Gobble Dee Boop

John was rough. Some nights he picked fights. Others, he smashed a glass bottle against his neighbors wall shouting ‘fuck’ at the top of his lungs. One time he smashed a bottle against a man’s head and hurt him real bad. The man bled out of the top of his head like a volcano- got driven to the hospital and stitched up, and that was that. John never apologized. He said, apologies never stick. I went with him to the baseball game one night, and we sat in the nose bleeds. The crowd was quiet. It was 0-1 us at the bottom of the sixth, and I heard the peanut vendor behind me give a good yell to a man sitting by himself. The man looked beaten up, like a bum. He wore a marlins cap, and we didn’t even play the marlins. He chucked a dollar at the vendor and gestured for his peanut bag. All around us were empty seats. I wanted to ask him if he wanted to sit with us, but I knew that would make John upset. John didn’t like many people, except for a few. He liked me, and Jenny, but that was it. Jenny was his girlfriend. She had dark brown hair and really pretty eyes, like looking at a tiger or a hyena or something. She worked at the mini mart down the street. People liked her, especially John. They were probably gonna get married. I couldn’t say for sure, but something told me that John was in some deep trouble. The past few nights he wasn’t his normal self. He just sat there fidgeting, while we watched tv and joked around. Sometimes Jenny would look over but he just sat there staring off into outer space. I wonder what he was thinking about. Probably nothing at all. John was good at figuring people out, but he wasn’t some genius or something. I said good night to John and drove Jenny home. The car was freezing cold when we got in, outside it was 40 or so. There was frost on the windshield, and Jennys breath turned snow white when she coughed. I wanted to ask her about John, but it was too cold and I was too tired. Jenny lived with her folks in a condo by the park. Her room had a view of the playground. I stayed there one night, after she threw a party when her folks left for hawaii. John didn’t go. That was back when they didn’t always get along that well, and John was always getting jealous of her other guy friends. Not me, because I’m too young. But Jenny was always popular with the opposite sex. John just stayed in his room punching his bag those nights. I pulled up to the door and let her out. she gave me a kiss on the cheek and said see you later. She didn’t usually kiss me on the cheek. She seemed awfully cheerful lately, even with John an all. The school year was coming to an end. Jenny didn’t have any college plans. Neither did John. They were probably just gonna stick around like everyone else in town except for maybe two people who made it into state.

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The World is a Strange Place

Late in 2015 I decided to make a very bold move towards a particular nameless woman. This woman (whose identity will not be revealed) currently resides in New York City. I hadn’t talked to this woman in sometime and so I went ahead and strapped my bootstraps on, and made a very blatant show of desire for her over social media. At that time, she had been taking strides with a particular gentlemen for a time of about 3 years, give or take. I had always had a strong passion for this woman. She’s elegant, sophisticated, playful and ambitious. Her boyfriend on the other hand seemed a bit off. Though he seemed like a good fit, there was a childish evil in his face that I couldn’t quite pinpoint. So, after sending her pokes and harmless messages on snapchat, I decided to wait until she came to San Diego to make a very public gesture of friendliness. However, before that happened, things got a little strange. Her first visit, she was bombarded with invitations on her insta and I couldn’t quite get a chance to invite her out. So I had to wait until her next visit which was about 6 months later. During this time, I started to feel a strange paranoia that I was being followed. I don’t have any history of paranoia or schitzo episodes so I knew that something was off. I started to receive very strange telephone calls to my home, from unknown numbers that sounded like gunshots. I also received strange emails and blank vans started to appear parked near my house. I couldn’t make heads or tails of anything but any idiot would be keen enough to know that it had to do with her disgruntled boyfriend. I knew he came from money; that would explain a lot, but the scale and power of hiring people to follow me and watch my every move was something sinister. I then concluded that he was connected to a powerful underground organization; either the cosa nostra or the cartel. I became interested in his reach of surveillance and paranoia and thereafter concluded that his father was a very powerful englishman involved in illegal trade organizations. I became frightened; terrified to be perfectly honest. I decided to lay low for a while and enrolled in a teacher training program that placed me in Santee, California where they couldn’t find me. I clenched my teeth in that program until my gums bled; Not only did I have an aversion to the small town isolationist NRAism of Santee, but I couldn’t stand to see my pride held down by some rich punk kid of a human trafficking dynasty. I became befuddled. I was beside myself trying to figure out how to get back into my normal rhythms while sticking the middle finger to this onslaught of dirty wealth and power. I stood my ground, fought through the fear and returned to regular life.

It was during this time that they broke up. I took a job at amazon and waited for my sweet darling to return to San Diego. She went to LA. I couldn’t believe it. There I was, waging war against the evil head of underground human indecency and wrath, and my little angel was boarded up in LA with equally abysmal debutants. I knew that if I came for her, his henchman would’ve gunned me down on that lonely strip of highway between here and LA. I couldn’t bear to delete myself without having seen her again in the warmth. I gritted my teeth again, this time chipping my teeth and nursing a festering wound in my heart and in my pride. I became sullen and my thoughts became grotesque and rampant with madness. The vans increased in number and my website suddenly crashed. All I wanted to was to see her face again.

 

To be continued…

What do Pirates eat for breakfast?

Pirates!

Not to be confused with music enthusiasts with half a brain.

I’m talking about the ol’ skull and crossbones stock.

A bit of background *ahem*: Spain’s Charles II was ill and o his death bed so naturally the European powers were forced to think about how would get control of Spains land. So, Charles II’s daughters , who would ordinarly have claim , had waivered the right by marrying sons of Leopold (Holy Roman Emporer) and Louis XIV. Now that left everyone in a bit of a bind. So, A treaty of partition of offered to grant The French strategic areas in Italy as well as spanish netherlands and a few other places while Leopold would get Everything else.

that didn’t sit too well with leopold, as he needed those italian points (notably milan) to protect his southern flank from the ever present Ottomans. So he denied the agreement and Charles II named the grandson of Louis XIV to take the title as the would be heirs reclaimed right to the French throne.

Well, this pissed of the English because they already don’t like france very much, and even less when in control of the entire spanish empire. So, pretty much everyone was pretty upset about this french-spanish tryst and the english teamed up with the dutch to settle the score. Germans saw an opportunity to take back alsace and lorreine, and Leopold I just kinda hung out and whatever.

The Spanish needed to protect their resources and France was a cheap ally, but cheap allies don’t come free.

SO, WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH PIRATES?????

well, the English signed a bunch of letters of marque to seafaring mercenaries during this time, and a bunch of them ended up in the west indies, naturally, and became PIRATES.

The Spanish needed protected their Florida and Caribbean investments. England needed to protect their colonies from the creepin’ French in the north.

Pirates were the tobacco ash in the greatest chess game the world has ever played.

In the first few weeks of the voyage, pirates would eat eggs, fish, meat, fruits, veggies, whatever. They would even combine all of it to make Salmagundi. When that ran out, they’d turn to salted or pickled meat and eventually sea biscuits or hard tack with and without weevils.

And when that ran out, they ate bone soup (broth made from bones from sea turtles or whatever they could find).

The pirates life was also a homosocial one, particularly comprised of young men. So, it might not have been uncommon for a pirate and his mate to eat each other’s cum or ass.

 

(INSERT MON ON MAN ASS EATING HERE) EXPLICIT HONTENT MY READERSHIP IS ALL AGES THANK YOU

The pirates life was no all inclusive resort, but then again, it never is.

 

 

Dating Post-Trumptopia

 

So, I recently had the pleasure of seeing someone I met online a few more times. She’s psych major at a local university and for whatever reason, doesn’t agree with conspiracy theorists on the subject of 9-11. She thinks it’s “too farfetched”.

We met on Okcupid and normally I use tinder for casual dating but Okcupid seemed like a safe bet. She hadn’t answered her personality questions so I had to dig deep when asking her about herself. “So what do you do for fun?” I asked. Trying to sound cool, as I’d posted all of my pics wearing sunglasses and hypothetically in “wealthy looking” establishments.

“I’m super busy with school right now, but I usually just sit in bed watching crime dramas”

“crime dramas” I thought, what a concept. I sort of grew up in a crime drama, if you’ll believe it. My father was a defense attorney for the better half of his life, and when I was young he used to take me on road trips up the coast of California telling me all about his knucklehead clients.

“meth is the devil’s drug” he would say.

Now, contrary to my facial appearance, I never got the chance to do meth. If my father’s job accomplished anything, it kept me off meth.

So, one of benefits of okcupid is that it combs for many personal details. It’s basically a dating background check in an app. I love this feature because it allows me to poke and prod about anything that they leave up for grabs. So, under the drugs category, she’d put never.

I can’t trust anyone who puts ‘never’ under anything. They are either lying, or just very boring. But, I digress; we were talking about “crime dramas”. Oh yes, okay.

So, I’d asked her if she’d seen The Killing, which happens to be one of my sister’s favorite series. She replied no, that she watched a show that I’d never heard of.

In point of face, it didn’t really matter what she said, because I was just trying to get laid. She responded that she was usually busy during the week but liked to go out on weekends. I said, okay, that sounds good.

I always say, sounds good, but I never mean it. I don’t make enough salary to say ‘that sounds good’.

So, there I was, some horny twenty something, a blaring cliche, typing dribble into a chatroom. And there she was, stone faced, and dark skinned. And she smelled of roses. Something about her was overdone. I couldn’t tell if it was her make-up, or the color of her eyebrows. It might’ve been the dullness of her smile. Or the perfect alignment of her unstained teeth. Whatever it was, was not doing it for me. But I took her out anyway.

So, late one afternoon I came by her apartment complex in midtown and took her for a ride to La Mesa where we waltzed through guitar center. I told her I needed to pick up a few things there, and she seemed interested. We stopped by the drum shop for a brief second and I jammed out some beats. I think she was impressed.

I kind wanted to keep it short and sweet, so I took her to Baskin Robbins and bought us both an ice cream cone. I got gold medal ribbon and she got something with the word raspberry in it. I felt like I was 7 years old sitting the park with my friends. It was great.

As the night winded down, she stayed in Baskin Robbins talking about our previous relationships and what we wanted to do with our lives. She told me she wanted to teach college one day. I told her that I wanted to do the same. And right then and there, I felt a rush of adrenaline and had to excuse myself to make a phone call.

I didn’t have to make a call, but I didn’t want to say something totally idiotic because how often do you meet someone that so closely matches your interests. It totally reminded me of that song ‘fake love’ by Drake, because I knew she didn’t love me (we’d only just met), but the way she was telling me about her dreams was like she was trying to show me ‘fake love’.

I walked back in the store and told her that my mom called to tell me that I had to go home and take my whites out of the washer. She obliged, and I dropped her off back at her home. As I stopped the car in front of her house, and could smell the perfume in her autumn brown hair as she stepped out of my car. “bye david, I had a good time”.

“Bye” I said. “I’ll call you”.  And this time, I really meant it.

Let me hear you say eh

“Eh” the sound one makes when debating the frivolities of casual dining.

“hows the avocado?”

“eh”

tenor.gif

 

So, I’ve had the pleasure of casually dining out in San Diego. I haven’t been disappointed so much as “eh’d”. It takes a certain imagination to cook, and it takes the same amount to eat. That being said, I’ve developed a short list of great foods to try in San Diego.

fmj

Middle Eastern food. Yes, where else would you find great middle eastern food than next to the largest naval base in the county. This is by no mistake. San Diego has a very large Caldean population, as well as several other middle easterners (I wont go into details), but there are a handful of select restaurants that provide great service, ambience and of course, food.

 

 

My mom and I took my dad out to a place called Aladdin’s on Clairemont Mesa Blvd for fathers day and it was all of our first time eating there. My mom ordered a meat sampler that was absolutely delicious. And my dad ordered a big sampler that came with all sorts of appetizers and finger foods. I ordered the shrimp pesto pizza because I just really felt like eating pizza. In any event, the food was great. The fried foods were particularly tasty and the clientele seemed to be a mix of regular customers and big family gatherings.

 

So, if I was a tourist I would definitely try to get my hands on some lamb from a middle eastern restaurant. Lamb is great and tastes even better. For the vegetarian boyfriend who wears a Keffiyah, I would go for anything eggplant. Yes. Okay.

eggplant-mYZIDM

Apart from middle eastern food, I might also try the fish. San Diego has great fish (it is after all a coastal city). The fish market is one my favorites, but a lesser known and also great place is Point Loma seafood. Any kind of “northern” fish food (crab, salmon, mussels) are gonna be well worth the wait. My personal favorite are salmon locks. Some people eat them on bagels with cream cheese; for me, I just go for the basic bread and butter. Tastes great, and smells even better.

Tim-Salmon-Angels-Baseball

Of course, do not forget about Mexican Cuisine. Now, there are obviously different kinds of Mexican, like southwest, southern Mexican and taco shop Mexican. So, for southwest, I’d probably venture to old town- they are the “ambassadors” so to speak of southwest history in San Diego and keep it real with that old conquistador sentiment. For southern Mexican, you’d probably have to board up with a transplant family from Chiapas, but if you cant manage that, I would probably venture to yelp because Southern Mexican cuisine is hard to find, but it tastes great. Next, taco shops are a dime a dozen, but if you’re feeling adventurous you could cross the border and spend some cash on street tacos. Also, chains like Cotixan or Roberto’s are usually just fine. Taco shops are going to have giant menus full of stuff that sounds similar so I would suggest: a wet burrito, rolled tacos, milanesa (if they have it), or chile relleno. Yes.

commandante

Lastly, you’re probably going to want some weird experimental food – or maybe not – so to play it safe but still maintain a sense of weirdness, I would go with some kind of fusion sushi restaurant. The best sushi in San Diego is a place in National City in the strip mall off of Sweetwater road, I believe it’s called Hanaoka. Anyway, great place, they have teriyaki this, dragon roll that. If I was you, I would get any roll with eel in it. Eel is weird and tastes great.

ursula

 

 

I know I said that was it for the short list, but I just want to add one more

😬

The indigo grill in little Italy is one of my favorite restaurants. They have excellent “southwest” style food. “Good things Growing” has a mix of southwest style squash, corn salsa, a chipotle tamale and a few other really tasty items that as soon as you start eatin’ you’ll be callin’ the waiter Geronimo and throwing out Apache phrases in no time. Did I mention their cocktail list is JUST as mouth watering? Damn it, I suppose they don’t call it a spoiler alert for nothing. 🤣🤣🤣🤣

 

fdlj

Stalking former flames

Well, here’s the deal folks. Don’t do what I Did. Stalking is illegal in pretty much all states and just about anywhere you go. Even online stalking, which seems harmless, still is bad. Let me explain. It puts the person on the receiving end in an awkward position. They don’t know whether to entertain your interest or simply ignore it. It can be confusing to some. Not only that, it’s weird because it’s observation and observation is gay, apparently (don’t quote me on that, its what I learned as a literature major). All the great writers were gay, they told me. Anyway, if I really wanted to stalk someone, I’d probably get bored within the first half hour because how does it end? Not in any real positive situation I suspect. I mean, romance is a two way street. And stalking is usually one way, so yeah. I’ve solved the mystery. Why do we continue to do it? Well, I don’t know, about of immaturity, boredom and lonlieness. And maybe some regret. Or as Billie Joe ARmstrong would say ” you cant go forcing something if it’s just not right”. I guess I thought it would help me clear my intestinal problems that I’ve been having. Or maybe I thought it would bring me good luck, sort of like astronomical calendars. I hasn’t really brought me much, and most people just smell it on me now. And that’s too bad because I never meant to hurt anyone. As a matter of fact I only meant to say hi, but the person on the other end thought that I was proposing marriage or something. I wouldn’t propose marriage like that. I don’t know how I’d propose marriage, I Guess it would just depend on the circumstances. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I wanted to show that I was active on social media and then casually say what’s up on social media. But the problem was was that I don’t use social media at all. So, I just said fuck it i’ll just favorite one of their tweets. Well, this turned out to be a bad idea because apparently they have quite a large following of other twitter users. In no time at all the mob had diverted their full attention onto me. I felt very unwell as I hate being in the hot seat, even more than I hate watching football or talking about sports in general. I hate it very much but I didn’t quite no how to exit the situation. I’d never really done anything like this before, so I weighed all my options. Well, as soon as I faved them, I knew I’d fucked up. So what I did was I tried to play it off like I was really trying to get into using social media. I started tweeting regularly, about random stuff mostly, but I would retweet politics, weather, sports. Sometimes I would comment on daily journals or what have you. I’d even made a few followers. It all came at a tumultuous time in american political history because as I was firing off mad tweets, Donald Trump was announcing his bid as the republican nominee and I was so entirely confused as to the legitimacy of this announcement that I couldn’t think of anything to do other than watch as the United States of America descended into ‘fake’ apocalyptic sobriety. The American people were as confused as I was, I imagine. Obama needed a successor and the only two options were about as similar in rhetoric as Jon Stewart is to Glen Beck. So, I couldn’t help but pull my hair and bulge my eyes as I witnessed the media, the entire American media, point it’s spotlight directly onto the business mogul turned tv actor that we now call the president of the United States. Anyway, this is old news. He’s since won the election and much in the confusion of it all, many people will eventually lose their health care, homeless populations will rise, low cost labor will soar, the rich will get richer, the poor will get poor, and everyone else will remain in exactly the same tax bracket because we DONT LIVE IN NARNIA. the point I’m trying to make here is that you can call it stalking, you can call it obsessive, or ridiculous, I don’t care what you call it, but I won’t call that maniacal idiot MY PRESIDENT. There I’ve said it. If that makes me a communist, a gay boy, a poor loser, a childless mooch then at least I’ve saved my dignity for the moments that people will actually remember. Life is not a fashion contest. And it sure as hell ain’t a fucking high school dance. And if you think conservatism is good than you can go walk up 10 stairs in your favorite building and take a look in any direction. What saddens me most about conservatives, is that many of them are actually very good conversationalists. They are solid communicators, for this, I will say that. But, as well as know, being a good communicator doesn’t make you an expert on anything. Shit, Hitler was a great communicator (one of the best), Stalin aced his communication exams, Pol Pot, Columbus, Cortez – these guys were all great communctors, and do you know how I know? Because they got exactly what they wanted- no matter how fucked up and strange what they wanted was. Ok so, getting back to conservatism; It buys into an American dream. The American dream is a myth. Sure, you can come to the U.S., start a business and a family. Sure! YES! Hooray! It’s a beautiful thing! But, you’re not gonna get rich. You will never get rich, ever. Do you know why? Because THATS NOT HOW IT WORKS. Do you think the rich people in this country want to share their wealth? would you? – Ok, so there is no point in going around trying to act like one of these rich guys, because that shit just aint gonna happen. So do you know what you should do instead? You should fucking register to vote, and then you should go down to the fucking polls and vote for the person who is gonna tax THAT RICH WHITE ASS. That’s right, tax that asSSSSS. Do you know why we want to tax that RICH WHITE ASS??? BECAUSE that money is gonna come back to us. It’s gonna get me braces, acupuncture, lights in the park; its gonna get your kids computers and gadgets in school. it’s gonna get people paid higher salaries, it’s gonna keep kids out of trouble, its gonna make driving safer, it’s gonna make people happier because they are safer now. We are all living here together, so we might as well work together. No one is above anyone else.

Another weekend, another tinder message, another reason to listen to Ariel Pink at a moderate volume

Another weekend is another paradox like soft rock or sweet and sour sauce. ˈper-ə-ˌdäks: “a tenet contrary to received opinion”. Weekends are conversation fodder for people you didn’t hang with. Weekends are also ways to get back at the system that likes to lock you up in an overly air conditioned office building.

Pink’s rock palate recalls a time of coke and alcohol fueled ballads and  what I like most about this aesthetic is his sensitivity towards his online audience. It’s like, he understands B2B and P2P entrepreneurship better than I do. I never pirate Pink’s shit. Pink is the singer who made me rethink my pirating habits. And for that I owe him a sock in the gut (probably because I want to see him spit in front of me while hunched over holding his stomach). He’s a pop guru. So when I go to my mom and ask her what she thinks I should do with my life, she replies “anything”. And when I listen to Ariel Pink and think, what kind of girl should I try and sleep with, he strums an F major 7 and sings “any girl in the world, bud”. To which I’m humbled and later frustrated by when she treats me like a piece of meat on a stick.

Oh Ariel, gone are the days of coke and alcohol fueled studio sessions with label execs throwing hundreds in the furnace. For that I offer my sincerest condolences. But when all is said and done, Ariel is the sort of guy who would’ve walked out of the studio too high to even grab his paycheck. So, when Ariel is sitting up in his lonely, wine stained apartment logging in and out of instagram, facebook or whatever app strikes his fancy, what he’s really saying is “I’m sorry I never got to fake a drug habit with my dad while the eagles played on a ghetto blaster- and I’m sorry that all my friends think I’m Sofia Loren in a man’s body.