Ween-er

 Ween have broken up. 

And you know it’s for good because it’s for health reasons. Like, “I party way too hard in this band and I’m going to die if I don’t stop.” People who think there will be a reunion, have no idea how fucked up addiction is, much less through the eyes of a newly sober person. So, yeah, be broken-hearted. One of your top 5 favorite bands of the last 20 years is over.

WEEN! Goddammit, you’re the funniest fucking shit ever!! No replacement for you, not at all.

 and

 WAY TO GO, GENER.

And, that’s all I can really say. This article says more and says it really well.

 fuck.

Meeting Augusten Again

When authors are like rock stars, you'll find me in line.


Even if it's in San Francisco where fierce winds blow while I have to wait outside for two hours to get a glimpse of him. Even if I have to walk, take a ferry and then a car to get there. Even though I've met him before.


When an author is like a rock star, the same thing happens.


A journey to arrive. A purchase I can't afford. A long wait on my feet that hurts my back. Then another long wait. Then a handshake and a stumbling of words over my tongue and then an autograph and then done. Abruptly. That's how it works with rock stars and that's how it works here.


I'll see you tonight, Augusten Burroughs, and I won't be the freaked-out tongue-tied 30-something I was when I saw you last. This time I'll get the words out. I'll smile and laugh because you are just like me and I am just like you.


Except you're famous and awesome.

The last 15 minutes of work on a Friday

 

 

I feel a bit lightheaded, maybe you should drive. Huge bats, all screeching...diving at the car...and a voice was screaming, Holy Jesus what are these goddamn animals...

I'm at work. It's Friday, but that doesn't matter because most days here are a ridiculous waste of time. Most work is, this excludes "being creative" which almost never happens at work. Especially in creative jobs. "Creative job" is a nice way of saying "everybody's bitch with skillz".

I pour a glass of red wine in a mug that reads “ I LOVE CAKE.” It’s for some show that probably doesn’t exist anymore, some reality show about a guy who makes cakes. Who cares. To me, it says I LOVE THAT BAND, CAKE. And, also, I AM NOW DRINKING THE CALORIC EQUIVALENT OF CAKE AND I LOVE IT.

This page I’m typing upon is supposedly some searchable SEO content about...

Look, I already got bored thinking about my job.

I tune back in to the Hunter Thompson documentary playing on youtube in some background window. Hunter’s voice calms me, I know that if I tune out, I’m not going to suddenly return to consciousness with bullshit battering my brain. It will still be Hunter, still making sense. This is very calming.

He says: it’s in the interest of the greater good if we just smoke a joint and calm down. My life will be easier and yours too if I smoke a joint.

I am grateful that Sober Guy recognizes this fact about me.

Ten more minutes...

Serenity NOW

What’s going on with people? They’re so absurd and not the funny kind. 

Like the fighter Miguel Torres. His personal website is one big nonsensical mishmash of whatever: watch videos of Miguel making tacos on Sunday nights, watch him cut hair, teach kids how to warm up, go to the chiropractor, and illustrate the best attacks from the side. Don’t forget he’s a jokester who posted this to twitter: "If a rape van was called a surprise van, more women wouldn’t mind going for rides in them. Everyone likes surprises."

Know what else is really stupid? Thomas Kinkade, the painter and evangelical Christian who owned a factory that churned out his paintings “of light”. He had some recent troubles—other than dying—that included behaving inappropriately with women and urinating on a Winnie the Pooh figure at the Disneyland Hotel.

Yeah, you heard that right.

God grant me the serenity to ignore the Miguel Torreses and Thomas Kinkades of the world. The courage to be oblivious to current events and the wisdom to know which shoe goes on which foot.

Conversations to not have in a public place

1. abortion—yay or nay?

Had the misfortune of overhearing a coversation about abortion this morning while commuting on the ferry. It was between an old man and a 30-something mom. When they first sat down they were friendly.  It didn’t get weird until half-way to the City. This is how conversations can get—one word is said and suddenly the vibe is really black really fast and comes out of nowhere.

His take was Make Abortion Illegal. The woman’s take was, It’s my body, I Make the Decision. To that she added, “I don’t tell you what to do with your penis.” 

Ugh, penis. Who wants to think about an old man's penis?

Imagine the ferry. It’s a tight fit in there for all the commuters. Seats are squished together, it’s an intimate affair, you can’t easily get up, and you certainly can’t move because every single seat is taken every single morning. I was stuck. I held my breath.

Then the man got ugly. “Imagine all the fetuses that have ever been aborted piled up together in a room...Isn’t that a horrible image?”

This is when I’d had enough, COME ON NOW!!!

He assaulted all the women around him with his vision. The mom paused and asked him about cases of rape.

“Well, that’s the standard go-to question.”

She was quiet.

And gross-out manipulation is a standard course of action for BULLIES.

I congratulated the woman in my mind. She won the argument by not reacting to his lame tactic. To everyone else I'd like to say: People, wise up and stay quiet about your abortion ideas when on a commuter ferry early in the morning, surrounded by women. If you can't be trusted to have tact, then use visual cues. This is Northern California. We're fucking civilized here.

A cure for racism

I got a prescription of Inderal–non-brand name propranolol–for anxiety. It's a beta blocker commonly prescribed for such psychiatric benefits.

And now it cures racism!

(all this time I had no idea what was making me hate white people less).

Olympics London 2012 logo eats shit

How do things like this happen?

The company in charge of marketing the Olympics in London chose this logo to represent the momentous occasion and got paid £400,000 for it.

...and this lump of embryonic cells as the mascot. 

Which all adds up to this.

What color is Acceptable?

Eurotard

Do they really want to call it that?