My plane ride

I feel the cold of the snow on my skin but I can’t move. I am frozen. Not by temperature; it is movement that freezes me. I see these vast snowflakes twirling about my head and dancing in my vision. I see light and movement out of the corners of my eyes and the peripherals of my mind. I hear music that isn’t there and want to sway along with the beat but I am transfixed to this spot in this moment. I see the moon through a mirage of luminescent waves swerving this way and that. I see my mother in the window crying and call out to her with no voice I can summon. I see my father walking away an inability to take away a child’s pain, hating himself for it and I cry to him it’s not his pain to take, but I can’t speak. I glimpse a sibling lost and try to take their hand but it melts away leaving clarity. I have been given a moment and I must devote to it an eternity. It requires nothing more than what I am. Life requires nothing more than what we are.

P90X

I feel I should dedicate a blog to this. While flying from NY to Cali this past May, we (my girlfriend and I) wathced tv on the moniters built into the back of the seats of the plane to bide our time. After realizing that even with a touchscreen option and a plethera of channels to peruse, there was nothing on. Anything good had to be purchased and, well, fuck that. So I decided to load up the infomercials and that's when I saw it, the P90X system. I was instantly hooked on the idea of getting it so, 3 days later, after I recovered from getting insanely sick while flying on the germ infested prison cell known as Delta, I googled it. Well, the desire went away when the price came onto the screen, but last week i was given it by Chi's brother. Totally cool of him! So I start my foray into fitness again. I sent in a letter to cancel my gym membership (yes, LA Fitness makes you send in a letter of resignation from working out, I swear to Christ they're like WalMart) and yesterday had my first P90X workout. I did Chest and Back in the afternoon and Ab Ripper X after I finished teaching Taekwon Do. I thought I was going to die doing the first bit (I love that feeling) I was completely dizzy and on the verge of throwing up, just the way a workout should be. I figure for this blog I'll post my results and/or workout results. So for yesterday, here it is;
38 standard pushups
6 wide grip pull-ups
19 military pushups
6 reverse grip pull-ups
20 wide pushups
5 front grip close pull-ups
17 decline pushups
15 heavy pants
15 diamond pushups
lawnmowers
16 right hand
18 left hand
8 dive bomber pushups
4 back flys (weights too heavy)
4 wide grip pull ups
30 standard pushups
5 reverse grip pull ups
15 military push ups
4 front grip close pull ups
15 wide push ups
12 heavy pants
10 decline pushups
lawnmowers
18 right
17 left
6 diamond pushups
8 back flys
9 dive bomber pushups

Plyometrics today!

What's New (?)

The question mark is in parenthesis because while I'm asking you what is new I am also painfully aware that as the writer of this blog I am also the only reader. So here's the update for me to me by me me me. I scoff at you, yes you who walks around without a care in the world, unaware that I used to be able to do that without worry myself. Now I am uninsured and life will be back to Advil and pain when I walk, sit, lay down, etc. You see, now that I am a college graduate, I am fucked. I can't get a job that suits me or my talents (my main talent is sarcasm and House M.D. already has writers). I want to write but lack the skill to get a job. I can't get a menial job that will dole out insurance. I can't be homeless because I'm quite fond of bathing and masturbating in private. For whatever reason I have become stuck in life. My part time job for Frito is great...for a kid in school, not a grown man looking to be proud of his life. My other job, which I'm getting to like more and more is teaching Taekwon-do. Can you see the difficulty of my situation? My legs stop working and I'm still supposed to teach some kid how to kick. Irony? Divine retribution? So that's my life's story, or maybe just the last couple days but at times that feels like a lifetime. How are you?

Unemployment for the Unemployed and Undesirable

Welcome to the wonderful world of blogging. It is a magic place and in this place magical happenings happens...kind of redundant I think. I find it increasingly harder to come up with interesting things to write about in a way that would amuse me, because if you've ever read anything of mine then you know my primary goal is to amuse, mainly myself, but if I happen upon a subject that is appealing to all then I feel good about that too. And as nobody ever reads these I am at liberty to say whatever the hell I feel like without fear of repercussions. I, of course, would never do or say anything to offend anyone as many of my friends will attest to...hehehe. All I'm saying is that nothing ever comes back to haunt you or bite you on the ass. That's all. On to what I like to refer to as the Holy Grail, a job. I can't find one doing anything. I moved to Ventura in June and have been looking damn near everyday for something, anything to bring in some sort of income, but alas, my cock is too small for porn and I'm too fugly to model, so my future looks bleak. But as the power of Christ compels me, I persevere. I'm living in a time where it runs you down looking for a minimum wage job to simply pay rent. I feel that now that I have my degree I should be better than that, I'm not, but I feel I should be. Does the fact that it all seems so bleak right now mean that it's broken or I am?

M.J. is Gone...

This week will, confusingly, be remembered as the week that Michael Jackson died, at least physically. What is more bizarre than a life less ordinary such as his? Well his death of course. Every day we are bludgeoned by some form of breaking news about how he (might have) died. This top news somehow supercedes the President making strides in Russia, the insanity of the election in Iran, the countless heroes who have died this week protecting...whatever. For some reason the death of a reclusive singer who has not been popular for a good 15 years stemming mostly from him touching children (spiritually or physically). I'm not judging the man for his actions that were newsworthy so many years ago, and I have no hero worship of a man who sang songs that I liked. What I do find so disgusting about this fiasco is that his death is what has brought this crazed mob of frightening fans. For days after his death there were legions of people outside the UCLA medical center hoping for, what? What could have possibly driven anyone to spend more time in L.A.'s ridiculous traffic to stand outside of a hospital? Was there a singular thought that they were going to see him, his corpse? Was there a wave of thought that somehow believed seeing a body would make their lives better or give them closure? I am sickened by the weirdness that followed the death of a weird man, in fact I half expected Elton John to re-rewrite another "Candle in the Wind". I loved Michael Jackson's music, and I want to be clear about that, I own a lot of his music, danced the night away to it, didn't stop til I got enough, but that was music from another man in another time. His death was handled with the care of an underpaid dishwasher with a media so hard-pressed to put anything but what is going on in the world on television that it became necessary to bombard us 24/7 with the whodunit of his death. We should demand better.

Fuck Supercuts!

How difficult is it to master the measuring process. By this I mean when I say just take an inch of everywhere cause I still like it kind of long and then I show her just how long I want it by putting my finger up to where I want it (and thank folks are the operative words here 'I want it') cut to. I am seriously angry right now as to where it is hard to think and write. I liked my hair the length it was but just needed it trimmed. To give you an approximation as to how short she gave it (she broke out clippers) it will take at least 3/4 of a year to grow back, and my hair grows pretty fast. I tell myself every time I go there that it will be the last time because I have yet to have a good experience there or Fantastic Sams for that matter, and yet every time I go back. It's nothing to do with a forgiveness type thing or forgetfulness because I go there and think about how badly I wish I was the guy who would spend $50 on a haircut, but because of my poor upbringing I find it difficult to even pay the prices at this shithole of a place. She has ruined my day, week and month to come, and honestly the first indicator should have been that this middle aged woman had a black eye. I would have chalked it up to simple domestic abuse but now I'm under the impression that I was not the first person to disagree with her "technique". Consider this my boycott to this the land of inexperience. I truly believe that I will start collecting money via this and facebook for my next hair style.

The Groundlings

This past Wednesday I started classes at the Groundling’s School of improv. I LOVE IT! It scared the ever living hell out of me because I hate going into situations where there are going to be people that are better than you at whatever, but when I got there we all started chatting about movies and actors and we jumped right into work. At no time did I feel overwhelmed and everyone there was beyond supportive. I feel confident that this will help me in chasing my dream of acting. I also feel confident that that last line was clichéd enough to be part of a Bring it On movie.