Last Week I had a pretty bonkers dream and since I woke up and actually remembered it, I wrote it down. So now I can share with you whatever it is that's wrong with me.
Before I can begin to describe this dream I should make one important announcement. I have become a huge fan of Heidi Montag. I am aware that she's not all that popular. Girls in particular seem to despise her. But me? I'm a big fan.
A couple of things for the record. I agree with what appears to be the common consensus: When compared to other beautiful celebrities, HM is not all that pretty. However I suspect that if she walked into my office right now she'd be pretty darn popular. Yes I know she's all plastic and fake, but I'm not ashamed to admit that I think she's got a hot body. So there's that, I'm a terrible person.
Also I have never seen the Hills ("The City" however is a different matter and I am quite partial to Olivia). Supposedly my new favorite singer doesn't come off so well on "reality" television. Whatever. I'm not into her for her looks, or her personality. I'm attracted to the artist.
She makes bad music (and bad music videos) in a way that I don't think I've ever seen before. As far as I can tell it's a revolution. There have been plenty of videos lampooning her masterpiece "Higher" so I'm not going to go into too much detail about how much I adore this video (I've watched it hundreds of times now). Let me just give you a few quick highlights.
1) Count how many times she raises her hands out dramatically to her sides. It's almost her only move...almost.
2) at about 1:40 in this video you will see the sexiest booty move ever to be ruined by a lack of co-ordination. Ever. Period. This has to be on purpose. Michael Scott can't be this awkward.
3) My other favorite moments are parts of the final cut of the video that were obviously meant for the "behind-the-scenes-bloopers reel" and yet somehow snuck their way into the actual video:
At 1:00 Heidi actually falls (while attempting her "raise your hands" move).
At 1:57 Heidi actually stops performing to respond to something that happens off-camera. I dunno...some fan shouting hello? A whale washing up on shore? Something. We don't get to see it. That's the genius of it. The director leaves it up to US and our imagination. Brilliant.
Anyway, back to my dream.
The dream began with me doing something very normal. I was watching the Heidi Montag video "Higher". As you can tell, I know this video pretty much backwards and forwards, and it quickly became obvious that I was not watching the standard version of the video. It was some "special edition" with actual film cameras and crane shots. Heidi was climbing a grassy hill instead of frolicking on the beach and the centerpiece of the video is some man being raised on a platform high(er) above the water on a nearby lake.
Than I was the man on the platform. I am so high(er) above the water that it's positively terrifying. I can see a boat down below and I know that there is some sort of film crew there and maybe a party. Why am I up so high(er)? I can't even remember. I know I have to jump though and so I do.
I plummet towards the lake and fall for a long time. I close my eyes and stiffen my body...bracing for an impact that takes forever to come. But it finally does and the next moment I'm being helped onto the boat. For someone who has just jumped into a lake I'm surprisingly dry (and in street clothes). I also realize that the boat isn't just some normal utility vehicle. It's actually more like a historical cruise ship. Maybe an old steamboat? It's filled with rooms that are made to look like scenes from the 1870's or something.
It's also filled with beautiful party people. More specifically beautiful party ladies. College ladies. It's basically girls gone wild on a floating museum but not quite so topless. I think some of my friends might be on the boat. I'm pretty sure my cousin Eric is, but I don't see any of them. I end up talking to a stunning young woman while wandering through all the different rooms on the steamer.
We pass through bars and a comedy club. We walk along the deck (which now looks more like a modern cruise ship...holy crap I think I'm on the love boat all of a sudden). Anyway at some point it becomes clear that what we are doing is looking for some privacy. However, unlike a "normal" dream (where there are no real rules or consequences), I don't seem to hanging out on Fantasy Porn Island.
I'm struck with an actual moral dilemma. The me in the dream is the same person as the me doing the dreaming in one important respect: we both have a girlfriend. The temptation this opportunity is presenting me is so powerful, and I am very conflicted.
This is the "tossing and turning" portion of the dream. I know that if I submit, no one will ever know that I've done something wrong...but I still don't want to be the guy who does something mean and shallow. I want to be the good guy.
Anyway I come pretty close to being the bad guy but in the end decide not to (hooray...probably). Instead I go to the fancy restaurant and have dinner with some strangers.
We are all sitting around the table talking when this cartoon waiter, with a huge mustache comes by. He goes around the table unfolding napkins and laying them on our laps, then he slips something into my coat. It's bulky and heavy like a glass of some kind. It slips down the side of my chest and falls onto the floor.
The waiter looks at me like I've done something wrong, picks up the item and gives it to me again. I look at it and realize it's some kind of plastic urinal and bed pan. It's a contraption that will allow me to sit there and eat without having to get up to use the restroom. I assure the waiter that I am quite comfortable leaving the table and that I won't be needing those things. (Again...another moral dilemma solved by me)
I decide to exit the restaurant and return to the party. I step outside into the backyard of the house that I grew up in. There are people at the barbecue, people swimming, people in the hot tub. My friend Danika is there and she tells me that there is one crucial ingredient missing from this party -- Giant balloons shaped like tits, and filled with chili. Seriously...this is something that my waking mind would never have come up with. Never in a million years.
"They are so awesome!" She gushes. She is so excited about these...these things that she finally convinces me to go find some. They are clearly a "must have".
Strangely enough I discover that we actually have some of these in the house. I go across the street to borrow some chili and get to work assembling the titty-balloons.
My last memory of this dream as a view of my old backyard, drenched in sunshine and filled with happy people. Happy people who are bouncing giant inflatable boobs (filled with chili) around like beach balls.
Well rather than clog up this space with a long-winded recap of everything I missed in the last year or so. I'll just pretend like there's been no break and write about something pointless and mundane.
What I remember about blogging is that most of it seems to be about complaining about something. With that in mind, here is a short list of things I am sick of:
1) "Got Anything"
Remember this?
We all loved the got milk ad campaign. It was effective because it communicated a simple truth that most of us can relate to, in a clever and humorous way. Namely that the average American finds milk to be a perfect and almost vital compliment to a wide variety of tasty (and typically rich) treats.
Interesting side note: that original "Aaron Burr" milk ad was directed by Michael Bay.
Anyway. About a million other people with zero creativity jumped on the milk bandwagon and attempted to peddle their products by placing the word "got" in front of whatever-the-fuck they were selling.
The day I realized I had had enough of this bullshit was when I was following some soccer-mom/private-tutor's Ford Escort and saw these words (in that all-too-familiar font) on her tinted rear window: "GOT GOOD GRADES?"
what?
"GOT GOOD GRADES?" *smirk*
excuse me? Wipe that god damned smile off your face. If you're not smart enough to come up with a better slogan your certainly not qualified to teach anyone anything. Ever. The only thing that slogan tells me is that this tutor excels at ripping something off badly. I'm sure all his/her student's excel at plagiarism.
2) "Scandalgate"
On August 9, 1974 President Richard Nixon resigned as president of the United States of America. Nixon ended an unpopular war in Vietnam, made friends with China and helped foster a spirit of cooperation with the Soviets -- easing Cold War tensions. However because he was something of an arrogant shyster he wound up abandoning his office in disgrace, with a dismal approval rating of around 20%.
It was discovered that the Nixon administration was up to all sorts of no-good when some of his goons where found breaking into the offices of the Democratic National Committee. Offices that were located in a group of buildings called the Watergate Complex.
The "Watergate Scandal" as it came to be known ended up sinking the Nixon Administration and tainted his entire legacy.
The worst consequence of this whole thing was that lazy news-people had a secret meeting somewhere to decide that from now on every scandal or disagreement or point of controversy should from then on have the word "gate" as it's suffix.
This means if you go to a restaurant and order a hamburger and the service was slow you should refer to this incident as "burger-gate".
If your neighbor crashes his car into the door attached to your fence and refuses to pay for the damages, you should refer to this incident as "gate-gate"
I hate this short-hand for "scandal" for a number of reasons. Mostly because it's trite and tired. But also because it obscures and confuses the actual history of the original "gate" and makes "Watergate" sound like some infamous aquatic crime.
3) "Carol of Hells"
Again I have to harp on advertisers. I know it's an easy target because there are SO many bad commercials out there but I just can't help myself. I know I only have like 10 readers here and I don't think any of them are in advertising but if you KNOW someone who is, please tell them to stop making holiday themed ads with Christmas carol parodies.
For the love of the Jesus who you claim to be celebrating. STOP IT!
It's not that I hate holiday music (though by December 10th or so it does get a little old). I just find these to be unbelievably lame. The song that gets raped most often seems to be Carol of Bells. Which is a rather charming tune actually (though I prefer it as an instrumental). It feels very "wintery". It sounds like snow.
However when someone like Garmin comes in a takes a dump all over it sounds like shit and makes me want pour acid in my ears.
Oh and lest you think I'm some sort of Scrooge. I do have a favorite Christmas song:
Welcome to 2008. It is the new year and I could resolve to write more blog posts, but that would probably doom this blog to a complete melt down. My resolutions pretty much always fail. I like to think that's because I'm mostly perfect and it's just so damned hard to improve on something so grate...er...great.
Mostly it's because I'm lazy.
Last year I resolved to take a more active role in my community, and to devote more of my time to charity. I looked up a few options on-line and everything I found wanted me to take a class or sign some papers or some shit. I just wanted to show up somewhere and get to helpin'. Not really possible it seems. Really though I have no good excuses for being self absorbed all year.
Which leads me to the next issue. I have recently realized that my entire life is devoted to leisure. I spend pretty much every waking hour in the pursuit of some sort of hobby, game, or entertainment. Even my job (working in video games) is devoted to leisure. It's my sole purpose for being.
Sometimes I clean my house. That's not too fun.
Otherwise I have so much in the way of pastimes that I don't have time for all of it. I recently got myself a Playstation 3 and thanks to my job and the connections there I've already got a sizable library of new and un-played video games. I've got a DVR FULL (72%) of unwatched TV shows and a Netflix subscription that is totally going to waste. There's too many concerts I'll miss. Too many books I'll never read. More than a couple board games that await their first trip out of the box. There is plenty of traveling to do, ocean to surf, soccer to play, rocks to climb, etc etc.
Somewhere in-between all that there's still smokin' hot chicks who need my attention. Or so I've been told.
I'm obviously far too busy pleasuring myself to give my time to random strangers with real problems. I think if I was any sort of a decent person I'd follow through on that resolution from 2 years ago already.
Speaking of pleasuring yourself. Here is a riddle for you (based on a conversation I had last year):
A woman goes into a sex-shop. She buys something and you get to guess what that something is. Here are your hints:
1) NOT something you wear. 2) NOT something intended for arousal. 3) NOT something you read or watch. 4) NOT contraception. 5) Something that WILL contact the genitals.
Those of you who know the answer, don't spoil it for others.
So 2007 is over and it was quite a year for me and my single-nes. I'm still trying to figure out if it was a good year or a bad year. Feels like bad year. Started off bad.
There was certainly a fair amount of activity overall. I hit the internet dating scene pretty hard for a while with mixed results. Made a friend at least. Went back to some more "old school" methods and thought I had found one or two encouraging leads. Didn't quite pan out. One was particularly disappointing but such is life.
My family continues to hit on strange women for me. Everyone seems to be taking a turn at this practice (originally pioneered by my grandmother at a local Chili's). Most recent victim is some poor 20-year old over at Nordstrom. My dad just shakes his head with bewilderment. "We found this really cute girl" he'll say (as if she was a stray cat) "but he (meaning me) refuses to call her!". It's like I'm refusing to procreate just to spite them.
The other thing I heard a few times in 2007 is what a hot commodity I should be. People who tell me this:
1) My Family 2) Married Women 3) Old Married Women
Apparently a single guy like me, at my age, with my myriad qualities, this is when I'm supposed to "bloom". I'm prime meat. Grade-A, super-awesome.
It's not that I don't believe the hype. It's just that people have been telling me this for years. "wait till you are a senior in high school." "wait till you get to college." "wait till you stop waiting tables." "wait till your 30".
I keep peaking and peaking all over again (which makes me dyn-o-mite in the sack!)
Anyway. The search goes on. If all that sounded as pitiful as I fear, the next part will probably read like someone "talking themselves into something". Trust me -- I'm pretty far from miserable. I just suspect that my stumbling little journey through singledom is kinda amusing.
I feel like I'm in a good place. Yea would kinda like someone to share it with, but until that someone comes along I've got plenty to keep me busy and good friends to hang out with. You can see some of those people here in my photo set from New Years:
Happy oh-08 Everyone!
-E
PS. I resolve to write more blog entries this year.
Yesterday I had my first massage. A lot of people love the massage. It's supposed to feel good. It's supposed to be relaxing. It's supposed to be good for you. I've always been a little uncomfortable letting a stranger go to town on me in such a "familiar" way. I'm rather ticklish. Also I'm afraid of getting a boner in the middle of the whole thing.
But I had a rough day yesterday and my body -- especially my left arm and wrist -- has just felt a little wrecked and out of whack for a while and my dad insisted that I give the massage a go.
I figured I could assuage my biggest fears (the ones relating to blood flow) by just "takin' care of business" myself before heading out (it occurs to me that maybe it's this sort of behavior that's giving my left arm so much trouble and NOT all the computer usage like I first thought).
With that dirty deed taken care of I head off to some small "alternative wellness center" in Carlsbad. I enter the building and the surroundings inside make me instantly skeptical. Smelly soaps, and candles adorn the shelves along side the myriad of new age self-help books. The soft, soothing, and vaugley "ethnic" sounds of Yanni style music fills the air. Blech. I guess it's too much to expect a lil RJD2 or Thievery Corporation.
Eventually I find myself mostly naked on that strange table with that toilet seat thing you put your face in at the end of it and the touching begins. Due to the masseuse using both her forearms and hands, along with some sort of oil or lubricant, my initial thoughts on the experience was that it felt like I was getting a tongue bath from a couple of elephants. It wasn't necessarily unpleasant...just weird.
The rest of the experience vacillated between slightly painful, sorta ticklish, and vaguely uncomfortable with splashes of genuine relaxation. I felt like I was doing something that was good for me...but I'm not sure I completely "enjoyed" the whole experience. My body definitely feels better today AND I managed to avoid an embarrassing moment Vis-à-vis my genitals. So that's a win-win-win.
It's been a long time since my last post and between than and now I have somehow managed to get myself into another failed relationship. Unlike the last one, this one ended less pleasantly for me (not that the last one ended like a day at Disneyland, but it wasn't a kick in the pants either). I can't remember being with a person who seemed so compatible. Who seemed to fit my life and my values so well. It all sorta crashed down so abruptly too. One day I was being told how amazingly fantastic I was and the next day I was told to hit the road.
I guess that makes it sound a little bit stranger than it actually is. The person I was dating has some health issues and decided (for the both of us I guess) that I shouldn't be dragged down by her problems. So...I don't really know what to say to that. I was really happy being with her. Maybe those problems would have eventually gotten to me. Maybe I'm better off without that complication. It didn't seem like it as of a couple of days ago. It doesn't seem like it today.
So...yes. The title track for today's blog has a double meaning! 1) A (not-so)funny joke about massages and 2) Also my life is a trite teenage drama.
I am starting to suspect that I am a bad driver. Either that or people hate Minis. I'll be driving along minding my own buisness when a car will pull up alongside me. I'll look over and see the guy next to me vigorously waving his middle finger at me. The first time this happened to me, I just figured that the guy next to me was some sort of angry freak. Now that it's happened twice...I mean...there couldn't be TWO angry freaks out there in the world could there?
By the way -- regarding the middle finger and it's origins: Stop talking to me about bowmen and french people. please.
I know I swore off song titles/lyrics for post headings a while back...But maybe I've changed my mind. We'll see.
I've decided to hate something random today. That something is Strawberry Milkshakes. I don't hate the people who order them...I'm just very very disappointed in them.
I had to jump through some bureaucracy hoops today. I had to run down to the court-house and turn in my little note that said I completed traffic school. I could have completed the school earlier and then just mailed my lil certificate in, but than I'd have nothing to bitch about.
I have many fond memories of the small time I spent in Japan a few years back, one such memory is being amused at the difference between a typical government employee there compared to here in the states.
The court-house here is filled with slow-moving heffers (yes it's another disparaging post about fat people. I'm a bad person) who seem genuinely bothered that they number they called actually corresponds to the one that I am holding while waiting to be served.
As I approach the counter they smile lamely at you in a sort of "I have to stretch my lips across my teeth at you...but I'm not actually happy here". Then slowly...Ever so slowly...They....Start...To...Help...With...Your...Problem.
In Japan it was a couple brisk, "Hai!"s followed by a blurring motion of documents getting stamped and suddenly you were on your way.
I think most of us would agree that being friendly is a good quality to have, but it's awfully disconcerting when someone is overly friendly. Especially when its an overweight stranger in the bagel line.
Einstein's was plenty busy this morning and this jolly fat man starts chatting up everyone in line and behind the counter. A little friendly chit-chat is all fine and dandy, but these people behind the counter are desperately trying to move people along while this guy is asking them where they are from, and how he likes his coffee warm, but not too hot -- how cream is good but too much can ruin the drink -- while plowing bagels into his face, fist-fulls at a time.
He catches my eye and says, "Hey dude where do I know you from?"
"I dunno...I dont think we know eachother" I say...Desperate to try and dis-assosiate myself from this lunatic while everyone in the restaurant throws me strange glances. Perhaps that's why I responded to his following question: "Do you go to church?" with an slightly overzealous "no".
"Oh..." He said, and his mood went slightly icy,"I DON'T know you then."
The air is warm, the skies are blue and clear, and day light savings time is just around the corner. That means that spring certainly appears to have arrived. One thing I'm not used to seeing at this or any time of year are biblical swarms of butterflies.
Let me tell you...They are everywhere. It's given my little town a sort of Lorien-like quality...Only slightly more annoying.
When you hear about a mass of butterflies it might seem like a magical sort of happening, until you experience it and realize that it's not too different from any other swarm of insects. they still explode against your windshield at 70 miles per hour.
I know it's been a while. I know I just got back from a week in San Francisco. But I want to talk about bathrooms.
For the normal American man, the public toilet is one of the last remnants of uncivilized society. The brilliant light of modernity has yet to illuminate these dank and dangerous corridors.
I am constantly surprised at what men feel is an appropriate in terms of what they leave behind when they exit these chambers. Seriously. What did I do to deserve a bowl full of shit? How is it fair to leave behind a seat splattered with piss and/or blood?
You know people sit on that thing right?
I know I am not the only one troubled by this because there are institutions who seek to elevate the men's room from the pig stys they usually are to something that fits better in the 21st century. They do this through robots.
Specifically through motion sensor equipment that's supposed to automatically thrust a sense of decency on you and force you to flush the god dammed toilet. You would think that I would be a fan of such equipment.
I am not.
Step one: Auto Flush.
For urinals this is generally a good idea. The sensors seem to work pretty well. For bowls...They suck. I constantly walk into stalls and see an auto-bowl that is mysteriously full of crap. So unless you can actually find the well-hidden manual flush, you end up dancing around the stall tryin to engage the auto-flush...Which seems to take forever.
Finally the waste is whisked away and it's your turn to do your business. All of a sudden the flushing mechanism becomes extremely sensitive. I find that, unless I maintain a perfectly rigged posture, the toilet will auto-flush two or three times while I'm sitting there. This means that if I'm actually "mid-transaction" my ass is getting sprayed with my own waste. It's not really how I like to spend my afternoons.
Step two: Auto sinks.
These don't work. The activation zone for these faucets are so small you usually can't rub soap on your hands while the water is running. The rubbing motion invariably puts you outside the zone. After an unreasonably long amount of time you finally make it to...
Step tree: Auto paper dispensers.
The Auto hand-dryer actually seems to work pretty good for me. But those fucking paper dispensers -- If you don't sit there and wave your hands like your dancing the Macarena you'll never escape the restroom without soggy hands. Which is fine if your heading to a pool party but not that pleasant to go back to the dinner table with.
Last Friday I was preparing my morning bagel when I was suddenly whisked back to my college days. The label on the small, single-serving package of cream cheese read: "Real" Cream Cheese.
The use of quotations here struck me as incredibly strange. What was I about to eat? How real is "real"?
I was first introduced to Baudrillard in college, and despite being a philosophy major, I actually only ever heard about him through my friend (and at the time girlfriend) Rebecca. I have only the simplest and most unreliable understanding of the man's works and writings. But I do know that much of it is focused on "The Real".
In the simplest terms I can muster, the difference between "The Real" (which is what we encounter everyday) and real, is like the difference between "The Real World" and the real world. One is basically a copy, or a representation of the other. The idea being that our current culture can not really differentiate between the two. We see the war in Iraq on television and to those of us watching it "is" the war -- even though the real war is taking place far away, being fought by other people.
I'm thinking of all this while starring at this tiny package of cream cheese.
It's a good topic for conversation at your local coffee house. Which segues into my next segment:
Miracles No More
I went out to my favorite local coffee house on Saturday to sit, sip, and sketch, only to discover that it was gone. In it's place was an empty dirt lot. Where there was once outcasts playing Magic, old burnt-out hippies, and that one jackass playing shitty acoustic guitar...There is now just rocks and rubble.
I'm running out of non-starbucks establishments to go and hang out at if I need to get out of the apartment. Plus I loved the ocean-view patio at Miracles. I'll just have to find some other place with decent coffee, weird people, and uneven tables.
-B
PS If I just completely butchered Baudrillard in that short lil paragraph feel free to call me out.
I got in trouble with a co-worker today for sending out a picture (in the service of Madden football trash-talk) in where I photoshoped a horse (broncos) mounting said co-worker in the standard "rear entry" position.
