Hey, kids!

There are 2 things that I love most about Halloween:

1) Ridiculous Pet Costumes


2) Ridiculously Hot Women In Costumes


Happy Halloween, kids!  May you get tricked into many treats.

:-P  Pbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbth!!!

Hey, Kids!  It's been a while, as always.  But to some degree I've been saving up for this. 

So it's the 2 year anniversary of my move up to L.A.  It's been a ride to say the least.  Those of you that know me personally, know that I've recently had a breakup.  What's significant about that fact, in regards to this blog, is that I got into that relationship shortly after moving here.  So having it end left me wondering where to start in this town because I didn't really do that somehow.  Not that I'm complaining or regretting it, don't get me wrong.  It certainly had some good-times, some great-times, and some incredibly frustrating times as well. 

Trying to respect her privacy kept me from saying much about it on here, and from blogging in general.  It's pretty tough when you have something you want to talk about, you're excited about, and you want to share, but doing so might cause a disturbance to it.

Now that's it's over, I'm not gonna start blabbering all the details.  I've considered it.  But in the end, it wouldn't do any good to anybody.  In the future, and in future relationships, I hope to share that sort of stuff with you, within reason of course.  My hope is that that future happens soon.  I deserve it.  I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that I'm awesome at boyfriending.  It's true.  I know!  I had no idea.  Alright, I had a few.  Regardless, tell your friends, particularly the hot ones.

Anywho, I think that this L.A. thing is going to stick.  I think things have otherwise gone okay for me.  I have a nice little apartment and a job to pay for it.  Could I be happier?  Yeah.  I'd definitely like to do something more creative.  I really want better hours.  But for now, I can deal.  It allows me the financial freedom to do things, like travel, which I'm not done with yet.  I think deep-down I just need the right companion.  I can do things alone, but it's more fulfilling when I'm not talking to myself.  Mostly.  Pretty much. 

Seems like I've got a one track mind, huh?  Well, here's some shit that I've been thinking about:

The Bodies exhibit is planning a sex exhibit.  You may have heard.  I'm pissed.  It kills me to think that there will be corpses on display getting more action than I am!  How wrong is that?! 

Have you seen the commercials for Chantix?  It's a product that's supposed to help you to stop smoking.  The funny thing is that one of the side effects is suicide attempts.  That's right.  It may help you quit, or it may make you want to off yourself.  And the success rate for quitting smoking with it is only 44%.  Less than half.  Did the other 56% take a long walk off a tall building?  It's bizarre.  You could be happy as a clam as a smoker, but trying to quit could kill you.  It's like a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation.  Here's my advice:  Don't smoke.  If you do and want to quit, break all your fingers.  Nothing will make you quit faster than when you catch yourself trying to smoke with your toes!  Rock-bottom!

And finally, an old favorite.  Free credit report commercials.  Now, these things are ridiculous enough.  The shitty songs with the same shitty band.  But the premise is flawed and it's always bothered me.  Feel free to point out if I've ever mentioned this before.  The premise is that you can buy cool stuff if you've checked your credit score on their site.  Wrong.  If your credit score sucks, it'll suck no matter how many times you look at it.  Monitor the shit out of it!  Knock yourself out.  Literally.  But no singing.

There you have it, kids.  I can do better.  You know it, I know it.  I'm out of practice.  The next one though!

:-P   Pbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbth!!!

Hey, kids!  So Michael Vick signed with the Eagles this week after serving 2 years in prison for running a dogfighting ring in Virginia (which we all agree is a douchebag move).  There's of course an uproar from PETA and some Eagles fans and that's understandable.  A lot of Eagles players have come to Vick's defense (as opposed to Vicks Defense, which I believe is a cough medicine) stating that everyone deserves a second chance.  While I agree with that statement for the most part, I do have some trouble with it in this scenario.

Now, everyone who knows me knows I love dogs (and bears, great white sharks, raccoons, parrots who curse, Miley Cyrus who I believe is a lemur, and pretty much any grossly overweight house pet).  I'm also a firm believer in rehabilitation because, if for no other reason, someone in this country should be.  But even that wains at times.  I mean, you don't have to trust ex-cons but I do think they deserve a shot to change.  And getting back to Michael Vick, I'm pretty sure that he won't be starting another dogfighting ring ever again.

My problem with the idea of a second chance for him is that it's not just a second chance at life.  It's a second chance at making millions of dollars.  Most inmates get released and struggle to get work and a lot of times poverty causes them to fall back into bad habits (i.e. stabbings and shit).  But Michael Vick walked out of jail, stepped into a Range Rover, and drove home to his mansion.  As you can see, that's atypical. 

I think we should hold pro athletes and other million dollar makers to higher standards because they've already gotten really lucky or worked hard, and chose to throw that away because it meant so little to them (apparently).  How are the rest of us supposed to feel when we work hard, pay our taxes, and mind the laws and don't come remotely within that stratosphere and here's a guy who did, fucked up royally, and gets a do-over?  It can't feel good.

So, if you ask me (which I'm aware you didn't), it's not about whether or not Michael Vick is sorry, it's about those with the most to lose not making decisions that scoff at the life that most others dream about.  I suppose I could live with Vick making less in another league and working his way back up to the NFL and proving that he's a better person, but I think by signing immediately in the NFL, he may lose that sense.  Not that I care that much about Michael Vick's feelings.  Something about drowning and electrocuting dogs pulls me out of the caring business.

So there you have it, kids, a somewhat serious blog from your old pal Aaron.  Don't get used to it!

:-P   Pbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbth!!!

are missing their idiots.

Hey, kids.  Have you been watching the news lately?  A lot of people in this country are going fucking nuts.  There are town hall meetings being held all over the nation where citizens are flat out yelling at their congressman (yes, their congressman).  People are bringing props and crying and making no sense.  It makes me sick to think that folks are getting this upset at Obama's policies after having maintained radio silence during the Bush administration.  It's fucking bizarro.  If ever there was someone to get wildly upset about it was our yokel former president.

A lot of the people are yelling about wanting their country back and/or referring to the America that "they know."  What country is that exactly?  The one that they grew up in?  That Nixon was president of?  Really, you want that back?  The man bugged his own office!  You want the Reagan years back then?  Selling guns to terrorists, a booming cocaine epidemic, and a ground swell of greed?  You can have it: Somewhere else.  Go away. Try Russia.

There's a massive misinformation campaign going on too, completely funded by insurance and drug companies, about the idea of "death panels."  They falsely claim that a committee will decide whether to care for the sick and the old or to let them die.  There is no such item in the Obama plan.  But the point that most of these people are missing is that that already exists in every private insurance company.  Maybe not literally, but the idea that a beaurocrat standing between you and your doctor isn't new and just now being proposed.  If you have an HMO, you always have to cross your fingers that your insurance will cover whatever you need.  Think about the dentist as an example.  There's always some insurance guy who decides whether you need a procedure or it's purely cosmetic.  You never know what they'll cover and what they won't.  It's a racket.

So no one's out to kill Sarah Palin's retard baby.  Except the eskimos.  It's not their fault.  They think it's a seal.

But I just don't get the level of outrage people are showing (and that's why I started this blog).  And guess who it always is?  Old white people.  Did somebody forget to eat their bran this morning?  What the fuck do you have to complain about?  Did they cancel Murder She Wrote again?!  And people are even bringing guns to protests.  What the fuck!  What for???  You gonna shoot somebody if you don't get your way?  You exercising your rights?  Just because the 1st and 2nd Ammendents are next to each other sequentially doesn't mean they go together. 

Late Thought: Could somebody please taze these motherfuckers?!!!

People are going nuts, man, at least 4 years too late.  After all the bullshit we've been through as a country, and I've written plenty about it already, people are getting this upset about someone trying to fix health care.  Obama's trying to do something good.  You can argue the here's and there's but in a sane and logical way.  But if you take your cues from Glenn Beck and Faux News, then you're fucked anyway. 

I don't have all the answers, kids, but neither do those assholes.  I think as long as you keep that in mind, you'll end up doing the right thing in the end.  You'll be forced to think.  A wild idea indeed.  Could get some people in trouble.  Especially when they realize they've got shit for brains.  And you thought the Scarecrow had it bad...

:-P  Pbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbth!!!

Hey, kids!  I want to tell you a story.  Put your imagine-caps on so you can see stuff in your heads while you read.  Also, you should probably pop a Cialis or two.  I don't know why.  Perhaps it'll make you feel as though you're nature-soaking in an outdoor bathtub.  Anyway here goes...

In a land 2 hours south of Burbank, some 17 years ago...

So I'm spending the night at my friend Freddy's house (haha, friend Fred, get it), and we're sitting on the living room couches (they had several, "L" shapes and the like) with his dad, also Fred, flipping through channels on the TV.  I think there was some prior knowledge that Roller Derby was coming on shortly, so one of us changes the channel to wait for the derby to come on.  We joined the previous program in progress and my life changed for years to come.

Saturday Night: Main Event was on. It was to my knowledge the only wrestling program on TV at the time.  2 wrestlers were going at it in the ring and I was immediately hooked.  The wrestlers who were squaring off were Papa Shango and Bret "The Hitman" Hart.  I was instantly drawn to Bret Hart.  I can't recall if he was already the WWF world champ or just about to be.  We caught the match, the main event of the show, about halfway through but that's all I needed.  I'm not sure if I literally pointed and said, "This is my guy [Hart]" but that was definitely how it felt to my 10 year old soul.  I can't remember if there was something in particular about Bret Hart that captivated me, but given his skill and charisma, his ability to make a dramatic comeback, and let's not forget his finisher "The Sharpshooter," it seems like I saw the right guy in the right match at the right time for me.

Soon I was watching everytime the show was on, hanging in to see The Hitman.  Soon after that Monday Night Raw began to air on the USA network, so I had a major prime time opportunity to see The Hitman defend his world title against all challengers.  What I think struck me most about Bret Hart was his ability to take a serious beating (or appearing to) and to get back up and find a way to win.  And not only win, but make his opponent give up from the pain of the Sharpshooter.  He was cool, even wearing pink!  He wore sunglasses and a leather jacket too.  I mean, The Hitman, that's a hell of a name and it certainly didn't hurt that he was also a good guy.  I had already been a lover of movies and superheroes, and here was one every week winning fair and square, beating guys of all shapes and sizes.  He was inventive and adaptive, both a strategist and a technician but also wasn't against biting or headbutting to break a hold.  Afterall, he was biting or headbutting bad guys, who were sneaking brass knuckles in their tights and choking him when the ref wasn't looking.  These were all things I believed in and I believed every punch, especially Bret's.

Pretty soon I was going to matches, or house shows, at the Sports Arena.  I remember the first I went to was the day before my 11th birthday with my dad.  Bret Hart wasn't there that night, the main event being "Macho Man" Randy Savage vs. Razor Ramon.  I can still feel the disappointment I felt that night as Macho Man lost via count-out.  My dad bought me a bright green foam finger with Macho Man's logo on it to console me.  I waved it at other cars drearily as my dad drove us home. 

Many more house shows followed as I got all of my friends involved.  My buddy Wayne accompanied my mom and sister (who thought the wrestlers were hunks) to one and we both loaded up on Hitman gear.  I remember distinctly having a pink and white t-shirt with the Hitman's face on it, pink logoed wristbands, and his trademark pink sunglasses.  We wore all this stuff to class the next day for show and tell.  I had also become a member of the WWF fan club via the mail (remember that?) and subscribed to WWF Magazine.  I also picked up many action figures. 

Somehow around this early time, my Uncle Ted was getting free pay-per-view.  I don't know how and I didn't ask.  A wrestling fan himself, he began taping every live event that aired starting with Royal Rumble '93.  Bret Hart defended his title against Razor Ramon after a blistering match where I lived and died with every move.  Hart took quite a beating but eventually slapped on the Sharpshooter to my cheers.  I later died when he lost the belt at WrestleMania IX to Yokozuna.  Don't worry, he won it back another 4 times.

As one would expect of a group of prepubescent boys, we had wrestling matches in living rooms, bedrooms ("...dinettes, Hey-Hey!"), and in front lawns, all with me calling most of the shots.  I was afterall the most fervent believer of the sport, the smartest kid, and becoming the biggest on the street.  Nobody really seemed to question my direction but maybe I just didn't notice.  It was a bit dangerous at times.  Somebody usually banged their head on something or nearly broke their mom's precious this-or-that. 

The most fun I had was at Wayne's house.  His parents had a huge bouncy bed.  And Wayne also had 2 opponents for us to fight: a easily 4 foot tall stuffed Pink Panther and a hefty though small limbed stuffed bear we called, Big Bear.  We came up with our personas: The Wrecking Crew, which we got from a Nintendo game of the same name.  I was Jack Hammer (sadly, not Bauer) and Wayne was Monkey Wrench.  It sounds pretty retarded now but it was a blast.  We'd announce the match while we wrestled and as long as we didn't do a move off the bed by mistake, we rarely got hurt.  Wayne and I rarely wrestled one-on-one.  I didn't trust him not to hurt me.  Not that I didn't slap the Sharpshooter on him from time to time, as I did to other neighbor kids.  I still contend that I invented the move that Goldust later used as his finisher, The Curtain Call.

Eventually when it came time to head back to the Sports Arena for house shows our seats got better and better.  What was most important to me was to be able to sprint to ringside before and after matches to high-five wrestlers.  The first of such shows, we were a bit of a ways away, but I'm quite swift for my size and much like The Juggernaut, I'm hard to stop.  And at this show, Bret Hart was wrestling!  I was especially excited by this because before every match Bret would go around high-fiving fans but he would also give an autographed pair of his sunglasses to a kid in the crowd.  Obviously, I wanted that to be me.  I think I raced down to ringside between every match but I think I got turned away every time.  I was disappointed of course, but was undeterred.  After Bret defended his title, I flew down to ringside, because I'd been half-sitting the entire match, and I squeezed to the railing.  Bret (with his brother Bruce, he had 7 brothers in all) came right down in front of me and I stretched my hand out as far as I could.  Bret swung his hand in my direction...  (dramatic enough for ya?) But he juuuuust missed me.  I was devasted.

It should be noted that I had written a few more paragraphs before accidentally closing the window.  The above is all that I had saved before that so excuse me if this blog loses some steam, as I am pisssssssssed.

I hung my head for days after the event.  I did end up going to one more house show.  Bret wasn't there but we had the best seats we'd ever had, within feet of the entrance railing.  The highlights of the show include: touching Adam Bomb's sweaty arm pad, swiping Shawn Michaels's arm pit (yuck), and getting elbowed in the face by a security guard while reaching for The Undertaker.  I did get to pat his manager, Paul Bearer's shoulder eliciting his usual terrified look (Oooooh Yeeeeah, in a wobbly high pitched voice).

So I kept watching and rooting for Bret.  I mean, it wasn't his fault that he missed my hand.  But around '96 or so things start getting hazy in my memory as far as wrestling goes.  I can't recall who won when so I must not have been that into it.  I know that friends of mine started to turn to WCW and their whole N.W.O. storyline.  To me it was more funny than anything.  I could never take WCW seriously.  They had a rule that if you threw another wrestler over the top rope, you were disqualified (yes, YOU!), a move that had been standard and acceptable in the WWF.

But wrestling was changing.  People started rooting for bad guys, guys who would cheat and attack other wrestlers all over the arena.  Guys like Stone Cold Steve Austin (who I'd seen as Stunning Steve, with Flyin' Brian Pillman, as the Hollywood Blondes in WCW), Degeneration X, and eventually The Rock were becoming fan favorites while appealing to a less classy side of the sport with more low-brow stunts, interviews, and storylines.  Bret wasn't really a part of that, in fact he always seemed to be fighting against them.  But then I have a distinct memory of tuning in and seeing Bret Hart become a bad guy.  He came out and gave a 20 minute speech bashing American fans.  I was crushed.  I turned off the TV somewhat for good.

I was losing touch as it was.  I was hitting middle school which took up more of my time.  My neighborhood friends had all turned to rap music and completely lost me.  That was alright to me as there'd been both growth and tension between us all anyway.  And then I heard that Bret Hart had gone to WCW.  I was done.  I may have torn up all of my memorabilia at that moment.  At that exact same time, Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa were beginning their homerun chase.  I was fully hooked into that and as many of you know, I've been a baseball addict ever since.  So with a new passion, I moved on.

I remember sitting at home in May of '99 to watch the Sunday night news, when it was announced that Bret's brother, Owen Hart, had died in a stunt gone wrong at a pay-per-view earlier that day.  I wasn't a big fan of Owen since he'd been an opponent of Bret in a big feud.  But needless to say, it still hurt.  I tuned into to the following nights Raw, where wrestlers all paid tribute to Owen.  At the end, Jerry Lawler (whom I'd always thought looked like my Uncle Ted) tearfully ended the show.  Minutes later, I started crying while in the shower.  I'd had a lot of emotional involvement in wrestling and to see Lawler crack, I couldn't help but crack myself.

A few months later, I saw Hitman: Wrestling With Shadows, on A&E.  It was a documentary that covered Bret Hart's reasons for leaving the WWF.  He had had no intentions of ever leaving despite WCW's hefty offer.  But he got screwed by Vince McMahon and was forced out.  The documentary also covered why Bret made his anti-American speech and how uncomfortable he was with it.  I felt some relief in my soul upon this revelation.  My still open wound over that finally started to heal.  But I still had little interest in wrestling besides the occasional laugh. 

Huge jump ahead to 2008, when I saw the movie, The Wrestler, starring Mickey Rourke.  While completely living up to the hype, it also reminded me of how much I had once loved wrestling (and Marisa Tomei, "Wowwwwwwwee!").  As the film went on to lose at the Oscars, I anxiously awaited the BluRay release.  I still think it blows that Darren Aronofsky wasn't nominated and that Mickey Rourke didn't win for best actor.  I mean, what's harder: 'roiding up to play a wrestler or having to kiss James Franco?  I say the former.  And now that makes me look like I wanna kiss James Franco...  Why does it always have to go this way?!

Anywho, so the day comes and I hop on Amazon to buy The Wrestler on BluRay, and Amazon invariably gives me a list of other stuff I might like.  The first thing on that list is an autobiography written by Bret Hart called, Hitman: My Real Life In The Cartoon World Of Wrestling.  I was intrigued so I read the reviews which were stellar and on impulse bought it too.  I should also note that around this time my co-worker and friend, Erick, an avid wrestling fan had been chatting me up on the subject since the film had come out.  So that had also sparked some thoughts into my past fandom but it really took seeing this book on Amazon for me to remember how big a part of my life Bret Hart had been.  I can honestly say that I hadn't really thought much about him in almost a decade.  I mean, I had graduated high school and college in that time.

When the book finally arrived, I could hardly put it down.  It was so candid and vivid, as it was based off copious audio tapes Bret had kept throughout his life.  There were so many stories behind every match, from behind the curtain to inside the ring.  I really can't say enough about how good the book is.  It's loaded.  Bret talks candidly about his life, both good and bad, and the people involved.  It gives you a look at everyone that has ever wrestled, professionally and personally.  Guys who played bad guys were really nice and gentle and vice-versa at times.  It's amazing the insights and an extraordinary view of that world and also of the Hart family.  I especially enjoyed and got quite giddy when he got to my era of wrestling.

The only sad thing about it is getting to know so many wrestlers in the book who are now dead, first and foremost Owen.  Bret's life is and was tragic in many ways.  He had always been great in the ring and it turns out most felt he was outside of it as well.  But he does admit to using steroids, which I honestly don't fault anyone for.  He also admits to drug use, though not addiction as it plagued many.  But mostly his infidelity humanizes him, and surprised me.  I cannot look past it, but he does take pains to explain it.  That may have been his addiction to some extent, much like Ted Nugent, who has never really hidden it.

Also, I hadn't known how his career had ended.  He ended up having to retire due to post-concussive symptoms.  I had no idea.  I'd just assumed age or lack of desire had caught up to him.  And then he'd had a stroke to top that off.  He's luckily recovered mostly from that and has a good outlook on things.  I'm at least happy for him for that.  I recommend buying his book if you've ever been a fan of his or of wrestling.  It's a must have.

After having finished the book, I borrowed, bought and soaked up everything Bret Hart I could find.  Wikipedia has been a great resource.  It has detailed biographies of almost every wrestler ever.  This has been a great trip down memory lane for me.  It's something I hope that will really stay with me because for a time it was so huge in my life.  Seriously, it was bigger than any other sport, girls, and Little Debbie snacks (you bitch!).  Bret Hart was a god to me and perhaps he still can be in some capacity.  His place in wrestling history is for others to decide but I see him as the best, much as his saying went.

I'm curious as to whether any of you who may have read through all of this have had a similar experience in anything in your lives?  Let me know if you have.  It'd be interesting to know because it's always odd what make us who we are or in part.  I can't necessarily pinpoint what I may have taken from Bret Hart because I was so young.  I think I'll leave that to some shrink one day.  I guess if you the reader have any ideas, I'll welcome that.  I just wanted to share this piece of me with any of you still out there (hello?).  Anyhow, it's out of me.

Just an FYI (and because I love stats), it took me 4 and 1/2 hours to write this blog.  Some paragraphs are lost forever, and that sucks.  But I made it this far and hopefully, at least someone else has too.  I thank you if you have.

:-P   Pbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbth!!!

Hey, kids!  I just have a quick note to Lakers fans here in L.A.

Hey, so I'm just curious.  Does driving your car with not one but two Lakers flags sticking out of your windows make you more of a fan or kind of a douchebag?  I lean towards the latter.  One flag.  It's enough.  Kobe gets it.  You like him.  One flag.  Not two.  Just one.  Stop it.  Seriously.

A couple related notes:  Phil Jackson needs a haircut and his goatee (or his Van Dyke, as it is more accurately put, Mustache + goatee = Van Dyke) back.  He used to look cool.  No mas.

Pau Gasol is possibly the goofiest looking man on the planet.  He vaguely resembles Big Bird.  But the problem is that it's not even laughable.  I don't see him and giggle.  It's more like I want to punch him in his ludicrously weak chin or his giant adam's apple.  And yes, I realize that to do this I'd have to jump.  Hence, I have yet to do it.

Well, that's it kids.  Short and sweet, like Danny Devito in a diaper. 

:-P  Pbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbth!!!

Hey, kids!  So I've got a few things to say and they should be nice and quick.

AMCHD is a joke.  How can a channel claim to be all about the preservation of American classic films and High Definition when it is in fact: Neither?  None of the films that I have ever seen on AMCHD have had an HD transfer and the quality of transfer they do have borders on low-quality youtube clips.  Most films are stretched to barely fit widescreen.  It's horrendous.  That's not even to mention whether the movies they show are even actually classics, in any country.  Death Wish IV?  Predator 2?!  Really (And I like Predator 2, sorta)?  You fucking suck.

If you're in a band, and you release your latest album on vinyl, I'm not going to buy it.  And you suck.  If Spielberg made a movie and released it on laser disc, that wouldn't make it retro and cool.  It's just dumb.  I know that records sound different and analog recordings tend to be richer than digital.  I get it.  But vinyl belongs on your wall (that is to say the band's wall, or walls, depending on the number of walls X band members / the numbers of houses +- PiR²).  It's decorative, not practical.  Find a way to improve the new audio formats (no small order) rather than reverting to the ancient in an effort to seem hip.  You're not.  And get a haircut.

Anyone watching Late Night With Craig Ferguson?  You should, man.  I think he's funnier than everyone else in late night.  He's unscripted, and sometimes awkwardly so, but his attempts to right his ship and buck the "late night format" that's become so tired are quite hilarious.  Sure he doesn't get the guests that Conan got, or that Jimmy Fallon's getting, but he does have something Jimmy Fallon doesn't have: charisma.  And a funny accent.  Give Craig a look and you might be surprised.

Well, that's it, kids.  Heed my warnings lest your futures go down the shitter.  ...???  Yep.

:-P  Pbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbth!!!

Hey, kids!  Well, today was a big day for me.  I worked my last night in Will Call at FotoKem.  I haven't written a lot about my job on here, mostly because some things are confidential and I tend to forget when things are.  So there was no sense in risking being wrong.  Obviously, working in the film industry, and the subsequent fears my work and the studios have about piracy and info leaks, there is a certain amount of hush-hush so nothing intentionally (or unintentially) gets out to the public.  That's not to say that I couldn't tell you in-person, but posting things on the internet could've cost my job.  So I haven't mentioned too much about.

I think during my graveyard times I wrote a lot (when I wasn't sleeping, and you were say... eating dinner) about how that affected me.  That was all cool. 

Upon reading what I've written to this point, I realize that it reads like I'm working my way up to explaining why I was fired.

Whoops.

Nothing could be further from the truth, yet.  I've actually been promoted and transferred to another department.  So I worked my last night in Will Call, but I'll be starting my new position on Monday.  I'm headed to the Digital Restoration Services dept.  There, from what I understand, I'll be fixing films and TV shows (i.e. removing spots, scratches, dust, etc.) on a computer.  Dust-busting, as it is (I hope) affectionately known.  I'm pretty excited about it because it's a new software program that I've never used and FotoKem is putting a good deal of faith in me to hit the ground running (as opposed to stumble, fall, and break face).  It also means a formidable pay-raise as well.  Money is always good, especially with the cost of Blu-Rays and RockBand songs.

One major downside is that I may have to work graveyard again.  That would be a bummer.  But I may luck out, or hopefully, it'll only be temporary.  You may remember (or you can look back at my blogs between March '08 and July '08) that I was pretty useless on the weekends (and in general).  I'd rather not be useless...

So I'm happy, though it was tough to leave tonight.  I think if people I was closer to were there when I left, it would have been harder.  But a lot of those people have left too (or soon will be)!  Plus, it was a shitty night.  I thought that being a Friday it'd be it's usual slow night, but then I realized that if there is a God, he's an asshole, so the night followed suit.  But whatevs, I'm home and that stuff's done.  I did get a little misty as I walked through the parking lot and on the short drive home (some would say I cried, some would be a dick).  But here's to the future, I say!

On a somewhat unrelated note: I heard the new Green Day album at work.  I liked it.  I'll probably buy it.  Update: I did buy it.

That's all I've got for now, kids.  Don't be strangers.  Just get stranger.

:-P  Pbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbth!!!

Hey, kids!  I've really got this blogging regularly thing down again, huh?  No?  Shut up.

You kids heard of this thing called, Twitter?  It's a web-place where people post things pretty much all the time, little things, kinda like the status here on MySpace.  Yeah, a lotta people are on it.  Yeah, even friends of mine.  Good friends (as opposed to god-friends, which are friends that my parents appointed at my birth) too.  It's getting tons of publicity, especially due to the celebrities who twitter, or tweet, as it is known.  It's the latest rage, you know, 'cause having a blackberry, an iPhone, a MySpace, a Facebook, and multiple email addresses isn't enough for some people.  But how do I really feel?

I think it's fucked.  I think it's lame and I don't care if that bothers you (you being: anybody).  I really don't care what anybody else is thinking from minute to minute, hour to hour.  I don't even care what I'M thinking about half the time!  And people have conversations back and forth all day too.  What ever happened to texting?  Has that become obsolete somehow?!  Most of the time they're just trading Joss Whedon references anyway.  Does blogging take too much effort?  Believe me, I know it's not easy, what with the DVRing and the RockBanding, but I make the effort.  Otherwise, it's just another glorified message board.  I just don't get it.  By all means, respond to this blog on your twitter page.  Tweet your asses off.

On another note: You guys notice that the products they sell on TV still take 4-6 weeks to deliver?  What the fuck's that about?!  I could go to Pizza Hut's website, click my mouse 4 times, and have a pizza delivered within an hour.  AN HOUR (not really though, it's 3am)!  Have we not figured this mail thing out yet?  It's not like they're giving you free shipping either.  Generally, they charge about 10 bucks for processing and shipping.  On Amazon, for that price, I could get my items in 3 days or less.  On Tuesday, I ordered a BluRay and a book, paid 0 dollars for shipping, and it'll be here by Monday.  So what's their problem? 

Another thing:  Anyone else absolutely hate all the NFL Draft coverage?  God, I do.  Fuckin' season ended 3 months ago!  Basketball and hockey are in the playoffs, baseball's in full swing, soccer's... soccer, and you're dissecting who the Lions might bring into their suck-fest?!  What's next?  Covering grade school kids picking teams for kickball?!  I mean, is over an hour EVERYDAY necessary?  And seriously, can I kill Mel Kiper Jr., please?  Please?  Pleeeeeeeeease?  Can I at least shoot him in the hair?  I'll take it.  Seriously, does this guy do anything other than worship amateur football players day in and out?  There's no science to it.  It's a crap shoot.  Use a magic 8-ball and then put it back in it's rightful place: up your ass.

Well, that's enough for me, kids.  A little angry maybe, but hey, it's hot here in Burbank.  Peace out.  :-P   Pbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbth!!!

Hey, Kids!  It's hot.  So this call actually happened earlier tonight.  I deemed it funny enough to share.

My cell phone rings.  It says, "Anonymous."  This should be fun.  I honestly thought it was going to be my boss.  It wasn't.

Me:  "Hello?"

Person:  "Hello."  It's a woman.  Kinda sounds like my mom.  I play dumb in case it is.

Me:  "Hello?"

Woman:  "Hello.  Who's this?"

Me:  "Who's this?"

Woman:  "Who's this?"

Me:  "You called me.  You go first."

Woman:  "This is [mumble].  Is this Anthony?"

Me:  "No."

Woman:  "Is this Michael?"

Me:  "Nope.  Nor is it Hall."

Woman:  "[mumble mumble] Sorry, I dialed the wrong number."

Me:  "Yep."

Click.  I make gesture towards phone as if to say, "You believe this fuckin' guy?"  Very Jersey of me, I know.  I don't think she got my Anthony Michael Hall joke.  Hopefully, you did, kids.

:-P    Pbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbth!!!