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(no subject) [Oct. 31st, 2005|06:11 pm]
I was walking through the TV room, and Fox News was on. They were interviewing John McCain about the new, post-Miers judicial nominee (whose name escapes me and I'm too lazy to go look it up). The host kept saying stuff like, "He [the nomiee]'s got a good record, aren't they opposing him just for political reasons?" and what-not. McCain just kept answering, "I'm not going to question their [the Dems] motives. That's how I feel, but I have respect for my colleagues' opinions." Etc. etc. It was very funny. Just thought the whole world would like to know.
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I fell in to a burning ring of fire... [Oct. 4th, 2005|05:22 pm]
Well, as if witnessing the carnage and blaze'd destruction up Bell Canyon in general and the Herman Estate in particular wasn't enough, today I went for a walk up MaDa Valley. I didn't even think about any fire damage up there, but having witnessed it, it seems like a no-brainer. Now, I'm pretty familiar with MaDa Valley, having spent many dozens of hours up in those trails under various chemical influences, so I've got a "back of my hand" knowledge of what's what. And I tell ya, aside from a few token spots - I am happy to report that the Gypsy Camp is unscathed - the place looks alien. The field with the abandoned car is gone. Flattened. A few plant stems stick up here and there, but for the most part, it's a uniform carpet of blackened soot. Several spots had trees that fell across the pathway, requiring some dexterity to traverse.

But just seeing patches of white ash, still blowing in the now-heavy winds of this early October afternoon, sent a chill up my spine. It looks like Smaug came down from his mountain and wrecked destruction. Magma Golems must have stamped through the region, which is the only explanation I can come up with to deduce the scattered patches of havoc. Seeing what was essentially my playground for a couple years rendered thus is quite astounding.

Groves of trees were turned into writhing skeletons, bushes into piles of blah, cracks in the dirt and trampled brush where firefighters had to bring their equipment in. And standing as a stark dichotomy to all this madness was the northern mountain face, Castle Peak and its resultant chain, untouched completely, standing like an invincible witness to the carnage that went on below.

Frankly, I blame cigarette smokers.
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Where [Sep. 27th, 2005|02:55 pm]
South on Sepulveda, for a long long time. Made a detour onto Palos Verdes drive. Dicked around a bit, lost in the dark, high beams worked wonders. Drugs barely kicking in. Charles is restless, but when isn't he? We find a turn-off, sit for a few minutes and take some pictures. Back on the road. Devour a few more of the blasted things.

We stumble upon dragons. An entire land full of them, far to the South. As far as the eye can see is a tragic wasteland belching smoke and flame, spawning wing'd terrors to invade and slay. We press forward, risking our lives. We cross the grand bridge.

San Pedro. Streets have peoples' first names. Uncreative, except for us. We sing, and drive, and drive, and sing. Lost. Winding road. Glimpses of some city-esque land.

Cirlces. Ever circles. Back in Palos Verdes. Onto Vermont Avenue, North. Ever North. Inadvertently North (thought I was going more East). Back in LA. Blasted buildings. Pathetic urban landscape.


Past the labrynth. Free. Suddenly, it's all gone. Empty. Our hearts and bellies rejoice. Stars painful. The moon smiles. Chino Hills. Almost drive into a State Penitentiary. "Mows his lawn on John..." More circles. Back at the Pen. ".. Beats his slave on Dave."

I go the other way for a change.

Back around, longways. Unfortunately-ways. Think I spot the desert, and freedom. Snatched away. Pulled back towards the Universe. This place didn't look as cool close-up as it did from the sidewalk.

Freeway back home. Kinda guess our way back. The 71 to the 60 to the 101, I think? Traffic. These fools should all swallow their arsenic pills, if they even know what it is. Charles is out like a light. My attorney and I: Hangin' in there.

Ditch Charles. Get cheap fattening food. Claw our way the last few steps. Sun's out. Colors are too weird at 8:15 AM. Haul carcass up stairs, into bed.

Log onto Myspace. Hang head in shame.

Write deliriously.

Pass out deliciously.
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When a Hurricane is not just a Hurricane. [Sep. 2nd, 2005|12:02 pm]
Okay, I haven't posted in a while. I took something huge to get me going again. And this is it... Bush says results of hurricane response 'not acceptable'. Now say what you will about the guy's responsiveness to this disaster, but one thing in the article cheesed my hide like nothing else:

"Amid the lowest approval ratings of his presidency, Bush has other problems besides the hurricane: Gasoline prices have soared past $3 a gallon in some places, and support is ebbing for the war in Iraq."

Fuck you, CNN. Fuck your agenda-pushing issue-blindness. Fuck you and your notion that high gas prices are somehow cogent to a story like this. Fuck everyone that saw Katrina coming and practically splooged all over their keyboard at the notion of having something else to "Bash Bush" with. You people are sick and should be beaten with oars and dead rodents. That is all.
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Hoops! [Jun. 29th, 2005|04:58 pm]
I haven't updated in a while. Some things have happened. This is an undeniable fact. In all likelihood, they were relatively uneventful, at least in the cosmic sense.

Today: Annoyance. Argh. I woke up all early and responsible. Picked up Chris. Got to work. Realized I forgot my social security card and my high school diploma, which HR needs to process my final shit. So I drive home and start tearing up the house looking for 'em. Takes a few hours, since "places where important shit is stored" have been shuffled all over the house in the past few months. Finally find the SS card in a filing cabinet under some boxes. Can't find the certificate... might hafta get a duplicate.

Get back to work, frustrated and annoyed. Have words with Laura; they take the card, I tell 'em I'll bring in the diploma tomorrow or Friday. I might even do it, too. I then have to call the drug test place and schedule another samplin'... but I need the phone number. Which Laura E-mailed to me. So I have to set up my computer's account so I can log on and set up my E-mail account so I can log on and check the E-mail so I can call the place. Phew. I get stuck at "set up my E-mail account", so I surrenders, walk over to Laura, and ask for the number. Like, with my voice. The thing that's imbedded in my jaw and throat? That thing.

So I call the place, get put on hold for about twenty minutes. It's not often I'm put on hold, so I relished the experience for all it was worth. I finally spoke with a human again, only to be told that the doctor was out. So I call up Irma and tell her the doctor was out. So I'm to call again tomorrow morning, THEN call Irma AGAIN when all is said and done, and tell her what was said and done.

Hey, Chris, wanna take a break?
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Dammit! [Jun. 18th, 2005|02:22 am]
Well, I failed. My buddy is marching to his doom tomorrow, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Well, there was, but nothing legal or ethical. In fact, all the available options were downright monstrous. Not that I'm necessarily concerned about being a monstrosity, m'self, but I certainly adhere to a strict code of lazy, and monstrosities and lazy oft don't mix. And I know I need more excercise, but still...

Anyway. Slott Dachine, it was good to know you. After tomorrow, you'll forever be known as Mister Denise Benton...
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(no subject) [Jun. 15th, 2005|03:46 pm]
I know I'm always harping on and on about stem cells, man, stem cells. Well, I ain't just blowing smoke (well, sometimes I am, but I'm abstaining for the next week or so). But no... scientists now know how to turn stem cells into brain cells from start to finish. We're looking at the cure for alzheimers, parkinson's, and just general unstable psychotic looniness that at least one person we know is afflicted with. To me, someone that got to witness first-hand the results of insanity, this is a hell of a step.

Thirty, forty, fifty years from now, there won't be any more "excercise"... you just drive thru McStemcell's and get a few injections in your pecs, biceps, quads, etc. and suddenly you're a Mr. Universe contestant. Don't wanna go bald? Stem cells to your scalp. Want bigger tits? Bigger dick? Bigger fingers? New liver? Extra liver? Stem cells, man. Stem cells.

Lose your arm in an automobile accident? Call Larry H. Stemcell, they'll grow you a new one lickety-split. Lost your nuts to testicular cancer? Hell, you can have 'em back with an extra pair for good measure. Going blind? Grow new eyes! Soon, there'll be no reason you have to die, as long as your brain is intact. We're on the verge of having to redefine our entire existences... no more start-stop cycle bullshit, but a continuous, never-ending voyage... to eternity.

Now if only they can find some way for stem cells to make you lose weight, and I'll be set.
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The last episode of the season... [Jun. 14th, 2005|05:39 pm]
As we are approaching the season finale of The Shield... excuse me a second...


... I must reflect, I suppose, on how much stuff has happened this season, and touch on the interesting phenomenon that is this amazing show.

Look at how many stories have been written about The Shield simply from our own speculation. At the beginning of the season, we had theories that Glenn Close was crooked, that Shane and Vic would have a grand, to-the-death showdown at the end of the season, that Shane would kill Antwon Mitchell (which still might happen... nah, probably not), that Shane would kill Vic, that Vic would kill Shane, that Dutch would kill Shane, that Dutch would somehow find out about the money train, that Armadillo Quintero would rise from the grave and come for revenge, that Vic would find a gateway to another galaxy and steal a Star Destroyer and conquer the solar system, that Aceveda would kill Vic, that Glenn Close would kill Vic, that Julien would kill Antwon...

In short, we've gone all over the map. This show has kept our fevered little brains hopping and guessing like obedient little bunnies just aching for a fix of the old ultra-violence, eh, my droogs? Every second of the show is like seeing all the best high-tension thriller movies back-to-back in fast-forward with all but the bare essential talking bits thrown in. Our brains become so over-stimulated that the sheer BULK and QUALITY of the material needs to be shunted over into quantum alternate universes, where other episodes have been made that do, indeed, follow the crazed storylines that we predict. It's not so much that our guesses are wrong... no no, far from it... just that there is, indeed, some parallel dimension where Dutch said the right thing and is still boning Corinne, or where Claudette actually became Captain and screwed things up in a royal way.

Unfortunately for us, we don't get to enjoy these alternate realities... no, we're stuck in this one, where Army screwed the boys over, where Shane came to his senses and asked for help, where Aceveda screwed over the entire investigation just to keep his shame a secret... this is the world we live in... but we can still rest easy knowing that, somewhere in this crazy, mixed-up, godless universe of ours, somewhere in the multiversal cosmos, those other stories, those "might-have-beens", if you will... where THOSE stories were aired, and had their own conclusion, instead.

The Shield. Good fuck, The Shield.
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(no subject) [Jun. 13th, 2005|04:17 pm]
"Guitarist David Gilmour, drummer Nick Mason and keyboard player Richard Wright will be on stage with bassist Roger Waters for their first public performance since they played at London's Earls Court in 1981."

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Snagged dis from Andrea... [Jun. 12th, 2005|01:14 pm]
You scored 49 Mass, 17 Electronegativity, 68 Metal, and 10 Radioactivity!

Yttrium? Yttrium??? You're messing with me, right? That's not a real
element. Really? If you say so. Okay... how about: You are really a
solitary creature, and you're somewhat set in your ways. You work,
consciously or subconsciously, towards the betterment of society, but I
guess you do this by befriending it's strangest elements. You're kind
of a spaceman/woman, but in the end you're allright. You should try to
be with the benign weirdos of the world because, by goodness, no one
else will. Oh, it says here that you are abundant on the moon.
Interpret as you will.

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:
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You scored higher than 79% on Mass
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You scored higher than 6% on Electroneg
free online datingfree online dating
You scored higher than 84% on Metal
free online datingfree online dating
You scored higher than 40% on Radioactivity
Link: The Which Chemical Element Am I Test written by effataigus on Ok Cupid

So I'm weird, fat, conduct electricity and heat, and am slightly radioactive. And not very electronegative.

I wish I knew how to apply this new knowledge towards my betterment, but oh well.
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