Powered By Apathy

Veeda is convinced that we are going to have a fight before our first wedding anniversary this Sunday. Apparently she has been led to believe that this is an unavoidable universal occurance and that I am foolish for thinking we might just escape our fate. She has been bringing this up on occasion for the last month or more. So far we haven’t had any blow-ups. I honestly don’t think we’ll have this collossus that is purported to be a marriage milestone. Veeda seems anxious to get it over with, as if the anticipation is just eating her up. It’s sort of like when the doctor is honest to you about how much the needle they are about to stick you with is going to hurt and you tense up just waiting to be overwhelmed by the piercing sensation. Sometimes it doesn’t really hurt that much and they have to tap you on the shoulder to tell you that it’s over cause you’re still clenched up with your eyes closed tight waiting for that excruciating pain you’ve heard so much about. On the other hand, sometimes you react by wailing and holding your arm and screaming about how you’ll never recover from the agony now that you have a gaping hole in your arm, and the doctor has to tap you on the shoulder and tell you that he hasn’t even used the needle yet. That’s what we call a pygmalion; a self-fulfilling prophecy. Sometimes, when she brings up the fateful eruption I think we might just have that big fight… about whether or not we are going to have a big fight. Then again, it could end up like the booster shot I got when I was just a kid. The needle didn’t hurt. I was fine getting the shot, but later on it left my arm in sorry shape. We could pass through the anniversary without a hitch and heave a sigh of relief. Then, days later when we’ve forgotten the curse upon us it’ll happen. We’ll have a big stupid fight and I really will end up sleeping on the couch this time.

I suppose any one of those things could happen, but that’s why I don’t believe in Doctors anymore.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 05:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I wen to a Walkmen concert last night with my good friend Josh. As we were waiting for the opening bands to go away a hippie couple took up camp in front of us. Hippies bug me. They are unkempt if not dirty; they are always asking for change; they think drum circles are awesome, many of them are stupid high school kids who just want to smoke pot and eat hallucinogenic mushrooms and not remnants from the woodstock era; they dance really badly; they are always dancing. So, they were dancing badly in front of us and the hippie girl happened to make eye contact as her head was sort of dangling on her neck as she flopped there and she gave me that “hey man, cool band huh? Life is sooo rad” smile and went on dancing badly. If you smile at me it makes it hard for me to hate you! You are supposed to just stand too close smelling sour with hair and dirt all over your body and ask me if I have rolling paper or if I have any change! You broke the rules. That’s not cool. I can’t even be mad at you about it and that makes me furious. The next thing I know I’m watching you two dance and thinking, “I hate the way hippies dance, but that guy seems like the nicest guy in the room right now and I just can’t seem to keep a cynical thought in my head long enough to make it stick.” You’ve just messed with my worldview. Now, I have to qualify every remark I make about hippies, like:

“They’re actually pretty cool when they are too far away to smell”

“They’re actually pretty cool when they aren’t playing the damn drums”

“They’re actually pretty cool when they aren’t asking for change or rolling papers”

“They’re actually pretty cool when you pull that stick our of your butt… and beat them with it (sorry, I just can’t quite make that last statement. I’m not into beating anyone but I’m not totally reconciled with the hippie culture and I had to abort. I will probably never want to hang out with most hippies, but I don’t think it’s unfair to ask you to meet the rest of us half-way. Just work on that hygiene and work on not asking us for rolling papers and/or change all the time. I don’t like the dancing, but I think it’s kind of cool that you don’t care. We simply need some distinguishing features to be able to tell you apart from the mentally ill homeless people with whom you share so many qualities.)

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 05:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Veeda has, on occasion, spoken in her sleep. In our first month of marriage she did it at least a couple of times when I was awake to hear it. I can’t remember one of the times which part of me is convinced was the funniest time of all but I remember her sleeping in my lap and suddenly asking me, “what’s marscapone?” I wasn’t sure, but I gave my best answer with a disclaimer about my probable inaccuracy. She didn’t respond and I noticed shortly that she was breathing the breath of a deeper sleep than her speaking gave evidence to.

Last night as we were layed down to sleep she came out of left field with the statement, “I’ve never been punched in the head.” I had no idea what she was talking about. I asked her, “what are you talking about (because this seemed like the thing to ask at the time),” and she said nothing. So, I said, “I’m glad you’ve never been punched in the head, I hope you never get punched in the head.” Apparently, I made too big a deal out of the whole thing cause then she started patting me on the face and saying, “go to sleep dear,” like I was the crazy one.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 10:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

xiu xiu is the name of a band. It’s also the sound of my little baby’s heartbeat (pronounced “shew shew”). About 6 weeks ago we heard our little future additions heartbeat for the first time. It was one of those moments that makes you feel peaceful and frightened at the same time. It was magical. There’s a realization that there really is a life in there. It’s exciting and it’s sobering. It’s also frightening because you are on a path hurled forever before you. This will be your child. You are going to be responsible for this life. You will probably make mistakes and they will probably remind you about them throughout your life and make you feel like a horrible failure some of the time. You will also feel like a tremendous success for associated with such wonderful people who will at times acknowledge that you weren’t the horrible failure they sometimes said you were. There’s a whole future history that flashes in all of it’s possibilities accross your mind. All this from a little microphone up to your wife’s belly and the amplified sound of xiu xiu xiu xiu xiu xiu.

Two weeks later they told us we woould have the ultrasound at our next appointment (in four more weeks). Of course we were excited. It’s one thing to talk to someone on the phone, but to meet face to face is infinitely more satisfying. That’s kind of how I see these two similar events. Of course we thought about what it would be like and were anxious to see if we were having a boy or a girl. From my experience looking at the pictures of other people’s ultrasounds, I wasn’t sure I would know what I was looking at at any given time. We watched the screen as the nurse places the device on Veeda’s belly and out fo the black emerged a mass of gray noise and out of that noise the form of a baby’s round head and zipper-like spine appeared. The arms we there and the little bony hands and fingers. 5 months along and already the baby was pushing those legs out and trying to make room; anxious to meet us … and give us many many headaches and sleepless nights. This one’s going to be mischevious and brilliant. I might be biased.

We waited patiently and expectantly for that magic moment. That moment they tell you whether to go out and buy every pink baby thing you can find or every blue one. Just what are we having, a boy or a girl? I could tell where the head was and the arms and the legs and I could see are little one turning about but some things are not so obvious. Finally the nurse asked us again if we wanted to know what we were having. Some of you will say that you knew all along. Lucky guesses if you ask me. Here’s a little glimpse at our first baby pictures.

By the way, it’s a girl!

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 10:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

BYU has so many ways of making me feel special and appreciated. Like I’m not just one little cog turning in a much larger, more important machine that would be just as good, if not better without me.

Dear default value,

In 2002 you graduated from BYU with a major in Philosophy.

As the President of BYU, I am very interested in the experiences you had while at BYU and your impressions about the value of your BYU education. …Your opinions and thoughts about BYU are very important and cannot be adequately described by anyone else. …Thank you for your help with this important survey.

Cordially,

Cecil O. Samuelson

To their credit, someone in charge of sending out these mass e-mails actually sent an apology a few days later and begged me (and about a million others like me) to please complete their survey. I did not complete the survey by the way. Not because I’m so principled but because I’m lazy and I don’t care.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 08:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

This is not going to turn into an mp3 blog by any means, but Joe requested another post. He also suggested writing a post that was related to music. I’m a thoughtful type and didn’t want to post just anything. I wanted to post something that would probably not be on your itunes or your radar. Something a little bit outside of your usual. I suppose that will be different for everyone.

Some time ago, when I was living in San Francisco, I went to see Deerhoof at the famed Bottom of the Hill. They were celebrating the release of their newest album, Milkman (which is no longer their newest). This is a band that you need to see live. If you think you don’t like them, give them a chance woo you live. They are a spectacle if nothing else (personally, I would argue that they are more than that).

One of the things that made the show so great was the opening band; Good For Cows. They are an experimental jazz duo. Possibly a super duo, though they appeared normal, like you or me. I could tell you how great they were, but you wouldn’t quite get it. I could post an mp3 from their CD, but you wouldn’t quite get it. However, I’m posting an mp3 anyway.

This is off of the album “bebop fantasy” - Fuma (w/PG)

Also, I thought I would post this Deerhoof song off of the album “Milkman” - Giga Dance

A totally coincidental coincidence is the fact that both of these songs are track #2 on their respective albums.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 06:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I’ve wanted to start a habit of posting the most rediculous junk mail messages I find in my inboxes. Below are a couple that I found to be particularly refreshing for either their cryptic beauty or their poetic bluntness.

This was supposedly to sell me some computer software, but I can’t make any sense of the message. It’s sort of biting on E.E. Cummings literary style but I prefer to see it as an homage to our great american poet:

This was the message portion of an e-mail meant to peddle medication for erectile dysfunction. People might tell you all sorts of funny reasons why it’s my fault that I get so many e-mails trying to sell me this stuff. It isn’t true. Seriously, let it go:

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 01:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I have a love/hate relationship with my school that runs deep. They are always finding ways to reject me. I guess I keep giving them opportunities to pull down my pants and laugh at my inadequacy (proverbially speaking).

When I was a lowly undergraduate student at UVSC, toiling away to get my grades up to snuff so I could transfer to Brigham’s famed university, my band mates and I were consistently denied entrance to a variety of performance opportunities. We missed out on the band battles and the spring-fling gigs and the orgies and bibles studies and the renaissance fairs, you name it. Everytime, the excuses were abhorently lame.

When I got my Ass. degree (associates). I applied to the BYU and waited with calm confidence for the letter to arrive that told me when to register for classes. Apparently, failing two courses your freshman year to achieve a grade point average of 1.9 was not only not impressive, it also cast a shadow over the A’s I recieved when I later re-took those classes and the myriad other good grades in other classes I’d taken since that pitiable first year of college. I wrote a strongly worded letter to the admissions department requesting that they pull their heads out and pay attention to the progress I’d made after deciding to put forth minimal effort. They decided that since I had only missed their GPA cutoff by .01 that my recent year and a half GPA of 3.7+ was enough. So, I got in and whipped out a bachelor’s degree in near record time (this has not been verified or investigated and please don’t tell me I’m wrong cause I don’t care about being right. I care about being happy; even if it means believing lies about myself and telling them to other people.).

So, my next move was law school and I made a point of not applying to BYU. Screw them. I’m better than that. I’m on to a brighter future. Turns out, after seeing my GPA and my LSAT score they wanted me to apply. However, their letter begging me to apply and waving my application fee did not arrive until after the application deadline past. Though I had some sense of pride in the fact that they wanted me this time, I felt like they sort of stuck it to me again. I did not even get the dignity of rejecting them because I had just missed the deadline.

Well, joke’s on me. I didn’t even like Law School. It didn’t care much for me either. Now I had an ugly bit of debt from a year of law school in one of the most expensive cities in America and stupid BYU happens to be one fo the most affordable Universities of it’s caliber. Perhaps, stupid me. Why do I insist on continuing to inflict academia on myself when it is clear that academia has never really been sure whether it had any affection for me either? I am self-destructive in the bizzarest of ways.

So, here we go again.

“Hey, BYU, can I come back and study something else? How about psychology? I want a Master’s degree this time (so I can make people call me “Master”).”

“Well, how about if we just put you on the wait list instead?”

“NO, that’s not good enough!”

“Too bad.”

“Well, how good are my chances of getting in?”

“Your the very last person on the list. We just wanted to tease you. You have practically no chance at all.”

4 months later …

“Okay, I guess we miscalculated. It turns out that enough people ahead of you got into better programs, so now we kind of have to let you in. I swear we never meant this to happen.”

So, I got in, but only after they had a chance to reject me. However, getting into the masters program was just a stepping stone for me because I love punishment. I have to get into the PhD program so they can torture me for a longer period of time with more at stake. I applied to get into the program starting next fall. They called me in for interviews, I dressed sharply and made great conversation. I was comfortable and honest (maybe too honest) and i did a stupid writing sample. I jumped through their hoops and danced like an organ grinder’s monkey with a little cap on my head, a diaper on my bum and a little tin can to collect their change in. I didn’t get in. I didn’t even make the alternate list this time. I think they like the idea that they can humiliate me and I’ll just try again. They’re right. I will just try again. It just hurts too good to stop.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 03:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

The thing I hate most about secret societies is being left out.

Well, I also hate the rock and roll mind control.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 03:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

It’s been many many months since I last left you a present on this site and I should be surprised if anyone ever reads it again after being left out in the cold for so long. I’m sorry I left the proverbial phone dangling by the cord as you waited on the other end to see what I had to say when I came back. I guess I proverbially got distracted with other things, perhaps I got sucked in by the old proverbial episode of VH1’s “Best Week Ever”… for about 8 months. Well, I have been busy. I got married, honeymooned, camped in Vegas for a month, 3 weeks in Thailand, moving into the new apartment, starting school, painting the new apartment, more school, a few BYU football games, more school, finals, flew to Virginia, went to historic Williamsburg, VA and historicJamestown, saw my family in New Jersey, ate a cheesesteak at White house subs, opened Christmas presents, ate chocolate, flew back to Utah, drove to Vegas, stole my mother’s furniture, drove back to Utah and started School again. Even with all of that going on we’ve managed to become pregnant. I’m still trying to catch that damn stork. Veeda keeps telling me there was no fowl play (that’s a pun) but I still can’t make any sense of her explanation. I guess my parents didn’t really do a good job of explaining that whole phenomenon to me growing up.

Anyhow, the point is this. A lot happens after you get married. Sometimes I forget how much, but the pictures below should give some indication.

PRE WEDDING:

NOW:

Keep checking back and I’ll keep you posted on my progress. Fact: I cannot now fit into anything but the shoes and socks I was wearing in the first picture. I’d also like to add that I have noticed how kind many of you have been in not mentioning the obvious girth.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 07:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

. . . floating in my head. I'm frantically trying to do all of the things that one needs to do as a groom for a wedding that is approaching faster and faster, it seems. I know there are some grooms who just had to show up. I thought I would get away witht he same arrangement but, no. There are consolations to an overburdened fiancé who is desperately straddling the span of her families problems with her personal problems and the impossible task of pleasing everyone without giving up everything which pleases you. Weddings, I don't know. I haven't gotten to the actual flurry of events that it is. I'm still in the preparatory stages of it, but from here it seems like a thorn in my flabby side. A formality of dubious importance in comparison with being married itself.

I'm actually excited for everyone to be there and for many of the great things we hope to happen but trying to plan it and make sure things are taken care of that need to be taken care of is a test of our ability to cope with stress. Some of the coping strategies aren't that helpful.

1. treats - ice cream, chocolate, cookies, etc. These are really good things but the fact that I already feel pretty embarrased about the droopy appearance of my torso combined with the anxiety of putting it on display for close inspection for a woman I am attracted to only makes me feel more stressed after the fact and the only solution is more ice cream, and so on.

2. escapism - I'll just forget about it for awhile and watch basketball or a DVD. This can be a major problem if my team loses. It doubles the feeling of failure.

3. I don't know, this list was spontaneous and I haven't thought of a third item.

So many other things. I am many other things than a man about to be married and all of those things exist together, and sometimes they even pass eachother in the hall.

This very moment i am supposed to be preparing a talk to give at church this Sunday. I't Mother's Day and they want me to speak about mother's. "They." Also, my mother is coming into town tommorrow. I thought I would never see her until I had kids of my own for her to visit. She will be at church to hear what I have to say, but I have not had time this week till now and I'm dribbling this over my lip like spittle and onto the internet, and that is taking up this responsible time I should be preparing my words. Tommorrow I will have to go to work. When work is over I will have to pick mom up from the airport and we will have dinner together. I will show her a little bit of my city. I will show her my apartment, which is clean except for my room. I have not been here many hours since the week began (or since last week ended for that matter) and I have not spent the hours cleaning. I will show her my street, where tonight I found 100 syringes spread out like chicken pox on pavement. There will be a lot of pecking and scratching tonight where I live. I will take her past the French and past the young liberals to the roof where you can see the fog roll over the hill and split around my neighborhood, where we appreciate the sun. I will take my mom to meet my new mom. The one that is "in law" as they say. "They." I don't know what they will talk about but I will be praying that they do not mention the wedding. The last thing I want them to talk about is the wedding. That's the one thing that is a common among us. We are all equally worried that nothing will be carried off and only occasionally visited by our better senses which have learned by experience that almost everything is carried off in the end to a greater or lesser degree and there is rarely cause for the worry which plagues us.

There's so much of everything in my head. And I should be thinking about mother. Perhaps, my own mother even. And I'm thinking about my brother. About a dialogue we only share in vague whispers. As much as we can handle without bursting. Just happy that we were able to talk. That it wasn't an effort. That we are family. Thinking about my father. About how I scratch myself to find him and my brother starts to bleed. And somehow, this is about my mother. About how she stands there in the middle holding all of these strings in her hands and praying they stay taut, because they are the only things holding her up. I've seen her. Crying, fighting, laughing. I know she is a god.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 11:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Or, I suppose I should say "Gangstas" are weak. It occurred to me as I passed some gangstas on the street wearing big puffy parkas.

That's a pretty common sight; gangstas in puffy coats. It's kind of like their uniform. I suppose that would be fine if it wasn't so freakin' nice out today. I was in a very thin old button up shirt and a thin corduroy jacket and I was sweatin'. If your still so cold you need to wear a parka in 75 degree weather, you're weak.

I've also heard rumors that they wear big coats to make themselves look bigger and, hence, more intimidating. Unless your weak you don't need to wear a big puffy coat to look tough, therefore, the fact that you would have to wear a big coat to look tough makes you not tough.

Somebody should tell these guys how weak they look.

In fact, that somebody is you! Post your experience here.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 05:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Well, I haven't actually read the Lord Of Rings trilogy but I have seen it. I've even seen the extended cuts of all three films. They were great! I'm sure most of you know what I'm talking about.

The thing is this, I'm pretty sure the books end the same as the movies. The ring gets tossed into the fires of mount doom and Frodo goes off into the eternal world with the elves on a boat. I'm open to any insights anyone who has read the books might have, but I understand from others I know that that is the gist of it. I only mention this because the other day I saw frodo walking down market street and the dude looked thrashed. He had on his cloak and everything. He looks like he's run all out of that special elven bread and shampoo. I almost asked to see the ring but then I remembered how he reacted when Sam offered to carry it. It wasn't pretty and the way the guy looked he obviously hasn't ditched the ring yet.

Well, I just don't trust Tolkien anymore. He tells us that the ring must be destroyed or it will lead to the destruction of Earth and then I see Frodo still wandering around with it. This world isn't perfect but it's a hell of a lot safer than the movies showed. If this is what he meant by destroying the world than i'd just have to say he was overreacting just a bit. If this isn't what he meant then he sure was misleading about the timeframe of said destruction. The only other explaination is that the ring doesn't need to be destroyed and the world isn't in danger and Frodo is just hanging out playing D&D and shooting horse. No matter how you slice it, Tolkien is a liar.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 01:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I heard a man giving birth in the mensroom the other day. breathing, counting pushing, grunting, tapping his feet in outrageous effort.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 01:42 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

So, Many of you have seen the post from March 7 and know that I proposed to my girlfriend Veeda but many have asked for details and chided me for doing it over the internet. First, I want to thank all of you who have been so kind and supportive and well wishing to myself and Veeda, individually and collectively. Second, I would like to state clearly that I did not propose over the internet. I used my website and the posting you all saw as part of my scheme but I did the old fashioned thing and proposed in person. So, here's the story for you:

Veeda and I have been talking about marriage for a little while and had already gone a ways in making our plans for a June wedding without any formal asking or much more than a series of cooperative mutual assumptions. Without going into too many intimate details (please don't misunderstand this phrase, I'm merely referring to life situations with future plans and family issues) there was a bit of zeitgeist leading into all of this. Things were kind of catapulted forward by the surrounding circumstances and the serendipity of family events both happy and foreboding which led me to be left at a kitchen table in Veeda's aunt's house on super bowl Sunday with her father at the other end asking me what my intentions were with his daughter. I was a bit embarrassed and surprised but I was reasonably comfortable with the whole thing. I was actually more nervous about it after the fact. The next day I became slightly terrified of her father; I suppose because I was more keenly aware of the fact that he would be watching me closely and would visit my body with terrible punishment if I made his daughter cry tears (unless they were caused by joy, of course). Or maybe it was just the fact that I could no longer go on casually and biding my time untill I screwed something up irrevocably. I was comitted now and it was awesome and terrifying at the same time. This event was significant for all of the usual reasons, but also because her father and mother had come from the Phillipines (where they live currently) only a few days previous to get her mother more adequate medical attention to a grave condition. Veeda is not, by the way, filipino or from the Phillipines. Her Dad is retired from the Army and works for the embassy. So, events just kind of pushed the future upon us a little more quickly.

So, a couple weeks ago Veeda and I made a trip down to Las Vegas to visit my mother over the long weekend. This trip was really great and really bad and really really great and all of that helped us a lot. Anyway, on Monday morning (the day we were leaving to return to Northern California) we went to the jewelry store owned by my former Boy Scout Leader (definitely not a pedophile, he's awesome). The store was closed that day for inventory and because it was President's Day but we had a special invitation to come and look at rings. We had the whole place to ourselves. I invited my mother along so we could take her to get some errands done on the way. I was planning on just getting some idea of what she liked and then trying to find something like that another time on my own. My old scout leader and his wife brought out the rings and explained all the details etc. Veeda tried on scads of rings (I've never actually used the word "scads" before but I've read a few times recently and it seemed to fit although it seems more like something a girl would write). Some of them were very nice and some were very funny and some were very expensive and rediculous. When she put on the ring which you saw in the previous post, time slowed down and the angels sang. I'm kind of serious about that. It left an impression on me. It made an impression on my mother and Veeda as well. I felt like Veeda's hand ought to be wearing that ring and that I should do whatever I needed to to make sure it got there. I arranged for the payment of the ring and tried my best to keep it out of conversation thereafter so that there would be some possibility of a surprise when I gave Veeda the ring she knew she was getting.

The ring took a full week after completion and payment to make it to San Francisco. Apparently, when you send something like that with insurance everyone who touches the box has to sign something and the thing is watched very carefully. That's a good thing but I was looking for that thing everyday and getting quite anxious to move into that "officially engaged" state of existence. The ring arrived Monday the 7th at my office. I was worthless the rest of the day. I just couldn't stop thinking about the ring. It was amazing to look at. All sparkles the thing. I hadn't really planned out how I was going to do this exchange and proposal and I was affraid it would be rather anti-climactic since we already had a wedding date set (June 11th, 2005 in the LDS Temple in Oakland). I had only decided that I would drive to San Jose to surprise her with it as soon as I got it. It was tempting to hold on to it cause she was coming up to San Francisco the next evening to spend time with me, and that would have given me time to plan, but I thought it would be better to make the trip.

So, I had asked Veeda to a Prom party we had thrown a week ago by way of my weblog and she is an avid reader of it so I thought I would post a proposal so it could be sort of public and let everyone else know what we were doing. I also knew that she would not be expecting me to come down that night. I hoped she would not have read the blog while I was in the middle of my hour drive to get there. I stopped to buy her some lavender flowers (her favorite color is purple) and parked accross the street from her complex. While still accross the street I sent her a text message telling her to check my blog right away. I got a little worried when i get to her gated complex cause the gate was closed but I was able to stretch my 6'3" frame enough to push the handle on the other side and open the gate. I got the gate open and walked to her 3rd story apartment.

Veeda had been eating dinner with her cousin and headed to her room to change out of her work clothes when she heard the phone ring. She had the phone on the charger and would not have heard it if she had not been in her room at that brief moment. She logged on to the interweb and typed in my blog address. Veeda said she thought, "hmmm, Brendan posted some pictures. I hope none of them are too bad." Then she scrolled down to the bottom of the post and saw the proposal. The picture of the ring hadn't even loaded yet. About that time her heart began to beat and she was kind of stunned. Simultaneous with her reading the last line of the post I was standing on her doorstep knocking on the door. Veeda hadn't had any time to collect herself and was in a mild state of shock when she went to get the door and thought it was her roomate home from the gym. Then she saw me standing there and was just speachless and a little nervously frantic. She had just put on her pajama pants and insisted that she put on pants. She wanted to go out onto the balcony for some privacy. We walked out and still nervous and excited I knelt down and asked her if she would marry me. I'm sorry to say I used no flowery or new wave words to propose but I'm also kind of glad I didn't try to overdo it. I did try to put the ring on the wrong had at first by accident, though. She didn't actually say anything she just gasped and smiled and exclaimed and hugged me and I figured I was in the clear. When asked later what her official answer was she said that it was indeed a "yes" and she didn't realize she hadn't actually answered me. I saved my flowery romantic sincere poetic words for after the fact but I won't repeat them here (I promise they weren't dirty or vulgar, just sweet). So, at long last I am going to marry an amazing and beautiful girl who I have no business being with. That's exactly what I've always wanted.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 01:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

By the way, did anybody else notice that I sent out about 100 e-mails announcing my big announcement entitled: "brendab bybee's big news!"?

My damb name is brendan not brendab. I'm retarded.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 01:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Veeda,

Will you marry me?

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 07:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (16)

Will you go to the prom with me?

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 06:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Just before I left work today I was sitting at my desk passing the time and I heard my boss make a whooshing sound kind of like a little kid playing with a toy jet or shooting a lazer gun. It kind of caught me off guard. Then he did it again and I pictured this little man that my boss is in his three piece suit, gray hair and mustache and glasses, playing with his toy airplane. I almost started laughing out loud. Then I figured out that he was just sneezing but it was still a funny image and I'm glad I didn't immediately think of it as a sneeze.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 10:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

San Francisco has quite a homelessness problem. They're everywhere and they come in all ages and all stages of delirium. Many of them ask for change while performing dubious services such as cleaning windshields with their spit or telling you where to find a good restaurant. Some of them merely smile and talk to dogs. I think most of us would like to do some thing to help them. Maybe even for less selfish reasons than because they "creep us out." Well, most of my associates can afford do little more than donate the change in their pockets on occasion. Still, there seems to be more that we could do. Some small token to alleviate the burden of the homeless.

There is a sub-group of homeless so far to the edge of the the normalcy bell-curve that there actions make most people uneasy. These people yell at no one at all and have conversations with people no one can see. Many "normal" people look on this group with fear and disgust. Meanwhile, "respectable" people walk around talking to the air and no one bats an eye cause they probably have cell phones with headsets. I imagine it's bad enough not having a home and being hungry/insane all the time without everyones shame and fear heaped on top of it.

I got this idea the other day when I saw a woman talking on a cell phone while crossing the street. She had a nice phone but was dressed like a homeless person. Then I thought of the two old cell phones I have sitting at home not being used. It struck me: If everyone donated their old cell phones to the homeless then we could alleviate the shame of the insane who can't stop talking to the invisible. It's okay to talk to people you can't see as long as you're holding a little plastic box up to your ear. Not all of the homeless can be rehabilitated and mainstreamed back into society but perhaps we can make the divide appear a little narrower.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 10:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Google is a wonderful thing. You can insert your name and find out just how insignificant you really are in the great wide world around you. You can also find great things like recipes, do-it-yourself repair instructions and how to contact the most recent merchant who has ripped you off or made you physically ill.

You may remember reading my post about my Totino's Pizza induced depression a couple Sunday's ago. It was a pretty popular post apparently. It even made it to google. Currently it sits about 5th in the list of sites if you search google for "totinos" without the apostrophe. Seriously, try it if you don't believe me. The official pillsbury totino's page is only third. The first listing is ebay where apparently you can auction your favorite pizza to the highest bidder. I understand that there are people who make their entire living off of buying pizzas wholesale and auctioning them. People will pay loads more for stuff under the influence of an exciting auction. It's like that show Elimidate , they really aren't dealing in high quality goods but competition drives up the prices. I'm losing the thread though.

Last night I got an e-mail notice that a comment had been posted to my site. I enjoy that. I am embarrassed a little that people read my drivel but I would rather that it was read by others (and hopefully enjoyed). I thought it was a junk comment made by some crappy internet marketing guerrilla that leaves fake comments with links to their websites like little flecks of poo on my otherwise pristine weblog because the e-mail address had some odd characters in it but then I read the comment:

"Hi my name is Denise Richardson my brother in law got one of your pizzas in Albertsons and we came home and cooked it went to go eat it and it smells and tastes just like 409 cleaning solution. Normally I would just dismiss it and throw it away if it was me eating it, but he just recently got control of his OCD and this seems to have bothered him a lot. So you need to contact me at 239-***-****.

* OCD= Obsesive Compulsive Disorder"

You can go back and read it yourself. I quoted it verbatim (except that I removed her phone number since she obviously intended it to reach someone more important in the pizza wolrd than i happen to be). I thought it was a joke and I wondered who posted it and then I decided to call the number and see if it was even a working number.

A gentleman answered the phone and I asked to speak with Denise Richardson. He asked me who I was and I told him I was responding to her complaint about the Totino's pizza. Then I was handed over to the actual Denise Richardson. I merely told her that I was not affiliated with Totino's and that she would have to contact the company with her complaint.

Ahh, google. I guess my link could've been at the top when she happened to search for totino's to complain cause nothing else could explain the logic of confusing my site for a food company complaint department. Or could it?

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 08:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Bathroom etiquette is one of the most complex webs of unspoken law out there. It's based on shame and embarrassment and relies on such for its enforcement. Due to the subjective nature of shame and embarrassment there are times when conflicting ideals come into conflict. I think most people agree that if you are alone in a bathroom you can do what you want. You can lean or stand, crumple or fold, etc. If you’re in a private bathroom you can drop your pants all the way to the floor. Most people do not do this at a public urinal unless they are trying to be funny or are retarded (I mean that in the most clinical way possible; shame on you for laughing). My friend Josh has pointed out one of the major unspoken rules of the urinal code of ethics. Food is not allowed! The reason these rules are unspoken is because they are beyond obvious to any reasonable intelligent being without prior warning and because bathrooms are gross and we don't want to get into too many details most of the time. Some people just don't get it.

I do have a little confession. I often play games on my phone whilst on the throne. I don't play with sound and I don't play if anyone else is in the bathroom. I wouldn't think of it.

Yesterday, I was in the stall and hoping the guy next to me would hurry up so I could play my game. The toilet flushes and he's still sitting there. A minute and a half later he's still sitting there and the toilet flushes again. These are not infrared auto flushing toilets; these are regular manual flush toilets. I've had the infrared toilets flush early on me and it was totally uncool. The thing is, I don't want feces (now, it's pronounced "fessies" as in, " there were "fessies" all over public bathroom) hurled back at me with such force. I've heard a rumor (I think this was on Oprah) that fecal matter (feces) is sprayed out as far as 6 ft. from the toilet when flushed. It is for this reason that my friend Chaz keeps all his private toiletries in a toiletry bag in his room. What’s the point of brushing your teeth if there's tiny pooh particles all over your toothbrush? The man next to me flushed three times before I left the bathroom. He was still sitting there as I left.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 11:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I have church at 12:30PM. I have been late a lot lately for various reasons (none of them valid in the end). Today I thought I would make it. No NFL playoff game to distract me and feel bad about later. I thought I'd better eat something before I went so I put a Totino’s Party Pizza in the oven. I like them. They are total crap but if you take them as they are without reference to Plato's form of pizza then they are satisfying in their own way.

I ate the one and needed to hurry and get ready for church but I was still hungry and craving another Totino’s. I put it in the oven because, "I've been late for two months straight at least" so I figured it wouldn't hurt this time either since it was all in one string that could be compartmentalized and called a "phase" later. You grow out of phases but habits are much more work to deal with. So, anyhow the pizza finished baking, I was already destined to be late and I sat down to eat the same thing all over again. I began to feel that this was overkill even before taking my first bite of my second pizza. I kept on till my plate was clean. Then something magical happened. I was overcome with depression. I was sluggish and full of food that I had come to despise and it turned itself on me. It was pretty weird. Don't fool around with that stuff. One Totino’s pizza is always enough , but if you do ever over indulge just remember that life gets better you just need to ride it out and let the pizza run its course.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 09:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Today I was a tourist. You know, when you live in a place you don't see all the things there are to see there cause you can do it some other time and because you don't like feeling like a tourist at home. Well, my girlfriend lives in San Jose and isn't from the area (although she actually lived here a little while when she was a kid and probably spent more actual time living here than I have) and we decided to see some sights.

First stop: 826 Valencia

This is not so much a tourist stop, it's actually just down the street from me but it's awesome. It's a pirate themed storefront that serves to support Dave Eggars' youth writing workshops for underprivileged kids in the area.

(Also Paxton Gate which is a really cool store of random things and garden items)

Next: Coit Tower

A girl I go to church with told me that it was secretly a monument to the phallice of the fireman with whom the Lillie Coit (the rich woman who donated the money to build the tower) was having an affair. She pointed to the shape of the tower as evidence to the truthfulness of the story. Then again, all towers are phallic and there isn't anything about this tower that is particularly penile. I do like calling it coitus tower, though. (Also, it's got a pretty good view of the city)

Next: Fisherman's Wharf, but just to eat at in-n-out.

Next: Lombard street

It's still curvy. Rumor has it one of the guys from 3rd eye blind lives there. Also, MTV's real world had a house there. So, you could move there and have some pretty lame neighbors.

Next: Haight Street but it was really just to go to Amoeba records.

Standing in front of amoeba was Ben Gibbard talking to "some guy." I decided to say hi since we have a couple of mutual friends (Jared Hess and Rob Nyland). Then I went and asked him about his benefit show the night before that I "wasn't able to make it" to. I'm a bit retarded, but he was quite amiable. Three cheers for that.

Next: Twin Peaks not to be confused with Twin Peaks

It was cold up there. Really cold (it was not Park City cold but then I was not prepared for it so damn you for belittling my coldness). It was also beautiful. I'm not kidding.

All in all a good day to be a tourist. Prolly the most clear beautiful day we've had in San Francisco in a month or two.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 08:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Today I didn't want to get out of bed. It was terribly cold outside of my blankets and terribly warm and comfortable inside of them. I woke up at the very last minute to be able to get ready and get to work on time. I didn't have time to shower but then I didn't really do anything to soil myself the day before so I felt fresh enough to get by on the previous days shower. So, heres the thing, my underwear was not riding up yesterday as I walked to and from work. They did not ride up at all yesterday but today, walking to work, they were cramming themselves between my manly back cheeks in a most uncomfortable way. It's dificult to know exactly how to dislodge cotton from one's crack in public. I'm sure that anyone who saw my antics knew, in spite of my attempts at tact and stealth, that I was pulling my underwear out of my buttocks. The question I want to ask regards damage control. Is it more helpful to clench your buttocks so that you limit the amount of cloth that can occupy that sunblocked real estate or should you just relax so that the cloth has nothing to hold it in place and falls out with the help of gravity?

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 11:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Every now and then I get this anxiety and I want to start over again. I want to move somewhere new where I know no one and never see anyone I ever knew ever again. It has nothing to do with my friends. I have great friends and my family borders amazing sometimes. I'm a bit a perfectionist but I'm also an underachiever and a pleaser. Soooo, I occasionally get these surges of anxiety where I feel like a total failure and waste and I get scared that everyone is going to find out that I'm a total sham and be disappointed in me. It's not a very helpful feeling and though it is also irrational it is powerfully present and real when I feel it. I've been under this over a series of recent days. Sometimes it is preceded by an event or events that cause me to withdraw and sometimes it just comes on me. I'm generally a likeable person who likes nearly everyone for one reason or another. I'm almost a humanist at times. However I become somewhat of a misanthrope during these periods and I generally subtract myself from the world as much as I can and draw into myself and my thoughts.

When these moods come on i find myself even more irritated with the crap on TV and the stupid way McDonald's etc. try to sell me crappy things. I still don't think McGriddles are going to make my life more fun, they'll just disapoint me with their oil soaked limpness and flavor my day with their unsatisfying aftertaste. Anyways, suffice it to say I am more irritable and less personable than my usual self.

So, I was walking around with my headphones on, ignoring the world. When I came upon the intersection of Divisadero and Haight street I saw an old bag lady stumbling through the middle of the intersection betwixt the passing cars on each side of her. Homeless people dart into traffic all the time but then she came towards my corner holding out something in her hand and smiling with her two teeth muttering something. I pulled out my headphones and noticed that she was talking to the girl next to me on the sidewalk who was holdin a small dog. The old lady was saying, "he's gotta have his ball, can't lose that." She handed the girl the red toy ball and stumbled off still smiling with every glimmer left in her remaining teeth. I felt like a bastard. I was one. I didn't want to be bothered by the existence of anyone else in the world and here was this homeless woman running into traffic to grab something that someone else dropped and she wasn't trying to keep it or get a hand out. That was a good and nice thing to do. I did nothing good or nice at all today.

The second event that ocurred today was just around the corner from my house about 15 minutes after the preceding event. Walking home in my warantless depression I passed a young man not much older than I who wore a terribly sad mask of a face. His face was drawn in deep lines and his eyes semed pulled down by unfathomable despair. I walked right past him but I felt like giving the man a hug and giving him some moment of hope or relief. I doubt I could have accomplished that desire. He probably would've run away from me after hitting and kicking me repeatedly. Maybe not but I thought to myself, "I still have some good in me. Maybe I'm not a bastard after all."

These things didn't take me completely out of my mood but they gave me things to think about and next time I hit my cycle of misanthropy I can learn the same lessons all over again. Namely, I'm a selfish bastard but not totally.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 11:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

My roommate Casey is getting his masters in fine art here in San Francisco. He's loaded with talent and I really like his drawings/paintings. If you're reading this, you probably already know him but, perhaps you don't. Well, check out his website: Casey Jex Smith

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 06:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

In case you’re waiting for a report, I'm getting better. I don't think it's mono; I'm just bored. My tonsils are shrinking back down to a manageable size and my body is less achy and tired. I'm almost cured. So there's that.

I have a nice laptop. It's an apple. I enjoy it. Such a small package with so many awesome features, including a 60-gigabyte hard drive. That hard drive is full of music, photos, movies, papers and applications. Literally full. Well, I had about 2 gigs empty after deleting some of my music files to make space. Anyhow, I like to use pro tools to record music with (a free version I downloaded from PRO TOOLS) but it won't work without a significant amount of free space available on the hard drive. So I decided a while ago that I was going to have to get an external hard drive to store some things on so I could free up space on my laptop. Yesterday I bought one.

Here's the thing, the hard drive is great, it does everything I want it to but that's all it does. I'm not disappointed in the hard drive I'm just disappointed. The thing is, I get excited about gadgets and technology. This is my newest gadget so I had a little spring in my step coming home last night. I plug it in, it works, I copy some files over to it and clear space on my computer and KAPOW! it's all over. As it turns out, that's all the fun you can have with a hard drive.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 10:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Anybody out there ever had mono? Anyone know anyone that's had it twice? . . . in two years?

Well, I don't know if I have it but I had it two years ago. It was bad. Worse than anyone I've ever known. My tonsils swelled up so much I could barely speak, eat or sleep for more than two weeks. It came very close to ruining my life. In fact, there have been more than a few times when I thought that it had. Luckily, I'm still alive and able to experience my tonsils swelling up once again. The feeling of overwhelming fatigue and the constant, whole body tingle of pain; all mine again. Tommorrow I will call the doctor and see if it is mono or some new kind of torture. Just when things are starting to come together everything goes back to normal and I have some new crap to deal with.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 08:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Allright folks, here's the newest of cool. If your down with what I'm putting out you'll be totally cool.

First, refer to groups of people as folks. For example, "Allright folks, here's the newest of cool." Also, refer to you parent as "my folks" or "the folks."

Second, Banana Republic is out. J-Crew is out. Diesel is way out. Anything you c an buy at urban outfitters is totally played out (I guess I'm mostly not really joking about that) and thrift stores? . . . Please! The new cool place to buy your clothes is the Old Navy. Seriously, just ask Dave Dayton, or if you don't know him ask Jimson Weed. If you don't know Jimson Weed it's going to be pretty hard to be very cool so just go here: THE HOUSE OF LEAF AND LIME
If anyone asks why your suddenly really into Old Navy just tell them, "cause those commercials are just damb awesome!" If they don't understand that then you don't need their friendship.

Third, when someone tells you something awesome or amazing just feign disinterest and dryly reply, "I know." Don't say anything else. You may choose to follow this by staring at them waiting for them to try and tell you something truly interesting or you may ignore them and look around vacantly with your ennui on your sleeve. If they do try and top their first story in an attempt to actully impress you, you respond the same way. It might help if you keep telling yourself that you would have said something much more interesting if you cared to. You will never care to say whatever more meaningful thing you are referring too and this silence and lack of reaction will convince others that are really smarter and more perceptive than they are. Others will hate you for this. This is only jealousy however and it will make those people want to be your friend even more. Now they are in your control because they are certain that you are much cooler than they. This is actually an age old cool rather than a new cool but some of you seem totally unaware of this procedure or lifestyle rather. This is, with persistence, a surefire strategy to be adored and envied and that is cool.

Fourth, not having damb ants in your kitchen.

Fif, saying "fif" whilst meaning "fifth." This one is kind of obvious; of course it's cool to say fif.

Last, quitting your job so you can have more time to teach your dog English. So damb cool!

Cheers,

Pampered by Atrophy

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 01:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

I'm not saying it's my fault but I want to say how very sorry I am for anyone who's family or friends were injured or killed by the earthquake and ensuing tidal waves that ravaged southeast asia. At this time I'm reading reports that the deathtoll is as high as 116 - 117,000 people. Many of them were children. I didn't complain about what I did and didn't get for Christmas this year. I got to spend time with family and they are still here.

I hope the U.S. Government is doing more than sending a paltry 15 mil. to aid in the relief efforts. Perhaps I will try and find some websites that can tell you what you can do to help. For you Mormons out there, I found this:

http://lds.org/newsroom/showrelease/0,15503,3881-1-20741,00.html

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 05:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

We have ants. They crawl all over our apartment and I swear the little bastards are in my pants feasting on my pathetic bocy as I write. I noticed them coming around a while back and quickly blamed my roommates for the infestation. Time goes on and the ants increase in numbers. Then one day as I'm making a peanut butter and honey sandwhich to take to work I notice ants all over my hand as i put the honey back into the cupboard. Well, I hurriedly swatted the ants from my soft, pale, office-worker hand. I Washed the honey jar and cleaned the cupboard and figured that problem was taken care of. The whole way to work and half way into the working day I was scratching. I could not decide if I really had literal ants in my literal pants or if I was playing tricks on myself with my evil mind powers. And why would my mind want to play tricks on me anyway? That's not cool.

The ants were still there when next I opened the cupboard. What were they eating? The honey residue had been washed form the jar so why were they still here? I threw the bottle out. Problem solved. Wrong. Now they were crawling all over the peanut butter jar. I shook them off and now i have to keep my peanut butter in the refrigerator. I don't mind cold peanut butter but it's awfully dififcult to spread evenly over a flimsy piece of bread. In addition I have this uneasy suspicion that an ant fell into the peanut butter and eventually made it into a sandwhich. Once in the sandwhich the ant would wait until lunch time at which point I would eat the sandwhich and the ant would enter my system to infect me from the inside. Once inside me this little ant would mutate and asexually produce a breed of über änts. These über änts would feast on my body üntil it was nothing more than a lifeless sack of über änts. These new änts would spring forth from my cocoon body and infest the world armed with an insatiable hunger for peanut butter and honey. What I'm saying is . . . we still have time to save the worlds peanut butter cache. Honey pratically makes itself and if my intuition is correct, the ants need a combination of peanut butter and honey in order to support the assexual "budding" process through which they generate progeny. If we are able to secure one of these two elements we can starve the über änts into submission and turn them on our enemies. Only then will the rest of the world recognize their futility in arguing against American supremecy. I may die but if I do I pray you will not let it be for nothing.

That was weird. Suffice it to say the ants are still around, though I cannot find a trail. I keep looking for food sources to extinguish and send the ants packing but they still have scouts who are sure to bring the masses out again if they find a stash of sucrose in some hidden place. I'm still not sure if I really have ants all over me or if it's a mind trick or if maybe one of my alternate personalities is possibly a drug addict and I'm totally high right now.

Häppy hölidays fööls!

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 10:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Not So Awesome:

- How long it takes me to update this site. If you read this you must hate me for making you wait so long just to be disapointed.

- The fashion trend of wearing overpriced, thin, longsleeve hoodie shirts with jeans and a sportcoat. I like Banana Republic but I also hate Banana Republic.

- A sandwhich made all of chopped black olives and mayonaise. Worse than that is the fact that it wasn't what i ordered. Also not awesome, finishing that sandwhich and realizing that I had just eaten a whole sandwhich made of chopped black olives and mayonaise and I couldn't change that fact.

- The women who walk around the shopping/financial district of San Francisco with large bags in each hand from very expensive stores while everyone else is working. Their manner of dress is either boring or obnoxious but either way they always wear an evident sense of entitlement.

- Frat boys wearing pink. What the hell are the art fags and indie kids supposed to wear now? Jerks!

- Kenneth Cole is having a sale on shoes . . . and they all suck!

- Ants, everywhere. More to follow.

Awesome:

- China Town San Francisco, and I'll tell you why:

_______- Tapioca Drinks. These are good, they come in a variety of fruit flavors and they have chewy tapioca gems to delight. But mostly, the poster I saw advertising these drinks says "Let me crazy!"

_______- You can get a dozen coconut buns for $4. It used to be $3 but they raised the price. Still a good deal cause they are awesome tasty and a dozen of those mothers is a lot.

_______- You can get a dozen potstickers for $2 even and that makes for a nice little lunch.

_______- You can buy all kinds of crazy crap from the many gift emporia, including: "Smiled Bubble Hammer with Terrible Voice" It is just as awesome as it sounds.

_______- There's all these Chinese people walking around so it feels almost like being in another country. A country where I am a giant.

Awesome continued:

- An old guy walking down Market street in black leather pants. That may not sound awesome but it was and maybe you just had to be there at that moment with that song in your headphones walking to work and seeing this old guy in leather pants.

- Ceremony by New Order. It's a song. One of the best ever. It's so good to me that it hurts to listen to it and I can't stop listening to it.

- Tuna sandwhich. Much better than a pile of black olives and mayonaise. In fact, they are an awesome kind of sandwhich.

- Inside-out Reeses Peanut Butter Cups. Damb tasty. They look kind of weird cause the outside is peanut butter color but don't be afraid to sink your teeth in them. They are only available for a limited time, so I suggest you buy them if you see them. I think I may like them even better than original peanut butter cups. I'm not lying about this.

Not So Awesome yet, Sooooo Awesome!:

- Guy walking down market street dressed in black with knee-high black boots and long straight blond hair down to the skall of his back. This wasn't a high school kid, this guy had to be in his late thirties. That's comitment.

- The ugliest transexual I've ever seen with the ugliest mullet I've ever seen. It was blond, permed short and tight on the top, and long and straight on the bottom. He/she might have been related to the guy mentioned above.

- Utility Kilt: http://www.utilikilts.com/index.htm

- Utilikilt and bullet bike. Somehow putting these two together makes them both pretty awesome.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 06:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I was rifling through my email inbox (yes, rifling) when I came across an email with the subject line:

"Here is it.... [knowledge harness bastard]"

So, you can imagine how disapointed I was to find that it was nothing more than an ad for some weak online gambling website.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 06:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

If you've ever walked the Las Vegas strip you've been confronted by the hordes of illegal aliens employed distributing free guides to the sexual pleasures the city of sin is home to. Maybe you've even collected the business cards that are akin to baseball cards but for strippers.

I used to think that Las Vegas was the only place that had that sort of thing. I was wrong. I would actually be surprised if they didn't have something like that in New Orleans. I remember walking to have breakfast at Brennan's in N.O. with my parents on a vacation and seeing some pretty risque ads on the outside of the many strip clubs we passed along the way. My dad had a thing for doing that now that I think about it. When we were in NYC for a day he walked us through 42nd street past all of the adult video stores and strip clubs. He said he thought we should see it. I wasn't quite sure what I ws allowed to look at. I was with my parents for cryin' out loud. I was just trying avert my eyes from as much as I could possibly get caught looking at. These trips were both in my early teens; a few years back, now. Anyhow, I've discovered that Las Vegas is not the only city peddling sex this way, we just do it more profusely. This post is not, however about moralizing and pontificating.

Walking home from work yesterday I past one of the many sets of newpaper machines and was reminded that San Francisco has one of these type of escort service newspapers like Vegas. Most of them are placed in the area of Market St. where the strip clubs are. Now, I don't remember the names of any of these paper mags distributed in my home town but nothing as remarkable as that of SF's very own. So, if you ever visit San Francisco and need a date be sure and stroll down market street. Along the way you'll find newspaper machines carrying the latest edition of "YANK." Ah, the subtlety.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 12:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

So I've been getting these stupid emails about all kinds of "free" things lately. Well, it's all because i was up late the other night and clicked on a "free laptop" offer. I chose this as opposed to the ipod offers that have become so popular because it didn't require that I get anyone else to sign up as well. I don't need a laptop. I have a powerbook and it is the best thing ever. I live with this bloddy thing. Another laptop, especially a pc, is really a waste but I read free and saw dollar signs. Not that I immediately thought of selling it for cash but that the more something should cost the more interested I am in getting it for free, even if i don't need or really want the item. So, then began the firestorm of fake free offers. Hordes of emails claiming that I had "unclaimed prize money" with my name on it. All I have to do is sign up for more stupid offers. I think I'm done with that for awhile. Then again how many more of these things could they send me? They're all from the same people so they couldn't possibly be holding back some of their crap ads, reserving them for when I sign up for another stupid offer. So, who knows. I might be stupid or bored enough to sign up for another one.

So, I keep getting these offers and i checked my email yesterday and got this one:

Awesome right?! Yeah, totally awesome. But . . . I grew up in Las Vegas. That's not a vacation it's a visit. When you grew up somewhere getting a free trip there is like a joke. I would be going there anyway. It wouldn't really cost me much. I definitely don't want to have to go to some timeshare meeting or subscribe to some crappy coupon club for a trial period (after which they immediately start debiting my bank account way more than they could ever save me) just so I can get a free trip to where I'm going to go anyway. Vegas is not that exciting if you grew up there. I like it fine but I'm not facinated or interested in the casinos and I don't want to wear a satin shirt, fake tan and hang out at Club RA with other "tourists" and local jerk-offs.

I like visiting home but that's totally different than getting excited about a vacation. I don't want to stay at a hotel I want to stay in the guestroom and wake up to the smell of a German panckake coming out of the oven and apples sauted in cinnamon and sugar. I want to go to a UNLV basketball game and watch my mom yell at the refs. I want to go to El Steak Burrito. I want to check on my peach trees. The "Vegas Vacation" isn't really the kind of vacation I would be interested in anyway.

All in all, getting that "Free Vegas Vacation" offer was the best joke ever and they had no idea. Imagine if I was still there when I got this email. I just blew your mind with that one didn't I? I bet this doesn't really happen to people who grew up in Idaho.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 07:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Today, on the way home from work, a man asked me for some change. I was wearing my headphones listening to OCS. You prolly don't know who they are and you might not like them but I do and I was especially enjoying them during me walk home. That's not really pertinent to "the story" as I have decided to refer to "it." Also superfluous is the observation that the guy did not look all that destitute compared to most of the people who are generally asking for change. Today I was asked for change a lot and I even happened to have change on me most of the time. Now, I have no change. Again, this is not really "the story."

So, I was walking my way home from my new job when this guy asks for change and starts walking next to me. I saw that he wasn't deterred by the fact that I was listening to headphones (usually a good way to avoid being bothered) so I started to unzip my jacket pocket and dig for the few quarters I had put there earlier "just in case." I handed him the quarters and said, "here you go," or words to that effect. So then he asks me if I'm from England. Literally he said, "are you from England?" Well, I was wearing black pants and shoes, a white dress shirt, a red and yellow striped tie, a dark grey v-neck sweater, a tan vintage london fog jacket, and a smart red tartan scarf. Also, I was wearing my usual nerd glasses. I suppose I could have looked like a grown up Harrold Potter without the lightening bolt scar.

So, this was a total waste of your time. There is no punchline to this story. I said to the guy, "No, I'm from here." For whatever reason though, and I know a lot of you feel this way too, I really liked being mistaken for a Brit. There's something kind of lame and pretentious about enjoying that but I still enjoy it.

Ta.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 01:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I'm always happy to find that my friends and others are actually reading my page. I hardly know who reads it or suspect that anyone does unless they leave comments, a rare thing indeed. I treasure your comments; like little Christmas presents I do.

When ever someone posts a comment to an entry I get an email notification about it. Some of these comments are from you my actual reading public. Some of them are from computers trying to fake me out and post fake comments with a link to their website. For months the only commercial links posted to my entries were for flower delivery websites. I thought that was sweet and nice enough but I didn't like being used like that so I deleted the comments. This morning I check my email and I see a new comment has been posted. I was excited, of course. Then I checked it. If you have never made a comment on here then you should know that you can post a name, email and webpage URL with your comment. This moirnings surprise turned out to be an ad for a she-male website. More funny than that is the comment left, "Great site, was just reading and doing some work when I found this page." HeShe could have added, "I was just taking a break from updating my transsexual interests website when I came across your weblog. I think you could stand to add more pictures to your site, in fact I could email some to you if you don't have very many. Anyhoo, I liked the site, keep up the good work. Oh, and be sure and check out my site and let me know what you think."

I'm just assuming it's a porn website. I suppose it's within the realm of possibility that there could be some she-male website that was purely marketed towards the she-male community with all kinds of she-male-centric news, fashion tips, and travel suggestions. I doubt that but since I'm neither a she-male nor am I interested in women with man parts or men with female parts and all of them being naked together, I will not be visiting that link.

I will be deleting this comment so if anyone out there reading thinks they might be interested in that website you can post a comment here, or email me. I've got it bookmarked.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 10:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

I know everybody expects me to keep them on the forefront of awesome. I don't want to let you down cause I know if you're not getting it from me you'll look elsewhere. I feel a duty to preotect you from lesser sources that you may encounter out there on the interweb superdriveway.

Well, there's a hot new roast out there. In fact you are the first people I have told about this and it will spread fast. The word:

ASS-CENTAUR

I was reading "The Name of the Rose" by Umberto Eco last night when I came accross the term. It is literally a centaur where that back half is that of an ass. You are basically telling someone that they have the ass of an ass. I have a hunch that this one will take off, and my hunches are never wrong.

Possibly uses:

"What's this ass-centaur doing in the fast lane?"

"Hey, ass-centaur, your an ass-centaur."

"I can't believe you said that in front of my parents! You're such an ass-centaur!"

"I'm sorry but I don't date ass-centaurs."

I suggest that you use this as soon as possible so you can say you were one of the first and so it doesn't get used on you first. Good luck and godspeed you ass-centaurs.

Posted by poweredbyapathy at 12:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

This is sort of pathetic but I've recently discovered (or admitted maybe) that even in my dreams I am totally lame.

The other night I had a dream about going back to college. So I was taking a campus tour and I noticed this kid wearing a T-shirt or a button that said Utah in big letters. I was not in Utah in my dream so it stuck out to me. I asked the kid about it and he said that it was actually the name of a b