A long, long time ago, in a place far, far away...

Years ago I chased a girl.

For this story, I will call her Ambrosia Hemmingway Cornish-Harpsworth Johnson. Maybe I will abbreviate it to AHCHJ to make this story simple...

Anyway, I was always making Ambrosia (AHCHJ) chocolate cakes or lamb, or something awesome and ridiculous. We would garden together sometimes and I would read her journals when she wasn't looking and lie about it.

One time we did ecstasy at our friend's house and I tripped out on pinecones. My friends Holly and Brandy gave me a head massage on the lawn that was just amazing.

Anyway, we all swam in a black-bottomed pool. When it was nearly dawn, me and Ambrosia (AHCHJ) found an empty room with a child's bed that was too small. We held hands and fell asleep.

One time Ambrosia (AHCHJ) came over and we went and got sushi. We drank sake. Then we went and got cocktails at a bar with red leather booths. Around 2:00 a.m. we got back to my place.

We fell on the bed. We smoked a joint. I turned the lights off, got back in the bed, and kissed Ambrosia (AHCHJ). She said, "You finely did it."

Then she vomited all over me!

I went and got towels and a large pot from the kitchen. I held her hair back and washed her face with warm water. I held the pot in my lap as she puked in it. It was a weird night...and that was that.

Nothing ever happened.
I just got puked on.
Oddly, it's a fond memory.

A Thin Blue Line A Thin Blue Chip

Once years ago I was driving along a hilly street. As I drove along, I listened to the Al Franken Show on the radio.

It was one of my favorite programs...and the episode I was listening to was the very last broadcast.

All of the regular guests came on to talk to Al and the whole thing got super-emotional. I started to get emotional too and before I knew it...I was driving along crying.

All of the sudden I see red lights in my rear-view mirror and hear the whoop whoop sound of a siren. I was being pulled over.

I quickly tried to regain my composure. I wiped the tears from my cheeks and cleared my throat. Slowly, as the policeman approached, I rolled down my window.

He looked at me for a moment and asked me if I was crying.

I said I was just listening to the radio and that I wasn't really crying...but moved by a program.

He looked at me, puzzled, and said, "I can't let you drive in this state, sir." He pointed to an empty parking lot up the road and asked me to pull in there and wait 15 minutes.

I drove to the parking lot and he followed in his squad car. We parked. He sat about 20 feet away in his car watching me. It was a little embarrassing...but it was about to get worse.

I guess there wasn't a lot going on in town that day. So some of the extra patrol cars decided to swing by and hang out too. Everyone was just hanging around waiting for me to stop crying. Before long there were at least six cops there, leaning on their vehicles, talking about who knows what. Every once in awhile one of them would walk up to my window to see how I was doing.

Eventually one offered me some Sun Chips. I declined, but then I changed my mind. After I started eating the chips everything got better. Before I knew it we were all hanging out eating Sun Chips and drinking Dr Pepper. They had some pretty funny stories! I forgot all about my embarrassment.

True Grit

Some interesting things have been happening to me lately in the realm of fashion.

Yesterday after months of perusing thrift shops and yard sales I found the pair of woven leather loafers I have been trying to find for months--at a rummage sale to support a local girl's roller derby team. I found these loafers just as the weather is starting to get cold! I can't wear them with socks! That looks stupid. Now I have to wait til spring to wear them. It just feels like there is a greater power conspiring against me fashion-wise these days...I will explain further.

You see, the girls weren't dyke-y, but the roller derby motif did remind me of my awesome leather motorcycle jacket. So of course as soon as I got home I tore my closet apart and found it. It fit great and looked better than ever! But there was a problem. You see, I wear an eye patch these days. After looking in the mirror, I realized that you really need to pick one or the other. Eye patch or awesome leather jacket. The combination made me feel like I was an extra in a Mad Max film or something.

To make matters worse I've been thinking about going wild boar hunting because I've been watching all these new TV shows on the Discovery Channel about homesteading in Alaska. They are always shooting bears and living off the land. These shows inspired me to live off the grist of the land myself! So a couple days ago I dug out my old rifle and cleaned it up in preparation for the hunt.

Yesterday, when I got back from the roller derby girl rummage sale with my awesome woven leather loafers and put on my leather jacket, I could see out of the corner of my eye, my rifle. It whispered to me...it said, "Hey, you are already wearing an awesome leather jacket and checking yourself out in the bathroom mirror--why don't you come over here and pick me up and complete the ensemble?"

So I did. Me with my patch, jacket, and a gun. I didn't plan to stare at myself for an hour in the mirror...but that is what happened. I think if I do go hunt a boar now, like a homesteader, I am going to need to wear the jacket. I feel like I can't wear the patch/leather jacket combo in public...but there is nothing, nothing! preventing me from wearing the outfit in the wilderness while I'm hunting! And, I'm going to wear the loafers too. Just because.

Like cocaine...but better?

Why have I never seen a scene in a movie like this?

A group of unsavory characters would be hanging out in a warehouse. One of the guys looks really jittery and paranoid. His eyes dart around. Slowly he opens a briefcase and reveals a concealed key-lime pie. Then one of the other guys, who would be wearing kind of a crappy suit, dips his finger into the pie and raises his finger ever so slowly to his mouth in silence. The tension at this point would be palpable....just really, really uncomfortable. The silence would draw out. Then the guy who just tasted the pie would say, "That's some good fucking stuff." And everyone would relax and have some pie!

I don't think I'm being unreasonable wanting this. I watch stupid movies all the time, and honestly I cannot recall one scene that centered on a key-lime pie! Let alone a film where the protagonist is a key lime pie. We have come along way as a country, but there is still a dark side to us. It's no wonder--half the country would vote for Mitt Romney if the election were held today. I have brain cancer, and that seems great compared to the idea of that troglodyte being president. Plankton has more charm and intelligence than that cat turd factory!

I'm getting side-tracked. I guess there is one movie that has a big pie scene! American Pie! But I don't want to talk about a dick ruining a pie for everyone else. It's such a greedy thing to do...and I already talked about Mitt Romney.

I swear, if I have to write a screenplay myself that stars a key lime pie, I will do it. What kind of society do we want to have? Where are our priorities! A society where Mitt Romney is president and nobody gets any pie? Or, a society where films are made that use pies in place of cocaine because it would be kind of funny and delicious!

You don't have to turn on the red light

When I was fourteen my friends and I would without fail sneak out of our houses most weekend nights. Sometimes it would be to meet girls, but normally that wasn't an option. Usually we would just break into a house that was empty and for sale and hang out and play cards. There were so many funny things that happened I could really make every blog entry a nostalgic story. But I think I will just recall one of my favorites for you now. . .

Jules

Jules was a stout little Lebanese trouble maker, and maybe a little bit of an idiot savant. He could play the piano like Roberta Flack. But he had the sensibility of a moth that gets stuck in your bathroom. Adults really loved him because he was a lot of fun at a dinner party and could charm a whole room with perfect renditions of classic piano hits. Us boys loved him because he could make napalm out of pomade and he had an arsenal of BB guns that could stop the Red Army.

I feel like I'm writing like Steven King right now. Forgive me. Steven King novels or film adaptations of his work always seem to reminisce about a more innocent time. The soundtrack usually consists of golden oldies. Well let me say now, there was nothing sweet about our dealings. If you must imagine a soundtrack--imagine "Flight of the Valkeries" in that scene from Apocalypse Now, where they are booming Wagner from Bell Helicopters over an old world jungle being lit up by fire. The soundtrack from Damien Omen would be apropos as well.

One particular night Jules and I got particularly decked out. Full camo. BB guns. Gasoline. Enough carabiners and and rope to outfit the 19th century British Navy for a year. Why we needed all that stuff, I can't say. But we certainly used it. Just because we had it. We rappelled down the slightest of hills. Just because we could. Chatted on walkie talkies, even though we could hear each other whisper.

At some time around 3am we found ourselves in a park. We noticed a suspicious vehicle. A VW van parked in the darkest part of the parking lot. There was clearly activity. Suddenly Jules busted out this black fanny pack. He zipped it open and revealed what I would call now a creepy rape kit. But at the time I just saw a bag with electrical tape, a cheap camera with a flash, bundling twine, a few knives, and a flashlight with a red filter. Jules took out the flashlight and turned it on. To me it looked like a clearly visible red light. Jules insisted that the light was invisible to the human eye. I asked him how we could see the light? He seemed perplexed. In his mind he was holding some secret military technology. Jules was sure that only me and him could see this light.

Instantly I felt dread because I knew I was about to witness a mistake. And I couldn't talk Jules out of it. Very seriously he looked at me and said, "I'm going to go check it out." As I watched him tumble away like a Ninja Turtle, I braced myself--because I knew the situation was about to unfold in a way Jules could not foresee.

I watched him creep up to the van, hiding in the shadows. Slowly he peered into one of the windows. . . and then it happened. Jules turned on the red flashlight. The van was flooded with red light. In an instant I could see a women's breasts. I heard lots of yelling. Then a man in a black shirt with no pants got out of the van and chased Jules into the bushes. I could hear Jules scream as he disappeared into the night being chased by a man with a full on erection. Deep down I knew it was funny. But I couldn't laugh. I was afraid that guy would come after me too with his hard-on and his arms waving in the air. I hunkered down in a bush and waited for things to cool off.

Later on I met Jules back at his house. Apparently he still didn't think the people could see the red light. He said, "I don't know what happened. I think they heard me."

Super young chicks and me hot tubbing

Today me and these two super cute chicks were hanging out at my hot tub all naked and stuff listening to some Dre and chilling, when this bitch I know just barged in and got all crazy on the two chicks. It was nuts! It seemed like that crazy bitch wanted to kill those chicks. Just when I was afraid it was going to get ugly, that crazy bitch just stopped--and peed on the deck! And then acted like it was no big deal! Whatever! I was pissed that bitch peed inches away from my hot tub!

I got up, went to the closet and got a rope! You know what I did next? I tied that rope around a tree, chased that bitch, caught her, took that rope and connected the rope to her collar just out of reach of the hot tub. Then I went back to the tub, turned the tunes back on, and had those super cute chicks eating right out of my hand! It was so sweet!

Bummed out...

Lately I have been having a little problem. You see my dogs are way too cute and whenever I try to take them on a walk they and myself are bombarded by random strangers wanting to touch them and kiss them. Most of my time outside the house with them is spent fielding questions about them. Walking around the block with them is like walking around the block with the entire cast of the Twilight saga, for christ's sake. Every teenage girl within a mile senses their presence and starts to scream and run towards them, hands frantically waving in the air. This is scary to my poor sweet pugs and it is scary to me.

Well, the other day I had had it! I thought: what could stop this? What do people not want to touch and kiss? That is when I had a million dollar idea, one that I knew was going to make me rich! Yesterday, like Steve Jobs before me, I set off to change the world! Yes, I started a corporation on Monday that exclusively manufactures bum wigs for dogs! Never again will strangers molest your cute dogs at the beach or the park while you stand by helpless! Not when people think your dogs are bums! That's right! Wigs that make your dogs look like Hesher burn-outs! I expect my company to go public in a year and to be among the top ten Fortune five hundred companies within two years!

Jealous? You should be! So far I have two prototypes. Model one (German backpacker hippie) and model two (bum who hates the government in a really crazy way and hangs out in the Trader Joe's parking lot and who you sometimes smoke out with because you are bored).

Now, I know these prototypes are crude. But next week I'm meeting with industrial designers to really hash out some ideas. You might be thinking those wigs look like pieces of stuffed animals you tore up. Well, maybe they are. Great ideas start small. Apple started in a garage. McDonalds started out in a shack in Mexico in the 1700's! United Airlines--well, they started out making burritos in Inglewood! But you know what each of those companies had? A great vision! A vision like mine, where every dog in America will be dressed up as a kind of pervy looking bum! That is the America I want to live in.

I will start taking orders tomorrow if you are interested. Only $49.99 per bum wig. Get 'em while they're hot!

The Bat

I made a mistake one time. It all started at a party. My friend Paris had a party years ago. Everyone was there. There was spiced cider, dancing, just an all around good time. Towards the end of the night when the party was dwindling down, it happened. Paris's cat showed up with a cute little live bat in his mouth. The next part is the part I wish I could take back. You see, I have learned that in this life everyone will face this question sooner or later. They can proclaim, "What a cute bat!" and just walk away. Or they can say, "It looks like it can't fly. I'll take it home." Unfortunately, I chose to take the bat home. This is what happened.

As soon as I got it back to my apartment, I realized I had nowhere to put it. So I thought--and this makes sense I think--I'll keep it in my bathroom. My bathroom at the time was kind of dark like a cave. So I put the little guy in there. He hung upside down from my towel rack, right above my toilet.
So the next morning I was a little hung over. I woke up, got some water, and went to the bathroom. When I went into the bathroom, I was shocked to see a bat screeching at me, but then I remembered, oh yeah, I brought a bat home last night. As soon as I turned on the light the bat started to make unpleasant noises, like he was cranky. So I immediately turned off the light. He liked that. But he didn't seem to like the noise of me peeing in the toilet. So I peed into the sink instead. I didn't care. It's really no fun peeing a couple of feet away from a bat anyway. When I left the bathroom, I started to think, maybe it wasn't such a good idea to bring that bat home and let it live in my bathroom. But it was too late.

About a month earlier, I had started seeing this girl, Hannah. The next evening she came over and we were watching a movie. She got up to use the bathroom and a few moments later I heard a scream. I had forgotten to tell her about the bat. "There's a bat in your bathroom!" she screamed. I explained the situation and told her that she just shouldn't turn on the light, be noisy or make sudden movements. In the long run she convinced me to keep the bat in a box in the bathtub, at least if she was expected to use the bathroom. The bat didn't like that. In fact, the bat didn't like much of anything, I think. Not even me and I was just trying to help the little guy. Whenever I came home, he would start screeching at me. Forget using my own bathroom--I just didn't feel comfortable in there with that bat and his horrible attitude. Still, I felt sorry for him. His wing was hurt and he couldn't really fly. He could lunge and strike alright, but not fly. Days turned into weeks. Slowly my friends stopped coming around. They said the bat was mean and they didn't like the way the bat treated me. They said, "All he ever does is drink milk, eat bugs, and complain." It was true. He did drink a lot of my milk--but what was I supposed to do? He couldn't fly! He needed me!

On one particularly hot night I opened the outside door to get a cross breeze going. I cooled down and fell asleep. When I awoke in the morning I was shocked to discover that my little bat had left! As quickly as he had come into my life, he had left me. Alone. I realized my friends had been right. He didn't respect me. That bat didn't care about me one bit. He was just using me for milk and a place to stay. It all became so clear!

My life is better now without the bat. But still, on a dark night when I'm peeing, I think of him, and how he used to scare the crap out of me when I'd go to the bathroom. Sometimes I wonder what he's doing out there--if he's flying around catching bugs and sleeping in a cave, or if he took up some hobby, like kite making or floral arrangement to occupy his time. I guess I will never know.

Devil may care

I saw the Devil today! He did not appear to me as some sinister specter or some Pan-like demon with hoofs and horns. No, he was much more subtle than that. As soon as I saw him I realized that his dark presence is around us all the time. I realized at once I had seen his evil before in the same form. His form of choice. An incarnation so cruel and contemptible that it is nearly unfathomable to conceive of by any sound-minded person. I saw the Devil today dressed in his most despicable disguise. I'm sure it will come as no surprise to many of you: the Devil's darkest, cruelest visage is that of an untoasted bagel. I know, I know. But, just think about it. How many times have you wanted to kill yourself when you go somewhere and you see free bagels, but then you realize that they ARE NOT TOASTED! Ten? Twenty? A hundred times? What mortal thinks that untoasted bagels are even remotely acceptable? Who does that? The Devil, that's who! The Devil wants you to commit suicide when you realize that the only bagels that are available to you are untoasted. There should at least be a toaster on hand--but there isn't! That, my friends, is the Devil at work!


Don't worry, I know how we can defeat him. We must be vigilant and carry toasters with us everywhere we go, the bank, continental breakfast spreads at every shitty motel across this great country of ours. And, of course, to any school event or office party ever. Be strong. Have faith. Not all people will understand. When someone asks why you are carrying a toaster around, just be honest. Tell them that bagels are the Devil and that by toasting the bagels, you destroy his evil power. I think people will understand, because deep down they know it's true. Make sure you send your kids to school with toasters too. I remember a lot of untoasted bagels at school when I was a kid. I would definitely bring this up at the next parent teacher meeting too. Keeping kids safe should be our main priority. Everyone will be grateful. Together we can defeat the Devil with toasters!

Update: many people have been asking how my bees are doing?
They are loving their home and are busy busy busy!

I got a second hive now--it's just too fun having them around. I call this hive Hivey Milk. Hivey Milk needs bees still. But I love his style.

If you have any bees you want to get rid of or if there is a swarm in your backyard let me know, I'll take them--if they are near Santa Barbara, California.

Once upon a time in Mexico

In Mexico, in the jungly messes of wilderness that cling to the sun-bleached coast lines there are bugs the size of baseballs and hungry jaguars roam the steamy forests at night. Danger waits perched among the trees and rocks of these wild places to be dislodged by the slightest folly of a curious soul. I myself have thwarted nature's foul plans on more than one occasion. I am here today, not to tell you tales of the times I escaped an early end. I am here today to tell you of the time I was beaten. I was left without luck or a prayer--the day I met the blue-footed booby.

It all happened one evening. The sun was gone but its light still traced the edges of the gentle surf, illuminating the waves in a brilliant yellow green back-lit display. I was hanging out with my friend Adrian, hypnotized by the dusk time beauty, when we both saw a bird with blue feet. "Wow! Look at that bird with blue feet!" we simultaneously said. It appeared magnificent to me. A bird from a childhood dream, white with a blue beak and blue feet. Its bewildering features enchanted us. At once we noticed this majestic bird's gait. Its foot, its cobalt-colored foot, was noticeably hurt. Upon seeing this I jumped out of my chair and rushed to the glorious creature's aid.

I soon realized that this blue-footed booby did not really desire my help. The bird seemed concerned as I approached him. He appeared agitated by my presence in general. It was no matter. I was going to help this bird even if it killed me, and it nearly did. As I reached down to cradle the poor creature, he lunged forward with a shriek, attacking my hands with his big blue razor-sharp beak. I soon learned that the blue-footed booby's ferocity could only be matched by the unbriddled killing power of a wolverine or a pack of ravenous wild dogs. As the blue-footed booby proceeded to slice my hands in quick haste like a paper shredder or a garbage disposal, I could see my life flashing before my eyes. My birth, Christmases, first kisses, school, and now this. Would it all end here? Would I be just another statistic? Another fool, a hapless victim of this sadistic blue-footed demon? Who knows how many men's lives have been taken by this species over the years? Hundreds? Thousands? No, I'd say more like millions, if this one bird was of an average temperament for a blue-footed booby. It was clearly a live or die situation. That bird had strength beyond the realm of understanding. The bird was exhibiting supernatural fighting skills! He was like the Steven Seagal of birds! I half expected that bird to bust out with a round-house or something. But he didn't. Eventually, I just passed out from blood loss. When I awoke my friend was sitting with me in the sand. I was to be helivaced to the nearest hospital. My friend stayed with me, comforting me as I waited in the cool sand. I could feel my life slipping away. He started putting band aids on me and then he told me there was no helivac. I guess it was just a hallucination. Instead of the hospital, we went to get tacos.

Interestingly, the indigenous Indian population in that region has traditionally used tacos as a remedy for blue-footed booby attacks. I'm not the keenest proponent of alternative medicine, but I can honestly say that it worked for me.  So remember! If you are ever viciously attacked by a blue-footed booby like I was--get tacos! It works.

Ghost jaguar (or as I like to call it, yaguar)

Much ado about something

I will now tell you two stories that involve guys being embarrassed.

I will start with something that happened to my friend Josh once in Beijing. To protect the identities involved I will refer to Josh as Chambliss Masterson as I recount the events that transpired on that cold and dark night so many years ago. Myself and my friend Chambliss Masterson (Josh) were at some charming little German restaurant on the outskirts of town eating spaetzle and drinking beer. Chambliss was in kind of a somber mood because he was having some relationship woes with his girlfriend in the United States, Kaitlin. To protect Kaitlin's identity I will refer to her as Ambrosia in this story. Anyway, Chambliss Masterson was bummed out because it looked as if there was trouble brewing on the horizon in terms of their relationship. Around our third or fourth round of delicious dark stouts, a young Chinese man approached our table peddling his wares. In this particular case what the young man was pushing was pirated DVD's. This was very common, so we both started to leaf through his merchandise which he kept in a cardboard box. Immediately Chambliss came across a Sex and the City box set which he knew Ambrosia would love...so he got the whole glittery pink thing. Instantly he seemed very interested to know if I was going to get anything. There was lots of good stuff in there, BBC documentaries, Kon-Tiki, I even remember seeing Deliverance. That is worth owning! But suddenly I understood that Chambliss just wanted to sandwich his Sex and the City DVD's between legit titles. He would say, "Let me carry those for you." A seemingly friendly gesture, with a slightly less than honest motivation. If Chambliss was going to buy a big pink Sex and the City box set, I was determined to make sure he carried that big sparkly wedding cake of a DVD collection all the way home under his arm for the world to see. I wasn't going to let him sandwich that big pink glitter jewel between a directors cut of Apocalypse Now and Alien. No way! So, like a man, I didn't buy a single DVD that night! and yes, Chambliss carried that girly sparkle package all the way home. He took responsibility for himself that night. Like a soldier with a noble purpose he marched off into that night with his head held high, even though he totally had to drag that thing across town for everyone to see! It's not like there aren't a billion people in China either! I'm pretty sure a billion people saw him carrying that dainty laced-up box home that night! I'm just glad I was one of those lucky billion.

When I was about seventeen I really wanted that song "Nothing Compares to You" by Sinead O'Connor. Unfortunately, then, the iTunes store did not exist. If I wanted that song I would need to buy the whole album. So I drove down to Borders only to find that I couldn't go through with it. I made a couple dry runs, but opted to ask my sister if she would buy it for me. The next day we both went down to Borders and got the album. I even pretended to mock my sister's musical tastes in line, so the other patrons and the check-out lady would believe I thought Sinead O'Connor was stupid. I know, it was clever and my sister got a kick out of it too, I think. It was funny to pretend I was an asshole in public, when in secret I couldn't wait to sing along to "Nothing Compares to You." And I did. As soon as I was alone. Unfortunately the next day I was in my car singing the high part in my best falsetto voice at a stop light thinking the windows were up--but they weren't. To my horror, I looked to my right and saw a jeep full of my water polo friends staring at me. They were so shocked they hadn't even started to laugh. They got over their shock eventually, and they did laugh about it. It was embarrassing. I blame my sister for the whole thing. She can be so inconsiderate! It's like she planned it or something. She's so messed up like that! Jeez.

Mad About Me

About five years ago I did something I will always regret and I'm afraid I may have done it again. On a day very much like today, it happened. I was surfing and came home to lie down because my back hurt. Countless fruitful hours of my life were thrown away by me because of what I did next. At the time I didn't think it was a big deal, but in hindsight I can clearly see it was a pivotal moment in my life. And, in truth, a tragedy of unrivaled proportions.

I am, of course, talking about the day I decided to watch episode one of the first season of Lost. At first I thought I could handle it. "This is good," I thought. There was the smoke monster thing and the polar bear really got me hooked. Little did I know then that those were just whimsical plot elements that really never went anywhere. At the time I was intrigued. I didn't know then that the writers were just making it all up as they went along. I thought there was a purpose to it all back then. I thought all people were good before Lost. But those writers took something from me. They took my dreams away and my belief in the goodness of man. What was magical quickly turned into a nonsensical haze of confusion and disappointment. Who did those writers think I was, a fool? Well, they were right. I watched every episode of Lost. From the polar bear, to the three-toed statue, to the time traveling. What a fool I was! And for what, I ask you? For years I tried to take back from ABC what they had stolen from me--about 80 hours of my life. But no lawyer would take my case. They all said, " You're crazy." Well maybe so. But I vowed that when Lost was over, I'd never let it happen again.

But--the other night I did something awful. I am so afraid that my very life will be ripped away from me again. I had been avoiding it for a very long, long time but last Sunday curiosity got the better of me. I am embarrassed to say that I watched all of season one of Mad Men in one night. The storyline just seemed believable and the early 60's motif really felt right to me. I was attracted to the aesthetic. But my past haunts me. At any moment I am afraid a lurking polar bear will leap out and devour Don Draper! Or that the secretaries will start time traveling or find a hatch near the copying machine. What if the Others steal Betty and the kids? I will be forced once again to endure years of pointless episodes in an aimless search for meaning. I guess it's like Don Draper says: "Our darkest fears lie in anticipation."

Horsing around

If you were standing in front of me now, you might be thinking to yourself. . .what is different about him? Did he get a haircut? No. Is he wearing a new shirt? No. Did he recently become a horse owner? Yes. In fact you would be right if you were thinking that. My girlfriend and I are proud owners of a two year old Arabian mix. Wow, you are thinking: I did not even know you were a horse guy! Well, I'm not. The opportunity just came along and we seized it. How hard could it be? It's old technology, antiquated really. I imagine it's a lot like cat ownership. The important thing is that I get to wear sweet hats and chaps! I have always wanted to wear chaps as they were intended to be worn. I have snake skin cowboy boots already. All me and my girlfriend need are matching black dusters and sawed-off shotguns to really look like we belong on the ranch. The crazy thing is my eyes are messed up anyway and I do wear an eye patch from time to time. That will really bring the outfit together I think! Wait, what ranch, you ask? Well, we don't have one yet. We figured it's best to get the horses and dusters first. Then we will worry about the ranch. We are calling my backyard "the ranch" for now. And we are also calling our horse Sarah Jessica Parker. Not because Sarah Jessica Parker looks like a horse (but she does, sorry ladies. . .it's just true.) No, her name is Sarah Jessica Parker because she is a high fashion horse. She doesn't wear "horse shoes." No, she's all about city boots. She wears Manolo Blahniks made especially for her and those big Jackie Kennedy sunglasses. You know the ones. Those big Yves St Laurent ones. Just picture me with my eye patch in chaps with jeans with my girlfriend behind me riding off into the sunset with matching dusters and sawed-off shotguns on Sarah Jessica Parker as she is cooly trotting along wearing her Manolo Blahniks and Jackie O shades. Horse ownership is going to be awesome! I encourage anyone to get into it, even if they only have a partial outfit. It will all come together as nature intended. I can't wait to ride Sarah Jessica Parker to the farmer's market. People will be so impressed with her and our outfits.

Update: my beehive has been resurrected. Thanks to Todd from the Santa Barbara Beekeepers Association. The bees are happy and so am I. Hivey Keitel is doing great! So great that I ordered another Bubees hive, Hivey Milk. Hivey Milk will arrive sometime next week!

Hivey Keitel R.I.P.

Okay, so I would normally never do two posts in a row that were related, but I think it is warranted in this case. Last week I shared my new beehive with you. And how it is important to not pretend you are a bear when you are handling bees. There was also some sexually oriented stuff too. Whatever the reason--whether you delight in the thought of me being attacked by a mad swarm of ravenous bees or you were trolling the net for porn, typed in bubees, and found me and my hive instead of boobies because you can't spell--you spent some time reading my post according to Google analytics. I feel like I should answer some of the questions I received. I got nearly a thousand hits on that post. That is a record for me. Thank you for googling bears, boobies, bees, or whatever it was you did. Maybe you just followed a Facebook link. Whatever. That's still cool. Regardless I got a lot of questions. From strangers and from friends. I feel like I should answer them. So I will.

"You are retarded."
Well, that's not really a question. But I feel like I should address it. It's an understandable assertion. I admit that. In my defense, handling bees looked easy on YouTube.

"Where did you get stung?"
My hands, neck and nipple.

"I want honey!"
Again, not really a question. But I get the point. Yeah, you can have some honey when it's ready.

"Can I come over and borrow one of your surfboards? Funny post by the way."
This is a question. Not about bees. But the post was mentioned, so I'll address it. Yes, he came and borrowed a surfboard and yes, I know the post was funny.

There was some curiosity about how the hive is doing, and sadly I have to say that they fled for their tiny little lives. I did trap them in an electrical box, move that box and then wrap the box in plastic, potentially suffocating them. I then positioned a PVC pipe connecting the bees in their trapped electrical box to their new home. I tried to cajol the bees through the tube to their new home by yelling at them and hitting the box with a stick. I essentially tortured those poor bees. In the end, I had a professional beekeeper come to my aid, Todd, a very knowledgeable and patient fellow who started the Santa Barbara Beekeepers Association. Even with all his experience, knowledge, and bee suit those bees just wanted to get away--from me, I think. It's too bad. I miss those little guys, even though they stung my nipple and stuff. Those bees got me thinking about bees. My backyard seems lonely and quiet without their incessant buzz. If you know where a beehive is, in your backyard or attic or something, let me know. I'll come over with my hat that I stapled cheese cloth to and get them. I have an empty hive. I've been watching more YouTube videos, so don't worry, I know what I'm doing now. I really need a hive for my lonely garden.

Boobies

This is my new bee hive. I know you might be thinking. . .that's not very funny. But in actuality there are two things that are kind of funny about it. I'll get into it now. This is an ancient method of keeping bees, called top bar bee keeping. The Greeks used it. I love the ancient Greeks, so I thought, hey this is for me. It also helped that the hive is beautiful! It is made of reclaimed lumber by this guy in Malibu who makes these hives to order. I think they are great. I also think the name of his business is great! I think it is super funny. He makes these bee boxes in Malibu. So the name of his business is. . .BuBees. If you want one of these hives, and you should, contact him at www.bubees.com. 

I think a funny thing to do would be to email him late at night to place an order. And hopefully--if you are lucky--your girlfriend, wife, husband, boyfriend or whatever will wake up and see you are on the computer. Hopefully they will say, what are you doing? That will be your cue to get all fidgety and defensive. Be antagonistic. If you play your cards right here, you can get in a fight. Say: "It's none of your business!" That will really spark their curiosity. And if you are really lucky, they will start yelling. Then you say: "I'm on bubees.com, okay?" And they will be like, what! And explain to them it is Malibu Bees.com. They will be like, what the fuck are you talking about? And then just explain you are looking at bee hives. But here's the twist! And this only goes for the guys out there. If you want to make this really funny, try to get an erection while you are on bubees.com. Your girlfriend or wife WILL think you are definitely lying about the bee hive thing! The erection will really make you look guilty! It will be great, I promise! Explain that it was all an elaborate joke, and you wanted to trick them. They will say, "That's not funny" and "You're insane." But deep down it will be the funniest thing ever and it will become their favorite story to tell to their girlfriends. I should say, in order for this to work, it is important to go to bubees.com and not boobies.com--you're really missing the point of the joke if you do that.

The other funny thing about me having this hive is my enthusiasm to handle the bees without taking adequate safety precautions or knowing anything about bees at all. I really don't need to write a lot about how this is funny. Just use your imagination. I'm working with bees and I know nothing about them! Well, I do know one thing: DO NOT PRETEND YOU ARE A BEAR. Seems obvious in retrospect. But in reality, when you are faced with bees in real life, you do want to pretend you are Winnie the Pooh. It was a strong urge in me. I couldn't fight it. Learn from my mistakes. If you do buy a BuBees box--bees really do hate bears, even cool ones like Winnie the Pooh! Who knew! http://bubees.com/bubees/Home.html

Hungry Hungry

Today I thought I'd do a little review for you. It's something new, and I thought you all might find it informative.

I will be reviewing the Very Hungry Caterpillar 4-in-one wooden jigsaw puzzle set. I bought this game for my two-year-old niece. As you can see in the pictures I did write her a little note that says:

To Dylan,

Have fun.

Love,

Elmo, The Easter Bunny, and God

I should say now that this is a forgery, perpetrated by myself. In fact Elmo, the Easter Bunny and God had nothing to do with this gift. It is all a lie. Dylan is so gullible it's crazy! I just couldn't help myself. While we are on the subject though...I want to say that I do indeed have a chocolate egg that I myself found two years ago at an Easter party that DID come from the Easter Bunny himself. He didn't write his name on it or anything...but come on! Who else would have been trudging around in the bushes Easter morning except the Easter Bunny? Ask yourself that! Unfortunately I still do need to get it authenticated if I ever want to sell it. I have left voice messages with appraisers at Sotheby's and Christie's and am eagerly awaiting a call back--but enough about that. Let's get back to this review. I will do all four puzzles and critique each one individually, and then the collection as a whole.

Puzzle one: 

 

I found this puzzle intriguing to say the least. It was quite challenging to begin with and I was excited to see that the hungry caterpillar really seemed to enjoy eating all that fruit! Surprised is not even the right word to describe my thrill in finding that he not only ate the apple but the plum too! I think the word is elated! That was really a twist that I did NOT see coming. My only complaint about this first puzzle is that the caterpillar didn't seem that fat after eating all that fruit? I mean, come on. I get that he's hungry. And I know that he ate an apple, a pear, a plum, a strawberry and an orange. I feel like he should have been fatter. It just wasn't believable. That is my only criticism of this first puzzle really.

Puzzle two:

I LOVE this puzzle! To begin with the caterpillar is fat which is all I wanted in the first puzzle. This second puzzle delivered big time! I was not disappointed at all with this puzzle. Well maybe a little. I do wish that the caterpillar would have been wearing shoes. Just some casual loafers or something. I think a Lakers hat would have been a good touch too. I think my generation has secretly always wanted to see a fat caterpillar at a Lakers game. I know that is obvious. Maybe my criticism is more about our society and less about this puzzle. Still, that being said...I do want to see a fat caterpillar wearing loafers at a Lakers game. That is just my burden to bear, I guess.

Puzzle three:

This puzzle is a mind bender! There were so many surprises. I thought I was going to pass out! First off I love the butterfly! Totally believable. And the grass in the foreground was a really nice touch. I really felt like I was there. I was even a little afraid that the gluttonous butterfly might try to eat me. I kept on having to remind myself that it wasn't real. That it was only a jigsaw puzzle. I was having so much fun by the end of this game, I almost started to cry with excitement. Five stars!

Puzzle four:

I loved the subject matter of this puzzle. I found myself particularly drawn to the pie and the watermelon slice in this puzzle. I do have to say--I wish there was some corn on the cob included. I would love that if I were a caterpillar. My only complaints about this puzzle are that it made me super hungry, and it was too difficult. I worked on it for a good four hours. And to be honest: I never finished it. It was a little too cerebral. I still enjoyed it however.

All in all I think this is a fine puzzle set. Especially if you collect caterpillar puzzles. It would be great on a long flight, or if you are ever snowed in somewhere and you have plenty of time. I recommend this puzzle set highly. I give it five stars.

Point Awesome

So the other day I went to a polo match. As I was watching all the pretty ponies chukkering and junk, I noticed that the two men in front of me were none other than Tim Burton and Johnny Depp! Yes. And did I eavesdrop? Yes. And am I going to share some of the amazing things I learned? Yes. Well, first off, it will please you to know that those two amazing talents WILL be working on a project together in the near future! Can you imagine what kind of magic that will be! Talk about a dream team of pure entertainment! I am quivering with anticipation! I feel like they are really going to stumble onto a magic recipe for cinematic success with this pairing. Hopefully they will do many many many more in the future. Anyway I was extremely excited to learn about this upcoming collaboration. If you are like me, then of course you are thinking, please please please in this role let Johnny Depp have long hair! When was the last time you saw that, right? Good news. I overheard them talking about their upcoming project and I know what it is. Are you ready for this? It is a remake of--Point Break! And yes, Johnny Depp will be playing Patrick Swayze's character, who--if you remember--had long hair! Who else is in this movie, you are wondering? Well, I heard a few names dropped. Who will play Keanu Reeve's character?--I'm sure you are asking.  Phillip Seymour Hoffman. Who else is in this film? Well. I heard a few other names dropped as well--Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson, for one! As well as Brian Austin Green, John Lithgow, and Don Cheadle playing the parts of the hot shot fighter pilot squad! But wait--there was no hot shot fighter pilot squad in Point Break, you are thinking. I guess there is now! Anyway, that's what I overheard. Oh, and the film will have a few other names worth mentioning in it: Jean-Claude Van Damme, Shelley Duvall, and Sir Anthony Hopkins, to name a few. Spread the news! Oh, my god, I'm so excited! I guess they start filming soon. I can't wait another day for this piece of heaven to come out!

My ass and Edward James Olmos are funny in the morning

This morning I woke up and started writing down a few ideas. I was laying on my stomach writing, when I heard my girlfriend's voice. She was in bed next to me talking to me about something. I just zoned her out as per ush. But before I did that, I heard her say she had two nightmares. One, that she was an old French man that was forced to time travel a bunch of times. In the other dream she said she was Edward James Olmos with a buzz cut. That got me thinking? In what movie or TV series did Edward James Olmos have a buzz cut anyway? Maybe Battle Star Galactica at some point. Maybe. Anyway, I was writing and she was talking about stuff, who knows what? While she was talking, and scurrying over me like some sort of spider monkey, I noticed that she stopped to take some pictures of my butt with her phone. I thought nothing of it at the time, because people are always taking pictures of my butt. It is an everyday experience for me. People marvel at beauty. Who am I to stop them? So, I went on writing. A few moments later I heard Rosie (my girlfriend) start to gasp for air. She was convulsing. I was worried. It turned out that she was laughing so hard that she lost all ability to control her body. She was just a squirming giggle pile, convulsing with laughter. About 45 minutes later she came to--maybe more like a minute. Whatever. She became responsive and showed me what she had made and why she was laughing so hard. I thought it was kind of funny. Funny enough for me to post to my blog at least. Not grand mal seizure funny like she thought it was. I do think it makes my butt look sophisticated. It's a look I might try to pursue in the future.

Correction: Rosie did NOT dream she was Edward James Olmos with a buzz cut. Apparently she dreamed she was Edward James Olmos with more of a "New Jack City" kind of haircut. I guess it was some sort of Kid 'n Play kind of haircut (not as big). She wanted me to correct this post. You know, just to be clear. I guess it's important to get these details right. So yeah.

Correction to correction:

Rosie did NOT dream she was Edward James Olmos at all. I guess she dreamed that SHE just had a haircut like Edward James Olmos's character in some famous prison movie. The haircut was more like a "New Jack City" kind of a haircut, but she was still herself. NOT Edward James Olmos. Just so we are clear. Got it?

Boys in cars

I painted this VW Rabbit for some friends of mine. When I was painting it I realized it reminded me of a little orange Suburu my best friend Adrian bought when we were about sixteen. Aside from some generic nostalgic memories it brought back, like driving to LA to see various bands play, I also remembered a few really funny stories that involved that special car. I will share two of them now: 

Story one: 

My friend Adrian was very excited about getting this car. His dad had given him a few thousand dollars in cash to get it. Adrian was supposed to meet the owner and pick up the car later on in the day. He was so excited that he would nervously count and re-count the money that he was keeping in an envelope. One small bill at a time. Now, I don't know why all the bills were like twenties or something--but they were. Maybe his dad was a stripper or something like that back then. I just don't know. . .yes, I do know. There is NO way Adrian's dad was a stripper. But whatever. Getting off track. We drank tea and waited to meet this guy. Whenever Adrian left the room, I would take the money out of the envelope, throw it on the floor, take my shirt off, and roll in the money. Adrian would come back in the room, get all upset, and re-count the money and put it back in the envelope. Every time, he thought the joke was done. But every time he left the room I did it again. It was so funny because it just never got old for me. That is what made it so absurdly funny to me. If he still had that money, or any money in an envelope, I would still be doing that sixteen years later. That is how funny it was to me. I don't think Adrian was too amused.

Story two:

Adrian had a music teacher. I don't remember her name. I do, however, remember her cat's name. Ducky. I remember Ducky because Ducky was called Ducky because Ducky was too fat to meow. Ducky would try to meow but all that came out was a strained, low-pitched quack. So imagine a cat that was pretty much the size of a golden retriever and very much looked like a golden retriever--an over-weight golden retriever at that. Truly a huge cat. Just huge. So anyway, we were over at the music teacher's house. I was sitting on the couch and Adrian said he had forgotten something for his music teacher, so he went to get it from the car. A few seconds later the music teacher and I looked at each other curiously. We had heard Adrian scream. A second later Adrian comes back, looking as white as a piece of paper. We asked him if he was okay and he said, "yeah." He explained that he had just slammed his finger in the car door. I stood up and made Adrian sit next to Ducky. The music teacher went to the kitchen and got Adrian a glass of water. He was still very pale. He didn't want to admit to me and his teacher how much pain he was in. I think he thought, come on, it's nothing. I just smashed my finger in the door, it's nothing. I was worried because he kept getting whiter and he started mumbling. All of the sudden he passed out right onto Ducky. I think it was the fastest that cat had ever moved in his life trying to get away. I just remember it all in slow motion. Adrian falling onto that big fluffy orange belly and a shocked very loud "quaaaack" coming from Ducky. It wasn't funny when it happened. But as soon as it was clear that Adrian was fine, it was pretty funny alright. Ducky was the most shook up. Be careful acting stoic. Because, who knows? You could pass out on an obese cat if you're not careful. We drove to the beach after that in Adrian's Suburu.

The unknown Frank Gehry building

The design of this magnificent building is clearly striking, albeit understated. The story goes that sometime after the completion of the Walt Disney Concert Hall in 2003, Gehry was approached by Century 21 to build them an office in Rancho Cucamonga. Many critics thought that after the Concert Hall's completion Gehry had reached the pinnacle of his creativity. But Gehry just became more creative. And more passionate about driving architectural design in directions that only a genius of his magnitude could envision. What came next could only be described as the pinnacle of all human creation and the crowning achievement of Gehry's career.

Water created the Grand Canyon, a marvel of wild and unbridled beauty, a spectacle of breathtaking proportions. Light has the aurora borealis, a magical and ethereal recital of dancing light in the northern skies, to boast of as its own. And man, what can man hold high? And proudly declare, "This...this is mine."? What has man created that will stand shoulder to shoulder with these glorious expressions of nature? What can we proudly display for the universe to rejoice in? I think we have that answer now.

Alien stuff

Here are some more drawings I found from my childhood. One depicts an alien fighting with some bro about his keys. The guy is clearly intoxicated and the alien is trying to be the DD...that's what I'm thinking. The other two drawings are of trees from the aliens' planet. I think they are nice. One of the ideas was that the roots of these trees could act as a bridge over a canyon or something. That would be sweet if trees did that on our planet. But the trees on our planet are pretty lazy. No secret about that. Stupid tree bums.

No competition

I have been receiving a lot of emails asking me what I'm going to do. This is not a new problem at all. I have been dealing with this for years now. They just started a new campaign again, that's all. So people are aware of the problem again. I get emails all the time saying, "Sue him, do something. It's just not right." Well, folks, I can't sue him. He is just an actor. I would need to sue the company and get a cease and desist order. I could do that I guess. It would be an open and shut case for sure. 

But I think it is pretty clear he is not the most interesting man in the world anyway. The most interesting man in the world does not drink cheap Mexican beer. The most interesting man in the world accidentally drank a pitcher of mohito mix and rum without mixing it with carbonated water once, because nobody told him it hadn't been mixed yet. The most interesting man in the world fell asleep in a fireplace that night at his friend's birthday party.

Their version of the most interesting man in the world is a matador. Big deal. I got attacked by a monkey with an erection in the forest near Borneo once.  I didn't even have a red cape to incite that horny monkey like a matador would have. I improvised like a true man. And it was very interesting. I shrieked at that monkey, and hit him with my beloved sandwich that I had made that day to eat in the forest for a snack. Making sacrifices is what interesting men do. He's always fencing in those commercials. That is not interesting. That is boring. Why not just have the most interesting man in the world play backgammon if you really want to push the lame angle. You know what's interesting? Eating bad cuttle fish from a street vendor in China, feeling sick and running home only to lose control of your bowels in a crowded elevator with a bunch of gossipy old ladies. Those ladies never stopped talking about me and the time I crapped in an elevator with them. Why did they always talk about it? Because it was the most interesting thing in the world to them. That's why.  

Why does he always say, "Stay thirsty, my friends"? I don't tell my friends to "stay hungry" or to "stay sleepy." Instead, I say, "Hey, you look hungry. Do you want to go get some barbecue, buddy? I'm buying, pal." And if my friend looks thirsty I'd be like, "Hey, you okay? You want a Gatorade or something?" I'm compassionate like that, you see? That's how interesting men do it. 

Drawings from my childhood

Kamakazi Raindrops

Portrait of My Dad's Coke

Hit Man Mocked by Mean Balloon (the balloon clearly symbolizes his childhood)

Another Kamakazi Raindrop

I don't know really what's going on here. I was 12 when I did this. This is my guess: The guy on the left is some sort of Vietnam vet and the bird is some magical type of bird that foregoes bird feed to eat this man's memories.

A Black Panther