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.