An Awkward Seat Can Benefit You in the Longrun

“Who is William Harrison?” that was one of the few Jeopardy questions I got right last night. The category was American Photo Album and there was the picture of President Harrison; I remembered the image because when I first saw Harrison’s picture, he reminded me of Tom Wilkinson and then I thought that they should do a movie on Harrison’s life (especially since he was the first president to die in office) and have Wilkinson play the lead role.

However, Harrison and Jeopardy faded away pretty quickly since my appetite was dominating my own existence. Once the episode of the long lasting game show ended, Eric, myself, and Rebecca went for a trip to Los Pinos to get some dinner. After dinner, a migration to the Red was made. Surprisingly at 8:10pm the bar was somewhat crowded. There was a small round table near the actual bar that could fit two people but three was slightly uncomfortable.

I retrieved a third barstool and we did the best we could with the sitting arrangements. Eric was originally on the outskirts of the table where the traffic of people fly by to get their desired beverages. This was verbally indicated by a mysterious old man who mentioned to Eric that he should scoot closer in. He then explained that Eric should get really close to Rebecca. Ah… the old man was revealing to be a creepy old man.

Eric did the action of scooting around the table, and thus, was somewhat closer to Rebecca. We all did the polite laughter for the old man because we knew he was trying to be funny with the said comment about getting really close to Rebecca. The problem was that this old man (who I decided was named Chester H. McEntomb) did not catch the notion that this laughter we were giving was a sign for him to walk away. He interpreted this laughter as a welcome. He then continued to exercise his vocal skills some more. Next question was to Rebecca on which of us two guys was she with. Her response, to throw a kink in the system, was both. This response did not quite click with Chester though.

I started tuning him out because he was just talking for the sake of simply talking. Somehow the topic of Adam and Eve came about and then Rebecca tried throwing an alternative out there with “What about Adam and Steve?” Again, the comment did not make much of an impact with him. He spoke some more and I decided to leave.

Of course, I didn’t leave the place, I went to the bar to obtain a beer and there was my favorite bartender (who I have mentioned in previous entries); I was explaining our current situation to her.

“See over there? That creepy old man decided to make himself comfortable at our table. I’m just wasting time until he leaves.”

“Do you want me to get one of the bouncers on him,” my dear Red friend offered.

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary. You see that woman he’s talking to? She’s got a taser ready in her left hand.”

“Seriously?”

“No. But wouldn’t that be exciting?” Ha ha, I made her laugh.

Once I got my beer, my phone rang and Chester was still there so I pursued my tele-conversation. I came back to the table and Chester was in full effect. He was leaning over the table and all his attention was to Rebecca. Eric looked bored out of his mind as Mr. McEntomb told his life story and how he was a true lady killer. I think.

Rebecca looked ready to go, so I conjured up a great exit strategy (and exit strategy I mean Chester leaving). I got the cellphone out and pretended someone was calling me.

“Hello? Hey, what’s up! Oh nothing, just at the Red right now. What’s that? Oh, yeah, Rebecca’s here! She’s right next to me. Do you want to talk to her? Sure, one sec!” I hand the phone off to Rebecca and explain that she wants to talk her.’

“Hello? Hey, what’s up!” Rebecca continued this decoy of a conversation. Chester was shut down. He then turned to me.

“So, what do you do? Are you a teacher too?” Chester must have asked Eric what he did.

“No, I raise money for a school,” I didn’t want to go into too much detail about what I did because I would have to kill him.

“How do you do that?”

“Well, I ask for donations from people of the community.”

“Here’s my donation,” when Chester said this, I did not quite realize what he did. I see him drop some things on our table. They were paper, but then I looked closer and they were dollar bills. Oh, he’s covering tip or something. On the contrary, these dollar bills were two $100 bills.

“This is $200! I can’t take this!” I projected to Chester to which he just shrugged me off and left our sight. Eric saw him go out the exit of the building. Rebecca wrapped up her conversation with the dead air and we were all in shock of what had just happened.

I felt guilty taking the money but he left before any of us could actually do something. I gave one of the bills to Rebecca since she was the desired object of affection for Mr. McEntomb and the other bill Eric and I will use when we go to San Francisco tonight.

I feel bad for getting Chester’s money since I wasn’t there to hear his life story like Eric and Rebecca did. They mentioned that his wife died and that he had barrels and barrels full of gold from a sunken treasure chest in his castle over the hill (actually that last part was false). I hope Rebecca writes up her angle of the situation on her site, and I hope Eric doesn’t expect me to split the hundred-dollar bill (just kidding!).

Shortly after Chester left, three barstools opened up at the actual bar. We shifted our sitting arrangements properly. The bartender (same one) asked what happened.

“Apparently if you just listen to an old and creepy man just long enough, he’ll give you money,” I revealed the bill, Rebecca showed hers as well.

“Oh my god, if I got $200 for every time I had to listen to some old and creepy man, I would be one rich woman.”

When the Machines win, my life force will be gone.

My apologies for leaving you all in the dark for so long. When we last spoke, I was on my way to Pomona for a work related conference. Well, many things have taken place since that day I departed for Southern California. The two posts below will go into great detail about what happened a week ago. After you read about last Saturday and the Interior Storm of the Century, you will come to an understanding of why I have left Proud Gemini abandoned. So, go ahead and read Bathroom Oriented Tempest and then come back to this post.

Over the week, there hasn’t been much improvement in the house. Servpro called and explained that the water isn’t being absorbed properly from the vinyl floors of the bathroom so they will have to remove all the floor covering from both bathrooms. Plus, the water was collecting into the ceiling of the garage, so they will have to tear apart the garage to get the moisture out. Luckily, they will be working on one bathroom at a time, so the ground zero bathroom they started working on first and once that’s done, then they will work on the downstairs one. The garage, they needed us to empty it out. Unfortunately, the garage was a giant storage room for us, we all had extra furniture that we weren’t using, there were all kinds of boxes and storage bins, my bike, and random odds and ends. All of this had to be removed. Also, it was raining this week so we couldn’t put any of this stuff in the back, so we had to put them in the house.

Kyle’s room became a greater storage room since it had the items from the closet too. He is officially not living here while the damages are being repaired. After trying to get as many objects in his room, there were still some pieces that couldn’t fit. So, now our house is even more awkward. Not only do we still have the dehumidifiers everywhere, and Eric’s bedroom in our living room, we have miscellaneous furniture pieces and other things placed in various parts of the house, like a giant cabinet in our doorway, a bed frame in the downstairs hallway next to the giant dehumidifier that takes up most of the space down there.

Speaking of the dehumidifiers; these things are insane and intimidating. They are on 24/7 sucking all things are wet. They have hoses connected to them and the ends are placed in the nearest sinks, so randomly little spits of water spurt out into the bathroom sinks. The problem with them is that they have the loudest humming noise, and having seven of them in the house will do some damage. One is right by my bedroom door so my sleeping schedule is a bit shot. Plus, the moisture sucking aspect goes further then making the floor boards dry, they suck the moisture out of your own throat (and your plants too). Due to this, my body is whacked since I wake up dehydrated every morning, and my allergies are insane since the carpets are all gone and the machines are stirring all kinds of things into the air.

The garage has been worked on; we have no walls or a ceiling in there. It looks like they are building a new garage. The upstairs bathroom is being rebuilt almost, the toilet is still detached, no floor whatsoever. Eric has made himself comfortable in the living room, Kyle’s room looks like a public storage facility, the machines have taken over the house, and when you walk in, there is a haze of depression. Eric and I both realized that we just don’t like going home but we can’t do much since we are pretty broke (coughing up that deposit check did some damage on my bank account). There still isn’t a timeline of any kind for when the repairs will be done, and we’re still not sure about the insurance part of it all.

Anyway, sorry I don’t have anything really uplifting for you all. Feel free to share your recent moments in life, hopefully they’re a bit more on the bright side.

A Bathroom Oriented Tempest

After returning from Pomona and a heavy night of consuming certain liquids, my Saturday morning had a distinct goal, which was to go somewhere to get a Bloody Mary. Evan was downtown buying some new clothes. Eric, Stef, and I were still at home discussing the events of Friday night. I had already taken a shower and was ready to conquer Saturday, Eric followed the same path. It was the late morning, nearing noon, and we were waiting on Stef to get ready. A shower and a change of clothes were all that was needed.

Eric and I were sitting in the living room while Stef was using Eric’s bathroom, the upstairs one, to get ready. He was done with the shower but while he was doing the post-shower things, Eric and I heard something odd from the bathroom. It sounded like a gust of water, as if the shower head came undone. While this blasting noise was going on, we heard Stef yelling, “Oh god! Oh god!” Looks of confusion were exchanged between the two of us. We ran over to the door and knocked and asked, “Stef? You decent?” We kept hearing the rushing noise of water and more “oh god.” After we asked about Stef’s status, we saw from the top of the door water coming out like a waterfall. And below, water was bleeding out from underneath the door. A look of shock was exchanged between the two of us. Suddenly the door opened and there was Stef, only in a pair of boxers, sopping wet yelling, “What do I do? What do I do?” Behind him looked like a hurricane was in the bathroom. He slammed the door and remained in the bathroom.

In our house there are indoor fire sprinklers in every room. With no exception, there is one in Eric’s bathroom and Stef found a way to dispatch water from the one fire sprinkler after he got out of the shower. Eric and I had no idea what to do. I went and grabbed as many towels as possible since there was water coming out of the bathroom at a rapid rate. Eric was on the phone with 911 explaining that this wasn’t an emergency but that there was water coming from the fire sprinkler.

The towels I grabbed made no difference; I padded them down outside the entry way into the bathroom. Because of the velocity of the water, the towels were drenched within four seconds. From the 911 call, it was explained that the fire department was on their way. Eric and I went searching for the water main, and we had absolutely no luck finding it. It felt like a Chinese fire drill when we went outside; we kept running around the house. There was the circuit board, the cable hookup, the telephone connection, but no water source. Keep in mind that while all this is going on, a fire alarm is going off.

The fire department came probably seven minutes after the 911 call but it seemed like an hour. The truck parked in the middle of the street and out came nine fire fighters. They rushed into the house as Eric, Stef, and I were standing outside taking in this surreal event. The lead fire fighter asked where the water main was and we had no answer. They did the same route Eric and I did. They ran around the house, went into the garage, and then finally, there was a brown wooden box on the wall next to the garage door. It had a sign that said Main Control. However, the box was sealed shut with screws. The fire fighter grabbed some tool and yanked out the main piece of wood that made up the box. Low and behold, there was the pipe and lever we were looking for. They turned off the water and the hurricane came to a stop.

While the fire fighters were doing their actions, we cornered Stef and asked what the hell happened. Stef explained that while he was showering, he had a shirt that had some wrinkles and wanted to get them out; the conclusion was to hang the shirt, which was on a clothes hanger, on the fire sprinkler and have the steam of the shower remove any wrinkles from the shirt. When trying to remove the hanger, it was not coming off the sprinkler properly and he applied some force that ended up breaking the little glass strip that holds all the water back (the same piece that explodes when exposed to intense heat), and out came Katrina.

The firefighters continued doing their magic; they ran back and forth from their truck and brought in various tools and contraptions to help get the water out. They ended up detaching Eric’s toilet so the water could drain faster into the big hole that the toilet was connected to. They then went into the garage and turned off the power since the water was bleeding into the garage walls where the circuit board was; this was a fire hazard waiting to happen. One of the firemen brought it to our attention that the hall closet underneath the stairwell was getting wet so we had to remove all the random items out of the hall closet. Now, Kyle, the lost housemate, we made his room the new storage room while vacating the hall closet.

Once the water was pretty much flushed out of the bathroom (or ground zero), the firemen collected outside and the lead fire fighter had questions for us, like, what the hell happened? Stef took the stage and revealed his actions; after the story was told, he also explained that he didn’t even live here. Suddenly, a burst of hysterics came. The lead fire fighter thought this was the funniest thing ever.

“Wait, you did this, and you don’t even live here?!” Frank the fire fighter was astonished, “Steve! You gotta here this,” then Steve the storm trooper came over and the news was delivered to him.

“Yo, Hank, come over here, you gotta here this!” Steve called for Hank the hero who arrived.

“What, this guy did it and he doesn’t live here?” Hank the hero, too thought this was amusing. Eventually all the firefighters found out and Stef stood there in shame. After all that, the lead fireman had paperwork for us to fill out, some forms to sign, and some words of advice to give us. He told us there was a lot of water damage and that we need to get a water salvage team out here ASAP in order to prevent any further water damage and mold buildup. I called the landlord while Eric was searching for water salvage companies in the yellow pages. I left a message explaining the situation and Eric found a company called Servpro. Both wouldn’t get back to us until an hour or so later.

The landlord called me back; I answered with, “Hey, Cliff, how’s it going?”

And his reply, “Well, you tell me!” I figured he was pissed. His first question was whether or not we had renter’s insurance, which I had failed to get, even after I had some conversations with coworkers about buying some. He then wanted to know how this exactly happened and I told him the whole story. Once he heard it was due to a friend putting a clothes hanger on it, he said that this was an act of negligence and that he was not sure if his insurance would cover the damages. This was when I started to get really scared.

The landlord said he would be over in a couple of minutes and when he arrived was the same time Servpro came over. They spoke to the landlord and explained what they were going to do. Before the team could do anything, they needed a deposit, which the landlord wasn’t going to cover and Eric and Stef didn’t have the money. I grabbed my checkbook and asked how much. The Servpro man calculated it all out and said $644.24. Ouch. I wrote the check, and they went to work.

From this one sprinkler in the upstairs bathroom, it not only flooded out the bathroom; the water bled into Eric’s bedroom, which is right next to the bathroom, and then roared down the stairwell like a waterfall, while doing this, the water absorbed into the stairs and went underneath in the hall closet (as mentioned above), and then into the downstairs hallway and downstairs bathroom. Our garage is underneath the upstairs bathroom and Eric’s bedroom, so of course, the water absorbed itself into the garage as well; it was trippy being in the garage and seeing water coming out of the light bulb socket and the outlet that was in the ceiling.

Servpro had started their magic once the check was made. They told us to empty out Eric’s room since his carpet was pretty damaged; all of his belongings went into the living room, which meant his queen size bed, his desk, nightstand, reading lamp, clothes, shoes, random knickknacks, everything. Then the team went into further work; they began removing the carpet from the downstairs hallway, the stairwell, and Eric’s room. Once the carpet went bye bye, so did the foam padding underneath. Now there was just dry wood everywhere, along with the nails that hold the carpet in. They then brought in dehumidifiers, which were to start sucking out all the moisture from the floors. Seven of these were installed: in the downstairs hallway, the mid part of the stairwell, a couple in Eric’s room, and a couple in the upstairs bathroom. Our house looked like a combination of a bomb that went off to us moving in or out of the place, and the house being remodeled. It officially sucked, for lack of a better word.

Eric, Stef, and I migrated to our kitchen table so we were out of their way. We were playing a card game, Quiddler to be exact. Rebecca had contacted me about meeting up with our friends Shawna and Stacey; I wasn’t sure at first because I found myself in the first stages of depression but then I thought that some fresh air and the idea of getting out of the house would be good for me, so I said yes. She arrived and saw the damages. We left a little after that and got dinner with Shawna and Stacey. I felt bad since I was in a slightly irritable mood and that showed while at dinner. I think they forgave me, though. This day seemed like the longest day possible, so much had happened in such a short amount of time, and it was all real, I never got to wake up from it. The sad part is that it’s still going on, we have no idea when the repairs will end.

Friday Night I’m in Love (with an expensive glass of whiskey?)

One might be able to say that I made it back safely from Pomona last week. Eric found me at the San Jose airport and brought me back to Santa Cruz. At home was our friend Stef who was visiting from San Francisco. When we arrived, it was decided that dinner was to be bought and consumed. In result, the Hula Grill became our destination.

Upon leaving for dinner there was not much of a break for me; I got on an airplane, left Southern California, arrived in San Jose, Eric picked me up, came home, dropped off my baggage, and walked out the door to go to the Hula Grill. I hadn’t even gotten my keys out of my suitcase. I brought this to Eric’s attention when leaving, and he replied back that he had his, so no worries.

After dinner we decided to take on the drinking outlet. A slight debate arose when Stef indicated that he wanted to go to the Poet and the Patriot and that Eric and I wanted to make a visit at the Red. An equilibrium was created: we would go to the Red first and then the Poet, that simple. The night was early so we knew that both places wouldn’t be that crowded.

The Red was the usual setup. We arrived when it was still young and calm in the evening, which meant there was no wait for a drink, and no problem finding a seat. I was in heaven since a certain bartender was working. Those who have been with me at the Red when this person is working know exactly what I’m talking about. Evan, my Sundance companion, was in town and made an appearance at the Red as well. So there we were, four guys sitting at a booth, drinking beer, and oozing testosterone.

We left since Stef was eager about making a visit to the Poet & the Patriot. I don’t remember much about that visit simply due to the fact that we were not there for very long. We sat at a table, bought a round of drinks and then left. Not much to say. We were debating about going home, and then I popped up and mentioned the idea of stopping by the 515, a slightly newer restaurant/bar that we’ve visited a handful of times.

Little did I know that the 515 would be the end of our night. The four of us had no problem finding seats at the bar. There was Leon, the bartender, who was the one who helped us out in the past. This girl Amy showed up who knew Stef from a past life. She stuck around for a while and one of her friends made herself comfortable with Eric. Stef had/has a crush on this Amy individual and made a point of talking to her a lot. However, she revealed what would be Stef’s Kryptonite: an engagement ring. This drew Stef back a bit but he still maintained up close interaction with her. Evan at some point took off. What was I doing? I was buying $12 glasses of whiskey and “befriending” two drunk local guys.

My two new friends, who I decided to name Bobo and Little Devil, were doing the typical heterosexual “bro” thing: eyes focusing on anything that had skin and estrogen, making rude comments to each other about their sightings, the usual stuff. Bobo asked me, “Hey, you know what a guy can’t live without?”

I knew where this was going but decided to give the opposite answer, “Bones.”

“What? No, man!” Bobo didn’t accept this answer. I mean, he recognized the fact that a guy could not live without bones, but the answer he wanted rhymed with stussy.

Eventually, the Amy individual wounded up on my side of the bar and interacted with Bobo and Little Devil, and then Stef wound up over here too. Eric was locked in conversation with Amy’s friends, who I didn't really get to interact with. To my right was three men being pulled into the flirtatious gravitational pull of the Amy individual, and then to my left was Eric and his new crew.

It was just me and the glass of Van Winkle whiskey. I wasn't looking in Eric's direction and had no connection with Stef and friends. Eventually, Eric and his new team headed downstairs and some time after that, Stef disappeared with the Amy individual and Bobo & Little Devil. I was at the bar by myself, everyone had left me. I saw Eric’s jacket, grabbed it and migrated home.

While walking down Laurel Street, I realized, as mentioned earlier, that I did not have my keys on me. I was hoping that Eric was possibly home at this point, maybe partying it up with the new individuals from the bar. However, when I arrived, no such luck. I broke into the house, which required me to detach the screen, slide my bedroom window open, and find a way to pull myself up and through the window. I used a garbage can to provide a boost since my drunken state and overall weak body could not manage to pull myself up. The goddamn indoor cat we have wanted to be curious and social at the window and I had to keep knocking it off the window sill to prevent it from getting any ideas of escaping. I found my way into my bedroom and had no idea how to get that damn screen back on so I just closed the window itself. I had no idea what the state of affairs my social colleagues were in but I left the front door unlocked for Stef and I got in my pajamas and went to bed.

Fifteen minutes later, I heard ding-dong. I knew it was Stef, and I knew he would be insanely drunk, and I thought I knew he would just plow through the door, but I was wrong. He rang the doorbell. I got out of bed and opened the door. He came running upstairs and asked me if I was good to drive. Although walking home and breaking into my own home was a buzzkill, I was still not ready to get behind an automobile. Stef carried on a conversation about a fight that broke out and his sole purpose was to break it up; apparently the police came and the Amy individual was driving everyone home and demanded Stef to get back in the car.

After I convinced Stef that there was no driving back to the set of Fight Club, he was still hyperactive from his recent encounters. He heard our neighbors talking and fled downstairs to talk with them. Of course, he left the door open. The next words I hear are, “Peter, can you get Zero?” No way am I hunting down a black cat at 2am after I broke in my house and walked home wasted. Thankfully the cat was just sitting on some dirt and was easily accessible. We went back inside, Stef went on another rant about… well, I just don’t remember. I eventually went to slumberland.

I believe Eric walked in shortly after Stef and I settled down. The next morning, the three of us were in the living room comparing our evenings; Evan called and was down to meet up. Since some of us were experiencing hang overs and other wonders, a round of Bloody Marys was desired. We went to get our day going.

Things to Come

Howdy folks!

Sorry for the delay on things. Unfortunately I have been kept busy; I would like to think it was due to a spectacular social life, but I think it's mostly work related and me drinking a lot in the evenings.

As of tonight, I will be flying out to Pomona, CA for a conference on work-related things and will not be back until Friday evening. I know you will all miss me in one way or another, but, nonetheless, I will return.

When I return, I will recap on the wondrous adventures of Pomona, and along with the other events that have happened: saw Muse on Monday, Jesus resurrected from the dead on Sunday, lost at Scrabble on Saturday, my friend Cary was in town on Friday, and I am amazing at Bocci ball, as seen on Thursday night. Wow, it's like a spring sneak preview to things that will happen and things that have already happened. If only I could make a movie trailer to all of this.

In the meantime, here is something to feast your eyes on...

The Cruelest Joke in the World

Quentin Tarantino has released a new movie. Well, it’s not just a Tarantino project; it’s a double-feature film, one by Tarantino and the other by Robert Rodriguez (Sin City, Desperado). The overall piece is called Grindhouse, which is composed of a zombie film by Rodriguez called Planet Terror and a slasher/road movie by Tarantino called Death Proof. Both movies are roughly ninety minutes long and are a complete homage to 70s and 80s B-horror movies. The even more amusing part was the fake trailers placed in between the two pieces, which were directed by contemporary film makers (Eli Roth Hostel, Edgar Wright Shaun of the Dead, and Rob Zombie Devil’s Rejects).

Knowing that Grindhouse premiered on Friday, Eric and I discussed the idea of viewing it sometime this weekend. A matinee screening became the designated time, and Saturday would make that happen. In order for us to see Grindhouse, we decided that we should be productive beforehand. In result, we made an afternoon of cleaning house.

While the cleaning began, I chose to work the kitchen and Eric was to work with the living room. On our kitchen table was a jigsaw puzzle that Eric started back around Christmas time. The puzzle was 500 pieces and was based on a painting by Jean-Michel Basquiat. For those who have seen Basquiat paintings know that they are bit complex; there are usually a lot of random doodles, words, and many little obscure drawings found within the overall medium. Eric appreciated his art and went with the challenge of doing a puzzle based on his artwork.

As mentioned, the puzzle started development during the week of Christmas since Eric had many weeks off from his job (he’s a teacher). It was a “slowly but surely” process, but many dents were made. The puzzle occupied our kitchen table since then. Recently, Eric had approached near-completion. There was one problem though: one single piece went missing.

One may ask how this would happen. Many scenarios could have risen: the puzzle was on our table for a couple of months, so pieces had been shuffled around; and we do live with a cat who finds himself bored a lot. Much aggravation arose out of Eric when he discovered a piece was missing. There on the table, an almost complete puzzle, all there except one little piece. Internal debates took place within Eric’s head. He originally wanted to finish the puzzle and then mount it onto some kind of board and hang it on his wall. With this vacancy, he steered away from that idea. He just couldn’t have that on his wall knowing there was a small gap in the work. I thought it would be amusing, many stories could be derived out of this. Why is there a missing piece? one would ask when they saw this hanging on his wall. I even suggested making a little comic speech bubble that would have words commenting on the situation.

Once the cleaning began, Eric was placed into a temporary judgment day. “Do I or do I not put this puzzle away?” he contemplated. I said keep it due to the amount of work involved and the length of time the puzzle was on our table. He went against that thought and grabbed the box and shoved all the pieces in there. History was gone. Eric walked the box back to his bedroom and it went into hiding.

Our table was completely clear now. Eric went back to the kitchen to retrieve some other items and glanced at the corner of the kitchen floor and noticed something obscure. There it was: the missing piece! I had never seen Eric turn to such a distinct color of red before. “No fucking way!” were the first words I heard, and then “how did I not see this?!” Eric was holding the prized item. “I just put that puzzle away two minutes ago! Fuck!”

I couldn’t help myself, I just laughed. That was absolutely cruel, which ever unknown force that was behind this had a mean sense of humor. More cursing took place in Eric’s position. And more laughing took place in my corner. He left the kitchen and went downstairs and all I heard was “Ahhhhhh!!! Fuck! That’s it, I’m doing the puzzle again! Fuck!”

It’s funny how life works out.

Senior Citizen Relations

Recently I was talking to a coworker about what was in our Netflix queues. The topic of liberal-oriented documentaries came up and we exchanged the titles of various flicks we saw. When discussing these liberal films, it got me flashing back to a dark era of my life. Well, not quite dark, but a more challenging time of my life.

It was the fall of 2004; many of you have already heard about my times shortly after college graduation. My boss at the video store was a tool, I wasn’t making enough money, and my social life was slowly coming to a narrow path due to various college friends abandoning Santa Cruz. On top of all this, politics was the main topic of discussion for my peers.

November was around the corner and everyone was nervous based on the possible outcome from elections. Would America and the rest of the world be at the hand of Bush? Or would there be an alternative future with Kerry in office? People were at their worst.

During this period, my housemate Christy was visiting her family in Montana and was gone for a week. With Christy gone, the apartment was a bit bare (since it was just her and me in the pad). While her absence was happening, I decided to distract myself by renting various flicks from the video store. Due to the climate of politics, I went with the random liberal films we had to offer.

Sunday night: The Reagans
This was a miniseries originally made for CBS but due to its anti-Reagan stance, they turned their back on the miniseries and then it went to Showtime. The film followed Ronald and Nancy Reagan as they left their Hollywood lifestyle, governed California, and controlled America for eight years. The film showed more of the flaws of the Reagan administration, proof that Nancy was really running the show, and how Ronald was senile.

Monday night: Hunting of the President
A documentary focusing on Bill Clinton and what the GOP was doing to bring him down while he was president. It chronicles the beginning of his first term and the origins of what the Republican Party had in store to tear down Clinton. It covers White Water, all the random women who claimed Clinton did something with them, and Lewinsky and Ken Starr. It becomes frustrating especially when it reveals how much of tax payers’ dollars were wasted on private investigations proposed by specific Republicans, and how the media was so focused on scrutinizing Clinton and forget about what else was going on in the country.

Tuesday night: Outfoxed
An hour and a half documentary on how fucked up Fox News is. Enough said.

Wednesday night: Unconstitutional- The War on Our Civil Liberties
Another hour and a half on what the Patriot Act does to the common folk.

Thursday night: Control Room
A unique film about the news network Al-Jarzeera and their coverage on the invasion of Iraq. By now, the film is a little dated since this covers the very beginning of the invasion. Al-Jazeera was recording and airing parts of the war that American media wasn’t showing and, of course, the US did not like this. The documentary reveals the battle and frustrations between the American military and the Arab news source (US fighter jets bombed the Al-Jazeera building in Iraq and claimed it was an accident).

Five nights of extreme liberal viewing. One might say I was brainwashed but I didn’t care. I was mad as hell and I was not going to take it anymore.

The next day, Friday morning, I was at the video store doing my duties as the opener. The store opened at 10am and ten after I received my first customer. He was an older man, late sixties maybe. In his hand were two DVD cases: volume one and volume two of Angels in America. I don’t know if everyone is aware of Angels in America but the miniseries premiered on HBO and was based on an award winning play. The plot is, basically, about the rise of the AIDS epidemic in New York City and how it affected specific people, so, yes, there are some homosexuals portrayed in the film.

The old man wanted to talk to me about his recent rentals.

“I want to talk to you about these discs,” he had the cases in full display. I figured they were defective or something in the non-viewable department “the young lady last night told me that these were really good. Well, when you read the back it tells you nothing about the plot.”

This was true, the back described how Academy Award winner Al Pacino, Academy Award winner Emma Thompson, and Academy Award winner Meryl Streep all star in this magnificent adaptation of the Tony award winning drama directed by Academy Award winning director Mike Nichols. So, no plot analysis. The old man continued.

“When my wife and I sat down to watch it, we couldn’t get past the first twenty minutes.”

I chimed in, “Did the DVD stop playing?”

“No! We couldn’t watch it because of all this homosexual activity,” oh boy.

“But the DVD played fine then?” I tried aiming the conversation in a different direction.

“I don’t know! I took out the DVD before we saw any more. You need to give some kind of warning.”

“Excuse me?” my frustrations started to rise.

“I mean, there should be some kind of sticker on the case saying Homosexual Relations!”

My favorite person, a bigot, I was talking to. As he made this statement, I decided to interject while pointing to the display rack for Schindler’s List (which just came out on DVD at the time).

“Sir, I can’t do that. If I put a sticker on this then I got to put a sticker on Schindler’s List that says Jewish Relations, and” he cut me off.

“Wait…”

“And then all those movies based on novels by Virginia Woolf should have a Feminist Relations sticker and-“

“Wait, that’s not what I’m getting at! What I’m getting at is that you need to warn people ahead of time if there’s going to be any of that… gay stuff,” he then whispered the last part.

“Funny, no one ever requests warnings of heterosexual scenes.”

“Well, that’s natural,” the old man had the nerve.

“So, what do you want?” I cut off with anger.

“A refund or something.”

“I’m sorry sir, I don’t give refunds on homophobia,” I said with the most strict face possible. The old man seemed to be not ready for this. He slammed the DVDs on the counter.

“Well, I’ll be taking my business elsewhere,” he left. I stood there watching the bastard walk to his car. I felt proud for what I did, but the more frustrating part was when I realized there was not a single soul near me. No one was there to hear or see what took place.

Have you seen this man?

It was the late morning, not quite noon. Some would call it the brunch period where it is okay to order a sandwich or scrambled eggs and no one would judge. The laundry machines were in full effect; I was completing actions that needed to be done like washing dirty dark clothes because I was out of pants and underwear. While waiting for my cycles to be done, I was wasting time in my bedroom reading the wonderful world of the Internet. Suddenly the doorbell rang. This is one of those moments where there was the slight notion of recognition but your memory bank has not quite pulled all of its resources to fully comprehend what is at stake.

The doorbell just rang! Obviously this was something that did not happen often simply due to the fact that not many people come by our household, and if we are expecting guests, they usually receive the OK to go ahead and walk in. I opened the door to see the unexpected: two young women on bicycles with a subtle look of curiosity and disappointment. I knew already that they were at the wrong house.

“Is Craig here?” Woman on the left asked.

“Sorry, no Craig here,” I replied.

“No Craig?” as if I was lying.

“Nope.”

“Is this 126?” Woman on the right verified.

“Yep.”

“But no Craig?” Woman on the left attempted again.

Due to my sudden frustration with this I suggested, “Well, I can check. I’m pretty sure though there’s no Craig. Well, I’ve got a cat. Maybe he’s Craig.”

“Fuck this!” Woman on the left got back on her bike.

“Prick,” the woman on the right commented as the two rode off on their bikes.

I’m still checking around the house to see if Craig is anywhere to be seen. Sunday is when this happened, and I have been searching since. No sign yet.