I’ve been holed up in my apartment all weekend… reading, mostly.
A fervent curiosity for quantum physics and the evolution of human consciousness can quickly isolate you and make you see just how important alcohol is in maintaining a common, healthy, adult social circle.
I really should get a bottle. Soon.
Okay… this is a quick one. I’ve still got my hands full with obsessing over every little thing in my new apartment. Fuck this OCD anyway.
I just wanted to quickly announce this new piece I just did for Patrick Kennison and his band, Heaven Below, out of Los Angeles. Previously, I worked with his band, 3 Faced, where we turned out a pretty goddamn rewarding piece of work… and this time was no different. Oh… and I should also mention that Darrin, my colorist, fucking nailed this one out of the park, blowing us all away in one shot. Dammit, I’m really starting to like the sense of accomplishment I get from this shit. Thanks, everyone!
Anyway, click the thumbnail to see the full image… and be sure to check out the band’s music on MySpace and keep an eye out for the new EP, We Sold Our Soul For Heaven Below, available for download on May 27th.
Now… should the small plates go to the left or th… oh, fuck me.
Why would I air this neurosis?
cRiPEs… Would this dumb civilization just hurry up and come crashing down around us already? Faster! Watching every step in the process is becoming too goddamn painful… albeit kind of funny in a sad, pathetic way, too.
I mean, really… the WWE, people? Retards. All of you. Just retards. Well, wait a second; maybe not quite everyone… but, isn’t it comforting to know that fans of poorly scripted, softcore-gay-porn soap operas must make up enough voters that America’s presidential candidates actually felt this ridiculousness was worth it?
So, yeah, go ahead… vote, you morons! Please, please, pleeease… I’m begging you! Do your part to bring this on…
In my measly, seven years of drinking, I never really drank wine and don’t know a damn thing about it except that, thanks to Angus Oblong, I grew to like the red stuff after it kept me pickled for most of 2007. Now it’s magically become all I buy at the liquor store anymore. However, aside from the dry, pucker-up-your-cheeks shit, it’s all just wine to me. I can’t be bothered to even look at the labels. I just scan the tags on the shelf, looking for a buzz that will give me change on ten dollars. But, a couple weeks ago I got bored of choosing between the same three cheapos and I splurged on something a little more expensive. Not too much, though! I mean, to me, it just makes good sense to stay under twenty bucks with wine. Beyond that, I’d sooner grab a bottle of Jim Beam and write off the weekend with some attitude.
Not knowing the difference from one bottle to the next, I wandered the aisles for a bit and ended up indulging Dan Aykroyd’s ego by buying a bottle of his wine; a Cabernet Merlot, whatever that is. I didn’t settle on his brand because I’m a fan of his, but, instead, because I vaguely recalled hearing something about the guy being arrested for driving a golf cart drunk in the streets somewhere… and that’s the kind of man I can respect. I thought, maybe he was hammered on this wine of his! So, in the hopes of it leading me to a similar adventure, I bought it, drank it and, well… no such luck. Nonetheless, the point is it’s the best goddamn wine I’ve ever tasted! I just got a second bottle today, which I’m pretty sure means that by the end of the weekend I will have seen more bottoms of Dan Aykroyd’s wine bottles than I have his movies. It probably means I should venture beyond the ten dollar range a little more often, too.
Oh, yeah… and it turns out it wasn’t Dan Aykroyd in the golf cart. It was Bill Murray. I think my confusion implies that Ghostbusters is the movie I’ve seen, right?
At this point, wouldn’t it be nice if, like, I dunno… that Mark Burnett dude got a producer credit or something for all that’s going on in American politics? It’s amazing. That whole circus of left/right bullshit and illusion has become quite the ballsy insult, really.
Not that I’m complaining… and I’m sure as hell not stressing. In fact, there’s an odd sense of relief in accepting that everything is finally so impossibly dumbed down and fucked up beyond any repair that it’s not even worth thinking about anymore. Now we can just watch the show without any real investment and comfortably enjoy it for what it is; mindless entertainment.
I can’t wait for the gory parts!
A couple days ago, just by chance, I found myself on YouTube watching this clip of Damon Wayans explaining his Black History Month video picks. I’m still not entirely sure what the hell it was all about. Maybe I could figure it out if I cared enough to check out his WayoutTV thing… but, I really don’t. I was just caught up in seeing an almost-fifty-year-old guy acting like he’s in his early twenties. Mind you, maybe he pulls it off, no?
Anyway… he mentions a clip of “a pimp teaching watermelon eating etiquette” as one of his Black History Month picks, which caught my attention. Later on he teases it again but never actually shows it, so I looked it up myself. I was expecting a tasteless chuckle, but instead was introduced to Petey Greene.
Pure genius.
After seeing that and immediately acquiring an affinity for this guy, I wanted more. I checked out his Wikipedia entry, then his website where I learned about the recent biopic, Talk To Me, starring Don Cheadle. Tonight I watched that and it was pretty damn great. Check it out. Or don’t. Whatever. I’m typing this mostly because I can’t sleep… and, bleh… I have to be up in a few hours.
“WAKE UP, GOTDAMMIT!”
Today I realized I’m thirty-one. I’m so dumb that when the thought struck me, I actually used a calculator to verify that I am in fact not thirty-two and don’t turn thirty-two until spring. I do my birthday alone and never pay much attention to it, so I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised, but still… I’ve been saying I’m thirty-two for a while.
Retard.
I’m banking on thirty-three. Maybe I’m in a hurry?
