NASCAR Drivers I Hate

Jimmie Johnson

Jeff Gordon

Kyle Busch

Jimmie Johnson and Jeff Gordon don't annoy me nearly as much as Kyle Busch. That man is a cancer. Honestly, I'd rather cheer for Osama Bin Laden over Busch. Every race I wish some sniper would take him out, to the cheers of the crowd.

Johnson and Gordon and too "nice." They are cookie cutter drivers who can drive the hell out of a car, but have all the personality of cardboard. Busch, on the other hand, is a villain who knows he is a villain and plays it up, so he has that going for him. I'd rather see Johnson and Gordon win any day over Busch, however.

Watching today's Dover race and seeing Johnson best Tony Stewart made me angry to the core, but I can't fault him for how it was done. It was clean racing. No complaints there.

When I see Busch wreck or hear that he has car troubles, my heart flutters. I always hope for the worst. Frankly, if I ever meet the man I will fight him. I will win, too, as I am driven by pure bloodlust. I won't stop fighting him until my teeth sink into his intestines and his teeth a stuck in my knuckles, infecting me with their sickness. I will spit chunks of his organs into his face while screaming, "Race now, Gypsy Motherfucker!" (I shout nonsense when angry. It confuses and scares the enemy.)

So here's to hoping a tire blows and puts him into the wall at 190. Here's to hoping the harness fails. As for Gordon and Johnson ... I don't wish you death, but I do wish you'd go to the back of the line or a while. I'm sick of seeing your numbers up there.

Black Dog Runs At Night

My daughter grounds me and keeps me on the straight and narrow. We had a great time today, and a wonderful discussion about things. We played Justice League Heroes and whooped and hollered like morons. She didn't get to swim because it was too cold, but it was a wonderful day nonetheless. Perfect day, actually.

That, of course, means that when she isn't with me things get a little dicey. I miss her immensely. I write. Watch the race. Sit in the dark and in silence. Make phone calls. Do whatever I can to not think.

I know several people going through the exact same thing. One common thread in all of those is that the guy doesn't really want to be involved in the kid's life. I can't picture ever being that kind of guy. I don't understand it. Well, I do, but I don't. I have often thought I want all or nothing, but that isn't fair to anyone. Some guys, however, don't seem to care about fair.

I can't picture not having my daughter in my life. Her laugh. Her smile. Seeing her make connections about life that she never made before. That's important stuff. That's stuff you only get one shot with. Why be absent for that? Why not take an active role?

Convenience. Pride. Lazy.

Men are weak. I will never think otherwise. I know women have their problems, too. But men ... men never grow up. Never get beyond that self-centered prickhood that served them so well at 14 that they haven't lost it by 36. Be free to be assholes. Make the kid an accessory from a life once led. You can't be a dad via telephone, idiots. What you don't get, however, is by the time you actually start to care and try, well, your kid thinks of you as nothing more than a sperm donor. Congrats. You're a nameless squirt into a bottle in a clinic. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Chances are, that's been the way you always were anyway. Nothing more Nothing less.

Your Teenager Is Going To Die!

It never fails. If something gets popular, the media covers it in waves. First it reports on the popularity of said thing. Then it highlights benefits (often involving its links to capitalism in some way, though that usually comes later in the line of benefits). Then the news reports on the physical dangers.

KTVU Morning News just did a piece on the "dangers" of teen texting. Texting has previously been covered as a great way to keep in touch, then it was covered as helping commerece as a great way to keep people informed about television shows and sales. Now we learn that teens who text (which according to KTVU was everybody at one area high school) are in danger. First the piece informed viewers that teens texted during class! Yikes! What next? Premarital sex? Drugs? Wii? Then it the station reported it may be dangerous to a teen's long term health. How? That's where it got interesting.

The tease to the piece informed viewers that a piece on how texting could be bad for a teen's health was coming up. The actual report said something totally different. The report said that officials were unsure if or how it could affect a teen's health, but speculated that it could cause fatigue, poor grades (not really a health issue by any stretch of the imagination) and "anxiety."

None of this was proven. It was speculation ... as usual. There will be a study published soon, though how accurately that can assess someone's long term health is uncertain, as this is a fairly new phenomenon.

The bottom line? If your teen texts at the very least he'll be tired and get poor grades (hope you like having him at home). At the worst end of the scale, he'll explode at random one day and shower people nearby with deadly radiation.

Arrested Development

Feeling dark tonight. The race was postponed. My girl isn't home. Other things that are moving at a snail's pace. (I'm trying not to write about highly personal things anymore, as I get asked a lot of questions by people who have no business asking. My friends I don't mind doing that, but others just piss me off.)

I wish I could home school my girl. I think it would be far better than a public school system that is on the border of Failure and Hopeless. I respect teachers. I really do. They don't get paid nearly enough. It's the administration and other kids that I don't like. Stupidity and ignorance are values that kids force upon one another. I don't want my daughter to adopt that. If she's like me, and every indication is there that she is, she'll be bored in school and have a hard time dealing with fools.

My girl will be fine, though. She's got an awesome sense of humor, is wise beyond her years, and has a vicious streak that is kind of scary. I did well in naming her Asia. I think that someday she'll make her mark on the world. I just hope it's on her own terms because God save the fool that tries to force her to be something she's not. I can already see that ending badly.

I'll see her in about twelve hours. Between now and then I hope to get some sleep. It will be a better day tomorrow ... and the race is on.

Coca Cola 600 Part Three

Race is delayed until tomorrow. God hates me.

Coca Cola 600 Part Two

Oh dear God! There is a rain delay. I look forward to this, and Mother Nature decides to dump a crap load of rain on the track. The world is against me.

Coca Cola 600 Part One

Okay, I'm going to commenting on the NASCAR Coca Cola 600 as it runs. I was originally given the wrong time for the race by a co-worker. I'll let her live. As of now there are scattered showers in North Carolina, where Lowe's Motor Speedway is located. It's 79 degress. It's a 600 mile race, which is mentally devastating. It's a mind-fuck, and every driver knows it. It's a race that differs from the chaos of Bristol and the high-speed terror of Talladega. This is a several hour bout of mental torture that saps the strength and will. This is NASCAR. You don't get a break, and you will feel those extra one hundred miles. Four and half hours (if you're lucky) of monster speeds and split second decisions. Make the wrong choice and at the very least you lose the race. Worst case scenario? You end up dead.

That's why I love this sport.

Every driver is being asked how they mentally and physically prepare for this race. The rain adds an extra element of surprise. Jimmie Johnson, who I don't like, agrees that these extra hundred miles "challenge" the mind. He's one of the best drivers on this track. He's considered one of NASCAR's finest. He's saying it's torture. You know he knows what he's talking about.

600 miles. Speeds most of you have never thought about reaching in a car. The average race is tough enough. This becomes a near impossible sporting event. When the winner gets out of his vehicle, he will be drained. He will thank his sponsors, crew, God. NASCAR drivers usually mean those thanks, but this is one time you can be positive they do. The trophy the driver will win will weight over 200 pounds. His arms won't want to lift it. They will be numb from four plus hours at the wheel, the muscles turned to jelly, the g-forces fucking with their internal organs. That trophy will be the last thing on their minds, but one lucky driver will lift it, and he will know how close he was to death every second of the way.

Many of my friends don't understand why I love NASCAR. I tell them to watch a Bristol or Talladega race to figure it out. Once they understand the sport better, I recommend they watch this one. The casual viewer or novice will never know why this race is so grueling. Will never understand what it means to cross the finish line in any position. After four hours of breathing in fuel fumes and burnt rubber, these drivers will understand what endurance really means. For the guys who have been doing this for years, they will be thankful. For those like Joey Logano, who is just 19, who have never run this race before ... well they'll wonder if they'll ever do it again.

That flag will be flying soon. Jeff Gordon, another driver I don't like, is first in points. Tony Stewart, who I do like, is second. This race could change everything, or nothing at all. One thing is for sure, this is a racer's race. This is where, as the song goes, the bullet hits the bone.

Memorial Day In America

Memorial Day was set up as a day to honor soldiers who died in the line of combat. According to the proclamation, flowers are to be "strewn" about their graves. We're supposed to honor them and their sacrifice (and it is a sacrifice, but not one that should be too surprising). So why on Earth do we have massive auto dealership sales connected with this holiday? Doesn't that seem a little crass?

For as long as I can remember, auto dealers have been having these sales. They often call them "Memorial Day Events." If there were any honesty in advertising the commercials would go a little something like this ...

"For 96 hours only your local Dodge dealer is having the kick-off sales event of the summer! It's Memorial Day Madness, and you can only find it at Dodge. You probably have family members who have died in combat or know someone with family members who have died in combat. Perhaps a grandfather or great grandfather who caught a bullet in the face from some Nazi. Maybe an uncle who went off to Vietnam and returned a charred corpses, identified only by dog tags fused into the charcoal mess that was his chest. Don't let their sacrifices ... sacrifices made for our freedom ... hamper your freedom to come on in to Dodge and see the new Ram, which comes with a thousand dollar rebate o.a.c..

If you have a family you'd like to shepherd to the graveyard to place flowers on the grave of your eldest son, his life taken from him when a piece of shrapnel from an IED ripped up through the unarmored floor of his transport and cut him open from crotch to collar, spilling his organs out onto the carpet of his vehicle, then you need our new Caravan. Each Caravan comes standard with backseat DVD players, and for this event only get your copy of Saving Private Ryan so your kids can see what war was really like in a country that still had some semblance of integrity and honor.

If you're a young soldier back home from Afghanistan and you're looking to run from your PTSD, we suggest you check out the Viper. If you want to put rape, the shooting of civilians, and the thought that every kid running up to you to beg for American candy could be carrying explosives, then look no further. The Viper goes from 0 to Guilt Free in less than ninety seconds. Let's see Ford or Chevy do that.

"So after you're done putting flowers on the grave of a relative you never met and know nothing about, and you've explained "for the last time" why Vietnam happened, come on in to your local Dodge dealer and check out our event. You'll arrive introspective and depressed over our treatment of the vets, but you'll leave with a new car.

"Let's make Memorial Day memorable again!"

That will never happen, however. Car dealerships have too much to worry about without thinking of their consciousness.

Hey, Asshole!

Humboldt State University students graduate this weekend. That means their idiotic parents are clogging restaurants and wandering aimlessly on the roadways. It's been driving me up a fucking wall. I know the area can use the tourist dollars, and God knows our businesses worship these wayward souls. Business owners are practically on their knees, mouths open, ready to service in hopes they get that extra twenty bucks. I don't blame them. These are tough times. I just wish these idiots drove better.

I am not a huge fan of tourists. In fact, one of my first published pieces in a school paper (it may have been the first) was called "Tourist or Terrorists?" and it dealt with tourists in the Poconos.

I don't know what it is about people visiting a "foreign" land, but they really seem to enjoy treating it like an industrial dump. It's like their in the middle of some drive-through wilderness exhibit, and it doesn't matter if they crap it up around them.

So, parents of grads, when you're in our little county enjoying the fact that your son or daughter has graduated with a degree and no job to support them, remember there are other people around you. People who live here. People who have things to do. People who have lives outside of restaurants and niche stores.

Please be kind and treat this area like your home. Better yet, treat it better ... and watch where the fuck you are going.

Wake Up Dead

You can read the story here. A drug deal in McKinleyville (often referred to by locals as McKlanleyville) goes bad. Weapons are drawn. Two men end up pursued by police. One is dead of a gunshot wound to the head (possibly self-inflicted), the other survives, but also has a gunshot wound to his head, which he states was self-inflicted. They were both wearing bullet-proof vests. From what I hear, the dead one had a three-year-old.

Classic.

People at my job seemed stunned and actually kind of sad about the whole thing. Who cares that weapons were drawn and body armor worn. Consequences be damned! Nobody should be dead over the entire thing.

I beg to differ.

These two young guys came ready for action. It seemed inevitable that violence was going to occur. It seems dumb that it was over pot and not some political thing, but to each their own. Nobody should be stunned like this, but I must say that suicide (if that's what it was) seems like an over reaction.

The drug violence in this county is getting worse. People growing because they have their 215 card has also contributed to some nasty home invasions (you go where the drugs are). It's bad, but it's also to be expected. High speed chases and death are concomitant.

I don't know any of the people named in the story. I saw a picture on the news of the dead man, his woman and their child (I assume it's their child). They looked happy. That, of course, sucks. But this is the culture. This is life in Humboldt County. This is life in a world where pot culture meets thug culture. Life is cheap, pot is plentiful, money rules.

Surprised? Not at all.

Regan Reese Interview Is Up

My interview with Regan Reese is finally up. You can check it out here.

Love those tats.

Miss California

If you've watched the news you've seen the statuesque blonde who represents my state with her manufactured good looks, topless photos and conservative views on gay marriage. Now that the naked photo has appeared she claims she is being "silenced."

If only that were true.

She also made the claim that she was a minor when it was taken (which is apparently not true). Seems like she got caught breaking a contract and now wants to blame the Gay Mafia.

Have you seen this woman? Typical L.A. fake. A smile carved in stone. Blank eyes that gleam oddly. An android-like way of walking. It all adds up to prefab goods.

Lesbians are lucky she won't be trolling the flannel bars for them. Guys, you aren't so lucky. As long as you like vagina, you could be a victim. Isn't it possible that the naked picture was put out by her in order to lure unsuspecting victims into her mechanical death trap vagina?

Not only is it possible, it may be likely.

I'm not proud that this woman represents all that is "beautiful" about my state. Seems to me she represents Orange County and the porn industry. Sure she has "views" and that somehow makes her a "modern" woman, but the views are pre-programmed and the only hints of modern I see are nearly flawless bouts of plastic surgery.

The mind reels.

Achtung

I love Chrisitan's art. Simply incredible, and this one sums up my feelings pretty damn well. Bad dreams and lack of sleep have me feeling pretty paranoid these days. I worry I'll never see my little girl again, and if that were the case I'd have to end this life. What would be the point (and I'm sure the ex feels the same way.) Of course, my fears are unfounded as I don't truly believe her mother would do that to her because my daughter loves me dearly and that would ruin her.

Yet I still get paranoid.

Maybe it's because of things people have said to me. Maybe it's just insecurities. I don't know. I would hope no judge would do that as I believe I am a very competent, loving father. I don't worry about not having the resources to fight it because they have been made available from several people. I don't truly worry about this, but I do.

That's apparently not uncommon.

I love my little girl more than life. I have the best time of my life when she is with me. And when I see her sleeping I know all is right in my world.

The rain is coming. Appropriate. Let it come down. I've always liked it. It cleanses. Washes away the filth.

Yeah, let it rain.

Unlicensed Surgery

My daughter is sitting at the table playing Operation (the Spongebob one). I've played about eight games before I couldn't play anymore. She's happy, though, and that's all the counts.

Work is shit. Life is far from ideal. My girl is smiling, though, and that makes things all the better.

I laid out my plans in my head and how I want to get from point A to point B with all the steps in between. It won't be an easy road, but I do think it is all fairly obtainable. Just going to forget the extraneous nonsense. Put the boots on. (How I am loving that phrase, and some of you know where it came from.)

I am tired.

My daughter is happy.

What do you want? To rest.

Jack Kemp Is Dead

Jack Kemp (R) is dead. Served under Bush. Ran with Dole. 73 years old. Just reported now. Can't say I'm concerned. It's a politician. I'm sure his family is upset, though, so I feel for them. As far as Republicans go, Kemp wasn't the worst (Hell has reservation for the Bush klan), but as the Exploited sang, "I hate/You hate/We all hate/Politicians."

I Came Here To Murder You

I'm watching "Forgetting Sarah Marshall" on HBO, which I get as some package deal. I just got off the phone with Nikki. I'm tired, but not too tired anymore. If you've seen the movie, you know the main character's girlfriend breaks up with him and he takes it kind of hard. Guys do that. They get their hearts broken and they take it badly.

Anyway, the guy, whose name I haven't caught yet, goes to Hawaii to get away and he runs into his ex girlfriend there. She asks what he's doing there (as if he doesn't have a right to go to Hawaii), and he says, "I came here to murder you."

I don't know if it was because I'm tired, because I've had two Pepsi Throwbacks (delicious), or because it was really my kind of humor, but I laughed my fucking head off.

If you know me, you know I would say something like that. What's especially funny is that tonight I told Nikki to ask me anything she wanted. What did she ask? "Did you ever kill anybody?"

She's not the first person to ask me this.

I'm kind of soured on the whole human experience. When you feel a bit down, run into the ground, betrayed and belittled, blame the human race. When you have just four bullets left and ten people to shoot, aim for the gas tanks. (Learned that from video games.)

In other words: Call things as you see them and take care of business. You owe it to yourself.

I'm babbling.

I came here bearing gifts. Where would you like them? The head or the chest? Stomach? You just bleed out from that one. Tears the other organs up. No, no. The head is usually pretty safe. If the bullet goes screwy and just bounces once or twice before exiting, and it doesn't kill you, you'll probably be a vegetable and not remember a damn thing. So what will it be?

You and me, Lord. You and me.

The End

As of yesterday I am officially divorced. Don't feel much of anything, quite frankly, except anger at some of the shit that has been pulled. Money is so tight I don't know how much longer I can make it. My daughter still has multiple questions I feel like I can't answer honestly (at least not yet), and my trust in people is worse than before. At least now I don't have to feel guilty about the future in all its forms (and I only felt guilty about some of it, actually).

Boots on, right George?

Hints Of Instability

Lately a lot of my friends have been having "troubles." I could rattle off a list of them (and before you think my use of quotes means I don't think they are troubles, read on), but people may be able to identify each other from them. Let's just say they aren't pretty in any way shape or form.

Most of these "troubles," however, don't originate from my friends. They come from/are caused by outside sources. Words. Actions Inactions. It all comes down to people pushing the right buttons at the wrong times to get negative reactions. Most of these morons who are fast and loose with their words and actions are men.

My thoughts on the gender that masturbates without the use of a shower head are fairly well documented. I don't think highly of us. In fact, I find men to be weak, self-centered pricks who often don't think about, let alone see, the damage they do.

Even my desire to do away with these people is nothing more than an erection with purpose.

Most of my friends who have been having troubles are women. I'm friends with more women than men (good friends, I mean), and this upsets me.

Why you women continue to screw us is beyond me. Why you don't call us on this shit more often is a mystery. Why you continue to let it happen is ... understandable. Hell, if it happens enough you eventually come to the realization that most men are idiots and you'll never change that lovable part of our genetic makeup, so why bother.

Me? I'm done with it. These guys, the ones who pull this crap, need to grow up or keep their cockholes shut. It's pretty simple really. Smile. Nod. And don't open your mouth unless you damn well have something substantial to add to the conversation.

On an unrelated note, I'm juggling with the prospect of self-publishing. I need money for my trip, my PA, a tattoo, a television and to survive on. Publishers aren't exactly beating down my door, and I come from a punk rock DIY background, so why not? Plus, if a self-published book (say through Cafe Press) does well enough, I can take those numbers to a publisher.

Any thoughts on this? I'm curious to hear them ... unless you are one of those guys I mentioned at the beginning. If that's the case, just smile, nod, and go on your merry way.