Monday, July 2, 2012

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

The End?

Today is the deadline for our final projects in Augmented Reality (the class that I created this blog for). However, I have thoroughly enjoyed blogging so I will definitely continue to do so. I am at about 600 views right now which is exciting considering I really haven't been doing this long and really haven't promoted my blog much. My hopes thus far is to try to convey my "unique" sense of humor as well as some of my writing. I surf the internet more than I should so it is nice to have a place to compile all of the things that interest me for you all to see. Thank you to everyone who has given up some time to look over this. I love you all.


I leave you, for now, on this note.

No words.

Just emotions.


Story Time

What Comes To Mind

            Where the fuck am I going to find the morning after pill in Keycut, Alabama? I haven’t seen a Subway or a Starbucks yet, so I’m pretty sure the odds of me finding a Planned Parenthood aren’t very good. I am on a cross country road trip with my best friend Seth and his younger sister Ruthie, and I decide that boning Ruthie is the best and most logical move for me to make at this point in my life.

Retarded is an exaggeration, but it’s what comes to mind.

            It’s as hot as I imagine hell is and I’m in some of Seth’s tight fitting clothes I grabbed as I stumbled out of the hotel room. His clothes smell like piss and they’re itchy. The smell along with all of the booze still in my stomach is making me feel sick and it is taking all the focus I can muster to not blow chunks all over the uneven sidewalk.
            It’s been five weeks since my parents told me they were splitting up. I would be a liar if I said that I didn’t see it coming, but I still feel like it’s all kind of a dream. It blows. I don’t think anyone can ever fully prepare themselves for something like that. It’s like getting punched in the face. Even if you know it’s coming it still hurts like a bitch. Seth says a road trip will revitalize my spirit. That the open road will free my mind of all the stress coming from my parents split. Seth is always saying stupid shit like that. What the hell does that even mean? I see it more as just transporting the prisoner, because I still feel like shit, but now I feel like shit on a road trip. Not wanting to hurt Seth’s feelings I acted eager and agreed. Two eighteen year old high school graduates ready to take on the world. But Seth’s mom wouldn’t allow him to take on the world unless we brought his sixteen year old temptress of a sister Ruthie along. Seeing as Seth’s mom is a bitch and was letting us take her Subaru, Seth didn’t argue, and seeing as I could be entertained on the long drive with just looking at the eye candy that is Ruthie I didn’t argue.
            I feel like a salt covered slug leaving behind a trail of sweat as I slink across the dusty sidewalk past a shot-down elementary school. I wonder how the school could possibly even be open. Around the corner I find a beat down depressing dump of a playground filled with kids.
            I make a mental note of all the safety violations I am witnessing and wonder if any of these kids would know where I could access morning after contraception in this town. I don’t even know anything about the morning after pill. I have only had sex three times. My first time was with a condom, the second time I didn’t even “make it”, but at least I was in the clear regarding knocking the girl up, and my third time was last night with Ruthie. Fuck. Seeing as the average age in the playground is probably seven at most I decide to not ask for any advice and continue my horrid walk through Hell.
            We left home four days ago and haven’t done much but drive, but we did stop at Seth’s aunt’s the second night for dinner. I am not one for judging other’s faith and religion and all that stuff, but Seth’s aunt’s house made me want to cannon ball into a boiling vat of holy water. The walls were covered in a bunch of knitted Bible verses that had a bunch of misspellings, and she had a bookshelf dedicated to a bunch of Jesus knick knacks. I even zipped up my sweatshirt to cover the Slayer shirt I was wearing out of fear of being judged. It’s not like I am an atheist, I just didn’t grow up in a Christian environment. I can’t complain too much though because the grub was good and I didn’t have to talk much aside from Seth’s aunt asking me if I had accepted Jesus Christ as my savior.

I said yes.

            By this time my morning drunk has worn off and I am completely sober. Now I just feel like an ice pick is stuck in my skull and I just got run over by the hangover truck. The sun is just making things worse. I remove one of the itchy layers I am wearing and tie it around my waste. The smell of piss is not helping matters. Seth must not shower as much as I thought because it really reeks. As I struggle with my piss aroma dilemma I pass a house that could win the “Shittiest House in the World” award if there was such an award. It would at least be nominated. Up against the rickety paint-chipped stoop of the house is a passed out sea cow of a man. A beat up hat is pulled down over his eyes exposing only his chapped lips which are leaking chew-ridden drool. If it weren’t for the almost undetectable up and down motions of the guy’s massive gut I would bet he was dead. This town is really testing my stomach.
            We drove for 44 hours straight after leaving Seth’s aunt’s house. My ass had never been so numb. We didn’t talk much during the drive. Seth and I would alternate shifts driving and sleeping while Ruthie went about her business driving a few hours here and there. Aside from a little chit chat from time to time about the band we were listening to, a funny road sign, or asking if anyone needed to go to the bathroom, Ruthie and I didn’t talk much. I looked plenty, but we didn’t talk much. Seth and I have been friends for about three years, so since 10th grade. Ruthie was always cool. I never gave her much attention and she never called for it, but over the past year nature has taken its toll, for the better, on Ruthie and she has gained my attention.  It’s always weird. You know, that feeling of guilt when you “appreciate” the opposite sex when you know they aren’t aware, and when you know that maybe you shouldn’t. This is how it was for me with Ruthie. Take that and mix in that she is also my best friend’s 16 year old sister.

Clusterfuck is probably a juvenile term to describe my situation, but it’s what comes to mind.

            After driving for two days straight we decided we needed to stop. We stopped in Keycut at the “Inn and Out”. Seth and I went to a convenient store on the way and I distracted the attendant while Seth stuffed two fifths of 151 and a pint of peach schnapps into his pants. Much more alcohol than we needed. I had drank a few times throughout high school but Seth never had. After four shots Seth had already puked and was snoring buried under pillows and blankets. Ruthie then talked me into letting her drink and made me promise not to tell Seth. Why not? Seth and I were supposed to share a bed and Ruthie was supposed to sleep on the hide-a-bed the Inn had provided. At one shot I was still ready to carry this out. At two shots I noticed how attractive Ruthie looked as we shared a cigarette. I was surprised she wasn’t coughing from the smoke. I tried to be smooth and brush her hair out of her face but my watch got tangled in her hair. What a fucking idiot. But she laughed, scooted closer, and held my hand. My heart started pounding. We continued to hold hands and she asked me about my parents. She asked how I was dealing with it and told me I could talk to her about anything. People always say stupid stuff like that. “You can always come to me.” Or “you can talk to me about anything.” I am not normally one for cheesy shit like that but I believed Ruthie. She smiled and looked me right in the eyes. I looked at the ground most of the time. Even with some alcohol in me I felt shy. What a schoolboy bitch. I was caught off guard when Ruthie brought up my parents because even Seth and I didn’t even really talk about it. It’s not that Seth doesn’t care. Or at least I don’t think that’s the case. It’s just one of those awkward subjects. Like what do you say? I have known people that have had family members die and stuff like that and I don’t know what to say. I mean I guess it’s nice letting people know you care, but does it ever really make them feel better? I don’t think so. But Ruthie seemed to actually care. I had never felt that. It was nice.
            Ruthie and I talked for about an hour. At three shots I felt a little more confident so I kissed Ruthie. Score. After awhile we went back inside. I turned off the lights and we stumbled through the dark onto the shitty hotel bed. We kept kissing and all of a sudden I found my hands struggling to undo her bra. Four shots was glimpses of Ruthie’s naked body through the limited light in the room as we “investigated” each other. Five…well, five was me making a big fuckin’, condomless, mistake. Six was climax, and the last thing I remembered before falling asleep.
            It must be the hottest day in the last decade. Even my sweat is sweating and I am still uncomfortably sticky from the night before. Not good. I keep spitting to try and get rid of the taste of 151, schnapps, tobacco, and Ruthie from my mouth, but it doesn’t help. I see a sign up ahead.
Ice Cream.
            Ice cream is probably one of my favorite things in the world, but it doesn’t even sound appealing right now, and seems like a really dumb stop to make at this time, but at least it will cool me off and hopefully help me get rid of the taste of bad choices from the night before. I pull the door open and a pathetic bell rings. I welcome the cold air of the parlor and approach the counter. The kid behind the counter is a goofy looking kid with floppy Dumbo ears. This kid looks like he is at that awkward stage in puberty where your voice teeters in pitches. I look at his nametag: DARBY. Fitting.  Darby gives me a huge goofy smile and asks what I will have. I gaze up at my options:


            Three flavors. Three. Fucking. Flavors. You have got to be kidding me. Burt Baskin and Irv Robbins would be shitting in their graves if they knew about this calamity. Slinging only three flavors of ice cream could get you killed in some places. I guess it really doesn’t matter all that much. They will all taste like alcohol anyways. I let out a dazed chuckle thinking that choosing an ice cream flavor is my number one priority when eight hours ago I had unprotected sex with my best friend’s sixteen year old sister who was drunk off of alcohol I gave her when her brother specifically made it clear he didn’t want her drinking. I choose chocolate. I tip Darby with the change and eat my cone inside.

Shelter…it’s the wrong term but it’s what comes to mind.

            Love. “Life’s greatest mystery.” Well, aside from Bigfoot. I do believe in love I just don’t think many people ever find it. I read something a while back, in a magazine at my dentist’s office I think, that something like 52% of married couples split nowadays. “Bullshit” I thought. Since then I have started to believe that it’s true. I often wonder if my parents were in love. I guess not. It’s depressing. Maybe they were in love in the beginning, or maybe they thought they were. I dunno. Whatever they felt they didn’t feel it any more. I also look at that 48% that stays together and wonder, “Out of all of those couples how many of them are actually happy? Actually in love?”
            It seems after awhile “love” might just become something someone gets used to. Like the smell of a paper factory or something. Maybe you just get used to love. Emotions on cruise control.  A static heart.
            Fuckin’ cross walks. If I had to make a list of ten things I hated, cross walks would make the top three. Every time I hit the silver button I wonder if it is even connected to anything, and everyone seems to think the more you hit it the faster it will change. I think it is just there to keep people busy during their wait. The best is when the sign says don’t cross and there are people on both sides. Everyone eyes each other like they are about to cross a mine field waiting for the brave martyr, and as soon as one sheep goes they all go. I love it. This crosswalk is ancient. There is not even one of the seemingly pointless buttons. I look down both sides of the road like they teach you to do when you’re little, and cross.
            I hear the town bells (yes the town bells) toll ten and realize I need to move my ass if I am going find what I need in the middle of God knows where. Actually I don’t even think God knows where this place is. I can’t blame him.
            I kick a rusted beer can and continue down the shitty sidewalk that looks like it was surveyed by a bunch of high school drop outs. Probably drunk on the job. I pass a beat up football field. The only way I can tell it’s a football field is by the leaning goal posts at each end. The field is probably 80% dirt. 15% grass. 5% garbage. But it’s 100% shitty. On the side of the football field there’s a rickety set of bleachers with a hand painted sign above.

Go Sparkplugs!

            Shit. As if these kids didn’t have enough to be depressed about. Shitty town. Shitty field. Shitty team name. I imagine Friday nights here in Keycut. Whole families probably gather to watch the Sparkplugs play football here. If they can even see through the dust.
            At this point reality sets in. Aka reality takes a shit on my brain and I realize how awful my situation is. I’m screwed. I’m fucked. I was screwed and because of that I am fucked. I give up and plop down at a bus stop and put my face in my hands. The international body language for, “what the fuck am I going to do?”
            Seth, the punctual prick, is probably going to wake from his drunken coma soon and want to leave, and if I show up late and he asks where the fuck I was I am going to have to tell him where the fuck I was. I decide that my strategy of just walking around aimlessly people watching and sucking down ice cream is not very efficient or effective. I need guidance. I spot a shitty (big surprise) gas station with a little shop and decide that I just need to grow some balls and ask someone.
            I cautiously enter the scanty shop half expecting it to collapse in on me, and approach the counter. Hidden behind a copy of Peterson’s Field Guide: Advanced Birding is a kid that could not be more than twelve. After noticing he has a potential customer the kid closes his book and looks up at me through his cheap drugstore purchased reading glasses. Poor kid’s balls haven’t even dropped yet and he needs glasses to read his bird book. Now this is just a big fucking pile of awkward. This kid’s biggest concern is how soon the Black-Throated Warblers will be migrating south whereas mine is figuring out a way to execute Plan B without my best friend figuring it out. I decide to not burden the kid with the explanation and instead buy a pack of cigarettes. I pack the smokes nervously and ask the kid for matches. He hands them to me and asks if there’s anything else he can do.
Fuck it.
“Listen kid. I am kind of in a shi—a bad situation. Do you know by any chance where a Planned Parenthood is?” The kid looks at me for awhile blank faced. Figures. I turn and head out of the store when I hear the kids squeaky voice.
“Yup, but the nearest one is 20 miles north in Slatesborough, but it’s closed on Sundays I think.” I turn and look at the kid shocked. He puts a bookmark in his book and continues, “We sell condoms if that’s what you need, they’re over there by the beef jerky, and the church a little further down the road has a bunch of pamphlets on stuff like that…you know like sex stuff. What are you lookin’ for?” I slowly approach the counter thinking in my head how to word it.
“Uh well I was hoping to find a morning after pill. Last night—well I just need one.” The kid continues looking at me blank faced taking his time to answer.
“Hmm well I think you’re out of luck here in Keycut for somethin’ like that. But my sister got one once and it was a few days after and she had no baby. So I think you got a few days until it’s bad. You should probably go to a doctor or somethin’. I think you can get one from doctors but I dunno.” The kid picks up his bird book and begins reading again. I thank the kid and leave.
            I definitely did not expect that from a little kid, but at least now I feel a little better. I guess I am going to have to tell Seth so that we can go to a hospital or a pharmacy or something. He’ll probably punch me right in the face, but he’s sort of a little bitch so I am sure I can take it. Besides, I kind of deserve it. This also will probably mark the end of our “road trip”. Whatever, I think my spirit has had all of the revitalization it can handle for now. 
            As I retrace my steps I pass by the ice cream parlor once more. Darby waves at me from inside. What a goofy kid. Sure friendly though. To celebrate my small “victory” in at least deciding what I am going to do I decide to get another ice cream cone for the walk back. One last thing to remember Keycut by. I go inside again and nod to Darby. This time I go with strawberry.

Sunday, June 3, 2012

My Mind Has Been Officially Blown

So for Memorial Day weekend this year I traveled to The Gorge in WA to attend the Sasquatch Music festival. For those of you who haven't been to The Gorge, or know what it is for that matter, it's a huge concert venure where the stage is set on a cliff and the background is a huge canyon with a river running through it. It's beautiful. See for yourself.

The picture doesn't even come close to doing it justice. Although I got to experience The Gorge in all of it's beauty for four days it was not the most amazing thing I saw.

This was...

Weird fill-from-the-bottom beer machine- 1
The Gorge- 0

Saturday, June 2, 2012

Friday, June 1, 2012

Tarantino's Created His Own Universe

I found this and thought it was interesting, especially for those Tarantino fans out there:

It's well known that all of Tarantino's films take place in the same universe - this is established by the fact that Mr. Blonde and Vince Vega are brothers, everybody smokes Red Apple cigarettes, Mr. White worked with Alabama from True Romance, etc.

As it turns out, Donny Donowitz, 'The Bear Jew', is the father of movie producer Lee Donowitz from True Romance - which means that, in Tarantino's universe, everybody grew up learning about how a bunch of commando Jews machine gunned Hitler to death in a burning movie theater, as opposed to quietly killing himself in a bunker.

Because World War 2 ended in a movie theater, everybody lends greater significance to pop culture, hence why seemingly everybody has Abed-level knowledge of movies and TV. Likewise, because America won World War 2 in one concentrated act of hyperviolent slaughter, Americans as a whole are more desensitized to that sort of thing. Hence why Butch is unfazed by killing two people, Mr. White and Mr. Pink take a pragmatic approach to killing in their line of work, Esmerelda the cab driver is obsessed with death, etc.

You can extrapolate this further when you realize that Tarantino's movies are technically two universes - he's gone on record as saying that Kill Bill and From Dusk 'Til Dawn take place in a 'movie movie universe'; that is, they're movies that characters from the Pulp Fiction, Reservoir Dogs, True Romance, and Death Proof universe would go to see in theaters. (Kill Bill, after all, is basically Fox Force Five, right on down to Mia Wallace playing the title role.)
What immediately springs to mind about Kill Bill and From Dusk 'Til Dawn? That they're crazy violent, even by Tarantino standards. These are the movies produced in a world where America's crowning victory was locking a bunch of people in a movie theater and blowing it to bits - and keep in mind, Lee Donowitz, son of one of the people on the suicide mission to kill Hitler, is a very successful movie producer.

Basically, it turns every Tarantino movie into alternate reality sci fi.

Or try this one on for size, it's a stretch, but in a sense it did turn my memories of my nine year old self to shit.

None of the babies in "Rugrats" actually exist, but they are all instead figments of Angelica's imagination, as result of her parent's negligence.

Chuckie died with his mother, which explains how much of a nervous wreck his father is.

Tommy was a stillborn baby, which explains why his father, Stu, was always in the basement making toys for the son he never had.

Finally, the DeVilles had an abortion. To compensate for not knowing the sex of the baby, Angelica invented twins in her head, one boy, one girl.

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Me Rite Gud?

Banana Conversations

            My son may never get to taste a banana. Scientists say in the next ten years or so the banana may join the dinosaurs and become extinct. There is a bacterial disease that started in Panama that is attacking bananas and evolving and adapting at a rapid pace. At this point there is no cure for this banana disease and in as little as a decade bananas may be extinct.
            I say son because I have always pictured having son. Having a daughter scares me. Girls are more vulnerable than boys. I picture lying awake in bed waiting for my seventeen year old daughter to return home from her first date. Her date will have taken her somewhere nice because I will have instilled in her principles of respect. Her curfew wouldn’t be early because I will remember the asshole dads that I had to deal with in high school relationships, but it wouldn’t be late because I would remember the reasons I crept in to my house at two in the morning hoping not to wake my parents. I will toss and turn with worries. Is she happy? Is he respecting her? Is he using her? Is she being “safe”? Would she tell me if she wasn’t?
             My mom got pregnant when she was sixteen and her parents took her out of school. She went to live in a home for seven months of her pregnancy. Her parents made her give the baby up for adoption. I didn’t find out about this until I was thirteen and I have seen the effects it can have on an entire family. My mom said it was the hardest thing she ever had to do, and to this day I sometimes console her as she cries about it forty four years later.
            My wife will be fast asleep. Being a girl herself she would be confident in having raised our daughter “the right way.” But not me. My eyes will remain open and red until I hear our front door lock as my daughter tip toes up the stairs and considerately closes her door as to not wake us up. She will be ten minutes early.
            With a son I feel like I’d have more control. Being raised by my mom, two older sisters, and my sensitive and sweet father I feel like I understand respect, and I would make sure my son would too. I would teach him what it means to be a man and that sensitivity is not a “girly” trait. I would tell him the mistakes I have made, and I would let him make some of his own. I picture having a conversation with my seventeen year old son before going on his first date. Go inside and introduce yourself to her parents. Shake their hands and look them in the eyes. He will be taking her somewhere nice because I will have instilled in him principles of respect. I will give him some money (that he insists on not taking) so that he can continue saving up for whatever new and exciting technological device is out at that time. Be yourself. Make her happy. Don’t lead her on if you’re not into her. Be “safe.” My son will not have a curfew but I will tell him to take his date home ten minutes before hers.
            I will love my son. I will wait up for him until he gets home. When he gets home I will sit with him in the kitchen and talk about his night. We will whisper and muffle our laughs as to not wake my wife. He will try to give me the change from dinner but I’ll tell him to keep it. It will be late but we won’t care. He’s young, and I’ll remember being young. We will talk for hours. About school. About sports. And about bananas.

Tuesday, May 22, 2012


So my amazing girlfriend just left for Korea (the good one) for almost two months, leaving me here to entertain myself which is unfortunate because she is way cooler than I am.

This picture has absolutely nothing to do with the current state of the NBA, but rather captures an accurate state of my emotions.

*pops Linkin Park cd in stereo*


Monday, May 21, 2012


I Ain't No Poet

First the Leaves Fall

First the leaves fall. Strands of hair carried away by the breeze leaving the body cold and lonely. Shivering limbs tremble in the night air. Too weak and unfit for the owls that flutter by.

Moonlight flickers through the wavering canopy, a candle on the nightstand. Breathing for the leaves never before this painful. Left alone the oak sputters and chokes for water. Underground arteries and unseen veins cease to carry blood to the heart of the trunk.

Bark blisters and flakes off exposing tissue. Fungal bedsores from lack of movement and blood flow, infection sure to ensue. Moss and mites converge at the base and wait—relatives, years removed, greedy for the dispersal of possessions.

The heart goes quiet in the silence of the night. No one gasps. No tears flow. Just the streams continuing with their lives nearby.

Thursday, May 17, 2012


Great Idea...or Greatest Idea?

When I have kids I am absolutely going to exploit them.

There, I said it.

Ever since the idea of having kids has been in my mind I have contemplated different ways to take advantage of their innocence and lack of size. The first idea I had was on my kid's first Halloween I am going to paint it green and give it Yoda ears. Then I'm going to put it in a baby carrier, dress up like Luke SKywalker, and wear the baby carrier backwards. Hold your applause please.

Another idea I am considering is to give my kids off-the-wall middle names. Bawitaba, for example.You know those people who don't like to tell you their middle names because they are embarassed? Those will be my kids. I don't really understand why people even give a shit about a middle name. You only hear them at graduations or when you're in trouble anyways. I guess my point is no one has never not hooked up, not gotten a job, or had less friends because of their middle name.

But those are ideas are merely Bush next idea-my magnum opus if you will-is this...

Ok, a girl baby would work in this, but I'm banking on having a boy. Picture this if you will.

So at about the time my baby is sort of learning to walk-like awkward wobble stage- I would:

1. Shave his head like this

2.Dress him up like this (cane and all)

3. Take him to a park with this

     I would then proceed to give my baby a bag of birdseed, then I would hide in the bushes and wait for the awesomeness to ensue. I would start him on the bench, feeding the birds, but the master plan is that he would get up with his cane-this is where the awkward walking comes into play- and walk around slowly (having just learned to walk) like a little old man.

Am I kidding? Absolutely not. I would patten this idea if I could, but because I'm so gracious I urge you all to try it out when you have kids.


What You See When You Die.

                                                                   Opinions will vary.

You're Welcome...

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

I Ain't No Poet

A Photo

            I have a photo of a man whose name I don’t know. The man has no frame. No home.  Just sits on my nightstand leaning up against the lamp my grandfather left me when he passed away. His rusty spade tells me that he was a farmer. His worn boots tell me that he had to work hard. His sunken features tell me he didn’t get enough to eat. As the gutter hanging from the leaning barn behind him collects water he collects dust. He just smiles. I come home from failed-to-get-her-number-nights deflated. Another day of not getting that raise. And yet, the farmer smiles.  I find solace in his smile, and he always smiles. I have a photo of a man whose name I don’t know. He’s smiling. That’s enough.

In Honor of Inception

We're watching it in class, and it is a great movie.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Gold Plated Statuses

Below is a list (that will be updated regularly I hope) of statuses from my facebook friends that I feel need to be seen by others...or at least it is sort of a "Best Of" compilation for myself.

Rick Santorum has vowed to "put his full support behind Mitt Romney." He then winked at the camera, formed a circle with his left hand, and stuck a finger from his right and through it, repeatedly.

Who tells someone else's baby to shut up? Old guy on the ferry does.

Love front row parking at Walmart.

Every DVD should have an alternate ending where last shot is a hand errupting from the ground.

Monday, May 7, 2012

I Ain't No Poet


            I am in a tree house I’m too heavy for.  A sip of whiskey and a hand-rolled smoke as I look out the only window. It’s raining on everything. A trailer that hasn’t been used in years and a rusted shed full of rusted tools. It’s raining on everything and everything is wet. Everything but me. I have the tree house. It’s maybe not the good life, but it’s the good-enough life. The washer and dryer sitting on the covered deck next to the trailer. Everything painted metal, pimpled and blistered with rust.