marion berry is still alive?

i am such a geek. never before...ok, not since top gun came out in 1986, did i have even a faint inkling of patriotism, but son of a bitch if the nation's capital hasn't made me (gulp) proud to be an american? yeah, i teared up a bit at the world war II memorial. the actual declaration of independence, the honest to god constitution? how could i not be moved? actually, it was places like the treasury, agriculture, and commerce department buildings that seem important, i guess because things that ostensibly shape the laws governing my behavior are going on inside them, but whatever the reason, i love washington d.c. i also love benjamin and his lovely lady caitlin. more gracious hosts i could not possiblly imagine. benjamin thank you for the use of the digital camera and the air bed and caitlin. wait, you knew about that right?
seriously though people, go to washington d.c. go ahead and go right now.

this christmas marked the official return to my having christmas with a family. and christmas with this new family (my aunt's common-law husband's actually) reminded me greatly of family christmasses in the past. a good deal of anger, bickering, and awkward gift-receiving. the award for the most unexpected gift given goes to my aunt's boyfriend steve- a 2 million candlepower flashlight that you wield like a big handgun, with a trigger and everything. i never knew how much i needed one of those until i charged the battery and lit up the ocean beach neighborhood at three a.m.

to finish with my recap of the past few weeks, i spent a day in los angeles on the way home from san diego, and decided to go see 'the ringer', starring johnny knoxville as a pretend retard trying to win the special olympics. 'the ringer' is unequivocally the worst movie ever made. there is no doubt. quite a relief actually, knowing that i have finally seen the apex of shitty movie-making. i recommend that anyone reading this go see it, that way we can all have an idea of how bad a movie can be, even when it has one of the most promising premises imaginable.

leo mazzone- pitching coach for the atlanta braves; chess master

i decided a couple of summers ago that i would learn, that summer, how to ride a motorcycle. this has little to do with anything except to illustrate that i sometimes have ideas about things i would like to learn how to do. or sometimes i wish to be much better at things that i already know how to do. most recently, i've considered the possibility of playing chess by myself, which seems like a great way to get better. ok, once i saw a guy play chess against himself, and he played very quickly and efficiently, and it was really great. so i didn't exactly come up with this idea out of nowhere. but anyway, there is a guy sitting by me playing chess by himself right now. he is rocking and swaying back and forth in his chair to the point that i fear he will slip off and fall onto the ground. he is wearing a very long and very interesting blue jacket that might be considered a trenchcoat. he runs his hands through his filthy hair between moves and clearly is putting a great deal of thought into his task. he may very well be crazy. and now that i watch more closely, he is putting his hand on pieces and taking it off without moving the piece, and sometimes he makes a move, then thinks better of it and returns the piece to its original space. so now i'm considering how difficult it may be to observe the rules of the game while playing against yourself. would i favor black or white? would i feel a sense of triumph and loss at the end of each match? would i end up wearing a trenchcoat and nervously list side to side in front of complete strangers? would i get better at chess? god, life is really hard.

The Greatest Favorite Band Ever

wow, this girl working at linnea's is sure in a mood to play weezer in any form that she can find it: b-sides, acoustic, import, plain old regular blue album, you name it. although, nothing of course after pinkerton. it hurts so much to hear 'only in dreams'. hurts in a good good way. i spent probably 90% of my high school career with that song either in my head, or laying on the floor of my room with a candle lit, staring at the ceiling, dreamily lusting after every girl who wasn't my girlfriend, absolutely caught up in the throw of adolescence. i imagine that rivers cuomo lives the same way now, may very well be rocking his fucking heart out to the soaring guitar riffs at the end of that song, feet pounding the floor, a sweaty hand reaching over to the repeat button to play that song again and again and again. god i miss that band.

Nihilism, Cynicism, Sarcasm, and Orgasm

it took only two months for me to purchase a computer and then get in trouble for illegal file sharing. i received an e-mail from cal poly as well as the legal team at hbo concerning the illegal downloading of curb your enthusiasm episode 6, season 5. what this means is that until i remove the episode and the program that i used to download it, i am no longer able to use the wirless internet connection at cal poly. i understand hbo's issue, but cal poly's restriction of my wireless account because i used it to illegally download something is absurd to me. i don't see how the university could be held liable. that would be analagous to ford motor co. being liable for damages because i used a ford as a get away car to rob a bank. it makes no sense. is the university assuming a moral stance that is opposed to file sharing? i do not understand.

i recently found myself driving around listening to music on a lovely sunday afternoon. i was listening to sufjan stevens for a little while and then i took out sufjan, in favor of a little john davis (formerly of superdrag). it then occured to me that both of those artists are christian musicians. john davis especially so. as a matter of fact, jody and i recently discovered that john davis is available at the parable. sufjan stevens however, is not. i never would have thought that i would be listening to music about the saving grace of christ, but there i was, back to back christian rockers. what does this mean? apparently it means that lyrics are either occasionally of secondary importance to the music, or that the listener needs not to relate to the songwriter very much at all to enjoy their songs. what do you think?

is rain bad for an ibook?

how the word fat could apply to me in any way is a mystery to me, but thanks ben, i would love to have gone. caitlin will just have to wait a little longer. and jody my friend, interesting that you would make reference to zooropa there, because i just read a lengthy interview with bono in rolling stone, and he and i agree that the best u2 song is "stay". he and i share the belief that Passengers is one of their finest albums, and now that I think about it, i listen to way too much melancholy music.

and another thing about caitlin, ben. big boobs do nothing for me anymore. at a certain point, you know, there they are, and you can do some things with them and all, but really, they don't serve a great deal of purpose. maybe this is a cyclical thing, and later in life i will become breast obsessed, lord knows i've been there before, but my tastes have become so much more refined. i have just now officially become uncomfortable referencing your girlfriends boobs on a public sphere, especially since i have never actually spoken to or seen this person. don't hate me caitlin, ben and jody started all this, and if i don't continue it, my heterosexuality will be questioned, and we can't have that now can we.

speaking of which, the aesthetic appeal of the ibook may impart an aesthtic appeal to the owner of the machine as well. twice now, my computer has been an "in" for a girl at linnea's to initiate conversation. so now, it never leaves my side, i've devised a holster for it that i sling around my hips to give me quick draw abilities at any approach of a foxy coffeehouse patron.

the doctor is in

i am the relationship doctor. do you have any questions about your relationship that you would like answered? pose them to me, and i will amaze you. i will amaze you with how little i actually know about what girls want. and this utter lack of understanding will force a realiztion on your part that you are much better off in your difficult situation than i could possibly be, and immediately you will know what to do to make things right. well to be precise, you will know what not to do. you see i am more of a relationship shaman. my mysterious incantations and utterly meaningless gibberish will put you into a dream-state, and in this hyper-aware state, the truth that you seek will come to you, though it will be the literal opposite from any actual advice that i am liable to blurt out without thinking. hit me up. i'll cruise on by and fix you up.
-dr housman

Week from heaven, week from hell

you know what? a week can see a whole lot of things happen. quickly. you can, for example, have the week that i had which started off absolutley fucking great. it ended in quite literally the exact opposite way. how about that? in fact, the week was bookmarked with diametrically opposed sundays. i have always hated sunday. i always will.
hey, i don't know if you guys check the internet from the emerald isle, but jody, ben, nic-i got the voicemail. wow i wish that i was there with you guys. you should really have pressured me to finish school sooner so that i could be with you right now. it is all your fault. how different would today have been? probably a whole lot better. you all sound drunk by the way. seriously though, i really needed that phone call, it came at a great time. why were you all so concerned with the size of caitlin's boobs by the way? since you were drunk i will remind you that all you did was sing about how you wish that i was there, and that caitlin has huge tits. weirdly it sounded like josh was in the background.
to anyone else reading this, sorry that my blogs are so vanilla even when they do come, but i have massive writer's block. i will do my best, stay with me. oh and jody, here are some of the good pics that i took at the recording sesh. enjoy

social disadvantages of the impaired

Oh god. Dad. Fucking Google image search ruined my Kevin Costner is my dad fantasy.

Big Sur ist rad

What is awesome is when you are at Linnea's and the song that is also the ringtone used by your phone is playing on the cafe stereo, and then your phone rings, so your phone is also playing the same song and then everyone looks at you like, "oh great your phone is playing the same song as the cafe" and then you fumble to answer your phone, but drop it instead and then can't reach it, so it just keeps ringing and ringing, or rather playing and playing, and now everyone thinks that you are letting it ring on purpose, but then just when it can't get any worse, the song on the cafe stereo and your phone's song have linked up in a weird sort of harmony, and it actually sounds kind of rad now, but then your phone stops ringing. Ha Ha, embarrassing.

I'm erecting immaculate design

You may have trouble believing this, and most likely you will have no idea what I'm talking about here, but let me tell you about last night's dream. First of all, do you remember a band called Manhattan Transfer? They were like a more adult B-52s if I remember correctly. My mom loved them, especially a song called "Soul Food To Go". Now the video for this song is great, it is a little claymation animation bit, the subjects are the bandmembers and they do things, the specifics elude me. The point is that in my dream I am a child again, my mom is vacuuming our house, and I'm watching the video I just described. Somehow, I enter the TV and become an claymation figure myself, and then the best part-I become aware that I'm dreaming, and the dream continues. I have ultimate power, but the power is restricted to the powers of say, Rubberman or something, I'm super-stretchy, and can assume the shape of anything I want. I have to be honest with you here, there was a sexual element that was fucking fantastic. Mindblowing. The weirdest part though, was that I got bored and woke myself up. I didn't know when the dream would end, but I was done, so I just woke myself.

Let me tell you about the Protoculture

I never thought that I'd recover from the loss of you. Truth be told, I could never envision, even if I'd dared, a life without you. Since the glorious day that we first met, youv'e been there, day in and day out, eagerly awaiting my touch, and resonding to my touch with such a warm glow. I'd be thinking about you, maybe after a long day at work or school, and I would come home to find you waiting for me. We'd share good movies together, fall asleep together, wake up together so many times. My friends loved you and would tell me all about the funny things they saw you do, or the touching stories that you told them. But now, you're gone. As suddenly as you'd entered my life, you left it. I won't soon forget the times we shared, and how you made me feel, but dammit I miss you so bad. Oh T.V., you could never know how much I loved you.

I'm into earthtones, birthstones, and erogenous zones

Once upon a time, I was able to compose my thoughts freely on this site. I was able to pontificate, objectify, patronize, flatter, single out, speak ill of, wish harm, express love, ponder and pander. Recently however, my entry resulted in an unanticipated misunderstanding of catacylsmic proportions. For that I am sorry. Anyone who wants to know what the commotion was about is free to ask me directly, but I'm hesitant to explain in the public sphere right now.

So this new computer thing takes a little getting used to. In fact, I feel like I've entered into a new clique of some sort. Until last week, while I was at Linnea's I was a dog-eared paperback book reader guy, and now I'm a plugged-in, laptop user guy which strikes me as a significant difference. I guess that I'll have to stop the anti-technology diatribes that I tend to unleash when I'm high and oratory. I mean, checking the surf cams while eating a muffin at Linnea's-how could life possibly be any sweeter?

Always on the outside

Oh good. Really great. No, I'm serious, this is fucking terrific. Next time, no wait, there will be no next time. I'm finished having feelings. Can you sell your unused emotions on e-bay? I read somewhere that someone sold their everlasting soul to a buyer on e-bay for something like ten thousand dollars. If anyone is interested in purchasing the balance of my heart and soul, get in touch with me. From now on, I move through life an unfeeling, unthinking automaton. I'm very, very tired of feeling. On the bright side, my blogs are generally much better when I'm despondent anyway.

Under weaknesses I wrote, "eczema"

I must admit that I've paid very little attention to the news in the last several weeks, and until the Sunday L.A. Times, I had almost no knowledge of the New Orleans tragedy. After reading a bit about the carnage and misery I could not decide which was odder-the fact that a major American city had been totally obliterated, or how little an effect on my life such a seemingly important event had. Neal Postman wrote something in "Amusing Ourselves to Death" (thanks Kate) about how the only news that is actually relevant to most people, whether they realize it or not, is the local weather and other close to home events, and apparently this is mostly true. Sorry.
Oh also I just bought an ibook so I will be assuming control of the internet.

Interpol, smoking pot, and reading Philip K. Dick

I am cliche incarnate. Last night I tried earnestly and in vain to re-read some of my favorite Phil Dick books, but failing to reach page 20 in any of them, I took a walk. This was maybe, 11 pm last night. I had had a few drinks, and was quite high, so maybe I was weaving a bit, or otherwise making myself appear to be a likely target, but the point is that a big guy on a bike was following me around. I lost him for a few minutes, but he found me again. I was only a feew blocks from home, and was unwilling to show this guy where I lived, so I stopped and waited for him to catch up to me at the corner of Pismo and Chorro St. Here is a transcript of our conversation...
GUY ON BIKE: "Hey. You Hangin' out?"
ME: (annoyed) "Uhh, yeah."
GUY ON BIKE: "You hang out alot?"
ME: (more annoyed, slightly scared now) "Uh, I guess. What do you mean?"
GUY ON BIKE: "I'll suck your cock."
ME: (petrified): "Jesus Fucking Christ Man."

At this point I sort of walked/ran across the lawn of a nearby house, cutting across to the next street. This guy was really big, actually he looked just like Henry Rollins, may in fact have been Henry Rollins. I sat on a curb, waiting until I was sure that he was gone before I resumed walking. I walked a couple more blocks when a young guy walked up right behind me, and asked if I had seen this crazy guy on a bike. He told me a familiar story about being offered a blowjob, and asked if we could walk together until we were far from the scene of the crime. We did, and I arrived home safely. Once in the apartment I promptly poured myself a drink, picked up "The Transmigration of Timothy Archer", pushed play on the stereo, and fell asleep to to Interpol's "Turn on the Bright Lights".

I lived...

By the skin of my teeth. Never has anyone been more pleased to be back to the familiar. I wonder how long that will last. If anyone who may be reading this has even the slightest desire to enjoy more hzablogs in the future, for God's sake leave a comment, because I will not write without the support of my once loyal and alarmingly large readership base, and I need to and must know that you are out there and waiting, and that you have counted down the days until my return, the same as I, and that now that I am back, we can continue where we left off and maybe, if there is a God at all up there in the infinite heavens, we can grow even stronger together, and propel ourselves to heights of intimacy and pleasure that as of now exist only in our most sacred and secret dreams.

Bye Chris

Here I am back in town for a couple of days before I head off to the mountains for the last couple of weeks of this job, very excited to be back home, spending time with people I care about, and I am hit with the news that Chris Gibson died while I was away. I am having a difficult time accepting this as an even remote possibility. I guess that we don't normally try to imagine the death of a friend, but I never thought about how I would feel if Gibson was gone. And it turns out that I feel fucking awful about it. I'll miss you Chris, you taught me alot about some of the most important things in life, whether you intended to or not. I promise that I'll finish that Wittgenstein and the Marcuse that you gave me.

Fuck. Well, I suppose that I have stories about the mountains that I could tell all y'all, but I'm not in the mood. What I can tell you is that the crew is slightly more bearable, but the mountains have officially lost their charm. Yeah it was great being up there for the first few weeks, but wow technology is magnificient, no? Also a previously unconsidered treat is simply being able to "go inside". I'll have more tales to tell when I return home for good in two and a half weeks, but for now, you will simply have to remain in suspense.

Hey world

So I came back this weekend, and now I leave again in a couple hours. What can I tell you? The mountains are big, and very hot. We have been staying in posh national park service housing for the last 2 weeks, something that we found out about on the first day of the job. Tomorrow marks the first day of backcountry camping. The crew that I am with is...unfortunate. The two other field techs are girls that have little experience camping, and have proven to be excruciatingly annoying, each in her own special way. I would not be the least bit surprised if after the first night of camping, the sound of bears snuffing around camp results in one or both of them quietly packing up their things and hiking back to their car. I would also not be surprised if I react in the same way. I'll be back for another weekend, July 29-31, I'll post an update on how things are going. Take care of yourselves.

My Brain is exploding

So I leave for the Sierras job on Tuesday, and it is the last thing on earth that I want to do. Leaving the situation with Kate (Dodger girl) at this point is incredibly painful, but I have confidence that things will work out for the best. She needs to work some things out, and I need to see things through to the end, so fuck, here goes nothing. My misfortune with relationships in the past tends to drag my assumptions to the negative, so this time I'm thinking positive, and planning for the best. So, I guess that I'll get back to the blogosphere sometime in August, unless I can get back home for a day or so on my days off, though blogging will not likely be the first priority in that situation. Enjoy the next six weeks civilization,
Justin Thomas Housman

Well, it went...

Incredibly good. In fact so good that I will go ahead and ask, "Alysia who?"
But also, in typical Housman fashion there are potentially tragic pitfalls awaiting in the future. She is however: incredibly sweet, surprisingly cynical (this is a very, very good thing), a reader (she recommended "Amusing Ourselves to Death", which I now recommend to all of you), a loyal Dodger fan with season tickets, and quite possibly the cutest girl I have ever seen, all of which warrant a risk of future suffering on both our parts.
Thank you for asking BTW.

I am a selfish idiot

I went to Visalia and Fresno yesterday to attend a grad/birthday party for a cousin of mine whom I have not seen for about 8 years, at a minimum. My other cousins, her siblings, and her parents-my aunt and uncle-were there of course as well. I was nervous as all hell because: 1) I havent seen the cousins since they were small children 2) I remember these people being alarmingly religious 3) I was fearful of conversation turning to politics. As it turns out, they are terrific people, and I am a huge asshole. I can't believe that I have lived with no family contact for so long. We got along great, it was like no time had passed at all. Even more shocking was how much I kind of missed Visalia. I have been there only once since I moved away, at age 13, and as soon as I got into the city I felt like I was home. More than I do at Morro Bay. Even more shocking than the previous threshold breaking shock was how even though the people attending this party, including my relatives, are the epitome of mainstream, mainstreet, red state, conservative America, they were all so damned nice. Everyone was so concerned with each other's welfare, children, friends, etc. If only they could extend that enthusiasm towards the rest of the country and the world. ALSO, my aunt (that I see on a regular basis-not the Fresno one) randomly ran into my Father in Visalia on Saturday. He was apparently extremely interested in me contacting him, which means that I may actually be able to live out my fantasy of playing catch with my dad this summer. I can't believe it, but being in the valley this weekend was one of the best weekends of my life. Seriously.

Never ever again

I'm all finished drinking. Thanks for the good times alcohol, but you have to go.

As demand approaches one and supply approaches zero, price approaches infinity

Hey guess what? Gasoline is still being sold for $2.35+ per gallon. Remember when the price of gas began to exceed two dollars per gallon, and you thought, "surely this will pass." It has not and apparently will not. Yet, I still refuse to give up driving my car. I have again developed wanderlust and very much would like to move out of SLO, but I don't have the money to do so comfortably. The thought has crossed my mind that I could sell my truck, but having no car seems like a one way ticket to the grave.

I wish that you could smell the girl next to me

Today I saw a minivan that was decorated with 4 bumper stickers. 3 of the stickers were variations on the "support our troops" ribbon theme, and the other was a "9-11-01. We will never forget". These people are glad that 9-11 happened. In the way that I was glad that Weezer had happened, and showed it by slapping Weezer stickers on the back of my Ford Escort. I'd be willing to bet that if it were possible (Final Countdown style)to go back in time and keep the attacks from taking place, these people would be against doing so. And not because of causality and the danger posed to the fabric of space/time.

Oh fuck.

Well, I can't take this anymore. I'm serious. I don't know why I thought that this whole thing would work out, but I was disastrously wrong. If any of you out there w live somewhere far from here and need a housemate or something, you let me know, okay? This will be so great. I can't wait to move into my new place. I think that we will make terrific roommates.

Also, I've decided to read way more books by neocons and arch conservatives. It is quite unfair of me to despise their philosophy without actually being familiar with their philosophy. Then I will go back to hating them. Or I will become Irving Kristol. Who has a suggestion for where I should begin?

Thoughts at 4 am

Last night while kept awake because of a screaming, drunken tirade complete with plastic vodka bottles hurled from opposing windows on either side of my front porch, I had plenty of time (the entire night) to think, and I came up with two troubling ideas. The first concerns public polls. I'm not sure how it has eluded my attention so far, but the complete and alarming absurdity of eliciting public opinion, then displaying it in a graph to be observed by, I guess those of us who didn't participate in the poll, but whose opinion is nontheless statistically represented, occured to me while I was reading an old paper I wrote about public opinion polls and the Vietnam war. I personally don't care about public opinion, but it now seems clear that the motivation for reproducing the results of such a thing is to manipulate the observer. What purpose is served by my, or anyone elses, learning what the percentage is of people who support a war or a bureacrat or a make of car? Entertainment? Justification? Illumination? Validation?

Sadly, I don't have time to report on my other late insomnia inspired revelation. I have to go play baseball now.

Not much to report on

People are clustering in front of the windows of the new Banana Republic on Higuera and peering inside, to see....what? What are these people hoping to discover in this particular Banana Republic? Oh good, they are stocked with khakis. Phew. Now I don't have to shop at the Gap that is all the way across the street, inside a nearly identical shopping plaza. God I am so much better than them.

Revert you to papyrus

Remember "The Final Countdown"? The film stars Kirk Douglas as the captain of a modern (early 80's) aircraft carrier that goes through a time warp and ends up in 1941, finding itslef in the unlikely position of being able to thwart the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, possibly erasing their own existences as presumed baby-boomers, and also destroying their careers, since the absense of a massive military battle in the Pacific would have eliminated the importance of the further buildup of the military-industrial complex, not to mention reduce the need for enormously expensive aircraft carriers. Anyhoo, boy it's a good movie.

Housman. The Traveler.

I'll take my seat beside the window. There will be an empty seat to my left, and you will fill the window seat across the aisle from me. Large and technologically advanced headphones will frame my face, glowing orange from the evening sun, as I gaze insightfully out of the airplane. My expression will speak volumes about my deep and profound understanding of life. The particular form of understanding that comes only from long and difficult journeys into the heart of third world nations. "Oh yes," my eyes will say, "I have seen many harrowed and wonderful things, showing me the true nature of life on earth." You will be envious of the obvious knowing revealed in my confident stare. I will notice that you cannot keep yourself from looking at me, and so I will work at appearing even more tranquil in an effort to shatter all that you thought you knew about yourself and the world. My attempt will succeed. You will first begin to forget exactly where you are flying. When you remember, you will be excruciatingly disappointed after comparing your travel itenerary to what you imagine mine to be. Following this, an intense self-laothing will creep into your psyche.

Litrachaw

The synopsis of the book in my post from a couple days ago was based on me scanning some parts of "Last American Man" at the bookstore. I checked it out from the library last night, and it became the first book that I have ever read cover to cover in one sitting. I couldn't believe what I was reading. I recommend that you pick up a copy. The author is Elizabeth Gilbert. Mr Starling, Mr Hennebery especially, I think that you would like it very much..

Here is a man

The other day I was browsing at Leon's, and I came across a book called "The Last Man in America". Holy fucking shit. Apparently a man named Eustace Conway left his home in South Carolina when he was 17, and decided to live off the land. He spent the next, I don't know 20 or 30 years traveling and living in a tepee. He ate roadkill, he hunted, he gathered fruit and nuts, he dumpster dove. He through-hiked the Appalachian Trail living entirely off of the land the whole way at 19, met a girl on the trail, and they decided to ride horses to California. He enrolled at Community College, transferred to Appalachian State University and double majored in English and Anthropology. Today, he is a disgruntled semi-hermit. Hebecame somewhat famous and set up some kind of apprenticeship program, but all the guys taking his class were too soft and gave up. He runs some kind of environmental activism thing and works in an office. He wants to build a dream home of some kind. It was both the greatest, most inspiring book I've ever thumbed through, as well as the most disappointing.

The man in black fled across the desert, and the Hza followed

Last night I watched the movie "Primer". I wonder if you've seen it? It is about a couple of engineers who, while building a superconductor, stumble upon time travel. They decide to use it to travel through time to expolit the stock market (similar to "Biff" in Back to the Future II). The interesting part, well at least plotwise, is the way that the film takes on the dilemma of causality, as well as time/spatial context. Also interesting is the fact that "Primer" was made for only seven thousand dollars. The film won awards at Sundance, and had a decent theatrical release, it was at the Palm last year actually. It looks like the kind of movie that we would make-Ben, Jody, DLC, I'm talking to you here. Ben, I could easily see "Prison House Blues" made with the quality of "Primer". Anyway, go check it out, and if nothing else explain to me what happens, I may not be intelligent enough to decipher the last third of that film.

Please keep it down white trash neighbors

I am so confused about who is who and what is what on this site. I don't know who I can trust to be who they say they are anymore. Sometimes I consider restricting my posts to the non-anonymous posters out there, but then my readership would plummet, along with my sense of self worth.

WARNING WARNING HZABLOG may be down for an extended period over the summer. It appears very likely that I will be taking a position with the the National Parks Service as an archaeologist working in the High Sierras for a period of 6 to 12 weeks. This means high country camping and backpacking, with no access to a computar. I may offer a rotating guest hzablog host, you can submit your application along with a brief essay of your qualifications if you wish.

My living situation took a turn for the worse last night. I was trying to go to sleep a bit early for me, let's say 10pm, and I was just cozying into my freshly washed sheets, the heavy and delicious sensation of slumber overtaking me, when my dirty and obnoxious neighbor finally crawled out of bed for the day to yell and cackle with her grunting visitor. For two hours I heard nothing but variations on, "Mummmahumma jummma gumma bump?" "Brummaplumma brummpa nnnnggh!" "Fuckin No Way Man! Chelsea tried to tell her, but she was like FUCK YOU, and shit!" "Hummpta jummmma dummma." "BWAAA HAAA HAAAA HAAA". This is what kept me awake. My strategy: "SHUT UP! OH CHRIST BE QUIET!" I was yelling through my walls, while lying on back in bed, too polite to go next door to ask them to quiet down, yet not too polite to not yell at them to shut up. I normally despise sleeping with tht TV on, but I was reduced to watching Iron Chef to drown out the noise, finally succumbing to a fitful sleep.

Not copying you Bill

This template makes me feel good inside.

Deeoxy Pajordah loses 15 hit points after laser blast

I saw people waiting in line for Revenge of the Sith in Hollywood this weekend. They have constructed a miniature tent village, which they have outfitted with plastic furniture, TV's, and a digital clock counting down the moments until May 19th. I saw a guy living in there who, unbelievably, was thumbing through some sort of droid encyclopedia. I was shocked to see that cliche superceded by an alarmingly overweight woman with a Mikail Gorbachev birthmark leading a group of fellow campers through a Star Wars RPG session. They still have 10 more days to wait.

The area around The Natural History Museum of LA County is not a good place to decide that your transmission is breaking. I learned that over the weekend. I also learned that a transmission works much better once you get back to the Westwood area.

What Would Larry David Do?

What did I do "Jamaican"? How did I fall out of favor so quickly? Can't I have another chance? Is that guy in the photo with you in my History 304 class? I'm afraid that I have enough unavailable girls in my life, so I don't know about the tire swing thing.

Chloe, will you marry me? I'm ready. Maybe I've just missed your posts, but I can't live without you in my life. No wonder I've been all fucked up inside these last few weeks.

I would like to apologize for avoiding my aunt and uncle the other day. I'm trying to be a better man. I'm also trying to make it out of my twenties alive. Hey, who wants to put some money on that? What are the odds? 2:1 for my making it? Who will take even money?

David Sedaris is extremely short in person

This morning I was having coffee and a muffin before the bus to campus and I overheard a woman say the following sentence. "Tomorrow I'm going to Croatia. Have you ever been there?" Who answers yes to that question? Who bothers to ask that question? "Tomorrow I'm going to Krgyyyggkkkstynn. Ever been?" I suppose that the man she was asking could have said, "Why the only little bit of Croatia that I saw was through the crosshairs of my air to surface missile targeting system back in the nineties. Beautiful country." Instead the man said, predictably, "No".

Last night's dream. (sorry). I'm in a large car, maybe a limousine of some kind, with my family-both current and deceased. We are drinking heavily. Someone, and I really feel like it was my grandma, packed a bowl, and some of us got very high. The car parks, we exit, and head inside to a party. I remember little of this, it is a nicely decorated, stylish home. More drinking. What I do remember is my grandma (now deceased) giving me her cell phone and saying "...it's my boss. Talk to him." I of course eagerly grab the phone and blabber a Medina-esque melange of, "hey buddy. We are so high! What's going on?" I give the phone back. Morning comes (in the dream) and my family is eating breakfast. My grandpa is there and we have a few laughs. Later though, he becomes increasingly stern and says to me, "everything was fine until you told your grandma's boss that you guys had been smoking weed. Why in the hell would you do that?" Guilt immediately set in. I lamely offer some kind of excuse and then wake up.

I, for one, despise jalapenos. Especially in cornbread. Anything that takes awy from the sweet sweet buttery wonderfulness of corn starch and.....whatever else is in cornbread, has no business being in there.

You say Eye-rack, I say Ee-rawk.

This morning, as usual, I boarded the 6b bus to campus. While I was patiently waiting for the bus to pull away, a special needs rider across from me suddenly shouted at the bus driver to wait, and announced that she had a "paper for you Eileen!" Apparently "Eileen" was driving the bus idling in front of ours, so the girl barreled out of 6b and made for Eileen's bus, today's Tribune in hand. Minutes later, the girl returned to her seat across from me and explained to me, the driver, whoever, "I felt persecuted." I don't know what she meant by that, she really didn't qualify her statement at all. She did however, question our driver to determine whether or not she should get reading material for her as well, I don't know what the driver's response was, because she is from New York, and I don't recognize the words that come out of her mouth.
In a related story, last week at a slightly more residential bus stop nearer my apartment, I was waiting on a bench for the always late 5 bus to school. An elderly black woman walked straight out of 1880's Missouri and sat down next to me. She had already been telling me from about 15 yards away her plan to go shopping at Gottschalks and Best Buy that afternoon, long before she took her seat next to mine. I considered asking her what she intended on buying, but she took the initiative, explaining not to me, but to "all these damn birds", that she was going to buy herself a new dress. The "birds" and the woman carried on a long conversation until the bus arrived, but apparently did not follow her on board.

Ladies and Gentlemen

At this time I would like to acknowledge that the academy has chosen to honor David Lacross' post on the history of the tractor pull, as the greatest post ever. You serve as a model for commenters everywhere, and your talents have not gone unnoticed. I thank you, the academy thanks you, and the entire civilized world thanks you.

P.S. The academy is only pretty sure that David is the author of that post, and regrets any grief that this presumption may cause.

Hello Nasi Goreng and Suharto

Its just no use. I've tried to make the best of this whole college thing. I've traded the possibility of a more interesting and diverse university for the access to good, uncrowded surf near Cal Poly. I felt that I only needed a year and a half or so of school, and then I would be free to go to grad school in a more liberal setting. I even started to really like my professors, and the classes that I'm taking. All of this blew up in my face today. I was walking to the library enjoying the warm sun, feeling good after a fun surf this morning. Once on campus though, I heard an unfamiliar and uncomfortably loud sound. I got closer to the library, and...oh no. No no no no no. Please Christ, no. The noise that was tearing apart my eardrums was a fucking tractor pull. On campus. An ON CAMPUS TRACTOR PULL. I attend a college that has an annual tractor pull. I'm selling my truck and moving to Indonesia. Goodbye America.

Watch where I'm going

I think that there is a major problem facing America's sidewalks and hallways today. This problem is a near total lack of spatial awareness. I do not suffer from this affliction, mind you, but I am forced to deal with it constantly, as I presume you are as well. It is important to realize that I am almost never in a hurry, but I routinely find myself slowing, pausing, or even stopping completely as slower moving pedestrians in front of me lazily bob and weave across my intended path. What is worse, is when somehow, two large waisted people manage to occupy an entire walking area by themselves, seemingly oblivious to my silent pleas for them to part long enough for me to get wherever it is that I am in no hurry to get to. The positive side, is that I get to pretend that I am knifing my way through the Baltimore Ravens defense, accumulating much needed first down yardage.

I really, really, really, miss Adrian Beltre

I came up with a new reason to feel self-righteous this morning. I was driving to Morro Bay to look at the surf, and I thought to myself, "Hey. Gas is way expensive. Give 55mph a chance. Save some gas." So I did. Within maybe two miles I was already looking disapprovally at cars zooming by me in the fast lane, and pronouncing them gasoline wastrels. I started to make "PPfff" sounds, and roll my eyes at drivers going the same speed that I had been driving only 5 minutes before. I need to think about it for a bit, but I may have set a new land speed record for hypocrisy.

Not as smart as I would like to think maybe

This morning while I was on the bus headed for Poly, I overheard a discussion by two guys nearby. Here is the transcript:
"Hey. How's your quarter?"
"Good. I'm just working on my senior project."
"Oh yeah, what is it?"
"That robotic neurosynthesis project I told you about."
"That's right. How is the robot responding?"
"Great, we had a clean run yesterday, but we need to do some massive calculations to help synthesize the electro-"
At this point I had stopped listening and returned to my book about natives on New Guinea.

I apologize

Sorry about that. Really, I don't know what happened, I sat down to write a little something, and that little emotional tirade ended up on the screen. No more of those kinds of posts. And regardless to any similarities with the event in that post to an event that you may remember me telling you about, yesterday's post was actually a reference to Shawn Green's leaving the Dodgers.

I would at this point like to express my feelings about guys who slap fives or whatever, in greeting. I'm not really into that. If you want to do the bro slap, fine, but know that I think it is a bit ridiculous.

So Many Fortresses and Ways to Attack

Remember when I came to your apartment that rainy night a few months ago and attempted my own John Cusack movie moment by confessing my love for you? You were lying on the couch reading a book I had lent to you, and I came up the stairs soaking wet from the rain, determined to tell you everything I felt about you. I said that I'd been in love with you for quite some time, and that I was an idiot for letting you get away after our occasional affairs in the past, and apologized for my immaturity to commit to anything. You cried, and for a moment It seemed certain that you had just heard everything that you had wanted and needed to hear, and that something incredible was about to begin. But then...you didn't really know what to think,...and nothing came of that experience. And then I didn't really see you for a few weeks, and I began to forget and to move on. How is it that I'm supposed to pretend like that didn't happen? Even though I've come to terms with that night, and my disappointment, how do I maintain my dignity? Did you not believe me? Do you think about what I said when you call me or think about me? How confusing.

I just remembered this...

I was sort of coerced into attending church on Easter by my aunt. You see, my grandfather who I haven't talked to in like 4 years is a pastor, and my aunt really wanted me to go and see him. So I did. I was terrified. People were dancing around in front of the stage during the music portion of the service. People were clapping horribly arrhythmically along with the songs. During the sermon I became convinced that my grandfather was preaching directly at me, and for the briefest of moments, I was almost swayed to let him pray for me. The awkward part was during the eucharist or communion or whatever protestants call it. Not being a christian anymore I felt no need to take something like eating the body and blood of Jesus Christ lightly, and so I abstained from the communion plate. I think that this may have clued my grandpa into my heathen worldview. After leaving, I could not believe that I had to go to church twice a week for so many years. It is little wonder that I am so hopelessly insane.

Thoughts on the good life

There are two things that I need to discuss with you today. First, I love being on the ranch. I am confident that when it comes time for the owners to retire, they will pass on the land to me, longtime ranch hand and caretaker. Don't you think so? And guess what...I'm gonna build a baseball diamond out there. I know what you are thinking. You are thinking, "Housman, you are just copying your dad in Field of Dreams", and maybe you are right. But there is no way that I'm going to raise cattle, so I may as well have a ballpark. I'm also thinking about putting in an outdoor movie theater. Summer nights and outdoor films sound really nice. What do you think about installing an artificial lake? With giant water lilles, and maybe some geese floating around on it. "Do you want to take a walk around the lake?", I might ask. It would be such a disappointment if these plans fall through.
The second thing is that I enjoyed Cognac for the first time last night. I was sitting outside reading and drinking a glass of Remy-Martin on ice. Jack Daniels may have to take a back seat. The thing is, is Remy-Martin terribly expensive? No matter. Once you taste the finer things in life, you can't very well carry on as before can you?

Last night I totally fought Justin Cooley

I went to the Frog and Peach after class and cattle wrangling. Cooley was there and we had a couple beers and we talked about baseball and stupid people. I explained to him that I didn't care for the Decemberists latest record, and the guy just freaked out. He absolutley went bananas. He tried to hit me with a pint glass, but I totally ducked it and shoved him back. "Hey, woah!", I said, "Maybe just rela..oofff!" He had punched me in the stomach. I elbowed him in the belly, and when he doubled over I locked my hands together and hit him square in the back. He went down on all fours, hard. Then he grabbed my legs, and yanked them out from under me, sending me onto my back. Both of us got up, but he was faster, and greeted me with a fist right in the mouth. I was able to follow with a sharp left to his eye, sending us both crashing into the bar. At this point we were both finished, and we just sort of laid on the floor. Then I got really hungry and suggested that we go get burritos. He agreed. He had a vegetarian, and I ordered a carnitas burrito. Delicious!!

Last night I totally fought Justin Cooley

I went to the Frog and Peach after class and cattle wrangling. Cooley was there and we had a couple beers and we talked about baseball and stupid people. I explained to him that I didn't care for the Decemberists latest record, and the guy just freaked out. He absolutley went bananas. He tried to hit me with a pint glass, but I totally ducked it and shoved him back. "Hey, woah!", I said, "Maybe just rela..oofff!" He had punched me in the stomach. I elbowed him in the belly, and when he doubled over I locked my hands together and hit him square in the back. He went down on all fours, hard. Then he grabbed my legs, and yanked them out from under me, sending me onto my back. Both of us got up, but he was faster, and greeted me with a fist right in the mouth. I was able to follow with a sharp left to his eye, sending us both crashing into the bar. At this point we were both finished, and we just sort of laid on the floor. Then I got really hungry and suggested that we go get burritos. He agreed. He had a vegetarian, and I ordered a carnitas burrito. Delicious!!

Phoenix almost killed me

I was leaving Arizona. I had enjoyed a breakfast of a muffin and a cup of coffee while I plotted my drive back to California with the help of a road atlas. I made my way out of starbucks, and into a nearby swanky hotel's bathroom. Upon leaving the bathroom, something me felt horribly wrong. I attempted to stumble to my rental car, but decided against it. The closest refuge was the Wyndham Hotel's restaurant. I stumbled into the restaurant and sat down on the first chair I saw. I then found myself picking myself up off of the floor, and walking around the hotel lobby in a daze, and tried to figure out where I was, and who I was. At this point, hotel staff had called the paramedics, and they arrived quickly to accuse me of being on drugs, before taking me to the hospital. At the hospital, I was given fluids and diagnosed a victim of apparent dehydration, though I had been drinking water steadily upon my arrival in Phoenix. I have no idea what really caused me to collapse, but curiously one of the doctors mentioned to me, completely out of the blue, that he didn't think it was a tumor for a variety of reasons. Oh good. After being in the hospital for a few hours, and against the wishes of the attending physicians, I left. Partially because Phoenix sucks, partially because my doctor was wearing a bollo tie, and most importantly, I fear that hospitals may charge by the hour.

Spring Training part 2

Well, the Diamondbacks v. Angels game was sold out. This meant a frantic drive to Mesa, in order to get tickets for the Cubs v. Brewers. These ballparks are mostly in residential areas, and are hard to find, but I made it to Hohokam park (home of the minor league Mesa Hohokams) and, in time to watch the Cubs morning practice down the street at their practice facility. This was incredible. They have about 5 fields that all originate in the same spot, so you can just stand in the middle and watch the morning minor leaguer games, or batting practice by the big boys, all by turning around. The best part is that these fields are completely accessible. You stand right behind the fence at home plate, next to a radar gun toting scout, or behind the fence during batting practice listening to the hitting instructors give advice to guys like Derek Lee, Todd Walker, and Nomar Garciaparra. The players walk all around you, joke with the fans, and the scouts, talk with family members, etc. The game itself was great. 3 homers: Garciaparra, Burnitz, and Russell Branyan. The Brewers went into the ninth down by 3, and rallied to within one. Tomorrow, I'm going to see the A's play the Rangers. Phoenix still sucks. Tempe is my homebase, if only because of the University. ASU is offensively MTVcentric. It makes Cal Poly look like, God I don't know, Berkeley-ish. The Phoenix area makes me really, really proud to be from California.

Mr Baseball

Greetings, this entry comes to you courtesy of the Arizona State University library in beautiful Tempe, Arizona. I am in Arizona this week to take in some spring training baseball games, but so far most of the trip has been spent recoiling in horror after drving around Phoenix. Phoenix is easily the ugliest and oddest city that I have ever seen. Two blocks in any direction from the "downtown" area finds you in what looks like war torn Bosnia. Decrepit houses, junkies and prostitutes covorting in burnt out apartment houses, plastic bags and dogs wheeling through the streets, etc. There seems to be no reason for a city. The downtown skycrapers are pointless, an afterthought. Nothing happens in Phoenix, everything of any value is in Scottsdale, Tempe, Mesa. Although, the Phoenix Library is, quite literally, awesome. Very big, modern-make that ultra futuristic-and beautiful. Why it is wasted on Phoenix is a mystery. Why Phoenix exists at all is a mystery. Today I drove northwest to Peoria, spring training home of the San Diego Padres. I watched the Padres come from one run down in the bottom of the ninth to beat the Mariners. I went to the game to catch a glimpse of my unmet half-brother, who is a pitcher for the Brewers. I didn't see him. I fear that he got sent back to the minors. Oh well, the ballpark was a great little place for a game. The beer was cheap, the grass was green, and $6 got me a seat in the grass beyond the home run fence, but I was easily able to maneuver my way into a plush seat behind home plate by the 5th inning. I said hello to Mike Fetters, ex-Dodger reliever who was watching the game from the stands. Fetters was always one of those pitchers who I felt that I could probably hit. He looked pudgy and soft, and he didn't appear to throw very hard. Turns out the guy is like 6'5", and looks really, really strong. I'm guessing that he threw harder than it looked. Tomorrow, Angels v. Diamondbacks in Tempe. I'm going to tell Shawn Green that I miss him already.

Carnal pleasures.

I've recently noticed that when eating a meal, I become concerned that I won't finish with the best testing thing on the plate, the logic being that if I eat the best thing last, I've maximized my eating pleasure. Usuallly about 3/4 of the way through is when I have to start deciding what the last bite should be. On occasion, I find myself staring at two pieces of food left on the plate, each with a contrast in flavor. Do I end with sweet? Salty? Really, it is a very important decision.

Pointless, romantic nostalgia

I miss the period from 1983-1992 so much right now. I know that that probably means I'm not living in the present, but it is so fun to think about how rad it was to be a kid in the late eighties. Here is a list of the best things ever:

-Little League. Football wasn't half as fun. Nothing, and I mean nothing, beat riding my bike to practice with my glove hanging off a handlebar, in the warmth of a Visalia spring afternoon. We actually got to play games at night under lights once a week, with an announcer calling our names from the P.A! I have actually heard, "Now batting, for the Dodgers, number 17, Justin....Housman", while walking to the plate holding a bat.
-The plethora of incredible cartoons and toys of the period. Jesus Fucking Christ. The Transformers. GI Joe. Voltron. The Dungeons and Dragons cartoon. M.A.S.K. Battle Beasts. He-Man. Air Raiders. Wheeled Warriors. Go-Bots. Duck Tales. Chip and Dale's Rescue Rangers. And yeah, I'll say it, JEM.
-Fucking Nintendo. It really hurts that this is missing from my life. Until recently, when nearly all my stuff was stolen in the San Diego move, I would run across old notes I had taken for Final Fintasy, Zelda, Castlevania, you name it. Some were in my mom's handwriting. Nintendo Power. Remember how they would preview new games, like Super Mario Bros 2 and 3, and you would absolutely freak out with excitement! I don't think that I'll ever forget Konami's 30 extra lives code. The term "extra life", was in regular usage in those days.
-The music. I remember riding around in the car listening to Richard Marx, Peter Cetera, The B-52s, Journey, Hall and fucking Oates, The Eurythmics, and Jesus..new wave.
-Building forts. We must have built like a fort a week back then. We'd go to construction sites and take lumber, or go to grocery stores and take pallets, and build forts, so that we could....have them knocked down by rivals, whose forts we would in turn destroy. Now that I think about it, as we got older (5th, 6th grade), forts served chiefly as porn depositories, guarded jealously, sometimes with sticks sharpened into spears, and dirt clods, resulting in titanic dirt clod fights.
-Smoking in restaurants. Pizza tastes better when the pizza joint is a dark, smokey place. There is no getting around it.

Alot of this stuff sort of stopped when I had to move to Morro Bay in 1991, but there were new things, The Estero Street Gang, street hockey, Joe's backyard, the evil house, eagle rock, fishing, etc., but non of these things fill me with nostalgia quite like the Visalia days. Except for when I hosed down Eric Scott with a fire extinguisher after he erased my saved Legend of Zelda game. That, my friends was awesome.

Hey Dad, wanna have a catch?

I don't know how it has escaped me all these years. The truth has been right there, right in front of all of us, practically crying out for discovery. I think that Kevin Costner may be my father. Unbelievable? Hardly. Some years ago, before I began high school, my mom (God rest her soul) and I were going through her high school yearbooks. I was shocked to see Kevin Costner's smiling, goofy face several pages in front of my mom's, in the junior class section. "Mom!", I probably said, "Kevin Costner is in your yearbook!" She then told me the tale of Kevin Costner's years of high school in Visalia, CA. Apparently he was a dorky drama kind of kid, new to the school and relatively unknown. Not to my mom, though who was herself a drama club member, and I'm guessing, was attracted to outsiders. Kevin, or dad I should say, tried unsuccessfully, or so my mom said, to date a friend of my mom's, and then, incredibly my mother herself. After high school, her memory faded, and presumably Costner (daddy) went off to minor league baseball tryouts, or film school or something. I never knew the man who was supposed to be my dad, he left when I was very young. It seems obvious now that the truth was kept from me, because my mom was embarrased to have conceived me out of wedlock, in high school, to a drama nerd. The man sold to me as my father was a college football player, and a cowboy. (This is where my name Justin comes from, ala Justin Boots) My mom wanted me to be strong, and so she wanted me to think that I cam from hearty, All-American stock. Too bad she didn't give Kevin Costner a chance. The resemblances are obvious. Our tall, gawky builds. Our love affair with baseball, and the wide open spaces the game is best played in. I'm sure there are others. And the final scene in "Field of Dreams", where Costner meets the ghost of his father (if you build it, he will come), and they play their first game of catch on that baseball diamomd cut from an Iowa cornfield, do you know the scene? I cry every time I see it. Now I know why. I don't want Costner's money. I just want to play catch with my pop on a warm summer afternoon. I'm starting to cry right now.

In remembrance of Occy the cat (?/2004-2005)

Hey Chloe Dove,
Terrific poem, although I was frightened by the part about not paying attention to the other drivers around you. Driving requires that you react to the other drivers on the road, especially since everyone else besides me and the rest of the enforcers (you know who you are) have hideous driving skills. Sorry too about the grammar police, but my friends are hyper-intelligent intellectual giants, and many of them won't stand for a corruption of the English language. With respect to the perceived gayness of the male pop star world--sorry to tread on your turf. All I know is that I saw Nick Lachey wearing pants with the legs rolled up, a ribbed t-shirt with no sleeves, and huge diamond earrings-all at the same time. I dont profess to be an expert gay spotter, but come on. Plus my friend Bill totally loves him, and he has a huge soft spot in his heart for the gays. (See Federal Cheese blog entry Feb 9) If you and my friend Jody meet in Orange County, maybe you could come up and we'll all go to Olive Garden Santa Maria! Hospitaliano! I'll have the Southwest Chicken ALfredo Asian Carbonara Santa Fe Low Carb Pepper encrusted Wrap.
Hey everyone else,
Today is a fucking horrible day. My close friend's kitten was hit by a maniacal driver last night. Occy the cat is dead. I was a surrogate father to the young animal, and a piece of me died with him. His speed and grace were unmatched, as was his love of humans. Anyone with a special pet out there, hold them a little closer today, and treasure the spark that they bring to your life.

Intelligence Failure

You know how you feel like you are smarter than everyone, with the exception of-oh I don't know doctors, or something? Yeah, I know, I'm the same way. However, there are those times when you realize that your intelligence cannot be surpassed, even by those members of society entrusted with maintaining your health and safety. And here I'm referring to my therapist. By all means, if you are struggling with depression or anxiety or something, seek therapy. What will happen is you will think to yourself, "hey, no shit" after everything that you hear your therpist suggest. This will be helpful, though indirectly, and it will also do nothing to curb your arrogance. Although it just occured to me that maybe my particular therapist is an inpostor, just like in the film 'Mumford'. It also just occured to me how awesome that would be.
One of my neighbors is a thirtyish single mom, raising a little boy, I'm guessing that he is 8. The mom is hot. The horrifying part is that she sort of reminds me of my mom when I was 8. Not the "hot" part, the single mom part. I'm torn between wanting a hot love affair and wanting her to come over to do my laundry and make me fish sticks and Mac and cheese for dinner.

I will finally write my paper after this entry, I promise

I have learned so much in the last two days. Most importantly I learned that I was paid $4o for mileage driving to a recent archaeological job. This means that I can purchase: 3 cds or one pair of shoes (running) or one pair of pants or ...what? Not quite as importantly I learned some very interesting information from Discover magazine. Did you know that: Airplanes have to make allowances for volcanos when they fly? Pretty much anywhere in the world there is volcanic ash in the air-too much of which will make the plane crash into the earth killing all passengers on board (potentially you). Also, there are archaeologists working with NASA to make the site of the first landing on the moon (Tranquility Base) an historic archaeological site, to be managed by the National Parks Service. Even less importantly I learned that on late night political talk shows, you can say pretty much whatever you want because they think that no one is watching besides drunkish twenty something guys shouting at the television in their boxer shorts...which got me thinking that I could be on one of these shows as a guest political commentator and here is what I might say:
I believe that the Bush administration not only knew about but PLANNED the 9/11 attacks. This was to draw attention away from the real battle being waged against the Knights Templar and a desperate fight to conceal the pagan nature of Christ from the world. Von Danniken's work prophecied a "second coming" of our astral ancestors, the very same alien race that is responsible for the fantastic technological innovations of the Mayans and the Atlanteans. This second coming will destroy the leaders of men! Then the true masters of the human race, the mighty rulers of the planet Myythryyycinkk, led by the benevolent Izzzxxxckkzxxz, shall assume their rightful place on the throne. The tales of the resurrection of Osiris-Dionysus shall be made manifest as Osiris-Dionysus-Mithras-Christ returns to life a staggering third, fourth, fifth, and sixth time, to challenge Izzzxxxckkzxxz for the hearts and souls of men. The Pentagon and Bush's dark cabal have made a vile bargain with Izzzxxxckkzxxz, inviting the sinister alien race back to the world that the heroic Rosicrucian Knights so valiantly defended eons ago. 9/11 was only the beginning...
(I copied this from something I wrote somewhere else, btw)
Finally I learned that Jessica Simpson's husband, Nick something?-That guy is definitely gay. Bill, if you are reading this you should check out his show.

I want to fight Conor Oberst

I realize that there are quite a few Bright eyes fans out there, but jesus how can you stand him? I want to punch him so hard, right in the throat. I am bothered by: a) his fucking hair b) his whining songs c) ok some of his songs are not bad d) I cant deal with the look on his face, ever e) the way he has the NYC skyline on his new album--am I supposed to feel something about that? I cant help but hate. Im a hater.
Dear Chloe Dove,
Oh Chloe. I cant believe that I hurt your feelings. You are so right about the title "Really Going Against My Better Judgment". That was insensitive of me. You deserve better. So I'm sorry. Here is a list for you:
#1 Jody is a man.
#2 Joshua is not yet famous. Actualy, he may be in the Ultimate Fighting world. I just don't know.
#3 I don't have any fondness for gold or silver. I value the human heart so much more than any precious metals. (gold)
#4 I can't really speak for the fake Chloes of the world. There is such a mystery surrounding Chloe Dove that I dont know what to believe. But your poem was clearly superior to the fake Chloe Dove's poem.
#5 I love Baskin and Robbins Ice Cream Cakes so fucking much.
#6 Tommy, my god no. Thomas, absolutely yes.

My friend Joshua Fitzou Hillis

May be the most active man on earth. Really anyone reading this ought to go check out his blog on myspace. CAUTION: Do not under any circumstances read his entries if you feel sort of unsatisfied with your own life, and you know who you are, because you will very much feel lifeless and boring in comparison with the man known as Joosh. For me an exciting day consists of surfing before class, interesting lectures, a light blogging after class, hopefully another surf, and maybe going to the movies and enjoying a burrito afterward. An exciting day for Josh would begin with an invigorating 16 mile jog while balancing a very heavy log across his shoulders, meeting three or four girls while getting a post jog smoothie. Next he may attend a brasilian (note the 's') ju-jitsu class, meeting four or five hot students and inviting them out for a Beck's beer commercial type experience. The day would end by working on an international business plan involving tremendous amounts of personal growth and motivation, meeting five or six hot business partner girls and planning a trip to the Carribbean for cocktails, laughter. I'm exaggerating to make a point, but also I'm not. See for yourself. Visit Joshua Hillis blog on myspace, or click on his name above a comment on my blog. Make some popcorn. Pour a drink. Take notes. Resist urge to move to Denver and mentor underneath him. Resist urge to down bottle of sleeping pills to "start over" in the next life.

Dreams are when you think while sleeping

I dreamt last night of snow. In my dream I was in a living room with large windows, and the weather outside went from unnoticable to snow. Even in my dream I had never seen snow, so I went outside to have my first look at it. I was wearing shorts and I was barefoot. The snow was alarmingly heavy. I mean each individual snowflake weighed more than I thought it should. Other people were in the house, and they all came out to check out the snow. No one else seemed concerned about the heaviness or the immense cold. I went back in.

Really going against my better judgment now

Hmmm. Ok I'll play, but I will make my own poll questions, ok?
Middle name: Thomas
Favorite Zombie flick: Dawn of the Dead (original)
Favorite Pitch: 2 seam fastball
Favorite Animal: cow
Favorite foot: right
Favorite time to shower: 4pm
Last time I vomited: 2002
Most bored ever: 2003, 2005 (tie)
Longest drive ever: 18 hours straight
Most money ever spent at once: $5,600
Worst job ever: Jiffy Lube
Favorite temperature: 81 degrees
Favorite shirt ever: This one T&C Surf designs shirt I had when I was like 12
Hardest key to find on keyboard: "&"
Best thing I ever saw on TV: This one nature show in which an African bushman needed to find water so he captured
a baboon and tied it to a boulder in the middle of the sun, and he somehow made it
lick this salt, and then the baboon got really thirsty, and the bushman just waited
under a tree in the shade playing with a stick for a couple of hours, and then he
finally released the baboon which went running off to its favorite water source, and
the bushman followed it, finding the water he needed for his tribe.
Best way to spend afternoon without surfing: Playing a round of golf with no shoes on, and plenty of beer
Favorite city ever: Vancouver, Taft (tie)

Housman to deduce mind of God

I wonder if I will see naked boobs over Mardi-Gras. I also wonder when Mardi-Gras is. I wondered earlier today if "The Boogeyman" movie will be good. I think that maybe it won't be. I also wondered if my car will run indefintely. I considered whether or not I would be able to play for an entire inning in the outfield during a major league baseball game without looking like I didn't belong there. I walked by the rec center and I considered what it would be like to be "buff". I wondered how if Jesus was divine and human, his sacrifice as a sinless being has any relevance to Christians at all. I thought about would happen if I was to try to talk my way out of a late fee at Insomniac Video, using Blockbuster's No Late Fee program as precedent. I wondered about my roommate from San Diego, Lee, and whether or not he spelled his name "Lee" or "Leigh".
And then I wondered about Don Cheadle.

Time is Too Expensive

My vast knowledge of rhyme is past college, blast demolish polish off all enemies. I can't fall in this rap game, I got acrophobia. Plus half these rappers out here are dead like necrophilia. You know the thing, chocolate like Ovaltine, comin' down on the mic like eggs from ovaries. Monarchal metaphor. Malevolent with settlements. Maniacal when heiro flow, unstoppable and chock full of funk the freak, so fuck the foreplay! Del has been ordained to terrorize your brain.

A baby may have seen my penis

Ok so normally when putting on and taking off a wetsuit, a towel is worn so that the public does not see your naked lower body. Today I forgot to bring a towel with me. I was taking my suit off next to my friend's truck, naked because of no towel, but relatively blocked from the public view by a car parked very close to my friend's. I noticed a woman and her baby approaching and thought to myself "please don't get into the car next to me", which of course they did. Keep in mind that there were probably sixty five cars in the parking lot. What are the odds? What could I do? I had no protection. Both mother and child were within two feet of my nakedity. I was laughing so hard that I pulled an abdominal muscle. They pretended not to notice, but I mean come on.

Ironic Title Here

Ooh I realized that I'm creeping closer and closer to being a "man". In particular I'm the sort of man that wears boxer shorts and a T-shirt and dress socks while sitting on the couch watching television. It feels like I skipped the rest of my twenties, all of my thirties, and arrived in my mid forties after a divorce and with a child living with her mother somewhere near Des Moines.
Last night I wrote down a few ideas about this movie that a friend and I think would be fun to make. Some of you may have heard about this, a few of you may try to take credit for it, and most of you will simply scroll down to the comments and look for something by Chloe. But here it is: The movie opens with Jesus on the cross, and he is screaming his head off. The crowd is throwing things and cursing him and he looks upset and very bloody. He dies. His body is moved to a cave just as in the Bible. Days later people come to pay their respects and show up at the cave to view thee body. The cave is entered and Whoops! Jesus is alive. Actually he is undead because he is a zombie and he eats the Roman guards and the Marys who came to visit. The Legend of a resurrected Jesus begins. He eats many people and they become zombies, or "converts". I've got nothing after that, I just think up more and more descriptions of the crucifiction scene and the initial revelation of an undead Jesus. I'm open to ideas. I was forced to go to church for much of my young life.

Liberal Arts major in an agbusiness animal husbandry world

At what point does your average young person think "I truly appreciate the struggle that Lance Armstrong underwent during his bout with cancer and his contribution to the cancer research community, so I believe that I will wear the fashionable Livestrong bracelet to show my support!" Does this thought process actually take place? I believe that it does not. I imagine that this example is more common, "Hey other people do things that are cool and Im cool and I like yellow and I remember bracelet and I want wear bracelet like pretty girl/boy wear I person too, hey lets be frineds like me we wear same thing on wrist." If you are reading this with a Livestrong bracelet on your arm, then I encourage you to examine the motivation behind that decision, and then get back to me and explain to me how to make any sort of decision in the first place.

This week will be different!

How many days in a row can you wear the same outfit before you begin to appear homeless? I want to say that after 3 days the people sitting next to me in class may begin to notice that my shirt looks familiar. Then on the 4th day they will realize that it looks familiar because I've been wearing it for nearly a week. To test this theory I will wear the same gray T-shirt all next week. If I don't think that anyone noticed, I MAY wash the shirt and then begin an unprecedented second straight week of wear. I have also decided to attend school full time, by which I mean 9am to 5pm. This is because I have never had a 9 to 5 job and I want to know what that is like. Although I reserve the right to not show up on campus until 11 am if the surf is good in the morning, because I would most likely do that if a had a real job anyway. And then I would get fired, but I didn't need that job in the first place. I'm a free spirit and work doesn't mean shit to me, so you can just get off my back asshole and also I quit.

As for you, "Chloe Brenda Megan Dove". I enjoy Mint Chip and Prailines and Cream equally, but I'm very indecisive and may blurt out "Cookies and Cream!" in a state of panic while ordering at the ice cream counter.

Every day of my life

Today I went to the grocery store. I went to a natural foods store because I pretend that I'm a vegetarian. Although I ate a turkey sandwich today with turkey that I bought at the natural foods store while pretending to be a vegetarian. I intended to buy lots of fruit and vegetables. The deal is though, those things are expensive. So I didn't buy any. I bought things that I could have easily bought at VONS, and then I went to VONS to buy fruit and vegetables. Later I went to therapy.
Part 2.
I was reading Rolling Stone magazine yesterday, and they listed the best 50 records of 2004. I couldn't possibly name 50 different records that all came out last year, but they did and they apparently only listed the 50 best. But they also listed the top records that "You didn't hear". These were not included in the previous ranking. Why were they excluded?

I'm in love with teacher

I fell in love with my monotheism professor. HER name is Marie. SHE is very beautiful and also very well spoken. I worry that my infatuation with HER will negatively impact the grade I receive in the class. Here is what I fear: SHE schedules an office hour with me. SHE wants to discuss the fantastic paper that I turned in. I go to HER office. We chit chat for a few minutes before we both give in to temptation. We commit acts of unspeakable love. This goes on for several weeks, until SHE can keep our secret from HER husband no longer. He confronts me. We stand toe to toe in a grassy field. Our eyes lock and we charge each other, swords drawn. Only one pass is made. I remain standing. Marie has been watching. SHE has witnessed me kill her husband. SHE had love for us both, but could never choose. I have chosen for HER. Torn asunder with grief and confusion the two of us have no choice but to continue the academic quarter. Over time, SHE realizes that to honor her former husband, SHE must deny the powerful feelings of love SHE has for me. To accomplish this SHE fosters a hatred for me. Despite my superior work, HER feelings of anger culminate in giving me a "D" in the class. This seems like a reasonable fear. So, I'll keep my distance and my feelings to myself.

I didn't have to use my A.K. today either

I was sitting in my backyard area yesterday morning eating cereal and reading the Times with NPR playing very faintly on my stereo, when I heard what sounded like the first verse to "Straight Outta Compton". I disregarded this as a figment of my imagination for the entire day until I heard someone mention that Ice Cube was interviewed on a program on the radio that morning-on NPR. It was an interview hyping his new picture (I watched the Golden Globes last night so I call them "pictures" now) called "Are We There Yet" or something. What the fuck happened to Ice Cube? 'Straight Outta Compton' is right. 'Cube is now starring in warm friendly family comedies with CGI deer in them now. Ice T would never pull that kind of shit.

My toilet flushes with a rope

Last night I saw the film "A Very Long Engagement". It produced two important questions in my mind. The first being "Were those Audrey Toutou's actual buttocks?" The second question is "Was that actually Jodie Foster's nearly naked body?" With regards to my first question, I'd have to say yes I believe that they were, and they are incredible. As far as Jodie Foster goes, the scene in question would be difficult to film with a body double, although the legs looked too young for her. I also wondered if I would be able to have sex with my best friend's wife if I thought that it may get him out of a war. The answer that I came up with was yes.

Happy Hannukah to Phoenix

Goodbye Shawn Green. I'll never forget how you would ground out weakly into rally destroying double plays, or how you would loft majestic fly ball outs to the warning track with two men on and two outs. But then you would sometimes hit like nine homers in one game and reel me right back in. How could I stay mad at you? So you hit .238 and made 15 mill. Your pants were so baggy and your hat ever so slightly askew.

Sensitive and sad on a rainy day

Recently I've been sort of obsessed with the idea of being Jewish. I don't mean that I want to convert, I want to have been born a Jew. Something that I hadn't considered when I started this blog was that people whom I don't know would read and comment on my entries. And here I'm specifically referring to a comment made by "Luis" to an entry that I posted yesterday. I don't know if this is a real person or not. At first I was enraged by his comment until I looked at his blog and noticed that he is 14 years old. And he is apparently a cutter. Oh for Christ's sake.

Oh my God

If you carefully examine my posts you will note that they were both posted at exactly 4:03 pm. You will also note that if you add the numbers 4 and 0 and 3 their sum is 7, a prime number. If you subtract the numbers you get 1, also prime. Multiplication of these numbers results in 0, which is THE EXACT NUMBER OF PEOPLE THAT WILL READ MY BLOG. Is 0 a prime number? Seriously, I cant remember.

My week

I am a horrible shopper. I cant buy a pair of pants that fit me properly to save my life. I need major help in this department. Yesterday I took a blazer in to the tailors to have it trimmed down and after my measurement session I was told that it would cost 85 DOLLARS to have the sleeves shortened and the back taken in. This is an insane amount of money. I left the jacket with the tailor because I was too shocked to do anything else. This means that now I have to go back into the shop and get my jacket back before they start to work on it.

Here I go with the blogging

First of all, I would like to apologize for the lack of any worthwhile information for you to read on this blog. While I am of course the smartest and coolest man on the earth, this may not always be apparent in how I conduct my life. This is because I have a problem. Actually my problems are legion. Most of these obstacles have been constructed by myself, if for no other reason than to examine exactly how much time I can possibly spend thinking about the exact current moment that I am in, giving absolutely no heed to the future. If you have ever seen Curb Your Enthusiasm, then you have seen my life, minus the money and wife and stardom. Though I do have a beautiful head of hair. Larry David can never, ever say that.