It was cold and around where I live got dumped on with copious amounts of the white stuff. So, being bored, I went over to my good friend Jason's house to help him tear down his newest truck project, a 1971 Chevy C20. We took the bed and the cab off last Saturday, and today we removed the engine and transmission, the front suspension with the cross member, and the rear suspension and axle. The original truck was a long bed. Jason likes short bed low riders and had a short frame ready to go. All we had to do was get the stuff off of the old one and get it ready to go on the shorty.
Here's some more video:
I smashed my finger while removing the front suspension. Smashing a finger is never fun. Smashing a finger when it is 18 degrees F is a good way to wake the neighborhood with swearing and girly screams.
This one is for NYD, who asked about my guitar project that I started at the end of the summer. Well, I put that aside for awhile, but I decided that while I was off work for the holidays that it would be a good time to finish it. You can see that I've shielded the body cavities with copper foil to help reduce noise and radio interference. The neck has been taped to protect the maple's lacquer while I level, dress, and polish the frets. Not pictured is the bone nut that I have put in and will be slotting for the strings. The tuners are giving me problems. I had to drill very small pilot holes for the mounting screws in the hard rock maple. I broke off a drill bit in the wood and a couple of screws. So, it is going to be a major pain in the ass to extract those without collateral damage. I must say that you have to love doing this kind of stuff in order for it to be worth it. If you are just interested in saving money, this is not the way to go. But like I said before, this will be done exactly how I wanted and by me.
Going back to shaping and slotting the nut on this guitar, bone really stinks. I mean, when you start filing and sanding bone it gives off this ungodly odor. It smells like barber hair that caught on fire inside a defiled and dried out gym sock. Well, maybe not that bad, but hell.
I like eggs. I need eggs. That is why I put up with so much shit.
Um, the tale of two cities never mentioned their village idiots that buggered each other just to spite the mayors.
Jean Claude Van Damme is a good movie. Check it out if you can. The theater that I went to to see this has its own resident cat that wanders around everywhere. It's just about the coolest damn cat alive.
The new Metallica album is not too loud, you pussies.
Having the theater's cat walk between your legs while you are using the urinal is an odd experience. I think it likes me. I promise that I did not drip on it.
Argento, Bava, and Fulci are just a few of my favorite things.
Have you ever thought to yourself that maybe one of your friends may be imaginary because they are never around when your other friends or family are around? I still need them, even if they are imaginary.
This is a short segment from David Lynch's film Wild At Heart.
The concert went well. I came straight from work to the concert. It was snowing real bad all day long and I was wet and cold. I had time to set up my gear but didn't have any time to warm up or rehearse. My rig sounded superb. I used my Strat and Li'l Bastard, the amp I built. The first number was a bit rough, but we looked good and salvaged it with grace. After that, things went well. Everybody involved did a great job. I wish I had some pictures but I was so focused on getting through the performance that I didn't take pictures. I'll see what I can do. This wasn't a huge deal, but it was fun. Plus, it was good for me to get out on stage and play. I plan on doing more of that.
There's this older woman at work that gave me an expensive gift for Christmas. In the morning I'm getting my teeth laser whitened. It's friggin' sweet!
Oh yeah, wish me luck on my concert tomorrow. I've got my rig all figured out. I just hope there is enough real estate on the stage for my gear. I wish you all could be there. I need somebody to throw panties and bras at me.
I recently purchased an awesome book on cryptozoology. If there was a magazine called "Bigfoot Fancy", I'd be a life long subscriber. In fact, when I see those "Nobody's Born a Bigot" bumper stickers, I always misread them as "Nobody's Born a Bigfoot." You must become Bigfoot through trial and error, I think.
I often wonder if Bruce Lee were alive today would he be doing an infomercial with Elvis about awesomeness? If so, It would involve a 12-step program, kicking ass, and a styling gel.
Just think if real people talked like they did in movies such as Juno. I really liked that movie, but if people around me were talking all smart-ass loud and shit, with an almost too hip to be real preciousness, I'd take up a new hobby called homicide.
I am thinking of getting into the taco cart business. However, I need to come up with a new angle on the industry. I'm thinking of a hybrid of cultures here. The business name: "Taco Schnell". It's Mexican! It's German!! It's Fast!!! I mean, just think of the possibilities of a schnitzel taco topped with spaetzle and gravy or a braut 'n' kraut burrito.
I was at a holiday luncheon that the director of my department at work was putting on. We got to order at this lunch counter where you pick up your own order from them--kind of like having your number called. Well, our whole group had a number. I patiently and politely waited for everyone to get their food before I went to get mine. When I noticed that the only thing left was not what I had ordered, I asked the lady behind the counter if my sandwich would be coming. She told me that one of the gentlemen in my group took off with it. So, I took in this remaining plate of food, went up to the gentleman, in front of our boss, coordinators, and director, and asked him what kind of sandwich he ordered. He said, "I ordered a turkey panini." I then asked him what he was eating. He replied, "Um...". This only made him eat faster. I then persisted, holding up the plate I brought in, "What kind of sandwich is this?" He answered, "Um, that looks like a turkey sandwich. Did you order the same thing that I did?" He was clearly clueless as hell or in total desparation. I then told him, "Nope, this is your sandwich. I ordered the Rueben that you are eating. I was the only one that ordered that kind of sandwich." His response was only this, "Oh, they must have switched them", and he kept on eating. I went over to him and took half of the remaining sandwich and left him half of his sandwich. Shit, he about had a cow fit. Our bosses were really embarrassed by him.
The best part was when the staff were doing nice, informal introductions to the brass, this guy doesn't even say his name, he just starts off, "Um, yeah, I want to get on the training program", which is like asking for a promotion. He doesn't stop putting his foot in his mouth there. He continues talking about himself as, "We like to go hunting, camping, and we go fishing." I about had a anneurism from laughing when the director interjected with, "Uh, who is this "we" that you keep referring to? What is your name?" The guy still didn't say his name and just said, "That's my mom. I'd like more hours, too." He is 44 years old, btw. He is also the same guy that "invented" taping two lengths of pipe together. I don't do the same thing this guy does, in case you think I am also retarded.
I had a dream that I was caught peeing in a sink. The girl that caught me peeing in the sink didn't seem to mind, but I was really self conscious about it because I thought that she might think I was masturbating into the sink instead. She said that she believed me and told me to finish up. That is when I realized that my brain was trying to trick me into peeing my bed and I woke up with about five gallons of urine that needed expelling.
I could go on about the weird pee dreams I've had. I want to hear some of yours, though.
A utility truck was stuck in the mud on a snowy hill. It had a big boom lift on a trailer. The reason I feel so manly was that I got in my truck Clyde, put it in 4wd low/compound gear and pulled this utility truck with it's trailer out of the mud and up the hill.
The thing is that I have no idea why this makes me feel manly. My truck did all the work.
What stupid things make you feel manly? Even the women can feel manly. All chime in!
I've been meaning to post these but never got around to it. I took a hike up a canyon about four miles north of where I live. A service road to a radar station travels above the trail. This road is open to the public. It has many "Dead Man" points and the carnage is usually accessible from the trail. There are a few old wrecks, like a '36 Ford that are cool to check out.
When I hiked this day I bushwhacked my way to one of the more recent wrecks, a white Jeep Cherokee. A lot of the accidents involve kids drinking up the canyon, and then attempting to navigate their way down, they fly off the road and fall 900ft to their gruesome deaths. This particular Jeep was driving down the canyon with three guys and they kept driving straight because they didn't see the sharp turn (I know the details because I know the rescue guys in this town.) When the Jeep went tumbling down it threw one of the passengers out. The other two perished inside the Jeep. The one that got thrown out crawled up the steep canyon wall to the road where he was near death. A passing vehicle spotted the bloodied and broken pulp of a man laying in the dirt, picked him up, and got him down the canyon to medical help. He survived.One of the guys who died had his head crushed and his brains were found all over the rear gate of the Jeep. Yum!
I got to this wreck site on Thanksgiving. There had been some scavenging--catalytic converters and so forth--but most of the vehicle is still there, albeit highly messed up. I thought of crawling inside of it, but as I was about to I was overcome with an extreme case of the heebee geebees. So, I just took a dump by it instead. That's respect. I've got pictures on my brother's camera--of the wreck, not the dump. I'll see if I can get them from him.
I'll include more stories from this canyon in later posts. Most of our town's unnatural deaths occur in this canyon. It's kind of a local pastime around here to find out who's body or bodies are being pulled out of there. We're just a bunch of sick yokels.
I have been talking to my work's community relations director about doing a cable access show. He knows the guy that runs the local cable access station for our county. This is all very much some hair-brained idea of mine, but I want to at least see what is feasible. I'm thinking of a reality show consisting of filming scary people at bus stops set to the classic piece The Blue Danube and other greats. I thought of another fictional "reality" show of an Orwellian nature where we would feature interesting people in our area, consisting of pure bullshit stories and encounters with mythical beasts. The other show idea would be makeup tips for fat guy's backs on how to make them look like female fronts.
I have no idea why I included the Wonder Woman thingy. Just enjoy it. Anyway, I've got a new security system that thinks that I shouldn't be visiting your blogs. It has blocked me from going to your sites and risk getting internet AIDS, or something. Of course, I haven't been on the computer much lately anyway. I have been busy planning a big event that will go down this Thursday. I am not a party/event planner person. How I got into this position is beyond me. Three other people were supposed to be helping me, but two of them are going to be out of town and other's mother passed away on Thanksgiving, with the funeral on the day of the event. All of this crap has convinced me that my dreams of becoming a mysterious, cave dwelling hermit are over and that I will just have to accept the fact that I will have to deal with people the rest of my life.
I had lunch today with the teacher who gave me my first of many "F" grades I got in school. This was in the fifth grade. We didn't talk about that, but we both remember it.
It is weird that this old guy and I are friends now. I've never told him how much that F made me feel like I was a failure. In reality, that F should have been the flag that got my parents attention that I was not doing well in my person, not that I was having a hard time with schoolwork.
I don't have hard feelings about it because I earned that F and it was my teacher's job to report that I was not doing any work. That should have been enough for grownups to ask why. It wasn't. Neither were the subsequent years up to my senior year in high school. Ultimately, it was I who decided to get good enough grades, go to summer and night school, to graduate, barely.
My parents did ask, but it was more like "Why can't you do better? You are smart." It didn't seem like there was an understanding that more was going on than just sloughing off school work. So, I eventually just hid my report cards and shut myself off from them.
It seems so obvious to me that if I have a child who tests high, gets top grades, then all of a sudden gets .08 GPAs that there is something seriously a matter with my child other than they got a bad grade. Too many times we treat symptoms, rather than the cause. Are we afraid of truth? I think that to truly love someone means to embrace the possibility of dealing with the fact that we are the cause and that we are the ones failing. I love my parents. I've learned a lot of things from their mistakes. The irony is that I probably won't have any children to practice what I've learned on. That's a possibility that troubles me.
I have two ideas for Christian themed restaurants: "Chuck E. Jesus'" and "Macaroni and Jesus". The Chuck E. Jesus would have a robot manger band with a 12 disciple backing choir. The other, well, anything with macaroni in it is good for the soul. Just think, I risk my eternal salvation just to bring you such silly things. I hope you are amused to death.
My truck, Clyde, caught on fire Saturday. I was welding some stress cracks on the firewall when the heat set the paint on the interior on fire. Luckily, I had my brother standing by with a fire extinguisher and a wet towel. We put the fire out before anything was irreparably damaged. It's just that my truck smells like, as Ralph Wiggam would put it, burning. Wheee. I love working on my truck.
After getting a closer look at my truck, I noticed that it was a woman trapped in a man truck body. From now on my truck will be known as "Claudette". Yes, my truck is a sassy black lady. On second thought, I think I will just stick with Clyde.
I haven't cut my hair yet since it started growing back after having chemo. It is getting long. Today, at a local church, I actually had a person ask me if I was trying to prove a point by growing my hair long. I didn't take this in a bad way at all. I just said asked them what kind of hairstyle Jesus would have. I got nothing back from them. Irritating this person made me feel warm inside. It was nice to feel the spirit of the Lord at church.
I'm going to be performing at a Christmas concert that a friend is putting on. I have no idea what in the hell I will be doing because it is a Christmas theme and I don't do that kind of thing. Any time we set on a day to get together and reherse, something comes up with one of us and it never happens. I'm not a big performing type. If I do play, I can't suck. Everything about this is leading to suck because nobody can get their heads out of their asses and come to an agreement on stuff. I'm thinking of just showing up with my biggest amp and turning it up to "ungodly loud" and play my favorite tune: "The Party's Over, Retards". Yeah, it was one of Judy Garland's classics you've never heard of before.
Anybody think that Blueray is going to make real life look too "lo-fi"? I'm sorry, but the digital medium are just Legos compared to real life's molecules. One of the attractive qualities of the old and outdated Technicolor system in film was that the colors tended to bleed into each other. This was something that was flawed, but it had style in its imperfection. Real life is also flawed. Borders and boundries are blurry. There exists more fuzzy softness than crispness. That said, I just saw Hellboy II on Blueray and it was kewl.
I will close this post with one of my favorite lyrics from a rock song: I wish I was your mother.
You know the types. The wanna be or retired authority figures. They could pick any other color or any other kind of big ass car, but no, they have to make like they are the feds, fuzz, or government official. These douches like to go around and yell at people, telling them what they can or can't do. There are the ones who take things a step further by putting spotlights on their Vic.
I've had a run in lately with one of these asshole "WCV" driving douches. I'm not going to go into details, but he yelled at me--frothing mad--about something that he thought I was doing at work wasn't legal. This mid-50s town sheriff wannabe about ran me over, he coming to a screeching stop on the wrong side of the road, then started showing off his likeness to a braying jackass by opening his mouth. He was so livid that he started taking off his seat belt and grabbing the door handle, like he was going to have to take out the trash, yep. After "setting me straight" I called my work's head of security, who is a real cop, and he confirmed that I was right and that douche was wrong. He also told me to call him immediately if this asshole harassed me again. It's always good to have a cop on your side.
Share with me your "White Crown Victoria" douche bag stories. They don't have to drive a WCV, per se, just fit the general profile.
I just bought some nut files on Ebay. This is so you can cut and shape your nuts. I am so excited now. I'm going to lock myself in my room and go to work on my nuts until I am satisfied with the results.
I am particularly fond of bone nuts. Nothing like a good bone, I always say. It is important, though, to make sure that when you work your nuts to have a precise spacing, or else things get misaligned and will cause bad vibrations. It helps to use a nut clamp or vise in order to get a better handle on your work.
It is important to make sure that the slot is clean before you place your nut into it. There might be all kinds of debris and residue in there. Heck, one could even find that the slot has a bunch of old glue caked in there. Clean that sucker out!
Once you have satisfactorily worked your nuts, the results will be pleasing. Remember, exercise patience and use good technique--these are key.
During high school I worked at McDonald's. Only one Gruntonian knows the full extent of my weirdness during that time of my life. There was a group of guys that I worked with that called me "Pagan" or "Matt the Pagan". It started with the way that I made hamburgers on occasion. When I wanted to curse a patron, I made what I called a "Satan Burger". This burger was made with a beef patty with an upsidedown pentagram branded in the meat with a heated up spatula. I would get all giddy thinking what kind of horror would fill a customer's mind when they opened up their burger to see the mark.
I need to explain that as a teenager I was fascinated with occult symbols. I guess it was my way of rebelling against the seemingly strict religious community I was brought up in at the time. One summer, having to take a couple of courses so I could move on to high school, a fellow "failure" brought a book of witchcraft. I thought this book was fairly harmless, but started chanting the spells out loud by the candy machines where we would hang out at. This freaked out some of the students, but especially our teacher.
There was a bit of urban myth that there were some community members and teachers who were witches and satan worshippers. The stories were that they would steal your pets and sacrifice them up in the mountains. I spent many hours wondering who was a witch and where up in our foothills they would practice their rituals.
In the neighboring town to where I lived there was a tall stone cross hidden in a wooded ravine.This is a photograph of the cross. I understand that some dickhead blew it up with a pipe bomb. The cross was always a thing of much speculation and myth. The stories of what would happen there on a full moon or other eventful nights were rather wild. There were tales of hooded figures and animal sacrifice going on there. The few times I made the journey I only found one dead cat and I really couldn't say that it was sacrificed or just placed there to freak the shit out of us meddling kids.
There was only one time that I did come across a grizzly scene of animal sacrifice, or more likely, torture. A friend of mine and I were riding motorcycles in the hills above his house. We were always a bit curious about dead things and if we caught a whiff of death when up in the mountains we'd investigate and try to find the offender. We found Percival's dead horse he shot to put it out of its misery (the hoof tore from its leg after a fall). That was grotesque and about the worst smell I've ever had to intake. That day of riding, however, we caught a whiff of death and what we found was truly disturbing. We got off the bikes and walked through a thicket of oak brush. There, hanging from a tree, was a black dog skinned from the neck down, with its entrails laid down into a pattern of several symbols. I have no idea what must have taken place. All I can think of is the poor dog that was tortured to death. This is about the moment where those spooky fantasies of mine of witchcraft and the occult ended, and the reality of disturbed individuals began its torment upon my awareness.
I occasionally wonder if I have rubbed shoulders in that small town with the individual(s) who committed that horrible act. I guess I will never know.
"Tryouts For the Human Race". (Ron & Russell Mael, Giorgio Moroder)
We're just a gleam in lover's eyes, steam on sweaty bodies in the night One of us might make it through, the rest will disappear like dew Pressure building, gettin' hot, give it, give it, give it all you got When that love explosion comes, my, oh my, we want to be someone
CHORUS Tryouts for the human race, from Burlington to Bonn Ah, we are a quarter billion strong Tryouts for the human race, from twilight time 'til dawn We just want to be someone
We're the future and the past, we're the only way you're gonna last We're just pawns in a funny game, tiny actors in the oldest play It's an angry sea we face, just to get the chance to join the race Gotta make it, gotta try, gotta get the chance to live and die
We must, we must, we must leave from here We must, we must, we must, we must leave from here Gotta make our play, gotta get away Gotta make our play, gotta get away Gotta make our play, gotta get away Gotta make our play Let us out of here, let us out of here, let us out of here
We just want to feel the sun and be your little daughter or your son We're just words that lovers use, words that light that automatic fuse When that love explosion comes, my, oh my, we want to be someone CHORUS
One very married lady and I talking about stuff. Nothing sexual. It's just us talking about our lives and where we think things are going for the both of us. I did date this girl before I got sick, before she got married. I guess my mind still has some leftovers to deal with. They have been nice dreams, though. I wonder what her dreams have been about the past couple of nights.
That's what my title would have been for the old Fritz Lang silent film Metropolis. I watched that film tonight and just loved the evil inventor's name. I guess syphilis was fairly prevalent back then.
It's been awhile since I saw one of my sisters. On Saturday I dropped off a TV set to her apartment and was amazed. I thought she was somebody else. She has really been working out a lot lately. She has always been beautiful. Now she is smokin'. If she already didn't have a serious boyfriend I would be out picking fights with would be suitors. She is proof that hitting your forties does not mean having to look like your parents did at that age.
I finally got the wiring done on the remodel guitar project of mine (Strat). I had to come up with my own schematic to make all the mods work, so it took a long time. Now I can finish the guitar build (Telecaster) that I was bragging about during the summer. Sometimes the way I work frustrates people because I will start one project only to start three others and not finish the first one until last. I have figured out that the first project is what I need to motivate me to create and usually will not get completed until it has served me--to get other things accomplished. What I have also learned is that building a guitar does not save you any money, but you get to build it your way.
I have dug up my old 286 computer that runs a DOS operating system. I want to get all of my old school projects and papers off of that computer, as well as some personal writing projects of mine. I have found that the only DOS that I remember is how to shut the computer down. This has been really frustrating as well as a little embarrasing that I still have this ancient device. I might as well be telling you stories of my UNIVAC and punch cards. At least I didn't say that it was a Commodore 64.
It's up to you, Gruntonians, to determine who will win in the TIGF Battle Royale: Fops vs. Dandies vs. Macoronis!!!
First up: The Fops! This fastidious soul aspires to aristocracy but gets hung up along the way by his obsession with all things fancy. Always hilarious is the Fop's affected manner, while a bit more restrained than the Macaroni, it still screams "Hello Sailor!" The Fops' secret weapon is ambition to get to the top at all costs.
Second: The Dandies! The Dandies are a bit more sophisticated and masculine to that of the Fop or Macaroni and much less deranged, not to mention their place in literature, ahem, Oscar Wilde y'all. But there are still odd trappings that a dandy will get himself into--olde time contests of physical prowess and Balloon races around the world and shit. Surely, they are at an advantage with their more streamlined fashions and top hats, what with all that weapons storage space.
Last, but not least: The Macaronis! The Macaronis are by far the most hedonistic of all TIGF creatures. Sort of like a glammed up Greek philosophers, but without the drag coefficient of hi IQs, the Macaronis will out eat, out drink, and out gay you to death. Beware of the outrageousness.
So, who will it be? How will this fight go? You decide!
I will give the first person who can figure out what the title means a prize.
There was this guy today who wanted to show me his "invention" for clearing out a street gutter drain. It was just two PVC pipe lengths taped together that he used to ram down the drain. I told him that he just found them and that he didn't invent them, "pipes have already been invented, dude, a long freakin' time ago". You would have thought that I had told him that his mother sucks cocks in hell or something. Realizing that this guy's self esteem was so invested in this technological breakthrough of his, I decided to turn things around and give him credit for his genius. This only made things worse and funnier at the same time. He then proceeded to tell more people about his invention and it really hasn't helped his reputation at work. I've decided that I would be the one to name his new invention: "Quinn's Trusty Ramrod". My world is only further enriched by knowing this fur-bearing, halfwit man child.
I have a friend who has a bunch of Canadian cousins that like to make fun of him being American. They say stuff like, imitating his American accent, "Hey, my name is Jason and I'm an American, dude." Apparently, that is hilarious. I love my Canadians, so what I am about to say is only in friendship and good times. How do you get one hundred Canadians out of a swimming pool? You say, "Hey, Canadians! Get out of the pool!" Apparently, that too is hilarious.
Just this Sunday, I was eating some peanut butter cups while laying down on the couch watching TV. After awhile, I go to the terlet. (Like the pronunciation?) When I get done cleaning up shop, I look in the mirror and see a big, brown streak across my cheek and neck. I panicked for a moment thinking that I had just given myself some kind of botched "Dirty Sanchez" and then I remembered the peanut butter cups and figured that I must have had some on my hands and rubbed it on. Besides, I checked it out. It totally did not taste like doodoo feces.
If you didn't vote in the big election, then you are kind of a loser. What are you going to do to make it up to the rest of us? I think brownies would be nice.
I love the desert. I was born in Arizona and frequented the Superstitions with my dad quite often. I love the red rock sandstone deserts and those filled with the Joshua Tree. Dunes are nice as well. The steppe is often a place where most people would rather not go. But I find things there where most do not.
I'm right at home in this photo. I'm near a place where the U.S. stores its vast supply of old chemical weapons and destroyed at a facility about twenty miles south. This mountain was scaled in my truck via an old trail that goes straight up the shoulder. It was a bit unsettling seeing nothing that would stop your fall if you were to roll or have a brake failure on the way down. This was my second time up this mountain. The first time I did it my passenger side exhaust got torn off. Bailing wire was my rescue. No breakdowns this time.
Just out of frame to the left is a high peak. It is just under twelve thousand feet. It has two narrows up its canyon. They are the gates to an alpine scenery that betrays the desert climate below. Wildlife thrives on both sides of this yin and yang. Men and mayhem don't do so bad here either.
The world needs places where a man can step outside of culture and society by living out his most destructive needs. The desert has been such a place throughout time. I always wonder when I will find a dead body out in places like this. It is a bit macabre to think this way. But I do not shrink at myself and my innermost wanderings. There has to be a letting of those things.
Get ready to view the most terrifying thing ever. Warning: You may never be the same again.I've got to admit, The Lost Horizon was the single most scary movie I'd ever seen and I still have "wet the bed" nightmares about it to this day. Hold me.
So, what y'all doing for Halloweenie? I'm probably just going to kick it, 'cause I'm cool like that.
That's what I had, all right. Well, some stuff did happen. I went to the dentist and got some work done on my teeth. The right side of my mouth was all numb and my jaw would sometimes not close all the way. Later on in the day I found out why--when the anesthetic wore off. My cheek inside my mouth was getting in the way of my teeth closing. Fun. Now the right side of my mouth is like hamburger meat.
I forgot to take my anxiety/depression meds today and I was a bit on edge. I guess this means that I am officially old. I need one of those "SMTWTHFS" medication dispensers. Go on. Make fun of me.
I watched this old horror movie that was on DVD. It wasn't anything well known. The transfer was bad, so the picture and especially the sound was poor. I liked the actors, the direction, and locations, but for the life of me, I could not understand anything that was being said. It was like an all "Peanuts" adult cast. Is it sad that I watched the whole thing anyway?
I voted today. Take advantage of the early vote if you can. The lines are way short. I sort of feel bad when it comes to voting whether or not to let some judges keep their jobs because I have no idea who they are. Typically, I vote to let them all keep their jobs, but then I feel like a chump. This is when I go over the names and see which one I figure must be an asshole based solely on the limited information given on the ballot and then vote "no". Yeah, I have that kind of power.
My work phone's wallpaper is a picture of our payroll director. He was the one that did this. He's kind of a dick but I still like him. Sometimes there are people who are total dicks but you find that you like them no matter how big of a dick they are. Yes, I just said that you all like dicks. Some of you are all right with that and some of you are having a hard time right now coming to grips with that fact. Sorry, I am not able to help you further with your problems.
I have had a rather long streak of feeling unsexy. My aura must have a conjoined dead fetus attached to itself or something. Maybe I should just try "whipping it out" and see if I get any bites. What do you all think?
Is it still to late to run off and join the circus? I want to grow a big, twirly mustache and wear some kind of leopard skin strong man suit. Oooh, and lift barbells that have globe-like weights on their ends that say "500 lbs" and stuff. Oh, and I'd also lift those trapezoidal weights with the ring on the end that are like 1,000 pounds, bend iron bars, and get mauled wrestling a bear. I'd have a midget wife and a lobster boy, boy. Heaven isn't too far away.
I bet you never thought I'd be quoting Warrant lyrics on this blog, did you.
Maila Nurmi, aka. "Vampira" died in January of this year. I swear she had the smallest waist of any non-famine struck female in the entire world. She was the ultimate goth chick. Powerfully seductive and naughty in a way that would make any man, no matter how virtuous, try something kinky. Whatever it was that she had, it was powerful. Give it up for Vampira.
What movie features an Egyptian mummy that dresses like a cowboy, Elvis still alive and living in a rest home, and a black JFK? Answer: the movie Bubba Ho-Tep. Did I mention that this movie stars Bruce Campbell? In fact, any horror or sci-fi movie with Bruce Campbell would be a sure bet for a Halloween video party. Evil Dead trilogy, anyone?
I won't give any of the movie away. It is funny and definitely B-grade horror. But this movie has heart and great performances throughout. Don Coscarelli, the man behind the legendary horror classic Phantasm series of movies, was the screen writer and director of Bubba Ho-Tep. By the way, if you still haven't listened to me about how awesome Phantasm is, then shame on you. Phantasm is one of my all time favorite horror flicks. It mixes B-horror with sci-fi, action, mystery, home-made gore effects, and goofy humor all in one package, plus, a hot rodded Hemi-Cuda and demonic souped-up hearses. There is also the tall man and his army of demon dwarf slaves. Oh yeah, one of the heroes in the film is an ice cream man. It pretty much has everything. I've even wrote a couple of posts about the movie. You can read my TIGF on the Tall Man here.
Martin is in my top five vampire films. The thing you won't get from the trailer, and what makes the movie truly great, is how Martin starts to form intimate human relationships despite his craving for blood. All of you chicks that are into the "Twilight" novels should give this one a try.
As for me, I've got the flu. It bites filthy monkey ass. I worked a half day today, came home, and had weird half-dream TV time. Earlier in the week I went to a new dentist. It turned out that I graduated from high school with this guy. It took us both a little while to figure it out, but it was cool. I have a confession: It had been 10 years since my last dental checkup. The damage? Four small cavities and two silver fillings that need to be repaired. The dentist was surprised that after having gone through chemotherapy and radiation that my teeth were in such good shape. I didn't mention the other stuff because I was embarrassed. I have had a phobia of people putting instruments in my mouth ever since I fell out of a tree when I was a kid and messed up my jaw. I've always done a real good job of taking care of my teeth, brushing and flossing. But as far as going to the dentist, when it was left up to me, after I turned 18, to take care of those things myself, I stopped going in for checkups. My recent battle with cancer, anxiety, and depression ended up in victory, so far. I have decided that I need to start taking better care of myself all around.
The people who are my friends and loved ones have been very patient with me and my little glitches. I'm getting better and better now, each day, all around. Sometimes a life takes awhile to get straightened out. It's hard to know how broken you are when you've needed to be repaired almost out of the gate. I have an understanding of what kind of anomaly I am. At least now I can see how that makes me beautiful. I thought I'd throw in a bit of TIGF in there while I was at it. But seriously, it feels good. It just takes people some time to understand what I've been through and where I am going. I'm learning to be patient with that and myself.
If I were in charge of things ferrets would be called "wiener cats".
Don't climb trees to feel young again. Just don't. You need proof? Did I tell you that I fell out of a tree on Monday? Of course I didn't. That's why I'm telling you now. Anyway, it's true. I have bruised ribs and a sprained left wrist. I climbed up to saw a big branch that was dangling, half broken, and was a safety hazard to pedestrians. As I was climbing down, my foot slipped on a knot that was my rock solid foot hold. The best part about it was I hit a branch on the way down. Whee? Yes, whee. That was the part where I put my arms up in the air and had fun.
I got a new work phone. It is a real cool Moto heavy duty work type Razor. Supposedly you can run over it with a car and it will not break. The cool part is that you can leave voice notes to yourself or send them out. I recorded this long-ass burp after drinking a Dr. Pepper. I then set it up as my ringtone. The problem came, when for some reason I couldn't change the ringtone. I would be around people and then my phone would start belching. I figured out later on how to fix it. Lotsa fun. Now my work ringtone is me doing a "ring-ring" in my best operatic falsetto. People everywhere are now starting to distance themselves from me. It's the latest fashion trend.
I'm sick and tired of people who've never had cancer compare my cancer to someone else's that they know. It's some real twisted game of "My (insert name or relation)'s cancer could beat up your cancer" bullshit. I don't want to even fucking know because I am tired of anything cancer related, to be honest. The fact is that there are plenty of people who have had worse cancer than me, because they are dead. Somehow this does not make me feel like a loser. The real losers are the ones that, for whatever reason, play stupid games with the stories and lives of their loved ones just in order to make them, not the diseased one, feel special. It's like they somehow get credit for knowing the afflicted. Congrats. Now here's your freakin' rubber Cheerio.
This last Saturday my friend and I went out to the west desert in the Oquirrh mountains to shoot the hell out of some clay pigeons and abandoned water heaters with my shotgun. We also did a fair amount of 4-wheelin' in Clyde. The mountains and even the valleys had a fresh blanket of snow to frolic and play in, and frolic and play we did! Gay. Not really, though, we decided that we needed some adventure and adventure we got. (Water tower to supply boilers for trams and elevators, my best guess)
I drove my truck as far as I dared up the narrow wagon trail to get to J@cob's City (read my first post about my first trip there here). It was when things started getting a bit slippy and not enough roadie that I decided that things were getting a bit ridiculous. Oh, and hitting a jagged outcropping of rock with my passenger's side door so I didn't slide off into oblivion had something to do with it too. Poor Clyde. So, I parked my truck where it seemed safe and my friend and I hiked the rest of the way up the canyon.
(One of the last standing ore hoppers in the area that loaded the mule wagons heading down the canyon)
This area has just a few structures still intact. A lot of the buildings, including a motel, collapsed under the weight of snow, due to a lack of maintenance.
(The site of the old tram building, I believe. The boiler room is in the background, in the hill.)
We were lucky to be able to see all of this before the rest of the storm dropped about another 18 inches of snow. Anyway, this trip was awesome. It's hard to tell how high up in the mountains we actually were because of the clouds. We had a long trip back before we could breathe easier. I would like to thank the current owners of the city for letting my friend and I trespass on their property. Oh, and next time, would it kill you to take the iron gates off all the mines there so we can check them out?
In other weekend news, I got to meet another blogger, Pants. We have a mutual friend in Megatropolis. It was cool to meet yet another blogger in the universe. It was good, also, in that Pants has been a good blogger aquaintence of mine for almost three years--now I finally got to put a 3-D on the words of Miss Pants, a very cool girl. I was so awesome. I think I spoke like three sentences the whole time. My social anxiety disorder rules! The thing I have found out, and please take no offense, is that you really haven't met anybody or know who they are through the internets alone. My wish is that I could meet all of you. Except you. You know who you are.
It was a long time ago when I first saw this movie. It stars Lance Henriksen (of Aliens & Millennium fame). Lance plays a father whose boy is run over by a dirt bike and killed by some teens messing around at a general store. Long story short, the dad gets real pissed and seeks the help of a witch, who summons the evil monster known as "Pumpkinhead" to seek out and kill the teens.
This movie has the right amounts of stupid, scary, gore, and supernatural spookiness. It also is a bit of a morality tale about vengeance and has enough of a backwoods folk tale to keep it from being another throwaway monster flick.
I haven't seen the many sequels to this movie, so I can't vouch for them. But Pumpkinhead is a sure bet for a October weekend video party.
The title is just a little shout out to my homiette, Christielli. I just made up a word right there and that makes me smart.
Where to start? How 'bout showing off one of my guitar projects! This is my new version of my old black Fender Stratocaster. I got a good deal on a 2008 three-tone sunburst American Standard Strat body from a guitar that was being parted out. This was how I envisioned my ideal Strat style guitar and now I have it. The original black body will either be sold or kept for another project. I won't sell until I determine that the new body sounds as good or better than the old one. I am going from a hard, northern ash body to an Alder body. Ash has a big bottom and glassy highs, but scooped mids, is hard and heavy with a well defined grain. Alder is well balanced across the sound spectrum, is lighter than ash, tight grained and hard as a rock. Alder seems to be a better tone wood for covering many genres. I hope you aren't questioning my orientation based on my obsession with wood.
I bumped into a girl who I used to work with back in the mid nineties. I was at a convenience store getting a refill and thought that I had seen the attendant somewhere else before. It took me awhile to sift past the defeated hausfrau exterior but it was La Choi! That was the nickname that I gave her, her real name being Jacquoi. I guess she is working at the Maverick during the time while her kids are at school. It was a real trip. I can remember the the times that she used to come up to me and say, "Smell ME!" She was obsessed that she smelled like the kitchen area all of the time. I'll also never forget the time that one of the crew guys said to her, "I like your hair. It covers up your lobotomy scars real well." Her reply was, "What's wrong with my hair?" I used to always get in arguments with her, but for some reason people would always try to get us to go out with each other. That never happened. Anyways, her hair still covers up those lobotomy scars real well.
Do you ever have one of those moments where you just don't want to hear something? You know, you do the whole stick your fingers in your ears routine while humming? Yeah, I totally had one of those moments on Saturday.
On a totally unrelated note, that is totally not unrelated, my niece will always seem like a little girl to me, that little girl that I helped baby sit and enjoy watch turn into a sweet girl, despite her surroundings. When they go and do something that can potentially mess up their whole life it is just too much to take in sometimes. Please forgive me for not saying exactly what it is that has happened. I'm still in her corner.
Speaking of corners, have you ever talked, or not talked but found yourself in a corner without having one wit of there being a problem? Yeah, that rocks. I get upset at the situation, and not necessarily at the person who has me on my heels, but that only makes things more confusing for the both of us. This is what happens when I talk to people when I am drowsy...yeah, that's the ticket. The best part is when you recognize that it was all a misunderstanding and then you laugh uncomfortably hoping that it really is over. Or is it? Mwahahahahahaha!
I've done some reflecting on the recent past today. I have determined that I need to learn how to play chess for my own enjoyment. However, in the metaphorical sense of the game, I have played well so far and am now enjoying a, hopefully, long respite until the match resumes. My opponent has seen that I am not easily checked. Ultimately, my opponent will have checkmate, but I will give him a match that will test his skills mightily. Knowledge is never easily gained and sometimes faith must be a chosen path, rather than waiting to have it revealed. Sometimes the best revelations are had in trial and error, not in success.
"It is finished!" -from Ingmar Bergman's The Seventh Seal.
Those two tracks were from The Last House On The Left soundtrack, Wes Craven's first horror film--very gay and very funny songs throughout. It is a cult horror classic and very disturbing, even still. The best parts of the movie were the highly inappropriate comedic scenes/music that would intersect all of the disturbing material. That is my horror video party pick for this October weekend. Don't watch it unless you are hardcore. There are parts of the movie that feel like you are watching a snuff film.
I will be doing horror movie picks on Fridays instead of TIGF this month. Let me know if you've seen any of these or if you do see them and what you thought.
Ronnie Lane and Slim Chance. Ronnie Lane was the main man in the Brit rock groups The Small Faces (Featuring Steve Marriott) and their later incarnation, The Faces (Featuring Rod Stewart and Ron Wood). Ronnie quit what he started because he saw his band mates turning into a bunch of materialistic yobs, and Rod Stewart becoming a glory hound. He forsake all of this and bought a farm, living a rustic life. There was one point that he lived in a gypsy caravan that he had parked on the property of his good friend Pete Townsend. He used to take his band Slim Chance on the road with what he callled the "Passing Show", a circus with tents and all. His band would play with fire breathers and jugglers on stage. He had no crew to set these things up. He and his band would set everything up wherever they would go. They were a real band of gypsies.
I admire his spirit, songcraft, and his lust for life. He died from an almost three decade battle with MS in 1997. Enjoy the song, "The Poacher".
Today has been fairly challenging for me in ways that I can't quite articulate. My back and legs were sore from me running down a mountain trail Sunday. I was trying to get home in order to catch the premier of the new season of the Simpsons. I'm sore, but that really isn't what is bothering me. It could be that I have had some issues with a co-worker that I wonder if he had suffered one too many blows to the head when he played high school football. It probably isn't that either. Maybe it was sitting in the DMV for too long waiting to renew my truck's registration. Nope. Maybe it was nothing.
I saw a girl crying like mad today. I was coming out of a 7/11 and she just hung up the pay phone and started bawling. She got into her car and drove around the gas station and parked her car again, still bawling. This made me wonder why I don't cry much anymore. I always wonder what people cry about because I wonder what tragedy is in their lives.
On my Sunday hike a family was coming up the trail. Their labrador greeted me with a friendly nose to the hand, then their schnauzer greeted me with a wet whisker to my calf. It was then that I said to myself, "What in the fuh kind of dog is that?" This flash of fur was bounding around the trail like crazy. It was a goat, a tiny charcoal goat wearing a red dog collar and bell. It was the coolest thing I've seen in a long time. This goat was real friendly too. Screw getting a dog; I'm getting one of these for a pet. I mean, it will subsist on whatever, right? No trips to the pet store for food and shit. Yeah, I'm probably wrong on that one. I'm just looking to get rid of some old leather boots and my mound of tin cans. Anyway, think of what a goat could do to intruders. A burgler would not be expecting to hear a goat, nor would a burgler enjoy getting rammed. I would train my guard goat to chew intruder crotch. It would be awesome.
I don't know why, but I felt lonely today. It was bound to happen to me. Crashing after having had a real great experience on Sunday, I guess. That must be what was dogging me today. Johnny Thunders said it best when he sang, "You can't put your arms around a memory."
I had an invite to speech before 400 people at a local church for a half hour today (Sunday). I talked about how documenting one's life is essential to helping yourself and other's overcome adversity. I shared my story of the past 16 months, albeit concise, with regards to my fight with cancer. The speech was extremely well received and was held after for an hour talking with various people wanting to know more about my story. It was nice to hear from mature men who are highly successful come to me afterward and advise me on my future, one saying that I am a natural talker. A couple came up to me and told me that I resembled a young Robert Redford. I told them that as long as it was the young Robert Redford that I'd take that as a compliment. Seriously, he looks like a plastic crypt keeper with freckles and cowboy boots now.
It seems weird to me now that I was, in fact, a licensed minister at one time in my life. I am not a pious person at all and never have been, even when I was a missionary. I've spent most of my adult life heavy in doubt, but I have had the ability to mingle with those who are religious. From my constant questioning has come a gift to provide a perspective on spirituality that is new and sometimes a bit too challenging for most. But, every so often when I share my perspective it resonates. I spent a great deal of time after my service in England closed off and feeling a bit betrayed--like there was no place for me, anywhere. I quit sharing my gifts with people and as a result I withered and became lonesome. It has been through some rather harsh experiences over the past eight years that I've woke up and shaken off the dust of my hibernation. Where I go from here, I do not know. But, I have the feeling like I'm loading up my caravan and starting on my next journey. I'm going to enjoy having you guys come along.
May all your dreams come true! Can you imagine how incredibly far out, surreal, and horrific this would be if your dreams did come true--the ones that you have while asleep? That means I would all of a sudden find myself working at my high school job at McDonald's again, wondering how my life had got so bad that I was working as a fry cook at this point in my life. It would also mean that tornadoes would be chasing me. It would also mean that the world would have more backwards talking dwarfs. Well, that would be pretty damn cool, at least.
I think that the dairy industry needs a bit of a shake up. They need to change some of the names of their products in order to shock us and dare us to eat more dairy. Example: nipple chowder. What would this be? Why, it is our old friend cottage cheese. See how "nipple chowder" challenges your notion of what dairy is? It's in your face and erotic.
I have been saying "wilikers" a lot lately. "Jeepers" is so last whatever.
There was this guy that I worked with that seemed a bit unclear of what racism was. We had to attend a seminar that was put on by our equity department. When the class was asked what experiences that they had with racism, this guy raised his hand and said, "When I was in school the other kids used to make fun of me because I had a learning disability." Retard.
I have found the cure for "stage fright" at the urinal: whistle! Try it, it works. Other guys might think you are strange, but have you ever made fun of the dude who whistles while peeing? No. You just say "whatever" to yourself and tap your penis a few times too many. I am now going to be that guy whistling the theme to Star Trek while taking a slash.
Has anybody ever put a chimpanzee on a Segway? I'm sure the Russians or the Chinese have already put a bear or a dog on one before us. This is just like the space race all over again.
I helped a co-worker out the other day by repairing a broken radiator hose on his mini van. I used this rubber tape that I've had forever that is purpose designed for temporary repairs of holes in coolant lines. I explained this to the dude and said that, besides the tape being over ten years old, that this would likely only get him home and that he would have to get a new hose right away. Guess what happens next? I get a call from this guy a half an hour later and he's all complaining to me about how my tape job didn't work. I asked him how far away he was so that I could pick him up and take him home. He said that he was in his driveway and that the hose repair broke as he drove in. I told him that the repair was temporary and it seemed like it did what it was supposed to do. He then was upset and said that he was hoping that he wouldn't have to get a new hose since I fixed his old one. He then commented again on how he didn't like the tape and thought that it didn't work. So, we chit chatted for about five more minutes and then right before he goes he says, "Boy, well, I'm sure gonna have to get me some of that tape now."
This same guy is not allowed by his wife to carry money. He can use a credit card, but he must first call her before any purchases are made. I got a call on my cell phone last week where he was telling me how excited he was that his wife was going to let him buy a hamburger combo meal for his dinner. Is marriage like this for everybody?
When Tevye in The Fiddler on the Roof, the film, sings "If I Were a Rich Man," have you noticed that his dance is very suggestive? It's almost like Tevye is saying, "Hey there, check out my awesome tiddies!" I am totally Netflixing that shit.
I didn't sleep so well last night. There are some images that will never leave my memory, good and bad. The image of Brian's lifeless body drenched in blood will forever be etched in my mind. It was like some kind of sick tape loop playing over and over in my head last night. He never threatened anybody else's life but his own and he didn't seem like he was really going to do it. It just seemed like he was angry about losing control of his life and he wanted people to know that he felt screwed over. I have no idea what was in the police's play book that called for an all out assault. I have never seen anything like what happened that night in my whole life. It was straight out of some kind of hideous war scene or Faces of Death, only it happened in front of my own eyes and not on the screen. I don't know how cops can go home at night and sleep, ever. How can you get used to that stuff?
Why did the police say that he was still alive when it was later confirmed that he was, in fact, dead within a minute of being shot? That's another thing; the scanner that the reporters had going on picked up the police saying that he had shot himself in the chest. Because of the flash bangs, tear gas, and pepper balls, it was hard for us to see the actual shooting--who shot what, not to mention total disbelief. I was confused and horrified along with others who did not have a financial stake in getting a good shot or a juicy story.
I climbed up onto the office complex roof to peer down just moments after the shot. I wasn't supposed to be there, but I got a clear look. Things were pretty goofy. They tazed him. He was already dead. WTF? That's some pretty sick fucking stuff to see people taze a dead man. Now the cops aren't saying shit. The area is now cordoned off by the police. Now they are saying that they are not positive if he shot himself. I heard them say it over the scanner that he did. What are they not sure of? I hope they are forthcomming with their findings. Also, for a guy in condition Delta, they seemed to be a bit on the slow side on hauling him off. I really think the cover up there was to not upset those of us public who were witness to the incident.
Pick anybody in your life that you know. Somebody that you know well enough, but not necesarilly close to you. Now think of this: you will someday witness the exact moment of that person's gruesome death. Man, my head is freaking out going back in time and thinking of what interactions I had with him and never knowing what the cosmos had in store, that I would be there to see his last stand.
I'm doing alright. There's just a sick pit in my stomach over the whole situation. Brian had the power to stop it, I guess. One of the press photographers got a shot of him earlier in the day where he had stepped out of the truck with a gun to his head. His face was absolutely demonic--totally not like him. He seemed like he was outside of his own body. Where is a person when they are in that state of mind and situation? I could see my spirit floating above trying to figure out how to operate my body by remote, but only getting thwarted by some kind of primal override. Or is it a hyper-reality that one goes into...such focus that one becomes so single minded that there is no grounds for negotiation?
Please, no sympathy comments. I am interested in what you have to think about these situations and how the police handle them. Probably the police carried out their policy to the tee and it's just the policy that needs review and fixing. I don't know enough about that, I guess.