Grant-Will-Rant

Super Obama World

2008-11-12T08:50:00.000-08:00

It's a strange world. I was cruising the net and came across this hilarious game. It's called Super Obama World and it's fashioned after Nintendo's Super Mario World. Only instead of being chased by ravenous Goombas Obama must dodge lipstick wearing pitbulls. The goal of the game is to collect as many American flags as possible before the time runs out. And you can play this game online. Just click below. Have fun!

Super Obama World

Decades of me!

2008-11-03T12:06:00.000-08:00

Ever wondered what you would look like in the 60's, 70's and 80's? Well, there's this really cool site that gives you the chance to check out how hot you would've been. And oh man I am a hottie tottie!

Well, I'll let you judge for yourself!

Thanks to Katie-Kat who posted similar HOT pictures on her site.

1952
1964
1970
1988
1996

Grams and Her Wicked Grandson

2008-10-30T22:19:00.000-07:00

Okay. Are you ready for this? This little skit is beyond retarded (sorry not PC...how about developmentally challenged?). But there's something about it that keeps you watching until the very end.

Be sure to turn up the volume so you don't miss the excellent accompaniment.

My Directorial Debut

2008-10-27T12:35:00.000-07:00

Recently I took a trip to California to visit the family and ride roller coasters. While there I uncovered an old video of me and my family on a coastal trip during the Thanksgiving holiday. 18 years ago!

We had just bought a new camcorder--one of those monstrous video cameras--the kind you have to hold on your shoulder and require a full-sized VHS tape. Suddenly I was a director/actor/writer and all my little cousins were my cast and crew. We made several skits that to this day still tickle my funny bone.

Here is my favorite: Super Fish

Enjoy!

This is cooooool.....

2008-10-20T09:28:00.000-07:00

Subject: New Presidential Candidate... It's someone we know!

Hi, There's an effort to elect an unknown random person as President... and it's someone we know! I felt it was time to inject some new blood into Washington. What's wrong with nominating a crazy Russian for office? Besides, if Vladimir wins I'll be the First Man. And I think the White House could use a new makeover.

See this news website about the surprising new nominee:

Elect my boyfriend for President of the United States!

Jot back a note to let me know what you think!

Grant

Has it really been a year since my last post?

2008-10-13T09:08:00.000-07:00

It sure has! Wow! And so much can happen in a year...but I'll save those goodies for another time.

But now I'd like to talk about Skype. It's sooooooo coooool! Skype offers a free download and those who have it can call each other through their computers for FREE! And if you have a (Skype approved) camera you can see each other! Video calling! It's like Star Trek in your living room.

I tested it out and the quality is superb, sound and sight. My friends, Makoto and Sydney, recently moved to Tuscon, Arizona. Sad, yes, but with Skype I can invite them into my home anytime. And I did.

They've physically never been to Portland but I was able to give them a tour of my apartment and a brief flash of my neighborhood. Also, from my end, I got to see their new home and watch their two children play in the living room. Too Cool! And it's freeeeeeeeee!

So I'm sure I'm way behind on this. And all you tech savvy peeps out there are yawning with the words: Old News flashing in your brain, but for me it's DISNEYLAND.

My Skype address is Grant.Morris. Look me up. Call me! I'll give you a tour of my refrigerator!

Miss u guys,

Grant

Life Is Good...

2007-05-24T20:17:00.000-07:00

Ahh, today Vlad and I ate at our favorite little dive restaurant: Joe's Cellar. They serve breakfast all day and there's a bar attached with those devilish slot machines in the back. We often spend 15 dollars on the meal and 20 on the slots. Today we came home with 80 dollars more than we took.

But that's not even the best news. The best news was when the waitress asked our ages and I told her to guess. She guessed Vlad was 27 and for me she said 24 or 25! HAH! Can you believe that?

So when it came time for me to guess her age I said without hesitation: 24. And she blushed and then admitted she was 33. Yes, life is good. And just wait until I buy some more hair. Damn I miss having bangs. But they will return.

Mark my words: I WILL HAVE BANGS AGAIN!

In this photo I look like an old fart and Vlad looks like a hottie. He likes this picture, naturally.

Retail Hell!

2007-05-22T18:17:00.000-07:00

I just had one of those "I hate retail" days! Some really annoying, fat, black, idiot woman came in and harassed me for thirty minutes.

"Gimme that list with all those videos you selling!" boomed her obnoxious voice.

"What list?"

"Don't gimme that shit. You know what list I'm talking about. Every time I come in here you all tell me: What list? What list? I'm talking about the damn list with the videos you selling!"

FYI: This list has about 3,000 videos which we're pulling from the rental department to sell for one dollar each. Most have been pulled already and sent to various stores in our district. The rest are in boxes piled in storage. This woman wants the list so that she can pick out one or two movies to buy, which means that I would have to search through about 15 boxes to make 3 dollars. I never let any customers see this list because I do not have three hours to spare. But my foolish assistant just happened to tell this lady about the list and now I'm paying for it.

"Okay. Here's the list." What the hell? Maybe I'll get lucky and she'll keel over mid-read.

"You see. You knew what I was talking about."

A few minutes later.

"I want this movie right here."

"Well that movie was pulled three months ago and has already sold."

"How you know that?"

"Um...because...it was sold three months ago."

"No, it's on the list so you got it upstairs."

"No, we don't. But if you want to go upstairs and look for it, go right ahead."

"I'm not going upstairs! Why don't you do your job?"

"Fine." I went upstairs, balanced VHS for a few minutes, and came back down. "Well, apparently it's been sold. It's not upstairs anymore. Sorry about that."

Blank stare.

"Well that other guy (foolish assistant) always finds me the videos I'm looking for."

"That's because he was still doing the pull then. But he's been finished for quite a while now."

"I don't know what you mean by 'pull' but I need someone who knows how to do their damn job over here."

"I'll tell you what. (Foolish assistant) gets here in about a half hour. Why don't you wait for him to help you?"

TIME FOR LUNCH! PEACE OUT!!

Catching up...

2007-05-20T12:01:00.000-07:00

I'm excited! For several reasons: One, we're looking for a house/condo to buy in Portland. The search has been loads of fun. The real estate agent picked me and Vlad up in a shiny Jaguar and drove us to several properties. I liked them all but Vlad was only satisfied with one. So the search will go on.

One house was on a hill--not good because Vladimir doesn't want to drive downhill if it snows.

Another house the bathroom was too narrow--not good because Vladimir might bump his fat ass on the counter.

Another house was too far from downtown--not good because the walk to our favorite sushi bar would be too long.

Another house was too close to downtown--not good because Vladimir would have trouble finding a parking space.

Again, I liked them all. But satisfying Vladimir is like trying to shove an angry hamster up your ass. I haven't tried it but Vladimir probably has.

Okay, not really.

At this point you can take a break from my blog and come back later to read what else has made me excited recently.

So, my short story, "Deathwaves," will finally be published in June. I can't wait! My story in a real live magazine with pictures and everything. Wow!

I'm working on another story in the same vein as the one being published in the hope that Deathwaves will be so successful that the editor will call for another right away. I'm working myself up into a frenzy of excitement imagining my success. Hee hee. BTW, I'll post the link to the zine when available.

Hmmm, I said several things are making me excited. Oh, I got a nice fat bonus for the 1st quarter. Um, what else. Oh yeah, Vegas in July! And...hmmm, I guess that's it.

I'll leave you with this ridiculous photo taken at Magic Mountain.

The Tree Story

2007-05-02T18:35:00.000-07:00

So last month I decided to take Vladimir home to Fresno to meet the family. All went well. My family treated him as if he was their own. And this was very special for Vladimir as his family is thousands of miles away and he misses them very much. So my family has sort of filled that gap for now.

We also spent a couple of days in Los Angeles visiting Makoto and Sydney, hanging out at Universal Studios and shopping in downtown LA. And that's where things got very interesting.

You see, one of Vlad's coworkers asked him to buy a plastic tree in LA and bring it back to Portland. Okay, are you thinking what I was thinking? Why not buy a plastic tree in Portland? Why LA?

"You can't buy them in Portland," he tried to convince me.

I argued: "Bullshit. You can buy them at Home Depot or Wal-Mart or Lowe's or..."

"No. They're too expensive and cheap looking..."

"Vladimir, you can't bring a tree on the plane. That's ridiculous They're gonna charge you a grip of money."

Confused face.

"A lot of money."

Well, there was no convincing him. He was set to buy the damn tree in LA and bring the sucker to Portland. So we bought it for like 80 bucks. (And, seriously, it was the same damn tree you can find at any home supply store in Portland, but...well...he's a determined Kazahk, so I gave in...

And, just as I expected, they wanted to charge him 100 dollars to take it on the plane. I gave Vlad that "I told you so" look and then sat back and watched the magic unfold. After ten minutes of arguing with the people at the United desk, Vladimir got to put the silly tree on the airplane for free.

He always gets his way. Damn Kazahk.

Has it really been six months?

2007-04-28T17:47:00.000-07:00

Indeed it has. But I'm back...I think. At least I'm posting right now.

So what have I been up to?

Well, the week after I returned from Paris I met Vladimir: Yep, this is my sweet boyfriend who has been taking up all of my time during these last 6 months. It was tough to write in my blog because no one knew that I had met this fantastic creature. And since I was hanging out with him 24/7 there wasn't much I could write about. But now I think everyone knows so maybe I can play catch up now.

Vlad's from Kazahkstan. Have you seen the movie Borat? Well, he's basically Borat without the moustache. Okay, that's not really true. But they are from the same country and, yes, they have some strange traditions. But I made Vladimir get rid of his pet chickens before I moved in with him.

Let's see: We met at Starbucks and had our first date. We went for a walk through a beautiful park. Then we went to watch a friend of his perform in a dance thingamajiggy. It was quite interesting. Four girls rolling around on stage wrapped in colorful saran wrap is a first date I'll never forget.

That's all you get to know. I'm a good boy :)

I'm Back!

2006-10-03T20:23:00.000-07:00

I've been back for a week but was experiencing vacation blues. It happens.

The time in France was just so completely awesome but way too short. I didn't do too many touristy things this time, mostly played tennis and video games with my French brothers.

Marc kicked my ass at Tennis and so I had to buy him a tarte aux fraises.

Of course I spent probably half the trip sitting in cafés and restaurants. At night Marc and I would sit at the Pantheon and watch the Eiffel Tower light up and sparkle. And I did make the obligatory trip to Trocadero Square.

And, of course, I payed homage to Jim Morrison.

Here's my extended French family.

A Confession...

2006-09-09T21:04:00.000-07:00

The day I moved into my apartment in Portland I discovered that I was magically connected to the Internet whenever I turned my laptop on. Wow! Pretty cool for a cheapskate like me.

But at the beginning of this month the magic vanished...or the person whose service I was conveniently using moved away. So now I walk down to the corner Starbucks to get both my coffee and Internet fix at the same time. Unfortunately that doesn't happen often.

I thought I'd have a coronary without the Internet at home, but it hasn't been that bad. I read more. Watch more television. And buy less Folgers's from the grocery store. But I'm sooooo behind on everyone's blogs, news, etc. And I feel a bit isolated without a constant connection to the world.

Ahh, the dilemma.

Subscribe to my own service...or wait for some sucker to move in?

I think I'll wait. I'm leaving for France on Wednesday. (I know the irony is thick.) No use subscribing now.

I hope everyone is doing well.

Au revoir mes amis!!

The results are in!

2006-09-02T09:54:00.000-07:00

Everyone gets a point for showing up. Jay gets an extra point for being the first to guess the Travolta theme!! Thanks for playing everyone!

1) "They call it a Royal with Cheese." PULP FICTION - points go to DMD!

2) "What did she give him?" "A lock of hair. From her chest." GREASE - points go to JAY!

3) "Take that dress off. I can see your dirty pillows.""They're called breasts, mama, and every woman has them." CARRIE - points go to KRISTY P!!

4) "If I were to send you flowers where would I address.... no wait. Let me rephrase that. If I were to let you suck my tongue, would you be grateful?" FACE OFF - points go to ROONEY!

5) "Now if we set this apple down it would become spoiled within a few days. But if we take a bite of it like this...it becomes part of us forever, and we can take it with us." PHENOMENON - points go to KSL!

6) "That's it! You have some exotic baby disease, and I look like I could play the lead in night of the living dead. And your father deserted us so he could pork his interior decorator! I guess it's safe to say that it can't get any worse! >HEL-LO-OOO!!! >I was wrong." LOOK WHO'S TALKING - points go to MAMA CHRISTY

7) "You always pickup women in the supermarket? No, i usually throw them over my shoulder and carry them down a ladder" LADDER 49 - points go to JAY!

8) "You tried to kill me. Our friendship is over.""That doesn't mean I don't like you." MICHAEL - points go to KSL!

9) "I don't care what you and your Daddy think. Not all cowboys are dumb; some of us got smarts real good." URBAN COWBOY - points go to Laina! And one point to KTS for sharing her childhood memory and dating herself in the process!!

10) "Take your bloody hands off me! Don't you ever touch me again! Who do you think you're dealing with--some little groupie who jumps when you call? Is that what you think I am? We met, I liked you, we made it, what do you think it was true love? And you say I used you, what about you using me? Everybody uses everybody, don't they?" STAYING ALIVE - the only one no one got :(

POINTS TO EVERYONE FOR SHOWING UP. I'LL LET KEP ADD UP THE GOODS! BUT HERE ARE THE POINT TALLIES FOR THIS GAME:

· beth 1 point
· alli 2 points (one for showing up; one for being first!)
· loni 1 point
· jay 3 points
· dmd 2 points
· kts 2 points
· kep 2 points (one for showing up; one for being the boss!)
· rooney 2 points
· ksl 3 points
· kristen - How could you leave me this way?
· rabbit - Where fore art thou?
· k 1 point
· kristy p 2 points
· grant - it's me, it's me!
· mamachristy 2 points
· laina 2 points
· jeana - Play with me next time!
· rebecca - We missed you!!
· ollie - ya big brat!
· goon squad sarah - Come back!
· tim - It's just not a game without Tim!
· cmommy - C Mommy...no, I don't C her anywhere :(
· carrie 1 points
· zolafan - He flew the coup!

YES, it's here!!! Friday Flicks with Grant!!!

2006-09-01T10:17:00.000-07:00

Thanks to all you middle states people and east coasters for your patience! Good luck!!

1) "They call it a Royal with Cheese."

2) "What did she give him?"
"A lock of hair. From her chest."

3) "Take that dress off. I can see your dirty pillows."
"They're called breasts, mama, and every woman has them."

4) "If I were to send you flowers where would I address.... no wait. Let me rephrase that. If I were to let you suck my tongue, would you be grateful?"

5) "Now if we set this apple down it would become spoiled within a few days. But if we take a bite of it like this...it becomes part of us forever, and we can take it with us."

6) "That's it! You have some exotic baby disease, and I look like I could play the lead in night of the living dead. And your father deserted us so he could pork his interior decorator! I guess it's safe to say that it can't get any worse! >HEL-LO-OOO!!! >I was wrong."

7) "You always pickup women in the supermarket? No, i usually throw them over my shoulder and carry them down a ladder"

8) "You tried to kill me. Our friendship is over."
"That doesn't mean I don't like you."

9) "I don't care what you and your Daddy think. Not all cowboys are dumb; some of us got smarts real good."

10) "Take your bloody hands off me! Don't you ever touch me again! Who do you think you're dealing with--some little groupie who jumps when you call? Is that what you think I am? We met, I liked you, we made it, what do you think it was true love? And you say I used you, what about you using me? Everybody uses everybody, don't they?"

Ask and you shall receive...

2006-08-25T09:15:00.000-07:00

At my company picnic I played tennis for a couple of hours. Well, I forgot how fun tennis is. It's such a great sport. And the work out is incredible and exactly what this flabby old body needs.

So I put the word out at work. And I joined a website: Meet-up Portland, and posted a message asking if anyone would be interested in meeting for tennis. A few days went by. And then one of my employees took me up on the offer. So we played.

Then another employee took me up on the offer. So we played.

Then ten people responded to my posting on Meet-up and now I feel like I created a monster. My body is so sore. Wrist hurts, pecks, calves, biceps, knees, ass cheeks--even my eyes are sore from the sweat that's pored into them over the last few matches.

I'm a wreck. But I'm having so much fun!!

We're doomed...

2006-08-17T09:53:00.000-07:00

US judge rules wiretaps illegal.

A US program to tap some phones without warrants is unconstitutional, and must be halted at once, a federal judge in Detroit ruled.

The scheme, approved by President George W Bush in 2001, involves tapping conversations between some callers in the US and people in other countries.

The American Civil Liberties Union brought the case against the program, which was uncovered by the US media.

And, hey, while we're at it, why don't we take the guns from policemen too.

Catching up...

2006-08-09T20:41:00.000-07:00

I just realized that it's been a long time since I last posted. It's amazing how time flies when you're having fun. And, yes, I'm having a blast. I love Portland. I love my job. I love my employees. And I love my customers...errr...ok...some of them

Today we had a company conference/picnic. It was pretty cool. About one hour in conference and three hours of tennis and Frisbee. My index finger is bruised from the Frisbee catching. But my weak ass back impressed me during tennis. No painful twitches so far.

Tonight is the final dance off on "So You Think You Can Dance." I really like that show. Even better than American Idol. And if I were going to vote I'd vote for Benji. Anyone else watch?

I'm really jazzed about my store's numbers right now. Last week our revenue percentage over last year was 36%--the highest in the Northwest region!! And my store (with a nice pic of yours truly) was featured on the front page of the company's monthly newsletter. Which means that people across the States get to see my ugly mug.

What else?

Oh yeah. Apparently some nut tried to seek refuge in my store after exposing himself in the park. The police ran into the store and tazored the poor bastard. You see, if he'd just waited a couple of weeks he could've simply joined in on the nude bicycle marathon coming up.

I'm not kidding. They really do bicycle nude through downtown Portland. Can you imagine? There's something else you have to worry about getting caught up in the chain.

Yikes!

Stupid is as stupid does...

2006-07-31T22:50:00.000-07:00

So at the video store you'll find that the new release wall consists of very thin display boxes picturing the movie on the front cover. There's a sticker in the right corner that says in fat red lettering: DISPLAY BOX ONLY. If the movie is in the store (not checked out) it will be placed in front of this thin display box.

You can imagine how many people bring the empty display boxes up to the counter. It's understandable: they may not be familiar with the way it works at our store. I usually point to the flashy sticker in the corner and say in a non-sarcastic voice, "This is actually the display box...the movie will be in a regular DVD case. You know, the thicker ones on the wall with the little locks on the spine."

The customer often blushes but it's an honest mistake. I can forgive them. What I can't forgive is the customer that insists on arguing with you.

"Well I always bring up the display box!"

"Um...the DVD isn't actually in this box, sir."

"It is all the other times I rent from you guys."

Holding up the three correct DVDs he brought up in one hand and the empty display box in the other, I say, "Can you see the difference between the cases you brought up? You see how one has a sticker that says DISPLAY BOX ONLY? Well, that means that it should stay on the wall."

Huffing and puffing. "Why do you have those on the wall if they don't have DVDs in them?"

"So customers know what movies we have, even if they're not currently checked in."

"That doesn't make much sense."

"What doesn't?"

"To have an empty box up on the wall. It's misleading."

"If we didn't have something up there we'd have a bunch of blank spaces and no one would know where to return the movies."

"Well I want to rent that movie."

"Okay...let me just make sure we have it in stock."

"Well you should--you had the box on the wall."

"Which box?"

"The one in your hand!"

"But sir...oh, never mind."

Some people just don't get it...

P is for Perfectionist...

2006-07-27T10:44:00.000-07:00

Standing in line at the grocery store a complete stranger pegged me as a perfectionist.

All I did was put my hand basket away. But when I looked back I noticed it was slightly askew. A black woman moved in front of the baskets and I reached around her to straighten my basket out so it fit snug with the others.

The black woman beamed at me and said, "Honey, you just gave yourself away. You a perfectionist!"

I felt my ears heat up instantly (and I still don't know why). I just chuckled and awkwardly stepped in front of the cashier to pay.

"Listen, honey," the black woman went on. "Why don't you go on home and mess some things up." She laughed a jolly laugh.

I laughed with her and hated the fact that I was embarrassed.

Why be embarrassed? Maybe it's embarrassing when you realize how transparent you are. Or maybe it's embarrassing to discover you have a nerdy compulsion to straighten things. Or maybe it was because the black woman had her hand on my ass.

Just kidding. Though that would've been embarrassing too.

Portland Pics Coming Soon...

2006-07-27T10:41:00.000-07:00

My DM visited my store yesterday and said he was astonished at how awesome the store looks. He even said that he'd never seen it so organized and clean, even when Bill, the guy who trained me and who is now a DM, ran the store. I was happy indeed.

Prepare for abrupt subject change...

I finally bought a digital camera. I hate spending money (accept on trips!). I don't drive a fancy car. I don't have a thumping stereo. I just like things simple. And I'd rather spend my money on a new experience rather than a fancy gadget.

But I decided a digital camera was okay. Portland is so beautiful and my camera phone doesn't do the city justice. Also I should probably take pictures in France this September. I didn't even bother bringing a camera the last couple of times I went to Europe. Even my pics from Texas and Louisiana are from Petra's camera.

So UPS delivered yesterday. And I love the little snapper. It's ultra thin, sleek, silver, and has the largest LCD screen of any digital camera. And I have today off so I plan to stroll around and take some awesome pictures. These I will share soon.

I bet you're just trembling with anticipation.

Useless Babble...

2006-07-24T18:56:00.000-07:00

So it's been way too hot to blog. Yeah, that's my excuse this week. But, really, the temp has been ridiculous to the umpteenth power this past week--more than 100 degrees! The hottest week since 1980 something.

The last couple of nights have been pure hell. The thermometer in my bathroom has been flashing 93 degrees. By about 3am it was down to 91. No AC in my apartment. Why? Because it doesn't get hot in Portland.

HAH! Could've fooled me!!

So right now I'm sitting in a chilly 24 hour Starbucks with my laptop on my...well, lap. Two yuppie ladies are nesting across from me pawing each other's clothing and laying out the compliments.

"Oh, sweety, you have the most adorable hand purse."

"Well, you know, I was strolling through Nordstroms and..."

Yada, yada, yada.

A couple of nerdy computer dudes are tapping away in dark corners, scanning chicks as they slip in and out with café lattes. An old man with a beret is standing in the center of the café--I think he's lost--that happens a lot here.

The other day at the video store an old woman with squinty eyes was yelling at me to show her where we kept our whole milk.

"I can't find it nowheres!"

"Ma'am, this is a video store."

"Oh, dear!"

Today an old man came looking for springs. I listened to a lengthy tale of how he pried apart a VHS tape and the springs sprung. He turned off the lights in his apartment and waved his flashlight around until he spotted them glinting from between carpet fibers (He was really proud to share this.).

"But two's lost for good," he grumbled. "Can you spare a couple springs?"

"Sure. You can find them down the milk aisle."

Wink.

Why are yawns contagious?

2006-07-18T20:00:00.001-07:00

Who knows? My biology teacher told me that when we were monkeys we displayed our teeth to frighten away predators. And that when someone yawns we see their teeth and instinctively yawn back to protect ourselves.

What do you think?

Euthanasia: a crime or a right?

2006-07-18T20:00:00.000-07:00

I'm not going to present a nice story for everyone to relate to in order to see my point of view more clearly. I'm too lazy right now. So I'm just going to come out with my opinion on this subject. If yours is different, shout it out. I'd love to hear why.

There's nothing wrong with euthanasia. If someone is suffering miserably, and the doctors say there's nothing they can do, it's a crime to refuse assisted suicide. It's inhumane to allow someone to suffer until they die naturally. It should always be up to the terminally ill individual to decide whether and when to permanently check out. We wouldn't allow an animal to suffer such pain so why allow a human being?

To Raft Or Not To Raft...

2006-07-18T19:59:00.000-07:00

Remember the rafting trip that I wanted so badly to get out of? Well I got out of it. Instead of making up an exhausted excuse (like some managers) I just told the truth. I didn't feel like it was my time to die, simple as that.

A few days before the trip there was news about a girl who got thrown from her raft and swept downriver. The day of the district trip park rangers found her tattered body wedged between some boulders.

Today I learned that one of the store managers scraped up his knee on some rocks and broke his toe. You see, that's why I didn't go. That would've been me. Except instead of a simple scrape it would've been a broken nose, or a gauged out eye, or my neck would've attempted a 360 degree revolution.

Don't give in to peer pressure. And that would've been the ONLY reason I would've gone. And what a STUPID reason that would've been.

The Evil That Men Do...

2006-07-17T19:06:00.000-07:00

That's twice I've turned a blind eye to blatant thievery. The first incident occurred in Paris. I was on the Metro and spied this black gentleman--nicely dressed (though even the skankiest French usually are) with gold rings and a huge toothy smile.

The Metro car was packed as we headed toward the suburbs during rush hour. And a packed subway in Paris means that you've got about four or five strangers' asses pressed against your body and your hand is one of many gripping the "oh shit" pole. It's gross because everyone's sweaty and so hands are slipping up and down the pole and it looks quite disgusting--I'll say no more on that.

Several Japanese tourists were scrunched together against the door. I watched the nicely dressed black man weasel his way closer to an unsuspecting Japanese tourist. Through a crack between various limbs I spied the black man's large hand do a steady nose dive and in a flash he had the Japanese tourist's wallet. Voilá! The crime committed.

Several minutes later the very same black man was cordially giving the Japanese directions in Paris wearing the same flashy smile. A smile that I now equate to evil.

The second incident occurred yesterday. This time I was waiting for the MAX--Portland's answer to the Metro. An old woman got up from the bench and left her gaudy jeweled hand purse behind. I was going to say something when I noticed a twenty something white kid--dressed yuppyish with white cap set at the "cool" angle--discreetly observe the neglected purse.

Was he going to tell the old woman she'd left her purse?

He moseyed over very casually and sat down on the bench--right beside the bejeweled purse.

He's going to snag it. I couldn't believe it. The kid did not look like he needed the money. Are people really this evil? I must be so completely naïve. I remembered the black man in Paris. To steal from a tourist. And now this kid was going to steal from an old woman--probably on a fixed income.

The kid stood and then sat down again, only this time the little purse was directly behind him. Everything was done in a sly manner. My observations were discreet as well and when I turned back the purse was gone and the kid was standing up. He'd snagged it and stowed it in his backpack.

I thought: any moment the police are going to jump out of the bushes and arrest this kid. It had to be a setup. It was too easy for this kid. But nothing happened. The MAX came. I got on, the kid got on, and the old lady was nowhere to be seen.

Across from me, the kid glanced my way and I shook my head in that shame-on-you fashion. He knew now that I'd seen his dirty deed. He turned away. And I thought: What a bastard I am! I should've said something. But sometimes the urge to observe someone doing the unthinkable is just too great. I really didn't think he would do it. My benefit-of-the-doubt bubble has burst. And I probably collected a lot of negative Karma.

The Good, the Bad, and the Stinky...

2006-07-15T10:53:00.000-07:00

I interviewed four people, back to back, yesterday and loved every one of them. An extremely rare occurrence. The unfortunate part is that I'm only looking to fill three slots. But I can't just let good people slip by so I'm hiring all of them.

It's funny how that works. I've done interviews where every applicant was a complete bloke. One guy was so high that in between answers he'd stare at my forehead for a long time and I could see his consciousness slipping away. When he did manage to put a sentence together it was accompanied by the snap, crackle, pop of the obvious dry mouth.

Another girl was a complete rattle of nerves. Her lip twitched incessantly and I swore she was speaking another language. I caught myself leaning forward and concentrating on her every syllable. Which probably didn't help her nerves much. But, come on, I'm not that imposing. My advice: If you know you're going to be nervous for a job interview, pound a couple of tequila shots first.

But the most memorable applicant who got a speedy pass was this guy who--to my horror--had irritable bowel syndrome. I never did hear the toots...but they hung in the air like heavy drapery. I stayed out of my office for a good hour after that interview. How horrible. The poor bastard. Next time he should consider shoving a Glade Plug-In up his ass before sitting down to an interview.

The Mosquito on the Moon...

2006-07-14T10:58:00.000-07:00

Okay I'm ready to move to the moon. Somewhere where idiots aren't killing each other over petty religious differences. Over IDEAS! The earth has basically become an overcrowded sandbox, only the weapons aren't plastic shovels and buckets but bombs that reduce living breathing human beings to the equivalent of fish flakes.

And I thought religions were supposed to be peaceful. Accepting of others. What good does it do to pray 5 times a day and then strap on a bomb-jacket and blow up innocent civilians trying to have a fricken cup of coffee after a long day at work? Why can't these idiots, you know, cherish their shared history in the Holy Lands?

Okay, I understand it's not that simple. The hatred runs deep between the Palestinians and the Israelis. Yadda, yadda, yadda. But when you really stop and think about it, they're not that different. Both religions trace their beginnings to Abraham. The Jews and Christians consider him the father of Israel through his son Isaac while Muslims consider him the father of Islam through his other son Ishmael.

But both religions share the SAME God! Allah, Jehovah, whatever! It's the same being. Christ, you'd think they'd rejoice in their similarities. They're basically brothers!

So, I invite you to join me on the moon. But here there is no arguing. No lashing out. No vindictiveness. No my god is bigger than your god. Only peaceful stargazing. And coffee. And the occasional American Idol episode. That's it. One small step for Mosquito Grant, one giant leap for religious fanatics.

HILARIOUS!

2006-07-13T09:40:00.000-07:00

Watch the whole thing. This is too funny. Thanks KEP!

Toilet Trickery.

Free trip to the 16th century...

2006-07-11T20:52:00.000-07:00

I've got the next two days off! And I was thinking about going to Seattle--it's only a few hours north by train and I've never been. But I can't bring myself to pay $100 for a lousy hotel room for one night.

Unlike Mosquito Grant, who could simply find a decent twig (or Space Needle) to cling to, I require a comfortable spot to lay my head at night. But not for $100. Uh-uh...no way, José.

So it looks like instead I'll be hanging around Portland, enjoying this beautiful 85 degree weather. Sorry for all my loved ones out there in California where it's been an insane 100+ degrees for the last week. Just think of me when you poke your head into the cool refrigerator.

Meanwhile I've got a couple of short story ideas rattling around my brain. I think I've found my niche. A blend of history and fantasy, aptly termed fantahistorical.

The story I sold is about a guy who feels where people have died--he experiences their death as they did and can point out the spot where it happened and what was going through the deceased's mind during their final moments. The Vatican hires him to search out the exact spot of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. You'll have to read the story to know what he discovered.

Right now I'm fixated on Nostradamus and how he supposedly predicted the future by witnessing events in a mirror that he'd stare at for hours. In my mind it wasn't a mirror but a flat screen hi-def television that a time traveler had conveniently left in his care.

So rather than taking a costly trip to Seattle I'll be tripping out for free on some hardcore 16th century Nostradamus. Yeah, man. Way cool...

Boo for France!

2006-07-09T23:46:00.000-07:00

I was so looking forward to watching the World Cup on Sunday. I didn't have to work til 1pm and the game started at 11am and it was only supposed to last for 90 minutes. Well, it went into overtime and so I had to record the finale. Dumb luck.

It's too depressing to talk about. All I have to say is that if Zidane--France's superstar player--hadn't headbutted his opponent and gotten himself redcarded and tossed out of the game in overtime, France would've won. What's heartbreaking is that it was Zidane's last game--ever. He's retiring. Oh well.

As the game was getting underway I received a text message from Marc in France. He wrote that his heart was pounding really hard and that it was going to be a tough game but he thought France would win. I didn't have the heart to text him back at the end of the game. He's probably lying drunk beneath the Eiffel Tower by now.

I guess I should send a congratulatory e-mail to my friend Alessio in Italy. Though he's probably lying drunk in the Coliseum right now. That's the cool thing about watching the World Cup: You get drunk whether your team wins or loses.

Oh, by the way, it looks like Mosquito Grant is hanging out at the carnival. But I seemed to have lost him...

The Hunt Is On...

2006-07-08T12:18:00.000-07:00

It's difficult balancing writing with agent-hunting with story-submitting with reading to stay on top of the game. And to do all that while still working 40 plus hours per week. But it's also a lot of fun. I love being busy! And I love writing this blog!

As far as the agent hunt, I've been averaging two queries per day. You'd think you could just look up an agent and hit send, but it's not that easy. Each agent has slightly different submission requirements.

For example:

Agent A wants a query (basically a cover letter asking for representation, a brief description of your book, as well as a paragraph highlighting your qualifications and why the agent should represent you), a three to four page synopsis (a summary of the novel), and the first three chapters (50 pages).

Agent B wants a query (and specifies that it's a good idea to mention another author whom your style resembles), a ONE page synopsis (any more than that and the agent will toss the whole submission), and the first five pages of the novel.

Agent C wants a query (and gives a caveat: Please don't say my book is similar to J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter, or any other established author, for that matter!), a chapter by chapter outline--no more than ten pages, and no request for pages.

Other agents want you to include what sort of marketing plan you have for your novel. Others require that you be an already published author before submitting.

Can you see the dilemma?

And I won't even get into the whole "is your novel marketable" crap. For those thinking of writing a book (I know KTS and Rooney mentioned the possibility) it's a wise idea to research what's hot before you dive in.

For example, right now paranormal romance is selling like hotcakes. But, in all likelihood, by the time you finish your novel something else will be hot. So I guess my advice is to write what you like to read. And write what you know. And read a lot so you don't end up thinking you have this GREAT idea that--unbeknownst to you--a million people have already done.

The Mosquito Has Landed...

2006-07-05T20:42:00.000-07:00

I should be writing fiction right now, but instead I'm dawdling. You fellow writers understand what I'm talking about. You know you should be writing--you're excited about writing--but you procrastinate and do anything BUT writing. Though, technically, I'm writing right now.

Before I get too convoluted (oops, too late) I'll move on.

I found out today that my store is ranked 141st in the company. The criteria used for the ranking is more convoluted than the above paragraph so I'll skip that part. But that's 141 out of 3,000 stores!

So what. Big Deal. What does that mean?

Bonus baby! Should be around 3 Gs from what other store managers are saying. The news put me in an exceptionally fantastic mood, naturally.

Hmmm...

Maybe I'll stay a bit longer in Europe. You know, rent a garret overlooking the Seine. Fresh croissants and Nutella delivered every morning. Foot massages by French goddesses.

"Yeah, honey, lick them toes!"

"Oui, oui, monsignor Mosquito. I am trés infatuated with dees beautiful tosies..."

"Did I ask you to talk?"

"Pardon moi,"--slurp--"I will keep my mouth--"

"NEXT!"

Happy 4th of July!!

2006-07-04T19:06:00.000-07:00

I worked today but I get to take an extra day off next week! I'm excited. I'm going to stroll drown to the waterfront and watch the cool fireworks over the river. I can't wait! Finally I live in a city that celebrates the 4th with style and pizzazz!!

Today a lot of weirdoes came in. What am I saying?--everyday weirdoes come in. I guess they were just coming in droves today.

--Snot man #2. Not the same guy, so obviously there's some major mucous malfunctions here in Portland. It looked like this guy had forced a lime colored balloon up one nostril and was attempting to blow it up as he spoke to me. The entire conversation I was flinching and preparing to duck should the thing go airborne. And he was so flustered too which made the situation all the more precarious.

--Talk a lot guy from Czechoslovakia. This guy would not leave my employee alone. Talk talk talk talk talk! Can you get this for me? Can you get that? Can you clean this disk? Have you seen this movie? I finally said, "What are we, dating here?" Don't worry. He didn't get my sarcasm. He's from Czech, remember?

--Sweaty Sasquatch guy. It doesn't matter if it's ten below outside, you're guaranteed to have a pool of sweat on your counter with this guy. To make matters worse, he wipes his face with the back of his thumb and then slings the sour sweat on the ground. And that's before he hands you his--slightly damp--wad of cash.

Modern Day Slavery...

2006-07-03T21:25:00.000-07:00

I'm all for bonding with coworkers, to a certain degree. But when it includes participating in activities that under normal circumstances I would never do, then I get all antsy and bent out of shape. It's bad enough that I'm being forced to hang out with people who are going to talk shop the entire time, but to mix that with a dull activity--well that's just unbearable.

Nevertheless, I didn't freak out or go ballistic when my boss scheduled a mandatory bowling meet-up--even though I despise the sport and the danger it poses on my troubled lower back. I showed up and modeled my best civil behavior. I mingled and cheered and taunted and teased with the best of them. But deep inside, I couldn't wait to escape.

Well now the latest obligatory excursion involves a three hour trip to eastern Oregon where the store managers in my district are planning to go river rafting. Uh, no thank you. C'mon, haven't they seen the River Wild? I don't wanna die before my book gets published!

What happened to the simple potluck dinner? What's worse: I have to pay $85 to go on this trip. I have to shell out a huge chunk of precious doe to travel somewhere, and do something, I wouldn't do if someone paid ME!

ACCEPTED!

2006-07-01T09:29:00.000-07:00

In an amazing turn of events, I was on my way to work and stopped by the mailbox per the normal routine, and guess what I found? An acceptance form from a magazine that wants to publish one of my short stories!!! This is going to be my first sale!!

And, of course, it royally sucked having to go straight to work and be there until 1am. I was even tempted to write this post late last night, but then I admonished myself for acting like a child at Christmas time. Though it really was the best present I could've ever hoped for on an otherwise disappointing day.

The news really tickled the shit out of Mosquito-Grant!

REJECTED!

2006-06-30T11:03:00.000-07:00

Today, the hammer dropped. But instead of feeling flattened I feel buoyant and ready to query away. But this time I'm taking Ollie's advice--rather than throwing all my hopes and dreams to one agent, I'll be tossing my story out to twenty at a time. That way my author skin can toughen up and rejection letters will seem as ubiquitous as toothless movie renters in Portland.

Exhausted Excuses...

2006-06-29T20:18:00.000-07:00

Today I received the most pitiful call from an employee. I'm sure he was doing his absolute best to sound authentically sick, but let me tell ya, I don't care if you have the world's worst case of food poisoning--I don't care if you're puking up midget albinos or bleeding out your ass and ears--no one sounds that bad. It was all I could do to keep from busting my gut.

And the Oscar goes to Mr. Moan-a-lot.

It never ceases to amaze me how many employees fall prey to food poisoning. I suppose it's the perfect excuse: You only have to pretend you're sick for one day. You can show up for work the next day chipper as hell, now that you've purged the tainted food from your system (more likely it was alcohol poisoning--but they'd never admit that).

The silliest case of food poisoning so far this year came from a girl who claimed she and her friends had eaten berries on the side of the road. Yeah, okay, sure I'm going to believe that one! I mean, c'mon, what idiot alive hasn't been cautioned against the deadly red berry bush!

Other excuses I've heard--some real, others total fabrications:

1) Killing off the grandparents seems to be a popular one.

"Wait...didn't you say Grandma Myrtle died last week?"

"Oh...uh...that was my other grandma Myrtle...um...yeah...."

2) The always popular broken down car.

"It just won't start! I don't know why!"

"Did you try turning the key?"

"..."

"Take a bus."

3) Ms. innocent.

"I didn't know I worked today?"

"You knew last night before you went to that party."

4) Last minute schedule conflicts.

"I told you I have Yoga on Saturdays; I can't work them anymore."

"Fine. Meditate on these words: You're fired!"

Vacation...

2006-06-28T19:45:00.000-07:00

In the post below I mentioned my plan to focus on "other things." The most exciting of which is an upcoming trip to London and Paris. Yes, I know, I can't get enough of Europe. But I also have some great friends there. In a large way, I'm returning to my second home in Paris.

I'm only going to be there for a week (yeah, I actually have a job now) and I know after having spent the summer there two years ago that ONE week is going to fly by like Britney Spears with a baby on her lap.

The dates, for those who care, are September 13th - 22nd. If you want a postcard shoot me your address.

Can you spot the blemish in the photo?

Jitters...

2006-06-28T19:43:00.000-07:00

The agent whom I queried wrote in her blog today that she finished reading all the partials she received in the last couple of weeks. What does that mean, you ask? It means that in a matter of days I should be receiving either a rejection or a request for a full manuscript. But I'm not feeling too confident.

After I sent off the query letter that subsequently earned a request for a partial my hopes were pretty darn high. Looking back, I think it was due to the fact that it really was a good query. It was written exactly to the agent's liking (lots of agent research helped in that department) and was given the stamp of approval from Ed Schubert--a friend and editor of Orson Scott Card's speculative fiction magazine.

But when I read over the first thirty pages of my novel--the pages that are probably now collecting coffee stains on the agent's desk--my gag reflex shot into hyper drive. I don't know what it is exactly, but I have a real problem liking my stuff once the ink has dried. I think many writers face this dilemma. And it's not false modesty either--I really do believe it sucks.

So my hopes aren't high. Especially considering the 1 in 200 shot that a full manuscript will be requested. The shadow of the hammer is creeping closer. And I'm trying my hardest to focus on other things so I can move on with little injury.

Sometimes I push the limits...

2006-06-24T07:29:00.000-07:00

One of the most annoying aspects of my job is having to push candy down people's throats. Unfortunately the company I work for tracks candy sales per store. Therefore a large part of my day is spent pushing candy and inspiring my employees to do the same. Candy pushing is a major focus for this company.

But sometimes (in fact, most the time) it doesn't go over so well. For one, most the people who live in the neighborhood aren't the biggest fans of candy. These are the kind of people who show up with a cat on a leash, an Ipod velcroed to their naked bicep, donning their best running shoes. These are the kind of people who would rather devour a fistful of almonds than to plop a Raisinette on their tongue.

So often when I ask if they would like some candy I'm met with silence and an I-can't-believe-you're-actually-asking-me-to-poison-my-body expression. If looks could kill I'd be a crate of Oscar Meyer wieners.

But though it's a hard sell, I press on. Why? Because it's my job, and I sort of need the money. But occasionally I'll get the other variety of customer. The one who freaks out in a positive way over my Raisinette offer and buys enough for the six kids tearing up my video game aisle.

Then there are the playful weirdos. Like this freak who, when after I offered him candy, opened his mouth to expose two pitiful nicotine-stained stumps surrounded by vacant gums. "I ain't got not teeth," he said needlessly.

Stunned, yet still looking for a sale, I fired back: "We sell lollipops!"

You can imagine the several transformations his face experienced: Shock to slightly offended to oh shit that was kind of funny.

I can still hear his toothless guffaw echoing in my head.

Alzheimer's Test...

2006-06-19T20:31:00.000-07:00

Count every "F" in the following text:

FINISHED FILES ARE THE RE
SULT OF YEARS OF SCIENTI
FIC STUDY COMBINED WITH
THE EXPERIENCE OF YEARS...

(SEE BELOW)

HOW MANY ? WRONG, THERE ARE 6 -- no joke.

READ IT AGAIN ! Really, go Back and Try to find the 6 F's. The reasoning is the brain cannot process "OF".

This will sound strange and too surreal to believe.

2006-06-19T08:39:00.000-07:00

But...

About a year before the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon I was having a lot of spooky dreams about New York. I've never been to New York, though in these dreams I felt pretty familiar with the city.

Every dream started off peaceful. I was ferrying to Liberty Island in one, walking through the downtown crush in another. And then something bad happens. There's a lot of fire and I'm running through buildings, desperately trying to get away from...something.

I told everyone about these dreams. And everyone told me to stay away from New York. But no one was serious. They were only dreams. I even told my district manager at the time, Heather. And she said I was strange, and I agreed.

When September 11 happened, I didn't recall my dreams immediately. Because, well, the scenes were so horrible that my mind was simply numb from shock. But by the end of that tragic day, I remembered.

Heather was the first to call and tell me that she, too, recalled the dreams I'd had. Now she really thought I was weird. Other friends--and of course my family--all contributed their own two cents to the eerie coincidence.

Because it had to be a coincidence, right? The dreams served no purpose. They weren't clear enough, or specific enough, to allow me to warn anyone. And how silly would that be? But the dreams did end. I no longer had dreams of a burning New York.

Except for last night. But it wasn't New York. It was everywhere...

In the dream I'm outside and see smoke on the horizon. I'm in Portland. At least that's what I believe in this dream. I move to get a better view of the fire and see three giant blazes. In my head, I know it's an oil pipeline.

I am suddenly transported in front of a television. And on every channel there is news of a different catastrophe. In my head I know it's terrorism. The scene that's the most clear is of a plane crashing into a KFC. And for some reason I think it's in China.

Other scenes flash before my eyes and I realize that on this day there are multiple attacks, and not just on American soil, but in major cities around the world. And in my head I'm shocked that the terrorists were able to pull off such stunning attacks, all on the same day.

I don't know what it means, if dreams really mean anything. But it was eerie, and real. And I keep seeing flashes of large logs rolling in a swift river, a plane crashing into a KFC, and three giant infernos on the horizon.

But it was just a dream, right?

Off to Fresno! (And an unplanned tangent)

2006-06-15T22:48:00.000-07:00

Wow, with an exclamation point even.

So I'm taking a few days off work to visit with my familia in good ole California! It's hard to believe I've been living in Portland for four months. Doesn't it seem like just yesterday that I flew the coup?

It'll be nice seeing my old stomping grounds again. What won't be nice is the 100 degree weather waiting for me. Today's high in Portland was 70 with a nice breeze. Too bad I was in doors most the day. But at least Snot Man didn't show up.

Oh, didn't I tell you?

Yeah, well, Snot Man is this rather large African American gentleman with a thick beard and an awful stutter. Directly below his nostrils is a shiny moustache. When he first stepped to my till I couldn't tear my eyes away from his unusually shiny stache. It looked like he'd had a bowl of Vaseline for breakfast.

And then it happened.

Split pea soup with a vengeance. The frothy sap poured from his nostrils as if some infected boil had just burst in his nose cavity. He was very conscious of his predicament; he kept wiping the snot away with his hand. Meanwhile he continued to ask me to look up movie after movie. I finally told him that I would look up only one more--the rest he'd have to go and find on the floor himself.

I thought about trailing him with a few "Caution, Wet Floor" signs--just in case someone slipped on his slimy deposits. Luckily he left after realizing he couldn't rent movies without a credit card. Unluckily, the next day I found one of the movies he'd inquired about missing a disk.

Snot Man strikes again. Where's Kleenex Man when you need him.

Great News!

2006-06-13T21:40:00.000-07:00

I announced a few posts ago how I mustered up the courage to send a query letter to an agent requesting representation for my novel. And today the agent e-mailed me asking for the first thirty pages of my manuscript.

Woohoo!

So something in my query letter sparked this agent's interest. She usually requests partials for 1 out of 30 queries. But now comes the real test: Will she like the story? Or will she toss it in the round file beneath her desk?

Time will tell. And it will be a long wait since partials take two months for a response. Meanwhile I'm hard at work on the second novel. And I'm trying really hard not to get my feeble little hopes up.

Sometimes I do the stupidest things.

2006-06-07T16:48:00.000-07:00

So I was just sitting at my kitchen table enjoying my normal routine, reading e-mails, blogs, news, etc. I had a steaming cup of coffee to my right and my cell phone on my left.

I'd been that way for about twenty minutes: reading, sipping, reading sipping. And then halfway through an article I decided to see how much coffee I had left in my mug. So I picked it up and tilted it directly over my laptop, spilling coffee onto my keyboard.

STUPID.

If someone had been watching from a distance it would have looked like I purposefully dumped coffee on my laptop. What a dumbass. And now my Enter button and my Backspace button stick. There's an annoying crunching sound whenever I type.

DAMN.

Grant's Store and Boop...

2006-06-07T16:44:00.000-07:00

I love days off. Ever day should be a day off. I love lying in bed, knowing I have nowhere I have to be and nothing I have to do. Just lying there wishing I could stop time.

Those are great thinking times. When the morning has just begun and the world outside is still quiet and serene. Before the neighbors wake and open their mouths and slam their doors and destroy everything that's peaceful.

Anyway, this morning I was thinking back to when I was nine years old and hanging out with my friends who lived up and down Tarpey Drive. It seemed like every other house had a nine year old in it.

My friends and I often played this make-believe game called Boop. There was a magical spot in my friend's front yard--in the flowerbed beside the sprinkler controls. All one had to do was stand in this spot and say the word Boop and they'd be whisked away to the land of Boop.

Of course Boop was all in our heads. But when you're nine years old the imagination can be truly magical and so a brick mailbox wasn't a brick mailbox but an argumentative robot named Chowder. And the car in the driveway was really a giant bubble one could hide in to escape from the evil fly swatter people.

When I wasn't playing Boop I was running "Grant's Store." Which basically consisted of a piece of plywood resting across two brick blocks on which was strewn various trinkets for sale.

Grant's Store was located on the edge of the driveway and people could buy all sorts of cool things: paper clips that popped back up when you let them fall, hand-drawn coloring books, frogs and pollywogs, marbles, bouncy balls, ink pens, magnets, plastic baggies filled with iron filings, and raffle tickets--winner gets a dollar.

That's what I was thinking about this morning while lying in bed. The things I did when I was nine. And it dawned on me that twenty-five years later I'm basically doing the same things. I'm still running a store, and after work I visit Boop in my writing.

Okay, it's not the same Boop, but the effect is the same. My head is in a magical place where just about anything can happen. And I tell you what, it's a hell of a lot more peaceful there.

I'm at it again!

2006-06-02T10:12:00.000-07:00

I'm excited! For me, writing is living. And now that I've completed (hopefully) the last edit of my novel I'm ready to start the sequel. It feels like Christmas time!

Some of you may remember when I was writing the aforementioned novel last year. I started it on June 1st and finished it on August 3rd. Well, by shear coincidence, I started the sequel yesterday--June 1st.

The major difference between last year and this year is that I wasn't working forty hours a week. I had the whole summer to write. And I would get up early, have coffee, drive to my university library, and write for eight hours straight. I treated writing like a job--a FUN one though.

At the end of each week, I posted my progress. I hope to do that this time too, but I fear it's going to move much slower. Oh, how wonderful it would be to have another summer off for writing.

By the way, my query letter has been out for one week. The agent's response time is 3-4 weeks. I'm holding my breath. Every time I check my e-mail my heart beats faster and I have to turn away from my laptop for fear of vomiting all over the keyboard.

Publishing 101

2006-06-02T09:57:00.000-07:00

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the publishing process, here's a short outline:

1) Write novel.

2) Send query to agents to seek representation.

3) Bite fingernails, chew Tums, pluck nose hairs (This is where I'm at).

4) Once an agent is acquired, it's his/her job to find a publisher for the novel. This is accomplished over lunch with various editors. Lots of schmoozing. Lots of Gin.

5) Editor likes novel and decides to buy the rights to publish it. Contract time. Negotiation over rights and how much $$$ author gets. This is called an advance. Stephen King got $400,000 for "Carrie." J.K. Rowling got $100,000 for the first "Harry Potter." Extremely rare. Most new authors get around 2-5 grand.

6) Novel gets placed in a publishing queue. Could take up to a year before author sees it in the bookstores. During this time there are editorial changes, the cover is designed, early promotional stuff. Meanwhile, writer is busy at work writing the next novel.

Are you a Star Trek geek?

2006-05-31T09:10:00.000-07:00

Ever wanted to know which Starship Enterprise would win in a head to head?

Click here: Sci-Fi Battles: Kirk vs Picard at PistolWimp.

I will not be rejected...

2006-05-30T20:31:00.000-07:00

Alas, someone who understands my pain.

Click here.

How about a happy post for once?

2006-05-30T06:48:00.000-07:00

Damn right! Here it comes.

In between getting bitched at by livid customers, and putting up with flakey employees who seem to catch every bug in Portland and then call in sick, some darn right cool things are happening.

The truth is: I only have one flakester employee whom I've cut down to one day a week hoping she'll get a clue and quit. And I've only had one wicked customer in the last few weeks. The old bag's complaint was lame too:

"I'm sick and tired of renting DVDs from your company, only to get home and have them skip in my player. Some of them are so filthy--it's disgusting. How do you expect to stay in business when no one can watch a DVD without it skipping? That's why I rent from Net-Flix now--their DVDs don't skip! I'm old and I have a bad leg and I walk all the way down here to rent movies. But not any more! I will never come back here again!"

THANK GOD! Can I get that in writing??

Oh, wait a second...wasn't this supposed to be a happy post?

Forgive...

I sent out my first query letter to a literary agent. This is a huge feat for me. You see, I'm a big fat wimp when it comes to rejection. It took me a long time to get up the nerve to write this query, much less send it out. But I feel pretty good about my novel, and I feel surprisingly good about the query. And I absolutely love the agent.

So sometime in the next few weeks I'll either get a rejection letter or, if the literary gods have stowed their tridents, I'll get signed. Oh to dream.

But what's life without dreams?

It's retail, that's what.

The Evil Editor...

2006-05-30T06:37:00.000-07:00

The Evil Editor cracks me up. Here's an excerpt from his blog:

The question comes from an aspiring writer.

"A lot of the queries you post seem to follow the same pattern: they start by throwing a question into the room - 'What do you get when two distinguished gentlemen move into a neighbourhood full of unmarried girls?', give some of the plot, and end on another set of questions: 'Will her suitor run from his monstrous mother-in-law? And most of all, will Elizabeth say yes?' - and leave off. Is that an acceptable or desirable format for queries, or would you recommend to sum up the hole of the plot?"

And now the Evil Editor's response:

Point #1: If there are any holes in the plot, don't mention them.

Point #2. Will Elizabeth say Yes? is a rhetorical question. If it's a romance novel, Elizabeth will say Yes. If it's horror, Elizabeth will say No, and will spend the rest of the book being chased by her rejected suitor and his axe. If it's literary fiction, Elizabeth will say Yes, but will die of cancer.

You Decide...

2006-05-27T21:50:00.000-07:00

Setting: Your neighborhood video store.

The way it went:

Friendly Video Man: We're sponsoring the Sunshine Children's Foundation at Mercy Hospital. The kids have a movie and video game night every Tuesday. Would you like to donate two candies for two dollars?

Snooty Customer: No! And you should be ashamed of yourself for feeding them candy. They should be eating vegetables and fruit!

The way it should've gone:

Friendly Video Man: We're sponsoring the Sunshine Children's Foundation at Mercy Hospital. The kids have a movie and video game night every Tuesday. Would you like to donate two candies for two dollars?

Snooty Customer: Absolutely! That's a great thing you guys are doing. I wish more companies in our community were so giving. I'm sure God is smiling down upon you. Bless your sweet soul. Can I buy four?

The way it might've gone had it been my last day:

Friendly Video Man: We're sponsoring the Sunshine Children's Foundation at Mercy Hospital. The kids have a movie and video game night every Tuesday. Would you like to donate two candies for two dollars?

Snooty Customer: No! And you should be ashamed of yourself for feeding them candy. They should be eating vegetables and fruit!

Friendly Video Man: Listen here, Asshole! These kids are terminally ill with cancer. They live in a hospital 24-7. THEY'RE DYING! The last thing they want to eat while playing video games is a friggin' carrot! Have some heart you pea-brained bastard. Now buy the damn Twix or I'll shove this stapler up your ignorant ass! ... Would you like a bag for that?

2006-05-25T20:02:00.000-07:00

Boycott the Dixie Chicks!

2006-05-25T10:00:00.000-07:00

So the annoying trio has proven once again that stupidity has no bounds.

Back in 2003 the lead singer, Maines, became a national disgrace when she announced that she was ashamed to be from the same state as President George Bush. Subsequent calls flooded radio stations nationally with threats of boycotting the controversial group. I, for one, switch radio stations whenever they come on. I'd just as soon shave Robin Williams' back with a nail filer than listen to one note from that pathetic group.

And now the Dixie Chicks have royally ticked off the girls from The View by refusing to appear on the hit show. In a Time magazine interview, the lead singer claimed that she was following in the footsteps of her "political" hero, Bruce Springsteen (another dweeb, in my opinion). Maines asks herself, "What would Bruce Springsteen do?"

"Not that we're of that caliber, but would Bruce Springsteen do The View?" said one of the band members.

Joy Behar, one of the co-hosts of The View, ripped up the Time interview on the air, declaring, "They're...not doing...The View."

"It's one thing to diss the Bush administration, it's treason to diss The View."

Apparently The View helped out the Dixie Chicks in 1998 when they were still budding musicians by having them on the show. Well, in traditional Dixie Chicks style, that's payback for ya. Now I hope this latest stunt crushes the Dixie Chicks for good.

What an interesting day...

2006-05-22T19:06:00.000-07:00

I got to work at 7am this morning. I love going in early because I can get so much done when there are no customers around.

Yeah...didn't really work out that way today.

At about 7:30am I realized I needed to go number two. No problem, I thought. I was alone in the store, my opener wasn't due to arrive for another half-hour. Perfect sit down time.

There I was, sitting on the toilet, mid-wipe, when all of a sudden the lights flickered. I looked around the bathroom with a great sense of unease. The lights flickered once more...and then went out for good.

Pitch black. Still wanting to wipe but knowing I wasn't going to know when to stop.

And then the alarm went off.

Wipe, wipe. No wash. Run through a shadowy store to turn off the alarm before the police show up and--well--catch me with my pants around my ankles.

The power was off for almost four hours. People were banging on the door, even though there was a huge sign that informed them that we would be closed until the power came back on. One man pressed his angry face to the window and ordered me to let him in.

Uh...sir...you're a liability. Please step away from the door. You see that bus over there. Yeah...go stand in front of it. Thanks.

Morning coffee...

2006-05-22T06:15:00.000-07:00

I wish I had time to blog about this ridiculous topic, but I can at least mention it briefly before I fly off to work.

The Da Vinci Code furor.

This quote on the BBC literally made me spit my coffee on the kitchen floor as I bent over laughing.

In Rome, members of an ultra-Catholic group, Christian Militants, picketed some cinemas, chanting: "Dan Brown remember you will also be judged by Christ".

Get over it, people. It's a work of fiction. Besides, all this talk will only increase the amount of moolah this movie makes. Go watch Bambi, knuckleheads.

P.S. Read the book, loved it! Saw the movie, loved it!

Favorite news title of the week:

2006-05-19T08:55:00.000-07:00

"Illegal Immigrants Found Cleaning UK Immigration Ministry"

So the US isn't the only country with immigration problems. But how do we deal with this out-of-control issue? So far these are the popular proposals:

Build a wall on the US/Mexico border? Personally I think building a wall is a terrible idea. It seems so un-American, and it conjures up bad history. Think: Berlin Wall. Why don't we simply plant a huge river on the border and fill it with man-eating piranha? Of course we'd have to put signs up everywhere warning potential border jumpers that they could very well become fish food.

Station soldiers on the border? Uh...no... We're not at war with Mexico. Are we? Why not just increase the amount of border patrollers. Hey, more government jobs! Yippee!

We should also go after the American businesses that are hiring illegal aliens. And, I know, everyone's response to that dilemma is: "But they're doing jobs Americans won't do." Well the reason Americans aren't taking on those jobs is because the pay is ridiculously low, and the reason the pay is ridiculously low is because there are huge amounts of illegals who are willing to work for such low pay. Get rid of the illegals, demand for employees increases, pay increases, more legal Americans with jobs.

We should not reward people who sneak across our border with citizenship. A friend of mine and I once snuck into Disneyland. Unfortunately for us our little escapade was caught on the security camera. When we were unable to produce our entrance ticket the guard did not congratulate us for successfully sneaking into Disneyland. He dragged us past the paying customers and tossed us out. After that we did the right thing, We paid our entrance fee like everyone else.

It was the right and fair thing to do.

Anonymity is mine! Sort of...

2006-05-18T21:08:00.000-07:00

Ahhh, now this is better. The anonymous Grant-will-rant. I who live and work somewhere in the northwest of the United States. BROOOHAHAHAHA! Now I can rip on anything and anyone with absolute impunity!

Let the ripping commence:

My downstairs neighbors are complete bastards. I've never met them; never seen them; but I sure have heard them.

What have I heard? Recently, a lot of noisy sex. This woman must've been hanging her head out the window during the act. It was that loud. And I'm not joking when I say that another neighbor in the building next to us yelled out their window for the lovely couple to "shut the hell up!"

I know you're probably getting this awful picture of where I live, but it really is a nice area of town. There are no clothes hanging out of windows; no vagabonds reclining in the stairwell; no gangbangers rolling doobies on the curb. Just plain old folks like me...and boisterous nymphomaniacs (not like me!).

And if you don't despise the nasty couple yet, read the transcript below and I guarantee you'll be wishing you could whack "Mommy" in the face with a steel shovel.

Little boy and girl (four to five years old): Mommy, Mommy, Mommy. Come here! Mommy, come here!

Mommy: What the F*** do you want! LEAVE ME ALONE!

Little boy and girl: But Mommy... Mommy, we want to show you something...

Mommy: I'M BUSY! WHAT IS IT!

Little boy and girl: (a little less enthused) Happy early Mother's Day!

Mommy: (doing a horrible job of sounding grateful) Ahhh, how sweet. Thank you... Now let Mommy work...

You can blame Ollie!

2006-05-13T22:41:00.000-07:00

A request from Ollie has brought me out of my slumber. Not that I was really in a slumber, more like incredibly busy. In fact, it's totally past my bedtime right now: 10:09 in the p.m. according to my blinking microwave clock. Yeah, that's late.

How have I been spending my free time? I'm doing another edit job on the book I wrote last summer and having a great time with it. Also my family members have been passing a copy of my book around, taking turns dipping into my deranged mind. It's been a lot of fun hearing their feedback, and their enthusiasm has inspired me to start working on the prequel/sequel (still deciding which to write first). A thousand thanks to my encouraging family.

The weirdo whack jobs that shop at my store are taking a toll on my fragile psyche. I should probably join a yoga class so that I can meditate those demons out of my system. Normally I would detail the nutty stories on my blog as a form of therapy, but I don't want to risk any of the nutcakes finding my site and stalking me in cyberspace. Perhaps it's time to go anonymous.

Oh, yes, and tomorrow's my birthday. I will be 35 years young. How is that possible? I don't feel that old. If I could have my way I'd still be building tree forts and collecting frogs. Maybe I should start a meet-up group in Portland for nostalgic 30 somethings who want to revisit their youth. We could play tag in the shopping mall and make fart noises in church. Ahh, the good old days....

P.S. Happy Mother's Day to all you awesome mothers!

What's happening?

2006-04-07T19:41:00.000-07:00

Lots. I found out a few days ago that my district manager is giving me the store that I've been training in. So after one month I am now officially the store manager of a two-story video store. Which I'm quite pleased with. And, it seems, so are the employees.

So far it's been a lot of fun. Even catching crazy criminals and dealing with some of the oddest clientele I have ever encountered. In fact, the other day I was finishing up a transaction with this woman and I thanked her and wished her a "great day" and she just stood there, motionless…

"Mam, can I help you with something else…?"

"Just a moment," she said with both hands hovering over the counter as if she were warming her hands in front of a fire. "I need to make sure I haven't forgotten anything."

"Okay…," I said cautiously.

And she stood like that for a solid minute, slowly scanning the counter for a personal item she may have laid down and then forgotten.

"Thank you," she said, then turned and left the store.

"No prob, whack-job," I said silently.

I'm evil, I know it. That'll be me in ten years and I'll totally deserve it. Karma is gonna come and bite me on the ass. But to tell you the truth, I love running into these weirdoes. I mean, these freaks totally inspire me to write whacky stories. I wonder if Stephen King ever worked in a video store….

Stop everything...

2006-04-03T06:20:00.000-07:00

and go to Ollie's Blahg right now!

Ahhh, neighbors...

2006-03-30T16:17:00.000-08:00

I think the baby downstairs has colic. From 5am…well, it's still going strong at 3:41pm…all I've heard is non-stop crying. Every once in a while the baby will pause for about ten minutes and then jump right back into its incomprehensible wailing.

I guess the parents think it's OK to just let the baby cry. Sometimes I hear them talking in loud voices in order to hear each other over the baby's cries. I've never seen these people…but yet I feel like I know them.

The truth is, they're either fighting, partying, or having thirty-second hump-a-thons. And it's typically in that order. Their lives often intrude upon mine. When they're fighting and partying I go in my room because it's quieter in there. When they're doing the horizontal shuffle I try to think happy thoughts and turn up Fox News.

This enigmatic couple also has a daughter of probably 6 or 7. I've never seen her but I feel like I know her a little through what she says and how she says it. One time when her parents were arguing the little girl screamed, "I CAN'T HEAR THE TV!" Another time, during one of her whimpering fests, she yelled that she really hated them. I totally empathize with her; sometimes I hate them too.

And the baby cries on…

Today I bought a new can opener...

2006-03-30T16:11:00.000-08:00

The one I was using had a disgusting blade--all crustified with God knows what. Anyway, I got tired of scraping that rust colored crumbly gunk from my Rosarita Beans and so I went out and bought this really cool safe edge can opener. It's pretty cool because it leaves no sharp edges on the lid or the can. And now I no longer have to scour my beans for bits of food from the late nineties.

All in a day's work...

2006-03-25T19:02:00.000-08:00

The tall black guy lopes down the movie aisle with a stack of ten DVDs in his hands. His coat is white and puffy, too large and padded for the nice weather outside. He kneels, seemingly contemplating the pile of movies in his hand, then peers around the store with his head slightly lowered.

A thief.

I immediately dispatch two employees to "customer service" him to death. Undeterred, the thief mumbles a few incoherent words to my over-friendly partners and then veers down another aisle, randomly collecting more DVDs as he goes.

A dumb thief.

Suddenly he makes a beeline for one of the emergency exits. Not too fast, but definitely at a quicker pace than before. He leans against the exit door and, to his dismay, the door is locked. No alarm sounds. He then quickens his pace, heading toward the front door.

The entire time I'm matching him step for step just one aisle away. I snap my fingers and my training manager--a guy so large he's been dubbed Big Ben--steps in front of the door. The thief slows and changes course, heading for the second exit.

Big Ben stomps over just as the thief walks through the security sensors, setting off the alarm.

"SIR," I say in a loud voice, "YOU HAVE TO PAY FOR THOSE!"

The thief makes a run for it.

Only Big Ben is standing in his way.

They collide.

The thief is now wrapped in Big Ben's thick arms like a polar bear wrestling a boa constrictor. The two roll and twist, the thief holding fast to his stolen goods.

"CALL THE POLICE!" Big Ben yells.

"DROP THE PRODUCT!" I yell to the thief as I dial the police.

"OKAY, OKAY!" the thief cries as DVDs fly from his arms as if they exploded from his body.

The thief breaks free. Like a dart he flies down the street.

"TELL YOUR FRIENDS THEY CAN'T STEAL HERE NO MORE!" I yell after him.

Several ambitious customers chase after him, but he's too fast.

Other customers cheer, applauding the free show.

I glance around at the fallen DVDs. And there, in the center of it all, is a manila packet. I pick it up and look inside. Like a gift from heaven, it contains the thief's personal information--including his work schedule.

The police were happy to receive that little bit of evidence.

Brokeback to the Future...

2006-03-19T08:37:00.000-08:00

Brokeback Mountain + Back to the Future

I found this link on Orson Scott Card's site.

Too funny!

This shoe tastes yummy...

2006-03-12T10:02:00.000-08:00

I’m really getting a kick out of these foot-in-mouth scenarios. You see, it’s been a while since I’ve mingled with so many new people. These past few years it was all about going to school, doing homework, reading, going to bed. I really didn’t socialize much. So now that I’m in a new place there are so many opportunities for me to make a complete fool of myself. Ain’t life great! I love it!

Oops #1:

The dress code at my work is all black. So the training manager and I were walking to Taco Bell for lunch and I commented: “Dang, the way we’re dressed people are gonna think we’re Mormons.”

He glanced over at me and smiled.

I swallowed hard. “You’re Mormon aren’t you?” I said sheepishly.

He nodded.

DOH!

Oops #2:

I was in Swatch, you know…reminiscing…and checking out their new product. I was peering into the Bijoux (unisex jewelry) display case at a flashy looking ring. The girl at the counter quickly offered to show it to me and I told her that I was just looking.

“That silver and black ring makes a cool thumb ring,” she persisted.

“Naw…thumb rings look so awkward,” I said.

She snorted and I glanced down at her hands.

“Oh, but it looks cool on you!”

DOH!

And then…last night at work. You’re not going to believe this! But here’s Oops#3, which actually happened after I’d written this post and so I decided to add it at the bottom.

A lady hollered over the counter if I had any Pride and Prejudice movies in stock. I told her we were all rented out but I’d look in a fresh stack that just came in. So as I’m glancing at the titles she yells out: “Oh there’s one! Second stack, third one down!”

“Good eye!” I praised her as I quickly grabbed the movie.

Then I turned to see that, indeed, she only had one good eye. The other one was fixed on something somewhere out in the parking lot.

You have no idea how badly I just wanted to sink into the floor!

And so this curse continues…

It's Snowing!!!

2006-03-09T19:36:00.000-08:00

It was awesome to peer out my window this morning at the snowflakes drifting past. They were white and fluffy but melted the moment they touched the ground. But it was amazing to observe an act of nature that is considered an anomaly in the central valley of California. Just another reminder that I’m not in Fresno anymore.

In fact, it was the third time in my life to see it snowing. The first time was on a ski trip with some friends not too far from Yosemite. I can’t recall all who went but I do remember Chandra—a foreign student from Indonesia—was there. Not only was it Chandra’s first time to see snow fall but it was also his first time to see snow at all.

Chandra was brave that day. I vividly remember how quick he was to join me in the ski lift that hauled us to the top of the mountain. The entire time he was looking all around him—his normally brown skin pale with fear and apprehension. And he kept repeating: “It’s crazy, it’s crazy…” as his wide eyes swept over the sea of white.

The chair dropped us off at the top and we both swung awkwardly around to peer down the steep icy mountain. Little kids zoomed past us as though they were born on skiis. I wasn’t much of a skier and so my heart was also racing, and I advised Chandra to make steady zigzags across the face of the mountain rather than aiming his skiis straight down.

Not surprisingly, we both fell quite a lot. But before long we were safely at the bottom where Chandra was happy to remain for the rest of the day. But I’ll never forget the courage he displayed that day. Since then I’ve only gone skiing a handful of times. I think I’ll always prefer gazing down at the snow from my third story apartment to standing on two sticks at the top of a mountain.

The Curse of the Evil Parrot…

2006-03-05T10:38:00.000-08:00

I don’t know about you but I’m always sticking my foot in my mouth. Sometimes I wonder if the gods are playing some cruel game with me: Let’s see how awkward we can make Grant feel. Oh yes, that’d be a riot!

Let me explain: For some peculiar reason—I can’t fathom why—whenever I talk to someone with an accent I inadvertently mimic their speech. I don’t know, maybe I was an evil parrot in a past life and this character flaw is my penance. At any rate, this happened once while I was talking with a black woman. I actually answered her question with a very soulful mmmmhmmmm, you know it.

Oops.

And stutterers are some of the most frightening people to be around. Their speech patterns are so infectious and I find myself stumbling over my words, concentrating really hard on every syllable so that I don’t appear to be making fun of them. It’s as uncomfortable as talking to someone with a lazy eye: Dammit, which one do I look at?! God help me if I ever strike up a conversation with a person with Down Syndrome.

But my gaffs come in other embarrassing forms as well—though equally as mortifying. My most recent foot-in-the-mouth scenario occurred while I was working at my new job. When it gets busy, I get a little crazy—fun crazy. And I’ll pop off with a goofy comment like “thanks for the dance” if I stumble into another employee in a tight aisle.

But this time I did something totally different: I pretended like I was going to karate chop the employee and I coupled the exaggerated hand gesture with an equally exaggerated Hiiiiiyaaaaaw!! Only, the employee was Chinese…and I could tell by his facial expression and feeble sigh that he thought I was making fun of his ethnicity.

I quickly recovered, smiled, and added dumbly, “Pretty busy today, huh?”

DOH! The gods have won this round. And so my curse continues…

A Walk in the Park...

2006-03-01T18:59:00.000-08:00

Five minutes by foot from my apartment lies the entrance to an enormous park packed with giant redwood trees, a Vietnam memorial, a holocaust memorial, a kiddie museum, a zoo, a Japanese Garden, and the list goes on.

So on Sunday I decided to venture out and explore this massive park that’s virtually in my backyard. I had the day off and thought it might be fun to visit the zoo, so I followed the little wooden signs that ushered me along a winding trail into the misty woods.

After quite a while of walking—maybe an hour—I spotted my fourth zoo sign. So I continued on, figuring I’d get there eventually. Several teenagers zoomed by on dirt bikes, leaping over mounds of dirt and posing midair. I watched them until they vanished around a bend and turned just in time to see a rugged looking man jetting by on a ten speed, fully camouflaged, with a crossbow strapped to his back.

I started to worry. Was he chasing them? Was this some deranged version of Surviving the Game? And then I started really taking a good look at my surroundings. The forest was thick. The ground was covered in a mass of dewy foliage. I thought back to the sign I’d read about not feeding the wildlife. What wildlife? Oh shit. What wildlife! Crap. Frightening images of grizzly bears and mountain lions sprang to mind. I suddenly remembered a Discovery Channel special I’d watched on Sasquatch. Wasn’t he spotted in Oregon?

I came to another wooden sign announcing that the Hoyt Arboretum was .9 miles away. There were several other destinations listed, the zoo at the very bottom. When I finally arrived at the Arboretum I spotted a huge map of the park and so I traced my path. I had walked three miles—uphill! And the zoo was clear on the other side of the park—maybe twice the distance I’d already walked.

Exhausted, I gazed across the distance and thought, Holy crap…I’m gonna have to walk all the way back. But just then, I spotted a small brick building in the middle of a clearing. A sign said in huge red letters: The MAX. My heart leapt. I hurried over. Yes! There was an elevator. I pushed the button and stepped in. A digital display showed that I was at 700 feet elevation. The elevator descended…

600 feet…

500 feet…

The doors opened.

I was in an enormous subway station! I threw my hands up to the sky and shouted (in my head, of course): I LOVE PORTLAND!!!

From a Basement on the Hill...

2006-02-26T11:17:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite singers is Elliot Smith. I first heard his CD, Figure 8, while working at Wherehouse Music back in 2000. It was a promotional CD that we had to play in the store and I loved it after the first listen. I immediately went out and purchased all of his CDs. And for the next several years hardly a day went by that one of Elliot’s Cds wasn’t in my player.

Then on October 22, 2003 Elliot Smith died in his apartment in Los Angeles. He was 34; the same age I am now. To this day, the authorities aren’t sure whether his death was homicide or suicide. He had two stab wounds to the chest—not typical of a suicide. And yet his girlfriend discovered a very brief suicide note left on a post-it.

The coroner’s report points out defensive wounds on his hands, but Elliot was known for burning himself from time to time with cigarettes and nicks and cuts on his hands were probably familiar sights.

His girlfriend’s statement to the police was basically as follows: They were having an argument, she locked herself in the bathroom, heard a scream, came out to see Elliot’s back to her. He turned around and there was a knife in his chest. She pulled it out and attempted CPR. Shortly after, he died.

Elliot died in Silver Lake—a small artsy, yet down-to-earth community in Los Angeles, where I used to live and Makoto and Sydney still live. But he grew up in Portland, Oregon where I now live. And it’s difficult not to pass a music store without seeing some sort of tribute to one of Portland’s very own musical geniuses.

I dare you to listen to Elliot Smith. And then tell me what you think.

Attack of the Killer Razor...

2006-02-21T18:51:00.000-08:00

Well, since I don't start my new job for a few more days I've been very hygienically lazy. No, I still take showers and brush my teeth every day. But my facial scruff is another story. Hey, it's cold here! The budding beard is helping to keep my virgin face warm and protected from the harsh climate. But I can stand it for only so long. At about the 6th or 7th day of not shaving my beard starts to itch. Like having a swarm of caterpillars performing the tango on my chin.

Anyway, the itching was driving me mad so I decided to go ahead and shave it all off. No longer will I look like a stereotypical Oregon lumberjack. Fear me not little spotted owl! I'll be back to my smooth boyish look in a matter of minutes. Though when I'm smooth and wearing my beanie I have to fight off those flirty college freshman. Okay, I'm lying. More like the women in high heels slurping Big Gulps outside the 7/11. But I'm digressing...

For Christmas I got a nice new electric razor. So I thought, What the hell. I'll put my new Braun to the test. What I didn't realize--because I NEVER read the damn instructions, I mean, c'mon, it's a fricken electric razor, how difficult can it be!--well, I was supposed to charge the damn thing before I used it. I didn't. I simply removed it from the box and plugged it in...it buzzed like it was supposed to...and then it got weaker...and then it stopped. Completely. Only my chin hair was still attached to the razor.

I tried to pull the now dead razor off my chin but it was stuck like glue. My whiskers were trapped inside but they were still painfully attached to my face. Then it got awkward. I thought maybe the electrical outlet had failed and so I hunched down to plug it into a different socket. Not good. I was in total pain. I plugged it in--still nothing. I carefully toggled the on/off button. Nothing. I wanted to scream but there was no one around to help.

So there I was, gawking in the mirror at some pale, sweating idiot holding a razor to his face. I could see it already: Man Found Mauled In Apartment--Face Eaten By Killer Razor.

But I wasn't about to be the laughing stock of Portland. So I did the unthinkable. I slowly peeled the razor back from my chin. But each whisker that broke free was like a violent kick to the face. And it all happened in slow motion. I finally decided to just rip it off in one violent yank, like tying a loose tooth to a doorknob and then slamming the door. It was not cool. Needless to say I was relieved when it was over. And I spent the rest of the day looking like someone suffering from mange.

You're Goonie Be Real Surprised...

2006-02-18T19:28:00.000-08:00

Every day is an exploration here in Portland. Every day I stumble across something new and totally far out. But I must say that one of the greatest surprises was discovering that the 80's cult classic The Goonies was filmed a mere 60 miles away in the quaint beach community of Astoria (also Kindergarden Cop was filmed there...but that movie doesn't even come close to the level of cool held by The Goonies.)

So, of course, I had to find the house--The Goonies House--that little Mikey and his friends ultimately saved from the wrecking ball. It was so cool walking on the very driveway where the Goonies road their bikes. And the view! It just doesn't get any better.

The Astoria Visitor's Center also directed me to the spot where Mikey first looked through the gold doubloon to view the famous Goonies rocks. What an awesome sight to see from the very windy forest road high above the crashing surf. I only wished that I was on my BMX bike and had my very own doubloon. Okay...they did sell them at the tourists traps--but TEN DOLLARS! Maybe I'll save up and buy one the next time I visit.

Then I found the Old County Jail. It looked exactly the way it did in the movie when the Fratellis escaped with their lunatic mama. How cool is that! I can't wait to find out what other awesome treasures Oregon holds. Okay...there is that volcano...you know, Mt St. Helens or something. If you have Google Earth you should totally check it out. Check out Portland. I'm surrounded by volcanos. How cool is that!

Okay, I'll stop. I'm starting to annoy myself. Peace out.

Smooth Criminal...

2006-02-14T19:18:00.000-08:00

I now know what it's like to feel like a criminal. You know, moving into a new place can be quite costly. Over the last few days I've purchased a futon, coffee table, CD racks, bookcase, TV stand, desk...oh, and a new laptop.

Suffice it to say, I spent a lot of money. And if you know me, then you know that I DO NOT spend money...I SAVE money. And my bank knows that. And that's why when I went on my spending spree a giant red flag showed up on my account.

So there I was--in Target--$350 worth of goods stuffed into Target bags in my shopping cart, when all of a sudden the clerk glanced at me suspiciously and said: "Sir, can I see your credit card? I need to call for approval."

I've never had that happen to me. So I stood there and fidgeted, taking note of the clerk's wary eyes as she was placed on hold with my bank. The manager came by and inquired as to what was causing the hold up. The customers behind me were asked to move to other stations. Box boys paused to take a gander at the flushed criminal who almost got away with charging up a stolen credit card.

"Sir, your card has been declined..."

"What?! Are you serious? Can I call my bank?"

She nodded, but her expression was a portrait of doubt as if to say: "You slimy dirtbag. Just move your thieving ass out of my checkout line and go make use of a fresh razor blade."

Ten minutes later I was back in her line. We rang the stuff through again, and I was thrilled to see the word: APPROVED appear on her screen. I tried to explain to her that my bank was just taking precautions. That they were afraid someone had stolen my card. That I was a law abiding citizen who was simply trying to furnish his apartment. But nothing I said could erase the suspicion from her face.

Oh, the horror. The good news is that there are about a dozen Targets in Portland, so I'll never go to that one again....

Ob La De, Ob La Da...

2006-02-13T18:51:00.000-08:00

Wow. So much has happened in such a short period of time. But I should start at the beginning. The last few months I've been rethinking the whole teaching thing. There are so many positives and negatives that I've had to weigh out. But eventually I made the decision not to pursue teaching.

During that time, I had my résumé on Hotjobs and Monster and I periodically received little bites and nibbles from various employers. Well one of them bit down hard and I turned into a passive piece of bait and took the position of a store manager of a video store.

It turns out that the salary is a bit more than the starting salary for a high school history teacher. So, no complaints there. I will miss the kids...the good ones, that is. And I do miss the prospect of having my summers off. But I think this line of work is more up my alley. Or, to continue using my fishing analogy: It's a pond I feel comfortable swimming in. (geez that was lame...but I'm too tired to think of anything better.)

So, I start work on February 25th! Believe it or not, I'm looking forward to working again. No more school. Whew! And...oh yeah...the job is in Portland, Oregon! So, yours truly is now sitting in his new apartment just a twenty minute walk from the world's largest independent book store! Powell's Bookstore is AWESOME!

I will keep everyone posted (ha ha) on my new exciting life (yawn) in this new exciting city! I have so many stories to tell and I'll be pouring them out here as usual. And I invite anyone who reads and comments on my blog--the friends I know personally and those who I've come to know virtually--to come and visit me. You will always have a place to stay here in Portland.

A Photo Whore No More...

2006-02-02T19:16:00.000-08:00

I hate taking pictures when on vacation. It's annoying to drag around a camera all day. So now I pretty much resort to relying on my (ahem) excellent memory. Whenever I want to muse over a past vacation I simply shuffle through the blurry images etched into my brain. Someday someone will figure out a way to hook our brains up to a scanner and then everyone can enjoy my colorful island retreats.

But I wasn't always that way. In fact, my first trip to Europe I spent twelve rolls of film. Uh-huh, that's right. TWELVE ROLLS. Because Parisian doorknobs were trés intéressant--toilets, bridges, traffic signs, fast-food placemats, cobblestone roads, automobiles, streetlights, policemen, poodles, etc., etc.--were all very interesting and deserving of a photo!

What a sad little tourist I was then, with my Oakland A's baseball cap and my five pound camera hanging from a leather strap around my sunburned neck. My cocky, I'm from America, we-can-kick-your-European-ass attitude. So sad was I....

More than ten years ago I meticulously taped these European pictures into a photo album, in order, sans captions, thank you very much! And today--a decade later--I spent hours removing those pictures from the now very tattered photo album. What a mess! Torn pictures, yellow frayed scotch tape, sticky fingers. I will never, NEVER tape another picture into a photo album.

Not only was it a miserable hassle that resulted in ruined pictures, but I also had to deal with the internal pain of looking at my younger self with all that bushy youthful hair and those stress-free eyes. Oh, what a cruel world!

Hard Rock Cafe Paris - Boris, Florian, Habib, Marc, et moi.

Pondering the Preposterous...

2006-01-31T10:07:00.000-08:00

I find it amusing how some gender roles persist even though they serve no practical purpose. For example, a man holding the door open for a woman. It assumes that the woman hasn't the strength to open the door for herself, though we all know that there are plenty of brawny women who could body slam and permanently cripple a good portion of the male species.

But I don't see anything wrong with that particular courtesy. As long as the man isn't grinning smugly as he holds the door, or the woman isn't feigning helplessness as she waits for the man to perform his "duty." I had a History professor who on the first day of class made it very clear that she would not tolerate men in her class who displayed such "chauvinistic" behavior.

I'm sure she saw plenty of doors slammed in her face that semester.

So here's one gender role, though more of an expectation, that I find utterly stupid. And that's for a man to stand up while peeing. Really...if you stop and think about this you're likely to laugh at how obscene and lame it is to whiz over a toilet bowl and hope your fluid hits the target. So, come on, if there's a seat, use it. Pity the poor individual who has to clean up after a man who can't aim.

There are exceptions, however--two that immediately come to mind. If it's a public restroom, by all means, stand tall and do your best William Tell. In that respect we men are very fortunate. And, of course, if you're out in the wild it's perfectly acceptable to pee in the vertical position. Especially if snow is involved; I would never turn my back on Mother Nature's very own etch-a-sketch.

But if you're in your own home, sit down and enjoy it--you'll save in the long run on toilet cleanser. And don't complain about the seat being cold--you wuss! Just think about the poor schmuck who has to wipe away your golden dribble.

Starbucks with my sister:

2006-01-27T09:50:00.000-08:00

Sis: (exasperated) What book are you reading now?

Me: (peers over book) It's a sci-fi by Ben Bova.

Sis: What? Please tell me that's not the author's name.

Me: (laughing) Yeah, so what. I know it's a strange name...he's good, though.

Sis: Ben Bova? That sounds like bend over!

Me: Hey, it's catchy.

Sis: What's the book called?

Me: Moonrise...

Sis: (throws head back) You are so not serious! You're reading a book by bend over and it's called Moonrise! Hahahahahahahahahaha! You're such a nerd!

Me: (glowing) Hey, thanks.

*************************

By the way, Moonrise is an awesome book so far! It's about nanobugs that go on a killing spree inside a moon base. Lots of gore and screaming and angry characters that kick ass!

Here's a line of dialogue from one of the characters:

"...slime-sucking, puss-eating, dung-dripping misbegotten son of a promiscuous Albanian she-goat and a syphilitic refugee from a leper colony..."

Classic.

Book Police...

2006-01-25T17:35:00.000-08:00

Books. I love them. I love collecting them, smelling them, reading them, and then placing them in alphabetical order on my bookshelf. I like to stand back and stare at them. I like to run my finger down their spines and feel their silky smoothness. I'm in love with books.

When a friend asks to borrow a book I cringe. Usually I offer to buy a new book for them instead of loaning my own. I just can't deal with knowing that one of my books is in the hands of someone else. How will my book be treated? Will it come back to me dog-eared? Will it have coffee stains? Or will it come back at all?

Once I loaned a book to a friend. But upon visiting his house I found the book on the back of his toilet. There it sat, all alone, just inches from where people unload their waste. How could I ever rub that book against my face again? How could I ever take pleasure in its papery scent.

When I read a book I hold it in just a way that the spine never creases. Sort of like trying to read the inside of a taco shell. I just hate to see a book with a wrinkly spine. They should be flawless, smooth, glossy, and look as though they were printed only yesterday. I won't accept anything less.

How do you treat your books?

Random Time...

2006-01-18T18:59:00.000-08:00

Do you watch American Idol? I'm addicted. I truly love that show! It's hilarious; and I need to laugh more so I plan to be glued to my set this season. But it really ticks me off to hear that Kelly Clarkson has refused to allow American Idol contestants to use her songs for this season. What a little snob. I don't like her music but if I did I definitely wouldn't buy her CDs now.

Update on the Chili Finger scam. Woohoo, the jerks are going to prison for nine years!! Here's a blog I wrote when this scandal first surfaced.

So Survivor is coming to my town in search of contestants for the show. Yes, Survivor is another reality show that I'm addicted to. FORGIVE! Do you think I should audition? I think I could handle forty days on an island with 18 strangers. I only foresee two problems: I have a fear of eating bugs that squirt yellow gunk out their ass. And I'm severely afraid of sharks. Other than those two minor issues I think I can do it. The auditions are January 25th. I'll let you know. I may wimp out. In fact, it's extremely likely.

I read today that William Shatner--you know, Captain Kirk--sold his kidney stone for $25,000. You see, if I was famous I could sell my bellybutton lint and turn a huge profit. So there's still hope.

Gross things...

2006-01-14T18:22:00.000-08:00

It's only recently that I discovered that there really is such a thing as bellybutton lint. I used to think it was an exaggeration--something people joked about but never existed in a tangible sense. Not anymore. For now I've discovered it for myself, and I find that I am truly addicted to lint foraging.

It's not that I think about it all day. But once I get home and sit myself at the computer my hand naturally gravitates to that ever-deepening mine of fuzz. I dig and dig, push aside fool's lint (attached hair), and pinch out that downy soft knot of what was once part of a sweater or a threadbare shirt.

I never know what to do with my little treasures, though. It's not like I can sell them on e-Bay or ship them off to the Salvation Army; so they usually end up being flicked over my shoulder, or they spend a few minutes on my mouse pad until they are unknowingly trampled over and end up stuck to that little rubber ball inside the mouse casing.

And then I think, What purpose do these tiny fuzzy morsels serve? And I've come to the conclusion that it must be God's way of allowing men to give birth to something. For who knows how long the tiny lint was stuck to the wall of the bellybutton, growing larger every day, receiving nutrition from sweatshirts, blankets, and shower towels. Until one day the little guy pokes its furry head out and sees the world for the first time.

Speaking of driving...

2006-01-11T11:52:00.000-08:00

I was heading down a fairly wide street in Fresno the other day and nearly ran over two chickens. Yes, that's right, two chickens were attempting to cross the road.

Now, Fresno is a decent sized city--roughly 600,000 inhabitants--and, indeed, it used to be a farm town. But I can honestly say that I've never seen a chicken--or any other farm animal for that matter--crossing the road.

But what Fresno does have is a burgeoning population of Hmong, or Southeast Asian, residents. And some of these are particularly fond of their chickens; you often hear them crowing from the back yard (the chickens, not the Hmong) and it sort of jars you for a moment. At least it does me, having never lived on a farm.

So, in a way, I wasn't too surprised to see these two chickens cavorting across the road. I immediately decided that they had escaped from their yard and, like Wilbur in Charlotte's Web, were probably contemplating escape before they ended up on someone's dinner table.

I swerved to avoid the two chickens, successfully. But as I did, I couldn't help but wonder if they were infected by the Avian Flu. So, like any cautious soul, I held my breath and pressed my foot a little harder on the gas pedal.

With the two chickens safely reduced to mere fluttering dots in my rearview mirror, I breathed a sigh of relief and let up on the gas to resume my normal mode of driving, which, as I mentioned in a previous post, involves a strict abidance of the law.

I am now happy to report that I am in full health and carry no guilt for having flirted with disaster. I have confidence that the two chickens have reached their destination--whether it be safely to the road's other side, or mashed in a Goodyear tire. Though, more likely, plucked, broiled, and resting on a dinner table.

New Year's Resolution

2006-01-10T08:52:00.000-08:00

In the year 2006 I resolve to:
Eat at least 2 pigeons a week.

Get your resolution here

From Hel, with love.

To speed or not to speed...

2006-01-08T20:00:00.000-08:00

When I first got my driver's license I was always in a hurry. Even when I really had no place in particular to go, I just had to drive fast. It was like I was in a constant state of rush. The moment I got behind the wheel I envisioned my destination and like a tightly wound rubber band I sprang forward at top speed.

And when I found myself behind a slug of a driver--you know, the kind that actually drive the speed limit--I became real anxious and frustrated, honking, and hitting my dash, before zooming around them and shooting them a venomous glare.

But now that I'm older the tables have turned.

I am now that slug of a driver. Now it's me who drives as though I have no place to go, constantly checking to make sure my speedometer is not a hair above the legal mark. Staying at least a car's length behind the guy in front of me.

And now I see those kids in my rearview mirror, those kids that resemble me a decade ago. I recognize their impatient, angry scowls. And I laugh. Even when they get right on my ass, I laugh. Even when they honk and throw up their hands, I laugh.

Sometimes I tilt the rearview mirror back a notch so that I can't see them. And I forget about them until they speed by me and shoot me that familiar look of death. And I laugh.

So which one are you?

Iraqi Power...

2006-01-05T11:46:00.000-08:00

You've got to admire the Iraqis for their overwhelming and enthusiastic support of their fledgling government. Even with the daily attacks by cowardly terrorists the majority of Iraqis remain optimistic and continue to go about their business, working, shopping, going to school, and celebrating religious holidays.

So when I read this morning that there was another suicide bombing outside a police headquarters in Ramadi, where 1000 applicants were being screened for the struggling police force, I felt disheartened. Another sad setback for the Iraqis.

Then I read that later the surviving recruits got right back in line to continue the screening process, and I thought, Wow, talk about snubbing the terrorists. No matter what these delinquent cowards throw at them, the Iraqis consistently bounce right back. They are indomitable, unshakable, and determined to take back their country.

In twenty years students of history are going to read how in just a few years the United States helped the Iraqis to oust a brutal dictator, set up a democratic government, and pave the way for other Middle Eastern nations to follow suit. It's absolutely amazing when you consider how much has been done in such a short time and with relatively little loss of life compared with other wars.

And those Americans, regardless of party, who are screaming for us to withdraw from Iraq immediately will be reduced to a pathetic footnote...like those who opposed entering WWII. Like Iraq, America has its pool of cowards and naysayers, but also like Iraq, the optimistic, the stalwart, and the steadfast, thankfully, make up the majority.

Much About Nothing...

2006-01-03T09:20:00.000-08:00

Are the holidays really over? Thank God! A return to normalcy. Whatever that means.

I haven't decided yet on a specific list of New Year's resolutions but I know it will entail reading more, writing more, and watching less TV. I think I'm going to keep a list of the books I read this year. I often wonder how many books per year I read. Stephen King says that any respectable writer should read at least 80 books per year (that includes books on CD) but then again not all of us have the luxury of independence from a demanding employer. Though I suppose Stephen King would argue that his publishers are pretty demanding. So no excuses, just turn off the glass brain killer and read!

Speaking of, has anyone read the Dragon Riders of Pern series? I just finished Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern and I have a question. I'm confused about something. The gist of the story is that a plague sweeps across Pern killing people and animals within a span of nine days. The plague originated in a strange animal from the never-before-explored southern continent and was brought to the people of Pern via a lone fishing vessel. Most everyone on Pern dies of this plague. But the survivors discover a vaccine and so they decide to inject those that are left. Only they run out of these plant syringes (like cactus needles) and so they travel back in time to the springtime to harvest more of them. They succeed and the plague is obliterated. Now...are you thinking what I'm thinking? If you can travel six months into the past to harvest cactus needles then why not stop the ship that brought the damn plague animal? I don't get it. And I haven't come across anyone on the net who had the same problem. OK, enough ranting. You probably skipped this section anyway. And I don't blame you. I don't even want to proofread it. Though I will...because I'm neurotic.

Oh, did you hear about the two headed albino rat snake that's going to be auctioned on eBay for $150,000? Yeah, no kidding. There's a picture below.

Now why didn't they hold the auction before Christmas? I so would've scratched iPod off my Christmas list for a two headed albino rat snake.

An Eventful Christmas...

2005-12-27T18:01:00.000-08:00

I hope everyone had a spectacular Christmas. Mine turned out to be pretty eventful. On Christmas Eve my family decided at the spur of the moment to go ice skating at Granite Park in Fresno. Of course, I was too big of a chicken so I stayed by the sidelines. But my grandma was especially excited as she hadn't been ice skating since she was a young girl growing up in Pennsylvania. Afterward, nearly the whole family jumped on a (kiddie) rollercoaster and round and round we went. Unfortunately, we broke the ride and had to hope off the side of the coaster. Some nice mechanics helped push the coaster so my grandma and aunt could dismount safely. Here's my uncle's dog who was recently shaved to look like a lion. (silliness does run in the family)

What Crappy Christmas Gift Are You?

2005-12-20T08:55:00.000-08:00

Take the quiz and find out what crappy Christmas gift you are by clicking the link below. If anything it's worth it for the lousy questions (I thought there should be a "none of the above" for most of them). Also, nearly every question has a spelling error. See how many you can find.

You Are Socks!

Cozy and warm... but easily lost.You make a good puppet.

WhatCrappyChristmasGiftAreYou?

Thanks KEP for the link.

L'herbe est plus verte...

2005-12-18T10:50:00.000-08:00

Everyone has that memorable summer...or that perfect vacation that stirs deep emotion upon reflection. A lot of times these memories are ushered to the forefront through song, smell or a glimpse of something that inexplicably conjures up the memory and makes us long to be living that experience again.

For me, that memorable period was sometime in the late nineties--1995 or 1996. Whenever I hear an old Doors song like Summer's Almost Gone, or a live version of anything from Crosby, Stills, and Nash, I'm transported to the days that I lived in the Mirage Apartments in Fresno. I see myself setting a Jim Beam whiskey bottle on the wooden coffee table beside several shot glasses, a Rummy Cube board game, and a Nintendo 64 game console.

A knock at the door pushes the endorphin button within and I rush to the door, knowing that it will be the first of a group of close friends whose company will ensure a night of laughter and intriguing conversation. Maki and Yas show up with their own brand of alcohol--their smiles make me wonder how it was ever possible that America and Japan were at one time bitter foes.

Jack and his brother Patrick were never far behind, and Marc and Makoto, my roommates, were already there. For some reason we always gathered around that small coffee table as if it were some reverent altar on which our blood must spill before the memorable night could begin--only it was never blood but whisky and tequila and Sapporo that filled the wooden crevices.

Good natured arguments always ensued as the night progressed. Patrick always passed out early. Makoto was guaranteed to unleash that rare but hilarious laugh that made the hangover next day completely worth it. Jack was sure to come up with some logical explanation to neutralize an argument that reached the ridiculous stage.

Yas was sure to ask an insightful question prompting me to ponder whether he wasn't an inquisitive deity in human form. Maki never let a shot glass stand empty for long and could drink us all under the table--unbelievable! And Marc was sure to get the blood pumping in everyone with his incredible knack for inciting heated discussion.

Everyone was an indispensable piece of a perfect puzzle that formed one of the best periods of my life. A small apartment that collected a group of people from different nations and made them the best of friends.

When people ask me what I would do if I won the lottery, I tell them I would buy a new house, a car, travel, etc. But what I would really love to do is to recreate the Mirage Apartment. I would send roundtrip plane tickets to Jack & Patrick (in Morro Bay), Makoto (in L.A.), Yas & Maki (in Japan), and Marc (in France). And we would pretend it was 1995 or 1996.

P.S. Subsequent spouses, children, and loveable pets will also receive paid airfare and eligibility to be members in our live studio audience. Hors d'oeuvres will be served on the patio upon successful completion of said memory.

Written to Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young:

Might as Well Have a Good Time

There are windows on the water
Lighting up the silver strand
Shining on the sea
Shining on the sea

And the ocean's just a player
On an old piano
Who repeats one melody
Who repeats one melody

I belong on the shore
Hustlin' nickels and dimes
'Cause it ain't long
Before it's gone
You might as well have a good time

Well the elbows of his jacket
Are blue and shiny
He's drunk and gone to seed
Drunk and gone to seed

And he mumbles as he plays
The only song he knows
It's the only song he knows
It's the only song he needs

I belong on the shore
Hustlin' nickels and dimes
'Cause it ain't long
Before it's gone
You might as well have a good time

All his restless music
Don't mean a damn thing to me
The shallow or the deep
Said, the shallow or the deep

So if you're free this evening
We'll go out together
And party 'til we sleep
Party 'til we sleep

I belong on the shore
Hustlin' nickels and dimes
'Cause it ain't long
Before it's gone
You might as well have a good time.

Eucalyptus, Honey, & Grape Jelly...

2005-12-15T15:48:00.000-08:00

My allergies are kicking my butt right now. My throat is itchy and at any given time one of my nostrils is completely plugged. I think it's the eucalyptus tree outside my window. Do they make screens that filter out pollen? Because I really don't want to shut my window at night; I love the cool breeze on my face. But the enjoyment factor decreases by multitudes when you've got a wad of Kleenex stuffed in one nostril.

I read somewhere that eating several spoonfuls of local honey each day will decrease the effects of allergies. Supposedly honeybees collect the pollen from eucalyptus trees and so ingesting the pollen in small doses acts as a natural immune booster. Interesting. I'm not a big fan of honey but, hell, I'd shove it up my nose if it meant I'd get a good night's sleep.

Speaking of condiments, the picture below is my finger dipped in grape jelly. Yeah, I know, it's strange. But I wanted to show my solidarity with the Iraqis who voted today and I didn't have a jar of purple ink. I guess I could've destroyed an ink pen for the occasion but...well, I'm smarter than that!

Movie Theater Madness...

2005-12-12T15:47:00.000-08:00

Crunch...Crunch....Crunch... Waaa...Waaa...Waaa... Crinkle...Crinkle...Crinkle...

I swear, sometimes I wonder why I even bother going to the movies. It never fails that someone sits behind me with a) the largest barrel of the loudest crunching popcorn b) a candy wrapper that refuses to be silent c) a crying baby that recently swallowed a microphone or d) three gallons of funeral parlor perfume.

Well my latest excursion to the movies was graced by Mr. Smelly Old Man Shoe. This thoughtless creature thought it would be just hunky-dory to wedge his stinky sneakers between my seat and the handrail.

At first it was merely a distraction--my left eye was eclipsed by a pair of dark Reeboks. But then the smell came. Imagine being locked in a breadbox with a sweaty, wrinkly eighty year old foot for two hours. Yeah, that was me during The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.

Normally when I find myself in these sorts of circumstances I get up and move somewhere else. Like last week when I was watching Aeon Flux and some loser stood behind my seat filming the damn movie. (I hope my head bobbing across the screen ruined his attempt at piracy.) Unfortunately the theater was full this time, so I had to stick it out. I spent the rest of the movie leaning forward and breathing through my beanie.

When I get rich I'm going to install my very own movie theater in my house. Then I'm going to place dummies in various seats cleverly rigged to meet the annoying criteria mentioned above. But instead of playing musical chairs when irritated, I'm going to pull out my bow and arrow and get out some aggression. What fun!

Crunch...Crunch...Crunch...

Thwop! Wooosh... Splat!

p.s. Ollie might claim the topic of this blog was his idea ;)

The day I made a fat kid cry...

2005-12-09T21:45:00.000-08:00

Taka and I were sitting with our backs against the chain link fence which bordered the tennis court in my apartment complex. Marc and Tobias were whacking the tennis ball back and forth with skill nearing that of Agassi and Sampras. Marc and Tobias were both excellent tennis players. This was due, no doubt, to the professional tennis lessons of their youth (spoiled European kids).

Taka flicked me one of his Kool Menthol cigarettes and we proceeded to watch Marc run Tobias all over the court. Soon Marc would show Tobias who his daddy was and then it would be mine and Taka's turn. Though Taka and I weren't hotshots like Marc and Tobias, more like Rosanne Barr in a match against Christopher Reeve (God, I'm awful!).

I took a long drag off my cigarette and glanced at my pathetic racket with peeling handle grip tape. Taka cringed as Tobias ran into the fence, the tennis ball bouncing under the fence and rolling into the parking lot.

Tobias cursed in a thick German accent and headed toward the gate to fetch the ball. But just as Tobias rounded the corner, a chubby kid, soaked from pool water, splashed over and scooped the ball up. After several failed attempts to toss the ball over the fence, the kid clumped over and handed the ball to Tobias, a large grin on his pumpkin face. I'm horrible at deciding a kid's age but he was somewhere between too-young-to-smoke and too-old-to-wear-diapers. But what I do remember is that he was big--like double D Kool-Aid big. And instead of heading back to the pool, the kid slapped down on the pavement between Taka and I. Hanging with the older kids now.

There were lots of pebbles on the edge of the court, kicked in from the flowerbed. Taka was tossing them up into the air, then catching them again, cigarette dangling from his mouth. Soon the fat kid made a game of snatching the pebbles out of the air before they could be recaptured by Taka.

I joined in the tossing game, and the fat kid giggled as he bounced between Taka and I, fists clasping airborne pebbles, while Marc made a mockery of Tobias in the background. The smoke from my cigarette was getting in my eye and the ash fell from the shrinking butt.

That's when I got the idea. The horrible and nasty spur of the moment trick to toss my dying cigarette into the air with a handful of pebbles. Of course, I did. And of course the fat kid caught it.

It took a good half second before the kid grasped why the palm of his hand felt like a burning coal; but when he did he tossed the pebbles, with cigarette butt, at the fence and shot me the foulest, most hurt-filled glare.

"I hate you!" were the only words that stumbled from his trembling mouth as he blubbered and stomped away.

Taka gave me a wide-eyed stare and then laughed in his squeaky, too-many-beers-in-one-lifetime laugh. I laughed too. But I felt like a big jerk. I stopped smoking six years later. But I still feel sort of bad for making a fat kid cry.

Where are you Grant?

2005-12-05T22:27:00.000-08:00

Hello my peeps. It's been a while since I last blogged. In fact, the day after Thanksgiving I took a wee bit of a trip to Portland, Oregon and schmoozed with some cool Oregonians. Ever since my return I've been in a persistent lazy mood--still on vacation, I suppose. But, anyway, the trip was exactly what I needed: Fresh (freezing) air, great coffee, beautiful scenery, friendly people, great coffee, yeah...

One of the things I really enjoy about traveling is the traveling part--you know, the trains, planes, automobiles. Well, this journey was all about trains and planes. And so I had lots of time to relax and read and people watch, without actually having to pay attention to where I was going. That's the best way to travel. No driving.

But at one point I decided to call my old Swatch store in Glendale, California to see who was working and do a bit of catching up. I found Tracy at the store and she told me about her recent trip to Europe and how she'd scored the store manager position at Swatch. I was thrilled; she totally deserves it. And then we got to talking about John McCampbell--another employee who went on to become a rock star. Read this for background.

Tracy reminded me that John's CD was released on Vagrant Records and so when I got back to Fresno I decided to check the local Borders Books--if you could find it in Fresno, then you could find it anywhere. And sure enough, there it was, on sale for $13.99. Wow! Success! Totally tubular, to the max!

So, allow me to throw the goat to John and the rest of the gang of Down To Earth Approach. \m/ You guys rock. You did it!

Now, here's my challenge for all you out there (Mom, Grandma, stalker from Boise) who reads this blog. Remember those scavenger hunts you used to go on in your church youth group? Yeah, you know what I'm talking about. Your challenge is to find John's CD and buy the damn thing. If you don't have the money then just take a picture of it and put the picture in your CD player...no I'm just kidding...but do take a picture and flaunt it to all your friends.

Scroll down for a picture of me and John (the rock star) at Swatch and some of his drawings of all of us at Swatch. Note: John liked to depict me as a decrepit old man, which only goes to show you that rock stars can be real assholes. \m/

Drawings & Pix...

2005-12-05T22:05:00.000-08:00

Guess which one is me!
Yeah, I was a mosquito once.

Too cool for words.

Where are you Taka?

2005-11-22T13:06:00.000-08:00

Do you ever stop and remember people you used to know but haven't stayed in contact with? Well, I do. For some reason a memory bounced, unbidden, into my head while I was brushing my teeth this morning. I saw an image of a tall Japanese guy dressed in black jeans and a white open collared shirt. He was standing on a carpeted stage with a microphone in his hand. His long shiny hair covered most of his face. He was singing Can't Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley. And he was doing it well.

No, that's an understatement: He was fantastic.

Takahiro Matzuzaki was a roomie of mine during the nineties. He was from Tokyo, Japan and came to America with one goal: to learn English. You see, he was a singer/songwriter in a rock-n-roll band in Tokyo. His group played 50s and 60s music--mostly the Beatles and, of course, Elvis Presley.

Taka, Tobias, Marc, and I used to frequent the Acapulco Mexican Restaurant in Fresno for cheap drinks and karaoke. However when Taka first announced to us, with an unstable shot of tequila in hand, that he was going to sing Can't Help Falling In Love I was very afraid for him. He hardly spoke any English and I thought there was no way this mumbling Japanese guy was going to pull off Elvis.

But he did; and the audience loved him!

When Taka first came to America he knew two words: "help" and "there." And he learned very quickly how his deficiency in English was going to be a problem. In fact, his first day in America his host mother forgot to pick him up at the airport. Taka had no idea what he was supposed to do, having only been in America for ten minutes.

So, naturally, Taka sought out an airport employee and uttered one of the words he knew: "Help." Then he pointed outside where cars were gathering, picking up and dropping off passengers, and he said the other word he knew: "There." Well, obviously the employee had no idea what Taka wanted. So Taka was forced to wait for three hours for his host mother to show up.

By the time Taka moved into my apartment he knew a little bit more English. By the time he left to go back to Japan he was pretty proficient. I like to think I had something to do with Taka's improvement in English. We spent a lot of time drinking and arguing about politics and religion. But I believe much of his vocabulary was gleaned from watching hours and hours of Beavis and Butthead.

So now I ask: Where are you Taka? Are you still in a band in Tokyo? Are you still singing Elvis? And, like, did you score?

Grantemorte...

2005-11-20T08:53:00.000-08:00

So the movie was pretty good. Not my favorite, but not bad. I still think Chamber of Secrets kicks butt overall. And just in case you were wondering: I didn't really dress up as Voldemorte. But if I had, it would've looked a lot like the picture to the right. Though not quite as cheesy.

Nerdeth Alerteth...

2005-11-18T06:12:00.000-08:00

It's a little after six in the morning on November 18, 2005 and all I can think about is getting to the movie theater to watch the new Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire movie. My plan is to drink down a cup of coffee, throw on my Voldemort costume, and race down to the theater before the little brats show up. Hee hee hee, I shall be the first brat in line!!

Waaah, waaah, waaah.

2005-11-16T11:11:00.000-08:00

Some members of the international community are complaining over America's control of the infrastructure of the Internet. Nations like China and Iran are throwing hissy fits over the fact that America, alone, is in charge of things like domain names and the way in which email servers and web browsers direct traffic on the web.

Well, let me start by saying this: America built the damn Internet, folks. It's the product of American military and academic research. In other words, it's our playground. If you want to play here, you have to follow our rules. If not, then build your own fricking sandbox.

I shudder to think of Iran having any input over how the Internet is governed. This is the country that elected a leader who recently announced that Israel should be "wiped off the map." A nation that can't divorce religion from government. A nation that demands that its women cover their faces in public.

I can see it already: The Internet will be shut down, five times a day, for prayer. All pictures of women will be covered in a black shroud. Anyone who types "Israel" will be booted from the Internet until they've repented.

Well, fortunately, America is going to remain in control of the Internet. Over one hundred nations at the World Summit on the Information Society agreed that the U.S. should retain control over the web's technical functions, which include the domain name addressing system.

So phooey on you nations who consistently berate America, yet take advantage of our ingenuity, and then try to steal it from us. Piss-ants!

My Trip To Mars...

2005-11-13T16:50:00.000-08:00

I just finished reading Mars by Ben Bova. Excellent read! I literally feel like I just got back from a harrowing adventure to the red planet. Which attests to the author's incredible adeptness at painting such a believable version of what it would be like to explore the dusty, craggy, freezing planet. The vivid characters, the shady politics, the meddlesome media--all contributed to the authenticity of this story.

Here's a taste: (Keep in mind, the characters are searching for the existence of life on Mars.)

Jamie stood as tall as his suit would allow and gazed out toward the beckoning horizon, his back to the dome and the others. Even inside the hard shell of his suit he strove to get a feeling for this Martian landscape, a sense of harmony with this strange new world.

Then he saw a patch of green.

Ooooh ahhhh. I just about peed my pants at that point. And now I want to go back. I want to pee some more. I want to write my name in the red sand. Okay, I'm getting carried away. But I do want to go to Mars again. Which is quite possible, since Ben Bova has written a book called Return to Mars.

The problem is that it's part of the Grand Tour series which consists of about fifteen novels, two of which are between Mars and Return to Mars. So you can see my dilemma: I can't just skip over Moonrise and Moonwar--to do so would go against my neurotic sense of order. The universe would be thrown completely out of whack.

So, instead, I decided to read something completely different. Something a little more down to Earth. Details in the right hand column.

Here are some of the great predictions Ben Bova has made throughout his career:

1) Space race of the 1960s
2) Solar power satellites
3) Organic chemicals in interstellar space
4) Virtual reality
5) Strategic defense initiative
6) International peacekeeping force
7) Electronic books
8) Water on the moon
9) Life on mars
10) Sex in zero gravity (I'm not kidding)