Stuff/On/Tom | Sunday/reviews. | For/um. | Other/shit.



Not to deviate from the subject for too long, but for the sake of prefacing, today was a pretty good day. The alarm went off painfully early, as usual, but work was decent and then band practice bordered on orgasmic. You're probably wondering how one follows orgasmic band practice to cement a good day. Obviously, one walks to the video store, rents some Futurama DVDs, then walks to 7-11 for beers, then walks home and watches Futurama and drinks beers before falling asleep to get up and do it all again.

So, I started that walk. I could see my breath in the air but I was only wearing a t-shirt because I am a man. I passed a party I was thinking about crashing but last time I crashed a party under similar circumstances I woke up on a park bench, so I decided to stick to the original plan, because even though I don't mind park benches that much, I have to get up early tomorrow.

I was about halfway to the video store when I heard a car approaching. It shot passed me, probably going a little over twice the speed limit. I'm not exaggerating, it was fucking flying. I watched it careen down the street towards a fork in the road with a concrete island in the middle.

I continued to watch as it bombarded into the island. Sparks flew and the sound of metal gouging concrete filled the night. As soon as the car settled, the passenger forced his door open and ran at full speed down a poorly lit street. It didn't take long for the smell to reach my nostrils, just a few houses down at this point. I didn't break stride the whole time because everything was probably fine since the passenger had bailed, and there were neighborhood folk already filling the streets with their phones and their questions.

So, I passed the car, it was clearly totaled, and was headed down the next street when people began trying to push the car. At this point, I thought my services might be useful, so I turned around. By the time I got back to the scene, the people pushing had become discouraged and stepped back. The driver got in back and tried pushing a little himself.

"Dude. Step over here." I gestured him towards the front of the car. "You're not pushing it anywhere. The engine is under the car." He cussed and so on. When the fire truck pulled up I started walking again. I got to the video store just as the clerk was locking it up.

Had I not tried to help at the scene of a car accident, I'd be watching Futurama right now, not posting a blog on myspace.

To reinforce my lesson, seconds later at 7-11, I held the door for two people who didn't say thanks.

Learn from my mistakes. Rent your DVDs before it's too late. Hold the door for no one.



People have always misjudged my taste.  I remember being sixteen years old and getting my labret pierced.  A girl I barely knew told me I would like her friend, Nate, because he also had his pierced.  I did not like Nate.

The labret ring has been gone for years, though, and is beside the point.  If you read the site much, you know I worked at a grocery store some months back.  Customers and coworkers alike would ask me if I'd seen a movie called "Cash Back" and insisted that I would love it.  They went on to explain that it was about a guy who worked in a grocery store.  Naturally, since all people belonging to a specific industry adore all things pertaining to that industry, of course I would love it.  Where they get the idea to suggest as much makes perfect sense, really.

Well, the roommate with the big tv moved out, effectively halting my Asian movie kick because subtitles are no treat when viewed on a laptop across the room, so finally, I broke down and rented "Cash Back," even though the description offered didn't really strike me as particularly enticing.

I started the movie sometime between ten and eleven o'clock, and when it eventually ended, my first thought was shock that the sun hadn't come up yet, because I was sure I'd just spent close to nine hours on the couch.  My roommate informed me that it wasn't even midnight.  The movie had lots of narratives about time and attempted to mystify it from a very pretentious approach, and I suppose it was successful in the sense that I lost almost half a day watching a film that claimed to be 102 minutes long.  Honestly, I'm not sure how people keep getting away with writing this stuff.  The storyline is this: some artist guy breaks up with his girlfriend and gets bent out of shape.  He meets a new girl.  He wants to be with this girl and succeed as an artist.  So, he overcomes some molehill-sized obstacles and gets the girl and succeeds.  There.  You just experienced in four sentences what took me almost two hours.  

Someday, I'll write a movie that'll help fight the good fight against shitty cinema, but until then, you should go rent "Old Boy" and watch Oh Dae Su fuck people up with a hammer.



Yesterday, I drank on the couch all day.

I took a quick break to go to the bar with a friend and drink a few pitchers of beer.  The phone rang sometime at night and it was my brother, who I had forgotten was coming to town.  I'd eaten a little acid, not much, but all that we had left.  Just all the little broken off pieces of sugar cubes in the bottom of the tupperware.  My brother's sexual frustration has him on a strip club kick, which isn't really my scene.  Really, my thinking on strip clubs is this:  If I have never paid for sex, why should I pay for less than sex?  To me it doesn't add up, but he said he'd buy and I don't get to spend much time with him so I was sold.

The door guy said it was five bucks each.  Even though I wasn't buying, I asked, "Does it help me out at all if I know Alex?"


"Yea.  Day time DJ Alex."  He didn't charge me and I thanked him.

"An nyong ha say oh."  He said, looking at me.  It's Korean for "hello," or, more literally, "I hope you are at peace," which is more meaningful than the English version of "hello."  I gave him a very strange look, wondering how he knew that I knew some Korean, barely any, from some of the folks I hang out with.  I nodded and proceeded with caution.

Thinking about it later, I'm wondering if I misheard and he actually said, "Tell Alex I say hello," which has some similar syllables and almost rhymes when you're as hard of hearing as I am.

Inside, my brother bought me beers and I squinted with one eye at the nudity around us.  That melted into memories of getting cut off at the bar and falling down in the parking lot.

I sobered up this afternoon and was hungover all evening, my body a museum of scrapes from constantly falling down on abrasive surfaces.  


The letter from the city showed up.  "Order to Correct" is how it's headed and it boasts that if we don't clean up the bottles and cans in the back yard within five days, we could receive a maximum fine of $2,000 a day until we do.  So we really gotta take care of that I guess.  Lame.


I got home from the bar in the early afternoon and the landlord was mulling around in the yard.  I didn't notice him at first and when I did he scared the shit out of me.  He's kinda sneaky for being an older guy.  He explained it was time to renew our lease, which would be fine but we're down a roomate and in the process of replacing him, so that's tricky.  He also explained that the real estate person that was trying to sell the house next to ours threw some big fit because of our nickel farm out back.  A nickel farm, if you're not in the know, is a pile of cans and bottles that you fertilize by adding more cans and bottles until it's ready to harvest. In Oregon, each bottle or can is worth a nickel.

JW farms nickels.

And so, apparently the dick that wants to sell the house next door was threatening to report us to some environmental health people or something, instead of just knocking on the door and trying to be a gentleman about it.  Our landlord, thankfully, was on our side and instead of being a dick to us said he was going to write a letter of complaint concerning the way that dick handled his business.  So, even if we have to pay a shitload more rent if a roommate situation doesn't work out, at least we still have a place to live.  

And yes, I mentioned we were down a roommate.  I am referring to Tom, of Stuff on Tom fame.  For some reason I hope I never understand, he not only moved in with his girlfriend, but they BOUGHT A FUCKING HOUSE TOGETHER.  Don't worry though, there's a decent sized back log of stuff on Tom, so we can provide you with new pictures for another month or so.  I would like for there to be an endless amount more stuff on Tom, but I don't see his girlfriend being very keen on the idea of encouraging him to drink to the point of passing out and then stacking things on him, taking pictures, emailing them to us, and having us put them on the web before he even knows they exist.  In a perfect world, maybe, but this world is anything but that.

So yeah, now I've started organizing our cans and bottles by retailer on the porch so they'll be easier to turn in.  It's more work than I'm really into but I guess it's better than getting fined by the city.



I worked and went home and played guitar and drank beer.  Some new neighbors were having a party and I decided to introduce myself, so I crashed it.  There were lots of pretty girls and I should have pretended to be charming but I was too tired.  Expecially when they're college aged.  Some nights, I can somehow keep eye contact while a person explains that they're a business major and fire back with bullshit about how "fascinating" that is, but really, if the mechanism in me that was ever capable of doing that hasn't disappeared altogether, it's hiding pretty damn well.  So, not a lot of friendly small talk that night.  Some guy was trying to fashion a pipe out of an empty beer can.  I hadn't seen such a display since I was about fifteen.  

"Do you want a real piece?  I live two doors down."  He nodded.

I grabbed a pipe off my desk.  I don't smoke but I still have a decent amount of pipes and what-not from when I ran the headshop a couple years back.  I returned to the party and drank more beers while other people used my pipe, confused that I did not use it.  

The people were young and well dressed.  College kids.  Not my people.  I left and bought a 40 of malt liquor at the grocery store just before they closed at 1 a.m.  The cashier asked if I wanted a bag.  I reached into my cargo pocket and pulled out my brown bag that I brought from home to save paper.

There's a park I go to and in that park is a bench I sit at.  I walked there and sat.  I drank and thought about meaningless bullshit and got tired.

When I woke up, some teenage girl was standing over me.

"Oh my god..."  She was startled by my consciousness.

"Good evening."  I replied, trying to be friendly.

There was a crowd of teenagers twenty feet or so away, they seemed overly cautious.  

The close girl wanted her cat. A cat had wandered up to me, as I slept on a park bench, using a liquor bottle as a pillow.   When I sat up the cat went back to the girl and she moved hastily back to her friends.  They walked away in a hurry, kitty cat following them, as I opened my bottle back up and drank and listened to the girl explain how her cat always follows her when she leaves home.

the next morning came early  

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