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  • There's this spot on Lyon and Broadway that I chill at to take in a view during my walks. Cops patrol it pretty good because, well, it's Pacific Heights. Anyway, some kids get hassled by a Johnny Law and I decide to walk on down the steep steps. I'll take in my view from a different perspective tonight.


    I hit the first landing and realize what the fuss upstairs is all about. Somebody hit the floor with the most atrocious graffiti. It doesn't look cool and there's not even ownership on the fucker. And I'm not even gonna post the image up to glorify it.


    At first I think nothing of it and walk 'round 'round right 'round some blocks.




    I don't know much about graffiti, but I think it can be an expression of rebellion, angst, emotions, or gang affiliations. These filthy rich white boys, however, seem to tag shit up just to fuck with it. To me, they ain't got a reason to. Trust me, there was nothing emotional about what they drew on that floor. It was poorly drawn, too.




    I get back to the spot after my walk and see that homeboys are still there but the cop ain't. In fact, more people seem to have shown up.


    When I had left them with the cop, their bags were being searched. Explains why they're currently cracking the fuck up. They pull out bongs, weed, and spray paint, making fun of the cop all the while. I don't think I've ever wanted to be Bruce Lee so bad in my life.


    Here are these guys who have every fucking thing going for them. They're rich (judging by the G-Wagon they sport), get away with illegal shit, probably don't have any responsibilities, and live in a neighborhood that I hope I can afford one day. It's not jealousy mind you, but more disappointment with the future.




    Usually I'm a chill guy who doesn't give a shit about this stuff. But one of the white guys spoke up loud enough for me to hear(paraphrased):


    'Dude, white people are like the Romans. They fucking own and shit. But then you got foreigners like Asians who are the Greeks. Invading, trying to BE like the Romans. Man, that's what happened to SF.'


    He went on and on and on about his Dad being under bidded by Chinese contractors. One guy in the group kept looking at me. I think he felt bad. Me, I just sat there and listened. I didn't know high school kids were so fucking smart. He just goes on as I think about how no Chinese contractors live in Pac Heights.


    It gets cold and decide to leave. He says something like he's just being real and all his circle jerk friends go 'yeah, yeah, yeah, it's just the way the world is.' He makes a comment about Romans being the originators, loud enough for me to hear again.


    I stop, turn around. They look at me, some laugh, some look kinda serious. I reply:


    "You know the Greeks won, right?"


    I walk to my car and wait for them to pound on me. They don't. And I think they're too confused to even challenge what I said, doubting their own theories. 


    Pussies, just like I suspected.









  • I've been trying to quit smoking again. You know, kick the habit. Torture thyself. Chopping off my balls.


    Yeah. It's going great.


    It pisses me off everytime I see someone lighting up. They look so happy, and I just want to snatch that happiness away from them. Motherfuckers. I'd give up my right nut for a smoke right now, mostly because I crave nicotine and also because it's slightly larger than my left nut.





    Bums look happier than I do right now. It's been a little over a week and I'm grouchy as fuck. Everytime I see a bum with a cigarette I feel like running up to him/her, grabbing the fucking stoke, and jumping up and down on it. Then I'd take a shit on their eye just for the sake of dropping a deuce on someone.





    If I were a pigeon I'd so drop deuces on bums. I mean think about it. These are people who have it pretty fucking bad already. But they obviously are dealing with their shit by collecting cans, smoking smoked cigarette butts, navigating shopping carts, and writing on cardboard. I have a feeling that shitting on them would just put them...over...the...edge.


    Those crazy bums you see on the street, yelling about cucumbers and what not, those are people who got shat on by a fucking pigeon.





    A pigeon sees a fellow pigeon nail a bum on the lips.


    "Hey, nice shot!"


    They high feather each other and fly south to have sex.





     



  • I obtained some Esthero songs. Damn. Been listening to it nonstop.


    I've also been listening to a lot of Guns N' Roses. Haven't the slightest idea what this combination says about me.

    Hmmm. What would Esthero and Axel Rose's children look like?

    What would her and Slash's?


    Fuck. The listening thing isn't working for me right now. This shit is bananas.




  • Last week. A sundae on a Sunday with my girl.





    It's hard to sit at home and write because there are too many distractions. The weather is suiting me just fine and the walks I've been trekking on have been so good to me. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays are the nights me and my best friend go walking, the other nights I'm on my own or with my girl.


    I don't prefer one over the other. I just like to shut up and walk.





    Being a walker means runners/joggers are those cousins you want to keep away from and bicyclists are mortal enemies. R/J's always look tired and never have a chance to truly appreciate their surroundings. They're also fucking up their knees by running on pavement. I'd tell them to go to a track, but I secretly want them to die.


    Bicyclists wearing spandex think they look like Lance Armstrong but really look like X-men rejects. I hate them because they think they are entitled to one lane of traffic. Look, just because the law says it's right doesn't mean it is. Take that law about not killing people for instance. I ignore that shit all the time.


    In my car.


    When you fucks cut me off at an intersection.





    I so want to shove my side mirror into bicyclist ass.





     





  • Hi there. I have a new toy.



    And another one.



    To celebrate, I ate pupusas. That's pronounced 'poo-poo-sauce'.



    She had a big ass taco.



    I had a jumble of stuff.





    Eating in the Mission, gotta love it. Makes me diarrhea real fast. Food looks disgusting, but it tasted okay. I'm gonna go barbeque right now. I hope it comes out looking better than this.










  • Some of you are going to hate me. Shouldn't be much of a problem because it seems like my already small readership has dwindled during my drought. Hate me all you want. Even if it's because I am a beautiful specimen of manliness whereas you are most definitely not.


    Right.


    Anyway, I'm going to Spain for about (that's 'aboot' in clearly Canadian) a week in August. Yes, yes, another vacation. My life is just so boo hoo awful. Barcelona and Madrid. Terrible. Just terrible.





    This time I promise to actually transfer what is in my travel journal to xanga. My last two trips were stacked on top of one another. And that second trip was a drive across country that didn't give me too many oppurtunities to catch any internet signals. Not that you guys missed out on much.


    I did interview a hooker, but that wasn't as exciting as I thought it'd be. Guess that's why the narrator on that HBO series recites lousy street poetry.





    Hollywood's depiction of hoes with hearts of gold is problematic because:



    1. Not all whores have hearts of gold.

    2. Prostitutes do not look like Julia Roberts(Pretty Lady), Elizabeth Shue(Leaving Las Vegas), or even Bridget Fonda(Kiss of the Dragon).

    3. Pimps don't show up and smash your face in for taking up too much of a girl's time.

    I was hoping some pimp would come out and try to murder me with his pimp cup or something. Didn't happen I'm sorry to report.





    I don't know why I'm writing about hookers. Especially since I started off gloating about my trip. Maybe gloating isn't so fun anymore.


    You know what else isn't so fun anymore? Peeing on people's cars. In high school, I had this awful phase where I would urinate on people's cars. When my friends would tell me they hate their bosses or about crazy bitches who think they're all that, I'd whip my peter out and pee all over said person's car. Dunno why. Just made me feel better because I would always need to pee whenever a friend confided in me. Made my friends feel better, too.


    Hmm. That's kinda disturbing. Because I think that makes my friends awfully sadistic. Me, I'm sinister. But them, they're fucking sadistic.





    Or is it perverted? Yeah. They're perverted.


    And sadistic.





    I have a feeling that if you asked me to, I'd pee on your car you sadistic pervert.





     







  • While Tom Cruise has clearly become insane, I have gained so much sanity in the past month. Work seems to be going well and I think my health is back to normal. I ain't eaten a deep fried object in weeks. I'm also shitting twice a day.




    Strange. I haven't really advertised that I'm back, but it seems people I want to know that I am back in SF don't know and people I would not like to know that I'm back know.




    The weddings Kinky and I have been to are lessons in how not to do a wedding. Here's a big no-no that more and more people are doing: providing a small bottle of cognac at every table. Assholes (like me) might finish a bottle and point to their table mates and say, "Y'all didn't get any?" From there, a prick (like me) might seek the designated driver's table's cognac. Except that bastard (that would be me) decides to stop by every table on the way back to his table to have shots with strangers.


    So yes, I got drunk. And there's nothing wrong with that. Right? Well.....


    I tend to fuck around when I'm sober, so you can imagine what I'm like when I've had a few too many. Don't know about any of you, but when I'm drunk, I become quite the linguist. Cantonese, Vietnamese, Spanish, French; I speak none of these languages.


    But I do when I'm drunk.


    While Kinky is buying some watermelon juice at Sweet Delite on Clement Street, I'm half passed out in the passenger seat. I hear this stacatto rhythm that I can only place as Cantonese. So I yell out the window, "Wo hai bingo ah? Gong gong gong," and start laughing out of amusement from my jibberish.


    The girls I yelled at weren't so amused. They say something about not understanding Cantonese and tell me they're Vietnamese. So I ask, "What the hell are two Vietnamese chicks are doing on Clement Street, shouldn't y'all be working the streets in TL?"


    And that's when they tell me they're actually guys and ask me if I wanna get fucked up? Except it sounds more like, "We guy, man, y'know? You wun get fut up, min? Fut up? You bet sut up. Sut up." Which makes me laugh because I have soft spots for accents and people who repeat words and phrases. Like that guy who used to do those inane 'How ya doin', how ya doin'? McDonald's commercials.


    I'm not a fighter, but I'm a dickhead. So I bust out the all Vietnamese I know, which is nearly all jibberish.


    "Dieu nam nam noi. Bau mau mau. Dong ma."


    The looks on their faces are incredulous. They shake their heads and decide to quit wasting time with a drunk bastard. That really got me thinking. There aren't any dong ma (Vietnamese) guys who would stand for the shit I just did. I've seen a guy in Little Saigon get fucked up for taking a parking space. And he signaled for it first. He even had right of way. This civility on this night was kind of weird.


    Makes me wonder if I was talking to Swiss tourists or something. But before I can get out of the car to hunt them down and ask, Kinky gets back into the car. She says something about a drunk guy yelling out in the streets. Had the whole store laughing. I roll up my window, do a 'oh really', and sober up.




    Anyways, I hope my friends and family stop serving cognac at their weddings. I might get my ass kicked.




    Dieu nam nam noi.








  • In case you were wondering, I've been building out my new workspace. Twelve hundred square feet, low ceilings, underground, in the middle of one of San Francisco's weirdest neighborhoods. Nothing sexy at all. It's been a little more work than I thought it'd be, but the end is getting near.




    When I say weird, I really do mean weird. Yesterday, some dude wore leather ass chaps. I think that's what you call them. It's like leather pants, except there are holes that expose your ass and the back of your legs. He was carrying a whip and shit.


    It was weird because I was wearing the same exact thing. My whip is like way bigger though.




    I was drinking in J-town the other night and stopped by a convenience store on Fillmore and Sutter for some smokes. The clerk claims that homeboy that just walked past me was from the Village People. You know, the one with the leather outfit. Yo, he looks kinda fucked up now, but he dresses normal.




    Speaking of whips(car), I think I want a new one. My Dad kinda fucked up my CR-V and the RX330 drinks premium gas, which is almost $2.60 a gallon.


    But I ain't got the cash flow for a new car, so it'll have to wait at least until the end of the year. I'm eyeing the A3 and the Cooper S.


    I'll probably end up buying a Yugo.






  • Hi, here are some snapshots of an airline, its food, better food, and a fucking prince.



    I flushed the airplane toilet somewhere over Rochester. I have since made a mental note to not live three centimeters east of Rochester simply because it is a sky toilet.



    It's almost like eating in one of those revolving restaurants at the top of tall buildings...



    ...except it's really not.



    English Pub Food: the phenomenon when food looks exactly the same when it goes in as when it comes out.



    On Saturday, Prince Harry told two reporters from Teen Beat that 'I was going to dress up like Napoleon Dynamite and bring numbchucks to my dad's wedding, but my grandma is a flippin' idiot!'





    Kinky is chatting it up with two other women as Prince Hairy chats it up with a swingers couple and a Royal Saluter. Kinky and the two other women are ignoring me. They openly fantasize about being Mrs. Prince Harry. I let Kinky fantasize all she wants. Frankly, it ain't happening, baby.


    Oh you can try to seduce a prince, but I'd tell the guy all of your embarassing secrets and that I have pubic crabs.





    For the record, I don't have pubic crabs.


    Anymore.





    Shotstar and Tommywooh had the funniest comments to my last post. You other people need to pick up the slack. Only advice I can give is eat more exotic foods (like your pets) or pay attention to production company idents at the end of your favorite vintage sitcom.





    By the way, Prince Harry didn't really say that thing about his grandma. And that couple ain't from Teen Beat. I don't who they are, but I do know Prince Harry was pointing out that he had the biggest feet of the three men.


    He also added that his feet were quite smelly, as well.







  • Been real fucking busy. One pic from two different trips. Laters.






    On the way to London.



    White sands with my cousin's dog.





    How've you guys been lately? Been anywhere interesting? Please don't answer with 'the internet'. Because that would be sad.


    Like dorky sad. As if I'd let you see me cry.


    I won't let you see me cry.