mind fart

Since most of you don't give a damn, I'll keep this part of the blog short. Nikon just released two new cameras and four lenses. In short I couldn't sleep last night because I was too excited reading all about them. Even though I tried to make myself fall asleep through hours of masturbation - I failed and was left with cramped arms, a perfuse amount of sweat, and one gooey sock. These new cameras are absolutely fucking awesome. Not that I can afford one, and to be honest I don't even really want one - the lenses on the other hand are a different story. But I just like reading about new cameras especially when they are of the upper echelon tier. (Okay I lied, I kinda want one, but shhh don't tell Niki.)

No I'm not going to get one...there are other things on my list of material goodies. I've been eyeing this particular bicycle. I really need to get on some form of cardio. Sex would be fantastic, but I think the bike would be cheaper in the long run. There's also the tattoos, I really need to work on that my body looks undone, then there's the cell phone - my razr is static heaven even in the best areas of reception. And perhaps a new hoodie, there's one at NCC that I want - haha.

I also want a pet penguin. I'd give him a little backpack and watch him waddle around. I'd probably need a ridiculously cold basement with a pool and one of those jackets with the furry hoods.

If you're wondering why this blog seems so all over the place, it's because I've been trying to write this god damn essay for way too long and my head is spinning - no amount of gooey sock makin' fun could cure me of this. Perhaps I shouldn't be so intimate with my footwear, there's always my shirts I guess.

I'm suddenly reminded of the time I held some crying 30 year old in the mission. She roomed with these 18 year olds that had an affinity for short shorts. I was drunk...really drunk...so drunk that I knew I was safer in this icono-clash-tic stranger's apartment than on the streets in the Mission District trying to find my way home.

I think I'm going to buy a pack of white v-neck t's. But my belly is on the rise, these new protein supplements and my love for Sun Chips just keep getting the best of me. mmm...tasty. But really, the nacc gym needs to go back to it's regular schedule.

I tried reading some stuff to help me write. I fell back on Bukowski and so far all my essays inspired loneliness and the farthest thing from acceptance. Hey guys let me go to your college I'm a borderline drunk and an asshole - Bukowski really knows how to find romance in a bottle, not to mention his love for the word cunt. Speaking of which, I think I'm growing a rather strong crush on Parker Posey. And this other girl. I love the way my pets lay around me. I think I'm ending this before it gets too into it.

Boom Shaka.

48 hours

So with Summer sessions over I've got a little less than two weeks before the fall semester begins. Well I should say, we've got...we as in those still in college or some form of school. I'm taking two, four credit classes. and three, three credit classes. I have a feeling this fall is going to suck. I needed a break from essay brain storming...I actually have an essay written for my application already, it just kinda sucks.

I'm growing to dislike work very much. The new kid is stab-able to say the least. But it's tough to give up the perks. I love watching movies, hell I watch two on average every day. You're thinking, how the fuck can anyone watch two movies everyday. Well, apart from a relatively boring existence I generally have a movie playing in the background whether I'm on the net, eating food, reading, or god forbid when I'm studying. Movies are essentially my radio.

I rented two modern day classics, in my opinion at least. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and City of God. The latter being subtitled, probably dubbed in english, but I hate dubbing, with a passion. Almost as much as I hate it when people whine about "reading a movie". I understand if you're tired and your eyes can't stand to read - but some people are so matter of fact about it. As if subtitles are some moronic way to view movies. I refuse to believe someone is that stupid that they can't read. Like fully grown adults, these people drive automobiles - large hunks of metal that are capable of causing irreparable destruction and death - these people have children, these people are responsible for the lives of budding youth - and they can't read subtitles. You know what's worse than stupid young people? Stupid adults. It is truly frightening to see them in a classroom environment - hell any environment, but it's only amplified by the existence of textbooks and teachers. I'm almost always caught in a state of disbelief when it happens. I think to myself, that man (or woman in many cases) has a child, or is a nurse. Oh my god they are health care professionals. It's almost sad - in fact a professor of mine ranted about this. Probably the most hilarious thing I've ever heard in school. Licenses should be given out for people to have children. Failure to comply should result in jail-time, possibly death or at least a severe beating.

Then there's the whole "widescreen" vs. "full-screen" debacle. "What's a widescreen?" For the love of fucking god!!! I don't know if it's possible to come up with a name any more self-descriptive. I could understand if it were named the doodle-fangle-dangle-dooda. Then if someone asked me, "Excuse me, what's a doodle-fangle-dangle-dooda?" I'd be more inclined to explain to them what it is. But guaranteed after they realized what it was, they'd be telling me, someone with no say on how things get named, that they should have just named it something logical, something descriptive, something simple, like I don't know - WIDE-FUCKING-SCREEN!

*as a side note, if a director shot something in a certain aspect ratio (generally what widescreen movies preserve) i'd prefer to see it that way. You wouldn't buy a painting and go, well it doesn't fit in the frame I bought, so I'll just cut it. But then again there are many who can't understand this, and simply like to watch "Wild Hogs", or such popular hits as "Premonition" - cue vomit.*

Then there's the pile of recently organized, alphabetized movie boxes. "Do you have WIld Hogs?" "Oh yes we do ma'am, it's in that pile, it's alphabetized." "Huh? How can you tell it's alphabetized?" "WHAT?! How the fuck can you tell anything is alphabetized?! Isn't alphabetization pretty fucking self-explanatory?! Here lady - A, B, C, D,.....WILD - FUCKING - HOGS!!!"

I need a new job. Anyone got any ideas. Low pay, low expectations, and low responsibility - something to tide me over until I leave for school? Help please... After all that ranting, this is me whimpering, begging, pleading - for help.

Blue Ice Pops

I woke up today dragging my feet a little. Your traditional, "what happened?" simply doesn't cut it. Maybe if I added an admittedly cliche yet classically effective, "the fuck", I'd be a little more precise in describing my failure to seize the day, night, and ultimately my inability to the seize the girl. A bit dramatic - maybe, but I bet you're still wondering, "what the fuck happened?"


I fear that I am incapable of topping that first paragraph. I guess I'll have to leave you wondering.

Lemonade - and a rabid outflow of revelation

I was in a beautiful mood today despite a most disturbing dream I had during my hangover siesta. In fact I kind of want to forget I ever had that dream...I've dreamed some fucked up shit - but this was some eerie ass Ed Gein shit - yea...


Anyways...I had a great Thursday - maybe a little too much beer but then again, that's generally how great Thursdays go. My day began with work, never really an enjoyable thing when you work at a video store - but thankfully, it's never really a terrible thing either. Afterwards was a two hour crash session with my physics textbook. Thanks to my inability to stay completely awake in class, I had a fare amount of catching up to do. Of course there was the gym, then shower, then class, followed by an almost aced exam. What's so great about all of that? Nothing really. Work is work, the gym's the gym, and an aced exam is just another aced exam. But afterwards, there was an old friend, new conversation, live music and of course - beer.


We talked for a while in the bar's outdoor seating area before the band began to play. And the fact that I hadn't eaten a full meal since breakfast became quite evident when I was just a couple beers into the evening and my buzz was quickly becoming much more than I had originally intended. I was a bit embarrassed especially when I knew I had to order a couple waters for myself to even out. But I wasn't about to let myself get sloppy drunk either.


The music was loud, and I recognized one of the bands from the Wild Flower Cafe at the close of the Southside Film Festival. And the other act was ridiculous to say the least. The lead singer was constantly on the floor screaming, singing, whatever you wanna call it. Then he took off half of his clothes, thankfully it was just the top half. But the highlight of the evening's musical acts was a solo 3 song act by the lead singer of "Jazzam", a semi-local self-proclaimed jazz-soul act (holy hyphens Batman). The big man's got soul. This guy belted out Al Green, Marvin Gaye, and one of his own personal songs, I can only refer to it as awesomeness.


Right around one-thirty, we headed over to a place that sold pizza. It was a weird mix of a bar, a club, and a pizza joint. While the place sounds interesting, it really wasn't. The frat boy, dude on dude love was funny at best, and at it's worse it was a cavalcade of body odor and an abundance of cologne - not to mention several examples of Bethlehem's not so finest, over make-uped, faux tanned, bleach blond, Lehigh University broads. But they did have pizza and an unoccupied outdoor area with tables and chairs. She was hesitant at first when I asked her if she wanted a slice. But she fibs with a telling smile that's unmistakable. And even if she didn't, who the hell doesn't want pizza after a dozen or so beers? Which I by the way was thoroughly impressed with. She easily drank a couple more beers than me, and showed no signs of sloppiness.


We sat out on that lawn furniture laden patio for roughly two hours, talking about Spain, California, girls, boys, loves, and hates. We even discussed the very essence of pizza. She was a tall glass of lemonade on these warm Summer nights, a most welcome diversion from all that was the Lehigh Valley. I've said it before, and it still holds true, this town is a great place to miss.


I took the inside roads to take her home, as I've grown pretty aware of where the cops may be hiding. I was in no situation to afford a DUI, then again, who really ever is? I parked in front of her house and we said our goodbyes. With a hug, some curious smiles, and a promise to see each other again, she was off. I stayed for a few seconds to make sure she got in her house ok, and proceeded to get lost in her neighborhood. I do that quite often, getting lost I mean. Wonderful Miguel, it was just two damn turns from the main road, seriously I'm horrible with that stuff, and I'm even worse when I've got something on my mind.


I bet you're thinking, I read that whole blog and no sex? - not even a kiss? - not even an attempt? I'm not as bold as I used to be. And quite frankly rejection sucks, notice how they don't say it's better to have tried and be shut down, than to have never tried before. Besides, I was sober enough to realize that I may have been drunk enough to misconstrue something that wasn't. (Holy convoluted sentence structure Batman.)


Regardless, I had a fun time, although I may have suffered a slight hearing loss, I feel that good times are all about a little give and take. But the next day, after my nap...and the uber creepy dream, I came across a few words and a photo about San Francisco. The photo strangely enough was taken no more than two blocks from where I used to work. I guess it's not really that strange, I'm sure a lot of people travel through downtown. But a massive pang of anger, sadness, and regret hit all at once. Fuck I was so close, I could have made it. But all the drinking and the durgs...I was in no state of mind to succeed...frankly there is no excuse, I was simply too fucking weak to deal with shit. I could have gone to school out there, I could've made it work. Fuck everything else, I have no one to blame but me. Perhaps that's the root of my anger, my real inability to move on, or whatever whomever wants to call it. But fuck if I tried everything, I really didn't. I drowned every problem I had in equal parts beer, liquor, and drugs. I faked a sense of reasoning, I fucking gave up. Fuck it. I'm dealing with it. I'll always deal. I'm getting my shit together and I'm getting the fuck out - the right way, or at least a better way than I did before.

Temper, temper, temper + good photos

I've lost count of how many days I've gone without smoking. Which I guess is a good thing. Even when I drink, I don't really crave it anymore. Unless of course if I am drunker than your average drunk - then I'll most likely light one up. Thankfully that hasn't happened in a while. As an unwanted side-effect, I'm even a bigger asshole when I don't smoke - but only when something triggers it. Unfortunately, it doesn't take much. I'm working on it...


On other health related news, I've began a self imposed stretching regimen at night. I think it's mostly due to a recent leg workout, but I feel that I've lost a lot of flexibility. I walk like an old man with a bad hip and a hemorrhoid. Why a hemorrhoid? Well, my ass cheeks are tender. I know what I said...but it's true, they are tender, and it hurts when sit down.


Oh and I had my first exam in Physics today, it was pretty cake. I can't stand some of my classmates though. What I hate more than the moms that read ahead and talk to you like they're your own mom, are the high school kids that think they are special. I simply asked this one little bitch in my group (I fucking hate working in groups) if she got her lab done. And she says in a matter of fact kinda way, "ugh, I work, so no." I just put on my headphones and wished I had a cigarette - yes to smoke, and then put it out on her eye. As if no one else in the class, primarily filled with adults, work. Stupid fucking dumb cunt...*sigh...see what I mean about the temper? Normally I wouldn't have even cared, but nowadays I have this overwhelming inclination to just get angry and put out nonexistent cigarettes in someone's eye.


Ok, enough about all that stuff. It's almost over anyways, 5 more weeks. I love summer sessions. They are actually a lot easier. I mean 6 weeks and you're done - barely a blink in terms of academia. Plus, you're only studying for one exam at a time, and the professors (at least the ones I've had) are quite good at teaching so much in so little time. And don't think summer sessions cover less...no, they are required to cover the same amount in order to qualify for transfer/credits. I don't really know what the hubbub is about Physics. Other than the fact that I'm fighting a monstrous urge to fall asleep, it's a pretty easy class.


I also found a non-credit class brochure. One of the more note-worthy classes I stumbled upon was "Partner Massage". Obviously, a "partner" is key to the class - but I thought, wouldn't it be kinda funny if I signed up and showed up by myself? And while everyone is rubbing someone else, I'd just sit there, or maybe lay there, and rub oils all over myself - breaking every so often to say, "Oooo yea...that's nice." Hahaha - I might just do that, hell it's only 20 bucks per person. Anyone wanna come with?? If not, it's cool, I'm used to rubbing myself.


Now for internet shindigs - I found this web gallery, who's photographer won awards the "Village Voice's" 2006 Nightlife Photographer of the Year Award. And as the award implies, this man gets to party hard and gets paid to do it. Not to mention all the hot booty he shoots naked. Awesome. He is my hero. If I were that cool, and led a life so rad, I'd say fuck health. I'm drinking, smoking, and eating hotdogs until the sun came up. Then I'd fuck supermodels, while eating a hamburger. Then I'd stuff pizza into her mouth and make her eat it - and laugh as moments later she's puking in the toilet to maintain her figure. Hahahaha. That would rock so hard. Seriously, check his shit out. Ambrel Photography.


For equally as cool, but infinitely more innocent (though comparably as fun), George Lange's website - Lange Photography - contains a myriad of his work, notably a video flip-book with some of his more popular shoots, featuring some familiar famous faces. Check it out! Click here for the video: Lange Video.

Take care.

It always ends in...

As I took Bruiser to yet another "hospital" (read: mechanic), I felt a breeze that reminded me of 1990. I was seven and doing "bad things" was still just a hobby instead of a bad habit. It was one of those moments - the kind that causes me to talk to myself, the kind of moment that makes for an awkward silence when caught by someone else. Kind of like flatulence, except it generally doesn't smell, nor is there a feeling of relief, but the fear is strikingly similar to that of soiling myself...odd I know. I sense digression...


Why does it always lead to poop? I guess a lot of things in life end in poop, or at the very least a trip to the bathroom. I don't care if your meal was prepared by a world renowned chef using only the finest and freshest ingredients - it will still end in shit. If it doesn't end in shit, well you've got some other problems you should be looking into. Sadly, going number two is often the highlight of my day. In fact, I routinely fight the urge to shit in order to build up some excitement, pile on the intensity, you know squeeze every last drop of enjoyment out of it. I refer to this as my battle against nature. The ferocity of this frequently leads to copious amounts of sweat, shaking, and malodorous scents...I'm sorry, I fear I've let this topic string on for too long.


So back to 1990. What a year...I remember not wanting it to change. I don't think it had much to do with my life per se, but I thought that 1990 just sounded so nice. The numbers worked so well together - say it - nineteen ninety...see? Ok, maybe you don't feel the same way, but I did and I really didn't want it to change. I couldn't understand why it had to change. I figured, phonetically it was such a neat, as in clean, orderly, and simple, sounding year. There was really no need to change it. I finally got over it when I convinced myself that although 1991 didn't sound as nice, written, the year 1991 made for a nice palindrome. Tradeoffs I guess, much like growing up. Can't have your phonetics and plaindrome-s too...?


Man, being seven was weird. I remember wearing really ridiculous pants and obsessing about being cool. Don't lie, you wore them too - and if you were in your teens, it's even worse, at least I was just seven. (*note: that's what they are going to say about all the ridiculous looking hipsters and their skinny jeans, anorexic dudes, fat chicks, and ridiculous dude haircuts - girls it's ok to have fancy hair, dudes, it's not, well unless you're gay, then I guess the rules are different. Back to the pants...) My pants not only sported the most gaudy, neon ridden textile design, it also had a gartered waist, and as an added bonus, gartered ankles. Yup...I was stylin'. Why did they ever make gartered ankles? What's even worse is that they made them in larger sizes for adults...and wait, just when you thought it didn't get any worse, the adults actually wore them. Sure, I can understand certain lines of work that would benefit from gartered ankles, but for casual wear, no, there is no need for gartered ankles! None. Not one. Not a bit. Not any.


Perhaps you're thinking, I'm being a bit harsh on gartered ankles. After all they may prevent some unwanted objects from entering through the ankles...I guess. Or, they might prevent items from leaving through the ankles. The only thing that comes mind is poop. I guess they thought, hey, if you shit yourself, don't worry. It's staying in your pants, and if you're wearing loose undies, it'll keep your ankles warm. But really? Wouldn't you rather have the option to "shake-a-leg" and let it drop to the floor? I would. Well I guess we're back to poop. Hmm...*Sigh.


There was more to this blog...I think I was about ramble on about childhood memories, but then the whole poop thing presented itself as such a nice, neat and easy way to end this damn thing. So maybe next time?

I guess things come in waves...

Is it just me or is that chick from Harry Potter getting fucking hot?! How many more years? Really...how many more years until she's legal? Hot damn - I totally dig redheads. So anyways...I took Bruiser (my truck) into the shop today for his regularly scheduled oil change and guess what? It turns out that she's got some serious front brake problems that is going to cost me roughly +$1000.00. There goes pretty much any money and a social life for the next couple of months. =(
As you can imagine I'm a little bummed about that. But otherwise I had a pretty enjoyable weekend. Barbecues a plenty...and jello shots...and...well...ya know me and jello shots...

Well, that's about the best part of my week- after that it all went pretty much downhill on Monday. As I mentioned before, Bruiser is in the shop, my two photos on Flickr's Explore were booted off, and I am incredibly sore. It's been roughly two weeks since I last lifted - and my god my boobies really hurt...and my arms, and my back...soon my shoulders, my abs and my legs too! Yay! =(

Oh, and Physics 101 just started. The professor's pretty laid back, and he's got a fair sense of humor. I have to say, I've been incredibly lucky with my professors at NCC. But...these math-centric courses run rather slim on the eye-candy. I mean sure the math interests me on some level, but we all know what keeps me awake in class. Yes...hot booty. Nothing but the hot hot booty. No I'm kidding - I do have goals, primarily a good paying job, money, and owning several homes in various parts of the country and the world...hahaha no, it's the hot hot booty. Well yes, those other goals do exist but I could get A's without being awake, the hot hot booty on the other hand makes keeping my eyes open worth it, and provides me with the facade of "participation".

I also watched American Beauty again, in what must've been 2 or 3 years. Every time I watch it, I can't wait until I have the shitty life Kevin Spacey does - and then say, fuck it - quit my job, flip burgers, abuse drugs, and basically be an all around rockin' and a rollin'...dude. I particularly liked the part where he quits his job and his letter reads..."and at least once a day I sneak off to the bathroom to jerk off and fantasize about a life that doesn't so closely resemble hell." Well maybe I didn't get it word for word, but you get the gist.

And what would my blog be without a "check this ridiculous shit I found on the internet!" segment? FACEBALL!. Press play and love it. Dude, I'm so pumped. I don't really know what it's all about, except that people get hit in the face with balls...then I had a debate with..myself...about which would be better - faceball's concept or...people getting hit in the balls with faces?! A little switcharoo. A teeny flip flop...an insy - ok you get it, I know. I'm kind of diggin' the whole "preview" genre of videography. I'm planning on several things on that front actually. The next episode is getting worked out in my head, along with a possible video blog. The latter would seem really odd, I'd have to find a way to make it good...without resorting to masturbation...eh. Difficult, I know.
Anyways, I'm beat, and I'm sure so are you. Rock 'n Roll.