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!