Why I Rule. (Chapter 1, Verse 3)

Now, I never meant for this blog to be about how cool I am, but often times, things happen that remind me just how much I rule.  

And I occasionally feel the need to share them.  

Exactly three days after my post about supposed serendipity, I happen upon another consequential circumstance - the downright strangeness of which cannot be ignored.  

A few months ago, I tried to convince my roommate (and occasional blog contributor) Ryan to watch this fantastic little gem of a television series called "Carnivale".  You see, Ryan grew up hyper-Christian home-schooled, and the series is steeped in "good vs. evil" themes with thinly-veiled Christian theology as a thesis.  

Ryan's a smart kid.  He's a good Christian at heart (although he may deny it), but he often struggles with his "Dark Side".  

And by "Dark Side", I mean the smart kid that lives inside of him, constantly questioning the whole idea of religion and faith.  

That said, if you've ever seen "Carnivale", you know why I think he'd like it.  

If however, you've never seen an episode, you should immediately go to amazon.com, order the DVD boxset, watch it in its entirety, and then, continue reading this blog.  

Ryan and I were sitting home one night when he threw me the remote control.  That's how he says, "You pick what to watch next," in our own, rudimentary, intra-apartment language.  

I used my Apple TV to turn on the first episode of "Carnivale".  

A week later, without an ounce of my urging, Ryan completed watching the whole first season.  

The other day, I was looking for some good television shows to download.  I came across a show called "Tell Me You Love Me."  

Now, I listen to Howard Stern a lot.  I know a lot of people outside of New York "don't get it," but Stern is funny, intelligent, and sometimes caters to a lower register - if you will - but it's all for the sake of humor.  And where I come from - where a lot of New Yorkers come from - it's okay to hurt feelings if you're funny.  So Stern doesn't care who he offends, as long as the laugh is there.  

Stern occasionally talks about the HBO show, "Tell Me You Love Me", and he loves it, so I thought I'd give it a try.  

I downloaded the first season, and last night I watched Episode 1.  

It's brilliant.  

Of course, thirty seconds into the first episode, I thought, "Hey!  That's Jonesy!  From Carnivale!"  

The guy's name is Tim Dekay - and he's a magnificent actor.  He was great in Carnivale, and here he is, jerking off in bed while his wife takes a shower in the first five minutes of a new HBO series.  This is going to be great!  

It's important to note here that Tim Dekay was also (although briefly) on the television show "Sports Night" - one of the greatest television series of all time.  

So last night, I dedicated myself to watching a new show - and this is important for me, because I really don't watch much television at all.  In fact, the only shows I've committed to watching are "The Simpsons", "Californication", and "Entourage".  Watching TV is really just a Sunday night thing for me.  

But from here on out, I'm dedicated to "Tell Me You Love Me".  Right after I finish the first season.

And then that whole serendipity thing happened.  

I walked into work today, and as always, I took a broad look around my sales floor, like Mufasa perusing the Saharan landscape.  It's one of the things they teach you to do in Retail Manager School.  

One of the thing I immediately noticed was a T-Shirt.  It read "Ithaca is Gorges".  I'd seen the shirt before, but never here.  

Now, if my father has taught me anything - if "Sports Night" has taught me anything - it's that there is no such thing as a good pun.  "Ithaca Is Gorges" is not funny.  But Jesus H. Titty-Fucking Christ, how does a terrible pun like that walk into my store?  

I'm in Northridge, California.  I'm three thousand miles away from Ithaca.  

And Ithaca is an afternoon drive away from where I was born.  

I've got to say hello.  

"Hey, nice shirt," I said.

"Have you been to Ithaca?"

"I grew up on the Onondaga Indian Reservation.  It's about..."

"Yeah - between Ithaca and Syracuse!"

He looked right at me, and smiled like we were old friends.  It was Jonesy.  Tim Dekay!  

He said, "I grew up in Ithaca!  Went to LeMoyne College."  

"Yeah.  I know LeMoyne.  I went there, too."  

The strangest thing about it was, I watched the first episode of his new show roughly eight hours before shaking his hand.  And he went to the same tiny college in Upstate New York I did. And he asked if he could take a picture with me!   

Now, it's pretty cool to meet someone from Upstate New York in Southern California.  But during our conversation, I wanted to let him know that I recognized who he was.  I said, "I'm a big 'Carnivale' fan."  

He said, "Thanks for saying something.  You have to start watching 'Tell Me You Love Me'."  

"Oddly enough, I watched the first episode last night.  I heard Stern talking about it..."

"Yeah!  Howard loves us!" he interrupted.  

I'd love to describe the situation as surreal, but I know that I control everything in the universe and all its goings-on, so as the entire situation developed, I have to admit, I was largely unsurprised.  

*

In other news, you should definitely check out the HBO series "Tell Me You Love Me."  It's a beautiful dissection of every failed relationship in which I've ever been involved.  

Yours too, I'd imagine.  

Serendipity? Not exactly.

There's really no way to put this lightly, so I'm just going to throw it out there.  

I am a Master of the Universe.  

Here's a picture of me in my most natural, Christ-like pose:

I know.  This probably comes as no surprise to most of my regular readers, but for the rest of you, let me tell you, it's true.  

A while back, I wrote a blog on my MySpace profile about the strange ability my family has to make things happen by simply speaking about them.  It was a game I used to play with my father and brother.  Many religions put it like this: "If you take one step toward the Gods, they take ten steps toward you."  

Many of the maniacal meditator types will speak about visualization, and concentrating your energy in a certain direction, and letting the universe pay you in kind.  

Now, I'm not what you'd call spiritual.  I'm not what you'd call pious, either.  Hell, I'm not even what you would call scrupulous.  

But I've always had the ability to make things happen just by talking about them.  And it's never really in a way that you'd want, so you couldn't call it serendipity.  I'm not saying I could write a blog about winning the California State Lottery. and I would win.  I just mean I will make a random reference on occasion that quickly materializes in some way, in my life.  

Case in point:  I was exchanging text messages with my friend "Bedhed" yesterday, part of which you can read below.  Three years ago, I gave her an iPod for Christmas, or something. Of course, I preloaded it with some decent music, so she could use it right out of the box, wholly expecting her to sync it with her computer, erasing all of the content.  She never did.  She's spent the last three years suffering through the ridiculous amalgamation of songs I put on the iPod for her to hear - the "Bedhed Mix" :

 Okay, the music I put on the iPod might be a little misogynistic and - dare I say - emo?  That's not the point I was trying to make.  

Exactly two hours after this text message exchange, I received a MySpace message and friend request from... 

wait for it...

my PROM DATE!  It's important to mention here, that I haven't spoken - or communicated in any other way - with my prom date in (at least) fifteen years.  

Now, don't get me wrong.  I'm not saying I can control people's minds from three thousand miles away.  

What I AM saying is, I am in control of all aspects of the universe and it's goings-on at all times.  

I have other powers, too.  For example, I have the ability to sleep for as many as sixteen hours at a time.  Will I use this power for good or evil?  I haven't yet decided.  

Now, I'm sure, dear reader of my blog, you have questions.  Questions like, "Are those screenshots from your iPhone?"  The answer is: Yes.  By simultaneously pressing the "Sleep/Wake" button on top and the "Home" button on the front, I can use my R2 unit (i.e.: my iPhone) to take a screenshot.  This comes in handy when you'd like to post private text message conversations and MySpace messages on the internet (the legality of which, by the way, we can discuss in a future blog.  A blog tentatively titled "Man sued for posting private text message conversation on the internet").  

You may also want to ask: "Do you really control everything, everywhere, all of the time?"  The answer to that particular question is again: Yes.  

Other questions however, can be asked by clicking the "Comments" link below.  A response is almost guaranteed.  That is, of course, if I'm not too busy robbing a bank - or making peace in the Middle East - by sleeping through another eight-hour shift.  

Yeah.  We superheroes/supervillains have a lot to do.  

Vegas.

So my cousins and my aunt are probably going to be in Vegas in early
August. I've officially asked for some time off to go meet up with
them, and I got a definite "maybe".

Sweet.

So I will definitely, maybe head up to Vegas early next month for some
family time in the hot desert sun, mixed with some debaucherous antics
and general weirdness under the night's buzzing neon.

I can hardly wait.

Maybe.

If The Butt Sex Doesn't Send Me To Hell, This Will

Listen. I don't know if you happen have personal acquaintances who are retarded. I do. I also happen to know people who have Down Syndrome. My point is you can have one while not being the other. My logic is probably completely flawed, but I laughed at the retard joke. You probably did as well.

No country for old hooters.

We're at hooters for pre gonzo festivities. This is the least
attractive hooters ever. I've never been to hooters before. Not so
impressed.

But I'm glad they don't have shots cause I'd fall asleep mid film.
That would suck.

Jay was dancing around like a crazy man earlier, something he only
does when he's excited. Flash backs of the troubador come to mind.
Todd Snider and HST seem to do the trick.

[ed. note: Actually Posted by "The Hooded Warrior Can't Write For Shit"]

Lazy and beautiful Sunday.

I'm watching Todd Snider videos on the big screen TV, I'm getting
ready to drive out to Pasadena to see "Gonzo", I've got text messages
rolling in from beautiful people across these United States, and for
the first time in months, I'm having a great day.

Now if I can only get Ryan out to see the movie, the education can
begin.

"...Shot from Peña... Oh! It's in the back of the net!"

Sick and tired of utilizing duffel bags as makeshift goals, Ray Peña
decided a proactive stance needed to be taken on solving the dilemma.
With the help of an home depot employee who probably sounded like
Speedy Gonzalez' 2nd cousin, Ray went out and bought PVC piping, nets
and corners pieces. Only after first assembly did he realize the
genius behind his actions.

It should be said that I would never have felt any passion for "the
beautiful game" without Ray acting as a catalyst. Sure, video games
and Fox Soccer Channel, who is not paying for this endorsement, helped
paved the way, but only after someone else blazed the trail. I cannot
say I understood the game until this past year much less appreciated
it. I was always playing baseball or basketball as a kid, good old
"American" past times.

But now, in my 26th year, in hundred degree weather, on a gorgeous
SoCal morning, I find myself with twenty other guys playing a game
that I am not all that good at.

Ray posted an ad on craigslist that said something like:
Average Joes!!
Wanna play soccer without paying league fees, without wasting gas
looking for a pick up game, and without wondering if there will be
enough players?
Come join us saturday mornings at Van Nuys park and don't be
disappointed.

The first week the ad was up, a couple responses were received but no
one showed up. The glory of having goals is only so grand when you've
built as many goals as you have players.
By the next week though, the list had grown to the point of abundance.

I missed the next week due to illness, but heard an earful from the
participants at work. "it was so awesome! I can't wait for next week!"
wrote one of my coworkers.

Amidst all this, everyone at work had been transfixed on the European
Championship. Since there were matches on pratically every day in
June, our cravings to play had been egged on by seeing some of the
best players in the world go head to head. Spain came out in top, but
I was a bit torn. I've got both German and Spanish blood in my veins
so I would have been happy with either outcome.

This past weekend we met at the park and had a great game with about
20 other players from different backgrounds and ethnicities. It's odd
meeting guys with passion for the game that converse amongst
themselves in Swahili or Russian, but one can assume that it is a
testament to the diversity in both LA and in the game itself.

Most people work their 9-5 monotonous rat race jobs looking forward to
Fridays. But this game has become the focal point of my weekend, and
I'm sure this is true for others. Especially Mr. Peña.

Now if only I could get Jay out to one of these games...

[ed. note: Actually Posted by "The Hooded Warrior Can't Write For Shit"]

The Genius That Was Dr. Hunter S. Thompson

I'm very excited about the impending release of the documentary, "Gonzo", because my respect for Thompson, his style, and his theory, borders idolatry.  Why?  Well, because the Bible wasn't written by Jesus.  

Hunter S. Thompson is the father of Gonzo Journalism - the most significant literary movement in the past hundred years. And his message could not be more important than it is today. 

Example (excerpt from Kingdom of Fear): 

September 11, 2001

[Eighteen months before the U.S. invades Iraq]

The towers are gone now, reduced to bloody rubble, along with all hopes for Peace in Our Time, in the United States or any other country. Make no mistake about it: We are At War now -- with somebody -- and we will stay At War with that mysterious Enemy for the rest of our lives.

[...]  

This is going to be a very expensive war, and Victory is not guaranteed -- for anyone, and certainly not for anyone as baffled as George W. Bush. All he knows is that his father started the war a long time ago, and he, the goofy child-president, has been chosen by Fate and the global Oil industry to finish it Now. He will declare a National Security Emergency and clamp down Hard on Everybody, no matter where they live or why. If the guilty won't hold up their hands and confess, he and the Generals will ferret them out by force.  

I recently received an email from a friend:

So, since I saw that [Gonzo] trailer -- and started reading up on Thompson -- I want to read everything he has ever written.  Where should I start?

I responded thusly:  

I would start with strong drink.  

I personally suggest the 2003 Bonny Doon Madiran.  It's called "The Heart of Darkness", and if you can find it, you can often get it for less than twenty bucks.  (As I'm sure you know, "Heart of Darkness" is named after the classic novella by Joseph Conrad -- a great piece of literature that inspired the single greatest film ever made: Apocalypse Now.)  That bottle should really put you in the right mental state -- provided you don't go do something stupid, like share it with anyone.

You could also start with a six pack of anything from Flying Dog Brewery.  I strongly suggest the Gonzo Imperial or Road Dog Porter.  They're both strong enough to give you (as we say in New York, before going out to the bar) a "six-start".

For books?  Start with "Kingdom of Fear".  It's really the only one that deals with recent history.  Needless to say, it's brilliant.

If you're more interested in a chronological experience, start with the birth of Gonzo Journalism: The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved.

Then read "Hell's Angels", and "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas".  After that, read "Better Than Sex."  If you watch the news, you'll be familiar with most of the major characters - as it's all about Bill Clinton's campaign - and includes some great letters and faxes from Thompson.

I discovered Thompson in college, studying Political Science, and writing a paper about Richard Nixon.  I went to the library to find some books on Nixon, I wanted to learn the real dirt before I started my paper.  As it turned out however, I wasn't a very good student.  Because it was a project assigned to the whole class, and because it was the night before the project was due, there were no Nixon books left in the whole damn library.  Save for one.

Luckily, I had a friend working in the library.  Not a friend, really.  She was one of those straight-black-hair and tattooed girls who would say hello in the cafeteria once in a while, but would never hold an actual conversation with me.  Without saying a word, she led me down an aisle of largely forgotten, dust-covered tomes, and slid a sweet bit of heaven from the shelf.  

She handed me "Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72".  She said it was "wicked" (that's New York speak for "Hella Cool").  I read that book in a night, wrote an A paper, and his style really put the hooks in me.  Thompson played a major role in the modern American political landscape because Rolling Stone was just becoming a respected magazine -- and the significance of young constituents was largely ignored before the Vietnam War.  So -- politically, anyway -- Thompson was allowed to do whatever the hell he wanted.  And he continued to get a Press Pass for wherever he wanted to be.  Total access.

Don't start with that one, though.  You have to be interested in politics to get through it.  As a younger man, and as a Political Science major, I was interested in politics.  And as Thompson says:

"I brood on these things. It is one of those old habits, like date-rape and cigarettes, which I like too much to quit."

You can skip "The Curse of Lono," "Screwjack," and "The Rum Diary" for now. Save those until you've got the bait lodged firmly in your esophagus.

For now, that's probably enough.

Let me know what you think.

- Homer

So sure, I love Thompson.  Although he was an unrepentant drug addict and second-amendment spouting, bordering neo-conservative moron sometimes, his underlying message was clear.  And that message is this:  There is no such thing as objective journalism.  

The underlying theme of everything Thompson ever wrote is that of Individual Experience.  

Right now, at 2:50 AM, Pacific Standard Time on Tuesday, June 24th, 2008, the top political headlines are as follows:

FOX News:  OBAMA APOLOGY TO MUSLIM WOMEN ORCHESTRATED BY MUSLIM U.S. HOUSE REP.

ABC News :  McCain Adviser Regrets Seeing 'Advantage' in Terror Attack

CNN :  Adviser sorry he said terror attack would help McCain

MSNBC :  Obama to women: I support equal pay

Now, it's pretty easy for most people to see that every outlet comes with its own political bias.  But there are millions of people in fly-over country (I'm looking at you, Nebraska) who watch the news, and take it as pure, unbiased, objective journalism (and let's face it, they're watching FOX).  Because that's what "the news", that's what journalism is supposed to be.  

Thompson refused to buy into this myth -- as do I.  

"Some people will say that words like "scum" and "rotten" are wrong for objective journalism -- which is true -- but they miss the point."  - Hunter S. Thompson

Journalism -- like every other creative art form -- is subjective in nature.  It's art.  And it's impossible to create it without painting it the color of our own personal bias, steeping it in the broth of our opinions, and looking at every situation through the funhouse mirror of our own Individual Experience.  So why try?  

Sure, Thompson took the idea to an extreme by getting completely twisted on drugs, making a scene, and injecting himself into the center of every story he ever wrote, but why not?  Why not make yourself the main character?  The story's going to be filtered through your own individual experience anyway, so why not make the story your own?  

"It was no accident that I got to be the caretaker of Colonel Walter E. Kurtz's memory - any more than being back in Saigon was an accident. There is no way to tell his story without telling my own. And if his story really is a confession, then so is mine."  - Apocalypse Now

The idea, fundamentally, is this.  Your story is yours.  It doesn't matter if you're writing for the Rolling Stone or the New York Times.  You can write like Hunter S. Thompson or Arianna Huffington.  You can be Joseph Campbell or Joseph Conrad.  You can be Mark or Matthew or Luke or John.  No one will tell the same story you will.  

So write accordingly.  

So live accordingly.

Oregon Trail

My friend Jamie asked if I could get her the original "Oregon Trail".
Remember that game? You probably played it elementary school on an
old Apple computer. I work with a lot of nerds, so I said I could ask
around.

Me: Hey Julian, you're a nerd. Do you know where I can find the
original Oregon Trail?
Nerd: Between Independence, Missouri and Willamette Valley, Oregon,
in the Western part of the United States.
Me: Thanks.

I guess I asked for that.

Me: Hey Anthony. I'm looking for the original "Oregon Trail"
computer game for a friend of mine.
Nerd #2: Does your friend like hideous, boring, and frustrating
things from the 70s?
Me: That's why she and I get along so well. Maybe she's feeling a
little nostalgic.
Nerd #2: Was she voted "Most Likely to Die of Dysentery" in high
school or something?

Frankly, these guy's aren't helping at all.

If you know where I can find it, leave a comment. Jamie thanks you.

Customers.

"This job would be great if it weren't for all the [...] customers."

I can't deal with people screaming at me. Seriously, it's not my
thing. I've got an aversion to emotional confrontation. Physical
confrontation, I love. But when people get all red in the face, I
just start shaking, trying so hard to resist that urge to throw a left
jab, followed by my overhand right. When I plant my left foot like
I'm supposed to, twist my hips and put my shoulder into it, that guy
standing in front of me buckles and falls like a house of cards. It's
a beautiful thing to see.

But according to company guidelines, I'm not allowed to deal with
customers in this manner. My job is to make them happy, not to see
how fast they buckle behind a right hook to the midsection.

And when they're standing in front of me on the sales floor,
SCREAMING, my job is to give them whatever they want.

Honestly though, I have to start using this train of thought in my
daily life. When that gallon of gas costs more than I'd like, I'm
just going to walk into the gas station, ask for the manager, and
start screaming like a special-needs man-child.

If he's been trained like I have, I'll be tooling around town on
Texaco's dime in no time.