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 I was shocked to see that cliche superceded by an alarmingly overweight woman with a Mikail Gorbachev birthmark leading a group of fellow campers through a Star Wars RPG session.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.