Took this from WENN. This is the funniest thing I've read today. Notice that it says "swore back at me," which indicates Lindsay's mommy swore first. Love the "strange language," too.


Lindsay Lohan's mother Dina has taken to the Internet in a bizarre rant against staff at a hotel - accusing a housekeeper of assaulting her with a towel.

The reality TV matriarch began a series of strange postings on her Twitter.com blog in the early hours of Wednesday morning, complaining after the venue she was staying in only provided her with two towels.

Lohan went on to urge her Twitter followers to call the hotel's housekeeping staff and demand more towels be delivered to her room.

She writes, "I Need this situation rectified immediately. Will someone that can get in contact with housekeeping tell them.

"This is not appropriate I need assistance Immediately. Someone please get a hold of housekeeping for me. I am being ignored and discriminated (against) once again! Someone please help."

Her next posting reveals the housekeeper delivered the towels to her room as requested, but alleges the woman swore and threw the items at her.

She writes, "I was just assaulted by housekeeping staff, she swore back at me and threw the towels at me. I am in shock I think the towels left a mark on me. I need a camera Immediately to document my injuries from this reckless woman. How dare she! I am shaking. Will someone provide me with a camera?"

Lohan continues, "Being held Hostage in my room, I fear the woman who assaulted me and swore back at me is in the hallway screaming in a strange language. Help. I am Shaking I need to document all of this for security I immediately require a languist (sic) to help tell me the strange language she is shouting.

"I don't condone violence but she swore back at me and Assaulted (me) with the towels am I to defend??? I would like to see you all get towels thrown Violently at you and see how much it assaults you."


Crash And Burn

There's this thing nagging at the back of my head. Has been there for weeks. It's like an echo that is just out of range. It is trying to tell me something. Just what it is I don't know. I've tried to avoid it, tried to avoid thinking of what it is saying. Maybe I fear it's right. Maybe I fear it is just one more piece of self-doubt and stress. Maybe I fear it's fear.

Either way, I am doing my best to pretend it isn't there, but it keeps shining through.

Saw the wreck in D.C. and watched the mayor be as inarticulate as possible in the face of disaster as he rattled off the death toll. He appeared to be all of twenty years of age. I always thought that being the mayor of Washington D.C. would be a lot like getting a key to a city. Symbolic, but little else. I imagine he probably thought the same thing in the back of his mind, where that little voice tries to tell you things. I imagine when he saw those two trains mating he thought otherwise, and when he listened to that voice, he couldn't help but think he was drowning.

I shadowed a worker today as she did her interviews. She's good, though she doesn't think so. She dealt with a guy who reeked of alcohol and rattled off enough nonsense to seriously threaten to derail the interview. I wonder if that little voice in her head, the one that comes to her when she realizes she has to ask yet another question, started to get a little clearer at that point. I wonder what it was saying, and if she wanted to listen to it.

In Pulp Fiction, that little thing in Bruce Willis' mind is referred to as pride. It is. It is pride. It is fear. It is self-doubt. It is self-loathing. It is that little voice that says you are the emperor and not only are you wearing no clothes, but everyone can see you, and they are all pointing and they finally realize what you most fear. Exposure. Truth. Reality.

So many of us can get through the day masking our feelings and ignoring our pain. We put on pretty smiles because it's easier to fake a smile than to explain a frown. We nod. We offer stock answers to stock questions. We take comfort in the fact that we can get through the day without ever listening to that little voice. We take pride in knowing that at the end of the day nothing really changed.

I've known many a soul who listened to that little voice and let it destroy them. They hit the bottle, down some pills, smoke some rock, stick the needle in, steal ... whatever they can do to stop it from saying anything else that can damage. The problem is, once you listen to that voice, you can't undo it. There are no do-overs. No give backs. Once that voice has spoken, you either gotta deal or deny, and denial is this raging beast that only goes after you.

Dealing with that voice is hard because it is truth. It is the all-knowing, all-seeing eye. It is a quarter ton disaster that has your name all over it. If you can survive it, though, it makes you a better person. It makes you stronger.

Or it rips your soul out your spine and leaves you bleeding in the middle of nowhere.

Either way, avoidance can only go on so long before it is silenced. While that may be a blessing, that silence is actually death, because if you let it die, you do the same. You lost. Your hopes, dreams, ideas ... they all go away because they are tied to that voice.

I love the Marvel Comic character Daredevil. He is flawed, though he tries to do the right thing. He is imperfect. One of his villains once said that a man without hope is a man without fear. I would add to that.

A man without fear is a man without hope.

Here's to fear.


Big Pete's Open In Eureka!

As I pulled into Eureka from my Los Angeles trip "Sweet Home Alabama" was playing on the radio. Appropriate. (On an unrelated note, on that same night The Devil's Rejects played on IFC.) I wasn't heading home, though. I desperately wanted to be home, but I had a different destination in mind. Big Pete's.

If you ever lived on the East Coast, you know how sacrosanct pizza is. There are pizza joints every three and a half feet, and you can get your grub by the slice. Moving out to Humboldt, however, left me with culture shock. Very few pizza places, and even fewer where you could purchase by the slice. Arcata, however, had Live From New York, which is great, and then eventually got Big Pete's, which is also great and has a friendlier staff to boot. For a while, though, it was only in Arcata.

I hate Arcata. I rarely go there, and when I did it was usually to get pizza from Big Pete's. When gas prices skyrocketed and a divorce cut my income, I had to stop going there as much.

Then the Pizza Hut here in town closed, and Big Pete's moved in, opening the day I returned. Sweet God, I was in Heaven. I was also the Eureka location's first repeat customer. (I have gone there three times in the first two days, and will be heading there for dinner in about a half hour.)

East Coast style pizza (and you can Californicate it up if you feel the need to do such a strange thing with things like chicken and walnuts, which makes the East Coast in my cringe). Normally that would be enough to get my praise, but there are these large-screen televisions playing, and today the place had a soccer match on. Heaven times two. Then I noticed that some of the beer signs were soccer-based as well. Someone at Big Pete's is a soccer fan.

East Coast pizza by the slice? Soccer? That is, quite simply, orgasmic.

Go check it out at 1709 5th St. Beer will be served as soon as the license passes.

Eureka just got better.


Travel Tips From Satan 3

Day Two:

I started out this day with a better attitude. First days are always tough. Second days are better, right? Today, my daughter gets to experience the Los Angeles Zoo.

I'm not a big zoo person. I actually find them kind of depressing. That said, I understand the allure of seeing a lion up close in a controlled environment. It was fairly impressive. Great displays. A good variety of animals. No complaints there. I was expecting overpriced souvenirs and was also not disappointed. Traffic was, of course, horrendous. I did also get to see a coyote stalk a jogger about a mile outside the zoo. Apparently coyotes have been wandering into the outskirts of the city. Occasionally a person is attacked. Nothing so exciting happened today, though seeing a coyote with rushing traffic a stone's throw away seemed very apocalyptic.

The rest of the day was standard. There are lots of things I can write, but people could really get bent out of shape if they read this, and that's stress I don't need right now.

A friend texted and asked if the women in SoCal were hotter than Humboldt women. That's a tough one. If you like tight, tiny shorts; fake breasts; tons of make-up; the same hairstyle on everyone; and lack of individuality – well, then, yes they are hotter. I like a different type of woman, however. I like mine to have individuality. I don't like plastic. I don't care if a woman has curves. I don't care if a woman looks dangerous. The women here just look a little too high maintenance, a little too fake, a little too much like they are trying a little too hard. They don't get that sexy isn't a look. It's an attitude.

Tomorrow? I don't know. The beach maybe. Great. Sand and surf. I want to go see where the Black Dahlia was left in pieces.

Day Three

Santa Monica Pier. Overpriced food. Too much sun, sand and citizens. Expensive cars. Thongs. A ferris wheel that made me remember why I hate ferris wheels. My family seems to think that “getting sun” is a good thing. I would beg to differ, and so would they if they were honest about it, but whatever. They think it's great my cousin and daughter “got sun.” Burned is the reality of it, and I used sunscreen on my girl. Saw a map of stars' homes and crime scenes. Black Dahlia was not on there. Not that it would have mattered. I would not have been taken there.

On the plus side, the Lakers won the NBA Finals. I don't follow basketball, and could care less about it. Soccer is more my thing. The fans, however, did not let me down. The news spoke of fear of riots, and sure enough, Los Angeles fans know how to throw a celebration party. Bonfires. Attacking LAPD vehicles. There were some celebrations nearby, and I've been hearing sirens all night. What prompts such actions? Who cares! I would like nothing more than to let Los Angeles burn, fall into the ocean, or get sucked into the ground. I can't believe the shit this city gets concerned with. It deserves riots, fires and plagues of locusts and shit like that.

I did see a great back piece tattoo today on a woman who liked all of fifteen, though upon closer look was much older. Excellent tribal wings.

Live footage on the news. A fire in the middle of the street under an overpass. Laker flags waving. Multiple fires, actually. I hear helicopters overhead. Don't know if related. Police barricades being thrown into the bonfire.

I still cannot get online. I think I fucked up this woman's connection

Back to news coverage. Four fires I can see. Cars trying to get through. People running now. Metrolink shut down due to trash cans put on track. Happy derails to you! MTA bus getting tagged after being stopped. It is destroyed. People are on the bus. Crowds of people rushing through the streets. People leaping on cars. Buildings being tagged. Police helicopters hovering. A new fire being started on the sidewalk. Downtown Los Angeles blazing. Intersections blocked off. Street lights being destroyed. Rubber bullets from police flying.

Imagine if the Lakers lost.

Day Four

Okay. I've made two requests this trip so far. Before I even got here I asked to go to Zen Buffet, a great sushi place. I also asked to go grab some fast food once we got here because my daughter and I were starving. That wish was granted. Zen Buffet was coming, I was told. This morning I woke up and asked to go to McDonald's (though I'm tired of fast food) so I could eat in order to take my allergy medicine. Sure. No problem. We'll go before heading out to Disneyland. Awesome.

And then we're on the freeway heading there. No McDonald's. What? I was just totally ignored.


We get to Disney after an hour. It was about ten in the morning. Holy fuck, it was packed already. Line after line of school buses. I have a headache and allergies. No breakfast. I hate crowds. Welcome to Hell.

Security was pretty damn high tech. Two old ladies had women open their purses and me open my bag. They checked the main pocket and none of my side pockets, inner pockets or flap pockets. That made me feel safe. I can't imagine these AARP rejects even knowing a bomb or biological weapon if they came across it. “What's this, Sonny? It's a container of liquid.” “It's an energy drink called Ebola. The 'E' is for 'energy,' and Bola is a country.” “Go on through.” If Disney is ever hit, this will be why.

So of course I can't eat right away because we are being diverted from food. Nuts. After a half hour I got a bag of popcorn and a small bag of pretzels for $5.00 or so. I was then asked why I didn't take us into Jack in the Box when it was brought up. “One,” I said, “I never heard you. Also, how could I do that? I wasn't driving.”

Swear to God.

So my back starts hurting. Bad. I have crippling back pain that comes up when I walk a lot, get stressed, etc.. Here was all of the above. Every step was misery. People kept texting saying to have fun. I'd text back I was in pain. They'd text back to have fun anyway because I was in Disneyland. My family kept asking me what was wrong. I'd tell them ... every damn time they asked. I spent six hours there walking around in mind numbing pain. Almost vomiting. Tears threatening to come. My daughter wanted to ride some train ride, but the lady worker miscounted, so I got place in a cage with a Christian family (I could tell by the shirts) with two handicapped kids. They were terrified of me. Nose ring, tattoos, evil look on my face. They did not say a word the whole ride. They just stared at me.

On a side note: Most popular non-Disney t-shirts? Lakers, Hollister, anything soccer related.

On the way home, after spending all day discussing how ill I feel, I'm passed out but was awakened to ask about dinner. “Not hungry,” I say. “Sick.”

“How about Zen Buffet?”

Seriously? Seriously? I decline.

“But I thought you wanted it?”

“But I'm sick. Can't eat. It would be a waste of money.”

Then they spent ten minutes trying to figure out dinner. Oh. My. God!

“Let's just go to Zen Buffet,” I said. I conceded. I gave up. Fuck it.

And that's where we went. While there I went into the bathroom to be sick. I came out and my mom asked, “What's wrong?”

“My stomach hurts because my back hurts. Same thing that has been going on all day and that hasn't changed from the other ten times everyone asked. It won't change later, either.”

End of that discussion.

My daughter had a blast, though. Her favorite ride is It's A Small World. The first time she rode it when she was three she went nuts taking pictures. This time was no different. Within like two minutes she filled her camera and took mine and then went all paparazzi on it. She was leaning over the back of the boat to get shots, laying across the seat to get shots from above, diving across the boat. I feared my camera was going in the drink, but she held on. She was taking shots so fast my camera couldn't process them. It was awesome. That made all the pain worth it. What didn't help was the constant texts along the lines of “buck up, it's Disney!”

I don't like Disney. The park is overcrowded, overpriced, and overrated. I think it does the exhibits well, but it's plastic. Call it the happiest place on Earth if you want, buy my vision of the happiest place on Earth doesn't include a tiny pizza for over seven bucks. Bottled water at three. It's a mask, and if what I saw is any indication, the economy hasn't faltered here in Los Angeles too much.

So here I am laid up in pain. And if anyone asks why I think I will kill them.

Day Five

My backache is gone come morning, and I am very fucking relieved. On the news a burglar has taken refuge under the 405 right down the street, backing up traffic for miles. We will be heading the other way. Malibu. Home of beaches, “hot” females, a multi-million dollar homes. I predict the beach will cause my backache to come back, as it usually does. Something about walking and trying to sit on the sand that doesn't agree with me. I, of course, am right.

The beach is hot. The sun is beating down. (I will get sunburn.) My back is killing me ... again. I cannot believe this. People laying out to bake mystifies me. My daughter misses her mom (she has been pretty good about this so far). I miss home. I want to take my girl and head home, and I sense she wants that, too, but it just isn't feasible. Next time it is her and I alone.

At the beach a teen girl who was waiting for food like me said, “You don't look happen.”

“I'm not a fan of the beach.”

“That's cool. Your daughter is cute. She looks happy.”

“She is.”

“Then what's to be upset about? Maybe you should rethink things.”

Maybe I should.

Day Six

Did not sleep well last night, but I'm used to that. Back hurt all night. Near riot at the gates to the Laker parade this morning as people rushed them and they weren't even open yet. At this point one woman is hurt (broken ankle). Way to go, Lakers fans. Some water park today. We'll see how it goes.

The water park is Hurricane Harbor, which is part of Six Flags. I believe it was named in honor of Katrina and New Orleans. It is scorching out. There is a lot of people at the gates, including a few camps. Splendid. Security, as at Disneyland, is a joke. I'm told to have my bag open and ready to be searched. The search is a pat down of said bag, which has a lot of bulky, oddly shaped items in it. The “security” teen doesn't ask me to open it or even seemed that concerned that I could have a dirty bomb. Terrorists don't need to do elaborate studies of blueprints and whatnot to our theme parks. They have to buy a ticket. Bingo. Instant disaster.

The water park itself, despite a meal that costs roughly $350 (but with huge portions) is the most fun I've had all trip. My daughter at one point declared, “This is awesome. This is the most fun I've ever had in my life.” That's great for a parent to hear, and I'm glad I was in on it. We spent the entire time in a section devoted to kids around my daughter's age. It was set up almost like a pirate cove. Above a skull island were water cannons that kids could use ... and they did ... often .. to great effect. They did not shoot warm water, either. It was while watching my daughter use one that I came to a conclusion.

Give a kid a weapon and they will remember every transgression ever visited upon them. That time you told them no more Gummi Worms. That time you took away their favorite toy. They will remember and take it out on any adult nearby ... and they will love it. Some twelve year old girl kept hitting me with that damn cannon until I shot her a look that said, “I will cut your tits off and wear them.” She went ghost after that and I never saw her again.

All in all, I could not have been happier, though the trip overall (tomorrow is the last full day) has left a lot to be desired. You see, I am staying at my aunt and uncle's house (and they are very nice people), and my mom and twelve-year-old cousin are also visiting. This is where things get tricky. My daughter was looking so forward to seeing her cousin, who is an only child and acts the role, but my cousin could care less and seems put off by her. My daughter has finally gotten it and doesn't want to be around her much, and some words may have been said, which I am letting go for now. My cousin has also had multiple surgeries for a condition that I won't name, which requires that everyone treats her with kid gloves. I would not say spoiled, but I would say that everyone is very concerned that everything is just right for her, while I am looked at as a complainer (partially true because I do complain about the stupidity of those around me and have made quite a point of it the last few days), and my daughter talks a lot and is very active. Forgive me for having a smart, gregarious five-year-old who has five-year-old energy. My daughter has not seemed to pick up on how angry I am, but the rest of the family is starting to. It has not been pleasant. To top it off, I could not afford this trip, so it was paid for by my mother, which I totally regret. Rock. Hard place. This is me not caring.

My daughter is the love of my life. She gives everyone a chance, not yet picking up on my misanthropy. Tonight she said she couldn't wait to come down again. My aunt asked when. I piped up, “We're not setting a date.” Very to the point. End of conversation.

My daughter's safety is my number one priority in life. I can't protect her everywhere, but wherever I have control, I will exercise it. When it was asked if her and my cousin wanted to share an air mattress, they both said yes, but my cousin was hesitant, though polite. She has not liked sleeping with my daughter, which I understand. I didn't think anything would happen (my cousin is not like that, and I'm a good reader of people), but I feared because I'm a parent. Hence, no sleep. I've been staying up most of the night, sleeping in twenty minute increments where I randomly check on them (they are always in the same sleep position, which is weird), and I take hour long naps during the day and in the car on rides that take eight hours. The stress and walking has murdered my back. Tonight I am sleeping with my daughter. It's gotten to the point where I'm alleviating stress here. I've asked my girl if anything has happened, any secrets that she is supposed to keep, and she said that nothing like that has occurred, and I can tell if she's lying. She's not, but my ex is concerned about the situation enough to mention it, and so am I. I also tell my ex to watch our daughter around others, and I do the same, so I took care of shit. (Not to mention that I let it be known several times over that I would “kill anyone who hurts you” to my daughter in front of the group.) When it comes to people I trust with my daughter, it is me and my ex. That is it. It always will be that way. We are the only two I can trust to have her best interests at heart, and if truth be told, I can only really trust me because I can only know what my real intentions are. (That's not saying I think my ex would do something bad, despite my questioning some choices. It's just being honest in saying I can't read her mind, and nor can she read mine.) I trust no one else, and I think that's a good thing.

I looked into leaving early, and it just wasn't financially feasible. To be honest, everyone is really nice, including my cousin, who is not used to having a kid hang all over her. But to be just as honest, my daughter is paramount to me and when her expectations are dashed, I get pissed. I'm reasonable, but I also have limits. I remember not liking little kids hanging around me when I was her age, and I remember acting the same, but as an adult here, I want to shield my child from such selfishness.

So I am.

My daughter thinks family is the most important thing in the world. Discussions with her about this have led me to believe it's because the family she knew (myself, my ex and her) was ripped away from last year. It's left a scar, and she is looking to have that family connection in one way or another. She tells me she wishes it was back to the way it was before, and I have no good answers for that.

My take on family is far different. I believe that no one is asked to be born into a family. I see gay pride bumper stickers that say “Hatred is not a family value.” The fact of the matter is: Hatred is a family value. Hatred is taught by family. Family, these people you never asked to be associated with, are the ones who will hurt you the most, the ones who will put upon you, the ones who will treat you like shit and ask things of you that you are expected to do because you are family. I believe family is often people you would have nothing to do with if you weren't family, and that doesn't fly with me.

Family is the worst thing to happen to people.

Coming here I thought things may be different. In fact, I was going to talk to my mom about helping me buy a house in Eureka. Had a whole speech worked out. My financial situation doesn't make it seem too plausible at the moment, but I can afford a mortgage, just not a down payment. Don't know all the steps to take. I decided against it based on the fact that my mom is buying a place, and I don't want to be indebted to her because I'm an inch away from writing them all off. It will be like shooting myself in the foot in some ways, and it would bum my little girl out totally, but I have to examine if these are the people I want her to know.

I'm fine with her knowing a lot of my friends. She loves her vice parents (the coolest people on the planet), and they are more like family to me than my own family. She loves other people I know, too. But there's a rub, too.

I don't want my daughter to end up like me.

Those of you who know me (and there are plenty of you) will find this to be an honest assessment. Those who don't will get a good picture of me. Misanthropic (as I mentioned earlier), though I am easy to get along with and do well in dealing with people. Socially awkward because I speak truth and say creepy things to amuse myself. Bitter. Angry. Introverted. Elusive. Distrustful. Spiteful. Revenge-seeking. Pessimistic. Fatalistic. Sometimes I care too much, sometimes too little. I like to throw a monkey wrench into things and will do so purposely and for my own amusement, as I like to watch things break down and fall apart. I will hurt myself to make a point ... and to be fair. I treat women with more respect than I do men, but people who don't know me would think the exact opposite. I plan things out to the most minute detail and am proud of it. I am hard to get along with, but when someone does I can open up and be somewhat scary. I have no issues with killing someone, and think it is often necessary. I don't have much faith in the human race and it shows.

And I don't want my girl to be like that, and I do my best to make sure she's not.

I love the movie I Stand Alone by Gaspar NoƩ. I think that says a lot about me. I don't want it to say anything about my girl. I don't want her to have her view on family tainted by mine. I know there's part of that which is inevitable, but I do my best to not put those values on her. I'm afraid I may have slipped this week. I'm afraid it was necessary.

Again, to be honest, they have all paid her tremendous complements, and my cousin has been willing to hang out with her and joke around every once in a while. But you can tell she is an only child acting as such, and that's the other thing. My daughter is an only child, too, and does not act that way. Maybe when she is twelve, she will. Maybe when some younger kid wants to be around her all the time she will feel the same way as my cousin does now. Maybe she will even act the same. That's how kids are. I just hope she remembers what it feels like and acts accordingly.

Tomorrow is a new day. Day seven. And on that day God rested.

What will I do?

Day Seven

The last hurrah. Today we are going to some place that my aunt has called Fantasia for the past three days. It's an arcade with min-golf, go-karts and the like. In reality, the place is called Mountasia (seems odd, but whatever), and despite the ninety-three degree heat was pretty fun. My daughter and I raced go-karts. I have done this before. She had not, and she was excited. The line was filled with idiot camp kids, and my cousin was in line in front of me. My daughter wanted us to win the race. There were only four cars with double seats (she was to be my co-driver), so I spotted the fastest one and did a quick scan of the track to see how it had to be run. It was a road course with five turns and inclines.

“We're at a disadvantage,” I told her. “We will have more weight than the other cars, except the other three double seaters. We need to get car #32. If we don't, it will be a tough race to win.”

“How will we do it, Daddy?” I love when my daughter shows an interest in racing.

“Well, most people think that going around the inside of the track is the best way to go.” I did not think the people in line around me would be any different than those already on the track, of which there were about 15 cars. “The inside of the track is the shortest route, but not the fastest. I know how to make even a slow car out perform a faster one if they are sticking to the inside.”

My cousin didn't get it, so I explained that if you stuck to the inside of the track you could never go full speed. You might not have to use the breaks, but you did have to slow down and turn more. By choosing a line on the outside of the track and diving into a corner you could actually use more of your speed to your advantage. “It's all about trying to make as few turns as possible,” I stated. “Straight lines are always faster.”

And I was right.

We ended up into my cousin in turn four, but we placed near the top, and my daughter was thrilled. She absolutely loved it despite our accident, which cost us the race. “If we do this again,” I told her, “I can win it.”

We played some games and then decided we needed to race again. We were the only ones in line, but that quickly changed ... and these kids were rowdy. My daughter's mood also changed as soon as we strapped into car #15.

“I don't want you to pass anyone,” she told me.

“What? We're racing.”

“Don't do it!”

I later found out that my daughter overheard some of the kids' parents say to bang into everyone and treat them like bumper cars. We were going fairly fast the first race, and she did not relish the idea of getting slammed. I knew they would be rough and had told her to hang on, but I had no idea the kids had been instructed to slam into other drivers.

We were fifth out the gate, and I quickly caught up to car four. “Don't pass!” my daughter yelled.

I did, and she told me not to do that again, but I have to admit I was not there to take in sights. I wanted to win this race.

Cars were spinning all around. Attendants were turning them around on almost every turn, and the three cars in front of us were full of drivers who did not know how to race the track, but thanks to video games were pretty good about avoid accidents that had already happened.

We went two wide with the third place car. Some brown haired kid with dark eyebrows (possibly in need of “threading”). He looked at us, my daughter screamed, and then he turned right into us on the corner.

I was anticipating this. I knew as soon as he looked at us this was going to happen. I also knew that if I wanted to win the race I could not afford get caught up with another driver and have to stop. He turned into me, and I turned with the car, going off my line, but keeping me right along side Asshole.

Asshole was not expecting this.

“Don't pass, Daddy!” she said, screaming one more time.

We came up the hill two wide with him. I knew I could take him here ... but cars one and two were side by side going into turn one. This left me no room to pull ahead, so I let off the gas, fell back to fourth, got in my line and Asshole looked back smugly ... on the inside.

I took the outside of turn one as he took the inside. He wasn't right up against the wall, though, and I shot down through, my daughter screaming like it was a rollercoaster, one hand holding the car handle, the other onto her hat.

“This is not fun!”

“We just passed that guy!” I shouted.


We were in third, and narrowly avoided another accident involving lap traffic.

“Asia, if we have two more laps I can win this!” I shouted over the wind and sound of go-karts.

“Do it!”

The first place car, the number 88, which is also my favorite NASCAR driver, was fast and was being driven by a kid who had avoided wrecks with uncanny expertise. He was fitting through places only I had been able to get through. He and the second place car were side by side going into turn three, which is at the bottom of the hill. The 88 was on the inside, which was a huge mistake for him. The second place car was on the outside, but not by choice. He was trying to get to the inside but did not want to slow down.

The line between turn three and four was a wide one, meaning I had lots of room to move on the track, but to pass the second place car I would have to go right to the outside wall, so I did, and we were three wide coming up to five.

The second place car soon became third as I passed, but he got nervous and bumped into me, throwing my daughter and I off our line and giving the 88 a chance to pull ahead.

“Catch him, Daddy!”

I couldn't catch him in turn one despite him being on the inside, but I knew his position there would make him have to slow far too much to take turn two on the inside. I got my line on turn one, shot down into turn two at full speed, just as the 88 was coming to the inside, which is where my line off of one was taking me to.

We shot by him because he had to slow down and we could go right into turn three at full throttle.

“There's nobody in front of us, Dad!”

Nope. And for the next three laps not a single car even came close to catching us. We avoided more accidents but nobody even got close to touching us, and as we stopped right before the pits I turned to my daughter and said, “Brace yourself. We're going to get hit bad.”


“Because a lot of those kids are mad at us.”

“You didn't hit them.”

“No, but we smoked them, and they aren't going to like it.”

They didn't. We were slammed hard several times by cars coming up to the pits. In the end, one kid was thrown out for the day, another was warned, and we won the damn race. My daughter was thrilled, but described it as “scary” and “not as fun” as the first time. She then asked me how I fit through some of those spots. I told her it was instinct and knowing how to race.

“That was amazing. You were amazing. Amazing driving, Dad.”

And that was the coolest shit ever.

Up at four a.m. tomorrow. LAX has always been a nightmare for me. Let's hope tomorrow's different.

The end?
Arsenal have signed versatile Belgium defender Thomas Vermaelen from Ajax Amsterdam for an es
Far too many travelling families wear matching shirts.
Carlos Tevez reportedly ruled out a summer move to Liverpool due to 'emotional ties'. Chelsea


World Champions Italy were beaten 1-0 by Egypt in Thursday night's Confederations Cup game in
Man Utd director Sir Bobby Charlton says Ronaldo will "rue his decision" to leave club for a
Goals from Felipe Melo, Robinho and Maicon have put Brazil up 3-0 on the U.S. at the Confeder


Made out with Bea Arthur's stunt double. Old but hot. Great Golden Girls stories. Strangely textured tongue too.
A good day though back spasms getting worse.
Prosecutors have set a Thursday deadline for former QB Ryan Leaf to turn himself in on drug
Spain qualified for the Confederations Cup semi-finals with a 1-0 win over Iraq on a David Vi
Donte' Stallworth and the family of the man he is charged with killing have agreed to avoid
Chelsea striker Didier Drogba banned four European matches by UEFA following his verbal assau
Over ninety thousand outside colesium. Insanity.
Traffic nightmares. Lakers fans flood freeways. Cannibalism to follow?
Lakers crowd huge. At least one injury so far. Should in real well when gates finally open. Lol. Is this soccer?
Man Utd begin the defence of their Premier League title at home to newly-promoted Birmingham


Valencia Pres. Manuel Llorente reveals no bids tabled from either Real Madrid or Barcelona fo
Malibu. The beach. Flesh and fish. No wonder people get skin cancer and stink.
Cardinals TE Ben Patrick has been suspended for four games for violating the NFL's substance
Lakers parade tomorrow to reward team for its "hard work." The mind reels.
Recovering from Disney.


Egypt launch protest over Brazil's winning goal. Claiming refs used a TV replay to award Kaka
A hearing in former Giants WR Plaxico Burress's gun case in New York has been adjourned unti


Plaxico Burress' gun case to get adjournment on Monday.
*1 Complimentary Ringtone: http://4i
Coyotes roam free here. Crazy. Fitting.
Man Utd owners the Glazer family have assured Sir Alex Ferguson can spend freely to replace R
Internet access spotty at best. Southern California culture killing me on the inside.

Travel Tips From Satan 2

Day One: Night

You know, I thought a little get away would be good for me. A chance to recharge the batteries, get my fucking ducks in a row. Instead, it's just proven what I suspected to be true. Now what do I do with it?

The weather here, ironically, is totally Humboldt. Cool. Overcast. When I left Humboldt it's been sunny and warm. I'm a big fan of overcast, though, so I don't mind. I know the sun worshippers hate it, but you can't please everyone.

The Internet connection I managed to snag from an unsecured router is no longer working (wonder why), so I can't get on. My cell phone minutes are limited. I feel isolated. I could go into more details (and should as I can edit this later), but I don't want to reveal too much. I can't cope with fallout right now.

As I write this everyone has gone to bed. I'm up. I'm beat. My head is throbbing. The news is L.A. news, which leaves a lot to be desired. My cell phone is about to die, so there goes texting, too. I hope to be able to post this soon, but I fear it won't be until I return home. Typical. One more shot. Then I'm hitting the book.


Wow. I do not like my mind right now.

Travel Tips From Satan 1

Day One:

Should have gotten more sleep last night. Tried. No good. Finally fell asleep around 10. Got up at 3. Blared Nashville Pussy as I showered and prepared. Texted a bunch of people. Heard back from my supervisor, who was also up at 3. Why remains a mystery. At twenty after four I'm on the road. First song playing? Rolling Stones' “Paint it Black.” Perfect. Check in at airport. Fly out with military aboard. Land in Redding. Pick up more military and three women who sit across from me. They spend the entire trip to L.A. talking about clothes and shoes and how they fit, what the best colors are, where to get deals and so on. I now know what 9/11 was really all about. Touch down. Wait three hours at the airport and am amazed by the amount of Asian people wearing breathers. 900 good tattoos later and I'm head-first into L.A. traffic, famous worldwide for its road rage-inspiring madness. A ten mile trip takes roughly eight and a half hours. L.A. is car obsessed (Mercedes of various origins by the looks of it), but nobody seems to understand why. Billboards display the latest Hollywood crap. Later I see a sign offering “eyebrow threading,” which sounds slightly dangerous. I'm told it's natural. I also find out that I almost avoided all this traffic because my daughter and I were set to be picked up by helicopter, but those plans fell through at the last minute.

My mind is fried.

I don't spend a lot of time on the outskirts of L.A., and I'm glad. Between the plastic of the airport, the traffic, and larger than life depictions of Jack Black's face, I don't know how much my delicate sensibilities can stand. I called L.A. a whore in one of my cell phone dispatches. I mean that. It is a whore. You pay your money and you get exactly what you expect. It's cheap, tawdry and not even close to a “real” experience. When people think of CA, they think of this. Referring back to 9/11, had it happened here the reaction would have been totally different. It would have been dramatic and very Hollywood-like. Faux emotions. Crocodile tears.

I have a headache. I always get one the first day on the road. Right now I'm thinking that Japan doesn't seem like such a bad idea.
Eight hours on the freeway.
Traffic slave.
Saw the hottest tattoo while in airport hell.
Ryan Leaf's lawyer says indicted the former NFL QB will surrender on drug and burglary charg
Everyone is a potential star or junkie.
Crazed animals. Vicious.
Mother found.
A little japanese girl has joined us. No english. Alone? Five? Worried. Airport is a strange place.
Wigan chairman Dave Whelan has confirmed Man Utd have made a series of bids for winger Antoni
My daughter is pretending to have one arm and is begging for money. Japanese people are puzzled.
Lots of people in breathers. Swine flu or pollution?
Los Angeles is a whore.
Flight is empty. Someone is reading twilight.
At airport see my boss. Rolling Stones started trip. I will paint it black.


This Magic Moment

Should be asleep. Have to get up way too early. This blog may not hear from me for a while. Got the feeling something weird is going to happen. Hope that's not the case. It's been bugging me for days now, though. Can't tell if it's just nerves or something else.

I left work today and got kinda sad. As much as I hate the job sometimes, the people can't be beat. The unit I'm in is insane, but the people are mostly good. One was hit by a bus today. If you knew her, that would seem pretty right on. My supervisor is an incredible person. I respect her. I'm going to miss her and all the others.

The sun is making its way down. Time is ticking away. Somewhere in this city a girl is shooting up for the last time. That needle pierces the skin. The poison flows in. She never kissed her boyfriend good-bye.

And so it goes ...

Go Letterman!

I'm a fan of David Letterman, and not Sarah Palin. Jokes about public figures are totally acceptable. To say that Letterman's joke was outside the normal lines of thinking about mainstream America is ridiculous.

Mrs. Palin, you seem to forget that a good number of your own political party would have one word to describe your daughter when she was pregnant, under 18 years of age and not married: whore. That you did not crucify her is great, and I don't believe she is a whore. You need to look at your political party, though.

And don't take the jokes so seriously. After all, you should be grateful Letterman is not calling attention to your pitiful service record.


Nasty Smiles 2

So as I finished that first post on Person X, I got a phone call from the person who originally told me about the cancer scare. Person X, who resides in Arcata, got his wallet stole from his car.

"Isn't that horrible?" she asked. "He's having such a shitty day."

"Does he need money to buy cigarettes?" I asked. "With that cancer scare gone we all need something to look forward to."

"You haven't worked on being any nicer yet, have you?" she asked.

Apparently not. Apparently not at all.

Nasty Smiles

I don't think I need to apologize for much in my life. I make no bones about my vices. I don't give a crap what most people think. I don't set out to impress. Today, however, I was told I should try to be nicer to people and less of a "dick."

Honestly, I don't think I'm a dick, but really that is for other people to decide. I give respect where it is due, and I believe my enemies should be driven into the ground and don't feel bad about thinking that. I'm a realist when it comes to most things, and I'm a hopeful pessimist. I go out of my way to be polite to people when they deserve or when I think they deserve. And while I do joke around, sometimes in unconventional ways, I don't think I'm all that nasty. So what prompted this remark?

I said I didn't care if Person X got cancer. I didn't wish it on them. I just didn't care if he got it. I'd shed no tears. I wouldn't sign a card. I don't like Person X, and I make no bones about it.

Who said you have to like everyone or even pretend to like everyone? Why is it that honesty is frowned upon? When I heard Person X thought he had cancer, was I supposed to say, "Well, I never fucking liked him, but I'm really sad to hear that." (By the way, he doesn't actually have cancer. He just thought he did.) Was I supposed to suddenly fake nice?

What put it over the top, though, was me saying that God probably gave him cancer (that was before I found out he didn't have it) because he hates him as much as I do.

Yeah, maybe that was uncalled for. But if there was a God I think he'd hate Person X, too.
Stupid is as stupid does, right?


I hate the Bayshore Mall. Idiots in the form of shoppers. Sheep. Cattle. Zombies.



Yeah. So. I had it. I confront the stupidity at work and in my personal life, and I think of how the past six months have been utter torture, and I wonder just what the hell I've been thinking with some of the moves I've made, the shit I've said. (And I haven't come clean with the half of it here.) I've made some great new friends, reconnected with old ones, isolated several. That should all be good, except I realized something tonight.

I don't know who I am anymore.

I've broken most of my emotional attachment to work. Now I just thrive on fury there. I've got a new writing gig coming up. My daughter and I get along swimmingly. I'm not saving any money. I'm not progressing as a human. I'm regressing. (On a related note, this TV problem is driving me nuts in the worst possible way.)

I'm still no closer to answers to questions I'm afraid to ask myself. I still sit in the dark when my girl isn't here.

I'm not a danger to myself or to others ... as long as I'm not pissed off. But I'll tell you what, I see the destruction around me, the stupidity, the rot, and I can't help but smile. I'm a firm believer that destruction is progress, and we're progressing straight to Hell.

Like I said, I don't know myself anymore ... and I'm not sure I want to.


Rent Increase

At a time I'm flipping out about money I get a notice that my rent is going up. Now, in all fairness the letter states that if I look around I'll notice this is "still a very reasonable amount of rent," and there won't be an increase in services (of which none are provided). But, hey, times are tough all over, right?

The letter goes on to remind me that if I "cannot live with the increase" to remember that I need to give 30 days notice.

It would be depressing if it weren't so funny. Stressed about money, my job, and then this. How is it possible that I don't have a drinking or drug problem? How do I get by every day unmedicated? How the hell am I pulling that off.

This is the first rent increase since I've been here, which is around three years if memory serves me correctly, so all things considered, it's not the worse thing that could happen, but at a this time it is not exactly a happy moment. It takes my tax decrease courtesy of the Obama administration and destroys it. Guess I gotta put more shit on eBay.