to some asshole yammering on his cellphone. Instead, I found myslef sitting next to a brunette twenty-something. She looked over at me a few times (maybe), while I focused on the tattoo behind the ear of the chick in front of me thinking "Wow, what a stupid place for a tattoo." I soon turned my attention to the music the pretty girl was listening to. At first I imagined that she was listening to something I really liked, some "cutter music", as my friend Dantron says. I day dreamed about lazy Sunday mornings with her in my bed, and going to Art Walk every first Thursday sipping on wine and laughing at the tourists. Insert record skip here. Guess what she was really listening to?
Fergalicious. As she got off the bus, I could see every flaw in her and realized the bullet I had dodged. Also she was wearing those really huge sunglasses that were super hip in Europe like 5 years ago, another trend that I can't stand.
Christ, I'm an asshole. To be honest I'd take any girl who bothered to give me a high-five at this point, leggings or not.
Oh man, fuck this trend, seriously. It seems that lately everything from the 80's is making a comeback in every form. From music to food. But some things are better left behind and leggings underneath nicely fitting dresses are one of those things, those and "Tab" cola. Today I saw 3 really attractive women at three seperate locations all wearing this ensemble. I am a huge fan of the summerdress, I will even go as far as to say that if I had a girlfriend who only wore a summer dress for the rest of her life I would not complain. Okay, summer dresses. So why do they have to go and ruin a completely sexy outfit by tardin' it out with some shitty leggings? Is it because Avril Lavigne wore something similar in her latest video with an ill concieved title? Something like "Dirtbykn' dyud" or "I'm Canadian, therfore I am punk!". I liked the first one more too.
Listen, ladies if you are going to do something like this, try it on at home first and really think about it. I mean really think. That sundress looks really good on you, and summer means that you no longer have to cover up your legs because, gasp!, the sun is shining. Also, what the f is the point in wearing a dress that shows some leg if you are going to wear dark stockings underneath?
As a closer, I fell in love with a girl on the bus today, which happens on a daily basis but most of the time they get off before I can decide whether or not I am going to marry them, which leaves everything very open ended. Today was different however, I actually got to sit next to my future wife and was able to divorce her two stops before she got off which was great cause I only had to drop a small amount of mental skrill, and not the physical kind.
I got on the bus this afternoon and was lucky to find myself a seat next to a very pretty girl. I had been pissed because I didn't bring my iPod with me so I was pretty sure I was going to have to sit next to some asshole yammering on his cellphone. Instead, I found myslef sitting next to a brunette twenty-something. She looked over at me a few times (maybe), while I focused on the tattoo behind the ear of the chick in front of me thinking "Wow, what a stupid place for a tattoo." I soon turned my attention to the music the pretty girl was listening to. At first I imagined that she was listening to something I really liked, some "cutter music", as my friend Dantron says. I day dreamed about lazy Sunday mornings with her in my bed, and going to Art Walk every first Thursday sipping on wine and laughing at the tourists. Insert record skip here. Guess what she was really listening to?
Fergalicious. As she got off the bus, I could see every flaw in her and realized the bullet I had dodged. Also she was wearing those really huge sunglasses that were super hip in Europe like 5 years ago, another trend that I can't stand.
Christ, I'm an asshole. To be honest I'd take any girl who bothered to give me a high-five at this point, leggings or not.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
the brah-thel
August 2002 – April 2007 was the timeline of my tenure at my last house. Right on the cusp of 5 years, and I believe that my stay probably could have ended two years ago, mainly because that is when all the fun and all of the good memories ceased. I could blame this on many different things from roommates, to the house being sold to a different management company. In truth, I think what happened was that I changed and became something different. It was that, or it was the fact that all of my roommates girlfriends secretly wanted to jump my bones, which caused a rather awkward rift between all of us. Or maybe it was my affinity for wild coke parties and down tempo house. Whatever the reason I should have left a long time ago, but I am glad I was there long enough to experience some of the things I am about to tell you, my dear interblags about.
The Slutty Lingerie Party and the Canon XL-1
It was probably around December of 2003, I had survived an entire year at the house and still generally liked all my roommates. This house was, and as far I know still is dominated by ex-Frat doods. This was never a big deal until that night in the onset of winter. I don’t know how many of you know this, but the collegiate Greek society often get together and partake in acts of hedonism. From my understanding they would sometimes have mixers in which males would mix with the females, however before this union could ever happen, the respective parties would first have to imbibe their pre-funk libations at separate locations. Not only were these mixers a big deal but they often carried themes, and not the oh-so-classic-and-often-over-the-top toga theme that you’ve seen in nearly every flick involving this sort of content, but such inspired ideas as; Pimps & Ho’s or the “Italian Wedding”, which if I could even begin to explain to myself would be it’s own post entirely. Structure.
For some reason that I can’t remember involving a theme party that escapes me, fifty scantily clad women between the ages of 18 and 22 showed up at the “bin” to pre-funk before heading over to the actual party itself. From my understanding and from what people in the know have told me, drinking is not allowed in Sororities, so they have to get sufficiently drunk outside of their finely appointed “mansions”, so that they can feel completely normal dressing up like some tweenager’s wet dream, or for that matter, mine. Anyway, they start showing up in handfuls, mostly dressed like cheap burlesque show girls. Okay, so not all of them had cheap lingerie on but what dood could tell the difference? As I was saying, they started coming in to my house hand-over-fist style, and at first, I was making some sort of an attempt to introduce myself to them, but unfortunately they were exposing too much of the wanton female flesh that I so craved at the time, and I was therefore reduced to my rather meek, irreproachable self who will often end conversations abruptly by saying something very stupid. By 9:30pm the house was covered wall to wall with cleavage, and by that point I had holed myself up in my room due to the fact that I couldn't control my unwanted amorous glances which rarely ended anywhere above their necklines.
Keep in mind this was 50 really, really, inebriated sorority girls so I don't have to tell you how loud it was, except I will using an highly entertaining and onriginal analogy. It was louder in there than some Apalachians incest hootenanny, or whatever. They were banging on the walls and doing some really annoying chant thing, and then my roomate the Big Headed Ecuadorian (BHE) in his enternal wisdom broke out his brand new mini-dv camera, which naturally alarmed the natives. The ladies flew in to a fit which was sort of funny because you know that later that night at the fraternity house they would be going to, they were probably going to end up doing all sorts of depraved acts cameras or no.
BHE put his camera away and the night went on. As the girls started to leave for the real party, I would occasionally leave my room to go out on the deck with my friend Scribbles who had stopped by very fortuitously. I had some of the dumbest conversations that I have ever had in my life that night, but truth be told, I wasn't out there for the repartee.
I was out there for a ciggarette. Ha! You thought I was going to go with a misogyny joke there didn't you? That's just lazy writing. Tune in very soon for yet another story from my old house, also thank Enron for the title of this inter-blog by going and checking her's out.
The Slutty Lingerie Party and the Canon XL-1
It was probably around December of 2003, I had survived an entire year at the house and still generally liked all my roommates. This house was, and as far I know still is dominated by ex-Frat doods. This was never a big deal until that night in the onset of winter. I don’t know how many of you know this, but the collegiate Greek society often get together and partake in acts of hedonism. From my understanding they would sometimes have mixers in which males would mix with the females, however before this union could ever happen, the respective parties would first have to imbibe their pre-funk libations at separate locations. Not only were these mixers a big deal but they often carried themes, and not the oh-so-classic-and-often-over-the-top toga theme that you’ve seen in nearly every flick involving this sort of content, but such inspired ideas as; Pimps & Ho’s or the “Italian Wedding”, which if I could even begin to explain to myself would be it’s own post entirely. Structure.
For some reason that I can’t remember involving a theme party that escapes me, fifty scantily clad women between the ages of 18 and 22 showed up at the “bin” to pre-funk before heading over to the actual party itself. From my understanding and from what people in the know have told me, drinking is not allowed in Sororities, so they have to get sufficiently drunk outside of their finely appointed “mansions”, so that they can feel completely normal dressing up like some tweenager’s wet dream, or for that matter, mine. Anyway, they start showing up in handfuls, mostly dressed like cheap burlesque show girls. Okay, so not all of them had cheap lingerie on but what dood could tell the difference? As I was saying, they started coming in to my house hand-over-fist style, and at first, I was making some sort of an attempt to introduce myself to them, but unfortunately they were exposing too much of the wanton female flesh that I so craved at the time, and I was therefore reduced to my rather meek, irreproachable self who will often end conversations abruptly by saying something very stupid. By 9:30pm the house was covered wall to wall with cleavage, and by that point I had holed myself up in my room due to the fact that I couldn't control my unwanted amorous glances which rarely ended anywhere above their necklines.
Keep in mind this was 50 really, really, inebriated sorority girls so I don't have to tell you how loud it was, except I will using an highly entertaining and onriginal analogy. It was louder in there than some Apalachians incest hootenanny, or whatever. They were banging on the walls and doing some really annoying chant thing, and then my roomate the Big Headed Ecuadorian (BHE) in his enternal wisdom broke out his brand new mini-dv camera, which naturally alarmed the natives. The ladies flew in to a fit which was sort of funny because you know that later that night at the fraternity house they would be going to, they were probably going to end up doing all sorts of depraved acts cameras or no.
BHE put his camera away and the night went on. As the girls started to leave for the real party, I would occasionally leave my room to go out on the deck with my friend Scribbles who had stopped by very fortuitously. I had some of the dumbest conversations that I have ever had in my life that night, but truth be told, I wasn't out there for the repartee.
I was out there for a ciggarette. Ha! You thought I was going to go with a misogyny joke there didn't you? That's just lazy writing. Tune in very soon for yet another story from my old house, also thank Enron for the title of this inter-blog by going and checking her's out.
Friday, May 4, 2007
lock-up ballard
So I realize that the wheels sort of fell off the proverbial bus over here at BAABP. First I blew Dork Week by not completing 5 posts, and then I didn't make a single post last week. I apologize but I have one or two really good reasons for my incompetence/neglect. Let me start with why Dork Week blew up in my stupid internet face, well it's mainly because I was moving out of my house that week and in to a new (and much better place) out here in breezy Ballard, that and writing 5 posts in one week is next to impossible when you have a job and some drinkn' to do. The other part stems from my lack of internet here at my new place.
So to start things off I would first like to give you some introspective and to preface the stories I will be delivering hot and fresh to your dust covered monitor come Wednesday. What with the "dust covered monitor" remark you might be asking yourself right now? Come on internet, is there any other reason for you to be traipsing through this digital hell then to read my blarrg?
Answer: Absolutely not.
When one of my best friends/roommate left the city almost a year ago, I found myself in a house full of people, 4 to be precise, that I had absolutely nothing in common with. Shit, I wasn't even cool with them when Steve was around but at least Steve was there to bridge the gap or someone that I could relate to and share a beer or two with when I got home from work. When he left however all bets were off, and I found myself in a house full of people I knew next to nothing about, and who knew nothing about me. For the next 8 months I would barricade myself in my room rarely conversing with them, other than to hand them the odd amount of money involving bills, rent, or something they had decided to buy and then charge the rest of us for whatever retarded reason they deemed fit. My already high amount of introversion turned to the extreme spectrum and I basically stopped calling my friends to go and hang out, save Enron who really, whether she knew or not, got me through some shit.
So what's the deal? After a week of living at my new place I have done more than I did in basically a year. Okay, so I am embellishing...a lot, but still I've spent almost the last two years stifled by not only my environment, but I guess even more stifled by my own inability to just commit and pull the trigger.
I'm not trying to sound too sentimental here (like I said I didn't want to make this blag personal), but for the first time since 2001, I actually feel comfortable around the people that I am living with. Not only are they like minded in everything that I am in to; music, art, film etc. They are also an excellent counter point/balance to my otherwise neurotic self. Nicknames abound! I'm kind of partial to "Voltron" when they are together...
Tune in on Wednesday, when I will expunge some of the greatest moments from my time at the "Looney Bin", the place I was living at before I moved here.
Wordles.
So to start things off I would first like to give you some introspective and to preface the stories I will be delivering hot and fresh to your dust covered monitor come Wednesday. What with the "dust covered monitor" remark you might be asking yourself right now? Come on internet, is there any other reason for you to be traipsing through this digital hell then to read my blarrg?
Answer: Absolutely not.
When one of my best friends/roommate left the city almost a year ago, I found myself in a house full of people, 4 to be precise, that I had absolutely nothing in common with. Shit, I wasn't even cool with them when Steve was around but at least Steve was there to bridge the gap or someone that I could relate to and share a beer or two with when I got home from work. When he left however all bets were off, and I found myself in a house full of people I knew next to nothing about, and who knew nothing about me. For the next 8 months I would barricade myself in my room rarely conversing with them, other than to hand them the odd amount of money involving bills, rent, or something they had decided to buy and then charge the rest of us for whatever retarded reason they deemed fit. My already high amount of introversion turned to the extreme spectrum and I basically stopped calling my friends to go and hang out, save Enron who really, whether she knew or not, got me through some shit.
So what's the deal? After a week of living at my new place I have done more than I did in basically a year. Okay, so I am embellishing...a lot, but still I've spent almost the last two years stifled by not only my environment, but I guess even more stifled by my own inability to just commit and pull the trigger.
I'm not trying to sound too sentimental here (like I said I didn't want to make this blag personal), but for the first time since 2001, I actually feel comfortable around the people that I am living with. Not only are they like minded in everything that I am in to; music, art, film etc. They are also an excellent counter point/balance to my otherwise neurotic self. Nicknames abound! I'm kind of partial to "Voltron" when they are together...
Tune in on Wednesday, when I will expunge some of the greatest moments from my time at the "Looney Bin", the place I was living at before I moved here.
Wordles.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
meh
Dork Week rages on! Today's foray in to nerdom is about music, because on Wednesdays I like to update the "Recommended Listening" section with a band that I am kind of into right now. So I'm going to hit you with a little story.
It's 1994, I am 12 years old, and obsessed with videogames. Music is far from my realm of understanding. What I do understand though is that the soundtrack to Final Fantasy III is one of best things I have ever heard. I was so in love with it's 16bit goodness that you could often find me humming some of the more memorable tunes even when I wasn't playing. Back then the internet was just a toddler but you could still download crap off of it. I scoured it high and low looking for .wav files that conta....
...sorry everyone my internets are down again I am posting from a cell phone, right now. I'll fix it tommorow.
It's 1994, I am 12 years old, and obsessed with videogames. Music is far from my realm of understanding. What I do understand though is that the soundtrack to Final Fantasy III is one of best things I have ever heard. I was so in love with it's 16bit goodness that you could often find me humming some of the more memorable tunes even when I wasn't playing. Back then the internet was just a toddler but you could still download crap off of it. I scoured it high and low looking for .wav files that conta....
...sorry everyone my internets are down again I am posting from a cell phone, right now. I'll fix it tommorow.
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