if you could sit here in this room

You won't believe this...
Honestly guys, could my life get any sweeter? I mean, I just took stock a minute ago. Sometimes it’s good to take stock, y’know? I was walking down the street in San Francisco, a chill in the air. I’m headed to my hotel, coming from a fine meal at a trendy open-air Spanish restaurant where I dined with managers two levels above me. Managers who I took beer for beer, letting them digest my name, an awesome guy to hang out with. The guy that tells jokes, the guy that gets by on his personality. So we bustle down the streets, talking of important business. And that’s how I end up here, typing on my laptop in my executive level 43rd floor hotel room. Where I have free access to the “executive lounge” and my room has a 30ft wall of windows which offer up the most stunning view of the San Franciscan skyline I’ve ever seen. I sit in my huge room, watching Aqua Teen Hunger Force in my boxers, the lives of millions of San Franciscans playing out hundreds of feet below me. Honestly, I’m on top of the world right now – cold urticaria and all. Now if they only have bloody mary mix in the mini-bar. Seriously, if you could sit here in this room and look over the city lights with me, you’d jizz. It’s that freakin’ awesome.

Not only that, but things are going well. I’m once again making visual progress on the backyard, with the work on the porch to commence in a week or so. My presentations went great today, I have a penthouse suite and nothing to do, and I’m three beers into a good feeling. Aqua Teen Hunger Force is over and I managed to find a new episode of Reno 911. Maybe I’ll make some coffee, because, see, I can do that. Right now I can do whatever I want. If I want to go downstairs and go out, I can. If I want to stay right here and sleep until 2am then wake up and watch the city for hours, I can. Come to think of it, I am kinda tired. But just to refresh – I don’t have to go to sleep or anything, because I am king of this hotel room. Maybe I’ll take a bath, I don’t think I’ve done that in years. I mean, I bathe, just not in a “bath” is all.

Oh man, this coffee is terrible. It looks like tea it’s so weak, and it tastes like hot water with a dash of coffee flavor. Yuk, I really wanted some coffee too. Man, you guys know what I should do? I should totally order room service. Like, some dessert or something. You guys wanna see what they have? Yeah, let’s check it out (let’s is short for “let us,” which sounds wrong). Holy crap guys, I’m totally drunk with power. Want proof? I just ordered a platter of chicken wings with bleu cheese dressing and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream. Why did I do this? I’m not even hungry, I only did it because I can. That’s right, I’m not even hungry. I probably won’t even eat it all, and I might even throw it away if I get tired of looking at it. Because that’s the extravagant life I live. Heck, I may even wake up in the middle of the night and make these fools bring some damn shrimp cocktail up 43 floors to my door, I’m not paying for it. Biatch.

It’s not that I don’t have anything more to say, I could go on like this forever – but I don’t feel like writing anymore. And going with the theme of me doing whatever the heck I want, I’m done with this blog.

Dave out.

sucking ice

Smokey 3D!.
I went to the dollar store a while ago, and I bought a bag of marbles. I haven’t done anything with that bag of marbles. It’s still sitting here on my desk cinched up like the day I got it. Why did I buy these marbles guys? I know why. Because I love marbles. I always have. Marbles are so cool. Something about little glass spheres with wavy colors in them. They are awesome. I remember my brother and I used to try and play the “real” marbles? you know, with the circle and all? but it never worked out. I like the sound they make when you crunch them around in your hands. Marbles are awesome y’all.

It’s about 9:30pm right now, and I’m sitting here with all the windows open. I’ve got on a button-down Hawaiian shirt that’s not buttoned, just letting it all hang out as they say. An awesome breeze is blowing through the house and I’m listening to some group called “The Autumn Defense” that I just downloaded from the newsies. Apparently, they have some kind of familial relationship to Wilco. They kind of remind me of Buffalo Springfield’s softer moments, good music for a warm night alone with the windows open. Not sure the album’s good enough to not delete – but it hits the spot tonight. Sometimes complacency and contentment is only a nice breeze and good song away.

Word is I’m headed back to Taiwan in two weeks. I actually suggested this trip. There are some things I wanna take care of in person over there – to make the right impression. I’m excited, I really like it over there. Also turns out Ben will be there for the beginning of my stay, and Pat and Wes will be there towards the end. Also some of the other Taiwan-travel regulars will be around, so it should be a good time. Looking forward to some more mantis-prawns and chicken heads. Bring your worst Taipei, I’m ready.

I got a tattoo one morning, my freshman year in college. Jeremy, my roommate at the time, and I were skipping class as usual. Driving around by the river listening to Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness (on of the classics of my generation, by the way). We would always skip our morning classes, go buy some chili-cheese nachos from 7-11 for breakfast, and head down to the river. We’d usually just sit and talk, him smoking his Newports and I my Djarums. When I was in high school, I used some spare time in drafting class to make a geometrically perfect Traffic symbol. Traffic was a band from the late 60s to mid 70s, Steve Winwood came from Traffic, and are one of my favorite bands. Anyway, I always kept it in my wallet – because I always knew one day I wanted a tattoo of it.

This morning I got the urge, and stopped at what, looking back, was probably not the best tattoo parlor in Florida. The place was called “Altered Images” I think – and it was housed in a trailer off the freeway, next to a small flea market. But hey, it was like 5min from college? so it was an easy target. When we walked in, the lone artist was sitting on a couch with a large snake. He put the snake away, and I showed him my drawing. I pointed to where I wanted the ink, on my chest above my left breast. He sat me down, had me sign the AIDS waivers, shaved my chest and transferred the image to my skin using deodorant and colored pencils.

Before I knew it I had the black outline of the symbol on me. Before we filled the shape in with red, Jeremy and I went outside for a smoke. I remember thinking what an awesome morning it was, and how glad I was to not be in class. I went back in and laid on the table while he finished. After a while, he said “I’m done. Oh, and I added a cool ‘smoke’ effect to give the thing a real 3D look like it’s standing off the skin.” Umm? excuse me what? I mean, this is my first tattoo and all, but is it normal for a tattoo artist to take some artistic liberty when he inks? I never asked for this gay-ass “smoke” effect! It makes the outlines look all fuzzy and messed up. In fact, I think he messed up and tried to do something to cover it up. Whatever, I gave up the $80 and was outta there. I’m still glad I got it. It gets recognized. It got recognized while I was drug-stuck to the New Orleans dirt one afternoon. “Hey, nice Traffic tattoo,” some guy said as I watched legs go by – my eyes the only muscles I could move. Wanna hear about it?

Flash forward a year or so. Jeremy and I decide to take a trip to New Orleans to see Jazzfest. Jazzfest is the biggest thing in New Orleans next to Mari Gras. There are literally hundreds of musicians in town, playing in clubs, arenas, and on a huge open-air fairgrounds. We went specifically to see Van Morrison. Which is where our story begins. We drove down to the French quarter and caught a cab to the fairgrounds. We were standing in a huge crowd waiting for Van to come on stage, when some guy in front of me started smoking weed from one of those fake ceramic cigarettes. He offered me a hit, so I took it. Now, I hadn’t smoked anything in years at this point, and I have always been a lightweight? so that one hit had me feeling just about perfect. Van got on stage and the show was great.

Around the third song, an Asian kid wandering by asked me if I had light. He was holding a joint, and I knew that if I offered him my lighter – he’d reciprocate by offering me a toke. Now, I really didn’t want a toke, but I offered the lighter anyway – sparking his joint as he inhaled. He then proffered the thing to me with a smile. I’ll never forget the blue Sonic Youth “Washing Machine” shirt this kid had on. I took one hit, handed the joint back, and immediately knew something was very wrong. Whatever I had just inhaled was now seemingly expanding tenfold in my lungs, kicking like a horse to get out. I felt a feeling I’d never felt before, something different in the smoke itself. I turned to ask the kid if the weed was cut with something, but he was long gone.

So there I stood. Well, for about ten minutes I stood. Then I sat. And finally I laid down. I was completely out of it. I can remember sweating like I was in a sauna, just dripping with sweat and not wanting to move. At this point, I think Jeremy was a little embarrassed that he was with me – and was totally ignoring me while watching me out of the corner of his eye. I remember someone coming through the crowd and asking if I was OK. I remember someone misting me with a spray-bottle of water, and finally some kind soul dropped a huge chunk of ice near me – seeing I was obviously dehydrated. I sucked on that piece of ice for almost the entire show, I can still see the bits of grass and dirt on it. All I remember from the music is the pounding bass I could hear with my ear to the dirt.

When the show was over, I could hardly stand up. I made Jeremy carry everything we had brought in, because for some reason I didn’t think I could carry things and walk at the same time. It was so busy getting out of the park.. we didn’t make it to a cab and back to the car for over an hour. By that time, I guess I was acting pretty together – because Jeremy let me drive us back to the hotel. About halfway there, while driving down the highway, I suddenly let out an expletive. “What?” Jeremy asked. “Dude, we forgot to get the car!” I replied. Yeah, he made me pull over and let him drive. Whatever was in that joint besides weed, I didn’t like it. Didn’t have any grass after that for another two years, and only then because it was the Grateful Dead festival. I mean, c’mon right? Who doesn’t eat a Ganja Gooball or three at the friggin’ Grateful Dead festival? Ever heard Dark Star?! Try listening to that awesome song and not eating some chocolate-oatmeal bud-candy.

But guys, I don’t do the drugs anymore. Haven’t partaken of any of that mess since college. No plans to ever again either. Stay clean guys, it’s more funner anyways. I promise. And now, the weekend. Until Monday – Dave out.

tea with a lot of caffeine

clicka clicka click
Authors Note, added 2007: Later on in this entry, you’ll read about a drug I took as a teenager. While you may read this and think it’s cool, Angel’s Trumpet contains several highly potent alkaloids that, if taken in too great an amount, can kill you. If you’re considering trying this, or any other entheogenic, plant as a recreational drug, I suggest you do some research. “Angel’s Trumpet” (scientifically known as Brugmansia, and sometimes confused with its close relative Datura) can, and has, killed people before! I would never try this drug again, even in well-metered doses.

I taught myself my own typing method. I mean, I took typing in middle school for like a year – you know, where you learn to use the “home keys,” and all your fingers and junk. I never could get my pinkies to behave, so I developed some kind of hunt-and-peck scheme that has evolved into me being able to type relatively fast without needing to look at the keys. I only use the 1st two fingers on my right hand, and the 1st three on my left. I have about a 5 keystroke to 3 backspace progress ratio. I don’t know what that is in words per second, but it must suck pretty bad.

I’ve been keeping up writing to Frank. I actually sent him some excerpts from the under-construction “Cast of Characters” page. Wow, that’s the first time I’ve actually linked that page without masking it. That must mean I’m getting more confident that it’s nearly ready to go. I only need a few more pictures and hyperlinks and it will be completely finished. Anyway, I copied my section, as well as his and our folks’ into the latest letter – hopefully he’ll get a kick out of it. If it’s your first time reading the page, please forgive me for it’s incompleteness.

The Strokes show is tonight, should be a good time – but a late night. I hooked the FCG up to a timer yesterday, so that she comes on from 7pm to 9pm each night, whether we’re home or not. At least that way the neighborhood can appreciate the sweetness that she is. I don’t know what to write.

I guess it was about 4 or 5 in the afternoon and we had been talking about this all day at school. The other day a friend of my friend had prepared the Angel Trumpet tea by boiling the flowers and plant parts in water. I have no idea how much was boiled, or for how long. The resulting white liquid was poured off into an empty wine bottle. The stuff didn’t really have a smell, but it looked mucous-like, so not appetizing enough to drink straight from the bottle. We decided to mix it with some Sunny Delight. Sunny Delight is very syrupy to begin with, and I think the tea was also somewhat syrupy – so the resulting drink was disgustingly sweet and extremely thick. I filled a medium sized glass about a quarter full with the tea, and the rest with Sunny Delight (I wasn’t sure how much to take, but figured that would be enough to judge for later attempts). Downed the whole glass and a little leftover from my friend’s glass.

Next, it was off to the football game. I felt nothing at all for the entire first half. Around halftime I began to feel very tired, and eventually laid down on the bleachers. I may have fallen asleep, but I am not sure – it seemed like a long time that I was “sleeping,” but it probably only lasted about 10 minutes at the most. When I finally sat up, the tea was starting to work.

Things from this point on are fuzzy at best. I can recall events from this point and a few hours later, but after that I have NO recollection of anything – and rely on others’ accounts of how I was acting, mixed with fleeting memories, fragments.

Immediately I felt “high.” Stoned more like it, although not as mellow. At first very “bouncy,” like having too much caffeine. Soon, I began to experience hallucinations. Small things at first, way off in the distance. The glint of the field lights off the marching band instruments across the field became “dancing stars.” Already things are beginning to get hazy in my memory. The game ended with me still experiencing small visuals and chattering away, talking non-stop about everything I saw.

In the car on the way home, I continued talking. I was now seeing hallucinations on a grander scale, and beginning to interact with them, i.e. holding pens that did not exist, grasping for butterflies that weren’t there.

Once out of the car and at home, my motor skills and balance began to fade. I tripped over a baby-gate blocking the hallway entrance and fell face first into the carpet. At this point the carpet began swirling up around me, and I was sinking fast into it – continuing to fall downward completely surrounded by carpet. Only my telling myself that it isn’t possible to swim in carpet made me get up, and I was still trying to play this off in front of my parents.

Kind of faint here, but I remember sitting in my room with my friends and them trying to convince me to shut up and stop acting so conspicuous. I recall going into the living room with a cassette tape and trying to insert it in the wall and press the imaginary play button. At this point I realized there was no tape player. It would play out like this for most of my memorable portions of the trip – me doing something, and then sadly realizing that it is all a hallucination, not real.

By this point, my parents have called poison control and I am back in my room. No more coordination, can’t tie my own shoes – but I have to go to the hospital they say. Someone ties them for me.

Remember singing loudly and yelling as we leave the house and get in the car to go to the hospital. Parents telling me to be quiet, but I am not really listening, or can’t really stop. No recollection of the drive to the hospital. Next memory I am in the parking lot with Kyle, asking him if he feels this, did he drink enough, why he is not tripping like this?

Fast forward to the last memory that I can place in a timeline. Next memories are all blurred together in time, and fragmented. I can place them in two groups, “hospital” and “home.” I remember getting the little hospital bracelet, and looking at my mother cry. I remember seeing my mom cry a lot that night, and feeling so bad.

It is somewhere at this point that I realize I am no longer in control of my actions/thoughts. I have become a non-active participant in whatever the drug decides to do with me. I recall feeling frustrated, thinking how I should be acting, but then acting the exact opposite. No chance I could play it off. My mind could think how to act, but it could not follow through.

I remember sitting in a room with my dad, and the lady asking me questions about things. What’s my name, what year is it, who is president. I got most of it wrong, saying it was sometime in the 70’s and that Reagan was still president. Strange thing was that I thought I was right, my mind did not tell me I was wrong. Coming close to the peaking hours of my trip. The woman asked her questions, and it seemed like an eternity happened between each word she spoke, so I assumed she had stopped – and kept getting up to leave. My dad would grab my arm and tell me that she was not finished, I kept asking why she was taking so long then.

No more memories that make sense. Aware of doctors talking about the drug test results, aware that I was in one room for a while then switched to another. Bed had high metal rails on either side. Remember mom and dad sitting on chairs in the room, mom crying – dad looking like dad. Recall writing a letter to Robin, and dropping the pen only to have it melt into the rails on the bed – then realizing there was no pen or letter.

Had to take a pee test at some point. Remember flowers on the wallpaper. Remember being VERY thirsty, and begging dad for some water from the fountain – he said there was no fountain. But I insisted I saw the fountain by the flower wallpaper. Remember being given some type of container to pee into – my mind turned it into a large gallon container like milk comes in, and I somehow thought that I was supposed to fill only the handle portion. Remember a doctor saying “This is water.” I must have filled the thing with water – don’t know how I ever did give any pee – but obviously I did, most likely with dad’s help – poor dad.

Total loss of memory here. Don’t know how long. I’ve been told stories of how I acted, but I don’t remember directly so I’ll leave them out. I am still at the hospital and I hear people talking about stomach pumping and other things.

Next memory is at home, it’s still night – but I have no idea what time it is. They must have thought I was coming down enough to go home. My mom and dad let me go in the room and go to sleep, but I don’t think I slept.

I remember so many hallucinations at this point. I considered the “peak” to be the hours that I can’t recall at all. And this to be then slightly coming down side of the trip, but it is at this point that I have the most hallucinations (or perhaps it’s only that I can recall them all at this point).

I see my cat sleeping on the bean bag, she has had a litter of kittens and she is licking them clean – they are newly born. I think this is actually a memory from childhood when my cat actually did have kittens at the foot of my bed while I slept. I climb off the top bunk to go pet the new kittens. But when I touch them, they explode and shower the room with confetti – which makes me sad for killing them.

I remember roaming the house thinking Kyle was still there, and that his mom was coming to pick him up. I remember going outside and saying goodbye to him as he left. I think I was outside, I am not sure. I remember opening the freezer and seeing a frozen face screaming at me. I remember doing pull-ups on my bunk bed.

At one point I tried to make a phone call but realized I didn’t have the phone. So I figured that the phone had somehow “melted” into my hand. I proceeded to map out where the numbers would be on my palm and try to “dial” someone with my hand.

No more memories until morning. Don’t know if I ever slept or not.

In the morning I am still hallucinating, but I now realize that the things I see are tricks of my mind. Now I have become a little more in touch with reality. I remember eating a bowl of cereal and talking to someone on the phone, with my head cocked to keep the phone crooked at my ear like you do when you’re using your hands and can’t hold the phone. The phone dropped into my bowl of cereal, and I jumped – realizing there was no cereal or phone.

Remember not wanting mom and dad to find the remainder of the tea in the wine bottle, and surely not wanting to take any more – so I stuck it in the front of my pants and went outside, against my parents warnings. I think they sent my brother into the yard to watch me. I only walked to the corner of the street and poured the milky liquid in the grass, dropping the bottle and walking back home. Hallucinations continued as I saw my dog, flying with wings, swooping around overhead.

Sometime in the morning the police came, and asked me questions – did I want to press charges against JJ – no, of course not – I willingly took the stuff. I was pretty composed at that point, but could not stop my mouth from asking about the people with “stars on their head” that I saw in the back of his cruiser. I think the “stars” from the football game the night before had been ingrained in my trip as a reoccurring theme. At the hospital I saw little “gnome” people on the ceiling with stars rotating and spinning above their heads.

The rest of Saturday is blur. Nothing really to remember. The drug was wearing off. At some point my father and I went to visit Kristina in the hospital, she had her tonsils out or something. I was almost normal, but everyone and everything seemed to be covered in a think coating of green slime. This hallucination was persistent the whole time I was at the hospital visiting Kristina. I really don’t have full memory of the day, pieces are missing and out of order.

I think the trip was gone completely by early Monday morning. A near three day trip, with hallucinations that were so real I could not distinguish them from reality. I was immersed in another world, and could not get out – even if I had realized there was an “out.”

Never, never try this drug.

what’d you say about…

was it something I drank?
Ahh… damn you barleywine. Damn you Anthony’s kegerator; your ease-of-use factor is seriously harmful. You sit there and tempt me with your sleek blackness and your silent offerings of cool delicious quaff. You make no audible sounds as I drop your hammer and top off yet another frosty mug, yet you thank me telepathically with each swallow. So what if I drank too much for a Thursday… or Mardi Gras, for that matter. You guys were cheering me on, chanting “drink! drink! drink!” Wait, that was in my head? You guy’s weren’t cheering me on? Dang.

Yeah well, we went to Anthony’s last night to watch Michael Moore’s Bowling for Columbine. I know, it’s totally B-list at this point, but I’d never seen it, and Ben talks about it like it’s right up my “thinkin’ man’s” alley. A lot of people have said a lot of stuff about this movie, and without getting too much into it – I’ll simply say that I liked it. I liked it a lot. Sure, Moore is an expert at making his point – and he’s cunning and crafty in baiting people into reinforcing that point, even when they are in total disagreement with it. Contrary to what a lot of people get from it, I didn’t really see Moore assigning blame to any one group or factor – I considered it a really open-ended piece. But that’s the beauty of it. Anyway, I said I wouldn’t really get into it, so I won’t.

On the music tip, I was extremely glad when Ben rang me up yesterday evening to tell me that the new Beulah album had been leaked to the ‘net. I grabbed it as soon as I got home. Beulah has a special place in my musical canon, their sophomore album, When Your Heartstrings Break, was the first album I got when I moved to California. I played that thing to death, and that sound kind of embodied the whole “I’m a Californian” thing to me. Anyway, the new album is called Yoko – and from the few times I’ve been able to hear it, it sounds much better than their last effort. Anyway, the leaking of the album bumped me over what I like to call the “comp line.” This is the point where I have enough good new music to compile an mp3 cd of “new shit.” For your enjoyment, here’s a filetree from the latest comp (albums not linked to reviews are early leaks for which I couldn’t find a proper writeup):

D:>tree
Folder PATH listing for volume new_shit
Volume serial number is 71FAE346 9031:0187
D:.
+---appleseed cast - two conversations
+---beulah - yoko
+---death cab for cutie - transatlanticism
+---earlimart - everything down here
+---long winters - the worst you can do is harm
+---long winters - when i pretend to fall
+---snow patrol - final straw
+---stars - heart
+---stars - nightsongs
+---strokes - room on fire
+---the shins - chutes too narrow

On the “your mom” joke tip, Anthony broke the mold yesterday and created what I believe to be a whole new breed of YMJ. For the uninitiated, a “your mom” joke is a quick way to make the guys laugh. If the crew you run with is OK with rude and, more often than not, lewd jokes being told at their mothers’ expense – then you have the right ingredients. We make YMJs more often than any other joke, mainly because they are fast and easy, and generally get a hearty laugh. They can take almost any form, and don’t even really have to make sense. Nearly any statement can be turned into a YMJ. “Dang, this rock is heavy.” “Your mom is heavy.” “Man, that bike ride wore me out.” “I wore your mom out.” As you can see, the possibilities are endless. Anyway, Anthony came up with an unconventional, outside-the-box YMJ – and you, faithful reader, can read the IM transcript of it’s inception right here:

Anthony says:
you really suck as a friend
Dave says:
yeah… i know.
Dave says:
peanuts?
Anthony says:
on a call
Dave says:
damn
Dave says:
i need some peanuts
Anthony says:
my mom said you are packing a peanut…so why not just play with them
Dave says:
hey! you turned a your mom joke around on me!
Anthony says:
I just bagged on you through my mom…that is the best ever
Dave says:
that’s an innovation i think. a first.
Dave says:
that was awesome
Dave says:
a whole new breed of joke
Anthony says:
need to show that one to ben
Dave says:
i think i might copy this whole chat into the blog it’s so good
Anthony says:
hehe

To explain a bit: sometimes after lunch, I get a hankerin’ for these toffee-coated peanuts that the store in the lobby sells. Hence the “peanuts?” line above. Oh, and Anthony is always telling me I’m a sucky friend. The “new hotness” about this joke is that Anthony actually sacrifices his own mom for the sake of insulting me. Now, those are some high stakes – but I think the rewards can sometimes justify the price. Kudos.

On the random tip, I really thought this was a cool story. Who knew that diesel engines could run on vegetable oil? Well, not me, OK?