blog2

Recently Divorced.
Friday, June 19

Over the last ten days I've learned many a thing about people and places. The first of which is that promises made drunkenly are as promises not made at all. "Sure, I'll help you pick up your brother at the airport tomorrow morning in Richmond. And that furry party, don't even worry one bit, I've got a pelican costume lined up and everything. Would your brother fuck me as a pelican? Well we'll find out!" Next day, if they're lucky to remember a god damn thing, deny everything. "I don't remember anything about dressing up like animals and dry humping each other, are you sure you're not trying to trick me into sex again?" No matter what they say, at the end of the day you can just shrug it off and blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol. "My mother's pregnant dude and she SWEARS that you snuck into her room last week and raped her." No I didn't, you loon. It was probably just some other rapist traipsing around the neighborhood. Happens all the time.

Also, a very important question was posited: Could a fat man do a keg stand? The question, folks, is SHOULD a fat man do a keg stand. I think, Yes, a fat man should do a keg stand if a fat man could do a keg stand and absolutely if that keg stand does not shatter a tote full of ice water that the keg is sitting in. I think I passed out on the couch that night right after I muttered the words, "Jason, just make sure nobody puts a dick in my mouth." I'm thirty percent certain that somebody put a dick in my mouth.

Right on, anyway, I went up to New York on Wednesday to see Kevin Smith perform live at Carnegie Hall like a fucking champ. It was awesome. TK and I left at five in the morning, got there around 11:30 just in time to park and then race up to the AMC Empire 25 in order to see Moon. Shit blew my mind and then herniated a disk in my ass. It isn't my favorite film of the year, though, which is a somewhat disappointed. Coraline still holds that honor, I guess, I can't think of anything else I saw five times in theaters or crucially expanded my limits of thought. Moon is probably in second place though. So, after Moon we ventured into the seedy underbelly of New York City so that we could get some White Castle. I made an explicit threat to TK before we went up to Manhattan that I wasn't leaving until I had White Castle. I could miss Kevin Smith, I have seen and met the man twice in my life - this is just a huge bonus. Moon could wait, it's not like I wasn't going to see it eventually. THERE ARE NO FUCKING WHITE CASTLES IN VIRGINIA however and getting to eat twenty sliders in one sitting is a particularly rare pleasure for me. It's something I wish I could do everyday, but can't, so I take advantage of when I'm given the opportunity. I take advantage of it so hard that I scare children who may be within earshot. Strangely the sound of me eating White Castle like I'm never going to see it again is also the sound of clowns dragging screaming chainsaws.

Kevin was, well, it was watching a hero of mine do stand up comedy. And kill the shit out of the audience.

Finally, while surfing the tubes I found something...something unexplainable. This happens from time to time (a while back I found an advertisement listing 25,000,000 singles in your area! or some shit) and I feel as though someone somewhere has to say something about it. Or else these things will get stronger, rise up, and kill us all. Here's my newest discovery:

Make of it what you will, but I promise you this: it'll never make sense. This is why we can't have nice things.

Well I Heard Somebody Wishing.
Tuesday, June 09

I've been trying to think through the connections all day and nothing seems to want to click. But, I did it, somehow, I forced the universe to deliver unto me an amazing day. June 9th, 6-9, sex position or Zodiac symbol for Cancer. That doesn't make much sense, as no one involved has a birthday in late June to early July. What could it be? How did this happen to me? As for 69'ing, someone involved recently 69'd a monkey-man named Chakka. Whatthefuck. Perhaps I'll just stumble into the solution to this never ending math equation that strings electro along wavelengths throughout the resonance of the universe. So here's how it fucking WENT:

I woke up, immediately got dressed and drove to work. An old man rolled through a stop light and almost killed me.
Nothing but old people came up to the Geek Squad window.
Danny R. McBride (actor, screenwriter, and TOTAL COMIC FUCKING GENIUS) came into Best Buy randomly and THIS SHIT HAPPENED.
My mind was blown.
I spent several hours in a What The Fuck Limbo until I went over to Scott's place to hang out.
TK called me to tell me that Futurama was renewed for two more seasons. HOLY SHIT.
Ran into Richard and he game an mc chris poster he bought for me at the last show (I couldn't make) and it was signed by him "Thx Dexter".
I watched The Hangover for the first time, brilliant film.

Then I re-entered the real world for a crash course in sleeping like a brick.

I'm not sure as to what I did, but maybe this "secret" thing works. I let Danny McBride know that he probably wasn't real and that I wished him into existence. He laughed. I laughed. I can't remember but everyone told me that I had a rock hard dick the whole time.

With The Fast Forward Button.
Friday, June 05

I almost took a page out of the high school kid's guide to blogging and came within a severed pinky's length of posting some song lyrics. Perhaps I should put together a playlist so I can just show you instead. The five best songs in the whole fucking world right now are:

A very special mention goes out to:

VHS or BETA - Love In My Pocket

When pitted against the tremendous talent and accomplishment of someone like Isaac Brock it is daunting to imagine that in ten years I'll be as old as he is now and most likely won't have achieved even half of what he has. On some fan collab. thing someone had uploaded the liner notes to an old, old, old demo tape that Brock recorded in his shed. The beginning to the notes says plainly, "So I decided to make a motion picture soundtrack, were it is." Movies strike him too. I can tell, there are thematic elements abound that resonate throughout the albums. Characters and epic storytelling all spliced together to an energetic or caustic beat. Movietunes.

I wrote some "lyrics" a while ago when Pizza Bones was a real real thing for me and I was dead set on getting that in motion. Music is cheaper to make and there are a lot of things different people can help you with that don't necessarily require an excessive amount of effort. Film, on the other hand, is intensive and dedicated. Planning and arrangement are pertinent to the structure and performance. Film is far harder to get right. Anyway, the lyrics were about Dr. Manhattan from Watchmen and the time he spent thinking on Mars and what me must've learned there. Another was about making up your mind making up it's mind, dreams and nightmares are unwarranted permutations of the future or the past. Some were about lacking compassion for the future and the distance I feel between me and the DNA that has tracked and retained the knowledge of centuries within it's hinges. Would it really hurt things to try this out? I could only really hurt Scott's feelings by letting him hear me sing.

Fucking dammit, now I need guitar lessons.

Go Get Dressed.
Thursday, June 04

This woman brings her machine up to the counter and says to me, "It won't turn on." Well there was an assload of lightning porn last night and that just makes sense. Using my technical support etiquette I let her know informatively that her shit was broke and she was going to need a new computer. Well, that didn't fly and she wasn't impressed by me just "pressing a button" and wanted to see what those eight years in Harvard taught me in action. So I opened the damn thing up and I'm hit in the face with a scent that has been lost for ages. It was like the draft that was trapped and left rushing around in the tomb of a mummy. I had smelled this somewhere before, an old friend. Suddenly, I was back in the trailer park and I was playing with action figures on the carpet. What were the chances that these two scents were connected? Actually, I've never experienced such a vivid olfactory redolence quite like this before. What were the chances that these two scents were NOT connected? Another dead correspondence. People change anyway, why would he even want to play action figures with me again anyway?

I think I'm going to start compiling "A List" every now and then of random things. Ten favorite shots in film. Ten things that piss me off more than anything. Ten favorite foods. Ten favorite actors. Ten favorite actresses. Ten people I would punch in the face. Ten best nude scenes in movies. Ten shirts I would make if I could. Ten trends I want to start. Ten places I want to live. Ten methods I would use to kill myself. Ten things collect or have collected. Ten men I would "have relations with". Ten names I would call my band if I had one. Ten alternate universe versions of myself.

And so on and so forth.

My brother comes home tomorrow and I really need to shave my face.

Take It Out Of Context Either Way.
Wednesday, June 03

With Mystery Can out of the way I have a brand new set of woes. A ticket for "Failure To Obey Signs Or Some Shit" = $90. Carnegie Hall Tix for the nicest seats in the house to see Kevin Smith = $135. Remaining debt on the MacBook = $180. Spending money for Florida = $200. Math doesn't exist after midnight so I can't put those fancy number things together for you and give you a total that I write "BLISTERED MOTHER FUCK!" next to, so use your imagination. Nobody is typing "blahdyblahdyblah = Priceless" either, because it's not funny and overdone. I just wanted to bitch, not make you laugh. IF YOU WANT FUNNY, THERE'S AN APP FOR THAT!

See, it's funny because I told you I wasn't going to use a lame pop culture catchphrase to bookend my joke so I made another joke that used a lame pop-culture catchphrase, because I knew you wouldn't see it coming, because I'm a GENIUS.

Seriously, though. Don't you dare laugh at any of it.

Why, when I finally get a chance to write, is work and the bullshittery that is work become all of a sudden all I can think about? I had tons of stuff planned for this, real topics and true grit that would reel you in and stop you at the edge of your seats. All I'm getting know are fuzzy stations and scrambled porn. I hate talking about the old people that need help and the middle aged women who need help and the dads who think they know everything and embarrassingly attempt to stumble their way through verbiage and jargon that they think impresses me. I assure you, Future Self, there was nothing of interest that happened at work. Do not even for a fucking second wish that you had written more, because there isn't any more. The personal computer has become the television set. Printers and Scanners now placate the masses instead of The Price is Right and Days of Our Lives and that's the way it's going to be in this shiny, chrome-plated modern age. Generation X invented the personal computer, Generation Y dominated the personal computer, and Generation Z will waste and destroy the personal computer. There's nothing to read here, move on folks.

I guess just pretend I said something profound and definitely tell your friends that "his latest post" was full of subtext and imagery so astonishing that you've been thinking of it all week. Maybe it'll all come back to me tomorrow and there'll be a fresh entry full of real gut and glory.

Show 'em your death face.