Friday, April 28, 2006

Pull The Strings

I have a problem. It is an addiction, a master as I am its slave. I cannot escape its clutching grasp of mental dependency nor can I master this puppeteer of my time, my attention, and ultimately my soul. This master controls my time like Luke controlled the force, only with greater efficiency and stronger resolve to completely consume all that is holy and just. My master slipped by my technologically advanced defenses undetected and armed to the teeth. I am lost. My master is…Solitaire.

I cannot stop playing this god damn game. I always fucking lose. I don’t even like solitaire. There are certainly more productive ways I could be spending my time. I could be playing my guitar, drawing, having sexual relations with an unnamed female, or discussing the importance of a 3 iron-wood hybrid in a golfer’s bag. But no, I am a slave to solitaire. Why? Because I hate myself.

I’ve been thinkin’ about my doorbell, and when you’re gonna ring it

Stoned Out Of My Mind

Have you ever looked at the Rolling Stones and asked yourself “how can these people still be alive?” I ask myself that every time I see them. The camera may add 10 pounds, but it doesn’t erase 10 years off of Keith Richards coked out leathery face. I bring this up because there is a new movie coming out soon called Stoned, which profiles the inception of the Rolling Stones through the eyes of their founding member, the late Brian Jones. Now Jones may have been a musical anomaly of some sort, but he was also a fuck up. By the time he was sixteen he fathered two illegitimate children and left school to concentrate on playing the saxophone. And these were the least of his mistakes.

It is no mystery that the Stones have engaged in the kind of amounts of drugs one usually sees on the directors cut of Scarface, but drugs were not the only problem. There were the women, of which there were many, and there was the Marianne Faithful and the Mars bar issue that may not be true but is certainly believable. Then there was the horror at Altamont. For those of you who do not know what happened, let me put it this way. If you are the biggest band in the world, second only to the Beatles, and you host a free concert, don’t use the god damn Hell’s Angels as your security force.

Going back to my original point, I thought I would throw this out there for you to consider. This film shows a side of their story that can only be told by the one who lived and died by it. Their story is essential to the story of rock & roll as a movement, of which they were a large part of, and I suggest that when this hits theatres near you, you give it a chance. Then you can ask yourself the same question; how the fuck are these people still alive?

Please to meet you, hope you guessed my name

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

Save The Internet

I tend not to be one to preach. Ok, that’s a lie, but in general conversation over means of digital communication I tend to offer advice at most. I do not like to preach, nor do I like to insist or demand. But for today I am going to DEMAND that you visit this sight. It is a small site with no pop-ups and is easy to navigate, but you need to visit it. Essentially, a bunch of right-wing bible thumping conservatives (and a few pansy ass left-wingers, I am sad to say) want to regulate internet traffic by giving ownership of the transportation of digital media to the large cable and phone companies. These companies in turn will give faster service to those who pay for it, make you use their search engines, view their ads, and essentially charge you to view free information. This is but the first step towards striping away our act of free speech, which includes the internet.

Take a look at this website, view the f.a.q. and you may be surprised to learn how this has received little or no journalistic attention. The GOP are attempting to, as they always do, squeeze it by unnoticed until it is made law and leaving us all scratching our heads and wondering how we voted for it in the first place. Now I know this may be hard for you to do, but you can do something about it. Write, send an email, or call your congressman, mayor, boss, neighbor, best friend and let them know you do not support it and you do not wish to have your first amendment rights infringed upon. I know, nobody ever writes their congressman, no one calls the mayors office to voice their concerns, but that is what these people are there for, that is their fucking job! If we do not communicate with somebody, anybody, everybody then they will naturally do what is in their best interest, and not ours. Even I wrote a letter, and I am the laziest person I know. Hell, I’ll even post my letter online as a general format if you have never written one before; it’s not that hard and takes maybe ten minutes. Trust me, if that law passes, you will regret not taking the time to voice your constitutionally protected opinion on matters of state.

The sunshine bores the daylights out of me

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Slap-Boxing The One-Eyed Champ

I am punching the monkey. I can see my glove smack it in the face, and yet it still persists to taunt me. I am now punching the monkey faster, as if the speed of my violent thrusts will somehow compensate for their lack of effectiveness. The monkey wins. I don’t get a free iPod. Now I must refresh my browser and try again, only this time I must pop three red balloons, and then I shall be rewarded with true love. I pop the balloons, but to no avail. My true love does not show herself to me, she does not kiss me and hold me and love me. The balloons win.

I have never attempted one of these “games” as they could be called, but having seen them at the top of my browser on virtually every webpage I visit, with the exception of, I have always felt the desire to explore these marketing schemes. If you do not know what I am referring to, look at the top of your Myspace screen, chances are one is there. A banner with some animated object that promises more euphoria than God, and all you have to do is punch the monkey, pop the balloons, guess the rappers correct name, or lift more weights than the Governator.

What made me want to try this is not that I actually believe I get a free iPod or whatever prize they happen to be whoring out, I am fully aware that I will receive nothing but pop-up banners and possibly a virus or Trojan. What I wanted to know is how often, if ever, is someone actually awarded anything of value. Honestly, how many free iPod’s can these companies afford to give out? They even have banners now that show a picture of some douche bag with a line that says they really won an iPod or a car or a vibrating salt shaker. If you look at it logically, it would be impossible for any company, Microsoft included, to afford this kind of marketing scheme and still live up to its promise of free shit.

There are millions, probably a billion people on the internet. If every single person participated in these ads, even if only once a day, the cost would be more than enough to financially sink any company. I would imagine, nay, hope that the casual internet user would be smart enough to know that this is a scheme, a sham, a ploy to get information about you for advertising purposes, but I will probably be disappointed. People will continue to punch the monkey and then when they get nothing but spam mail in their inbox, they will bitch and moan and whine about how they punched the monkey, and got nothing. Well, what would you expect, you were asked to punch a monkey! Why would someone give you an iPod for that?

If it’s ok, I’ll just pack my shit and leave

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Too Legit Too Quit

So I was in Togo’s today purchasing a hot pastrami sandwich, because that’s how I roll, when suddenly a song came on. That song: Xanadu. I shit you not, I was in a fast food restaurant being served by 3 teenage females (and I mean served in the least sexual way possible) listening to a song that A) deserves no radio play, B) most certainly does not belong in a sandwich shop, and C) was released before anybody in that entire building was even born. Ok, it came out the years I was born, but that doesn’t count. Now you may be asking yourself why I would see this as such an anomaly and one could certainly argue that there are far greater mysteries in the universe than attempting to understand the social significance of a shitty song being played in a mediocre sandwich shop. Anyway, my point is this; what radio station lackey decided to play that song?

Did someone wake up in the morning and decide that we as a society need another reminder of an 80’s cult movie that was accompanied by a terrible soundtrack? Were they sipping coffee in their Jaguar on the ride to work and suddenly felt the urge to dance and shimmy to some futuristic ABBA-type discothèque one hit wonder that never deserved to be a hit in the first place? I mean god damn, why would someone make me listen to that song? Why would someone even WRITE that song? You people are trying to kill me aren’t you? Fuck Xanadu.

You’re not punk, and I’m tellin’ everyone

Friday, April 14, 2006

I WILL Have Sex With Gretchen Wilson

Have you noticed that kids today have no fucking patience? This is not necessarily a new phenomenon, I am quite positive that it has been happening for some time, however today it was reinforced to me with the clarity that one would associate to finding Jesus, I just saw the light. I was sitting in my car, listening to some Ween (Sebadoh, maybe) and waiting patiently for my light to turn green so that I could make a left turn. I have a red light as do the people going straight next to me so this little ankle biter on a Razor scooter crosses the street. When he gets to the corner, he abruptly turns around go cross the other direction. This is where it gets interesting.

My light was about to turn green, but that evidently was not enough for this little bastard. This kid had places to go, things to see, and people to do and he was not about to let modern technology get in his way. He proceeded to push the button about 5 million times. With every push his hand seemed to hit harder and harder so that I could actually here his hand slapping against the metallic road block of a button, and I heard this over my music. Now remember that I am about to turn, as soon as I complete that task, his little green walking savior man will rescue him form the treacherous grasp of time. He has but a few measly seconds to wait, but oh no, not this go getter.

His slapping of said button continues to slam harder and harder, and he is now growing angry. He is hitting this button with such anger that it appears to be a violent hatred which can be comparable only to that of how Hitler viewed people of Jewish decent. This crumb snatcher was pissed off, and he was going to let the whole god damn world know about it. Right as I turn he gets on his Razor scooter death trap, and amazingly enough, as I turn, I catch him still hitting the fucking button! He is prepared to go, he is fully aware that the light is seconds away from changing, and he still persists with his violent attack on an inanimate object.

This is what’s wrong with kids today (ok not completely, but it plays a part). The little fucker had no patience and as a result, when he gets home he won’t be able to play video games, jerk off, shoot heroin, smack his sixth grade bitches, or steal money from mommy’s wallet, because his hand is going to be sore. This kid is in for so much fucking disappointment when he grows up that I can safely say he will be part of that group that we deem “Natural Selection”, you know what I mean. Like the kid really had anything important to do anyway.

When you’re gone I’ll eat and sleep away my days again

Thursday, April 13, 2006

Low Price Gurantee

Did you know that Wal Mart is selling sushi? I did not know that either until yesterday. I happen to be a big fan of sushi, and not a big fan of Wal Mart. In fact, I refuse to shop at Wal Mart not just because they sell crap, but because they are destroying America’s small businesses. Anyway, I love sushi. I hate Wal Mart. Now the question I cant get around is what yuppie Madison Avenue douche bag decided it would be a good idea for Wal Mart, land of under priced crap, to sell sushi. Sushi is not just food, it is a traditional meal prepared by skilled hands using top quality fish. I don’t trust the register biscuit asking me if I want a bag for my California rolls enough to assume that he washed his hands much less knew what he was doing when he selected what fish was fresh that day. Why Wal Mart, why have you burdened us with your bargain price treachery? Is there nothing on this earth that is sacred and safe from the low priced claws of this anti-American company?

But anyone who ever had a heart, they wouldn’t turn around and break it

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Writing Excercise #1

As I stated yesterday, I am working on my writing, and here is the first exercise I have done. The exercise was to write 1 page describing a scene in somewhere public and having 2 characters interact with each other. The idea is to se what I remembered as fact and what I had to make up as fiction. Here it is:

The bar was bright and warm; it’s always hot in here during summer. The many fluorescent lights give off electric heat, clinging to the humid air floating through the one door establishment. The tables by the dart boards are full of activity, mostly in the form of drinking and talking. The restaurant crew just waltzed in from the last shift of serving mediocre food to mediocre people for mediocre pay. Beers are poured, darts are thrown, complaints are made and jokes are laughed at. The tall blond Sandy shoots Jack Daniels with the same affliction one would attribute to shooting heroine. She knows its killing her, but for now it kills the pain. Jake throws his last dart and chugs his last sip of beer, having used his last quarter he strikes up what he feels will be his last conversation. Another typical Friday at the Red Harlott.

“So is it just me, or is Tammy a complete bitch?” he as-a-matter-of-factly asks Sandy.
She gives him a sympathetic look as she states “You just have to get used to her”. Jake throws a dart at the board, not caring that he is not playing the game but content with being allowed to watch. “I see, and her walking in and shouting orders on her first day doesn’t seem a little trite to anyone else but me I assume?” he sarcastically remarks as he makes his way up to the bar for some change and another round of beer. Sandy watches him walk away, hoping more beer means less moody conversation, but she is not that lucky, and she knows it.

Jake walks back with two beers in hand and gives one to Sandy, asking if she would like to throw a round of darts. Thinking it may help steer the conversation off of work, she agrees and throws the first dart. Triple seventeen, and their playing cricket. Looks like her luck is better than usual tonight. “So are you going to the company Christmas party next weekend?” she asks, hoping he will say yes. Putting down her his beer and picking up his darts, he replies “no, why the hell would I want to spend an evening with people I spend all dam day with? I don’t like most of them professionally, what makes you think I would like them socially?” It looks like her luck really hasn’t changed much after all.

Sandy disappointingly states how he should go, merely on the fact that she is attending alone and would like someone to hang with. He knows how she feels around him, but he can’t figure out why. The only time they see each other is either at work or at the bar, and in both scenarios he is usually cranky and standoffish. “Tell you what, why don’t we go together, that way you won’t be alone and I will have an excuse to leave. We can take off early and maybe hit a movie r something before going to the bar, how about that?” he asks her without looking at her. Her eyes light up a little but she pretends to blow it off, replying “Sure, that sounds like a good idea.” as if his offer had no impact on her. She sips her beer and thinks to herself “Well what do you know, luck changed once again”.

Mr. Richard Smoker, you’re a poopy poker

Sleep Is For Pussies

So it is 12:15 am on Wednesday morning, and once again I am unable to sleep. This happens a lot. I am not sure if it is a physical or psychological problem, but it is a problem nonetheless. You see, when I am unable to sleep, I am unable to function, and if I can not function, I am useless. Actually, I’m pretty useless anyway, but not having slept recently gives me an excuse that is generally acceptable in society as a valid reason for being a complete and total fuck-up for the span of, say, 12 hours. The problem is they end up expecting you not to fuck up the next day, and that’s where it gets tricky, especially if you have not slept the night before, once again. That excuse only lasts for so long before someone finally realizes that the reason you suck at life is not due to lack of sleep but is in fact due to your ability to fuck up as if it were some super power granted to you by those that live in distant universes we only hear of in comic books and Star Trek movies. Where was I? Oh yeah, not sleeping.

Generally one could argue that there are ways to cure your inability to sleep, but I am almost certain that they are all bullshit. Warm milk doesn’t make you sleepy; it just tastes worse than cold milk, which in itself is not very tasty. There is also a rumor that I have heard in some circles of society that having sex will generally wear your body out (if the sex is good) and actually make you fall asleep within a few scant minutes (if the sex is really good or really bad). The problem with this is that the circle I was just speaking of is usually occupied by those who sleep next to someone on a nightly basis, usually of the opposite sex but I am sure it works both ways.

If you ask one certain twenty five year old male living in Antelope, he will say that the best way to fall asleep is by lying down while being completely inebriated, but he is almost certainly lying. Even drunk I can’t seem to sleep more than a few hours. So what do I do? Not a damn thing. I turn on my laptop, type a couple paragraphs of unstructured gibberish and cynical nonsense until I feel like I have earned my right to sleep, as if my body requires some form of intellectual sacrifice before it will allow my nerves and brainwaves to shut down for a few hours and give my body time to regenerate. My body may not let me sleep, but at least we have a comfortable understanding as to why, even if it is kind of being a prick, seeing as how I have to work in five hours, but that’s part of the give and take that comes with a two way relationship with your earthly vessel. My body hates me, and when I die I am sure it won’t be missed, at least not by me.

Hey there fancy pants

Tuesday, April 11, 2006


So I picked up this new book today, and it is going to help me with my writing. There are 127 exercises in the book and I am going to post my progress here, because that’s the sort of thing I do. That way I can see my progress. That’s how this shit works. I swear, why would I lie?

Kiss ass while you bitch so you can get rich but the boss gets richer off you

Monday, April 10, 2006

Full Circle Love Cycle

The past seems to have a weird way of coming back around full circle, and this is especially true when it comes to love. I am going to tell you a short version of a story, but do not assume that I am in love with the lead female character (I’m not) nor should you assume that I ended up with said lead female character (I didn’t). Like all good stories, this one begins with a girl. I got a call from a friend of mine who preceded to inform me that said lead female character (we will refer to her as Nora) was coming into town and wanted to see me (we will refer to me as Holden, although I am not sure why). I have not seen Nora for about 3 years, and I can’t really remember why we stopped talking, but I am sure it had something to do with our mutual friend and how their relationship with each other proceeded to fall apart.

Now as you had probably assumed by now, I had a thing for Nora. I was never quite ever to figure out why, as she was not supermodel hot nor was she rich nor intellectually on the same level as Einstein or Plato. She was a girl, and that’s all she needed to be. Having now spent an evening with her after a three year hiatus, I have finally figured out why I was so infatuated with her. All the other girls I have been interested in, I never actually knew on a personal level (with the exception of one) beyond what most people already knew about them. When you meet someone, you talk about the normal bullshit, and it seems to be a different version of the same story with everyone, but with Nora it was different. I actually knew her, at least to some degree, and because of that she fascinated me.

Why we stopped talking is not really important (although I am sure that her leaving the state shortly after we met had absolutely nothing to do with it, but I could be wrong) because the point of this story is love. We often are said to be in love with someone after having spent time with them usually in the form of a long term relationship and you slowly build towards love, but it starts with an infatuation. The problem is that there really is no difference between the two. When you are infatuated with someone, it is a psychological connection to the sights, sounds, and emotions that they are emitting, but how is that different form love? The answer is simple; its not.

Now apply that theory to real life, and it paints a pathetic picture. We often make fun of those that fall in and out of love so easily, but we forget to remember that we do it to. Every time we meet someone and have a potential interest in them, that is love in the works. There is no such thing as infatuation; it is simply a word we created to give us an excuse when we don’t get the one that we are infatuated with. We find someone else, and then claim that the previous feelings towards that other person was infatuation, a simple crush until we found out what their really like. And they always turn out the same don’t they? Its always their fault we didn’t get with them, they always seem to be different than we originally perceived them to be, but the truth is they were always the same person, we just chose to ignore their faults until we realized we would never be with that person, then they became the reason we never hooked up.

I do not know why this is relevant right now in my life, because honestly it does not seem so, but it occurred to me today and I needed to put it in words before I lost it. I wish I could say I hooked up with Nora but that would be a lie. I never got anywhere with her and I never will, but at least I understand what happened now (mostly). She will go back t her respective state and maybe we will keep in touch thru email or, god forbid, Myspace. But the moral of the story is that at the end of the day I am still Holden, waiting for the next Nora to come around and start the cycle all over again.

The second drummer drowned