here are some thoughts, mail me a penny

My mom and i end up watching The Royal Tenenbaums whenever its on tv.

She'll say, "I like this movie...I don't know why i like this movie."

Then I'll ask, rhetorically of course, "Yeah...is that why we don't own it...cause we don't know why we like it?"

It Just Is by Rilo Kiley reminds me that everyone I love is gonna die...and that realizing this and continuing to live anyway is what being human means.

Inspired by Colma: The Musical, I want to write and star in a musical about and with my friends...I think about you guys all the time.

Someday I'm gonna be a character actor.

I've been pretending to be a housewife this week...it's tedious, and rewarding, and distracting. It reminds me of this song by this guy...

When I'm alone I do what I think is ballet...

I'm playing tennis with my dad tomorrow...haha can you believe it? Yeah, were going to Big 5 in the morning for tennis balls and sweat bands. I haven't sported with my dad since he assistant coached my baseball team, the padres i think, and taught me how to pitch. Now I'm gonna teach him how to return...

jillian, can i smell yo dick?

it should be raining, i type slow...i thought of the word fast before i typed slow like a dyslexic word flip...wrist hurts complaining is easy...rain in this song feels so real im getting wet...scratch scratch...i want to sing...for a living? if i could i would maybe i will maybe i wont julia nunes is more endearing than annoying...floating would- i could cry when my friends are sad i want to cry i wish they could all- but if they were happy would they grow? growth is important im told...dont leave me. i dont want to hangout tomorrow with him were just friends i'll tell myslef...nervous... gym now? too tired? i can do it just do it goddess of luck? or luck right?...oranges... tobias funke is falling off the rails into a turntable in the magazine i read when i should have been doing latin translation...makes me feels cultured or smart... bourbon...clowns...green means- i want to feel intelligent, terry gilliam is like ramin in some way he wouldnt like me as a person...spam!

the mind is bombarded by all kinds of stimuli.

Dr. John, Vincent Needs his Meds

I want to take Mika hostage for a few months.  We could write songs and curl each others hair.  There'd be glitter and  cartoons and  sheet music strewn about our flat.  He'd play the piano while i crooned atop it like a 3o's lounge singer; using my butterfly knife as a microphone (classic hostage tool i.e. the Goonies).  Then we'd stay up late discussing our childhood: the pain, alienation, material for artistic expression, things like that.  He'd slowly grow fond of my manic presence in his otherwise dull life.  I'd fall asleep to his soft, high-pitched breathing and this would be our routine for months on end. Of course he'd have to have developed stockholm syndrome by this point for the relationship to go any further.  Who knows, i might even be the inspiration for his third album or, at least, a character in a song... 

All i wanted to say is i really enjoy Mika's new album.   

I Wanna Watch Right Now

Movie lovers rejoice!

for this fall's harvest is ripe with winners and losers (the lovable kind)

raise your voice!

these films are divinely sent to blow your ass out your mind

make thine choice!

a righteous one: to fill a theatre seat with thine behind

Movie lovers rejoice!

Whip It!

Brief Interviews with Hideous Men

Fantastic Mr. Fox

Zombieland

The Road

Extract

Where The Wild Things Are

Amreeka

Paper Heart

9

An Education

Bart Got a Room

Ponyo

Defendor

Big Fan

Youth in Revolt

Gentleman Broncos

The Invention of Lying

I Love You Phillip Morris

The Nine

And a boatload more...

I'd like to give a special shout out to Paul, the next Simon Pegg/Nick Frost (Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz) film.  You will be a delightfully geeky wet dream and I cannot wait to meet you.

Waterboard This (points to crotch)

So i've been on a torture kick lately.  Case in point reading love/sex advice column Savage Love (written by the incredibly funny, incredibly gay Dan Savage) when i am loveless/sexless.  Also, bingeing on frozen churros after an intense core workout, followed by a cookie dough eating stint topped off with a midnight gym visit has my body in bipolar shock.  I am becoming a masoscizophrienichist.  

But by far the most achingly painful anguish inducer i've practiced of late is reading The A.V. Club's My Year of Flops entries with a day old intense core workout still pulsing through my abs. (Yup, i just used the phrase "intense core workout" again, three more mentions and i get a free bow-flex...and the quoted one counts).  This recycle bin for film failures is written as the final verdict on their controversial floptitude: are these stinkers failures, fiascos, or secret successes?  The secret success feauture of the grading system itself is a real comfort to  frequent flopwatchers because movies like Dirty Work and Be Kind Rewind are overlooked, hit and miss gems.  The whole thing is a well written, reference-a-minute torture chamber complete with gut-busting snippets from the cine-turds in question (its like an intense core workout, except its for your funny bone...and gut.) 

I'd like to share this suffering, anyone up for a Nicolas "barbed-wire laced" Cage of cinematic hell night?  We can make t-shirts...Let me know...

intense core workout.

Amish Controlling Mother Bread

I arose from bed yesterday afternoon to the sweet smell of what i thought was french toast with bacon on the side.  And when i say "arose" picture a vampire cocking his body tick by tick with arms jutting forward at the chest.  I ambled to the kitchen thirsting for syrup and bacon fat...but alas, there were none.

"Where's the french toast?," I wondered.  "The cinnamon? The syrup? The bacon grease?"

Turns out: its amish friendship bread for breakfast, yes, my amish friendship bread, the one i've been massaging for ten days...my own festering, fermenting reeker baby.  And who is baking Christina Reeki ( i named her...they grow up so fast)?  None other than mommy dearest.  I calmly voice my problem: "What the hell are you doing?"  She's shocked by my indignation and slices back with her own complaints: 

"Where's the big thing of Crisco? I had to buy a new one.

I left it at kyle's...dyou know how old that thing was? Two years! (if it were human we'd be potty-training it, teaching it the alphabet, and dissembling its crib to make room for a bigger toy box...)

Doesn't matter.

Wait a minute, why are you making my bread?

It was gonna go bad.  You were supposed to--

No, today is the baking day, it's written on the bag!" 

She unapologetically backs down as if to say what's done is done, that suckers already in the oven, greased, timed, and baking.  I inspect the loaves as they bake, accepting that my mother has once again grabbed my life's steering wheel.   Of course, she means well.  Of course, she grabs with love.  And of course, her amish bread was heavenly (baked with apples no less).  But it wasn't mine...in one simple act of motherly kindness she breadnapped my baby, usurped it of all its friendship qualities, and hijacked my life's course.  Hyperbole aside, all i really want from my mom is a chance to fuck up my amish friendship bread, my own life and someday a kid of my own .  Sounds fair, right?  So i kept a bag of the starter for myself, a do-over for my own piece of mind.  I have a feeling Reekard Gere is gonna enchant a few tongues.

(Remember that bacon smell wafting throughout the house?  Yeah, me too, but where did it come from?  I haven't a clue but I'm still willing to get to the bottom of the mystery of the phantom bacon.  Everybody loves bacon.) 

How Many Sheep am I Holding Up?

I'm going to bed when I'm ready, no Benadryl or advil tonight...well, technically this morning. And just think, soon i won't need a sedative for sleep. Instead I'll conk out from natural exhaustion and wake up ready, maybe even excited, for tomorrow. Yes! A new day is coming...

But not today....today is already over and it's barely 6: 40. It's funny how sedatives which are meant to help us (allergy medicine) can, in many cases, kill us (malt liquor). I'm not being very clear, but if you can wade pass the bullshit (bullshit, bullshit, bullshit) metaphor you may find some truth in these ramblings.

My wake-up call just sounded...ugh, I need a Benadryl...

Goatseed

So i'm chompin' on a strawberry, innocently enough, really enjoying the natural sweetness. I reach the end of this particular strawberry's life and what do i see? Why it's a miniature Goatse staring back at me...plain as the maximized google image. Yeah, it haunts my dreams, everyday life, and has moved on to my produce. Try this at home.

Kiss/Marry/Impregnate

You know we love you, that's a given. And we know that you know you love us, also a given. But what no one knows, not us or you, is what's going to happen next. Don't tell me it's inevitable. Just stop with that. Seriously quit it. I'm not gonna take that, and neither is anyone else that loves you. And there are alot of us, and we'll fight you, so don't even try it.

Second point: this is not anyone's fault, but if it has to be, then it's your mother's not yours. She is sick and pathetic and incapable of love...all things that you are not. You think you're weak yet have survived long enough to start over without her.

And third, you are just being plain selfish. You are robbing some poor guy of the love of his life. He'll end up with just some other girl...one that doesn't know all the words to "Ignition (the REMIX edition)," hasn't got a single golden hair on her body, and for damn sure didn't get diarrhea on their honeymoon from the wedding cake. You are also ransacking the cool aunt from your nieces and nephews. The one that lets them eat as many otterpops as they want, buys them yellow tights, and makes disgusting faces so gloriously grotesque they ask her to leave the lights on before bed. And for christ's sake, you are stealing a mommy that does in fact love daddy. That loves him too much, for too long, so much so it's uncomfortable for the kids. And the kids! I almost forgot the kids. Whose gonna give them their first swimming lesson, along with uncle dave and uncle dan? Whose gonna shout WOW! in church after one of them accidentally sharts so they don't feel embarrassed? Whose gonna help them with their homework? Whose gonna let them dress however they want despite how massively their lime green leotard clashes with their red pants? Whose gonna love them when they feel like no one does? Whose gonna love them because it's the only thing keeping you from killing them, because it's a wednesday, or because they are simply alive...

I know you know the answer, that's a given. It's about the only inevitable thing I know.

Rejewvenated

Seth Rogen has betrayed chubby losers everywhere. Google image the bastard and you will see a new man: "rejewvenated." If he didn't give me so much pleasure i'd hate 'em; instead i've decided to let him inspire me. Seth Rogen has inspired me to find my inner thin douche. After I saw his interview with Jon Stewart on the Daily Show I vaulted to the nearest 24 hour fitness. Soon I will be a skinny asshole...i will have a skinnier asshole...you'll see, you'll all see! And then you'll pay, you'll all pay...to see!

Hey Daniel, Suck It Blogspot

This is what i see after reloading my page several times (the page being daniel's comment section for "one week in the grand scheme"):
Word Verification

Loading...

(this is space to type)

Finish (this is a button)

Ahhh! I typed in "Loading..." which blogspot didn't think was funny.
Well, this was my comment:

haha...i have to do this for journalism, but i want to do it for me. makes me sick when i realize how much time i spend with a computer, as opposed to a human being...aim, facebook seem like an illusion of human contact.

lets talk after we conquer this.

I Always Wanted Curly Hair

I'm not done with puberty...or is it that puberty is not finished with me? Either way, I have new arm hair (these ones are visible sans microscope). My grandma swears I'm taller, which is why she's my favorite grandma (remember the sick woman who let us watch Jaws and Halloween before we could subtract...that's her, Grandma Archie). Oh and my facial hair is still funny, and not Daniel funny, more David funny. There's nothing masculine about patches, it just sounds like a dog name...a generic one. I want a beard...damn Ramin...and Michael...and Jillian (haha kidding).

My hair distribution is weird, bordering on stupid. Chest? Nope. Face? Patches. Hands? Patterened. Ass? Bountiful. If i ever went bald, my subsequent hair transplant would come from my butt.

Coffee's for Closers

When i read exceptionally brilliant, heart-felt writing i want to delete my blog...
I imagine busting through the swinging doors of my writer's room, blunt weapon in hand, waiting for my blog writing staff's eyes to meet mine. The mace, candlestick, trident clinks and clacks against the floor as I let it slip from my small, delicate hands. I swagger to the closest window and glare, breathing heavy, building dramatic tension. And then i go there. I drop the Alec Baldwin speech on them like an A-bomb filled with kamikazes (think Glengarry Glen Ross monologue delivered with the vitriol of pig daughter voice mail). This goes on, blood trickling down their earlobes and splatting on their crisp, white dress shirts. Near the end of my tirade, i snatch one of the baby-faced writers by the pits and i shake him...a good strong shaking. A half an hour later, i release the sweating husk and he crumples into the fetal position. I wiggle my numb fingers and part with these words: "Write personally. Write profoundly. Write punly. Write better."

I also understand that brilliant, heart-felt writing is a process...haha that's a great word for it. So don't fret...this blog is safe.

B-sides the point

Time to unclog the drain. I present to you my blog post junkyard; unfortunate entries that didn't make it past the creative process. Unedited, uncensored, uncircumcised, and unposted, until now...my b-sides:

5/20/08
Dear God, thank you for this wonderful day. Help me have no bad dreams, no Jaws dreams. Bless the food that we eat and enstrength our bodies. Bless mommy, daddy, peter, natalie, me, and everyone else in the world. In your prayer, amen.
I haven't said these words, in my head or out loud, in years...at least six or seven.
This is the prayer i'd repeat every night before sleep. Mom created the base of the prayer and, every night, my sister would inject "Jaws dreams" at the mentioning of bad dreams (probably because my grandma would let us choose whichever VHS we wanted when we spent the night...sick, sick woman.) I thought the prayer was magic. It was like a nightly incantation we'd all chant in unison to ward away the bad omens. I never really took to organized religion...sorry mom.

5/20/08
People that have taken me six years to befriend:

Albot.Liz.Jimmy.Leah.Alyssa.Andrew.Michael Hsiao.Kristen.Dhivya.Melanie.
And now they're gone...can't wait until i see each one, perhaps at the same hangout? haha...maybe.

9/23/08
if attractive people can find flaws with their appearances, what are the rest of us gonna do?
Self-conscious and shallow for two hundred, Trebec. This one is awkward. I remember writing this after a gym outing with Ramin...he was commenting on his physical flaws, and the whole time i was stabbing him with telepathic knives...blunt ones.

10/31/08

My shitty paper recieved an A-...shut up.

It made my day. And i had an awesome day, besides the paper. I saw Role Models with theresa, which was hilarious in its own david wain way, and i finally washed my filthy car. But then the sun went down, my tired thoughts wandered, and i decided to choke the joy out of my day. It's a nightly chore, to wring out the day's events in my mind like a dirt-soaked rag. I'm dry now.

I am particularly drained by my inability to enjoy anything. I dont really do anything except write. I am a collection of words, not experiences. I'm done talking
Yeah, and i'm done writing this post (no period here...because i'm just that over it)