Back By Popular Demand!

Okay, before I get into things, I need to state something. For all you driving with broken headlights… knock it off! For the love of god, having someone behind you or someone driving the lane opposite you without a headlight is annoying. However, I think the more annoying scenario is when the driver decides to replace that headlight with the goddamn high beam. When I see those cars, I suddenly want something bad to happen to them. Not death, but more like when they get home they see that their dog has crapped all over the house due to its sensing of a soon-to-come earthquake. And yes, when that earthquake comes, Mr. One High-beam will lose everything except for the box of memories of his ex-girlfriend who he absolutely hates but for some reason cannot let go of the memories.

Now, on to lighter things; I have been away. My laptop was down due to a corruption in the internal colonel. Not my language, but that seemed to be the problem. Due to the magic and mojo of my uncle Tim, he was able to fix it without my spending of lots of money since it was out of warranty. By the way, Microsoft Word did not recognize mojo as a word; I had to add it in my dictionary. Can you believe that?

Anyway, while my hiatus took place with my personal laptop and the lack of an overall connection to the general Internet world, I found myself in some crazy and perplexing situations.

The catalyst to my crazy life was that I joined a band. They call themselves A Clever Salutation. They originally were called Deflowered in Chicago, then they went with The Progressive Libido, after that it was The Nap-Takers and the singer thought that was “gay.” The lead singer then left and the remaining band decided to be called The Beach Boys Grew Up but that didn’t look good on posters, so they went with A Clever Salutation because the bassist used to write thank you letters for a community foundation and said she came up with “a clever salutation” that later got her fired. She never explained what that clever salutation was but the rest of the band seemed pleased with it. I don’t think much of the title.

With the lead singer leaving the band, they recruited a new person who goes by the name Deirdre and that’s it. She said she wanted the band to be as if Patti Smith had founded the Cure and wrote lyrics that were compared to Don Henley (but early post-Eagles break up). It all sounded ambitious but they managed to pull it off.

I was at a coffee shop and the drummer and guitarist were sitting at a table behind me and they liked the percussions of my fingers banging against the table. They asked me if I had played any instruments and I said “No, but I’ve seen The Sound of Music, like a million times.” They handed me a tambourine and there I was, at band practice for A Clever Salutation.

By the time I had joined, they released one full-length album called The Children of Ted Kennedy. I am not sure what Ted Kennedy had to do with the title, but the band explained it was an inside joke with them and the lead singer who left. But they still haven’t actually gone into detail about what the inside joke was specifically. So, by the time I joined, they were working on another album that was supposed to “put Charles Dickens to shame” as Deirdre put it.

While I was playing a mean tambourine, I noticed something odd about the songs that were being played. They were covers of 50 Cent songs with choruses from New Edition. I called Deirdre on this but she “just had no idea.” She then came back with new songs, but all the words were text from Jack Kerouac’s On the Road. Again, I called her on this, but the rest of the band thought that this was pretty cool. We all decided that the album would be based on the book. However, Deirdre wanted the album to be called “The Best of Times, the Worst of Times” so we “could give Dickens a run for his money.” It made no sense but, of course, I did nothing about it.

By the end of September, we were able to get a gig in some town I didn’t know existed. It was somewhere between Los Gatos and Stockton. We opened for a band called Splendor 460. I asked the singer what that meant, and he said, “If you have to ask, you’re better off not knowing.”

The crowd was pretty decent; for a small venue, there were about sixty people there. Deirdre passed around the set list for all of us. The first song on the list was “Joan Haverty was a Lesbian.” Charming, I know. However, when we actually started, Deirdre began singing “Keep Holding On” by the Thompson Twins. The rest of the band went along with it. I had no idea what was happening!

I managed to slip off stage without anyone noticing (this goes well with my self esteem). I went to the bar and met a guy named Harold. He just got back from his weekly meeting with the “Next Dark Side” club. Harold and his friends gather every Thursday evening and take a random album and a random movie and synch the album with the movie to see if there is anything that connects (as in seen in Wizard of Oz mixed with Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon). When I met him at the bar, he said they just tried the soundtrack to Phenomenon (the Travolta movie) with Minority Report. Harold explained they were hoping for a Scientology connection. But no such luck.

So, then last weekend my computer was fixed. I told Deirdre that I just couldn’t be a part of the band. I wished them luck and, now, here I am: back with the Internet world.

Like Ripley, I will let you choose to believe it or not.

Enron on my shoulders makes me happy

Dream time... Randomly, I had a dream last night that I chose the lovely "E" symbol from Enron (you know, the old oil and energy company that defines corporate corruption) and had it tattooed on my right shoulder. Everyone thought it was cool.

I got to thinking...

What does it all mean? According to dreammoods.com, I found some explanations.

For shoulder we have:
"To see your shoulders in your dream, symbolizes strength, responsibility and burdens. It indicates that you feel that you have had too much responsibility to bear and is overburdened by circumstances in your life."

For tattoo we have:
"To dream that you have tattoos, represents individuality and the desire to stand out in a crowd. You want to be unique and different from everybody else, particularly if you do not have any tattoos in real life. Consider also what the tattoo is."

So then I tried looking into the image of the E, but I couldn't find anything. I explored some more and decided to go with what Enron stood for. The dream site didn't have anything about energy, so I went with oil instead.

For oil we have:
"To see oil in your dream, suggests a need to have things run more smoothly. You may need to show more love and compassion in your life."

I could do the cliche thing and relate this all to work, but then I would feel really pathetic that everything in my life revolves around work. Damn, I need to find some new hobbies, or get a dog or something.

Sad times, I say.

An Individual in Crisis

A man stands in the middle of the park; he makes statements that everyone can hear.

“Everyone who is smarter than me is a nerd! Everyone that is dumber than me is an idiot!”

He turns around so the people to his back can hear him more clearly.

“Everyone older than me is a geezer! Everyone younger than me is a kid!”

Another turn takes place.

“Everyone less promiscuous than me is a prude! Everyone more promiscuous than me is a slut!”

Then one of his listeners comes closer to the man and responds to his exclamations.

“Hey, what do you think about people louder and more annoying than you?”

The man tries to respond.

“I think they’re-“

“TRICK QUESTION! NO SUCH THING!”

The Eumenides of Pacific Ave

I saw no problem in leaving work an hour early today. I justified it by not taking a lunch break; and no, eating my tuna sandwich while uploading an automated call center manual onto an IT collaboration website and reviewing a power-point slide on what our donation website would look like does not count as a lunch break. Besides, I had to rush that sandwich since I had a conference call in less than a half an hour.

So, to get work off my mind, I decided to take advantage of the somewhat early evening and get a coffee and just read (and when I say read, I mean people watch).

The table outside of Lulu’s was looking desirable. I sat there with my latte and my latest reading material: The Time Traveler’s Wife. Many pages were turning; the story was so fragmented as I was learning about the relationship between Harry and Clare: the two protagonists of my book. The main plot driving point of this story is that Harry is born with a genetic disorder called chrono-impairment, which means he naturally slips out of time, but within his own timeline existence. This causes a slight problem for his wife, Clare. It’s a fascinating spin on the traditional romance story.

However, my reading endurance was slightly shattered as I heard these archaic voices coming from behind me.

“He doesn’t need to cry!”

“Yes he does! Yes he does!”

“Are we going to find him?”

“Where do you think we’re going?”

I lifted my head from the aura of my book and I saw three women who were launching these questions and answers. These were three extremely old and extremely obese individuals who were all in motorized wheelchairs; they were blasting down Pacific Avenue. Where I saw them, they were crossing the street and passing Jamba Juice and continued towards where the post office is. I apologize to those not situated in Santa Cruz and the lack of geographic distinction.

Their wheelchairs were decorated with all kinds of hippie style blankets and various little ornaments dangling from the back end of the chairs. After hearing that brief segment of their conversation, I figured they were looking for someone. But due to the leader of the pack (they were moving in a line, front to back) and her raging words “Yes he does! Yes he does!’ and “Where do you think we’re going?” they were looking for someone who had spilt blood (but not his own).

I give you mad credit if you were putting together the same pieces I was. These three women were indeed the Furies, or the Erinyes, or the Eumenides (it's your call). Derived from Greek mythology; they were the personification of vengeance; there they were: Tisiphone in the front, Alecto in the middle, and Megaera in the back. I pray for the individual they were looking for. From what I gathered, the threesome aren’t the most forgiving type; well, unless you’re Orestes, but I’m going to make you read the Oresteia trilogy by Aeschylus in order to get that reference.

“Somebody threw a Kuala at me…”

Those were the words of Jenny Lewis, lead singer of Rilo Kiley, when she was talking to the audience at the Warfield in San Francisco, last Thursday night. While talking between songs, somebody threw a little stuffed Kuala at her; after making her statement, she replied with the rhetorical question: What the fuck?

I drove up to San Francisco that evening to see Rilo Kiley and met up with my uncle Tim and his friend Dave. The opening bands were Grande Ole Party and Jonathan Rice.

After some intense traffic on Highway 101 and some excruciating confusion with the street structure of San Francisco, I found myself at the Warfield. As I walked in to find my seat and my uncle, I ran into my friend Anna there. By the way, you should check out the music zine she works for: treblezine. You can find out about some cool stuff in the indie music scene.

With some confusion and hysteria of trying to find my seat, I managed to settle into it and eventually Tim and Dave met up as well. The first band was Grande Ole Party. It’s rare to see a lead singer take on the drummer role. I mean, I’ve never seen Genesis or the Eagles in concert so I wouldn’t be able to measure Phil Collins’s or Don Henley’s magic with singing and drumming at the same time. However, for Grande Ole Party I was able to see that skill. The band was all right, overall. The singer seemed to be a fan of Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, to which her voice and singing style was very reminiscent of hers. Plus, I had trouble making the songs somewhat distinguishable. But then again I wasn’t familiar with their music.

The second performance was Jonathan Rice. It was himself and his backup band. What I got from this guy was that he was some egotistical LA hipster who grew up listening to Neil Young. I found it amusing when he talked to the crowd between songs. For certain songs, he would give an introduction like:

“Where I’m from, in LA, there are a lot of coyotes. They’re scary animals. Well, just imagine coyotes storming into the office of the governor. Think of the stuff that those coyotes can do to the governor. Well, this song is about that.”

So, of course, you think that the song would be a bit more metaphorical from that. However, once the chorus kicks in for the song, we all hear:

“There are coyotes in the governor’s office, doing things that you can only imagine about…”

Did you really need to give us that literal introduction about your song?

As his performance continued, I figured the guy must be a real prick, and really full of himself. I imagined him at some “cool” bar in LA talking to some attractive woman:

“I’m Jonathan motherfucking Rice. I’m a goddamn singer and I can play the guitar. Having sex with me is like making love to a pile of gold.”

The woman then replies with, “A pile of gold? I don’t see the pleasure in that. It’s a pile of rocks; who would want to have sex with a pile of rocks? Also, are you using gold as some concept of value? Because gold doesn’t have the same impact that it did, lets say, in the 1800s. I mean, if you were to say, ‘Having sex with me is like making love to a pile of great stock options’ then you would be a bit more appealing. I’d say you should get with the times.”

Then you would see a blank stare on Rice’s face.

“… I’m Jonathan motherfucking Rice. I can write you a song about the flowers along the side of the 405 Freeway. I’ll call it ‘The Flowers Along the 405 Freeway.’ The chorus will be ‘have you seen the flowers along the side of the 405 Freeway? They look like really pretty flowers, they look like you.’”

Suddenly Jonathan Rice realizes that the lady is no longer there.

“Well, I’m Jonathan motherfucking Rice.”

To further enhance his ego, his last song (called “We’re All in a Desert and We’re All Going to Die”) was accompanied by Ben Gibbard (the lead singer of Death Cab for Cutie and the mastermind behind the Postal Service… not the government mailing system), who provided backup vocals and tambourine sounds. Just as a side note, Ben Gibbard is really good friends with Jenny Lewis (who provided backup vocals for the Postal Service album).

Finally Rilo Kiley came on. They have a new album out entitled Under the Black Light. Hence why they are on tour. I thought it was interesting that they opened up with “It’s a Hit,” which is the first track off of their previous album More Adventurous. Overall, the performance was a strong combination of both of their latest albums.

Our seats were in the balcony area of the venue. Some of the balconies had everyone standing up; ours was one where there wasn’t much standing, mostly sitting. In the beginning of Rilo Kiley’s performance, many of the people in the front part of our balcony stood up. After the second song, it was mostly sitting for everyone. However, one prick decided to stand up randomly during the show, and that prick was the person who was sitting in front of me. I looked around and not a single soul in my balcony was standing. And, of course, the prick had to be tall. I didn’t want to stand up because the person behind me wouldn’t see and then that person would have to stand, and then a whole domino effect would take place. The prick didn’t have a pattern; he would stand for one song and then sit down for two or three, then stand again for the next. And he wasn’t even dancing. I wished him seven years of bad luck.

The reason this was such a big deal for me was that I wasn’t able to see Jenny Lewis. Besides the band being very talented, it’s a side bonus that the Jenny Lewis is… pretty. I’ll keep it simple; I don’t want to be an obnoxious heterosexual guy. So, here I am trying to see:
I end up seeing this:
The performance by Rilo Kiley was quite enjoyable. I enjoyed the mixture of the two most recent albums from them. They did a cover but I had no idea what the cover was. Jenny Lewis introduced the song with, “This is a cover song.” Then they went right into it. About three lines in, the crowd began cheering. I had no idea what they were cheering about.

Overall, a very satisfying night, even though getting to the place was a bit hectic and I got to be behind the one person who decided to stand in my section. I’d see them again. Fo sho.

A Poser in the Mist

The goal was simply not to be in my house. Something about the lack of windows in my bedroom impacts me in the psychological sense. When I got off work last night, I thought to myself that I should just go somewhere. I swung by the house, changed my shoes, grabbed my iPod (did I mention it’s working again?), and went for a walk towards downtown. I had my man-purse with me in case I wound up somewhere that would entail me to read.

While walking from my near West Cliff Drive house to the strip we all call Pacific Avenue, I had this random experience with individuals I could not identify. At three different points of my walk to downtown, I had three different people wave and say hi to me as if we were once friends or acquaintances. I know people will do the typical friendly wave and/or smile acknowledgement, but these three moments were a bit more involved. A blonde woman on a bike was on her cell phone and consistently waved at me while I was walking down Woodrow Avenue; I was caught off guard and didn’t really wave back, I basically tilted my head in some obtuse angle. A man was walking toward me and said, “Hey! What’s up?!” I replied with a what’s up back, and he then asked me how I was doing; I said fine but that I am in a hurry. He said he would talk to me later. I had no clue who that person was. Then when I hit the downtown area, I found a spot at Café Pergelosi (a hipster coffee joint) and a woman walked by and asked, “How’s it going?” Again, these could all have been random friendly encounters, but there was something in their energy that made it seem that I had some previous experience with them; I just didn’t know what that experience was.

As I mentioned, I stopped at Café Pergelosi (I don’t know if I am spelling that correctly), and bought myself a latte and found a spot outside. I had a book and decided to read it. While sitting there outside, I couldn’t help but just people watch. I looked around the culture of the coffee shop and noticed these themes. Anyone who was sitting by himself, had a book and a notepad. These were obviously the academic type; however, I decided to grab my notepad and placed that on the table just to sort of fit in. Then there were the clusters of people and their general themes or motifs. There were the punk rockers, the Harley Davidson types, the intellectual hipsters, and high schoolers who thought they were changing the world. I eventually left when I realized there were no more individuals and I could not be placed in any of the given groups.

I continued my little odyssey down Pacific Avenue and found myself at Bookshop Santa Cruz. I grabbed a copy of Sarte’s play No Exit; a coworker was talking about it and I had read most of it when I was in college. When browsing through it, something seemed odd to me. Here I was, sitting on some random chair at a local independent bookstore, reading No Exit by Jean-Paul Sarte, still wearing my preppy work clothes; I felt that all I was missing was a cappuccino or something strongly related. After dawning my pretentious state of mind, I decided to leave the book due to its reflections of my own living situation. For those who don’t know, No Exit deals with people being stuck in a room with no windows and one door; the characters all think they’re in Hell. I found an exit.

At that point I was near the end of Pacific Avenue and decided to get one more cup of coffee. I was near Lulu’s, which is a more frequent spot for me when it comes to coffee consumption. Of course, as I approached the entrance of the joint, out comes the bar tender lady whose number I received back in July. Many of you readers were probably wondering whatever came about from that. You may recall, I called her and left a message before I left for Virginia, never heard from her, so I called her again when I got back and had a brief conversation with her. Unfortunately, I was not able to make any positive conclusion with her (in terms of going out) because she was able to control the conversation to her advantage. I believe she knew where I was going with this and she managed to end it before I could get to my destination. The next visit to the Red, she was giving me the cold shoulder, and this was verified by the friends I went with. Over the next course of time, I ran into her at different parts of town, and she wouldn’t really say hi to me, it was more of a nod and a walk away. One of my last visits to the Red, I approached the counter and she mysteriously left the bar and then reappeared once I turned my back to it. I found it strange, the whole thing. I didn’t even get to make an ass out of myself yet. A couple of friends indicated that I should just move on, that she’s not worth my time. That may be wise.

Going back to the second coffee shop visit, I saw her and she gave me the generic nod and continued walking. I felt that somewhere, there is a parallel universe and that a totally different situation took place. In that pocketed universe, I would confront her about not talking to me. She would explain that she knew that I liked her and that she just saw me as a polite bar customer.

“But you didn’t even give me a chance.”

“I was doing my best not to lead you on.”

“Well, you clearly didn’t know this, but I am a great kisser. And I can tell you don’t listen to the BBC or follow the research that comes out of NYU. Once you experienced my talent, your expectations of me will go in a complete direction.”

“Research on kissing? Out of NYU? Where would I begin to look into that?”

“Maybe their biology department, possibly the sociology department. Not quite sure.”

“Interesting.”

“Come on, we can at least try something. Why the cold shoulder? Maybe we can go and try to do something. I bet you’re great at playing Jacks!”

“I do kick ass at the Jacks.”

“Are you good at getting threesies?”

“I’ve gotten foursies once.”

“Get out!”

“It’s true.”

The conversation would then trail off somewhere and the two of us, in this parallel pocketed universe, would enjoy each other’s company and find some activity to do.

However, this never happened in our current state of reality. I bought my cup of coffee to go, walked outside and saw her with two of her friends at one of the nearby tables, but I didn’t want to waste my time. I figured this would be the moment, that if I went up to the table, then I would be making an ass out of myself and that would make me feel a tad more complete. I refrained from doing that; wasn’t in the mood.

The headphones went back on and my odyssey continued; this time, I went in the direction of my house. I placed my music on shuffle and I was curious to see what kind of soundtrack I would get from my walk home. Nothing came up that seemed fitting.

A Revival of the Somewhat Unexpected Kind

This weekend brought some bliss towards my end. But I need to backtrack a bit in order to describe my current setting.

June of 2006, a couple of my friends pitched in and bought me an iPod for my birthday. It was a fourth generation 20GB version and it was bought used. Over time, the device started acting up on me; it would sometimes freeze and I would have to let it simply run out of juice and then once the battery was dead, I would recharge it and then it was back in business.

This became a trend for a while and then finally in the winter time (maybe it was fall) the iPod just stopped working. I would turn it on and the Apple icon would show and then it would disappear and then reappear, and that would just function would just keep repeating.

Many eyes were on it; everyone had a different opinion on what was wrong with the device. I gave up on it. During the rest of my time at the house with Eric and Kyle, I basically forgot that I even had an iPod. When I visited my friends Steph and Vic in Virginia (they were the main ones who bought me the iPod), they asked how it was doing and I explained the situation. Vic offered to simply resell it on ebay.

My last Sacramento visit, I briefly explained what went wrong with my musical item and my uncle explained that I needed to buy a whole new battery. I went online and bought an iPod battery and removal kit. When I got back to Santa Cruz, it eventually came in the mail. Of course, I had no idea how to open the iPod with this kit (even though it gave clear instructions, I still couldn’t do it).

This past weekend I made another Sacramento visit and I brought both the iPod and the kit and battery. My uncle used his magic and managed to get the battery in. However, the iPod was still doing the same thing it was doing back in the fall: the Apple icon would appear and then disappear. My uncle then explained that it seemed that the hard drive was disconnected, that you could feel the device trying to make the connection but nothing would go through. Well, it seemed that I was destined to get a new iPod.

I went to the Apple store at the nearby mall and there was a major lack of customer service. There were so many people there. Maybe I could have tried harder getting help, but maybe I was just overwhelmed by the gigantic population rate in this tiny little store that I just had to get the hell out of there. When I got back to my uncle’s place, I figured I would just buy one online.

That evening, though, I was sitting at the computer desk and I just glanced at my old iPod and pressed the little wheel and the screen turned on and there was the main menu, something I hadn’t seen in many moons. It seemed that all my data was lost but I was able to navigate through the iPod like nothing had happened. I then connected it to the battery charger and once that was ready, I hooked it to my laptop and restored all my music to it. It was divine.

When I returned to Santa Cruz, I immediately went for a walk and had all sorts of fun with the playlists I made on there.

Wasn’t this a great story? Aren’t you glad you spent all this time reading about my iPod’s great comeback? Can you believe that I was able to save over $200 by not buying a new one?

Crazy!

Return to the Freudian Evening

For those who were keeping track, back in the end of May, my partner-in-crime Yumiko and I attended a show at the Great American Music Hall. That concert had three bands performing and the main headliner was Voxtrot. Well, of course, the band that I wanted to see (and encouraged Yumiko to see as well) was Au Revoir Simone, and they were the first opening band. With that, they played six, if not, five songs. A tad bit of a let down.

Well, in the end of July I received an email from Yumiko notifying me that Au Revoir Simone is playing again in San Francisco. This time, at a venue named Bottom of the Hill. The lineup was them along with Oh No Oh My and the Morning Benders. Due to the wording on the website, it was hard to tell if Au Revoir Simone would have been the opening band or not. After some research, Morning Benders are a local San Francisco band, and Pitchfork Media mentioned Au Revoir Simone going on tour with Oh No Oh My (and they’re based out of Austin, Texas). So, it came down to either of these two being the headliner. When we got there, we discovered Au Revoir Simone was the headliner.

Bottom of the Hill is basically a dive bar that happens to have a stage. It reminded me of Sacramento’s Blue Lamp, for those who know what I am talking about. We didn’t really pay attention to the Morning Benders or Oh No Oh My; we got drinks and sat in the outside portion of the bar. We realized that this evening was going to be a late one because the website said doors open at 8:30pm and the show started at 10:00pm, and there were two bands (as mentioned) to lead up to Au Revoir Simone.

We walked inside when Oh No Oh My were wrapping up their last song and they closed up shop. It took a while for Au Revoir Simone to start, which I thought was weird since they rely solely on three keyboards and a small xylophone. It was about 12:20am when Au Revoir Simone began playing their music.

With having the main spotlight, they could (and did) play a lot of their music, unlike the unfortunate experience of six songs like last time. Of course, their latest album The Bird of Music, was what they played the most of. However, their first album, Verses of Comfort, Assurance, and Salvation, was touched on a couple times. I was really excited when they played my two favorite songs from that specific album: “Through the Backyards” and “Stay Golden,” which also happen to be the first and last song on the album. Kind of weird.

Their performance went for about an hour, and I think they played pretty much everything of their latest album. My only concerns about their performance dealt with technical issues. For such a small amount of things to work with (keyboards and speakers), they had to keep telling their roadie to tune things or crank something up or turn something down between each song.

Since Bottom of the Hill is such a small venue, I was able to see the band up much closer. I wasn’t as freaked out this time by seeing the one member who reminded me of my mother when she was young and not married with children. This person looked like somebody else. So, I calmed down.

Bourne Out of My Mind

Kyle and I just finished watching the latest installment of the Jason Bourne series: The Bourne Ultimatum. I decided that this is my favorite cinematic trilogy. Now I know the Lord of the Rings fans have their pitchforks ready and the Star Wars freaks have their nooses ready as well, but I can take them on; I just got done watching Jason Bourne flee out of probably twenty-five scenes where he should’ve died (and keep in mind, no force or silly rings were needed to make these happen) so, I am ready to take on anything that moves!

Last Friday we prepared ourselves by watching Bourne Identity and Bourne Supremacy back to back. I must say, I am pretty pleased I did that because not only were there so many details that spawned from the first one that bled into the second one, but the third movie took on so many plot points from the first two; they were all fresh in my mind.

What is really interesting to note is the major differences between the films and the novels they are based on. Now, I know that many adaptations tend to become extremely altered where readers become absolutely disgusted by the movie. The screenwriters, from what I gathered, did their best to put the Jason Bourne character in a modern setting; a post Gulf War (I) scenario. The original trilogy, written by Robert Ludlum, had the protagonist living in Cambodia with a wife and two children; a fighter jet blazes through and bombs the village that he and his family live in. You can probably predict it, but the wife and children die; the protagonist wants revenge and signs up in some top secret US military project called Medusa and becomes a killer. Jason Bourne is another assassin who gets killed in action and the protagonist ends up taking his name. The rest of the story deals with Bourne finding out the clues to the village bombing, recovering from amnesia, taking on Carlos the Jackal, and other government paranoia induced situations. And, of course, all of this takes place in the 1980s.

Quite the difference, but I like the approach that the screenwriters took with Jason Bourne. They were very smart about how to put him in a post-9/11 world. The Bourne Identity (the first to be released) came out the summer after September 11, 2001, and the story did its best to not tread into that territory. As the rest of the trilogy unfolded, there wasn’t much holding back on current topics. The Bourne Ultimatum, they put it right out there that the CIA is out of control with their power and how they will not hold back at all in order to preserve American freedom (even if that means sacrificing American liberties… and American lives).

That’s what I have for now. Next movie stop: Superbad.

I Wiki the Fool!

The concept of proper citations and appropriate bibliographies is something that will never go away for any form of non-fictional writing (or fictional in some cases). I remember in my high school and university days, understanding and fulfilling the works cited format was something everyone needed to do.

For the past few years something has been created that has brought up debate for academia professionals and writers: Wikipedia. I will not go into an introduction about what Wikipedia is because I know everyone who has ready my site has probably visited Wikipedia on more than one occasion. The revolutionary thought behind this site is that anyone and everyone can contribute and edit entries onto it.

Breakthrough? Yes. The main downfall of this idea is that it creates a sense of discredit, according to scholars and professors. Their thought is that Joe Schmoe can log in and write what he thinks is the truth and then everyone will read that and take it in. There could be a Tucker T. Washington, from Smalltown, Alabama, who dislikes John Kerry and therefore logs onto Wikipedia and edits the entry about Kerry and says he is a pansy and lost his virginity to a head of lettuce. Some high school student will then write that in his politics paper. And many problems will arise.

I remember when Eric and I lived together, he would mention that Wikipedia was a constant debate amongst his fellow faculty members on whether or not they would allow students use it for providing information on essays. It came down to individual decisions; simply, it was up to you to decide if you want your students to use it.

My friend’s sister told me that she read an article that said that 75% of everything on Wikipedia was bullshit; of course, she wasn’t able to provide the source of the article. I asked if she read that on Wikipedia; she gave me dirty look.

Aside from the idea that everything on the site can be challenged, some conservatives believe that Wikipedia is too liberal. Yes, the site that defines true democracy, that is, anyone can contribute to this overwhelming source of information, is too liberal. So, conservatives have made conservapedia.com, which is too serve as the true source of knowledge. One can be enlightened or one can be amused by reading this site. I will allow you to decide. Here is an excerpt from the entry on George W. Bush and the topic of Economic Issues:

“Though the liberal media continues to disparage Bush's handling of the economy, they often neglect to report the many aspects of the economy that Bush has improved. For example, during his term Exxon Mobil has posted the largest profit of any company in a single year, and executive salaries have greatly increased as well. This is due to changes in the stock market that lead to a record high in 2006. Corporations show profits growing by double digits growth.”

And on Family, the writer of the Bush entry wrote:

“George W. Bush is a member of the United Methodist Church, and many people feel that George W. Bush's faith is sincere and profound. The Faith of George W. Bush, a non-political book by author Stephen Strang, made the New York Times best-sellers list.”

Of course, the page doesn’t layout that the Faith of George W. Bush was published the same year as Fahrenheit 9/11 and a documentary was made of it and released the same week as Moore’s film was released for rent.

Going back to Wikipedia, many people realize that its credibility may be open to debate and its credibility can be unsteady. Well, the university I work for has created a program (via the computer engineering department) that can track its trustworthiness. Basically it tracks entries by who wrote them and then monitors how many edits it encounters. So, the less edits the more credibility that contributor has, and the more edits, than, obviously, the lesser credit you obtain. The program then does color-coding based on the hits the site receives, and the amount of changes involved.

So, now it may seem that Wikipedia could develop reputation. And the reason I say this is because this weekend I read this article about Wikipedia being edited by some notable sources. The Independent wrote:

“The chance to rewrite history in flattering and uncritical terms has proved too much of a temptation for scores of multinational companies, political parties and well-known organisations across the world.

If a misdemeanour from a politician's colourful past becomes an inconvenient fact at election time then why not just strike it from the Wikipedia record? Or if a public company is embarking on a sensitive takeover why should its investors know of the target business's human rights abuses?”

The article unravels that a website has the capabilities of screening all the editorial changes on Wikipedia and can trace it back to their original sources. Many of these sources were the CIA, FBI, churches, and corporations. Here is a brief list of what this new site found:

Exxon Mobil and the giant oil slick

An IP address that belongs to ExxonMobil, the oil giant, is linked to sweeping changes to an entry on the Exxon Valdez oil spill of 1989. An allegation that the company "has not yet paid the $5 billion in spill damages it owes to the 32,000 Alaskan fishermen" was replaced with references to the funds the company has paid out.

The Republican Party and Iraq

The Republican Party edited Saddam Hussein's Ba'ath Party entry so it made it clear that the US-led invasion was not a "US-led occupation" but a "US-led liberation."

The CIA and casualties of war

A computer with a CIA IP address was used to change a graphic on casualties of the Iraq war by adding the warning that many of the figures were estimated and not broken down by class. Another entry on former CIA chief William Colby was edited to expand his cv.

Diebold and the dubious voting machines

Voting-machine company Diebold apparently excised long paragraphs detailing the US security industry's concerns over the integrity of their voting machines, and information about the company's chief executive's fundraising for President Bush. The text, deleted in November 2005, was very rapidly restored by another Wikipedia contributor, who advised the anonymous editor, "Please stop removing content from Wikipedia. It is considered vandalism."

The Israeli government and the West Bank wall

A computer linked to the Israeli government twice tried to delete an entire article about the West Bank wall that was critical of the policy. An edit from the same address also modified the entry for Hizbollah describing all its operations as being "mostly military in nature".

It seems that Wikipedia may hold more power than one thinks, Oh, 75% of Wikipedia is pure bullshit. Apparently that is true now since many powerful entities are erasing content as we speak to better themselves and those they represent.

They Come in 3s

It’s only Wednesday, and already, three important people have left my life. Monday morning I found out that my head head head boss UC President Bob Dynes is resigning. Then I went onto Google news and the first article listed was about Karl Rove resigning. Then the Internet Movie Database announced that Merv Griffin died at age 82.

I felt this void inside of me. I mean, how am I going to get my fix of California tax dollars being spent on some scandalous action, or the typical Republican spin and how Democrats in office mean terrorists will win, or the next best thing after the Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy?

It is truly a week of mourning.

Getting a Master's in Moving

You wouldn’t believe it. Last week I somehow pulled myself out of reality (hence my absence from writing). Where did you go, some might ask. Well, it was the world of moving that I went into. And my god, that was a long visit, and I hope I won’t have to visit that little realm again for quite some time.

I will save you the details on the hell I went through, especially it being a one-man show for most of the week (my housemates had already moved out by the time I arrived back from DC). But I will focus on the weekend after my return from the capital.

So, I returned from DC a week ago Thursday and came home to an empty house… literally. There wasn’t much left except for my belongings (and secretly some stuff left by my other housemate). Friday I went to work and was suffering from jet lag and overall exhaustion. I went home and began to pack what I could. I received a notice that my landlord wanted to have the carpets cleaned Monday at some point, which meant that I had to have my items out by the end of the weekend. I realized that I had to at least get my large items (bookcase, couch, desk, etc.) out; my smaller things could just be boxed up and placed in my car or the garage. Come Saturday, I came to the realization that I would need to obtain a truck of some kind.

When I was in college, I felt that I knew many individuals that owned a truck. However, times have changed and now I don’t know anyone personally that has one. Saturday morning I got on the phone with the local rental services: Enterprise, Hertz, and Budget. I struck out with Enterprise and Budget since they closed by 2pm that day and were closed on Sundays (and they didn’t have any trucks at the given moment). Budget had trucks but they were reserved (and that didn’t help me). Then I thought of my grandpa because he has a truck. The only catch is that he and the rest of my family live in Sacramento. I called him and told him the situation. He said it was fine but the only catch was that he and my grandmother were leaving for a wedding anniversary party at 3:30pm. At that point it was barely 11am. I told them I would hit the road right now!

I made it to Sacramento at about 2pm or so and stepped in to chat it up with my grandparents. I felt that I couldn’t just grab the keys from them and dash. I was there for maybe a half an hour before they kicked me out.

I love my grandparents to pieces; they have helped me out in various times of my life but there’s a catch to all of this. They sometimes do things that will either drive you crazy or will simply amuse you. The conversation I had was more on the amusing side.

Aside from the usual “what’s going on in your life right now” conversation one would have with somebody, my grandparents tread into two topics with me. They either want to know how I’m coming along with graduate school and having a girlfriend. I call these the “g-spots.” They tend to switch up these topics where one conversation will be about graduate school and then the next time I talk to them will be about a girlfriend. Well, this visit revolved around the ladder.

“So, Peter, are you engaged these days?” my grandpa asked me this absurd question. I was slightly perplexed. Usually there’s a whole preamble that leads to an engagement; there are certain requirements to have an engagement happen like being in an actual relationship. You don’t get engaged like it’s buying a house. There’s work involved. Plus, the attachment of “these days” made it sound so topical. These days is usually used to follow such questions as “where are you working…” or “where are you living…” but “are you engaged these days” just left me a bit confused,

“Uh…no, I am not engaged these days.” After my response, my grandma did her part for the conversation.

“What was the name of that girl you dated in high school?” I just rolled my eyes when I heard this. We have had this conversation (at least three times now), but, nonetheless, I said her name “oh yeah. What’s she doing these days?”

“She’s going to grad school at UC Davis.”

“Oooh! Grad school? How come you didn’t go to grad school with her?” look how sly my grandma is. She managed to combine both g-spots into the same conversation.

“Well, she’s doing her thesis on health and nutrition of minorities in California. And I don’t really know anything about that.”

“I see. She was really cute. Have you talked to at all her these days?”

“No.” Actually that’s a lie; I bailed out on a visit from her back in late June.

“Is she dating anyone now?”

“Um… I don’t know.” Eventually the conversation digressed elsewhere. I later talked about moving and how when I get back to Santa Cruz I will need to find someone to help me move my large items. My grandpa chimed in at this point.

“You should get a pretty girl to help you move!”

“Why would I need a pretty girl to help me move? All I need is someone who has legs, hands, a pulse, and maybe a mouth.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It would make the move more fun.”

“Well, I’ll see what I can do.” I left shortly after that.

I got back on the road and hauled ass to Santa Cruz. When I arrived, it was already the early evening. I began calling people to see who could help me move. I wasn’t experiencing the best of luck since it was Saturday evening and apparently people have lives. Most people were either out of town, already committed to something, or just didn’t pick up. Since I had the truck I went ahead and started moving my smaller items to the new place. I also managed to get my full size bed moved out by myself. I eventually called it a night.

Sunday morning arrived and I knew that day was the day that I had to get my stuff out. Monday was the carpet cleaning day. So, I went through the phone list again and see who could help. Still no response. In the meantime, I did what I could. I had my long couch that I was going to give to my friends Ryan and Ben, who live in Sacramento. This operation made sense since I had to take the truck back to Sac, I would swing by their apartment and drop off the couch as well. With the couch, I thought I would be able to move the couch out of the house by myself. I slid it out of the living room and got it down the stairwell, but when it came to the doorway, it became not so maneuverable. The ceiling was at an angle and therefore the couch wouldn’t budge when I tried flipping vertically. It’s hard to describe the operation but lets say it just simply did not work. All I could think was that we got the couch upstairs. But how?

Knowing that I had other stuff to move, I had to get the couch out of the entryway and back up the stairs. This became a major problem. Due to gravity, the couch really wanted to go back to the entryway. I tried pulling the couch up, and it would somehow start slipping down the steps. I would then pull it back up and try to get it at a resting stop so I could flip it vertically and therefore move it back in the living room, but it would still slip down. I felt like Sisyphus (from Greek mythology) who had to push the rock up the hill in the underworld but by the time he would get it to the top, it would slide back down and he would do this over and over for eternity. At one point, I had my back against the couch (to prevent it from sliding) and I was on the phone calling people asking for their help with the couch. No such luck was provided. Long story short, I got the couch up eventually and made some goodwill runs.

I tried round two with the calling people for help moving, but this time I tried my friends in the bay area. No responses for a while, but then my friend Yumiko picked up. She agreed but then followed it with:

“But I don’t have my car.”

“…I’ll pick you up.” Much hesitation but I needed to get someone to help. I drove like a madman over highway 17 and made it to her place in just under an hour. She lives in Oakland. We got back to Santa Cruz and we were pros at moving my desk and bookcase out. I bought her lunch and then we did the couch. I will save you the details on how we got it out, but it truly was a two-person job. The truck was loaded with rope and bungee cords, so the couch was going nowhere.

Yumiko volunteered to come along with me to Sacramento (the second trip in 24 hours), so it was nice to have someone to talk to. We met up with Ryan and Ben first, obviously, so we could get rid of the couch. We then got dinner with them and then we trekked over to my grandparents’ house. On the way over, I told Yumiko the conversation I had with my grandparents and especially the part about having a pretty girl help me move. Yumiko mentioned that it was a good thing I brought her along so I could please them. We arrived with the truck and went inside. I introduced Yumiko to the grandparents and I could just see them light up. We had a brief conversation but it was already after 9pm and I still had to get Yumiko back to Oakland and myself to Santa Cruz. We left and my grandma followed us out.

“Goodbye Peter, come back again so we talk some more, and be sure to bring your lady friend too.” Both Yumiko and I just laughed at that “Yumiko, be sure to keep my boy safe!”

We all got home safely. I was incredibly happy to get the larger things out of my house, and I was grateful for having Yumiko help me. I thought it was funny that we ended up spending almost seven hours in a vehicle together, so there was a lot of talking. I spoke with my grandparents later in the week and they kept asking me about Yumiko.

“So, did you and your lady friend make it back safely?”

“That was nice of your lady friend to help you with moving.”

I figured that they couldn’t remember her name and, at the same time, they convinced themselves that Yumiko was my “lady friend,” although I never introduced her in that way. But knowing my grandparents, they’re convinced and are probably spreading rumors. This will benefit them since they sometimes go into the other g-spot topic about me: is he gay? That topic, I’ve heard through the grapevine, comes up every once in a while, but of course, never to me.

For Your Amusement

This is something I read a little earlier today.

Enjoy.

David: Hey, Bart! Did you have a good weekend? Get a lot done, like you wanted to?

Bart: Yeah, it was great! You?

David: Well, let's see... I outlined my next couple projects, set up a filing system for my notes, and downloaded a productivity program... then I read an article about time management and filed it away in the new system. Then brainstormed over instant-messaging for a while, while watching Youtube clips for "inspiration." I spent so much time being creative, I forgot to be productive.

Bart: I took some meth and cleaned my kitchen for three days!

The Days of DC - Part 7: Home

I’ve decided that I will go on holiday for a little while from traveling. Of course, when people say “go on holiday,” they (aside from being British) mean that they will travel somewhere. I am traveling away from traveling, which translates into being not mobile.

Thursday around noon was my closing time with my work conference. I checked out and mingled for a little bit in the lobby before I had to leave for the airport. I sat down with a person from a school in Kentucky. I met him earlier, probably the second or third day. He knew I was from California, and of course, figured that the entire state was Hollywood.

“So what kind of theaters do you have in Santa Cruz?”

“Uh…we have two mainstream theaters—“

“No, I’m not talking that mainstream bullshit. I mean, good artsy shit that liberals just eat up.”

“Oh, well, we have two. There’s the Del Mar and the Nickelodeon. They’re our two art-house theaters.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. I bet you get a lot of celebrities coming out of those places.”

“Well, Santa Cruz isn’t very ‘filmy.’ More of that happens in Southern California. More in the Hollywood area. We’re in Northern California—"

“I know that. But you got to have something! I mean, come on, you’re California! I mean, look at who your governor is!”

“True, but it’s a very large state. A lot of that movie industry stuff mostly exists in the Southern—"

“No, I’m sure you get your share of celebrities; you probably just don’t know it.”

I let him end it with that. He was right, I was wrong. My small beach town; I just don’t know anything.

Shortly after, I wound up at National Airport (I refuse to call it what it is actually named) and saw that my plane to Dallas was delayed due to bad weather from the gunslinging state. They reworked my arrangements because of the delay, I would then miss my Dallas flight to San Jose. I found my gate and continued reading my Dave Eggers book.

Finally the plane was ready to board.

I was in the middle seat. The person to my left had a small dog that she brought onto the plane. She had it in a very small and cube shaped suitcase. It was placed right by her feet. When I approached the seats, I told her I was in the middle. She wouldn’t budge.

“I have a dog,” in a very low whisper “if I move my feet, he’ll bark.” All I could think was how the hell do you expect me to get over. But, like most people, she didn’t hear my thoughts and therefore didn’t move or do any sort of action to help me in my situation. So, I placed my bag in my seat (reached over her). And since I have very elongated legs, I pulled a Mr. Fantastic and simply stretched over her. I think my butt skinned her face, but I didn’t care.

Once I sat down, the person to my right (the window seat) then arrived. The same lecture came from Ms. Dog. He looked a bit awkward from that. I probably had the same look on my face. He did a similar move. He was shorter though; I did my best to make his maneuver and smooth landing. When he sat down, he wanted to talk to Ms. Dog.

“Do you travel a lot with your dog?”

“I can’t talk; if he hears my voice he’ll get really excited and will bark.”

“Oh, my wife and I travel a lot with our dogs.”

“I can’t talk; if he hears my voice he’ll get really excited and will bark.”

“Oh, yeah, my dogs have done that. Usually what we do—“

“I can’t talk; if he hears my voice he’ll get really excited and will bark.”

I wanted to slap both of them. Ms. Dog was a goddamn automated message with that same damn response, and Mr. Magoo over here won’t shut up about his dog travels, and won’t even listen to Ms. Dog.

The plane landed and I was in Dallas.

Dallas is a place I will never ever visit. Probably all of Texas too, although Austin I may, if needed, visit. I spent too much time in the Dallas airport. The airport is huge; probably the biggest one I’ve been to yet. When I landed, we arrived in Terminal C, my connecting flight was in Terminal A. Terminal A is on the other side of the lot, which requires using their monorail system.

I arrive in Terminal A and I see that my plane is even further delayed due to the storm that Dallas was currently experiencing. I was expected to linger for at least three hours in the airport. What a boy to do? I bought dinner. Although I know it’s incredibly horrible for you, but I figured it was the lesser evil of the options provided. I found a Panda Express and got myself a plate of greasy, MSG induced food. My other options were all topics from Fast Food Nation. I couldn’t get over how popular McDonalds was. There were many little McDonald stands at various gates.

Knowing that I was only twenty pages from finishing my book, I thought it wise to buy some new reading material. The first bookstore only had three books for sale: Harry Potter, The Secret, and a Bill O’Reilly book. Plus there were many gossip magazines and about a dozen newspapers. I figured this airport could do better. I went further down the stretch of airport wonders and saw leather shops, belt buckle kiosks, Dallas Cowboys souvenir shops (although souvenir was spelled “sue v. near.” I don’t know if they were trying to be cute or what.), and the greatest one I saw was an army recruitment stand.

I came across a bookstore that had a wider variety. I saw Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, which I had been intrigued with when I first read about it coming out a while back. I purchased that and went to my gate.

Sitting there, I looked out the window and was witnessing the doom-ridden storm. All I could think was that I am in Dallas, and I am stuck here.

I am in Dallas and it is raining.
I am in Dallas and they misspelled souvenir.
I am in Dallas and there are people solely selling cowboy hats.
I am in Dallas and everyone is eating McDonalds.
I am in Dallas and there are army recruiters.
I am in Dallas and the man next to me is wearing a shirt without any sleeves, and he has not seen a dermatologist.
I am in Dallas and it is raining, and I am stuck here.

An announcement came from above discussing the flight to San Jose. The woman indicated that flight number #### will now be departing from gate C17. I was at gate A20. I have to go back on that monorail.

I am in Dallas and this is becoming hell.

I make myself comfortable at C17. I finished my book. I still have another forty minutes until the expected boarding time.

Now, I am on board. I sit next to an older man who is from Livermore (east bay area). He was really fun to talk to. The passengers across the aisle from me were crazy. I couldn’t place the language they were speaking; I thought Spanish, but there was something alternative about it, then I thought Portuguese or maybe Italian. Either way, they were not silent at all. And the family (they all looked the same) was huge. There were at least four of them in my area, and three more in the front end. The way I knew this was that they decided to move around and talk to each other when the seatbelt sign was still lit. We just left the runway and they were in wandering mode. The flight attendants had to keep forwarding them back to their seats. The one right next to me from the aisle whipped out his cell-phone a couple times (during the same time when all electronic items are to be turned off). It was never a dull moment with this family.

We all arrived safely in San Jose. I made a decent eighty-page dent in my new book. I waited for my airport shuttle. I got to my car and still had to do my highway 17 excursion. I was at my house at about 12:20 am. What a long day. And to think that I gain hours since I was traveling west bound. Going to sleep was rough since I could still feel the airplane motions in my body.

I lost count on how many Harry Potter readers there were.

The Days of DC - Part 6: The District by Gaslight

It was dark, but I found light.

The Days of DC - Part 5: Climate Control and Meaningless Rings

From my last visit to the DC/Virginia area, I remember it being incredibly hot and incredibly humid. This was something everybody warned me about and I took those warnings and became prepared. Of course, visiting this area a matter of weeks later, I figured this would still be the case. My suitcase is full of t-shirts, collared shirts, a few pants, and a pair of shorts. I brought one long sleeve shirt that is actually pretty thin, so not too warm. The problem I am encountering is that since most of my days are in the hotel (due to the various seminars, receptions, and mingling), I am walking around in a climate controlled environment; it’s sixty degrees where ever you walk. It’s freezing here. And I only have one long sleeve shirt.

Today is the last full day; tomorrow there is a morning session, lunch, and a closing part. Then everybody flies off to their merry homes. Right now I am in my little hour break post-lunch, pre-next-seminar. Yesterday was the first day of the second conference, so now I am alone. My colleague flew back yesterday early afternoon so now I really have to make a point of representing my institution. At the different sessions, I am constantly chiming in, providing insight on what my department does for solicitations and other areas.

The University of Washington, Seattle has taken me under their wing. It’s a fun little bunch. One of their assistant directors, Kim, is usually in the same sessions with me. When she found out that we were on the same floor, this got her really excited. Now, she tends to come by to see if I’m there, and if so, she wants to know what I am up to, or if she can check her email. I decided that she is secretly in love with me. So what if she has one of those little metallic circular items on her ring finger? She keeps talking about some individual named Dave, who, apparently, is her husband. I realized that Dave is just an acronym for “Doesn’t Appear Valid, Eh?” So, I will let her have her fun with me.

Throughout the conference there are various sponsors located outside of the conference rooms. One of them was a mail vendor that one of my superiors mentioned before I left. I went and made a point of talking to the representative. After his description on how great the company is, he then asked about the university I worked for.

“Hey, aren’t you guys the number one party school?” you know, you’re not making a great impression with me right now.

“Well, apparently if you work for Rollingstone and interview one person who smokes a lot of weed and happens to go to school here, then you can make it sound like that that school is a party school,” he laughed at that. Then I went on a giant tirade of the numerous accomplishments that my university has offered; everything from better understandings of the universe, enhancement of the human genome project, disease prevention, internationally known farming programs, and outstanding arts and lecture series. But apparently weed and parties is all people can think about. Too bad Chico State left yesterday.

Anyway, I will continue my adventures here. I am thoroughly amused by the amount of schools from the South that are here. It’s interesting how some schools will focus all their solicitation efforts on football, fraternities, and Jesus. Weird shit.

Tonight, people are planning a twilight tour of DC. I think I’ll try to attend that. I’ll be sure to have my camera handy for that one.

The Days of DC - Part 4: Anticipating Upcoming Sports Seasons

Over the past year and a half since I’ve been with this job, I’ve been sent to at least three conferences (this one being the third). The appealing part about doing these functions is meeting new people. My first conference was in San Francisco and it was represented by various non-profit institutions in Northern California. The second one was in Pomona, California, which had a lot of universities from Southern California, but some from the northern area. Now, with this one, mostly everyone is from the east of the Mississippi River. Aside from me, the only other California school is Chico State. For west coast schools, University of Washington, Seattle is here also.

Everyone at these types of things know that they are on a limited amount of time, so they might as well make the most of it. So, people tend to try to make friends with you fast. Every little seminar, that “friend” will ask to sit next to you; come lunch time you all sit at the same table, and what ever the event for the evening is, you will all cling together. I don’t mind this. I appreciate the new faces. Since mostly everyone is from some drastically different area of the nation, it’s fun to get alternative perspectives on random topics and discussions.

I do my best, with these conferences, to do as much mingling and networking as possible. I like to hear people’s stories. This evening I had a gentleman ask me how my night was going. I told him it was going just fine. He then asked me what school I was with. I realized that I was in foreign territory and not everyone knows the layout of California, so Santa Cruz may not be known to all. I said a school in Northern California. I asked him the same question.

“University of Alabama!” in the thickest southern accent possible “can’t wait for football season to start!” of course you can’t.

I sat at a table with some random folks. One was from University of Southern Illinois, one was from Saint Louis University, and the other from the University of William & Mary. As I spoke some more, the one from Illinois asked me something that I have been asked in the past.

“Are you British?”

I was always curious on why I was asked this, but then over time, it all clicked. So I responded back.

“Why do you ask? Is it because I talk fast, have pale skin, blonde hair, and bad teeth?”

“Uh…I…uh...I…mean, no…I…just thought…I” then some laughter came from the other persons at the table. I hadn’t made somebody uncomfortable in a while so this was my quota for the day. He didn’t really talk to me after that.

Anyway, here’s some more pictures to feast your eyes on.

My money was on the woman in pink. She came in a close second.

When asked about the downsizing of torture, President Bush said there will be less spikes involved, less fire usage, and less screenings of Pauly Shore movies.

Home of true celtic pride: FBI headquarters (FBI: Full Blooded Irish. Get it? Ha!)

Boo!

Scientists have proven that politcians evolved from dinosaurs.

Apparently there's a large beastiality problem on capital hill.

And a pedophile problem too.

This is where Ronald Reagan was shot; he was attending a special viewing of Tootsie, and a man named Boutros Boutros Ghali shot him, saying he was trying to impress Sissy Spacek.

When in doubt...waffles.

The Days of DC - Part 3: Hate, Jerks, and Odd Noises

Many may remember that I was actually in this neck of the woods about three weeks ago. I was visiting my friends Steph and Vic who I had attended college with and worked with as well. I figured since I was in their neighborhood again, it wouldn’t hurt to visit them one more time.

We made contact last night and contemplation was made on where to go for dinner. When I was on the phone with Vic, he mentioned that their friends Alex and Liz were coming along too. I then asked, “Wait, Alex and Liz? But don’t they hate me?”

Now, the reason I asked this question was due to something stupid I did when I last visited them. The weekend of my visit, I met this couple that are friends with Steph and Vic named Alex and Liz. They came over to the apartment on Sunday evening (the night before we all took off). We were all enjoying each other’s company, playing some games and enjoying mixed beverages. This is the same night that Steph and Vic’s dog, Cokey, drank alcohol and soda, which led it to the veterinarian’s office the next morning. After some drinks, of course, I transitioned into a different state. At one point, Alex went outside to smoke a cigarette and Liz followed him. Once they left, I simply stated (some may say yelled), “She’s hot!” That’s all.

Well, once they came back from their cigarette excursion, Liz had a slightly snappy tone to her; she said, “We’re going to leave.” All of us were slightly shocked. It was sort of a 180 from what we were experiencing earlier. They grabbed their things and left a couple of minutes after that. Victor followed them out. Once he returned he said that they left due to what I said. We all gasped at this. I asked if he was kidding but he said no. I kept asking that over and over, I didn’t want to take Vic seriously, but he was remaining serious. My stupid comment on saying that Liz was hot made them leave? Boy, I am jerk, was all I could think. Right after all this settled in, I became immediately depressed and absolutely quiet. Everyone kept asking me what was wrong and all I could say was that I ruined their night by some ridiculous comment.

Going back to last night, Vic mentioned that Liz and Alex were coming to dinner as well. I asked if they knew I was coming and Vic said yes. When I asked Vic about them hating me, he said they didn’t. I guess it was all a joke from the last visit. I think there was something else going between the two and Vic used my comment as the excuse. I must say I felt better once I realized that I wasn’t the result of their end to that Sunday evening.

We met for dinner at a nearby Mexican/Peruvian/Guatemalan restaurant that was a few blocks from my hotel. It was fun but the night ended somewhat early since Vic was starting his new job tomorrow (my Vic is all grown up!).

I retired to my bedroom once everyone left. I was plowing through my book, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. I had a mixed playlist on the computer going as background music. While I was reading, I heard some commotion from the hotel room next to mine (you know how every hotel room has a door connected to the next one, but they’re usually locked?). I got close to the door and all I could hear were the sounds of, well, sex (or working out, you never know). Once this all connected, I thought two things: either my neighbor is watching porn or two people are having some fun.

I turned my music up a little and then continued my reading. Maybe a half an hour later and forty pages plus, I received a knock on my door. It was a slightly older man. He asked me if I could turn my music down because he was trying to go to bed. I thought it was amusing that I needed to turn my music down when it wasn’t that loud (it was R.E.M.’s “Electrolyte” at that moment). The man then indicated that he was next door to me. I asked which side and he said the left one, which is the one I shared my door with. I then asked if he was by himself and he replied, “Yes.” Ha ha! I got my answer on what the noises were. He walked away and I bit my lip from asking him to turn his porn down but I didn’t because that’s not me.

The Days of DC - Part 2: All this and I still haven't worked yet.

Today is the first day of my work related conference. The cool thing is that it doesn't start until 2:45pm on the second floor lobby. As I write this, it's only 1:45pm, so I still have an hour to kill.

This morning I woke up and went for a walk around the district. My hotel is on the corner of K Street and 16 Avenue, which therefore puts me in walking distance of many recognizable things.

The nation's very first cannon. You can really notice the evolution of cameras.

John Wayne's ancestor.They call it the House of Secrets.That's actually a quote from Donald Trump.The nation's very first Barnes & Noble Bookstore.A statue of the nation's first UFC team.Right after this picture was taken, a large foot came down on the monument. The person may have to get a tetanus shot.