| For her... |
[28 Dec 2004|09:47am] |
It has been over a year since I have posted to my journal. Some of you who have me on your friend's list may be wondering why I was there to begin with. Bear with me. Today is a tough one.
Kathryn Perry (Aug. 29, 1917 - Dec. 28, 2003)
You were with me my whole life, yet it seems now like a moment. You have been gone one year, and it seems like an eternity.
You were my best friend and my grandmother, and I feel you gone every day. Life seems confusing now that I have lost my ground.
I miss you and I love you more than I ever said. You made me who I am and I am thankful. I thank God for every day I had you in my life.
You have my heart,
Little Bear
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| Oh yeah... It's O.K.... It's all good... Play that funky music whiteboy! |
[02 Nov 2003|01:39am] |
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Muddy Waters - I Got My Brand On You |
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So tonight went MoFo'n splendiferously. Belinda and Courtney came over. We had a bitchin' dinner, and recorded two new funny skits. Tomoorow it's off to see the director of FatGirl Speaks to give her our stuff. Hopefully, we can get a spot playing the festival... And on top of it all, I have a clean house. Fuck Yeah!
Now all I need is a good ******* and I'l be set. (fill in the blank with lewdness of your choice)
Oh, and my record player is now hooked up and I can jam to Muddy Waters on LP. I rock the casbah! Today has been...
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| It's quite daunting... |
[01 Nov 2003|10:24am] |
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Mickey's Ickies - The Curse of the Bloodsucking Bimbo |
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Today I feel like my lazy ass is actually accomplishing something. CLEANING! Yay! It's about friggin' time.
It always takes a situation to arise for me to feel inspired to do it. Tongiht Belinda, from the comedy troupe, is coming over for dinner. Afterwards we are going to record a few scripts, so that we can submit them for this years FatGirl Speaks Fest in Portland. I have my mics all warmed up, and am ready to get the comedy rolling.
However, a few more hours of cleaning are in store. I only break now, because I got myself overheated and nearly arfed. That would have sucked, and only added to the list of things I have to clean up. Luckily none of the other things are considered a biohazard by any officiating organization. However, the kitchen could be considered a condemned building. Luckily, the kitchen is Kelly's chore. I have to clean the rest of the apartment. Now I wonder why I wanted such a large place. It only serves to allow more room for shite to build up. As of this point, the stuff has organized, invented fire, and unionized. I believe they are staging a class 1 coup. Luckily, I am launching a pre-emptive strike in hopes that my home will remain firmly in our control. Viva la Republica de Brian y Kelly.
p.s. (I will keep you all abreast of the "weapons of mass destruction" search, that my sweep and clean teams are conducting now. I know they are here somewhere. I swear.)
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| I did it, and you all missed it. You had to be there... |
[01 Nov 2003|01:19am] |
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Rock the Casbah - The Clash |
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HAhahahaAHhAHa... I defied convention and went out! Halloween was not a cess pool of despair as would have lead you to believe earlier.
I took the train downtown, in my bitchin' Jedi garb, met Kelly, and went to the Egyptian Room (Portland's Lesbian bar) with Belinda and Courtney. I had a couple of beers and took the MAX home.
Sure, not the most terribly exciting night, but its a start. I got to dance with Kelly, and that made me feel squishy. But in a good way.
Next year I want to organize a huge Hallowen Blowout called "Sinner's Ball." A real freak fest. Blood, guts, ultimate horror and lots of sweaty gyrating people. Fire eaters, cage dancers, and the "how much metal do you have in your body" competition. It would be totally fucked up and everybody would be trashed. Then it would turn into Zion from the Matrix, with everyone thrashing about to some hypnotic trance crap, and spinning droplets of sweat onto anyone in their path. I, of course would watch the whole thing from a private balcony, and count the mad cash from the night's take. Ah, the Capitalist Voyeur at his best. God bless America! I can be swine too. It's ok, I checked with my local Congressmen.
Well, Happy "Not-to-terrible" Halloween.
Love,
Chuckles
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| another shit-ass halloween... |
[31 Oct 2003|02:31pm] |
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Well, today wil be loads of fun. I get to sit here in my apartment, smoke cigarettes made from the leftover bits of tobacco in the bottom of the tin, and be shit-out-of-luck when it comes to Halloween festivities.
I was really looking forward to Halloween this year. I had heard that they make a much bigger deal of it in Northern cities. I was psyched. I could not wait to don my awesome Jedi costume that Kelly made me. Unfortunately, stupid little crap always comes up to piss on my parade.
I had gone over to the MAX station with Kelly so that we could get our tickets, and she could go to work. I would travel downtown with her, so she could pick me up some cigarettes and give me a little cash. See, I still have no job, and Kelly's paychecks go into her account, for which I do not have a card. So we get to the train station, and lo and behold the ticket machines cannot communicate with the bank. Kelly only had $1.20 in cash and tickets are $1.30 each. I ran to my mom's apartment to borrow a dime, and then Kelly was off to work.
So now I sit in my apartment with no money, no car, no cigarettes, and no way to get any of the above. All of this leads to the inevitable conclusion that I will not be going out for Halloween. We were supposed to go to a haunted house with Peyton from the comedy troupe, and then meet some other folks at a party. All of these things require me to be downtown to meet Kelly after work. But alas, no train fare. Sure I could try to ride without a ticket, but I would also face a $250 fine. Even if I could make other arrangements, there is no way for me to reach Kelly while she is at work. I doubt she even left early enought to deposit her check in the bank.
She is the one that always complains that we never do anything fun on Halloween, so I thought this year would be different. Who was I fucking kidding?
I would scavenge in the couch for change, but what? That's right! I don't have a fucking couch!
So Crappy Halloween everyone, I'm dressed as an unemployed slob in his underwear sitting in front of a computer. WooHoo! Life's a party!
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| Finally, a post... |
[29 Oct 2003|02:35pm] |
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Rolling Stones - Mokey Man |
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For those who may or may not give a damn...
So I have been an absolute bastard about updating this blasted journal. I do not know why this is but I have some theories. You see, other people's lives are full of events and experiences. Great fodder for LiveJournal. My life, on the other hand, has been pretty uneventful as of late. I can't say that this is really true because I have been busy, but that in and of itself seems a strange concept for someone unemployed.
Nights have been filled with rehearsals, late downtown meanderings, and new friends. I have really enjoyed the time I have gotten to spend with my new friends here in P-town, but I still miss my longtime pals. Nick has been pretty busy lately, and Fred has just purchased a house. I wish I could see it, but 8 hours of flying is probably not worth it.
Portland still holds many secrets for unlocking, and i am enjoying my time here immensely. Exploration is new to me. After living your whole life in the same place, turning a corner only means seeing something familiar. The preocess of discovery is a pretty amazing thing.
The comedy troupe continues to plod on sans full cast. We still need another male actor, and are not having much luck. On the bright side, Kelly keeps coming up with brilliatly funny scripts, and the rest of the cast are par excellant.
I will say that Belinda from our cast is especially talented. She has a great acting ability, but is a phenomenal singer as well. She put this to use the other night at the Egyptian Room, Portland's lesbian bar, where we were hanging out. She made me get up and perform Summer Nights with her from Grease. I sang Olivia Newton john's parts, and she did John Travolta's. God I hate singing in front of people. Apparently it was fine and quite funny, but I felt my legs wobbling. How bizarre. For someone who spends so much time "on the stage" I sure have a terrible case of stage fright.
Oh well, that is all for now...
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| Oh yeah MoFo! |
[22 Oct 2003|10:16am] |
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music |
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My thighs slapping together in rythm to my victory dance. |
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It's finally over... I took my Oregon State Insurance Exam. I owned it... I was like "You like that, you like that!" I pinched it, slaped it, bit it, rough rode it then gave it bus fare home. It'll call, and say, "take me again!" And I'll say, "Too much honey will give you cardiac arrest. I done had you. Next!" Oh yeah, I can taste the glory!
Ok, so it's not that big of a deal. Hell, I'm still unemployed, but at least I still have nicotine.
Regular posting to resume.
*ahem* Thanks...
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[08 Oct 2003|07:09pm] |
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I'm a bastard... I have not updated... I've been tired... Insurance school *bleah*
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| blow up the balloons, and hire the clowns... |
[03 Oct 2003|02:42pm] |
...the clock ticks...
...the calendar flips...
...time goes right on by...
...and I don't even feel bad about it...
Tomorrow will be a unique anniversary in my life. It will be the one year anniversary of my continued state of unemployment. The denoument of being a contributeless member of society. The personal peek of time spent in foolish endeavours, and the pinnacle of poverty that I inflict upon my wife and myself.
I am a societal burden, a do-nothing hobo living in a nice apartment on a quiet street. The unexpectedly unemployed that gets the occasional, "really... you.. have no job you say?" I can reply confidently and without shame, YES. I am a part of the marching horde wandering aimlessly through this city of slackers. Stumptown, named for tree stumps cut down in the name of progress, but taking meaning from the baffling employment process found herein.
With all of these factors, one more ambitious might think, "well don't you feel unabashedly ashamed and worthless." ...And I scream to the heavens "Fuck NO, and fuck YOU!" Do not tell me that I must spend my few short years on this revolving orb, subjecting my majority of waking hours in the company of troglodites who love to suck out pieces of my soul a section at a time, leaving a hollow shell. I contribute. I'm a husband, and a friend, a son, a comedian, a writer, an actor, someone who gives a spark to light a fire. I'm FUCKING relevant. In my time...
Bills will be paid. I will find the right way, but not at the cost it came before. I'll be damned if it does. Literally...
Happy Anniversary...
Happy Anniversary to me...
So break out the candles and the cake, say a little prayer, and let's blow this mother out...
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| AAAGGGGHHH, and other such things... |
[01 Oct 2003|11:03pm] |
I am now the moderator of two film communities ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif) pdx_films and moviebuffs. In my zeal to bring these communities into the forefrnt of their genres, I have neglected my own journal. I am such a bad monkey. But today, something arrived. It preoccupied my mind for many hours, and only now has come to resolution. So here it is...
( Read more... )
whoomp... that is all
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| A new evil... |
[27 Sep 2003|01:35pm] |
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The White Stripes - Jolene |
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Please let me tell you about the new target for aggression in my new life here in Oregon. Kurt and Deborah. These names bring a grimace to my face, and a cold calculating sense of revenge to my mind. What did these heinous villians do to encourage such a sense of wrath? I'll get to that.
First off, I'll say that I have never met these two people. I do not even know their last name, but what I do know is that they cause me daily pain. Kurt and Deborah (the diabolical duo) had my phone number before me. Harmless? You may say that, but you'd be wrong. These two troglodites never paid a bill in their lives. So after dumping this phone number (for reasons that make all too much sense) Kurt and Deborah shirked responsibility and are probably roaming free and happy far from the annoyance of collection agency phone calls.
Then along comes poor unsuspecting me, making a deal with the proverbial devil (Verizon) for the use of a land line. Now I am plagued with countless attempts to recollect a debt that I never had the pleasure of incurring daily by telephone. I feel like the A-Team convicted of a crime I did not commit. Unlike the A-Team, I can't make the wrong things right. So if you are ever in trouble, and are lucky enough to find them, you can hire the A-Team, because God knows I'm useless in that arena. So back to bitching...
8AM is a collection agencys wet dream. It is a time when most non-bill payers are home and sleeping. If they can catch one of these scoundrels at said hour, they are usually too groggy to realize who they are talking to and give themselves away easily. This does not work out well for me. The bastards call and call, even after repeated attempts to explain to them that I am indeed not Kurt, do not know Kurt, and wish I could find him myself so I could beat his ass!
Collectors are trained not to believe people who say, "I'm not (blank). No (blank) does not live here." I cannot say I blame them. Of course people lie to them. So what a conundrum. What do I do? Change my number? No way! I like my number... I do not know if this stems from ease of remembering it or out of principle for this injustice. I think I will attempt to hunt these two down, and find out what the hell is up. Then I will call all the collectors and give them the right number. Maybe then I will find peace... or just bitch about something else... either way.
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| I speak from experience... |
[27 Sep 2003|02:03am] |
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John Cougar Mellencamp - Hurts So Good... (not really) |
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Lesson #1: Never brutally stab yourself in the finger.
The wisdom I am about to impart upon you through the following story is meant to be used as a cautionary tale... a lesson for life... keep it close.
So the other day I was in my kitchen in need of some snacking material. Kelly had been at work all day, and I find it hard to get the inspiration to cook for just myself. This leads to meals made of only peanuts, wasabi peas, cheez-its or what have you. The lazy man's meal for the day gleamed at me from the cupboard shelves like a holy grail, or an oasis to a wayward traveler. FROSTED CHEERIOS! Hallelujah, I thought. A bowl, some milk, and the coveted O's would provide sensible yet simple-to-prepare fare.
My next step was to open the box. Easy enough... Just a little tear of the old cardboard and voila! But wait... oh yes, the plastic bag inside. I had forgotten... how foolish. In my zeal for my meal I tugged and pulled at the bag with every part of my body that might be used to get through this seemingly inpenetrable container. After exhausting teeth, fingers and other now sore body parts, I began to search for a cutting implement. Let me just pause to say that they (being "Big Cereal") must have changed the inner lining bags to some sort of space-age poly-carbo whatchamacalit kevlar-esque death material. Mind you, this is one of the mini multi-pack boxes, not the jumbo family-of-addicts size. But I digress...
At last a staple of modern kitchen utilities appeared before me... THE STEAK KNIFE!!!
I tried many ways to get the damn knife to cut open the top of "said" bag, but to no avail. I decided, in my infinite wisdom, to hold the top of this tiny bag and thrust the knife at full force into one side and out the other. Ha! How simple it seemed. So as I drew back my hand, I was entranced with the visions of old-timey soldiers training with bayonets on sand-filled dummies. And with one great powerful motion I plunged the knife straight through the outer layer of the bag, through the other outer layer of the bag, and straight into my left index finger.
Let me take a moment to reflect on the reaction one has after brutally stabbing themselves in their own kitchen in the pursuit of a midday meal. AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!
That is about as close as I can come without truly giving justice to the sensation. What came next is not intended for children, the elderly, anyone with a heart condition, or pregnant women.
After pulling out the knife, a new material I had never seen before began to cauliflower out of my new wound. I can only surmise that these were fat cells. Yummy! With all the blood and shock I decided, again in my infinite wisdom, that these must be loose bits of flesh in need of removal. When I pulled on a piece I felt it tug from the base of my finger. I almost passed out from not only pain but disgust. I ran screaming into the bathroom, where I placed my hand under freezing cold tap water for about twenty minutes. After came a course of ice, and finally a band-aid.
So where is the moral you might ask? Well, it can be summed up by an old cliche: "look before you leap. (or, anytime you are a man and you think you have found a brilliant new way to do something with a sharp utensil or power tool, consult a female.) Kelly lacks sympathy for this little problem which I lovingly call "Incident #847"
I, unlike hopefully you, do not always follow the moral of this story. And as long as testosterone still runs through my veins, I am afraid that more blood will be needlessly shed.
Please donate generously...
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[24 Sep 2003|02:16am] |
The beginning of the film...
"People once believe that when someone died, a
crow brought that soul to the land of the dead.
But sometimes, something so bad happens that a
terrible sadness is carried with it, and the
soul can't rest. Sometimes, just sometimes, a
crow can bring that soul back to put the wrong
things right."
"If a building gets torched, all that is left
is ashes. I used to think that about
everything: family, friends, feelings. But now
I know. If two people love each other, nothing
can keep them apart."
Which Quote From The Crow Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
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