Chocolate + Pumpkin = Fate worse than death.

I hereby declare that Ceasar salad dressing is superior to its Ranch-flavored counterpart in every way. It always has been and always shall be. Ranch just isn't as good.

Dare ye contradict me?

Speaking of two horrible things that should never go together, my roommate just left to go to the store to get some chocolate chip pumpkin cake. A filthy disgrace that should never have been born.

Chocolate = kinda' gross.

Pumpkin = foul, indisputably disgusting, vomit-inducing nastiness that only grew on this earth as a direct result of the Fall of Adam, forsaken by God, and is useful only to be desecrated into jack-o-lanterns, and that's a shady business in itself.

It boggles my mind that we allow people to combine these two evils without them being disowned by their families and shunned and exiled by society, to be banned to some far away island, inhabited only by colonies of lepers.

Worse still is that some fool decided long ago to allow pumpkin pie to be a part of Thanksgiving. Here you have a splendid meal, and someone always comes along and ruins it by bringing a nasty pumpkin pie. It's like peeing in your Cheerios. I'm still working on suppressing the gag reflex.

Has no one else noticed that pumpkin pie is really really really gross? Am I the only one? Seriously? The only reason anyone can stomach that crap is because it's so loaded down with sugar and fat that it almost cancels out the seaweed flavored grime to where it's a sort of semi-conscious bland entity, looking up at you with an apathetic, boring glare, past the point of feeling, wanting nothing more than death to come and take it from it's shameful, moist, gluttony existence.

I wash my hands of you, pumpkin.


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Overpriced names.

The best thrift store purchase I've ever made was a dressy trench coat made by Gucci that I bought at DI for $8. I didn't like it that much compared to another one that I have so I gave it back to DI when I moved to California.

On a whim, I looked it up online the other day to see how much it was worth.

$900.

Yep. Of course, "worth" is all relative. I'd say it's really worth about 20 or 30 bucks, but if you wanted to buy it new, online, you'd have to pay more than the value of my entire wardrobe.

And I've never understood why people pay way, way too much for clothes that have a fancy-schmancy brand name, when the name is not visible.

This blog entry ends here.


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[couldn't think of a title. Go away.]

I just spent six hours "writing music."

Everything I wrote completely sucks. So now I have to make the terrible decision to either cut my losses and delete everything, or spending twice as much time massaging this piece of crap until it's almost mediocre.

It's useless. So I thought I'd take a break and make a blog entry. Lo and behold, can't think of anything to write about.

Think of all the things I could have done with those six hours. I've could have worked somewhere for 8 dollars an hour and then used the $35(after taxes) to buy a Christmas present for some starving orphan in some strange, far away, war-torn land. Or for some starving orphan here in LA.

Bleeaaaagghghghghgeaeghghgeageghaehg

That was me barfing.


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Say that again!

I wonder about screen writers that feel no shame when they write something similar to this:


SALLY: We just need to figure out a way to get Mr. Beesely to confess to the murder.

TED: Yeah. Hey do you want some orange juice?

SALLY: What? Wait... say that again!

TED: Umm.... Do you want some orange juice?

SALLY: That's it! Ted you're a genius!

(Sally kisses Ted on the cheek and then runs out the door enthusiastically. Ted stands there confused and also noticeably pleased about the kiss.)


Honestly! Who in the history of the Earth has ever really needed someone to "say that again" when they're having an epiphany? It's so dumb!

Just change the names and vital keywords in the dialogue above and you now have the script to the pivotal moment in every police/detective/murder-mystery TV show ever made.

And it's not just the fact that one idiot actually came up with it, to the everlasting shame of our species, but that so many millions of unoriginal writers actually thought it was a good idea and copied it! Why? Why?


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I lost my number. That's all.

"My love for you is like diarrhea; I just can't hold it in."

I think that one of my life-long goals is to use that pick up line in the perfect moment. Chances of me remembering it when it really counts? About 7.

I'll let you decide what that number means.

It reminds me of when I was a freshman in college, and my roommate was going on a date with a girl for the third or fourth time, and he came to me for advice because he wanted to kiss her. He had never kissed anyone before and so he wanted me to tell him how to go about it.

NOW, for those of you that know me, you know that I'm often mistaken for being serious when I'm full-out joking. A problem I'm still working on.

So I told him to wait until the end of the night and then bust out this terrible pick-up line about kissing that was something like this:

"Your lips are all wrinkly. Want me to smooth them out for you?"

A couple days later, that girl was eating lunch with me and she was like,

"You would never believe what your roommate did the other night! It was so pathetic!"

My heart sank. He actually did it. One of the only times I've ever wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

Luckily she thought it was "cute" or whatever. Psssssh. They ended up dating. Happy ending.


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Just what I need!

Don't get me wrong. I'm a big fan of the LA underground crap exchange, as I've decided to call it. It's how I found my couch-bed, and other various little tables and such.

But I think that someone living on my block has officially taken it too far.


Yes. To answer your question. Someone on our block actually legitimately believes that if they put their old, used toilets, both of which are broken, out on the curbside, that someone would want them.

Gives new meaning to my phrase, "underground crap exchange."

More than anything it's just been a place for lots of people to come and take pictures with which to update their FB profiles. People driving by saw us snapping pics and stopped to do the same thing.

You see, though it may be California, it's still technically America, and toilets are a permanent feature to any house. Few tenants are ever in need.

But I can just see those who put them out on the curb thinking to themselves,

"Being generous and giving just makes me feel so good inside. After all, this toilet shortage has gone too far, and we need to do our part to help out! Come take our broken, disgusting toilet! Freedom! Three cheers for America!"

I could go on but I'm done.


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Tax dollars hard at work.

I remember one of the most frustrating and annoyingly tedious tasks of the third grade, for me at least. That would be learning how to write in cursive.

What a ridiculous waste of time! Do they still force little kids to learn this? Do they still force them to stress and agonize over learning how to make their letters all curvy and illegible? It's basically the same as teaching someone to have bad handwriting.

It's pretty rare that I ever even have to read anything in cursive, and when I do see it, I usually can't help but get angry at whoever wrote it. It's a pain to read! Honestly! It doesn't save any time. It just bothers the rest of us, and by that I mean the 99.9% of the population that have long since abandoned it.

I wish I could go back in time, and visit little Stephen, sitting at the kitchen table, forced to keep writing out crap in cursive until he gets it right, while the rest of the family is in the next room, watching a movie, him sitting there fighting off the urge to cry because he can't get it right.

I would like to go back and visit him and say, "Hey, little buddy. Don't worry about it. Just go ahead and fail this little portion of the third grade. Turns out it will have absolutely no effect on your life at all in any way. Everything they're telling you is a LIE! Nothing to worry about, dude. Now go watch the movie. Oh and also don't write on the bus seats with permanent markers. Bad idea."

I think I'd also tell him to invest everything he has in Google.


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mmm yes, muaaahhh.

I found this picture today and it's worth sharing. Ironically, in spite of it being a cake, they managed to get pretty darn close to the recreating the original painting, by just using squeeze tubes full of cake frosting.

Makes you wonder how much time was put into the original. Ahh, impressionism. What a wonderful movement.

Actually if I had to choose which artistic movement to be a part of, that would be Minimalism. Those guys had it easy. Seriously, I wish I could make a million dollars by taking a silver cube and placing it in the middle of a white room and calling it art.

Don't even get me started on the music. By far my favorite part of the music history classes I got to take, not only because you can learn everything there is to know about the entire "genre" in about 5 minutes, but the music is strangely addicting.

Listennnn.... to the muuuusiiiicc...... of minimaliiiiiismmmm.... mwa ha ha ha ha.

I have a lot of opinions about "intellectual" music, as do most people. In the end I think it's pretty much the same as every other genre out there, have some really amazingly great stuff, and an awful lot of garbage.


---

I'd say something but I'm typing.

"You're to humor what Hellen Keller would be to competitive paintball."

Brilliant. Another great line that I will never remember when it really counts. So sad.

Actually what really bugs me is that I always DO remember this stuff like 12 minutes after it would have been so freaking perfect. And then I occasionally fail to stop myself and it ends up with my mouth talking to much like:

"OH! Oh dude okay so like 12 minutes ago you remember when you were like 'huh huh huh' and I was like 'dude' and then you were like staring at that chair and she was like 'ummmm'? Okay go back to THAT moment and THIS is what I'm gonna say!..."

It's never quite the same.

As you can tell I'm still a bit ill... just wanting everyone to feel sorry for me... having a cold... ha ha actually I shouldn't say anything at all because one of the only people that ever reads this is Chris, and his wife is currently in the hospital with all sorts of stuff going on that just makes me be like,

hmmmm yeah I think I'll just stick with my cold and be happy about it.

---

gnehph!

Often times I read something that is priceless and I'm like, oh duuude I am SOO going to use that!

I never remember it. It's so sad. SaaaaaaaaaaaaaaddDUH!

Like just now I was reading a comic and I came across this:

"Is it cold in here? Because this place is heated by the souls of the damned and I think Hell just froze over."

I have my naturally witty moments but I'm not consistent enough to depend on it. And today I'm sick.

AaRRRRRR you hearrrd me. That counfounded rain is a blessing and a curRRRse.

Honestly, I think it made me sick. I spent all day yesterday chillaxin with the windows open, listening to the rain, writing some tunes, and now I believe that it has fallen upon me in its wrath, determined to destroy me in bitter hatred that can only be attributed to some psychologically crippling experience it must have had as a small child.

I'll bet the rain had lousy parents.


---

I heart rain.

For the first time since I've been here in LA, it is raining.

Which means that for the first time since I've arrived here, I am truly happy.

Just chillin', writing music in my PJ's with some rain in the background... it's a good life.





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Seat's taken.

There are few things in life that give me an anxiety attack as bad as trying to save a seat for someone in a crowded wherever.

If you want to be my friend, never ask me to do that. I'm not saying that we won't be friends if you do, but it will be harder for you. Just saying.

I helped a friend of mine, who shall remain nameless except no she won't because her name is Katelyn Stone, babysit these five kids, who are awesome, and she decided to take them to the dollar theater to watch a flick.

So I went to the theater quite early and saved seven seats, in a row of nine, right in the middle. The show was sold out. Kate got there with the kids fifteen minutes late. Worst experience of my life.

It is nearly impossible to save just three seats when you're all alone, but when you're trying to save seven of the best seats in the house, and your friends get there 15 minutes late? I almost ended up in the hospital for anxiety and paranoia overload.

And of course every single time I have to be a big freaking jerk telling people that they can't sit there and "honestly my friends will be here any second and blah blah blah..." It's a nightmare.

In the end I was only able to save four seats including mine because other people just sat in the other ones without caring.

Tips for life:

1. Don't try to save lots of seats all by yourself.
2. If someone is saving a seat for you, get there early. Seriously.
3. Don't get upset with them if they fail and you have nowhere to sit. It's your fault, not theirs.
4. Everything in life is easier if you just show up early.

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Boo.

Haunted houses lose their effect on you when you get older. It's really too bad. I suppose it's sort of like when you stop believing in Santa Claus.

I went with some friends to a "haunted hayride" last night, which was a lot of fun, but wasn't scary at all. I think that one of the biggest problems with these things is that you have the unfortunate security of knowing that the actors are never allowed to touch you, and vice versa.

That really ruins it for me.

Of course it's absolutely necessary or there would be law suits all over the place, but I would be so much more scared if I knew that the guy with the chain saw actually intended to remove my head with it.

I do find it incredibly fun, however, to scare the people that are with me. They never see it coming. Works every single time.

The hayride took us through various scenes of horror with a great deal of actors that were consistently running right up to the tractor and yelling in our faces. It actually made me laugh a little, but it was fun to watch.

Unfortunately they wouldn't let us take pictures which is really a shame because there was an amazingly well done demon, or dementor, or "ghost of Christmas yet-to-come" actor that was probably on stilts because he was about 12 feet tall, and had glowing red eyes and it was just... creepy. I couldn't stop looking at it. Even when all the other actors were yelling in my face trying to get my attention.

I always thought it would be fun to be an actor in one of those things. Get paid to run around and be creepy and yell at people and just be myself for once.

Anyway I took a few pictures of the carnival area at the entrance. Woo hoo. Exciting stuff.






---

I've been eating a lie.

I've been conditioned by the internet to believe that everything in life can be clicked on. Unfortunately, normal paper tends to be quite consistently the same as it was decades ago before the concept of links.

Someone handed me an article that they printed up from online, and it had links all over the place, and it was even in color. I actually had to resist the urge to try and "click" on them while I read through this thing. I even brought my hand half way to the page at one point and then stopped to think about just what it was I was going to do.

Speaking of articles, and conditioning, I've been reading.

A lot of people are saying that regular, low-intensity cardiovascular activity is actually bad for you. Evidently, your body gets used to the extra movement and starts storing more fat to compensate. It lowers your metabolism. How did I not know this? Did you know this?

Word on the street is that in order to effectively lose weight, it's best to do high-intensity weight training, and sprints.

My whole world just changed. Forever.


---

I'm not sweating! Ha!

Behold!! Glorious day!

No, I didn't find a job. Though that would be quite glorious as well. But, I was walking home last night in a T-shirt and shorts, and for the first time ever since I've been here in LA, I was actually, legitimately cold.

Not really cold, just a little chilly. I might have even had goosebumps. It was the greatest moment that I've gotten to experience so far in the state of California. Except for when I went to Disneyland with my orchestra in high school and had my very first fling while I was there. We broke up a week later.

Ah, the memories.

Speaking of Disneyland, I watched Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs for the first time today. The first half of it anyway. Remarkably slow movie. It's amazing how things have changed. I timed it, and they literally took a half hour just showing the dwarfs come home, discover that someone is in their house, and then find out that it's Snow White.

And I also discovered today that Snow White and Sleeping Beauty are not the same movie! I always thought they were.

The end.


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Wording

I saw a commercial online for GM a couple days ago that had the following slogan:

"If perfection is what you pursue, we might just change your course."

Sounds an awful lot like something that I might expect the Devil to say. Obviously everyone can tell what they meant to say here... but what I see, says this:

"If you're on the path to perfection, we might just convince you to veer off of that path and settle for mediocrity."

La la la la la doo wah dee doo la la la doop dee doo.


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Egg shells

One of my favorite things to do in this mortal experience is to take a cold egg out of the fridge and crack it onto a really hot pan.

It's so satisfying!

"ssssssssizzzzzzzle.... it... speaks to me.... yes little egg.... ssspeak...... ssssssssssizzzzzzzzle....mwa ha ha ha ha ha"

A few minutes ago I did just that, but I accidentally got a little piece of shell in the mix. I saw it, thought about doing something about it, and came to the conclusion that it wasn't worth my time plus the added annoyance of getting egg goo on my fingers.

Bad idea. Egg shells are not friendly to your teeth, as I discovered. Who knew.


---

staples.

Rice is cheap. I've always known that, but I've never fully appreciated just how cheap it is.

My roommate and I bought a bag at Costco. It was $3.76 for 25 cups of rice. Today I ate a bowl of it, which was about a 1/2 cup, mixed with a 1/3 can of beans, plus a little bit of cheese and salsa.

I was very stuffed when I finished. In fact I was pretty full half way through, which is why I took a break to catch this glamorous picture:

I calculated the cost in my head while I was chewing, since I didn't have anything else to do, and I came to the conclusion that all in all, the meal cost me about 40 cents. And that includes the water that I drank.

Best 40 cents I've ever spent.


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In the middle.

I recently sent in some music to a new library, and I offered to meet up with the owner to take care of the paperwork instead of mailing back and forth.

He responded by stating that although he is visiting LA at the moment, he lives

"between NY and CA."

Evidently there are only three states in this country: California, New York, and everywhere else. That's something I've noticed about the music bizz. Nobody ever wants to say "I live in Nebraska. Please take me seriously anyway."

But the space between those two states is pretty big. Really. I think next time someone asks me where I live I'll be like, "Oh I live in between Japan and Norway. Going west from Japan, not east. Just right in there... in the middle-ish area."

I suppose he could have been saying that he goes back and forth between the two. I'll bet he's got a lot of frequent flier miles if that's the case.


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