Professor Snoutch

G.I. Joe Review_2009

2009-08-09T08:41:00.001-07:00

I made the mistake of reading the reviews for this flick before I left, not to find out if if was "good", but why it was "bad". The best review I read was something like, "...imagine you're a 10-year old, up before the rest of the house on a Saturday morning, eating cereal in front of the T.V., and expect nothing more..." While that was helpful, I think the majority of the people panning this movie were expecting something more than what G.I. Joe really is, and it might be because they don't have that adolescent touchstone to use as their basis for understanding (they're either too young or too old I guess?) or because the movie going public at large forgot what a late-summer action flick is REALLY supposed to be and got lost in the details. Either way, I LOVED it. It was popcorn fodder at its finest, Channing Tatum (I don't care if you're straight, a Nun or even a Republican, that Dude is FOYNE) stepped up as an action star, the Baroness was a bad-ass (and rightly so), I dug the back story for Destro, Cobra Commander (lame helmet at the end though, too much like Destro, should be smoother and shinier) and Zartan played by Arnold Vosloo was pretty freakin' cool, although you could guess his entire plot even if you were 10.

Minor annoyance - Ripcord. Marlon Wayans, try as he may, was easily the least convincing Joe. Not sure what the director was whispering in his ear, but smiling like Chris Rock through your lines because you're so stoked that you got the part is NOT how you get cast in the sequel, Slick. Get some acting lessons, quick, I'm begging you. Best part - at the movie's climax, the Joes go to rescue Duke in an underwater bunker under the North Pole's ice cap. Yes really. They all have individual subs and the underwater lair was replete with bulbous rooms, spires and totally unnecessary lighting. In short, it was extra-ominous and looked like a cartoon and was very, freakin' cool. Utterly absurd mind you, but cool nonetheless and when I saw all the good guys shooting at all the bad guys, I was 10 again, and the movie had officially completed its mission, right in time for the set-up for the sequel. Detractors beware, this is what Transformers meant to do the first two times and failed miserably. G.I. Joe is loud, outlandish, utterly absurd and over-the-top. It's non-stop action and noise, orchestrated perfectly. It's here to stay and if you go in armed with that knowledge and expect nothing more, you will reach the same conclusion. So now you know, and (all together now): "Knowing is half the battle" Prof.

#End

Professor Snoutchlove

2009-03-01T12:34:00.000-08:00

Or: How I learned to stop worrying and love the iPhone.

My contract was up at the end of January, so I started shopping for a smart phone as looking up "Next Bus" on a RAZR can be a MOST frustrating exercise. For years, I had made the proclamation that I was not going to give Steve Jobs a damn dime. It wasn't that Apple's products were inferior (although I am much more comfortable in a Windows environment), it's just that Apple Fanboys have such a negative stereotype (often well earned) that I was not in a hurry to join their ranks. I saw El Stevo unveil the original iPhone via Engadget and the look on his face made me want to put my foot through my monitor. As I think about it now, I'm reminded of the South Park "SMUG " episode. It was at that moment, viewing him extol the virtues of his Jesus Phone that I became convinced that Steve Jobs indeed enjoys the smell of his own farts.

A year after its initial unveiling, the 3G version came out. Quite a few of my friends come to me for techie advice (my farts are quite lovely) and kept asking for "permission" to finally get an iPhone. Once it dropped down to $300 for the 16gb and $200 for the 8gb, I released the hounds. I personally bought one for my Brother for his birthday last year and he still raves about the damn thing. Recently my friend Jon left Sprint (along with 1.3 Million others) and joined ATTso he could get an iPhone. His Fanboy ridiculousness got to the point where every few minutesStarshine and/or I would receive either a text or an email from him loving on his iPhone. I had just sat down to dinner and got a text from him that said that it does everything, that it "...practically masturbates for you..."

So Fanboy fawning had grown to a point where, even jokingly, a smooth and shiny device could replace Rosie Palm and her five sisters. Beyond annoyed, I wrote the following response (parts redacted for clarity):

Hi Jon -

Just spending some quality time at home and made myself steak and mac & cheese (the full extent of my cooking repertoire can be found on my wiki page that doesn't exist)....I stopped in the middle of my succulent feast, paused the T.V. and wondered aloud: "I wonder if Jon likes his iPhone?"

I mean, you could reach out and send pics and emails and call people and tell them about it...jeez. What I think I really want to know is...does it practically masturbate for you? What kind of bluetooth attachment/App store download does that require? Can you switch tracks if it's up your butt? Is there some sort of clench and pivot version of the bend.........and snap(!) that will adjust the volume? You realize what this means, of course?

Now, to the fear of Mothers everywhere, instead of five-knuckle chuckling simply making you go blind, doing so while undulating to the docile tones of "L'il Wayne" at full volume will cause you to go deaf as well, creating a shame bifecta.

My upgrade period is in January, and now that you've had a week to use it, I'm curious to know what you think? What are it's primary weaknesses?

Ok, when you get a chance, hit me up. Make sure your signature says "sent from my iPhone" so I know, ok?

Jason

As you can tell, my relationship with Jon is strong enough to survive me being a snarky asshole. He had it coming though, he'll be the first to admit. I had to fight back with all of my sarcasm powers. It worked for like, 5 minutes.

So, my two-year contract period up, my tax return in hand, I started doing some smartphone shopping. I wanted a device with a decent camera more than anything with a flash. After scouring CNet and knowing I was going to stick with ATT, it very quickly came down to a grudge match between the iPhone (even though its camera doesn't have a flash) and the HTC FUZE. I went to the ATT store, held both in my hand, played around with buttons. Compared & contrasted. Pros & Cons. Changed my mind 3 and 4 times (thanks O.C.D.!!!!) Then I got blindsided: ATT had refurbed 8gb 3G iPhones for $99! The HTC FUZE is $299 (and that's after a $50 rebate). That almost cinched it for me. It wasn't so much about the money as it was about the device, and holding fast to my anti-Apple ideals. Then I saw the ad that features the "level" application. Upon the realization that some enterprising designer/programmer thought it would be a good idea to use the iPhone's accelerometer to create a level made me throw up my hands, resigned that they'd finally got me. I could O.C.D. my ass off forever with that, I thought.

"All right! I'll buy a stupid, fucking iPhone!" As I yelled at the commercial, I died a little inside.

On Monday I received my precious (yeah, I mean it like Gollum) and had it up an running in like 30 minutes. So far, I'm a fan. No flash is a bummer, but the actual picture quality is really good when compared thecraptacular RAZR:

More than anything, I really like having a real web browser. I can't imagine the mobile web ever coming close to what a real web browser delivers. Multi-touch zooming is pretty cool too. The first application I downloaded was the level (of course), just on general principle. I thought it appropriate that it go on record as "FIRST!" since it got me to actually yell at my T.V. (which I hadn't done since Ellen Tigh was revealed as the 5th Cylon).

Oh well.

Prof.

Tivotime

2008-04-30T15:46:00.000-07:00

Ok, I finally think I've got it. As an early adopter of electronic gadgetry and such, I've been privy to a growing new social malady that's now catching up to the rest of the world.

Pompous preface proclaimed, I can continue. Like many of you, I spend very little time watching TV shows at their original time or even on their original broadcast date. I watch it when IIIIIIIIIIII want to, and now that we've got services like orb, I'm not just time-shifting, I'm place-shifting. That concept is a difficult one to wrap your head around if you're not a remote toting electronista rebel, deeply ensconced in the urban jungle...I WILL TOUCH THAT DIAL...I WILL GO AWAY...I WILL NOT STAY TUNED, so quit telling me to, Dammit.

So case in point, I get called or texmexed about Idol on Tuesday night around 8:23pm "OMG did you see that?" And I realize it's once again time for the Prof. to introduce a new word into the American Popular Lexicon.

Much like "Machosexual" (which has taken the world by storm by the way...in my mind), you can now hold your hands to your ears or texmex the person back with "...ah datdatdat....I'm on TivoTime". They will now know that you have reality-shifted yourself into a virtual limbo and that you'll hit them back once you've actually seen whatever the hell it is they were talking about. It works for the big sporting matches too (I would guess...that's obviously a theory), like if you're stuck at a bat mitzvah while the Lakers are dribbling or 3peating or triple-doubling down or whatever.

Even though some use their Cable/Satellite Company's DVR, Window Media Center, ReplayTV, SageTV, or god-forbid, actual Tivo, we must admit to ourselves that Tivo has now been officially inducted into the q-tip/xerox/playdoh/google/kleenex/bandaid/jello/jacuzzi/velcro/frisbee/white-out brand-awareness conclave hall of fame and it's well-deserved. Yeah, it's a working title. Need to think of a new word for that too. Hmmm.

So the next time you get rushed in the morning about last night's Dancing with the D-list Stars, or 30 Crackrock, don't get mad - just gently let them know you're on Tivotime, and they'll immediately cease any banter so as not to spoil your skewed reality.

Now we just have to think of word that easily lets people know that not only have you not yet watched the show, but you've no intention of EVER letting whatever it is clog up valuable space on your machine because you just simply don't like that particular program. How about "shut up?" No, too mean. How about: "I could give a shit"?; "I could give two shits"?; "I couldn't give a shit"?; or (of course) "I couldn't give two shits"?

Sidebar: All 4 of those sentences are used all the time, yet grammatically the first two directly contradict the last two but they mean the exact same thing (to rising degrees, granted, but still). Hmmmm. Well, at least I have a new word to think of right? It's especially harrowing (altogether: "Slow day at work, Professor???") to discover that the natural progression of sentences above (a la SAT studying nightmares) would be "I could give three shits" and then "I couldn't give three shits", right? But we've NEVER said that. Ever. It sounds absurd actually. I wonder what stopped us at two shits? Did someone think 'You know two shits are enough to give/not give...three would just be silly'?

Prof.

Gopher Moat (from Scott H.)

2007-11-25T19:20:00.000-08:00

25th Century/25 Shmentury

2007-11-25T19:00:00.000-08:00

Jaybuck Rogers

Hot off the heels of being dumped by Colonel Wilma Dearing...our intrepid Hero, out of time and new on the market, hits up the super massive black HOledown Party.

Struttin his stuff after a nip or 8 of the fabulous Tranya punch, the Captain spots his prey, and moves in:

Getting out his zapper and stunning the cunning young minx, he rolls on up the voluptuous creature. Needless to say, they hit it off talked well into the night:

Yeah, she's a little intense, but at least she has a sense of humor...Wilma was just such a ditz!

Love,

Jaybuck Rogers

Same fabulous dancing/WWWAAAYYY Better music!

2007-07-11T21:23:00.000-07:00

Testing out

2007-07-08T17:19:00.000-07:00

Remember in school when you could get out of a class by proving you already knew the material?

It was called "Testing Out".

I'm convinced that we don't use this concept enough in our everyday lives and I for one would like to see it implemented immediately.

Case in point:

If you travel as frequently as I do, you probably have the same aversion towards the modern-day, post 9/11 nightmare that is flying. There's the need to get there 2 hours early to accommodate for complete moron flyers combined with surly and slow check-in workers. There's the mental and physical depantsing that is security. There's the cattle call, hurry up and wait boarding procedure. The sardine tin accommodations. And of course, "The Speech".

Hey guess what? I KNOW that my nearest exit may be behind me. And quel suprise, I know how to buckle a fucking seatbelt. To be quite frank, I don't think the unlikely event of a water landing will have people thanking God that their seat cushion is also a floatation device. You know why? Because in the unlikely event that you're still somehow sucking in oxygen, treading water while the plane careens to the bottom of the depths, you're probably going to grab on to anything floating including the fucking seat cushions, right? And I swear to God, if the oxygen masks fall out of the overhead compartment, I'm pretty sure I'll either figure it out or pass out, but either way, I'll still FREAK OUT, so why put that little gem and all the other nihilistic nuggets in my head EVERY fucking time I fly? Hmmmm? Thanks guys, wasn't feeling anxious at all until you pointed out all the horrible fates possible. Fabulous! Now, I'm tired, hot/cold, smooshed and able to visualize my own demise. Bravo.

You may say: "Well, Professor Snoutch, perhaps it's because someone on the plane may be enjoying their maiden voyage." Not likely!

I know the FAA/TSA/Gubment/Homeland Security or whoever knows enough about the passenger manifest to be able to tell relatively quickly if it's someone's first flight on an airplane. If every passenger's history shows record of a previous flight, then we should be able to "Test Out" and remove at least one annoying component from the melange, right? It should become so rare that on the few occasions that it does happen, it will be more of a novelty than a plodding, barely understandable, droning recitation. I know I've wrote about this before, so forgive me if I sound like a rambling, bitter, Alzheimer's-ridden old man, but too bad. It bears repeating.

And don't even get me started on roller coasters. "Keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times". No shit? When is that not true of ANY vehicle, much less one that goes upsidefuckingdown? I mean besides when a convertible is a Drag Queen's chariot in a Gay Pride Parade? I tell you what, if someone's so stupid that they don't know they should keep their limbs out of the way of the steel beams or they'll get ripped off, then they shouldn't be on the damn thing. People put their hands up anyway at the top of a big hill on a roller coaster, so why bother saying don't? It's in the damn commercials for the theme parks! Freakin' hypocrites. TEST OUT.

Can anybody else think of other things we should never have to listen to again? I think I'll start "Testout.org" and start lobbying Washington to stop this endless audio and visual torture. Who's with me?

*end rant*

In other, way less bitchy news, here's a clip of my Brother throwing down. Check it out, it's amazing. Totally SFW, so no worries. There is audio though, so if that's an issue, turn down your speakers first.

http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.showvids&friendID=76655303&n=76655303&MyToken=33dc

Peace, love and joy.

Prof.

2007-04-02T08:53:00.000-07:00

SnuzNLuz - Wifi Donation Alarm Clock, Enemy Aware

For years the masses have told you that if you snooze you lose. You never believed them. You held your head high and slept in whenever you wanted to, always without fear of loss. Well, dear friends, the times have changed. The ingenious sages at ThinkGeek Labs(TM) have finally created the Ultimate weapon against snoozing - the SnuzNLuz(TM). People who enjoy sleeping in are cowering in fear all across the globe - it's finally true, when you snooze, you lose! The principle is simple. The SnuzNLuz securely connects via WiFi to your online bank account, and donates YOUR real money to an organization you HATE when you decide to snooze! Are you a music pirate? Then set your SnuzNLuz to donate to the RIAA every time you snooze and we guarantee you'll never sleep in again! Oh the time profit...
http://www.thinkgeek.com/stuff/41/snuznluz.shtml

I think I'll set mine to make a donation to Big Tobacco, considering I slipped and fell all the way, totally and completely off the non-smoking bandwagon this weekend. Before you reply, know that I already picked myself up, dusted myself off and started all over again. I'm not counting days anymore though, starting from "1" seems so defeatist, and continuing from where I was at (Day 57 or something) seems like cheating. You're never done quitting. It's one day at a time. Today's a good day.

Prof.

2007-03-20T12:14:00.000-07:00

Days 44-47 / Saint Patty's Day Blackout Episode

So I went to the gym like usual on Friday (44) and when I got home, I did something unthinkable. So unfathomable that I don't know if it's appropriate to mention here. I will, in good faith, press on, because good or bad the truth needs to be told.

On Friday of last week, I did nothing.

*Gasp* *horror* *shock*

Being that the Irish half of me knew on an instinctual level that I'd get snot-slingin' drunk the following day, I am willing to cut myself a break.

Saturday: Woke up, made breakfast, went to the gym and then ran 5 miles. Puttered around the house a bit, and then started to get ready. On my way to meet up with friends at Josh's, I stopped at the liquor store and (wait for it) bought a $50 bottle of

scccccooooooottttttttccccccchhhhhhhh

Called "The Balvenie". You can get it cheaper at Trader Joes, but whatev. It's peaty and it's deadly, and it's good, chile, it's goooood.

I sauntered down the street like I owned it, cradling the bottle in my arm like a precious newborn. Valencia was abuzz with pre-evening fervor. Preparations for fun being made, makeup hadn't run yet, no yelling, it was the proverbial calm before the storm.

I made it to the launchpad, and cracked open the bottle.

Some had it neat
One had it with water
Others with rocks, but
it really doesn't matter

We toasted to breezes
and sure, to the treeses
paying homage to the wind
that blew up the girls kneeses

And off into the waiting world we did traipse
hooligans rollicking, world trembling in our wake

Rolling 7 or 8 deep when we hit the first bar, and I remembered my light lunch, lighter dinner, heavy workout regime, friends greeting me, saying hello or goodbye and some fuzzy points in between and then....another bar, and then back to the first one, and then a cab ride and then another bar, and another, and another, and then...

And then.....

And then???

Blackout!

_____________________________________________________

I recovered by sweating it out the next morning and going pure. For about a second.

The hair of the dog that bites me has a jeri-curl.

Discuss.

I'm on day 47.

Prof.

2007-03-16T11:53:00.000-07:00

Friday post from hell / OMF'ingG!

NicStics: Safe, Uncool Cigarettes

Are safe cigarettes an oxymoron? Apparently not, if the people behind the NicStic are to be believed. It's a battery-powered cigarette that vaporizes tobacco rather than burning it (much like the Volcano), delivering sweet, sweet nicotine without any tar or any of that other bad stuff.

It seems like a great way to help someone ease into quitting, although I can't really see it replacing the real thing. Real cigarettes just make you look so cool. Remember that, kids. –Adam Frucci

Alright kids, day 43 is dead and buried.

NicoWhat? NicoStic, fool!

I'm sticking with Nicotrol.

Prof.

2007-03-15T12:50:00.000-07:00

Day 42 / Modern Idolatry

Last night I had over some friends for the Final 12 (tivo'd from Tuesday) and the results show (almost live from Wednesday). Since it is the cheesiest show on television, I thought this weeks' food choices for our beloved guests would be various kinds of cheese, and of course, tons of red wine.

There was a door prize too for guessing which contestant got voted out. Here's the label I slapped on a bottle of Vodka for the winner:

So, yeah, we were as trashed as Paula could ever hope to be, truly doing her and her new Vodka the proper justice. Until of course, consciousness reared its ugly head this morning:

I didn't wake up this morning. I came to. Finding my glasses, fingerprinted and dangerously askew, I could only use my arms to pull myself from my bed and onto the floor, as a misbegotten explorer would escape from quicksand. I couldn't open my eyes, they were fused shut. I bounced down the hallway like a blind pinball, with only Princess' mewing to guide me.

I let her out and was greeted with a cold blast of air on my exposed skin and the harsh, steel grey pale sky, mocking me in my attempt for formulate thoughts and implement bold plans like: "get ready for work".

I ate a bowl of cereal as though I were six, wearing as much milk on my face as I drank while waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. I made the mistake of wandering into the bathroom to get a load of the damage that was done, and as I gazed into the morning mirror, I was greeted with a sight that turned heroes into stone in another era, another time fallen by the wayside.

Chiseled away the bigger chunks and clothed my still-weary body. I headed off into the busy world of interaction and sound, and silently cursed the genius who decided that drinking liquid fermented grapes and eating various forms of curdled milk in wretched excess was such a great idea. As I stared into the rear view mirror of my car in a silent rage navigating through the traffic on the street and in my head, I realized that I was cursing myself, indeed.

42 days have passed since I stopped smoking.

Prof.

2007-03-14T08:48:00.000-07:00

Days 36-41/Time flies...

So I haven't fallen off the wagon. Actually, it's become so back-burner that I'm beginning to rethink whether it's necessary to post about. I actually forgot I was an exnonsmoker for a minute or two. Helps that after my deathly sick bird flu epidemic that swept through my office and home last week, I actually went to the gym on Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday and yesterday, running 5 miles each day after the workout except for Friday, so who the hell wants a ciggie after that?

I'm down to 183 - and finally (almost) (barely) able to see the beginning of the ab ridges I've killed myself to get. You keep thinking to yourself, "Do I really, really need to be on my knees with my ass in the air doing weighted crunches in an all-Gay gym in SOMA for this?" After completing half of my run on Monday, I stood bouncing from one foot to other at the corner of Market and Castro, waiting for the light to change. I was exactly 2 and 1/2 miles in, and had the sweat running down my face to prove it. It was so hot on Monday (and best weekend of the year so far in S.F. for sun and fun) that I was running in a tank top and shorts. I took off my shirt and tucked it into my shorts, using the end to wipe off my forehead. Since I had to take off my headphones to take off my shirt, I was greeted with 7pm traffic - and woots, cat calls and whistles (I was in the heart of the Castro)....I pretended to ignore it, but smiled to myself anyway. It's going to be a great summer.

2007-03-07T09:25:00.000-08:00

Days 32-35 / This is only a test

Please do not adjust your monitor. This is only a test. In the unlikely event of a drop in cabin pressure, airbags will drop from the overhead console. They're filled with Nitrous, so go easy.

Ready?

1: Professor Snoutch is currently:

a) Sick as a dog

b) Still a non-smoker

c) Devastatingly handsome

d) All of the above

Peace and Love -

Prof.

2007-03-03T09:16:00.000-08:00

Days 29-31 / MachoMachoMaaaaaaaaan

Still need to write the complaint letter to Alaska Airlines. I left the Hotel in Boise at 4pm and got home to S.F. at 12:30am. Yeah.

But I'm so hungover now that I haven't got the wherewithal to properly tell the story to do it justice. Another rant for another time.

Anyway, I still haven't smoked.

I'm down to 1 cartridge per day, so that's pretty cool. Did I mention to you guys that I hit it with a Pulmonary Specialist who insists that it's a Wives's tale that lungs repair themselves? Damage done is permanent. I countered his well-educated opinion with my own well-researched and thought out retort:

"Shut up! They do too!" He tried to argue with me, and was really pissed off that I dismissed his statement completely, so I had to distract him.

Even if they don't repair themselves, I feel like 10 times better than when I smoked - so even if it's psychological/psychosomatic, it's working, and I'm not rocking this boat.

I've become more productive at work (shock/dismay) but I do miss the mini 8 minute vacations. I miss my smoking buddies that I only saw when I was outside. The forced camaraderie can't be re-manufactured, and it's too random to just go outside and "just so happen" to run into them. Much like girls getting their cycles in sync, so do smokers. It's a well documented fact (in my mind)!

Random annoyance: Why is OK for two people sitting next to you to have a conversation, but one person sitting next to you having a conversation on a cell phone so fucking annoying? It shouldn't be, but it is. Is it because we're inherently nosy and want to hear both sides to make sense of it all, or just the random bursts of prattle bookended by silence? Discuss.

Anyway, what I really want to talk to you about is the newest social phenomenon to hit our popular culture. Remember, you heard it hear first, in Professor Snoutchland.

You know how straight guys who look like gay guys but aren't gay are/were called "Metrosexual"? Well I have a friend.....KATIE....who wondered what her deal was because she's straight, but just so happens to look like the biggest lesbian on the planet? After many cocktails and herbal treats (medicinal) we've coined the term "Machosexual". I actually came up with it, but we're sharing ownership since it's about her, and girls like her. It's time for them to stand up for their right to look like girls who like girls, even though they like boys...boys who like girls...who like boys...great now that fucking song will be in my head for the rest of the day. Earworm anyone? Enjoy!

Here's a picture of Katie from last night's drunken domino extravaganza. You decide:

That's a man's shirt (she stole it from her gay "Alpha Will"). Now when she wants to, Katie can get cute, all hair and makeupie, dressed like a girl. But when your default gets you picked up on by San Francisco's finest finger friends, then you my friend, are a Machosexual.

2007-02-28T03:33:00.000-08:00

Days 25-28 / Boise Insomnia

Greetings from cold-but-friendly Boise Idaho. It's 4:20 am (yay) and I woke up out of a sound sleep for no reason whatsoever, so here I am, typing to you for sweet solace. I checked in and meandered down to the Lucky Dog for a drink to decompress from traveling. I walked about a mile and my ears were cold by the time I got there.

I walked in to a friendly hello, 4 or 5 locals, and Boy's night on American Idol, as loud as it would go. Immediately awash with the familiarity of the watching A.I. with a group, I sat my ass down, warmed my ass up, and drank a few beers. By the end of the show, I had everybody yelling "Cheers" and taking big swigs of their drinks every time Paula got up to dance, do the "ride-em Cowboy dance" or her big finale, "TOUCHDOWN". I felt comfortable enough to yell "Shut Up Paula!" by the time the show was over, and took off right after it ended.

Boise (pronounced with an "S" not a "Z" btw) is actually pretty cute. I stopped at a few more bars as I made my way back to the Hotel (for warmth, you understand) and was pleasantly surprised by the City Center. I was out kind of early I guess, but still, no body on the street, and the bars were sparsely populated. Oh well, wasn't looking for anything or anyone in particular anyway, but still, kinda quiet.

Granted, it's the shortest month of the year, but a month is a month, and dammit, I'll take it as a win. I think I've made it through the hardest part of ex-smokerdom, the slippery slope aiding in "falling off" successfully salted down for traction (yes, I just wrote that - extended analogies are tricky). Month 2 should be easier, but we shall see. I just popped a fresh cartridge, the last one lasting the majority of the day yesterday, so the stretching has begun.

Can you believe it's almost March???

Prof.

2007-02-24T11:06:00.000-08:00

Days 21-24 / Meh

So I went to San Diego and Mexico with work peeps. Didn't smoke. Didn't get a chance to shop either (sorry Lamar & Josh). They wanted a tortilla hot plate and a bottle of Tequila (I'll let you guess who wanted what). Oh well. Oh, and no refrigerator magnets, sorry Mom.

Got to see Jes and hang out for a while, so that was nice.

Anyway, I didn't smoke.

Prof.

2007-02-20T09:48:00.000-08:00

Days 14-20 / Palm Springs

Still haven't smoked, even after a trip to Palm Springs. Even after demanding (and being denied) a cigarette on one occassion from Todd and two or three occassions from Scott. Got to have supportive friends like these to make it through. They weren't mean about it, but they certainly weren't going to give me a cigarette either. I found that because I couldn't have one from them, and didn't want to bum one off of anybody at the bar, I actually made it through the weekend! I still haven't cheated, fallen off, or even snuck a quick drag off of a smoke. NOTHING. So, 1 day shy of 3 weeks, the second of three quitter check points (3 days, 3 weeks, 3 months). Yay!

Prof.

2007-02-14T10:38:00.000-08:00

Days 12 and 13 / A Pimp is a Pimp

Through the distant bleeting of my alarm clock as it drew nearer, amidst a foggy haze, my mind raced with no body to weigh it down. I opened my eyes and immediately shut them again. 9 minutes can be an eternity or an instant, depending on how loud your snooze alarm, how behind your are at work, and how much Nyquil is left coarsing through your veins. I knew yesterday morning that there was no way I was going in to work, I just couldn't. I was very grateful to discover as I left the requisite voicemails that I sounded as bad as I felt. For the record, it's better to sound like you're trying to be upbeat and have a little sick voice come through than to sound really sick and all "woe is me" when leaving voicemails to the Boss and the world. I'm confident I sound like the former.

I was actually glad I brought my laptop home with me on Monday, because Tuesday was spent at home on sick mode. I can't stand coming back to work to a deluge of email - so I was on it yesterday, during my brief moments of lucidity (thanks Nyquil) just to keep my head above water.

When I woke up this morning, I felt almost the same as yesterday, except with me going out of town tomorrow (Palm Springs), and missing 3 days the following week (San Diego), and two days the week after that (Boise), I had no choice but to suck it up and bring my ass in to work.

I got up, made "breakfast" (Eggs over hard with garlic infused bread/croutons and a giant pot of coffee), and sucked on my inhaler. My hair: reminiscent of Buckwheat; my glasses: dirty and askew, my face: overgrown with stubble and crustaceons; my breath: could melt the metal of the edge of a knife; my attire: no shirt, break-away snap-on sweats, dirty house shoes.

The magic hour struck that underscores that horrible time between waking consciousness and having to start getting ready for reality and I stood, looking like a mad scientist, and strolled down the hall towards my room. My robe counterbalanced my hips as I sauntered down the hallway, sucking on my inhaler. And even though I was haggard, feeling like shit, looking like hell, sounding like I gargled with a chainsaw, I smiled ever so slightly to myself.

"I'm a pimp." I croaked.

I looked as though I were the bastard off-spring of Prince and Hannibal Smith

I don't know why, I just do.

Prof.

2007-02-12T11:26:00.000-08:00

Days 9, 10 & 11 / Smoker's Cough

Well, my lungs have now decided that I've quit long enough for them to begin the lovely repair process. I feel like shit, sound like shit, and of course, look fabulous. Oh well, 1 out of 3 isn't bad considering the circumstances. I'm due to leave town for a long weekend in the Sun on Thursday, due back on Wednesday. The blogs will be consolidated from now on, unless something truly significant happens on a particular day. Also, I'll no longer be sending out the "I've just updated my Blog" emails.

I hope everybody had a nice weekend. I'll write more when I'm less bitchy.

Prof.

2007-02-09T09:42:00.000-08:00

Day 8 / Babbling Like an Idiot (Hi Aunt Sharon!)

Let's remove ourselves from not smoking, nicotrol, roller skating, American Idol and Anna Nicole for a momo, shall we? I'd like to talk about something that really matters: Sociopathic Astronauts.

You ever notice how we automatically assumed that people with the Archetypal jobs that we aspire to have when we're young and idealistic (Astronaut, Fireman, Lawyer, Porn Star, etc...) don't have "regular" problems? When's the last time you saw an Astronaut on Montel Williams? Exactly. Now here we have someone, a "Shining Star" (groan) at NASA, pulling some straight-up Baby's Mama Drama, career-ending Felony because of a maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan. Wow! It's not that I would ever condone such behavior, but do you think this would be so news-worthy if it would've been Sheniqua, working part-time at Walmart, driving cross country to beat some Bitch's ass for stealin' her man? Not bloody likely. It's because this particularly scorned Woman isn't "supposed" to act like that. Our basic foilbles as Humans (jealousy nothwithstanding) continually bring us back to a common denominator. Doesn't matter what you do or who you are...you can still act a complete fool. This should depress me, but it actually makes me feel a lot better. It's nice to know that no matter how well trained, education or monied an individual is, the base of operations for "those people" is comprised of little green Army Men from the planet Ego just like you and me.

And what with her hair? They don't have product in space?

Anyway, it's Friday. The weekend is nigh. Woohoo!

Prof.

2007-02-08T09:46:00.000-08:00

Day 7 / Week 1 Wrap Up

So I'm pretty sure that ending the first week of not smoking by attending a (ready?) dual-birthday, gay, 80's themed, roller skating extravaganza in Redwood City is probably perfect in every way. That's how you wrap up week 1 right there.

I'm was really happy to discover that I actually can still skate, even though I haven't been on a pair in many years. Luckily, the inordinate size of my posterier served as ballast as I leaned forward and from side to side (to the beat 'chall). Let's hear it for fulcrums and levers! Yay!

Hold on...need a fresh cartridge.

Ahhhhhhhhhh. Welcome to flavor country.

So I have to go for a "let's see how he's doing" update in March with my Doctor. When he asks I think I'll just give him my blog address and let him do the research. That'll shut him up. Or have me arrested/committed, whichever.

So I'm thinking I should customize one or more of my inhalers for fun. Yes, I'm that bored with reality. Obviously, I could make one look like huge joint, although that's not the one I'd use while driving...explaining that to an armed Officer of the Law probably isn't near as funny as I imagine. I was thinking I'd ask my roommate as he's very creative. I'm thinking a cigar stub with a big havana label ring. Or we could slap some wings on it and paint little windows for an airplane. "....uh....oh....here comes the airplane....." *airplane noises* "No! I not YIKE the NICOTROL INHALER!" *airplane noises* Sorry everybody, just turned into my Brother Jon circa 1984.

I need to get an ashtray on my desk for the inhaler. Everybody that walks by my office door keeps going, then I can see them stop through the smoked window, back up, and ask "What the hell is that thing in your mouth?" I've given the speech so often that I sound like a commercial. Last time I used it, it was just me and Richelle, so I didn't have the constant barrage of questions. Now I work with 100's of people and it's like, a big deal for some reason. Leave it to me to be on the cutting edge. Snort. So, since I "smoke" it like a cigarette, I should be able to tap it out like one too.

Let me know if you have any custom inhaler ideas. On to week 2!

Prof.

2007-02-07T15:24:00.000-08:00

Day 6 / 666

So I finally am starting to feel the effects of too much nicotine. I'm over-compensating for not smoking by sucking on this damn thing constantly. It was so bad, that yesterday, around 2pm, I started to get the light/sound sensitivity coupled with slight nausea that is the tell-tale signs of a migraine. I haven't had one in several months, and they suck donkey balls.

Anyway, I shut off my radio, closed my blinds, turned off lights (sweet Darlin') and basked in the silent glow of my monitor in an attempt to head it off at the pass.

It held on until I went to bed last night, but this morning I felt better. By the way, I skipped the gym yesterday and went straight home, ate, and laid down, all while not looking at another computer screen and not touching my inhaler until this morning. I think that helped tremendously.

Almost a week....moooohooooohahahahaha!

Prof.

2007-02-05T22:20:00.000-08:00

Day 5 / Monday Meh

So here's the deal. I actually wanted Monday to suck. I wanted to have a freak out bunch of crazy crap happen, and then lay out my gripes here, in the Snoutch forum. Yeah, I had my challenges, but nothing insurmountable. So, in an effort not to bore you to death, here is a picture of a cat with a football helmet made from a lime. Hopefully, tomorrow something hellish will happen so I may bemoan my existence with the proper amount of wallowing. Wait, did I just write that?

Prof.

2007-02-05T15:47:00.000-08:00

Day 4 / Superbowl Sunday

Hey it's hectic, so here's the long and the short of it. I didn't smoke. I am insane. Prince is a God. Pan's Labyrinth was fantastic and I got to "smoke" in the theatre thanks to Nicotrol.

Eno cha cha chi chi, hey boy, hey boy.

Prof.

2007-02-04T11:55:00.000-08:00

Day 3 / Gotta Gotta Nah Nah Nah

No big news to report...still haven't smoked. Not sending this out to everybody, because it's going to be short and sweet. Went to the new Bloomngdale's downtown yesterday just to check it out. Meh.

Bought some new shoes at Ross and now I'm debating whether or not to meander down to my watering hole and watch to Superbowl. Not because I care, but because Prince is doing the half-time show, and that's worth it right there.

Anyway, Happy Sunday!

Prof.

2007-02-03T13:36:00.000-08:00

2007-02-03T13:10:00.000-08:00

Day 2 / Pushing the limits

Ok, without getting too far gone, let's just say it right out loud, right out front: I still haven't smoked.

That said, I put myself into 3 separate situations where I wanted to smoke so bad I almost passed out from hyperventilating (thanks stupid breathing trick...I sounded like Bill Cosby "Himself" impersonating his Wife giving birth as I walked down Valencia toward home. People were looking at me like "....um....ok....".

I was at a work happy hour (strike 1) and made it all of 45 minutes before I had to excuse myself.

I skipped working out (strike 2) so I could get my hair cut and still make it to happy hour on time.

I got [censored] just before I got there (strike 3) and as a result I was so [censored], even my [censored] was [censored].

So you understand of course, I was setting myself up to fail. Failure. Is there more horrible word in the English language?

I just had to recognize something last night. I am at constant odds with my halves, want vs. need, ego vs. id, fish vs. cut bait, the list goes on and on. I discovered during this insane conversation with myself that one side continually beat the other one's ass all up and down the virtual landscape, until the submission hold and guilt torrent drowns me entirely. I was simply sick of losing to myself. To my will and lack therein.

So, I put the kibosh on two more activities planned for the evening...one involving drinking with friends on a Friday (...whoops), the other involving picture rattling, neighbor pounding on the wall/ceiling/floor sex (...quintuple whoops) and stayed home eating Joe's O's and watching "X-Play". I ended up falling asleep to the docile tones of David Caruso's Horatio Cane, comic pausing, head tilting, camera chewing "Here's what I want you to do..."

I felt better when I woke up. I still wanted a cigarette, but that looming doom, dread and irrational fear had released its mighty grip. I got up this morning, made myself a huge potato, egg, garlic and cheese omelet and watched Motorweek.

I will make it through day 3. I don't have a choice.

Prof.

2007-02-02T12:47:00.000-08:00

Bonus Day 1 post -

My Brother suggested I rerun an old commercial idea I had for the nicotrol inhaler...enjoy!

I can see the commercial now:

Setting: A rolling ranch with a Montana "Big Sky" backdrop. A pseudo-Marlboro man rides up a dusty path from a distance. You can only see the hat and hear the hooves as they pound down the dirt trail.

Cut to a busy city office sector in Manhattan where Latonya Jackson (Homegirl) and Riley Sommersdale (Flaming Homo) jump off of a full elevator as soon as the door opens, knocking people over. Behind them saunters Everyman, loosely following their path.

Cut back to the Pseuboro Man, who is now crossing the George Washington Bridge on his trusty steed into Manhattan. Instead of the classic, confident, good looking Cowboy that big tobacco painted him to be for all of those years, we're greeted with a close up that looks almost exactly (but not enough to get sued) like a Ring Wraith from Lord of the Rings. The horse snorts menacingly as the scene fades.

Cut back to Latonya, Riley and Everyman, who finally make it to their precious 5 foot by 8 foot smoking "courtyard" that is packed with zombie-esque smokers, all dragging and blowing in Puppetmaster unison. Latonya & Riley karate chop and drop-kick their way into the smoldering throng, light up and clear a path for Everyman. He starts to reach in his pocket when everyone is startled silent by the insane braying of a mutant horse, and the man who sits upon it. He jumps off the horse *tense music* [heel-spur-heel-spur shot on his cowboy boots as he approaches everyman].

"Cigarette?" says the Cowboy, pulling out a pack with one raised an inch higher than the other 19.

Long pause. Everyman slowly pulls the Nicotrol Inhaler from his pocket and though scared, he bravely says: "No. Nicotrol." *horse whinny and snort*

Riley: "Nico-what?"

Latonya: "Nico-please!"

Cowboy: "Nicotrol?"

Everyman: "Nicotrol."

Fade to black with Nicotrol logo and fast talking medical legalese. Cut back to Riley and Latonya, all of the other smokers in the background, everybody using the Nicotrol Inhaler.

Riley: "Nico-what?"

Latonya: "Nico-please!"

Fade to black with Nicotrol logo and slogan.

Nicotrol. "Because quitting sucks."

Yeah, so I'm insane. Whatever.

Nico-please cracks me up. It's all "More Ovaltine Please!" warm and fuzzy in print. I could probably skate it past the suits up top, but marketing may be hip enough to stop me.

Or a simple one sheet that would steal from another popular campaign:

2007-02-02T10:35:00.000-08:00

Ok, so Day 1 went off without any hitches - I didn't fall off, not even once, but I didn't really expect to - I even tested my mettle by going to a gay bar in the Castro and drinking copious amounts of alcohol. Still iron-plated, so yay for that.

As I come to on these colder-than-normal San Francisco mornings, I am always greeted by Princess Fluffy Pants. She waits outside of my door in the hallway, knowing that the alarm she hears means that soon I'll shuffle out of my room. While I'm not one for pets personally, I have to give it to this cat, she's definitely got personality. Anyway, she mews at me every morning, not a "Good morning" meow, but a "Finally! Jeez! Now let me outside dammit!" Meow. See like every smoker on the planet, I would immediately go outside and smoke a cigarette after having my nicotine level deplete from my system while I slept.

Normally she's locked in the house all day, so the 45 minutes to an hour that I become fabulous each morning is the only chance she has during the week to go hunt in the garden until either my roommate (her owner) or I get home from work in the evening. So it's unfair of me to not let her keep that routine, even though I'm no longer predisposed to sit out there sucking on a coffin nail watching the civilized version of Animal Kingdom that I've witnessed since I've lived in San Francisco. I let her out and she turns and looks at me like "What? You're not coming? Who's going to watch me hunt? WTF?"

I do hope she's not taking it personally. When it's warmer, I'll sit out there with a cup of coffee and the inhaler, pretending to be flummoxed by her putting paw prints on my windshield of my car, while actually secretly thinking it's cute.

As I walked the 12 blocks to the 'Stro, I had it dangling from my mouth (the inhaler not the cat) watching passers-by stare at me like "I know this is a hip City, but you're being kind of bold, aren't you?" stamped on their faces. Everybody thinks it's weed, or a crack pipe, or some dubious doppelganger. For those of you who don't know what it looks like, the jury is still pretty divided. My Mom says it looks like a suppository, and my friend Scott (Reality Cubed - check it, he's funny) thinks it looks like a tampon. You decide:

See those clear plastic cartridges on the bottom left of the picture? The sponge in the center is soaked with Nicotine. Since this device helped me to quit smoking for 6 full months (without falling off the wagon ONCE!) last year, I can say it is powerful. Makes me wonder if their marketing department is missing a couple of boats though. Why don't they market this thing to current smokers who have no plans to quit? They could sell these to smokers who take very long plane rides as a crutch until they get where they're going. It would certainly go a long way to stave off the neurosis a lot of flyers get when confined to a small tube for cross country or intercontinental trips don't you think? It would cut back on the snot-slingin' drunks that are over-compensating with alcohol because they can't have a ciggie for sure. Just a thought.

They could also soak the sponge with other stuff, like medicinal marijuana, methadone or Calvin Klein's Obsession for that matter. The possibilities are truly endless. Any other ideas?

Prof.

Day Zero / Deja Voodoo

2007-02-01T01:05:00.001-08:00

Not really sure how to begin this. I'm actually suckling at the tit of one of the freshly pierced Nicotrol inhaler cartridges as I type on my keyboard.

Ah. Quitting. Again.

I'm actually stoked about it. Working out for the last year has seemed somehow hypocritical because I smoked. Ya'll catch that use of the past tense? Yeah, I'm already an ex-smoker. I think the period is 1 year before you go from "ex-smoker" to "non-smoker". I'll have to consult my rule book, but that does sound about right.

So here is resolve and resolution. Here I am at the beginning again. I think it's fitting that I smoked my last cigarette just after American Idol tonight. My friend Miles smoked his last cigarette the Day Clinton got elected for a second term. I quit when drunk Paula showed me her bling. Oh well.

Day zero.

Ready? Go!

I refuse to gain weight this time. So my gym schedule of 3 days on, 1 day off is changing to 6 days on, one day off. Come 7/7/7 my body will look like Daniel Craig's, dammit. I'm almost there (not really, but if you squint in a funhouse mirror with bad lighting, then yeah) so it's feasible if go 'head and git mine.

I have an old school IBM keyboard with force feedback and solid clakkity action. I love it. But it does make a lot of noise and it's almost 1am, so I'm going to stop.

Wish me luck people. Tomorrow's Day 1. May God have mercy on us all.

Prof.

Samsung Blackjack / Product Placement Woes

2006-12-09T10:38:00.000-08:00

As you probably already know, I'm obsessed with electronics...I recently upgraded from the ATI Multimedia Center (you may know it by it's alternate title "Crap-o-rama" for my PC to Windows Media Center Edition. I also got an Nvidia Dual-Tuner card to excise ATI from my computer entirely. I couldn't be more thrilled. Everything worked perfectly out of the box (knock wood).

While the above may appear as gobbledegook to some, trust me, having absolute control over everything you see and hear is a nirvana from which none can recover. After experiencing the rare occurrence where something happens to work exactly the way it's supposed to is spoiling us, really. No challenge in that, huh? Well I wouldn't be honest if I said that I have absolute control per se, because this post was actually spawned by a rather frightening vision soon to afflict us all.

My newest obsession is a Windows Smart Phone. Actually, I just want a new gadget because I've been extra good this year. Don't need a phone, have a phone. Don't need a PDA, have 2 and a Blackberry on the way (from work) so why in the hell would I be reading about the new Samsung Blackjack with such great interest? Because it's freakin' cool that's why:

Professor Snoutch quick stats:

Microsoft® Windows Mobile 5.0 Edition(TM)
Cingular Music, Cingular Video and MEdia Net capable
Mobile versions of Microsoft® Office(TM) applications
Windows Media Player® 10 Mobile
Bluetooth 2.0® wireless connectivity
Simultaneous voice and data capabilities
Quad-band world phone with dual-band UMTS/HSDPA
Slim design PDA with full QWERTY keyboard
1.3 MP camera with 2x zoom and video
Microsoft® Direct Push for real-time email delivery
Mobile Outlook®, Word®, Excel®, PowerPoint®, and PDF support
Email - Xpress Mail, Good Mobile Messaging, ActiveSync, and more
Synchronize your desktop and calendar wirelessly
Hands-free loudspeaker and microphone
Instant messaging capabilities
Fast loading full HTML web browser

Now that's pretty cool enough on it's own merit, right? One would think so, but what happens when you're able to draw another connection to a device just based on a name?

Puckey Huddle, MO. It was the mid-80's and I was with my family in my Grandparent's 13 room farm house. It was cold, and Trivial Pursuit was all the rage. We all sat in the kitchen, 9 or 10 of us, all crouched around the game board. My Mom and Aunt Susan were team captains, and it was my Mom's turn to read a question. It was a "Sports" category question, and to paraphrase, it was the rather pedestrian "Name the card game where the object is to get to 21". At the moment my Mom finished reading the question, my Grandfather, a great tower of a Man, burst through the kitchen door after stoking the furnace in the basement. With a great booming voice that only a 30-year retiree of the automotive industry could have, he bellowed "Blaaaaaaaaaaackjaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!!!!!!!!!" with one finger pointed toward the sky. It was such an exciting moment for him, that his narcolepsy took hold and he passed out standing on his two feet, head slumped over and finger still in a "number one" position raised high above his head. We all jumped up to grab him before he fell over and walked/drag/hoisted him over to his beloved couch. Everyone on that side of the family has a touch of narcolepsy to varying degrees and that story has generated the family's battle cry for "I have had enough!" or "Shut up!" or "I have a serious medical condition!" or "I know Final Jeopardy!" Really the possibilities are endless.

So of course, my unique perspective with the word itself automatically merged Samsung's new device with that memory, and I'm ashamed to say, I could vividly see my Grandfather with a photoshopped Blackjack in his hand, as he calls it's name so loud it scares my Mom into dropping the card, he'd be colorized slightly different, like Fred Astaire in those God-awful vacuum cleaner commercials. Zoom in on the Blackjack and lower the audio of us all freaking out and grabbing him and cue the announcer..."Everyone's Invited" with that rather lame "DigitALL" logo/graphic thing.

So here's the question, is my automatic product placement of something so sacred as one of my own memories proof that we're all going to eventually go insane? Are those few and far between psychos that we lock away from the rest of us really just the next step in the evolutionary ladder?

Or is it just me? Don't answer, it's probably the most rhetorical question I've ever asked. In fact, I almost just erased it but its existence lives on somehow.

Either way, the Samsung Blackjack is available now from Cingular, and I'm Professor Snoutch.

It's the little things

2006-10-27T08:39:00.000-07:00

So Wednesday I went and had 20 years of smoking and 35 years of just l-i-v-i-n' burned off of my enamel using the patented ZOOM! whitening system.

I go into the Dentist, and they put me in a room and start shoving things in my mouth...well, why should today be any different? Just kidding.

Anyway, by the time they're done, you look like a super villain from some twisted nightmare. I almost changed my costume from Green Lantern to this:

Now that's what I call a costume! Mooohooohooohaaaaahaaaaaa...

Yes, I had the nurse take a picture. She thought I was insane, but I think one can find humor in such an absurd situation.

What isn't pictured is the the ZOOM! cannon. It looks like a dust-buster on a lamp pole, except the end isn't rectangular, it's round, and they shove it into your mouth with no remorse (I wish I had a dollar...whoops, digressing). It fires up its super bright fluorescent lights, and torch-worthy heater, and melts the baddies off of your teeth. The first round was 15 minutes, and I started to get up and leave after she dislodged it from my face. She's like:

"Oh we have two more rounds to go..."

The second time around, I started to feel shooting pains as my nerves became exposed to the heat mixed with the peroxide paste. The third time, I bit through the plastic chomp thing (not kidding) in an effort to man-up and just take it.

The things we do for beauty.

I side-stepped her pitch to sell me the numbing gel (It's my opinion that she should've just given it to me, bunch a greedy Bastards) and walked from Downtown San Francisco all the way to SOMA Gold's. I worked out ok, taking it easy, reeling a bit here and there from the sudden random bolts of pain. Then I got on the treadmill...Every time I exhaled, it would send air rushing over the exposed nerves. After almost launching myself into the row of machines behind me, I decided I should probably stop. I made it six minutes.

I walked all the way home to the Mission, so I did get a little bit of cardio that day, but was in too much pain to go to dinner as I'd planned. Considering I can't have coffee, red wine, cigarettes, anything that would stain a white shirt, I pretty much resigned myself to take two aspirin and go to bed early.

Yesterday was better, although still a little painful. I came home from the gym about 7 and was watching T.V. when Lamar came home. We hung out a little while until our Houseguest and her 2 year old son made it back to the homestead. We all hung out and planned for the big party on Saturday. Patty made it over pitstopping between parties and we all were just hanging out when Krista (our Houseguest) suddenly remembered something and looked at me mournfully. I could tell by the seriousness of her face that something was dreadfully wrong, and I braced myself for the worst:

"Jason, you have a toy train in your Subwoofer. The hole was just big enough. I'm really sorry."

I laughed until it hurt and I'm laughing about it as I write this. Quite literally and figuratively, it's the little things in life.

Have a nice weekend.

Guilty conscience cure

2006-10-19T12:15:00.000-07:00

Hey -

Ever done anything that sucked or is/was generally viewed as dastardly even by today's relatively low standards? Well I write to you today with a cure...

http://teamacs.acsevents.org/site/TR?px=1541715&pg=personal&fr_id=2132

Kind regards,

Professor Snoutch

Phonecams were invented for a reason

2006-10-10T14:38:00.000-07:00

Ok, this is how you can tell you're having a good time, when a picture doesn't need a caption. When you can look into the eyes of the subjects and get all the information you ever need know. This was from the debauchery that was Josh's birthday party on Friday...Fireworks and "cookies" notwithstanding, it was the most fun I've had in a very long time. We terrorized two restaurants, a bar, an entire apartment community, and all stops in between. Brava, my good man, Josh, nicely done! I know you'll enjoy 29 as much as I did last year.

A note to Lamar - yes, it's your shirt, I've already washed it and put it back! Hope you don't mind! For the record, I was extra cute that night so it was well worth it.

For anyone that's ever met my Dad...the resemblence is kinda frightening, no? Also, didn't sport the hat, that's Stephen's - I just put it on for the picture.

Bonus pic...Mom sprang this one on me Saturday...I believe she refers to him lovingly as "Chef Boy". I think she might have a slight crush.

The Upside of Business Travel

2006-09-28T23:36:00.000-07:00

I finally got sick of staring at T.V. and turned it off in disgust. Not even the Simpsons or Jeopardy could satisfy me. I went into the bedroom of the suite and took off my clothes.

I put on the waffle cotton robe after changing into my trunks and headed for the hot tub, stopping at the kitchen and cracking the last beer. I drank the whole six pack in under an hour, and was still perfectly coherent. After all, they were Michelob Ultras, so their effect was paltry. Still, its non-guilt inducing mini-sorta-kinda buzz outweighs its lack verve, to be sure.

I was alone in the spa, sole occupant of the entire pool area. The pool was one floor above street level, giving an exotic perspective to my surroundings. On the other side of the ankle high fence separating the Hotel from the rest of Hillcrest was a street with sporadic traffic. It was just after dusk, and the night took on that magic motif, becoming all things to all people as color and light start to play their illusions. Easing into the hot tub and turning to the fence now at eye-level, feeling myself relax; I took a big pull from the beer and exhaled slowly. Normally, traffic noises wouldn’t exactly be labeled as soothing, but mixed with the jazz coming from the Hotel speakers up at that perfect “I can hear it but it’s not taking over my world” volume level, the slings and arrows my previous temporary home wrought began to dislodge from my fur-lined stress case.

Laying with the base of my skull at the edge it was the only part of my body touching the outside world as I floated the rest in a “The Anatomy of Man” pose, staring at the sky. One of the jets was below me, massaging the knot that camps where my neck meets my spine.

A gnome walked through my mind, shuffling his little feet and mumbling to himself. Every few feet or so, he would come to a grey breaker box, throw it open with a grunt, and start flipping switches. The first box he came to was labeled “The Next Day at Work”, and the stress of planning, schmoozing and bullshitting all instantly stopped occupying my active thought nebulae. The next was lit in neon, appropriately, considering it said “The giant hickey on your neck that you can see from The I.S.S. with the naked eye lovingly (read: drunkenly) bestowed upon you by a bald hottie WITH THE SAME NAME AS YOU in Madison, WI.” (Hey, it’s figurative and it was a long box with one really long “Prince of Persia” breaker, alright?)

Regardless of the juvenile tell-tale tail, I had a good enough time to forego the frozen spoon and curling iron mishap facade, as it paled in comparison to the Gnome’s valiant efforts. Little feet dangling as he hung from the lever and eventually; boom, boom, boom, boom…out went the lights.

I quit obsessing. The Gnome stopped at a little red stool and caught his breath as I took another big pull from the beer and lit a smoke.

The only noise that hadn’t supplanted itself into my background soundtrack was the very occasional hollow drumbeat of the flap of the filter door caused by the undulating water. Seeing the Palm Trees as I tried to glean a beat from the irregular boop made me think it sounded like a coconut hitting a rock on a forgotten beach, in a place where time has no clout.

Business Travel Log_Phoenix0906

2006-09-21T10:06:00.000-07:00

So on Wednesday last week, I left work early, because I still had some errands to do before jumping on the plane. I still didn't feel 100% (I had been fighting a cold/migraine/something for a week), so I was moving slow and wanted to give myself extra time.

The two day event in Phoenix was as expected, some nice surprises candidate wise, but toward the end of day two on Friday, it had all but petered out.

So, I wrapped everything up and arranged to have it shipped directly to Madison, WI, for my next career fair on Tuesday. I get dropped off at the airport 3 hours before my flight, confident I could just hop on an earlier one. No such luck. Have I mentioned that Phoenix Airport Terminal 2 is the straight up most ghetto, falling down, hot, brown, ugly space I've inhabited since I accidentally walked into Walmart on St. Charles Rock Road in St. Louis 15 years ago?

I felt like a set designer somewhere was REALLY going for something. It was so rife with medocrity that any framed photo with a beer-bellied, cowboy shoe wearing republican with his big haired, big tit, big mouthed wife standing in front of a gate counter would be successfully labeled "American Squalor", and Terminal 2 wasn't running short on subjects. For 3 hours, I endured gate changes, CNN as LOUD as it could go (11?) nattering, nonsensical yammering from the pre-pubescent, and the Willy Loman soliloquies shouted into blackberries. If Satan's listening, Hell has a new benchmark, and it is Terminal 2.

I didn't want to be one of "those guys" but I did have the need and the means to check my email (and 3 hours to kill) so I booted up the Sopwith Camel and as I was rifling through my briefcase I realized that my Recruiting Binder, where all of the resumes, my itineraries (I'm traveling to 4 schools in 3 states in as many weeks for recruiting fairs, shipping the booth display from town to town ahead of me, doing the "Hotel" thing for two solid weeks, so you can imagine what's in there) was gone! At first, I thought it somehow got thrown into the booth boxes and shipped ahead of me, but after some checking (read: thinking) I remember I had it when I checked in. So I wrapped everything up, went back down to the front desk and luckily they had it right there. So I go back through security (big fun), go back to my seat and just let the cacophony wash over me as I became numb with relief.

The plane departed and arrived 1/2 hour late to SFO, and I was supposed to go to a party right when I got home, so the split second I could get off of that plane, I bolted for Bart like a madman. If Doris Day ever had to take the airport shuttle to BART, the cars would show up right as she approached the platform. I've had Doris moments before, but this was scary perfect. Within 15 minutes of the plane landing, I was 4 Bart Stops away from ripping the suit off of my body (no choice but to travel in a suit this time, even with 3 hours to spare, I wouldn't have dared changing in those bathrooms...I've seen nicer bathrooms in Rest Stops) and shower in my own shower, and put on clean clothes and go see my friends.

I got home about 20 minutes later, greeted my roommate and started to finally decompress from the new stress that is the post-9/11 traveler's bane. I had a beer and jumped in the shower. I let the steam fill my pours and reached instinctively for shampoo, and it was nice to have some of my fluids/liquids/aerosol/lighter/dignity freedom back. As I relished this Calgon moment, this wet nirvana, I reached for the body wash...and screamed a profanity I dare not repeat for fear of actually summoning the hell fire demon that haunts me.

I was in such a hurry to get the FUCK out of the Airport that it just so happen to slip my mind that I LEFT MY ENTIRE GIGANTIC CHECKED SUITCASE WHIRLING AROUND THE BAGGAGE CLAIM.

I'll just let that sink in.

Yeah.

I was returning voicemails and text messages on BART, just La Ti Da, surrounded by excited visitors and homecomers all with their suitcases, all secretly sharing the joke. They knew I forgot my suitcase, I can tell by the mischevious gleam I remember from my consipiracy laden memory. I'm just sure of it. Somebody sat across the aisle from me, saw I had a briefcase and no bag, along with the "oh Christ he was at Phoenix Airport Terminal 2" weary head-bobble, realized what I had been through, and deduced that I was so "done" with life, the universe and everything, that I had left my bag on the carousel, and said nothing! FOR SHAME fellow traveler! For shame.

So, I promptly freak out, and start calling the Airline. Leave a voicemail. Voicemail's full. Call the booking agent. We can't connect calls. Call the airport. They're separate and won't pick up the phone.

My COACH BELT was in that damn suitcase! *Freaking*

I did the only thing I could do until the skeleton crew that couldn't be bothered to listen to the voicemail messages were replaced by this morning with a full compliment of employees eager to also let the phone go to voicemail: I went out and got completely totally, out of my mind, haven't partied this hard in a LONG TIME, wasted!

For those of you who don't know, this weekend in San Francisco is the LOVEFEST (today) and The Folsom Street Fair (tomorrow). There are some party monsters in our fair metropolis and apparently, I'm one of 'em.

I ended up at Giant for the first time, dancing for what felt like the first time in a year. 3 DJs, a party bus, treats for tricks and people who know how to shut the fuck up and have a good time.

I got home this morning at 7.

Don't ask.

It was at the Airport, waiting for me.

Coachbelt too.

Going to take a little NAP now.

Prof.

Give 'em the pickle

2006-09-07T12:10:00.000-07:00

Ok, so we inherited a bunch of Management training propaganda from our Corporate Office to be housed in my office as a "lending library". Fair enough. Nothing quite like having "Who moved my Cheese?" on audio disk.

I was thumbing through the repertoire cassettes and VHS tapes when I came across "Give 'em the pickle!" After tittering like a school girl, I actually read the box. OMG. Check it:

Um....yeah. No wonder we're all getting screwed by Corporate America...it's in the fucking instruction manual!

Prof.

Lazy Bear 06_The Third Morning

2006-08-07T09:13:00.000-07:00

The weather knows the weekend is over - as I type this on the veranda, I'm chilled with a layer of grey fog. The City beckons us home, and since I've never, ever been this hungover, I'm inclined to oblige.

Why drunker than "normal"? Well, yesterday our trifecta (Frank left yesterday morning) was joined by 8 people, 4 were planned, and uh...4 weren't. Since one of the group was Josh, (who I'm convinced is the living embodiment of the Greek God of Wine, Dionysus) I somehow ended up passed the fuck out at 6 in the evening, sleeping through to 3am. Lamar lost his camera, and I lost my damned mind. Did I mention that the triple R has a mudslide machine? No? Well lay by the pool for 5 hours sucking those puppies down and a whole lot can be explained, fo sho.

No pics unfortunately (or is that a good thing?) so no incriminating evidence...yay!

Ok, time to clean up, pack up, and head on down the road. Need to be perfectly clear, I'm making this a staple in my Gay events diet. I've never been anyplace like this, everybody's friendly, it's a tweaker-free zone, Bears actually eat when they get hungry, and we went through two cases of champagne. I'll have to quote Lisa Luter and say "Actually Christy, they have nice lines, and a fun, frisky use of color. All in all, I'd say they're not bad."

Prof.

Lazy Bear 06_The Second Morning

2006-08-06T09:08:00.000-07:00

We started out the day yesterday with a good 'ol fashioned big ass breakfast, eggs and potatoes (That IIIIIIIIIIIIII made BTW) and then packed up our gear and headed to the highlands, a cute new clothing optional resort at the top of the hill.

After baking in the absolutely perfect sun, we wandered down to the Triple R for some carousing. I distinctly remember hearing the new pickup line permeating throughout the throngs of Bears, Cubs and Otters - "Hey what are you looking at, Sugar Tits?"

Bar crawled our way through town and stumbling home for dinner - Chicken Damascus. Once more into the breach, dear friends and two bonfire stops later, I ended the ending chatting up a very cute 20 year old (before I knew how old he was, not that it matters).

How drunk I was played no part in my internal GPS guiding me home to the luxury that is the first comfortable fold out couch I've ever slept on. Today promises to be ridonkulous. We shall see.

Lazy Bear 06_The First Morning

2006-08-05T09:34:00.000-07:00

I jumped in my car and a second later, all that remained was a cartoon-inspired smoke silhouette. I hit the 101 and traffic, Bob Seeger (arguably Bear-y) blaring and top down. Sun shining and 2 hours later, I arrived at my destination.

Lamar, David, his friend Frank who moved here from New York YESTERDAY and I all ate like Kings. Barbecued veggies, real burgers and corn on the cob eating too, not that half-ass vacation "make do" eating. We played hearts until the sun fell down on the river. Our cottage has 20 foot vaulted ceilings and all the modern amenities, so we're not left wanting for anything.

Showers and a discard pile, we're stumbling out the door down Neely toward the bonfire before heading on the bars on the strip. 3 rounds later, we find ourselves back at the bonfire, which had morphed into the hottest spot in the City (pun intended).

Casualties: My head hurt, yo. And both Frank and I lost our cell phones. This is me caring.

Can't wait to go to the pool party! Too bad we missed bingo with the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, but I'm sure today will be fun nonetheless.

Prof.

Two words: Hose Nose

2006-07-28T14:13:00.000-07:00

Found this at strangenewproducts.com

Um...yeah...."Hose Nose". Have a nice weekend!

Nose Candy of a Sugary Kind
by Steve, Monday, July 10, 2006
Why couldn't they've had stuff like this when I was a kid?"Hose Nose" is a new offering from San Diego, CA-based Kandy Kastle. The nose is filled with "Candy Slime". It appears to have elastic straps on the back, as if you're supposed to wear it over your real nose.The package is marked, "Catch It On Your Tongue", presumbly allowing you to wear a novelty nose that leaks sugary mucus on your mouth. A different kind of nose candy!Now and then I'll see a two-year old kid with real mucus running out of his/her nose and over their lips. Kandy Kastle would like us to never grow up.

OH you have got to be kidding me!

2006-07-26T09:35:00.000-07:00

Lance Bass: 'I'm Gay'
Announcement Comes Amid Reports of Singer's Relationship With Reality-Show Star

Professor Snoutch: 'Duh'
Announcement Comes Amid Reports of Blogger's Rudimentary Perception Skills

http://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/story?id=2237998&page=1

Next up,

Paris Hilton: 'I'm a whore'

Film at 11.

Selection Perception/Deception

2006-07-11T12:04:00.000-07:00

So I was working until 7:15pm last night, slaving over a hot desk, uphill both ways in 5 feet of snow, before I convinced myself to get the hell out of here. I went to the gym and did abs, chest and tri's, then sauntered (more limped, really) over the wide open array of cardio equipment. By the time I made it to this portion of the work out, it was nearly 8:15, so only 15-20% of the machines were taken. I only do the eliptical or the treadmill, because I hate the bike and the "real" stair master is up too high and makes for a good vertigo episode. I think the only thing more embarrassing than being flung from a cardio machine would be at the ab crunch machine, when you hit your 27th rep, your stomach contracts as you've instructed it to do, but a little more than your ass anticipated, and you end up shaking the mirrored walls with the kind of butt-flapping Fart that only super-crunches and a gym full of hot guys looking literally and figuratively down their freshly clamped noses at you, tittering appropriately, can possibly accomplish.

Not that it's ever happened to me personally mind you. My neurosis is such that I'm able to be embarrassed by things that might happen someday, no matter how unlikely. It's a rare gift, abundant with colorful, multi-camera angle delusions, background music, and of course, the Director's commentary. If I spoke Spanish, my mental on-screen display would most certainly have an "SAP" option. As usual, I digress...

So I'm sauntering down the eliptical aisle, deciding on which machine will administer the day's torture, and it hits me: They're identical, so why not just get on the first one available? Because I need to feel it, right? This one's too close to that hot guy, or that one's too close to that sweaty, smelly guy, or this one's too deep, that one's too close to the front, that one's too far, too close to the TV, blah blah blah. What the hell is wrong with us that we need to feel out a machine that is in every way identical to its neighbor? We do it when we pick out our desk at the beginning of the school year, we do it when we decide on an ATM machine. WHY? And it's only some of us that do it. I watched. Some people just go straight to the first "thing" they come to, perform a function and move on. What is this psychosis? Well, I'll tell you what it is:

It's all about the slot machine. Those that shop through the various clones of machines to get a feel for the correct one, is because that machine will give them the best possible results (even if it is on a subconscious level), because you never know what's gonna hit in the casino when there are rows and rows of identical Wheel of Fortune machines, right? You have to have your internal divining rod point you to the one that's close enough to the door but deep enough into the casino that Management preprogrammed to hit when the next dollar gets pulled, right? In your mind, you're trying to pick the machine that some poor schlub just dropped $437 on before walking away defeated...that's the one that's going to hit, not the one next to it, right?

So, we take our gambling ideology with us to apply to other, more mundane selections. This cardio machine will force me to lose an extra 100 calories...this ATM won't keep my card, or be out of envelopes.

What does it mean? What do we do with this information?

How nuts am I to even observe something like this?

That last one is rhetorical.

Prof.

Century Mark

2006-07-10T12:31:00.000-07:00

Well, here we are, me writing and you reading my 100th blog posting. In the sitcom world, 100 episodes is the magic number before you can go into syndication. I'm pretty sure the blog world is much higher. Primarily because of quality issues, like, for instance, me devoting such a special blog to a psychotic rant as opposed to some sort of retrospective, the written equivalent of the cheesy "Clip Show". I can NEVER look back, always bravely facing my future challenges with aplomb. That said, have I mentioned that I have an appointment next week to get on the Nicotrol Inhaler (again)? Perhaps I can do a countdown to smokelessness (again) and shove the Hello Kitty-looking suppositories up my nose for a decidely Walrus-veneer (and yet and still, again). But that's next week - until then a brief news story and then my spin below.

Remaking Grease 2Posted Tuesday, July 04 2006 @ 05:29 AM PDT by Peter ScirettaFiled under: Rumors

Paramount are considering remaking Grease 2, according to reports.

Sky News is reporting that the studio has plans to remake the sequel with some added new songs and a stronger script.This doesn't make much sense. Why not remake the first film. You know, the successful one? Why remake one of the biggest musical flops of all time? I mean the movie is currently getting a 3.3 on imdb.com, while the original is getting a 6.8.I'm sure that the cult success of Disney's television movie High School Musical spawned these developments.Grease 2 was made in 1982, and starred Michelle Pfeiffer, Maxwell Caulfield, Adrian Zmed and Maureen Teefy.Taking place two years after Grease, the graduating class of 1961 at Rydell High suddenly find themselves with a new classmate: Michael Carrington - the English cousin of Australian Sandy (in Grease)! Michael has the hots for Pink Lady leader Stephanie Zinone and, after being warned that all Pink Ladies are property of local hoods (named the T-Birds), he decides that he must either lure Stephanie away from gang life - or become a greaser himself.

Um. REMAKING Grease 2? ARE THEY FUCKING INSANE? I know, I know it's a rumor and I should treat it as such, but to be honest, this isn't beyond the scope of of possibilities is it? I mean, let's look at what Hollywood's "dream-makers" have attempted to remake, and ended up butchering (for the most part) -

The Manchurian Candidate (lame)
The Stepford Wives (lame)
King Kong (lame, sorry Peter, but lame)
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (meh)
The Italian Job (quite good, actually)
Freaky Friday (Oh hell no, love you Jamie, but huh uh)

The list goes on and on and on....and when you research it, you discover that this isn't something new, Hollywood has been remaking movies since it started making them in the first place. Add high-powered, heavily funded, low-brow common demoninator catering, no-taste having Hollywood execs to the mix and you get remakes of the wrong movies, and movie versions of TV shows that have no business being movies in the first place -

Dukes of Hazzard
Beverly Hillbillies
Bewitched
Flintstones (and part two??? REALLY?)

Until now, I've been able to turn up my nose at these atrocities and just let the lemmings take up less space in my theatre showing actual movies that actually have a far less-likelyhood to suck. But now I have to draw a line in the sand and say "NO MORE"!

___________________________________________________________________

You see that line guys? HUH? Everything on this side is protected from shill-shellacking, you may not pass! Hold on, I don't think I'm getting my point across let me get my Sir Ian McKellen on right quick - *AHEM* - "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" The following are protected in perpetuity from your grubby little paws, in no particular order:

Grease 2 - Picture Lindsay Lohan singing "Cool Rider". Can't do it, can you? That's why you can't remake it.
Time Bandits - I dare say this is in someone's dream pipe line. Hands off, I mean it.
Buckaroo Banzai - Quaduple Ditto
Ice Pirates - Sucks so bad it was actually entertaining. No touchy!
Up the Creek - Tim Matheson "I need a shower, a shave, a good meal and and good Woman". Sheer eloquence.
Meatballs - I don't think they would, but just in case.

Help me add to the list people! What movie can never be remade with reworked dialogue and "modernization"???

The Blank Page

2006-06-26T10:20:00.000-07:00

Staring out at the blank page, rife with ideas and for so long, unable to express them. I was befuddled with a white-hot need to express myself and haven't felt like I would be doing myself justice before this moment.

Righting ships and fixing wagons,
Best foot forward, slaying dragons,
Writing prose to paint mental pictures
Exposing all of life's plumbing and fixtures

I'm working on a theory that we become the character we played in elementary school plays. Some of us Princesses, some of us trees. If you think about it, those are some of the most formative years of our lives. What if we identified with our characters' motivation on such an intimate level that we never stopped after the curtain? How can we be happy, much less survive if we don't give ourselves top billing in our own lives? All other encroachments aside, classless, birth order less, we are left with our core selves, and the first "professional" attempt at pretending. The very basic basis of our adult facades are born and grow into our subconscious minds.

At Pride 2006 in San Francisco, my party parried through the throngs of revelers to the only place to be in the entire complex. The fairy village is a grassy oasis, filled with every kind of person from every walk of life. While the band performed, a small child danced in front of the stage. When the band ended each song and the audience clapped in appreciation, the kid thought the applause was for him, and danced even harder the next song to earn his praise.

It helped to relate to the child as he looked mixed and had my hair before product and fashion took their hold.

Remembering what's important, what motivates us, what makes us tick. What does the Id want and why? Is the tree starved for attention later in life, insatiable and cloying? Is the Princess shy and removed, sick of the spotlight and aloof? Is the opposite true, once a diva always a diva? Background scenery cum down-trodden?

Searching my past to Kindergarden and realizing I should embrace my inner-child's motivation, I breathe in a deep cleansing breath and shout through my mind's eye:

"I am the Biggest Billy Goat!"

And all is right with the world again.

Prof.

Verily

2006-06-11T09:26:00.000-07:00

Words have a shelf life. They are used until they die, only to be reborn anew like the Phoenix.

2 entries found for verily.
ver·i·ly ( P ) Pronunciation Key (vr-l)adv.
In truth; in fact.
With confidence; assuredly.
[Middle English verraily, from verrai, true. See very.][Download Now or Buy the Book]
Source: The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth EditionCopyright © 2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company.Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.
verily
adv 1: truly or confidentially; "I verily think so" 2: in truth; beyond doubt or question; "trust in the Lord...and verily thou shalt be fed"- Ps 37:3
Source: WordNet ® 2.0, © 2003 Princeton University

I want to start playing a musical instrument. Right now I've got it narrowed down to the guitar (acoustic) or the piano. Thoughts?

Prof.

PrideWatch2006_Day 2_Blotto Fever

2006-05-20T09:16:00.000-07:00

So yesterday came off without a hitch, except that Ron Howard need to up the action ante and stop using sweeping musical scores to get his point across. Entertaining enough flick, but wait for the DVD IMHO.

So lunch, drank 2 beers. Got to see Richelle, so that's cool.

Dinner had an abysmal burger at Mary's in Newport, with the world's most watered down Scotch and water ever in the history of mankind. Like never going back there again bad.

Came home and spramped and actually went to fucking BOY BAR. It was happening, but after about 4 drinks and 1 shove too many (for those of you who don't know, to go anywhere in the bar, even the pisser, you have to elbo nattering queen in the head to get them out of your way...aggro yes, but it fucking works).

Nightcap (or 3) at the Fox and home to coma ville USA.

Boring, yes, but I'm leading up to something.

Today -

Back wax
Gym
Beach
Paaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaartaaaaaayyyyy!

Prof.

PrideWatch2006_Day 1_Blackout

2006-05-19T09:18:00.000-07:00

Ok, got out of work at 12:30, hit the road at 1:30 and mobbed like a madman down the good 'ol 5 Freeway. Made it into town at 7:30pm and drove straight to the Fox. Had a coupla drinks, went to Shane's and showered and changed and went back to the Fox. Scott showed up shortly thereafter, fed me a shot of something sweet and deadly and OMG, guess what? No really guess!

Give up?

Blackout! I woke up in the correct bed, luckily with no hangers-on. Contacts were out (which I've trained myself to do in a stupor, but still a good sign). Don't remember much after the raffle drawing except that I managed to somehow signed up to be in the Fox's 25 Anniversary Float/March Pride spectacle. I remembered because I have the T-shirt (which I will flaunt shamelessly around San Francisco). I'm now trying to piece together how I got home and if I did anything stupid. I really don't care if I did because I'm on vacation and normal rules don't apply, but I'm still a bit curious.

Today's agenda -

Lunch with Richelle
Davinci Code with Jesse
Dinner with Scott and Jesse
Drinks at the Fox and probable Broadway Crawl

Wish me luck!

Prof.

The problem with the world today...

2006-04-03T13:40:00.000-07:00

***WARNING - Crotchety Old Man Mode - WARNING***

I saw this today during a break. As you know, I peruse various tech blogs to stay up on the latest trends. The text below is from the blog (www.ubergizmo.com) and MYYYYYYYYY take on the whole thing is below the picture...

USB Desktop Tanning CenterCategorie(s): Gadgets

Here’s a gizmo that will to add some color (pun not intended) to your life – the USB Desktop Tanning Center. When attached to either side of the TFT monitor, it will draw power from the PC to provide your exposed skin with a healthy tan. Now, there is even more reason to stay indoors and enjoy the pleasures of your favorite PC game while getting a lovely summer tan. A pair of protective goggles is included to prevent blindness. More features after the jump.
• Two base units attach to either side of your monitor• 4 WOLFFE Ultra-violet 100 watt bulbs• USB-powered• Variable rate knob features three settings (Powder, Tea, Malignant)• Comes with protective goggles!

Now back in my day when you wanted to get some fucking SUN, you...oh, I don't know, took your ass out in the sun. Now, if you didn't have sun, well you either fake-bake/use a bronzing gel, or like me, get real pasty. This had better be an April Fool's Day joke or I'm directly attributing this to the downfall of modern society. I'm so incredibly pissed off if this is real. OMG, I'm shaking as I pound on to my keyboard. What crap!

In the immortal words of Abe Simpson..."Why the fax machine's nothing more than a waffle iron with a phone attached!"

Prof.

Life Cycle

2006-03-27T05:00:00.000-08:00

Torn asunder from the womb, from the calm of our Mother's heartbeat and the perfect darkness, each of us employs every method to achieve that same nirvana throughout our lives. As adrenalin fades from the thrill of the chase and the body grows feeble at life's long hunt, each step brings us closer to our quarry. Death has always been portrayed as the stalker, a manifestation wielding a scythe and dressed in black. The personification of our doom helps to make sense of our ignorance, our mortality, our blip barely seen in the grand scheme of things. Truth be told we are each of us predators, chasing our own end, whether willingly, knowingly aware or blindly barreling toward the ultimate fate.

In the end, it doesn't matter. Regardless of the life led or death dealt, we are all uniformly returned to that perfect state of peace, eyes closed to life's atrocities, the mind filled with the memories we created during our ultimate journey. It is here that how we led our existence, what we did along the march matters most, at this threshold the trials and triumphs lay a path through the forest of the mind, its route full of switchbacks and mazes. And when the caravan of images stored finally ends and our essence stands at the end of the road awaiting instructions, it is at that moment we are granted nirvana and our souls are set free.

It's easy to think in terms of consciousness, sub and un, but state-of-mind is given too small a role in our measure of the soul. To truly evolve we need more than science and faith, more than love and honor. Looking within with an honest microscope and finding the unblinking mind's eye. Quelling the quest for pleasure and pain and reporting our findings with an unbiased cold stare is a minute step inching us closer to the next level of being. Tomorrow or forever, whichever, we will be on that jagged cliff someday, hyperconscious and unafraid.

Yay!

2006-02-14T17:13:00.000-08:00

I started calling people and then realized that there's no way I could call everyone and still have it be the same day...I got a job, contract-to-hire, through Volt (Thanks JON!). It's great money, two Bart stops away, starts Thursday and the title is "HR-Generalist".

Yay!

Double-Yay! More details later, just wanted to let everybody know and say "Thanks" for your ongoing support. You all helped me stay sane, each in your own way.

Can't wait to be so ensconced by the 9-5 of it all that I get to start complaining about work again! Won't that be fun? Such an alien concept...

Prof.

Little Treats

2006-02-13T10:37:00.000-08:00

Hey there everybody....been alerted to the fact that I've recently been sending out a deluge of emails. It's so easy to assume that everybody has time to sit and read and find interesting absolutely everything IIIIIIIIIII happen to dig. If it gets annoying, just let me know and I'll ease up or you can request to be removed from the Snoutch list. No worries, I totally get it.

Somehow scoring a vaction from my vacation, I write to you today from "Fabulous 'cabin' in Lake Tahoe that sleeps 18, has a pool table, and ohhhhhhh, I don't knooooooowwww, a freakin' SKI SLOPE out front-land". Here's the view from the patio I'm typing this from:

Now, if I get up off of my fat fucking ass for just uno momento, and walk to the balcony, this is what you see to the left:

Not too freakin' shabby no? Our kind Host has a gig at the resort, and here's a view of it...to the right off of the balcony:

If you look really closely, you can see his path to work from the cabin to the lodge and back. Yeah, he's got it like that...

OK, be sure to look for news reports tonight for my demise. I believe I will decorate the tree first, so that it will save my companions the trouble after plowing into it....

French Fries and Pizza Pie,

Professor Snoutch

Deeper than the minds of Minolta

2006-02-10T12:07:00.000-08:00

At the least it's the view from my mind's eye, at the most, it's fodder for a new sitcom starring Jessica Simpson with the Stone's opening music "You can't always get what you want". The following is an excerpt from a letter I wrote to StarShine:

I'm sitting in Muddy's waiting for my phone/email/life to ring/ding/ba-da-bing I feel like a little kid who somehow got his hands on a flux capacitor. Looks really cool, but damned if he knows what to do with it. At first I thought of myself on vacation, soaking in the atmosphere, then I realized what I'm really doing – I'm 12 stepping, going through a deliberate (albeit plodding) series of modes guided only by my subconscious…but I don't know what I'm "curing" and it's not exactly anonymous.

Perhaps Life has its little way of adjusting your compass to once again point North and onward? Or even more dubiously, it could be the imagination manifesting itself in outrageous levels so severe that the instructions are rejected by the conscious mind as delusion, forcing it to seize control while the jailer sleeps.

"You must witness many horizons or you will forfeit your imagination." So I wake up with an undeniable urge to shake things up and begin to recoil at even the most pedestrian signs of complacency, which had served as the brain's comfort food up to that point.

"You must learn new ways to prosper, or you will lose your soul." White lies and questionable business tactics proved profitable, but no amount could allay the dread I felt as I went through the motions each endless day.

"You must temper earthly delights with equal measure, or you will forsake your body." Long silenced and dulled by false medicine, I've never quite been able to totally silence potential's weak voice. Not doing everything to achieve physical limits even for a fleeting period only serves as an affront to those who are less fortunate.

"You must challenge everything staid and false, or suffer the absence of mind." In a world of have and have not, polar and opposite, the name of game becomes "bait & switch". Engrained and unchallenged, the never-ending struggle for things has successfully eclipsed the true salvation for the "complete" being. Shaving to the core with Occam's razor, one can clearly see that the only redeemable quality that humans possess is the ability to achieve and maintain happiness.

We're adept at industry, curing & killing. We're proficient with apathy, somehow letting it become all-consuming. I think the highest compliment we can pay to one another is the acknowledgement of their level of happiness. The nebulous part is the recognition that there is no "universal" key. Each person has their own measuring stick and the Devil of it all is that on more than a few occasions, what brings happiness to one is the catalyst for misery in others. It's an infuriatingly simple anachronism that works against Society's next evolutionary step, Harmony's discord.

Armed with the written articulation of gut instincts and je ne sais quois, I realize that these are not epiphanies. They are simply my own personal measuring stick to happiness, each merely a plate to be spun in synchronicity with the others in order to achieve the ultimate goal.

The Blues

2006-01-25T04:49:00.000-08:00

So what happens when you go to bed at 11 (on time) and fall to sleep as though it were in a commercial for Lunesta (and for that matter, why do all sleep medications sound like Black girls' names circa 1990?), yet wake up at 4:00am? Inexplicable, yes, but it happens to everybody. I'm completely wide awake for no good reason. So, I decided to do what everybody does when they're up at 4 in the morning - write a blues song. This little ditty came out of nowhere (so don't ask). I'd like to thank Ms. Nikki Olson for the inspiration. Once it's morning and I realize how schmaltzy it is, I'll probably take it down, so enjoy it while it lasts.

BTW, you have to pretend you're an old Black man that was raised going to church before striking out on the blues wagon. He now performs once a week at some old bar in a bad part of Chicago (in my mind).

I wake up every morning
Paint a smile on my face
You’ll never know how hard I try
To do it with style and grace

I don’t do it to please you
Hell it’s not even for me
But my reasons for living
Are fairly plain to see

The options are limited
When you get right down to it
You can live your life in misery
Or make the best of it

When people get me down
And start spouting nonsense
I take a deep breath and remember
Their words ain’t worth a cent

[Chorus]

You better –

Shut your pie hole
Let the day go
Don’t be evil
Let your life roam

Shut your pie hole
Let the day go
Reap what you sow
Let your light show

Shut your pie hole
Let the day go
Find your way home
Act like you’re grown

It may not be best of life
No, it’s never the perfect fit
Better mind that negativity
Because Karma is a Bitch

All the bills and frills and thrills
Life is full of paradox
You can have brand new shoes
And a big hole in your sock

You may find that it’s easy
Throw your hands up in the air
Do what you know ain’t right
Like you no longer care

When you put it out in space
It may circle once or twice
Eventually it will land on you
I’ve seen it, and it ain’t nice

[Chorus]

You better –

Shut your pie hole
Let the day go
Don’t be evil
Let your life roam

Shut your pie hole
Let the day go
Reap what you sow
Let your light show

Shut your pie hole
Let the day go
Find your way home
Act like you’re grown

[Bridge-Much slower]
I can think of other ways
To spend my energy
If you use imagination
The road can set you free

So when you say
You are running late,
Can’t find a date
Got expired plates

Remember this
Release your grip
Quit thrownin’ a fit
‘Cuz it ain’t worth shit

All this screaming and crying
You’re not even trying
You act like you’re dying
And I’m not buying

[Chorus]

You better –

Shut your pie hole
Let the day go
Don’t be evil
Let your life roam

Shut your pie hole
Let the day go
Reap what you sow
Let your light show

Shut your pie hole
Let the day go
Find your way home
Act like you’re grown

[Fade out]

JobWatch_2006_Week1

2006-01-08T22:02:00.000-08:00

Resumes sent=20
Interviews=4
Freak outs=Almost 1
--------------------------------------------------------------
I started sending my resume to technical support customer service positions. I think I'd be good at that..

OMG, I just got off the phone with HEALD...the Business School I interviewed for last month. Well, I aced the phone interview with the H.R. Manager, and now I'm scheduled to meet with the V.P. of H.R. at 11:00am on Friday! Mid to high 50's! Doing what? *drumroll* Interpreting between I.T. to Human Resources. Administrative yes, but you work with what you got, yo.

D'oh! I have an interview tomorrow and the one yesterday went pretty well but....I want this one. I tried to call Kaiser again and this time got a real person's voicemail. I'll see what happens. In the meantime, I'm still applying to various jobs on craigslist. Thank God for Craigslist...everybody uses it, it's easy, and responses are pretty quick, so people don't forget about you like if I were to post to Monster or Careerbuilder. So glad I didn't do that.

I can't wait until this part of the journey is au fait de compli, so I can focus on bigger, better and much more entertaining exploits.

Many have asked about the interview last week with Industrial Origami. That was the one freak out that almost took me down. It's in SOMA/South Beach, in a suitably industrial neighborhood. I walked in and was directed to a conference room at the wave of my interviewer. His glasses too narrow for his wide face, perfect small circles in the center of his face. He had a slight mad scientist vibe and had a shotgun approach to asking questions, barking them at me as if to force them from his mouth. I just assumed it was the way that he spoke and tried to get in where I fit in. He questioned my move to S.F., saying on more than one occassion that he didn't "understand". That makes perfect sense, given the horrendous complexity of my never-changing answer: "I'm burned out on sales, and I want an administrative job that still uses those skills without taking over my life." I think he'd be happier if I would've said x+1=.754 divided by pi. Still, I nailed the interview...until the last question, that is. I said "What does your timeframe look like for placing an offer? I only ask because I'm interviewing with several companies, most of which are in the preliminary stages."

I know, I know, that's such an outragous question to ask in an interview! I mean, hey, it's much more P.C. that my interviewer felt it necessary to tell me that I was replacing a "gay guy" who was terminated because he questioned the interviewer's motives when chastising him for errors made. "He said that the only reason you're yelling at me is because I'm gay. But we don't care about that, we just wanted accuracy".

Noble enough sentiment, but when's the last time you went to an interview and found out so much about the last guy? Who left because he felt his sexuality was being called into question? Whether or not it was is moot - What right does my interviewer have divulge that kind of information? If I squinted hard enough, I got the perfect marriage between Back to the Future's Christopher Lloyd "Marty it's a time machine!" and "Brokeback Mountain", except of getting beat to death with a tire iron in 70's Texas, it's being beaten to death with preambles, precursors and premonitions of ultra-conservatism in 00's California, doubly shocking that it happen in San Francisco. With his passionate need to insist that they are equally oppresive to everybody, not just gays, I could only imagine what working there would've been like, especially after his reaction to my timeframe question:

"Jason, you had me until there. You did very well in the interview but you just screwed up and it's over (gets up and storms out of the room in a flurry of glasses, hair and flailing arms). You can see yourself out."

"Uh....ok?"

Standing in the doorway to the conference room clutching his notepad, Doc Brown's clone barked further..."I don't appreciate your high-pressure sales tactics. If you find a job that suits you better than this one, then I'd suggest you take it. I won't be pressured into making a decision."

I sat there for a second processing the information. I cracked a 'ok you nutjob' smile and just looked at him. I gathered my belongings and remained composed enough to make sure he knew that he didn't get to me. "Hey thanks for your time. Can you tell me if 3rd street goes all the way to Market, I'm not familiar with the area?"

He looked at me like 'How dare you not be devastated?' and said quietly "Yeah, it goes through." I walked into the street with my face screwed up in puzzlement, as I got further away, I felt safer and safer. Thankfully, I've had several people reiterate my initial reflex..."You don't want to work for somebody like that." You got that right!

Prof.

The Interview Shuffle

2006-01-06T00:47:00.000-08:00

To evaluate the self in its entirety
And hanging on words written nicely
In customary format for society
Results in humility, futility and lies

Yet sometimes it catches the right reader’s fancy
And the interview call can invoke silent dancing
As you soberly work out the time and the place
And all the while your heart quickens its pace

You go to the website and read the “about us”
“Management”, “Benefits” "Culture" then rush
Off to the Cleaners for your really nice stuff
So you can go into battle and play your best bluff

On the day that your Ambassador is due to arrive
Awaking not late and not early but exactly on time
They prepare a big breakfast as though it's benign
When a fortnight has seen the true self late to rise

Your doppelganger finishes breakfast and modes
Clothes are prepared as though ceremonial robes
Ironing, deciding on the best shoe and belt combo
Drinking coffee, making sure of each crease and go…

On to the bathroom and the mini-spa treatment
Shaving and preening and giving eyes glint
Hot water turned steam and fingernails clipped
Coiffeur perfecto with each errant hair snipped

Invisible hands appear and choose today’s prison
Your silk noose selected and tied with precision
Your cuffs linked, shirt starched and tucked in
Shoes shining now you panic and so it begins

The biggest of jobs, the one we abhor
The gathering darkness pales at its door
The biggest dilemma, most wretched chore
Packing for departure to a distant shore

Minutes fall way, morning less and less dark
Moments remain before hopping on BART
And in the war room, the mind switches charts
The Accountant takes over, inventory starts:

Web sheets revealing Mission & Vision
PDA with contacts and solitaire within
Plenty of Mints, by handful I chew them
IPod, cell phone, rabbit's foot, ink pen

Reference sheets, cover letter, resume
Each one neatly tucked in a folder’s bay
One final check for any bats in the cave
Mirrored fake smile and anchors away

We’ve come to the part that you dare not forget
As the door stands ajar, the dew grass still wet
Doing the dance that you’ve done from the get
Keys..........wallet..........cigarettes.

Resolve isn't just Carpet Cleaner

2006-01-01T14:02:00.000-08:00

1) Write every day. Read more. Watch less T.V.
2) Set my guilty Conscience free. No other day but today.

3) - 7) Are for just me...you understand, right?

It's been raining buckets and far cooler than Long Beach. While I could've griped, I welcomed it as at least a change, underscoring my recent latitude adjustment. I went to a play with friends a few weeks back and felt more San Franciscan. Shortly after curtain, I stood outside under an awning listening to a woman scream unintelligibly and walking into the street and up to passing cars, getting splashed. As she got wetter, she got more upset, peppering her soliloquy with expletives. She would bring her case to the next motorist, who would only repay her with a bigger dousing. The exponential rollercoaster was more than she could bear. She turned to a familiar and plead her case. The gentleman was in his 60's, smoking a cigar and infuriatingly calm.

"You belee dis shit, Man? Muhfuckas ain't got no kind of respect for people!"

He inhaled slow and hard, blew a cloud out from under the awning's haven, and it was hungrily eaten by the downpour. He shook his right hand twice and put it in his pocket, clutching something tightly.

"Well maybe your crazy ass shouldn't be in the middle of the goddamned street! Knucklehead cracker..."

I bet my lip as to not laugh at the unfortunate. It was now that I decided I should say 'fuck it' and go have a cocktail.

My friends took the BART home to the Mission and I hopped on MUNI bound for the Castro. I always get Valencia and Van Ness confused and got off the train too soon. To make matters worse, I went the wrong way once I got topside on Market. It was 3 blocks later that I discovered my mistake and turned back. Fortunately, this turned the rain, which blew at a perfect 45 degree angle, to my back. So I put my gigantic blue and white umbrella on my shoulder and watched for the driest path up the river that the road had become. In the damp darkness, the majority of the ambient lighting was reflected from puddles and off of wet glass from the buildings and cars. Colors were scarce, it was all just darkness overcoming the weak false light. The bright umbrella's canopy contrasted sharply, becoming a perfect antonym to that of a white sail against a Mediterranean sky, but having the same effect. It was 11 on a Saturday night, the weather had removed all but the most hearty, fool and otherwise.

I stopped in Octavia Lounge and had a late-night snack and a high ball. The music and food combined well with booze and I was warm in a matter of minutes. My oasis behind me, I trudged up a small hill and down the other side. At the Pilsner again. Until the bitter end as the Bartender barks out the two-word epitaph on every drinker's tombstone. Off to the after hours for a wee bit of fun. It was raining so hard that a bedroom was leaking from the trim in the ceiling and it was the first topic of conversation.

Caught a cab and locked my front door behind me as the dreary grey morning struggled to rise. In the moments before succumbing to the abyss, I thought about the lady in the street. Not in a way of pity or scorn, but only wonder. Although I could hazard a guess, I'm still curious: What question was she intending to say to the motorists? How would she word it? Did she ever get to ask?

Day 91 / Begin Again Gilligan

2005-11-22T10:01:00.000-08:00

The problem with too much freedom is the exponential increase at the chance of failure. This is tempered with resolve and ultimately governed by one’s own level of discipline. The more balanced the scale of freedom to set goals and the discipline needed to achieve them, the more likely the chance to succeed.

Yesterday (Monday), I was laying with Lamar on the Black Sands Beach in the Marin Headlands. It was 83° and the sun was shining brightly on my pale, florescent-treated skin.

I had just put out a cigarette. I was only here 3 days before falling off the wagon. 1 here…2 there…and then yesterday I actually bought a pack. It was then that I realized that my freedom to remain anonymous while I broke my pact overruled my own internal discipline. To once again achieve the level of poise and control that I once had, I must start the cycle anew. It appears to be the only way to defeat my demons.

I have to begin the countdown tomorrow as I smoked a cigarette this morning before writing this, then wetted the remainder of the nearly full pack and threw it away (for those of you who don’t know, if you don’t wet the pack, you could actually dig through the trash and find them, this way they remain unsmokable…Anthony suggested I do that).

So the guilt from not keeping up with my promise has made me a bit reclusive. Several people have expressed their frustration at not being able to get a hold of me. Well here’s why. I blamed it on moving and looking for a job and blahblahblah, but it was just because I fell off the wagon. I appreciate your understanding. So tomorrow begins Day 90. And since I’ve no real reason NOT to combine countdowns, I’m also going for health and fitness too, so this should be real interesting.

Wish me luck, thanks for understanding and I'm sorry to anyone I've let down (Mom and Jesse especially).

Prof.

Daybreak

2005-11-18T07:23:00.000-08:00

Obsession is a mighty powerful ally and your worst enemy. The above is what happens when you turn a simple trip to Ikea for a MALM 4 drawer dresser and end up finding "the world's most perfect curtains" (thanks Nicole!). Since I only have enough window for one panel I should've folded the other one nicely, so it may be put up when the original is at the dry cleaners. But no, I'm on "a place for everything" mode, and had to tie the bed to the curtain. Now when you look at the bed head-on, it looks like it's mimicking Wiamea (sp) Canyon just above it. I'm pretty sure all I need now is a motion-sensor by the door that sounds trumpets and Majel Barret will say loudly from some hidden speaker "Warning....Ultra Gay room...Enter at your own risk....".

Today's my first Day at Octavia Lounge. I'm actually kind of nervous. Mainly because I haven't worked the service sector since The Fox, and I'm kind of a bitch so we'll see how well that works out. I think I'll be fine because I'm waiting tables AND bartending, so that's cool. It's only two days a week max, so even if I can't stand it (which I sincerely doubt), it's not like it's 40 hours a week, right? The best part? The uniform. Wear whatever you want, as long as it's dressy and completely black. That works for me!

I registered at my hopefully final agency yesterday. They had some promising stuff. I took Jon's suggestion and went to Volt - they still hold the E&Y account, so that may work out. We shall see. She (Jill, the recruiter from Manhattan that I instantly loved) has a high-end Admin. job for me in the financial district, but the company's so old school that it takes 3 weeks to complete the process what with interviews and all. Ideally I'd like to start a gig no later than December 1st, so we shall see. Now that the apartment is done, and I have the gig at Octavia, I'm just waiting for a day job. Once I have that I can do my budget, start going to the gym, and really get down to writing. I think I'll put my Octavia exploits on the Brutal Poodle blog, just because it seems appropriate. It's funny, they have a lot of parallels. Sunday is open mic night, for instance, but with live music and everybody only sings jazz and blues songs. Sounds like heaven after listening to all of those twinks trying to sing "Father Figure" and include their own echo at the end:

"...I will be you Father Figure, I have had enough of crime, and I will be the one who loves you, loves you, 'til the end of tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimmmme..."

I always wanted to smack people in the head for thinking they sound like George Michael, even when they're drunk, even when they're a twink or even when they're George Michael (who doesn't even sound like G.M. anymore).

K, I'm babbling. More soon. Miss everybody!

Prof.

The Other Side of Midnight

2005-11-13T12:24:00.000-08:00

Our bed and its surroundings can be one of the most important details in our lives that we tend to overlook. Drifting towards a relaxing slumber, you become a captive audience of the surroundings. These affect your sleep, your dreams, your mood. They should be representative of your personality and state of mind:

I've always been "house proud" even of Gaebler (my childhood home...more of chateau really. Wait, more of a chicken coup I mean) at some level or other. I sent a video of the rennaisance to everybody, but the file was far too large, so only two people got it. I'll spare you the calvalcade of snapshots from the rest of the pad, but suffice it to say, I'm VERY house proud.

I've been here two weeks now and ventured out on an actual bike ride yesterday. Wow, am I out of freakin' shape! Of course, the hills are a LITTLE STEEPER here in S.F., but when you get passed by a little man on a beach cruiser and no gears, you know it's time to take your ass back to the gym. Speaking of health, I've been eating much better since I've been here, removing fast food in its entirety (which is just unthinkable), and can count the number of times I've had meat on one hand. I attempted to make dinner last night, but it didn't turn out very good. The appetizer made up for it though (St. Louis style Toasted Ravioli). Yeah, I cooked. I chopped things. Sauteed others. Boiled still others. All while rotating between Julia Child, Edina Monsoon, and Aunt Jemima. Julia and 'ma (as she likes to be called by her closest schizophrenic mental captors) and I all agreed it was Edina's fault that the entree was "off" because she drinks you know, and affected the other cooks' abilities to measure, stir or even pay attention.

So tomorrow I put on a suit and tie and go register with an agency. I can't imagine how insane I'd be if I would've actually been working this past week. Wish me luck. More soon.

Prof.

Almost there....

2005-11-04T08:29:00.000-08:00

Well, it’s official. I’ve went and done lost my damn mind. I still haven’t quite unpacked yet, but the Livingroom, my bedroom and the kitchen are all absolutely fabulous. Today and over the weekend, we’ll be focusing on the bathroom (oh dear God…), the other bedroom (which used to be mine) and the back porch and patio.

Oh and I need to find a job. Like immediately.

Oh and I have a date tonight. Like 7ish.

Oh and I’m sitting in the kitchen at 8 in the morning, drinking fresh-brewed coffee, blogging thanks to wi-fi and moxi. I’m still kind of perplexed on how to bring the media on the computer in the front room to the back room without reinventing the wheel or running wires throughout the house. I think my new masterplan is a series of well-placed mirrors for the picture and tin cans & string for the sound.

I need to unpack my bathroom soon so I can find my fingernail clippers. I sound like Mrs. Wiggins as I type this.

I was supposed to take before pictures….and did, but I’m not sure how well they’ll turn out.

The only room that got before and after is my bedroom, and quite honestly “meh”. The before doesn’t do the after justice….just because it’s a crappy camera. My good camera is still packed…somewhere. Every single person that’s seen the apartment, even the cable installer who’d never seen it before comments on its overall fabulousness and especially comments about Sunny Day.

Once I find my good camera, I’ll do a virtual walk-through. Probably tomorrow before the dinner party. Yes, dinner party. Happy Friday!

OCD in a boxed up world

2005-10-31T07:33:00.000-08:00

Hello gang -

Just a quick post to let you know that I'm ok and just dealing with getting organized. Almost done. Just need to hook up the tv and stereo (I won't have internet access until Thursday, I write this from Muddy's, the coffeeshop down the block), and put away my clothes.

More when my OCD has subsided and the sight of boxed up belongings has been eradicated.

LOOKS GOOD so far though. Sunny Day has the most prominent display location in the whole house. Full pics soon.

LYMI,

Prof.

Waterlog

2005-10-26T10:44:00.000-07:00

UPDATE!

I knew I saw this guy before!!!! He's a former contestant from Season 3's AMERICAN IDOL! Yay! Rumors are swirling - A couple of well-timed pauses on the Aqua episode tell you which side his bread is buttered. Especially the confrontation with Lex...."you've got to shut it down!" Bitch please. I'll find the pic and post it so you know what I mean.

I raced home yesterday from work and made it to Long Beach in about 45 minutes, which is pretty good for being at the height of 405 traffic. I swung by the bar and had a cocktail - dropped off a DVD I ripped for Bert - "Aqua"...the latest homoerotic installment from Smallville. You see our good friend Arthur Curry makes it to the scene (after Flash last year it was just a matter of time). Of course conflict/resolution in just about an hour engine is running full-tilt, but whatchugondo? I mean, Clark just HAD to rescue A.C. who was tied to a table in little more than board shorts and a smile by turning on the overhead sprinklers, right?

Wow. I mean....daaaaaaaammmmmn:

Is it just me or does he look like he could do some damage? Hell for all I know he be doing the Michael Jackson yell from the beginning of "The way you make me feel". Hooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! Woof. I went from fanboy to defector in a matter of seconds....Clark who? Superwhat?

Got to....break...out...of these....straps:

Wait, he broke out of the chains so he could be closer to the life giving water:

What do you do when you're freed by your "Bro"? Why, stare lovingly into each other's eyes for like, whole freakin' episdode! Duh!

If they're not making this show for me, then let's hear it for happy accidents, shall we?

Whoa. All pics are from my new favorite website...plenty more where that came from.

http://www.kryptonsite.com/

So, I think Bert will dig it. I know I did.

Went by Remi's and picked up as many boxes as would fit in my car with the top down. So like...4 boxes. Seriously, I got my entire kitchen packed! All pictures, photos and googaws are down and packed. Media - ready to be packed. Hall closet: empty. Way ahead of the game - can't wait!

More soon!

Prof.

T-Minus 10 / You can judge a man...

2005-10-19T10:27:00.000-07:00

...by the the gifts he receives.

Contrary to my previous post, I feel I must give a detailed account of the birthday gifts if only to show my point. I'm going by memory here, so please don't be offended if I left out your gift...

Here's a list of all the gifts that don't involve alcohol:

Googly Eye Ball necklace - perfectly round and fabulous on a simple chain. Elegant and topical.
IPOD Nano. 4Gb/Black. Fabulous.
"Yeah, I just moved here from L.A. and bite me if you don't like it" shirt that is so trance-inducing that it demands your attention, abuses you and then leaves you on the corner, stumbling and confused. Please recognize.
Kenneth Cole Watch. Silver. Divine.
Tool Kit worthy of Lesbian envy.
A Thomas Guide of San Francisco & San Mateo Counties, perfect and thoughtful.
The entire first season of "Aqua Teen Hunger Force". Our first viewing will be at 4:20...still plenty of seats in the rear.
Warm Rugby Shirt for those cold San Francisco nights.
Box of wooden splendor, perfect for holding herbal delights. Sliding door and artwork. Herbal delights included.
Funk of the Ages volume 1 "Commence to getting down" and Funk of Ages volume 2: "I mean, ALL the way DOWN", haven't stopped listening to it since Saturday.
A plant that was grown from a clipping from a plant that I gave to a wonderful friend THE FIRST TIME I MOVED TO S.F., so full circle, kumbaya type stuff. Love that.

Gifts that involve or are indeed alcohol:

Twelve bottles of Scotch. GOOD Scotch, not crappy Scotch. Twelve! BIG BOTTLES. Old Bottles. Fabulous fabulous fabulous. You hear that America? Blow-holes.
A full bottle a Jaeger Meister (spelling). Huge bottle. Hands off Josh! Just kidding...ok, not really.
A set of 4 Cutty Sark shot glasses
A set of 8 Cognac Snifters with gold rims. High Society here I come! Can't wait to swirl some in a highly dignified manner.

Ok, so I did pretty good, right? Pretty balanced. That is, of course until yesterday:

I had felt a little under the weather yesterday in the late afternoon. Too much, too much, plus allergies and the rain. But, by the time I got back to Long Beach, I felt well enough to have a little snifter of Cognac. I ended with Scotch and got nice and tight. Leaving the Fox and stopping at MVP's for a burger (best in Long Beach). Rolled up my driveway and found a big, brown UPS box at the top of the stairs. In a deft, yet drunken maneuver, I managed to unlock the front door and push my inanimate entourage over the threshold. I ate with a starving ferocity...but not from hunger, more from anticipation. What was in the box? I knew it was from my Aunt Sharon - a retalitory gift for me sending her a $150 bottle of Scotch the week before (Royal Salute). What did she send?

Finishing off my food and ripping open the box, I was met with this:

"Add a fun touch to your next party with this Gas Pump Drink Dispenser. Designed to look like a miniature gas pump, it playfully warns: "high octane - contains alcohol." Fill the glass tank with your favorite beverage and use the hose to dispense it. Metal and glass. Imported."

Ok, we have a WINNER. I should've known better. This was from the same Woman who bought me a Scotch dispenser that plays "How dry I am" every time you lift the decanter.

More soon!

Prof.

Hair of the Dog

2005-10-16T22:26:00.000-07:00

T-Minus 11 days and counting until the 400 mile lift off up the coast! Been pretty hectic as you can tell from my lack of posts. I'll be more diligent once I get up to the City. 11 days...dear Lord!

Anyway, first things first:

BEST BIRTHDAY EVER! Thanks to everyone who came out and made it all great, with special thanks to Scott for carting me all over Long Beach on Saturday to pick up supplies.

I received GREAT presents. I would go into here, but I don't want a laundry list of my stuff floating around forever and don't want to rank any one gift over any other. Some of the most thoughful gifts ever though! Really great! I won't have to worry about Scotch for a little while.

Much more detailed and fabulous entry when I feel better (I'm coming down with the "you're about to move 400 miles away/quit your job/start a new one flu"). In the meantime, just so you get an idea...here's what I looked like the next day. I had pupils once...a long time ago.
A little hair of the dog turned into "Afro of the hound of the Baskervilles" at the Fox. Just enough to ssssttoooppp the shakes.

The best way to cope with "afterwards"? Friends!:

More when I'm human.

Prof.

OH I KNOW DEY DI'INT

2005-10-10T14:04:00.000-07:00

You have got to be freakin kidding me!

http://www.shoplaser.com/

Days 68-61/The Plot Thickens

2005-10-06T10:29:00.000-07:00

Well the cat's out of the bag. My Birthday party isn't just a birthday party, it's a going away party. Yes folks, I'll be pulling up stakes on the 29th and it's back to San Francisco with me. I've used this analogy when describing "why" to a friend and I hope it's not too corny to use here (and by that sort of preface, one can guarrantee that it will indeed be laden with corn-goodness, can't one?):

"It's as though San Francisco and Long Beach were books. I was in the last couple of Chapters of Long Beach when I got bored (because I could predict the outcome) and picked up San Francisco and read the jacket, then the forward, and started to get into Chapter 1 before realizing that I need to finish Long Beach first. Now that I know the Butler did it, I can put it back on the shelf, and dive back into a much more interesting plot."

Yeah, ubercorny, but hopefully it makes sense. Everyone automatically asks me "why?" and I've given very different answers depending on who was asking. But the truth is, I'm bored out of my skull. Nothing more glamerous to report, unfortunately. Need a change, and one presented itself. So, as of today, I have 23 days to pull off the mother lode of coordination efforts.

So, my exercise regime will be sporadic but ongoing. Once I get up North, I'll resume the rigidity that brought me so much success with regard to smoking. Speaking of which, I've never wanted one more in my life than right now. The soothing calm, the exhale, the taste - all of it. The allure will always remain I suppose.

OMG! Can't wait until they're customizable!

2005-10-04T11:07:00.000-07:00

Via Strange New Products:

Plant Seeds that Sprout into Advertisements

Takara Co. Ltd. has a new product out called, "Can of Words". It's a can of dirt with a bean seed planted into it. You water it regularly, and in about five days a seedling emerges with a message emblazoned on it. The company uses a laser to scribe short messages on the seeds. When it sprouts, the permanently tattooed baby leaf expands to reveal the message. They're marketed as gifts. Can of Words comes in four different messages:

I Love You
Thank you
Good Luck
Get Well

No word yet on when they'll be adding the "Hillary in 2008" bean.

Humboldt County_05

2005-10-04T10:09:00.000-07:00

Hola! Back from the wilderness and man I wish I could go back to stay for a week or longer. Things are so much simpler there, you worry about what you're going to eat, if you've got enough wine to make it through the night, and where you should dig a hole the next time you need to cop a squat. Beautiful too:

The redwoods are so awe-inspiring. I wrote a poem about them, I'll post it tomorrow or something. Back to health and fitness tomorrow too. Another pic (this is the view from the campsite...the other side of the peak in the background is the Pacific Ocean:

The view of the Ocean once you're past the peak (that's Lamar in the center):

And one "artsy" pic for good measure (under this tree is where we put the tent, just to the right of the trucks):

OK, I've got about 900 emails to respond to. Hope you all have a great day!

Prof.

Strange New Products: Duct Tape Bandages

2005-09-29T13:42:00.000-07:00

Strange New Products: Duct Tape Bandages

Days 70 & 69 / Same as it ever was

2005-09-28T09:44:00.000-07:00

So I woke up and stretched really, really, really, really good. Then, I stretched again. Then I ran. Still took about an hour, but it was a strong, good run. I felt great during the run, and feel pretty damn good right now, too, so I'm gonna keep running in the morning. It's such a great way to start one's day.

Crunches=none
Pushups=zipzilchzero

Money shot:

Perspective

2005-09-27T10:57:00.000-07:00

As the sun begins its downward slide on a collision course with the horizon, the denizens pour from non-descript buildings and race down down the concrete parking lot to their sanctuaries. Fighting, clawing, shoving and still not getting there any faster. 5 minutes saved by being in the right lane at the right time is ate up and spit out at an ill-timed traffic light further down the road.

As our minds begin to drown in sorrowful woe, that this is our fate - we are armies of ants racing to and fro - we must begin to wonder: "Why do we do this? What's the point? What is our purpose?" Is money the only reason to spend hours in solitude, inching our way towards a fate we don't want?

Drown out questions such as these with a well-timed drink. Commiserate, wipe clean the slate and allow the poison to fade - run home, clean up, shower and change.

Pour a glass of red wine. Wait for the buzz and the knock of your Beau. Rollicking naked, touching skin to skin and forgetting questions that eat at your soul. Not caring to know the answers, not caring at all for the trappings, the misery and drudgery of menial modes. It centers you, grounding you, forcing a smile - a glow.

Hypercolor is Back! - Gizmodo

2005-09-27T10:56:00.000-07:00

Hypercolor is Back! - Gizmodo

I got 10 cents a day...

2005-09-26T12:51:00.000-07:00

productdose.com � Blog Archive � Cover Your Trail

Day 73, 72, 71/The Lost Weekend

2005-09-26T10:40:00.000-07:00

Wow! What the holy hell kinda weekend was that????

For a Friday night recap...you'd have to start with day 74...after I posted that, I ended up running after all that afternoon. I do much better jogging in the evening. My time was better and I didn't hurt as much.

After my run, I went to The Brutal Poodle and had a cocktail, and ended up having to chase a crackhead down the street for stealing tips from the bar. You can read all about that at the other blog. Scott put a nice write up in there about the loop. I'm tan and I'm proud! http://thefruitloop.blogspot.com/

Love me some karma, because later that evening I, how shall I say, got me some. Freakin' Hottie, too, so good for me!

So then Saturday, I go to a party in the Hollywood Hills with DJ_NIK that was all "Roarin' 20's" themed and attended by none other than the guy who played Nat, the lovable uncle type that ran the Peach Pit on 90210! Yeah, I know I'm a dork, but I'm stoked about it because it was one of my favority shows (Melrose was better, but only just barely). No excercise that day...no time.

Sunday, I recovered enough to do chores. Lamar and I had some vino and watched a little tv. Still no excercising, but walking back and forth to and from the laundromat and cleaning the whole apartment were pretty good placeholders.

Monday, I got up at 5:30 and dropped Lamar off at the airport, came home and immediately set out on my 5 mile run. I had to cut it short again, my legs just burn and that weird lead weight feeling again. I'm either not running properly, warming up properly, have shin splints, or am too old. In any event, I'm going to try running after work for a few days to see if I can rule some of the possibles out. So I did:

Crunches 75
Push ups 15 (sad really)

Money Shot:

Day 74/Short & Sweet

2005-09-23T06:49:00.000-07:00

Hello -

Crunches 75
Pushups 30

Didn't run...running late, getting ready for an all day conference. Luckily, it's in Long Beach, so no 405 schlepping today. Yeah! Sorry for the crappy pic - it dark and dismal here this morning and using the flash only makes it worse. On an up note, I had to change my greeting on my cell because of working at the conference, and discovered that the Sprint Voicemail hell that I've been sitting through for 5 years now has a FUCKING EXPERT MODE OPTION, that drastically cuts back how much time it takes to surf through the 800 menu options. Yeah, Sprint/Nextel is 3rd, but I love saying that I'm on "Expert Mode" in at least something in my life...

Money Shot:

2005-09-22T13:55:00.000-07:00

Via - OhGizmo!

Bong Vodka Posted on 09.22.05 @ 12:54 am
By David Ponce
Saw this here, there and everywhere, and couldn’t pass it up. It’s Bong Vodka.
For those of you peculiar enough to be unfamiliar with, um, bongs… well, good for you. Bongs are ugly, evil tubular garden gnomes that steal your underwear. Stay away from them. That’s all you need to know.
That, and well, also that Bong Vodka is a Dutch
“designer spirit envisioned by a group of contemporary artists to fuse together a new wave of progressive fashion and designer attitude with an age-old Dutch product of exceptional quality.”Uh huh. Whatever.
It’s Vodka. In a bong.
Goes on sale in early 2006, with launch parties in Miami and Orlando. Vodka bongs in Disneyland(world?)!
Check out Bong Vodka. Story VIA Uncrate. Filed under: Design Comments: None

Day 75/Null & Void

2005-09-22T10:11:00.000-07:00

Hello -

Lamar flew in last night and we had wine and got caught up...so, no morning fabulousness to report, as I just got up, got ready and left for work.

Legs feel better today. Think I'll try again on Saturday, and just do crunches and pushups tomorrow.

Prof.

Strange New Products: Candy G-String

2005-09-21T14:05:00.000-07:00

Strange New Products: Candy G-String

productdose.com � Blog Archive � Ice Egg

2005-09-21T13:53:00.000-07:00

productdose.com � Blog Archive � Ice Egg

Day 76/Half-steppin'

2005-09-21T09:24:00.000-07:00

Hey there! Took Ty's advice and ran this morning with bike shorts under my basketball shorts. He said it was a trick he learned in the service and it worked like a Charm! It's too bad that my run lasted on half an hour today - for some reason, whatever muscle it is behind my shins felt like it was made out of concrete. I stretched really good before running, too, and it was in both legs, so I had no choice but to turn around. I made it two miles, so to make up for it, I did

Crunches=75
Pushups=30

But still, hopefully this problem won't be ongoing. I'll have to ask Jesse how to fix it.

Money shot:

Day Infinity/Limbo/Oblivion-Gone Forever

2005-09-20T23:10:00.000-07:00

Creeping through streets a prowling cat, darting left and right in moonlight
Committed to nothing, a slave to it all, trying and pushing at porcelain white
Spying a prize and seizing it deep, flowing through channels of wind and smoke
Surveying the land a conqueror, forcing the will of the few on the back of hope

Gone is the magic and splendor and milk and honey, absent of honor and truth
Wailing groans, outright stalls and gone is the justice, reality, and proof
Here is the pain promised by the sayers of right, the few of us, the few of you
And yes here is the pain delivered ten-fold and given wrapped in sickly doom

Gone are the voices of outrage, voices crying foul the malformed harbinger
Blipping and beeping and doing it all faster and better by only one integer
Silenced by possessions of pacification, louder than outrage, brighter than light
Enough to keep buying and spending and selling and trading and losing our sight

Day 77/Rain Delay

2005-09-20T09:39:00.000-07:00

Last night we had the rare occurrence of thunder & lightning here in not-so-sunny SoCal. Intermittent rain showers in the wee hours of the morn up to and including my drive to work this morning. I don't understand why native Californians lose their damn minds in the rain. Be offended if you must, but it seems like half of you slow down waaaaaay too much to about 9 miles an hour, while the other half are card-carrying members of Jerry Lewis and Charles Bronson's joint charity, the "Make a Deathwish Foundation" and drive 90 miles an hour. People, I'm going to say this once (not bloody likely). Professor Snoutch's rules of driving in the rain:

1) If you have trouble paying attention to the road under normal conditions, then hang up your phone, put away your makeup, stop eating, put those fucking mitts on 10 & 2 and pay attention to what you're doing.

2) Drive as though you don't have breaks, meaning: Don't rely so heavily on them, they can do you more harm than good in slick driving conditions.

3) If you normally drive 70, drive 65...40, drive 35. Drop everything by 5 miles an hour to account for people breaking numbers 1 and/or 2.

Capishe? Grazie!

So, considering that my blubber fest down the slick pavement would be less likely to result in fitness and well-being and much more likely in me throwing my hip out, I decided to forgo my morning run. This ain't Rocky...I want to be healthy of course, but if you ever hear about me having to go rounds with Clubber Lang, best be sure it's just a well-earned pseudonym for the new hot guy in town, not Mr. T...raw eggs indeed.

I had to do something though...my body's actually come to expect some sort of torture in the morning, and I don't want to lose that hard-won conditioning.

Push ups: 30

Crunches: 75

Money shot:

Day 78/Monday blues

2005-09-19T12:21:00.000-07:00

Hey there. Woke up late. Hurt my back again, so kinda limped/kinda ran/kinda sucked, so an hour and 15 minutes was my time. Oh well, at least I did it.

Money shot:

Day 79/Gimme a damn break already

2005-09-18T09:11:00.000-07:00

Ok, I admit, after the Taco Bell debacle and Pizzapalooza_2005, I have absolutely no room to complain, HOWEVER, I've been running pretty steadily and I haven't lost a single pound. Not one. Then I discover that the fucking, flipping bastard ass scale WASN'T EVEN ON "0"! So I fixed it...and now, I weigh 22olbs. I suspect that my initial 218 wasn't really 218 and I did actually loose weight. I think I'm going to take Jesse's advice and not weigh myself "...until I'm good and damn ready..."

Anyway, Sunday cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping, projects, bills and maybe if I'm lucky, a hot date (more details to follow...but as a precursor...leave it to me to date two different guys named Jason that are both masseurs...I know, I know, but he soooo incredibly rigoddamnediculously hot, and it's yet another chance to scream out my own name in a fit a passion and not be hassled for it...)

Money shot:

Day 80/I ate WHAT last night?

2005-09-17T10:26:00.000-07:00

Hola race fans. Apparently, after a night of fun at Jason's (happy Birthday Mr. Garcia!) and nightcapping at the Poodle, Shane and I ended up in Taco Bell, where I managed somehow, someway to shovel an entire Nacho Bell Grande down my throat without even remembering it until the next morning. So I ran to get rid of the nacho cheese thighs. It was a "meh" run, but at least I did it.

Money shot:

Day 81/Strawberry Fields Forever

2005-09-16T16:36:00.000-07:00

Hi there. Well, it's 4:36pm on Friday, and I'm not running. I should be, but I think I actually hurt myself. I'd go into detail but I just don't have the energy. So, no money shot, no run. I'll run tomorrow though, and after my run Sunday, I weigh in. Woo hoo!

Have a great weekend!

Prof.

Day 81.5/Intermission

2005-09-16T08:33:00.000-07:00

Hello. Woke up too late to run, as I had to be in early today. Oh well. Luckily, I'm leaving early and will be able to do the run this afternoon, so money shot then shower and if I feel like it (and I have the sneaking suspicion that I will) a couple a smart adult beverages at the Poodle.

Now that I've told Jesse, Ria, Jon, Nikki, Scott, Bridgette and Richelle, I can tell everybody: I'm moving back to San Francisco. Not for a couple of months, but I never really did get to explore that City. It was more of an extended working vacation than anything. They say that the City either accepts or rejects you, and I think every new place you live is the same way. Luckily, I had a built-in social circle when I arrived the last time, but even still, that City welcomed me with open arms and made me feel loved and (wait for it) normal. Yeah, Long Beach is great and I love it here, but when I drew that circular running path of 5 miles that went past every home I've lived in, it really spoke to me. I mean, what the hell am I doing here? I hate what I do for a living, my apartment building is being sold, and quite frankly, I'm bored. I need new stimuli, the kind you can only get by changing your latitude.

I've decided that I'm going to save enough to live for at least 3 months without a job. I'll still work during that period, mind you, but not for the money. I'm going to register with every temporary agency in San Francisco, and take every job I can. At the end of each day, I'm going to blog it from start to finish, EVERYTHING for 90 days. I already have a ton of source material for filler inbetween (I have had 43 jobs in 17 years, so please recognize my OfficeSpaceJudo is strong, right? I'll fuse the blog entries (including comments I think, which can be huge to a blog, so expect requests) with the original source material for my book). This work, karma willing, will end up being my 2nd "legitimate" work. The first? Well, that's in the works now, but it's more self-help section than it is entertainment/pseudo fiction/pseudo autobiography.

Alright kids. More soon.

Prof.

Day 82/Freiun Laven

2005-09-15T10:31:00.000-07:00

Woke up at 6:30 again and jumped right up and started stretching. Out the door by 6:45 and was pounding down 4th street full tilt for about a mile before I realized...I was still wearing my glasses. Now, I don't know if it's something you've ever experienced, but jogging with glasses sucks because you have to keep pushing them up your nose every few feet. Furthermore, because I'm insane, I couldn't do it without thinking I look and and sound like Professor Frink from the Simpsons "Glaven...nice lady....don't hurt a person...en hoiven!" Did wonders for the old ego, lemme tell you what. So feelin' sorry for myself, I finish as strong as I can (1 hour, 5 minutes...woohoo?) and get home to a message from Chris Brown.

"Oh, hey girl...just driving down 4th street and saw you gettin' it. Go 'head on nen!"

That made my whole day, especially when you consider that Chris is a marathon runner and could run backwards blindfolded faster than I could...gloiven...running forward. I'm in a great mood and think I experienced a little touch of runner's high for the first time in a long time. Yeah!

Money shot:

Elf Finger Found In Box Of Keebler Cookies | The Onion - America's Finest News Source

2005-09-14T13:14:00.000-07:00

Elf Finger Found In Box Of Keebler Cookies | The Onion - America's Finest News Source

Day 83/Rising and Shining

2005-09-14T09:58:00.000-07:00

Well, my time this morning was about the same as yesterday at 1 hour and 1o minutes. Not too bad for blubbing down 4th street at 7 in the morning. Everybody's going to work, all pissed off and bitter and I'm like "la la la *wheeze* la la la *wheeze*". Ideally would like to get it to less than an hour.

Went pretty good though, feel a little better about my gait.

No crunches or pushups - just stoked I ran the course.

BTW - My friend Miles has finally given in and decided to get himself a blog...a link to which is found to the right in the link list. Show him some bloglove and give 'em a click. Also, posted "Boozy Laundry" on the Brutal Poodle site, which I think is pretty good (IMHO), so give it a click too. Hell, give 'em all a click. You're not working anyway, right? Screw it, let's go surfin'.

Money shot:

productdose.com � Blog Archive � Forever Bulb

2005-09-13T11:59:00.000-07:00

productdose.com � Blog Archive � Forever Bulb

Days 85 & 84/Ghetto Stompin'

2005-09-13T09:47:00.000-07:00

Hey there! Yesterday was a decided wash, as I got home, ate Chinese food and caught up on correspondence. Watched "What the Bleep do we know?" again, and was in bed and asleep by 10pm (first time in a long time).

Got up at 6:30 and stretched this morning. I was jogging by 6:46am and finished the 5 mile course by 7:53. Really need to cut that time down. I have a feeling my time will drastically improve when I don't have to stop every mile or so and put out the fire started from my thighs rubbing together. Maybe a little vaseline? I took the counter-clockwise route so that the big payoff at the end was the beautiful landscape down the ocean-side path. That made it a little easier. As I ran past each of my old homes (all 7 of 'em) I do admit to having a cheesy collage of images, sounds and emotions that lazy people use for plot exposition. It was rather surreal, literally jogging down memory lane.

Crunches=Oh Heeeeeeeel naw
Push ups=see above

Money Shot:

Strange New Products: Skcandles - The Candle you Wear

2005-09-12T15:18:00.000-07:00

Strange New Products: Skcandles - The Candle you Wear

Day 86/And on the 7th day he collapsed

2005-09-11T08:41:00.000-07:00

I think I threw my back out...not "crazy laying on the floor watching Walker Texas Ranger because I can't reach the remote" bad, but it hurts enough to not go running. I'm still planning on my new route tomorrow though. Took a vicodin and am currently enjoying ancient herbal remedies that should make it bearable.

No longer posting what I eat, unless it's of some significance (really good or really bad).

Weight=220!!!!!! How in the holy FUCK did I gain weight? This is why I've never owned a scale. I'm not weighing again until next Sunday. This is just like torture.

Money shot=

BTW - Transporter 2 sucked donkey balls. I thought it would be bad, but I wasn't there for the plot, I was there for the action and fight scenes, which there were plenty of - I just couldn't suspend enough of my disbelief to make it enjoyable. It was too cheesy, like it wasn't even taking itself seriously. The bad guy needed his ass kicked for delivering each line like it was the only chance he had to display that he had an accent. WAY ACCENT. All of the accent. I guess my biggest bitch about though was Jason Statham (woof) took his shirt off once and only very briefly. What the hell's up with that? The original Transporter had a slick fight scene in a garage wherein our hero Frank just had to be half-naked and roll around with other hot guys in oil. To get traction, he had to use bicycle peddles as cleats. Now that's some serious ceiling fodder. Compare that to "2", where Frank is pitted through most of the movie against some heroin chic uber model (eat a sandwich Mary Kate) with the worst makeup ever. No one in the entire movie can aim a gun either. The tipping point: While being shot at in a hallway, Frank actually dodges bullets in real time (not bullet time, which still would not have been plausible when considering that Frank doesn't have super powers, isn't NEO or a Sentinal, and is not Ricochet Rabbit *pingpingPING*). Then there's the stupid virus illogistics. So very many holes in the plot with that one...can't bore you with the details...so very many holes. Then there's the plane crash...To sum it up, it wasn't "Tombraider 2" bad, but it was pretty fucking close. And for the record, Tombraider 2 is indeed the worst movie I've ever seen. Punching a shark...gimme a damn break.

Day 87/Jogging one's past

2005-09-10T11:31:00.000-07:00

.4/1.9/.1/1.4/.7/.2/.3 Add 'em up Bobby!

Total is: 5 miles. What do the numbers mean? It's the distance between each of the 7 places I've lived in Long Beach since January 2000. It also takes me on an almost perfectly circular path. If that's not the perfect analogy, then I don't know what is. Anyway, I thought of it today when running past a garage sale. Don't know why, just came to me. So, that's what I'm going to attempt on Monday. 5 miles a day oughta knock some weight off -

Weight=218. (Still unchanged...odd).

Crunches=10 (not in the mood)
Pushups=0(see above)
Ran=No idea...once I strayed from my path I just kinda went for it. No idea coulda been more, coulda been less. I think that's when I got the idea of the old home tour. Here's the new path:

Not too bad. Luckily I'll be near the city so I can take a cab back when I collapse in the street. What fun.

OK...Gonna go watch Transporter 2.

Money shot:

Day 88/Parking lot wind sprints

2005-09-09T08:50:00.000-07:00

I remember when my Mom would take us shoe shopping at the beginning of each school year, sometimes, especially in my older adolescence, it would be Famous Barr (Robinson's May for you West Coast Peeps), but "back inna day" it was all about Payless. Back when they were called "buddies" and velcro straps hadn't found their way into the world of arthritic geriatrics, they were good enough for us. We'd always get to pick the shoes that we wanted, and they would always be exactly one half-size too big so we could grow into them. What I remember most though, was the parking lot afterward. Before being ran over or abducted was all the rage, Mom could say: "Ok, show me if they work....are you faster?" And we'd race to the car, up the other aisle, back to the car. We really thought we could run faster in our new shoes...and for the most part that's probably true, or else, why buy new shoes if the old ones still fit and aren't worn out?

After a particularly rough day "at the office" yesterday (FUCK YOU ARNIE!), I stopped at the 'ol Waterin' Poodle and had myself a smart adult beverage (or two). When I got home and schlepped up the stairwell to my soon-to-be-more-expensive apartment I saw the shoe-size package from UPS at the top. I tore the packaging off and immediately put on my new NIKE 5.0 ID cross-trainers:

They're called "ID" because of the clever marketing ploy of being able to customize your shoes in their entirety, ordering from the web. I built these from scratch, picked the colors, blah blah blah, and if you look REALLY carefully, you can see the word "SNOUTCH" on the tongue. I wanted Professor Snoutch, but you only get eight characters. I wore them on my run this morning, but they need to be broken in a bit, so I'm wearing them now at work too.

Ran=2.0 miles
crunches=50 (better)
pushups=25 (better, but stil meh)
weight=218 (still unchanged)

breakfast=(haven't decided, ran out of time to eat)
lunch=(haven't decided, probably something bad)
dinner=(I'm feeling steak)

Going to see Jerry Seinfeld tonight, so may eat on Pine for something different.

Happy Friday!

Money Shot:

Fuck Ahnold, et al.

2005-09-08T14:01:00.001-07:00

**Rant Warning**

Yeah, Arnold really let us down. He touted a fiscally conservative/socially liberal agenda and I bought it hook, line and sinker. To pander to the extreme right, he's hiding behind Prop 22 and disappointed legions of former supporters in the process. Like it or not, it's his prerogative, right? I mean, a republican lied and we're all shocked??? Let's be real honest with ourselves.

But like my friend Scott, I take issue not with churches or special interest groups, but the fucking BUSINESSES that don't want equality for all Californians. A complete list of which can be found on his website.

What's really pissing me off now though is wondering, does the guy on the elevator want me to have equal rights? What about the girl in the next office? The car in front of me doesn't need a "dubya" sticker to be against me having the right to marry, does it? I'm looking around the sterile atmosphere that is big business in Orange County and I find my focus stops mainly at white people that look conservative (read: fat & pasty for men, fridged and bitchy for women)and wondering if they're the kind that live and let live, or the moral majority, who want special treatment for themselves, because they have up to now and fear change? It's to the point where I don't want to hold the door, let them pass in traffic, and generally want to be an elitist bitch to those people, because that's what they do to me. These are the people that actually were for prop 22, right? Well fuck 'em. If I can't get married, they can open their own fucking doors. They'll loose their place in line at the store when they forget the milk. I'm going on sheer sight. Anybody that looks like a conservative jackoff/ette, even if they're not is getting the same blanket treatment they give me by supporting agendas that subjegate me to a lower rank than themselves. So Fuck 'em. I've never believed in an eye for eye or fighting fire with fire until now.

Sure, Ahnold's a coward. He's a bitch and I bet he's sleeping on the couch tonight, but in every article I read, I found that I was more upset by those "...that rejoiced". Enough to give them a real reason to hate me.

Arnie, you had me and then you lost me.

2005-09-08T13:16:00.000-07:00

For lack of one leader

Day 89/It hurts when I go like this...

2005-09-08T09:12:00.000-07:00

Hola peoples.

Found out today that my building will be up for sale soon, which will result in higher rent (groan) and/or the landlord moving into the front house (double groan), so I'm a wee bit distracted. I love my apt., situation, et al, and to have to move again is horribly unsettling. Anybody out there looking for an investment property with GREAT tenants, please let me know. 3 one bedroom apartments in the back (one over a two car garage) and one on top of the other, along with a 3 bedroom house on the front of the property in Belmont Heights. GREAT location. 1.2 million. Not kidding.

Woke up late, around 6:30 and stretched. And then:

Ran=2 miles (better pace than yesterday)
crunches=25 (pretty freakin' weak)
push-ups=15 (better than 2, but still pretty bad)

weight=218 (unchanged)

Breakfast=Microwave quiche
Lunch=Salad from downstairs (I'm out of bread, so I couldn't make a sandwich)
Snack=Cottage cheese
Dinner=Haven't yet decided, probably something shake & bakie

Money shot: