13.6.09
ORIGINAL MSG: NFLNEWS
Plaxico Burress' gun case to get adjournment on Monday.
*1 Complimentary Ringtone: http://4i
Plaxico Burress' gun case to get adjournment on Monday.
*1 Complimentary Ringtone: http://4i
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.
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.
12.6.09
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.
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.
11.6.09
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 ...
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.
10.6.09
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.
"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.
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.
6.6.09
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