There have been quite a few spurts of violence in the Bay Area in the recent weeks (stabbings and shootings). Its odd, because I consider this city, and its surrounding areas to be pretty calm; considering. People pretty much don't bother you if you don't bother them. That is, of course, one is not sporting gang colors.
Walking home the other night. Sweaty from football, or soccer (it all gets mixed together). My shortish hair was kept back by a navy blue bandanna. I have all colors. Well more appropriately Max has all colors. I used to. I think Ive been on too many roadtrips lately, packed and un-packed, and now they have all disappeared.
Anyways, walking home a man yelled at me, "You better take that off, or you are going to get shot". Hmm. Kinda scary.
- - -
I don't want you (maybe there is no you, just Jammin, I, and our imaginations) to think that this blog is going to turn into a reposting of videos, or, that I spend all day perusing YouTube. Although I don't think that would be such a bad thing.
I actually got this from a link sent from the newsletters I receive from HRC (human rights campaign). It's an interesting trailer, and an interesting documentary. I think films like this are important, and can make a difference in peoples lives. This is just hard to remember when I get cushioned in a way, or guarded. Living here in San Fran, in a bubble of some sorts. Where I feel like for the most part, everyone is accepting of everyone else. Naive. Yeah I know.
It is similar to the type of bubble I lived in back home. Only that was a white Christian middle class town. Where there were different people, and different ways of life, just no one talked about or confronted it, and therefore, could never accept, or teach acceptance about it. Even though they all thought they did. Maybe I'm seeing this completely wrong though. Maybe it was just me, and the circle I ran in. That I didn't need to get to know those people, because I didn't think they affected, or influenced me. And on that note, who even is "those" people that I speak of. BLAH!!! Im not explaining my thoughts very clearly. hmm - don't judge me.
I just hope this film doesn't turn religion into the bad guy. Or even turn certain people into bad guys. The last thing we need is for a film to give more people reasons to pit against one another.
For The Bible Tells Me So
I actually got this from a link sent from the newsletters I receive from HRC (human rights campaign). It's an interesting trailer, and an interesting documentary. I think films like this are important, and can make a difference in peoples lives. This is just hard to remember when I get cushioned in a way, or guarded. Living here in San Fran, in a bubble of some sorts. Where I feel like for the most part, everyone is accepting of everyone else. Naive. Yeah I know.
It is similar to the type of bubble I lived in back home. Only that was a white Christian middle class town. Where there were different people, and different ways of life, just no one talked about or confronted it, and therefore, could never accept, or teach acceptance about it. Even though they all thought they did. Maybe I'm seeing this completely wrong though. Maybe it was just me, and the circle I ran in. That I didn't need to get to know those people, because I didn't think they affected, or influenced me. And on that note, who even is "those" people that I speak of. BLAH!!! Im not explaining my thoughts very clearly. hmm - don't judge me.
I just hope this film doesn't turn religion into the bad guy. Or even turn certain people into bad guys. The last thing we need is for a film to give more people reasons to pit against one another.
For The Bible Tells Me So
The Fucking Champs
Mitch so graciously invited me to a show last night. Deep in the
Tenderloin, The Fucking Champs rocked my drunk away. Yes, I was drunk
(or heavily buzzed, depending on the way you look at it) by about 3pmsunday afternoon. Thats what Sunday Football watching will get ya.
They
are a different type of music I generally purchase tickets to go see.
No vocals. Skinny shirtless long haired musicians. Wait, that was the
opening band.Eeh, its hard to really tell them apart because they essentially sound the same.
Its interesting going to a show. You could hear the cd
fifty billion times and think its fucking fantastic. Then you see their
show and realize, although the songs may be great and catchy, they all
sound the damn same. They break at the same time. Build the same way.
Tempo never changes. Andthats when I sort of reach a point of disappointment. I feel like I got cheated, or even tricked in a way. That the whole time I sang along with, and raved about the cd, it was all the same one song, with different lyrics.
On another thought. When did mostasches become the new long haired shag? They are everywhere. Gross.
Tenderloin, The Fucking Champs rocked my drunk away. Yes, I was drunk
(or heavily buzzed, depending on the way you look at it) by about 3pmsunday afternoon. Thats what Sunday Football watching will get ya.
They
are a different type of music I generally purchase tickets to go see.
No vocals. Skinny shirtless long haired musicians. Wait, that was the
opening band.Eeh, its hard to really tell them apart because they essentially sound the same.
Its interesting going to a show. You could hear the cd
fifty billion times and think its fucking fantastic. Then you see their
show and realize, although the songs may be great and catchy, they all
sound the damn same. They break at the same time. Build the same way.
Tempo never changes. Andthats when I sort of reach a point of disappointment. I feel like I got cheated, or even tricked in a way. That the whole time I sang along with, and raved about the cd, it was all the same one song, with different lyrics.
On another thought. When did mostasches become the new long haired shag? They are everywhere. Gross.
what weeknights are all about
At work this morning I asked my intern how his weekend was. Yes, his weekend. Today is Friday. Where the hell has my mind gone? Yesterday could have contributed to it. After a long day of shooting (film). 6am-7pm. I visited my buddies place. Where they were already drunk and the remnant's of Thai food was sprawled about. After a quick attempt at Zoolander, soft packs came out, and a "!*^#@" war ensued. Max might still have bruises. Or be deaf.
This whole evening was intermixed with viewing old photos of eachother. Just like last night, I know in 10 years im going to look at pictures of myself and wonder what the hell I was thinking. Embarrassment. Blah. I may also be looking back to those pictures wondering where everyone has gone, and missing when this is what weeknights were made of.
ps- justin was/is adorable
This whole evening was intermixed with viewing old photos of eachother. Just like last night, I know in 10 years im going to look at pictures of myself and wonder what the hell I was thinking. Embarrassment. Blah. I may also be looking back to those pictures wondering where everyone has gone, and missing when this is what weeknights were made of.
ps- justin was/is adorable
Juno
Although the kid from Arrested Development is hilarious, he is getting a bit on my nerves. Much like John Heder from Napolean Dynamite, every character he plays is very similar. Not that it's a bad thing, or that its even his fault, but I would like to see them branch out a bit. And this is not to say that I didn't totally laugh out loud at Blades Of Glory, or his comedic counterpart, Will Ferrell.
This film looks fantastic, in a very indy, teen coming to age, Junebug sort of way. Ellen Page's performance looks awesome (Don't even get me started on the other supporting cast in this film). Anyways, im excited to see it.
Enjoy:
This film looks fantastic, in a very indy, teen coming to age, Junebug sort of way. Ellen Page's performance looks awesome (Don't even get me started on the other supporting cast in this film). Anyways, im excited to see it.
Enjoy:
I found my new calling
It looks like all those Chinese symbols and tribal designs are about to make me millions. Well, not really, unless I become a dermatologist, trained in the use of lasers. CHECK IT.
Tattoo removal is supposedly booming, and I am all about jumping on that bandwagon. I don't have a tattoo, and thats not to say I wouldn't ever get one, I have just never really been inspired to mark my body with something I really don't care too much about. Besides, I have enough bruises and war wounds as it is. This whole tattoo removal thing might just change my mind though.
There are pros and cons. One pays hundreds of dollars to get a beautiful memorable mark on their body. One pays thousands of dollars to get it off. - One used to be in love with Rob. One can now stop focus on dating people with the names Robert, Bob, Bobby, Richard, or Dick. - etc...
My friend Beau and I were having a similar discussion about this recently (at 3am in the middle of the god damn desert, aka. satans asshole) and him and I both would like to get them (tattoo's) if the ink disappeared after a year or two. We do understand this is somewhat of a cop out, and kind of a pussy move. But coming from two people who can barely commit to what socks to wear in the morning, branding our bodies, for life, just can't be justified. But fcuk, now do we really have a choice?
If you do the math. A medium sized tattoo (lets say 1inch X 1inch), on my left shoulder (b/c the experts say the closer to the heart the easier for the tat to come off), gotten at 23, and taken off at 43. The cost of experiencing a tattoo, for a good 20 years of my life would be about $3/ day. $3/day is nothing really when you think about the latte that costs $5/day. But is it worth the pain. The initial tattooing doesn't seem that bad. But the removal. Even if it isn't that painful, is it worth the time? And on that note, is it worth the time for me to blog about it? Probably not.
And on that note, I guess my point, is that it's all fcuking relative.
Tattoo removal is supposedly booming, and I am all about jumping on that bandwagon. I don't have a tattoo, and thats not to say I wouldn't ever get one, I have just never really been inspired to mark my body with something I really don't care too much about. Besides, I have enough bruises and war wounds as it is. This whole tattoo removal thing might just change my mind though.
There are pros and cons. One pays hundreds of dollars to get a beautiful memorable mark on their body. One pays thousands of dollars to get it off. - One used to be in love with Rob. One can now stop focus on dating people with the names Robert, Bob, Bobby, Richard, or Dick. - etc...
My friend Beau and I were having a similar discussion about this recently (at 3am in the middle of the god damn desert, aka. satans asshole) and him and I both would like to get them (tattoo's) if the ink disappeared after a year or two. We do understand this is somewhat of a cop out, and kind of a pussy move. But coming from two people who can barely commit to what socks to wear in the morning, branding our bodies, for life, just can't be justified. But fcuk, now do we really have a choice?
If you do the math. A medium sized tattoo (lets say 1inch X 1inch), on my left shoulder (b/c the experts say the closer to the heart the easier for the tat to come off), gotten at 23, and taken off at 43. The cost of experiencing a tattoo, for a good 20 years of my life would be about $3/ day. $3/day is nothing really when you think about the latte that costs $5/day. But is it worth the pain. The initial tattooing doesn't seem that bad. But the removal. Even if it isn't that painful, is it worth the time? And on that note, is it worth the time for me to blog about it? Probably not.
And on that note, I guess my point, is that it's all fcuking relative.
just a movie in the park?
Last night I was part of one of those groups. The annoying people who go to the venue / event, and rather than enjoy it they talk...the whole god damn time. Yeah. That was us. And why I ask? That type of behavior is usually reserved for loud mouthed middle school jansport wearing kiddies.
What was it that made us become chattering giggling hyper 20 somethings. Unconcerned with the people around us, or their interest in the strange but refreshing French film. Who's only scenes I caught were of the hip librarian woman attempting suicide. Over and over and over again.
I don't blame the beer. There ws hardly enough to buzz any of us soon to be alcoholics. Despite the fantastic effort on Jen's part to contribute, in all force, to '40's for Tupac'. I don't blame the football practice, despite energizing us with endorphins, and is the most excersize any of us have gotten in the past 22 days. It could be the wonderful weather of the San Francisco night. Stars shining, palm trees waving, and hobo's frolicking about. But no.
It was our friends. It was togetherness. It was loving the company you are with, the conversations that arise, and the attractiveness of new friendships. The comfortability and reliablity of a group of people.
And with all of this. These good feelings, good times, dinners together, omlettes at brunch, movie nights, therapy sessions, drunken heart to hearts, and more coffee time than anyone knows what to do with, there is a constant smacktalking, bullshitting, and sarcasticness. Is it out of love? Is it out of caring about people? Knowing you can be like that because that is how some relationships opperate, AND, we can handle it. OR, is it a defense. A guard for not really being there. For not really caring whatsoever, but for using this time and place as an in-between until you move onto something else. Which you think is better.
I just got a little cynical. With completely no preceded reason. My course of thinking out loud (or rather typing out loud) makes me consider and reconsider human behavior, motivation, and intent. Makes me re-evaluate my past and what I am looking for in my future. Its not out of accusation, but out of curiosity.
For me, im going to appreciate the fun (but obnoxious to many) night we had. It was great. I am so thankful for what I have, and who cares to have me. Who cares to surround themselves with me, because God knows, often times I don't deserve it.
What was it that made us become chattering giggling hyper 20 somethings. Unconcerned with the people around us, or their interest in the strange but refreshing French film. Who's only scenes I caught were of the hip librarian woman attempting suicide. Over and over and over again.
I don't blame the beer. There ws hardly enough to buzz any of us soon to be alcoholics. Despite the fantastic effort on Jen's part to contribute, in all force, to '40's for Tupac'. I don't blame the football practice, despite energizing us with endorphins, and is the most excersize any of us have gotten in the past 22 days. It could be the wonderful weather of the San Francisco night. Stars shining, palm trees waving, and hobo's frolicking about. But no.
It was our friends. It was togetherness. It was loving the company you are with, the conversations that arise, and the attractiveness of new friendships. The comfortability and reliablity of a group of people.
And with all of this. These good feelings, good times, dinners together, omlettes at brunch, movie nights, therapy sessions, drunken heart to hearts, and more coffee time than anyone knows what to do with, there is a constant smacktalking, bullshitting, and sarcasticness. Is it out of love? Is it out of caring about people? Knowing you can be like that because that is how some relationships opperate, AND, we can handle it. OR, is it a defense. A guard for not really being there. For not really caring whatsoever, but for using this time and place as an in-between until you move onto something else. Which you think is better.
I just got a little cynical. With completely no preceded reason. My course of thinking out loud (or rather typing out loud) makes me consider and reconsider human behavior, motivation, and intent. Makes me re-evaluate my past and what I am looking for in my future. Its not out of accusation, but out of curiosity.
For me, im going to appreciate the fun (but obnoxious to many) night we had. It was great. I am so thankful for what I have, and who cares to have me. Who cares to surround themselves with me, because God knows, often times I don't deserve it.
blown tires and blow up dolls
There is this thing called FOB (festival of the babes). Its an enormous all womens soccer tourney. I went a few weekend ago, and oh, how the story begins.
About an hour out of San Francisco (after driving half way around the city for banks, coffee, food, etc) trucking along the straight away, moo cows on one side and tractors and trucks on the other, our tire pops. Wait, no. MY tire pops. Yep. Worn down to the, to the, to the whatever you call it. Basically it looked like complete shit. Like someone had taken a saw and went to town on that rubber. I was quite impressed with myself. I didn't freak out much, just coasted to the median, knowing in my head that I was about to be out a lot of money ($120 per tire to be exact).
Good thing I had 3 "butch" women in the car with me, b/c damn, I knew nothing. And really, Pfenning didn't either. We were content taking pictures and basking in the boiling sun, while Max and Mary got our shit together.
Long story short this very nice gentleman stopped for us, let us use his AAA (My name is now AnnaGene, or NormaGene, or BetsySue), he gave a lift to some of our possy to the nearest town (Winters, CA). If you ever stop there visit the Diner (I think the only one in town), they have one of the best French Dip, and BBQ sandwiches one could ask for. The decor is to die for as well.
An hour later and we were on our way. Rejuvinated to sing 10hours worth of songs. Which mostly consisted of Kelly Clarkson and The Killers. I don't know how my speakers aren't blown.
Now, the blow up doll portion of the Subject Heading must be saved for another day. Or told in a form that my grandchildren can't trace years from now.
About an hour out of San Francisco (after driving half way around the city for banks, coffee, food, etc) trucking along the straight away, moo cows on one side and tractors and trucks on the other, our tire pops. Wait, no. MY tire pops. Yep. Worn down to the, to the, to the whatever you call it. Basically it looked like complete shit. Like someone had taken a saw and went to town on that rubber. I was quite impressed with myself. I didn't freak out much, just coasted to the median, knowing in my head that I was about to be out a lot of money ($120 per tire to be exact).
Good thing I had 3 "butch" women in the car with me, b/c damn, I knew nothing. And really, Pfenning didn't either. We were content taking pictures and basking in the boiling sun, while Max and Mary got our shit together.
Long story short this very nice gentleman stopped for us, let us use his AAA (My name is now AnnaGene, or NormaGene, or BetsySue), he gave a lift to some of our possy to the nearest town (Winters, CA). If you ever stop there visit the Diner (I think the only one in town), they have one of the best French Dip, and BBQ sandwiches one could ask for. The decor is to die for as well.
An hour later and we were on our way. Rejuvinated to sing 10hours worth of songs. Which mostly consisted of Kelly Clarkson and The Killers. I don't know how my speakers aren't blown.
Now, the blow up doll portion of the Subject Heading must be saved for another day. Or told in a form that my grandchildren can't trace years from now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)