Thick As Thieves

Couple Things On My Mind...

2011-08-19T04:26:00.000-07:00

Wake Up, Martial Arts In America

The Martial Arts are coming of age in America, and with them are some ingrained, reflexive habits wearing the guise of "tradition" that are better done away with. To the casual observer, there is an interesting dichotomy in the varying levels of respect in the martial arts among students, masters and the average man (or woman). Behavior and inference we accept in the martial arts world would be held in the lowest regard in any other aspect of normal life.

For instance; I was standing in line to get some coffee this morning from a sidewalk vendor, and another man bumped into me as he turned around.

"Pardon me" he said, "I didn't realize you were there"

"It's no problem" I replied "No harm done"

What I found to be amazing about this is that the gentleman didn't threaten me, insult my system, say distasteful things about people I knew or try to have his children attack me. Nor did I. We just smiled, got our coffee, and went about our merry way. I don't even think he knew any martial arts.

As I look around the world of martial arts, I see that there are some people who simply don't get enough coffee. Or maybe they get too much.

Some people have to proclaim themselves to be the king of the hill, and this syndrome has only exacerbated as the years have gone by. Some must have the loudest voice, no matter how much - or how little - they really know. They constantly make fools of themselves with the continuous slander of people they have never met, ongoing accusations and rumor mongering to paint themselves in a better light, or repetitious postings that do nothing more than re-arrange the exact same words over and over. This must stop, if we (as martial artists) are to go any further. Only in the martial arts is this kind of nonsense tolerated. In any other case, people would be fired, dismissed, court-martialed or DISCIPLINED. But because it comes from a "World respected (really?) teacher" everyone assumes that it must be accepted behavior.

I was once told that you don't need a mouth to do Martial Arts. One has but to look around on ANY discussion board and see that this is probably for the better. One rotten apple,as they say, spoils the bunch. An untrained, ordinary man on the street can accomplish what a well known martial arts instructor cannot, and probably has no hope of ever achieving: HUMILITY.

My Philosophy

While I'm on the subject...I don't believe in shortcuts in the Martial Arts. Either put in the work, or get the fuck out of my way. None of my students have ever heard me say "That's enough, you don't need to do anymore. You can stop there. You have all you need."

Doing a thing with minimal effort often produces substandard results, and I see evidence of this everywhere; Cooking, education, I.T., and especially martial arts. I don't believe you can streamline your training to avoid "time in grade" work on the floor, and even if it were possible, I would reject such training out of hand. I don't honestly believe anyone really "masters" a thing at all, but you have to take various levels of competence to new heights. You must ask yourself; "What level of incompetence am I willing to settle for"?

The only way to learn how to fight - is to fight. Anything less, and you are wasting your time.

Farewell, Eureka

It's official. After years of faithful support, subscription and belief that something good was on the horizon - I have once again been left to my own devices. The Sci-Fi channel (which the bottom-feeders have deigned to rename) has decided to cancel "Eureka". Probably the second-best show on television today. Certianly the best show on the Sci-Fi channel.

You know...I remember when the Sci Fi channel first came out, there was all kinds of good shit on it; MST3K (the new episodes), Painkiller Jane (the original one) The Invisible Man (AWESOME SHOW!!) Frank Herbert's "Dune", The Secret Adventures of Jules Verne and a dozen others. You could catch some serious B-Grade Sci Fi movies on late night, and they always had a showcase for new entries into the bizarre, the mysterious and even the frickin' hilarious (Tripping the Rift debuted here).

In the early part of the millennium, the channel went through what I like to call the "Stargate Phase". Stargate SG-1 was showing several hours of the day, and Farscape seemed to take up the rest of it. There were some gems, of course..."Children of Dune" came out around this time, and gave me hope for the future of the channel I had grown to love. You could catch reruns of "The Night Stalker", or the new "Battlestar Galactica", or check out "Friday the 13th - The Series" before watching a Twilight Zone episode. It was everything a channel with the words "SCI-FI" in it was supposed to be.

Alas, those the Gods wish to destroy, they first make angry (Or proud, depending on which translation you read). First came the programming directly from some producers' ass: The remake of Flash Gordon, Scare Tactics (Shannon Doherty was REALLY hard up for work) and my all-time favorite: "Being Human". (Except, it was an American remake. Which sucked HUGE balls.) Anime Mondays wasn't great, and they seemed to be employing people from other networks (Why the fucking shit was Law and Order shown on Sci-Fi?!??)

WWF wrestling on late night programming. As if that wasn't travesty enough, they lined up a cooking show (WTF?!?!?) for the early-morning crowd. And all those poltergeist - ghostbusters - talk-to-your-dead-relatives shows...a doom herald if ever there was one.

And then they changed the name:

Like Jesus...I am weeping. I'm sorry. I really am. But it will be a cold fucking day in southern India AND Hell before I call this genre that I love so much THAT. Lord, but that name reads like a disease you catch between your toes. This from Wikipedia: "Syfy, in several languages, does not suggest imagination or science fiction so much as the syphilitic^"

A quick look at future programming reads like an MTV lineup after they introduced "The Real World"; Ten "Reality TV" shows, and three original pilots planned.

Ten Reality TV shows.

On Sci Fi.

Fucking TEN.

That's ten more than needed, or I can tolerate.

So, after an 18 year love-affair with this network...Farewell. Perhaps someday, the network execs will wake up and realize why this channel was so popular when it came out, and like MTV, has lost the glossy coating and mass-appeal it once had.

...Then again, this is Hollywood we're talking about. Might as well be Mars, for all the sense they make.

On the other hand...Maybe it's time?

Hey Ya!

2011-08-15T08:12:00.000-07:00

When The World Is On Your Shoulders, You Gotta Straighten Up Your Act And Boogie Down

-Michael Jackson

Well, as some of you might have heard, the wait is over: I finally have scraped enough together to get my spinal surgery. I have to say, after the past three and a half years of disappointments, outright lies, insincere medical advice and outright quacks, I've almost talked myself OUT of getting it. But it's going to happen now, and we're working out hotel accommodations and medical transportation this week. After that, it's a small wait for the flight out - about two months - and this boy's back in India for the first time in 18 years. Only I won't be going to meet brown women.

Here is a funny thing - Once I actually had the cash in my hands, I began a training regimen to get myself in the best shape I could for surgery. This isn't easy when you're actually in pain from a disc herniation, and any exercise at all could send you into a back spasm. I do a two-mile circuit around my house in the afternoon, a bit of yoga afterwards and as much flow work as I can.

Oh, and I stopped drinking. It won't be altogether, mind you, I love Chimay FAR too much for that...But the heavy consumption is off completely, and I'm not putting anything down my gullet alcoholic until after my surgery. I'd hate to get on the operating table and they have to give me near coma-inducing levels of anesthetic in order to knock me out. I thought it might be harder than it was, after three years of practically bathing in Gin and Rum...but I'm currently two months off the bottle without so much as a glance backwards. This costs me heavily in pain tolerance, but being able to see the light at the end of the tunnel makes all the difference in the world. You'd be surprised what you can suck up and bear when you know there's going to be a break in the clouds sooner or later.

Once I stopped the full-scale assault on my liver & managed to get within shouting distance of my right mind, a friggin' billion things started bubbling out, almost too fast to commit to paper. I feel like I've re-committed to being a writer, not just a blogger with a smart-assed remark for everything. I find myself interjecting into Joel's classes more, making tiny corrections to his already excellent instruction, and putting myself back into the captain's chair. Something else that occurs to me is my school; Simply put, I'm more than a little apprehensive about teaching again. I look over the past 11 years the school has been open, and I see so much wasted time and effort, with very little payoff in finished students. Also, there are a few people I want to go train with & dedicate some time as a student again, without the burden of command on my back. It's a tough call, but if I do decide to continue the Edmonds Martial Arts Academy, I'll definitely have to change the way I do business in the future. (Maybe just stop traveling there and instead teach in the present. Hah! *SNORT!*)

It's RAWR!

The new Hells' Kitchen is underway, and I have to admit I'm fucking addicted to this show. I really empathize with Gordon Ramsay, he wants perfection and is willing to skewer small children and roast them with a light vinaigrette to get it. What he lacks in tact, he also lacks in volume control, but what he doesn't lack is talent. I've watched his videos for years now - Kitchen Nightmares is my all-time favorite - and the man knows how to boil an egg. It's funny to watch him go on a rampage and throw food in the kitchen and scream "It's RAWR!" at contestants, but it's also pretty amazing to see them grow into good chefs...some of them, at least.

But why does he always look like he has to pee really bad? The dude's always twitching about nervously when he's talking on camera. Fucking makes ME want to go to the bathroom, just out of sympathy.

Internal Martial Arts

Gaah, I've tried so hard to hold off on this post. But the trend seems to be pointing towards it, and the latest troll infestation on other sites usually goes something like "Bobbe didn't learn the INTERNAL aspects of (Pa Kua, Pencak Silat, Whatever) so he can't possibly know what he's talking about."

Internal Art practitioners have, for years, thumbed their noses at that helpless sap; The American Martial Artist. Even the American practitioners. They have this strange get-out-of-explaining-yourself card they play whenever one of them eats a punch or something. Someone recently threw a video up of a supposed "Ki Master" taking a full-on shot to the nads, and the guy doesn't flinch. Just stands there, takes the shot, looks like he's bored. Take a look on the link below:

KICK TO THE NADS

Now, I'll be the first to admit - this appears pretty impressive. The ability to absorb an impact to the family jewels without suffering pain? That's a skill to have!

...Or is it?

I know, they give a pretty good explanation (so-called) of how he was able to do this, but...I smell a rat. Sorry, but I do. And as a man who is currently facing spinal surgery for training in the "Old Style Hard Ways" without any apparent problems for almost 15 years, I have a few questions here: What are the long-term affects of such training? Does this man have actual functioning gonads? Has he lost any sensitivity in the groin? Is he able to maintain an erection, produce sperm, pee without pain?

This kind of thing seems to be an EXCEPTION, not a RULE. I have to question if this is a skill you can carry with you into older age, or if we're looking at a freak of nature. I also have to wonder if this kind of thing requires "special circumstances" to work under. Harry Houdinin could withstand a full-on punch to the stomach, and proved it for years...Until a freak sucker punch ruptured his appendix and he died.

And that business about "Breath Control", and "Controlling the flow of oxygen in your blood"...WHAT HORSESHIT!

Something that the majority of Chi-Gung and Nei Gung charlatans hope and pray is that nobody has taken basic biology in high school.

Something that the gullible kool-aid drinkers in martial arts often forget (or “choose not to remember”) is that they actually DID.

Let’s have a little general knowledge test, shall we?

Inside the red blood cells, the iron has a great affinity for oxygen. It moves by passive diffusion from the alveoli in the lungs into the bloodstream where it binds to the iron groups in the hemoglobin in the red blood cells.

In a nutshell, oxygen enables the cells of the body to release the energy stored as high-energy chemical bonds in our food, and enables them to use that energy to do what cells do: namely, to keep us alive, heart beating, brain thinking, and kidneys turning our Chimays, Martinis and Diet Cokes into unplanned pit stops. Virtually every cell in the body needs oxygen in order to perform its part in the complex symphony of skills and judgment that enables us to drive a car, fly an airplane or perform cunnilingus. Or fellatio. Whatever floats your boat.

Many cells in the body can function for a short time using anaerobic metabolism, or metabolism without oxygen. Alas, the brain and heart, while skilled at many things, are notoriously poor anaerobic performers. Four or five minutes with no oxygen and the brain and heart throw in the towel. This is what happens when, for instance, a person suffers a cardiac arrest and is not resuscitated quickly. There is no flow of oxygen-carrying blood to the brain and other vital organs when the heart is not beating, so they are damaged irreversibly in a very short time.

My point here is that oxygen binds to the iron in our blood and is carried by the BLOODSTREAM to the brain. And since you cannot control said bloodstream…Exactly HOW were you planning on controlling your breath once you've breathed it in? I love hearing terms such as “Iron Shirt Chi Gung”, or “punch, eye tearing, twin dragon hitting the anatomical regions to destroy the muscle anatomical points”. The minute someone uses a phrase like “twin dragons” doing anything other than existing on a Chinese painting, I always throw up a little in my mouth. It’s the opening of the door to some of the most vomitous oogah-boogah hypnotism to be found in the martial arts. “Twin Dragons” indeed…What, did you have a couple of Komodo dragons surgically grafted onto your hands? Oh, you were using that as a euphemism for fists? Well, why not just say FISTS and be done with it?

Oh, that’s right – You wouldn’t look nearly as wise of knowledgeable then, and your students might get dangerously close to actually thinking for themselves. Can’t let that happen. Chaos would reign!

Okay, okay...I'm done bitching for the week. See you guys in a few days.

Piracy on the high seas of the Internet

2011-05-02T05:27:00.000-07:00

You don't tug on Supermans' cape...Or Steve Perrys' residuals.

Steve Perry posted a very good article on literary piracy HERE. You should read it, like many of his thoughts on the free-use/abuse of internet piracy and realtime cause and effect, it resonates.

I've been holding back about writing this article for quite a while now for several reasons, the top three being:

1: Not everything on my computer is 100% legal. The porn is, sure, but...I might be found guilty of some form of piracy or another, if you dig through my games collection. Or my music.

2: I'm an author. Maybe not Stephen King - or even Steven Perry - but I AM a working professional, and both my literary and video work has been pirated online.

3: I have some experience with one of the earliest forms of literary piracy. And pulled a sizable paycheck for it as well.

I moved out to Seattle in the late 90's, when the internet dot com business was in full swing. Money was being thrown about like a dwarf trapped in a spin cycle, and the most RIDICULOUS ideas were getting funding to the tune of 300 to 700 million. Yeah, you heard me right. Websites most of you have probably never even heard of, let alone seen, have been funded with enough liquid cash to buy Bolivia. Twice.

Anyone out there remember Kozmo.com? I didn't think so. They did what Ebay now owns, combined with Domino's Pizza...but forgot to charge for it.

Okay, howzabout Ontain.com? No? Well, if you've ever used a Subway express card - or a Starbucks gift card - you can thank both me and the dot-bomb formerly known as ONTAIN. Unfortunately, you couldn't thank our development team for creating the electronic version of Frankensteins' creation. Over 500 million went down on that Titanic, and I never even got a severance check.

But the worst...the absolute WORST...was a little ebook download site called "Contentville.com".

True story:

The first job I got working as a network admin when I moved to this drippy, hippy Disneyland, was for contentville.com. Contentville carried an unbelievable backlog smorgasbord of digital literary works that had been painfully scanned in page-by-page by some intern making $5.25 per hour. They advertised onsite to download anything literary at half the price; Term papers, speeches, books, you name it. They became (supposedly unwittingly) the Napster of print.

Here's how it worked: Users logged on and typed whatever literary works they were looking for in the search box. The site would return a list of matching documents that, for a fee, could be downloaded. To get the word out, these fuckwaffles spent over 50 MILLION in advertising.

I did lots of outsourcing to other dot coms as well, back in those days. Clients loved me, users loved me, and we were charging SO MUCH FUCKING MONEY it was unreal. I remember my manager telling me a cost estimate was too low, and to "stick another zero on it". Voila', just like that $2000.00 became $20,000.00. Then $40,000. Then $100,000.00. I once charged 1 million dollars to a client for about 4 month's worth of work of 3 guys.

Thing is, I was making only around $55,000.00 per year at that time, so where all that residual money went to, I don't know. It certainly didn't go into my pockets, and our investors never saw a goddam dime. Which made me feel rather taken advantage of. I mean, when you are living alone in Seattle and eating Ramen noodles from your only pot and washing it down with diet Tab because you can't afford anything else...You start to question the powers that be.

And that leads me to one of the greatest screw-fests I have ever been involved in...And believe me, I've seen a few. When I was first hired by contentville, I wanted stock options. Why? To this very day, I have no clue. I only knew that everyone else was getting them, they paid off (supposedly) for your retirement in the future, and then-fledgling Amazon.Com was offering them like crazy. I wanted in on the action. Response from management was "You will receive stock options after one years' employment with this company."

Thats clear enough, right? So I waited patiently, kept my nose clean and worked my ass off pulling 75 + hour shifts to show my dedication. As my 11th month of employment rolled around, I approached my manager and stated that I'd like to get the ball rolling on those stock options.

"What stock options?" he asked.

"Uhhh...The ones you promised me I would receive after one year when I signed on to this job." I replied.

"Well, you're not getting them yet." That fuckroast had the nerve to say.

"But you promised."

"No I didn't".

"Yes, you fucking DID!"

"What I stated was that you would get them after one year of employment...that could mean one year, two years, ten years..."

Can you believe that bullshit? Sadly, this was the typical attitude I had to deal with back in those days. However, before I could tell my boss what to suck and how long to keep at it, something intervened that was practically a left-handed gift from the Gods; The authors and scholars began to discover their works were for sale online...Without their knowledge or permission. And that, my friends, pissed off authors.

Also, some of the content on the site could be obtained for free from originating sites. For example, Village Voice articles. These articles were available for pay on Contentville.com, or for free on villagevoice.com.

And THAT pissed off the paying customers. Over half of whom immediately dropped us upon hearing the news.

As the lynch mob began to gather in the lobby downstairs, the company tried to patch things up...removed articles like those from Village Voice, attempted to funnel royalties to authors for purchased work...and oh yeah, got on both knees and begged me to stay and help fix the problem.

I told them where to stick it, and walked out within the hour. Maybe that had an influence on things, maybe not, but in October 2001 Contentville.com closed its' doors forever.

I've long since turned in my parrot, but I still have the eye patch...And I will. forever remember those heady days in 1998 when network admins ruled the world, suckers paid for shit they didn't need online, and nobody knew how the hell to make a buck from the internet.

Sawney Bean Is Coming To Dinner

2011-04-17T05:52:00.000-07:00

Or alternatively: "How I learned to stop worrying and love stomach cancer".

Remember those goofy Capps bubble gum stickers from the 70's? I used to love those things, I thought they were hilarious. I had no idea they were also doomsday prophecies as well.

The food industry is spinning wildly out of control, like a dreidel caught in a blender set to "frappe" whilst being sucked into a black hole...and for once, that's not one of my over-the-top exasperating uses of hyperbole.

25 years ago I had no problem eating meat. I'm a natural-born carnivore, from a long line of proud hunter-gatherers who liked their steak rare and bloody and sucked the marrow from the bone with a satisfying "Snnnerrrkkk!" They would cover themselves in bacon fat (for soft, supple skin) and dance naked in the moonlight 'round a roasting pig on a spit, before engaging in wild sexual acts whilst coated in A-1. I remember when I was just a wee lad, barely old enough to be allowed at the adults table, but listening to the stories and laughter as the grownups spoke with haughty indignation at the thought of the vegetarian, tree-hugging Earth-buddies who would roam the airports in the days before Homeland Security, chanting "Meat is murder...Don't eat things with faces...You are what you eat, moo, moo!" I remember the joys we all felt on Sunday after church, running down some patchouli-scented flower-sucker with our gas-guzzling Chrysler LeBehemoth, before heading home to a Sunday lunch of fried chicken, roast beast and about 32 Lbs of pork in various cuts accenting the table like decorative angles' wings. We scoffed at heart attacks, and diabetes had yet to be invented.

Personally, I like my steaks to arrive at my table with a 50-50 chance of pulling through. I want them so rare and bloody, I can actually taste the death. I want to experience the last few seconds of this poor bovines' life replayed for me as I sink my fangs into its' soft, inviting flesh. If it was hit by a car, I want to be able to identify make, model, and possibly the paint job of the car what done the deed.

Like Leo Sayer sang in All By Myself, "Those days are gone."

Nowadays, shopping in a supermarket without a butcher station is like Russian roulette. I get angry every time I go to the meat aisle. Everything has high fructose corn syrup, fillers, and colors that are obviously fake. The thought goes through my head more often than ever now; "Will I get sick today or be ok?" The meat used to be hay and grass fed with very few hormones. Now it taste different and my body doesn't have a good reaction to it half the time. It doesn't matter where I get whether it is a supermarket, fast food place (to which I rarely go), or fine dining. The selection is dropping fast. Nothing but garbage.

How many of you out there know what meat glue is? I just discovered it, and I shudder to think about how often I may have ingested it without knowing. For those of you wondering what I'm talking about, check out this little gem:

MEAT GLUE!

B-B-B-B-But wait, it gets worse!!

How many of you out there in Bloggerland know about meat that's treated with CARBON-MONOXIDE to keep it red and "fresh looking"? Hold on to your butts, kiddies, the Curry Thief isn't done with you yet!

GASSED MEAT!

Okay...I'm ready to vomit now.

My new habit is to shop at supermarkets that have an in-house butcher shop, and investigate where the hell places like Sams' Club get their frozen chicken from. Call me paranoid, that's fine...I'll be laughing from the outside of the bathroom door.

Ca-Ree-PEE!

2011-04-06T17:16:00.000-07:00

The Pierley/Redford Dissociative Affect Diagnostic

Though quiet on the outside, you are often the hidden hero; someone who rushes in when needed and then after the emergency is over fades back into the woodwork. Because of this sense of duty and honor, you can also on occasion be rigid in your viewpoint and unyielding in the face of other ways of thinking. Usually cynical and rarely trusting of others, you maintain a small set of intimate friends. These bonds are stronger than most. You are always grounded in the present moment. Your close bonds can also lead to clique-ishness and a tendency to gossip about those who are deemed less worthy. You are an integrative thinker, collecting data from a wide range of sources and applying it to your worldview. You can become overly task-oriented. In stressful situations you often withdraw from the world to seek peace in contemplation. You often seem cold and withdrawn. Often you will withdraw rather than verbalize your discontent.

(Hear that? Hidden Hero! Suck it, losers!)

TAKE THE TEST!!

Funny How This Happens

2011-04-06T01:59:00.000-07:00

For some reason, Netflix has all the "watch it now" movies that remind me of bad times and stupid things I did in my past. "Poltergeist" - That was the year I was dumped into an orphanage. "True Lies" - got arrested for something a friend did, and took the rap for him (we never spoke again). "No Escape" starring Ray Liotta - saw that the year that I had an affair with a friend's wife, which (of course) ended badly for everyone. Because I was such a movie fanatic when I was younger, usually whatever movies were popular at the time recall different memories in my head.

SIGH

I want better memories.

Do You Know The Way to San Serif?

2011-04-05T01:38:00.000-07:00

I Know How The Guy in the Suit Feels

I got some writing advice from Steve Perry last week - and I have to say, I HATE it when I think I know what I'm doing, but don't have a clue. It's enlightening, yes, but also discouraging...You think you know where you're going, only to find yourself parked next to the pyramid of Cheops in the valley of the kings, wondering how the hell you ended up here when you were trying to make it to the Lutheran church for the BBQ?

Seriously, it's just like that sometimes. Steve even wrote a book about it, that you can find HERE. I highly recommend it, as I seem to be playing out each chapter in the most painful method possible. This is especially embarrassing when you consider I took his goddam CLASS, as well as several pages of notes and several years of advice and guidance.

Oh well, back to the drawing board...

My Latest Student

2011-04-04T19:42:00.000-07:00

I don't normally accept beginners, and I NEVER teach children, but...This is an exception. Joels' firstborn son, Nikolai Regis-Rosales, holds great promise for the future. Also, he's my godson, so I get to pass on my art, in a sense, within the family.

Best Blowjob Evah!

2011-03-31T12:23:00.001-07:00

My Warlock Fists Spit Fire

2011-03-30T20:07:00.000-07:00

Gonna Rant About My Droid - X Some More

When the iPhone first came out, it was the atomic bomb-diggity of smartphones. Intuitive, touch-based interface, independent graphics rotation with built-in keyboard and a screen size you could arguably land a space shuttle on. I wanted one desperately...But their carrier was AT&T. I was already on a Verizon plan & didn't feel like paying the extra 40 million to switch.

It was pointed out to me that the iPhone was finally going to different carriers...After four goddam years. Well, as lovely as that sounds, FUCK YOU, APPLE! The differences in smartphone technology are so minuscule at this point, whatever advantages Apple puts into the new iPhone, it won't even register as a blip on my radar. The Droid X does everything I want it to, tons of stuff that I might use - given enough time to do so - and an assload of unmitigated apps that I will never use, not counting the ones you can download.

The only thing it's missing is a sexual organ.

One major downside to me is the software manager that automatically runs whenever you plug your Droid into the computer. "Verizon Vcast Media Manager" is as fat fingered and bloated an OS as anything Microsoft puts out, and easily twice as annoying. It tries to load AUTOMATICALLY every time I plug the phone into the computer, which pisses me off to no end I haven't fully explored all the twists and turns with it - I may set the services to simply unallow it to run & just operate through the USB storage.

And I think we all know how I feel about the fucking autocorrect

The Droid also comes with an Amazon Kindle app. Now, I'm all for this brave new digital age we live in, and I'm happy that some things are more accessible nowadays then when I was a kid...Music, for instance. But I just can't get behind the whole "Digital Reader" wave. The Kindle has come out with a brand new double-paged reader, which is a step in the right direction...However, I'm a man of books, books that don't require I scroll through every three sentences or so. The actual Kindle itself is bad enough, but reading a book on this puny screen? Sorry, I just can't do it. Call me old-fashioned, call me a hopeless romantic, call me a brooding alcoholic with homicidal urges...I just prefer a good book.

You Had Me At Steampunk Ninjas

THERE'S A NEW THREE MUSKETEERS MOVIE!!!
...And I just bet everyone's going to hate it. From the looks of the trailer, it's a kind of twist on a Steampunk theme, shot in 3D. Now, I LOVE the Musketeers, and I mean that in the gayest way possible. I love the story and characters the way Southern Baptists love burning crosses, and I don't care who knows it. The thing is, I'm not entirely sure about this "shot in 3D!" business. I have never - not once, in all my life - seen a 3D movie that really had me thinking "Hey...This looks real!" I just don't buy it. However, aside from starring Milla Jovovich (who is the wife of the director...No, I know what you're thinking, and I'm sure that had nothing to do with it!) the film looks A-Ma-Zing! If it turns out remotely as good as it looks, I'll be happy to overlook the whole "shot in 3D" business.

"Forget it, D'artangan, we're not letting your ugly-assed horse become the "5th Musketeer!""

"I say, Aramis...What's that you're rubbing against my back...?"

IT'S MADE WITH PEOPLE!!

Hey, Sci-Fi geekoiods, have any of you noticed we're living 11 years before the timeline of the supposed overpopulation in the movie Soylent Green? Makes you scratch your head and wonder, doesn't it?

And Finally

Rory Miller and Edwin Voskamp came out last weekend, and after several hours of drinking, swearing, semi-intelligent conversation and a meal of barbecue chicken and Scotch eggs, I got the bright idea to roll a bit with these two spawns of Satan. I'm not entirely sure what possessed me to do this, normally when I'm drunk and still awake, I start singing songs about goblins and trying to mate with the beer fridge. Anyway, I have no memory of the actual "rolling", but when I woke up the next morning I had a cut lip, a sore back and my grape nuts were throbbing...painfully. Musta bumped 'em against something metallic while getting it on with my Maytag, I guess.

Until next week - Make sure your S-Foils are locked in attack position and return your R2 unit to its regular, upright position.

Assassins' Creed

2011-03-23T03:39:00.000-07:00

I’ve never written the word “assassin” so much in my life, but I have only recently connected with the mnemonic: “Ass – Ass - In” in the beat of “Ice – Ice – Baby”. No matter how I look at it, I can’t stop laughing every time I write that now.

The Hook Brings You Back

2011-03-20T23:17:00.000-07:00

Carry On My Wayward Son

There'll Be Peace When You Are Done

Wow - Been a while. How's everyone out there in blogland? I'm seeing a dramatic drop in the amount of blogging going on in favor of what I'll call "Blogging-Lite". Facebook, Twitter and the like have streamlined our social accessibility as well as imposed 200-words-or-less editorial demands on our thoughts we share online. I have to admit, I've fallen a bit farther into Facebook than I meant to. MySpace wasn't as user-friendly (or as orderly), but still, I can't help but feel that I'm really just contributing to the great worldwide delusion that I have more friends than I actually do. On the other hand, I'm not the most social of butterflies, so these social networking sites have very little to offer me.

My Life in Sperm Count

I just turned 42 - for a man who vividly remembers 22, I can't help but wonder; "Where did the time go?" Then I remember all the daily masturbation sessions I've had over the past 20 years and think, "Where did all the Kleenex go?"

My Life in Video

I'm quite sure that whoever posted my PRIVATE Kali-Pencak Silat DVD on a torrent site didn't mean for it to get such positive responses. Well, fuck you, and live in anguish. Not only have I found it on 20 torrent sites (including Demonoid) but apparently everyone loves it. I have been inundated with requests to make a series of some kind. I might do that - we'll see. I have to admit, it's rather gratifying to see dozens of positive reviews about something that I consider dumbed-down basics. I'm now putting it up on my (Fuck! Still down!) website for public FTP downloads. Enjoy more Bobbe without the headache of bit torrent!

Also: I'm putting up a Paypal donation button on this blog and my facebook page, for those who wish to contribute for the free DVD to the Fix Bobbes' Back Fund (or FBBF). I dunno, it might inspire me to upload more goodies.

Brave New World

I got a new Droid X last month, and it must be noted here that if there's one thing you can truthfully say about smartphones, they're anything but smart. Every time I plug it into my computer, it wants to automatically sync up with a website that demands more bandwidth than Netflix in Hi-Def, and for some reason insists on changing my ringtones every time it sees my music server. Also, it won't upgrade my scrabble game, and that's starting to piss me off. I had a record streak going here.

The screen is large enough to land a Harrier jump-jet on, and the hi-def camera and camcorder built in take reasonably good images and videos. There's pre-installed bluetooth, and the sound is quite clear. However, the Droid has lots of cool gadgets and games, 90% of which I am either completely bored with or have no use for at all. But the thing is, I also can't DELETE anything that comes as part of the "Droid Package" (Yeah, I know how it sounds, keep the smarmy comments to yourself, whaddaya say?). Like the Kindle app, for instance. It's not really an app, it's a link that points you to a site for you to BUY the app. Same thing with Blockbuster video downloads (the absolute LAST video company I would ever use, if forced to use one at all) John Madden's football, and half a dozen other lovely bloatware programs.

I hate when a company does that, the first thing I star thinking of is what kind of retard APPROVED that shit? I paid out the yang for this phone, I don't want some bullshit apps that I can't erase. Damn, that's like buying an expensive car and having a dead hooker in the trunk that you can never get rid of. Even if it's a skinny Asian hooker that doesn't take up much room and never rots...You STILL KNOW she's back there.

Does anyone even remember dial-up internet, or how clumsy Windows 98 was? Remember computer monitors that only had two colors; Orange and black? Has anyone noticed that we are no longer pushing technology along - it's yanking us behind it, faster than we can keep up?

Bad Boys...And Girls

Has anyone noticed the beating the Seattle Police Dept. has taken the past year? I wonder what's going on with those guys? I don't have a heavy-handed sermon about this, I honestly want to know what the freak-spank is happening down at headquarters? The guy who shot the wood carver, the cop who slugged a belligerent teenage girl (that was captured on video), the officer(s) who kicked a homeless guy that was not resisting on the sidewalk (and was ALSO videoed) as well as several other back-and-forth incidents this past year...I have to ask myself if greater Metropolitan Seattle hasn't just lost its' damn mind: Cops and Civilians alike. Hitting a cop? When does that get smart? That's a mandatory assault and battery charge, no questions asked. Coming towards a cop with a knife in your hand? Not the highest ranking act on the list of "Things That Will Guarantee a Long Life". Shooting Cops in a Starbucks? Why not simply jump into an active volcano, moron? You don't have to be a psychic to predict how THAT fucker would've ended up. Kicking a civilian who didn't raise a hand against you? What, you think wearing that badge gives you some sort of carte blanche?

I spent most of my childhood on the wrong side of the law, and as a homeowner and husband, I find it ironic how supportive I am of the police today.

But seriously, guys...Knock it the hell off.

In The Aftermath...

2010-12-20T01:07:00.000-08:00

If there's one thing I've discovered, it's that my politics don't correspond with at least 50% (possibly much more) of the voters out there. I have friends who are perfectly happy with conceding civil rights, being slaves to foreign oil and doing whatever it takes to ban gay marriage, abortion and stem cell research if it means they get some gunslinger with a greasy handshake and hidden agenda elected as dictator-in-chief.

I tend to think of myself as a person who sees the bigger picture, such as where we'll all be in 20 years. That's because I can still clearly remember what things were like 20 years BACK. Believe me, it wasn't pretty...But it had more potential than things do today, I can tell you that.

As I watch the right wing nutjobs and the supposedly-separate-but-no-less-a-nutjob teabaggers scream misleading innuendo in an attempt to drown out your ability to think, or watch as the Republican party slowly spends every last penny of goodwill it ever had in an attempt to abolish black presidents and try to re-create the last era of the Reagan Golden Years, I am reminded that the majority of the American public actually likes this stuff. Hell, most of you LOVE it. You suck it down at face-value, without giving a moment's thought to researching the truth of it, or considering the ramifications of your voting responsibility in the aftermath. And then you get your pathetic paychecks every other Friday, and your take-home is the equivalent of financial sodomy, and you have the brass cojones to whine about taxes? It was in YOUR hands the whole time! You CHOSE not to have any money! You WANTED it this way! Hell, according to your voting history, you LOVE the status quo.

Oh, did no one explain that to you? Too busy listening to the Rush Limbaugh hour of glower to get online and do some fucking research? Too engrossed in Michelle Malkin's latest dose of unreality to look outside your goddam window? There's a fucking reason only Fox News will employ her, people.

Look, I don't subscribe to the magic negro theory - I never did. But I lived through the 8 years of the Bush dictatorship, and saw every gross act of inhumanity that vaguely hominid, milk-fed gimp could possibly throw at us, and we STILL re-elected him. And maybe I don't see how good Bush really was...But I know a son of a bitch when I see one.

I've said it before - Obama didn't inherit a sinking ship, he assumed command of the fucking Titanic, five seconds after it split in half. The fact that he has managed to keep it afloat - STILL - after all this time is nothing short of a miracle. Also, something that Bush couldn't have pulled off on his best day with all daddy's money backing him.

Found a great little website reporting actual researched facts about Obama vs what his naysayers report about him HERE. Check it out, it's worth a look.

As I said at the start of this post, my politics differ from most of you out there in still-reading-blogs land. I'm okay with letting the fags marry. I desperately want an electric car. I think the world is far too overpopulated & fully support abortion. I think the church should stay the butt-fucking hell out of state affairs, period. I think stem cell research holds the key to our medical future, and I truly want a global recycle system in place.

I wish everyone in trailerpark, U.S.A. did, too.

Tweety Twats

2010-12-13T20:21:00.000-08:00

I caved in on a Facebook account - honestly, does anyone REALLY need me to create a Twitter page, just so my closest friends have yet another resource to hear me say "Fuck Off"?

I am not joining Twatter, end of story. I don't even want my wife knowing what I'm doing every fucking second of the day, the rest of the twits who tweet twisted texts of twice tailed trolls are nothing more than amoeba-level spooge sponges who think the rest of the world needs immediate updates on their rectal inflammation status.

Maybe if they had something like anti-social networking...But who would actually JOIN that?

The Bijkerk Therapeutic Wrap

2010-12-07T11:32:00.000-08:00

It should probably be Bijkerk-Pippen, but that takes up too much room on the title slot.

As most of you know, I don't endorse a whole lot of products on this site. I get offers out the yang, and most times for nothing more than the occasional nod in someone's direction. The thing is, you people are counting on me to deliver honest - if somewhat acerbic - opinions, and I can't do that if I take kickbacks. People have sent me products to test, only to have me tell them that, at best, I can't write about it because it sucks so bad. If I get something good, and I think it's worthwhile, I'll write a review of it here. However...It has to be pretty freakin' GOOD for me to do that. Occasionally, a gem falls into my lap.

Jeanne Bijkerk-Pippin's therapeutic wrap is just such a gem.

I got my hands on one of these little treasures about four years ago, during a seminar at Chuck's place. Jeanne was making a few by hand in her dining room, with a big sewing machine on the dining table and brightly colored material coupled with various threads, swatches and patterns scattered all about like an explosion had taken place in Raggedy Anne's undrewear drawer.

"Hey Bobbe, you might like this" she said, as I tried to negotiate the flotsam of material to get another cup of coffee, "It can help you with your neck soreness". She tossed a dark blue cloth tube at me, catching me square in the nose with a muffled "Mmrrrphh!"

"Thanks, Jeanne, but somehow I don't see a Nerf slap-bag as being very therapeutic for my neck."

Jeane explained that it was a microwaveable neck wrap, intended to bring a penetrating warmth to the neck, shoulders or legs. She sold them locally, and gave them as gifts during the holidays. Being a manly man, I usually put no stock in such things but I graciously accepted her kind gift. I figured Caren might use it once or twice, and it would end up as a door-stopper, or something.

That was four years ago, and the therapeutic wrap has become my wife's religion.

When she comes home at night after a long day of craning her neck at a computer screen crunching numbers for a bunch of ungrateful, monosyllabic corporate morons with their heads shoved firmly up their own accountant asses, that wrap is the first thing she goes for. Sometimes she calls ahead when she's a few minutes away & has me nuke it for her so it's ready right when she walks in the door.

The wraps themselves are made from soft flannel filled with flax seed, and retains the heat for 20-30 minutes. They are amazing when you need to soothe tired sore muscles, and I speak from experience on this. They're designed to be versatile so they can be used around your neck, back, knees, hips...whatever ails you. I have fallen asleep with this thing on. Which, looking back, probably wasn't the smartest thing to do on the freeway.

They make a wonderful gift to pamper that special someone with, or a great gift for yourself. Add them to a gift box from bed, bath and beyond, or arrange something special for your significant other. Throw in a spa retreat gift card. That may sound a touch girly, but trust me on this one, guys...It gets you out of the doghouse.

The therapeutic wraps go for $25.00, and there is probably some shipping added to that. But I can personally attest that you get your money's worth, and they last forever.

You can contact Jeanne at: jeanneb63@gmail.com to order.

Idiots in the Snow

2010-11-24T02:41:00.000-08:00

If there's one thing I've learned about Seattle in the 16 years I've lived here, it's that the only truly "safe" vehicle on the road out here is a tank. Everything else is fair game.

The drivers are borderline insane in this drippy, hippy Disneyland. The blinker knob? May as well be non existent, for all the action it gets. I can count the number of times I've seen it used in a year - ANY YEAR - on one hand. Probably blow off a couple of fingers while I'm at it. Road rage is turning into our national pastime,and I'm as susceptible to it as anyone. I can't drive with a gun in the car anymore, I don't dare; I will shoot someone, sure as anything. My temper is vindictive and malevolent, and I will gleefully empty a clip into one of those pompous Ford Escalades when it tries to cut me off/run me off the road (it's happened before) because the driver is clearly suffering from size envy.

People are fucking insane, but give them a car and it's like you've just promoted them to their own private Idaho.

So it snowed here in the big city yesterday. Started lightly in the morning, picked up momentum in early afternoon, and by 4pm it was kicking ass. My wife had an appointment at the eye doctor, and they dilated her eyes so I had to drive for her. We left Bellevue at 4:37.

We didn't get home to Renton until 8:58. A 35 minute drive took just under four and a half hours.

I saw accidents on top of accidents, cars abandoned by the side of the road and ambulances every 15 minutes. I saw a seven car accordion sandwich that looked like everyone was ignoring both the speed limit and the snow...And paid heavily for it. I avoided the interstate & took every back road and shortcut I knew, keeping to the country trailsmore than anything. It didn't make a difference.

Some guy in a Volkswagen was doing at least 50 in the open back roads and almost rammed us because he couldn't stop in time. I watched with horror as I realized his car was fishtailing wildly out of control - and straight into us. I rolled the dice and pulled into the left hand lane - and oncoming traffic - just to watch the fuckroast hit the sidewall and come to an abrupt halt.

Fuck him. I kept on driving.

I saw people holding cellphones while trying to navigate the snowy, icy roads, and not looking at where they were going. This left me gobsmacked, some people don't fucking learn until the floor is giving way beneath them.

Caren was completely blind, and oblivious to most of this, but she felt our Mazda Protoge' do the occasional fishtail, or lose traction on an incline.This is my seventh or so time getting caught in Seattle weather, and I knew the rules: Speed is your enemy. Keep your concentration, and always play it safe. Give surrounding cars plenty of warning as to what your intentions are on the road. Don't lose your temper.

Yesterday, I think I was the only one who was following that. But then again...I made it home in one piece. My car is still in the garage and my wife is safe. I don't have to pay insurance for negligent homicide, or to have my car towed from under a 5 foot snow drift.

And to the guy in the Volkswagen: I hope you're okay. But I wouldn't cry all night if you weren't.

Silent Treatment...Or Face Front?

2010-11-22T00:22:00.000-08:00

A question: What's worse? Silent treatment or having someone lay it on the line knowing that change is coming and everyone will just have to deal?

If only it were that simple.

People hate change. They don't want their ideas threatened. They find a comfortable level of acceptability within the routine patterns of life and say "Look, I already know important things. This is far enough, thank you."

If the past four years have taught me anything, it's that life seldom lets us sleep in blissful ignorance. Growth of any kind rarely occurs under pleasant circumstances; Puberty, heartbreak, coming to grips with our own mortality...The list goes on. This is the meaning of the phrase "Order from Chaos". A person who takes the banal & ordinary, and illuminates it in a new way can be terrifying. We as a species do not want our ideas changed. We feel threatened by such demands, and tend to revile those who bring them to our doorsteps.

I have always preferred to KNOW rather than to ASSUME. I have discovered that denying the existence of the truth won't make it disappear, and what you don't know can indeed hurt you. In fact, it can fucking kill you.

How may times have you heard the phrase, "Hmnnn, well...How can I put this?" You know that guy is trying like hell to be politic and buttery, and the odds of him ever getting within a parsec of the fucking point are roughly seven hundred and eighty three million to one.

People call me cynical and blunt - this is true, and I come by my pessimism honestly. But sugar-coating something just to take the sting out never works for me. I have seen people get to the point where they prefer the sugar over the sting, when it's the sting that really teaches us.

Those Sexy Saucer People

2010-11-19T20:18:00.000-08:00

How I long to join them.

MR LONATO PAUL WANT YOUR TRANSFER

2010-11-17T06:38:00.000-08:00

I just got this in my email:

"MR LONATO PAUL WANT YOUR TRANSFER"

He said that you are dead, Did you send him or not?

So, to Mr. Lonato Paul: Yes, I am indeed dead. So are my children. My wife, mistress and the Thai transgender love slave I have been having an affair with survive, however.

Perhaps you can transfer them.

Smile

2010-11-12T03:12:00.000-08:00

Two cows are standing in a field. One says to the other, "What do you think about this mad cow disease?"

"What do I care?" says the other. "I'm a helicopter."

Thank You, to Those Who Served

2010-11-12T01:36:00.000-08:00

And I would like to extend a special thanks to my friend, Franklin Maynor. Veteran of both Gulf Wars, respected intelligence officer and a fine human being. A man who doesn't run from responsibility, and accepts the good and the bad in life with grace. You are one of the best friends - and students - I have ever known.

Although you made me sit through fucking "Dragon Wars". But I forgive you for that, Frank. We can't all be perfect.

My Night Cheese

2010-11-11T23:26:00.000-08:00

I had me some really fine English Stilton tonight, followed by a little Gruyere' and finished with a lovely Cheddar, while checking out some 28 Days Later on DVD. A Chimay and some apples rounded out the evening's zombie fest refreshments, and I could not have had a finer night.

"I'm workin' on my NIGHT CHEESE!"

That probably only makes sense to me. I don't care. I regret nothing.

I love Stilton. I love it in a way that hookers love crack, or politicians love hookers who are addicted to crack. It's one of those really acquired tastes, not quite like any other cheese on the planet. If you've never had it, and you are a person of discriminating tastes - I highly recommend it.

Southern Lunch Options

2010-11-11T03:40:00.000-08:00

I took this photo in 1992, while driving to Sarasota, Fla. To this day, it still cracks me up.

Open Letter to a Friend

2010-11-08T21:09:00.000-08:00

My Dear Friend -

So much has happened since you last visited Seattle and we shared an afternoon in the Shaosing Wine Shop, where we had a wonderful meal of crabs, dim sum and plum wine. I was still a novice drinker at the time, but I seem to recall - besides crabs and wine - the company of some beautiful women, many of whom I remember being perhaps a bit more openly flirtatious with you than a server in a private dining room should be. You suggested to me that I write a sketch on "Crabs and Madonnas", but like many married men, I disdained the Madonnas and focused on the crabs. The wine was excellent and the crabs were delicious, but I'm willing to bet that you were entirely unaware of it, your attention captured by the fluttering of lashes atop a traditional cheongsam. As the alcohol went to work on my consciousness, I remember thinking that you would probably change your mind once we got you out in the open and sunlight hit your face. Perhaps you would come to your senses.

Alas, it was a typical Seattle day; The sky was overcast, the sun had disappeared and your senses were nowhere in sight. Mine, I am sorry to report, had taken leave of me a good two hours earlier, or I might have caught the signs in time to intervene. I do remember you going on for what seemed like days about the delicateness of the Chinese skin. All I could manage was a feeble grunt as I tried my damnedest not to walk into a telephone pole, and keep the world from spinning as I struggled to put one foot in front of the other. Come to think of it - Why weren't you laminated as well? Exactly how much more did I drink than you?

No need to tell me why I drank more than you. It's blindingly obvious after reading your letter. You were distracted to the point of sobriety, a sin amongst alcoholics if ever there was one. And now you write to me to tell me that you have met a wonderful woman from Anwei, and that you are getting married.

Oh, my dear, dear friend. I'm afraid that your devil-may-care days of frolicking with the other reindeer at "Big Billy's Booby Trap" (or whatever bastion of bachelorhood you frequent, with your sweaty palms & one dollar bills) are completely OVER. Fare ye well, O once and future prince. 'Twas a very good year. It appears that you have the bad taste to prefer both Chinese food and Chinese girls, and that you will now abandon your confirmed bachelorhood and marry one as well.

I have rarely met the Occidental man who did not at some point in their lives fall prey to the "exotic and mysterious" mythos of the fabled and much-ballyhooed "Asian Woman". The Oriental beauty with hips smaller than a number 7 pencil and a smile that would enchant the most hardened cynic. The subservient, doe-eyed love slave, who will cook, clean and adore you in silent submission for all your days. The perfect answer to the wild-spirited, free-thinking American women, with their education, overcooked pork chops, vulgar language and frosted hair.

It's a ruse. One of the oldest, in fact, from one of the oldest civilizations. And apparently, you have fallen for it.

Listen, Dear Friend, I am married to a Chinese woman. Have you forgotten? Have been for 15 years. You've met her...The hellion in the kitchen who decapitates me with the most delicate flick of her wrist, should the dishwasher fail to be loaded upon her arrival? The She-Devil who went for your eyes when you failed to remove your shoes upon entering the house? (You thought I was only kidding about that, I seem to remember). The one whom I refer to as "She Who Must Be Obeyed"?

Why did you not consult me first? Why did you not even hint that you had succumbed to the dreaded Yellow Fever, and are at this very moment sweating out your freedom in it's ghastly thrall? I could have, perhaps, warned you of the myth you now support with your promises of fidelity until the end of time. I could have given evidence at your engagement - "Your honor, if I may call the jury's attention to this sad, pathetic little creature that was once a man?" - I don't know. I might have saved you the tempest with a teapot that is to come. It's too late now, and all I can do is mourn the loss of another bachelor friend.

You could marry a woman of almost any other ethnicity with far less stress - Black, Latina...Hell, even a multiple-amputee dwarf from Romania would have been easier. But noooo, it HAD to be Chinese. You do realize, of course, that life as you once knew it is over?

Get used to your family speaking about six octaves higher when your wife is around, as if increased volume will make her suddenly understand English. Also, it won't matter one whit if she actually speaks perfect English or not - they will still do this. As well as attempt to explain every damned thing about American culture to her, even if it's something she's done a bajillion times...Like operating a DVD remote-control.

Oh, and your friends, having seen every Asian porn video available on the internet, will inevitably pull you aside and whisper conspiratorially if she does "that THING". Smile sagely and nod at this, it will win you brownie points out the yang later. You'll need them, believe me.

Her parents won't be much help either. Most people would advise you to learn some words in Chinese to impress the in-laws. Don't bother, it won't. All you'll manage to do is drive yourself into a deep depression when you discover that they only refer to you in terms of money, and how little you make of it. Or how embarrassing it is when they go to a Chinese restaurant that they have a Gwei-Lo in tow. Don't bother looking that word up...You'll hear it plenty enough in the future to figure it out.

They would do this if you were a millionaire, by the way. You couldn't impress them if you suddenly started shitting gold turds and inherited Bolivia. Nothing will. Chinese parents are impressed by one thing only:

Grandchildren

Give them a couple (or eight) crumbsnatchers to look after and spoil rotten, and they might stop saying how worthless you were in Chinese for ten minutes. After several years of putting up with this shit, you might find yourself tempted to reproduce, if for no other reason than to get a little alone time in the bathroom with the paper. That one, I leave in your capable, if not too bright, hands. Personally, I merely up my plum wine intake when mine come over. Nothing says "I'm ignoring you" like a stupor.

I am telling you this only for your own good, my friend. But there's no talking to you, I'm afraid. You see, I too once shared your enchantment. I met, chased and captured a woman of Chinese ethnicity, only to realize too late that it was I who was being chased...And it was I who was captured. Woe upon woe, it is far, far too late to chew off my own leg and escape. I am a married man, with nothing but a smooth surface where my balls once were. I don't scratch anything when I get up in the morning, I just slink into the garage to quietly cry for an hour.

In closing, I can only assume that I shall one day pass by you at some hellish woman's wear After Labor Day sale, tagging along behind like a whipped puppy with your head down, looking as miserable as you can possibly be. Don't be offended if I don't speak to you, I probably didn't see you there. My head droops pretty low as well, having over a decade of practice.

By the way - The Shaosing Wine Shop has been closed for three years now. If you show your face around here again, you can forget Chinatown.

Hope you like Big Macs.

While I'm Thinking About It...

2010-11-05T03:54:00.001-07:00

I have to get this off my chest, since no Republican I've spoken to has given me a straight answer, or been remotely correct on WHAT HAS HAPPENED IN THE PAST TWO FUCKING YEARS: Is it about really doing right by America? Or just stuffing your fat fucking pockets?

Obama HAS to do things by the book. He has to take things slow and sure as he navigates this inherited Titanic 1 hour after it hit the iceberg, because you know what happens if he doesn't?

We get Bush, Ver. 2.0. We get everything that makes this country great turned into a sewage and eventually fading into mythology by the time our children are adults.

So, the magic negro hasn't waved his wand and made all the bad things disappear. Now Joe Trailerpark has decided that it's safer with a white man running the show, because at least he'll understand us!

This is not acceptable, America.

More than any other time in history, it's easy as hell to view, evaluate and compare what our current president's progress is against our former ones. You could go here, for example:

What The Fuck Has Obama Done?

But still, people seem to prefer shackles to freedom. It's like you WANT someone to tell you what to do, what you can't do, what to think. Shit,maybe I'm wrong...Maybe we get exactly what we deserve.

Well, keep it up, morons. It's closer than you think. If you thought Bush was an incompetent shit-tick, you ain't seen NOTHING yet. When the clocks are striking thirteen and it's time for your two minutes of hate, remember...I warned you.

How do you feel about rats?

Liked This

2010-11-05T03:46:00.000-07:00

Some people need a brick to understand...

Post-Halloween Wrap-Up

2010-10-31T23:09:00.000-07:00

Well, that's it. Another Halloween gone by...which means I have to deal with the onslaught of the Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's holidays rolled into one massive headache. From here on out, it's no television, no peace, no hope, no joy, no money, no spirit, no booze, no sunshine, no friends...In short, November. The Pacific-Northwest winter is hurled upon us like discount sushi, and from here on out it's gonna be rain, rain, rain. Oh,and the wind is going to be strong enough to achieve lift, if you are wearing a trench coat.

I will have one brief respite with my good friend Edwin tomorrow, at which time we shall discuss martial arts, breasts and video games whilst sampling some of the finest Belgian ales produced on this miserable blue planet. After that, it's going to be nose-to-the-grindstone, cranking out chapter and verse in the hopes of someday dying of a coronary over my keyboard with the honored sobriquet of "writer".

Which beats the hell out of "Perv", lemme tell you.

We got an amazing turnout this year. I actually had to run out and buy more candy, because the ass load my wife got ran out after 7:30. I think word has gotten out about the house at the end of the private drive, the kids seemed to know to come to me last. I saw one girl, she must have been about seven or so. Someone had given her pencils for Halloween.

Fucking pencils, can you believe it? I filled her bag to the goddam rim to make up for it. She's going to be so jacked up from all that candy, she'll need coffee and cigarettes just to calm down. As I listened to the horrified shrieks her mother gave at the end of my driveway when she discovered the cruel twist that fate had delivered her, I smiled with contentment at the thought of a job well done. I guess I'm really a good person at heart. If I had one, that is.

There were, however, some who saw the season as an opportunity to muscle in on the sacred rite of candy shenanigans. I thought I would offer this helpful guideline for future trick-or-treaters who might chance upon my humble home, in search of sugary goodness:

To the guy who was clearly 15 years old and wore the lamest non-costume I had ever seen: I expect a little respect for the season. If you claim to be a fucking breakdancer, don't get all huffy when I demand you prove it by busting a few moves. In my day we had to battle it out in subway halls against rival crews from the Roxy. Next year, you should also try beatboxing. How fresh are your rhymes?

To the parents whose children I loaded candy to the rim of their bags: Somebody's gotta eat it, and my wife has diabetes. I see Halloween as a time to spoil kids rotten, and that includes teeth. If you spent most of the night trying to scrape little jimmy off the ceiling after he downed the entire box of malted balls on my insistance...Well, that's just part of the wondrous experience of parenthood. Be glad I'm not handing out Oxycontin. (Hey...That gives me an idea...!)

To the group of high schoolers who all wore hoodies and thought they were being cool: "Asian" is not a costume, particularly if you are Chinese in the first place and not from one of the surrounding neighborhoods. I don't regret squeezing your kit-kats into mush as I put them into your bags. Assholes. Or, as you guys would say "ass-ah-hole-ezs!"

To the 18 year old stoner chick who had the brass balls to ring my door without even wearing a costume: "Show me your tits" is a perfectly valid response to someone who is clearly too fucking old and just trying to cash in on the season without putting any effort into it. I have zero scruples, therefore your look of scorn had no effect on me. As for your threats to report me to the police: It's just your word against mine, sugartits, and I don't smell like patchouli to cover the scent of cannabis. Wear a sexy catwoman costume next year & I won't say it. But I will still oogle the goodies.

To the parents of the kids who showed up three days early at 10 am: Go fuck yourselves. There is no pre-Halloween, and I had no candy. You deserved the growling I gave & I hope you all got rained on that day.

To the little Asian girl down the street from me who came as "Sally" from A Nightmare Before Christmas: If they gave awards for best costume and most original interpretation of a movie character, you would win it hands-down. I hope I see you next year, and you do something equally inspiring. You were the highlight of my night...and that's why I gave you double handfuls of candy. You earned it, kiddo.

See you all next year.

Bobbe Edmonds

Emperor of Mars
King of the Zombies

It's Time!

2010-10-31T21:02:00.001-07:00

Happy Halloween, Everyone.

Baby, You Can Drive My Car

2010-10-29T17:39:00.000-07:00

The 1962 Ford Seattle-ite

Back in the 50's, everyone thought that we would have flying cars, nuclear cars, hover cars, etc. Kinda sad (to me, anyway) that the cars we drive today aren't much different than the ones we drove 50 years ago.

In the case of the Ford Seattle-ite (named for the 1962 world's fair here in Seattle...You know, where we got the Space Needle from) it looks like that's not from a lack of trying.

Here is what Ford was advertising in this never-mass-produced car:

"Fingertip steering and a travel programming computer are among the interior features of the Seattle-ite. Virtually effortless fingertip steering would allow accurate "zeroing in" at all speeds. A viewing screen would show engine performance characteristics, road and weather conditions, position of the vehicle in relation to an automatically rolling road map, and estimated time of arrival at any selected designation."

Dig those quad-mount front wheels! Check out the full package, though, and you wonder if they were building a car or a space shuttle prototype:

"The entire front end of Seattle-ite XXI would uncouple from the passenger compartment and an optional power unit could be quickly installed. All controls would be conducted through a flexible coupling that would simply plug into the passenger compartment. Four front wheels would turn in tandem. Ford stylists believe this would greatly enhance tracking, traction, and braking efficiency."

I SOOOO want one of these.

Being Human

2010-10-28T10:02:00.000-07:00

I don't know what I would do without the BBC. 80% of what I watch on TV is British programming, and I couldn't honestly tell you if that was a result of being a professed Anglophile, a beer snob or just someone who loves hearing people say "Right-o" in that quirky accent. But one thing I know, British TV seems to simply outshine most of American programming without really trying very hard, wot?

Sorry.

Anyway, I recently finished the second season of "Being Human", and if you haven't seen this yet, you're missing out. A vampire, a werewolf and a ghost all live in a flat near London & do their best to "fit in" with the world around them. The vampire is trying to stop drinking blood, the werewolf is coming to terms with his lycanthropy and the ghost is HOT! Also, a touch angsty, but still watchable. All three struggle with the various side effects of hiding their curses from the world, coming to terms with their conditions, and finding out who the real "monsters" are in the world.

Being Human is kind of a mixture of "Three's Company", "House" and "Doctor Who" with a dash of "Cheers", if it was set in Transylvania and filmed with British actors & humor. The situational humor is strictly adult, and there's so much sexual and violent undertone that it's difficult to believe they show this on regular television. It's instantly captivating from the first episode, and I couldn't wait to see the full deal on the tube - I ordered the two season DVD set the next day.

Something I loved about it was that they didn't use the first few episodes as "set-up" for the cast. We do indeed get a quickie, once-over with who is what, and why, but the rest is left up to various episodic flashbacks throughout the first season. Below is a voice-over narrative by Mitchell, (the vampire) at the beginning of the second episode that describes the physiological changes a human undergoes during the transformation into a werewolf...Whilst the actual transformation is occurring:

"He should be dead within 30 seconds. The werewolf heart is about two-thirds the size of a human's. But in order to shrink, first it has to stop. In other words, he has a heart attack. All of the internal organs are smaller, so while he's having his heart attack, he's having liver and kidney failure too.

If he stops screaming it's not because the pain has dulled, his throat, gullet and vocal chords are tearing and reforming. He literally can't make a sound. By now the pituitary gland should be working overtime, flooding his body with endorphins to ease some of the pain, but that too has shut down. Anyone else would have died of shock long ago.

But it won't kill him and that's the thing I find most remarkable. It drags him through the fire and keeps him alive and even conscious to endure every second. Nothing like this could just evolve. This... is the fingerprint of God. An impossible lethal curse spread by tooth and claw, victim begets victim begets victim. It's so cruel, it's... perfect."

If you're looking for something with more depth than your average slasher-haunted house-sexually-ambivalent-bloodsucking-emo marathon on the sci-fi channel...Rent the first two seasons of "Being Human".

It's a great way to spend the night indoors. Alone. With the doors locked.

Monsters

2010-10-27T03:27:00.000-07:00

I'm Already Torn...

“Six years ago NASA discovered the possibility of alien life within our solar system. A probe was launched to collect samples, but crashed upon re-entry over Central America. Soon after, new life forms began to appear and grow. In an effort to stem the destruction that resulted, half of Mexico was quarantined as an INFECTED ZONE. Today, the American and Mexican military still struggle to contain the massive creatures”

I mean, we couldn't do much with Afghanistan,what did we think we could do with SPACE ALIENS?!??!

Monsters has been compared to Cloverfield, District 9 and Days of Our Lives. In truth, it doesn’t really belong in ANY of those categories. Easily better than the glitch-ridden Cloverfield (and with far better script, monsters and cinematography to boot) and not remotely as engaging or well-written as District 9, Monsters creates its own unique category of sci-fi: Scenes of unyielding boredom sparsely peppered with shots of amazing terror, suspense and horror.

I have to applaud director Gareth Edwards’ ability to have shot this for a 10th of what my house here in Seattle costs. I mean, when you factor that little nugget in…He did an amazing job. Monsters is easily better than the handycam-retarded Cloverfield, and much less of a headache to watch.

The movie is primarily shot in a kind of “invisible friend holding a steadycam” fashion, and I have to say that it works remarkably well. Some bigger-name producers could take a lesson here on how this kind of thing should be done. For all it’s faults, Monsters never loses me because of epileptic “you are THERE!” footage that makes me carsick even though I’m sitting on the couch.

Extraterrestrial beings are NOT the main focus here, nor are the main characters in their quest to escape into uninfected America. In fact, everything seems to be a kind of moving backdrop for a story that never happens.

Okay, so there's no food, gas or lodging for the next 8 thousand miles...?

The movie starts pretty much In Medias Res, alien life forms have taken control over Central America when a space shuttle carrying the living microbes crashes somewhere near Venezuela. Combined American and Mexican armies are struggling to contain the four-story tall space squids, and after six years of fighting, aliens and humans are at a stalemate. The local Mexican populace is very accepting of all this, and for them it’s simply business as usual.

Into this wonky mixture, we meet Andrew, a photographer and a journalist who needs a big payday shot of the aliens killing humans. Andrew is the horror-capitalist he presents himself to be from the very beginning, and remains so throughout the film. In this, I have to say, I found reality in the fantasy. Andrew himself shrugs off our emotional “tsk-tsks” when he lays down the gospel early on in the film:

“You know how much I get paid for a photo of a child killed by an alien? Ten thousand dollars. You know how much I get paid for a photo of children playing, with smiles on their faces?”

“NOTHING”

I have to admit, that hits home a bit. We don’t want to see pictures of happy Jewish children playing safely, we want to see Auschwitz at the time of the American invasion. Misery reporting is always the rent-payer, and Andrew knows this.

On the heels of this enters Samantha, the daughter of Andrew’s boss, for whom he now must leave the infected zone to smuggle back across the American border. Dodging several plot holes the size of meteor craters here, the duo begins the arduous process of bartering for a ferry passage to the border, paying extortionist prices, losing their money & passports, being forced to take “The Back Trail” directly through the infected zone at the height of alien mating season and ultimately making it to walled-off America. We’re unsure if the wall keeps out the aliens or the immigrants. Probably both.

Let me say this: There indeed are some great suspense shots in the movie, but they’re punctuated by looooooooong scenes of never-fucking-ending landscapes, hiking through the jungle, sweat dripping down foreheads and strolling through the streets during festival. Also, drinking mucho tequila of the backs of Latino hookers.

Here is where I have to shoot a disgusted look at director Gareth Edwards. He just never misses an opportunity to miss an opportunity to capture our attention, and I’m sad to report that there are close to a dozen anticlimactic let-downs per one brief glimpse of Space Alien Monster Violence/Encounter. It's called "MONSTERS" godammit, I expect to get some fucking Monsters in here!

The monster scenes themselves are so great when they roll up, and even when nothing happens, Edwards does such a great job of building the suspense to butt-pucker intensity. The letdown occurs when we are subjected to yet another 10-15 minutes of backpacking through the jungle swatting mosquitoes the size of bats, and dodging bats the size of condors, all the while hoping to see/photograph/avoid large, upright-walking squid aliens that apparently produce some sort of noxious gas that make close proximity a danger to humans. One can only suppose at this point that it has something to do with living in Mexico. Gods knows how bad I get that problem in Tijuana.

One thing, one bloody goddamed thing that stands out about this movie and makes me irritated that I have to include it: 8 minutes of the film, just before the final 2 minutes of it. Not the precise “ending” per se, but the-scene-before-the-dead-last-scene climax of the film. And I want you all to read this, because a week after seeing the film in a sneak preview, it's still on my mind:

IT'S AMAZING

It captured, held and uplifted my imagination more than the entire rest of the film could have ever hoped to do. In fact, it was so good…I’m not going to spoil it for you. I’ll only say this: When they get to the gas station across the American border & call for help, pay attention; Shit Is About To Happen. And it’s amazing the way that good sci-fi should be. It doesn’t quite redeem the film, but combined with a couple of other scenes (watch for the old shopping-cart lady!) I didn’t feel like I had been cheated out of my time and money at the end.

Although, in the interest of fairness, I have to say it: The ending is nothing more than a huge “WTF?” when the credits roll. I found myself repeating the same line many of my previous girlfriends uttered when I rolled off them in a sweaty, blissful, post-coitus slumber…”Was that it?”

Bottom line: I can't really recommend you see this in theaters. It's worth a rental, definitely, but that's as far as I can go with "Monsters". Ultimately, this isn’t a love story, a suspense thriller, an "E.T."-ish understanding between aliens and mankind, a coming-of-age tale or some sort of special effects hybrid. It’s almost just the story of two emotionally unavailable young adults who don’t bathe for almost a week trekking through the South American jungle in hopes of not getting eaten by giant space squids we hardly ever see whilst making almost every imaginable mistake in the book and surviving by nothing more than the luck of fools. They eventually make it through no fault of their own, something awesome happens, and the U.S. Army shows up. Also, they never fuck.

But that takes up too much room on a marquee poster.

Still Creepy After All These Years

2010-10-25T00:31:00.001-07:00

And It Still Wierds Me Out

"Hey, remember when I hadn't gone through puberty?"

You know, I thought I would be over this, given enough time. I remember when the whole scandal broke, and I thought that Woody Allen's reputation, nor his mind-scarring relationship with Soon-Yi, could possibly endure longer than a few months, maybe a year at most. Honestly, I thought it was some kind of publicity stunt.

Well, it has endured - and like photos of Dachau at the height of WWII, it's no less disturbing with the passage of time. Catching a headline from last year's news about ole' "Poppa Woody"(!) getting a $5 million settlement from American Apparel, my first thought was "Is he going to buy another Korean love child?"

That was crass, and I can't help it. It doesn't matter how much cultural evolution we have gone through in the past 20 years, how many presidents, or even how many movies Allen has made since he & Soon-Yi went public (there have been several). Whenever his name is mentioned, the first thing you think of is "Creepy Guy" not "Successful Filmmaker".

"That's not a banana in my pocket"

You have got to wonder what the scene was when Mia Farrow found out about it by literally tripping over nude photos of Soon-Yi in Woody's apartment. The shit must have hit the fan from multiple angles that day, and I don't know what Woody was using as a force field to keep from getting splattered, but he just kept on keepin' on like nothing had happened.

Both of them are in bed with Woody, but only one of them knows it.

And here we are, 18 years later - and it still make me want to hurl. Fuck, maybe I'm more of a prude than I thought I was. If there's a moral to this story, I can't find it.

The Crystal Voice IV

2010-10-24T17:40:00.001-07:00

Wide knowledge cannot tolerate shallow, and a person who has been brought to realization of the previously unknown is fooling himself when he says he is "going back to the way it was". Understanding tints our perception, and not always for the good.

I believe it is better to make others understand, rather than remember - to me, intelligence is greater than memory. Anyone can use their head to store useless facts, not many use it to solve problems.

On the back of that, it's important to understand that you can die of foolishness if you reason about any particular thing too much. Look around you, and you will be able to see that it is indeed possible to be both well-read and completely ignorant at the same time. Wise men commonly die insane whilst trying to balance the world around them, and I have seen fools choke to death on advice - good and bad.

Epictetus tells us that the most important rule for living is knowing how to bear all things, both horrible and wonderful, in equal measure. I think this is only half-wisdom. To be tolerant of foolishness, much patience is required - and sometimes we suffer most from those we most depend upon. The wise never get along with fools.

I am learning to parcel out my life more wisely, and it is a worthy skill to learn. Time-wasters have usurped hours from me that I will never get back, and I have made choices that resulted in still more wasted time out of my life. But this has made me more aware of the "now" I am in, what I am doing and who I am spending it with. Also, you should realize that occasionally slowing your pace to a stop for a will be the best use of your time. Inactivity doesn't necessarily mean doing nothing at all.

A Portal to Hell

2010-10-15T19:53:00.000-07:00

Or, "How I learned to stop worrying and love Google"

I know some people I'm sending this to come Christmas...

“Bobbe, are you an entrepreneur?”

Let me advise everyone here and now; when your next door neighbor – he whom your conversations have always consisted of passing pleasantries such as “Hello” “Nice weather we’re having” and “Please stop staring at my wife’s tits” – begins a conversation this way out of the clear blue while you’re taking a much-deserved break in between mowing your front and back lawn…run.

But that word got me…”Entrepreneur”. Is this how people became porn directors? I wouldn’t mind that. This was several weeks before I got my writing gig going, and feeling a bit interested, I replied that I didn’t own a company but would be interested in running one. (At my age, I figure that if I have to have a job, I might as well be the boss. No sense in coming to work if you have to take orders. Unless you’re at the drive through of McDonald’s).

So my new next-door buddy invites me over that night to give me the business (jeez, I hope that came out less-gay than it sounded) about his business.

Come the appointed time, I saunter over with less excitement over a new job prospect and a growing sense of trepidation. What if he’s working for the Columbians, and wants me to be a mule into Canada? Suppose he deals in illegal MP3’s?

After a couple of beers and some general shit-shooting, my erstwhile standoffish neighbor gives a casual sweep of his hand and asks his wife (her tits are gigantic, by the way, each one roughly twice the size of my head and pointing straight up…had to be fake) to bring up the “Company Website”.

And there it is, in horrifying 75 dpi: personalbullshitportal.biz (not the actual site).

Before I go any further, let me clarify the difference between a “Portal” and a “Search Engine”. If you already know the difference, skip the next couple of paragraphs. Oh, and send me $20.00, please.

Search Engines are essentially huge databases that scour the internet to collect all the data they can find related to a particular topic, label or inference. They have little programs called “spiders” that constantly crawl around the web (get it?) to feed and update the search engine’s database. As a user, you can search the database in hopes of finding whatever (porn) it is you’re looking for. Example: Google.com

By the way, when you use a search engine, you really are scouring a DATABASE, not the actual WEB ITSELF. It’s kind of a middleman between you and the information superhighway. This is why different search engines vary in what return results will appear when you type in “Sex with Goats”. These days, though, it will probably be “Please specify type of goat”.

A Portal works in a similar fashion, in that you type in a keyword and it gives you matching results. The biggest difference is that the portal’s database is populated – meaning, “supplied and updated” – by human beings, rather than by automatic web spiders. Portals are often much better organized, although they don’t usually contain much data, and they are usually specific about what the data itself will pertain to if it’s ran by a specific company.

For example: Fucking AMWAY.

Yes fans, you guessed it; I was about to lose precious nanoseconds of my life listening to this yabbo try to suck me into a fucking online pyramid scam. Yeah, yeah, I know, AMWAY isn’t exactly a pyramid scam…but it isn’t exactly not, either.

See, to make any money in AMWAY, you have to do one (or both) of two things:

1 - Convince everyone you know, as well as total strangers, to buy exclusively from YOU for whatever they need, ranging from tampons to T.V. sets.

2 – Convince everyone you know, as well as total strangers, to become AMWAY distributors themselves…Under you. That way, you get a bigger piece of the pie, and you have an entire kingdom of minions subjugated under your total authority. As well as buying all their shit exclusively from you.

Back in the 80’s, this was big business. It was a way for the little man to create his own empire, and the 9-to-5’er to make a little extra cash on the side. Well and all, but those first two rules apply in every case: You must somehow convince others that YOU and YOUR PRODUCTS are all they will need.

Came the internet, and all that bullshit went out the window. With sites such as ebay, Amazon and several others giving the competition a run for the money, not to mention various small-time businesses that discovered a free website on Geocities could mean a nice payoff for that rare, unusual stock of Belgian stork-foot piano keys you invested in years ago.

"Now, according to the directions, a waffle should appear out of thin air!"

And I knew all this because I got to watch a close friend invest time, effort and MONEY into trying to make AMWAY work for him…In 1995. About one year before the big dot com kaboom. I saw crap pile up in his room (we shared an apartment at the time) from “deals” AMWAY was having, sure as hell he could foister it off on some unsuspecting moron with more money than brains. As it turned out, no one wanted those rolls of toilet tissue with President Clinton’s face on them, and that Darth Vader mug he was selling for $20.00? Burger King was fucking GIVING them away. I don’t even think you have to buy a meal to get one.

As a last resort, he tried to get me to buy some of it – and since we both worked at Kinko’s at the time, he also knew when payday was.

“Okay, seriously, I think you need one of these, Bobbe” (holds up an assblaster 3000, or some such useless shit) With an assblaster at your disposal, you can say goodbye to unwanted fecal matter clinging to your anus hairs in a painless, and non-humiliating way.” For real, he sounded like that. I felt sorry for my friend, after watching him dig a hole from which there was no escape. Not sorry enough to buy an assblaster 3000, mind you, but I did sympathize.

However, I took the lesson with me to Seattle, not knowing that it would serve me well 15 years later.

Back to my story, I made a severely rude excuse (even for me) and beat it out of there faster than you can say “My crotch is itching like a house on fire”. Which, in retrospect, might have been exactly what I said.

My neighbor has since moved away, and I discovered he had to turn his home back over to the bank. Looks like his big plan to get rich over the internet has come crashing down around his ankles; His portal no longer exists, although thousands others just like it do. (Another drawback in this game – if everyone else is doing it, how big is your piece of the pie really going to be?)

It takes a hell of a lot to make a successful business these days, even if you have a product that basically sells itself – like cable internet, for example. But something that relies on more word-of-mouth, sympathy votes and practically begging people to come to you first, only to buy your mid-range-at-best crap.

Find another fool. Including yourself.

You'll LOVE this!

2010-10-06T00:52:00.000-07:00

Since I'm on the subject, this...Is nothing short of genius.

Hawaii Five-O

2010-10-05T18:31:00.001-07:00

I won't say it here. Scroll down to the bottom for what you KNOW has got to be coming!

Okay, there's been a lot of debate over the new Hawaii Five-O remake, and while flipping through my Comcast HBO selections (of which nothing appealed to me), I decided to give the first three episodes a try.

Now, you all know me out there. As a good friend of mine recently put it, "If I ask you for a story, I know what I'm going to get is an "R" rated, edgy thriller that most children under 12 shouldn't be within 5 miles of." Well, yes, that's true I suppose, and I realize with my reputation for sodomizing that which I cannot abide you're all probably expecting me to rip into Hawaii Five-O like a helpless blond cheerleader left alone at a Black Panther rally, but put away your bile meters for a moment and listen: It's not bad. Once I made it into the second half hour of the pilot, a strange sensation began to permeate my body, and I realized that I was actually enjoying it.

I know! It was so weird!! But seriously, get past the first 20 minutes of the pilot episode and you're home free. The premise of the show is the same one as all cop-buddy shows in history: Miami Vice, Dragnet, CSI, T.J. Hooker, blah, blah, blah. Two cocky, wise-cracking guys with badges in a hot sportscar they ordinarily wouldn't be allowed to look at from across the street of the lot work in an off-the-books manner, one is a loose cannon and the other is fucking crazy. Their backup team functions as a well-oiled machine from the word go, with no real breaking-in period, but that only matters if you really care about such things. As it stands, we can just cut right to the cool action and car explosions without a backwards glance.

The character lineup is the same, but the players are different - meaning, same names - different races, sexes and personalities.

No, really...There's a chemistry there.

Alex O'Laughlin and Scott Caan make a great pairing as McGarret and Danny "Danno" Williams, with ability and tension between them. Neither one look like they've ever had a pimple in their lives, of course.

Daniel Dae Kim is extraordinary in some scenes and more wooden than an Indian in front of a tobacco store in others. Which is a shame, considering how easily Grace Park acts circles around him.

There is something about Grace Park that makes me wish she was Japanese instead of Korean...That way, all the freaky sex shit I want to do to her wouldn't seem so strange, it would just be accepted. "Hey, don't judge me because of the midgets and the leather restraints...she's Japanese, I gotta respect her culture!"

Seriously, I think the one flaw with Grace Park is that she won't return my calls. Bitch.

"Okay, everyone without tits gets a vest. Grace...Just use your tits."

The physical action in the show is punishing and brutal, you get a real sense that the characters are taking some hits when they fight, and the choreography is actually inspired in some scenes. I'm really appreciative of a fight scene that's well choreographed nowadays, especially after the recent plague of epileptic camera operators we just went through that think having a seizure is the "In your face" way to film a fight. You get the feeling that McGarret might actually lose some of these, which makes me want to watch just for the off chance that he might.

Not to say the show doesn't have it's faults; The crime solving "ah-ha!"moments are nothing short of kindergarten, and the clues are either found because MacGarret is a one-man CSI lab, or they are so blindingly obvious that Peter O'Toole would have trouble missing them after a nine-day booze bender.

But the biggest problem is this:

See, this isn't a continuation of the original Hawaii Five-O (Which, taking cues from the Star Trek franchise, might have been the better direction to go with), it's a fucking REMAKE of the original. That means I have to watch some goober doing round kicks and solving crimes while uttering the holy mantra of "Book 'em, Danno!", all the while expecting to see the man who did the job for 12 years behind the voice.

And you cannot, whatsoever, follow Jack Fucking Lord. I'm sorry, but that's like going on with a comedy act after Jesus Christ does his dying on the cross to save our souls act.

Also - and it is a really nit-picky thing, I know - but...about the opening sequence; Look, guys, that montage is Hollywood history, it's the mother of all opening sequences, the one everyone else aspires to be. So if you're going to duplicate it, either go big or go home.

Clearly, Hollywood didn't get that memo. Instead, I have to watch Alex O'laughlin (anyone remember when he was a goddam vampire?!?) do the little half-turn on the terrace of the hotel. Sorry guys, but he's NOT Jack Lord, and you should stop trying to make us think he is.

However, I will admit that O'Laughlin is talented enough to pull this character off without falling back on the mythology of the original series. The producers should let him do just that, instead of putting him into situations where they can say "See? We can train a poodle to jump through the same hoops as our old dogs used to!"

But that's as far as I'm going to ride the hate train. As I said, the show sells and the low points aren't glaring. I wouldn't be so brash as to say the show grabs you right out of the gate, but give it until the third episode & I think you'll be hooked.

Book 'em, Danno!

This Movie Not Yet Rated

2010-09-30T22:31:00.000-07:00

What Helicopters do in Action Movies

2010-09-30T16:02:00.000-07:00

Explode.

Pay Attention

2010-09-30T15:57:00.000-07:00

After reading the
the sentence, you are
now aware that the
the human brain
often does not
inform you that the
the word 'the' has
been repeated every time

Who out there caught all three the first time?

I Hold the Line

2010-09-25T23:15:00.000-07:00

The Kid is in the Game

I got my first writing contract this weekend. It's been brewing for several weeks, and the ink isn't dry on the paperwork, but still...I am now a working author. Or, a PAID working author, rather. I didn't want to say anything until it was in the bag.

I kind of figured that sooner or later I would get a writing gig...A lot of people like my stories and my style. But still,when the offer came in, it was a full three hours before I could speak to someone about it. For a crippled guy, I bounce off the walls pretty good.

The book is set in a medieval world one step short of a renaissance, with an assassin called Katya. Think Thieves' World meets Assasin's Creed meets Ironhand's Daughter.

I'm still jazzed about it - it's hard for me to concentrate on what to blog about it.

One thing I'm pretty excited about is the opportunity to portray a more realistic (as close as one can get in the world of medieval fantasy, anyway) use of weapons and techniques suited to a woman in the killing trade. One thing I always hated about the Highlander series was the majority of women on the show used ridiculously heavy weapons when they had all the figure of an X-Ray with boobs. It happens time and again, some skinny slip of a girl squares off against a guy the size of gargantuan the ape man, and she pulls out the friggin' Sword of Crom, or some equally unbelievable weapon & proceed to wield it so awkwardly you wonder if being alive for hundreds of years doesn't make you just the tiniest bit...Retarded.

I'm not the first writer in the family, as it turns out. Walter D. Edmonds - author of "Drums Along the Mohawk", and "Tales My Father Never Told" (my favorite) - was my great-uncle.

I wouldn't have gotten the gig if Steve Perry hadn't pushed it my way, for which I will be forever grateful. His name is also going to be headlining the book, but mine is going to be right beneath it. You can read that as "I'm Steve Perry's bitch", at this point I'll suffer that one GLADLY. To be completely honest...It ain't that far from the truth.

Of course, now I have to do the actual WORK. With the eyes of my uncle Walt on me, Steve Perry cracking the whip and the future of my reputation on the line.

Really...No pressure.

Brainstorming

2010-09-25T22:37:00.000-07:00

"Call me Ishmael."

"Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins!"

"It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen"

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times"

"It was a dark and stormy night"

"Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show"

Godammit...

All the good ones are taken.

Kicking Comcast Ass

2010-09-16T11:18:00.001-07:00

This is going to sound racist. Ces't la Vie. Go somewhere else if you're more in the mood for flowers and puppies today.

Something that really torques my nuts is international tech support. Since Microsquash led the charge about 10 years ago, I have constantly had to deal with some guy holding an English popular phrasebook while I try to decipher what the ding-dong hell he's trying to tell me. I have spent long nights on the phone with someone in Bangladesh trying to tell me that he thinks there's a problem with my power source, and it's slowing down my connection speed. I have wasted entire weekends arguing with some guy who has to log in using a dial-up service in Uzbekistan to tell me that Cisco catalyst switches only support PPoE and not PoE (It's two completely seperate things with similar acronyms...And by the way, Cisco Catalyst Switches support BOTH, Habib!).

Something else, if my internet connection is down, how the fuck am I supposed to log on to www.comcast.net and do troubleshooting? Seriously, someone had to read that out loud for the automated voice teller to play...They must have realized how ridiculous it sounded.

Also, if I'm calling because both my cable internet AND my Comcast On-Demand TV is down, what makes you think I would be interested in getting my phone routed through the same pipe and service that you can't provide reliably for the first two? I can almost believe its some insidious plot to take away my one ability to react when things go down...Can't complain when you can't phone it in!

I knew I was screwed when I asked the guy for my outside IP address. "I'm sorry sir, I can't tell you that." (Quickie infomercial; Your ISP both assigns and activates your outside IP Address, ergo, they should know what it is.)

Me: "Excuse me? I'm fucking PAYING for it, I'm certainly entitled to KNOW it."

Abdul: "No sir, what I mean is, I don't have any access to that information."

Me: (Starting to lose it) "YOU JUST RESET MY MODEM! HOW THE FREAK-SPANK DID YOU FIND IT WITHOUT THE OUTSIDE IP ADDRESS? A MAGIC FUCKING WAND?!?"

Achmed: "Oh, That...You mean those numbers that I used to get to your modem?"

Me: "Hang on a second, I need to kill myself before we continue this conversation."

You know who I REALLY feel sorry for? Those of you out there who have no background in I.T. whatsoever. Because it's you guys who are going to fall victim to such techno-babble booby traps as "It's your router's fault" (Which leads to "Let me transfer you to our pay-for-service dept."), "You probably have a faulty port" (Which is a lead-in for "The problem is on YOUR end, not mine. Go away") or "It's your ISP's fault" (Say what? YOU'RE my friggin' ISP, moron.) But the thing is, unless you're familiar with technospeak (most laymen aren't) you aren't going to know how to navigate this crap. And you will - and frequently DO - waste time, money & entire days of your lives just trying to get your internet to a speed comparable to that of an emaciated possum in the later stages of starvation.

I have always wanted to do this

I was going to write "Why do Internet Service Providers constantly shoot themselves in the foot when it comes to outsourcing tech support?" But honestly, the answer is glaringly obvious:

It's the bottom line. If you can pay someone in a foreign country a quarter what you would pay a person here in the states, it's just good business to do so. That is, as long as no one else is playing ball.

Seriously, I would drop Comcast in a heartbeat if something better were out there. I would consider dropping them for someone with even worse services, if they had on-site tech support that spoke English. I know a lot of other people who would as well.

The internet is how business is done these days, and there's no getting around that anymore. Just as AT&T stuck it to Southern Bell in the 80's, the Internet is sticking it to all other forms of communication. Anyone with a modicum of common sense has a bluetooth wireless headset and a phone connection through Google Chat so you can make a call to anywhere in the world - for free - on a free program. Thus far, the coordination of web technology and user interface has been similar to Ike and Tina Turner at the downside of their tumultuous marriage to each other. It's always been the outlook of IT professionals to sneer at the lesser-informed, as if IP Protocol knowledge automatically bestows an electronic knighthood on the holder of an MCSE.

Those days are long past in my book, and the company that recognizes this will have a foothold in the coming technology wave that's currently being led by the iPhone. This is the kind of company that I want to deal with, and I want to deal with it very badly indeed.

Wake up, you corporate vaginal secretions.

Republican Moron of the Week Award

2010-09-10T05:35:00.000-07:00

OKay, I have to admit: I thought this was a joke. In fact, I thought it was an elaborate joke, meant to entice people like me into ridiculing the Republican party (again). I thought this was some grand set-up devised by my enemies on Mars.

Nope. It's real.

Ladies and gentlemen - both of you - and the rest of my faithful readers, I give you Councilman Phil Davison of Minerva, Ohio - Candidate for Stark County treasurer.

Take a listen to this, and try to imagine the anxiety going through the people sitting in the first three rows...Furthest away from the goddam exits.

He has a bachelor's degree in history, master's degree in sociology, public administration...and A MASTER'S DEGREE IN COMMUNICATION! (punctuation his, not mine).

Notice how he keeps scanning the crowd & returning to his notes? What the hell was he looking for, the men in white jackets to burst in and take him back to his room? Fuckee-me, I was getting nervous watching this video: Twice, I looked behind me to see if anyone was there.

Also, what was in those notes..."When you get to this point, scream really loud and act as if you're going to pick up a chair and break it over someone's head". I keep thinking there should have been someone at the very back holding a giant cue card that read "SIT-THE-FUCK-DOWN-AND-TAKE-SOME-THORAZINE".

"We will not tolerate incompetence and irresponsibility ANY LONGER!"

Dude...Don't you think you're in the wrong political party to be making statements like that? The ass is a terrible place to have your words come back and bite you on.

Check out the part where he misquotes what he proclaims to be one of his favorites quotes..."In the HISTORY OF THE SPOKEN WORD!" (Again,his punctuation. Don't blame me for this nutjob).

The further I got into this clip, the more my jaw dropped. I mean, someone had to APPROVE of this mouth-breather to get up on a podium and represent the Republican party. Who the hell is running the filter process, Pat Robertson?

You know, they say you only get one chance to make a good impression. This guy could live to be 100, and they will still be remembering him as "Freak-Out Candidate Guy"

Hey, Sarah Palin; That hopey-changey thing? It's working a hell of a lot better than that psychotic-y, wierdassy thing would be.

Jesus-Pissing-Blue-Kool Aid Christ....And they call US Moonbats.

Turn And Face the Strange

2010-09-10T03:32:00.000-07:00

Recent events in my life have put me on a seriously introspective kick the past few weeks, and looking back, I can honestly say; Thank fuck THAT'S over with. I hate introspection, it makes me maudlin and hum the theme song to "The Way We Were".

A schism has occurred in my school, and amongst those I considered close friends. Words have been passed, lines have been drawn & the cards have fallen in a 50-50 split. Some of it I saw coming a few years ago, other parts caught me completely by surprise. Live and learn.

Word got around - of course - before I was ready to address it, and I have been approached by some people who heard of it, and others I reached out for. The resounding question has always been the same: "Bobbe, what do you think you could have done to prevent this? What could you have changed to alter the outcome?"

Here's my answer: NOTHING.

Read that as, "Not what I could have done, but given the chance, what I would have done, had I seen it coming."

I am what I am, period. I'm perfectly happy with WHO I am, and I have no pretensions about who I'm not. Oh, don't worry, I know where you all are coming from (those of you whom I have spoken with). And, I know what you're trying to say. I'll even go so far as to say you're not wrong. Everyone has their shortcomings, and mine are a lot clearer than others. That's not difficult with me, I'm the single most up-front person I know. When you know someone intimately, someone you have broken bread with on countless occasions & been privy to their personal side, it's an easy thing to point at them and say, "Look, look! His fly is down! Look!" It's not like any of you have to say..."I wonder what Bobbe thinks?" One thing I can say above all others: I'm not to everyone's taste.

I'm writing all THAT, however, to say THIS: The recent changes and upheavals haven't done anything to affect my judgment of others either. I was worried that, for a while, I should change my school intake policy, alienate and restrict my current group, hell, maybe I should close it down altogether. The payoff is certainly far less than the investment, and I have let some real assholes into my trust sometimes.

But being the person I am is what has also drawn some really great friends close to me, friends I wouldn't trade in for the world. At the end, I just decided; You win some, you lose some. Half the group left - the other half stayed. That's proof enough in my book.

My book...Ungh, that's another thing...

I Have Been Given Notice
My wife came in last week and asked what I was working on. I thought it was obvious since I had Microsoft Word open, 30 pages chock full of text and absolutely nothing else going on in the background, but I answered anyway.

"I'm working on an idea for a short story I have. It's about a guy with a birth defect that-"

"Yeah, yeah, great. A short story. How many does this make?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me; How. Many. Does. This. Make."

"umm - Short stories, you mean?"

No answer, just a LOOK. Married men out there will know what I mean by this look.

"Uh, I dunno...Maybe 25? maybe 30?"

"What about your novel you were working on?"

"Uhhhhmmmmm...."

"Honey - That's not an answer"

So, I have been forbidden to write, at least to completion, anything not related to finishing a novel and getting it circulated. For some reason, a collection of short stories don't count - This blog notwithstanding. I guess she has a point, I have almost a dozen novel ideas, most with outlines, many in various states of completion laying around. Also, when my wife puts her foot down, I tend to pay attention. It's much less screechy around my house if I let things play out like that.

Not that I don't wear the pants in my household - I waited until my wife was only halfway down the stairs before I whispered "I'll write whatever I goddam well please, you harpy".

Sci Fi can be FUN!
Okay, check out this book I found the other day:

I haven't read it yet - I may never read it - But the cover has three bunny women of different colors (or women in bunny suits? Same thing, really, in my book) crowded around some haughty-looking dude in a spaceship. I don't fucking CARE how bad the writing is, gimme the space sex!!!

Just when I thought they couldn't possibly find some new kink for me to go apeshit over involving Sci Fi.

(Edit: I just realized...That pink bunny-babe on the left? She's playing with a big red knob. Ooooohhhhhhh, my stars and guitars!)

Speaking of Bunnies

This has been my lucky week for this shit; I just got a vintage copy of DC's "Tales of the Unexpected" with the man-eating Easter bunny in it. This bastard gave me nightmares as a kid, & I can't wait to read it again. But the best part?

I didn't pay for it - I traded for it. And something that didn't matter much to me at that. Probably this comic didn't matter much to my friend either, but I'll take what I can get.

Shit, my wife's coming back up the stairs...Gotta go!

Another Year for the Old Man

2010-08-31T20:04:00.001-07:00

At this point, I'm not really sure how old Steve Perry is...But I know that "Land of the Lost" brought back some tearful memories of his childhood. It's sad when you have to go to the Smithsonian to visit your first pet.

Happy birthday, Steve.

Left 4 Dead Zombie addicts ONLY!

2010-08-24T11:25:00.000-07:00

A really great stress reliever for me is Left 4 Dead, a post -apocalyptic zombie survival horror game. The basic load only comes with 4 missions, but fanbase support has created dozens more, all with various takes on different movies, monster lore & the like. They're fun as hell, and make the game really worth the $50 you have to shell out for it.

A new map came out over the weekend, and me & the boys decided to give it a beta run. We do this kind of thing frequently, sort of MST3K meets Dawn of the Dead. The map is called One 4 Nine, and it appears to be a sci-fi take on Area 51...Until the ending.

You can check out the entire game (and comedy routine) at my man Solo Jone's youtube page HERE.

The players:

The Curry Thief (me) as Zoey

Howling Commando as Louis

Solo Jones as Bill

MiggyB as Francis

My man Solo Jones put up an edited version with all the funny moments - as well as a crown count for witches between him an Howling Commando. I revised this post so you have only 15 minutes to go through instead of 50. If you're not big into video games, this probably won't interest you, but if you are...Check it out.

And Part Two:

I HAD to touch it...You understand? I just had to.

Legendary

2010-07-11T18:05:00.000-07:00

He's Doing It Right

Dear God; Please give us Freddy back. In exchange, I'm willing to offer you Miley Cyrus, Lady Gaga, all three Jonas Brothers, Prince, Jay-Z, Madonna and Justin Bieber (or whatever his name is) as well as about 3 dozen other talentless cheese dicks in exchange. Surely it's not too much to ask, all those lives in exchange for just one?

I'd throw Michael Jackson into that offer, but you got him already.

Take a look at this video (Live Aid, 1985)

Pay attention to 1:46 to 2:12. Look at the hands of the crowd. Freddy could have ordered the entire Wembley Stadium to "take back" Massachusetts that day, and they probably would have done it. Or at least tried. Go to 3:12 & you'll see what I mean.

Bring it back bring it back,
Don't take it away from me,
Because you don't know what it means to me

Illegal Downloading is Getting Out of Hand

2010-07-01T16:12:00.000-07:00

This...Takes BALLS

Shining On

2010-06-17T21:09:00.000-07:00

Tonight's post is brought to you by Bombay Sapphire, aged properly and served over ice with a splash of lime. Holy shit, my eyeballs are feeling warm...!

Back Surgery!

So, the last few months have brought some SERIOUS good news in terms of my back surgery. So much so, that I'm starting to feel just a smidge...Suspicious. I never get good luck in a solid windfall like this, especially in the medical field. If the Twilight Zone has taught me anything, then recent events must mean I'm either dead or a mannequin.

Well, it looks like my views of the medical world have been very naive, to say the least. All that red tape and flaming hoops I had to jump through? Yeah, well, it turns out that's only AMERICA that makes you do that. Ironic, in a land that can (and usually does) blow up another country faster than you can say "Are you sure that's where they were hiding?" takes a decade to clear you for medical insurance. By which time, you will have died from whatever was ailing you, returned as a zombie, infected half of your hometown and finally killed by a band of roving survivors armed with shotguns and molotovs.

I'm saying all this because my contacts in India have been so straightforward and honest with me, it was a perfect slap in the face. I mean, all the information I REALLY needed to know was covered in the first three emails. We've exchanged 28 emails so far, mostly just me on the other end saying "Are you SURE it won't cost more? You don't really NEED another 40 tests, injections, epidurals and whatnot? Really?"

Really. They don't. Without the red tape, health care scam and "insurance" (so-called) to wade through, these people are all about the fucking JOB. And they get it done in style. Spinal surgery, MRI's, partial dental replacement and three weeks recovery time on the beaches of Mangalor: $5,000.000.

No, I didn't forget a zero there, it's five grand - done. And that includes staying in a private room with a spa, international cable, internet, the whole nine yards.

On top of that, I discovered that I am a candidate for laser surgery on my back. It's far better than a standard microdistectomy, and only marginally more expensive. I was like..."Huh? My American doctor didn't even APPROACH this with me."

The only thing left for me is to pick a date.

Hope you religious people have enough protective iconography, because this coming Halloween is going to ROCK!

I'm talking pentagrams, on the floor, in goat's blood here. Hide the kids.

Also, to everyone who bought a DVD set; Thank you from the bottom of my heart. We're almost there.

Farewell, Facebook

It's over, baby. Just like the brief, whirlwind love affair that was myspace (does anyone even use that anymore?) or the cautious, romantic interlude that was friendster (does anyone even REMEMBER that anymore?) Facebook and I are on the downside of an amicable relationship. I just don't GET anything from these social networking sites, and although Facebook has offered me more stimulation in terms of a relationship than those other cyber-floozies...We were never really meant to be. I'll probably leave it up for a few more weeks, but really, it's over. I don't care how many people "friend" me, I don't think you perverts really need (or care) to know what I'm doing every hour on the hour. It's just not my thing. And don't get me started on Twitter - That's something I'll just NEVER understand.

"Okay,. I'm taking a dump now! Kinda painful! PEANUTS!!"

You know what they should make? Anti-social networking sites. A place for people who hate other people, and don't give a rat's hairy ass WHAT you all are doing with your lives. I might start that, come to think of it...Sign in, log on, and fuck right off.

A Meeting of Like-Minded Strange People

The 10th annual Gathering of the Tribes was a fantastic success. With the attendees spilling out into the road, this one was the biggest yet, and since it's humble beginnings, word has spread over the years about a bunch of strange people who get together, eat, drink, and hit each other. People flew in from all over America - Some freshly returned from foreign lands - to partake in the blood, food, and bruises.

The word has also spread amongst the flying insect population, and this years' mosquito swarm was the biggest one yet, with those bloodsucking little bastards flying in from all corners of the backyard to partake in blood, itchies, and a lot of swatting. Thanks, you Dengue-carrying guys!

The Gathering has evolved from a "Martial Arts Seminar" to something closer to "A Viking Stag Party With Chicks". There's nothing better than great friends, good training, Belgian Ales and some amazing curry. Chuck's tiny knifemaking class grew into an affair so large we practically never saw him. Almost all of my students came back to Seattle with custom-made knives and a deeper understanding of what it takes to make one.

The level of skill displayed always impresses me, and this year was no different. Craig Gray's Krav Maga was a real eye-opener. I've never been much attracted to Krav Maga, but Craig brought me to a new understanding and respect for this direct and hard-hitting art. Sean Stark of Pencak Silat Pertempuran came out from Florida to share his art, and all the old favorites were there to round things out; Buzz Smith, Terry Trahan, Jay Carstensen...

Oh yeah...Apparently, there was a bald, overweight, alcoholic gimp trying to show something ridiculous as well. Didn't catch the name, though.

I Thought They Smelled Bad...On the Outside

A TAUNTAUN SLEEPING BAG?!?!?!

Goddamn kids today, you little bastards get EVERYTHING. I had to sleep in the rotting carcass of a dead Possum when I was a kid, just to re-enact Star Wars.

Bobby Taboada!

Right on the heels of the Gathering, Grandmaster Bobby Taboada came to town, and the Edmonds Academy made a full showing. Taboada is superb, fast as hell and hits like a meteor from outer space. He's definately in a class by himself, and if you get a chance to train with this Eskrima master, I highly recommend you do so. There weren't many attendees, so it was close to a semi-private class rather than an actual seminar. There might be a Balintawak chapter started here in Seattle, before too long.

Parting Shot:

Some of these fucking search engines are starting to get a little too big for their britches...

Grandmaster Bobby Taboada in Town

2010-06-10T18:26:00.000-07:00

I SHOULD have posted this WAAAY sooner - as usual, I'm a retard.

Balintawak Eskrima Grandmaster Bobby Taboada will be in town this weekend. I have met Grandmaster Taboada on a few occasions, and I can guarantee he is worth the while, for those who are interested. Please note that Saturday is in Kent, while Sunday is in Bellingham.

To any interested parties, here is the information:

Saturday June 12, 2010
Kent Commons Community Center
525 4th Ave North
Kent, Washington 98032

Schedule: 12:00 - 6:00PM

Sunday June 13, 2010
Bellingham Chinese Martial Arts Academy
414 West Bakerview Suite 110
Bellingham, Washington 98226

Schedule:
10:00AM-12:00PM
1:30PM-4:30PM
4:30PM-5:30PM (Balintawak Testing)

Cost: $90 per day

To Register or for more info:
Contact: John Soriano
Ph: 206-372-0654
email: cuentada.seattle@ymail.com

We Three Dead

2010-05-20T23:39:00.000-07:00

Still a Smartass

Someone suggested this title for a short story I'm writing a few weeks ago, and I've had this stuck in my head ever since.

It's sung to the tune of "We Three Kings"

We Three Dead

We three dead are looking for brainzz
Shuffling, lumbering, slow in the rain
we know that we're gruesome,
but chasing the hu-umans
sure is a fuck-ing pain

mmmMMMMmmuuurrrr-uuNNNNnggghhhhhhhh,

Hear that sound? There's someone near
you can almost taste their fear
rip and bite
their flesh all night
someone please save me an ear

############################

No fear of me quitting my day job, I guess...

A Wire in the Blood

2010-05-20T22:38:00.001-07:00

I don't like the person I have become lately.

I've spent the past two years in varying degrees of pain - On a scale of 1 to 10, it's never been below 5. The last few months, it's never been below 7. For those of you with no pain reference, have one of your arms broken and then grind the bones together for about a week. While ramming a darning needle into a pus-filled boil that was caused from the bite of a female mouse spider. Over and over. Get back to me on how that feels.

Lately, all I seem to do is lash out at people. Doesn't matter why, I just do it. Breathing seems to set me off. Just being within a 20-mile proximity appears to do it.

I verbally hurt those around me more and more frequently every day. I make them upset, I make them resentful.

I have made a couple of them cry.

When did this happen? I have no idea. I just woke up last week and realized I was pushing everyone away from me. This shit has got to stop, period. I've stepped up the research for going overseas to get back surgery, and my DVD's are selling like cocaine-filled donuts. I'm shooting for mid-July to get this over with.

To everyone who I have ripped into the past year: I'm sorry.

Truly.

It isn't me.

My Sundanese Pencak Silat Collection

2010-04-14T12:27:00.000-07:00

I made a six DVD set of videos from material I shot in Indonesia during several trips there, mostly with Bambang Suwanda, but occasionally with different instructors as well. I originally made this set from the Hi-8 tapes I shot, and they were going to be my personal reference material. I have only recently decided to release them to make some money for my back surgery.

There is a TON of information in this set, kembangan, technique, pecehan, weapons, the whole ball of wax. I edited the techniques in a way that's easy to follow, and arraigned them as much as possible into a categorical reference. Also, each DVD comes with a fully authored menu as well. And before you say "Well, so what?" try finding that on some other DVD set that wasn't made in a professional distribution house.

You will absolutely not find another collection like this on the market today, period. Steve Perry did a great review of the set, and you can find his opinions of it HERE.

You can find the descriptions and ordering information HERE, or in the Sundanese DVD link to the right in my link bar. Individual DVD's are available for $55.00 apiece, or $225.00 for the entire set. DVD's are region-free, and will play in international DVD sets. Bear in mind, these are dual-layer DVD's, and may not play in their entirety on older player models.

All DVD orders are shipped priority mail, included in the price of the DVDs to anywhere in the United States and Territories. All international orders (non-US) are shipped Priority Mail as well, but with an additional $15.00 surcharge.

Destiny Be Damned

2010-03-24T14:23:00.000-07:00

No Sign of Yesterday, Part II

You've heard that expression, "You can't go home again"? Whoever said that knew what he was talking about. There's a feeling you get looking at old photos, especially those of places and people who are long gone from your life, and it usually boils down to one word: Regret.

We all have these, someplace in our past life, and it's the memory of who you were and what you were doing at the time the photo was taken that plays merry hob with your mind. It gets confusing when there are good memories tangled with the bad, and we desperately want the good memories to outweigh the bad...even if that's not really the case. Memories always fade with the passing of time, and I'm starting to think they're designed that way for a reason.

Lately, I've had a lot of my past dredged up from old photographs, and I've come to realize that the good old days weren't really as good as I thought I remembered them. Last week, someone accused me of running from my past. Let me state for the record right here and now: That's impossible. It can't be done. You can change the surroundings of your past, you can certainly ignore your past, and it may come to be that your past chooses to ignore you as well. But it's always YOUR past, you can't trade it in for a different childhood, or another 4 years at college somewhere else. Like that incident at the Canadian border a few months ago: My past appeared at the most unlikely of places. And ironically, they (the FUCKING CANADIANS!) wanted me to change it in order to come back into their country. Which I will never do.

*AHEM*

I came to Seattle 17 years ago, much less a human than an animal in sneakers. My volatile childhood had bred me to be a wild child by the time I reached puberty, and a certifiable paranoid nutjob when I was 21. My wife has gone a long way in changing the person I was into the person I am, and I'm very proud of my ability to keep the wolf on a leash for the most part. It gets out now and again, but you have to go a really long way to see it.

Back to the story - In the course of living out my anger and mistrust of humanity during my teenage years, I crossed a lot of people. By "A lot" I mean "Into the hundreds". I'm not making excuses here, but there was nothing I could do about that - I only knew one way to interact with the world, and it included adultery, lying, stealing and hurting those who were close to me.

My surroundings were part of the equation; you don't think of South Carolina and rocket scientists in the same synapse. Looking back, I'm surprised no one simply killed me and had done with it. I know I crossed the line on more occasions than I can count. There was a time in the early 90's - I can't pinpoint exactly when, but I remember the era - that I began to wake up and realize what living this life was going to eventually cost me. You can read about one aspect of that awakening HERE. I wanted to change myself, to draw a better deal out of life than I had been initially dealt.

And that was when I discovered I had already gone too far.

Like the boy who cried wolf once too often, most of the people I was "friends" with wanted nothing to do with me by this time. Most of their wives or girlfriends had slept with me. I had stolen things from almost all of them. Built a huge wall of mistrust between myself and anyone who came into contact with me. So when this new Bobbe showed up - Well, it was already too late.

I have maybe one person left from that time period - we talk on the phone sometimes, share the occasional email. And I wrecked his car when I was 17. I mean, I WRECKED it - took a sharp curve at 75 mph, hit the guide rail and left the fucking ground. A friendly oak tree assisted in stopping our momentum - said friend was still in the car with me at the time - and the windshield aided in my concussion.

There was nothing I could do to change my situation in Columbia. I had hurt too many people to count, and I was starting to see them every other day on the street somewhere.I would apply for a job, and oh look - The guy I fucked over last month is giving the interview! I would stop for gas somewhere, and someone I had problems with would pull into the lane next to me. Go to a restaurant and my waiter happens to be a girl I cheated on. These experiences really happened, by the way, I'm not simply making them up for artistic license. If there is one thing I learned from all that, its that KARMA IS A VINDICTIVE BITCH. What you send out will indeed come back to you - one way or another.

Now, I know a lot of people that simply up and left wherever they were living to find something better. I've looked back on people I knew years ago - Still in the same place, living the same life they ever did, the world passing them by and judging them as unremarkable in their lives. Only a fool stands in quicksand and believes he should go quietly into mire without a fight. When you are surrounded on all sides by people you can't trust, events you can't change and a future you won't see...It's move or die. And ironically, I've actually seen people choose death over living.

Coming to Seattle wasn't an attempt to escape my past - No one can really do that. Does an alcoholic join AA to escape his past, or to change for a sober life? Do people leave dead-end jobs because they are trying to run from minimum wage? No. What they want - which is the same thing everyone wants, no matter who you are - is something better.

And that's what moving to Seattle was for me, an attempt to find something better than what I had in South Carolina, to surround myself with people who didn't slip into a knee-jerk reaction when a black man walked towards them on the street, or meet a woman who didn't get pregnant before she graduated high school, or know someone could pick up a book without pictures and not be thought of as homosexual. I wanted a career that didn't include wearing a name tag, or steel-toed boots, or have the words "Waffle House" on the shirt.

You cannot change your past. But the future is entirely up to you write.

Like the song goes...Sometimes goodbye is a second chance.

What I Would Do To Alizee If I Ever Got Her Alone

2010-03-23T11:45:00.001-07:00

As if you had to ask...

Well...Let's just say it involves a monkey, half a gallon of baby oil and a whiffle ball bat & leave it at that, okay?

Chasing the Line

2010-03-20T12:58:00.000-07:00

I've been researching my lineage on Ancestry.com. As someone with no children, and no interest in their current family outside of his wife, you would think this would be a non-issue with me. But once I started checking things out (I needed to know my great-grandfather's name for something), it hooked me.

On my mother's side, there are amazing records going back all the way to the 1500's.

She's originally from Dutch stock. Can you believe it? As soon as the Netherlands popped up on the history chart, I started praying to about 30 different Gods that the name "deThouars" didn't pop up. I'd have to kill myself for the shame of it all.

On my dad's side, it's a little different.

We have some unbelievable names in the Edmonds clan. I thought I was being original by spelling my name with an "E" - My ancestors would have probably laughed at this. I found a guy named Indianna Edmonds (No, I didn't misspell it - That was how he spelled it). Pammiela, Thos, Esom, Geo Hy Hy, Hepzibah, Jno - It goes on.

My Great-Grandfather opened up a glass plant in Shanghai for what used to be "Standard Oil", and ran it for a dozen years or so. Apparently, I'm not the only Edmonds with yellow fever...!

He sailed on the S.S. Monteagle, which I found a photo of on a website for the ship's company:

The first Edmonds of my line in America was William, in 1778. He was a pressed hand on the HMS Thames, built in 1758. Since there was a war going on between England and America at the time, I can only assume he jumped ship and ran for it as soon as he got within sight of land. They sure as hell wouldn't just let him off, especially at the height of the American Revolution.

No records exist of what happened exactly, other than the ships crew manifests which indicate he was "bondage" on the Thames, and suddenly disappeared.

A Great Uncle x4, Daniel Edmonds was captured as a spy during the war of 1812 - And paroled afterwards. No existing records of what he did then.

Catherine Edmonds was my Great Aunt x7 - She got transportation in the 1700's (prison ship). What her crime was, I don't know. The only record of her existence was as a prisoner on the "Indispensable", convicted in the Old Bailey in 1784.

Walter D. Edmonds (author of "Drums Along the Mohawk") is my Great-Uncle. Apparently, writing runs in the family as well. Damn, I guess the glove is in front of me there, huh?

There's lots of places where the line just runs dead - They didn't keep the most accurate records during the time of the colonies, and a lot of names simply end up listed on a birth certificate or a grave somewhere as "Edmonds" or "Male Edmonds" - "Female Edmonds". There's no telling who these people were, or what role they played in the events of that time.

I don't know how far I'm going to keep looking - but it's an amazing thing to actually see those who went before you, and what events transpired throughout history to bring you to this time and place.

I kinda have to smile at all this history, and how much my family did. The ones I could trace, anyway.

So this is what pride in your family feels like.

A Landmark for Blogging

2010-03-20T10:58:00.000-07:00

I just realized that this will be post #502 since I started blogging here at Thick as Thieves, lo, these many years ago. Well, its only been four years, but you get my drift.

502 posts...Man, that's a hell of a lot of writing. I hope it was fun for you guys. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere, I just thought this anniversary shouldn't pass without some popping of the champagne corks.

I fought blogging every step of the way - Looking back, I have no idea why. It's been a real education, both in writing and discovering different aspects of myself.

I might make a huge herkin' PDF download of this site, including some articles and stories I never released. Also include some nude photos. Of my neighbor.

Thick as Thieves, 2006 - 2010: Four Years of Pillaging the Village

Apparently, I still have a few hang-ups...

No Sign Of Yesterday

2010-03-18T08:39:00.000-07:00

Every one debates their true reality
But I'd rather see the world the way it used to be
-- Freddie Mercury

Has anyone out there ever had someone you hadn't seen for years suddenly pop into your head for no reason whatsoever? And it made you actually stop what you were doing, no matter what it was, and think "Yeah...Whatever did happen to that guy?" And it was at that moment that you realized that you had no idea where they were, or even how long it had been since you last spoke?

What happened to those people?

I can tell you what happened: Life. We lived it, we grew up, we grew apart. Maybe an argument that was never resolved, or just a distance too great to cover over the phone or by email. Sometimes it was simply a matter of time in passing.

You know how that goes, you don't see someone for a few weeks, then you move on to another project, a new love, some different path. A couple of months go by, then six, then its a year before you bump into them at a theater, or shopping for one of the rare items you can't buy online nowadays. You eagerly enter the conversation because you remember this was someone close to you once, but sense that it was a mistake about 15 seconds into the encounter. You chat awkwardly about your lives since you last saw each other, promise to call, get together, keep in touch. Then you invent some fake reason for being in a hurry & leaving - maybe you really are, its not impossible - but the point is, you are somehow less friends than you were the last time you spoke.

I firmly believe that we all exist on different planes of understanding in life, and some of us are further along, or higher up than others. Sometimes we graduate to the next level unexpectedly, and we want to bring those close to us along as well.

And usually, they don't want to go. In those cases, you have a choice of growing stagnant with them, or letting them go and moving on. Maybe they'll catch up later - I've seen that happen - or maybe you'll just meet another group on this new level. Either way, you don't let the people you used to know hold you back from moving forward in your life.

The one thing you don't want is for the mistakes you made to anchor you in the past. Letting go is the only hope you have for moving on, period.

And then there are the ones that you just wish to God you could go back in time and change. You know what I mean here, those particular instances where the blame, fault, call it what you want - lies solely with YOU. Whatever caused the relationship to sunder, you were the one who carries the weight of it. Everybody I know has at least one of these, kind of "the one that got away" syndrome, or just plain regret.

That happened to me yesterday, something out of the clear blue hit me faster than chicken pox on a fourth grader, and brought the memory of a long lost friend into my head. It's the digital age, so I did a small Google search for her on a whim. Honestly, I didn't really expect to get any results - It's been over 20 years, and things ended very badly between us. As a result of me being an ass, I should mention. I wasn't the brightest person you ever met when I was 18.

Got her on the first try - Facebook, of all things.

I couldn't believe it - 20 years and not a blemish or wrinkle. She's half Italian and half Korean, so that Asiatic genetic stew of hers is really working in her favor. I recognized her immediately, and for the briefest of moments, I got to look into her eyes again after all these years - A left-handed gift from the Gods, if ever there was one.

She looked happy. No reason why she shouldn't, over two decades have passed since she and I were together, and if her profile had said "Still hating that asshole Bobbe for the way he fucked me over", I would have felt horrified that she would still be carrying a teenage love affair gone badly around with her. She was listed as "in a relationship". Good for her. I hope her days are filled with more love than she knows what to do with, and the guy who left her with tears in her eyes is just a forgotten memory.

Looking back at my life, I can see its riddled with holes where great friends used to be. Some of these, I screwed up irrevocably. Others, I just lost touch with, and as for the rest...I suppose we just grew apart.

But those experiences also taught me. I respect my wife. I value friendships, and the friends I have now, I treasure. Because I know what a fleeting thing life is, and not everyone gets to the next stage along with you. They grow distant in the horizon as you go along, less and less visible each month, until they disappear into the sunset behind you, and you wonder if you just dreamed the times you had with them.

I'm not the person I was 20 years ago, and I have people around me now that I love.

I won't let this end as a dream.

Aww, Man...!

2010-03-15T17:02:00.000-07:00

I've been working on a story about a group of explorers who find the remains of Noah's Ark, and it turns out to something a lot less biblical than we think.

Not gonna give too much away here, but I was thinking of calling it "...three of us are dead", which is a radio transmission the base camp gets during a storm that traps them in the lower ridge while group 2 is at the Ark.

I've been playing with that title for a few months now, and it's the one I like the most, but...Something kept nagging me. It's like I knew I had heard that title before, somewhere. I've been looking online, but nothing turns up.

Until last weekend, that is. Sci Fi Channel (fuck you, I call it what I want) plays reruns of a certian golden-age Sci-Fi/Fantasy/Horror television show that came on CBS in the 1960's.

I was checking it out while doing some light housework, and like a prophecy, "The Four Of Us Are Dying" happened to be the episode that came on.

Grrrr...No wonder my brain was telling me something was wrong.

It's not remotely the same story, and of course, the title is slightly different, but still - I might change it anyway. The thing is, I like the title as it stands.

*SIGH*

I guess I'll wait a few weeks and see how I feel about it as I get closer to the end.

Yeah, something's dying all right...My memory cells.

Next, I'll be writing a story called "War in the Stars" or maybe "Collision of the Greek Legends".

Available where all fine Beeline books are sold...

Only The Freshest Snake Oil

2010-03-13T02:33:00.001-08:00

There's a Dissident in my Frosted Flakes

Do you know what a windsock is? It's that conical flag you see at the end of airport runways. It shows actual wind direction at a certian distance from the ground to assist pilots during takeoff. The reason being that the actual flying of an aircraft isn't nearly as difficult as takeoff and landing. A windsock let's you make minute calculations in addition to your other instrumentation. With me so far?

My father used to tell me (before he left me to fend for my own in this world) that, "If you ever meet a man as honest as a windsock, you've just met a hell of a man."

Then he would always pause for a second, and say "You've also just met a real dumbass."

People don't want the truth. No, don't try to argue this with me, you'll lose. People HATE the truth, they can't stand being in the same room with it. It's like being in a whorehouse with your mom, it's just far too much to take.

Try not to think about that whorehouse - mother reference too much. It was a metaphor. If your mom really does work in a whorehouse, well, I'm not one to judge...

I've come to view lying as one of the greatest arts of our species. Forget the piano, lying to save face is probably the most-used tool in your social toolbox. You know what I'm talking about, don't just sit there with that look on your faces. Ever lie to someone to spare their feelings? Ever tell your wife you were doing one thing, when really you were doing something else? Even if it was innocent, you did it. I've done it. Every one I know has.

Truth simply isn't a hit. It's not a winner. Like a side serving of steamed Brussels Sprouts at a steak dinner, it gets pushed around, poked, prodded and mauled until finally it's abandoned for the French Silk Pie. It's too stark, too unforgiving. We tell ourselves that we long for the truth, but really, we want our truth the way we want an ingrown toenail.

You know where people REALLY hate the truth? Martial Arts.

All throughout my training in martial arts, I have striven to find realism in technique. Substance over form. I've avoided the mystical oogah-boogah the way Nicholas Cage avoided acting. In short, I have looked for the truth.

And discovered that it's not always in abundance.

I've been around the block a few times, seen some things that I couldn't immediately explain, but I've never - not once on this Earth - seen evidence that we possess an inner power strong enough to move a car or affect another person's physical well being without touching them, never seen that special chant that makes you impervious to injury, and never, fucking EVER, have I seen some magical exercise that allows you to live decades longer than the average human. So far, everyone croaks, no exceptions.

In the past 10 years I've been a teacher, I have always tried my best to give honest, direct answers in class. If I don't know something, I just say so - no sense in denying something exists in this day and age of the inter-porn-web. But you know what I've recently discovered?

Nobody wants the truth. Nobody wants what's real. What they want is a fucking fairytale coated in pink pixie dust. They want a magic pill that makes everything rose-colored and sweet. Also, they want, like, fifty-eleven forms instead of several good, solid techniques they can actually use. God forbid they break a damn sweat actually training for a change.

Now, I just don't get that at all...I know one guy, big kahuna in the world of martial mumbo-jumbo, claims to have over 80 forms. Says a practitioner must know at least 40 of them to teach.

40 fucking forms?!?! Are you kidding me? Even if it took only one year to really "get" a form, that's 40 years to get halfway through a system ON FORMS ALONE!!

Let me say right here that you can learn several dances in a year, that's not really a problem - the difference is that there's no combat application to a dance. Nothing you'll have to account for later on with interpretation. Which is why even a year is an unrealistic goal for, oh, let's say a 40 move form. Most are longer, some are shorter, but that's a good, round number.

Realistically? Probably two or three years to really "know" what the hell you're doing with all those punches and kicks. Another three (or more) to make it really WORK for you. Otherwise, why do it? Planning on trying out that tuck-flip-roll in your mid 50's? Think there's going to be a real pressing need for that jump-spin-kick you've been working on for ten years?

Now, throw in the other 40 forms...Jee-BUS. If I walked into a school and they said "You must learn 40 of the 80 forms before you can teach", I would promptly turn around and go do something constructive with my time. Like throwing rocks at homeless people. Or people with homes, for that matter. They're a lot more challenging to ridicule, but I like to employ equality in my prejudice.

I really want to ask, what gives? Are we so hypnotized by the Miyagi complex that we fall victim to such an obvious scam? Maybe I should find bigger windmills, but I weep for the future, I really do. There's an accepted practice among the more vested teachers today, the idea that coming across as eccentric or even a touch senile is something to be admired. These teachers are putting out instructors that are suckish at best. They speak with awe and reverence about "this teacher" or "that sifu", and beckon the unknowing into their cult of bullshit. There is a slim - if any - chance that a person can dig themselves out once they pass a certian point in this kind of training. It's similar to waking up blind with the house on fire.

To come back around full circle to my point, there are lots of people (more than I would have believed possible) who actively seek it in the first place. Without fail. Without fucking FAIL, it never ceases to amaze me what a grown, educated adult will accept as reality if it's presented in a bleached white Luke Skywalker outfit with a chinky accent. Throw in some gesticulations and body motion as if you have a live eel stuffed down your pants, charge hundreds of dollars for rank, and you are set.

Hey, here's a question: How often does the term "like a father" come up when you're referring to your teacher? Does he really act like a concerned parent, or just someone who needs reassurance that he's better than you? Better yet, how much of your cultural education do you depend on your teacher for? Would you trust his judgment and training enough to walk into a restaurant in whatever country your art's from and confidently order a meal in the native language? Or is all you know how to do is say "Leg Sweep" in the vaguest terms, and count from 1 to 10? Has your instructor ever revoked a rank once he gave it? Did that person work hard for it, attend class regularly, pay his tuition on time?

Think it over.

The only time you need skill in martial arts is when someone is physically attacking you, and then you desperately need it. Bet you'll wish you had done a bit more sparring and a bit less jumping around in the empty air then.

Strong message follows.

Mama Told Me Not To Come

2010-03-08T00:34:00.000-08:00

Beer and Liquor, Never Sicker

I have a question...WHY does every bar in Seattle have to be so damn DIVEY? Honestly, it seems like most of the late-night joints between Pioneer Square and Belltown are involved in some sort of hellish footrace to see who can out-dive each other. I like Shorty's for the pinball (across from Mama's Mexican Kitchen in Belltown), but is it against the owner's religion to install lighting? Or maybe a signal flare halfway to the backroom? This isn't wartime Morocco, and even Rick's Place was better lit than this.

But the Comet Tavern on Capitol Hill has Shorty's beat in the dive-bar Tour-De-France like it was wearing a jetpack & everyone else was just running in place. Seriously, the only thing missing from this joint is a springboard, a deep end and a lifeguard. I happened to be meeting a friend downtown last week, and he asked me to pick him up there. This section of the story will be titled; "And here, my troubles began".

The Comet Tavern is as close to the number one spot of a top-rated filth circus as I've ever seen a bar get. There were strip joints in the seediest places in Bangkok that I felt safer in. The bar looked like a small busload of innocent children had crashed into a wall & they just never dug it out. A lonely, ratty pool table was being hoarded by a group of early 20-somethings that looked barely old enough to drink...and they had Pabst Blue Ribbon on tap.

In the corner was the savior, weeping a damn river of sweet, sweet tears.

There's no way to get that smell of provincial misery off you within the first 24 hours. When I got home, my pet opossum turned away in disgust. I needed a Silkwood-style scrubbing the next day, just to feel close to a carbon-based form of life again.

Mostly, I've found that bars in Seattle divide into three categories: Hipster, "Hey-Bay-Bee!" joints (a phrase that makes me feel like sicking up my lunch to this day) where the bars are made of formica and most of the clientele are wearing pork pie hats and listening to some local cover band heartlessly murdering a rendition of some forgotten Cab Calloway song. There's usually free Wi-Fi in these shrines to consumer conformity, and a $4.50 well drink will get you about 45 minutes of free browsing in a room too dimly lit not to go blind in.

The second are the dim, red room - style lounges where the drinks cost a small fortune for less alcohol than you would put on a skinned knee and the music is some warped concoction of a Swedish kazoo band trying to impersonate Herb Alpert's Tijuana Brass. Oh yeah, the bathrooms are usually covered in red velvet, so if you fail to pick up some psuedo-intellectual two-faced bloodsucker who acts like she's too good for your company but really works at Starbucks during the day, you can always fuck the lavatory doors.

But the worst...THE ABSOLUTE WORST are the dive bars. What they save in lighting and electricity, they also save in employee wages - I defy anyone to find a single bartender in these places - Just one, mind you! - That doesn't have a single tattoo...Or even, one that has less than ten. If it's a woman, odds are that she's got more piercings and holes in her body (besides the natural ones) than a deserter from the French Foreign Legion facing a firing squad.

But still, I notice that people huddle in homo habilis-like groups of eight at a table built for four, and bunch in as close as they can at these places. Really, what's the attraction? It's almost as if these types of bars exist to snub their noses at the high-falootin' folk who populate the first two categories, saying "Look! All we have to do is buy a single lightbulb, some scooby snacks from the local Wong's Take Away, and keep a keg of Pabst Blue Ribbon on tap! To hell with your damned "atmosphere!""

By the way..."Pabst Blue Ribbon". Did it really WIN a fucking blue ribbon for something, or was it just named that the same way "Mad Dog 40-40" has no actual "Dog" in it? Does anybody know? It's difficult for me to believe that this liquid atrocity ever won anything but "Best Arsenic Substitute".

I'm still off the drugs, by the way. Still writing, too.

Lives of the Monster Dogs

2010-03-07T02:59:00.000-08:00

I owe “Lives of the Monster Dogs” more credit than I have given it, so I wanted to do a proper review of it here.

First off, let me say that I look for a payoff when I come to the end of a book. There is an unspoken agreement between author and reader, one that not all authors deliver on: We're going to invest time out of our lives to read this, you better have done your job.

Kirsten Bakis delivers, and I found "Lives of the Monster Dogs" a good read, and although it skips off the ground a couple of times, the book finds it's wings and soars towards the end.

However, to be brutally honest, it lost me for a couple of chapters in the middle.

Monster Dogs is about six tales woven into one and told from three different points of view, and this is what sometimes makes it difficult to follow. It’s not a book that you can scan ahead and skip some pages, even the boring parts are needed to make sense of what’s happening later. The book usually alternates every other chapter as to who is telling the tale, what part they are telling, and to whom they are telling it to. Kirsten Bakis does a very good job here – for the most part, this flip-flopping of viewpoints doesn’t conflict or confuse, and I didn’t spend much time going back a page or two to see if I had missed something.

Lives of the Monster Dogs is undeniable a take on the Frankenstein story, with shades of Gothic intrigue and suspense woven with it in a modern setting.

The Monster Dogs are surgically altered beings, enlarged dogs of all types with human intelligence, artificial voice boxes that allow them to converse with humans, and prosthetic hands. They walk upright, live in downtown New York and dress themselves in 18th century attire.

And they are hiding something.

Mainly, we see the world of the Monster Dogs through the eyes of Ludwig von Sacher, (a Monster Dog) Cleo (a journalist who has befriended Ludwing, and through him, meets other Monster Dogs) and Mops Hacker – The Monster Dog that incited the rebellion to free them from slavery to their human masters.

Ludwig von Sacher is writing a history, biography, collected works – it’s never fully clear, something – on the origins and history of the Monster Dogs. It is through his journal and research notes that we learn about the origins of the dogs themselves, of the mad German scientist (saw that coming, right?) who created them and established a secret colony in the Canadian wilderness to hide them until the time was right.

From the history of Mops Hacker, we get the particulars of the rebellion he led to free the Monster Dogs, through his diary and in the form of an opera/play towards the middle of the book. And lastly, we discover that the Monster Dogs are dying…And one of them has plans to go out in a big way.

Cleo shows us the current lives of the Monster Dogs, living in high (if reclusive) style in Manhatten, chauffeured around town and dressing like lords of a foreign country. And through it all, she acts as confidant, historian and friend to the Monster Dogs, recording everything and showing the world the very human feelings and fears beneath the canine shell.

There is an excellent story in this book, and I would say that its major downfall is in the editing. The background story of The city of Rankstadt, and much of the Monster Dog's evolution probably should have been trimmed or worded differently, but the telling of the history through the diary of Mops Hacker and the opera of the dogs was eloquent and captivating. The reader will also be attracted to the subtle charm of these dog-machine hybrids, who, in an ironic twist, have a place in our society but none in their own hearts for themselves.

The story is geared for young adults, but I found it compelling enough to stick it out through the rough patches, and I'm glad I did. "Lives of the Monster Dogs" is very entertaining, and stayed with me for months after I had read it. Only the best of books can do that.

The Rory Miller Seminar

2010-03-02T19:28:00.000-08:00

Rory Miller isn't nearly the asshole I thought he would be.

Be honest, those of you who read his book - He comes across like a guy who would happily drain a pint of his own blood, reduce it for the saline and then spread it over his cornflakes rather than simply asking you to pass the friggin' salt, right? Kind of like an irritable Klingon having an off day?

Well, he's not. Rory is an amazing teacher, an insightful writer and engaging speaker. Also, he could snap your neck like a breadstick, but one tries to get past that and focus on the positive.

To those of you who missed the seminar a couple of weeks ago, let me just tell you: you missed out. I've been to countless seminars in my life, and there are a handful - maybe 6 or 7 at the most - that I would recommend. Scott Sonnen and Steve Barnes' "Path" seminar being in the top 5.

Rory, I would put somewhere in the top 2.

When the history of self defense books is written, Rory Miller is going down as one of the greats, among Grossman, MacYoung and a few others. In fact, I prefer Millers' stuff to most of the others, it's more accessible to the common mortal who doesn't have 30 years of ninjitsu, or 25 years law enforcement under Steven Seagal to fall back on. His "Meditations on Violence" I have already posted about earlier on this blog HERE. This seminar could easily be considered a companion piece to his book.

I liked Rory - He's energetic and willing to go as hard as you want. It was great to see him policing the area, making sure we were doing what we were supposed to as well as not killing our partners. The drills were simplistic, although I suppose that's a relative term - I noticed quite a few instructors experiencing difficulty with what I would consider basic concepts, but then again, that's a reflection of the mythos that a "Style" gives you. Rory admitted that he was an infighter, and that's a different game than a person who fights at full arm's length. The drills were focused on closing the gap & continuous motion, as well as a great bit on controlling the spine - Which is exactly where MY spine decided to take a walk on me.

Sitting out the rest of the seminar was galling, to say the very least, but I learned to appreciate the outsider-looking-in point of view. It was so great to see the variety of skills and systems playing together, without much ego getting in the way. Although, I don't know why I'm surprised - It's difficult to get into a chest-beating match with someone who has been a prison guard and involved with S.W.A.T. as well as training military elements in Afghanistan, or no-electricitystan, or wherever he was.

If you are a combative or LEO instructor of ANY sort, you need this seminar. Not necessarily the drills - they were okay, but I didn't find them to be as remotely as important as the lectures. Particularly the instances of "Social Violence" and "Asocial Violence". That one alone was worth the trip, and I'd do it again tomorrow.

Rory also presented a kind of 7 -step model for understanding the entire skeletal structure of a violent encounter, including the aftermath. Again, worth the price of admission ALONE. This was a real eye-opener for me, and brought a lot of things to mind about street violence and the unpredictability of of it. Miss out on this, and you are missing an important part of what your art needs - no matter WHAT your art is.

Rory Miller has been there-done that. And he's willing to share it with you. You can check out his blog in my links to the right, or his website HERE.

Looks like the next seminar is in Independence, MO, on March 20th. You can get the details HERE.

A word of advice: Don't attend this seminar without a notebook and several pens. And don't let anything Rory says go without writing it down.

Believe me, you'll need it.

Holding on to Me

2010-03-02T12:04:00.000-08:00

We must remember that one man is much the same as another, and that he is best who is trained in the severest school." - Thucydides

I've cut the drugs completely out of my life. To anyone without a back injury, this may sound like so much bullshit, as if I'm joining rehab or something. God knows 5 years ago, I would have thought the same thing.

See, the thing about Oxycodone is that it doesn't really DO anything for the pain...It simply makes you not care that you're experiencing it. Take enough of it, and you won't care whether or not you're breathing either. And lately, my dosage has been climbing into 8-10 pills a day.

The last hit I took was at Rory Miller's seminar about three weeks ago - 8 pills. I brought that one on myself, no getting around it. I knew better than to train, but to be honest, I'm glad I did. There are so very few instructors I would endorse out there, when someone of Rory's class comes to town, its not a training opportunity to me. It's an investment. But I paid pretty heavily for it, and I don't mean that as in a few dollars.

I've been waiting to see how long I can stand the loss of opiates from my system before I cave in - After a couple of weeks, I guess I can pull it off. Thing is, (in my case) when you say no to drugs, you get to say yes to something else: A world of pain. I don't mean that in "Oh, I have a headache", I'm talking mortal agony here.

In comparison, a student knocked out one of my front teeth a month or so ago. Broke it right in half, nerves and tooth pulp hanging out, the whole nine yards.

It didn't come close to what my spine feels like. I didn't even bother with painkillers for it. Rinsed my mouth out with Scope & went back to training.

I'm getting to know pain at the molecular level.

My neighbors are as goofy as I am...

My wireless network is "Echo Base". I was the first wireless setup in our neighborhood a few years ago.

This is what it looks like today:

I don't know who the smartass is that decided he was the Death Star - If I lived closer to Portland, I could make some guesses - but that six brained alien has me a bit intrigued....

Lot of bestiality lately...

I was just thinking about that Killer Whale that chomped down on his trainer (one questions the validity of someone with that title who can't "train" her charges not to eat her) as well as some of the other zoo mishaps I've seen lately...That idiot who jumped into the polar bear pit comes to mind.

I have a little zoo experience myself.

I worked in grounds keeping at Riverbanks Zoo in Columbia, S.C. for a few horrid months in the mid 80's. It was mind numbingly dull work, primarily policing the tourist areas and emptying wastebaskets, wasn't supposed to go near the furries and scaly's. But if one of them escaped, we were suddenly deputized as assistant handlers, until one of us caught whatever got out. Mostly, the handlers themselves were supposed to go after them, but there were a couple guys who considered themselves great white hunters & loved to join in the fray.

I was NOT one of those people. Get hit once with a faceful of monkey shit, and it loses its romance real fucking quick. A giraffe can run down and trample a human being. You'd be surprised at what kind of wound an exotic bird with a 14 inch beak can create. Some of those motherfuckers can open coconuts.

Oh yeah...Tigers aren't as cuddly when there's no 50 foot moat separating you from them.

My boss was a miserable she-bitch who made me cut my ponytail my first week & seemed to delight in torturing me as often as she could - I always seemed to be on poopie-scoopie detail, or hosing out empty cages. It's amazing what a teenager will do for $4.25 an hour, given the proper motivation.

She kinda reminds me of that accounting slug in Monsters, Inc: "I'm watching you, Edmonds....Always watching..."

Anyway, there was one redeeming feature about this harpy that I appreciated; She had a sign on her wall that all of us had to memorize before she would hire us.

"If it has teeth, IT BITES!"

I saw a couple of injuries happen to other people due to moronic attempts to break into the animal-handling biz - its never pretty. That teeth quote always made me reconsider before I rushed out to help the guy shouting "A seal has gotten loose in the exotic fish aquarium!"

I don't care how cute they are - Seals have teeth.

Fuck that.

Of course...That's probably why I was fired a few months later...

Believe it or not, I saw this coming

I just didn't think it would happen so soon. I have a pirated DVD up for grabs! YAY!

I made a small training DVD for some close friends a couple of years ago. Nothing big, just a bit about how to do things in Kali and Silat the way that I do them, and what steps I took to get there, etc. I filmed it in my garage over the course of three months, and just included some basic meat and potatoes concerning entries, parries, Jurus, weapons and such.

A friend of mine pointed me to a torrent upload on Demonoid, and I have to admit - I was a little amused.

Now, I know who did it...I knew from the very first moment I saw the torrent. I only sent the DVD to three people. People that I trust as brothers. And a person I had considered so close a friend that I would have done anything for without question was living with one one of the recipients (at the time).

This so-called friend and I had a parting of the ways that you can find on this and other blogs. But I ended it there. Although I have truckloads of evidence & other goodies at my disposal, I didn't want such behavior associated with my name. I always felt I was bigger than that.

However, seeing the torrent confirmed something about this person that I had some reserves about, mentally. I always wondered if they were as petty and small as others had claimed. I mean, I had ONE example, on a personal level, where this person fucked me over. But it was something I was willing to overlook, until he went after my friends. Then I cut him off as well - A man can't stand in the middle of the road all his life, and when people ask me for help, I'm inclined to answer.

Then I saw the torrent.

And it made me smile.

And now, the kicker: My DVD, poor and unprofessional as it is, has gotten dozens of downloads and rave reviews. I was planning on making something more professional in the future, but now it looks like there might be interest for an entire series. On top of that, I'm getting inquiries out the yang for students, private training, will I fly out to other countries for seminars, etc. I couldn't have planned exposure and distribution this good. I mean, if they liked THAT little scrap, what will they do when I release the full thing?

Shit, I wish I had thought of it myself!

So thanks, former friend. You knife, neither subtle nor effective, has missed altogether.

And you are EXACTLY the creature we all think you to be.

Go to your grave with that, and let your last thoughts be of the disappointment you have wrought in your lifetime.

“Only in America”.

How many times have you ever heard that? I hear it everywhere I go, uttered with a stifled laugh in boardroom meetings, casually thrown out in conversation at parties and social gatherings, and oh yes; Used as some smarmy, backhanded attempt at denigration, given by a self-important egotist who needs to make him or herself look good by going after the one place where they could openly say such a thing.

Lately, this phrase has become like nails on a chalkboard to me.

I want to openly address some of the prevailing cliché’s that are the current trend in American Martial Arts here, things that I have heard time and time again as if they were mutually exclusive truths.

“Americans are headhunters”

This is the biggest and most popular, in my book. I’ve heard it in almost every school I’ve ever been in. Ironically, I can’t really say Indonesian instructors teach this way, come to think of it. They hit the head quite freely in Bandung.

Back to the point, though, I suppose I could counter this with “Asians are a bunch of chest-punching kiai screamers with a severe targeting deficiency”. It would certainly rattle some heads. (Irony).

The truth is that the head is always a more damaging target than the body. The body is thicker, it has more meat and muscle on it, and it’s genetically designed to withstand punishment.

The head isn’t. Oh, the skull is thick enough – I could name a few people right off the bat who have proven such! – But something that is constantly overlooked is that the head houses the brain.

And the brain cannot withstand punishment. Nor can the neck.

There is a prevailing argument of “If you train hard enough, you can hit the body with enough force to damage it”. There is truth to this, but I sincerely believe its much more straw man than not. You see, whatever force you train to deliver to the human torso, the same amount will cause the human head to (in some form or another) give in, ever so much, more so. Because the head controls the vital functions: Seeing, breathing, hearing, balance, coordination, not to mention rational thought. On balance, it takes less to damage the head than it does the body. One rarely hears about someone landing on their hip & dying because it broke…But just try it with your neck!

The head is also arguably the more important target because it can be fooled. The body can’t, a hit is a hit. But your eyes can be deceived in combat, and you can be tricked into making mistakes that cost you severely in a real fight. Punches to the gut are simplistic to counter, they have a below-the-eyes trajectory that makes visual tracking easy. An attack to the head is a harder target for the opponent’s eyes to track, and the timing is difficult to catch without advanced training for it.

Americans don’t disregard the body – But we know where the main computer is. And we go after that first.

“You Americans always mix everything up”

And you Asians have REAL short memories. We have access to much more information nowadays, so the speed of integration has gone to warp 9 in the past decade. But most – if not all – traditional systems still around today are an amalgamation of two or more previous ones. If we listen to the more mythological side of many Asian traditionalists, they would unapologetically have us believing that many systems were created on the spot, after watching a crane fight some other animal (tiger, snake, scorpion, Godzilla – I’ve heard them all). Sometimes, the only explanation given is “I learned it in a dream” or “God taught me”.

I have actually heard these – and NOT from Americans.

Many of the most traditional styles have nothing more than fairy tales to support their combat systems, but they cling to these fervently as a child to a security blanket instead of looking at them objectively. That’s the downside of “traditionalism”. It doesn’t have an update patch.

Alternatively, I can think of ten classical Asian systems that were the result of one person combining a little from column “A” with a little from column “B”, for no other reason than it suited him. Or her (Wing Chun).

And you piss on AMERICANS for experimentation?

Culture has it’s drawbacks. You ever see an older Chinese in the same room with an elderly Japanese? It isn’t pretty. My own in-laws are severely hostile to the Japanese, even though they’ve been in America for two generations now. But the old memories die hard. However, they work and live side by side, within our borders, without bloody murder every 5 minutes.

I have news for you, America might not be the birthplace of martial arts, but it’s certainly the foster parents for most of them. We get the gauntlet of every nation over here, every combat style in one form or another seems to wash up on our beaches, including many systems never seen outside of their native countries. Teachers that would have no chance to mingle and associate with one another in many Asian countries can live, train and share within ten feet of each other here. Down the street from my house is a Tae Kwon Do school that has a Capoeira class on the weekends from a different instructor. A Pencak Silat master and a Wing Chun Sifu share the same teaching space weekly not three miles from my house. In downtown Seattle, there are more martial arts in a city block than you can find in most countries, and they all know each other.

If there’s one thing America has taught the rest of the martial world, it’s that we all have more in common than in contrast.

“In (insert country here) we do it the old way.”

Wow, that’s easy to say. America is only a few centuries old, and we’ve been a touch busy with colonization, civil wars, freeing our slaves, uplifiting our women, technology advancements and letting people from other countries take up residence and citizenship with greater ease than any other country in the damn world. Since we technically don’t have a feudal era, it’s not a difficult leap to poke at our lack of feudal development.

But what’s often overlooked is that we have accomplished more in three hundred years than other countries have done in twice that time.

We never had to develop empty hand fighting – we had firearms from day one, and have never been without them since. And we don’t carry a boatload of cultural attachments and superstitions like most Asian cultures do. In fact, it’s a pretty liberated life here in America, compared to other countries, even with all the recent political developments of the past 10 years. To us, the “old way” doesn’t necessarily mean “the best way”. We don’t tend to do exactly as we’re told, it’s one of the first tenets America was founded on. It resounds in the air of every street from the small towns to the great metropolises in this nation: Nobody’s going to tell US what to do.

I’ve spoken of this before: Tradition isn’t a bad thing, but it’s not always the right thing. We have it in our heads that, because something works a certain way, that must be the only way it will EVER work. This is how America gained so much ground, by not accepting traditional methods and views as sacrosanct. As the creepy old guy once said, “There’s more than one way to skin a cat”.

This isn’t to say the old ways are bad.

But the new ways are a product of them. And they are just as valid…If not more so.

“This art had to be modified (often worded as “dumbed down”) for Americans, because they just couldn’t figure it out”

Seriously, does anybody really fall for this one? One thing I can’t ignore is the overwhelming desire for the martial culture of America to mimic Hollywood portrayals and stereotypes. We seem to desperately need someone to come over wearing cotton pajamas, throw a couple of spinning kicks and speak in broken English before we’ll believe them. It was worse in the 1980’s, any Tom, Dick or Chang could come over here, open a restaurant or a dry cleaners, and claim to have secret knowledge of an unknown family system. They could demonstrate the most outlandish moves coupled with equally ridiculous fighting methods, and we would just lap it up without gagging for an instant.

By the way, this is an easy thing to accomplish in Asia, particularly China. I think the standard, ever so slightly, was raised after a few decades of this in America. Someone stood up and said “Okay, let’s see it.”

And then the wheat began to separate from the chaff, and quite a few eyes were opened.

Speak of America, and you get men on the moon; Not once, but several times. We have the most – 260, to be exact – Nobel laureates.

Humans are humans, and I think Americans can stand with the brightest of them in martial arts, as well as anything else. So before you go on a rant about how stupid Americans are, let me know how the great Dutch-Indo Space program is working out for ‘ya.

America isn’t perfect, like every country, we too have our political agendas, our homeless, our unemployed and a million other problems. I’m still awaiting spinal surgery, and navigating the nightmare that is America’s public health care system because my daddy didn’t invent coca-cola and my family name isn’t Rockefeller.

But I wouldn’t trade this country for 10 Europes and half a dozen Asias thrown in.

So bang on all you want about how lazy Americans are, and how this country is the only place such-and-such could be accomplished. Rant and rave about our willingness to mix different systems, our lack of cultural etiquette or how we trip up over traditional titles that were – often as not – mispronounced or misrepresented by the people who brought them here in the first place. Scoff at us because we thought “rank” meant “certificate”, and weren’t we stupid? Look at how long we took to catch on to the joke!

Because only here in America can you still LIVE here in America while you’re doing it.

It’s still the land of the free. That includes the ingrates.

Always Wanted To Do One of These

2010-02-19T12:13:00.001-08:00

They Really Check...

2010-02-19T05:43:00.000-08:00

Then It Hit Me...

2010-02-19T05:36:00.001-08:00

For a full, shameful minute, I couldn't figure out exactly WHY this picture was funny...

Further Advice for the New Writer

2010-02-18T20:14:00.001-08:00

Steve Perry just posted a bit about a newbie writer who is just beginning his collection of rejection slips. I have to say, of all the advice I have seen him give others, as well as the stuff he's given me, his guidance through this trying stage of a new writer's career is his forte'.

For once, I'm not being facetious when I say that. He's gotten me through more than a few rejection slips, and shown me how to see past that.

This post is for you, newbie writer. From another of your pantheon.

An interesting conversation happened last year, between me and the Old Man. I had just sent my first story off to Science Fiction Analog, and subsequently earned my first rejection slip.

I was crushed. I mean, I LOVED this story - So did all my friends. I had built it up in my head that as soon as it was read, some editor over at SFA would shout "Get this Edmonds guy on the phone quick, before Asimov's snatches him up!" I felt sure, in my bones, that this would be the launchpad from which I propelled my career.

So when the "thanks, but no thanks" came through, the moon fell from the sky and landed squarely on my head not 10 seconds later.

After a few minutes sobbing into my wife's cleavage, I decided to call Perry and get some Obi Wan-to-Skywalker counseling. (Like I said, he's really good at that sort of thing.)

(Thick Southern Drawl) "Wahl Kid, th' thing is, y'gotta keep at it. Keep sendin' it out, makin' th' rounds. That sort of thing. Sooner or later, someone will bite, even if it's a few years later on the same story.""

(Me, Between Sobbing) "Well, *SSNNEERRRRRRKKTTT!!* I just don't understand it. The guy even wrote me a note saying he liked it and all...Why wouldn't he take it? *sniffle*"

"The guy? Which one?"

(Checking rejection slip, now covered with snot and saline) "Ummm...Stanley Schmidt"

(Audible Gasp) "You mean Stanley Schmidt actually wrote something to you?"

"Yeah. It says; "I really liked this, good job. You need to remember to number your pages.""

"Hell, Kid - All the stuff I sent Analog, nobody ever wrote me anything. At least you got that far!"

Now, that meant something to me. I mean, my first trip to the rodeo, and I got further than Mr. "Does This For a Living".

Shit, maybe it's not all bad...

I'm on my 28th rejection slip now. I've heard several variations on a theme: Too much blood, not enough science, there's no such thing as zombies that can pilot spacecraft, too much profanity, incorrect usage of the clitoris in hyperspace - You name it. I've even had someone try to scam me into paying them to publish my work, as well as get several stories for free.

Still and all, now that I'm into my second year of writing and making the rounds, I feel like I'm getting my second wind. And I don't mean from just the curry.

I have no idea why I feel this way, I certainly have no reason to. There's no promise of acceptance on the horizon. But I'm in the groove of submitting stories now, and I know that if I keep on with the same level of quality in my writing, sooner or later something's going to get through. And after all is said and done, I love telling these stories.

So, newbie writer, you have already gotten a scad of advice from someone who has been where you are now, as well as someone who is still there. But the main thing I want to say is that there's something you can do that will be the most beneficial to you after you read something from yet another magazine editor who takes a pass on your literary masterpiece.

It's something that Perry said to me a few years ago, when I was in my whiny "I don't know what to write" stage. I have it in a frame above my computer. It's the best advice I've ever gotten for writing:

"Words. On the page. Now."

There's a saying among writers; "It's all grist for the mill." Well, you need to remember to keep the damn mill going as well. The grist needs a place to go.

Keep your head up kid, and keep the mill churning. We'll exchange autographed novels one day.

A Few Updates...

2010-02-06T05:12:00.000-08:00

I know why the caged bird has a severe drinking problem...

So, some of you might have noticed that the Kid has been off the radar for a month or so. There's a reason for that. Remember my spinal episode, and how we all had that grass roots movement to get my back fixed?

Well, as of last week, I discovered that there was NEVER a plan to actually "get me on the table", as they say. In fact, they don't feel as if I have a problem big enough for their attention.

I went into the spinal clinic last week, the one that I've been going to for the past year now, armed to the teeth with knowledge and experience: I've done the spinal injections (painful), I've done the physical therapy (painful useless and humiliating) and I've jumped through every red tape hoop the doctors instructed me to, all in the good faith that, eventually, they were going to do the fucking surgery that removes the cancer from my spine and allows me to walk again.

So I go in last week, and I notice right away that the doctor has my MRI chart on the board. "Awesome!" I think, "We're finally taking this show to Broadway!"

Let it be known here and now that I, sometimes, can be a bit dense when it comes to reality.

The doctor looks me over, does this test, does that test, hems and haws for about 20 minutes, and finally says "I want you to go to this special seminar for people with back pain. They will teach you how to lift better and work without straining your back too much."

SAY WHAT?!?!

The following is the actual conversation, verbatim:

Bobbe: "Umm - Dr. Fucktard, excuse me, but why would I go to a seminar for something that isn't relevant to my case? I mean, I would think this seminar thing would be more for people with a functioning spine, not an injured one."

Worthless Quack Who Loves to Waste My Fucking Time: "Well Bobbe, I see people like you every day, and I believe that most of what you're feeling is probably psychological."

Bobbe: "Psychologic - You think it's in my MIND? So, in your opinion, the human mind is located somewhere between the L4 and L5 spine? Because that's where the goddam pain is."

Doctor Fuckroast: "Well, you have to understand - As far as I can tell, your brain still works. That means you're not debilitated. I can't sign off on a surgery that you don't need."

Bobbe (losing his very limited patience): Are you saying that I would have to be paralyzed AND comatose before you could pull this malignant growth coupled with bone matter out of my spine? Tell me, doctor, do you have some sort of repayment plan for the year away from work I just lost, and also something that will repair the damage done to my marriage from all the stress this caused? Also, what's the hospital policy on actually returning lost time from life to people you make tread water like this?"

Note: I do realize that this was probably the wrong thing to say, but I couldn't stop myself. If I could move better, the doctor would be having a difficult time spelling his own first name right now, and they'd be prepping him for brain surgery. Unfortunately, I didn't act on my first impulse.

The doctor stuttered a bit longer about having his hands tied, and how he couldn't do anything more to help me. I had a few more choice things to say, but my wife was standing there, and she has a way of bringing things into perspective for me at times like this. You can't continue in this direction I thought, anger won't get you anything but thrown out of the hospital. You cannot afford another blowup right now.

I hope that all of you out there reading this have someone that brings you back to reality the way my wife does me - I've said it before on this blog and I'll say it again: She's too good for me. So I left the hospital with the realization that they weren't going to do a damn thing to save me...So I have decided to save myself. I'm looking into places that will do the surgery, no questions asked. Turns out there are quite a few, some expensive, some not. I'm getting quotes now, and I don't care if I have to knock over a liquor store to get the money. One way or another, I'm getting cut this year.

I've had it with this shit.

I Suppose I Owe Him This

J.D. Salinger snuffed it. Checked out, as they say. Passed on. Caught the midnight train to Georgia, if not the express train heading to literary infamy. It's a poor man who speaks ill of the dead, so I'll refrain from too much of a rant. My thoughts on his book "Catcher in the Rye" are well publicized, and judging from the amount of mail I receive to this day, I would lay heavy odds that I don't stand alone in my opinions.

But I was thinking - I might really have it wrong. After all this time, the distance between two generations gets longer and more uncrossable every time a new one arises. For instance, my halcyon days would have been in the mid-80's, no argument there. I remember when Duran Duran was the biggest thing on the charts. One of my closest friends remembers hearing about a group called Duran Duran, on a VH1 "Where Are They Now?" special. This puts Salinger into perspective for me, at least a little bit.

Parting Shot:

I met someone recently who was spouting racist rhetoric like she marched with Dr. King himself...And she's at the ripe old age of 22.

I think anyone born after 1985 has absolutely no reason to say "I hate whitey". If you don't remember the civil rights movement, or the decade of moral retardation that was the 70's, all you're doing is parroting the echo of some distant revolutionary who, in this day and age, would be more concerned with feeding the homeless as opposed to "bringing down de white debbil". (Naysayers, feel free to look up Bobby Seale before you spout off your mouth. I'm not as embracing of stupidity as I used to be.)

That's it for now. I won't rant so much on the next post...Or keep you waiting so long for one. See you guys next week.

This Really Happened

2010-02-06T04:15:00.000-08:00

Most of you know I'm an aspiring writer, and I have many professional teachers helping me along the way. Well, today I got an email that, although unintentional, is one of the greatest inspirations I have had in a LONG time.

Here is how to write an email with 404 words using only two periods:

dear pendekar bobbe guy i think you have too much time on your hands see i guess i could admire that you backed alot of your opinions with facts but lets be realistic here alot of people do hate being told they suck even if its by a person who is lower than they are before you say another thing you should look at yourself and think so I really mean what I say because serak is greatly older than you even thought the system is beutiful it is people like you who ruin it now now im not saying serak is better then your stuff because it has been said by alot of non-serak people but thats not the point the point is that your just a sad sad human being who gets off on writing ignorant and arrogant things about a system you truly know nothing about aside from your little statistics (most of witch probably arent even true) you reconize what you said about pdt was really about you now me i am only 25 years old and you are probably older and more wise and i see that so why dont you use that to benifit things you sound at least a little intelligent why waste you time fighting a fuetile battle see if someone was about too kill me and i had a choice i could run out the door beside me or the door across the room i mean come on it's only common sence man hahah. so if you want to continue to make fun a belittle people who probably live far away from you move to california and say that to our faces go ahead walk into a bar or nightclub your choice and voice your opinions i mean as young as i am i would probably kick the shit out of you now thats not a threat considering i could being a 6 degree black belt and highly traind in judo and kickboxing but im not here to threaten you with my little words i am a person of action but i hope maby one day you'll see the light and that might come from some serak person delivering you a well desrved beating or i hope something less violent like you finally come to the relization that you and your system suck fucking saudi arabian greaseball fuckin oil slicked cock sleep on that muthafucker.

I'm not focusing on the message of the (so-called) email at all - The grammar ALONE is giving me an aneurysm. It’s enough to make me wonder if I’m on the right planet sometimes.

Please Tell Me Who I Am

2010-01-19T09:22:00.000-08:00

Watch what you say, or they'll be calling you a radical....

You know what I get really sick of? Labels.

I voted for Obama, so I must be a Democrat.

I have a criminal record, so I must be untrustworthy.

I was an orphan, so I must lead a pitiful life.

I'm good at computer networking, so I must be a geek.

I make other people laugh, so I must be a tortured soul.

I'm an Atheist, so I must hate people of faith.

I love martial arts, so I must be a psychopath.

I love good beer, so I must be an alcoholic.

I support gay marriage, so I must be liberal. And gay. And going to hell.

None of the above is remotely accurate to what I really am.

The gay thing is, to me, one of the ultimate contradictions I own. I am repulsed by homosexual behavior. Absolutely disgusted by it. I can't get over or around it, no matter what, I just can't.

But that's where my feelings stop. Because, as long as I don't have to be an active participant in it, I don't care what two people do with each other, or which hole they do it in. Furthermore, I don't feel that God nor his so-called representatives on Earth have any business sticking their self-righteous noses in it either.

I guess a bit of my religious disdain is coming through here - I do think it would be funny as hell if modern Christianity was put on trial & all the followers of the sheep-savior suddenly had to revert to hiding underground and painting fishes on their chests to identify each other.

Bet there'd be a REAL outcry for tolerance and understanding then!

(By the way - the above tirade also goes for the wafer & wine chuggers, the matzo lovers, the rug thumpers & any offshoot branch by another name that thinks itself above humanity).

I love it when people try to qualify their perversions scientifically. Have you ever seen a personality test? Egads! Now there's a regression of rational thought if ever there was one! It's a way of saying that science supports the psychosis of someone who thinks they can qualify your existence with a three page questionnaire.

You can get an insanely off-track result from a written personality test, if you were the sort to indulge in such. I'm not, I don't feel the creators of such tests are remotely capable of defining their OWN lives, how will they define mine?

My wife, for example, is a walking stereotype; She's Asian, good at math, screechy when she's in a bad mood and very...athletic elsewhere.

And ironically, she's as far from "Asian" as you can get. She hates most other Asians, and stays away from cultural gatherings (like Chinese new year). She loves fried chicken. And a white guy.

I don't think anyone can really be confined into a narrow set of standards, even if their behavior indicates otherwise. I have met people that I initially didn't like or get along with - they have become close friends. Others who I loved and trusted proved to be unworthy of that trust. But the point is, even if their primary wiring was towards how they treated me, it still doesn't define them. You could find 10 people in any particular person's past - five of them will praise the person as a saint, the other five will curse them to hell. How do you decide what they are?

Answer: You don't. You let them show you what they are, and that will tell you who they are.

I've made some seriously wrong judgment calls in the past. I'm a horrible judge of character, and it's easy to pull the wool over my eyes. You'd think I might be a bit more mistrusting of people (if the label fits...!) Well, I'm not. I'm easy like Sunday mornin'. But I prefer being this way instead of callous and suspicious...Have you ever seen those guys? The ones that walk around with their guard up all the time? They couldn't relax if you gave them an entire bottle of Scotch. Every innocent attempt at socialization is met with dismay and an unspoken (usually) inference of "What does this guy want?"

You can always pick these people out easily enough. They stand alone at parties and are largely ignored by people who know them.

The point I'm getting at is this: Chocolate is delicious.

Does it matter if you prefer vanilla? Would you hate me if I didn't?

What does it say about me if I dislike BOTH?

And why would you say that?

The Comfort of Walls

2010-01-04T00:38:00.000-08:00

These are my walls. Well, not in the sense that I own them, just…We’re old friends. They all have a life of their own, a ghost, if you will. Oh, don’t worry, you’ll never see it. It won’t keep you up at night. Nobody’s going to jump out at you with a horrid face and give you a coronary.

But if you pause at these walls (any of them), you’ll feel it: that slight tingling at the back of your neck? The minute flutter in your heart? Yes…That’s them. The walls. Or me, really. Honestly, it’s all the same.

Something you should know; a thing like me isn’t built into a house, at least, not at the time of construction. No, what I am is an echo of the thoughts and emotions of those who live within the confines of my walls. I’m built up over time. I’m the laughter that penetrates the drywall, and the tears that splatter across the linoleum. I’m the screechy misshapen notes your teenage son is raping on his trombone in his room, and the soft, passionate moans your daughter is making on the couch with her boyfriend, while you are out. I’m the echo of a phonecall your husband made to his mistress after you left for work, and the rendezvous you had with the boy who mows the lawn while he was playing golf.

I’m the ghost of every memory of every event that happened inside these walls.

Walls do talk, from time to time. Not always, but very occasionally. You hear it late at night, in that dark hour that passes between wakefulness and sleep, like a memory that you can’t quite reach. That odd creak, the groan of the wood, even the drip from the kitchen sink. That rich, dark silence all throughout the house, just after the witching hour, like when you feel as though someone or something is somewhere in the house with you.

Something is.

You have to listen, you have to listen. Listen. You have to, if you want to hear it…

This wall, for example; One afternoon in 1987, a teenage boy leaned against it, put two schoolbooks behind his head, put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. His parents came home late from work that night, so he had been dead for a good 7 hours before he was found, and the blood had long since caked against the grain. That was a day of days, I can tell you. He left a note, and – can you believe it? – They never found it! It was on his bed, but the blast from the gun caused his bedroom door to slam shut, and the gust from the door blew his note under his dresser, even as he blew his brains across the hallway.

His mother and father never knew the illogical reasoning behind their son’s suicide, or the broken heart he suffered from that drove him to it.

They soon divorced afterwards, unable to cope with the trauma of losing their only child, and the house went up for sale again.

Come to think of it, this hallway is a special place, it really gets the most traffic. So many busybodies passing up and down its narrow corridor, doing this and that. It’s the main artery for the heart of this house.

Avoid the stairs; nothing good ever happened on them.

This room, now…This room is special. This was a baby’s nursery for a time, and then it was a study room for the young girl the baby became. When she turned 14 it became a place of terror until she went off to college, as her father often molested her here. There is a small stain in the corner that her tears left, still there after all this time. No one knows but me.

Her father eventually succumbed to Alzheimer’s disease, and never again remembered the dark thrill he felt at the sight of his teenage daughter’s body – Nor the weekly tortures she inflicted on him when she came back to care for him until his death. I know of a secret stain he left in this room as well, but it’s not from tears.

In 1999, an elderly woman lived here with her cat. She spent her days whiling away the hours by the window, as if waiting for someone who never came. She liked to nap in the afternoon, never leaving her chair. Once, just once, I heard her say a name in her sleep. “Robert”, she said, and sounded sorrowful when she did. Whoever Robert was, he clearly didn’t know she was here. Or maybe he did, but didn’t care. She seemed so nice, why would he have left her alone, with only her cat for company?

I never found out. She died in her sleep three years later, and they repainted again after she was gone. New carpet this time. They had to. Cat piddle, if I remember correctly.

The cat became feral. Whatever happened to it, I don’t know. I saw it at the window after the first few days the old lady was gone, and then I saw it no longer. Maybe it died of starvation. Maybe it’s still alive, with another family. Who knows? Not me. I never go anywhere, and nobody ever tells me anything.

But I’m always listening. Nobody knows that, either.

You know what I think? I think people find a kind of security when they walk into their own home. It’s a comfort to them, that sense of familiarity. No matter what happens, this is their home. This is where they live. It is safe and sacrosanct.

It is the comfort of the walls. My walls. But it’s not as safe as you might think it is. People have been here when others weren’t looking. I saw where they went as well. I watched what they did. Oh you ignorant people, if you only knew!

The last family was Cambodian. That was a strange run, let me tell you!

I never saw a family that screamed and yelled so much. I thought it was just part of their language, except for the hair pulling and the broken plates. The man always slept in a different room, and masturbated frequently in it. His sheets were stained, and he seldom washed them. His room smelled of stale beer and old socks, and…something else I can’t bring myself to mention. You get the picture.

That boy of theirs…That boy had problems. He would never go to the bathroom to pee after he went to bed, he just opened the window and peed out through the screen. There was a pungent, yellowed stain on that screen after a few months, and he never washed it.

It’s still there to this day, and every day I’m more dismayed to see it. I was overjoyed when they moved out. Perhaps they went back to Cambodia. At least they’re not here anymore.

I’ve been empty since 2004. The Realtor hasn’t been by in weeks.

This is the longest no one has lived in my old walls. The market for housing has fallen, I assume. But I’m still here, and I’m waiting for the next family, the new occupants to bring me new memories.

That’s how I live, did I tell you? I’m sorry. I meant to.

I live through other people’s lives.

I never leave here. Walk down the hall, slowly. Touch a wall. Lean against a door frame for a minute, and I’ll wash your soul in what I know, and what I have learned. Then you’ll know too.

I am the memory of your house.

This Week in Delirium

2010-01-02T22:25:00.001-08:00

When You're Seeing Batman Jesus, Things Are BAD

This was going to be an article about the new Sherlock Holmes movie starring Robert Downey Jr. Wanna know why it isn't?

I didn't go see it yet, because I'm sick. Not your garden-variety, basic, everyday, note from school sick. Closer to bedridden, gagging my guts out, on my hands and knees for hours at a time wishing for death by locusts sick.

Last month, I had swine flu, and I lost my voice for a week because of it. Dunno what the freak-spank I have now, maybe its a relapse or something but it's kicking my ass like I'm on my tenth round with Evander Holyfield. I've hacked up enough lung butter to start a mucus colony on planet phlegm-X 85, or lubricate a waterslide for a week, take your pick. I gave up on coughing into a Kleenex, and just put a lined wastebasket by my bed. My lungs HURT. So does every joint in my body. I have absolutely no interest in porn, which makes me think it could be terminal. The day I don't have enough energy to stroke one out...!

I don't do sick well.

I do drunk well.

Since my back problems, I have discovered that I do chemical high well. I do martial arts well. I'm pretty good at writing. I cook well.

Sick, I do not enjoy at all. Not to rehash an overdone argument, but why would God want us to be sick? It's not a hit, statistically speaking. It's not a winner. It doesn't get it's own Martha Stewart segment.

I keep going back to those morons who kept on saying that the H1N1 virus would NEVER hit here. I mean, these were scientists, doctors, all relatively smart people! Of course, my opinion of doctors has plummeted in the past year. Maybe we should all take this as a warning about who and where we are getting our information from.

If the government ever tells me, "Godzilla - That could never happen here!" I'm getting the fuck out of Dodge, believe me.

This...Is just A Bad Idea

I don't know who came up with the idea of wearing your martial arts rank as everyday wear, but...BAD IDEA ALL AROUND. I can't decide what would be more tempting, a black belt, or a blue belt.

I Dare One Of You bastards To Go Cliche' On Me

I watched Deliverance again last night. You know what? It's a good movie. Certainly over the top in some places, and a bit dated as the years go by, but even knowing what was coming, I still got tense when Jon Voight wakes up on a ledge not 20 feet from one of the mountain hicks chasing them, and nocks his arrow. Watching that country inn dinner scene towards the end - Brrrr! Seeing the campers trying to maintain their composure while eating with the relatives of the men they killed is as worthy a scene as anything filmed these days...Definitely better than the soulless, technological flim-flam of Avatar. Yes, I saw it. No, I didn't like it. I'll write about it later.

The author, James Dickey, (of "Deliverance", not "Avatar") taught at the University of South Carolina. Alas, I wasn't remotely interested in writing back then, so I never took his classes. My loss. I might have passed him in the hall once or twice, but I was way too focused on getting laid back then to care. He also plays the sheriff in the movie.

...That's all I can write for now. I'm going to pop some Nyquil and try to sleep without coughing up a tidal pool of bronchial lubricant. See you guys next week.

Resolutions

2009-12-30T21:02:00.000-08:00

- Gain weight. At least 30 pounds.

- Stop exercising. Waste of time.

- Read less. Makes you think.

- Drink no Budweiser.

- Watch more TV. I've been missing some good stuff.

- Procrastinate more. Starting tomorrow.

- Not jump off a cliff just because everyone else did.

- Create loose ends.

- Get more toys.

- Get further in debt.

- Not believe politicians.

- Avoid transmission of inter-species diseases.

- Stay off the International Space Station.

- Wait around for opportunity.

- Focus on the faults of others.

- Ignore my faults.

- Laugh at those less fortunate than myself.

- Sucker those more fortunate than myself into pitying me.

- Enough to give me money.

- Fucking LOADS of it.

The Crystal Voice III

2009-12-25T08:17:00.000-08:00

I was wondering...

What if we didn't allow religion to define our conscience?

What if we put God second, and our fellow humans first?

What if we all just waited another five seconds and took a deep, calming breath before we said another word, or did another thing?

What if we all stopped worrying about what a stranger thinks of our appearance, and smiled at our originality?

What if everyone admitted that we all have our dark side?

What if we all acknowledged the good in everything as well?

What if we loved, or tried to love with all our hearts?

What if we said "Today, I will squelch my ego."

What if we decided to let the past be done?

What if everyone put down their swords and went home?

What if everyone decided to forgive ourselves, and just move on?

Would we all be brothers and sisters then?

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Wastelands: Stories of the Apocalypse

2009-12-20T07:41:00.000-08:00

I first heard of "Wastelands" a few months ago through a guy who liked my Broken Horizon stuff & suggested I check it out. For some reason, I didn't write down the title, and soon forgot about it. Browsing through Barnes and Noble a few weeks later, I tripped over the last copy on the shelves & total recall hit me like a half-brick to the cranium.

I have long wished for such a book, and post-apocalyptic storytelling is one of my favorite genres (Unless you've been living under a rock & missed my homage to nuclear survival with "Broken Horizon"). Mad Max, Vic and Blood, A Canticle for Liebowitz, On The Beach, Damnation Alley, The Quiet Earth...I firmly believe that "after the fire" storytelling is probably one of the richest resources to draw from to create a new world.

After reading through it entirely, some stories a few times over, I can honestly say that, overall, this book is worth the buy. I'll list my favorites and least such below, but just having this collection between two covers was worth it. And for under $20.00 to boot.

The Not So Good

Oddly enough, Stephen King's tale "The End of the Whole Mess" was one of the lesser interesting stories presented. I felt a touch cheated at this, since King is so great at the short form. It's not bad per se, but I certainly expected better from him.

Orson Scott Card's "Salvage" was another disappointment from a heavy hitter. Delving into the mythology of his Mormon religion, Card gives us a more confusing than not story of a boy's coming of age - and accountability - to himself and his life.

The Good

Cory Doctorow's "When Sysadmins Ruled the Earth" is great, and perhaps a bit too close to home for me as a former network engineer. What happens when a group of network nerds lock themselves into a sterile room with their computers after a supervirus wipes out the world? I could see this one actually happening, to be honest.

James van Pelt's "The Last of the O-Forms" is easily a contender for the best in breed here, and after spending the last two months with these 22 stories, this one still stands out in my mind. You can read it online at Asimov's Science Fiction HERE.

Jerry Oltion's "Judgment Passed" takes an interesting slant on the Rapture: A group of deep-space astronauts return to Earth to discover that the Rapture has occurred, & they're the only ones left on the planet. What follows is the confusion and indignation that each one experiences over being left behind.

Octavia E. Butler's "Speech Sounds" is fantastic, but then again, she can do no wrong by me.

There are others that deserve to be listed here, but I'm not going to do a full play-by-play. As I said, if you're into this kind of thing "Wastelands" is worth the ticket. However, let me warn you: If you DON'T enjoy this kind of fiction/Science Fiction, DON'T BUY THE BOOK. Rarely, if ever, do these stories have a happy ending, and reading two or three back to back will put you in a depressed state. I mean, let's face it: After microwaving the Earth like a Swanson T.V. dinner, you can't expect hope to outlive despair.

This might be Sci-Fi, but it's not fucking FANTASY.

This Should Be Standard

2009-12-19T09:10:00.000-08:00

Not a Close Call, But Still...

2009-12-19T06:48:00.000-08:00

When things go bump in the night

If you have venetian blinds, then you're fully acquainted with that "shreeeeehhkk" sound they make when you raise or lower them, but especially when you fidget with them at full sail.

A few hours ago I came out of sleep to FULLY FUCKING AWAKE in the dark. Anyone out there who's had a similar experience knows what I'm talking about...You heard something that woke you up, something VERY unusual.

It will take you more time to read this sentence than it took me to assess that:

1: I was not awake naturally

2: There had been a loud crash, followed by a thump-thump-thump, and those fucking blinds were still swinging, making that "shreeehk" noise.

My panic-assessment was that someone was in the house & had tripped over something while climbing in through the window. Move, boy.

I clicked on the hall light & made as much noise as I could getting the Glock 19 in my study, slamming a clip into it and ratcheting a round into the chamber. On the way out, I grabbed a Golok - that's the bad ass Indonesian jungle chopper you see at the bottom of the picture there, sharp as shit and weighted at one end for a clean slice through flesh - off the wall. I'm a pretty good shot with one hand, especially under 30 feet. I must have looked ridiculous in hindsight, gun out front, machete underneath the gun arm. At the time, I didn't really care - Someone was going to GET IT, and GET IT HARD.

When I was 18, I was beaten into a coma while a man held a sawed-off shotgun in my mouth. It changed me, needless to say, and anyone pulling a gun on me must shoot. Because you will absolutely die if you don't.

I made it down the stairs, hitting every light switch along the way. By the time I reached the living room, the house was fully lit. Quick scan of the house, gun in the direction I'm looking, duck walk, body English. Make yourself a difficult target, stick close to the walls. Everything I have ever been taught comes back, and I'm grateful I paid attention.

I was remembering the summer past as I checked the rooms. It was hot as hell, if you all remember. And we left quite a few windows open for weeks at a time.

We might not have locked them all.

That's probably how he got in I thought, unlocked window, but he tripped over the venetian blinds, got tangled up or something. God, I hope he just panicked and ran for it.

The windows were all shut. Sure enough, the blinds over one window was still swinging, and Patches, our severely overweight Calico who lords it over the other two, was sitting there. With a tuft of fur in her mouth. She had been fighting the other cats, and apparently won that round.

There is a technical term for my reaction: Holy shit. I finished my sweep of the house & proceeded to check the yard before fully letting my guard down, but when I saw Patches I was pretty sure it had just been our household equivalent of the three stooges, as usual. They must have hit the vacuum cleaner, because the neck attachment was lying on the floor. That's what made the loud crash I heard.

But, for a minute there...

I've been thinking the usual things that go through one's mind in the post-adrenaline dump of an encounter. What if this had been real? What if he had made it to the bedroom? What if he had a gun? What if I had gotten the shot off first, would anyone have heard it? As I sit here writing this & drinking my coffee (no fucking way I'm getting back to sleep now!) I've decided to implement a few security measures. For one, Those goddam windows will be locked, period. An extra porch light wouldn't go amiss. Motion-sensor activated, maybe.

Also...One way or another, I'm getting a suppressor for the Glock. I don't have nosy neighbors, but no need to press my luck.

Stroke Me, Stroke Me

2009-12-17T08:34:00.001-08:00

Give me the business all night long

I was in the dentist's office last month, and the nurse accidentally splashed water on my face when she took the water/suction tube out of my mouth. "Whoops, sorry. didn't mean to give you a facial there."

Now, what she MEANT was that thing women pay for at a spa, where they get a massage around the cheekbones with mud and cucumber slices applied.

What both the dentist and I simultaneously thought was the porn reference. At the exact same time. And we both started giggling uncontrollably.

The nurse was absolutely clueless. "What?" she kept repeating, "What?"

Clearly, she had never really indulged in porn before...Which amazed me to no end.

I read this review of an actress in a porn movie I was going to buy the other day, and it struck me as funny:

"I mean be fair most of her work was fairly inane as far as dialog and plot goes...but she did have that certain charm and quality that trsanscended all"

As far as dialogue and plot goes...You're actually watching porn for fucking DIALOGUE and PLOT?? Are you telling me that you lose your erection due to a sub-par storyline? Tits and ass doesn't do it for you, it's the delivery of the lines...?

What kind of freak are you?

Seriously, are there people out there who critically review skin flicks looking for such things as production values or great writing?

It's PORNOGRAPHY! It's two (or however many) people gettin' it on so the rest of us can get off and go on about our business. It's a masturbation aid, period. It's been around in some version or another since just after the world was destroyed in a flood. (Translated in the book of Genesis as "Who left the water running?)

I would like to know why most female porn stars have something like 44EE breasts and a size 5 waist. Guh, what the hell do you do with all that? Invite the neighbors?

Oh, don't stare at me like that. This isn't high school, you don't have to act like you've never evicted a batch of orphans to something you found sexually stimulating. I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable...My next post will be about child abuse.

Is that better?

STROKE!