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.

Elegy of Cassettes

I said goodbye today to the last real vestige of a former friend. It was weird because it was a mix tape (yes, screw you, I still have a tape deck in my car) that I don’t really listen to but has been in my tape player in my car for as long as I have had the car. I occasionally listen to it and drift back but lately the memories aren’t as vivid as they used to be. Anyways, the tape kept getting eaten, this is something that the youth of today has never had to experience; the shear terror of thinking that your tape had been destroyed, getting out a pencil and putting it eraser-end first and trying to rewind it. I kind of miss that, that personal connection you have with tapes. CD’s were sort of like that but once burning onto a computer became the norm the connection was severed. It meant something to you if you had a great tape that was lost to you because it was harder to replace it. Today was that day for me and my old friend. My villainous car ate my tape and no matter how I rewound it, it just kept eating it. When I reached my destination I literally took the tape out and said goodbye to her. Some memories need to be just that, memories, not constant reminders, especially when you were the prick.

My Easter Thoughts

When I was young I went to church and catholic school. I learned about God and “His” laws and believed unquestioningly, immediately. The mere threat of hell was enough to make sure I never took the lord’s name in vain. But I grew up.

When I was young I watched Sesame Street every morning. I learned about right and wrong and how to count lady bugs at the lady bug’s picnic. A bad attitude meant you were a monster living in a trash can and open mindedness meant you lived with your best friend who collected paperclips. But I grew up.

As such, I still took lessons from both that are with me today. I have good ideas about what is right and wrong. The blessing is I’m no longer encumbered by crazy shit that threatens my “soul”. I have come to a realization that I can be a good person and live a good life or not. I am kind of comforted by the fact that no one knows with any degree of certainty what awaits us when we die. Philosophers were speculating long before Jesus ever entered into the picture. Death should be a comforting idea rather than the most terrifying threat of your life wondering if your soul is going to burn for an eternity. Everyday you should be good with how you’ve lived your life so far, not for some unyieldingly violent deity but for your own conscience.

In Defence of the Renaissance Festival

Every year I hear about the Renaissance Festival in town (or close enough to town) and without fail I hear the snickering at the mere idea of going down to that dusty road. Now I absolutely understand the humor in it. It is funny in its own right; grown men pretending that they are blacksmiths or knights is kind of goofy and the grown women (and by grown I mean bigger than the outfits they wear) pretending to be royalty or handmaidens. But there are multiple ways of looking at this. One is to go there (or not) and criticize it. To be that guy (or girl) who will never step foot in the grounds yet have an opinion about it wrought with negativity. This one shows who you are as a person. Don’t get me wrong, there are some funny sites to be seen there and none of it intentional. The women there are sometimes far too comfortable with their bodies and their bodies can tip the scale at 300+ with little clothing covering their gelatinous, stretch-marked guts. This is sometimes hard to look past without laughing. But if I weighed as much as some of them and tried to dress like a medieval hooker then I would be just as susceptible to the wiseass cracks coming my way. The men for the most part are better. The ones that go around shirtless are typically in good shape and those who look as if they punch the gas pedal whenever they come in the vicinity of a gym are generally well clothed. The second is that it’s kind of sweet, thinking about the fact that there are these passionate people in the world who not only want to remember history but take a stroll through bits and pieces of it in the best way they know how. Their imagination is what is missing in the mundane freeway of our everyday lives. Here, we too can step outside of our uptight judgmental ways and stroll through their world of dusty roads, interesting foods, fun games, and shops. We can go through unnoticed or interact with them. The experience can be one of marvel and wonder or as miserable as you want to be and want it to be. I went today because it has become sort of an annual thing for my girlfriend and me. We don’t go dressed up because 1) it’s expensive to buy those clothes and we hate the cheap looking crap and 2) bloody hot out there. I got to shoot bow and arrows and practicing fencing which I’m apparently pretty decent at both. The people there want to talk to you. They are not the social rejects that people paint them up to be. One of the most stunning things you’ll notice, and I don’t believe you could find this anywhere else, is that nobody is miserable there. There are no angry people. If someone bumps into you by accident you’ll hear a thousand apologies (probably those exact words). There are no fights there that are not staged and yet people are walking around in the sweltering heat, drinking, some people armed to the teeth with actual weapons, and yet never will you see any type of scuffle. I think there is something to be said for that; for the great people of the RenFair. There is a fun time to be had there. Drunken scullery maids, gorgeous children dressed up in fantasy or medieval garb, Knights, fools and kings.
Remember that no matter how sad you believe them to be, they are actors. They play a role for your entertainment. They serve your happiness. For this you should be grateful.

The Failing of Parents

How hard is it to be even remotely strict with your child? Sitting here in B& N reading a book on the story of Revelations, getting into it because it’s friggin’ interesting and enlightening, this mom (not a milf mind you) sits her son down at the table next to me and walks to the counter of the café. This boy, who is on the verge of being fat, just a cupcake away, is sitting here reading a comic. I instantly feel alright with him for this fact because I love comics. Then it begins. The mother tells him to close his eyes because she has a surprise for him…a fuckin’ cupcake! She tries to be funny and says it’s a bean sprout donut and she laughs. She tells him that they aren’t going to Tae kwon Do today for whatever reason. As this child is against the wall, the next bit is hard to picture and I missed the actual event, but he somehow drops the cupcake that is almost finished. She starts lecturing him that he never listens all the while he is ignoring her. I look up and see him pick up the palm-sized piece of chocolate cupcake off the floor, blow on it, and shove it whole into his mouth. Then he tries to wipe the chocolate off of the wall. I still can’t figure out the physics of what happened because the thing landed behind him on his left side which is the side of the wall. So he’s smearing the chocolate on the wall with his napkin with a cup of water in his mouth, because setting it down would have been an effort. His mother tells him to take the cup out of his mouth and give it to her. He doesn’t listen and tilts his up to drain some of it. She continues to tell him no and then he just pounds it down (at least it was water). She then continues to tell him that he never listens and he is trying to talk over her telling her to get him another cupcake. By now my mouth is just open and I can’t stop watching this. She says no to the second cupcake (which didn’t go to waste) and he begins to counter her argument with “I do listen”. Other people’s children make me hate children. What is that kid going to be like in a few years? On their way out she says he is going to Tae Kwon Do. How is that a punishment? I want to tell her to inform his TKD teacher that he is failing in his job to teach respect and discipline. I wanted to tell her that she is failing as a parent by letting this annoying little shit get away with his attitude and behavior. I understand that it’s hard to raise a child. I respect the ones who do it well, but what am I supposed to feel about the ones that haven’t figured out that catering to spoiled children is possibly the wrong choice?

How's My Driving?

Is it an inherent defect born into all Californians that being anywhere in, near or around traffic turns them into simple-minded idiots? How difficult is it to function in a city that is mostly made up of more cars than people? I’m sick to death of wondering if today is the day that an old lady doing 120 mph is going to barrel into the side of my luxurious sports car (read ‘99 Hyundai Elantra with two broken windows), or the critically stupid person who cannot figure out the subtle difference between green and red is going to sideswipe me and trust me it quite literally happens every day. I don’t think I should have to worry about my physical well-being whenever I drive in a city where there is no black ice, or white outs, but I do think that there should be some sort of stricter qualifications for driving in L.A. other than being able to point out a car in a parking lot. Our standards for vehicular safety are about as effective as color coding for national security. How many times a day do we pass an accident on the road, not the side of the road mind you, but spread across 3 of the 5 lanes of the freeway, and instead of being worried about the health of the person who was caught unawares by the mentally inept text messenger of death, we all slow down to stare and without fail another accident happens. This god-forsaken freeway system has desensitizes me as well as everyone else in L.A. We no longer care if someone has died, and in fact, there are times I’m hoping that there has been a death simply so I feel my time wasn’t wasted. L.A. has created a self-indulged driver out of me.

Religion, why?

The insanity that comes with those religious fanatics can strangely enough unnerve even me. Not their passion for it or belief system, that’s all fine. What gets me is that there isn’t something in them that says ‘hey, it’s really just my belief but I get it’s most likely not real, just something to get me through the hard days and an excuse to put responsibility on someone else’. I’ve sat through a New Testament as Literature class for the last couple months with a genuine interest in reading the bible as the work of fiction that it is. It’s a story written down long after the supposed events took place and even then its contradictions are everywhere. I enjoy reading the bible. I don’t hate the people that believe in it, in fact I envy them. I don’t have that childlike wonder anymore that allows me to actually believe in something so completely without ever asking questions. In this class I attend I find more often than not that everyone in there is unable separate themselves from their beliefs long enough to look at that bible as a story. Every answer to discussion is God’s love, or because of the devil. Nothing grates on me more than hearing these child-like answers to questions that could actually help them to understand the bible as a tool for living a good life according to some of its philosophies. Just reading the bible I’ve discovered that there is no “devil”. Satan, as he is portrayed within the text, is part of God’s “angels” or soldiers. In the book of Job, the Satan is testing Job’s faith in God for God’s sake. Think of it as looking for flaws within the faith of man. The ironic part of it is that God allowed it to happen. Instead of the omniscient God of lore, this one has to see physical evidence, and Job has more than his share. He is mentally and physically tortured for God’s edification, Satan was just doing his job. When Satan shows up in the New Testament to tempt Jesus he is again doing his job to test his faith. More than anything that points to Jesus not actually being who he claims because one of God’s own would know if God had a son. Lucifer is mentioned once in the Old Testament and all evidence points to this name referring to the King of Babylon. Nowhere in the surrounding text does this name find a connection to “the devil”. In Genesis a serpent is responsible for tempting Eve (in one of the two versions of creation) and God cursed the serpent but never associated it with “the devil”. Most people’s idea about Satan comes from Dante and Milton, not their actual readings of it just the mythos that has come to be associated with it.

A Coffee Shop Start

Hazelnut Cream coffee. It's how it all starts. This is the motivation I need to begin to write. I have to come to some sort of coffee brewing establishment in order to feel like I can write...no idea why. I think it has something to do with having the delusion of being a writer. I picture my favorite writers hanging out in ye old coffee shops, waxing over what has been on their mind and now needs to be put in print (in one form or another). Now...what the hell do I write? I think the best thing would be to set up goals for this relationship that we're about to begin, because we should all be striving to get something out of this. I want to talk to you about everything that pops up into my mind such as movies, religion, personal dilemmas, superheroes, comics, a desire to be an actor, etc. I want to see this become more of a dialogue with like-minded peoples as well as those not so like-minded. I hope to enrage some of you, depress you, move you to feel some things as I do and vice-versa.

The enraging begins now. Not to you, but to the good folk of Corner Bakery who are looking at me with my cup of coffee and not much else like I am a homeless vagrant pissing on their floor. The manager here loves to give me the stink-eye for sitting here. I am going to get food, but shit, I'm not hungry right now. My cup of coffee will suffice. For you, my newfound friends (and possibly enemies) I will see you soon.