UPDATE:

I haven't managed to get internet access at home yet because I am a lazy lazy man. Things should be fixed and up and running in a few weeks, which means I'll soon be able to resume posting with reckless abandon. I hope my legion of reader(s) can wait that long.

Just so you know, things have been going pretty decent here in SFCA. So far, I've managed to be accosted by robe wearing freaks, narrowly avoided getting in a fight in a bar full of Mexican transvestites, seen the Drive By Truckers at The Fillmore and Wilco in Berkely's beautiful Greek Theater, seen a band called Arnocore that plays thrashmetal tributes to the lore and wisdom of Arnold Schwarzenegger, accidentally eaten tripe at 4 in the morning, and pissed away a sizable chunk of my paycheck at the Blackjack tables in Stateline, Nevada.

Good times. And hopefully more to come.
- posted by Aaron @ 3:27 PM

 
THE JOYS OF CRAIGSLIST:

AKA: The Search for a Place to Live

1) "Yeah, you sorta have to crouch in the tub to take a shower, so I hope you like baths. Also, I don't think the landlord has ever rented to anyone who is straight."

2) You know what? This one went really well. Nice place too.

3) "You're room has it's own sink. I think 'cause this place used to be a whore house. Man, can you imagine that? Whores everywhere, just washing themselves?"

4) "I've never lived with a guy before, are you weird or gross or anything?"

5) SO. MANY. CATS. Ok, only three cats, but still that's 8 more than I can handle.

6) "This is Todd."

"Hey Todd."

"S'up."

"Todd's into punk rock. His band comes over alot, if you're into that."

7) "Yeah, so there's this whole legal thing going on, but don't worry, the lawyers have to give us 60 days notice before they can evict us, so you'd get at least 2 months here."

8) "This is our chill room. It's hella cool. Check out the djembe drums bro. Some of them came all the way from Africa."

I chose #2.
- posted by Aaron @ 9:56 PM

 
BERKELEY:

Overheard bit of conversation between 3 old burn-out hippies:
"Look, goddammit, I want some answers! Which one a you mutherfuckers drank up all my whiskey and pissed in the bottle!?"

On my way to work:
I've been exploring the best routes to work, and on Friday I passed five different barber shops in a six block stretch. One was called "Kut Me Klean" and it had an airbrushed picture painted on the window of a dude with a Lionel Ritchie mustache and a sweet circa-'87 hightop fade. Another was called "Uncle Wimpy's", and it had a sign that said "Where class ain't just a word." And another was just called "The Beauty Shop" but it had a huge banner that read "We specialize in weaving the bald head." I'm not sure it's possible to find a better route to work than that.
- posted by Aaron @ 9:37 PM

 
FREAK MAGNET:

I'm not sure how it works exactly, but I tend to go through streaks where the cosmos aligns, and I end up with the good fortune of being plagued by wierdos. For example, on my way through security at the Burbank airport last week, I end up setting off the metal detectors over and over again. Shoeless and beltless, I'm herded over to the security area to be wanded and frisked by Federal employees. There I am with my feet on the yellow footmarks (I assume they somehow protect the homeland) with my arms stretched out to the sides, and some 50 year old bald guy rubbing me with that wierd Scientology device looking thing.

I hear some sort of commotion and look over by the security gate to see what's going on. What I see is an obviously pissed off woman. She's about 5 feet tall, and some undetermined brand of foreigner -Phillipino maybe? She's got huge hair, and is wearing an ass-load of jewelery and a bright gold lame' vest. She looks like some sort of terrier in chain mail.

So, she stalks up to me, and grabs my hand.

"Why you do that!!!" She screams at me. "You get yo' hand outta my face!!!"

She then shoves my hand away from her, slaps at it a few times, and circles around in front of me.

"Uhhh...." Is all I can think to say. I've still got my arms out at my sides, and my pants are falling down 'cause I don't have a belt on, and I'm not wearing shoes, and there's a dude waving an electronic device at me, and now there's a weird little lady standing 6 inches away from me. She stares directly up at me like she wants to fight, puts her arms out at her sides like I'm doing at the time, and yells again "What you think you doing!!?! Why this happen to me!?!! Who you are?!?!? Why you tell me do this?!?!!!! Why you stand like this!?!!! What you doing here!!?!"

At this point, I can't help but start laughing.

"Lady. What? Is everything ok?"

She stares me up and down and says, "Ohhhhhhhh...wait a minute! You not the Checker! You the Checkee!"

At which point the guy with the wand tells her, "Lady, get back in the waiting area and wait your turn."

"Yeah, you be quiet, mistah!" she tells him, and stalks off to the waiting area.
- posted by Aaron @ 9:15 PM

 
CALI-STYLE:

"So, you're some kind of Urban Planner, eh?" Asks the gentleman. He's mid-50s, thinning hair.

"Sure am," I reply.

"OK, so I'm gonna like, buy this house right? And then I'm gonna like, divide up all the rooms into these little small rooms, right? With like, their own windows, and beds and stuff. So, ok, it's gonna be like, a hotel, right? But, it's gonna be for cats!

Like, it's gonna be a cat hotel!"

"Ummmm..."

"Ok, so I give them cat nip room service, and hire a nice single lady to hug 'em and feed 'em and stuff. Whadya think about that? Do I need some kinda special zoning?"
- posted by Aaron @ 8:35 PM

 
SWEET!:

So, my hobo days are behind me, and I've finally decided to grow the fook up and get a real job. That's right, actual human beings have decided to hire me.

I'll be heading down to Berkeley, CA (land of the angry hippie) to start work on the 16th. Somehow I need to put together a move to the Bay Area in less than 2 weeks. I better start packing my bindle, ASAP.


View of Berkeley and the San Francisco Bay


Telegraph Avenue

I'm not gonna even think about putting any work stuff on here. But, just so's you know, I actually managed to get a job in Urban Planning, and will be working on a ton of different projects for a mid-sized consulting firm that works all over the country.

RECKANIZE!
- posted by Aaron @ 9:44 AM

 
ATTEMPTED MOVIE PITCHES OVER THE PHONE TO VARIOUS STUDIO EXECUTIVES FROM SOMEBODY WHO REALLY WANTS TO GET A MOVIE MADE THAT INCLUDES A SUBPLOT ABOUT A CLONE OF HITLER:

Three Men and A Baby


"Ok, so like, get this...Hitler...wait no...the clone of Hitler...is living with Steve Gutenberg, Ted Danson, and Tom Selleck in a loft in Manhattan...and like, there's this baby ok? Are you with me?

Ok, so like...they've got this baby, right? What? How did they get a baby? I don't know man, fuck! It like, gets left on their doorstep.

What? What do you mean no Hitler clone? Oh, c'mon Harv...that's the movie's HOOK, baby! You can't cut the Hitler clone!

Ok ok, fine. So like Gutenberg, Danson, and Selleck have this baby right..."


Superbabies: Baby Geniuses 2


"Jeff! Jeffrey K.! Hey baby, ...listen, do you have a minute? Greeeaaaattt.....look, remember how we were talking at Sundance? No, it was at the Project Greenlight afterparty. No? Well, anyways I've got this idea that's been percolating, and I finally got something down on paper, and guess what...we've got some big time interest. No, seriously HUGE talent attached baby!

Ok ok, so check this. It's a picture for kids...but it's ALSO a send up of the entertainment industry! Seriously...I was talking to Charlie the other day...Charlie Kauffman, and you know what he told me? He got all excited and was like 'Wow, dude...you're on to something there.'

What? No no, he didn't agree to write the script. What? Ok, well, see...there's these babies, right? One of them is a clone of Hitler, and they can...oh man this is gonna kill you...they can fucking talk! Right?! Incredible!

Who's the talent? Oh, um...well we've got Scott Baio signed to do the voice of one of the babies, and Jon Voigt's agreed to play the villain? What do you mean, why do we need Baio? What? No no, the babies can't talk in real life. What? No, they aren't real superbabies. Yes, they used voiceovers in the first one too. What? Yes, I'm sure. Well, yes, I suppose midgets would be cheaper.

Anyways, what do you think?"


Con Air


“Ok, listen...are you ready to have your mind blown? Ok, so like Nicholas Cage is this dangerous convict right?...and he’s being transported in a plane along with Steve Buscemi, the frozen corpse of a clone of Hitler, Danny Trejo, Ving Rhames, and John Malkovich, right?...hello?

- posted by Aaron @ 1:29 PM

 
MEMORIES:

In order to avoid going months between posts, more in an occasional series on Irvington Elementary

By late October of 5th grade, the art of beat boxing had fully infiltrated Irvington Elementary. While, the occasional beat box had been heard as early as 1984, the so-called “fifth element” had not caught on with full and vigorous force until late 1985. This rise in popularity coincided with the release of the Fat Boys second album entitled, The Fat Boys Are Back. When this album began to reach the ears of the 5th grade class, a firestorm of beat boxing was unleashed.

The teachers and administrators were flabbergasted. What sort of new-fangled weirdness had afflicted the children, they all asked? Was this some sort of fad? Would it fade out like the MASH trend, or require swift action to eradicate like the protracted yo-yo struggles of '82? Nobody wanted a repeat of that little fiasco. All it had taken then was one teacher who tolerated yo-yos in class, and by the end of the week, 80% of the students in the 3rd grade were whizzing yo-yos past each other’s heads and trying to walk the dog right in the middle of social studies.

In every corner and every hallway, in the lunch line and at recess, everywhere 2 people had gathered, you could be almost certain that at least one of them was beat boxing. It was as if somehow Tourette’s syndrome had become contagious and was now spreading like cholera. There were beat box contests in the boys’ bathrooms. People were fighting about who could make the best scratchin’ noise during recess. Even the girls were participating, for chrissake. Clearly, quick and cruel punishment was required before this insane beat boxing craze drove the Irvington Elementary train straight off the rails.

And so this is where I enter the picture, destined to serve as an example to all.

The school administration immediately decided to place the jackboot of oppression on the neck of the Irvington student body by banning any and all beat boxing. This decree was announced just after lunch on a Wednesday afternoon to the great chagrin of all. I was particularly disappointed because I had finally gotten to the point where I felt like I could hold my own beat box-wise. They were pulling the rug out from under me, just as I was finally getting the hang of it. Unfortunately, by this time I had been practicing for over a month, and it had become a well-ingrained habit. I could no more simply stop beat boxing, than I could stop breathing.

I lasted about an hour.

It was in the middle of sliding desks into our work groups that I burst into full and glorious beat box.

“Aaron. Outside. Now.”

I had been sent to the hall for beat boxing. Little did I know, the humiliation was only beginning.

My teacher joined me in the hall a few minutes later. She looked at me sternly, and said “you know that we can’t allow anymore beat boxing in class.”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I forgot.”

“Well, we’ll see if you forget after today. You’ve got 30 minutes of detention.”

“Awwwww…man! 30 minutes!”

“You heard me.”

Now, being forced to stay after school was nothing new, and it never really bothered me all that much. However, detention was usually doled out in 15-minute increments. Half and hour of detention time meant I was really in trouble. I gritted my teeth and steeled myself for an extra 30 minutes of being stuck in class.

When the bell rang, my classmates rushed out the door towards freedom, leaving me behind to half an hour of boredom. No doubt I’d be forced to write out sentences, or help my teacher clean up. Instead, she instructed me to sit quietly, and then left the room. She returned about 10 minutes later accompanied by several other teachers. They had cups of coffee and were talking and laughing with each other. They were acting almost like they were real people, which made me extremely uncomfortable.

They entered the classroom and positioned themselves in desks close to the front of the room.

“Now” said my teacher, “please stand up and give us a demonstration of why you’re being held after school today, Aaron.”

“What?”

“You owe me another 20 minutes of after school time, and I want you to spend it beat boxing. Maybe then you’ll learn not to forget.”

And so it came to pass that I stood up in front of a crowd of teachers and was forced to beat box. I tried everything in my repertoire, but all they did was snicker and try not to laugh. Eventually they started making snide comments like, “I bet he’s getting thirsty with all that spitting.” It was as crushing a feeling of embarrassment as I have ever experienced, and yet I couldn’t keep myself from laughing.

After about 10 minutes, my teacher said, “ok that’s enough. No more from now on, ok?”

She didn’t have to worry - I was cured. By the time the Fat Boy’s 1987 album Crushin’ had gone platinum, I had moved on to Beaumont Middle School, and left the allure of the beat box far behind me.

- posted by Aaron @ 1:49 PM