Friday, May 23, 2008

"The intuitive mind is a sacred gift, and the rational
mind is a faithful servant. We have created a society
that honors the servant and has forgotten the gift."

-- Albert Einstein


long live small theatres!!

REALLY small..

side effects from working at a flower shop..

" No Children For Breakfast, FUCK EM' "

not phil collins but this will definitely do

digging around liens store..

Thursday, May 22, 2008



Wednesday, May 21, 2008



Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Eerie, Not Irie..

Last night I dreamt some of the eeriest shit I've been able to recollect.
It started out I was taking classes at this weird school, when my brother decided to fly in from Taiwan to take the same sketchy introduction to business class. I talked to him on the phone saying that the classes were alright but he would never make it in time because I was in San Francisco and he was in Taiwan and the class had already started. He kind of gave me this familiar reassuring sigh over the phone and we hung up. Somehow he showed up seconds later, through the door of the class and sat down across from me. Next I remember proudly introducing my brother and my uncle to the whole class. There was a third familial person but I forgot who it was.

I ended up leaving because of some crazy mind hexing force field that had practically suspended the whole school in stillness. It was hard to move, like pounds of quicksand were attached to every individual twitch, head to toe. Something mystical and rabid was definitely out to get us. I felt my face getting sucked into a glowing purple backpack so I knew it was time to go. I tried to leave, but as I left I kept forgetting my stuff. After a few attempts, I realized I didn't even bring most of these items to begin with, but more importantly, I really didn't need a rain jacket or all these books stuffed haphazardly in a backpack. It kind of felt like that scene in the jerk where Steve Martin is ready to leave it all behind, but instead keeps going back for more personal items to jumpstart his life as a street urchin. Then he turns around to the camera and goes, " Whattdoya think I am? A jerk?"

So I finally end up leaving the room, rain jacket and junk stash in tow, and I notice all the adjacent classrooms have like a purple glowing fog slowly creeping into the hallways and I make a run for it down a flight of neglected sidestairs. As I run down what seemed to be an endless obstacle, I blacked out as if I drank a shit ton, and seconds later found myself still running down these narrow, poorly lit stairs and into a large open space that had a belt of windows with alien light that poured in from the outside.

All of a sudden my point of view totally changed, and no longer was I able to just run through this open room, I began to desperately jump all of over the fucking walls towards the metal push doors. This akwardly timed skill made escaping that much more difficult. I finally managed to get out, while struggling to not trigger my arial nature. As if my point of view was still in the room, I saw the creature that had been producing the witchery. It was an oversized fugly white rat with scores of yellow pointy teeth and mega stoner blood shot eyes whose course hairs gathered into gritty puke-ish clusters.

Shit, I was finally outside, and it was as if nobody in the bustling street market cared about any of it. As I peered down the road over peoples' heads, the activity seemed to sprawl miles in either direction, marked by billowing arches. I began walking for however long and found a strange side tunnel that led to another busy part of the market. Immediately, I noticed a group of people keeping a Japanese girl at bay. She was screaming in japanese at a guy who apparently touched her inappropriately in passing and now there was a small collection of strangers trying to coax her into leaving it behind. A Korean couple that looked like a cutesy K-pop band duo asked me to translate since I was Japanese and irritated at this Asian on Asian misprofiling, had to tell them I wasn't Japanese.

I forget what happened after this, but somehow I find myself swimming down the street with no water. It was weird swimming though, I didn't have to use my hands to expel the air in front of me, I just kicked about. In real life I can't even swim, but I imagine my dreams are the closest I will be to it. It felt relaxing, and for once I could keep a rhythmic motion with my legs, maintaining perfect space above the ground below me.

I arrived at a friend's house. A mansion with impressively built large windows, kept immaculately clean for maximum guest impression. All of her friends were gathered in the living room waiting for more people to arrive. The mood was potential marriage and the man that I had brought seemed to be the ladies' dish. Before you know it, I realized that the guy I brought was the step brother of my friend, and that she had planned to marry him even though the coupling seemed kind of "off."

Before you know it, these siblings get into an arguement and I have my arms snuggly wrapped around this guys neck as we levitate off the ground like a romantic human helicopter. It felt kind of wrong, but totally sweet cause like we were in love I guess? He held onto my feet as we became this intertwined floating vessel. We just sailed around the house, and whizzed in and out of these oppulent rooms that seemed only too convinient to navigate for people that flew.

This barfy non-reality tour only lasted a small while and though I remember coming back down to apologize to my friend for such spontaneous backstabbing I told her that this never happened before and I hope she understood that we really liked each other. Subconciously, this is probably the worst thing I could have done despite the circumstances. Being one, that this was a fucking dream. But I sincerely felt caught off guard at myself. Before you know it me and his guy were back out onto the street making our way back to wherever. We ended up walking with a friend of mine who insisted that it was alright that I didn't end up making that girl's wedding dress. I couldn't help apologizing and justifying what had happened.

Then a girl I didn't know came up from behind me and asked me when her like 1,000 wedding dresses would be ready? And I think I realized I hadn't made any of them and woke up.


Clinton accused of hypocrisy

Published: May 19, 2008 at 9:25 AM
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WASHINGTON, May 19 (UPI) -- Two California attorneys say Sen. Hillary Clinton is being hypocritical when she criticizes opponent Sen. Barack Obama for having ties to 1960s-era radicals.

Retired Bay Area lawyers Doris B. Walker, 89 and Malcolm Burnstein, 74, say in the summer of 1971 Clinton, D-N.Y., worked as an intern at their law firm which defended communists and Black Panthers, The Washington Post reported Monday.

"She's a hypocrite," Walker told the newspaper. "She had to know who we were and what kinds of cases we were handling."

Burnstein said he was shocked when he read that Clinton was criticizing Obama, D-Ill., for his friendship with William Ayers and Bernardine Dohrn who were members of the bomb-making Weather Underground during the 1960s.

"Well, if you're going to talk about that totally bit of irrelevant nonsense, I'll talk about your career with us," Burnstein told the Post.

Clinton was an intern at the firm of Treuhaft, Walker and Burnstein while attending Yale Law School.



Monday, May 19, 2008


Clearly, this man is allergic to shorts.


it was a cold night but i still ended up outside this party on 24th and valencia. a few of my friends had already left, but there was still a good amount of people lurking around. so i'm outside the house talking to i don't even know who, standing beneath this tree on the sidewalk and suddenly all i hear are glass bottles whizzing down from the roof of the house, exploding on the sidewalk in quick succession. i mean there were at least five or six of these guys just flying down at us and everyone outside was trying to avoid getting hit. nobody could tell who was doing it cause whoever it was would hide between turns. really lame shit.

maybe ten minutes later, this hispanic guy emerges from the party. i don't think i've seen him before but he looks like a guy that would stand outside the liquor store every day. like a thug, but a lot less intimidating for some reason. maybe cause i was thinking what the fuck would a real thug be doing at this hipster ass party anyway? i mean besides selling drugs. and he didn't look like he was cause all these guys were edging him out of the house and the dude's all in a shit fit, ' FUCK THIS!! I'M FROM 24TH YA'LL AIN'T FROM 24TH..' yada yada yada all that shit and more. and everyone's just like whatever you know, i figured he was that dude that was throwing shit down from the roof.

Mr. 24th leaves the party and comes back a few minutes later, this time returning with his shorter lackey and they're all up in the middle of this mellow intersection, yelling at everyone outside the party. these guys are all hiding their hands in their puffy coats, Mr. 24th just yelling ' SPRAY THESE MOTHAFUCKAS SPRAY EM.' trying to rep 24th or whatever mission lurks do when the liquor stores close. and everyones kind of sketched out at the party, like, shit! they might have guns or whatever because they were like toting something in their jackets. but anyway the smaller kid ends up pushing this guy i know all hard outta nowhere, just trying to get sloppy in everyones face. i mean usually right after some kind of actual physical altercation, people start to get a little more serious about what's going on. so at that point, everyone that had bike locks started to hold onto them a little tighter. everyone was just waiting. i dont know for what. maybe to see if these guys really had guns, or just to see what these guys would do next. but sometimes when there's a certain amount of people, slowly gathering to eliminate potentially violent bullshit, a sense of stillness or quiet anticipation starts to build. especially if the threat of fucking guns are involved. i definitely felt it that night, even if it only lasted a few moments.

at first i just wanted these guys to just calmly leave you know. so after the dude pushed my friend i went up to this guy and served as a brief buffer between him and everyone else behind me. so i was just basically telling this guy to chill out and leave. the kid that stood in front of me was a bit taller but still looked young in the face. He was just going off about how everyone was hiding behind a bitch. 'YA'LL HIDIN' BEHIND A BITCH,' he yelled, with his hand shifting in and out of his jacket still. i don't know what snapped. but maybe it was that thin string of sanity. it seems to snap a lot. it snapped this time because all i remember was thinking
'i know hes not callin me a bitch! fuckkkkkkkkkkkk that.' alcohol has a way of giving you crazy fucking ideas out of nowhere. cause my course of action definitely didn't make any sense.

since i was right in front of him i decided to just reach into this asshole's jacket. you know to where his hand was, to see what he was trying to scare everyone with. to my surprise i pulled out..... a little bottle of asprin. fuck. i mean i remember being slightly relieved about it, but everything happened so fast i couldn't even catch the shit-eating look he must have had. somehow i managed to unscrew the lid of the bottle and throw the pills in his face. i think it was a bunch of ecxtasy cause this weird bluish dust shot into the air. i think that's when he lost it and we brawled for like a few seconds. supposedly i got a few good licks in. so maybe i didn't sprain my own finger. but yeah. the cops came. Mr. 24th got arrested. I don't know what happened to the pill kid. The whole incident was just kind of surreal and unbelievably stupid on my part. I was unbelievably lucky. In retrospect, we were all unbelievably lucky. People get shot for that kind of shit. Unintentionally, even. I mean it kind of bummed me out, that i couldn't think about anything else but this guy calling me a bitch, and taking it retardedly personally. Sometimes hanging out in the Mission so frequently makes you lose your sense of place. Meaning, sometimes you forget that you're hanging out in a rough neighborhood and even though you're not necessarily a mission lifer or whatever you're still just as likely as anyone else to get robbed, beat the fuck up, stabbed, or shot. The experience definitely forced me to go home and re-evaluate my priorities in life, like what i'm really trying to focus on. which i still don't necessarily know. but i came to the conclusion that being dead was never at the top.


An 85 degree evening in San Francisco is rare, but when it comes around you generally want to exploit the shit out of it. On this particular evening, I came across Steve Martin's biography earlier on in the day, and as much as I liked to hear about bearded yetis with plastic machine guns that shot Ping-Pong balls, I decided to grab a beer in the Mission instead. Really predictable, but whatever, I will let the violent yeti be my anti-cliche.

I found a parking spot not too far from the bar and skated to the door on my board, identification already out for inspection. Picking up my board and shoving my wallet inside my backpocket, I noticed a pair of obscure girls with zipped hoodies, grilling my set up from behind their cigarettes. Being that I was completely sober after having just arrived, I repressed my faint paranoia.

Into the bar, I saw a few kids I knew already drinking. Thankfully there was relatively nobody at the bar, so I ordered a beer and two shots. As I did, I felt somebody shoulder check me as they walked past. You know that shoulder check, the one that intentionally digs into your shoulder blade? I looked behind me and noticed not only was it pretty fucking empty, but it was the same two girls from outside casually walking past. At this point I can say I was pretty over it.

How does it go? Three is the magic number? Being that the last strike could have been shy of a technical 2, I was okay with a 1.5. I wasn't going to let a 1.5 haterquake ruin my night. Though it's been like three paragraphs, I haven't even sat down to drink my beer yet. But as soon as I did sit in a booth, these girls instantaneously sat down on the other side. I continued to nonchalantly watch the t.v. from where I was slouching, and just as nonchalantly, one of the girls shoves her elbow into my left ear. Rad. That's totally not rude. Who the fuck does that? I guess everybody's got tired elbows these days.

Okay, all of a sudden this haterquake shot up to like a 3. And when it shoots up that fast I quickly try to think of something diplomatic to say without coming across like the defensive freak I am. I think it's called trying to be civil. So I addressed them, asking them if there was a problem, that I'm sensing weird vibes and if we knew each other somehow? Sometimes, I don't even know how I can be this surprisingly calm with people who stereotypically just wanna style so hard. But maybe it's because I know that many of them are stereotypical idiots and sometimes it's best to walk away. Cause I don't have anything to prove, and they have a whole new city to impress.

The pair ignore my attempts at civility by bursting into delayed laughter. Obviously irritated, I flipped out my phone and beamed the lit screen onto these total strangers. Wincing at the glow, they both continued to maintain their coked out eye contact. A guy sitting across from them brazenly declared that I seemed like the type to look for a fight and that if I wasn't shining my light on them they would probably have answered me. I told him to basically mind his own fucking business and that I wasn't talking to him. To which he suggested the most impressive thing for me to do was walk away, but better yet that I should skate away. Yes. I know. It would be really impressive if I skated away, in a bar that is like 1 push to the door, just to impress you and your disgusting pet beard.

I really wanted to say that but I bit my tongue realizing that if I actually dissed him, he would quickly become a part of the problem. I would actually make him right about me, a complete stranger. How could a complete stranger be right about me? I didn't skate away, but I did in fact, walk away.

I instinctively walked to the nearest person I knew because at this point I felt the shots of Jameson brewing with waves of spiked adrenalin. Dustin and his friends were sitting on nearby stools, so I stood in front of them, trying to divert my attention from the mounting negativity. I couldn't fucking take it anymore and I obviously looked really uncomfortable so I started to explain what was going on. He told me to forget about it, that people were dumb and it wasn't worth whatever I was stressing about. I reminded him that if something did happen it was because bitches were fucking crazy!! Shit, I walked away three times, what the fuck else is there to do besides leave? At most, I wanted to finish my beer first. If something happened again I knew I would react on instinct because thinking about all this garbage was obviously getting me nowhere. It never does. Except maybe on the computer hours later.

Of course as we start to talk about other things, one of these monster sized chicks pushes through our conversation, while conviniently relocating only me in this shit manueveur. Naturally, I straight pushed this bitch like 5 feet. She probably went further since she didn't expect me to react to her asymmetrical haircut. She looked back at me, honestly shocked. I could tell there was probably a moment of sobriety for her when she realized whatever it was that she realized in her evil mind. I guess the guys were mildly weirded out, but as other people began to sit down, it didn't seem to matter much.

-BAM!- the bitch came back and fucking tried to sucker punch me on the side of my head as I was talking to someone. Sucker punches are never good because that shit is pussy!!! Especially if you don't make real contact, it is basically a fucking deathwish. I don't know what she was thinking with the drive by sucker punch, she kept walking as if this story was over. I impulsively turned her around and punched that bitch square in the face. Stepped into it and everything. I usually miss because when I'm drunk and bitches are pulling my hair it's like shooting a man from the back of a moving train: practically impossible. Not to mention, totally wack. Or maybe it's like being blindly sucked into a sea of desperate scalp clawing. Guys never have to deal with this. And I've seen two Mexican guys on Valencia scrapping on the ground, pulling each other's pants off.

Some people say I hit her three times before she hit the ground. Even when she hit the ground I wanted to kick her in the face but I didn't because that shit is probably illegal, and I never want to genuinely hurt anybody no matter how tested I feel. Which probably goes both ways because if somebody truly got their shit stomped out they would probably quit frontin', and that would just be an ideal situation for world peace.

Regardless, I got pulled back by some guy I didn't recognize. Maybe it was the bouncer trying to keep me still. He held tightly onto my arms from each side and suddenly the second girl came from the back of the bar with her fist flying towards me. The only thing I could do was duck as low as I could because I didn't know where she was trying to aim. I mean I wasn't trying to get punched by this coked out gorilla so I did like an exaggerated Matt Field ollie crouch, and she completely missed me. When the bouncer let me go, my beanie fell off cause this chick started going to town on my hair, and I really hate when my fucking beanie falls off.

I got kicked out since I was closest to the door. Bitches basically tried to jump me in a bar where they didn't think I knew anyone, in a place where they thought I never frequented. Though during the entirity of the situation, even the people that I knew that were there didn't do anything. They couldn't really. They were all dudes. Guys never know what to do when they see chicks getting aggro except sit back, watch, and laugh at the estrogen circus. Sometimes they step in, but only if it gets severe. But then have you ever seen dudes fight? Not much to see cause almost always nothing ever happens. And if it does it's like wielding knives and jail time. Mostly it's always a bunch of loud mouth fucks bumping chests and somehow at the last second one of them gets yanked away, for real. Of course this is my own theory, but underneathe most of these track bike purchasing, wannabe tagger-esque scrappy chicks, stands a displaced attention whore. I say displaced because every few years they seem to pop out of nowhere, when actually they were always there they just used to be like really into electroclash and getting laid by pasty guys who would listen to them whine.