Thursday, November 30, 2006
I can think of countless other movies that are so TIGF that they are absolutely joyous. I can think of Crispin Glover's performance in "The River's Edge", with Keanu Reeves, as an example of this. Crispin goes way beyond over acting and into the realms of the absurd. I love this.
I actually got to meet Crispin Glover once. It was at his "Big Ass Slide Show" and showing of his film "What is It?". He is a very considerate, gentlemanly person. When he performs, he is waaaaaaay out there. By the way, only go see "What is It?" if you really want to be freaked out and/or offended. Seriously, you guys get a sense of how twisted I can be and even I was speechless after viewing that film. What was even stranger than seeing that movie was listening to Crispin answer the audience's questions after the film. I'd put up the trailer to the show, but I keep a PG-13 blog and that movie is an easy NC-17. By the way, Crispin's Dad, Bruce Glover, was a way TIGF villian in Sean Connery's James Bond "Diamonds are Forever". He was the dude that hung out with that other weird villian, that had the long hair with the bald top, spectacles, and a bushy mustache.
Hell, just go to Youtube and search for any Crispin Glover clip. You'll laugh your ass off.
Other than all that stuff, Crispin's "Jingle Dale" character from David Lynch's "Wild at Heart", with Nicholas Cage and Laura Dern, was absolutely hilarious and mondo strangeo. Hell, that whole movie was full of TIGF moments. Here is a link to a fun moment from that movie: Sailor clips (contains R-rated swears and some violence).
Crap, I had a bunch of other film moments to share with y'all, but my mind's gone blank. Okay, if you want to see something TIGF, with emphasis on the "G", watch this old Frankie Goes to Hollywood video: Relax (original funk version).
Oh yeah, check out the updated Pamela, Kid Rock, and KFC drawing on the previous post.
Kid just needed to get his KFC on, yo. I think this marks the first time that a wife caught her husband cheating on her with a bucket of chicken. Yes, I have quite the imagination. Like my little drawing?
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
No, it gets better. It turns out that he put a bet on the hapless track team using money from the auction that his GGGD's held in order to save their inn. He tells me that it is 50 to 1 odds. Shit, like I care. You know it's like, WTF??? I need to sleep already.
You'd think that I wouldn't listen to this Edward Teech fella, but he is quite the flamboyant and charismatic persona. He gave me some swashbuckling "what for" when I dissed his plan. However, I think going along with all of this might get me an in with the hot psychology professor at the school--she's a brunette, you know. But, I wonder if she would figure out that I'm really not crazy; I'm just with ghost. Yeah, WTF??? I need to sleep already.
But, you see, I have had some troubles dealing with the local mobsters. Jeez, these guys are real assholes, and they'd like nothing more than to take these old ladies and their inn and turn it into a casino. So, maybe I do need this ghost's help. Maybe I do need to help out the local college's track team win the big tri-conference meet. Maybe I will get some sweet psych professor lovin'! Shit yeah, it could happen!!! I mean, WTF??? I need to sleep already, but a man has to have a dream.
Look folks, it was either this or Flubber. I am a huge Peter Ustinov fan, so you can cram it with apples if you don't like my choice!
Monday, November 27, 2006
This post was inspired by Thomas' post, over at American Sweatpants: Snow. He has another one about his snow experiences, I believe his most recent. It is always fun to see someone lose their virginity.
This week I will be focusing on concise posts, in order to give my body some rest. I still need to build an amplifier for somebody, but I did manage to complete a master CD after I determined that the magic studio elves don't come with my cheesy recording equipment. I still have one more to do, but it will be easy. It is funny how messed up something you love can get. All you want to do is run away from it. The disappointment when something doesn't turn out the way you wanted it to after so many long hours of work is just too much. I soldiered on, "glued" my fingers to the faders and tried my damnedest to keep everything dialed in. It sounds better , but not how I envisioned it. I either get brittle top end, or mud.
These are just some annoyances that I have had this past month. The major stuff is still in the air. My nephew had a second blood transfusion and seemed to benefit from it. The doctors are still stumped, though. My sister, the mother of this boy, is at that point where they will probably lose their home. It's funny how this major stuff just kind of goes all white and I just sit there, unflinching. I don't know what to think anymore. We're good people. Lots of bad stuff happens to good people. I don't question why anymore. It never seemed to be a question that had an answer, or got you anywhere for asking. Bad stuff will happen and there is no need to flog yourself over any of it. There is not a cosmic connection here. I am not denying God. I believe in God whole heartedly, but really, I have a hard time thinking that God would take time out of his schedule to make you suffer or whatever, when God has all this miracle stuff going on.
Think about it for a second. God has something bad happen then waits for the opportunity for you to send him the "Bat" signal for help or a miracle. Sounds like a canned blessing to me, or something Eddie Haskel would do to the Beaver, a trick or something worse: job security. Maybe that is exactly how it is. Maybe we are talking about a man, that according to some religions, created his own enemies--natural man. So, he puts his enemies on this planet, then messes with them, does some magic tricks, then some of those enemies figure that they are willing to go against their nature in order to see more abra cadabra and maybe even get to see the Vegas show when their shift on earth is over. Wow, did God rub his hands together thinking up all of this? This is a kid with an ant farm. I don't feel like it was fair boiling it down to that, but I certainly feel that any window dressing put on that is what would pass for a religion.
Okay, I am not knocking God, rather, what people have conceived him to be. I don't think that God has given my sister's family a trial. That is something popular to say around here in Utah, because it's like putting Christmas tree lights on the cross you bear: God is paying me special attention by giving me this challenge. Really? God flipped through his omnipresent Rolodex and determined that you were due for a lesson? Shit, if that is how it works, and we should be thankful, then the Jews must really have had a windfall in the Holocaust.
One thing I have learned is that I am never thankful for the opposition, rather, the strength that I am given and the opportunity for the challenge. I respect the opposition and try to understand what happens to me, good or bad, when enduring and overcoming it. The trials happen. Bad stuff happens. Maybe some of it is prevented by God, and sometimes it is allowed to happen. But, I have never felt like he creates it: It is self generating and has been ever since God took the universe and defined it, so to speak. What was before light and dark? Was Good and Evil one cell that divided in two? If, then, God exists only on one side of the cell, how is he whole? What is going on behind the scenes between God and Satan? What reward does a son of the morning receive for playing a necessary part in the script?
Lets face it, according to mainstream religions, evil is necessary, yet we are to shun it. So, why is it here in the first place and who put it there, who conceived of it? The being who took a mass of gray and sorted out the light from the dark is the conceiver, the creator, yet what do we see? So, being in a gray world, we are in a way deity separating the elements into dark and light--a collaborative effort as well as individual, yet on-going. It seems that the notion of simple Good and simple Evil was a device that made morality easier to swallow, a template, and I am fine with that. I can't imagine what it would be like to try to teach a three-year-old kid about gray areas. However, I kind of have a hard time with people that insist on carrying on the "Santa Claus" routine 24/7.
I know that I have trials. I know that bad stuff happens. I am suspect to whether my nephew's outcome is determined on whether I looked at a girl in a lustful manner, but I have been assured that is a truth by many people. I honestly am grateful for the blessings of doctors, who may have been blessed to be doctors by God. I am also open to any other blessings that God sees fit to bestow upon me. I am grateful for all my blessings. But, I will not be one to think that I have to be good in order to get the "present" I want for whatever screwed up Christmas that comes from trials like this. I am one to do good and be good, because that is how I choose to live my life.
I know that I will not always have an easy or happy ride, but it is the path where I see the ultimate rewards coming--good is it's own reward. I don't do it to get kickbacks or as a ransom. Anyone that does, needs to evaluate what morality they actually have, because some religions sure sound an awful lot like a credit card company in reverse--you may not get it now, but be good little girls and boys and you will get it after you die! Also, getting now, damn the consequences, is not so great either. Which leads us back to that big sea of gray: reality. Our perception is the only way to sail to a safe harbor. If living a fantasy of absolutes does it for you, fine, but it doesn't work for me. I don't suppose that living in the gray helps me much, either. So, I put on my kaleidoscope eyes and eat marshmallow pies. That seems to get me through.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Alright, I want to hear your Google image search stories, or something similar. I once clicked on a cute, funny, prairie dog picture once and got directed into a site where a man seemed to be having a medical emergency involving a foreign object finding its way into his kiester, at least I thought it was a medical emergency. That's what I had to tell myself in order to be able to go to bed that night--poor, poor, man, he needs to look where he sits down after he gets out of the shower.
Friday, November 24, 2006
This is Japan in 1978 abouts. In this video, "Adolescent Sex", you can see that they don't know if they are too late for the glam rock movement of the early seventies, or too early for the hair metal of the eighties. David Sylvian (lead vocals) looks just like Duff from Guns and Roses! Awesome song. I would classify this under the New Wave genre--stuff that immediately proceeded the British punk movement of 1977-78. Japan got smart, or dumb, depending on your tastes, and changed their look and sound in 1979.
This song, "Quiet Life", kicks ass and Japan are retaining a bit of edge still. By 1980, they are transforming into this:
"Gentleman Take Polaroids" is now a full on transformation into something that is truly different from new wave: it is now new romantic. Duran Duran are so having to service Japan in the afterlife.
Well, I love post punk and new wave, like Wire, The Jam, Joy Division, Cure, Gang of Four, some Split Enz, some Human League, and some Ultravox (with Mr. Fox, not Midge Ure on vocals). Japan spawned the big hair and multi-colored dye and makeup that would dominate the '80s. It is TIGF, and most of it's spawn, I can't stand. But, I can listen to Japan and enjoy something that was slick, but not empty, arty, but not too serious. However, later on a band took the synth pop garbage that followed and then evolved into a band that would do some rather important stuff that hardly anyone listened to: Talk Talk. Yeah, we all know the "It's my life" song, because No Doubt covered it, but have you ever listened to their albums "The Colour of Spring" and "The Spirit of Eden"? They are that movement away from vapid, soulless, synth pop and into experimental progressive music.
All along there was a better group of kids coming out of the inititial punk and new wave movements, in the alternative rock of Echo and the Bunnymen, U2, The Smiths, and etc. But, I will not hang a TIGF tag on them, good, bad, or otherwise. I love those groups, but who are we really to thank? Try these big names: Roxy Music, David Bowie, Brian Eno, The New York Dolls, The Ramones, Television, The Velvet Underground, The Sex Pistols, and on and on with those groups. They took the music of the 60s and turned it up on its ear. Someone benefited from all that experimentation and put synths to it, making lots of cash.
This is in no way a history, but my meandering musings/ramblings on some TIGF group, Japan, and a bunch of subsequent and prior music that surrounded this short-lived, yet really influential band.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
After that first wave of fandom came my real entry on the scene with Logo, Vera, Guggs, and Crystal. I kind of owe Thomas, one of my first commentors, (American Sweatpants, formerly a thousand other blog names) on donating Logo and Crystal, then I am sure that I got Vera and Guggs from Scott, oh, and I got Outdoorsy Girl, of whom I'm grateful too, from him as well. Thanks guys, that was mighty big of you. Somewhere, I got this sexy pair of eyes following me around: Dangerous "K". Also, a couple from Crystal: Markis and Heatherfeather.
The "All-Star Lurker Award" goes to QT. My "All Star Reader Award" goes to Nessa (Goldennib). "Alternative Blog Reader All Star Award" goes to Beth (West of the Sun), for being my core supporter during my serial blogging days. My All Star Award for "Best Contributer" goes to Vera, for her participation in 120dB's. The All Star Award for "Motherly Advice and Brutality in Commenting" goes to Logo. My All Star Award for The "Most Elusive Blogger to My Blog That I am a Major Fan Of" goes to Jill Writes, who is super duper hot and brutally intelligent. The "Ever-Changing Avatar All Star Award" goes to Thomas. The "Best Avatar of All Time Award" goes to "Braids", which, sadly, no longer exists.
Along the way, I participated, and started, such contests as the great face off, the great ass off, and the great flip off.
Many more have come since then, and I am grateful for all. I probably got my share of business from Cash and Gentleman Hobbs. Then came along the flood of love from the rest of you all. I can't do the linky anymore; my hands are tired. Here I go: Sunfollower, Kels, Pants, Lindzy, Cindra, Just Tom, Celeste, Ernie, Egan, Jules, Christielli, Karyn, Kayla, JJ McFatty, NYD, Issy, Mona, Matt, Blogging for Scraps (Llama Guy), Niolk, Spacecake, Chandra, and Cora! I am sure that I have many more who lurk, so this is your chance to speak up and be appreciated.
I have got to know quite a few of you on a personal basis, maybe some of you a little too personal, but it has been great. I have no regrets in starting this blog. If I have promised you something "special", don't worry, I have just been busy and I always keep my promises. If you are curious as to what that is, email me.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards Michael Richards!
Phew! I hope I spelled his name right.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
This is correct technique for head-banging, kiddies. I recommend that you start off with Black Sabbath, as in this video, before you move on to your Venom, Mayhem, or Tiny Tim.
I was bored and shot this video while waiting for my brother to get back to the truck (Clyde). This was on our fly fishing trip back in July. I seem to be wearing the same green jacket in all my photos. People, I do own other articles of clothing, I promise.
Well, I had a real funny post to go along with this theme, but Blogger erased it and I am too tired to try to re-create it. Instead, I will put up a couple of old photos of me and my mysteriously dark brother. My mom swears she didn't let the milkman in the house.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
What of that trip? Well, I will tell you. But, not after I get a chance to ramble a little.
My buddy "Wino/Einar" (the guy who wouldn't push me off a cliff) and I wanted some things to do in the desert again. The kind of things that we did with my ancient best friend "18-Hole" in "A Springtime Story". Wino, Einar, whatever I feel like calling him, has been my best friend for almost twenty years. We have explored caves, abandoned mine shafts, and all types of wilderness. We even crossed a pipeline that spanned the distance of a deep ravine when we were skipping school with our fellow, best, compadre in arms, The Trampoline Kid. That almost ended up in us decorating the creek below with our beautiful corpses, but we prevailed. The Trampoline Kid was our wild monkey boy of the bunch, who once free-climbed Dead Man's point (200 foot cliff) without giving it a second thought. I was the leader, always deciding the way we should go and how to get there. Wino was the one who always had the cool gear to make me and The Tramp jealous.
Well, the Tramp got married first at 24 years old, then Wino followed at 25. Tramp didn't get away as much, but Wino had a more free situation, and in fact his wife encourages him to get out and hit the trails with me. So, Wino and I have kept the expeditions going. Check out these photos, here to get an idea why Utah is your best choice for desert expeditions.
This year we were winging it. He is a very busy man, both with his family and his profession. The initial plan was to just do the old standby Moab trip and ride our mountain bikes on the Slickrock trail, Porcupine Rim trail, hike the Needles trails, and explore the Fiery Furnace in Arches. He left the planning to me, because he had a big business trip that would tie him up. I opted for something not Southeast, Utah. I went for that lesser-known, unmolested gem in South Central Utah: Escalante.
Neither of us had been there. We'd been everywhere else but there: Zion National Park and Narrows, Bryce Canyon(not together), Canyonlands, Needles, Arches, Lake Powell (not together), and Cedar Breaks. Escalante was the trip we needed to give us new life and discovery.
The drive down saw a change from suburban, urban, rural, steppe; forested mountains, riding high plains over 8,000 feet above sea level, numerous peaks towering over us (nearing 12,000 feet above sea level), and then the red rock and Navajo sandstone of Torrey, the entry into Capitol Reef National Park. It was a turn down highway 12 in Torrey that we climbed out of red rock country into high mountain pine forests and aspen groves, then back down into the sandstone welcoming sign of Boulder. The 30-mile span from Boulder to Escalante was outrageous. One part of highway 12 runs along the spine of a ridge that drops hundreds of feet either way. It is something else. Once you get near to Escalante, you get a sense that all this wonder is yours to behold, but may come at a steep price if you don't respect it.
Man, Escalante is destined for raping once people find out how amazing it is. It is sad, but true. I had an idea of a small part of the wonders there, but I had no idea how vast, convoluted, and rugged this area was. There is plenty chance to find a virgin canyon here, trust me. If I could, I'd want to live there for a while, just to get a chance to explore as much as I could.
We had heard that all of Wayne County was in a state of disaster, but we decided that we'd go down anyway. Hanksville was pretty much FUBAR from floods. Well, we thought that seeing as how Hanksville was in the upper East corner of Wayne County and we'd be in the lower part, that somehow we would not have problems. Wrong!
We had to do the motel thing because of flash flood danger. Better to be stranded in BFE in a motel, than a canvass-wrapped corpse floating down to Lake Powell. When we headed out with our initial plans to hit some slots, we found out that most spur roads had been wiped out from the floods. We found out that the Burr Trail road out of Boulder was open, but that all its spurs were closed. I knew that Little Death Hollow and other extreme gultches and slots were now not accesible, so I convinced Wino that Upper Muley Twist trail in South Capitol Reef was our best bet. It was about 60 miles down the Burr Trail to this twist. The spur was washed out, so that added a total of six miles to a nine-mile hike. We did it no sweat.
Upper Muley twist gives you a chance to see more geological formations of differing varieties in such a short span than I had ever experienced. You go from open washes, canyons, to ridge lines where you can see hundreds of miles in every direction. You get to see the massive geological phenomenon, the waterpocket fold. It runs over a hundred miles and is like seeing an open wound in the earth.
After trying to help some ladies find their lost husbands, we ventured onward, did the loop, and headed back in the dark. Can you believe that we overshot our turn off? Hell, we could have been lost for good. I started to feel the changes under my feet. I couldn't remember the ground going from a soft to hard transition near our turn off. The canyon walls were closer together, even though all I could see was that it was blacker. We turned around and it took us awhile to get our bearings. Wino and I did find our turn off, and it was back to trying to get his Outback out in one piece, which involved some ace spotting and trail building by moi!
Along the way back, we saw many flat bed wreckers hauling out SUV's that looked like they had been through a crusher. These cars were packed full of mud, and I can only imagine what would've happened if there were people inside. These wrecker guys were asleep in their cabs (they actually had sleepers on these trucks) having a ton of work to do, but running out of day light to do it in. We made it out and managed to not hit the hundreds of jack rabbits that were making their home on the road. We saw one jack jump five feet straight up in the air. We must've scared the duece out of it.
Wino and I were getting pretty hungry. We made Boulder a quarter to ten. Escalante was 30 miles away and we would not be able to get to a cafe before closing there. Faced with the possibility of being gas station gourmets, we searched the one-horse town of Boulder and I spotted something off into the distance, a retreat of sorts with a hip restaurant. Little did we know that we'd come across a high falutin' joint: Hell's Backbone Grill.
We walked in this Zagat, four-star rated, restaurant dirty and smelly. The materdei ignored us for a considerable amount of time. I wonder why? Eventually, she came up to us and asked if we had reservations. We both said hell no, and that there were empty tables--our money was good as anyone else's. She allowed us in and gave us the wine list. Neither of us drink, so that was not too useful. We sat down next to some of the coolest 50-something dudes, who were taking their kick ass touring bikes (Honda and Triumph) from Denver, through Utah, and down to their home in Dallas. They recommended the meatloaf. They knew what they were talking about. This Grill uses all locally grown produce and locally raised/butchered meats and is all prepared in Southwestern style cuisine.
Between the exotic meatloaf (yeah, it tasted like nothing I'd ever equate to meatloaf, for sure) and the various side dishes, we conversed with the wine happy Texan bikers and had a time. It was a damn fine way to cap off a long day of hiking. I can't wait to see my Visa bill.
Stay tuned for part II.
Friday, November 17, 2006
His mausoleum kicks some serious ass, with all its scary marble halls; portholes to his alien worlds; scary, hooded, killer dwarfs; and the Ball.
He also drove two kick ass whips, yo...
and one like this, but white..
Still, the hot shit big brother, Jody, and his pal Reggie, shared the best ride...a kick ass '70-'71
Plymouth 'Cuda with a 440 wedge (sometimes the 426 Hemi, depending on which film it was).
Okay, okay, what is really TIGF here is my screaming fan-boy appreciation for the Phantasm films and the Tall Man, and the fact that most of you probably have no recollection of or have never seen this film. If I did this on Halloween, it would have been too obvious.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
I know that it is a crappy video, shot with my Motorola SLVR L7, but it is still pretty cool. This was shot in Capitol Reef National Park during some medium rain. This gives you an idea what just a little rain does around that area. Because the place is mostly rock, the water cannot be absorbed. It just collects and collects until you get flash flooding. This little rapids shot is deceiving. The width of the water is about 10-15 feet across in some places where I shot and about 15 feet down from where I was standing. So, perspective and scale are a bit skewed.
I wanted to show the clip of The Who in concert, but I have had bad luck importing stuff from my phone to my computer. This clip was small enough to email, which cost me about three bucks to do. So, until I can get my computer to take it like good little, well, you know, I must wait. I could nickle and dime myself to death.
Anyway, I did open a Flickr account and will be doing one of those sidebar dealies with most of my vacation pictures from that particular trip.
If you can't understand what I said at the beginning, it was, "Somewhere in Capitol Reef". Classic! I deserve some kind of award. Remember, the camera, beef jerky, RC Cola and Moon Pies add ten pounds.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
I was inspired to share my dreams when I read Vera's fabulous dream post tonight. You can read it here.
I only wish I had hosted the Everly Brothers, sans all the violence, in my dreams last night. Good music would have been welcome. Instead, I had freaky-assed dreams, and not the freaky-assed that could be mistaken with sexy, mind you.
For starters, I was lost in that fabled town that is comprised of every little quaint village that I have frequented/lived in my lifetime, yet is supposed to be the town that I live in currently. Parts of my past in England and various orchard towns along my home state of Utah get incorporated into a collage of sorts where I tend to have repeated themes of looking for a certain bakery/restaurant, person's home, or some forbidden/enchanted place.
This night I found a large kitchen, at which I supposedly was a chef. It was some kind of converted funeral home turned into a restaurant and they didn't take the caskets out; rather, the corpses were still in the caskets, and the caskets were left around everywhere. The most unsettling part of this was that they were propped open in various forms of display, standing up, partially open, or hanging out. My trip back to this place was to resolve something; what exactly, I don't know. I just remember an older woman placing my hand on the cutting board and nicking my thumb. I then held my bleeding thumb over some flour and began to knead it into a dough.
I baked this dough, and when it was done I pulled the bread out: it was now in the shape of the Star of David. I looked around and noticed that I was now among many gentiles in the city. I was compelled to convert all I came in contact with to Judaism, of which I am not. I tried to get mothers to give their sons barmitzfas, circumcisions, convince them of the merits and blessings of observing passover and a kosher diet in the correct manner. The weirdest part of this dream was the fact that when I needed sustenance, I would open a pouch on the inside of my foot and grab a hunk of gorgonzola cheese.
Okay, let the psychoanalysis begin.
Now, onto less weird things. I was at the mall on Monday. I took that whole day off from work, so I could enjoy the day before The Who concert. I was there at the mall to catch a flick, the new one with Will Ferrell, "Stranger Than Fiction". This turned out to be a great movie. Well, here I am walking through the mall, my brother was at some other shop and I decided that I wanted to walk the entire mall and see what I have been missing. See, I have not actually been in a mall for quite some time, and I have determined that I have not been missing much.
I am walking? Yeah, that's right. So, I start to feel like I have company. I look around and don't see anyone. I keep walking and still feel like I have someone right next to me. This time I look down. Lo and behold, there's this little Mexican boy staring up at me with an ice cream cone stuck in his gob. The moment our eyes fixed on another, we froze. The kid stopped eating his ice cream cone and let some of it drip down his chin as his eyes just grew to saucer-like proportions, as if to say, "Who the eff are you?" I had the same open-mouthed look on my face as I said to myself, "Where in the hell did he come from and where are his parents and/or guardians?" (Yes, I actually said "and/or guardians" in my head).
Well, the kid just took off after about ten seconds of our strange, little, staring contest. I sure hope he found his parents and/or guardians. I just wonder how long we had accompanied each other on our stroll through the mall. Funny.
Monday, November 13, 2006
I wonder, however, if this man could enlist the help of a certain tramp, a homeless avenger, yea, the mutant of the rails with mystical gypsy powers: Hobo Frankenstein!
Have any of you seen this creature? If you have, let me know.
The Who, concert was great, btw. I took about 26 seconds of video with my camera phone. It was right at that point where Roger screams "Yeeeeeeeeah" in "Won't get fooled again". It is really crappy sound and video. Maybe I'll post it on Youtube when I get the time. It was awesome, though. The opening act were The Pretenders. Chrissy was sooooo hot. I don't care how old she is; I want her!
My only gripe about The Who is that they did not play one song from Quadraphrenia. That is my favorite Who album. "Can you see the real me, preacher? Preacher???" I just wanted to hear that line sung live once in my life, because it is significant to me. I love the songs "One" and "Bellboy" amongst the obvious others off that album, too. Good news, though: Their new stuff really is great. Also, I used to feel that Pete was beginning to ditch athletic guitar work, as evident in some concert films I've seen in the past couple of decades. Not now. He was a demon! I was totally lost in his sound. Roger's vocals were so thick and gruff. The balls! Amazing, simply amazing.
That's Who! I have great seats, too. I feel so lucky I could go to the loo.
Seriously, Pete's the man. This is a clip from their Woodstock performance of the instrumental "Sparks". Pete nearly kills his Gibson SG (with the soap-bar pickups). Back then, they either had to use a fuzz box of some kind, or just a plain old cranked vacuum tube amplifiers in stacks to get those heavy sounds. The later is the most organic hard rock sound that you can get, and the best, in my opinion.
If no one knows what Pete is talking about in the initial interview before the clip, about almost killing Abbie Hoffman at Woodstock, the story goes that Abbie Hoffman, a hippie activist, invaded the stage while The Who were performing. That is a big no-no. Pete Townsend was livid told Abbie Hoffman to f-ck of his stage, and then hit him over the head with his SG. Gibson SG's are made out of solid mahogany, and while not as hefty as a Gibson Les Paul, are quite heavy. Basically, if you had a baseball bat that was a bit on the heavy side, uh, real heavy side, and walloped someone over the head with it, they're going down for the count in a big way.
Anyhoo (I love that corny-hole word), I don't think Pete will be hitting any aging hippies over the head at tonight's concert. All I can say is that they better play their mod stuff. That and the whole mini-opera "A quick one while he's away". I might get a little of the first and none of the second. I just wanted to witness Roger Daltery looking silly, screaming, "Cello, cello, cello, cello, cello, cello!" I think I've lost most of you on that last bit. Oh well, I am going to have the time of my life and hope to be knocked unconscious as I make my way to the stage during a number.
Friday, November 10, 2006
TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Does this gay man scarf make me look gay? A brief look at various Scooby Doo characters
Fred gave up a part of his manhood to appear more sleuthy. He still managed to pull some feline, but, then again, what really happened between him and Daphne? Well, I think it is safe to say that Fred liked Daphne a lot, jeepers! Maybe, his choice to wear an ascot was part of his attempts to soften his image and appear less jockish. Maybe, he was born with the predisposed drive to wear an ascot. Who knows.
I think one thing is for sure...
Fred liked touching scary monsters. Was he a variation, a hybrid, of a necrophilliac and one who lays with the beasts of the field? Seriously, don't leave this guy, alone or otherwise, n the same room as Sasquatch. He just might try to pull of that mask and meddle a bit.
People say that Velma was the gay one of the bunch, but I have evidence to support otherwise...
Notice the longing and the look. She has always wanted Fred, but is lost in her world of clues. How can a Velma compete in a Daphne world?
Really, the ascot is not to blame here. Ascots are TIGF, but this next character about took the whole gang down to his level, and is just plain gay, in that "Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure" kind of way...
You can't hang an ascot on this travesty.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
This is comedic genius, Harold Lloyd, hanging from this clock. Yeah, he did it for real. He actually free-climbed this tall building entirely. He managed to do a ton of prat falls along the way. Harold owned comedy in a way that Chaplin and Keaton did, but so many others did not. I prefer Lloyd because he never got sentimental and was crazier than Jackie Chan when it came to physical feats.
Time, we borrow it, consume it, watch it drift away. David Bowie once sang in his song "Time", off of Alladinsane, "Time - He's waiting in the wings. He speaks of senseless things. His script is you and me boys."
It seems that Time has its way with us. What can we do? We don't even own this thing that we spend. What do we own?
Moments, feelings, memories: Time may alter those, erode them, but we own it. I have wanted to take a singular moment from my life and build a vibration from it. I want that vibration to shatter my existence and reveal everlasting bliss, then follow it. I can take a smile and meditate on it, not the meaning, but the mantra of a smile. It makes sense to me, at least. Maybe I am from another planet, but I have meditated on your smile, even though you have pulled away from me. I own that smile, those memories, that fascination, the moments, the way that I feel, and have felt.
Time, you are my muse, my lover, my landlord. When my rent is due, I hope to have spent you wisely--Time. But, Time, you will never take away what I own.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
It's a clip from one of my favorite dumb movies, ever: "Ruben and Ed".
This shot was taken at Pineview reservoir, only twenty minutes from where I live. This is where my pal Marlboro Man and I would spend our high school days taking his boat out and doing some serious water skiing. I can't remember just how many times I skipped school, but I'm sure that's one of the many reasons I almost flunked out. Thank goodness coach "C" and night school saved my sorry ass.
(Updated @ 11:20 PM MST: I heard that it was East Canyon reservoir, but upon further review, I have concluded that it is Pineview reservoir, which is about the same distance from where we lived and also a place where we sloughed school, bigtime. It would have made more sense to have filmed at Echo lake/reservoir. You'd have to see the film to get it.)
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Today's "Triple T" will be more of a field trip of sorts. You get to come along with me into the rain forest and see how the natives do, yo!
I was out in the Amazon minding my own business, when all of a sudden I hear the dopest beats coming from a thicket of bushes. I found these two guys rapping on top of some tribal drums, about killing panthers, stealing other tribes ho's and biatches and snorting something they call "Vine of the Dead", or ayahuasca. How did I know that this is what it was? Well, for starters, I believe in myself and that I can do anything, if I put my mind to it. So, I put my mind to it and believed that I could speak perfect Quechua. I am also familiar with Alan Ginsberg's "The Yage Letters". I have always dug going on psychotropic benders, so I indulged in a bit of the "vine".
After some time communing with the spirits of the dead, some good, most evil, I was in need of some purging. That yage certainly cleans you out. I felt like if I were to have fallen asleep, I'd have pulled a "Spud" and crapped my bed, or my pile of leaves. Whatever.... "Trainspotting" was a totally brill film, though. I thought to myself: Wouldn't it be wonderful if I could show these guys that scene where the dead baby is climbing the ceiling and crying? That would freak the hell outta them right now! Not to mention that Iggy Pop's "Lust for Life" would have been a great song for all of us to start dancing to. But, I forgot my V-Pod. Wait, I don't have one yet. Drat!
The next thing that I know, these hot native biatches from the tribe just down the way (East side, y'all...holla!) came up to us and started making fun of my complexion. They said that the only way they'd be down wit me is if I killed them each two monkeys. I have always been good with a blow gun, and I always have some curare handy, just in case of emergencies like this. So, I prepped my darts with some curare and headed out wit da boyz to pop one in some damn butt monkey's ass. Sheeeit, boy, those monkeys were hella fast! But, we triumphed and headed to our biatches with our heads held high and our blow guns at attention. Except...
I was having some problems. Everything is so public here. I got a bit nervous and, well, my blowgun was a bit blown out. My boy, Ungooktu, had my back. He gave me some great stuff called, Muria Puama. He just called it "Whaaaaaheyhey!" I was partying in no time. We used "banana leaves", k? Gosh, I'm not a friggin' rube!
It was about this time that my biatch was not wanting to leave and it was getting awkward. Teaktee came over and saved me. He was being such a cock-blocker before, with all his yelling at my monkeys--couldn't get a damn shot. Now, he distracted this biatch with fresh panther musk and promises of a large grass hut on the riverside. I was more than happy to leggo my biatch to "Tea-boi". He is totally into polygamy, so he was more than happy to oblige.
Overall, the partying in the jungle forest was epic. We went on like this for a whole week. In fact, I don't think that they do much of anything else.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Ballet is one of those things that a man of a certain callousness, and gravelly fortitude, should never admit to liking. But, I have often wondered about the pleasures of what my friend, Ignacio, calls "stretchy pants".
Do they ride up pleasurably, or is it just plain uncomfortable? What about glide factor: Is there a significant reduction in friction, and if so, is it worth the humiliation? What color will bring out the contours of my thigh muscles more, pink or white?
It seems that it is context specific: retaining your manhood whilst wearing tights.
The Blue Demon! While he is now deceased, you still can't mess with this guy. He will actually come down from Luchadore Heaven and pile-drive your ass till your eyes pop out. He has a rep to protect. Don't be dissing his stretchy pants, or he'll throw in a figure four leg lock after flying from the top rope into you like a freaking condor getting his carrion. But, take note of this: He wears a mask. This is smart, because this accentuates his sexy and his ferocity. Oh yes, you heard me: The sexy!
Want proof that luchadores are truly magnificent men, who both are fully hetero, manly-man, and mui TIGF??? Check this out right here, bro...
Oh, how he triumphs sexually. Is it the man? No! It is the stretchy things!!!
Want further proof that stretchy things can be paradoxically manly and TIGF? Sure, I'll give you shortcakes something to put between your ears and legs. Get a load of this guy here...
Yeah, it's none other than Robin Hood himself. Not many that have messed with this guy have been able to keep their bags of gold, afterward. If you want an idea of just how important Robin Hood is just ask the poor. Ask the ladies, too. Remember, this guy here was the best, and sexiest one, to don the green tights:
Ladies, can you feel the Errol?
As for me, the only stretchy pants that I have been able to pull off...that didn't sound right. I mean, what looked good on me, were football pants and ski pants that were flared for the boots (ah, the 80's and my Roffe ski gear). I do have pair of bike shorts, but take it easy. I don't do requests.
So, all of you men, it is okay to wear the tights. As my friend Ignacio says, "Sometimes, when a man is alone in his room, he likes to put on a-stretchy pants". Just make sure you are engaged in the appropriate ass-kicking activities, and all will be forgiven.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
My 11-year-old nephew "R" started bleeding internally on Monday. My sister (oldest) did not know what was wrong. The doctor's gave him a blood transfusion on Tuesday and a bone marrow biopsy as well. We still don't know, but it is looking like he has leukemia. I'd run a tally of events that have happened to my family these past few months, but it just depresses me to think about it. I am glad that we are survivors. I just don't know how much more bad/stressful things in such a short time I can handle happening to my family. My sister "B" is finally doing well, thank goodness.
Anyway, I have been relying on Youtube to bail me out for posts. I had some great ideas, but no energy to carry them out. I was hoping to get some recording projects finished, but I am now stuck on some stupid guitar layers that I just can't seem to get right. I need to treat you guys to a vacation post and get my pics up. I need to get out looking for another job. But, guess what? I am spent. The good news is that I am about to pay the last payment on my student loans. Wheeeeeeee!
I have had some pains with my body that don't seem to be going away. That auto accident seems to really have done some lasting damage. The thing that sucks is that I already settled. I feel like such a sucker. This is why I really need another job. I can't hack it with my back and neck, anymore. I just feel so slow now. My wrist is killing me all the time. All the employment I've known has been physical work. I really don't know how I'll take to something more sit down, or office culture. That is something that gets me worried.
Hell, I can't even play my guitar for more than a half hour before I feel like I need to quit.
I know I can get better. It is just that I have not been patient and have tried to force my recovery. This is how I've always been. I had some internal surgery once where they took my appendix out and removed some tissue that was wrapping itself around my colon. I went back to work in seven days. My boss really didn't know what was going on and just seemed to care that he didn't have to find someone to replace me.
This leads me to believe that I have some reprogramming to do. I need to work in a more supportive environment. I am loyal to a fault and rarely have thought about my own benefit--I was so much into the "crew". I often wonder what all of this says about me. How many rewards have I missed out on? How many women have passed me up? Money does matter--don't say it doesn't. I feel like such a chump sometimes, but I am determined to not give up. I will make something happen. I can't feel sorry for myself. I am too smart and too talented for me to be sorry. I just have to give myself a swift kick in the ass, and get on with it--pussy!
Alright, I'm done talking shit today. You guys enjoy your Halloween candy.