Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Man bag


He's back. The condom perpetrator in my hood is back. He'd gone dark months ago. In fact, I thought he might've either contracted some more glamorous position, such as "crack vial discarder", but alas he still graces the gutters of my street with his DNA wrapped cleverly in laytex.

Just this week I was fortunate to find a pale sheath laying in the gutter by my house. It had been raining, and there was something of the non-flora variety of usual detritus in the gutter. On closer inspection it was a spent vessel.

Immediately I knew what that meant: he was back. I don't have clear evidence of who "he" is. It's been theorized that he is a neighbor or one of many johns in a clandestine suburban prostitution ring. I'm a member of the former school of thought, as a certain neighbor around the corner has two sons who are of age, and likely engaging in such activity. Why they choose to do it in (I'm guessing) a car in front of their mom's house is something I can't understand, nor the discarding of such personal material in such close proximity.

My strongest, albeit far-fetched, theory is that he is an alien trying to disseminate his seed via the sewage system, as he is somehow related to Cthulhu. Perhaps it's a pre-emptive strike to mutate us all into above sea level R'lyehians.

Regardless, I'll be installing a motion activated night vision wifi cams in several strategic locations in order to catch the ejaculator in the act of disposing of the evidence in such an un-neighborly manner. Maybe I'll also film the elusive owner of the dog, who is allowed to wander up on my lawn to empty his man-sized, Alpo-powered bowels on my lawn. Jeez, that'd be swell.

Thursday, March 10, 2011


During the first leg of an adventure I am now fortunate enough to take once a week instead of five, I sat in a coffeeshop in the Mission and battled connecting to an unsecured wifi network and saw a motorcycle cop park out front and prepare himself for a similar beverage procured behind the counter from where I was sitting.

I watched as he took his helmet off, and laid it on the handlebars, and I wondered what would happen if, as soon as he turned his back, some rogue individual scurried up and snatched it.

It's not like it's his service firearm, but a motorcycle cop without his helmet is like a Ron without his Jeremy, if you catch my meaning.

After ordering his coffee, he strided over to a corner seat, which offered an optimal defensive and viewing position and proceeded to nosh on his bagel.

I remarked at the uniform, which reminded me of the staties in Boston: near knee-high boots, bloused pants, jacket shoulders punctuated with Judge Dredd-like authority, and a helmet, which did nothing but remind me of the T1000 with all its inventive talents proferred by a mimetic poly-alloy.

Without the helmet he looked like an over-grown child in a very realistic Halloween costume, or maybe an zealous uncle taking the kids out for trick or treating. At the very least it was evident that he was older than I, and probably was enjoying his tenured position while the retirement pension window shortened with each passing shift.

Would he miss the helmet? What would happen to it after retirement? Would the department let him keep the uniform if he wanted?

I could stand losing corporate supplied laptops and mobile devices: I could always find the same ones elsewhere. The helmet, however, is probably less replaceable.
Which leads me back to my original thought: why simply leave it on the handlebars? Must be some American frontier tying off your hoss in front of the saloon.

Friday, March 4, 2011

Ambient Music

I wanted to take a moment out of the early start of my day to thank my youngest for being such a fitful and vocal sleeper. It really made my sleep, I mean, micro-naps that much more enjoyable.

I likened the experience to that of the members of the Inception troupe having an Edith Piaf inspired bellow take hold of their slumber and dash it into a bathtub of cold water.

One day, when you're shooting over the celestial plains of a far away moon in your fancy extra-system Planet Runner with the gleam of starlight in your eyes, I hope you'll think of me and your mother and launch an Apple Insta-Constellator™ device into the cosmos on our behalf, ensuring that it blossoms in the heavens so that we may view it with our naked, cybernetically enhanced eyeballs from afar, and know that you appreciated our sacrifice of sanity during your early years on your home planet.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Only took 2 years to get back in the swing

As soon as I start writing for my bloggy, I end up thinking I'm already going off topic. I've gotten so used to tweeting, and synching content to Facebook.

I'm not sure why I stopped blogging. Less time? Lost passion? I can't say for sure.
I came back on a whim and saw my old content spread across the interwebs, and instantly removed all the gadgets I'd added. What was I thinking? Gonna keep it simple for now.

Content will also need to be simpler and more relevant. How this will manifest I'll need to mull.

I don't game as much as I used to, but still love it. Politics are always going to be there, and I've never been too keen on sharing my private life on a blog or tweet. Perhaps I'll focus more on my bizarre and random thoughts that fire like so many ill-timed sparkplugs.

With mobile device access, a Posterous site with multi-post action, and an unlimited data plan I'm sure I can figure something out.

The world is now throbbing with immediacy, hence the million-plus followers in a 24 hour period for Charlie Sheen. Sad really. Everyone wants to be there to see his internal timer hit 0, so they can say "check it, his detonator blows right here at interval 3.32" and be there to watch his mushroom cloud take to the sky.

That being said, maybe I'll just post random clips of plastic bags soaring a la American Beauty to see if anyone gets the reference. Whatever happened to Wes Bentley anyway? Duh, dude. Wikipedia.

Holy snaps, he was in Jonah Hex!