How to Make It in Life

I actually got my taxes done early this year. I will be getting a pretty decent refund as well, which will be eaten up by rent, but oh well. At least it'll help me stay solvent! Whatever that means. It is my solution to stay solvent! Oh, the chem majors are laughing, but is anyone else. Oh, the chem majors aren't laughing? Well then.

So I got my taxes done early. And I didn't even have to mail in anything. Federal taxes were done by phone and state taxes were done by the Internet. Oh these times we live in. I think come Tuesday, when I go to vote, there won't even be paper ballots. Instead, there will be computerized touch screens. I trust the government in making sure all the computers will be safe and secure from malfunction or tampering. Because the government always has the people's best interest at hand.

See, now the poli-sci majors are laughing! What? No? But I can hear them. Oh, they're laughing at me. I see. Well, you know what? Fuck this already! I'm outta here!

As I was driving to the post office today, I saw the Oscar Mayer Weinermobile. It made a left turn in front of me as I was sitting at a stop light, and as it did, the driver beeped at me. Not out of malice though, because how can anyone really be angry when they're driving a giant hot dog? No, he was waving hi, or giving me the thumbs up, or something. What a nice fellow. That just made my day.

And so I got to wondering if I could apply to be one of them Weinermobile drivers. That would be fun. Bringing joy to all and such. A large weiner always puts a smile on people's faces.

On second thought, I probably shouldn't, because with my luck, I'd probably get into an accident. And then I'd never hear the end of it. "You rear-ended that guy with your weiner!" Hohoho.

But come to think of it, that would probably be a good way to go. If I had to die of unnatural causes, I would want it to be in the most hilarious manner possible. So dying in a Weinermobile accident would be right up there. Along with peeing on an electric fence, or accidentally launching yourself with your homemade catapult.

I'm currently on hold with AT&T Wireless, trying to upgrade my 3-year-old cell phone, which, among other obsolete things about it, has digital PocketNet "service" -- the wireless Internet service AT&T offered when I first purchased the phone, and the very same service they suddenly stopped providing about, oh, a year into my contract -- a cost-cutting measure I found out about while lost and trying to get directions out of San Diego.

So I'm not too thrilled with their customer service.

Still, I want to keep AT&T because I have a relatively cheap $29.99 plan, while all the new plans worth anything nowadays are like 40 bucks or more.

But as I've been on hold for a good half hour, I've been starting to reconsider. The elevator music-backed ads AT&T plays to their customers are pretty repetitive and annoying. But what's even more annoying is when the music suddenly stops, and you think, "Right on, a real person will talk to me now," but instead it's an automated voice coming on to say, "We know how difficult it is to be on hold, please stay on the line, we apologize for the inconvenience, etc."

And I just want to say, "Look fool, I know I'm on hold, so you don't need to keep reminding me of that by having the same woman repeat the same automated apology every five minutes. And another thing--" But then I realize the machines wouldn't be able to hear me, nor would they care if they did, and that's somehow depressing.

So if anyone knows of a cell phone service that works well in the L.A. area, besides AT&T, let me know. Thanks!

Remember this childhood song?

I like bananas, coconuts and grapes.
I like bananas, coconuts and grapes.
I like bananas, coconuts and grapes.

(I forgot how it ended)

It was sung to the tune of Glory Glory Hallelujah, except it was about dicks, boobs and balls. Kids who sang it would point to the corresponding areas on their body in time with the lyrics. Though come to think of it, I didn't know too many kids who had all three.

How about this childhood song?

When you're sitting on the road and your balls explode, that's rupture!

That's the whole song, but there were numerous ways to rupture your balls, so with a change of a few words you got:

When you're lying on your back and your balls start to crack, that's rupture!

Or:

When you're sitting on a tire and your balls catch on fire, that's rupture!

They didn't have to make sense. My elementary schoolmates and I would come up with variations at every recess, making sure, of course, that the teachers didn't hear us say balls. Because that's swearing.

Of course, one time I said much worse to a teacher and didn't even get in trouble. I was fighting with this kid named Lance, just saying stuff like "You're stupid!" and "You're the doo doo boy!" It escalated until he finally really swore at me. I, being a whiny 3rd grader and all, ran immediately to the teacher.

Me: Lance swore at me!

Mrs. Kam: What!? What did he say?

Me: He said I was a...ummm

Mrs. Kam: Tell me what he said!

Me: But it's a bad word.

Mrs. Kam: Tell me, I won't get mad.

Me: Okay. He said I was a stupid fucker.

Mrs. Kam: Thank you.

Mrs. Kam grabbed Lance and took him to the principal's office. I had mixed feelings about the whole thing. I didn't understand why Mrs. Kam made me swear. And why she didn't bust me for swearing. The only thing I figured was that Lance had meant it when he called me a stupid fucker. I said it out of fear and confusion.

Looking back on it, I think Mrs. Kam was just having a laugh. "Let's make the little tattletale swear! It'll blow his mind!"

I bet that was it. Oh Mrs. Kam, you rascal!

The weather forecast for L.A. says it will rain heavily tonight and tomorrow. Right now, it's just starting, and this map to the left shows the green blob is slowly moving east and will soon envelope us.

I love it when it rains. And I'm glad we have a shed with a tin roof in the backyard. The sound of rain hitting it reminds me of home, where my bedroom window was right above our back porch's tin roof.

It also reminds me of being taught the story of Noah's Ark in elementary school. Our pastor talked about how Noah got all the animals, and put em in two by two, etc. At the end of the lesson, he told the class of how he himself went to Mount Ararat (or Sinai?) and got to hold a piece of Noah's Ark. As he was saying this, he got a bit emotional and I think even a little misty-eyed. It was quite moving for us kids.

Afterwards, for lunch, we had hamburgers or something. And I thought, wow, this beef that I'm eating had ancestors that were on Noah's Ark. And then I thought, where did all those animals go to the bathroom? Then I figured they probably just stuck their butts over the side of the boat. Either that, or maybe they had people constantly shoveling poo over the side. Those people probably weren't too happy about it, but nonetheless it was their duty.

So bad.

As I was uprooting my dying, pestilence-ridden tomato plants today, I decided to throw a few rotten tomatoes at random targets around the backyard. So I pitched a fastball at one of the evergreen trees lining our neighbor's fence. It entered the foliage and hit the trunk with a mushy "thunk."

Soon after, a rustling was heard. The rustling continued longer than it should have, making its way up the tree. It was as if the tomato had sprouted limbs and was now making its ascent.

My hopes of a mutant tomato were soon dashed however when the rustling stopped and out popped a squirrel, which hopped onto a nearby telephone cable. The squirrel proceeded to chatter in an agitated manner, looking directly at me.

My first reaction was amazement. I had never had a squirrel, in effect, swear at me before. My second reaction was denial. There was no way the squirrel had seen me throw that tomato. So why was it mad at me? My third reaction was fear. Had the squirrel seen me throw it? And if so, how? Perhaps the squirrel had been...spying on me. Holy shit.

My fourth reaction was to throw another tomato at the squirrel. I missed, and in retrospect, I'm glad I did. Unfortunately the tomato landed in the neighbor's yard. But that seemed to shut the squirrel up, as it immediately scampered back into hiding.

Luckily, my neighbors weren't home, and hopefully they won't know where the tomato came from, but I have a whole nother thing to worry about -- I have made enemies with a squirrel that has been spying on me. In the coming days, I will no doubt have to protect my nuts.

After a hard day's work, there's nothing better for the aching body than a hot shower and a cold bowl of Golden Grahams. And someone to massage my tootsies. But that last thing ain't gonna happen because, as one might gather, the effect of 15 straight hours of physical labor on one's feet will, as evidenced upon the removal of one's shoes at day's end, produce an odor so vile it could fell several hippopotamuses.

Oh well, the shower was very nice. And the cereal was chased down with a proper dinner of chicken patty sandwiches. And now I am cozy in bed, about to sleep my ass off. Good night.

Apparently, my body only thought we were taking a nap, so it decided to wake us up hours before we have to go into work. Why am I referring to my body as a separate entity? Because I'm insane. Anyway it's 2:20 A.M. and I am trying to remember the weird dreams I just had. I know it's always boring to hear about someone else's weird dreams, but let me tell you, mine involved a drive to Vegas, the lost love of my life, and a monkey. Sounds like the makings of a new Burt Reynolds movie.

Tomorrow, I work a fifteen hour day. I'll be helping out my friend, who's shooting a video for this company, by doing grip work, which basically means a lot of carrying stuff around and plugging stuff in. Oh yeah, and I need to be there at 4:00 A.M. - which is fine, except my recent sleep schedule has me going to sleep at 1:00 A.M.

To counter this potential "jet lag", I got only 4 hours of sleep last night, which I hope will somehow reset my body clock so I can fall asleep early tonight. But all my efforts might be for naught as I'm drinking a Pepsi right now. Leave it to me to fill my body full of caffeine when I need to sleep.

Wish me luck!

When I was a kid, I attended a Christian elementary school. Fast forward to present: So I am no longer a Christian, and neither are many of my friends who went to the same school. I've always wondered why this is so. I think it's probably due to the example set by our teachers.

Miss Morris: "Oh Brady, please stop throwing things at Jenny... Please stop it, Brady... Darn it...BRADY! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! STOP THROWING THINGS AT JENNY!!!"

Brady: "You took the Lord's name in vain."

Miss Morris: "YEAH WELL, THE LORD MADE YOU IN VAIN!"

Miss Morris didn't actually say that last thing, but I wouldn't have been surprised if she did. Miss Morris, along with many of our other teachers, despised and probably would have murdered some of us if they thought God wasn't watching. They would yell at us, insult us, insult our parents, "accidentally" swear at us, take the Lord's name in vain, threaten us, spank some of us (with a paddle too) and accuse us of being evil, especially if we didn't pay attention during Bible study.

Miss Morris would also tell our 4th grade class things like, "Whitney Houston is going to hell!" because she sang a song called, "Saving All My Love For You". She was upset because Whitney didn't save some of her love for Jesus. I'm serious.

And our music teacher, Mrs. Nyman, told us not to listen to rock music because the beats and rhythms in rock songs could interfere with our heartbeat and eventually cause heart failure. Again, I'm serious. She would then play us songs on her piano, using, one would assume, "heart-friendlier" tempos than what the Beatles had used.

But my fondest memory of Christian elementary school was when I was in the 6th grade and they provided us with some sex education. Our vice principal was called upon to handle this touchy subject, probably because our teachers didn't know too much about it. And so he taught us how men have penises and women have vaginas, and how they fit together to make babies, but how doing so before marriage is a sin...all that stuff. Then the topic of masturbation came up. Our vice principal, clearly looking uncomfortable, offered this advice:

"Masturbation is okay, as long as you're not thinking of naked women or having other sinful thoughts when you're doing it. Ahem."

That single statement probably traumatized me for life. To this day, when I'm feeling randy, instead of thinking of some sexy woman writhing naked on my bed, I think of Jesus tending to his flock of sheep.

Me: "Oh, Jesus! Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort MEEEE!"

Jesus: "Jesus is Coming."

Sheep: "Baaaaaa! Baaaaaa!"

I'm so going to hell. See you there, Whitney.

Tonight I made some spicy chicken curry. Damn, it was tasty.

I saw 50 First Dates today. It's set in Hawaii, so I was sorta excited to see how they portrayed it. It was okay, despite a lot of gibberish Hawaiian-sounding names and a fixation on pineapples. Also, Rob Schneider played a guy who was supposed to be local, but at times sounded like a Mexican Pepe Le Pew. From an accuracy standpoint, I thought Lilo and Stitch was slightly better.

One thing they did get sorta right was that there was a lot of Spam in the movie. Not the junk e-mail, but the actual what-you-get-when-you-put-a-pig-in-a-blender meat product. Mmmmmmmmm!

As for the movie itself, I thought it was cute. Drew Barrymore was actually really good and not at all annoying. But I'm comparing her to her Charlie's Angels performances, so that's not fair. Adam Sandler was funny as usual, but I thought Sean Astin was funnier, playing Drew Barrymore's roid-enhanced brother. And okay, Rob Schneider was somewhat entertaining - when he wasn't making me cringe.

So I was out with friends and friends-of-friends the other night at a restaurant. My friend Andy asked me if I wanted to go see a beauty pageant with him. I started, for some reason, ripping on beauty pageants, like how all the contestants are fake and how it's just an excuse for old men to leer at young women and how no one really gives a shit about the talent portion, etc.

Unfortunately, sitting next to him was his friend - a young woman who was going to be in the beauty pageant.

In the awkward silence that followed, I had to resist the urge to light myself on fire. She didn't take it too badly though, I think. I explained to her that I was just trying to rile Andy up. She said she understood, and then turned to talk to someone else. Andy couldn't stop laughing at me the entire night.

When I was about 12 years old, my mom, sister and I went to visit my mom's friend Helen, who had just had a baby. For most of our time there, me and my sis watched TV in the living room while my mom and Helen talked in the kitchen. Around noon, my mom told us to come into the kitchen to meet the baby, who had just awoken.

And when we entered the kitchen, indeed there was the baby...suckling on Helen's naked breast. This was unexpected.

Back then, I was just beginning to discover girls, and so the sight of a semi-nude woman, baby or not, threw me for a loop. All I could think about was "booby!" But in that setting, it was more awkward than titillating.

Trying to hide my embarrassment a bit, I quickly decided to break the ice by saying the first thing that came to mind. So I pointed to the baby, turned to my sister and said, "Look, that's what we used to drink!"

In my head, it sounded like the right thing to say. But instead of making light of an awkward situation, I made it even more awkward and slightly disturbing. I'm sure I embarrassed my mom because the only thing she said in response was "Ahem." My sister said nothing and avoided eye contact with me. Helen, ever so understanding, let out a little laugh and changed the subject, which was very much appreciated.

Oh well, as was evidenced that day and in the coming years, it's sometimes rough-going trying to be Mr. Smooth.

So I was browsing somebody's blog today and clicked on a link to a Washington Post news article. But instead of opening the article, I was redirected to a page which required me to register with the Washington Post first in order to view said article. I thought, okay, easy enough, it's still free, and I have a spam-only e-mail address I can give them. So I scrolled down the page and found a few questions asking for my e-mail, password, occupation, etc.

Then I saw something that gave me pause: the spaces for my year of birth and zip code were already filled in for me. And they were filled with my exact year of birth and zip code too. Ack!

Now, I have a passing knowledge of cookies and how they track information, but I didn't think they stored this sort of info. And this was my first visit to the Washington Post website, so the info must've come from somewhere else, right? I'm so naive, aren't I? With my false sense of security? And my Vanilla Ice tattoo?

And it made me panic for a bit because I thought, "what other info is being transmitted about me?" The fact that I have a proclivity for buggery? Which isn't true, by the way. I merely like the word. The way it sounds - like a nursery for baby insects. Yes yes.

Anyways, it was an eye opener even though it shouldn't be. Maybe I'll run Ad Aware and Spybot again, but I just ran them like a week ago and they found nothing. Perhaps that's how insidious it all is. I might just have to delete every one of my cookies. But there goes my automatic logins. Oh well, if there's any computer-knowledgable people out there, let me know if there's a better solution.

UPDATE: Checked AutoComplete on my Internet Explorer, and it isn't active, so that's probably not it. Thanks, Rob.

Remember chain letters? I got one in the mail when I was ten years old. It stated that if I didn't send a copy of the letter to five different people, I would die of a horrible disease. Did I mention I was ten years old? It freaked the hell out of me. To make things worse, I didn't even recognize the name of the letter sender. Who was he? How did he get my name and address? And how could he be so certain of my fate?

In a fragile and emotionally vulnerable state, I went to my dad for reassurance that I wouldn't die a horrible death.

"What do I do, daddy?" I asked him.

"Go clean your room! Godfunnit!" he replied.

He was usually irritable after work. So, with the threat of an untimely demise looming above my head, I took it upon myself to follow the letter's instructions exactly. I looked in the phone book and got five addresses of people I didn't know. I then made five copies of the letter by hand. It was a pretty long letter too, so my writing hand got all cramped - much as it does now, but for different reasons. And in each copy of the letter, I included the same threat of death that had been addressed to me. It was something I had to do. Otherwise the chain letter gods would strike me down on principle.

But I finally did send the letters out, copied to perfection, the very next day, and I was so frickin relieved. And I didn't die a horrible death. The end.

Of course, the letter didn't say when I would die a horrible death. So I hope the post office didn't lose any of my letters, otherwise the curse would still be in effect.

Not that it would be my fault though; I sent the letters, thus holding up my end of the deal, right? I mean, come on! I'm relying on the post office here!

*somewhat frightened*

My name is Archibald von Archibald
I wear a giant collar
Sir Walter Raleigh's 6 foot 1
I'm a little taller

I've sailed the seven seas of yore
in search of hidden treasures
In distant lands I've also searched
for exotic hidden pleasures

There's lots of pretty, strange new birds
in these heady far off lands
When I see a bunch of pretty feathers
I must steady both my hands

For you see (and you may think it odd)
I like to bugger chickens
By "bugger" I mean "have my way with"
And by "chickens" I mean "chickens"

There's nothing wrong with chicken love
It's like making chicken dinner
Both need tender loving care
and a basting of the innards

My name is Archibald von Archibald
I guess I've said too much
You've been a lovely dinner guest
Let's try to keep in touch

More knowledgeable and better-smelling people than I have informed me that Adopt a Goat is a great program which lets people adopt (fund) goats so they can go out and eat a lot of brush in forests and national parks. This feeds the goats, and in turn helps stop future wildfires from spreading so quickly. So adopt a goat, and help prevent forest fires. Smokey the Bear don't got shit on them.

Speaking of national parks, today I went sledding at Los Padres (?) National Park with my unemployed/partially employed/day-off-on-a-Thursday friends. I grew up in Hawaii and am currently living in Los Angeles, so I really haven't seen snow all that much. Some people, like the awesome blogger Miranda, equate snow with "I have to shovel the damn driveway." I equate snow with fun! I oversimplify because it's easier.

We went to a place where snow had fallen about two weeks ago. The snow was sort of icy, but still very nice and sleddable. Out of all of us, I was the only one who sustained an injury - I scraped my arm on an unseen tree root as I zoomed down a hill. Oh well, at least I didn't eat an unseen boulder.

And it was only 1 1/2 hours away by car, so now I'm back in LA where it's 70 degrees and breezy. All in all, a really nice day. Tomorrow, back to work!

This post has nothing to do with those skimpy thongs male strippers wear, I just find the name for them fantastic. Not that I find men wearing thongs fantastic.

Anyhoo, I was just watching this special on Nova on the history of dogs. They talked about the reasons there are so many breeds of dogs and how some people interbreed dogs in order to try to "purify" a certain breed. Sounds kinda Aryan to me. They also talked about one of the big side effects of interbreeding dogs, which is a high prevalence of genetic diseases. This one lady who raised and bred papillons said that one of her champion show dogs had a father and mother who were actually father and daughter. It was quite disturbing.

Then they showed a dog who suffered from narcolepsy. He was so cute and fluffy, which made it all the funnier when he was running down a hallway and suddenly collapsed into a deep sleep.

I was listening to the radio on my way back from work tonight when I heard that a California community is urging people to "adopt a goat". From the bits that I heard, these goats need to be saved, and I don't know if this is the reason, but a lot of them went to goat heaven in a big brush fire several months ago.

I tried looking online more information about Adopt-a-Goat, but I only found other Adopt a Goat programs that don't really have anything to do with goats, although they are still worthy causes, I believe.

If I do find more info, and if I have the cash at hand, I would consider adopting a goat. I think it would be fun. Like having your own lawn mower. Although, now that I think about it, I don't think they let you keep the goats. Something about people eating them.

Well, I'm off to Home Depot to buy some of that nasty, toxic root kill for my toilet. I hate doing it, but my landlord doesn't like paying for a roto-rooter every six months. But I was doing some research and they use the same chemical used in the root kill for agricultural use, so it can't be that bad can it? Perhaps I will do more research. On the upside, there's a McDonald's in the Home Depot, so I can get an Egg McMuffin and perhaps a breakfast burrito while I'm there. Ahhh, greasy food after a night of imbibery is always good for the soul. Not necessarily for the ass though.

My friend came over tonight and I think we had way too much Jesus Juice. I don't know why I'm thinking of recycling now, but how do you get the limes out of the beer bottles? Or can you recycle them like that? I figure they just put em in a big fire anyway and it all gets melted. Maybe the next beer bottle you drink out of will have some lime zest in it. Isn't it great I'm thinking of such things when most people would be more concerned with trying not to vomit? Well, I have to work tomorrow, great timing!

As you can see, I like Billy Corgan, former leader of Smashing Pumpkins and Zwan. So I've put his blog into my blogroll in the hopes that he will somehow see it and give me a free Smashing Pumpkins or Zwan t-shirt. Or maybe even some free concert tickets. Or a BJ. Maybe that's pushing it. I don't think Billy would be up for it, and I don't think I'd even want it. That'd be funny though, it'd be like making love to a giant cantaloupe. Hmmm, I don't think I want Billy to read this after all. But if you are reading this, Billy, would you at least consider it? I bought all your albums.

UPDATE: Billy doesn't seem to be blogging much anymore, so I deleted his ass!

I was looking in today's paper and saw an ad for that delicious sloppy joe product, Manwich. And it got me to thinking about how they ever thought to call it "Manwich" in the first place. Because, for me, the three things that come to mind when I hear "Manwich" are:

1. A sandwich for cannibals
2. A menage-a-trois with two dudes
3. A very small village in England

I guess it was probably meant to convey an image of manly All-American men who liked to eat sloppy joes and get all messy with their buddies. And then afterwards get all oiled up and wrestle each other.

Well, actually sloppy joes does sound good right about now, so let's see what I have in the fridge... ah yes, tuna again. Fuck me.

I haven't seen a dentist in about three years. I finally got a dental plan, so I'm gonna schedule a visit as soon as I can. I hope that I don't have 20 cavities like my friend did. She hadn't seen a dentist in a mere two years. When they finally looked in her mouth, the dentist must've been horrified, and then probably secretly happy as he got a boner over all the money he'd get from this. It was so bad, they had to get her cavities filled on two separate days, one for each side of her mouth.

All I gotta say is I'll be happy if I have less than five cavities.

While in Sacramento, we stayed at the Doubletree Hotel. It was a pretty nice place and they gave us chocolate chip cookies when we checked in. One thing bothered me though - their logo looks like a nutsack.

If you're riding in a car and you pass a huge cattle ranch, don't roll down the windows to take a picture of the cows. Or at the very least, warn the driver to hold his breath. For the love of God.

Oh, how round!

So soft and supple
and debonair
Somewhat doughy,
yet firm
like an over-filled hot-water bottle
of blubbery goodness.

So warm and bouncy
With a perpetual sideways smile
It cheers me up in this lonely world,
humming jazz tunes all the while.

It is lit as if by an inner glow,
much like moonlight on the Seine.
It senses when there is danger,
like that sword in Lord of the Rings.

One day, with an inviting come-hither look,
it beguiled me with its grin.
And like a moth to a flame, it drew me nearer
for I had dreamed of what’s within.

Buried treasure? Requited love?
A poultice for my soul?
If I were to guess by its container
Perhaps a booty full of gold.

It was shaped much like a Valentine
of well-proportioned size.
So I sidled right up, and gave it a kiss
and got a furious brown surprise.

How could something that looked so sweet
yield the bitter fruit of sulfur?
I guess I was expecting one sort of nugget,
but instead I got the other.

And so I've learned, as with many things,
there are “dungeons in the castle”
so the next time I try to kiss your ass
I’ll be “mindful of the asshole”

What I learned on my trip to Sacramento:

Apparently, there's a Cal State Stanislaus