Showdown at IPK Corral

Last Tuesday's sighting of Starla (Jimmy's Girl from Saturday a week past) must now be filed as a fake sighting. That must have been some other attractive blonde DC lady. Given "Starla's" reaction to our accidental meeting in the Italian Pizza Kitchen (IPK) of just a few short minutes ago, that can't have been her a week ago.

I walk in to the IPK with my brother and cousin to pick up our pizza and there she is sitting with some other friends. Remembering Pinko Punko's advice, I tried to smile at her when we both noticed each other. I smiled and and she smiled back. It lasted about 3 seconds before I started laughing and said, "Ok! That's it! That's fucking it!" I walk out laughing and apparently, with a look on my face that told my brother and cousin that I was about to murder somebody. My cousin even asked me, "so, who are we about to get in a fight with?" This only reinforces my view of myself that maybe I should make an effort to distinguish my angry eyes from my laughing eyes.

After several minutes of awkward glances and smiles, and multiple questions about just what the fuck was going on, and why the fuck was that table full of people staring at me, I asked "Starla" if Jimmy was out with her. She said no, to which I asked her if Jimmy ever went out with her, or if he just stayed in watching TV. She kinda smiled and then asked if I had finished my book. I said that I had indeed and that it was alright but no great source of enlightenment. She then asked if she could take a picture with me.

How could I say no and not look like an angry asshole? Or even more of an angry bastard then my brother and cousin already thought I was. So the picture was taken and we parted ways with a "see you around" and a "have a good night."

My luck is fucking weird.

How Long Indeed?

How long before panel 5 is a t-shirt? I bet someone on the forums requested it 30 seconds after it was uploaded. Not to be bitter, but I'd rather inspire the feelings than wear the shirt.

To Do List For July 2009

Memorize the lyrics to Red Dwarf
Memorize the lyrics to Puff the Magic Dragon
Memorize the lyrics to The Ballad of Big Snake and Mister Frog by John Bustine
Buy a plane ticket
Get two weeks off work
Finish another short story
Flog the quartermaster if he fails to bring enough sunscreen
Charge the cattle prod batteries, and the replacement batteries
Check the sights on my rifle collection
Flog the quartermaster if he fails to purchase enough ammunition for the rifle collection
Have the muleskinner check the animals
Keep up the healthy diet and Charles Atlas exercises
***Sent from my trusty short-wave radio***

Totally Tarantula Tuesdays: Monday Morning "Cool in Service" Edition

You know what's cool about the service industry? The women. Ok, well the sane ones are cool, the batshit horse/coke addicts aren't. The women who dress like hookers and then bitch about some dude staring at her tatas can also be filed as not cool. So aside from those two types, who make up 95% of the women, the women in the service industry can be pretty boss.

You know what else is cool? The drugs. Lotsa drugs. Ricockulous amounts of drugs. Drugs pouring over the hillside in a torrent of stoned jackasses. Ok, maybe they went a little far on the drugs, but that's a Squidbillies reference for those in the back.

You know what else is cool? Insomnia and apathy. No one worries about you if you haven't sleep since Friday, that's just how the weekend goes. Now that it is Monday, I wouldn't mind being able to sleep, but I can wait for another 15 to 16 hours. I've got shit to do today.

You know what else is cool, and this will really rock your face? All the famous people! OMG! I carded Brooke Shields in February and she was SO not happy about it. Haha! She didn't know we have a 100% I.d. check policy! Hee! So yeah, I didn't recognize her at first, and just thought she looked a lot like Brooke Shields, and she looked great, but still rules is rules, ma'am. So yeah, but a jackass is still my thing when I can justify it. Which is pretty much always. That might have been better off left implied, but if you look at my body of work, you'll see I've lost flab and got seriously veined arms now. Seriously. I look like Jon Cena, from the elbows to my fingertips. I'm so totally ripped! Incidentally, John Cena has NOT been in my office at any time that I am aware of.

You know what else is cool about the service industry? All the drinking you do! It helps you forget about how much your job sucks and you just can't wait to quit if you could just finish your novel, or script, or animated tv pilot, or short story collection, or that sculpture, or song, or what the fuck you've convinced yourself will elevate you somewhere above despairing mediocrity.

You know the cool thing about the service industry? You really learn your city backward, forward, upside down, and slanting over. You get to know so many vibrant, cozy, shithole neighborhoods because you heard Johnny had an ounce pf the good shit and Johnny always has good shit, I wouldn't lie to you about weed, man, cuz that's not cool. You meet all sorts of cool bartenders at bars in other districts that might have an after-hours license, or might possibly be willing to let you stay after closing and drink with the staff because I think he used to work here, or maybe he used to fuck Jenny, or that one girl who quit before you started here. Then, after finding all these quaint, little, slices of urban purgatory, you will get to walk home from them cuz Becky got blitzed on Goldschlager and cough syrup, and you think she lost her keys, but even though it's been months since you've even downloaded any new porn since your internets got disconnected, you still aren't reaching into her pockets to find her keys. You don't know where she lives and she's got to be at work in two hours to open anyway, so fuck it, leave her here. Hell, most people don't get to wait outside a Starbucks for it to open! The Muffin Man is a hard motherfucker to catch in the clact, however.

So where was I? Oh yeah, Helob ate the last of the fourth generation of crickets and I don't think any more will be spawning so I should get some today or tomorrow. Except it is tomorrow, so do I mean Monday or Tuesday, or even Sunday? I was planning on getting some sleep today, and I was thinking that on Sunday but that was before midnight, so I guess I meant Wednesday. Or Monday.

I Lied Today

It was a pretty big lie. I lied because I needed to, things needed doing that wouldn't happen without the lie. So I lied, and did so without remorse or regret. I could have asked someone to lie for me, and she would have. But I didn't. I lied to her and thus she did not have to lie for me. I did this in part because it keeps the sin within, and partly because I'm a better liar than anyone I know. Why behave and act with total integrity, if not to use said integrity for personal gain when necessary? Did I just become Republican? Fuck, maybe I should move out of this city.

The Difference

Between gregarious and creepy is a frown.
Between caring and controlling is a smile.
Between nice and guillible is esteem.
Between funny and slick is a smirk.
Between lonely and happy is a walk home.

Having the shit kicked out of me three times this week, both conversationally and metaphorically, has been a bit rough. I don't know if I deserve it, but I like to think that I thrive in adversity. I might have tempted the gods a bit much, and now I've got enough adversity for a while. Last night, a fellow and I were lightning rods for manhate from a wide variety of women. I felt like I was the target of all the frustration generated by all the prior douchebags these women had dated in the past. It was a punishing barrage followed by a slow retreat. It has been said that armies always suffer greater losses in retreats, and I believe it. Ladies, if you don't like cobags, don't date them.

I've also upgraded from eight pound weights to twenty pound weights, so that may have something to do with my general feeling of soreness.

Brief Update on Tuesday's Post

DC is a surprisingly small city. Case in point: I ran into the woman from Saturday night and Tuesday's post while waiting for a pal outside a metro station. She recognized me, laughed, and walked on. I scowled at her.

Stripmall Ballads and The Duhks

I am on my way to tonight's banjo-filled show at Iota, near the Clarendon Metro. I hope to be able to post something worthwhile about the show tomorrow. The Stripmall Ballads have two new releases coming out in July both of which I am eagerly awaiting. I have less info on The Duhks, but heard their version of the Camptown Races song something like 4 years ago on NPR's Song of the Day, and it has played every now and then in my head since.

The Needs of Commitment

People are odd little creatures when you look at us. We insist on some sort of dualistic relationship when our closest living relations are polyamorous poo-flingers, hanging out in the jungles all day trying to get laid. Which sounds only slightly more civilized than any bar on ladies night.

Back to our own peculiarities, commitments and committed relationships are odd for primates and yet we still hold that these are the highest and most noble of all relationships with any being other than our Divine. This seems to work out pretty well for most Americans, regardless of the government's interference, and I have no objections to this system of relating. I do have a problem with those who abuse this system to the detriment of others, specifically my detriment.

If you're in a committed relationship, you had best make damn sure that you understand and respond to the needs of the other. You are also responsible for ensuring that your needs are properly communicated. Because I am sick and fucking tired of wasting my A game with women who aggressively flirt with me and grab my interest and then flounce off to their lump of shit on a sofa that they call honey.

Case in point: I am sitting at work, minding my book, when a cute blonde with twinkling eyes walks by and harasses the shit out of me for my choice of book. I'll paraphrase:

Her: Look, friends! This man is an asshole! (Waves at me) He is reading a book that offends me, thus he is an asshole much like the man I am with but without tonight!

Me: Who the fuck are you that disturbs my quiet reading of this amusing book?

Her: I am one who disturbs and demands you justify your actions!

Me: I see no material reason to justify anything, but you are attractive and I am just arrogant enough to condescend and say, your opinion of me is worthless.

Her: How dare you ignore my reprobation!?

Me: Quite easily, shall we discuss this at length at another time of our choosing? Give me your number and you might convince me of my error.

Her: (Stares at me in amazement, before smiling briefly) I sniff in disdain at you.

Then the manager seats them in my section. The witty banter continues, I was using Classic Gambit #3: Asshole Who Reveals. She smiles, and winks at me at the end of each brief session of repartee. This went quite well until she accidentally mentioned a "Jimmy." Being no fool, I recognize immediately the significance of "Jimmy" and cease the contest. As she leaves, I ask her to say hi to Jimmy for me. To which she gasps, gapes, and blushes.

Fuck you, Jimmy. You aren't giving her what she needs, so she ventures out and takes it from those innocents willing to speak with her. She is almost as bad as you because she stays with you without communicating her needs, or despite your obvious lack of regard for her. So fuck you, Jimmy, and the horse you rode in on. Fuck you, your parents for not teaching you, and fuck your grandparents for not slapping your parents when they saw what was happening.

One final note: if you're gonna give a fake name, don't hesitate and break eye contact while you think, and then slowly say, "Starla?" I can not respect bad liars.

Up

I finally saw Up yesterday. I went to a 3d showing. The 3d was fun without being oppressive. People may have already told you about it, but I thought I was ready for the opening montage. I wasn't. One of the reviewers on CHUD described the montage as the most brilliant 20 minutes of cinema so far this century, so my expectations were pretty skewed, but goddam if I wasn't crying at the end of it.

It's hard to review a movie from a studio like Pixar without thinking about it in the context of all their previous offerings. If Cars was the Star Trek 5, Ratatouillie the Search for Spock (or even The Voyage Home), and Toy Story 2 (or The Incredibles) the Undiscovered Country, then Up is the Wrath of Khan. I think it will hold out against the future offerings simply because it all fits together so well. Nothing felt forced, nor was too much said. None of the characters was without humanity, and all were empathetic in some way, even the villain. I recommend this movie to anyone.

Progress of Equality

Hopefully. DC appears to be about two months from recognizing same-sex marriage/gay marriage/civil unions/the same inalienable civil rights for all. This is pretty great. What isn't so great is the mobilization of church-based resources against this push for a semblance of equality. From what I understand, most of the resistance is again from the black community in DC, an irony lost on some less than others. I would link some articles and resources here, but alt-tabbing and hot linking doesn't really work so well on my phone. Maybe tomorrow.

DC may have a harder time actually permitting the rights to be exercised, however. Apparently, there is some sort of legal difference between recognizing marriages and permitting them. I guess these are all steps, but I still think that's a fine line of bullshit to spread. Here's to hoping that some conservative fucktard in Congress remembers that his constituents don't live in the District, his bigoted morals aren't welcome here, and keeps his hands off our home rule.

Here's a Question:

Is this fraking working or not, cuz I got some splainin' to do.

Allow Me to Tell You The Story...

of how awesome I am. Details to come.

People Really Eat Breakfast?

Normally, I'm the kind of slack-wit who barely makes it up in time for second breakfast, but today I was up before 10. AM. I KNOW. I decided that I would expand my horizons by having a hard-boiled egg. This is a decision I have never made before. "What do we think about having a hard-boiled egg, Genius Corpus?" "How, about let's have a slice of bread with barbecue sauce and watch Hard Boiled while pretending the bread is something healthy and delicious?" "Sounds like a plan!"

It may come as no surprise, but I have no idea how long it takes to hard boil an egg. I boiled two eggs for about 10 or so minutes and took one out. Realizing that cracking it open if it were unfinished would be sub-optimal, I shook the egg. Between the intense heat and the sudden pain in my fingers, I am not sure if the egg innards were solid or not. I am just leaving them in the boiling water until they decide to come out.

We're approaching 20 minutes in the boiling water, and the kitchen is getting pretty humid. I prodded the eggs with my scoop and the shells cracked like...eggshells? No, that's not right because I didn't prod them particularly hard. I am going to take this as a sign they are done and pull them out. I think I'll let them cool off before attempting to devour them, though. My fingers still hurt.

The real question plaguing some of your minds is not how long an egg takes to boil at various temperatures, but what the hell was I doing waking up at a nearly civilized hour? I'll happily tell you at length and tedium, or perhaps brevitiously and possibly wittiliously. I just made those up. I crashed at my brother's apartment last night. I am over here attempting to use the interweb to locate gainful employment of the salaried variety. Waiting tables at a beer bar is fun and all, living like a collegiate refugee, but the financials of this situation are not at all fun or even interesting. This is not why I woke up so early, however. I woke up at the ass crack of tomorrow because this apartment has lovely views and great honking windows from which to appreciate said views. And the sun crept its merry fucking way over the horizon and woke up some jackass who operates a pneumatic hammer and all of his jackass buddies and they had a happy-go-goddam-lucky time in the parking lot eight stories below the aforementioned windows.

Oh, and Brother of Mine and Your Sniper Loving Pal? Im in ur kitzen eetin ur foodz.

Federal Reserve Collective Tonight at Iota

Russian snipers aside, I will be sprinting from cover to cover tonight as I make my way to the First Mondays with the Federal Reserve at Iota Club and Cafe. The cover is only $5 and like air guitar competitions, everyone I have convinced to go to this show has raved about the amazing awesomeness seen and heard on the first Monday. You can buy me a drink or three.

You Know Who My Favorite WWII Sniper is?

I can't even name one, so there. If I had to name my favorite WWII Russian Naval Scout, he would be Vladimir Leonov. Dude was badass.