I think Snar has your mullet

One of the most fascinating and beautiful things about language is how you can sometimes hear a phrase that you are 96.4% certain has never been uttered in the history of the world. A certain string of words that has most likely never been put in that order before, but that makes perfect sense in the context it was uttered in.

The title to this post is one such example of this phenomenon.

To give you the full background on this story requires us to travel.... BACKWARD IN TIME-IME-IME-IME... come with me, if you will, to Tuesday, May 15^th.

I was instant messaging with my good old buddy Billy; he and I met our freshmen year at University and immediately recognized a kindred spirit of the first degree. And, of course, by kindred spirit, I mean, "completely insane person in whom I see reflected my own insanity." This is the guy on whose knee I broke my nose in 1995, when he pretended to slam my head into his knee and I pretended to let him. He's been living in SF for the past six years or so, but I still hadn't made it over to see him since I'd moved down here.

So Billy and I are chatting online. This used to be a fairly regular occurrence, but it was the first time we'd both been online at the same time in months. (That's coincidence #1, for those of you scoring at home; it will become more significant later in the story.) Our conversation lags for awhile, as IM conversations tend to do, and then Billy pops back up again to tell me that our friend Duward is going to be in town.

Quick background within the background: Duward went to high school with Billy; Billy and I graduated in 1993 and met at UW that year; and the following year Duward graduated and came to UW. He and Billy were roommates at the beginning of the '94-95 school year, and I lived down the hall. Duward and I became fast friends, and ended up roommates for the last half of that year and the whole next year. He's one of those friends that I can not see for years and then, when we do end up in the same place, it's just like it always was.

So. Back to our story. Billy says, "Duward is going to be in town this weekend." I, of course, assume he means San Francisco; but no. He means Davis. His wife's best friend is going to vet school at UC Davis, and they're going to be in town visiting her. Weird coincidence #2: I'm in Davis for less than two months, and a good old friend who I haven't seen in years happens to be coming to, not just the area, but the actual tiny town where I've landed.

So they come in on Friday, and I hang out with them—Duward, his wife Julie, her best friend Maggie, her boyfriend Peter—on Friday night and then, on a whim, go into San Fran the following day for a bbq at their friends' place in the city.

So the bbq was great fun, and it turned out to be a precursor to the city-wide tradition, to be taking place the day after, called "Bay to Breakers" (or "beta blockers," as we called it). Bay to Breakers is what you would call a freak parade. Literally thousands of people get up super early, put on costumes, and walk 9 miles from the Bay to the ocean. I don't suppose I need to mention that there is copious drinking involved (our friends had nine—NINE!!!—kegs chained up at various points throughout the route), but I do think it bears mentioning that all laws against consuming alcohol in public seem to go out the window, at least on this particular day.

Our little group (Duward, Julie, Maggie, and me) didn't stick around for the parade, so we were still lounging in half-sleep mode while everyone else was getting ready on Sunday morning. Another old college buddy who went to high school with Billy and Duward, Flavius, was lagging behind the rest of the Bay to Breaker marchers. He had brought a mullet wig to wear during the march, and he couldn't find it. He was just standing in the middle of the room, looking over and over again in the same three places (allowing me to break out one of the best Simpsons' lines ever: "ya gotta help me! I've tried nuthin' and I'm all out of ideas!"). Eventually we determine that the mullet wig is indeed gone... but in its place is a different wig that was brought by a guy named "Snar." So somebody (it's unclear at this point who actually said it first) turns to Flavius and says, "I think Snar has your mullet."

And yes, I did just tell a story that prominently featured people named "Duward," Flavius," and "Snar." Which, I think, makes the whole thing even better.

links n' stuff

Spending a lot of time these days looking for housing and applying for jobs; once those two issues are settled, I will definitely feel more settled, as well. I've found several good leads on both fronts; I'm actually about to leave to check out a house with an available room. I will keep you updated, of course.

On the job front: I actually have a couple jobs at the moment, but neither of them are consistent enough for my tastes; I would prefer to have some thing or things that I could count on from week to week to pay the bills, and then be able to use the sporadic work I do for WASSER to pad my bank account.

What's that you say? What's your second job??? Well. I've been a bit loathe to bring it up. I applied for it on sort of a whim, got it quickly, and have yet to actually do anything for it. On the plus side, it's a writing gig. On the minus side, well... it's a bit, shall we say, morally questionable. No, I'm not working on ad campaigns for Big Oil, or planting apologist propaganda for the NRA in chat rooms... but I am writing "custom essays" for college students. Or I will be, if I ever take a project. The company's official stance is that they (we, I guess... sigh) write these essays "only for research purposes." Uh-huh. In my defense, this type of writing is probably the one I'm best at, I actually really enjoy writing essays like this, and it's good practice. When I'm a famous author this will be my equivalent of David Mamet writing for Penthouse Forum.

Speaking of the NRA, thought this was interesting:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/6665285.stm

See, this is what happens in a country where an isolated teenager with a history of mental illness can't just get his hands on semi-automatic handguns; I think we can all agree that, while six kids stabbed and two dead is a horrible tragedy, 30 dead and countless more injured is far, far worse. But hey, for all anyone knew he was buying those guns to shoot water rats...

Some more writing news: I published a little piece in an online community called Helium: http://www.helium.com/tm/322490/walter-isaacsons-biography-albert.

Helium seems to be a cross between wikipedia and American Idol. People write articles about the same topic, and then other members vote on which are the best. There's some revenue-sharing in there eventually, or so they say. As you can see, nobody has stepped up to challenge The Pope on that new Einstein bio.

I'm planning to write some more on this site, just for practice and to see where it goes. I'll send links.

And finally; if you haven't seen this kid yet, I highly recommend it:

http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=ronaldjenkees

This guy is a hero on so many levels. You see him, and you listen to him talk, and you want to laugh and cry all at once—if you're like me, you're expecting him to break out the "dueling banjos" riff on his casio. But then he starts playing, and you're like, "holy crap! He's good!" I predict that the people who will most appreciate this kid are my good buddy Capn. Surly, and my Uncle Homer.

Another benefit is that, if you check out his Rocky riffs, you can also re-watch the almost unbelievably homo-erotic training montage from Rocky III. I can't decide what my favorite part is: when they're working on Stallion's footwork in front of the mirror, only Apollo's behind him and he keeps nervously glancing over his shoulder; Apollo's Dark Side of the Moon tank-top and "oh-ho-ho ho... very nice"s; the ending, where they honest-to-god frolic in the surf together and share the most awkward hug in cinematic history... seriously, what's not to love?

Stimuland

I just returned from a trip to The Happiest Place on Earth; yes, that's right, I went to Disneyland! Or, as Beth calls it, "Stimuland."

I hadn't been in going on 20 years... but four of my favorite people were taking a trip, including a pair of six year old twin boys making their first visit, and seeing as I'm now an hour plane-ride away from Anaheim, I couldn't miss the opportunity.

First off, I'll just say that those guys are rakin' it in. I mean, jesus god. It costs $60 for a one day pass to either park (California Adventure opened in the 90's), or you can get into both parks for two days for $60 a day. And once you're inside, everything is dear; $10 burgers and fries. $20 hats and mouse ears. $12 pictures of you making your little kid face on Space Mountain. And it goes on like this...

That being said, I wouldn't have missed it. Not for all the bananas in a monkey-house. I hadn't seen my boys for almost a year, and I needed a fix. It was an utter joy to spend time with them. Just walking around the park in the sun, with one or the other of them on my shoulders, talkin' about life... those kids are some deep philosophers, lemme tell ya.

And their parents are okay too. Beth likes to tease Eric and I because we always "laugh like a couple of little girls" when we hang out. But we got Beth going pretty good a few times, too... we all amuse and entertain each other. I think that's about the best thing you can ask for in a friend.

The running gag of the trip involved a simple variation on the term "100% Angus Beef." Look at it again and I'm pretty sure you'll be able to figure it out. There's actually a standing bet among the three of us; whoever goes into a restaurant and says something to this effect will win: "Yes, I have been reading some articles about the best kind of beef being this so-called '100% anus beef'... tell me, do you use only anus beef in your hamburgers?"

You're free to use that one, by the way.

So on my way to the hotel to meet everyone, the driver had the "all 80s" station playing, and the Go-Gos came on. Oddly enough, one of the original L.A. punk rock bands... and I thought to myself, "self, if I could have only one band playing as I drove down a southern California freeway... it would be Jane's Addiction. But if I could have two bands playing... Jane's Addiction and Van Halen. But, self, if there were three, if I could have three... it would probably be the Doors. But four? Definitely Jane's, VH, the Doors, and the Go-Gos. Or maybe X." At this point some of you are undoubtedly wondering where Red Hot Chili Peppers fit on the list. Well. In my humble opinion, Red Hot Chili Peppers can eat a bowl of dicks. But maybe that's just me.

Since the boys were constantly asking for a detailed list of favorite to least favorite rides, here's my final count:

1. Mali-boomer (aka "The Vomit Comet"). This one is simple, straightforward, and elegant. No fuss, no muss. You sit down in the seat, your legs dangling; you lower the shoulder harness, which includes a sneeze-guard/vomit interceptor; you buckle a strap that goes from the seat to the shoulder harness; and then they shoot you straight up about 100 feet, and then drop you. At the top of the ride you experience a legitimate weightless moment. Gotta say, I love that moment. I think my next thing is gonna have to be bungee-jumping.

2. California Screamin'. The closest thing at either park to a real, bona-fide roller coaster. You go from 0-80 in about 2 seconds to start, there are a couple good drops, and a full loop-de-loop. Nice.

3. Space Mountain. 'Nuff said. The picture that B&E bought of the four of them on the ride is classic; it could be the ad campaign.

Pi: I have to add this one here, because it's a very special-case scenario and most likely never repeatable. This slot represents the trip all of us took together down the Grizzly River ride, which is a big circular raft you sit in and sometimes you get a little wet. On this one particular occasion, however, Beth got as wet as is humanly possible without actually jumping into a body of water. I mean, literally soaked to the bone. If you could have seen the expression on her face... the best part was, it got her once, and completely soaked half of her. And then, somehow, the water came over the top from the completely opposite direction and soaked the other half. And then there was a third immersion, just for good measure. Oh how we laughed. My goodness.

4. Soarin' Over California. Very cool immersive IMAX film that takes you... well, soaring over California. All the different areas of my new home state. This is the ride that includes the famed "smellivision."

5. That Muppet Show Thing. Don't remember what this one was called exactly, but it involved muppets. And it was in 3D. Now that I think of it, it might have been called "Muppets in 3D." Genius!

6. Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. Don't know how many of you remember this one with much detail, but you actually end up in hell. No effin' ess. The last scene in the ride is in hell. The devil is there, and he's laughing at you... and it's honest-to-god hotter in that part of the ride than it is in the other parts. Genuinely creepy.

7-15. All the other non-descript, non-offensive rides that didn't quite register on either end of the scale for me; these include Pirates of the Caribbean (they've added Capn. Jack in two places now, otherwise it's exactly the same); the Buzz Lightyear ride, which is just a moving video game where you shoot at targets w/ a low-range laser tag shooter; Thunder Mountain Railroad, the mini-roller coaster—I guess Banksy, the mysterious British guerrilla/graffiti artist, planted an inflatable sex doll dressed up like a Guantanamo inmate in this ride last fall. Needless to say, it would have shot to #1 on the list in that scenario.

16. Snow White. This one is blatant false advertising. Worse than "Stoner's Pot Palace," the garden statuary shop. You go into the ride, and you see Snow White... for a minute... and all the forest creatures love her... and from that point on it's all about the witch. Snow White literally NEVER makes another appearance. You think she shows up at the end? Wrong. The last scene is the dwarves chasing the witch up the cliff, and I think she tries to flatten them with a boulder... there's certainly no resolution at this point... and then you go through the last door and there's a big sign that says "And they lived happily ever after."

Seriously. WTF. That ride honestly offended me.

17. Indiana Jones and the Wrenched Back. The Disneyland folks seem to put their "bigger kid rides" into one of two categories: there are the ones that go fast around corners (Mountains Space and Thunder) and take you up high and drop you (Maliboomer, CA Screamin')... and then there are the ones that just jerk you around, start and stop quickly, etc. This one and the Twilight Zone Electrocution Elevator are the prime examples of this second type of ride. Needless to say, I am firmly in the camp of the first type. This one just left me feeling slightly queasy with a sore back and neck.

Here we are. The literal nadir of the trip. The bottom of the barrel. And who would've thought, after all that, it would end up being...

18. The Ferris Wheel.

This ain't no ordinary Ferris wheel though. This one has its cars on a big oval track, so when the wheel rotates the car swings back and forth. You actually end up facing almost straight down a few times. And you're not strapped in! This one made me the queasiest by far, and poor Beth almost lost her lunch completely. Here's the clue; this is the only ride that has barf bags. So obviously we aren't the only ones. This one received bonus negative points because we had to wait in line for an hour to get on it. Each car fits at least 6 people comfortably, but they weren't packing in people from different groups. Like, they didn't stick three groups of two in a single car; each group got their own car. And, since they have to load you in, move the wheel one click, load in the next group, etc... it takes inordinately longer for the line to move. On the one hand, I can understand; you don't want to be barfed on by someone you don't know. On the other hand, this ride was 100% anus beef certified. The worst part was that they made you go around twice; once to load up the ride, and then one full turn for good measure. So you've made it through the whole rotation and chewed it back... and then it doesn't stop. It's like the last scene in Mr. Toad.

Final thought: watch for Eric's upcoming guide book to Disneyland. He's working hard to create an algorithm that will plot the relative benefits of each ride... only taking into account the length of time you have to wait. So, for instance, Space Mountain is a solid 94 if you don't have to wait more than five minutes... but it sinks about ten points with each additional 15 minutes you have to wait. If you have to wait an hour, you're suddenly looking at a D+ ride. It's a concept whose time has come, I believe.

Sunday night whazzup

(To be pronounced: "Huh-wazzup.")

Okay, by now you've all probably figured out; Boros is my only social outlet at this point. Just kidding! No really.

(...is he joking?)

(...)

Seriously though, Boros; good kid. I came home the other evening and he was all sketched out, I couldn't figure out why... antsy, hiding behind stuff, etc. Couldn't figure it out.

Then the apartment above me erupts.

Seriously, they went bat shit; floor-stompin', teeth-rattlin', the works.

Boros goes all flat; like all four of his legs come out from under him in four different directions. Then he kinda slinks to the bedroom... some of you know exactly what I'm talkin' 'bout. When his ass-swerve is way more pronounced 'cause he's trying to stay close to the ground and be all steathy-like? Yeah, that.

Anyways. I look around, mouth slightly agape... "what the hell is going on??? Wait a minute... I recognize that sound... that's the call of DRUNKEN SPORTS FANS!!!"

Yup. I'd totally forgotten about the Warriors-Mavs game.

(Note to everyone who has no idea what I'm talking about: biggest upset in NBA playoff history. Team from San Francisco. Hadn't been to the playoffs in over a decade.)

(And no, I didn't go up there and do a beer bong. Frankly, I'm offended you would even suggest it.)

(Or any other kind of bong for that matter. Jerk.)

So yeah, everyone was flipping out, so I checked the score... sure enough, Warriors closing the series out. Good times all around. Well, except for David Hasselhoff.

(Anyone? Anyone? High five!)

Speaking of The Hoff... y'all see him totally wasted in the doorway of his hotel room's bathroom the other day? Man. What a spectacle. We're living in an age where everyone's absolute worst moment is recorded and broadcast for all the world to judge. (See: Michael Richards, Alec Baldwin, the Star Wars Kid...) Scary times.

Seriously though, check this out: http://www.ifilm.com/video/2829004?ns=1

I mean... spot on, right? I won't say anything more than that lest someone is reading ahead and I ruin it. But that shit's off the hook. He's a dead ringer.

In other news, there's a Japanese game show that seems to be like Star Search, only instead of singing/dancing/telling jokes, the people are competing to see who can do a better impression of American movie cliches. And it's also kinda like The Gong Show.

Did I already say, "Scary times"? Well forgive me for repeating myself: SCARY MUTHAFUCKIN TIMES!!!" I mean really. Jesus t.f. Christ.

Speaking of scary times: we got France.

This is the French equivilent of G.W. beating Jimmy Carter. Which I guess would mean Jean-Marie Le Pen is Ross Perot...

Watched both episodes of the Simpsons tonight, and the new Family Guy. I must say, solid all around. I was really getting worried about the Simpsons, but they've totally rallied in the past few seasons. They hit the wall and bounced back, like they always do.

Two weeks til the 400^th episode.

And a movie! I forgot all about that. There's still a movie coming out this summer, right?

Sweeeeet...

Anyways. Decided I really don't want to live in Sacramento. Exploring living with other people in Davis. Viable... definitely viable.

New Sac City

After almost five weeks, I finally made my first visit to Sacramento today. It's not that I haven't left Davis yet; I have been down to Visalia to visit Jen, and gone to the coast with her and her parents... and I guess I've driven through Sacramento on several occasions. But never actually stopped in to check it out. Never had much of a reason to, frankly... but today I had to go pick up some new camping supplies at REI that I'd ordered online (free shipping if you have stuff sent to the store instead of to your home), so I figured I'd use the opportunity to check out the city. Or, in this case, "the shitty."

No really. Now I know why its nickname is "The Sac."

Okay, it wasn't that bad, not totally. The Midtown part is actually fine. Here's my dilemma: I'd really like to stay in Davis, but the cost of one-bedroom apartments here is exorbitant. Not SF exorbitant, but way overpriced none-the-less. The thing is, they've got UC Davis students by the balls, because they have to live here; there's really no choice. So they can jack up the price of housing all they want, and nobody can say boo.

I, on the other hand, do have a choice. Since I don't go to school at UCD, I don't technically have to live here. And so, I say 'boo.' 'Boo,' I say... 'BOOOOO'... So the foray into Sac was also an opportunity to check out where I would (and, more importantly, where I would no way in hell) live.

As I said, Midtown Sac is alright. It has that generic downtown feel; lots of restaurants, cafes, lots of green... seemed pretty clean... all in all, I could live there, and there are much more affordable options there than here.

The next step was to check out some non-Midtown areas. I had been told by everyone I talked to (literally: EVERYONE) that, were I to live in Sac, I would only want to live in Midtown and nowhere else. But I'd found an interesting ad on Craig's List, so I figured I'd drive by and see what it was like.

Oh my.

The way I guess I'd explain it is that, if Midtown is something like downtown Ballard or the Wallingford/Fremont corridor, than the place I ended up was like some of the skeevier parts of Rainier Valley or Lake Shitty. You know, that part just north of Northgate? Yeah, like that. Dirty and rundown. Car farms. No frickin' way.

So, now I know. It narrows down the options quite a bit; now I'm looking at either 1) Midtown Sac, or 2) living with people I don't know in Davis. Both come with their own pros and cons, of course. But, all in all, both are fine options.

New resolution: I'm going to try to include at least one Boros-related anecdote in every blog entry. I'm sure most of you are almost as interested in his antics as mine and, as they say, I aims to please. So, in that vein...

I figured it out. Boros doesn't move like a cat; this we all know. Here's the kicker: he moves like a bear. He's a mini-bear. Sort of like a mini-bar, but with only the appearance of being full of alcohol.

What else... oh yeah, I wanted to talk about my neighbors for a minute. For the most part fine; I've certainly had worse. But recently it appears the kids directly upstairs from me have adopted a Clydesdale. Seriously, something's running around up there that shakes my cabinets. And they pick the weirdest times for carpentry projects; they'll be pounding on shit at like 3am. I can only assume that they get really stoned and then decide they're gonna make a walk-in hookah or something. You know, like me and my friends used to do in college...

-cough-

And the neighbors to one side... again, good kids... they had a party the other weekend and came over to tell me about it during the week, said to let them know if it got too loud, to come over for a margarita if I wanted, etc. Nice guys. But... they like to play music. Nothing intrinsically wrong with that, right? Left. Every time they get going, I just want to walk over there, knock on the door, and yell, "YOU CAN'T SING!" It's sad, really. And honestly, I of all people would have NO PROBLEM with it... except they insist on amplifying themselves. So they can't sing, and they're doing it through microphones. In a huge apartment complex with paper-thin walls. Seriously, doesn't that just invite critique? Why else would you do that if you didn't want feedback? And my feedback is, "you sound like my retarded cat's poop smells. Cover that voice with some sand and try something else."

It wouldn't be so bad if the one kid didn't constantly switch into a falsetto. No really. And they try to harmonize... but all they're doing is singing the same note, one or more octaves apart. Hence the falsetto... god I'm an asshole. But I'm at my wit's end here, people! I mean, jesus god, I haven't even mentioned the hand drum yet...

Please keep in mind that this rant on the patheticness of somebody else is coming from somebody sitting at home alone on a Friday night ranting about his neighbors and blogging about his cat. The proverbial grain of salt.

Back from the Dead

So what's it been, about three months? Feels like it's about time to get something down here again. I kind of liked the idea of letting the whole "Barcelona experience" exist on its own for awhile, but I feel like it's time to put out a bit of an update. Of course, by now everyone's stopped checking back to see if I added anything... so only the two people or so who both had me on RSS feed, but haven't taken me out due to criminal neglect, will even know that I've added something.

In that regard then, since I'm pretty sure almost nobody will read this, I offer the following:

Hell damn fart! Crap crap crap! Baby elephant trunks up your butt!!!

And now, as they say... on with our show...

If somebody had told me, one year ago today, that one year from now (then) I would be: a) living in California, after b) spending four months in Spain, I would have... well honestly, I would have been pretty excited. Those are both things I would have wanted to do for a long time now (then).

So by now most of you know all about Spain. If you don't, I suggest you catch up with some light reading of the previous three dozen or so blog entries below. But California? Probably a lot of you (non-existent) readers know that I've moved to Davis, 20 miles west of Sacramento and 70 miles east of the Bay. The short answer: I've lived my whole life in Seattle and needed to get away. Try something different for awhile. This was a decision I made while in Spain, and, after much research, I settled on the Sacramento/Davis answer.

And, of course, there is a girl involved (isn't there always?). I got back together with my girlfriend from back home after I returned from Spain; she was moving back to her ancestral home of Visalia, CA (recently named #7 in the "most polluted U.S. cities" survey). We both determined that I shouldn't move down there with her, but instead should stake a claim up north and await her arrival, while she dealt with some family stuff. Which I do. Eagerly. Await her arrival I mean.

So here I am. I still work for the same company that I did, both before and after Spain. My fearless associate Boros is with me, weird as ever. Turns out that he likes tofu. Go figure. I'm working from home on random projects while very slowly working towards getting paid to write in some capacity.

With that in mind, this blog will henceforth be a "what's going on with Jerod" sort of thing. Like one of those group emails people used to send, detailing events and whatnot. I know it seems like that was all this ever was... but there was also a healthy mix of stuff more in the style of "humorist essay." I'm still planning to write stuff like that, but instead of self-publishing it here I'm going to try to submit it to publications for fun and profit. 'Cause those places won't accept pre-published work, blogs included. I will keep you updated (here) as things develop (otherwhere).

Onward and upward, brave pilgrims!