Category: general

Where I put something when I’m too lazy to categorize it.

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technically, illegal

Baaaa-licious.
So I was lazy last week, didn’t write on Thursday or Friday. Well, lazy may not be the right word, more like busy as crap. Work was kicking butt, after-work schedule also kicking butt, and just a general lack of things to write about. I’m not making excuses for you punks, so don’t think I’ve gone soft – I’ll still break your ass.

Worked on the backyard a bit this weekend, forming up the sidewalk that’s going down the right side of the house. Even though I’m now gonna redo it (I want to make a little “landing” where the garbage bins can live), I was proud of the work. Now I just need to get some fill dirt to level it out and then I can pour concrete (sometime next week I think). Also bought some do-it-yourself interlocking landscape curbing, for the little garden strip I’m doing on the left side of the place. Sharaun hasn’t really seen my vision of that yet, so she was a little confused. I’m totally confident it’ll look utterly rad when it’s done though – plus it simplifies the sprinkler layout on that side. I thought about my goal of having things pretty much wrapped up by Sharaun’s folks’ arrival in mid-July, and I’m just not sure. I’ve got concrete, sod, pavers, and plants left to do. That’s about $500, $600, $400, $500, respectively. I think I may be able to do all but plants before they come – which will at least give us grass. Then there’s all the little expenses that add up, like sand for the pavers, edge restraint, etc. At this point it’s the wallet that’ll give out before my back does.

This weekend we’re doing an adventure-camp trip up the Sacramento River. We went yesterday to scout possible riverbank campsites, and found a really nice one about 15mi up from where we launch. Nice sandy beach complete with a little hollow to have a fire. Technically, camping on the river is illegal – but I think we found a pretty good spot. There’s no road on that side, and the bank is probably farmland – as there’s an irrigated grove just over the levee. I figure we should be able to camp for the weekend without getting busted. And if we do get busted, we’ve got a backup plan – the owner of some seedy riverside bar said we could camp behind his place for free if we got booted out by the cops. Should be really fun. We’ll go up Saturday, setup camp, wakeboard all day, then repeat on Sunday and Monday. As long as we don’t get eaten by river rats, accosted by pirates, or chased off by farmers, it should be a success.

Heading to Oregon early tomorrow morning for work, returning sometime Wednesday – which doesn’t give me much time to work on the yard before we’re gone all weekend. I was thinking about taking Friday off, to maybe do my concrete work and just get a jump on the long weekend, but not sure yet.

I’m done. But guys, I got some bad news: that stuff we thought was lamb curry, it’s not lamb curry – it’s goat curry. Yum, goat. Dave out.

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band together and masturbate on the enemy

You'll go blind.
Hey dudes, didja hear there’s some video of US soldiers masturbating onto Iraqi prisoners? That’s so cool. As a country, we should masturbate on more people I think. It just seems so logical and all. Oh, and we should take pictures of it. As Americans, we must band together and masturbate on the enemy – and don’t forget to shout “You got served!” as you finish up in their eyes. Fucking Neanderthals.

Man, I remember how mortified I was when I learned we were expected to take showers in Junior High gym class. As if my sports-challenged former self didn’t have enough problems, now I had to take showers with other dudes? Luckily, I wasn’t the only one who had this fear. In the three years I was there, I don’t think I ever saw one single dude take a shower in that locker room. And some dudes needed a shower too, come 8th grade you can get pretty ripe after 40min of flag football.

Looking back now, the social shower doesn’t seem so strange. I mean, I’ve been in several same-sex communal showering situations since – and they don’t bother me much anymore. I still, however, don’t like those “rotary” urinal things. I mean, the trough urinal is bad enough – but a circular one where I’m peeing directly across from a bunch of other dudes peeing? No thanks. If you’re gonna see my goods, it’s gonna be because I had too much beer and am the sole participant in a game of “strip Dance Dance Revolution.” Yeah, for real. With video too. I can never hold public office.

Dave out.

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living in a treehouse or driving a skateboard to work

Hi what goes here?
Oh yeah? What you gonna do about it then? Mess me up huh? I’d like to see that. Step to me fool and let’s see. Don’t make me drop the hammer on your ass, ’cause I’m ready. Step back.

Guys, for real. I’m so excited about my sprinklers almost being done. How gay is that? It’s a huge accomplishment for me though, so I can accept the gayness. Oh, and by the way, I still haven’t stopped using the word “gay” to mean stupid or lame. I think I’m fairly conscious of political correctness, and can operate within its standards most of the time – but I’m just not ready to give up that gradeschool “gay means stupid” thing. So to all you homos, I got mad love for you – but gay means stupid. Sorry. Wait, homos isn’t PC either? Aww man, a brother can’t win.

The other night at Anthony’s, Bronte was playing MASH with some of the ladies. For those who didn’t have a childhood, or whose brains are time-addled and have forgotten – MASH was a kind of “fortune telling” game centered around how your life will turn out. In the 80’s version (which I played), you picked four chicks, for cars, four kid counts, and four locations on earth. Then you draw a spiral and count through all the options to see who you’ll marry, where you’ll live, what kinda car you’ll drive, and how many kids you have. Man, I remember always having my fingers crossed for Alyssa Milano, she was so friggin’ hot on Who’s the Boss. To make it fun you always had to stick one stinker in each category, you know, like, living in a treehouse or driving a skateboard to work. Then there was always that one cootie-ridden girl who’d be the “gross” one in the wife category. For us we had to marry Beth Somethingorother, oh how we hated her. An ugly boy-hating girl with a penchant for nuts-kicking, she was always the “stinker.” She was so butch, I bet she turned out gay (and this time I mean gay-gay, like gay. Y’know?)

Anyway, we were playing MASH and making “cootie catchers” (which are little four-peaked origami fortune tellers), and I was transported back to the 5th grade. All I needed was a swingset, a game of dodgeball, and to be overly proud of some crotchal peachfuzz – and I’d be back in time. I think I ended up marrying Hilary Duff and having “a google” of kids (that sucks), driving a ’63 Stingray and living in a shack underwater. Improbable? Yeah, sure. Horrible? Hard to say. I can kinda see myself transporting our immeasurable offspring across the coral reefs in the Stingray. Yeah, Hilary Duff, what?

Dudes, I can’t tell and didn’t notice at the time… but is that a bare titty in my post’s image from yesterday? I swear I see nip. OK guys (and gals), I’m outta here.

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not going to write today

Lazy
I am not going to write today, even though the entry is written – I reviewed it before posting and have concluded that it sucks. It is my right. Instead, read this and you will laugh.

Also, by 8:20am I had decided I would do no work at work today. Nothing, not a damn thing. Weekend here I come. Dave out.

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there’s aardbarks up in there

Finely tuned scientific equipment.
I dunno if it was just laziness or what, but we were all supposed to go see another show tonight (Pretty Girls Make Graves, right here in Sac) – and I bailed. Mostly because Sharaun had a late meeting at school and wouldn’t be getting home until 8ish – and I knew she’d be tired from her 2hrs sleep last night. I just felt the evening would be better served if we just crashed on the couch and hung out with each other. So, we did. She picked up some Mexican on her way home – and we ate our dinner out of styrofoam boxes while watching the season finale of the OC. Well, I watched it at least – she fell asleep about halfway through. Which is good, because it’d be awful embarrassing if she’d seen me bawling as Marissa hit that bottle of vodka. What have you done Ryan?, what have you done?!

Dan (the same guy who’s insinuated in the comments that the blog has, or is about to, “jump the shark” – punk) has been taking karate lessons for a while. While he was telling me all about what he’s learned, which thus far has been limited to defense moves, I got an idea. See, I’ve always been curious about how effective karate lessons really are. I mean, I’m led to believe that a black belt in karate could kick my butt. But what about the karate noob? How much better are your defense skills for a couple month’s lessons? So, Dan and I devised a plan. I will attack him with all I’ve got – no holds barred street-brawl-ignorant fighting. Just a hail of fists and throwing my weight around. During my furious assault, Dan can only use the defenses and blocks that karate has taught him. This way, we see if karate is real. I know, totally scientific, right? We figured there’d probably need to be some beer involved – just to loosen up the muscles and improve mental focus… and video documentation couldn’t hurt.

In high school, I was messing around with the tape recorder one day and figured out I could wire the microphone input directly into the earpiece of the phone. This inevitably led to the tape recording of prank phone calls. In the beginning, it was simply a few guys sitting around drinking, smoking (cough, cough), and recording prank phone calls. But shortly after our first 90min compilation tape, “Volume One,” made it’s way around school – each “recording session” became a small party. More and more people heard our pranks and wanted to be around when “Joey Cora” and “Pete Metacalf” made the calls. Over the course of a couple years, we made so many prank phone calls we couldn’t count them all. After each “session,” it was my job to edit down the resulting hours of calls into the best and funniest for inclusion in the next “Volume” of calls. We ended up with four 90min cassettes, Volumes One through Four, and one 45min unedited tape dubbed the “sober session.”

The goal was always to be as stupid as possible, to see how much people would put up with. There was always an unwritten rule that you should try to cram in as much foul language as possible – because everyone knows cussing is comedy gold. Often the calls were so thick with our stupid sense of humor and drunken notions of jokes that they were only side-splittingly funny to us, but listening back on some of them I still get a laugh. The dumber the response from the people on the other line, the bigger the kick we got out of it. The angrier and uglier you could be right off the bat, the better. It’s amazing what people are willing to put up with, especially when you can clearly hear several kids just cracking up in the background.

Although I’ve never fully converted the Volumes to CD, a few years ago I began a project to digitize them all and give copies to the prank crew for Christmas. I never got finished, mainly because we don’t own a cassette deck – but I did get the whole of Volume One ripped to CD. While working on the GDM project last night I happened upon the raw CD rips. So, I decided to clean up a couple calls an turn them into MP3s. So, here – for the first time on the ‘net – some samples of our first prank calls. I estimate that Volume One was made sometime in 1992, and you can tell we were just warming up. Some of the stuff on Volume Four puts this stuff to shame. Anyway, for your listening pleasure:

[audio:SCUBA_tanks.mp3]
SCUBA Tanks

[audio:Fireplace.mp3]
Didn’t Catch on Fire Like a Fireplace

[audio:Gold.mp3]
I Have an Allergic Reaction to Gold?!

[audio:Aardbarks.mp3]
There’s Aardbarks Up In There

That’s if for today folks, I’m outta here. Enjoy.

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not everyone can smell sneezes?

As bad as farts, I swear.
Sick day yesterday. Stayed home to recuperate. Partially from this bug that I’ve got, partially because I foolishly stayed up through 2am the night before. Anyway, the combo of both was too much to bear, so I shot out a “I’m sick” mail and did my work/meetings from home.. bare-chested with the windows open and Andy Griffith on the TiVo. And, if you promise not to tell my boss – I even managed to triumph over my illness and sneak a quick lawn-mowing in between meetings. Forever the rebel.

Last night was another late night, after DCfC and Ben Kweller at the Fillmore, don’t think my head hit the pillow until 2am. Bummer, because it made the 6:45am alarm sound even more taunting than usual. But, I made it.. and am now happily giving another day to the man. It was a good show though, and we once again demonstrated excellent timing – showing up just in time to see the mediocre opening act (The Thermals) exit and Ben Kweller take the stage. We were delayed a bit because Anthony drove, and crashed into a tow-truck on the highway. We had to exit, at which point we were surrounded by four tow-trucks, boxing us in from every side as if they had deemed us “high risk for flight” or something. The tow-truck driver made a big stink about filing a report so we had to wait for the CHP to come and whatnot. Stupid. Neither vehicle was damaged, the guy was just a jerk.

So, apparently not everyone can smell sneezes? When did this happen? Ben and I happened to be talking the other day about how much sneezes stink – only to receive blank stares from the other people in the room. They actually thought we were daft for suggesting that sneezes have a smell. Well, let me tell you – they do, and it’s nasty. You guys really can’t smell them? Must be nice, because they are nauseating. I’m not talking about your own sneezes, but the sneezes of others. I guess I have been blessed with this superpower.

I got nothing, I’m outta here. I’ll write a proper entry for tomorrow later tonight.

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the familiar halfhearted midnight trip

Tim Leary says I should drop out.
I’m totally gonna build a “dream machine.” It’s this thing that this dude from the 50’s invented which supposedly can be used to induce hallucinations (read: epileptic seizures). Basically, it’s just a rotating cardboard tube with a lightbulb inside that makes the light pulse at the same rate as your brain’s alpha-waves? which apparently makes you trip balls. Sounds about as awesome as bananadine.

We got this funny note on our doorstep the other day, and thought I’d share it because it really made me laugh. It’s typed up and printed on a multicolored inkjet printer all professional-like. See, this lady, Inna, wants to be our housekeeper? and she’s distributing these fliers to let us know she wants our business. “ARE YOU SEEKING RESPONCIBLE ,ORGANISED HOUSE CLEANER? YOU GOT IT!” Shouts the bold red text on the top of the page. “INNA IS ENERGETIC HOUSEKEEPER WITH LARGE JANITORIAL EXPERIENCE.” Really?! Tell me more! “INNA IS GOOD ON HER HANDS.” Wha? “INNA WILL BE RESPONCIBLE FOR GENERAL LABOR DUTIES TO KEEP YOUR HOUSE CLEAN.” Sweet! “SHE WILL SWEEPING, SCRUBBING, MOPPING, REMOUVING REFUSE, CLEANING LAVATORIES, SHOWERS OR RESTROOMS.” She will?! Oh boy! “INNA WILL KEEP YOUR HOUSE. IF INTERESTED PLEAS CALL.” Inna will keep my house? Umm.. no thanks Inna. Inna need spellcheck, bad. Sorry Inna.

Whoa, you know what’s weird? Inna might have spellcheck, because when I just ran it – it didn’t flag any of the misspelled words I transcribed from Inna’s note in the above paragraph. Strange.

Anyway, the weekend was good. I’ve been feeling rather ill lately, so I didn’t do any taxing work in the backyard this weekend – which means the sprinkler-awaiting trenches currently crisscrossing our backyard are still pining for PVC. Owell, one weekend lost, what’s the damage really? Saturday I decided to do absolutely nothing during the day. And, I mean nothing. I sat in front of this computer for most of the day – after doing about of “house cleaning” on the TiVo. Catching up on some Andy Griffith, Simpsons, and Scrubs. Then I just sat here and ripped CDs? all day. Got over 40 done by the time evening rolled around and it was time to celebrate Melissa’s birthday. By celebrate I mostly mean a drunken dinner party at our house, capped off by the familiar halfhearted midnight trip to the local pub for one last beer in some attempt to say we really “went out.”

Sunday I was feeling pretty bad, but decided to make a go at it by heading to the river with the crew. I didn’t go in the water, due to my sickness, but I did have a great time lounging in the sun and watching people wakeboard. If there’s one thing I did learn this weekend, it’s that beer doesn’t cure a cold – not that I didn’t try, but it just doesn’t work.

At one point on the boat Sunday I invented a new sitting position. I sat backwards on the back seat, with my back propped against the engine thing? so I was looking directly out the back of the boat, my feet dangling over the ski platform. If I laid my head back I could look up at the passing sky and riversides, and just see the two other backseat passengers out of the corners of my vision. I sat like that for an hour or so while we tugged people around and made our way downriver. Just sat there staring up at the sky listening to music, bouncing my feet and signing along loudly. Maybe it was the beer, but it was awesome. It’s just so “nothing’s going on” that I love it. I’m pretty sure people were laughing at me, but hey, that’s always the goal right?

Nothing more. Dave out.