Blogging Schmogging

And You Thought I was Done.

2005-10-19T12:15:00.000-07:00

Announcement: I have changed blogging venues. Like a hip club in Hollywood the blogging scene changes frequently. Last week it was Blogging Schmogging, this week it's The Tupperware Club. It's a revamped site in collaboration with a friend of mine, it is where I will be spending the bulk of my time.

http://www.thetupperwareclub.blogspot.com

Hey You! (the shit I want to yell at people but never have the balls to.)

2005-09-26T08:42:00.000-07:00

1. Hey you! Yeah you, lady in Whole Foods. I've got a news flash for you, just because you buy something in Whole Foods doesn't necessarily mean that it's good for you. You may have a few bags of organically grown spinach in your cart, but the health benefit of eating all that spinach is probably negated by the six pounds of Toblerone and 8 bottles of wine your gonna dust off tonight. I appreciate the fact that you're trying to be health conscious, but I don't appreciate the fact that you're a deuche. Oh, and please don’t give me dirty looks anymore when I try to walk past your cart.

2. Hey you, overly cologned dude in the bar with a fancy shirt. You’re like the T-rex of sleazy dance moves, grinding on anything that moves. I'm curious if a girl were to just stand still, would you be able to see her? I just wanted to let you know that the reason no one is talking with you is because you, my friend, are the victim of natural selection. I'm sorry, and I know the truth can hurt sometimes, but for the betterment of the human race, I'm gonna have to ask you not to attempt to procreate. It's nothing personal but nature has decided, in its own funny way, that a large portion of your genes are obsolete. In short, you're holding us down bro, as a species.

3. Hey you, ill-tempered homeless man, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but society doesn't owe you anything, so stop being pissed off. I understand you're just trying to get a few bucks for some malt liquor and maybe some soup, but don't get in my face about it. The truth is I only have a few bucks that I've allotted for my homeless man on the street fund and I'm a lot more likely to give it to the sweet benevolent old homeless man than you. I'd give you a consolation hug if you didn't scare the christ out of me.

4. Hey you, guy in the movie theater pretending like you're waiting for someone. I'm on to you! I know you came to the movie by yourself and you're just trying to wait out the uncomfortable period between when you sit down and when the lights go out. I'll bear my soul here bro, I went to go see 'Miracle' by myself once, but I'm gonna blame that mistake on the Nyquil and Ritalin binge. All I'm trying to say is that if you're gonna rock the movie theaters alone, at least grow a pair and rock the movie with a little confidence. I'd give you a consolation hug if your loneliness didn't scare the christ out of me.

"Literally"

2005-09-25T17:59:00.000-07:00

For personal amusement I like to misuse common phrases and sayings in conversations and observe people's response. I'm not sure why, but I've always found this surprisingly entertaining. My new misused word for the week has been "literally", a response often used to link a hypothetical situation or story to an actual occurance.

For example, let's say I'm talking to my friend Jim, telling him a story about some person named Bob who is known around town to pee his pants a lot.

Brad: "Jim, I can't believe you crashed Bob's car. He's gonna pee his pants when he finds out."

Jim: "Literally!"

Brad: "Hahahaha, Good one Jim"

I find it more enteraining to use the word "literally" in situations that were meant to be interpreted literally in the first place.

Jim: "Hey Brad, we should try to get to the party around seven o'clock."

Brad: "Literally!"

Jim: "Um, yeah I know."

Running Thin.

2005-09-25T16:59:00.000-07:00

There are about five coffee shops within a mile of my apartment that I used to frequent on a consistent basis, but over the past two years due to poor relationship management and unjustifiable quirks, I've managed reduce that number to one. There is only one Starbucks left on Bundy Avenue that will have me and I go there every morning for my daily rations, taking full advantage of their services while the relationship remains intact.

1. Peet's Coffee on San Vicente - About a year ago, during one of my fits of profession dissatisfaction, I started fielding some interviews. After a few interviews I was extended an offer at an undisclosed valuation company. Unfortunately, I thought the compensation package was insultingly low, so I didn't justify the offer with a response. Kind of a dick move, I know, but what was worse was that two days later I got a personal letter in the mail telling me how unprofessional I was, and formally revoking the offer. I thought it was funny and kept the letter to read from time to time for a good laugh. The problem is, the owner of that firm is a frequent customer of the Peet's on San Vicente and he happens to be there every time need some coffee. I thought I would be the bigger man, so to avoid the uncomfortable exchanges of dirty looks I stopped going to Peet's. This place is off the list.

2. Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf on Olympic Blvd. - The closest coffee place to my apartment is the Coffee Bean on Olympic, it's nestled in a nice little strip mall flanked on one side by a dry cleaners and the other by a strip club called 'Silver Reign'. Due to its proximity to the strip club this Coffee Bean tends to attract some unruly characters. Every Friday and Saturday morning a certain woman bursts through the doors with teased up bleach blonde hair, lipstick streaks half an inch above where her lip ends, and fake breasts reeking of sin. I assume she works as a stripper because she exudes a sense of dejected sexuality and paper thin confidence as she struts through the place like a fucking baboon in heat. Every time she steps into the coffee bean I get very reflective and self conscious, she makes me feel like I'm not standing in line for coffee but waiting outside of a room at a cheap motel in a shitty part of town trying to score some crack. This place is off the list.

3. Peet's on Montana Ave. - I'm not gonna lie, I love Peet's, the only problem is this place tends to appeal to the more affluent coffee drinkers and is located exclusively in the nicer parts of town. What pisses me off about affluent coffee drinkers are their fucking hobbies. Everyone who lives near Montana Avenue pretends to be into biking, every Saturday and Sunday they ride down to Peet's with their spandex suits, covered with sponsors, and sip coffee together. Whenever I go to this place I just want to inform on the 'hardcore' bike riders that caffeine is a diuretic, not exactly the best thing to have after a strenuous ride. Why don't they go down to the local Whole Foods and sip some Evian, or at least anything that will actually re-hydrate them. This place is off the list.

4. Starbucks on Arizona Ave. - The problem with this Starbucks is it's close to Santa Monica College and all the hip girls that go to SMC like to come get coffee here and bring their annoying little Chihuahuas, which is like totally the hip new dog to have. I equate going to this Starbucks to being in a Carbon Dioxide filled room and lighting a match...nothing is gonna happen, but who the fuck wants to be in a room filled with Carbon Dioxide? Case closed, this place is off the list.

Till Then.

2005-08-08T18:22:00.000-07:00

I'll be back on August 22nd with a back log of lame-ass blog ideas.

Cynical Rambling Turn Social Ideology

2005-08-02T14:19:00.000-07:00

In the slightly depressive month of February I tended to mask my despair with excessive amounts of NyQuil and an overly cynical attitude about everything. I'm not sure why, but somehow around the same time period I started reading a bunch of famous quote books. Naturally, I started to get a bit jealous that I didn't have a good quote to be remembered by. So in testament to that time of my life I came up with the line "love is just the intersection of coincidence and convenience."

I always felt the quote was a little overly cynical, but I thought it had a good ring to it, and it packed the perfect amount of shock value. It was interesting to see people's reactions when you take an emotion that so many hold dear and break it down to the lowest common denominator. It could even be justified to a certain extent, I mean without coincidence people would never meet and without geographic desirability, relationships would be too inconvenient to pursue.

But come spring time, the season of love, I stopped tossing my quote around, cause I didn't want to be remembered as an asshole.

At a bar in Texas last week, talking with a group of people, I saw the perfect opportunity for the reemergence of my quote. A friend of mine, Cory, found the phrase quite entertaining and after a few revisions we came up with the final version. "Love is just the intersection of coincidence, convenience, and compatibility." It was complete, the three C's, and I couldn't agree more.

A Hypothetical Office Situation I Might Find Humorous.

2005-07-30T21:52:00.000-07:00

Laden with fatigue I struggled to keep my eyes open as I stared blankly into the unwelcoming void of my computer screen. In my sleep deprived, caffeine induced haze the words I read and re-read blended and digressed into a string of nonsensical phonetic utterances. A cheap digital clock rested on the corner of my desk bearing the unwelcoming news, 9:48AM, that gave me twelve minutes to finish the project.

With the last page printing out, I grabbed the unbounded bundle and rested the pile in my arms like a new born baby. With everything finally in order I made the final march into my bosses office and slapped the report down on his desk with a tired sense of confidence.

Me: I finally finished that report you needed. It took me all night but I got it done.

Boss: (lacking enthusiasm) Great! Could you do me a big favor and put it over on that table in the corner?

Me: Yeah, no problem. (picking up the report, I step over to the corner of the room and place the report on a table facing the wall.) You want it on this table here?

Boss: Yeah that's perfect. Could you actually move it closer to the edge for me?

Me: How this? (moving the report to the edge of the table).

Boss: Great! Could you do me a big favor and actually hang it off of the edge of the table a little bit.

Me: (a bit confused, I hang a portion of the report off the edge) Like this?

Boss: Yeah. Just a little further.

Me: Ok, is this alright?

Boss: A little more.

I reach down and hang the majority of the report off the table and step back for a minute, still confused and anxious. Slowly the report starts to slip off the table page by page, and finally the entire report tumbles into the waste basket below.

Boss: Right where it belongs...Now get out.

No Shame.

2005-07-26T18:03:00.000-07:00

On Friday, Deloitte took my start group out to Catalina for the day, to show us their appreciation. Well I felt very appreciated, or drunk from the four shots I had to take for losing at miniature golf, sometimes I get those two sensations confused. After a long day of cruising the island a group of us went down to Desacando Beach for some more beverages.

On our way back from the beach there was a 10 year old boy sauntering along the sidewalk in front of me with an inner-tube around his waist. The young boy would bounce off of the hand-rails using his inner-tube while zigzagging back and forth across the walkway. If there is one thing I hate in this world more than dudes with their collars up, it's little kids walking in unpredictable patterns in front of me. So I put up with this kid for about 5 minutes before I decided to pass him on the left hand side. Just as I walked up parallel he sped up and got in front of me again. I couldn't believe this kid's nerve, so I went to pass him again, this time on the right. The kid started to speed up, I broke into a jog, he broke into a jog...I broke into a run, he broke into a run, and the next thing you know I'm drunk, racing a 10 year old down the street in Catalina, while his mother yells after us.

As we broke away from the crowd I knew I had to turn on the 'after burners' to show this kid who he was messing with. Luckily I jumped out onto the street, up ahead of us was an old man with a dog on a leash, sitting on a bench adjacent to the sidewalk. Startled by the commotion, the man's dog lunged forward in an attempt to bite the kid. Overcome with shock, the boy grinded to a halt just as I made the leap back onto the sidewalk. Overcome with a sense of victory I made eye contact and raised my fist into the air as a show of solidarity. A wave of shameful pride blanketed me.

Irrational Fears.

2005-07-20T19:40:00.000-07:00

I was strolling up the stairs of the Hollywood and Highland center today, in search of a lunch joint within my budget. I've been staffed in Hollywood the last two weeks and during my lunch hours I've become increasingly exploratory. I've always found Hollywood intimidating for some reason, I can't quite put my finger on it but the people and all the souvenir shops frighten me a little...anyways back to my story.

Coming down the stairs opposite of me were two ladies and a small boy. The little boy was clinging desperately to his mother's leg, wearing a fear-stricken grimace on his face. The other woman was crouched beside the child attempting to coax him down the flight of stairs. Enamored with the situation I took my time with the last few steps so I could hear what was going on. As I passed I overheard the mother say to the friend, "He is just scared to death of stairs".

Wait a minute! He's scared of stairs? How can someone, regardless of age, be scared of stairs? These are luxurious stairs mind you. It took me two strides between each stair to get up these things. What happened to all the rational fears little kids used to have, like strangers, or monsters, or wind. When I was little I could leap down a flight of stairs in seconds, but you get a stranger within twenty feet of me and I'd freeze up. I just wanted to cruise by these ladies one more time and say to the little boy, "Hey kid, one foot after the other, it's not that hard. But watch out for those fuckin' strangers, those things can kill you."

So after lunch I pushed the incident to the back of my mind and started back to the office. I was forced to cross to the opposite side of the street as to avoid the man dressed up in a make-shift Sponge Bob Square-pants outfit. The eyes on that costume seemed to peirce right through me from twenty feet away, I couldn't stand walking by that thing, it scared me a little.

Old E-mails

2005-07-15T15:53:00.000-07:00

Sometimes when I'm bored I work I like to sort through some of my old e-mails to kill the time. Most of them have lost their luster, but sometimes amongst the fray I find a little nugget of pure gold. The following is an e-mail exchange between my buddy Joe and myself, I wrote an e-mail to him entitled 'Food for Thought'

-----------Original Message-------------
From: Sharp, Brad T (US - Los Angeles) [mailto:brsharp@deloitte.com]
Sent: Thursday, March 24, 2005 9:46 AM
To: Fisher, Andrew M (US - Los Angeles); Jeremiah Smith; Frandle, Jared P; Chandler, Joseph (NBC Universal); Carpenter, Eric

Subject: RE: Food for Thought

The following is a list of foods that I would like to blow up to the size of a house and live inside of. Then whenever I got hungry I could just take bites out of the walls.

1. Butter Croissant
2. Bell Pepper
3. Pete's Oatmeal Muffin
4. Grapefruit
5. Chihuahua Chorizo Plate

Brad Sharp
Deloitte & Touche LLP
Audit and Assurance

-----------Original Message-------------
From: Chandler, Joe (NBC Universal)
Sent: Thursday, March 24, 2005 10:20 AM
To: Fisher, Andrew M (US - Los Angeles); Jeremiah Smith; Frandle, Jared P; Sharp, Brad; Carpenter, Eric

Please see my responses to Brad's ridiculous proposition that he could ever live inside food.

1. Butter Croissant - Joe says: this is not so bad. You would have that annoying thing where the roof slants down and thus the space at the ends of the croissant would be unlivable.

2. Bell Pepper - Joe says: The problem here is uneven flooring.

3. Pete's Oatmeal Muffin - Joe says: I think you'd get good rain protection out of a muffin. The roof is thick, however the muffin paper would evaporate in this rain and you'd have to pay a painter.

4. Grapefruit - Joe Says: It would roll away

5. Chihuahua Chorizo Plate - Joe Says: Too good. You'd eat your house in one sitting...then where would you be.

Making the Cut.

2005-07-15T09:10:00.000-07:00

So the resort my dad has been working on in Taveuni finally got some exposure today. Forbes put us on the list of top 15 luxurious honeymoon destinations. I guess all those summers I spent pretending to help clear jungle cover and landscaping the property, but really just playing grab ass and drinking kava with the Fijian locals, paid off. On the article just click on the link on the left hand side, it will bring up a slide show, we are the second to last.

http://www.forbes.com/travel/2005/06/23/honeymoon-luxury-travel-cx_sb_0623feat.html

The Merits of Dance Fighting

2005-07-11T19:08:00.000-07:00

I was in the mood today to draft another list. So I've made a list of the top five reasons Dance Fighting is better than Regular Fighting.

5. You can't get arrested for dance fighting. Unless of course you're dance fighting with knives, like Michael Jackson's Beat It video. Or unless you're dancing in a town where public dancing has been outlawed by the overzealous local pastor, like the town in Footloose.

4. In a dance fight your friends don't need to get involved. Regular fights typically turn into brawls with the larges group of friends usually winning. Dance fighting is just between the two people with the disagreement. That is of course unless each person has an equally large group of friends dressed in hip, street close with a choreographed back up dance. Friends from the opposite groups can also dance fight each other as long as they don't upstage the two main fighters.

3. Tight black or stone washed jeans and effeminate white shoes are encouraged for dance fighting. The jeans may seem restrictive at first but once the dancing begins they become like a protective skin. Also, during a dance fight, very little damage is inflicted on one's clothes, mostly just the occasional dust or dirt stain if the dance fight is taking place in a warehouse or alley, which it should be.

2. Stamina, coordination, and agility, (not to mention grace) are far more important in dance fighting than regular fighting. Regular fighting is more a show of brute strength, as a result, most regular fights digress into wrestling matches only seconds after commencement.

1. All dance fighting ends with a secret move. The secret move could be any technique that the dancer was unable to perform only days before. This could be a move that the dancer has practiced for years and never been able to get quite right, but on the night of the dance fight, everything falls into place.

Visages of my Lameness

2005-07-08T10:59:00.000-07:00

(Warning: Self depricating humor below.)

I've been busy the last two weeks so I haven't had time to get any of my dress shirts dry cleaned. As a result, when I went to dress for work today the only clean shirt left in my closet was the lame shirt with the ultra thick vertical stripes. I considered resurrecting one of the less dirty shirts but I thought to myself...."Fuck it! Wear the stripes".

Then as I was finishing my morning routine I had to throw a little gel in my hair. The nozzle on my gel has been malfunctioning lately, so when I went to place some gel in my palm a massive blob came out. I thought about rinsing the blob down the drain and starting over but I thought to myself..."Fuck it! Let's gel this bitch up".

I left my apartment to drive to work in my mid-sized sedan. Yes, I own a mid-sized sedan, and there is a very good reason for it. Last year my old car died unexpectedly with only 80,000 miles on it. At the time I'd only been working for about four months and so I didn't have any money to blow on a new car. So I borrowed a few G's from the parents for a down payment and I went looking for the cheapest decent looking car I could find. Well I found the white Avalon at a dealer in Northridge and I thought to myself..."Fuck it! Rock the mid-sized sedan, who cares if I'm the only person under the age of 65 rocking an Avalon".

I slept really bad last night so I thought I would stop and get some coffee on my way to work this morning. There is a Coffee Bean about a block from my house so I popped in for a cup. When I got to the front of the line I ordered my typical medium coffee and the lady behind the counter informed me that they had just run out of the current batch and another batch would be ready in about 5 minutes if I wanted to stick around. I was running late for work so I thought to myself..."Fuck it! Roast me up a Latte."

On my drive to work I typically listen to the radio, mostly KROQ. But today was different, I was sort of in the mood to rock out, so I thought I would pop in a little White album and blast some Helter Skelter. As I was reaching up to my visor CD holder to grab the album a John Mayer CD fell out. I didn't really feel like putting the John Mayer CD back and searching for The Beatles so I thought to myself..."Fuck it! Rock the Mayer."

On the freeway I was just hanging out when 'Your Body is a Wonderland' came on from the CD. The song sucks, I know, but it's also kind of catchy. My voice was a bit raspy from the cold I've been fighting off so I started to sing a little bit to clear my vocal cords. Somewhere around the third verse I thought to myself..."Fuck it! Let's sing this shit."

So there I was cruising on the freeway in a mid-sized sedan, in an ultra-thick vertical striped shirt, with super gelled up hair, sipping a café latte, singing along to John Mayer, and not thinking a damn thing of it. Until an escalade pulled up beside be, the deep bass from his blaring hip-hop shook my mirrors. The driver's face was masked by dark sunglasses, we made eye contact and he began to laugh. His laughter pierced through me and I snapped out of the daze I'd been in all morning...what the hell was I doing...what had I become.

What happened to the guy who once spent three hours with a pocket knife hacking a palm fawn from a tree in Westwood because it would make the perfect garnishment for his balcony? What happened to the guy who rode an Acura Legend as deep into Mexico as he could and then paid an old Mexican man 10 pesos to electrocute him with a car battery to save face in front of his friends? What happened to the guy who...

....he drowned a long time ago...in my caffe latte......

Some Very Descriptive Cops.

2005-07-07T13:20:00.000-07:00

So I went to Newport Beach for the 4th of July this year. It was my first time in a beach community for the big holiday, and from what I can tell you're just supposed to get drunk and wander the streets pretending like you know people. So I wasted little time inebriating myself and began strolling through the sidewalks throwing out the occasional 'Hey Paco', or 'Maurice, where've you been?' to random people. Well aware of the strict law enforcement at the beach I was wise enough to leave my beer behind at the pad. Unfortunately some of my friends do not share my wisdom. My friend, whom I will call 'Manchester' for privacy sake, didn't want to waste a drop of his Bud Light and so he brought it along for the stroll. Manchester was no more than three paces from the edge of the patio when a group of about 6 cops surrounded him like a swarm of locust. Newport police are surprisingly pleasant, Officer Miller and I were exchanging macaroni salad recipes while Manchester received his citation. The police confiscated his beer and sent us on our way, Manchester dangled the ticket from his breast pocket like a bright yellow badge of courage.

Later on in the evening the ticket became a sort of conversation piece, while I was examining the severity of the fine I noticed something odd. Written in the description portion of the ticket was the following.

"Individual drunk, in possession of Bud Light, 3/4 full, cold, delicious."

Not only were these cops incredibly descriptive in their ticket writing, but Officer Miller's macaroni salad recipe was fabulous.

The Real 4th of July.

2005-07-06T11:11:00.000-07:00

I spent a little time thinking about the origins of the 4th of July this weekend. So I understand that this date is used to honor the independence of the United States because it was the day the representatives from the 13 colonies gathered to sign the Declaration of Independence. My question is then, how long did it take to mail the declaration to the King of England? They didn't have the most sophisticated postal system back in 1776, so there must have been at least a few weeks of lag between when the colonies thought they declared independence and when good old King George III formally found out about it.

If California wanted to declare independence today on July 6th, 2005 it would happen in real time, we would just have to ring up President Bush and say;
"Hey, stop quartering your troops in our houses, they are very disrespectful and are constantly tracking dirt through our foyers. Also, before we forget to mention, stop taxing us without our representation, it's not cool. Oh yeah, there are certain truths we hold to be self-evident, we're all created equal, and endowed by the Creator with certain unalienable rights, which include but are not limited to the pursuit of happiness. Yadda, yadda, yadda....I'm Out!"

I'm not saying that July 4th is a bad day to celebrate our independence. It's just from my vague knowledge of business law, an offer is not technically an offer until it received, and an acceptance on the other hand, is binding once it is placed in the mailbox. Therefore assuming it took about three and half weeks to cross the Atlantic and deliver the declaration to King George III, I believe we should celebrate our independence some time around July 28th or 29th. I'll be having a BBQ at my place if anyone wants to roll, I'll get a keg but we'll kind of be doing a BYOB thing for people who don't like beer.

(note: I could have this rule backwards, if so please disregard this blog posting, seeing as how this rule acts as the foundation for my argument.)

Things Just got a Little Bit More Complicated

2005-06-28T09:20:00.000-07:00

I've been in Palm Springs working on a hotel audit for the last week and a half. It's hot as all balls out here, but my senior, Brain, and I go to the same Starbucks every morning around 8:45AM to get some nice hot coffee. In Starbucks Brian always orders a large coffee and a croissant and I always just get a medium coffee. The Starbucks employees in an attempt to be helpful like to anticipate our arrival and every morning when we walk in our coffees are already poured and ready to be rung up. I can understand their reasoning because it may appear to the naked eye that I order a medium coffee everyday, but the truth is that every 6th or 7th day I like to order an iced coffee, and every 9th to 11th day I like to order a latte. I no longer have that luxury because some overachieving starbucks employee likes to save 30 seconds of my time.

Besides having my coffee choices in the morning severely limited something else strange happened today. The coffees were already poured before we got through the door; I mean these people must have recognized my car pulling up the street. Secondly all the people working were really giggly and running around the back room. I didn't think anything of it until I went back to my car and discovered a note hidden under the sleeve. The note said the following:

"Hey, this is my last week here and I wanted to give you my number just in case you are interesting. If you are not already taken give me a call if you'd like. (I'm withholding the number for privacy purposes.) : )
-Dylan"

Two things strike me as odd about this letter, first the phrase "just in case you are interesting", what the fuck does that mean? Of course I'm interesting. Haven't you noticed the slightly thickened black glasses frames and the tortured yet curious glances I throw around? Secondly it is from Dylan, I would normally assume this is a female name, but there was also a slightly effeminate male working at this starbucks too, that makes this anyone's guess. What concerns me the most is how I'm going to get my coffee tomorrow morning without things getting really out of control.

Opps I Dropped my Sanity.

2005-06-22T10:30:00.000-07:00

My wallet was swollen with the $25 daily allowance as I pulled out of Wyndham Resort parking lot to cruise the streets of Palm Springs. It was 7:00PM and the gauge in my car still read 105 degrees outside, the film of sweat that had collected on my face from my walk to the car quickly turned cold and sticky from the gusts of cold air spewing from my car vents. With $25 bucks to burn I should have made the turn south and headed to Mexico for a few weeks. In no more than two hours I could be sipping margaritas on a deserted beach, living like a prince, riding high on my 25 dollars. But instead, in a orgy of indecision, I opted for a corn beef sandwich from a deli across the street.

I sat in the front of the restaurant as I waited for my amigo behind to counter to construct my masterpiece. The deli was filled with the buzz of retired folk chatter, navigating the world through the thick lenses of familiarity. My smiles were met with piercingly suspicious glares. Concerned, I smiled subtly into a napkin dispenser, confronted by a stranger's twisted grin I realized my smile only makes me look as if I have something to hide. So instead of baring teeth to the passers by I just nod and try to look familiar, just like their Cole Slaw.

Having only spent $12.95 on my corn beef sandwich I had a little trouble getting back to my room, since my pockets were still swollen from the remaining $12.05. To lighten the load I gave a two dollar tip to the bell captain, just for being in the right place at the right time. I slapped the bell captain on the shoulder and called him 'Boss', I bet that made his night. I stepped into the elevator and turned to face the doors as a single tear rolled down my cheek.

Back in my hotel room an argument erupted between myself and the second half of my corned beef sandwich. He was understandably upset at me cause I ate his brother for dinner while I watched the basketball game. But truth be told he was the only friend I had in that vast expanse of desert. Unfortuneatly my friend fell victim to his own deliciousness and now shares the fate of his fallen comrade. So long deli sandwich, you will live on for the next 6 to 7 hours as you are slowly metabolized and turned into energy.

Call me Brian.

2005-06-01T09:05:00.000-07:00

For about 6 months at UCLA my sophomore year I let some girl call me Brian for no apparent reason. I don't even remember who the girl was, but she was dating a friend of mine during the time and would always try to be really nice, saying hi to me, and 'chit-chatting' on campus. One day I was on campus with a few of my buddies in between classes and as she strolled by she yelled out "Hey Brian", not knowing what to do I just responded with a wave, not realizing that I was committing myself to the name "Brian". Of course this situation quickly got out of hand, I had to avoid encounters at all cost, I resorted to missing class, wearing beanies through campus, and growing out my beard, as to limit the chances of being recognized.

It all came to a dramatic ending one May morning when I was sitting on campus with a few friends and of course this girl comes by for a 'Stop-and-chat', as Larry David would call it. Towards the end of the 'Stop-and-Chat' I knew I had to bail before any names were uttered during the departure process. I ducked out unnoticed under the guise of grabbing a bean burrito. I got about twenty feet between myself and the mark before I heard a "later brian" come booming out behind me. I didn't bother to turn around, cause I knew the shit was going to hit the fan. My friends took the liberty of informing this girl that my name was Brad, and not Brian. From that point on the tables turned and she avoided me on campus at all cost. Things were back to normal.

Why can't I be Talented?

2005-05-27T11:20:00.000-07:00

(Last night I saw Christopher O'Riley play in Royce Hall at UCLA. He is an amazing pianist and last night he performed about three hours of Radiohead songs, which he transcribed to classical piano.)

The stage was flanked on all sides by stark wooden panels. In the center of the floor sat a shiny black piano, which reflected light from a single spotlight glaring down on its keys. At 8:20, Chris O'Riley strode onstage with confident side swept hair wearing an ashy black suit. He wasted no time pulling out the first sheet of music, dropping himself in front of the keys, and shaking the last bit of nervousness from his wrists before he began to play. Each song was rich with familiar melodies, floating atop a barrage of classical harmonies. I was impressed with how well some of the harder Radiohead songs sounded, 2+2=5 and Paranoid Android were like walls of sound stunning and mesmerizing the audience. A deep red light shone off and on against the walls as Paranoid Android swept from its heavenly shrills to its seductively malevolent bass lines. These songs were a strong contrast from the softer sounds of Nice Dream, No Surprises, Karma Police, and Motion Picture Soundtrack, which seemed to leap from the piano and fill every corner of the room.

I was impressed with the breadth of songs he played, even incorporating less popular B-sides, such as Polyethylene and Gagging Order. The audience was so captivated by the end of the show they refused to leave, even after the third encore. But as the lights came on we all reluctantly took our first steps toward the exit. Songs I've heard a thousand times before last night seemed to have a new life to them, the best sounding song of the night was Airbag, followed closely by Let Down.

The Quest for McSweeney's.

2005-05-24T13:23:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine turned me onto a website last week that has since occupied the bulk of my free time at work. It's a site where people submit their random lists, sestinas, or open letters and only the funniest of the funny get a posting.

www.mcsweeneys.net

Reading the postings on this website I've grown determined to make a name for myself in the world of funny lists. I drafted my first list last week, by spicing up an old one I had in the archives. It was sent to McSweeney's last Thursday.

10 Reasons I would make a Great Road Warrior:

(For clarification purposes, a Road Warrior is a post apocalyptic nomad who travels through dessert landscapes scouring for food, women, and most importantly gasoline, aptly referred to as "Juice". )

10. I was once told by an ex-girlfriend that I have very callused hands.

9. I have a personal predisposition to draping scraps of burlap and short lengths of chain all over my body.

8. I tend to be an overly aggressive driver. On the road I will give preferential treatment to other drivers whom I believe display similar 'road warrior' qualities, such as not using turn signals, drastic changes in speed, and erratic turning.

7. My height is exactly 4 inches above the average male in the United States; this allows my body to better regulate heat in high temperature environments. Since most road warriors hang out in the dessert this gives me a leg up.

6. I possess a natural ability to leap from a moving vehicle to the ground or between two moving vehicles. This has been attempted without incident on several occasions at various golf courses in, or around, Los Angeles.

5. I am a strong judge of character, which allows me to decipher social situations often complicated by selfish motives, this ability enables me to discover, through subtle mannerisms, who is trying to steal my Juice and who would have Juice that I could potentially steal.

4. I have never been in a car accident nor do I have any moving violations of any kind. (Note: I'm using this example solely as a testament to my driving skills, do not interpret this as me having a tentative attitude on the road. If the situation required, or if Juice was on the line, I would drive recklessly enough to obtain the desired outcome.)

3. I have skin that could potentially become very leathery. With several months of unprotected sun exposure I believe that my skin would become extremely brown and tough, perfect for a life on the road, and for warrioring.

2. I once sat through an 8 hour drive with nothing more than a bottle of Mountain Dew and a Clif bar.

1. When I fill my car up with Juice, I begin to salivate.

On Tuesday this is the e-mail I got back from McSweeney's

Hi Brad, Thanks for sending this to us. We're going to pass on it, but please keep us in mind for future work.
Best regards,
Benjamin

Congratulations Benjamin, on fueling my funny list fire. Since I received this rejection I've been working diligently on fresher, funnier, more risqué lists. So far I have three working titles and only one of them has been slightly populated.

"Clever responses to the threat 'I'll cut you!"

"Potential names Celtic Druids had for the Perineum"

"False Truths learned from watching too much Fraggle Rock"
1. I can eat buildings
2. Garbage talks to me

By 'We' I mean 'You'

2005-05-20T17:18:00.000-07:00

The first lesson in how to be politically correct at work is to replace the word 'you' with 'we'. That way when you’re telling people they suck, they feel less threatened. As an auditor I have to confirm account balances by sending letters to random people at banks and praying that they come back without anything written on them, because every little ink mark means about 2 more hours of work for me. And that is valuable time that could be spending in water cooler socials, or arguing with Carp, via e-mail, about the existence of the Endocrine system.

Well there is a dude out here who works for my client and is responsible for drafting all of my confirmation letters, and of the 50 he drafted only about 10 were accurate. This guy's infinite attention to detail cost me about a day and a half of perfectly good 'down time'. I will call this person Thor for the sake of confidentiality.

Brad: "Looks like we really messed up a few of the numbers on these confirms."
Brad's Inner Monologue: "What the shit Thor! Are you retarded?"

Brad: "We must have accidentally neglected to double check these balances."
Brad's Inner Monologue: "My hatred for you Thor is rivaled only by my love for...not you."

Brad: "We're really gonna have a hard time reconciling these numbers."
Brad's Inner Monologue: "Thor I'm going to name my first born after you and punish him unnecessarily to make up for your inadequacies."

Blame it on the DNA.

2005-05-17T14:01:00.000-07:00

When I was reading in my bed last night about to fall asleep, I came across a passage from Bill Bryson's book A Brief History of Nearly Everything that caught my attention.

"Even when DNA includes instructions for making genes it is not necessarily with the smooth functioning of the organism in mind. One of the commonest genes we have is for a protein called reverse transcriptase, which has no known beneficial function in human beings at all. The one thing it does do is make it possible for retroviruses, such as the AIDS virus, to slip unnoticed into the human system. In other words, our bodies devote considerable energies to producing a protein that does nothing that is beneficial and sometimes clobbers us. Our bodies have no choice but to do so because the genes order it. We are vessels for their whims. Altogether, almost half of human genes don't do anything at all, as far as we can tell, except reproduce themselves."

I think to myself how interesting this is, moving on,

"All organisms are in some sense slaves to their genes. That's why salmon and spiders and other types of creatures more or less beyond counting are prepared to die in the process of mating. The desire to breed, to disperse one's genes, is the most powerful impulse in nature."

That explains so much, putting my book down, everything seemed to fall into place.

- When girls go out wearing their finest bebe tube tops trying to get attention.
- When guys sport tight polo shirts and pretend to look around the bar as to not appear out of place.
- When drunken dudes resort to the lowest form of human interaction, fighting in primal attempts to establish their 'alpha' status.
- When guys with a napoleon complex think they have to impress ladies with their expensive cars and chest hair.

It's all just the impulses of our genes. Little double helixes inside the nucleus of our cells conspiring, plotting, how to replicate and pass themselves onto the next generation. I can no longer blame the guy with the fauxhawk, because I know now it's not his fault, his genes made him do it. I can see things on a deeper level now, like when a guy approaches a girl on the dance floor of a crowded club.

double helix 1 - (buzzing) "Is this an adequate suitor?"
double helix 2 - "No, not acceptable!"
double helix 1 and 2 - buzz!, buzz!

And the girl turns around to dance with her friends.

Now that my eyes have been opened I guess all I can do now is put a little faith in the worders of natural selection and hope no one lets the dude in the tight pink polo breed.

"Empires fall, ids explode, great symphonies are written, and behind all of it is a single instinct that demands satisfaction." - Serwin B. Nuland

Impromtu

2005-05-04T09:22:00.000-07:00

Every time I use the phrase "First of all" I never bother to think ahead about what my "Second of all" and "Third of all" is going to be. In the past when I was filled with youthful vigor I could just make up the points as I went along and no one could tell the difference. What I would do in these situations, since I had only really thought of one good point, is riddle off my second and third 'of all' so fast that people didn't really hear them.

Recently it's been brought to my attention that I don't even follow up my 'First of all' with a 'Second of all' anymore. I just throw the first one out and let it hang there uncomfortably, while listeners wait for me to make another point.

(2 minutes pass, while Brad drinks coffee)

Now that I've had some time to reflect I don't really think the 'First of all' guarantees a 'Second of all'. I refuse to have my conversations bound by the constraints of pointless rules and collective assumptions. First of all, I've always been a conversational pioneer...

Credit where Credit is due!!

2005-04-21T19:26:00.000-07:00

I don't mind the whole Ryan Seacrest, Metro-sexual thing that's been gathering steam lately, but one thing does bother me...the fauxhawk (sorry Max). As far as asthetics go I'm a fauxhawk fan, I don't think it's that bad to look at and I'm sure it has its merits, the fauxhawk is aerodynamic, easy to style, and goes great with a single strap backpack and i-Pod. To be honest, I think the fauxhawk adds some much needed spice to the fade and has really been a breath of fresh air since 'the wave' became un-cool after 8th grade.

What pisses me off about the fauxhawk is that I get no credit for inventing it. I invented that shit back in the 80's! Everytime I took a shower I would lather up my hair with shampoo and shape my hair into a fauxhawk while I proceeded to wash my body. I even have pictures of myself as a little kid, rocking the fauxhawk in the bathtub for all you unbelievers.

The fauxhawk rightfully belongs to Brad Sharp, it's mine! And I never would have given it to Ryan Seacrest if I had a choice, he's just giving my invention a bad name.

Put Your Collar Down!

2005-04-21T19:10:00.000-07:00

The new hip thing in Santa Monica it seems is a nice tight polo shirt with the collar pulled up real high. Just looking at guys walking around with their collars up gives me the creeps, and it revives lost memories to two less than normal individuals I once knew; Bo the school yard bully, and Dan the middle aged wanna-be professional boxer from Tahoe.

The problem with the raised collar is that it isn't a fashion statement, it's a wardrobe malfunction. When I see a guy strut into Q's on a Thursday night with his collar up around his ears, I want to walk over, put his collar down, and say "Hey, bro! You accidentally left your collar up, I fixed it for you though."

If we start to tolerate wardrobe malfunctions as fashion statements then we are opening pandora's box. What's next? Is it going to be cool for dudes to strut around with their zippers down or a rip down the ass of thier pants like that's the new hot fad. It gives me a headache even thinking about where things may go from here.

The Fate of an Underappreciated E-mail.

2005-04-12T09:53:00.000-07:00

Like the rest of the professions in the world I have an e-mail circle with which I trade humorous articles and stories to help me make it through my otherwise boring work days. One member of the e-mail circle will normally send out a random question or article, which gets the discussion flowing. I've had a few e-mails in the past that I thought were really funny and might start a good humorous debate, but much to my disappointment they are just lost in the vast wastelands of e-mail anonymity.

Since baseball season started everyone in my e-mail circle has been talking baseball, you know, debating the usefulness of Ichiro, which means nothing to me. So to become part of the group I thought of a good analogy to express my feelings towards baseball.

"I think of my love for the Padres as being much like Catholicism to the peasants of Medieval Europe. Religion, to the poor during the dark ages, was used as more of a way to identify with the community than as an acting faith. The majority of these indentured servants couldn't read (just like I don't understand baseball terms), and these peasants often practiced pagan rituals (just like I watch arena football or the WNBA). I've learned to recognize baseball for what it is to me, an overly complex belief system, I may not understand it or like it, but damn it I'm a Padres fan."

I was so proud of my analogy, but it didn't earn a single response. Later that week, on a slow Thursday morning, I sent out another rhetorical question intended to inspire some dialogue amongst my peers.

"Do you guys think that wearing burlap pants for a day might make you feel more 'Alive'?"

Again...Nothing.

Strawberries get their Comeuppance

2005-04-08T17:03:00.000-07:00

Why do stawberries get to be the sexual fruit? People eating chocolate dipped strawberries together, or enjoying a precoital glass of champagne with interlaced arms eating some strawberries together. It seems that the only non-sexual use for strawberries is for cheesecake and still, that's one of the sexier desserts.

I was born a citrus man and I will die a citrus man and I think it's unfair that all the other fruits get locked out of this realm of intimacy. Part of the problem is that citrus has been pigeon-holed into being purely a breakfast fruit, and there it has remained, cause no one will open their eyes to its potential. Just imagine the feel of the orange's glandular punctate on your skin, chocolate dipped orange slices, I could go down the list.

I think mandarin oranges have the potential to eventually replace the strawberry as the 'go to' sex fruit. Mark my words, cause when it happens, I'm gonna say "I told you so".

Pass me some Seasoning.

2005-04-05T14:21:00.000-07:00

When it finally sunk in I had no other choice but to put my head in my hands and let out a deep baritone sign. I was too distraught to even finish my grilled chicken breast sandwich. Every young man in his early twenties has at some point in his life wanted Jedi powers, it's just a byproduct of growing up in our generation. Some, like me, have even taken it a step
further and actually tried, on occasion, to use our imaginary Jedi powers. For example, while I was grilling a chicken breast I realized that I had accidentally left the lemon pepper in the cupboard. So, after making sure no one was watching me, I took a deep breath extended my right arm, flexed my chest, and tried to pull the lemon pepper to my hand using my mind.

While I was attempting to use my powers I had a different kind of realization all together...if I had Jedi powers I would never use them for good, I would only use them to reach things beyond my grasp. Basically, I realized I'm a heartless lazy bastard. The only time I have ever wanted Jedi powers or even thought that they would be handy was when I was trying to grab something beyond my reach, but for some reason refused to get up and get it. Whenever I come across a situation where I could actually use Jedi powers to help people, it's always the farthest thing from my mind. Like on the freeway, when I witness a bad accident, I never think about how imaginary powers could have possibly saved lives, I think about how bad the traffic is going to get.

Although, I guess being kind hearted doesn't put the lemon pepper in my hand, now does it?

That's the way...

2005-03-31T10:50:00.000-08:00

The Wooden center is the campus gym at UCLA and it isn't a place for the weak of heart. The room is long and narrow with high lofted ceilings, packed wall to wall with weight machines and over sexed college frat guys in sleeveless T's, staring each other down. Upon my arrival Wednesday evening I managed to secure myself a small tattered bench in the corner of the room, adjacent to the 'pussy' weight rack, the rack of dumbbells reserved for the severely handicapped and socially awkward. To my right a tall Indian man packed up his belongings and strutted away, chest puffed out as far as he could manage, he struggled to place each step against the friction of his sweat soaked Diesel jeans.

Confident of my place within the hierarchy of the Wooden center I strolled up to the 'pussy' rack with dignity, grabbed myself some 20's, and returned to my bench to work some curls in peace. Quick to fill the vacancy left by the tall Indian man, two young students grabbed his bench. The first student wore a tight white Stanford sweatshirt, his hair sat on his head in a fluffy brown clump and swayed from side to side with even the smallest movements. He secured some 5's from the rack ready to start a set of curls himself. The dumbbells bobbed up and down like pistons as the silly half smirk from his face faded into a tight lipped scowl of determination. Standing behind the bench the other student remarked, "Man, you really know how to work those things."

The student dropped the 5's and arrogantly rose to his feet. "Well, that's the way I live...that's the way I roll."

The sweat collected itself into tiny beads on his chin as he bent down to re-rack his weights.

Crime TV.

2005-03-21T10:25:00.000-08:00

How much crime TV can the American public handle? In my personal opinion I think we can handle at least 6 to 8 more shows, as long as the programming is well balanced with day time Court shows, and early evening dysfunctional family shows. Right now I think there are about 5 Law and Order's and 3 CSI's spread evenly throughout the week, and that's just the tip of the crap iceberg compared to this last batch of shows hitting the air waves. The CSI shows probably have the best writing in their genre, and that's mostly because the premise of the show isn't based on a clever double entendre. In this week's CSI - Miami, Tony Hawk is murdered and the CSI detectives solve the crime by playing his video games, now that's entertainment. Beyond these two shows we have Monk the OCD detective who solves crimes through his fear of germs, Blind Justice the cop who lost his eyesight and solves crimes with his other over compensating senses, and Cold Case a group of detectives who delve into all the old unsolvable crime cases.

A friend of mine works over at the NBC studio and informed me of a new cop drama due to come out next season. It's about two cops in the seventies, kind of a Starsky and Hutch take off, he said the show was to be named 'NY 70'. This kind of got my wheels turning about crime dramas and I came up with the six shows that I think could really round out our current weekly programming.

1. Book 'em - A pair of New York cops are forced to work as under cover librarians to bust a French book smuggling ring.

2. Model Citizen - Sven, a suave half Latino, half German catalogue model turns to politics to save his small town from a pack of heartless corporate capitalists. In the process he comes to grips with his identity as a second generation German/Latino-American. He throws backyard bbq's with Kielbasa and piñatas.

3. Under Arrest - Two New York cops in the 70's. Stanley is a book smart straight edge policeman who plays everything by the rules. Arrest is an unstoppable ladies man who loves missionary position. Every episode some young lady gets the chance to be 'under Arrest'. This also makes for some clever situations at the end of episodes, when Arrest and Stanley break into a room filled with criminals shouting, 'Freeze!, your all under arrest'. While putting on the handcuffs Arrest trips and falls on one of the criminals, then Stanley says, "Now you’re really under arrest"...everybody laughs.

4. Injustice - Two New York cops in the seventies, one of the cops is female...her name is Justice...she is a slut.

5. Brotherly Love - Two cops in the seventies, they are black, and work in Philadelphia.

6. Inferno P.D. - No double meaning, I just wanted to use the word 'inferno'.

Mitsubishi = No Internet.

2005-03-15T17:15:00.000-08:00

My new client for the week, Mitsubishi, does not provide it's auditors with internet. As expected there will be a bit of a lull in my posting this week. And remember to keep your expectations low, cause it makes it easier for me to impress.

Day 14 of Audit - Brad figures out Rubber Fingertips are Nothing But Trouble!

2005-03-11T16:41:00.000-08:00

I was tricked! I saw the door to a seemingly better world and I waltzed right through it, with no regard to my personal health. I guess I had no idea what those things would eventually do to me.

Rubber fingertips tempt you into a world of page flipping freedom, only to leave you out in the street, cold and lonely, fingertips sore and sensitive to the touch. The situation got out of hand pretty quickly, before I realized what I was doing I had a rubber tip on all five fingers. After two days I started double-bagging my index finger, everything after that was just a haze of productivity. My manager asked me to look up a Chinese food place for dinner, my hand cut through the yellow pages like it was a block of butter. Now that I've lived with these things though, I don't know how I'm going to live with out them.

One day at a time I suppose, just one day at a time.

Nothing But Trouble.

Day 12 of Audit - Brad Discovers Rubber Fingertips.

2005-03-07T13:04:00.000-08:00

Working in a room with no windows can put a man in a peculiar state of mind. Without a great view to occupy my ocular senses, I'm forced to find excitement within the walls of my extremely well lit office. I often equate my work day to an ongoing time deprivation experiment, except I always know what time it is, because with no windows I tend to look at the clock every 45 seconds or so.

Today was different from the other days though. Today I broke down a barrier that has barred my productivity for too long. I'm no longer like the rest of the chumps in the world leafing through endless piles of paper with chapped fingers and dried out palms. I have transcended the masses, I have rubber fingertips!

Rubber Fingertips.

The Charm Beam!

2005-03-02T12:43:00.000-08:00

I've told Jeremiah multiple times that he has an amazing talent for chit-chat. Somehow he just knows the right thing to say at the right time to random people. (Jeremiah works in 'The Industry', this may partly explain the source of his skills). I've never mastered the art of chit-chat, mainly because I lack the ability to think of the right thing to say, and even if I cross this first hurdle I still don't have the proper timing. So my clever quips always seem contrived and more often then not, end in an akward silence.

Jeremiah: "Can I get a medium mocha."
Cute Starbucks Barista: "Sure, would you like whipped cream on that?"
Jeremiah: "No Thanks, I'm trying to watch my weight."

At this point the starbucks employee and Jeremiah lock eyes and share a moment of forced, yet flirtatious laughter. This moment locked itself in my memory banks for some reason. A few days later at a different Starbucks, I thought I'd try a few of Jeremiah's lines on for size.

Brad: "Can I get a medium mocha."
Slightly Overweight Starbucks Barista: "Sure, would you like whipped cream on that?"
Brad: "No thanks, I'm trying to watch my weight."

At this point the slightly overweight Starbucks employee stopped what she was doing and glared at me from beneath her green cap. At first I thought my chit-chat was well received, this is until it occured to me that the the employee was slightly overweight. I cleared my throat, avoided eye contact and slide way towards the pick up counter, once again defeated.

Hey Oprah!! I'm onto you.

2005-02-28T14:59:00.000-08:00

Hey Oprah! Your book club is a load of shit! Maybe I was asleep for the last 8 years, but when exactly did Oprah get so much influence in the publishing world? All she has to do now is place her coveted seal of approval on a book and it's the next best seller. I've been thinking about it for a while now and I've decided that Oprah's "book club" is just the symptom of a much larger problem, a problem that's been growing unchecked now for the past decade.

The real problem is that over the last 10 years or so, Oprah has risen to ultra-celebrity status and has managed along the way to equip herself with super-human opinions. She has almost a cult like influence now. I'm just waiting for the day when she flies her studio audience down to her temple in Guyana where they all gather around for a little Kool-Aid cocktail. Or the day when she takes her studio audience up into the hills surrounding Los Angeles to trip on acid and listen to Helter Skelter, only to send them into the city to do her bidding. But I guess it's easy in the media to have a super-human opinion when you’re only recommending things that are well established in their own right. Which brings us back full circle to the book club, look at some of the past entries into the Oprah book club:

1. Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy - "Leo Tolstoy, was that the guy who wrote War and Peace, I'm not sure, I guess it doesn't matter cause if Oprah liked it, it must be good."

2. East of Eden by John Steinbeck - "John Steinbeck, that name sounds familiar, he must be Oprah's hair stylist or something."

3. House of Sand and Fog by Andre Dubus III - "House of Sand and Fog, hey that was the movie with the bald guy in it, right?"

From now on I'm only buying books that are in the "Sharp Book Club", which I started about 5 minutes ago. The first five inductees into my book club are the following:

1. The Bible by various - "I heard this one was a pretty influential book on the history of mankind."

2. The Canterbury Tales by Chaucer - "I like rhymes how could I leave this one out."

3. Hamlet by William Shakespeare - "Gwyneth Paltrow looked hot in this movie, wait, wrong play, nevermind."

4. The Origins of Species by Charles Darwin- "I heard this one twisted a few tits back in the day."

5. Harry Potter and the Half Blooded Prince by J.K. Rowling - "This book practically reads itself."

My Ode To Groceries (free verse)

2005-02-24T16:06:00.000-08:00

Since I'm trying to kick up my posting pace I'm gonna keep putting up the occasional oldie but goodie.

Beside the dairy section you rest,
sleeplessly sitting, desire to nourish.
Tossed into a nest of iron rods,
oh lips, to which you shall take your final journey.

Pulp, yea or nay? Irrelevance.
Shake well!
Refrigerate!, too much, for a simple man.

Your porcelain plastic lips burst forth an orange bounty.
My breakfast you complete.
Complete, You complete...me.

You had me at 'Shake well'.

Others call you beverage,
But I call you...friend.

Movie Titles.

2005-02-24T15:47:00.000-08:00

In my infinite boredom I've been playing a little game in my head for entertainment. I've always thought it was funny when I see porno movies that try to make clever twists of popular movie titles. So I've been thinking of a few that haven't been used yet, but should have been:

*I recognize my blog is taking a step to the racier side of comedy, so please let me apologize to my younger readers.

Shawshank Redemption = Shawskank Redemption

Matchstick Men = Matchdick Men

Driving Miss Daisy = Pile Driving Miss Daisy

King Kong = King Dong

A Few Good Men = A Few Good Men*

The Hulk = The Bulk*

Kill Bill vol. 1 = Fill Bill vol. 1*

School of Rock = School of Cock*

*contributions of Jeremiah Smith

Botched Attempts at Optimism

2005-02-24T08:47:00.000-08:00

Man my coffee tastes good this morning. - I hope it doesn't give me bad breath.

My hair feels so soft and conditioned this morning. - Wait, am I supposed to use a quarter sized dallop or a nickle sized one. I left it in for three minutes, I hope that wasn't too long.

My face moisturizer has really been doing the trick lately. - I hope my skin isn't growing dependent upon an outside source of moisture. I've heard that can happen with chap stick.

I like the spring time cause I can hear the birds chirping. - Too bad they are all Pigeons, Sea Gulls, and Crows. Just rats with wings.

Will Smith is great. - Yes he is.

5 - 7 - 5! Keep it Alive.

2005-02-15T10:52:00.000-08:00

Due to a lack of time and originality I'm just going to start posting some previously written material, it's still entertaining though:

For one intense and invigorating week, five of my friends and I engaged in a daily Haiku contest. One member would select the theme and all participants would submit their best work. The winner was chosen by the person who selected the theme for the day. I have included some highlights of this contest for your reading enjoyment. Be warned, many of these Haikus contain mature topics and should be read only by those with an understanding and appreciation for the art of poetic expression. Enjoy.

P.S. I've included some commentary along the way, for a little background.

** It started with out a prompt, I just started kicking around a few random Haikus.

I like Pencils Sharp
I like my women real taut
I like to like things

The Candle burns, yum!
Conglomerating Passions
Fresh Heat takes its toll.

** Jeremiah hates his job, there is a palpable sense of anguish in his poem.

Grapes fly hit my eye
"I'm printing, I'm printing" Bitch!
Evaporate Soul

** At work I tend to write about my favorite surroundings the most often of which is Coffee.

Taste the Burning Dark
Sew, Reap, Roast to perfection
My Black Savior Lives

** Being a young male living in Los Angeles, I tend to be overly fascinated with the "gangsta lifestyle" so much that it has begun to permeate my medium of self expression.

Kap! Kap! Goes the Gat!
Malt Slays my Tongue with Flavor
Franklin Street Killaz.

** After a few days of random Haiku writing by Jeremiah and myself, our friend Joe thinks of the idea of a daily Haiku challenge. The Gauntlet is dropped.

Is this a challenge?
Your way with words is daunting.
My soul fears defeat.

** The theme for the first day was "Haiku Challenge".

Sweaty Brows Glisten,
Bounty of our Minds Reveal,
Syllabic Pleasure.

With Greatest Resolve,
I shall dominate the group,
All will be in Awe!

Haiku is like an
Ocean. Comes in waves; fickle
Sentinels will fall.

Today I have Lost
But Tomorrow is Revenge
A Dish Best Served Cold

** My friends and I do a lot of hiking around the Los Angeles area. Jeremiah and I have a tendency, on long hikes, to get chaffing on our upper thighs. To cure this we apply a little Vaseline to our thighs, this allows us to hike for long periods of time in comfort. We call this activity "Vassing". Using this as inspiration the theme for the second day was Vaseline or Vassing.

Grundle, Taint, and Scrump
Friction fuels fire, frets foreskin
Petroleum Bliss

Macauley Culkin
Spread Vaseline on the stairs.
Pesci and Stern stopped.

Perpetual Glide
Righteous Embalmer of Life
Gelatinous Soul

Lubricious delight,
Swiftly up and down it goes,
Wait! Is the door locked?

Penetration Sought,
Velvet Curtain Gates shut tight
Young Knight, Vas! to Pass!

* Piggybacking on this idea, the theme for the third day was "Gold Bond Powder" a refreshing, medicated powder often used for the same purpose as the 'Vas'.

Tingling on my balls.
Powder "Kicks it up a notch".
Burning on my balls.

Sweaty balls no more,
My soothing golden savior,
The good burn keeps fresh.

Two Peas in a Pod,
Oblong Centers of Pleasure,
Dredge them with menthol.

Menthol brings power
Rise above the competish
Dry sack to defeat

Celestial Heat
Orbs rest in an Angels' palm,
A Powder filled palm.

** The theme for the fourth day was "Passion" an open ended theme to test the creativity of the participants.

Passion misguided.
Curtains. Crack. Glimpse. Rush. Longing.
Lonely in bushes.

Passion is fleeting
Changes with age, scarecrow song
Just remember pogs.

** After a weak showing on the fourth day of writing, everyone came back a little bit with the theme on the fifth day "Television".

A Terrible Friend
Always Talks, Never Listens
Why do I come back?

Cartoons used to rock
Smurfs, Bobby's World, Transformers
Pokemon licks balls.

Pupils Penetrate
Pixels Prancing Perfectly
Painless Poisoning

Disneyland Bobsled.
Yeti with bright red eyes.
Wants to be Normal.

And that was the Haiku challenge. Five days, five participants, infinite desire.

On a side note. Here is a haiku I wrote for my brother-in-law on his twenty seventh birthday.

Your face is moistened
heat touches your gaping heart
twenty seven years of boom

There goes another perfectly good dive bar.

2005-02-04T16:34:00.000-08:00

I haven't seen the sun for close to three days, and so the drink has become the new solstice of my day. My friends and I have dubbed a new social term "Despair Drinking" which we like to do as much as our work schedules will permit. Despair drinking is unlike other forms of drinking, we don't do it to have fun or meet new people, we do it to wash away the tribulations of a long work day. The best environment for Despair Drinking is in a nice low key establishment, the cheaper the beers, the better, of course. So we go to Del's, the crappiest of all crappy joints. The toilets don't work, the kareoke list is limited to Bruce Springstein and Rod Stewart, there are signs hanging above the pool tables prohibiting gambling.

So Eric, Fisher, Falvey, and myself went Del's this Thursday to soak our boredom in a few 12oz bottles of cheap beer. But my grand illusion of self-pity broke to peices when Jimmy Fallon walked through the door. Jimmy Fallon from SNL just strolled into Del's, with a emo looking lame-ass on each hip and sat down a few stools down like he owned the place. The majority of the Del's clientle doens't own a TV and as such, his presence didn't cause much of a stir. After the initial shock wore off ,Eric, Fisher, and I shared only a common thought. We pounded our beers and strolled out the door, Del's was dead to us, as dead as Jimmy's career.

I've finally Decided

2005-01-14T18:09:00.000-08:00

I've finally decided, of all the possible super powers to have I would choose ultra accurate peripheral vision. It wouldn't necessarily help me to stop crime, but I would at lease notice it a lot easier.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

2005-01-04T22:17:00.000-08:00

As soon as the clock strikes midnight, I turn from a regular man into..... a party manimal.

Sharp Sauce

The Origins of Sobriety Summit

2005-01-04T13:10:00.000-08:00

This is where I'm going to write something slightly entertaining.