Conspiracy Theory

rain is out to get me. i left my apartment for work. it started raining. i arrived at work. it stopped raining. i went out to deliver some mail. it started raining. i came back from delivering mail. it stopped raining. i left work. it started raining. i got home. it stopped raining.

when pledging your undying love to someone, it's probably best not to say that your love is like the skeleton turtles in mario.

stuck in this eventual collapse
inevitable, this sadness
days crumble around us
minutes like dust
blown across the surface of our lives
lifted and danced by the slow, hot breeze
the unspeakable feeling of these days
shadowed by that approaching moment

Weight

i need to study for my test
i need to shave
i need to eat better food
i need to put in more of an effort at work
i need to meet new people
i need to do my laundry
i need to finish my paper
i need to learn something new on my guitar
i need to write a short story
i need to swim every chance i get
i need to do the reading for my blaxplotation class
i need to get a good night's sleep
i need to stop watching so much television
i need to write a song
i need to find a job for the summer
i need to save my money
i need to make eye contact with a stranger
i need to reach my full potential
i need to go to the beach
i need to forget about the little things that bother me
i need to be a nicer person
i need to buy toilet paper
i need to stop being so paranoid
i need to read more books
i need to brush my teeth three times a day
i need to post more entries on my blog
i need to see the good in the people who piss me off
i need to finish something long before it is due
i need to listen to more jimi hendrix
i need to go somewhere i've never been before
i need to buy new socks
i need to stay away from amazon.com
i need to learn to laugh at myself
i need to drink more water
i need to be more open with the people i care about
i need to accept my own mortality
i need to wear more sunscreen
i need to relax

Republication

this is the republication of a poem by a good friend and yours truly in 2004.

surreal emptiness

quiet reaches the murky frog as he passed beyond
the gold bicycle of intense strategy
the torch cannot reach the saline waters of regeneration
without the grand stratospheric resistance
the depth of sedimentary supplements depends upon
wind patterns on fur tassels of body lotion

further past the dirt tentacles of oppression
the moths crowd deep into the wasted remains of grape bins
peeling from tyrannical parapets the gray chalk
silences the full pouches of miniature chessmen
hyperextending beyond the grasping tendrils
epileptic field mice become psuedonominal parasites

First in California

ah, the subtle differences between the westwood ralphs and the university park ralphs. after venturing out into ucla territory for dinner, we dropped into the neighborhood ralphs grocery store. after walking through the vegetation-adorned entryway, i was struck by the utter cleanliness and order of the store. the vegetables and fruit looked fresh and healthy, the aisles were spotless and the carts and baskets functioned properly and were not cluttered with newspaper inserts and plastic bags. at the checkout, the line progressed quickly. no managers were called over to unlock the register to correct a clerk's mistake and the credit card swipe machine managed not to malfunction once. it was everything i've missed about a grocery store since being forced by locale and lack of vehicular mobility to frequent the university park ralphs, a subpar version of the westwood paradigm. it was the epitome of the classism of american society that has become increasingly apparent as i've moved from a small farming town in central california to fresno and finally to los angeles.

Thought Paradox

my roommate called me during work today and asked me if i would be kind enough to take a package of ground beef out of the freezer to thaw when i got back to the apartment, being as it were that he himself would not be home until and hour and a half after my arrival. i left the office at five and on my way out realized that i had almost forgot about the ground beef situation. i decided i would test myself on my ride back to the apartment to see if i could maintain mental control by continuously concentrating on the task at hand, namely removing the aforementioned beef from the freezer. as i was biking through campus, mentally chanting my mantra of 'ground beef, ground beef,' i became aware of the fact that my mind was also making a number of other calculations despite my concerted effort to keep ground beef in the forefront of my consciousness. observations and thoughts kept popping up in my mind, most noticeably when i saw a toddler fall to the ground, and then again when i swerved around an erratic blond woman who nearly smacked me with a flailing arm. then i began contemplating how amazing it was that my mind was making all these instantaneous calculations while still keeping the ground beef chant going. then i started contemplating about posting that contemplation on this blog. then i started contemplating about how i would write about how i was contemplating about posting this on my blog and how it was even more amazing that i was contemplating posting the fact that i was contemplating the fact that my mind was making such a multitude of rapid-fire calculations while still keeping up with the ground beef mantra. of course that carried my mind away into an intricate maze of contemplating contemplations of contemplations of contemplations of rapid-fire calculations and beef mantras. to say the least, i was thoroughly exhausted by the time i got through the front door of my apartment. i was so determined to get down every minute detail of my thought process on my trip home in a blog entry that i had already sat down at my computer and logged on to blogger before i remembered to take the ground beef out to defrost. i went into the kitchen and saw the package of ground beef sitting on the countertop, already removed from the freezer by my other roommate.

On Blue

on one of those lazy afternoons davis told us about his boat. davis called it a yacht, but that term required a stretch of the imagination. from the faded and scuffed photo he pulled from his brown and similarly scuffed wallet, i could see it was more of a sea relic of old wood and chipped paint, the sails hanging limply, pocked with rips and patches. davis was standing against the left side of the worn bow, his sun-bronzed back glistening into the camera, his tangle of burnt auburn hair curling around his head as he stared off across the deep-blue and white-crested waves. he had inherited the boat from an old man years ago when he was still young. he was walking along a stone beach in northern california when he came across the old man, white stubble dotting his wrinkled face and his back creaking as he stooped to tie the ship's rope to a wooden pier. he offered the old man twenty dollars, which he didn't have, and was surprised when he told him it was his to keep. he had the old man take the picture of him standing in the stern with his old kodak camera and then he sailed out into the pacific. the third night out at sea he ran the boat ashore somewhere along big sur, gashing open the hull on the rocky coast. he stood on the cold, wet sand with the moonlight flickering off the crashing surf and watched the skeleton of his boat drift out with the tide and slowly sink beneath the black, hissing waves.

Gauchos Rumble

just got back from long beach and the big west swimming championships. ucsb took first in both men's and women's, hell yea, nice going guys.

also officially secured my internship this summer at the l.a. times on friday before i left for long beach, so now the hunt for a paid summer job begins.

incredibly happy that i have monday off so i have plenty of time to do absolutely nothing.

Lessons in Parenting

disclaimer: this link contains hilarious content that some may find morally offensive to a degree. no nudity or expletives, just pure immorality and derision.

first off, i must thank my good friend the yellow journalist for this find. here's the set-up: it's a father filming his son as he plays on a computer. just ask yourself as you watch...is this an example of good parenting or bad parenting?

here's the link

Shani Shadiness

quite a team player we have here in shani davis. that was sarcasm, people. the long-track speed skater decided not to participate in the olympic team pursuit event on wednesday. chad hedrick and two others had to carry the weight instead, and failed to qualify for the semifinals. 35-year-old kc boutiette was one of the other two skaters. he lagged off the end of the three-man team as they finished, giving italy the victory. with davis, the u.s. team would've been nearly a lock to advance and were toted as gold-medal favorites before davis announced he would not skate the team event. he told reporters he didn't want to skate the pursuit because he wanted to save his energy for his individual events, the next of which is the 1,000m on saturday. he also insisted that he was giving other u.s. skaters the opportunity to compete in the team pursuit. it's true that there is no 'i' in 'team.' unfortunately, there are two in shani davis.

Downtime

argh, blogger was down for the last few days and now i have all this pent up information just waiting to be spilled out on these pages.

first off, i'd like to announce the probability of my withdrawal from the 2006 l.a. marathon. unfortunately, despite my best attempts at rehabilitation and care, my knee doesn't seem to want to cooperate. after a week off of running, along with plenty of icing and stretching of my it band, i went to the track for a test run. at about 2 miles into the run the burning started up, so i've decided to give it one more try to make it to at least 3 miles, but the situation looks pretty grim.

and now to recap the events of saturday evening. my roommates and i had traveled to westwood to dine at chili's bar and grill. nothing fancy, just a relaxed dinner with friends. the waitress brought the check. at that moment, the trouble began. my two roommates decided to pile their share of the expense on a single credit card, a total of $26. now the check total was $35.09. i decided to throw down an andrew jackson for my share of the check, which was about $13 at the most. now, to slightly, and i emphasize slightly, complicate matters, one of my roommates threw in another $20 bill to get change for the valet. so we had put in a total of $66, $20 of which was to be returned in the form of lesser denominations. now when the waitress returned with the completed bill, this is what it contained: the credit card with receipt to be signed...and, drumroll please, 4 $5 bills. this accomplished the aforementioned goal of getting change for the valet. however, the remainder of the $20 bill i threw in, along with instructions to return the change to the table, was not present. this was quite the awkward situation. i was not willing to leave, having paid $20 dollars for a $13 meal and given the waitress a fat $11 tip on a mere $35 meal. however, it was going to be tricky to maneuver my change out of the pocket of the waitress without accusing her of trying to rip me off. i flagged down the waitress and she returned my change without any bad noise, whereupon i left a sufficient $5 tip. sorry lady, we aren't the usual crowd of high rollers you normally see in chili's on a saturday night.

The Rules of Bicycle Riding

rule 1: if you don't know how to ride a bike...don't ride a bike.

i'm so tired of having to slam on my brakes, swerve wildly to avoid head-on collisions and play chicken with the pink-beach-cruiser-piloting, cellphone-talking, wobbly-wheeling, wrong-side-of-the-road-riding, oblivious-to-anything-two-inches-beyond-her-book-basket sorority girl. i don't understand this phenomena. the moment the bike lock comes off, the cellphone comes out. sometimes i just stop and stare in amazement as they shoulder-lock the phone to the side of their head as they struggle mightily to crank out those first ten rotations, wobbling crazily across the sidewalk, cutting off everyone in their path and still maintaining a conversation about that 'omigod sucha cute little butt did you see him at the invite i was like dying he smiled at me can you believe it!?' popped-pink-polo-shirt-collar-sporting, black-beach-cruiser-piloting, beer-gut-hanging, tribal-armband-tattoo-flexing, gelled-hair-spiking, sexual-conquest-bragging fraternity guy.

The Summer I Left

it was the one thing none of us ever understood about davis. he'd be sitting on the sloping porch of the old dusty schoolhouse where he lived, picking out notes on his guitar, a joint pinched just tightly enough under a string at the headstock. no one ever actually saw davis smoke, but something in the deep brown pools of his eyes confirmed it for us all. i don't need anymore than this right here, he would say in his soft, ragged voice. it was easy for all of us to agree with him. the material life was not for us. but i think we all knew on those hot autumn days as we sprawled out under his slanted awning that while it was nice for now, we were never really content. i knew that if one of the stories i scrawled out in my red, leather-bound binder caught the eye of an editor, i would move out to hollywood and rent a cramped apartment and seclude myself, living away the paycheck, hoping to work together another story that would sell. but davis meant what he said. we could see it in the way the corners of his eyes and mouth would crinkle and hear it in the way his voice would drop, almost inaudible, when he said he didn't need anything but his guitar and a mellow breeze on a warm afternoon.

Painful

i was up early today (actually never really went to bed) and went to the gym for a nice weight session. i got back around 7:30 and turned on the tv while i ate breakfast. the first channel that came on was fox 11 and it's "good morning l.a." or whatever-they-call-it morning show. the one with the two skanked-out bimbos and the old guy. anyway, skanked-out bimbo number 2 was doing the weather, talking about cold fronts and whatnot (i couldn't help remarking that she probably has a cold front, considering the amount of cleavage hanging out of her low-cut dress...i know, it's bad). she was talking about wind patterns, since we have another wildfire going on down here, and seriously took twenty seconds to remember the word counter-clockwise. i half-expected her to say "like the way the little hand goes, but only the other way." after three minutes of torturous banter about a potential madonna/mariah catfight (hold the presses!), i could take no more and switched over to ifc short film collection in an attempt to salvage what few brain cells had not self-immolated.

A Minute of Life

the phone rings but he doesn't pick it up. it's something he's always wanted to do, to sit and listen to the phone ring, to hear the click of the answering machine and his own voice. he would always get to the third ring and give up, too afraid to miss someone with something important to say. this time he makes it past the third ring and whoever was calling gives up and the room is quiet again. he sits on the end of the couch, his right side leaning up against the armrest. it was pure-white in the furniture store, with little raised swirls colored only with the slightest tinge of cream. it looks comfortable but it doesn't give enough to the weight of his body. it's texture is too unforgiving. sierra loved it in the store. she leapt on it and laughed and said it would work well with his one dark-stained table. her sapphire eyes seemed to jump and sparkle against the white fabric and her light-blue dress and he bought the couch, wanting to replay that moment again and again in the gentle, early morning light, both of them holding softly steaming mugs of coffee and sighing. but months of sitting and the little spills of food and drink had turned his side from ice-white to a clouded pearl, sagging gently in the middle. sierra's side remained pristine and pure and untouched.

World Record

this morning i opened my groggy, foggy eyes momentarily to glance at the alarm clock in an effort to judge my remaining sleep time. it read 8:46, one minute past when i normally leave the apartment for my 9:00 french class. in a stunning display of efficiency and athletic prowess, i had urinated, dressed, packed my bag and was out the door with my bike in the span of a measly two minutes, the numbers 8:48 blurring on the clock as i sped past.

Spa Training

steelers won...yaaaawn. sorry, not a steelers or seahawks fan. and i never really got into the game.

the girls had a waterpolo game at the pool today, so the 50m pool was closed and i had to swim in the dive tank. i don't know if it's due to the wimpy divers who can't stand cold water or the older folks who always use that pool, but the water was jacuzzi-like. tepid or lukewarm would be generous at best. in that situation, i always lose every ounce of energy i jumped into the pool with after the first 300 yards. at least the girls beat csub. woohoo.

once again, i should be working on french homework or my new writing assignment, an exploration into what degree the selected readings present a critique of the american dream, but instead i'm thinking about playing scales on my guitar. i have to add here that i recently discovered i'm not a big fan of 3/4 time. not my strong suit as of yet.

well, back to the grind. here's another guess the author/book:

"he gets dressed to the music, sometimes dancing with himself in the mirror: will you go out with me? he puts on too much too expensive cologne so he can stink of a different kind of alcohol."

Cleaning Up

the usc men's basketball team cleaned up arizona last night. we finally had a game that the fans actually cheered at pretty vigorously. i don't know if any of you caught the game on fsn, but the refs were positively horrible. it got so bad that one of them was booed for probably two minutes straight. i would've felt bad for him, but to be honest, he completely deserved it. unbelievably bad.

i have a film class on the blaxploitation era this semester. it's taught by the self-titled "notorious phd," "the good doctor," "the doc," todd boyd. i'm not breaking him down or anything. he usually "keeps it real," and "spits some fly shit," as he puts it. all i'm saying is that if the class starts at 2:00, and we have to be there at 2:00, why does he not get there until 2:20-2:30? it's just a waste of time sitting there. i'd rather get out 30 minutes early than have to sit around for 30 minutes before class, not sure when exactly the professor is going to show up.

for those of you interested in this kind of stuff, (absolutely no one, i'm sure) the physics newsletter i put together last semester finally went up on the internet. it's not in color for some reason...don't ask me why. ah, who am i kidding? no one is going to read it anyway. enjoy the weekend, listen to some hendrix.