Mad Libs, Portland, and William S. Burroughs

Drew and I went to Portland this weekend for her birthday celebration. Bon Anniversaire, mon trou sexuel! We had a quite wonderful time in the land of ports. First off, we stayed at the Red Lion at the River. Kinda far outside Portland but the schwank bar and restaurant "Shenanigans" had paper-mache looking statues of the Blues Brothers, so I knew instantly it was a hit. photo by Drew

We toured the city a-la MAX light rail, and hit up a lovely restaurant called Lovely Hula Hands, named after a 1944 film.

I whole heartily reccomend it to anyone in the Portland area. Drew and I had the Deviled Eggs, Burgers, and Ice Cream. Holy shit. The Deviled Eggs tasted heavenly. The Burgers were juicy and possessed a rich meatiness one craves when eating a burger and that is rarely satisfied. The Mint in the ice cream was so fresh it tasted leafy and earthy while still possessing everything mint ice cream should be.

After that we went to the "Crow Bar" and met Whitney, one of Drew's friends, and her pseudo beau and Portland Chef extrodinarre Morgan. We listened to awesome music, such as "Excuse Me if I Break My Own Heart Tonight." by Whiskeytown and I drank Old Crow.

The next morning we ate at "Shenanigans," and because of this missed our train. Drew suggested we make Lemon Drops out of Lemons (as life was giving her vodka) and saw "Baby Mama" the new Tina "retardedly hot" Fey and Amy "I'd pole her" Pohler movie. (Side note: Mac Book Pro does not recognize "retardedly" as an adverb. Thankfully Mad Libs does.)

It was decent, I would say more of a renter, but I am glad I supported Fey's career in what little way I can. The plot was a bit predictable, but Steve Martin, Greg Kinnear, and Sigourney Weaver helped lift the film when it started to sag. All in all a good way to waste time waiting for the next train.

After this we headed to Borders for some old fashioned book finding. I bought a Mad Libs (40th anniversary no less) and Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs. The Mad Libs helped to keep the train ride interesting with such lines as "When passing a Dinosaur on the right be sure and blow your Cheetah." I know I always make sure to blow my cheetah, especially when passing pesky dinosaurs.

That being said, let me move onto my final topic of the post: Naked Lunch.
I remember being a young man, of no more than 14 or 15, and growing up in an artistically permissive household, had both the joy and terror of seeing the film "Naked Lunch" starring Robocop. The film is both intriguing and completely incomprehensible. I spoke about the film with my father who told me of the novel, and it's vast exspance of surrealism and confusion. I was interested, but this interest would not be satiated for another ten years.

Now, ten years later I am reading Naked Lunch. All I can say is "Holy Shit, what the fuck is going on?" Being about halfway through the rampant drug addled homosexual fantasies of Burroughs I feel that this book is important. It is the "Great Measure." The great measure of what to never, ever, ever, ever, ever, write again.

Setting all silliness aside, my opinion of the book is still in the air. The writing is intriguing and it somehow sticks in your brain, like "a bad hurt for junk." Only time will tell if I can kick. . .

Drew is 24!

Drew had her birthday and after a wonderful dinner at Ye Olde Spaghetti Factory we ended up celebrating at the Havana, a sweaty meat market up on Capitol Hill across from Vita and the Cha Cha. Here are some photo's that she took of our adventures, which end at the Pike Street Fish Fry, a new joint where "Frites" used to be and is now owned by the awesome Michael Hebberoy.




photos by Drew (and 1 by my long arm)

Literature and how it gets that way.

I have been visiting (and in some cases re-visiting) classical literature. I feel as though I've found some cyclopean wealth of knowledge that has been lost to the vast majority of unwashed miscreants that make up my generation. I find the last fact a tragedy.

These massive works of literature, which many contain the essence of human spirit, are forced upon us as young and hormonal teens. It is during this time when the American teenager, or at least a vast majority of American teenagers, finds education repugnant. I find it fascinating that this is the time when many of us will read the classics of literature.

When we think of novels like "Siddartha" or "The Metamorphosis" we think of high school English class and the sheer boredom it evoked. And while I did enjoy these novels, I don't feel I could possibly have grasped the full breadth and depth of these novels.

I would go so far as to say that many of us would learn as little as possible, the bare minimum to eke by, and then discard this knowledge like a burnt matchstick. In looking back I do remember reading these novels, but not much more than that. It was "Siddartha" alone that had any inkling of standing out in my mind. Funny, that it is the same book that started my return to literature of the classical variety.

That being said, I would like to briefly mention two books recently read by this humble blogger.

1) Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac. (I spelled his last name right the first try!)

and

2) The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka.

Both are amazing pieces of literature for different reason, and both I would recommend. What is next on Ian's reading list? "On the Road" by Kerouac, "Naked Lunch" by William S. Burroughs and "Pulp" by Buckowski. Americana, here I come.

Hell and why it sucks. . . fiction

I'm in hell. The seventh level of it. The worst part of hell is seeing your friends. In hell you can't say "Hi" or chat about relationships or work. In hell you can't even commiserate about being in hell. You're just there. Suffering. I wish I could say there was a good thing about hell, but there isn't. Not one Goddamn thing.

Those who aren't in hell might say "it is what it is." But its worse. Its hell. Fire? Yup, we've got it. Agony? Here in hell, there is agony to spare But the worst part of hell is not the fire, the burning, the agony or the constant rape of your soul. Its the boredom. That's the worst part of hell. I would even go so far as to say hell is the worst place I've ever been. Hell or Tijuana.

Why'd I end up in hell, you might ask? I don't know. The irony is, I don't even believe in hell. I still don't. I keep hoping this is some sick joke, and I will wake up at some point. But I haven't. Maybe this is just the longest dream I have ever had. I don't know. All I know is for countless hours I have been humiliated, abused, scorched and tortured for no good reason.

I guess that's the worst part of hell. Besides the Jim Morrison want-to-bes; the fact that there is no good reason for all of this is the worst part. Whatever. God is a faggot.

Maybe that's why I'm here. Because I think that God is a bitch. His plan only makes sense to weird Christians. That feeling. . . feeling bad about masturbation. . . I would have killed myself if I had that feeling. . . if I had felt bad about a stroke session.

So now I'm here. The Pit. Eternal Damnation. It's not the worse place I could be. I guess. I feel like there are worse places. The DMV. There is a place worse than hell. Maybe not. I would say so.

Maybe I'm full of cheerful optimism. But how could I be? I'm in Hell. . .

PEACE

Little Beauties (or Crazy Parents).

After a wonderful day at the Seattle Aquarium with Akilah (my co-worker) I got over to Drew's to veg out before our party.

And what better way to veg out? Watch Vh1 of course! Right now I am watching "Little Beauties. . . " a show about beauty pageants for little girls. The first thing that the parents always say when interviewed "We're really normal people. I'm a (insert normal profession here) and they're a (some sort of bat shit thing). Example: "We're really normal people. I'm a teacher, and she's a snake milker." Hmmmm.

Anyways, these people parade their young daughters (4-8 year old young) around in whore-ish outfits and tell them the importance of money in America. One of the popular items for these little beauty queens are called "flippers." These devices hide the child's trailer park teeth.

The second thing that is common practice for these kids is to get spray tans. . . Don't spray tans lead to skin cancer? Do you really want to have your children covered in dye and chemicals? Well, I guess these people want to make money.

The final bat shit thing is the swim suit competition, where the song "Little Stripper Baby." Was being played. You know what, America? You are fucking crazy. Stop sexualizing these little girls.

This is exactly what I think is wrong with this country. Little girls are taught by their parents to only care about being "beautiful" and tragically "sexy." So, before I rant on and on about everything that is fucked up I will just say "ciao".

. . . Well, at least these people's craziness affords me entertainment.

Books Books Books

I have been reading an incredible amount lately, which makes me very pleased. Before I read "Job" and "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" I had fallen off the reading bandwagon. Not that I didn't love to read, but rather I found myself less interested in reading. Why? One might ask?

The answer is simply: I don't know. Maybe I felt listless, or maybe I was disinterested in life. Whatever the case was that disinterest in reading or life has gone. Not only has it left, but it has been replaced with a voraciousness. The need to consume book after book, to read and to indulge myself in the act of reading.

It feels good. Really good.

So, as I do from time to time I will recommend two books I have read recently. The first is "Peter Camenzind" by Herman Hesse.

Hesse's first novel is a "bohemian" tale of love and beauty, and one man's struggle with his life. From small town in the Swiss Alps to the madness of turn of the century Zürich the hero, Peter, falls in love with many beautiful women. The problem is: Peter is both cantankerous and shy. Though he falls in love, it is always unrequited.

The novel is both amazing and rather short (at 140 pages-ish). I read it after having revisited Hesse's "Siddartha" and I have to say it rivals Siddartha in both beauty of language and story-telling ability. I say read it.
The second novel I will recommend to all you lovely readers is "World War Z" by Max Brooks. "Z" (as I will call it from now on) is a fictional account of a zombie war fought in modern times. It is essentially an oral account of the survivors taken as interviews.

For anyone who is a fan of the Zombie genre "Z" is a must read. The care that Brooks takes to the genre is astounding. Not since Romero's "Night of the Living Dead" has so much care been taken in the sculpting of a zombie genre piece. Brooks captures the reality of Zombies, the essence of what makes them terrifying and fascinating.

For those of you who are not a fan of the Zombie genre? I would still say read this book. If you like excellent story telling and writing, you will like this book. Read it, you won't regret it.

Sorry for the delay

I realize I have not been up on the posting, but as I said I had a crazy week a bit ago and am getting everything together. But, if this cheers you up there will be a rad awesome short story/ personal essay on a quite interesting topic. Peace out.

Quick Update

So I will have the last week or so back-posted probably tomorrow. . .

In other news I picked up "Stand Still like the Hummingbird" a wonderful collection of Henry Miller's short essays on life, writing, painting, art, money, and more. I recommend it for all you Miller fans out there.

TTFN

A Few Things To Note

1)I have not posted in a few days due to a Prebo family crisis that shall remain un-named at this current juncture.

2)The line work on my half sleeve is done and pictures will be posted soon.

3)My love for you is like a truck, Berserker.

4)I will have a bunch of back posts up soon to fill you all in on my trials and tribulations.

Good Night, Folks

Lakota Sioux and the Problem of the Government

A few months ago the Lakota Sioux seceded from the United States and claimed all treaties null and void. I am happy for the Sioux, as so many tribes have been treated poorly for the past 2 centuries, but I am worried that this could end up being another "Wounded Knee." Only this time the technology is more advanced and there is live news feeds.

So far it looks as though nothing has happened to the Sioux who have seceded. Maybe the government is scared. Or, maybe I just can't find the newest news about the situation. Keep me updated and correct me if any of this information is wrong. I don't think it is, as I have been doing research, but I thought I would through that out.

One More Quick Note:

Quick Note

Me as Pop-Art.


Me as an Orc or Goblin.

Me right now.

Zen and the Art of Finally Reading a New Age Book

I finally picked up "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" and I have to say so far it is good.

I always had the idea that the book would be some sort of "New Age" Zen Buddhist Jack-Me-Off-To-Death bullshit novel that people read because Oprah recommended it to them. I thought it would be a book full of stupid maxims about life that idiots could pass off as philosophy. Turns out I was wrong. At least I've been wrong for the first half of the book.

So far the book centers around two things: The journey a man, his son, and two of his friends take across the US on motorcycles; and secondly the nature of reason and the dilemma of modern man.

Robert Pirsig has a style not unlike Kerouac, but without the sex and run-on sentences. His writing is cleaver, and never dull, though many times deeply introspective. The characters don't so much develop (aside from the main character) as blunder through the vastness of the American Great Plains with fear and trepidation.

I will keep you updated on my progress and give you a final ascertation of the novel. But, right now I believe it will keep getting better. Only reading it will tell.

A Word From an Expert

Quick Note

After finishing Job I would say "Read this fucking book as quick as possible." Inventive, imaginative, and spectacularily written are only a few things I could say about this book. If you know me, I just might lend you a copy. Or buy you one.

Job: A Comedy of Justice

For the past few months I have not read very many novels, books, magazines, or anything besides emails and the Sunday comics. Usually, at these most desperate times of literary lacking, I pick up a novel that I have been meaning to read for a considerably long time. I am near finished with the book "Job: A Comedy of Justice" by Robert Heinlein, which is one of these books; a book that gets me back in the swing of reading.

I first purchased the book in one of my Heinlein kicks, about 3 or 4 years ago. I read a vast majority of the books that I had bought (Starship Troopers, Stranger in a Strange Land, Double Star, Red Planet, Assignment Eternity, Farnham's Freehold, Friday, Time Enough For Love, and The Cat Who Walks Through Wall to name a few{Heinlein wrote at least 50 books}), but every time I went to pick up Job, I could not do it. I would look at the cover for hours, I would read the blurb, I would get so far as to read the publication information and about the author. But, no matter how much I tried, I would not read the book.

I am happy to say, with about 50 pages to go, it is one of Heinlein's finest novels. It is both funny and cathardic; it is joyous and sad. It is a novel that addresses religion, taboos and human's preconcieved notions about life. In many ways these are common themes for Heinlein;s later works, including Friday and Time Enough For Love, but there is somethings else that sets this book apart.

One reason being the main character is an Evangelical Christian Preacher from another dimension. The second is because the book centers around Armageddeon (see also: The Rapture, Ragnarok, Judgement Day) or at least the ever present threat of the end. But more than that the book is about love and sex and everything that makes life so wonderful to live.

So, in conclusion, read this book and/or anything written by Robert A. Heinlein. Trust me.

P.S. if you read "Stranger in a Strange Land" (probably his best book) read the "Unexpurgated Version" with the forward by his wife. It has 60,000 more words than the first publication, and each one of them count.

Work, Work, Work

I have been working too hard lately. Not that I mind it that much, but I am beginning to feel a bit burned out. Between Mainstay, The Red Lion, and SCCtv I have next to no time for myself. Furthermore, I am trying to make a documentary and continue writing films. AND on top of that I am hoping I will be able to work on "The Warren Report" T.V. show again.

So, what does a guy have to do to get everything done? There is the Maxim "there are 24 usable hours in a day." But a guy has to sleep, right? The answer being yes, and no. I try to sleep and catch up with it as much as I can, but to work like I have been these past few weeks it means a major sacrifice in the sleep department.

I don't feel too bad about loosing sleep, though. I mean I am groggy and tired a lot, but it was the same way for me in film school. I am more productive if I am getting no sleep. How does that work? I don't know. It just does. One of my instructors in film school was also an insomniac like me. What did she do with her abundant creativity and lack of sleep? Direct the film "Sweet Crude," a documentary on the oil crisis in the Niger delta. I only hope I can produce at least one film that requires that much devotion and is that meaningful.

I guess time will tell.

More Poetry

Sewer
Last night I dreamed I was sick, viens cut
no blood poured out
each wound was full of my blood
clotted like chocolate meat
I pulled and pushed and spurted
the sickly clot from my vien
it burst from my shoulder
the pain and waste
shooting forth and
I felt as though I were dying
the vien broke and I tried
to fix it
like a bad spice my father
would make on Christmas tree lights
I feared for my life, and felt
the cold grip of death
as I woke in fridgid sweat


Milling about
The Flim-Flam Man
with his bowler hat
addorned with pheasent feather
shouted mighty successes
at mediocre masses
of hopeful authors


Drawn Unto You
i bleed for you
my dear; my darling
like the love of a
paper birch
my life spilling out
through every crack
in my bark

i need for you
my dear; my darling
with the need of a
withdrawl ridden junkie
guts and bile spilling
to show every ounce
of my ache

i want for you
my dear; my darling
like the want of a
teenage boy
my body's needs
throbbing through every inch
of my soul

i die for you
my dear; my darling
like we die to each other
everyday
and each time you are
sweet stranger
of my heart


Seems lately I've been bitten by the poetry bug. Good news for me, bad news for poetry. Hope you enjoyed. Peace out.

My So Called Life

Okay, Okay, if you were anyone during the 90's (and I know I was) you partook in the wonderfulness that is My So Called Life. This evening after kickin' it with Poot (for his B-day) I went over to Drew's abode and watched said Prime Time program.

I believe it was made by the same folks that did 30 Something. In all honesty it was a good thing to do. I loved My So Called Life not only because I identified with the whole youth culture thing, but also because it captured the American family.

This leads me on to a further point: where is the American family today? What is it? Most parents these days get a divorce, and in all honesty if the show went on any further I believe the parents (Angela's) would have gotten a divorce. But that is beside the point.

The point is that My So Called Life was a show that tapped into the Zeitgeist of a generation. But not only did it tap into that it touched the parental culture as well. How do I know this? The shows my family would watch together were "The Wonder Years", "Real World" (specifically San Fransisco{Pedro, saddness!}), and "My So Called Life."

All these shows tapped into something. It tapped into the joys and fears of all of us. It tapped into the fears and joys of our parents; it tapped into the fears and joys of ourselves as kids. It grabbed you by the guts.

I was young for the show. I think I must have been 11 or maybe 13 when the first (and last) season of "My So Called Life" aired, but it touched me. As a "fringe" person my whole life I needed something like this show that said "Hey, its okay to be the weird kid on campus. Its okay to be confused about sex and life because that is what is actually normal." It helped form my opinions of being young and about girls (I totally would have hooked up with Rayanne.)

But, in the end, it was just another T.V. show, right? Or was it? I believe that the show "failed" because it was too real. It hit to close to home. And all the "flyover state, middle American peeps (idiots) could not handle the truth of the world." Life is hard and fucked up. People get fucked up, kids do drugs, kids are gay, and nothing is as you want it to be. So, that's life, right? Take it or leave it. And that is what is fucked up America in the first place. Americans can't take life.

I was lucky because I had hippies for parents. They wanted me to learn about life. They wanted me to watch the right films and shows. I watched "The Graduate," and "Easy Rider," I watched "Jaws" with my father and "When Harry Met Sally" with my mom; I was exposed to what film and art should be. Maybe I'm wrong, but whatever. My So Called Life was still a great show.

Last Day of February First Day of Rock

Alright folk, it being the 29th of February and therefore a leap year, I thought I would blog about some bullshit and generally make an ass out of myself. But, dear readers, what do I blog about? Well, I guess for now I will just give you one of my many awesome updates.

First of all, I have beaten Halo 2 in about 4 days of play, and lost much sleep in the process. Last night I kicked it with my buddy Alex, who I haven't seen in at least 8 or 9 months. We played more Halo 2 and generally killed Brute, Flood, and Covenant alike.

Secondly, I enjoy my new job immensly. Because of said job, I plan on getting my driver's liscence (finally) so that I can work more. I have another shoot for SCCtv coming up and am stoked about that as well.

Lastly, I am awesome. That is all for now.

Outro.

Poetry on the Bus part 2

Two Haikus and one Free Verse:

Day Job
In the morning time
I catch two busses to go
To a job I love

Night Job
In the evening
I catch one bus to go
To a job I hate

No Name # 63
7:10am at the corner
of 3rd and Jefferson
Thick, black clad Adidas
woman shambles by
My chariot lurches
and continues onward
the faces I see change
from Monday to Monday
but I am the same

7:12am at the corner
of 3rd and Main St
an out of service
Community Transit
purrs to a stop
I am reminded of
early morning coffees
outside Amazon offices
with her.

There you go, another entry in "Preebz's Poetry on the Bus." Hope you enjoyed it.

Note To All

Get a French Press.

The Unberible Tightness of Ian

I have been tracking lately, and one of the exercises I have been doing with Lil' Poot is laying down "lines." Essentially we go out to a wooded area (in this case the West Duwamish Greenbelt) and lay down a long set of tracks through an area. After this we come back on a later date to follow the tracks. So far Poot has been pretty successful in finding the lines I have left, with the exception of about two spots that threw him off.

I am still no where near where I want to be in my tracking skills, but I have seen noticeable improvement in my skills. One of the things that has helped me considerably is laying a track and then coming back after a time (a day, two days etc.) to see how the track has aged. It is interesting to see how time and weather affect each track in each terrain differently.

In other news I was in the Maha up on the hill and started chatting with this dude about wilderness and tracking. It turns out that he is an avid nature person and quite familiar with the Duwamish Greenbelt. After a chat I found out he also plays guitar, so when I have more free time we're going to jam and check out nature.

Later on that same night Thompson, a former employee of the Lion Rouge, met me at the Maha. After one drink and an appetizer he was hooked. Then we went back to his crib and drank some Joose, a highly alchoholic Malt beverage which is surprisingly tasty. Suffice to say I got a bit boozy and punched a hole in his bedroom door Jackass style.

After this I went and kicked it with his awesome neighbors, some 19 year old kids who love music. We jammed with me sining and playing guitar and this guy Tyler on electric piano. Then we had a dance party and listened to early Tom Waits. After a while the cops showed up and told us to keep it down. It now being 3 in the morning I decided to get home before I caused anymore trouble.

The next day I met up with Thompson to pay for his door. . . I'm not entirely irresponsible after all.

One Pot, Two Pot, Three Pot, Four

I finally had the chance to enjoy one of Seattle's finer dining establishments called "One Pot." One Pot can be best described as "a comunal dining expierience." What does this mean to the average person? Basically, you sit around a huge dinner table with friends and strangers. Then, you eat, drink, and be merry. The food is usually crafted by one of the many fine chefs we find here in the Northwest.

The most recent event was held under the Mo Bar next to Neumos. The decor was brick walls and pipes. The music being played, everything from mo-town to Beirut, from Elliot Smith to Ella Fitzgerald. The food was simple and elegant, from the pork and lamb meatballs in a simple tomato sauce, to the raw milk cheese, to the delectable braise rabbit.

I missed out on much of the table side festivities as I was running plate after plate from the partially remodled kitchen to the downstairs VIP room. But, what I caught, I liked. As I cleared the tables of the plates, grabing some sweet morsels that were left I chatted with Seattle restauranteurs. "Have a glass of wine" one offered which started a long conversation on what lacked in the Seattle food community and the finer parts of Pinot Noir.

The creater, Michael Hebberoy, is what I would most accurately coin as "Awesome-tastic." He is a visionary, and it seems his battle cry is "Kill the Restaurant." While cleaning up after the event we chatted about the finer points of dumpster diving and about cleaning someone else's plate (this was brought on when I lovingly picked a large hunk of exquisite rabbit that had been half eaten from one of the dirty plates and said "How could anyone waste this awesome rabbit?" and then promptly shoved it in my mouth). "I've worked in the restuarant business since I was thirteen. If someone sent back half a steak, I'd be like 'Hey! That's good steak!' and later on when I got older all the wait staff would get grossed out, but I didn't care. It was still a good steak." It turns out we are avid fans of both culinary practices.

Being from Portland Hebberoy has some of the Northwest Sensibilities, but with a joi de vivre that can only come from that big-little city. In many ways Portland is much more of a major metropolitan area than Seattle could ever dream of. Sure, we have the people and the economy, but Portland has something that Seattle has lost: Heart. Portland lives for culture, food, art and music; in Seattle it is our weekend, our hobby, but not our soul. From the public tranist that functions to the late night donut spots, Portland is a 24 hour city, and its proud heratige of counter-culture lives in the viens of Hebberoy.

Love him or not, he is a man on a quest to change the way the world looks at the table, at community, and at gastronomy. Whatever Michael has in store for Seattle and One Pot I will be looking forward to with big eyes and an empty stomach. . . and maybe a few drinks in me.

Quick Update

I watched Ghost Rider. It sucks. . . but I still kinda liked it. But only a little.

Prose before Hos, or Poetry before Ho-etry

After I got of work over at where ever it is I work (not telling you, suckers) I found myself both bored and on the bus. And what, pray tell, is the cure for boredom? Herpes. (Jokes)! It's writting shitty poetry on the bus! So with out any further ado, here are two poems I wrote, which will begin a new "Ian's Poetry on the bus" thing which I will probably never do again. (Okay, with some further ado.)

NO NAME #74
Two by two these long steel snakes
swim by the window
of the number 55
flashes of irredescent color
-the shape and rhythem of letters
handstyles, and names
going home, again
to ancient household of mother and father
going home, again
like whipped and beaten pup
tail between legs
-faint smell of urine on my face
going home, again
in hopes of leaving
again


Waves of Concrete and Gallons of

I feel the pressure against my bowels
And bladder
Each bump of metal grating
Creating more force inside me
Five stops, four stops, three stops
The great hulking behemoth pauses
And snakes a turn around the corner
Five stops, four stops, three stops, two stops
I bite down hard and taste iron,
This is only temporary relief. . .
Four stops, three stops, two stops, one
Now, feet beating hard on wet concrete
Hot iron pushing in my guts
Each step rings cacophony in my body
Each step one less to take
The pace quickens, moves
More frantic
My body’s water
And earth
Screaming for escape
And home.

So, there you go. Some poetry before your ho-etry. Peace out and all that bullshit.

Meditations on Myself

The past week has been both trying and wonderful. I find myself completely and utterly in love with my new job as a job coach. I would tell you all more, but I am bound to confidentiality, suffice to say I am for the first time in my life doing something I really feel matters. Let me rephrase, for the first time I have a job that is to do something that really matters.

In the past I worked on many wonderful projects for the community because I was a boyscout. Some people may think it is a silly organization, and I personally disagree with its views on homosexuality in scouts, but there are many good things about it.

My first forrays into the wild Northwest National Forrests were with the boyscouts. I learned how to identify plants and animals, made my body more physically fit through activities and campouts and eventially gave much back to the community through service projects and finally my own Eagle Scout award.

After boyscouts I gave all this up. I was in College, I was dating, I turned 21 and had many nights of drunken debauchery. I played music with my friends until the wee hours of the morning. I "spent the night" at girl's houses I just met, and partook in many other odious acts of vandilism and self-destruction.

But I always missed the feeling that scouting gave me. Yet, I never allowed myself the time. Recently, I have taken up tracking and wilderness skills with much vigor. I find myself identifying plants such as Oregon Grape, Salal, the White Pine, and the Yew Tree. I look for signs of animals, such as tracks, hairs and scats. I watch the sky for birds of prey. I think longingly about lashing.

Now, with the new job I have I am again providing service to people who need it. I am helping the community again. And more importantly I am making a difference in one person's life. And in all honesty, that person is making a difference in my life as well.

And I find that after all this time it turns out I am still a good person. Sometimes it is nice to go back to the old ways. Maybe I'm just being Post-Modern in my own life, or maybe I am actually the person the people who love me tell me I am.

If you cry then I'll cry. . .

I was watching one of my favorite shows today, American Chopper, and as usual the episode was a brilliant cross section of what is awesome and aweful about America. If you are unfamiliar with the show, let me fill you in. A father and son work together to build crazy themed "choppers" (custom motorcycles that have a longer than normal rake) and get into fights and generally cause havok. While all this is happening the fat and lazy younger brother Mikey tries to bring hilarity and mirth to all to ease the tension of the two anger factories, Paul Sr. and Paul Jr.

In recent episodes the two Pauls have been getting along much better and generally having a good time working on bikes, such as the "My Name is Earl" bike for the NBC show of the same name and the University of Michigan Wolverines bike for a children's hospital charity.

The show has grown in budget and sucess as the bike builders have grown in sucess, built and destroyed shops, built bigger, better bikes, and blown up and/or destroyed as much as possible. It even seemed the two of them had been getting along better and set aside thier father-son infighting.

This episode took a step back to earlier days. Paul Sr. and Jr. had probably one of their worst fights in show history (trust me I have seen every episode) and I was both entertained and worried. It seemed as though it would leed to father-son fist-e-cuffs.

I think much of my curiosity in the show comes from the relationship I have with my father, and the similarities that our relationship has to the relationship of the Tutles. It worries me that my father and I have had so many explosive fights, and maybe this show has given me refuge, somewhere to go where I can comiserate and maybe have a laugh at something that isn't so far from home (pun intended).

In this particular episode the two Pauls fight wasn't about the shop or who has better ideas in bike building it is about the universal theme that boys grow into men and must "fight" for respect from thier fathers. Do all men go through this? I doubt it. But when you pair two strong minded and creative individuals together, they can butt heads.

At the end of the fight the two predominantly stoic men embrassed each other crying and told each other they were sorry. I have to admit, I shed a tear. Not because of these two men fighting, but for the times my father and I have not been as able to forgive each other.

And now, having moved back into my parents basement I find myself caught in that struggle again, but now with a stronger idea of who and am and a greater sense of independence. I no longer feel the need to justify my life to my father. I no longer feel like a faliure at life. I no longer feel I need to prove anything. If it hasn't already been proved it never will be.

Two Things

So I have two things of note for today, Sunday February 10th 2008: The first being I have made a concerned effort to continue my streak of creativity, and the second being I have a new job as of an hour ago.

Let me start with the first. I have been working on a script, at least the outline of a script, for a very personal story. I decided to take the advice of the lovely and talented Drew over at OMSTV and write out the story as a personal narrative. The writing is going well, and will continue to do so later today while I "work" at the Red Lion. All I can say is "It is good to be creating again."

Second I just had an interview for a new job for yours truly. Essentially I would be job training with someone else to help them learn their job. While this may be a little outside my comfort zone I look at it as both a challenge and a bright new opportunity to make cash money.

So with that I look forward to the upcoming weeks working more and creating more as well. Tomorrow I wake up at 5:30 and go to work!

Typeface, and the dilema of art in the Modern (or Post-Modern?) world.

Last night I watched the film "Helvetica" which is a documentary on the type face Helvetica. I'd like to give you an example, but blogger does not offer Helvetica as one of it's fonts. It does have ARIAL (arial) which is essentially a knock-off of Helvetica.

The film is both interesting and superbly crafted. The interviews are informative, the shots are both cinematic and contain a sence of uniformity, which is where the type face Helvetica came from. It was made durning the Modernist movement, which focused on functionality. It is clean and functional, which is very much in the vien of Modernism. This film spurred a long discussion with Drew and I on art, Modernism, and Post-Modernism.

This got me thinking. Many people say we are now in Post-Post-Modernism, while others contest we are still in Post-Modernism. Which is true? If you think about it Post-Post-Modernism would just be a throwback to Modernism, right? And the truth of the matters in some ways a lot of design and art has gone back to the roots of Modernism. Be it conformity to specific rules, use of white space, or the idea that text (Helvetica) should be clean and clear; the text should not show the emphasis, the ad/art/design should show the emphasis.

Some still contest that we are in Post-Modernism, that having progressed this far with art and technology we can only build upon the ideology of Post-Modernism. Drew brought up an interesting argument about Post-Modernism in film. Looking at a director like Michele Gondry one could make the argument he is a Post-Modern director. He acknowledges the intellegence of the audience and our synicism towards the world, but asks us to suspend disbelief and step into a world that is both magical and very "home-made" ("The Science of Sleep" and "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" both do this). This understanding of irony as well as the look at what is magical and beautiful in the world really embodies the ideology of Post-Modernism. The other film she used as an example of this outlook, this embodiment of Post-Modernism in film, is "Singing in the Rain."

On the surface "Singing in the Rain" and "The Science of Sleep" are two very different films, but there is a kindred spirit to both. These films accept life's injustice and irony but also ask the viewer to look at the world for what is wonderful and magical. These films ask us to suspend the pessimism and synicism of our everyday lives and cherish what we have and what is really important.

But I digress.

Look at the world that you live in. Whether it be Seattle, New York, Stockholm, London, or Copenhaagen, look at the text that surrounds you. How much of it is Helvetica? You would be surprised to see that this little Modernist type face is everywhere and on everything. Your tax forms and W-2s are in Helvetica. "Washington" on the Washington state liscence plate is in Helvetica. Ads, signs, nutrition facts, logos (ARCO, Olympus, American Airlines) all are Helvetica.

For myself I am still trying to suss out what this means in my life. Maybe the Post-Modern foundation I have built my ideology on has slightly crumbled. Maybe it is the fact that I am getting older and that the cold hand of death looms closer everyday. Or, could it be the fact that I have been stagnant and now am awakening to the creative in myself again? I don't know. What I do know is that we are surrounded. Like the Force of the Star Wars saga, Helvetica "Surrounds us, penetrates us and binds us to the Galaxy." Or at least our own little corner of the Galaxy. But it is up to you, in this Post, or Post-Post, or Post Post-Post Modern world, to decide what it means for yourself.

Last Day of January, First Day of Fuck Yeah!

(Note: Original Photograph for GLAMF!)

My parents just left for a week of fun in the sun with my last living grandparent, Grandma Prebo. They all got on the plane bright and early so I didn't wish them off, and besides that I was spending the night at Drew's (I love sleepovers!)

But, before my mother left last evening she had a surprise for me. A brand new cellular telephone. Granted I feel like a baby child because of my inablility to pay for my own phone at this current juncture, I do feel at least a little liberated as well. Now I am no longer super hard to get a hold of, which has it's positives and negatives. I also have to make sure my pay-as-you-go (yes, I am a gangster) contract is now cancelled.

I am now the person in charge of Casa Prebo and I think it's time to make some new rules:

1. Beer must be consumed at least one hour a day.

2. No puking except in the backyard or downstairs toilet.

3. All sexual contact must be approved by the Ian Prebo oversight committee where a non-biast judge (yours truely) will part take in said act so as to descern the nature and intent of the physical contact.

4. All sexual conduct (and mis-conduct) will be performed by one female who shall remain un-named. (You know who you are sweet cheeks.)

5. Masturbation shall take place only between the hours of Midnight and Midnight the following day.

6. Music must be played at a level so as to be annoying to all neighbors within a half mile radius.

7. No Skat play.

8. People named Andy Kaburka must remain in their home unless going to, at, or coming home from work.

9. There will be no parties, except the pants party, and you're invited.

10. I will blog about ascenine and inconsequential things, therefore making all readers laugh or pee.

Thems the new rules at the "House that Some Guy I Never Met Built" (also know as Chez Preebz). If you don't like those rules refer to rule number 7, as I do not want nor do I need any of your shit.

In more exciting news I have more hours for SCCtv which means I am not, after all, a complete faliure at life. Good news for Ian, bad news for pizza.

New Found Energy

Last night I had a stroke of brilliance. My muse was like "Yo, Bitch! Time to create some shit!" I was like "Awww shit, bitch, why you be sweatin' me?" This went on for a little while and then she grabbed my by the short and curlys and kissed my forehead thus putting a new idea of epic proportions into my dome.

I can't say what it is right now, as I don't want to jinx the whole process. What I can say is that it is very personal and could possibly be my first masterpiece. That may sound concieted, but were you in my head you would agree.

So with this chance meeting with said muse (who for whatever reason is an African American woman dressed in 1970's) I have a new found energy and a purpose for my creative talents. I hope that I will finish it as soon as possible.

I would also like to thank Drew over at OMSTV and my partner in Heart of Austria Productions for the new banner etc. Thanks pretty lady. Peace out folks.

Toil and all that Jazz

Lately I've been feeling down. I'm sure that my previous post let all you illustrious readers in on that fact, but I would like to elaborate.

I no longer live with Drew of OMSTV, which is both good and bad. The good part being we both have space now, the bad being I miss her. . . and I had to move back in with the parents. Not at all awesome. Don't get me wrong, I have two of the most awesome parents anyone could ask for, but I still feel like a faliure.

A lot of the descision of moving out was made by me. I felt stuck and I didn't think that my living situation was helping me any. Not to say Drew isn't a super awesome person, but for right now it is for the better.

I've been thinking a lot about the people I have lost in the past year and that has me down as well. I miss my Grandfather, my Grandmother, BJ, and George, to name a few. Time does heal some of the pain of loosing them, but it creates some as well.

My whole crazyness has not helped either. Let's face it folks, this loveable blogger is a bit nuts. But then again, that's where I get some of my charm. I guess it is the whole artist conundrum. Let me stop before I get concieted.

I just feel beaten up by life. I thought that taking things slow for a while would help. It has not. If anything taking it slow has added to stress as opposed to relieving it. This fact stresses me out more.

So I am essentially where I was before. Depressed and living with my parents. At least I am alive.

poopy

I'm feeling pretty crappy right now, as I just got an email saying that a lot of the stuff I shot on my last shoot did not come out well. It sucks when you think what you did was awesome and it turns out like poop. Sometimes I feel like I am a fraud. Maybe I just can't hack it after all.

In other news I went tracking the other day with my friend John and that was awesome. Now I'm gonna go work out and cry in the dark.

Big Preebz and L'il Poot

Had a day with Poot. Spotted tracks of Stryder the cat in frost and moss. Nice combination; it holds the pressure releases well. Crystalline structures from the frost causes the moss and grass to react differently then warmer temperatures. When walked upon the heat and friction cause the ice crystals to slightly melt and then refreeze because of the low temperature, thus holding moss and grass down in a frozen track. Pretty neat stuff, if you ask me.

We then went down to Long Fellow Creek and checked out what looked like a den of some kind (Though it could be a small game tunnel) and I thought I heard a coyote growl from nearby. After that we went up to a greenbelt on Pigeon Hill and checked out coyote lays (places they bed down) and briefly looked at some tracks in large rock and gravel. And then I found five dollars. Just kidding. The End.

Waaay too early for me.

Right now.

Family Matters and 30 Rock

Two shows that I love, and partially because of the women in them. I was watching Celebrity Rehab with Drew (and Dr. Drew) and Danny Baldwin is on the show. Furthermore, there is the guy from taxi (wonderful show, really, and with Danny Devito and Christopher Lloyd [played doc in "Back to the Future"]) Jeff Conaway, China and Brigitte Nielsen (who both appeared on The Surreal Live together[China was a WWF wrestler and has a penis clit from the steroids and Brigitte was Sonya in the film Red Sonya{with Arnold Schwarzenegger}.]). There's also some pornstar drunk, some fucking punk, and Jaime Foxxworth from Family Matters (and porn).

Danny Baldwin reminded me of his better brother, the one I like waaaaay more than him, Alec. I think that Alec Baldwin is a fine actor and a fine man. He was exceptional in the Shadow (better than Billy Zane in the Phantom) and in 30 Rock he is f-uck-ing spectacular. And instantly I am reminded of Tina Fey.

Ahhhh, Tina Fey. I think she might be quite possibly the sexiest American woman today. She beats out Ellen by having glasses and a scarred up face. Tina Fey should be miss America. I said it. She is smart. Crazy smart. Beautiful, and Hilarious. These are the women to have. Hell, that's why I'm with Drew. (Side note: 30 Rock is the new Ally McBeal, but funnier and Tina Fey doesn't have a eating disorder.)

Jaime Foxxworth, that just amazes me. I think it is almost funny that she went from Family Matters to an actress that was in porn. The thing is, she smoked so much weed that she didn't want to work and she thought that porn would be easy money. Really it's sad. So is my life.

Anyways, I wanted you to know that, sweet reader. You who mass in the millions. I salute you. Word, bitches.

Godspell, Philip K. Dick, and Ponderings of Life and Death and the Eternal

2006 was a rough year for me. I lost many people I loved to unexpected death. I lost friends because of my ability to hurt others. I felt helpless to the world. During this time I read "The Divine Invasion" a science fiction novel written by Philip K. Dick. It is about God and the Devil, and a novel I would whole heartedly recommend.

Essentially, it is about the second coming of Christ, but more than that man's ability to turn away from God.

This being said I watched Godspell last night (and finished it this morning).

It reminded me of many of my beliefs on God and the Universe.

The Universe, when broken down to the most minute scale is comprised of nothing. We see and feel solid matter, liquids, etc. These are comprised of chemicals which are further comprised of atoms. Atoms are made of protons, neutrons and electrons. What are these made of? Nothing. These molecules are made of nothing, hell, the atom itself is made of 99% empty space. The Universe is made of mostly empty space.

What does this mean? Honesty in the scientific realm I don't really know. I have another theory on what this "empty space" really is.

If God is omnipresent, then God exists in everything. As science has put it everything is made of nothing. So what is this nothingness? I believe it is the "flesh and blood" of God. That everything is a physical manifestation of God. The rocks, the birds, ourselves. Every atom that comprises us is the physical manifestation of God.

Further more, we live in a 4 dimensional universe. Human beings, however, exist on a 3 dimensional plane. For us, the 4th dimension is linear. Time moves forward.

To something (theoretically) that exists on a 4th dimensional level it can co-exist in multiple points, further more separate points can co-exist in one location.

When the theory of relativity is applied to light (I cannot at this time recall the exact formulas) light exists as 1 over 1. This means that were you or I to be light we would perceive ourselves to exist in every point of the universe simultaneously. Not unlike the belief of God. It means that time does not exist for light, and that everything is essentially one point, one locale.

Could this be another physical and tangible manifestation of God? I believe so. Really, everything is the physical manifestation of God, because without God there is no physical. Without God there is no manifestation of anything. The computer I type on right now is a physical manifestation of God, because it could not exist independently of God.

What does this have to do with Philip K. Dick and Godspell? I'm getting there.

Philip K. Dick stated that his belief was the entire universe, every moment of existence is actually one moment. The dying dream of Christ on the Cross. In that moment of death Christ took on the burden of humanity's sins. Dick's belief was that Jesus actually lived everyone's life in that moment of death. That we are actually the dreams of God. I say the dreams of God because Jesus (as belief would state) was fully divine and fully human. Therefore Jesus was and is God.

The most basic and true definition of Hell is "The Absence of God." If God is all-present and exists in everything does a hell exist? I have heard many say that hell is when one is given the choice of "Glory," the salvation of God, and one turns away from God.

Could anything look into the face of God and say "I don't love you?" Even with all of life's hardships, even with the toil of man, I don't think it is possible to turn from God when confronted with pure love. Because isn't that what God is? Love?

It was "Godspell" a silly 70's musical about the Gospel of Matthew that began these ponderings this morning. These thoughts of Jesus and Philip K. Dick. These ideas of atoms and nothingness and everythingness.

This may be a strange thing to ponder on a Friday at 11 in the morning. These beliefs may seem strange and alien or worse, blasphemous, to many. I don't care. I could be wrong. But I believe, and that is what is important to me.

To end this post I will leave you with a quote:

"Day by day, day by day, oh dear Lord three things I pray: to see thee more clearly, to love thee more dearly, to follow thee more nearly. Day by day."

Yesterday and the Salon of Shame

I went and visited Chris again yesterday. It was good to see him, especially because he is no longer intubated. Andy and I stayed for a while, about an hour, but then Chris was feeling tired and having been intubated for almost 2 weeks his throat was sore and he couldn't talk much. There are some new abscesses that have formed in his legs and rest of his lower body, so he isn't out of the woods just yet, but the old ones are still healing.

Afterwards I went home and Poot came over. We went out to Meekwomooks park on Alki. It was raining so there were no people in the park, which was nice. We spent some time identifying plants including white pine and a large and beautiful yew tree. After that we hiked up through the park (which looks small but covers a large strip of land going up the hill into the center of West Seattle) and found some great tracks and other things.

One of our best finds was a fairly fresh Coyote skat. In the skat there was a lot of cottonous fibers mixed in which made us think that the Coyote had eaten someone's pet. They tend to do that here in West Seattle. My favorite part of our skat find was the perfect set of tracks the Coyote had left in the leaves/forest like loam. The legs were in the squat position. Poot and I had a good laugh over this.

Poot and I then went back to his parent's house and ate some killer chili. Then I called Drew.

I had forgotten to meet her downtown. I was in, lets say, a little hot water. I beat her back to the apartment and took a shower and after a little tiff between the two of us we got some food from The Bakery Nouveau, a wonderful French Bakery by our apartment and then caught a cab to the "Salon of Shame."

The Salon of Shame is a show inspired by "Cringe" where local authors and other people read excerpts of their most odious and embarrassing diary entries from their childhood and teenage years. Last night's salon included a girl with a statutory crush and the first inclings of homosexuality in one man's life (who at the time of writing did not know he was gay). There was also mention of the Commodore 64 and Tears for Fears.

All in all there were fourteen readers and most were exceptionally funny. The last guest reader was a writer from Vancouver BC who only read old poetry, which was quite funny. I recommend to any person who enjoys a good laugh at other people's expense to check out the Salon.

Drew and I got a ride home from her co-worker and she promptly went to bed. I beat the Team Deathmatch mode in Unreal Championship for the XBOX.

My quote for the night? "Not that it matters at this range, but I'm a surgeon with this Flak Cannon." -Haberdasher

Early Morning and Re-evaluations

Today is a Monday. Everyone (well most people) get up early and go to work. Drew is no exception to this. Because she gets up early and goes to work I usually wake up as well, to pack her lunch. Unless I had no sleep the night before (which for me is more common than not) I am a cheerful, happy, sweet boyfriend and pack her lunch.

I enjoy (for the most part) our life together. Of course there are things that get each other, things that annoy us about each other. But, for the most part, things are wonderful. Today I made drew a ham and (mostly) cheese sandwich, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for her bus ride, and I put some soup in a Tupperware for her.

The thing that has been the biggest problem between the two of us is my current stagnation. I am trying to finish my internship at SCCtv, and so far I have only recieved 8 hours of the original 45 hours I had left before my shoulder injury.

To add on top of the internship problem there are other issues that exasperate the situation. I have been in a state of creative stagnation, which has added to being depressed, and on top of that my anxiety disorder has been acting up worse than ever before. And more than that I make no money at the Red Lion. Yeah. I feel like a looser, a bit.

So, the other night we had a chat about everything that had been bugging us and things that we wanted to change and it was good. One of those relationship re-evaluations. I feel like I have some more direction now, which is refreshing. I also feel like we have opened communications back open. It's hard living with someone, even a person you love completely, but it is worth it.

Now on to more boring and asinine things. It's about 8:30 in the morning right now and I've been watching "Nick Cannon Wild n' Out" an "improv comedy" show where celebrities battle each other by making jokes and insulting people. The thing about this show is that it can be funny, when funny ass people are on it. I saw one episode with Kat Williams and another with Andy Milonakis. However, most of the episodes have people I have never heard of on and they suck.

It makes me feel old. I am no longer a target audience for Mtv. Jesus. I'm 24 years old! For Christ's sake! Yet, I feel more and more out of this loop than ever before. Even when I talk to people in my peer group I feel out of the loop. They talk about music I have never heard (nor do I really want to) and movies I find trivial. Maybe I am an elitist or a snob or maybe I just have better taste than most people. Maybe I'm out of the loop because I filter out the bullshit better than most people my age. I think that Drew possesses this as well, better than me in fact, as she manages to stay in the loop but still filter crap. How? I have no idea. I guess that is just part of her magic.

Day three and dirt time

Poot (an otherwise un-named friend) and I spent some dirt time today, but before I lay that down I will tell you the tale of all of my day.

I woke up around 11 o'clock and started my day by checking my internet bullshit, mainly the face book shizzle. After some time on the internet, with the static of MTV playing in the background, Poot knocks on my door. He has a signature knock. I wonder if he knows about it, but decide not to tell him, so that I can tell when he is coming.

I open the door, and he tells me about his now pinched nerve. I feel mediocre at this point because of lack of sleep and a cold I have been fighting. Poot and I had a chat for a bit, and I did the dishes (cause I'm a good house boy) and Poot and I headed off to the only Tully's in Seattle (as I had a gift card from Christmas). I had a Yerba-Mate and he had a Mocha.

We went down to Lincoln park and walked through the wooded part for a little bit. In there we saw some raccoon skat and some chickadees. Sweet little birds, those chickadees.

After this we went down to the beach to get some time down in the sand. It was raining today, and the temperature was not exactly warm. One of those dreary and drizzly Northwestern days where the sky is gray from clouds and the constant patter of rain. A beautiful day if you ask me. Though I think my cold would tend to disagree.

We climbed down from the park area down to the beach and tried some different tracking exercises. The first we tried was a ten step across some grass. . . in the rain. . . and I have very little dirt time. Soooo, that was fun, but I felt a bit lost.

Then we hit the sand. After checking out some people and dog tracks we started another tracking exercise. This was another ten step. (To clarify: a ten step is when you mark the first and last of ten tracks and then check them out. There are different variations of this with certain focuses.) What Poot did was lay down a set of ten tracks and I had to find them. He did a certain walk (called the fox walk) to leave less of a track and make it more difficult for me to find the tracks. After a period of frustration, I finally found all the tracks and got it right. I felt good about that.

My next project will be to build a tracking box. This way I will have some "zero dirt" to study pressure releases.

Poot and I headed over to my parents house (after a quick dry off from the rain and a much needed shower for me) and ate some eggs and did a few dishes for my parents. . . cause they fucking needed it. So, all in all it has been a good day.

Cheers.

The New Year Is Here. . .

The new year is upon us and it seems that (surprisingly) not much has changed. The US is still in a god-awful war, I have had increasing bouts of heartburn and one of my good friends returned from Texas with a horrible case of MRSA (Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus Aureus).

Chris is now hospitalized at UW medical, after being moved from Highline Medical in Burien. I can't say I am not worried about him. I visited him New Years Eve and he looked rough. He was intubated, because the infection had spread to the sack surrounding his lungs. Without the help of intubation he is unable to breathe. This means were it not for the life-support he would be dead right now.

After researching MRSA with some thoroughness I am even more scared for him. It has a high fatality rate and of "bugs" of it's kind (MSSA for instance) it is more fatal. The good thing is that Chris is young and strong, and that he got this bad because of lack of attention to a lip infection and lack of medical insurance.

When he finally recovers he will be weak from being bed-ridden and will have a pile of medical bills sky-high. Luckily, he has a good support structure. His parents are wonderful people and they are there for him, as are his friends. Most notably being a mutual friend of ours, Andy Kaburka.

Andy has spent much of his holidays in the ICU with Chris, and was with me when I went to see Chris on New Years.

It was an odd sensation, stepping into a hospital to see a friend. I have always gone to hospitals as the one sick or because a family member, mainly my now deceased grandfather, was ill. To see a good friend hooked up to all manner of machines designed to drain, suck, feed, and keep alive is something I wish on no one.

Being intubated he could not speak, and was not in the mood to use his writing board. I was nervous and scared for him. I tried to make small talk and after a few minutes started to relax. Then I had him laughing about things, which made things worse, because every time he laughed he would cough.

He was hooked up to this machine that makes Dr. Seuss/ Willy Wonka type noises that depend on the severity of his cough. I'd make him laugh, he'd start coughing the machine would go ape shit and I'd laugh more. Then he'd laugh more. Then more ape shit from the coughing.

At least I made him laugh a bit.

Chris, my prayers are with you for a speedy and healthy recovery.

Top Four Midgets:

4) Beetlejuice (Wee Ugly Black Midget)

3) Lollipop Guild

2) Old School Orange Faced Ass Oompa Loompas

1) Warwick Davis, AKA Willow AKA The Leprechaun AKA Wicket (An Ewok)

My favorite top ten favorite googles:

10) Beans Bean Beans

9) Back to the Future

8) Chuck Norris

7) Amy Mann Guitar Tabs

6) Murder

5) Kid-n-Play memorabilia

4) Asian Sluts

3) Latina Sluts

2) Chuck Norris vs. Jesus

1)Shia Labeouf is a shitty ass faggot

check this out!

http://world6.knightfight.co.uk/?ac=vid&vid=122046309

Tea Parties and Crumpets!

As promised, ladies and gents. A little tea for you? I'd like some, because I'm Winston Churchill. Some Crumpets maybe? I'm having Crumpets, because I'm Winston Churchill. (From the Play "Winston Churchill We Hardly Knew Ye" by Peter Griffin)

An excellent play, really. I went and saw it at the 5th Avenue Theater with it's off-off Broadway Cast. Really well put together, and great production values.

Now let's venture into a more serious discussion on Tea and Tea's tasty little buddy: Crumpet. Crumpet is a cool guy and gets along with everybody. Tea and Milk, they sometimes don't get along, especially when lady Lemon is around. Crumpet makes friends with everybody. One day I saw Crumpet hangging out with Spinach and Ham and Goat Cheese. What a bunch of kooky guys they be! Later in the day, Crumpet was on the south side with Nutella. That guy is everywhere. Tea, well even though he don't get along with everybody he and Crumpet are still best buddies. Word to YOUR Mother.

The Crumpet is defined as: a savoury snack made from flour and yeast. It is eaten mainly in the United Kingdom, but also in the nations of the Commonwealth.Wiki et al.

And indeed it is a savory snack. The buttery cake is believed to have been Celtic in origin. The are usually round, have a spongy texture and are generally bland without a topping. Usual toppings include: butter, honey, jam, marmalade, nutella, peanut butter, cow feces, lox and cream cheese, and ham and cheddar.

Most often it is served with teas, many times during "high tea" which is pretty sweet.

Later, I will speak of a time I went to a Crumpet Shop! Joy to the World.

Holy Shit the World is gonna end.

One of my friends that has been in my life for ages is back in Seattle right now. Being that said friend is a secretive person the name will not be disclosed, to keep this human being happy. Anyways, person-x is in town and has somehow lit a fire under my ass. Not only a fire, but a fire by friction. Please refrain from the gay jokes.

What I mean is: I am completely unable to (at this current juncture) live in harmony with nature. This may sound strange, especially from this quasi-tech-savvy (what a hyphen combo) blogger. But, much to the chagrin of my sweet lady and to you countless readers, I have an avid and growing interest both in survival skills and tracking. X (as I will call them from this point on) was the person who first sparked my interest in these subjects.

X came back to Seattle a few years ago after many a month spent in a tree sit and told me about this wonderful author I should check out. Tom Brown Jr. At the time I was like "Yeah, sure I'll check him out. . . Hippy." And so for a few months I laughed at X's obsession with end of the world prophecies and almost supernatural stories of wilderness skill.

The one that most fascinated and terrified him was called the "Red Skies Prophecy." Well time went on and I warmed up to the idea of scout skills and tracking as I saw the physical and mental development of X. I read a few books and started considering taking a class or two at the Tracker School.

And finally, I recently became acquainted with these four major prophecies of Stalking Wolf, the man Tom Brown called Grandfather. As two of the four prophecies have come true, and I have been low on the "spiritual batteries" have been low, I have decided to devote much more of my time into a pure and simple, if time consuming, pursuit. To learn all that I can about tracking and survival, and if I can help stop the last two prophecies. I only hope that if the Red Skies come I will be prepared to walk as a child of the Earth; that I can feel the Spirit-That-Walks-Through-All.

I know, at first I thought it was crazy too, but take heed. Humans are destroying the earth. Read the text, and take it in. I only wish the people I loved would prepare themselves better.
Tomorrow's agenda: Dirt Time.

Next blog: tea parties and crumpets. Peace out.

Of Late Night Evenings and Inablility to Sleep (Part 2)

I can't sleep again. I feel unsure. Not about anything particular, just a constant sense of unsureness, hovering. I feel listless. Tired. Apathetic. I have been productive this week. I have been smoking more, lately. I can not sleep much. I feel a constant and unrelenting weight on my chest.

I watch free pornography. I no longer download it. Too much space taken up, and the constant affection for a collection. I feel sad and guilty. Guilty that I feel bad for no particular reason. Guilty of being tired and depressed. Unhappy with what is what and who is who. Unhappy with what is on television. Unhappy that I am so concerned about dying.

I think of this and it makes me panic. My heart beat races, my mouth becomes dry, I can't breathe. I find that my eyes are unable to focus on anything. I find that my mind is unable to focus on anything.

I am finally beginning to feel tired now. Really tired. Not the tired of the soul, but the of the body. Maybe I will be able to sleep tonight. I decide to watch more of the Matrix. I decide to blog. I watch commercials with half interest. Drew calls my name as I step out for another smoke. I hear her call my name again. I say what and she grunts. Three or four minutes later I hear her snoring.

I think about bobsleding. I wonder why bobsled shows as being spelled correctly but bobsleding does not. Those red dashed lines make me feel inadequate as a writer. As though I can not properly craft the English language. I think to myself "Anyone who says that speak American is an idiot." I wonder if I have said that while I was drunk.

I have strange aches in my body. I have heard people say that everyone gets them from time to time. These strange aches of the body. The pain of being alive, nothing more. But I still worry. I worry that these pains are more. They are the pains of death. The pain of living comes from dying. And we are dying, all of us, every single day. Every last one of us.

And it all makes me sad.

Early Morning and Possible Emmys

Worked my second day back at SCCtv yesterday and it was awesome. We went down to the Seattle Public School's studio (a moderately sized television studio with decent equipement) and filmed a music show for kids.

I reaffirmed my love for media production. The show was talented kids playing music and a studio audience of more children talking about how the music made them feel and what it reminded them of. Pretty sweet if you ask me.

The kids that played, Jeong (17), Sun (12) and Alex (7), were incredibly talented pianists who were adorable. Jeong cracked me up because she was soooo timid, but the second she started to play she would go crazy at the piano. And Alex, he was brilliant and the best part was (besides the Mozart he played) was that he needed a special peddle box to reach the peddles. A-fucking-dorable.

On the shoot I was the floor director. Essentially the t.v. version of an assistant director. I have never done this job outside of a classroom setting and was nervous as hell. Thankfully my ability to "man up" to the situation kicked in and I nailed it. At the end of the day I had the satisfaction of a job well done.

I may have to rethink my opinions on SCCtv, as this was a great experience and a wonderful opportunity. Plus, the show is getting put in for Emmy nomination. Cross your fingers, fine readers, that yours truly (or rather the show I worked on) gets the Emmy. That would be fucking sweet.

Afterwards Drew and I went to a event for Arcade Magazine, and was also a part of One Pot. Met (very briefly) Michael Hebberoy, who seems like a cool guy, and he is doing some cool things around the world, so. . . respect.

The event was an annual event for architecture, and Drew got some sweet pictures, and I'm sure she will blog all about it and post said pictures some time this week.

The exhibits were rad, including a scale model of the downtown area, the space needle, and a napkin exhibit (which designers had drawn on) called "The Napkin Project." My favorite, however, was the original rendering of the Space Needle painted in 1957. All in all it was a great event, especially because drinks were only a dollar and tthat was just to support Arcade.

Well, gotta get back to watching Jay-Z on MTV. My life is now complete.

It's so good? is that the word? to be back. . .

Today I finally received some hours at my internship (hooray!) at SCCtv. The first day back was pretty typical. It included poor direction and a general sense of panic.

I set up and worked camera for an in studio (and what felt impromptu) shoot. Oh the joys of community college television.

When I first signed up I thought "Oh fuck, SCCtv. Piece of cake." Now after having officially interned there for 6 months and only having complete 89 hours I can look back and say "You are an idiot." The lesson learned: easier is not always easier in the end.

So, that being said I joyously look forward to tomorrow's shoot in which I am (gasp) a floor director. I have no idea what I am going to do. Look out world, here I come.

On another note, Drew, from OMSTV, and I talked about our upcoming film project about gay parenting. More on that later. Now, back to Tom in the studio.

Retro Relics and the Communist Manifesto

Today I ventured back to my parent's house to try and sort out the madness that is my old room. I have been doing this on and off (mostly off) for the past few months, and as I had some time I thought I would make another attempt at mucking out the old cave.

I found shit I didn't even knew existed. Among the relics I found was a S.C.U.B.A. mask, a fencing helmet, a bizarre hand duster (literally a shitty glove with yarn attached to the fingers), my old POG collection and a plethora of Collectible Card Games, including Star Trek TNG and Magic the Gathering.

I was amazed to find these relics of the early 90's and that they were still in such good condition. I thank my obsessive compulsiveness/nerdiness for the near mint condition of the playing card games that I never really played. In retrospect I feel a little cheated. And like I had no friends.

Anyways, I decide that the only thing that can be done with these relics is to put them on ebay. But alas, tradgedy. For some peculiar reason no one is buying shit like this. I wonder why? Is it the complete outdatedness of said items, or are kids these days more involved in the digital realm than in lame pieces of cardboard that creepy dudes in their thirties with ponytails sell at the local hobby hut? Either way I feel cheated. I collected these items to make money on a later date. That later date has arrived, and I just want to get rid of them.

So what do I do? Let down the childhood entrepreneur in me or figure out a way to make some cash money from the stupid shit I bought when I was a dork with no friends? (Well, the friends I had were dorks too, so they don't count). Luckily, I convinced my mom to help me ebay the shit after the holidays, which means little work for me and I get the shit out of my hair. Thanks, Mom!

Thankfully I still have the old stand by of my comic book collection, which includes an Action Comics issue 290 and a Batman issue 93. I am glad a made one fruitful investment in childhood frivolity. And even better, all the cool friends I have now are envious of my great comic collection.

Later I had a conversation with my father about life. He stated I should set out a one, five, and ten year plan. While I am not usually keen on the ideology of Mother Russia, I will say that for the first time in my life I shut up the inner monologue that usually plays when he talks and actually listened. (I hope he doesn't read this) Listening to my rapidly approaching 60 year old father I had an epiphany: He actually does know what the fuck he is talking about.

We have just lost cabin pressure.

He always told me that the day would come, and until today, December 4th in the year of our lord 2007 I always thought the old man was, well, full of shit. So, for once in my life I will suck it up and admit to being wrong.

Now, off to write those year plans and make my life happen!

GLAMF!

That's right December starts everyone's favorite time of the year. No, I'm not talking about the Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Whatever holidays. I'm talking about national Gangster Like a Mother Fucker month.

While many lay people are unaware of this odious month that celebrates everything gangster, it does, good readers, exist.

How does one celebrate GLAMF? One might ask. That is where I come in, as your official gangster-ass liaison to the wonderful and uncelebrated Gangster Like a Mother Fucker month.

A photo of my "hommie" Aaron actin' a fool.

So, here is a list of ten things you can do to celebrate GLAMF!

1) Get your Crunk on.

2) Slap a bitch who don't give you yo' motha fuckin' money!

3) Get a sick ass Grill.

4) Go Bombing and put up a sick ass piece.

5) Get a Gat, Strap, or Heater and cap a fool.

6) Slang some Crack, Weed, or Coke.

7) Pimp your Ride.

8) Bust a sick Flow. (You can also remix an old school hit)

9) Run a Hustle.

10) Get locked up.

Now that you are armed with a knowledge of GLAMF (as well as a Glock 17 with a 15 round clip) and what to do go out and wreck some shit and enjoy December's most unrecognized celebration of everything gangster.

Dumb Shit People

Fuck Advertising

Example:

LADY: "The Ab Lounge got rid of my pot belly. If it can do that it can do anything."

You are a dumb whore. Can the ab lounge love you? Can it solve the problems of World Hunger and War? Can it move you like I moved you that summer night years ago in Mexico City? No. The Ab Lounge cannot, in fact, do anything but work your abs. And frankly I am sick of people and their goddamn exaggerations.

It reminds me of the time I fought 27 ninjas, using only my feet. Backwards.

Blah Blah Blah Hampster

I have to go to work at the Lyon Rouge, as I call it, or the Red Lion for all you other folks out there. I hate it. I have not much to blog about, but I figured I would try to keep up in spirit of the recently ending NabloPomo. I thought about encouraging my gay friends to start a national gay blog month called NabloHomo. I think that it would sweep the blogging community like Cinderella before she went a-golddiggin'.

I have finished half of my X-Mas shopping and already feel less than half the holiday stress. I have been looking for rad presents for Drew, but so far I have only purchased one. . . in which she had to open now. "Christmas is too far away!" was her complaint. Hopefully she will forget what the present is, but not likely. Luckily I have been good at purchasing the lady good presents so far.

Next in my day: shower and go to work. Good bye lovely non-existent readers.